Romola

  CHAPTER TEN.

  UNDER THE PLANE-TREE.

  On the day of San Giovanni it was already three weeks ago that Tito hadhanded his florins to Cennini, and we have seen that as he set outtowards the Via de' Bardi he showed all the outward signs of a mind atease. How should it be otherwise? He never jarred with what wasimmediately around him, and his nature was too joyous, toounapprehensive, for the hidden and the distant to grasp him in the shapeof a dread. As he turned out of the hot sunshine into the shelter of anarrow street, took off the black cloth berretta, or simple cap withupturned lappet, which just crowned his brown curls, pushing his hairand tossing his head backward to court the cooler air, there was nobrand of duplicity on his brow; neither was there any stamp of candour:it was simply a finely-formed, square, smooth young brow. And the slowabsent glance he cast around at the upper windows of the houses hadneither more dissimulation in it, nor more ingenuousness, than belongsto a youthful well-opened eyelid with its unwearied breadth of gaze; toperfectly pellucid lenses; to the undimmed dark of a rich brown iris;and to a pure cerulean-tinted angle of whiteness streaked with thedelicate shadows of long eyelashes. Was it that Tito's face attractedor repelled according to the mental attitude of the observer? Was it acypher with more than one key? The strong, unmistakable expression inhis whole air and person was a negative one, and it was perfectlyveracious; it declared the absence of any uneasy claim, any restlessvanity, and it made the admiration that followed him as he passed amongthe troop of holiday-makers a thoroughly willing tribute.

  For by this time the stir of the Festa was felt even in the narrowestside-streets; the throng which had at one time been concentrated in thelines through which the procession had to pass, was now streaming out inall directions in pursuit of a new object. Such intervals of a Festaare precisely the moments when the vaguely active animal spirits of acrowd are likely to be the most petulant and most ready to sacrifice astray individual to the greater happiness of the greater number. AsTito entered the neighbourhood of San Martino, he found the throngrather denser; and near the hostelry of the _Bertucce_, or Baboons,there was evidently some object which was arresting the passengers andforming them into a knot. It needed nothing of great interest to drawaside passengers unfreighted with a purpose, and Tito was preparing toturn aside into an adjoining street, when, amidst the loud laughter, hisear discerned a distressed childish voice crying, "Loose me! HolyVirgin, help me!" which at once determined him to push his way into theknot of gazers. He had just had time to perceive that the distressedvoice came from a young contadina, whose white hood had fallen off inthe struggle to get her hands free from the grasp of a man in theparti-coloured dress of a _cerretano_, or conjuror, who was makinglaughing attempts to soothe and cajole her, evidently carrying with himthe amused sympathy of the spectators. These, by a persuasive varietyof words signifying simpleton, for which the Florentine dialect is richin equivalents, seemed to be arguing with the contadina against herobstinacy. At the first moment the girl's face was turned away, and hesaw only her light-brown hair plaited and fastened with a long silverpin; but in the next, the struggle brought her face opposite Tito's, andhe saw the baby features of Tessa, her blue eyes filled with tears, andher under-lip quivering. Tessa, too, saw _him_, and through the mist ofher swelling tears there beamed a sudden hope, like that in the face ofa little child, when, held by a stranger against its will, it sees afamiliar hand stretched out.

  In an instant Tito had pushed his way through the barrier of bystanders,whose curiosity made them ready to turn aside at the sudden interferenceof this handsome young signor, had grasped Tessa's waist, and had said,"Loose this child! What right have you to hold her against her will?"

  The conjuror--a man with one of those faces in which the angles of theeyes and eyebrows, of the nostrils, mouth, and sharply-defined jaw, alltend upward--showed his small regular teeth in an impish but notill-natured grin, as he let go Tessa's hands, and stretched out his ownbackward, shrugging his shoulders, and bending them forward a little ina half-apologetic, half-protesting manner.

  "I mean the ragazza no evil in the world, Messere: ask this respectablecompany. I was only going to show them a few samples of my skill, inwhich this little damsel might have helped me the better because of herkitten face, which would have assured them of open dealing; and I hadpromised her a lapful of confetti as a reward. But what then? Messerhas doubtless better confetti at hand, and she knows it."

  A general laugh among the bystanders accompanied these last words of theconjuror, raised, probably, by the look of relief and confidence withwhich Tessa clung to Tito's arm, as he drew it from her waist, andplaced her hand within it. She only cared about the laugh as she mighthave cared about the roar of wild beasts from which she was escaping,not attaching any meaning to it; but Tito, who had no sooner got her onhis arm than he foresaw some embarrassment in the situation, hastened toget clear of observers who, having been despoiled of an expectedamusement, were sure to re-establish the balance by jests.

