The Fool Errant: Being the Memoirs of Francis-Anthony Strelley, Esq., Citizen of LuccaHewlett, Maurice
General
The Fool Errant: Being the Memoirs of Francis-Anthony Strelley, Esq., Citizen of Lucca
Hewlett, Maurice
Historical fiction
A sudden desire, whose origin I could not have defined, unless it sprang
directly from alarm on her account, moved me away from the window
towards the door of Virginia's room. I listened at it, but could hear
nothing, so presently (fearing some wild intention of sacrifice on her
part) I lifted the latch and looked in. No--she was there and asleep. I
could see the dark masses of her hair, hear her quick breathing, as
impatient as a child's, and as innocent. Poor, faithful, ignorant,
passionate creature--had I wronged her? Did not her vehemence spring
from loyalty? If she was mistaken, was it her fault? For what could she--
that unkempt companion of pigs and chicken, offspring of parents little
higher in degree--what could she know of exalted love? What, indeed?
I lit a candle and went to look at her. I considered her carefully,
lying there prone, her face turned sideways to the pillow, one bare arm
flung over her eyes. She looked beautiful asleep, for her mouth had
relaxed its look of proud reserve, and all her lines were softened. She
looked very tired, very pure, very young.
"God of Nature!" thought I. "Assuredly Thou didst not shape this fine,
true creature for some villain's idle appetite. Assuredly also Thou
didst put her in my way for her salvation--and, may be, for mine. I
accept the sign. Do Thou, therefore, stand my friend." I shut the door
softly and returned to my parlour. Very cautiously I drew near the
window and peered out.
It was well that I took care. Fra Palamone was immediately underneath
the window, grinning up, showing his long tooth, and picking at his
beard. I do not think I ever saw such a glut of animal enjoyment in a
man's face before. There was not the glimmer of a doubt what he
intended. Semifonte had been told of his bondslave, and Palamone's hour
of triumph was at hand. He would bring a warrant; no doubt he had it by
him; he waited only for the police. I was laid by the heels.
A gust of anger, like a puff of hot wind, blew upon me and made my skin
prick me. All that I had endured at this rascal's hands swelled within;
and now I remembered also that I, a gentleman by birth and training, had
been the galled slave of a low ruffian, who now intended to sell into
vice and infamy an honest girl whom I was pledged to protect. Well-
being, rehabilitation, the respect of my own world had done their work.
He had to do with a man now, I told myself, not with a boy. I went to my
bureau, took out, primed and cocked my pistols, returned to the window
and showed myself full to the frate.
"I wish you good morning, Fra Palamone," I said. His grinning face
grinned awry, I promise you; but he recovered himself and made a brave
show.
"Buon di, Ser Francesco, buon di. You are betimes, I see. Or is it that
you are belated like my injured friend Semifonte? The smarting of his
honour has kept him from his bed, let me tell you. But he has gone
thither now, I hope, appeased."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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