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 New York.
 
 MANFRED; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BENEVENTO. 
 
 BY 
 
 F. D. G U ER R AZZI, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "BEATRICE CENCI." 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN 
 BY 
 
 LUIGI MONTI, A.M., 
 
 Formerly Instructor in Italian i>c the University at Cambridge; lately 
 
 United States Consul at Palermo: author of an Italian 
 
 Grammar and Reader; translator of Guer- 
 
 razzfs "Beatrice Cenci" and 
 
 "Isabella Orsini." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers. 
 
 LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO., 
 MDCCCLXXy.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 
 
 G'. W. CARLETON & CO., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 JOHN F. TROW & SON, PRINTERS, 
 ;o5-ai3 EAST i2TH ST., NEW YORK. 
 
 Maclauchlan, Stereotyper, 
 145 & 147 Mulberry St., near Grand, N.
 
 f is fjmwr, 
 SAMUEL C. COBB, 
 
 MAYOR OF THE CITY OF BOSTON, 
 
 RECOGNITION OP 
 
 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF WARM AND SINCERE 
 FRIENDSHIP.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 PREFACE 9 
 
 I. Madness , n 
 
 II. Love 20 
 
 III. The First Kiss 29 
 
 IV. Injury 40 
 
 V. Deception , 5 
 
 VI. The Prisoner 66 
 
 VII. The Banditti 80 
 
 VIII. The Palmer 102 
 
 IX. The Naval Battle ill 
 
 X. The &ead of the Unjust Judge 124 
 
 XI. The Traitor's End 143 
 
 XII. The Knight of the Thunderbolt 171 
 
 XIII. Remorse 199 
 
 XIV. Extreme Unction 212 
 
 XV. The Demoniac 226 
 
 XVI. The Conspiracy. 249 
 
 XVII. The Spy 267 
 
 XVIII. Despair 278 
 
 XIX. The Surprise 290 
 
 XX. The Judgment of God 306 
 
 XXL The Flight 329 
 
 XXII. The Saracen 34.5 
 
 XXIIL The Sorrowful Night 375 
 
 XXIV. The Battle of Benevento 399 
 
 XXV. The Revenge 426 
 
 APPENDIX 445
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 SEVERAL years have passed since I first presented to the 
 American public two works of this fertile Italian author, 
 the " Beatrice Cenci" and " Isabella Orsini." 
 
 The following historical Romance was already in course 
 of preparation, when the sad war which broke out in the 
 United States interrupted rny labors ; and since then, 
 being appointed to a responsible office abroad, my offi- 
 cial duties have prevented my attending to literary works. 
 Having lately been recalled from my post, I have 
 resumed my labors, hoping to bring to the knowledge 
 of American readers some more of the works of the 
 principal writers who have illustrated Italy in this cen- 
 tury. 
 
 The work of Italian independence is accomplished. 
 But the world that has rejoiced at the result little knows 
 the long years of preparation and of suffering that pre- 
 ceded it. The men of action that have led the movement 
 both in the field and in politics are well known ; but the 
 studious minds, the scholars and poets that prepared it, 
 and were the first to breathe the name of Italy and Italian 
 independence, are comparatively unknown ; but their 
 name is legion, and most of the present freedom and wel- 
 fare of Italy is due to them and their teachings. 
 
 Among these, Guerrazzi was the earliest and boldest 
 writer, whose aim was the regeneration of Italy and her 
 redemption from both foreign and domestic oppression. 
 "Unable to fight a battle, I have written a book," was 
 the expression he used when he presented a copy of 
 the " Siege of Florence," the most wonderful creation of 
 his poetical imagination, to his friend, the great patriot
 
 x Preface. 
 
 Joseph Mazzini ; and indeed all the works of Guerrazzi 
 are battles against despotism and incitements to the 
 Italians to rise against a foreign dominion. Therefore 
 the reader and critic should not judge the work as purely 
 literary, but in its political and social scope as applied to 
 the Italians in those days : which was to stir them up from 
 their apathy; to shame them from the degradation in 
 which they lived ; to point out to them, by the histories of 
 the past, that the causes of their present political subjec- 
 tion had been their internal strifes and dissensions, their 
 civil wars, the wars between state and state, cities and 
 cities, and very often between private citizens of the same 
 city, the private revenges and fierce passions of Guelphs 
 and Ghibellines, Montagus and Capulets, Whites and 
 Blacks ; in consequence of which sad condition, foreign 
 despots, taking advantage of their internal dissensions, 
 had crossed the Alps and held sway over them. 
 
 The above observations are necessary, because the 
 reader will find passages unconnected with the story itself, 
 and which at the present date are entirely out of place, 
 for Italy is now united and independent ; but at the time 
 the book was first published by Guerrazzi, she groaned 
 under seven different despotic rulers, mostly foreigners or 
 of foreign origin, with the exception of the King of Sar- 
 dinia, now King of Italy. 
 
 Hence allowance should be made for some exaggerated 
 ideas, for some flights of fancy, for the vehemence with 
 which he sometimes attacks his own countrymen, and the 
 pungent sarcasms which he occasionally aims at them ; 
 the reader therefore should keep in mind that the aim of 
 the author was to teach Italians, by the narrative of 
 crimes committed by their fathers, that these were the 
 causes of the conquest and degradation of Italy, and that 
 no people can expect to be glorious and independent un- 
 less they practise virtue. 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR. 
 BOSTON, March StA, 1875.
 
 MANFRED; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BENEVENTO. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MADNESS. 
 
 Gli occhi inflammati e pregni 
 Di lagrimevol riso ; 
 Roca sonar la voce, e le parole 
 Con subiti sospiri ; 
 Stare inquieto, andare 
 Frettoloso, e voltarsi 
 Spesso, quasi altri il chiami, 
 Son certissimo segno 
 Di un antico furore. 
 
 CANACE, Tragedia Antica. 
 
 The eyes inflamed, and full of tearful smiles, 
 
 Hoarse-sounding voice, words mixed with sudden sighs ; 
 
 Unquiet standing and uneasy motion ; 
 
 A sudden turn as at a distant call : 
 
 These are of an old madness certain signs.* 
 
 AS ever lived a human being who, lifting hi3 
 eyes to the sky of Italy, would deny it to be the 
 most pure^and serene that ever the smile of God 
 lighted upon ? Has ever lived a human being 
 who, lifting his eyes to the sky of Italy when it is first 
 
 * This and the following metrical translations, marked M. G. M., 
 are due to Mrs. M. G. Meatyard, of Chicago, to whom I acknowledge 
 myself gratefully indebted. THE TRANSLATOR.
 
 12 Madness. 
 
 clothed with the splendor of the rays of the first-born of 
 nature, has not felt his mind inspired by the memory of 
 the great men that are no more, but whose names linger 
 on his soul like the harmonious vibration of the harp 
 when left by the artist's touch ? Whoever, watching that 
 star of life abandoning to-night the dominion of the sky, 
 and flashing to it its last adieus from the horizon of the 
 ocean, has not stretched his arms toward it and implored 
 that it might remain forever in its celestial abode ? But 
 if it set with the evening it rose again with the morning, 
 and saw centuries pass away into eternity, generations 
 follow generations into the grave, and the everlasting al- 
 ternation of virtue and crime. Briefly did it shine on the 
 honor of Italy, long on her grief and on her shame. Alas ! 
 I would never have believed that nations could die like 
 individuals. What eye is not suffused when the sad 
 light of the moon and stars shines down from heaven 
 upon the silent fields of earth ? A sound of celestial har- 
 mony issues from the motion of the stars in the firma- 
 ment, a sound of eternal song ; and though too far remote 
 to strike the ear of man, still it inspires him with a secret 
 feeling, an irrepressible emotion, which, awakening sad 
 sweet remembrances in his mind, force him to tears. 
 Ah ! thou art beautiful, O sky of Italy, whether night or 
 day rejoices thee, and truly a divine creation. When 
 Italy sat queen of the world, thou vvert her meet pavil- 
 ion ; but now . . . the great are dead, the monuments 
 scattered, . . . fame itself departed ; . . . and why, O sky ! 
 dost thou not likewise change ? The funereal garment of 
 the lovely departed maiden is not black ; her friends 
 choose it of a gay color, adorn it with the flower of hy- 
 men, and thus try to 'deceive themselves as to the exist- 
 ence of her who is no more, and the sobs and sighing 
 adieus that are uttered on her descent into the grave are 
 not as to one dead, but as to one who is long to remain 
 far away from them.* The eternal wisdom which governs 
 the creation granted this beautiful sky to Italy, that it 
 
 * Alluding to the custom in Italy of burying maidens in a bridal 
 dress. TR.
 
 Madness. 13 
 
 might be a brilliant witness in her days of glory, and of 
 comfort in her longer ones of" misfortune. It alone has 
 remained, because the anger of man has not been able to 
 snatch it away from us. . . . 
 
 And the earth ! Every sod contains the ashes of a 
 hero's heart. We tread upon the dust of the great . . . 
 we, who are more worthy of being buried in the dust. 
 Only foreigners know our histories, and, full of reverence, 
 fear at every step a voice arising from the earth exclaim- 
 ing, " Coward, why dost thou trample upon the brave '! " 
 Go on still freely, O foreigner ! for every moment of life 
 is well spent on the threshold of death. These sunsets 
 know no twilight, nor voice of dead ever arises from the 
 sepulchres unless the valor or the love of the living inscribes 
 it there. To a degraded generation the grave only repre- 
 sents the abode of the decaying corpse, rather than the 
 altar of magnanimous inspirations ; our mind turns to 
 corruption rather than glory, and we have long been so 
 cowed down that we dare not people the tomb with the 
 sublime fancies of greatness. Wherefore should the ven- 
 erated forms of our fathers arise ? Perchance to see 
 what condemnation has blasted, as with lightning, their 
 unhappy race ? Perchance to know that there does not 
 live an Italian heart which beats for Italian glory ? Spare 
 yourselves, O fathers ! this bitter grief; spare us. O fathers ! 
 the reproach of your countenances ; let death be a fitting 
 bond between us. May these ages never be remembered 
 in history ! May posterity leave us the only heritage we 
 pant for, . . . oblivion ! 
 
 I relate a story of crimes, atrocious, heinous crimes, 
 such as only infamous men who hate both creature and 
 Creator can commit ; such crimes, that one would hardly 
 believe there would be an ear to hear, a mind to imagine, 
 or an arm to execute them. Nor let any one accuse me 
 of the intention of terrorizing rather than instructing the 
 people. Easy thing is to speak, but the words of wisdom 
 seldom fall from the lips of man. Let him who would 
 censure me meditate first upon the history of past ages, 
 upon the heart of man, and he will understand that the his- 
 tory of great men is only fit for worthy men. The virtuous
 
 14 Madness. 
 
 requite no recompense, their only reward is fame : the 
 highest, indeed, and first among the consolations granted 
 to the fallen race of Adam ! but only for the noble hearts 
 that can love it, live for it, die for it. But to a people whose 
 minds have been perverted, and whose souls languish in 
 the habitual drowsiness of evil, what can be to them the 
 visions of fame ? Words of mockery, subjects of laughter ! 
 A stronger power than the examples of virtue is required. 
 Only the sight of the havoc wrought by sin might, if any- 
 thing could, move such spirits. The dread voice of the 
 Archangel alone can rend the tombs, and arouse their 
 tenants from the lethargy of death. . . . 
 
 'Tis the last moment of twilight ; a mournful tint is 
 spread over the flowery shores of Naples. The summits 
 of Tifata, Vesuvius and the Apennines, which bound it 
 on one side, glow with a crimson light, which, gradually 
 dying away among the more distant mountains, is lost in 
 the gloom of approaching night, as time is lost in eter- 
 nity. Softly sighs the evening breeze, which now lightly 
 ripples the surface of the water, now bears away the fra- 
 grant breath of the orange, the aloe, and all the rich orien- 
 tal plants which adorn the shores of Posilipo and Mergel- 
 lina, and playfully surrounds the traveller with its sweet- 
 ness, and bears it to heaven as a tribute offered by earth 
 to her Creator. Sweetly sounds the evening song by 
 which the laborer, still distant, announces his return to his 
 family. Sweetly falls upon the ear the hymn of saluta- 
 tion which the fisherman offers to the moon rising from 
 behind the opposite mountains, while with measured oar 
 he strikes the waves of the Bay of Naples. Beautiful is 
 thy earth, O unhappy country, beautiful as the terres- 
 trial paradise in the earliest days of creation ! 
 
 But under an arch which leads to the royal gardens of 
 the Capuan castle, the magnificent dwelling of King 
 Manfred, a youth, insensible to such magnificence of 
 nature, is tracing irregular lines upon the gravel with the 
 point of his sword. He is handsome and majestic ; his 
 very blond hair, parted in the middle, hangs down upon 
 his shoulders ; all his features are beautiful ; but his 
 large blue eyes often remain fixed in intensity of thought,
 
 Madness. 15 
 
 as if scrutinizing something beyond this world. Upon his 
 forehead there is a mark which is rarely seen upon the 
 brow of youth. What could have impressed this unnatu- 
 ral stamp of years between the temples of him who has seen 
 but twenty pass away ? Bitterness of soul had traced that 
 furrow of age upon the face of that unhappy youth, and 
 that mark sat upon his head like the crown of sorrow. 
 
 Unfortunate being ! Never has maternal caress 
 stilled his childish tears ; a father's kiss has never glad- 
 dened the days of his infancy ; he has known neither 
 father nor mother. He stands in life like a plant in the- 
 desert. He questions memory, and finds it a blank : 
 only far, very far back, some remembrances of blood, . . . 
 but confused, obscure, as it were, and which in vain he 
 tries to bring more distinctly before his mind. His soul 
 burns as fiercely as the sun under which he was born ; his 
 birth troubles him ; an intuitive feeling of greatness 
 weighs upon him ; he craves eagerly for something he 
 knows not ; he would, with a glance, penetrate the myste- 
 ries of creation ; he would, with a word, subdue the na- 
 tions of the earth ; would be a God with the attributes of 
 man, or a man with the omniscience and the thunders of 
 God. But his lofty fancy falls dejected and overwhelmed 
 at its own daring, when he considers his unknown birth ; 
 his heart groans with anguish tortured by all the torments 
 of the fire of ambition. Perhaps this fire would long since 
 have consumed him, had not a form of heavenly beauty 
 arisen in his mind, and quenched at times its violence. 
 Certainly his was a desperate love, and one well worthy 
 of him. The mere thought of it, could men know his 
 thought, would have been punished with death. What ! 
 a squire dares to raise his looks to the daughter of his king ? 
 What are his hopes ? Dares he to think that the maiden 
 of the blood of Swabia will yield her heart to one so hum- 
 ble ? Does he know the dangers, does he think of the 
 sufferings that beset his path ? He loves, and loves des- 
 perately. 
 
 But his gaze, long insensible to all the beauties that 
 nature spread around him, fixed itself of a sudden upon 
 the dwelling of the son of Frederick. The castle of
 
 16 Madness. 
 
 Capua seemed truly the dwelling of a king ; but though 
 by its size it appeared such as only an architect of genius 
 might imagine, by its strength it was such as a tyrant in 
 the agony of fear would choose. William the Bad, of 
 Norman race, built it for his own personal protection. 
 Walls of enormous thickness, numerous great towers, 
 platforms, bulwarks, and all the precautions that art in 
 the twelfth century could suggest, had been put into use 
 for insuring the safety of the trembling tyrant ; but in 
 vain ! Where the punishment of man fails, there arises 
 .the judgment of God : he died, and not by the sword ; 
 but his race was extinguished ; the throne, founded by 
 the valor of Robert Guiscard, and by Count Roger, fell 
 under the eternal justice which visited the crimes of 
 William I. upon the unfortunate William, son of Tancred, 
 Count of Lecce. 
 
 Frederick II. wished to make the castle look more 
 cheerful, and invited for that purpose to Naples Nicho- 
 las Pisano, the greatest architect of his time, giving him 
 the charge of adorning it. But the genius of the artist 
 was subdued, in spite of himself, at the sight of the edi- 
 fice which he was to improve, and his additions only in- 
 creased its gloom. Like unto the melodious troubadour, 
 who in the silence of the night attempts to sing a merry 
 roundelay, by degrees almost involuntarily the saddest 
 notes escape from his lute, and his merry song ends in 
 a mournful lay. 
 
 The moon, joyfully traversing the heavens, indifferent 
 whether her rays are blessed or cursed in the earth, shed- 
 ding them alike upon the lovers who ardently long for 
 the hour of tender meeting, and upon the assassin who 
 rushes from the shade, strikes the blow, and shrouds him- 
 self again in darkness, pours her light upon the Capuan 
 castle. The illuminated parts of the building appear even 
 larger, from the contrast with the shadows in which the 
 other portions are buried. Some of the towers seem to 
 have no foundation in the earth, but to stand as if sus- 
 pended in the air ; others appear half ruined ; they strike 
 the fancy as one of those castles which writers of fiction 
 describe in their legends, where evil spirits assemble to
 
 Madness. 17 
 
 celebrate their unholy orgies, and to intoxicate their 
 souls with blood. The excited imagination of the ob- 
 server might fancy to see the spectre of William the 
 Bad wandering through those ruins, condemned to visit 
 the mansion erected by him, but inhabited by a race 
 not his own ; and would hear the groan of anger, or of 
 conscience, which he utters in the desperation of his 
 soul. 
 
 Such was the edifice upon which the youth was gazing. 
 After he had regarded it long and earnestly, he shook his 
 head, saying, " The works of tyranny are as great as the 
 works of liberty. . . . Fear as well as pride have given to 
 the world sublime things ; . . . good as well as bad have 
 produced works which are marvels for the crowd, but 
 which, for those who have hearts, excite only compassion 
 for human weakness. Blessed Mary ! What is indeed 
 this castle ? What are the treasures that Manfred found 
 in Luceria ? What is the power of Frederick Barbarossa, 
 or of Frederick II. ? These could not conquer Italy ; 
 the first was stopped by walls of clay and straw ; the 
 second defeated by people from whom he had withdrawn, 
 that he might not be a witness of their destruction.* 
 And then, what would be the empire of Italy, what that 
 of the world? I might be the greatest of mortals, but 
 still only a mortal ; the strongest of men : but who can 
 boast in his arm the strength of the whirlwind ? The 
 wisest of the sons of earth : but who has the intellect of 
 the sons of heaven ? Nevertheless my soul would for- 
 get, or at least soothe this feeling which embitters my 
 life, if I would rest my head on the breast of ... whom ? 
 Did I name her ? Are these not retreating footsteps 
 which I hear ? No ; ... all is silent. I must dread even 
 to name her ! . . . O Capuan castle, I would be content 
 with thy walls ! Q throne of my king, however small, 
 thou wouldst be very acceptable to me if I could seat 
 
 * The Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, in 1175, was forced to raise 
 the siege of Alexandria, called afterward " Delia Paglia " (of straw), 
 for the reason given. The army of Frederick II. was routed in 
 1248 by the inhabitants of Parma while he, sure of the conquest 
 of the city, was away from the camp, amusing himself in hawking.
 
