The Making of a Saint
by W. Somerset Maugham · English · Gutenberg #39143 · 417,884 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Making of a Saint
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Making of a Saint
Author: W. Somerset Maugham
Release date: March 14, 2012 [eBook #39143]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39143
Credits: Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAKING OF A SAINT ***
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
NOVELS AT SIX SHILLINGS EACH.
_Uniform with this Volume._
=Tales of Unrest.= By JOSEPH CONRAD.
=The White-headed Boy.= By GEORGE BARTRAM.
=The Mutineer.= By LOUIS BECKE and WALTER JEFFERY.
=The Silver Christ=, and other Stories. By OUIDA.
=Evelyn Innes.= By GEORGE MOORE.
=The School for Saints.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES.
=Outlaws of the Marches.= By LORD ERNEST HAMILTON.
=Hugh Wynne.= By DR WEIR MITCHELL.
=The Tormentor.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT.
=The People of Clopton.= By GEORGE BARTRAM.
=Pacific Tales.= By LOUIS BECKE.
=Prisoners of Conscience.= By AMELIA E. BARR.
=The Grey Man.= By S. R. CROCKETT.
=An Outcast of the Islands.= By JOSEPH CONRAD.
=Almayer's Folly.= By JOSEPH CONRAD.
=The First Fleet Family.= By LOUIS BECKE and W. JEFFERY.
=The Ebbing of the Tide.= By LOUIS BECKE.
=Tales of John Oliver Hobbes.=
=The Stickit Minister.= By S. R. CROCKETT.
=The Raiders.= By S. R. CROCKETT.
=Nancy Noon.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT.
=The Lilac Sunbonnet.= By S. R. CROCKETT.
=A Daughter of the Fen.= By J. T. BEALBY.
=The Herb Moon.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES.
=Mrs Keith's Crime.= By MRS W. K. CLIFFORD.
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
THE MAKING OF A SAINT
By the same Author
LIZA OF LAMBETH
_Second Edition. Cloth, 3s. 6d._
'There has not been so powerful a story of the lowest class as "Liza of
Lambeth" ... since Mr Rudyard Kipling wrote the "History of Badalia
Herodsfoot." We are not sure, indeed, that this new story does not beat
that one in vividness and knowledge of the class it depicts ... he has
an almost extraordinary gift of directness and concentration, and his
characters have an astounding amount of vitality.'--_Standard._
'Those who wish to read of life as it is, without exaggeration and
without modification, will have no difficulty in recognising the merits
of this volume.'--_Athenaeum._
'He has performed his task with singular ability. No one can read his
book without being convinced and saddened by its evident truth and
accuracy.'--_Literary World._
'The characters are depicted with great vigour, and stand out before us
as lifelike as if we were actually standing in the street listening to
their talk.'--Review of Reviews.
'Liza's portrait is so complete and so strong that even now her ghost
refuses to be laid.'--_Literature._
'Liza is a living creature from the beginning to the end.'--_Queen._
THE MAKING OF A
SAINT
BY
WILLIAM SOMERSET MAUGHAM
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1898
[_All Rights reserved_]
Quanto e bella giovinezza,
Che si fugge tuttavia;
Chi vuol esser lieto, sia,
Di doman non c'e certezza.
_Youth--how beautiful is youth!_
_But, alas, elusive ever!_
_Let him be light of heart who would be so,_
_For there's no surety in the morrow._
The Making of a Saint
INTRODUCTION
These are the memoirs of the Beato Giuliano, brother of the Order of St
Francis of Assisi, known in his worldly life as Filippo Brandolini; of
which family I, Giulo Brandolini, am the last descendant. On the death
of Fra Giuliano the manuscript was given to his nephew Leonello, on whom
the estates devolved; and has since been handed down from father to son,
as the relic of a member of the family whose piety and good works still
shed lustre on the name of Brandolini.
It is perhaps necessary to explain how the resolution to give these
memoirs to the world has eventually been arrived at. For my part, I
should have allowed them to remain among the other papers of the family;
but my wife wished otherwise. When she deserted her home in the New
World to become the Countess Brandolini, she was very naturally
interested at finding among my ancestors a man who had distinguished
himself in good works, so as to be granted by the Pope the title of
Beatus, which was acquired for him by the influence of his great-nephew
not very long after his death; and, indeed, had our house retained the
prosperity which it enjoyed during the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries, he would undoubtedly have been canonised, for it was a well
certified fact that the necessary miracles had been performed by his
remains and that prayers had been regularly offered at his tomb, but our
estates had dwindled, so that we could not afford the necessary
expenditure; and now, when my wife has restored its ancient magnificence
to our house, times, alas! have changed. The good old customs of our
fathers have fallen into disuse, and it is impossible to create a saint
for ready money. However, my wife desired to publish an account of her
pious ancestor. But a difficulty arose in the fact that there were no
materials whatever for any relation of the life which Fra Giuliano led
when he had entered the Franciscan monastery of Campomassa, and it was
obvious that, even if there had been good works, prayer and fasting
could not have afforded a very interesting story; and so we have been
constrained to leave untold his pieties and recount instead his sins,
for which there was every facility in the memoirs he had himself left
behind him.
Not content with writing the story of his own life, Fra Giuliano begins
with a mythical Consul of the Roman Republic, who is supposed to have
founded the family by a somewhat discreditable union with somebody
else's wife. He then carries the story through countless ages till he
arrives at his own conception, and the prodigies attending his birth,
which he describes with great minuteness. He gives very amply the
history of his childhood and boyhood, the period he spent as page at
the Court of the Bentivogli of Bologna, and his adventures in the
Neapolitan armies under the Duke of Calabria; but the whole story is
narrated at such length, with so many digressions and details, and is
sometimes so vague, incoherent and disjointed that, with whatever
editing, it was considered impossible to make a clear and continuous
narrative.
Fra Giuliano himself divided his life into two parts: the one he named
the Time of Honey, being the period of expectation; the other the Time
of Gall, being that of realisation. The second half commences with his
arrival at the town of Forli, in the year 1488, and it is this part
which we have decided to publish; for, notwithstanding its brevity, this
was the most eventful period of his life, and the account of it seems to
hang together in a sufficiently lucid fashion, centring round the
conspiracy which resulted in the assassination of Girolamo Riario, and
finishing with the author's admission to the Order of St Francis. This,
then, I have given exactly as he wrote it, neither adding nor
suppressing a word. I do not deny that it would have pleased me a little
to falsify the history, for the Anglo-Saxons are a race of idealists, as
is shown in all their dealing, international and commercial; and truth
they have always found a little ugly. I have a friend who lately wrote a
story of the London poor, and his critics were properly disgusted
because his characters dropped their aitches and often used bad
language, and did not behave as elegantly as might be expected from the
example they were continually receiving from their betters; while some
of his readers were shocked to find that people existed in this world
who did not possess the delicacy and refinement which they felt
palpitating in their own bosoms. The author forgot that Truth is a naked
lady, and that nudity is always shameful, unless it points a moral. If
Truth has taken up her abode at the bottom of a well, it is clearly
because she is conscious that she is no fit companion for decent people.
I am painfully aware that the persons of this drama were not actuated by
the moral sentiments, which they might have acquired by education at a
really good English public school, but one may find excuse for them in
the recollection that their deeds took place four hundred years ago, and
that they were not wretched paupers, but persons of the very highest
rank. If they sinned, they sinned elegantly, and much may be forgiven to
people whose pedigree is above suspicion. And the writer, as if
unwilling to wound the susceptibilities of his readers, has taken care
to hurl contempt at the only character whose family was distinctly not
respectable.
Before making my bow, and leaving the reader with Filippo Brandolini, I
will describe his appearance, shown in a portrait painted in the same
year, 1488, and till the beginning of this century in the possession of
my family, when it was sold, with many other works of art, to travellers
in Italy. My wife has succeeded in buying back the portraits of several
of my ancestors, but this particular one is in the collection of an
English nobleman, who has refused to part with it, though kindly
allowing a copy to be made, which now hangs in the place formerly
occupied by the original.
It represents a middle-sized man, slim and graceful, with a small black
beard and moustache; an oval face, olive coloured, and from his fine
dark eyes he is looking straight out into the world with an expression
of complete happiness. It was painted soon after his marriage. He is
dressed in the costume of the period, and holds a roll of parchment in
his hand. At the top right hand corner are the date and the arms of the
family; or a griffin rampant. Gules. Crest: a demiswan issuing from a
coronet. The motto: _Felicitas_.
I
'Allow me to present to you my friend Filippo Brandolini, a gentleman of
Citta di Castello.'
Then, turning to me, Matteo added, 'This is my cousin, Checco d'Orsi.'
Checco d'Orsi smiled and bowed.
'Messer Brandolini,' he said, 'I am most pleased to make your
acquaintance; you are more than welcome to my house.'
'You are very kind,' I replied; 'Matteo has told me much of your
hospitality.'
Checco bowed courteously, and asked his cousin, 'You have just arrived,
Matteo?'
'We arrived early this morning. I wished to come here directly, but
Filippo, who suffers from a very insufferable vanity, insisted on going
to an inn and spending a couple of hours in the adornment of his
person.'
'How did you employ those hours, Matteo?' asked Checco, looking rather
questioningly at his cousin's dress and smiling.
Matteo looked at his boots and his coat.
'I am not elegant! But I felt too sentimental to attend to my personal
appearance, and I had to restore myself with wine. You know, we are
very proud of our native Forli wine, Filippo.'
'I did not think you were in the habit of being sentimental, Matteo,'
remarked Checco.
'It was quite terrifying this morning, when we arrived,' said I; 'he
struck attitudes and called it his beloved country, and wanted to linger
in the cold morning and tell me anecdotes about his childhood.'
'You professional sentimentalists will never let anyone sentimentalise
but yourselves.'
'I was hungry,' said I, laughing, 'and it didn't become you. Even your
horse had his doubts.'
'Brute!' said Matteo. 'Of course, I was too excited to attend to my
horse, and he slipped over those confounded stones and nearly shot me
off--and Filippo, instead of sympathising, burst out laughing.'
'Evidently you must abandon sentiment,' said Checco.
'I'm afraid you are right. Now, Filippo can be romantic for hours at a
stretch, and, what is worse, he is--but nothing happens to him. But on
coming back to my native town after four years, I think it was
pardonable.'
'We accept your apology, Matteo,' I said.
'But the fact is, Checco, that I am glad to get back. The sight of the
old streets, the Palazzo, all fill me with a curious sensation of
joy--and I feel--I don't know how I feel.'
'Make the utmost of your pleasure while you can; you may not always find
a welcome in Forli,' said Checco, gravely.
'What the devil do you mean?' asked Matteo.
'Oh, we'll talk of these things later. You had better go and see my
father now, and then you can rest yourselves. You must be tired after
your journey. To-night we have here a great gathering, where you will
meet your old friends. The Count has deigned to accept my invitation.'
'Deigned?' said Matteo, lifting his eyebrows and looking at his cousin.
Checco smiled bitterly.
'Times have changed since you were here, Matteo' he said; 'the Forlivesi
are subjects and courtiers now.'
Putting aside Matteo's further questions, he bowed to me and left us.
'I wonder what it is?' said Matteo. 'What did you think of him?'
I had examined Checco d'Orsi curiously--a tall dark man, with full beard
and moustache, apparently about forty. There was a distinct likeness
between him and Matteo: they both had the same dark hair and eyes; but
Matteo's face was broader, the bones more prominent, and the skin
rougher from his soldier's life. Checco was thinner and graver, he
looked a great deal more talented; Matteo, as I often told him, was not
clever.
'He was very amiable,' I said, in reply to the question.
'A little haughty, but he means to be courteous. He is rather oppressed
with his dignity of head of the family.'
'But his father is still alive.'
'Yes, but he's eighty-five, and he's as deaf as a post and as blind as a
bat; so he remains quietly in his room while Checco pulls the strings,
so that we poor devils have to knuckle under and do as he bids us.'
'I'm sure that must be very good for you,' I said. 'I'm curious to know
why Checco talks of the Count as he did; when I was here last they were
bosom friends. However, let us go and drink, having done our duty.'
We went to the inn at which we had left our horses and ordered wine.
'Give us your best, my fat friend,' cried Matteo to mine host. 'This
gentleman is a stranger, and does not know what wine is; he was brought
up on the sickly juice of Citta di Castello.'
'You live at Citta di Castello?' asked the innkeeper.
'I wish I did,' I answered.
'He was ejected from his country for his country's good,' remarked
Matteo.
'That is not true,' I replied, laughing. 'I left of my own free will.'
'Galloping as hard as you could, with four-and-twenty horsemen at your
heels.'
'Precisely! And so little did they want me to go, that when I thought a
change of air would suit me they sent a troop of horse to induce me to
return.'
'Your head would have made a pretty ornament stuck on a pike in the
grand piazza.'
'The thought amuses you,' I answered, 'but the comedy of it did not
impress me at the time.'
I remembered the occasion when news was brought me that the Vitelli, the
tyrant of Castello, had signed a warrant for my arrest; whereupon,
knowing the rapid way he had of dealing with his enemies, I had bidden
farewell to my hearth and home with somewhat indecent haste.... But the
old man had lately died, and his son, proceeding to undo all his
father's deeds, had called back the Fuorusciti, and strung up from the
Palace windows such of his father's friends as had not had time to
escape. I had come to Forli with Matteo, on my way home to take
possession of my confiscated property, hoping to find that the
intermediate proprietor, who was dangling at a rope's end some hundred
feet from the ground, had made sundry necessary improvements.
'Well, what do you think of our wine?' said Matteo. 'Compare it with
that of Citta di Castello.'
'I really haven't tasted it yet,' I said, pretending to smile agreeably.
'Strange wines I always drink at a gulp--like medicine.'
'_Brutta bestia!_' said Matteo. 'You are no judge.'
'It's passable,' I said, laughing, having sipped it with great
deliberation.
Matteo shrugged his shoulders.
'These foreigners!' he said scornfully. 'Come here, fat man,' he called
to the innkeeper. 'Tell me how Count Girolamo and the gracious Caterina
are progressing? When I left Forli the common people struggled to lick
the ground they trod on.'
The innkeeper shrugged his shoulders.
'Gentlemen of my profession have to be careful in what they say.'
'Don't be a fool, man; I am not a spy.'
'Well, sir, the common people no longer struggle to lick the ground the
Count treads on.'
'I see!'
'You understand, sir. Now that his father is dead--'
'When I was here last Sixtus was called his uncle.'
'Ah, they say he was too fond of him not to be his father, but, of
course, I know nothing. Far be it from me to say anything in
disparagement of his Holiness, past or present.'
'However, go on.'
'Well, sir, when the Pope died the Count Girolamo found himself short of
money--and so the taxes that he had taken off he put on again.'
'And the result is--'
'Well, the people are beginning to murmur about his extravagance; and
they say that Caterina behaves as if she were a queen; whereas we all
know that she is only the bastard of old Sforza of Milan. But, of
course, it has nothing to do with me!'
Matteo and I were beginning to feel sleepy, for we had been riding hard
all night; and we went upstairs, giving orders to be called in time for
the night's festivity. We were soon fast asleep.
In the evening Matteo came to me, and began examining my clothes.
'I have been considering, Filippo,' he said, 'that it behoves me on my
first appearance before the eyes of my numerous lady loves to cut the
best figure I can.'
'I quite agree with you,' I answered; 'but I don't see what you are
doing with my clothes.'
'Nobody knows you, and it is unimportant how you look; and, as you have
some very nice things here, I am going to take advantage of your
kindness and--'
'You're not going to take my clothes!' I said, springing out of bed.
Matteo gathered up in his arms various garments and rushed out of the
room, slamming the door and locking it on the outside, so that I was
left shut in, helpless.
I shouted abuse after him, but he went away laughing, and I had to
manage as best I could with what he had left me. In half an hour he came
to the door. 'Do you want to come out?' he said.
'Of course I do,' I answered, kicking the panel.
'Will you promise not to be violent?'
I hesitated.
'I shan't let you out unless you do.'
'Very well!' I answered, laughing.
Matteo opened the door and stood bolt upright on the threshold, decked
out from head to foot in my newest clothes.
'You villain!' I said, amazed at his effrontery.
'You don't look bad, considering,' he answered, looking at me calmly.
II
When we arrived at the Palazzo Orsi, many of the guests had already
come. Matteo was immediately surrounded by his friends; and a score of
ladies beckoned to him from different parts of the room, so that he was
torn away from me, leaving me rather disconsolate alone in the crowd.
Presently I was attracted to a group of men talking to a woman whom I
could not see; Matteo had joined them, and they were laughing at
something he had said. I had turned away to look at other people when I
heard Matteo calling me.
'Filippo,' he said, coming towards me, 'come and be introduced to Donna
Giulia; she has asked me to present you.'
He took me by the arm, and I saw that the lady and her admirers were
looking at me.
'She's no better than she should be,' he whispered in my ear; 'but she's
the loveliest woman in Forli!'
'Allow me to add another to your circle of adorers, Donna Giulia,' said
Matteo, as we both bowed--'Messer Filippo Brandolini, like myself, a
soldier of distinction.'
I saw a graceful little woman, dressed in some Oriental brocade; a
small face, with quite tiny features, large brown eyes, which struck me
at the first glance as very soft and caressing, a mass of dark,
reddish-brown hair, and a fascinating smile.
'We were asking Matteo where his wounds were,' she said, smiling on me
very graciously. 'He tells us they are all in the region of his heart.'
'In that case,' I answered, 'he has come to a more deadly battlefield
than any we saw during the war.'
'What war?' asked a gentleman who was standing by. 'Nowadays we are in
the happy state of having ten different wars in as many parts of the
country.'
'I was serving under the Duke of Calabria, 'I replied.
'In that case, your battles were bloodless.'
'We came, we saw, and the enemy decamped,' said Matteo.
'And now, taking advantage of the peace, you have come to trouble the
hearts of Forli,' said Donna Giulia.
'Who knows how useful your swords may not be here!' remarked a young
man.
'Be quiet, Nicolo!' said another, and there was an awkward silence,
during which Matteo and I looked at one another in surprise; and then
everyone burst out talking, so that you could not hear what was said.
Matteo and I bowed ourselves away from Donna Giulia, and he took me to
Checco, standing in a group of men.
'You have recovered from your fatigue?' he asked kindly.
'You have been travelling, Matteo?' said one of the company.
'Yes, we rode sixty miles yesterday,' he replied.
'Sixty miles on one horse; you must have good steeds and good
imaginations,' said a big, heavy-looking man--an ugly, sallow-faced
person, whom I hated at first sight.
'It was only once in a way, and we wanted to get home.'
'You could not have come faster if you had been running away from a
battlefield,' said the man.
I thought him needlessly disagreeable, but I did not speak. Matteo had
not cultivated the golden quality.
'You talk as one who has had experience,' he remarked, smiling in his
most amiable manner.
I saw Checco frown at Matteo, while the bystanders looked on
interestedly.
'I only said that,' added the man, shrugging his shoulders, 'because the
Duke of Calabria is rather celebrated for his retreative tactics.'
I entertained a very great respect for the Duke, who had always been a
kind and generous master to me.
'Perhaps you do not know very much about tactics,' I remarked as
offensively as I could.
He turned and looked at me, as if to say, 'Who the devil are you!' He
looked me up and down contemptuously, and I began to feel that I was
almost losing my temper.
'My good young man,' he said, 'I imagine that I was engaged in war when
your battles were with your nursemaid.'
'You have the advantage of me in courtesy as well as in years, sir,' I
replied. 'But I might suggest that a man may fight all his life, and
have no more idea of war at the end than at the beginning.'
'It depends on the intelligence,' remarked Matteo.
'Exactly what I was thinking,' said I.
'What the devil do you mean?' said the man, angrily.
'I don't suppose he means anything at all, Ercole,' put in Checco, with
a forced laugh.
'He can answer for himself, I suppose,' said the man. A flush came over
Checco's face, but he did not answer.
'My good sir,' I said, 'you have to consider whether I choose to
answer.'
'Jackanapes!'
I put my hand to my sword, but Checco caught hold of my arm. I recovered
myself at once.
'I beg your pardon, Messer Checco,' I said; then, turning to the man,
'You are safe in insulting me here. You show your breeding! Really,
Matteo, you did not tell me that you had such a charming
fellow-countryman.'
'You are too hard on us, Filippo,' answered my friend, 'for such a
monstrosity as that Forli is not responsible.'
'I am no Forlivese, thank God! Neither the Count nor I.' He looked round
scornfully. 'We offer up thanks to the Almighty every time the fact
occurs to us. I am a citizen of Castello.'
Matteo was going to burst out, but I anticipated him. 'I, too, am a
citizen of Castello; and allow me to inform you that I consider you a
very insolent fellow, and I apologise to these gentlemen that a
countryman of mine should forget the courtesy due to the city which is
sheltering him.'
'You a Castelese! And, pray, who are you?'
'My name is Filippo Brandolini.'
'I know your house. Mine is Ercole Piacentini.'
'I cannot return the compliment; I have never heard of yours.'
The surrounders laughed.
'My family is as good as yours, sir,' he said.
'Really, I have no acquaintance with the middle-classes of Castello; but
I have no doubt it is respectable.'
I noticed that the listeners seemed very contented, and I judged that
Messer Ercole Piacentini was not greatly loved in Forli; but Checco was
looking on anxiously.
