Imaginary Conversations and Poems Part 8

_Petrarca._ Children! children! I will go into the house, and if their relatives, as I suppose, have approved of the marriage, I will endeavour to persuade the young lady that a fault like this, on the repentance of her lover, is not unpardonable. But first, is Amadeo a young man of loose habits?

_Boccaccio._ Less than our others: in fact, I never heard of any deviation, excepting this.

_Petrarca._ Come, then, with me.

_Boccaccio._ Wait a little.

_Petrarca._ I hope the modest t.i.ta, after a trial, will not be too severe with him.

_Boccaccio._ Severity is far from her nature; but, such is her purity and innocence, she shed many and bitter tears at his confession, and declared her unalterable determination of taking the veil among the nuns of Fiesole. Amadeo fell at her feet, and wept upon them. She pushed him from her gently, and told him she would still love him if he would follow her example, leave the world, and become a friar of San Marco. Amadeo was speechless; and, if he had not been so, he never would have made a promise he intended to violate. She retired from him. After a time he arose, less wounded than benumbed by the sharp uncovered stones in the garden-walk; and, as a man who fears to fall from a precipice goes farther from it than is necessary, so did Amadeo shun the quarter where the gate is, and, oppressed by his agony and despair, throw his arms across the sundial and rest his brow upon it, hot as it must have been on a cloudless day in August. When the evening was about to close, he was aroused by the cries of rooks overhead; they flew towards Florence, and beyond; he, too, went back into the city.

t.i.ta fell sick from her inquietude. Every morning ere sunrise did Amadeo return; but could hear only from the labourers in the field that Monna t.i.ta was ill, because she had promised to take the veil and had not taken it, knowing, as she must do, that the heavenly bridegroom is a bridegroom never to be trifled with, let the spouse be young and beautiful as she may be. Amadeo had often conversed with the peasant of the farm, who much pitied so worthy and loving a gentleman; and, finding him one evening fixing some thick and high stakes in the ground, offered to help him. After due thanks, 'It is time,' said the peasant, 'to rebuild the hovel and watch the grapes.'

'This is my house,' cried he. 'Could I never, in my stupidity, think about rebuilding it before? Bring me another mat or two: I will sleep here to-night, to-morrow night, every night, all autumn, all winter.'

He slept there, and was consoled at last by hearing that Monna t.i.ta was out of danger, and recovering from her illness by spiritual means.

His heart grew lighter day after day. Every evening did he observe the rooks, in the same order, pa.s.s along the same track in the heavens, just over San Marco; and it now occurred to him, after three weeks, indeed, that Monna t.i.ta had perhaps some strange idea, in choosing his monastery, not unconnected with the pa.s.sage of these birds. He grew calmer upon it, until he asked himself whether he might hope. In the midst of this half-meditation, half-dream, his whole frame was shaken by the voices, however low and gentle, of two monks, coming from the villa and approaching him. He would have concealed himself under this bank whereon we are standing; but they saw him, and called him by name. He now perceived that the younger of them was Guiberto Oddi, with whom he had been at school about six or seven years ago, and who admired him for his courage and frankness when he was almost a child.

'Do not let us mortify poor Amadeo,' said Guiberto to his companion.

'Return to the road: I will speak a few words to him, and engage him (I trust) to comply with reason and yield to necessity.' The elder monk, who saw he should have to climb the hill again, a.s.sented to the proposal, and went into the road. After the first embraces and few words, 'Amadeo! Amadeo!' said Guiberto, 'it was love that made me a friar; let anything else make you one.'

'Kind heart!' replied Amadeo. 'If death or religion, or hatred of me, deprives me of t.i.ta Monalda, I will die, where she commanded me, in the cowl. It is you who prepare her, then, to throw away her life and mine!'

'Hold! Amadeo!' said Guiberto, 'I officiate together with good Father Fontesecco, who invariably falls asleep amid our holy function.'

