The Browning Cyclopaedia Part 31

At length, whilst engaged in a campaign against Perugia, he was taken prisoner, and attacked by a dangerous illness. Sobered by adversity, he soon afterwards (1208) founded the Franciscan order." St. Francis was one of the most beautiful characters in religious history. His whole life was devoted to the poor and sick, and his order, to the present day, is the most charitable monastic order in the world. The monastery of St. Francis at a.s.sisi has existed for six centuries. _Foligno_ is an industrial town of twenty-one thousand inhabitants, and is the seat of a bishop. The cathedral was erected in the twelfth century. The church of S. Anna, or Delle Contesse, once contained Rafael's famous Madonna di Foligno, now in the Vatican. _Castelnuovo_: at this place Guido overtook the travellers.

It is situated about fifteen miles from Rome, and is only a village, with an inn. Line 230, "_Capo-in-Sacco, our progenitor_": see note to Book II., "HALF ROME," l. 1250. l. 234, _Old Mercato_: the old market-place in Florence, where the Caponsacchi formerly resided. l. 249, _Grand-duke Ferdinand_: the marble statue of Ferdinand in front of the cathedral was erected by Giovanni da Bologna in 1595. l. 251, _Aretines_: the men of Arezzo. l. 280, "_The Jews and the name of G.o.d_": the Jews do not p.r.o.nounce the name of Jehovah, or Jahveh, out of reverence; they subst.i.tute the word Adonai, Lord. l. 333, _Marinesque Adoniad_: a celebrated poem called _Adonis_ was written by Giovanni Marini, who lived at the beginning of the seventeenth century. l. 346, _Pieve_: the parish church of S. Maria della Pieve, said to have been built in the ninth century on the site of a temple of Bacchus. l. 389, _Priscian_ was a great grammarian of the fifth century, whose name was almost synonymous with grammar. "To break Priscian's head" was to violate the rules of grammar.

l. 402, _facchini_: porters, or scoundrels. l. 449, _in saecula saeculorum_, "world without end": the concluding words of the "Glory be to the Father,"

etc., chanted at the end of each psalm. l. 467, _canzonet_: a short song in one, two, or three parts. l. 559, _Thyrsis_, a shepherd of Arcadia; _Myrtilla_, a country maid in love with Thyrsis. l. 574, "_At the Ave_": at the hour of evening prayer, when the "Hail Mary" and hymns to the Virgin are sung. l. 707, "_Our Lady of all the Sorrows_": the Blessed Virgin is called "Our Lady of Sorrows," and is painted with a sword piercing her heart, from the words of the Gospel, "A sword shall pierce through thine own soul also" (St. Luke xi. 35). l. 828, _The Augustinian_: the friar of the order of St. Augustine. l. 960, _St. Thomas with his sober grey goose-quill_: St. Thomas Aquinas is referred to here. He was a famous Dominican theologian. His _Sum of Theology_ is the standard text-book of the divine science in all Catholic countries. Aquinas was called "the angelic doctor." l. 961, "_Plato by Cephisian reed_": the Cephisus was a river on the west side of Athens, falling into the Saronic Gulf; the largest river in Attica. l. 988, "_Intent on his corona_": the rosary or chaplet of beads is in Italy and Spain called the "corona." The monk was intent on his rosary. l. 1102, _Our Lady's girdle_: legend says that the Blessed Virgin, as she was being a.s.sumed into heaven, loosened her girdle, which was received by St. Thomas. (See Mrs. Jameson's _Legends of the Madonna_.) l. 1170, _Parian_: a pure and beautiful marble of Paros; _coprolite_: the petrified dung of carnivorous reptiles. l. 1203, _Perugia_: a city about thirty-five miles from Arezzo, on the road to Rome. l. 1205, "_a.s.sisi--this is holy ground_": because there was the monastery founded by St. Francis of a.s.sisi. l. 1266, _The Angelus_: a prayer consisting of the angelical salutation to Mary, with versicle and response and collect, said three times a day, at morning, noon and night; in Catholic countries and religious houses a bell is rung in a peculiar manner to announce the hour of this prayer. l. 1275, _Foligno_: a small town near Perugia. l. 1666, "_Bembo's verse_": Cardinal Bembo. (See notes to _Asolo_, p. 51.) l. 1667, "_De Tribus_": the t.i.tle of a scandalous pamphlet, called "The Three Impostors," which was well known in the seventeenth century: Moses, Christ, and Mahomet were thus designated.

(This explanation was sent me by the late Mr. J. A. Symonds.) l. 1747, "_De Raptu Helenae_": concerning the rape of Helen of Troy.

