Guido nodded his head gravely. He did not like Simone any better than I
did, but he had a way of accepting facts more readily. "Simone mostly
wins his wish. See how far he has gone already. He has so worked it that
her father has brought his lovely daughter from the hills to the city.
Old Folco favors him, and small wonder, Messer Simone being the power he
is in Florence. As for this triumph of Folco's daughter through our
streets, I take it to be rather Simone's displaying of his prize, that
all men may envy him his marvel."
For my part, I protested very honestly and from the core of my heart.
"If I were old Portinari, I would rather rot in exile than have Simone
dei Bardi for my son-in-law."
Guido tapped me on the shoulder. "That is," he said, "because you have
the heart of an amorist that would let none be lover save himself."
I laughed in his face, and gave him the lie courteously. "No, because I
have the heart of a poet, and the full-favored brute vexes my gorge."
Guido still seemed to mock me. "As you will," he said. "Shall we go to
the Signory and stare at the pageant?"
I shook my head. I was sorry to deny Messer Guido in anything or to
deprive myself of the comfort of his company. But I had come to that
place to keep a tryst. "I cannot," I said. "I wait here for young Dante
of the Alighieri."
Now Messer Dante and I had been friends for some years past, friends not
indeed because we were both Florentines, but perhaps I should say in
spite of the fact that we were both Florentines. For in those days, as
in the days before them, and in the days that since have come to pass,
while every Florentine loved Florence with all the passion of an old
Roman for the city of Romulus, Florentine very often loved Florentine as
day loves night, eld youth, health sickness, poverty riches, or any
other pair of opposites you please. But I was never much of a
politician, I thank my stars, and though a good enough Guelph to pass
muster in a crowd, and a good enough Red to cry "Haro!" upon the Yellows
if need were, I bothered my head very little about such brawls so long
as there were songs to sing, vintages to sip, and pretty girls to kiss.
In Messer Dante I found one of my own age, or, perhaps, a little less
that was in those days scarcely more pricked by the itch political than
I myself was, and for a while he and I had been jolly companions in the
merry pleasant ways of youth. But of late days this Dante, that was ever
a wayward fellow, had suddenly turned away from sports and joys, and
devoted himself with an unwholesome fervor to study, and seemed, as it
were, lost to me in the Humanities. Which is why I had made a tryst with
him that day to upbraid him and bring him to a better sense, and so I
could not go with Messer Guido as he was good enough to wish.
Guido looked at me with a sudden interest. "You are much his friend, are
you not?" he questioned.
Now I had for long been mightily taken with Messer Dante, and, indeed,
for a while I seemed to see the world as he saw it, and to speak as he
would have spoken. I am of that mood now, after all these years--at
least, in a measure. But just then I was in a reaction and vexed, and I
voiced my vexation swiftly. "Why, I thought so once. But I wash my hands
of him. We were as one in the playthings of youth. Now he dances no more
to my piping. He will not laugh when my wit tickles him. He is no
longer for drinking or kissing, for dicing or fighting. He has a cold
fit of wisdom come upon him, and rests ever with Messer Brunetto, the
high dry-as-dust, reading of Virgilius, Tullius, and other ancients, as
if learning were better than living. I have made a tryst with him here
to upbraid him; but I doubt he will keep it."
"I know little of him," Guido said, thoughtfully. "I should like to know
more, to know much."
Now, it was a great compliment to any youth in our city that Messer
Guido should desire his acquaintance, yet I feared in this case he had
made a rash choice.
"Lord," I said, "he is hard to know. Yet, laugh if you will, but I think
there are great things in him."
Messer Guido did not laugh. Rather he looked grave. "Pray God there be,"
he said. "For indeed the age lacks greatness."
"So every man has said in every age," I protested. "But our Dante
baffles me. He changes his moods as a chameleon changes his coat, and
feeds each mood so full. Yesteryear he was mad for the open air, and the
games, and the joy of life. To-day he is mewed in the cloisters of
knowledge. He is damned in his Latin. I will wait no more for him."
So I spoke in my impatience, and made as if to go; but Guido caught me
by the sleeve and restrained me, saying, "Why, here, as I think, he
comes, by way of the bridge."
Now, even as he spoke, I looked where he looked, and whom should I see
coming toward us on the shady side of the bridge than this very lad we
were talking of, and with him Messer Brunetto, the great scholar. So I
went on with a new anger in my voice, "It is he, indeed, in Messer
Brunetto's escort," and then I plucked Guido by the arm and pulled him
round about, so that we were out of ken of the coming pair. "Let us
stand off one side till he be alone."
So I urged and so I persuaded, and Messer Guido and I, that were curious
to have speech with Dante, but had no desire to have speech with the
elder, slipped apart and hid ourselves in the shadow of the pillars of
the Arcade that faced the Portinari palace.