 1 8 Madness. 
 
 myself there with her whom I have made the idol of my 
 thoughts ! I have always loved the throne, because I 
 feel myself born for it ; but now this desire has become 
 madness, for nowhere else but upon a throne could I live 
 with her, ... or would, if I could. . . But I am an unknown, 
 . . . nurtured by charity in the house of a stranger, com- 
 pelled to serve, having a soul fit to command. ... I 
 know neither father nor mother ; . . . and I must even fear 
 to know them ; for perhaps my birth is stained with the 
 blot of shame." 
 
 Here he was silent : a mortal pallor overspread his 
 face ; he stood motionless, with looks intent, his lips 
 parted like one tormented by thirst ; drops of perspira- 
 tion fell thick from his brow down over his cheeks, as if 
 pressed out from a brain overcharged with anguish. After 
 a time, the blood returned so impetuously as to crimson 
 his face, while the throbbing veins and swollen muscles 
 seemed ready to burst from the violence of his emotion ; 
 his whole frame was convulsed, and he held his head 
 with both hands, as if to keep it from bursting. A state 
 so miserable could not continue, and he sank groaning 
 upon a stone seat. 
 
 " Oh ! this cannot last," he resumed after a long 
 pause, in a faint voice ; " it cannot, will not last. Since 
 death is certain, let me declare myself, and die nobly, 
 . . . nobly ! . . . But I might be contemptuously repulsed, 
 and, while I hoped to die nobly, I should be scorned for 
 my presumption, and perhaps despised as a fool ? Blessed 
 Mary ! what a life is this, where virtue is held a crime, 
 and crime receives the reward of virtue ! Who is the 
 wise man that can teach us to distinguish the one from 
 the other, or tell us in what they consist ? Will that 
 which we esteem crime be so regarded by future ages ? 
 Is virtue which injures us still virtue? Must we practise 
 it to our own loss ? Where has nature written her laws ? 
 In the heart ? I place my hand upon mine, but it only 
 throbs with the tumult of passions. What avails it lo 
 meditate upon the reasons of my destiny ? It is far 
 better to endure it with hands crossed upon the breast, 
 and calmly await the event. Thus will I do."
 
 Madness. 19 
 
 " Am I though really so unfortunate ? Can my 
 memory recall aught that might soften with its illusions a 
 soul torn by so many real agonies ? Oh ! the realms 
 of fancy delightfully enchant our imagination, but their 
 fascination is like that of the serpent in Eden ; his ended 
 in sin, theirs in withering the mind which abandons itself 
 to them. Let me think. . . . The day in which her 
 father assumed the royal crown, she dropped at my feet 
 the scarf which she wore : I picked it up. ... It has tri- 
 umphed with me in the tournament ; ... it now rests upon 
 my heart : . . it shall remain there through life ; ... it 
 shall cover my face in the grave. And the day of the 
 tournament ! Oh ! only bright day of my past years ! I, 
 an obscure esquire, covered with mail and bearing the 
 colors of Manfred's daughter, entered the lists with proud 
 barons and famous captains, and, a mere youth, dared to 
 couch a lance with the masters of the art, with knights 
 renowned for a thousand exploits, and I conquered. There 
 only remained the valiant Count Giordano d'Anga- 
 lone. We met ; he fell rolling in the dust. He laid 
 the blame upon his saddle-girth ; it may be so, but he 
 fell. I concealed myself, and he received the prize of 
 the tournament, since the true victor did not present 
 himself ; nor did I envy him, for I felt I had obtained a 
 far higher prize than his the love of Manfred's daughter. 
 And the next day ! Oh ! never shall I forget the twelfth 
 of August! I led her white palfrey: in mounting she 
 placed her hand in mine, . . . and trembled ; . . . I likewise 
 trembled and blushed. But did she blush ? I dared not 
 raise my eyes to her face. Oh ! that was joy, . . . and per- 
 haps false. Who knows but her scarf fell by accident ? 
 Who knows but she trembled only for fear of falling ; or, 
 may be, from scorn at my boldness ? . . . The Swabian 
 blood is very proud ; . . . but if pride were a test of liueage, 
 I also could feel myself of the blood of Frederick. But 
 if she, bending from her height, should ask me, ' Who art 
 thou ? ' Who am I ? . . . One unknown to himself and to 
 others ; one banished, by his mother's fault, from his 
 father's breast ; a living monument of sin, a shame to him- 
 self, a disgrace to his kindred. . . . Oh ! whoever thou art
 
 2O Love. 
 
 that gave me a life which I would never have accepted, 
 had it been possible to refuse, heavy must have been thy 
 sins, for fearful is the punishment which I endure ! " 
 
 Thus spoke the unhappy youth, alternating between 
 grief and joy, when natural weariness overcame him and 
 forced him to. a seat. He began to murmur the notes of 
 a mournful ballad, and his music-loving soul was soothed 
 by the divine melodies born and preserved under the 
 sky of Italy. Then thoughts of warlike exploits came to 
 his spirit refreshed by music ; he began first very softly ; 
 little by little his voice grew louder ; at last it arose to 
 the pitch of the warlike song. Then he looked forward 
 to more future glory, to military prowess, to fame ; he 
 arose, took his sword, and, gracefully wrapped in his man- 
 tle, walked to and fro, in the pride of a mind elevated to 
 the contemplation of the Infinite. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Pargoletta ella era 
 Tutta sorriso, tutta gioia ; ai fiori 
 Parea in mezzo volar nel piil felice 
 Sentiero della vita. Ecco ad un tratto, 
 Di tanta gioia estinto il raggio, estinto 
 Al prirao assalto del dolor. 
 
 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI, Tragedia. 
 
 She was a child, all smiles, all joy ; 
 
 And seemed along life's flowery way 
 
 Fluttering in bliss without alloy. 
 
 But in one moment, joy's bright ray 
 
 The touch of sorrow can destroy. M. G. M. 
 
 |HY should a tomb, a miracle of rare marbles and 
 art, cover the ashes of one whose life would 
 have been unknown except from the mQnument 
 of his death ? Why do heavenly forms, delicate 
 contours, sprightliness of external grace, clothe the soul
 
 Love. 21 
 
 of \voman ? Why are we endowed with hearts which throb 
 in her presence, nerves which thrill at this most beautiful 
 spectacle of creation? No animal has contributed any 
 of its charms to the female form. The hues of the bird 
 of paradise, of the butterfly of Cashmere, cannot compare 
 with the divine tints that glow on the cheek of beauty. 
 The gazelle has not the eyes of woman ; precious stones 
 do not shine with such a lustre ; and poets, to find a 
 worthy similitude, are obliged to have recourse to the 
 skies. But no reptile, however 'hateful, was exempted 
 from furnishing its contribution to form the soul which 
 regulates her movements ; none but the scorpion, which, 
 surrounded by the fire, turns upon itself its envenomed 
 sting, and nobly dies. Beautiful art thou, O creature ! 
 but thy beauty bears a dark impress : thou wert daughter 
 of a sublime thought, but, like Lucifer, thou art fallen ; 
 thy rays are like those of the setting sun : they dazzle, but 
 comfort not the sight ; thy beauty is our torment. Griev- 
 ing we go in search of that innocence which Eve left in 
 Eden, and this is the bitterest trial of our hearts. But 
 thy heart, in its turn, is condemned to break for our in- 
 constancy. Perchance thou oughtest to be cursed, for 
 thou wert the first to sin ; the serpent dwells in thy grace- 
 ful form. Curiosityis the mother of wisdom ; in thee it 
 became the mother of sin. Thou hast opened the way 
 to crime, but we have surpassed thee in it. Oh ! children 
 of dust, do not curse, but pity one another. 
 
 In the halls of the Capuan castle lives a maiden di- 
 vine in form, divine in soul. Her head was resting upon 
 a pillow, her looks cast down : a majestic beauty was 
 visible in her whole aspect. Many maidens were stand- 
 ing around her, silently wishing that she would raise her 
 eyes, which, when raised, they could not meet, for they 
 flashed forth such light as revealed a soul that one would 
 never have believed could dwell in her delicate frame. 
 She was as beautiful as the mother of men, whom the 
 divine Ghiberti painted rising from Adam's body, and led 
 by angels to place, in token of love, her hand in the hand 
 of God. Truly, she appeared no child of mortal wed- 
 lock ; perchance the union of the sons of God, when they
 
 22 Love. 
 
 loved the beautiful daughters of Cain, might have pro- 
 duced her; but the spirit of the Eternal did not bless 
 those marriages, for they originated in sin, whence came 
 the race of giants, and " Nimrod, the mighty hunter be- 
 fore the Lord." 
 
 Vainly should we seek, from all the languages of the 
 earth, words which could give the faintest idea of that 
 image of beauty ; it would be easier to bring light out 
 of darkness, or to stir the soul of the sons of Italy. 
 
 After a long time, she rose from her seat and went to- 
 wards the balcony ; her step was as light as the zephyr 
 that rustles among the roses, or as the incense that rises 
 to the Deity ; the folds of her dress, fanned by the breeze, 
 diffused around a rich fragrance ; she was neither sad nor 
 gay, but calm with the solemnity of contemplation when 
 the lightning of thought flashes over the events of cen- 
 turies, when the ear of the divine intellect hears the mys- 
 terious music of the spheres, and its eye paints in the 
 heavens the creations of sublime imaginations. 
 
 Having reached the balcony, she stopped to look at the 
 sky, and sighed ; then, turning to the maiden at her side, 
 she spoke with a voice as melodious as that of Eloah, the 
 angel who sings the hymn of the skies before the throne 
 of Jehovah.* 
 
 " See, Gismonda, how the sky rejoices. Even if our 
 religion had not taught us so, our minds would think it 
 the dwelling of God. Oh ! may it please Him to call me 
 quickly to its peace ! " 
 
 " Noble Yole, the Lord is wise in all His works' ; He 
 alone knows good and evil. We, adoring, ought to await 
 the decrees of His justice." 
 
 " Heaven preserve me from murmuring against my 
 Creator, but the prayers of the afflicted cannot be unwel- 
 come before His throne." 
 
 " My sweet lady, is it for you to offer mournful prayers 
 to God? For you, daughter of King Manfred, sister of 
 the Queen of Arragon, grandchild of the Fredericks ? 
 For you, of the blood of the House of Swabia, placed by 
 
 * The Messiah. Klopstock.
 
 Love. 23 
 
 fortune in the highest position that mortal mind could 
 wish ? Your life lies stretched out before you like a 
 path of flowers ; pleasure marks your days ; you, desired 
 by every brave knight, you, sighed for by every trouba- 
 dour, you, beloved by all, have not to fear the misfort- 
 unes that afflict most of the race of Adam." 
 
 " Nevertheless I am such that nothing remains for me 
 to fear save the anger of God." 
 
 "And His anger will not come ; for 'He tempers the 
 wind to the shorn lamb,' and sheds balm upon the 
 wounded spirit." 
 
 " Gismonda, our House has been excluded from the 
 communion of the faithful since the Council of Lyons, 
 when, in spite of the defence of Taddeo da Suessa, Inno- 
 cent excommunicated Frederick. Truly, we may not 
 have suffered for want of the offices of the Church, but 
 Pope Clement has taken occasion, from that very thing, 
 to confirm the anathema against us. He has freed our 
 vassals from their oath of fealty when, even without that, 
 we were surrounded by only too many traitors ; he seeks 
 through the world for an enemy to our family, and we 
 already had enough who panted for a throne. Fortune 
 did not allow Richard of Cornwall to accept our crown, 
 offered to him by one who, unable to take it for himself, 
 gives it to others, nor did she enable Edward of England 
 to raise arms against us ; but to a watchful enemy, it 
 seldom happens that time does not bring opportunity, 
 and* Clement is not the man to let it escape." 
 
 " Daughter of Manfred, the enemy has never seen 
 your father retreat ; if we do not have peace, we shall 
 have victory." 
 
 " Amen, Gismonda, amen. But do you see that comet 
 down near the horizon, which, rising in the east, goes 
 through the sky toward the west, and stops above us ? * 
 Hast thou heard what astrologers say of it ? It is a cer- 
 
 * This comet appeared in August, 1264, and was seen till Novem- 
 ber. At the time in which we place this scene, it had sunk bel&w 
 the horizon, for it disappeared the very night in which Urban IV. 
 died ; but to make it remain a few months longer on the horizon is 
 hardly worth noticing.
 
 24 Love. 
 
 tain sign of the death of a king, and of a change of empires. 
 I think there is no one living who can bear misfortune 
 without complaint better than the daughter of Manfred : 
 but misfortune, however borne, is still misfortune." 
 
 " I would not call in question the influences of the stars ; 
 but, to judge by the effects hitherto produced upon the 
 ' earth, it appears to me that you might rather rejoice than 
 mourn. The comet appeared in August, and in Novem- 
 ber Urban IV. died." 
 
 " But the comet has not yet disappeared. Believe me, 
 Gismonda, a great king must die, and Charles d'Anjou is 
 only Count of Provence." 
 
 "And he will be king before entering his kingdom. 
 Must not his way lead through Rome ? There he will 
 certainly receive the crown and the benediction ; may 
 the latter rejoice his soul, for the former will never rest 
 upon his brow ! " 
 
 "Oh! if the barons of the kingdom were as faithful 
 as they are powerful, the crown of Manfred would never 
 bind the temples of Charles : but here live traitors innu- 
 merable, and here more than anywhere else do they seem 
 a growth natural to the soil and sky. Many are the 
 enemies of my father, whom, on his way to the throne, he 
 has conquered and pardoned : but pardon does not heal 
 the smart of wounded pride, nor soften hatred ; for there 
 is nothing in the world that humiliates like pardon of an 
 enemy ; and at the first cry of revolt, you will see them 
 hasten to fight under the standard of the lilies with that 
 fury that the sting of treachery alone can give. Nor will 
 these be the only ones to show their enmity : there are 
 men to whom the happiness of others is a thorn ; always 
 gloomy through the envy which torments them ; woe to 
 thee, if thou darest to show thy happiness in their pres- 
 ence ! They mark thee, follow thee, nor ever leave thee, 
 till, by many years of anguish, thou hast compensated for 
 the joy of a moment. The sound of weeping is music in 
 their ears, the cry of despair their delight ; their hearts 
 exult only at the sight of ruins. As to friends, they are 
 numerous in prosperity : nor do I blame them for that ; 
 no ! Nature has implanted in our hearts a voice which
 
 Love. 25 
 
 cries, ' Be happy alone.' Neither do I reproach them with 
 cruelty, since it may be delightful to save a friend; but 
 when fate does not grant it, one should not love the friend 
 more than one's self. And you, my beloved Gismonda, 
 who have grown up with rne from childhood, and whom 
 a bond of mutual love unites with me in sisterly sympathy, 
 to whom now want, disgrace, and death would seem as 
 nothing compared to being obliged to leave me forever, 
 you likewise may one day forget me." 
 
 Gismonda, overcome by grief, did not reply ; she bent 
 her head, and great tears rose to her eyes : the affection- 
 ate girl attempted to conceal them from Yole, but her 
 emotion did not suffer it. She turned to look at her mis- 
 tress, and, seeing her unmoved, the bursting, slighted heart 
 broke through all restraint. A frequent sob showed how 
 deeply the noble girl was wounded. 
 
 Yole looked at her, and added, "Thus it is: we are 
 hurt at hearing in words what will be proved in deeds. 
 A secret and generous feeling, coming to us we know 
 not whence, teaches us that it is right to share the mis- 
 fortunes of a friend ; but Nature does not consent, for she 
 has formed us such that grief is our bitterest enemy, and 
 the torments of anguish can influence us more than the 
 delights of love. Thus it is. I would not blame you, 
 my sweet Gismonda ; the fault comes from something 
 far beyond your power. Who can dare to oppose the 
 voice of Nature ? We cannot ; nor do I wish from you 
 more than you can give. Gismonda, dear Gismonda ! 
 if I have ever shown you any kindness, if there is any 
 remembrance of me upon which your mind can rest with 
 pleasure, I pray you, that when, in this same castle, the 
 voice of the new lord shall summon you to atte'nd his 
 wife or daughter (for you are of the noblest blood in the 
 kingdom), if it should ever happen that, blinded by pros- 
 perity, they should reject the prayers of the unfortunate, 
 and from the height where fortune has placed them they 
 should refuse to listen to the groan which rises from the 
 dust, remind them that they are but dust, that fortune 
 is changeable, and then add, ' The blood of Swabia was 
 as illustrious as any in France ; the daughter of Manfred 
 2
 
 26 Love. 
 
 was also illustrious, but the troubadour and the minstrel 
 had no songs which could delight her so much as the 
 broken words and the tears of the unfortunate whom she 
 had comforted.' And if my name will avail to conquer 
 arrogance of heart, and to turn the prosperous from the 
 ways of pride into the path that leads to paradise, it will 
 be the deepest joy that can touch my soul, wherever it 
 may please my Creator to place it. But if the noble 
 consort and daughter of the count should have hearts 
 that beat for the miseries of humanity, and should smile 
 with my smile, then love them, Gismonda ; love them as 
 you have loved me ; do not sadden them by narrating my 
 mournful fate, nor by the mention of my name diminish 
 a joy that the Lord has not granted me, and which He 
 has bestowed upon them as more worthy. But when, far 
 from every one, safe in the seclusion of your own cham- 
 ber, you can freely indulge in the memory of the past, 
 oh ! then, dear Gismonda, then give me a sigh, a thought, 
 a tear ; I will surely know that tear, and with a tear I 
 will reply." 
 
 The beautiful mourner ceased, and, sadly looking 
 around, she saw all her maidens overwhelmed with grief, 
 and the gentle Gismonda in such a state that she could 
 no longer hear such despairing words. She was silent ; 
 a deep stillness pervaded the room ; the tapers shed a 
 pallid light upon those young girls in all the various atti- 
 tudes of grief. They appeared like statues by some 
 illustrious sculptor, destined to adorn the tombs of the 
 powerful. 
 
 Yole stood for a long time buried in thought ; then, 
 starting suddenly, she ran and threw herself in Gismonda's 
 arms, and with tenderest love comforted her, and with 
 her own handkerchief wiped away her tears ; then with 
 a gentle voice she resumed : 
 
 " Oh ! do not weep, Gismonda, do not weep. Ill- 
 starred is she who forces tears to the eyes of beauty. 
 Holy Virgin ! my misery overfloods my own soul, and a 
 portion of it must flow out upon the souls of others. 
 Mother of the afflicted ! too many pains already pierce 
 me. Let it suffice. I am innocent ; but if it is destined
 
 Love. 27 
 
 that I should drink the cup of sorrow, let not" this dear 
 maiden consume her youth with me. Let my lot be 
 separated from hers ; I will suffer alone for her, for my 
 relations, for all." 
 