Now, Messer Francesco, I must inform you that Father Fontesecco has the heart of a flower. It feels nothing, it wants nothing; it is pure and simple, and full of its own little light. Innocent as a child, as an angel, nothing ever troubled him but how to devise what he should confess. A confession costs him more trouble to invent than any Giornata in my _Decameron_ cost me. He was once overheard to say on this occasion, 'G.o.d forgive me in His infinite mercy, for making it appear that I am a little worse than He has chosen I should be!' He is temperate; for he never drinks more than exactly half the wine and water set before him. In fact, he drinks the wine and leaves the water, saying: 'We have the same water up at San Domenico; we send it hither: it would be uncivil to take back our own gift, and still more to leave a suspicion that we thought other people's wine poor beverage.' Being afflicted by the gravel, the physician of his convent advised him, as he never was fond of wine, to leave it off entirely; on which he said, 'I know few things; but this I know well--in water there is often gravel, in wine never. It hath pleased G.o.d to afflict me, and even to go a little out of His way in order to do it, for the greater warning to other sinners. I will drink wine, brother Anselmini, and help His work.'

I have led you away from the younger monk.

'While Father Fontesecco is in the first stage of beat.i.tude, chanting through his nose the _Benedicite_, I will attempt,' said Guiberto, 'to comfort Monna t.i.ta.'

'Good, blessed Guiberto!' exclaimed Amadeo in a transport of grat.i.tude, at which Guiberto smiled with his usual grace and suavity.

'O Guiberto! Guiberto! my heart is breaking. Why should she want you to comfort her?--but--comfort her then!' and he covered his face within his hands.

'Remember,' said Guiberto placidly, 'her uncle is bedridden; her aunt never leaves him; the servants are old and sullen, and will stir for n.o.body. Finding her resolved, as they believe, to become a nun, they are little a.s.siduous in their services. Humour her, if none else does, Amadeo; let her fancy that you intend to be a friar; and, for the present, walk not on these grounds.'

'Are you true, or are you traitorous?' cried Amadeo, grasping his friend's hand most fiercely.

'Follow your own counsel, if you think mine insincere,' said the young friar, not withdrawing his hand, but placing the other on Amadeo's.

'Let me, however, advise you to conceal yourself; and I will direct Silvestrina to bring you such accounts of her mistress as may at least make you easy in regard to her health. Adieu.'

Amadeo was now rather tranquil; more than he had ever been, not only since the displeasure of Monna t.i.ta, but since the first sight of her.

Profuse at all times in his grat.i.tude to Silvestrina, whenever she brought him good news, news better than usual, he pressed her to his bosom. Silvestrina Pioppi is about fifteen, slender, fresh, intelligent, lively, good-humoured, sensitive; and any one but Amadeo might call her very pretty.

_Petrarca._ Ah, Giovanni! here I find your heart obtaining the mastery over your vivid and volatile imagination. Well have you said, the maiden being really pretty, any one but Amadeo might think her so. On the banks of the Sorga there are beautiful maids; the woods and the rocks have a thousand times repeated it. I heard but one echo; I heard but one name: I would have fled from them for ever at another.

_Boccaccio._ Francesco, do not beat your breast just now: wait a little. Monna t.i.ta would take the veil. The fatal certainty was announced to Amadeo by his true Guiberto, who had earnestly and repeatedly prayed her to consider the thing a few months longer.

'I will see her first! By all the saints of heaven I will see her!'

cried the desperate Amadeo, and ran into the house, toward the still apartment of his beloved. Fortunately Guiberto was neither less active nor less strong than he, and overtaking him at the moment, drew him into the room opposite. 'If you will be quiet and reasonable, there is yet a possibility left you,' said Guiberto in his ear, although perhaps he did not think it. 'But if you utter a voice or are seen by any one, you ruin the fame of her you love, and obstruct your own prospects for ever. It being known that you have not slept in Florence these several nights, it will be suspected by the malicious that you have slept in the villa with the connivance of Monna t.i.ta. Compose yourself; answer nothing; rest where you are: do not add a worse imprudence to a very bad one. I promise you my a.s.sistance, my speedy return, and best counsel: you shall be released at daybreak.' He ordered Silvestrina to supply the unfortunate youth with the cordials usually administered to the uncle, or with the rich old wine they were made of; and she performed the order with such prompt.i.tude and attention, that he was soon in some sort refreshed.

_Petrarca._ I pity him from my innermost heart, poor young man! Alas, we are none of us, by original sin, free from infirmities or from vices.

