John, seizing the opportunity, cried:--Forward, cavaliers, let us go
to victory ... we cannot but conquer, for dying, there awaits us a
palm in heaven; living, a laurel on the earth.--And cutting short his
speech, being more eager to act, he ran impetuously forward, followed
by his valiant knights, and behold in an instant they boarded and
entered the Turkish _Real_. Ali, meanwhile, a wary captain, had
called aid from the surrounding ships, who, approaching quickly, by
means of ladders and ropes, ascended from abaft, whilst ours entered
from the prow: thence the battle was renewed more bitterly, and all
concentrated about the mainmast; the Turks were not able to expel the
Christians, nor the Christians to master entirely the half conquered
galley. The crowd was so great, and the ranks so close, that they
could not use any other weapon than the poniard, and the combatants,
crazy with fury, used their teeth as if they had been wild beasts;
and one could have seen that forest of heads bending to and fro,
like a field of ripe grain agitated by contrary winds. They asked
for no quarter, nor desired it: it was a war of extermination. But
whatever might have been the cause, behold the Christians began to
waver, drew back, and the adversaries where ours raised their feet,
placed theirs, and grew bold in proportion as ours lost courage:
already many of the retreating, pressed by the irresistible impetus,
fell headlong into the water, others more fortunate leaped upon the
_Real_ of Spain.... What more? Don John himself is carried along
in the shameful flight. Our commanders, though, not less wary than
the enemy, had already reinforced the _Real_ with fresh troops, who
coming to the rescue not only prevented the Turks from boarding our
galley, not only held them steadfast upon the extreme edge of the
prow, but pushed them back forcibly, and gave a chance to ours to
board again the Turkish _Real_. A new struggle was engaged upon the
galley's deck, and already for more than an hour blood had been shed,
nor could it be told where victory would lean; the deck was covered
with blood, all along the gangways, down in the sides the galley
drips blood, the sea raising its foam horribly red seemed to boil
with blood. Alas! what cruel wine war pours in her banquets!--Four
times were we repulsed, four times we boarded the Turkish _Real_:
torn on both sides, on both sides many illustrious dead, and the
surviving ones partly wounded, partly so exhausted, as not to be
able to raise their swords. In one of these struggles the valorous
knight Bernardino Cardine was killed without any wound: a cannon ball
struck his shield, which, being covered with excellent steel plate,
did not break, but hit so violently against his breast, that he fell
dead on the deck. And the last time Don John was repulsed, another
noteworthy accident happened; he was retreating without ever turning
his head from the enemy, when either his foot slipped upon the
gory deck, or by some other accident he fell, and was on the point
of falling headlong into the water, had it not been for a Spanish
soldier, who had never departed from his side, and who seizing him by
the waist with his right hand, held himself fast with his left in the
rigging. Suddenly the soldier uttered a cry; his left arm hung down
severed, he and Don John would have fallen overboard, had not the
Spaniard happened to seize a rope with his teeth, and hold fast to it
until, with ready aid, they were both saved.
"Don John unhurt prepared himself for the last struggle.--Valiant
men, he cried, yet one last effort, and we have conquered.--Whilst
he was about reorganizing his Spanish knights, who on that day
showed really a Roman valor, two events happened which gave us the
victory. The galley commanded by Alfonzo d'Appiano thundered with
its artillery on the Turkish _Real_, and being of low deck, sent its
shots into the hull of the enemy, destroying everything they met,
and this was one of the chief things to which we owed our victory. A
shot hit a large beam, and hurled it with so much violence against
Ali, that he, hurt in many places, struck violently against the
mainmast, and gushing blood from many wounds, fell down dying upon
the deck.--Now what was Marcantonio Colonna doing? Had his valor, the
memory of past deeds, the warmth with which he had undertaken this
enterprise, failed him all at once, and in this great moment of need?
How could he, a general of the Pontiff, see unmoved so much Christian
blood shed?--He was sailing over the waters as if he was taking a
pleasure trip to enjoy the evening breeze; he even disappeared from
the deck, and no one knew what had become of him.--This most singular
man had had the constancy to remain in the midst of the fire of
artillery, the breaking of beams, the falling of masts and ropes,
amidst the horrible and various aspects of death, without moving an
inch, awaiting the opportune time of exterminating the enemy: when he
perceived the chance before him, he rushed below deck, and addressing
the galley-slaves at the oars, thus spoke: Men! God had redeemed you,
and you have rendered yourselves unworthy of the redemption; the
water of baptism was poured on your heads in vain, for you have so
contaminated them with wicked deeds, that there is no more room for
a blessing. You despair of your eternal safety. Your mothers, your
wives, your children, whenever in this world they proffer your name,
bow down their faces for shame; the citizens look upon you as wild
beasts. Heaven repulses you, and the earth abhors you. No matter, I
will reconcile you both to God and men: I can so do that your names
shall be recalled with pride by your relatives; I can so do that
the hand of the most noble knight of Christendom shall be stretched
towards yours without esteeming it dishonored...."--And those poor
men cried with one voice:--"Alas! our Lord, have mercy upon us! Give
us at least the chance of dying in battle."--"Be it so," replied
Marcantonio, "I give you your liberty: do not move from your posts: I
return on deck: when you hear the sound of a trumpet, be ready, and
at the second blast, bend to your oars with the greatest strength
that nature has given you. When you shall perceive that we have
struck the enemy's galley, then come out, and fight as your souls
may inspire you.--He returned on deck, and seizing the helm directed
the prow against the vessel of Ali. The trumpet sounded the first
blast, then the second. The galley leaped like a wounded seal through
the water, which, struck violently by the oars, surged and gurgled,
foaming impetuously; then darting over a short space struck with
an irresistible impetus the designed place. The Turkish _Real_ was
almost upset: on one side the deck was plunged into the sea, on the
other it even showed its keel; the greater part of its defenders
was hurled with great force far into the water, and it would have
been even so with the Admiral, had he not grappled the mainmast with
both arms. When the galley righted, Colonna, taking advantage of the
enemy's confusion, jumped on board accompanied by his men, and made
himself master of it. This deed rekindled the ire of the commanders
of the galleys ordered to the defence of the _Real_, and seven of
them moved at once to the rescue, and threatened Don John. Veniero
alone moved to meet them all, sustaining their attacks with wonderful
valor. But that fierce old man, overcome by the number, saw every
moment his men diminish; an arrow had pierced his foot, and partly on
account of the intensity of the pain, partly by the loss of blood, he
felt that he could withstand it no longer: there was urgent need of
help, but he would not bend to ask it. Giovanni Loredano and Caterino
Malipiero saw the danger of the illustrious old man, and rushed to
his assistance; these two chivalrous youths could have remained
behind the bulwarks, which were to us a great shelter through that
battle, but their bold nature did not allow it; they stood both
exposed from their waist upwards, and fighting like true champions
of Christ, they fell both dead on the deck, hit by several shots. The
Marquis of Santa Croce, who had already moved to their aid, arrived,
if not in time to save their lives, at least opportunely to avenge
their deaths: the Turks were all cut to pieces, and the galleys fell
into our hands. The report tells that Veniero made himself master of
the _Capitana_ of Pertau Pasha, but it is not true, for it was the
Lomellina that conquered Pertau...."
