proceed to act with his prisoner. Meanwhile, that unfortunate gentleman had generally prevailed upon his keepers to relax the extreme severity of the rules first adopted with respect to him. He was allowed the light of a lamp, which added to the gratification afforded him by the meals which were provided for him, the pleasure of seeing the good cheer which he tasted; and, though neither Guardian nor monks would venture so far to transgress their orders as to hold any converse with him, they permitted him to testify his gratitude for the indulgence granted him, by singing several of the airs which he used to be celebrated for his skill in chaunting among his old boon companions; besides which, he would sometimes exercise his talent of an improvisatore, and, at others, having a fine clear voice and good pronunciation, would recite some of the stanzas of Lorenzo's lately published poems, entitled Selve d'Amore, all which his hearers listened to with marvellous delight and satisfaction. By this time he had nearly abandoned the hope of ever again beholding the light of the sun; when the monk whom Lorenzo had met in the streets of Florence returned, and delivered to the Father Guardian the letter that was intrusted to him; on perusal of which, that Holy Father took upon him forthwith to carry into execution the instructions contained in it. Accordingly, before day-break the next morning after, the two lay brothers, habited as before, entered the doctor's chamber, and having made him get out of bed, caused him, by signs, to clothe himself in a sailor's dress, which they brought with them for the purpose, after which they hand-cuffed and muffled him, and in that guise led him outside the gates of the monastery. Master Manente now surely thought that the end of his life was at hand, and that he should never more taste bread; but, though lamenting himself beyond measure, nevertheless, from the dread of something worse that might befal him, suffered himself to be led without resistance, wherever they pleased to carry him. For two hours or more, they accordingly dragged him along through woods and bye-places, till they arrived near the Vernia, where, at the foot of a very large pine-tree, in the centre of a deep valley, they stopped, and after binding him fast to the trunk with vinetwigs, removing the large hat from over his eyes, and the cloak from his back, and taking off bis manacles, they left him to himself, and ran away with the speed of lightning; tracing back the way they had come, and never resting till they reached Camaldoli, where nobody, in the mean while, had noticed their absence. Master Manente, thus tied to the tree and abandoned, was filled with exceeding great fear; but, having listened for a long while, and hearing no sound of any living creature near him, began to draw his hands together, and easily slipped his ligatures. He now looked up through the branches of the tree and saw the stars shining, by which he found that he was in the open air, and at liberty. His joy at this unexpected discovery, was somewhat moderated by the new species of alarm which he experienced from the nature of his situation-alone, in an unknown, and seemingly impervious forest; nor was he by any means without apprehension of his masked conductors returning and carrying him away with them again, the Lord knew whither. By degrees, however, daylight broke upon his solitude, and so far encouraged him, that he set forward on his route by a little straggling path which he discovered among the trees, though wholly ignorant where it might chance to lead him. He had not proceeded more than a quarter of a mile before he reached a wider and more trodden road, on the summit of an eminence, where he soon after met a muleteer, of whom he inquired where he was, and was answered, at La Vernia, to which his informant added, "But, what the devil! are you blind? Don't you see San Francesco before you?" Upon which, looking upwards, he beheld indeed the the church of San Francesco, at the top of the hill, at no greater distance than two bow-shots from the place where he was standing. It is impossible to describe the delight of Master Manente on finding himself once more at a spot already familiar to him, as the scene of many a party of pleasure. He heartily thanked the muleteer, and set off full speed for the convent, which he reached in good season, and found there a Milanese gentleman, who, in travelling, had met with the misfortune of dislocating his ankle, and was about sending for a doctor from Bibbienna to come and set it. Manente, being informed of the circumstance, assured him there was no need, as he was himself a physician, and would undertake his cure in twenty-four hours; and as, notwithstanding his seaman's attire, there was that in his air and manner which inspired credit, the traveller was easily prevailed upon to accept his of fer. To make this matter short, the cure was speedily completed, and the doctor having received two ducats for his fee, and having also liberally regaled himself at the expense of his patient, proceeded, in high spirits, on the road to Mugello, where, (as we have said) was his country-house, which he reached about sun-set. Here, finding