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
I had still in my possession my fifty guineas, with which, judiciously
laid out, I had no doubt but that we could make our way good in Lucca.
Full of hope, and fortified by all the privileges which the Church can
bestow upon a Christian, or a complaisant wife upon her husband, I set
about my business, which was to secure honourable employment for both of
us. After much discussion with Virginia and the exhibition of reasons on
my part with which I shall be less particular to trouble the reader,
since I have dwelt upon them more than once already, I decided to begin
in one of the humblest positions a man can take up. I would do
journeyman's work of any sort or kind until I had won what in the finer
walks of life we call the spurs. Not to be behind me in effort, Virginia
would work also. I hesitated for some time between the carpenter's and
the gardener's profession, for both of which I had always had an
aptitude; but the former had my choice. Virginia ultimately chose for
laundry-work, because that took her more into the open air, which she
dearly loved.
I remember that we came to these decisions, after a day or two of talk
about them, upon the grassy ramparts which overlooked the beautiful city
on one side and the green meads of the Serchio, with their background of
purple hills, on the other. It was there that Virginia, holding my hand
in hers, spoke in this manner. "Francis," said she, "my lord and master,
I have never yet asked you why you paid me the extreme honour of making
me your wife, when, as you know very well, I was yours to dispose of in
any other way you pleased; and I shall never ask you. It is enough for
me that you have raised a poor girl out of the mire and made her a proud
woman. But proud as I am--or because I am proud--I shall not forget to
be humble. Don't suppose that I think myself raised to your degree
because you have taken me in your arms; no, indeed, I am a little
peasant and shall always be a little peasant. If I was found good in
your eyes--as I am bound to believe I was--it was for that reason. Such
as I am, for such as you have taken me, I shall never fail you. I will
work the flesh off my bones for you, I will lie, cheat, steal, commit
any sin under the sky if you bid me. I am utterly yours to take or put
away, to live or die, for Heaven or Hell--you have only to require of
me. It is in my power to sink for your pleasure, for we can always go
lower than our best; but I cannot rise without you. If you ask me to set
up for a lady, I tell you plainly I cannot. Have patience with me,
Francis; do not condemn me to fail you. If I cannot rise, you must
stoop. If I cannot be a fine lady, you must be content to do without
your gentlehood. If I am a peasant, you must be a peasant. As such I
shall please you--I am certain of it. In any other way you will stab me
at every turn of your head. I shall break my back for you--and do well
in my own way; but in yours I shall break my heart--and not advantage
you one inch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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