"Ah! my Lord Duke," interrupted Titta, "it ill becomes you to
relate this part of the battle. It was indeed so; we conquered
the _Capitana_ of the Pasha, and in truth, if we used all our
utmost efforts to conquer, the enemies also used no less desperate
resistance to oppose us. I remember that the valiant Marino Contarino
died in this affray; and, with immortal example, the four brothers
Cornaro; alas! the flower of the most magnanimous knights was dying;
but, although beset on all sides by the enemy's galleys, we did not
abandon our prize, and rushed on, determined to conquer or to die. It
is true that every footstep we advanced cost us blood, but they were
footsteps to victory: already panting and fighting with our daggers,
we reached the middle of the galley. My Lord the Duke at the head of
all seemed an angel who led us to triumph...."
"And if you, Titta, had loved your master less, by this time there
would only be left of him the bare bones, and the name. I recall
with grief to my mind Orazio and Virginio Orsini, my relatives, who
fell mortally wounded at my feet; and my nephew Fabio, who, hit by a
shot on his shoulder, rolled on the deck, and died without lamenting
the flower of his lost youth, happy at being called so soon to the
peace of God; and I, whilst I bent down to help him, felt my left
leg transfixed by an arrow, and as I lifted my head, a hand grasping
a poniard was about striking me unprepared for defence; the poniard
escaped from the hand, and fell harmless upon my body, the hand also
fell upon my head, but severed from the arm, and with it a torrent of
blood poured on my face...."
"So it was; it came in my way without my thinking of it, and I cut it
off like a reed...."
"And I profess myself indebted to you for my life, and as long as
Paolo Giordano Orsini shall have a heart and a home, Titta Carbonana
will occupy a place in them....--Let us drink!--To the memory of the
dead in the battle of Lepanto!"
"May God keep them all in His glory!"--was answered from all sides.
"Come now," continued the Duke, "let us finish the story. Our
Lomellina, aided by Vincenzo Querini, took five out of the seven
galleys that fought against it. Pertau, throwing himself into a
skiff, using his oars vigorously, went off; and we saw the back of
this cruel man turned in bitter flight. Many boast of having killed
Caracozza; but the truth is that Giovanbattista Benedetti, of Cyprus,
a man of great valor, having overcome the Corcut galley, noticed
Caracozza near by, and rushed desperately upon him. With no less
fury Caracozza fell upon Benedetti, whether driven to it by a desire
for glory, or, as it was supposed, by an old enmity: they met:--a
discharge of arquebuses fired from both sides enveloped them in
smoke, and when it cleared off, they were both dead, shot with many
bullets in the breast. The command of Benedetti devolved on Onorato
Gaetano, nephew of the Pope, who, as we have heard from persons
worthy of belief, seconded by Alessandro Negroni and by Pattaro
Buzzacherino, with no great difficulty, brought this honorable fight
to a happy end. The Christian slaves upon the Turkish galleys,
noticing by the confusion that fortune was abandoning their hated
masters, break their chains, and seizing those arms which despair or
chance places in their hands, take a bitter revenge for their long
sufferings, and insure the victory. Whilst these events were taking
place in the _battle_, and on the left wing of the Christian armada,
the right wing was meeting with an adverse fate. Giovanni Andrea
Doria, who was to detach himself only four lengths of a galley from
the _battle_, transgressed his orders, and extended his line too far.
They say that he did this with a good intention, both in order to
give more freedom of action to the _battle_, and to the left wing to
place themselves in good order, and also for fear of being surrounded
by Uluch Ali, who came against him with a greater number of galleys
than his own; or perhaps in order to take the wind aft, so as to fall
with greater force upon the enemy. But Uluch Ali, a most expert sea
captain, when he saw that the galleys of the right wing, so scattered
and distant, could not easily help each other, without minding that
he was on the lee, beset on all sides the scattered ships with a
superior force, and after killing the principal captains, took twelve
of them. On this occasion the great valor of Benedetto Soranzo was
manifest; a man rather to be compared to the ancient than to modern
heroes; for seeing the greater part of his companions around him
dead or wounded, and he himself being wounded in several places, he
had not the heart to allow his galley to be trodden by the foot of
a Moslem, nor that one day the enemy, refitting it, should use it
against his most beloved country; therefore, rushing below where the
ammunition of powder was stored, he set fire to it, and hurled, with
terrible explosion, himself, the galley, and all the enemies that
stood on it, torn and mutilated into the air. One alone by a lucky
chance escaped, and it was Giacomo Giustiniani, who, thrown uninjured
far distant into the water, succeeded miraculously in saving himself
by swimming. Nor ought I to be silent about the fierce encounter of
the _Capitana_ of Malta, which, assailed by three Turkish galleys,
fought intrepidly; but Uluch Ali, recognising the flag of St. John,
and as he professed himself a mortal enemy to the Order of Malta, did
not shame to send against it three other galleys in order to have
it at all cost. Pietro Giustignano, general of the Order, seeing
that there was no chance left for himself and his knights, exhorted
them to die chivalrously, since there was no hope of conquering, and
as to surrendering, not one even thought of it. This combat of six
galleys against one, glorious for the Christians, infamous for the
Turks, lasted three hours; two thirds of the rowers lay dead, the
other third were bleeding; the general killed with three ghastly
wounds; fifty most noble knights dead; the galley occupied even to
the main castle; the banner fallen into the enemy's hands; and yet
the survivors strove to defend themselves. Agnolo Martellini, a
Florentine knight, who was less wounded than the others, sustained
the honorable and hopeless defence. Uluch Ali, mad with rage, ordered
the galley to be set on fire, but Doria, spurring his oarsmen to
their utmost, reached it in time for revenge, and accomplished it;
for falling upon the enemy, wearied by the bitter struggle, he made
a horrible slaughter, killing Carag Ali, Captain of Algiers, with
many other Turkish officers.--And glorious with fame and misfortune
were the Tuscan galleys, which unfortunately were under the orders
of Doria. The Florentina, assailed by seven small galleys, was empty
both of soldiers and crew; Tommaso dei Medici, badly wounded, alone
survived; but the greater part of the knights of St. Stephen died
fighting till their last breath. The galley of St. John, commanded by
the knight Agnolo Biffali, suffered a struggle no less fatal; for the
captain was wounded by two arquebuse shots on the neck; and besides
the knights Simone Tornabuoni and Luigi Ciacchi, there perished
sixty most valiant soldiers; and worse would the galley upon which
Ascianio della Cornia was fighting have fared, surrounded by four of
the enemy, if Alfonzo di Appiano, admiral of the Florentine galleys,
had come less quickly to his aid. But now there rang from every side
the cry of victory, and Uluch Ali, seeing all the enemy's armada
move against him to surround and overcome him, resolved to draw off.
