THE CONFESSION.
Venuta la mattina della Pasqua, la donna si levò in su l'aurora
et acconciossi, et andossene alla chiesa.--Il marito dall' altra
parte levatosi se ne andò a quella medesima chiesa, e fuvvi
prima di lei--e messasi prestamente una delle robe del prete
con un cappuccio grande a gote, come noi veggiamo che i preti
portano, avendosel tirato un poco innanzi, si mise a sedere in
coro.--Ora venendo alla confessione, tra le altre cose che la
donna gli disse, avendogli prima detto come maritata era, si fu
che ella era innamorata.... Quando il geloso udi questo, gli
parve che gli fosse dato di un coltello nel cuore.
BOCCACCIO. _Giornata_ VII. _Novella_ V.
When Easter morning came, the woman rose at dawn, dressed
herself, and went to church.... The husband also arose, went to
the same church, and reached it before her.... He then put on
hastily one of the priest's robes with a large hood, such as
monks generally wear, which he pulled somewhat down over his
face, and sat in the confessional.... Now when the woman came to
the confession, among other things she said--that, although she
was a married woman, yet she was desperately in love.... When
the jealous husband heard this, he felt as if struck by a dagger
in the middle of his heart.
Titta finally arrived (since all, living or dead, must come to some
end) at the Duke's palace: he pulled the bell-rope four or five
times, but no one answered. "It is evident," he said to himself,
"that the husband is away, and is not expected home; and if husbands
take a notion to arrive suddenly, they must pay the penalty of their
rudeness: but I, not being a husband, will not wait, but put a remedy
to it at once."
And as well as he could he inserted his arm and part of his shoulder
between the bars of the gate, and with his fingers took the latch and
opened it. This done, he went softly to the porter's room, who, with
elbows stretched upon a table, and head resting on the back of his
hands, slept as soundly as a dormouse. The merry fellow taking the
horn, approached it so near the porter's ear as to cover it entirely,
and gathering all the breath he could in his strong lungs, blew
such a powerful blast as to make the whole palace shake from top to
bottom. I will not describe the tremendous scream the porter uttered,
nor what a leap he gave; these are things that can be better imagined
than described: he was neither alive nor dead; he trembled all over,
and knew not in what world he was. Not a human creature or animal
within the palace, or in the street, could remain quiet in bed, but
ran startled to see what was the matter.
When Titta had collected nearly all the Duke's domestics, he turned
to the major-domo Don Inigo, and said to him:
"I come by the orders of his Excellency the Duke; I have this moment
arrived from Rome, and have a letter which I must immediately consign
into the hands of my Lady the Duchess."
"You cannot present yourself in such a dress to our lady; you must
clothe yourself properly, and then I will announce you."
He then led him to a wardrobe, and dressing him in the Orsini livery,
left him to wait until he could be announced to her Ladyship the
Duchess.
Isabella slept not: sleep for a long time had not shaken its peaceful
wings over those unhappy eyelids; and she would let it pass without
even invoking it, for if painful thoughts oppressed her while awake,
horrible phantoms afflicted her still more while asleep. She had
become now resigned to her imminent destiny, and whatever happened
could not disturb her; she would shut her eyes, and murmur in a low
tone: _In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum._--She heard
the door of her room open, it seemed as if some one had asked her
whether he could come in, and she replied with a motion, without
knowing herself whether it was consent or denial, so she was somewhat
amazed when, reopening her eyes, she saw a man with one knee on the
ground before her presenting a letter upon a crimson velvet cushion.
Educated as she was in the dignified manners of the Court, she took
the letter with a certain princely haughtiness, and read it; then
handing it to the major-domo, said:
"Place it in the archives.--Rise, sir.--Inigo, give this soldier the
usual courier's fee; and double it, for the news which he brings is
very acceptable to me. Don Inigo, in a few days, after so long an
absence, we shall see His Excellency the Duke.--May God keep you in
His holy guard. Good night: go."
And when they had departed, Isabella, without heeding if anyone could
hear her words, rose from the couch on which she was lying, and thus
addressed Lady Lucrezia Frescobaldi, her lady in waiting:
"Lady Lucrezia, we are ready to take our departure, so that it would
seem better for us to be prepared by taking the sacrament."
Lady Lucrezia belonged to that race of pale and delicate creatures,
who are accustomed to accompany the powerful: they come with
fortune, and go with it; not because they are bad or ungrateful,
but because it is as innate in their nature as in the heliotrope to
turn towards the direction of the sun; they pertain to the family of
leaves, that are born in Spring, and fall in Autumn. They possess
no will of their own, incapable of assent or denial; their minds,
like barometers modified by the impression of air, bend according
to the will of their masters. Such people have always been, and are
still, very dangerous, for if the great did not meet with people
ever ready to serve their wills, they would not dare to act as we
see them every day; much the less if they could find souls like that
of the simple Mary, who promise obedience, and give it, but do not
sell their conscience; and when they reach that point in which they
must either displease the worldly master, or the Lord of Heaven, they
trust in Him who decks the lily of the valley, and nourishes even the
slothful: poor and alone, they will start upon the desert of life,
exclaiming like the patriarch, Abraham:--God will provide!
But the great rarely have friends, for if they had, fortune would
have granted them too large a share of blessing. Let them take the
example of that king of Spain, if they desire to be in company with a
friend;--have their portrait painted together with a dog.
Lady Lucrezia, then, with her submissive air, replied:
"Your Highness, do just what your heart dictates."
"Yes, I have decided to confess; but I would like to have some holy
man, who would know how to comfort my weary soul, and give rest to my
mind, continually assailed by doubts; do you know anyone able to do
that?"
"I do not."
"Father Marcello, who is so reputed in the city, might be a good
counsellor."
"Yes, your Highness, I should think he might be."
"However, it would not be proper to send for him, for perhaps he
might not be disposed to come; or coming, it could not be done so
secretly, that idle people would not find it out; and I desire above
all things secresy and discretion."
"You speak wisely, my Lady; for sometimes these fathers have more
pride under that sackcloth of theirs than a Baron under a mantle of
brocade."
"And going myself to church, I might easily be known."
"That is very likely."
"Perhaps ... to-morrow ... no, for it is already too late, and I
could not in so short a time collect myself, and truly examine my
soul...."
"Of course, in such a short time you would not be able to remember
all your sins...."
"What do you know about my sins? And what, and how many they are? Who
told you that it would be difficult for me to remember them?"
Lady Lucrezia, with too great a desire of pleasing her mistress,
according to the usual habit, assented where she ought to have
doubted.
The most wary courtier sometimes falls into this error; but if he
grazes the boundary line, he rarely stumbles so as to break his legs.
Lady Lucrezia might have answered:
"Eh! my Lady! If I covered my face with my hands, know that I
happened to peep through the fingers, and saw more than enough."
But, you may imagine, that even if she had the power to conceive such
thoughts, she would have put them aside, as temptations of the devil!
So she replied as from inspiration:
"For a dignified and pure conscience like yours, so scrupulous of
everything, making a mountain out of a mole-hill.... I can well
understand, that the examination of the conscience must be a very
serious thing.... There are some, to be sure, not so particular....
But for your Ladyship, it must indeed be a serious affair...."
Are the fish-hooks as old as the hills? I believe ever since Adam
fishes have been caught by them. Thus, although flattery is of very
ancient date, and although every man swears that he knows and detests
it, yet by means of flattery, men, and particularly women, were
always, and ever will be caught. Let him who reads be persuaded, that
it is our nature to remember experience and its admonitions, as much
as we remember the swallow that flew through the sky, or the smoke
that escaped from our chimneys ten years ago.
Isabella, although she had any other inclination than smiling in her
thoughts, yet could not help it on hearing herself praised, and God
knows with what justice.
