THE GARDEN OF ST. MICHAEL.
On our way back Ceci was somehow separated from me, whether by
accident or design, I cannot say. I did not quite regret this, as I
had made up my mind to see as little as possible of him for the
future, thinking he had repaid himself for his kindness, by the
proposals he had made to me. Indeed, I may say I never sought his
society, although, until he showed his hand, his visits and
conversation gave me some pleasure, for notwithstanding his position,
he was a well-informed man, who, in the earlier part of his life, must
have seen better days, and perhaps hoped to see them again, if his
plot succeeded. The words he had let drop, to the effect that the
Medici would come back, had given me a hint as to what that plot was.
It was evident that my old friend was an active member of the Bigi, or
Grey Party in Florence, that were then working secretly for the
restoration of Lorenzo's sons. It seemed clear too, that the attempt
to be made, was to be directed against some very eminent member of the
State--perhaps the Gonfaloniere himself, and I began to wonder if it
was not my duty to lay the information I had before the Signory. I
could not, however, reconcile this with my promise of silence, and
therefore my tongue was tied. Still I could not sit tamely by, and see
a man murdered in cold blood, and I decided therefore, to remain in
Florence somehow, and if possible avert the crime, although it would
interfere, no doubt, with my own business. But one cannot always be
thinking of one's self. Perhaps also, though not quite conscious of it
then, I had some idea of again meeting the unknown lady of the gala
procession, in whom, in spite of myself, I felt I was taking too great
an interest.
During the night I had but little sleep, for the affair of the mad
partisan of the Medici, and the declaration of war, had roused the
citizens to fever heat, and all night long, crowds thronged the
streets, their hoarse shouts of _Popolo_! _Popolo!_ mingling with the
incessant clanging of the war-bell, which itself was loud enough to
wake the dead. The next day, however, I resolved to take the bull by
the horns, and with a view to fill my purse, determined to present
myself before La Palisse, and offer him my sword. I sallied out,
therefore, finding the streets fairly empty, the all-night indignation
meeting of the Florentines having wearied them a little. Still,
however, there were knots of people here and there, all in a more or
less excited condition. I was in no particular hurry, and taking a
lesson from the snail, went at a leisurely pace, and eventually
reached the headquarters of La Palisse, which were in the Medicean
palace, in the Via Larga. The courtyard and entrance-hall were full of
soldiers, and evidently active preparations for the campaign were in
progress, for there was a continuous stream of people going in and
out. No one took any notice of me, and holding my cap in one hand, and
straightening the feather on it with the fingers of the other, I
advanced unquestioned through the crowded rooms. In this manner I
proceeded until I came to a gallery, on one flank of which there was a
series of windows overlooking the street; at the end of the gallery
hung a purple curtain, covering, as it happened, an open door. On the
curtain itself was embroidered a crimson shield, bearing the _palle_
of the Medici. Before this I was stopped by a young officer, who asked
me my business, and I replied it was with La Palisse himself.
"Impossible!" he replied; "you cannot see the General."
"Why not, signore?"
"Tush, man! You look old enough to understand that orders are orders."
"What is it, De Brienne?" a sharp voice called out from within. The
officer lifted the curtain, and went inside. I was determined to gain
an interview with the great man, and had therefore said my business
was of importance. The leanness of my purse is my excuse for the
subterfuge, which I subsequently regretted, as will be seen further
on. Shortly after De Brienne came out. "Well, messer--messer----"
"Donati," I said.
"Well, Donati, the General will see you. You may enter."
I accordingly did so, and found myself in the presence of a short,
thick-set man, seated at a small table, on which was spread a map,
over which he was looking intently. In a corner of the room lay his
helmet and sword, and he himself was in half-mail, wearing a Milanese
corselet, on which was emblazoned the red dragon of his house. As his
head was bent over the paper, I could not at first make out his
features, and remained standing patiently. Suddenly he lifted his
face, and looked at me with a quick "Well--your business, sir?"
