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Photo by Anderson The Duomo, Spolet
PORTRAIT BUST OF FRA FILIPPO

From His Monument Erected by Lorenzo the Magnificent

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JOYOUS FRIAR

THE STORY OF FRA FIEIPPO EEPPI

By A’ J? ANDERSON
Author of “The Romance of Fra Filippo,’ “The Romance
of Sandro Botticelli,’ “The Admirable Painter,’ etc.

WITH NINE REPRODUCTIONS FROM PAINTINGS

i

 

“Fra Filippo was extremely fond of cheerful company, and
lived for his own part in a very joyous fashion,’—VASARI.

NEW YORK : 77)? BRED ROC yay
STOKES COMPANY !327 3:2MCMXXVIICopyright, 1927, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

All rights reserved

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LILIAN M. ANDERSON,
MY CLEVER DAUGHTER, WHO HAS HELPED
ME MUCH WITH THIS BIOGRAPHICAL NOVEL.3
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eae i ana andes teenie lacn caPREFACE

It is eighteen years since I wrote ‘“The Romance
of Fra Filippo Lippi.” Now, claiming the same
artistic right that is conceded to the painter—for he
has always been allowed to paint a new version of a
theme which he has already rendered—I have writ-
ten a biographical novel on Fra Filippo that is, I be-
lieve, more strictly in accordance with fact.

As to the life of the fifteenth century in Florence
and in the neighbouring town of Prato, I re-echo the
opinion of that sound historian, Mr. E. G. Gardner:
“The bel viver italiano of the Quattrocento, with all
its loveliness and all its immorality,’ was “more
lovely and far less immoral in Florence than else-
where.”

A. J. ANDERSON.
Cornwall,
1927.ares

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SI oeCONTENTS

 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   

PAGE
INTRODUCTION . s : a : ‘ I
CHAPTER
[THE ArTIsTIC TEMPERAMENT. : ; II
Il. AT THE INN OF THE GIRDLE . ; ‘ 21

III. Lucrezia pve’ Buti . s : a aR

IV. Fra Fivirrpo PERSUADES . ; j ea 46

V. Leon BatTTIsTA ALBERTI . : 255
VI. THe Deap Hanyv . =< 368
VII. Maponna HEropiAs : ; 3 79

VIII. “To My Most Gracious Lapy”’ . <1 g 150
IX. THE CARNIVAL . : so ago

X. MAaAppDALENA : : srr

xX. “LHe PAINTING OF A SOUL; 16
XII. THe Rute oF MorHer PriorEss . . 130
XIII. On BREAKING ENCLOSURE : 2 10
XIV. Tue First oF May. : . 146
XV. In THE Via DELLE TRE GORE es TSG
XVI. Tue Stupy oF THE Urrizi Maponna ._ 168
XVII. In FLORENCE . : s 75
XVIII. WHat Hap HappreNnep AT PRATO -  Ls6
XIX. FILipPiIno . : : : ; ‘ $595
XX. WINNING THROUGH : : : < 207
XXI. REPARATION d : ; : ee Dy
XXII. THe AccuSATION ‘ : : : a 226
XXIII. Messer Carto ve’ MEpic1. ; 5 236

ixid aA NEAL ok Bk enn ae ee steele

:
:

x

CHAPTER
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.

CONTENTS

From PERUGIA TO PRATO .

Man AND WIFE

Rest AFTER STRIFE . ;

Tue PAINTER’S MASTERPIECE

“FRATER FILIPPUS. OpP.”.

Our Lapy oF TEARS

In Memory oF Fra FILipPro

HistoricAL Basis or “THE Joyous
FRIAR” ;ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT BUST OF FRA FILIPPO, from his

monument erected by Lorenzo the Magnificent in

The Duomo, Spoleto . : : 3 ; Frontispiece

FACING

THE NATIVITY, formerly in the chapel of the
Medici Palace. Berlin Gallery : : ;

THE CORONATION OF THE VIRGIN, for-
merly in Sant’ Ambrogio. The Academy, Florence

THE MADONNA AND CHILD, Pe for Bar-
tolini. Pitti Gallery, Florenc.

DANCING OF THE DAUGHTER OF HERO-
DI. AS. Duon 710, Pra to ° .

THE MADONNA DELLA C LIN TOLA, formerly
in the Convent of Santa Margherita. sleia)

Pe ila Gé; Prato °

THE MADONNA AND CHILD WITH TWO
ANGELS, painted for Giovanni de’ Medici. Uf-
fizi Gallery . P : :

FUNERAL OF SAINT STEPHEN. Duomo,
Prato : ; ; f : : A 3 :

CORONATION OF THE VIRGIN. Duomo,

S pole to

PAGE

300
302
304

306

308:
'
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F

—————INTRODUCTION
FRA FILIPPO LIPPI
I

T is springtime in Cornwall. Down in the
valleys the Cornish bluebells are breaking into
flower, not one here and one there, but in

countless thousands. On the uplands they will
blossom later, but there too they will come all to-
gether. At the gateways of the water-meadows,
where the cows have trampled, the earth was brown
mud a week ago; to-day it is covered with fresh
green grass. In a few weeks the fox-gloves will
begin to flower in exactly the same manner as the
bluebells, all together; for the mysterious laws of
nature move all the living plants of the same species
to blossom at the same season. We can tell to some
degree what makes the flowers die down when their
seeds have ripened and their task is finished; but,
except that their surroundings must be favorable,
we cannot tell what makes the bluebell flower in
the spring, the poppy blossom in the summer and
the heather color the moors purple in the autumn.
Art had been dead in Europe for more than seven
centuries, killed by the Teutonic incursion of the
Goths and Vandals, when suddenly it came to life
and blossomed out most gorgeously. Historians
may invent causes for this Renaissance, for, given
Iedi Ulead tet —
hie bi a Te

ete

 

2 INTRODUCTION

historical facts, it is always easy to invent causes
which may have produced these facts; but this much
is certain, that at the beginning of the thirteenth
century art was as dead as the hedgerows in winter,
and that towards the end of the same century, when
the Teutonic influence had died down and the sur-
roundings were favorable, Dante was writing his
Divine Comedy, Pisano was carving his sculpture
at Pisa, and Giotto was painting those frescoes
which have delighted all the true artists who have
lived since.

Then, having expended its first energy in Dante,
Petrarch and Boccaccio, poetry lay still; and, having
expended its first efforts in Giotto, painting became
quiescent; for art, like every effort of creation, re-
quires a period of rest before it can again blossom.

II

What was the Renaissance? Common tradition,
which inspires the popular lecture and the school
text-book, tells us that it was the revival of the
arts of Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome; but
critical examination shows that, working from J/
Convito to the Divine Comedy, Dante was inspired
by the philosophy of St. Thomas and Aristotle,
whilst Giotto owes more to that love of nature that
was preached by St. Francis of Assisi than to any-
thing else. Of course, in the fifteenth century, Ital-
ian art learnt much from the Grecian and Roman
statues and manuscripts that had just been dug
up from the earth or dug out from monastic lumber-
rooms, but there was but little of the spirit of imi-
tation. As a matter of fact, it was the attempt toINTRODUCTION 3

revive the arts of Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome
in the latter part of the sixteenth century that killed
the Italian Renaissance; for, from the moment that
art commences to imitate past ages instead of ex-
pressing the thoughts and feelings of living men,
from that moment does it become insincere and
artificial.

The Renaissance, then, was the revival of the
love of beauty for its own sake, expressed through
the hands of the poets, architects, sculptors and
painters of the period. It was exactly the same
hunger and thirst after beauty that, in different
ages, has moved Egypt, China, Japan, Ancient
Greece and Ancient Rome. This Appetito di
belezza came on Florence in the time of Dante and
Giotto and, again, in the fifteenth century as surely
as the urge of spring comes on the Cornish valleys.

Iil

From the death of Giotto in 1336, until the be-
ginning of the next century, pictorial art went back-
ward rather than forward; but, in the first half of
the fifteenth century, there suddenly blossomed
forth a group of Florentine painters, the chief
of whom take a most important place in the history
of art, especially as each of these expressed that
form of beauty which appealed to his particular
temperament.

Fra Angelico, who used often to say “that he
who had to do with the things of Christ ought to
live with Christ,’’ painted those Saints and Angels
on whom his soul was set. Paolo Uccello, who burnt
the midnight oil in the attempt to discover “how4 INTRODUCTION

nature reveals herself in art and how forms really
present themselves to the eye,” raised the drawing
of linear perspective into a magnificent form of
artistic expression. Masaccio, who “realized that
painting is nothing else but the simple imitation of
natural objects in drawing and color,” painted huge
life-like groups from which Lippi, Leonardo da
Vinci and Michelangelo drew inspiration. ‘Then
came Fra Filippo Lippi.

Now, if we would understand Florentine art,
we must fit in the successive generations of painters
who made her name famous, and this we can do by
naming only the chief :—

GiOtto es eee iva coe cc ttecieee 1276-1335
Fra Anvelicoy..3. 250 36 3 ee 1387-1455
Paolo ‘Uccello’ 32 oAee ns ie ce. wae 1397-1475
Miasacciowis tie re cs es ee 1401-1428
Bra Filippo g@ippiei. ase oe oe 1406-1469
Antonio Hollaiuoloy s...6. cores. ae 1431-1498
Verrocchio ss.0 760 a. oss ee eee 1435-1488
Botticella: 9. 235..303 ae oa tee fee 1444-1510
Ghirlandajoy 325 40.6 bse ee eee 1449-1494
Leonardorda: Vinel eis ees oe ae 1452-1519
Filippino Vippi as. 5. ee oe 1459-1504
Michelangelo’ och ace ee eee 1475-1564

Of course, there were scores of other Florentine
painters who were very great artists; but these few,
by the great influence which they exercised on the
development of art, as well as for their intrinsic
merits, may be singled out as typical of the Floren-
tine Renaissance.INTRODUCTION
IV

Of the second generation of painters, Masaccio
has an exceedingly great reputation, partly because
he was the first who painted in the ‘‘new manner,”
and partly because his frescoes in the Carmelite
Church of Florence were studied by every young
Florentine painter from Lippi to Michelangelo;
but, although Fra Filippo’s greatest frescoes, which
equaled those of Masaccio, were painted in such
out-of-the-way places as Prato and Spoleto and
could have had but little influence on his contempor-
aries, yet his paintings and altarpieces which were
scattered through Florence had an overwhelming
‘influence on those who came after. Vasari, the
artist and historian who was an intimate friend of
Michelangelo, says: ‘“To such perfection did Fra
Filippo attain, that in his own time he was surpassed
by none, and even in our days there are very few
superior to him; wherefore Michelangelo not only
praised him incessantly, but imitated him in many
things.”

Such praise from Michelangelo, who lived in the
very height of the Renaissance and who had seen
Fra Filippo’s pictures when they were fresh and un-
touched by time, speaks volumes; but, if one wishes
to form a modern estimate of their artistic merit,
one must visit the Florentine Academy where the
paintings of the great Florentine painters are hung
in their historical sequence: a single glance, and one
will see for oneself that Fra Filippo’s paintings are
at least a hundred years in advance of all that has
gone before, and for sheer gracefulness, attractive-=——
TS ET Ve Er pe eT
. . r rs

INTRODUCTION

ness and workmanship are equal to anything that
comes after.

These Academy pictures however, which were
painted whilst Fra Filippo was still at Florence, do
not show him at his greatest, for true greatness did
not come to him until he painted the Prato and
Spoleto frescoes, but they are full of the love of
beauty. His Florentine pictures are the expression
of a careless, pleasure-loving man who was a true
artist, and Fra Filippo had to experience great love,
great shame and great forgiveness before he became
capable of the deeper emotions of his art.

V

Filippo Lippi was probably born in 1406, and
Vasari tells us that soon after his birth his parents
died leaving him almost destitute, and that he was
taken in by the Carmelite Friars at the age of
eight. Vasari also tells us that, when the boy was
placed with the novices for education, he showed
himself dexterous and ingenious with his hands but
refused to apply his mind to learning of any kind;
‘Whereupon the prior determined to give him all
means and every facility for learning how to paint.”’

Here Vasari, who was remarkably accurate about
the pictures he had seen and the artists with whom
he had lived, but notoriously inaccurate about the
biographies of those who had died before he was
born, becomes altogether unreliable, and we must
fill in the life of Fra Filippo from the records of
the Carmine and other contemporary documents.

Fra Filippo was admitted to the novitiate in 1420
and professed a Carmelite Friar on June 8, 1421,INTRODUCTION 7

at the early age of fifteen. We can find no record
of his ordination; but, since he was appointed Rec-
tor of the parish of San Quirico in Legnaja in 1442,
he was certainly ordained to the priesthood,
probably before he left the Carmine in 1431.

As to his artistic training, he appears to have
learnt the rudiments of his art from Lorenzo
Monaco and he certainly studied under Masaccio
who was painting the frescoes in the Carmine dur-
ing 1426-27. He was first entered as a qualified
“painter” in the Carmelite register of 1430, and
permitted to leave the Carmine in order to pursue
his vocation of painter in 1431. This freedom to
follow his art is not as strange as it sounds. for the
paintings of the age were all religious subjects and
painting was still regarded as “the handmaid of
religion”; besides were not Fra Angelico, the Do-
minican, and Don Lorenzo Monaco, the Camal-
dolese, allowed like liberty?

So Fra Filippo went out into the world, still
wearing his Carmelite habit.

VI

Of Fra Filippo’s life in Florence we know little
that is reliable. He appears to have lived in the
Medici household, painting the two delightful pic-
tures for Cosimo de’ Medici that now hang in the
English National Gallery.

In 1434 (when he was thirty) he was com-
missioned to paint the gorgeous Coronation of our
Lady for the altar of Sant’ Ambrogio at a price
which amounts to over 5,000 dollars, or £1,000,
present value, and in 1437 he commenced the panelSee ME A ol oe ena oka Ree

FF Fi ere
—

8 INTRODUCTION

for Santo Spirito, now in the Louvre—which latter
picture, as a contemporary writes: “He cannot finish
in five years, though he should toil at it day and
night, so great a work is ite

Altogether, working in the intractable medium of
tempora and executing a vast number of pictures,
Fra Filippo must have painted as long as daylight
lasted: then, tired out with work and having no
taste for poetry or philosophy or scholarship, he
must have taken his recreation as most artists do
now. ‘Fra Filippo,” writes Vasari, “was extremely
fond of cheerful company, and lived for his own
part in a very joyous fashion.”

But, in spite of the large sums which he received
for his paintings, we find that Fra Filippo was in a
continual state of financial difficulty. For instance,
he writes to Pietro de’ Medici in the August of
1439, when he was busy with the important altar-
pieces for Sant’ Ambrogio and Santo Spirito: “It
‘5 clear that I am the poorest friar in all Florence.
God has left me with six unmarried nieces, infirm
and helpless, and the little they have on earth comes
to them from me. If you could only let me have
a little corn and wine at your house, selling it to
me on credit and putting it to my account, it would
be a great joy for me. I implore you with tears
in my eyes to grant me this favor, so that if I have
to go away I may leave these poor children pro-
vided for.”

This state of involuntary poverty was originally
due to the excessive delay in payment by his patrons;
for instance he had commenced the Sant’ Ambrogio
altarpiece in 1437 and finished it in 1441, and he
was not paid until 1447. But we must admit that,INTRODUCTION 9

later, it was due to his extreme improvidence—when
was a pleasure-loving artist ever provident ?—and
also his entire lack of business instinct. Nor can
we take Vasari’s aspersions against his moral con-
duct during his Florentine period any more seriously
than the charges of immorality which Captain
Wright has lately brought against William Ewart
Gladstone. What happened afterwards at Prato,
joined to his gay and careless manner of life when
he was in Florence, is enough to account for any-
thing that Vasari may have written.

Judging from the portrait bust, executed under
the supervision of his son Filippino in Spoleto,
which is the only authentic portrait in existence, Fra
Filippo must have been an exceedingly handsome
man, with a face that was full of intelligence, charm
and sympathy, and marked with that sense of kindly
humor which is irresistible.

In 1452 Fra Filippo left for Prato, where he had
undertaken to adorn the chief church of the town
with frescoes, and where the events which changed
him into one of the greatest painters of the century
happened. If these events should read like a nov-
ellino of the Quattrocento, it serves to show that
the old Italian romances were true to life, not that
the following account, which is built entirely from
records of the period, is in any way exaggerated.3
F
f
|THE JOYOUS FRIAR

CHAPTER I
THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT
I

HE February sun was low down, shining

through the west window of the great

church of Prato, illuminating the sanctuary
frescoes that were already finished and leaving the
unfinished fresco, upon which the painters were
still working, in a soft half-light.

Messer Geminiano Inghirami, the Proposto or
spiritual governor of Prato, had seated himself in
a corner of the nave so that he might watch the
painters at their work, and judge the effect which
the third of the three large frescoes would have on
the epistle side of the choir when completed.

The subject of the fresco that was now more than
half finished represented the dancing of Salome
before King Herod; and, as the proposto looked at
the graceful movements of the dancing girl—her
figure, which was already painted, seemed to be
moving before his eyes—he understood for the first
time the impulse which had prompted Herod to
promise anything as the reward for such incom-
parable grace of movement.

One of the workmen shifted some steps which
II— = ores
ae Winidnpaj” aie i tee ed ee ee oe ak eee

——— Senet headed

12 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

had hidden a portion of the picture, and the pro-
posto blinked his eyes. There, in the part which
was already painted, was the Daughter of Herodias
dancing before her mother and King Herod, fin-
ished and complete; here, in the part that was now
being painted, there was a continuation of the same
table in the same banqueting-hall, and the same girl
was offering the Baptist’s head, all gory and pitiful,
to what would presently be the figure of her in-
human mother. Two Salomes in the same picture:
this was indeed bewildering!

Then a reason for this apparent confusion of
thought came to Messer Inghirami, for he was a
very keen and clever old man, and, getting up from
his seat, he stole silently towards the choir so that
he might test his solution of the problem.

Thank God, he was right! When he had been
sitting far away in the body of the church, he had
seen the picture as a whole, and the introduction of
two distinct incidents within the same pictured room
had been very puzzling; but, when he came close to
the fresco, his eyes were unable to take in the whole
of the huge fresco at once, but must start with the
left-hand portion. Then, as his eye traveled from
left to right, as the eyesight will, the subject was
gradually unrolled before him, showing the tragedy
from start to finish—first the dancing, then the
terrible crime which followed the dancing. And
Messer Geminiano Inghirami, spiritual governor
of Prato, nodded his head in appreciation of the
genius who had foreseen such an effect.

A tall friar, wearing the brown habit of a Carmel-
ite, descended from the scaffolding upon which he
had been finishing one of the minor figures, and theTHE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT 13

proposto slipped back to his seat in the nave: for
he was a very courteous old gentleman, who did not
hold with interrupting a painter at his work. The
tall friar began to talk forcibly to a younger friar
who was painting at the bottom of the fresco, and
the proposto chuckled at the outspoken nature of
his language.
II

Fra Filippo got down from the scaffolding upon
which he had been finishing one of the figures at
the banqueting-table, and regarded his work with
satisfaction. Next he proceeded to examine a patch
of moist plaster at the bottom of the fresco upon
which the younger friar had been painting. He
stepped back from the picture, holding up his hand
so as to keep away the sunshine, and tilted his head,
first on one side, then on the other. He went close
up to the painting, peering right into it, and again
stepped back. At last he turned to the younger
friar, speaking sharply.

“Diamante,” he said, “that patch of drapery
which you have just finished must come out.”

Fra Diamante straightened himself, and pro-
ceeded to inspect the offending patch of painted
plaster in exactly the same way as the elder friar
had done, first from a distance, afterwards close up.

“Filippo,” he answered, frowning, “I can see
nothing wrong with those folds of drapery. They
are exactly as you drew them in the cartoon.”

Then Fra Filippo exploded. ‘Body of Bac-
chus!’’ he cried. ‘There, on the left, is the dancing
girl as I painted her, with her drapery as light and
diaphanous as air. Here, on the right, is the samees SA
erieeatn sis iets I a TR TTT

14. THE JOYOUS FRIAR

dancing girl in the same gown offering the head of
Saint John Baptist to her mother, as you have
painted her, with her drapery as heavy and lifeless
as stone. Did I draw the drapery as if it had been
starched and then bunched round the legs of the
poor young girl? Tell me that!”

“Yesterday,” grumbled Fra Diamante, “‘you told
me that my drapery was like thick wool and you had
the patch cut out; to-day you tell me that it is like
starched linen. ‘There’s no pleasing you.”

‘“Pumpkin-head,” snapped Fra Filippo, ‘“‘you’ve
got some fine-spun linen to paint from; you've got
my dancing girl as your guide; and, if I have that
infernal patch of plaster cut out twenty thousand
times, you shall go on until you get it right. I am
responsible for your instruction; and, in the name
of all the Saints, I will make you learn.”

Fra Diamante flushed angrily. But presently he
calmed himself with the thought that a day’s extra
work on a painting, let alone twenty thousand days,
would mean so much less profit for Fra Filippo and,
indirectly, so much less profit for himself.

“Filippo,” he suggested persuasively, “work as
I will, I can never please you with my drapery.
Now, suppose you go over it to-morrow @ sécco. A
few touches from your brush will put it right and
save a day’s work.”

‘And have all my touches flake off within a dozen
years?” fumed Fra Filippo. ‘May ten thousand
fiends fly away with you!” And he fussed over to
where his journeyman, Jacopo, was waiting for him
with a bowl of water and a towel.

For the whole art of securing permanence in
fresco-work lies in having the patch of plaster thatTHE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT ts

is to be painted laid fresh, and in painting while it
is still damp. Otherwise, instead of soaking into
the drying plaster and becoming part of it, the paint
will lie on the surface and eventually flake off. Fra
Diamante, who had more than three years’ experi-
ence of the Prato frescoes, knew this as well as Fra
Filippo.

Then, having washed his hands and having put
on the full white cloak which the Carmelite wears
over his brown habit, Fra Filippo took a stick of
charcoal, drew a line round the offending patch as
a sign to the plasterers that they should cut it out
and relay it first thing in the morning, and prepared
to leave the pieve. He was not feeling pleased with
his assistant, Fra Diamante.

III

As Fra Filippo approached the pieve door, a
tall and dignified personage joined him. The friar
bent his head in greeting, and the pair left the
church together.

In this early spring of 1456, Fra Filippo Lippi
must have been an exceedingly attractive man. We
have what was his probable portrait in the figure
of the young religious of about thirty-four, which
he had painted in the Sant’ Ambrogio “Coronation
of our Lady.” * We have his authentic portrait in

*In 1909, in the Romance of Fra Filippo Lippi, I pointed out
that the old secular priest on the right hand of the picture in the
Sant’ Ambrogio “Coronation,” whom art critics, from Dr. Cinelli
to Mr. Strutt, had regarded as Fra Filippo, could not possibly
have been the Carmelite Friar, who was then but thirty-four. In
1911, Mr. Montgomery Carmichael proved beyond contention that

this old secular ecclesiastic was Mgr. Francis Maringhi, the donor
of the altarpiece and the benefactor of the church. And Mr. Car-See

Sg TS eR Te Eg

16 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

the marble bust which his son Filippino Lippi de-
signed in Spoleto Cathedral after his death. But,
as he appeared in 1456, a man of forty-nine, we
have no record.

However, taking one portrait with another, the
discontented droop of the mouth, which had given
a supercilious expression to the exceedingly hand-
some young friar of the Sant’ Ambrogio altarpiece,
must have disappeared by now, and the generous
and sympathetic expression, with its strong sense
of humor, which wins our hearts in the memorial
bust of Spoleto, must have begun to take its place.
Anyhow, his face was intensely keen and full of
artistic impulse; it was a face which must attract
and rivet the attention; and, although, thanks to
the attention of the Vicar General of Florence, Fra
Filippo now walked slowly and with difficulty, his
fisure remained tall, upstanding and shapely until
his death.

“How goes your painting of the Baptist, Fra
Filippo?” asked Messer Geminiano Inghirami, with
that gracious dignity which distinguishes the Tuscan
of good family.

“His head is now being presented to Herodias
on a charger, eminence,” answered Fra Filippo.

“So I have just seen.” And the Proposto of
Prato sighed, for he was taking a very lively interest
in the frescoes, which were beginning to make his
church beautiful, and this rendering of the death of
Saint John Baptist moved him strongly. “Posu-
michael and myself, judging from the marble bust which Filippino
carved in Spoleto Cathedral, decided that the traditional portrait
of Fra Filippo in the Sant’ Ambrogio “Coronation” must have been

that of the comparatively young friar high up on the left of the
picture and standing next our Lady.THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT 17

isti, Domine, in capite ejus coronam de lapide
pretioso!” he murmured. ‘And this head, crowned
with the jewels of righteousness, to be served up
by a common dancing girl!”

~The dancing girl was a princess, eminence.”

“Madonna! The more noble her birth, the
greater her degradation!” He thought for a
moment. “And yet, Fra Filippo, it was a fitting
end for him who first preached the Crucified.”

The friar mumbled something; for he regarded
his art from the descriptive and decorative, not
from the religious, aspect.

“The work of a painter,” continued the proposto,
“at least the work of a painter who undertakes
such subjects as you have undertaken, must be a
continual life of meditation. Men say that Fra
Angelico of Fiesole always mixed his pigments with
prayers.”

Fra Filippo’s eyes twinkled. ‘When I met him
two years ago at Perugia, eminence, he was mixing
his pigments with the white of an egg. Perchance
he was suffering from spiritual dryness at the time,
and his prayers were not sufficiently fluid to mix
with paint.”

The proposto smiled, but his voice was grave.
“At any rate,” he said, ‘“‘Fra Angelico is now mixing
his prayers with praise, and enjoying a vision that
is far more beautiful than any picture he ever
imagined.” And, linking his arm in that of Fra
Filippo, he began to walk up and down before the
front of the pieve.

“Do you mean to make Fra Diamante keep on
painting that gown of Salome until you are satis-
fied?” he asked, presently.S atehath tieneaemed Lace
Sa acouneaee aaa aaa id
he bb ers eee AA ie od ee eee a the!

18 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“Fh? Then you were in the pieve when I quar-
reled with Diamante?”

“Obviously.”

Fra Filippo chuckled. ‘‘Perhaps I shall forgive
him to-morrow or the next day and paint the gown
myself: one cannot be angry for ever. Besides,
since the plasterers cannot lay on the next patch of
plaster until this one is finished, it would hold up
the fresco indefinitely.”

“This Diamante of yours is not very clever, Fi-
lippo,” suggested the proposto.

“But he is very conscientious and very eco-
nomical, eminence,” replied Fra Filippo loyally.
Then the need of some explanation of the rating
which he had just given dawned on him. “How-
ever, he must learn to carry out the spirit of my
work, else how can I leave him so that I may carry
out other commissions and earn my livelihood?”

“Bah! What with panels and frescoes we have
paid you eight hundred florins already, that is two
hundred florins a year.* Surely that satisfies you,
greedy one.”

“But one has to pay assistants and journeymen
and prentices, eminence. That runs away with
most of the money.”

“You have one assistant to whom you pay less
than ten florins a year, one inferior journeyman who
costs you less, and one prentice who costs you noth-
ing—say twenty florins in wages—I know this be-
cause we advanced you your first year’s wages.

* A golden florin equals about £6 or $30 present purchasing
value. Fra Filippo must have been receiving for his pieve work

about $6,000 a year, besides what he received for his private com-
missions, which works out at from $2,000 to $3,000 a panel.THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT 19

That leaves you with one hundred and eighty florins
a year for your personal expenses.” 180 florins
equals 5,400 dollars,

“I have to feed Diamante,” remarked Fra Fi-
lippo.

The proposto laughed, gripping the friar’s arm
tightly, for he was very fond of him. “I have no
right to interfere with your private life, Filippo,”
he said; “but don’t let Fra Diamante spoil this last
fresco of the Baptist.”

“I shall paint the gown of Salome and the face
of Herodias myself, eminence,” promised Fra Fi-
lippo.

Then Messer Geminiano Inghirami left the friar,
and returned up the pieve steps to have another
look at the fresco before the light should fade.

IV

When the proposto had left him, Fra Filippo
became conscious that he was feeling very tired.
Early that morning he had said Mass at the Con-
vent of Santa Margherita, of which convent he had
been appointed chaplain; next, as soon as he had
drunk a mouthful of wine and munched a crust of
bread, he had hurried off to the church so that he
might lay the foundation color of King Herod
whilst the plaster was still very moist, and the
stretching up to the face of Herod had strained the
injury which he had received five years ago. An
important interview with the Abbess of Santa Mar-
gherita about a proposed picture for the convent
chapel had followed, and the rest of the day, be-TT a ETT

Sito cacao
oe

=
~ rT

20 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

ginning with an unsatisfactory dinner and ending
with the dispute between himself and Fra Diamante,
had proved most wearisome.

Besides this, when a painter or a poet or an artist
of any description is hot foot on his subject, he
works himself relentlessly, and this fresco of Saint
John Baptist was coming very right. When he had
been a youth in the most receptive state of his train-
ing, he had watched the great Masaccio working at
the magnificent frescoes in his own Carmelite
Church, and now he had a chance to rival Masaccio
on the walls of the pieve. The thought haunted
him day and night, making him paint more desper-
ately in his dreams than even when he was awake
and working. This was all very wearying, and the
dispute with Fra Diamante, who, in the present
state of his nerves, seemed to be hindering him at
every turn, was the climax.

To-morrow morning, when the world looked
brighter, he would be able to laugh at Diamante’s
bunchy drapery and ridicule his schemes to scamp
work; but this evening he could stand no more of
the younger friar’s company and he decided to seek
his supper in more congenial surroundings. He
would sup at the Inn of the Girdle, where the food
was excellent, and where he could have either peace
or company as his soul moved him.

So he took his way across the Pieve Square
towards the inn of his choice.CHAPTER II
AT THE INN OF THE GIRDLE
I

HE Inn of the Girdle, named after our
Lady’s Girdle—which precious relic had
been discovered in Palestine and brought
home by a pious native of Prato and was now one
of the most treasured Possessions of the pieve
was a comfortable inn that was frequented by the
better-class citizens, the country gentry and the
most important travelers on their way to Florence
or Pistoja.

As Fra Filippo entered the dining-room of this
inn, shutting the door after him and sniffing at the
comfortable warmth and the smell of appetizing
cooking, one called him from the right and another
called him from the left and another, who was
seated near the far end of the room, called him
loudly; but, with a nod and a smile, he passed on to
a distant corner where he could be alone. For, now
that he had left off work, he was feeling very tired
and very hungry. Also he had a very great thought
which he wished to think over quietly whilst he was
enjoying his supper.

This was a very respectable house where a good
girl might serve without impropriety, and a neatly
gowned serving-maid came forward to take his
order. ‘What will you order, padre?” she asked,
smiling.

 

21

<OAM ad ta ee ae a a hire

a ea

Sa eee al
a

————
2 ee ES ar .

 

THE JOYOUS FRIAR

22

Fra Filippo’s great idea was coming upon him in
huge waves, filling hig wholeanmd. “Lhe dish of
the day, I suppose,” he answered carelessly.

“But, padre!’ And the girl raised her eyebrows
and tilted her chin and shrugged her shoulders, all
with great eloquence. It was as much as to say that,
although the dish of the house might be good
enough for the general public, it was quite unsuited
to him.

Such eloquence of gesture could scarcely be dis-
regarded, certainly not by a man of Fra Filip-
po’s sympathetic temperament. ‘Then what do you
suggest, Maddalena 2” he asked, smiling.

Leaning forward with her soul in her eyes, the
girl sank her voice to a tone of reverence as though
such mysteries should be kept private. “There is
a larded capon which is now browning before the
fire,’ she whispered. ‘“Fleaven! That, with some
truffles and a slice of smoked ham from Castiglione,
would make a dish fit for his Holiness.” And she
drew herself straight upright, awaiting his decision.

He nodded, catching the spirit of her intense

earnestness. ‘Good. That is ordered. And then,

Maddalena ?”
“A galad, of course,” said she, striving to gain

time so that she might think out what should follow.
“A fresh salad will accompany the capon like music
accompanies Vespers.”

“And then, Maddalena?” he asked, watching her
with interest, for he often supped at the Inn of the
Girdle, and he had amused himself by training Mad-
dalena in the artistic composition of a bill of fare.

“A larded capon, served as we have decided,”
she mused, “‘is rich and savory. It should be fol-AT THE INN OF THE GIRDLE 2g

lowed by something that cleanses the palate. Ah!
I have it, Fra Filippo. A dish of sliced oranges,
sweetened with honey and dressed with the aqua-
vite of the Gesuati.”

“Excellent! And next?”

~You will drink Chianti with the capon and need
nought with the oranges. You will now have a
little of the cheese of Parma and a flask of the
old Falernian which the patron cherishes for his
especial guests. Of a truth, that is a supper fit for
the great painter from Florence.”

“You said, ‘Fit for his Holiness,’ little one.”

She gave him a daring glance. ‘Body of Bac-
chusiie she cried. “If itis fit for Bea Filippo, it
is fit for his Holiness. That is known to all Prato
—very well known indeed.”

"Eh, well,” he sighed. “So Circe tempted the
swine into gluttony. You have an excellent taste,
Madonna Circe, and this supper will do you infinite
eredit-.

So the serving-girl, delighted with herself, hur-
ried off to make certain that the supper was pre-
pared according to her directions, whilst Fra Fi-
lippo leant back in his chair playing with his great
idea. He poured out a little Chianti from the flask
which the maid had already brought, and _ his
thoughts swung back over what had happened that
very morning.

II

Early in that year, 1456, Fra Filippo had been
appointed chaplain of the Convent of Santa Mar-
gherita in the Piazza del Mercatale and almost op-
posite his house. This convent was the home of 2See Ale terete

Scene
es

ee oe

EO

 

24 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

small community of Augustinian nuns, and the
building was so restricted in accommodation that the
community was forced to limit its number to eight
professed nuns besides a few novices.

Why the Abbess Bartolommea de’ Bovacchiesi
had appointed Fra Filippo as chaplain heaven only
knows, for he had but little knowledge of theology
and only enough Latin to enable him to say Mass;
but we may assume that she was moved by the same
‘dea that moves nearly all nuns—that only a reli-
gious can understand the spiritual needs of a reli-
gious. Besides, ‘f one thinks the matter over, here
was a Carmelite who was earning his income by his
brush, and he could afford to act as chaplain at a
very small remuneration. Possibly, also, the abbess
was not impervious to the friar’s charm of manner
and kindly disposition. The appointment had been
made a month ago, and to-day the abbess had be-
come inspired with a great idea that formed the
base of Fra Filippo’s still greater idea.

Now the Abbess Bartolommea de’ Bovacchiesi
belonged to one of the oldest families of Prato and
had ordered her conyent wisely and well for many
years; and, as Vasari tells us, “being desirous of
leaving a remembrance of her pious rule,” she had
conceived the plan of having a panel of our Lady
of the Girdle, painted by the first artist in Tuscany,
which should form an altarpiece for the convent
chapel.

Would Fra Filippo undertake the commission ?
The friar had shaken his head, for he had already
as much paying work in hand as he could accomplish

and was unwilling to undertake any more. TheAT THE INN OF THE GIRDLE 25

abbess had pleaded. The friar had repeated his
refusal. Again the abbess had pleaded

Then, in his turn, the friar had conceived an idea
that was positively stupendous. “If you will allow
Sister Lucrezia to pose as a model for the Madonna,
abbess,’’ he had said, “I will undertake the altar-
piece.”’

The abbess had gasped.
model, Fra Filippo?

“A nun to pose as a
That is quite impossible!”

“If a Carmelite friar can paint a picture, abbess,
an Augustinian nun can pose as the model.”

And that had made her think.

Then the friar, pressing home his advantage, had
laid bare a portion of his soul. “A painter must
needs employ a model,” he had urged, “for it is
impossible to paint in the new manner without a
model. Even the holy Fra Angelico, who was
nearer a saint than any whom I have ever met,
employed a model. But, mark, a professional
model is not always a girl of the highest character,
and when one is trying to paint the most holy
Madonna—!”’

“Ah!” the abbess had murmured. “TI understand
your difficulty.”

“Imagine always employing the same model,
abbess. A model for the daughter of Herodias, the
same girl as the model for the Woman Taken in
Adultery, the same girl as the model for our Eady?
Here he drew on his artistic imagination. ‘And
this same girl does not say her prayers, and she
has the soul of a cabbage, which does not think, and
she has the person of a wanton who does not wash,
and her atmosphere fills the bottega with the reek
of garlic!”ee
7 Nene. Of E *
- Ms pe 1" a al MOL 5h tke alee eee ale ian

 

26 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

The abbess had shuddered, for she was a dainty
old lady.

Then the friar had unfolded another of the
wrappers which hid his soul from the world.
He had always yearned to paint a picture that
should be higher and nobler than anything which he
had so far achieved, but he had been caught and
chained to earth by the earthly character of his
model. If he could paint Sister Lucrezia, leaving
her to her thoughts and meditations whilst he raised
his own mind to the Madonna of the Girdle!

“Besides,” he had owned, “I have already
painted Sister Lucrezia as the Madonna.”

“Tmpossible!”’ had cried the abbess. ‘‘You have
never had the opportunity.”

Then Fra Filippo had smiled and plunged into
his story. It had happened more than three years
before the present date, soon after Fra Filippo
had come to Prato and when Sister Lucrezia was
staying at the convent of Santa Margherita with
the view of becoming a nun. Fra Filippo had re-
ceived a commission for a picture of our Lady from
Messer Leonardo Bartolini of Florence—it is the
round picture, or tondo, which now hangs in the
Pitti Gallery—and, what with moving over to Prato
and the dificulty of commencing the pieve frescoes,
his invention had become as dead as the fields in
winter, and he had tried and tried but without suc-
cess. Then, on the feast of Santa Margherita, he
had visited the convent, and when he had first seen
Sister Lucrezia, dressed in her worldly clothes and
holding the baby of one of the guests upon her lap,
‘t had dawned on him that this maiden had the very
face of the Madonna for which he was seeking.Al THE INN OF GHEE GIRDLE

"90, abbess,” he had concluded, “I made a great
to-do about the beauty of the child and, as I drew
the child to please the mother, I drew Sister
Lucrezia holding the child for my picture; and,
going home, I painted her as the Madonna and this
has been the best picture that | have ever painted.
Believe me, abbess, Sister Lucrezia has the face and
expression of our most gracious Lady.”

“And you think that, if I permit Sister Lucrezia
to pose as the model for the Madonna, your pic-
ture will be a success?”

“Without doubt, abbess.”
plied.

27

Fra Filippo had re-

Then the abbess had promised to think the matter
over and let him know her decision on the morrow,
and, as she was a very wise and kindly old lady, he
now hoped for the best.

Ii]

Maddalena, her face alight with achievement,
brought the capon and, setting it down on the table,
hurried back for the salad. And Fra Filippo, who
by now was simply ravenous, began to carve.

“Maddalena,” he remarked, helping himself to
salad, “‘you are one of this world’s saintly women.
To feed the hungry is a veritable work of mercy.”

“Eh, padre,” she answered, filling his glass with
Chianti; ‘and to give drink to the thirsty is
another. I am full of good works this evening.”
And she hurried off to attend to other of the guests,
leaving Fra Filippo free to give way to his musing.

So far, he had only once succeeded in satisfying
himself in his religious pictures. It is true that,ee tee Aid io ee ee kas ee

fete ieee Lol

ae tier eee an kk cele eal

28 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

long ago in his youth, his paintings had been the
expression of sacred themes by an obviously reli-
gious man; but, as skill and power had come to him,
he had lost that deeply religious feeling which is
the vital essence of all true religious art and, when
he came to attempt a spiritual theme, he had noth-
ing spiritual to express. He knew that his drawing
was now almost perfect, that his coloring was both
rich and delicate, and that the execution of his work
could not be surpassed; but, when he came to the
spiritual expression of his subject, he was bitterly
conscious of his failure. His Madonnas were beau-
tiful and refined ladies, nothing more; his saints
were also refined and lovely, for he was naturally
incapable of anything except refinement, but they
were no more saints than he and Fra Diamante were
saints.

Then, at length, he had painted that tondo for
Messer Bartolini and, at one step, he had reached
something that he had never before attained. For
that picture of the Madonna, with incidents from
her life in the background, had been the representa-
tion of a maiden full of grace and spirituality, and,
what was more, for the first time in the history of
art, he had made our Lady the living mother of a
living bambino. If he could only go on with the
same model, making sketches of her whilst he was
painting the Santa Margherita altarpiece, he would
paint as none had ever painted before.

Then, without a pause, his thoughts passed from
the abstract to the concrete.

With her lovely and spiritual face and her in-
telligent mind, what a charming young nun Sister
Lucrezia was. Most of the other nuns of SantaAT THE INN OF THE GIRDLE 29

Margherita were good and very ordinary women;
but this one had all the refinement of the girl who
had been brought up in Florence combined with the
spiritual expression which marks the religious.

A wandering minstrel at a neighboring table
began to sing a Tuscan song, but the tune and words
did not penetrate the friar’s consciousness and his
thoughts flowed on unchecked.

Lucrezia de’ Buti was, as Vasari tells us, an “‘ex-
ceedingly beautiful and graceful’? maiden, and, since
Fra Filippo’s tastes lay in the direction of graceful
beauty, he ought to have been on his guard. But,
as yet, he was unconscious of the danger and so he
let his thoughts wander on, picturing Lucrezia as
she moved, as she held herself, and dwelling on the
delightful blend of the human and the spiritual
which showed itself in her face.

This musing might have lasted for ten minutes
or, as far as he knew, it might have lasted for hours.
There is no measure of day-dreams. Then Mad-
dalena aroused Fra Filippo.

IV

Maddalena, the serving-girl, removed the capon
and placed a dish of sliced oranges upon the table.
This was truly a seductive dish: oranges, peeled
and sliced against the grain, sweetened with honey
and stimulated with the strong waters that the
Gesuati of Sienna had distilled; and Fra Filippo
came to earth with a start. After all, the body de-
mands attention as well as the mind. Then, as he
sniffed the scent of the oranges, he became consciousee

Serta ane ad

er

_

Ty

Se

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   

30 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

that the minstrel at the neighboring table was sing-
ing something above the ordinary.

The man had that rare gift, a sympathetic voice;
and, as he touched his lute, he named the title of
his theme:

TO MY MOST GRACIOUS LADY
and sang in terza rima

“Lady, I love you! love you, dear, so much
That Love is burning with a white-hot flame,
Searing mere passion into lifeless dust.

First, when I met you, e’er this true Love came,
Your presence thrilled me, heart and every nerve;
Yet, even then, my Love deserved its name,

For, when I met you, there was this reserve
That, though you thrilled me to my inmost core,

I only thrilled to worship and to serve.

“Now, Lady mine, hath Love scorched up the straw,
Leaving the flame, yet searing all that’s base:
Wonderous Love, its flames grow more and more!

Yet, since no Love can burn without fresh grace—
E’en holy Love needs fuel, else it dies—

So, dear, my Love draws ardor from your face.

For, in your face, and in your shining eyes,
Love seeks its virtue, till my Love is such
That it will burn for you all Angel-wise.”

The lute throbbed on, playing softly and speak-
ing to the inmost soul of Fra Filippo. Then the
last verse began :—

“T watch your lips; no thought of earthly touch;
I watch your lips, moved by your gracious soul,AT THE INN OF THE GIRDLE

Till Seraphs doubt how man can love so much.
I watch those lips, seeing tl

oy

ie smiles that stole
Upwards and outwards from the soul’

s delight,
And my poor heart, once earth-|

sound, now is whole.
I watch your eyes—Love. turn those eyes towards me!—
I adore

Until my Love shall flame eternally.”

I watch those eyes, and, watching,

With his eyes shining and his breath coming
quickly, Fra Filippo beckoned the minstrel Over to
his table.

“Bring a fresh glass and fresh plates, Madda-
lena,” he called, ‘for this gentleman is my guest.”’

The serving-girl brought two clean plates and
two clean glasses, and she placed the cheese on the
table and proceeded to open a flask of golden wine.
Then she went off smiling; for not only was she
a kind-hearted girl, who was thoroughly pleased to
know that her customer was enjoying himself, but
she was also a thrifty girl, who could see how the
cat was jumping, and she foresaw that the friar
would have to settle a heavy bill out of which she
would get her small percentage.

“Messere,” said the friar, turning to the minstrel,
“who was the poet that wrote the verses of your
song?”

The minstrel swallowed a mouthful of orange
and fingered his wineglass. ‘I learnt them from my
father, padre. He was also a minstrel.”

“But who was the poet that wrote them?”

The minstrel smiled. ‘When my father had
drunk a small flask of old Chianti, padre, he would
say that they were written by Boccaccio.”’

saviesit)

“And when he had drunk two small flasks of oldSe eg ee ad il” = dale EEE

32 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Chianti, he would say that they were written by
Petrarch.”

COIN

“And when he had drunk three small flasks of
old Chianti and had become generous, he would
say that they were written by the divine Dante.”

“And you say?”

The minstrel winked an eye and nodded his head
wisely. ‘Messere,” he said, “I have always thought
that my father wrote these verses himself, for he
was a true poet who did not leave me one soldo to
rub against another.”

“But that is scarcely to be believed,” cried Fra
Filippo. ‘No ordinary poet could write verses like
those.”

The minstrel shook his head. “Observe,” he
pointed out, “that my father was a true lover of
The Divine Comedy and had mastered the science
of writing in terza rima. Observe, also, that he
had studied the philosophy of Dante very deeply.”

Fra Filippo looked at the minstrel with wonder—
just as one might look at the son of a genuine
prophet.

‘Well, as I say,” continued the minstrel, “this
poem was either written by Dante, or else it was
written by my father in imitation of the divine
poet; for no one else in all this wide country of
Italy could have conceived an idea of love that was
so ridiculous and, at the same time, so dangerous as
this. Even Petrarch was more human.”

The poem had appealed to Fra Filippo, convinc-
ing his reason on the one hand and touching his
better nature on the other, and he longed to argue
violently; but, before one starts an argument oneAT THE INN OF THE GIRDLE 33

must be assured that the other understands the sub-
ject which forms the basis of the argument, and
he asked a searching question. “May 1 ask.
messere,’ he said, ‘‘whether you have ever experi-
enced love?”

The minstrel fingered his glass, sipping a little
wine, thoughtfully. ‘I may have met with a little
love here, and a little love there—for who can
escape the snares of Venus ?—and, if I remember
right, it always happens as Messer Dante (or, per-
chance, my father) describes it. One watches the
maiden’s lovely lips and gazes into her lovely eyes,
and one vows that it is ‘all Angel-wise’; then, what
happens happens.” He drank more wine and his
face clouded. ‘‘Once, padre, I loved a maiden truly,
and we were married, and we were happy together
for a year; but, since then, she has borne me thir-
teen children. When the first bambino comes down
the chimney, love flies out of the door.’ And he
sighed bitterly.

As the minstrel’s face grew gloomy, Fra Filippo’s
face brightened; for he saw that his intuition was
right, and that this man was but an earth-bound soul
who had neither inherited the paternal fire nor the
paternal understanding of the mystery of love.

“Will you write me out a copy of that poem,
messere?”’ he asked.

“With the greatest pleasure, padre,’’ answered
the man, grateful for the hospitality which he had
received. ‘I will leave it with the serving-wench
to-morrow.’

Then, as the guests were beginning to leave the
room, the minstrel drank down his wine and went
round to collect his largess.i AAR RE A ok ee oe ate he irda a

eee: itd see
—_

eT

THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Vv;

Left to himself, the friar leant back in his seat,
sipping his wine and thinking deeply.

Fra Filippo knew all about love, at least in theory;
for had he not spent his early manhood in the Casa
Medici, a friend of Cosimo de’ Medici and a com-
panion of the philosophers and poets who made
Florence illustrious? And these men were full of
that Quattrocento Philosophy of Love which was
such a strange blend of the doctrine of Plato and
the poetry of Dante.

There were, so Marsilio Ficino, the young Pla-
tonist, held, two kinds of love: there was the
divine type of love, which sprang from God and
which embodied a striving after the highest ideals
of spiritual happiness—of this type the minstrel
had evidently known nothing; there was the earthly
type of love, which sprang from Jove and which the
minstrel had experienced.

The divine love was implanted in the soul by
God when He made man, and the man who had the
sift of holy love would seek the likeness of God
in the person whom he loved. There was no sensu-
ality or passion in this type of love, only the intense
desire to see the beauty and perfections of God
reflected in the beloved one. In short it was a love
existing in the mind, which should make the love
of a man and his Lady “all Angel-wise.’ This
high ideal was not a fancy, for already it was be-
ginning to bear fruits. A few years later, when the
doctrine had reached maturity and the practise of
Platonic Love had become common in Italy, nowh hE INN OF THE GIRDLE, ac

breath of scandal ever sullied the names of those
who were followers of this strange cult.

Earthly love, on the other hand, was a materiaf
passion that had come from the old gods, and its
highest aim was to see the likeness of the parents
perpetuated in the children. It did not seek for
eternal life, merely for the procreation of life in
the persons of the offspring; and, as in the case of
the minstrel, it was marked by satiety and disillu-
sionment.

So far, Fra Filippo had regarded Sister Lucrezia
merely as the model for whom he had always
longed; but now it dawned on him that she was far
more than this. For was not the soul the form of
the body which made the body what it was? And
must not the soul of Lucrezia, which had made
such a dainty body and which peeped out through
such compelling eyes and which displayed itself in
such a lovely and inspiring face, be the very perfec-
tion of a human soul? Since this was but the ele-
mentary philosophy of the age, a philosophy which
was known to the meanest philosopher and to the
most superficial poet, it came to Fra Filippo with-
out seeking.

Then it came to him in a flash, just as when God
had said “Let there be light’ and there was light,
that the love of Lucrezia de’ Buti might be the
magnet which should draw his mind away from the
things of earth and fix it on the divine perfections
which were reflected in the little nun.

It is said that the first effects of love, save in the
debased and sensual, are to blind the eyes to pitfalls
and to lift up the heart into day-dreams of idealism.ETT Tp

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36 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

And so this dawning of a newly conceived love lifted
the heart of Fra Filippo into the highest heaven
where such angels as those that Fra Angelico had
painted welcomed its coming.

On the morrow Fra Filippo had a long day be-
fore him in which his powers must be at their
best, so he got up from his seat, paid his reckoning,
and set off for home with his thoughts in the stars.CHAPTER III
LUCREZIA DE’ BUTI
I

ISTER LUCREZIA adjusted her black man-
tle, smoothed down her white serge habit,
folded her hands, placed her feet together,

and looked down with that custody of the eyes which
is seemly in a young nun; then she glanced up
quickly and again lowered her eyes.

“Here, Fra Filippo,” said the abbess gravely,
“is your model for the Madonna.’ And she seated
herself on one of the three chairs which had been
placed in readiness, so that Sister Lucrezia should
sit on the middle chair, with the abbess on her left
and the prioress on her right; for it was seemly
that the mother prioress, as second in command and
maintainer of discipline in the community, should
take charge of so young a nun as Sister Lucrezia
during the sitting.

“I trust,” remarked the prioress, always ready to
improve her charges, “that Sister Lucrezia will ap-
preciate the duty which is imposed on her; for it
is a great and very precious privilege to be allowed
to pose as a model for the Madonna. She must
endeavor to keep her thoughts recollected and her
mind in the presence of our most gracious Lady.”
She glanced at the chaplain so that he might con-
firm her directions. ‘‘Perhaps it would be wise if

at
O/TY er a a TY Te

———*
a Seen nha oadehda iad & tient MA hack

38 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Sister Lucrezia were to say her rosary whilst you
paint her, Fra Filippo.”

