Doctor Antonio

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Contents

— QREAI^ AND SMA1X|

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II. — THE OSTERIA, . ,

Chapter I. Great and Small

Ok a fine sunny afternoon of early April, in the year 1840, an elegant travelling carriage was rattling, at the full speed of four post-horses, over the road, famous among tourists as the Cornice Road, and which runs along the western Riviera of Genoa, from that city to Nice.

Few of the public highways of Europe are more favored than this — ^few, at any rate, combine in themselves three such elements of natural beauty as the Mediterranean on one side, the Appenines on the other, and overhead the splendors of an Italian sky. The industry of man has done what it could, if not to vie with, at least not to disparage Nature. Numerous towns and villages, some gracefully seated on the shore, bathing their feet in the silvery wave , some stretching up the mountain sides like a flock of sheep, or thrown picturesquely astride a lofty ridge, with here and there a solitary sanctuary perched high on a sea-washed cUif, or half lost in a forest of verdure at the head of some glcu ; marble palaces and painted villas emerging from sunny vio»

T yards, gaily flowering gardens, or groves of orange and lemon trees ; myriads of white casini with green jalonsies scattered all over hills, once sterile, but now their scanty soil propped up by terrace shelving above terrace, clothed to the top with olive-trees — all and everything, in short, of man^s handiwork, betokens the activity and ingenuity of a tasteful and richly-endowed race.

The road, in its obedience to the capricious indentations of the coast, is irregular and serpent-like ; at one time on a level with the sea, it passes between hedges of tamarisk, aloes, and oleander, at another winds up some steep mountain side, through dark pine forests, rising to such a height, that the eye recoils terrified from looking into the abyss below ; here it disappears into galleries cut in the living rock, there comes out upon a wide expanse of earth, sky, and water : now turns inland, with a seeming determination to force a passage across the mountain, anon shoots abruptly in an opposite dii’ection, as if bent upon rcushing headlong into the sea. The variety of prospect resulting from this continual shifting of the point of view is as endless as that offered by the everchanging combinations of a kaleidoscope. Could we but give this sketch a little of the coloring — real coloring, of the country, what a picture we should make of it I But we cannot. It is past the power of words to shadow out the brilliant transparency of this atmosphere, the tender azure of this sky, the deep blue of this sea, the soft gradations of tone tinting these wavy mountains, as they lap one over the other. The palette of a Stanfield, or a D’Azeglio, would scarcely be equal to the task.

Amid such scenery the carriage just introduced to the reader^s notice rolled briskly on. It was as fine a piece of workmanship as ever issued from the hands of a first-rate London coach-maker, light, elegant; well-balanced, capacious, comfortable-looking, and wanting in none of the appendages that bespeak rank and wealth, from the (scarcely visible on the dark, well-varnished panels) miniature coat of arms, with numerous quarterings, sunnoimted by the bloody hand, that fixed the position held by the travel lers, on the social ladder of Great Britain, to the smart lady’smaid and somewhat portly man out of livery, who showed their appreciation of the fine nature around, by slumbering placidly in the rumble.

The two occupants of the inside, an elderly gentleman and a young lady, evidently father and daughter, seemed, if one might judge from appearances, as insensible as their servants to the various beauties soliciting their admiration. White sails, gliding, like huge swans, over the heaving waves ; fruit trees, so laden with blossoms as to look less like trees than overgrown nosegays; fields yellow with daffodil, blue with anemone, white with longstemmed Star of Bethlehem, hoary rocks, armed at every crevice with the lance-like leaves of gigantic aloes, passed in rapid succession by our travellers, equafly unnoticed or disregarded.

