CHAPTER V.

PASQUINO.

DON LOPEZ.

Valgame el cielo! que es esto Por que pasan mis sentidos? Alma, que habeis eschuchado? Ojos, que es lo que habeis visto? Tan pùblica es ya mi afrenta Que ha llegado a los oidos Del Rey, que mucho si es fuerza Ser los postreros los mios? Hay hombre mas infelice!

CALDERON DE LA BARCA. _A Secreto Agravio Secreta Vengansa._

Help me, Heaven! What can it be That my maddened senses see? Soul, what sounds thy powers affright? Eyes, what scene hath cursed your sight? Published now is my disgrace, Known and read in every place; E'en the king hath heard I my name Blasted by the breath of shame, Last of all the damning word, Wretched man! by me is heard.

Ernando, or Ferdinando dei Medici, was an excellent Prince, and of noble mind; as the fourth son of Cosimo, he was far from the hopes of the throne. He knew not what destiny lay before him, hidden in the future, but he was certain that it was not so distinguished a lot as his great ambition craved, since Francesco was to succeed his father in the dukedom, Giovanni wore a Cardinal's hat, and Garzia held the Admiralty. This state of inactivity oppressed him so deeply, that he grew sick. When afterwards the accident happened to Cardinal Giovanni and Don Garzia,[18] the father, Cosimo, very eager to provide for the establishment of his family, exerted his influence in the Court of Rome and obtained the transfer of Giovanni's hat to the head of Ferdinando. He was lying sick in bed when, with solemn ceremony, the red hat was presented to him, and so powerful was the action of gratified ambition upon the heart of this youth of fourteen, that from that very day he became convalescent, and very soon regained his usual health.[19] Being sent to Rome with paternal instructions and assisted by men skilful in the management of affairs, not only did he maintain, but succeeded in increasing at that Court, the influence of his house, which was already great. And in truth, the histories of the times relate that Pasquino often published satires, in which was written: _Cosmus Medices Pontifex Maximus_.[20] Besides the great political skill of Cosimo, his good fortune, in this as in everything else, availed him no little, for Giovanni Angiolo dei Medici being chosen Pope, although he was in no way related to the family of the Medici of Florence, yet, to please his own vanity, he wished to have it supposed so; hence, with this object, he lavished incredible favors upon the family of Cosimo, electing Giovanni a Cardinal, yielding to him his own hat, giving him his palace and garden, and promising to regard him as a son; and so ardent was he in carrying out this idea that he even wrote to Cosimo: "Your concerns we hold as our own, desiring that ours should be also yours, and that we should always give and receive help from each other, and there will always be between us one heart and one mind."[21]

[18] The young Cardinal Giovanni dei Medici died suddenly, at Rosignano, a castle of the Maremma, while hunting with his brother, Don Garzia, in 1562. It was said, however, that the Cardinal had been murdered by his brother, for very soon after, Don Garzia himself died suddenly, and it was reported that he was killed by his father, Cosimo, in order to avenge the Cardinal's death.

[19] Galluzzi, _History of the Grand Duchy_, vol. ii. p. 271.

[20] Galluzzi, ibid., vol. ii, and Ammirato, last vol.

[21] Galluzzi, ibid., vol. ii.

Ferdinando increased this ascendency, partly through the sagacity and good fortune of his father, partly by his own generous patronage of the fine arts and letters, although these were then somewhat on the decline, and partly by the bold readiness which he manifested on difficult occasions. Of this a remarkable instance occurs in the manuscript memoirs, which I ought not to pass over in silence, namely: going on a certain day, when he was Cardinal, to pay his homage to Pope Pius V., in the act of bowing before him, he showed a strong iron cuirass which he wore under the red dress. The Pope noticing it, said pleasantly to him: "Richard Plantagenet, while warring against his barons, took prisoner a bishop, who, armed with mail, had fought against him more than any of his enemies. The Pope interfering, begged Richard to restore this son of his to liberty; but Plantagenet sent back to the Pope the bishop's cuirass, with the words spoken by the sons of Jacob when they showed him the bloody garment of Joseph: 'Know now whether this be thy son's coat or no.' Cardinal dei Medici, what dress is that you wear under your cardinal's robe?" And Ferdinando, striking his breast and making his armor resound, replied proudly: "Most blessed Father, this is the garment suitable to a great prince."

But more than for all these things is the Cardinal to be praised for the wonderful constancy with which, in spite of the great bitterness which his brother Francesco caused him, he strove always to promote the welfare of his family; and indeed Francesco gave him daily and strong reasons to be dissatisfied with him, by avariciously refusing to advance him money on his pensions, of which, on account of his excessive liberality, he was often in need, and by entangling himself more and more with the love of the Venetian courtesan. When the ill-humor of the people reached its climax, on account of the insane conduct of Francesco, who did not blush, while accompanying the funeral of his wife Giovanna, to take off his hat and salute Bianca, as she was looking on from a balcony in the Conti palace,[22] and who, while the ashes of the royal lady were yet scarcely cold, secretly married the woman who had certainly shortened her days, Ferdinando retired to Rome, there to labor for the prosperity and honor of his house.

[22] Morbio, _History of the Italian Communalities_, p. 27.

When afterwards destiny willed that he should ascend the throne of Tuscany, he dismissed the evil counsellors of his brother, and set himself earnestly to the task of rendering his subjects happy. We meet with no public building, nor hospital, nor charitable institution, with which there is not associated the name of Ferdinando, either as the founder or promoter; but since it is easier to build a city than to create a sentiment of nationality, so he was not able to raise the fallen spirits of his people, nor perhaps did he wish to do so, or rather it was an end impossible to be attained by one holding, as he did, the rank of prince, which he would not and could not relinquish. He endeavored, notwithstanding, to relieve Italy from the Spanish yoke, and wrote boldly to the several Italian states, that, laying aside all petty rivalry, they should join him, and vindicate their liberties, but such was the degradation into which they had fallen, that he could not succeed, even in this; and perhaps all attempts would have been vain, since there happen to nations, as well as to individuals, certain moments of agony in which neither motion nor quiet avails, and whilst the latter does not prevent death, the former hastens it. It is true, however, as I thought once, and still believe, that neither a God nor a nation can remain in the sepulchre; Christ remained in it only three days, but perchance the days of nations are composed of centuries. And the Italian princes, in Ferdinando's time, consented to live, act, and breathe at the will of Spain; to her they extended their hands in supplication, on her lips and her looks they hung. Great Heaven! what miserable beings were those princes, who, like the mendicant asking a penny, begged the liberty to do evil of others, of shaving, as a most witty genius used to say, at second-hand! How contemptible did they seem, the agents, as one might say, of the right of life and death! Or rather, negro slave-drivers, with whips in their hands. But enough of this; Ferdinando was not able to accomplish his noble object, which was to contract an alliance with France; for Henri IV. did not act in any degree differently from the nature of the French, who, "when a favor is asked of them, think first what advantage they themselves may derive from it; when they cannot do you good, they promise it, and when they can, they do it reluctantly or never;[23] a people instinctively greedy of others' possessions, and to whom theft comes as naturally as breathing."[24] And strangest of all, the French, fickle in everything, have always shown a singular persistency in this habit, of which even Julius Cæsar gives a proof in his histories. The marriage of Maria dei Medici, daughter of Francesco, to Henri IV., brought about at such an enormous cost, and at the expense of so many sacrifices on the part of Ferdinando, was to strengthen the ties of friendship and blood between France and the Medicis, first formed by the marriage of Catherine; but banished from France, expelled from the house and presence of her son, deprived of everything, she perished miserably at Cologne, and the pity of the painter Rubens gave her burial. Mark what human judgment is, in the power of fortune, which governs it at will!

