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It was called the Prato, and by the shocking discrepancy between its name and appearance added to my dejection, for the one recalled and the other mocked memories of that green and sunlit plain in Padua, that dear Pra della Valle, upon whose grassy dimples looked the house of Aurelia, and to whose wandering winds I had so often sighed her name.
It is also the belief of some that a little altar-piece that is in the Company of S. Pier Martire on the Piazza di S. Domenico, at Prato, in which are many portraits from life, is by the hand of the same Niccolò; but in my opinion, even if this be true, it was painted by him before any of the other pictures mentioned above.
He was already led to the spot with a halter around his neck, when seeing Bernardo giving directions to hasten his end, he turned to him, and said: "Bernardo, you put me to death, thinking that the people of Prato will follow you; but the direct contrary will result; for the respect they have for the rectors which the Florentine people send here is so great, that as soon as they witness the injury inflicted upon me, they will conceive such a disgust against you as will inevitably effect your ruin.
Having acquired a competence, of this work too he seems to have tired, devoting himself to architectural work porticos, altars, and such buying an estate at last outside the gate of Prato that is towards Florence; dying in 1497.
Bernardo, whom this promise inspired with a lively hope of success, proceeded secretly to Prato, and communicated with those most disposed to favor him, among whom were the Palandra; and having arranged the time and plan, informed Diotisalvi of what had been done.
As a painter of subjects half-humorous and half-pathetic, or as the illustrator of romantic stories, we fancy that he might have won fame rivalled only by the greatest colourists. One such picture it was granted him to paint, and this is his masterpiece. In the prime of life he was commissioned to decorate the choir of the cathedral at Prato with the legends of S. John Baptist and S. Stephen.
When Fra Bartolommeo had been many months in Prato, he was sent by his superiors to take up his abode in S. Marco at Florence, and on account of his virtues he was received very warmly by the friars of that convent.
Among the excursions which I think ought to be made if one is in Florence for a justifying length of time is a visit to Prato. If only it had its colour what a wonder of lightness and beauty this still would be!
There were but three words, "Si, si, si Aurelia," I read, and turning my face to the Heavens, thanked God that I was absolved by the dear subject of my crimes. Transformed, indeed, I trod upon air between the Prato and the Palazzo Giraldi. I was told that his Excellency was visiting the Contessa Galluzzo. I sailed, I soared, I flashed over Arno and into the house at the Porta San Giorgio.
I stared at Virginia, who coloured finely, and hung her head. I must say that, preoccupied as I was, I was astonished at what I saw. He had transformed her by some means out of a sulky and dejected penitent into a young woman of noble appearance and refined beauty. I had seen that transformation once before at Prato; but here was a more mature and assured fine lady.
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