  "See, see, little one! here is your hood," said the conjuror, throwingthe bit of white drapery over Tessa's head. "_Orsu_, bear me no malice;come back to me when Messere can spare you."

  "Ah! Maestro Vaiano, she'll come back presently, as the toad said tothe harrow," called out one of the spectators, seeing how Tessa startedand shrank at the action of the conjuror.

  Tito pushed his way vigorously towards the corner of a side-street, alittle vexed at this delay in his progress to the Via de' Bardi, andintending to get rid of the poor little contadina as soon as possible.The next street, too, had its passengers inclined to make holidayremarks on so unusual a pair; but they had no sooner entered it than hesaid, in a kind but hurried manner, "Now, little one, where were yougoing? Are you come by yourself to the Festa?"

  "Ah, no!" said Tessa, looking frightened and distressed again; "I havelost my mother in the crowd--her and my father-in-law. They will beangry--he will beat me. It was in the crowd in San Pulinari--somebodypushed me along and I couldn't stop myself, so I got away from them.Oh, I don't know where they're gone! Please, don't leave me!"

  Her eyes had been swelling with tears again, and she ended with a sob.

  Tito hurried along again: the Church of the Badia was not far off. Theycould enter it by the cloister that opened at the back, and in thechurch he could talk to Tessa--perhaps leave her. No! it was an hour atwhich the church was not open; but they paused under the shelter of thecloister, and he said, "Have you no cousin or friend in Florence, mylittle Tessa, whose house you could find; or are you afraid of walkingby yourself since you have been frightened by the conjuror? I am in ahurry to get to Oltrarno, but if I could take you anywhere near--"

  "Oh, I _am_ frightened: he was the devil--I know he was. And I don'tknow where to go. I have nobody: and my mother meant to have her dinnersomewhere, and I don't know where. Holy Madonna! I shall be beaten."

  The corners of the pouting mouth went down piteously, and the poorlittle bosom with the beads on it above the green serge gown heaved so,that there was no longer any help for it: a loud sob _would_ come, andthe big tears fell as if they were making up for lost time. Here was asituation! It would have been brutal to leave her, and Tito's naturewas all gentleness. He wished at that moment that he had not beenexpected in the Via de' Bardi. As he saw her lifting up her holidayapron to catch the hurrying tears, he laid his hand, too, on the apron,and rubbed one of the cheeks and kissed the baby-like roundness.

  "My poor little Tessa! leave off crying. Let us see what can be done.Where is your home--where do you live?"

  There was no answer, but the sobs began to subside a little and thedrops to fall less quickly.

  "Come! I'll take you a little way, if you'll tell me where you want togo."

  The apron fell, and Tessa's face began to look as contented as acherub's budding from a cloud. The diabolical conjuror, the anger andthe beating, seemed a long way off.

  "I think I'll go home, if you'll take me," she s
aid, in a half whisper,looking up at Tito with wide blue eyes, and with something sweeter thana smile--with a childlike calm.

  "Come, then, little one," said Tito, in a caressing tone, putting herarm within his again. "Which way is it?"

  "Beyond Peretola--where the large pear-tree is."

  "Peretola? Out at which gate, pazzarella? I am a stranger, you mustremember."

  "Out at the Por del Prato," said Tessa, moving along with a very fasthold on Tito's arm.

  He did not know all the turnings well enough to venture on an attempt atchoosing the quietest streets; and besides, it occurred to him thatwhere the passengers were most numerous there was, perhaps, the mostchance of meeting with Monna Ghita and finding an end to hisknight-errant-ship. So he made straight for Porta Rossa, and on toOgnissanti, showing his usual bright propitiatory face to the mixedobservers who threw their jests at him and his little heavy-shod maidenwith much liberality. Mingled with the more decent holiday-makers therewere frolicsome apprentices, rather envious of his good fortune;bold-eyed women with the badge of the yellow veil; beggars who thrustforward their caps for alms, in derision at Tito's evident haste;dicers, sharpers, and loungers of the worst sort; boys whose tongueswere used to wag in concert at the most brutal street games: for thestreets of Florence were not always a moral spectacle in those times,and Tessa's terror at being lost in the crowd was not whollyunreasonable.

  When they reached the Piazza d'Ognissanti, Tito slackened his pace: theywere both heated with their hurried walk, and here was a wider spacewhere they could take breath. They sat down on one of the stone bencheswhich were frequent against the walls of old Florentine houses.

