"Thou art not dead--the sap is in thy veins. The spring-time of the
year comes. See how the sun shines already in the blue sky. Thou shalt
not die--it is thine to be glad in the sun and in the fairness of
things."
"The sunshine is but a symbol of the Divine Love, the pushing buds but
prefigure the Resurrection and the Life."
"Thou dreamest, Giuseppe mio. Thou dreamest with those wonderful eyes
of thine open. I do not understand this Love of thine that turns from
things earthly, that rends thy father's and mother's heart in twain."
His eyes filled with tears. "Pazienza! earthly things are but as
shadows that pass. It is thou that dreamest, Signora. Dost thou not
feel the transitoriness of it all--yea, even of this solid-seeming
terrestrial plain and yon overhanging roof and the beautiful lights
set therein for our passing pleasure! This sun which swims daily
through the firmament is but a painted phantasm compared with the
eternal rock of Christ's Love."
"Thy words are tinkling cymbals to me, Ser Giuseppe."
"They are those of thy faith, Signora."
"Nay, not of my faith," she cried vehemently. "Thou knowest I am no
Christian at heart. Nay, nor are any of our house, though they
perceive it not. My father fasts at Lent, but it is the Pagan
Aristotle that nourishes his thought. Rome counts her beads and
mumbles her paternosters, but she has outgrown the primitive faith in
Renunciation. Our pageants and processions, our splendid feasts, our
gorgeous costumes, what have these to do with the pale Christ, whom
thou wouldst foolishly emulate?"
"Then there is work for me to do, even among the Christians," he said
mildly.
"Nay, it is but mischief thou wouldst do, with thy passionless ghost
of a creed. It is the artists who have brought back joy to the world,
who have perceived the soul of beauty in all things. And though they
have feigned to paint the Holy Family and the Crucifixion and the Dead
Christ and the Last Supper, it is the loveliness of life that has
inspired their art. Yea, even from the prayerful Giotto downwards, it
is the pride of life, it is the glory of the human form, it is the joy
of color, it is the dignity of man, it is the adoration of the Muses.
Ay, and have not our nobles had themselves painted as Apostles, have
they not intruded their faces into sacred scenes, have they not
understood for what this religious art was a pretext? Is not Rome full
of Pagan art? Were not the Laocoon and the Cleopatra and the Venus
placed in the very orange garden of the Vatican?"
"Natheless it is the Madonna and the Child that your painters have
loved best to paint."
"'Tis but Venus and Cupid over again."
"Nay, these sneers belie the noble Signora de' Franchi. Thou canst not
be blind to the divine aspiration that lay behind a Madonna of Sandro
Botticelli."
"Thou hast not seen his frescoes in the Villa Lemmi, outside Firenze,
the dainty grace of his forms, the charming color, else thou wouldst
understand that it was not spiritual beauty alone that his soul
coveted."
"But Raffaello da Urbino, but Leonardo--"
"Leonardo," she repeated. "Hast thou seen his Bacchus, or his
battle-fresco? Knowest thou the later work of Raffaello? And what
sayest thou to our Fra Lippo Lippi? A Christian monk he, forsooth!
What sayest thou to Giorgione of Venice and his pupils, to this
efflorescence of loveliness, to our statuaries and our builders, to
our goldsmiths and musicians? Ah, we have rediscovered the secret of
Greece. It is Homer that we love, it is Plato, it is the noble
simplicity of Sophocles; our Dante lied when he said it was Virgil who
was his guide. The poet of Mantua never led mortal to those dolorous
regions. He sings of flocks and bees, of birds and running brooks, and
the simple loves of shepherds; and we listen to him again and breathe
the sweet country air, the sweeter for the memory of those hell-fumes
which have poisoned life for centuries. Apollo is Lord, not Christ."
"It is Apollyon who tempts Rome thus with the world and the flesh."
"Thou hast dethroned thy reason, Messer Giuseppe. Thou knowest these
things dignify, not degrade our souls. Hast thou not thrilled with me
at the fairness of a pictured face, at the glow of luminous color, at
the white radiance of a statue?"
