better never to speak of this again. Henceforth, Colombe, I will be your
friend, nothing more; I will be your father. The rest is all a dream.
How let us talk of the danger which threatens you, and of what we are to
do. I overheard you a moment since discussing your plans. Mon Dieu! you
are very young, and neither of you has an idea of what life really is.
You offer yourselves, in the innocence of your heart, to the cruel blows
of destiny, unarmed, and you hope to vanquish malignity, avarice, all
the vile passions of which man is capable with your kind hearts and your
smiles! Dear fools! I will be strong and cunning and implacable in your
stead. I am wonted to it, but you,--God created you for happiness and
tranquillity, my lovely cherubs, and I will see to it that you fulfil
your destiny.
"Ascanio, anger shall not furrow thy calm brow: grief, Colombe, shall
not disturb the pure outlines of thy face. I will take you in my arms,
soft-eyed, charming pair; I will bear you so through all the mire and
misery of life, and will not set you down until you have arrived safe
and sound at perfect joy; and then I'll gaze at you, and be happy in
your happiness. But you must have blind confidence in me; I have my own
peculiar ways, abrupt and hard to understand, and which may perhaps
alarm you a little, Colombe. I conduct myself somewhat after the manner
of artillery, and I go straight to my goal, heedless of what I may meet
on the road. Yes, I think more of the purity of my intentions, I
confess, than of the morality of the means I use. When I set about
modelling a beautiful figure I care but little whether the clay soils my
fingers. The figure finished, I wash my hands, and that's the end of it.
Do you then, mademoiselle, with your refined and timorous heart, leave
me to answer to God for my acts. He and I understand each other. I have
a powerful combination to deal with. The count is ambitious, the provost
avaricious, and the duchess very subtle. They are each and all very
powerful. You are in their power, and in their hands, and two of them
have rights over you: it may perhaps be necessary to resort to craft and
violence. I shall arrange it, however, so that you and Ascanio will have
no part in a contest in every way beneath you. Come, Colombe, are you
ready to close your eyes, and allow yourself to be led? When I say, 'Do
this,' will you do it?--'Remain there,' will you remain?--'Go,' will you
go?"
"What does Ascanio say? asked Colombe.
"Colombe," returned the apprentice, "Benvenuto is great and good: he
loves us and forgives the injury we have done him. Let us obey him, I
implore you."
"Command me, master," said Colombe, "and I will obey you as if you were
sent by God himself.
"Very well, my child. I have but one thing more to ask you; it will cost
you dear, perhaps, but you must make up your mind to it; thereafter your
part will be confined to waiting, and allowing circumstances and myself
to do our work. In order that both of you may have more perfect faith in
me, and that you may confide unhesitatingly in one whose life may not be
unspotted, but whose heart has remained pure, I am about to tell you the
story of my youth. All stories resemble one another, alas! and sorrow
lies at the heart of every one. Ascanio, I propose to tell you how my
Beatrice, the angel of whom I have spoken to you, came to be associated
with my existence; you shall know who she was, and you will wonder less
no doubt at my determination to abandon Colombe to you, when you realize
that by that sacrifice I am but beginning to pay to the child the debt I
owe the mother. Your mother! a saint in paradise, Ascanio! Beatrice
would say blessed; Stefana would say crowned."
"You have always told me, master, that you would tell me your whole
story some day."
"Yes, and the moment has come to redeem my promise. You will have even
more confidence in me, Colombe, when you know all the reasons I have for
loving our Ascanio."
Thereupon Benvenuto took a hand of each of his children in his own, and
told them what follows, in his grave, melodious voice, beneath the
glimmering stars in the peaceful silence of the night.
IV
STEFANA
"Twenty years since, I was twenty years old, as you are now, Ascanio,
and I was at work with a Florentine goldsmith named Raphael del Moro. He
was a good workman and did not lack taste; but he cared more for rest
than for work, allowing himself to be inveigled into attending parties
with disheartening facility, and, although he had little money, himself
leading astray those who were in his studio. Very often I was left alone
in the house, singing over some piece of work I had in hand. In those
days I sang as Scozzone does. All the sluggards in the city came as a
matter of course to Master Raphael for employment, or rather in quest of
pleasure, for he had the reputation of being too weak ever to quarrel.