Fra Filippo chuckled. ‘Am I to paint her with
her lips murmuring Paters and Aves all the time ?”’
he asked. ‘Truly if I succeed in painting her aright,
men will name this picture: ‘The Whispering
Madonna.’ ”’

The prioress frowned and pursed her lips, for she
was a very fussy and managing lady who did not
like to have her suggestions questioned.

“But Sister Lucrezia cannot remain inactive,
padre,” said she. “Idle hands and idle thoughts
invite the devil to provide a task.’ And dipping
into her work-bag, she brought out three small and
half-finished pincushions upon which designs had
been lightly drawn.

“Here,” she said, “are some pincushions which
are to be embroidered with scenes from the life of
our Lady. Sister Lucrezia can work at these whilst
you paint.”

The friar threw up his hands as though in despair.
“And men will call this picture: ‘Our Lady of the
Pincushion!?”»—-He heard Sister Lucrezia give a
delighted, and only half-suppressed giggle—*‘As a
matter of fact,” he explained, ‘‘the abbess wishes me
to paint a picture of our Lady giving the Girdle to
Saint Thomas, and Sister Lucrezia must be looking
at Saint Thomas whilst she is bestowing the Girdle.
To have the Madonna embroidering a pincushion
—a pincushion, forsooth!—whilst she is giving the
Girdle to the Apostle, is ridiculous.”

The abbess, thinking that it was time for her to
put in a word, looked at mother prioress. “Dear
mother,” she said, “I would have you rememberLUCREZIA DE? BUTI 39

that Fra Filippo is posing the model and painting
the picture, not you.”’

And the prioress closed her lips tightly and kept
silence; for she was a good, if very trying, woman,
whose life was a long struggle against a naturally
interfering and masterful disposition tempered by
an honest desire to keep her vow of holy obedience.

Then the abbess, whose failing health had begun
to blunt her power of judgment and who, consider-
ing her position, was inclined to spend far too much
of her time in heaven, and to delegate too much re-
sponsibility to her subordinate, retired to the con-
vent chapel to pray, and Fra Filippo, Sister
Lucrezia and the prioress were left to themselves.

II

Fra Filippo commenced his preparations. First
he dragged a large table to one corner of the room,
arranging it so that the light from the window
would shine from the left; then he placed a chair
upon the table; then he helped Sister Lucrezia to
mount her makeshift throne. Finally he knelt
down a few feet from the table and slightly to the
left, holding up his hands as though to receive the
Girdle from the Madonna.

“T am Saint Thomas,” he explained, “holding out
my hands for our Lady’s gift. I have been a very
unbelieving Apostle, and our gracious Lady has ap-
peared to me so that she may give me her girdle to
strengthen my faith in her Assumption.” And he
placed a chair to mark the place of Didymus, throw-
ing his large white cloak over the back of it.
“This,’”’ said he, producing a piece of knottedee

PS OT ae ep

Se

 

40 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

cord, “represents the Holy Girdle which you are
giving to Saint Thomas—of course, when I come to
paint the Girdle, I shall paint it from the relic in
the pieve—and I want you to hold it out like this.”
And he arranged her hands as they are posed in
the Madonna della Cintola which is now hanging in
the Pallazo del Comune at Prato.

Then he brought up his easel, placed on it a draw-
ing-board upon which had been stretched a large
sheet of Lucca paper, and, fetching his sticks of
charcoal, made ready to start work.

In the meantime the mother prioress too had
been busy; for she had brought her chair close to
the table so that she might keep her eyes on both
the friar and Sister Lucrezia; she had opened her
work-bag and had produced some embroidery, and
had started to relate, for the hundredth time, the
Legend of the Girdle together with the miraculous
virtues of the aforesaid Girdle and its effects on the
faith of those who venerate it.

The friar began to draw.

‘Cast down your eyes, sister,’ bade the prioress.
“The custody of the eyes is the most precious pos-
session of a young nun.” The eyes were cast down.

‘What are you doing to Sister Lucrezia, reverend
mother?” cried Fra Filippo, ablaze. ‘Heaven,
woman! I tell her to look at Saint Thomas, and
you tell her to look at her toes, and what in the
name of ten thousand fiends is the poor girl to
do?” He strode over to the dummy Saint Thomas
and thumped the mantle which he had placed on the
back of the chair. ‘See! This is Saint Thomas!”
he cried. He strode over to the abbess’s chair,
picked up her cushion and planked it down on theLUCREZIA DE’ BUTI 41

summit of the mantle. ‘And this is the face of
Saint Thomas upon which you must fix your gaze.”

Then he turned to Lucrezia, and his voice became
persuasive. “‘Most gracious Madonna,” he pleaded,
“this is your poor Apostle who is suffering from
temptations of his spirit and needs your help. Turn
your eyes on him, I pray, and perform the won-
drous miracle that shall confirm his faith!’ And
he stepped back to watch the effect of his exhorta-
tion upon Sister Lucrezia.

For the most extraordinary thing about Fra
Filippo’s art is the way in which he identifies his
model with the saint for whom the model has posed.
If he can induce the model to throw herself into the
spirit of our Lady, or of Santa Margherita, or of
Santa Theopista, it seems to have inspired his im-
agination and he can achieve a devotional picture;
if he fails to persuade his model to throw herself
into the spirit of the subject, he can merely paint a
charming picture of a pretty girl pretending to be
a saint.

But Lucrezia de’ Buti was gifted with a strong
imagination blended with the true histrionic instinct,
and gradually her face took on a rapt expression
and she gazed with her soul in her eyes at the im-
agined figure of the poor, doubting Apostle.

Fra Filippo, drawing a deep breath, seized his
charcoal.

Iil

Now, as soon as the prioress had regained her
temper after Fra Filippo’s rough rebuke—for, al-
though she was the victim of a managing tempera-
ment and an utter absence of tact, she was a womanee ee eae

——- ne . ns
~ a Er ee Tr
- —"

 

 

42 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

who tried to do her duty with her whole heart—she
cast about in her mind how she might meet the sit-
uation. Here was this rude and imperious friar,
who had just invoked ten thousand demons and who
was no fit person to companion a young religious;
and here was Sister Lucrezia, who had yielded her-
self to his spell and was sitting as though she had
been bewitched. Great evils need desperate reme-
dies; so, with a prayer for guidance, she commenced
to talk of holy things.

Had Fra Filippo known the holy Dominican, Fra
Angelico, who was said to have mixed his pigments
with prayers? Yes, Fra Filippo had known Fra
Angelico very well. He could not say that the
Dominicans were the friends of the Carmelites in
the same way that the Camaldolese were; but he
had known Fra Angelico very well indeed, and he
could assure mother prioress that the report of Fra
Angelico having mixed his pigments with prayers
had been entirely erroneous, for Fra Angelico had
mixed his paint with albumen and fig-tree sap like
any other artist. Of course Fra Angelico had been
a very holy man, but that was not the cause of his
fine painting; for some very holy men, like the
Bishop of Fiesole, could not paint at all.

Resolutely ignoring his flippancy, the prioress
asked Fra Filippo if he knew the Archbishop of
Florence. This was an error on her part; for,
although the friar was very friendly with the pious
Bishop of Fiesole and the Proposto of Prato, he
had just cause to detest the Archbishop of Florence
and all his works, and his remarks on the ecclesias-
tical authorities of his native city were more pointed
than complimentary.LUCREZIA DE’ BUTI 43

What did Fra Filippo think of the spiritual state
of Florence? Alas! Fra Filippo knew little of the
spiritual state of Florence, and cared less, so his
answers were short and elusive. If, as he explained,
he had listened to all the gossip of the sacristies, he
would have had no time to paint.

And so on, and so on. By the time that the
mother prioress had questioned him and cross-ques-
tioned him for forty minutes, his temper was frayed
to rags and his impulse to draw had vanished into
thin air, and, what was worse, his model had caught
his restlessness and was now looking at him, now at
the prioress, and only occasionally remembering to
let her eyes rest on the absurd cushion which posed
for the head of Saint Thomas.

“Well,” said Fra Filippo, stretching himself,
“that will do for this morning, for I can draw no
more.” And he helped Sister Lucrezia down from
her throne. ‘‘May I speak to the abbess before I
leave, reverend mother ?”’

“Certainly, padre,” answered the prioress and,
well pleased with her morning’s diplomacy, she hur-
ried off to fetch the abbess. In fact, she was so
pleased with the way in which she had kept the talk
on serious subjects that she forgot to take Sister
Lucrezia with her.

IV

When the door closed after the prioress, Sister
Lucrezia stood as she had been taught, her eyes cast
down, her hands folded before her, and her tongue
silent until the chaplain should see fit to address her;
but, although she was calm outwardly, her heart
was seething with anger.44 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Fra Filippo took one turn up and down the room
and seated himself on the edge of the table. “I
never remember spending such an infernal morn-
ing,” he grumbled.

Lucrezia curbed her anger and waited for him to
say more.

“That fiend of a woman talked and talked until
I was nearly crazy. A perfect light and a perfect
model, and a whole morning wasted!”’

Lucrezia could stand this no longer. “Fra Fi-
lippo,”’ she said, her voice trembling, “I’m so sorry,
more sorry than words can tell.”

This came like balm to the friar’s fretted spirit.
“It was not your fault, sister. You didn’t chatter.”

“Of course not!’ she cried. “If I could have
smothered—’”’ And she bit off the rebellious words.

“As I say,” he repeated, ‘“‘you didn’t chatter.
You sat like an angel until she made you fidget.”

Lucrezia was horrified. ‘Did I fidget?” she
asked.

“Not at first,” he answered, smiling. “At first
you were the best model I have ever had. Then,
when she got on the tiles and began to caterwaul,
you became as restless as a little sparrow. I sup-
pose she irritated you as she irritated me.”’

The girl shook her head vehemently. ‘‘No!” she
said. ‘It was not that. You see, Fra Filippo, I
was brought up in Florence, and my father used to
have many painters and poets and philosophers at
his house, and I have been taught that no artist can
work whilst a woman babbles, and I was in agony
for you.”

Fra Filippo was delighted. Here was this girl
behaving, not like a provincial of Prato, but like aLUCREZIA DE’ BUTI 45

Florentine whose mind was endowed with the gift
of understanding and who was the fitting companion
for a painter, a poet, or a philosopher.

“I have a plan,” he hinted, “‘whereby I may be
able to circumvent mother prioress.”

‘What is your plan?” she asked, her eyes spar-
kling.

“If I succeed, you will know my plan,” he an-
swered.

“Unless you satisfy my curiosity,” cried Lucrezia,
“IT shall die of waiting.”

But the friar was obdurate; for he knew full well
that, although a secret long withheld defeats its
own end, a little waiting whets the curiosity. ‘You
must find the prioress very trying in the commu-
nity,’ he suggested.

‘Holy Saints,” she cried, ‘“‘that is true! She talks
and talks, always about holy things, suggesting, ex-
horting, admonishing, until Spinetta and I feel that
we shall grow demented. Spinetta is my sister,”
she explained. ‘May I see what you have drawn?”

But footsteps approached, and, as they ap-
proached, the couple drew apart. And the light
went out of Lucrezia’s eyes until they became en-
tirely without expression.a

Se ee

 

etme Mite ok oe ee oe a ee

    
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

CHAPTER Ly
FRA FILIPPO PERSUADES

I

, ANHE prioress and Sister Lucrezia had de-
parted, and the abbess and Fra Filippo
were left alone. The abbess hesitated,

blushing prettily as some old ladies will, and then

plunged.

“Fra Filippo,” she began, “I suppose it is too
early to ask after the success of the painting; but,
if you will forgive the impatience of an old woman,
is there any promise of success?” And she looked
at him in a pathetic way, for the success of the
altarpiece had come very near her heart. “You
see,” she explained, “ars longa, vita brevis, and my
life is growing very feeble.”

‘““As you say,” he answered, helping himself to
the wine which the abbess had ordered to be placed
for his refection, ‘‘art is a slow process, and I have
not yet commenced the picture.” ‘Then he seated
himself close to the lady abbess and drew on his
artistic imagination.

“Saint Thomas of Aquin tells us,’’ he remarked,
“that, if a woman comes down—er—enters the
door, art flies out of the window.” This amazing
statement he had adapted from the minstrel’s prov-
erb about the arrival of the first bambino, and he

had nearly said, “if a woman comes down the chim-
46FRA FILIPPO PERSUADES 47

ney,” etc., but had managed to check himself just
In time.

“Which saying, Fra Filippo,” laughed the abbess,
“is probably more truthful than complimentary.”

“Of course,” amended the friar, speaking with
intention, “the Angelic Doctor did not mean a pru-
dent woman, for a prudent woman knows when to
keep silent, but one who talks.”’

‘‘Mother prioress, for example,” suggested the
abbess, taking his point.

‘Exactly!’ And they both laughed.

There was a knock at the door, and the cellaress
—she is the nun who looks after the food rather
than after the wine—entered bearing a tray.

“I have brought you some cakes and also some
of our biscuits, Fra Filippo,” said she with an air
of satisfaction. For Prato prides itself on its bis-
cuits, and those of the Convent of Santa Margher-
ita were particularly famous. “You will need them
after your exertion.”

“That is true,” answered Fra Filippo, helping
himself; ‘too much of the pious conversation of an
experienced nun is very tiring to frail humanity.”
And the sister cellaress left the room, biting her lips
to keep back the laughter.

“You should not have said that, Fra Filippo,”
chided the abbess. ‘‘I look to you to support mother
prioress’s authority, not to lower her in the eyes of
the sisters.”’

Having laid the ground for his complaint with
considerable skill, the friar became very serious.

‘When you hear what I have gone through this
morning, mother abbess, you will pity rather than
blame.”’ And he cleared his throat. “I had posedTr per erste

—_

eT Te TT

 

 

 

48 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Sister Lucrezia, and I had given her something
which might represent a girdle to hold, and I had
persuaded her to look down very pitifully at poor
Saint Thomas who was kneeling before her, and I
had begun to draw her face, when mother prioress
interfered, ordering her to cast down her eyes, and
the pose was spoilt.”

The abbess nodded her head in understanding.

“Very well, I had put that right, and Sister Lu-
crezia was again looking pitifully at Saint Thomas,
when mother prioress started to talk. Heaven, how
she talked! Did Fra Angelico mix his pigments
with prayers?—I think that the spirit of poor Fra
Angelico must weep when people ask that absurd
question !—Did I know the holy Archbishop of Flor-
ence? Was there true piety in Florence? Did I
believe that the ravens of Elias founded the Order
of Mount Carmel? These and a thousand more
foolish questions she asked, until I was distracted.”

“T suppose a painter must work in silence and
without distractions,’ suggested the abbess.

“At any rate he must work without another chat-
tering to him, and worrying him, and taking away
his thoughts from what he is doing. But that,” he
continued, ‘‘was not the worst of mother prioress’s
indiscretion. Consider, dear abbess, the effect that
all this chatter and my growing irritation had on
my model!” And he went over to fetch the sketches
which he had made.

Covering the remaining sketches with his hand,
he displayed the first drawing to the abbess. This
drawing showed the beginning of a very beautiful
face, marked by that look of pity of which he had
spoken, and altogether Madonna-like. Then he un-FRA FILIPPO PERSUADES 49

covered the rest of the drawings, and the abbess
could see the delightful expression vanishing and a
harassed expression taking its place.

“I comprehend fully,” she murmured. And, look-
ing him straight in the face, she asked what remedy
he could suggest.

“That I should be left alone with my model
whilst I am painting.”’

The abbess grew disturbed. ‘But, surely,”’ she
began, and hesitated. “Is that quite as it should
be?” she asked.

Fra Filippo knit his brows. ‘When I am posing
her,” he suggested, “I think that some one ought
to be present—yourself, for instance—not mother
prioress. But, when I have started painting, Sister
Lucrezia might be a waxen image or the cat in
the street as far as I am concerned, for I am paint-
ing our Lady of the Girdle.’ As far as he was con-
cerned—that is to say, as far as he knew himself—
Fra Filippo was perfectly honest in his statement;
but, unfortunately, no artist ever realizes the pit-
falls of his own artistic temperament.

So finally, after much discussion, it was arranged
that the abbess should be present whilst Fra Filippo
was posing his model, and that Fra Filippo and
Sister Lucrezia should then be left to themselves.

“IT do not know what mother prioress and the
other senior nuns will say to my arrangement,”
sighed the abbess. ‘‘My one excuse is that you are
no longer very young.”

II

Fra Filippo helped himself to a second glass of
wine and pulled himself together, for he felt thatabhi thao o> ane ene A ol ee ee RET eter

 

 

 

RR eg

50 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

he had a duty to perform which required much
tact.

‘Tet me understand the position of the mother
prioress, so that I make no mistake,’ began Fra
Filippo. ‘In my own community, where the prior
is head of the community, he is appointed for life
by the Carmelite authorities; in other communities,
where an abbot is head of the community, the prior
is appointed as the abbot’s assistant every three
years; in your community, which consists of an
abbess and seven nuns, the prioress is appointed by
yourself. Am I right?”

“You are quite right, padre,” replied the abbess.

“Then, if you can appoint the prioress, you can
also dismiss her and appoint another prioress in
her place?”

The abbess frowned. ‘‘Of course I could do so;
but, except at the time of the three-yearly appoint-
ments, when I appoint the prioress, the novice-
mistress, the cellaress, and so on, the proceeding
would be most unusual. Why do you ask this ques-
tion, Fra Filippo?”

‘Tfave patience, mother abbess, whilst I ask one
more question.” Now that he had come to the
point he was feeling a little nervous, for, although
the Abbess Bartolommea de’ Bovacchiesi was a very
sweet old lady, she was not one with whom he could
take a liberty. ‘Do you think that mother prioress
is the right woman for her post?”

“Because she interfered with your model, Fra
Filippo?”

“No, believe me, dear mother, I am speaking
as your chaplain and not as a painter, and, honestly,

’FRA FILIPPO PERSUADES Si

I wish to know if you consider that mother prioress
is suitable.”’

The abbess hesitated, knowing full well that, as
a prioress, mother prioress left much to be desired.
“She is truly pious,” she temporized, “‘with a strong
sense of duty.”

“By Bacchus!” cried the friar. ‘I have reason
to know that! But does she make a good prior-
essine

The abbess sighed. ‘We are but a small com-
munity, Fra Filippo, and five of us are young and
inexperienced. Who else could I appoint as prior-
Essin’

‘Mother Jacopa de’ Bovacchiesi, your sister,’ he
suggested. “She is very holy and also very gentle.”

“But Mother Jacopa is already novice-mistress.”’

“With only one novice to look after!”

‘That does not matter. Whether there be one
or twenty novices the responsibility is just the same.
One cannot have the same nun as novice-mistress
and prioress, for the confusion would be indescriba-
ble. It is true that I might appoint Mother Jacopa
as prioress, and make the present prioress novice-
mistress; but, if I did so, what would happen to our
little novice?’’ And that question made the friar
shudder.

“Of a truth, she would be driven mad!” he cried.

Again the abbess sighed, this time deeply. “Fra
Filippo,” she said, ‘“‘I am an old woman and getting
past my work. Also I suffer from an ailment which
my physician calls angina pectoris, and which
leaves me very feeble. When I am unable to at-
tend to the community, I feel that I have a prioress
in whose virtue and devotion I can rely.”——S OT Tere mR Ye es

Tay er

—— See

 

52 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Fra Filippo was deeply touched; yet he felt that
he must make one more effort. “There is Sister
Piera di Vanni Sensi, abbess. She seems prudent
and the others like her.”

“But she is young, with the new method of
thought.”

Fra Filippo smiled. ‘That is a fault which time
will mend. Even we ourselves were once young.”

‘With the thoughts that were proper to youth,
and with the respect that was due to age and ex-
perience. I will tell you the truth, Fra Filippo.
We elder nuns are living in difficult times, and we
scarce know how to meet them. The world has
changed since we were young, and we cannot tell
what it portends. Those who come to us as novices,
especially those who come to us from Florence, are
entirely different from what we were. They appear
to have been allowed to mix with gentlemen, and to
read the works of the philosophers, the poets and
even of the story-tellers as they thought fit. They
appear to have been allowed to discourse on subjects
such as we should have considered unseemly, to
question an order that we should have obeyed
blindly as an act of obedience, and we do not alto-
gether trust them.”

The poor lady abbess was merely face to face
with the problem that meets the older people of
each succeeding generation; but Fra Filippo took
it as a personal matter. “You are speaking of
Sister Lucrezia, abbess ?”’

“T am speaking of Sister Lucrezia and of Sister
Spinetta de’ Buti. The rest, Sister Piera di Vanni
Sensi for example, are less intelligent and less highly
educated.”FRA FILIPPO PERSUADES 53

‘Have you any serious fault to find with these?”

“Only that their heads are filled with poetry and
such like frivolity, and that they are impatient of
the old discipline which should rule all young
maidens.’ The abbess paused, realizing that she
might have been blaming unjustly. ‘‘Perhaps the
poor maidens are to be pitied rather than censured,”
she explained; ‘“‘for their uncle was Messer Fran-
cesco de’ Buti, the Lecturer on Dante at the famous
Academy of Pisa.’”’

‘‘Indeed!”’ exclaimed the friar, greatly interested.
Francesco de’ Buti had been a very celebrated man
in his day, and his Commentaries on Dante were
still freely quoted in the Medici circle. “But the
writings of Dante are merely the philosophy of
Saint Thomas of Aquin turned into verse. At least,
so I am told.”

“Ts that so?” asked the abbess, much relieved.

“So I am told. Myself, I am a painter, not a
philosopher.”

Then Fra Filippo, conscious that he had not yet
succeeded in displacing the mother prioress from
her post, made his supreme effort.

“Concerning the prioress, mother abbess,” he
urged. ‘Have you considered how such ceaseless
talk about the lesser matters of piety, how such
endless girding against little matters of behavior,
and how such incessant interference about tiny ques-
tions of discipline must irritate the sisters, espe-
cially those who are young, re them | discon-
tented and rebellidus;?::* ; oe

“Have you heard’ ail: whispers “of: ‘scontent and
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54 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

He could not tell of the complaint which Sister
Lucrezia had made; much less could he tell of the
confessions of rebellious thoughts which he had
heard as chaplain. “I am judging from my knowl-
edge of human nature,” he said weakly. ‘Also I
am judging by my own experience as a religious.”’

“And I, judging from my knowledge of this com-
munity,” replied the abbess, “am content with
mother prioress. At any rate she is the best nun
available for the post.’ And from the tone of
her voice Fra Filippo knew that the subject was
closed.

“Now, concerning the next sitting, Fra Filippo,”
said the abbess. ‘‘What time would suit you best?”

Sighing, the friar helped himself to a third glass
of wine; for, although he had failed in his attempt
to unseat mother prioress, he had succeeded in his
attempt to banish her from the sittings of Sister
Lucrezia, and he must rest content with such suc-
cess as the gods had given him.CHAPTER V
LEON BATTISTA ALBERTI
I

S he left the Convent of Santa Margherita,
Fra Filippo was feeling triumphant; for,
not only had he succeeded in getting his own
way about Lucrezia, but also had he realized from
his preliminary studies of her face that this was the
very model for whom he had been seeking. He
entered the pieve, found that Diamante’s rendering
of the drapery of Salome was progressing none so
badly, added a few magic touches with a brush that
seemed to have been dipped in gossamer mixed with
light—‘‘and that’s far better than pigments min-
gled with prayer!’? he murmured—and then, put-
ting his arm through that of the younger Carmelite,
he dragged him home to dinner.

“How do you manage to achieve in a moment
what I have toiled at for hours, Filippo?” asked
Fra Diamante, as they turned into the Piazza del
Mercatale.

“Because I see exactly what’s needed, pumpkin-
head,” replied Fra Filippo.

“Sometimes I wonder why you have so much
patience with me, Filippo,” sighed Diamante, who
was feeling as full of gratitude as an egg is full of
meat.

“Because I love you, old pumpkin-head,” laughed
55ae teehi he i ak goa. oe one ee eh aden ata cee

oe een
—

ST Eg

 

56 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Fra Filippo, tucking his arm into that of the young
friar still more affectionately.

It was a strange friendship that existed between
these two, between the man who was the greatest
genius of his age and the man who, at the age of
twenty-six, showed no more promise of artistic
talent than did a journeyman of a second-rate
bottega; but there was no doubt that it existed, and
we find Fra Filippo insisting that Diamante should
have a share in all the more important of his under-
takings.

They turned into their house where they found
dinner awaiting them.

II

The room was bright; a fire of pine-logs blazed
on the hearth; above the fireplace there was a charm-
ing little marble bas-relief of the Divine Infant
and Saint John, carved by Donatello’s pupil,
Desiderio da Settignano; several strips of old em-
broidery hung against the wall; and a litter of half
finished panels filled one corner. A table, laid with
a fair linen cloth and set with glasses from Venice,
stood in the middle of the room, all ready for
dinner; and as soon as they had entered a woman
appeared with the first course of their meal.

“Concerning this picture for Santa Margherita,”
remarked Fra Filippo, as he grated some cheese
over his plate of savory spaghetti, “I have made
arrangements with the abbess.”

“Yes?” replied Fra Diamante, reaching over for
the cheese and grater.

“IT have persuaded the lady abbess to allow me
to paint Sister Lucrezia as the Madonna.”LEON BATTISTA ALBERTI 57

Diamante sat fixed, his eyes wide open and the
hands which grasped the cheese and grater motion-
less.

“And what is more,” continued Fra Filippo, “I
have persuaded the lady abbess to allow me to
paint Sister Lucrezia alone, with none other present
to distract us.” And, sighing a great sigh of con-
tentment, he filled his mouth full of the savory
spaghetti.

“Is the abbess crazy?” cried Fra Diamante.

“So the mother prioress will think,” chuckled
Fra Filippo, his mouth full, and he went on to ex-
plain his morning’s adventure and the disastrous
effect of mother prioress’s aggravating chatter both
on himself and his model.

Fra Diamante grunted, not yet convinced of the
propriety of the arrangement.

Then the Carmelite who, although so far he may
have been blind to the interior vision of heavenly
things, was certainly more inspired by the true
artistic spirit than any artist who had preceded him,
let himself go. And, whilst he was laying down the
law of “religious art as influenced by environment,”
Fra Filippo’s housekeeper changed the plates and
set a dish of veal cutlets, cooked with calves’ ears
and truffles, upon the table.

‘Thus you must see, Diamante,” he went on,
“that the painter is always chained to his model.
Fra Angelico, for example, who always employed
discreet and pious women as his female models,
could never get away from these discreet and pious
women. Do you remember the frescoes in the
Priory of San Marco?”

‘Naturally!’ replied Fra Diamante, who had

’ee eo Tt Eble gale” <a - OTT VI a a ETI Te
% Dees r

 

58 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

been set to study the frescoes in the Dominican
house as part of his artistic education.

“If you remember the frescoes in San Marco,
you will remember the frescoes of the Annunciation
and Nativity in which our Lady is painted as a
very discreet and pious woman. I tell you that the
Madonna was never a discreet and pious woman,
especially at the time of the Nativity; for she was
plena gratia, and her immaculate soul made her
sinless body fairer, more gracious and more youth-
ful than that of any other maiden.”

‘That is true,” murmured Fra Diamante. ‘That
is very good theology indeed.”

“And so,” purred the elder friar, “having se-
cured a very lovely and holy young nun as my model,
I am less chained to earth than was Fra Angelico,
and I should be able to rise to greater heights.”

In this argument Fra Filippo was manifestly
unjust to Fra Angelico; for what saintly Dominican
artist would introduce attractive models within his
Priory or paint lovely female faces on the walls of
the friars’ passages and cells to prove a tempta-
tion to the younger brothers? When Fra Angelico
painted Madonnas and Saints for secular churches,
he could paint very lovely and attractive faces.
But then, what true artist, who is ruled by his in-
tuitions rather than by his reason, can be logical
in his arguments and just in his criticisms?

“If this picture should prove to be the master-
piece that I anticipate,’”’ continued Fra Filippo, fill-
ing his glass from the huge flask of Chianti which
stood in a silver swing upon the table—as such
flasks do now—‘if, I say, my Madonna should
prove to be the Madonna whom all painters haveLEON BATTISTA ALBERTI 59

longed to paint and whom none has succeeded in
painting, then the nuns cannot deny me the further
use of my model.”

“No,’’ muttered Diamante, impressed.

“And, as Sister Lucrezia grows older and more
full of the spirit of the true religious, I shall paint
her as the Madonna of the Crucifixion.”

“Yes,’’ murmured Diamante.

“Some day,” said Fra Filippo, speaking softly,
‘when she has advanced yet further in the spiritual
life, I shall paint her as the Madonna of the
Assumption.”

And Fra Filippo leant back in a day-dream.
Nothing leads a man, whether he be twenty or
forty-nine, into the dangerous day-dreams of ideal-
ism so quickly as the process of falling in love with
a dainty and virtuous maiden.

Presently he roused himself, looking at his
assistant with a twinkle in his eye. “Get you gone,
Diamante,” he said, “for I have much to occupy
me this afternoon.”

‘

III

As soon as Fra Diamante had left for the pieve,
Fra Filippo took a long rule and a stick of charcoal,
and he went into a storeroom where a number of
panels of seasoned wood were propped up straight
against the wall. [hese panels had been very care-
fully selected and the planks out of which they had
been made were free from knots and thoroughly
well seasoned: as a matter of fact, the friar was
a most efficient craftsman and the panels which he
had chosen are as sound to-day as they were nearly
five centuries ago.TT Te TS eT RR ET ET TY ET eee TS

———

 

60 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Finally, after rejecting on account of slight im-
perfections, several which were of suitable size,
he found a panel that was a few inches longer than
his measurements and worthy as a foundation for
his great masterpiece, and he outlined the exact size
for his journeyman. To-morrow the journeyman
would cut it down to the required measurement and
coat it with a surface of lime and glue, a surface that
would be as fine as the finest eggshell and as lasting
as the cement of the ancient Romans.

Then, having found his panel, he washed his
hands carefully, for he was almost finicking about
the cleanliness of his work and person, and returned
to his living-room. His housekeeper had cleared
away dinner, and the pine-logs were burning cheer-
fully on the hearth.

IV

Fra Filippo got out a sheet of the finest Lucca
paper, stretched it on a drawing-board, got him an
inkhorn and a bundle of swan-quill pens all finely
pointed, sat himself down at the table so that the
light came from the left, sucked one of the unused
pens so that the ink should flow evenly, and com-
menced to draw.

“Fra Filippo drew exceedingly well,” Vasari tells
us, and here Vasari knew what he was writing
about, for he goes on, ‘‘as may be seen in our book
of drawings by the most famous painters, more par-
ticularly in certain specimens wherein the Santo
Spirito altarpiece is delineated, with others which
present drawings of the frescoes in the Duomo of
Prato.’’ Also we know from the few examples of
his pen-and-ink work that are now extant that heLEON BATTISTA ALBERTI 61

drew with an admirable ease and precision of touch,
expressing actual form by the delicate unbroken
strokes of his pen without the use of shading or
cross-hatching in order to obtain relief. Now he
was drawing as one inspired, for the mental image
of his picture was clear before him and he had
merely to put down on paper what was already in
his mind.

Here, in the foreground, was Saint Thomas kneel-
ing before the tomb of our Lady which, as tradition
tells us, had been opened in order to prove to the
doubter that our Lady had indeed been taken up
into heaven. This traditional tomb was full of
lilies, and he drew the lilies all growing and blos-
soming. He drew Saint Thomas looking up and
stretching out his hands to our Lady who should,
presently, be drawn. Then he turned his attention
to the subsidiary figures.

In the extreme left foreground, almost coming
out of the picture, he drew the lady abbess as the
donor of the picture. She was kneeling, with her
hands clasped and her eyes cast down in prayer,
and the figure was so like the holy old lady that
Fra Filippo laughed as he drew it. Beside her
stood a very lovely Saint Margaret with one hand
resting affectionately on the abbess’s shoulder; but
the face of Saint Margaret was suspiciously like
the face of Sister Lucrezia. Beyond Saint Mar-
garet stood Saint Gregory with his hand. raised in
benediction.

On the other side of the picture he drew the three
figures which were to balance the composition; Saint
Augustine, the Angel Raphael and the saucy child
Tobias, looking inquisitively, as children will, ater reece ite

 

  

62 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Saint Thomas whose lack of faith had caused all
this to-do. Then Fra Filippo turned his attention
to the Madonna.

Now Fra Filippo seems to have reasoned thus:
if our Lady had appeared to Saint Thomas in order
to give him the solid and material girdle which she
had worn on earth, it would be illogical to depict
her as though she were ethereal. Besides, he seems
to have argued: if our Risen Lord had appeared to
the Apostles in material form, breaking bread with
them and bidding Saint Thomas feel his precious
wounds, after her Assumption our Lady would have
appeared to Saint Thomas in like manner. ‘There-
fore he drew her in solid and material form, seated
on a throne which was half throne, half aureole,
supported by two most delightful angels. Of course
the Madonna was the living image of Sister Lu-
crezia, for was not Sister Lucrezia to be, from now
onward, his embodiment of our Lady?

Then, having worked with his whole soul in his
pen, he leant back in his chair to examine what he
had done.

He half closed his eyes, and the composition of
the figures came as an absolutely perfect arrange-
ment, perfect in balance and perfect in pattern,
giving the exact importance to our Lady that the
subject demanded.

“What a beautiful thing!” he murmured.

And, of a truth, no artist has ever excelled the
beauty of the composition of Fra Filippo’s Ma-
donna della Cintola, and, if Fra Filippo had been
able to finish the painting, it would have been one
of the most beautiful pictures that the mind of
genius has ever conceived and the hand of loveEEON BATTISTA ALBERTI 63

executed. But, sad to say, this picture was never
finished by Fra Filippo, and, in the midst of his
adorable saints, the clumsy brush of Fra Diamante
painted in a Madonna of clay and a Saint Thomas
that reminds us of the earth from which he sprang.

Since the drawing had taken him long and the
light was fading, the friar lifted up his voice and
called for a flask of wine and candles.

V

The housekeeper had scarcely set the wine and
candles on the table when there came a loud knock-
ing on the door and she hurried off to see who
knocked so imperiously. In a minute she returned,
mumbling something, and throwing the chamber
door wide open to admit a most glorious personage.

Of all the men of the period there was probably
no figure more striking than that of Leon Battista
Alberti. Tall, with a white beard and fresh-colored
complexion, he was yet in the full strength of his
manhood. A natural son of the noble family of
Alberti, which counted for something, he was
brilliant in feats of strength, agility and sportsman-
ship which also counted for something; he was a
fairly good sculptor and a fairly good painter,
which counted for much with Fra Filippo; and he
was a brilliant architect, which counted for most
of all. Besides all this, Alberti was the close friend
of the Tuscan nobles, literati and artists.

Fra Filippo rose to welcome Alberti, embracing
him warmly and kissing him on either cheek; and
the two men stood together, making a pretty pic-
ture, the Florentine in the magnificent scarlet clotha ee

i DiCs Cieaeaetedh host suena ane ea athe ie ok ae ee

er

| ”

 

  

64 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

of Florence which hung from his shoulders in a
dignified mantle, and the Carmelite wearing the
full white mantle of his order.

‘How goes the rupture, Filippo?” asked Alberti.

“Hush!” whispered the friar, glancing at the
housekeeper. Then aloud: ‘You mean the rupture
of the muscles of my thigh.”’

“Of course, I mean the rupture of the muscles
of your thigh.”

“It is better I think; but this inclement weather
tries it somewhat.’ Then he turned to the woman,
who stood listening in the doorway. ‘“Orsola, take
away this flagon of Chianti and fetch me a flask of
the wine of Lastra and glasses.”

As the door closed behind the housekeeper, he
looked at Alberti. ‘‘Leonello,” he said, ‘I never
speak of my rupture here in Prato, for it is a little
town and full of gossip.”

“Therefore,” replied Alberti, smiling, “we may
rest certain that the story has spread from Florence
and that every man, woman and child in Prato
knows of it.”’

‘Nevertheless, silence is golden, chatter damna-
ble. As to my rupture, it is no better nor ever will
be. Some day it will be the death of me.”

As to Fra Filippo’s rupture, it is a story that
makes us glad we live in the present age instead of
in the Quattrocento. Seven years before, when Fra
Filippo was much pressed with work in Florence, he
had engaged one Giovanni da Rovezzano as his
assistant on the arrangement that he should pay
Giovanni the sum of forty golden florins ($1,160 or
£240 present value) at the end of a year’s work.
At the end of the year he dismissed him.LEON BATTISTA ALBERTI 65

But Giovanni, being very angry at his dismissal,
sued Fra Filippo for a year’s wages before the
episcopal tribunal. The friar protested that he had
paid the man and produced his receipt in evidence.
Giovanni swore that the money had not been paid
and that the receipt was a forgery.

Then the Vicar General of Florence, having but
little love for the Carmelites, caused the friar to
be put on the rack so that he might be compelled to
confess the forgery. Fra Filippo was put to the
torture, protesting his innocence. The rack was
turned and turned, Fra Filippo still protesting his
Innocence. One more turn was given and, with that
last turn, the poor human body collapsed and the
friar’s brave fortitude ended. ‘Fra Filippo,” says
a contemporary writer, ‘bore the pain bravely, but
confessed when he saw his intestines protruding
from his wounds.” For, by such a torture a man
can be driven to confess any accusation that may be
brought against him, and such confessions are now
considered to be utterly valueless.

The Medici did not believe the finding of the
tribunal, else they could not possibly have continued
their warm friendship with one who had been guilty
of such a base crime as that of defrauding the
laborer of his hire. The nuns of San Niccolo de’
Fieri could not have believed Fra Filippo guilty
when, shortly after, they appointed him as their
chaplain. The authorities of Prato could not have
believed him guilty when, two years after, they en-
gaged him to decorate the pieve. And no one who
knew the friar’s handwriting, which was as vile and
cramped as his drawing was free and beautiful,
could have deemed him capable of forgery. But,THE JOYOUS FRIAR

nevertheless, Fra Filippo must have felt the stigma
bitterly.

But, whilst we have been considering the story of
the friar’s torture, the housekeeper has brought the
wine of Lastra and removed the flagon of Chianti.

“Now, Little Lion,” said Fra Filippo, helping
Alberti to wine, “ let us turn to a more pleasing sub-
ject. What do you think of this drawing?” And
he handed him the drawing which he had just
finished.

Alberti examined the drawing long and critically.
Then he placed it beside him on the table and drank
the friar’s health in a full glass of wine.

‘Will you never be content, my friend?’ he
asked.

“By Apollo! So you like it?” asked Fra Filippo
with an artist’s intense anxiety over his newly ar-
riving conception.

“You paint the Sant’ Ambrogio Coronation,”
chided Alberti, ‘“‘and I think that you have reached
perfection. You paint that little tondo for Leon-
ardo Bartolini, making your Sant’ Ambrogio Cor-
onation look like a sweetmeat. You next paint the
frescoes in the pieve—I have ridden all the way
round by Prato on my way to Pisa in order to see
it—in which you excel the work of Masaccio. And
now you plan this! But we will discuss your new
picture over our supper at the Inn of the Girdle,
which is a place that is fitting for the discussion
of the Madonna della Cintola. Also I desire to
ask you about the frescoes in the pieve.”

“The frescoes in the pieve?” said Fra Filippo
with evident distaste; for, in the new conception of
the Madonna della Cintola, the Dancing of theLEON BATTISTA ALBERTI 67

Daughter of Herodias had lost all interest for him.

~The frescoes in the pieve, my friend,” laughed
Alberti, who was not ignorant of the vagaries of
the artistic temperament. ‘But come on, I have
ordered a supper worthy of—”

“Worthy of his Holiness,” broke in Fra Filippo.
“That will please my little Maddalena. Come on,
Leonello!”

And, together, they left the house.

‘IT never saw such goings on,” muttered the old
housekeeper to herself. ‘What with this fine gen-
tleman and that fine gentleman, Fra Filippo might
be the Sultan of Turkey. Poor Fra Diamante will
have to eat his supper alone.”TRE TR RE TTT Ve a ERTS >

CHAPTER VI
THE DEAD HAND

I

\ S Fra Filippo and Alberti entered the dining-

room of the Inn of the Girdle, the former

known to all in Prato and the latter con-
spicuous for the flaming richness of his Florentine
mantle and his general air of nobility, there was
just that hush which marks the arrival of distin-
guished visitors at any provincial hostelry; as they
moved up the room, there was a slight bending
forward of those that supped, each man who knew
Fra Filippo striving to catch his eye and win his
greeting so that he might have a passing share in
his scarlet-robed guest.

A table had been reserved for Alberti on the right
side of the room and it had been laid with shining
spoons and knives—forks had not yet been in-
vented—and brilliant glass; also it had been
adorned with bowls of early anemones and late
snowdrops. Beside this table stood Maddalena,
smiling her welcome.

The sight of Maddalena and the smell of the
dining-room brought back to Fra Filippo the mem-
ory of the poem which had been promised to him
overnight. ‘‘Has the minstrel who sang here last
night left a manuscript for me, Maddalena?” he

asked.
68THE DEAD HAND 69

‘He is over there at the end table, padre,” re-
plied the girl. “Presently, when you have com-
menced your supper, he says that he will sing for
you. Then, when you have finished your repast, he
says that he will come over and drink a glass of wine
with you and give you your love-song.”’ And she
handed a dish of tiny crayfish, first to Fra Filippo,
then to Alberti, and left to see about the next course.

“That is a very pretty girl,’ remarked Alberti,
sadly, as he picked out the inside of a crayfish.

“Ho! Ho!” laughed the friar. ‘Are those your
thoughts? It is true that Maddalena is a very
sympathetic girl, able to order a most excellent
supper; but I had never thought of her as pretty.
She is too thickset to be beautiful.”

“But she has the divine gift of youth, and a
most comely plumpness.” Alberti sighed bitterly.
“Youth always moves me to sadness: it passes so
quickly and is ended. As young Lorenzo de’ Medici
sang last night:

‘Fair is youth, but doomed to sorrow,
For it hourly flies away.
Youths and maids, enjoy to-day;
Nought ye know about to-morrow.’ ”

Fra Filippo’s eyes twinkled. ‘‘So, I believe, do
these snowdrops and anemones, the harbingers of
spring which Maddalena has placed upon the table,
move you to sadness; for they whisper of the storms
of autumn and the frosts of winter. But, hark!
My minstrel is tuning up.”

The minstrel struck a few chords on his lute, giv-
ing the name of his song.—=:

ee CAMO R AL Bla gi alli i _tetbe gsiae a dlateaelteae

 

THE JOYOUS FRIAR

OF FIAMMETTA SINGING

Then he sang the words which have been so admirably ren-
dered into English by Rossetti:

“Love steer’d my course, while yet the sun rode high,

On Scilla’s waters to a myrtle-grove:

The heaven was still and the sea did not move;
Yet now and then a little breeze went by
Stirring the tops of trees against the sky:

And then IJ heard a song as glad as love,

So sweet that never yet the like thereof
Was heard in any mortal company.

‘A nymph, a goddess, or an angel sings
Unto herself, within this chosen place,
Of ancient loves;’ so said I at the sound.
And there my lady, ’mid the shadowings
Of myrtle-trees, ’mid flowers and grassy space,
Singing I saw, with others who sat round.”

There was a murmur of applause, the words as
well as the music to which they were set appealing
to the guests.

‘That was a sonnet by Boccaccio,” remarked
Alberti. “i know. it well? But Fra “Filippo
seemed sunk in gloom and made no answer.

For a time there was silence. Then: ‘What are
your thoughts, Filippo?” asked Alberti.

“I was wondering, Leonello, why men do not
give the same freedom to painters that they give
to poets; for the painter is chained to the render-
ing of holy pictures and is permitted to paint naught
elsens

“You would that you had the freedom to paint
Fiammetta, singing, ‘’mid the shadowings of myrtle-THE DEAD HAND 71

trees, ‘mid flowers and grassy space, and others
who sat round’ ?”

‘Beneath still heavens, and beside a still sea.”

“Or the meeting of Dante with Beatrice?” sug-
gested Alberti.

Fra Filippo looked doubtful.

“Or the first intercourse of Cino of Pistoja with
Madonna Selvaggia and her two fair companions ?”

“No!” cried the friar. “I do not want any set
subject, for that would be to exchange one bondage
of chains for another; but I desire the same freedom
in the choice of a subject that is granted to the poet.
How would the poet feel if he were condemned to
write of the Nativity, or the Coronation of our
Lady, or the mortification of Saint Jerome, one
after another, year in, year out? Believe me, the
skull of Saint Jerome haunts me, and the rocky
landscape which goes with Saint Jerome plunges
me in an abominable sense of desolation.”

Maddalena had placed a dish of partridges on
the table, and Alberti was hard at work picking a
plump bird.

“How would you like to paint the triumphs of
the ancient gods, Filippo?” asked Alberti, his mouth
full.

‘What patron would commission such subjects ?””
laughed Filippo. ‘If you can persuade Messer
Geminiano Inghirami to order a fresco of the
Choice of Paris, I will gladly paint it on the wall of
the pieve.”

Again the lute struck up, leaving Leon Battista
Alberti free to finish his partridge without distrac-
tion.ET Ur er Te eo ee

FT TE
—_—

|
= eee

W2 THE JOYOUS FRIAR
ON THE DEATH OF MADONNA LAURA

“Those eyes whereof I sang my sweet-tuned melody,
Those arms, those hands, those feet, that face which
caught
And isolated me from all I sought
And set me strange and lone among my fellow men,
Those crisply curling locks of fine-spun aureole,
And that entrancing smile which from those eyes
Turned all that compassed me to paradise,
Are now but lifeless dust—their radiance dull.
Yet still I live! whereof I make my sighing,
Lonely, alone without love’s quickening fire,
My storm-tossed craft upon cold ocean lying.
Lo! Here I cease the song of my desire;
For fountains of my music are a-dying,
And naught but griefs my lingering chords inspire.”

“My minstrel,” remarked Fra Filippo, “must
have now reached his second flask of old Chianti,
with great success, for that sonnet of Petrarch is
without doubt lovely.”

‘What do you mean by his second flask of old
Chianti, Filippo?” asked Alberti.

‘Ffe says that the first flask used to make his
father quote Boccaccio, the second flask used to
make him quote Petrarch, and the third flask used
to make him quote Dante. Without doubt that
habit is inherited.”

“Whether the habit be inherited or no, without
a doubt that sonnet of Petrarch’s is indeed lovely
—perhaps the most lovely sonnet that has ever been
written.”

II

Maddalena had removed the partridges, and they
were busy with a savory ragout of wild boar.THE DEAD HAND =)

“You spoke just now,” said Fra Filippo, ‘about
my painting the triumphs of the ancient gods. Is
it possible to secure such a commission ?”

Alberti’s eyes kindled. ‘As you know, my Fi-
lippo,’ he answered, ‘Sigismondo Malatesta has
lately employed me to rebuild the Cathedral of
Rimini in the form of a Grecian temple; and, in
the Chapel of Saint Girolamo, which was planned
after the idea of Madonna Isotta, the lady of Sigis-
mondo’s heart, the likeness to a Grecian shrine
transcends belief. For, in this Chapel of Saint
Girolamo, there is a bas-relief of Mars in his war-
chariot picked out with blue; and, over against it,
there is a bas-relief of Venus, all unclad, drawn over
the waves in her chariot of swans; nor are bas-
reliefs of Mercury, Diana and Saturn absent. Of a
truth, the ancient Pagan might have worshiped
here side by side with the Christian.”

Fra Filippo’s brows were knit in a frown. He
was too straightforward a man to accept this new
idea without question. ‘‘What do you suggest?”
he asked.

“That Sigismondo might commission you to
paint frescoes of the ancient religion and the Chris-
tian religion side by side, showing that the old belief
was but the natural striving of man after truth, and
not contrary to Christianity.”

“Tet me be clear, my friend,” said Fra Filippo,
“so that I may not misunderstand your meaning.
You would have me paint Venus and our Lady,
Jove and the Eternal Father, Orpheus and Saint
Francis, side by side?”’

Alberti smiled. ‘I would have you paint Venus
as the svmbol of what Plato calls the Idea—that is,
of the universal law which moves created beings toon deinen
—_

Se

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74 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

physical love—and I would have you paint Venus
as presiding at the marriage of a youth and a
maiden. I would have you paint our Lady as one
who moves Christians to supernatural love, and
I would have you paint our Lady as presiding at
the spiritual espousal of a nun to her Divine
Spouse.”

“Ts that what Madonna Isotta meant when she
planned the bas-relief of Venus, all unclad, in the
Chapel of Saint Girolamo?”

Alberti hemmed and hawed, for this was not in
the least what Malatesta and his mistress had
intended.

Fra Filippo had made up his mind. “I could
imagine,” he said, “pictures of the pagan gods and
goddesses adorning the walls of some Florentine
villa, for that would not be unseemly; but to imagine
frescoes of the pagan gods adorning the walls of
a Christian church is beyond me, and I would take
no part in such a work.”

“Yet, Filippo, you crave freedom for the
painter.”

“Yes, Leonello. I crave freedom to paint things
of beauty in such places as are suitable. I crave
freedom from the dead hand which lays down that
art is the handmaid of religion and that the Church
must decree the subjects which the artist may paint.
I do not crave freedom to paint pagan themes in
those places that are sacred to the Christian
religion.”

And, to the credit of Fra Filippo, it must be said
that he never allowed himself to mingle paganism
with Christianity. And, when his pupil, Botticelli,
adorned the Medici villas with the most perfectTHE DEAD HAND 75

pictures of the ancient gods that have ever been
painted, he kept the gods and goddesses for. the
villas and, unlike many of his contemporaries,
painted only sacred subjects in the churches.

III

Alberti and Fra Filippo had finished their ragout
of wild boar, and washed their fingers in bowls of
clear water, and they had commenced a dish of
oranges dressed with aqua-vite when the minstrel
approached their table.

“We have met before, messere,” he said, bowing
low to Alberti.

“Both your face and your voice seem familiar
to me,” replied Leon Battista, “and yet I cannot
recall the place nor the time of our meeting.”

“Perhaps this will aid your memory, eminence.”
And, touching his lute, the minstrel sang softly :-—

“©O) beautiful thrushes, that flit and that flutter
Through the green branches, singing delightfully,
Voice me the grief that my lips cannot utter.

Fly to her bed at the dawn, and perch lightfully
High on the head of her bedstead, and, singing there,
Pierce her hard heart that she act not despitefully.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Alberti. ‘That is the Song of
Desire which Sigismondo Malatesta addressed to
Madonna Isotta.”’

“That is the song which Sigismondo’s cavalry
sang as they cantered into action. Then, when they
charged, they broke into the devil’s own litany, in-
voking David, Samson, Priam, Paris, and bidding
them to :—i tik Sh OOP Lh I Nad gic ait ah A halk le alah ca csi ae

 

76 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

‘Go! kneel to our Lord, and pray Him to send me,
All warm from her slumber, Isotta!’ ”

“By Apollo, I have it!” cried Alberti. “You are
the minstrel who accompanied Sigismondo’s army
when he fought for Florence against Naples some
eight years since.”

‘Flow well I remember the first time I met you,
messere,” said the minstrel, reminiscently. ‘The
campaign against Naples was ended and my lord
Sigismondo had ridden into Rimini with his cavalry,
and you had been talking to my lord about feats
of endurance and agility. Then the ragazzi—the
foot soldiers—marched in, and, as they approached
the Rocca, Sigismondo ordered them to advance in
two single lines, six paces apart. Then Sigismondo
withdrew, leaving you standing alone right in the
path of the soldiers. And then, just as they reached
you and seemed about to march over you, you,
standing quite still, leapt over the heads of the first
line and, again, over the heads of the second line.
By our Lady, it was a miracle!”

“T leapt over the shoulders of the advancing men,
guiding my feet so that they passed between their
heads,” explained Alberti, who was nothing if not
truthful.

