by George Eliot
CHAPTER SEVENTY.
MEETING AGAIN.
On the fourteenth of April Romola was once more within the walls ofFlorence. Unable to rest at Pistoja, where contradictory reportsreached her about the Trial by Fire, she had gone on to Prato; and wasbeginning to think that she should be drawn on to Florence in spite ofdread, when she encountered that monk of San Spirito who had been hergodfather's confessor. From him she learned the full story ofSavonarola's arrest, and of her husband's death. This Augustinian monkhad been in the stream of people who had followed the waggon with itsawful burthen into the Piazza, and he could tell her what was generallyknown in Florence--that Tito had escaped from an assaulting mob byleaping into the Arno, but had been murdered on the bank by an old manwho had long had an enmity against him. But Romola understood thecatastrophe as no one else did. Of Savonarola the monk told her, inthat tone of unfavourable prejudice which was usual in the BlackBrethren (Frati Neri) towards the brother who showed white under hisblack, that he had confessed himself a deceiver of the people.
Romola paused no longer. That evening she was in Florence, sitting inagitated silence under the exclamations of joy and wailing, mingled withexuberant narrative, which were poured into her ears by Monna Brigida,who had backslided into false hair in Romola's absence, but now drew itoff again and declared she would not mind being grey, if her dear childwould stay with her.
Romola was too deeply moved by the main events which she had knownbefore coming to Florence, to be wrought upon by the doubtful gossipingdetails added in Brigida's narrative. The tragedy of her husband'sdeath, of Fra Girolamo's confession of duplicity under the coercion oftorture, left her hardly any power of apprehending minor circumstances.All the mental activity she could exert under that load of awe-strickengrief, was absorbed by two purposes which must supersede every other; totry and see Savonarola, and to learn what had become of Tessa and thechildren.
"Tell me, cousin," she said abruptly, when Monna Brigida's tongue hadrun quite away from troubles into projects of Romola's living with her,"has anything been seen or said since Tito's death of a young woman withtwo little children?"
Brigida started, rounded her eyes, and lifted up her hands.
"Cristo! no. What! was he so bad as that, my poor child? Ah, then,that was why you went away, and left me word only that you went of yourown free will. Well, well; if I'd known that, I shouldn't have thoughtyou so strange and flighty. For I did say to myself, though I didn'ttell anybody else, `What was she to go away from her husband for,leaving him to mischief, only because they cut poor Bernardo's head off?She's got her father's temper,' I said, `that's what it is.' Well,well; never scold me, child: Bardo _was_ fierce, you can't deny it. Butif you had only told me the truth, that there was a young hussey andchildren, I should have understood it all. Anything seen or said ofher? No; and the less the better. They say enough of ill about himwithout that. But since that was the reason you went--"
"No, dear cousin," said Romola, interrupting her earnestly, "pray do nottalk so. I wish above all things to find that young woman and herchildren, and to take care of them. They are quite helpless. Saynothing against it; that is the thing I shall do first of all."
"Well," said Monna Brigida, shrugging her shoulders and lowering hervoice with an air of puzzled discomfiture, "if that's being a Piagnone,I've been taking peas for paternosters. Why, Fra Girolamo said as goodas that widows ought not to marry again. Step in at the door and it's asin and a shame, it seems; but come down the chimney and you're welcome._Two_ children--Santiddio!"
"Cousin, the poor thing has done no conscious wrong: she is ignorant ofeverything. I will tell you--but not now."
Early the next morning Romola's steps were directed to the house beyondSan Ambrogio where she had once found Tessa; but it was as she hadfeared: Tessa was gone. Romola conjectured that Tito had sent her awaybeforehand to some spot where he had intended to join her, for she didnot believe that he would willingly part with those children. It was apainful conjecture, because, if Tessa were out of Florence, there washardly a chance of finding her, and Romola pictured the childishcreature waiting and waiting at some wayside spot in wondering, helplessmisery. Those who lived near could tell her nothing except that olddeaf Lisa had gone away a week ago with her goods, but no one knew whereTessa had gone. Romola saw no further active search open to her; forshe had no knowledge that could serve as a starting-point for inquiry,and not only her innate reserve but a more noble sensitiveness made hershrink from assuming an attitude of generosity in the eyes of others bypublishing Tessa's relation to Tito, along with her own desire to findher. Many days passed in anxious inaction. Even under strongsolicitation from other thoughts Romola found her heart palpitating ifshe caught sight of a pair of round brown legs, or of a short woman inthe contadina dress.