"The day after to-morrow, then, we shall rise early, and covered
with a black mantilla go to the church of Santa Croce, perform our
devotions, and return unobserved home."
"Yes, my Lady, it is a good idea, and a proof of your good judgment."
"Very well; let it be only between you and me, for no living soul
must know it...."
"As for that, your Highness knows my fidelity and secresy...."
"Go to rest then, for it is already late, and to-morrow I may cause
you to be called early."
"May God keep you in His holy guard."
* * * * *
Never did pilgrim touch more devoutly the holy shrine of his
pilgrimage, than Titta finally sat down at table. It had been so well
provided with food and drink, that his hunger was soon satisfied; but
as to his thirst it was a different thing; for as flames increase
with the addition of fuel, so his thirst increased by drinking.
However, Titta was no man to allow wine to take away from him the use
of his brains: too large a quantity would have been necessary for
that; he drowned his wits in wine like ducks in a pond, or rather
like skilful swimmers, who, hardly touching the bottom, return
again to float on the surface; and in this half watchfulness of his
thoughts, he showed himself more than ever acute and malignant.
It often happens that the mind, when in the full exercise of its
faculties, has no power to imagine or define an object, which on
the morrow (the senses not yet returned to their usual offices) is
seen wonderfully distinct amidst the light dreams that precede its
awakening, as dawn precedes the day. In the like manner we see men
half drunk, conceive and act better than if they were entirely sober.
The servants, seeing that he might never stop, had gradually
disappeared, and he, remaining alone with Giulia as he desired, thus
soliloquized:
"Oh, Giulia! oh, wine! oh, cards! oh, polar stars of my life: what
would the world become without you? An extinguished lantern; a
candle without a wick, a lamp without oil. If some one should say to
me:--You must choose;--I would reply:--I cannot;--because Giulia is
nothing without wine, and wine is nothing without cards: and they are
like Ser Cecco and the Court of Berni. Ser Cecco cannot live without
the Court, nor can the Court live without Ser Cecco.... They live
necessarily together; they all form a single substance; they exist
united like soul and body. Take away the soul from the body, and you
would see the latter destroyed as Giulia would be destroyed without
wine, and wine without cards.... Oh, Giulia!..."
"I don't understand such nonsense; and who knows to how many women
you have said all this before; for indeed your words seem to me like
old clothes, that through too much use fall to rags...."
"Oh, Giulia! I swear to you as I am a gentleman, _foi de
gentilhomme_, as Francis First of France used to say, that what I
have said to you, I have never said before to anyone...."
"Of course, to _no_ one...."
"Believe me as you believe in bread. I feel like an Etna in love, but
I am firm as the Alps in constancy...."
"You are adding insult to injury in order to flatter a poor woman
like me, who has already, I know not for how many months, wept for
you, and wished for you in vain, wearying out with my prayers and
vows all the saints in heaven...."
"Oh, Giulia!"
"And indeed in all this time there has been no want of flatterers,
who came around me, and promised me great things; but I cared little
for them; though I felt sorry for a poor young man, who tried to make
me love him, and seeing that he could not succeed, drowned himself
in...."
"A butt of wine!..."
"What, would you do me the wrong of not believing me?..."
"But, Giulia, how can I believe such things, when you yourself do
not?--Be not angry, no; come near me: listen, when I embrace you it
seems as if I was embracing the human race.--Be not cross, no, my
girl; listen, let us talk reasonably. I should like to repose after
the storms of life in a port of peace; and you could repose in it
with me, because, Blessed Virgin! where can I find rest without you?
We must never speak of past things: I celebrating a holy marriage
with you, would make of all your past life a great ablution in the
waters of the river Lethe.--Years go by, Giulia, and we must look to
the future...."
"But it seems to me that between my years and yours there must be a
difference of some dozen years."
"Put aside such womanish frivolities, Giulia, and remember that you
women are like flowers; you grow fast, and wither fast, and the best
that remains of you is memory. I asked you to talk seriously. I have
already served the Duke of Bracciano many years: I have received
several wounds for him; once, in the battle of Lepanto, had it not
been for me, a Turk would have cleaved his head like a reed, and yet
I am still a soldier. And would that it had ended here; but I have
always seen carriage horses descend to a draw-cart; and some day or
other we might find ourselves, before starting for the great voyage,
making our last resting-place in the hospital of St. Maria Nuova...."
"But how can we help this? You resemble those rats who wished to hang
a bell around the cat's neck...."
"Woman, listen to me, for it has been proved that we men possess a
much greater understanding than you. It would be necessary, then,
to lay aside a little pile of ducats, and try to get a little shop
whereby to carry on a good remunerative trade. You would attend it,
and I could help you in attending it, and strive to do other business
also."
"Didn't I say right, that you were telling the story of the rats? To
do all these things there is need of money...."
"Certainly, and with your dowry...."
"I have no dowry...."
"No? Oh, Giulia!"
"Oh, Titta!"
"Then the last word has been said between us.--Good-by.... You
towards Jerusalem, I towards Egypt, as Arete said to Argante."
"But what, can't we get married without a dowry?"
"No, we cannot; the dowry, Giulia, is as it were the wedding-dress;
without it matrimony would seem naked, and you can imagine how
unbecoming it would be to perform such a solemn rite ill-dressed. And
if we turn our thoughts to ancient times, we know that the Muses
remained spinsters at home because Apollo could not afford any other
dowry than laurel leaves...."
"But you would not make me believe that you have saved no money; what
have you done with it?"
"All gone in pious works, Giulia, in works of charity; and my friends
owe me a fortune. How can I help it? When I get money I cannot refuse
them, and thus I find myself short oftener than I would wish....
However, they will repay me some time, but for the present we cannot
count upon them...."
"Well, I cannot exactly say that I am penniless; but it is only a
trifle...."
"Every sprig helps to make a bush; with work and good will we can
raise the cupola of the cathedral. Now tell me how much have you
saved? A thous ...?"
"A Hund...."
"Oh, Giulia!"
"About one hundred ducats...."
"Alas! they are not enough!"
Giulia shrugged her shoulders. Titta, after remaining thoughtful a
while, continued:
"But one must never despair of one's country, as Themistocles said:
if you will help me, there is a way to seize fortune by the hair.
Listen attentively, woman.... You must know that the lord, my master,
is a revengeful man...."
"All the worse for him...."
"A strange notion has got into his head: he thinks the discoveries
of Columbus, Americus, Cabot, Pigafetta, and all others, but little
compared to the wonderful one he is about to make. And not only that:
he intends that all the world should know it, and we must help him
in this discovery...."
"Oh, power of wine!"
"Woman, listen. This discovery consists in knowing that his wife is
unfaithful to him. He has already received flying reports of it, but
he wishes to know them certainly, and touch with his own hands, as
the proverb says; then he will intrust this most beautiful affair to
the seven trumpets of fame, and I rather think that he will have it
published by Torrentino in octave rhymes.... Come nearer, for I wish
to speak to you lower.--He, the Duke, has sent me on purpose to see
how things stand, and to report them to him; and if I carry to him
a certain proof of it, he has promised me three hundred ducats of
reward, besides his everlasting protection, and many other favors...."
"Are you in earnest?"
"Tell me who is the Saint in whom you have the most faith; and I will
swear by him. So by your telling me all you know, we shall gain this
money, which together with your three hundred...."
"I said one hundred."
"One hundred then, with these three hundred, will be enough to
accomplish our plan of marriage."
Then the treacherous deceitful woman began to relate all she knew
(and she knew too much) in regard to her mistress, who had always
been kind to her more than to any other servant; and she added many
things of her own to make the matter worse; finally she reported,
that listening, as she was accustomed to, at her mistress's door,
she had learned that on the next day, early in the morning, she
was to go to confess herself to Father Marcello of St. Francesco.
