"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.
"'Listen to the dreams I dreamed. I knew you as well as I knew myself. I foresaw the power that is in you, and that will make you great some day. Your genius, which I read upon your broad forehead, in your ardent glance and your passionate gestures, would impose grave duties on her who should bear your name. I was ready to undertake them. Happiness had for me the solemnity of a divine mission. I would not have been your wife, Benvenuto, I would have been your friend, your sister, your mother. Your noble existence belongs to all mankind, I know, and I would have assumed no other right than that of diverting you in your ennui, of uplifting you in your moments of depression. You would have been free, my friend, always and everywhere. Alas! I had long since become accustomed to your lamentable absences from home, to all the exactions of your impulsive nature, to all the whims of your tempest-loving heart. Every powerful temperament has pressing needs. The longer the eagle has soared aloft, the longer he is obliged to rest on earth. But when you had torn yourself free from the feverish dreams of your genius, I would have found once more at the awakening my sublime Benvenuto, whom I love so dearly, and who would have belonged to me alone! I would never have reproached you for the hours of neglect, for they would have contained no insult for me. For my own part, knowing you to be jealous, as is every noble heart, jealous as the God of Holy Writ, I would have remained in seclusion when you were away, in the solitude which I love, awaiting your return and praying for you.
"'Such would my life have been.
"'But when I saw that you abandoned me, I bowed submissively to God's will and yours, closed my eyes, and placed my fate in the hands of duty. My father ordered me to enter into a marriage which would save him from dishonor, and I obeyed. My husband has been harsh, stern, pitiless; he has not been content with my docile submission, but demanded a love beyond my power to give, and punished me brutally for my involuntary sadness. I resigned myself to endure everything. I have been, I trust, a pure and dignified spouse, but always very sad at heart, Benvenuto. God has rewarded me, however, even in this world, by giving me a son. My child's kisses have for four years past prevented me from feeling insults, blows, and last of all poverty! for my husband ruined himself trying to gain too much, and he died last month from chagrin at his ruin. May God forgive him as I do!
"'I shall be dead myself within the hour, dead from the effects of my accumulated suffering, and I bequeath my son to you, Benvenuto.
"'Perhaps all is for the best. Who can say if my womanly weakness would have been equal to the task I would have undertaken with you. He, my Ascanio,—he is like me,—will be a stronger and more submissive companion for you; he will love you better, if not more dearly. I am not jealous of him.
"'Do for my child what I would have done for you.
"'Adieu, my friend. I loved you and I love you still, and I tell you without shame or remorse, at the very doors of eternity, for my love was holy. Adieu! be great, and I shall be happy: raise your eyes sometimes to heaven that I may see you.
"'Your STEFANA.'"
"Now, Colombe and Ascanio, will you have confidence in me, and are you ready to do what I advise?"
The young people replied with a single exclamation.