I was accustomed to strange sights, but for the moment was startled,
so horribly disfigured was the man. The sight of one eye was
completely gone, and half his face looked as if a red-hot gridiron had
been pressed against it. The other eye was intact, and twinkled
ferociously under its bushy grey eyebrow. I recovered myself quickly,
and made my request in as few words as possible. He became enraged as
I finished. "Bah!" he said, "I thought your business was of
importance. I can do nothing for you, my list is full. You have gained
admission to me under a pretence--go!" and he resumed his study of the
map. I would have urged the matter, but all my pride was aroused at
his words, and so, with a short good-day, I turned on my heel and
walked out. Passing through the gallery, I saw De Brienne, leaning
against an open window, talking to another young officer. They both
looked at me, and burst into a loud laugh. At any other time I might
have treated this with contempt, but I was sore all over at my
reception, and approaching the two said, "You seem amused,
gentlemen--it is not well to laugh at distress."
They stopped their laughter, staring haughtily at me, and De Brienne
said, "Your way, signore, lies before you," and he pointed down the
corridor.
"Perhaps the Signor de Brienne would care to accompany me--unless,"
and I looked him steadily in the face.
"Unless what?" De Brienne flushed angrily.
At this moment we heard a hasty footstep on the marble floor, and La
Palisse advanced. "Still here," he said to me, "did I not tell you to
begone?"
"My business is with the Signor de Brienne," I replied stiffly, for my
blood was hot within me.
"I am quite prepared," began De Brienne, but the free-captain
interposed.
"Not in the least. I cannot allow my officers to go fighting with
every _croque-mort_, who comes here with a long sword and a lying
story. Look at him, De Brienne--every inch a bravo! Harkee, Donati!
Begone at once. Not another word, or by God, I will have you hanged
from the nearest window!"
It did not require me to carry my perception in my right hand, to be
aware that La Palisse was capable of fulfilling his threat, and
although I was inclined to draw on him there and then, I knew what the
ultimate results would be. So swallowing my pride as best I could, and
regretting the ill-humour which had subjected me to this insult, I
stalked into the street.
I made my way to my ordinary, and sat there to cool, which took some
time. I was able to see, that the rebuff I received was due in great
part to my own mismanagement; also that there was no hope for me from
La Palisse, and that my steps must turn elsewhere if I wished my purse
to show a full-fed appearance. I dined sparingly, drinking but a half
measure of Chianti, which I mixed with water, and it made but a thin
fluid. When I finished my slender repast, there was nothing left but
to kill time. It was useless to go back to my lodging; for want of
funds had compelled me to discontinue, until better times, my newly
acquired habit of reading, and Ceci, despite the kindness he had shown
me, was precise in the exaction of payment for offices performed by
him. No more indeed could be expected from a huckstering mind such as
his, inherited no doubt from a line of bargaining citizens, whose
hearts were in their bales of wool. So I strolled towards the garden
of St. Michael, passing on the way the piazzi, where there were still
numbers assembled, and wondering at the implacable hatred of the
Florentines towards their noblest blood, a hatred they carried so far,
as to build the walls of the Palace of the Signory obliquely, rather
than they should touch the spot where the Uberti once dwelt. And this
set me reflecting on the unreasoning stupidity of the _canaille_, in
their enmity towards gentle blood. Perhaps I was a little influenced
in these thoughts, from the fact that the Uberti were connected by
marriage with the Savelli, a daughter of Maso degli Uberti having
wedded that Baptista di Savelli who upheld by force of arms his right
to attend the Conclave of Cardinals. It was sad to think that of the
Uberti not one was left, and of the Savelli--I alone. I will not
include the Chigi, for they come through the female line, and although
Amilcar Chigi, the son of my father's old enemy, subsequently made
advances of friendship towards me, I felt bound to explain to him that
I was the head of the house, despite the broad lands his father got
with his mother Olympia, by an unjust decree of the Chamber of Lies.