'You insolent young boy!' said the man, furiously. 'How dare you talk to
me like that. I will kick you!'
I put my hand to my sword to draw it, for I was furious too; I pulled at
the hilt, but I felt a hand catch hold of mine and prevent me. I
struggled; then I heard Checco in my ear.
'Don't be a fool,' he said. 'Be quiet!'
'Let me be!' I cried.
'Don't be a fool! You'll ruin us.' He held my sword, so that I could not
draw it.
Ercole saw what was going on; his lips broke into a sarcastic smile.
'You are being taught the useful lesson of discretion, young man. You
are not the only one who has learnt it.' He looked round at the
bystanders....
At that moment a servant came to Checco and announced,--
'The Count!'
The group broke up, and Checco advanced to the further end of the hall,
with Ercole Piacentini and several other gentlemen. Matteo and I
lingered where we were. There was a rustle, and the Count and Countess
appeared attended by their suite.
First of all my eyes were attracted to Caterina; she was wonderfully
beautiful. A tall, well-made woman, holding herself proudly, her head
poised on the neck like a statue.
'One would think she was a king's daughter!' said Matteo, looking at her
with astonishment.
'It is almost Francesco's face,' I said.
We both had an immense admiration for Francesco Sforza, the King of
Condottieri, who had raised himself from a soldier of fortune to the
proudest duchy in the world. And Caterina, his natural daughter, had the
same clear, strong features, the strong piercing eyes, but instead of
the Sforza's pock-marked skin, she had a complexion of rare delicacy and
softness; and afterwards she proved that she had inherited her father's
courage as well as his appearance.... She was dressed in a gorgeous robe
of silver cloth, glittering and shimmering as she walked, and her hair
was done in her favourite manner, intertwined with gold and silver
threads; but the wonderful chestnut outshone the brilliant metals,
seeming to lend them beauty rather than to borrow it. I heard her speak,
and her voice was low and full like a man's.
Matteo and I stood looking at her for a minute; then we both broke out
'_Per Bacco_, she is beautiful!'
I began thinking of the fairy stories I had heard of Caterina at Rome,
where she had enchanted everyone by her loveliness; and Sixtus had
squandered the riches of the Church to satisfy her whims and fancies:
banquets, balls, pageants and gorgeous ceremonies; the ancient city had
run red with wine and mad with delight of her beauty.
Suddenly Matteo said to me, 'Look at Girolamo!'
I lifted my eyes, and saw him standing quite close to me--a tall man,
muscular and strong, with big heavy face, and prominent jaw bones, the
nose long and hooked, small keen eyes, very mobile. His skin was
unpleasant, red and coarse; like his wife, he was dressed with great
magnificence.
'One sees the sailor grandfather in him,' I said, remembering that
Sixtus's father, the founder of the family, was a common sailor at
Rovese.
He was talking to Checco, who was apparently speaking to him of us, for
he turned and stepped forward to Matteo.
'The prodigal has returned,' he said. 'We will not fail to kill the
fatted calf. But this time you must stay with us, Matteo; we can give
you service as well as the Duke of Calabria.'
Matteo smiled grimly; and the Count turned to me.
'Checco has told me of you also, sir; but I fear there is no chance of
keeping you, you are but a bird of passage--still, I hope you will let
us make you welcome at the Palace.'
All the time he was speaking his eyes kept moving rapidly up and down,
all round me, and I felt he was taking in my whole person.... After
these few words he smiled, a harsh, mechanical smile, meant to be
gracious, and with a courteous bow moved on. I turned to Matteo and saw
him looking after the Count very sourly.
'What is it,' I asked.
'He is devilish condescending,' he answered. 'When last I was here it
was hail fellow, well met, but, good God! he's put on airs since then!'
'Your cousin said something to the same effect,' I remarked.
'Yes, I understand what he meant now.'
We strolled round the room, looking at the people and talking.
'Look,' I said, 'there's a handsome woman!' pointing to a voluptuous
beauty, a massive creature, full-brested and high-coloured.
'Your eye is drawn to a handsome woman like steel to a magnet, Filippo,'
answered Matteo, laughing.
'Introduce me,' I said, 'if she is not ferocious.'
'By no means; and she has probably already fixed her eyes upon you. But
she is wife to Ercole Piacentini.'
'I don't care. I mean to kill the man afterwards; but that is no reason
why I should not make myself pleasant to his spouse.'
'You will do her a service in both ways,' he replied; and, going up to
her, 'Claudia,' he said, 'your fatal eyes have transfixed another
heart.'
Her sensual lips broke into a smile.
'Have they that power?' She fixed them on me, and made room on the couch
on which she was sitting. Neither Matteo nor I were slow to take the
hint, for I took my place and he his leave. 'I wonder you have not
already fallen victim to Madonna Giulia,' said Claudia, looking
languorously at me, and glancing over to the other lady.
'One does not worship the moon when the sun is shining,' I replied
politely.
'Giulia is more like the sun, for she gathers all men in her embrace. I
am more modest.'
I understood that the rival beauties were not good friends.
'You boast that you are cruel,' I replied. She did not answer, but
sighed deeply, smiling, and fixed on me her great, liquid eyes.
'Oh, there is my husband.' I looked up and saw the great Ercole glaring
viciously at me. I laughed within myself.
'He must be very jealous of so beautiful a wife?' I asked.
'He torments me to death.'
Under these circumstances I thought I would pursue my advantage; I
pressed closer to her.
'I can understand it: the first moment I saw you, I felt my head whirl.'
She gave me a very long glance from beneath her eyelashes. I seized her
hand.
'Those eyes!' I said, looking into them fervently.
'Ah!' she sighed again.
'Madam,' said a pageboy, coming up to her, 'Messer Piacentini begs that
you will come to him.'
She gave a little cry of annoyance.
'My husband!' Then, rising from her seat, she turned to me, holding out
her hand; I immediately offered my arm, and we solemnly crossed the
room to Ercole Piacentini. Here she bowed very graciously to me, and I
smiled on the happy husband with the utmost sweetness, while he looked
very grim and took not the faintest notice of me; then I marched off,
feeling particularly pleased with myself.
The Count and Countess were on the point of taking their departure: they
were followed by Ercole and his wife; the remaining guests soon went,
and in a little while there were left only Matteo and myself, two other
men and Checco.
III
Checco led us to a smaller room, at some distance from the great hall of
the reception; then, turning to a man I did not know, he said, 'Did you
hear the Piacentini?'
'Yes!' he answered; and for a moment they looked at one another
silently.
'He would not have been so bold without good cause,' added the man.
I was told that his name was Lodovico Pansecchi, and that he was a
soldier in the Count's pay.
Checco turned round and looked at me sharply. Matteo understood what he
meant, and said, 'Have no fear of Filippo; he is as safe as myself.'
Checco nodded, and made a sign to a youth, who immediately rose and
carefully closed the door. We sat still for a while; then Checco stood
up and said impatiently, 'I cannot understand it.' He walked up and down
the room, stopping at last in front of me.
'You had never seen that man before?'
'Never!' I answered.
'The quarrel was brought on solely by Ercole himself,' said the youth,
whom I found to be Alessandro Moratini, a brother of Giulia dall' Aste.
'I know,' said Checco, 'but he would never have dared to behave thus
unless he knew of some design of Girolamo.' He paused a moment to think,
then turning to me again, 'You must not challenge him.'
'On the contrary,' I replied, 'I must challenge him; he has insulted
me.'
'I don't care about that. I will not have you challenge him.'
'This concerns myself alone.'
'Nonsense! You are a guest of my house, and for all I know it is just
such an opportunity as this that Girolamo is seeking.'
'I don't understand,' I said.
'Listen,' said Checco, sitting down again. 'When Sixtus obtained
possession of Forli for his nephew, Girolamo Riario, I, like the fool I
was, did all I could to bring the town to his allegiance. My father was
against the plan, but I bore down his opposition and threw the whole
power of my house on his side. Without me he would never have been Lord
of Forli.'
'I remember,' said Matteo. 'You used Sixtus to keep the Ordelaffi out;
and you thought Girolamo would be a catspaw in our hands.'
'I did not give the city for love of a person I had never seen in my
life.... Well, this was eight years ago. Girolamo took off the heaviest
taxes, granted favours to the town and entered in solemn state with
Caterina.'
'Amid shouts and cheers,' remarked Alessandro.
'For a while he was more popular than ever the Ordelaffi had been, and
when he went out the people ran to kiss the hem of his garment. He spent
the great part of his time in Rome, but he employed the riches of the
Pope in beautifying Forli, and when he came it was one round of feasts
and balls and gaiety.
'Then Pope Sixtus died, and Girolamo settled here for good in the palace
which he had commenced building on his accession. The feasts and balls
and gaiety continued. Whenever a distinguished stranger passed through
the town, he was welcomed by the Count and his wife with the most lavish
hospitality; so that Forli became renowned for its luxury and riches.
'The poets ransacked Parnassus and the ancients for praises of their
rules, and the people echoed the panegyrics of the poet....
'Then came the crash. I had often warned Girolamo, for we were intimate
friends--then. I told him that he could not continue the splendour which
he had used when the wealth of Christendom was at his command, when he
could spend the tribute of a nation on a necklace for Caterina. He would
not listen. It was always, "I cannot be mean and thrifty," and he called
it policy. "To be popular," he said, "I must be magnificent." The time
came when the Treasury was empty, and he had to borrow. He borrowed in
Rome and Florence and Milan--and all the time he would not retrench, but
rather, as his means became less, the extravagance became greater; but
when he could borrow no more outside, he came to the citizens of Forli,
first, of course, to me, and I repeatedly lent him large sums. These
were not enough, and he sent for the richest men of Forli and asked them
to lend him money. Naturally they could not refuse. But he squandered
their money as he had squandered his own; and one fine day he assembled
the Council.'
'Ah, yes,' said Alessandro, 'I was there then. I heard him speak.'
Checco stopped as if for Alessandro.
'He came to the Council chamber, clad as usual in the richest robes, and
began talking privately to the senators, very courteously--laughing with
them, shaking their hands. Then, going to his place, he began to speak.
He talked of his liberality towards them, and the benefits he had
conferred on the town; showed them his present necessities, and finally
asked them to re-impose the taxes which he had taken off at the
beginning of his reign. They were all prejudiced against him, for many
of them had already lent him money privately, but there was such a charm
in his discourse, he was so persuasive, that one really could not help
seeing the reasonableness of his demand. I know I myself would have
granted him whatever he asked.'
'He can make one do anything he likes when he once begins talking,' said
Lodovico.
'The Council unanimously voted the re-imposition of the taxes, and
Girolamo offered them his thanks in his most gracious manner.'
There was a silence, broken by Matteo.
'And then?' he asked.
'Then,' answered Checco, 'he went to Imola, and commenced spending
there the money that he was gathering here.'
'And what did they think of it in Forli?'
'Ah, when the time came to pay the taxes they ceased their praises of
Girolamo. First they murmured beneath their breath, then out loud; and
soon they cursed him and his wife. The Count heard of it and came back
from Imola, thinking, by his presence, to preserve the town in its
allegiance. But the fool did not know that the sight of him would
redouble the anger of the populace. They saw his gorgeous costumes, the
gold and silver dresses of his wife, the jewels, the feasting and
riotry, and they knew that it came out of their pockets; the food of
their children, all that they had toiled and worked for, was spent on
the insane luxury of this papal favourite and his bastard wife.'
'And how has he treated us?' cried Lodovico, beating his fist violently
down on the table. 'I was in the pay of the Duke of Calabria, and he
made me tempting offers, so that I left the armies of Naples to enter
the papal service under him. And now, for four years, I have not
received a penny of my salary, and when I ask him, he puts me aside with
gentle words, and now he does not even trouble to give me them. A few
days back I stopped him in the piazza, and, falling on my knees, begged
for what he owed me. He threw me violently away, and said he could not
pay me--and the jewel on his breast was worth ten times the money he
owed me. And now he looks at me with frowns, me who have served him
faithfully as a dog. I will not endure it; by God! I will not.' He
clenched his fists as he spoke, trembling with rage.
'And you know how he has served me,' said Checco. 'I have lent him so
much that he has not the face to ask for more; and how do you think he
has rewarded me? Because I have not paid certain dues I owe the
Treasury, he sent a sheriff to demand them, and when I said I would not
pay them at that moment, he sent for me, and himself asked for the
money.'
'What did you do?'
'I reminded him of the money he owed me, and he informed me that a
private debt had nothing to do with a debt to the State, and said that I
must pay or the law should take its course.'
'He must be mad,' said Matteo.
'He is mad, mad with pride, mad in his extravagance.'
'I tell you,' said Lodovico, 'it cannot be endured.'
'And they tell me that he has said my tongue must be silenced,' added
Checco. 'The other day he was talking to Giuseppe Albicina, and he said
"Let Checco beware; he may go too far and find the hand of the master
not so gentle as the hand of the friend!"'
'I, too, have heard him say things which sounded like threats,' said
Alessandro.
'We have all heard it,' added Lodovico. 'When his temper overcomes him,
he cares not what he says, and one discovers then what he and his silent
wife have been plotting between them.'
'Now, sir,' interrupted Checco, speaking to me, 'you see how things
stand: we are on thin ground, and the fire is raging beneath us. You
must promise not to seek further quarrel with this countryman of yours,
this Ercole Piacentini. He is one of Girolamo's chiefest favourites, and
he would not bear to see him touched; if you happened to kill him, the
Count would take the opportunity to have us all arrested, and we should
suffer the fate of the Pazzi at Florence. Will you promise?'
'I promise,' I answered, smiling, 'to defer my satisfaction to a fitter
opportunity.'
'Now, gentlemen,' said Checco, 'we can separate.'
We bade one another Good-night; Alessandro, as he was going, said to
Matteo, 'You must bring your friend to my sister to-morrow; she will be
glad to see you both.'
We said we should be enchanted, and Alessandro and Lodovico Pansecchi
left us.
Matteo looked at Checco meditatively.
'Cousin,' he said, 'all this looks very like conspiracy.'
Checco started.
'I cannot help it, if the people are dissatisfied with Girolamo.'
'But you?' pursued Matteo. 'I imagine you do not greatly care whether
the people are taxed or no. You knew the taxes would have to come on
again sooner or later.'
'Has he not insulted me by sending a sheriff to demand his dues?'
'Is there nothing further than that?' asked Matteo, looking at his
cousin steadily.
Checco lifted his eyes and gazed back into Matteo's.
'Yes,' he said at last; 'eight years ago I was Girolamo's equal, now I
am his servant. I was his friend, he loved me like a brother--and then
his wife came, the daughter of Francesco Sforza, the bastard--and
gradually he has lifted himself up from me. He has been cold and
reserved; he begins to show himself master; and now I am nothing more
than a citizen among citizens--the first, but not the equal of the
master.'
Checco kept silence for a moment, and in his quietness I could see the
violence of his emotion.
'This concerns you as well as me, Matteo. You are an Orsi, and the Orsi
are not made to be servants. I will be no man's servant. When I think of
this man--this bastard of a pope--treating me as beneath him, by God! I
cannot breathe. I could roll on the floor and tear my hair with rage. Do
you know that the Orsi have been great and rich for three hundred years?
The Medici pale before them, for they are burghers and we have been
always noble. We expelled the Ordelaffi because they wished to give us a
bastard boy to rule over us, and shall we accept this Riario? I swear I
will not endure it.'
'Well said!' said Matteo.
'Girolamo shall go as the Ordelaffi went. By God! I swear it.'
I looked at Matteo, and I saw that suddenly a passion had caught hold of
him; his face was red, his eyes staring wide, and his voice was hoarse
and thick.
'But do not mistake again, Checco,' he said; 'we want no foreign rulers.
The Orsi must be the only Lords of Forli.'
Checco and Matteo stood looking at one another; then the former, shaking
himself as if to regain his calmness, turned his back on us and left
the room. Matteo strode up and down for a while in thought, and then,
turning to me, said, 'Come.'
We went out and returned to our hostelry.
IV
Next day we went to Donna Giulia's.
'Who is she?' I asked Matteo, as we walked along.
'A widow!' he answered shortly.
'Further?' I asked.
'The scandal of Forli!'
'Most interesting; but how has she gained her reputation?'
'How do I know?' he answered, laughing; 'how do women usually gain their
reputations? She drove Giovanni dall' Aste into his grave; her rivals
say she poisoned him--but that is a cheerful libel, probably due to
Claudia Piacentini.'
'How long has she been a widow?'
'Five or six years.'
'And how has she lived since then?'
Matteo shrugged his shoulders.
'As widows usually live!' he answered. 'For my part, I really cannot see
what inducement a woman in that position has to be virtuous. After all,
one is only young once, and had better make the best use of one's youth
while it lasts.'
'But has she no relations?'
'Certainly; she has a father and two brothers. But they hear nothing or
care nothing. Besides, it may be only scandal after all.'
'You talked as if it were a fact,' I said.
'Oh, no; I only say that if it is not a fact she is a very foolish
woman. Now that she has a bad reputation, it would be idiotic not to
live up to it.'
'You speak with some feeling,' I remarked, laughing.
'Ah,' answered Matteo, with another shrug of the shoulders, 'I laid
siege to the fort of her virtue--and she sallied and retired, and mined
and countermined, advanced and drew back, so that I grew weary and
abandoned the attack. Life is not long enough to spend six months in
politeness and flattery, and then not be sure of the reward at the end.'
'You have a practical way of looking at things.'
'With me, you know, one woman is very like another. It comes to the same
in the end; and after one has kicked about the world for a few years,
one arrives at the conclusion that it it does not much matter if they be
dark or fair, fat or thin....'
'Did you tell all this to Donna Giulia?' I asked.
'More or less.'
'What did she think of it?'
'She was cross for a while. She wished she had yielded sooner, when it
was too late; it served her right!'
We had arrived at the house, and were ushered in. Donna Giulia greeted
us very politely, gave me a glance, and began talking again to her
friends. One could see that the men round her were more or less in
love, for they followed every motion with their eyes, disputing her
smiles, which she scattered in profusion, now upon one, now upon
another.... I saw she delighted in adulation, for the maker of any neat
compliment was always rewarded with a softer look and a more charming
smile.
Matteo surpassed the others in the outrageousness of his flattery; I
thought she must see that he was laughing at her, but she accepted
everything he said quite seriously, and was evidently much pleased.
'Are you not glad to be back in Forli?' she said to him.
'We all delight to tread the ground you walk on.'
'You have grown very polite during your absence.'
'What other result could have been, when I spent my time thinking of the
lovely Giulia.'
'I am afraid you had other thoughts in Naples: they say that there the
women are all beautiful.'
'Naples! My dear lady, I swear that during all the time I have been away
I have never seen a face to compare with yours.'
Her eyes quite shone with pleasure. I turned away, finding the
conversation silly. I thought I would do without the pleasant looks of
Madonna Giulia, and I decided not to come to her again. Meanwhile, I
began talking to one of the other ladies in the room and passed the time
agreeably enough.... In a little while Giulia passed me, leaning on the
arm of one of her admirers. I saw her glance at me, but I took no
notice. Immediately afterwards she came again, hesitating a moment, as
if she wished to say something, but passed on without speaking. I
thought she was piqued at my inattention to her, and, with a smile,
redoubled my attentions to the lady with whom I was talking.
'Messer Filippo!' Donna Giulia called me, 'if you are not too engaged,
will you speak to me for one moment?'
I approached her smiling.
'I am anxious to hear of your quarrel with Ercole Piacentini. I have
heard quite ten different stories.'
'I am surprised that the insolence of an ill-bred fellow should rouse
such interest.'
'We must talk of something in Forli. The only thing I hear for certain
is that he insulted you, and you were prevented from getting
satisfaction.'
'That will come later.'
She lowered her voice and took my arm.
'But my brother tells me that Checco d'Orsi has made you promise to do
nothing.'
'I shall get my revenge--having to wait for it will only make it
sweeter.'
Then, supposing she had nothing further to say to me, I stood still, as
if expecting her to leave me. She looked up suddenly.
'Am I incommoding you?' she said.
'How could you!' I replied gallantly.
'I thought you wanted to get rid of me.'
'How can such an idea have entered your head? Do you not see that all
men lie humble at your feet, attentive to every word and gesture?'
'Yes,' she answered, 'but not you!'
Of course I protested.
'Oh,' she said, 'I saw very well that you avoided me. When you came in
here--you hardly came near me.'
'I did not think you would notice my inattention.'
'Certainly I noticed it; I was afraid I had offended you. I could not
think how.'
'My dear lady, you have certainly done nothing to offend me.'
'Then, why do you avoid me?' she asked petulantly.
'Really,' I said, 'I don't. Perhaps in my modesty I thought it would be
a matter of indifference to you whether I was at your side or not. I am
sorry I have annoyed you.'
'I don't like people not to like me,' she said in a plaintive way.
'But why should you think I do not like you? Indeed, without flattery, I
can assure you that I think you one of the most beautiful women I have
ever seen.'
A faint blush came over her cheeks, and a smile broke out on her lips;
she looked up at me with a pretty reproachful air.
'Then, why don't you let me see it more plainly?'
I smiled, and, looking into her eyes, was struck by their velvet
softness. I almost thought she was as charming as she was beautiful.
'Do you really wish to know?' I said, in reply to her question.
