^\ THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY 823 Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. A bookf^ '^ ""^"^^ °'' ^" overdue y L161— 1141 ]lltbetiS?itie <2Etittton THE WRITINGS OP GEORGE ELIOT IN TWENTY-TWO VOLUMES VOLUME VIII LIBRARY Of THE UNIVERSITY Of ILLINOIS TITO AND BALDASSARRE [page S25) i THE WRITINGS OF GEOEGE ELIOT EOMOLA I BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY CZrt)e Ei))cr0ilie prcect CambriUse COPYRIGHT 1907 BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN AND COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVEO ga3 v.l INTRODUCTION GEORGE Eliot's fifth book is of special interest as involving an important departure in her literary work. From England she turned to Italy, from yester- day to the time of the Renaissance, from her own ex- perience and the reminiscences of her friends to history and research. While on a visit to Florence in May, 1860, she conceived the idea of writing an historical romance of Savonarola's Italy; but she had many initial misgivings y about it, and though, in writing to Major Blackwood ^ from Florence, she made obscure mention of a certain ^'ambitious project," it was not till the following August ^ that she announced her plan to her publishers in a letter j to Mr. John Blackwood. Then her thoughts on Savon- ^ arola and Italy were interrupted by the story of "Silas Z Mamer," which came to her suddenly and demanded [^ to be written. "Silas Mamer" was published in March, ^ 1861, and the 4th of May found her again in Florence, ^« where she remained till June 7. This time she had ^^ come for the express purpose of working up the material ' for a novel and absorbing tlie Italian atmosphere and % local color. She spent tlie morning hours in "looking at 'streets, buildings, and pictures, in hunting up old books at shops or stalls, or in reading at the Magliabecchian Library." Both at Florence and after her return to England she read and studied an almost incredible ^ number of books bearing on all phases of Italian life in [ V ] 7685t).3 INTRODUCTION the fifteenth century; for, as she wrote Mr. Frederic Harrison, she "took unspeakable pains in preparing to write *Romola.'" The work on "Romola " was a severe strain on George Eliot, not only from the immense amount of labor and study involved in it, but also from the confirmed ill health and despondency which attended her almost constantly. Mr. Cross says: "The writing of 'Romola* ploughed into her more than any of her other books. She told me she could put her finger on it as marking a well-defined transition in her life. In her own words, *I began it a young woman, — I finished it an old woman. ' " At last, after a long struggle with her demon of depression, she finished writing the plot in December, and then, on the first day of the year 1862, she got fairly started on the book itself. The diflBculties were by no means over, however, and on the last day of January she wrote in her journal, "It is impossible to me to believe that I have ever been in so unpromising and de- spairing a state as I now feel." It was not till May that she could see the way clear enough before her to make any publishing engagements, but some time between the 6th and the 23d of that month she arranged with Messrs. Smith, Elder & Company to bring the novel out in the Cornhill Magazine for the unprecedented price of £7000. Mr. Smith had offered ^£10,000 for the serial rights and the entire copyright at home and abroad. Mr. Oscar Browning says that he has heard on good authority that the sum eventually paid was £12,000, which covered the right of publication for four years. Apparently the Blackwoods had been unable to pay [ vi ] INTRODUCTION what Mr. Lewes thought "Romola" ought to bring. The change of publishers seems to have produced no ill feeling on either side and in the event proved only temporary. "Romola" began its appearance in the Comhill in July, 1862, and ran through fourteen numbers, ending with August, 1863. Considerable anxiety attended the regular production of monthly instalments for the press, but on the whole the author's health was better than usual for a good part of the time. On May 16, 1863, she "killed Tito in great excitement," and on June 9 she finished the book, — at 16, Blandford Square, where practically the entire book was written. The serial publication of "Romola" proved a some- what disappointing enterprise for the publishers of the Comhill Magazine^ and to compensate them in some measure George Eliot made them a present of her short story " Brother Jacob." The monthly instalments were warmly welcomed, nevertheless, by many discriminating readers, and the author wrote her friend Miss Hennell, February 2, 1863, when the story had run about half its course in the magazine, "I have had a great deal of pretty encouragement from immense big-wigs — some of them saying 'Romola' is the finest book they ever read." "Romola" is still considered by many critics George Eliot's greatest book. Others, while admitting the ex- traordinary power of the story, think the historical setting unsuccessful. This setting shows an erudition which is truly remarkable, especially considering the un- toward circumstances attending the preparation of the [ vii ] INTRODUCTION book, and yet, as Mr. Oscar Browning says, "the finish is so rare that the joints between erudition and imagina- tion cannot be discovered." In spite of all her study, however, George Eliot, being modem and English, was unable to depict the Italian life of the fifteenth century in a manner to deceive the elect. Italians and those best acquainted with Italy regard this side of the book as not an unqualified success. D. G. Rossetti thought the author had not caught the tone and color of Ital- ian life, and Dr. Biagi says that the heroine is English, not Italian. Yet similar criticisms would probably apply to all romances of this class, and "Romola," to quote Mr. Oscar Browning again, "remains perhaps the best of all historical novels, but a warning that no more should ever be attempted." Sir Leslie Stephen con- sidered it " a singularly powerful representation of an interesting spiritual history." The author herself, with characteristic earnestness and modesty, wrote, "My predominant feeling is, — not that I have achieved anything, but — that great, great facts have struggled to find a voice through me, and have only been able to speak brokenly." CONTENTS FROBM 1 BOOK I L THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER 15 IL A BREAKFAST FOR LOVE 35 m. THE BARBER'S SHOP 42 IV. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 59 V. THE BLIND SCHOLAR AND HIS DAUGHTER ... 65 TI. DAWNING HOPES 86 Vn. A LEARNED SQUABBLE 110 ynL A FACE IN THE CROWD 119 DC A MAN'S RANSOM 188 X. UNDER THE PLANE TREE 150 XL TITO'S DILEMMA 168 Xn. THE PRIZE IS NEARLY GRASPED 174 XUI. THE SHADOW OF NEMESIS 193 XIV. THE PEASANTS' FAIR 204 XV. THE DYING MESSAGE , 226 XVL A FLORENTINE JOKE 239 XVn. UNDER THE LOGGIA .....•..,,.... 259 XVIIL THE PORTRAIT 269 XIX. THE OLD MAN'S HOPE 279 XX. THE DAY OF THE BETROTHAL 285 [ « ] CONTENTS BOOK II XXI. FLORENCE EXPECTS A GUEST SOS XXII. THE PRISONERS 315 XXIII. AFTERTHOUGHTS 327 XXIV. INSIDE THE DUOMO 332 XXV. OUTSIDE THE DUOMO 342 XXVI. THE GARMENT OF FEAR 349 XXVn. THE. YOUNG WIFE 357 XXVni. THE PAINTED RECORD , 37S XXIX. A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH 381 XXX. THE AVENGER'S 8ECRET 892 XXXI. FRUIT IS SEED 406 XXXn. A REVELATION . 414 INSCRIPTION ON THE MANUSCRIPT To the Husband whose perfect love has been the best source of her insight and strength, this manuscript is given by his devoted wife, the writer. ROMOLA PROEM MORE than three centuries and a half ago, in the mid springtime of 1492, we are sure that the angel of the dawn, as he travelled with broad slow wing from the Lrevant to the Pillars of Hercules, and from the summits of the Caucasus across all the snowy Alpine ridges to the dark nakedness of the Western isles, saw nearly the same outline of firm land and unstable sea — saw the same great mountain shadows on the same valleys as he has seen to-day — saw olive mounts, and pine forests, and the broad plains green with young com or rain-freshened grass — saw the domes and spires of cities rising by the riversides or mingled with the sedge-like masts on the many-curved seacoast, in the same spots where they rise to-day j' And as the faint light of his course pierced into the dwellings of men, it fell, as now, on the rosy warmth of nestling children; on the haggard waking of sorrow and sick- ness ; on the hasty uprising of the hard-handed labourer; and on the late sleep of the night-student, who had been questioning the stars or the sages, or his own soul, for that hidden knowledge which would break through the barrier of man's brief life, and show its dark path, that seemed to bend no whither, to be an arc in an immeasurable circle of light and glory. IThe great river- courses which have shaped the lives of men have hardly [ 1 ] ROMOLA changed; and those other streams, the life-currents that ebb and flow in human hearts, pulsate to the same great needs, the same great loves and terrors. As our thought follows close in the slow wake of the dawn, we are impressed with /the broad sameness of the human I lot, which never alters in the main headings of its his- tory — hunger and labour, seed-time and harvest, love I and death. Even if, instead of following the dim daybreak, our imagination pauses on a certain historical spot and awaits the fuller morning, we may see a world-famous city, which has hardly changed its outline since the days of Columbus, seeming to stand as an almost un- violated symbol, amidst the flux of human things, to remind us that we still resemble the men of the past more than we differ from them, as the great mechanical principles on which those domes and towers were raised must make a likeness in human building that will be broader and deeper than all possible change. And doubtless, if the spirit of a Florentine citizen, whose eyes were closed for the last time while Columbus was still waiting and arguing for the three poor vessels with which he was to set sail from the port of Palos, could return from the shades and pause where our thought is pausing, he would believe that there must still be fellowship and understanding for him among the inheritors of his birthplace. Let us suppose that such a Shade has been permitted to revisit the glimpses of the golden morning, and is standing once more on the famous hill of San Miniato, which overlooks Florence from the south. [ 2 ] PROEM The Spirit is clothed in his habit as he lived: the folds of his well-lined black silk garment or lucco hang in grave unbroken lines from neck to ankle; his plain cloth cap, with its becchetto, or