As the monk stood thoughtful, and did not reply, the man continued, making studied pauses between one word and another:
"Besides, as the dying man is immensely rich, and a great merchant, nor having, that I know, any children, or relatives, except very distant ones, I thought he might leave large sums of money to be expended in pious works, alms, funerals, and so forth...."
The friar, however, had not paid any attention to the final argument of this man: but suddenly, as if recollecting himself, said:
"We can die but once after all; and the best death is certainly that which we meet in the service of God. This life of suspicion seems a continual death. Good man, you in the simplicity of your heart gave advice like the most learned of the Fathers of the Church. God gave equal remuneration to the workmen who came early, as to the others who came towards evening to his vineyard. Charity does not look at the watch; and the brightest hour for her is that in which she is able to bring more aid to the poor afflicted people. Charity done in the dark of night is that which is more clear to the eye of God. The house of the Lord is never empty: knock, and it shall be opened to you: the fountain of heavenly mercy never fails: ask, and it shall be given you to drink;—the blood of our Redeemer pours an everlasting ablution for repentant and humble souls.—Indeed, the times are full of danger, and invisible hands strike at the ministers of the gospel. Religion is now groaning over the blood of the martyrs, which is drenching the earth without bearing fruits. And there are those who wish Religion as a servant, or rather accomplice, and presume to put on her their livery; to substitute on the stole their coat-of-arms instead of the Cross, and enrol her as a man-at-arms. May God avert such infamy! Religion has the mission of interposing between the oppressed and the oppressor, to save the former beneath the folds of her sacred mantle, to look on the face of the latter, to hurl the anathema against him, and drag him by the hair before a tribunal where he is but dust.... But this city has stoned its prophets;—the angels wept when they saw Friar Girolamo Savonarola burned by the people, and a lamentation was heard through the heaven, saying: Oh, Lord, oh, Lord! Has the end of the world come?—Like the services of the Holy Week at the end of each psalm they extinguish a light; and when they are all out, there is darkness, and how horrible!—You might deceive me: Judas betrayed Christ, kissing him; but I had rather be betrayed once, than suspect all my life.... Go on, good man; I will follow you...."
"What, is it you?..."
"I am Father Marcello. The others sleep, but to me the Lord said:—Watch, for your life will be short, and you will soon sleep your last sleep in the grave. Prayer is my bride, preaching my sister, tears my pleasure...."
And shutting the door behind him, he followed the steps of the unknown man.
The unknown, who (since I do not wish to keep my readers in suspense) was Titta, walked with his eyes on the ground, and took tottering steps like one strongly excited by some passion; and it was so. He, who had spent so many years of his life in doing evil, now, in a short space of a few hours, saw fortune place before him two generous souls, that of Cecchino, and Father Marcello's; so that when he least expected it, a doubt arose in his mind, which perhaps had continually escaped him all his lifetime: and without understanding it, their dignity seemed to him a wonderful fact. Besides, that ready and spontaneous trusting in him, so little worthy of trust; the honest boldness which springs from feeling ourselves innocent; the forgetfulness or contempt of any danger when there was a case of doing a work of charity, agitated him with such new and deep sentiments, that he could not account for them. What, without seeming at all impossible, will appear wonderful to the subtle scrutinizers of human nature, was, that while he proceeded with the full deliberation of accomplishing his planned snare against the poor friar, he begged his guardian angel that he might prevent him, and sought in the bottom of his heart the trace of some virtue, which would serve him as an anchor, in which he might trust in order to save himself from shipwreck.
Father Marcello, although ignorant of the streets of Florence, yet perceived that he had made him cross the same street twice; he therefore touched his conductor lightly upon the shoulders, saying:
"Brother, mind the road."