[23] Machiavelli, _On the Nature of the French_.

[24] Machiavelli, _Sketches on French Affairs_.

Such was Ferdinando dei Medici, and it will not displease my readers, I hope, that I have described him somewhat at length. Besides, I have noticed that most novel writers expatiate upon the appearance, and so much more upon the dress of their personages, as to seem a race of tailors; if you desire to know how Ferdinando dressed and looked, I refer you to the Arsenal at Leghorn, where you will see his marble statue upon a pedestal around which are bound four bronze slaves; to Pisa in the Lungarno at the head of the via Santa Maria, where his marble effigy seems desirous to raise fallen Pisa, which being of marble cannot entirely rise, and remains thus, half-erect, half-falling; and to the square of the Santissima Annunziata, in Florence, where towers pompously his equestrian statue cast of the bronze _plundered from the fierce Thracian_, as it is written under the strap of the saddle. I thought best at this time to describe his nature and habits; if I was mistaken, or have displeased you, I entreat pardon, and continue my history.

It was Easter morning. A magnificent cavalcade issued from the Medici palace, and rode in state through the streets of Rome. Cardinal Ferdinando was going to pay his respects to the Pope, Gregory XIII. He rode on a white horse, ornamented with crimson velvet, with large tassels of red silk, while the flanks of his steed were almost covered by his cardinal's cloak; by his side rode Paolo Giordano Orsini, Duke of Bracciano, dressed in Spanish costume, upon a fiery Roman horse, and conversing familiarly with him of matters of little importance, as far as could be judged, for the Cardinal seemed to pay slight attention to him, and only from time to time nodded his head. Behind them came the gay and noisy suite of the Duke, and that of the Cardinal, which was far more splendid; for he, following the promptings of his most generous nature, was accustomed to maintain in state not less than three hundred gentlemen, courtiers, and men renowned for some talent. To tell the truth, rather than the grave retinue of a Cardinal, it resembled the troops of masqueraders, who in carnival time run merry-making through the town; they were either talking, or vieing with each other in managing their horses, making them change their pace every moment, caracol, curvet, or trot, and exchanging soft glances, smiles, and sometimes even salutes with the ladies who stood on the balconies. A rose descended through the air, and the ringing laughter of women was heard, as it fell upon the white mane of the Cardinal's horse; but although people raised their eyes quickly, no one could discern whence it came, for the windows of the houses on both sides of the street were apparently shut. Such license was in some measure attributable to the times, and a little to the easy disposition of the Cardinal, who, young, powerful, and bound by no sacred order, was more lenient in love affairs than was becoming to his dignity; and the courtiers, as we see happening every day, took excessive advantage of the laxity of their master, sure that if ever the Cardinal took it into his head to reprove them, he would begin with a severe countenance and end with a pleasant smile.

After the cavalcade, followed a crowd of the lower classes, who applaud and disapprove equally without reason, and who are always destined, whether cheering or hooting, to be stricken down, until some day, wearied of hurrahing or hissing, they in their turn take the notion of striking, and then, may God guard us in His holy keeping! However, they take this notion but seldom, and the passage of the powerful through the midst of them, is like that of the swallow among the insects of the air--it eats and flies.

Thus passing from street to street, the _cortège_ arrived at the corner of the palace Caracciolo Santo-buono, upon the ruins of which, in modern times, the palace Braschi has been built. There stood at that time Marforio and Pasquino.

What is Marforio? and what is Pasquino?

Marforio is a recumbent colossal statue of the ocean, found in the Forum of Mars, whence it derives its name. Clement XII. had it transported to the capitol, and here it shows itself proudly to the passers-by. Pasquino is a plebeian statue. A worthy artisan, before whose shop it was found, gave it the name; it is mutilated and of doubtful identity; yet all seem to have agreed in baptizing it a _torso_ of Ajax: at any rate, it represents a human being, neither a God nor a demigod; and although its merits far surpass those of Marforio, fortune has treated it very differently, for instead of the honors of the Capitol it came very near being thrown into the Tiber. It was Adrian VI. who raised so bitter a persecution against it; and that he did not succeed we must thank the witty courtier who persuaded him, that from that trunk buried in the mud there would arise more voices than from a whole nation of frogs. And behold how the injustice of man is manifested even in the very busts and marbles; Marforio in the Capitol, like a triumphant captain, Pasquino, hardly escaped the Tiber, and having survived so fearful a danger, happy if he be allowed to remain walled in the corner of the Braschi palace. Marforio, according to the custom of the fortunate, "_for whomsoever fortune exalts she first plunges into Lethe_,"[25] no longer remembers past times; having been made a lord, and splendidly lodged, he has become a courtier and is silent, or if he sometimes speaks, he does it cautiously, and although a colossus of marble, he treads as lightly as if he were walking on eggs; he almost flatters; but Pasquino, without head, arms, or legs, exposed to the winds and rain, has retained his sympathy with the people, and always talks, satirizes, and never loses his jest happen what may; after all, worse cannot happen to him than losing his head, arms, and legs. The fair fame of Marforio, however, has been diminished, while Pasquino, on the contrary, has never known any decline of popularity. Marforio is a deserter, but Pasquino threw away his legs so as not to fly; hence the people have forgotten Marforio and increased their love for Pasquino ten-fold. Marforio in the Capitol, at the extremity of the court of the Capitoline Museum, accompanied by the bronze satyrs found in the Theatre of Pompey, king of the fountain over which he is placed, grows tired, and if an ocean of marble could gape, he would. Pasquino, on the other hand, breathes and lives and sympathizes with the people; and although headless, speaks, reasons, and reviews accounts better than those who have heads. Indeed, it is not certain that to live in this world there is much need of a head; witness Pliny, who asserts that there are headless people, called by him _Blemmii_, which, if it appeared a marvellous thing at the time of that writer, has long since ceased to astonish us. Pasquino often is a persecuted Nemesis, who hurls a blow in the dark against the man who drinks the tears of the people, and this blow strikes upon his brow more directly than the stone from David's sling;--he is a Nemesis, who, collecting the bitter water that springs in the countries of oppression, pours it into the foaming wine of pride;--he is a Nemesis, who hides worms among the flowers of vicious pleasures;--he is a Nemesis, who makes the cruel fall into the open sepulchre while menaces yet burn upon his lips;--he mingles darkness with terror, peoples dreams with phantoms, fills pillows with remorse, gives a voice to the clod which conceals the unknown crime, and persecutes life with affliction, death with despair. But Pasquino's satires spring too often from human perfidy; since there are people to whom nature has said, hate! as she has said to the eagle, fly! and the man hates as the eagle flies. O Lord God, why didst thou create the serpent that poisons, the wild beast that devours, the upas that kills, and the man that hates? Behold, the serene heaven is a torment for him, the splendid sun an offence, the limpid lake a mockery, the tranquil mind an insult; he would wish for the eye of the basilisk, the breath of the pestilence, the bitumen of the asphaltum, the despair of Judas, to sadden the serenity of the azure heaven, of the limpid waters, and of the innocent soul.