“Per Bacco!’ continued the minstrel. “I shall
never forget the privations of that campaign! ‘The
country where we were fighting, over against the
sea, was barren; the people were fever-ridden; there
was no wine and the water reeked of sulphur. And
Sigismondo, whose strategy led us to and fro
through that wild, desolate country, showed us an
example of fortitude, himself eating naught butTHE DEAD HAND 77

mouldy bread and raw acorns, drinking naught but
the stinking water, and ever cheering our hearts
with the beautiful love-songs which he had made to
Isotta.”’

Fra Filippo broke in, looking at the minstrel.
“You know the Cathedral of Rimini?” he asked.

“Well, padre!’’ answered the minstrel.

“And you know the carving of Venus that adorns
the Chapel of Saint Girolamo?”

“Too well, padre.”

“And can you tell me whether Sigismondo or-
dered that carving of Venus to be put up in praise
of the natural order of a loving marriage?”

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” laughed the minstrel. “They
told me at Rimini that my Lord Sigismondo was
wont to say that marriage kills love; for, with
marriage, love becomes a matter of duty; whereas,
without marriage, love is a matter of graciousness.
And all know that my Lady Isotta was unbound to
Sigismondo by aught save love.” Then he recalled
his promise of overnight and brought out a manu-
script tied up with a strand of silk. “Speaking of
love, padre, here is the poem that I promised you.
Mind, it is not I who say that the verses were
written by the divine Dante.”

The friar thanked him warmly, asking him if he
could do him any favor in return,

“Tf you could put in a good word for me with
those who are organizing the Carnival, padre,”
the minstrel said, ‘I should be grateful; for I have
had much experience in ee and Carnival
Songs.” Then his eye caught sight of some guests
leaving the room and, gulping down his glass of
wine, he hurried off to collect his contributions.i
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78 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

‘And now that we have got rid of this entertain-
ing songster, Filippo,” said Alberti, filling the friar’s
glass and then his own, “I want to talk to you about
that fresco of the Dancing of Salome in the pieve.”CHAPTER VII
MADONNA HERODIAS
I

EXT morning Fra Filippo awoke, keen as
mustard to get on with the Madonna of the
Girdle. For the dissatisfaction of the night

before which he had expressed to Alberti had been
the result of a day of overwork, and a night’s rest
had restored his ambition to create a picture that
should be something new, and higher than all that
he had hitherto painted. Bah! The ‘‘dead hand”’
did not mean the bondage of having to paint re-
ligious subjects. In fact, now that he had come to
think of it, he wanted to paint religious subjects;
but he wanted to paint them in his own way, free
from the conventions that had bound him and his
brother artists. The spur that had goaded on
Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio was exactly the same
as the spur that had goaded on Giotto, Masaccio
and was now goading on himself—the desire to
express the artist’s own view of his subject in the
best and most vital manner possible.

So, as soon as he had eaten a mouthful of crust
and gulped down a glass of wine—he had arranged
that Fra Diamante should say Mass at the Convent
of Santa Margherita—he took the drawing of the
Madonna della Cintola, tucked it into his portfolio,
and went over to the pieve in order to make ar-

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80 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

rangements about the fresco of the Dancing of
Salome.

The morning was frosty, with that thin mist
which holds the promise of a fine and bracing day.
There was the stimulating scent of wood-smoke in
the air. Men and girls were setting out for their
morning’s work in the biscuit bakeries and straw-
plait factories, chattering and in the best of spirits:
and Fra Filippo limped along full of the divine
power of one who creates.

II

Now it is impossible to create two masterpieces
at the same time without both suffering, and, as
our Lady of the Girdle was in the process of crea-
tion and the Dancing of Salome well-nigh finished,
it was absolutely necessary to hand Salome to Fra
Diamante; but, before Salome could be entrusted
to the less skilful brush of Diamante, there was
one face that Fra Filippo must paint, that of
Herodias. Fra Filippo frowned and bit his lip.
Then his expression brightened and he turned to
his assistant.

“If I paint the face and neck of Herodias, Dia-
mante,” he asked, “‘can I trust you to paint the
hair? You have the figure at the high table to
guide you.”

“Yes, certainly!’ replied Diamante, who had
visions of painting a head of hair overlaid with
those jewels that his heart loved, and felt very sure
of himself.

“Then tell the plasterers to lay on the patch for
the face of Herodias first thing to-morrow, and IMADONNA HERODIAS 81

will try to be ready for them. For I have got the
exact idea of Madonna Herodias, who was a noble
Roman lady, and I go to prepare the finished draw-
ing. Make a tracing from the cartoon so that I
may know the correct size of the face, and let me
have it when I come home to dinner.”

It is to be feared that Fra Filippo had mixed up
“Madonna Herodias,” who was a Jewess, with
‘Madonna Pilate,” who was a Roman, and that
Fra Diamante was too deeply engaged in planning
the jeweled headdress to notice the mistake.

And so Fra Fillipo went off to make a study of
his ‘‘noble Roman lady”’; for are not the Florentines
the direct descendants of the most noble families
of ancient Roma—at least so the fifteenth-century
Florentine historians tell us—and was not Lucrezia
de’ Buti a Florentine of the Florentines and, there-
fore, a Roman of the Romans?

Ii

As Fra Filippo entered the Convent of Santa
Margherita, punctual to a moment, the abbess and
Sister Lucrezia were coming out of the enclosure,
and, opening the door of the room which was re-
served for the painting of the altarpiece, he stood
aside for them to pass.

Without a word of explanation, the friar brought
out the drawing of our Lady of the Girdle which
he had made the previous afternoon, and placed it
before the abbess. Then he stepped back in order
to watch her face.

He saw amazement replaced by understanding,
and understanding give way to admiration.A ad tok ee ante leh eeiodes

aaa eiend

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82 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“Then my design satisfies you, abbess?” he asked.

“Tt is more than I had hoped for,” she stam-
mered, ‘‘more than I had thought possible.”

His eye sought Sister Lucrezia, and his eyebrows
went up asking for her opinion. But her eyes were
lowered, for it does not become a young nun to ex-
press her opinion in the presence of her superiors.

“Santa Margherita is very like our Lady,” sug-
gested the abbess, “and both are very like Sister
Lucrezia.”

“Is that so?” asked the friar, for he had not
noticed the strong likeness between Saint Margaret
and his model before; and his mind sought a reason
for this strange resemblance. “I suppose,” he said,
quite sincerely, “that, if a religious strives to make
her soul like that of the Madonna, her body will
share the resemblance. For the soul is the form of
the body.”

“And that is a very beautiful idea,” replied the
abbess.

Then Fra Filippo drew a deep breath, knowing
that he had to force his will on a woman who was
also an abbess. ‘I should like you to remove Sister
Lucrezia’s veil and wimple, mother abbess,” he
said, “‘in order that I may be able to draw the way
in which her head is set on her neck, how her ears
are set on her head, and how her hair comes oft
her forehead.”

The abbess did not like this suggestion at all.
For a nun to remove a portion of her dress in order
that she might show her head would not be seemly.

“But, if you ordered her to do so, dear mother
abbess,” suggested Fra Filippo, “the act would beMADONNA HERODIAS 83

a most seemly act of obedience. Otherwise it will
be impossible for me to paint the picture.”

“Yet surely you could draw the forehead and
hair from some other model—from a model who
lives in the world?”

Fra Filippo chuckled and went on to explain a
game which artists were accustomed to play amongst
themselves. One artist draws the head of some
being—whether it is the head of a man, a woman, a
beast, or a bird, he does not say—then he folds
the paper so that the edge of the neck alone is
visible and passes the drawing to the second artist.
The second artist, being ignorant of what has been
drawn, proceeds to draw a body—man, beast, or
bird—and, folding the paper so that the point
where the legs should commence alone is visible,
passes the drawing to the third artist. The third
artist draws the legs and feet. ‘Believe me,
abbess,’”’ he chuckled, ‘‘when the paper is unfolded,
the result is most ridiculous.”

The abbess saw whither his argument was lead-
ing, and could not hide a smile at his ingenuity.

“Therefore,” he ended, “if I paint the features
of our most gracious Lady from those of Sister
Lucrezia, who is a Florentine, and finish our Lady’s
neck, forehead and hair from those of a common
girl of Prato, the result will be enough to make the
angels weep and the devils shake with laughter.
Almighty God has given to each face its own proper
neck and forehead.”’

So, with mingled sighs and smiles, the abbess
helped Lucrezia to remove her veil and wimple, and—
a Ss EL TE a RT

Setinatetr eee eee acta dat haiebice beeen Lact

 

84 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

the girl’s closely cut head of fine golden hair was
uncovered.

Fra Filippo caught up a small black shawl which
the young nun had brought into the room, and
handed it to the abbess.

“Now brush back the hair from the forehead,
mother abbess,” said he, “ and place this little black
shawl over the back of Sister Lucrezia’s head—
There! Now the effect is not unseemly!”

LY:

The mother abbess had gone and, with only one
short break to rest his model, Fra Filippo had been
drawing hard at the face of our Lady of the Girdle
for over an hour, putting down exactly how her
hair came off her forehead, how her ears were set
on her head, and so on. He had drawn quickly
and accurately, and was feeling very well satisfied
with the progress he had made—very well pleased
indeed.

“Have you ever heard how Florence came to be
built, sister?’ he asked, stretching himself.

“No, padre,’ answered Lucrezia, relaxing her
pose.

“Then, whilst we refresh ourselves, I will tell
you.” And, having brought Lucrezia a glass of
wine and a plate of biscuits, he helped himself lib-
erally. “It is permitted,” he added, smiling, ‘“‘ for
‘t is the custom for the painter and his model to
take some refreshment in the middle of the morn-
ing, and I asked the abbess’s leave before she left
the room.” But he did not tell the girl that the
abbess had answered his request: “If I allow SisterMADONNA HERODIAS 85

Lucrezia such an unwonted liberty as that of posing
for you unattended, [| may as well allow her the
lesser liberty of refeshing herself with you.”

Sister Lucrezia wrapped the shawl warmly round
her head and sat munching the biscuits with obvious
enjoyment.

“The ancient city of Fiesole having been over-
come and destroyed by the Roman army under
Julius Cesar,” began the friar, “Czsar resolved to
build a city on the banks of the Arno which should
make it impossible that Fiesole should ever rise
again. Certain noble Romans who had assisted in
the war against Fiesole came forward to help him;
and they brought water from Sesto Quinto, and
they built a wall strengthened by towers, and paved
the city, and made a Capitol after the pattern of
the Capitol at Rome, and brought noble families
to inhabit it. And, finding the Valley of the Arno
covered with lilies, from whose roots we now make
orris-powder, they named this city ‘Fiorenza,’
which may be interpreted, ‘flowery sword.’ ”

“I never heard that before,” said Lucrezia,
deeply interested.

“AAnd so,” continued Fra Filippo, ‘“‘the city of
Florence is now inhabited partly by the descendants
of the ancient Romans, noble and brave, and partly
by the Fiesolians, cruel and fierce.”

“That, I suppose,” suggested Lucrezia, “is the
reason why there have always been so many fac-
tions and so much fighting among the Florentines.”

“Exactly! And you, judging from your name,
sister, are a descendant of that noble Roman, Bru-
tus or Butus; for could any name be more Roman
than that of Lucrezia de’ Buti?”a tee te ok ee ee

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86 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“Ts that why you are painting me as the Madonna
of the Girdle, padre?” asked Lucrezia, laughing.
“T was always taught that our Lady sprang from
the Jews, and not from the Romans.”

Fra Filippo wrinkled his forehead in thought.
“Somehow or other,” he said, “T never think of our
Lady as a Jewess. For was not our Lady con-
ceived immaculate, and, therefore, free from the
blindness and treachery of the perfidious Jewish
nacetn:

V

“Now, sister,” said Fra Filippo, picking up his
charcoal, ‘if you are rested, will you resume your
pose.” And he went on to tell her of his trouble
with the pieve frescoes, and of his desire to draw
her as Herodias.

“You see,” he explained, “if her daughter was
old enough to dance before King Herod, Herodias
must have been some fifteen years older than you,
and I shall paint her world-worn and weary; but
I want to draw the noble Roman type of face, and
so, if I may, I shall draw your features.”

If Lucrezia had been an ordinary girl, she might
have objected to sit for a lady of such ill-repute as
Herodias; but she was a Florentine who had been
brought up amongst poets and painters, and knew
enough to understand the subjective nature of Fra
Filippo’s request—besides, had he not paid her the
highest compliment possible in choosing her for the
model of the Madonna? But she did resent the
idea of posing for a Jewish lady of ill-repute; which
resentment, considering the universal hatred of
the Jews, any Quattrocento girl would have felt.MADONNA HERODIAS 87

“Fra Filippo,” she asked, “wasn’t Herodias a
Jewess ?”

“No!” he answered. “Herod was the Roman

’

governor.

“It was Pontius Pilate who was the Roman goy-
ernor. Herod was the Jewish king.”’

“Diavolo!” he muttered, much upset. “You are
right.”

Then his face gradually cleared, for the solution

of the problem was coming to him. ;

At any rate,’
he argued, “Madonna Herodias was of noble birth,
and not a Fiesolian.”’

“That is true,” laughed Lucrezia, “she was cer-
tainly not a Fiesolian.”’

“Therefore,” cried Fra Filippo, “she must have
been of the nature of a Florentine, and, if I hold
my tongue, none will be the wiser. Besides, I can
get no other model in Prato who will serve my pur-
pose; and, if you do not help me, I do not know
what I shall do.”

Therefore, for the rest of the morning, Lucrezia
posed gladly as the woman of many mortal sins;
and Fra Filippo, working as one inspired, finished
the drawing to his complete satisfaction.

“Remember,” he cautioned, as he packed up his
drawing materials, “not a word to mother abbess
about the drawing of Herodias, else she will never
permit me to enter the Convent of Santa Mar-
gherita again.”

“Consider my reputation,” laughed Lucrezia.
“What would mother prioress say if she knew that
I had posed as this evil Jewess ?”

“Well, at any rate, I have done enough work on88 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

the Madonna della Cintola this morning to satisfy
a whole convent of nuns.”

Thus, on the basis of the secret of the Herodias
drawing, a complete understanding was established
between Fra Filippo and the delightful little Au-
gustinian, Lucrezia de’ Buti. And, as a secret
shared between two people of different sexes does
more to break down the hedge of safety than any-
thing else, and that without a suspicion of sin, an
‘mmediate intimacy sprang up which was far from
safe.CHAPTER VIII
“TO MY MOST GRACIOUS LADY”?

I

ORKING at forced pressure, Fra Filippo
had finished the face of ‘‘Madonna He-

rodias’’ and had handed over the rest of
her figure to the tender mercies of Fra Diamante,
and he was now free to devote himself to our Lady
of the Girdle.

So, as soon as he had prepared sheets of paper
that would fit the exact size of the panel, he tacked
them on to an old panel which he used for the pur-
pose of a drawing-board, sketched in the rough out-
lines of the design from the small drawing which
he had made, and told his journeyman to carry the
whole over to the Convent of Santa Margherita so
that he might work at the cartoon. For the Quat-
trocento painter was wont to paint from a finished
cartoon, making a full-sized drawing on paper to
begin with, and not starting the gesso-covered
panel until the cartoon had been completed. Then,
when he came to paint the panel, there would be
no scraping out nor painting over what he had al-
ready done on the smooth surface of the gesso.

First there came the drawing of the abbess; for
not only did Fra Filippo feel that this would please
the saintly old lady, but also he saw that it would
be wise to draw and paint her whilst she was in
comparatively good health and before one of those
89ET VO a ETT

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90 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

mysterious heart attacks, of which she had told him,
should render her incapable of posing. So he drew
the Abbess Bartolommea de’ Bovacchiesi kneeling
in the lower left hand corner of the cartoon, and
took great pains with her face and got another nun
who had a somewhat similar figure to kneel in her
stead for the completion of the drawing.

No, the abbess did not wish to be painted in her
white habit and the fine rochet (or surplice) which
the Canonesses of Saint Augustine always wore. It
would be too conspicuous, and she wished her figure
to be as little noticeable as might be. She would
wear the black mantle of her order, covering the
white as much as possible. And as Fra Filippo did
not want a glaring patch of white at the corner of
his picture, drawing off attention from the main
theme and ruining the composition, he expressed his
entire agreement with her spirit of humility.

But, whilst, and when, he drew the mother ab-
bess, Sister Lucrezia had to be present; for Sister
Lucrezia was to pose for Saint Margaret, and
Saint Margaret as Patroness of the Community
was presenting mother abbess to our Lady, placing
her hand most affectionately on the abbess’s head.
One could not draw the head of mother abbess
without the hand of Sister Lucrezia; besides, since
she had been brought into close contact with Lu-
crezia through the painting of the picture, the ab-
bess had conceived a great affection for her and the
frail old body had grown to derive much comfort
from the support of the strong young body.

Then came the time when the drawing of mother
abbess had been completed, and the finished draw-
ing of Saint Margaret commenced.~ LO MY MOST GRACIOUS LADY” gI

“I suppose,” Fra Filippo had explained, all on
the spur of the moment, “that, if a religious strives
to make her soul like that of the Madonna, her
body will share the resemblance. For the soul is
the form of the body.” And now he became pos-
sessed with the idea, striving to see the likeness of
the Madonna in the person of Sister Lucrezia and
to reproduce this same likeness in the figure of
Saint Margaret.

Gone was all the friar’s desire after mere phys-
ical beauty, gone was the material touch that had
made his Sant’ Ambrogio Coronation of our Lady
so disappointing, and his hand became inspired with
a tender dignity that surpassed anything which Fra
Angelico had attained. And, what is more, his
pupils in later years caught this breath of mystical
beauty from the Santa Margherita of the Girdle,
and Sandro Botticelli painted the same figure, drawn
from Lucrezia de’ Buti, in the Adoration of the
Magi now in the London National Gallery, and
Filippino Lippi painted the same Lucrezia—only
then his mother was somewhat older—as the Ma-
donna in the Vision of Saint Bernard which hangs
in the same gallery.

But, returning to historical fact, this Santa Mar-
gherita of the Madonna della Cintola is the true
portrait of Lucrezia de’ Buti, painted by the friar
in his tenderest and most spiritual manner.

II

They were alone in the room which had been
devoted to the destined altarpiece, Fra Filippo and
Sister Lucrezia, Lucrezia standing with her handeT Er SR ee CRT

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92 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

resting on the head of a dummy abbess, and Fra
Filippo lost in his task. Gradually, as the artist
drew and his brows grew fierce with concentration,
all his soul in his fingers, the poor model began to
feel that her head was as heavy as lead and her feet
a mass of pins and needles.

Fra Filippo stepped back to see what he had
achieved; and Lucrezia, as she tried to move, stum-
bled forward like a blind kitten.

“There, I can do no better,” cried Fra Filippo,
catching her, “though the Vicar General of Flor-
ence were to torture me.’’ Then he became vastly
perturbed at his want of consideration and, having
seated Lucrezia in a chair, fetched her a glass of
wine.

‘When God started to create the world, sister,”
he suggested, “I believe that He was carried away
by the act of creation and created regardless of
consequences. Thus He created the wolf and the
scorpion and the snake, and later on the Vicar Gen-
eral of Florence, so that He might materialize His
idea of pure evil; not, as Saint Augustine says, in
order that He might exercise the righteous. Cer-
tainly, when I was creating Santa Margherita just
now, I had no thought for my poor model.”

The girl laughed at his ingenious apology, in
which he had managed to cast the blame on his
Creator. ‘My limbs seemed to go to sleep, padre.
They are all right now.”

“Then you are able to tell me what you think of
this Santa Margherita?”

She looked, and gasped. ‘Madonna mia!” she
cried. ‘Is this figure really 1?”~TO MY MOST GRACIOUS LADY” 93

He chuckled, tremendously pleased with himself.
“It is Sister Lucrezia as I see her.”

Lucrezia blushed. Surely no man could have
paid her a more heady compliment than the artist
had just paid; and she began to talk quickly of the
grace with which the figure had been drawn and to
praise the natural way in which her hand seemed to
rest on the head of mother abbess.

“Well, what do you think of Saint Margaret?”
persisted Fra Filippo, eyeing her out of the corners
of his eyes.

“T think that our Lady must have guided your
hand,” answered Lucrezia, now mistress of herself.
And, being thoroughly in earnest over the picture,
they began to discuss the two figures which had
already been drawn, and Fra Filippo explained
exactly how the other figures would come.

III

Fra Filippo helped himself to wine and, feeling
in his pocket, brought out a somewhat crumpled
manuscript.

‘You know much of Dante, sister,’ he said.
‘“‘Can you tell me whether these verses were written
by the divine poet?”

She denied expert knowledge, vehemently; but,
nevertheless, she read the poem through, read it
through a second time, and smiled. “It is a most
beautiful poem,” she said, “and does the poet much
credit; but I do not think that it is by Dante.”
“Why ?” he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “How can one94 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

say?’ she answered. Then an explanation came to
her. ‘One might say that a picture was a very
beautiful picture, but not by Fra Filippo. Do you
understand ?”’

He nodded his head; for, thanks to her illustra-
tion, he now understood perfectly.

Then she read the poem aloud to herself, and

also to him.

“Lady, I love you! love you, dear, so much
That Love is burning with a white-hot flame,
Searing mere passion into lifeless dust.

First, when I met you, e’er this true Love came,
Your presence thrilled me, heart and every nerve;
Yet, even then, my Love deserved its name,

For, when I met you, there was this reserve
That, though you thrilled me to my inmost core,

I only thrilled to worship and to serve.

“Now, Lady mine, hath Love scorched up the straw,
Leaving the flame, yet searing all that’s base:
Wonderous Love, its flames grow more and more!

Yet, since no love can burn without fresh grace—
E’en holy Love needs fuel, else it dies—
So, dear, my Love draws ardor from your face.
For, in your face, and in your shining eyes,
Love seeks its virtue, till my Love is such
That it will burn for you all Angel-wise.

“T watch your lips, no thought of earthly touch;
I watch your lips, moved by your gracious soul,
Till Seraphs doubt how man can love so much.
I watch those lips, seeing the smiles that stole
Upwards and outwards from the soul’s delight,
And my poor heart, once earth-bound, now is whole.
I watch your eyes—Love, turn those eyes towards me !—
I watch those eyes, and, watching, I adore
Until my Love shall flame eternally.”“TO MY MOST GRACIOUS LADY” 9s

“Tt is a very lovely thing,” she said softly.
“But not by Dante?’

She shook her head. ‘No! Certainly not!”
she answered. “But it is by one who has studied
Dante deeply.”

Why ?”

“Why? Because in J] Convito Dante has all
those ideas of which the poet writes. He pictures
a Lady. Sometimes he speaks of her as Beatrice,
sometimes as Philosophy, sometimes as the Soul,
and he writes ‘discoursing of the virtue of the eyes
of this fair Lady most profoundly.’ He speaks of
the Soul as showing herself in the E yes and in the
Mouth, which two places may be termed the bal-
conies of the woman who dwells in the house of the
body, she being the Soul; because there, although
veiled as it were, the Soul often shows itself.”

“Go on, Lucrezia,” said Fra Filippo, softly.

She quoted: “ ‘The Soul shows itself so evidently
in the eyes that it is possible to know its present pas-
sions. And with whichsoever of these the Soul is
impassioned, there comes into the window of the
Eyes the semblance of it, unless it be repressed
within, and shut from view by great power of will.

“It reveals itself in the Mouth, like color be-
hind glass as it were. And what is a smile or a
laugh except a shimmering of the Soul’s delight, a
light shot outwardly from that which shines within?

“ ‘Ah,’ cries Dante, ‘the sweet wonder of my
Lady’s smile, which is never seen but in her eyes!’

“Rain from her beauty little flames of fire,’ he
cries, “creating good thoughts, and destroying those
inborn vices which are the foes of all the thoughts
that are good.’ Is not all this, Fra Filippo, the
heart and soul of the poem?”Se neh he eh ed dee te a ee

Pg
——

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. eo TRE

 

96 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

‘Tt is more beautiful,’ he answered, speaking
softly, ‘than any poem.”

Lucrezia bent her head in assent, and they were
silent for a while.

IV

Helping himself to wine, Fra Filippo seated him-
self on the corner of the table.

“What do you think, sister,” he asked presently,
“of the possibility of such a love as is set forth in
this poem? The minstrel who gave me the verses
ridiculed the idea.”

The girl tossed her closely cropped golden head,
which, for the purpose of the picture, was covered
only with a filmy lace veil. “That minstrel,’ she
cried, “‘must have been an animal with no under-
standing. ‘I cannot attain to the higher state,’ said
the pig, ‘therefore it is impossible!’ ”’

“Then you think it possible ?”’

“Of course!” she cried. ‘Did not Dante attain
to the perfect love? And Petrarch? And Saint
Catherine? And ten thousand other Saints?”

Then a wave of holy prudence came over Lu-
crezia. ‘Ought you not to be getting on with the
drawing of Saint Margaret, padre?” she suggested.

“T have done a day’s work on Saint Margaret,”
he snapped. “No! I have done a month’s work—
a lifetime’s work—and I can do no more. The
rest is merely careful drawing.”

The girl suffered her eyes to rest on the perfect
face of Santa Margherita, which seemed to her to
have come by no less than a miracle. “I am sorry,
padre,’ she murmured.“TO MY MOST GRACIOUS LADY” 97

“Then let us talk of the poem.’ And the friar
sipped his wine.

And so Lucrezia de’ Buti set her brilliant young
Florentine intellect to work, for the female mind
in Florence of the Quattrocento was far in advance
of the young person of to-day and earlier matured.

“Dante thought that such a Love was readily
attainable,” said she. ‘So did the other poets and
philosophers.”

‘They talk of it now,” replied the friar, ‘‘as the
Doctrine of Love according to Plato.”

“Bah!” she answered, with a supreme contempt.
‘Plato was but a pagan.” And, in this speech, she
merely voiced the opinion of the Aristotlean against
the Platonist.

“Eh?” said Fra Filippo, who had chiefly come
across the Platonists, and had grasped their doc-
trines very superficially.

“‘Plato teaches,” she explained, ‘‘that the soul of
a man or a woman has had a previous existence in
some celestial realm, and that all the strivings after
the ideal are but a faint memory of the former life.
Aristotle teaches that the soul was freshly created
by God, after, and according to, His own pattern,
and that the human soul has of itself a certain
yearning towards righteousness.”

All this was beyond Fra Filippo; but it struck a
note which reechoed his early training in the Car-
mine. ‘That seems very good theology,” he haz-
arded.

“Tt is Christianity,’ she answered most dogmat-
ically, for the Florentine Aristotlean was nothing if
not dogmatic. ‘‘Plato taught paganism, Aristotle
taught Christianity.”—

 

se eaeenh AAA hie ak dee ee ee a oa

Sided ieee th tee

98 THE JOYOUS BEREAR

“And this poem?” asked Fra Filippo, striving to
get on to firm ground.

“Tt sings of the goodness and beauty of the Lady
burning up all that is base in the man who loves
her.”

‘““And the Lady—is she immune?”

“Tf a maiden has inspired such a love in the heart
of a man, can she be false to the grace which God
has given her? No!” she cried. “The Lady will
search her heart and purify her soul so that she
may be worthy of the Love which she has inspired.”

“And, if I ventured to offer you such a love,
Lucrezia?”’

‘‘T should be proud and honored to accept it.”

And the glamour of a great romance fell upon
them, a romance that was too precious, too sacred,
for further speech. For they forgot that they were
a man and a woman, and imagined that such a love
must be “‘all Angel-wise.”’

V

Then Fra Filippo put in a good hour’s work, fin-
ishing the face of Santa Margherita, and catching
the soul of Lucrezia as it shone through her eyes
and revealed itself in her mouth. But, as for Lu-
crezia, like Fra Filippo on that first night in which
he had conceived this love, she danced amidst the
stars.

The door opened, and mother abbess came in to
inspect the morning’s work.

“Oh, Fra Filippo!” she cried. And, going over
to Lucrezia, she kissed the sweet Saint Margaret.CHAPTER IX
THE CARNIVAL
I

RA FILIPPO had finished the drawing of
the abbess and Saint Margaret, and was pre-
paring to draw the figures of the Archangel

Raphael and the child Tobias. ‘The little son of
the woman who brought the milk to the convent,
plus the friar’s experience of child-painting, would
furnish the little Tobias; and now he proposed that
Lucrezia, who was very fond of the child, plus the
cartoons of several old studies of angels which he
had made, would serve as the model of the arch-
angel who was leading Tobias by the hand.

“But the Archangel Raphael was not a woman,”
objected mother abbess.

“Nor was Saint Raphael a man,” laughed Fra
Filippo.

The abbess was puzzled. She had never thought
of that before.

“Fancy drawing Saint Raphael with a beard and
bulging muscles!’ suggested Fra Filippo, driving
his argument home.

“That is true,’ owned the abbess. “A man as
an archangel would be even worse than a woman.”

“Tf Sister Lucrezia were to let her hair grow a
trifle longer,”’ said Fra Filippo, “and you were to
arrange it with a fillet like this.” And he drew a
rapid sketch of what he wanted. “I should have
99100 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

the very model I require. Besides the child is al-
ways good with her and, if she holds his hand and
tells him stories, he will give me no trouble.”

Thus the difficulty of the Archangel Raphael and
the young Tobias was overcome. But how so young
a child was to marry Sara the daughter of Raguel
did not occur to them any more than it occurred to
most painters of the fifteenth century.

II

Now few biographers and historians seem to
realize that the life of the average man is varie-
gated. For they seem to assume that a man is
either good or bad, and, having thus labeled him,
they gloss over the failings of a good man, and
ascribe the basest motives to the best actions of him
whom they have labeled “bad.”

Make the so-called good man human, and you
will find weeks, months, or even years, when he had
allowed himself to grow slack and has committed
many of the meaner venial sins. Give the so-called
bad man the gift of faith, and you will find that
there are periods when he has honestly repented
and has honestly striven to do right. Nay, more,
go into your own room, lock the door, make a dia-
gram of your own life, with a datum-line showing
the division between good and bad, and you will be
surprised to find how often and how seriously your
line of conduct has fallen below the datum-line.

The worst of this habit of labeling the character
of a man is that, too often, he is labeled at his
own valuation and, if he professes to be religious,THE CARNIVAL IOI

his biographers condone such terrible habits as that
of pride or self-superiority. If he makes no reli-
gious profession, his biographers can find no good
in him.

Judging from his pictures, Fra Filippo was hon-
estly religious in his early life; slack, with a tend-
ency towards self-indulgence and possibly some
lapses from morality, when he cut loose from his
order and mixed with the gay world of artistic
Florence.

But since the friar had come to Prato, placing his
financial affairs in the hands of the proposto, he had
turned over a new leaf; and, since he had formed
his friendship with Lucrezia, he had most hon-
estly striven to live up to the standard of his Lady.

At the present time, he had found an excellent
confessor and had made his confession with a view
to keeping a strict Lent; for he had many sins of
self-indulgence that needed to be shriven. And,
when he said his Mass on Shrove Tuesday, he
commenced the Offertory with recollected thoughts
and with a serious intention of offering up the Holy
Sacrifice for his own ‘‘countless sins; transgressions,

9

and failings,’ as well as for the other intentions of

>

the Church

III

As the friar was finishing his morning’s sitting
and preparing to go home to dinner, the abbess
entered the room. ‘I hope you will not be shocked
at what I have done, Fra Filippo,” she said, a little
nervously.

He assured her that he was not easily shocked,—
—-

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= To

 

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102 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

asking her what indiscretion she had committed—
if, for instance, she had allowed her nuns to take
part in the Carnival.

“Many of the gentlemen are taking part this
year,” she said, feeling her way.

“But, as far as I know, mother abbess, no nuns.”
And his eyes twinkled.

‘And my nephew, Piero de’ Bovacchiesi, is lead-
ing the knights who are going to form a guard of
honor round King Carnivale.”

“Excellent! The proposto says that it is the duty
of the gentry to take part in the amusements of the
people so that their influence may help propriety.”

‘And my nephew came to see me yesterday, and
he asked me if I would allow the nuns to look out
of the windows at the procession as it passed—if
so, he would arrange that it should pass the con-
vent as it started from the Piazza of the Pieve,
‘nstead of as it returned—and I weakly gave my
consent.”

“A very wise thing to do,” said the friar. ale
life of a nun has but little change and but little
recreation, especially where mother prioress has
control.”

“But I gave my permission, not for the sake of
my nuns, but because I myself wanted to see my
nephew ride by in his armor,” sighed the abbess
bitterly.

“And a very natural reason too,” answered Fra
Filippo sharply, for he had no patience with scru-
ples. ‘‘Do you think that this treat will do your
nuns any harm?”

“No!” rapped out the abbess. “Else I should
not have granted the privilege.”THE CARNIVAL 103

“And would you have granted the leave if I or
the proposto or any other had sought it?”

“If the request had been brought before me by
some prudent person, I should most probably have
granted it.’’ The conscience of mother abbess was
feeling relief.

“Then don’t examine your motives too closely,
dear mother,” said Fra Filippo, “or you will end
with giving yourself scruples. Nearly all motives
are mixed, and most privileges are granted through
influence. Does not even Almighty God extend
mercy to the wicked in response to the prayers of
the just?”

Of course, it is very doubtful whether Fra Filippo
could have given such wise advice if he had not
been in an unusually virtuous state of mind. On
the other hand, it is certain that, from this moment,
the abbess held an exaggerated idea of the friar’s
wisdom and goodness. But then, as the witty
Soliano says:

“We most deceive, when most we strive towards good;

For then we show a fleeting better self.”

IV

The Tuscan day was bright, and very mild for
February, and, at an hour after midday, the Car-
nival procession left the Square of the Pieve, where
it had mustered, and swept past the Convent of
Santa Margherita and into the Piazza del Merca-
tale. ‘This, since it split up the procession into de-
tails, allowed the nuns a most perfect view of all
that went on.

The first thing that impressed the sisters was thatee =
Fe eS rE ee ET TT
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104 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

they had conceived no idea of the great number of
people in Prato, nor could they have imagined the
sober Prato folk so gay and merry. ‘Then the
crowd moved, some going forward and some press-
ing close to the sides of the street, and a company
of knights appeared round the corner, led by the
Cavaliero Piero de’ Bovacchiesi, wearing bright
armor and mounted on prancing horses. ‘The
mother abbess, growing very pale, pressed close to
the window and waved her hand as her favorite
nephew looked up.

These knights were followed by four trumpeters
blowing loudly, and these again were followed by
two heralds proclaiming the absolute rule of King
Carnivale. The heralds wore tabards of stiff red
silk, bearing the royal arms—a sirloin of beef
proper, supported by two golden cocks rampant—
and then came King Carnivale. Who can describe
the generous appearance of the King, with his white
beard and his very ruddy cheeks? From his cheer-
ful countenance and mighty paunch to the sleek
white mule which he rode, he was the very embodi-
ment of good living! A small party of knights
formed his rearguard.

Next the procession of the Guilds commenced,
each Guild separated from the next by a fair in-
terval so that the detail should be complete in itself
as it passed a certain point. The whole being led
by a choice choir of men and boys who, as they
left the Square of the Pieve and approached the
Convent of Santa Margherita, sang:

“Joyful we, on this our day,
Ere our license fades away,
Ere the Lenten Fast begins
And we mourn us for our sins.THE CARNIVAL

Carnivale is passing fast,

Feast and revel whilst permitted ;
Earthly joys do never last;

Let no pleasure be omitted.”

“But this is like Florence!” whispered Lucrezia
to her sister, Spinetta.

Then the ancient Guild of the Wool Merchants
came, including in their ranks all the freemen of
the Guild, from those who bought and sold wool
to those who made cloth, and headed by a white
lamb as the emblem of the Guild. They sang:

“Headed by the Holy Lamb,
We, the first of all the Guilds,
Clip the wether and the ram.
Of our cloth the craftsman builds
Well-cut tunics, dainty hosen,
Scarlet cloaks, as may be chosen,
Hiding one and hiding all
From the shame of Eva’s fall.”

“Tike men,” laughed Lucrezia, “they throw all
the blame on poor Eve.”

“For shame!” whispered mother prioress. “It
was woman who first of all ate the apple and
tempted man.”

And Lucrezia felt as though a jug of icy-cold
water had been poured down her back.

It would be wearisome to describe how the Guild
of Saint Luke’s, a strange mixture of apothecaries
and artists—the Saint was both a physician and an
artist—followed, and how the other Guilds, each
singing an appropriate song, followed in due order.
Whilst they passed, the crowd was orderly; but, as
soon as the unofficial cars began to make their ap-
pearance, the fun waxed fast and furious.ee ean hie ad eee get ee oe

SS

—————EEeEEEeE

 

106 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

There was the Car of The Gay Cats, clad in furs
and calling to the Tom Cats who walked beside
them. ‘here was the Car of The Naughty Dogs,
who carried on most disgracefully. There was the
Car of The Well Nurtured, bearing the fattest peo-
ple in Prato, and a dozen more. The people pelted
those in the cars with flowers and sweetmeats—
and one can imagine the joy that followed a hit on
the eye with a soft cream confection—and the peo-
ple in the cars pelted back. And all the time gro-
tesquely attired dwarfs ran in and out of the crowd,
thumping every one with bladders, insulting the
men and exchanging rough jests with the women.

Lastly there came the Car of The Carnevale—
Farewell to Meat—occupied by butchers cutting up
juicy joints and followed by a procession of men
clad in black from head to foot and carrying huge
wax candles, even as the Order of the Misericordia
are habited to-day. This was to signify that, when
the brief reign of Carnival was ended, the Fast of
Lent would begin in all its rigor. This gave the
crowd creeps and crawls down their backs, and they
just loved it.

The procession was bound for the hamlet of
Filsitole, where refreshment would be served, and
then back to the Square of the Pieve. It certainly
reflected great credit on the organization of the
minstrel and was the best procession that had taken
place for years.

“Sister dear,” said Lucrezia to Sister Simona di
Michele Lottieri, ‘I do not know when I have en-
joyed myself so much.”

“And mother prioress is simply bubbling overTHE CARNIVAL 107

with spleen,’ replied Sister Simona. “Won’t we
catch it eee
“Offer it up as a mortification,” laughed Lucrezia.
“T am full to overflowing with mortifications of
that kind,” sighed Sister Simona; ‘“‘and they are so
unnecessary too.
7

When a religious is permitted to go out into the
world, it is customary for his superior to dispense
him from the strict rule of his order and to permit
him to follow the same life as that of the secular
clergy—the Divine Office every day and meat when-
ever the rest of Christendom is allowed to indulge.
It is to be feared that Fra Filippo had sometimes
omitted to say his Office, which was a grievous sin;
but he had never disregarded the fasts or abstinence
of the Church. Now, in this Lent of 1456, con-
scious that gluttony was one of his besetting sins,
he had resolved to give up the Inn of the (Grae
and to fast to the best of his ability. But, before
Lent, there was the Carnival, and this night he
meant to have the best supper that human skill
could achieve.

So, having invited Fra Diamante, Ser Piero Van-
nozzo the notary, and the minstrel to sup with him,
Fra Filippo consulted with Maddalena as to the bill
of a Those delightful little crayfish, costoletta
alla minuta, a young roast peacock, oranges forti-
fied with aqua-vite and roast chestnuts with the
wine.

“And that,” said Maddalena, “should keep you
alive until Mid-Lent comes.”

The supper was a merry one. Fra Filippo, ata

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108 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

peace about his soul, was very kind to poor Brother
Body; Ser Piero, lawyer and Procurator to the Con-
vent of Santa Margherita, moistened his dry person
lavishly; Fra Diamante talked little and ate much;
whilst the minstrel, inflated with praise for the suc-
cess of the Carnival procession, let himself go. As
for the rest of the guests: first “the tongue is silent
whilst the knife speaks” and then, hunger being sat-
isfied, the tongues ran as fast as the Florentine
horses run for the palio.

“Are you going to join the dancers, friend min-
strel?”’ asked Fra Filippo, as the minstrel finished
his last chestnut and helped himself to wine.

“No!” replied the minstrel, shuddering. “In
Florence, where the people do indeed dance, I
dance with the best; but in Prato, where people
get on their hind legs and prance like bears, I leave
dancing alone. Ah, speaking of dancing, you should
have seen my Gay Cats this afternoon after they
had placed some new wine beneath their fur!”’

“But,” laughed Fra Filippo, “the proposto says
that the educated should take part in the amuse-
ments of the people.”

“And play hide and seek with the girls in the
shadows of the bystreets?”’ snorted the minstrel.
“Fiel Fie! Fra Filippo. To-night I leave Ma-
donna Venus alone and devote myself to Bacchus
and the Muses.’ And tuning his lute he sang:

“Nature calls the tune: we sing!” —OLp PRoveErs.

“Let the starving man be faint and hungry;

Let the thirsty man be parched with drought;
Let the youth and maid be strained and panting
To express the theme which nature’s chanting.THE CARNIVAL

"Tis a fast day—meat is handy;
There’s no liquor except brandy;
Maid and lad together flung;

There’s alas! no wedding ring:
The rest is sung
By the mere imagining.

 

Nature’s strong

“Sandro’s well-nigh starving; he’s no glutton
Though he eat his bellyful of meat;
Parched Pippo takes what seemeth sweeter,
Perhaps ’tis water, perhaps ’tis aqua vite.

There’s one craving stronger still,
Call it love, or what you will:
Tuscan lad’s a virile man;

Tuscan maid’s as warm as sun;
Both together dare the ban

Of the Church—The rest is sung.

“Tf our Sandro, suffering naught of hunger,
Planned a greedy, guzzling, drawn-out meal ;
If our Pippo, when he’d drunk his measure,
Went on drinking for his lustful pleasure,

Till he saw ten thousand stars
Skipping round the planet Mars

=

Both, as men, would cease to be;
And the vices which they cherish

Make the pair just one degree
Lower than the beasts that perish.

“He who plots a maiden’s dire undoing,
Honeyed words and endless presents rich,
Gloating o’er his secret plans of evil,

Is a cross between a beast and devil.

No! Our warm-soul’d Tuscan maid

But obeyed what nature said.Sr ETT

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THE JOYOUS FRIAR

The lad could not afford a ring;
The maiden had no thought of sinning;
The couple danced Dame Nature’s fling:
The rest developed in the singing.”

“For shame!’’ chuckled Ser Piero. ‘And Fra
Filippo present.”

But the friar fingered his wine-glass and smiled
benignly. People were not shocked at the plain
statement of natural facts in the Quattrocento, nor
was the standard of morality less high in conse-
quence.

And so the evening passed with song and flagon.

VI

“The song of the minstrel, padre!” whispered
Maddalena, as she helped Fra Filippo on with his
cloak. ‘I am in sore trouble and there is none to
help me save you. Can I see you on the morrow ?”

“Yes. An hour after dinner at my house,” he
whispered back.

Maddalena gave a sigh that was half a sob.CHAPTER x
MADDALENA
I

RA FILIPPO, assisted by Fra Diamante,
had blessed the ashes and said Mass at the
Convent of Santa Margherita; had said his

ofice right up to Vespers; and then, without a
pause, he had settled down to the careful drawing
of young Tobias. For the fast of those days was
a fast indeed, without any bread and coffee to
break its severity, and it lasted right on until din-
ner. Of course one might make the dinner hour a
little early: that would be reasonable.

The morning’s drawing of the boy Toby had
gone well. The lad, tired out with yesterday’s
merrymaking and recovering from a severe attack
of over-repletion, had been too sluggish to fidget,
and the Archangel Raphael (Lucrezia) had no
trouble to keep him quiet.

What had Fra Filippo thought of yesterday’s
festa? had asked Lucrezia.

Most creditable, and Fra Filippo had seen none
of that looseness and lovemaking that marked the
Florentine carnival. Now that he came to think of
it, he had not been in a position to notice what
went on towards evening and he supposed that hu-
man nature was much the same all Italy over, the
satyrs spreading their snares for the nymphs in the
II!Rae er ar per TT

——

~ a Sn ee

 

a2 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

shade of the thickets and, here in Prato, in the
shadows of the bystreets.

If Fra Filippo had not been seeing what went on
—and Lucrezia in her convent could not imagine
any one missing the smallest shred of the life and
gaiety—what had he been doing?

“Making a pig of myself in the Inn of the Gir-
dle,” he grumbled, ‘with Fra Diamante, the min-
strel and another to keep me company.”

“Eh?” laughed Lucrezia. ‘So you supped on
husks and water like the prodigal son? A worthy
way to begin Lent, padre.”

“There was a dish of crayfish, a hash of veal, a
roast peacock, very tender, oranges and chestnuts,”
replied Fra Filippo, reminiscently.

“Truly, like most sophisticated swine, padre!”

Then Lucrezia’s experiences came out. Yester-
day had been heavenly, reminding her of the days
in Florence, and they had ended with a delightful
supper to which the abbess had added several little
luxuries. After supper the abbess had retired to
her cell thoroughly tired out.

“T do not think she is very well,” said Lucrezia.

‘“Tfeaven! Then I must start her portrait on the
panel as soon as possible,” cried Fra Filippo. “If
she gets another of her heart attacks my picture is
done for until she recovers.”

Well, after the abbess had retired to her cell,
mother prioress had stepped into her post of au-
thority, and she had lectured them for a whole hour
on the custody of the eyes, the guard of the tongue
and modesty of demeanor.

‘And how could we observe custody of the eyes,”

x)
)MADDALENA EL

asked Lucrezia, ‘‘when mother abbess had given us
leave to look out of the windows and had bidden
us enjoy the carnival ?”

‘Patience, child,” said Fra Filippo, drawing hard
at the fish which Tobias was holding.

Lucrezia shook her head. “It is easy to counsel
patience when one is free from mother prioress,
padre. The worst of it is that the sisters are grum-
bling continually, which does not make life any
easier.”

“Tut! Tut!’ replied the friar, misquoting Scrip-
ture most shamefully. ‘“‘Man and woman are born
to trouble e’er mother prioress flies upward. You
must not think that I am unsympathetic,” he added.

II

After a meal of salt fish, which his soul detested,
and cheese, Fra Filippo waited in his living-room
for the coming of Maddalena. “I told her to
come an hour after the commencement of dinner,’
he mused, “‘and I forgot to say that my dinner
would be early.” So he took out his breviary and
read Vespers, very careful to articulate each word
distinctly.

He had just got to the Antiphon of our Lady,
when there was a knock at the door and his house-
keeper showed in the maid from the Inn of the
Girdle.

“A moment, child,” said Fra Filippo, glancing
up, and he finished the Antiphon very carefully.

“Now,” he said, closing the book and smiling,
“what’s your trouble, Maddalena?”

The girl grew very red and cleared her throat,OT Vr pa Te ee

TTS ge aE ae
—_

eh a ee ae a eee

—~

114 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

looking him straight in the face, nevertheless. And
she quoted:

667;

The lad could not afford a ring.

The maiden had no thought of sinning;
The couple danced Dame Nature’s fling:
The rest developed in the singing.”

She had evidently thought out how she should tell
him, and the quotation came out very aptly.

“Fh? That trouble?” said the friar, careful not
to look shocked, for he was in very good disposi-
tions. ‘‘Sit down, child, and tell me, if you can,
who the man was.”

“Piero Boy’chiesi, padre.”

“Piero de’ Bovacchiesi?” he repeated, inwardly
horrified; for, if the man were the Cavaliero Piero
de’ Bovacchiesi, a knight of good family, he could
not reasonably hope to make him right the wrong
and marry the girl. “What could have induced you
to have yielded to the Cavaliero de’ Bovacchiesi,
Maddalena?”

‘Heaven forbid, padre!” cried the girl. “Not
the Cavaliero Bovacchiesi; but Piero Bov’chiesi,
the son of him who was the gardener of the
family.”

“Thank God!’ murmured the friar, who had
not in the least relished the task of reprimanding
the nephew of mother abbess. ‘‘Now tell me all
about it.”

“Piero, my Piero, padre, is a gardener and he
had asked me to marry him these six months.”
And she went on to tell how they had fallen from
chastity last Christmas. It was a clear case of
impulsive foolishness with ‘“‘the maiden had noMADDALENA 11S

thought of sinning’’; and he had given up his regu-
lar work and taken to jobbing gardening. “There
is more money to be made in that way, padre, and
he did so want to marry me and make things right.”

Then, last January, Piero had broken his arm,
and no one would employ a one-armed gardener.
And he had a mother dependent on him, and now
most of his small savings had gone and Madda-
lena’s too. And Maddalena was going to have a
baby, and she did not know what to do.

“Tow soon are you expecting your baby, child?
asked the friar.

“In nine months last Christmas, padre.

“That will be in July,” said he, quite inaccurately.

“Yes, padre.’ She would yee agreed to any-

thing.
Then Fra Fi mp po sat still, his hand resting on
his chin, deep ihe same generous th oughts that

had moved he to impoverish himself at the begin-
ning of his career so that he might support his
orphan nieces.
“Is Piero ready to marry you?” he asked, pres-
ently.
‘As soon as it 1s possible, padre,” she answered.
“Then,” said he, ‘you must marry him at once.
For, not ‘only is it a sin to live as you have lived;
but, also, it will be an aspersion on your good name
when the baby is born.”
“Yes.” she murmured, not in the least seeing how
the marriage might be achiev ed.
“Now I have a house in the beginning of the Via
delle’ Tre Gore,” he said.
“T know it, padre,” she answered.
“And I am getting rid of the caret: aker, who isSt nek Lie ad ae ee

——
an

Se ee

 

116 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

past her work, and you must take charge. And I
have a garden close by, and Piero must tend that
garden and grow choice vegetables. And you must
fit up the front room as a vegetable shop, for vege-
tables are both scarce and dear in Prato.”

‘God reward you!” she cried.

“Can you cook?” he asked.

‘Yes,’ she answered.

“Then you can cook for those who take the
rooms and I shall make more money from the
rent.” Thus did he remove the sense of obligation
and restore the girl’s self-respect.

‘‘Now, down on your knees, Maddalena, and
make a full and true confession. Then I will see
Piero and arrange for your marriage.” He thought
a moment. “I suppose I must get a dispensation
for you to be married in Lent,” he said. ‘But
there is a just cause and there should be no dif_i-
culty. I will see the proposto.”

The girl made her confession, and rose from her
knees, her face alive with smiles.

“T think that God will permit me to have a good
supper,” said Fra Filippo, thoughtfully. ‘So I will
sup at the Inn of the Girdle to-morrow. But, re-
member, Maddalena, it must be a light meal and
not meat. Some of those crayfish, for instance, and
a flask of that Falernian.”’

The Catholic Church teaches that God sometimes
rewards a kindly and generous act in this life, and
He rewarded Fra Filippo for his act of kindness
when he needed it most.MADDALENA 117

III

Fra Filippo saw Piero Bovy’chiesi, and liked the
lad. He fixed up his marriage with Maddalena
and left him overcome with gratitude.

He saw the proposto and found no difficulty in
obtaining a dispensation for the Lenten marriage.

Then, as the evening was drawing in and there
was no Inn of the Girdle for him that night, he
said Matins and Lauds for the morrow, supped
lightly with Fra Diamante, and went to bed.

“Lucrezia will be pleased with what I have
done,” he thought as he fell asleep.OTT g: TIE ae
Mal OL Te TS NTT ee TT

———_—
Te age

 

CHAPTER XI
THE PAINTING OF A SOUL

I

carrying out his good resolutions this lente

So, leaving the cartoon of Saint Raphael

half-finished, he got out the panel, outlined the car-

toon of the abbess on the surface of the gesso,

and had the panel carried over to the Convent of
Santa Margherita.

The abbess had grown very feeble within the last
few days and, as she knelt for her likeness, the friar
felt shocked at her appearance and thankful that
he had not put off painting her until it was too late.
Sister Lucrezia stood beside her with her hand on
the abbess’s head, so that she might support the
frail old lady.

