Part 14 (1/2)
No one made a scruple of interrupting Monna Brigida, and t.i.to, having just raised Romola's hand to his lips, and said, ”I understand, I obey you,” now turned away, lifting his cap--a sign of reverence rarely made at that time by native Florentines, and which excited Bernardo del Nero's contempt for t.i.to as a fawning Greek, while to Romola, who loved homage, it gave him an exceptional grace.
He was half glad of the dismissal, half disposed to cling to Romola to the last moment in which she would love him without suspicion. For it seemed to him certain that this brother would before all things want to know, and that Romola would before all things confide to him, what was her father's position and her own after the years which must have brought so much change. She would tell him that she was soon to be publicly betrothed to a young scholar, who was to fill up the place left vacant long ago by a wandering son. He foresaw the impulse that would prompt Romola to dwell on that prospect, and what would follow on the mention of the future husband's name. Fra Luca would tell all he knew and conjectured, and t.i.to saw no possible falsity by which he could now ward off the worst consequences of his former dissimulation. It was all over with his prospects in Florence. There was Messer Bernardo del Nero, who would be delighted at seeing confirmed the wisdom of his advice about deferring the betrothal until t.i.to's character and position had been established by a longer residence; and the history of the young Greek professor, whose benefactor was in slavery, would be the talk under every loggia. For the first time in his life he felt too fevered and agitated to trust his power of self-command; he gave up his intended visit to Bardo, and walked up and down under the walls until the yellow light in the west had quite faded, when, without any distinct purpose, he took the first turning, which happened to be the Via San Sebastiano, leading him directly towards the Piazza dell' Annunziata.
He was at one of those lawless moments which come to us all if we have no guide but desire, and if the pathway where desire leads us seems suddenly closed; he was ready to follow any beckoning that offered him an immediate purpose.
Note 1.
”Beauteous is life in blossom!
And it fleeteth--fleeteth ever; Whoso would be joyful--let him!
There's no surety for the morrow.”
_Carnival Song by Lorenzo de' Medici_.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
THE PEASANTS' FAIR.
The moving crowd and the strange mixture of noises that burst on him at the entrance of the piazza, reminded t.i.to of what Nello had said to him about the Fierucoloni, and he pushed his way into the crowd with a sort of pleasure in the hooting and elbowing, which filled the empty moments, and dulled that calculation of the future which had so new a dreariness for him, as he foresaw himself wandering away solitary in pursuit of some unknown fortune, that his thought had even glanced towards going in search of Balda.s.sarre after all.
At each of the opposite inlets he saw people struggling into the piazza, while above them paper lanterns, held aloft on sticks, were waving uncertainly to and fro. A rude monotonous chant made a distinctly traceable strand of noise, across which screams, whistles, gibing chants in piping boyish voices, the beating of drums, and the ringing of little bells, met each other in confused din. Every now and then one of the dim floating lights disappeared with a smash from a stone launched more or less vaguely in pursuit of mischief, followed by a scream and renewed shouts. But on the outskirts of the whirling tumult there were groups who were keeping this vigil of the Nativity of the Virgin in a more methodical manner than by fitful stone-throwing and gibing. Certain ragged men, darting a hard sharp glance around them while their tongues rattled merrily, were inviting country people to game with them on fair and open-handed terms; two masquerading figures on stilts, who had s.n.a.t.c.hed lanterns from the crowd, were swaying the lights to and fro in meteoric fas.h.i.+on, as they strode hither and thither; a sage trader was doing a profitable business at a small covered stall, in hot _berlingozzi_, a favourite farinaceous delicacy; one man standing on a barrel, with his back firmly planted against a pillar of the loggia in front of the Foundling Hospital (Spedale degl' Innocenti), was selling efficacious pills, invented by a doctor of Salerno, warranted to prevent toothache and death by drowning; and not far off, against another pillar, a tumbler was showing off his tricks on a small platform; while a handful of 'prentices, despising the slack entertainment of guerilla stone-throwing, were having a private concentrated match of that favourite Florentine sport at the narrow entrance of the Via de'
Febbrai.