 Gismonda restrained her sobs, and, calling a smile to 
 her lips, though a tear still trembled upon her long lashes, 
 she returned the embrace of the noble Yole, and sweetly 
 said to her : 
 
 " You do not and cannot afflict me or .any one, you, 
 my only joy, my only and beloved frie'nd. * lven if 
 fortune had placed between us the gulf that divides the . 
 baron from the vassal; our minds would have felt the 
 mutual sympathy. However you may judge me, I love 
 you, Yole ; I love you as much as anything earthly can be 
 loved, next to God and His saints. But, by the love you 
 bear the great queen of heaven, calm your desperate 
 grief. Oh! if you knew what inward sorrow afflicts me" 
 (and she pointed to her breast) " at seeing the spring of. 
 your life wasting, the flower of your youth withering, the 
 roses fading on your cheeks, your beautiful eyes growing 
 dim, surely, kind as you are, you would try not to give 
 me such distress ! Oh ! your sorrow, if Gismonda may 
 say it, arises not from any anticipated evil, but from 
 something long past. The Count of Provence has not 
 yet left Marseilles; nor does he appear to me so much 
 to be feared, even if the Vatican should bless him and 
 arm him against us ; and though he were formidable, a 
 peril not yet arrived demands firmness of heart, not 
 tears : for they are useless before misfortune comes, weak 
 and cowardly after. Such the daughter of King Manfred 
 cannot be. This despair has a far deeper origin : some- 
 thing which is no longer under the control of reason or 
 time, a deep feeling vainly repressed, perhaps . . ." 
 
 " Gismonda ! " interrupted Yole, blushing, " there are 
 secrets which cannot be mentioned even between, friends ; 
 to seek them in any one is indiscreet and cruel ; to seek 
 them in a sovereign is crime. Rulers have secrets 
 which cannot be revealed to any one ; for to us, more 
 than to the rest of mankind, Heaven has given an ex- 
 quisite sense of dignity. Count Roger and his noble
 
 28 Love. 
 
 wife, besieged on Mount ^Etna, had but one royal mantle 
 remaining ; nevertheless they did not proclaim their pov- 
 erty, but first the one and then the other appeared in 
 public, always dressed in the mantle which royal blood 
 cannot appropriately forego. Had my secret been one 
 that I could reveal, to you sooner than to any one else 
 would I have told it ; but, since I did not tell it to you, 
 beware of seeking to know it. Let this suffice: that 
 were my right hand to reveal it to my left, I would imme- 
 diately cut it off." 
 
 The maiden stood before her confounded, as if she 
 had never before received so severe a reproof. Yole 
 added gravely, " Jiring me my scarf, Gismonda ; I feel 
 the need of the open air. All the rest may remain ; 
 Gismonda alone will accompany me into the garden."- 
 
 Gismonda ran to execute her order ; but, confused, 
 hardly knowing what she did, she took the scarf that Yole 
 had worn when they had heard in court of the death of 
 Corrado, and gave it to her without raising her eyes. 
 Yole saw it, and smiled sadly ; then gently pressing Gis- 
 monda' s arm, she said, " I accept the omen which comes 
 from the best-beloved of my heart." And taking the 
 scarf, she wrapped it round her, and went towards the 
 royal gardens. 
 
 Gismonda, looking up, perceived her mistake, uttered 
 a stifled cry, and followed her mistress, drying her tears.
 
 The First Kiss. 
 
 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FIRST KISS. 
 
 II mattin lucido lei sospirosa, 
 
 Lei sospirosa vede dal tacito 
 
 Suo cocchio d'ebano la notte ombrosa; 
 Di tutta 1'anima divien signore 
 
 Amor, se sola,se inerme travola : 
 
 Donzelle tenere, temete Amore. 
 
 ARMINIO, Tragedia, 
 
 Shining morn beheld her sighing, 
 
 Sighing still the dusky night, 
 In its ebon chariot hieing, 
 
 Saw her on its silent flight. 
 Love each bosom captive bindeth, 
 That alone unarmed he findeth. 
 Gentle maids, beware of Love. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 FIE phantoms of glory had abandoned the youth- 
 ful squire on guard in the royal gardens ; from 
 time to time he sighed deeply, and exclaimed, 
 " O ambition ! O love ! " 
 As he uttered these words, a slight movement attracted 
 his attention, and, raising his eyes, ... is not this some 
 illusion of his excited mind ? No : . . . a form more beauti- 
 ful than fancy can imagine or poetry describe, stood be- 
 fore him. She was completely enveloped in a long black 
 scarf, called grimpa, such as, at that time, the Sicilian 
 ladies wore, heightening beauty by its best ornament 
 modesty. The fluttering of her dress, which revealed the 
 dear outlines of that delicate form, showed that she was 
 mortal ; but the light step, that hardly bent the leaves un- 
 der her feet, made the spectator doubt whether she be- 
 longed most to earth or heaven. The imaginative poet 
 would have called her the Spirit of Melancholy, who, de- 
 scending gently by night, softly murmurs a lament, so as 
 not to awaken the children of earth, happy only while 
 yielding to sleep, the brother of death.
 
 3O The First Kiss. 
 
 The Swabian maid, not knowing by whom that sigh was 
 uttered, turned in the direction of the sound to console 
 the mourner : for in what would kindness of heart con- 
 sist, if the cry of misery were heard in vain ? 
 
 " Holy Mary of sorrows ! " said she, stepping under 
 the arch, where the rays of the moon did not penetrate, 
 " thy votaries are too numerous ! . . . Whose groan did I 
 hear? Speak ; ... if tliou art unhappy, know that no 
 one ever departed uncomforted from the presence of the 
 daughter of Manfred." 
 
 She waited in vain for a reply ; the trembling lips of 
 the squire refused their accustomed office : a faint breath- 
 ing, but no articulate sound, could only be heard. 
 
 " Speak ! " reiterated Yole. " It is not an idle wish to 
 know thy misfortunes which move me. If I had not the 
 power to console thee, I would not have the.cruelty to 
 ask thy sorrows : for although curiosity may make use of 
 the language of compassion, I, for my part, abhor him 
 who aims at knowing the human heart for the mere 
 pleasure of knowing it. I entreat thee to speak ; if thy 
 sorrows can be consoled, thou shall have consolation 
 from Yole; if they cannot be, await it from time; if 
 even that cannot avail, await it . . ." 
 
 " From death ! " cried the squire. 
 
 What were the secret feelings of Yole, at this voice, at 
 these words ? Such as are indescribable by human 
 speech a thing to be regretted if we had not been en- 
 dowed with hearts to feel them. And- her face ? The 
 shadow concealed her face, but it was surely that of a 
 creature hurried from time' into eternity. 
 * Along silence ensued. At last- Yole, with a broken 
 voice, continued : 
 
 " From religion, Rogiero ; from the example of the 
 Lord's patience." 
 
 " Patience ! always patience ! If we were born to 
 suffer, why were we not gifted with souls stronger to en- 
 dure, or why were we raised from the dust, which cannot 
 feel when trodden upon, into forms which sink under the 
 weight of oppression ? " 
 
 " Profound are the mysteries of the Creator. . . . Hope.
 
 The First Kiss. 31 
 
 . . . The heavens declare the glory of God, and He cannot 
 but rule justly. . . . Endure life, not because it is a blessing, 
 but because death is unspeakable grief." 
 
 " But when hope, the life of the soul, perishes, mental 
 death will necessarily follow, though with infinite anguish. 
 Now there remains the choice of enduring it protracted 
 through a series of years, or of concentrating it into one 
 moment, and dying. Heaven forbid that I should blame 
 him to whom Nature has not given strength to see the 
 point of the dagger glitter at his heart, with the same 
 smile with which another welcomes the sight of beauty. 
 But he who can should not be blamed. The way of 
 those who stand on the mountain-top leads to the plain ; 
 one, trusting his body to the slope, slides quickly to the 
 end of the path ; another reaches it, walking slowly, try- 
 ing each step, drawing back, and trying again. Which of 
 them wouldst thou praise, which blame ? Neither ; the 
 one was bold, the other cautious ; but the way of both led 
 to, the plain, and both accomplished their journey." 
 
 " Rogiero, your words sound like the serpent's." 
 
 " Princess, I know not if the words of the serpent were 
 wicked, but certainly they were true." 
 
 " No wicked and false. Did he not promise to make 
 us equal to God ? Wretched and betrayed that we are ! 
 we have learned a hard mystery which our minds can- 
 not understand. Most fearful knowledge ! And from the 
 barrenness of our minds dare we rise rebellious to our 
 Creator? But enough ; for every argument of salvation 
 is rejected by the hardened heart, and the spirit of evil 
 reasons with more subtlety than the spirit of good, which 
 rather feels the blessing it enjoys than is able to prove it. 
 But let us even suppose that death would release the de- 
 spairing man : tell me, do you know at what moment 
 hope dies ? " 
 
 "When present things appear past, and past appear 
 present ; when, imagining thy way towards the east, thou 
 findest thyself at the north ; when the eyes see unmoved 
 the devastations of the volcano, and the brightness of the 
 meadows in spring ; when the hand of every man is 
 raised against thee, and thy hand against every man, and
 
 32 The First Kiss. 
 
 the blessing of thy father seems a curse, and that of thy 
 sons a reproach ; when the lips wishing to breathe a 
 prayer mutter curses, and the heavens seem only the 
 arched roof of an earth that chance has created and 
 chance may destroy ... or else, the eternal dwelling of. 
 the powerful Lord of the thunder . . ." 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! you blaspheme . . ." 
 
 " I say that then hope is dead." 
 
 " This is the life of lost souls : you are not fallen into 
 such a despairing state, Rogiero. Your words have sunk 
 into my soul ; you will be comforted." 
 
 " What ! have you heard all my words ? Oh ! do not 
 heed them, I was raving. . . . Reason was mad with 
 grief! Heavens ! is it fitting for a gentle maiden to listen 
 to the ravings of .delirium ? " 
 
 "I heard, in passing, no word uttered but love " 
 
 " Love ! yes, , . . since you heard it ; . . . but des- 
 perate love . . . not only, . . . but powerful enough to 
 consume any one that dares to nourish it. A love, the 
 thought of which is a shudder, the consciousness of it 
 crime, the revelation of it death." 
 
 " But these are the attributes of guilt ! " 
 
 " Men would call it so, for crime appears crime, only 
 because it is followed by punishment ; nevertheless in it- 
 self it is not guilty, but lofty . . ." 
 
 " Rogiero, the troubadour sings often upon his harp, 
 that love can do much more than we can : it is not the 
 first time that beauty and power have crowned valor ; 
 nor is there a barrier so strong between lovers, that the 
 true knight cannot break through it with his sword." 
 
 "Be it so; but no lady has girded the sword to my 
 side' ; no baron has fastened the spurs on my heel ; the 
 sword of my king has not touched my brow, nor has his 
 voice admitted me to the order of knighthood. I am an 
 obscure youth, wearing a sword as an ornament, not as 
 a weapon, and my hand, accustomed to hold the bridle of 
 a lady's palfrey, knows not how to wield the lance." 
 
 " You speak not the truth, Rogiero. Do you think that 
 Yole did not recognize you at the tournament of the
 
 The First Kiss. 33 
 
 Sala vcrde,* the day of my father's coronation ? Did you 
 not wear my colors, the blue scarf which I lost the day 
 before ? I would willingly have placed the reward of vic- 
 tory upon your head, but you received only the praises of 
 the ladies in the tournament." 
 
 "It was I, ... yes, ... it was I : but what mortal 
 power could conquer the man who bore the device of the 
 daughter of Manfred ? Look ! it rests upon my heart, 
 and will feel its pulsations as long as it continues to beat. 
 I wear it less to conquer in earthly battles than in those 
 of the enemy of souls. Heaven pardon me ! but I would 
 not exchange it for the miraculous scarf of Saint Agatha, f 
 I fought, and the idea of fighting for you was sufficient 
 reward. I had never hoped that it would be known to 
 you. Now your words bring me so much happiness, 
 that all the misery of my past life is entirely forgotten. 
 But why did you not deign me a look ? Why did you 
 keep your face always averted ? The next day I touched 
 your hand : ... it trembled ; . . . were you offended at 
 my boldness in couching a lance adorned with your 
 colors against the most renowned barons in the king- 
 dom ? " 
 
 "The triumph of her own colors never offends a high- 
 born lady. But if your lady-love had come and recog- 
 nized you, her heart would have bled to see you fight for 
 another. . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! she was present, nor was she displeased . . ." 
 
 " She was there ! " cried Yole, pressing her hand to her 
 forehead. <: Oh ! if, being present, she was not dis- 
 pleased, your love is ill returned. Tell me who she is. 
 You were my knight, and the most precious duty of a 
 noble lady is to care for the life of him who has risked it 
 in her honor. Speak, Rogiero ; I swear to you, on the 
 faith of the blood of Swabia, as much as in me lies to 
 make you happy." 
 
 " Spirit of evil ! how cruelly your flatteries tempt us 
 here on earth ! " 
 
 * A place in which tournaments were held in Palermo, 
 f The miraculous scarf of Saint Agatha, the mere sight of which 
 stopped the fiery lava of Mount yEtna when it threatened Catania.
 
 34 The First Kiss. 
 
 " What are' you muttering, Rogiero ? Am I impor- 
 tunate ? Do you scorn my promises ? Does my voice 
 weary you ? Ah ! pardon me, and attribute it to the 
 great love and sympathy I feel for ... all who are un- 
 happy." 
 
 Thus spoke Yole ; and these last words, as they fell from 
 hr lips, were so low as hardly to be heard. Sad, dejected, 
 already she was turning to leave the place, when Rogiero, 
 like one beside himself, sprang toward her, and, violently 
 seizing her arm, drew her from under the arch into the 
 moonlight : there, throwing down his helmet, he placed 
 her hand by force upon his uncovered forehead, and, hold- 
 ing it there, he said in a broken voice, " How does my 
 forehead feel, Yole ? " 
 
 " May all the saints in paradise preserve you ! " hesitat- 
 ingly replied the daughter of Manfred, "it is as cold as 
 sepulchral marble." 
 
 " It should be. Hear me, divine maiden ; hear the words 
 of one who will know how to punish himself for having 
 spoken. I myself, in the fervor of my prayers, in the rag- 
 ing of my madness, have uttered a wish not granted till 
 this moment. ' Give me,' I cried, to whom I knew not, 
 'give me one moment of joy, and I will resign my life.' 
 Now, whether by chance or by fate, this moment is come; 
 is passed ; nor have I fortitude to endure longer, perhaps in 
 vain, the torment of life. Grant a dying man one out- 
 burst of words and tears ; they will not offend thee ; and 
 even if they did, will not my death be sufficient expiation ? " 
 
 " Rogiero . . ." 
 
 " Yole, dost thou know how long I have borne thine 
 image in my heart ? It was there before it began to 
 beat ; . . . before I ever saw thee I loved thee. In the 
 path of life I have seen the .beautiful daughters of men, 
 and I have turned my eyes to the earth, perceiving that 
 from that they were created. I have seen the haughty 
 one, in" the pride of her beauty, and have passed her by. 
 I have seen the blush of timid love, and have not sighed; 
 And I said to myself, ' Heart of iron, is there no grace 
 of love that can move thee ? ' But my spirit was entranced 
 by an image of beauty, which I had formed from no mor-
 
 The First Kiss, 35 
 
 tal likeness ; perhaps it had presented itself to my mind, 
 when, restored by repose, and about to return to the func- 
 tions of life, its dreams are as bright as the roses of dawn. 
 I longed with anguish for the creation of my fancy, and 
 often, in the delirium of my passion, I addressed it in 
 words. ' O form divine ! ' I said to it, ' dost thou 
 really exist ? Oh ! do not disappear at the first ray of 
 the rising sun ! For thy sake, I will forever renounce its 
 light. Come, heavenly visitant, sylph, gnome,* angel, or 
 demon, come and bless my life, and then Rogiero will love ! 
 Yole, . . . one day I saw thee . . . Throne of heaven ! 
 Thy features were those of my ideal ! ' ' 
 
 " Rogiero," said Yole, drawing herself up with majesty, 
 " are these words which a faithful servant should speak to 
 the daughter of his sovereign ? which the niece of the 
 Empress Constance should hear?" 
 
 ' ; I know not, princess, if it is well for you to listen to 
 them, but I know well that it was- a crime in me to utter 
 them." 
 
 " You are pardoned. . . . Live; . . . place your love 
 upon some more fortunate maiden, who can return it ; ... 
 forget me." She said this with a choking voice ; then she 
 added, with more sorrow, " Rogiero, so great is the distance 
 in this world between us, that you can hope to be united 
 to me only in heaven, where, every hateful distinction 
 lost, we shall all be equal in the love of One." 
 
 " I knew this, and therefore I loved you without hope, 
 and without hope I disclosed my heart's secrets. It is 
 true that love can do more than we can ; but it is also 
 true that there are barriers impossible to overthrow ; and 
 ye, proud ones, raised by injustice or by chance to the 
 thrones of earth, ye think that ye have omnipotent empire 
 over immortal souls. Ye should know that the soul has 
 wounds that no earthly power can heal ! Ought I accuse 
 thee of presumption, in having wished to know an evil 
 that thou couldst not cure, and make thee feel that thou 
 art dust, crowned indeed, but dust ? No ; let thy gener- 
 
 * Sylphs, spirits of air ; gnomes of earth, as Undines of water?, 
 and Salamanders of fire.
 
 36 The First Kiss. 
 
 cms intentions and the flattery of power that make thee 
 presumptuous excuse thee ; and more, that I am long since 
 prepared for death, and am perfectly desperate. It 
 seemed to me that I should have died with a weight upon 
 my soul, keeping my love concealed ; now, since I have 
 been able to reveal it, it seems as if the earth would rest 
 more lightly on me in the grave. Yole, religion and the 
 heart teach us of a second and eternal life ; the mind given 
 up to rash thoughts would deny it. However that may be, 
 what I now ask of thee, with the most earnest prayer of 
 my agonized mind, will gladden either my soul, if it sur- 
 vives my body, or the mom'ent of my departure from liv- 
 ing things : one sigh I beg from thee, one single sigh. 
 Let it be even too brief for time to measure, it will be an 
 eternity of happiness to him for whom it was breathed ; 
 and when, the happy wife of some powerful one of earth, 
 thou shalt see the spoils of conquered nations at the foot 
 of thy throne, and thyself raised to such a height, that 
 next to God, men turn to thee their prayers and vows, 
 and thou wilt hear thy husband call thee the beloved of his 
 heart, and tell thee that 'twas through thee he adorned 
 his brows with laurel, through thee he won the highest 
 prize that glory can bestow on man, that in thy name he 
 fought, and in thy name conquered, oh ! then give a 
 thought to the poor Rogiero who loved thee so much, 
 and remember with a sigh, ' thus he too loved me ; ' and 
 thou wilt weep, and, at the history of my sad fate, perhaps 
 thy noble husband will also weep. No other joy remains 
 for me in this life but the hope of a tear shed on my 
 grave. Yole, the hour of my death is come ; pray for 
 the departing spirit whose last thoughts cannot be of God." 
 
 Pale as one who is led to execution, but firm in his 
 mad design, Rogiero drew his dagger, and was about to 
 plunge it into his heart. 
 
 Had not Yole endured the fiercest struggle that woman 
 can or will endure ? Would it have been right for her to 
 bear this last trial, even had she possessed the power ? 
 Her repressed passion broke impetuously forth, for pas- 
 sions partake of the nature of fire ; and the beautiful girl, 
 almost beside herself with grief, hardly knowing what she
 
 The First Kiss. 37 
 
 did, threw her arms round Rogiero's neck, placing her- 
 self between the dagger and his breast. So rapid was 
 the action, that ere he could sufficiently change the direc-, 
 tion of the blow", it had struck her right shoulder, cutting 
 through her dress and slightly grazing the skin. The 
 dagger fell, but they remained embraced ; their hearts 
 beat together ; . . . their tears mingled in falling ; . . . 
 their cheeks, their lips touched, and the first kiss of love 
 was given. 
 
