I AM AGAIN MISCONCEIVED
The aspect of Florence, surveyed from the crags of Fiesole, or from that
gentler eyrie of Bellosguardo, is one of the most enchanting visions
open to the eye of man, so cunningly have art and nature joined their
webbing; but that which can be harvested upon the road from Prato is not
at all extraordinary. Suburb there succeeds to dirty suburb, the roads
are quags or deep in dust, the company as disagreeable as it is mean.
Approaching the city from that side, you neither know that within a
short mile of you are the dome of Brunelleschi, the Tower of Giotto, the
David of Michael Angelo--nor do you greatly care. At least I did not,
being sadly out of spirits, upon that day of rain, steam and weariness,
when, with the young Virginia springing by my side, I limped within the
Porta al Prato and stood upon the sacred soil of the Second Athens.
Quick to feel impressions, too quick to read in them signs and portents,
I felt fatality press upon my brows.
A little way beyond that Porta al Prato, within the walls, there was,
and still is, I believe, a broad neglected field--ragged grass and
broken potsherds--surrounded on three sides out of four by shabby
houses, taverns and garden walls. It was called the Prato, and by the
shocking discrepancy between its name and appearance added to my
dejection, for the one recalled and the other mocked memories of that
green and sunlit plain in Padua, that dear Pra della Valle, upon whose
grassy dimples looked the house of Aurelia, and to whose wandering winds
I had so often sighed her name. Here, however, the Marchese Corsini had
a casino and loggia, here stood in rows the country coaches from the
north and west, awaiting their times of departure; here the Florentines
used to hold their horse-races of St. John's day, and here, finally, you
could be robbed, strangled or stabbed any night of the year. Yet it
boasted at least two convents of nuns among its border of untidy
buildings, and was destined, before long, to become of supreme interest
to myself. Virginia the shrewd knew that, although I did not.
As we passed for the first time in our lives over the littered,
disconsolate spot where, in the heavy rain, a pack of ruffians and drabs
were sprawling, she took care to point out one of those two convents--a
plain yellow house, closely shuttered, and by its side the red roof and
rickety cross of the church appurtenant. "That," she said, "is the
Convent of SS. Maria and Giuseppe sul Prato. Mark the house. You should
look there for your Donna Aurelia."
My dejection held me fast; the rain, the heavy air and fog of Florence,
this vile Prato and its company of tumbling, scuffling wretches loaded
me with an apathy impossible to shake off. "Why there?" I asked her
languidly. "Why anywhere within these fatal walls?"
"If, as you suppose and I do not suppose, she has taken shelter in a
convent," Virginia replied, "it will be in that convent. That society is
wholly of Siena. All the Sienese, arriving in Florence (and in need of
such shelter) go thither. I am sure there is not a woman behind those
walls who cannot tell you what 'l' andare a Provenzano' means--and most
of them by more than hearsay. Yes, yes. Either she is there, or she will
be there before long--always supposing that she is miserable. For my
part, I have never disguised from your honour my belief that she is not
so miserable as you flatter yourself."
"Aurelia can have no place here," said I heavily. "This is a fatal
place. I shall find her in Siena, and am minded to go there this very
day."
Better for me to have done so; but "Florence lies dead in her road,"
Virginia persisted, "and by the time she had reached it she would be
very ready for one of the two things Florence affords."
"And what are they, Virginia?" Her oracular moods always interested me,
consorting so oddly with her youth.
"Pleasure or religion," said she, and would explain herself no further.
Pleasure or religion! It would have needed a greater than the Pythian
Priestess to have given me hopes of either in Florence. And yet, as we
pursued our way, by the Borg' Ognissanti towards the river, I could not
but be struck by the subdued aspect of the citizens, who, far from being
the lively impertinents they had been reputed, went gravely and silently
about their business, cloaked in sombre black. They did not stand, as
Italians love to do, grouped in the piazzas, chattering, gesticulating
and acting as much for their own amusement as for their hearers'; nor
did they crowd the chocolate-houses, where, as a rule, the very flies
are buzzing the news. It seemed to me that church doors alone stood
open.
There were few ladies abroad, and such as we saw were on the steps of
the churches, going in or coming out, and hardly one of them but had a
frate--sometimes two, once four--in her company. The number of religious
was exorbitant, and even more remarkable was it to observe the respect
in which they were held. Every woman, meeting one, dropped him a
curtsey, every man saluted him. My gentleman, if you please, hardly gave
himself the trouble of acknowledging the grace. I saw a couple of
Theatines scolding a poor lady to tears; I saw another shake off a fine
gentleman, who ran after him to kiss his hand. I saw beggars, cripples,
sick men in litters, hold out their prayers in vain. I grew justly
indignant. "Florence is the place for Fra Palamone," I said to Virginia
with bitter foreboding, "rather than for you and me. It is horrible to
think of Aurelia, with her dutiful regard for the saintly calling,
bending her knees to these arrogant rascals."