  "Holy Virgin!" said Tessa; "I am glad we have got away from those womenand boys; but I was not frightened, because you could take care of me."

  "Pretty little Tessa!" said Tito, smiling at her. "What makes you feelso safe with me?"

  "Because you are so beautiful--like the people going into Paradise: theyare all good."

  "It is a long while since you had your breakfast, Tessa," said Tito,seeing some stalls near, with fruit and sweetmeats upon them. "Are youhungry?"

  "Yes, I think I am--if you will have some too."

  Tito bought some apricots, and cakes, and comfits, and put them into herapron.

  "Come," he said, "let us walk on to the Prato, and then perhaps you willnot be afraid to go the rest of the way alone."

  "But you will have some of the apricots and things," said Tessa, risingobediently and gathering up her apron as a bag for her store.

  "We will see," said Tito aloud; and to himself he said, "Here is alittle contadina who might inspire a better idyl than Lorenzo de'Medici's `Nencia da Barberino,' that Nello's friends rave about; if Iwere only a Theocritus, or had time to cultivate the necessaryexperience by unseasonable walks of this sort! However, the mischief isdone now: I am so late already that another half-hour will make nodifference. Pretty little pigeon!"

  "We have a garden and plenty of pears," said Tessa, "and two cows,besides the mules; and I'm very fond of them. But my father-in-law is across man: I wish my mother had not married him. I think he is wicked;he is very ugly."

  "And does your mother let him beat you, poverina? You said you wereafraid of being beaten."

  "Ah, my mother herself scolds me: she loves my young sister better, andthinks I don't do work enough. Nobody speaks kindly to me, only thePievano (parish priest) when I go to confession. And the men in theMercato laugh at me and make fun of me. Nobody ever kissed me and spoketo me as you do; just as I talk to my little black-faced kid, becauseI'm very fond of it."

  It seemed not to have entered Tessa's mind that there was any change inTito's appearance since the morning he begged the milk from her, andthat he looked now like a personage for whom she must summon her littlestock of reverent words and signs. He had impressed her too differentlyfrom any human being who had ever come near her before, for her to makeany comparison of details; she took no note of his dress; he was simplya voice and a face to her, something come from Paradise into a worldwhere most things seemed hard and angry; and she prattled with as littlerestraint as if he had been an imaginary companion born of her ownlovingness and the sunshine.

  They had now reached the Prato, which at that time was a large openspace within the walls, where the Florentine youth played at theirfavourite _Calcio_--a peculiar kind of football--and otherwise exercisedthemselves. At this mid-day time it was forsaken and quiet to the verygates, where a tent had been erected in preparation for the race. Onthe border of this wide meadow, Tito paused and said--

  "Now, Tessa, you will not be frightened if I leave you to walk the restof the way by yourself. Addio! Shall I come and buy a cup of milk fromyou in the Mercato to-morrow morning, to see that you are quite safe?"

  He added this question in a soothing tone, as he saw her eyes wideningsorrowfully, and the corners of her mouth falling. She said nothing atfirst; she only opened her apron and looked down at her apricots andsweetmeats. Then she looked up at him again and said complainingly--

  "I thought you would have some, and we could sit down under a treeoutside the gate, and eat them together."

  "Tessa, Tessa, you little siren, you would ruin me," said Tito,laughing, and kissing both her cheeks. "I ought to have been in the Viade' Bardi long ago. No! I must go back now; you are in no danger.There--I'll take an apricot. Addio!"

  He had already stepped two yards from her when he said the last word.Tessa could not have spoken; she was pale, and a great sob was rising;but she turned round as if she felt there was no hope for her, andstepped on, holding her apron so forgetfully that the apricots began toroll out on the grass.

  Tito could not help looking after her, and seeing her shoulders rise tothe bursting sob, and the apricots fall--could not help going after herand picking them up. It was very hard upon him: he was a long way offthe Via de' Bardi, and very near to Tessa.

  "See, my silly one," he said, picking up the apricots. "Come, leave offcrying, I will go with you, and we'll sit down under the tree. Come, Idon't like to see you cry; but you know I must go kick some time."

  So it came to pass that they found a great plane-tree not far outsidethe gates, and they sat down under it, and all the feast was spread outon Tessa's lap, she leaning with her back against the trunk of the tree,and he stretched opposite to her, resting his elbows on the rough greengrowth cherished by the shade, while the sunlight stole through theboughs and played about them like a winged thing. Tessa's face was allcontentment again, and the taste of the apricots and sweetmeats seemedvery good.

