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Updated: May 18, 2025
It may be conceded at the start that in one important respect this Florentine story of Savonarola and his day is entirely typical: it puts clearly before us in a medieval romantic mis-en scene, the problem of a soul: the slow, subtle, awful degeneration of the man Tito, with its foil in the noble figure of the girl Romola.
For some minutes there was no attempt to speak further: the Signoria themselves lifted up their caps, and stood bare-headed in the presence of a rescue which had come from outside the limit of their own power from that region of trust and resignation which has been in all ages called divine. At last, as the signal was given to move forward, Tito said, with a smile
But in the meantime Tito had satisfied himself by a glance round the shop that the object of which he was in search had not disappeared. Niccolo gave an unceremonious but good-humoured nod as he turned from the anvil and rested his hammer on his hip. "What is it, Messer Tito? Business?"
We have simply to adapt ourselves to altered conditions." "Tito, it would not be useless for us to speak openly," said Romola, with the sort of exasperation that comes from using living muscle against some lifeless insurmountable resistance. "It was the sense of deception in you that changed me, and that has kept us apart. And it is not true that I changed first.
It was a face with tonsured head, that rose above the black mantle and white tunic of a Dominican friar a very common sight in Florence; but the glance had something peculiar in it for Tito. There was a faint suggestion in it, certainly not of an unpleasant kind. Yet what pleasant association had he ever had with monks? None.
Tito felt an irresistible desire to go up to her and get her pretty trusting looks and prattle: this creature who was without moral judgment that could condemn him, whose little loving ignorant soul made a world apart, where he might feel in freedom from suspicions and exacting demands, had a new attraction for him now.
If she had felt a new heartache in the solitary hours with her father through the last months of his life, it had been by no inexcusable fault of her husband's; and now it was a hope that would make its presence felt even in the first moments when her father's place was empty there was no longer any importunate claim to divide her from Tito; their young lives would flow in one current, and their true marriage would begin.
As Cennini closed the door behind him, Tito turned round with the smile dying out of his face, and fixed his eyes on the table where the florins lay. He made no other movement, but stood with his thumbs in his belt, looking down, in that transfixed state which accompanies the concentration of consciousness on some inward image.
Besides Susanna in "Le Nozze," she appeared as Vitellia in "La Clemenza di Tito," a serious rôle; and both in acting and singing these interpretations were praised by the most intelligent connoisseurs who had previously attacked the vicious redundancy of her style severely as nearly matchless.
"And shall you always be a long while first?" Tito was conscious that some bystanders were laughing at them, and though the licence of street fun, among artists and young men of the wealthier sort as well as among the populace, made few adventures exceptional, still less disreputable, he chose to move away towards the end of the piazza.
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