“T am afraid I am not strong enough to talk,
Fra Filippo,” said the abbess.

“All the better for the picture, abbess,” he an-
swered. ‘You are praying, not chattering.”

“Tet Sister Lucrezia talk,” she said, “‘that is, if
it will not distract you.”’

“Talk, Sister Lucrezia!” laughed Fra Filippo.

It is a terrible thing to be told to talk, and Lu-
crezia felt tongue-tied. ‘What shall I talk about,
padre?” she asked.

“Talk about Dante and the soul.”
118

\RA FILIPPO was extraordinarily prompt inTHE PAINTING OF A SOUL 119

‘Shall I tell how the soul becomes?” she asked.
‘That is in I] Purgatorio,” she added.

“Yes, how the soul becomes,” he answered, min-
gling the flesh tints with egg and fig-sap, ready to
begin.

In her clear, sweet, cultured Florentine voice she
began to recite:

““Man’s perfect blood, which never is drunk up
By arteries, and which like food remains
Upon the banquet table when men sup,

Draws from the heart the virtue which maintains
The self that forms the body in its parts,
And travels through that body by its veins.

Again digested, blood descends and starts
In secret vessel, whence it is discharged
And into other vessel quickly darts.

These mingle, passive one, the other charged
With full activity, derived from whence
It lately came, with vital force enlarged ;

And being conjoined, this force becomes immense,
Coagulating first, then making whole
The lifeless matter all inert and dense.”

The girl paused a second for the sake of the

clearness of the meaning, then went on:

“The active virtue, being made a soul
As of a plant—as such, already seals
The vegetative basis of the whole—

Then acts so much that now it moves and feels
Like a sea-fungus, and then makes a start
To take the parent’s form which it reveals,
By virtue from the generator’s heart,
Which now, O Son, contracts and now distends
Where nature is intent on any part.”120 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Again Lucrezia made the pause needful for the
full meaning, and went on:

 

“But how from animal to man ascends?
Thou dost not see as yet; it is a point
On which a wiser man than thou offends,
Making the soul entirely disjoint
From passive intellect, because he found
No organ for the latter’s use appoint.”

Once again a descriptive pause, then:

“Open thy mind to truth that’s sane and sound:

As soon as in the foetus the new brain
With perfect convolutions doth abound,

The Primal Mover turns to it again,
Well pleased with such a perfect work existing,
Creates a simple spirit for this fane.

What spirit finds attracts it unresisting
To this sane substance, and becomes one soul,
Which lives, and feels, and thinks, all self-subsisting.”

“T shall borrow a copy of Dante’s J] Purgatorio,
and study it in that,’ said Fra Filippo, speaking
softly; for the mother abbess, lulled by the sweet
sound of Dante’s poetry as read by Lucrezia, was
sleeping peacefully as she rested against the girl.
“Perhaps in a few weeks I shall comprehend the
meaning.”

‘Nonsense, padre,” said Lucrezia, after a glance
at the slumbering abbess, speaking equally softly.
“Dante means that the becoming baby first has a
soul like a little vegetable, which it has derived
from its father; then, when the form is sufficiently
developed to demand a higher type of soul, the soul

’THE PAINTING OF A SOUL 121

of a little animal takes its place; then, when the
brain of the embryo bambino is sufficiently devel-
oped to be worthy of a human soul, God creates
the human soul which, entering into the bambino,
absorbs the perfections of its vegetable and animal
soul, and becomes the human soul complete.”

“T suppose one ought to know all that,” sighed
Fra Filippo, “because one learnt it at the Carmine.
But, gracious heaven! no wonder Dante needed
your uncle as a commentator. Truly, the Floren-
tines are a philosophical and deep- thinking people!”

“Dante is not very simple,” laughed Lucrezia,
‘unless you have been brought up on him like I
have. e

“By the way,” asked the friar, “Dante says that
the ‘Prime Mover’—that is God, isn’t it?—that the
Prime Mover ‘creates a simple soul.’ What does
he mean by that?”

“You know,” replied Lucrezia, “God creates the
simple soul, ‘divisible and everlasting—even God
cannot destroy it except by an act of annihilation—
and it becomes united to what already exists, form-
ing one compound substance, body and soul; the
whole being that single compound individual, man.’

bakiessa replie -d Fra Filippo, doubtfully; for he
was neither a philosopher nor a theologian.

“And that is why the human soul, unlike the soul
of an animal which springs from matter and per-
‘shes with matter, cannot perish at death. It is a
simple substance created by God and, therefore, in-
destructible.

It seems almost incredible that a girl of twenty-
two could have reasoned like this. The only argu-
ment in its favor being that such of the Quattro-Se

ae a ead i oho

 

122 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

cento Florentine maidens as had received a philo-
sophical education could and did argue like this.

‘“H’m!” muttered Fra Filippo. He thought a
moment. ‘Then what happens to the body at
death, O philosopher ?”’

‘The body, which is composed of primary mat-
ter, as is the stone or flower, is capable of receiving
(and being determined by) any appropriate form.
Therefore the body, losing the form of the soul
by death, becomes transformed, first into the form
of a corpse, then into a mass of decay, then into
dust. For the soul alone is incorruptible.”

‘‘And mother abbess, of what does she now con-
sist

“Of primary matter, informed and actuated by a
soul which determines the outward appearance of
her body.”

“She must have a sweet old soul,’ said Fra
Filippo, softly.

“Yes,” whispered Lucrezia, ‘‘a sweet, dear, lov-
ing soul, which has formed a very dear old lady.”

‘‘And when she dies, as soon she must ?”’

‘Her soul will go straight to God Who made it,
and her body crumble into dust.”

“And what of the body of Lucrezia?” he asked,
painting quickly, for he had almost got what he
wanted.

‘(Mere primary matter, like the earth and the
stones and the trees, with the form and vitality of
the soul of Lucrezia. For the soul forms the flesh
of the body out of primary matter, whilst of itself
it acts as the mind.”

‘What is your soul like, Lucrezia?” he asked.
Suspecting that he was laughing at her philoso-THE PAINTING OF A SOUL 123

phy, the girl made an impudent face at him. ‘You
can see for yourself, messere,” she said.

“And Lucrezia de’ Buti is?”

‘Just primary matter like all the rest of visible
nature, informed by the soul of that poor girl. No
better than it should be and, I hope, no worse.”

Having become incautious through success, the
friar raised his voice. ‘“There!”’ he cried, triumph-
antly. “Have I painted the soul of mother abbess ?”

“Who called mother abbess ?”’ asked the old lady,
stirring herself. Then: “I believe I’ve been asleep.”

“And the face of your portrait’s finished!” ex-
claimed Fra Filippo, as Lucrezia helped the abbess
to her feet.

II

Of course there was much that was mistaken in
the philosophy—especially in the psycho-biology—
of the Quattrocento, as the Thomist Philosophers
of Louvain will now tell one. For instance, the
heart is not the seat of life, capable of bestowing
life and embryonic form on the offspring, but merely
a muscle. The male principle of life is not the de-
termining factor in the becoming form, but the fu-
sion of the male and female germ-cells. And, al-
though Louvain still holds that the human soul is
created and infused into the embryo as soon as the
embryonic form has developed into a fitting object
for its reception, most of Catholic Christendom now
holds that the human soul is created and infused
into the parental cells at the time of conception.

At any rate, from now Fra Filippo began to paint
the true individuality of his models, which is the
soul. His pupil, Botticelli, who came early underrece

ee apenmnead meena ld

—

ae Eee tee

———
2 ee

 

124 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Lucrezia’s influence, followed in his footsteps, paint-
ing the soul with scarcely a body to hide it. Leon-
ardo da Vinci carried the painting of a soul a step
further in the portrait of Madonna Lisa. And
Michelangelo carried it to its full perfection, hold-
ing that there could not be wrinkles in the human
face unless there were the counterpart of wrinkles
in the soul.

All these artists were Florentines of the Floren-
tines, and the successors of Fra Filippo. And the
Florentines were decidedly what are now called
“highbrows.” From the noble and lofty foreheads
of its ladies, of whom Lucrezia was one—and we
can judge from their portraits—the ladies were
“highbrows’’ too.

Ill

Of course the portrait of mother abbess was not
in any way finished, not even the face; for tempora
was a slow-painting medium, not in any way resem-
bling the slick medium of oil. The paint in tem-
pora must be applied in little stippling touches, with
plenty of cross-hatching. The shadows must be
glazed over with transparent pigments mixed with
the white of egg. Sometimes an effect may be ob-
tained artificially, as in a rich, red robe for instance,
where gold-leaf may be laid on the gesso and paint
laid over that. But, in every case, a tempora panel
is entirely unlike a painting in fresco, in which the
surface is moist plaster and the paint may be ap-
plied freely; for, in a tempora panel, the pigment
must be laid on the dry, hard, shell-like surface of
the gesso in numberless little touches until the result
is smooth and even.THE PAINTING OF A SOUL W265

“IT should think the oil-painting, of which you
have been speaking, must be more rapid and easier
than painting in tempora,”’ suggested Lucrezia.

“So that,” laughed Fra Filippo, ‘‘instead of paint-
ing cleanly with an exact knowledge of what he is
doing, the painter may be able to run one color into
another before each is dry?” He paused. “I tell
you, Lucrezia, that when oil will be worn and dingy,
tempora will be fresh and new; for the egg with
which the paint is mixed will form a hard and last-
ing surface that will endure forever.” And, at the
present time, when early pictures painted in oil are
dingy, the pictures painted by Fra Filippo Lippi in
the year 1450 are as fresh and brilliant as they
were on the day upon which they were painted. So
are those of Fra Filippo’s pupils, Botticelli and
Filippino, which were painted in tempora. Tem-
pora mutantur, the poet says. It doesn’t.

1V

Then, as soon as Fra Filippo had finished the
abbess’s face, he posed the nun who was like her in
build for the painting of the habit; and, when that
was painted, he started on Santa Margherita. And
all through March the mother abbess was often
present, sitting in her easy chair and watching Fra
Filippo at his painting and Lucrezia at her posing;
for the heart and soul of mother abbess were in her
picture.

The most delightful thing about mother abbess
was the way in which she identified herself with the
work, even as though she were a part-creator. “We
must get on with Saint Margaret’s veil to-day,” sheSS dees tae oan ah hh abaaaaeaed

a

ae ee ee ee ee

 

126 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

would say; or: ‘“‘We must finish those hands before
the light fades.”

Then, as soon as a most lovely and delightful
Saint Margaret was finished, Fra Filippo had to
complete the drawing of Saint Raphael. Then the
painting of Saint Raphael and the boy Tobias had
to be undertaken; until, by Easter, Saint Margaret
and the abbess were finished on one side of the pic-
ture and Saint Raphael and Tobias on the other.

“If the remainder of the picture is as fine as what
we have already completed,’ said mother abbess,
‘“‘we shall have painted the finest picture in exist-
ence.”

And all the time, except on one occasion, did Fra
Filippo behave with the greatest prudence and dis-
cretion—perhaps this was due to the presence of
mother abbess, perhaps it was due to his respect for
the nun’s habit which Lucrezia wore whenever pos-
sible, perhaps it was because he was trying to be
good to the best of his ability all through that
Lent. His one lapse happened when he was paint-
ing the face of Saint Margaret.

He and Lucrezia were alone, he painting the face
of Saint Margaret, she, unveiled and dressed in a
light and pretty gown, posing.

“Since those lips,” he said, “are mere primary
matter, like the earth and the stones and the trees,
there could be no harm if I kissed them.”” And no
one who has seen the sweet and living mouth of
the little nun, as she posed for Saint Margaret, can
blame the friar too severely.

‘Fra Filippo!” cried Lucrezia, horrified.

“It is only what you told me,” remarked FraTHE PAINTING OF A SOUL 127

Filippo, painting calmly. “It is I who am the true
philosopher now.”

She rose to the bait as a trout rises toa fly. “But
it is I—my soul—that makes the primary matter
of my lips actual!” she argued, trembling.

‘And what harm can there be in kissing a soul?”
asked the friar, smiling.

“Don’t be foolish,” said Lucrezia, disdaining fur-
ther argument.

But it was not wise for a priest to talk thus with
a young nun; and, although Fra Filippo put the
conversation entirely out of his mind, poor Lucrezia
could not help thinking of it over and over again.
Possibly Adam had more to do with Eve’s tempta-
tion than the Scripture relates.

V

By Easter Monday Fra Filippo had finished the
four Saints—mother abbess may surely be reckoned
as a saint, though perhaps not as a very wise one
—and now he proposed to paint our Lady of the
Girdle.

“Tf I have finished Saint Margaret and you,
mother abbess,” he explained, ‘‘and also Saint
Raphael and Toby, and if I now paint our most
gracious Lady, the picture will be practically com-
plete. I can paint Saint Thomas and the two
bishops from men models in my own bottega.”

Mother abbess agreed. ‘‘But had not we better
paint the open tomb of our Lady before we go fur-
ther?” she suggested.

“Excellent! cried Fra Filippo. “I shall paintee eee Ae he od ee ene a eo Ree

"i aaah al
a

od

aces

Sa ehh eed

we .

 

128 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

the tomb filled with growing flowers.” He turned
to Lucrezia. ‘‘How do you paint the soul of a
flower, sister?”

“I should paint the soul of each flower,” replied
Lucrezia, ‘‘as having a great love for the particular
place in which it is accustomed to grow; the water-
plants as delighting to grow by the sides of the
stream; the gentians as delighting to grow on the
slopes of the hills; for, as Dante tells us, ‘the plant
which is transplanted away from the place that it
loves either dies entirely or else leads a sad life.’ ”

“What flower delights to grow in an empty
tomb ?” asked Fra Filippo.

“I should think that the rose would delight to
grow in the tomb which had held the body of the
Mystical Rose,” replied Lucrezia.

“Good! I shall paint the tomb as full of grow-
ing roses.” And, after marking the exact spot
where Saint Thomas the Doubter would come, he
started on the tomb filled with growing roses,

All the rest of Monday and Tuesday and
Wednesday he worked at our Lady’s tomb. And,
on Thursday, he began the cartoon of our Lady
holding the Girdle. Then, on Thursday, mother
abbess had the first of the series of attacks of an-
gina pectoris which, in a few months, were to kill
her.

Lucrezia called the infirmarian and, together,
they helped her to her cell. Then, as in duty
bound, Lucrezia told mother prioress who, from
that moment, assumed entire control of the whole
community, including mother abbess. For the poor
mother abbess was so overcome by the agony of
that mysterious disease which men call “snake inTHE PAINTING OF A sour 129

the breast’ that she could scarcely think connect-
edly, much less act.

‘“And how we will get on with our Lady holding
the Girdle,” sighed Lucrezia as soon as she was
free to go back to her task of posing as model, “I
do not know; for mother prioress will leave us no
rest.”

“Quick!” cried Fra Filippo. “Get on to your
throne exactly as I first placed you, and we will do
as much as possible before the storm breaks.”

“The worst of it is,” sighed Lucrezia, “that the
sisters’ nerves are worn so thin by mother prioress
that they are near snapping. Mine certainly are;
for, although I have tried not to tell you, the
prioress has of late girded at me unceasingly.”’

“T think there must have been a chatterbox as
well as a snake in the Garden of Eden,” growled
Fra Filippo. ‘‘Now the snake attacks poor mother
abbess, and the chatterbox drives my pretty Eve
distracted.”

“Poor Eve,” whispered Lucrezia. “I hope that
Adam will not turn against her.”CHAPTER Xai
THE RULE OF MOTHER PRIORESS
I

INCE the days of Eve, woman has been a
S dificult problem to handle; for, although a

woman will unite herself with a man, entirely
maintaining her own individuality, women cannot
be trusted to unite with women. The reason seems
to be that women are individualists, who do not
trust their own sex and, therefore, cannot be trusted
to act together.

The Catholic Church has become bitterly con-
scious of this difficulty and it has taken her many
centuries of legislative reform to overcome it; and
now, in order to do so, she treats men and women
in an entirely different manner. Give a man a po-
sition of responsibility, and he may be trusted to
live up to it; consequently the head of a religious
order of men may be trusted to rule wisely and
well. But make a woman the superior of a com-
munity of women, and she will tend, especially if
she lacks self-confidence, to tyrannize over her sub-
ordinates; consequently, with but few exceptions,
the head of a community of nuns has now to be
elected by her community every three years.

From the moment that the devout and pious
mother prioress held the reins of authority, from
that moment did she begin to treat her nuns with
petty tyranny. When Sister Piera neglected to
130THE RULE OF MOTHER PRIORESS 131

clean up her plate as the rules of the convent de-
manded, not only was she reprimanded for the dis-
regard of her vow of Holy Poverty and warned
that such daintiness was most displeasing to Al-
mighty God, but also was she lectured on the same
subject every day for a fortnight. When Sister
Brigida fell asleep during Matins, not only was she
rebuked severely and bidden to rise an hour earlier
during the coming week, but also was the whole
community given a long address against the sin of
laziness with Sister Brigida held up as a sad exam-
ple. Sister Simona would whisper, asking for this
or‘that, during the silence of dinner: very well, for
ten days, Sister Simona must have her dinner alone
after the rest of the nuns had finished. And when
Sister Spinetta had dared to laugh in the presence
of mother prioress, the poor girl had been told to
read aloud a long patristic homily against the fault
of unruly levity.

All this happened within the first three weeks of
mother abbess’s illness, and the spirit of rebellion
grew by leaps and bounds. Only the novice-mistress
and the little novice, safe in the shelter of the novi-
tiate, escaped. As for Sister Lucrezia:

The afternoon of Thursday passed without a
storm. Mother prioress was too busy over the
abbess to make trouble; but, on Friday, as soon as
Lucrezia had begun to pose, seated on her throne
and with her pretty hair uncovered—it was begin-
ning to grow out of the shingle and into the bobbed
stage now—mother prioress opened the door and
entered the painting-room.

Fra Filippo rose politely, careful to show respect
for her new-found dignity. ‘“Good morning, mother132 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

prioress,” he said. ‘‘With mother abbess ill, I ex-
pect you find plenty to occupy your time.”

The prioress looked at Lucrezia. “Are you one
of my nuns?” she asked.

“Yes, reverend mother,” replied Lucrezia, smil-
ing a little awkwardly.

“And ‘Jezebel painted her face with stibic stone,
and adorned her head, and Jehu said: Who is
this?” she quoted.

Poor Lucrezia needed no stibic stone to color her
face now. “I am Sister Lucrezia,” she murmured
feebly.

“Playing the Jezebel?” asked mother prioress.

“Sister Lucrezia is posing for the Madonna of
the Girdle by order of the Lady Abbess,” broke in
Fra Filippo, sharply.

“Not as a Madonna Jezebel, Fra Filippo?”
asked the prioress with a suspicious sweetness.

“All this is by order of the abbess!” cried Fra
Filippo, furious.

“T am acting for mother abbess now,” said the
prioress. ‘And I order that this unseemly foolery
shall cease. You, Fra Filippo, ought to have known
better than to have suggested it.”

“Diavolo!” cried the friar.

“Tast time, if I remember right, it was ten thou-
sand fiends, so that is some improvement,” she said.

Then she turned to Lucrezia. ‘‘Sister,” she said
softly, “I think that you are more sinned against
than sinning. Go to your cell, child, and put on
your religious habit. Then come to my room, for
I shall have something to say to you presently.”THE RULE OF MOTHER PRIORESS 133

II

As soon as they were alone Fra Filippo turned
to the prioress, in a white heat. “Mother abbess
ordered that, save for herself, Sister Lucrezia and
I should be left alone until I had completed the
Madonna della Cintola.”

“Since the abbess is unable to act,” replied
mother prioress, “I am mother abbess.”

That seemed a facer, but Fra Filippo still, even
in his anger, hoped to reduce her to reason. “Then
you intend to stop the painting of the picture?” he
asked.

“T intend to stop you from decking out one of
my nuns as Jezebel,” she answered. ‘‘First you
paint her as Herodias, at least so Fra Diamante
has told me, and now you trick her out as Jezebel
two women of ill-repute! Surely the poor girl is
honored!”

“But you have not even seen the picture,” cried
Fra Filippo in despair. “I tell you that our Lady
is most lovely.”

“T have seen a Madonna that Fra Angelico
painted, dignified and stately. I do not want to see
a Madonna that is tricked out like Jezebel.”

As always, the prioress had succeeded in reducing
Fra Filippo to a state that was bordering on mad-
ness, and now he was distinctly rude. “Last time I
met you,” he said, “you harped on Fra Angelico;
now it is all Jezebel with allusions to Fra Angelico.
Truly you are a woman of but one idea!”

“That is not the way to speak to an abbess,” she

reminded him.
“You are not an abbess, mother prioress, norTS TE Te a RY Tee Te

=

ee eee

 

134. THE JO¥VOUS mRIAR

ever will be,” he answered. ‘Now about the pic-
ture,’ he continued. “TI had an order from the
real abbess to finish our Lady of the Girdle with
Sister Lucrezia as the Madonna.”

“And I cancel the order. Sister Lucrezia shall
not sit to a man with your reputation, nor do I de-
sire you to frequent my convent except to perform
your duty of saying Mass.”

“My reputation?” repeated Fra Filippo, dumb-
founded.

“I have heard from a nun in Florence, who is a
niece of the vicar general, and I now know of your
reputation in Florence.”

“Good God!” cried Fra Filippo. This was in-
deed a bolt from the blue.

“Ah! That is better than ten thousand fiends,
Fra Filippo.”

And, having routed her old enemy by means of
her new-found authority, the prioress left the room.
For to such a pass may a deeply pious woman, who
is dressed in a brief authority, come that there is
no holding her. Besides, the fact that mother
prioress had seized the authority that in reality be-
longed to the abbess makes one suspect that, deep
down in her soul, she had secretly nurtured the
deadly sin of pride.

As for Fra Filippo, he packed up his traps and
departed from the Convent of Santa Margherita,
leaving his masterpiece unfinished.

Afterwards it was finished, and ruined, by Fra
Diamante.

III

Lucrezia, pale as death and furious with rage,
went to her cell and put on her habit. Then sheTHE RULE OF MOTHER PRIORESS 135

went down to the abbess’s room to await mother
prioress.

The personal insult had made her angry; the in-
sults to Fra Filippo had made her more angry; and
the implied insult to the pair of them had made her
simply furious. And now the primary matter, ac-
tuated by her soul, which made her face, needed no
stibic stone to make it crimson.

She waited five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter
of an hour. Then the door opened and Lucrezia
stood up.

“T am sorry you should have been betrayed into
such an unenviable position, sister,” began the
prioress. ‘Truly the late abbess must have been
failing in her mind for the last six months, and you
are in no way to blame.”

Lucrezia was silent.

“To allow so young a nun to discard her habit
and to pose as an artist’s model to a disreputable
friar and a painter of no skill, is to put temptation
in her way that no sane abbess would have dreamed
Of.»

Lucrezia still kept silence.

“Girl, you have not lost your honor, have you?”

“Not through Fra Filippo!” cried Lucrezia.

“That is well, for Fra Filippo is a disreputable
man and a hanger-on of the dissolute Medici.”

“T have lived all my days in Florence,” cried
Lucrezia, ‘‘and the Medici have always been re-
spected and Godfearing people.”

“You dare to contradict me, sister? Truly this
community needs ruling with a firm hand.”

“And as for Fra Filippo,” cried Lucrezia, unable
to contain herself any longer, “I have posed for

Fra Filippo for more than two months past, often136 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

being alone with him, and he has said no unbecom-
ing word to me and done no unbecoming act.”

Smiling, the prioress quoted an Italian proverb
to the effect that who excuses accuses herself. ‘Are
you sure that he has said nothing unbecoming ?”’ she
asked.

The memory of Fra Filippo’s unfortunate jest
about kissing her lips flashed into her mind and
Lucrezia, being a truthful girl, could make no reply.

“Now listen while I tell you of Fra Filippo’s
character,’ said the prioress. And she drew a
vivid picture of the friar’s character as seen from
the view-angle of the niece of the vicar general, and
very lurid she made it. ‘And you will see that the
man is not only a thief and a forger, who confessed
his crimes when the rack made him do so,” she
ended, “but also a cripple who has been ruptured
under torture.”

“T don’t believe it,” said Lucrezia, doggedly.

The prioress let this impertinence pass, and began
a lecture on the process of seduction. “For,” said
she, ‘‘even a friar may seduce, even a nun may yield
to seduction.” The lecture embraced such vital
points as The Beginning of Seduction, the man
starting with the seduction of the woman’s vanity
by leading her to wear garments that were unbe-
coming to her state and position. “And, when Fra
Filippo induced you, a nun, to discard your habit
and to appear with your hair (such as there is) un-
covered, and yourself tricked out in the garments
of a light woman, he had already achieved the first
stage in your seduction.” Then came The Sug-
gestion of Light Thoughts, Herodias and Jezebel
for instance.

ST OT eT ER a TET VR Rm pe TET

eSTHE RULE OF MOTHER PRIORESS 137

“But you, mother prioress,” broke in Lucrezia,
“vourself suggested Jezebel, not Fra Filippo.”

Once again the wise prioress let this pass, and
went on with her lecture on seduction, describing
much that was obvious, much that was distinctly
original and much that was absolutely incredible.
Man was indeed a crafty being, and woman a fool-
ish dupe, though why such a crafty being should ex-
pend so much skill and energy on the undoing of
such a silly creature she did not say. As she warmed
up to her subject, she dilated with all the Italian
love of the natural processes and all the fifteenth-
century coarseness, until Lucrezia’s cheeks grew
far redder than any stibic stone could have made

them.
“Now that you know all about it, child,’ she

ended, ‘“‘you can be on your guard.”

“Do seducers often visit convents?’ asked Lu-
crezia, amazed.

“God forbid!” replied mother prioress, piously.
“And now,” she added, “say the seven penitential
psalms for any sins you have committed, three
Magnificats as a thanksgiving to our Lady who has
saved you, and three De Profundi for the soul of
Fra Filippo. Say all these every day for a month.”

And, having done as much harm as she could,
suggesting as many dangerous thoughts in the course
of half an hour as the most finished seducer might
have suggested in a whole month, the prioress told
Lucrezia to retire to her cell in order to meditate
upon what she had said.edith Dineenindh sci ocr ueaeeen ane neha ie oh ae ot ee a

ee eee ee

 

 

138 THE JOYOUS FRIAR
IV

That night, as with burning cheeks Lucrezia
thought over the lecture, she felt sick and disgusted.
And when she awoke at daybreak she got out a
sheet of paper, and she wrote:

“Dear Friend,

Mother prioress has been saying terrible things against
you and me. She says that, by persuading me to uncover my
head and don gay apparel, you have been attempting to ruin
me; in fact that you have already led me astray through my
vanity. And she said many things that were worse. And,
worse than all the rest, she said vile things against your
character.

You are never to come to the Convent of Santa Margherita
again except to say Mass, and I shall never see my dearest
friend again, and the picture will never be finished.

Your devoted and distracted,
LUCREZIA.”’

She read through the letter. “If ever I should
fall through love,” she murmured, furious, “I should
give myself for love, and not wait to be seduced!”
Which was a terrible thing for a young nun to say.
But there is a method of suggesting evil thoughts
through warnings and lecturings which is infinitely
more dangerous than direct suggestion, and, of this
indirect method, mother prioress was a _ past
mistress.

Lucrezia sealed this letter and directed it to Fra
Filippo, resolving to hand it to Spinetta, who would
hand it to the Sister Cellaress, who would hand it
to the woman that brought the milk, who would
hand it to Fra Filippo’s housekeeper.CHAPTER XIII
ON BREAKING ENCLOSURE
I

SPEAK of honest religious, not of hypocrites;
but, fortunately, hypocrites are rare in the
religious life.

The monk and the nun have a precisely similar
vocation, which is to serve God, and God alone,
in a life of personal chastity, personal poverty, and
personal obedience to the lawful superior; but there
the likeness ends. For, with the man, the monk or
the friar lives in what may be called a spiritual en-
closure which he must keep inviolate, going off on
his various duties for days or weeks at a time, mix-
ing with the world, and yet keeping intact his spir-
itual enclosure of chastity, poverty and obedience;
whereas the nun, except in such callings as that of
nursing sister or sister of charity, is not called off
into the world and, therefore, must not subject her-
self to the tempting influence of friends and rela-
tions, to the dangerous allurements of the world, or
to the possible advances of lovers. Therefore the
nun remains within the convent enclosure.

In these days, God knows, it is difficult enough
for a girl to become a nun. Two years’ apprentice-
ship and novitate before she is allowed to make
any vows, during which time she can leave the con-
vent and return home at any moment. And, during
those two years, she is closely watched by her novice-
139ee

adie Ee Mt a) mek ee ne

—

ee ee

———
——

 

140 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

mistress and superior as to her vocation, and she
has to be elected into the community before she is
allowed to make her vows. I should think that
quite seventy-five per cent of novices fail during
these two years, and return to the world wiser and
(I hope) better women.

Then three years follow as a professed novice,
so that the nun may test her vocation, before the
girl can take the final vows which are for life.

When once a nun has taken her final vows, she
cannot return to the world unless she gets a dis-
pensation from Rome; but this dispensation is not
unreasonably withheld, and I know of maiden
ladies, living in their own homes, who have been
nuns for ten or twenty years.

But, in the year 1426—that is to say before the
Council of Trent—there was no such strict en-
closure for the nun. Nuns were allowed to receive
visitors to almost any extent, and to visit friends
without the convent walls whenever they could get
permission. So the enclosure of the Convent of
Santa Margherita was to keep men out, not to keep
nuns in; and any nun who had received leave could
go home to see her friends.

II

Sister Lucrezia had no friends except her mar-
ried brother, and her sister-in-law did not want to
have her home. But Sister Piera di Vanni Sensi,
Sister Simona di Michele Lottieri, and Sister
Brigida d’Antonio Peruzzi, like most of the Augus-
tinian nuns, were of good families, and had friends
and relations in Prato who would welcome themON BREAKING ENCLOSURE 141

warmly. Also, if Lucrezia were once outside, Spin-
etta could go to her.

You may believe that the rebellious nuns talked
all this over amongst themselves and discussed it
from all points of the compass. If Lucrezia left the
convent that would be breaking enclosure; but, if
she did, and at the end of a few days Spinetta joined
her, that would not be breaking enclosure to the
same extent; and, if the three other nuns went home
and stopped there, that would not be breaking en-
closure to any appreciable degree.

As soon as they could stand mother prioress no
longer, Sister Piera, Sister Simona, and Sister Bri-
gida resolved to go home in a few days, with or
without leave, and stay there.

But towards the end of April, Lucrezia could
suffer mother prioress no more. So, in the solitude

of her cell, she got pen and paper and wrote :—

“Dearest friend,

I can stand this life no longer. Mother prioress re-
gards me as an Abandoned Woman, and nags at me inces-
santly, throwing my friendship for you in my face.

I trust you to find a place for me until I can go to my
brother, and I know that I do not trust in vain.

On the First of May we all go to the veneration of the
Girdle at the pieve, and shall walk two and two, mother
prioress coming last. So, if you can hold mother prioress
a minute, I will slip away and hide my-
Then I will go where you bid me.

Your devoted
LUCREZIA.”

in conversation for
self in the crowd.

Then she sealed the letter and despatched it
through the cellaress as before.ah dees ie een ed ce caine

laa Aie hy titeneemmne dl ia kt tence aaenee et ee ee Ae

_

te ae ee ee ee

    

THE JOYOUS FRIAR

III

Now I am afraid that, since he had left the
Carmine and gone out into Florence, Fra Filippo
had not kept his spiritual enclosure in good/ repair.
Fra Angelico had kept his enclosure intact; but Fra
Filippo must have broken down the wall of holy
poverty by self-indulgence, the wall of perfect
obedience by his impatience to discipline, and prob-
ably, though we know nothing for certain, he had
damaged the wall of chastity, thus leaving his soul
open to all sorts of enemies. And, although he had
tried to restore this triple wall during Lent, the
rebound of Easter had made the foundations very
tottering. So, when he received Lucrezia’s note, he
became all fuss and uncertainty.

“The devil take the girl!” he muttered on his
first impulse. ‘Then, because he had grown very
fond of Lucrezia during the past two months, he
muttered: “God bless the girl! What in the name
of wonder can I do with her?”

He thought of writing to her brother, but that
would be a breach of confidence; he thought of
taking a couple of rooms for her, but that would be
a certain cause of scandal. Then an idea flashed
into his mind, and he went to his house in the Via
delle Tre Gore.

Now Maddalena had been married the past two
months and was as full of gratitude as an egg is
full of meat. She had let several of the rooms,
started a vegetable shop on the ground floor, and
her husband was already sufficiently recovered to
be working in Fra Filippo’s garden, busy growing
choice vegetables. So the friar went to MaddalenaON BREAKING ENCLOSURE 143

in his trouble, for he often went to see the couple
now.

A young lady, he explained, was coming to Prato
to see her sister who was in the Convent of Santa
Margherita.

“That is very wise, padre,” said Maddalena.
‘For the good nuns must see their friends.”

Could the lady have a couple of rooms?

“Indeed she could,” replied Maddalena. ‘Nice
rooms into which the sun shines. And I could cook
for her, padre, and wait on her, and make her com-
fortable.” She paused. ‘‘When will she be com-
ing?’ she asked.

“On the first of May.”

“Very well, padre,” cried Maddalena, “I shall
be ready. You can depend on me for that.”

So that was arranged for, nobody being a penny
the wiser, not even Maddalena.

To say that Fra Filippo was excited is to under-
state the case: for he had become fonder of
Lucrezia during the last two months than was either
wise or right, and he had thought that he would
never see her again; and now that he was to see her
so soon, the thought of seeing her filled him with
delight. She could chatter to him about Dante
or anything she liked, and she would understand
his art and help him in his ideals. Of the ultimate
result he did not pause to think, for that was not
his custom; but, for the present, and he lived chiefly
in the present, he could come to see her as safely as
he could come to see Maddalena.tie a) deme taka ee a ne ee

ewer 7

os

——E———————————EE

THE JOYOUS FRIAR
IV

Fra Filippo was now forty-nine, and Victorian
writers like Mr. Strutt have jested about the old
man of forty-nine having a romantic attachment
towards a girl of twenty-two. ‘They thought that
so plain a man, already fifty years of age, and old
enough to be Lucrezia’s father, could not possibly
be suspected of harboring, much less of exciting,
a tender passion,” says Mr. Strutt. Unfortunately
Mr. Strutt has mistaken the portrait of Mgr. Canon
Maringhi, who was well on in years, for the por-
trait of Fra Filippo, and as for the rest— Rubbish!

The Victorians, with their sedentary life and port
wine, might have been old at forty; but a man with
a face like that of the real Fra Filippo would be
young and capable of inspiring affection for many
years longer. Why, I myself have known many men
who enlisted as privates or joined as second lieuten-
ants in the recent war when they were as old as or
older than Fra Filippo, and they came through
those fearful years worn but full of courage, and
some of them fell in love, and married, and settled
down happily at over fifty.

Well, that comparatively young man, Fra Filippo
—and I knew many Fra Filippos during the war—
was not happily married, and he had never been
friendly with a girl who was worth his friendship,
and he ought to have been safe in his spiritual en-
closure, and, for him, the friendship was not a safe
one.

Have a look at Lucrezia’s face, and ask yourself
whether she would be a safe platonic friend. Be-
fore you had known her a month you would be headON BREAKING ENCLOSURE 145

and ears in love with her. Besides, both Fra Fi-
lippo and Lucrezia were Italians, a people who
cannot play with love without the danger of catch-
ing fire. And, besides, Lucrezia was the fair type
of Italian which is the most dangerous type of all.

No, the friendship could not in any way be called
a safe one. And, as Lucrezia was to live in Fra
Filippo’s house and receive him privately, the situ-
ation simply bristled with danger.

So, when he wrote, through Sister Cellaress, tell-
ing Sister Lucrezia to come to his house in the Via
delle Tre Gore, it was bad. And, when he received
an answer that she would dress in the gown which
she had worn when posing for the Madonna, throw-
ing off her cloak and veil as soon as she was clear
of mother prioress, it was worse.TR Ve Er pera ree ee oh

eres aed

ee
oe

 

CHAPTER XIV
THE FIRST OF MAY
I

OW, on Christmas Day, Easter Day, the
First Day of May, and on the Feasts of

the Assumption and Birth of our Lady, our
Lady’s Girdle was exposed for public veneration
from the outdoor pulpit of the pieve. And this was
the first of May.

As the nuns of Santa Margherita entered the
Square of the Pieve to take part in the veneration
of the relic, Fra Filippo, true to his promise, ap-
proached the mother prioress.

‘Will you reconsider your decision, mother
prioress?” he said. ‘‘I ask you, in the presence of
the holy relic, to continue the privilege which the
abbess granted me and to allow me to complete,
unhindered, my picture of Madonna della Cintola.”

Startled by this abrupt challenge, the prioress
sought for words. Then: “The soul of Sister Lu-
crezia,” she replied, stiffly, ‘is of more importance
than a picture.”

“There is no hope of your changing your mind?”

‘Absolutely none. I am in the position of abbess,
and I shall do my duty—I shall do my duty more
strictly than my predecessor.” And she looked at
him as though he were the evil one in the garb of
a friar.

Fra Filippo looked at the place where Sister
146THE FIRST OF MAY 147

Lucrezia had stood, and found that she had van-
ished; a moment ago she had been standing beside
Sister Spinetta at the head of the nuns’ procession,
and now her place was vacant. Then the crowd
surged forward towards the pulpit, and immediately
the nuns were swept to and fro, each one of them
struggling to get the best place that she could
secure.

Fra Filippo laughed to himself at the simplicity
and ingenuity of Lucrezia’s scheme.

II

The moment that Lucrezia found herself clear
of the procession, she began to move towards the
edge of the crowd, and each following moment
made her progress easier. For the people were
pressing towards the pieve and all she had to do
was to keep her position and the crowd did the rest.
Then, as the crowd grew thin, she edged away un-
noticed; for every one was busy gazing towards
the pulpit which was on the facade of the church
and no one had eyes for a solitary nun.

Then Lucrezia began to move quickly. She did
not run, but she moved quickly. She found a house
door open—the inmates were away with the pieve
crowd—and, slipping in, she threw off her veil and
mantle and placed a lace mantilla on her head, and
there she stood, no longer a nun, but just an
ordinary woman, blue dress, lace mantilla, like
hundreds amongst the crowd. Folding the cloak
and veil into a neat parcel, she set out for Fra
Filippo’s house.

Maddalena was standing at the window watch-148 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

ing for her, and, as soon as she saw the solitary lady
approaching the house—it was only a step from the
Square of the Pieve—she hurried to the door to
meet her.

“This is Madonna— The lady of whom Fra
Filippo told me?” she asked.

“Madonna di Francesco,” said Lucrezia, wisely
giving her father’s name instead of her surname.

“Ah! Madonna di Francesco. Isn’t Fra Fi-
lippo an angel?”

“He is very good and very kind,” said Lucrezia,
cautiously.

‘Fe is a veritable angel!’ cried Maddalena, and
she began to pour out an account of all that Fra
Filippo had done for her. But, quickly, her train-
ing as a serving-maid came back to her and she
pulled herself together. “There,” she cried, ai
am allowing my foolish tongue to run away with me,
and, although I cannot see any stains, madonna
would like to remove the stains of travel.’ And she
led her visitor up the stairs and into the bedroom.

This was a delightful bedroom, large and facing
the southeast, and furnished in the simple yet taste-
ful manner that Maddalena’s care and Fra Filippo’s
artistic mind had suggested.

“T will bring Madonna di Francesco some hot
water,’ said Maddalena. Then her admiration
carried her away. ‘‘Madonna, how lovely you
are!” she cried.

Lucrezia smiled sadly, for what was the value of
beauty to her?

As soon as she was alone, the little nun went
to the polished mirror that Fra Filippo had
thoughtfully provided—it was the mirror whichTHE FIRST OF MAY 149

the friar used to reverse his subjects when required
for his pictures—for she had not seen a mirror since
she had become a nun. She saw a girl with the most
delicate and attractive features that can well be
imagined, crowned with a crop of fine golden hair.

“Madonna! Since I have been at Santa Mar-
gherita I have grown lovely,’ she murmured, and
again sighed.

Then she examined her dress, which was some-
what warm and heavy for the time of year,
and quickly changed it for the gown of Saint Mar-
garet which she had brought with her. For these
two dresses, the gown of our Lady of the Girdle
and the gown of Saint Margaret, made by mother
abbess and her nuns for the picture of the Madonna
della Cintola, would never be wanted again and
were the property of Lucrezia as much as of any
one.

She looked again in the mirror and, astonished
at her good looks, smiled a little to herself. Then
she went to the door and called Maddalena.

“Maddalena,” she called, “I want you.”

Maddalena came hurrying up the stairs.

“Has the man brought my baggage?” asked
Lucrezia, knowing that there was no baggage to be
brought.

“No, madonna,” answered Maddalena; “but if
I can lend you anything, I shall be proud.”

“Have you a brush and comb?”

‘“T have a new brush and comb that my sister gave
me at my wedding.” And she hurried off to fetch
them.

“Now, madonna,’ said Maddalena, “let me
brush your hair, for I was maid to Madonna Clarice150 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Bovacchiesi before I was waiting-maid at the Inn of
the Girdle.”’

Lucrezia seated herself, feeling that all this was
extraordinarily unreal, and Maddalena removed
her mantilla.

“Madonna has doubtless had a fever?’ she
asked, thus accounting for the shortness of the hair.

‘Perhaps madonna is recovering from a fever,”
said Lucrezia; for the last few days in the convent
had been distinctly hectic and feverish.

“Now, if I do your hair thus,”’ suggested Madda-
lena, ‘‘it will look quite natural.”

And, after curling the ends of the hair round a
poker which she had heated in the fire, she began
to brush skilfully; and, as she brushed, she began to
pour out the history of the friar’s great kindness
to her.

“There,” she cried, “the effect of the hair,
brushed like this, is most entrancing. Madonna is
like a little serving-boy at High Mass on a festa.
Tut! I should fall wildly in love with such a boy.”

Then an impulse that was altogether mad, and in
its madness altogether wise, moved the girl. Unless
she told something of herself, she foresaw that she
would be involved in a whole tissue of lies.

“Maddalena,” she said, “Fra Filippo has spoken
often of you. If I tell you the truth, can I trust
you to keep silence?”

“By our Lady and all the Saints, you can trust
me to the death, madonna.”

And, beginning at the beginning, Lucrezia told
the carefully edited story of her posing for our
Lady of the Girdle, and of her flight from the Con-
vent of Santa Margherita. Mercifully MaddalenaTHE FIRST OF MAY 151

was not struck with the sinfulness of the whole
proceeding, nor with its danger, but only with its
romance.

“It is like one of the novella that Madonna
Clarice Bovacchiesi delighted in, and which I used
to read to her before she went to bed,” she cried.

Lucrezia felt relieved.

“And do you love Fra Filippo?” asked Madda-
lena, full of the novella theory, her eyes sparkling.
Indeed, in the novella of Messer Boccaccio, love
ran rampant, neither sparing priests nor monks nor
friars.

‘Fie! For shame!” cried Lucrezia, growing
crimson as she recalled the lurid warnings of the
prioress.

‘“T should love him if I were you!”

‘For shame, Maddalena!”

“If I had not been a serving-maid, I should have
fallen in love with him when I was at the Inn of
the Girdle, since he is one who inspires love

“You must not talk like this,” chided Lucrezia.

“T am all discretion,” said Maddalena. ‘Besides
I love you dearly, Madonna di Francesco.”

The maid’s tongue kept silence, but her mind ran
on; for, although she was sane and balanced in most
of her actions, she had a most romantic imagination.
Her much loved Fra Filippo should fall in love
with this delightful little lady, and the Medici
should come riding by to meet His Holiness the
Pope, and the Medici should see Fra Filippo and
Madonna di Francesco in deep trouble, and he
should say: ‘Cannot you trust Cosimo de’ Medici
to right a wrong?” (This part did not come out
of Boccaccio but out of one of the more recent152 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

novelists.) And at that moment the Pope should
ride up, and he should dispense Fra Filippo and
madonna from their vows, and all should end
happily. Altogether it was the wildest day-dream
that ever came into the mind of a romantic serving-
girl.

Then, Lucrezia’s toilet having been finished,
Maddalena led her into the sitting-room, which was
large and sunny and simply furnished in the most
excellent taste.

The crowd was beginning to move away from the
pieve.

“There,” said Maddalena, “the ceremony is fin-
ished, and we may expect to see Fra Filippo at any
moment now.” And she left the room, closing the
door behind her.

And Lucrezia stood by the window, overcome
by the consciousness of her good looks on the one
hand and, on the other hand, by the awful thing
that she had done in leaving the convent and in
thrusting herself on the protection of poor Fra Fi-
lippo.

III

When Fra Filippo had seen Lucrezia vanish, he
had pressed forward into the crowd. His name
must not be coupled with that of Lucrezia, nor must
his absence be linked with her disappearance.

“Tt was in the year 1096, when Pope Urban had
moved Christendom to rescue the places made holy
by the footsteps of the Son of God from the pollu-
tion of the infidel, that a young lad of Prato,
Michele by name, set out to follow in the wake of
the great army.” A Dominican was preachingTHE FIRSD OR MAY 153

from the pulpit outside the pieve, and Fra Filippo
could not help listening to what he was saying.

“And this young lad, who had set out in faith,
was moved by hope to follow on bravely through
all the hardships of the desert. And, one evening,
as he rested by a well in the desert, a little daughter
of a great priest came to minister to him. And,
moved by love, he kissed the little maid; and she,
moved by a still greater love, gave him the most
precious Girdle which our Lady had worn. And
he brought this most precious relic home to Prato,
and it is the relic that will now be exposed for our
veneration.”

Fra Filippo’s attention wandered to himself; for
had not he started to paint the Madonna, long ago,
moved by an ardent faith; and had he not struggled
on inspired by hope; and was he not reaching his
ideal through the love of a sweet maiden?

Then the veneration of the relic followed; and
Fra Filippo, who had no great belief in its authen-
ticity, found the ceremonies very wearisome.

At last all was over and, placing himself where
mother prioress must pass him, Fra Filippo greeted
her respectfully as she passed close to him, drawing
her cold acknowledgment in response. Then, a
load off his mind, he took himself to the house in
the Via delle Tre Gore.

How would he find Lucrezia? Would he find
her a woeful little person, full of tears; or would
he find her obsessed with the cruelties which she
had borne? He almost dreaded to meet her.

He entered the house, and Maddalena greeted

him at the door.
“Madonna Lucrezia di Francesco has arrived,ei gd ek tn nee ee Shh RORY neta

adhd

Pg Tee

NS me me TRE

 

154 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

padre,” she said, “and a sweeter or lovelier little
lady was never born.”’

‘Where is she?” he asked.

‘In the front sitting-room,” she answered. And
she thought: “If poor Fra Filippo does not meet
with a temptation that is far more dangerous than
any which Sant’ Antonio experienced, I know noth-
ing of men.”

IV

Now Lucrezia’s face, as her portraits tell us, was
full of sex, which merely means that she was a
womanly woman and therefore full of sweetness
and tenderness. For, when the gift of sex is
developed on the lower natural side, the woman may
become the mistress of many men; and, when the
gift of sex is developed on the higher natural side,
the woman becomes the loving and adored wife of
one man and the devoted mother of his children;
but, when the gift of sex is developed by the super-
natural gift that is given to most women, the love
that is normally bestowed on the male is trans-
formed and subliminated into the love of God.

Possibly, in the first instance, Lucrezia might
have possessed the supernatural gift of a true voca-
tion; but, of late, partly through the unwise permis-
sion which mother abbess had given her to pose for
Fra Filippo, and more especially through the stupid
and heartless treatment of mother prioress, the su-
pernatural grace of a true vocation seemed to have
vanished, which had left the girl with the possibility
of becoming a loving and single-hearted wife, and
this, by her vow of celibacy, was impossible.
Anyhow Lucrezia had the gift of sex stronglyTHE FIRST OF MAY 155

developed, and she was as far removed from the
sexless or hard woman, such as mother prioress,
as Tuscany is removed from Berlin.

\

Now Lucrezia’s face, as we have just said, was
full of sex, and when this was combined with a
cropped head of a golden-haired serving-boy the
effect was bewitching.

As she stood to welcome Fra Filippo, her supple
form clothed in the gown of Saint Margaret and
her charming head capped by her bobbed hair, he
thought that she was the most lovely and graceful
being in the whole world.

“Tucrezia!” he cried.

The girl was trembling, but she came forward to
meet the friar bravely and with dignity.

“Fra Filippo,” she said, “now that I have re-
covered from my brief madness, I can see what a
terrible thing I have done. For, not only is my sin
of breaking enclosure terrible, but the difficulty in
which I have placed you is still more terrible.”

“Eh?” he asked. “They will say that I abducted
you, I suppose?’ And he smiled cheerfully.

“Yes,” replied Lucrezia, blushing.

“But who is to know?” cried the friar, letting
his eyes take in the whole of this pretty girl.

“What do you mean?” she asked, all of a twitter
to know his meaning.

“Who is to recognize my little Lady, all fair
and dainty, as she who was a Canoness of Saint
Augustine ?””

“Oh!” said Lucrezia, for this had not struck her.156 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“Mother prioress might recognize you, but she
never leaves the convent; the abbess might recognize
you, but she is ill in bed. If the other four nuns
who, as you told me, are planning to leave the con-
vent, should happen to see you, they will take care
not to recognize you. The woman who brings in
the milk is too stupid to recognize you, and Ser
Piero d’ Antonio is too blind.”

“There is the milk-woman’s little son who posed
as Tobias. He is a sharp lad when he has not the
stomach-ache, and he will recognize me.”

“And I will undoubtedly get him a job as grinder
of pigments in some Florentine bottega.”

“So you think I am safe?”

‘““As long as you don’t pass the Convent of Santa
Margherita. You can go into the market with
Maddalena. You can go into the pieve. As soon
as Spinetta joins you, you can go for walks into the
country with her, and none will recognize you.”

“Thank God!”? murmured Lucrezia.

‘And now it would be wise if I went home to dine
with Fra Diamante,” said the friar, “‘and this eve-
ning I shall sup at the Inn of the Girdle so that all
may notice me. I shall see you no more until
to-morrow.’

‘And I shall say the little Offices and Vespers,
and to-morrow I shall go to Mass at the pieve.”

“And you will not be dull, little one?” asked Fra
Filippo.

‘When I can look out of the window, padre?
It is plain that you have not been four years in a
convent. Besides there is always Maddalena to talk
with.”

“Well, I had best be going,” sighed Fra Filippo.THE FIRST (OB Miay 157

Lucrezia thrust her hands into his, impulsively.
“And I can never thank you enough for what you
have done,” she cried. ‘And I am so very, very
sorry for all the trouble I have caused you.”

“And,” said Fra Filippo, “I am in the seventh
heaven at the thought of having you here; for,
when I thought that I should see my little Lady no
more, I was desolate.”ERT eee Te

ee eee

wy ry

etaeaamnentenedemaee

a

ee chan oedetaaddaies + Eienacemiedh lasik

5, Chaperone

CHAPTER XV
IN THE VIA DELLE TRE GORE

I

- “HE cessation of the painting of the Madonna
della Cintola gave Fra Filippo plenty of
spare time, and so the next morning he went

to visit Lucrezia, and the next morning after that,

and every single morning after that; and the more

the girl grew to know him, the more delightful did

he appear, and the less did she regard him as a

religious or even as a priest. He was not clever at

philosophy nor at poetry nor at the classics; but he
was brilliantly clever at the kindred art of painting,
and his knowledge of all kinds of men, from the
literati who frequented the Casa Medici to the
journeymen artists who filled the bottega of Flor-
ence, was most entertaining and instructive.