One grows rich slowly with such habits as his; so he was always hard up,
and soon came to be the most discredited goldsmith in Florence.
"I am wrong. He had a confrère who had even less custom than he,
although he was of a noble family. But it was not for irregularity in
meeting his obligations that Gismondo Gaddi was cried down, but for his
notorious lack of talent and his sordid avarice. As everything intrusted
to him left his hands imperfect or spoiled, and not a customer, unless
he happened to be a stranger, ventured into his shop, Gismondo undertook
to earn his living by usury, and to loan money at enormous interest to
young men desirous of discounting their future prospects. This
profession succeeded better than the other, as Gaddi always demanded
good security, and went into nothing without reliable guaranties. With
that exception, he was, as he himself said, very considerate and
long-suffering; he loaned to everybody, compatriots and foreigners, Jews
and Christians. He would have loaned to St. Peter upon the keys of
paradise, or to Satan upon his estates in hell.
"Need I say that he loaned to my poor Raphael del Moro, who consumed
every day his provision for the morrow, but whose sterling integrity
never wavered. Their constant connection in business, and the social
ostracism to which both were subjected, tended to bring the two
goldsmiths together. Del Moro was deeply grateful for his confrère's
untiring amiability in the matter of advancing money. Gaddi thoroughly
esteemed an honest and accommodating debtor. They were, in a word, the
best friends in the world, and Gismondo would not have missed for an
empire one of the parties with which Del Moro regaled him.
"Del Moro was a widower, but he had a daughter of sixteen, named
Stefana. From a sculptor's point of view Stefana was not beautiful, and
yet her appearance was most striking. Beneath her forehead, which was
almost too high and not smooth enough for a woman, one could see her
brain at work, so to speak. Her great, moist eyes, of a velvety black
hue, moved you to respect and deep emotion as they rested upon you. An
ivory pallor overspread her face, which was lightened by a melancholy
yet charming expression, like the faint sunshine of an autumn morning. I
forget a crown of luxurious raven locks, and hands a queen might have
envied.
"Stefana ordinarily stood bending slightly forward, like a lily swayed
by the wind. You might at times have taken her for a statue of
Melancholy. When she stood erect, when her lovely eyes sparkled, when
her nostrils dilated, when her arm was outstretched to emphasize a
command, you would have adored her as the Archangel Gabriel. She
resembled you, Ascanio, but you have less weakness of resolution and
capacity for suffering. The immortality of the soul was never more
clearly revealed to my eyes than in that slender, graceful body. Del
Moro, who feared his daughter almost as much as he loved her, was
accustomed to say that he had consigned to the tomb only the body of his
wife, that Stefana was her dead mother's soul.
"I was at this time an adventurous youth, an impulsive giddy-pated
creature. I loved liberty before everything. I was bubbling over with
life, and I expended my surplus energy in foolish quarrels and foolish
love affairs. I worked nevertheless with no less passion than I put into
my pleasures, and despite my vagaries I was Raphael's best workman, and
the only one in the establishment who earned any money. But what I did
well, I did by instinct, almost by chance. I had studied the ancients to
good purpose. For whole days I had gazed upon the bas-reliefs and
statues of Athens and Rome, making studies with pencil and chisel, and
constant contact with these sublime artists of former days gave me
purity and precision of outline; but I was simply a successful imitator;
I did not create. Still, I say again, I was incontestably and easily the
cleverest and most hardworking of Del Moro's comrades. I have since
learned that the master's secret wish was that I should marry his
daughter.
"But I was thinking little of settling down; i' faith, I was enamored of
independence, freedom from care, and an outdoor life. I was absent from
the workshop whole days at a time. I would return completely overdone
with fatigue, and yet in a few hours I would have overtaken and passed
Raphael's other workmen. I would fight for a word, fall in love at a
glance. A fine husband I should have made!