long hanging strip of drapery, to serve as a scarf in case of need, surmounts a penetrating face, not, perhaps, very handsome, but with a firm, well-cut mouth, kept distinctly human by a close-shaven lip and chin. It is a face charged with memories of a keen and various life passed below there on the banks of the gleaming river; and as he looks at the scene before him, the sense of familiarity is so much stronger than the perception of change, that he thinks it might be possible to descend once more amongst the streets, and take up that busy life where he left it. For it is not only the mountains and the westward-bending river that he recognizes; not only the dark sides of Mount Morello opposite to him, and the long valley of the Arno that seems to stretch its grey low-tufted luxuriance to the far-off ridges of Carrara; and the steep height of Fiesole, with its crown of monastic walls and cypresses ; and all the green and grey slopes sprinkled with villas which he can name as he looks at them. He sees other familiar objects much closer to his daily walks. For though he misses the seventy or more towers that once surmounted the walls, and encircled the city as with a regal diadem, his eyes will not dwell on that blank; they are drawn irresist- ibly to the unique tower springing, like a tall flower- stem drawn towards the sun, from the square turreted mass of the Old Palace in the very heart of the city — the tower that looks none the worse for the four [ 3 ] ROMOLA centuries that have passed since he used to walk under it. The great dome, too, greatest in the world, which, in his early boyhood, had been only a daring thought in the mind of a small, quick-eyed man — there it raises its large curves still, eclipsing the hills. And the well- known bell-towers — Giotto's, with its distant hint of rich colour, and the graceful-spired Badia, and the rest — he looked at them all from the shoulder of his nurse. "Surely," he thinks, "Florence can still ring her bells with the solemn hammer-sound that used to beat on the hearts of her citizens and strike out the fire there. And here, on the right, stands the long dark mass of Santa Croce, where we buried our famous dead, laying the laurel on their cold brows and fanning them with the breath of praise and of banners. But Santa Croce had no spire then: we Florentines were too full of great building projects to carry them all out in stone and marble; we had our frescoes and our shrines to pay for, not to speak of rapacious condottieri, bribed royalty, and purchased territories, and our facades and spires must needs wait. But what architect can the Frati Minori * have employed to build that spire for them? If it had been built in my day, Filippo Brunelleschi or Michelozzo would have devised some- thing of another fashion than that — something worthy to crown the church of Arnolfo." At this the Spirit, with a sigh, lets his eyes travel on to the city walls, and now he dwffis on the change there with wonder at these modem times. ^Vhy have five out of the eleven convenient gates been closed ? » The Franciscans. [ 4 ] PROEM And why, above all, should the towers have been levelled that were once a glory and defence ? Is the world be- come so peaceful, then, and do Florentines dwell in such harmony, that there are no longer conspiracies to bring ambitious exiles home again with armed bands at their back ? These are difficult questions : it is easier and pleasanter to recognize the old than to account for the new. And there flows Arno, with its bridges just where they used to be — the Ponte Vecchio, least like other bridges in the world, laden with the same quaint shops where our Spirit remembers lingering a little on his way perhaps to look at the progress of that great palace which Messer Luca Pitti had set a-building with huge stones got from the Hill of Bogoli ^ close be- hind, or perhaps to transact a little business with the cloth-dressers in Oltrarno. The exorbitant line of the Pitti roof is hidden from San Miniato; but the yearn- ing of the old Florentine is not to see Messer Luca's too ambitious palace which he built unto himself; it is to be down among those narrow streets and busy humming Piazze where he inherited the eager life of his fathers. Is not the anxious voting with black and white beans still going on down there ? Who are the Priori in these months, eating soberly-regulated official din- ners in the Palazzo Vecchio, with removes of tripe and boiled partridges, seasoned by practical jokes against the ill-fated butt among those potent signors ? Are not the significant banners still hung from the windows — still distributed with decent pomp under Orcagna's Loggia every two months ? * Now Buboli. [ - ] ROMOLA Life had its zest for the old Florentine when he, too, trod the marble steps and shared in those dig- nities. His politics had an area as wide as his trade, which stretched from Syria to Britain, but they had also the passionate intensity, and the detailed prac- tical interest, which could belong only to a narrow scene of corporate action; only to the members of a community shut in close by the hills and by walls of six miles' circuit, where men knew each other as they passed in the street, set their eyes every day on the me- morials of their commonwealth, and were conscious of having not simply the right to vote, but the chance of being voted for. He loved his honours and his gains, the business of his counting-house, of his guild, of the public council-chamber; he loved his enmities too, and fingered the white bean which was to keep a hated name out of the borsa with more complacency than if it had been a golden florin. He loved to strengthen his family by a good alliance, and went home with a triumphant light in his eyes after concluding a satis- factory marriage for his son or daughter under his favourite loggia in the evening cool; he loved his game at chess under that same loggia, and his biting jest, and even his coarse joke, as not beneath the dignity of a man eligible for the highest magistracy. He had gained an insight into all sorts of affairs at home and P abroad: he had been of the "Ten" who managed the ' 4 war department, of the " Eight " who attended to home discipline, of the Priori or^Signori who were the heads of the executive government; he had even risen to the supreme office of Gonfaloniere; he had made one in [ 6 ] PROEM embassies to the Pope and to the Venetians; and he had been commissary to the hired army of the Repub- lic, directing the inglorious bloodless battles in which no man died of brave breast wounds — virtuosi colpi — but only of casual falls and tramplings. And in this way he had learned to distrust men without bitterness; looking on life mainly as a game of skill, but not dead to traditions of heroism and clean-handed honour. For the human soul is hospitable, and will entertain conflicting sentiments and contradictory opinions with much impartiality. It was his pride, besides, that he was duly tinctured with the learning of his age, and judged not altogether with the vulgar, but in harmony with the ancients : he, too, in his prime, had been eager for the most correct manuscripts, and had paid many florins for antique vases and for disinterred busts of the ancient immortals — some, perhaps, truncis nari- bus, wanting as to the nose, but not the less authentic; and in his old age he had made haste to look at the first sheets of that fine Homer which was among the early glories of the Florentine press. But he had not, for all that, neglected to hang up a waxen image or double of himself under the protection of the Madonna An- nunziata, or to do penance for his sins in large gifts to the slirines of saints whose lives had not been modelled on the study of the classics; he had not even neglected making liberal bequests towards buildings for the Frati, against whom he had levelled many a jest. For the Unseen Powers were mighty. Who knew — who was sure — that there was any name given to them behind which there was no angry force to be ap- [ 7 ] \^^ ROMOLA peased, no intercessory pity to be won ? Were not gems medicinal, though they only pressed the finger? Were not all things charged with occult virtues ? Lucretius might be right — he was an ancient, and a great poet; Luigi Pulci, too, who was suspected of not believing anything from the roof upward (dal tetto in su), had very much the air of being right over the supper-table, when the wine and jests were circulating fast, though he was only a poet in the vulgar tongue. There were even learned personages who maintained that Aristotle, wisest of men (unless, indeed, Plato were wiser?), was a thoroughly irreligious philosopher; and a liberal scholar must entertain all speculations. But the nega- tives might, after all, prove false; nay, seemed mani- festly false; as the circling hour swept past him, and turned round with graver faces. For had not the world become Christian ? Had he not been baptized in Saa Giovanni, where the dome is awful with the symbols of coming judgement, and where the altar bears a cruci- fied Image disturbing to perfect complacency in one's ' self and the world ? Our resuscitated Spirit was not a pagan philosopher, nor a philosophizing pagan poet, L but a man of the fifteenth century, inheriting its strange ■^ web of belief and unbelief; of Epicurean levity and fetidiistic dread; of pedantic impossible ethics uttered by rote, and crude passions acted out with childish impulsiveness; of inclination towards a self-indulgent paganism, and inevitable subjection to that human conscience which, in the unrest of a new growth, was I filling the air with strange prophecies and presentiments. He had smiled, perhaps, and shaken his head dubi- [ 8 ] PROEM ously, as he heard simple folk talk of a Pope Angelico, who was to come by and by and bring in a new order of things, to purify the Church from simony, and the lives of the clergy from scandal — a state of affairs too different from what existed under Innocent the Eighth for a shrewd merchant and politician to regard the prospect as worthy of entering into his calculations. But he felt the evils of the time, nevertheless; for^e was a man of public spirit, and public spirit can never be wholly immoral, since its essence is care for a com- mon goodTl That very Quaresima or Lent of 1492 in which he died, still in his erect old age, he had listened in San Lorenzo, not without a mixture of satisfaction, to the preaching of jfa Dominican Friar, named Giro^ lamo Savonarola, who denounced with a rare bold- ness the worldliness and vicious habits of the clergy, and insisted on the duty of Christian men not to live for their own ease when wrong was triumphing in high places, and not to spend their wealth in outward pomp even in the churches, when