the gate shut, the first thing he did on his arrival, was to call loudly, by name, on the bailiff, who had the charge of the place when the family were absent, and was answered, in a strange voice, that the person he called had long since left that service, and was living at another farm a great way off. This answer appeared not a little strange to him, as he could not well digest the notion of his wife having taken upon her to dismiss his servants without his knowledge. He pretended, however, to the countryman who now addressed him, that he was an intimate friend of the master of the bouse, and intimated that he should be glad of a night's lodging. The man. seeing his strange garb, was not well satisfied what to do upon the occasion. However, he was at last prevailed up on by Master Manente's fair speaking, and admitted him into his little cabin, where he was invited to partake of the slender supper provided for the household. The doctor being resolved not to make himself known to these people, asked no questions about the family; but, seeing pen, ink, and paper, on 21 ATHENEUM VOL. 14. a table, sat down and wrote a short letter to his wife, which he gave to the labourer's son in charge to deliver the first thing in the morning at his house in Florence. He then betook himself to rest on the bed of straw, which was all the accommodation they had to offer him, and on which he soon fell asleep, notwithstanding the multitude of thoughts which now began to distract him. Next morning, by the first dawn of day, Manente's messenger set off for Florence with the letter, and, reaching Master Manente's house by dinnertime, delivered it into the hands of his good lady, Monna Brigida, who, recognizing her husband's hand-writing, was ready to faint away on the spot. Her grief and consternation increased on perusal of the letter, and were still farther augmented by the answers which the boy returned to her inquiries concerning the person, voice, and stature of him who had sent it. She immediately sent for Michel Angelo, the goldsmith, who was no less surprised than she had been at reading the letter: but, nevertheless, holding it for certain that Manente was dead and buried, gave it as his opinion that the person who wrote it was an impostor, who had adopted this contrivance for accomplishing some unlawful purpose, either with regard to her person, or her late husband's property; the contents of the letter shortly being, that the writer informed his dearly beloved consort, how, after many and strange perils had passed, after being shut up for a twelvemonth in fear of his life, and having finally escaped by a miraculous Providence, he had at length reached his own home in safety, but was there denied admittance; begging, therefore, that she would forthwith send an order to the new bailiff to receive him, together with a change of linen, his cloak, boots, and other necessaries, after which he would himself come to Florence the next day, and there, in the arms of his dear Brigida, recount to her all the particulars of the wonderful events that had befallen him. Michel Angelo, the goldsmith, having (as has been said) made up his mind to its being an imposture, now wrote in the name of the lady, and returned by the same messenger, a letter full of wrath, commanding the pretender to depart in God's name, or he would otherwise send the officers to lay hold of him; and this being despatched, he returned to his shop, leaving Monna Brigida at home full of suspense and half stupified. Master Manente had passed the day in strolling to the house of a friend of his who kept poultry, about three miles off, to whom he passed himself for a traveller just arrived from Albano, and where (without making himself known to him) he purchased a pair of fat capons, which he carried back with him for his supper, fully expecting, on the return of his messenger, to be recognized as master, and admitted into his own mansion. He was not greatly delighted, therefore, at finding a very different reception, nor at the delivery of a note without seal or subscription-the contents of which were still more displeasing to him than the mode of address or delivery. His host of the preceding night gave him moreover to understand, (in no very courteous language,) that he must look out elsewhere for a lodging; a demand which the poor doctor did not stay to hear repeated, but told him he would depart immediately. His mind now began to misgive him, that he had, in good truth, made an exchange of his own personal identity, and was no longer Master Manente; insomuch that, in a voice at once the most humble and disconsolate, he entreated the countryman to tell him who was his master; whereto the countryman replied, that his master was Master Michel Angelo, the goldsmith, whose wife was Monna Brigida. He then inquired again whether this Monna Brigida had ever before been married; to which the countryman returned answer, Yes; and that her former husband, (as he had heard say,) was Master Manente, a physician, who died one day of the plague, and had left an only son, called Sandrino, (or little Alexander.) "Alas! alas!" exclaimed the physician, "what is this you tell me!" And then asked many other