by George Eliot
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
BALDASSARRE MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE.
When Baldassarre was wandering about Florence in search of a spareouthouse where he might have the cheapest of sheltered beds, his stepshad been attracted towards that sole portion of ground within the wallsof the city which is not perfectly level, and where the spectator,lifted above the roofs of the houses, can see beyond the city to theprotecting hills and far-stretching valley, otherwise shut out from hisview except along the welcome opening made by the course of the Arno.Part of that ground has been already seen by us as the hill of Bogoli,at that time a great stone-quarry; but the side towards whichBaldassarre directed his steps was the one that sloped down behind theVia de' Bardi, and was most commonly called the hill of San Giorgio.Bratti had told him that Tito's dwelling was in the Via de' Bardi; and,after surveying that street, he turned up the slope of the hill which hehad observed as he was crossing the bridge. If he could find asheltering outhouse on that hill, he would be glad: he had now for someyears been accustomed to live with a broad sky about him; and, moreover,the narrow passes of the streets, with their strip of sky above, and theunknown labyrinth around them, seemed to intensify his sense ofloneliness and feeble memory.
The hill was sparsely inhabited, and covered chiefly by gardens; but inone spot was a piece of rough ground jagged with great stones, which hadnever been cultivated since a landslip had ruined some houses theretowards the end of the thirteenth century. Just above the edge of thisbroken ground stood a queer little square building, looking like atruncated tower roofed in with fluted tiles, and close by was a smallouthouse, apparently built up against a piece of ruined stone wall.Under a large half-dead mulberry-tree that was now sending its lastfluttering leaves in at the open doorways, a shrivelled, hardy old womanwas untying a goat with two kids, and Baldassarre could see that part ofthe outbuilding was occupied by live stock; but the door of the otherpart was open, and it was empty of everything but some tools and straw.It was just the sort of place he wanted. He spoke to the old woman; butit was not till he got close to her and shouted in her ear, that hesucceeded in making her understand his want of a lodging, and hisreadiness to pay for it. At first he could get no answer beyond shakesof the head and the words, "No--no lodging," uttered in the muffled toneof the deaf. But, by dint of persistence, he made clear to her that hewas a poor stranger from a long way over seas, and could not afford togo to hostelries; that he only wanted to lie on the straw in theouthouse, and would pay her a quattrino or two a week for that shelter.She still looked at him dubiously, shaking her head and talking low toherself; but presently, as if a new thought occurred to her, she fetcheda hatchet from the house, and, showing him a chump that lay half coveredwith litter in a corner, asked him if he would chop that up for her: ifhe would, he might lie in the outhouse for one night. He agreed, andMonna Lisa stood with her arms akimbo to watch him, with a smile ofgratified cunning, saying low to herself--
"It's lain there ever since my old man died. What then? I might aswell have put a stone on the fire. He chops very well, though he doesspeak with a foreign tongue, and looks odd. I couldn't have got it donecheaper. And if he only wants a bit of straw to lie on, I might makehim do an errand or two up and down the hill. Who need know? And sinthat's hidden's half forgiven. [`Peccato celato e mezzo perdonato.']He's a stranger: he'll take no notice of _her_. And I'll tell her tokeep her tongue still."
The antecedent to these feminine pronouns had a pair of blue eyes, whichat that moment were applied to a large round hole in the shutter of theupper window. The shutter was closed, not for any penal reasons, butbecause only the opposite window had the luxury of glass in it: theweather was not warm, and a round hole four inches in diameter servedall the purposes of observation. The hole was, unfortunately, a littletoo high, and obliged the small observer to stand on a low stool of arickety character; but Tessa would have stood a long while in a muchmore inconvenient position for the sake of seeing a little variety inher life. She had been drawn to the opening at the first loud tones ofthe strange voice speaking to Monna Lisa; and darting gently across herroom every now and then to peep at something, she continued to standthere until the wood had been chopped, and she saw Baldassarre enter theouthouse, as the dusk was gathering, and seat himself on the straw.
