Columba

P >> Prosper Merimee >> Columba


"Are there only seven of you here?" inquired Colomba. "It strikes me,
gentlemen, that if the three Poli brothers--Gambini, Sarocchi, and
Teodoro--should happen to be at the Cross of Santa Christina, with
Brandolaccio and the Padre, they might give you a good deal of corn to
grind. If you mean to have a talk with the Commandante della Campagna,
I'd just as soon not be there. In the dark, bullets don't show any
respect for persons."

The idea of coming face to face with the dreaded bandits mentioned by
Colomba made an evident impression on the soldiers. The sergeant, still
cursing Corporal Taupin--"that dog of a Frenchman"--gave the order
to retire, and his little party moved toward Pietranera, carrying the
_pilone_ and the cooking-pot; as for the pitcher, its fate was settled
with a kick.

One of the men would have laid hold of Miss Lydia's arm, but Colomba
instantly pushed him away.

"Let none of you dare to lay a finger on her!" she said. "Do you fancy
we want to run away? Come, Lydia, my dear, lean on me, and don't cry
like a baby. We've had an adventure, but it will end all right. In half
an hour we shall be at our supper, and for my part I'm dying to get to
it."

"What will they think of me!" Miss Nevil whispered.

"They'll think you lost your way in the _maquis_, that's all."

"What will the prefect say? Above all, what will my father say?"

"The prefect? You can tell him to mind his own business! Your father?
I should have thought, from the way you and Orso were talking, that you
had something to say to your father."

Miss Nevil squeezed her arm, and answered nothing.

"Doesn't my brother deserve to be loved?" whispered Colomba in her ear.
"Don't you love him a little?"

"Oh, Colomba!" answered Miss Nevil, smiling in spite of her blushes,
"you've betrayed me! And I trusted you so!"

Colomba slipped her arm round her, and kissed her forehead.

"Little sister," she whispered very low, "will you forgive me?"

"Why, I suppose I must, my masterful sister," answered Lydia, as she
kissed her back.

The prefect and the public prosecutor were staying with the
deputy-mayor, and the colonel, who was very uneasy about his daughter,
was paying them his twentieth call, to ask if they had heard of her,
when a rifleman, whom the sergeant had sent on in advance, arrived with
the full story of the great fight with the brigands--a fight in which
nobody had been either killed or wounded, but which had resulted in
the capture of a cooking-pot, a _pilone_, and two girls, whom the man
described as the mistresses, or the spies, of the two bandits.

Thus heralded, the two prisoners appeared, surrounded by their armed
escort.

My readers will imagine Colomba's radiant face, her companion's
confusion, the prefect's surprise, the colonel's astonishment and joy.
The public prosecutor permitted himself the mischievous entertainment
of obliging poor Lydia to undergo a kind of cross-examination, which did
not conclude until he had quite put her out of countenance.

"It seems to me," said the prefect, "that we may release everybody.
These young ladies went out for a walk--nothing is more natural in fine
weather. They happened to meet a charming young man, who has been lately
wounded--nothing could be more natural, again." Then, taking Colomba
aside--

"Signorina," he said, "you can send word to your brother that
this business promises to turn out better than I had expected. The
post-mortem examination and the colonel's deposition both prove that he
only defended himself, and that he was alone when the fight took place.
Everything will be settled--only he must leave the _maquis_ and give
himself up to the authorities."

It was almost eleven o'clock when the colonel, his daughter, and Colomba
sat down at last to their supper, which had grown cold. Colomba ate
heartily, and made great fun of the prefect, the public prosecutor,
and the soldiers. The colonel ate too, but never said a word, and gazed
steadily at his daughter, who would not lift her eyes from her plate. At
last, gently but seriously, he said in English:

"Lydia, I suppose you are engaged to della Rebbia?"

"Yes, father, to-day," she answered, steadily, though she blushed. Then
she raised her eyes, and reading no sign of anger in her father's face,
she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, as all well-brought-up
young ladies do on such occasions.

