I CONFRONT MY ENEMIES
I could not see his face, for besides that it was now very dark, he kept
his cloak up, and had pulled his hat downwards over his brow; but his
voice was perfectly familiar. His companion was similarly muffled; I did
not then recognise him.
I saluted the count and admitted the fineness of the night. It seemed to
me that he had more to say--and he had.
"I have wished a little conversation with you, Don Francis," he said.
"Shall we walk together? You are returning to your lodging--after an
interview which, to judge from its duration, must have been pleasant."
"My dear count," said I, "Donna Aurelia, as you know, is an old friend
of mine. We had much to say. I will walk with you by all means. But your
friend here----"
He laughed. "My friend will not disturb us. Let me make two gentlemen
acquainted, who should know each other, at least, by name. Marchese, let
me present you to my friend Mr. Francis Strelley. Don Francis, be
pleased to salute the illustrious Marchese Semifonte."
I began to smell mischief--indeed I had smelt it already. I knew that
the count was no longer my friend; and as for Semifonte, no doubt he
would murder me if he durst. Here, then, were these two worthies in
league, and waiting for me in a lonely place. Lucky that I had my sword.
In the meantime Semifonte raised his hat and bowed; I returned the
salutation and said that I had had the advantage of meeting his lordship
already. To that he made no reply. We then walked on together--I on the
inside, next to me the count, the marchese on the outside.
The count began by congratulating me upon my escape from Florence, and
from what might have been a most awkward affair. "Luckily for me," he
added, "I was out of the city at the time, or, between my duty and my
inclination, I should have found myself in a dilemma."
To that I replied that it was sufficient for me to be sure that he had
been absent. "If I had known that Donna Aurelia was still in the Villa
San Giorgio," I went on, "at the time when I was hiding from your
excellency's servants, I believe I should have pushed my importunities
so far as her door."
"You would have asked Donna Aurelia to interest herself in the cause of
your charming--your too charming----" I could not see his face, but
could have sworn that he was showing his teeth.
"Not at all, count," I said, "not at all. But I should have asked the
Grand Duke's principal Minister to remember that he had betrayed an
innocent girl's whereabouts to those who sought her ruin, and to give
fair play to him who had risked his life to protect her."
"You wrong me, sir," he said warmly; "you accuse me of treachery. Of
that I am incapable. As for my distinguished friend here----"
"Let your distinguished friend deny that he purchased Virginia Strozzi
from her parents," I retorted; "that he has sought her ever since--that
he sent Palamone to murder me--that he still intends some mischief. Let
him deny these things, and I speak no more of them."
The marchese said not a word. The count took up the tale.
"Let me, in my turn, trouble you with a few denials. I do not deny that
Donna Aurelia was in Florence earlier than you supposed, nor that I kept
you in ignorance of it. It was judged better on all accounts. Father
Carnesecchi was of that opinion. I believe that the lady had no desire
to see you. Perhaps you will pardon my franchise when I say that it
would have been singular if she had. She desired to be accommodated with
her husband--and that was done. My part in that affair, which I am very
ready to defend, need not concern you, though (if I remember rightly)
you professed yourself anxious on that account. Now for my denials. I
deny flatly that I did any service to my distinguished friend at your
expense. I deny it point-blank. And I deny that, when--not for the first
time--you took the law into your own hands, I purposely removed myself
from the city. That suspicion of yours is not worth so many words. What
should my purpose be? What object could I have? Why should I become your
enemy?"
"That, sir," I said, "is what I intend to find out. Be so good as to add
these to your denials if you can. Will you deny that you witnessed the
performance of the Donne Furlane in Siena on the occasion of the Grand
Duke's birthday last year?"
He said, "I remember it, and a remarkable performance it was."
"And did you see it in company of Donna Aurelia?"
"I did."
"And did you give yourself the pain to send officers to arrest an actor
called De' Pazzi?"
He was silent. I said then:
"And did you not know that I was that actor? Now, Count Giraldi, since
you cannot deny these facts, I will ask you why you are my enemy? For
you are not a man who acts without reason."
We were upon the river bank a little short of the Rubiconte Bridge. The
water rippled languidly over the muddy reaches, but the rush of the weir
was audible. Not another sound was to be heard, not a soul was in sight.
We three stopped--I was facing the two men, my back to the low river
wall. I heard Giraldi's breath come short and whistling through his fine
nose; I heard Semifonte breathing through his mouth--shorter breaths--he
was panting.
Count Giraldi spoke, using great command of himself, measuring his
words.
"I think I will tell you the facts," he said, "I think that will be
best. You can then judge my actions, and, as a reasonable man, govern
your own by them.
"Man of the world as I am," he continued, "I must confess that you
surprised me upon our first acquaintance. I could not tell whether I was
consorting with a very refined profligate or (forgive me) a very
singular fool. You came into the city in search (as you told me) of a
lady with whom you had had an abortive affair--but you came in company
with an attractive person, in a relationship with her which could only
bear one interpretation--No, no, you must hear me out, if you please,"
he said peremptorily, stopping my protest before it could be framed in
words. "Upon your representations I interested myself in Donna Aurelia.
