VIRGINIA ON HER METTLE
I slept like a log until the hour of noon--perfectly dreamless sleep. It
was Virginia who awoke me then by shaking my shoulder, not (as usually)
by opening the shutter. I heard the bells of the hour ringing and
guessed the time; I remembered that Scipione was away; I remembered
everything.
"I have your chocolate, Don Francis," she said. "Drink it and rise as
soon as possible. You must be out of this."
I replied, "I see no reason for haste. I will write a letter--Ser
Bartolo shall take it for me--the answer will be satisfactory."
Virginia kept herself calm by main force. "The house is surrounded," she
said. "You will be taken in your bed if you don't leave it soon." I sat
up.
"Virginia, I ask your pardon." She shivered and turned away.
"Speak no more of that."
"But I must. You were right, and I--" She threw up her head with a
little cry, fell upon her knees. She took my hand and covered it with
kisses.
"No more. I cannot bear it. Who am I? What am I? Say what you please to
me, but never plead with me." I could see her shoulders shaking.
"I must say what I have to say--" I would have continued. She gave
another sharp cry--shivered again miserably. In the half light of the
room I could see her lift her pale face towards the ceiling. It seemed
to me that she prayed. After a while she looked down again and said
quietly, "Speak now--and have done with it."
I told her what had occurred in the small hours; I did not spare myself.
When I said that I had shot Fra Palamone she shook her head.
"You might as well hope to shoot the devil. All you have done is to give
yourself into the hands of them who hire him. You are to be sent to
Volterra or the galleys for this. The men outside are sbirri."
I told her that I should write to Count Giraldi. She laughed. "Your
Count Giraldi will be out of Florence. Do you think him a child? His one
desire is to get rid of you. No, no. You must disguise yourself. This is
a trap."
"I refused to take your word last night, my dear," I said, "and should
be sorry to do it again. If the sbirri want me they can take me on a
warrant."
"They have no warrant. They will get that afterwards. Do you think them
so stupid? While they were getting their warrant you might get clear
away. Or suppose you appeared? The whole story might come out, and a
number of fine people implicated. And what of your English resident? And
what of your Donna Aurelia, if you are not careful of yourself? Do you
wish to get her name abroad? No, no. In Tuscany we imprison a man first
and get the warrant afterwards, if necessary. That is how they will
work, quietly, with decency--no conversations. They have been here since
eight o'clock this morning, and the Piazza is quite empty. They have
seen to that, of course. If you look through the shutter you can see
them. They are in no sort of hurry."
I did look, and saw that she was right. There were no people in the
Piazza--at midday--but four men, who stood at intervals in attitudes of
detachment and irresponsibility far too pronounced to be real. The
church was closed, most of the houses were shuttered; all this was too
remarkable not to have been arranged. Virginia and I looked at one
another; but she watched me like a cat, keeping guard over every
movement of mine. One hand pressed her bosom, the other was stretched
downwards--a straight, tense line from shoulder to finger-tips.
"Virginia, listen to me," I began; a heedless invocation. Every fibre of
her listened and watched. "If this is a trap, as I agree it is, then you
are the mouse. Nobody in Florence would care whether I have shot Fra
Palamone, or he me. The count--taking him as you take him--knows that I
have no intentions but honest ones towards Donna Aurelia; taking him as
I take him he will defend me. No, my child, this is the marchese's
affair. I can see that he has been after you from the time he saw you
playing the handsome lady at Prato. He thinks he has you, but I will
show him that he is wrong. Let me once get you away, be assured of your
safety, and I shall open the door to the pleasure of these gentlemen.
Father Carnesecchi--the count--oh, I have no fear of Palamone's
posthumous acts, I can assure you."
I spoke cheerfully, confidently, but Virginia was put into great
agitation. She began to flit about the room like a moth, wringing her
hands and whimpering to herself.
"O Dio!" she fretted, "O Dio caro! What shall I do? Madonna, Madonna,
Madonna, what will become of me?" She was quite inarticulate, could only
repeat her names, and wail, and beat herself into a fever. I went to
comfort her, and then, as if some tie were cut by the act, she turned
upon me in a white tempest of fury, no longer a girl but a devil. "Do
you dare?" she raved, "Do you dare? Oh, but I could kill you now with my
hands!" She took me by the shoulders and stared into my face, panting
her fierce breath upon me--blasts of breath as hot as fire. "Look at me,
Francis, look at me, I say. You see the one person in the world who
loves you. You fool, you fool, with your Giraldis and Aurelias and
Jesuit dogs--with your head in the air, and your heart in your hand--to
be thrown like soldi to these routing swine! Misery, ah, misery!" She
flung her head sideways that she should not look at me, and with her
hands gripped my shoulders till I winced. She tossed her hair from her
face and leapt into the battle again, scolding, rating, praying like a
mad thing. Her words came so fast that I cannot attempt their semblance
here, and her voice rose and fell in a kind of querulous chant to which
sometimes she nodded her head, as if she was beating the time. "Yes, I
know, yes, I know--I will tell you the truth for once, and you shall
kill Virginia with your own hands, and lay her on your bed and go away
and be a fool. Your Jesuit wants your money, and your count your
mistress, and Palamone will take you stripped of all and sell you to the
Grand Duke. So you will kill your Virginia because she loves you, and
love your Aurelia because she does not, and all those others will trick
you, and play with you, and suck you dry, and throw you away like the
rind of an orange. Ah, now you have the truth, and now you will kill me.
