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"Welcome, Ando Uchida," said Kano again, when they had taken seats. "It is quite five years since my eyes last hung upon your honorable face." "Is it indeed so long?" said the other. "Time has the wings of a dragon-fly!" Ando had brought with him a roll, apparently of papers, tied up in yellow cloth. This parcel he put carefully behind him on the matted floor.
The sounds and sights of the great capital were dear to Ando Uchida. In five years of busy exile among remote mountains he felt that he had earned, as it were, indulgence for an interval of leisurely enjoyment.
The intercourse between Lorenzo and Pulci was of the most familiar kind. Pulci was sixteen years older, but of a nature which makes no such differences felt between associates. He had known Lorenzo from the latter's youth, probably from his birth is spoken of in a tone of domestic intimacy by his wife and is enumerated by him among his companions in a very special and characteristic manner in his poem on Hawking (La Caccia col Falcone), when, calling his fellow-sportsmen about him, and missing Luigi, one of them says that he has strolled into a neighbouring wood, to put something which has struck his fancy into a sonnet: "'Luigi Pulci ov' è, che non si sente? 'Egli se n' andò dianzi in quel boschetto, Che qualche fantasia ha per la mente; Vorr
"I love art still," said Ando, "but I make a better engineer. And I beseech you to overlook my vulgarity I am getting rich." Kano groaned again. "Oh, this foreign influence! It is the curse of modern Japan! Love of money is starting a dry rot in the land of the gods. Success, material power, money, all of them illusions, miasma of the soul, blinding men to reality!
On his wrinkled face a light dawned. "Shall I believe? Oh, Ando, indeed I could not bear it now! Unroll those drawings before I go mad!" Uchida deliberately spread out the first. It was a scene of mountain storm, painted as in an elemental fury. Inky pine branches slashed and hurled upward, downward, and across a tortured gray sky. A cloud-rack tore the void like a Valkyrie's cry made visible.
Always the same questions were asked, the same fears spoken, the same glorious future prophesied; until finally, in despair, one night Ando arose between the hours of two and three, betaking himself to a small suburban hotel. Here he lived, for a time, in peace, under the protection of an assumed name.
In the morning Ando and two or three Tibetans came to sell us provisions and ponies. While my two servants and I were engaged in purchasing what we required, I saw a number of villagers approaching in groups. Some spun wool, others carried bags of tsamba and flour, while others led a number of ponies. Having purchased provisions to last us a couple of months, we began the selection of mounts.
Here, every stroke was to be recorded, each passing whim and mood registered, as in a book of fate. For days the little workroom remained immaculate. Kano began to fret. Ando Uchida, the wise, said, "Wait." It was Mata who finally precipitated the crisis.
La notte che morì Pier Soderini L' alma n' andò dell' inferno alla bocca; E Pluto le gridò: Anima sciocca, Che inferno? va nel limbo de' bambini. The night that Peter Soderini died, His soul flew down unto the mouth of hell: 'What? Hell for you? You silly spirit! cried The fiend: 'your place is where the babies dwell.
On 26th November he heard Mass for the last time in S. Maria del Fiore, and on the 28th he departed si partì el Re di Firenze dopo desinare, e andò albergo alla Certosa e tutta sua gente gli andò dietro e innanzi, che poche ce ne rimase, says Landucci thankfully.
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