"Moreover, my feelings when I was with Stefana in no wise resembled
those aroused by the pretty girls of Porta del Prato or Borgo Pinti. She
almost overawed me; if I had been told that I loved her otherwise than
as an elder sister I should have laughed. When I returned from one of my
escapades I dared not look Stefana in the face. She was more than stern,
she was sad. On the other hand, when fatigue or a praiseworthy zealous
impulse had detained me at home, I always sought Stefana's
companionship, her sweet face, and her sweet voice; my affection for her
had in it something serious and sacred, which I did not at the time
fully understand, but which was very pleasant to me. Very often, amid my
wildest excesses, the thought of Stefana would pass through my mind, and
my companions would ask me why I had suddenly become thoughtful.
Sometimes, when I was in the act of drawing my sword or my dagger, I
would pronounce her name as it were that of my patron saint, and I
noticed that whenever that occurred I retired from the contest unhurt.
But this tender feeling for the dear child, innocent, lovely, and
affectionate as she was, lay dormant at the bottom of my heart as in a
sanctuary.
"For her part, it is certain, that she was as full of indulgence and
kindly feeling for me as she was cold and dignified with my slothful
comrades. She sometimes came to sit in the studio beside her father, and
I would sometimes feel her eyes fixed on my face as she bent over my
work. I was proud and happy in her preference, although I did not
explain my feeling to myself. If one of my comrades indulged in a little
vulgar flattery, and informed me that my master's daughter was in love
with me, I received his insolence so wrathfully that he never repeated
it.
"An accident which befell Stefana proved to me how deeply she had become
rooted in my heart.
"One day when she was in the studio looking at a piece of work, she did
not take away her little white hand quickly enough, and a bungling
workman, who was tipsy, I think, struck the little finger and the finger
beside it with his chisel. The poor child shrieked at first, then, as if
ashamed of it, smiled to reassure us, but her hand as she held it up was
covered with blood. I think I should have killed the fellow had my mind
not been concentrated upon her.
"Gismondo Gaddi, who was present, said that he knew a surgeon in the
neighborhood, and ran to fetch him. The villanous medicaster dressed the
wound, and came every day to see Stefana; but he was so ignorant and
careless that gangrene set in. Thereupon the ass pompously declared
that, despite his efforts, Stefana's right arm would always be
paralyzed.
"Raphael del Moro was in too straitened circumstances to be able to
consult another physician; but when I heard the imbecile announce his
decision, I refused to abide by it. I hurried to my room, emptied the
purse which contained all my savings, and ran off to Giacomo Rastelli of
Perouse, the Pope's surgeon, and the most eminent practitioner in all
Italy. At my earnest entreaty, and as the sum I offered him was by no
means contemptible, he came at once, exclaiming, 'O these lovers!' After
examining the wound, he announced that he would answer for it that
Stefana would be able to use the right arm as well as the other within a
fortnight. I longed to embrace the worthy man. He set about dressing the
poor maimed lingers, and Stefana was at once relieved. But a day or two
later it was necessary to remove the decayed bone.
"She asked me to be present at the operation to give her courage,
whereas I was entirely lacking in it myself, and my heart felt very
small in my breast. Master Giacomo made use of some great instrument
which caused Stefana terrible pain. She could not restrain her groans,
which echoed in my heart. My temples were bathed in a cold perspiration.
"At last the torture exceeded my strength; the cruel tool which tortured
those poor, delicate fingers tortured me no less. I rose, begging Master
Giacomo to suspend the operation, and to wait for me a quarter of an
hour.
"I went down to the studio, and there, as if inspired by my good genius,
I made an instrument of thin, sharp steel which would cut like a razor.
I returned to the surgeon, who with that operated so gently and easily
that the dear girl felt almost no pain. In five minutes it was all over,
and a fortnight later she gave me the hand to kiss, which, as she said,
I had preserved.
"But it would be impossible for me to describe the poignant emotion I
passed through when I saw the suffering of my poor Résignée, as I
sometimes called her.
"Resignation was, in truth, the natural condition of her mind. Stefana
was not happy; her father's improvidence and recklessness distressed her
beyond measure; her only consolation was religion; like all unhappy
women she was pious. Very often, as I entered some church to pray, for I
have always loved God, I would spy Stefana in a corner weeping and
praying.
"Whenever, as too frequently happened, Master Del Moro's reckless
extravagance left her penniless, she would appeal to me with a simple,
trustful confidence, which went to my heart. She would say, dear girl,
with the simplicity characteristic of noble hearts: 'Benvenuto, I beg
you to pass the night at work, to finish that reliquary, or that ewer,
for we have no money at all.'