'Do tell me!' she said, faintly pressing my arm.
'I thought you had so many admirers that you could well do without me.'
'But, you see,' she answered charmingly, 'I cannot!'
'And then I have a certain dislike to losing myself in a crowd. I did
not wish to share your smiles with twenty others.'
'And would you for that refuse them altogether?'
'I have always avoided the woman who is the object of general
admiration. I think I am too proud to struggle for favours; I would
rather dispense with them.'
'But, then, supposing the lady wishes to favour you especially, you do
not give her the opportunity.'
'That is so rare,' I replied, 'that it is not worth while breaking the
rule.'
'But it may happen.'
I shrugged my shoulders. She paused a moment, and then said,--
'You do like me, then, after all?'
I saw a slight trembling of the lip, perhaps the eyes were a little
moist. I felt sorry for what I had done.
'I fear I have given you pain,' I said.
'You have a little,' she replied.
'I am sorry. I thought you did not care.'
'I like people to love me and be pleased with me.'
'I do both!'
'Then you must show it,' she replied, a smile breaking through the
beginning of tears.
I really had been brutal, and I was very sorry that I had caused a cloud
to gather over her sunshiny nature. She was indeed very sweet and
charming.
'Well, we are good friends now, aren't we?' she said.
'Of course.'
'And you'll come and see me often?'
'As often as you will allow me to,' I answered. She gave me her hand to
kiss, and a bright, happy smile lit up her face.
'_A rivederci!_' she said.
We went home, and Matteo found waiting for him a message from Checco,
bidding him leave the inn and take up his quarters with me at the
Palazzo Orsi. On arriving, we found Checco excitedly walking up and down
a long corridor lined with statues and pictures.
'I am glad you have come,' he said to Matteo, taking his hand and
nodding. 'You must stay here; we must all keep together now, for
anything may happen.'
'What do you mean?' asked Matteo.
'The catastrophe nearly came to-day.'
We both looked at him with astonishment, not comprehending. Checco stood
still abruptly.
'He tried to arrest me to-day--Girolamo!' Then, speaking very quickly,
as if labouring under great excitement, 'I had to go to the Palace on
business. I found him in the audience chamber, and we began to talk
certain matters over, and I grew rather heated. Suddenly I noticed that
the place had emptied itself. I stopped in the midst of my sentence and
looked up at Girolamo. I saw he was not attending to me; his eyes were
fixed on the door.'
Checco was silent, and drops of perspiration were standing on his
forehead.
'Yes! Yes!' we both said eagerly.
'The door opened, and the Master of the Guard walked in. "By God!" I
thought, "I'm trapped!" "I have been waiting for you, Andrea," said
Girolamo. Then he turned to me, and said, "Come into the Room of the
Nymphs, Checco. I have some papers there to show you." He took hold of
my arm. I loosed myself. "I pray you, excuse me," I said, "I have some
very urgent business." I walked to the door. Andrea glanced at his
master, and I thought he was going to bar my way; I think he was waiting
for some sign, but before it came I had seen through the open door Paolo
Bruni, and I called out, "Paolo, Paolo, wait for me. I want to talk to
you urgently." Then I knew I was safe; he dared not touch me; and I
turned round and said again, "I pray you, excuse me; my business with
Paolo is a matter of life or death." I brushed past Andrea and got out.
By Heaven! how I breathed when I found myself in the piazza!'
'But are you sure he meant to arrest you?' said Matteo.
'Certain; what else?'
'Andrea might have come in by accident. There may have been nothing in
it at all.'
'I was not deceived,' answered Checco, earnestly. 'Their looks betrayed
them--Andrea's questioning glance. I know he wants to kill me.'
'But would he dare seize you in cold blood?'
'He cares for nothing when he has an object in view. Besides, when he
had me in his power, what could have been done? I know Girolamo too
well. There would have been a mock trial, and I should have been
condemned. Or else he would have me strangled in my cell, and when I had
gone you would have been helpless--my father is too old, and there would
have been no leader to the party but you--and what could you do alone?'
We all remained silent for a while, then Checco broke out.
'I know he wants to rid himself of me. He has threatened before, but has
never gone so far as this.'
'I agree with you,' said Matteo; 'things are becoming grave.'
'It is not so much for myself I care; but what would happen to my
children? My father is safe--he is so old and helpless that they would
never think of touching him--but my boys? Caterina would throw them into
prison without a scruple.'
'Well,' said Matteo, 'what will you do?'
'What can I do?' he answered. 'I have been racking my brains, and I see
no way of safety. I can wear a coat of mail to preserve me from the
stray knife of an assassin, but that will not help me against a troop of
soldiers. I can leave Forli, but that is to abandon everything.'
'No, you must not leave Forli--anything but that!'
'What can I do? What can I do?' he stamped his foot on the ground as if
almost in desperation.
'One thing,' said Matteo, 'you must not go about alone--always with at
least two friends.'
'Yes, I have thought of that. But how will it all turn out; it cannot
last. What can I do?'
He turned to me.
'What do you think?' he said. 'He means to kill me.'
'Why not anticipate him?' I answered quietly.
They both started up with a cry.
'Kill him!'
'Assassination! I dare not, I dare not,' said Checco, very excitedly. 'I
will do all I can by fair means, but assassination--'
I shrugged my shoulders.
'It seems a matter of self-preservation,' I said.
'No, no; I won't speak of it! I won't think of it.' He began again to
walk excitedly up and down the room. 'I won't think of it, I tell you. I
could not.'
Neither Matteo nor I spoke.
'Why don't you speak?' he said to Matteo, impatiently.
'I am thinking,' he answered.
'Not of that; I forbid you to think of that. I will not have it.' Then,
after a pause, abruptly, as if he were angry with us and with himself,
'Leave me!'
V
A few days later, Matteo came to me as I was dressing, having rescued my
clothes from him.
'I wonder you're not ashamed to go out in those garments,' he remarked,
'people will say that you wear my old things.'
I took no notice of the insult.
'Where are you going?' he asked.
'To Madonna Giulia.'
'But you went there yesterday!'
'That is no reason why I should not go to-day. She asked me to come.'
'That's very obliging of her, I'm sure.' Then, after a pause, during
which I continued my toilet, 'I have been gathering the news of Forli.'
'Oh!'
'Madonna Giulia has been affording a great deal of interest....'
'You have been talking to the lady whom you call the beautiful Claudia,'
I said.
'By the way, why have you not been to her?'
'I really don't know,' I said. 'Why should I?'
'You told me you had progressed a long way in her favours during the
half-hour's talk you had with her the other night; have you not followed
up the advantage?'
I shrugged my shoulders.
'I don't think I like a woman to make all the advances.'
'Don't you?' said Matteo. 'I do!'
'Besides, I don't care for the type; she is too massive.'
'She feels very much hurt at your neglect. She says you have fallen in
love with Giulia.'
'That is absurd,' I replied; 'and as to her being hurt at my neglect, I
am very sorry, but I don't feel any obligation to throw myself into the
arms of every woman who chooses to open them.'
'I quite agree with you; neither she nor Giulia are a bit better than
they should be. I'm told Giulia's latest lover is Amtrogio della
Treccia. It seems one day he was almost caught by old Bartolomeo, and
had to slip out of the window and perform feats worthy of a professional
acrobat to get out of the way.'
'I don't think I attach belief to all the scandal circulating on the
subject of that lady.'
'You're not in love with her?' asked Matteo, quickly.
I laughed.
'Certainly not. But still--'
'That's all right; because, of course, you know it's notorious that she
has had the most disgraceful amours. And she hasn't even kept them to
her own class; all sorts of people have enjoyed her favours.'
'She does not look very much like a Messalina,' I said, sneering a
little.
'Honestly, Filippo, I do think she is really very little better than a
harlot.'
'You are extremely charitable,' I said. 'But don't you think you are
somewhat prejudiced by the fact that you yourself did not find her one.
Besides, her character makes no particular difference to me; I really
care nothing if she's good or bad; she is agreeable, and that is all I
care about. She is not going to be my wife.'
'She may make you very unhappy; you won't be the first.'
'What a fool you are!' I said, a little angrily. 'You seem to think that
because I go and see a woman I must be dying of love for her. You are
absurd.'
I left him, and soon found myself at the Palazzo Aste, where Donna
Giulia was waiting for me. I had been to see her nearly every day since
my arrival in Forli, for I really liked her. Naturally, I was not in
love with her as Matteo suggested, and I had no intention of entering
into that miserable state. I had found her charmingly simple, very
different from the monster of dissipation she was supposed to be. She
must have been three or four-and-twenty, but in all her ways she was
quite girlish, merry and thoughtless, full of laughter at one moment,
and then some trifling thing would happen to discompose her and she
would be brought to the verge of tears; but a word or caress, even a
compliment, would make her forget the unhappiness which had appeared so
terrible, and in an instant she would be wreathed in smiles. She seemed
so delightfully fragile, so delicate, so weak, that one felt it
necessary to be very gentle with her. I could not imagine how anyone
could use a hard word to her face.
Her eyes lit up as she saw me.
'How long you've been,' she said. 'I thought you were never coming.'
She always seemed so glad so see you that you thought she must have been
anxiously awaiting you, and that you were the very person of all others
that she wished to have with her. Of course, I knew it was an
affectation, but it was a very charming one.
'Come and sit by me here,' she said, making room for me on a couch; then
when I had sat down, she nestled close up to me in her pretty childish
way, as if seeking protection. 'Now, tell me all you've been doing.'
'I've been talking to Matteo,' I said.
'What about?'
'You.'
'Tell me what he said.'
'Nothing to your credit, my dear,' I said, laughing.
'Poor Matteo,' she answered. 'He's such a clumsy, lumbering creature,
one can see he's spent half his life in camps.'
'And I? I have spent the same life as Matteo. Am I a clumsy, lumbering
creature?'
'Oh, no,' she answered, 'you are quite different.' She put the
pleasantest compliments in the look of her eyes.
'Matteo told me all sorts of scandal about you.' She blushed a little.
'Did you believe it?'
'I said I did not much care if it were true or not.'
'But do you believe it?' she asked, insisting.
'If you'll tell me it is not true, I will believe absolutely what you
say.'
The little anxious look on her face gave way to a bright smile.
'Of course, it is not true.'
'How beautiful you are when you smile,' I remarked irrelevantly. 'You
should always smile.'
'I always do on you,' she answered. She opened her mouth, as if about to
speak, held back, as if unable to make up her mind, then said, 'Did
Matteo tell you he made love to me once, and was very angry because I
would not pick up the handkerchief which he had condescended to throw.'
'He mentioned it.'
'Since then, I am afraid he has not had very much good to say of me.'
I had thought at the time that Matteo was a little bitter in his account
of Donna Giulia, and I felt more inclined to believe her version of the
story than his.
'He has been beseeching me not to fall in love with you,' I said.
She laughed.
'Claudia Piacentini has been telling everyone that it is too late, and
she is horribly jealous.'
'Has she? Matteo also seemed certain I was in love with you.'
'And are you?' she asked suddenly.
'No!' I replied with great promptness.
'_Brutta bestia!_' she said, throwing herself to the end of the couch,
and beginning to pout.
'I am very sorry,' I said, laughing, 'but I cannot help it.'
'I think it is horrid of you,' she remarked.
'You have so many adorers,' I said in expostulation.
'Yes, but I want more,' she smiled.
'But what good can it do you to have all these people in love with you?'
'I don't know,' she said, 'it is a pleasant sensation.'
'What a child you are!' I answered, laughing.
She bent forward seriously.
'But are you not at all in love with me?'
I shook my head. She came close up to me, so that her hair brushed
lightly against my cheek; it sent a shiver through me. I looked at her
tiny ear; it was beautifully shaped, transparent as a pink shell.
Unconsciously, quite without intention, I kissed it. She pretended to
take no notice, and I was full of confusion. I felt myself blushing
furiously.
'Are you quite sure?' she said gravely.
I got up to go, foolishly, rather angry with myself.
'When shall I see you again?' I asked.
'I am going to confession to-morrow. Be at San Stefano at ten, and we
can have a little talk in the church when I have finished.'
VI
There had been a great commotion in Forli during the last two days; for
it had become known that the country people of the Count's domain had
sent a petition for the removal of certain taxes which pressed so
heavily upon them, that the land was speedily going to ruin. The
proprietors were dismissing their labourers, the houses of the peasants
were falling into decay, and in certain districts the poverty had
reached such a height that the farmers had not even grain wherewith to
sow their fields, and all around the ground was lying bare and desolate.
A famine had been the result, and if the previous year the countrymen
had found it difficult to pay their taxes, this year they found it
impossible. Girolamo had listened to their arguments, and knew them to
be true. After considering with his councillors, he had resolved to
remit certain of the more oppressive taxes; but in doing this he was
confronted with the fact that his Treasury was already empty, and that
if the income were further diminished it would be impossible for him to
meet the demands of the coming year.
It was clear that the country could not pay, and it was clear that the
money must be procured. He set his eyes on the town, and saw that it was
rich and flourishing, but he dared not, on his own initiative, propose
any increase in its burdens. He called a council, showed the state of
his affairs, and asked the elders for advice. No one stirred or spoke.
At last Antonio Lassi, a creature of the Count, whom he had raised to
the council from a humble position, rose to his feet and gave utterance
to the plan which his master had suggested to him. The pith of it was to
abrogate the taxes on the country people, and in compensation place
others on certain food-stuffs and wines, which had previously gone free.
Girolamo answered in a studied speech, pretending great unwillingness to
charge what were the necessaries of life, and asked several of the more
prominent members what they thought of the suggestion. They had met
Antonio Lassi's speech with silence, and now applauded Girolamo's
answer; they agreed with him that such taxes should not be. Then the
Count changed his tone. He said it was the only means of raising the
money, and gathering anger from their sullen looks and their silence, he
told them that if they would not give their sanction to the decree, he
would do without their sanction. Then, breaking short, he asked them for
their answer. The councillors looked at one another, rather pale but
determined; and the reply came from one after the other, quietly,--
'No--no--no!'
Antonio Lassi was cowed, and dared not give his answer at all. The
Count, with an oath, beat his fist on the table and said, 'I am
determined to be lord and master here; and you shall learn, all of you,
that my will is law.'
With that he dismissed them.
When the people heard the news, there was great excitement. The murmurs
against the Count, which had hitherto been cautiously expressed, were
now cried out in the market-place; the extravagance of the Countess was
bitterly complained of, and the townsmen gathered together in groups,
talking heatedly of the proposed exaction, occasionally breaking out
into open menace. It was very like sedition.
On the day after the council, the head of the customs had been almost
torn to pieces by the people as he was walking towards the Palace, and
on his way back he was protected by a troop of soldiers. Antonio Lassi
was met everywhere with hoots and cries, and Checco d'Orsi, meeting him
in the loggia of the piazza, had assailed him with taunts and bitter
sarcasms. Ercole Piacentini interposed and the quarrel nearly ended in a
brawl; but Checco, with difficulty restraining himself, withdrew before
anything happened....
On leaving Donna Giulia, I walked to the piazza. and found the same
restlessness as on the preceding days. Through all these people a
strange commotion seemed to pass, a tremor like the waves of the sea;
everywhere little knots of people were listening eagerly to some excited
speaker; no one seemed able to work; the tradesmen were gathered at
their doors talking with one another; idlers were wandering to and fro,
now joining themselves to one group, now to another.
Suddenly there was a silence; part of the crowd began looking eagerly in
one direction, and the rest in their curiosity surged to the end of the
piazza to see what was happening. Then it was seen that Caterina was
approaching. She entered the place, and all eyes were fixed upon her. As
usual, she was magnificently attired; her neck and hands and arms, her
waistband and headgear, shone with jewels; she was accompanied by
several of her ladies and two or three soldiers as guard. The crowd
separated to let her pass, and she walked proudly between the serried
rows of people, her head uplifted and her eyes fixed straight in front,
as if she were unaware that anyone was looking at her. A few
obsequiously took off their hats, but most gave no greeting; all around
her was silence, a few murmurs, an oath or two muttered under breath,
but that was all. She walked steadily on, and entered the Palace gates.
At once a thousand voices burst forth, and after the deadly stillness
the air seemed filled with confused sounds. Curses and imprecations were
hurled on her from every side; they railed at her pride, they called her
foul names.... Six years before, when she happened to cross the streets,
the people had hurried forward to look at her, with joy in their hearts
and blessings on their lips. They vowed they would die for her, they
were in ecstasies at her graciousness.
I went home thinking of all these things and of Donna Giulia. I was
rather amused at my unintentional kiss; I wondered if she was thinking
of me.... She really was a charming creature, and I was glad at the
idea of seeing her again on the morrow. I liked her simple, fervent
piety. She was in the habit of going regularly to mass, and happening to
see her one day, I was struck with her devout air, full of faith; she
also went to confessional frequently. It was rather absurd to think she
was the perverse being people pretended....
When I reached the Palazzo Orsi I found the same excitement as outside
in the piazza, Girolamo had heard of the dispute in the loggia, and had
sent for Checco to hear his views on the subject of the tax. The
audience was fixed for the following morning at eleven, and as Checco
never went anywhere without attendants, Scipione Moratini, Giulia's
second brother, and I were appointed to accompany him. Matteo was not to
go for fear of the presence of the two most prominent members of the
family tempting the Count to some sudden action.
The following morning I arrived at San Stefano at half-past nine, and to
my surprise found Giulia waiting for me.
'I did not think you would be out of the confessional so soon,' I said.
'Were your sins so small this week?'
'I haven't been,' she answered. 'Scipione told me that you and he were
to accompany Checco to the Palace, and I thought you would have to leave
here early, so I postponed the confessional.'
'You have preferred earth and me to Heaven and the worthy father?'
'You know I would do more for you than that,' she answered.
'You witch!'
She took my arm.
'Come,' she said, 'come and sit in one of the transept chapels; it is
quiet and dark there.'
It was deliciously cool. The light came dimly through the coloured
glass, clothing the marble of the chapel in mysterious reds and purples,
and the air was faintly scented with incense. Sitting there she seemed
to gain a new charm. Before, I had never really appreciated the extreme
beauty of the brown hair tinged with red, its wonderful quality and
luxuriance. I tried to think of something to say, but could not. I sat
and looked at her, and the perfumes of her body blended with the
incense.
'Why don't you speak?' she said.
'I'm sorry; I have nothing to say.'
She laughed.
'Tell me of what you are thinking.'
'I daren't,' I said.
She looked at me, repeating the wish with her eyes.
'I was thinking you were very beautiful.'
She turned to me and leant forward so that her face was close to mine;
her eyes acquired a look of deep, voluptuous languor. We sat without
speaking, and my head began to whirl.
The clock struck ten.
'I must go,' I said, breaking the silence.
'Yes,' she answered, 'but come to-night and tell me what has happened.'
I promised I would, then asked whether I should lead her to another part
of the church.
'No, leave me here,' she said. 'It is so good and quiet. I will stay and
think.'
'Of what?' I said.
She did not speak, but she smiled so that I understood her answer.
VII
I hurried back to the Palazzo and found Scipione Moratini already
arrived. I liked him for his sister's sake, but in himself he was a
pleasant person.
Both he and his brother had something of Giulia in them--the delicate
features, the fascination and the winning ways which in them seemed
almost effeminate. Their mother had been a very beautiful woman--report
said somewhat gay--and it was from her the sons had got the gallantry
which made them the terror of husbands in Forli, and Giulia the coquetry
which had given rise to so much scandal. The father, Bartolomeo, was
quite different. He was a rugged, upright man of sixty, very grave and
very dignified, the only resemblance of feature to his children being
the charming smile, which the sons possessed as well as Giulia; though
in him it was rarely seen. What I liked most in him was the blind love
for his daughter, leading him to unbend and become a youth to flatter
her folly. He was really devoted to her, so that it was quite pathetic
to see the look of intense affection in his eyes as he followed her
movements. He, of course, had never heard a word of the rumours
circulating about Giulia; he had the utmost faith in her virtue, and I,
it seems to me, had gained faith from him.
After talking a while with Scipione, Checco came, and we started for the
Palazzo. The people in Forli know everything, and were well aware of
Checco's mission. As we walked along we were met by many kind greetings,
good luck, and God speed were wished us, and Checco, beaming with joy,
graciously returned the salutations.
We were ushered into the council chamber, where we found the councillors
and many of the more prominent citizens, and several gentlemen of the
Court; immediately the great folding doors were opened and Girolamo
entered with his wonted state, accompanied by his courtiers and
men-at-arms, so that the hall was filled with them. He took his seat on
a throne, and graciously bowed to the left and to the right. His
courtiers responded, but the citizens preserved a severe aspect, quite
unsympathetic towards his condescension.
Girolamo rose to his feet and made a short speech, in which he extolled
Checco's wisdom and knowledge and patriotism, saying he had heard of a
controversy between him and Antonio Lassi on the subject of the proposed
tax, and consequently had sent for him to hear his opinion on the
subject.
He stopped and looked round; his courtiers obsequiously applauded. Then,
at opposite ends of the room, doors opened, and through each filed a
string of soldiers; the citizens looked at one another, wondering. A
flourish of trumpets was heard in the piazza, outside, and the tramp of
soldiers. Girolamo waited; at last he proceeded,--
'A good prince owes this to his subjects--to do nothing against their
will freely expressed; and though I could command, for I am placed here
by the Vicar of Christ himself, with absolute power over your lives and
fortunes, yet such is my love and affection towards you that I do not
disdain to ask your advice.'