Quickly and spontaneously Lucrezia became the
very heart’s friend of Fra Filippo; then, without
knowing it, she slipped into love. Very delicate
and ethereal this love was; never, at the start, bruis-
ing the petals of her innocence: then, gradually, it
became a little warmer.

As for Fra Filippo, the beauty of the girl filled
his artistic eye, her gracefulness pleased his artistic
senses, her keen intelligence satisfied his mind, and

herself filled the whole of his soul.
158IN THE VIA DELLE TRE GORE 159

II

Since the following incidents could never have
happened with a third person in the room, they
must have taken place before Spinetta joined her
sister.

Lucrezia had long wished to renew her close ac-
oer with the Divine Comedy, and a couple of
days before this Fra Filippo had succeeded in bor-
rowing a copy of the Inferno from the proposto and
had brought the book to her.

They were sitting together, Filippo and Lucrezia,
before the fireplace upon which Maddalena, in re-
sponse to Fra Filippo’s instructions, had kept a
few logs smoldering. The girl’s eyes were alight
with the enjoyment of the poetry, and she was
talking eagerly. So bewitching did she look and so
alluring was her earnestness that instinctively Fra
Filippo’s arm went round her and, drawing her
unresisting form close to him, he kissed her.

She drew back quickly.

“You must not do that!’’ she said, in a tense
voice.

“T am sorry,” he answered, conscience-stricken.
“T am indeed sorry!”

“See here, Filippo,” she said, desperately in
earnest, “‘we must face this matter once and for all;
for I am very weak, and I am growing to care for
you very dearly and, when a maiden cares for a
man like that—”’ She paused, at a loss for a word.
“My soul is in your hands, Filippo!” she cried.

“T am sorry,” he murmured, his conscience really

moved.
“Stay !”” she said, picking up the Inferno. “I wasci gaan Rhee hte oh doe aoe oe Ae ere

—

——
> SO gE FIM

160 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

reading of a case like ours only last night.” And
she turned over the pages until she came to the end
of the Fifth Canto.

“Dante had met Francesca da Rimini in the
Second Circle of Hell, and he asked her how she
came to sin with her brother-in-law, Paolo Mala-
testa, and she answered— But I had best read her
answer in Dante’s own words, and remember that
it is Francesca who is speaking :—

“One day, when we were reading of the charm

Of Launcelot, and how love did him entice;
Alone we were without a thought of harm.

Our eyes together drew, not once nor twice
During the reading, pale our close-placed cheeks,
But one point overcame us in a trice.

When of Sir Launcelot’s smile the writer speaks—
The smile which came of such a love’s enhancing—
Paolo, whom my spirit ever seeks,

Kissed me upon my parted lips entrancing.

Such was the book that Galeotto wrote.
That day no more of Galeotto’s romancing.’ ”’

She looked straight at him. “If a kiss, given by
Paolo and permitted by Francesca, was the begin-
ning of their downfall, we must be very careful in
our friendship, Filippo.”

“T am sorry, my Lady,” murmured Fra Filippo.

Then, gradually, the tension eased down, and
presently he asked her concerning this Launcelot.

“My uncle told me that he was a noble Cavaliero
of the Court of King Arthur, who sinned with his
Lord’s wife, Queen Guinevere, and the Cavaliero
Galeotto wrote their sad story.” By the “Cavaliero
Galeotto” Lucrezia meant Sir Galahad, who was
supposed to have written the tragic Romance of
Launcelot of the Lake.IN THE VIA DELEE GRE, GORE, 16x

An hour later Fra Filippo made ready to go.
“IT am very sorry for what has happened, little
one,” he said. “It shall not happen again.”

But, before many days had passed, it did happen
again and, this time, Lucrezia was not so distressed.
Then the other four nuns left the convent, and
Spinetta came to live with Lucrezia.

If on this occasion of the first kiss Lucrezia’s
conduct was splendid and Fra Filippo’s behavior
deserving of censure, it must be remembered that
Lucrezia’s virtue was still stainless whilst Fra Fi-
lippo most likely, as the saying is, had been there
before.

III

Sister Piera di Vanni Sensi, Sister Simona di Mi-
chele Lottieri, Sister Brigida d’ Antonio Peruzzi
and Sister Spinetta de’ Buti could endure mother
prioress no longer. Of course Lucrezia’s disap-
pearance had caused a great commotion; but, since
no one could say aught about her or even discover
in what way she had disappeared, there was noth-
ing to be said except the wildest guess-work,

Then Sister Piera, Sister Simona, Sister Brigida
and Sister Spinetta silently packed such possessions
as remained to them and quietly left the convent.
There was no one to hinder them, Mother Jacopa
de’ Bovacchiesi being in the novitiate, mother abbess
being in bed, and mother prioress being, for once in
her life, struck speechless in the hall.

“Where are you going, Spinetta dear?” asked Sis-
ter Piera as they left the convent.

“To my sister, Lucrezia,” answered Spinetta.
“Then you know where she is?”ee ee

. a iit

dn faith eiaidieRSh see hk. eee ae eA aed

   

162 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

‘“T have known all the time; but a secret that is
locked up in one’s own breast remains a secret.”

“Well, you must come and see me when I have
broken the terrible news to my family,” laughed
Sister Piera.

‘And you must certainly come and see me too,”
said Sister Simona. ‘‘For I shall be received with
veal like the prodigal son.”’

But Sister Brigida d’ Antonio Peruzzi, having
come of a family of fourteen and being none too
sure of her welcome, could not invite Spinetta to
visit her.

IV

Then Spinetta and Lucrezia settled down to-
gether in the house that was in the Via delle Tre
Gore, and were as happy as they could be under the
circumstances, attending Mass every morning at the
pieve and saying the Divine Office together. Some-
times they went shopping with Maddalena, some-
times they went for long walks into the country to-
gether. As for money, since Lucrezia’s brother
would not receive his sisters in the old home in Flor-
ence—Lucrezia always thought that it was his wife
who had raised the objection—Fra Filippo said that
he was making much money and would be delighted
to entertain them, defraying all costs, for eternity.
Except in his direst straits, Fra Filippo’s estimate
of his present and future financial position was al-
ways optimistic.

“But we cannot come on you like this, padre!”
protested Lucrezia.

“Your brother paid fifty florins each as your
dowry,” laughed Fra Filippo, ‘“‘and I am making a
hundred florins for a single picture. Besides, howIN THE VIA DELI, URE GORE, 3168

much cheaper are you two than a wife, who would
spend all my money and worry me to death into the
bargain.”

Fra Filippo and Lucrezia seemed to have drifted
into a thoroughly reputable and well conducted
friendship; but, under ae open friendship, the fire
of love burnt with an ever increasing ardor. At
the time of his quarrel with mother prioress, the
friar had arranged that Fra Diamante should say
Mass at the Convent of Santa Margherita; and, as
the summer drew on, he moved into the house in
the Via delle Tre Gore and turned his house in the
Piazza del Mercatale into a workshop where any
chance commissions might be executed by Diamante
and his two assistants. Then, towards the end of
September, Madc lalena’s baby was born.

The birth of Maddalena’s baby produced a far-
reaching result. Maddalena was hard put to it to
cook for her guests, keep the house clean and tidy
and attend to the vegetable shop; and Spinetta, who
had a great love for babies, devoted herself to the
new-come infant. And, because of this, Lucrezia
was left far too much alone with Fra Filippo.

Who can say how the sin first arose? Certainly
it would be unjust to accuse Fra Filippo, who was
essentially a normal man. For, contrary to the
popular idea, the normal man is no more a seducer
than the normal woman is a female vampire. The
two loved each other with an ever-growing love;
human nature is strong, especially in sunny Italy,
and Beep and opportunity are fruitful occa-
sions of sin. Anyhow, before the end of December,
Lucrezia gave up saying her Office and Fra Filippo
left off saying his Mass.164 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

VW

It was early in February when Lucrezia’s fear be-
came a certainty and, with pale cheeks and dry lips,
the girl told her lover that in less than eight months
she expected to become a mother.

“Before God,” cried Fra Filippo, “as long as my
life lasts, I will love and care for you, Lucrezia, and
for you alone.”

“What is the use?” asked Lucrezia, hopelessly.
“Our vows forbid us to marry.”

“At least you will promise as I have done,” cried
the friar, his face almost as colorless as hers.

“How can I do aught else?” asked Lucrezia,
sadly. ‘‘A woman who loves as I love you, my
Filippo, can love but once.”

Then in the deadly peril of discovery they laid
their heads together so that they might decide what
could be done. For, in spite of what modern writ-
ers say of the immorality of the Renaissance, a
scandal such as that of Fra Filippo and Lucrezia
would ruin the guilty couple, at least in Florence or
Prato. Who amongst the ecclesiastical patrons of
Fra Filippo would employ him? Who, even
amongst his private patrons, dare give him work?
Besides, there was the council of magistrates which
regulated the behavior of the religious in Prato to
be considered, and this council wielded great author-
ity. So, finally, the lovers decided to call the trusty
Maddalena into the conference, and to put off tell-
ing poor Spinetta as long as might be.

Maddalena, with her unholy imagination, was
frankly pagan about the matter. Who could resist
the necessity of love when a great love came? SheIN THE VIA DELLE TRE GORE 165

herself had been a victim as they well knew. No
one meant any harm; but love came and drove folks
crazy.

But how can we keep the matter secret?” asked
Fra Filippo, who had a great respect for Madda-
lena’s capability.

This was Fra Filippo’s house—every one knew
that—and nothing could be more natural than that
he should lodge in his own house. No one knew
that he was acquainted with the two ladies, who
came to lodge there before he did and, if he was
careful to absent himself from Prato when the bam-
bino arrived, no one would suspect anything.

“But what about the bambino’s arrival?” asked
Fra Filippo.

Maddalena assumed an air of wisdom; for all
this plotting and planning was exactly like one of
Messer Boccaccio’s novella and she was in her ele-
ment. “TI shall be here to look after Madonna Lu-
crezia,’ she said, ‘“‘and, as I have always kept things
to myself, no one knows aught about my lodgers.
The tradesmen know that Madonna di Francesco
and her sister are good customers who pay
promptly; but, because they pay ready money, none
will remember when they first came. Madonna may
have a husband who is in foreign parts, or ma-
donna’s infant may be the result of an unfortunate
love affair—such things do happen. Madonna pays
her way, and no one troubles.”

“Tt will certainly be wise if I go away at the time
of the bambino’s arrival,” said Fra _ Filippo,
thoughtfully.

“Filippo!” cried Lucrezia, her voice full of re-
proach.ik iti ad erp eT RY
wee = <r Li ad A te ste alain

——
See

 

166 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Fra Filippo placed his hand on hers, pressing it
tenderly. “It is for the sake of your good name
that I go, my loved one,’’ he said.

“Heaven!” cried Maddalena. “That is what |
call love!’ And, perhaps, she was not far wrong.

VI

Soon after they had settled what was to be done,
Spinetta came back full of news from the Casa Lot-
tieri, where Sister Simona had asked her to spend
the day.

As Lucrezia knew—Spinetta said breathlessly—
dear mother abbess had died of angina pectoris in
the fall of the year. And, before she died, the
novice had been professed as nun under the name of
Sister Monica. And mother abbess had left the
community a letter, saying that the government of
the community had of late been harsh and cruel,
which was quite contrary to the rule of Saint Augus-
tine, and her dying wish was that Mother Jacopo
de’ Bovacchiesi should now become abbess, for she
was kind and gentle.

And what was left of the community had elected
Mother Jacopa de’ Bovacchiesi as abbess, Sister
Monica voting. And Sister Piera and Sister Simona
were now talking of making their peace with the
new mother abbess, and of begging her to allow
them to return, for they had been very happy in the
convent until mother prioress had assumed power;
and they had asked Spinetta to join them in their
petition.

Lucrezia, listening, embraced Spinetta tenderly,IN THE VIA DELLE TRE GORE 167

for she knew that she would have some news for
her before very long which would make her sad.

“If Sister Piera and Sister Simona once start
talking about sending in a petition that they may
renew their vows, they will be years before they
send in that petition,’ said Lucrezia. “I think we
may safely say that you can send in your petition
with theirs.”

“What has happened to mother prioress ?”’ asked
Fra Filippo, who had lingered in the room.

“She has been made porteress so that she may
trouble no one with her tongue,” laughed Spinetta.

“And quite time too,” said Fra Filippo. ‘‘For
that old lady has done more harm than any one else
since the days of Judas Iscariot.”AMM ok moe oe

a pie eer ere
:

See eeen i

 

CHAPTER XVI
THE STUDY OF THE UFFIZI MADONNA

I

HERE are such things as falls from virtue,
each of which is followed by repentance;
and there are such things as falls from vir-
tue which plunge the sinner into an almost inevi-
table course of action and which keeps the sinner
submerged for weeks or months or even years. In
this case Fra Filippo and Lucrezia determined to
live together as man and wife until, at least, the
baby was born. Of course in common decency they
resolved that their mode of life should not be known
to Spinetta, nor apparent to those who lived out-
side. I do not attempt to condone their conduct,
merely to state facts.
So the life in the Via delle Tre Gore went on in
a most spiritless manner, the natural life cut off
from the supernatural life and the graceful little
nun cut off from grace. She excused herself from
saying the Divine Office whenever she could do so
and, when she could not refuse without disturbing
Spinetta, the whole Office, from the Confiteor to the
Antiphon of our Lady, became an intense torture to
her. The reading of the Divine Comedy, again,
was far from agreeable; for, now that she had
come on to the Purgatorio, she found no place for

herself in purgatory and could only hope to share
168STUDY OF THE UFFIZI MADONNA 169

the second circle of hell with Francesca Malatesta:
at any rate they would unite in their appreciation
of Dante. The one thing that was left to her was
her earthly love of Fra Filippo, and this seemed to
grow more every day; but, after all, when one is
expecting a baby, what is love without marriage?

II

About the end of May Maddalena warned Lu-
crezia that, unless she wished her sister to find out
the truth for herself, it was time for her to tell
Spinetta. And, as soon as the two sisters were
alone, Lucrezia began:

“Spinetta mia,” she said, “are you prepared to
face the worst news that is ever likely to come to
you?”

Of late Spinetta had been growing silent and re-
strained, and now she seemed to have a difficulty in
answering. ‘“‘Yes,” she said. “I can guess what it
is—I—TI have not been one of a large family for
nothing.” And she hurried out of the room, leay-
ing Lucrezia in a terrible state of mind.

In about twenty minutes she came back and, al-
though her face was haggard and worn, her manner
was that of one who had regained a complete mas-
tery over her emotions. Going over to Lucrezia,
she put her arm round her.

“Tucrezia,” she asked, “‘am I right that you are
expecting a—?’’ And, leaving the word unspoken,
she finished the question with her eyebrows.

Lucrezia nodded her head miserably.

“Ah! It is better to know than to guess, and to
be told than to suspect,”’ said Spinetta, smiling. “I170 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

had guessed and suspected the truth a fortnight ago,
and that was torment to me; now that I know the
truth it is a positive relief.’ The pressure of her
arm tightened. ‘Now, dear,” she went on, “you
must tell me just what you want to, and no more;
for I am your sister, not your judge. If I were
your judge, you would find me a very gentle one.”

Lucrezia clung to her sister, sobbing half with re-
lief, half with gratitude.

‘““What has made you so tender to me, little one?”
she asked.

Spinetta hugged her sister very closely. ‘Because
I love you, dear,’ she answered; ‘‘and because I
am so, so sorry for you.” Of a truth, Spinetta was
a true Augustinian nun; for few Augustinian nuns
are pietists, and most Augustinian nuns, living very
close to our Lord, learn to be very like Him.

Ill

Some seventeen years ago I was talking to a
young Oxford man over a last pipe before we went
to bed. We were merely hotel acquaintances and,
since he had been at Oxford and I at Cambridge, we
found no friends in common. Also I was many
years his senior.

Presently, after an interval of silence, he said:
“Tt’s terrible to see the deterioration in a girl who’s
gone wrong.”

“Yes,” I muttered, not knowing what to say.

“She deteriorates in face,’’ he went on; ‘‘she de-
teriorates in mind; she deteriorates altogether.”

And there the conversation ended, for it was not
my place to invite a confidence; but I knew for cer-STUDY OF THE UFFIZI MADONNA 171

tain that he was speaking of a tragedy that had hap-
pened to a girl of the educated class—perhaps to his
sweetheart or sister. For a girl of the uneducated
class, provided always that she has no religion to
speak of—at least certainly in England and prob-
ably in America—does not deteriorate in the same
way, but most probably marries and becomes an
ordinary wife and mother, and a savage does not
deteriorate at all; whereas a girl of the educated
class who has formed ideals and established a code
of ethics and built up a conscience, if she loses her
ideals, loses all.

Now Lucrezia de’ Buti, who was not only a
highly educated girl of Florence and a maiden of
much refinement but also a professed nun, deteri-
orated to a shocking extent during those few months
in which she lived as the mistress of Fra Filippo.
One has only to look at the face of the Pitti Gal-
lery Madonna, pure and innocent, at the face of the
Santa Margherita of the Madonna della Cintola,
which is perhaps the sweetest and best face that has
ever been painted, and then at the Uffizi Madonna,
which was painted in the summer of 1457, to realize
the deterioration.

Lucrezia herself would have explained that, since
the soul is the form of the body, a change in the soul
will immediately show in the face. A psychologist
would explain that, since every thoughtful girl of
twenty-three has formed her ideals and built up her
conscience, the destruction of these ideals and a vio-
lation of that conscience must produce a marked
mental change. Freud and Brill, whose work deals
with the mental degenerate alone, would have noth-
ing to say, because the deterioration of a good girlSdaDiC a: Citeememtedl ls coh on oe aueemned

ETT ey

 

ear tae

172 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

of the educated class would be outside their experi-
ence.

LY;

Now, towards the end of May, Fra Filippo found
himself faced with two difficulties. In the first place
he had wisely resolved to leave Prato for a few
months at the beginning of July; in the second place
his money was beginning to run out, and he must
try to earn some more by the time that his bambino
should be born; so he resolved to try to kill a couple
of birds with the same stone.

Of course he had saved a considerable amount of
money since he came to Prato; but, as the frescoes
on the south side of the pieve sanctuary were fin-
ished a year ago and he had done nothing since, and
as he could not concentrate his mind at present on
the huge task of the frescoes for the northern wall,
his savings were rapidly vanishing. For he had
undertaken a heavy responsibility when he had
started to maintain Spinetta as well as Lucrezia and,
although their food and upkeep had cost him little,
the entire renewal of their wardrobes since they had
left the convent had cost him more than he cared to
think about. So he wrote to his friend and patron,
Giovanni de’ Medici, to discover whether there were
any contracts for paintings obtainable.

But, before he left Prato for three months, he
ardently desired to start a fresh picture with his
much loved Lucrezia as the Madonna. So he got
out his charcoal and drawing-board, stretched a
large sheet of Lucca paper thereon, and prepared
to start work.

Spinetta had been washing the Bov’chiesi baby
and, as the morning was warm, she wrapped a linenSTUDY OF THE UFFIZI MADONNA 173

garment round the child and carried it in to show
Lucrezia how much it had grown. Lucrezia, always
fond of babies, stood the little fellow on her knee
and held him at arm’s-length for inspection.

Fra Filippo was standing with a blank sheet of
paper before him and some sticks of charcoal in his
hand, uncertain how he should draw Lucrezia. Lu-
crezia was sitting on a chair, holding the infant
Bov’chiesi at arm’s-length.

“Stay exactly as you are,’ cried Fra Filippo,
throwing down all the sticks of charcoal except one.
And he began to draw with lightning strokes, first
the baby, then the portion of Lucrezia’s hands and
arms that held the baby, and last a suggestion of her
face. Then he laid down the charcoal and stepped
back to see what he had done, whilst Spinetta took
the baby and she and Lucrezia came behind Fra
Filippo so that they might view the drawing.

‘See!’ said the friar, looking at Lucrezia. “Our
Lady must often have held the Holy Infant exactly
as you were holding Maddalena’s baby.”

They saw, for by this time they knew how to
understand an artist’s rough drawing.

“Flas Our Lady ever been painted like that be-
fore?” asked Spinetta, cuddling the infant Bov’chi-
esi.

“No!’? answered Lucrezia, who had seen many
pictures in Florence and who thought that she knew
all about all the pictures that had ever been painted.
“So far painters have always drawn the Divine In-
fant from the wax bambinos that they place in the
Crib at Christmas.”

“You are right,” cried Fra Filippo. “So far no
one has ever painted the Mother of God as a real
mother, nor the Word Made Flesh as a real baby.”174 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Then the work of making the drawing com-
menced in real earnest. The drawing of the baby
Bov’chiesi came first, Spinetta and Lucrezia taking
turns at holding him and, between them, so petting
him and spoiling him in order to make him keep
quiet that, by the end of his posing, he was too spoilt
for words and gave his mother a fairly hard time
for the next six months.

The drawing of Lucrezia as the Madonna came
next, and Fra Filippo worked at this with all his
skill and all his energy. But, alas, by now the face
of Lucrezia had deteriorated, and she was no more
like the true Madonna than a Gloire de Dijon rose
is like the Mystical Rose of Loretto. She did not
as yet see the deterioration, she only saw the skill
and artistry that were behind the picture; Fra
Filippo did not see it, because he himself had deteri-
orated; but Spinetta saw it and wept many bitter
tears in secret.

At last the drawing was finished and, at the same
time, Fra Filippo received a letter from Giovanni
de’ Medici, Cosimo’s brother, telling him that the
King of Naples desired a panel and commissioning
him to paint one which he might send him, at the
same time asking him for a drawing and estimate.

So, in the beginning of July, Fra Filippo packed
up his painting materials, rolled up his cartoon of
the Uffizi Madonna, said good-by to his much-
loved Lucrezia, took his apprentice, Jacopo del
Sellajo, a lad of great promise, and set out for
Florence. For he had kept on his workshop in
Florence in that careless way he had, letting the
rent accumulate, and he would be ready to start
work at a moment’s notice.CHAPTER XVII
IN FLORENCE
I

HROUGH no love of the King of Naples—
for who could love the cruel and treach-
erous Ferrante?—but through motives of

diplomacy, either on behalf of the State of Florence
or, more probably, on behalf of the Medici Bank,
Giovanni de’ Medici desired to present a picture to
the king and had commissioned Fra Filippo to paint
it.

There is some uncertainty about the painting of
this picture for the King of Naples and about the
Uffizi Madonna, the art historian Ulmann suggest-
ing that Lippi painted the latter as a kind of gratu-
ity to Giovanni for giving him the Neapolitan com-
mission; but I cannot see the proud and rich Medici
stooping to levy blackmail in this manner, nor can I
see an artist so well-known as Fra Filippo offering
it. That the Uffizi Madonna was painted for Gi-
ovanni is certain, for it appears in the inventory
of his nephew, Lorenzo, and I think that the whole
affair must have happened as follows.

Early in July, Fra Filippo settled down in his old
Florentine bottega and finished the cartoon for the
Uffizi Madonna, introducing two saucy angels as
supporting the Infant Jesus and sketching in a back-
ground of scenery that was strictly conventional.

175= iia Able ah abd dean

ce Dieeeumeedl lacah ncn coe en ade

a

—

    

176 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Then, as soon as the cartoon was finished, he asked
Giovanni to come in and see it.

The Medici, accompanied by his agent Francisco
Cantansanti, entered the bottega, and Fra Filippo
brought out a flask of new Chianti and glasses, for
his funds would not now run to a more expensive
wine, and, as soon as his visitors were seated, dis-
played the cartoon.

“Will that do for the King of Naples, excel-
lence?” he asked.

Giovanni looked at the drawing long and ear-
nestly, sipped the rough Chianti, made a wry face
for the wine did not suit his refined palate. “Give
that divine masterpiece to that brute beast of Na-
ples?” he cried. ‘May the degraded Bacchus who
made this wine fly away with you, Filippo!”

‘What shall I do then, eminence?” asked Fra
Filippo, gloomily; “for I have no other design by
me.”
“Heavens, Filippo,” answered the Medici.
“Paint that picture for me, and draw another de-
sign for Ferrante. Mind,” he added, “the king is
a connoisseur of painting, and the picture must be
of your best; but, otherwise, I do not care what he
has. I will pay you a hundred florins for each pic-
ture framed complete.”’ That was equal to the
spending value of £1,200, or $5,800, in the year
1927.

Cantansanti was plucking at the Medici’s sleeve;
for he had tasted the rough wine and had noticed
the bare studio, and he had deduced that the artist
was in a temporary state of poverty and that a
better bargain might be struck by his employer. But
Giovanni de’ Medici ignored him.IN FLORENCE 177

“I have an important engagement at the end of
August in Prato, eminence,” urged the friar—he
was thinking of Lucrezia’s confinement—‘‘and I
cannot possibly paint two large panels in two
months.”

“I must have the Madonna whilst the inspiration
is still on you, Filippo,’ laughed Giovanni; “‘for, if
you let the inspiration slip and start another pic-
ture, I shall never get my Madonna. You see that
I know you of old, my friend.”

Fra Filippo gulped down a large mouthful of
wine and Heer deeply. If he adopted the old
method of panel-painting, it would be utterly im-
possible to ir fe two panels in two months; but,
if he discarded the old method of the miniaturists
and applied the color in the bold, free strokes which
he had learnt from his fresco-work, without trou-
bling to join up the strokes into one smooth, well-
finished surface, it would be possible to get through
a quantity of work in a short time; also Lucrezia
was badly in need of money.

“And you want the two panels completed within
two months, eminence?” asked Fra Filippo.

“T want the two panels finished and framed
within two months,” replied Giovanni.

“Such work has never been attempted before,”
sighed Fra Filippo; ‘‘but, if it can be done, it shall
be done.”

“Mind, I hold you to your promise, Filippo,” said
the Medici. And he went off to keep an important
engagement, during ae hundreds of thousands of
florins changed hands, leaving Cantansanti to com-
plete negotiations.

Gantaneanti brought out his purse and counted178 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

out fourteen florins—we have the exact amount in
a contemporary letter. ‘This is for the necessary
expenses, Fra Filippo,” he said.

“Diavolo!” cried the friar. “Two carved frames
gilt with fine gold, two panels laid with the finest
gesso, to say nothing of expensive pigments. Why,
it will cost thirty at the very least!”

But, with a grim smile, Cantansanti put up his
purse. He had gaged Fra Filippo’s present pov-
erty to a nicety.

II

As soon as Cantansanti had gone, Fra Filippo
went out to visit the artists’ materials makers.
First he went to a panel joiner of good repute, pick-
ing up a surfaced panel for the Uffizi Madonna, and
ordering a panel to be prepared for the King of
Naples’ picture. Then he went to the carver’s
workshop, giving orders for two beautiful frames
to be carved in the Florentine manner. So far he
had managed to save his small store of florins, ob-
taining the goods on credit. Then he visited Gio-
vanni Filepepi the gold-beater.

Although he was but thirty-six years old, Gio-
vanni Filepepi was an immensely fat man who was
nicknamed from his form and its contents J/ Bot-
ticello, The Barrel.

“Well, old Botticello,” asked Fra Filippo, “how
goes business ?””’

“Tt might be worse and it might be better,” an-
swered the Barrel. ‘When one is not selling fine
gold one is buying fine gold, and the difference pro-
vides me with a bare living.” And he placed a sheetIN FLORENCE 179

of fine gold between two layers of gold-beater’s skin
and began to hammer it out into gold-leaf.

“Stop that noise,” said Fra Filippo impatiently,
his nerves a little frayed, ‘“‘and attend to my order,
for I require enough gold-leaf to gild two frames
of such and such a size.”’

‘And before you can have it, it will cost you such
and such money,” replied J/ Botticello, grinning.
‘‘Gold-leaf is gold, and gold must be paid for with
gold. That is but reasonable.”

“And a picture is paid for only when completed,”’
said Fra Filippo.

‘And the painter is apt to spend the payment be-
fore he has earned it.”

‘How can a man spend what he has not got?”

‘“T do not know. I wish that I did,” grinned the
Barrel. “It is you as a painter who can answer
that question, for you painters manage to achieve
that miracle. However, no gold, no gold-leaf.”

“But these pictures are for Giovanni de’ Medici,”
protested Fra Filippo, ‘‘and there is not much
chance of anticipating the payment.”

“Ah!” replied the Barrel. “That is another mat-
ter. The Medici are the same as gold.” He
thought a moment. ‘But Giovanni de’ Medici must
have paid you something in advance,” he suggested.

‘He left that to Cantansanti, and Cantansanti ad-
vanced me this.” He displayed the fourteen florins.
“Mark you, it is to cover the cost of frames, panels,
gold-leaf and pigments.”

“The animal!” cried J] Botticello. “Of a truth
a banker is a beast of prey, and his agent is the
jackal.”ee es ae ee

Soe eee mteaenaneal
an

ee due ceeadiaieks Eiemmmeedh ia cone

 

 

180 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“Will you supply me with the gold-leaf on part
payment?” asked Fra Filippo.

II Botticello thought for some moments in a slow
ponderous way. ‘Do you need an apprentice?” he
asked.

Fra Filippo shrugged his shoulders. “I have a
very good apprentice, Jacopo del Sellajo.”

“Well, I have a little brother of thirteen who is
crazy to become an artist and already shows much
promise, and I desire to apprentice him to a painter
who is no mere mechanic. Will you take him?”

“Show me some of his work, and I will tell you.
So far I have only your judgment that he has talent,
and that is worth nothing.”

The fat man went to a drawer and brought out
a sheaf of drawings. “There! Judge for your-
self |’? he said ponderously.

Fra Filippo turned over the drawings and drew
in his breath sharply; for there was more sheer,
though undeveloped, talent in this boy's work than
in anything he had ever seen.

‘Te has imagination,” he said.

“He has imagination—too much imagination,”
answered the Barrel.

“TTe has some idea of outline,” continued the
friar.

“Yes,” grunted the Barrel.

“And he can depict figures in motion.”

“Yes,”’ grunted the Barrel.

“And, if he has the patience to learn to draw
properly, he may become a painter. Hell is full
of painters who have not had sufficient patience to
learn. to draw.”IN FLORENCE 181

“Will you take him as apprentice?” asked J] Bot-
ticello.

“As I have already told you,” answered Fra
Filippo, “I have got Jacopo del Sellajo.”

‘This one is delicate and his mother would not
spare him yet,” said J/ Botticello. ‘But, if you will
take him at a reasonable premium in, say, a year’s
time, I will let you have as much gold-leaf as you
require for your frames, half for cash and half on
credit. Full payment to be made on the Medici’s
payment to you.’

So the bargain was struck, and sealed in a flagon
of very old Chianti, and, when Fra Filippo knew
Sandro Botticelli, he realized that it was the best
bargain he had ever made.

“T think you want the lad,” chuckled J] Botti-
cello.

“T do!” answered Fra Filippo.

“Then, if I had only the sense of that fox Can-
tansanti,”’ he chuckled, ‘“‘I would have made you pay
a premium for your apprentice, instead of paying
one myself.”’

III

Next morning Fra Filippo began his panel of
Lucrezia as the Madonna, and wasted not a mo-
ment’s time. And the boy, Sandro Botticelli, came
over to his bottega and, having made friends with
Jacopo, sat down to watch Fra Filippo at his work.

The friar began like a man possessed, throwing
off his old manner of a miniaturist and without any
hesitation taking on the new manner of the mod-
ern artist.

He painted superbly, quickly as lightning, sureet ae ees coer ee

Se,  ———
—

VR I pera re

 

   

182 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

as death, truthfully as eternity, and his palette
seemed to be loaded with light mingled with ten-
derness. And Sandro Botticelli watched him, for-
getting to eat his meals in the fascination of the
painting, and absorbing a rich store of experience
that should last him throughout his life.

If Fra Filippo had never painted the Ufhzi Ma-
donna with his new-found freedom of brush-work,
Sandro would never have painted Primavera nor
the Birth of Venus, and all this new-found freedom
of expression sprang from Fra Filippo’s anxiety to
get back to the little nun before her trouble was on
her. Truly Lucrezia de’ Buti figures largely in the
history of art.

As he painted, Fra Filippo made many innova-
tions. In the first place, he borrowed an idea from
Giotto’s fresco of the virtues and vices, painting
a frame on the edge of the panel and painting our
Lady’s elbow and the golden vessel of spikenard
outside the painted frame. Next, instead of making
the Bambino standing on the Madonna’s knee, he
painted two Angels supporting the Divine Infant
so that our Lady, with closed hands and downcast
eyes, might pray to her Son unhampered. Lastly
he painted one of the Angels as a saucy child, look-
ing out of the picture; and this, I think, was because
he had to get a model from the neighborhood, and
the model was a saucy little Florentine boy as im-
pudent as child can be. Of a truth, Fra Filippo
could never get away from his model, and he de-
lighted to give a human touch even to his most seri-
ous themes. Afterwards, Sandro Botticelli de-
lighted to give his little Angels the same very human
touch.IN FLORENCE 183

Then, after he had worked hard for a fortnight,
Fra Filippo dashed off a design for the Neapolitan
picture on the pages of a letter which he sent to
Giovanni de’ Medici, who was then at his villa in
Fiesole. This letter is still preserved in the Ar-
chives of the State of Florence, and makes pathetic
reading.

Fra Filippo points out that, in the first place, he
had received only fourteen florins for the prelim-
inary expenses of his commission instead of the
thirty florins which would be required, and that he
cannot get on with his work in consequence. That,
in the second place, if Giovanni will instruct his
steward, Bartolommeo Martelli, to advance him a
small sum, he will be content with sixty florins for
the Neapolitan picture instead of the hundred flor-
ins originally offered. That, in the third place, he
will undertake to finish the picture before the 20th
of August.

The truth was that Fra Filippo had not enough
money to keep body and soul together and was al-
most starving. That Giovanni de’ Medici should
have taken advantage of the friar’s poverty and
have paid him sixty instead of a hundred florins
seems almost incredible, for the Medici were never
mean in their dealings with the artists, and we are
compelled to imagine that Giovanni had left the
matter in the hands of Cantansanti and Martelli.

Then the carved frames came home from the
carver, and Jacopo who had much experience of
gilding, aided by Sandro who had learnt gilding

from his brother, were set to work.—2
ent 66 thie ceaihed

 

 

 

 

CTS eT
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184 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

IV

The desire to finish his pictures and get home to
Lucrezia still drove Fra Filippo forward, but the
strong creative impulse which had carried him
through the Uffizi Madonna was gone. For, al-
though the picture which Fra Filippo painted for
the King of Naples has been lost, we may gather
from the sketch in Giovanni’s letter that this was
not highly inspired, that it was without life and
without the divine fire of genius. The sketch shows
our Lady kneeling between Saint Michael and Saint
Bernard and adoring the Holy Infant, and what can
an artist make of such a theme? Still Fra Filippo
painted on, sure of his matchless technique, and the
picture grew, slowly but certainly. He kept him-
self going with raw, rough Chianti, careful only
that the amount which he drank should not hinder
his hand nor bemuddle his brain.

The twentieth of August came and passed, the
picture still unfinished. Dated on August 31st, we
find a letter from Cantansanti to Giovanni de’
Medici, in which the agent says that, during the last
few days, he has had to sit beside Fra Filippo in his
studio, urging him on by threats and remonstrances
to finish his work: for the strain of two pictures in
two months was telling and the artist’s energy was
nearly gone.

Then, on August 30th, Fra Filippo finished his
stupendous task, paid J) Botticello what was due to
him, settled with the joiner and frame-maker, left
his landlord to take his rent out of the sale of the
contents of the bottega, which he seized, saddled his
mule and set off for Prato.IN FLORENCE 185

He had obtained sufficient experience of business
men to last him for the rest of his life, and he
chuckled as he thought of his landlord and Cantan-
santi wrangling over the value of what he had left
behind. Cantansanti was bitter about the matter.
‘You see,’ he writes to the Medici, ‘‘to what dan-
gers this man exposes himself.’ Of a truth, the
worst danger that Fra Filippo had to fear was from
the unscrupulous greed and deadly avarice of the
Florentine man of business.

During his stay at Florence, Fra Filippo had seen
but little of his old friends, for he had been too busy
by day and too tired in the evening to leave his
studio. For the same reason he had not visited
those taverns which were frequented by artists, in
which formerly his soul had delighted. This, how-
ever, did not trouble him.

What had troubled him was the vaguely unhappy
spirit that had crept into the letters which Lucrezia
had written him. While these letters were out-
wardly cheerful and evidently meant to encourage
him in his work; yet, reading between the lines, the
friar could perceive a regret for the past and a dis-
satisfaction with the present that was most dis-
quieting. So, on August the 3oth, as I have said, he
saddled his mule and set off in a hurry for Prato,
leaving Jacopo to follow as best he could.aL

ee ee ee De 2 ae
2 7 TE TT a a ORT ee

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVIII
WHAT HAD HAPPENED AT PRATO

I

HEN Fra Filippo had started for Florence
and Lucrezia had been left alone with

Spinetta, a marvelous change had come
over the girl’s spirit. No longer was she stimu-
lated by the comradeship of her lover, with his great
joyousness; no longer was her conscience lulled by
his infinite capacity for taking things lightly and
easily; rather was she depressed and saddened by
his absence. Also she had now the constant com-
panionship of Spinetta, who was sweet and good and
altogether on the side of the Angels. This com-
panionship of Spinetta reacted on Lucrezia, who
was also by nature sweet and good.

At first Lucrezia would slip away into her bed-
room and there she would face the immediate fu-
ture: for there could be no doubt that, in child-
bearing, there was always the risk of the mother’s
death, and, if she died in her present state, the best
that could happen to her was an eternal banishment
to the second circle of hell in company with the
miserable and distracted Francesca Malatesta, and
with an endless sense of remorse for her fall with
Fra Filippo and a hopeless sorrow for the sin which
she had helped to bring into his life.

Then a better state of mind came over her, and,

from remorse, she gradually passed into the state of
186WHAT HAD HAPPENED AT PRATO 187

turning to God; and now, instead of slipping into
her bedroom, she would slip over to the pieve and
kneel quietly before the altar; and, always, as she
passed under the lovely bas-relief of our Lady hold-
ing the Holy Child, which Luca della Robbia had
wrought many years previously and which is still
above the pieve doorway, she would look up and
ask the Mater Purissima to help her in her present
trouble.

Then, one day—this was on August the 2oth,
the day on which Fra Filippo had originally planned
to return to Prato—the divine gift of contrition
came to Lucrezia; and now she no longer feared
hell and she no longer feared God, for all sense of
fear was lost in the sense of sorrow for what she
had done.

Here was she who had deliberately and solemnly
vowed a life of entire fidelity to her Divine Spouse.
The fingers of one hand went to the wedding-ring
which she still wore as a token of her marriage to
her Heavenly Bridegroom, the Bridegroom who
had been crucified for her, and she turned it slowly
on her finger. She, Lucrezia, had been of her own
free will and own free choice espoused to Him who
had died for her, in trouble and in joy, in sickness
and in health, until death should take her to His
immediate presence, there to rest in the fulness of
His Divine love for ever. This union of her spir-
itual marriage should have been infinitely closer
than that which bound an earthly wife to an earthly
husband and infinitely more sacred. And she had
violated this spiritual marriage in the arms of a
human lover.

What would she say of a wife who betrayed aee: eae a ee

a

aCe titre bs ch > aaa eet a ehhh heed

Tee agree

ooo Lp eee ems ee ae OR RD rome a

188 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

loving, tender and attractive husband? She could
think of nothing that would be bad enough! And
here was she who had been faithless to a Spouse
whose love had made Him ready to die for her and
whose tenderness was amazing. And, what was
more, she had betrayed Him for Fra Filippo who
was, by his vows, His own sworn servant.

Then, at last, the far-reaching and fearful effect
that her sin had wrought in her own soul came be-
fore her—the wilful offense against God, the entire
losing of His presence, and the forfeiting of His
grace. Why, the very act of turning to Him, as she
was turning to Him now, was granted to her
through His unmerited and undeserved mercy.

Several people had drawn close to one of the con-
fessionals, and a priest was coming out of the sac-
risty. She looked at him, and looked at him again,
recognizing that he was the wise and kindly old
priest who had heard Fra Filippo’s confession at the
beginning of Lent and of whom he had told her.
And, in an instant, it came to her that now was her
chance to put herself right with God and that, if she
missed this chance, she might never have another.
So she got up and, going over, knelt at the end of
the row of penitents.

The first woman went into the confessional box.
She had evidently some scruple or difficulty in her
confession, and she seemed to Lucrezia to remain in
the box for an endless time; but Lucrezia resolutely
waited on, afraid that, if she let this chance slip, she
might never get another.

The woman came out. The man who followed
was unusually quick, and Lucrezia became scared
lest her turn should come before she could collectWHAT HAD HAPPENED AT PRATO. 189

her thoughts and remember what she wanted to say.

Two children passed in and out of the box like
lightning, and Lucrezia’s fright became worse.

A woman went in, and came out in three minutes.

Then Lucrezia’s turn came, and she went in, her
mind a complete tangle.

“Father,” she began in despair, “I am a nun who
has broken enclosure, and I have sinned, and—and
I have a terrible confession to make, and—and I
cannot remember anything.”

‘Keep calm, my child,” said the priest, kindly.
“Tt will come back to you presently. Take your
time and do not try to hurry.”

“Could I not make my confession at some other
time?’ asked Lucrezia, desperately. “And could
not I make it in some place that is more private?”

‘What time could be better than the present?”
said the priest, and his voice was very grave.
‘What place could be more private than the con-
fessional ?”

“But I have much to tell you,” said poor Lu-
crezia, ‘and there are many things upon which I
need your advice, and the other penitents will be
waiting and wondering.”

The priest, who was used to the terror which
some people suffer in the confessional, thought a
moment. ‘Are you living in Prato?” he asked.

“Yes, father. I am lodging here.”’

“And is there a respectable woman in your lodg-
ing so that I can visit you without any chance of
scandal?”

“Yes, father. And when can you come?”

‘The sooner the better,” said the priest, for he
had much experience, and he knew that penitentsnokia BAA ie ok aoe ee ae ce

—

ath Citrate ot ao sear

eo gE EY

 

 

190 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

are apt to become terror-stricken at the prospect of
confession and to try to evade it.

“My sister who is living with me will be away
this afternoon, father. Could you come then?”
And she gave him her address.

“Certainly! And, if you tell the woman that you
are expecting me, and if you ask her to show me
into your sitting-room, I need not know your name.
It will make it easier for you if you feel that I do
not know you outside the confessional.”

“Thank you, father,” murmured Lucrezia. And
she rose to go.

‘Remember, my child,” said the priest, “that the
confessional is an instrument of mercy, and that
God is very merciful. I will call about two hours
after midday.”

Lucrezia’s mind was ringing with relief, for she
had burnt her boats; her soul was singing with joy,
for the old priest was very kind and gentle. So she
went home to Maddalena and told her that a priest
from the pieve would be calling to see her at two
hours after noon, and that she must show him at
once into her sitting-room.

“A priest?” cried Maddalena, horror-struck.
“He will have you spirited back into the convent
before you can turn round, and what will poor Fra
Filippo say then?”

‘Nonsense!’ said Lucrezia, laughing out of sheer
nervous excitement. ‘‘The difficulty is to get into
a convent, not to get out. Why, the convent key is
always in the door and the porteress away after
various tasks, and I could escape at any time.”’

But Maddalena shook her head. The past few
months, during which she had been condoning theWHAT HAD HAPPENED AG PRALO 161

most serious sin that two Catholics could commit,
had made her very irreligious and very suspicious
of religion.

Then Lucrezia found Spinetta and hugged and
kissed her; but, since the confession had yet to be
made, she did not tell her what she had done.

The pieve bell rang for noontime Angelus, and
Spinetta and Lucrezia went in to dinner.

II

Spinetta had gone to spend the afternoon with
Sister Simona, and Lucrezia was left alone with her
thoughts. Since she had made up her mind to con-
fess her sins, honestly and without reservation, she
did not give way to useless thoughts nor vain re-
egrets. Once Maddalena came into the room, ex-
horting her to be careful what she said to the priest
lest she should get Fra Filippo into trouble, and
Lucrezia had ridiculed her; but then Maddalena did
not know that her lodger was intending to make her
confession, in which the mention of anyone by name
is not permitted. At two o’clock the priest arrived.

Maddalena showed him up into the sitting-room
with scarcely a word of greeting, and, as soon as the
door was closed, the priest sat down and Lucrezia,
kneeling at a prayer-desk, began her confession.

But, presently, when the girl had mentioned that
she was shortly to become a mother, the priest made
her get up from her knees and seat herself on a
chair.

“T will seat myself near you so that I can hear
you without seeing your face,” he said. “It will be
easier for you if you cannot see my face.”RET Te oe

eT Ve Eee

Og ee ep eee
—_

 

 

192 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Then the confession went on to the bitter end,
and the priest began to ask some necessary ques-
tions.

‘Was the man bound by any vow, the marriage
vow for instance, my child?” he asked; “because
that would make your sin more serious.”

‘“‘Ffe is a friar, father.”

“Did you consent willingly to the sin?”

“Tt—it just happened, father. There was no per-
suasion on either side.”’

“Then, my child, you have wronged the man seri-
ously. For, having once given way to the sin of
incontinency, he has laid himself open to further
temptation.”” He paused a moment. “Of course
you have either left him, or you intend to leave
him at once ?”

‘He is living in the house, and I have nowhere
else to go.”

‘‘Nowhere else where you can go, even though
it should involve hardship?”

“Absolutely nowhere, father, and I have no
money of my own.”

The priest thought a minute, for there was the
coming baby to be considered. ‘“‘Is he a well-mean-
ing man?” he asked.

‘Save for this sin, he is a very good man, and he
is very kind and thoughtful of others.”’

‘‘And, if I should be able to give you absolution,
will you promise to tell him the moment he returns
that you have been to confession and made your
peace with God?”

‘“‘Of course, father.”’
The priest considered for a few minutes, for theWHAT HAD HAPPENED AT PRATO 193

situation was not at all an easy one. On the one
hand, it was impossible for the girl and her child to
continue long in the friar’s house, maintained by
him. On the other hand, it would i impossible for
the young mother to maintain herself and the child
on absolutely nothi By now he had guessed that
the friar must be fee Fra Filippo w ho had decor-
ated the pieve, but the seal of ce confessional had
made this knowledge useless. Then he sud denly
remembered that this same Fra F iliy Ippo was a good-
hearted, though careless and improvident, fellow,

“I can see no way out of this difficulty,” he said,
sighing. “You say that the man is a good-hearted
and kind person. Tell him the whole truth. Tell
him that you have been most unhappy in your sin;
tell him that you desire earnestly to sin no more;
and tell him that you desire to be freed from the
cause of temptation. Then try to persuade him to
live in another house. As it is now, the danger to
you both is too terrible. For a time we can plan
no further in that direction.”

A fear had been pressing on Lucrezia’s spirit.
“If they will receive me back, father, ought I to re-
turn to the convent from which I fled?”

“Certainly not at present!’ answered the priest.
“The baby will be your first care, and until he is
weaned and provided for, you must not think of
leaving him. Afterwards, if God is kind, you ought
to try to return.”

“Thank you, father,”’ peer Lucrezia.

“Now,” said the pries st, “although I am certain
of your good dispositions, I cannot give you abso-
lution until I ie referred the matter to the bishop.oe ee en eS ae

 

194 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

The sacrilege of breaking your vows with a friar
is too serious for me to handle. I will refer the
matter to the bishop immediately.”

He paused. ‘How soon are you expecting your
baby?”

“Tn a week, father, perhaps earlier.”

“Dear Madonna!” he cried. “Then there is no
time to waste! To-morrow—no, this afternoon—l
will ride over to Pistoja and see the bishop or his
vicar; and to-morrow, if the bishop consents, I will
give you absolution.”

Lucrezia’s sigh of relief was near a sob.

‘In the meantime, my child, take courage! Your
intentions are excellent, and God looks at the heart.”

“Father,” cried Lucrezia, ‘however can I thank
you enough for all your kindness ?”

“By praying God to forgive me for my own most
grievous faults, my child.” And, rising, he went
out of the room, leaving Lucrezia to make her
thanksgiving. He stole down the stairs and let
himself quietly out of the front door.

It is true that the people used to say that this old
priest had no faults, but, all the same, he managed
to find plenty for himself.

III

The next day, having had a successful interview
with the Bishop of Pistoja, the old priest returned
to Prato and gave Lucrezia absolution.

Five days after, her baby was born, a fine healthy
boy.CHARIE Re xix
FILIPPINO
I

S long as Fra Filippo had been struggling to
finish the picture for King Ferrante so that
he might get back to Lucrezia before her

trouble came on her, he could think of naught else;
besides he was so hag-ridden by the fact that he had
to finish the Neapolitan picture by a certain date
that he could think of nothing but its completion.
But, when he had risen betimes, mounted his old
mule and set out for Prato, his thoughts moved
forward.

What if the baby should be born before he
reached Prato? What if Lucrezia should die in
childbed? What if she should die with their sin
still on her, unconfessed, unshriven? And his weary
mind, as weary minds will, elaborated the idea, re-
calling all the cases of death in childbirth that came
within his memory.

He flogged on that poor mule until that mule was
never entirely serviceable again. He pressed it into
a rough gallop, for he had bought the animal on
account of its extreme cheapness and its paces were
as rough as the sea, until his rupture was more
painful than it had been for the last three years.
And all the time he thought: ‘What if Lucrezia
should die unshriven?” And the thought devel-
oped and grew fixed, until the pain of the rupture
195196 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

became a positive relief from his mental agony, and
he felt that he would make any sacrifice in the world
‘£ he found that she had not died in her sin. For,
whatever faults have been brought against Fra
Filippo, no one has ventured to suggest that he ever
lost his faith.

II

Fra Filippo pulled up the mule at the door of his
house in the Via delle Tre Gore, scrambled off its
back and tottered into the house, almost too tired
to move. As he opened the door, a baby’s crying
struck his ears.

Maddalena ran out of the kitchen to welcome
him. ‘He is a fine, lusty boy, padre,” she cried,
“and Madonna Lucrezia is doing well.”

“Thank God!” muttered the friar, pushing past
her and beginning to climb the stairs with difficulty,
for his pain was sore.

“A moment, padre!” cried Maddalena. “Don’t
excite her, and don’t stay long or you may set up
the fever.”

“And that,” she muttered to herself, “will keep
him from learning about that old priest’s visit for
the present; for I must have a word with him be-
fore madonna tells him herself.”

Again Fra Filippo suffered an interruption; since
Spinetta, hearing his step, had come out of Lucre-
zia’s room to caution him. “She is doing well,”
she whispered. ‘But don’t stay long and don’t ex-

cite her.”

He pressed Spinetta’s arm affectionately as he
passed in. Although he was conscious that the girl
did not approve of him, he could not help likingFILIPPINO 197

Spinetta, both on account of her love of Lucrezia
and for her tactful straightforwardness.

III

The sitting-room had been turned into a bedroom
for the time, and Lucrezia lay propped up a little
on the bed, looking as fair and fresh and frail and
lovely as only a young mother can look. By now
her hair had been caught up into a knot at the back
of her head and she had lost the look of a serving-
boy on a festa.

“Filippo,” she whispered; but purposely she held
her baby against her breast, so that she could not
hold out her arms to him.

As he bent down to kiss her, his face was working
strangely, and his kiss was such that she could re-
turn it with a clear conscience.

‘You have not kissed your bambino, Filippo,”
she said, moving a little in order to show him the
baby.

He kissed the baby, and, again, kissed Lucrezia.

‘But you have not looked at your baby,” she
chided. ‘See, he has a good face and a clever face;
and see, he has the hands of a true artist.”’

And then Fra Filippo’s feelings became too much
for him, and, kneeling down and burying his face in
the bedclothes, his shoulders shook with great sobs.

