SURPRISING CHANGE IN MY FORTUNES
Father Carnesecchi, of the Society of Jesus, who had charge of the
penitents in the college of his Order, and to whom I was formally handed
over by my indurate captor, was a member of an old family of Fiesole
long settled in Florence, a thin, threadbare, humble old man, who kept
his eyes fixed to the earth--sharply piercing, intelligent eyes as they
could be--and did his best to keep his lips from speaking. He had a
trick of pinching the lower of them, in the hope, I suppose, that the
difficulty of using the upper one alone would hold him silent. But it
did not. He talked to himself continually, the habit was inveterate, and
as he never let go of his lower lip it was very difficult to catch what
he said. He was a tall man, but stooped at the shoulders, threw his head
forward like a long-necked bird, and nodded as he walked. Beside my
Dominican monolith he looked, what he was far from being, abject and
poor-witted. I thought that he bent his head, as if it weighed down to
the earth under the pitiless blows rained upon it by the inquisitor, as
without gesture or modulation of the voice, this monstrous man unwound
his tale of my iniquities, which he had taken the trouble to spin, like
a cocoon, all about my poor person. If he had twisted a halter of it to
hang me with, I suspect that he had done what he truly desired.
Father Carnesecchi listened to it all in the dejected, musing pose which
I have described, words of pity incessantly escaping from his partly
imprisoned mouth: "Dio mio!" "Dio buono!" "Che peccato!" and the like,
with fine shades of difference in expression according to the dark, the
denser dark, the lurid flashes of the Dominican's chiaroscuro. This
hireling shepherd piled up a hideous indictment, made up, as the reader
will perceive, out of his own wicked imagination. I was a runaway from
the Venetian galleys, an actor of execrable life. I had seduced a
Sienese nun in Padua, and brought her with me into Tuscany to sow
contempt of the sacraments, and rebellion against the reigning house. I
had openly advocated the worship of Priapus, had spurned the marriage
vow, had called one of the reigning house a tyrant, and was an apologist
of the Paterini. He concluded by saying that the Holy Office was
deliberating upon my case, and that he could not invite the Jesuits to
hope for my conversion, since I openly boasted of being a comedian, and
of my preference for that deplorable way of life. The Holy Office asked
that I might be kept apart from any whom my conversation might
contaminate, and that my punishment should be exemplary as well as
remedial. To all of which Father Carnesecchi replied, "Altto, altro,
caro fratello," and got rid of his monitor as soon as he could. I was
not conscious that he had given me a single glance of the eye, did not
suppose that he knew or cared whether I stood ashamed, sullen,
indifferent or indignant under my accuser's blows. Anger possessed me
altogether, and if I thought of my new gaoler at all it was to suppose
him seeing in me a subject, common in his experience, whose degrading
punishment of stocks, whip or pillory was to be stuccoed over with a
mockery of religion. Judge, therefore, of my surprise when, having bowed
the inquisitor out of the door, Father Carnesecchi returned to the room,
and putting his hand upon my shoulder, said in excellent English, and
the tone of a loving parent, "And now, my poor boy, let me have the
truth." The unexpected kindness, the charity, the unexpected, beloved
speech unnerved me. I flushed, stammered some foolish protest, burst
into tears. The good Jesuit let my emotion have its fling.
Kneeling then at his knees, with my hands folded in his, I told him the
whole of my story, hiding nothing at all, not even Virginia's ruse for
obtaining sight and speech with Aurelia, supposing her to be in the
Sienese convent. Having laid bare every recess of my recent life, and
not spared myself either in the recital, I went on to say that whatever
might come of it, I must never abandon my search for the lovely,
hapless, innocent Aurelia; for, as I assured him in conclusion, and
undoubtedly believed, unless I found Aurelia and received her pardon, I
should die; and there was no justice under Heaven if a man, sincerely
repentant, were suffered to expire unredeemed.
"My son," said Father Carnesecchi, who had nodded his way through an
harangue which I had (I can assure the reader) treated very summarily
indeed, "it was in a good hour that you were led to me; for I am in a
position to be of service to you. I am no stranger to your country, nor
indeed to your ancient house. Many times have I said Mass in that of
your mother's family--the noble house of Arundell. I shall be able,
therefore, to make a good case for you with your resident at this Court;
I can recommend you to a banker, I can extenuate (so far as truth will
allow) your follies to your parents, and I can give you absolution when
you have done a proper penance. All these things I will do, but on
conditions. My first is that you write respectfully and penitently to
your father; my next that you do the same duty to the outraged Professor
Lanfranchi, and my third that you leave your Donna Aurelia to me. Am I
clear?" "Father," I said, "you are as clear as the light of Heaven. I
agree to all your conditions, but shall beg of you one thing--and that
is, that you do not prevent my seeing her once more."
"I prevent nothing reasonable," replied the Jesuit; "but I will ask you
this question. Has it ever occurred to you that as this lady never
desired your ill-considered advances in the first place, so she may
prefer to be without a renewal of them? It is possible that she is not
greatly obliged to you for having turned her away from house and man."
