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But the visitor shook his head and said:

“Nay! Fra Giovanni, that is not the meaning of my words, and you have in no wise broken the bone to extract the marrow. I instructed you that Truth is white, not that she is pure; and it shows little discernment to think that she is pure.”

Grieved at what he now heard, the holy man Giovanni replied:

“Even as the Moon, when the Earth hides the Sun’s light from her, is darkened by the thick shadow of this World, where was wrought the crime of our mother Eve, so, most Subtle Sir, you have obscured a plain saying under baffling phrases. Thus we have you astray in the dark; for indeed Truth is pure, coming from God, the fountain of all purity.”

But the Opponent retorted:

“Fra Giovanni, your logic is at fault, or you would know that purity is an inconceivable quality. This is what the shepherds of Arcady did, so they say, who named pure gods the gods they knew not the nature of.”

Then the good Fra Giovanni sighed and said:

“Sir! your words are dark and wrapped in sadness. At times in my sleep angels have visited me. Their words I could not comprehend; but the mystery of their thought was full of joy.”

Hereupon the subtle visitor resumed:

“Come, Fra Giovanni, let us argue it out both of us according to the rules of syllogism.”

But the holy man answered:

“Nay! I cannot argue with you; I have neither wish nor wit for the task.”

“Well then!” returned the Subtle Sophist, “I must needs find another Opponent.”

And in a moment, lifting the index finger of his left hand, he made with his right out of a corner of his gown a red cap for this finger. Then holding it up before his nose,

“Look!” he said, “look at this finger. He’s a learned Doctor now, and I am going to hold a learned argument with him. He’s a Platonist, maybe Plato himself.

“Messer Plato, what is purity? I wait your answer, Messer Plato. Oh! you say. Consciousness is pure. Consciousness only when it is devoid of everything which may be seen, heard, handled, in one word proved by the senses. You grant me further,–yes! you nod your cap, that Truth will be pure Truth under the same conditions, that is to say provided only you make her dumb, blind, deaf, legless, paralytic, crippled of all her limbs. And I am quite ready to allow that in this state she will escape the delusions that make mock of mankind, and will have no temptations to play the runagate. You are a scoffer, and you have made much mock at the world. Doff your cap.”

And the Opponent, dropping the corner of his gown, once more addressed the holy man Giovanni:

“My friend, these old Sophists knew not what Truth was. But I, who am a student of physics and a great observer of natural curiosities, you may believe me when I tell you she is white, or, more strictly speaking, whiteness itself.

“From which we must not conclude, I have told you before, that she is pure. Consider the Lady Eletta, of Verona, whose thighs were like milk; think you for this they were abstract from the world in general, withdrawn in the invisible and intangible, which is the pure, according to the Platonic doctrine? You would be much mistaken if you supposed so.”

“I do not know this Lady Eletta you speak of,” said the holy man Giovanni.

“She gave herself and her living body,” said the Opponent, “to two Popes, sixty Cardinals, fourteen Princes, eighteen merchants, the Queen of Cyprus, three Turks, four Jews, the Lord Bishop of Arezzo’s ape, a hermaphrodite, and the Devil. But we are wandering from our subject, which is to discover the proper character of Truth.

“Now, if this character is not purity, as I have just established it cannot be in argument with Plato himself, it is conceivable it may be impurity, which impurity is the necessary condition of all existing things. For have we not just seen how the pure has neither life nor consciousness? And you must yourself, I trow, have learned amply from experience that life and all pertaining thereto is invariably compound, blended, diversified, liable to increase and decrease, unstable, soluble, corruptible–never pure.”