their fellow citizens were suffering from want and sickness. The Prate carried [ his doctrine rather too far for elderly ears; yet it was a memorable thing to see a preacher move his audi- ence to such a pitch that the women even took off their ornaments, and delivered them up to be sold for the benefit of the needy. "He was a noteworthy man, that Prior of San Marco," thinks our Spirit; "somewhat arrogant and extreme, perhaps, especially in his denunciations of speedy vengeance. Ah, Iddio non paga il Sabaio * — ■ * " Grod docs not pay on a Saturday." [ 9 ] ROMOLA the wages of men's sins often linger in their payment, and I myself saw much established wickedness of long- standing prosperity. But a Frate Predicatore who wanted to move the people — how could he be moder- ate ? He might have been a little less defiant and curt, though, to Lorenzo de' Medici, whose family had been the very makers of San Marco: was that quarrel ever made up ? And our Lorenzo himself, with the dim outward eyes and the subtle inward vision, did he get over that illness at Careggi ? It was but a sad, uneasy- looking face that he would carry out of the world which had given him so much, and there were strong suspicions that his handsome son would play the part of Reho- boam. How has it all turned out? Which party is likely to be banished and have its houses sacked just now? Is there any successor of the incomparable Lorenzo, to whom the great Turk is so gracious as to send over presents of rare animals, rare relics, rare manuscripts, or fugitive enemies, suited to the tastes of a Christian Magnifico who is at once lettered and devout — and also slightly vindictive? And what fa- mous scholar is dictating the Latin letters of the Re- public — what fiery philosopher is lecturing on Dante in the Duomo, and going home to write bitter invect- ives against the father and mother of the bad critic who may have found fault with his classical spelling? Are our wiser heads leaning towards alliance with the Pope and the Regno, ^ or are they rather inclining their ears to the orators of France and of Milan ? * The name given to Naples by way of distinction among the Italian States. [ 10 ] , PROEM "There is knowledge of these things to be had in the streets below, on the beloved marmi in front of the churches, and under the sheltering Loggie, where surely our citizens have still their gossip and debates, their bitter and merry jests as of old. For are not the well-remembered buildings all there ? The changes have not been so great in those uncounted years. I will go down and hear — I will tread the familiar pavement, and hear once again the speech of Florentines." Go not down, good Spirit ! for the changes are great and the speech of the Florentines would sound as a riddle in your ears. Or, if you go, mingle with no poli- ticians on the marmi, or elsewhere; ask no questions about trade in the Calimara; confuse yourself with no inquiries into scholarship, official or monastic. Onlyl look at the sunlight and shadows on the grand walls/ \ that were built solidly, and have endured in their grand- eur; look at the faces of the little children, making another sunlight amid the shadows of age; look, if you will, into the churches, and hear the same chants, see the same images as of old — the images of willing an- guish for a great end, of beneficent love and ascending glory ; see upturned living faces, and lips moving to the old prayers for help. These things have not changed. The sunlight and shadows bring their old beauty and waken the heart-strains at morning, noon, and even- tide; the little children are still the symbol of the eternal marriage between love and duty; and men still yearn for the reign of peace and righteousness — still own that life to be the highest which is a conscious voluntary sacrifice. For the Pope Angelico is not come yet. {^ BOOK I CHAPTER I THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER THE Loggia de' Cerchi stood in the heart of old Flor- ence, within a labyrinth of narrow streets behind the Badia, now rarely threaded by the stranger, unless in a dubious search for a certain severely simple door- place bearing this inscription: QUI NACQUE IL DIVINO POETA To the ear of Dante, the same streets rang with the shout and clash of fierce battle between rival families; but in the fifteenth century, they were only noisy with the unhistorical quarrels and broad jests of wool-carders in the cloth-producing quarters of San Martino and Garbo. Under this loggia, in the early morning of the 9th V of April, 1492, two men had their eyes fixed on each other: one was stooping slightly, and looking downward with the scrutiny of curiosity; the other, lying on the pavement, was looking upward with the startled gaze of a suddenly-awakened dreamer. The standing figure was the first to speak. He was a grey-haired, broad-shouldered man, of the type which, in Tuscan phrase, is moulded with the fist and polished with the pickaxe; but the self-important gravity which had written itself out in the deep lines about his brow and mouth seemed intended to correct any contempt- uous inferences from the hasty workmanship which [ 15 ] ROMOLA Nature had bestowed on his exterior. He had deposited a large well-filled bag, made of skins, on the pavement, and before him hung a pedlar's basket, garnished partly with small woman's ware, such as thread and pins, and partly with fragments of glass, which had probably been taken in exchange for those commod- ities. "Young man," he said, pointing to a ring on the finger of the reclining figure, " when your chin has got a stiffer crop on it, you '11 know better than to take your nap in street-corners with a ring like that on your fore- finger. By the holy 'vangels! if it had been anybody but me standing over you two minutes ago — but Bratti Ferravecchi is not the man to steal. The cat could n't eat her mouse if she did n't catch it alive, and Bratti could n't relish gain if it had no taste of a bar- gain. Why, young man, one San Giovanni, three years ago, the Saint sent a dead body in my way — a blind beggar, with his cap well lined with pieces — but, if you '11 believe me, my stomach turned against the money I 'd never bargained for, till it came into my head that San Giovanni owed me the pieces for what I spend yearly at the festa: besides, I buried the body and paid for a mass — and so I saw it was a fair bargain. But how comes a young man like you, with the face of Messer San Michele, to be sleeping on a stone bed with the wind for a curtain ? " The deep guttural sounds of the speaker were scarcely intelligible to the newly-waked, bewildered listener, but he understood the action of pointing to his ring: he looked down at it, and, with a half-automatic obedience [ 16 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER to the warning, took it off and thrust it within his doub- let, rising at the same time and stretching himself. "Your tunic and hose match ill with that jewel, young man," said Bratti, deliberately. "Anybody might say the saints had sent you a dead body; but if you took the jewels, I hope you buried him — and you can afford a mass or two for him into the bargain." Something like a painful thrill appeared to dart through the frame of the listener, and arrest the careless stretching of his arms and chest. For an instant he turned on Bratti with a sharp frown; but he immedi- ately recovered an air of indifference, took off the red Levantine cap which hung like a great purse over his left ear, pushed back his long dark-brown curls, and, glancing at his dress, said, smilingly, — " You speak truth, friend : my garments are as weatheF- stained as an old sail, and they are not old either, only, like an old sail, they have had a sprinkling of the sea as well as the rain. The fact is, I 'm a stranger in Florence, and when I came in footsore last night I preferred fling- ing myself in a corner of this hospitable porch to hunt- ing any longer for a chance hostelry, which might turn out to be a nest of blood-suckers of more sorts than one." "A stranger, in good sooth," said Bratti, "for the words come all melting out of your throat, so that a Christian and a Florentine can't toll a hook from a hanger. But you're not from Genoa? More likely from Venice, by the cut of your clothes ? " " At this present moment," said the stranger, smiling, ** it is of less importance where I come from than where I can go to for a mouthful of breakfast. This city of [ 17 ] ROMOLA yours turns a grim look on me just here : can you show me the way to a more lively quarter, where I can get a meal and a lodging ? " " That I can," said Bratti, " and it is your good for- tune, young man, that I have happened to be walking in from Rovezzano this morning, and turned out of my way to Mercato Vecchio to say an Ave at the Badia. That, I say, is your good fortune. But it remains to be seen what is my profit in the matter. Nothing for no- thing, young man. If I show you the way to Mercato Vecchio, you'll swear by your patron saint to let me have the bidding for that stained suit of yours, when you set up a better — as doubtless you will." "Agreed, by San Niccolo," said the other, laughing. " But now let us set off to this said Mercato, for I feel the want of a better lining to this doublet of mine which you are coveting." "Coveting? Nay," said Bratti, heaving his bag on his back and setting out. But he broke off in his reply, and burst out in loud, harsh tones, not unlike the creak- ing and grating of a cart-wheel : " Chi abbaratta — bar- atta — bWatta — chi abbaratta cenci e vetri — Vratta ferri vecchi ? " ^ "It's worth but little," he said, presently, relapsing into his conversational tone, "Hose and altogether your clothes are worth but little. Still, if you 've a mind to set yourself up with a lute worth more than any new one, or with a sword that 's been worn by a Ridolfi, or with a paternoster of the best mode, I could let you have a great bargain, by making an allowance for the clothes ; 1 " Who wants to exchange rags, broken glass, or old iron ? " [ 18 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER for, simple as I stand here, I 've got the best-furnished shop in the Ferravecchi, and it 's close by the Mercato. The Virgin be praised ! it 's not a pumpkin I carry on my shoulders. But I don't stay caged in my shop all day: I 've got a wife and a raven to stay at home and mind the stock. Chi abbaratta — baratta — b'ratta ? . . And now, young man, where do you come from, and what 's your business in Florence ? " " I thought you liked nothing that came to you with- out a bargain," said the stranger. " You 've offered me nothing yet in exchange for that information." "Well, well; a Florentine does n't mind bidding a fair price for news: it stays the stomach