Romola

by George Eliot

  CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

  ON SAN MINIATO.

  "I would speak with you," said Baldassarre, as Romola looked at him insilent expectation. It was plain that he had followed her, and had beenwaiting for her. She was going at last to know the secret about him.

  "Yes," she said, with the same sort of submission that she might haveshown under an imposed penance. "But you wish to go where no one canhear us?"

  "Where _he_ will not come upon us," said Baldassarre, turning andglancing behind him timidly. "Out--in the air--away from the streets."

  "I sometimes go to San Miniato at this hour," said Romola. "If youlike, I will go now, and you can follow me. It is far, but we can besolitary there."

  He nodded assent, and Romola set out. To some women it might haveseemed an alarming risk to go to a comparatively solitary spot with aman who had some of the outward signs of that madness which Titoattributed to him. But Romola was not given to personal fears, and shewas glad of the distance that interposed some delay before another blowfell on her. The afternoon was far advanced, and the sun was alreadylow in the west, when she paused on some rough ground in the shadow ofthe cypress-trunks, and looked round for Baldassarre. He was not faroff, but when he reached her, he was glad to sink down on an edge ofstony earth. His thickset frame had no longer the sturdy vigour whichbelonged to it when he first appeared with the rope round him in theDuomo; and under the transient tremor caused by the exertion of walkingup the hill, his eyes seemed to have a more helpless vagueness.

  "The hill is steep," said Romola, with compassionate gentleness, seatingherself by him. "And I fear you have been weakened by want?"

  He turned his head and fixed his eyes on her in silence, unable, now themoment of speech was come, to seize the words that would convey thethought he wanted to utter: and she remained as motionless as she could,lest he should suppose her impatient. He looked like nothing higherthan a common-bred, neglected old man; but she was used now to be verynear to such people, and to think a great deal about their troubles.Gradually his glance gathered a more definite expression, and at last hesaid with abrupt emphasis--

  "Ah! you would have been my daughter!"

  The swift flush came in Romola's face and went back again as swiftly,leaving her with white lips a little apart, like a marble image ofhorror. For her mind, the revelation was made. She divined the factsthat lay behind that single word, and in the first moment there could beno check to the impulsive belief which sprang from her keen experienceof Tito's nature. The sensitive response of her face was a stimulus toBaldassarre; for the first time his words had wrought their righteffect. He went on with gathering eagerness and firmness, laying hishand on her arm.

  "You are a woman of proud blood--is it not true? You go to hear thepreacher; you hate baseness--baseness that smiles and triumphs. Youhate your husband?"

  "Oh God! were you really his father?" said Romola, in a low voice, tooentirely possessed by the images of the past to take any note ofBaldassarre's question. "Or was it as he said? Did you take him whenhe was little?"

  "Ah, you believe me--you know what he is!" said Baldassarre, exultingly,tightening the pressure on her arm, as if the contact gave him power."You will help me?"

  "Yes," said Romola, not interpreting the words as he meant them. Shelaid her palm gently on the rough hand that grasped her arm, and thetears came to her eyes as she looked at him. "Oh, it is piteous! Tellme--you were a great scholar; you taught him. How is it?"

  She broke off Tito's allegation of this man's madness had come acrossher; and where were the signs even of past refinement? But she had theself-command not to move her hand. She sat perfectly still, waiting tolisten with new caution.

  "It is gone!--it is all gone!" said Baldassarre; "and they would notbelieve me, because he lied, and said I was mad; and they had me draggedto prison. And I am old--my mind will not come back. And the world isagainst me."

  He paused a moment, and his eyes sank as if he were under a wave ofdespondency. Then he looked up at her again, and said with renewedeagerness--"But _you_ are not against me. He made you love him, and hehas been false to you; and you hate him. Yes, he made _me_ love him: hewas beautiful and gentle, and I was a lonely man. I took him when theywere beating him. He slept in my bosom when he was little, and Iwatched him as he grew, and gave him all my knowledge, and everythingthat was mine I meant to be his. I had many things; money, and books,and gems. He had my gems--he sold them; and he left me in slavery. Henever came to seek me, and when I came back poor and in misery, hedenied me. He said I was a madman."

  "He told us his father was dead--was drowned," said Romola, faintly."Surely he must have believed it then. Oh! he could not have been sobase _then_!"

  A vision had risen of what Tito was to her in those first days when shethought no more of wrong in him than a child thinks of poison inflowers. The yearning regret that lay in that memory brought somerelief from the tension of horror. With one great sob the tears rushedforth.

  "Ah, you are young, and the tears come easily," said Baldassarre, withsome impatience. "But tears are no good; they only put out the firewithin, and it is the fire that works. Tears will hinder us. Listen tome."