 But why did they remain thus embraced ? Oh ! is 
 there a joy on this earth which, in the opinion of lovers, 
 has power, not to surpass, but to equal, their embrace ? 
 Where is the pride of birth ? Where the fear of punish- 
 ment ? They have nothing more either to fear or to wish. 
 This ecstasy has passed, nor will it ever return. Time, 
 which they have forgotten, has not ceased to run its course, 
 and, mingling that brief moment of happiness with the past, 
 hastens to bring the misfortunes that are to darken the 
 rest of their lives. 
 
 Queen Elena, wife of Manfred, although somewhat proud 
 of her noble blood (she was descended from the Com- 
 neni of Epirus), was, nevertheless, a most affectionate 
 mother. A daughter and a son had blessed her marriage. 
 Constance, her step-daughter, child of Manfred's first wife, 
 Beatrice of Savoy, already wore the royal crown, having 
 married Peter, son of James, the powerful King of Ar- 
 r ago n ; but there still remained at home Yole and Man- 
 fredino, a most beautiful boy, the hope of his father, 
 hardly ten years old. But Elena's greatest tenderness was 
 for Yole, whom she considered unhappy ; nor could she, 
 by any efforts, draw her from her obstinate dejection. 
 She was majestic in appearance, and formerly as beauti- 
 ful as her daughter Yole, except that "the thin veil of 
 melancholy" as the good Pellico says, cast over her, made 
 her to be considered an object of reverence rather than 
 of lov.e. On this same evening, the queen was sitting 
 beside Manfredino's little bed, and when she perceived 
 that the sleep of innocence had come to his eyes, she rose 
 carefully, and, stopping to observe the peace -that breathed 
 from the face of that dear cherub, she felt a tear spring to
 
 38 The First Kiss. 
 
 her eyes ; then bending lightly over him and kissing his 
 forehead, she murmured, " God knows that I love thee 
 also, my sweet little child ; but thy dreams are those of 
 the happy. May the Eternal in His mercy long grant thee 
 these dreams ! " Then leaving him to the care of some of 
 her ladies in waiting, she went to the chamber of her be- 
 loved daughter. 
 
 Learning that Yole was in the garden, she followed her 
 thither, where she met Gismonda. This latter, absorbed 
 in sad thoughts caused by the previous conversation with 
 Yole, had wandered on alone. On the queen inquiring 
 where the princess was, she could only reply confusedly, 
 '' She has strayed among the myrtle-bushes." They went 
 together in search of her, and, approaching the great gate 
 which led out of the garden, they perceived her stretched 
 upon the grass, her dress torn and clotted with blood. 
 Queen Elena, thinking her dead, threw herself down be- 
 side her in dreadful anxiety to feel if her heart yet beat : 
 it did, though very feebly : then looking at the wound, 
 ?he perceived that it was a mere scratch, probably caused 
 by the brambles of the bush she had fallen upon in a 
 swoon. 
 
 " Run to the fountain, Gismonda, and bring some 
 water," cried she to her maid. 
 
 Gismonda went. Queen Elena, sitting down on the 
 grass, drew her daughter into her lap, loosened her dress, 
 and put her hand on her forehead, looking sorrowfully at 
 her. Her eyes were closed, but still she was beautiful. 
 The moon shone on her with a mild jadiance, and ap- 
 peared to take pleasure in illuminating that face gentle as 
 us own light. " Poor child ! " said she, sobbing from time 
 to time ; but, when her tears so blinded her that she could 
 no longer see that dear face, she .raised her eyes to heaven, 
 saying : 
 
 " Accept, O Lord ! this sacrifice of tears : they come 
 from a soul grieved to its very depths. Oh ! from the 
 birth of this unhappy child, I have not known an hour of 
 peace. Poor Yole ! thou wast born for misfortune. . . . 
 But . . . omnipotent God ! if Thou knewest what it is 
 for a mother to see these cheeks, upon which the roses of
 
 The First Kiss. 39 
 
 youth are not yet blossomed, fade so early away, these 
 limbs, not yet developed, become every day weaker, 
 Thou wouldst not thus afflict me. Poor innocent ! Her 
 soul knows no sin, and yet a dreadful punishment op- 
 presses her ; a secret torment, which she neither under- 
 stands nor can drive away, poisons her life, for Thou art 
 mysterious in Thy ways. . . ." 
 
 Gismonda now returned from the fountain with her 
 hands bent like a cup ; but she had hurried so that only 
 a few drops of water remained in them : nevertheless, 
 sprinkled on Yole's face, they were sufficient to restore her 
 to her senses. The maiden languidly opened her eyes, 
 and, sighing deeply, asked, 
 
 " Where am I ? " 
 
 " In thy mother's arms ! " 
 
 " Oh ! would that I had never been born ! " 
 
 " What ! dost thou repulse thy own mother ? O Yole, 
 Yole ! cease to give me such sorrows. . . . Speak ; tell me ; 
 what is it grieves thee so sadly ? Lodge thy secrets here in 
 my heart in the heart of thy mother, who would give her 
 life to see thee happy. Thy sister is so already, and if I 
 could make thee also, the day of my death would be the 
 most fortunate of my life." 
 
 " My sister Constance," replied Yole in a solemn voice, 
 " is, and will long be, happy. It has pleased Heaven to 
 separate the cause of the daughter of Beatrice of Savoy 
 from the cause of the daughter of Elena of Epirus. 
 Upon me, . . . upon us, weighs a heavy destiny. We 
 shall die unwept, we shall lie unburied, a monument of pity, 
 envy, and cruelty. Why weary yourself, O mother ! in 
 seeking within me the cause of my sorrow ? Raise your 
 eyes ; the cause of our sorrow is shining in the sky ! . . ." 
 
 Elena raised her eyes to the horizon, and saw, or 
 seemed to see, the comet flash its rays threateningly upon 
 her. She could not bear the sight, but, with averted face, 
 passed her arm through that of Yole, and, sadly silent, 
 took the path toward the castle. 
 
 Gismonda followed them, softly murmuring a prayer 
 for peace upon the afflicted souls of her beloved mis- 
 tresses.
 
 4O Injury. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 INJURY. 
 
 Che temi, animo inio, che pur paventi ? 
 Accogli ogni tua forza alia vendetta, 
 E cosa fa si inusitata e nuova, 
 Che questa etade 1'abborrisca, e Paltra 
 Che venir dee crederla possa appena . . . 
 Sono innocenti i figli ? Sieno, sono 
 Figli di traditore. 
 
 ORBECCHE, Tragedia Antica. 
 
 Why fearest thou, why tremble thus, my soul ? 
 
 Collect thy every faculty for vengeance, 
 
 And be it so unheard of unexpected, 
 
 That this age shall abhor it, and the next . . 
 
 Shall hardly have the faith to think it true. 
 
 His sons, perhaps, are guiltless ? yet they are 
 
 Sons of a traitor. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 N the western part of the castle of Count Ca- 
 serta was a small, remote room, which no one, 
 however bold, dared to enter. The servants, 
 whenever it was necessary to pass by it during the 
 night, cast lots to determine who should go, and he whose 
 name was drawn always heard the announcement with 
 a shudder ; and though he recommended himself to his 
 patron saint, and made the sign of the cross, yet he 
 would always approach it fearfully, without turning his 
 head, with hasty steps, whispering an exorcism. This 
 was not without a cause, since tradition related that there 
 had been committed a most terrible crime ; cries, waitings, 
 and frightful bowlings were often heard there. There 
 were some, even, who would swear that they had seen a 
 female spectre with a poniard in her breast, from which 
 gushed a stream of blood, crying, with a mournful voice, 
 " My son ! my son ! " In truth, to the natural horror of 
 the place were added the fanciful fears of ignorant and 
 superstitious minds.
 
 Injury. 41 
 
 This room appeared internally a little less than ten 
 feet square ; a complete cube. Its walls, ceiling, and 
 floor were all covered with black. In it there was no 
 furniture of any kind, neither chair nor table ; only a 
 lamp, hung with black and suspended from the ceiling, 
 shed around a dismal light. There was no trace of any 
 window. In the southern wall could be seen a recess, of 
 Gothic architecture, and this also black, though whether of 
 marble or of wood the chronicle does not say. The as- 
 pect of this recess was such as to suggest that it was des- 
 tined to be. used as an oratory, although it could not be 
 discerned to whom it was dedicated, for there was neither 
 a saint nor a Madonna. 
 
 Near the recess stood, motionless, a man of more than 
 common height, wrapped in a tunic oT dark cloth fas- 
 tened tight round his waist. His aspect oh ! his aspect 
 was such that whoever had beheld it would ever after con- 
 tinually pray that God, in His infinite mercy, would grant 
 him forgetfulness of that countenance. The sensation 
 which the sight inspired cannot be described, except by 
 comparing it to that which would affect the heart of a swim- 
 mer if he should hear the wild howl of the sea-monster. 
 The hues of disease and fear were imprinted on his brow ; 
 his cheeks were emaciated, his lips swollen and livid. No 
 spark which would indicate life shone in his sunken, 
 fixed, and glassy eyes. Angels of heaven ! they seemed 
 these of a vampire. His immobility and his listless 
 attitude would give the idea of a corpse placed against 
 the wall to excite to penitence, by such a frightful spec- 
 tacle, those who entered there to pray ; * but on ap- 
 proaching him, his heavy breathing' and a convulsive 
 quivering of his upper lip showed that he was alive. 
 
 After he had remained thus for a long time, he began 
 to walk about the room ; but his mind, absorbed in other 
 thoughts, did not direct his movements. His body was 
 the same as we have described above, except that it 
 moved, but its steps had no object. Now he would 
 go straight to the wall, and, knocking against it, he would 
 
 * A Sicilian custom.
 
 42 Injury. 
 
 draw back ; now, having reached the middle of the room, 
 he would turn to the right or left ; often he would turn 
 suddenly round. I have seen the somnambulist and 
 the maniac, but there exists nothing in the world that 
 could equal the horror that this man inspired. 
 
 With his eyes still fixed on the ceiling, he moved sud- 
 denly toward the recess ; groping about through it, he 
 succeeded in finding a little knob hardly perceptible ; 
 he pulled it, and a secret opening appeared, from which 
 he took a black box finely adorned with silver mount- 
 ings. Searching then among the folds of his garments, he 
 found the key ; his hands, having become almost par- 
 alytic, wandered a long time before he was able to find 
 the key-hole. Succeeding at last in opening the box, a 
 human skull appeared, preserved most neatly, and with 
 the utmost care. He took it out with both hands, and, 
 placing it upon a table in the recess, fell heavily before 
 it, his face toward the ceiling and his arms crossed in 
 the attitude of prayer. 
 
 He had remained fully an hour in this position, when, 
 lowering his head, he gazed intently upon the skull. His 
 eyes, before glassy, burned now with a terrible fire ; 
 soon they became red, sparkling, but no tears fell from 
 them ; perhaps his despair had exhausted even this last 
 comfort of misfortune. His lips endeavored to utter 
 words, but could send forth only inarticulate sounds. 
 This was the hour of the hurricane of the soul, if I may 
 be allowed the expression. Such deep convulsions, like 
 everything else out of nature's course, cannot last long, 
 but, like the hurricane, they leave, wherever they pass, in- 
 delible traces, and everything entirely changed. This 
 man, who at first had seemed like a corpse recalled to some 
 function of life by force of necromancy, now had become 
 all motion and activity. His face, pale at first, burned 
 now with a feverish glow ; his limbs had become con- 
 vulsed ; he strained himself continually in different atti- 
 tudes, although he dared not rise from before that skull, 
 which he seemed to worship. 
 
 Nor was it long before those indistinct wailings ap- 
 proached to something like human speech ; then, had any
 
 . Injury. 43 
 
 one been courageous enough to listen, he would have 
 heard these words : 
 
 "Behold ! here were those lips that smiled so sweetly ; 
 . . . the naked jaw-bones seem to smile still ; yes, . . . 
 but with the smile of the serpent, when, having deceived 
 the mother of men, he heard her, with all future genera- 
 tions, condemned .to death. Here were set the sad yet 
 beautiful eyes ; . . . here the white forehead and rosy 
 cheeks. . . . Now what remains of so much beauty ? 
 Naked bones. . . . The fairest part of the body was con- 
 sumed by quick dissolution ; . . . the bones remain ; . . . 
 the bones, a frightful witness of death. Oh ! in pity to 
 me, ... in pity to thyself, why didst thou not feign ? . . . 
 My soul groans, horribly oppressed. I lie upon a bed of 
 fire, from which I cannot rise, and upon which, in spite 
 of all the torments of this life and eternal perdition, I 
 would willingly lie. . . . O bitter fruit of revenge not yet 
 fully accomplished ! I cannot give up my portion in 
 heaven, for it has long since been closed against me ; 
 nor the intellect, which is half lost ; but I would con- 
 sent to be eternally transported by the winds of earth, 
 dashed by the angry waves against the rocks of the sea, 
 tossed about for countless ages in the abysses of chaos, 
 burnt perpetually by the fire of heaven, tormented with 
 all the anguish which human or infernal mind can imag- 
 ine, could I but obtain complete revenge. . . . This wish 
 will grieve the soul that dwelt in this skull. . . . Oh ! this 
 is a new torment, and at the same time a new incitement 
 for me." 
 
 While he thus wildly talked to himself, the door of the 
 room was softly opened, and a man richly dressed en- 
 tered, who, placing himself unobserved beside the kneel- 
 ing one, stood a long time without speaking, listening to 
 the words which we have just recited. 
 
 The masters of the art say that the exact description 
 of the appearance and dress of a person, which they call 
 prosopography, helps wonderfully in riveting attention to 
 the narrative. We know not how much truth there may 
 be in this, but, as the masters ahvaj^ deserve respect, we 
 do not hesitate for a moment to describe this new person-
 
 44 Injury. 
 
 age, protesting that should it not be agreeable to some 
 of our readers, they should attribute the fault to the mas- 
 ters, who taught me this rhetorical figure. 
 
 This new person, then, who, as I have said, silently 
 and almost stealthily entered the room where the other 
 was lamenting, was about five feet high, more or less, 
 very slender, and made even more so by vicious habits. 
 Perhaps he did not number many years, yet he appeared 
 to have arrived prematurely at that point at which, ascent 
 being no longer possible, decline necessarily commences. 
 His head, somewhat bald upon the forehead, was I know 
 not whether adorned or disfigured by a few straight, red 
 hairs, each one of wh%h seemed to rise purposely in an 
 opposite direction from that of its neighbor, presenting a 
 perfect image of that head which a modern poet with so 
 much force of expression describes : 
 
 " E'en as the grain, in wild confusion cast, 
 Tossed by the sudden fury of the blast."* 
 
 He never held his head erect when in the presence of 
 any one ; only from time to time he would catch a 
 stealthy, sidelong glance, and immediately, as if afraid 
 that his small gray eyes would reveal the thoughts of his 
 heart, he would lower them. His lips, closely com- 
 pressed, gave the assurance to every close observer of 
 the human countenance that he feared lest, in spite of 
 himself, some word might escape which would lead him 
 directly to the gallows. It is true, however, that a habit 
 which he could not check forced them sometimes to 
 stretch towards his ears, and his cheeks to fold in most 
 minute wrinkles : then he seemed to smile. May all the 
 saints in heaven preserve us from such a smile ! He 
 spoke slowly and bitterly, and because the tranquillity of 
 his own mind was destroyed, he enjoyed exceedingly 
 destroying that of others. If at that time the angel of 
 darkness had taken a fancy to appear in the world in a 
 
 * " Ad un campo di biada gia matura, 
 Nel cui mezzo passata e la tempesta."
 
 Injury. 45 
 
 suitable form, surely he could not have imagined a more 
 appropriate one than that of Count della Cerra. 
 
 His dress consisted of a coat of green velvet, richly 
 embroidered with silver and lined with fur, reaching to 
 his knee and opened at the sides ; a belt, in the centre 
 of which was the eagle of King Manfred, of massive silver 
 upon blue enamel, bound it to his waist ; at the breast 
 it was also open, and the sleeves did not come below the 
 elbow. His underdress was of silk of various colors, and 
 adorned with numerous silver buttons ; the sleeves were 
 narrow, and reached the wrist. The linen which covered 
 a great part of his breast and shoulders was a work 
 of marvellous embroidery. A clo?e -fitted crimson cloth 
 covered his thin legs. His shoes also were red, very 
 pointed, fastened in the middle with a silver button. 
 This was very nearly his costume, although, for the sake 
 of brevity, we have left many things unmentioned : such 
 as the cap, in the shape of an imperial crown, adorned 
 with beautiful feathers ; the gold chain, by which a rich 
 medallion was suspended on his breast ; and a sword of 
 extreme length, with its hilt in the form of a cross, accord- 
 ing to the custom of those who went to the Holy Land, 
 who used it thus, that at the hour of prayer, the sword 
 fixed in the sand, presenting the symbol of faith, might 
 incite them to the conquest of the country of our Re- 
 deemer, who died for our salvation upon this instrument 
 of pain. 
 
 The kneeling one, turning his head, saw beside him this 
 man, who, enjoying his misery, had not been able to 
 repress that sardonic smile of which we spoke before ; 
 his hand rose involuntarily to his head, and he began the 
 sign of the cross, which he in vain endeavored to complete ; 
 then he lowered his head, and Vnurmured . . . perhaps a 
 prayer ; but certainly it was pronounced with the bitter- 
 ness of a curse. A moment after raising his face again, 
 he met once more the face of him, who knew not how to 
 express his compassion but by his smile, arid he turned 
 his glance back to the skull, . . . then to him, . . . 
 then to the skull, . . . and then to him again ; nor did that 
 smile cease. . . . Suddenly starting to his feet, he grasped
 
 46 Injury. 
 
 him by the throat, and, furiously prostrating him upon the 
 ground, he placed his knees upon his breast, and made a 
 motion to strangle him. The. life of Count della Cerra 
 would soon have ended, if chance had not helped him. 
 The skull, shaken by his fall, dropped to the ground, 
 making a noise which sounded like a lamenting cry, and 
 rolled directly under the eyes of him who held the count 
 by the throat ; forgetting everything else, he relinquished 
 his hold, ran eagerly to pick it up, looked at it carefully 
 to see if it had received any injury, and, quick as lightning, 
 replaced it in the box, and then in the recess. In the 
 meantime, Count della Cerra having risen, arranged his 
 disordered garments, showing in his livid face the fear 
 caused by the danger which he had thus escaped. 
 
 " Count di Caserta," said Count della Cerra, after a 
 little while, approaching the door of the room, " tell me, if 
 you please, how would you treat your enemies, if you 
 behave thus towards your friends and faithful servants?" 
 
 " Anselmo," replied Count di Caserta, " have I told 
 you to mock my misery and grief, and excite in my soul a 
 rage fiercer than my remorse ? Complain of yourself, for 
 you know the passions that rave within me ; they have ' 
 been burning for a long time but my heart is not yet 
 entirely ashes." 
 