A great temptation had laid hold of Tessa's mind; she would go and takethat old man part of her supper, and talk to him a little. He was notdeaf like Monna Lisa, and besides she could say a great many things tohim that it was no use to shout at Monna Lisa, who knew them already.And he was a stranger--strangers came from a long way off and went awayagain, and lived nowhere in particular. It was naughty, she knew, forobedience made the largest part in Tessa's idea of duty; but it would besomething to confess to the Padre next Pasqua, and there was nothingelse to confess except going to sleep sometimes over her beads, andbeing a little cross with Monna Lisa because she was so deaf; for shehad as much idleness as she liked now, and was never frightened intotelling white lies. She turned away from her shutter with rather anexcited expression in her childish face, which was as pretty and poutingas ever. Her garb was still that of a simple contadina, but of acontadina prepared for a festa: her gown of dark-green serge, with itsred girdle, was very clean and neat; she had the string of red glassbeads round her neck; and her brown hair, rough from curliness, was dulyknotted up, and fastened with the silver pin. She had but one newornament, and she was very proud of it, for it was a fine gold ring.
Tessa sat on the low stool, nursing her knees, for a minute or two, withher little soul poised in fluttering excitement on the edge of thispleasant transgression. It was quite irresistible. She had beencommanded to make no acquaintances, and warned that if she did, all hernew happy lot would vanish away, and be like a hidden treasure thatturned to lead as soon as it was brought to the daylight; and she hadbeen so obedient that when she had to go to church she had kept her faceshaded by her hood and had pursed up her lips quite tightly. It wastrue her obedience had been a little helped by her own dread lest thealarming stepfather Nofri should turn up even in this quarter, so farfrom the Por' del Prato, and beat her at least, if he did not drag herback to work for him. But this old man was not an acquaintance; he wasa poor stranger going to sleep in the outhouse, and he probably knewnothing of stepfather Nofri; and, besides, if she took him some supper,he would like her, and not want to tell anything about her. Monna Lisawould say she must not go and talk to him, therefore Monna Lisa must notbe consulted. It did not signify what she found out after it had beendone.
Supper was being prepared, she knew--a mountain of macaroni flavouredwith cheese, fragrant enough to tame any stranger. So she trippeddown-stairs with a mind full of deep designs, and first asking with aninnocent look what that noise of talking had been, without waiting foran answer, knit her brow with a peremptory air, something like a kittentrying to be formidable, and sent the old woman upstairs; saying, shechose to eat her supper down below. In three minutes Tessa with herlantern in one hand and a wooden bowl of macaroni in the other, waskicking gently at the door of the outhouse; and Baldassarre, roused fromsad reverie, doubted in the first moment whether he were awake as heopened the door and saw this surprising little handmaid, with delight inher wide eyes, breaking in on his dismal loneliness.
"I've brought you some supper," she said, lifting her mouth towards hisear and shouting, as if he had been deaf like Monna Lisa. "Sit down andeat it, while I stay with you."
Surprise and distrust surmounted every other feeling in Baldassarre, butthough he had no smile or word of gratitude ready, there could not beany impulse to push away this visitant, and he sank down passively onhis straw again, while Tessa placed herself close to him, put the woodenbowl on his lap, and set down the lantern in front of them, crossing herhands before her, and nodding at the bowl with a significant smile, asmuch as to say, "Yes, you may really eat it." For, in the excitement ofcarrying out her deed, she had forgotten her previous thought that thestr
anger would not be deaf, and had fallen into her habitual alternativeof dumb show and shouting.
The invitation was not a disagreeable one, for he had been gnawing aremnant of dry bread, which had left plenty of appetite for anythingwarm and relishing. Tessa watched the disappearance of two or threemouthfuls without speaking, for she had thought his eyes rather fierceat first; but now she ventured to put her mouth to his ear again andcry--
"I like my supper, don't you?"