Half buried in a heap of cushions, pillows, and shawls, the young lady lay at full length, trying hard to sleep ; but though her cheek was pale with fatigue, and a blue circle round her eyes spoke sadly of want of rest, sleep refused to come, as her incessant change of position, her jerks and moans of childish impatience, clearly showed to her companion. A fair specimen she was of a type of beauty, not rarely met with in England, especially among the higher classes — a type uniting characteristics that would seem incompatible, a stamp of distinction, akin -tc haughtiness, and an almost ideal suavity of outline. The veil of langour spread over her person, gave her loveliness a })eculiai charm, one irresistibly touching. Nature, who had made this girl so beautiful, seemed to have written on her every feature, “ fragile.” The thin blue veins marbling her temples, the soft azure of her eye, the maiden-blush clearness of the skin, were but too suggestive of the transitory bloom and beauty of some

1 * delicate flower. The hair, locks of which strayed here and then out of their elegant prison of embroidered gauze, had that rich golden hue with which the Italian painters adorn the heads of cherubs. Altogether, hers was as graceful and fairy-like a form as ever human eye rested on, such as an angel would choose if condemned to assume a mortal shape, just corporeal enough to attest humanity, yet sufficiently transparent to let the celestial •rigin shine through.

Sir John Davenne — for such was the name of the elderly gentleman by the side of this fair creature — sat lost in a brown study, one, seemingly, of no pleasant nature, and from which nothing had power to rouse him, but the sound, however stifled, of a short, dry cough, which awakened all the solicitude of an affectionate parent. He would then turn to his young companion, ask, in a whisper full of tenderness, if she felt worse, mutter some words of endearment or cheering, and shake up or smooth the pillows.

The appearance of the father was, at first sight, prepossessing also in its way. The fresh complexion, almost feminine in its softness ; the clear blue eye, the lofty brow, scarcely shaded by two scanty tufts of glossy grey hair, carefully brushed forward j the tall, upright figure, that gave little evidence of the fifty-six or fifty-seven summers its possessor had numbered, all were calculated to produce an agreeable impression. A nearer inspecttion, a more prolonged gaze, revealed blots on this polished surface. The forehead, pure in color and smooth as marble, was high but narrow, and sloping backwards, like the foreheads of George the Third and Charles the Tenth, an hereditary feature in the family from which this gentleman descended, and that kept the promise it gave, of an obstinacy which would not have discredited the crowned heads it has been likened to. The light-blue eye was too prominent and round, the nostrils of the thin arched nose were pinched ; the small, finely-cut lips had a pre»

rare upwards, which, with the acute angle of the nostril, indi cated an indulged habit of contemptuous pride. The genera expression of this gentleman’s countenance seemed to say, that the clay that other men were made of “ did come between the wind and his nobility.”

An uninterrupted series of explosions from the postilion’s whip, and the stony pavement over which the carriage now clatters, loudly announce its having entered a town. A stentorian “ ohe I” from the Automedon of the aristocratic vehicle, gives warning to the unseen occupant of a shabby two-wheeled cakssino, standing in front of the post-house, to make room for its betters. Be it the effect of the bloody hand, that makes itself felt even at a distance, or be it simply that the owner of the gig had pressing business of his own, certain it is that the word of command was scarcely uttered before obeyed, and the dusty cakssino started away at the full speed of its shaggy horse, leaving its ponderous competitor undisputed master of the field.

The lady’s-maid and the man-servant get down from the rumble, and wait obsequiously at the carriage doors. 'Hie invalid asks for a glass of water. The water is obtained, and Sir John pours into it some drops from a phial, and holds it to the lips of the suffering girl. In the meantime, two professional beggars, a man and woman, in pictorial rags, begin a long litany of miseries, ending with an ever-repeated burden that the Madonna Santissima e tutti i Santi dd Paradiso will repay any charity tenfold to the luoni lernfattori. Miss Davenne looks for her purse, and puts some money into the woman’s hand, who happens to be on her side of the carriage. Sir John throwB some silver on the ground for the old man. Certainly, both father and daughter are actuated by an identically meritorious feeling, but how unlike is the manner in which it is expressed I Even the beggars feel the difference — ^ he old woman drops a

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courtesy and a smile, while the old man picks up the money, and turns away sullenly.