“T feared that you might die unshriven, Lu-
crezia, he sobbed.

“Eh?” she thrilled, triumphant; “but I have been
absolved, my Filippo.”

Amazement overcame every other emotion, and

Fra Filippo looked up.Se

sh hates

eC reece ae

—_

eT

aN ee eT

 

198 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“By whom?” he asked.

“By the same old priest who absolved you last
Lent twelve-months—the priest that you said was
so wise and gentle.”

“Good God!” he cried and, kissing her once
again, he stumbled to his feet and made for the
door.

“You have not kissed your bambino good-by!”
she cried. But he was already out of the room and
the door was closing behind him.

IV

Always impetuous, Fra Filippo was down the
stairs and out of the house before Spinetta or Mad-
dalena could get a word with him. Bearing to the
right, he limped across the Pieve Square, turning
down a lane that led to the house of the old priest
who had heard his confession some nineteen months
ago. Reaching the house, and without waiting to
knock, he burst through the door and into the
priest’s sitting-room.

“Father,” he cried, ‘“God reward you for all that
you have done to Lucrezia.”

But the priest, who had already connected him in
his thoughts with Lucrezia, checked him. ‘A mo-
ment!’’ he said. “What you have to say to me
had best be said in confession—that is, if you are
prepared to make your confession—then all you say
is bound to be kept secret.”

And, without more to-do, the friar went down on
his knees and commenced his confession. ‘“Con-
fiteor Deo omnipotenti,” he began, and out came the
whole truth, without any reservations, without anyFILIPPINO 199

extenuation, as the whole truth does come out in a
man’s confession. Whilst he made it clear that
there had been no planning and no premeditation on
his part, but rather a criminal yielding to the temp-
tation of the flesh, he took the whole blame on his
shoulders, pointing out the terrible injury he had
done to an innocent young nun. There was no ques-
tioning needed; every point was made clear and
plain.

Then the old priest had his say, and, believe me,
there was no mincing matters. For the priest elab-
orated on the double sacrilege and the serious handi-
cap with which the baby had been brought into the
world.

“And,” said the priest, “I must get permission
from the bishop before I can absolve you. But
first,’ he continued, “I must be assured that you
intend to avoid the occasion of sin; since, if you
continue to live under the same roof as the girl with
whom you have already sinned, a return to your sin
is almost inevitable.”’

“T will leave the house and return to my old home
to-morrow!” cried Fra Filippo.

‘Nor ought you to see the girl too frequently,
nor ought you to see her except in the presence of
her sister.”

“Of course not, father!” cried Fra Filippo.

‘Now concerning the child,” continued the priest.
And he listened in silence to Fra Filippo’s promise
that he would make it easy for Lucrezia to return
to her convent and would devote himself to the
child’s upbringing. In his present state of mind the
friar would have promised anything.SORT ET Tr a gr aR ee

eee tee ale

a es

 

 

200 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Vy,

Fra Filippo returned to his house, he entered
silently, he climbed the stairs slowly and laboriously,
he put his head into Lucrezia’s room.

‘“T oved one,”’ he said, ‘‘I have been to confession,
and I am returning to my house in the Piazza del
Mercatale to-morrow, and all shall be as you wish.”
Spinetta was in the room, but he was in no mood
for discretion.

Then, mindful that Lucrezia must not be excited
for fear of the fever, he went downstairs to his own
room. But, this time, he did not move so silently
and, hearing him, Maddalena came hurrying in.

“Padre,” she burst forth, “I have bad news for
you. Madonna Lucrezia has had a priest to see
her and, since he has brought her the Most Holy
Sacrament, she must have been to confession. And
what will you do now?”

‘What do you mean?” he asked.

‘“Ebbene! Has the man no sense?” she cried.
“You must know what I mean!”

He shook his head.

“Why,” she cried, ‘“‘with a lady like Madonna
Lucrezia there can be no half measures, she is far
too honest and straightforward for that! She will
forsake you.”

He was-awake at last. “What do you mean?” he
asked, knowing full well what she meant.

“That she will return to her duties and refuse to
be your inamorata!”’

“Oh, you wicked woman!” he cried. “For a
friar, and one who has been a nun, the sin is ter-
rible; but, all the same, they were carried away byFILIPPINO Aa

passion. For a wicked woman who, out of the vile:
ness of her heart, holds a candle to such a sin, the
crime is unspeakable. Go to confession, go to con-
fession at once, Maddalena, else there is no hope of
your salvation.”

The girl, frightened to death, fell on her knees
and began to mumble the confiteor.

“Not to me!” thundered Fra Filippo. “I am
too nearly related to your sin to hear you. Go im-
mediately to the priest who lives at’’—here he men-
tioned his address—‘‘and ask him to hear your con-
fession immediately.”

“But, padre,” cried Maddalena, her second na-
ture getting the better of her, “I have a lovely
dinner ready for you and, if I go now, it will be
ruined.”’

“Go at once,” he thundered. ‘Go at once, you
miserable woman! What is meat, when your im-
mortal soul is at stake?”

‘But there is also pastry and fruit,’ sobbed Mad-
dalena.

“Go!” thundered Fra Filippo, throwing open the
door; and Maddalena, catching up a shawl, fled.

It is to be feared that the old priest was not as
gentle with Maddalena as he had been with Lu-
crezia. ‘There was too much of “Fra Filippo bade
me come,” about her confession to please him, and
too little personal contrition. Anyhow Maddalena
left the priest’s house much chastened and subdued.

VI

As soon as Maddalena had gone, Fra Filippo
stole up the stairs with elaborate caution and, peep-Oe

etek hee At)

PT WR eee
——

———
Se oh chen coadathied

 

202 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

ing in at the door of Lucrezia’s bedroom, beckoned
to Spinetta.

The girl came out to him, her face suspiciously
grave.

“T have had to send Maddalena on an errand,”
he whispered, ‘‘and the dinner is ready to be sent in
and I am starving. Could you leave Lucrezia long
enough to dish up the dinner, and bring it in, and
join me at my repast?”

“Yes,” she answered; and Fra Filippo, hearing
something that was suspiciously like a titter, looked
at her. But her face was as grave as that of a
sculptured saint. “I too shall be glad of my din-
ner,” she said, “for I too am hungry. Yet, if you
can bear with your hunger for two minutes longer,
Lucrezia wants me to show you your bambino
AES ty

“But will it not excite her?” he asked.

“Joy and thankfulness never excite injuriously,”
she answered, and she led the way into the room.

A cloud had hidden the sun; so, lifting the baby
in her arms, Spinetta carried him over to the win-
dow. “There!” said she. ‘‘Is not he a little mas-
terpiece?”

“And I am going to have him christened by the
name of Filippino,” said Lucrezia from her bed.
“That is, if it is permitted, Filippo,” she added.

Spinetta uncovered the baby, and Fra Filippo,
feeling that he loved all babies and all persons
more than tongue could tell, placed his arm affec-
tionately round Spinetta and the bambino.

At that moment, as ill-luck would have it, Maria,
the wife of Antonio di Matteo the grocer, who
lived in the house immediately opposite, looked outFILIPPINO 203

of her window and called to her husband who was
in his shop.

“Antonio,” she said, “I told you that there was
a baby in the house over the way. And now the
mother has brought it to the window, and Fra Fi-
lippo is embracing her in the sight of the whole of
Pratow

“Ah!” chuckled Antonio, running to the window
and peering for all that he was worth. “That Fra
Filippo is a gay dog.”

‘fAlas, the scandal!’’ muttered his wife.

‘What is the woman’s name?” asked Antonio.

‘“Spinetta di Francesco,’ answered his wife.
“Until now I never knew which of the two girls
was the mother.”

Then Spinetta left her window in order to re-
turn the child to Lucrezia, and the grocer and his
wife could see no more.

“Now, Filippo,” said Spinetta, “I will leave you
a moment whilst I go to bring in dinner.”

VII

Lucrezia looked up at Fra Filippo and laughed.
“You sent poor Maddalena off to her duties in a
fine hurry,” she said demurely.

oy la ny eae

“Go to confession, go to confession at once,
Maddalena,’’’ she quoted, ‘“‘ ‘else there is no hope
of your salvation. Go at once, you miserable
woman. Gol’’

“Then you heard me?”

“When you are angry, my Filippo, you do not
whisper.”204. THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“And that is why Spinetta laughed just now, for
she must have heard me too. All the same,” he
added, with determination, “it was right that she
should go.”

Lucrezia was looking at him with her heart in
her eyes. ‘Oh, Filippo,” she whispered, “I am the
happiest girl in all the whole of Italy. I was mis-
erable when I had been shriven and I knew that
you were unabsolved.”

He put out his arm as though to embrace her,
but she checked him. ‘“‘Is it wise?” she asked.

“Tt is most unwise!” he answered, curbing him-
self rigorously.

“And now you had better go down to your din-
ner,” she advised, “‘else Spinetta will eat it all, for
she is simply ravenous with hunger.”

And, prudently, he went.

VIII

There were two capons, with pastry as light as
air and abundance of fruit to follow, and, whilst
the friar unfolded his plans for the future, Fra Fi-
lippo and Spinetta feasted hungrily. Fra Filippo
was going to his house in the Piazza del Mercatale
on the morrow, and he intended to see Lucrezia
only in the presence of Spinetta for the future, and,
if Lucrezia should think fit to go back to the Con-
vent of Santa Margherita, he was going to devote
himself to Filippino, and he had the very treasure
of an apprentice coming to him, and—

And, limping over to his saddle-bags which he
had brought in, he took out a bag containing oneFILIPPINO 205

hundred and twenty golden florins and planked
them down on the table.

“Take these and spend them to the best advan-
tage, Spinetta,”’ he bade her, “letting me have a
very little for myself from time to time. I am a
careless fellow and very extravagant.”

“You are extravagant!’ she laughed. “For,
when you find that Lucrezia has been cleansed, you
start cleansing yourself and, immediately, start
cleaning up poor Maddalena. God help the girl
who is bound to one who has the artistic tempera-
ment. He is very thorough—while the fit lasts.”

“Perhaps the fit will last this time,” said Fra
Filippo, softly. ‘You see, I have Lucrezia and
her bambino to think of now.”

Altogether the meal was a gay one and, perhaps,
a trifle hysterical.

In the middle of the gaiety, a tear-stained Mad-
dalena returned. She listened at Fra Filippo’s
door. Then she went up to Lucrezia’s room and,
listening outside the door, heard her crooning hap-
pily to her baby.

“Of a truth,’ she murmured, “these two are
veritable saints; for, instead of being sad at the
ending of their romance, they are happier than
words can express.” And promptly she began to
build up a holy romance of a Saint Filippo and a
Saint Lucrezia, which was highly edifying to her,
and more healthy than the romantic imaginings in
which she had aforetime indulged.

All of which appears to show that, although Fra
Filippo might seem to have treated Maddalena
harshly and unjustly, he did what was best for her.THE JOYOUS FRIAR
IX

That night Lucrezia fell asleep feeling happier
than she had felt for many months, and she awoke
next morning radiantly happy; for, when a girl has
lived very close to God all her life with the excep-
tion of the last ten months, she is at home and
happy when she is in a state of grace. Looking
back at her ten months’ journey into the realm of
mortal sin, where God is not, the time seemed like
a doleful nightmare, and she was happy to be
awake and safely returned to Him.

But with Fra Filippo, who had not been accus-
tomed to live close to God since he had left the
Carmine, the case was far different. Because, in
the first place, his rupture would not let him sleep;
and, in the second place, the uplift and joy of his
repentance, during which he had been ready to give
up Lucrezia at the cost of any self-sacrifice, had
worn off and the reaction had set in. Of course he
did not think of returning to Lucrezia as her lover,
and only regarded her in his mind as his sweet and
much-loved friend; but he resented losing the con-
stant intercourse with his closest friend, and espe-
cially dreaded the time when she should return to
her convent and leave him desolate.

However, a sleepless night is the time when
dark and despondent thoughts run riot and, when
daylight came, he felt happier and more resigned.
Presently, when he had got up and dressed, things
looked brighter. At any rate he had made his
peace with God, Lucrezia’s return to her convent
was far distant, he could see her not too seldom in
the presence of Spinetta, whilst the baby Filippino
would soon be growing very dear to him.CHAPTER xen
WINNING THROUGH
I

URING the next fifteen months, Lucrezia

and Fra Filippo went through a terrible

struggle to keep the good resolutions which

they had made at the time of their repentance, and

the temptations which assailed Lucrezia and Fra

Filippo came respectively from different directions;

for, from the side on which the earthworks have

been broken down and trampled by the footsteps of
habit, from that side does the enemy attack.

With Lucrezia the effect of ten months’ indul-
gence in sin, during which time her life had been
overshadowed by remorse, was counteracted by her
twenty years’ habit of responding to grace, and no
attack was made from that side. But, as the baby
Filippino came to wind himself more and more
closely round her heart and as Fra Filippo became
more and more considerate and thoughtful of her
welfare, so she became more and more adverse to
the idea of returning to her convent. Yet she knew
that it was clearly her duty to keep those vows
which she had made when she had entered the re-
ligious life, and she prayed many times a day for
strength to do so.

With Fra Filippo, whose earthworks had been
trampled down by twenty years of self-indulgence,
the attack was launched through those passions
207208 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

which had been developed by self-indulgence, and it
was chiefly by means of the practise of having
Spinetta present during his visits to Lucrezia that
he escaped. It was all very well for him to tell
himself over and over again that he must never be
so base as to join with the enemy in a fresh attack
on Lucrezia’s virtue; but, when he came to actual
performance, he found that the influence of con-
science is not sufficiently powerful to govern a man
whose will has been weakened by the habit of non-
resistance. And on one occasion, when Spinetta was
paying a visit to the Casa Lottieri and Fra Filippo
found Lucrezia alone, he saved himself only by an
immediate flight. Of course one might justly pre-
sume that Lucrezia would have been preserved by
her newly recovered practise of responding to grace;
but, if Fra Filippo had fallen sufficiently to tempt
Lucrezia to resume their recent relations, his guilt
would have been the same even though the girl had
resisted his advances, and he knew it. Altogether,
the unfortunate friar was not in an enviable state
of mind.

As to Fra Filippo’s financial affairs:—The Firm
of Lippi and Diamante seems to have been doing a
regular, if second-rate, business that was sufficient
to maintain Fra Filippo, Fra Diamante and the
workmen, with a little over for Fra Filippo to
spend on the household in the Via delle Tre Gore.
Also the money which the friar had earned from
Giovanni de’ Medici must have formed a most sat-
isfactory reserve. Certainly there is no record that
either of the partners suffered from any financial
difficulty during this period.WINNING THROUGH
II

It was the day after the day on which Spinetta
had visited the Casa Lottieri and Fra Filippo had
resisted his temptation that he perceived the strong
necessity of taking active steps in the matter. He
had passed a restless night and had gone over the
incident in an exaggerated aspect, and he was feel-
ing as despondent as man could feel, when, sud-
denly, the need of confession came upon him. So,
without delay, he visited the old priest who had
been such a help to him in the past, and opened his
heart.

“My son,” said the priest, “if you expect to be
free from temptation, you are expecting a state that
is but rarely attained in this life. In the next, eh?,
things will be different. But, here, although the
guilt of your sin was absolved in the confessional,
yet the memory of the sin and its sensual attraction
remains. Consequently, until your perfect contri-
tion for your sin, because it is hateful to Almighty
God, burns up the desire to commit that sin, you
cannot escape temptation. But take courage; for
you ran away from the temptation, which was the
only thing that you could do.”

The friar groaned, for the future looked black
to him. ‘Can I do nothing?” he asked.

The old priest thought a moment. “Does the
girl still desire to return to her convent?” he en-
quired.

“Yes father!” replied Fra Filippo with sincerity ;
because Lucrezia had kept to herself her dread of
leaving Filippino and him and, only two days since,a a a, rc oe arte A cee a Sli

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

210 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

had asked him to pray that she might return to
Santa Margherita.

‘Then I advise you to do all that is in your power
to help her in her good resolution; since, if she goes
back to her convent, the temptation will be removed
from you; while, as for her, she will be in a place
of safety.”

“Father,” cried Fra Filippo impulsively, “I shall
do all in my power to help her to return to her con-
vent; since, although she is as good as a golden
florin, I am the most weak and unreliable fellow.”

And, having finished his confession, Fra Filippo
left the old priest’s house as full of good resolu-
tions as an olive is full of oil. He knew that what
the old priest said was true and that, if only Lu-
crezia could be restored to her convent, he would
be placed outside the zone of physical temptation
and she in a place of safety.

So, as soon as Fra Diamante had come home to
dinner, Fra Filippo approached him.

“That panel of the Nativity which you are paint-
ing for the Abbess of Santa Margherita is almost
completed, is it not?’ he asked.

“Almost, Filippo,’ answered Diamante. ‘“An-
other day or two will see it finished.”

“Then, after dinner, I shall call to make my
peace with the abbess and offer to paint her a pre-
della to match it.”

“It is time you made your peace with Santa
Margherita,” sniffed Diamante. “During the two
years in which you have been its chaplain, you have
performed your task for three months only, and
have left me to do all your duties for the remaining
twenty-one months.”

PTT ae Ve a a pe ee

—_

eee

———— |WINNING THROUGH Zr

“At any rate,” snapped Fra Filippo, “I have
paid you for saying Mass at the convent.”

“And pocketed the difference,” sniffed Fra Dia-
mante.

Fra Filippo relapsed into silence, planning how
he might make his peace with the abbess, and how
he might discover her feelings towards Lucrezia,
and how he might find out whether the other errant
nuns had opened any negotiation concerning their
return to the cloister. For, at that moment, Fra
Filippo was feeling full of fervor and desperately
anxious to avoid almost certain temptation for him-

self and possible temptation for Lucrezia.

III

Fra Filippo knocked at the entrance of the Con-
vent of Santa Margherita and the present porteress,
late prioress, after peeping through the grille,
opened the door.

“Greeting, sister,” said Fra Filippo, benignly.
“I have called to pay my respects to the Lady
Abbess.”’

Since the porteress had ceased to be prioress, the
fountains of her speech had been dried up; and,
bowing, she led Fra Filippo into the guest-room.
“T will tell mother abbess,’”’ she murmured, and
went to fetch her.

Presently the Abbess Jacopa de’ Bovacchiesi
came in, holding out both her hands in welcome;
for she had liked Fra Filippo greatly and had no
quarrel with him.

“T am overjoyed to see you, Fra Filippo,” she
said; “especially as I have a message for you fromcei ean Ae ie ol oe eee el ate

a

Pb ir cue

rae

 

212 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

my sister, the late abbess, which has been waiting
for you since she died. She bade me tell you that
she was deeply grateful for all your kindness and
wisdom’—Fra Filippo thought of his conduct with
Lucrezia, and shuddered. ‘Also she bade me tell
you that she bitterly regretted that she had not lis-
tened to your advice when you urged her to replace
the late prioress.”

The friar murmured his thanks, his conscience
hurting him terribly all the time.

“Ts there any chance of your resuming your office
of chaplain?” asked the abbess, smiling. SOF
course we like Fra Diamante; but you are our ap-
pointed chaplain. As you see, the late prioress is
now porteress, and she has become a very silent
woman.”

Fra Filippo murmured that he was considering
the matter and would let her know for certain on
the morrow. “And,” he said, taking the plunge,
“have you heard anything about those nuns who
left the convent, whether they desire to return te

“It is strange that you should ask this,” she an-
swered; “for, only this morning I had a tentative
message from Sister Simona, expressing great con-
trition for what she had done and hinting that she
and the others might petition to return. But, of
course, I must obtain the bishop’s leave first.” She
paused. “I have heard of the three Prato nuns
from time to time, but I have lost all sight of Sis-
ter Lucrezia and Sister Spinetta from the day on
which they broke enclosure. I expect that they
went to their friends in Florence.”

Fra Filippo kept silence, deeming it wiser as well
as more truthful to change the subject.WINNING THROUGH 29

“I have heard of the panel of the Nativity which
Fra Diamante : .S painting for you, mother abbess,”
he said. ‘Now I offer to paint you a predella for
the same picture, charging you merely for the cost
of wood and pigments. It is as a peace-offering.”’

“But it is we who should make the peace-offer-
ing,’ cried the abbess. ‘It is we who drove you
from your post through our prioress. At the least,
if you paint the predella—which I much desire—
you must allow us to pay a fair price as the re-
muneration for your skill.”

The friar shook his head. “Perchance, if Fra
Diamante con assist me in the work,” he sug-
gested, “‘you might give him a small present, for
Diamante dearly loves a little money; but, as for
myself, my work is in the nature of a peace-offer-
ing.’ And so it was, a tiny peace-offering for his
abduction of Sister Lucrezia.

sme about your resumption of your chaplaincy,
Fra Filippo?” asked the abbess.

a shall say Mass in your chapel to-morrow
morning,” he answered, impetuous as ever.

Leaving the convent, he went over to the house
in the Via delle Tre Gore.

IV

When Fra Filippo reached his house in the Via
delle Tre Gore, the small Filippino had just waked
up from a long siesta and was undergoing a severe
petting from his mother and aunt, with cheerful
approval.

“See, Filippo,” said Lucrezia, looking up and
smiling, “the anes is growing so strong and soeee

eer Ve Er oe

—

ee ee

 

214 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

bold and so saucy that there is no holding him.”

‘“Fe’s as strong as Hercules and as saucy as
Hebe,” replied the friar, his thoughts full of graver
matters. ‘‘But be prepared for serious news: I
have made my peace with the Convent of Santa
Margherita, and have undertaken to paint a pre-
della for the new Nativity that Fra Diamante is
just completing.”

“Filippo!” cried Lucrezia, amazed.

“Also,” continued the friar, “I have almost been
persuaded to resume my duties as chaplain—at any
rate I have promised to say Mass at the convent
to-morrow.”

For several reasons this announcement came as
a shock, then the girl’s sound common sense got
the upper hand. ‘Thank God!” she murmured;
for, during the past few months, she had been con-
scious that a priest who does not say his Mass is
in a very unsatisfied and unsatisfactory state of
mind.

There was a silence. Both for Lucrezia’s sake
and Fra Filippo’s sake it was undesirable that he
should speak of her return to Santa Margherita,
whilst Spinetta was in the room. Presently, how-
ever, Spinetta went downstairs in order to prepare
some food for the baby, and then Fra Filippo
spoke.

“Tucrezia,”’ he said, “the abbess told me that
Sister Simona and some of the others were begin-
ning to feel the way for a return to the convent,
and she seemed kindly disposed towards them.”

Biting her lips hard, Lucrezia bent over Filip-
pino. “I can’t leave my bambino yet—not for an-
other year,” she said, trying to repress her emotion.WINNING THROUGH 215

“As you yourself said,’ he answered, “if these
young nuns start talking about going back, they will
talk and talk for a year before they do anything
definite. There is no need for my sweet one to
hurry.”

Lucrezia swallowed the lump that was in her
throat. “I suppose I shall have to go back some
day,” she sighed. Then a brighter thought struck
her. “If you are chaplain when I go back,” she
cried, ‘‘I shall still be able to see something of you,
Filippo. Also you will be able to tell me how my
baby is getting on.”

‘I had not thought of that!”? murmured Fra Fi-
lippo, scratching his chin. Indeed, since his confes-
sion, his mind had been so intently concentrated on
doing his duty and on helping Lucrezia to do hers
that the manifest advantage of resuming his chap-
laincy had not occurred to him.

“And, if I return, you will take care of our bam-
bino, Filippo?”

‘He will be the first thing in the whole world to
me!” he answered, speaking with his whole heart.

“And how do you intend to bring him up?” The
future was looking vastly more cheerful to Lucrezia
now.

The advice of the old priest was strong in the
friars memory. “I shall try to keep him from fall-
ing into grievous sin,’ he answered. ‘Each griev-
ous sin that is indulged in is a source of temptation
in the future.”

‘Ah! Ghat is well saidil2 she creda Yousne-
mind me of the old poem which my uncle used to
quote to us when we were children.a ee ee

OTE EY a we ET TT
c —

ee tee eoedel

THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“Say, wouldst thou guard thy son,
That sorrow he may shun?
Begin from the beginning
And let him keep from sinning!’ ”

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

And so the talk about the future welfare of the
small Filippino went on until Spinetta’s return.

“Spinetta,” said Fra Filippo, “the abbess told me
this morning that Sister Simona and some of the
others were beginning to feel the way for a return
to the convent.”

Spinetta laughed. ‘They were talking about it
at Casa Lottieri yesterday; but, bless you, talk is
the breath of their nostrils. It does not mean
much.”

V

From this time, although they were not alto-
gether removed, the physical temptations of Fra
Filippo became much lessened, and he grew more
wrapped up in Filippino each day. But, as the days
wore on, poor Lucrezia liked the thought of leav-
ing her baby less and less. So, as usual with those
that sin, the woman had the hardest sacrifice.

As for Maddalena, her imagination wove more
wonderful romances of Saint Filippo and Saint
Lucrezia each fresh day, and these she told to her
husband in the evening instead of the romances of
Boccaccio. Not that it mattered much to Piero,
since the mind of Piero Bov’chiesi was like a chunk
of mud which was wrapped round the roots of his
spring vegetables. The early spring vegetables
were coming on nicely, and that was sufficient.CHAPTER Yexd
REPARATION
I

URING the spring and summer of 1458
things went on smoothly in their natural
course, Lucrezia confident that it would be

wrong for her to return to Santa Margherita until
her baby was fit to be left, and Spinetta slowly and
deliberately preparing herself for her return to the
religious life. Also we must assume that the three
other fugitive nuns were much in the same state as
parental For it creates a severe upheaval in the
mind of a nun when she leaves her convent and re-
turns to the world, and it must therefore take time
for her mind to regain its equilibrium. In short,
experience teaches us that it would have been noth-
ing less than a miracle if any of the five errant ones
had petitioned for a return sooner than they did.

Then, in the late autumn of 1458, the minds of
the five nuns having recovered their balance and
Filippino now being a fine, healthy boy of a year
old, the five consciences began to work, the con-
science of one supplying what the conscience of an-
other lacked, a ie fugitive sisters sent a humble
petition to the abbess asking that ‘they might be
taken back.

Letters passed between the abbess and the bishop;
letters passed between the abbess and the fugitives;
finally the authorities decided that, since there were

217> Te ath a
—_— ,

Teg oe

- —
ee

 

218 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

extenuating circumstances—the extenuating circum-
stances being the conduct of the late prioress—the
five might return as novices before Christmas, and,
if they passed through a year’s novitiate humbly
and well, might be restored to the position of pro-
fessed choir nuns by the Christmas of 1459.

II

Did Lucrezia tell Sisters Piera, Simona and
Brigida, of her sin and its result? Certainly not,
else the secret would have leaked out, and not a
single soul in Prato, with the exception of Fra Fi-
lippo, Spinetta and Maddalena, knew that Lucrezia
was the mother of a baby until Filippino was more
than three years old. Even the grocer’s wife who
lived opposite thought that it was Spinetta who was
the erring one.

Did Lucrezia tell the abbess? Almost certainly
yes, else she would have been a very deceitful and
dishonest girl. But the abbess kept her secret, tell-
ing no one but the bishop in the strictest confidence.

When she told the abbess of her sin, did Lucrezia
mention the name of Fra Filippo as the father of
her baby? No. For, as we all know, any loyal
girl will shield her lover as much as possible, even
at considerable cost to herself; and, if she be both
loyal and conscientious, and if the man has most
truly repented, she will certainly redouble her effort
that she should not betray him. Certainly no one,
except possibly the grocer’s wife, seemed to have
connected Fra Filippo during his life at Prato with
any serious scandal; and, when his sin was at last
laid bare through an anonymous accusation, theREPARATION 219

ecclesiastical authorities treated the friar with ex-
ean firmness and severity.

So, having passed the year in admirable discre-
tion and self-restraint, one morning in the early
winter Fra Filippo went over to say his Mass at
Santa Margherita, stopping on afterwards to put
the finishing touches to his predella, whilst Lucrezia
had an interview with the abbess.

Since he knew what Lucrezia was doing, the
friar’s heart beat like a sledge-hammer as he
painted. Presently the abbess came into the paint-
ing-room.

“Do you remember Sister Lucrezia, padre?”
asked the abbess.

“Yes,” answered Fra Filippo, swallowing hard.
“From the time that she posed for the Madonna
of the Girdle, I eae her very well.”

The abbess seated herself and began to talk con-
fidentially. “I never thought that a very wise pro-
ceeding on the part of my dear sister,’ said she.
“For a nun to pose as a model might easily have
set people talking, whilst it might have offended
and shocked the older nuns. Certainly’ ’—and she
smiled—‘‘it set the late prioress off on her wild
vendetta. Sometimes I thought, especially during
the last two years of her life, my sister let her heart
run away with her prudence.

“Well,” she went on, “Sister Lucrezia has just
seen me and started negotiations for her return.’

“Are you going to take her back?” asked Fra
Filippo, with very mixed emotions.

“Certainly, as far as I am concerned,” replied
the abbess. ‘‘For, although she was the first one
to start the exodus, I have always thought that theTERT ET TC a RTT

—

ST eg ee es

220 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

prioress treated her with too great severity, and
she is a very sweet and good girl by her disposition.
Of course I shall have to get leave from the bishop
first.”

“Ts there likely to be any difficulty with his lord-
ship?’ asked Fra Filippo, the natural man in him
hoping against hope that there might be an insur-
mountable difficulty.

“T do not think so,’ answered the abbess. ‘“‘Cer-
tainly the bishop is raising no difficulties with the
other four nuns who have petitioned to return; but
he must consider each case on its own merits, and,
possibly, he may consider the case of Sister Lucrezia
a little different from those of the rest.”

“How was her case different?” asked Fra Filippo
rashly, determined to find out how much the mother
abbess would reveal.

‘You see, she was the first to set the example of
breaking enclosure,” said she, and not another word
of information did she give him even though he
was the convent chaplain and a great favorite of
hers.

“But, if Sister Lucrezia does return,” said the
abbess, smiling kindly, ‘‘she does not again pose as
model for you or any other painter.” And she rose
and left the room.

Then was Fra Filippo absolutely certain that the
lady abbess had no suspicion of his share in the
scandal; and, since it would make it much more
serious for Lucrezia if it were known that her
lover had been in holy orders, he was devoutly
thankful.

As soon as he had finished dinner, Fra Filippo
went over to the house in the Via delle Tre GoreREPARATION 221

to see Lucrezia, intending to tell her of what the ab-
bess had said to him and to ask her what had been
said to her. But, since he found the girl bending
over her baby in a flood of tears, and since she
begged him to go, and since he knew that it would
be too dangerous for him to attempt to comfort
her, Fra Filippo gave up any thought of trying to
soothe his dear one for the present, and he hurried
back to his own home where he went through a
purgatory of his own thoughts and regrets.

The next morning the sun shone and the breeze
blew mildly, and Fra Filippo found Lucrezia bear-
ing her troubles bravely and with resignation.

“You will take great, great care of my bambino,
Filippo?” she asked, knowing well that he would.

Fra Filippo nodded, for he could not trust him-
self to speak.

“And you will see me as often as is wise, if only
for a minute, and tell me exactly how he is going
on?”

“JT will tell you the whole truth and all the truth,
little one,’’ he answered thickly.

“And what do you intend to do with him?”

They had talked over this matter often enough;
but now the friar had an item of news to add. “I
heard from JI Botticello last night,’ he told her,
“and he is sending Sandro over to me next week.
Of course the boy will live with me at the house in
the Piazza del Mercatale for the present. But,
when—when—you go back to the convent, I shall
live here in this house and I shall take Sandro to
live with me. He is a thoroughly nice lad and well
brought up, and Maddalena, Filippino, he and I
will make a happy little family.”ETT

Ta ar ore

Ree
ee

TE sr ee

222 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“Eh? Three artists in one house?—the big
artist, the little artist and the tiny artist! Truly
it will be a regular college of artists.”

So the two months wore on, Lucrezia showing
the brightest side of herself to Fra Filippo and
keeping her darker thoughts secret, whilst Fra
Filippo became anything but a joyous friar; and,
at the end of December, Lucrezia, Spinetta and the
other three nuns entered into their second novitiate.

Ill

The year 1459 passed most peacefully; Lucrezia
returning to the religious life with a sincere repent-
ance and an earnest desire to make as full a repara-
tion to Almighty God as lay in her power; Fra
Filippo, besides painting four lunettes for the tomb
which Messer Geminiano Inghirami was planning
for himself, carrying on his work as chaplain pru-
dently and well; and Filippino growing up into a
strong and healthy boy.

Of course Lucrezia was as perfectly free to leave
the religious life during her second novitiate as she
had been during her first novitiate; but she re-
mained firm in her good resolution and tried to the
utmost of her power to make reparation for her
great sin.

It is both illogical and uncharitable to ascribe
unworthy motives to her, and to suggest, as a re-
cent writer has done, that she must have found life
with the thriftless and improvident friar a constant
hardship, that she must have found her “shameful
position” a constant humiliation, and that she must
have sighed for “‘the peaceful, if somewhat monoto-REPARATION 223

nous, retirement of her convent cell.” For during
the year before her return to the convent the friar
was entirely free from financial troubles, and no
one in the world of Prato, except Maddalena and
Fra Filippo, even suspected her “shameful posi-
tion.’”’ No, the only motives that could have swayed
Lucrezia were the desire to return to God in the
religious life and to show her sorrow for her sin,

IV

On the twenty-third of December, 1459, Lucrezia
de’ Buti, Spinetta de’ Buti, Piera di Vanni Sensi,
Simona di Michele Lottieri and Brigida d’ Antonio
Peruzzi solemnly renewed their religious vows in
the presence of Donato de’ Medici, Bishop of
Pistoja, Ottaviano Guasconi, Abbot of Santa Maria
di Grignano and Vicar-General of Prato, and the
Abbess Jacopa de’ Bovacchiesi.

Of course the chaplain and the other nuns must
have been also present, but these three were the
official witnesses as the document that was drawn
up by the notary, Ser Dietajuti Spighi da Prato,
bears testimony.

Lucrezia had made what reparation she could.ETT a Te

—

= ———— ——— —— =
‘ : Le ee ey She ooetee ene

CHAPTER XXII
THE ACCUSATION

I

lain of Santa Margherita, Fra Filippo had con-

sulted the priest who had heard the confession
of his sin with Lucrezia, the priest would have cer-
tainly done all that was in his power to prevent Fra
Filippo’s action; but the lips of the old priest were
closed by the seal of the confessional and he could
do nothing. If the friar had consulted either the
Bishop of Pistoja or the Prior of the Carmelites,
disclosing the fact that he had been in guilty inter-
course with one of the nuns, he would have been
forbidden to resume his duties. But, as is obvious,
he told no one who had any power to prevent the
rash act. For, although a scandalous sin may con-
ceal itself for a time until it seems as safe from ob-
servation as an underground river, eventually it will
meet some obstacle which will throw it up to the
surface for all to see.

As we have already remarked, the year of Lu-
crezia’s second novitiate had passed admirably; the
following year, during which Messer Geminiano
Inghirami had retired from the office of proposto
and Messer Carlo de’ Medici had been appointed
in his stead and during which the friar had painted
two most excellent panels for the Church of San
Domingo, had passed equally admirably, and it

224

T: before he had returned to his post as chap-THE ACCUSATION 225

really looked as though Fra Filippo’s higher love
for Lucrezia was “searing mere passion into life-
less dust.”

The spring of 1461 was opening with the promise
of a similar prosperity, and the five years’ tragedy
which had followed Lucrezia’s flight from her con-
vent seemed to be settling down into a lifetime of
peace, when the unexpected happened through a
most unexpected cause.

If only Maria di Matteo, the grocer’s wife, had
not seen Spinetta, Fra Filippo and the baby as the
two former admired the latter at the window of
the house in the Via delle Tre Gore; if only Ser
Piero, in his post of Procurator for the Convent of
Santa Margherita, had not been compelled to re-
ject a most unsatisfactory consignment of groceries
which Antonio di Matteo had supplied to the con-
vent: if Ser Piero had refrained from sending off
the grocer with a most irritating flea in his ear;
then it is highly probable that the story of the sin
and its repentance would never have leaked out,
and that Fra Filippo would have died as a fairly
respectable friar and Lucrezia as a most respected

nun.
II

Now Antonio di Matteo had attended the public
veneration of our Lady’s Girdle on several recent

occasions. He had heard a whisper about the five
nuns who had run off into the world and had re-
turned to their cloister; and he had recognized two
of the five as the two ladies who had lately lodged
at the house that was opposite his shop. So he put

two and two together, came to the conclusion thatee teehee ee

CF WER EE
nal

ee er

  

226 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

the gay Fra Filippo, who had been accustomed to
spend his evenings at the Inn of the Girdle, had
abducted Spinetta de’ Buti, and, when Ser Piero
had told him that his conduct towards the nuns of
Santa Margherita was that of a wolf in a grocer’s
apron ravaging defenseless women, he resolved to
bring a similar charge against the notary-procurator.
He had a bitter sense of humor had Antonio di
Matteo.

Armed with a quill and an ink-horn, fortifying
himself with a flask of Chianti and a goblet, An-
tonio proceeded to put down his charge on a sheet
of parchment, sipping the wine as he wrote.

Addressing the epistle to the “Officials of the
Night and of the Monasteries of the city of Flor-
ence’ —a body of discreet men who were appointed
by the State of Florence to deal with the morals of
Florence and the neighboring towns—and dating
the document “VIII day of May, 1461,” he wrote
(and the original document is in the State Archives
of Florence to this day) :

“Unto you Officers of the Night and Monasteries of the
city of Florence [he wrote] it is notified that Ser Piero
d’Antonio di Ser Vannozzo of the Gate of the Santa Trinita
at Prato has frequented, and continues to frequent, the
Monastery of Santa Margherita at Prato, and that about
two months ago the said Ser Piero begot a male child in the
said Monastery. And he sent the child at night time out of
the town through a secret opening in the wall to Pietriccto,
and next morning had it brought to Prato to be baptised:
and this is known to many persons in Prato. And if you
wish to find him, you will find him every day in the

Monastery.”THE ACCUSATION 227

He paused, filled his glass, and read what he had
written. Then he frowned, for his charge against
Ser Piero did not read as very convincing.

‘This is known to many persons in Prato,” for
instance, was too vague to carry much weight; and,
although the sentence, “if you wish to find him”
(Ser Piero) “you will find him every day in the
Monastery,” was true, it meant nothing. Where
else could one expect to learn the whereabouts of
the man who executed the outside business of the
convent except in the aforesaid convent, which he
must visit daily to receive his instructions? But, if
he were to join this uncertain and indefinite accusa-
tion against Ser Piero to a certain and definite ac-
cusation against Fra Filippo, which could be sub-
stantiated, perchance he might involve Ser Piero in
the trouble.

Going to the door, he called his wife. “Maria,”
he called, ‘‘what was the Christian name of the girl
whom we saw Fra Filippo embracing?”

“Spinetta,”’ she called back.

“Excellent! he called. “If you bring me an-
other flask of the old Chianti in five minutes, I will

show you something that may interest you.’

Again he took up his pen, this time with the ob-
ject of elaborating the last sentence, and wrote:

“And if you wish to find him, you will find him every
day in the Monastery, together with another man called
Frate Filippo: and the latter excuses himself by saying that
he is the chaplain, while the former says that he is the pro-
curator. And the said frate Filippo has had a male child
by one called Spinetta. And he has in his house the said
child, who is grown up and is called Filippino.”ey a a RET ee

——

oe

we
Te a ge a ee

 

228 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“‘Spinetta!’ ‘Filippino!’”” he muttered. “That
will give the Officers of the Night some definite
evidence to ponder.” And he smiled to himself,
thinking that Ser Piero might very well be caught
into the vortex. ‘At any rate,” he muttered, “it
will show the Officers of the Night and Monasteries
that the Convent of Santa Margherita, which com-
plains of its respectable grocer, is a most disrepu-
table place.”

His wife entered the room, carrying the flask of
old Chianti; and, whilst she read his epistle, he
helped himself to the wine.

“But this is terrible,” she cried. ‘‘For, not only
have you invented an accusation against the morals
of Ser Piero, for which you might be pardoned; but
you have accused a holy nun of being the mother
of his child.”

“Read again, woman,” he chuckled, with a smile
that was vastly cunning. ‘See! I have accused no
holy nun of being the mother of his child. The
mother of his child might have been the woman
who brings the convent milk, or the door-post, for
all I have written.”

Again she read the epistle through, and now she
chuckled even as he had chuckled. “But you have
not signed the letter, Antonio,” said she.

“Tt is not the custom to sign anonymous accusa-
tions,” he answered, grinning.

“Eh?” she queried.

“One writes down an anonymous charge,” he ex-
plained, “‘being careful not to sign it. One journeys
to Florence, where one has to buy groceries. One
goes out under cover of the night. One goes to
the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. One goesTHE ACCUSATION 229

to the main entrance, where certain letter-boxes are
placed. One drops the communication into the box
that is marked ‘Ufficiale di Notte e Monasterii,
taking care that none is watching. Next day the
box is taken to the Officers and, then, what happens
happens. It is all very simple.”

“It will take Ser Piero some trouble to disprove
the charge,’ she chuckled. ‘That part about Fra
Filippo would make any one believe the rest.”

“One prays so!” he answered, devoutly.

III

Now the Tribunal of the Officers of the Night
and Monasteries of Florence consisted of nine dis-
creet and sober men who were elected by the Guilds
of Florence to deal with the moral offenses in the
State, and they had no cause to love the anony-
mous accusations, which were often inspired by per-
sonal spite and most terribly distorted. Yet, since
this system of anonymous accusation was designed
to enable private persons to draw attention to grave
abuses without fear of consequences, the Officers of
the Night could not disregard any complaint that
was lodged.

Whether the Officers of the Night and Monas-
teries summoned Fra Filippo to appear before them
in Florence, or whether they investigated the charge
in Prato, we do not know. Whichever they did,
whilst Fra Filippo must have denied the truth of
the charge respecting Spinetta, he must have ac-
knowledged the paternity of Filippino; also the
Officers must have discovered that, if Spinetta was
not the mother of the baby Filippino, then the otherte ee

aie’ Clemente bck ee eee eke
= —

See

 

230 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

girl who had lived for seventeen months in Fra Fi-
lippo’s house was presumably the mother. Any-
how, we know for certain that the tribunal issued
a decree which forbade Fra Filippo to enter again
the Convent of Santa Margherita, and handed
over the case to the ecclesiastical authorities who
promptly deprived the friar of his chaplaincy.

How the town of Prato battened on the scandal,
as only a small town will! And the grocer’s wife
was careful to feed the gossip with the gist of her
husband’s anonymous accusation, while Matteo the
grocer saw that the decrees of the civil and ecclesi-
astical courts were known to all.

Then the pretty and impudent girls with whom
the town of Prato abounded began to cast challeng-
ing glances at Fra Filippo as he went to and fro be-
tween his house and workshop. Young men talked
in chattering groups, growing silent as the friar
passed by. Married women raised their noses, sniff-
ing disdainfully, and respectable men gave Fra Fi-
lippo a wide berth lest the pitch which besmirched
his name should attach itself to their reputation.

“Living in this house,” sobbed Maddalena, ‘no
one will speak to me except the young men, and
they call shameful things after me in the street.”
But her husband, Piero Bov’chiesi, went about his
work untroubled. The summer lettuces were com-
ing on splendidly.

The one bright spot in Fra Filippo’s life was the
loyalty of his own true friends. Fra Diamante be-
came more and more devoted to him, in fact he
became so devoted and stood up for him so bravely
that, later on, the Superior of the Carmelites judged
him to be involved in Fra Filippo’s sin and impris-THE ACCUSATION 230

oned him in Florence, and he was only released at
the petition of the magistrates of Prato; Sandro
Botticelli became his slave and, as Vasari tells us,
“Imitated the manner of his master so closely that
Fra Filippo conceived a great love for him, and
instructed him with so much effect that Sandro rap-
idly attained to a degree of art which no one would
have expected from him’; and little Filippino be-
came his constant shadow, continually making little
drawings in imitation of his father’s work.

IV

As June transformed itself into July, and July
into August, the gossip grew worse and worse; for
it had now leaked out that two of the fugitive nuns
of Santa Margherita, Sister Spinetta and Sister
Lucrezia de’ Buti, had been living in Fra Filippo’s
house and under his protection during their flight
from the convent; and, since he had denied under
oath that Sister Spinetta was the mother of his
baby, then, for certain, the mother must have been
Sister Lucrezia, and this sin of sacrilege, added to
the friar’s own sin of infidelity to his vows, stirred
the public indignation to the boiling point.

“But Fra Filippo and Madonna Lucrezia re-
pented of their sin even before the bambino was
born,” cried Maddalena, wild with indignation.
“And they confessed their sin; and God said: ‘I
forgive you. Go and sin no more!’ And, from
that moment, they lived the lives of two saints.
Dare you condemn what God has forgiven?”

“So Maddalena acknowledges that this story is
true!” scoffed one of her hearers to the others.ee eee

ae kth AR |

eon abeeeaetaidnddedece: Rimeemaedl Lect ieee oe

282 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“She who has lived in the same house with them
acknowledges that the story is true!’ And that
was all the good that her protest did.

Gradually the story crept into the convent, and
Lucrezia’s life became one long torture. Not only
did the sister porteress draw her skirts aside most
ostentatiously when she passed; but the other sis-
ters, even those who had fled the convent with her,
were deeply shocked and, although they did not
taunt her with her sin, yet their faces grew grave
and their manners constrained when she was with
them. Of course the abbess had known all, or
nearly all, about Sister Lucrezia’s fall from virtue
before she had returned to the convent; and, though
she was kind and did her best to be kind, she felt
that Lucrezia’s concealment of the name of Fra
Filippo had placed her as abbess in a hideously
false position: to take back a nun who had sinned
and repented was an act of holy charity; to take
back a nun who had sinned with the convent chap-
lain and, at the same time, retain the services of that
chaplain was an act of foolish indiscretion. In ad-
dition to all these hardships, ever since Fra Filippo
had been forbidden to enter the convent, Lucrezia
had lost all touch with her child, and, except once,
when Maddalena had come to the convent trem-
bling with fear, Maddalena had been too frightened
to bring her the desired news. If it had not been
for an occasional message sent through Fra Dia-
mante, Filippino might have been dead and buried
for all that Lucrezia knew to the contrary.THE ACCUSATION

V

It was on a day early in August that Fra Dia-
mante spoke out his mind.

That morning, on Diamante’s return from say-
ing Mass at the Convent of Santa Margherita, Fra
Filippo had asked him how Lucrezia was bearing
the scandal.

“She is looking very pale and very miserable,”
answered Diamante. ‘The other nuns look askance
at her, and the abbess seems worried and irritable.”

Fra Filippo sighed, for he was bitterly conscious
that he could do nothing.

“What a fool you have been, Filippo,” said Dia-
mante. ‘To let a girl live in your house and to
expect to go unscathed, was sufficiently foolish. But
to allow the girl to return to her convent, while you
continued to act as chaplain, was the very height of
folly.”

“T was no danger to her as long as she remained
in the convent,” grumbled Fra Filippo.

“Who talks of moral danger? Who hints at
sin? You have been shriven and continue to say
Mass, and, knowing you as I do, it is enough for
me. But’—and he paused—“consider the full
folly of it! If some one should learn the truth and
whisper the truth, as some one has, a pretty pot of
broth is set a-cooking. Sister Lucrezia is in the pot,
and mother abbess is in the pot, and all the nuns
are in the pot, and you are in the pot, and poor
Ser Piero is in the pot, and all Prato sups off the
dish.”

“T did it for the best,” sighed Fra Filippo.

“J don’t believe that even yet you see what youa

Es Nee ae nas 12 a

 

234. THE JOYOUS FRIAR

have done!” cried Fra Diamante. ‘All Prato is
saying that the abbess knew that you had seduced
one of her nuns and, condoning your act, allowed
you to continue to frequent the convent as chaplain.
Then that vile viper of an informer drags in Ser
Piero, and all Prato now says that the Convent of
Santa Margherita is a disreputable house and that
the reek of it goes up to heaven. If only you had
left Prato before Sister Lucrezia returned to the
convent! No wonder the abbess looks irritable
and worried.”

Fra Filippo sat huddled up, his spirit utterly
crushed.

“I was only thinking of Lucrezia,’’ he moaned,
“that she should have her child close to her and
hear continually how he went on.”’

“Poor, poor Filippo,” said Fra Diamante, put-
ting his arm round his friend’s shoulder.

“And now Lucrezia has no chance of happiness
so long as she shall live,” groaned Fra Filippo.

Then at last, towards the middle of the month,
when the scandal had reached its height, Madda-
lena sought out Fra Filippo when he had come
home for dinner, closing the door after her.

“Long ago, padre,” she said, speaking very
softly for fear of being overheard, ‘when you
first brought Madonna Lucrezia to this house, I
foresaw that you and she would love. Also I fore-
saw that, presently, you and she would fall into
sad trouble. Also I foresaw that, when the trouble
was at its very worst, the Medici would come rid-
ing by, saying: ‘Cannot you trust the Medici to
right a wrong?”

“Heaven!” cried Fra Filippo. ‘‘The woman isTHE ACCUSATION 235

right! What with the Officers of the Night at
Florence, and the magistrates here, and the people
of Prato buzzing round like a swarm of hornets, I
must have grown demented.”

And, without giving Maddalena the chance to
say another word, Fra Filippo drew the cowl over
his head and rushed out of the house.

Possibly it was as well that he did not wait to
hear the end of Maddalena’s vision; since, if she
had ended her wild day-dream, he might have lost
all faith in her suggestion. For the most that he
hoped for was that the proposto might manage to
have Lucrezia removed to some distant convent
where her sin would be unknown.

So, without more to-do, he sought out the new
Proposto of Prato, Messer Carlo de’ Medici, who
had just returned from Rome.tad

Rg a pe ae

——

 

tle hi ee ee

od

CHAPTER Xcxiit
MESSER CARLO DE’ MEDICI
I

ARLO DE’ MEDICTI, Protonotary Apostolic
C; and Proposto of Prato, was a very scholarly

and distinguished personage. A natural son
of Cosimo de’ Medici, by a youthful indiscretion
with a lovely Greek slave for whom Cosimo had
conceived a wild passion, he had inherited his fa-
ther’s suave and courteous manner together with his
mother’s physical beauty; and, beyond this, Cosimo,
anxious to atone for his sin, had acknowledged him
as his son and had caused him to be educated by
the most learned and pious scholars of the time.
Attached to the papal court as the registrar of the
pontifical acts, he spent most of his time in Rome,
attending to his duties in Prato chiefly through his
vicar, Messer Paolo della Torricella.

On reaching the proposto’s residence, Fra Filippo
was shown into an anteroom where he was kept
waiting for a few minutes while the proposto fin-
ished his dinner. Then the door opened and Carlo
de’ Medici entered the room. Strange to say, the
friar was feeling singularly calm: it was just as
though all his emotions had been burnt up during
his interviews with Fra Diamante and Maddalena,
and he had no emotion left.

‘‘Eminence,” he said, as he knelt on one knee to
236MESSER CARLO DEP MEDICI > 237

kiss the prelate’s ring, “I am Fra Filippo Lippi.”

Carlo de’ Medici raised him to his feet and em-
braced him. ‘Do you think that I have ene sO
scatter-brained that I forget my old friends?” he
asked, smiling. ‘Do you think that I should forget
the gay young artist whom Messer Cosimo locked
in his room so that he might be compelled to finish
his picture for Madonna his wife, and who cut his
sheets into strips and, letting himself down from
the window, went off merry-making?”’

“Eminence,” replied Fra Filippo, calmly, “I have
come to you about a far more serious matter than
the sins of my youth. I have come to consult you
about the scandal with which all Prato is ringing.’