"I soon adopted the habit of submitting to her every piece of work that
I completed, and she would point out its imperfections and advise me
with extraordinary sagacity. Solitude and sorrow had inspired and
elevated her mind more than one would think possible. Her words, which
were at once innocent and profound, taught me more than one secret of my
art, and often opened new possibilities to my mind.
"I remember one day when I showed her a medal which I was engraving for
a cardinal, and which had a representation of the cardinal's head on one
side, and on the other Jesus walking on the sea, and holding out his
hand to St. Peter, with this legend: '_Quare dubitasti?_' Wherefore
didst thou doubt?
"Stefana was well pleased with the portrait, which was a very good
likeness, and very well executed. She looked at the reverse in silence
for a long while.
"'The face of Our Lord is very beautiful,' she said at last, 'and if it
were intended for Apollo or Jupiter I should find nothing to criticise.
But Jesus is something more than beautiful; Jesus is divine. The lines
of this face are superb in their purity, but where is the soul? I admire
the man, but I look in vain for the God. Consider, Benvenuto, that you
are not an artist simply, but a Christian as well. My heart, you know,
has often bled; that is to say, alas! my heart has often doubted; and I,
too, have shaken off my depression when I saw Jesus holding out his hand
to me, and have heard the sublime words, "Wherefore hast thou doubted?"
Ah, Benvenuto, your image of him is less beautiful than he. In his
celestial countenance there was the sadness of the afflicted father, and
the clemency of the king who pardons. His forehead shone, but his mouth
smiled; he was more than great, he was good.'
"'Wait a moment, Stefana,' said I.
"I effaced what I had done, and in a few moments I once more began upon
the Savior's face under her eyes.
"'Is that better?' I asked, as I handed it to her.
"'Oh yes!' she replied, with tears in her eyes; 'so our blessed Lord
appeared to me when I was heavy-hearted. Yes, I recognize him now by his
expression of compassion and majesty. Ah, Benvenuto! I advise you always
henceforth to follow this course: before taking the wax in hand, be sure
of the thought; you possess the instrument, master the expression; you
have the material part, seek the spiritual part; let your fingers never
be aught but the servants of your mind.'
"Such was the counsel given me by that child of sixteen, in her sublime
good sense. When I was alone I reflected upon what she had said to me,
and realized that she was right. Thus did she guide and enlighten my
instinct. Having the form in my mind, I sought the idea, and to combine
the form and the idea in such wise that they would issue from my hands a
perfectly blended whole, as Minerva came forth all armed from the brain
of Jupiter.
"Mon Dieu! how lovely is youth, and how its memories do overpower one!
Ascanio, Colombe, this lovely evening we are passing together reminds me
of all those I passed by Stefana's side sitting upon a bench outside her
father's house. She would gaze up at the sky, and I would gaze at her.
It was twenty years ago, but it seems only yesterday; I put out my hand
and fancy that I can feel hers, but it is yours, my children; what God
does is well done.
"Oh, simply to see her in her white dress was to feel tranquillity steal
over my soul! Often when we parted we had not uttered a word, and yet I
carried away from those silent interviews all sorts of fine and noble
thoughts, which made me better and greater.
"But all this had an end, as all happiness in this world has.
"Raphael del Moro had but little farther to go to reach the lowest
depths of destitution. He owed his kind neighbor Gismondo Gaddi two
thousand ducats, which he knew not how to pay. The thought drove this
honest man to desperation. He wished at least to save his daughter, and
intrusted his purpose to give her to me to one of the workmen, doubtless
that he might broach the subject to me. But he was one of the idiots
whom I had lost my temper with when they threw Stefana's sisterly
affection at my head as a reproach. The blockhead did not even allow
Raphael to finish.
"'Abandon that scheme, Master Del Moro,' he said; 'the suggestion would
not be favorably received, my word for it.'
"The goldsmith was proud: he believed that I despised him on account of
his poverty, and he never referred to the subject again.
"Some time after, Gismondo Gaddi came to demand payment of his debt, and
when Raphael asked for more time.
"'Hark ye,' said Gismondo, 'give me your daughter's hand, and I will
give you a receipt in full.'