It was not a smile, but rather the milder look of a dog touched bykindness, but unable to smile, that Baldassarre turned on this roundblue-eyed thing that was caring about him.
"Yes," he said; "but I can hear well--I'm not deaf."
"It is true; I forgot," said Tessa, lifting her hands and clasping them."But Monna Lisa is deaf, and I live with her. She's a kind old woman,and I'm not frightened at her. And we live very well: we have plenty ofnice things. I can have nuts if I like. And I'm not obliged to worknow. I used to have to work, and I didn't like it; but I liked feedingthe mules, and I should like to see poor Giannetta, the little mule,again. We've only got a goat and two kids, and I used to talk to thegoat a good deal, because there was nobody else but Monna Lisa. But nowI've got something else--can you guess what it is?"
She drew her head back, and looked with a challenging smile atBaldassarre, as if she had proposed a difficult riddle to him.
"No," said he, putting aside his bowl, and looking at her dreamily. Itseemed as if this young prattling thing were some memory come back outof his own youth.
"You like me to talk to you, don't you?" said Tessa, "but you must nottell anybody. Shall I fetch you a bit of cold sausage?"
He shook his head, but he looked so mild now that Tessa felt quite ather ease.
"Well, then, I've got a little baby. Such a pretty bambinetto, withlittle fingers and nails! Not old yet; it was born at the Nativita,Monna Lisa says. I was married one Nativita, a long, long while ago,and nobody knew. O Santa Madonna! I didn't mean to tell you that!"
Tessa set up her shoulders and bit her lip, looking at Baldassarre as ifthis betrayal of secrets must have an exciting effect on him too. Buthe seemed not to care much; and perhaps that was in the nature ofstrangers.
"Yes," she said, carrying on her thought aloud, "you are a stranger; youdon't live anywhere or know anybody, do you?"
"No," said Baldassarre, also thinking aloud, rather than consciouslyanswering, "I only know one man."
"His name is not Nofri, is it?" said Tessa, anxiously.
"No," said Baldassarre, noticing her look of fear. "Is that yourhusband's name?"
That mistaken supposition was very amusing to Tessa. She laughed andclapped her hands as she said--
"No, indeed! But I must not tell you anything about my husband. Youwould never think what he is--not at all like Nofri!"
She laughed again at the delightful incongruity between the name ofNofri--which was not separable from the idea of the cross-grainedstepfather--and the idea of her husband.
"But I don't see him very often," she went on, more gravely. "Andsometimes I pray to the Holy Madonna to send him oftener, and once shedid. But I must go back to my bimbo now. I'll bring it to show youto-morrow. You would like to see it. Sometimes it cries and makes aface, but only when it's hungry, Monna Lisa says. You wouldn't thinkit, but Monna Lisa had babies once, and they are all dead old men. Myhusband says she will never die now, because she's so well dried. I'mglad of that, for I'm fond of her. You would like to stay hereto-morrow, shouldn't you?"
"I should like to have this place to come and rest in, that's all," saidBaldassarre. "I would pay for it, and harm nobody."
"No, indeed; I think you are not a bad old man. But you look sorryabout something. Tell me, is there anything you shall cry about when Ileave you by yourself? _I_ used to cry once."
"No, child; I think I shall cry no more."
"That's right; and I'll bring you some breakfast, and show you thebimbo. Good-night."
Tessa took up her bowl and lantern, and closed the door behind her. Thepretty loving apparition had been no more to Baldassarre than a faintrainbow on the blackness to the man who is wrestling in deep waters. Hehardly thought of her again till his dreamy waking passed into the morevivid images of disturbed sleep.
But Tessa thought much of him. She had no sooner entered the house thanshe told Monna Lisa what she had done, and insisted that the strangershould be allowed to come and rest in the outhouse when he liked. Theold woman, who had had her notions of making him a useful tenant, made agreat show of reluctance, shook her head, and urged that Messer Naldowould be angry if she let any one come about the house. Tessa did notbelieve that. Naldo had said nothing against strangers who livednowhere; and this old man knew nobody except one person, who was notNofri.
