On our way back Ceci was somehow separated from me, whether by accident or design, I cannot say. I did not quite regret this, as I had made up my mind to see as little as possible of him for the future, thinking he had repaid himself for his kindness, by the proposals he had made to me. Indeed, I may say I never sought his society, although, until he showed his hand, his visits and conversation gave me some pleasure, for notwithstanding his position, he was a well-informed man, who, in the earlier part of his life, must have seen better days, and perhaps hoped to see them again, if his plot succeeded. The words he had let drop, to the effect that the Medici would come back, had given me a hint as to what that plot was. It was evident that my old friend was an active member of the Bigi, or Grey Party in Florence, that were then working secretly for the restoration of Lorenzo's sons. It seemed clear too, that the attempt to be made, was to be directed against some very eminent member of the State--perhaps the Gonfaloniere himself, and I began to wonder if it was not my duty to lay the information I had before the Signory. I could not, however, reconcile this with my promise of silence, and therefore my tongue was tied. Still I could not sit tamely by, and see a man murdered in cold blood, and I decided therefore, to remain in Florence somehow, and if possible avert the crime, although it would interfere, no doubt, with my own business. But one cannot always be thinking of one's self. Perhaps also, though not quite conscious of it then, I had some idea of again meeting the unknown lady of the gala procession, in whom, in spite of myself, I felt I was taking too great an interest.
During the night I had but little sleep, for the affair of the mad partisan of the Medici, and the declaration of war, had roused the citizens to fever heat, and all night long, crowds thronged the streets, their hoarse shouts of Popolo! Popolo! mingling with the incessant clanging of the war-bell, which itself was loud enough to wake the dead. The next day, however, I resolved to take the bull by the horns, and with a view to fill my purse, determined to present myself before La Palisse, and offer him my sword. I sallied out, therefore, finding the streets fairly empty, the all-night indignation meeting of the Florentines having wearied them a little. Still, however, there were knots of people here and there, all in a more or less excited condition. I was in no particular hurry, and taking a lesson from the snail, went at a leisurely pace, and eventually reached the headquarters of La Palisse, which were in the Medicean palace, in the Via Larga. The courtyard and entrance-hall were full of soldiers, and evidently active preparations for the campaign were in progress, for there was a continuous stream of people going in and out. No one took any notice of me, and holding my cap in one hand, and straightening the feather on it with the fingers of the other, I advanced unquestioned through the crowded rooms. In this manner I proceeded until I came to a gallery, on one flank of which there was a series of windows overlooking the street; at the end of the gallery hung a purple curtain, covering, as it happened, an open door. On the curtain itself was embroidered a crimson shield, bearing the palle of the Medici. Before this I was stopped by a young officer, who asked me my business, and I replied it was with La Palisse himself.
"Impossible!" he replied; "you cannot see the General."
"Why not, signore?"
"Tush, man! You look old enough to understand that orders are orders."
"What is it, De Brienne?" a sharp voice called out from within. The officer lifted the curtain, and went inside. I was determined to gain an interview with the great man, and had therefore said my business was of importance. The leanness of my purse is my excuse for the subterfuge, which I subsequently regretted, as will be seen further on. Shortly after De Brienne came out. "Well, messer--messer----"
"Donati," I said.
"Well, Donati, the General will see you. You may enter."
I accordingly did so, and found myself in the presence of a short, thick-set man, seated at a small table, on which was spread a map, over which he was looking intently. In a corner of the room lay his helmet and sword, and he himself was in half-mail, wearing a Milanese corselet, on which was emblazoned the red dragon of his house. As his head was bent over the paper, I could not at first make out his features, and remained standing patiently. Suddenly he lifted his face, and looked at me with a quick "Well--your business, sir?"