The courtiers broke out into a murmur of surprise and
self-congratulation at his infinite graciousness; the trumpets
flourished again, and in the succeeding silence could be heard cries of
command from the officers in the square, while from the soldiers
standing about the hall there was a clank of swords and spurs.
Checco rose from his seat. He was pale and he almost seemed to hesitate;
I wondered if the soldiers had had the effect which Girolamo intended.
Then he began to speak, quietly, in even, well-turned sentences, so that
one could see the speech had been carefully thought out.
He called to mind his own affection for Girolamo, and the mutual
friendship which had solaced many hours of doubt and difficulty, and
assured him of his unalterable fidelity to himself and his family; then
he reminded him of the love borne by the people towards their ruler, and
their consciousness of an equal love on the part of the Count towards
themselves. He drew a picture of the joy in Forli when first Girolamo
came to it, and of the enthusiasm caused by the sight of him or his wife
walking through the streets.
There was a little applause, chiefly from the Count's suite; Checco
paused as if he had come to the end of his preface, and were gathering
himself up for the real matter of his speech. There was deadly silence
in the hall, all eyes were fixed on him, and all minds were asking
themselves, 'What will he say?' Girolamo was leaning forward, resting
his chin on his hand, looking anxious. I wondered if he regretted that
he had called the meeting.
Checco resumed his speech.
'Girolamo,' he said, 'the people from the country districts lately sent
you a petition, in which they showed their sufferings from rain and
storm and famine, their poverty and misery, the oppressiveness of the
taxes. They bade you come and look at their untilled fields, their
houses falling to ruin, themselves dying by the roadside, naked and
hungry, children expiring at their mothers' breasts, parents lying
unburied in the ruin of their home. They bade you come and look at the
desolation of the land, and implored you to help them while there was
yet time, and lighten from their backs the burdens you had laid upon
them.
'You turned an eye of pity on them; and now the land smiles, the people
have shaken themselves from their sleep of death, and awakened to new
life, and everywhere prayers are offered and blessings rained on the
head of the most high and magnificent prince, Girolamo Riario.
'And we too, my Lord, join in the thanks and praise; for these to whom
you have given new life are our cousins and brothers, our
fellow-countrymen.'
What was coming? The councillors looked at one another questioningly.
Could Checco have made terms with the Count, and was it a comedy they
were playing? Girolamo also was surprised; he had not for long heard
praise from any but his courtiers.
'Eight years ago, when you acquired the sovereignty of Forli, you found
the town weighed down under the taxes which the Ordelaffi had imposed.
Depression had seized hold of the merchants and tradesmen; they were
burdened so that they could not buy nor sell; they had given up effort,
and the town was lying numb and cold, as if dying from a pestilence. The
streets were deserted; such people as there were moved sadly, and with
downturned faces. The inhabitants were becoming fewer; there was no
motion, no life; a few years more and Forli would have become a city of
the dead!
'But you came, and with you life; for your first deed was to remove the
most oppressive imposts. As the bow, doubled up, when the string is
loosened shoots back with a sudden impulse which propels the arrow to
its mark, so Forli rebounded from the weight it had borne before. The
Goddess of Plenty reigned in the land; it was the sunlight after storm;
everywhere life and activity! The merchant wrote busily at his desk, the
tradesman spread his wares anew and laughed in the joy of his heart. The
mason, the builder, the blacksmith returned to their work, and through
the city was heard the sound of hammering and building. The news spread
of a beneficent lord, and the goldsmith and silversmith, the painter,
the sculptor, came to the city in throngs. The money passed from hand to
hand, and in its passage seemed to increase by magic. On the faces of
all was happiness; the apprentice sang as he worked, and mirth and joy
were universal; Forli became known as the home of delight; Italy rang
with its feasts and celebrations--and every citizen was proud to be a
Forlivese.
'And everywhere prayers were offered and blessings rained on the head of
the most high and magnificent prince, Girolamo Riario.'
Checco paused again. An inkling of his meaning was coming to his
hearers, but they dared not think he would say what was in all their
minds.
'Then,' Checco went on, 'you re-imposed the taxes which you had taken
off.'
'That is a lie!' interrupted Girolamo. 'They were imposed by the
council.'
Checco shrugged his shoulders, smiling ironically.
'I remember quite well. You called a meeting of the Ancients, and
showing them your necessities, suggested that they should re-impose the
taxes.
'I forget if you reminded them that you could command, and that you were
placed here by the Vicar of Christ on earth.
'And you forebore to let us hear the ring of trumpets and the tramp of
soldiery in the square. Nor did you think so numerous a suite necessary
for your dignity.'
He looked round at the soldiers, thoughtfully stroking his beard.
'Proceed!' said Girolamo, impatiently; he was beginning to get angry.
Checco, in talking, had recovered the assurance which at first seemed to
fail him. He smiled politely at the Count's command, and said,--
'I will come to the point at once.
'You replaced the taxes which you had taken away, and thereby undid the
benefit you had done. The town soon felt the effect of the change; its
prosperity is already declining, and it is not doubtful that a few years
more will bring it to the condition in which you found it. And who
knows, perhaps its last state may be worse than its first?
'And now you propose to make the townspeople pay the duties which you
have taken off the countryfolk. You have sent for me to ask my advice on
the subject, and here I give it you.
'Do not put on, but take off. In the name of the people, I beseech you
to do away with the taxes you imposed four years ago, and return to the
happy state of the first years of your rule.'
He paused a moment, then with outstretched arm, pointing to the Count,
he added solemnly, 'Or Girolamo Riario, the magnificent prince, may
share the fate of the Ordelaffi, who ruled the town for two centuries
and now wander homeless about the land.'
There was a cry all round the room. They were astounded at his audacity.
Girolamo had started in his chair--his eyes were staring, his face red;
he was dumb with rage. He tried to speak, but the words died in his
throat, and nothing was heard but an inarticulate murmur. The soldiers
and courtiers were looking at one another in surprise; they did not know
what to do or think; they looked at their master, but found no help in
him. The citizens were bewildered, and by turns felt wonder, dismay,
fear, pleasure; they could not understand....
'Oh, Girolamo!' said Checco, unmindful of the excitement round him, 'I
do not say these things in enmity to you. Come among your people
yourself, and see their wants with your own eyes. Do not believe what
your courtiers tell you--do not think the land in your charge is a
captured town, which you can spoil at your pleasure. You have been
placed here as a guardian in our perils and an assistance in our
necessities.
'You are a stranger here; you do not know this people as I know it. They
will be faithful, meek, obedient--but do not rob them of the money they
have hardly earned, or they will turn against you. Forli has never
supported an oppressor, and if you oppress them, beware of their wrath.
What do you think are these soldiers of yours against the wrath of a
people! And are you so sure of your soldiers? Will they take part for
you against their fathers and brothers, their children?'
'Be quiet!' Girolamo had risen from his seat, and was standing with his
arm threateningly upraised. He shouted so as to drown Checco, 'Be quiet!
You have always been against me, Checco,' he cried. 'You have hated me
because I have overwhelmed you with bounty. There has never been trouble
between me and my people but you have come to make them more bitter
against me.'
'You lie!' said Checco, passionately.
'Oh, I know you, Checco, and your pride! As Satan fell by pride, so may
you, notwithstanding all your riches and power. You thought you were my
equal, and because you found me your master you gnashed your teeth and
cursed me.
'By God, you would kill me if you could!'
Checco lost his calm, and gesticulating wildly shouted back at Girolamo.
'I have hated you because you are a tyrant to this town. Are these not
my fellow-citizens, my brothers, my friends? Have we not been together
since childhood, and our fathers and grandfathers before us? And do you
think I look upon them as you who are a stranger?
'No; so long as you obtained money from the rich, I said nothing. You
know what sums I have myself lent you; all that I freely give you. I do
not want a penny of it back--keep it all. But when you have extorted the
uttermost from us, and you turn to the poor and needy and rob them of
their little, then I will not keep silence. You shall not impose these
taxes on the people! And why is it you want them? For your riotous,
insane extravagance; so that you may build yourself new palaces, and
deck yourself in gorgeous robes, and buy diamonds and precious stones
for your wife.'
'Do not speak of my wife,' interrupted the Count.
'So that you may pile gold in the hands of the parasite who makes a
sonnet in your praise. You came to us and begged for money; we gave it
and you flung it away in feasts and riotry. The very coat you wear was
made out of our riches. But you have no right to take the money of the
people for these ignoble uses. You are not their master; you are their
servant; their money is not yours, but yours is theirs. Your duty before
God is to protect them, and, instead, you rob them.'
'Be silent!' broke in Girolamo. 'I will hear no more. You have outraged
me as no man has ever done without repenting it. You think you are
all-powerful, Checco, but by God you shall find that I am more powerful!
'Now go, all of you! I have had enough of this scene. Go!'
He waved his hand imperiously. Then, with a look of intense rage, he
descended from his throne and, scowling, flung himself out of the room.
VIII
The courtiers followed on their master's heels, but the soldiers stood
undecided. Ercole Piacentini looked at us, and spoke in an undertone to
the Captain of the Guard. I thought they were discussing the possibility
of boldly arresting Checco on the spot, which they doubtless knew would
be a step very acceptable to Girolamo; but he was surrounded by his
friends, and evidently, whatever Ercole and the Captain wished, they
dared nothing, for the former quietly left the chamber, and the
soldiers, on a whispered order, slid silently from the room like whipped
dogs.
Then the excitement of our friends knew no bounds. I, at the end of the
speech, had seized his hand and said,--
'Well done.'
Now he was standing in the midst of all these people, happy and smiling,
proud of the enthusiasm he had aroused, breathing heavily, so that a
casual observer might have thought him drunk with wine.
'My friends,' he said, in answer to their praises, and his voice
slightly trembled, so that his sincerity was conspicuous, 'whatever
happens, be sure that I will continue to uphold your rights, and that I
will willingly give my life for the cause of justice and freedom.'
He was choked by the violence of his emotion, and could say nothing
more.
The cries of approbation were renewed, and then, with an impulse to get
into the open air, they surged out of the council chamber into the
piazza. It was not exactly known what had passed in the Palace, but the
people knew that Checco had braved the Count, and that the latter had
broken up the meeting in anger. Wonderful rumours were going about: it
was said that swords had been drawn, and there had almost been a battle;
others said that the Count had tried to arrest Checco, and this story,
gaining credence--some even saying that Checco was being kept a
prisoner--had worked the citizens to fever height.
When Checco appeared, there was a great shout and a rush towards him.
'Bravo!' 'Well done!' I don't know what they did not find to say in
praise of him. Their enthusiasm grew by its own fire; they went mad;
they could not contain themselves, and they looked about for something
on which to vent their feeling. A word, and they would have attacked the
Palace or sacked the custom-house. They surrounded us, and would not let
us pass. Bartolomeo Moratini pushed his way to Checco and said,--
'Quiet them quickly, before it is too late.'
Checco understood at once. 'Friends,' he said, 'let me pass quietly, for
the love of God, and do you return to your work in peace. Let me pass!'
Moving forward, the crowd opened to him, and still shouting, yelling and
gesticulating, allowed him to go through. When we arrived at the gate of
his palace, he turned to me and said,--
'By God! Filippo, this is life. I shall never forget this day!'
The crowd had followed to the door, and would not go away. Checco had to
appear on the balcony and bow his thanks. As he stood there, I could see
that his head was whirling. He was pale, almost senseless with his great
joy.
At last the people were persuaded to depart, and we entered the house.
We were in Checco's private room. Besides the cousins and myself were
present Bartolomeo Moratini and his two sons, Fabio Oliva and Cesare
Gnocchi, both related on the mother's side to the Orsi. We were all
restless and excited, discussing the events that had occurred; only
Bartolomeo was quiet and grave. Matteo, in the highest of spirits,
turned to him.
'Why so silent, Messer Bartolomeo?' he said. 'You are like the skeleton
at the banquet.'
'It is a matter for gravity,' he answered.
'Why?'
'Why! Good God, man, do you suppose nothing has happened!'
We stopped talking and stood round him, as if suddenly awakened.
'Our ships are burnt behind us,' he proceeded, and we must
advance--must!'
'What do you mean?' said Checco.
'Do you suppose Girolamo is going to allow things to go on as before?
You must be mad, Checco!
'I believe I am,' was the answer. 'All this has turned my head. Go on.'
'Girolamo has only one step open to him now. You have braved him
publicly; you have crossed the streets in triumph, amid the acclamation
of the people, and they have accompanied you to your house with shouts
of joy. Girolamo sees in you a rival--and from a rival there is only one
safeguard.'
'And that--?' asked Checco.
'Is death!'
We were all silent for a moment; then Bartolomeo spoke again.
'He cannot allow you to live. He has threatened you before, but now he
must carry his threats into effect. Take care!'
'I know,' said Checco, 'the sword is hanging over my head. But he dare
not arrest me.'
'Perhaps he will try assassination. You must go out well guarded.'
'I do,' said Checco, 'and I wear a coat of mail. The fear of
assassination has been haunting me for weeks. Oh God, it is terrible! I
could bear an open foe. I have courage as much as anyone; but this
perpetual suspense! I swear to you it is making me a coward. I cannot
turn the corner of a street without thinking that my death may be on the
other side; I cannot go through a dark corridor at night without
thinking that over there in the darkness my murderer may be waiting for
me. I start at the slightest sound, the banging of a door, a sudden
step. And I awake in the night with a cry, sweating. I cannot stand it
I shall go mad if it continues. What can I do?'
Matteo and I looked at one another; we had the same thought. Bartolomeo
spoke.
'Anticipate him!'
We both started, for they were my very words. Checco gave a cry.
'You too! That thought has been with me night and day! Anticipate him!
Kill him! But I dare not think of it. I cannot kill him.'
'You must,' said Bartolomeo.
'Take care we are not heard,' said Oliva.
'The doors are well fastened.'
'You must,' repeated Bartolomeo. 'It is the only course left you. And
what is more, you must make haste--for he will not delay. The lives of
all of us are at stake. He will not be satisfied with you; after you are
gone, he will easily enough find means to get rid of us.'
'Hold your peace, Bartolomeo, for God's sake! It is treachery.'
'Of what are you frightened? It would not be difficult.'
'No, we must have no assassination! It always turns out badly. The Pazzi
in Florence were killed, Salviati was hanged from the Palace windows,
and Lorenzo is all-powerful, while the bones of the conspirators rot in
unconsecrated ground. And at Milan, when they killed the Duke, not one
of them escaped.'
'They were fools. We do not mistake as in Florence; we have the people
with us, and we shall not bungle it as they did.'
'No, no, it cannot be.'
'I tell you it must. It is our only safety!'
Checco looked round anxiously.
'We are all safe,' said Oliva. 'Have no fear.'
'What do you think of it?' asked Checco. 'I know what you think,
Filippo, and Matteo.'
'I think with my father!' said Scipione.
'I too!' said his brother.
'And I!'
'And I!'
'Every one of you,' said Checco; 'you would have me murder him.'
'It is just and lawful.'
'Remember that he was my friend. I helped him to this power. Once we
were almost brothers.'
'But now he is your deadly enemy. He is sharpening a knife for your
heart--and if you do not kill him, he will kill you.'
'It is treachery. I cannot!'
'When a man has killed another, the law kills him. It is a just revenge.
When a man attempts another's life, the law permits him to kill that man
in self-defence. Girolamo has killed you in thought--and at this moment
he may be arranging the details of your murder. It is just and lawful
that you take his life to defend your own and ours.'
'Bartolomeo is right,' said Matteo.
A murmur of approval showed what the others thought.
'But think, Bartolomeo,' said Checco, 'you are grey-headed; you are not
so very far from the tomb; if you killed this man, what of afterwards?'
'I swear to you, Checco, that you would be a minister of God's
vengeance. Has he not madly oppressed the people? What right has he more
than another? Through him men and women and children have died of want;
unhappiness and misery have gone through the land--and all the while he
has been eating and drinking and making merry.'
'Make up your mind, Checco. You must give way to us!' said Matteo.
'Girolamo has failed in every way. On the score of honesty and justice
he must die. And to save us he must die.'
'You drive me mad,' said Checco. 'All of you are against me. You are
right in all you say, but I cannot--oh God, I cannot!'
Bartolomeo was going to speak again, but Checco interrupted him.
'No, no, for Heaven's sake, say nothing more. Leave me alone. I want to
be quiet and think.'
IX
In the evening at ten I went to the Palazzo Aste. The servant who let me
in told me that Donna Giulia was at her father's, and he did not know
when she would be back. I was intensely disappointed. I had been looking
forward all day to seeing her, for the time in church had been so
short.... The servant looked at me as if expecting me to go away, and I
hesitated; but then I had such a desire to see her that I told him I
would wait.
I was shown into the room I already knew so well, and I sat down in
Giulia's chair. I rested my head on the cushions which had pressed
against her beautiful hair, her cheek; and I inhaled the fragrance which
they had left behind them.
How long she was! Why did she not come?
I thought of her sitting there. In my mind I saw the beautiful, soft
brown eyes, the red lips; her mouth was exquisite, very delicately
shaped, with wonderful curves. It was for such a mouth as hers that the
simile of Cupid's bow had been invented.
I heard a noise below, and I went to the door to listen. My heart beat
violently, but, alas! it was not she, and, bitterly disappointed, I
returned to the chair. I thought I had been waiting hours, and every
hour seemed a day. Would she never come?
At last! The door opened, and she came in--so beautiful. She gave me
both her hands.
'I am sorry you have had to wait,' she said, 'but I could not help it.'
'I would wait a hundred years to see you for an hour.'
She sat down, and I lay at her feet.
'Tell me,' she said, 'all that has happened to-day.'
I did as she asked; and as I gave my story, her eyes sparkled and her
cheeks flushed. I don't know what came over me; I felt a sensation of
swooning, and at the same time I caught for breath. And I had a sudden
impulse to take her in my arms and kiss her many times.
'How lovely you are!' I said, raising myself to her side.
She did not answer, but looked at me, smiling. Her eyes glistened with
tears, her bosom heaved.
'Giulia!'
I put my arm round her, and took her hands in mine.
'Giulia, I love you!'
She bent over to me, and put forward her face; and then--then I took her
in my arms and covered her mouth with kisses. Oh God! I was mad, I had
never tasted such happiness before. Her beautiful mouth, it was so soft,
so small, I gasped in the agony of my happiness. If I could only have
died then!
Giulia! Giulia!
* * * * *
The cock crew, and the night seemed to fade away into greyness. The
first light of dawn broke through the windows, and I pressed my love to
my heart in one last kiss.
'Not yet,' she said; 'I love you.'
I could not speak; I kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her breasts.
'Don't go,' she said.
'My love!'
At last I tore myself away, and as I gave her the last kiss of all, she
whispered,--
'Come soon.'
And I replied,--
'To-night!'
I walked through the grey streets of Forli, wondering at my happiness;
it was too great to realise. It seemed absurd that I, a poor,
commonplace man, should be chosen out for this ecstasy of bliss. I had
been buffeted about the world, an exile, wandering here and there in
search of a captain under whom to serve. I had had loves before, but
common, grotesque things--not like this, pure and heavenly. With my
other loves I had often felt a certain ugliness about them; they had
seemed sordid and vulgar; but this was so pure, so clean! She was so
saintly and innocent. Oh, it was good! And I laughed at myself for
thinking I was not in love with her. I had loved her always; when it
began I did not know ... and I did not care; all that interested me now
was to think of myself, loving and beloved. I was not worthy of her; she
was so good, so kind, and I a poor, mean wretch. I felt her a goddess,
and I could have knelt down and worshipped her.
I walked through the streets of Forli with swinging steps; I breathed in
the morning air, and felt so strong, and well, and young. Everything was
beautiful--all life! The grey walls enchanted me; the sombre carvings of
the churches; the market women, gaily dressed, entering the town laden
with baskets of many-coloured fruit. They gave me greeting, and I
answered with a laughing heart. How kind they were! Indeed, my heart was
so full of love that it welled over and covered everything and
everybody, so that I felt a strange, hearty kindness to all around me. I
loved mankind!
X
When I got home, I threw myself on my bed and enjoyed a delightful
sleep, and when I awoke felt cool and fresh, and very happy.
'What is the matter with you?' asked Matteo.
'I am rather contented with myself,' I said.
'Then, if you want to make other people contented, you had better come
with me to Donna Claudia.'
'The beautiful Claudia?'
'The same!'
'But can we venture in the enemy's camp?'
'That is exactly why I want you to come. The idea is to take no notice
of the events of yesterday, and that we should all go about as if
nothing had happened.'
'But Messer Piacentini will not be very glad to see us.'
'He will be grinding his teeth, and inwardly spitting fire; but he will
take us to his arms and embrace us, and try to make us believe he loves
us with the most Christian affection.'
'Very well; come on!'
Donna Claudia, at all events, was delighted to see us, and she began
making eyes and sighing, and putting her hand to her bosom in the most
affecting manner.
'Why have you not been to see me, Messer Filippo?' she asked.
'Indeed, madam, I was afraid of being intrusive.'
'Ah,' she said, with a sweeping glance, 'how could you be! No, there was
another reason for your absence. Alas!'
'I dared not face those lustrous eyes.'