BOOK VII., POMPILIA.--From her deathbed Pompilia tells the story of her life: says how she is just seventeen years and five months old: 'tis writ so in the church's register, where she has five names--so laughable, she thinks. There will be more to write in that register now; and when they enter the fact of her death she trusts they will say nothing of the manner of it, recording only that she "had been the mother of a son exactly two weeks." She has learned that she has twenty-two dagger wounds, five deadly; but she suffers not too much pain, and is to die to-night; thanks G.o.d her babe was born, and better, baptised and hid away before this happened, and so was safe; he was too young to smile and save himself. Now she will never see her boy, and when he grows up and asks "What was my mother like?" they will tell him "Like girls of seventeen"; but she thinks she looked nearer twenty. She wishes she could write that she might leave something he should read in time. Her name was not a common one: that may serve to keep her a little in memory. He had no father that he ever knew at all, and now--to-night--will have no mother and no name, not even poor old Pietro's. This is why she called the boy Gaetano. A new saint should name her child. Those old saints must be tired out with helping folk by this time. She had five, and they were! How happy she had been in Violante's love, till one day she declared she had never been their child, was but a castaway and unknown! People said husbands love their wives: hers had killed her! They said Caponsacchi, though a priest, did love her, and "no wonder you love him," shaking their heads, pitying and blaming not very much. Then she tells the tale of six days ago, when the New Year broke: how she was talking by the fire about her boy, and what he should do when he was grown and great. Pietro and Violante had a.s.sisted her to creep to the fireside from her couch, and they sat wishing each other more New Years. Pietro was telling, too, of the cause he expected to gain against the wicked Count, and Violante scolded him for tiring Pompilia with his chatter: she was so happy that friendly eve. Then, next morning, old Pietro went out to see the churches. It was snowing when he returned, and Violante brought out a flask of wine and made up a great fire; and he told them of the seven great churches he had visited, and how none had pleased him like San Giovanni. He was just saying how there was the fold and all the sheep as big as cats, and shepherds half as large as life listening to the angel,--when there was a tap at the door. The rest, she said, they knew.... Pietro at least had done no harm, and Violante, after all, how little! She did wrong, she knows; she did not think lies were real lies when they had good at heart: it was good for all she meant. She sees this now she is dying: she meant the pain for herself, the happiness all for Pompilia. And now the misery and the danger are over; as she sinks away from life, she finds that sorrows change into something which is not altogether sorrow-like. Her child is safe, her pain not very great. She is so happy that she is just absolved, washed fair. "We cannot both have and not have." Being right now, she is happy, and that colours things. She will tell the nuns, who watch by her and nurse her, how all this trouble came about. Up to her marriage at thirteen years, the days were as happy as they were long. Then, one day, Violante told her she meant next day to bring a cavalier whom she must allow to kiss her hand. He would be the same evening at San Lorenzo to marry her: but all would be as before, and she would still live at home. Till her mother spoke she must hold her tongue: that was the way with girl-brides. So, like a lamb, she had only to lie down and let herself be clipped. Next day came Guido Franceschini--old, not so tall as herself, hook-nosed, and with a yellow bush of beard, much like an owl in face; and his smile and the touch of his hand made her uncomfortable, though she did not suppose it mattered anything. Once, when she was ill, an ugly doctor attended her: he cured her, so his appearance did not affect his skill. Then, on the deadest of December days, she was hurried away at night to San Lorenzo. The church door was locked behind the little party, and the priest hurried her to the altar, where was hid Guido and his ugliness. They were married; and she, silent and scared, joined her mother, who was weeping; and they went home, saying no word to Pietro. "Girl-brides," said Violante, "never breathe a word!" For three weeks she saw nothing of Guido. Nothing was changed. She was married, and expected all was over. The scarecrow doctor did not return: she supposed that Guido would keep away likewise. Then, one morning, as she sat at her broidery frame alone, she heard voices, and running to see, found Guido and the priest who had married her. Pietro was remonstrating, and Guido was claiming his wife, and had come to take her.

Then she began to see that something mean and underhand had happened. Her mother was to blame, herself to pity. She was the chattel, and was mute.

She retired to pray to G.o.d. Violante came to her, told her that she would have a palace, a n.o.ble name, and riches; that young men were volatile; that Guido was the sort of man for housekeeping; and it had been arranged they were not to separate, but should all live together in the great palace at Arezzo, where Pompilia would be queen. And so she went with Guido to his home. Since then it was all a blank, a terrific dream to her.

The Count had married for money, and the money was not forthcoming; and he became unkind to his wife to punish the Comparini who had cheated him. So he accused her of being a coquette, of licentious looks at theatre and church. She knew this was a false charge, but could not divine his purpose in making it, so made matters worse by never going out at all.

When the maid began to speak of the priest and of the letters they said he had written, she begged her to ask him to cease writing, even from pa.s.sing through the street wherein she lived. The Count's object she did not know was that they might be compromised. In her trouble she went to the Archbishop, begging him to place her in a convent. It was all so repugnant to her, barely twelve years old at marriage. But the Church could give no help: to live with her husband, she was told, was in her covenant. Then she told the frightful thing--of the advances of her husband's brother, who solicited, and said he loved her; told him that her husband knew it all, and let it go on. The Archbishop bade her be more affectionate to her husband, and to let his brother see it. So home she went again, and her husband's hate increased. Henceforth her prayers were not to man, but to G.o.d alone. She had been, she told them, three dreary years in that gloomy palace at Arezzo, when one day she learned that there could be a man who could be a saviour to the weak, and to the vile a foe. It was at the play where she first saw Caponsacchi. She saw him silent, grave, and almost solemn; and she thought had there been a man like that to lift her with his strength into the calm, how she could have rested. At supper that night her husband let her know what he had seen: the throwing of the comfits in her lap, her smile and interest in the priest; told her she was a wanton, drew his sword and threatened her. This was not new to her. He told her that this amour was the town's talk, and he menaced the person of Caponsacchi. A week later, Margherita, her maid, who it was said was more than servant to her lord, began to tell her of the priest who loved her, and urged her to send him some token in return. Pompilia bade her say no more; but ever and again the woman reverted to the subject, and she at last produced letters said to have been sent by him. And when the importunity continued, she declared she knew all this of Caponsacchi to be false. The face which she had seen that night at the play was his own face, and the portrait drawn of him she was sure was false. And then, when April was half through, and it was said every one was leaving for Rome, and Caponsacchi too, a light sprang up within her: was it possible she also could reach Rome? How she had tried to leave the hateful home! She had appealed to the Governor of the city, to the Archbishop, to the poor friar, to Conti her husband's relative, and he alone suggested a way of escape. "Ask Caponsacchi," he said: "he's your true St. George, to slay the monster." Then to Margherita she said, "Tell Caponsacchi he may come!"

And so again she saw the silent and solemn face, and told him all her trouble: how she was in course of being done to death. She trusted in G.o.d and him to save her--to take her to Rome and put her back with her own people. He said "he was hers." The second night, when he came as arranged, he said the plan was impracticable,--he dare not risk the venture for her sake. But she urged him, and he yielded. "To-morrow, at the day's dawn,"

he would take her away. That night her husband, telling her how he loathed her, bade her not disturb him as he slept. And then she spoke of the flight, her prayers, her yearning to be at rest in Rome. Then all the horrors of the fatal night. She pardoned her husband: she knew that her presence had been hateful to him; she could not help that. She could not love him, but his mother did. Her body, but never her soul, had lain beside him. She hopes he will be saved. So, as by fire, she had been saved by him. As for her child, it should not be the Count's at all--"only his mother's, born of love, not hate!" Then, with her fast-failing mind-sight, she turns to the image of "the lover of her life, the soldier-saint."

Death shall not part her from him: her weak hand in his strong grasp shall rest in the new path she is about to tread. She bids them tell him she is arrayed for death in all the flowers of all he had said and done. He is a priest, and could not marry; nor would he if he could, she thinks: the true marriage is for heaven.

"So, let him wait G.o.d's instant men call years; Meantime hold hard by truth and his great soul, Do out the duty! Through such souls alone G.o.d stooping shows sufficient of His light For us i' the dark to rise by. And I rise!"