a little, though he may win no hose by it. If I take you to the prettiest damsel in the Mercato to get a cup of milk — that will be a fair bargain." "Nay; I can find her myself, if she be really in the Mercato ; for pretty heads are apt to look forth of doors and windows. No, no. Besides, a sharp trader, like you, ought to know that he who bids for nuts and news may chance to find them hollow." "Ah! young man," said Bratti, with a sideway glance of some admiration, " you were not born of a Sunday — the salt-shops were open when you came into the world. You 're not a Hebrew, eh ? — come from Spain or Naples, eh ? Let me tell you the Frati Minori are try- ing to make Florence as hot as Spain for those dogs of hell that want to get all the profit of usury to themselves and leave none for Christians; and when you walk the Calimara with a piece of yellow cloth in your cap it will spoil your beauty more than a sword-cut across that [ 19 ] ROMOLA smooth olive cheek of yours. — Abbaratta, baratta — chi abbaratta ? — I tell you, young man, grey cloth is against yellow cloth; and there's as much grey cloth in Florence as would make a gown and cowl for the Duomo, and there 's not so much yellow cloth as would make hose for Saint Christopher — blessed be his name, and send me a sight of him this day ! — Abbaratta, bar- atta, bWatta — chi abbaratta ? " " All that is very amusing information you are parting with for nothing," said the stranger, rather scornfully; " but it happens not to concern me. I am no Hebrew." "See, now!" said Bratti, triumphantly; "I've made a good bargain with mere words. I 've made you tell me something, young man, though you're as hard to hold as a lamprey. San Giovanni be praised! a blind Florentine is a match for two one-eyed men. But here we are in the Mercato." They had now emerged from the narrow streets into a broad piazza, known to the elder Florentine writers as the Mercato Vecchio, or the Old Market. This piazza, though it had been the scene of a provision-market from time immemorial, and may, perhaps, says fond im.agina- tion, be the very spot to which the Fesulean ancestors of the Florentines descended from their high fastness to traffic with the rustic population of the valley, had not been shunned as a place of residence by Florentine wealth. In the early decades of the fifteenth century, which was now near its end the Medici and other power- ful families of the popolani grassi, or commercial nobil- ity, had their houses there, not perhaps finding their ears much offended by the loud roar of mingled dialects [ 20 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER or their eyes much shocked by the butchers' stalls, which the old poet Antonio Pucci accounts a chief glory, or dignita, of a market that, in this esteem, eclipsed the markets of all the earth beside. But the glory of mutton and veal (well attested to be the flesh of the right ani- mals; for were not the skins, with the heads attached, duly displayed, according to the decree of the Signoria ?) was just now wanting to the Mercato, the time of Lent not being yet over. The proud corporation, or " Art,'* of butchers was in abeyance, and it was the great har- vest-time of the market-gardeners, the cheesemongers, the vendors of macaroni, com, eggs, milk, and dried fruits: a change which was apt to make the women's voices predominant in the chorus. But in all seasons there was the experimental ringing of pots and pans, the chinking of the money-changers, the tempting offers of cheapness at the old-clothes stalls, the challenges of the dicers, the vaunting of new linens and woollens, of excellent woodenware, kettles, and frying-pans ; there was the choking of the narrow inlets with mules and carts, together with much uncomplimentary remon- strance in terms remarkably identical with the insults in use by the gentler sex of the present day, under the same imbrowning and heating circumstances. Ladies and gentlemen, who came to market, looked on at a larger amount of amateur fighting than could easily be seen in these later times, and beheld more revolting rags, beggary, and rascaldom, than modern householders could well picture to themselves. As the day wore on, the hideous drama of the gaming-house might be seen here by any chance open-air spectator — the quivering [ 21 ] ROMOLA eagerness, the blank despair, the sobs, the blasphemy, and the blows : — "E vedesi chi perde con gran soffi, E bestemmiar coUa mano alia mascella, E ricever e dar di molti ingoffi.** But still there was the relief of prettier sights: there were brood-rabbits, not less innocent and astonished than those of our own period; there were doves and singing-birds to be bought as presents for the children; there were even kittens for sale, and here and there a handsome gattuccio, or "Tom," with the highest char- acter for mousing ; and, better than all, tliere were young, softly-rounded cheeks and bright eyes, freshened by the start from the far-off castello* at daybreak, not to speak of older faces with the unfading charm of hon- est good will in them, such as are never quite wanting in scenes of human industry. And high on a pillar in the centre of the place — a venerable pillar, fetched from the Church of San Giovanni — stood Donatello's stone statue of Plenty, with a fountain near it, where, says old Pucci, the good wives of the market freshened their utensils, and their throats also; not because they were unable to buy wine, but because they wished to save the money for their husbands. But on this particular morning a sudden change seemed to have come over the face of the market. The dcschi, or stalls, were indeed partly dressed with their various commodities, and already there were purchas- ers assembled, on the alert to secure the finest, freshest vegetables and the most unexceptionable butter. But ' Walled village. [ 22 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER when Bratti and his companion entered the piazza, it appeared that some common preoccupation had for the moment distracted the attention both of buyers and sellers from their proper business. Most of the traders had turned their backs on their goods, and had joined the knots of talkers who were concentrating themselves at different points in the piazza. A vendor of old clothes, in the act of hanging out a pair of long hose, had dis- tractedly hung them round his neck in his eagerness to join the nearest group ; an oratorical cheesemonger, with a piece of cheese in one hand and a knife in the other, was incautiously making notes of his emphatic pauses on that excellent specimen of marzolino; and elderly market-women, with their egg-baskets in a dangerously oblique position, contributed a wailing fugue of invocation. In this general distraction, the Florentine boys, who were never wanting in any street scene, and were of an especially mischievous sort, — as who should say, very sour crabs indeed, — saw a great opportunity. Some made a rush at the nuts and dried figs, others preferred the farinaceous delicacies at the cooked-provision stalls — delicacies to which certain four-footed dogs also, who had learned to take kindly to Lenten fare, applied a discriminating nostril, and then disappeared with much rapidity under the nearest shelter; while the mules, not without some kicking and plunging among impeding baskets, were stretching their muzzles to- wards the aromatic green-meat. "Diavolo!" said Bratti, as he and his companion came, quite unnoticed, upon the noisy scene; "the [ 23 ] ROMOLA Mercato is gone as mad as if the most Holy Father had excommunicated us again. I must know what this is. But never fear: it seems a thousand years to you till you see the pretty Tessa, and get your cup of milk ; but keep hold of me, and I '11 hold to my bargain. Remem- ber, I'm to have the first bid for your suit, specially for the hose, which, with all their stains, are the best panno di garbo — as good as ruined, though, with mud and weath^-stains." "Ola, Monna Trecca," Bratti proceeded, turning towards an old woman on the outside of the nearest group, who for the moment had suspended her wail to listen, and shouting close in her ear: "Here are the mules upsetting all your bunches of parsley: is the world coming to an end, then ? " "Monna Trecca" (equivalent to "Dame Green- grocer") turned round at this unexpected trumpeting in her right ear, with a half-fierce, half-bewildered look, first at the speaker, then at her disarranged commod- ities, and then at the speaker again. " A bad Easter and a bad year to you, and may you die by the sword!" she burst out, rushing towards her stall, but directing this first volley of her wrath against Bratti, who, without heeding the malediction, quietly slipped into her place, within hearing of the narrative which had been absorbing her attention; making a sign at the same time to the younger stranger to keep near him. "I tell you I saw it myself," said a fat man, with a bunch of newly-purchased leeks in his hand. "I was in Santa Maria Novella, and saw it myself. The woman started up and threw out her arms, and cried out and [ 24 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER said she saw a big bull with fiery horns coming down on the church to crush it. I saw it myself." "Saw what, Goro?" said a man of slim figure, whose eye twinkled rather roguishly. He wore a close jerkin, a skull-cap lodged carelessly over his left ear as if it had fallen there by chance, a delicate linen apron tucked up on one side, and a razor stuck in his belt. " Saw the bull, or only the woman ? " "Why, the woman, to be sure; but it's all one, mi pare ; it does n't alter the meaning — va! " answered the fat man, with some contempt. "Meaning? no, no; that's clear enough," said sev- eral voices at once, and then followed a confusion of tongues, in which " Lights shooting over San Lorenzo for three nights together " — " Thunder in the clear starlight " — " Lantern of the Duomo struck with the sword of Saint Michael " — " Palle " » — « AH smashed " — " Lions tearing each other to pieces " — " Ah ! and they might well " — " Boto ^ caduto in Santissima Nunziataf* — "Died like the best of Christians " — " God will have pardoned him " — were often-repeated phrases which shot across each other like storm-driven hail- stones, each speaker feeling rather the necessity of utterance than of finding a listener. Perhaps the only silent members of the group were Bratti, who, as a new- comer, was busy in mentally piecing together the flying fragments of information; the man of the razor; and * Arms of the Meclici. * A votive image of Lorenzo, in wax, hunf; up in the Church of the Annunziata, supposed to have fallen at the time of his death. Boio is popular Tuscan for Voto, [ 25 ] ROMOLA a thin-lipped, eager-looking personage