_Dante._ Rightly and wisely, my sweet Beatrice, have you spoken in this estimate. Greatness is to goodness what gravel is to porphyry: the one is a movable accumulation, swept along the surface of the earth; the other stands fixed and solid and alone, above the violence of war and of the tempest; above all that is residuous of a wasted world. Little men build up great ones; but the snow colossus soon melts: the good stand under the eye of God; and therefore stand. _Beatrice._ Now you are calm and reasonable, listen to me, Bice. You must marry. _Dante._ Marry? _Beatrice._ Unless you do, how can we meet again unreservedly? Worse, worse than ever! I cannot bear to see those large heavy tears following one another, heavy and slow as nuns at the funeral of a sister. Come, I will kiss off one, if you will promise me faithfully to shed no more. Be tranquil, be tranquil; only hear reason. There are many who know you; and all who know you must love you. Don't you hear me? Why turn aside? and why go farther off? I will have that hand. It twists about as if it hated its confinement. Perverse and peevish creature! you have no more reason to be sorry than I have; and you have many to the contrary which I have not. Being a man, you are at liberty to admire a variety, and to make a choice. Is that no comfort to you? _Dante._ Bid this bosom cease to grieve? Bid these eyes fresh objects see? Where's the comfort to believe None might once have rivall'd me? What! my freedom to receive? Broken hearts, are they the free? For another can I live When I may not live for thee? _Beatrice._ I will never be fond of you again if you are so violent. We have been together too long, and we may be noticed. _Dante._ Is this our last meeting? If it is ... and that it is, my heart has told me ... you will not, surely you will not refuse.... _Beatrice._ Dante! Dante! they make the heart sad after: do not wish it. But prayers ... oh, how much better are they, how much quieter and lighter they render it! They carry it up to heaven with them; and those we love are left behind no longer. FRA FILIPPO LIPPI AND POPE EUGENIUS THE FOURTH _Eugenius._ Filippo! I am informed by my son Cosimo de' Medici of many things relating to thy life and actions, and among the rest, of thy throwing off the habit of a friar. Speak to me as to a friend. Was that well done? _Filippo._ Holy Father! it was done most unadvisedly. _Eugenius._ Continue to treat me with the same confidence and ingenuousness; and, beside the remuneration I intend to bestow on thee for the paintings wherewith thou hast adorned my palace, I will remove with my own hand the heavy accumulation of thy sins, and ward off the peril of fresh ones, placing within thy reach every worldly solace and contentment.