_Boccaccio._ If we could find a man exempt by nature from vices and infirmities, we should find one not worth knowing: he would also be void of tenderness and compa.s.sion. What allowances then could his best friends expect from him in their frailties? What help, consolation, and a.s.sistance in their misfortunes? We are in the midst of a workshop well stored with sharp instruments: we may do ill with many, unless we take heed; and good with all, if we will but learn how to employ them.

_Petrarca._ There is somewhat of reason in this. You strengthen me to proceed with you: I can bear the rest.

_Boccaccio._ Guiberto had taken leave of his friend, and had advanced a quarter of a mile, which (as you perceive) is nearly the whole way, on his return to the monastery, when he was overtaken by some peasants who were hastening homeward from Florence. The information he collected from them made him determine to retrace his steps. He entered the room again, and, from the intelligence he had just acquired, gave Amadeo the a.s.surance that Monna t.i.ta must delay her entrance into the convent; for that the abbess had that moment gone down the hill on her way toward Siena to venerate some holy relics, carrying with her three candles, each five feet long, to burn before them; which candles contained many particles of the myrrh presented at the Nativity of our Saviour by the Wise Men of the East. Amadeo breathed freely, and was persuaded by Guiberto to take another cup of old wine, and to eat with him some cold roast kid, which had been offered him for _merenda_. After the agitation of his mind a heavy sleep fell upon the lover, coming almost before Guiberto departed: so heavy indeed that Silvestrina was alarmed. It was her apartment; and she performed the honours of it as well as any lady in Florence could have done.

_Petrarca._ I easily believe it: the poor are more attentive than the rich, and the young are more compa.s.sionate than the old.

_Boccaccio._ O Francesco! what inconsistent creatures are we!

_Petrarca._ True, indeed! I now foresee the end. He might have done worse.

_Boccaccio._ I think so.

_Petrarca._ He almost deserved it.

_Boccaccio._ I think that too.

_Petrarca._ Wretched mortals! our pa.s.sions for ever lead us into this, or worse.

_Boccaccio._ Ay, truly; much worse generally.

_Petrarca._ The very twig on which the flowers grew lately scourges us to the bone in its maturity.

_Boccaccio._ Incredible will it be to you, and, by my faith, to me it was hardly credible. Certain, however, is it that Guiberto on his return by sunrise found Amadeo in the arms of sleep.

_Petrarca._ Not at all, not at all: the truest lover might suffer and act as he did.

_Boccaccio._ But, Francesco, there was another pair of arms about him, worth twenty such, divinity as he is. A loud burst of laughter from Guiberto did not arouse either of the parties; but Monna t.i.ta heard it, and rushed into the room, tearing her hair, and invoking the saints of heaven against the perfidy of man. She seized Silvestrina by that arm which appeared the most offending: the girl opened her eyes, turned on her face, rolled out of bed, and threw herself at the feet of her mistress, shedding tears, and wiping them away with the only piece of linen about her. Monna t.i.ta too shed tears. Amadeo still slept profoundly; a flush, almost of crimson, overspreading his cheeks. Monna t.i.ta led away, after some pause, poor Silvestrina, and made her confess the whole. She then wept more and more, and made the girl confess it again, and explain her confession. 'I cannot believe such wickedness,' she cried: 'he could not be so hardened. O sinful Silvestrina! how will you ever tell Father Doni one half, one quarter?

He never can absolve you.'

_Petrarca._ Giovanni, I am glad I did not enter the house; you were prudent in restraining me. I have no pity for the youth at all: never did one so deserve to lose a mistress.

_Boccaccio._ Say, rather, to gain a wife.

_Petrarca._ Absurdity! impossibility!

_Boccaccio._ He won her fairly; strangely, and on a strange table, as he played his game. Listen! that guitar is Monna t.i.ta's. Listen! what a fine voice (do not you think it?) is Amadeo's.

_Amadeo._ [_Singing._]

Oh, I have err'd!

I laid my hand upon the nest (t.i.ta, I sigh to sing the rest) Of the wrong bird.

_Petrarca._ She laughs too at it! Ah! Monna t.i.ta was made by nature to live on this side of Fiesole.