And the Frate will have given him his blessing?
Well, I know no more, said he of the hosen, only Guccio there met a footman going back to Careggi, and he told him the Frate had been sent for yesternight, after the Magnifico had confessed and had the holy sacraments.
Its likely enough the Frate will tell the people something about it in his sermon this morning; is it not true, Nanni? said Goro. What do you think?
But Nanni had already turned his back on Goro, and the group was rapidly thinning; some being stirred by the impulse to go and hear new things from the Frate (new things were the nectar of Florentines); others by the sense that it was time to attend to their private business. In this general movement, Bratti got close to the barber, and said
Nello, youve a ready tongue of your own, and are used to worming secrets out of people when youve once got them well lathered. I picked up a stranger this morning as I was coming in from Rovezzano, and I can spell him out no better than I can the letters on that scarf I bought from the French cavalier. It isnt my wits are at fault,I want no man to help me tell peas from paternosters,but when you come to foreign fashions, a fool may happen to know more than a wise man.
Ay, thou hast the wisdom of Midas, who could turn rags and rusty nails into gold, even as thou dost, said Nello, and he had also something of the ass about him. But where is thy bird of strange plumage?
Bratti was looking round, with an air of disappointment.
Diavolo! he said, with some vexation. The birds flown. Its true he was hungry, and I forgot him. But we shall find him in the Mercato, within scent of bread and savours, Ill answer for him.
Let us make the round of the Mercato, then, said Nello.
It isnt his feathers that puzzle me, continued Bratti, as they pushed their way together. There isnt much in the way of cut and cloth on this side the Holy Sepulchre that can puzzle a Florentine.
Or frighten him either, said Nello, after he has seen an Englander or a German.
No, no, said Bratti, cordially; one may never lose sight of the Cupola and yet know the world, I hope. Besides, this strangers clothes are good Italian merchandise, and the hose he wears were dyed in Ognissanti before ever they were dyed with salt water, as he says. But the riddle about him is
Here Brattis explanation was interrupted by some jostling as they reached one of the entrances of the piazza, and before he could resume it they had caught sight of the enigmatical object they were in search of.
Chapter Two.
Breakfast for Love
After Bratti had joined the knot of talkers, the young stranger, hopeless of learning what was the cause of the general agitation, and not much caring to know what was probably of little interest to any but born Florentines, soon became tired of waiting for Brattis escort; and chose to stroll round the piazza, looking out for some vendor of eatables who might happen to have less than the average curiosity about public news. But as if at the suggestion of a sudden thought, he thrust his hand into a purse or wallet that hung at his waist, and explored it again and again with a look of frustration.
Not an obolus, by Jupiter! he murmured, in a language which was not Tuscan or even Italian. I thought I had one poor piece left. I must get my breakfast for love, then!
He had not gone many steps farther before it seemed likely that he had found a quarter of the market where that medium of exchange might not be rejected.
In a corner, away from any group of talkers, two mules were standing, well adorned with red tassels and collars. One of them carried wooden milk-vessels, the other a pair of panniers filled with herbs and salads. Resting her elbow on the neck of the mule that carried the milk, there leaned a young girl, apparently not more than sixteen, with a red hood surrounding her face, which was all the more baby-like in its prettiness from the entire concealment of her hair. The poor child, perhaps, was weary after her labour in the morning twilight in preparation for her walk to market from some castello three or four miles off, for she seemed to have gone to sleep in that half-standing, half-leaning posture. Nevertheless, our stranger had no compunction in awaking her; but the means he chose were so gentle, that it seemed to the damsel in her dream as if a little sprig of thyme had touched her lips while she was stooping to gather the herbs. The dream was broken, however, for she opened her blue baby-eyes, and started up with astonishment and confusion to see the young stranger standing close before her. She heard him speaking to her in a voice which seemed so strange and soft, that even if she had been more collected she would have taken it for granted that he said something hopelessly unintelligible to her, and her first movement was to turn her head a little away, and lift up a corner of her green serge mantle as a screen. He repeated his words
Forgive me, pretty one, for awaking you. Im dying with hunger, and the scent of milk makes breakfast seem more desirable than ever.