in spectacles, wearing a pen-and-ink case at his belt. " Ebbene, Nello," said Bratti, skirting the group till he was within hearing of the barber. "It appears the Magnifico is dead — rest his soul ! — and the price of wax will rise ? " "Even as you say," answered Nello; and then added with an air of extra gravity, but with marvellous rapid- ity, "and his waxen image in the Nunziata fell at the same moment, they say; or at some other time, when- ever it pleases the Frati Serviti, who know best. And several cows and women have had still-bom calves this Quaresima; and for the bad eggs that have been broken since the Carnival, nobody has counted them. Ah! a great man — a great politician — a greater poet than Dante. And yet the cupola did n't fall, only the lan- tern. Che miracolol" A sharp and lengthened "Pst!" was suddenly heard darting across the pelting storm of gutturals. It came from the pale man in spectacles, and had the effect he intended ; for the noise ceased, and all eyes in the group were fixed on him with a look of expectation. " 'T is well said you Florentines are blind," he began, in an incisive high voice. "It appears to me you need nothing but a diet of hay to make cattle of you. What! do you think the death of Lorenzo is the scourge God has prepared for Florence? Go! you are sparrows chattering praise over the dead hawk. TMiat! a man who was trying to slip a noose over every neck in the Republic that he might tighten it at his pleasure ! You like that; you like to have the election of your magis- [ 26 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER trates turned into closet-work, and no man to use the rights of a citizen unless he is a Medicean. That is what is meant by qualification now: netto di specchio^ no longer means that a man pays his dues to the Re- public : it means that he '11 wink at robbery of the people's money — at robbery of their daughters' dow- ries ; that he '11 play the chamberer and the philosopher by turns — listen to bawdy songs at the Carnival and cry 'Bellissimi!* — and listen to sacred lauds and cry again 'Bellissimi!' But this is what you love: you grumble and raise a riot over your quattrini hianchi" (white farthings) ; " but you take no notice when the public treasury has got a hole in the bottom for the gold to run into Lorenzo's drains. You like to pay for foot- men to walk before and behind one of your citizens, that he may be affable and condescending to you. ' See, what a tall Pisan we keep,' say you, 'to march before him with the drawn sword flashing in our eyes ! — and yet Lorenzo smiles at us. What goodness!' And you think the death of a man, who would soon have sad- dled and bridled you as the Sforza has saddled and bridled Milan — you think his death is the scourge God is warning you of by portents. I tell you there is another sort of scourge in the air." "Nay, nay, Ser Cioni, keep astride your politics, and never mount your prophecy; politics is the better horse," said Nello. "But if you talk of portents, what portent can be greater than a pious notary ? Balaam's ass was nothing to it." • The phrase usee! to express the absence of disqualification — i. «. the not being entered as a debtor in the public book {specchio). [ 27 ] ROMOLA **Ay, but a notary out of work, with his inkbottle dry," said another bystander, very much out at the elbows. "Better don a cowl at once, Ser Cioni; every- body will believe in your fasting." The notary turned and left the group with a look of indignant contempt, disclosing, as he did so, the sal- low but mild face of a short man who had been stand- ing behind him, and whose bent shoulders told of some sedentary occupation. "By San Giovanni, though," said the fat purchaser of leeks, with the air of a person rather shaken in his theories, " I am not sure there is n't some truth in what Ser Cioni says. For I know I have good reason to find fault with the quattrini hianchi myself. Grumble, did he say ? SuflFocation ! I should think we do grumble; and, let anybody say the word, I '11 turn out into the piazza with the readiest, sooner than have our money altered in our hands as if the magistracy were so many necro- mancers. And it's true Lorenzo might have hindered such work if he would — and for the bull with the flaming horns, why, as Ser Cioni says, there may be many meanings to it, for the matter of that; it may have more to do with the taxes than we think. For when God above sends a sign, it's not to be supposed he'd have only one meaning." "Spoken like an oracle, Goro!" said the barber. "Why, when we poor mortals can pack two or three meanings into one sentence, it were mere blasphemy not to believe that your miraculous bull means every- thing that any man in Florence likes it to mean." "Thou art pleased to scoff, Nello," said the sallow, [ 28 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER round-shouldered man, no longer eclipsed by the not- ary, " but it is not the less true that every revelation, whether by visions, dreams, portents, or the written word, has many meanings, which it is given to the illuminated only to unfold." "Assuredly," answered Nello. "Haven't I been to hear the Frate in San Lorenzo? But then, I've been to hear Fra Menico in the Duomo, too; and ac- cording to him, your Fra Girolamo, with his visions and interpretations, is running after the wind of Mongibello, and those who follow him are like to have the fate of certain swine that ran headlong into the sea — or some hotter place. With San Domenico roaring ^ vero in one year, and San Francisco screaming efalso in the other, what is a poor barber to do — unless he were illuminated ? But it 's plain our Goro here is beginning to be illuminated, for he already sees that the bull with the flaming horns means first himself, and secondly all the other aggrieved taxpayers of Florence, who are determined to gore the magistracy on the first opportunity." "Goro is a fool!" said a bass voice, with a note that dropped like the sound of a great bell in the midst of much tinkling. "Let him carry home his leeks and shake his flanks over his wool-beating. He'll mend matters more that way than by showing his tun-shaped body in the piazza, as if everybody might measure his grievances by the size of his paunch. The burdens that harm him most are his heavy carcass and his idleness." The speaker had joined the group only in time to [ 29 ] ROMOLA hear the conclusion of Nello's speech, but he was one of those figures for whom all the world instinct- ively makes way, as it would for a battering-ram. He was not much above the middle height, but the impression of enormous force which was conveyed by his capacious chest and brawny arms bared to the shoulder, was deepened by the keen sense and quiet resolution expressed in his glance and in every furrow of his cheek and brow. He had often been an uncon- scious model to Domenico Ghirlandajo, when that great painter was making the walls of the churches reflect the life of Florence, and translating pale aerial tradi- tions into the deep colour and strong lines of the faces he knew. The naturally dark tint of his skin was additionally bronzed by the same powdery deposit that gave a polished black surface to his leathern apron: a deposit which habit had probably made a necessary condition of perfect ease, for it was not washed of! with punctilious regularity. Goro turned his fat cheek and glassy eye on the frank speaker with a look of deprecation rather than of resentment. "Why, Niccolo," he said, in an injured tone, "I've heard you sing to another tune than that, often enough, when you've been laying down the law at San Gallo on a festa. I 've heard you say yourself that a man was n't a mill-wheel, to be on the grind, grind, as long as he was driven, and then stick in his place without stirring when the water was low. And you 're as fond of your vote as any man in Florence — ay, and I 've heard you say, if Lorenzo — " [ 30 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER "Yes, yes," said Niccolo. "Don't you be bring- ing up my speeches again after you've swallowed them, and handing them about as if they were none the worse. I vote and I speak when there's any use in it: if there's hot metal on the anvil, I lose no time before I strike ; but I don't spend good hours in tinkling on cold iron, or in standing on the pavement as thou dost, Goro, with snout upward, like a pig under an oak tree. And as for Lorenzo — dead and gone before his time — he was a man who had an eye for curious ironwork; and if anybody says he wanted to make himself a tyrant, I say, ' Sia; I '11 not deny which way the wind blows when every man can see the weathercock.* But that only means that Lorenzo was a crested hawk, and there are plenty of hawks without crests whose claws and beaks are as good for tearing. Though if there was any chance of a real reform, so that Mar- zocco * might shake his mane and roar again, instead of dipping his head to lick the feet of anybody that will mount and ride him, I 'd strike a good blow for it." And that reform is not far oflF, Niccolo," said the sallow, mild-faced man, seizing his opportunity like a missionary among the too light-minded heathens; "for a time of tribulation is coming, and the scourge is at hand. And when the Church is purged of cardi- nals and prelates who traflSc in her inheritance, that their hands may be full to pay the price of blood and to satisfy their own lusts, the State will be purged too — and Florence will be purged of men who love to see avarice and lechery under the red hat and the * The stone Lion, emblem of the Republic. [ 31 ] ROMOLA mitre because it gives them the screen of a more hell- ish vice than their own." "Ay, as Goro's broad body would be a screen for my narrow person in case of missiles," said Nello; "but if that excellent screen happened to fall I were stifled under it, surely enough. That is no bad image of thine, Nanni — or, rather, of the Frate's; for I fancy there is no room in the small cup of thy understanding for any other liquor than what he pours into it." "And it were well for thee, Nello," replied Nanni, "if thou couldst empty thyself of thy scoffs and thy jests, and take in that liquor too. The warning is ringing in the ears of all men: and it's no new story; for the Abbot Joachim prophesied of the coming time three hundred years ago, and now Fra Girolamo has got the message afresh. He has seen it in a vision, even as the prophets of old: he has seen the sword hanging from the sky." "Ay, and thou wilt see it thyself, Nanni, if thou wilt stare upward long enough," said Niccolo; "for that pitiable tailor's work of thine makes thy noddle so overhang thy legs, that thy eyeballs can see nought above the stitching-board but the roof of thy own skull." The honest tailor bore the