Titta thought now that he knew a great deal more than he needed.
The woman did not stop chattering; like the blind street-musician,
who, as the proverb says:--"For a penny begins, and for two never
ends playing."--Titta thinking that now it was of no use for him to
watch any longer, abandoned himself to the arms of Morpheus, and the
excited woman talked on before noticing that her future husband slept
profoundly.
"Think what it will be after we are married!" she exclaimed; and
spitefully giving him a push on the shoulder, retired to her own room
to sleep.
* * * * *
The blast which Titta blew from his horn, awakened another person
in the Orsini palace, and this was Troilo. He felt his heart beat
with anguish: he rose from his bed into a sitting posture, and stood
some time irresolute, and listening attentively to see whether he
could guess from the movement of the people what had happened; and as
all returned in a short time to its previous silence, he collected
courage enough to dress, and descend cautiously to the Duchess's
apartment.
"Come in," said Isabella with a firm and secure voice, when she heard
the knock at her door: and Troilo entered. She, neither surprised nor
fearful, turned her eyes upon him, and tranquilly resumed her former
attitude. Troilo was the first to speak:
"Isabella, are you aware that Paolo Giordano is about to return to
Florence?" ...
"I know it."
"How do you know it?"
"By letters which he sent me, and in which he said that he would be
at home in a few days...."
"And did you read nothing else in these letters?"
"Nothing else...."
"Indeed! yet I know that there was written other news, or at least
you should have read it there."
"What?"
"That on the arrival of Paolo Giordano you will die by his hand."
"Let God dispose of me as it pleases Him. Troilo, I am prepared to
die...."
"What do you say? You have an entire world to travel before you: full
of strength, of power, of beauty, how can you consent to leave a
scene where you sustain your part so well! When the fruit is green,
it should not be shaken from the tree of life. And perhaps you never
had a better time than this to enjoy reasonably human gifts, for you
are neither too inexperienced to allow yourself to be carried away
by the illusions of youth, nor too hesitating, on account of the
weakness of declining years. Behold, the season to gather the fruits
of experience is just beginning for you...."
"I am old, very old at heart, and love death more than I ever loved a
living being...."
"But you outrage Divine Providence, and yourself. Don't give way to
such sad dejection; you may repent it, when perhaps too late. Come,
courage; cheer up your spirit, for God's sake!..."
Isabella turned her head, and fixing her eyes for some time on
Troilo, added:
"Thanks! Keep your courage to yourself; I have enough of it. Troilo,
if it was not a firm deliberation of my mind to remain here, do you
think that I could not devise some means to go away? No; escaping, I
would show to the world my shame; I would make manifest that which
is uncertain, or what very few people know; fear would say more than
guilt, and would increase the necessity of revenge. And besides, in
what place can I hide myself where the poniard, the snare, or the
poison of the assassin could not reach me? And when even I could
find a place capable of protecting me, who could protect me against
the disdainful manner with which men give help, like crusts of bread
thrown to a beggar? Who could protect me against the bitter and
incessant reproaches which would be hurled against me, not because
guilty, but because I made public this guilt? Who could protect me
against that pity which gnaws one's bones, and that compassion which
poisons the blood? Who could protect me against the proud contempt,
the bitter smiles, the respectful sneers? Oh, the thought alone
chills my very soul! No, it is better to die with one blow than
be thus cruelly murdered under this martyrdom renewed from day to
day, or rather from hour to hour, from minute to minute. Prometheus
certainly did not choose life on condition that his bowels should be
devoured by the insatiable vulture."
"Your despair, Isabella, comes from not having been able to imagine
any other remedy but flight: there are other means of escape...."
"I see none...."
"And surer ones...."
"If such ones that could surely save my honour!..."
"Be assured that there can be none more safe.... Paolo Giordano
desires our death; this is most certain. Now, as we cannot remain in
this world together--since one of us must choose a different abode,
let _him_ go who wishes to expel us; not ourselves, who would have
willingly tolerated him in this world...."
"And thus you would add homicide to shame. And to amend one crime
commit another, which is more offensive to men and God?"
"The one is the offspring of the other; and necessity excuses us; for
what precept or what law imposes on us the duty of respecting a life
which has changed into a poniard to take our own? Let us heed the
dictates of nature, a most merciful mother, who never fails; and she
will say to you that between killing and being killed, it is best to
kill...."
"You strike me with horror."
"And why?"
"Because, if I question my heart, a voice cries to me:--What precept
or what law ever allows us to punish him who did not commit the
crime? What justice ever taught us to make a victim, because we
committed a crime? No, laws are never perverted thus, neither in this
world nor the next...."
"Of the next world we will think by-and-by; for the present let us
think of this. Isabella, you must have learned from your father the
secret of concocting some beverage sweet to the taste, which puts one
quietly asleep ... never to wake again...."
"Ah, wretched man! Would you renew the horrors of the family of
Atreus?..."
"No, I do not intend to begin anything new, I only wish you to
continue in the practice of domestic examples...."
Isabella bent her head; then raising and tossing it with a scornful
look, replied resolutely:
"No, this crime shall not contaminate the pages of history; our
family shall not have its Clytemnestra, and if you design such a
wretched attempt against the life of your cousin, beware! I will
defend him with all my powers, even with my own life...."
"Isabella, you cannot separate your fate from mine: love bound us
willingly together for a short time; crime binds us unwillingly with
an indissoluble tie...."
"These are the ties of cowards; I am not afraid, and I break them...."
"I know well enough that you are not afraid, but I know too well also
in what you trust.... You have hopes in pardon; you put faith in your
cunning words, in your art of dissimulating, in the pleasures of your
caresses.... Yes, wretched woman, you trust to your arts, and if, in
order to secure your peace and safety, a sacrifice and a victim is
wanted, behold, my head is destined for the expiation of all...."
"Then fly, save yourself elsewhere. Have you need of means? I
can give you all you desire--take all which I have in money and
jewels--for the journey which I am about to take, money is of no use."
"If you fear assassins, you, a cousin of Catherine of France, how
can I save myself from them--I, without any protection? If you are
saddened by the thought of receiving insufficient, feeble, and even
bitter help, how can I hope to have it abundant, efficacious, or
agreeable? It is in vain for you to pretend generosity when it is
of no avail, and advise plans which are not safe. I see no other way
here but poison...."
"And I swear to you, upon my word, that Giordano shall live...."
"No, you must poison him...."
"If you did not excite my compassion, you would certainly excite my
scorn...."
"Indeed? Then listen. We have a son. I already foresaw your
treacherous obstinacy. You had better remove this shadow of
repentance, shameless woman! and know that you will not wash out your
stains with my blood!--We have a child: I have already sent for him,
and if you do not consent to save me--and save yourself also, I will
throw it murdered into your arms before morning.--When Giordano is
dead we can marry, not because we can ever love each other; for, if
you hate me, it is well that you should know also that I hate you no
less; but to appease the impudent pride of your haughty brothers, who
dare to think there is no nobility in the world equal to their own,
who were merchants yesterday, and now threaten our lives.... You may
willingly reside far from me, as I, with all my heart, swear that I
will go thousands of miles from you...."
While Troilo with fierce passion was proffering these words, Isabella
showed from time to time signs of impatience, rage, and intense
desire to retort against the villanous knight; but with great effort
she repressed her words, and when he finished, feigning in her aspect
and voice a calmness which she was certainly far from feeling,
replied:
"You are an excellent and affectionate father indeed, who calls to
mind his children only to murder them! Troilo, the heart of a woman
may err, and be deceived when she is in love, but it is not deceived,
nor does it err when she becomes a mother. You rely in vain on
your cruel designs: your child is now where he has no fear of your
paternal caresses...."
