'He was somewhat alarmed.'
'Besides?'
I looked at him, trying to seize his meaning.
'Did he make up his mind to sit still and wait till Girolamo found means to carry his threats into effect?'
I was rather at a loss for an answer. Lorenzo's eyes were fixed keenly upon me; they seemed to be trying to read my brain.
'It was suggested to him that it would be unwise,' I replied slowly.
'And what did he answer to that?'
'He recalled the ill results of certain recent—events.'
'Ah!'
He took his eyes off me, as if he had suddenly seen the meaning behind my words, and was now quite sure of everything he wanted to know. He walked up and down the room, thinking; then he said to me,—
'Tell Checco that Girolamo's position is very insecure. The Pope is against him, though he pretends to uphold him. You remember that when the Zampeschi seized his castle of San Marco, Girolamo thought they had the tacit consent of the Pope, and dared make no reprisal. Lodovico Sforza would doubtless come to the assistance of his half-sister, but he is occupied with the Venetians—and if the people of Forli hate the Count!'
'Then you advise—'
'I advise nothing. But let Checco know that it is only the fool who proposes to himself an end when he cannot or will not attain it; but the man who deserves the name of man, marches straight to the goal with clearness of mind and strength of will. He looks at things as they are and puts aside all vain appearances; and when his intelligence has shown him the means to his end, he is a fool if he refuses them, and he is a wise man if he uses them steadily and unhesitatingly. Tell that to Checco!'
He threw himself into his chair with a little cry of relief.
'Now we can talk of other things. Pico!'
A servant came in to say that Pico had gone away.
'The villain!' cried Lorenzo. 'But I daresay you will want to go away too, Messer Brandolini. But you must come to-morrow; we are going to act the Menacchini of Plautus; and besides the wit of the Latin you will see all the youth and beauty of Florence.'
As I took my leave, he added,—
'I need not warn you to be discreet.'
XVI
A few days later I found myself in sight of Forli. As I rode along I meditated; and presently the thought came to me that after all there was perhaps a certain equality in the portioning out of good and evil in this world. When fate gave one happiness she followed it with unhappiness, but the two lasted about an equal time, so that the balance was not unevenly preserved.... In my love for Giulia I had gone through a few days of intense happiness; the first kiss had caused me such ecstasy that I was rapt up to heaven; I felt myself a god. And this was followed by a sort of passive happiness, when I lived but to enjoy my love and cared for nothing in the world besides. Then came the catastrophe, and I passed through the most awful misery that man had ever felt: even now as I thought of it the sweat gathered on my forehead. But I noticed that strangely as this wretchedness was equal with the first happiness, so was it equal in length. And this was followed by a passive unhappiness when I no longer felt all the bitterness of my woe, but only a certain dull misery, which was like peace. And half smiling, half sighing, I thought that the passive misery again was equal to the passive happiness. Finally came the blessed state of indifference, and, except for the remembrance, my heart was as if nothing had been at all. So it seemed to me that one ought not to complain; for if the world had no right to give one continual misery, one had no cause to expect unmingled happiness, and the conjunction of the two, in all things equal, seemed normal and reasonable. And I had not noticed that I was come to Forli.
I entered the gate with a pleasant sense of homecoming. I passed along the grey streets I was beginning to know so well, and felt for them something of the affection of old friends. I was glad, too, that I should shortly see Checco and my dear Matteo. I felt I had been unkind to Matteo: he was so fond of me and had always been so good, but I had been so wrapped up in my love that his very presence had been importunate, and I had responded coldly to his friendliness. And being then in a sentimental mood, I thought how much better and more trustworthy a friend is to the most lovely woman in the world. You could neglect him and be unfaithful to him, and yet if you were in trouble you could come back and he would take you to his arms and comfort you, and never once complain that you had strayed away. I longed to be with Matteo, clasping his hand. In my hurry I put the spurs to my horse, and clattered along the street. In a few minutes I had reached the Palazzo, leapt off my horse, sprung up the stairs, and flung myself into the arms of my friend.
After the first greetings, Matteo dragged me along to Checco.
'The good cousin is most eager to hear your news. We must not keep him waiting.'
Checco seemed as pleased to see me as Matteo. He warmly pressed my hand, and said,—
'I am glad to have you back, Filippo. In your absence we have been lamenting like forsaken shepherdesses. Now, what is your news?'
I was fully impressed with my importance at the moment, and the anxiety with which I was being listened to. I resolved not to betray myself too soon, and began telling them about the kindness of Lorenzo, and the play which he had invited me to see. I described the brilliancy of the assembly, and the excellence of the acting. They listened with interest, but I could see it was not what they wanted to hear.
'But I see you want to hear about more important matters,' I said. 'Well—'
'Ah!' they cried, drawing their chairs closer to me, settling themselves to listen attentively.
With a slight smile I proceeded to give them the details of the commercial transaction which had been the ostensible purpose of my visit, and I laughed to myself as I saw their disgust. Checco could not restrain his impatience, but did not like to interrupt me. Matteo, however, saw that I was mocking, and broke in.
'Confound you, Filippo! Why do you torment us when you know we are on pins and needles?'
Checco looked up and saw me laughing, and implored,—
'Put us out of torture, for Heaven's sake!'
'Very well!' I answered. 'Lorenzo asked me about the state of Forli, and I told him. Then, after thinking awhile, he said, "Tell this to Checco—"'
And I repeated word for word what Lorenzo had said to me, and, as far as I could, I reproduced his accent and gesture.
When I had finished they both sat still and silent. At last Matteo, glancing to his cousin, said,—
'It seems sufficiently clear.'
'It is, indeed, very clear,' answered Checco, gravely.
XVII
I made up my mind to amuse myself now. I was sick of being grave and serious. When one thinks how short a while youth lasts it is foolish not to take the best advantage of it; the time man has at his disposal is not long enough for tragedy and moaning; he has only room for a little laughter, and then his hair gets grey and his knees shaky, and he is left repenting that he did not make more of his opportunities. So many people have told me that they have never regretted their vices, but often their virtues! Life is too short to take things seriously.