'Quote him not--beast--vile apostate from his teaching!'
For a moment the two battled in a war of screeching blasphemy: the next,
the grate was flung into place, the light whisked and vanished, a door
slammed, and the blackness of the cell closed once more upon the moaning
heap in its midst.
Quaking and ashen, babbling oaths and prayers, Galeazzo flung back to
his closet.
'Bring wine!' he shook out between his teeth to Jacopo.
When it came, he tasted, and flung it from him.
'Salt!' he shrieked. His fancy quite overcrowed his reason. 'O God, I
am poisoned!'
He rose, staggering, and entered his oratory, and cast himself on his
knees before the little shrine.
'Not from this man,' he protested, whimpering and writhing; 'Lord, not
from this man--I know him better than Thou--a recusant, a sorcerer! Be
not deceived because of his calling. To curse Thine anointed! kill him,
Lord--kill the blasphemer--I hold him ready to Thy hand! Good sweet St.
Francis, I but weed thy pastures--a wicked false brother, tainting the
fold. How shall love prevail, this poison at its root?--Poison! O my
God, to be stricken for evermore! life's fruit to change to choking
ashes in my mouth! It cannot be--I, Galeazzo the Duke--yet I taunted
him with visions: what if I have caught the infection of mine own
imagination--too fearful, spare me this once. Lord God, consider--as I
put it to Thee--now--like this--listen. To starve with him should be
but a fast enlarged. What then? Some, honest ascetics, no Conventuals,
so push abstinence to ecstasy as that they may cross the lines of death
in a dream, and wake without a pang to heaven gained. If he does not,
should he suffer, he is properly condemned for a gross pampered brother,
false to his vows, unworthy Thine advocacy. Now, call the test a fair
one. Chain back this dog that ravens to tear me. How, so stricken,
made corrupt, could I work Thy will but through corruption? Hush! Thou
mean'st it not--only as a jest? Give me some sign, then. Ah! Thou
laugh'st--very quietly, but I hear Thee. Canst not deceive
Galeazzo--ha-ha! between me and You, Lord, between me and You! Silence,
thou dog monk! What dost thou here? Escaped! by God, get back--the
first word was mine--thou art too late. What! damnation seize thee!
Lord! he scorns Thy judgment--catch him, hold him--he is there by the
door!'
He sprang to his feet, glaring and gesticulating.
'Galeazzo!' exclaimed Bembo. The boy had mounted to the closet unheard.
It was his privilege to come unannounced. He stood a moment regarding
the madman in amazement and pity, then hurried softly to his side.
'What is it? The face again?'
His tone, his entreaty, dispelled the other's delirium. The tyrant gazed
at him a minute, slow recognition dawning in his eyes; then, of a
sudden, broke into a thick fast flurry of sobs, and cast himself upon
his shoulder.
'My saint,' he wept adoringly--'my Conscience, my little angel! and I
had thought thee--nay, but the sign for which I prayed art thou given.'
His emotion gushed inwardly, filling all his channels to gasping.
Presently he looked up, with a passionate murmur and caress.
'Love, with thy red lips like a girl's! Would that my own were worthy
to marry with them.'