I was surprised, I confess, at his lack of discernment. I had hoped, I
said, that I had made clear the one thing, above all, which I ardently
desired, namely, Aurelia's reconciliation with the doctor.
"And do you imagine," said he, "that your seeing her will hasten that
consummation?"
I said, "I cannot suppose that it will retard it. If a gentleman has
offended a lady, should he not beg her pardon?"
"You are pitching your pipe in a more reasonable key, my son," said the
Jesuit. "I am glad you have left your sophistries, for to tell you the
truth I have heard them so often that I have ceased to give them all the
attention which their utterers expect. The less you see of your pretty
lady the better, in my opinion. Have you given any consideration to what
may be Dr. Lanfranchi's opinions? He is likely to have strong ones, from
what you tell me of him."
I said that he had been monstrous unjust, to doubt Aurelia in the face
of my action.
"I think your Aurelia lost her little head," said he, "but no worse, I
hope. Now, my child, let us have no more talking of inspiration, and
wings, and healing fingers of ladies, and anointings. The Church is
chary of deputing these powers, which she undoubtedly possesses; and few
ladies are likely to receive them. At any rate, we may leave Donna
Aurelia's claims to them to the Sacred College, and turn to what is our
own immediate concern. Now, come to me and make your confiteor as you
ought."
I have always been more quickly moved to good or evil by kindness than
by severity, for by nature I am diffident to excess. Father Carnesecchi
had found out that trait in my character, and proved me plastic under
his delicate fingers. He did not refuse me the sacrament; he absolved me
and comforted me greatly. It did not become me to be obstinate to one
who gave me so much.
He undertook to accord the differences between Aurelia and her husband,
if I on my part would give my word that no act of mine should endanger
their future happiness. If I would bind myself here, he thought, there
would be no harm in my seeing her, but he insisted that this should not
be done without his express sanction. He said, "You are one of those
young men of your nation--one of many, I conceive--who come into this
country with your minds already made up as to what you will see. Because
you are romantic, you see us so; because you are mystically inclined,
you believe us to be a race of seers; because you are complex natures,
you complicate ours. Because our beauty is strange to you, you think us
strangely beautiful. Alas! my dear young friend, you have yet to learn
your Italians. There is no such Italy, least of all Tuscany, as you
profess to have read of in Donna Aurelia's simple soul. I don't know the
young lady, but I know her kind. She is undoubtedly a good-hearted,
shrewd little housewife, careful of her reputation and honestly proud of
it. She will make, I expect, a first-rate, if too fond, mother. You, of
course, try to make a Beatrice of her, quite regardless of the
possibility that you are not a Dante, or even a Diotima (which, thank
Heaven, she is not yet), not remembering how far you are from being a
Socrates. My dear young man, I shall not forbid you her society--
subject, of course, to her own and her husband's judgment, which, I
promise you, I shall obtain beforehand. Seek it then by all means, but
seek it with circumspection. Remember that she will not thrive upon the
fine poetry you will make of her--nor will you, indeed; but that is your
own affair. Seek her, therefore, with reasonable care for her future. In
two words, write to her husband, and for once deprive yourself of your
luxurious mysteries, and go to work in the light of day. As for your
Virginia--you have a fondness for female society, I fancy--don't trouble
your head further with that little parasite."
His injunctions were obeyed, though I could not agree with all his
conclusions. I wrote respectfully to my father, candidly to Dr.
Lanfranchi; I wrote on my knees to Aurelia--though, as I now know, Padre
Carnesecchi put the letter into his pocket. Expiatory rites of a
religious sort, wisely recommended and cheerfully performed, I omit from
this narrative. At their end I was set entirely at liberty; and there
seemed no limit to the benevolence of the Society of Jesus in my regard.
Money, clothes, a servant were found for me, a lodging in the Piazza
Santa Maria, introductions into the fashionable world. I took my own
rank once more, I had tutors, books, leisure, the respect of my equals.
I went to Court, was made a visiting member of the famous Delia Cruscan
Academy; I was offered a box at the opera, a villa in the hills, a
mistress. I made the acquaintance of Count Giraldi, a gentleman not only
in the immediate service of the sovereign but high in the confidence of
the heir-apparent, a man of the world, a traveller, affable, an abundant
linguist, no mean philosopher, possessor of a cabinet of antiquities, a
fine library, a band of musicians second to none in Florence. If ever a
young man was placed square upon his feet again after a damaging fall it
was I. For this much, at least, I render a solemn act of remembrance to
the Society of Jesus, who must not be held responsible for the series of
events which befell me next, and by which it came to pass that the cup
of my fortunes went again and again to the bitter fountain of shame.
I passed, I suppose, some six weeks without news, but not without hope,
of Donna Aurelia; and I am ashamed to add that the pleasures and
interests of the world obliterated in me those obligations of gratitude
and honour which I owed to the friend of my misfortunes. But so I have
always found it, that the more respect a man has from the world, the
less he has to give it in return. It is as if, knowing his own worth too
well, he was able to put a just estimate upon his tributary. I will only
say in my defence that I knew Virginia to be safe from positive danger.