NOTES.--Line 423, _Master Malpichi_: probably Marcello Malpighi (1628-1694), a great physician of Bologna. He was the founder of microscopic anatomy. In 1691 he removed to Rome to become physician to Pope Innocent XII. l. 427, "_The lion's mouth_": Via di Bocca di Leone--the name of a street near the Corso. l. 607, _The square o' the Spaniards_: Piazza di Spagna is the centre of the strangers' quarter in Rome. It derives its name from the palace of the Spanish Amba.s.sador. l.

1153, _Mirtillo_, probably a minor poet of the period. l. 1303, _The Augustinian_: an order of monks following the rule of St. Augustine. l.

1377, _The Ave Maria_: the "Hail Mary"--an evening devotion, wherein the prayer occurs of which these are the first words.

BOOK VIII., DOMINUS HYACINTHUS DE ARCHANGELIS, PAUPERUM PROCURATOR.--In this book we have the counsel on behalf of Count Guido at work in his study, preparing the defence which he is to make on behalf of his client.

He is a family man, and his life is bound up in that of his son, whose birthday it is, the lad being eight years old. He will devote himself to his case, and when his work is done will enjoy the yearly lovesome frolic feast with little Cinuolo. "Commend me," says the man of law, "to home joy, the family board, altar and hearth!" He is very anxious to make a good figure in the courts over this case, his opponent, old bachelor Bottinius, shall be made to bite his thumb; and he expresses his grat.i.tude to G.o.d that he has Guido to defend just when his boy is eight years old, and needs a stimulus to study from his sire. He chuckles at his good fortune: a n.o.ble to defend, a man who has almost with parade killed three persons; it is really too much luck to befall him, and on his son's birthday too! he prays G.o.d to keep him humble, and mutters "_Non n.o.bis Domine!_" as he turns over his papers. He determines to beat the other side, if only for love, as a tribute to little Cinotto's natal day (the boy was called by half a dozen pet names). He will astonish the Pope himself with his eloquence and skill; and the day shall be remembered when his son becomes of age. Then he bethinks himself of the night's feast: the wine, the minced herbs with the liver, goose-foot, and c.o.c.k's-comb, cemented with cheese; he rubs his hands again, as he thinks of all the good things getting ready. But now to work: he must puzzle out this case.

He is particular about the Latin he will use; he would like to bring in Vergil, but that will not do well in prose. His son shall attack him with Terence on the morrow. Then he curbs his ardour, and sets himself to deal in earnest with the case. Bottinius will deny that Pompilia wrote any letter at all. Antic.i.p.ating what his opponent will say, he says he had rather lose his case than miss the chance of ridiculing his Latin and making the judge laugh, who will so enjoy the joke. If it comes to law, why, he is afraid he cannot "level the fellow": he sees him even now in his study, working up thrusts that will be hard to parry, he is sure to deliver a bowl from some unguessed standpoint. And now he stops to rub some life into his frozen fingers, hopes his boy will take care of his throat this cold day, and reflects how chilly Guido must be in his dungeon, despite his straw. Carnival time too: what a providence, with the city full of strangers! He will do his best to edify and amuse them: they may remember Cintino some day! But to the case. "Where are we weak?" he asks. The killing is confessed: they tortured Guido, and so got it out of him,--he shall object to that; n.o.bles are exempt from torture. A certain kind of torture like that called _Vigiliarum_, is excellent for extracting confession; he has never known any prisoner stand it for ten hours; they "touched their ten," 'tis true, "but, bah! they died!" If the Count had not confessed, he should have set up the defence that Caponsacchi really murdered the three, and fled just as Guido, touched by grace,--consequent upon having been a good deal at church at the holy season--hastened to the house to pardon his wife, and so arrived just in time--to be charged with the murders. Yes, he could have done very well on this line, he thinks; but the confession has spoiled all that. Wonderful that a n.o.bleman could not stand torture better! Why, he has known several brave young fellows keep a rack in their back garden, and take a turn at it for an hour or two at a time, just to see how much pain they could stand without flinching: he thinks men are degenerating. And so he meanders on, pulling himself up in the midst of a nice point to wonder whether his cook has remembered how excellently well some chopped fennel-root goes with fried liver. "But no; she cannot have been so obtuse as to forget!" He shall begin his speech with a pretty compliment to His Holiness, then he shall quote St. Jerome, St. Gregory, Solomon, and St. Bernard, who all say that a man must not be touched in his honour. Our Lord Himself said, "My honour I to n.o.body will give!" (He stops to reflect that a melon would have improved the soup, but that the boy wanted the rind to make a boat with.) He shall continue, that a husband who has a faithless wife _must_ raise hue and cry,--the law is not for such cases,--these are for gentlemen to deal with themselves. Of course the other side will object that Guido allowed too long an interval to elapse between the capture of the fugitives and the killing; but he shall show that there really was no interval between the inn and the Comparinis' villa at Rome: Pompilia was inaccessible between these places.

If they object that Guido, when he arrived at Rome on Christmas Eve, should have sought his vengeance at once, he shall ask, "Is no religion left?" A man with all those Feasts of the Nativity to occupy his mind could not be expected to go about his private business. (He pauses to reflect that a little lamb's fry will be very toothsome in an hour's time.) The charge is that "we killed three innocents"; as to the manner of the killing, that matters nothing, granted we had the right to kill. Eight months since they would have been held to blame if they had let this bad pair escape: true, that was the time to have killed them, but the Count had not the proper weapons handy. He shall say, too, that he did not instruct his confederates to kill any one of the three, but merely to disfigure them; they had been too zealous. He next proceeds to dispose of a number of points in which it is charged the offence was aggravated,--such as slaying the family in their own house, and lastly that the majesty of the sovereign has received a wound. (Here he fervently hopes the devil will not instigate his cook to stew the rabbit instead of roasting him: he will have to go and see after things himself--he really must.) But, if the end be lawful, the means are allowed. (The Cardinal has promised to go and read the speech to the Pope, and point its beauties out, so he must be adroit in his words.) As he stands forth as the advocate of the poor, he must put in a word or two for the four a.s.sa.s.sins who did the deed. On their behalf he pleads that, as the husband was in the right in what he did, those who helped him could not be in the wrong.

(On which more Latin and neat phrases.) He will be reminded that Guido went off without paying the men the stipulated fee for the murders. "What fact," he shall ask, "could better ill.u.s.trate the perfect rect.i.tude of the Count?" The men were not actuated by malice, but by a simple desire to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow. As for the Count, so absorbed was he in vindicating his honour, that paltry, vulgar questions of money wholly escaped him; "he spared them the pollution of the pay." In conclusion, he shall urge that Guido killed his wife in defence of the marriage vow, that he might creditably live. "There's my speech," he cries, as he dashes down the pen; "where's my fry, and family, and friends? What an evening have I earned to-day!" And off he goes to supper, singing "Tra-la-la, lambkins, we must live!"

