I AM IN BONDAGE
The woolly gag removed, I said, in the dark, "Fra Palamone, so sure as
God lives and reigns, you shall pay me for this."
He replied, "My dear lad, I am paid already, and twice paid. It is the
certain conviction that I am hereafter to be much blessed in your
society that has forced me to take this liberty. May I now have the
pleasure of setting you free? It wounds me in my tenderest part to know
how these cords must bruise you. Your aching wounds--my aching heart.
Come, a fair exchange! Be free, and set me free." A great shadow of him
settled down over my eyes, the impending bulk of his huge body; heat and
garlic came in waves about me, his furnace breath.
"Not yet, Fra Palamone," I said firmly. "You will do well to leave me as
I am until I know more of your intentions. You used the word 'freedom'
just now: how am I to understand it? I warn you that, so far as I know,
the first use I shall make of my freedom will be to kill you." I meant
it at the time, for I was beside myself with rage.
He began to swear gently to himself, walking to and fro before my feet,
coupling (as his manner was) the names of his Maker, Redeemer and Divine
Advocate with those of dishonourable animals. Having thus eased himself,
as a pump gets rid of foul water in the pipes before its uses can begin,
he began to answer my objections. "If to have the play of young limbs,
the prerogative of two-footed creation, be not liberty," said he, "then
there is no liberty in the world. And if to be loosed from sin and
shame, by means however abrupt, be not liberty of the most exalted,
spiritual kind, then, young man, you are a bondslave indeed, to your own
ignoble desires."
I said, "I have told you on what terms I will take my liberty. I will
die here as I am sooner than make bargains with you."
"I am an old man," he replied, "a-weary of my labours. I will not
wrangle--I abhor disputations. I am able to offer you, Don Francis, a
service which is perfect freedom. Will you take it or leave it?" I was
silent, and I believe the old villain went to sleep, as certainly I did.
Youth will have its rest, whether there be gall in the mouth or a teat.
When I awoke it was broad day. The sun was up and deepening the pale
tints of the sky; a bird in the oak-tree overhead was singing his
orison, and Fra Palamone cooking a pork chop upon a little fire of
twigs. Never did I see such delicate art put into such a piece of work;
he had not boasted when he said that he was a cook. Not only did he cook
it to the exquisite point of perfection, but he ate it, bone and all--
combining the zest of a cannibal with the epicure's finer relish--and
poured near a litre of wine down his tunnel of a throat, before he
deigned to regard whether I lived or was dead. His next act was to
recite the rosary aloud, on his knees, with intense fervour; and his
next--after three prostrations in honour of the Trinity--to untie the
cord about his middle and add a knot or two to the multitude already
there. With this formidable scourge circling about in his hand, he came
to where I lay helpless.
"Ser Francesco," he said, showing his long tooth and purring his words
like a cat, "I find that bonds, imprisonment and hunger have not
quickened your resolution. I admire you for it, but meantime I suffer
the rage of the devil. I must assuage my pains at all costs, and regret
that my balm must be your bane. But since you elect to be a prisoner it
seems reasonable that you should taste prison discipline--and I, O
Heaven! inflict it." I marked his infernal purpose in his eyes--no need
that he should bare his iron arm!--and determined to endure, even unto
death, sooner than give way to him. He came towards me, his arm bare to
the shoulder; I clenched my teeth, shut my eyes and waited, not for
long. The cords writhed about me like snakes of fire, biting so deeply
that my very heart seemed torn and raw. The blood surged into my head,
beat at my ears and nose, and (as it seemed) gushed out in a flood,
drowning me in wet heat. So, presently, I lost my senses, neither knew
nor felt any more. "Blessed art thou, Death! Aurelia hath surely sent
thee!" were my last thoughts as I swooned. Waking once more, I was
alone, lying bound on the edge of a little oak wood. Before me were
brown fields and stretches of flickering heat, and far below, in the
valley, I could see Pistoja, pale red and white in the full sun. It was
near noon; the sun was directly overhead in a cloudless sky, and his
rays burned me up. My head throbbed desperately, my body felt one free
wound; I was sick with hunger, clogged with drouth. I made sure that I
had been left there to die, and waited momently for the summoning angel,
commending my simple soul to the advocacy of the Blessed Virgin and the
merits of my patron St. Francis of Assisi. I thought, with a pang, of my
mother, who might be praying for me now; beside her hallowed image even
Aurelia's was dim. Then all visions faded out. Out of the midst of that
glaring sky there beamed, as it appeared to me, a ray of intense light,
which grew steadily to an intolerable radiancy. I believed it to be the
sword of God in St. Michael Archangel's hand, held out to give me the
accolade, and make me Cavalier of Paradise. "God and our Lady!" my
soul's voice cried. An unearthly note of trumpet-music responded to my
call, beginning very far away, and swelling in volume of sound until all
the air seemed vibrant with it. Then said my soul, "In manus tuas,
Domine Jesu!" and I knew nothing more.