[25] Che fortuna "qualunque estolle, il tuffa prima in Lete."--Ariosto, _Satires_.

Truth is the most brilliant sun in the diadem of God. In the days of creation it should have been suspended as the only luminary in the firmament. Truth ought to issue openly from the lips of men like holy incense from golden censers. The work of darkness ought to be consummated in darkness. Truth ought never to take the form of falsehood. Why should it ever assume the semblance of calumny? The heart of a coward may well become a fit resting-place for a nest of vipers, but never the temple of truth. Truth ought to be preached in the face of day from the lofty places, from the mountain-tops, from the open shores of the sea. Truth ought to be declared before the men who detest it, and before the judges who condemn it as they did the innocent Socrates. Truth has been burned at the stake, and has sprung like a Phoenix from its ashes; Truth has mounted the scaffold, and returned to live in the severed limbs as the polyp lives again in the broken fragments. Truth has never deceived nor flattered any one, for she has said: "My name is martyrdom on earth and glory in Heaven; let him who wishes follow me, I am a stern life-companion."[26]

[26]

Martirio in terra appellasi, Gloria si appella in cielo.

_Beatrice Tenda_, by Tedaldi-Fores, a young poet who died in the flower of his youth.

"He that hath ears to hear let him hear;" I return to my story.

Pasquino, and also Marforio, who had not yet been promoted to the Capitol, appeared on that solemn day in the plenitude of their glory, decked all around with a halo of satires of all colors and dimensions; crowds of people were standing reading them or hearing them read, and the more bitter, satirical, and slanderous the words were, the more fitted to sadden a heart, or to cause despair to an immortal soul, the louder they laughed with every token of joy.

The cavalcade, seeing from afar such a magnificent show, exulted, and had they not been restrained by respect would have rushed ahead of the Cardinal; they closed together, endeavoring to decipher the writings from where they were; some rose on their stirrups, some shaded their eyes with their hands to read.

"Oh, he is dressed for a Sunday," said the courtiers; "Pasquino is really celebrating Easter; we shall hear some good jokes; materials are not wanting;" and so on, so that their voices might have been heard a mile distant.

The Cardinal, passing near the dreaded statues, did not turn his head nor even seem to glance at them. Not so the courtiers, who fell upon it like pigeons in a field of grain, neither minding nor caring if they knocked or trampled on the crowd, who sprang to the right and left cursing and yelling like the frogs when a bull approaches the margin of a pond. Why is it that this careless and noisy young crew are suddenly silent? Imagine a flock of sparrows hovering over the broad top of an oak, and chirping incessantly, fluttering through the leaves with restless motions; but if suddenly a falcon appears, soaring in wide circles near the tree, they become so silent and still, that they seem as if struck by sudden death, and shrink and fold their wings, and dare not fly from bough to bough, but seek to hide themselves under the leaves: thus the abashed courtiers continued on their route gravely and in silence.

Pasquino had poured forth a torrent of malignant satires against the Cardinal, because he was reputed the most fortunate of all the Cardinals. One of the pasquinades which was aimed at him ran as follows: Marforio asked Pasquino, "Which is the mule that Medici rides now?" And Pasquino answered, "He rides the mule of Farnese." This alluded to the intrigue which, according to report, Ferdinando had with Clelia, the daughter of Cardinal Farnese. But this could be tolerated; those which appeared really infamous reflected upon Francesco, Bianca, Isabella, her husband, Eleonora of Toledo, and Don Piero de Medici, which, as being too shameful, we will abstain from reporting.

The Cardinal had not turned his head; but, looking askance, he perceived and read those vituperations; advancing his horse a step, he kept the Duke of Bracciano so occupied in conversation that the latter was not able to read a word. When it seemed to him the proper time, he called to one of his retinue and gave him some orders in a low voice. Hardly had the cavalcade turned the corner than the officer turned impetuously back, spurring his horse. The crowd had again collected, and were enjoying their brutal pleasure, and praising Pasquino, voting him by acclamation a crown of laurel. Without even saying, "take care," the officer dashed his horse into the midst of the crowd, who again cleared the way, and struck right and left with the butt-end of his halberd upon the head, shoulders, or arms of those who were not quick enough to avoid him, and reaching Pasquino he thrust his hand, armed with the iron gauntlet, with such force against it that it shows the impression to this day; he made a bundle of all the papers, and carried them off, departing with the same fury with which he had come, without taking the least notice of the crowd, who, as soon as they saw him at a sufficient distance, raised their heads, still like frogs, and vented their anger in screams and curses, like every brutal rabble; it ended, however, as it always does, that he who received a bruise applied a plaster to it, and he whose head was broken had it bound up.