questions, to all which the man answered that he was not able to inform him, being himself from the Casentino, and an entire stranger to the neighbourhood of Mugello. Master Manente now determined with himself to leave his present quarters without further delay; and, as he had still two hours of day-light, took the road towards Florence, comforting himself with the hope that his wife and relations had been deceived by some false report of his death, but would immediately recognize him on his returning among them. He arrived late in the evening at a public house, about a mile from the city, where he rested for the night, eating only two poached eggs for his supper; and the next morning early, having discharged his reckoning, proceeded to Florence, and walked half-way through the city without being recognized by a single individual, although he met several of his old friends and acquaintances, so entirely was he metamorphosed by his seaman's habit. At last, turning the corner of the street de' Fossi, he saw his wife, leading his little boy by the hand, enter the house as they were returning from mass; and, being well assured that she also had seen him, but without showing the least sign of knowledge, his heart misgave him; and, instead of going directly home, as was his first intention, he went to Santa Croce, to find one Master Sebastiano, his confessor, thinking that he would be a good negociator; but, upon inquiry, was told that he had gone to Bologna, upon which he was quite in despair, and could not tell what step was next to be taken. Thus, having made the circuit of the city, through the Piazza, and both the old and new market places, and having met, among divers others of his old acquaintance, his most intimate friends, Biondo the broker, Feo the musician, Leonardo the saddler, and Master Zenobio the barber, without any of them appearing to have the least recollection of him, he became at last almost beside himself. By this it was dinnertime, and, in a state of desperation, he betook himself to his old quarters, Delle Bertucce, where the landlord, Master Amadore, was another of his most familiar companions, who, after he had sat there some time, observed to him that he thought he had seen his face before, but could not remember where, or on what occasion; to which the mortified doctor replied that it was very likely, as he had formerly resided for some time in Florence, which he had left to go to sea, and, being now returned, intended to take up his abode here again; wherewith the said Amadore appeared to be perfectly satisfied, and asked no farther questions. He now, having dined, resolved at all hazards to make himself known to Monna Brigida that same evening; and accordingly, when he judged it a convenient time, he sallied forth once more to the street de' Fossi, and having given two loud knocks at the door, the lady herself came to ask who was there. To whom the poor physician answered, "It is I-open the door to me, my dear Brigida."-" And who are you?" rejoined the lady. To which Master Manente replied in a whisper, so as not to be heard by all the neighbourhood," Come hither, and I will tell you."-Monna Brigida, to whom both the voice and looks of the unwelcome visitor appeared greatly to strengthen the misgivings which his letter had occasioned, declined obeying his summons, and said only, "Whosoever you are, tell it me directly, and what you want?" Don't you see?" answered the physician-"Is it not I --your Manente-your true and lawful husband—and are you not my wife, whom I am come back to claim, after a long and cruel absence ?"-" Master Manente, my husband-you certainly are not?" said the lady, "seeing that he is dead and buried."" How, Brigida?-dead!" rejoined the physician; "No-I never died-nor was buried ?" And then he added, "Open the door quickly-for love's sake, open. Why, don't you know me again, my own dear love? Am I then so metamorphosed? Nay, open, open, and I will immediately convince you that I am still living."—" What!" said the obdurate lady; "and are you then the impudent fellow that sent me a letter yesterday? Begone! begone instantly-and a plague upon you! If my husband returns, and finds you here, there will be the devil to pay." collected round the door. Whereupon A crowd of people was by this time Monna Dorothea, a very decent personage who lived opposite, and had witnessed all that had passed, said to Brigida-" Have a care, daughter,— for this may well be Master Manente's spirit, seeing that, verily, he much resembles him in voice and figure. Speak to it, then, and ask it in civil language, whether or no it wants aught with thee?" Upon which Brigida, who was half inclined to believe the truth of what she now heard, began with piteous accents thus to accost him,-"Oh, blessed spirit! hast thou any thing which presses upon thy conscience? Dost thou require the office for the dead to be performed for thee? Hast thou any undischarged vow to accomplish? Say what thou wouldst have, oh gentle spirit! and then depart in peace, and in God's name." Master Manente, hearing this invocation, was half inclined to laugh out in spite of his vexation; but he simply answered, by assuring her, that he was still