7
‘There was another such case; just such another, only this man had a wife too, but he was so infatuated with the other, he would have it she loved him the better of the two.’
‘Yes; and the other was a miniature-painter,’ broke in corroboratively a kind of charwoman who had come in to tidy the place while we were talking.
‘Yes, she was a miniature-painter,’ continued the narrator; ‘but it’s I who am telling the story.’
‘Padre Filippo said, “How much do you allow her?”’
‘Twenty pauls a day,’ broke in the charwoman.
‘Forty scudi a month,’ said the narrator positively.
‘There’s not much difference,’ interposed I, fearing I should lose the story between them. ‘Twenty pauls a day is sixty scudi a month. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Well, then, Padre Filippo said,’ continued the narrator, ‘“Now just to try whether she cares so much about you, you give her thirty scudi a month.”’
‘Fifteen pauls a day,’ interposed the charwoman.
‘Thirty scudi a month!’ reiterated the narrator.
‘Never mind,’ said I. ‘Whatever it was, it was to be reduced.’
‘Yes; that’s it,’ pursued the narrator; ‘and he made him go on and on diminishing it. She took it very well at first, suspecting he was trying her, and thinking he would make it up to her afterwards.’
‘But when she found he didn’t,’ said the charwoman,
‘She turned him out,’ said the narrator, putting her down with a frown. ‘He was so infatuated, however, that even now he was not satisfied, and said that in stopping the money he had been unfair, and she was in the right. So good Philip, who was patience itself, said, “Go and pay her up, and we’ll try her another way. You go and kill a dog, and put it in a bag, and go to her with your hands covered with blood, and let her think you have got into trouble for hurting some one, and ask her to hide you.” So the man went and killed a dog.’
‘It was a cat he killed, because he couldn’t find a dog handy,’ said the irrepressible charwoman.
‘Nonsense; of course it was a dog,’ asseverated the narrator. ‘But when he went to her house and pretended to be in a bad way, and asked her to have pity on him, she only answered: “Not I, indeed! I’m not going to get myself into a scrape[6] with the law, for him!” and drove him away. And he came and told Padre Filippo.
‘“Now,” said good Philip, “go to your wife whom you have abandoned so long. Go to her with the same story, and see what she does for you.”
‘The man took the dead dog in the bag, and ran to the lodging where his wife was, and knocked stealthily at her door. “It is I,” he whispered.
‘“Come in, husband,” exclaimed the wife, throwing open the door.
‘“Stop! hush! take care! don’t touch me!” said the husband. “There’s blood upon me. Save me! hide me! put me somewhere!”
‘“It’s so long since you’ve been here, no one will think of coming after you here, so you will be quite safe. Sit down and be composed,” said the wife soothingly; and she poured him out wine to drink.
‘But the police were nearer than he fancied. He had thought to finish up the affair in five minutes by explaining all to her. But “the other,” not satisfied with refusing him shelter, had gone and set the police on his track; and here they were after him.
‘The wife’s quick ears heard them on the stairs. “Get into this cupboard quick, and leave me to manage them,” she said.
‘The husband safely stowed away, she opened the door without hesitation, as if she had nothing to hide. “How can you think he is here?” she said when they asked for him. “Ask any of the neighbours how long it is since he has been here.”
‘“Oh, three years,” “four years,” “five,” said various voices of people who had come round at hearing the police arrive.
‘“You see you must have come to the wrong place,” she said. And the husband smiled as he heard her standing out for him so bravely.
‘Her determined manner had satisfied the police; and they were just turning to go when one of them saw tell-tale spots of blood on the floor that had dropped from the dead dog. The track was followed to the cupboard, and the man dragged to prison. It was in vain that he assured them he had killed nothing but a dog.
‘“Ha! that will be the faithful dog of the murdered man,” said the police. “We shan’t be long before we find the body of the man himself!”
‘The wife was distracted at finding her husband, who had but so lately come back to her, was to be taken away again; and he could discern how real was her distress.
‘“Go to Padre Filippo, and he will set all right,” said the husband as they carried him away. The woman went to Padre Filippo, and he explained all, amid the laughter of the Court. But the husband went back to his wife, and never left her any more after that.’
[The story was told me another time with this variation, that the penitent was a peasant[7] who came up to Rome with his ass, and tied it to a pillar set up for the purpose outside the church, while he went in to confess. The first time he went, St. Philip told him he must have nothing more to do with the occasion of sin, who in this case was a spinner instead of a miniature-painter. The peasant was so angry with the advice that he stayed away from confession a whole year. At the end of the year he came back. St. Philip received him with open arms, saying he had been praying ever since for his return to a better mind. The sum that formed the sliding-scale that was to open his eyes to the mercenary nature of the affection he had so much prized, was calculated at a lower rate than the other; but the rest of the story was the same.]