The Cardinal, after having paid his homage to his Holiness, returned home by a shorter road, and there closeting himself within his study he wrote a letter to his brother, Francesco, without availing himself of the assistance of his secretary, in which, saying nothing of the insults that were deservedly aimed at both of them, he related those published to the dishonor of their house, on account of the intrigues of Isabella and Eleonora of Toledo, and advised him to use all means he thought best to cause them to behave more modestly. Having written the letter he gave it to a courier, ordering him to start immediately for Florence, and as he valued his life to put the letter into Francesco's own hands. This epistle reached Francesco only too safely, and the remorse of the Cardinal was inexpressible, when he found that it had caused the mournful events which form the subject of this narrative; and, in truth, he was wrong, for he ought not to have allowed himself to be overcome by hasty passion, knowing as he did the cruel and fierce nature of his brother, his dissimulation, his readiness to imbrue his hands in blood, and his Spanish education, which led him to consider it a point of honor, both in the husband and in the brother, to punish the guilt of the wife or sister; and, moreover, that he had grown up at the Court of Philip II., who, on account of his cruel disposition, had been surnamed, even in his own times, the _Demon of the South_. Enough, fate willed it thus, and perhaps it was not the first time, nor yet the last, that Pasquino had caused blood and tears to be shed.

Francesco, on the receipt of the letter, read it twice, and placed it carefully in his bosom, and no one could have discovered from his pale and austere face, whether it brought good or bad news; then turning to his sister and sister-in-law who were conversing together, he said to them: "His Eminence Cardinal Ferdinando is well, and sends his love to you."

A few days after, he sent back the same courier of the Cardinal to Rome, with a letter, saying: "that he was very grateful for the interest which he took in the welfare of their house, although unfortunately it concerned a very disagreeable subject; begging him to be assured that he would find a remedy for so much scandal, and in such a manner that his Eminence should be satisfied; moreover, as the case deserved grave consideration, he entreated him, as he had done in all his other most important affairs, still to favor him with his most prudent counsels."

Two or three hours after he had despatched this courier, he sent another, ordering him to take off his livery, dress himself as a trader, and thus go _incognito_ to Rome; when there to present himself to Lord Paolo Giordano Orsini, Duke of Bracciano, to deliver to him personally the letter which he gave him, and then to return immediately without even stopping in Rome, for he wished his mission there to remain perfectly secret. The letter ran thus:

"Our most beloved brother-in-law, Duke of Bracciano.--On the reception of this, your Excellency will start without delay for Florence, accompanied by only one attendant, or two at the most. You will learn the motive of this summons, which is a most urgent one, from our own lips, it being a matter which cannot be intrusted to writing; in the meantime we inform you that this affair, although somewhat concerning us, regards particularly yourself, and the honor of your family. It would be best that you should acquaint no one of your departure, more especially the most eminent Cardinal Ferdinando, our brother. Travel _incognito_, studiously avoiding recognition; calculate your time so as to reach the Roman gate towards dark, both you and your servants wearing white feathers in your caps. You will find one who will admit both yourself and the attendants without giving names, and we shall await you at the palace.

"May God keep you in His holy peace, etc."

The Duke, having read and well considered this letter, took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead: then he began to walk up and down, read the letter once more, and was much disturbed.

"I sold myself as a slave," he thought to himself, "to these _parvenu_ merchants! I, a Roman prince! What lineage is theirs? From what did they spring? When honorable barons, knights, and men of great affairs honored my house, their ancestors were not worthy to hold their stirrups.--_On the reception of this--with only one attendant or two--studiously avoiding recognition--try to enter about dark._--Thank Heaven! I am not your subject--order your own servants. I shall not go; I am determined not to go, and I _will_ not."

And he began to walk up and down again. In the meantime an inward voice, as if it came from a secret counsellor, humbled him, saying: "But he is your brother-in-law, a crowned prince, who cannot come to see you; he is very powerful and rich, having great authority at the Court of Rome. Besides it concerns you, so that it seems only just that you should go to him, and even thank him if he shows so much interest in your welfare; add to that, he is educating your son Virginio at his court, and will provide for him, since you can rely very little on your own fortune, and in your poverty, in the universal deluge of your debts, who but he can be an ark of safety to you? O Bracciano! Bracciano! I fear that you will become the prey of some fortunate merchant, who after taking your estates will take your title also--and thus after having expelled your illustrious race from the castle, will erase your name from the memory of men. Hence it seems profitable to go, and keep on good terms with this relation of mine, for the love of my debts. Love! I ought to have said hate; but, blessed Saint Peter, how can I hate debts, since they were my swaddling-clothes when I first came into this world, and will be my winding-sheet when I depart from it! Bernia wrote an essay on debt; he did wrong, he should have written an epic poem! To Florence then--Titta! Saddle three good horses; we must travel. You and Cecchino will go with me; take off your livery; put white feathers in your caps, and do not forget the cloaks. It is but a duty to take this poor Cecchino with me; I brought him away from Florence when he was just married; and he would be glad to see his old mother and wife again. I think that he would be grateful to me, or at least I imagine so, and this thought does me good. These people enjoy more than we do; they believe in love, and they love and see each other with pleasure, and separate with sorrow--but I hardly remember that I have a wife; indeed, Isabella is a most beautiful woman, of lofty mind, and accomplished genius, and I have seemed truly to care a great deal for all her merits! I think that I ought to be very grateful if am not hated at home; it would be sufficient to be forgotten."

If I am not mistaken, we may judge in some measure what Paolo Giordano Orsini was by this soliloquy of his: like a pendulum, one side vice, the other virtue, perfectly still and incapable of motion by itself unless caused to oscillate by some external impulse. Careless, prodigal, easily roused to anger, and as easily appeased; but, imbued with the spirit of the times in which he lived, more prone to cruelty than to compassion; and when he was instigated by any one who knew how to incite him, we can imagine no enormity in which he would not be ready to acquiesce. I will not say that he resembled Claudius (who having caused the death of his wife Messalina, sat down to dinner soon after, and inquired, forgetfully, why the Empress did not come[27]); but after his bloody fits of passion, that swayed him at their will, he would be overcome by such oblivion of the crimes which he had committed, that they did not disturb his sleep, nor did he either defer his banquets or forget his balls, but would be as cheerful as if nothing had happened: he was a dissimulator, not by premeditation, but by habit, and so much the more dangerous, as his easy and frank manners gave one an assurance of a sort of natural candor.

[27] Suetonius, _Life of Claudius_.

He departed, then, from Rome, and arrived at Florence, where he was received in the manner agreed upon, and was introduced soon after into the palace.

Francesco was seated at table in company with Bianca, and no sooner did he perceive the Duke, than he rose, courteously extending his hand, and kissed him on both cheeks. After this greeting, the Duke approached Bianca, who did not move, and bowing very low, obsequiously kissed her hand.

Francesco, sitting down again, said:

"Giordano, you must be tired; but before you go to rest, sit down, I beg of you, and take some refreshment with us; you see, we are _en famille_."

The Duke, not waiting for another invitation, sat down beside Francesco.