“The sin between yourself and—I forget the
lady’s name?” asked the Medici, watching Fra
Filip »po keenly.

cpeeteen myself and Sister Lucrezia de’ Buti of
the Convent of Santa Margherita,” answered the
friar, with cold desperation.

Sele Lam glad that you have acknowledged
the lady’s name.’

“T have shielded her name as long as I could;
but now it is useless.”

“And may I ask you in confidence whether you
have truly repented and made all the reparation
that is in your power?’

“Yes! And all I have done, blunderer that I am,
has but served to make matters infinitely worse.’

Messer Carlo de’ Medici drew a breath of re-
lief: for the friar’s straightforward acknowledg-
ment made it comparatively easy for him to try
and rectify the stupid blundering.

“Canon Spighi and my vicar, Paolo della Terri-St ike ie ee eek Ade bel ee

 

238 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

cella, are dining with me,” he explained, ‘“‘and,
when you were announced, we were busy discussing
your affairs. Will you join us over a glass of wine
and throw what light you can on the matter? You
will find the canon and my vicar not unfavorable
to you.”

Muttering his gratitude, Fra Filippo followed
the proposto into his dining-room.

II

The dining-room was distinguished by that aus-
tere luxury which marked the best ecclesiastical cir-
cles of that time—that is to say that, although the
walls were adorned with only some religious pic-
tures and a crucifix, and although the chairs were
somewhat hard and uncomfortable, the table-linen
was fine, the wine-glasses clear Venetian glass of
the most graceful shape and the wine itself unex-
ceptionable.

“Great evils demand strong remedies, padre,”
remarked the Medici, as he filled a wine-glass for
Fra Filippo. “And we thought that your case was
sufficiently grave to merit one of the last flasks of
old Falernian, a gift from the papal cellars, which
I had by me. May I tell Canon Spighi and my
vicar what you, just now, have told me in confi-
dence? It will make things clear.”

“Certainly, eminence,” muttered Fra Filippo, sip-
ping his wine from sheer force of habit.

“Gentlemen,” said Carlo de’ Medici, looking at
the others, “Fra Filippo assures me that he has
repented, making the best reparation for the past
that occurred to him; but that everything which heMESSER CARLO DE’ MEDICI 289

has done has miscarried, causing the present scan-
dal. Also, he owns that the lady is the nun of
whom we were speaking.”

“Sister Lucrezia de’ Buti?’ asked Canon Spighi.

“Yes,’? answered Messer Carlo

Then they began to discuss the scandal in all its
bearings, coming to much the same conclusions as
those which Fra Diamante had arrived at, and de-
ciding that (a) the root of the scandal did not lie
in the original fault of Fra Filippo and Lucrezia,
which had been truly repented of and which con-
sequently deserved the pity, rather than the con-
demnation, of all honest men; (b) nor did it lie in
the natural desire of the father to keep in touch
with the mother so that he might keep her informed
of the welfare of the infant, for this was but the
natural impulse of human nature; (c) but it lay in
the mistaken reticence of the couple which kept the
abbess in ignorance of Fra Filippo's share in the
sin, thus allowing her to continue to employ him
as chay slain of the community.

Like Diamante, Canon Spighi summed up: “As
things have gone, the continuance of Fra Filippo in
the office of chaplain of Santa Margherita has
made the people of Prato believe that the abbess
has condoned his sin with one of her nuns, paving
the way for the accusation against Ser Piero, and
making the convent appear to be a very hotbed of

mor al depravity.
“Then what do you advise, canon 2?” asked Messer

Carlo.
“That you should use your influence with Rome
to have Sister Lucrezia tr: ansferred to an Augus-

tinjan convent at one end of Italy, and that Messeri a a Na can ede late eee eee

      
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

240 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Cosimo should use his influence to find work for
Fra Filippo at the other end of Italy.”

But Messer Torricella shook his head. ‘Our
Florentine merchants,” he argued, “‘travel widely,
visiting every city. If you have Sister Lucrezia
sent to a distant city, some one is sure to visit that
same city, carrying the story. In the same way, no
painter who is so famous as Fra Filippo can hope
to hide his light under a bushel.”

“Like the canon,” said Messer Carlo, with admi-
rable tact, “I think that both my father and myself
should use our influence to right this matter. But,
like the vicar, I think that any attempted conceal-
ment of Fra Filippo and Sister Lucrezia in distant
cities would be useless.”

“Could not you find some reasonable excuse which
would absent you for a season from Prato, Fra
Filippo?” asked Canon Spighi, looking at the friar.
“Since every time that men see you walking to and
fro from your workshop, it sets tongues a-wagging.
Whereas, if you were absent for a season with good
excuse, the scandal would fade away through inani-
tion.”

‘‘An excellent idea!”’ chimed in the proposto.

“T had undertaken to value the frescoes which
Bonfigli has just finished for the Signoria of Pe-
rugia,”’ said Fra Filippo, ‘‘fixing the price that is
to be paid to the artist. Fra Angelico, Domenico
Veneziano and I were to make the valuation; but
Angelico and Domenico are dead, and I only alive.
I had thought to cry off on account of the scandal;
but, if you think it wise, excellency, I will start for
Perugia to-morrow.”

‘Then start to-morrow, padre, or to-day if pos-

_—

PY rT TT ee gen ET eo

ae a eetatheMESSER CARLO DE’ MEDICI 241

sible,” said the Medici. ‘‘And, if I have anything
to communicate, I will let you know.” He paused.
“Make your address known to Messer Cosimo’s
agent in Perugia, and tarry in Perugia until you
hear from me. Perchance I may have something
to communicate.”

So, after bidding farewell to the proposto, a fare-
well that was full of gratitude, Fra Filippo went
off to make his preparations for the journey and
the three ecclesiastics were left alone.

III

“After your hint of communications with Fra
Filippo, have you anything to communicate to us,
Messer Carlo?” asked the canon, who was some-
what inquisitive

“T agree with Paolo Torricella,’ replied the
Medici, “that it would be useless to send one of the
guilty parties to a place in the north of Italy, and
the other to the south; for some one would be cer-
tain to carry the story to every town in the country.
Besides, that would not restore the reputation of
the Convent of Santa Margherita.”

“Yes, eminence!” replied Canon Spighi, impa-
tiently.

“But, if I approached the Pope, and, backed up
by my father, Guinn stated the case of Fra Fi-
lippo to his Holiness, then we should get the wisest
and tenderest ruling that is possible on the matter.’

‘His Holiness is certainly most wise and kindly,”
replied the canon; “but what can he advise? He
can only remove Sister Lucrezia to another con-

vent, or keep her here.”TED a a ET

ns

ee

ee eet a Dien gia

Ca

242 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Carlo de’ Medici smiled shrewdly.

“You have a plan, excellence?” asked Torricella.

“If I have aught to suggest, I cannot even whis-
per it to you, my friends,” replied the Medici, “‘be-
fore I have consulted Messer Cosimo. By the way,
do either of you happen to know this Sister Lu-
crezia ?””

Both the others answered in the affirmative.

“What is she like?” he asked.

“She has always struck me as a very good and
modest girl,” replied the canon.

“She is very sweet and charming, with all the
culture of an educated Florentine lady,” replied
the vicar.

‘““A modest and cultured lady ?”? mused the Medici.
“That will strengthen my hand if I should chance
to consult his Holiness. As for Fra Filippo, he is
the same as ever, always warm-hearted—rather too
warm-hearted in this case—always impetuous, al-
ways rash and never by any chance discreet. At
any rate, Almighty God could never say to Fra Fi-
lippo: ‘Quia tepidus es, et nec frigidus, nec calidus,
incipiam te evomere ex ore meo. Also he is a man
of great genius, and that counts for much with
Pope Pius.

“And now, Paolo,” said Messer Carlo, turning
to his vicar, ‘I will look through those papers
which you have got ready for my signature, for I
must get back to Rome as soon as may be.”CHAPTER XXIV
FROM PERUGIA TO PRATO
I

N the fourth of September Fra Filippo had
completed his valuation of Bonfigli’s fres-
coes and had handed the same valuation to

the Signoria of Perugia. A week longer he lin-
gered on and yet another week, the days a weari-
ness of waiting, the nights spent in longing for the
communication which ‘Carlo de’ Medici had vir-
tually promised. He had no rest in the beauty of
the country round him, b: icked by the Apennines,
softened by the olive-groves and punctuated by the
clear-cut cypress. He had no comfort in the noble
buildings, in the lofty walls, in the Gothic carvings
of Pissano, for he was restle >ssly waiting. Then the
cruelty of Perugia got hold o f him, he sense of the
cruelty in her numerous ee revivals which
were like no other revivals that the world has ever
seen, the open cruelty of her numberless rebellions
and fights and bloodsheddings, and the waiti ing be-
came a positive torture; and Ae felt that, even in her
softest moods, the sweetness of Perugia was like
the sweetness of a purring cat, her claws ever ready
to scratch and rend.

aes at last, when he could scarcely bear Pe-

ugia any longer, the Medici’s agent sought him
out. “Fra Filippo, wenhe said stifly, the business
man apparent in his manner, you must sign a re-
243RY eo eee

Tree

  

eee ee ee

a

24.4 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

ceipt for the safe delivery of this letter so that I
may be relieved of my responsibility, for it has been
expressed at a considerable expense from Rome.”

Fra Filippo tore open the letter, glanced at it,
signed the receipt, and the Medici agent left him.

For a moment the letters swam before his eyes;
but, presently, as his eyes recovered their power,
he sat down and read through the communication
slowly, taking in the direction that he must repair
without delay to the Casa Medici in Florence where
full instructions would await him, and drinking in
the assurance that his friends had been working on
his behalf with much success.

“Messer Cosimo, himself [the letter went on], will com-
municate the good news to you, which you will find to be
better than the fondest imagination could have anticipated
[and the letter was signed] by, Carlo de’ Medici, Protono-
tary Apostolic.

Then, without a moment’s delay, Fra Filippo
mounted the lusty mule which he had bought for
the journey and shook the bloody dust of Perugia
from his feet.

II

To Cortona he rode, the weariness of waiting
giving place to the fever of anticipation. At Cor-
tona he had meat and wine. Then onward, with
the intention of reaching Arezzo before the gates
were closed. But—the fever of anticipation giving
way to the weariness of his tired body—he was
forced to rest the night at Castiglione Fiorentino
where he slept the sleep of utter exhaustion.

At daylight he arose, his body one big ache, and,FROM PERUGIA TO PRALO 24.5

as soon as he had drunk a sup of wine and munched
a piece of bread, he set out for Florence. But, ere
the sun had reached its height, all the exciting an-
ticipation which had carried him through the pre-
vious day had vanished, and he became plunged in
the deepest despair. Unfortunately Maddalena
had never finished telling him her day-dream, so
his imagination could not picture the Pope riding
by, dispensing Lucrezia and himself from their
vows and binding them together in the freedom of
most holy matrimony; for his artistic imagination
never ran into the realms of pure fancy and, of
himself, he could never have thought of the idea.
And, gradually, as the day went on and his body
grew more and more weary, he began to picture
awful things—himself banished to the silence of a
Carthusian Monastery and Lucrezia immured as a
Poor Clare, which would certainly have ended the
scandal. Also the forced journey was doing his
rupture no good and it began to cause him consid-
erable agony.

Thus he passed through Arezzo as through a bad
dream, and, by the time he had reached Monte-
varchi, the dream had developed into a perfect
nightmare. But, mercifully, during the next eight
miles which carried him on to Figlione, his mind
and body had both become too numb to suffer. At
Figlione, having spent some twelve hours in the
saddle during the day, he lay the night in a state
that was without thoughts and without feeling.

But, strange to say, the next morning, the pros-
pect of seeing the Medici and of having his fate
and the fate of Lucrezia settled one way or the
other put new life into him, and he reached Flor-246 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

ence at about three hours after noon in a better
state than could reasonably have been expected.

He drew up at the Medici palace and a porter
came out to him. Yes! Messer Cosimo de’ Medici
was expecting him and he would see him at once.
But, first, would not Fra Filippo wash the dust of
travel from his throat whilst his eminence was in-
formed of his arrival?

‘IT will not tarry for wine!” cried the friar. “I
will see him at once!”

Ill

Cosimo de’ Medici entered the room—it was a
small room furnished with perfect simplicity—and,
when Fra Filippo rose to greet him, he embraced
the friar with great affection, bidding the lackey
bring refreshment; for, as he said: “Meat or Mass
hindereth no man’s business.”’

In the year 1461 Cosimo de’ Medici, Pater Pa-
trig, was seventy-two years old and tall and dig-
nified in appearance. He was by far the richest
man in Europe and, at the same time, the most
simple, and his kindness, loyalty and generosity
were beyond dispute.

As the servant left the room to fetch food and
wine, Cosimo again embraced the friar.

“Have you forgotten, Filippo,” he said, “how
you, a young man of twenty-seven, followed me into
my banishment at Padua? If you have forgotten,
I have not!”

Fra Filippo had not forgotten, nor had he for-
gotten the “Coronation of our Lady” which he had
painted for the Church of Saint Anthony during his
stay in Padua.FROM PERUGIA TO PRATO 247

F "You escaped a great risk, eminence,” he said,
by your flight from Florence.”

“At the cost of nearly two thousand florins,” an-
swered the Medici, dryly. “If that fool Bernardo
Guadagui had but realized his chance, I would
gladly have paid ten thousand golden florins to
have escaped from so great a danger.”

The lackey returned with food and wine.

“Now,” said Cosimo, “eat a morsel of food and
drink a glass of wine whilst I tell you what we have
achieved on your behalf.

“The day after you had set out for Perugia,”
he went on, ‘‘Messer Carlo visited me, telling me
the whole story of yourself and Lucrezia de’ Buti.
And he proposed that he should see Pope Pius, lay-
ing the whole matter before him while he made a
suggestion which I most heartily endorsed.”

Cosimo looked at the friar’s plate. “But you are
eating nothing!” he said.

“T am too anxious to eat, eminence,’”’ stammered
Fra Filippo.

“Well,” went on Cosimo, “his Holiness heard
Carlo kindly and was moved to great compassion.
And he said: ‘Both for the sake of Fra Filippo, who
is a man of God-sent talent, and for the sake of
Sister Lucrezia who, as you tell me, is a woman of
modesty and refinement, and most of all for the
sake of my Convent of Santa Margherita, I desire
that this scandal should cease. Therefore I dis-
pense the couple from their religious vows so that
they may be united as man and wife. See that you
draw up the dispensation, Carlo, and bring it to me
for my signature.’

And Cosimo, producing a sheet of parchment,248 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

sealed with the Papal Arms and signed with the
Pope’s signature, handed it to the friar.

Fra Filippo clutched at the parchment as a
drowning man would clutch at a straw. “How—
can—I thank—’’ he stammered, and then as he
thought of Lucrezia his voice failed him.

“Go on with your meal,” said Cosimo, “whilst
I tell you more.”

But Fra Filippo, though he gulped down a glass
of wine, could not eat. The food would have
choked him.

“But it has never happened—can never happen,”
gasped Fra Filippo. ‘‘A friar and a nun—dis-
pensed from their vows! It is impossible!” And
he blinked like an owl.

“But it has happened,” said the Medici, firmly.
“Listen to me! The Pope has dispensed you from
your vows so that you and Lucrezia may be united
as man and wife.”

‘Then we are no longer friar and nun!” cried Fra
Filippo. “And we are free to marry!”

The Medici shrugged his shoulders. “So far as
I can see,” he asserted, ‘‘you are already married—
that is to say as far as the Church can marry you.
Of course, if you and Madonna Lucrezia, one going
one way and the other going the other way, refused
to consummate your marriage, you would not be
married even though the Pope and all the College
of Cardinals took part in the ecclesiastical cere-
mony.”

Fra Filippo, finding the Papal dispensation still
hard to believe, muttered something.

‘“As you know,” explained Cosimo de’ Medici, as
though he were talking to a child, “you and Lu-

il a Laas i AOL ol coe eo lk Ae eteenEe e

—

ReeFROM PERUGIA TO PRATO 249

crezia de’ Buti are the ministers of your own mar-
riage. You and she plight your vows of lifelong
fidelity; the Church witnesses your vows and gives
her blessing; then you lead your bride back to your
own home and complete the marriage. If you were
living in partibus infidelium and could get no priest,
your vows and living together would effect the
sacrament even though there were no priest to
bless you.” He repeated his point. ‘You have re-
ceived the dispensation; his Holiness has given you
his blessing; now you need only to pledge your vows
of fidelity and lead your wife home.”

“But, eminence,” cried Fra Filippo, “we made
vows of life-long fidelity when we first knew that
our baby was expected.”

The Medici wrinkled his forehead. ‘“Then, I sup-
pose,” he said, ‘“‘that you have merely to wrest your
wife from mother abbess and to live together as
man and wife.”

“T will be married by Canon Spighi in the pier
cried Fra Filippo, carried away by his longing to be
married as regularly as possible.

“And you would at once start the people of Prato
talking? Remember that his Holiness desires that
the scandal should cease entirely!”

Fra Filippo looked disappointed, and Cosimo
saw his disappointment.

“But, if you ask some discreet priest,’ he sug-
gested, “‘my son’s vicar, for instance, to come to
your house and to give his blessing on the union,
transforming the nun’s ring into a wedding-ring and
endowing the bride with the gold and silver which
I shall bestow on you for the purpose, there could
be no objection.”

1e j»WORRY

et eee ee ee

I
; —

Eee tae

250 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

‘But how do you know so much of the theology
of the sacrament of matrimony, excellence?” asked
the friar, marveling.

“I have learnt much from Carlo respecting your
case,” answered the Medici, smiling. “I have re-
ceived very full instruction—almost too full in-
struction.” So he had.

‘Now go and rest, my Filippo,” said Cosimo,
‘and to-morrow you shall set out for Prato, where
my son, Carlo, has bidden Paolo della Torricella
to meet you so that he may see you through any
difficulties that might occur.”

“Cannot you trust the Medici to right your
wrongs?’ murmured Fra Filippo, remembering
Maddalena’s vision.

So that night the friar slept in a comfortable bed;
and, early next morning, Messer Filippo Lippi,
dressed in a suit of fine Florentine cloth, carrying
a bag of golden florins which Cosimo had given him
as his marriage present, and armed with the Papal
brief, set out for Prato. The sun was shining and
his weariness was forgotten.CHAP TEE Re SOc
MAN AND WIFE
I

EXT morning, as we have already seen, so

soon as the day had begun to dawn, Fra

Filippo rose, dressed himself in a suit of
good Florentine cloth such as scholars and poets
were accustomed to wear, swallowed a hurried
breakfast of bread, grapes and wine, and allowed
Cosimo de’ Medici’s servant to trim his hair; for,
since he had set out for Perugia, he had allowed his
tonsure to grow, and by now, as soon as it had been
trimmed, his head was that of an ordinary layman.
Then he bade a warm farewell to Cosimo, attached
the gift of a heavy bag of florins to his saddle and
started for Prato.

As he set out, the sun was shining kindly and a
soft breeze was stealing up the Valley of the Arno.
Some boys were playing in the Market-place and,
since they were playing with the prospect of the
morning’s school hanging over their heads, Fra
Filippo felt himself in tune with their games. He
had yet to face the Lady Abbess, Messer Torricella
and all the people of Prato.

But, as he reached the country, the morning mists
were wafted away and his spirits began to rise. The
song of Sigismondo Malatesta came into his head

and he sang :—een A a ee ee

————————
ae

Se tae adaeead

 

252 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“QO beautiful thrushes, that flit and that flutter
‘Through the green branches, singing delightfully,
Voice me the grief that my lips cannot utter.

Fly to her bed at the dawn, and perch lightfully
High on the head of her bedstead, and, singing there
Pierce her hard heart that she act not despitefully.”

But, since his voice this morning was more remark-
able for its strength than for its sweetness, the
little birds, instead of joining with his song or doing
what they were bidden, flew away in terror.

And all the way to Prato Fra Filippo rode slowly
and cautiously; for, on this the day of his life, he
could not have his rupture torturing him. And al-
together, as he approached Prato, he was in a very
collected and resolute state of mind. There was
much to be done before he could claim his bride.

II

Reaching Prato, Fra Filippo stopped at his house
in the Via delle Tre Gore. Fortunately Madda-
lena was out doing her marketing and Piero Bov’-
chiesi answered his call; so, telling him to come over
to the convent and take the mule, the friar also bade
him inform Maddalena of his arrival so that she
might dress Filippino in his best clothes and pre-
pare an ample dinner.

“The autumn vegetables are coming on well,
padre,” said Piero Bov’chiesi.

Fra Filippo knocked at the convent door, firmly
and as one having authority.

The porteress, late prioress, opened the shutter
that closed the grating which was used for inspec-
tion and looked out.MAN AND WIFE 253

“T must see the abbess immediately,” said Fra

Filippo.

“Tt is not allowed!” cried the porteress. “You
must not enter the convent, neither must you hold
any intercourse with mother abbess nor with any of
the nuns.’ And she slammed to the shutter in the

most determined manner.

Fra Filippo was taken aback. He could not
thunder at the door, rousing the neighborhood and

creating fresh scandal.

Then he remembered that

Messer Torricella had been instructed to see him
through all his difficulties, and he rode on to the

proposto’s residence.

Messer Carlo de’ Medici’s vicar was awaiting
him and listened to his rebuff with grim amusement.
“Fra Filippo—or, since I must give you your proper
title, Messer Filippo—I was expecting this,” he
chuckled. ‘‘For, as you know, the nuns of Santa
Margherita had strict instructions to refuse you ad-

mittance.”’

“As Fra Filippo I have lived,” replied the friar;
“as Fra Filippo I have painted; as Fra Filippo I
shall die. The devil fly away with your ‘Messer!’ ”’

“Then, Fra Filippo, I will get my cloak, together
with a letter from the proposto, and accompany you
to the convent. I presume that you have the Papal

brief with you?”

“Yes!’? cried the friar.
I am dying with anxiety |”

“And hurry, man, for

So Fra Filippo and Messer Paolo della Torri-
cella made their way to the Convent of Santa Mar-
gherita, the vicar talking quickly as they went.
Messer Carlo had written a letter to clear away

all difficulties, and Fra Filippo, as soon as he wentabi iat Ad aug a tee Ade Lk ep a

Se pgs ee

254 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

to his house, would find that all was prepared ready
for his home-coming.

III

Again Fra Filippo stood before the convent door;
but, this time, it was the vicar who knocked, and,
as soon as the porteress had opened the shutter of
the grille, it was the vicar who spoke.

“Mother Porteress,” he said, “I have a letter
from the Proposto of Prato, authorizing and in-
structing the abbess to grant Fra Filippo an inter-
view.”

The porteress hurried off to give this message
and, returning, threw open the door and led the way
into the guest-room. In a couple of minutes the
abbess came to them.

Bowing graciously to Messer Paolo and a little
stifly to Fra Filippo, the abbess turned to the por-
teress, who was lingering in the background.

“You may go, dear mother,” she said, and she
looked at the vicar.

‘Mother abbess,” said Paolo della Torricella,
‘be prepared for a shock!’ And he motioned to
Fra Filippo to produce his brief.

The abbess read through the document. Again
she read it, weighing every word.

“But this is incredible!’ she cried. “How do I
know that some ingenious person has not forged
it?’ And she glanced at Fra Filippo suspiciously.

“You know the proposto’s signature,’ answered
his vicar, handing her a letter from Messer Carlo
de’ Medici.

She read it carefully, finding that Messer Carlo,
foreseeing that the Papal brief might be met withMAN AND WIFE 255

some incredulity, had guaranteed that he himself
had engrossed the document and had seen the Pope
sign it.

The abbess sat down quickly, for her world was
falling about her ears and she was feeling a little
faint.

“Mother abbess,” said the vicar, gently, “when
the proposto was last here in Prato, he saw the ter-
rible scandal that was stirring the town, and he saw
the terrible injury that this same scandal was doing
to your convent.”

“Yes,’’? murmured the abbess.

“He also saw that, if Sister Lucrezia were to be
transferred to another convent, the scandal would
be sure to follow her while the harm that it had
done to your convent would remain.”

“That is true,’ murmured the abbess.

“So. as soon as he had reached Rome, Messer
Carlo laid the matter before his Holiness; and his
Holiness, desiring that the scandal should cease,
dispensed Fra Filippo and Sister Lucrezia from
their religious vows, making them man and wife.”

Gradually, as the news was doled out bit by bit
and the abbess took it in, her face brightened. “It
was a very kindly and a very gracious act,” she said.

“Tt was!’ answered Torricella.

“And people will so wonder at this miraculous
dispensation that they will forget to slander our
poor conyent.”’

“They will.”

Then the abbess, full of her new-found happiness,
turned to Fra Filippo. “You too have suffered,”

she said, softly.
And, for the first time since he had reentered256 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

the convent, the friar spoke. “I am very sorry,
mother abbess,” he said. “I am sorry that I did
not tell you of my guilt.”

And, since the abbess could now afford to be gen-
erous, she looked at Fra Filippo kindly, noting his
layman’s dress. ‘‘When will you take Sister Lu-
crezia away from us?” she asked.

“Now,” answered the friar, his throat dry.

“Yes! Tis best done quickly. Besides, if Lu-
crezia will accompany you, she no longer has any
place within our walls.’ And, going to the door,
she bade mother porteress summon Sister Lucrezia
to the guest-room.

Shocked to her soul, the porteress went off to call
Lucrezia.

   

TV:

As Lucrezia entered the guest-room and saw Fra
Filippo and the proposto’s vicar in consultation with
mother abbess, her heart stood still and she grew
very pale; for the isolation of the past four months,
with none but Spinetta standing by her and with
Filippo and her baby beyond recall, had been more
than human endurance could bear, and this seemed
to be the end of all things. But the abbess was
speaking while her lover was smiling at her.

“Lucrezia,”’ said mother abbess, her voice pierc-
ing through the mist which seemed to envelop her,
“Fra Filippo has some wonderful news from Rome.
It will be glad news for you.”

Lucrezia stood still, struggling to understand.

“His Holiness the Pope, having heard of all our
trouble in Prato and anxious that the scandal should
end, has loosed Fra Filippo and you from your re-MAN AND WIFE 257

ligious vows and desires that you should come to-
gether as man and wife.”

“God reward you, dear mother,” murmured Lu-
crezia, uttering the nun’s formula that covers the
reception of a kindness as though she had been an
automaton. But Fra Filippo was speaking, and his
voice shattered the mist to rags.

“Will you come home with me, Lucrezia,” he
cried, holding out his hands, ‘‘as my wife and the
mother of Filippino?”

With an inarticulate cry, the girl came to him as
to a harbor of refuge and safety.

Then, since Lucrezia was sobbing her heart out,
and Fra Filippo was speechless, and the abbess was
incapable of action, Paolo della Torricella took
charge. Telling the abbess that Sister Lucrezia had
suitable clothes at home and bidding her find a
cloak that would cover Lucrezia’s habit and a shawl
that would cover her head, he bundled the couple
out of the convent, across the few steps that sepa-
ated the Convent of Santa Margherita from the
house where Lucrezia’s baby had been born, and
‘ato the room where Maddalena was holding Filip-
pino by the hand.

“My precious!” cried Lucrezia, and for a time
she was lost to all the world except her son.

“Now, Fra Filippo,” said Torricella, taking him
by the arm, “if you do not know what is due to your
marriage guests, I do.” And, leading him into a
room in which a feast had been prepared, he helped
himself and the friar to wine. Of a truth, Messer
Carlo de’ Medici had chosen his vicar wisely, for he
ho was competent to deal with each

’

was a man w
occasion as it arose.258 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

 

V

Whether the vows of mutual fidelity which Fra
Filippo and Lucrezia had made when they were ex-
pecting the advent of their baby would suffice,
seemed doubtful. Messer Cosimo seemed to think
that they were sufficient; but then neither Cosimo
nor Carlo de’ Medici were experts on Canon Law.
Himself, Paolo della Torricella considered that the
original vows of celibacy which Fra Filippo and
Madonna Lucrezia had taken, until these same vows
had been dispensed by his Holiness, would make the
subsequent vows of mutual fidelity ultra vires and
consequently null and void.

But Fra Filippo and Lucrezia were desirous of
renewing their vows of fidelity. Very well, let them
renew their vows of lifelong fidelity to each other
in the presence of himself, Maddalena and Piero
Bov’chiesi, and he would. bless the wedding-ring
and give the Church’s benediction on the couple.

“Besides,” he said, smiling, ‘Fra Filippo must
endow his bride with the gold and silver that Mes-
ser Cosimo has bestowed; for, if Madonna Lucrezia
should once get hold of the money, there would be
no risk of it taking to itself wings and flying away.”

So straight off, before Fra Diamante or any one
else could come into the house, Filippo Lippi and
Lucrezia de’ Buti were made man and wife as
fast as the Church could bind them. Lucrezia was
still wearing her nun’s habit, covered by an ample
cloak, but she had removed her veil and her cropped
hair was now hidden by a lace mantilla. Then, at
Lucrezia’s suggestion, the vicar went, first to the
convent so that he might tell the good news to SisterMAN AND WIFE 259

Spinetta, and then to the Piazza del Mercatale,
where he summoned Fra Diamante to the wedding
feast.

When Messer Torricella returned, he found that
the bride was now attired in one of the gowns which
Cosimo de’ Medici had ordered and which Madda-
lena, basing her measurements on the dresses that
Lucrezia had left behind when she had gone back
to Santa Margherita, had altered to an admirable
fit; while Fra Filippo was clothed in the garb of a
layman. And, although the bride looked almost
too frail and ethereal for an earthly marriage and
the bridegroom seemed much the worse for wear
after his recent journeyings, and although the
couple were consequently very quiet, Messer Torri-
cella and Fra Diamante had sufficient spirits for the
lot of them. Also Sandro Botticelli had drifted in
for his dinner and, being made heartily welcome,
had bestowed his whole boyish admiration on the
person of Lucrezia.

“Master,” he had whispered to Fra Filippo,
“this is the sweet Madonna whom you have painted
and whom I have dreamed of.”

“She is, Sandro,” had whispered back Fra
Filippo.

“And I too shall paint her as the Madonna in my
first masterpiece; for she is more like the Madonna
of my dreams than is any woman that I have ever
seen.”

As for the wedding breakfast: Messer Cosimo
had given carte blanche to Paolo della Torricella,
who had acted as his agent in this matter, and Mes-
ser Paolo had shown sufficient sense to leave the
ordering to Maddalena, so the roast peacock, gor-260 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

geous in its tail-feathers, and the boar’s head which
had its gaping mouth filled with a huge citron, and
the dishes of quails and ortolans, and the perfect
salad grown by Piero Bov’chiesi, to say nothing of
the pastries from the light fingers of Maddalena
and the autumn fruits in great profusion, made a
feast worthy of Lucullus.

VI

The guests had left. Filippino had been put to
bed. Fra Filippo and Lucrezia were alone.

“God has been very kind to us, Filippo,” whis-
pered Lucrezia as she snuggled up to her husband.

“My loved one! My loved one!” murmured
Fra Filippo, crushing her to him.CHAPTER XXVI
REST AFTER STRIFE
I

MAN who is suffering from rupture cannot

ride from Perugia to Florence in less than

three days without paying for it afterwards.
Therefore, during the late autumn of 1461 and the
whole of the following year, Fra Filippo had to
take life very easily.

This does not mean that the friar was lazy, as
those cold-blooded fish the art-biographers would
have it, nor does it mean that he was idle. His
work-shop was in full swing; Fra Diamante, Jacopo
del Sellajo and Sandro Botticelli were fully occu-
pied; and the firm must have produced many of
those commonplace pictures which bring in small
profits and quick returns. But it does mean that,
the master’s mind and body being incapacitated, the
output was of such ordinary bottega type that it had
but little merit and less artistic value.

Again, the five years of Fra Filippo’s sin and re-
ending with the public disgrace of the
Santa Margherita scandal, had produced an entire
loss of self-respect and self-esteem in the friar’s soul,
and he required a long period of rest with the pur-
pose of spiritual recuperation before he would again
be ready to take up the role of creator; for the human
is upset and distracted while mental trouble

201

pentance,

mindPOY TT eT TR a RR ee

=

ry eR

262 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

is brewing and it requires time to recover its bal-
ance when the trouble is over, and whilst it is upset
and whilst it is recovering its balance it is apt to be
thrown out of artistic gear. At any rate, we find
that Fra Filippo was unable to continue the pieve
frescoes, from that time that he abducted Lucrezia
until two years had elapsed since the time that the
Papal dispensation set things right. He had done
one half of the pieve frescoes before his sin had
wrecked his power of creative work; then came the
repentance and the scandal and he needed time to
recover from the effects of these things before he
would be able to resume the work of creator. All
of which is proof conclusive that Fra Filippo was
not the abandoned man that some have made him.
So, during the October and November of 1461
and half through December, he rested in the com-
fort of his home and basked in the sweetness of
Lucrezia’s smiles. Then came a shock.

II

Towards the end of December the Prior of the
Carmine became troubled. Of course he had re-
ceived notice of Fra Filippo’s release from his
authority, and he did, and could do, nothing except
acquiesce. But now stories of Fra Diamante’s
championship of Fra Filippo had come through to
Florence and he must assert himself for the sake of
discipline. So, summoning Fra Diamante to Flor-
ence, he firmly and relentlessly put down his foot,
imprisoning Diamante after the custom of the time
until he should come to his right senses.

Diamante, conscious that he had done nothing
more than play the part of loyal friend, must haveREST AFTER STRIFE

resented such treatment. The prior, imbued with
the spirit of the true religious, must have pointed
out that, by the concealment of Fra Filippo’s sin,
Diamante had participated in that sin, especially
as in his case it was his duty to report the scandal
to his superior. Diamante, who had lived in the
world and away from his order since the time of his
profession, would have attempted argument. The
prior would have pointed out that Fra Diamante
had no right to argue with his superior and that his
duty was that of holy obedience. So Diamante was
imprisoned until he came to his sense of religious
obedience; and since, owing to his temperament,
this was likely to be long delayed, Fra Filippo
worked through Messer Torricella and Canon
Spighi until they brought the matter before the
magistrates of Prato. Anyhow, the magistrates
petitioned the Archbishop of Florence for Fra Dia-
mante’s release from prison; and, on January 22nd,
1462, he was released.

Always inclined to be cross-grained and money-
loving, Fra Diamante came back from the Carmine
in a regular hedgehog of a temper, vowing that he
would have done with the prior, would have done
with the Carmine and would have nothing more to
do with the whole of the Carmelite Order. And,
since he had no hope of a Papal dispensation, and
since a friar can only be transferred from his re-
ligious order to an order that is more strict, he ap-
plied to be transferred to the Camaldolese as an
order which had a strong artistic tradition.

But in all of Diamante’s fuming and fretting—
at his best he was not an easy man to get on with—
Fra Filippo, remembering his assistant’s loyalty and
devotion in the past, displayed the greatest patience

263kinda ite ee

VS ee
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264 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

and tenderness. Nor was Lucrezia forgetful of all
that Diamante had done for her in her trouble.

III

In the spring of 1462 Lucrezia and Fra Filippo
had a serious talk about vocations.

“Tt seems ridiculous, Filippo,”’ said Lucrezia, “‘to
think of Fra Diamante, who, save for saying Mass
at Santa Margherita, is wrapped up in his paintings
and what paintings will bring, as a Camaldese
Monk.”

“Tt is ridiculous, sweet one,” replied Fra Filippo,
who had much time for serious thought of late, “to
think of either Fra Diamante or myself as religious.
As laymen, who went to Mass daily, we might have
been none too bad; but as religious, who ought to
be heart and soul in their religious life, we are ab-
surd.”

“And yet a good religious has time for other
things.”

“Aye! But with a painter, a painter must be
wrapped up heart and soul in his paintings else he
is no good. Therefore, when the painter-priest is
saying his Mass he has distractions, and when he is
saying his Office he is far away in his pictures.”

“Yet, if he were a layman, he would suffer from
distractions in his prayers.”

“Yes! But that would be but a small matter;
for who can escape distractions? With a priest,
however, the case is different since it is a grievous
sin if a priest allows his thoughts to wander while
he is saying his Office.”

“There was Fra Angelico.”

‘Fra Angelico lived in the cloister, and came outREST AFTER STRIFE 265

of the cloister in obedience to paint his pictures. Fra
Diamante and I lived in the world and painted for
our livelihood. One cannot serve God and mam-
mon.”

“That is true,’ murmured Lucrezia, and there
was silence.

“Filippo,” said Lucrezia presently, “I never had
a true vocation to become a nun.”

Fra Filippo sat up and gasped.

“T had no chance of marriage like other girls;
for my brother could not afford more than fifty
florins as my dowry, and that is no dowry for mar-
riage, so he sent me to Santa Margherita as a
boarder. Then gradually I became sick to death
of the tittle-tattle of the boarders’ parlor, and,
since I was a pious girl who loved the nuns dearly,
I desired to be with the nuns. You see, my desire
was to get away from the boarders’ parlor rather
than to give myself to our Lord. With Spinetta it
was quite different.”

“Where can a maiden who has no fitting dowry
find refuge except in a convent?” sighed Fra Fi-
lippo. “She must either become a parlor-boarder
or else a nun.”

“And, if she is an educated maiden, the chatter
of the boarders’ parlor becomes unbearable. It is
gossip and religion, gossip and religion from morn-
ing to night, and not a sensible sort of religious
chatter either. Believe me, Filippo, I grew sick to
death of hearing what Sister So-and-So thought, and
what the chaplain thought, and what the boarders’
relations thought.”

“And what was it like in the novitiate?” asked
the friar.

“The novitiate was a relief, and becoming a nunet

TO ES ec

metas i ee ee

266 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

was freedom. All the same I did not take my vows
through a worthy motive. I had no true vocation.
If I had, I would have borne with mother prioress.”’

“And now, dearest one,” said Fra Filippo, softly,
‘are you happy in your real vocation?”

“Bah! Happy is no word for it. I am in
heaven!”

‘“Eyen with an old cripple of a husband?”

“Shame, Filippo! I will not have you or any one
speak against that poor man! He is the best and
kindest and dearest husband in the whole of Italy!”

Then the conversation drifted into less personal
topics, and Lucrezia told her husband that Mad-
dalena was expecting her second baby.

The friar chuckled. ‘Will it be grown in the
garden or born in bed?” he asked. “No! I have
it: Piero will find the baby in his parsley-bed! It
will be half a human being and half a vegetable.”

But Lucrezia’s thoughts had moved forward.

‘Do you think that I shall soon have a second
baby, Filippo? I should love one dearly.”

“As soon as your husband is stronger, Lucrezia.
He is growing stronger daily.”

And here the friar spoke the truth. What with
the past mental strain and the present physical
strain, he had become incapable for a time of pro-
duction either in the artistic or in the natural realm.

IV

A man of Fra Filippo’s age takes a long time to
recuperate and, during the years 1462 and 1463,
although he became stronger and more active, he
still lacked the initiative to start any great creativeREST AFTER STRIFE 267

work. He was happy, too happy and contented in
his present life to bestir himself; and, what with
Lucrezia’s economy and Cosimo’s generous wedding
present, he was in no immediate need of money.
Besides, during one of these years, Diamante must
have been absent from Prato for the twelve months’
novitiate that is required when a friar becomes a
monk. In fact, so moribund did the firm of Lippi
and Diamante appear that, on the 21st of Novem-
ber, 1463, the Magistrates of Prato met to con-
sider how Fra Filippo could be made to complete
the pieve frescoes. But, during this time, the friar
was not idle, for he was building the foundation of
a magnificent work that should live long after he
was dead.

By the summer of 1463 Filippino was six years
old and Sandro Botticelli was nineteen, and these
two were of the material that any artist might long
to model.

‘Ts not Filippino wonderful?” said Lucrezia to
her husband. ‘In Filippino, my Filippo will have
a second life.”

“With all the skill and knowledge that his father
has,” replied Fra Filippo, “and with but half the
Gea

“But he is so good, and so obedient, and so
clever,” urged the mother. ‘Why, he follows you
in everything.”

“Not in everything,” chuckled the father. “For
example, the lad would never carry a nun away
from her convent, and then get the Holy Father to
make them man and wife.”’

“For shame, Filippo!” cried the mother.
And again the father chuckled.lai a Ciena bag ce ce

BRAM MR ok ee ee es oe oe

—

 

268 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

“You see, beloved,” he explained, “‘if he is to be
truly great, a painter must have something of a
rebellious devil in his composition. Something that
will make him break with the old rules which have
governed painters hitherto, and start his own rules
which shall govern himself. Filippino may become
a second Fra Angelico, but he will never become a
second Masaccio.”

“That may be true,” sighed Lucrezia.

‘Now Sandro may become a great painter, far
greater than I am.”

“Sandro is a dear boy,” said Lucrezia with en-
thusiasm.

“Tf he will only work at his drawing and color.”

‘He is too fond of play, if that is what you mean.
Only this morning I found him standing where the
echo from the pieve would carry his voice to the
wine-shop across the piazza, while himself remained
unseen, and mocking Ser Piero d’Antonio di Ser
Vannozzo.”’

‘What did he call?” asked Fra Filippo, smiling.

’

““Piero di Prato,
Fior di granato!’”

“And what happened then?” asked the friar.

“Ser Piero came running out of the wine-shop
with his face as rosy as a pomegranate. It was like
a miracle play.”

“That is true artist’s work,’ chuckled Fra
Filippo. “There was never yet a painter who did
not delight in a jest of that sort.” Then he grew
serious.

‘What I mean,” he continued, “is that Sandro
will draw in delightful line and with beautiful de-REST AFTER STRIFE 269

sign without troubling to draw from the model. He
will color in beautiful washes of transparent pig-
ment, without troubling to get the true depth of the
shadows and shading which lie on the model.”

“Yet his work is very lovely and very full of
imagination,” said Lucrezia.

“Too lovely and too full of imagination,” re-
plied the friar. ‘For how can one paint a human
body unless one knows the muscles that actuate that
body, even in the fashioning of a smile? And how
can one paint the body unless one knows the true
depth of coloring that lurks even in the tiniest
shadow?”

“Have you ever told him concerning the painting
of a soul?” asked Lucrezia.

“No,” replied Fra Filippo, thoughtfully.

“That it is the soul which fashions even the tiniest
muscle of the body, and bestows all the body’s col-
oring?”

“T had never thought to tell him that,” replied
the friar.

“Then I will tell him,” cried Lucrezia. “For
trying to paint the soul has helped you greatly.”

“Do!” said Fra Filippo. ‘For you know more
about the soul than ever I shall learn.”

For a few minutes Lucrezia worked at the em-
broidery which she was fashioning, sewing with
those fine, even stitches that make the Quattrocento
embroidery a thing of joy. Then she spoke.

“T think that Sandro is finding his model very
dificult,” she said. ‘In fact, he told me that to
draw the girl from the wine-shop whom you have
engaged to pose to him as the Madonna is beyond
his power. ‘For,’ said he, ‘Lisa serving wine has aA SAI DN ae a tee, acces ee a emeaeeee a ee

 

     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 

270 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

merry smile and a changing expression, but Lisa as
the Madonna is ridiculous.’ ”

‘The model is always a difficulty,” groaned Fra
Filippo. ‘That is why I first wanted to draw you
as our Lady.”

“Now, if I tell him about drawing the soul of our
Lady, while he is getting the shading and coloring
from the wine-shop maid,” continued Lucrezia,
‘Sandro can imagine the soul of our Lady in the
drawing. ‘Then, when he comes to the actual pic-
ture, he can forget all about Lisa the wine-shop
girl and, working from the drawing which he has
made, strive to perfect the image of our Lady from
his imagination.”

Fra Filippo thought for a moment. ‘That is an
idea worth trying,” he said. ‘‘For the control and
direction of Sandro’s vivid imagination is too difh-
cult for me.”

‘Then I have your permission to try?”

“T tell you, my loved one,” replied Fra Filippo,
“that you may try what you will. If you can help
me to make the boy toil with his whole heart and
his whole skill instead of playing with his imagina-
tion, you will have achieved a miracle. ‘The worst
of it is that, within him, there is the making of the
greatest artist of his age.”

a

re eee 1 ee nero ree ee

V

Se
eo ep ee

In the winter of 1463 and the spring of 1464 it
seemed as though, his time of rest and recuperation
having been fulfilled, the world was clamoring for
Fra Filippo to come back to it. First the friar re-
ceived a letter from Cosimo de’ Medici telling him
that the Commune of Spoleto, a city in UmbriaREST AFTER STRIFE 271

which had once been united to Tuscany, desired him
to undertake the decoration of its cathedral and
had asked Cosimo to use his influence with Fra
Filippo to that effect. Then the magistrates of
Prato were endeavoring to force the friar to return
to his work on the pieve frescoes. But still Fra
Filippo seemed incapable of making any great and
sustained effort.

It was on April 1st of 1463 that Cosimo de’
Medici died in his villa at Careggi. On April 6th
Messer Paolo delle Torricella, who was now a
close friend of Fra Filippo, came to see the friar
on his return from his workshop.

“TI have some news for you, my friend.” he said.

“Good news or bad news?” asked Fra Filippo,
helping himself and Torricella to wine.

‘““At any rate it is wholesome news,”
vicar dryly.

“Then, if it be wholesome news, it must be bad
news, for I am very well contented with things as
they are now.”’ And Fra Filippo sighed.

“When first the Pope gave you your dispensation,
you were a very weary man and very sick. Now
that you are strong and cheerful it is quite time
that you got back to your work.”

“T have no heart for work,” sighed Fra Filippo.
“T have lost all my power, all my skill, all my am-
bition.”

“Then this news,” said the vicar, “ought to give
you back all your power, all your skill and all your
ambition, Filippo.” He spoke slowly so that his
words might soak in. “This morning the four
probiviri who have charge of the pieve frescoes met
together, and they drafted a letter to Messer Carlo
de’ Medici saying that there was little hope of your

replied theee eee —
par” «et wer ee

TET

 

272 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

ever completing the frescoes in the choir unless you
were forced thereto by the proposto. Messer Carlo
sent me to give you a hint that he cannot ignore
this letter, and that he will be forced to send you an
official warning that you must finish the frescoes by
next August else terrible things will happen to you.”

Fra Filippo groaned.

“And,” went on the vicar, ‘‘SMesser Carlo asked
me to remind you privately of the time when he,
Canon Spighi and myself worked to get you the
dispensation from your vows, and to ask you to
paint the portraits of us three in memory of that
day.”

The friar’s face brightened. ‘‘I had planned, as
my chief fresco,” he said, “‘the funeral of Saint Ste-
phen.”

“Yes,” said the vicar.

“Shall I paint you three as the chief mourners
beside the Saint?”

‘‘Admirable !”’

And they discussed the proposed fresco in all its
points. Finally :—

“Can you finish the frescoes within a reasonable
time?” asked the vicar.

“When I once get going,” answered the friar.
“T have been like a frightened boy beside a river,
afraid to take the plunge. Now you have shoved
me in.”

“And that is exactly what Messer Carlo
thought,” said the vicar. “Now you are started,
can you finish the frescoes within a reasonable
time?”

“Why, certainly!” answered Fra Filippo, cheer-
fully.

)CHAPTER XXVII
THE PAINTER’S MASTERPIECE
I

N the April of 1464 Fra Filippo started the
cartoons of the Life of Saint Stephen—he was
the Patron Saint of Prato—and, as soon as

these were finished, commenced the frescoes them-
selves with more than his old vigor. What these
frescoes were like when they were in their first
freshness we cannot say, for time has treated them
cruelly, partially obliterating two out of the three
huge panels and dimming the lunette which sur-
mounts them. Certainly the composition of the
lunette is magnificent, and Vasari, who saw the
panels when they were still fresh, tells us that the
two which have since suffered most were the two
that were the finest and most expressive. Also
Baldanzi, who saw the frescoes immediately after
they had been restored by Professor Marini a hun-
dred years ago, maintains that if Fra Filippo had
painted these pictures in Florence or Rome, instead
of in a small provincial town, their fame would
have outshone that of Masaccio’s frescoes in the
Carmine.

But we can still see for ourselves the third
panel—the funeral of Saint Stephen—and for se-
vere dignity of treatment, for reserve, for perfection
of composition and for general artistic merit, this

273Tear er a ree

——
a a

a ac a a sc ale Lamhe aeceemaeneaeeeed

 

274. THE JOYOUS FRIAR

panel has never been equaled in the history of
fresco work. It was painted by a poor cripple of
a man who had just been through a perfect purga-
tory of humiliation, and, what was more, it was
painted in the days when art was young and there-
fore was entirely without precedent. Moreover, in
all of these four frescoes of 1464-65, there is not a
single portrait of Lucrezia which, considering the
nature and extent of the recent scandal, shows ad-
mirable good taste on the part of Fra Filippo.
When he came to the Spoleto frescoes, where the
scene of the scandal was far away, he could not keep
his beloved model out of his pictures.

As to Lucrezia, her husband’s self-restraint, fol-
lowing on the Papal dispensation, seemed to have
influenced the better in Prato in her favor, and the
Bovacchiesi, the Lottieri and the Ciardi of Villa
Tabule opened their doors to her.

“Are you going to ask Fra Filippo’s wife to our
house, my dear?” asked Messer Lottieri, much
shocked. ‘‘Consider what people have been saying
about her!”

“Do you wish me to resist the Pope’s dispensa-
tion, my dear?” replied his wife. ‘‘Surely that is
not the conduct of a good Christian! Besides I
met the girl last week at the Casa Bovacchiesi, and
she is so refined and modest. Madonna Bovacchiest
was delighted with her.”

In the Villa Tabule, Messer Giovanni Ciardi also
was talking to his wife. ‘That boy of Madonna
Lucrezia is a fine, manly little fellow,” he remarked.
“He will make a good companion for our son.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Madonna Ciardi; ‘‘for he
is clever, well behaved and courteous. I wish thatTHE PAINTER’S MASTERPIECE 275

Lucrezia had a daughter whom our little Ciardi
might some day marry.”

Messer Giovanni sank his voice to a whisper.
“Fra Filippo hinted to me that—’ And he
shrugged his shoulders expressively.

“That is indeed news,” replied madonna. “I
hope that the new baby will be a girl.”

“Especially as the friar must be making much
money and able to set aside an ample dowry.”

Thus do parents count the chickens before they
are hatched. Strange to say, in this case, the
chicken turned out as fondly hoped for, and young
Ciardi di Giovanni Ciardi eventually married Ales-
sandra Lippi.

At the house in the Via delle Tre Gore, Lucrezia
and Fra Filippo chatted together. Lucrezia was
reading a letter. ‘‘Filippo,” said she, looking up,
‘I have been invited to the Casa Sensi so that I may
meet Spinetta and Sister Piera, and you are in-
vited too.”

“That is delightful,” cried Fra Filippo. ‘For I
dearly love Spinetta.”

II

Through the summer and autumn, assisted by Fra
Diamante, Fra Filippo had been working like one
possessed. He had already completed the lunette
of the Birth of Saint Stephen; he had finished the
panel containing Episodes from the Life of Saint
Stephen—here, I think, he had portrayed Carlo de’
Medici as the bishop who was ordaining the young
deacon, with Messers Spighi and Torricella as his
assistants—and he had achieved a masterly exhibi-Gis cS ME ta cea BORE Seas deacaage ads eeesaaaemte eee

276 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

tion of human fury in the panel of the Stoning of
the Protomartyr. Now he was about to commence
the final panel of the Funeral of Saint Stephen.

Already painters had come over from Florence
to view the frescoes and were loud in their praises.
The paintings were equal to those of Masaccio.
The paintings were superior to those of Masaccio.
‘The spirit of Masaccio had entered the body of
Fra Filippo.” But it remained for Messer Leon
Battista Alberti to put the final touch to the criti-
cisms that were flying round.