I was accustomed to strange sights, but for the moment was startled, so horribly disfigured was the man. The sight of one eye was completely gone, and half his face looked as if a red-hot gridiron had been pressed against it. The other eye was intact, and twinkled ferociously under its bushy grey eyebrow. I recovered myself quickly, and made my request in as few words as possible. He became enraged as I finished. "Bah!" he said, "I thought your business was of importance. I can do nothing for you, my list is full. You have gained admission to me under a pretence--go!" and he resumed his study of the map. I would have urged the matter, but all my pride was aroused at his words, and so, with a short good-day, I turned on my heel and walked out. Passing through the gallery, I saw De Brienne, leaning against an open window, talking to another young officer. They both looked at me, and burst into a loud laugh. At any other time I might have treated this with contempt, but I was sore all over at my reception, and approaching the two said, "You seem amused, gentlemen--it is not well to laugh at distress."
They stopped their laughter, staring haughtily at me, and De Brienne said, "Your way, signore, lies before you," and he pointed down the corridor.
"Perhaps the Signor de Brienne would care to accompany me--unless," and I looked him steadily in the face.
"Unless what?" De Brienne flushed angrily.
At this moment we heard a hasty footstep on the marble floor, and La Palisse advanced. "Still here," he said to me, "did I not tell you to begone?"
"My business is with the Signor de Brienne," I replied stiffly, for my blood was hot within me.
"I am quite prepared," began De Brienne, but the free-captain interposed.
"Not in the least. I cannot allow my officers to go fighting with every croque-mort, who comes here with a long sword and a lying story. Look at him, De Brienne--every inch a bravo! Harkee, Donati! Begone at once. Not another word, or by God, I will have you hanged from the nearest window!"
It did not require me to carry my perception in my right hand, to be aware that La Palisse was capable of fulfilling his threat, and although I was inclined to draw on him there and then, I knew what the ultimate results would be. So swallowing my pride as best I could, and regretting the ill-humour which had subjected me to this insult, I stalked into the street.
I made my way to my ordinary, and sat there to cool, which took some time. I was able to see, that the rebuff I received was due in great part to my own mismanagement; also that there was no hope for me from La Palisse, and that my steps must turn elsewhere if I wished my purse to show a full-fed appearance. I dined sparingly, drinking but a half measure of Chianti, which I mixed with water, and it made but a thin fluid. When I finished my slender repast, there was nothing left but to kill time. It was useless to go back to my lodging; for want of funds had compelled me to discontinue, until better times, my newly acquired habit of reading, and Ceci, despite the kindness he had shown me, was precise in the exaction of payment for offices performed by him. No more indeed could be expected from a huckstering mind such as his, inherited no doubt from a line of bargaining citizens, whose hearts were in their bales of wool. So I strolled towards the garden of St. Michael, passing on the way the piazzi, where there were still numbers assembled, and wondering at the implacable hatred of the Florentines towards their noblest blood, a hatred they carried so far, as to build the walls of the Palace of the Signory obliquely, rather than they should touch the spot where the Uberti once dwelt. And this set me reflecting on the unreasoning stupidity of the canaille, in their enmity towards gentle blood. Perhaps I was a little influenced in these thoughts, from the fact that the Uberti were connected by marriage with the Savelli, a daughter of Maso degli Uberti having wedded that Baptista di Savelli who upheld by force of arms his right to attend the Conclave of Cardinals. It was sad to think that of the Uberti not one was left, and of the Savelli--I alone. I will not include the Chigi, for they come through the female line, and although Amilcar Chigi, the son of my father's old enemy, subsequently made advances of friendship towards me, I felt bound to explain to him that I was the head of the house, despite the broad lands his father got with his mother Olympia, by an unjust decree of the Chamber of Lies.