Never was a better opportunity presented to poet or romancer to display his descriptive powers. Few courts at that time, or perhaps even now, could boast the possession of such valuable plate as the Medici; even more precious from its workmanship than its materials; silver side-boards, vases, trays, pitchers, basins, cups, flasks, and chandeliers, all wonderful to behold; but I pass them by, and confine myself to that which is better suited to my subject.

The Duke, although accustomed to Roman profusion, was astonished at the enormous abundance of viands, and observing more carefully, his surprise was increased in considering the variety of the dishes: there were sparrows minced very fine, and kneaded with yelks of eggs and powdered sugar--Indian garlic and cresses--raw onions, German radishes, scallions, and so forth; besides these there were, preserved in beautiful bottles of thin glass, for seasoning, ginger, black pepper, nutmeg, cloves, and the like; in the midst stood a pyramid of eggs, and on all sides little stews and dishes of strange appearance; every variety of iced cheeses, in silver plates, etc.

As the dishes which he knew were not to his taste, the Duke tried some of those which he did not know, and it was well he did, for they were composed of breasts of grouse, pheasant, partridge, and the like, but so highly seasoned as to burn his palate, and to bring tears to his eyes; he called to mind Portia, who swallowed live coals; he could not understand how a man could live upon such viands; he asked frequently for drink to moderate the burning, but the drinks which they gave him were so cold, that they made his teeth and head ache; besides that, there were foaming and sparkling wines, such as make one's brain turn after the second glass. It seemed to him an infernal banquet, and that to get accustomed to such meats and drinks, the Grand Duke and Duchess must have endured more trouble than Mithridates, who could eat and drink any kind of poison, however powerful it might be. In short, his natural appetite was appeased, if not satiated, and he remained watching his brother-in-law, who silently kept gorging himself, with a sort of ravenous hunger, with young onions seasoned with ginger; then suddenly leaving the onions, he would take a boiled egg, break it, and pouring into it a spoonful of black pepper, drink it; then at the onions again; from time to time he ordered "drink." The valet brought him a basin in which were a flask full of water and a small glass of wine; Francesco, pouring nearly all the wine into the basin, filled up the glass with water, and drank it at one gulp. This dissipated habit was not a pleasure, but apparently a labor, for drops of perspiration would roll down from his forehead, his eyes looked heavy, he panted and his face changed color, now turning as red as fire, and now as yellow as the wax candles which were burning before him.[28] This seemed to the Duke, what it really was, a desire to kill himself, and he thought that it would have been better to have thrown himself from the balconies of his palace. With this idea in his mind he glanced towards Bianca, and their eyes meeting, they exchanged a look of intelligence. The Duke had meant: "How is it possible that you, who are so wary a woman, allow him to destroy himself in such a manner?" And Bianca had replied: "I grieve for it, God knows; but you are aware what an obstinate man he is! However, I will try, and you will see."

[28] Candles of yellow wax were used at court until the time of the Grand Duke Ferdinand I.: he changed them to white, as we learn from a letter by Soderini.

When she thought it a good opportunity, with the sweet manner which she knew so well how to assume, she said:

"Will my lord and husband grant me a favor?"

"Speak."

"Would you, for my sake, be contented with what you have already eaten of this raw food, for I am afraid that it will hurt you?"

"Bianca, I have told you once before, and do not wish to have to tell you a third time, that in my own house and in my own state, as well in the most insignificant as in the most important matters, I wish to be absolute Lord and master----"

"Nor do I wish to question your power, for, on the contrary, I consider myself only too much honored in being your servant; but for this once, I beg of you, my love, please to do it for my sake----"

And so saying, she stretched her hand towards the plate to take it away from him. Francesco, maddened, grasped the arm of Bianca so strongly, that he left on it the blue mark of his fingers, and grinding his teeth like a wild beast, looked fiercely at her for some time; then, without uttering a word, he slowly opened his hand. Bianca drew back her arm, not daring even to sigh, and repressed two tears which were ready to start; humbled and confused, she knew not how to hide her shame, spite, and rage, except by crying, "Candia!"

The attentive valet immediately placed before her the silver basin, with a glass of Candia wine and a flask of water. She, not touching the water, took the glass and hastily drank the contents.[29]

[29] Montaigne, being invited to dinner by the Grand Duke Francesco, observed that he put a great deal of water into his wine, while Bianca drank it almost entirely without: "On porte à boire à ce duc et à sa femme dans un bassin où il y a un verre plein de vin descouvert, et une bouteille de verre pleine d'eau; ils prennent le verre de vin, et en versent dans le bassin autant qu'il leur semble, et puis le remplissent d'eau eux-mêmes, et rasséent le verre dans le bassin que leur tient l'échanson. Il mettoit assez d'eau; elle quasi point. Le vice des Allemands de se servir de verres grands outre mesure est ici au rebours, de les avoir extraordinairement petits."--_Voyage_, t. ii. p. 59.

It seemed to the Duke as if he were a guest at the table of Domitian, when he caused the coffins to be carried round the table, with the names of the guests inscribed upon them; he wished himself a thousand miles away; he thought that he had not felt half so distressed at his mother's funeral.

Francesco, like a spiteful boy, wanting to show how great his power and independence were, obstinately persisted in filling his mouth with onions covered with ginger, drinking peppered eggs and ice-water, until nature, as if indignant at being thus maltreated, succumbed, and uttering a deep sigh, he fell back heavily in his chair, with his head drooping on his breast, and his arms hanging down, exclaiming:

"I can stand it no longer!"

Bianca and Giordano hastened to his assistance, and supported his head; his mouth was open and distorted, as if he had been struck with apoplexy; his eyes were staring vacantly, his breast heaving.

"Call for Doctor Baccio, or Cappelli," said Bianca in great anxiety; "go--quick--for the love of Heaven!"

But Francesco grumbled:

"Call no one--water--ice--ice--a little air--air!"

They opened all the balcony windows; brought him water and ice, and he, dipping both his hands into it, applied them to his forehead; then he poured some elixir into a glass of ice-water, and drinking it, felt somewhat relieved. Bianca, who until then had assisted him with loving care, without saying a word, now ventured to ask gently:

"Do you wish to go to bed?"

"Yes,--have it cooled,--cool it yourself--let no one else enter here."

And Bianca, with her own hands, filled with ice two silver coolers, and the valet having carried them to the bed-room, she placed them between the sheets, drawing them up and down.

In about fifteen minutes Francesco, who had remained sitting in silence, rose suddenly, and said:

"Let us go."

Bianca and Giordano supported him, and reaching the bed, he tore, rather than took off his clothes, and laid himself down. The Duke then said very softly:

"Your Highness, rest yourself; to-morrow we will speak at our leisure----"

"No; he who has time must not wait for time; I feel better. Bianca, retire; I have to speak to Giordano of things which must remain secret between him and me."

