Part 20 (2/2)
”My opinion is,” said Bernardo to Romola, in a consultation they had under the loggia, ”that since you are to be married, and Messer t.i.to will have a competent income, we should begin to wind up the affairs, and ascertain exactly the sum that would be necessary to save the library from being touched, instead of letting the debts acc.u.mulate any longer. Your father needs nothing but his shred of mutton and his macaroni every day, and I think Messer t.i.to may engage to supply that for the years that remain; he can let it be in place of the _morgen-cap_.”
”t.i.to has always known that my life is bound up with my father's,” said Romola; ”and he is better to my father than I am: he delights in making him happy.”
”Ah, he's not made of the same clay as other men, is he?” said Bernardo, smiling. ”Thy father has thought of shutting woman's folly out of thee by cramming thee with Greek and Latin; but thou hast been as ready to believe in the first pair of bright eyes and the first soft words that have come within reach of thee, as if thou couldst say nothing by heart but Paternosters, like other Christian men's daughters.”
”Now, G.o.dfather,” said Romola, shaking her head playfully, ”as if it were only bright eyes and soft words that made me love t.i.to! You know better. You know I love my father and you because you are both good, and I love t.i.to too because he is so good. I see it, I feel it, in everything he says and does. And if he is handsome, too, why should I not love him the better for that? It seems to me beauty is part of the finished language by which goodness speaks. You know _you_ must have been a very handsome youth, G.o.dfather,”--she looked up with one of her happy, loving smiles at the stately old man--”you were about as tall as t.i.to, and you had very fine eyes; only you looked a little sterner and prouder, and--”
”And Romola likes to have all the pride to herself?” said Bernardo, not inaccessible to this pretty coaxing. ”However, it is well that in one way t.i.to's demands are more modest than those of any Florentine husband of fitting rank that we should have been likely to find for you; he wants no dowry.”
So it was settled in that way between Messer Bernardo del Nero, Romola, and t.i.to. Bardo a.s.sented with a wave of the hand when Bernardo told him that he thought it would be well now to begin to sell property and clear off debts; being accustomed to think of debts and property as a sort of thick wood that his imagination never even penetrated, still less got beyond. And t.i.to set about winning Messer Bernardo's respect by inquiring, with his ready faculty, into Florentine money-matters, the secrets of the _Monti_ or public funds, the values of real property, and the profits of banking.
”You will soon forget that t.i.to is not a Florentine, G.o.dfather,” said Romola. ”See how he is learning everything about Florence.”
”It seems to me he is one of the _demoni_, who are of no particular country, child,” said Bernardo, smiling. ”His mind is a little too nimble to be weighted with all the stuff we men carry about in our hearts.”
Romola smiled too, in happy confidence.
Note 1. ”Quando una donna e grande, ben formata, porta ben sua persona, siede con una certa grandezza, parla con gravita, ride con modestia, e finalmente getta quasi un odor di Regina; allora noi diciamo quella donna pare una maesta, ella ha una maesta.”--Firenzuola: _Della Bellezza delle Donne_.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
THE DAY OF THE BETROTHAL.
It was the last week of the Carnival, and the streets of Florence were at their fullest and noisiest: there were the masqued processions, chanting songs, indispensable now they had once been introduced by Lorenzo the Magnificent; there was the favourite rigoletto, or round dance, footed ”in piazza” under the blue frosty sky; there were practical jokes of all sorts, from throwing comfits to throwing stones-- especially stones. For the boys and striplings, always a strong element in Florentine crowds, became at the height of Carnival-time as loud and unmanageable as tree-crickets, and it was their immemorial privilege to bar the way with poles to all pa.s.sengers, until a tribute had been paid towards furnis.h.i.+ng those lovers of strong sensations with suppers and bonfires: to conclude with the standing entertainment of stone-throwing, which was not entirely monotonous, since the consequent maiming was various, and it was not always a single person who was killed. So that the pleasures of the Carnival were of a checkered kind, and if a painter were called upon to represent them truly, he would have to make a picture in which there would be so much grossness and barbarity that it must be turned with its face to the wall, except when it was taken down for the grave historical purpose of justifying a reforming zeal which, in ignorance of the facts, might be unfairly condemned for its narrowness. Still there was much of that more innocent picturesque merriment which is never wanting among a people with quick animal spirits and sensitive organs: there was not the heavy sottishness which belongs to the thicker northern blood, nor the stealthy fierceness which in the more southern regions of the peninsula makes the brawl lead to the dagger-thrust.
It was the high morning, but the merry spirits of the Carnival were still inclined to lounge and recapitulate the last night's jests, when t.i.to Melema was walking at a brisk pace on the way to the Via de' Bardi.