"With all my heart!" said the colonel. "He's a fine fellow. But, by
G--d, we won't live in this d---d country of his, or I'll refuse my
consent."

"I don't know English," said Colomba, who was watching them with an air
of the greatest curiosity, "but I'll wager I've guessed what you are
saying!"

"We are saying," quoth the colonel, "that we are going to take you for a
trip to Ireland."

"Yes, with pleasure; and I'll be the Surella Colomba. Is it settled,
colonel? Shall we shake hands on it?"

"In such a case," remarked the colonel, "people exchanges kisses!"



CHAPTER XX

One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the
newspapers said, "plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of
consternation," a young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of
Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which
in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with
delicious water. He was accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably
handsome, mounted on a small black horse, the strength and shape of
which would have attracted the admiration of a connoisseur, although, by
some strange accident, one of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching
the village, the girl sprang nimbly to the ground, and, having helped
her comrade to dismount, she unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets
strapped to his saddle-bow. The horses were left in charge of a peasant.
The girl, laden with the wallets, which she had concealed under her
_mezzaro_, and the young man, carrying a double-barrelled gun, took
their way toward the mountain, along a very steep path that did not
appear to lead to any dwelling. When they had climbed to one of the
lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, and sat down on the
grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for they kept perpetually
looking toward the mountain, and the young lady often consulted a
pretty gold watch--as much, it may be, for the pleasure of admiring what
appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as in order to know whether
the hour appointed for some meeting or other had come. They had not long
to wait. A dog ran out of the _maquis_, and when the girl called out
"Brusco!" it approached at once, and fawned upon them. Presently two
bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, cartridge-belts round
their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. Their torn and patched
garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which were brilliantly
polished, and came from a famous Continental factory. In spite of the
apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in this scene
greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship.

"Well, Ors' Anton'," said the elder bandit to the young man, "so your
business is settled--the indictment against you has fallen through? I
congratulate you. I'm sorry the lawyer has left the island. I'd like to
see his rage. And how's your arm?"

"They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight," said the
young man. "Brando, my good friend, I'm going to Italy to-morrow--I
wanted to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That's why I asked you to
come here."

"You're in a fine hurry," said Brandolaccio. "Only acquitted yesterday,
and you're off to-morrow."

"Business must be attended to," said the young lady merrily. "Gentlemen,
I've brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don't you forget
my friend Brusco."

"You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he's a grateful dog. You
shall see. Here, Brusco," and he held out his gun horizontally, "jump
for the Barricini!"

The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master.

"Jump for the della Rebbia!" And he leaped two feet higher than he need
have done.

"Look here, my friends," said Orso, "you're plying a bad trade; and even
if you don't end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you
can look for is to die in the _maquis_ by some gendarme's bullet."

[*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place.

"Well, well," said Castriconi, "that's no more than death, anyhow; and
it's better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your
heirs snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are
accustomed to the open air like us, there's nothing so good as to die
'in your shoes,' as the village folk say."

"I should like to see you get out of this country," said Orso, "and lead
a quieter life. For instance, why shouldn't you settle in Sardinia, as
several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for
you."

"In Sardinia!" cried Brandolaccio. "_Istos Sardos!_ Devil take them and
their lingo! We couldn't live in such bad company."

"Sardinia's a country without resources," added the theologian. "For
my part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their
bandits. That's a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out
upon Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia,
is that you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have
taken to our life in the _maquis_, after having once tried it, as you
did."

[*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my
acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of
it. He means that bandits who let themselves be caught by
horse soldiers are idiots, and that soldiers who try to
catch bandits on horseback have very little chance of
getting at them.

"Well," said Orso, with a smile, "when I was lucky enough to be your
guest, I wasn't in very good case for enjoying the charms of your
position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one
lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my
good friend Brandolaccio guided."

