EPILOGUE

ANDnowmanyyearshavepassed,andthenoblegentleman,FilippoBrandoliniisthepoormonkGiulianothegorgeousclothes,velvetsandsatins,havegivenwaytothebrownsackclothoftheSeraphicFatherandinsteadofgoldenbeltsmywaistisgirtwithahempencord.Andinme,whatchangeshavetakenplace!Thebrownhair,whichwomenkissed,isalittlecircletinsignoftheRedeemer'scrown,anditisaswhiteassnow.Myeyesaredimandsunken,mycheeksarehollow,andtheskinofmyyouthisashyandwrinkledthewhiteteethofmymouthhavegone,butmytoothlessgumssufficeforthemonkishfareandIamoldandbentandweak. OnedayinthespringIcametotheterracewhichoverlookstheplain,andasIsatdowntowarmmyselfinthesunshine,gazingatthebroadcountrywhichnowIknewsowell,andthedistanthills,thewishcametometowritethehistoryofmylife. Andnowthat,too,isdone.IhavenothingmoretotellexceptthatfromthedaywhenIarrived,wearyofsoul,tothecoolshadeofthefirtrees,Ihavenevergoneintotheworldagain.