Part 2

Alano, when he had left the shepherd, travelling on, arrived at an abbey at Maremma, and, begging some bread, the abbot asked him if he would stay and live with them. Alano answered, that he would willingly do so. “What can you do?” said the abbot. “Sir,” replied Alano, “I shall do whatever you bid me.” The abbot thought that he seemed a good fellow, and took him into the house, and began by sending him to fetch wood. He behaved so well, that all who were in the abbey were delighted with him, for he would willingly do any thing they asked him; neither did he seem ashamed nor reluctant. In consequence of this good behaviour, the abbot gave him a place in the monastery, and called him Don Beneditto; the life he used to lead was to fast four days in the week; never undress, and spend great part of the night in prayer; and whatever might be said or done to him, he never complained, but praised the Lord. Thus had he determined to live and serve his Maker, so that the abbot loved him extremely.

His servants, on their return to Paris, having given it out that he was dead, every body lamented the loss of so great a man, and so able a lawyer. Now, Messer Giulio Piero hearing that Messer Alano was dead, rejoiced much at it. “Now,” said he, “I shall be able to compass that which I have long meditated.” So he prepared himself and went to Rome, and there proposed, in open consistory, a question which was greatly injurious to our faith, and, by his craft, endeavoured to introduce heresy in our church. Upon which the pope called the college of cardinals together, where it was determined to send for all the greatest men in Italy to attend a consistory, for the purpose of answering the questions which Messer Giulio Piero had proposed against our faith. Of course, all the bishops, abbots, and other great prelates who were canonists, were summoned to the court. Among others, this very abbot with whom Alano was living was called upon, and he prepared himself for his departure. Alano, being informed of the business he was going upon, entreated the abbot to let him go with him. “What would you do there?” said the abbot; “you, who do not even know how to read, what would you do there among all the greatest men of the church? They will speak nothing but Latin, so that thou wilt not understand one word.”

“I shall at least see the pope,” answered Alano, “whom I never yet beheld, nor do I know what sort of a thing he be.” The abbot, perceiving how earnestly he wished it, said, “Well, I will allow thee to come with me, but wilt thou know how to ride?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Alano. At the proper time the abbot departed, and Alano with him. Being arrived at Rome, and the day being fixed when the consistory was to meet, upon hearing that any one might go and hear what was discussed, Messer Alano begged the abbot most earnestly to allow him to go to the said consistory. “Art thou beside thyself?” said the abbot; “how dost thou think I could take thee there, where the pope, cardinals, and all the greatest lords are?”

“I will get under your cloak,” said Alano; “then I shall not be seen, for I am very short, as well as very thin.”

“Take care,” said the abbot, “the porter and servants do not give thee a good beating.”

“Let me alone for that,” said Alano; “I warrant I’ll take care of myself.” When the abbot went in, there being a great crowd, Alano popped under the abbot’s cloak, and went in with the rest. The abbot took his proper seat with the other abbots. Alano stood between his legs under the abbot’s cloak, and peeped through the arm-hole of his robe, attentively listening to hear the question proposed. A short time after, Piero entered, mounted the tribune in presence of the pope, cardinals, and all the others, and proposed his question, which he argued with his usual artfulness. Alano immediately recognised him, and seeing that no one answered him, or argued with him, he popped his head through the arm-hole of the abbot’s cloak, and cried out “_Giube_.” The abbot raised his hand, and gave him a good box on the ear, saying, “hold your tongue, and the devil take you! wilt thou shame me?” Of course, all those near looked at one another with wonder, saying, “Whence came that voice?” A few minutes afterwards, Alano put out his head again, and said, “_hear me, holy father!_” which made the abbot much ashamed and confused; for every one stared at him, and cried out, “Who is that you have got under your cloak?” The abbot said it was one of his lay brothers, who was insane. Upon which they abused him, and said, “What! do you bring a madman into the consistory?” and the guards came forth to beat and drive him away. Alano, fearing he should get some hard blows, made off from under the abbot’s cloak; and rushing in among the bishops and cardinals, made his way till he got at the feet of the pope, which caused a burst of laughter among them all, throughout the consistory. The abbot was on the point of being turned out, for having brought the fellow there, but Alano being at the pope’s feet, he entreated he might be allowed to give his opinion on the case, and the pope granted his petition. Alano then mounted the tribune with alacrity, and all were gaping to hear what the madman would say. Alano opened his mouth, and began by recapitulating all his opponent had advanced, and separately answered the different parts of the question with a mild and natural, but vigorous eloquence. The whole college were in the utmost astonishment at hearing the elegant Latin he spoke, and the fine arguments which he produced against his adversary. Every one cried out, “why truly, this is the Lamb of God that appears to us.” The pope hearing his eloquence, thanked heaven at every instant. Alano having thus confuted Piero in every argument, the latter was sorely vexed and humbled, and said, “truly thou art the spirit of Messer Alano, or that of the devil himself.” Alano answered, “I am the very Alano who many times have put to flight your conceit; but thou! thou art the true malignant spirit who wishest to fill our church with heresy.” Piero replied, “indeed, if I had known thou hadst been alive, I should never have ventured here.” The pope became anxious to know who this Alano was, and called the abbot to know how he came by this man. “Most holy father!” said the abbot, “I have had him with me a long time, and I really thought he could not even read, nor have I ever found any man possessed of so much humility as he is. He is always employed in cutting and bringing home fire-wood; sweeping the rooms; making beds; attending the sick, and taking care of the horses. He always appeared to me a very simple fellow.”