She never for a moment told herself that it was heroism or exaltedcharity in her to seek these beings; she needed something that she wasbound specially to care for; she yearned to clasp the children and tomake them love her. This at least would be some sweet result, forothers as well as herself, from all her past sorrow. It appeared therewas much property of Tito's to which she had a claim; but she distrustedthe cleanness of that money, and she had determined to make it all overto the State, except so much as was equal to the price of her father'slibrary. This would be enough for the modest support of Tessa and thechildren. But Monna Brigida threw such planning into the background byclamorously insisting that Romola must live with her and never forsakeher till she had seen her safe in Paradise--else why had she persuadedher to turn Piagnone?--and if Romola wanted to rear other people'schildren, she, Monna Brigida, must rear them too. Only they must befound first.
Romola felt the full force of that innuendo. But strong feelingunsatisfied is never without its superstition, either of hope ordespair. Romola's was the superstition of hope: _somehow_ she was tofind that mother and the children. And at last another direction foractive inquiry suggested itself. She learned that Tito had providedhorses and mules to await him in San Gallo; he was therefore going toleave Florence by the gate of San Gallo, and she determined, thoughwithout much confidence in the issue, to try and ascertain from thegatekeepers if they had observed any one corresponding to thedescription of Tessa with her children, to have passed the gates beforethe morning of the ninth of April. Walking along the Via San Gallo, andlooking watchfully about her through her long widow's veil, lest sheshould miss any object that might aid her, she descried Brattichaffering with a customer. That roaming man, she thought, might aidher: she would not mind talking of Tessa to _him_. But as she put asideher veil and crossed the street towards him, she saw something hangingfrom the corner of his basket which made her heart leap with a muchstronger hope.
"Bratti, my friend," she said abruptly, "where did you get thatnecklace?"
"Your servant, madonna," said Bratti, looking round at her verydeliberately, his mind not being subject to surprise. "It's a necklaceworth money, but I shall get little by it, for my heart's too tender fora trader's; I have promised to keep it in pledge."
"Pray tell me where you got it;--from a little woman named Tessa, is itnot true?"
"Ah! if you know her," said Bratti, "and would redeem it of me at asmall profit, and give it her again, you'd be doing a charity, for shecried at parting with it--you'd have thought she was running into abrook. It's a small profit I'll charge you. You shall have it for aflorin, for I don't like to be hard-hearted."
"Where is she?" said Romola, giving him the money, and unclasping thenecklace from the basket in joyful agitation.
"Outside the gate there, at the other end of the Borgo, at old SibillaManetti's: anybody will tell you which is the house."
Romola went along with winged feet, blessing that incident of theCarnival which had made her learn by heart the appearance of thisnecklace. Soon she was at the house she sought. The young woman andthe children were in the inner room--were to have been fetched away afortnight ago and
more--had no money, only their clothes, to pay a poorwidow with for their food and lodging. But since madonna knew them--Romola waited to hear no more, but opened the door.
Tessa was seated on the low bed: her crying had passed into tearlesssobs, and she was looking with sad blank eyes at the two children, whowere playing in an opposite corner--Lillo covering his head with hisskirt and roaring at Ninna to frighten her, then peeping out again tosee how she bore it. The door was a little behind Tessa, and she didnot turn round when it opened, thinking it was only the old woman:expectation was no longer alive. Romola had thrown aside her veil andpaused a moment, holding the necklace in sight. Then she said, in thatpure voice that used to cheer her father--
"Tessa!"
Tessa started to her feet and looked round.
"See," said Romola, clasping the beads on Tessa's neck, "God has sent meto you again."
The poor thing screamed and sobbed, and clung to the arms that fastenedthe necklace. She could not speak. The two children came from theircorner, laid hold of their mother's skirts, and looked up with wide eyesat Romola.
That day they all went home to Monna Brigida's, in the Borgo degliAlbizzi. Romola had made known, to Tessa by gentle degrees, that Naldocould never come to her again: not because he was cruel, but because hewas dead.
"But be comforted, my Tessa," said Romola. "I am come to take care ofyou always. And we have got Lillo and Ninna."
Monna Brigida's mouth twitched in the struggle between her awe of Romolaand the desire to speak unseasonably.
"Let be, for the present," she thought; "but it seems to me a thousandyears till I tell this little contadina, who seems not to know how manyfingers she's got on her hand, who Romola is. And I _will_ tell hersome day, else she'll never know her place. It's all very well forRomola;--nobody will call their souls their own when she's by; but ifI'm to have this puss-faced minx living in my house she must be humbleto me."
However, Monna Brigida wanted to give the children too many sweets fortheir supper, and confessed to Romola, the last thing before going tobed, that it would be a shame not to take care of such cherubs.
"But you must give up to me a little, Romola, about their eating, andthose things. For you have never had a baby, and I had twins, only theydied as soon as they were born."