"Del Moro was transported with joy. To be sure Gaddi had the reputation
of being a little covetous, a little high-tempered, and a little
jealous, but he was rich, and what the poor esteem and envy most, alas!
is wealth. When Raphael mentioned this unexpected proposition to his
daughter, she made no reply; but that evening, as we left the bench
where we had been sitting together, to return to the house, she said to
me, 'Benvenuto, Gismondo Gaddi has asked my hand in marriage, and my
father has given his consent.'
"With those simple words she left me. I leaped to my feet, and in a sort
of frenzy I went out of the city and wandered about over the fields.
Throughout the night, now running like a madman, and again lying at full
length upon the grass and weeping, a myriad of mad, desperate, frenzied
thoughts chased one another through my disordered brain.
"'She, Stefana, the wife of that odious Gismondo!' I said to myself,
when I had in some degree recovered my self-control, and was seeking to
collect my wits. 'The thought overpowers me and terrifies me as well,
and as she would certainly prefer me, she makes a mute appeal to my
friendship, to my jealousy. Ah, yes! I am jealous, furiously jealous;
but have I the right to be? Gaddi is morose and violent tempered, but
let us be just to one another. What woman would be happy with me? Am I
not brutal, capricious, restless, forever involved in dangerous quarrels
and unholy intrigues? Could I conquer myself? No, never; so long as the
blood boils in my veins as at present, I shall always have my hand on my
dagger, and my foot outside the house.
"'Poor Stefana! I should make her weep and suffer, I should see her lose
color and pine away. I should hate myself, and should soon come to hate
her as well, as a living reproach. She would die, and I should have her
death to answer for. No, I am not made--alas! I feel that I am not--for
calm, peaceful family joys; I must have liberty, space, conflict,
anything rather than the peace and monotony of happiness. I should break
in my grasp that fragile, delicate flower. I should torture that dear,
loving heart by my insults, and my own existence, my own heart would be
blighted by remorse. But would she be happier with this Gismondo Gaddi?
Why should she marry him? We were so happy together. After all, Stefana
must know that an artist's instincts and temperament do not easily
accommodate themselves to the rigid bonds, the commonplace necessities
of family life. I must say farewell to all my dreams of glory, renounce
the thought of making my name famous, and abandon art, which thrives on
liberty and power. How can one create when held a prisoner at the
domestic fireside? Say, O Dante Alighieri! O Michel-Angelo, my master,
how you would laugh to see your pupil rocking his children to sleep, and
asking his wife's pardon! No, I will be brave in my own behalf, and
generous to Stefana: sad and alone I will dream out my dream and fulfil
my destiny.'
"You see, my children, that I make myself no better than I am. There was
some selfishness in my decision, but there was also much deep and
sincere affection for Stefana, and my raving seemed to border closely on
common sense.
"The next morning I returned to the workshop in a reasonably tranquil
frame of mind. Stefana also seemed calm, but she was paler than usual. A
month passed thus. One evening Stefana said, as we parted,--
"'In a week, Benvenuto, I shall be Gismondo Gaddi's wife.'
"As she did not leave me at once, I had time to look at her. She stood
with her hand on her heart, bending beneath her burden of sorrow, and
her sweet smile was sad enough to make one weep. She gazed at me with a
sorrowful expression, but without the least indication of reproach. It
seemed to me as if my angel, ready to leave earth behind, was saying
farewell to me. She stood thus, mute and motionless, for a moment, then
entered the house.
"I was destined never to see her more in this world.
"This time again I left the city bareheaded and running like a madman;
but I did not return the next day, or the next; I kept on until I
reached Rome.
"I remained at Rome five years; I laid the foundation of my reputation,
I won the friendship of the Rope, I had duels and love affairs and
artistic success, but I was not contented,--something was lacking. Amid
my engrossing occupations I never passed a day without turning my eyes
toward Florence. There was no night when I did not see in my dreams
Stefana, pale-faced and sad, standing in the doorway of her father's
house, and gazing at me.
"After five years I received a letter from Florence, sealed with black.
I read and reread it so many times that I know it now by heart.
"It ran thus:--
"'Benvenuto, I am dying. Benvenuto, I loved you.