The pope hearing what a holy and virtuous life he led, and what he had formerly been, wished to create him cardinal, and paid him every mark of honour, saying to him, “Had it not been for thee, our church must have suffered serious injury, therefore I wish thee to remain at our court.” Alano replied, “Most holy father, I wish to live and die in this solitary life, and never more go back to the world. Nay, I mean to return with my good abbot to his abbey, and follow up the life I have entered upon, and thus serve God.” The abbot fell on his knees, praying him to pardon him, for he had not known him, and particularly for the box on the ear which he had given him. Messer Alano said, “there is no occasion for such a thing; the father has an undoubted right to chastise his child.” They afterwards took leave of his holiness and the cardinals, and returned to the abbey. The abbot ever after paid him the greatest respect, and he lived with him a holy life. He compiled and wrote several works on religion, and whilst he lived here, conducted himself in so virtuous a manner as to ensure to himself an eternal life hereafter.

WHO AM I?

A party of young men were at supper, one Sunday, in the city of Florence, at a gentleman’s house whose name was Tommaso de Pecori, a respectable, honourable, and good-humoured man, who delighted in pleasant society. This party being retired after supper by a cheerful fire, were talking merrily together, as people who meet on such occasions are apt to do:--“How happens it,” said one of them, “that Manetto Ammannotini would not join us to night; yet we all asked him, and still he obstinately refused to come?” This Manetto was by trade a carver in ebony, and kept a shop in St. John’s Place--a clever fellow in his trade; he had an agreeable person, was of a merry turn of mind, and about thirty-five years of age. Being tall and rather corpulent, he was called Grasso, and was always accustomed to be of the party of jovial good fellows above-mentioned, who made themselves merry and comfortable; but in the present instance, whether from whim or caprice, the said Manetto would not meet them. The party, however, talking the matter over, could not guess at the reason, and concluding it to be a whim, were a little piqued at it. He who had spoken first, said, “why should we not play him a trick, to cure him of these fancies for the future?” Another said, “but what trick could we put upon him, except make him stand a treat, or some such thing?”