jest without bitterness, bent on convincing his hearers of his doctrine rather than of his dignity. But Niccolo gave him no oppor- tunity for replying; for he turned away to the pursuit of his market business, probably considering further dialogue as a tinkling on cold iron. " Ebbene" said the man with the hose round his neck, who had lately migrated from another knot of talk- [ 32 ] THE SHIPWRECKED STRANGER ers, " they are safest who cross themselves and jest at no- body. Do you know that the Magnifico sent for the Frate at the last, and could n't die without his blessing ? " " Was it so — in truth ? " said several voices. " Yes, yes — God will have pardoned him." "He died like the best of Christians." "Never took his eyes from the holy crucifix." " 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." "It's 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, you've a ready tongue of your own, and are used to worming secrets out of people when you 've 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 is n't my wits are at fault, — I want no man to help me tell peas from paternosters, — but when you come [ 33 ] ROMOLA 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 disappoint- ment. "Diavolo!" he said, with some vexation. "The bird 's flown. It 's true he was hungry, and I forgot him. But we shall find him in the Mercato, within scent of bread and savours, I '11 answer for him." " Let us make the round of the Mercato, then," said Nello. " It is n't his feathers that puzzle me," continued Bratti, as they pushed their way together. "There is n't 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 stranger's clothes are good Italian mer- chandise, and the hose he wears were dyed in Ognis- santi before ever they were dyed with salt water, as he says. But the riddle about him is — " Here Bratti's 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 oi CHAPTER n A 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 bom Florentines, soon became tired of waiting for Bratti's 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 fi-ustration. "Not an obolus, by Jupiter!" he murmered, in a language which was not Tuscan or even Italian. "I thought I had one poor piece left. I must get my break- fast 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 comer, 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 [ 35 ] ROMOLA 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 morn- ing 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 compunc- tion 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 col- lected 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. I'm dying with hunger, and the scent of milk makes breakfast seem more desirable than ever." He had chosen the words "muoio difame" 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 [ 36 ] A BREAKFAST FOR LOVE no further compliments before raising it to his h'ps, and while he was drinking, the little maiden found courage to look up at the long dark curls of this sin- gular-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 encourage- ment to him to take this additional gift. "But perhaps that is your own breakfast," he said. "No, I have had enough without payment. A thou- sand 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 im- patience at his refusal ; and as the long dark eyes of the stranger rested on the baby-face, it seemed to be gath- ering 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 comer of her mantle to her mouth again. But just as the too presumptuous [ 37 ] ROMOLA stranger was leaning fon;\'ard, and had his fingers on the arm that held up the screening mantle, he was startled to hear a harsh voice close upon his ear. " Who are you — with a murrain to you ? No honest buyer, I '11 warrant, but a hanger-on of the dicers — or something worse. Go! dance off, and find fitter company, or I'll give you a tune to a little quicker time than you '11 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 threatener. She was a stout but brawny woman, with a man's jerkin slipped over her green serge gamurra or gown, and the peaked hood of some departed mantle fastened around her sun- burnt face, which, under all its coarseness and pre- mature wrinkles, showed a half-sad, half-ludicrous maternal resemblance to the tender baby-face of the little maiden — the sort of resemblance which often seems a more croaking, shudder-creating prophecy than that of the death's-head. There was something irresistibly propitiating in that bright young smile, but Monna Gliita 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. You're a minstrel or a mountebank, I '11 be sworn ; you look for all the world as silly as a tumbler when he 's been upside down and has got on his heels again. And what fool's tricks hast thou been [ 38 ] A BREAKFAST FOR LOVE 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, thou 'dst carry water in thy ears for any idle vagabond that did n't like to stoop for it, thou silly staring rabbit ! Turn thy back, and lift the herbs out of the panniers, else I '11 make thee say a few Aves without counting." "Nay, Madonna," said the stranger, with a plead- ing smile, "don't 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 I'll 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 ? Does n't his tongue smack of Venice ? " "Nay, Bratti," said the barber in an undertone, "thy wisdom has much of the ass in it, as 1 told thee just now; especially about the ears. This stranger is a Greek, else I 'm 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 . [ 39 ] ROMOLA this youth might be taken to have come straight from Olympus — at least when he has had a touch of my razor." " Orsu I Monna Ghita ! " continued Nello, not sorry to see some sport; "what has happened to cause such a thunderstorm ? Has this young stranger been misbe- having 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 I 've seen worn by Bernardo Rucellai himself. Not another rusty nail's worth do I know about him." "The fact is," said Nello, eyeing the stranger good- humouredly, "this hello giovane has been a little too presumptuous in admiring the charms of Monna Ghita, and has attempted to kiss her while her daughter's 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 INIonna Ghita here at first. I bogged a cup of milk from her daughter, and had ac- cepted this gift of bread, for which I was making a hum- ble 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." " Fa, va! be ofiF, every one of you, and stay in purga- [ 40 ] A BREAKFAST FOR LOVE tory 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 mule's 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. " Ebbeiie," said Bratti, raising his voice to speak across the cart; "I leave you with Nello, young man, for there 's no pushing my bag and basket any farther, and I have business at home. But you '11 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 I'll 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 in THE BARBER'S 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 w'i\h San Bar- [ 42 ] THE BARBER'S SHOP tolommeo, 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 hair — always a pain- ful thought to a barber; and you yourself, Mcssere, are probably under a cloud, for when a man of your speech and presence takes up with so sorry a night's 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 Ixjrenzo ? There is but one Lorenzo, I imag- ine, whose death could throw the Mercato into an up- roar, set the lantern of the Duomo leaping in despera- tion, 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 Athens — if I may make such a comparison in the ear of a Greek." " Why not ? " said the other, laughingly; " for I doubt whetlier 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 Dem- etrio 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 years — better even than that of the accomplished MaruUo, who may be said to have married the Italic Muse in more senses than one, since [ 43 ] ROMOLA he has married our learned and lovely Alessandra Scala." " It will lighten your wonder to know that I come of a Greek stock planted in Italian soil much longer than the mulberry-trees which have taken so kindly to it. I was born at Bari, and my — I mean, I was brought up by an Italian — and, in fact, I am a Greek, very much as your peaches are Persian. The Greek dye was sub- dued in me, I suppose, till I had been dipped over again by long abode and much travel in the land of gods and heroes. And, to confess something of my private affairs to you, this same Greek dye, with a few ancient gems I have about me, is the only fortune shipwreck has left me. But — when the towers fall, you know it is an ill business for the small nest-builders — the death of your Pericles makes me wish I had rather turned my steps towards Rome, as I should have done but for a fallacious Minerva in the shape of an Augustinian monk. 'At Rome,' he said, ' you will be lost in a crowd of hungry scholars; but at Florence, every corner is penetrated by the sunshine of Lorenzo's patronage: Florence is the best market in Italy for such commodities as yours. "Gnajfe, and so it will remain, I hope," said Nello. " Lorenzo was not the only patron and judge of learning in our city — heaven forbid! Because he was a large melon, every other Florentine is not a pumpkin, I sup- pose. Have we not Bernardo Rucellai, and Alamanno Rinuccini, and plenty more ? And if you want to be informed on such matters, I, Nello, am your man. It seems to me a thousand years till I can be of serv- ice to a bel erudiio like yourself. And, first of all, in [ 44 ] THE BARBER'S SHOP the matter of your hair. That beard, my fine young man, must be parted vn\}u were it as dear to you as the nymph of your dreams. Here at Florence, we love not to see a man with his nose projecting over a cascade of hair. But, remember, you will have passed the Rubicon, when once you have been shaven : if you repent, and let your beard grow after it has acr^uired stoutness by a struggle with the razor, your mouth will by and by show no longer what Messer Angelo calls the divine prerogative of lips, but will appear like a dark cavern fringed with horrent brambles." "That is a terrible prophecy," said the Greek, "es- pecially if your Florentine maidens are many of them as pretty as the little Tessa I stole a kiss from this morning." " Tessa ? she is a rough-handed contadina : you will rise into the favour of dames who bring no scent of the mule-stables with them. But to that end, you must not have the air of a sgherro, or a man of evil repute: you must look like a courtier, and a scholar of the more pol- bhed sort, such as our Pietro Crinito — like one who sins among well-bred, well-fed people, and not one who sucks down vile vitio di sotto in a chance tavern." " With all my