Puck — December 11, 1878 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SS ge—e=— PUCK. BIANCA. W. E. NORRIS IN “BELGRAVIA.” ew (Concluded ) 6s lh AM not bound to answer your questions, { Herr Graf,” I replied; ‘but, as thin, have turned out, 1 have no special ob- jection to doing so. Out of pure good nature to your son, who was detained by duty in Ve- nice at the last moment, I consented to bring the Signorina Marinelli here yesterday, and to await his arrival, which I am now expecting “So you ran away with the girl, instead of Albrecht, did you? Ho, ho, ho!” . I had seldom heard a more grating or dis- agreeable laugh. “T did nothing of the sort,” I answered tartly. “I simply undertook to see her safely through the first stage of her journey.” . “And you will have the pleasure of seeing her back, I imagine; for as for my rascal of a boy, I mean to take him off home with me as soon as he arrives; and I can assure you that I have no intention of providing myself with a daughter-in-law in the course of the day.” I began to feel not a little alarmed. ‘You cannot have the brutality to leave me here with a young woman whom I am scarcely so much as acquainted with on my hands!” I ejaculated, half involuntarily. “ What in the world should I do?” ‘The old gentleman gave vent to a malevo- lent chuckle. ‘Upon my word, sir,” said he, “I can only see one course open to you asa man of honor, You must marry her yourself.” At this I fairly lost all patience, and gave the Graf my opinion of his conduct in terms the plainness of which left nothing to be de- sired. I included him, his son, and the entire German people in one sweeping anathema. No Englishman, I said, would have been capa- ble of either insulting an innocent lady, or of so basely leaving in the lurch one whose only fault had been a too great readiness to sacrifice his own convenience to the interests of others. My indignation lent me a flow of words such as I should never have been able to command in calmer moments; and I daresay I should have continued in the same strain for an inde- finite time, had I not been summarily cut short by the entrance of a third person. There was no occasion for this last intruder to announce himself, in a voice of thunder, as the Marchese Marinelli. I had at once recog- nized the orignal of the Signorina’s photo- graph, and I perceived that I was now in about as uncomfortable a position as my bitterest en- emy could have desired for me. The German old gentleman had been very angry at the out- set; but his wrath, as compared with that of the Italian, was as a breeze to a hurricane, ‘The Marchese was literally quivering from head to foot with concentrated fury. His face was deadly white, his strongly - marked features twitched convulsively, his eyes blazed like those of awild animal. Having stated his identity in the manner already referred to, he made two strides towards the table by which I was seated, and stood glaring at me as though he would have sprung at my throat. I thought it might avert consequences which we should both afterwards deplore if I were to place the table between us; and I did so without loss of time. From the other side of that-barrier I adjured my visitor to keep cool, pledging him my word, in the same breath, that there was no harm done as yet. “No harm!” he repeated, in a strident shout that echoed through the bare room. ‘“ Dog! Villain! You ensnare my daughter's affections —you entice her away from her father’s house —you cover my family with eternal disgrace— and then you dare to tell me that there is no harm done! Wait a little, and you shall see that there will be harm enough for you, Marry her you must, since you have ruined her, but you shall die for-it the next day! It is II, Ludovico Marinelliwho swear it!" 1 am aware that I do but scant justice to the Marchese’s inimitable style. The above sen- tences must be imagined as hurled forth in a series of yells, with a pant between each of them. As a melodramatic actor, this terrific Marinelli would, I am sure, have risen to the first rank in his profession. “Signore,” I said, “ you are under a misap- prehension. I have ensnared nobody's affec- tions, and I am entirely guiltless of all the crimes which you are pleased to attribute to me.” “What? Are you not, then, the hound who bears the vile and dishonored name of von Rosenau ?” “Tam not. I bear the less distinguished, but, I hope, equally respectable patronymic of Jenkinson.” But my modest declaimer passed unheeded, for now another combatant had thrown himself into the fray. “Vile and dishonored name! No one shall permit himself such language in my presence. I am Lieutenant-General Graf von Rosenau, sir,and you shall answer to me for your words.” The Herr Graf's knowledge of Italian was somewhat limited; but, such as it was, it had enabled him to catch the sense of the stigma cast upon his family, and now he was upon his feet, red and gobbling, like a turkey-cock, and prepared to do battle with a hundred irate Ve- netians, if need were. The Marchese stared at him in blank amaze- ment. “ Yous" he ejaculated—‘* You von Rosenau! It is incredible —preposterous. Why, you are old enough to be her grandfather.” “Not old enough to be in my dotage—as I should be, if I permitted my son to marry a beggarly Italian—nor too old to punish imper- tinence as it deserves,” retorted