In the party was one whose name was Philip of Brunelesco; this person, who was well acquainted with Grasso, and knew his situation, began to think with himself how they could play him a trick, and ruminating for some time, he at last said, for he was a clever fellow, “Gentlemen, if you like, and I can find in my heart to do it, we will play off a hoax on this Grasso, which will greatly divert us: what I think we must do, is to persuade him that he is transformed, and not the same Grasso, but some other person.” The others answered, “but that is certainly not possible.” Upon which, Philip explained the plan he meant to pursue; as he was a shrewd fellow, he persuaded them it was very possible; so they all agreed on the means and plan to be pursued by each of them, in order to prove to Grasso that he was no other than one Matteo, one of the party. They proceeded, next night, in the following manner: it was agreed that Philip, who was more intimate with Grasso than either of the others, should go, about the time that shopkeepers generally shut up, to Grasso’s shop. When he had been talking to Grasso some time, there came in, as it had been previously settled, a boy in great haste, who asked if Mr. Philip of Brunelesco was there. Philip coming forward, said he was, and that he himself was the man, and asked him what he wanted. To which the boy answered, “you must come home immediately, Sir, for, about two hours ago, your mother met with an accident, and is almost dead; therefore, hasten away with me.” Philip, pretending to be very much alarmed and grieved, cried out, “good heaven defend me!” and took leave of Grasso. Grasso, being his friend, said, “I will go with you, if I can be of any service to you; these are cases in which friends should not hold back.” Philip thanked him, and said, “I do not wish that you should come now, but should any thing be wanting I will send you word to come.” Philip set off as if going homewards, but, turning round a corner of the street, he went into Grasso’s house facing the church of Santa Reparata, and opening the door with a picklock, went in and fastened the door, so that no one might enter. Grasso’s mother had gone, a few days before, to a little cottage she possessed at Polirrosa, in order to wash the linen, and was expected home hourly. Grasso, after having shut up the shop, went walking up and down the Piazza of San Giovanni as he was accustomed to do, still thinking of his friend’s misfortune. It being then night, he thought to himself that Philip would not be in need of any assistance as he had not sent for him, so he determined to go home, and, arriving at the door, he ascended the two steps before it, tried to open the door as usual, and being unable to do so, he perceived it was locked in the inside; therefore, knocking, he cried out aloud, “open the door!” thinking his mother had returned home, and had fastened the door for some reason or other, or had done it inadvertently. Philip, who was within, imitating Grasso’s voice, said, “_who is there?_” Grasso said, “open the door!” Philip pretended as if he thought he who knocked was the identical Matteo, whom they wanted Grasso to believe himself to be; and still assuming the character of Grasso, said, “pry’thee, Matteo, go thy ways, for I am in much anxiety, for as I was in the shop talking to Philip, a boy came running to him, and told him his mother was nearly dead, therefore you see I am sadly distressed then;” turning round he said, “good mother Giovanni, (for thus Grasso’s mother was called) do let me have some supper, for it is a shame; you were to have been home two days ago, instead of which you arrive just at this time of the night thus he went on chiding, and imitating Grasso’s voice.” Grasso hearing this scolding, and it seeming to him to be his own voice, said to himself, “what the devil is all this, and who is he that is up there, is it I?--He says Philip was at his shop when he was told that his mother was ill, and moreover he is scolding Mother Giovanni--certainly I have lost my recollection”--thus saying, as he went down the steps to holla up at the windows, there came by, as had been previously settled, one whose name was Donatello, a stone-mason, a great friend of Grasso, who approaching him in the dark, said “good night, Matteo, are you going to see Grasso--he is just gone home,” and so saying, he left him. Grasso, if he was surprised at first when Donatello called him Matteo, was now thunderstruck, and withdrew in the Piazza of San Giovanni, saying to himself, “I will walk about here till some one shall pass, and, knowing me, will tell me who I really am.” Thus sauntering, in the greatest agitation of mind, he was met according to agreement, by four officers of the police, a messenger, and with them a man to whom that Matteo, whom Grasso began to think himself, owed money. This man accosting Grasso, turned to the officers and said, “take him, this is Matteo, this is my debtor. You see I have followed thee up close. I have caught thee at last.” The officers then began to seize him, and lead him away. Grasso, turning to the man who had just arrested him, said, “what have I to do with thee? you have mistaken your man; I am not he you take me to be; I am Grasso, the carver in ebony; I am not Matteo, nor do I know who your Matteo is.” He was on the point of following up his words, with a few hard blows, but they seized him by the arms, and held him tight. The creditor coming forward, and looking at him from head to foot, said, “what! you not Matteo! do I not know Matteo? Matteo, my debtor! don’t I know who Grasso the carver is? I have thy name in my books, and have had a writ against thee this twelvemonth; so like a rogue, thou now deniest being Matteo, but an _alias_ will not pay me my debt; take him away, take him away, we shall soon see if thou art Matteo.” Thus abusing him, they led him to prison, and as it was supper-time, they met no one on their way. Being arrived, the gaol-keeper took down the captive under the name of Matteo, and confined him among the other prisoners, who having heard his name mentioned, though without knowing him, called out, “good night, Matteo.” Grasso, hearing himself so named by every one of them, exclaimed, “what can this mean?” and really began to think that he certainly must be Matteo. The prisoners said, “thou seest we are going to supper, take a little with us, and put off care till to-morrow.” Grasso supped with them, and when supper was over, one of them gave him part of his birth, saying, “Matteo, for this night make what shift you can here, then, to-morrow morning, if you can pay your debt, well and good; if not, thou must send home for a few bed-clothes.” Grasso thanked him and laid himself down to rest, and began to think what he should do if from Grasso he were really turned to Matteo; “which,” said he to himself, “I really think must be the case, from the different proofs I have had. If I send home to my mother, and Grasso should be in my house, they will laugh at me, and say I am mad, and yet methinks I am really Grasso.” And thus he remained all night in suspense, not knowing whether he was Grasso or Matteo, and scarcely could he get a wink of sleep. In the morning he rose and placed himself at a small grated window of the prison, in hopes that some one would pass that knew him; remaining thus, there passed by a young man called Giovanni Francesco Rucellai, who was one of the party at supper when the conspiracy was formed, and who was well acquainted with Grasso: for this man Grasso was about making a dressing-table intended for a lady, a friend of Giovanni’s, who, the very day before, had been in Grasso’s shop to press him to finish the work, which the carver had promised should be finished, at farthest, in four days. This person having entered a shop next the prison, popped his head out at the door that faced the grated window of the prison, which in those times was on the ground floor, and at which window Grasso stood, who having seen Giovanni, began to grin and nod at him. Giovanni stared at him, as if he had never seen him before, and said, “what art thou grinning at, friend?” It appearing to Grasso, that the man did not know him, he said, “Oh! at nothing particular, but pray do you know one Grasso, that lives at the Piazza san Giovanni, just behind yonder place, who makes inlaid works?”

