THE FINAL PROOF
Free in every sense of the term--free, of prison, free of debt (for if
Aurelia had paid me, I had now paid her husband), free of every
obligation but guilt, I was all on fire for Lucca and that service which
is perfect freedom, voluntary bondage to Virginia, whom I could now love
whole-heartedly as she deserved. Artemis! Artemis! Chaster than a fire--
what wonder is it that she had prevailed in that dream-strife which I
had witnessed in the villa garden, what wonder when she had to contend
with the soiled wife of a vile man--with Aurelia, the lovely, caressing,
silken woman, bought by a place, bought by a house, who, possessed by
two men, sought yet another. Ah, thou glowing, honey-tongued, unhappy
one, in what a horrible web of affairs was I enmeshed along with thee!
What a world was that into which I went ruffling with my money, and rank
and fine prospects! Never more, never more would I enter that world of
bargain and sale.
So I swore, and so purposed; but in pursuance of a plan which I had
formed in my most private mind, I travelled to Lucca in a coach and four
horses, with postillions before and my body-servant behind. On this
occasion I was furnished with a passport and abundance of money. All my
property in Florence, all my household gear had been transferred to the
city of my choice. I left behind me in Florence not one vestige of
myself, and (so far as I know) not one true friend. I intended to be two
days upon the road, and lay the night at Empoli; early on the following
morning, a fine day in early autumn, I departed from the inn for my
final stage, and fared without incident as far as Ponte a Cappiano.
Before the hill of Altopascio is reached, the traveller must accomplish
a lonely stretch of road, which runs for some three miles through a
ragged wood. This place bears a bad name; it is debatable land, as we
say, between the Republic of Lucca and the Grand Duchy, and a well-known
haunt for footpads, highwaymen, outlaws, and other kinds of cut-throat.
So, at least, my servant said when, stopping the carriage, I got out and
proposed to walk through the wood by a direct path and meet my
conveyance at the top of the pass. He begged me very earnestly to do
nothing of the kind. "The road is the only tolerable way for your
lordship," he assured me; and then, with a start, he added, "Hark, sir,
hark! As I live by bread, we are pursued even now." I listened, and
could hear a long way off the regular pounding of a horse.
However, I paid no more attention to that than to see to the priming of
my pistols. I had been near death too often of late to stand on any
ceremony with it; and there are times in life when one can see beyond
it. I had a certainty that I should not die until I had found Virginia.
Therefore I dismissed the carriage and walked on. Now and again, as I
entered more deeply into the thicket, I caught the sound of hoofs; but I
soon grew to disregard them and presently forgot their menace
altogether.
This wood, of holm-oak, holly and beech for the most part, rises and
dips twice before it climbs the final ascent to the crown above
Altopascio. A cart-track runs through it, deeply rutted and always miry,
on either hand of which glades are revealed of great beauty. Here, if
the trees are remote, the grass grows lush and green. Hereabouts are the
flowers, tall and plenty--foxgloves and mullein, such as we have at
home, and loosestrife (lysimachia), both the yellow and the purple. The
sun shone brilliantly between the leaves, the air was sweetly tempered,
the wood was empty. I felt exalted, as I always do when I am alone. I
was hopeful; I was still young. God, methought, was about to bless me
abundantly, after making stern trial of me. My secret thought ran
rhythmically in my head. I walked briskly up the first slope, surmounted
it, and stood looking down upon a scene more charming than that which I
was about to leave--a deeper, greener glade, with a clearing in the
midst, and a rude gipsy tent and a little fire, and two persons beside
it. As I stood looking I heard the crackling of the brushwood and dead
twigs behind me. The horseman, whoever he was, had entered the wood and
was following the track.
But the encampment below me engrossed all my eyes. In that windless
hollow a thin spire of smoke rose blue towards the blue. An iron pot was
suspended on three poles; the smoke hugged it closely, united above it,
and rose in a column. The couple, a young man and woman, sat still,
watching it. Their meal was ended, I judged, and they were summoning
resolution for the road. The woman, with a pretty, weary gesture, put
her head upon the man's shoulder. He embraced her with his arm, bent his
head and kissed her. Stooping yet lower, he kissed her lap. I saw that
she had a child asleep there. Just then both of them heard, as I did,
the horse's hoof strike on a stone. They both started, and looked up
towards me. My heart stood still, my tongue clove to the roof of my
mouth. Those two were Belviso and Virginia--and the child! the child! In
a flash of instantaneous reflection I remembered that a year ago Belviso
had gone to Lucca to find Virginia, had reported her to me as not there,
and at Arezzo had asked leave to seek her again.
Oh, monstrous thought! Oh, monstrous thinker, Francis! But I was
incapable of justice or reason. I thought here to see the mockery of
God; and I, who imagined so wickedly, went on to deal wickedness.
I strode down the hill upon them without a word, my eyes blazing like
coals. Both recognised me at the same moment. Virginia stood up, holding
her child close to her, but never budged; Belviso cried, "Master!" and
started towards me. When he saw with what countenance I was coming, he
faltered and stood ill at ease. In my blind fury I put this down to his
guilt; good God, what more did I meditate? Oh, horrible! I stopped and
cocked my pistol.
"Ah, false wife once," I said terribly, "and now false mistress!
