All her religious views, her faith in the existence of God, her scepticism concerning the immortality of the soul were tending towards subversion. She was convinced that she was in no way responsible for Maria's death. If indeed there did exist an Intelligence, a Will, a Power which was master of men and of things, then the monstrous guilt was of this Intelligence, which had coldly pre-ordained Barborin Passotti's visit and gift; had withdrawn Maria from those who should have watched over her in her mother's absence; had lured her, defenceless, towards destruction; had killed her. That same Power had checked her, the mother, when she had been about to perform an act of justice. Fool that she was, ever to have believed in Divine Justice! There was no such thing as Divine Justice! Instead there was the altar allied to the throne; the Austrian God, a party to all injustice, all tyranny, author of suffering, and of evil, slayer of the innocent and protector of the wicked. Ah! if such a God did indeed exist, it were better that Maria be there in that body, better that no part of her should live on to fall into the toils of this fiendish Omnipotence!
But it was possible to doubt the existence of this horrible God. And if He did not exist we might desire that a part of a human being should continue to live beyond the grave, live not miraculously, but naturally. That was perhaps easier to conceive than the existence of an invisible tyrant, of a Creator who was cruel to the beings of His own creation. The rule of nature without God was certainly preferable; better a blind master, who was not our enemy, not deliberately cruel. But henceforth, at least, no thought must be wasted in any way, either in this life or in the next—if, indeed, the next exist—upon that vain phantom, Justice!
The faint light of dawn mingled with her thoughts as it had mingled with Franco's thoughts, solemn and consoling to him, hateful to her. He, the Christian, meditated an insurrection of wrath and of arms against brothers in Christ, for love of a dot upon the surface of one of Heaven's orbs; she meditated an immense rebellion, the liberation of the Universe. Her thought might be the greater, her intellect might appear the stronger, but he whom the human generations learn to know even better as they advance in civilisation and science; He who allows each generation to honour Him according to its strength, and who gradually transforms and raises the ideals of the nations, making use even of inferior and fleeting ideals, when He deems it opportune, in His government of the world; He who, being Peace and Life, has allowed Himself to be called the God of armies, had impressed the sign of His judgment upon the face of the woman and upon the face of the man. While dawn burned into the glory of sunrise, Franco's brow became ever more brightly illumined by a light from within, and through his tears his eyes shone with the vigour of life; but Luisa's brow grew ever darker, and from the depths, the shadows mounted to her dull eyes.
As the sun rose a boat came in sight off the point of Caravina. It brought the lawyer, V., who had come from Varenna in obedience to Luisa's call.
CHAPTER XII
PHANTOMS
On the evening of that same day a numerous company assembled in the Marchesa's red drawing-room. Pasotti had brought his unlucky wife by main force, and he had brought Signor Giacomo Puttini also, although that gentleman had held out for some time against the most gracious Controller's despotic caprices. The curate of Puria and Paolin had also put in an appearance, both being anxious to observe the effects of the tragedy on the old lady's marble countenance. Paolin of course dragged the worthy Paolon in his wake, he being still in a state of limp and sheepish resistance. The curate of Cima, who was devoted to the Marchesa, came also, as did the prefect of Caravina, whose heart really belonged to Franco and Luisa, but who, as parish-priest of Cressogno, was bound to treat their enemy with a certain amount of consideration.
She received them all with her usual impassive expression, with her usual calm greeting. Signora Barborin, who had been cautioned by her master against alluding to the event at Oria, was made to sit on the sofa beside her hostess, who graciously accepted the homage of the others, put the usual questions to Paolin and Paolon concerning their respective consorts, and having satisfied herself that both Paolina and Paolona were enjoying the best of health, she folded her hands over her stomach and relapsed into dignified silence, her courtiers forming a semicircle around her. Pasotti, noting the absence of Friend, inquired for him with obsequious solicitude. "And Friend? Dear little Friend?" Although, had he had him in his clutches—solus cum solo—the nasty, little snarling beast which worried his trousers and his wife's skirts, he would have joyfully wrung his neck. Friend had been ill for two days. The entire company was greatly affected by this news, and loudly deplored the misfortune, secretly hoping the while that the accursed little monster might not recover. Barborin, not hearing a word, but seeing so many mouths at work, so many faces assuming a look of affliction, naturally supposed they were speaking of Oria, and turning to her neighbour Paolon, questioned him with her eyes, opening her mouth and pointing towards Oria. Paolon shook his head. "They are talking about the little dog," said he. The deaf woman did not understand, but she said: "Ah!" on general principles, and assumed an expression of affliction like the rest.