There was one Giovan Battista, surnamed Il Tasso, a wood-carver,
precisely of my own age, who one day said to me that if I was willing to
go to Rome, he should be glad to join me. [4] Now we had this
conversation together immediately after dinner; and I being angry with
my father for the same old reason of the music, said to Tasso: "You are
a fellow of words, not deeds." He answered: "I too have come to anger
with my mother; and if I had cash enough to take me to Rome, I would not
turn back to lock the door of that wretched little workshop I call
mine." To these words I replied that if that was all that kept him in
Florence I had money enough in my pockets to bring us both to Rome.
Talking thus and walking onwards, we found ourselves at the gate San
Piero Gattolini without noticing that we had got there; whereupon I
said: "Friend Tasso, this is God's doing that we have reached this gate
without either you or me noticing that we were there; and now that I am
here, it seems to me that I have finished half the journey." And so,
being of one accord, we pursued our way together, saying, "Oh, what will
our old folks say this evening?" We then made an agreement not to think
more about them till we reached Rome. So we tied our aprons behind our
backs, and trudged almost in silence to Siena. When we arrived at Siena,
Tasso said (for he had hurt his feet) that he would not go farther, and
asked me to lend him money to get back. I made answer: "I should not
have enough left to go forward; you ought indeed to have thought of this
on leaving Florence; and if it is because of your feet that you shirk
the journey, we will find a return horse for Rome, which will deprive
you of the excuse." Accordingly I hired a horse; and seeing that he did
not answer, I took my way toward the gate of Rome. When he knew that I
was firmly resolved to go, muttering between his teeth, and limping as
well as he could, he came on behind me very slowly and at a great
distance. On reaching the gate, I felt pity for my comrade, and waited