heart," said the stranger. " If the Flor- entine Graces demand it, I am willing to give up this small matter of my beard, but — " "Yes, yes," interrupted Nello. "I know what you would say. It is the bella zazzera — the hyacinthine locks — you do not choose to part with; and there is no need. Just a little pruning — ecco ! — and vou will look not unUke the illustrious Prince Pico di Mirandola in his prime. And here we are in good time in the Piazzo [ 45 ] ROMOLA San Giovanni, and at the door of my shop. But you are pausing, I see : naturally, you want to look at our wonder of the world, our Duomo, our Santa Maria del Fiore. Well, well, a mere glance ; but I beseech you to leave a closer survey till you have been shaved : I am quivering with the inspiration of my art even to the very edge of my razor. Ah, then, come round this way." The mercurial l)arber seized the arm of the stranger, and led him to a point, on the soutli side of the piazza, from which he could see at once the huge dark shell of the cupola, the slender soaring grace of Giotto's campanile, and the quaint octagon of San Giovanni in front of them, showing its unique gates of storied bronze, which still bore the somewhat dimmed glory of their original gilding. The inlaid marbles were then fresher in their pink, and white, and purple, than they are now, when the winters of four centuries have turned their white to the rich ochre of well-mellowed meerschaum; the fa9ade of the cathedral did not stand ignominious in faded stucco, but had upon it the mag- nificent promise of the half-completed marble inlaying and statued niches, which Giotto had devised a hundred and fifty years before; and as the campanile in all its harmonious variety of colour and form led the eyes up- ward, high into the clear air of this April morning, it seemed a prophetic s}-mbol, telling that human life must somehow and sometime shape itself into accord with that pure aspiring beauty. But fliis was not the impression it appeared to pro- duce on the Greek. His eyes were irresistibly led up- ward, but as he stood with his arms folded and his curls [ 46 ] THE BARBER'S SHOP falling backward, there was a slight touch of scorn on his lip, and when his eves fell again they glanced round with a scanning coolness which was rather piquing to Nello's Florentine spirit. " Well, my fine young man," he said, with some im- patience, " you seem to make as little of our Cathedral as if you were the Angel Gabriel c-ome straight from Par- adise. I should like to know if you have ever seen finer work than our Giotto's tower, or any cupola that would not look a mere mushroom by the side of Brunelleschi's there, or any marbles finer or more cunningly wrought than these that our Signoria got from far-off quarries, at a price that would buy a dukedom. Come, now, have you ever seen anything to equal them ? " "If you asked me that question with a scimitar at my throat, after the Turkish fashion, or even your own razor," said the young Greek, smiling gaily, and moving on towards the gates of the Baptistery, "I dare say you might get a confession of the true faith from me. But with my throat free from peril, I venture to tell you that your buildings smack too much of Christian barbarism for my taste. I have a shuddering sense of what there is inside — hideous smoked Ma- donnas; fleshless saints in mosaic, staring down idiotic astonishment and rebuke from the apse; skin-clad skeletons hanging on crosses, or stuck all over with arrows, or stretched on gridirons; women and monks with heads aside in perpetual lamentation. I have seen enough of those wr\--necked favourites of heaven at Constantinople. But what is this bronze door rough with imagery ? These women's figures seem moulded [ 47 ] ROMOLA in a different spirit from those starved and staring saints I spoke of: these heads in high relief speak of a human mind within them, instead of looking like an index to perpetual spasms and colic." "Yes, yes," said Nello, with some triumph. "I think we shall show you by and by that our Florentine art is not in a state of barbarism. These gates, my fine young man, were moulded half a century ago, by our Lorenzo Ghiberti, when he counted hardly so many years as you do." "Ah, I remember," said the stranger, turning away, like one whose appetite for contemplation was soon satisfied. "I have heard that your Tuscan sculptors and painters have been studying the antique a little. But with monks for models, and the legends of mad hermits and martyrs for subjects, the vision of OljTn- pus itself would be of small use to them." " I understand," said Nello, with a significant shruor, as they walked along. "You are of the same mind as Michele Marullo, ay, and as Angelo Poliziano himself, in spite of his canonicate, when he relaxes himself a little in my shop after his lectures, and talks of the gods awakening from their long sleep and making the woods and streams vital once more. But he rails against the Roman scholars who want to make us all talk Latin again: 'My ears,' he says, 'are sufficiently flayed by the barbarisms of the learned, and if the vulgar are to talk Latin I would as soon have been in Florence the day they took to beating all the kettles in the city because the bells were not enough to stay the wrath of the saints.* Ah, Messer Greco, if you want to know the flavour of [ 48 ] THE BARBER'S SHOP our scholarship, you must frequent my shop: it is the focus of Florentine intellect, and in that sense the navel of the earth — as my great predecessor, Burchiello, said of his shop, on the more frivolous pretension that his street of the Calimara was the centre of our city. And here we are at the sign of the * Apollo and the Razor.* Apollo, you see, is bestowing the razor on the Tripto- lemus of our craft, the first reaper of beards, the sub- lime Anonimo, whose mysterious identity is indicated by a shadowy hand." "I see thou hast had custom already, Sandro," con- tinued Nello, addressing a solemn-looking dark-eyed youth, who made way for them on the threshold. " And now make all clear for this signor to sit down. And prepare the finest-scented lather, for he has a learned and a handsome chin." "You have a pleasant little adytum there, I see," said the stranger, looking through a latticed screen which divided the shop from a room of about equal size, opening into a still smaller walled enclosure, where a few bays and laurels surrounded a stone Hermes. " I suppose your conclave of erudite meets there ? " "There, and not less in my shop," said Nello, lead- ing the way into the inner room, in which were some benches, a table, with one book in manuscript and one j)rint('d in capitals lying open uj)on it, a lute, a few oil- sketches, and a model or two of hands and ancient masks. " For my shop is a no less fitting haunt of the Muses, as you will acknowledge when you feel the sudden illumination of understanding and the serene vigour of inspiration that will come to you with a clear [ 49 ] ROMOLA chin. Ah ! you can make that lute discourse, I perceive. I, too, have some skill that way, though the serenata is useless, when daylight discloses a visage like mine, looking no fresher than an apple that has stood the winter. But look at that sketch: it is a fancy of Piero di Cosimo's, a strange freakish painter, who says he saw it by long looking at a mouldy wall." The sketch Nello pointed to represented three masks — one a drunken, laughing SatjT, another a sorrowing Magdalen, and the third, which lay between them, the rigid, cold face of a Stoic: the masks rested obliquely on the lap of a little child, whose cherub features rose above them with something of the supernal promise in the gaze which painters had by that time learned to give to the Divine Infant. "A symbolical picture, I see," said the young Greek, touching the lute while he spoke, so as to bring out a slight musical murmur. "The child, perhaps, is the Golden Age, wanting neither worship nor philosophy. And the Golden Age can always come back as long as men are born in the form of babies, and don't come into the world in the cassock or furred mantle. Or, the child may mean the wise philosophy of Epicurus, re- moved alike from the gross, the sad, and the severe." "Ah! everybody has his own interpretation for that picture," said Nello; "and if you ask Piero himself what he meant by it, lie says his pictures are an ap- pendix which Messer Domeneddio has been pleased to make to the universe, and if any man is in doubt what they mean, he had better inquire of Holy Church. He has been asked to paint a picture after the sketch, but [ 50 ] THE BARBER'S SHOP he puts his fingers to his ears and shakes his head at that; the fancy is past, he says — a strange animal, our Piero. But now all is ready for your initiation into the mysteries of the razor." " Mysteries they may well be called," continued the barber, with rising spirits at the prospect of a long monologue, as he imprisoned the young Greek in the shroud-like shaving-cloth; "mysteries of Minerva and the Graces. I get the flower of men's thoughts, because I seize them in the first moment after shaving. (Ah! you wince a little at the lather : it tickles the out- lying limits of the nose, I admit.) And that is what makes the peculiar fitness of a barber's shop to be- come a resort of wit and learning. For, look now at a druggist's shop: there is a dull conclave at the sign of ' The Moor,' that pretends to rival mine ; but what sort of inspiration, I beseech you, can be got from the scent of nauseous vegetable decoctions ? — to say no- thing of the fact that you no sooner pass the threshold than you see a doctor of physic, like a gigantic spider disguised in fur and scarlet, waiting for his prey; or even see him blocking up the doorway seated on a bony hack, inspecting saliva. (Your chin a little elevated, if it please you ; contemplate that angel who is blowing the trumpet at you from the ceiling. I had it painted expressly for the regulation of ray clients' chins.) Be- sides, your druggist, who herborizes and decocts, is a man of prejudices: he has poisoned people according to a system, and is obliged to stand u{) for his system to justify the consequences. Now a barber can be dis- passionate; the only thing he necessarily stands by is [ 51 ] ROMOLA the razor, always providing he is not an author. That was the flaw in my great predecessor Burchiello: he was a poet, and had consequently a prejudice about his own poetry. I have escaped that; I saw very early that authorship is a narrowing business, in conflict with the liberal art of the razor, which demands an impartial affection for all men's chins. Ecco, Messer! the out- line of your chin and lip is as clear as a maiden's; and now fix your mind on a knotty question — ask your- self whether you are bound