"Even my child you have taken from me?"
"And dare you to complain that I have saved him from your parricidal
hands?"
"Restore me my child!--Restore me my child! Or I will tear your heart
out...."
"Strike!..." And Isabella, pale as death, but yet calm, opened her
arms, and offered her breast to him. Troilo stood thoughtful awhile,
and then murmured:
"What is her death to me? I wish to live...."
And he replaced his dagger. Then suddenly, as a sail blown by a
strong wind falls at its cessation flapping against the mast, so
his coward heart, entirely deprived of constancy, was cowed down; a
sudden and great change worked within him, and from bold he became
humble. Then with downcast eyes and low voice, turning to Isabella a
face which he endeavored to render suppliant, but was abject, resumed:
"Ah! Isabella; forget, I beg you, all that passion poured from my
lips: when the blood rises to the head, man knows not what he says
or does; if you only will it so (the heaven having granted you such
great gifts of persuasion, beauty, and grace) Paolo Giordano will
not imbrue his hands in your blood. Ah! in obtaining your pardon,
obtain mine also; or if, wary as you are, you see that it would be of
use to deny, deny; do not doubt of my discretion, for it is a great
stake; at a suitable time, with your help, I will take leave of this
fatal house, and return to the army, where by this time I might have
acquired a distinguished name and rank. Promise me, Isabella. Can I
rely on you? Speak, oh, speak! Do not leave me thus upon thorns: my
soul is overcome with inexpressible grief; remember that I am the
father of your child...."
"It would have been better not to remind me of it, Orsini; indeed it
would have been better. Nevertheless, in the same manner in which I
would have defended Paolo Giordano, I shall defend you. Certainly I
will not tell falsehoods, but if the guilt can be excused, I will
certainly do it for all our sakes; and if God gives me life, I
will endeavor to obtain, if not pardon, mercy. There can never be
happiness for me again in this world; yet I shall deem myself less
unhappy, knowing you prosperous. Now go, Troilo; I have need of
peace...."
And Troilo, bowing his head, with his arms folded upon his breast,
departed.
Isabella followed him with her eyes, and held them fixed a long time
at the door from whence he had gone out: suddenly, striking the palm
of her hand upon her forehead, she exclaimed:
"Alas! alas! for what a man have I lost the honor of a woman, the
dignity of a princess, and my own salvation!..."
* * * * *
It was a clear and serene night in July; the stars revolved in their
celestial spheres, pouring a dew of light upon this earth, which
does not deserve such smiles of love. The times, places, things,
and men, which you saw then, ye pure rays of light, have returned
dying from whence they had sprung before their birth: many and many
more men and centuries shall you see; but will that light which
emanated from you last for ever, or, like all other fires, will it
be extinguished? It is written, that one day God will shatter into
atoms, never again to meet, this mass of bloody clay which we call
earth; and it will be well, for we almost wish that it had already
happened: but it is also written, that your loving eyes shall be
extinguished, and God will close your eyelids like maidens dead in
the midst of the joys of life. The voice of the Eternal, like unto
the roaring of a thousand oceans in the storm, will return to peal
throughout the endless solitude of darkness and abyss. Of so immense
a variety of created things there will not remain an echo, nor a
memory, nor even a shadow;--as the eye seeks, and finds not the drop
fallen into the sea; as the eye seeks, and finds not the star which
falls from the firmament in summer nights; so time will be hurled
into the depth of eternity;--this terrible mother will smother her
child pressed in her arms, and will bury him in her bosom. Oh, Lord!
How can man, thinking on the death of the stars, foster evil designs
in his heart? Thousands of ages will pass away before the stars will
cease to proclaim in the heavens the glories of God;--and thousands
of ages before this shall happen, this body of mine, separated into
innumerable particles, will be laid waste through the kingdoms of
nature. Nevertheless, thinking that one day you must perish also,
beautiful lights of love, my spirit is disheartened, and it seems an
almost impossible thing to conceive, how men, creatures of a moment,
meeting upon this earth which passes away with them, instead of
raising their hands in enmity against each other, should not exchange
friendly greetings, and disappear into eternity;--a light shadow
fleeting away, but at least a happy one.
On such a night, a man creeping like a snake, his body shrinking,
grazing the walls, hiding himself in the thickest darkness, and
raising his head sometimes to imprecate the distant ray with which
the stars smiled upon this miserable earth, hastened towards a
certain place. This place was the convent of Santa Croce. Arriving at
the gate of the cloister, he pulled the bell-rope softly, restraining
the ardent desire he felt to give it so strong a pull as to awaken
the whole convent: he stood listening through the cracks of the
door, and as he heard no one moving, he rang again: and he repeated
it thus four or six times, and was beginning to lose all patience,
when he thought he heard footsteps approaching; he then, assuming a
devotional attitude, stood waiting composedly. A bold hand opened the
door deliberately: and, considering the times, it was not a little
boldness, for they lived in such suspicion then, that to open at
such a late hour would have required many signs and explanations, as
is the custom in a besieged fortress; at the same time a bold yet
pleasing voice said:
"_Deo gratias_: what do you desire in the holy name of God...."
"Reverend Father," replied the unknown, "God at this moment is
calling to Himself a great sinner. As all knots come to the comb,
thus in this hour return to his mind all his crimes committed, and he
despairs of the Divine mercy, curses the day and hour in which he
was born, and is running the imminent danger of dying unrepentant...."
"Unhappy he, because he has sinned; more unhappy still, because he
despairs of the Lord's mercy!..."
"Indeed I tried to persuade him that it was so; but as I am ignorant
of divinity, I saw that my words had but little effect: nevertheless,
I did not cease praying with him, and strove to console him by
saying--that at last all would be settled rightly, and that God, who
is old, has seen so many and many crimes, that now He cannot be so
very particular about them, and that a good repentance, but of the
real kind, would wash out more sins than perhaps his own...."
"Certainly, the power of repentance is very great, and God as a good
shepherd labors principally after the lost sheep."
"But the dying man said:--Who would dare to present my soul to God,
without fearing that He would cover His eyes with His hands? Who will
utter for me one prayer, without fearing the gates of heaven will
be closed in his face? Only one ... only one just man I know in the
world, who could inspire me with a hope of faith ... but it is too
late ... he would not come ... at this hour he is refreshing with
a short rest his limbs worn out in the service of God.... Alas, it
is too late!--And uttering piteous cries, he tossed raving upon the
bed. Finally, I succeeded with pain to extract from his mouth the
name of this venerable man, who it cannot be denied is a most holy
and learned one, for he is the Reverend Father Marcello, whom may
God always keep prosperous and happy.--And although it was a late
hour, yet I thought best for me to come for him, hoping the grace
may be granted me of contributing towards the salvation of a sinful
Christian...."
As the monk stood thoughtful, and did not reply, the man continued,
making studied pauses between one word and another:
"Besides, as the dying man is immensely rich, and a great merchant,
nor having, that I know, any children, or relatives, except very
distant ones, I thought he might leave large sums of money to be
expended in pious works, alms, funerals, and so forth...."
The friar, however, had not paid any attention to the final argument
of this man: but suddenly, as if recollecting himself, said:
"We can die but once after all; and the best death is certainly that
which we meet in the service of God. This life of suspicion seems a
continual death. Good man, you in the simplicity of your heart gave
advice like the most learned of the Fathers of the Church. God gave
equal remuneration to the workmen who came early, as to the others
who came towards evening to his vineyard. Charity does not look at
the watch; and the brightest hour for her is that in which she is
able to bring more aid to the poor afflicted people. Charity done in
the dark of night is that which is more clear to the eye of God. The
house of the Lord is never empty: knock, and it shall be opened to
you: the fountain of heavenly mercy never fails: ask, and it shall be
given you to drink;--the blood of our Redeemer pours an everlasting
ablution for repentant and humble souls.--Indeed, the times are full
of danger, and invisible hands strike at the ministers of the gospel.
