Corleone: A Tale of Sicily. F. Marion Crawford
knocking the ash off his cigarette upon a little rock crystal dish at his elbow.
'Why do you ask me that?' he inquired rather sternly.
'Because you were very much attracted by her once, and I wished to know whether you had kept up the acquaintance since her marriage.'
'I have kept up the acquaintance—and no more,' answered Orsino, meeting his cousin's eyes again. 'I go to see the Countess from time to time. I believe we are on very good terms.'
'Will you go to Sicily with me if I need you, and stay there, and get an estate in order for me?'
'With pleasure. When?'
'I do not know yet. It may be in a week, or it may be in a month. It will be hot there, and you will have troublesome things to do.'
'So much the better.'
'There are brigands in the neighbourhood just now.'
'That will be very amusing. I never saw one.'
'You may tell Ippolito if you like, but please do not mention it to anyone else until we are ready to go. You know that your mother will be anxious about you, and your father is a conservative—and your grandfather is a firebrand, if he dislikes an idea. One would think that at his age his temper should have subsided.'
'Not in the least!' Orsino smiled, for he loved the old man, and was proud of his great age.
'But you may tell Ippolito if you like, and if you warn him to be discreet. Ippolito would let himself be torn in pieces rather than betray a secret. He is by far the most discreet of you all.'
'Yes. You are right, as usual. You have a good eye for a good man. What do you think of all these Pagliuca people, or Corleone, or d'Oriani—or whatever they call themselves?' Orsino looked keenly at his cousin as he asked the question.
'Did you ever meet Corleone? I mean the one who married Norba's daughter—the uncle of these boys.'
'I met him once. From all accounts, he must have been a particularly disreputable personage.'
'He was worse than that, I think. I never blamed his wife. Well—these boys are his nephews. I do not see that any comment is necessary.' San Giacinto smiled thoughtfully.
'This young girl is also his niece,' observed Orsino rather sharply.
'Who knows what Tebaldo Pagliuca might have been if he had spent ten years amongst devout old women in a convent?' The big man's smile developed into an incredulous laugh, in which Orsino joined.
'There has certainly been a difference of education,' he admitted. 'I like her.'
'You would confer a great benefit upon a distressed family, by falling in love with her,' said San Giacinto. 'That worthy mother of hers was watching you two behind Pietrasanta's head, during dinner.'
'Another good reason for going to Sicily,' answered Orsino. 'The young lady is communicative. She told me, this evening, that you were trying to buy some place of theirs—I forget the name—and that one of her brothers objects.'
'That is exactly the place I want you to manage. The name is Camaldoli.'
'Then there is no secret about it,' observed Orsino. 'If she has told me, she may tell the next man she meets.'
'Certainly. And mysteries are useless, as a rule. I do not wish to make any with you, at all events. Here are the facts. I am going to build a light railway connecting all those places; and I am anxious to get the land into my possession, without much talk. Do you understand? This place of the Corleone is directly in my line, and is one of the most important, because it is at a point through which I must pass, to make the railway at all, short of an expensive tunnel. Your management will simply consist in keeping things in order until the railway makes the land valuable. Then I shall sell it, of course.'
'I see. Very well. Could you not give my old architect something to do? Andrea Contini is his name. The houses we built for Del Ferice have all turned out well, you know.' Orsino laughed rather bitterly.
'Remind me of him at the proper time,' said San Giacinto. 'Tell him to learn something about building small railway stations. There will be between fifteen and twenty, altogether.'
'I will. But—do you expect that a railway in Sicily will ever pay you?'
'No. I am not an idiot.'
'Then why do you build one, if that is not an indiscreet question?'
'The rise in the value of all the land I buy will make it worth while, several times over. It is quite simple.'
'It must take an enormous capital,' said Orsino, thoughtfully.
'It needs a large sum of ready money. But the lands are generally mortgaged for long periods, and almost to two-thirds of their selling value. The holders of the mortgages do not care who owns the land. So I pay about one-third in cash.'
'What becomes of the value of a whole country, when all the land is mortgaged for two-thirds of what it is worth?' asked Orsino, carelessly, and half laughing.
But San Giacinto did not laugh.
'I have thought about that,' he answered gravely. 'When the yield of the land is not enough to pay the interest on the mortgages, the taxes to the government, and some income to the owners, they starve outright, or emigrate. There is a good deal of starvation nowadays, and a good deal of emigration in search of bread.'
'And yet they say that the value of land is increasing almost all over the country,' objected Orsino. 'You count on it yourself.'
'The value rises wherever railways and roads are built.'
'And what pays for the railways?'
'The taxes.'
'And the people pay the taxes.'
'Exactly. And the taxes are enormous. The people in places remote from the projected railway are ruined by them, but the people who own land where the railways pass are indirectly very much enriched by the result. Sometimes a private individual like myself builds a light road. I think that is a source of wealth, in the end, to everyone. But the building of the government roads, like the one down the west coast of Calabria, seems to destroy the balance of wealth and increase emigration. It is a necessary evil.'
'There are a good many necessary evils in our country,' said Orsino. 'There are too many.'
'Per aspera ad astra. I never knew much Latin, but I believe that means something. There are also unnecessary evils, such as brigandage in Sicily, for instance. You can amuse yourself by fighting that one, if you please; though I have no doubt that the brigands will often travel by my railway—and they will certainly go in the first class.'
The big man laughed and rose, leaving Orsino to meditate upon the prospect of occupation which was opened to him.
CHAPTER IV
Orsino remained in his corner a few minutes, after San Giacinto had left him, and then rose to go into the drawing-room. As he went he passed the other men, who were seated and standing, all near together and not far from the empty fireplace, listening to Tebaldo Pagliuca, who was talking about Sicily with a very strong Sicilian accent. Orsino paused a moment to hear what he was saying. He was telling the story of a frightful murder committed in the outskirts of Palermo not many weeks earlier, and about which there had been much talk. But Tebaldo was on his own ground and knew much more about it than had appeared in the newspapers. His voice was not unpleasant. It was smooth, though his words were broken here and there by gutturals which he had certainly not learned on his own side of the island. There was a sort of reserve in the tones which contrasted with the vividness of the language. Orsino watched him and looked at him more keenly than he had done as yet. He was struck by