“I will; but I must go at once.”
“You can easily go this evening. I know the official people here, and will get your passport and a seat for you in the mail. Go and pack.”
Instead of packing, I went to a milliner in the Lung ‘Arno.
“Madame,” I said, “I want a lady’s-maid’s outfit by five o’clock—dress, hat, green veil, everything. Money is no object. Can you do it?”
She agreed, and leaving a deposit, I went back to the hotel. Taking the score of the Ball Scene, I wrote across it:
“I have not time to finish, but if the Concert Society will perform the piece in the absence of the composer, I beg that Habeneck will double the flute passage at the last entry of the theme, and will write the following chords for full orchestra. That will be sufficient finale,” threw it into a valise with a few clothes, loaded my pistols, put into my pockets two little bottles, one of strychnine, the other of laudanum; then, conscience-clear with regard to my arsenal, spent the rest of the time raging up and down the streets of Florence like a mad dog.
At five, I went back to the shop to try on my clothes, which were satisfactory, and with the modiste’s “good wishes for the success of my little comedy,” I went back to say good-bye to Schlick, who looked upon me as a lost sheep returning to the fold!
A farewell glance at Cellini’s Perseus, and we were off.
League after league went by and I sat with clenched teeth. I could neither eat nor speak. About midnight the driver and I exchanged a few words about my pistols, he remarking that, if brigands attacked us, we must on no account attempt to defend ourselves, proceeded to take off the caps and hide them under the cushions.
“As you like,” I said, indifferently. “I have no wish to compromise you.”