This, however, is a family affair, which does not concern the
narration in hand. Having reached the garden, I sat myself to rest on
a stone seat, set against a wall overhung by a large tree. At the
further end of the walk were two ladies in earnest conversation. Their
backs were to me at first, but on arriving at the end of the walk,
they turned slowly round, and came towards me. As they approached, I
was almost sure they were the two I had seen in the gala procession,
and my doubts were soon at rest, for, on passing, they glanced at me
with idle curiosity, and in a moment I recognised them by their air
and gait. On this occasion they wore no masks, and I saw they were
both young and passing fair. The face of the shorter of the two, whose
figure had a matronly cast, was set in a mass of light hair, and
looked brimful of good-humour. The other, who, in marked contrast to
her companion, had dark hair and dark eyes, possessed a countenance of
exceeding beauty, marred perhaps by its expression of pride. Be that
as it may, my blood began to tingle as I saw her, and an indefinite
thought of what might have been rose into my mind. When they had gone
a few yards, the one, whom I took to be a married woman, said
something to her friend, and glanced over her shoulder; but the other
appeared to reprove the remark, increasing as she did so the pride of
her carriage. I wondered to myself that two ladies, should be out
unattended, in so sequestered a spot, at a time too when the city was
so full of excitement, and watched them as they turned the corner of
the walk, and went out of sight beyond the trees. I began in a useless
manner to speculate who they were, and to weave together a little
romance in my heart, when I was startled by a shriek, and the next
moment the fair-haired lady came running round the corner of the road,
crying for help. It was not fifty yards, and in less time than I take
to write this, I whipped out my sword, and was hurrying to the spot. I
saw, when I reached, the taller lady struggling in the arms of an
ill-looking ruffian. She called out on my coming, and the man,
loosening his hold, was about to make off, when, unwilling to soil my
sword with the blood of a low-born scoundrel, I struck at him with my
fist, and the cross handle of the sword clenched in my hand, inflicted
an ugly gash on his forehead, besides bringing him down. I stood with
the point of my sword over him, and the affrighted women behind me.
"Hold, signore!" he cried, "enough! I yield--what! Would you draw on a
friend?"
"A friend?" I said in astonishment, as he slowly rose to his feet.
"Yes, Signor di Savelli, were you on Monte San Michele now, you would
sing a different tune."
"Piero Luigi, then it is you," I said; "well, scoundrel, I am not on
Monte San Michele, but you are here, and will shortly be before Messer
the Gonfaloniere, unless you restore at once what you have doubtless
robbed from these ladies and beg their pardon. Stop! if you attempt to
move, I will spit you like a lark."
"I have taken nothing," he said, "let me go; I am punished enough."
"That is true, sir," said one of the ladies, "and we pray you let the
man go."
"Not till he has begged your pardon," I replied.
Luigi did as he was bid, and humbly apologised; but as he left, he
discharged a Parthian shot: "Ah, ladies! I sought but a kiss. I am but
a poor thief--a crow--but the Signor di Savelli is no better, though
he flies with hawk's wings."
I took no notice of the remark; and, lifting my cap, begged permission
to see the ladies to a place of safety.
"We thank you for your kindness, sir," said the shorter and elder of
the two, "but I see our servants approaching, and we will not
therefore trespass on you. Believe me, however, we are grateful--my
cousin and I."
Even as she spoke her lackeys came up, and one of them, in an alarmed
tone, asked what was the matter, and turned on me fiercely.
"Be quiet, Gian," said the lady who had just spoken, "it is we who
have to thank Signor di Savelli for rescuing us."
"Your pardon, signore; but we heard the ladies cry out, and seeing you
here----"
"Where you should have been," I interrupted, "you lag too far behind
your mistress."
The dark-haired girl, who had up to now not spoken, but, with her face
very pale, was playing with a bracelet on her wrist, now looked up.
"I think we had better get back, we will not trouble this--this
gentleman further. He has already done too much for us."
She dropped me a proud little curtsey, and turned away, but her
friend frankly held out her hand. "Believe me, Signor di Savelli--I
heard you so called--my cousin Angiola and I are both very grateful.
She is a good deal upset by what has happened, and I speak for her.
My husband," she went on hurriedly, "has much influence, and if any
word----"
She stopped a little helplessly, and seeing she had observed my
appearance, and anxious to end the affair, I cut in--
"Madam, I did nothing but drive off a cur--you thank me too much. Good
day!"