"And the delight of escaping from your pursuers," rejoined Castriconi;
"is that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of
absolute freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to
insure respect," and he held up his gun, "we are kings of everything
within its range. We can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That's a
highly moral entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we
don't deny ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant's
life, when he has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote
had? Listen! The other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi's
uncle--old miser that he is--wouldn't give her a dowry. So I wrote to
him. I didn't use threats--that's not my way. Well, well, in one moment
the man was convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people
happy. Believe me, Orso, there's no life like the bandit's life! Pshaw!
You'd have joined us, perhaps, if it hadn't been for a certain young
Englishwoman whom I have scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty
every one in Bastia is talking."

"My future sister-in-law doesn't like the _maquis_," laughed Colomba.
"She got too great a fright in one of them."

"Well," said Orso, "you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me
whether there is anything I can do for you?"

"Nothing," said Brandolaccio. "You've heaped kindnesses upon us. Here's
little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there'll be no necessity
for my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure
her marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and
powder whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you
back in Corsica one of these days."

"In case of pressing need," said Orso, "a few gold coins are very
useful. Now we are such old friends, you won't refuse this little
_cartouche_.[*] It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind."

[*] _Cartouche_ means a collection of gold pieces as well as
a cartridge.

"No money between you and me, sir," said Brandolaccio resolutely.

"In the world money is everything," remarked Castriconi, "but in the
_maquis_, all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that
carries true."

"I don't want to leave you without giving you something to remember me
by," persisted Orso. "Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?"

The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso's gun.

"By my faith, if I dared--but no! you're too fond of it."

"What would you like?"

"Nothing! 'Tisn't anything at all. It's knowing how to use it as well. I
keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours--and with only one
hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!"

"Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don't use it
more than you are obliged."

"Oh, I won't promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your
mind easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it's all over
with Brando Savelli."

"And you, Castriconi--what am I to give you?"

"Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I'll
simply ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse
me, and prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There's a little woman
who sells cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she'll
see I get it."

"You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to
be one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good
friends, we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of
Sardinia write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on
the mainland."

"To-morrow, lieutenant," said Brando, "when you get out in the harbour,
look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we'll
wave our handkerchiefs to you."

And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo,
and the bandits departed up the mountain.



CHAPTER XXI

One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made
bride--Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately discovered
Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of the
country paid a visit.

Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out their
pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the colonel and
Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, left them to
themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood.

"My dear Colomba," said the colonel, "we shall never get back to Pisa in
time for lunch. Aren't you hungry? There are Orso and his wife buried
in their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, it lasts
forever!"

"Yes," remarked Colomba. "And yet they never bring the smallest sketch
home with them."

"I think," proceeded the colonel, "our best plan would be to make our
way to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and
perhaps some _aleatico_. Who knows, we might even find strawberries and
cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our artists."

"You are quite right, colonel. You and I are the reasonable members of
this family. We should be very foolish if we let ourselves by martyrized
by that pair of lovers, who live on poetry! Give me your arm! Don't you
think I'm improving? I lean on people's arms, wear fashionable hats and
gowns and trinkets--I'm learning I don't know how many fine things--I'm
not at all a young savage any more. Just observe the grace with which I
wear this shawl. That fair-haired spark--that officer belonging to
your regiment who came to the wedding--oh, dear! I can't recollect
his name!--a tall, curly-headed man, whom I could knock over with one
hand----"

"Chatsworth?" suggested the colonel.

"That's it!--but I never shall be able to say it!--Well, you know he's
over head and ears in love with me!"

"O Colomba, you're growing a terrible flirt! We shall have another
wedding before long."

"I! Marry! And then who will there be to bring up my nephew--when Orso
provides me with a nephew? And who'll teach him to talk Corsican? Yes,
he shall talk Corsican, and I'll make him a peaked cap, just to vex
you."

"Well, well, wait till you have your nephew, and then you shall teach
him to use a dagger, if you choose."

"Farewell to daggers!" said Colomba merrily. "I have a fan now, to rap
your fingers with when you speak ill of my country."