 "Complain of nature, Count di Caserta, that made me 
 smile when others weep. But does it seem to you a thing 
 to weep at, to see you tormenting yourself every night 
 before an inanimate skull, that, cannot hear your anathe- 
 mas or your prayers, and can neither curse nor pardon 
 you ? I have already told you a thousand times, and I 
 now repeat it, you will lose your reason." 
 
 "And is it worth preserving? Would it be an evil to 
 lose it? Remorse lives with it, and would survive it, if it 
 were lost. Once I had it entire, capable of comprehend- 
 ing everything, nor was I less unhappy than I am ; nor now, 
 that I have more than half lost it, do I feel any happier." 
 
 " But come, allow me for once to remove those bones, 
 the sight of which is daily destroying your reason. Con- 
 sider, finally, that it was the head of a woman who betrayed 
 her nuptial vows,' and bore in her bosom . . ."
 
 Injury. 47 
 
 "Be silent .' as you value your life . . . be silent ! . . . 
 Your office against this creature ended with the blow that 
 took away her life. 1 commanded you to be her assassin, 
 not her detractor. Enough ! I have punished her as guilty, 
 now I love to feign her innocent." 
 
 "When I, a young man, studied in the University of 
 Frederick, I heard that he who desires the most must nec- 
 essarily desire the least. You gave me the right to inves-' 
 tigate her guilt, and would you now deny me the right to 
 question her fame ? " 
 
 Count di Caserta leaned against the wall, as if about to 
 swoon ; but Count della Cerra immediately assisted him, 
 and added, 
 
 " Come ! let us talk no more of this. Count, if the 
 prayer of a faithful servant has any weight with you, 
 abandon, for mercy sake, this frightful place ; give to the 
 earth what belongs to the earth the relics of the dead. 
 You know that now, more than ever, it is important that 
 we should be on our guard, and keep our faculties awake. 
 By your present course of action, I greatly fear that your 
 designs of vengeance against him may end in your own 
 insanity." 
 
 " Ah ! You care so very much, then, about my re- 
 venge, and the preservation of my intellect ? Many 
 thanks ! . . . many thanks ! . . . Count della Cerra, I 
 have often told you that you are as subtle and as fraudu- 
 lent as the spirit of evil ; yet with me your craftiness 
 avails you not. I have known you long : abandon the 
 idea of deceiving me ; you need not give yourself the 
 trouble to speak so artfully. You fear that I should lose 
 my reason, and you fear it on my account ? The splen- 
 dor of your house had decayed, and the present times 
 furnished you no opportunity of restoring it, either by 
 public or by private virtue. You reinstated it, however, 
 in its ancient splendor. I made you grand chamberlain 
 of the kingdom, rich and powerful ; you were already so 
 wicked, that you dare.d not charge me openly with your 
 own crimes. You fear that I should lose my reason, and 
 you fear it on my account ? And have you no fear that, 
 in the frenzy of my anguish, I might, with a single word,
 
 48 Injury. 
 
 reveal that which would bring the axe on both our necks ? 
 And have you no fear that, having become an object of 
 compassion and mockery, I may no longer have the 
 power of bequeathing to you that wealth which I cannot 
 leave the son whom your hands have murdered ? " 
 
 " Count, why labor so sedulously to unveil .the human 
 heart ? Perhaps your doubts are true, perhaps false. Is 
 it prudent to wear out one's reason and time in a study, 
 of which doubt is the least bitter fruit ? God did not al- 
 low Himself to be known by men, and enveloped Him- 
 self in the mantle of the deep heavens. Do you wish to 
 penetrate the heavens, and investigate the thoughts of 
 God ? And even though you wished to do so, would it 
 be in your power ? Nature has not willed that our 
 hearts should be laid bare, and has therefore wrapped 
 them in a covering of flesh and bones. Can even your 
 boldest thought pierce this bulwark of clay ? Be con- 
 tent, then, with effects, and disregard causes. I have said 
 all this, not that you might have a better opinion of me, 
 but a less opinion of yourself, when you learn that your 
 son still lives." 
 
 Count di Caserta became as pale as death ; he staggered, 
 and remained a long time absorbed in thought ; then he 
 slowly approached Count della Cerra, grasped his arm 
 with his left hand, and with his right made so significant 
 a gesture, that speech, that noble attribute which distin- 
 guishes man from any other animal, seemed almost un- 
 necessary. Count della Cerra, much as he endeavored, 
 could not so entirely repress that smile of his but that 
 once or twice it wrinkled his face ; still he contained 
 himself, and said, 
 
 "And what, Count di Caserta? Are you so soon 
 afraid at having become again a father? Have you not 
 said that he is your son ? Say not then that I killed him, 
 .and that the 'cursed thirst for gold' directs the motions 
 of my soul. Presumptuous that you are, renounce the 
 knowledge of the human heart ! " 
 
 " He lives ! You have said it. ... Then you have be- 
 trayed me ? Go, Anselmo, go, for the -love of Heaven, 
 kill him before this night is over ; . . . take advantage of
 
 Injury. 49 
 
 the few remaining hours of darkness. He ... he is a 
 monument of sin ; ... he is not my son, ... he is not my 
 son ; ... he must die ! " 
 
 " He must live, Count di Caserta ! " 
 
 " How long is it since Count della Cerrahas refused to 
 be an assassin ? I will find him out, I will kill him my- 
 self this very night." And so saying, he rushed towards 
 the door ; but Count della Cerra detained him, exclaim- 
 ing with a loud voice, 
 
 " You must listen to me first." 
 
 Here they began a very hasty conversation, in so low 
 a tone that one could not have heard them at the dis- 
 tance of a few feet; but quick and fierce were their ges- 
 ticulations, terrible their aspect. At length they seemed 
 to have come to a mutual understanding ; then Count 
 della Cerra, with his usual horrible contortion of face, 
 asked exultantly, " Count, how do you like my plan ?" 
 
 " It seems to me a plan," replied Count di Caserta, 
 " that present and future ages will curse a plan which 
 the narrator of old histories will avoid placing in his 
 chronicle, as too fabulous ; a plan, than which Lucifer him- 
 self, with all his infinite power of evil, could not have imag- 
 ined a greater. Treachery and parricide, committed for 
 the sake of avenging the father, this was a thought worthy 
 to be devised by Count della Cerra." 
 
 " And to be listened to by Count di Caserta." 
 
 After these words, Count di Caserta dismissed An-' 
 selmo, who, bowing in an obsequious manner, departed. 
 3
 
 5O Deception. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DECEPTION. 
 
 Ne di& Natura, & vero, 
 La lingua perchfc serva 
 A palesar del cuor gli occulti sensi ; 
 Ma 1'artificto uman cosi I'adopra, 
 Che non gli manifesta, anzi gli asconde, 
 E ben io so ch'e folle 
 Chi mirar crede entro la voce 1'alma. 
 CLEOPATRA, Tragedia del Cardinale Delfino Patriarca d 1 Aquileia. 
 
 Dame Nature gave the tongue, 'tis thought, 
 
 The heart's hid meaning to reveal ; 
 But human cunning so has wrought, 
 
 That now its use is to conceal. 
 And he must simple be, indeed, 
 That through the voice the soul would read. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 |F life is a blessing, why is it ever taken away 
 from us ? If a curse, why was it ever be- 
 stowed? Oh! the hour of death comes with 
 unspeakable agony. I, who, by a happy natu- 
 ral disposition, can, without sorrow and without joy, 
 look upon the contest between death and life, have 
 looked "upon the man killed by the sword : his hair was 
 'on end, his eyes glaring, his mouth open in the act of 
 threatening, all his limbs in the attitude of defence. I 
 have looked upon the man killed by the bullet : his eyes 
 were heavy, his face dejected, like one worn out by long 
 suffering. Finally, I have looked upon the power of 
 mortal disease on the young, and on the old : in the 
 former, life struggled with vigor proportioned to its 
 powers, and his last moments were terribly painful ; in 
 the latter, whose breath would hardly have moved a 
 feather, or dimmed the glass placed to his mouth, death 
 seemed to rage less furiously, and laid its icy hand very 
 gently on his heart to stay its beatings. But in him 
 killed by the sword, and in him killed by the bullet, in
 
 Deception. 51 
 
 the youth and in the old man, ... in all I have seen the 
 fierce struggle of agony : . . . the rolling of the eyes, strain- 
 ing for the light ; . . . the quick shiver over the skin, pre- 
 cursor of total stillness ; . . . the great drop distilled by 
 the brain falling down the pallid cheek; . . . the contrac- 
 tion of all the limbs; . . . life, with the last gasp, concen- 
 trated into a single moment, . . . and, . . . with one sigh, 
 the heart has ceased to beat ; eternal immobility chains 
 all the fibres : man has become dust. Oh ! bitter, bitter 
 is the moment when life ceases ! 
 
 But more bitter to Rogiero seemed that moment 
 when, hearing steps approaching and a voice sounding 
 ever nearer, he was obliged to release himself from the 
 arms of her whom he had loved so much and so hope- 
 lessly. Heavens ! her forehead was as cold as marble ; 
 . . . her limbs rigid ; . . . nor could she stand without 
 assistance ; and her mouth ? A faint breathing an- 
 nounced that she si ill lived. The voices and steps come 
 nearer every moment. Shall Rogiero lay her down upon 
 the grass, or keep her ever clasped to his heart ? Truly it 
 would be a strong proof of love to abandon her thus 
 senseless, to an unknown person ! But to have her 
 in his arms is a crime. Rogiero would refuse neither 
 the shame of the crime nor the pain of the punishment, 
 if it were only permitted him to place her in the care of 
 her maidens or her mother. Suddenly, taught more by 
 the many crimes of men than by years, the thought 
 comes to his mind that the beautiful lily grows, envied 
 by all ; he sees the loathsome reptile panting to contam- 
 inate that unsullied purity ; he hears the malice of base- 
 born minds. A generous feeling elevates him ; he con- 
 quers the present passion, lays Yole gently on the 
 ground, turns his eyes upon her, joins his hands, looks 
 up to heaven, and flies without a sigh. 
 
 Certainly it cannot be doubted but that, in any case, 
 the adieu would have been a silent one, for their passion 
 could not be expressed in words ; nevertheless, had Yole 
 been conscious, she would have seen a look that could 
 never have been effaced from her memory : a look which 
 revealed the desire of things unattainable, the irrevo-
 
 52 Deception. 
 
 cable oath never, through any events or times, to swerve 
 from his settled purpose, and the consciousness of living 
 and dying equally without hope. It was, without doubt, 
 a great mercy that she was spared that look : it would 
 have hastened the loss of reason, to which the wretched 
 girl was condemned even from her birth. 
 
 Meanwhile Rogiero, returning to his post under the 
 cloisters, could not bring his mind to dwell on the events 
 that had just happened, for his heart, straying among 
 those memories, willingly gave itself up to the rush of 
 feelings. 
 
 While thus musing, he heard a footstep, which seemed 
 approachinfi ; he listened, and, when it was near enough, 
 he demanded in a loud voice, " Who goes there ? " 
 
 " San Germano preserve you ! " replied a man, of 
 rather rough features, but of vigorous aspect, covered 
 with armor such as the men-at-arms of King Manfred 
 used to wear ; " good guard to you, Rogiero ! " 
 
 "Oh! is it you, Roberto?" said Rogiero, recognizing 
 the voice ; " what evil spirit brings you here at this hour ? " 
 
 " Yourself." 
 
 "Thanks for your politeness, Roberto; such a friend 
 as you is welcome at any hour, particularly at that of 
 guard." 
 
 " Rogiero, I have many things to say to you." 
 
 "And I, as you see, have time and patience to listen. 
 Say on," said Rogiero, looking as if he did not intend to 
 pay much attention to what the soldier was going to tell 
 him, and continuing his walk. 
 
 " Young man," said Roberto mysteriously, sitting 
 down, " I can with a single word render you motionless 
 for a longer time than you would like ; but come, sit 
 down beside me, and, above all, let us speak low, that no 
 one may hear us." 
 
 Rogiero. scarcely knowing why, obeyed without reply- 
 ing. The soldier continued : "Rogiero, have you thought 
 over what the Saracen astrologer, Ben-Hussein, predicted 
 to you last month ? " 
 
 " Santa Rosalia ! they were perfect absurdities. I 
 have entirely forgotten them."
 
 Deception. 53 
 
 " If you thought them absurdities, why did you listen 
 to them ? You have interrogated the stars, and they 
 have told you the truth ; you have forgotten it, but there 
 is some one who remembered it for you." 
 
 " So much the better. It seems to me that he spoke 
 of Sagittarius ..." 
 
 "Yes, you were born under that constellation, and* 
 your horoscope says that you are to undertake long 
 journeys. Your palm was also consulted ; in fact, what 
 says the wise King Solomon ? ' Length of days is in her 
 right hand ; and in her left hand riches and honor.' 
 The art showed the line of greatness red and deep, but 
 the line of life appeared suddenly interrupted, and made 
 the astrologer fear that a violent and untimely death . . ." 
 
 " Roberto," said Rogiero, rising impatiently, " do you 
 think to frighten me ? Why seek to try my courage ? 
 Have you yet to learn that my cheek pales not at dan- 
 ger?" 
 
 " Young man, what you say is true, but you are too 
 impetuous," repli-ed Roberto, forcing him to reseat him- 
 self; and then, lowering his voice, he asked him, 
 
 " Do you know your father ? " 
 
 " I ? No." 
 
 " Do you know who saved your life ? " 
 
 " I do not know when it was ever in danger." 
 
 " It was." 
 
 " Do you know, then ? And why did you not tell me 
 before ? " 
 
 "Why does night come to drive the light from 
 heaven ? " 
 
 " Instead of answering, you ask me another question, 
 Roberto." 
 
 " Why does night come to drive the light from 
 heaven ? " 
 
 " Why ? Because the laws of nature compel it." 
 
 " And the power of men, strong as Lucifer, compelled 
 me." 
 
 " But now, if you are permitted, tell me. Who is my 
 father ? What is he doing ? What is his condition ?
 
 54 Deception. 
 
 Was it by his own will, or by that of others, that he let 
 me languish in ignorance till now ? " 
 
 Roberto did not answer a word. Then Rogiero, in a 
 beseeching manner, resumed : 
 
 "Speak, Roberto, speak; your silence rends my 
 heart." 
 
 4 " You ask me many questions, to which I will answer 
 two things. Your father is living, but is at the point of 
 death. Your condition will be shown you to-night." 
 
 " When ? In what place ? See, I am ready to follow 
 you ! " 
 
 " Come," said Roberto ; and Rogiero, rising, had 
 already taken a step forward, when he stopped suddenly, 
 saying, 
 
 " No, ... it is impossible now. Wait, Roberto, till I am 
 relieved from guard : ... it will be very soon : . . . other- 
 wise I cannot without failing in my duty to my king, and 
 causing a suspicion of treachery." 
 
 " Suspicion ! Indeed, you must betray him. Before this 
 night is over, you, eager for vengeance, will place yourself 
 at the head of the betrayers of him whom you now guard 
 from treachery, and the aim of your life will be the death 
 of Manfred." 
 
 " Miscreant, begone ! or my lance will make ac- 
 quaintance with your blood ; you would deceive, betray 
 me, coward ! And I, who almost allowed myself to be 
 deceived ! . . . Begone ! " 
 
 " I betray you ! I deceive you ! " said the soldier, 
 without showing the slightest emotion. "A fine person 
 you are to deceive ! Young man, do not take so much 
 upon yourself. Your obscurity, your misery, your noth- 
 ingness, even more than your acuteness, save you from 
 any attempt at deception. I have fulfilled my commis- 
 sion to you ; only I should like to remind you that when 
 you distrust a man, it is better not to tell him so to his 
 face. The moments of your~father's life are numbered. 
 ... At this very minute it may be too late to go. Good- 
 night." 
 
 " Stop, in the name of the Holy Sepulchre ! grant me 
 a moment. I have not the honor of my ancestors to
 
 Deception. 55 
 
 preserve, for I belong to no family : . . . I have only my 
 own ; but it is as dear to me as if it had been transmitted 
 to me from Robert Guiscard, or from Henry the Fowler. 
 But my father is dying, you say ; and if I do not see 
 him now, I shall never see him more, and shall remain in 
 the ignorance in which 1 was born. . . . But my honor, 
 my honor ! Roberto ! oh ! in mercy do not deceive . 
 me." 
 
 " Poor soul ! Do you really know what is honor, or what 
 disgrace?" interrupted Roberto. "Look at the barons 
 of Manfred's court ; they are great, because their ances- 
 tors betrayed William the Norman : their sons will be 
 great in the court of Anjou, because they will betray 
 Manfred the Svvabian." 
 
 " Ah ! this is a terrible truth." 
 
 "You will learn others, Rogiero,"in the path of life. 
 But come now, if you wish; by making haste, you may 
 return, if you wish, or if it appears to you better to be 
 the slave of a tyrant than the avenger of a father." And 
 so saying, Roberto walked away. 
 
 Rogiero still stood hesitating, looking now at the 
 spear which he must abandon, now at the departing 
 soldier. " There is a destiny," he exclaimed at length ; 
 " destiny governs us all. In vain will one endeavor to 
 go to the left ; he will find himself at the right, if it was 
 written in the skies ; and, since resistance is useless, it is. 
 better to throw myself blindly into the arms of the fate 
 that governs my days." And throwing down his spear, 
 resolute as one who is henceforth prepared to face the 
 worst, he followed his guide, and joined him at the 
 entrance of the cloisters. 
 
 " Roberto," said Rogiero, as they walked along, "have 
 you ever heard the word of God ? " 
 
 " Of course ! " 
 
 " Have you ever thought of the reward of him who sold 
 the blood of Christ for thirty pieces of silver ? " 
 
 " Of course. A halter in this life, and eternal damna- 
 tion in the next. But if I am not mistaken, you still 
 doubt my good faith, Rogiero ; and I tell you that I have 
 no intention of making you follow me, for iny commission
 
 56 Deception. 
 
 ends with the message that I carried to you : you are at 
 perfect liberty to stay, for I neither have nor wish to use 
 the means of compelling you to come." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! You place before a heated fancy an 
 object that can powerfully excite the principal passion of 
 the mind, and then say that we are at perfect liberty not 
 to follow it, that we have the power to resist every entice- 
 ment ! This appears to me a cruel mockery of our 
 nature." 
 
 ' : Then have more faith in me, squire ; is there in the 
 world no more fidelity ? " 
 
 While they thus conversed, they had gone some few 
 steps from the cloisters, from which, as Roberto ceased 
 speaking, issued a voice which said, "No more fidelity." 
 