I stood cap in hand until they turned the elbow of the walk, and then
retraced my steps to my lodging. As I went back, I could not help
railing at my luck. I was enabled to do a service, which, for no
reason I could assign, I would rather have done to this particular
woman than any other--a service which should have made her look kindly
at me, and yet by a cruel stroke she was made to think me nothing else
but a thief, for Luigi's charge was definite, and it was clear I knew
him. My name was also known to her, and perhaps the rest of my story,
as it was understood by the public, would be told to her, and then,
adieu to my little romance, if it was not adieu already. Then again
what business had I to have any such thoughts? I had yet to learn that
these things come unbidden, and when they come, take no denial.
Thinking in this way as I walked on, I was surprised to find I had
reached the old Albizzi Palace. This building, like all the other
houses of the nobles of Florence, was fortified with braccia or
towers, joined to each other by bridges. These towers formed refuges
during interurban wars, and stood many a siege from the people. The
Albizzi Palace had four such braccia, but the two towards the Ultrarno
quarter had been half demolished in some forgotten riot, and never
restored. The others were however intact, although the bridge between
them had long since given way. It was in one of these that I had my
abode, and reaching it about sundown, began to slowly ascend the dark
stairs which led to my chamber. Occasionally I stopped and rested, and
it was during one of these rests that I looked up to the landing above
me. It was still in light; for the setting sun shone through a giglio
shaped window in the western wall. As I glanced up, a figure suddenly
appeared at the head of the stairway, and leaning one hand on the
balustrade, peered down into the dim light below it. I recognised the
extraordinary dress at once, and a moment's survey of the face assured
me it was my host of the hovel, he who had so strangely disappeared
with the girl, when I fought with Brico at Perugia.
"A good day to you, friend!" I called out, "and well met."
"Who calls? Who is there?" he answered.
"One moment, let me climb up these stairs," and I made my way to the
landing, and held out my hand.
He took it in silence, but his grip was warm.
"Signore," he said after a moment, "I do not know your name; but
whoever you are, Mathew Corte owes you much, and will some day show
himself grateful."
"My name," I said, "for the present is Donati, and as for gratitude
there is no need to speak of it."
As he mentioned his name, I remembered that there was a madman so
called, who had come into notoriety years ago, by asserting that he
had discovered the secret of prolonging life to a hundred and twenty
years. He had, I heard, written a book in which this was fully
described, and presented it to the Cibo pope, with the inscription,
_videbis dies Petri et ultra_. Long after, I heard Cardinal Bembo
tell, in his witty way, how this same Corte presented his book to
three successive popes, ending with Innocent of Genoa, adding that he
took care on each occasion to substitute a new title-page and
dedication. "But," the cardinal was wont to add, "it is against the
canon, for our Lord the Pope to go in any matter, even in life, beyond
the Holy Apostle, and therefore, no doubt, the worthy doctor's
prescriptions were not followed. Such are the sacrifices the church
has to make."
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"Some days."
"And we have never met!"
"Ah! The place is like a rabbit-warren. There are hundreds here. But
it is odd that I have never seen you."
"Not so very odd when I come to think of it," and I looked down at my
shabby attire. "It is generally late when I go out."
He held out one leg, clothed in its fantastic dress.
"I too am on the rocks," and he laughed bitterly, "and feed with the
goats."
Wishing to change the subject, I inquired about the girl. He turned
away to the window, and when he looked back the man's eyes were full
of tears.
"Would you care to see?" he asked, with a shake in his voice.
I bowed gravely, and he conducted me upstairs, fully two flights
beyond my room, and then stopped on a small landing. Through the
half-open door that faced us, a little dog came out, and looked
wistfully at Corte. He stooped to stroke it, and then rising, passed
into the room. When he had gone beyond the door, he looked back at me,
saying "enter."
I did so with gentle footsteps, and he pointed to a bed in the corner
of the room, on which was the figure of a woman, lying so still and
motionless, that she might have been an image of wax. Her plentiful
brown hair was spread over the pillow, and out of this frame, the
pinched white face, with all its traces of past beauty, looked out in
a pitiful silence. One thin hand was turned palm downwards on the
coverlet, and, as we stood, the fingers began to work convulsively.
Corte bent over her forehead and touched it with his lips. "Little
one," he said, "do you sleep?"
