The prior entered his study behind me with a hurried word of excuse,
expressing regret that he had been compelled to leave me alone, and
promising to join me in a few moments.
Therefore I turned, and, retracing my steps along the stone corridor
wherein antique carved furniture was piled, went back again into the
garden, glancing up at the window whereat I had detected the hunchback's
face.
Landini had closed his study door after I had gone, thus showing that
his consultation with his visitor was of a confidential nature. I
regretted that I had not passed through into the church and faced
Graniani, for I could not now go back and pass the closed door,
especially as the keen eyes of the reverend's house-woman were upon me.
So, impatiently I waited for the stout priest to rejoin me, which he did
a few moments later, carrying my precious acquisition in his hand.
Perhaps you are a collector of coins or curios, monastic seals or
manuscripts, birds' eggs, or butterflies? If you are, you know quite
well the supreme satisfaction it gives you to secure a unique specimen
at a moderate and advantageous price. Therefore, you may well
understand the tenderness with which I took my treasured Arnoldus from
him, and how carefully I wrapped it in a piece of brown paper which
Teresa brought to her master. The priest's house-woman, shrewd,
inquisitive, and a gossip, is an interesting character the world over;
and old Teresa, with the wizened face and brown, wrinkled neck, was no
exception. She possessed a wonderful genius for making a _minestra_, or
vegetable soup, Father Bernardo had already told me, and he had promised
that I should taste her culinary triumph some day.
Nevertheless, although the prior was politeness itself, pleasant yet
pious, laconic yet light-hearted, I entertained a distrust of him.
I referred to my intrusion in his study while he had a visitor, but he
only laughed, saying:
"It was nothing, my dear signore--nothing, I assure you. Pray don't
apologise. My business with the lady, although serious, was brief. It
is I who should apologise."
"No," I said; "I've been enjoying your garden. Enclosed here by the
church and by your house, right in the very centre of Florence, it is so
quiet and old-world, so full of antiquity, that I have much enjoyed
lingering here."
"Yes," he answered reflectively; "back in the turbulent days of the
Medici that remarkable figure in Italian history, Fra Savonarola, owned
this garden and sat beneath this very loggia, on this very bench,
thinking out those wonderful discourses and prophecies which electrified
all Florence. Nothing changes here. The place is just the same today,
those white walls on the four sides, only the statuary perhaps is in
worse condition than it was in 1498 when he concluded his remarkable
career by defying the commands of the Pope as well as the injunctions of
the signoria, and was hanged and burned amid riot and bloodshed. Ah,
this garden of mine has seen many vicissitudes, signore, and yonder in
my church the divine Dante himself invoked the blessing of the Almighty
upon his efforts to effect peace with the Pisans."
"Your house is a truly fitting receptacle for your splendid collection,"
I said, impressed by his words and yet wondering at his manner.
"Do you know," he exclaimed a moment later, as though a thought had
suddenly occurred to him, "I cannot help fearing that you may have acted
imprudently in purchasing this manuscript. If you wish, I am quite
ready to return you your money. Really, I think it would be better if
you did so, signore."
"But I assure you I have no wish to return it to you," I declared,
astonished at his words. If he believed he had made a bad bargain, I at
least had his receipt for the amount and the book in my hand.
"But it would be better," he urged. "Better for you--and for me, for
the matter of that. Here are the notes you gave me;" and taking them
from his pocket he held them towards me.
I failed utterly to comprehend his intention or his motive. I had made
a good bargain, and why should I relinquish it? Place yourself in my
position for a moment, and think what you would have done.
"Well, _signor reverendo_," I exclaimed, "I paid the price you asked,
and I really cannot see why you should attempt to cry off the deal."
Truth to tell, I was a trifle annoyed.
"You have paid the price," he repeated in a strange voice, looking at me
seriously. "Yes; that is true. You have paid the price in the currency
of my country; but there is yet a price to pay."
"What do you mean?" I asked quickly, looking him squarely in the face.
"I mean that it would be best for us both if you gave me back my receipt
and took back your money."
"Why?"
"I cannot be more explicit," he replied. "I am a man of honour," he
added, "and you may trust me."
"But I am desirous of adding the codex to my collection," I argued,
mystified by his sudden desire to withdraw from his word. "I asked you
your price, and have paid it."
