the only patron and judge of learning in our city--heaven forbid!
Because he was a large melon, every other Florentine is not a pumpkin, I
suppose. Have we not Bernardo Rucellai, and Alamanno Rinuccini, and
plenty more? And if you want to be informed on such matters, I, Nello,
am your man. It seems to me a thousand years till I can be of service
to a _bel erudito_ like yourself. And, first of all, in the matter of
your hair. That beard, my fine young man, must be parted with, were it
as dear to you as the nymph of your dreams. Here at Florence, we love
not to see a man with his nose projecting over a cascade of hair. But,
remember, you will have passed the Rubicon, when once you have been
shaven: if you repent, and let your beard grow after it has acquired
stoutness by a struggle with the razor, your mouth will by-and-by show
no longer what Messer Angelo calls the divine prerogative of lips, but
will appear like a dark cavern fringed with horrent brambles."

"That is a terrible prophecy," said the Greek, "especially if your
Florentine maidens are many of them as pretty as the little Tessa I
stole a kiss from this morning."

"Tessa? she is a rough-handed contadina: you will rise into the favour
of dames who bring no scent of the mule-stables with them. But to that
end, you must not have the air of a _sgherro_, or a man of evil repute:
you must look like a courtier, and a scholar of the more polished sort,
such as our Pietro Crinito--like one who sins among well-bred, well-fed
people, and not one who sucks down vile _vino di sotto_ in a chance
tavern."

"With all my heart," said the stranger. "If the Florentine Graces
demand it, I am willing to give up this small matter of my beard, but--"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Nello. "I know what you would say. It is the
_bella zazzera_--the hyacinthine locks, you do not choose to part with;
and there is no need. Just a little pruning--ecco!--and you will look
not unlike the illustrious prince Pico di Mirandola in his prime. And
here we are in good time in the Piazza San Giovanni, and at the door of
my shop. But you are pausing, I see: naturally, you want to look at our
wonder of the world, our Duomo, our Santa Maria del Fiore. Well, well,
a mere glance; but I beseech you to leave a closer survey till you have
been shaved: I am quivering with the inspiration of my art even to the
very edge of my razor. Ah, then, come round this way."

The mercurial barber seized th