I GET RID OF MY ENEMY AND PART FROM MY FRIEND
When the day drew near upon which I had appointed to depart from
Florence, I saw that I must come to terms with the fellow. I sent
Belviso out to look for him--and to find him at no greater distance than
the other side of the door, with his eye at the keyhole. He came in,
blinking like an owl, still weak with his recent excesses, and very
nervous. I felt my gorge rise at the sight of him, but did my best to be
cool.
"Palamone," I began, "it appears that you have recently done me a
service----"
He leered at me. "My Francis! When--and at what hour of day or night
have I not been ready to serve you?"
"Why, that's as may be," said I. "I think I could remind you of a night
attack at Pistoja----"
"Oh, cruel," he said, "oh, cruel!"
"Of a ravishment--of the strappado applied to a man bound hand and foot--"
He pretended to weep. "Cruel, cruel Francis!"
"Of detestable treachery in Florence when you set to work to entrap a
good girl who had done you no harm in the world--and, Fra Palamone, I
think I may remind you of the payment of those services of yours IN
KIND, in the Piazza of Santa Maria."
With clasped hands, streaming eyes, he beamed upon me. "Generous hand!
Oh, healing, life-giving blood!"
"I am glad," I said, "that you consider yourself healed by bleeding. But
now, it appears, you have appointed yourself messenger from my friends,
and have succeeded in benefiting me without extraordinary robbery. I
cannot suppose that you did this for love."
"Believe it," says he, "believe it, Francis."
"You must forgive me if I cannot," said I. "On the contrary, I believe
that you have acted for what profit you can make out of it. I never
asked you to interfere in my affairs, and owe you less than nothing, but
to make an end of you, since you do, perhaps, believe that you have
served me with this late news of what you, no doubt, would call my 'good
fortune,' I will give you more than you deserve." I counted out ten
guineas, or their equivalent, and held them out to him.
His eyes gleamed, as if a fire had suddenly been kindled in them by the
sight of money. He pounced at my hand and emptied it, as a dog scrapes
in the ground. Holding his coins close to his breast, he snarled at me
of his astuteness, and took obscene pride in his guile. "Is Palamone an
old fool then? Eh, mercy and truth, was there ever such a wise old fox
born into this world? Did I not, when I saw you at Rovigo, lay this
finger to this nose, and say, 'La, la, Palamone, fratello, here is a
pigeon for your plucking hand'? Did I not know you for an Englishman,
for a nobleman born? For what do you take me? I knew that you had run
away out of a scrape, I knew that the money-bags would be emptied to
find you. Wise old Palamone! Deep-browed old night-bird! Darkly
thinking, quickly acting old Fox-Palamone! And now, take heed to this, I
have never lost you, but have been hard on your heels though Jesuits and
Ministers and woman after woman have beset you on all sides. And what
have I gained by all this? A wound in the breast, my conscience! A slug
through the lung, on the word of a Christian--and my Francis, the child
of my sorrow, fed upon my tears, talks to me of profit--O Dio! O Dio!"
He wrung his hands and howled; then, grinning like a wolf, he came
creeping to me, his fingers gripping the air like claws. "Give me more
money, Francis, you who have so much--give me the guineas of England,
fifty, a hundred, a thousand--what are they to you? To me they are meat
and drink, Paradise and the Mercy Seat." He was now hovering close to
me, terribly possessed by greed. "If you do not give me money, Francis,
I shall kill you with these hands." So he threatened me, raving.
My anger got the better of my judgment. "You black-souled thief," I
said, "you shall have just what you deserve."
He still grinned and glared. I think he still hoped for more money. I
had my malacca cane in my hand, caught him with the other by the neck-
gear and beat him till the stick was in splinters. It was like thrashing
a sack of flour, for he lay like that under his punishment, and the dust
that flew out of him filled the room. When I had done I threw him from
me, went to the door and opened it. Belviso was outside, pale and
trembling. I sent him for a corporal's guard, at the sound of which
order, before the lad could obey it, the frate rose, howling like a lost
dog, ran swiftly to the window and leapt out into the street. He was not
hurt, apparently, for I heard his howls far down the Via di Citta; and
he must have run like the wind, for when they searched the country half
an hour later there was no sign of him to be seen.
Belviso, who had witnessed this startling end, came trembling out of the
corner of the room with his hands stretched out. He knelt down before
me, his face hidden between his arms.
"Terrible man!" he said, shuddering; "but oh, signore, he has awoken the
God in you. Have no fear, he will trouble you no more."
"I believe not," said I. "On the other hand, he will not find me
Virginia. Get up, Belviso, let us take counsel together. What is your
opinion?"
Belviso, thus adjured, rose to his feet and stood humbly before me. He
was agitated--if by fear, then curiously; but it did not seem to be fear
which put the slurred accents into his voice.
"Senta, Don Francesco," he began, "what Virginia has done was all for
love. She has acted according to her nature--as many would act--as all
would act towards you, who knew your worth. O Dio!" cried the lad
suddenly, gripping his chest with both hands, "O Dio! I would prove my
love in the same sort if I were--if I were not--if you were--if you were
not----" He began to weep piteously.
I stared. "What is the matter with you, Belviso?" I asked him. "What
would you do if you were, or were not, something which you are, or are
not? Riddles, riddles, my dear." I was sorry he had seen me in such a
rage, and laid a kindly arm upon his drooped shoulders. But Belviso
sprang away.
"Don't touch me--do not touch me," he said, panting. "You little know--
you cannot guess--and you never shall! What! shall I prove such an
ingrate? You have befriended me, lifted me out of the mud. I have a soul
now, it is worth saving. Virginia, that savage, fine girl, is not the
only servant in the world. No, Mother Diana, we have hearts too in the
Veneto----" He swept the storm from his eyes and calmed himself by the
gesture. "Don Francis," he said, "let me leave you at this moment. I
will find your Virginia--that fine girl. Trust me, leave all to me. I
know Tuscany and the Tuscans. I will give her to you, never fear. In six
weeks from now I will have her snug in Lucca. There you shall find her
if you still want her, and if you do not----"
"If I do not," I said, "you may blot the name of Francis Strelley from
the Book of Life and Judgment. God bless you, Belviso, dear friend. Your
words convince me. Go in peace. Take money, take what you choose--my
love, my gratitude---"
"I choose nothing but your confidence, and a kiss of your noble hand,"
said Belviso.
"You shall grasp, not kiss, my hand," I told him. "You are a man, or
will be one, as I am. Let us love, trust, meet, part, as men."
I held out my hand, he took it, pressed it, seemed unable to let it go.
Suddenly he dropped down and kissed my knee--but with ardour, with
reverence, indescribable devotion; then sprang to his feet, and was
gone.
I made all preparations for my journey to Florence.