She turned them full on me, and then turned them up, Madonna-wise,
showing the whites.
'Are they so cruel, do you think?'
'They are too brilliant. How dangerous to the moth is the candle; and in
this case the candle is twain.'
'But they say the moth as it flutters in the flame enjoys a perfection
of ecstasy.'
'Ah, but I am a very sensible moth,' I answered in a matter-of-fact
tone, 'and I am afraid of burning my wings.'
'How prosaic!' she murmured.
'The muse,' I said politely, 'loses her force when you are present.'
She evidently did not quite understand what I meant, for there was a
look of slight bewilderment in her eyes; and I was not surprised, for I
had not myself the faintest notion of my meaning. Still she saw it was a
compliment.
'Ah, you are very polite!'
We paused a moment, during which we both looked unutterable things at
one another. Then she gave a deep sigh.
'Why so sad, sweet lady?' I asked.
'Messer Filippo,' she answered, 'I am an unhappy woman.' She hit her
breast with her hand.
'You are too beautiful,' I remarked gallantly.
'Ah no! ah no! I am unhappy.'
I glanced at her husband, who was stalking grimly about the room,
looking like a retired soldier with the gout; and I thought that to be
in the society of such a person was enough to make anyone miserable.
'You are right,' she said, following my eyes; 'it is my husband. He is
so unsympathetic.'
I condoled with her.
'He is so jealous of me, and, as you know, I am a pattern of virtue to
Forli!'
I had never heard her character so described, but, of course, I said,--
'To look at you would be enough to reassure the most violent of
husbands.'
'Oh, I have temptation enough, I assure you,' she answered quickly.
'I can well believe that.'
'But I am as faithful to him as if I were old and ugly; and yet he is
jealous.'
'We all have our crosses in this life,' I remarked sententiously.
'Heaven knows I have mine; but I have my consolations.'
So I supposed, and answered,--
'Oh!'
'I pour out my soul in a series of sonnets.'
'A second Petrarch!'
'My friends say some of them are not unworthy of that great name.'
'I can well believe it.'
Here relief came, and like the tired sentinel, I left the post of duty.
I thought of my sweet Giulia, and wondered at her beauty and charm; it
was all so much clearer and cleaner than the dross I saw around me. I
came away, for I was pining for solitude, and then I gave myself up to
the exquisite dreams of my love.
At last the time came, the long day had at last worn away, and the
night, the friend of lovers, gave me leave to go to Giulia.
XI
I was so happy. The world went on; things happened in Forli, the rival
parties agitated and met together and discussed; there was a general
ferment--and to it all I was profoundly indifferent. What matter all the
petty little affairs of life? I said. People work and struggle, plot,
scheme, make money, lose it, conspire for place and honour; they have
their ambitions and hopes; but what is it all beside love? I had entered
into the excitement of politics in Forli; I was behind the veil and knew
the intricacies, the ambitions, the emotions of the actors; but now I
withdrew myself. What did I care about the prospects of Forli, whether
taxes were put on or taken off, or whether A killed B or B killed A, it
really seemed so unimportant. I looked upon them as puppets performing
on a stage, and I could not treat their acts with seriousness. Giulia!
That was the great fact in life. Nothing mattered to me but Giulia. When
I thought of Giulia my heart was filled with ecstasy, and I spat with
scorn on all the silly details of events.
I would willingly have kept myself out of the stream which was carrying
along the others; but I could not help knowing what happened. And it was
indeed ridiculous. After the great scene at the Palace people had begun
to take steps as if for big events. Checco had sent a large sum of money
to Florence for the Medici to take care of; Bartolomeo Moratini had made
preparations; there were generally a stir and unrest. Girolamo was
supposed to be going to take some step; people were prepared for
everything; when they woke up in the morning they asked if aught had
taken place in the night; and Checco wore a coat of mail. On the Count's
side people were asking what Checco meant to do, whether the ovation he
had received would encourage him to any violent step. All the world was
agog for great events--and nothing happened. It reminded me of a mystery
play in which, after great preparation of dialogue, some great stage
effect is going to be produced--a saint is going to ascend to heaven, or
a mountain is to open and the devil spring out. The spectators are
sitting open-mouthed; the moment has come, everything is ready, the
signal is given; the mob have already drawn their breath for a cry of
astonishment--and something goes wrong and nothing happens.
The good Forlivesi could not understand it: they were looking for signs
and miracles, and behold! they came not. Each day they said to
themselves that this would be one to be remembered in the history of the
town; that to-day Girolamo would surely leave his hesitations; but the
day wore on quite calmly. Everyone took his dinner and supper as usual,
the sun journeyed from east to west as it had done on the previous day,
the night came, and the worthy citizen went to his bed at his usual
hour, and slept in peace till the following sunrise. Nothing happened,
and it seemed that nothing was going to happen. The troubled spirits
gradually came to the conclusion that there was nothing to be troubled
about, and the old quiet came over the town; there was no talk of new
taxes, and the world wagged on.... Checco and Matteo and the Moratini
resigned themselves to the fact that the sky was serene, and that they
had better pursue their way without troubling their little heads about
conspiracies and midnight daggers.
Meanwhile, I laughed, and admired their folly and my own wisdom. For I
worried myself about none of these things; I lived in Giulia, for
Giulia, by Giulia.... I had never enjoyed such happiness before; she was
a little cold, perhaps, but I did not mind. I had passion that lived by
its own flame, and I cared for nothing as long as she let me love her.
And I argued with myself that it is an obvious thing that love is not
the same on both sides. There is always one who loves and one who lets
himself be loved. Perhaps it is a special decree of Nature; for the man
loves actively, caresses and is passionate; while the woman gives
herself to him, and is in his embrace like some sweet, helpless animal.
I did not ask for such love as I gave; all I asked was that my love
should let herself be loved. That was all I cared for; that was all I
wanted. My love for Giulia was wonderful even to me. I felt I had lost
myself in her. I had given my whole being into her hand. Samson and
Delilah! But this was no faithless Philistine. I would have given my
honour into her keeping and felt it as sure as in my own. In my great
love I felt such devotion, such reverence, that sometimes I hardly dared
touch her; it seemed to me I must kneel and worship at her feet. I
learnt the great delight of abasing myself to the beloved. I could make
myself so small and mean in my humility; but nothing satisfied my wish
to show my abject slavery.... Oh, Giulia! Giulia!
* * * * *
But this inaction on the part of Girolamo Riario had the effect of
persuading his subjects of his weakness. They had given over expecting
reprisals on his part, and the only conclusion they could come to was
that he dared do nothing against Checco. It was inconceivable that he
should leave unavenged the insults he had received; that he should bear
without remark the signs of popularity which greeted Checco, not only on
the day of the Council meeting, but since, every time he appeared in the
streets. They began to despise their ruler as well as hate him, and they
told one another stories of violent disputes in the Palace between the
Count and Caterina. Everyone knew the pride and passion which came to
the Countess with her Sforza blood, and they felt sure that she would
not patiently bear the insults which her husband did not seem to mind;
for the fear of the people could not stop their sarcasms, and when any
member of the household was seen he was assailed with taunts and jeers;
Caterina herself had to listen to scornful laughs as she passed by, and
the town was ringing with a song about the Count. It was whispered that
Girolamo's little son, Ottaviano, had been heard singing it in ignorance
of its meaning, and had been nearly killed by his father in a passion of
rage. Evil reports began to circulate about Caterina's virtue; it was
supposed that she would not keep faithful to such a husband, and another
song was made in praise of cuckoldry.
The Orsi would not be persuaded that this calm was to be believed in.
Checco was assured that Girolamo must have some scheme on hand, and the
quiet and silence seemed all the more ominous.
The Count very rarely appeared in Forli; but one Saint's day he went to
the Cathedral, and as he came back to the Palace, passing through the
piazza, saw Checco. At the same moment Checco saw him, and stopped,
uncertain what to do. The crowd suddenly became silent, and they stood
still like statues petrified by a magic spell. What was going to happen?
Girolamo himself hesitated a moment; a curious spasm crossed his face.
Checco made as if to walk on, pretending not to notice the Count. Matteo
and I were dumbfounded, absolutely at a loss. Then the Count stepped
forward, and held out his hand.
'Ah, my Checco! how goes it?'
He smiled and pressed warmly the hand which the Orsi gave him. Checco
was taken aback, pale as if the hand he held were the hand of death.
'You have neglected me of late, dear friend,' said the Count.
'I have not been well, my lord.'
Girolamo linked his arm in Checco's.
'Come, come,' he said, 'you must not be angry because I used sharp
words to you the other day. You know I am hot-tempered.'
'You have a right to say what you please.'
'Oh, no; I have only a right to say pleasant things.'
He smiled, but all the time the mobile eyes were shifting here and
there, scrutinising Checco's face, giving occasional quick glances to me
and Matteo. He went on,--
'You must show a forgiving spirit.' Then, to Matteo, 'We must all be
good Christians if we can, eh, Matteo?'
'Of course!'
'And yet your cousin bears malice.'
'No, my lord,' said Checco. 'I am afraid I was too outspoken.'
'Well, if you were, I have forgiven you, and you must forgive me. But we
will not talk of that. My children have been asking for you. It is
strange that this ferocious creature, who tells me I am the worst among
bad men, should be so adored by my children. Your little godson is
always crying for you.'
'Dear child!' said Checco.
'Come and see them now. There is no time like the present.'
Matteo and I looked at one another. Was all this an attempt to get him
in his hand, and this time not to let him go?
'I must pray you to excuse me, for I have some gentlemen coming to dine
with me to-day, and I fear I shall be late already.'
Girolamo gave us a rapid look, and evidently saw in our eyes something
of our thoughts, for he said good-humouredly,--
'You never will do anything for me, Checco. But I won't keep you; I
respect the duties of hospitality. However, another day you must come.'
He warmly pressed Checco's hand, and, nodding to Matteo and me, left us.
The crowd had not been able to hear what was said, but they had seen the
cordiality, and as soon as Girolamo disappeared behind the Palace doors,
broke out into murmurs of derision. The Christian sentiment clearly
gained little belief from them, and they put down the Count's act to
fear. It was clear, they said, that he found Checco too strong for him,
and dared nothing. It was a discovery that the man they had so feared
was willing to turn the other cheek when the one was smitten, and to all
their former hate they added a new hate that he had caused them terror
without being terrible. They hated him now for their own pusillanimity.
The mocking songs gained force, and Girolamo began to be known as
Cornuto, the Man of Horns.
Borne on this wave of contempt came another incident, which again showed
the Count's weakness. On the Sunday following his meeting with Checco,
it was known that Girolamo meant to hear mass at the church of San
Stefano, and Jacopo Ronchi, commander of a troop, stationed himself,
with two other soldiers, to await him. When the Count appeared,
accompanied by his wife and children and his suite, Jacopo pressed
forward and, throwing himself on his knees, presented a petition, in
which he asked for the arrears of pay of himself and his fellows. The
Count took it without speaking, and pursued his way. Then Jacopo took
hold of his legs to stop him, and said,--
'For Heaven's sake, my lord, give me a hearing. I and these others have
received nothing for months, and we are starving.'
'Let me go,' said the Count, 'your claim shall be attended to.'
'Do not dismiss me, my lord. I have presented three petitions before,
and to none of them have you paid attention. Now I am getting desperate,
and can wait no longer. Look at my tattered clothes. Give me my money!'
'Let me go, I tell you,' said Girolamo, furiously, and he gave him a
sweeping blow, so that the man fell on his back to the ground. 'How dare
you come and insult me here in the public place! By God! I cannot keep
my patience much longer.'
He brought out these words with such violence of passion that it seemed
as if in them exploded the anger which had been gathering up through
this time of humiliation. Then, turning furiously on the people, he
almost screamed,--
'Make way!'
They dared not face his anger, and with white faces, shrunk back,
leaving a path for him and his party to walk through.
XII
I looked at these events as I might have looked at a comedy of Plautus;
it was very amusing, but perhaps a little vulgar. I was wrapped up in my
own happiness, and I had forgotten Nemesis.
One day, perhaps two months from my arrival in Forli, I heard Checco
tell his cousin that a certain Giorgio dall' Aste had returned. I paid
no particular attention to the remark; but later, when I was alone with
Matteo, it occurred to me that I had not heard before of this person. I
did not know that Giulia had relations on her husband's side. I asked,--
'By the way, who is that Giorgio dall' Aste, of whom Checco was
speaking?'
'A cousin of Donna Giulia's late husband.'
'I have never heard him spoken of before.'
'Haven't you? He enjoys quite a peculiar reputation, as being the only
lover that the virtuous Giulia has kept for more than ten days.'
'Another of your old wives' tales, Matteo! Nature intended you for a
begging friar.'
'I have often thought I have missed my vocation. With my brilliant gift
for telling lies in a truthful manner, I should have made my way in the
Church to the highest dignities. Whereas, certain antiquated notions of
honour having been instilled into me during my training as a soldier, my
gifts are lost; with the result, that when I tell the truth people think
I am lying. But this is solemn truth!'
'All your stories are!' I jeered.
'Ask anyone. This has been going on for years. When Giulia was married
by old Tommaso, whom she had never seen in her life before the
betrothal, the first thing she did was to fall in love with Giorgio. He
fell in love with her, but being a fairly honest sort of man, he had
some scruples about committing adultery with his cousin's wife,
especially as he lived on his cousin's money. However, when a woman is
vicious, a man's scruples soon go to the devil. If Adam couldn't refuse
the apple, you can't expect us poor fallen creatures to do so either.
The result was that Joseph did not run away from Potiphar's wife so fast
as to prevent her from catching him.'
'How biblical you are.'
'Yes,' answered Matteo; 'I'm making love to a parson's mistress, and I
am cultivating the style which I find she is used to.... But, however,
Giorgio, being youthful, after a short while began to have prickings of
conscience, and went away from Forli. Giulia was heart-broken, and her
grief was so great that she must have half the town to console her. Then
Giorgio's conscience calmed down, and he came back, and Giulia threw
over all her lovers.'
'I don't believe a single word you say.'
'On my honour, it's true.'
'On the face of it, the story is false. If she really loves him, why do
they not keep together now that there is no hindrance?'
'Because Giulia has the heart of a strumpet and can't be faithful to any
one man. She's very fond of him, but they quarrel, and she takes a
sudden fancy for somebody else, and for a while they won't see one
another. But there seems some magical charm between them, for sooner or
later they always come back to one another. I believe, if they were at
the ends of the world, eventually they would be drawn together, even if
they struggled with all their might against it. And, I promise you,
Giorgio has struggled; he tries to part with her for good and all, and
each time they separate he vows it shall be for ever. But there is an
invisible chain and it always brings him back.'
I stood looking at him in silence. Strange, horrible thoughts passed
through my head and I could not drive them away. I tried to speak quite
calmly.
'And how is it when they are together?'
'All sunshine and storm, but as time goes on the storm gets longer and
blacker; and then Giorgio goes away.'
'But, good God! man, how do you know?' I cried in agony.
He shrugged his shoulders.
'They quarrel?' I asked.
'Furiously! He feels himself imprisoned against his will, with the door
open to escape, but not the strength to do it; and she is angry that he
should love her thus, trying not to love her. It rather seems to me that
it explains her own excesses; her other loves are partly to show him
how much she is loved, and to persuade herself that she is lovable.'
I did not believe it. Oh, no, I swear I did not believe it, yet I was
frightened, horribly frightened; but I would not believe a single word
of it.
'Listen, Matteo,' I said. 'You believe badly of Giulia; but you do not
know her. I swear to you that she is good and pure, whatever she may
have been in the past; and I do not believe a word of these scandals. I
am sure that now she is as true and faithful as she is beautiful.'
Matteo looked at me for a moment.
'Are you her lover?' he asked.
'Yes!'
Matteo opened his mouth as if about to speak, then stopped, and after a
moment's hesitation turned away.
* * * * *
That evening I went to Giulia. I found her lying full length on a divan,
her head sunken in soft cushions. She was immersed in reverie. I
wondered whether she was thinking of me, and I went up to her silently,
and, bending over her, lightly kissed her lips. She gave a cry, and a
frown darkened her eyes.
'You frightened me!'
'I am sorry,' I answered humbly. 'I wanted to surprise you.'
She did not answer, but raised her eyebrows, slightly shrugging her
shoulders. I wondered whether something had arisen to vex her. I knew
she had a quick temper, but I did not mind it; a cross word was so soon
followed by a look of repentance and a word of love. I passed my hand
over her beautiful soft hair. The frown came again, and she turned her
head away.
'Giulia,' I said, 'what is it?' I took her hand; she withdrew it
immediately.
'Nothing,' she answered.
'Why do you turn away from me and withdraw your hand?'
'Why should I not turn away from you and withdraw my hand?'
'Don't you love me, Giulia?'
She gave a sigh, and pretended to look bored. I looked at her, pained at
heart and wondering.
'Giulia, my dear, tell me what it is. You are making me very unhappy.'
'Oh, don't I tell you, nothing, nothing, nothing!'
'Why are you cross?'
I put my face to her's, and my arms round her neck. She disengaged
herself impatiently.
'You refuse my kisses, Giulia!'
She made another gesture of annoyance.
'Giulia, don't you love me?' My heart was beginning to sink, and I
remembered what I had heard from Matteo. Oh, God! could it be true?...
'Yes, of course I love you, but sometimes I must be left in peace.'
'You have only to say the word, and I will go away altogether.'
'I don't want you to do that, but we shall like one another much better
if we don't see too much of one another.'
'When one is in love, really and truly, one does not think of such wise
precautions.'
'And you are here so often that I am afraid of my good name.'
'You need have no fear about your character,' I answered bitterly. 'One
more scandal will not make much difference.'
'You need not insult me!'
I could not be angry with her, I loved her too much, and the words I had
said hurt me ten times more than they hurt her. I fell on my knees by
her side and took hold of her arms.
'Oh, Giulia, Giulia, forgive me! I don't mean to say anything to wound
you. But, for God's sake! don't be so cold. I love you, I love you. Be
good to me.'
'I think I have been good to you.... After all, it is not such a very
grave matter. I have not taken things more seriously than you.'
'What do you mean?' I cried, aghast.
She shrugged her shoulders.
'I suppose you found me a pretty woman, and thought you could occupy a
few spare moments with a pleasant amour. You can hardly have expected me
to be influenced by sentiments very different from your own.'
'You mean you do not love me?'
'I love you as much as you love me. I don't suppose either you are
Lancelot, or I Guinevere.'
I still knelt at her side in silence, and my head felt as if the vessels
in it were bursting....
'You know,' she went on quite calmly, 'one cannot love for ever.'
'But I love you, Giulia; I love you with all my heart and soul! I have
had loves picked up for the opportunity's sake, or for pure idleness;
but my love for you is different. I swear to you it is a matter of my
whole life.'
'That has been said to me so often....'
I was beginning to be overwhelmed.
'But do you mean that it is all finished? Do you mean that you won't
have anything more to do with me!'
'I don't say I won't have anything more to do with you.'
'But love? It is love I want.'
She shrugged her shoulders.
'But why not?' I said despairingly. 'Why have you given it me at all if
you want to take it away?'
'One is not master of one's love. It comes and goes.'
'Don't you love me at all?'
'No!'
'Oh, God! But why do you tell me this to-day?'
'I had to tell you some time.'
'But why not yesterday, or the day before? Why to-day particularly?'
She did not answer.
'Is it because Giorgio dall' Aste has just returned?'
She started up and her eyes flashed.
'What have they been telling you about him?'
'Has he been here to-day? Were you thinking of him when I came? Were you
languorous from his embraces?'
'How dare you!'
'The only lover to whom you have been faithful, more or less!'
'You vowed you did not believe the scandals about me, and now, when I
refuse you the smallest thing, you are ready to believe every word. What
a love is this! I thought I had heard you talk so often of boundless
confidence.'
'I believe every word I have heard against you. I believe you are a
harlot.'
She had raised herself from her couch, and we were standing face to
face.
'Do you want money? Look! I have as good money as another. I will pay
you for your love; here, take it.'
I took gold pieces from my pocket and flung them at her feet.
'Ah,' she cried in indignation, 'you cur! Go, go!'
She pointed to the door. Then I felt a sudden revulsion. I fell on my
knees and seized her hands.
'Oh, forgive me, Giulia. I don't know what I am saying; I am mad. But
don't rob me of your love; it is the only thing I have to live for. For
God's sake, forgive me! Oh, Giulia, I love you, I love you. I can't live
without you.' The tears broke from my eyes. I could not stop them.
'Leave me! leave me!'
I was ashamed of my abjectness; I rose up indignant.
'Oh, you are quite heartless. You have no right to treat me so. You were
not obliged to give me your love; but when once you have given it you
cannot take it away. No one has the right to make another unhappy as you
make me. You are a bad, evil woman. I hate you!'
I stood over her with clenched fists. She shrank back, afraid.
'Don't be frightened,' I said; 'I won't touch you. I hate you too much.'
Then I turned to the crucifix, and lifted my hands.
'Oh, God! I pray you, let this woman be treated as she has treated me.'
And to her,'I hope to God you are as unhappy as I am. And I hope the
unhappiness will come soon--you harlot!'
I left her, and in my rage slammed the door, so that the lock shattered
behind me.