He had chosen the words muoio di fame because he knew they would be familiar to her ears; and he had uttered them playfully, with the intonation of a mendicant. This time he was understood; the corner of the mantle was dropped, and in a few moments a large cup of fragrant milk was held out to him. He paid no further compliments before raising it to his lips, and while he was drinking, the little maiden found courage to look up at the long dark curls of this singular-voiced stranger, who had asked for food in the tones of a beggar, but who, though his clothes were much damaged, was unlike any beggar she had ever seen.
While this process of survey was going on, there was another current of feeling that carried her hand into a bag which hung by the side of the mule, and when the stranger set down his cup, he saw a large piece of bread held out towards him, and caught a glance of the blue eyes that seemed intended as an encouragement to him to take this additional gift.
But perhaps that is your own breakfast, he said. No, I have had enough without payment. A thousand thanks, my gentle one.
There was no rejoinder in words; but the piece of bread was pushed a little nearer to him, as if in impatience at his refusal; and as the long dark eyes of the stranger rested on the baby-face, it seemed to be gathering more and more courage to look up and meet them.
Ah, then, if I must take the bread, he said, laying his hand on it, I shall get bolder still, and beg for another kiss to make the bread sweeter.
His speech was getting wonderfully intelligible in spite of the strange voice, which had at first almost seemed a thing to make her cross herself. She blushed deeply, and lifted up a corner of her mantle to her mouth again. But just as the too presumptuous stranger was leaning forward, and had his fingers on the arm that held up the screening mantle, he was startled by a harsh voice close upon his ear.
Who are youwith a murrain to you? No honest buyer, Ill warrant, but a hanger-on of the dicersor something worse. Go! dance off, and find fitter company, or Ill give you a tune to a little quicker time than youll like.
The young stranger drew back and looked at the speaker with a glance provokingly free from alarm and deprecation, and his slight expression of saucy amusement broke into a broad beaming smile as he surveyed the figure of his threatenor. She was a stout but brawny woman, with a mans jerkin slipped over her green serge gamurra or gown, and the peaked hood of some departed mantle fastened round her sunburnt face, which, under all its coarseness and premature wrinkles, showed a half-sad, half-ludicrous maternal resemblance to the tender baby-face of the little maidenthe sort of resemblance which often seems a more croaking, shudder-creating prophecy than that of the deaths-head.
There was something irresistibly propitiating in that bright young smile, but Monna Ghita was not a woman to betray any weakness, and she went on speaking, apparently with heightened exasperation.
Yes, yes, you can grin as well as other monkeys in cap and jerkin. Youre a minstrel or a mountebank, Ill be sworn; you look for all the world as silly as a tumbler when hes been upside down and has got on his heels again. And what fools tricks hast thou been after, Tessa? she added, turning to her daughter, whose frightened face was more inviting to abuse. Giving away the milk and victuals, it seems; ay, ay, thoudst carry water in thy ears for any idle vagabond that didnt like to stoop for it, thou silly staring rabbit! Turn thy back, and lift the herbs out of the panniers, else Ill make thee say a few Aves without counting.
Nay, Madonna, said the stranger, with a pleading smile, dont be angry with your pretty Tessa for taking pity on a hungry traveller, who found himself unexpectedly without a quattrino. Your handsome face looks so well when it frowns, that I long to see it illuminated by a smile.
Va via! I know what paste you are made of. You may tickle me with that straw a good long while before I shall laugh, I can tell you. Get along, with a bad Easter! else Ill make a beauty-spot or two on that face of yours that shall spoil your kissing on this side Advent.
As Monna Ghita lifted her formidable talons by way of complying with the first and last requisite of eloquence, Bratti, who had come up a minute or two before, had been saying to his companion, What think you of this pretty parrot, Nello? Doesnt his tongue smack of Venice?
Nay, Bratti, said the barber in an undertone, thy wisdom has much of the ass in it, as I told thee just now; especially about the ears. This stranger is a Greek, else Im not the barber who has had the sole and exclusive shaving of the excellent Demetrio, and drawn more than one sorry tooth from his learned jaw. And this youth might be taken to have come straight from Olympusat least when he has had a touch of my razor.
Orsù! Monna Ghita! continued Nello, not sorry to see some sport; what has happened to cause such a thunderstorm? Has this young stranger been misbehaving himself?
By San Giovanni! said the cautious Bratti, who had not shaken off his original suspicions concerning the shabbily-clad possessor of jewels, he did right to run away from me, if he meant to get into mischief. I can swear that I found him under the Loggia de Cerchi, with a ring on his finger such as Ive seen worn by Bernardo Rucellai himself. Not another rusty nails worth do I know about him.