NOTES.--Line 8, "_And chews Corderius with his morning crust_": the _Colloquies of Corderius_ were used in every school of any consequence in the time of Shakespeare's boyhood. It was the most popular Latin book for boys of the time. l. 14, _Papinianian pulp_: Papinian was the most celebrated of Roman jurists, and an intimate friend of the Emperor Septimius Severus. l. 58, _Flaccus_: Horace, whose full name was Quintus Horatius Flaccus. l. 94, "_Non n.o.bis, Domine, sed Tibi laus_": "Not unto us, Lord, but to Thee be the praise!" l. 101, _Pro Milone_: the celebrated oration of Cicero on behalf of Milo, a friend of his. l. 115, _Hortensius Redivivus_: Hortensius, the Roman orator. l. 117, "_The Est-est_": a wine so called because a n.o.bleman once sent his servant in advance to write "Est," _it is!_ on any inn where the wine was particularly good; at one place the man wrote "Est-est," _It is! it is!_ in token of its superlative excellence, and the vintage has ever since gone by this designation. l.

329, "_Questions_," tortures; _Vigiliarum_: torture by incessant jerking of the body and limbs. l. 482, _Theodoric_: king of the Ostrogoths (_c._ A.D. 454-526); he caused the celebrated Boethius to be put to death. l.

483, _Ca.s.siodorus_: a Roman historian, statesman, and monk, who lived about 468 A.D.; he was raised by Theodoric to the highest offices. He was one of the first of literary monks, and his books were much used in the middle ages. l. 498, _Scaliger_: Julius Caesar Scaliger (1484-1558), a man of the greatest eminence in the world of letters, and as a man of science, and a philosopher. He had a son, _Joseph Justus Scaliger_, not less eminent, who wrote the work referred to. l. 503, _The Idyllist_ is Theocritus, the Sicilian poet. l. 513, _aelian_: a Roman, in the reign of Adrian, surnamed the honey-tongued, from the sweetness of his style; he wrote seventeen treatises on animals. l. 948, _Valerius Maximus_, a Latin writer, who made a collection of historical anecdotes, and published his work in the reign of Tiberius. It was called _Books of Memorable Deeds and Utterances_. Most of the tales are from Roman history. _Cyriacus_: patriarch of the Jacobites, monk of the convent of Bizona, in Syria; died at Mosul in 817 A.D. He wrote homilies, canons, and epistles. l. 1542, _Castrensis_: a distinguished professor of civil and canon law; he died in 1441. He was a professor at Vienna, Avignon, Padua, Florence, Bologna, and Perugia. His most complete work is his readings on the _Digest_.

_Butringarius_: a jurisconsult (1274-1348). [I have not considered it necessary to translate the many Latin lines in this and the following section of the work, because in nearly every case their sense is given in the context, and therefore those who do not read Latin will lose nothing, as practically they have it all englished in the text.]

BOOK IX., JURIS DOCTOR JOHANNES-BAPTISTA BOTTINIUS (FISCI ET REV. CAM.

APOSTOL. ADVOCATUS).--Bottinius is the Public Prosecutor, and has to present the case against the Count and his confederates. He is not a family man, and seems to have but a low ideal of feminine virtue. He admires the s.e.x, but from a superior masculine standpoint; their weaknesses are amiable. Of girls he says--

"Know one, you know all Manners of maidenhood: mere maiden she.

And since all lambs are like in more than fleece, Prepare to find that, lamb-like, she too frisks----"

He mixes up references to the Holy Family, Joseph, Mary, her Babe, Saint Anne and Herod; with whom he compares Pompilia, the Comparini family, and the Count; and all this with ill.u.s.trations from the cla.s.sics not greatly to the honour of women. The view of Bottinius, in short, is that of the bachelor man of the world, with no very lofty ideals about anything. His philosophy is summed up in his last words, "Still, it pays." He says he feels his strength inadequate to paint Pompilia; but we know this is a professional way of speaking, for he soon relapses into "melting wiles, deliciousest deceits"--very incongruous with our ideas of what Pompilia really was. No doubt, he thinks, there were some friskings, for which Guido naturally threatened the whip, and considers Guido to have been impatient. He supposes that Pompilia smiled upon everybody, till, when three years of married life had run their course, she smiled on Caponsacchi; and as he was a priest, and the court was more or less ecclesiastical, Bottinius makes light of the affair. He will grant that the lady somewhat plied "arts that allure," "the witchery of gesture,"

and the like. This was within the right of beauty, for the purpose of securing a champion. He will grant, for argument's sake, that she did write to Caponsacchi. What of it?--it was but to say her life was not worth an hour's purchase. It was not likely that Caponsacchi fell in love--he who might be Pope some day--yet the lady, being in such a case, was bound to offer him nothing short of love, as his great service was to save her. What was she to offer him--money? To escape death she might well have feigned love, and offered such a reward as the Idyl of Moschus makes Venus promise to any who should bring back lost Cupid. As it was wiser to choose a priest for the rescue of her life, if the cleric were young, handsome, and strong, so much the better, surely. Suppose it were true that Pompilia administered an opiate to her husband the night before she left him? Well, that was to protect him from rough usage if he aroused and interfered. This, says Bottinius, is how he would argue if the things which are but fables had been true: of course Guido never slept a wink, and Pompilia, equally of course, knew nothing about opiates. Then, when she started with her rescuer on the road to Rome, even granting what the suborned coachman said about the kissing which he saw--the one long embrace which const.i.tuted the journey--a sage and sisterly kiss were surely allowable, and this is probably what was exaggerated by the drowsy, tired driver. Then, when the pale creature, exhausted with the long journey, fainted at the inn, and Caponsacchi carried her to the chamber, what if he "stole a balmy breath, perhaps"? "why curb ardour here?" He could but pity her, and "pity is so near to love!" As Pompilia was asleep, she could neither know nor care. Were he to concede that Pompilia did write the incriminating letters, she, for self-protection, might deny she did so. "Would that I had never learned to write!" said one; Pompilia, splendidly mendacious, merely out-distanced him with, "To read or write I never learned at all!" Bottinius cannot resist a thrust or two at his "fat opponent's" love of good living; calls him "thou arch-angelic swine," and reminds him that he had not invited him to last night's birthday feast, when all sorts of good things were going. Turning to the action of Caponsacchi, he reminds the court that Archbishop and Governor, gentle and simple, did nothing to extricate Pompilia from her troubles; they all went their ways and left her to her fate; Caponsacchi alone, bursting through the impotent sympathy of Arezzo, caught Virtue up, and carried her off. He had not soiled her with the pitch alleged: the marks she bore were the evanescent black and blue of the necessary grasp. Then he must tell a tale how Peter, John, and Judas, being on a journey, were footsore and hungry; how they reached at night an inn for rest where there was but one room; for food but a solitary fowl, a wretched sparrow of a thing. Peter suggested they should all go to sleep till the fowl was ready, then he who had had the happiest dream should eat the entire fowl, as there was not enough for three; so each rested in his straw. When they awoke, John said he had dreamed he was the Lord's favourite disciple, and claimed the meal.