XIII
I walked through the streets like a man who has received sentence of
death. My brain was whirling, and sometimes I stopped and pressed my
head with both hands to relieve the insupportable pressure. I could not
realise what had happened; I only knew it was terrible. I felt as if I
were going mad; I could have killed myself. At last, getting home, I
threw myself on my bed and tried to gather myself together. I cried out
against that woman. I wished I had my fingers curling round her soft
white throat, that I could strangle the life out of her. Oh, I hated
her!
At last I fell asleep, and in that sweet forgetfulness enjoyed a little
peace. When I woke I lay still for a moment without remembering what had
happened; then suddenly it came back to me, and the blood flushed to my
face as I thought of how I had humiliated myself to her. She must be as
hard as stone, I said to myself, to see my misery and not take pity on
me. She saw my tears and was not moved one jot. All the time I had been
praying and beseeching, she had been as calm as a marble figure. She
must have seen my agony and the passion of my love, and yet she was
absolutely, absolutely indifferent. Oh, I despised her! I had known even
when I adored her madly that it was only my love which gave her the
qualities I worshipped. I had seen she was ignorant and foolish, and
commonplace and vicious; but I did not care as long as I loved her and
could have her love in return. But when I thought of her so horribly
heartless, so uncaring to my unhappiness, I did more than hate her--I
utterly despised her. I despised myself for having loved her. I despised
myself for loving her still....
I got up and went about my day's duties, trying to forget myself in
their performance. But still I brooded over my misery, and in my heart I
cursed the woman. It was Nemesis, always Nemesis! In my folly I had
forgotten her; and yet I should have remembered that through my life all
happiness had been followed by all misery.... I had tried to ward off
the evil by sacrifice; I had rejoiced at the harm which befell me, but
the very rejoicing seemed to render the hurt of no avail, and with the
inevitableness of fate, Nemesis had come and thrown me back into the old
unhappiness. But of late I had forgotten. What was Nemesis to me now
when I thought my happiness so great that it could not help but last? It
was so robust and strong that I never thought of its cessation. I did
not even think the Gods were good to me at last. I had forgotten the
Gods; I thought of nothing but love and Giulia.
Matteo came asking me to go to the Palace with him and Checco, at the
particular desire of Girolamo, who wished to show them the progress of
the decorations. I would not go. I wanted to be alone and think.
But my thoughts maddened me. Over and over again I repeated every word
of the terrible quarrel, and more than ever I was filled with horror for
her cold cruelty. What right have these people to make us unhappy? Is
there not enough misery in the world already? Oh, it is brutal!
I could not bear myself; I regretted that I had not gone to the Palace.
I detested this solitude.
The hours passed like years, and as my brain grew tired I sank into a
state of sodden, passive misery.
At last they came back, and Matteo told me what had happened. I tried to
listen, to forget myself.... It appeared that the Count had been
extremely cordial. After talking to them of his house, and showing the
beautiful things he had collected to furnish it with, he took them to
Caterina's apartments, where they found the Countess surrounded by her
children. She had been very charming and gracious, even deigning to
compliment Matteo on his gallantry. How it interested me to know all
this! The children had run to Checco as soon as they saw him, dragging
him into their game. The others looked on while the Orsi played
good-humouredly with the little boys, and Girolamo, laying his hand on
Checco's shoulder, had remarked,--
'You see, dear friend, the children are determined that there should not
be enmity between us. And when the little ones love you so dearly, can
you think that I should hate you?'
And when they left he had accompanied them to the gates and been quite
affectionate in his farewell.
At last the night came and I could shut myself up in my room. I thought
with a bitter smile that it was the hour at which I was used to go to
Giulia. And now I should never go to Giulia again. My unhappiness was
too great for wrath; I felt too utterly miserable to think of my
grievances, or of my contempt. I only felt broken-hearted. I could not
keep the tears back, and burying my face in the pillows, I cried my
heart out. It was years and years since I had wept, not since I was
quite a boy, but this blow had taken from me all manliness, and I gave
myself over to my grief, passionately, shamelessly. I did not care that
I was weak; I had no respect for myself, or care for myself. The sobs
came, one on the heels of another like waves, and the pain, as they tore
my chest, relieved the anguish of my mind. Exhaustion came at last, and
with it sleep.
But I knew I could not hide the change in me, and Matteo soon noticed
it.
'What is the matter with you, Filippo?' he asked. I blushed and
hesitated.
'Nothing,' I answered at last.
'I thought you were unhappy.'
Our eyes met, but I could not stand his inquiring glance and looked
down. He came to me, and sitting on the arm of my chair, put his hand on
my shoulder and said affectionately,--
'We're friends, aren't we, Filippo?'
'Yes,' I answered, smiling and taking his hand.
'Won't you trust me?'
After a pause I answered,--
'I should so much like to.' I felt as if indeed it would relieve me to
be able to confide in somebody, I wanted sympathy so badly.
He passed his hand gently over my hair.
I hesitated a little, but I could not help myself, and I told him the
whole story from beginning to end.
'Poverino!' he said, when I had finished; then, clenching his teeth,
'She is a beast, that woman!'
'I ought to have taken your warning, Matteo, but I was a fool.'
'Who ever does take warning!' he answered, shrugging his shoulders. 'How
could you be expected to believe me?'
'But I believe you now. I am horrified when I think of her vice and
cruelty.'
'Ah, well, it is over now.'
'Quite! I hate her and despise her. Oh, I wish I could get her face to
face and tell her what I think of her.'
I thought my talk with Matteo had relieved me, I thought the worst was
over; but at night melancholy came on me stronger than ever, and I
groaned as I threw myself on my bed. I felt so terribly alone in the
world.... I had no relation but a half-brother, a boy of twelve, whom I
had hardly seen; and as I wandered through the land, an exile, I had
been continually assailed by the hateful demon of loneliness. And
sometimes in my solitude I had felt that I could kill myself. But when
I found I was in love with Giulia, I cried aloud with joy.... I threw
everything to the winds, gathering myself up for the supreme effort of
passion. All the storm and stress were passed; I was no longer alone,
for I had someone to whom I could give my love. I was like the ship that
arrives in the harbour, and reefs her sails and clears her deck,
settling down in the quietness of the waters.
And now all was over! Oh God, to think that my hopes should be shattered
in so short a time, that the ship should be so soon tossed about in the
storm, and the stars hidden by the clouds! And the past delight made the
present darkness all the more bitter. I groaned. In my misery I uttered
a prayer to God to help me. I could not think I should live henceforth.
How could I go on existing with this aching void in my heart? I could
not spend days and weeks and years always with this despair. It was too
terrible to last. My reason told me that time would remedy it; but time
was so long, and what misery must I go through before the wound was
healed! And as I thought of what I had lost, my agony grew more
unbearable. It grew vivid, and I felt Giulia in my arms. I panted as I
pressed my lips against hers, and I said to her,--
'How could you!'
I buried my face in my hands, so as better to enjoy my dream. I smelt
the perfume of her breath; I felt on my face the light touch of her
hair. But it would not last. I tried to seize the image and hold it
back, but it vanished and left me broken-hearted....
I knew I did not hate her. I had pretended to, but the words came from
the mouth. In my heart I loved her still, more passionately than ever.
What did I care if she was heartless and cruel and faithless and
vicious! It was nothing to me as long as I could hold her in my arms and
cover her with kisses. I did despise her; I knew her for what she was,
but still I loved her insanely. Oh, if she would only come back to me! I
would willingly forget everything and forgive her. Nay, I would ask her
forgiveness and grovel before her, if she would only let me enjoy her
love again.
I would go back to her and fall on my knees, and pray her to be
merciful. Why should I suppose she had changed in the few days. I knew
she would treat me with the same indifference, and only feel a wondering
contempt that I should so abase myself. It came like a blow in the face,
the thought of her cold cruelty and her calmness. No, I vowed I would
never subject myself to that again. I felt myself blush at the
remembrance of the humiliation. But perhaps she was sorry for what she
had done. I knew her pride would prevent her from coming or sending to
me, and should I give her no opportunity? Perhaps, if we saw one another
for a few moments everything might be arranged, and I might be happy
again. An immense feeling of hope filled me. I thought I must be right
in my idea; she could not be so heartless as to have no regret. How
willingly I would take her back! My heart leaped. But I dared not go to
her house. I knew I should find her on the morrow at her father's, who
was going to give a banquet to some friends. I would speak to her there,
casually, as if we were ordinary acquaintances; and then at the first
sign of yielding on her part, even if I saw but a tinge of regret in her
eyes, I would burst out. I was happy in my plan, and I went to sleep
with the name of Giulia on my lips and her image in my heart.
XIV
I went to the Moratini Palace, and with beating heart looked round for
Giulia. She was surrounded by her usual court, and seemed more lively
and excited than ever. I had never seen her more beautiful. She was
dressed all in white, and her sleeves were sewn with pearls; she looked
like a bride. She caught sight of me at once, but pretended not to see
me, and went on talking.
I approached her brother Alessandro and said to him casually,--
'I am told a cousin of your sister has come to Forli. Is he here
to-day?'
He looked at me inquiringly, not immediately understanding.
'Giorgio dall' Aste,' I explained.
'Oh, I didn't know you meant him. No, he's not here. He and Giulia's
husband were not friends, and so--'
'Why were they not friends?' I interrupted, on the spur of the moment,
not seeing the impertinence of the question till I had made it.
'Oh, I don't know. Relations always are at enmity with one another;
probably some disagreement with regard to their estates.'
'Was that all?'
'So far as I know.'
I recollected that in a scandal the persons most interested are the last
to hear it. The husband hears nothing of his wife's treachery till all
the town knows every detail.
'I should like to have seen him,' I went on.
'Giorgo? Oh, he's a weak sort of creature; one of those men who commit
sins and repent!'
'That is not a fault of which you will ever be guilty, Alessandro,' I
said, smiling.
'I sincerely hope not. After all, if a man has a conscience he ought not
to do wrong. But if he does he must be a very poor sort of a fool to
repent.'
'You cannot have the rose without the thorn.'
'Why not? It only needs care. There are dregs at the bottom of every
cup, but you are not obliged to drink them.'
'You have made up your mind that if you commit sins you are ready to go
to hell for them?' I said.
'It is braver than going to Heaven by the back door, turning pious when
you are too old to do anything you shouldn't.'
'I agree with you that one has little respect for the man who turns monk
when things go wrong with him.'
I saw that Giulia was alone, and seized the opportunity to speak with
her.
'Giulia,' I said, approaching.
She looked at me for a moment with an air of perplexity, as if she
really could not remember whom I was.
'Ah, Messer Filippo!' she said, as if suddenly recollecting.
'It is not so long since we met that you can have forgotten me.'
'Yes. I remember last time you did me the honour to visit me you were
very rude and cross.'
I looked at her silently, wondering.
'Well?' she said, steadily answering my gaze and smiling.
'Have you nothing more to say to me than that?' I asked in an undertone.
'What do you want me to say to you?'
'Are you quite heartless?'
She gave a sigh of boredom, and looked to the other end of the room, as
if for someone to come and break a tedious conversation.
'How could you!' I whispered.
Notwithstanding her self-control, a faint blush came over her face. I
stood looking at her for a little while and then I turned away. She was
quite heartless. I left the Moratini and walked out into the town. This
last interview had helped me in so far that it made certain that my love
was hopeless. I stood still and stamped on the ground, vowing I would
not love her. I would put her away from my thoughts entirely; she was a
contemptible, vicious woman, and I was too proud to be subject to her. I
wondered I did not kill her. I made up my mind to take my courage in
both hands and leave Forli. Once away, I should find myself attracted to
different matters, and probably I should not live long before finding
some other woman to take Giulia's place. She was not the only woman in
Italy; she was not the most beautiful nor the cleverest. Give me a month
and I could laugh at my torments....
The same evening I told Matteo I meant to leave Forli.
'Why?' he asked in astonishment.
'I have been here several weeks,' I answered; 'I don't want to outstay
my welcome.'
'That is rubbish. You know I should be only too glad for you to stay
here all your life.'
'That is very kind of you,' I replied, with a laugh, 'but the
establishment is not yours.'
'That makes no difference. Besides, Checco has become very fond of you,
and I'm sure he wishes you to stay.'
'Of course, I know your hospitality is quite unlimited; but I am
beginning to want to get back to Citta di Castello.'
'Why?' asked Matteo, doubtfully.
'One likes to return to one's native place.'
'You have been away from Castello for ten years; you cannot be in any
particular hurry to get back.'
I was beginning to protest when Checco came in, and Matteo interrupted
me with,--
'Listen, Checco, Filippo says he wants to leave us.'
'But he sha'n't,' said Checco, laughing.
'I really must!' I answered gravely.
'You really mustn't,' replied Checco. 'We can't spare you, Filippo.'
'There's no great hurry about your going home,' he added, when I had
explained my reasons, 'and I fancy that soon we shall want you here. A
good sword and a brave heart will probably be of good use to us.'
'Everything is as quiet as a cemetery,' I said, shrugging my shoulders.
'It is quiet above; but below there are rumblings and strange movements.
I feel sure this calm only presages a storm. It is impossible for
Girolamo to go on as he is now; his debts are increasing every day, and
his difficulties will soon be impracticable. He must do something. There
is certain to be a disturbance at any attempt to put on the taxes, and
then Heaven only knows what will happen.'
I was beginning to get a little vexed at their opposition, and I
answered petulantly,--
'No, I must go.'
'Stay another month; things must come to a head before then.'
A month would have been as bad as a year.
'I am out of health,' I answered; 'I feel I want to get into a different
atmosphere.'
Checco thought for a moment.
'Very well,' he said, 'we can arrange matters to suit us both. I want
someone to go to Florence for me to conclude a little business matter
with Messer Lorenzo de' Medici. You would be away a fortnight; and if
you are out of sorts the ride across country will put you right. Will
you go?'
I thought for a moment. It was not a very long absence, but the new
sights would distract me, and I wanted to see Florence again. On the
whole, I thought it would suffice, and that I could count on the cure
of my ill before the time was up.
'Very well,' I answered.
'Good! And you will have a pleasant companion. I had talked to Scipione
Moratini about it; it did not occur to me that you would go. But it will
be all the better to have two of you.'
'If I go,' I said, 'I shall go alone.'
Checco was rather astonished.
'Why?'
'Scipione bores me. I want to be quiet and do as I like.'
I was quite determined that neither of the Moratini should come with me.
They would have reminded me too much of what I wanted to forget.
'As you like,' said Checco. 'I can easily tell Scipione that I want him
to do something else for me.'
'Thanks.'
'When will you start?'
'At once.'
'Then come, and I will give you the instructions and necessary papers.'
XV
Next morning I mounted my horse and set out with Matteo, who was to
accompany me for a little way.
But at the town gate a guard stopped us and asked where we were going.
'Out!' I answered shortly, moving on.
'Stop!' said the man, catching hold of my bridle.
'What the devil d'you mean?' said Matteo. 'D'you know whom we are?'
'I have orders to let no one go by without the permission of my
captain.'
'What tyrants they are!' cried Matteo. 'Well, what the hell are you
standing there for? Go and tell your captain to come out.'
The man signed to another soldier, who went into the guard-house; he was
still holding my bridle. I was not very good-tempered that morning.
'Have the goodness to take your hands off,' I said.
He looked as if he were about to refuse.
'Will you do as you are told?' Then, as he hesitated, I brought down the
butt-end of my whip on his fingers, and with an oath bade him stand
off. He let go at once, cursing, and looked as if he would willingly
stab me if he dared. We waited impatiently, but the captain did not
appear.
'Why the devil doesn't this man come?' I said; and Matteo, turning to
one of the soldiers, ordered,--
'Go and tell him to come here instantly.'
At that moment the captain appeared, and we understood the incident, for
it was Ercole Piacentini. He had apparently seen us coming, or heard of
my intended journey, and had set himself out to insult us. We were both
furious.
'Why the devil don't you hurry up when you're sent for?' said Matteo.
He scowled, but did not answer. Turning to me he asked,--
'Where are you going?'
Matteo and I looked at one another in amazement at the man's impudence,
and I burst forth,--
'You insolent fellow! What do you mean by stopping me like this?'
'I have a right to refuse passage to anyone I choose.'
'Take care!' I said. 'I swear the Count shall be told of your behaviour,
and nowadays the Count is in the habit of doing as the Orsi tell him.'
'He shall hear of this,' growled the Piacentini.
'Tell him what you like. Do you think I care? You can tell him that I
consider his captain a very impertinent ruffian. Now, let me go.'
'You shall not pass till I choose.'
'By God! man,' I said, absolutely beside myself, 'it seems I cannot
touch you here, but if ever we meet in Citta di Castello--'
'I will give you any satisfaction you wish,' he answered hotly.
'Satisfaction! I would not soil my sword by crossing it with yours. I
was going to say that if ever we meet in Castello I will have you
whipped by my lacqueys in the public place.'
I felt a ferocious pleasure in throwing the words of contempt in his
face.
'Come on,' said Matteo; 'we cannot waste our time here.'
We put the spurs to our horses. The soldiers looked to their captain to
see whether they should stop us, but he gave no order, and we passed
through. When we got outside, Matteo said to me,--
'Girolamo must be planning something, or Ercole would not have dared to
do that.'
'It is only the impotent anger of a foolish man,' I answered. 'The Count
will probably be very angry with him when he hears of it.'
We rode a few miles, and then Matteo turned back. When I found myself
alone I heaved a great sigh of relief. I was free for a while at
least.... Another episode in my life was finished; I could forget it,
and look forward to new things.
As I rode on, the March wind got into my blood and sent it whirling
madly through my veins. The sun was shining brightly and covered
everything with smiles; the fruit trees were all in flower--apples,
pears, almonds--the dainty buds covered the branches with a snow of pink
and white. The ground beneath them was bespattered with narcissi and
anemones, the very olive trees looked gay. All the world laughed with
joy at the bright spring morning, and I laughed louder than the rest. I
drew in long breaths of the keen air, and it made me drunk, so that I
set the spurs to my horse and galloped wildly along the silent road.
I had made up my mind to forget Giulia, and I succeeded, for the
changing scenes took me away from myself, and I was intent on the world
at large. But I could not command my dreams. At night she came to me,
and I dreamed that she was by my side, with her arms round my neck,
sweetly caressing, trying to make me forget what I had suffered. And the
waking was bitter.... But even that would leave me soon, I hoped, and
then I should be free indeed.
I rode on, full of courage and good spirits, along endless roads,
putting up at wayside inns, through the mountains, past villages and
hamlets, past thriving towns, till I found myself in the heart of
Tuscany, and finally I saw the roofs of Florence spread out before me.
After I had cleaned myself at the inn and had eaten, I sauntered through
the town, renewing my recollections. I walked round Madonna del Fiore,
and leaning against one of the houses at the back of the piazza looked
at the beautiful apse, the marble all glistening in the moonlight. It
was very quiet and peaceful; the exquisite church filled me with a sense
of rest and purity, so that I cast far from me all vice.... Then I went
to the baptistery and tried to make out in the dim light the details of
Ghiberti's wonderful doors. It was late and the streets were silent as
I strolled to the Piazza della Signoria, and saw before me the grim
stone palace with its tower, and I came down to the Arno and looked at
the glistening of the water, with the bridge covered with houses; and as
I considered the beauty of it all I thought it strange that the works of
man should be so good and pure and man himself so vile.
Next day I set about my business. I had a special letter of introduction
to Lorenzo, and was ushered in to him by a clerk. I found two people in
the room; one, a young man with a long, oval face, and the bones of the
face and chin very strongly marked; he had a very wonderful skin, like
brown ivory, black hair that fell over his forehead and ears, and, most
striking of all, large brown eyes, very soft and melancholy. I thought I
had never before seen a man quite so beautiful. Seated by him, talking
with animation, was an insignificant man, bent and wrinkled and mean,
looking like a clerk in a cloth merchant's shop, except for the massive
golden chain about his neck and the dress of dark red velvet with an
embroidered collar. His features were ugly; a large, coarse nose, a
heavy, sensual mouth, small eyes, but very sharp and glittering; the
hair thin and short, the skin muddy, yellow, wrinkled--Lorenzo de'
Medici!
As I entered the room, he interrupted himself and spoke to me in a
harsh, disagreeable voice.
'Messer Filippo Brandolini, I think. You are very welcome.'
'I am afraid I interrupt you,' I said, looking at the youth with the
melancholy eyes.
'Oh no,' answered Lorenzo, gaily. 'We were talking of Plato. I really
ought to have been attending to very much more serious matters, but I
never can resist Pico.'
Then that was the famous Pico della Mirandola. I looked at him again and
felt envious that one person should be possessed of such genius and such
beauty. It was hardly fair on Nature's part.
'It is more the subject than I that is irresistible.'
'Ah, the banquet!' said Lorenzo, clasping his hands. 'What an
inexhaustible matter! I could go on talking about it all day and all
night for a year, and then find I had left unsaid half what I had in my
mind.'
'You have so vast an experience in the subject treated of,' said Pico,
laughing; 'you could give a chapter of comment to every sentence of
Plato.'
'You rascal, Pico!' answered Lorenzo, also laughing. 'And what is your
opinion of love, Messer?' he added, turning to me.
