Part 28 (1/2)
”It is well, Francesco,” said Nello. ”Florence has a few thicker skulls that may do to bombard Pisa with; there will still be the finer spirits left at home to do the thinking and the shaving. And as for our Piero here, if he makes such a point of valour, let him carry his biggest brush for a weapon and his palette for a s.h.i.+eld, and challenge the widest-mouthed Swiss he can see in the Prato to a single combat.”
”_Va_, Nello,” growled Piero, ”thy tongue runs on as usual, like a mill when the Arno's full--whether there's grist or not.”
”Excellent grist, I tell thee. For it would be as reasonable to expect a grizzled painter like thee to be fond of getting a javelin inside thee as to expect a man whose wits have been sharpened on the cla.s.sics to like having his handsome face clawed by a wild beast.”
”There you go, supposing you'll get people to put their legs into a sack because you call it a pair of hosen,” said Piero. ”Who said anything about a wild beast, or about an unarmed man rus.h.i.+ng on battle? Fighting is a trade, and it's not my trade. I should be a fool to run after danger, but I could face it if it came to me.”
”How is it you're so afraid of the thunder, then, my Piero?” said Nello, determined to chase down the accuser. ”You ought to be able to understand why one man is shaken by a thing that seems a trifle to others--you who hide yourself with the rats as soon as a storm comes on.”
”That is because I have a particular sensibility to loud sounds; it has nothing to do with my courage or my conscience.”
”Well, and t.i.to Melema may have a peculiar sensibility to being laid hold of unexpectedly by prisoners who have run away from French soldiers. Men are born with antipathies; I myself can't abide the smell of mint. t.i.to was born with an antipathy to old prisoners who stumble and clutch. Ecco!”
There was a general laugh at Nello's defence, and it was clear that Piero's disinclination towards t.i.to was not shared by the company. The painter, with his undecipherable grimace, took the tow from his sca.r.s.ella and stuffed his ears in indignant contempt, while Nello went on triumphantly--
”No, my Piero, I can't afford to have my _bel erudito_ decried; and Florence can't afford it either, with her scholars moulting off her at the early age of forty. Our Phoenix Pico just gone straight to Paradise, as the Frate has informed us; and the incomparable Poliziano, not two months since, gone to--well, well, let us hope he is not gone to the eminent scholars in the Malebolge.”
”By the way,” said Francesco Cei, ”have you heard that Camilla Rucellai has outdone the Frate in her prophecies? She prophesied two years ago that Pico would die in the time of lilies. He has died in November.
'Not at all the time of lilies,' said the scorners. 'Go to!' says Camilla; 'it is the lilies of France I meant, and it seems to me they are close enough under your nostrils.' I say, 'Euge, Camilla!' If the Frate can prove that any one of his visions has been as well fulfilled, I'll declare myself a Piagnone to-morrow.”
”You are something too flippant about the Frate, Francesco,” said Pietro Cennini, the scholarly. ”We are all indebted to him in these weeks for preaching peace and quietness, and the laying aside of party quarrels.
They are men of small discernment who would be glad to see the people slipping the Frate's leash just now. And if the Most Christian King is obstinate about the treaty to-day, and will not sign what is fair and honourable to Florence, Fra Girolamo is the man we must trust in to bring him to reason.”
”You speak truth, Messer Pietro,” said Nello; ”the Frate is one of the firmest nails Florence has to hang on--at least, that is the opinion of the most respectable chins I have the honour of shaving. But young Messer Niccolo was saying here the other morning--and doubtless Francesco means the same thing--there is as wonderful a power of stretching in the meaning of visions as in Dido's bull's hide. It seems to me a dream may mean whatever comes after it. As our Franco Sacchetti says, a woman dreams over-night of a serpent biting her, breaks a drinking-cup the next day, and cries out, 'Look you, I thought something would happen--it's plain now what the serpent meant.'”
”But the Frate's visions are not of that sort,” said Cronaca. ”He not only says what will happen--that the Church will be scourged and renovated, and the heathens converted--he says it shall happen quickly.
He is no slippery pretender who provides loopholes for himself, he is--”
”What is this? what is this?” exclaimed Nello, jumping off the board, and putting his head out at the door. ”Here are people streaming into the piazza, and shouting. Something must have happened in the Via Larga. Aha!” he burst forth with delighted astonishment, stepping out laughing and waving his cap.
All the rest of the company hastened to the door. News from the Via Larga was just what they had been waiting for. But if the news had come into the piazza, they were not a little surprised at the form of its advent. Carried above the shoulders of the people, on a bench apparently s.n.a.t.c.hed up in the street, sat t.i.to Melema, in smiling amus.e.m.e.nt at the compulsion he was under. His cap had slipped off his head, and hung by the becchetto which was wound loosely round his neck; and as he saw the group at Nello's door he lifted up his fingers in beckoning recognition. The next minute he had leaped from the bench on to a cart filled with bales, that stood in the broad s.p.a.ce between the Baptistery and the steps of the Duomo, while the people swarmed round him with the noisy eagerness of poultry expecting to be fed. But there was silence when he began to speak in his clear mellow voice--
”Citizens of Florence! I have no warrant to tell the news except your will. But the news is good, and will harm no man in the telling. The Most Christian King is signing a treaty that is honourable to Florence.
But you owe it to one of your citizens, who spoke a word worthy of the ancient Romans--you owe it to Piero Capponi!”
Immediately there was a roar of voices. ”Capponi! Capponi! What said our Piero?” ”Ah! he wouldn't stand being sent from Herod to Pilate!”
”We knew Piero!” ”_Orsu_! Tell us, what did he say?”
When the roar of insistance had subsided a little, t.i.to began again--
”The Most Christian King demanded a little too much--was obstinate--said at last, 'I shall order my trumpets to sound.' Then, Florentine citizens! your Piero Capponi, speaking with the voice of a free city, said, 'If you sound your trumpets, we will ring our bells!' He s.n.a.t.c.hed the copy of the dishonouring conditions from the hands of the secretary, tore it in pieces, and turned to leave the royal presence.”
Again there were loud shouts--and again impatient demands for more.
”Then, Florentines, the high majesty of France felt, perhaps for the first time, all the majesty of a free city. And the Most Christian King himself hastened from his place to call Piero Capponi back. The great spirit of your Florentine city did its work by a great word, without need of the great actions that lay ready behind it. And the King has consented to sign the treaty, which preserves the honour, as well as the safety, of Florence. The banner of France will float over every Florentine galley in sign of amity and common privilege, but above that banner will be written the word 'Liberty!'
”That is all the news I have to tell; is it not enough?--since it is for the glory of every one of you, citizens of Florence, that you have a fellow-citizen who knows how to speak your will.”
As the shouts rose again, t.i.to looked round with inward amus.e.m.e.nt at the various crowd, each of whom was elated with the notion that Piero Capponi had somehow represented him--that he was the mind of which Capponi was the mouthpiece. He enjoyed the humour of the incident, which had suddenly transformed him, an alien, and a friend of the Medici, into an orator who tickled the ears of the people blatant for some unknown good which they called liberty. He felt quite glad that he had been laid hold of and hurried along by the crowd as he was coming out of the palace in the Via Larga with a commission to the Signoria.