Religion is now groaning over the blood of the martyrs, which is
drenching the earth without bearing fruits. And there are those who
wish Religion as a servant, or rather accomplice, and presume to put
on her their livery; to substitute on the stole their coat-of-arms
instead of the Cross, and enrol her as a man-at-arms. May God avert
such infamy! Religion has the mission of interposing between the
oppressed and the oppressor, to save the former beneath the folds of
her sacred mantle, to look on the face of the latter, to hurl the
anathema against him, and drag him by the hair before a tribunal
where he is but dust.... But this city has stoned its prophets;--the
angels wept when they saw Friar Girolamo Savonarola burned by the
people, and a lamentation was heard through the heaven, saying: Oh,
Lord, oh, Lord! Has the end of the world come?--Like the services
of the Holy Week at the end of each psalm they extinguish a light;
and when they are all out, there is darkness, and how horrible!--You
might deceive me: Judas betrayed Christ, kissing him; but I had
rather be betrayed once, than suspect all my life.... Go on, good
man; I will follow you...."
"What, is it you?..."
"I am Father Marcello. The others sleep, but to me the Lord
said:--Watch, for your life will be short, and you will soon sleep
your last sleep in the grave. Prayer is my bride, preaching my
sister, tears my pleasure...."
And shutting the door behind him, he followed the steps of the
unknown man.
The unknown, who (since I do not wish to keep my readers in suspense)
was Titta, walked with his eyes on the ground, and took tottering
steps like one strongly excited by some passion; and it was so.
He, who had spent so many years of his life in doing evil, now,
in a short space of a few hours, saw fortune place before him two
generous souls, that of Cecchino, and Father Marcello's; so that when
he least expected it, a doubt arose in his mind, which perhaps had
continually escaped him all his lifetime: and without understanding
it, their dignity seemed to him a wonderful fact. Besides, that
ready and spontaneous trusting in him, so little worthy of trust;
the honest boldness which springs from feeling ourselves innocent;
the forgetfulness or contempt of any danger when there was a case
of doing a work of charity, agitated him with such new and deep
sentiments, that he could not account for them. What, without
seeming at all impossible, will appear wonderful to the subtle
scrutinizers of human nature, was, that while he proceeded with the
full deliberation of accomplishing his planned snare against the poor
friar, he begged his guardian angel that he might prevent him, and
sought in the bottom of his heart the trace of some virtue, which
would serve him as an anchor, in which he might trust in order to
save himself from shipwreck.
Father Marcello, although ignorant of the streets of Florence, yet
perceived that he had made him cross the same street twice; he
therefore touched his conductor lightly upon the shoulders, saying:
"Brother, mind the road."
"Ah! You are right; I had got so absorbed in my own thoughts, that
if you had not roused me, I know not when I should have come to my
senses again; and in order that it may not happen again, be kind
enough to reply to some doubts which I have in my mind. Now, Father,
tell me, where do you think we shall be carried with all these
contentions about Religion?"
"It would be too long a subject to discuss; but I have faith that
it will lead to good. For my part I believe Luther is a Cerberus,
who barks because they do not throw him the bone: but he bit the
leaves, not the root; he tore the fringe, but not the cloth. He is
as tiresome as a criticism, and lasts only because the fault lasts:
if the Church only purify herself in the mystic waters, Luther and
all the renovators would at once fail. Already they do not agree
among themselves in building the new Babel; the ancient miracle of
the confusion of tongues is again commencing, they all run through
paths where there is no exit. These troubles will pass, but before
they pass, I fear a great many other new ones will be added: when the
human intellect has rebelled against authority, it must wear itself
out in the path of proud reasonings. Imagining that superstitions
and errors are the necessary evils of religion, they will all join
together to destroy them; and I foresee these to be days full of
sorrow: I foresee again renewed the vinegar and gall, the thorns, the
blows, the nails, and the spear-wound of Christ; I see doubt as a
wind coming from the desert withering the harvest of Faith, Charity,
and Hope. But since man cannot reach the celestial seats with the
simple light of reason, he will stand appalled in contemplating in
the heaven an abyss like hell, and shall feel again the need of a
God, who may have had grief, love, and feelings of humanity, and
will seek Christ again, who, as it is said He did with St. Francis,
will unloose his arms from the cross to embrace him. Thus, religion
becoming again the bridesmaid of human souls, after having espoused
them in this world with the ties of love, will direct them towards
the eternal home to which we all aspire, which is in heaven."
"These seem to me things that may happen some time or other at the
last judgment. Let us leave heaven, for, as you say, it would be a
long discourse; but of this earth, of this which we call our country,
this Florence, this Italy, what do you think?"
"My son, she is dead; no, not dead ... the sleep which oppresses
her has the appearance of death ... but this sleep is so heavy that
it seems to me that without a miracle of God she can never awake
again. Know, know, my son, that oppressors cannot tyrannize, if
the oppressed do not consent to be tyrannized over; nor does the
difficulty consist in taking away the tyrant, but in the virtue
of the citizens in maintaining themselves in freedom and honest
fellowship. This city, at the time of the death of Alexander, showed
how a people can remain slaves, although the tyrant be dead; and this
is what regards national independence: as to foreign independence,
God is strong, and takes part with the strong. These foolish people
think to get rid of Spain by means of France, of France by means of
Spain, and they stretch their hands humbly now to the latter, now
to the former, those hands which should have been armed to threaten
and to strike both of them.--_Out with the barbarians!_ cried the
glorious Pontiff Julius II.; and the barbarians were all those
who were not born in Italy. Oh, foolish people! who believe that
the chivalry of Spain or France are going to leave their splendid
castles, their wives and children, encounter the perils of the sea,
climb over the precipitous summits of the mountains, and come in
your country merely to fight a tournament, and give the reward of
it to you lazy men, who stand looking on. Oh, fools! the people who
know not how to defend the home which nature has given them, are not
worthy of possessing it: the world belongs to those who take it; thus
has the law of destiny decreed. Louis XI. made France a united and
strong kingdom; Charles V. had the same idea with regard to Germany
and Spain. The over-rated Lorenzo dei Medici, what did he accomplish?
With jugglers' tricks he kept in discordant equilibrium the remnant
of a people. It was not a monument, but a pasteboard statue; and the
first wind that blew from the Alps overturned it: Charles VIII. rode
over Italy with wooden spurs. Now we are broken into fragments. The
Italian people stood watching the death of the Florentine Republic
like a fighting gladiator: at her glorious death all applauded, no
one helped her; and falling, the Republic wrote with its blood upon
the arena a cruel sentence, and which shall come to pass: You also
will fall, but infamously. Venice believes herself seated upon a
throne, but she is sitting instead upon the grave which shall cover
her. Genoa, like the swallow having made its nest in a lofty place,
imagines itself secure, and does not think of the hunter's arrow,
that reaches even to the clouds ... I breathe an air of tombs, I
trample an earth of churchyard...."