"I sinned if I loved beauty for itself alone, and--forgive me if I
wound thee, lady--this worship of beauty is for the rich, the
well-fed, the few. What of the poor and the down-trodden who weep in
darkness? What comfort holds thy creed for such? All these wonders of
the human hand and the human brain are as straws weighed against a
pure heart, a righteous deed. The ages of Art have always been the
ages of abomination, Signora. It is not in cunning but in simplicity
that our Lord is revealed. Unless ye become as little children, ye
shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
"Heaven is here." Her eyes gleamed. Her bosom heaved. The fire of her
glance passed to his. Her loveliness troubled him, the matchless face
and form that now blent the purity of a statue with the warmth of
living woman.
"Verily, where Christ is Heaven is. Thou hast moved in such splendor
of light, Signora de' Franchi, thou dost not realize thy privilege.
But I, who have always walked in darkness, am as a blind man restored
to sight. I was ambitious, lustful, torn by doubts and questionings;
now I am bathed in the divine peace, all my questions answered, my
riotous blood assuaged. Love, love, that is all; the surrender of
one's will to the love that moves the sun and all the stars, as your
Dante says. And sun and stars do but move to this end, Signora--that
human souls may be born and die to live, in oneness with Love. Oh, my
brethren"--he stretched out his arms yearningly, and his eyes and his
voice were full of tears--"why do ye haggle in the market-place? Why
do ye lay up store of gold and silver? Why do ye chase the futile
shadows of earthly joy? This, this is the true ecstasy, to give
yourself up to God, all in all, to ask only to be the channel of His
holy will."
Helena's face was full of a grave wonder; for a moment an answering
light was reflected on it as though she yearned for the strange
raptures she could not understand.
"All this is sheer folly. Thy brethren hear thee now as little as they
will ever hear thee."
"I shall pray night and day that my lips may be touched with the
sacred fire."
"Love, too, is a sacred fire. Dost thou purpose to live without that?"
She drew nearer. Her breath stirred the black lock on his forehead. He
moved back a pace, thrilling.
"I shall have divine Love, Signora."
"Thou art bent on becoming a Dominican?"
"I am fixed."
"The cloister will content thee?"
"It will be Heaven."
"Ay, where there is no marrying nor giving in marriage. What
Samson-creed is this that pulls down the pillars of human society?"
"Nay, marriage is in the scheme. 'Tis the symbol of a diviner union.
But it is not for all men. It is not for those who symbolize divine
things otherwise, who typify to their fellow-men the flesh crucified,
the soul sublimed. It is not for priests."
"But thou art not a priest."
"'Tis a question of days. But were I even refused orders I should
still remain celibate."
"Still remain celibate! Wherefore?"
"Because mine own people are cut off from me. And were I to marry a
Christian, like so many Jewish converts, the power of my example would
be lost. They would say of me, as they say of them, that it was not
the light of Christ but a Christian maiden's eyes that dazzled and
drew. They are hard; they do not believe in the possibility of a true
conversion. Others have enriched themselves by apostasy, or, being
rich, have avoided impoverishing mulcts and taxes. But I have lost all
my patrimony, and I will accept nothing. That is why I refused thy
father's kind offices, the place in the Seal-office, or even the
humbler position of mace-bearer to his Holiness. When my brethren see,
moreover, that I force from them no pension nor moneys, not even a
white farthing, that I even preach to them without wage, verily for
the love of Heaven, as your idiom hath it, when they see that I live
pure and lonely, then they will listen to me. Perchance their hearts
will be touched and their eyes opened." His face shone with wan
radiance. That was, indeed, the want, he felt sure. No Jew had ever
stood before his brethren an unimpeachable Christian, above suspicion,
without fear, and without reproach. Oh, happy privilege to fill this
apostolic rôle!
"But suppose--" Helena hesitated; then lifting her lovely eyes to meet
his in fearless candor, "she whom you loved were no Christian."
He trembled, clenching his hands to drive back the mad wave of earthly
emotion that flooded him, as the tide swells to the moon, under the
fervor of her eyes.
"I should kill my love all the same," he said hoarsely. "The Jews are
hard. They will not make fine distinctions. They know none but Jews
and Christians."
"Methinks I see my father galloping up the street," said Helena,
turning to the oriel window. "That should be his feather and his brown
Turkey horse. But the sun dazzles my eyes! I will leave thee."
She passed to the door without looking at him. Then turning suddenly
so that his own eyes were dazzled, she said--
"My heart is with thee whatsoever thou choosest. Only bethink thee
well, ere thou donnest cowl and gown, that unlovely costume which, to
speak after thine own pattern, symbolizes all that is unlovely.
