The Jews would not come to hear Fra Giuseppe. All his impassioned
spirituality was wasted on an audience of Christians and oft-converted
converts. Baffled, he fell back on scholastic argumentation, but in
vain did he turn the weapons of Talmudic dialectic against the
Talmudists themselves. Not even his discovery by cabbalistic
calculations that the Pope's name and office were predicted in the Old
Testament availed to draw the Jews, and it was only in the streets
that he came upon the scowling faces of his brethren. For months he
preached in patient sweetness, then one day, desperate and unstrung,
he sought an interview with the Pope, to petition that the Jews might
be commanded to come to his sermons; he found the Pontiff in bed,
unwell, but chatting blithely with the Bishop of Salamanca and the
Procurator of the Exchequer, apparently of a droll mishap that had
befallen the French Legate. It was a pale scholarly face that lay back
on the white pillow under the purple skull-cap, but it was not devoid
of the stronger lines of action. Giuseppe stood timidly at the door,
till the Wardrobe-Keeper, a gentleman of noble family, told him to
advance. He moved forward reverently, and kneeling down kissed the
Pope's feet. Then he rose and proffered his request. But the ruler of
Christendom frowned. He was a scholar and a gentleman, a great patron
of letters and the arts. Wiser than that of temporal kings, his Jewish
policy had always been comparatively mild. It was his foreign policy
that absorbed his zeal, considerably to the prejudice of his
popularity at home. While Giuseppe de' Franchi was pleading
desperately to a bored Prelate, explaining how he could solve the
Jewish question, how he could play upon his brethren as David upon
the harp, if he could only get them under the spell of his voice, a
gentleman of the bed-chamber brought in a refection on a silver tray,
the Preguste tasted of the food to ensure its freedom from poison,
though it came from the Papal kitchen, and at a sign from his
Holiness, Giuseppe had to stand aside. And ere the Pope had finished
there were other interruptions; the chief of his band of musicians
came for instructions for the concert at his Ferragosto on the first
of August; and--most vexatious of all--a couple of goldsmiths came
with their work, and with rival models of a button for the Pontifical
cope. Giuseppe fumed and fretted while the Holy Father put on his
spectacles to examine the great silver vase which was to receive the
droppings from his table, its richly chased handles and its festoons
of acanthus leaves, and its ingenious masks; and its fellow which was
to stand in his cupboard and hold water, and had a beautiful design
representing St. Ambrogio on horseback routing the Arians. And when
one of the jewellers had been dismissed, laden with ducats by the
Pope's datary, the other remained an intolerable time, for it appeared
his Holiness was mightily pleased with his wax model, marvelling how
cunningly the artist had represented God the Father in bas-relief,
sitting in an easy attitude, and how elegantly he had set the fine
edge of the biggest diamond exactly in the centre. "Speed the work, my
son," said His Holiness, dismissing him at last, "for I would wear the
button myself before I die." Then, raising a beaming face, "Wouldst
thou aught further with me, Fra Giuseppe? Ah, I recall! Thou yearnest
to preach to thy stiff-necked kinsmen. _Ebbene_, 'tis a worthy
ambition. Luigi, remember me to-morrow to issue a Bull."
With sudden-streaming eyes the Friar fell at the Pontiff's feet again,
kissing them and murmuring incoherent thanks. Then he bowed his way
out, and hastened back joyfully to the convent.
The Bull duly appeared. The Jews were to attend his next sermon. He
awaited the Sabbath afternoon in a frenzy of spiritual ecstasy. He
prepared a wonderful sermon. The Jews would not dare to disobey the
Edict. It was too definite. It could not be evaded. And their
apathetic resistance never came till later, after an obedient start.
The days passed. The Bull had not been countermanded, although he was
aware backstairs influence had been tried by the bankers of the
community; it had not even been modified under the pretence of
defining it, as was the manner of Popes with too rigorous Bulls. No,
nothing could save the Jews from his sermon.
On the Thursday a plague broke out in the Ghetto; on the Friday a
tenth of the population was dead. Another overflow of the Tiber had
co-operated with the malarious effluvia of those congested alleys,
those strictly limited houses swarming with multiplying broods. On the
Saturday the gates of the Ghetto were officially closed. The plague
was shut in. For three months the outcasts of humanity were pent in
their pestiferous prison day and night to live or die as they chose.
When at length the Ghetto was opened and disinfected, it was the dead,
not the living, that were crowded.