Among the members of the Count's household was Fabrizio Tornielli, a
cousin of the Orsi on the mother's side. Checco had told him that he
wished to talk with Girolamo about the money he owed him, and thought
the best opportunity would be when the Count was alone after the meal
which he was in the habit of taking at three. But as he was very anxious
to find the Count entirely by himself, he begged his cousin to make him
a sign when the time came.... Fabrizio had agreed, and we had arranged
to stroll about the piazza till we saw him. We came across our friends;
to me they looked different from everyone else. I wondered that people
as they passed did not stop them and ask what was disturbing them.
At last, one of the Palace windows was opened, and we saw Fabrizio
Tornielli standing in it, looking down on the piazza. Our opportunity
has come. My heart beat so violently against my chest that I had to put
my hand to it. Besides Matteo and myself, Marco Scorsacana, Lodovico
Pansecchi and Scipione Moratini were to accompany Checco into the
Palace. Checco took my arm and we walked slowly up the steps while the
others followed on our heels. The head of the Orsi had a key of gold,
that is to say he was admitted to the ruler's presence whenever he
presented himself, and without formality. The guard at the door saluted
as we passed, making no question. We ascended to Girolamo's private
apartments, and were admitted by a servant. We found ourselves in an
ante-room, in one wall of which was a large doorway, closed by
curtains....
'Wait for me here,' said Checco. 'I will go in to the Count.'
The servant raised the curtain; Checco entered, and the curtain fell
back behind him.
Girolamo was alone, leaning against the sill of an open window. He
stretched out his hand kindly.
'Ah, Checco, how goes it?'
'Well; and you?'
'Oh, I am always well when I get among my nymphs.'
He waved his hand to the frescoes on the walls. They were the work of a
celebrated artist, and represented nymphs sporting, bathing, weaving
garlands and offering sacrifice to Pan; the room had been christened the
Chamber of the Nymphs.
Girolamo looked round with a contented smile.
'I am glad everything is finished at last,' he said. 'Eight years ago
the stones with which the house is built had not been hewn out of the
rock, and now every wall is painted, everything is carved and decorated,
and I can sit down and say, "It is finished."'
'It is indeed a work to be proud of,' said Checco.
'You don't know how I have looked forward to this, Checco. Until now I
have always lived in houses which others had built, and decorated, and
lived in; but this one has grown up out of my own head; I have watched
every detail of its construction, and I feel it mine as I have never
felt anything mine before.'
He paused a minute, looking at the room.
'Sometimes I think I have lost in its completion, for it gave me many
pleasant hours to watch the progress. The hammer of the carpenter, the
click of the trowel on the brick were music to my ears. There is always
a melancholy in everything that is finished; with a house, the moment of
its completion is the commencement of its decay. Who knows how long it
will be before these pictures have mouldered off the walls, and the very
walls themselves are crumbling to dust?'
'As long as your family reigns in Forli your palace will preserve its
splendour.'
'Yes, and it seems to me that as the family will preserve the house, so
the house will preserve the family. I feel myself firmer and more
settled in Forli; this seems like a rock to which my fortunes can cling.
But I am full of hope. I am still young and strong. I have a good thirty
years of life before me, and what can one not do in thirty years? And
then, Checco, my children! What a proud day it will be for me when I can
take my son by the hand and say to him, "You are a full-grown man, and
you are capable of taking up the sceptre when death takes it from my
hand." And it will be a good present I shall leave him. My head is full
of plans. Forli shall be rich and strong, and its prince shall not need
to fear his neighbours, and the Pope and Florence shall be glad of his
friendship.'
He looked into space, as if he saw the future.
'But, meanwhile, I am going to enjoy life. I have a wife whom I love, a
house to be proud of, two faithful cities. What more can I want?'
'You are a fortunate man,' said Checco.
There was a short silence. Checco looked at him steadily. The Count
turned away, and Checco put his hand to his dagger. He followed him. As
he was approaching, the Count turned again with a jewel that he had just
taken from the window sill.
'I was looking at this stone when you came,' he said. 'Bonifazio has
brought it me from Milan, but I am afraid I cannot afford it. It is very
tempting.'
He handed it to Checco to look at.
'I don't think it is better than the one you have on your neck,' he
said, pointing to the jewel which was set in a medallion of gold hanging
from a heavy chain.
'Oh yes,' said Girolamo. 'It is much finer. Look at the two together.'
Checco approached the stone he held in his hand to the other, and, as he
did so, with his other fingers pressed against the Count's chest. He
wanted to see whether by any chance he wore a coat of mail; he did not
mean to make the same mistake as the Count.... He thought there was
nothing; but he wished to make quite sure.
'I think you are right,' he said, 'but the setting shows off the other,
so that at first sight it seems more brilliant. And no wonder, for the
chain is a masterpiece.'
He took it up as if to look at it, and as he did so put his hand on the
Count's shoulder. He was certain now.
'Yes,' said Girolamo, 'that was made for me by the best goldsmith in
Rome. It is really a work of art.'
'Here is your stone,' said Checco, handing it to him, but awkwardly, so
that when Girolamo wanted to take it, it fell between their hands.
Instinctively he bent down to catch it. In a moment Checco drew his
dagger and buried it in the Count's back. He staggered forward and fell
in a heap on his face.
'Oh God!' he cried, 'I am killed.'
It was the first thing we had heard outside. We heard the cry, the heavy
fall. The servant rushed to the curtain.
'They are killing my master,' he cried.
'Be quiet, you fool!' I said, seizing his head from behind and with my
hands on his mouth dragging him backwards. At the same moment Matteo
drew his dagger and pierced the man's heart. He gave a convulsive leap
into the air, and then as he fell I pushed him so that he rolled to one
side.
Immediately afterwards the curtain was lifted and Checco appeared,
leaning against the door-post. He was as pale as death, and trembling
violently. He stood silent for a moment, open-mouthed, so that I thought
he was about to faint; then with an effort he said in a hoarse, broken
voice,--
'Gentlemen, we are free!'