He had not long to wait. To give the crowd an execution was to crown
the Carnival. Condemned criminals were often kept till Shrove Tuesday,
and keen was the disappointment when there was only the whipping of
courtesans caught masked. The whipping of a Jew, found badgeless, was
the next best thing to the execution of a Christian, for the
flagellator was paid double (at the cost of the culprit), and did not
fail to double his zeal. But the execution of a Jew was the best of
all. And that Fra Giuseppe was a Jew there could be no doubt. The only
question was whether he was a backslider or a spy. In either case
death was his due. And he had lampooned the Pope to boot--in itself
the unpardonable sin. The unpopular Pontiff sagely spared the
others--the Jew alone was to die.
The population was early astir. In the Piazza of the People--the
centre of the Carnival--where the stake had been set up, a great
crowd fought for coigns of vantage--a joyous, good-humored tussle. The
great fountain sent its flashing silver spirts towards a blue heaven.
As the death-cart lumbered into the Piazza ribald songs from the
rabble saluted the criminal's ears, and his wild, despairing eyes
lighted on many a merry face that but a few hours before had followed
him to testify to righteousness; and, mixed with theirs, the faces of
his fellow-Jews, sinister with malicious glee. No brother friar droned
consolation to him or held the cross to his eyes--was he not a
pestilential infidel, an outcast from both worlds? The chief of the
Caporioni was present. Troops surrounded the stake lest, perchance,
the madman might have followers who would yet attempt a rescue. But
the precautions were superfluous. Not a face that showed sympathy;
those who, bewitched by the Friar, had followed his crucifix and
_pallio_ now exaggerated their jocosity lest they should be
recognized; the Jews were joyous at the heavenly vengeance which had
overtaken the renegade.
The Dominican Jew was tied to the timber. They had dressed him in a
gaberdine and set the yellow cap on his shaven poll. Beneath it his
face was calm, but very sad. He began to speak.
"Gag him!" cried the Magistrate. "He is about to blaspheme."
"Prithee not," pleaded a bully in the crowd. "We shall lose the
rascal's shrieks."
"Nay, fear not. I shall not blaspheme," said Joseph, smiling
mournfully. "I do but confess my sin and my deserved punishment. I set
out to walk in the footsteps of the Master--to win by love, to resist
not evil. And lo, I have used force against my old brethren, the Jews,
and force against my new brethren, the Christians. I have urged the
Pope against the Jews, I have urged the Christians against the Pope.
I have provoked bloodshed and outrage. It were better I had never been
born. Christ receive me into His infinite mercy. May He forgive me as
I forgive you!" He set his teeth and spake no more, an image of
infinite despair.
The flames curled up. They began to writhe about his limbs, but drew
no sound to vie with their crackling. But there was weeping heard in
the crowd. And suddenly from the unobservedly overcast heavens came a
flash of lightning and a peal of thunder followed by a violent shower
of rain. The flames were extinguished. The spring shower was as brief
as it was violent, but the wood would not relight.
But the crowd was not thus to be cheated. At the order of the
Magistrate the executioner thrust a sword into the criminal's bowels,
then, unbinding the body, let it fall upon the ground with a thud: it
rolled over on its back, and lay still for a moment, the white,
emaciated face staring at the sky. Then the executioner seized an axe
and quartered the corpse. Some sickened and turned away, but the bulk
remained gloating.
Then a Franciscan sprang on the cart, and from the bloody ominous text
patent to all eyes, passionately preached Christ and dissolved the mob
in tears.
X
In the house of Manasseh, the father of Joseph, there were great
rejoicings. Musicians had been hired to celebrate the death of the
renegade as tradition demanded, and all that the Pragmatic permitted
of luxury was at hand. And they danced, man with man and woman with
woman. Manasseh gravely handed fruits and wine to his guests, but the
old mother danced frenziedly, a set smile on her wrinkled face, her
whole frame shaken from moment to moment by peals of horrible
laughter.
Miriam fled from the house to escape that laughter. She wandered
outside the Ghetto, and found the spot of unconsecrated ground where
the mangled remains of Joseph the Dreamer had been hastily shovelled.
The heap of stones thrown by pious Jewish hands, to symbolize that by
Old Testament Law the renegade should have been stoned, revealed his
grave. Great sobs swelled Miriam's throat. Her eyes were blind with
tears that hid the beauty of the world. Presently she became aware of
another bowed figure near hers--a stately female figure--and almost
without looking knew it for Helena de' Franchi.
"I, too, loved him, Signora de' Franchi," she said simply.
"Art thou Miriam? He hath spoken of thee." Helena's silvery voice was
low and trembling.
"Ay, Signora."
Helena's tears flowed unrestrainedly. "Alas! Alas! the Dreamer! He
should have been happy--happy with me, happy in the fulness of human
love, in the light of the sun, in the beauty of this fair world, in
the joy of art, in the sweetness of music."
"Nay, Signora, he was a Jew. He should have been happy with me, in the
light of the Law, in the calm household life of prayer and study, of
charity, and pity, and all good offices. I would have lit the Sabbath
candles for him and set our children on his knee that he might bless
them. Alas! Alas! the Dreamer!"
"Neither of these fates was to be his, Miriam. Kiss me, let us comfort
each other."
Their lips met and their tears mingled.
"Henceforth, Miriam, we are sisters."
"Sisters," sobbed Miriam.
They clung to each other--the noble Pagan soul and the warm Jewish
heart at one over the Christian's grave.
Suddenly bells began to ring in the city. Miriam started and
disengaged herself.
"I must go," she said hurriedly.
"It is but _Ave Maria_," said Helena. "Thou hast no vespers to sing."
Miriam touched the yellow badge on her head. "Nay, but the gates will
be closing, sister."
"Alas, I had forgotten. I had thought we might always be together
henceforth. I will accompany thee so far as I may, sister."
They hastened from the lonely, unblessed grave, holding each other's
hand.
The shadows fell. It was almost dark by the time they reached the
Ghetto.
Miriam had barely slipped in when the gates shut with a harsh clang,
severing them through the long night.