Chatting thus, they reached the farm-house, where they found wine,
strawberries, and cream. Colomba helped the farmer's wife to gather the
strawberries, while the colonel drank his _aleatico_. At the turning of
a path she caught sight of an old man, sitting in the sun, on a straw
chair. He seemed ill, his cheeks were fallen in, his eyes were hollow,
he was frightfully thin; as he sat there, motionless, pallid, staring
fixedly in front of him, he looked more like a corpse than like a living
creature. Colomba watched him for some minutes, and with a curiosity so
great that it attracted the woman's attention.

"That poor old fellow is a countryman of yours," she said. "For I know
you are from Corsica by the way you talk, signorina! He has had great
trouble in his own country. His children met with some terrible death.
They say--you'll excuse me, signorina--that when they quarrel, your
compatriots don't show each other very much mercy. Then the poor
old gentleman, being left all alone, came over to Pisa, to a distant
relation of his, who owns this farm. Between his misfortunes and his
sorrow, the good man is a little cracked. . . . The lady found him
troublesome--for she sees a great deal of company. So she sent him out
here. He's very gentle--no worry at all. He doesn't speak three words
the whole day long. In fact, his brain's quite gone. The doctor comes to
see him every week. He says he won't live long."

"There's no hope for him, then!" said Colomba. "In such a case, death
will be a mercy."

"You might say a word to him in Corsican, signorina. Perhaps it would
cheer him up to hear the speech of his own country."

"I'll see!" said Colomba, and her smile was mysterious.

She drew nearer to the old man, till her shadow fell across his chair.
Then the poor idiot lifted his head and stared at Colomba, while she
looked at him, smiling still. After a moment, the old man passed his
hand across his forehead, and closed his eyes, as though he would have
shut out the sight of Colomba. He opened them again, desperately wide
this time. His lips began to work, he tried to stretch out his hands,
but, fascinated by Colomba's glance, he sat, nailed, as it were, to his
chair, unable to move or utter a word. At last great tears dropped from
his eyes, and a few sobs escaped from his heaving chest.

"'Tis the first time I've seen him like this," said the good woman.
"This signorina belongs to your own country; she has come to see you,"
said she to the old man.

"Mercy!" he cried in a hoarse voice. "Mercy! Are you not content? The
leaf I burned. How did you read it? But why did you take them both?
Orlanduccio! You can't have read anything against him! You should have
left me one, only one! Orlanduccio--you didn't read _his_ name!"

"I had to have them both!" answered Colomba, speaking low and in the
Corsican dialect. "The branches are topped off! If the stem had not been
rotten, I would have torn it up! Come! make no moan. You will not suffer
long! _I_ suffered for two years!"

The old man cried out, and then his head dropped on his breast. Colomba
turned her back on him, and went slowly into the house, humming some
meaningless lines out of a _ballata_:

"I must have the hand
that fired, the eye that aimed, the heart
that planned."

While the farmer's wife ran to attend on the old man, Colomba, with
blazing eyes and brilliant cheeks, sat down to luncheon opposite the
colonel.

"What's the matter with you?" he said. "You look just as you did that
day at Pietranera, when they fired at us while we were at dinner."

"Old Corsican memories had come back to me. But all that's done with.
I shall be godmother, sha'n't I? Oh! what fine names I'll give him!
Ghilfuccio--Tomaso--Orso--Leone!"

The farmer's wife came back into the room.

"Well?" inquired Colomba, with the most perfect composure. "Is he dead,
or had he only fainted?"

"It was nothing, signorina. But it's curious what an effect the sight of
you had on him."

"And the doctor says he won't last long?"

"Not two months, very likely."

"He'll be no great loss!" remarked Colomba.

"What the devil are you talking about?" inquired the colonel.

"About an idiot from my own country, who is boarded out here. I'll send
from time to time to find out how he is. Why, Colonel Nevil, aren't you
going to leave any strawberries for Lydia and my brother?"

When Colomba left the farm-house and got into the carriage, the farmer's
wife looked after her for a while. Then, turning to her daughter:

"Dost see that pretty young lady yonder?" she said. "Well, I'm certain
she has the evil eye!"