"Then, Father, if it is so, allow me to quote a passage, written
some hundred and more years ago by a worthy priest and canon of the
Church, who had more brains than a thousand such as I, which said:
O fools and blind, to labor night and day,
In fruitless toil, when soon around our clay
Our mother's cold embraces shall be thrown,
Our deeds forgotten, and our names unknown![47]
"Mark, however: first, heaven has not granted me the gift of
prophecy, and as I may perchance be mistaken, thus it behooves
us to do what is right without giving ourselves the thought of
what may happen; secondly, that I once heard from my teacher,
that a God and a people, although dead, cannot long remain
within the sepulchre; and in truth, our Saviour only remained
in it three days. The days of the people are indeed centuries;
but men pass away like shadows, humanity remains. Every good
seed brings forth good fruit before God, and at its proper time
will sprout to enliven the earth; if we shall not eat of it, let
us save it, for our children shall. Thirdly, I told you that I
deemed her not dead, but oppressed by mortal lethargy. It would
avail me nothing, and in truth I hate to spend the life which
God has granted me in sculpturing a splendid marble tomb, to
place within it the corpse of Italy, and then deck myself in
majestic funeral clothes, light candles upon golden candlesticks,
fill the censers with perfumes, and chant with divine notes the
prayers for the dead. This I hate, although I see it done, with
infinite bitterness to my soul, by men of noble talents but
feeble hearts.... Have you ever heard about Queen Joanna, the
mother of Charles V.? When her husband Philip, whom she loved
so much, died, she would not allow him to be buried, but had him
embalmed, and placed him upon a rich bed of black velvet, and as
long as she lived she sat at his side, watching from time to time
if he would not awake: this was charity and insanity. I imitate
this charitable example wisely, since I do not consider our
country dead, but as if asleep by enchantment; and I watch her
day and night, uttering over her the words of love, but oftener
still of grief and anger; at times with reviving salts, or other
stimulants, I endeavor to recall her to life; at other times I
thrust my hands in her hair, or put to her lips a living coal as
God gave to Isaiah, or I pierce her flesh near the heart to see
if from thence gushes out living blood. Indeed ... indeed, so far
my words have been in vain, and entire locks of her hair have
remained in my hands.... But if when about to awaken, these words
of anger, grief, and love, these deeds of charity or disdain
should be able to break this lethargy from her head for one
moment, or even a second before the time fixed by fate, would not
my life, the lives of a hundred citizens be well spent?"
[47]
O ciechi: il tanto affaticar che giova?
Tutti torniamo alla gran madre antica,
E il nome vostro appena si ritrova.--PETRARCA.
"This friar's brains," thought Titta to himself, "seem to me like
a windmill; but even such mills, when the weather is propitious,
grind grain, and well too. To get rid of all this talk, there is
no other way but to pull the hood over his mouth;--and yet he
seems to me a great and noble soul; Aretino was not worthy of
tying his shoes. However, there is no longer time to change my
mind, and I must leave the moth-eaten beam for fear the house
should fall.... Here we are at the place!... Truly, I commit a
great treachery; but thrown upon the heap of my other bad deeds,
it will not increase the pile much. And besides, woe to him who
shall dare to harm a hair of his head.... After all, it is no
great thing; a few hours of seclusion, with the best comforts
which one can desire.... And then I will ask his pardon, ... and
he, as he is so very kind, no doubt will grant it to me."
Thus ruminating within himself, Titta perceived that they had
reached the appointed place, which was the corner of the street
Mandorlo; then, putting two fingers into his mouth, he gave a
sharp whistle, and suddenly, without knowing whence they came,
as if detaching themselves from the walls of the houses, four
men appeared, who surrounded the friar. Father Marcello started,
overcome by surprise, stretched his hand, and grasped strongly
the arm of Titta, saying with an excited voice:
"You betray me!" But checking himself, he added in a milder tone:
"May God forgive you.--_Domine, in manus tuas commendo spiritum
meum._"
"No, my good Father, do not doubt me; I do not wish to do you any
harm. I swear it to you by the holy Madonna Nunziata, who being
so near, as you may see, I might almost say, she hears me. We
have no need of your life, but only of your gown. We only wish
to become yourself for a little while, without your ceasing to
be what you are. You shall be carried back in due time to the
convent, without any harm being done you. Meanwhile, you cannot
proceed without you allow us to bandage your eyes."
"Do as you will.... Many more insults did my Divine Master suffer
for our sake. I grieve not for myself, but for the poor souls
of those for whose ruin I see you are plotting some work of
darkness."
And he offered his head to be bandaged, desirous of avoiding as
much as possible the contact of those vile men. This done, and
after they had assured themselves that he could not see, they
conducted him to the square of the Nunziata, where they made him
turn round many times in order that he might not recognise the
way that they intended to take him; then they went along the via
Studio, and the square of St. Marco, and entered into the Casino.
Having conducted him into a room prepared for the occasion, which
looked upon the gardens where the windows had been strongly
barred and nailed on the outside, Titta hesitating, his heart
almost failing him for the shameless deed, said in a low voice:
"Father, you must allow me to remove your gown."
"Beware, you would commit a sacrilege, and if God should strike
you now with sudden death, your soul would be irreparably lost."
"Father, _in primis_, I protest that I am not doing this for your
injury; besides, I solemnly promise to restore it to you within a
few hours; and finally, as the weather is so very warm, I cannot
understand how a man can commit such a heavy sin in freeing you
for a little while of such heavy hair-cloth."
"When I put this garment on, I swore that I would never lay it
aside during my lifetime."
"And you do not break your oath, because you suffer violence, and
your will does not consent to it."
"But why do you use violence against me? In what have I offended
you? I never saw you before."
"Oh, Father, you ought to perceive that I am forced by others to
do you violence."
"If you know evil, why do you not abstain from it?"
"It would have been difficult before now: but now impossible."
"Miserable man! I pity you. When you shall have brought me back
this garment, it will be stained with blood: perhaps it will not
be seen in the eyes of men, but God will see it: a Christian soul
shall then stand before His throne, asking for vengeance, ... and
he will have it."
"And would that it were the only one!" muttered Titta. "Father,
it is getting late; give me your gown."
"No, rather take my life."
"I told you that we needed your garment, and not your life: I beg
you with all my strength, and humbly beseech you not to force us
to put our hands upon you. Take away the necessity of resorting
to this extreme; we also are obeying those who are more powerful
than we. And if we did not obey, we should all be killed."
"Well, tear it from my back, then;--and may God reward him who is
the cause of it, according to his deserts."
Titta and the others closed around the friar, who resisted; but
he was soon overcome, being but weak, and his adversaries too
numerous. Having taken his gown, they went off hastily, like
wolves having stolen the prey, to hide themselves in their cave;
and Father Marcello, noticing from the silence that he was alone,
took off his bandage.
Turning his eyes around, he saw a room adorned with splendid
pictures, and fine works of sculpture both in marble and in
bronze; he saw also a magnificent bed, a table loaded with
various kinds of food and wines, and chandeliers which shed a
brilliant light: but he turned his saddened eyes from all these
things, and rested them upon a _prie-Dieu_, where was a crucifix
and book, which from the size he soon recognised as a missal.
With his heart full he threw himself at the feet of the crucifix,
and burst into bitter tears.
He wept, for although he was a pious man, yet he was flesh and
blood like all Adam's children; he wept for the atrocious injury
which he had suffered, and the sacrilegious attempt; he wept for
the offence done to God; he wept for the soul or souls of those
against whom he plainly saw some treacherous deed was about to
be committed; and he fervently prayed that the Lord might arise,
and show his power to the wicked. Certainly never was a miracle
begged with more ardent vows, nor expected with greater faith,
nor more needed: but He, who might have worked it, decreed
otherwise.
* * * * *
The stars began to disappear in the heavens, when from the
interior of the church of Santa Croce, near the greater door
in front, was heard a jingling of keys, and the tramp of heavy
steps. Immediately after, the bolts were suddenly withdrawn. A
lay-brother put out his head looking right and left, raising
it as if snuffing the pure morning air, and rubbing his hands
together, exclaimed:--"A beautiful morning!"--Then saluting again
the sky with a look, he re-entered the church to see if the lamps
were still burning; and as they shed only a feeble light, as if
ready to go out, he hastened towards the vestry to refill them.