I answered, smiling,--
_'Con tua promesse, et tua false parole,_
_Con falsi risi, et con vago sembiante,_
_Donna, menato hai il tuo fidele amante.'_
* * * * *
_Those promises of thine, and those false words,_
_Those traitor smiles, and that inconstant seeming,_
_Lady, with these thou'st led astray thy faithful lover.__
They were Lorenzo's own lines, and he was delighted that I should quote
them, but still the pleasure was not too great, and I saw that it must
be subtle flattery indeed that should turn his head.
'You have the spirit of a courtier, Messer Filippo,' he said in reply to
my quotation. 'You are wasted on liberty!'
'It is in the air in Florence--one breathes it in through every pore.'
'What, liberty?'
'No; the spirit of the courtier.'
Lorenzo looked at me sharply, then at Pico, repressing a smile at my
sarcasm.
'Well, about your business from Forli?' he said; but when I began
explaining the transaction he interrupted me. 'Oh, all that you can
arrange with my secretaries. Tell me what is going on in the town. There
have been rumours of disturbance.'
I looked at Pico, who rose and went out, saying,--
'I will leave you. Politics are not for me.'
I told Lorenzo all that had happened, while he listened intently,
occasionally interrupting me to ask a question. When I had finished, he
said--
'And what will happen now?'
I shrugged my shoulders.
'Who knows?'
'The wise man knows,' he said earnestly, 'for he has made up his mind
what will happen, and goes about to cause it to happen. It is only the
fool who trusts to chance and waits for circumstances to develop
themselves....'
'Tell your master--'
'I beg your pardon?' I interrupted.
He looked at me interrogatively.
'I was wondering of whom you were speaking,' I murmured.
He understood and, smiling, said,--
'I apologise. I was thinking you were a Forlivese. Of course, I remember
now that you are a citizen of Castello, and we all know how tenacious
they have been of their liberty and how proud of their freedom.'
He had me on the hip; for Citta di Castello had been among the first of
the towns to lose its liberty, and, unlike others, had borne its
servitude with more equanimity than was honourable.
'However,' he went on, 'tell Checco d'Orsi that I know Girolamo Riario.
It was his father and he who were the prime movers in the conspiracy
which killed my brother and nearly killed myself. Let him remember that
the Riario is perfectly unscrupulous, and that he is not accustomed to
forgive an injury--or forget it. You say that Girolamo has repeatedly
threatened Checco. Has that had no effect on him?'
'He was somewhat alarmed.'
'Besides?'
I looked at him, trying to seize his meaning.
'Did he make up his mind to sit still and wait till Girolamo found means
to carry his threats into effect?'
I was rather at a loss for an answer. Lorenzo's eyes were fixed keenly
upon me; they seemed to be trying to read my brain.
'It was suggested to him that it would be unwise,' I replied slowly.
'And what did he answer to that?'
'He recalled the ill results of certain recent--events.'
'Ah!'
He took his eyes off me, as if he had suddenly seen the meaning behind
my words, and was now quite sure of everything he wanted to know. He
walked up and down the room, thinking; then he said to me,--
'Tell Checco that Girolamo's position is very insecure. The Pope is
against him, though he pretends to uphold him. You remember that when
the Zampeschi seized his castle of San Marco, Girolamo thought they had
the tacit consent of the Pope, and dared make no reprisal. Lodovico
Sforza would doubtless come to the assistance of his half-sister, but he
is occupied with the Venetians--and if the people of Forli hate the
Count!'
'Then you advise--'
'I advise nothing. But let Checco know that it is only the fool who
proposes to himself an end when he cannot or will not attain it; but the
man who deserves the name of man, marches straight to the goal with
clearness of mind and strength of will. He looks at things as they are
and puts aside all vain appearances; and when his intelligence has shown
him the means to his end, he is a fool if he refuses them, and he is a
wise man if he uses them steadily and unhesitatingly. Tell that to
Checco!'
He threw himself into his chair with a little cry of relief.
'Now we can talk of other things. Pico!'
A servant came in to say that Pico had gone away.
'The villain!' cried Lorenzo. 'But I daresay you will want to go away
too, Messer Brandolini. But you must come to-morrow; we are going to act
the Menacchini of Plautus; and besides the wit of the Latin you will
see all the youth and beauty of Florence.'
As I took my leave, he added,--
'I need not warn you to be discreet.'
XVI
A few days later I found myself in sight of Forli. As I rode along I
meditated; and presently the thought came to me that after all there was
perhaps a certain equality in the portioning out of good and evil in
this world. When fate gave one happiness she followed it with
unhappiness, but the two lasted about an equal time, so that the balance
was not unevenly preserved.... In my love for Giulia I had gone through
a few days of intense happiness; the first kiss had caused me such
ecstasy that I was rapt up to heaven; I felt myself a god. And this was
followed by a sort of passive happiness, when I lived but to enjoy my
love and cared for nothing in the world besides. Then came the
catastrophe, and I passed through the most awful misery that man had
ever felt: even now as I thought of it the sweat gathered on my
forehead. But I noticed that strangely as this wretchedness was equal
with the first happiness, so was it equal in length. And this was
followed by a passive unhappiness when I no longer felt all the
bitterness of my woe, but only a certain dull misery, which was like
peace. And half smiling, half sighing, I thought that the passive misery
again was equal to the passive happiness. Finally came the blessed state
of indifference, and, except for the remembrance, my heart was as if
nothing had been at all. So it seemed to me that one ought not to
complain; for if the world had no right to give one continual misery,
one had no cause to expect unmingled happiness, and the conjunction of
the two, in all things equal, seemed normal and reasonable. And I had
not noticed that I was come to Forli.
I entered the gate with a pleasant sense of homecoming. I passed along
the grey streets I was beginning to know so well, and felt for them
something of the affection of old friends. I was glad, too, that I
should shortly see Checco and my dear Matteo. I felt I had been unkind
to Matteo: he was so fond of me and had always been so good, but I had
been so wrapped up in my love that his very presence had been
importunate, and I had responded coldly to his friendliness. And being
then in a sentimental mood, I thought how much better and more
trustworthy a friend is to the most lovely woman in the world. You could
neglect him and be unfaithful to him, and yet if you were in trouble you
could come back and he would take you to his arms and comfort you, and
never once complain that you had strayed away. I longed to be with
Matteo, clasping his hand. In my hurry I put the spurs to my horse, and
clattered along the street. In a few minutes I had reached the Palazzo,
leapt off my horse, sprung up the stairs, and flung myself into the arms
of my friend.
After the first greetings, Matteo dragged me along to Checco.
'The good cousin is most eager to hear your news. We must not keep him
waiting.'
Checco seemed as pleased to see me as Matteo. He warmly pressed my hand,
and said,--
'I am glad to have you back, Filippo. In your absence we have been
lamenting like forsaken shepherdesses. Now, what is your news?'
I was fully impressed with my importance at the moment, and the anxiety
with which I was being listened to. I resolved not to betray myself too
soon, and began telling them about the kindness of Lorenzo, and the play
which he had invited me to see. I described the brilliancy of the
assembly, and the excellence of the acting. They listened with interest,
but I could see it was not what they wanted to hear.
'But I see you want to hear about more important matters,' I said.
'Well--'
'Ah!' they cried, drawing their chairs closer to me, settling themselves
to listen attentively.
With a slight smile I proceeded to give them the details of the
commercial transaction which had been the ostensible purpose of my
visit, and I laughed to myself as I saw their disgust. Checco could not
restrain his impatience, but did not like to interrupt me. Matteo,
however, saw that I was mocking, and broke in.
'Confound you, Filippo! Why do you torment us when you know we are on
pins and needles?'
Checco looked up and saw me laughing, and implored,--
'Put us out of torture, for Heaven's sake!'
'Very well!' I answered. 'Lorenzo asked me about the state of Forli, and
I told him. Then, after thinking awhile, he said, "Tell this to
Checco--"'
And I repeated word for word what Lorenzo had said to me, and, as far as
I could, I reproduced his accent and gesture.
When I had finished they both sat still and silent. At last Matteo,
glancing to his cousin, said,--
'It seems sufficiently clear.'
'It is, indeed, very clear,' answered Checco, gravely.
XVII
I made up my mind to amuse myself now. I was sick of being grave and
serious. When one thinks how short a while youth lasts it is foolish not
to take the best advantage of it; the time man has at his disposal is
not long enough for tragedy and moaning; he has only room for a little
laughter, and then his hair gets grey and his knees shaky, and he is
left repenting that he did not make more of his opportunities. So many
people have told me that they have never regretted their vices, but
often their virtues! Life is too short to take things seriously. Let us
eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die.
There was really so much to do in Forli that amusement became almost
hard work. There were hunting parties in which we scoured the country
all day and returned at night, tired and sleepy, but with a delicious
feeling of relief, stretching our limbs like giants waking from their
sleep. There were excursions to villas, where we would be welcomed by
some kind lady, and repeat on a smaller scale the Decameron of
Boccaccio, or imitate the learned conversations of Lorenzo and his
circle at Careggio; we could platonise as well as they, and we
discovered the charm of treating impropriety from a philosophic point of
view. We would set ourselves some subject and all write sonnets on it,
and I noticed that the productions of our ladies were always more highly
spiced than our own. Sometimes we would play at being shepherds and
shepherdesses, but in this I always failed lamentably, for my nymph
invariably complained that I was not as enterprising as a swain should
be. Then we would act pastoral plays in the shadow of the trees; Orpheus
was our favourite subject, and I was always set for the title part,
rather against my will, for I could never bring the proper vigour into
my lament for Eurydice, since it always struck me as both unreasonable
and ungallant to be so inconsolable for the loss of one love when there
were all around so many to console one....
And in Forli itself there was a continuous whirl of amusement,
festivities of every kind crowded on one, so that one had scarcely time
to sleep; from the gravity and instructive tedium of a comedy by Terence
to a drinking bout or a card party. I went everywhere, and everywhere
received the heartiest of welcomes. I could sing and dance, and play the
lute, and act, and I was ready to compose a sonnet or an ode at a
moment's notice; in a week I could produce a five-act tragedy in the
Senecan manner, or an epic on Rinaldo or Launcelot; and as I had not a
care in the world and was as merry as a drunken friar, they opened their
arms to me and gave me the best of all they had....
I was attentive to all the ladies, and scandalous tongues gave me half a
dozen mistresses, with details of the siege and capture. I wondered
whether the amiable Giulia heard the stories, and what she thought of
them. Occasionally I saw her, but I did not trouble to speak to her;
Forli was large enough for the two of us; and when people are
disagreeable why should you trouble your head about them?
* * * * *
One afternoon I rode with Matteo a few miles out of Forli to a villa
where there was to be some festivity in honour of a christening. It was
a beautiful spot, with fountains and shady walks, and pleasant lawns of
well-mown grass; and I set myself to the enjoyment of another day. Among
the guests was Claudia Piacentini. I pretended to be very angry with her
because, at a ball which she had recently given, I had not received the
honour of an invitation. She came to me to ask forgiveness.
'It was my husband,' she said, which I knew perfectly well. 'He said he
would not have you in his house. You've had another quarrel with him!'
'How can I help it, when I see him the possessor of the lovely Claudia!'
'He says he will never be satisfied till he has your blood.'
I was not alarmed.
'He talked of making a vow never to cut his beard or his hair till he
had his revenge, but I implored him not to make himself more hideous
than a merciful Providence had already made him.'
I thought of the ferocious Ercole with a long, untrimmed beard and
unkempt hair falling over his face.
'He would have looked like a wild man of the woods,' I said. 'I should
have had to allow myself to be massacred for the good of society. I
should have been one more of the martyrs of humanity--Saint Philip
Brandolini!'
I offered her my arm, suggesting a saunter through the gardens.... We
wandered along cool paths bordered with myrtle and laurel and cypress
trees; the air was filled with the song of birds, and a gentle breeze
bore to us the scent of the spring flowers. By-and-by we came to a
little lawn shut in by tall shrubs; in the middle a fountain was
playing, and under the shadow of a chestnut-tree was a marble seat
supported by griffins; in one corner stood a statue of Venus framed in
green bushes. We had left the throng of guests far behind, and the place
was very still; the birds, as if oppressed with its beauty, had ceased
to sing, and only the fountain broke the silence. The unceasing fall of
water was like a lullaby in its monotony, and the air was scented with
lilac.
We sat down. The quiet was delightful; peace and beauty filled one, and
I felt a great sense of happiness pass into me, like some subtle liquid
permeating every corner of my soul. The smell of the lilac was beginning
to intoxicate me; and from my happiness issued a sentiment of love
towards all nature; I felt as though I could stretch out my arms and
embrace its impalpable spirit. The Venus in the corner gained flesh-like
tints of green and yellow, and seemed to be melting into life; the lilac
came across to me in great waves, oppressive, over-powering.
I looked at Claudia. I thought she was affected as myself; she, too, was
overwhelmed by the murmur of the water, the warmth, the scented air. And
I was struck again with the wonderful voluptuousness of her beauty; her
mouth sensual and moist, the lips deep red and heavy. Her neck was
wonderfully massive, so white that the veins showed clear and blue; her
clinging dress revealed the fulness of her form, its undulating curves.
She seemed some goddess of Sensuality. As I looked at her I was filled
with a sudden blind desire to possess her. I stretched out my arms, and
she, with a cry of passion, like an animal, surrendered herself to my
embrace. I drew her to me and kissed her beautiful mouth sensual and
moist, her lips deep red and heavy....
We sat side by side looking at the fountain, breathing in the scented
air.
'When can I see you?' I whispered.
'To-morrow.... After midnight. Come into the little street behind my
house, and a door will be opened to you.'
'Claudia!'
'Good-bye. You must not come back with me now, we have been away so
long, people would notice us. Wait here a while after me, and then there
will be no fear. Good-bye.'
She left me, and I stretched myself on the marble seat, looking at the
little rings which the drops made as they fell on the water. My love for
Giulia was indeed finished now--dead, buried, and a stone Venus erected
over it as only sign of its existence. I tried to think of a suitable
inscription.... Time could kill the most obstinate love, and a beautiful
woman, with the breezes of spring to help her, could carry away even
the remembrance. I felt that my life was now complete. I had all
pleasures imaginable at my beck and call: good wines to drink, good
foods to eat, nice clothes; games, sports and pastimes; and, last of
all, the greatest gift the gods can make, a beautiful woman to my youth
and strength. I had arrived at the summit of wisdom, the point aimed at
by the wise man, to take the day as it comes, seizing the pleasures,
avoiding the disagreeable, enjoying the present, and giving no thought
to the past or future. That, I said to myself, is the highest
wisdom--never to think; for the way of happiness is to live in one's
senses as the beasts, and like the ox, chewing the cud, use the mind
only to consider one's superiority to the rest of mankind.
I laughed a little as I thought of my tears and cries when Giulia left
me. It was not a matter worth troubling about; all I should have said to
myself was that I was a fool not to abandon her before she abandoned me.
Poor Giulia! I quite frightened her in the vehemence of my rage.
The following evening I would not let Matteo go to bed.
'You must keep me company,' I said, 'I am going out at one.'
'Very well,' he said, 'if you will tell me where you're going.'
'Ah, no, that is a secret; but I am willing to drink her health with
you.'
'Without a name?'
'Yes!'
'To the nameless one, then; and good luck!'
Then, after a little conversation, he said,--
'I am glad you have suffered no more from Giulia dall' Aste. I was
afraid--'
'Oh, these things pass off. I took your advice, and found the best way
to console myself was to fall in love with somebody else.'
There was a little excitement in going to this mysterious meeting. I
wondered whether it was a trap arranged by the amiable Ercole to get me
in his power and rid himself of my unpleasant person. But faint heart
never won fair lady; and even if he set on me with two or three others,
I should be able to give a reasonable account of myself.
* * * * *
But there had been nothing to fear. On my way home, as the day was
breaking, I smiled to myself at the matter-of-fact way in which a woman
had opened the little door, and shown me into the room Claudia had told
me of. She was evidently well used to her business; she did not even
take the trouble to look into my face to see who was the newcomer. I
wondered how many well-cloaked gallants she had let in by the same door;
I did not care if they were half a hundred. I did not suppose the
beautiful Claudia was more virtuous than myself. Suddenly it occurred to
me that I had revenged myself on Ercole Piacentini at last; and the
quaint thought, coming unexpectedly, made me stop dead and burst into a
shout of laughter. The thought of that hang-dog visage, and the
beautiful ornaments I had given him, was enough to make a dead man
merry. Oh, it was a fairer revenge than any I could have dreamed of!
But, besides that, I was filled with a great sense of pleasure because I
was at last free. I felt that if some slight chain still bound me to
Giulia now, even that was broken and I had recovered my liberty. There
was no love this time. There was a great desire for the magnificent
sensual creature, with the lips deep red and heavy; but it left my mind
free. I was now again a complete man; and this time I had no Nemesis to
fear.
XVIII
And so my life went on for a little while, filled with pleasure and
amusement. I was contented with my lot, and had no wish for change. The
time went by, and we reached the first week in April. Girolamo had
organised a great ball to celebrate the completion of his Palace. He had
started living in it as soon as there were walls and roof, but he had
spent years on the decorations, taking into his service the best artists
he could find in Italy; and now at last everything was finished. The
Orsi had been invited with peculiar cordiality, and on the night we
betook ourselves to the Palace.
We walked up the stately staircase, a masterpiece of architecture, and
found ourselves in the enormous hall which Girolamo had designed
especially for gorgeous functions. It was ablaze with light. At the
further end, on a low stage, led up to by three broad steps, under a
dais, on high-backed, golden chairs, sat Girolamo and Caterina Sforza.
Behind them, in a semicircle, and on the steps at each side, were the
ladies of Caterina's suite, and a number of gentlemen; at the back,
standing like statues, a row of men-at-arms.
'It is almost regal!' said Checco, pursing up his lips.
'It is not so poor a thing to be the Lord of Forli,' answered Matteo.
Fuel to the fire!
We approached, and Girolamo, as he saw us, rose and came down the steps.
'Hail, my Checco!' he said, taking both his hands. 'Till you had come
the assembly was not complete.'
Matteo and I went to the Countess. She had surpassed herself this night.
Her dress was of cloth of silver, shimmering and sparkling. In her hair
were diamonds shining like fireflies in the night; her arms, her neck,
her fingers glittered with costly gems. I had never seen her look so
beautiful, nor so magnificent. Let them say what they liked, Checco and
Matteo and the rest of them, but she was born to be a queen. How strange
that this offspring of the rough Condottiere and the lewd woman should
have a majesty such as one imagines of a mighty empress descended from
countless kings.
She took the trouble to be particularly gracious to us. Me she
complimented on some verses she had seen, and was very flattering in
reference to a pastoral play which I had arranged. She could not
congratulate my good Matteo on any intellectual achievements, but the
fame of his amours gave her a subject on which she could playfully
reproach him. She demanded details, and I left her listening intently to
some history which Matteo was whispering in her ear; and I knew he was
not particular in what he said.
I felt in peculiarly high spirits, and I looked about for someone on
whom to vent my good humour. I caught sight of Giulia. I had seen her
once or twice since my return to Forli, but had never spoken to her. Now
I felt sure of myself; I knew I did not care two straws for her, but I
thought it would please me to have a little revenge. I looked at her a
moment. I made up my mind; I went to her and bowed most ceremoniously.
'Donna Giulia, behold the moth!' I had used the simile before, but not
to her, so it did not matter.
She looked at me undecidedly, not quite knowing how to take me.
'May I offer you my arm,' I said as blandly as I could.
She smiled a little awkwardly and took it.
'How beautiful the Countess is to-night!' I said. 'Everyone will fall in
love with her.' I knew she hated Caterina, a sentiment which the great
lady returned with vigour. 'I would not dare say it to another; but I
know you are never jealous: she is indeed like the moon among the
stars.'
'The idea does not seem too new,' she said coldly.
'It is all the more comprehensible. I am thinking of writing a sonnet on
the theme.'
'I imagined it had been done before; but the ladies of Forli will
doubtless be grateful to you.'
She was getting cross; and I knew by experience that when she was cross
she always wanted to cry.
'I am afraid you are angry with me,' I said.
'No, it is you who are angry with me,' she answered rather tearfully.
'I? Why should you think that?'
'You have not forgiven me for--'
I wondered whether the conscientious Giorgio had had another attack of
morality and ridden off into the country.
'My dear lady,' I said, with a little laugh, 'I assure you that I have
forgiven you entirely. After all, it was not such a very serious
matter.'
'No?' She looked at me with a little surprise.
I shrugged my shoulders.
'You were quite right in what you did. Those things have to finish some
time or other, and it really does not so much matter when.'
'I was afraid I had hurt you,' she said in a low voice.
The scene came to my mind; the dimly-lit room, the delicate form lying
on the couch, cold and indifferent, while I was given over to an agony
of despair. I remembered the glitter of the jewelled ring against the
white hand. I would have no mercy.
'My dear Giulia--you will allow me to call you Giulia?'
She nodded.
'My dear Giulia, I was a little unhappy at first, I acknowledge, but one
gets over those things so quickly--a bottle of wine, and a good sleep:
they are like bleeding to a fever.'
'You were unhappy?'
'Naturally; one is always rather put out when one is dismissed. One
would prefer to have done the breaking oneself.'
'It was a matter of pride?'
'I am afraid I must confess to it.'
'I did not think so at the time.'
I laughed.
'Oh, that is my excited way of putting things. I frightened you; but it
did not really mean anything.'
She did not answer. After a while I said,--
'You know, when one is young one should make the most of one's time.