Peter had dreamed he had the keys of heaven and h.e.l.l, and thought the fowl must clearly be his. But Judas dreamed that he had descended from the chamber where they slept and had eaten the fowl. And so the traitor really had: he had left nothing but the drumstick and the merry-thought; and that is how the bone called merry-thought earned its name, to put us in mind that the best dream is to keep awake sometimes. So, said Bottinius, the great people of Arezzo never meant Innocence to starve while Authority sat at meat. They meant Pompilia to have something--in their dreams; they were willing to help her--in their sleep. Caponsacchi did wiser than dream or sleep: he brought a carriage, while the Archbishop and the Governor wondered what they could do. Then the Advocate bursts into a fit of admiration for the majesty and sanct.i.ty of the law, and what it would have done for Guido if only he had been content to wait. He comments on the penance which Pompilia had undergone; and though he cannot believe that Caponsacchi ever went near her when she left the convent, is inclined to ask, Suppose he did? Is it a matter for surprise that he would feel lonely at Civita, and pine a little for the feminine society to which he had been accustomed? And so he goes on denying all the accusations, but always adding, "And suppose it were otherwise?" He says, if he must speak his mind, it had been better that Pompilia had died upon the spot than lived to shame the law. Does he credit her story?--no! Did she lie?--still no!

He explains it this way: She had made her confession at the point of death, and was absolved; it was only charity in her to spend her last breath by pretending utter innocence, and thus rehabilitate the character of Caponsacchi. Had she told the naked truth about him, it would have doubtless injured him, and she was not bound to do that; and as the Sacrament had obliterated the sin, she was justified in the course he believes she took.

NOTES.--Line 115, _The Urbinate_: Rafael. l. 116, _The Cortonese_: Luca da Cortona, Italian painter. l. 117, _Ciro Ferri_, Italian painter (1634-1689). l. 170, _Phryne_, a celebrated beauty of Athens. She was the mistress of Praxiteles, who made a statue of her, which was one of his greatest works, and was placed in the temple of Apollo at Delphi. l. 226, _The Teian_: the Greek poet Anacreon was born at Teos, in Ionia. l. 284, _The Mantuan_ == Vergil. l. 394, _Commachian eels_ were anciently, and are still, very celebrated. l. 400, _Lernaean snake_, the famous hydra which Hercules slew. l. 530, _Idyllium Moschi_, the first Idyl of the Greek poet Moschus, ent.i.tled "Love a Runaway." l. 541, _Myrtilus_, the son of Mercury and Phaethusa: for his perfidy he was thrown into the sea, where he perished; _Amaryllis_, the name of a countryman mentioned by Theocritus and Vergil. l. 873, _Demodocus_, a musician at the court of Alcinous: the G.o.ds gave him the power of song, but denied him the blessing of sight. l.

875, "_foisted into that Eighth Odyssey_": see Pope's Homer's _Odyssey_, Book VIII., with the first note thereto. l. 887, _Cornelius Tacitus_, a celebrated Roman historian, born in the reign of Nero. l. 893, "_Thala.s.sian-pure_": Thala.s.sius was a beautiful young Roman in the reign of Romulus. At the rape of the Sabines, a virgin captured by one of the ravishers was declared to be reserved for Thala.s.sius, and all were eager to reserve her pure for him. l. 968, _Hesione_, a daughter of Laomedon, king of Troy. It fell to her lot to be exposed to a sea monster. Hercules killed the monster and delivered her, but Laomedon refused to give him the promised reward. l. 989, _Hercules and Omphale_: Omphale was queen of Lydia, and Hercules loved her so much that he used to spin by her side amongst her women, while she wore the lion's skin and bore the club of the hero. l. 998, _Anti-Fabius_, _i.e._, opposed to the policy of Quintus Fabius Maximus, the Roman general who opposed the progress of Hannibal, not by fighting, but by hara.s.sing counter-marches and ambuscades; for which he received the name of the _delayer_. A Fabian policy, therefore, is a waiting policy. Caponsacchi acted promptly. l. 1030, "_Sepher Toldoth Yeschu_": the Italians have an endless store of tales and legends of this character. See, for many such, _Mr. Crane's Italian Popular Stories_ (Macmillan). l. 1109, "_Thucydides and his sole joke_": Thucydides was a celebrated Greek historian, born at Athens. He wrote the history of the Peloponnesian war, in which he tells the story of Cylon (l. 126). l. 1345, _Maro_ == Vergil; _Aristaeus_, a son of Apollo, said to have learnt from nymphs the art of the cultivation of olives and management of bees, which he communicated to mankind. l. 1494, _Triarii_, old soldiers that were kept in reserve to a.s.sist in case of hazard. l. 1573, "_famed panegyric of Isocrates_": Isocrates was one of the ten Attic orators, and one of the most remarkable men in the literary history of Greece. He was born B.C.

436. His splendid panegyric was delivered B.C. 380, for the purpose of stimulating the people of Greece to unite against the power of Asia.