I judged her attractive by your report; I found that your discernment
was even better than I had expected. She came to the convent in some
distress, I saw her, she was charming, she charmed me. She was in a
chastened mood, subdued, softly melancholy. I believe--indeed, I know--
that she had a tenderness for you. Well, I was prepared to be loyal, no
one is to say in my presence that I am a false friend. I WAS loyal
until--Pest!" cried he, "what did I find? I found that, while you
professed the most extravagant regard for the lady, you asked nothing
better for yourself than that she should return to the arms of her
horrible old spouse! I found also that you had recovered possession of
your straight young Contadina by means which were more ingenious than
lawful--that she was in your lodgings--your friend--your----"
Semifonte here gave a harsh guttural cry. Giraldi spoke to him in an
undertone, then resumed:
"You may remember my interest in that young woman's appearance and
manner, when I chanced to find her in your lodgings in the dress of a
fine lady. You remember that you then told me her history? Believe me
when I say that I did not tell my illustrious friend here of the
adventure. He was told, it is true, but not by me. If it will satisfy
you, I will take my oath to that. I had no intention of depriving you of
your mistress; far from it, that would have destroyed my particular
object, which, I will now confess, was to take your place in Donna
Aurelia's regard, for which you would not ask. I own also that I did not
care to have you in her neighbourhood, and that I very much desired to
get rid of you. Why? Because I could see that Donna Aurelia was in love
with you."
He paused while I admired his affectation of candour. Presently he went
on: "When my friend here proposed to secure your mistress by means of
the Capuchin I gave him a free hand; that is to say, I gave you no
warning, I admit that. Why again? Because I knew you, Don Francis, and
was certain that you would never allow a hand to be laid upon her. I was
right, you did not. You did precisely what I desired. You as good as
killed the Capuchin and you went into hiding. I wished to keep you
there, and so I did. If I had not sent Carabineers into the Piazza--if I
had been accessible to your messengers--you would have been fatally in
my way. You were never in danger of arrest or imprisonment--but you
believed that you were, and that served my purpose.
"You left our State. All was well until you entered it again. I admit
that when I saw you in Siena I was in Donna Aurelia's company, and
feared the effect of your apparition upon her. She did not recognise
you, but I did. I confess that I had you arrested, and assure you that
you would never have gone to Volterra, but to Leghorn. You would have
been placed upon an English ship and sent to your own country, where
your peculiar qualities would have had freer play. Lastly, I admit that
I was vexed at your reappearance here in circumstances of prosperity
which forbade my touching you. I admit that I have resented this late
visit of yours to Donna Aurelia and am still smarting at the length of
it. Ridiculous, but so it is! I know that she has a feeling for you--I
am not secure--I wish you to go. You are really unconscionable, you must
let me say. You have deprived the marchese of a possible mistress, and
now you seem inclined to deprive me of an actual mistress. You are
exorbitant, my young sir----"
"Stop there, Count Giraldi," I said in a voice which I myself hardly
knew for my own. "Stop there. Repeat your last words. You say that I am
for robbing you--of what?"
"Donna Aurelia," said he deliberately, "has done me great honour. I am
her accepted cavalier. She has accorded me the highest favour. She
occupies my villa--the doctor is my humble servant. You will not wish me
to enlarge upon this?"
"You are a liar," I said, "you are a liar," and struck him full in the
face with my open hand. His white face was nearly all I could see of
him.
He recoiled--he had not expected it, I am sure. At that moment, before
he could recover his self-possession, Semifonte gave another hoarse cry
and leapt at me with a dagger. I caught him under the arm-pit, closed
with him and threw him easily. His back gave at the first jerk--there
was no strength in him--and when he was on the ground I disarmed him
with ease and bade him lie still. I put my foot upon his neck, and drew
my sword. "If you stir, assassin, I shall run you through," I said.
"Now, Count Giraldi, I am at your service."
"You are bolder than I thought, and readier," the count said; "but you
have gone too far, and I shall meet you as soon as you please. I don't
know whether you believe that this has been part of my plan, or whether
you care to hear me deny it. If you believe me a liar, you can easily
believe me assassin also. I will bid you good-night, Don Francis. We
know where to find each other."
I told him that my friend, Mr. Robert Malcolm, of the English Legation,
would receive any friend of his, at any hour--the sooner the better. He
went away.
I removed my foot from the marchese's neck and told him to get up.
"You see, my lord, what your friend thinks of you by the way he has
disavowed your performance and left you in the mud," I said. "Give
yourself the trouble to go to your own house." I gave him the road and
waited while he walked swiftly away. I incline to believe that he was
mad, this miserable man. He said nothing--not one word--but did exactly
as he was told. I could barely make out the outline of him in the
darkness, and could not see his eyes. I know that they were white and
scared.