  Romola turned towards him with a slight start. Again the possibility ofhis madness had darted through her mind, and checked the rush of belief.If, after all, this man were only a mad assassin? But her deep beliefin this story still lay behind, and it was more in sympathy than in fearthat she avoided the risk of paining him by any show of doubt.

  "Tell me," she said, as gently as she could, "how did you lose yourmemory--your scholarship."

  "I was ill. I can't tell how long--it was a blank. I remember nothing,only at last I was sitting in the sun among the stones, and everythingelse was darkness. And slowly, and by degrees, I felt something besidesthat: a longing for something--I did not know what--that never came.And when I was in the ship on the waters I began to know what I longedfor; it was for the Boy to come back--it was to find all my thoughtsagain, for I was locked away outside them all. And I am outside now. Ifeel nothing but a wall and darkness."

  Baldassarre had become dreamy again, and sank into silence, resting hishead between his hands; and again Romola's belief in him had submergedall cautioning doubts. The pity with which she dwelt on his wordsseemed like the revival of an old pang. Had she not daily seen how herfather missed Dino and the future he had dreamed of in that son?

  "It all came back once," Baldassarre went on presently. "I was masterof everything. I saw all the world again, and my gems, and my books;and I thought I had him in my power, and I went to expose him where--where the lights were and the trees; and he lied again, and said I wasmad, and they dragged me away to prison... Wickedness is strong; and hewears armour."

  The fierceness had flamed up again. He spoke with his former intensity,and again he grasped Romola's arm.

  "But you will help me? He has been false to you too. He has anotherwife, and she has children. He makes her believe he is her husband, andshe is a foolish, helpless thing. I will show you where she lives."

  The first shock that passed through Romola was visibly one of anger.The woman's sense of indignity was inevitably foremost. Baldassarreinstinctively felt her in sympathy with him.

  "You hate him," he went on. "Is it not true? There is no love betweenyou; I know that. I know women can hate; and you have proud blood. Youhate falseness, and you can love revenge."

  Romola sat paralysed by the shock of conflicting feelings. She was notconscious of the grasp that was bruising her tender arm.

  "You shall contrive it," said Baldassarre, presently, in an eagerwhisper. "I have learned by heart that you are his rightful wife. Youare a noble woman. You go to hear the preacher of vengeance; you willhelp justice. But you will think for me. My mind goes--everything goessometimes--all but the fire. The fire is God: it is justice: it willnot die. You believe that--is it not true? If they will not hang himfor robbi
ng me, you will take away his armour--you will make him gowithout it, and I will stab him. I have a knife, and my arm is stillstrong enough."

  He put his hand under his tunic, and reached out the hidden knife,feeling the edge abstractedly, as if he needed the sensation to keepalive his ideas.

  It seemed to Romola as if every fresh hour of her life were to becomemore difficult than the last. Her judgment was too vigorous and rapidfor her to fall into, the mistake of using futile deprecatory words to aman in Baldassarre's state of mind. She chose not to answer his lastspeech. She would win time for his excitement to allay itself by askingsomething else that she cared to know. She spoke rather tremulously--

  "You say she is foolish and helpless--that other wife--and believes himto be her real husband. Perhaps he is: perhaps he married her before hemarried me."

  "I cannot tell," said Baldassarre, pausing in that action of feeling theknife, and looking bewildered. "I can remember no more. I only knowwhere she lives. You shall see her. I will take you; but not now," headded hurriedly, "_he_ may be there. The night is coming on."

  "It is true," said Romola, starting up with a sudden consciousness thatthe sun had set and the hills were darkening; "but you will come andtake me--when?"

  "In the morning," said Baldassarre, dreaming that she, too, wanted tohurry to her vengeance.

  "Come to me, then, where you came to me to-day, in the church. I willbe there at ten; and if you are not there, I will go again towardsmid-day. Can you remember?"

  "Mid-day," said Baldassarre--"only mid-day. The same place, andmid-day. And, after that," he added, rising and grasping her arm againwith his left hand, while he held the knife in his right; "we will haveour revenge. He shall feel the sharp edge of justice. The world isagainst me, but you will help me."

  "I would help you in other ways," said Romola, making a first, timideffort to dispel his illusion about her. "I fear you are in want; youhave to labour, and get little. I should like to bring you comforts,and make you feel again that there is some one who cares for you."

  "Talk no more about that," said Baldassarre, fiercely. "I will havenothing else. Help me to wring one drop of vengeance on this side ofthe grave. I have nothing but my knife. It is sharp; but there is amoment after the thrust when men see the face of death,--and it shall bemy face that he will see."

  He loosed his hold, and sank down again in a sitting posture. Romolafelt helpless: she must defer all intentions till the morrow.

  "Mid-day, then," she said, in a distinct voice.

  "Yes," he answered, with an air of exhaustion. "Go; I will rest here."

  She hastened away. Turning at the last spot whence he was likely to bein sight, she saw him seated still.