Don Giovanni di Cardona endeavored to oppose his retreat with eight
Sicilian galleys, but thrust aside by superior force, with no little
damage, he was obliged to yield the way. The Admirals Canale and
Querini endeavored to give chase to him, but, their oarsmen being too
much exhausted by the fatigues endured, with infinite bitterness,
they had to allow him to save himself with his forty ships, our
galley of Corfu, and the banner of St. John. In this flight two
incidents worthy of note happened. Giovanbattista Mastrillo of Nota
and Giulio Caraffa, a Neapolitan, whilst they were, with several
companions, prisoners on two separate brigs, showing at the same
moment the same boldness, as if they had agreed upon it before,
rose against the Turks, killed the Rays and all those who attempted
to resist, and having become, from slaves and conquered, free and
conquerors, they returned to us with the enemy's brigs full of slaves
and very rich booty.
"The sun was setting, surrounded by black clouds, throwing across the
waves an oblique ray, so that it happened that the part enlightened
shone with a vivid glare, while the rest of the sea was covered with
darkness: to the roar of the sea were added cries, imprecations,
prayers, sobs, which afar seemed like a single wail, the weeping of
Nature over the slaughter of her children, certainly not created
by her to thus tear each other to pieces! Within that streak of
light, deeds were seen to make even angels weep; and some, but few,
really worthy of the celestial origin of man. We could see some
people regardless of danger, ascend the burning galleys, rush amidst
the flames, without fear that, the powder taking fire, plunder and
plunderers might be shattered to atoms; others not yet satisfied with
fighting, urged by implacable hatred, grasping each other by the hair
or beard, and, in the lack of weapons, striking with their fists,
tearing each other with their teeth, and now one head, now another,
disappearing under the water, until the latter, as if disdainful that
so much anger should yet last in creatures so weak and perishable,
whirled them into its immense bosom, to rise no more. A little
further on, two, three, or four men would contend for a mast, board,
or beam, in order to cling to it, and remain until some aid could
arrive; but while with more charity and better wisdom, that plank of
safety might have been enough for all, wasting their last strength
to possess it, each one exclusively, a common fate overpowered them
all; others, stupid with fear, hating to drown, would get hold of a
burning fragment, and escaping the water, perish by the flames; and
an infinite number of skiffs rowed on this side and on that, full of
people drunk with victory, who used the heads of Turks swimming on
the water for targets, as the hunter does the ducks in a pond; and to
those who approached begging for their lives, they would allow that
they should catch hold of the edge of the skiffs, or extend an oar as
if to help them, then with the axe would cut their hands or cleave
their heads with shocking and cruel wounds. A few of these skiffs
went in search of some beloved relative or companion, whether alive
or dead: sacred but vain undertaking! not entirely vain, however;
for some succeeded in finding what they sought, and saved a dear
friend from a watery grave: if yet alive, they would strive with all
manner of remedies to bandage his wounds, and preserve his life; but
if dead, they would clothe him, arm him with his best armor, place
a sword in his hand, and honor him with praise and worship as if a
martyr.
"This battle, in which more than five hundred ships were engaged,
lasted from midday till after four o'clock: of the enemy there died,
some say twenty thousand, some thirty thousand, and some, even more;
no one counted them.[58] On our side, seven thousand six hundred and
fifty-six failed to answer the roll; we liberated twelve thousand
Christian slaves; took two hundred ships; lost only the galley of
Corfu: of all the other ships of the enemy, except the forty escaped
with Uluch Ali, some were sunk, some burned; we took one hundred
and seventeen cannons, two hundred and fifty-eight smaller pieces
of artillery, and seventeen mortars; the prisoners falling into our
hands were four thousand, among whom were the two sons of Ali Pasha,
the oldest of whom died at Naples of a broken heart; and the other
was kindly treated by the Pope, and then, at the instance of Don
John, restored without ransom. The booty was immense. In the galley
of Ali were found twenty-two thousand crowns of gold, in the other of
Caracozza, forty thousand; and in all the others a great quantity of
money, weapons, cloth, and rich garments; since the Turks, thinking
by merely showing themselves to put the Christians to flight, and
that they were going on an excursion rather than to a fight, came
provided with their best habiliments and draperies, and surrounded
by all those luxuries which they were accustomed to enjoy in the
security of cities; besides they brought with them the noble spoils
of Cyprus and the Christian shores, which in their long voyage they
had plundered.
[58] _But no one counted them._ This was the expression used by
that judicious Ludovico Muratori narrating in his _Annals_ the
Battle of Lepanto.
"But General Veniero, who, having passed the greater part of his life
at sea, was a cautious mariner, advised Don John to put into some
neighboring port without loss of time, and selected Petala on the
coast of Matalia, since the weather threatened a storm. The armada
followed the command, and forcing their sails and oars, rode safely
at anchor about nine o'clock in the evening at Petala, only six miles
from the scene of battle.
"Don John, urged by his generous nature, ordered first of all that
the wounded should be provided for, and we obeyed as well as we
could; and he himself, without indulging in rest or food, visited the
sick. Indeed he could be of little aid to these unfortunate people,
but his friendly presence, the chivalry of his aspect, a word of
comfort spoken to some one of them, rendered the pains of the wounds
less bitter, and death more tolerable. Now it happened, that while
Don John was passing near a wounded man lying on a heap of straw, the
latter saluted him familiarly, saying:
"'_Buenas noches_, Don Juan.'
