With the death of Simone the immediate brawl came to an end. In the
first fury after his fall certain of his followers began to cry for
vengeance, but the cry was not caught up with any fulness of assurance,
and soon faded into silence. The men of the Yellows, so suddenly made
leaderless and faced by enemies so many and determined, could not fuse
into concerted action. They hesitated, looked foolishly at one another,
and lost whatever chance they had of success. Messer Simone's body,
almost decapitated from the stroke of Griffo, was fished up from
underneath the hooves of his rearing charger, laid upon a dismounted
door, covered with a cloak, and hurriedly conveyed away to his house.
Madonna Vittoria, snatched just in time from the clutch of those cruel
fingers, drew her breath in and out again; the blood that had suffused
her swollen face flowed back into its proper channels; she quickened to
existence clinging to her Griffo's breast. Messer Guido, taking to
himself authority as the chief man of his party there present, called
upon the party of the dead Bardi to disperse, and disperse they did,
cowed by the presence of the lances of the Dragon-flag, even before the
belated arrival of authority, backed by all the forces it could command,
had made dispersal a necessity.
Authority, now that Simone dei Bardi was indubitably dead, held a united
mind against Simone dei Bardi, and entertained no thoughts of punishing
his slayer, who, indeed, would scarcely have been minded to tolerate
their jurisdiction. Messer Griffo was left to ride unchecked to Monna
Vittoria's villa with his lances at his back. In that villa Monna
Vittoria recovered briskly, thanks to her youth and her health, and in
that villa a little later the adventurer wedded the adventuress, and
proved to the end of their days patterns of wedded content and pleasure.
Messer Simone's body was buried stealthily at night, and authority
vindicated its dignity by confiscating his houses and his goods, though
it restored to Madonna Vittoria her emerald ring, which was picked up on
the field of fight, as some salve for her rough handling. So ended, as
far as the feud of Reds and Yellows was concerned, that wild day which
is remembered, whimsically enough, in the annals of Florence as the Day
of the Felicity, from the name of the place where the contest began and
ceased. From that day the words Red and Yellow as party terms ceased to
be used, because the parties had ceased to exist. The Yellows fell to
pieces with the death of Simone, and the Reds, having no appreciable
antagonists, ceased in their turn to be.
As for my Dante, his joy in that day's work lived a short life. Let the
story of his woe be told quickly. When the door of the house of Folco
was opened to him, he faced its master on the threshold, clad in his
ancient armor for the defence of his dwelling, and his face was strained
with sadness, and he seemed gray with the double of his years.
"My child lies in a swoon," he said. "The physician cannot awaken her as
yet. Go to your lodging. I will send for you when she comes to herself."
With that Dante had to be content, and he went back to the place where
he abode, and he sat in his lonely room to await the coming of Folco's
messenger. His heart was heavy within him, and his thoughts were
troubled, and he feared the great fear. Then, to while away the weary
time, and to stay his care from feeding on his spirit, he sought some
work for his hands. He could write no verses, but because he was not
without skill as a draughtsman he took up, wherewith to draw, his tables
and a pencil, and he began to trace the face of an angel, and under his
working fingers the face of the angel had the face of a girl, and the
face of the girl was the face of Beatrice. But while he drew he became
of a sudden aware that there was another in the room with him, although
he knew that he had fastened the door behind him when he came in, and
that none could have entered without his knowledge. Turning his head, he
beheld that the God of Love was standing in the room, even as he seemed
in the form of the image that stood over the fountain by the bridge. But
now the bright feathers of his wings were faded, and his face was wan,
and the garment that he wore was no longer red but black, and he looked
very sadly upon Dante, and Dante felt his spirit grow cold and old
within him before that melancholy gaze. Then the God of Love made a sign
to Dante to rise and Dante rose, and Love beckoned to him to follow and
Dante followed. The God of Love went out at the door and down the stair
with Dante ever after him, and so into the air. No one in the street saw
that gloomy figure of Love, no one save Dante, and Dante followed his
guide through the bright evening, heeding no one, thinking no other
thought than to go where his mournful herald led him. The God of Love
conducted him to the house of Folco Portinari. Even as Dante came to the
door the door opened and a man came forth, and the man was Messer
Tommaso Severo, that was setting out to seek for Dante. Severo saw
Dante, but he did not see the God of Love, and he told Dante that he was
on the point of seeking him.