"'Bacchetoni e colli torti,
Tutti il diavol se li porti!'"
said Virginia with scornful nostrils. "Here you see the end of a nation
which shares your pietistical aptitudes. You think you have God by the
foot when you have the devil by the tail."
"It is true," I agreed, sighing, "that the more I seek after God and His
fairest creature, the more I am encumbered by these distorted botches of
His design. This town swarms with frati."
"What will you find on a carrion but flies?" cried she. "The Grand Duke
is rotting on his bed, and these are the vermin about him. Before long
he will be dust, and then it will be the turn of Don Gastone, and frati
will give place to cicisbei. Maybe that you won't find them any more to
your liking."
"I shall leave Florence," I told her, "so soon as I am assured of
Aurelia's escape from it." I heard her sniff of scorn, but did not care
to reprove her.
It was not so easy to leave it as to reach it, I found out. I had not
been two hours in my chosen lodging--a decent place enough--before I had
a visit from the Holy Office. The terrified landlord ushered three
clerics into my room: two of them Dominicans with forms as big as flags
to be filled up from my papers! The reader knows that I had no papers.
The only passport I had ever had was destroyed; I had no calling but
that of pilgrim, with which, as I could not but see, Virginia's presence
consorted oddly; and the objects of my pilgrimage, as I had learned by
painful experience, were not such as would commend themselves to the
Inquisition. But while I hesitated, Virginia jumped headlong into the
breach.
A flush of seraphic mildness suffused her cheeks, her eyes sparkled like
diamonds upon a Madonna's crown, she crossed her arms over her bosom and
bowed her head. "Most reverend sirs," she said, "you see before you two
innocents whose only faults are youth and ardent imagination. Attracted
by the splendour of these shrines--pilgrims to the holy places--
travellers hopeful of Heaven's gate---"
The elder of the two Dominicans, a pock-marked, long-faced, bitter man,
at once said that he saw before him nothing of the kind. "We see," he
continued, "a young man of foreign aspect, obviously confused, and you,
my girl, who are too glib by half. If you can prove your innocence to
our satisfaction we shall be agreeably surprised."
Virginia, thus rudely checked in what would no doubt have proved a
generous career of falsehood, shuddered and bit her lip. Her crossed
arms relaxed, but her fists clenched themselves. She frowned and looked
dangerous. My temper none of the best, I took a step forward and
addressed the company.
"Sirs," I said plainly, "my passport is lost, and as it was a false one
it would have availed me nothing. I shall tell you the truth--that I am
by birth an Englishman of your own religion, and was until lately a
student of Padua. While there I had the fortunate misfortune to be
subjugated by the charms of my tutor's lovely wife--fortunate in that
she raised my soul to the heights, horribly unfortunate in that I
(presumptuous wretch!) dared to draw her down into peril. You may spare
your reproaches, for I assure you they cannot sharpen mine. She suffered
undeservedly, and I am vowed to her satisfaction. I have entered your
master's dominions, without objection, in pursuit of a pious intention,
that, namely, of making amends to a virtuous and innocent lady. I have
brought this young woman with me--a Tuscan, who needs no passport, I
believe--under the influence of another pious intention. She has been in
danger of ruin, and I believe I have saved her from it. I do not
disguise from you, as you see, that I have sinned very grievously; but I
ask you to accept my assurance that I am on the road to repentance. If
you choose to apply to the accredited Minister of my country you will no
doubt receive satisfactory evidence of my standing in the world.
Whatsoever I may deserve from her against whom I have trespassed, I have
done no harm to you or your master. I am not accustomed to have my word
doubted, and shall take no steps at all to support it from outside. I
wish you very well, and beg you to excuse me. I am but newly come to
Florence, and confess to fatigue."
I ended here, because I saw that further discussion would be fruitless.
The officers, it is true, had listened to me gravely, without any kind
of expression; their eyes had been fixed upon the floor, or the wall;
they might have been statues. But at the close of my periods, one of
them, a stout, breathless and foolish-looking priest, asked me, as if I
had said nothing at all, "But where are your papers?"
Virginia gave a sharp cry, and I was certainly taken aback. "Reverend
sir," I said, as calmly as I was able, "I had hoped to have explained---
"
The pock-marked Dominican took up the tale. "It is true, you have
explained; but you have not produced your papers. Explanations apart
from papers are of little or no value."
"Explanations," said I, "of the absence of papers are surely more
valuable than the absence of papers and explanations alike. I repeat
that my own passport is lost, and that my companion needs none."
"I have now listened to your companion and to you," replied the
Dominican. "The reasons which, on your showing, have prompted you to
visit Florence are connected with sin. These are not creditable reasons,
and explain nothing. I must again ask you, where are your papers?"
Virginia, exasperated, threw up her arms and called on the Madonna. "Our
papers! Just Heaven, how often is he to tell you that he has none?"