And yet again I awoke, in the level light of early evening, unspeakably
refreshed, free from bonds, and little more than stiff in the limbs. Fra
Palamone was by my side, a cup of broth in his hands. "Drink this, poor
suffering Francis," he said, as gently as a woman. "Henceforth all shall
be harmony betwixt me and thee." He put the basin to my lips and lifted
my head on his knee that I might drink more at ease. It was a strong,
invigorating stuff, with a cordial in it, I know not of what kind. Had
it been vitriol I had been too weak to refuse it. It brought my vigour
back in a tide; I sat up. Fra Palamone began to talk, with more candour
and fair reason than his late exploits warranted.
He said that a great danger, greater than my ignorance of this country
would allow me to guess, had threatened me of late, had come to his
knowledge in Florence, and had been forestalled by himself, under the
merciful guiding of Heaven, at the last moment. The Government of
Tuscany, owing to the dotage of the Grand Duke and the wicked influence
of Donna Violante over her brother-in-law, the Grand Prince Gastone, was
impotent; there was no police, but indeed a flagrant anarchy abroad,
where private malice stalked in the cloak of justice, and the passions
of evil men had scope for the utmost indulgence. Great men did as they
chose--which was to do evil; the most unnatural debauchery obtained; the
Grand Prince Gastone ran spoiling about the country, a satyr heading a
troop of satyrs. No honest person was safe from ruin. He told me that I
had been remarked in Pistoja, and my name and origin guessed at. They
knew me as consorting with profligates and criminals, and accused me of
having stolen a young girl from the Marchese Semifonte, upon whose
estate she had been born and bred. It was said that I had brought her to
dishonour; the laws were to be put in operation against me, or what
masqueraded as laws; worse than death would have been my portion had he
not intervened and saved me. He had been ill-advised perhaps in the
manner of doing; but I was to reflect--was not secrecy essential? He
owned that my obstinate refusal of his company had angered him,
stretched as he was by anxiety, to the point of laying violent hands
upon me with his girdle. "These cords," he said, "which were meant to
remind us of our humility, are too convenient ministers of our lust. But
the remedy for my great offence is easy." He again took off the girdle
and put it in my hands. He took off his habit and knelt before me in a
woollen shirt. "Smite, Don Francis," said he, "and fear nothing. Smite
in token of forgiveness. As you are generous, smite."
I hope he found me generous enough, for I did smite him with all my
force; whether he felt forgiven or no, this did me a power of good. I
had the satisfaction of cutting his shirt to ribbons and of drawing
blood from him, a satisfaction which now seems to me wholly unlike my
nature, and quite unworthy of my position. He bore it with exemplary
cheerfulness, singing sacred songs softly to himself, only pausing in
these pious exercises to encourage me to hit him harder. "Hey, but that
was a shrewd one; that went home! Nerve yourself, Don Francis, courage
and resolve! A little lower, my son, nearer to the buttock. There! a
proud patch there--ho ho! but you're into it!" and so on. At the end,
when I sank back exhausted, bathed in sweat, he sprang towards me, put
his arms about me and kissed me. "Dear Francis, beloved friend," he said
warmly, "how can old Palamone thank you enough for your noble work? By
devoted service? It is yours. By more than brotherly love? You have it.
One thing at least is clear: we can never be separated after this."
Nothing could be clearer to me than that we must be separated
immediately, but I did not think it wise to dash his hopes until I found
out how far he had lied. I wished to learn also what he wanted of my
company. I told him, therefore, that supposing his tale about me to be
true in general, in particular it was most false. So far from having
injured Virginia, I said, I had saved her from destruction, and if the
marchese did indeed claim her as his property, the very first thing I
had to do was to defeat his purpose, since that was the root of my
partnership with her. I explained my position and hers to him as well as
I could, and condescended, for her sake, to bargain with the old wretch.