The girl opened her sightless eyes, and a faint smile, that lightened
her face, making it wondrous beautiful, passed over her countenance.
"Not yet." She spoke so low I could hardly catch the words, "but I
shall sleep soon."
I knew what she meant, for in her face was already that look which
comes to those who are going away. Corte was however unable to judge.
"She is better," he said, "I will give her some more wine--all that
she needs is strength--my little one." With this he turned to a
cupboard, and opening it, took thenceforth a bottle of wine; with
shaking fingers he tried to fill a glass; but the bottle was empty.
"I forgot," he said, and looked hopelessly around him. There was that
in the man's face which made me read it as an open book.
"Stay here," I whispered, "I will be back soon--very soon."
He looked at me in a dazed sort of manner, but I waited for no reply,
and, slipping out of the room, ran as fast as I could downstairs, and
through the darkening streets to the nearest inn. Calling the landlord
I asked him what was his best wine.
"My best wine, signore! All my wines are good. There is Chianti from
our own Tuscan grape, Lacryma Christi from Naples, Barolo from
Piedmont, Roman Orvieto and White Vernaccia of the same brand that the
Cardinal Ippolite d'Este----"
"Fool," I interrupted, "answer my question. What is your best wine?
Have you any of the wines of France?"
"Wines of France!" he exclaimed, "_Corpo di Bacco!_ Does not your
excellency know that La Palisse and his French cut-throats have been
here for a month? Think you there is a bottle of red Roussilon or
Armagnac left in Florence? There lie, however, in my cellar, two
flagons of Burgundy."
"Fetch one at once--run, man!" and I flung him a crown.
After a short delay, which seemed ages to me, messer the padrone
reappeared with the flagon of Burgundy under his arm, and seizing it
from him, I ran back to the Albizzi Palace, and hurried up the stairs
to the room occupied by Corte. Although I had been away barely half an
hour, that was sufficient time to make a change for the worse in the
sick girl, and I became aware that the end had begun. We tried to
force a little of the wine between her lips; but she could not
swallow, and now instead of lying still, kept tossing her head from
side to side. Corte was undone. He could do nothing but stand at the
head of the bed, in mute despair, as he watched the parting soul sob
its way out.
I went towards him: "Shall I send the intendant for a priest?"
If ever words changed the countenance of a man, mine did. His eyes
fairly blazed with anger, and he hissed out, "No, signore--this is a
priest's work--pray if you like, but no priest comes here."
I had, as all other men have, frequently called upon God, sometimes in
idle blasphemy; but never on an occasion so serious as this. Pray if I
liked! I had forgotten what real prayer was. Impelled by a power I
could not resist, I knelt down and tried to form some words to reach
the Most High. But they would not come, I could only feel them, and I
rose again and took my stand by the dying girl.
She began to talk now in a rambling manner, and with that strength
which comes at the point of death from somewhere; her voice was clear,
but with a metallic ring. It is not for me to repeat the last words of
one who is now with her God; but I gathered from them a story of
trusting love, of infamous wrong and dastardly crime. And Corte shook
like a branch in the wind, as the words came thick and fast from the
lips of his dying child. After a while she became still once again. So
still that we thought she had passed away; but she revived on a
sudden, and called out:
"Father--I cannot see--I am blind--stoop down and let me whisper."
"I am here, little one--close--quite close to you."
"Tell him--I--forgive. You must forgive too--promise."
Corte pressed his lips to her damp forehead, but spoke no word.
"It is bright again--they are calling me--mother! Hold me up--I cannot
breathe."
Corte sank on his knees with his head between his hands, and passing
my arm round the poor creature I lifted her up, and the spirit
passed. In the room there was now a silence which was broken by a
heart-rending sob from Corte. He staggered to his feet with despair on
his face.
"She said forgive!" he exclaimed. "Man, you have seen an angel die.
This is the work of a priest, of a pontiff, of him who calls himself
Vicar of Christ! Go now, and leave me with my dead."
I took his hand, and pressing it, turned to the door. As I closed it
behind me, I saw Corte bending over the still face of his child, and
the little dog, throwing up its head, howled piteously.