"And the former, to whom the voice was not new, but who, in that
moment, could not remember whose it was, replied in his native
tongue, in which the wounded man had spoken:
"'God and the Holy Virgin keep you in their guard, brave man: you,
as it seems, are wounded; suffer patiently; I pray God for your
health.... With a little price you have acquired an immortal fame.'
...
"'The price is not little;--but no matter, Don John, you do not seem
to recognise me.'
"'It seems to me!... But can it be possible!... Don Miguel?' ...
"'De Cervantes Saavedra, at your service.'
"'What! Don Miguel? Give me your hand.'
"'I have already given it to you, Don John; if it could grow again,
by my faith, I would give it to you again.'
"And the wounded man showed in the dark his mutilated arm wrapped in
bloody linen. Don John then recognised in him the soldier who had
supported him when falling and in danger of his life; he was silent,
and had it not been for the darkness, we should have seen the
unconquerable captain weep. After a short pause, Don John resumed in
a moved voice:
"'And when did you arrive? And why did you not present yourself?'
"Don Miguel replied:
"'I arrived late, because, thanks to the sacred college of the
Muses,[59] of whom I confess myself a most unworthy priest, I had
not money enough to pay for a horse or carriage to go from Genoa
to Naples; and God knows how I grieved about it, for fear of not
arriving in time; but as it pleased Our Lady, I reached the army in
time for the review which you held at Gomenizze. I had resolved to
place myself during the battle at your side, prepared to defend with
my life the most valiant champion of Christianity, and the noblest
blood of Spain. Fortune, kind to me for this once, assented fully to
my design, and I ought to thank her, if, having resigned my life to
her, she restored it to me with one hand the less. It seemed then
better to me not to discover myself, for if death spared me, I could
have pressed your honored hand, and rejoiced in your glory; if, on
the contrary, it was destined that I should fall, you, being ignorant
of it, would not have grieved for me; and, finally, if we had both
died, we should now be together in the presence of God.'
[59]
God of the lyre, and goddesses of song
In vain for gold your faithful votaries sigh,
Small need and recompense to them belong;--
E'en a poor cloak I have not means to buy.
Apollo, tuo mercè, tuo mercè santo
Collegio delle Muse, io non mi trovo
Tanto per voi, ch'io possa farmi un manto.
ARIOSTO--SATIRE.
"These simple words, yet full of majesty and greatness, filled
us with wonder; when a Spaniard interrupted our holy silence,
observing:--'Who would have believed we should meet our Poet
among the warriors of Lepanto?'--To which observation Don Miguel
calmly replied:
"'Sir knight, your wonder would cease, if you would for a moment
consider that all that which appears to us great, noble, and
glorious, is poetry. Our Don John ought to be hailed as the
greatest Poet of Spain.... There are two kinds of Poets--those
who enact glorious things, and those who sing them. Don John has
given us the subject of the poem--now who will write for him the
noble Epic? Ah! Lord ... not I ... for I am not equal to the
task.'
"Thus met the two choicest spirits that Spain ever produced: both
very great and both very unhappy, and held in little repute in
that country, which shall have fame among posterity principally
because it was their native place.
"As Veniero had foreseen, a terrible storm raged during the
night. The burning galleys, blazing more than ever, now appeared
upon the summit of the waves, now disappeared; some, leaning
sideways, moved rapidly on the surface of the water.... Indeed
they looked like demons, who issuing from hell had come to gather
souls, and to exult over the immense slaughter in the place of
combat!--On the morrow, thousands of corpses were washed on
shore, and the ocean rolled on as in the first days of creation:
the swelling surge breaking against the shore, seemed to say:--'O
land, take back your children; behold! with a breath of my
nostrils I have repulsed this bloody and cruel dust, which you
call humanity. If your children love to furrow my face, I soon
close up this furrow, so that none can find the trace of it. If I
bear them on my back, I do it as a boy with playthings, in order
to divert myself, and then I break them: behold, I have purified
myself from them; the trace of the slaughter of Lepanto remains
upon me as the trace of the halcyon's flight through the air.
You, my unworthy sister, allow their cities to stand, and, daily
torn and tortured in a thousand ways, dare not revenge yourself
but from your open furrows send forth everlasting fruits to
nourish them; come! be wise once, open your bosom and bury them
all. If when greatly angered, you overthrow some city, or swallow
some chain of mountains, your wrath seems more like that of a
mother who chides, than an executioner who punishes. I, once,
came to wash you with a universal ablution, and would gladly do
it again, for I see that you are more stained than before, if the
word of God did not repulse me from your shores. Come, beg the
Creator with me to revoke the command, and I will clean you for
ever with the multitude of my waters,--with a deluge--for this
time;--without Noah.' ... Thus my affected fancy imagined.--How
much all Christendom exulted, you all know.
"The Holy Pontiff ordered a great part of the wall near the
gate of Capena to be thrown down, in order to admit through
that opening Marcantonio Colonna into Rome drawn in a triumphal
chariot like the ancient Cæsars to the Capitol, where there was
presented to him a great amount of money, which, accepted by him,
he, thanking the Pope, deposited in trust to be used as a dowry
for many poor and orphan maidens. Thus, rich only with increase
of fame, Marcantonio returned home, so much more the greatest,
as he was the only one: a truly Roman soul! The Venetians, whose
soldiers fallen in battle amounted to two thirds of the whole
armada, would not consent to mourn for the valorous men, who,
fighting for the faith, had died for it with weapons in their
hands, leaving immortal fame; and their relatives appeared at
the public thanksgivings which were rendered to God, dressed
in brocade and other precious robes: they also, a Latin race!
What you may not have heard, is this; that Philip of Spain
was very sorry for the victory, reproaching his brother for
having risked the forces of the kingdom, without any advantage
resulting to him from the victory; and while the Holy Pontiff,
in the effusion of his heart, hailed Don John with the words
of the Evangelist:--_Fuit homo missus a Deo, cui nomen erat
Joannes_;--there were some in the king's council, who dared even
to propose whether it were advisable to have his head cut off.