At this moment, a monk, groping along the walls, introduced
himself suspiciously and stealthily into the church through the
greater gate, and with hasty steps approached a confessional
under the organ, opened it, and shut himself within it. Indeed
this apparition might have frightened the boldest man, for in
passing behind the columns of the navade it entirely disappeared,
and suddenly crossing the rays of lamps hanging from the arches,
might have been seen a dark and tall figure, like a phantom,
moving swiftly over the pavement, and across the walls.
Not long after penitents began to arrive from different parts,
some carrying in their hands lanterns, some lighted candles,
whose flames the calm air hardly moved, and all gathered round
the confessional beneath the organ, like doves around their
grain. The confessions began: but on that day, with no little
astonishment to the devotees, it seemed as if Father Marcello had
put aside his accustomed mildness. He would listen inattentively,
answer but little, and both in his words and manners appeared
very different from his usual custom.
To a certain mother, who accused herself of having cursed her
son, because he had threatened to strike her, he said:--"He was
right, for he now punishes you for not having punished him enough
at the proper time."
To a man, who having received a sum of money in trust from a
friend, had invested it for his own use, and now asked for pardon
and advice, he replied shortly and bitterly:--"Drown yourself in
the Arno."
A woman came, who confessed that she was too prone to anger and
bad language, and then quarrels arose between herself and her
husband, and caused a scandal and trouble in the house: and she
begged him some good counsels to reform this bad temper: and the
monk, as if impatient, replied: "Ask your mother-in-law!"
Another woman, who after having enumerated a great number of
sins, kept on so long that it would seem she never would end,
he stopped short by asking:--"How old are you?"--"Sixty-five,
Father, next August." "So much the better for you; for, since you
are not able to leave sin, sin will soon leave you."
To a man, who with tears in his eyes confessed to having
betrayed a relative by accusing him to the justice as a rebel
and conspirator against the state, he shut the gate in his face,
saying:--"Hell is wide enough!"
And lastly we will add what he said to a lawyer:--"Father,"--said
the lawyer,--"in a certain lawsuit in which I knew that I was
wrong, I deceived my adversary, and succeeded in getting a
sentence in my favor." "My son; forensic defence seems to me
sometimes like a game at cards played by two shrewd old gamblers.
It is of no use! A sin more, or a sin less, more pulleys would be
needed to hoist up a soul like yours into heaven, than to pull up
the bells to the top of the belfry: you may go, it is all lost
time."
It is not to be said how astonished the penitents went off. Is
this,--thought they,--the holy man? This the great theologian
and learned divine? Is he the man able to know our moral
infirmities, pitiful in hearing them, benign in treating them? He
appears more like a man-at-arms than anything else; and he would
look better with a helmet and sword than the cowl upon his head,
and the breviary in his hand.
Suddenly, two women wrapped in ample mantillas of black silk,
little heeding the crowd that stood kneeling and crowded
around the confessional, passed by; and whilst one entered the
confessional, the other knelt on one side in the attitude of
prayer. The crowd, knocked on each side, did not dare to murmur,
but gave way respectfully, saying to themselves:--"These must be
two great ladies; they pass and trample on us!"
"Father!" began the one who went to the confessional. The
confessor started visibly; he carried the hem of his garment to
his mouth, took it between his teeth, and thus repressing his
emotion replied:
"Say on!"
"Father!..." And her words failed again. The confessor, no longer
impatient, after a suitable space of time, repeated in a low tone:
"Say on!"
"Father, is it really true that God forgives every great sin?"
"This is the greatest sin of which you might perchance accuse
yourself. Have you truly examined your own conscience? Are
you disposed not to hide any of your acts, words, deeds,
omissions, thoughts, in short everything? Remember that St.
Augustine teaches, that confession is the open demonstration
of our internal infirmity with the hope of obtaining a cure;
and although this is a great deal, yet it is not enough, and a
contrite and repentant heart is also required: have you brought
with you this repentant heart? If so, as I hope, speak; man may
first be weary with sinning, before Divine mercy with forgiving."
"_Amen_, Father, _amen_! I will speak confiding in pardon, not
because I deserve it, but because, as you say, Divine mercy is
great. I have been a sinful daughter, mother, wife, citizen, all
in short...."
"Well!"
"As a citizen, I have done no good: many I have injured, and
if even I did good to any one, I feel that I was moved less by
charity than by a vain pomp of appearing generous. I hid not from
my left hand the alms done by my right; I was pleased that the
world should know it, and people should talk of it."
"This is not a merit, but not a sin. You have bought worldly
fame: these alms you will not find registered in the books of
heaven. _Recipisti mercedem tuam_, you have received your reward.
It is the charity of the Pharisee; and it is generally what
the present world give. Men now give a penny with a sound of
trumpets, they notify it with ringing of bells, and large printed
notices on all the corners of the street ... _Vanitas vanitatum_
... it is all a vanity! Hence you may consider that you have
already received your reward for the charities done."
"As a daughter I paid but little attention to the advices and
admonitions of my father.--I cannot live for ever!--he would
often say to me: but happy he, and myself also, if he had given
me less advice, and, may God have mercy on his soul, a better
example!"
"And as a wife?"
"Wife!--Nature gave me a fatal gift: a most ardent imagination,
restless desires, a wonderful disposition to learn, and a
retentive memory. I learned, and exercised with passion all that
which is capable of exalting the mind and ennobling the heart.
Educated among luxuries, fêted, and constantly flattered with
sweet words; surrounded by pleasures, and manners loosened to
all sorts of dissipations; given as wife to a man whom I did not
know, nor who knew me; we fancied each other but little, and
loved less; he a soldier, I a worshipper of the muses. One day,
oppressed by insupportable _ennui_, my husband went off; he was
to remain away three months, and he stayed three years. I dared
to presume too much to myself, and pride overcame me. Then I
fancied a destiny, which only my mind conceived, an invincible
passion nourished only by my own fancy, and creating, and I may
almost say lending to a man worthless in himself, the qualities
of perfection, which I dreamed in the ideals of my poetry ...
I dug with my own hands the abyss wherein I fell ... and I was
lost. When I awoke from that dream, I saw my house full of shame,
and before me a most degraded man, and myself more degraded than
he. The harvest of guilt was fully reaped by me;--bitter tears,
ineffable grief, contempt for myself, repentance, late indeed,
but great, deep, and such a one that God may have seen equalled,
but never greater."
"And was the time long that you lived in sin?" inquired the
confessor, with a harsh, slow voice.
"Oh, Father, enough ... seek no more, if you do not wish to see
me die of shame at your feet."
"Well! But was your lover a relative of yours? What is his name?"
If Isabella had been less moved at that moment, the name of
Troilo would have certainly escaped from her mouth: but unable
to speak, being forced to catch her breath, she remembered she
was not obliged to reveal the name of the accomplice, but rather
charity imposed upon her to keep it religiously secret; hence
when the confessor insisted:
"Was your lover a relative of yours? What is his name?"
She resolutely replied:
"I accuse myself, not others. I cannot tell you more, nor ought
you to ask, nor I to tell."
"What! This is important! For the sin varies and increases
according to the degree of the relationship. And it behooves me
to explain to you, that two are the forms of relationship, the
first natural, the second religious; that is, for example, to
hold a child for baptism, confirmation, and so forth.... Hence
by the canonical laws, the cousin of your husband, for example,
would be a relative of the second degree, and then the adultery
would become incest, a sin which offends God more, and disturbs a
great deal more the laws of civil life."
"Alas! you make me shudder with horror!"
"Now then, speak: is the man a relative of yours?"
"Yes, a cousin of my husband."
"Cousin!"
"Nor is that all."
"No?"
"I am an unhappy mother ... a son."
"A son? What is his name? How old is he?"
"Only a few months old."
"Not years, eh ... not years?"
"No, months; but what matters this?"
"It matters a great deal."