As any observation would only have irritated him, Bianca left the room and the Duke remained. He seated himself near the bed, awaiting his brother-in-law's pleasure to speak to him. Francesco, after having mused for some time, like a man who is thinking how to begin, thus spoke:

"Giordano, listen to me carefully: it is useless for me to remind you, that belonging as you do to my family, you are as one of us--nor need I declare how dear your interests are to me----"

"Your goodness----"

"Do not interrupt me, but listen. Now in bitterness of soul, I have to acquaint you with a deed, the mere thought of which makes the blood rush to my face--And would that it had remained private, so that if we could not have pardoned, we might at least have concealed it: but no, it has become public; it forms the subject of mockery for my enemies. Giordano, we have become the laughing-stock of the people!" And pausing a little, he continued: "The laughing-stock of the people! You are outraged in me; I in you. Our house is filled with shame; Giordano, your wife, my sister, has covered us with disgrace----"

"What! Isabella!"

"Alas! yes. And pasquinades and satires are rife touching her infidelity----"

"By Heaven! who dared? I will tear his heart out, even if it were in church----"

"And thus confirm, by your revenge, what the insult has not proclaimed publicly. Be a man and curb your passion. The traitor is a relative of yours----"

"Who?"

"Troilo."

"My chosen friend! He to whom I had intrusted the safe keeping of my honor. Ah!"

"This man, trampling on the sacred ties of blood, this man has betrayed his benefactor and friend----"

"But are you sure of it?"

"Are such things ever said without certainty?"

"And how is it possible that I should have been ignorant of it until now--I, a miserable, betrayed man?"

"The ears of husbands are always the last to hear their own shame. A providence of God!"

"Francesco, may you not perhaps have been deceived? A prince, however wary, does not see, does not hear everything for himself."

"_I_ see everything."

This was not true; for if a prince ever lived who trusted implicitly to wicked counsellors, it was Francesco; but for this once he was right.

"Come, then, this deed cannot be helped, but it may be avenged----"

"Be it so."

"Can any one hear us?" asked Francesco, raising himself to a sitting posture upon the bed; and lifting the silk curtains, he turned his searching eye around the room. "Go and see, Giordano, if the doors are shut close. Bianca may be listening; I can live no longer with this woman, and yet I cannot do without her. I could swear that this witch has charmed me. Would that I could break the spell--I will try----"

"They are all shut."

"Sit down, come nearer, and let us think of a remedy; having maturely considered the subject, it seems to me, that this is the best thing to do." And here, lowering his voice, he began to whisper mysteriously, as if he were reciting his prayers. From time to time a word louder than the rest could be heard, like a drop of water falling from the roof of a cave to the ground, breaking at measured intervals the frightful silence. The Duke did not seem a living being, except by his opening wide his right hand, and then clenching it tightly. Francesco, ceasing his murmuring, looked intently at his brother-in-law, who stood motionless and horror-stricken; finally he spoke, likewise in a subdued voice:

"You have awakened a hell in my heart. And what shall I say to Virginio, if ever he should ask me: Where is my mother?"

"Virginio will never know it; and even if he did, he would say: He did well. I am educating Virginio."

"But do we not believe, Francesco, that after death there is yet to be a judgment?"

"For those who have no judgment. And we should be the reproach of the living and the dead, if we dared not do what honor imposes upon gentlemen. And what? While I, silencing the voice of nature, give up to you the life of my sister, can you not tear from your heart a guilty wife?"

"She is not the mother of your children. At any rate, I ought not to be convinced by your convictions; and even if I were willing, I could not. I wish to see for myself----"

"And if you should happen not to see, would she therefore be any less guilty? Who can save her from suspicion? Cæsar did not suffer his wife to be even suspected."

"But he did not kill her. Leave this affair to me. You must allow me to use whatever means may seem most suitable----"

"Do so, but cautiously, without giving rise to scandal, and let not your revenge bring to light more than has already been made public."[30]

[30]

Porque dixo la venganza Lo que la offensa no dixo?

_Calderon de la Barca._

Here a knock was heard at the door, and Francesco asked in a threatening tone:

"Who is there?"

"Don Pietro."

"My brother! He must not see you, Giordano. Go; take up your abode at the villa San Marco: the key is hanging over that wardrobe; you will find some one there to receive you. I intrust the secret to you. _Go, and when you have discovered the hated truth, keep always in mind that you are a gentleman and a Christian._"[31]

[31] These last words of Francesco were heard when he dismissed the Duke, after the secret colloquy between them.--MSS. _Capponi and my own._

Giordano was so overwhelmed by his feelings that he could not utter a word; he kissed the hand of his brother-in-law, and left the room by a door opposite to that at which the knocking had been heard.

Francesco, having arranged the sheet which covered him, said mildly:

"Come in, Don Pietro."

"God keep you in His guard, your Highness."

"Thank you."

"I am here at the command of your Highness."

"And it seems to me high time that you should be here, since three or four summons have been disregarded."

"I feared to disturb your grave affairs of state, and your Highness's manufactory of porcelain;[32] and then, I think that he who comes in time always comes early, as the proverb says."

[32] It was one of the chief passions of Francesco to manufacture most elegant porcelain vases, which he then presented to princes and great barons.--_Galluzzi's Hist._, vol. iii.

"You ought to remember oftener, Don Pietro, that you are my subject; and if you cannot pay more regard to the authority of the head of the family, you ought at least to respect the dignity of the prince. What are you doing? Why do you wander about the room in such a manner? Sit down, and listen to me quietly."

"Don Francesco, I came here upon your word, and because I know that Lent does not come in July, so do not kill me with a sermon----"

"Sit down; I did not summon you on my account, but on your own, and for the sake of your reputation and prosperity."

"Where did you get so much brotherly love all at once? Did King Sebastian send it to you from Lisbon with the galleys of pepper?[33] These tenders of your affection ought to be told differently, for they are too old now."

[33] Francesco, with a company of merchants, carried on this commerce of pepper, and employed his galleys in it. This company had the exclusive privilege of selling it throughout the world.--_Galluzzi's History._

"Do I deserve this? Have I not given, and do I not give, continual proofs of loving my blood?"

"I do not know about your own, but certainly you do love blood."

"And then you complain that we do not hold you in favor, and fill the court with complaints, and write to the Cardinal about it. But how can I bear with you? In truth, flying off, as you are wont, from one thing to another, you have thrown me off the track, and I scarcely remember the reason why I sent for you. And indeed, when you hear it, I expect to see you humbled, and your impertinence changed into miserable dejection."

"My dear brother, I will not deny that you may succeed in tiring me to death, for I feel already half used-up; but as to making my head turn, I do not think that you can do it."