Kill, kill, Francis!"
She had a fit of shivering which made her teeth chatter together and her
breath draw in with a moaning most piteous to hear. She showed the
whites of her eyes, swayed about, was on the point of falling, when all
of a sudden she came to herself again, caught me in her arms, pressed
her bosom against me, kissed me on the lips--kissed until I felt her
teeth--then sprang from me, and before I could stop her was out of the
room, and half way downstairs. Half divining her purpose, I flew to get
her back, but was too late. I heard the street door open and shut. She
was in the Piazza.
My landlord--he was a notary by trade, and by name Ser Torpe--was
dismayed to see me in bedgown and slippers. "Never go as you are, sir!"
he cried. "Go like an eccellenza, bid them fetch a chair. Light of
Light, what a costume for Volterra!" I ran upstairs past him, took down
my birding-piece, primed it and went to the window. Virginia was talking
to two of the sbrri, putting up her hair as she did so, with complete
unconcern of what she displayed. She was in her usual negligent undress--
all her class are the same in the mornings--of a loose shift and stuff
petticoat. Her bosom was bare, her bare feet were in slippers; for her
hair she had but a single pin. It was to be seen that the men viewed her
with admiration, as some wanton newly from her bed. They used an easy
familiarity not at all pleasant; one of them, who could not take his
eyes off her, said nothing, the other put his hand on her waist. I was
angry with her, I confess without reason. She disengaged herself. I
heard her impatient "No, no! ma senta--"; she continued in rapid
undertones.
One of the men looked up at my window, and saw me, gun in hand. He
shifted his glance a little higher and affected to be searching the roof
of the house. A third man joined his companions; there was much laughing
and jesting--no doubt some rough compliments passed. Virginia, however,
steered her way to her main purpose through the tangle of confessions,
excuses and refusals which they forced upon her; but I suppose she had
to give some ground, for presently two of their heads came very close to
hers. I saw their eager faces and Virginia's considering look. It was a
courtship. She was playing her part, and they believed her to be what
she appeared. That applied only to two of the three; the third, he who
watched her so closely and said nothing, held apart. He had an ugly
look. The others, absorbed in the pursuit, took no notice of him; but I
kept my eyes upon him, and was not at all surprised at what followed.
Virginia, after long debate, pretended to yield. Something was proposed
to her; she considered it. It was pressed upon her by two ardent voices;
she looked awry and laughed. The chase quickened--one of the men took
her hand, the other brought a coin from his pocket, spat on it, and
pressed it on her. As she hesitated with the money on her palm, the
silent watcher of all this whipped out a long knife and drove it into
his comrade's back between the shoulders. He groaned deeply, flung his
arms out and fell. The fourth man came running over the Piazza from his
point, Virginia shrieked and ran back to the house. I saw--as if
invisible barriers had been removed--men, women and boys come running in
from all side streets. It was like a performance in a theatre.
Virginia, white and shaking, stood in my presence. "It is you they want,
Francis, I have heard all. You must go at once--at once."
"What were you doing with the sbirri?" I asked her.
"They made love to me, all three of them; but that dark man meant it,
and the others not. It is very fortunate--it will give us time, which we
need. Your Count Giraldi is in the country, as I told you he would be.
There is no warrant. Come, we will be off. It will be perfectly safe
while this confusion lasts. Dress yourself, put on your cloak, take your
sword and pistol and come."
"You, too, must be dressed, child."
"I?" said she. "No, I am better as I am. I can be of more use." But she
had a wiser thought, it appears; for by the time I was ready, she looked
modestly enough.
The plot, if plot it had been, had failed. I got out of the house
unnoticed and unfollowed, Virginia with me in a hood. There were
soldiers now in the Piazza, keeping back the crowd. The dead man lay
there still, and his assailant wore shackles. Boys were racing in and
out among the people singing the news which everybody knew. "Martirio
d'un pio frate! Assassino per amore! Ohe! Ohe!"
We went down the Via Belle Donne and crossed a small Piazza, taking our
way, said Virginia, to the Ghetto, where she thought we might be
perfectly safe for the rest of the day. There were so many hunted men
there, said she, that in the confusion some must needs get away. The
curtains were drawn over the barbers' shops, all doors were shut--it was
the hour of repose. A few beggars sat in converse on the steps of San
Michele, many were asleep in the shade, there were no passengers, no
sbirri to be seen until we reached the Via Campidoglio. Here Virginia
drew me back into the shadow of a great house. "That way is stopped.
They are watching the market. Come, we will try something else." I
admired her resourceful audacity, and followed whither she chose to
lead.