  "You pretty bird!" said Tito, looking at her as she sat eyeing theremains of the feast with an evident mental debate about saving them,since he had said he would not have any more. "To think of any onescolding you! What sins do you tell of at confession, Tessa?"

  "Oh, a great many. I am often naughty. I don't like work, and I can'thelp being idle, though I know I shall be beaten and scolded; and I givethe mules the best fodder when nobody sees me, and then when the Madreis angry I say I didn't do it, and that makes me frightened at thedevil. I think the conjuror was the devil. I am not so frightenedafter I've been to confession. And see, I've got a _Breve_ here that agood father, who came to Prato preaching this Easter, blessed and gaveus all." Here Tessa drew from her bosom a tiny bag carefully fastenedup. "And I think the holy Madonna will take care of me; she looks as ifshe would; and perhaps if I wasn't idle, she wouldn't let me be beaten."

  "If they are so cruel to you, Tessa, shouldn't you like to leave them,and go and live with a beautiful lady who would be kind to you, if shewould have you to wait upon her?"

  Tessa seemed to hold her breath for a moment or two. Then she saiddoubtfully, "I don't know."

  "Then should you like to be my little servant, and live with me?" saidTito, smiling. He meant no more than to see what sort of pretty lookand answer she would give.

  There was a flush of joy immediately. "Will you take me with
you now?Ah! I shouldn't go home and be beaten then." She paused a littlewhile, and then added more doubtfully, "But I should like to fetch myblack-faced kid."

  "Yes, you must go back to your kid, my Tessa," said Tito, rising, "and Imust go the other way."

  "By Jupiter!" he added, as he went from under the shade of the tree, "itis not a pleasant time of day to walk from here to the Via de' Bardi; Iam more inclined to lie down and sleep in this shade."

  It ended so. Tito had an unconquerable aversion to anything unpleasant,even when an object very much loved and desired was on the other side ofit. He had risen early; had waited; had seen sights, and had beenalready walking in the sun: he was inclined for a siesta, and inclinedall the more because little Tessa was there, and seemed to make the airsofter. He lay down on the grass again, putting his cap under his headon a green tuft by the side of Tessa. That was not quite comfortable;so he moved again, and asked Tessa to let him rest his head against herlap; and in that way he soon fell asleep. Tessa sat quiet as a dove onits nest, just venturing, when he was fast asleep, to touch thewonderful dark curls that fell backward from his ear. She was too happyto go to sleep--too happy to think that Tito would wake up, and thatthen he would leave her, and she must go home. It takes very littlewater to make a perfect pool for a tiny fish, where it will find itsworld and paradise all in one, and never have a presentiment of the drybank. The fretted summer shade, and stillness, and the gentle breathingof some loved life near--it would be paradise to us all, if eagerthought, the strong angel with the implacable brow, had not long sinceclosed the gates.

  It really was a long while before the waking came--before the long darkeyes opened at Tessa, first with a little surprise, and then with asmile, which was soon quenched by some preoccupying thought. Tito'sdeeper sleep had broken into a doze, in which he felt himself in the Viade' Bardi, explaining his failure to appear at the appointed time. Theclear images of that doze urged him to start up at once to a sittingposture, and as he stretched his arms and shook his cap, he said--

  "Tessa, little one, you have let me sleep too long. My hunger and theshadows together tell me that the sun has done much travel since I fellasleep. I must lose no more time. Addio," he ended, patting her cheekwith one hand, and settling his cap with the other.

  She said nothing, but there were signs in her face which made him speakagain in as serious and as chiding a tone as he could command--

  "Now, Tessa, you must not cry. I shall be angry; I shall not love youif you cry. You must go home to your black-faced kid, or if you likeyou may go back to the gate and see the horses start. But I can staywith you no longer, and if you cry, I shall think you are troublesome tome."

  The rising tears were checked by terror at this change in Tito's voice.Tessa turned very pale, and sat in trembling silence, with her blue eyeswidened by arrested tears.

  "Look now," Tito went on, soothingly, opening the wallet that hung athis belt, "here is a pretty charm that I have had a long while--eversince I was in Sicily, a country a long way off."

  His wallet had many little matters in it mingled with small coins, andhe had the usual difficulty in laying his finger on the right thing. Heunhooked his wallet, and turned out the contents on Tessa's lap. Amongthem was his onyx ring.

  "Ah, my ring!" he exclaimed, slipping it on the forefinger of hisright-hand. "I forgot to put it on again this morning. Strange, Inever missed it! See, Tessa," he added, as he spread out the smallerarticles, and selected the one he was in search of. "See this prettylittle pointed bit of red coral--like your goat's horn, is it not?--andhere is a hole in it, so you can put it on the cord round your neckalong with your _Breve_, and then the evil spirits can't hurt you: ifyou ever see them coming in the shadow round the corner, point thislittle coral horn at them, and they will run away. It is a `buonafortuna,' and will keep you from harm when I am not with you. Come,undo the cord."