This, however, is a family affair, which does not concern the narration in hand. Having reached the garden, I sat myself to rest on a stone seat, set against a wall overhung by a large tree. At the further end of the walk were two ladies in earnest conversation. Their backs were to me at first, but on arriving at the end of the walk, they turned slowly round, and came towards me. As they approached, I was almost sure they were the two I had seen in the gala procession, and my doubts were soon at rest, for, on passing, they glanced at me with idle curiosity, and in a moment I recognised them by their air and gait. On this occasion they wore no masks, and I saw they were both young and passing fair. The face of the shorter of the two, whose figure had a matronly cast, was set in a mass of light hair, and looked brimful of good-humour. The other, who, in marked contrast to her companion, had dark hair and dark eyes, possessed a countenance of exceeding beauty, marred perhaps by its expression of pride. Be that as it may, my blood began to tingle as I saw her, and an indefinite thought of what might have been rose into my mind. When they had gone a few yards, the one, whom I took to be a married woman, said something to her friend, and glanced over her shoulder; but the other appeared to reprove the remark, increasing as she did so the pride of her carriage. I wondered to myself that two ladies, should be out unattended, in so sequestered a spot, at a time too when the city was so full of excitement, and watched them as they turned the corner of the walk, and went out of sight beyond the trees. I began in a useless manner to speculate who they were, and to weave together a little romance in my heart, when I was startled by a shriek, and the next moment the fair-haired lady came running round the corner of the road, crying for help. It was not fifty yards, and in less time than I take to write this, I whipped out my sword, and was hurrying to the spot. I saw, when I reached, the taller lady struggling in the arms of an ill-looking ruffian.
She called out on my coming, and the man, loosening his hold, was about to make off, when, unwilling to soil my sword with the blood of a low-born scoundrel, I struck at him with my fist, and the cross handle of the sword clenched in my hand, inflicted an ugly gash on his forehead, besides bringing him down. I stood with the point of my sword over him, and the affrighted women behind me.
"Hold, signore!" he cried, "enough! I yield--what! Would you draw on a friend?"
"A friend?" I said in astonishment, as he slowly rose to his feet.
"Yes, Signor di Savelli, were you on Monte San Michele now, you would sing a different tune."
"Piero Luigi, then it is you," I said; "well, scoundrel, I am not on Monte San Michele, but you are here, and will shortly be before Messer the Gonfaloniere, unless you restore at once what you have doubtless robbed from these ladies and beg their pardon. Stop! if you attempt to move, I will spit you like a lark."
"I have taken nothing," he said, "let me go; I am punished enough."
"That is true, sir," said one of the ladies, "and we pray you let the man go."
"Not till he has begged your pardon," I replied.
Luigi did as he was bid, and humbly apologised; but as he left, he discharged a Parthian shot: "Ah, ladies! I sought but a kiss. I am but a poor thief--a crow--but the Signor di Savelli is no better, though he flies with hawk's wings."
I took no notice of the remark; and, lifting my cap, begged permission to see the ladies to a place of safety.
"We thank you for your kindness, sir," said the shorter and elder of the two, "but I see our servants approaching, and we will not therefore trespass on you. Believe me, however, we are grateful--my cousin and I."
Even as she spoke her lackeys came up, and one of them, in an alarmed tone, asked what was the matter, and turned on me fiercely.
"Be quiet, Gian," said the lady who had just spoken, "it is we who have to thank Signor di Savelli for rescuing us."
"Your pardon, signore; but we heard the ladies cry out, and seeing you here----"
"Where you should have been," I interrupted, "you lag too far behind your mistress."
The dark-haired girl, who had up to now not spoken, but, with her face very pale, was playing with a bracelet on her wrist, now looked up.
"I think we had better get back, we will not trouble this--this gentleman further. He has already done too much for us."
She dropped me a proud little curtsey, and turned away, but her friend frankly held out her hand. "Believe me, Signor di Savelli--I heard you so called--my cousin Angiola and I are both very grateful. She is a good deal upset by what has happened, and I speak for her. My husband," she went on hurriedly, "has much influence, and if any word----"
She stopped a little helplessly, and seeing she had observed my appearance, and anxious to end the affair, I cut in--
"Madam, I did nothing but drive off a cur--you thank me too much. Good day!"