Even Philip himself was ashamed of the impudent cowardice of
his counsellers; a greater cowardice than he himself would have
wished. Don John escaped with his life, but humiliated by the
undeserved rebuke, grief and indignation now oppress him;--and
this was Spanish envy!--What benefit did the Christians derive
from so many dead, so much valor, and such a wonderful victory?
Nothing, but fame. O glory, inebriation of great souls, how you
fall from estimation and desire, when you are made the tool of
kings, cool calculators of noble passions! Every one thinks of
himself, and for to-day; for the morrow he neither knows nor
cares. Venice on the sea, Poland on the land, remain abandoned
like two lost bulwarks against the forces of the enemies of
Faith. One day (may God avert the omen) these bulwarks conquered,
the Christians will awake at the cries of the plundered fields,
at the flames of the burning cities;--if God does not help us, in
twenty years we shall be all Moslems."
Here the Duke ended his long narrative, and from around the room
there rose a murmur of applause and at the same time of dread;
and after the company had tarried for some time in pleasant
conversation, the hour being already late, they rose from the
table. The Duke dismissed them with agreeable and courteous
manner, begging them to be ready on the morrow for the hunt,
before the Sun should be too warm. He himself, offering his arm
to his wife, accompanied her to the foot of the stairs, where,
kissing her hand, with many wishes for a very good night, he
withdrew.
Every one retired to his own apartment, and in expectation of a
merry time for the morrow, went to rest.
* * * * *
In less than half an hour all seemed to be wrapt in sleep. It
_seemed_ only!--The Duke of Bracciano watched. Coming into his
chamber he threw himself upon a seat, leaning his head on one
hand, the other hanging down. He was pale and changed, yet did
not utter a word: two beautiful white hounds with scarlet collars
marked with gold about their necks, accustomed to receive his
caresses, lay at his feet gazing at him, and as if to draw the
attention of their master softly licked his hands. It would seem
as if a fierce contest betwixt would and would not was raging in
the Duke's soul, and that having examined everything, discussed
the benefit or injury resulting from it, weighing all reasons for
good or bad, or all those that seemed so to him, and the insult,
the revenge, and the forgiveness, one might clearly discern to
what conclusion he had at last arrived, when these words escaped
from his lips: "It is a thing that _must_ be done!" Then added
quickly:
"Titta!"
"My Lord."
Duke Bracciano hissed from his mouth:
"Have you prepared everything?"
"I have."
A wearisome silence succeeded: the Duke first broke it saying:
"Titta!"
"My Lord."
"Ah! it would have been better to have died in the battle of
Lepanto."
"It would."
"Tell me, is not my wife a handsome woman? Is she not graceful,
elegant, endowed with all the gracious manners of noble birth?"
"Yes, my Lord, yes."
"And would it not seem sacrilege to extinguish in a moment with
one treacherous blow so much beauty and genius?"
"It would have been better, my Lord, to have died in the battle
of Lepanto!"
The Duke arose, wiping the perspiration dripping from his
brow;--he walked the room restlessly: then suddenly stopping,
and fixing his eyes on Titta, said:
"Do you not know better than to express wishes for things
impossible to happen? Have you no better advice than this for
me?--Nothing, nothing. Are you a man, or only the echo of a cave?"
"Did you not say, _it must be done_? How can you expect servants
to advise, when they know that the master would hold their
advices as a resistance to his own desires?"
"Titta, you are right;--with me you always have the grave offence
of being in the right.... Is all that I ordered ready?..."
"Everything ... you may see for yourself ... by looking up...."
"It is all right ... no matter ... I trust you...." And instead
of raising his eyes he fixed them on the floor. "Now take these
two hounds, and go as silently as you can to the room of the
Duchess; knock softly ... and say to her ..." and he whispered
in his ear. Titta nodded assent. The Duke then said in his usual
voice:
"Using courteous words; in a pleasant manner. Do you
understand?... Go now...."
But as Titta made some delay, he repeated:
"Go!..."
Titta took the hounds, but before he crossed the threshold of the
door he stopped, and turning towards the Duke, said slowly:
"Must I go, my Lord?"
"Go ... go.... _It must be done!_"
And Titta went.--He ascended the staircase softly, and approached
the room of the Duchess, and scarcely had he knocked, before a
voice from within called:
"Who is there?"
"I come by the Duke's order, my Lady, to beg you to accept these
two hounds that he sends you as a present, hoping you for his
sake will hold them dear; and desires also that to-morrow you
will observe in the chase if they are active and fleet;--he also
prays you to come to him for a short time, wishing to see you,
after so many years of absence, without witnesses."
Titta, on entering, saw the Duchess with the Lady Lucrezia
Frescobaldi kneeling before an image of the Blessed Virgin,
reading prayers from a Missal; and he said to himself: "Better
thus, she is provided with sacrament for the great journey."
Isabella stood up, and said to Lucrezia:
"_Should I, or should I not, go to sleep with my husband? What
say you?_"
Lady Frescobaldi, shrugging her shoulders, replied:
"_Do whatever you wish; he is your husband still._"[60]
[60] Those were the very words spoken by Isabella to Lucrezia, as
the records of the time report them precisely.
"I will go then."
The poor Duchess descended slowly, but without trembling.
Lady Lucrezia, moved by curiosity, or compassion, or rather by
both, stirred from her usual impassibility, decided to follow her
unobserved in the distance. Scarcely did she see her enter her
husband's room, ere she hastened her steps, and placed her ear at the
door.
She heard merry greetings and cheerful salutations.
"God be thanked, it begins well,"--she murmured.
Then listened again, and heard a sound of laughter, and kisses given
and returned.
"Better and better ..."
And holding her breath, she still listened eagerly.--But we will say
no more, only repeat with the Poet:
The modest Muse forbears to speak
Of close embrace and flashing cheek,
And kisses warm, and words of love;
The strings though struck, no sounds return,
Responsive to the stars that burn,
The stars that in conjunctions move;
But to themselves they murmur low
The secret words that none may know,
Which..............[61]
Lady Lucrezia returned on tip-toe to her own room, saying to
herself: "I think that there will be no storm in the house after
all, or if there should be one, we will see it terminate with
some lightning perhaps, but without thunderbolt."
[61]
Gli abbracciamenti, i baci, e i colpi lieti,
Tace la casta Musa vergognosa,
E dalla congiunzion di quei pianeti
Ritorce il plettro, e di cantar non osa.
Sol mormora tra se detti secreti,
Che..............
TASSONI.
