the leisure to digress into my own adventures. The world is more
interested in love's tragedies than in the comedies of love, wherein I
have ever played my part, and so I will go back to my Dante and his sad
affairs, and leave my little love-tale for another occasion. But at
least I may be suffered to set down this much in passing--that Brigitta
was a very attractive girl, and that I was really very fond of her.

XXII

THE RETURN OF THE REDS

The Church of the Holy Name was filled as full as it could hold, and
those outside were grumbling at their hard case in being cut off from so
much solemnity or jollification, according to their opinion of the
ceremony inside. But it came to pass that the lot of these outsiders
proved, from the point of view of those that like to assist, if only as
spectators, at the making of history, to be more fortunate than that of
those who had gained admittance to the church. For suddenly, from far
away, there came a shouting, meaningless at first, but momentarily
growing in meaning, till at last men shrieked into their neighbors' ears
that the supposed lost and slaughtered of the youth of Florence were not
lost nor slaughtered at all, but were alive and well, and were riding in
triumph through the city gates, having inflicted innumerable woes upon
the devils of Arezzo.

Such tidings were unbelievable, were not to be believed, were not
believed, were believed--all in the winking of an eyelid. The insolent
chivalry of the Company of Death were, as it seemed, all, or almost
all, to hand with Messer Guido Cavalcanti at their head. With them came
the news that the Aretines had been beaten in battle, and that the ever
illustrious _condottiere_, Griffo of the Claw, was flying his
Dragon-flag in the very face of the scared burghers of Arezzo, huddled
behind their naughty walls. Here was a mighty change in the fortunes of
Florence, its full significance understood by few then, and not by many
until long after that day.

At first the news seemed incredible to those that had not ocular proof
of its verity, but these soon were convinced. Was not Messer Guido
Cavalcanti riding through the city gates, whither all were now running,
and was not Messer Dante by his side, and your humble servant who writes
these lines, and many another youth well known to the Florentine
populace? So that, in a little while, the space before the church, that
had been so thickly crowded, was as empty as my palm, and