the Graf. “Your son? You are the father, then? It is all the same tome. I will fight you both. But the marriage shall take place first.” “Tt shall not.” “Tt shall.” “Tnsolent slave of an Italian, I will make you eat your words!” “Triple brute of a German, I spit upon you!” “ Silence, sir!” * Silence youself!" During this animated dialogue I sat apart, softly rubbing my hands. What a happy dis- pensation it would be, I could not kelp think- ing, if these two old madmen were to extermi- nate one another, like the Kilkenny cats! Anyhow, their attention was effectually di- verted from my humble person, and that was something to be thankful for. Never before had I been privileged to listen to so rich a vocabulary of vituperation. Each disputant had expressed himself, after the first few words, in his own language, and between them they were now making hubbub enough to bring the old house down about their ears. Up came the padrona to see the fun; up came her fat husband, in his shirt-sleeves and slippers; and her long-legged sons, and her touzle-headed daughter, and the maid-servant, and the cook, and the hostler—the whole establishment, in fact, collected at the open folding-doors, and watched with delight the progress of this bat- tle of words. Last of all, a poor little trem- bling figure, with pale face and eyes big with fright, crept in, and stood, hand on heart, a little in advance of the group. I slipped to her side, and offered her a chair, but she nei- ther answered me nor noticed my presence. She was staring at her father as a bird stares at a snake, and seemed unable to realize anything It except the terrible fact that he had followed and found her. Presently the old man wheeled round, and became aware of the presence of his daughter. “Unhappy girl!” he exclaimed, “what is this that you have done?” I greatly fear that the .Marchese's paternal corrections must have sometimes taken a more practical shape than mere verbal upbraidings; for poor Bianca shrank back, throwing up one arm, as if to shield her face, and, with a wild cry of “Alberto! Come to me!” fell into the arms of that tardy lover, who at this appropri- ate moment had made his appearance, unob- served, upon the scene. The polyglot disturbance that ensued baffles all description. Indeed, I should be puzzled to say exactly what took place, or after how many commands, defiances, threats, prostesta- tions, insults and explanations, a semblance of peace was finally restored. I ‘only know that, at the expiration of a certain time, three of us were sitting by the open window, in a softened and subdued frame of mind, considerately turning our backs upon the other two, who- were bidding one another farewell at the fur- ther end of the room, It was the faithless Johann, as I gathered, who was responsible for this catastrophe. His heart, it appeared, had failed him when he had discovered that nothing less than a bonii-fide marriage was to be the outcome of the meet- ings he had shown so much skill in contriving, and full of penitence and alarm, he had writ- ten to his old master, divulging the whole pro- ject. It so happened that a recent storm in the mountains had interrupted telegraphic com- munication, for the time, between Austria and Venice, and the only course that had seemed open to Herr von Rosenau was to start post- haste for the latter place, where, indeed, he would have arrived a day too late, had not Al- brecht’s Colonel seen fit to postpone his leave. In this latter circumstance also the hand of Jo- hann seemed discernible, As for the Marchese, I suppose he must have returned rather sooner than ha been expected from Padua, and find- ing his daughter gone, must have extorted the truth from his housekeeper. He did not volun- teer any explanation of his presence, nor were any of us bold enough to question him. As I have said before, I have no very clear recollection. of how an understanding w2s ar- rived at, and bloodshed averted, and the pa- drona and her satellites hustled down-stairs again. Perhaps I may have had some share in the work of pacification. Be that as it may, when once the exasperated parents had discov- ered that they both really wanted the same thing—namely, to recover possession of their respective offspring, to go home, and never meet one another again—a species of truce was soon agreed upon between them for the purpose of separating the two lovers, who all this time were locked in one another’s arms, in the prettiest attitude in the world, vowing loudly that nothing should ever part them. How often since the world began have such vows been made and broken—broken, not will- ingly but of necessity—broken and mourned over, and, in due course of time, forgotten! I looked at the Marchesa di San Silvestro the other night, as she sailed up the room in her lace and diamonds, with her fat little husband toddling after her, and wondered whether, in these days of her magnificence, she ever gave a thought to her lost Alberto—Alberto, who has been married himself this many a long day, and has succeeded to his father’s estates, an: has a numerous family, I am told. At all events, she was unhappy enough over parting with him at the time. ‘The two old gender who, as holders of the pursestrings, knew that they were commpletel y anasier® of the situation, and could afford to be generous, showed some comicbooks.com