"I admit that. The affair has been but a matter of business between two
gentlemen," he replied, with just a touch of hauteur. "Nevertheless, I
am anxious that you should not be possessor of that manuscript."
"But why? I am a collector. When you come to Leghorn I hope you will
call and look through my treasures."
"Treasures?" he echoed. "That is no treasure--it is a curse, rather."
"A curse! How can a splendid old book be a curse in the hands of a
palaeographical enthusiast like myself?"
"I am a man of my word," he said in a low, distinct tone. "I tell you,
my dear signore, that your enthusiasm has led you away. You should not
have purchased your so-called treasure. It was ill-advised; therefore I
urge you to take back the sum you have paid."
"And on my part I object to do so," I said a little warmly.
He shrugged his broad shoulders, and a pained look crossed his big
features.
"Will you not listen to me--for your own good?" he urged earnestly.
"I do not think that sentiment need enter into it," I replied. "I have
purchased the book, and intend to retain it in my possession."
"Very well," he sighed. "I have warned you. One day, perhaps, you will
know that at least Bernardo Landini acted as your friend."
"But I cannot understand why you wish me to give you back the book," I
argued. "You must have some motive?"
"Certainly I have," was his frank response. "I do not wish you to be
its possessor."
"You admit that the volume is precious, therefore of value. Yet you
wish to withdraw from a bad bargain!"
His lips pursed themselves for a moment, and a look of mingled regret
and annoyance crossed his huge face.
"I admit the first, but deny the second. The bargain is a good one for
me, but a bad one for you."
"Very well," I replied with self-satisfaction. "I will abide by it."
"You refuse to hear reason?"
"I refuse, with all due deference to you, _signor reverendo_, to return
you the book I have bought."
"Then I can only regret," he said in a voice of profound commiseration.
"You misconstrue my motive, but how can I blame you? I probably should,
if I were in ignorance, as you are."
"Then you should enlighten me."
"Ah?" he sighed again. "I only wish it were admissible. But I cannot.
If you refuse to forego your bargain, I can do nothing. When you
entered here I treated you as a stranger; and now, although you do not
see it, I am treating you as a friend."
I smiled. Used as I was to the subtleness of the trading Tuscan, I was
suspicious that he regretted having sold the book to me at such a low
price, and was trying to obtain more without asking for it point-blank.
"Well, _signor priore_," I said bluntly a moment later, "suppose I gave
you an extra hundred francs for it, would that make any difference to
your desire to retain possession of it?"
"None whatever," he responded. "If you gave me ten thousand more I
would not willingly allow you to have it in your possession."
His reply was certainly a strange one, and caused me a few moments'
reflection.
"But why did you sell it if you wish to retain it?" I asked.
"Because at the time you were not my friend," he replied evasively.
"You are now--I know you, and for that reason I give you warning. If
you take the book from this house, recollect it is at your risk, and you
will assuredly regret having done so."
I shook my head, smiling, unconvinced by his argument and suspicious of
his manner. Somehow I had grown to dislike the man. If he were
actually my friend, as he assured me, he would certainly not seek to do
me out of a bargain. So I laughed at his misgivings, saying:
"Have no fear, _signor reverendo_. I shall treasure the old codex in a
glass case, as I do the other rare manuscripts in my collection. I have
a number of biblical manuscripts quite as valuable, and I take care of
them, I assure you."
My eye caught the ancient window where I had seen the white, unshaven
face of the old hunchback, and recollecting that there must be some
mysterious connection between the two men, I tucked my precious parcel
under my arm and rose to depart.
The prior knit his dark brows and crossed himself in silence.
"Then the signore refuses to heed me?" he asked in a tone of deep
disappointment.
"I do," I answered quite decisively. "I have to catch my train back to
Leghorn; therefore I will wish you _addio_."
"As you wish, as you wish," sighed the ponderous priest. Then placing
his big hand upon my shoulder in a paternal manner, he added, "I know
full well how strange my request must appear to you, my dear signore,
but some day perhaps you will learn the reason. Recollect, however,
that, whatever may occur, Bernardo Landini is a friend to whom you may
come for counsel and advice. _Addio_, and may He protect you, guard you
from misfortune, and prosper you. _Addio_."