"Well," conceded Monna Lisa, at last, "if I let him stay for a while andcarry things up the hill for me, thou must keep thy counsel and tellnobody."
"No," said Tessa, "I'll only tell the bimbo."
"And then," Monna Lisa went on, in her thick undertone, "God may love uswell enough not to let Messer Naldo find out anything about it. For henever comes here but at dark; and as he was here two days ago, it'slikely he'll never come at all till the old man's gone away again."
"Oh me! Monna," said Tessa, clasping her hands, "I wish Naldo had notto go such a long, long way sometimes before he comes back again."
"Ah, child! the world's big, they say. There are places behind themountains, and if people go night and day, night and day, they get toRome, and see the Holy Father."
Tessa looked submissive in the presence of this mystery, and began torock her baby, and sing syllables of vague loving meaning, in tones thatimitated a triple chime.
The next morning she was unusually industrious in the prospect of moredialogue, and of the pleasure she should give the poor old stranger byshowing him her baby. But before she could get ready to takeBaldassarre his breakfast, she found that Monna Lisa had been employinghim as a drawer of water. She deferred her paternosters, and hurrieddown to insist that Baldassarre should sit on his straw, so that shemight come and sit by him again while he ate his breakfast. Thatattitude made the new companionship all the more delightful to Tessa,for she had been used to sitting on straw in old days along with hergoats and mules.
"I will not let Monna Lisa give you too much work to do," she said,bringing him some steaming broth and soft bread. "I don't like muchwork, and I daresay you don't. I like sitting in the sunshine andfeeding things. Monna Lisa says, work is good, but she does it allherself, so I don't mind. She's not a cross old woman; you needn't beafraid of her being cross. And now, you eat that, and I'll go and fetchmy baby and show it you."
Presently she came back with the small mummy-case in her arms. Themummy looked very lively, having unusually large dark eyes, though nomore than the usual indication of a future nose.
"This is my baby," said Tessa, seating herself close to Baldassarre."You didn't think it was so pretty, did you? It is like the littleGesu, and I should think the Santa Madonna would be kinder to me now, isit not true? But I have not much to ask for, because I have everythingnow--only that I should see my husband oftener. You may hold thebambino a little if you like, but I think you must not kiss him, becauseyou might hurt him."
She spoke this prohibition in a tone of soothing excuse, and Baldassarrecould not refuse to hold the small package. "Poor thing! poor thing!"he said, in a deep voice which had something strangely threatening inits apparent pity. It did not seem to him as if this guileless lovinglittle woman could reconcile him to the world at all, but rather thatshe was with him against the world, that she was a creature who wouldneed to be avenged.
"Oh, don't you be sorry for me," she said; "for though I don't see himoften, he is more beautiful and good than anybody else in the world. Isay prayers to him when he's away. You couldn't think what he is!"
She looked at Baldassarre with a wide glance of mysteri
ous meaning,taking the baby from him again, and almost wishing he would question heras if he wanted very much to know more.
"Yes, I could," said Baldassarre, rather bitterly.
"No, I'm sure you never could," said Tessa, earnestly. "You thought hemight be Nofri," she added, with a triumphant air of conclusiveness."But never mind; you couldn't know. What is your name?"
He rubbed his hand over his knitted brow, then looked at her blankly andsaid, "Ah, child, what is it?"
It was not that he did not often remember his name well enough; and ifhe had had presence of mind now to remember it, he would have chosen notto tell it. But a sudden question appealing to his memory, had aparalysing effect, and in that moment he was conscious of nothing buthelplessness.
Ignorant as Tessa was, the pity stirred in her by his blank look taughther to say--
"_Never_ mind: you are a stranger, it is no matter about your having aname. Good-bye now, because I want my breakfast. You will come hereand rest when you like; Monna Lisa says you may. And don't you beunhappy, for we'll be good to you."
"Poor thing!" said Baldassarre again.