"This is idle questioning," said I. "I cannot give you more than
explanations, because I have nothing more. You will make me regret even
so much complaisance."
"But," said the breathless priest, with a comical look awry, "But this
is very serious. How are we to fill up these forms if we have no
papers?"
"I cannot help you," I said.
Here it was the turn of the third officer, and second Dominican. He was
a fat-faced man with a perpetual smile. "You have done very wrongly,
both of you," he said, looking as if he loved the thought.
I said, "I have admitted it."
"Silence," said he. "The Holy Office cannot excuse a breach of the laws
of which it is the guardian."
"I break no laws, sir," cried I. "At least none that are under your
care."
"Silence," said the Dominican. "I cannot believe a word that you say.
Speak you, young woman, and speak the truth. Of what nation are you?"
Virginia looked him squarely in the face. "I am a subject of the Grand
Duke's, father. I am of Siena."
She had her reasons for the fib, but, not knowing what they were at the
moment, I started violently, and the inquisitor turned upon me.
"Do you, young man, wish to make any remark?"
"I wish to say---" I began.
The Dominican turned to his colleagues. "He denies that she is of Siena;
therefore, probably she has spoken the truth. We will inscribe her so.
Will you now tell us," he asked Virginia, "of what nation is this young
man?"
She replied, "He also has spoken the truth. He comes from Padua."
"From Padua!" cried the pock-marked officer; and the breathless priest
tossed up his hands, echoing, "A Venetian subject!"
"You are wrong," I said, "I am an English subject."
"Silence," said the stern Dominican, "you are now inscribed as a
Venetian subject. A Venetian subject! From a country of profligacies and
indescribable laxity of manners! A Venetian! A comedian!"
"I am neither," said I; "but I must observe that it is open to a
Venetian (if such I were), in a time of profound peace, to enter this
State."
"A comedian!" said the smiling Dominican in a whisper. I grew red with
vexation.
"Sir, sir," I reproved him, "you are making me a comedian against my
will."
These things, however, being duly inscribed against me, the more severe
officer took up his parable. "The Grand Duke," he said, "is clement, the
Holy Office very patient, but there are bounds. The laws must in all
cases be observed. In this case I suspect the worst. Pray, are you two
living in sin?"
Virginia cried, "Oh, father!" and the fact was immediately inscribed;
but now I was furious.
"You break all bounds--you who talk of bounds. You are an abominable
man."
The priest interposed his person and held up his fat hand. "These
prevarications, this violence will not help you. It is idle to deny the
evidence of our eyes, ears, understanding. You--a Venetian, a comedian!
I assure you that you are in a very serious position.."
The landlord raised his hands and let them down with a clatter against
his thighs. I was silent, Virginia alarmed, while the officers consulted
together in low murmurs, and the priest filled up the rest of his forms
out of his own head. Presently the tall Dominican addressed us over his
spectacles as follows: "You have shown us no reasons whatsoever for
believing a word that you say. Your denial of the relationship in which
you obviously stand to one another is extremely flagrant. Nothing but
your youth and the comparative candour of the female stand as your
advocates. Thanks to them, and to them alone, we have decided to be more
patient with you than your contumacy deserves. Pending further
inquiries, which, I promise you, shall be made in Venice, you, young
man, will be lodged with the Jesuit Fathers; and you, girl, who report
yourself as of Siena, will be placed in charge of the nuns of SS. Maria
e Giuseppe sul Prato until you can be safely returned to your nation.
That, let me tell you, will not be until you have shown signs of a less
hardened disposition. You will accompany us at once. The seal of the
Inquisition shall be placed upon your effects, which seem trifling. The
landlord is warned that he stands in danger of legal process."
Thus were my unhappy prognostications speedily fulfilled! I was helpless
and knew it. For a second time those whose dignified office it was to
personify the charity of our Redeemer showed themselves the least
charitable of mankind. I was chewing the sour cud of these reflections
when I heard Virginia thanking the officers for their paternal resolves
in her regard. Strange girl! She thanked Heaven, on her knees, for their
pious mission, promised them remembrance in her prayers, asked to be
allowed to kiss their hands. This being permitted, was performed to my
great disgust, who saw myself disbelieved because I had spoken the
truth, and her believed because she had lied. But when she was allowed,
as a grace, to bid me goodbye, and came to me and put her arms round my
neck and kissed my cheeks, crying aloud, "Farewell, thou dear companion
of my shame! Do well, fulfil the pious purposes of these fathers; be
sure of me, sure of thyself!" and when I was about to reprove her
smartly for her hypocrisy, she quickly whispered in my ear, "Did you
read my falsehood? I am to be put where Aurelia will surely come.
Courage--I will find her--trust your Virginia"--and filled me with
confusion. I pressed her hands--the true friend that she was; for a
moment she clung to me with passion. "Forget me not, my lord--pray for
me--let me see you again!" Such were her sobbed and broken prayers--cut
short by her unjust judges.