* * * * *
Half an hour, or a little more, had passed, from the time in
which Lady Lucrezia left the door of the Duke, when it opened,
and Titta came out, crossing the hall which led to the door
of Troilo's apartment, and arriving there, knocked with his
knuckles upon it, without much caution.
Troilo, although there seemed to be no cause for fear, yet either
on account of the unusual excitement, the warmth of the day, or
from too much drinking, his blood had become so heated, that,
tossing about the bed, he could not sleep. Therefore hearing the
knock he jumped out of bed, and opened the door.
"What is it, Titta?"
"Sir Troilo, my Lord the Duke ordered me to say to you, that he
has not been able to sleep...."
"Just my case!..."
"So much the better;--therefore he begs to know whether you would
not like to keep him company a little while, and have a little
chat ... to cheer each other...."
"Exactly what I should like! Wait till I dress, and I will go
with you."
And putting on what garments first came to his hands, he was soon
ready. Titta preceded him with a lighted taper, but when they
arrived at the Duke's door, drawing aside, and bending low, he
said respectfully:
"Walk in, your Excellency!"
Troilo having entered, Titta shut the door, and locked it,
putting the key in his pocket; and when the former had entered
the next room, he carefully closed that door also, remaining
outside.
Troilo on entering the room saw the Duke sitting beside a table
near the bed, and, whether it was fancy, or the effect of the
fight, he thought he seemed as if grown ten years older since an
hour ago. The Duke, without lifting his eyes, said:
"Troilo, sit down."
This voice does not contain a threat, it has nothing of rancor in
it, it is peaceful and low,--and yet it does not seem to issue
from the lips;--uttered thus from the inmost depth of the heart
as from the bottom of a sepulchre, it had the power of infusing a
chill through the frame of Troilo.
And Troilo sat down.
"Troilo, I have words to say which it behooves me to speak, and
you to listen to them in the shadows of darkness; ... in the
mysterious silence of night.... Troilo, after three long years of
absence I return home.... But is this to which I have returned my
home? Can I sleep safely in it? Can I sit without suspicion at my
own table?..."
Troilo, thus taken by surprise, was silent.
"Troilo! When I departed from home, knowing that the woman who
was my wife ... who is my wife, was changeable in her fancy, of
manners more free and loose than becomes a haughty lady, the
fault perhaps of her education ... ready to pass all limits
... somewhat petulant and obstinate ... I hated to confide the
treasure of my honor to, I will not say unfaithful, but certainly
dangerous hands.--In whom could I better trust than my own blood?
I therefore chose you, I intrusted to you my honor, which is also
yours, and begged you with tears in my eyes to keep a good and
vigilant watch over it.... Do you remember it, Troilo? Is it not
true? Would you deny it?... And even if you would, could you?"
"It is true."
"And do you remember the promises which you made then? Have you
always remembered them? Now tell me: how have you kept your
loyal watch over my wife?"
The Duke kept his arm with closed hand stretched upon the table;
the muscles of his forehead were horribly swollen, his eyebrows
frowning, and his eyes sparkled under them through the ruffled
hair like fire burning in the midst of a thorn bush. Troilo still
kept silent; and the Duke said again:
"How have you kept your loyal watch over my wife?"
As there was no reply, he continued:
"If I listen to the reports which reached me even in Rome, indeed
my reputation is lost without remedy; my house is full of shame:
henceforth I cannot hear the name of my wife spoken without
suspecting that it is done through insult or mockery. Virginio
will not be able to hear his mother's name without bowing his
face for shame. We heard shameful things, cousin, and such at
which nature itself would be horrified ... such that no man could
possibly bear, and which I neither can, nor know, nor wish, by
any means to suffer."
"My Lord!" ... replied Troilo with faltering voice; "could a
knight like you, gifted with the best discernment, as all know
... experienced in the world ... give credit to such false
accusations ... to the words of idle and malicious men? The
people generally repute us happy, and those whom envy gnaws love
to hurl poisoned arrows at us. Let us make them weep, they say;
thus they will be our equals in tears at last."
"You speak truly; but the shameful report was confirmed by such a
person that now I can no longer doubt it."
"And do you believe it worthy of faith?"
"I leave you to judge. Isabella herself confessed it to me."
"What! Isabella?"
"Isabella."
"Your wife?"
"She herself ... my wife. Now tell me, Troilo, ... is not your
name Orsini? Is not the blood which runs in your veins of the
same race as mine?--Answer!"
"Why reply to what you know yourself?"
"Because it behooves me at this solemn moment to hear it from
your own lips, and be assured that you remember it, that you
feel convinced of it.... Here I find myself surrounded by
traitors,--for with the exception of my own relatives ... I dare
not hope to escape being betrayed. You are then of my blood?...
Now give me advice ... Isabella!... must I forgive, or kill her?"
...
"And shall I advise you?"
"Yes."
"But neither I nor any one else can believe me capable of that.
You have more wisdom than I."
"I do not think so; and even were it so, do you not know that
in such occasions man loses his wisdom? Come, I command you to
advise me."
"And then ... consider, Giordano, how merciful is the Lord ...
and how mild and clement appear those famous men who resemble
Him.... Let the weakness of nature, the age of the woman, the
bad examples among which she was educated, obtain mercy in your
eyes; ... recall to your mind what you said to me a little while
ago of her changeable mind, her poetic imagination, the time,
the place, the occasion;--and even ... fate, Giordano, since
we are all governed by an unconquerable fate--and use mercy
... Isabella can no longer present herself before you in her
innocence, you can never love her again ... and perhaps not even
esteem her ... and yet there remains a consolation to the injured
one, bitter, it is true, but yet desirable, that is, to feel
himself undeserving of the insult, and to see the offender truly
repentant."
"You see that you do not want wisdom! You certainly do not lack
eloquence!... And I thought so! In truth I would follow your
advice, but one idea keeps me from it, which is this: in such
an affair is my honor only at stake? Ought we not to consider
the honor of the family as an entail, which I am not allowed to
alienate, and not even diminish, but which I must restore to my
children as pure and intact as I received it from my ancestors?
Doing otherwise, does it not seem to you that some day I may
hear my ancestors say to me:--what have you done with our
patrimony?--and my children:--This is not our inheritance?"
"For my own part I believe that it is noble to seek and
accomplish a difficult revenge; but it seems to me also a proof
of a generous soul to relinquish the revenge that can be executed
by merely wishing it. To conquer others is a praiseworthy thing,
but to conquer one's own passions is manly and divine."