I stood cap in hand until they turned the elbow of the walk, and then retraced my steps to my lodging. As I went back, I could not help railing at my luck. I was enabled to do a service, which, for no reason I could assign, I would rather have done to this particular woman than any other--a service which should have made her look kindly at me, and yet by a cruel stroke she was made to think me nothing else but a thief, for Luigi's charge was definite, and it was clear I knew him. My name was also known to her, and perhaps the rest of my story, as it was understood by the public, would be told to her, and then, adieu to my little romance, if it was not adieu already. Then again what business had I to have any such thoughts? I had yet to learn that these things come unbidden, and when they come, take no denial. Thinking in this way as I walked on, I was surprised to find I had reached the old Albizzi Palace. This building, like all the other houses of the nobles of Florence, was fortified with braccia or towers, joined to each other by bridges. These towers formed refuges during interurban wars, and stood many a siege from the people. The Albizzi Palace had four such braccia, but the two towards the Ultrarno quarter had been half demolished in some forgotten riot, and never restored. The others were however intact, although the bridge between them had long since given way. It was in one of these that I had my abode, and reaching it about sundown, began to slowly ascend the dark stairs which led to my chamber. Occasionally I stopped and rested, and it was during one of these rests that I looked up to the landing above me. It was still in light; for the setting sun shone through a giglio shaped window in the western wall. As I glanced up, a figure suddenly appeared at the head of the stairway, and leaning one hand on the balustrade, peered down into the dim light below it. I recognised the extraordinary dress at once, and a moment's survey of the face assured me it was my host of the hovel, he who had so strangely disappeared with the girl, when I fought with Brico at Perugia.
"A good day to you, friend!" I called out, "and well met."
"Who calls? Who is there?" he answered.
"One moment, let me climb up these stairs," and I made my way to the landing, and held out my hand.
He took it in silence, but his grip was warm.
"Signore," he said after a moment, "I do not know your name; but whoever you are, Mathew Corte owes you much, and will some day show himself grateful."
"My name," I said, "for the present is Donati, and as for gratitude there is no need to speak of it."
As he mentioned his name, I remembered that there was a madman so called, who had come into notoriety years ago, by asserting that he had discovered the secret of prolonging life to a hundred and twenty years. He had, I heard, written a book in which this was fully described, and presented it to the Cibo pope, with the inscription, videbis dies Petri et ultra. Long after, I heard Cardinal Bembo tell, in his witty way, how this same Corte presented his book to three successive popes, ending with Innocent of Genoa, adding that he took care on each occasion to substitute a new title-page and dedication. "But," the cardinal was wont to add, "it is against the canon, for our Lord the Pope to go in any matter, even in life, beyond the Holy Apostle, and therefore, no doubt, the worthy doctor's prescriptions were not followed. Such are the sacrifices the church has to make."
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"Some days."
"And we have never met!"
"Ah! The place is like a rabbit-warren. There are hundreds here. But it is odd that I have never seen you."
"Not so very odd when I come to think of it," and I looked down at my shabby attire. "It is generally late when I go out."
He held out one leg, clothed in its fantastic dress.
"I too am on the rocks," and he laughed bitterly, "and feed with the goats."
Wishing to change the subject, I inquired about the girl. He turned away to the window, and when he looked back the man's eyes were full of tears.
"Would you care to see?" he asked, with a shake in his voice.
I bowed gravely, and he conducted me upstairs, fully two flights beyond my room, and then stopped on a small landing. Through the half-open door that faced us, a little dog came out, and looked wistfully at Corte. He stooped to stroke it, and then rising, passed into the room. When he had gone beyond the door, he looked back at me, saying "enter."
I did so with gentle footsteps, and he pointed to a bed in the corner of the room, on which was the figure of a woman, lying so still and motionless, that she might have been an image of wax. Her plentiful brown hair was spread over the pillow, and out of this frame, the pinched white face, with all its traces of past beauty, looked out in a pitiful silence. One thin hand was turned palm downwards on the coverlet, and, as we stood, the fingers began to work convulsively.
Corte bent over her forehead and touched it with his lips. "Little one," he said, "do you sleep?"