 " Croce di Dio ! " cried Roberto, stepping back in 
 alarm, and making the sign of the cross ; " did you hear, 
 Rogiero ? These are illusions of the foul fiend. Santa 
 Rosalia preserve us ! " And then he continued in a 
 lower voice, " I wonder that, a hundred times when a 
 word of reproof might with reason have been addressed 
 to me, I have never heard anything, and now it is heard, 
 when," and here he raised his voice, " no one can say to 
 me, ' Thou art a traitor ! ' ' 
 
 And the voice replied, " Thou art a traitor" 
 
 " This is more than I can bear. O man or demon, 
 thou liest in thy throat ! " 
 
 And the voice, " Thou liest in thy throat" 
 . The soldier lowered his visor, drew his sword, and, 
 wrapping his cloak around his left arm, prepared to rush 
 into the cloisters. Rogiero, who, reasonably, had not 
 laid aside every doubt of the faith of this man, stood 
 carefully observing him ; he saw the sudden terror, the 
 effect of an uneasy conscience, and hesitated more than 
 ever ; but when he perceived that the feeling of honor, 
 conquering superstitious fear, led his hand to his sword, and 
 excited him to worthy revenge, he decided, laying aside 
 every suspicion, to trust him entirely; therefore, know- 
 ing by experience whence the voice proceeded, he 
 stopped Roberto, and, laughing, said to him, 
 
 " Hold, good lance ; any attempt .of yours against the
 
 Deception. 57 
 
 being from whom that voice proceeded would be utterly 
 useless." 
 
 " We'll see that," replied Roberto, roughly pushing 
 Rogiero aside, and still about to rush in. 
 
 " Stop, stop ! do you not see that it is the echo ? Has 
 it not repeated the end of your own sentences ? With whom 
 would you fight, if the voice is your own ?" 
 
 " St. George ! I believe you are right, Rogiero," said 
 Roberto, and upon that he tried to laugh, wiping his fore- 
 head, damp with fear. " What does the proverb say ? 
 Nature cannot be conquered ; drive her out by the door, 
 and she will return by the window." Silence following 
 these words, Roberto, as if he feared not arriving in time, 
 set to work to recover by speed the time he had lost in 
 conversation. Rogiero observed that, nevertheless, he 
 was careful to follow the least observed rather than the 
 shortest paths ; and often, as if fearful of losing his way, 
 stopped, and, examining the place, made a signal, which, 
 repeated immediately from distance to distance, grew 
 fainter, till at last it was almost lost to the ear. Thus 
 they walked on for some time, when Roberto, stopping 
 short, turned to Rogiero and said : 
 
 " Squire, do you trust me ? " 
 
 " Roberto, let me speak to you frankly. Your question 
 is asked in a time and place that induce rather a feel- 
 ing of suspicion than of security. And then, you must 
 see that whatever my feelings might be, it would be ex- 
 pedient for me, just now, to say that I trusted you." 
 
 " I believe you are right. Since it is so, permit me to 
 blind your eyes." 
 
 " Do so ; I have no reason to fear you. I have never 
 done you any harm ; and as for me, however great hu- 
 man wickedness may be, I will never believe that it is so 
 great as to shed innocent blood." 
 
 " Your heart is better than your tongue. Was it not 
 you who just now brought forward the example of Judas ? 
 Poor youth ! " he continued with emotion, " may God 
 keep you in such sentiments, and may He pardon me for 
 being an example of the contrary." This last sentence 
 was murmured low, and seemed forced from him by that 
 3*
 
 58 Deception. 
 
 mysterious power that a good conscience has over 
 wickedness. To be sure, the affair in which he was now 
 engaged did not appear a bloody one, for his face was 
 calm, his voice firm, nor did his limbs tremble, as gener- 
 ally happens to people of his description when they are 
 about to commit a crime. 
 
 Meanwhile, Rogiero, his eyes bandaged, took Roberto's 
 arm, who conducted him with tender care along a crooked 
 and unknown road. Going about five hundred steps 
 farther, they stopped. The guide gave a signal, striking 
 his hands ; then a bridge was lowered, which,- in spite of 
 the care taken to conceal the noise, Rogiero heard de- 
 scend. The guide asked him to walk on, and corning upon 
 the bridge, he perceived that it was paved with stones 
 like the street which they had just left, and this evidently 
 on purpose, that blindfolded persons who went over it 
 might not perceive it. Rogiero, however, whether it was 
 that he was endowed by nature with more acute percep- 
 tions, or that there had been some carelessness in lower- 
 ing it, noticed, but without appearing to do so, that there 
 certainly was a bridge, and went on. 
 
 After he had, with many precautions, traversed a mar- 
 vellous number of corridors and rooms, he heard a voice 
 different from his conductor's, which said to him, in a 
 tone of command, 
 
 " You may take off your bandage." 
 
 He obeyed ; and, able once more to use his eyes, he 
 looked curiously around to examine the place. It was 
 not in the least remarkable : he saw a very large room 
 with an arched roof; it was partially illuminated by a 
 lamp, which, shedding all its light on Rogiero, threw into 
 the shade two men seated at a table at a little distance 
 from him. Rogiero, looking if his guide were still with 
 him, perceived that he had left him on entering that 
 room. He then turned all his attention to the two re- 
 maining persons. They appeared very simply dressed, 
 nothing about them indicating either rank or wealth ; there 
 was nothing noticeable about them except that they kept 
 their faces covered with a veil of black cloth. 
 
 He who, as far as could be judged, had the most an-
 
 Deception. 59 
 
 thority, rose from his seat and extended his hand towards 
 Rogiero, as if about to speak ; but he endeavored in 
 vain to utter a word, for a sudden trembling seized him, 
 and he sank back upon the seat from which he had risen. 
 Then the second, as if wishing to take advantage of this 
 emotion, quickly commenced : 
 
 "The many cautions adopted in bringing you here, 
 Rogiero, must serve less to show our distrust of you than 
 the imminence of the danger in which we are all involved. 
 Do not wonder at what I say ; it will soon be clear to 
 you. In the meantime, be assured of this, that if the fact 
 which we are about to reveal to you .were known to him 
 who has the power of the sword, our heads would certainly 
 fall, and yours would not be safe. Nor do we say this to 
 frighten you ; if you had been capable of a feeling of cow- 
 ardice, we should not have brought you to hear a secret 
 which no one compels us to disclo'se. We have been 
 observing you for a long time; the most hidden secrets of 
 your heart are known to us ; we know all ; ... nor have we 
 perceived anything in you that was not high-minded and 
 generous. It is true nevertheless that we should have 
 preferred to keep you in ignorance of all, till, the danger 
 being over, you might have reaped the rich fruits. And 
 this not because we think lightly of you, but for the great 
 love we feel for you. But now, as happens every day, 
 according to the old proverb, Prudence warps and 
 Fortune weaves : it did not please Heaven to bring about 
 what man had proposed. The approaching and, alas ! 
 too certain death of the principal person engaged in this 
 affair renders vain all our designs, and compels us to do 
 what we abhor." 
 
 " Is not this dying man my father ? " asked Rogiero, 
 greatly agitated. 
 
 " Calm yourself: your affairs demand a heart that 
 can feel, a hand that can execute, a face that can dissimu- 
 late. Tell me, do you know the history of the house of 
 Swabia ? " 
 
 " The house of Swabia ? The history of that family 
 has always been more pleasing and interesting to me than 
 any other ; but, although not many years have passed
 
 60 Deception. 
 
 over my head, there is not a noble house in Italy whose 
 origin and history I do not know." 
 
 " Then you will remember, Rogiero, that the Emperor 
 Frederick II. had many sons, and you will remember also 
 that the eldest was Henry, chosen, during his father's life- 
 time, Emperor of Germany, now commonly known as 
 Henry the Cripple for the malignity of men is not satis- 
 fied with the misfortunes of the oppressed, but wishes 
 them to be either ridiculous or infamous. This unhappy 
 prince, not having a very strong will, and being a most 
 devoted lover of our religion, excited by the entreaties of 
 Gregory IX. and of many enemies of his father, thought 
 that it would be an act pleasing to the Eternal, if he 
 should free the empire of Germany from the rule of an 
 excommunicated sovereign, which Frederick II. was. 
 Alas ! that, led astray by evil counsels, he did not re- 
 member that God abhors parricidal wars, and that His 
 curse rests upon the house of the impious one who dares, in 
 the wickedness of his heart,, to raise his hand against the 
 author of his days ! As soon as Frederick learned the 
 bitter news, he left Italy, quickly crossed the Adriatic, and 
 reached Worms. The people watched in terror to see 
 who first, father or son, would dare to unsheath the sword. 
 Eternal pity would not permit this disgrace to be regis- 
 tered in the voluminous history of human crimes. It 
 pleased God not to harden the heart of the son : pale, 
 desponding, less fearful of punishment than urged by re- 
 morse, with bare feet, shaven head, dressed in sackcloth, 
 a halter round his neck, and holding a cross in his hand, 
 he came to Worms heedless of ridicule ; he passed 
 through the crowd of people who had been awe- struck by 
 his guilt, and, bitterly weeping, threw himself for mercy 
 at his father's feet, and conjured him not to spare the 
 punishment that he felt his crime had too well merited, 
 but only to bless him, and call him by the dear name of 
 son before he died. In vain did offended pride en- 
 deavor to harden itself; in vain did the betrayed paternal 
 authority seek to remain severe : the tears gushed from 
 Frederick's eyes, and his heart felt all the truth of the 
 sentence, ' Joy is the daughter of sorrow." He descended
 
 Deception. 61 
 
 from the throne, threw his arms lovingly round his son's 
 neck, and, kissing his eyes, his forehead, his mouth, called 
 him again his beloved son. Oh ! that would have been 
 true peace and lasting pardon ; but that, among the wild 
 animals that nature has formed, there are men, O Ro-. 
 giero ! and unfortunately too many of them, who hate a 
 serene sky; who live upon gall and poison, and would 
 willingly renounce ease, life, in order to revel in the 
 sight of human miser}', and to laugh at its groans ; for 
 while such a limited power to aid others has been given 
 us, we have more than enough to injure. That son of 
 wickedness lived, and still lives, O Rogiero ! who, excit- 
 ing every moment suspicions in Frederick's heart, and giv- 
 ing to the most innocent of Henry's actions an appear- 
 ance of crime, surrounding him with a thousand snares and 
 innumerable spies, now by slander, now by compassion. . . . 
 But why do I waste time in revealing, one by one, all the 
 i,, powers f infamy ? They are more than can be numbered, 
 ' or than'lionor can understand. In fine, his perfidy was 
 so successful that Frederick, cruelly enraged against his 
 own blood, recalled that unfortunate son from the throne 
 of Germany, delivered him to that wicked one, that in 
 some prison of Apulia he might make him consume the 
 remainder of his life, with " the bread of adversity and 
 the water of affliction." It was not long before the death 
 of Henry was announced to Frederick, which, opening the 
 spring of paternal affection, caused him to feel such bitter 
 grief at his excessive rigor, that, shutting himself up, he 
 determined to die of hunger ; but his most faithful cour- 
 tiers, speaking to him through the door, with the utmost 
 difficulty induced him to lay aside. that cruel intention, 
 and to take food. The grief of Frederick could not be 
 concealed ; a royal letter, dictated by the illustrious sec- 
 retary Piero delle Vigne, and sent to the Sicilian clergy, 
 said, ' However great may be the errors of a son, they 
 cannot diminish the sorrow that nature excites in a fath- 
 er's heart at his death.' And he ordered that he should 
 be honored with magnificent funeral rites, thinking thus 
 to make restitution, by vain pomp, to a soul which he
 
 62 Deception. 
 
 had condemned to sink under disgrace. But Henry lived ; 
 Frederick and his cruel counsellor were deceived." 
 
 " Does Henry the Cripple live ? " cried Rogiero, who, 
 listening with fixed attention to this narration, could not 
 suppress a gesture of wonder. 
 
 " Our lot here below would be too hard to endure, 
 my son. if the mercy of the Creator had not granted us 
 some of those compassionate spirits born to restrain the 
 crimes with which, from day to day, our wicked race aug- 
 ments the load of God's vengeance. Providence caused 
 one of those blessed ones to be taken into the confidence 
 of Frederick's counsellor : to him were these atrocious 
 mysteries revealed ; he was ordered by the counsellor to 
 go to Apulia ; then, by treachery, or by violence, or in 
 some way or other, to kill Henry, and then, in all haste, 
 to bring the news to court. The messenger departed ; 
 he returned with the news of Henry's death. But Henry 
 had been saved." 
 
 " Oh ! that I might be the first to announce it to 
 Manfred ! Certainly the king's joy will be great at such 
 happy news," interrupted Rogiero. 
 
 " And the son of the unhappy Henry," continued the 
 mysterious man without heeding him, " persecuted by 
 cruel ambition, escaped death by the substitution for him 
 of a child who had died by natural illness." 
 
 "And does he live ? " asked Rogiero. 
 
 " He lives." 
 
 " Why, then, not reveal him to Manfred ? " 
 
 " Because the scorn of men and the anger of God are 
 the reward for betraying innocence." 
 
 " Manfred would restore to him his royal estate." 
 
 " Manfred would kill him before any one knew a word 
 of it, to spare himself the expense of the funeral." 
 
 " Whoever you are," exclaimed Rogiero in a terrible 
 voice, " who speak so wrongfully of my king, I declare 
 solemnly that the only reason 1 do not avenge him in 
 this place is that you are not suitably armed. Neverthe- 
 less, from this moment I declare you a liar and a dis- 
 loyal knight, and I am ready to sustain to the death, 
 with lance, sword, or dagger, on foot or on horseback,
 
 Deception. 63 
 
 King Manfred of Swabia, the noblest knight of Christen- 
 dom ! " 
 
 " I accept the challenge, and substitute a champion." 
 
 " Let the champion advance," said Rogiero, drawing 
 his sword. " Who is he ? " 
 
 "Although in chivalry it is not lawful to demand the 
 name of the knight, I will nevertheless satisfy you : he 
 is the son of Henry, the nephew of Manfred." 
 
 " Where is he ? " 
 
 " In this room." 
 
 " I do not see him. Is it your silent companion who 
 boasts of being Henry's son?" 
 
 " He is not of so illustrious a race." 
 
 " Then ? " said Rogiero, looking round. 
 
 "Then it is ... yourself! . . ." 
 
 " I ! grandson of the Emperor Frederick ! " cried 
 Rogiero, confounded, and the sword fell from his trembling 
 hand. " But why," he resumed, breathing with difficulty, 
 " why not have declared it to me before ? Why, instead of 
 so basely suspecting King Manfred, did you not tell him 
 of my existence ? Time may have lessened his hatred, if 
 indeed the king ever cherished such a feeling towards his 
 brother Henry, and he would have received me with the 
 love with which the dearest relations are received . . ." 
 
 " Time consumes the heart that hates, but hatred oh ! 
 hatred ceases not even with the beatings of the heart. It 
 descends into the tomb, and agitates even the dust of 
 the dead. It is the only immortal passion granted to the 
 soul confined in its ' mortarcoil.' But hatred is not the 
 question ; we are speaking of cold, cruel, calculating 
 ambition." 
 
 Although Rogiero's mind had long been accustomed 
 to vehement emotions, it could not endure what we 
 have related without, for a few minutes, giving way be- 
 fore it. Balls of fire seemed to strike his eyes ; every- 
 thing in the room seemed to be whirling round ; an in- 
 definable weakness seized him, which, in spite of himself, 
 completely overcame him. 
 
 The man who had been speaking stood motionless, 
 looking at him, as if he took pleasure in witnessing his
 
 64 Deception. 
 
 anguish ; but he who had remained silent sprang eagerly 
 from his seat, supported him as he was falling, lavished 
 every care upon him, and, when he perceived that he was 
 recovering, he asked him in a stifled voice, " Do you 
 feel better ? " 
 
 " Oh ! it is nothing," replied Rogiero, " nothing at 
 all." And recovering himself by an effort, he freed him- 
 self from the other's arms. "A momentary confusion in 
 my mind ; it is entirely past now." 
 
 " He repulses me ! " said that silent one, with a sound 
 that resembled more the cry of a wild animal than a 
 human voice, and he slowly returned to his seat. 
 
 " Rogiero, before speaking to you, our intention was 
 to lead you to your father. Truly it would be a kindness 
 to conceal him from you. He is a miserable wreck of a 
 life that anger and madness have alternately vexed, and 
 even this wreck is now in the power of death. Think, 
 then, what a dreadful sight awaits you. The weak state 
 that you are in at present makes me fear greatly for you 
 in the trial to which you are called. It is in your own 
 choice whether or not you will meet it. The sight of a 
 dying father is the most heart-rending that man can en- 
 dure." All this was said by the first speaker, who 
 paused after each sentence, as if to enjoy the grief it 
 caused Rogiero. 
 
 " Cease, cruel man ! " replied he. " If your words are 
 uttered in order to enjoy my distress, your baseness is 
 more than human ; if to console my afflicted spirit, you 
 are the least successful comforter that ever lived. Cease, 
 I pray you. Too well I know how afflictive is this dis- 
 pensation. I was born to love, and however numerous 
 might have been the objects presented to my heart, they 
 could never have exhausted the infinite power of affec- 
 tion with which I was born ; and yet I know neither 
 father nor mother, wife nor friend, on whom I might turn 
 the longing of my soul. This fire, unable to find a vent, 
 has consumed what it should have nourished. A single 
 spark has remained, and this is to burn for a moment, like a 
 meteor at night, and die. It will die ; but let it burn. I 
 feel that in this nighi I must completely change. I feel
 
 Deception. 65 
 
 the approach of a hitherto unheard-of agony ; already 
 my flesh trembles, my bones melt, and this trouble comes 
 from imagination only ! Let me try how far man can 
 suffer and fate persecute ; let me try how the voice *)f a 
 father affects a son, even though that father be dying." 
 
 Agitated by the deepest excitement, he moved towards 
 the men who stood opposite him ; and although he had 
 ceased s'peaking, he appeared to threaten them, if they 
 did not quickly lead him to the object of his wishes. The 
 two rose immediately, and, having signed to him to wait 
 a few moments, they went to the end of the room oppo- 
 site to the door by which Rogiero had entered. As they 
 went, one of them whispered to the other, "Henceforth, 
 Count di Caserta, I wish to have your approval. What 
 do you think of my work ? " 
 
 " The mercy of God is great ; but you appear to me 
 even more wicked than He is merciful." 
 
 " Indeed, my words sounded like religion and vir- 
 tue." 
 
 " It is true ; but there is no time when Satan is so terri- 
 ble as when he appears as ' an angel of light.' " 
 
 " Many thanks," replied the Count della Cerra, smil- 
 ing ; and, producing a key, he opened a little door 
 guarded by strong iron bars ; then, putting his head out, 
 he cried " Gisfredo ! Gisfredo ! " 
 
 After a little while there appeared the head, then the 
 shoulders and breast, of a man, as if he were ascending 
 stairs. Count della Cerra, bending towards him, asked 
 him some question, to which he replied with an affirma- 
 tive nod ; then the count, turning to Rogiero, said, " You 
 can come." 
 
 Rogiero sprang forward, and, without hesitation, has- 
 tened down the narrow staircase. The two counts fol- 
 lowed. Gisfredo went before, lighting the way with a 
 lantern which he had brought. Rogiero, with all his 
 efforts, could not tell who this Gisfredo was, because, like 
 the others, he had his face covered with black cloth ; 
 but he seized him once suddenly, pretending to stum- 
 ble, and perceived, by his turning round very quickly 
 and suspiciously, by the rolling of his eyes, which he saw
 
 66 The Prisoner. 
 
 through an opening in the cloth, when he, as if accidentally, 
 touched the hilt of his dagger, that he was a man of 
 fraud, and not of open violence. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PRISONER. 
 