t.i.to, obliged to make his way through chance openings in the crowd, found himself at one moment close to the trotting procession of barefooted, hard-heeled contadine, and could see their sun-dried, bronzed faces, and their strange, fragmentary garb, dim with hereditary dirt, and of obsolete stuffs and fas.h.i.+ons, that made them look, in the eyes of the city people, like a way-worn ancestry returning from a pilgrimage on which they had set out a century ago. Just then it was the hardy, scant-feeding peasant-women from the mountains of Pistoia, who wore entering with a year's labour in a moderate bundle of yarn on their backs, and in their hearts that meagre hope of good and that wide dim fear of harm, which were somehow to be cared for by the Blessed Virgin, whose miraculous image, painted by the angels, was to have the curtain drawn away from it on this Eve of her Nativity, that its potency might stream forth without obstruction.
At another moment he was forced away towards the boundary of the piazza, where the more stationary candidates for attention and small coin had judiciously placed themselves, in order to be safe in their rear. Among these t.i.to recognised his acquaintance Bratti, who stood with his back against a pillar, and his mouth pursed up in disdainful silence, eyeing every one who approached him with a cold glance of superiority, and keeping his hand fast on a serge covering which concealed the contents of the basket slung before him. Rather surprised at a deportment so unusual in an anxious trader, t.i.to went nearer and saw two women go up to Bratti's basket with a look of curiosity, whereupon the pedlar drew the covering tighter, and looked another way. It was quite too provoking, and one of the women was fain to ask what there was in his basket?
”Before I answer that, Monna, I must know whether you mean to buy. I can't show such wares as mine in this fair for every fly to settle on and pay nothing. My goods are a little too choice for that. Besides, I've only two left, and I've no mind to soil them; for with the chances of the pestilence that wise men talk of, there is likelihood of their being worth their weight in gold. No, no: _andate con Dio_.”
The two women looked at each other.
”And what may be the price?” said the second.
”Not within what you are likely to have in your purse, buona donna,”
said Bratti, in a compa.s.sionately supercilious tone. ”I recommend you to trust in Messer Domeneddio and the saints: poor people can do no better for themselves.”
”Not so poor!” said the second woman, indignantly, drawing out her money-bag. ”Come, now! what do you say to a grosso?”
”I say you may get twenty-one quattrini for it,” said Bratti, coolly; ”but not of me, for I haven't got that small change.”
”Come; two, then?” said the woman, getting exasperated, while her companion looked at her with some envy. ”It will hardly be above two, I think.”
After further bidding, and further mercantile coquetry, Bratti put on an air of concession.
”Since you've set your mind on it,” he said, slowly raising the cover, ”I should be loth to do you a mischief; for Maestro Gabbadeo used to say, when a woman sets her mind on a thing and doesn't get it, she's in worse danger of the pestilence than before. Ecco! I have but two left; and let me tell you, the fellow to them is on the finger of Maestro Gabbadeo, who is gone to Bologna--as wise a doctor as sits at any door.”
The precious objects were two clumsy iron rings, beaten into the fas.h.i.+on of old Roman rings, such as were sometimes disinterred. The rust on them, and the entirely hidden character of their potency, were so satisfactory, that the grossi were paid without grumbling, and the first woman, dest.i.tute of those handsome coins, succeeded after much show of reluctance on Bratti's part in driving a bargain with some of her yarn, and carried off the remaining ring in triumph. Bratti covered up his basket, which was now filled with miscellanies, probably obtained under the same sort of circ.u.mstances as the yarn, and, moving from his pillar, came suddenly upon t.i.to, who, if he had had time, would have chosen to avoid recognition.
”By the head of San Giovanni, now,” said Bratti, drawing t.i.to back to the pillar, ”this is a piece of luck. For I was talking of you this morning, Messer Greco; but, I said, he is mounted up among the signori now--and I'm glad of it, for I was at the bottom of his fortune--but I can rarely get speech of him, for he's not to be caught lying on the stones now--not he! But it's your luck, not mine, Messer Greco, save and except some small trifle to satisfy me for my trouble in the transaction.”