Traitress, with this traitor whom I believed my friend----"
Belviso here gave a cry and held up his hand. He was looking, not at me,
but behind me to the slope down which I had come. "Master, beware,
beware," he called out in his ringing young voice. "Palamone is behind
you. Treachery indeed!"
I turned, and saw that he spoke the truth. Fra Palamone, booted and
spurred, with a huge black cloak flagging about him, was close upon me,
walking his horse tenderly down the hill. His face was distorted with a
grin, there was a light, scared look in one of his eyes, whose brow was
lifted more than the other. If ever appearance foretold mischief, that
did his.
He saw that I was armed, no doubt, for he reined up out of shooting
distance, bowed to me, and spoke my name. I asked him what he wanted.
"A little talk, if you please, Don Francis," he said in his blandest
tone, "a little friendly talk."
"You rascal," said I, "a cudgelling was the upshot of your last. Do you
want another? Have you earned it yet?"
"God do so unto me if I meditate any harm to your Excellency," said the
old villain. "Upon Christ's life and death I can do you a service at
last, and so I will. Know first of all that the most charitable deed you
ever did in your life was to break your cane over my wicked body. Yes,
yes, I tell you truly, you saved a soul that day, and I care not who
knows it. Sir, sir!" said he earnestly, "I am here not only to thank you
for having restored me my soul, but to give you a letter which will
restore you your wife, and tell you the whole truth about her into the
bargain."
"Who wrote your letter?" I asked him, and he told me, "One who knows.
Miriam the Jewess."
I am to confess that he deceived me again. I was fool enough to believe
that he could explain to me the guilty history of these two persons
behind me--these two and their child. We believe what we desire to
believe, whether it be of good or evil report. I bade him give me his
letter; he dismounted and came towards me, fumbling in his cloak. "'Tis
here," he was muttering to himself. "No, no, that is my pardon from his
Holiness. Ah, what have we here? Nay, 'tis my certificate of communion.
How, how? Have I lost it?" Grumbling and mumbling, grating his loose
tooth, he was close upon me, his hand deep in his cloak. "Ha, ha!" he
suddenly cried, "now I have it!" and whipped out his hand. Belviso
shrieked my name aloud, "Francis, my lord and king!" and flung himself
upon my breast. There was a shocking report of a pistol, discharged
close at hand. Belviso shuddered and fell limp--a dead weight. I raised
my arm, levelled, and shot Palamone through the head.
We picked up the lifeless form of that lad whom I had once loved for his
love of me and laid him by the fire. Virginia knelt beside him, pale and
tearless; pale, stern and tearless also I stood above him, my weapon
still reeking in my hand. "Woman," said I hoarsely, "would that I had
fired that shot. Do you dare to say that he has not got his deserts?"
She did not answer me; she was busy with the dead. She opened his jacket
and vest and put her hand below his shirt to feel if his heart yet
fluttered. Then she lifted to me a stern pure face. "His deserts, my
lord, say you? Come, kneel you by me, and see whether he have them or
no."
Some impulse, I know not what, made me obey. I kneeled down by Virginia.
She opened reverently the clothing of Belviso, laid back the vest, laid
back the cotton shirt. Wonder, terror, a flood of shame came scalding
into my eyes. I had looked upon, but now could not see, the young
breasts of a girl. My proof had turned to my reproof. I was humbled to
the dust. "Poor child," said Virginia very softly, "poor sinner, who
died to save him that had once saved thee, I pray to God that thou
knowest now how innocently he did thee this wrong." She stooped and
kissed the cold lips, but I fell upon the cold bosom and wept bitterly.
She let me sob my full. Not until I was calmer did the noble girl touch
me upon the shoulder and call me by my name. "Francis," she said, "do
not reproach yourself any more. This poor soul has done what she must in
any case have done. Her heart was yours, and yours, she knew, could
never have been given her. She was loyal to you through all and deceived
you through loyalty. She is repaid in the only coin she could have
asked. God have her soul." [Footnote: Belviso's tragic masquerade was
not at all uncommon in Italy at the time of which I write. If a girl
were desirous of becoming a comedian she must, unless her talents were
extraordinary, appear to be a male. The salaries of women, to begin
with, were high and out of the reach of poor companies of players; and
secondly, as I have said in the text, some States, such as the Roman,
forbade the appearance of women upon the scene. Women's parts,
therefore, would be taken by castrati, or boys, whose sex it was
necessary for a woman to assume. There was another reason which, I
fondly believe, induced Belviso to adopt that name and appearance. A
woman appearing as such must be morally ruined. I never heard of an
exception to the rule. Belviso's real name was Geronima Sastre, and she
was a native of the Trentino.--F. A. S.] I looked up at my beloved--now
at last my entirely beloved--wife. Bare as she was, her neck bare of
covering, her finger of the ring, she was my wife before God and the
angels. I rose and faced her, she met my looks without flinching, in her
eyes was no shame. The child lay sleeping in her shawl.
My heart beat high. I lifted up my face to the sky and laughed aloud. "O
God, O God, Thou hast redeemed me!" I cried. Then to Virginia I said,
"This child of thine----"
"It is thine," said Virginia.
My arms embraced both mother and babe, but with a hand I took her by the
chin. She turned her face to me, and with her clear eyes searched my
face. "It is ours," she said, and blushed.
"And I am yours, my Virginia," I said, and stooped to her. Our lips met
and stayed together. We kissed long, drinking the joy of one another.
The Fool would err no more.