During a fleeting visit to Prato he had been din-
ing with Fra Filippo and Lucrezia and, thanks to
the skill of Maddalena, the dinner had been ad-
mirable.

“Filippo,” he said, as he munched some early
chestnuts that Maddalena had preserved in candied
honey, ‘men are saying that you are equaling or
surpassing the work of Masaccio.”

‘That is true, Messer Leon Battista,” broke in
Lucrezia. ‘No one has ever toiled so hard or
labored with such spirit as has my husband.”

“It is possible to labor with too much spirit, ma-
donna,” replied Alberti, smiling.

‘Then you would have him restrain his ardor
and curb his genius?”’ cried Lucrezia, indignant.

Alberti replied with a leading question. “How
many emotions would you say are expressed in hu-
man action?”

‘Dante says,” she answered, ‘“‘that ‘Six passions
are proper to the human Soul, namely, Grace, Zeal,
Mercy, Envy, Love, and Shame; and with which-
ever of these the Soul is impassioned, there comes
into the window of the Eyes the semblance of it,THE PAINTER’S MASTERPIECE 277

unless it be repressed within and shut from view by
great power of will.’ I should add the passion of
Anger; but Dante would ascribe anger to a choleric
disposition.”

“There are also the emotions expressed in grace-
ful motion and dignified restraint.”

“That is true,” acknowledged Lucrezia.

“Now, in his frescoes, your husband has ex-
pressed all the emotions that you have named most
adequately. He has also expressed the perfection
of graceful motion in the Dancing of Salome.
There remains only—?”

“Dignified restraint!’ cried Fra Filippo. ‘Ma-
saccio’s paintings were calm and full of dignity,
whereas I am restless and full of action.”

Lucrezia helped herself to chestnuts and ate in
silence; Fra Filippo helped himself to wine and
listened eagerly. For, although an artist is very
impatient of gratuitous, outside criticisms, he is
very appreciative of the criticisms of a real expert.

“Suppose you could fill in that last panel, Filippo,
with a picture that was full of the spirit of quiet
dignity,” suggested Alberti, ‘then the shade of
Masaccio would have to look to his laurels.”

“I had planned a display of overwhelming grief
at the funeral of the Saint,’ answered the friar;
‘but now, after what you have said, I must recon-
sider the question.”

‘You tell me that you had planned to paint Carlo
de’ Medici in this fresco,” argued the critic. “I
cannot see Carlo de’ Medici writhing in a paroxysm
of grief.”

‘‘And that shall be the secret of this panel,” cried
the painter. “I shall paint real, living persons, asFT EY Ua rr a RTT Ye

adieiss Gneceediie
——

278 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

 

they bore themselves at the funeral of Messer
Geminiano Inghirami. They were not’—he made
a distasteful face—“writhing in paroxysms of grief
then.”’

“And you propose to make each figure a por-
trait?’ asked Alberti, struck with the simplicity of
the method by which Fra Filippo proposed to over-
come his tendency towards emotionalism.

“Yes.” answered the friar; ‘‘for I remember how
greatly the funeral of Messer Geminiano impressed
me. Every one was calm, every one was dignified;
only the women mourning beside the bier wept, be-
cause they were paid to do so. And yet every one
loved the old proposto.”

“The Christians round the bier of Saint Stephen
would have been calm and triumphant,” suggested
Lucrezia, “because they knew that the martyr had
entered into the joy of his Lord.”

“And, when I come to think of it, dear one,” said
Fra Filippo, looking at her lovingly, “that was the
exact reason why none wept at the funeral of the
old proposto. For he was old and feeble and suf-
fering when he died, and he longed for death
greatly.”

“But you have already, so you tell me, drawn the
cartoon for this panel,’ objected Alberti who, al-
though he could weep freely at the pathos of his
own mental imagery, had but little patience with the
emotionalism of others. ‘Surely you do not pro-
pose to draw the cartoon afresh?”

“That is as simple as shelling chestnuts,” laughed
Fra Filippo. ‘I have the cartoon drawn to the
same scale as the picture, showing the Saint flanked
on either side by a line of weeping figures. I shallTHE PAINTER’S MASTERPIECE 279

merely substitute portraits of living persons, drawn
to the same scale, for the weeping figures. It will
be very interesting and’—he paused—“very ef-
fective.”

“Besides, Filippo,” said Lucrezia, “‘you delight
in painting the portraits of your friends.”

The friar shrugged his shoulders expressively.
“It is so much simpler than drawing from the
model, since you have no model to get away from.”

He glanced slyly at Lucrezia. ‘Besides,’ he ar-
gued, “Saint Peter was a prelate, and Messer Carlo
de’ Medici is a prelate, and I desire to draw a
prelate officiating at the funeral; if I draw the soul
of Messer Carlo I am drawing the soul of a pre-
late, which is much the same as drawing the soul
of Saint Peter.”

“Oh, you sophist!’’ mocked Lucrezia.

“Filippo seems to be laughing at some one,” re-
marked Alberti, dryly.

3ut Fra Filippo was too busy making a small
sketch of the proposed fresco to notice what Al-
berti was saying.

Within a classical basilica, drawn with great
beauty of design and skill of perspective, lay the
body of Saint Stephen. Beside the draped bier, as
at the funeral of Messer Geminiano, crouched two
professional mourning women, and a row of kneel-
ing men were mourning at the feet of the body; but
these were quite inconspicuous. Then, standing at
the head of the Martyred Saint, were a group of
the most dignified and noticeable officiating clergy,
evidently persons of importance; and, standing at
the foot of the Saint, were a second group of clergy
who were only a degree less dignified and note-————
rps at ieee eae ona

ere

 

 

oe

280 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

worthy. The richly vested clergy on the right and
left of the picture, all except one, were kept in due
subordination by the drawing and arrangement; and
the one arresting priest, standing a little in advance
of the rest and catching the eye on account of his
simple, flowing vesture, carried the attention right
down to the body of the Saint.

‘Who is the officiating priest?” asked Alberti.

“Rither Saint Peter or Carlo de’ Medici, take it
as you will,’ answered the friar.

“And who is the distinguished priest standing
immediately behind the head of Saint Stephen?”

“A quite unworthy man, one Fra Filippo Lippi,
who is the painter of the picture.”’

“The priest standing at the foot of the Saint is
more like you than the other.”

“Ah! That is Fra Filippo as he may appear to
men of mean intellect such as the Little Lion. The
figure at the head is Fra Filippo as he may appear to
those of true discernment such as Madonna Lu-
Chezias:

“Then you have two personalities, my friend?”
laughed Alberti.

“Every one has two personalities,” replied Fra
Filippo: “the personality which he shows to those
who scoff at him, and the personality which he
shows to those who love him; for those who scoff
at him see him in one way, and those who love him
in the other way.”

“But you have made the figure at the head to look
quite young!”

“To those who love me I am still young and
comely, because the artist never grows old. ToTHE PAINTER’S MASTERPIECE 281

those who scoff at my work, I am an old man that
is past his work.”’

‘Then the figure at the head, Filippo, must be
your living image,” said Alberti, drawing close to
the friar so that he might embrace him. But Lu-
crezia was already there, her arm tight round her
husband.

“Well,” said Alberti, clearing his throat, “if you
can render this drawing in fresco, it will be the
crowning masterpiece of the painter for all genera-
tions.”

“My Filippo is still young,” said Lucrezia, softly,
‘and he will do even greater things than this.”

But Fra Filippo kept silence, his heart too full for
words; for he knew that, although this painting, if
he could carry it to perfection, was the finest thing
that had ever been done, there yet remained paint-
ings on the spiritual side which might be infinitely
higher.eS

CHAPTER XXVIII

”

“PRATER FILIPPUS. OP.

I

HERE were two great masterpieces that
Fra Filippo achieved during the winter of

1464 and the spring of 1465, each of which
was marked with his signature, the Funeral of
Saint Stephen and Alessandra Lippi. The former
work of art lives on the walls of the Duomo at
Prato; the latter on the pictures which Botticelli
painted in Florence. In the former the friar was
assisted by the unskilful hands of Fra Diamante; in
the latter by the supremely skilful person of Lu-
crezia. In the former Fra Diamante was respon-
sible for the mourning women at the head and foot
of the Saint’s body; in the latter Fra Filippo and
Lucrezia were co-workers and co-creators in the
adorable girl who figures as the Venus of Botticelli
and the Madonna di San Barnaba.

As to the Funeral of Saint Stephen, the fresco has
the qualities of perfect decoration and intense dig-
nity, qualities which are essential to a work of dec-
orative religious art; and, although one cannot say
that the picture is markedly devotional, yet the good
Catholic does not want devotional art on the walls
of his church any more than he wants devotional
wallpaper on the walls of his bedroom or the mis-

sionary wants “moral pocket-handkerchiefs” in the
282“PRATER FILIPPUS: OB

hands of his converts. What is desirable in reli-
gious decorative art is the combination of rest and
dignity rather than emotionalism, and it is this com-
bination that makes the work of Perugino so sat-
isfying. When one finds the qualities of rest and
dignity combined with the spirit of true devotion,
as in the paintings of Fra Angelico and of Fra
Filippo in his Spoleto frescoes, it is then, and then
only, that religious decoration reaches absolute
Beeson:

Fra Filippo signed the Funeral of Saint Stephen,

Frater F aaa Op., which, since the brush of Fra
Filip po is visible in every figure except those of the
mourning women, was entirely unnecessary. The
signature of the graceful and modest Lucrezia is
written all over the Birth of Venus and the Ma-
donna di San B: arnaba which Botticelli painted; t the
signature of Fra Filippo is clearly written in the
mouth and eyes of both the Venus and Madonna.
We have no other record of this delightful maiden
except that Filippino’s will, in which he leaves her
the house in which she was born in the Via delle
Tre Gore, describes her as the wife of Ciardi Jo-
hannis Ciardi de villa Tabule. But a comparison of
the face of Botticelli’s Venus with the portraits of
Fra Filippo, Lucrezia and Filippino leaves no doubt
that Rear Botticelli painted his namesake,
Alessandra, in the Birth of Venus and the aforesaid
Madonna, Sandro being about the age of forty-two
and Sandra twenty-one.*

 

283

* See the author’s Romance of Sandro Botticelli (Dodd, Mead &

Co.), 1912.STs a Nk eee ek de tn ee

 

284 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

II

As soon as Messer Leon Battista Alberti had
left, Fra Filippo went over to his workshop and
examined the sheets of the cartoon which he had
prepared, finding to his great relief that his artistic
instinct had kept the dignity of the mourners and
that his impulsive mind had greatly exaggerated
their display of emotion. Considering that he had
always intended to paint the officiating clergy from
direct portraits of Carlo de’ Medici and his friends
Spighi and Torricella, there would be but little to
alter in the figures at the head of the bier; and the
figures at the foot would need no great change.
Then he set to work on the elaboration of details.

The figure at the back, standing between Messer
Spighi and the proposto, had been but roughly
drawn in. Now he resolved to portray the holy old
priest who had heard the confessions of himself and
Lucrezia. Next he examined the ecclesiastic in
flowing white robes, standing behind the head of
the Martyr, and was strengthened in his half-jest-
ing threat that the figure should represent himself
as seen by those who loved him.

“This shall be I, as I desire to be,’ he murmured,
“Young with the eternal youth of art, and fired with
the purpose of begetting what is worthy of my art.”

Lastly he turned to the figure at the foot of the
Saint and, reaching down the mirror which he used
for the reversal of his portraits, examined himself
attentively. The mirror was not a good one and the
reflection was most unattractive, and as the friar
looked at his reflection he murmured :—

‘This is I, as Tommaso Lippi the butcher begat-FRATER FPILIPRUS) ORF 285

me and as I am by nature, the baseborn sinner that
has loved women unworthily and broken the com-
mandments of God.” He addressed himself.
‘Miserable wretch that you are,’ he murmured,
“unworthy panderer to your flesh and the parent
of many unworthy pictures, see yourself as the mir-
ror of truth reveals you!”

So he went home, determined to paint himself at
the foot of the Martyred Saint exactly as he was
by his fallen human nature, and also to paint him-
self at the head of the Saint as he hoped to be, by
the mercy of the Papal dispensation, by the influ-
ence of Lucrezia, and most of all by the overwhelm-
ing grace of God. And he was very loving to Lu-
crezia and very tender with Filippino.

II

Next day, Fra Filippo started on the portrait of
Canon Niccolao Spighi, who was delighted with
his work, followed by the portraits of Messer Carlo
de’ Medici and Messer Paolo della Torricella.
And, as these portraits were gradually transferred
to the wall of the pieve, crowds thronged to inspect
them, discuss them and criticize them. Then the
portrait of Fra Filippo as he desired to be was
painted and finished in two successive days.

“Who is it?” asked one.

‘It is So-and-So,” answered another.

“Body of Bacchus,” cried the first, ‘‘the friar is
an excellent portrait-painter, and this is no more
like the man you name than the olive-tree is like
the oak.”

And thus the contention waxed furious, only Lu-A ad eee ee ta

ae TE ee et ek

TR

———

 

286 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

crezia realizing that this was the portrait of the
soul of Fra Filippo as he earnestly desired to be.
Lucrezia kept her secret, and the rest knew nothing
about the painting of a soul. But the fact that the
friar had painted the figure at the foot of the bier
from his own portrait as seen in a mirror became
the topic of common gossip. Many years after,
Vasari heard the rumor and put it down in his His-
tory of the Painters.

The pieve frescoes were finished. The evening
shadows had begun to lengthen when Lucrezia’s
baby was born. The father had been in agony dur-
ing the confinement, and now he rested his head for
a moment beside Lucrezia’s.

“Beloved! Beloved!” he whispered. “I was
frightened that God was going to take you and
leave me alone. I should have died—”

“Eh!? whispered Maddalena, fiercely. ‘“‘You
ought to know enough not to excite her like that.
Get you gone, Fra Filippo! Get you gone!”

The baby was called Alessandra after Sandro
Botticelli, her godfather.

IY

During the next year, Fra Diamante, now a
Camaldolese, was appointed chaplain of the Con-
vent of Santa Margherita, and Fra Filippo painted
two panels for the Fathers of San Domenico. One
of these panels has been lost; but the other, a panel
of the Nativity, is in the Municipal Museum at
Prato. It shows a delightful Lucrezia as the Ma-
donna, and Fra Diamante as San Vincenzo Ferreri.
Early in 1467 Botticelli left Fra Filippo in order“FRATER FILIPPUS. ©P:” 287

to complete his artistic training in the workshop of
the Pollaiuoli in Florence. And, in the late spring
of the same year, Fra Filippo packed up his traps
and started, with Lucrezia and her children, Dia-
mante and Jacopo, for Spoleto; for he had to com-
mence the decoration of the cathedral without delay.

“Maddalena will keep our house ready for our
return,” said Lucrezia as she and her husband dis-
cussed their movements.

“Then you want to return to Prato, my loved
one?” asked Fra Filippo, smiling.

“Yes!” answered Lucrezia, firmly. ‘For it is our
home and people have been kind to us.”

So they started for Spoleto and, since Vasari does
not tell us that they met with robbers or pirates by
the way, to be released on Fra Filippo painting the
robber chief’s portrait, we must assume that they
reached their destination without adventure.CHAPTER XXIX
OUR LADY OF TEARS
I

N the road which leads from Trevi to Spo-
() leto, with the ancient Teutonic citadel of

Spoleto standing out upon a spur of Mon-
teluco above it, there stands a house. It is an an-
cient house with solid walls and, upon the outer wall
that faces the road, the owner, one Diotallevio
d’Antonio, in an access of piety, had painted a pic-
ture of our Lady holding the Divine Child. This
was a crude enough painting; but, nevertheless, it
was inspired by an ardent piety that was entirely dis-
interested. “If our dear Lady will move those
that pass by to sorrow for their sins, and if she will
take pity on their troubles, I shall not have labored
in vain,’ prayed Diotallevio d’Antonio.

Fra Diamante rode by, accompanied by Jacopo,
hot to reach his journey’s end. Then came Lu-
crezia carrying Alessandra and, a hundred yards
behind her, for his rupture was worrying him on this
last stage from Foligno, rode Fra Filippo with
Filippino.

Lucrezia was all for pressing on to Spoleto; but
Fra Filippo in his physical pain cast his eye on the
painted Madonna, praying for pity. The painting
was crude enough but, since the secret of true de-
votion lies in the eyes of him who looks rather than

in the intrinsic value of the painted image, the friar
288OUR LADY OF TEARS 289

thought that he had never seen a face which was
more full of the beauty of compassion.

Then—this may have been due to his own intense
weariness or it may have been due to the slanting
light of the setting sun or to some other natural or
supernatural cause—it seemed to Fra Filippo that
tears welled up in our Lady’s eyes and ran down
her cheeks.

For a moment he sat, spell-bound; then, calling to
Lucrezia, he scrambled off his mule and knelt down.
Lucrezia rode back, saw the same effect of tears,
and knelt down beside her husband; and the owner
of the house, who had heard Fra Filippo calling and
had come out, looked at the painting and, seeing
what appeared to be falling tears, knelt beside Fra
Filippo and Lucrezia. Finally Diotallevio, re-
membering that his first duty to travelers and pil-
grims was that of hospitality, brought out food and
wine and begged them to partake.

It was a delightfully scriptural scene which could
only have happened in a country where faith ran
strong, and was very edifying. Unfortunately they
all accepted the miracle without any attempt to
verify it. In fact they accepted it in the same spirit
as that in which the people of Prato had accepted
the legend of the Holy Girdle.

“At first I thought,” said Fra Filippo, as he and
Lucrezia rode onward, “that our Lady was weep-
ing with pity at my pain.”’

“Is your pain bad, beloved one?” asked Lucrezia,
anxiously.

“°*Tis better now,” answered the friar, smiling.
‘Well, as I said, at first I thought that our Lady
was weeping at my pain; but, as I looked at herBl ia a

 

  

    

290 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

eyes, I knew that she was weeping with sorrow at
the sin which once we had wrought at Prato.”

“But that has been long forgiven, Filippo,” said
Lucrezia.

“Yet our Lady’s compassion for us sinners still
remains,” answered Fra Filippo, and they let it go
at that.

Thus, refreshed by the miracle, Fra Filippo rode
into Spoleto full of the task that had been set him,
and determined to adorn the Cathedral of Spoleto
with the History of our Lady most worthily.

II

For several months Fra Filippo wrestled with the
initial dificulty of arranging his composition on a
sanctuary which ended in the half-cupola of an apse.
How perfectly and completely he solved the diff-
culty his frescoes, in spite of the damp and ill-skilled
restoration, bear witness.

In an ethereal heaven, thronged with lovely an-
gels and dignified saints, is the throne of the
Almighty Father. Before Him kneels our Lady,
wonderful and mystical, and God is in the act of
placing a crown upon her head. The angelic host are
not here flying like Dante’s ‘‘swarm of bees’’; but,
surrounding the Throne of God with their celestial
throng, they strew mystical flowers before the
Mother of our Lord.

The decoration of the half-cupola was a terrific
task for an injured man and the act of reaching up-
ward to paint above his head tried him sorely; but,
each evening when he had finished work, he would
ride with Lucrezia to the house on the road to TreviOUR LADY OF TEARS 291

so that he might watch the setting sun shining upon
the painting of our Lady of Tears.

Sometimes Lucrezia would talk with him, some-
times she would read aloud to him from J] Para-
diso. When she neared the end of the Divine
Comedy, she came to a passage which referred to
3eatrice :-—

“Tf all her beauty that my skill hath shown

Could be included in a single phrase,
E’en then the perfect truth would not be known.

Not only doth the fairness which I praise
Surpass all other; but I do maintain

That God alone beholds her without ’maze.
For, as the sun’s great glory makes sight vain,

So doth the memory of her radiant smile
Confuse and puzzle any earthly brain.”

‘And that was what used to trouble me when I
painted you as the Madonna, Lucrezia,” said Fra
Filippo. ‘For each picture of you that I painted
was quite unlike all the other pictures of you that
I had painted, and no single picture of you was like
you really are nor one half so lovely in spirit.”

She flushed happily and, turning back for a few
pages in the book, read :—

“<“And if or Art or Nature had laid snare
To catch the eye and so possess the thought,
In either human flesh or portrait fair,
Or if both joined together, ’twould be nought
Compared with that delight which shone on me
When, turning, her sweet smile at last I caught.’ ’

’

“Ts that what you mean, Filippo?” she asked.
“Tt is what I am now trying to paint in the Coro-
nation of our Lady,” he answered, humbly.292 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

And such is the Madonna that Fra Filippo must
have tried to paint on the apse of Spoleto Cathe-
dral, to be restored and painted out of all recogni-
tion by the hand of the abominable restorer.

Then, when Fra Filippo had painted the whole
of the left side of the composition, including the
Eternal Father and our kneeling Lady, the tragedy
happened.

The friar had started his morning’s work in the
best of spirits, full of plans to finish the angels on
the right hand side of the picture even more worth-
ily than he had painted those on the left, and he
was stretching up to put the finishing touches to
our Lady’s face, when he felt a stabbing pain in-
side him that was even worse than the pain he had
felt at the time of his torture.

They helped him down from the scaffolding and
they helped him home and they fetched a surgeon;
but, with all the surgeon’s indifferent skill and with
all Lucrezia’s devoted nursing, Fra Filippo could
never mount the scaffolding to complete his vision
of heaven.

“And that was the reason why Santa Maria delle
Lagrime wept when I first passed her,” sighed Fra
Filippo. ‘‘For she knew that I would never be able
to complete the Court of Heaven of which she was
to reign as Queen.”

III

During the summer of 1468, Fra Filippo used to
limp over to the Duomo so that he might watch
and direct Diamante in his work on the apse; and,
thanks to his direction and Diamante’s best efforts,
the fresco was finished none too badly. But, alas,OUR LADY OF TEARS 293

for the gulf that separated the work of the great
master from that of his assistant, the figures on the
left hand of the apse from those on the right!

And, yet, Fra Diamante was not able to kill the
magnificent conception which the soul of Fra Filippo
had conceived, and the supreme work still looks
down from the apse of Spoleto Cathedral as the
greatest and most spiritual vision of Paradise which
mortal mind has begat and mortal hand material-
ized.

More than a hundred years later, and before the
restorer had done his worst, Vasari saw this fresco
in its still glowing colors. He had come from Rome
with the work of Michelangelo and the glories of
the Vatican still fresh in his mind; but, when he
saw Fra Filippo’s Coronation of our Lady, he
cried: “What a beautiful thing! Truly the friar
was a great man!”

By the autumn of 1468 Fra Filippo, by leaving
most of the work to Fra Diamante, was able to
paint a little of the three frescoes which adorn the
sanctuary walls. He left the whole of the Nativity
to his assistant, who painted the ox and ass su-
perbly; but he certainly painted the simple and
most graceful Gabriel in the Annunciation and pre-
pared the cartoon of the whole, and his hand is
apparent in the Death of our Lady in the central
compartment of the fresco. For, in the Death of
our Lady, the dignified position of our Lady’s body,
without any pomp and without any halo, and the
dignified restraint of the Apostles’ grief, reminds us
strongly of the Funeral of Saint Stephen at Prato.

On October 9th, 1469, when he was engaged on
his last fresco of the Death of our Lady, FraOE re

——
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ae
AAA oh ee ee eed ak ae

294 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Filippo felt a fierce stabbing pain and, before they
could fetch Lucrezia, he died. Truly, as Vasari
says, he was a great man, great in his sin, great in
his repentance and supremely great in his art.
They clothed him in his Carmelite habit and
buried him in a tomb of red and white marble close
to the Duomo door. In the list of the dead for
1469, which was kept in the Carmine, we read:
“On the ninth of October, F. Filippus Thome
Lippi de Lippis, of Florence, the most famous
painter, died at Spoleto where he was painting the
chief chapel of the Cathedral Church, and there was
buried with the greatest honour in a marble tomb
beside the central door of the church. So rare was
his grace in painting, that scarcely any other painter
came near him in our time: how great a painter he
was, the chapel of Prato and many other marvellous

works bear witness. MECCECEXVIMLCHAPTER XXX
IN MEMORY OF FRA FILIPPO
I

BOUT two years after Fra Filippo’s death,
Lorenzo the Magnificent, Cosimo de’ Med-
ici’s grandson and now the virtual ruler of

Florence, was journeying to Rome in order to con-
gratulate Pope Sixtus the Fourth on his accession
to the Papal Chair. He might have traveled by
Pisa and the sea as he did when he visited Naples
some ten years later, he might have traveled by the
direct overland route through Sienna, Aquapendente
and Viterbo; but, instead of taking either of these
ways, he went through Perugia and Spoleto, for he
had decided to go to Spoleto so that he might ask
leave to remove the remains of the friar for their
reinterment in the Cathedral Church of Florence.

‘The Spoletians replied,” says Vasari, ‘‘that they
were poorly provided with ornaments, and they
could boast of but few excellent men; they conse-
quently begged permission as a favor to retain the
remains of Fra Filippo, that they might honor
themselves therewith, adding, that since the Flor-
entines possessed so many great men as almost to
have a superfluity, they might be content without
this one.”

But, although he had failed in his original pur-
pose, the memory of the Medici was long and his
determination to do honor to “the rarest master of
205296 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

our times’? was fixed; so, as soon as Filippino Lippi
had reached the full power of his talent and was
about to set out for Rome, Lorenzo sent for him
and bade him design and make arrangements for
the erection of a monument that would be worthy
of his father’s memory.

‘What nature of a monument do you desire,
magnificence ?”? asked Filippino.

“A marble wall-vault which may contain your
father’s remains, inscribed with a fitting elegy from
the pen of Poliziano,” replied Lorenzo, who had
very determined ideas of what was fitting in art,
‘surmounted by a portrait bas-relief of Fra Filippo
in his friar’s habit which should be flanked by the
lilies of Florence. Bring the design to me, and
spare no expense.”

“But, alas, magnificence,” replied Filippino, “I
was but twelve when my father died and cannot
remember his features clearly.”

“Then go to Sandro Botticelli and ask him to
help you,” said Lorenzo. ‘He was well over
twenty before he left your father and must have
many drawings of him. Besides I have already
spoken of the matter to Sandro.”

So first Filippino went to Politian and demanded
the eulogium. And after many grumbles at the
calls on his Muse—‘‘One teases me for catches and
drinking-songs,” he grumbled, “another for a grave
discourse, a third for a serenade, and now Lorenzo
demands an eulogium on Fra Filippo. Of a truth,
there is hardly a wall I have not besmeared, like a
snail, with the effusions of my brain.” Neverthe-
less, he promised to send the elegy as soon as he
could compose it. Then Filippino went to hisIN MEMORY OF FRA FILIPPO 297

friend who had first taught him his art, Sandro
Botticelli.

Sandro set wine on the table in his studio and,
bidding Filippino help himself, went over to a chest
and began to rummage.

“Long ago,” he explained, “when Lorenzo first
proposed to erect a memorial to Fra Filippo, I put
together some drawings.” He dug deeper amongst
his papers. ‘Ah, here they are!” he exclaimed.
And he brought out a portfolio and laid it on the
table.

“Here is my dear master drinking a glass of
Chianti,” he remarked, handing a drawing to Filip-
pino. “Here he is playing with ‘Sandra.’”’ He
handed him another drawing. ‘Here he is in a
temper; here he is talking to your mother; here he
is working at the Funeral of Saint Stephen; and
here he is as he must have been in his last days.
The other drawings were made from life; but this
last one was made from the other sketches and
from memory. I drew it when Madonna Lucrezia
wrote to me that he was dead and that they had
buried him in his habit; but, since I could not bear
to think of him as dead, I drew him, in his friar’s
dress, living.”

“It is a veritable masterpiece!” cried Filippino.

“Very well,” replied Sandro, “if you will design
the monument, I will make a full-sized drawing of
Fra Filippo ready for the sculptors to work from.”

So Filippino set himself to draw a most worthy
monument in the simplest manner; Sandro, who was
now at the very height of his art, drew the living
likeness of his much-loved master, enclosing the bust
within a classical scallop-shell drawn from the veryWR per cere rere.

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298 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

shell which he was using for the Birth of Venus;
and Politian sent in an eulogium couched in his per-
fect Latin. But, since Politian’s elegy was done
rather to please Lorenzo than out of love for the
memory of Fra Filippo, the elegy was the least
worthy of the three contributions.

II

The evening sun was low over Prato, and Lu-
crezia, Sandro and Filippino were gathered in the
house where she and Fra Filippo had lived in the
Via delle Tre Gore.

“So this is your father’s monument, Filippino ?”’
said Lucrezia, unfolding the drawing of the tomb,
while she tried to keep the tears from coming into
her eyes and into her voice.

“Yes, little mother,” replied Filippino as he put
his arm round her.

“Ah! This is very simple and very dignified and
very beautiful. It is just what he would have loved.
But the portrait that is to fill this space?” And she
looked anxiously at the second drawing.

Sandro Botticelli unrolled the drawing, laying it
flat on the table.

Lucrezia gave a gasp, and could not trust herself
to speak; for the portrait had caught the very like-
ness of her husband, with all his ready wit, and
charm, and genius, and ever-living youth, as she
had always thought of him, and he seemed to be
there before her eyes.

Presently she controlled herself.

“Sandro,” she said, “you have made my Filippo
what he was, brave and clever and generous andIN MEMORY OF FRA FILIPPO 299

every bit a man. And,” she sank her voice, “you
have made him more than this: you have made him
good. No one who looks at this could doubt his
goodness.”’

Sandro cleared his throat, but could say nothing.

“He sinned terribly,” she went on, speaking in
the same low voice, “—he and I—more terribly
than any one who is not a religious can realize; but
he repented with his whole heart, and cleansed his
heart with his whole strength, and he painted out
his heart in his last vision of heaven; and every one
who sees your portrait will—must—see this. Now
leave me for a little, my dear ones.”

Filippino and Sandro went quietly out of the
room; but, as he went, Sandro laid a smaller copy
of the portrait upon the table for Lucrezia to
cherish.HISTORICAL BASIS
OF
“THE JOYOUS FRIAR”

I

r | \HE function of the biographical novel is to
reconstruct the life of a certain character
so that he may live and move amidst the

environment in which he did live and move. There-
fore a real biographical novel must be founded on
an accurate knowledge of the time and place in
which the character lived, and of the people who
lived at that time in that place.

Prato in the time of Fra Filippo, although it was
in the diocese of Pistoja, was in the archdiocese of
Florence, but ten miles from the City of Lilies, and
the influence of Florence was overwhelming. And
the Florence of the days of Fra Filippo was entirely
different from the Florence at the beginning of the
century, entirely different from the Florence under
the influence of Savonarola and entirely different
from the Florence at the beginning of the next cen-
tury; much more was it different from the Milan,
Venice or Rome of the same period. In fact, Flor-
ence in the days of Cosimo and Lorenzo de’ Medici
was Florence at its greatest and best.

Amongst contemporary historians, Guicciardini
asserts that the government of Florence was the

wisest and happiest that the city ever had; Bisticci
300uckmann Berlin Galler

THE NATIVITY

Formerly in the Chapel of the Medici PalaceSai cd ie abn Aaaeee!

E
}
7
;

i tte
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adds that the city was full of excellent citizens: and
Varchi tells us that “their mode of life is simple
and frugal, but incredibly clean and neat,” and that
“the artisans and handicraftsmen live even better

than the citizens themselves.’

The neighboring

town of Prato was even quieter and more carefully
governed, the propostos during Fra Filippo’s time
being men of singularly wise and prudent lives and
the magistrates all that could be desired. So, when
I describe the horror of the inhabitants at the ab-
duction of a nun by a friar, I am not in the least

overstating the case.

Then, again, we must take into consideration the

é A aan
great influence of Cosimo and Lorenzo de’ Medici
on the life in Florence and its neighborhood and
on the lives of their contemporaries. For Cosimo
was justly called “The Father of his Country,” and
Lorenzo was, contrary to the present popular ideas,
one of the best, wisest and most unselfish rulers that

the world has ever seen.

Then, once again, before we go further, we must
touch on the two leading biographers of Fra Fi-
lippo. Vasari, in his Lives of the Most Excellent
Painters, Sculptors and Architects, gives the first
detailed account of Fra Filippo upon which all the
subsequent lives are founded; Mr. Strutt has written
the fullest and most recent biography. As an artist
Vasari was a poor painter but a most excellent
critic; as a biographer he was so profoundly unre-
liable about those painters who lived outside his
own period that we cannot believe a single word he
says without supporting evidence. On the other
hand, Mr. Strutt is not conspicuous for his artistic

knowledge, whilst he is so swayed by Vasari’s esti-oe

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302 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

mate of the moral character of the persons about
whom he writes that he cannot speak of Fra An-
gelico without bubbling over with praise, nor of Fra
Filippo without attributing the worst imaginable
motives to all his actions. When he is not damning
Fia Filippo with faint praise or damning him alto-
gether, he is praising him with faint damns.

II

The novel opens with the ‘‘abduction’’ of Sister
Lucrezia de’ Buti by Fra Filippo, and at once we
find ourselves in a puzzle; for, in the May of 1456,
we find that five out of eight nuns of Santa Mar-
gherita left their convent and, except Lucrezia and
Spinetta de’ Buti, all trace of them vanishes until
they return to their convent in the winter of 1458.
Mr. Strutt, who has a nose like a ferret for pos-
sible conventual vice, suggests that Fra Filippo ab-
ducted the whole five of them and, basing his con-
jecture on the mistakes in the anonymous accusation
of 1461, makes the unpleasant suggestion that Fra
Filippo had immoral relations with Spinetta as well
as with Lucrezia. Those, on the other hand, who
know something about the lax enforcement of enclo-
sure before the Council of Trent, suggest that three
of the rebellious nuns simply left the convent and
went to their own homes and that Lucrezia and
Spinetta, who had no homes available, found refuge
in the empty house which Fra Filippo had on his
hands in the Via delle Tre Gore. That there was
no immoral relation between Fra Filippo and Spi-
netta is absolutely certain, otherwise Canon Law
would have prevented the Pope from allowing FraTHE

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Filippo and Lucrezia to contract marriage in 1461.
A man cannot marry the sister of his mistress.

Basing my presumption on the fact that Filippino
was not born until Lucrezia had left the convent
sixteen months, I am justified in my assumption that
the unwise friendship between her and Fra Filippo
began innocently, and that their relation did not be-
come guilty until nine or ten months before the baby
was born. Basing my presumption on the fact that
Lucrezia did not have a second baby until she was
properly married and also that she returned to her
convent as soon as the baby was old enough to be
left, I am justified in my assumption that Lucrezia
repented of her sin after Filippino was born. And
now we are met with another problem which is not
so easy to solve.

There is no result without a cause, and what was
the probable cause of the five nuns breaking enclo-
sure?

That the five nuns were abducted by Fra Filippo,
as Mr. Strutt suggests? No! For that would be
a case of five nuns abducting one friar, and that
must be ruled outside the bounds of probability.

That the five nuns were forced to leave the con-
vent in order to escape the tyranny of a cruel ab-
bess? No! For the abbess was having the Ma-
donna della Cintola painted as the thanksgiving for
a happy and prosperous rule.

That, in 1456, the Lady Abbess, who died in
the same year, had become too ill to perform her
duties and that a deputy, who enforced her author-
ity by nagging and petty tyranny, had taken her
place? That is nearer the mark! For, after the
most careful enquiries about communities of women,ah NE bi

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304 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

whether lay or religious, I find that nothing can
raise the spirit of discontent and rebellion so quickly
and surely as the girding and interference of a weak
superior who is a disciplinarian at heart and who is
anxious to enforce her authority. As long as a
strong superior is in active command, a weak and
conscientious second-in-command may be fairly sat-
isfactory; but, when a weak second-in-command has
to assume authority, her weakness and the con-
sciousness of her weakness become fatal.

Having decided this point, who was the tempo-
rary superior? It could not have been Sisters Piera
di Vanni Sensi, Simona di Michele Lottieri, Brigida
d’Antonio Peruzzi, Lucrezia or Spinetta de’ Buti;
neither, since the recreant nuns returned as soon as
she had been made abbess, could it have been Sister
Jacopa de’ Bovacchiesi, nor of course could it have
been the Abbess Bartolommea. ‘Therefore it must
have been the seventh nun whose name is not re-
corded, and I have made this nun the mother
prioress and have suffered her to remain anony-
mous.

Ill

After his ‘‘abduction” of Lucrezia, Fra Filippo
continued to be in good repute with the ecclesiastical
authorities until his sin was denounced by the anony-
mous accusation, and then he was treated with exem-
plary severity. How could this have been? The
undoubted answer is that the gossip of Prato could
have known nothing about the ‘‘abduction”’ until the
accusation was lodged, and, in order to show how
this might have happened, I have created the ro-
mantic Maddalena and her husband. They are per-HISTORICAL BASIS 305

fectly possible characters and in perfect keeping
with the age, and the situation is the most probable
that I can imagine.

The explanation of the reason why Fra Filippo
continued to act as chaplain to Santa Margherita
after Lucrezia had returned to the convent goes
without argument. If the bishop and the abbess
had known about Fra Filippo’s conduct with Lu-
crezia, and had allowed him to continue in his office,
their conduct is not only foolish but incredibly fool-
ish. But, if Fra Filippo, conscious of the purity of
his intention and desirous of avoiding a complete
separation from Lucrezia, had kept his share in the
matter dark and had continued in his post, his be-
havior is nothing more than the stupid behavior of
an impetuous man who has let his heart run away
with his head. The conduct of Lucrezia, anxious
to keep in touch with her baby, is equally under-
standable.

Maddalena, her husband and the prioress are the
only fictitious characters that I have introduced into
the novel, and the historical characters are true to
what we know of their lives. I have given the
author of the anonymous accusation the name of
Antonio di Matteo and called his wife Maria; but
then he must have had a name and most probably
a wife.

The legend of the miraculous painting of Santa
Maria delle Lagrime, our Lady of Tears, is au-
thentic, and a chapel was built on the site in 1485
in which Mass was said daily. That Fra Filippo
saw this assumed miracle is, of course, fictitious.306 THE JOYOUS FRIAR
IV

And now we come to the most important point
of the whole, that of Fra Filippo’s acceptance of
the Papal dispensation and of the entire reform of
his life.

Unlike the ordinary photographer who photo-
graphs only the outward appearance of his subject,
the artist paints from the subconscious a persistent
idea of his subject which lies deep down in his mind
and tinges all his work. Even though he may paint
his figures from the living model, the painted image
of these figures conforms to the idea of the subject
which he has pictured in his mind. That is why, in
spite of his overwhelming talent, the religious pic-
tures of the easy, pleasure-loving, amorous Raphael
are so unsatisfying; and that is why, in spite of his
inferior talent, the religious pictures of the saintly
Fra Angelico are so satisfying. For an artist can-
not paint more than is in his mind, and, if he has
not true piety, he cannot express it.

I do not say that a weak and second-rate artist
cannot spur his imagination into spurious piety, but
a strong man, and Fra Filippo was essentially a
strong man, cannot paint a religious picture that
will carry any conviction unless he be deeply and
interiorly religious.

So, when Mr. Strutt and like critics, basing their
opinion on Vasari’s Lives, which is so largely inac-
curate and fictitious, suggest that Fra Filippo re-
fused to avail himself of the Pope’s dispensation
because he desired ‘“‘to retain the power of living
after his own fashion and of indulging his love of
pleasure as might seem good to him,” and, so, con-HERODIAS

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tinuing to live in sin, died impenitent, they show
themselves entirely ignorant of the elementary laws
of psychology.

Well, a man who is neither hot nor cold is no
earthly good in religious art or anything else; but
a man who has rebelled against God and is after-
wards reconciled becomes his most loyal and de-
voted servant, and this is the whole of the secret
of Fra Filippo’s religious art and, consequently, of
his life.

He began his career as a religious man and
painted pictures with interior conviction though
with inferior art, instance the Nativity which is
now in the Berlin Gallery (see page 300), and
other pictures of this period. He went out into
the gay world of Florence, became irreligious and
possibly immoral, and painted pictures like the Sant’
Ambrogio Coronation (see page 301), which are
full of technical skill and artistic beauty but entirely
devoid of religious feeling. ‘Then, after attempts
at a better life, during which he painted the Pitti
Madonna (see page 304), and the opening Prato
frescoes, and part of the Madonna della Cintola
(see page 308), he fell into his sin with Lucrezia
and could accomplish nothing that is higher than
the Madonna which is now in the Uffizi Gallery
(see page 309). Finally he accepted the mercy of
God in the right spirit, painted the Funeral of Saint
Stephen (see page 312) and ended with the Spoleto
Coronation (see page 313). The heavenly vision
of the Spoleto Coronation is quite as spiritual and
quite as devotional as any painting that Fra An-
gelico ever painted, while it shows a far higher type
of artistic skill.308 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

Lastly let us turn to the records to“, , our
contention. From the time when he left the Car-
mine and went into the world—that is to say, dur-
ing his Florentine period—he broke God’s laws,
was in continual war with the ecclesiastical authori-
ties and in perpetual lawsuits over financial matters.
But, from the time of the Papal dispensation, we
do not find a single record of ecclesiastical censure
or of monetary troubles or of anything that fails
to cast the highest credit on Fra Filippo’s character.

V

Of the reputed portraits of Fra Filippo, there is
but one that is undoubtedly authentic—that of his
monument at Spoleto. For this monument was or-
dered and approved by Lorenzo de’ Medici, who
knew him well, and was designed by his son, Fi-
lippino.

But who drew the actual bust-portrait for this
monument? It could scarcely have been Filippino,
who was only just twelve when his father died; be-
sides the portrait is too masterly and virile to be a
memory-portrait from the hands of Filippino whose
‘heads have a gentle and sweet air.” * On the
other hand it might well have been drawn by Bot-
ticelli, who worked under Fra Filippo until he was
twenty-three years of age and who must have made
many drawings of his master. In 1487 Botticelli
was in the very height of his power, in close friend-
ship with I] Magnifico and in closer friendship with
Filippino, and he must have taken an intense in-
terest in the monument. Besides “‘his figures have
a manly air and are admirable in conception and
* See footnote on p. 309.VUunicipal Pala
THE MADONNA DELLA CINTOLA

Formerly in the Convent of Santa Margheritatae

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proportion,” * as in the Spoleto monument. So I
have made Filippino design the monument and
Sandro Botticelli draw the portrait, which was
probably what happened.

In an article which appeared in the Month of
June, 1911, Mr. Montgomery Carmichael has
proved beyond the possibility of contention that the
reputed portrait of the friar in the Sant’ Ambrogio
Coronation is in reality the portrait of the Very
Reverend Francesco Maringhi, Canon of San Lo-
renzo, who paid for the altarpiece and endowed the
altar. This mistake in identity occurred through
the canon having been labeled by Fra Filippo with
a scroll bearing the words, Is PERFECIT OPUS
—"This is the man who caused the work to be
done’’—and art critics having regarded the inscrip-
tion as though it were, IS FECIT OPUS—“This
man did the work”—jumped at the idea that this
fat old secular priest, who was at least thirty years
older than Fra Filippo was at the time, was intended
for the friar. Any Latin scholar would have ex-
plained the difference between perfecit and fecit,
and the mistake is inexcusable. The original frame,
bearing the inscription, 4b hujus ecclesie prior
Francesco Maringhi an. MCCCCXLI facta, et a
monialibus ornata fuit an. MDLXXXV was placed
in the sacristy by a later prior and was seen by
Mgr. Bottari, who has recorded the fact.

Consequently, thinking that the kindly, common-
place face of the old canon was that of the “‘licen-
tious friar,”’ the art critics have said frightful things

*Both the foregoing quotations are taken from a letter which the

Florentine envoy wrote to Ludovico, Duke of Milan, in which
letter he compares the work of Botticelli with that of Filippino.ii Rath eet ee ae

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Mie Cesk ee oe

OTS re

—_

310 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

about it, labeling it ‘coarse and vulgar . . . be-
speaking a passionate, pleasure-loving tempera-
ment.” (Mr. Strutt.) “His portrait shows us a
flat-nosed individual with a jesting, but vicious-look-
ing, thick-lipped, sensual face.” (M. Gilett, Cath-
olic Encyclopedia.) Which is rather hard on Canon
Maringhi, who is described as a man of the “high-
est integrity and piety,” and who has, in reality, a
kindly, conscientious, though perhaps fussy, expres-
sion.

Mr. Carmichael goes on to speak of the Spoleto
bust :—‘‘What a fascinating face it is! And how
totally different a type from the supposed portrait
in the Sant’ Ambrogio Coronation. Mr. Strutt is
justly astonished to think what he calls the ‘coarse-
featured, decidedly obese, most unsentimental per-
sonage’ in the Coronation should have been able,
some fifteen years after the picture was painted, to
fascinate completely a young and beautiful pro-
fessed nun, and cause her to be unfaithful to her
solemn obligations. But looking at the Spoleto bust
we see at once that we are in the presence of a man
with whom youth was perennial, whose ready wit,
and charm, and genius would fascinate anybody at
any age. And I would also read into that open,
ardent, radiant countenance, that if the lowest
depths were often touched, the greatest heights
were more dearly loved, that remorse and repent-
ance were by no means unknown, and that he had
experienced more than once the change of heart
and life which would go so naturally with the ex-
quisite purity of his Madonnas and the lofty spirit-
uality of his angels and of his saints.”

Mr. Carmichael also says: ‘‘Had I been temptedU fizi Galle
THE MADONNA AND CHILD WITH TWO ANGELS
Painted for Giovanni de’ Medicii
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to see Fra Filippo in the Sant’ Ambrogio altarpiece,
it would have been in that handsome Carmelite
Saint in the upper row on the Gospel side.” I
agree with him, for the Carmelite in the Corona-
tion is a younger version of the Carmelite of the
Spoleto monument.

VI

Since Catholics in America and England will turn
naturally to “LIPPI, Filippo” in the generally ex-
cellent volumes of the Catholic Encyclopedia and,
since they might be expected to regard its contents
as authoritative, it is necessary to warn them that
the article on Fra Filippo Lippi from the pen of
M. Louis Gilett is remarkably full of errors. In
fact I have never met with an article that contains
so many mistakes and misstatements.

To start with, M. Gilett gives as an illustration
of the friar’s paintings an Annunciation that was
painted by Filippino Lippi at least twenty years
after his father’s death and that is, consequently,
in another period of the Renaissance. Then he
goes on to elaborate with a hostile pen a perfect
tissue of inaccuracies and innuendos. For instance,
he writes:

“At length, despite his evil reputation, Lippi succeeded
in having himself appointed chaplain to a convent of Augus-
tinians. Here his misbehaviour was no less flagrant than
elsewhere. It is significant and shows plainly what were
the ideas of the Renaissance that Lippi was not punished
for his bad conduct. Glory of genius then constituted a
soil of privilege and a warrant of impunity. Talent placed
its possessor beyond and above the moral law. Not only
did Cosimo de’ Medici make merry over what he called312 THE JOYOUS FRIAR

the ‘folly of the frater’ (Letter of J. de Medici, 27 May,
1458), but Pope Pius II thought he could do no better
than to release him from his vows and permit him to marry.
A son, Filippino Lippi, had already been born to him. He
afterwards had a daughter (1458). In the midst of these
intrigues and disorders Filippo continued to paint his greatest
works,”

The first sentence, which shows the author’s
animus against Fra Filippo, suggesting that he
plotted and planned to secure his appointment, has
absolutely no confirmation from fact: all we can
say is that Lippi was appointed chaplain. Does not
M. Gilett call the suspension of a chaplain from his
post and the order which forbade him to enter the
convent door (1461) punishment? And what fur-
ther punishment can he suggest? In Fra Filippo’s
time talent did not “place” a painter ‘‘beyond and
above the moral law,” and he has no right to make
such a statement. Giovanni de’ Medici’s letter to
Bartolommeo Scala has nothing on earth to do
with the venerable Cosimo de’ Medici, nor is there
any reason to suppose that Giovanni's “et cosi
dello errore di Fra Filippo naviamo riso un pezzo”’
refers to the friar’s “abduction” of Lucrezia. Pope
Pius II did not grant the dispensation to Fra Fi-
lippo because of his talent, but because he desired
that the scandal should cease—it was the only way
toendit. Fra Filippo did not continue to “paint his
greatest works’? during the intrigue; in fact he
dropped the Prato frescoes from the time he “‘ab-
ducted” Lucrezia until more than two years after
the dispensation had been granted. But I have
said enough to show that M. Gilett is a most un-
reliable historian. My excuse for treating him aty Alinari

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such length is that an article in the Catholic Ency-
clopedia is apt to carry undue weight.

VII

Except that she continued to live on Fra Filippo’s
property, we know but little of Lucrezia after her
husband’s death. She married Alessandra to
“Ciardi Johannis Ciardi de villa Tabule’; and
Filippino’s will, dated 1504 and expressing tender
affection for his mother, left her amply provided
for, so she must have been living when the will was
made.

Filippino Lippi and Sandro Botticelli reflected
great credit on the artistic training of their master
in their paintings, and on the influence of both Fra
Filippo and Lucrezia in their stainless lives. Dia-
mante was living in 1498, quarreling with, and
being imprisoned by, his religious superiors.

Although the granting of the Papal dispensation
has never been questioned, there are two sets of
documents which are required to establish beyond
dispute my version of the lives of Fra Filippo and
Lucrezia. There must have been some written
brief, dispensing Fra Filippo from his religious
vows and permitting him to marry Lucrezia. This
should be sought for among the archives in Flor-
ence, Prato or Pistoja, or it may be found among
the personal papers of some descendant of Lippi.
The Italians, even the very poor, are most careful
of family documents. Again, Botticelli certainly
had a most extraordinary love for Dante. If it can
be proved that Lucrezia’s father, Francesco de’
Buti of Florence, who was born in 1372 and diedi RAMANA dg oe ne

a

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314. THE JOYOUS FRIAR

in 1450, was nearly related to Francesco de’ Buti
the commentator, who was lecturing at Pisa Acad-
emy in 1384, then Sandro’s early love of the poet,
derived through Lucrezia, will be explained.

VIII

The Pitti Madonna is undoubtedly the first por-
trait of Lucrezia that Fra Filippo painted. The
Ufhzi Madonna is a portrait of the same girl, but
here Lucrezia’s face is saddened and worn by the
consciousness of her sin with the friar. In the
Madonna della Cintola, Fra Filippo did not finish
the picture and the figure of our Lady of the Gir-
dle was painted by Fra Diamante; but the figure of
Saint Margaret, which was painted by Fra Filippo,
was certainly painted from the same model that
posed for the Pitti and Uffizi Madonnas. This
Saint Margaret has a very tender and beautiful
personality, which was repeated in some of the Ma-
donnas by Filippino (instance in the Vision of Saint
Bernard) and also by Botticelli, so Lucrezia de’
Buti has her own distinctive place in the religious
art of the Quattrocento.

As an Augustinian Canoness, Sister Lucrezia
must have been exceptionally lovely. Picture a tall,
graceful girl, clothed in a white serge habit with a
narrow-sleeved, fine-linen rochet coming down to
her knees. Her face was surrounded by a white
linen whimple and binder, and her head covered by
a black veil. In winter she would have worn a full,
black mantle as part of her choir dress. From old
Italian prints, the dress is exactly the same as that:

aaa

The Duomo, Spoleto

CORONATION OF THE VIRGINa eee

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LeeHISTORICAL BASIS 315

worn by the Canoness Regular of the Lateran at
the present day.

IX

Since terza rima is absolutely essential to the
swing and flow of Dante’s poetry, to the general
sense of movement and to the carrying on of his
arguments, I have endeavored to render the quota-
tions from The Divine Comedy into this measure.
But I sadly acknowledge in the words of Dante:
“that nothing which is harmonized by the bond of
the Muse can be translated from its own language
into another, without breaking all its sweetness and

harmony.” II] Convito, I, VIII.

THE END|
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