BOOK X. [THE POPE.] As to a court of final appeal, the case has now come before the Pope, Guido having claimed "benefit of clergy." The Supreme Pontiff has made a prolonged study of the evidence adduced on the trials, and of the whole circ.u.mstances surrounding the case; now he has to decide the fate of the Count and his accomplices in the murder. And that he may give judgment without bias, in the sight of G.o.d and of the world, he nerves himself for the task by recalling the history of his predecessors in the Chair of Peter who have, from the Apostle up to Alexander, the last Pope, dared and suffered. How judged this one, how decided that? did he well or ill? He remembers that no infallibility attaches to such a decision as he must give in the case in which he is called upon to act: judgment must be given in his own behoof; so worked his predecessors. And now appeal is made from man's a.s.size to him acting, speaking in the place of G.o.d. He must be just, and dare not let the felon go scot free. It is not possible to reprieve both criminal and Pope. Guido was furnished for his life with all the help a Christian civilisation could bestow: he had intellect, wit, a healthy frame, and all the advantages of family and position. He accepted the law that man is not here to please himself, but G.o.d; placed himself under obedience to the Church, which is the embodiment of that principle, and then deliberately clothed himself with the protection of the Church that he might violate the law with impunity.

Three-parts consecrate, he sought to do his murder in the Church's pale.

Such a man--religious parasite--proves "irreligiousest of all mankind."

His low instincts make him believe only in "the vile of life." He is clothed in falsehood, scale on scale. The typical actuating principle of his life was plainly exhibited in his marriage. He was prompted to that by no single motive which should have suggested matrimony. In this he had sunk far below the level of the brute, "whose appet.i.te, if brutish, is a truth." This l.u.s.t of money led him to lie, rob and murder; to pursue with insatiate malice the parents of his wife by punishing their child, putting day by day and hour by hour,

"The untried torture to the untouched place,"

goading her to death and bringing d.a.m.nation by rebound to those who loved her. Ruining the three, he enjoyed luck and liberty, person, rights, fame, worth, all intact; while these poor souls must waste away, be blown about as dust. Such cruelty needed only as its complement, as a masterpiece of h.e.l.l, the craft of this simulated love intrigue,--these false letters, false to body and soul they figure forth--as though the man had cut out some filthy shapes to fasten below the cherubs on a missal-page. But Pompilia's ermine-like soul takes no pollution from all this craft. It arose that in the providence of G.o.d were born new attributes to two souls.

Priest and wife--both champions of truth--developed new safeguards of their n.o.ble natures. Then does the law step in, secludes the wife and gives the oppressor a new probation. It only induces Guido to furbish up his tools for a fresh a.s.sault. He has a son. To other men the gift brings thankfulness; Guido saw in the babe but a money-bag. Even in the deepest degradation of his sinful career he has another grace vouchsafed from G.o.d.

When he fled from the scene of the murders, he took with him the money which he had agreed to pay his confederates. They came near to his hiding-place, intending to kill him for the gold, but were too late: the agents of the law were too quick for them. He had another chance of repentance. So stands Guido; and this master of wickedness has for pupils his "fox-faced, horrible brother-brute the Abate," and his younger brother, neither wolf nor fox, but the hybrid Girolamo, and

"The hag that gave these three abortions birth, Unmotherly mother and unwomanly Woman,"

and lastly the four companions in the murder, who acceded at once to the crime, as though they were set to dig a vineyard. Then the Pope recalls the only answer of the Governor to whom Pompilia appealed--a threat and a shrug of the shoulder. He has a severe word for the Archbishop, as a hireling who turned and fled when the wolf pressed on the panting lamb within his reach. It comforts him to turn to Pompilia, "perfect in whiteness," as he p.r.o.nounces. It makes him proud in the evening of his life as "gardener of the untoward ground," that he is privileged to gather this "rose for the breast of G.o.d."

"Go past me And get thy praise,--and be not far to seek Presently when I follow if I may!"

Nor very much apart from her can be placed Caponsacchi, his "warrior-priest." He finds much amiss in this freak of his. He disapproves the masquerade, the change of garb; but it was grandly done--that athlete's leap amongst the uncaged beasts set upon the martyr-maid in the mid-cirque. Impulsively had he cast every rag to the winds; but he championed G.o.d at first blush, and answered ringingly, with his glove on ground, the challenge of the false knight. Where, then, were the Church's men-at-arms, while this man in mask and motley has to do their work? When temptation came he had taken it by the head and hair, had done his battle, and has praise. Yet he must ruminate. "Work, be unhappy, but bear life, my son!" He turns to G.o.d, "reaches into the dark," "feels what he cannot see"; renews his confidence in the Divine order of the universe, but not without a pause, a shudder, a breathing s.p.a.ce while he collects his thoughts and reviews his grounds of faith. The mind of man is a convex gla.s.s, gathering to itself

"The scattered points Picked out of the immensity of sky."

He understands how this earth may have been chosen as the theatre of the plan of redemption; as he in turn represents G.o.d here, he can believe that man's life on earth has been devised that he may wring from all his pain the pleasures of eternity. "This life is training and a pa.s.sage," and even Guido, in the world to come, may run the race and win the prize. It does not stagger him, receiving and trusting the plan of G.o.d as he does, that he sees other men rejecting and disbelieving it, any more than it surprises him to find fishers who might dive for pearls dredging for whelks and mud-worms. But, alas for the Christians!--how ill they figure in all this! The Archbishop of Arezzo--how he failed when the test came!

The friar, who had forsaken the world, how he shrank from doing his duty, for fear of rebuke! Women of the convent to whom Pompilia was consigned,--their kiss turned bite, and they claimed the wealth of which she died possessed because the trial seemed to prove her of dishonest life: so issue writ, and the convent takes possession by the Fisc's advice. Their fine speeches were all unsaid--their "saint was wh.o.r.e" when money was the prize. All this terrifies the aged Pope--not the wrangling of the Roman soldiers for the garments of the Lord, but the greed in His apostles. But are not mankind real? Is the petty circle in which he moves, after all, the world? The instincts of humanity have helped mankind in every age; they will do so still. If, because Christianity is old, and familiarity with its teachings has bred a confidence which is ill grounded, the Christian heroism of past times can no longer be looked for, yet the heroism of mankind springs up eternally, and will suffice for all its needs. And now he hears the whispers of the times to come. The approaching age (the eighteenth century) will shake this torpor of a.s.surance; discarded doubts will be reintroduced; the earthquakes will try the towers of faith; the old reports will be discredited. Then what mult.i.tudes will sink from the plane of Christianity down to the next discoverable base, resting on the l.u.s.t and pride of life! Some will stand firm. Pompilias will "know the right place by the foot's feel"; Caponsacchis by their mere impulses will be guided aright; the vast majority will fall. But the Vicar of Christ has a duty to perform, whatever may be in store in the womb of the coming age. With Peter's key he holds Peter's sword:

"I smite With my whole strength once more ere end my part,"

he says. Men pluck his sleeve, urge him to spare this barren tree awhile; others point out the privileges of the clergy, the right of the husband over the wife, the offence to the n.o.bility involved in condemning one of their order, the danger to his own reputation for mercy. He brushes away with a sweep of his hand all these busy oppositions to his sense of duty, and signs the order for the execution of Guido and his companions. On the morrow the men shall die--not in the customary place, where die the common sort; but Guido, as a n.o.ble, shall be beheaded where the quality may see, and fear, and learn. He has no hope for Guido--

"Except in such a suddenness of fate.