What is the name of this place ?” asked Miss Davenne.

San Remo,” is the answer. Sir J ohn Davenne does not approve of the name ; at least one may argue as much from his pursed-up lips as he hears it. He looks up the street and down the street, and finally draws in his head. Had Sir John Davenne kept a note-book, he would probably have made an entry of this sort : “ San Remo, a queer-looking place, narrow ill-paved streets, high, irregular houses, ragged people, swarms of beggars,” and so forth, for a whole page. Fortunately for the public reputation of San Remo, Sir John kept no note-book.

By this time four horses wert. already put to the carriage, but the length of the next stage, and the hilly character of the road, required, according to the postmaster, an extra horse. This fifth horse, however, which was to be placed tandem-fashion,, manifested a most determined disinclination for the post assigned him ; kicking and plunging in fair alternation, he at last broke loose, and set off full gallop down the narrow street, pursued by all the men and boys apparently in the town, by whose combined efforts, after a keen chase, he was captured at last, triumphantly brought back, and fastened in front of the other four. The postilion jerked himself into his heavy saddle, waved his long whip round his head, first to the right, and then to the left, a report like a pistol following each manoeuvre, and the caiTiage was at length again set in motion, amid a perfect uproar of unintelligible vociferations.

In a short time it came in sight of the gig first noticed at Sau Remo, and now toiling up a long steep hill ; a curious specimen, to be sure, of the conveyances of the country, — such a weather beaten, discolored, squeezed-in, almost shapeless thing, — it was a **"«nier how it held together or remained on its wheels., Tht distance between the two carriages diminished Yery perceptibly the four wheels gaining on the two, much in the proportion of a big steamer in stern chase of a small boat. Now the thick layers of dust on the road deadened the sound of wheels and horses’ feet, and made the usual warnings with the whip more necessary than ever. Still the postilion gave no sign of life. Most likely he took it for granted that the driver of the gig must be aware of the coming up of his magnificent neighbor, and would take proper care of himself, or maybe he was so engrossed by the mending of his lash as to forget his duty j howev^ it was, it 30 turned out, that the English equipage, just as it reached the verge of the eminence, dashed unexpectedly at full speed past the unprepared humble vehicle. The shaggy little horse, frightened out of its wits, made such a sudden bolt to the left, that had the hand holding the reins been a whit less strong and experienced, gig, horse, and driver must have gone down into the sea.

The volley of expletives with which the single gentleman of the gig saluted the sudden advent of his fellow-travellers (and, from the angry tone in which they were uttered, there was no mistaking them for blessings), sufficiently testified his resentment of the postilion’s unceremonious proceeding. Fortunately, Miss Davenne, though a tolerably good Italian scholar, did not understand the pa,tois of the Riviera, otherwise she would have had an odd and not particularly agreeable illustration of passionate local eloquence.

If the unexpected encounter had shaken the shaggy pony and his master out of their equanimity, the famous extra horse of Sir John’s carriage proved not a bit more stoical. Perhaps the alarm was contagious, or perhaps the creature had a special antipathy to the process of going down hill, which now began Whatever was the cause, from the moment of passing the f£tkssinOy his progress became a chance medley of galloping.

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plunging, and rearing. Sir John, who, with his head out of tlu window, was following with momently increasing anxiety the strange evolutions of the beast, would have at once called to the postilion, but from the double fear of startling his daughter out of the half slumber into which she seemed to have dropped aftei leaving San Remo, and of too suddenly checking the horses in full career. But the carriage having reached the bottom of the hill, which was not a long one, and Miss Davenne being awake by this time, Sir John ordered the postilion to stop, and in the same breath desired John, the companion of the lady’s maid in the rumble, to get down and see what was the matter John got down ; and there ensued a parley between the valet and the post-boy, unlikely to lead to any satisfactory result, seeing that the postilion did not understand one syllable of John’s questions or directions, expressed in the most imperfect of Italian, nor did John comprehend one syllable of the postilion’s explanations, given in the patois of the Riviera. Each party repeated his own words over and over again, without conveying any idea to the other ; English John insisting on the restive horse being put into the traces, and one of the quiet hind horses taking his place ; while the postilion, with native fluency, persisted in asseverating that there was no danger, that the plunging and rearing of the leader was caused by the knocking of the splinter bar against his legs, and that he could put that to rights in no time.