 Oh ! perch j almeno 
 
 Lungi da lui non muoio ! Orrendo, e vero, 
 Gli giungeria Pannunzio ; ma varcata 
 L'ora solenne del dolor saria ; 
 E adesso innanzi ella ci sta; bisogna 
 Gustarla a sorsi, e insieme. 
 
 MANZONI, Conte di Carmagnola. 
 
 . . . Oh ! why, at least, 
 Could I not die far off ! Fearful, indeed, 
 Would the announcement be ; but then were past 
 The solemn hour of grief. But now we must 
 Drink the full draught together. . 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 HEY reached the foot of the staircase. The 
 corridor appeared slightly illuminated by a dis- 
 
 tant light. Passing on, they arrived at a vesti- 
 bule separated from the prison by a grating. 
 Rogiero perceived at a glance the scene which presented 
 itself. He saw a man almost buried in a chair ; his features 
 were not entirely visible, for the rays of the lamp fell else- 
 where ; yet he seemed pale and old ; his hair was quite 
 white, and he kept his eyes closed, as one who would pre- 
 pare himself to die. A table stood before him, on which 
 was a cup and a crucifix. Beside his chair, on the ground, 
 lay a long rod all notched, and the notches, although gen- 
 erally regular, were gradually deeper and deeper. This 
 was a labor of grief. When this unhappy man was first im- 
 prisoned, he formed the idea of numbering the days of 
 his confinement, that he might know how long he was
 
 The Prisoner. 67 
 
 destined to suffer, and that he might rejoice in the hope 
 that this time was continually diminishing ; perhaps, also, 
 looking forward to happier days, he thought that it might' 
 hereafter- be a source of pleasure to compare his future 
 condition with the present. This work now lay neglected 
 on the ground. Hope, the last that leaves the pillow of 
 the dying, and reveals herself to his eyes even when, 
 veiled by the cloud of death, they are not able to recog- 
 nize the dear countenances of kindred and friends, hope 
 itself had abandoned his heart. When years, accumulating 
 over his head, had turned his blond hair to white, no longer 
 did flesh and spirit tremble at the sound of the door turn- 
 ing on its hinges, nor did he suppose, with every touch 
 upon the lock, that the hour had come when some com- 
 passionate hand would lead him to the light of heaven. 
 Despairing, he threw away this calendar, which, teaching 
 him to dwell upon his sufferings, rendered them longer 
 and more insupportable ; he loved to consider his con- 
 finement a long, long day of trouble, whose night he was 
 to find in death. And in truth, there was no light to 
 make a distinction between day and night. From the 
 first moment of his imprisonment, he had never seen 
 the face of heaven, not even through the grated win- 
 dows ; and since his life was darkness, he could look 
 upon death as only annihilation. Having become en- 
 tirely insensible, he awaited like an inanimate object the 
 moment destined, by the order of things, for his extinc- 
 tion. Would that he had retained courage enough to 
 put an end to such a pitiable existence ! This thought, 
 which needs for its execution all the powers of the soul, 
 arose in his mind when, discouraged by misfortune, he 
 sought in vain among the passions of the past for a 
 remnant of that spirit which might nerve him to give 
 back his body to the elements, reducing form to its origi- 
 nal matter. Not a sigh, not a complaint ever escaped 
 his lips ; all which the depth of bitterness or the fury of 
 passion could prompt, he had uttered a thousand times ; 
 silence alone remained to him, and he was as voiceless 
 as the grave. Years had entirely effaced his memory 
 from the minds of men. There was no sigh, no word of
 
 68 The Prisoner. 
 
 love for him ; if at times his name presented itself to the 
 remembrance of some old retainer, who, sitting by the 
 hearth, narrated the glories of the house of Swabia to, 
 the servants of the family, he would beware of allowing! 
 it to pass his lips, because it would recall one guilty of 
 such a crime as might terrify Lucifer himself; or if ever 
 he did name him, it was in a whisper, hastily, as one 
 would speak of the damned. There remained for him 
 living not even that slight affection that is preserved for 
 the dead ! 
 
 He extended his right hand with difficulty : it trembled 
 as if palsied ; it had almost reached the table when it fell 
 powerless ; he waited an instant, then moved it again. 
 Feeling about, he grasped the crucifix, and lifted it to his 
 mouth, about to drink. Startled by missing the refresh- 
 ment of the liquid, he opened his eyes, and seeing the 
 image of our Redeemer, replaced it petulantly upon the 
 table, muttering between his teeth, " O Dio ! I burn with 
 thirst ! " He then grasped the cup, and drank eagerly, 
 spilling some of the water upon his chin and breast ; but 
 he did not seem vexed at it. His thirst quenched, he gave 
 a groan, and fell back immovable in his former torpor. 
 He had nothing left- of the man but the animal wants ! 
 
 Rogiero saw this spectacle of degradation and misery, 
 and placed both hands over his eyes, believing the mere 
 covering of the eyelids insufficient to screen them from 
 that sight. He leaned against a pillar, and when he 
 would have ordered them to open the grating, he \vas 
 unable to utter a word : he was obliged to express his 
 wish by a motion of his hand. 
 
 The grating was opened. The old man felt his knees 
 embraced, and stretching out his hand to discover what it 
 was, his fingers fell upon a head of long hair. " It seems 
 like the head of a man," said he, and sank back in his 
 usual state of utter listlessness. . . . But this time his 
 hand did not fall : it was grasped firmly ; he felt it warmed, 
 moistened, was it with tears ? He bent his ear, and 
 thought that he heard what for years he had not heard, 
 the sobs of weeping. 
 
 The fire of his spirit was quenched, yet he had not be-
 
 The Prisoner. 69 
 
 come wholly frozen ; a faint hue stole over his cheeks, and 
 his eye became, for a moment, less dim than before. 
 
 " Are these tears ? " cried he, in anguish. " Mine have 
 long since been exhausted. I have shed, them in rage, in 
 love, in tenderness, in despair. Now, if Heaven should 
 permit them again to flow, I would shed them ever for 
 pity, because the most acceptable tears to the Comforter 
 of the unfortunate are those of pity, and . . ." 
 
 " Do not withdraw your hand from my head ; ... do 
 not leave me upon the path of life without your blessing ! " 
 said Rogiero, his voice broken by sobs. 
 
 Henry did not reply. Rogiero looked up and saw him 
 unmoved, as if he had not heard his words ; he softly 
 pressed his hand, and repeated: " Your blessing ! your 
 blessing ! " 
 
 " Blessing ! Blessing ! " repeated Henry, as if echoing 
 his words, and then continued : " This is a word of love. 
 Men in the world," and he pointed upwards, " used it weep- 
 ing. The past runs incoherently through my memory; 
 an alternation of light and darkness occupies my mind, 
 . . . but it seems to me . . . certainly I also was once 
 blessed among men. I cannot remember it now. . . . 
 Ah ! it was my father that blessed this head, which had 
 formed the design of taking away his life ! " And he 
 smote his forehead, and prayed and lamented in a pit- 
 eous manner. 
 
 Rogiero restrained him, and whispered in his ear, " And 
 this blessing speaks in your favor : his pardon has pre- 
 vailed for you with God, and every sin has been remitted 
 to you." 
 
 " Walcherius ! Walcherius ! is this a sword which you 
 place in my hand ? Is it with a sword that the son is 
 to present himself before his father? Do these words 
 become an archdeacon of the Holy Mother Church ? 
 These are words of the devil. . . . Go go ; ... in 
 Heaven's name, do not tempt me ! The pope ? You 
 lie ; the father of the faithful cannot advise parricide. 
 Oh ! how beautifully shines that royal crown ; . . . how 
 brilliantly ! Do you love it ? Ah ! I do ! Well, it is 
 kept for you at Monza, by your faithful Milanese ; . . . but
 
 70 The Prisoner. 
 
 mind, between you and that crown there stands a life : . . . 
 let it be extinguished. Mercy ! mercy ! I have repented 
 from the bottom of my heart. What avails it? Will a 
 thought blot out a crime ? But his pardon ? What avails 
 it ? Will the deed of a wicked man be cancelled by the 
 generosity of a good one ? But I have suffered so much ! 
 How long have I suffered ? " Here he searched about 
 him, but not being able to find what he sought, added : 
 "Time has consumed the instrument that enabled me to 
 record it, and I still live ! Yet I have said that I would 
 pardon every one, even Manfred " 
 
 " Manfred ! " 
 
 " Who has mentioned him ? In pity, breathe not his 
 name ; . . . torture me rather, . . . but do not mention 
 Manfred : ... it is a name that stood long in my heart 
 coupled with thoughts of blood. Now the day of ven- 
 geance is past, because that of death has arrived. Who 
 would have supposed it ? His smile was the smile of in- 
 nocence ; the purest joy sparkled in his eyes ; . . . his 
 words were soft ; ... he was called, by common consent, 
 the noblest youth of Italy : the maidens sighed for him, 
 the troubadours and knights envied him ; he was the 
 most precious gem in Frederick's diadem. His face 
 seemed that of an angel ; his heart ... ah ! his heart 
 was incomparably base ; the union of such a soul and 
 such a body was either a sin or an error. Ferocious 
 thirst of dominion ! Manfred, hast thou worn the desired 
 crown ? See and feel how it weighs upon the head, when, 
 instead of gems, it bears the curse of a despairing soul, 
 and the condemnation of God's justice " 
 
 " O ! my father " interrupted Rogiero. 
 
 "There was a time," continued the prisoner, placing 
 his hand on his breast, " there was a time when, at that 
 word, I felt an indescribable sensation here more delight- 
 ful than all the joys of earth. Now I feel nothing more, 
 nothing ; . . . I am dead. I have no passion except for 
 water, which quenches the thirst that consumes me." 
 
 And here he groped about in search of the cup. 
 Rogiero sprang to his feet, took it, held it to his lips, 
 and, supporting his head, helped him to drink. The old
 
 The Prisoner. 71 
 
 man passively obeyed the impulse ; but when, opening 
 his eyes, he for the first time noticed Rogiero, he uttered 
 a faint cry and made a repellent gesture, and, half stupe- 
 fied and half amazed, exclaimed, " Manfred ! " 
 
 This exclamation was not pronounced in so low a 
 tone but that it reached the ears of those who had 
 remained at the grating ; one of them started suddenly 
 as if stung, and uttered a deep groan. 
 
 The old man continued slowly : " Do you see, Manfred, 
 to what this ambition of yours has reduced me ? Do you see 
 the abyss of misery into which an immortal soul can fall? 
 And if you have a heart that can be touched, grieve. . . . 
 Ah ! you cannot be Manfred. . . . No ; ... he was of 
 your age when I saw him last. Years and suffering have 
 prematurely prostrated my powers, but even years alone 
 do not pass without leaving their trace upon the creature 
 destined to die. Are you his son ? What do you want? 
 There is no crime in you ; I have never nourished any 
 hatred against you, but I cannot feel love. Rise, be com- 
 forted. I have long since pardoned your father, and even" 
 in the hour of my fury, I never cursed the children, 
 or children's children, -of those who oppressed me. Rise. 
 . . . Bid him be happy, and be you happy also. If the 
 voice of one, speaking from the borders of the grave 
 may prevail with you, in compensation for my many sor- 
 rows, I beg you to fulfil this my last wish : . . . bury me 
 beside Frederick, . . . my faHier ; . . . without pomp, if 
 you wish, without the crown, although it could be no 
 prejudice to you to grant it to a corpse : ... it is sufficient 
 for me to sleep beside him." 
 
 " Listen to me, for the love of Heaven ! These tears 
 that moisten your hands are those of your son Rogiero." 
 
 The mind of Henry, as though overcome by the effort 
 of speaking rationally, relapsed into delirium, and, imagin- 
 ing that he was conversing with his wife, daughter of 
 Leopold the Glorious, Archduke of Austria, he continued 
 thus: "Agnes, why does our son weep? Comfort him, 
 for he is the delight of my life ; . . . his smile is so sweet. 
 How can you bear to let him weep ? Comfort him, 
 Agnes, comfort him. How glad will Frederick be, when
 
 72 The Prisoner. 
 
 you place this dear child in his arms ! . . . And why should 
 he not be glad ? Is he not his grandchild ? Whose 
 porphyry sepulchre is that ? I see the escutcheon of 
 Swabia, . . . Frederick I. ... Glory to his soul ! glory to 
 him who died fighting in the Holy Land ! . . . No, . . . no, 
 ... it is Frederick II. ... Is he dead, then ? did he not 
 remember me on his death-bed? I have no longer a 
 father, and my son ? . . . Agnes, where have you gone ? 
 Agnes, . . . my son . . ." 
 
 " He is dying of grief at your feet ! " 
 
 " He ? Who ? " 
 
 " Your son." 
 
 Henry placed his hands on the head of Rogiero, and 
 looked at him fixedly for a long time ; then he said, 
 
 " Truly your face seems that of a grandchild of Fred- 
 erick, but if you are really my son, why did you come 
 so late ? I have called you for years and years, as from 
 a desert of time. I can leave you only an inheritance of 
 misfortune. All paternal affection is dead in my heart ; 
 . . . even the name of father sounds to me as a remem- 
 brance of something far off and forgotten, as the face of 
 a companion in misfortune appears in the day of pride. 
 If you came to see how sad is the end of a degraded 
 being, depart, I command you. If pity brought you 
 here, kill me ; ... do not tremble ; . . . kill me ; ... have 
 pity 'upon me. ... I am suffering such fearful torments 
 in this hour, in which I stand trembling between death 
 and life . . . such torments that it would be parricide not 
 to take away the life of your father. Be sure and do not 
 fear that God will call you to account for my soul. The 
 first prayer that I shall offer before His throne will be for 
 you, who freed me from so much pain, and I will beg 
 Him not to punish you, for it was love that directed your 
 hand ; and He will pardon as I have pardoned. But 
 if Divine Wisdom demands retribution, I will pray that it 
 may fall, not upon you, but upon him who forced his son 
 to give the best proof of love for his father by killing 
 him." 
 
 He leaned his head upon Rogiero's shoulder, sighing, 
 but without tears ; then he continued impetuously,
 
 The Prisoner. 73 
 
 " But if you are really flesh of my flesh, if you are he 
 whose childish caresses used to calm the tempest of my 
 fierce soul, save yourself; . . . your enemies are many and 
 powerful. Do you not know that all their joy is in your 
 death, all their fear in your life? Save yourself; . . . for 
 they pursue you with the eagerness of the hound after the 
 deer. Alas ! I thought that I had no more sorrows to 
 endure ; but they are prolonged to infinity. Do not stop 
 to embrace or to kiss me ; the time thus lost might be 
 fatal ; far dearer to me would be the knowledge that you 
 were safe. In Palestine you can die bravely for the 
 Sepulchre of the Redeemer. Here, take this relic : it 
 will serve sometimes to remind you of me in your 
 prayers. Pray for a man who suffered all the bitterness 
 that can be borne on this earth ; pray for a sinful and 
 unhappy father, but go, ... go ; ... as you value your 
 life, go. Who knows but that your coming here was 
 treachery ? Who knows but that they would wish to 
 sacrifice us together? Did you hear tha bolts move ? 
 It is too late . . . too late . . . they have fastened the 
 door, and forever ! Oh ! the ruffians ! the villains ! " 
 
 He rose to his feet : the strength which should have 
 sustained his life for a few more hours seemed concen- 
 trated in one moment ; his cheeks flushed with a feverish 
 hue ; he seized Rogiero's arm, aad pushed him violently 
 towards the door ; he advanced hastily one step ; a 
 second ; at the third Rogiero felt his arm released ; the 
 miserable Henry fell senseless to the ground. The young 
 man hastened to assist him ; the three mysterious per- 
 sons sprang forward with the same object. They raised 
 him. His mouth was covered with blood, his brow livid, 
 his eyes fixed. They felt his pulse : the power of the 
 imagination over that sinking frame, with the shock of 
 the fall, had snatched him from the living. 
 
 Strong emotion took possession of Rogiero's soul ; he 
 raved about the room, calling piteously upon his father, 
 and conjuring him to answer, and not to abandon him 
 to the power of his enemies. Often he broke forth into 
 threats, and he added to his ravings such violent gesticu- 
 lations, that the bystanders could with difficulty restrain 
 4
 
 74 The Prisoner. 
 
 him. Finally his exasperation reached its utmost : an 
 irresistible desire for death seized him ; he endeavored 
 to extricate himself from those who held him, and to dash 
 himself against the wall. He did not fully succeed in his 
 design ; he reached the wall, indeed, but was not able to 
 escape from the hands of the men, who strove with all 
 their might to control him. The blow on his head, al- 
 though not sufficient to kill him, was enough, however, 
 to make him fall senseless in their arms. 
 
 The time during which Rogiero was to mount guard 
 in the gardens of King Manfred had expired. The cap- 
 tain of the guard, followed by four soldiers, went toward 
 the larger gate of the garden, to relieve Rogiero from 
 duty and place another in his stead. They saw him not. 
 They called : no one answered. Had he deserted his 
 king ? " Impossible ! impossible ! " said the captain, 
 and just then he stumbled against the spear which Ro- 
 giero, in departing, had thrown on the ground. 
 
 Although the blow pained his foot keenly, the captain 
 raised it without uttering a word, fearing lest the soldiers, 
 looking that way, should see, in the abandoned halberd, 
 too strong a proof against what he had affirmed. But it 
 was of no avail ; for, at the moving of the lantern, the pol- 
 ished point shone brilliantly, and they all exclaimed at 
 once, " The halberd ! the halberd !" 
 
 " Yes," replied the captain, shaking his head, " it is 
 undoubtedly the halberd ; it is not a story to which one 
 can say, 'I don't believe it;' it is the halberd. Most 
 holy saints ! we live in such times, that to put faith in 
 others is as foolish as to deceive is wicked." 
 
 Thus saying, partly out of temper, partly confused, he 
 doubled the guards, went to the stables, and there also he 
 missed Rogiero' s horse ; hence he ordered some sol- 
 diers to mount in haste, and not to return till they had 
 heard some news of him. 
 
 Rogiero recovered his senses. His forehead burned 
 with a sharp pain ; his eyes encountered a light that 
 stood on a table : he shut them suddenly, as if they had
 
 The Prisoner. 75 
 
 been wounded, and begged to have it removed ; then 
 with an effort he looked round, and noticed that he was 
 lying upon a magnificent bed, and that the mysterious 
 person who had spoken so little was tending him with 
 the affectionate care of a mother ; and when he was fully 
 himself, he heard him utter these words : " Thank GOD 
 that he has at last recovered his senses !" 
 
 Rogiero, remembering what had taken place, sprang 
 from the bed, and, making a violent effort to speak, said, 
 " What more ? " 
 
 " What more ? " replied Count della Cerra. " Tears 
 belong to women. . . . To-morrow we will have your 
 father's body embalmed, and as soon as possible carried 
 to Monreale, that it may rest -beside that of Frederick. 
 As to yourself, if you wish to sacrifice your kingdom and 
 your revenge to the man who murdered your father " 
 
 " One of us before long must die by the sword ! " cried 
 Rogiero, excited. 
 
