ted to attract the dawning
senses of a nubile girl. Yet in a little while, when she has become a
matron and got used to her husband, with what a complacent, with what a
housewifely approving eye she will behold her treasures of gold and
silver and pewter and fine linen and the rest of her possessions. So,
for the most part, it should always be; but there is no rule that has
not its exception, and if ever there were a case in which a daughter
might be justified for resisting the will of her parent in the matter of
a marriage, I think the case of Folco's daughter is the case, and I for
one can never be brought to blame her in the slightest degree for her
conduct, or call it misconduct.

It seems that when the morning came Madonna Beatrice showed herself
unexpectedly and unfamiliarly opposed, not merely to her parent's wish,
but to her parent's commands. Messer Folco, who had not seen his
daughter since the previous night, when she fell swooning in the arms of
Messer Tommaso Severo, at first could not believe in her opposition. She
told him, astonished as he was at this amazing mutiny, that she could
not and would not wed Messer Simone, because her heart was pledged to
another, and that other one whom she would not name. Madonna Beatrice
kept silence thus rigorously the identity of her lover, because of her
certainty that the swords of her kinsmen would be whetted against him
the moment that his name was known. In this she was right, for Dante was
everything that the Portinari scorned, being poor with a poverty that
tarnished, in their eyes, his rightful nobility, being of the Reds,
being of no account in the affairs of Florence. That he was a poet
would no more hinder them from killing him than the gift of song would
save a nightingale from a hawk. Messer Folco was at first very stern and
then very angry at his daughter's attitude, but he was stern and angry
alike in vain. The more Messer Folco stormed, the less he effected.
Though Beatrice seemed to grow paler and frailer at her father's
nagging, she grew none the less stubborn, and Messer Folco's fury flamed
higher at her unwonted obstinacy. His naturally choleric disposition got
the better of his philosophic training and his habitual self-restraint,
and he threatened, pleaded, and commanded in turns without making any
change in Beatrice's frozen resistance. The pitiable struggle lasted
until Messer Maleotti, having ridden leisurely through the cool of the
morning, chos