At last the energetic pantomime of the Italian laJ, for th« postilion was not above twenty, gave John a glimpse of his interlocutor’s meaning. The fact pointed out by the youth was 80 evideutly one, though perhaps not the sole cause of the horse’s restlessness, that J ohn, glad to be spared any more arguing to BO little purpose, and also at some cost to his dignity, readily accepted expiant^tion ; and having reported to his master that the..v ♦vas only 9 ^rifle wrong with the harness, which would

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be remedied directly, climbed back gravely to his comfortable seat t)y Miss Hutchins.

The postilion had just begun to try shortening the chains of the bar, so that it should not strike against the horse, whistling loudly the while, when the gig, which had been left behind, came up and stopped by his side, without his having heard or seen it. “ Hallo, Prospero I” said a voice, which made the young man simultaneously start, look up, and take off his hat with some precipitation, “ what the devil is the matter with you to-day? Do you know, you stupid boy, that you have been within an ace of pitching me into the sea ?”

“ Pitching Vossignoria into the sea I” exclaimed Prospero, with an odd mixture of anger and distress in his voice. “ Vossignoria knows I would rather be drowned myself a hundred times. IBut this is not the Signor’s cahssino, and how could I guess the /Signor was in it ?”

“ And what had that to do with the matter ?” retorted the /•oice of the so addressed “ Signor” angrily. “ What does it signify whether it was I or the Great Khan of Tartary ? How ,lare you, sir, play with the life of any one ? It is your business imd duty to take care that the horses you drive be not the death of peaceable citizens. Do you hear ?”

Prospero, now thoroughly humbled, said he was very sorry, 'd would do his best that the like should not happen again.

'‘Very well; but what horse is that you have got there?” continued the voice ; and a hand stretched forth from under the hood of the calessino pointed to the extra horse.

“ It is a new one. Signor ; it came to the stables only yester day. He’s a fidgety beast.”

“ Fidgety you call him. Bagatella ! he’s as vicious an animal as I ever saw, and one your master ought not to put to any carriage with Christians inside. I have been watching your fidgety beast for the last quarter of an hour. Take good

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advice while it is yet time, Prospero ; instead of fastening that buckle, undo it, and let the horse find its own way back to San Remo.”

Had Prospero been a man of fifty, with an established character as a post-boy, the probabilities are that he might have accepted of good advice ; but he was a mere lad, as we have said, full of courage and confidence in the strength of his own arms, and with an ardent desire to be known as a first-rate whip on the road. Now, to send back a horse, under the circumstances, was tantamount to the confession of his own inability to manage him — a confession that Prosperous self-love and ambition alike forbade. Postilions have their point of honour as well as the people they drive.

So Prospero replied, with some cunning, “ Leave him on the road, Signor, you mean, for how would he ever find his way back, when we got him only yesterday, and that from inland ? A pretty scrape I would be in with master, if I were to turn the horse loose here I But there is no danger,” continued Prospero, recovering his good humor and politeness, “ any beast would kick if he had a great piece of wood flapping against his legs every step he took. See here. Signor, if I let down the ropes a bit, and shorten up the chain, so as to keep the bar pretty stiff, he’ll go as quiet as a lamb.”

** Well, you ought to know best,” answered the voice j “ at all events, keep a sharp look out on him, and try next time you come up with me, not to upset me, or give me a cold bath, if you can help it.”

These last words were said good-humoredly ; the postilion showed all his white teeth in the merry laugh with which he received the recommendation, and made a low bow as the gig drove off.