“Do I know him,” said Giovanni, “don’t I? why he is one of my best friends, and I am just going to him about a little job he is about for me.”

“Well,” said Grasso, “since you are going there about your own affair, do me the favour to tell him, a friend of his is taken into custody, and beg of him, as an act of friendship, to come and speak to him.” Giovanni, looking at him, and scarcely able to keep his countenance, said, “I will do it with pleasure;” and went away about his business. Grasso still remaining at the little window, said to himself, “now I may be quite sure that I am no longer Grasso, but that I am changed to Matteo; what cursed ill fate is mine! If I speak of this matter, I shall be looked upon as a madman, and all the boys will run after me, and if I do not clear it up, a hundred blunders, such as happened to me last night, will occur again; so that either way I am in a terrible hobble: but let us see whether Grasso will come, for if he comes, I shall tell him all about it.” Long did he wait in expectation; but as Grasso never came, he withdrew from the window, to make room for one of the prisoners; his eyes at first cast down to the ground, and then looking up to heaven, with his hands clasped together. At that time, there was in prison a judge, whose name, through respect, we shall not mention, who was there for debt. This judge, although he did not know Grasso, seeing him so very disconsolate, tried every means to comfort him, and said, “Matteo, you are as down-hearted as if you were going to be hanged to-morrow morning; yet according to what I hear, yours is but a small debt; you should not give yourself up thus to grief. Why don’t you send to some friend or relation, and try to pay the money, or settle the business, in some way or other, so that you may get out of prison, and not vex yourself in this manner?” Grasso, finding that he so kindly endeavoured to comfort him, determined to tell him the whole circumstance, and having drawn him into a corner of the prison, said, “Sir, although you may not know me, I know you well, and know that you are a very worthy man, therefore have I made up my mind to tell you the cause of my unhappiness, lest you should think that such a trifling debt would make me uneasy. No! I have much greater reason for sorrow,” and then he began to tell him the whole story, from beginning to end, weeping almost all the while, and requested two things of him, the one that he would not mention the matter to any living soul; and next that he would give him some advice, or point out some way to extricate him from so perplexing a situation; adding, “I know, Sir, you have read a great deal, and many authors who have written most extraordinary things, but have you ever heard of such a case as this?”

The worthy man having heard him, and considering the affair, it struck him it must be one of these two things, either that the poor fellow had lost his senses, or that this was a hoax, as it certainly was: and he immediately answered, he had read many similar things, and that to become another person was no uncommon occurrence, and by no means wonderful. “Now, then,” said Grasso, “pray tell me if I am become Matteo?”

“Of course,” said the judge, “he must have become Grasso.”

“Well,” said Grasso, “if it be so, I should like to see him to quiet my mind.” Whilst they were thus conversing, it being nearly the hour of vespers, two brothers of this Matteo came to the prison and asked for the turnkey, and inquired whether a brother of theirs, by name Matteo, was in the prison, and for what sum he had been arrested, because, being his brothers, they had come to pay the debt for him, and to take him away. The turnkey, who was well acquainted with the plot, being a friend of Tommaso Pecori, answered, “There was such a person,” and, pretending to turn over the leaves of the book, said, “the debt is so much, due to so and so.”