The girl opened her sightless eyes, and a faint smile, that lightened her face, making it wondrous beautiful, passed over her countenance.
"Not yet." She spoke so low I could hardly catch the words, "but I shall sleep soon."
I knew what she meant, for in her face was already that look which comes to those who are going away. Corte was however unable to judge. "She is better," he said, "I will give her some more wine--all that she needs is strength--my little one." With this he turned to a cupboard, and opening it, took thenceforth a bottle of wine; with shaking fingers he tried to fill a glass; but the bottle was empty.
"I forgot," he said, and looked hopelessly around him. There was that in the man's face which made me read it as an open book.
"Stay here," I whispered, "I will be back soon--very soon."
He looked at me in a dazed sort of manner, but I waited for no reply, and, slipping out of the room, ran as fast as I could downstairs, and through the darkening streets to the nearest inn. Calling the landlord I asked him what was his best wine.
"My best wine, signore! All my wines are good. There is Chianti from our own Tuscan grape, Lacryma Christi from Naples, Barolo from Piedmont, Roman Orvieto and White Vernaccia of the same brand that the Cardinal Ippolite d'Este----"
"Fool," I interrupted, "answer my question. What is your best wine? Have you any of the wines of France?"
"Wines of France!" he exclaimed, "Corpo di Bacco! Does not your excellency know that La Palisse and his French cut-throats have been here for a month? Think you there is a bottle of red Roussilon or Armagnac left in Florence? There lie, however, in my cellar, two flagons of Burgundy."
"Fetch one at once--run, man!" and I flung him a crown.
After a short delay, which seemed ages to me, messer the padrone reappeared with the flagon of Burgundy under his arm, and seizing it from him, I ran back to the Albizzi Palace, and hurried up the stairs to the room occupied by Corte. Although I had been away barely half an hour, that was sufficient time to make a change for the worse in the sick girl, and I became aware that the end had begun. We tried to force a little of the wine between her lips; but she could not swallow, and now instead of lying still, kept tossing her head from side to side. Corte was undone. He could do nothing but stand at the head of the bed, in mute despair, as he watched the parting soul sob its way out.
I went towards him: "Shall I send the intendant for a priest?"
If ever words changed the countenance of a man, mine did. His eyes fairly blazed with anger, and he hissed out, "No, signore--this is a priest's work--pray if you like, but no priest comes here."
I had, as all other men have, frequently called upon God, sometimes in idle blasphemy; but never on an occasion so serious as this. Pray if I liked! I had forgotten what real prayer was. Impelled by a power I could not resist, I knelt down and tried to form some words to reach the Most High. But they would not come, I could only feel them, and I rose again and took my stand by the dying girl.
She began to talk now in a rambling manner, and with that strength which comes at the point of death from somewhere; her voice was clear, but with a metallic ring. It is not for me to repeat the last words of one who is now with her God; but I gathered from them a story of trusting love, of infamous wrong and dastardly crime. And Corte shook like a branch in the wind, as the words came thick and fast from the lips of his dying child. After a while she became still once again. So still that we thought she had passed away; but she revived on a sudden, and called out:
"Father--I cannot see--I am blind--stoop down and let me whisper."
"I am here, little one--close--quite close to you."
"Tell him--I--forgive. You must forgive too--promise."
Corte pressed his lips to her damp forehead, but spoke no word.
"It is bright again--they are calling me--mother! Hold me up--I cannot breathe."
Corte sank on his knees with his head between his hands, and passing my arm round the poor creature I lifted her up, and the spirit passed. In the room there was now a silence which was broken by a heart-rending sob from Corte. He staggered to his feet with despair on his face.
"She said forgive!" he exclaimed. "Man, you have seen an angel die. This is the work of a priest, of a pontiff, of him who calls himself Vicar of Christ! Go now, and leave me with my dead."
I took his hand, and pressing it, turned to the door. As I closed it behind me, I saw Corte bending over the still face of his child, and the little dog, throwing up its head, howled piteously.
