Читать книгу W. Somerset Maugham: Novels, Short Stories, Plays & Travel Sketches (33 Titles In One Edition) - Уильям Сомерсет Моэм - Страница 55

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THE Orsi and the Moratini had taken my advice and gone to Città di Castello; so it was to that city we directed our way, and eventually reached it in safety. I did not know where Bartolomeo Moratini was, and I did not wish to take Giulia to my own house, so I placed her in a Benedictine convent, the superior of which, on hearing my name, promised to give her guest every care.

Then I went to the old palace which I had not seen for so many years. I had been too excited to get really home to notice anything of the streets as I passed through them; but as I came in view of the well-remembered walls, I stopped, overcome with strange emotions.... I remembered the day when news had been brought me that the old Vitelli, who was then ruler of Castello, had murmured certain things about me which caused my neck to itch uncomfortably—and upon this I had entrusted my little brother to a relative, who was one of the canons of the cathedral, and the palace to my steward, and mounting my horse, ridden off with all possible haste. I had supposed that a few months would calm the angry Vitelli, but the months had lengthened out into years, and his death had come before his forgiveness. But now I really was back, and I did not mean to go away; my travels had taught me caution, and my intrigues at Forli given me enough excitement for some time. Besides, I was going to marry and rear a family; for, as if Fortune could not give scantily, I had gained a love as well as a home, and everything I wished was granted.

My meditations were interrupted.

'Corpo di Bacco!'

It was Matteo, and in a moment I was in his arms.

'I was just asking myself what that fool was staring at this house for, and thinking of telling him it was impolite to stare, when I recognised the house's owner.'

I laughed, and shook his hand again.

'Well Filippo, I am sure we shall be very pleased to offer you hospitality.'

'You are most kind.'

'We have annexed the whole place, but I daresay you will be able to find room somewhere. But come in.'

'Thanks,' I said, 'if you do not mind.'

I found Checco, Bartolomeo and his two sons sitting together. They jumped up when they saw me.

'What news? What news?' they asked.

Then suddenly I remembered the terrible story I had to tell, for in my own happiness I had forgotten everything that went before. I suddenly became grave.

'Bad news,' I said. 'Bad news.'

'Oh, God! I have been foreboding it. Every night I have dreamed awful things.'

'Checco,' I answered. 'I have done all I could; but, alas! it has been of no avail. You left me as a protector and I have been able to protect no one.'

'Go on!'

Then I began my story. I told them how the Council had opened the gates, surrendering unconditionally, and how the Countess had sallied forth in triumph. That was nothing. If there had been no worse news for them than that! But Checco clenched his hands as I related the sacking of his palace. And I told him how old Orso had refused to fly and had been seized, while I had lain senseless on the floor.

'You did your best, Filippo,' said Checco. 'You could do nothing more. But afterwards?'

I told them how Marco Scorsacana and Pietro had been taken prisoners, and led into the town like thieves caught in the act; how the crowd had gathered together, and how they had been brought to the square and hanged from the Palace window, and their bodies torn to pieces by the people.

'Oh, God!' uttered Checco. 'And all this is my fault.'

I told them that the old Orso was brought forward and taken to his palace, and before his eyes it was torn down, stone after stone, till only a heap of ruins marked the site.

Checco gave a sob.

'My palace, my home!'

And then, as if the blow was too great, he bent his head and burst into tears.

'Do not weep yet, Checco,' I said. 'You will have cause for tears presently.'

He looked up.

'What more?'

'Your father.'

'Filippo!'

He started up, and stepping back, stood against the wall, his arms against it, outstretched, with white and haggard face and staring eyes, like a hunted beast at bay.

I told him how they had taken his father and bound him, and thrown him down, and tied him to the savage beast, and how he had been dragged along till his blood spattered on the pavement and his soul left him.

Checco uttered a most awful groan, and, looking up to heaven, as if to call it in witness, cried,—

'Oh, God!'

Then, sinking into a chair, he buried his face in his hands, and in his agony swayed from side to side. Matteo went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him; but he motioned him aside.

'Let me be.'

He rose from his seat, and we saw that his eyes were tearless, for his grief was too great for weeping. Then, with his hands before him like a blind man, he staggered to the door and left us.

Scipione, the weak man, was crying.