The fact is, said Nello, eyeing the stranger good-humouredly, this bello giovane has been a little too presumptuous in admiring the charms of Monna Ghita, and has attempted to kiss her while her daughters back is turned; for I observe that the pretty Tessa is too busy to look this way at present. Was it not so, Messer? Nello concluded, in a tone of courtesy.
You have divined the offence like a soothsayer, said the stranger, laughingly. Only that I had not the good fortune to find Monna Ghita here at first. I begged a cup of milk from her daughter, and had accepted this gift of bread, for which I was making a humble offering of gratitude, before I had the higher pleasure of being face to face with these riper charms which I was perhaps too bold in admiring.
Va, va! be off, every one of you, and stay in purgatory till I pay to get you out, will you? said Monna Ghita, fiercely, elbowing Nello, and leading forward her mule so as to compel the stranger to jump aside. Tessa, thou simpleton, bring forward thy mule a bit: the cart will be upon us.
As Tessa turned to take the mules bridle, she cast one timid glance at the stranger, who was now moving with Nello out of the way of an approaching market-cart; and the glance was just long enough to seize the beckoning movement of his hand, which indicated that he had been watching for this opportunity of an adieu.
Ebbene, said Bratti, raising his voice to speak across the cart; I leave you with Nello, young man, for theres no pushing my bag and basket any farther, and I have business at home. But youll remember our bargain, because if you found Tessa without me, it was not my fault. Nello will show you my shop in the Ferravecchi, and Ill not turn my back on you.
A thousand thanks, friend! said the stranger, laughing, and then turned away with Nello up the narrow street which led most directly to the Piazza del Duomo.
Chapter Three.
The Barbers Shop
To tell you the truth, said the young stranger to Nello, as they got a little clearer of the entangled vehicles and mules, I am not sorry to be handed over by that patron of mine to one who has a less barbarous accent, and a less enigmatical business. Is it a common thing among you Florentines for an itinerant trafficker in broken glass and rags to talk of a shop where he sells lutes and swords?
Common? No: our Bratti is not a common man. He has a theory, and lives up to it, which is more than I can say for any philosopher I have the honour of shaving, answered Nello, whose loquacity, like an over-full bottle, could never pour forth a small dose. Bratti means to extract the utmost possible amount of pleasure, that is to say, of hard bargaining, out of this life; winding it up with a bargain for the easiest possible passage through purgatory, by giving Holy Church his winnings when the game is over. He has had his will made to that effect on the cheapest terms a notary could be got for. But I have often said to him, Bratti, thy bargain is a limping one, and thou art on the lame side of it. Does it not make thee a little sad to look at the pictures of the Paradiso? Thou wilt never be able there to chaffer for rags and rusty nails: the saints and angels want neither pins nor tinder; and except with San Bartolommeo, who carries his skin about in an inconvenient manner, I see no chance of thy making a bargain for second-hand clothing. But God pardon me, added Nello, changing his tone, and crossing himself, this light talk ill beseems a morning when Lorenzo lies dead, and the Muses are tearing their hairalways a painful thought to a barber; and you yourself, Messere, are probably under a cloud, for when a man of your speech and presence takes up with so sorry a nights lodging, it argues some misfortune to have befallen him.
What Lorenzo is that whose death you speak of? said the stranger, appearing to have dwelt with too anxious an interest on this point to have noticed the indirect inquiry that followed it.
What Lorenzo? There is but one Lorenzo, I imagine, whose death could throw the Mercato into an uproar, set the lantern of the Duomo leaping in desperation, and cause the lions of the Republic to feel under an immediate necessity to devour one another. I mean Lorenzo de Medici, the Pericles of our Athensif I may make such a comparison in the ear of a Greek.
Why not? said the other, laughingly; for I doubt whether Athens, even in the days of Pericles, could have produced so learned a barber.
Yes, yes; I thought I could not be mistaken, said the rapid Nello, else I have shaved the venerable Demetrio Calcondila to little purpose; but pardon me, I am lost in wonder: your Italian is better than his, though he has been in Italy forty yearsbetter even than that of the accomplished Marullo, who may be said to have married the Italic Muse in more senses than one, since he has married our learned and lovely Alessandra Scala.