We ran up the Via Vecchietta without disturbance or alarm, and reached
the church of San Lorenzo. We entered the cloister, which breathed the
full summer, late as it was in the year. Bees hummed about the tree; the
glossy leaves of the great magnolia seemed to radiate heat and glitter;
above us the sky was of almost midsummer whiteness, and I could see the
heat-waves flicker above the dome. "You shall hide in the Sagrestia to-
night, if you will be ruled by me," Virginia said. "To-morrow morning
before first Mass we will gain the Ghetto. I know a woman there who will
keep us. My word, Don Francis, you little guess how near the Bargello
you have been!"
I think she was eager for my praises, poor soul, by the shy light in her
eyes--a kind of preparation for the blushes with which she always met
any warmth in my tone. If I gave her none it was because she had
displeased me by cheapening herself to the sbirri. But I was soon
ashamed of myself.
I asked her, "When did you find out that the sbirri were waiting for
me?"
"The second hour of the day, it was," she replied, "when I went out to
buy milk for your chocolate. There were but two of them then. They asked
me if you were in the house. I said no. They said that you had killed a
frate, and I, that I was sure he had deserved it. One of them laughed
and said that had nothing to do with it; he had been sent there to be
killed. The other one, that black-browed fellow who stabbed his comrade,
said nothing at all, but just looked at me hard. He never took his eyes
away once, so I guessed how his barque was steering, and you saw what
wind I blew."
"I saw it, Virginia."
"And disapproved! Per esempio, you disapproved!" Tears filled her eyes.
She shrugged her shoulders, pitying herself. "Povera Virginia!" she
said.
This made me ashamed enough to say, "Dear Virginia, I know that you
acted for my safety."
"Yes, I did! Yes, I did! But I would do worse. Ah, you little know how
bad I would make myself. And you reproach me--" She was on the edge of a
frenzy, but checked herself. "What does it matter now that you are safe?
We will stop in the Sagrestia all night. They will never look for you
there."
"But, my dear," said I, "we have three hours to wait before the
Sagrestia is opened. Do you ask me to stay here, in this cloister, for
that time?"
She looked embarrassed, for the truth is that she would have asked me if
I had not spoken of it. She had forgotten that I was not of her nation.
"No, no," she said hastily, "that is ridiculous. How could I ask you to
do such a thing as that? The question!"
"I am glad of it," I returned, "because there I can't oblige you. I must
break my fast, so must you. By the time we have done, the Sagrestia may
be ready for us. Observe also that in spending the night in that place I
am obliging you, for I don't at all see why we should do it."
She searched my face with those grey eyes of hers, hunting my raillery
out. The thing above all which she dreaded was to be laughed at. She
never laughed herself, except bitterly, in anger, and hated the
indulgence. Suspecting still what she failed to find, she fell in with
my desire to eat, though she must have thought it preposterous, and me a
madman to have it. She could never understand my attachment to custom,
and never think of more than one thing at a time. Just now she was
engaged in hiding me from justice--to succeed in which task she would
have sat still for an eternity and gone without a thousand meals. What
an outcry she must have had ready for me--and how she must have loved
her hard taskmaster! She did violence to all her feelings, fell in with
my desire at once.
"Naturally, Don Francis, you must eat. Naturally, I must eat. Naturally,
by the time we have finished, the Sagrestia will be open. Very good, Don
Francis. But as to spending the night in the Sagrestia, shall I be
impertinent if I tell you that by this time there is not a locanda in
Florence that has not got a full and exact description of you and me,
and not a landlord among them that would not hand you over for two
baiocchi?"
"How do you know that, my dear?" I asked.
She stretched out her arms. "How do I know? Hear him! How do I know that
my mother is a woman and my father a man? Dio buono! Have I lived in my
sty with my eyes shut? And herded with thieves, and taken them for
marchesi? But you shall be fed, Don Francis. Leave that to me. Do you
stay here quietly, I will get you some food."
I said that I must come with her, whereupon she began to cry bitterly,
to call me heartless and cruel, to pity herself in the most deplorable
terms. She nursed and fondled herself by name. "Povera Virginia! Poor
little Virginia, that works so hard for her tyrant and gives herself no
rest. But he is cruel--more cruel than if he beat her--stabs her heart
with cold words, rends it with sharp fingers. Poor little Virginia, poor
little outcast from the Madonna!"
I have not a heart of stone: I confess that her distress made me
dreadfully ashamed. This good soul, whose only happiness lay in mine,
who had trusted her all in all to me without flinching, whose life was
now at my disposal as her honour had been for so long. Unworthy of the
name of man had I been if I could wound her so lightly. I put my arm
round her waist and drew her towards me with tenderness. I took her
hands from her face and implored her forgiveness. I promised to offend
her no more, to stay in the cloister until she came, to sleep in the
Sagrestia, to do all her behests. In answer, the sun came out in her
face. She listened to me with soft rapture, beautiful to see, and before
I had done, the dear, generous creature snatched at my hand, and,
kneeling, kissed it with a frenzy of devotion which brought the tears to
my eyes. Immediately afterwards she was gone on her errand of mercy,
leaving me in a glow of truly honest gratitude, which was to have its
speedy fruit in an act which, though it fell short of my intention, was
to prove for my ultimate content.