_Addio!_"
He followed her and took her hand, and, bending down, kissed it
reverently. She did not withdraw it.
"Hast thou the strength for the serge and the cord, Giuseppe mio?" she
asked softly.
He drew himself up, holding her hand in his.
"Yes," he said. "Thou shalt inspire me, Helena. The thought of thy
radiant purity shall keep me pure and unfaltering."
A fathomless expression crossed Helena's face. She drew away her hand.
"I cannot inspire to death," she said. "I can only inspire to life."
He closed his eyes in ecstatic vision. "'Tis not death. He is the
Resurrection and the Life," he murmured.
When he opened his eyes she was gone. He fell on his knees in a
passion of prayer, in the agony of the crucifixion of the flesh.
V
During his novitiate, before he had been admitted to monastic vows, he
preached a trial "Sermon to the Jews" in a large oratory near the
Ghetto. A church would have been contaminated by the presence of
heretics, and even from the Oratory any religious objects that lay
about had been removed. There was a goodly array of fashionable
Christians, resplendent in gold-fringed mantles and silk-ribboned
hats; for he was rumored eloquent, and Annibale de' Franchi was there
in pompous presidency. One Jew came--Shloumi the Droll, relying on his
ability to wriggle out of the infraction of the ban, and earn a meal
or two by reporting the proceedings to the _fattori_ and the other
dignitaries of the Ghetto, whose human curiosity might be safely
counted upon. Shloumi was rich in devices. Had he not even for months
flaunted a crimson cap in the eye of Christendom, and had he not when
at last brought before the Caporioni, pleaded that this was merely an
ostensive sample of the hats he was selling, his true yellow hat being
unintentionally hidden beneath? But Giuseppe de' Franchi rejoiced at
the sight of him now.
"He is a gossip, he will scatter the seed," he thought.
Late in the afternoon of the next day the preacher was walking in the
Via Lepida, near the Monastery of St. Dominic. There was a touch on
his mantle. He turned. "Miriam!" he cried, shrinking back.
"Why shrinkest thou from me, Joseph?"
"Knowest thou not I am under the ban? Look, is not that a Jew yonder
who regards us?"
"I care not. I have a word to say to thee."
"But thou wilt be accursed."
"I have a word to say to thee."
His eyes lit up. "Ah, thou believest!" he cried exultantly. "Thou hast
found grace."
"Nay, Joseph, that will never be. I love our fathers' faith. Methinks
I have understood it better than thou, though I have not dived like
thee into holy lore. It is by the heart alone that I understand."
"Then why dost thou come? Let us turn down towards the Coliseum. 'Tis
quieter, and less frequented of our brethren."
They left the busy street with its bustle of coaches, and
water-carriers with their asses, and porters, and mounted nobles with
trains of followers, and swash-buckling swordsmen, any of whom might
have insulted Miriam, conspicuous by her beauty and by the square of
yellow cloth, a palm and a half wide, set above her coiffure. They
walked on in silence till they came to the Arch of Titus.
Involuntarily both stopped, for by reason of the Temple candlestick
that figured as spoil in the carving of the Triumph of Titus, no Jew
would pass under it. Titus and his empire had vanished, but the Jew
still hugged his memories and his dreams.
An angry sulphur sunset, streaked with green, hung over the ruined
temples of the ancient gods and the grass-grown fora of the Romans. It
touched with a glow as of blood the highest fragment of the Coliseum
wall, behind which beasts and men had made sport for the Masters of
the World. The rest of the Titanic ruin seemed in shadow.
"Is it well with my parents?" said Joseph at last.
"Hast thou the face to ask? Thy mother weeps all day, save when thy
father is at home. Then she makes herself as stony as he. He--an elder
of the synagogue!--thou hast brought down his gray hairs in sorrow to
the grave."
He swallowed a sob. Then, with something of his father's stoniness,
"Suffering chastens, Miriam," he said. "It is God's weapon."
"Accuse not God of thy cruelty. I hate thee." She went on rapidly, "It
is rumored in the Ghetto thou art to be a friar of St. Dominic.
Shloumi the Droll brought the news."
"It is so, Miriam. I am to take the vows at once."
"But how canst thou become a priest? Thou lovest a woman."
He stopped in his walk, startled.
"What sayest thou, Miriam?"
"Nay, this is no time for denials. I know her. I know thy love for
her. It is Helena de' Franchi."