living, and that she had only to open the door to be convinced that it was so. She, nevertheless, went on, crossing herself, and asking if the poor ghost required the mass of St. Gregory to be said for it; and then, also, Monna Dorothea, in like manner, chimed in with her, saying, "Spirit of grace! if so be that thou art in purgatory, declare it, in order that thy good wife may perform jubilee, and withdraw thee from the place of thy torments." Then, making the longest signs of the cross ever seen, and repeating at every moment her "Requiescat in pace," all the people who stood round about began by degrees to do the same, and withdraw themselves to a more awful distance; seeing which, and that there was no chance of his making any farther impression on Monna Brigida, supported as she was by her old gossiping neighbour, the poor disconsolate doctor once more quitted the field, and retreated in the direction of St. Maria Novella, while the crowd made way for him on every side, crossing themselves with all their might, and running and tumbling over each other in their fright, no less than if they had actually beheld one risen from the dead. For that night he again took up his old quarters at the Bertucce, intending the next morning to have recourse to the spiritual court for assistance. But, desirous to make one more trial, he proposed to his host to invite Burchiello the poet, and Biondo the broker, (than whom he had not two more intimate friends in the world) to sup with him; which mine host gladly undertook, and the invitation being as gladly accepted, they all three met at the Bertucce at the hour appointed. At their first meeting, Burchiello exhibited some signs of recognition, particularly on hearing the sound of his voice; and Master Manente, on his feet, paid him the most marked attention, saying that he had been induced, by his reputation, thus to seek the honour of his acquaintance; for all which Burchiello thanked him with due formality. They then sat down to table; and while they were waiting for supper, Master Manente entertained them with a long fabulous narrative of his life, and the cause which had brought him hither. Burchiello had by this time whispered Biondo that he never saw so great a likeness as of this man to their old friend Manente; and that, if he had not been sure he was dead, he should say, that without doubt, it was he himself to which Biondo fully assented. Meanwhile mine host, having put all things in order, the salads made their appearance, accompanied by bread and two flasks of sparkling wine: upon the sight of which they left off their discourse, and set to with excellent appetites, mine host and Burchiello taking the inside of the table, and Master Manente and Biondo the opposite seats. Thus, while they ate and drank Burchiello kept his eyes constantly fixed. on the doctor, and the first thing he remarked, was his drinking two cups of wine, one immediately after the other upon his salad, which was also Master Manente's constant custom. He remained silent, however, though inwardly marvelling; and, on the arrival of the next course, consisting of pigeons and small birds, he again remarked that the first thing done by the stranger was to separate the heads from the bodies of the birds, and eat them,-being a part of which Master Manente was likewise particularly fond. Upon this, he was just on the point of discovering himself, but restrained his intentions for the sake of still farther assurance. Lastly, when the fruit was placed on the table, consisting of pears, (sementine,) grapes (sancolombane,) and excellent raviggiuoli, he became perfectly satisfied; for the physician, after partaking of both the former, ended his supper without touching the ravig giuoli, notwithstanding all the rest of the company bestowed upon them the highest praises; Burchiello very well knowing that Master Manente had such an antipathy to this species of eatable, that he would as soon have eaten both his own hands as touched them. Upon receiving this last proof of identity, he seized him (laughingly) by the left hand, and lifting up his sleeve, discovered near the wrist the mark of a rasher of bacon, which Master Manente bad brought with him from his mother's womb; whereupon he exclaimed, with a loud voice, "Thou art Master Manente, and canst conceal it no longer;" and, throwing both his arms round his neck, embraced and kissed him. Biondo and mine host, seeing what passed, were lost in amazement, and retreated backwards a little, that they might more securely mark what followed: Which was, that Manente replied to Burchiello's salutation, by saying, "You only, Burchiello, of all my friends and relations, have acknowledged me for what I am, and that I am indeed that very Master Manente, who never died, as was falsely reported, and is so foolishly credited by my wife, and by all Florence." At this, Amadore and Biondo waxed pale as ashes the one crossed himself, the other followed his example, and both felt the same terror as if they had really seen the ghost of one departed; but Burchiello took upon him to re-assure them, saying, "My good friends, don't be frightened. Touch him, and feel him; spirits are not made of flesh and bone, |