Where Angels Fear to Tread Part 14

"Nothing at all. It's frightful."

"I know it is. But it's old--awfully old."

"Beauty is the only test," said Harriet. "At least so you told me when I sketched old buildings--for the sake, I suppose, of making yourself unpleasant."

"Oh, I'm perfectly right. But at the same time--I don't know--so many things have happened here--people have lived so hard and so splendidly--I can't explain."

"I shouldn't think you could. It doesn't seem the best moment to begin your Italy mania. I thought you were cured of it by now. Instead, will you kindly tell me what you are going to do when you arrive. I do beg you will not be taken unawares this time."

"First, Harriet, I shall settle you at the Stella d'Italia, in the comfort that befits your s.e.x and disposition. Then I shall make myself some tea. After tea I shall take a book into Santa Deodata's, and read there. It is always fresh and cool."

The martyred Harriet exclaimed, "I'm not clever, Philip. I don't go in for it, as you know. But I know what's rude. And I know what's wrong."

"Meaning--?"

"You!" she shouted, bouncing on the cus.h.i.+ons of the legno and startling all the fleas. "What's the good of cleverness if a man's murdered a woman?"

"Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?"

"He. Her. If you don't look out he'll murder you. I wish he would."

"Tut tut, tutlet! You'd find a corpse extraordinarily inconvenient."

Then he tried to be less aggravating. "I heartily dislike the fellow, but we know he didn't murder her. In that letter, though she said a lot, she never said he was physically cruel."

"He has murdered her. The things he did--things one can't even mention--"

"Things which one must mention if one's to talk at all. And things which one must keep in their proper place. Because he was unfaithful to his wife, it doesn't follow that in every way he's absolutely vile." He looked at the city. It seemed to approve his remark.

"It's the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to a woman--"

"Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It's no more a supreme test than anything else. The Italians never were chivalrous from the first.

If you condemn him for that, you'll condemn the whole lot."

"I condemn the whole lot."

"And the French as well?"

"And the French as well."

"Things aren't so jolly easy," said Philip, more to himself than to her.

But for Harriet things were easy, though not jolly, and she turned upon her brother yet again. "What about the baby, pray? You've said a lot of smart things and whittled away morality and religion and I don't know what; but what about the baby? You think me a fool, but I've been noticing you all today, and you haven't mentioned the baby once. You haven't thought about it, even. You don't care. Philip! I shall not speak to you. You are intolerable."

She kept her promise, and never opened her lips all the rest of the way.

But her eyes glowed with anger and resolution. For she was a straight, brave woman, as well as a peevish one.

Philip acknowledged her reproof to be true. He did not care about the baby one straw. Nevertheless, he meant to do his duty, and he was fairly confident of success. If Gino would have sold his wife for a thousand lire, for how much less would he not sell his child? It was just a commercial transaction. Why should it interfere with other things? His eyes were fixed on the towers again, just as they had been fixed when he drove with Miss Abbott. But this time his thoughts were pleasanter, for he had no such grave business on his mind. It was in the spirit of the cultivated tourist that he approached his destination.

One of the towers, rough as any other, was topped by a cross--the tower of the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata. She was a holy maiden of the Dark Ages, the city's patron saint, and sweetness and barbarity mingle strangely in her story. So holy was she that all her life she lay upon her back in the house of her mother, refusing to eat, refusing to play, refusing to work. The devil, envious of such sanct.i.ty, tempted her in various ways. He dangled grapes above her, he showed her fascinating toys, he pushed soft pillows beneath her aching head. When all proved vain he tripped up the mother and flung her downstairs before her very eyes. But so holy was the saint that she never picked her mother up, but lay upon her back through all, and thus a.s.sured her throne in Paradise.

She was only fifteen when she died, which shows how much is within the reach of any school-girl. Those who think her life was unpractical need only think of the victories upon Poggibonsi, San Gemignano, Volterra, Siena itself--all gained through the invocation of her name; they need only look at the church which rose over her grave. The grand schemes for a marble facade were never carried out, and it is brown unfinished stone until this day. But for the inside Giotto was summoned to decorate the walls of the nave. Giotto came--that is to say, he did not come, German research having decisively proved--but at all events the nave is covered with frescoes, and so are two chapels in the left transept, and the arch into the choir, and there are sc.r.a.ps in the choir itself. There the decoration stopped, till in the full spring of the Renaissance a great painter came to pay a few weeks' visit to his friend the Lord of Monteriano. In the intervals between the banquets and the discussions on Latin etymology and the dancing, he would stroll over to the church, and there in the fifth chapel to the right he has painted two frescoes of the death and burial of Santa Deodata. That is why Baedeker gives the place a star.

Santa Deodata was better company than Harriet, and she kept Philip in a pleasant dream until the legno drew up at the hotel. Every one there was asleep, for it was still the hour when only idiots were moving. There were not even any beggars about. The cabman put their bags down in the pa.s.sage--they had left heavy luggage at the station--and strolled about till he came on the landlady's room and woke her, and sent her to them.

Then Harriet p.r.o.nounced the monosyllable "Go!"

"Go where?" asked Philip, bowing to the landlady, who was swimming down the stairs.

"To the Italian. Go."

"Buona sera, signora padrona. Si ritorna volontieri a Monteriano!"

(Don't be a goose. I'm not going now. You're in the way, too.) "Vorrei due camere--"

"Go. This instant. Now. I'll stand it no longer. Go!"

"I'm d.a.m.ned if I'll go. I want my tea."

"Swear if you like!" she cried. "Blaspheme! Abuse me! But understand, I'm in earnest."

"Harriet, don't act. Or act better."

"We've come here to get the baby back, and for nothing else. I'll not have this levity and slackness, and talk about pictures and churches.

Think of mother; did she send you out for THEM?"

"Think of mother and don't straddle across the stairs. Let the cabman and the landlady come down, and let me go up and choose rooms."

"I shan't."

"Harriet, are you mad?"

"If you like. But you will not come up till you have seen the Italian."

"La signorina si sente male," said Philip, "C' e il sole."

"Poveretta!" cried the landlady and the cabman.

"Leave me alone!" said Harriet, snarling round at them. "I don't care for the lot of you. I'm English, and neither you'll come down nor he up till he goes for the baby."

"La prego-piano-piano-c e un' altra signorina che dorme--"

"We shall probably be arrested for brawling, Harriet. Have you the very slightest sense of the ludicrous?"

Harriet had not; that was why she could be so powerful. She had concocted this scene in the carriage, and nothing should baulk her of it. To the abuse in front and the coaxing behind she was equally indifferent. How long she would have stood like a glorified Horatius, keeping the staircase at both ends, was never to be known. For the young lady, whose sleep they were disturbing, awoke and opened her bedroom door, and came out on to the landing. She was Miss Abbott.

Philip's first coherent feeling was one of indignation. To be run by his mother and hectored by his sister was as much as he could stand. The intervention of a third female drove him suddenly beyond politeness. He was about to say exactly what he thought about the thing from beginning to end. But before he could do so Harriet also had seen Miss Abbott. She uttered a shrill cry of joy.

"You, Caroline, here of all people!" And in spite of the heat she darted up the stairs and imprinted an affectionate kiss upon her friend.

Philip had an inspiration. "You will have a lot to tell Miss Abbott, Harriet, and she may have as much to tell you. So I'll pay my call on Signor Carella, as you suggested, and see how things stand."