Young Bernardo Dovizi, who now looks at us out of Raphael's portrait as the keen-eyed Cardinal da Bibbiena, was with him; and, as they went, they held animated talk about some subject that had evidently no relation to the sights and sounds through which they were pus.h.i.+ng their way along the Por' Santa Maria. Nevertheless, as they discussed, smiled, and gesticulated, they both, from time to time, cast quick glances around them, and at the turning towards the Lung' Arno, leading to the Ponte Rubaconte, t.i.to had become aware, in one of these rapid surveys, that there was some one not far off him by whom he very much desired not to be recognised at that moment. His time and thoughts were thoroughly preoccupied, for he was looking forward to a unique occasion in his life: he was preparing for his betrothal, which was to take place on the evening of this very day. The ceremony had been resolved upon rather suddenly; for although preparations towards the marriage had been going forward for some time--chiefly in the application of t.i.to's florins to the fitting up of rooms in Bardo's dwelling, which, the library excepted, had always been scantily furnished--it had been intended to defer both the betrothal and the marriage until after Easter, when t.i.to's year of probation, insisted on by Bernardo del Nero, would have been complete. But when an express proposition had come, that t.i.to should follow the Cardinal Giovanni to Rome to help Bernardo Dovizi with his superior knowledge of Greek in arranging a library, and there was no possibility of declining what lay so plainly on the road to advancement, he had become urgent in his entreaties that the betrothal might take place before his departure: there would be the less delay before the marriage on his return, and it would be less painful to part if he and Romola were outwardly as well as inwardly pledged to each other--if he had a claim which defied Messer Bernardo or any one else to nullify it. For the betrothal, at which rings were exchanged and mutual contracts were signed, made more than half the legality of marriage, to be completed on a separate occasion by the nuptial benediction.
Romola's feeling had met t.i.to's in this wish, and the consent of the elders had been won.
And now t.i.to was hastening, amidst arrangements for his departure the next day, to s.n.a.t.c.h a morning visit to Romola, to say and hear any last words that were needful to be said before their meeting for the betrothal in the evening. It was not a time when any recognition could be pleasant that was at all likely to detain him; still less a recognition by Tessa. And it was unmistakably Tessa whom he had caught sight of moving along, with a timid and forlorn look, towards that very turn of the Lung' Arno which he was just rounding. As he continued his talk with the young Dovizi, he had an uncomfortable undercurrent of consciousness which told him that Tessa had seen him and would certainly follow him: there was no escaping her along this direct road by the Arno, and over the Ponte Rubaconte. But she would not dare to speak to him or approach him while he was not alone, and he would continue to keep Dovizi with him till they reached Bardo's door. He quickened his pace, and took up new threads of talk; but all the while the sense that Tessa was behind him, though he had no physical evidence of the fact, grew stronger and stronger; it was very irritating--perhaps all the more so because a certain tenderness and pity for the poor little thing made the determination to escape without any visible notice of her, a not altogether agreeable resource. Yet t.i.to persevered and carried his companion to the door, cleverly managing his ”addio” without turning his face in a direction where it was possible for him to see an importunate pair of blue eyes; and as he went up the stone steps, he tried to get rid of unpleasant thoughts by saying to himself that after all Tessa might not have seen him, or, if she had, might not have followed him.
But--perhaps because that possibility could not be relied on strongly-- when the visit was over, he came out of the doorway with a quick step and an air of unconsciousness as to anything that might be on his right-hand or his left. Our eyes are so constructed, however, that they take in a wide angle without asking any leave of our will; and t.i.to knew that there was a little figure in a white hood standing near the doorway--knew it quite well, before he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was a real grasp, and not a light, timid touch; for poor Tessa, seeing his rapid step, had started forward with a desperate effort. But when he stopped and turned towards her, her face wore a frightened look, as if she dreaded the effect of her boldness.
”Tessa!” said t.i.to, with more sharpness in his voice than she had ever heard in it before. ”Why are you here? You must not follow me--you must not stand about door-places waiting for me.”
Her blue eyes widened with tears, and she said nothing. t.i.to was afraid of something worse than ridicule, if he were seen in the Via de' Bardi with a girlish contadina looking pathetically at him. It was a street of high silent-looking dwellings, not of traffic; but Bernardo del Nero, or some one almost as dangerous, might come up at any moment. Even if it had not been the day of his betrothal, the incident would have been awkward and annoying. Yet it would be brutal--it was impossible--to drive Tessa away with harsh words. That accursed folly of his with the _cerretano_--that it should have lain buried in a quiet way for months, and now start up before him as this unseasonable crop of vexation! He could not speak harshly, but he spoke hurriedly.
”Tessa, I cannot--must not talk to you here. I will go on to the bridge and wait for you there. Follow me slowly.”
He turned and walked fast to the Ponte Rubaconte, and there leaned against the wall of one of the quaint little houses that rise at even distances on the bridge, looking towards the way by which Tessa would come. It would have softened a much harder heart than t.i.to's to see the little thing advancing with her round face much paled and saddened since he had parted from it at the door of the ”Nunziata.” Happily it was the least frequented of the bridges, and there were scarcely any pa.s.sengers on it at this moment. He lost no time in speaking as soon as she came near him.
”Now, Tessa, I have very little time. You must not cry. Why did you follow me this morning? You must not do so again.”
”I thought,” said Tessa, speaking in a whisper, and struggling against a sob that _would_ rise immediately at this new voice of t.i.to's--”I thought you wouldn't be so long before you came to take care of me again. And the _patrigno_ beats me, and I can't bear it any longer.
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