When Vanna announced her condition the neighbours looked slyly at each
other; when her condition announced Vanna, they chattered; the gossip
sank to whispering behind the hand as time went on, and ceased
altogether when the baby was born. That was a signal for heads to shake.
Some pitied the father, many defended the mother: it did not depend upon
your sex; sides were taken freely and voices were shrill when neither
was by. Down by the river especially, upon that bleached board below the
bridge, _ci_ and _si_ whistled like the wind in the chimneys, and the
hands of testimony were as the aspen leaves when storms are in. Some
took one side, some another; but when, in due season, it was seen what
inordinate pride Baldassare had in the black-eyed _bambino_ there was no
question of sides. He had ranked himself with the unforgivable party:
the old man was an old fool, a gull whose power of swallow stirred
disgust. Vanna had the rights of it, they said; such men were made to be
tricked. As for Fra Battista's pulpit, it was thronged about with
upturned faces; for those who had not been before went now to judge what
they would have done under the circumstances. Having been, there were
no two opinions about that. Messer Gabriele Arcangelo, some said,
judging by the honey-tongue; San Bastiano, others considered him, who
went by his comely proportions; and these gained the day, since his
beardless face and friar's frock induced the idea of innocence, which
Sebastian's virgin bloom also taught. The quality of his sermons did not
grow threadbare under this adventitious criticism: he kept a serene
front, lost no authority, nor failed of any unction. There was always a
file at his confessional; and at Corpus Christi, when in the pageant he
actually figured as Sebastian, his plump round limbs roped to a
pine-stock drew tears from all eyes.
Unhappily you have to pay for your successes. There were other preachers
in Verona, and other eloquent preachers who, being honest men, had had
to depend upon their eloquence. These were the enemy--Franciscans, of
course, and Dominicans--who got wind of something amiss, and began to
nose for a scandal. What they got gave them something besides eloquence
to lean on: there were now other sermons than young Fra Battista's, and
the moral his person pointed had a double edge. In fact, where he
pointed with his person, the Dominicans pointed with their sharp
tongues. The Franciscans, more homely, pointed with their fingers. Fra
Battista began to be notorious--a thing widely different from fame; he
also began to be uncomfortable, and his superior with him. They talked
it over in the cloister, walking up and down together in the cool of the
day. "It has an ugly look, my dear," said the provincial; "send the
young woman to me."
What of the young woman, meantime? Let me tell the truth: motherhood
became her so well that she was brazen from the very beginning. No
delicacy, no pretty shame, no shrinking--she gloried in the growing
fact. When she was brought to bed she made a quick recovery; she
insisted upon a devout churching, an elaborate christening of the
doubtful son (whereat, if you will believe me, no other than Fra
Battista himself must do the office!); thenceforth she was never seen
without her _bimbo_. While she worked it lay at her feet or across her
knee like a stout chrysalis; the breast was ever at its service, pillow
or fount; when it slept she lifted up a finger or her grave eyes at the
very passers-by; her lips moulded a "Hush!" at them lest they should
dare disturb her young lord's rest. The saucy jade! Was ever such
impudence in the world before? It drew her, too, to old Baldassare in a
remarkable way. This the neighbours--busy with sniffing--did not see.
She had always had a sense of the sweet root under the rind, always
purred at his stray grunts and pats, taking them by instinct for what
they were really worth; and now to watch his new delight filled her with
gratitude--and more, she felt free to love the man. For one thing, it
unlocked his lips and hers. She could sing about the house since Cola
had come--they had christened him after good Saint Nicholas--because
Master Baldassare was so talkative on his account. The old man sat at
home whenever he could, in his shiny armchair, his cup of black wine by
his side, and watched Vanna with the baby by the hour together, poring
over every downward turn of her pretty head, every pass of her fingers,
every little eager striving of the sucking child. There were, indeed, no
bounds to his content: to be a father--poor old soul!--seemed to him the
most glorious position in the world. Can Grande II. in the
judgment-seat, the bishop stalled in his throne, the Holy Father himself
in the golden chambers of his castle at Avignon, had nothing to offer
Ser Baldassare Dardicozzo, the old-clothes man.
Though the neighbours knew nothing of this inner peace, they could not
deny that Monna Vanna, brazen or no, was mightily become by her new
dignity or (as you should say) indignity. She was more staid, more
majestic; but no less the tall, swaying, crowned girl she had ever been.
She was seen, without doubt, for a splendid young woman. The heavy child
seemed not to drag her down, nor the slant looks of respectable
citizens, her neighbours, to lower her head. She met them with level
eyes quite candid, and a smiling mouth to all appearance pure. When she
found they would not discuss her riches, she talked of theirs. When she
found them over-satisfied with their children, she laughed quietly as
one who knew better. This was a thing to take away a woman's breath,
that she should grow the more glorious for her shame. Party feeling had
been stormy, like crossing tides, between those who held Baldassare for
a gull and those who resented Vanna's unruffled brows. But now there was
but one party. It was very well to hoodwink an old skinflint; but, by
the Mass, not honest to flaunt your methods in the world's face. And
since our own dignity is the skin upon which we rely for all our
protection, while contempt for our neighbours is but a grease we put
upon it for its ease, it was self-defence which brought it about that
the party against Vanna grew ominously large, while Baldassare gained
quite a host of sympathizers. The girl was now shunned, ostentatiously,
carefully shunned. Even La Testolina was shy of her. But, bless you, she
saw nothing of it--or cared nothing. She chattered to her grossly
deceived husband, went (nominally, you may be sure!) confessing to the
grossly deceiving friar, she cooed to her baby, warbled her little
songs, looked handsome, carried herself nobly, as if she were the
Blessed Virgin herself, no less. This could not be endured: a thousand
tongues were ready to shoot at her, and would have shot but for fear of
old Baldassare's grim member--reputed forked. While he was in the way,
fat-headed fool, there was no moral glow to be won by a timely word. The
tongues lay itching; two or three barren women in the Via Stella were
hoarding stones.
Then, just about the time when the prior of the Carmelites bid Fra
Battista send him the young woman, Baldassare took the road for a round
of chaffer which might keep him out of Verona a week. The Via Stella
felt, and Fra Battista knew, that the chance had come.