"Since you, Palamone," I said, "desire my company, though Heaven alone
knows why you do desire it, I will agree to share my journey with you so
far as Florence, whither I shall go immediately, but not on any account
without Virginia. I have charged my conscience with her honour, and am
inflexible on that point. If you won't agree to this, you must follow
your own devices, and may attempt whatever atrocity occurs to you. That
is my firm decision which no suffering can relax."
Fra Palamone, all smiles, made no difficulties. He would fetch Virginia
that very night, and we would set off the next morning for Prato, where
there was a great church ceremony which he must by all means attend.
Then we would go to Florence, full of friends of his (he assured me),
who would make the weeks fly for my amusement. "Trust me, my dear
brother," he said, "you will never repent having made the acquaintance
of your old Palamone."
I expressed with the utmost plainness my astonishment at the pains he
was at to get my society. "My dear Francis," he said, raising his
eyebrows, as if in despair of making me understand his whim, "what
greater proofs of my affection can I give you? I have flayed your back
and allowed you to flay mine. I have filled your mouth with wool and
carried you like a bale for three leagues in the middle of the night.
And you ask me why? I can only say that I have a liking for you. You are
spirited, pious, ingenuous, and well-read. As a man of many trades and
accomplishments, I shall find you useful in a hundred ways. You will
understand that before we have been in Prato half an hour. Honestly, my
friend, I have twice tried to serve you in difficulties, and each time
you have obstinately refused to acknowledge it. Now, for a third time, I
am going to oblige you. Consider whether I am altogether undeserving;
consider it when I am gone for your Virginia."
I had nothing else half so interesting to do. I pondered his acts
towards me over and over again, but could not for the life of me fit
them into any reasonable relation to himself. That he meant to make
profit out of me was certain; he lived for profit. But how? By selling
me into slavery? Had his explanations to the Customs-house men at the
frontier been pure falsehood? I knew that the Grand Duke Cosimo was
surrounded by miserable young men of all colours, tongues and sizes,
gathered from every quarter of the globe. That was a humour of his which
all his toadies and sycophants tried to indulge. Probably his collection
lacked an Englishman--but even as I hotly determined that it should for
ever lack one sooner than possess me, I remembered that this mad prince
lay dying. Palamone must needs know that; and then, what sort of a price
did he hope for from a man with the death-rattle rising in his throat?
Did the heir-apparent, the Grand Prince Gastone, intend to maintain the
collection? It was possible. Of some monstrous villainy of the sort I
vehemently suspected Fra Palamone, and am the more glad, therefore, to
record that in this particular case I did him a wrong. He came back in
good time with Virginia, who, her eyes alight, sprang towards me and
snatched at my hands. I let her kiss them, and was sincerely glad to see
my friend again. We devoured each other with questions. Had she been in
danger of the marchese? She blushed at the supposition, and asked me
what I was thinking her. Had she been alarmed on my account? No, not at
first; but later she had been making inquiries. Had I been uneasy? I
confessed that I had. Fra Palamone, with some magnanimity, left us alone
for the best part of an hour; he sat, I remember, on the edge of the
hill looking towards Pistoja, reading his breviary, well removed from
earshot. This gave Virginia opportunity to exhibit her view of his
behaviour. "We had better travel with him for a while," she said. "He is
known all over the country for a desperate rascal, but is privy to too
many secrets to be apprehended. Nobody dares lay him by the heels for
fear of what he will divulge; and the more you thwart him the more risk
you run. He might easily kill you in a rage; he thinks no more of
stabbing a man than of skewering a sausage. I grant you that your
suspicions do him no wrong. He would sell you in a moment to any one who
would buy you. But they are groundless; it is quite plain what he wants.
He sees that you are a foreigner of good birth and position; he knows
you for a truant on an escapade. Being certain that there will be hue
and cry after you, a large reward offered, he means to keep you under
his eye until the price is high enough to tempt him, then he will
produce you and get the bounty. Call him brigand, say he holds you to
ransom, you will be right. Meantime he will make you useful, as you will
see when we are in Prato. Me, too, he will use; but not as you might
suppose. His one passion is money, his besetting sins are gluttony and
rage; he has no other appetites, I believe. For myself, I shall serve
him as well as I can, and I advise you to do the same. Ways of escape
will occur to us by-and-by."
I could see that she was right. Here was his plan--infinitely creditable
to him compared to the other. I promised Virginia that I would humour
him for the present; and just then the man himself came to us with two
chickens, some cheese, a flat loaf, and a bottle of excellent red wine,
grown (as he told me) upon the Grand Duke's podere at Poggio a Cajano.
We had a cheerful meal, and separated for the night in high good humour.