I stood at Naples once, a night so dark I could have scarce conjectured there was earth Anywhere, sky or sea, or world at all: But the night's black was burst through by a blaze-- Thunder struck blow on blow, earth groaned and bore, Through her whole length of mountain visible: There lay the city, thick and plain, with spires, And, like a ghost disshrouded, white the sea.

So may the truth be flashed out by one blow, And Guido see, one instant, and be saved.

"Carry this forthwith to the Governor!"

NOTES.--Line 1, _Ahasuerus_: Esther vi. 1. l. 11, "_Peter first to Alexander last_": St. Peter to Pope Alexander VIII., who died 1691. l. 25, _Formosus Pope_ (891-6): he was bishop of Porto, and succeeded Stephen. He had formerly, from fear of Pope John, left his bishopric and fled to France. As he did not return when he was recalled, he was anathematised, and deprived of his preferments. He returned to the world, and put on the secular habit. Pope Martin (882-4) absolved him, and restored him to his former dignity; he then came to the popedom by bribery. (See _Platina_.) l. 32, _Stephen VII._ (The Pope, 896-7): "he persecuted the memory of Formosus with so much spite, that he abrogated his decrees and rescinded all he had done; though it was said that it was Formosus that conferred the bishopric of Anagni upon him. Stephen, because Formosus had hindered him before of this desired dignity, exercised his rage even upon his dead body; for Martin the historian says he hated him to that degree that, in a council which he held, he ordered the body of Formosus to be dragged out of the grave, to be stripped of his pontifical habit and put into that of a layman, and then to be buried among secular persons, having first cut off those two fingers of his right hand which are princ.i.p.ally used by priests in consecration, and thrown into the Tiber, because, contrary to his oath, as he said, he had returned to Rome and exercised his sacerdotal function, from which Pope John had legally degraded him. This proved a great controversy, and of very ill example; for the succeeding popes made it almost a constant custom either to break or abrogate the acts of their predecessors, which was certainly far different from the practice of any of the good popes whose lives we have written." (Platina's _Lives of the Popes_, Dr. Benham's edition, vol. i., p. 237.) l. 89, "??T?S, _which means Fish_": the letters of this word, the Greek for fish, make the initials of the words Jesus, Christ, of G.o.d, Son, Saviour. The fish emblem for our Lord is common in the Roman catacombs, and is still used in ecclesiastical art. l. 91, "_The Pope is Fisherman_": because he is the successor of St. Peter the fisherman, and Christ said He would make Peter a fisher of men (Mark i. 17). l. 108, _Theodore II._ (Pope 898) restored the decrees of Formosus, and preferred his friends. l. 122, _Luitprand_: a chronicler of Papal history. l. 128, _Roma.n.u.s_ (Pope 897-8): as soon as he received the pontificate he disavowed and rescinded all the acts and decrees of Stephen. Platina calls such men "popelings," _Pontificuli_ (ed.

1551). l. 132, _Ravenna_: Pope John IX. removed to Ravenna in consequence of the disturbances in Rome. He called a synod of seventy-four bishops, and condemned all that Stephen had done; he restored the decrees of Formosus, declaring it irregularly done of Stephen to re-ordain those on whom Formosus had conferred holy orders. (See _Platina_.) l. 138, _De Ordinationibus_ == concerning Ordinations. l. 142, _John IX._ (Pope 898-900) rea.s.serted the cause of Formosus, in consequence of which great disturbances arose in Rome. _Sergius III._ (Pope 904-11) "totally abolished all that Formosus had done before; so that priests, who had been by him admitted to holy orders, were forced to take new ordination. Nor was he content with thus dishonouring the dead pope; but he dragged his carcase again out of the grave, beheaded it as if it had been alive, and then threw it into the Tiber, as unworthy the honour of human burial. It is said that some fishermen, finding his body as they were fishing, brought it to St. Peter's church; and while the funeral rites were performing, the images of the saints which stood in the church bowed in veneration of his body, which gave them occasion to believe that Formosus was not justly persecuted with so great ignominy. But whether the fishermen did thus, or no, is a great question; especially it is not likely to have been done in Sergius' lifetime, who was a fierce persecutor of the favourers of Formosus, because he had hindered him before of obtaining the pontificate." (Platina, _Lives of the Popes_.) l. 293, "_The sagacious Swede_": this was Swedenborg, born at Stockholm 1688, died 1772: the mathematical theory of Probability is referred to here. (See _Encyc.

Brit._, vol. xix., p. 768.) l. 297, "_dip in Vergil here and there, and p.r.i.c.k for such a verse_": just as people open the Bible at random to find a verse to foretell certain events, so scholars used Vergil for this purpose; _sortes Vergilianae_: Vergilian lots. l. 466, _paravent_: Fr. a screen; _ombrifuge_: a place where one flies for shade. l. 510, _soldier-crab_: the same as _hermit-crab_. Named from their combativeness, or from their possessing themselves of the sh.e.l.ls of other animals. l.

836, _Rota_: a tribunal within the Curia, formerly the supreme court of justice and the universal court of appeal. It consists of twelve members called auditors, presided over by a dean. The decisions of the Rota, which form precedents, have been frequently published (_Encyc. Dict._). l. 917, _she-pard_: a female leopard. l. 1097, "_The other rose, the gold_": this is "an ornament made of wrought gold and set with gems, which is blessed by the Pope on the fourth Sunday of Lent, and usually afterwards sent as a mark of special favour to some distinguished individual, church, or civil community" (_Encyc. Brit._, x. 758). l. 1188, "_Lead us into no such temptations, Lord_": "It is lawful to pray G.o.d that we be not led into temptation, but not lawful to skulk from those that come to us. _The n.o.blest pa.s.sage in one of the n.o.blest books of this century_ is where the old Pope glories in the trial--nay, in the partial fall and but imperfect triumph--of the younger hero." (R. L. Stevenson's _Virginibus Puerisque_, p. 43.) l. 1596: Missionaries to China have always had great difficulty in expressing the word G.o.d with our idea of the Supreme Being in the Chinese language. l. 1619, _Rosy cross_: Dr. Brewer says this is "not _rosa-crux_ == rose-cross; but _ros crux_, dew cross. Dew was considered by the ancient chemists as the most powerful solvent of gold; and cross in alchemy is the synonym of light, because any figure of a cross contains the three letters L V X (light). 'Lux' is the menstruum of the red dragon (_i.e._ corporeal light), and this sunlight properly digested produces gold, and dew is the digester. Hence the Rosicrucians are those who use dew for digesting lux or light for the purpose of coming at the philosopher's stone." (_Brewer's Dict. of Phrase and Fable_, p. 765.) l.