"And for this reason too would I be almost willing to pardon her;
... only that another motive distresses me, and closes my heart
to mercy; and it is the refusal of my wife to reveal the name of
her seducer."
"And do you not know it?"
"No.... Do you?"
"I? No."
"So I thought, for you had other things in your mind than
watching my wife; and you have committed a great wrong against
me and my house, Troilo, a wrong which I know not how to forgive
you. But perhaps the fault was not entirely on your side, it was
rather in a great measure my own, for I, knowing you to be young,
desirous of glory, and of a noble heart, should have allowed you
to attend to other things, rather than be the eunuch of a palace."
"And does she then refuse to reveal the name?"
"Neither by prayer, nor threat, nor hope of pardon was I able to
induce her to reveal it."
"Indeed this is a grave fault.... And you tried all means to make
her speak?"
"All."
"There, you see then how difficult it is to give advice when one
is ignorant of all the particulars:--if I had known her obstinacy
in this particular before, I would have advised you differently."
"Indeed!"
"Rather the contrary."
"You agree with me then! I am inevitably forced to use severity:
would that I knew at least the man who did not scruple to
contaminate my house while I was shedding my blood for the Faith
... the man whom neither the respect due to my house ... nay,
more than that, the fear of my sword did not deter from this
abominable crime!--Ah! I would think myself less unhappy if I
could plunge my hands in his blood, and tear forth his heart....
And, believe me, Troilo, I would do it, as true as there is a
God ... but the coward hides himself.... Oh, who art thou, who
wounded me so mortally, and did not take my life? What is thy
name?--Show thyself!--Alas! how painful is the offence done by
an obscure, abject, and unknown person, against whom we cannot
revenge ourselves, or revenging we may be more stained by the
revenge itself than by the insult."
"Indeed such offences deserve an atonement of blood."
"But since I cannot shed that of the hated seducer ... what think
you?"
"It seems to me...."
"No ... no faltering," said the Duke rising to his feet; "here it
is necessary that you should reveal to me your whole mind."
"Then...."
"Then?... Why do you hesitate? Here no one can overhear us ... no
one."
"Then ... the jealous honor of the family requires that ... that
Isabella should disappear from the world."
"It is well," replied the Duke; and stretching his hand to the
curtains of the bed, he drew them aside, adding:--"Behold ... I
have done it."
"Vengeance of God!" cried Troilo, rising and staggering back two
or three steps with his hands in his hair.
She who had been Isabella Orsini reclined on the bed in a sitting
posture: her hair loose and dishevelled, her arms stretched out,
her face black, her eyes open, intent, and almost bursting from
their sockets ... a fine rope yet girded her delicate neck, the
ends of which were lost in the darkness of the room, and fastened
in the ceiling.
Miserable spectacle of crime and perfidy!
"Thus perished Isabella dei Medici, who would have made herself
and others happy, if heaven had granted to her either less
beauty, or greater virtue, or better parents."[62]
[62] BOTTA, _History of Italy_, book XIV.
The Duke, also as pale as death, repressing with violent effort the
passion which agitated his soul, stood immovable in his place where
with one hand holding the curtains back, and stretching the other
towards his cousin, he thus spoke:
"Now my bed has become deserted ... for every woman will fear that
it will be turned into a scaffold;--my house is deserted, for the
father cannot live with the son whose mother he has strangled....
Days of sorrow and infamy,--sleepless nights, filled with remorse and
fear,--bitter death ... terrible judgement of God,--behold the peace
which thou hast given me, Troilo!--Thou, and no one else!--I know
thee ... fully ... iniquitous and abject man ... and I feel and know
that death must have been less bitter to this woman, who was my wife,
than the knowledge of having lost the dignity of a Princess, of a
wife and of a mother ... for so miserable and degraded a creature as
thou art.--Wretch! The secret died not with thy accomplice ... no ...
nor with her murder did I lose the trace of the traitor.--Now it is
for thee to die. I could and should abstain from taking thy miserable
soul from thy body with this honorable hand of a knight; a villain is
enough for a villain;--but as thou wilt suffer a deserved death, I do
not wish that thou shouldst complain of the manner of it, if we ever
meet again in the next world."
Thus saying, he took two drawn swords, that lay at the feet of the
corpse, and throwing one of them on the ground towards Troilo, added:
"Take it up, and defend thyself; and since thou hast lived as a
traitor, die at least as a gentleman."
Like a bow bent by a strong hand, that snapping the cord straightens
violently, thus Troilo starting up, as if possessed by a demon, gave
a leap towards the open window behind him, leaned with both hands
upon the seat, and with one leap jumped out of it. As fortune willed,
although he fell on his head, he received no injury, on account of
the window not being high from the ground. Starting again upon his
feet, he rushed precipitately down the staircase.
The Duke, seeing this act, with no less fury rushed after him through
the window, sword in hand.
Not a word--not a threat--there was only heard the sound of hurried
steps upon the stairs.
Troilo, losing breath, and out of practice in violent exercises,
would have easily been overtaken by the Duke, had not the latter,
stumbling against a projecting step, fallen headlong down the marble
stairs, and bruised himself badly. The sword escaped from his hand,
and falling down from step to step, broke the silence of the night
with a dreadful clatter, and glided far away into the public road.
Not only was the Duke unable to pursue Troilo further, but he could
hardly raise himself again; yet leaning his body upon his elbows
fixed in the ground, he turned his head to where Troilo was fast
disappearing, and sent after him through the darkness of the night
this dreadful menace:
"Since thou hast not desired to die like a knight, many months will
not pass before thou shalt die like a dog!"
Titta rushed to the aid of his master: lifted him up, and with
loving care washed and bandaged his bruises; then placed him, raving
feverishly, upon a bed in the antechamber.
He went afterwards to Lady Lucrezia, who, overcome by the dreadful
event, much more so to her as not expected, remained insensible for
more than an hour; and as long as she lived never recovered from
the shock, nor was she ever seen to smile or rejoice again. Having
returned to her senses, Titta placed himself before her, and with his
right forefinger pointing in the middle of his eyebrows, proffered
very slowly the following words:
"Lady!... Listen attentively!... Our Lady the Duchess died suddenly
... of apoplexy ... whilst she was washing her head with cold water,
... by which accident ... she fell into your arms ... and died before
we had time to call for any help.... Be careful, Lady, of mistaking,
as you love your life!... The notices to be given, of her death, to
the several Courts--already prepared since yesterday--say exactly
this. Be then on your guard...."[63]
[63] The notices given to the Courts of Europe contained these
words; "that this unhappy Lady, while washing her head with cold
water, struck by apoplexy, fell into the arms of her attendants,
and died before any assistance could be given her."--GALLUZZI'S
_History_.