to spell Virgil with an i or an e, and say if you do not feel an unwonted clearness on the point. Only, if you decide for the i, keep it to yourself till your fortune is made, for the e hath the stronger following in Florence. Ah ! I think I see a gleam of still quicker wit in your eye. I have it on the authority of our young Niccolo Macchiavelli, himself keen enough to discern il pelo nelV novo, as we say, and a great lover of delicate shaving, though his beard is hardly of two years' date, that no sooner do the hairs begin to push themselves than he perceives a certain grossness of apprehension creeping over him." "Suppose you let me look at myself," said the stranger, laughing. " The happy effect on my intellect is perhaps obstructed by a little doubt as to the effect on my appearance." "Behold yourself in this mirror, then; it is a Vene- tian mirror from Murano, the true nosce tclpsum, as I have named it, compared with which the finest mirror of steel or silver is mere darkness. See now, how by diligent shaving, the nether region of your face may preserve its human outline, instead of presenting no [ 52 ] THE BARBER'S SHOP distinction from the physiogonomy of a bearded owl or a Barbary ape. I have seen men whose beards have so invaded their cheeks that one might have pitied them as the victims of a sad, brutahzing chastisement befitting our Dante's Inferno, if they had not seemed to strut with a strange triumph in their extravagant hairiness." "It seems to me," said the Greek, still looking into the mirror, "that you have taken away some of my capital with your razor — I mean a year or two of age, which might have won me more ready credit for my learning. Under the inspection of a patron whose vision had grown somewhat dim, I shall have a perilous re- semblance to a maiden of eighteen in the disguise of hose and jerkin." "Not at all," said Nello, proceeding to clip the too extravagant curls; "your proportions are not those of a maiden. And for your age, I myself remember see- ing Angelo Poliziano begin his lectures on the Latin language when he had a younger beard than yours; and between ourselves, his juvenile ugliness was not less signal than his precocious scholarship. Whereas you — no, no, your age is not against you ; but between ourselves, let me hint to you that your being a Greek, though it be only an Apulian Greek, is not in your favour. Certain of our scholars hold that your Greek learning is but a wayside degenerate plant until it has been trans- planted into Italian brains, and that now there is such a plentiful crop of the superior quality, your native teachers are mere propagators of degeneracy. Ecco! your curls are now of the right proportion to neck and [ 53 ] ROMOLA shoulders; rise, Messer, and I will free you from the encumbrance of this cloth. Gnajfe/ I almost advise you to retain the faded jerkin and hose a little longer; they give you the air of a fallen prince." "But the question is," said the young Greek, lean- ing against the high back of a chair, and returning Nello's contemplative admiration with a look of inquiring anxiety ; " the question is, in what quarter I am to carry my princely air, so as to rise from the said fallen con- dition. If your Florentine patrons of learning share this scholarly hostility to the Greeks, I see not how your city can be a hospitable refuge for me, as you seemed to say just now." "Plan piano — not so fast," said Nello, sticking his tlmmbs into his belt and nodding to Sandro to restore order. "I will not conceal from you that there is a prejudice against Greeks among us; and though, as a barber unsnared by authorship, I share no pre- judices, I must admit that the Greeks are not always such pretty youngsters as yourself: their erudition is often of an uncombed, unmannerly aspect, and en- crusted with a barbarous utterance of Italian, that makes their converse hardly more euphonious than that of a Tedesco in a state of vinous loquacity. And then, again, excuse me — we Florentines have liberal ideas about speech, and consider that an instrument which can flatter and promise so cleverly as the tongue must have been partly made for those purposes; and that truth is a riddle for eyes and wit to discover, which it were a mere spoiling of sport for the tongue to betray. Still we have our limits beyond which we call dissimu- [ 54 ] THE BARBER'S SHOP lation treachery. But it is said of the Greeks that tlieir honesty begins at what is the hanging-point with us, and that since the old Furies went to sleep, your Christian Greek is of so easy a conscience that he would make a stepping-stone of his father's corpse." The flush on the stranger's face indicated what seemed so natural a movement of resentment, that the good-natured Nello hastened to atone for his want of reticence. "Be not offended, bel giovane; I am but repeating what I hear in my shop; as you may perceive, my elo- quence is simply the cream which I skim off my clients' talk. Heaven forbid I should fetter my impartiality by entertaining an opinion. And for that same scholarly objection to the Greeks," added Nello, in a more mock- ing tone, and with a significant grimace, "the fact is, you are heretics, Messer; jealousy has nothing to do with it: if you would just change your opinion about leaven, and alter your Doxology a little, our Italian scholars would think it a thousand years till they could give up their chairs to you. Yes, yes; it is chiefly religious scruple, and partly also the authority of a great classic — Juvenal, is it not ? He, I gather, had his bile as much stirred by the swarm of Greeks as our Messer Angelo, who is fond of quoting some passage about their incorrigible impudence — audacia perdita." "Pooh! the passage is a compliment," said the Greek, who had recovered himself, and seemed wise enough to take the matter gaily — 'Inpcnium velox, audacia perdita, senno Promptus, et Isaco torrentior.' [ 55 ] ROMOLA A rapid intellect and ready eloquence may carry off a little impudence." "Assuredly," said Nello. "And since, as I see, you know Latin literature as well as Greek, you will not fall into the mistake of Giovanni Argiropulo, who ran full tilt against Cicero, and pronounced him all but a pumpkin-head. For, let me give you one bit of advice, young man, — trust a barber who has shaved the best chins, and kept his eyes and ears open for twenty years, — oil your tongue well when you talk of the ancient Latin writers, and give it an extra dip when you talk of the modern. A wise Greek may win favour among us; witness our excellent Demetrio, who is loved by many, and not hated immoderately even by the most renowned scholars." "I discern the wisdom of your advice so clearly,** said the Greek, with the bright smile which was con- tinually lighting up the fine form and colour of his young face, " that I will ask you for a little more. \\Tio now, for example, would be the most likely patron for me? Is there a son of Lorenzo who inherits his tastes? Or is there any other wealthy Florentine specially addicted to purchasing antique gems ? I have a fine Cleopatra cut in sardonyx, and one or two other intaglios and cameos, both curious and beauti- ful, worthy of being added to the cabinet of a prince. Happily, I had taken the precaution of fastening them within the lining of my doublet before I set out on my voyage. Moreover, I should like to raise a small sum for my present need on tliis ring of mine " [here he took out the ring and replaced it on his [ 56 ] THE BARBER'S SHOP finger), **if you could recommend me to any honest traflBcker." "Let us see, let us see," said Nello, perusing the floor, and walking up and down the length of his shop. "This is no time to apply to Piero de' Medici, though he has the will to make such purchases if he could always spare the money; but I think it is another sort of Cleopatra that he covets most. . . . Yes, yes, I have it. What you want is a man of wealth, and influence, and scholarly tastes — not one of your learned porcu- pines, bristling all over with critical tests, but one whose Greek and Latin are of a comfortable laxity. And that man is Bartolommeo Scala, the Secretary of our Republic. He came to Florence as a poor adventurer himself — a miller's son — a ' branny monster,' as he has been nicknamed by our honey-lipped Poliziano, who agrees with him as well as my teeth agree with lemon-juice. And, by the by, that may be a reason why the Secretary may be the more ready to do a good turn to a strange scholar. For, between you and me, bel giovan£y — trust a barber who has shaved the best scholars, — friendliness is much such a steed as Ser Benghi's: it will hardly show much alacrity unless it has got the thistle of hatred under its tail. However, the secretary is a man who'll keep his word to you, even to the halving of a fennel-seed; and he is not unlikely to buy some of your gems." " But how am I to get at this great man ? " said the Greek, rather impatiently. "I was coming to that," said Nello. "Just now everybody of any public importance will be full of [ 57 ] ROMOLA TdaWKBO*s death, and a stranger may find it diflkoil to get anr notice. But in the laean time, I ooiild take you to a man who. if he ha? a mind, can hc^ yoa to a chance cf a favourable interriew with Scala sooner than anybody eke in Florence — •worth seeing for his 0"vm sake. too. to say nothing of his collections, or of his daughter Romola. who is as fair as the Roreaitine IDy beiore it got quarrelsome aod turned red." **But if this father of the beautiful Romola makes collections, why should he not like to buy some of mv gems himself ? " NeBo shrugged his shoulders. "For two good rea- sons — want of sight to look at the gems, and want of money to pay for them. Our old Bardo de' Bardi is so blind that he can see no more of his daughter ihaa, as he says, a gfanmering of scMD^hing bi^it when Ae comes voy near him : doubtles her golden hair, wfaicfa, as Messer Luigi Puld says of his Menfiaiia's, * raygia come gfeUa per sereno.* Ah I here come some clients of mine, and I should n't wonder if one of them cooW jour turn about that ring." CHAPTER IV FIRST BIPRESSIOXS GOOD-DAT, Messer Domenico," said Xello to the foremost of the two visitors who entered the shop, while he nodded silently to the other. "You come as opportunely as cheese on macaroni. Ah! you are in haste — wish to be shaved without delay — ecco ! And this is a morning when every one has grave matter on his mind. Florence orphaned — the very pivot of Italy snatched away — heaven itself at a loss what to do next. Oime.' Well, well: the sun is nevertheless travelling on towards dinner-time again ; and, as I was saying, you come like cheese ready grated. For this young stranger was wishing for an honourable trader who would advance him a sum on a certain ring