Part 92 (1/2)

CHAPTER LVIII

GERARD took a modest lodging on the west bank of the Tiber, and every day went forth in search of work, taking a specimen round to every shop he could hear of that executed such commissions.

They received him coldly. ”We make our letter somewhat thinner than this,” said one. ”How dark your ink is,” said another. But the main cry was, ”What avails this? Scant is the Latin writ here now. Can ye not write Greek?”

”Ay, but not nigh so well as Latin.”

”Then you shall never make your bread at Rome.”

Gerard borrowed a beautiful Greek ma.n.u.script at a high price, and went home with a sad hole in his purse, but none in his courage.

In a fortnight he had made vast progress with the Greek character; so then, to lose no time, he used to work at it till noon, and hunt customers the rest of the day.

When he carried round a better Greek specimen than any they possessed, the traders informed him that Greek and Latin were alike unsalable; the city was thronged with works from all Europe. He should have come last year.

Gerard bought a psaltery.

His landlady, pleased with his looks and manners, used often to speak a kind word in pa.s.sing. One day she made him dine with her, and somewhat to his surprise asked him what had dashed his spirits. He told her. She gave him her reading of the matter. ”Those sly traders,” she would be bound, ”had writers in their pay for whose work they received a n.o.ble price and paid a sorry one. So no wonder they blow cold on you. Methinks you write too well. How know I that? say you. Marry--marry, because you lock not your door, like the churl Pietro, and women will be curious.

Ay, ay, you write too well for _them_.”

Gerard asked an explanation.

”Why,” said she, ”your good work might put out the eyes of that they are selling.”

Gerard sighed. ”Alas! dame, you read folk on the ill side, and you so kind and frank yourself.”

”My dear little heart, these Romans are a subtle race. Me? I am a Siennese, thanks to the Virgin.”

”My mistake was leaving Augsburg,” said Gerard.

”Augsburg?” said she, haughtily; ”is that a place to even to Rome? I never heard of it for my part.”

She then a.s.sured him that he should make his fortune in spite of the booksellers. ”Seeing thee a stranger, they lie to thee without sense or discretion. Why all the world knows that our great folk are bitten with the writing spider this many years, and pour out their money like water, and turn good land and houses into writ sheepskins to keep in a chest or a cupboard. G.o.d help them, and send them safe through this fury, as he hath through a heap of others; and in sooth hath been somewhat less cutting and stabbing among rival factions, and vindictive eating of their opposites' livers, minced and fried, since Scribbling came in. Why _I_ can tell you two. There is his eminence Cardinal Ba.s.sarion, and his holiness the Pope himself. There be a pair could keep a score such as thee a writing night and day. But I'll speak to Teresa; she hears the gossip of the court.”

The next day she told him she had seen Teresa, and had heard of five more signors who were bitten with the writing spider. Gerard took down their names, and bought parchment, and busied himself for some days in preparing specimens. He left one, with his name and address, at each of these signors' doors, and hopefully awaited the result.

There was none.

Day after day pa.s.sed and left him heartsick.

And strange to say this was just the time when Margaret was fighting so hard against odds to feed her male dependents at Rotterdam, and arrested for curing without a licence instead of killing with one.

Gerard saw ruin staring him in the face.

He spent the afternoons picking up canzonets and mastering them. He laid in playing cards to colour, and struck off a meal per day.

This last stroke of genius got him into fresh trouble.