"Well, then, you absolve me from all consideration, so that I tell you that you are the most abject, the most degraded, the most infamous knight in all Christendom."

"Poh! These are very big words; go on to deeds."

"Your wife is an adulteress."

"I know it."

"What! You know it, and have not yet revenged yourself?"

"It is fated that we Medici should never be fortunate in our women."

"What? What do you mean?" cried Francesco, starting up in his bed. "Of what fault can you accuse the Grand Duchess Giovanna!"

"May God have her in His peace, she was a saint."

"And Bianca?"

"Oh! Bianca! Since your marriage, I know not of what to accuse her; but before----"

"Before, she did not belong to me, and I have no right to investigate her life before she was mine----"

"Eh! Here is no question about you; others take this right for you."

"When we threw upon her our grand-ducal mantle the woman disappeared and the princess rose; and having elevated her to our seat, we have regenerated her in a baptism of majesty."

"Soap does not wash everything, and sometimes the cloth may wear out, but not the spot; and you must have a certain red stain on your hands which all the water of Arno could not wash away--and this stain comes from the blood of Bonaventuri----"

"Who can declare that I caused Bonaventuri to be killed? If my father himself affirmed it, I would say to him: 'You lie in your throat! I did not order, I did not commit the crime'--and I could swear to it."

"What with ordering, insinuating, guessing, hinting, tolerating, feigning, and the like, if this cause had to be tried before worldly judges, the law-gnawing advocates (I mean the bad ones, for to the good ones I bow reverentially, and profess myself their most humble servant) would find so many limitations and distinctions, that certainly no one could condemn you; but before God, one does not appear through lawyers: do you suppose that you can hide this stain with your glove, or pretend that it is a ruby?"

"Ungrateful!--Unkind man! How much did my enemies give you to make me die of rage? Are these the manners to be used before your lord, who, if he willed, could break you in two like a reed? And at the very moment, too, that he is taking your interest to heart, from a desire of saving your reputation. But I ought to have known that it would have been labor lost; it would be as well to try to wash the Pucci's coat-of-arms."[34]

[34] Their escutcheon was a Moor's head.

"I beg pardon, your Highness, I had no idea of irritating you: I said that merely for talk, being _en famille_. If any one dared to speak disrespectfully of your Highness in my presence, I swear to you on the word of a gentleman, that I would run him through with my sword. Be assured of this, Francesco, you will never have better friends than your brothers, and you never seem to care about it; you prefer a Serguidi, a Belisario Vinta to them, and in addition to that you allow such men to ill-treat us. Francesco, you complain of us, but in truth you are not just. Let us throw aside all bitterness."

"Well, then, I discovered the infamous contaminator of your dignity, and have killed him."

"Poor knight! Well, he deserved it, but he was a good fellow"----

"And who told you that he was a knight?"

"Bernardino Antinori, whom you caused to be hung in the prison of the Bargello? Who told me? That is a curious question! Who told me? Certainly, some one who knew. Francesco, allow me to say half-a-dozen words in my own way, openly, freely, and as my heart dictates, although you may consider them, as usual, as emanating from a strange brain. We can do what we like, but with one condition, which is this: that we must let people talk. The persons whom we employ in such affairs are baseborn, and supported by iniquity; if they could find some one who would throw them a larger crust of bread, they would do to us, what, commanded by us, they now do to others. Do you hope for fidelity or secresy in such degraded men? In taverns and in their disgraceful orgies, they pour in wine, and pour out words of blood, very often true, but oftener a thousand times exaggerated; and among the common mass of the people who know us little, we find accumulated against us such an enormous treasury of hatred, that it is frightful to look at."

"Have you finished?"

"I will presently. Add to it the curse of the pen. The pen is an infernal invention. I, for my part, think that the devil, falling down from heaven, lost the feathers from his wings by a thunderbolt of Saint Michael, and these quills fell upon the earth, and men gathered and sharpened them, and now use them as arrows, poisoned by that worst of venom--ink. Who knows how many traders at this moment, under an item for wool, or an account of a transaction in silk, have registered: 'Item, to-day, the ---- of the month of ---- A.D. so and so, Francesco dei Medici caused the Knight Bernardo Antinori to be strangled for his intrigues with Donna Eleonora of Toledo, wife of Don Pietro de Medici!'[35] And besides the merchants, there are the philosophers, the historians, and other literary men, to whom I always show a pleasant face, since there are no means of putting them out of the world. These we cannot silence; the best way is to bear with them patiently, and by giving them sometimes flattery, sometimes bread, induce them to write according to our pleasure.

"There lived no such Augustus as the line Of Virgil honors, gentle, wise, benign: His taste in letters bade a veil be spread Before the blood in vile proscription shed."[36]

We have a good example of this at home, and, not to mention Lorenzo the Magnificent, let our father teach us, whose tolerance reached so far as to listen to the reading of that most impertinent history of Benedetto Varchi, that would make anybody go to sleep even standing on his feet. But the worthy Varchi was so pleased by it, that from that moment forward he never let pass an opportunity of extolling Cosimo to the skies, and comparing him to Trajan, to Marcus Aurelius, and to Heaven knows how many others. But I notice that I am in danger of putting you to sleep; so that it belongs to you now to speak. We had stopped--where? Ah! yes, that you had caused the Knight Antinori to be hung."

[35] In fact it is thus registered in a book of mercantile records.

[36] Non fu sì savio, nè benigno Augusto, Como la tuba di Virgilio suona: L'avere avuto in poesia buon gusto La proscrizione ingiusta gli perdona.

Francesco, accustomed by nature and habit to serious conversation, and to go straight to the point, felt his head whirl round in this profusion of words and farrago of thoughts. He was obliged to collect himself somewhat, and pausing a few moments, he continued thus:

"Then, if you know of the infidelity of Donna Eleonora, why does she live?"

"Because if I should recite the _confiteor_, I should find that I had more sins than she; and also because I do not know who could protect me from her uncle the Duke of Alva, and her brother-in-law Toledo, who, between ourselves, are no saints."

"And are we not powerful enough to defend you against a Viceroy and a Duke?"

"What can guard me from the assassin's poniard?"

"A good coat of mail, a strong heart, and a careful vigilance."

"Lorenzino dei Medici took all these and other precautions in Venice----"

"He took them not, and was killed."

"May be so; but it is still true, that the best defence consists in never having done wrong to any one."

"However that may be, such infamy is not to be endured: I would not bear it--the honor of our family does not permit it. We must remove this disgrace from us--and it shall be removed."

"What advantage, then, am I to gain? Is it only for my welfare that you worked, thought, and provided? It is for your own sake, then, that you sent for me? I shall have to become a murderer for you, and expose myself on your account to the hatred of a most powerful and vindictive family?"