"And as he is not a brother to his brother, I banished him from
my house, not however from my heart."
"And where did you send him? Where is he now?"
"There is no need of my saying this, Father. I have done like
the eagle; I have made a nest for him where human malice cannot
reach him. As regards property, my legitimate son will not be a
sufferer, for I have left him all the property my father left me."
Here she remained a moment in silence: then remembering the time
was fast passing, she added:
"And now, Father, keep your promise. I have revealed everything
to you; opened my whole heart: now you must console me with hope;
proffer the great word, which will restore me my lost innocence,
and make me worthy of hoping for pardon;--open to me the gates of
heaven; give me, you who have the power, absolution...."
And as the friar did not reply, Isabella entreated eagerly:
"Why are you silent, Father? Is my sin so great that the Lord in
his mercy cannot forgive? Did not Peter deny Him? Did not Paul
persecute Him? And yet did they not become chosen vessels, and
apostles of the people? I ask not so much; a particle of pity
would be enough, a drop of consolation and oblivion. Release me
from sin, save me from despair. I know that _in articulo mortis_
you can absolve cases reserved only to the Pope. Listen, you may
consider me on the point of death; believe me, I am in my last
agony; only a few hours remain to me to live; near the dreaded
departure, you cannot deny me the bread of hope and pardon,
through which the soul appears before the tribunal of God, where
trembling and trusting it awaits the sentence of the minister,
who represents God upon this earth, to be confirmed...."
And still the friar answered not.
Isabella again prayed, begged, and wept, but still in vain. The
confessional had become as silent as the grave. Then Isabella
reached her hand impatiently within the niche occupied by the
confessor, striving to meet him in the dark, fearing some sudden
accident had befallen him. Let the reader imagine how great was
her wonder, her grief, her terror, when she felt assured the
friar had disappeared. A cold shudder crept over her heart; and
with a sigh she fell senseless upon the ground.
And it was fortunate for her to have Lady Lucrezia by her side;
who, little occupied by her own thoughts, paid careful attention
to what was passing. She hastened to her assistance, and
succeeded in a short time in restoring her.
Isabella, thinking on the one hand of the danger which she had
run of raising a great deal of scandal in the church if the
people had recognised her, on the other hand seeing that the dawn
was beginning to lighten the sky, leant trembling on the arm of
Lucrezia, and hastily left the church.
Coming out into the air, she raised her eyes to heaven, where
the stars had disappeared one by one, not like lights blown out
by a gust of wind, but like sparks that are consumed within a
greater fire:--thus human souls, emanations from the Divinity,
set free from the flesh which bind them, love to mingle again in
the great bosom of God. From the east a delicate veil of vapors
tinted with gold surrounded beautiful Florence, like a Madonna of
her immortal painters encircled by a radiated halo. Nature with
all created things, as a harpist pours from the chords of his
lyre a torrent of melody, raised to the Creator a morning hymn;
there was no object nor being which either with a prayer, or a
vow of the heart, or the happiness of a look, or with perfume, or
with a song towards heaven, did not salute the Father of light,
and an indistinct murmur was diffused forth and forth in the
distance like a trepidation of the old mother Earth rejoicing in
feeling her chilled bones warmed by the beneficial heat. Hail,
O firstborn of the thought of God; hail, O Sun, for there is
nothing dead before you, and everything breathes and revives,
and from the very sepulchres where lay my beloved dead you bring
out flowers, ornaments for the hair of young lovers, and loving
maidens.
Isabella raised her eyes to heaven, and her smile returned upon
her pale face; then turning her head to the spot where the sun
was about rising, she thus spoke:
"How beautiful is life! But in order to enjoy it we must possess
the youth of years, the youth of the heart, innocence, and
enthusiasm; we must be able to stand the comparison with the odor
of the flowers, with the songs of birds, with the varied tints of
the wings of the butterfly, with the exultation of the first rays
of the morn. O life! since I cannot enjoy thee as I could once, I
will not suffer thee as I am: he who has ceased to reign let him
throw aside his crown; the royal mantle left upon the shoulders
of him who has no longer a kingdom, is a weight and an ignominy.
But is death approaching, perhaps welcomed like the shadow of
the tree to the traveller, who has walked from dawn over burning
sands under the scourge of the sun? Do I approach it with the
desire of the wearied laborer, who sees towards evening, by the
uncertain gleam of twilight, appear in the distance the belfry of
his village? Can I say to the grave: Thou art my bridegroom? Does
peace await me beyond the threshold of life? Yes, peace awaits
me, for I have loved, hoped, and suffered greatly. I repent
of another sin, which is for having desired to put a mediator
between myself and God. The priest has repulsed me from the
temple: for me it is sufficient that thou, O Creator of all, dost
not repulse me from heaven. I confess myself to Thee, O Lord!
Thou hast no need of declarations, for with a look Thou hast seen
through my heart, and penetrated even to its inmost recesses. I
could wish that my spirit might fly towards Thee upon the first
ray which is about to pour down from behind that mountain.... But
if this cannot be, keep Thine arms open, O Lord, for it will not
be long before I shall seek shelter under the mighty wings of Thy
pardon."
* * * * *
The penitents around the confessional waited a long time for
Father Marcello to return; but he did not appear; they went into
the vestry to inquire about him: they sought in his cell, in the
library, and through the convent, but they could not find him.
Feeling alarmed, the monks went round inquiring about him; some
one said he thought he saw him in the street of Diluvio, with
his hood drawn over his eyes, walking hastily, as if called to
some death-bed; another said that he thought he saw him passing
through Borgo a Pinti, so trembling in his walk, that often
getting entangled in his gown, he was on the point of falling.
Where, however, he had gone, all were ignorant, and could not
even imagine. The astonishment increased, not without also a
little fear. The Prior sent some zealous fathers of the order to
inquire courteously of the guards of the gates: they went, they
sought diligently, but no one was able to give any information
about him. Meanwhile between searches, terror, and grief, the
day had already passed; to which succeeded a few hours of the
evening, and the monks were assembled in the refectory, some
praying, some conversing; the boldest ones offered themselves
to ascend upon the pulpits, and announce to the people the
disappearance, and perhaps martyrdom, of Father Marcello; the
timid ones advised waiting to inquire better into the matter,
and not to hasten it: there were as many opinions as there
were heads, as it always happens in an assemblage of men who
meet to decide upon a doubtful event;--when suddenly there was
heard a slight ring at the bell. They all rose to a man, for
we always see the spirit of corporation to be very strong, and
all went to the door. Who can describe the tears, the cries of
joy, the hearty welcomes, the embraces, and the demonstrations
of affection that broke forth from these brothers, when they
saw re-appear their beloved Father Marcello? He replied to
all, kissed and embraced all of them: sweet tears of gratitude
ran down his cheeks; but his face appeared pale, and so deeply
impressed with some internal grief, as to excite at the same
time pity and fear.
He spoke briefly, and said:--that he had run a great danger; it
was really a miracle that he was alive; he owed his life to the
mercy of God, and certainly also to the prayers of his brothers:
he thanked them from the bottom of his heart, and begged them to
be pleased to accompany him to church to render thanks to the
Almighty, that with so visible aid had saved him from so imminent
a danger.
They went, and thanked God; afterwards Father Marcello closeted
with the Prior, and having discussed the matter, and the
consequences, thought best to gain time, in order to avoid
scandal, and keep himself aloof, that no evil may happen to him
and to the Order. He was sent to Rome, in order to inform the
Pope of the manner in which the ministers of the Church were
abused, and that he might inquire into it; and then returning
with the help of the Pontiff to preach against these false
Catholics, who committed such nefarious acts, that the Lutherans
themselves would be ashamed of it.
It was Titta, who, conducting the friar unharmed to the convent,
had kept faithfully his word.