EPILOGUE
And now many years have passed, and the noble gentleman, FilippoBrandolini is the poor monk Giuliano; the gorgeous clothes, velvets andsatins, have given way to the brown sackcloth of the Seraphic Father;and instead of golden belts my waist is girt with a hempen cord. And inme, what changes have taken place! The brown hair, which women kissed,is a little circlet in sign of the Redeemer's crown, and it is as whiteas snow. My eyes are dim and sunken, my cheeks are hollow, and the skinof my youth is ashy and wrinkled; the white teeth of my mouth have gone,but my toothless gums suffice for the monkish fare; and I am old andbent and weak.
* * * * *
One day in the spring I came to the terrace which overlooks the plain,and as I sat down to warm myself in the sunshine, gazing at the broadcountry which now I knew so well, and the distant hills, the wish cameto me to write the history of my life.
And now that, too, is done. I have nothing more to tell except thatfrom the day when I arrived, weary of soul, to the cool shade of the firtrees, I have never gone into the world again. I gave my lands andpalaces to my brother in the hope that he would make better use of hislife than I, and to him I gave the charge of seeing that heirs weregiven to the ancient name. I knew I had failed in everything. My lifehad gone wrong, I know not why; and I had not the courage to adventurefurther. I withdrew from the battle in my unfitness, and let the worldpass on and forget my poor existence.
* * * * *
Checco lived on, scheming and intriguing, wearing away his life inattempts to regain his fatherland, and always he was disappointed,always his hopes frustrated, till at last he despaired. And after sixyears, worn out with his fruitless efforts, mourning the greatness hehad lost, and pining for the country he loved so well, he died of abroken heart, an exile.
Matteo went back to his arms and the reckless life of the soldier offortune, and was killed bravely fighting against the foreign invader,and died, knowing that his efforts, too, had been in vain, and that thesweet land of Italy lay fallen and enslaved.
And I do not know whether they had not the better lot; for they are atpeace, while I--I pursue my lonely pilgrimage through life, and the goalis ever far off. Now it cannot be much longer, my strength is failing,and soon I shall have the peace I wished for. Oh God, I do not ask Youfor crowns of gold and heavenly raiment, I do not aspire to the blisswhich is the portion of the saint, but give me rest. When the greatRelease comes, give me rest; let me sleep the long sleep withoutawakening, so that at last I may forget and be at peace. O God, give merest!
Often, as I trudged along the roads barefooted to gather food and alms,have I wished to lay myself in the ditch by the wayside and die.Sometimes I have heard the beating of the wings of the Angel of Death;but he has taken the strong and the happy, and left me to wander on.
The good man told me I should receive happiness; I have not evenreceived forgetfulness. I go along the roads thinking of my life and thelove that ruined me. Ah! how weak I am; but, forgive me, I cannot helpmyself! Sometimes when I have been able to do good I have felt a strangedelight, I have felt the blessed joy of charity. And I love my people,the poor folk of the country round. They come to me in their troubles,and when I can help them I share their pleasure. But that is all I have.Ah! mine has been a useless life, I have wasted it; and if of late Ihave done a little good to my fellowmen, alas! how little!
I bear my soul in patience, but sometimes I cannot help rising upagainst fate, and crying out that it is hard that all this should happento me. Why? What had I done that I should be denied the little happinessof this world? Why should I be more unhappy than others? But then Ichide myself, and ask whether I have indeed been less happy. Are theyany of them happy? Or are those right who say that the world is misery,and that the only happiness is to die? Who knows?
Ah, Giulia, how I loved thee!
O Ciechi, il tanto affaticar che giova? Tutti tornate alla gran madre antica, E'l nome vostro appena si ritrova.
. . . . . . . .
Blind that ye are! How doth this struggle profit you? Return ye must to the great Antique Mother, And even your name scarcely remains.
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The following typographical errors were corrected by the etexttranscriber:
somone=>someone
get's over those things so=>get's over those things so
off on the proferred arm=>off on the proffered arm
the inns and outs of the Palace=>the ins and outs of the Palace
The door off the Countess's apartments was opened=>The door of theCountess's apartments was opened
where was the enthuiasm we had expected=>where was the enthusiasm we hadexpected
We stood looking up at her with open mouths, dumbfoundered>=We stoodlooking up at her with open mouths, dumbfounded
The castellan had turned his=>The Castellan had turned his
They shank back and he went his way.=>They shrank back and he went hisway.
fidgetting with the lappet of his cloak.=>fidgeting with the lappet ofhis cloak.
might have done differenly.=>might have done differently.
leave me me in peace.=>leave me in peace.
He vowed never to touch her again, and every time be broke the vow.=>Hevowed never to touch her again, and every time he broke the vow.
the horse's owner.=>the house's owner.
The Making of a Saint Page 43