Gerard walked silently beside Teresa, wondering in his own mind, after the manner of artists, what she was going to do with him;instead of asking her.So at last she told him of her own accord.
A friend had informed her of a working goldsmith's wife who wanted a writer."Her shop is hard by; you will not have far to go."Accordingly they soon arrived at the goldsmith's wife.
"Madama," said Teresa, "Leonora tells me you want a writer: I have brought you a beautiful one; he saved my child at sea.Prithee look on him with favour.
The goldsmith's wife complied in one sense.She fixed her eyes on Gerard's comely face, and could hardly take them off again.But her reply was unsatisfactory."Nay, I have no use for a writer.
Ah! I mind now, it is my gossip, Claelia, the sausage-maker, wants one; she told me, and I told Leonora."Teresa made a courteous speech and withdrew.
Claelia lived at some distance, and when they reached her house she was out.Teresa said calmly, "I will await her return," and sat so still, and dignified, and statuesque, that Gerard was beginning furtively to draw her, when Claelia returned.
"Madama, I hear from the goldsmith's wife, the excellent Olympia, that you need a writer" (here she took Gerard by the hand and led him forward); "I have brought you a beautiful one; he saved my child from the cruel waves.For our Lady's sake look with favour on him.""My good dame, my fair Ser," said Claelia, "I have no use for a writer; but now you remind me, it was my friend Appia Claudia asked me for one but the other day.She is a tailor, lives in the Via Lepida."Teresa retired calmly.
"Madama," said Gerard, "this is likely to be a tedious business for you."Teresa opened her eyes.
"What was ever done without a little patience?" She added mildly, "We will knock at every door at Rome but you shall have justice.""But, madama, I think we are dogged.I noticed a man that follows us, sometimes afar, sometimes close.""I have seen it," said Teresa coldly; but her cheek coloured faintly."It is my poor Lodovico."She stopped and turned, and beckoned with her finger.
A figure approached them somewhat unwillingly.
When he came up, she gazed him full in the face, and he looked sheepish.
"Lodovico mio," said she, "know this young Ser, of whom I have so often spoken to thee.Know him and love him, for he it was who saved thy wife and child."At these last words Lodovico, who had been bowing and grinning artificially, suddenly changed to an expression of heartfelt gratitude, and embraced Gerard warmly.
Yet somehow there was something in the man's original manner, and his having followed his wife by stealth, that made Gerard uncomfortable under this caress.However, he said, "We shall have your company, Ser Lodovico?""No, signor," replied Lodovico, "I go not on that side Tiber.""Addio, then," said Teresa significantly.
"When shall you return home, Teresa mia?""When I have done mine errand, Lodovico."They pursued their way in silence.Teresa now wore a sad and almost gloomy air.
To be brief, Appia Claudia was merciful, and did not send them over Tiber again, but only a hundred yards down the street to Lucretia, who kept the glove shop; she it was wanted a writer; but what for, Appia Claudia could not conceive.Lucretia was a merry little dame, who received them heartily enough, and told them she wanted no writer, kept all her accounts in her head."It was for my confessor, Father Colonna; he is mad after them.""I have heard of his excellency," said Teresa.
"Who has not?"
"But, good dame, he is a friar; he has made vow of poverty.Icannot let the young man write and not be paid.He saved my child at sea.
"Did he now?" And Lucretia cast an approving look on Gerard.
"Well, make your mind easy; a Colonna never wants for money.The good father has only to say the word, and the princes of his race will pour a thousand crowns into his lap.And such a confessor, dame! the best in Rome.His head is leagues and leagues away all the while; he never heeds what you are saying.Why, I think no more of confessing my sins to him than of telling them to that wall.Once, to try him, I confessed, along with the rest, as how Ihad killed my lodger's little girl and baked her in a pie.Well, when my voice left off confessing, he started out of his dream, and says he, a mustering up a gloom, 'My erring sister, say three Paternosters and three Ave Marias kneeling, and eat no butter nor eggs next Wednesday, and pax vobiscum!' and off a went with his hands behind him, looking as if there was no such thing as me in the world."Teresa waited patiently, then calmly brought this discursive lady back to the point: "Would she be so kind as go with this good youth to the friar and speak for him?""Alack! how can I leave my shop? And what need? His door is aye open to writers, and painters, and scholars, and all such cattle.
Why, one day he would not receive the Duke d'Urbino, because a learned Greek was closeted with him, and the friar's head and his so close together over a dusty parchment just come in from Greece, as you could put one cowl over the pair.His wench Onesta told me.
She mostly looks in here for a chat when she goes an errand.""This is the man for thee, my friend," said Teresa.
"All you have to do," continued Lucretia, "is to go to his lodgings (my boy shall show them you), and tell Onesta you come from me, and you are a writer, and she will take you up to him.If you put a piece of silver in the wench's hand, 'twill do you no harm: that stands to reason.""I have silver," said Teresa warmly.