1620, _The great work_ == the _magnum opus_: "to find the absolute in the infinite, the indefinite, and the finite. Such is the _magnum opus_ of the sages; such is the whole secret of Hermes; such is the stone of the philosophers. It is the great Arcanum." (_Mysteries of Magic_, A. E.

Waite, p. 196.) This is the "Azoth" of Paracelsus and the sages.

Magnetised electricity is the first matter of the _magnum opus_. l. 1698, "_Know-thyself_": _e clo descendit_ G???? sea?t??--"Know thyself came down from heaven" (Juvenal, _Sat._ xi. 24); "_Take the golden mean_,"

"_Est modus in rebus_": "There is a mean in all things." (Horace, _Sat._ i. 106.) l. 1707, "_When the Third Poet's tread surprised the two_": "the talents of Sophocles were looked upon by Euripides with jealousy, and the great enmity which unhappily prevailed between the two poets gave an opportunity to the comic muse of Aristophanes to ridicule them both on the stage with humour and success" (_Lempriere, Eur._). l. 1760, _schene_ or sheen == brightness or glitter. l. 1762, _tenebrific_: causing or producing darkness. l. 1792, "_Paul,--'tis a legend,'--answered Seneca_": Butler, _Lives of the Saints_, under date June 30th, says: "That Seneca, the philosopher, was converted to the faith and held a correspondence with St. Paul, is a groundless fiction." l. 1904, _antimasque_ or _anti-mask_: a ridiculous interlude; _kibe_: a crack or chap in the flesh occasioned by cold. l. 1942, _Loyola_: St. Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Order of the Jesuits. l. 1986-7, "_Nemini honorem trado_": Isaiah xlii. 8, xlviii.

11--"I will not give mine honour to another," or "my glory" (as A.V.). l.

2004, _Farinacci_: Farinaccius was procurator-general to Pope Paul V., and his work on torture in evidence, "_Praxis et Theorica Criminalis_ (Frankfort, 1622)," is a standard authority. l. 2060, "_the three little taps o' the silver mallet_": when the Pope dies it is the duty of the _camerlingo_ or chamberlain to give three taps with a silver mallet on the Pope's forehead while he calls him; it is a similar ceremony to that used at the death of the kings of Spain; where the royal chamberlain calls the dead sovereign three times, "Senor! Senor! Senor!" l. 2088, _Priam_: the last king of Troy; _Hecuba_: the wife of Priam, by whom he had nineteen children according to Homer; "_Non tali auxilio_": this is from Vergil's _aeneid_, ii., 519--"Non tali auxilio, nec defensoribus istis tempus eget." "The crisis requires not such aid nor such defenders as thou art."

l. 2111, _The People's Square_: Piazza del Popolo, at the north entrance to Rome. It is reached from the Corso.

BOOK XI., GUIDO--is now in the prison cell awaiting execution. He is visited by Cardinal Acciaiuoli and Abate Panciatichi, who are to remain with him till the fatal moment. He is pleading with them for their aid; he reminds them of his n.o.ble blood, too pure to leak away into the drains of Rome from the headsman's engine. He protests his innocence; he has only twelve hours to live, and is as innocent as Mary herself. He denounces the Pope, who could have cast around him the protection of the Church, whose son he is. His tonsure should have saved him. It was the Pope's duty to have shown him mercy, but he supposes he is sick of his life, and must vent his spleen on him. He asks the Abate if he can do nothing? They used to enjoy life together, but he concludes that his companions have hearts of stone. He wishes he had never entangled himself with a wife; he was a fool to slay her. Why must he die? It need not be if men were good. If the Pope is Peter's successor, he should act like Peter. Would Peter have ordered him to death when there was his soul to save? What though half Rome condemned him? the other half took his part. The shepherd of the flock should use the crumpled end of his staff to rescue his sheep, not the pointed end wherewith to thrust them. The law proclaims him guiltless, but the Pope says he is guilty; and he supposes he ought to acquiesce and say that he deserves his fate. Repent? not he! What would be the good of that? If he fall at their feet and gnash and foam, will that put back the death engine to its hiding-place? He reflects that old Pietro cried to him for respite when he chased him about his room. He asked for time to save his soul: Guido gave him none. Why grant respite to him if he deserves his doom? Then he reproaches his companions: had they not sinned with him if he had done wrong? had they ever warned him, not by words, but by their own good deeds? He declares that he does not and cannot repent one particle of his past life. How should he have treated his wife? Ought he to have loved or hated her? When he offered her his love, had she not recoiled with loathing from him? Had she not acted as a victim at the sacrifice? Was it not her desire to be anywhere apart from him? What was called his wife was but "a nullity in female shape"--a plague mixed up with the "abominable nondescripts" she called her father and her mother.

It was intended that he should be fooled; it happened that he had antic.i.p.ated those who wished to fool him: yet this boast was premature.

All Rome knows that the dowry was a derision, the wife a nameless b.a.s.t.a.r.d; his ancient name had been bespattered with filth, and those who planned the wrong had revealed it to the world. Yes, he had punished those who fooled him so. He had punished his wife, too, who had no part in their crime; and why? Her cold, pale, mute obedience was so hateful to him.

"Speak!" he had demanded, and she obeyed; "Be silent!" and she obeyed also, with just the selfsame white despair. Things were better when her parents were present; when they left she ran to the Commissary and the Archbishop to beg their interference, and then committed the "worst offence of not offending any more." Her look of martyr-like endurance was worse than all: it reminded him of the "terrible patience of G.o.d." All that meant she did not love him;--she might have shammed the love. As it was, his wife was a true stumbling-block in his way. Everything, too, went against him. It was so unlucky for him that he did not catch the pair at the inn under circ.u.mstances when he could lawfully have slain them both together. There is always some--