This dialogue, of course not understood by the English travellers, lasted scarcely two minutes; the manner of speaking of both

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1 % hiterlocutors being rapid and incisive. The voice of tne invisible one was remarkable for its richness of tone, and natural management of what it may be allowable to call the chiaroscuro of speech When we say invisible, we mean with respect only to those within the carriage, who, the two vehicles standing one before the other fn nearly the same line, could see nothing of the person in the hooded gig, but the hand with which he had pointed to the horse.

The lengthening of the ropes and the shortening of the chains being at last accomplished, it was not long before the great English carriage once more passed the democratic-looking mkssmo, but this time at a very gentle pace, and not till after every sort of whistle, cry, or call a throat could give forth, and every possible signal a whip is capable of, had been rung through the air by the repentant Prospero. Sir J ohn Davenne gave a tigh of relief as they passed. Odd enough, the Baronet had condescended to take a personal dislike to the calessino, and he hoped that he had seen it now for the last time. Ah I Sir John Davenne, there is a legend or motto older than even the Crusades, “ L’homme propose, Dieu dispose.” The shy horse was behaving well for the time being. Miss Davenne was now fairly asleep, so all his causes for uneasiness or annoyance being at once removed, Sir John relapsed into his former reverie, which, in another few minutes, and in spite of one or two manful efforts, became a most flagrant doze.

A little after Sir John had closed his eyes, the road, which for some time had been going up hill, began to descend. For a good mile it ran sloping zig-zag round a barren reddish cliff that jutted into the sea, till, at a sharp turning to the right, there opened to the view the last but most rapid part of the declivity, then a run of no more than two hundred paces on a level with the sea. Here the road began to rise again, and soon became bifurcated ; the lesser branch climbing straight up a little pro

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moutory, that shut in the horizon to the west — a verdant smiling bit of land, with a steeple, and here and there housetops shining in the sun — the main branch skirting the rocky base to the left.

, Now Prospero, whose sense of responsibility had been put on the qut mvt by the warning of the occupant of the gig, venttired down the slope with all possible care, and with an eye to the ticklish leader. But not all his vigilance or skill were sufficient to ward off a result inevitable under the circumstances, namely, that the strain kept on the traces of the front horse in ascendhig, being necessarily slackened in the descent, nay, at times entirely suspended, the bar by which the animal was fastened to the pole once more began to hit against his hind quar ters. An occasional lash out of his heels gave warning of coming danger. Matters grew worse, as the declivity, gentle at first, just about the turning before mentioned became more abrupt, and the inconvenience arising from the splinter bar increased in direct ratio to the accelerated motion of the vehicle. The rage and terror of the goaded animal augmented with every step, while the efforts of the alarmed driver to quiet him, only served to frighten the other four. Feeling that the whole five were getting beyond his control, Prospero suddenly loosened the reins, and with a clack of his tongue launched them at full gallop, keeping a sharp look out on the road, so as to avoid every thing in the shape of an impediment, which, however small, at the fearful rate the carriage was going, must have endangered its equilibrium. He trusted, of course, to being able to pull in the horses so soon as they should feel the rise of the hill before them.

It was, indeed, the only chance of safety left, and in another minute the attempt would have succeeded, but Sir John all at once awoke. The real state of things had influenced his sleep, for he had been dreaming all this time of horses running away^ and in a very natural bewilderment on first waking, he put hig

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Qead out of the window, roaring to the postilion to stop. The noise awakenened Miss Davenne, who, in her turn, gieatl} alarmed, began to scream. The call and the screams made the unlucky Prospero turn his head a little, and in so doing he lost Bight of the road for a second ; — even a second was too much at this critical conjuncture. One of the hind wheels jerked over a stone, the carriage gave a bound as if it were about to take wing, oscillated for a moment on the edge of the road, then tumbled over, horses and all. Bad as the case was, it might have been worse. The road was only a few feet above the shore, and, luckily, at that spot there was a thick bed of sand, which softened the fall. It was well that Sir John had not been sooner roused from his nap, or the upset might have proved too much even for a man of his consequence.