"I care so little about their hatred and revenge, that I swear to you on the word of a gentleman, that after having drawn up a process of the guilt of this wicked woman, I will myself send it to King Philip, communicating to him secretly the cause and means of her death.[37] I take the responsibility upon myself, and promise that, if there should be any necessity, I will declare that this was done by my advice, and even by my express command."

[37] "The atrocity," narrates Galluzzi, in his History of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, "the atrocity of the deed was hidden from the public, and veiled with the report that she had died suddenly of disease of the heart, to which the physicians asserted she had always been subject. It was confided, however, to King Philip through the Florentine ambassador, by means of a private letter, of the 16th of July, in the following words: 'Although in the letter mention is made of the accident that happened to Donna Eleonora, nevertheless you will state to His Catholic Majesty, that Don Pietro, our brother, has himself taken her life on account of her treasonable behavior, unworthy of a lady, and we notified Don Pietro of it through our secretary, and begged him to come here, but he did not come, nor did he allow our secretary to speak to Don Garzia. We have desired that his Majesty should know the whole truth, and every act of our house, and particularly this, for if we had not removed this disgrace from before us, we should not have thought that we served his Majesty well, to whom, at the first opportunity, we shall send the process whereby he may learn with what just cause Don Pietro acted.' King Philip was pleased with this mark of confidence, etc."

"Well, then, you desire that I should give up to you the life of Eleonora, and I will do it; a wife is not worth the trouble of spoiling one's appetite; but you also, as a good brother, must do me a favor, which will cost you but little, and will do me a great deal of good. I ask you to give me, or lend me--never to return--forty thousand ducats: my Pisan estates do not yield me a ducat this year; what with draining, ditching, and the like, it will cost me a fortune----"

"All deep in debt! All bankrupts! You, the Cardinal, and the Duke of Bracciano would sink Peru? Where shall I obtain so much money?"

"Eh! A little pressure on the coffers of the Republic, and all is settled. But you have no need of doing that: public reports tell wonders; it is said that in gold coin, in bullion, and in precious stones, you have accumulated more than ten millions. If this is true, you are acting injudiciously, for if you withdraw so much money from commerce, you will end by becoming the prince of a desert."

"Idle, good-for-nothing people! They do not know what they are talking about!"

"From public taxes you gain, your expenses not included, three hundred thousand ducats."

"Who dares to calculate my accounts?"

"Hang arithmetic if you can. And besides that, from your commerce in leather, jewels, grain, and pepper, you gain a fortune----"

"They are all losing concerns. All are injuring my property. I have made up my mind to give up commerce; perhaps--I have not quite decided yet--I may continue in that of pepper; but no more leather, no more grain; who deals in grain, will die on straw."

"You can do as you please; but will you give me forty thousand ducats?"

"Good heavens, how can you squander so much money?"

"Give it to me, for it is well spent; I use it in procuring friends for you. I expend it among the people, in festivals, in banquets, and in pleasures. The young men get accustomed to splendor and luxury; I enervate them; cow them down; enfeeble their souls; take away the dignity of their minds and the strength of their bodies; I prepare for the seed, and you can plant what you wish."

"You are ever the same strange mortal. You shall have the forty thousand ducats; but you must give me a mortgage on your Pisan estates, to restore them by instalments----"

"Oh! As for that, I will give you as many bonds as you wish."

"Besides that----"

"Oh dear! You will begin now with your restrictions."

"No; I only wish you to be ready to get rid of your guilty wife, when and where I shall order you."

"Well, I agree to that. When shall I have the money?"

"To-morrow."

"Good-night, then. I must now go and do a little good. A lady is going to present me to her marriageable daughter, so that I may give her a little dowry. Then we shall have a party of young fellows at the Cock Tavern, that would put the devil to shame. Then we shall, perhaps, go serenading, and who knows what next?"

"Don Pietro! Don Pietro! You will never change your habits; you ought to think that we have to render an account to God of the time wasted so unprofitably. Have on at least a good coat of mail."

"Until now my coat of mail was a good conscience; but I see that after this evening I shall have to wear it. May God keep you in His holy guard." And so saying, he went away hastily.

"And you also. Bianca!" And after a little while, he repeated in a louder tone: "Bianca!"

Bianca Cappello entered, panting, as if she had come in haste from a distant room.

"What does my Lord desire?"

"Have you heard anything of the conversation that we have had here? I dismissed you, not for my own sake, for you know that I do not keep any, even the slightest secret of my heart from you, but on their account----"

"Whose?"

"Orsini's and Don Pietro's."

"I was not aware that Don Pietro----?

"Only think! I have been speaking to them in reference to their wives and the very guilty lives which they lead. I entreated them to try a little salutary strangulation, to induce them to reform: did you hear nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Truly? come, you must have heard some little thing."

"Upon my word I did not."

"Poh! You are cross now on account of the reproof I gave you this evening. But what can I do? I get angry so easily, and afterwards I repent. What I have in my heart, I have on my tongue. I beg your pardon for it."

"Oh, my Lord!" replied the cunning Venetian, "you statesmen have always so many thoughts, so many disquietudes in your heads; the fault is ours who come to disturb you: but we mean well, and if we mistake, deserve pity. And indeed, it is not worth while to take pains for me. You took me up, I may say, from the street, and placed me on equal footing with the queens and greatest princesses in all Christendom. My life consists in revering and loving you, and strive as I may, it seems to me as if I never could love you enough."

"Good Bianca! Excellent woman! I feel tired and wish to rest. Give me a glass of cinnamon water. Thanks, Bianca. Now let us recite our prayers; the Litanies will be enough for this evening."

Bianca took a book covered with crimson velvet, and clasped with gold; she knelt beside the bed, reciting the Litanies, to which Francesco replied very devoutly: "_Ora pro nobis._"--These being ended, Francesco uttered these words:

"Behold a day is about to end: we count them when they are past, when they are no longer ours; a day is now falling from the hand of time into the immense ocean of eternity. Before, however, it is lost in this abyss, let us look on its last moment, to judge what a life it has led. Go, go in peace, you also, O day of my life; take your departure boldly, and rejoin your brothers, who have preceded you: you are free from tears, you have passed innocently. The accusing angel will not write you in his eternal register. Rather, I may safely say, that if fortune had woven you into the mortal web of Titus, he would not have exclaimed: 'I have lost a day!'"

But who did this man presume to deceive? God? Himself?--O human heart, how dreadful art thou to look upon!

Francesco, with a heap of onions in his body, and two murders on his soul, went to sleep peacefully, "like a laborer in God's vineyard."