Fidelity is a stupid virtue, unphilosophical and extremely
unfashionable.'
'What do you mean?'
'Simply this; you did not particularly love me, and I did not
particularly love you.'
'Oh!'
'We had a passing fancy for one another, and that satisfied there was
nothing more to keep us together. We should have been very foolish not
to break the chain; if you had not done so, I should have. With your
woman's intuition, you saw that and forestalled me!'
Again she did not answer.
'Of course, if you had been in love with me, or I with you, it would
have been different. But as it was--'
'I see my cousin Violante in the corner there; will you lead me to her?'
I did as she asked, and as she was bowing me my dismissal I said,--
'We have had a very pleasant talk, and we are quite good friends, are we
not?'
'Quite!' she said.
I drew a long breath as I left her. I hoped I had hurt; I hoped I had
humiliated her. I wished I could have thought of things to say that
would have cut her to the heart. I was quite indifferent to her, but
when I remembered--I hated her.
I knew everyone in Forli by now, and as I turned away from Giulia I had
no lack of friends with whom to talk. The rooms became more crowded
every moment. The assembly was the most brilliant that Forli had ever
seen; and as the evening wore on the people became more animated; a
babel of talk drowned the music, and the chief topic of conversation was
the wonderful beauty of Caterina. She was bubbling over with high
spirits; no one knew what had happened to make her so joyful, for of
late she had suffered a little from the unpopularity of her husband, and
a sullen look of anger had replaced the old smiles and graces. But
to-night she was herself again. Men were standing round talking to her,
and one heard a shout of laughter from them as every now and then she
made some witty repartee; and her conversation gained another charm from
a sort of soldierly bluntness which people remembered in Francesco
Sforza, and which she had inherited. People also spoke of the cordiality
of Girolamo towards our Checco; he walked up and down the room with him,
arm in arm, talking affectionately; it reminded the onlookers of the
time when they had been as brothers together. Caterina occasionally gave
them a glance and a little smile of approval; she was evidently well
pleased with the reconciliation.
I was making my way through the crowd, watching the various people,
giving a word here and there or a nod, and I thought that life was
really a very amusing thing. I felt mightily pleased with myself, and I
wondered where my good friend Claudia was; I must go and pay her my
respects.
'Filippo!'
I turned and saw Scipione Moratini standing by his sister, with a number
of gentlemen and ladies, most of them known to me.
'Why are you smiling so contentedly?' he said. 'You look as if you had
lost a pebble and found a diamond in its place.'
'Perhaps I have; who knows?'
At that moment I saw Ercole Piacentini enter the room with his wife; I
wondered why they were so late. Claudia was at once seized upon by one
of her admirers, and, leaving her husband, sauntered off on the
proffered arm. Ercole came up the room on his way to the Count. His grim
visage was contorted into an expression of amiability, which sat on him
with an ill grace.
'This is indeed a day of rejoicing,' I said; 'even the wicked ogre is
trying to look pleasant.'
Giulia gave a little silvery laugh. I thought it forced.
'You have a forgiving spirit, dear friend,' she said, accenting the last
word in recollection of what I had said to her. 'A truly Christian
disposition!'
'Why?' I asked, smiling.
'I admire the way in which you have forgiven Ercole for the insults he
has offered you; one does not often find a gentleman who so charitably
turns his other cheek to the smiter!'
I laughed within myself; she was trying to be even with me. I was glad
to see that my darts had taken good effect. Scipione interposed, for
what his sister had said was sufficiently bitter.
'Nonsense, Giulia!' he said. 'You know Filippo is the last man to
forgive his enemies until the breath is well out of their bodies; but
circumstances--'
Giulia pursed up her lips into an expression of contempt.
'Circumstances. I was surprised, because I remembered the vigour with
which Messer Filippo had vowed to revenge himself.'
'Oh, but Messer Filippo considers that he has revenged himself very
effectively,' I said.
'How?'
'There are more ways of satisfying one's honour than by cutting a hole
in a person's chest.'
'What do you mean, Filippo?' said Scipione.
'Did you not see as he passed?'
'Ercole? What?'
'Did you not see the adornment of his noble head, the elegant pair of
horns?'
They looked at me, not quite understanding; then I caught sight of
Claudia, who was standing close to us.
'Ah, I see the diamond I have found in place of the pebble I have lost.
I pray you excuse me.'
Then as they saw me walk towards Claudia they understood, and I heard a
burst of laughter. I took my lady's hand, and bowing deeply, kissed it
with the greatest fervour. I glanced at Giulia from the corner of my
eyes and saw her looking down on the ground, with a deep blush of anger
on her face. My heart leapt for joy to think that I had returned
something of the agony she had caused me.
The evening grew late and the guests began to go. Checco, as he passed
me, asked,--
'Are you ready?'
'Yes!' I said, accompanying him to Girolamo and the Countess to take our
leave.
'You are very unkind, Checco,' said the Countess. 'You have not come
near me the whole evening.'
'You have been so occupied,' he answered.
'But I am not now,' she replied, smiling.
'The moment I saw you free I came to you.'
'To say good-bye.'
'It is very late.'
'No, surely; sit down and talk to me.'
Checco did as he was bid, and I, seeing he meant to stay longer,
sauntered off again in search of friends. The conversation between
Checco and the Countess was rather hindered by the continual
leave-takings, as the people began to go away rapidly, in groups. I sat
myself down in a window with Matteo, and we began comparing notes of our
evening; he told me of a new love to whom he had discovered his passion
for the first time.
'Fair wind, foul wind?' I asked, laughing.
'She pretended to be very angry,' he said, 'but she allowed me to see
that if the worst came to the worst she would not permit me to break my
heart.'
I looked out into the room and found that everyone had gone, except
Ercole Piacentini, who was talking to the Count in undertones.
'I am getting so sleepy,' said Matteo. We went forward to the Countess,
who said, as she saw us come,--
'Go away, Matteo! I will not have you drag Checco away yet; we have been
trying to talk to one another for the last half-hour, and now that we
have the chance at last I refuse to be disturbed.'
'I would not for worlds rob Checco of such pleasure,' said Matteo;
adding to me, as we retired to our window, 'What a nuisance having to
wait for one's cousin while a pretty woman is flirting with him!'
'You have me to talk to--what more can you want!'
'I don't want to talk to you at all,' he answered, laughing.
Girolamo was still with Ercole. His mobile eyes were moving over the
room, hardly ever resting on Ercole's face, but sometimes on us, more
often on Checco. I wondered whether he was jealous.
At last Checco got up and said Good-night. Then Girolamo came forward.
'You are not going yet,' he said. 'I want to speak with you on the
subject of those taxes.'
It was the first time he had mentioned them.
'It is getting so late,' said Checco, 'and these good gentlemen are
tired.'
'They can go home. Really, it is very urgent.'
Checco hesitated, and looked at us.
'We will wait for you,' said Matteo.
Girolamo's eyes moved about here and there, never resting a moment, from
Checco to me, from me to Matteo, and on to his wife, and then on again,
with extraordinary rapidity--it was quite terrifying.
'One would think you were afraid of leaving Checco in our hands,' said
the Countess, smiling.
'No,' returned Matteo; 'but I look forward to having some of your
attention now that Checco is otherwise occupied. Will you let me
languish?'
She laughed, and a rapid glance passed between her and the Count.
'I shall be only too pleased,' she said, 'come and sit by me, one on
each side.'
The Count turned to Ercole.
'Well, good-night, my friend,' he said. 'Good-night!'
Ercole left us, and Girolamo, taking Checco's arm, walked up and down
the room, speaking. The Countess and Matteo commenced a gay
conversation. Although I was close to them I was left alone, and I
watched the Count. His eyes fascinated me, moving ceaselessly. What
could be behind them? What could be the man's thoughts that his eyes
should never rest? They enveloped the person they looked at--his head,
every feature of his face, his body, his clothes; one imagined there was
no detail they had not caught; it was as if they ate into the very soul
of the man.
The two men tramped up and down, talking earnestly; I wondered what they
were saying. At last Girolamo stopped.
'Ah, well, I must have mercy on you; I shall tire you to death. And you
know I do not wish to do anything to harm you.'
Checco smiled.
'Whatever difficulty there has been between us, Checco, you know that
there has never on my part been any ill-feeling towards you. I have
always had for you a very sincere and affectionate friendship.'
And as he said the words an extraordinary change came over him. The
eyes, the mobile eyes, stopped still at last; for the first time I saw
them perfectly steady, motionless, like glass; they looked fixedly into
Checco's eyes, without winking, and their immobility was as strange as
their perpetual movement, and to me it was more terrifying. It was as if
Girolamo was trying to see his own image in Checco's soul.
We bade them farewell, and together issued out into the silence of the
night; and I felt that behind us the motionless eyes, like glass, were
following us into the darkness.
XIX
We issued out into the silence of the night. There had been a little
rain during the day, and the air in consequence was fresh and sweet; the
light breeze of the spring made one expand one's lungs and draw in long
breaths. One felt the trees bursting out into green leaves, and the buds
on the plants opening their downy mantles and discovering the flower
within. Light clouds were wandering lazily along the sky, and between
them shone out a few dim stars. Checco and Matteo walked in front, while
I lingered enjoying the spring night; it filled me with a sweet sadness,
a reaction from the boisterous joy of the evening, and pleasant by the
contrast.
When Matteo fell behind and joined me, I received him a little
unwillingly, disappointed at the interruption of my reverie.
'I asked Checco what the Count had said to him of the taxes, but he
would not tell me; he said he wanted to think about the conversation.'
I made no answer, and we walked on in silence. We had left the piazza,
and were going through the narrow streets bordered by the tall black
houses. It was very late, and there was not a soul about; there was no
sound but that of our own footsteps, and of Checco walking a few yards
in front. Between the roofs of the houses only a little strip of sky
could be seen, a single star, and the clouds floating lazily. The warm
air blew in my face, and filled me with an intoxication of melancholy. I
thought how sweet it would be to fall asleep this night, and never again
to wake. I was tired, and I wanted the rest of an endless sleep....
Suddenly I was startled by a cry.
I saw from the shadow of the houses black forms spring out on Checco. An
arm was raised, and a glittering instrument flashed in the darkness. He
staggered forward.
'Matteo,' he cried. 'Help! Help!'
We rushed forward, drawing our swords. There was a scuffle, three of us
against four of them, a flash of swords, a cry from one of the men as he
reeled and fell with a wound from Matteo's sword. Then another rush, a
little band of men suddenly appeared round the corner, and Ercole
Piacentini's voice, crying,--
'What is it? What is it?'
And Matteo's answer,--
'Help us, Ercole! I have killed one. Checco is stabbed.'
'Ah!' a cry from Ercole, and with his men he rushed into the fray.
A few more cries, still the flash of swords, the fall of heavy bodies on
the stones.
'They are done for!' said Matteo.
The shouts, the clang of metal woke up the neighbours; lights were seen
at the windows, and night-capped women appeared shrieking; doors were
thrown open, and men came out in their shirts, sword in hand.
'What is it? What is it?'
'Checco, are you hurt?' asked Matteo.
'No; my coat of mail!'
'Thank God you had it on! I saw you stagger.'
'It was the blow. At first I did not know whether I was hurt or not.'
'What is it? What is it?'
The neighbours surrounded us.
'They have tried to murder Checco! Checco d'Orsi!'
'My God! Is he safe?'
'Who has done it?'
All eyes were turned to the four men, each one lying heaped up on the
ground, with the blood streaming from his wounds.
'They are dead!'
'Footpads!' said Ercole; 'they wanted to rob you, and did not know you
were accompanied.'
'Footpads! Why should footpads rob me this night?' said Checco. 'I wish
they were not dead.'
'Look, look!' said a bystander, 'there is one moving.'
The words were hardly out of the man's mouth before one of Ercole's
soldiers snatched up his dagger and plunged it in the man's neck,
shouting,--
'Bestia!'
A tremor went through the prostrate body, and then it was quite still.
'You fool!' said Matteo, angrily. 'Why did you do that?'
'He is a murderer,' said the soldier.
'You fool, we wanted him alive, not dead. We could have found out who
hired him.'
'What do you mean?' said Ercole. 'They are common robbers.'
'Here is the guard,' cried someone.
The guard came, and immediately there was a babel of explanation. The
captain stepped forward, and examined the men lying on the ground.
'They are all dead,' he said.
'Take them away,' said Ercole. 'Let them be put in a church till
morning.'
'Stop!' cried Checco. 'Bring a light, and let us see if we can recognise
them.'
'Not now, it is late. To-morrow you can do what you like.'
'To-morrow it will be later, Ercole,' answered Checco. 'Bring a light.'
Torches were brought, and thrust into the face of each dead man.
Everyone eagerly scrutinised the features, drawn up in their last agony.
'I don't know him.'
Then to another.
'No.'
And the other two also were unknown. Checco examined the face of the
last, and shook his head. But a man broke out excitedly,--
'Ah! I know him.'
A cry from us all.
'Who is it?'
'I know him. It is a soldier, one of the Count's guard.'
'Ah!' said Matteo and Checco, looking at one another. 'One of the
Count's guard!'
'That is a lie,' said Ercole. 'I know them all, and I have never seen
that face before. It is a footpad, I tell you.'
'It is not. I know him well. He is a member of the guard.'
'It is a lie, I tell you.'
'Ercole is doubtless right,' said Checco. 'They are common thieves. Let
them be taken away. They have paid a heavy price for their attempt.
Good-night, my friends. Good-night, Ercole, and thanks.'
The guard took hold of the dead men by the head and by the feet, and one
after another, in single file, they bore them off down the dark street.
We three moved on, the crowd gradually melted away, and everything again
became dark and silent.
We walked home side by side without speaking. We came to the Palazzo
Orsi, entered, walked upstairs, one after the other, into Checco's
study, lights were brought, the door closed carefully, and Checco turned
round to us.
'Well?'
Neither I nor Matteo spoke. Checco clenched his fist, and his eyes
flashed as he hissed out,--
'The cur!'
We all knew the attempt was the Count's....
'By God! I am glad you are safe,' said Matteo.
'What a fool I was to be taken in by his protestations! I ought to have
known that he would never forget the injury I had done him.'
'He planned it well,' said Matteo.
'Except for the soldier,' I remarked. 'He should not have chosen anyone
who could be recognised.'
'Probably he was the leader. But how well he managed everything,
keeping us after the others, and nearly persuading Filippo and me to go
home before you. Caterina was in the plot.'
'I wonder he did not defer the attempt when he found you would not be
alone,' I said to Checco.
'He knows I am never alone, and such an opportunity would not easily
occur again. Perhaps he thought they could avoid you two, or even murder
you as well.'
'But Ercole and his men?' I said.
'Yes, I have been thinking about them. The only explanation I have is
that he placed them there to cover their flight if they succeeded, and
if they failed or could not escape, to kill them.'
'As, in fact, they did. I thought I saw Ercole make a sign to the
soldier who stabbed the only living one.'
'Possibly. The idea was evidently to destroy all witnesses and all
opportunity for inquiry.'
'Well,' said Matteo, 'it will show others that it is dangerous to do
dirty work for the Riario.'
'It will indeed!'
'And now, what is to happen?' said Matteo.
Checco looked at him, but did not reply.
'Do you still refuse to do to Girolamo as he has tried to do to you?'
Checco answered quietly,--
'No!'
'Ah!' we both cried. 'Then you consent?'
'I see no reason now for not taking the law into my own hands.'
'Assassination?' whispered Matteo.
And Checco answered boldly,--
'Assassination!' Then, after a pause, 'It is the only way open to me. Do
you remember Lorenzo's words? They have been with me every day, and I
have considered them very, very deeply: "Let Checco know that it is only
the fool who proposes to himself an end, when he cannot or will not
attain it; but the man who deserves the name of man marches straight to
the goal with clearness of mind and strength of will. He looks at things
as they are, putting aside all vain appearances, and when his
intelligence has shown him the means to his end, he is a fool if he
refuses them, and he is a wise man if he uses them steadily and
unhesitatingly." I know the end, and I will attain it. I know the means,
and I will use them steadily, without hesitation.'
'I am glad to hear you speak like that at last!' said Matteo. 'We shall
have plenty to help us. The Moratini will join at once. Jacopo Ronchi
and Lodovico Pansecchi are so bitter against the Count they will come
with us as soon as they hear you have decided to kill the enemy of us
all.'
'You are blind, Matteo. Do you not see what we must do? You mistake the
means for the end.'
'What do you mean?'
'The death of Girolamo is only a means. The end is further and higher.'
Matteo did not speak.
'I must keep my hands clean from any base motive. It must not seem that
I am influenced by any personal incentive. Nothing must come from me.
The idea of assassination must come from outside.'
'Whom do you--'
'I think Bartolomeo Moratini must propose it, and I will yield to his
instances.'
'Good! then I will go to him.'
'That will not do either. Neither you nor I must be concerned in it.
Afterwards it must be clear to all minds that the Orsi were influenced
solely by the public welfare. Do you see? I will tell you how it must
be. Filippo must help us. He must go to Bartolomeo, and from his great
affection for us talk of our danger and intreat Bartolomeo to persuade
me to the assassination. Do you understand, Filippo?'
'Perfectly!'
'Will you do it?'
'I will go to him to-morrow.'
'Wait till the news of the attempt has spread.'
I smiled at the completeness with which Checco had arranged everything;
he had evidently thought it all out. How had his scruples disappeared?
The blackness of the night was sinking before the dawn when we bade one
another good-night.
XX
I seemed to have slept a bare half-hour when I was awakened by a great
noise downstairs. I got up, and looking out of the window saw a crowd
gathered in the street below; they were talking and gesticulating
furiously. Then I remembered the occurrence of the night, and I saw that
the news had spread and these were citizens come to gather details. I
went downstairs and found the courtyard thronged. Immediately I was
surrounded by anxious people asking for news. Very contrary reports had
circulated; some said that Checco had been killed outright, others that
he had escaped, while most asserted that he was wounded. All asked for
Checco.
'If he is unhurt, why does he not show himself?' they asked.
A servant assured them that he was dressing, and would be with them at
once.... Suddenly there was a shout. Checco had appeared at the top of
the stairs. They rushed towards him, surrounding him with cries of joy;
they seized his hand, they clung to his legs, some of them touched him
all over to see that he was indeed unwounded, others kissed the lappets
of his coat.... Bartolomeo Moratini entered the court with his sons, and
the people shrunk back as he came forward and embraced Checco.
'Thank God you are saved!' he said. 'It will be an evil day for Forli
when anything happens to you.'
The people answered in shouts. But at that moment another sound was
heard without--a long and heavy murmur. The people surrounding the
doorway looked out and turned in astonishment to their neighbours,
pointing to the street; the murmur spread. What was it?
'Make way! Make way!'
A strident voice called out the words, and ushers pushed the people
aside. A little troop of men appeared in the entrance, and as they sank
back there stepped forward the Count. The Count! Checco started, but
immediately recovering himself advanced to meet his visitor. Girolamo
walked up to him, and taking him in his arms kissed him on the cheeks,
and said,--
'My Checco! My Checco!'
We who knew and the others who suspected looked on with astonishment.
'As soon as I heard the terrible news I rushed to find you,' said the
Count. 'Are you safe--quite safe?'
He embraced him again.
'You cannot think what agony I suffered when I heard you were wounded.
How glad I am it was not true. Oh, God in Heaven, I thank Thee for my
Checco!'
'You are very kind, my lord,' answered our friend.
'But it is some consolation that the miscreants have met the end which
they deserved. We must take steps to free the town of all such dangerous
persons. What will men say of my rule when it is known that the peaceful
citizen cannot walk home at night without danger to his life? Oh,
Checco, I blame myself bitterly.'
'You have no cause, my lord, but--would it not be well to examine the
men to see if they are known in Forli? Perhaps they have associates.'
'Certainly; the idea was in my mind. Let them be laid out in the
market-place so that all may see them.'
'Pardon, sir,' said one of his suite, 'but they were laid in the Church
of San Spirito last night, and this morning they have disappeared.'
Matteo and I looked at one another. Checco kept his eyes fixed on the
Count.
'Disappeared!' cried the latter, displaying every sign of impatience.
'Who is responsible for this? Offer a reward for the discovery of their
bodies and of any accomplices. I insist on their being discovered!'
Shortly afterwards he took his leave, after repeatedly kissing Checco,
and warmly congratulating Matteo and myself on the assistance we had
given to our friend. To me he said,--
'I regret, Messer Filippo, that you are not a Forlivese. I should be
proud to have such a citizen.'
Bartolomeo Moratini was still at the Palazzo Orsi, so, seizing my
opportunity, I took him by the arm and walked with him to the statue
gallery, where we could talk in peace.
'What do you think of all this?' I said.
He shook his head.
'It is the beginning of the end. Of course it is clear to all of us that
the assassination was ordered by the Count; he will persuade nobody of
his innocence by his pretended concern. All the town is whispering his
name.
'Having made a first attempt and failed, he will not hesitate to make a
second, for if he could forgive the injury which he has received from
Checco, he can never forgive the injury which he himself has done him.
And next time he will not fail.'
'I am terribly concerned,' I said. 'You know the great affection I have
for both the Orsi.'
He stopped and warmly shook my hand.
'I cannot let Checco throw away his life in this way,' I said.
'What can be done?'
'Only one thi
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/39143