Titta then removed the body to the apartment belonging to the
Duchess, and arranged it upon the bed. Lady Lucrezia sent for Inigo,
and told him word for word what Titta had said. The major-domo
glancing at the corpse, understood the case too well, and taking
with his left hand the hem of the sheet, covered its blackened face,
whilst with his right he wiped a tear from his eyes.--Inigo, the
major-domo, reputed a heart of stone, wept!
"May God receive in peace the soul of this poor Lady!" said he, and
with a deep sigh he left the room.
A great and solemn funeral was performed over the body of Isabella:
servants, relatives--her husband and brothers, put on mourning. Over
the bier was recited a funeral oration, composed by an academician of
the _Crusca_, in classic Tuscan language.
The price of her blood was, in part payment, and in part arrangement
of the Duke's debts, and this is narrated by Galluzzi.[64]
[64] "Not only did the Grand-Duke and the Cardinal keep their
good relationship with Orsini, but also interested themselves
in appeasing his creditors, and gave some system to his
embarrassed economy. All this would prove that, either the
death of Donna Isabella was not violent, or that the Grand-Duke
and his brothers, being in the secret with Orsini, with their
dissimulation rendered the crime more detestable."
Settimanni also informs us that the Duke of Bracciano obtained from
the munificence of his brother-in-law even a greater reward in the
following October, which was the donation of the estate of _Poggio a
Baroncelli_, to-day called _Poggio Imperiale_.[65]
[65] Settimanni. MSS. Chronicle.
But God's judgment rewarded to the Duke according to his deserts. He
died a horrible death; his soul was contaminated with new crimes,
for blood calls for blood, as it is with wine; and that judgment was
entailed, so that his descendants also feared it. And if fortune
will grant us time and health, the subsequent history of the life of
the Duke of Bracciano shall form the subject of another narrative.
The following passage from the History of Galluzzi will inform the
reader of the fate of Troilo Orsini.
"The Grand-Duke, determined, however, to sound the opinions of Queen
Catherine, sent his Secretary to that Court under the pretext of
collecting the balance of the money which he had loaned to king
Charles IX., for it was then due. The Secretary's commission extended
no further, but liberty had also been given him, to reproach,
according to the occasion, the Queen's ill will against the Medici
house, and the injury done the Grand-Duke. The Secretary having
arrived in Paris, and delivered his commission, the Queen said to
him:--_I know not how to satisfy this desire of the Grand-Duke,
for he lends to the King of Spain a million of gold at a time, and
with us he even demands back such a little sum_.--The Secretary
remonstrated that if the King of Spain had been helped with large
sums, he had at least shown more esteem for the Grand-Duke than
she had done, for she had ill-treated him, and done him an injury
which he did not deserve.--_This I confess_, said she, _and I did
it because the Grand-Duke has no respect for me, rather with much
grief to myself and to the King he has caused the assassination under
our own eyes, of Troilo Orsini, and others, which is not right,
this Kingdom being free to any one to reside here_.--The Secretary
replied, that Orsini and others, having been guilty of grave offences
against the Grand-Duke, it was not becoming in her, who was of his
own blood, to protect, and aid them with money.--_Enough_, replied
the Queen, _write to the Grand-Duke not to continue thus any longer,
and particularly not to order any assassination to be committed in
this Kingdom, for the King, my son, will not allow it_."
THE END.
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style. Muslin, price 60 cents.
ASPENWOLD.
An Original Novel, of interest and merit. By an American writer.
Illustrated with original designs on wood by Howard. Muslin,
price $1 25.
LECTURES OF LOLA MONTEZ,
Including her "Autobiography," "Wits and Women of Paris," "Comic
Aspect of Love," "Beautiful Women," "Gallantry," &c. Muslin,
steel portrait, price $1 00.
LIFE OF HUGH MILLER,
Author of "Schools and Schoolmasters," "Old Red Sandstone," &c.
From the Glasgow edition. Prepared by THOMAS N. BROWN. Muslin,
price $1 00.
KNAVES AND FOOLS;
Or, Friends of Bohemia. A Satirical Novel of Literary and
Artistic Life in London. By E. M. WHITTY, of the _London Times_.
Illustrated. Muslin, price $1 25.
THE COTTAGE COOK BOOK;
Or, Housekeeping made Easy and Economical in all its
Departments. A most practical and useful work. By EMILY
THORNWELL. Muslin, price 75 cents.
THE CHRISTMAS TREE.
A valuable Book of Amusement and Instruction for the Young,
containing Stories upon every subject. Illustrated by KENNY
MEADOWS. Muslin, price 75 cents.
EROS AND ANTEROS;
Or, the Bachelor's Ward. One of the very best of Modern Novels.
A story of strong interest, and written with true poetic
feeling. Muslin, price $1 00.
DOESTICKS' LETTERS.
Being a compilation of the Original Letters of Q. K. P.
DOESTICKS, P. B. With many comic tinted illustrations, by John
McLenan. Muslin, price $1 00.
PLU-RI-BUS-TAH.
A song that's by-no-author. _Not_ a parody on "Hiawatha." By
DOESTICKS. With 150 humorous illustrations by McLenan. Muslin,
price $1 00.
THE ELEPHANT CLUB.
An irresistibly droll volume. By DOESTICKS, assisted by KNIGHT
RUSS OCKSIDE, M.D. One of his best works. Profusely illustrated
by McLenan. Muslin, price $1 00.
NOTHING TO SAY.
A Satire in Verse, which has "Nothing to Do" with "Nothing
to Wear." By DOESTICKS, P. B. With Illustrations by McLenan.
Muslin, price 50 cents.
THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW.
A very charming Novel, containing the very elements of success.
Written by Mrs. JULIET H. L. CAMPBELL. Handsomely bound in
muslin, 12mo., price $1 00.
LIFE OF SPENCER H. CONE.
Being Memoirs of the late Pastor of the First Baptist Church
in the city of New York. Prepared by his Sons. Steel Portrait.
Muslin, price $1 25.
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Minor inconsistencies of spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation
have been made conistent.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.