While Miss Hutchins, all in a flutter of spirits and garments, with her sudden’ flight through the air, picks herself up as fast as she can, astonished to find she is all in one piece — while John, as grim and dignified* as ever, in spite of a very ugly somerset, and a long cut across the nose, which is bleeding profusely, pulls Sir John, who happens to be uppermost, and seems to have sustained no injury, through one of the windows — while all three uniting their efforts, try to extricate from the fallen carriage Miss Bavenne^s inanimate form — while Prospero, from the very excess of despair, stares vacantly first at one and then the other, leaving his horses to kick aud struggle at their pleasure, looking as though he had fallen from the clouds instead of from off the road, the hated gig might have been seen, like a thunderbolt on wheels, rushing fiiriously down the hill. Has the shaggy little horse run away also, or does the person driving belong to that rare order of beings, upon whom the prospect of giving aid to fellow-creatures in distress, acts like an intoxicating draught, rendering them insensible to personal danger ? We shall see by-and-by.

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'• Anybody hurt ? any harm done cried the gent email of the gig, as he drew up in front of where the accident had hap pened “ Can I be of any use ? I am a medical man.” At the iame time there got out of the cakssino, and made for the group Btanding round Miss Davenne, a tall, dark, black-bearded man, wearing a broad-brimmed conical hat — in short, just such a figure, as met by Sir John under any other circumstances, would have made him cock the two pistols he had invariably carried about him since travelling in the classical land of banditti. As it was, the English baronet, who did not understand one word of the stranger’s Italian, contented himself with staring at the new-comer half in amazement, half in displeasure, as much as to say. To what species does this creature belong ? Nothing daunted by this stare, the stranger pushed past Sir John, knelt down by the side of the prostrate girl, and was trying to feel her pulse, when Sir John, not catching his meaning, made a dart forward, as if to thrust him away from his daughter.

Are you mad ?” bawled the stranger, in Italian ; then in French, “ Je suis m^decin, vous dis-je,” adding rapidly this time in good plain English, as if in the baronet’s face he had seen the flag of Great Britain hoisted, “ Did you not hear me say that I was a physician ?” The sound of his native tongue at length conveys to Sir John’s comprehension a clear and distinct concep tion, and a ray of consolation falls on his spirit. For, to have a doctor at hand in such a strait, and a doctor who speaks English, however his appearance may jar with all the Englishman’s preconceived notions of medical gentlemen. Sir John allows to himself is something.

As if what he had said called for no further remark or question, the doctor proceeded to feel the lady’s pulse, took off her bonnet, and gently examined her head. No wound there, not even a bruise. The chest, too, was safe, for, though faint, her breathing was regular ; “ unless there be concussion i>f the brain,” said the doctor to himself. Just as he shook his head at this unpleasant conjecture, his eyes met those of Sir John Davenne. The keen anxiety of that countenance could not for a moment be mistaken. “You need not be uneasy abou your daughter,” said the doctor, answering the unspoken ques« tion, and taking the relationship for granted, “ this is a mere fainting fit, the young lady will soon recover ;” and while still speaking, he pulled a case out of his coat pocket, from which he took a pair of large scissors. These he thrust into Miss Hutchins’ trembling hands, saying, “You must manage to undo your lady’s dress, while I run down to the sea for some water. Cut everything, mind, without moving her.”

Waiting for no reply, the tall gentleman strides away, fills his hat with water, and returns in the twinkhng of an eye. All his movements are quick but sedate, and though visibly excited, all he does and says, he does and says in a resolute, quiet, earnest way of his Own, without hurry or fuss. As he comes back, the struggling horses and the petrified Prospero attract his attention, and he calls out in a voice that enforces immediate obedience, “ Cut the ropes of these horses, do you hear ? and do it at once,” and keeps his eye on the postilion till he sees him twist his head round like Harlequin’s pantomime of distress, and begin to fumble in one of his jacket pockets for a knife.