The Church of the Holy Name was filled as full as it could hold, and
those outside were grumbling at their hard case in being cut off from so
much solemnity or jollification, according to their opinion of the
ceremony inside. But it came to pass that the lot of these outsiders
proved, from the point of view of those that like to assist, if only as
spectators, at the making of history, to be more fortunate than that of
those who had gained admittance to the church. For suddenly, from far
away, there came a shouting, meaningless at first, but momentarily
growing in meaning, till at last men shrieked into their neighbors' ears
that the supposed lost and slaughtered of the youth of Florence were not
lost nor slaughtered at all, but were alive and well, and were riding in
triumph through the city gates, having inflicted innumerable woes upon
the devils of Arezzo.
Such tidings were unbelievable, were not to be believed, were not
believed, were believed--all in the winking of an eyelid. The insolent
chivalry of the Company of Death were, as it seemed, all, or almost
all, to hand with Messer Guido Cavalcanti at their head. With them came
the news that the Aretines had been beaten in battle, and that the ever
illustrious _condottiere_, Griffo of the Claw, was flying his
Dragon-flag in the very face of the scared burghers of Arezzo, huddled
behind their naughty walls. Here was a mighty change in the fortunes of
Florence, its full significance understood by few then, and not by many
until long after that day.
At first the news seemed incredible to those that had not ocular proof
of its verity, but these soon were convinced. Was not Messer Guido
Cavalcanti riding through the city gates, whither all were now running,
and was not Messer Dante by his side, and your humble servant who writes
these lines, and many another youth well known to the Florentine
populace? So that, in a little while, the space before the church, that
had been so thickly crowded, was as empty as my palm, and Messer Guido
and his fellowship of the Company of Death were like to be unhorsed and
swallowed up in a wave of popular enthusiasm. Messer Guido restrained
the kindly intentions of the crowd with some difficulty, and thereafter
harangued them at some length, and with eloquence worthy of a Roman
patrician of old days. He told them how the fortunes of Florence were
again, as ever before, triumphant, how the devils of Arezzo had been
taught a lesson they would not be likely to forget in a hurry, and,
furthermore, how much Florence owed to the splendid assistance given to
her arms by Messer Griffo of the Dragon-flag and his Free Companions.
Now, at every pause in Messer Guido's speech, the air was shattered with
deafening huzzas, some echo of which would, one must surely think, find
its way into that solemn and sombre church where the fairest lady in
Florence was being given to Florence's greatest knave. How great a knave
none of us realized at that moment, for we, of course, were ignorant of
the intention of Messer Simone with regard to us, and the narrow escape
we had from being annihilated by those very Free Companions whose
praises Messer Guido was so generously voicing. Even while Guido was
speaking, those of us behind and about him heard many things hurriedly
from the citizens that pressed against us. One of them was the news of
our own supposed slaughter at the hands of the people of Arezzo, and the
other--more terrible, indeed, to one of us--was that on that very
instant Madonna Beatrice was being wedded to Simone dei Bardi in the
Church of the Holy Name.
It was just when Messer Guido had made an end of speaking that the ill
news came to Dante's ears, and when he heard it he gave a great cry and
urged his horse forward through the throng, crying to the people in a
terrible voice to let him pass, and there was something in his set face
and angry eyes, and in the manner of his command, which made the people
yield to them, and so he rode his way, slowly, indeed, because of the
press, but as quickly as he could, and still calling, like one
possessed, for free passage. When Guido knew what had happened, for the
tale was soon told to him, he foresaw what trouble might come to pass,
and he resolved to stand by Dante and lend him a hand in case of need.
So he called upon his friends to keep with him, and we all followed hard
upon Dante's heels, and, as rapidly as was possible for the crush in the
streets, we made our way to the open space in front of the church, the
open space that now lay so vacant under the noontide sun. There Messer
Dante flung himself from his horse and made to run at full speed toward
the church door, and we, too, dismounting hurriedly, made after him, for
we feared greatly what he might do or say in his anger, even within the
precincts of the sacred place. Messer Guido, though I fear he had no
great regard for the sanctity of such shrines and temples, made haste to
restrain him, for he knew very well how it would hurt his friend in the
eyes of devout Florentines if he were to cause any scandal in a church.
But before Dante could reach the blessed house its great doors yawned
open, and many of those that were inside came tumbling out and down the
steps to form a hedge on either side, and through the human lane thus
made the wedding party came out into the fierce sunlight. They stood for
a moment on the threshold, very plain for all to see. Messer Simone
showed very large and gorgeous, shining in some golden stuff like the
gilded image of a giant, his great face flushed with triumph. Hard by
him stood Messer Folco, looking very anxious and haughty and stern,
grimly conscious, I suppose, that he had played the Roman father very
properly, and yet, as I take it, not without some tragic aches and
pinches at his heart for the consequences of his deed. Between him and
Simone stood his doomed daughter, Beatrice, resting a little on the arm
of her physician, Messer Tommaso Severo, and pale with such a paleness
as I never yet saw upon the face of a woman, living or dead. It was, as
who should say, a kind of frozen paleness, the pallor of a marble
statue, the outward sign of a sorrow so great that time could never
soften its sting. Behind these three stood the friends and kinsfolk of
Simone and the friends and kinsfolk of Messer Folco, and made a brave
background for the tragedy. So, for a moment, the three stood looking
straight into the square before them, and then it was plain that they
suddenly became conscious of untoward events, and Messer Simone forgot
his triumph, and Messer Folco his pride, and Madonna Beatrice her
misery, when they saw Dante standing all armored in front of them, and
behind him the triumphant faces of the Company of Death. Then Madonna
Beatrice gave a great cry and ran quickly forward to Dante, and Dante
caught her in his arms.
"They told me you were dead," she sobbed, and then lay very quiet in his
embrace, whispering to him what had been related to her.
Messer Simone gave a great bellow of rage, and bent his head like an
angry bull, and he wrenched his sword from the hand of the serving-man
that carried it, and plucked its blade from its house. Very plainly he
must have seen that his damnable plan had miscarried, and that in some
unfathomable manner the men he had devoted to destruction, and of all
these men most notably Dante, had escaped the fate he had arranged for
them. Messer Dante, still holding Beatrice in his arms, had his sword
drawn, and stood very steadfastly awaiting Simone's onslaught, looking,
as it seemed to me, like some young saint from a Book of Hours abiding
the attack of some pagan monster. But before Simone could move, Messer
Guido and the rest of us had swarmed up beside and about Dante, and all
our victorious swords were bare, and we seemed a menacing body enough to
any that chose to oppose us. So those of Messer Simone's friends
immediately about him flung themselves upon him, persuading him by
words and restraining him with difficulty by force, for he dragged them
hither and thither, clinging to him as a wounded bear plays with a
huddle of dogs.
Then Messer Folco, very gray in the face and stately of bearing,
advanced in front of Messer Simone, where he struggled with his friends,
and addressed us. "Sirs," he said, gravely, "what has come to the city
of Florence, so famous for its decorum and its dignity, when the
marriage of one of her citizens is thus rudely interrupted by roysterers
in arms?"