  Tessa obeyed with a tranquillising sense that life was going to besomething quite new, and that Tito would be with her often. All whoremember their childhood remember the strange vague sense, when some newexperience came, that everything else was going to be changed, and thatthere would be no lapse into the old monotony. So the bit of coral washung beside the tiny bag with the scrap of scrawled parchment in it, andTessa felt braver.

  "And now you will give me a kiss," said Tito, economising time byspeaking while he swept in the contents of the wallet and hung it at hiswaist again, "and look happy, like a good girl, and then--"

  But Tessa had obediently put forward her lips in a moment, and kissedhis cheek as he hung down his head.

  "Oh, you pretty pigeon!" cried Tito, laughing, pressing her round cheekswith his hands and crushing her features together so as to give them ageneral impartial kiss.

  Then he started up and walked away, not looking round till he was tenyards from her, when he just turned and gave a parting beck. Tessa waslooking after him, but he could see that she was making no signs ofdistress. It was enough for Tito if she did not cry while he waspresent. The softness of his nature required that all sorrow should behidden away from him.

  "I wonder when Romola will kiss my cheek in that way?" thought Tito, ashe walked along. It seemed a tiresome distance now, and he almostwished he had not been so soft-hearted, or so tempted to linger in theshade. No other excuse was needed to Bardo and Romola than sayingsimply that he had been unexpectedly hindered; he felt confident theirproud delicacy would inquire no farther. He lost no time in getting toOgnissanti, and hastily taking some food there, he crossed the Arno bythe Ponte alia Carraja, and made his way as directly as possible towardsthe Via de' Bardi.

  But it was the hour when all the world who meant to be in particularlygood time to see the Corso were returning from the Borghi, or villagesjust outside the gates, where they had dined and reposed themselves; andthe thoroughfares leading to the bridges were of course the issuestowards which the stream of sightseers tended. Just as Tito reached thePonte Vecchio and the entrance of the Via de' Bardi, he was suddenlyurged back towards the angle of the intersecting streets. A company onhorseback, coming from the Via Guicciardini, and turning up the Via de'Bardi, had compelled the foot-passengers to recede hurriedly. Tito hadbeen walking, as his manner was, with the thumb of his right-handresting in his belt; and as he was thus forced to pause, and was lookingcarelessly at the passing cavaliers, he felt a very thin cold hand laidon his. He started round, and saw the Dominican friar whose upturnedface had so struck him in the morning. Seen closer, the face lookedmore evidently worn by sickness and not by age; and again it broughtsome strong but indefinite reminiscences to Tito.

  "Pardon me, but--from your face and your ring,"--said the friar, in afaint voice, "is not your name Titomelema?"

  "Yes," said Tito, also speaking faintly, doubly jarred by the cold touchand the mystery. He was not apprehensive or timid through hisimagination, but through his sensations and perceptions he could easilybe made to shrink and turn pale like a maiden.

  "Then I shall fulfil my commission."

  The friar put his hand under his scapulary, and drawing out a smalllinen bag which hung round his neck, took from it a bit of parchment,doubled and stuck firmly together with some black adhesive substance,and placed it in Tito's hand. On the outside was written in Italian, ina small but distinct character--

  "_Tito Melema, aged twenty-three, with a dark, beautiful face, long darkcurls, the brightest smile, and a large onyx ring on his rightforefinger_."

  Tito did not look at the friar, but tremblingly broke open the bit ofparchment. Inside, the words were--

  "_I am sold for a slave: I think they are going to take me to Antioch.The gems alone will serve to ransom me_."

  Tito looked round at the friar, but could only ask a question with hiseyes.

  "I had it at Corinth," the friar said, speaking with difficulty, likeone whose small strength had been overtaxed--"I had it from a man whowas dying."

  "He is dead, then?" said Tito, with a boun
ding of the heart.

  "Not the writer. The man who gave it me was a pilgrim, like myself, towhom the writer had intrusted it, because he was journeying to Italy."

  "You know the contents?"

  "I do not know them, but I conjecture them. Your friend is in slavery:you will go and release him. But I am unable to talk now." The friar,whose voice had become feebler and feebler, sank down on the stone benchagainst the wall from which he had risen to touch Tito's hand, adding--

  "I am at San Marco; my name is Fra Luca."