 " Perhaps both," said the speaker to himself, and then 
 added aloud, "Mark well, Rogiero: new governments 
 are destroyed more easily than old ones, since to the lat- 
 ter, even if there is no more love felt for them, habit 
 gives a passive strength which it is difficult to overcome ; 
 in the new, either from their having had no time to take 
 root, or from their always falling below the expectations 
 of those who desired them, this difficulty is not so great. 
 Charles, Count of Provence, is preparing to wage war 
 against this kingdom. We must invite him to come ; 
 we must aid him to weaken himself by weakening Man- 
 fred ; we must enable him to conquer Manfred, and then 
 fall upon the count, weakened by his own victory." 
 
 "Well?" said Rogiero. 
 
 " Well ; let us send a faithful messenger to announce to 
 Charles what I have just explained. Here are credentials 
 signed by the greatest barons of the kingdom. I think 
 that by this time Charles must have entered Monferrato ; 
 a messenger from us, by hastening, might meet him in 
 Lombardy. If lie should meet with any Ghibelline 
 troops, here are letters for Buoso da Doara, which will 
 let him pass. But this is a very delicate affair ; the lives
 
 76 The Prisoner. 
 
 of thousands of your faithful servants depend upon the 
 messenger's loyalty." 
 
 " Heaven forbid that when others are encountering 
 dangers for me I should spare myself. Give me the 
 papers ; . . . I will carry them myself. . ." 
 
 " To Charles d'Anjou ? You, so ill ? " 
 
 " No matter ; give them to me. Is there any informa- 
 tion in these letters regarding my position ? " 
 
 " We thought it best to conceal it. You would be too 
 precious a hostage in the hands of the count." 
 
 " Very well. Tell me who you are." 
 
 ''I?" 
 
 "Yes. You ought to repay confidence with confi- 
 dence." 
 
 " Prince, what matters it to you who I am ? " 
 
 " Listen : circumstances compel me to an act which has 
 always been my abhorrence. Perhaps I might resist 
 them, yet I will not ; I trust to you, I abandon myself 
 wholly to you ; and this not because you might not be 
 traitors, but because if your treachery should doom me to 
 death, it would be welcome. All this will show you 
 that whatever fate your designs may bring upon me, I 
 shall never say anything against you, for you cannot in- 
 jure me. Now I ask of you a single proof of confidence, 
 and you ask what matters it to me to know you ? Cer- 
 tainly nothing ; but what matters it to you to hide your- 
 self from me ?" 
 
 " If it depended on me, I would already have revealed 
 my name ; but we are many, bound by a common oath 
 not to disclose ourselves to any one. You will perceive 
 that without the consent of all I could not ; . . . their 
 safety ..." 
 
 " But could I not break the seal of these letters, and 
 read . . ." 
 
 " You would not do it, and then . . ." 
 
 " I should not find your name ; I understand. Be it 
 as you will. Give orders for my departure. I require 
 the refreshment of the open air." 
 
 " Where shall we see you again ? " 
 
 " At St. Germano."
 
 The Prisoner. 77 
 
 " At St. Germane." 
 
 This said, the .Count della Cerra, making a sign, sum- 
 moned the soldier Roberto, who led Rogiero out with 
 the same precautions he had used in introducing him 
 there. 
 
 As he went out of the room, Count della Cerra shook 
 the arm of Count di Caserta, who was absorbed in deep 
 thought, and said, " What are you thinking about ? " 
 
 " I am thinking how I should have loved him if he had 
 been granted to me for a son." 
 
 " He is, without doubt, a handsome stripling ; he re- 
 calls the best days of Manfred's youth." 
 
 " Too much, too much does he resemble Manfred ! " 
 cried Caserta; and, rising hastily, he threw his chair from 
 him, and rushed from the room. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Count della Cerra, in the fulness of his 
 fierce smile, " I stung him to the quick." He paused, 
 watching the door through which Caserta had disap- 
 peared, then continued : " Fool ! Minds like this," and 
 he touched his forehead, "are not born to suffer. So 
 long as your designs, however foolish, aid mine, I will 
 help you ; otherwise, with a little mock humility and an 
 entreaty for pardon, I will place you under the protection 
 of the gallows, and myself under that of a throne." And 
 throwing off the veil which covered his face, he left the 
 room by a door opposite that through which Count di 
 Caserta had gone. 
 
 Rogiero, meanwhile, in company with Roberto, pro- 
 ceeded with the bandage over his eyes. It seemed to him 
 now that they were pursuing a different path, nor was he 
 deceived : reaching the head of a street, Roberto took 
 off the bandage, and he saw, with joy, his horse fastened 
 to the knocker of a half-broken door. This was his only 
 solace during that memorable night. He went up to him, 
 and, lovingly patting him, said, " Allah, Allah, you, then, 
 have not abandoned your master ! I am about to become 
 a wanderer upon the face of the earth ; do you wish to be 
 my companion and my friend ? Mark, though, I am un- 
 happy ! " The noble animal, as if wishing to acknowl- 
 edge the trust that his master placed in him, pawed the
 
 78 The Prisoner. 
 
 ground, and, raising his head proudly, showed his affec- 
 tion by a sonorous neighing. Rogiero continued : " This 
 matters not to you, Allah ! In good or in bad fortune, I 
 am still your beloved master. Oh ! men . . . men have 
 the faculty of calculating where the storm is going to 
 burst, and how to avoid it, when fortune is about to 
 change and betray you ; and this faculty of theirs is 
 called reason ! " 
 
 Having said these words, he placed one hand upon the 
 saddle, and, without touching the stirrup, leaped lightly 
 into it ; then turning to Roberto, who had remained mo- 
 tionless looking at him, he gave him his hand, saying, 
 " Roberto, I greatly fear that we may never see each other 
 again, save in the valley of Jehoshaphat ; but if we should 
 meet again, remember, and I too will remember, that 
 at the moment of my departure I clasped your hand as a 
 friend." 
 
 Roberto, in deep grief, raised his hand to grasp that of 
 Rogiero ; and when he felt its touch, a sudden tremor 
 seized his frame, he bent his head sorrowfully over the 
 hand that Rogiero had offered him, impressed a kiss, and 
 let a tear fall on it. 
 
 " What is this, Roberto ? You have moistened my 
 hand." 
 
 " May GOD," replied Roberto, raising his eyes to 
 heaven, and immediately lowering them, "may GOD, who 
 ought to watch over innocence, accompany you on your 
 way ! " Thus saying, he turned away, but from time to 
 time he would look back, stop, then continue his way ; 
 his eyes were full of tears ; he breathed heavily. Truly, 
 at that moment, a most tierce battle was raging in his 
 soul. Whether the good or the bad passion, however, 
 conquered, we will not say at present ; all that we can 
 say is, that the victory was manifested by a horrible im- 
 precation, joined to a gesture of rage, and a precipitate 
 flight towards the castle. 
 
 The thought of the events which had taken place did 
 not permit Rogiero to take much notice of what was 
 passing before his eyes ; he also departed sighing, and 
 soon found himself in the open country, for since the
 
 The Prisoner. 79 
 
 siege of Corrado the Swabian, Naples had remained 
 without walls ; he let his reins fall upon the horse's neck, 
 and bending his head in meditation, did not heed where 
 he was carried. 
 
 The horse, left to himself, followed the instinct which 
 we usually observe in those animals, of returning to their 
 homes, and would certainly have carried Rogiero there, 
 if by chance he had not started aside, shying from a stone 
 that came in his way. Rogiero looked up, and saw with 
 astonishment that he was near the Capuan castle ; his 
 first impulse was to retreat as rapidly as possible, but he 
 stopped. The moon had not yet disappeared, her last 
 rays were shining faintly upon the many-tinted windows 
 of the castle ; he glanced at them all, but his eye rested 
 upon one. He rose in his stirrups, stretched his arms 
 towards it, and exclaimed with ineffable bitterness : 
 " Farewell ! " He sank back in his saddle, put spurs to 
 his good horse, which sprang forward with incredible 
 swiftness, and was soon lost in the darkness ; for a time 
 his distant trampling was heard, it became very faint, con- 
 fused, then ceased entirely. 
 
 Who could describe the emotions of that fiery spirit 
 expressed in that single word, " Farewell" ? It was ut- 
 tered to that fair, sorrowful maiden, who gave him the first 
 token of love, placing her delicate form between his heart 
 and his dagger. The music of her voice, the beauty of her 
 person, her divine look, the ambrosia of her kiss, the quiver- 
 ing of his whole frame to that mysterious touch, passed 
 through his mind like images of fire. Hope shone upon 
 his soul through the medium of imagination, not of reason. 
 In thought he sees a great assemblage of knights in gala 
 dress, he hears an incessant sound of bells and instru- 
 ments ; before his burning fancy rises the chapel of the 
 Santa Vergine Incoronata, the priests, and the nuptial 
 rites ; Yole wears the bridal wreath, Manfred accom- 
 panies her ; they approach the altar, the ceremonies 
 begin, are almost finished ; a Crucifix, illuminated by 
 thousand of tapers, stands in the middle of the holy place, 
 Rogiero raises his eyes to its face. Eternal GOD ! - The 
 brow is livid, the mouth bloody, the eyes starting from
 
 8o The Banditti. 
 
 their sockets ; it is the face of his betrayed father. Hope 
 abandons him, despair seizes upon him, and transports 
 him into " the blackness of darkness." He looks intently, 
 and sees a form approaching ; its brow is pale, its mouth 
 is bloody : he feels the touch of a hand, then that of a 
 poniard ; hand and weapon are equally cold. An irresis- 
 tible power forces him forward, raises his hand, armed 
 with that poniard, and strikes it down He hears a stifled 
 groan ; the room is suddenly illuminated ; from the 
 breast of Manfred pours a stream of blood ; across his 
 body lies stretched a beloved being, her side also is 
 bleeding, and her face deathlike. Rogiero could no 
 longer bear the thronging fancies of his brain, and fell 
 back on his saddle ; then, as if to fly from himself, he 
 spurred his horse furiously forward. The noble animal 
 rushes like the wind, his body is covered with foam, but 
 he will die of fatigue rather than not obey his master's 
 will. Rogiero ! Rogiero ! What avails your flight ? 
 Whether you hasten on, or stop, despair rules supreme in 
 your heart ! 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE BANDITTI. 
 
 Almen dovria, 
 
 Se iniquo fe nel suo cuor, serbar 1'esteraa 
 Religion degli avi nostri. 
 
 GIOVANNI DI GISCALA, Tragedia. 
 
 At least he might, 
 
 Though faithless were his heart, preserve the rite 
 
 Our pious fathers held. M. G. M. 
 
 ?f|ONG was the road, the night dark. The horse 
 ran precipitously ; for although accustomed to 
 understand his master's will, and follow it, yet 
 Rogiero unconsciously kept spurring him. lie 
 galloped over one plain, then over another, and another
 
 The Banditti. 81 
 
 still ; he leaped over hedges and ditches, crossed rivers, 
 diving into them up to the breast; he was dripping with 
 blood and perspiration, and yet his master relented not. 
 This furious race would have carried them both to certain 
 destruction, if an incident had not luckily prevented it. 
 A man mounted upon a nag, travelling the same road, 
 happened to see the danger in which they were, and, run- 
 ning at full speed after Rogiero, cried : 
 
 "Stop, *stop, Sir Knight; . . . the river is very deep 
 below there ; . . . stop ; . . . you will surely drown." 
 
 Rogiero heard not these warnings, and spurring more 
 and more, was fast approaching death. That man, although 
 riding what seemed a poor nag, still urging him by his 
 voice and whip, succeeded in overtaking him, and cried 
 out again : " Sir Knight ! you seem bent on destruc- 
 tion ; . . . the torrent runs fearfully fast at the end of this 
 plain. . . . Don't you hear the roaring of the waters? . . . 
 Don't throw your life away. . . . Do you hear me? . . . 
 I say . . . Sir Knight !" At this point seizing Rogiero' s 
 horse by the bridle, he stopped him. This latter, startled 
 so suddenly, came to himself, and looking around, placed 
 one hand upon his forehead, saying : 
 
 " Where am I ? Who are you ?" 
 
 " I am a poor pilgrim, begging from door to door ; 
 going your same way, I happened to notice in the twilight 
 the danger you were running into, and hastened to warn 
 you that the torrent is very dangerous just below here. 
 You seem very agitated, Sir Knight ; still, if you have 
 pity, help a poor pilgrim, and I will pray St. Philip and St. 
 Januarius for the peace of your mind and the rest of your 
 soul." 
 
 " Get you hence, and thank God that I don't take your 
 life in recompense for having saved mine." 
 
 " Sir Knight, don't repulse me so : God's law teaches to 
 love one's enemies. How can you hate one who has ren- 
 dered you a service ? " 
 
 " Did I ask you for it ? If you saved me from death, 
 
 it is a sign that it was more for your interest that I should 
 
 live : your brain might not have conceived this thought, 
 
 but your heart did. Thus in the dark I cannot perceive 
 
 4*
 
 82 The Banditti. 
 
 your face, but you certainly must be a scoundrel ; . . . are 
 you not a man ? " 
 
 " You add insult to my poverty. Oh ! not so did the 
 knights of old !" 
 
 " Man ! . . . I despise you not because you are pooi*, 
 but because you are a man ; and I want you to know 
 that my contempt for the whole race begins with myself." 
 
 " Oh ! for the love you bear to your mother, ... to 
 your kindred, . . ." 
 
 " I know them not, I have no obligation to any. I 
 can hate without remorse, and I live hating. Get you 
 hence, and may you die a worse death than that you saved 
 me from ! " 
 
 "O Blessed Mary! Sir Knight, you are beside your- 
 self ! But since you refuse me the smallest alms, grant me 
 at least your company until we have crossed the Campania; 
 you know that it is full of robbers and assassins on account 
 of the war between the Holy See and King Manfred. Do 
 not deny me this. . . . May the eyes of your lady ever look 
 kindly upon you ! " 
 
 " I wish for no company : if you are weak, why do you 
 place yourself in danger ? Go ; . . . man is no fit com- 
 panion for man ; . . . rather the serpent of the desert. . ." 
 Thus saying, he spurred his horse and disappeared in the 
 darkness of the night. 
 
 Morning came. The sun rose in the majesty of its rays, 
 and spread heat and light over all things. The waters of 
 the river seemed to rejoice in seeing the sun, and the sun 
 the waters of the river : the latter trembled, agitated by 
 the morning breeze ; the former diffused over them its rays ; 
 and hence arose a brilliant, silvery, incessant, quick spark- 
 ling, which dazzled the eyes, and yet it was beautiful to 
 look at. It seemed the joy of two friends, who meet 
 again after many years of past dangers and separation. 
 The country rung harmoniously with various tints, with 
 songs and perfumes, the exultation of nature. Jf there 
 is an hour in the day in which the earth shows itself to us 
 as it must have appeared in the first days of creation, be- 
 fore our fathers sinned, it is surely that in which the sun 
 returns to illumine it. God in His wisdom granted it to
 
 The Banditti. 83 
 
 the resigned man, who rises with the dawn to fulfil the 
 punishment of labor which fell upon the descendants of 
 Adam ; or rather in recompense for his state, because the 
 laborer is poor, and his rising with the sun is for the ben- 
 efit of him who never sees it, except when it begins to 
 decline. Noon came, the beautiful noon in the serene 
 days of summer. Is there anything here below that can 
 compare with the azure of the sky ? The eyes of beauty, 
 has said a sweet poet,/0z'/ the way that leads to heaven,* 
 but they cannot resemble it. The grandeur of the heavens 
 stands alone, as the omnipotence of its Creator. The star 
 of life, all radiant with youth, rejoices to illumine that 
 divine vault, and that vault offers a boundless field to the 
 splendor of its rays; both beautiful, they love to parti- 
 cipate in each other's beauty. O child of earth ! in this 
 happy hour do not lower your eyes to your mother : men 
 have despoiled the fields of the fruits of labor to sustain a 
 life of misery ; do not lower your eyes to earth, or the 
 illusion will vanish ; keep them fixed upon the heavens ; 
 God hath created you for them. 
 
 Hail, all hail, O sun, that suscitates and circumscribes 
 life ; hail, O fountain of life and death ! Thou hast seen 
 with those same rays the birthplace and the tomb of our first 
 parents ; thou shall see that of our last posterity : nations 
 have disappeared before thee, like the waters of the torrent, 
 like the sands of the desert. Men have cursed thee, and 
 thou hast not ceased to scatter over them the blessings of 
 thy light ; they have offered thee incense and prayers as to 
 a God, and thou hast not increased thy heat, ever great, 
 ever immutable in thy goodness. At times, a little cloud, 
 emanation of terrestrial vapor, shadowed those vaults 
 destined to thee alone, and thou irradiatedst it with such 
 splendor, that it seemed the brow of innocence ; but it 
 blackened as ingratitude, and waged war against thy rays. 
 
 * " Gentil mia donna, i' veggio 
 
 Nel muover del vostri occhi un dolce lume, 
 Che mi mostra la via che al ciel conduce." 
 
 PETRARCA, Canzone, 9. 
 Dear lady mine, from thy sweet eyes is given 
 A light to guide my upward path to heaven.
 
 84 The Banditti. 
 
 The serene of the sky was lost, but only for us ; the 
 storm raged, but over our heads : the thunderbolts were 
 under thee ; and thy light, ever brilliant, ever peaceful, 
 smiled at its dark life of one hour. 
 
 Will thy rays be then eternal ? Whence didst thou 
 draw thy fire? How dost thou preserve it? Shalt thou 
 survive the last of the living? Art thou by thyself, or a 
 stronger power constrains thee to be ? No : let us bless 
 it; it is light and warm. 
 
 Twilight came, which, though speckled with a greater 
 number of colors than that of the morning, falls melan- 
 choly, sad. A ray of gold and purple reddens those 
 boundaries \vhereitseemsthat heaven, bending low, joins 
 the ocean ; but that ray is as a thing of the past, and has 
 the stamp of its decay : it seems like the fame of a con- 
 queror, who, although gone from the world, has entrusted 
 his memory to history, in order that it may be revived in 
 future ages. This agony between light and darkness is 
 as solemn as that between life and death ; it touches all 
 the soft chords in our hearts : the laborer stops his work, 
 the philosopher his meditation, to allow their souls free 
 vent to their melancholic sensations. This hour is a test 
 for tender hearts : if a man met his enemy and asked for 
 pardon, this latter, though capable of reverting in the 
 night to thoughts of vengeance, and even to execute 
 them, could not refuse it at that moment. Unhappy he 
 who views the parting day without sadness ! thousand 
 times more so than he who views the coming morn with- 
 out feeling joy ! 
 
 All this wonderful panorama of Nature had passed be- 
 fore the eyes of Rogiero, who, though he had not paid 
 attention to it, yet had felt its influence : his thoughts in 
 the morning had been full of wrath ; they were now full of 
 sadness. For a long time his horse could hardly walk, 
 when Rogiero, unaware, found himself within a thick 
 forest ; not a hut vjsible, no sound heard, except the mys- 
 terious rustling of the leaves agitated by a light breeze. 
 He dismounted ; his body felt weary ; he took off the 
 bit from the hoise, who neighed joyfully, as if, having 
 performed cheerfully the arduous duty for his master, he
 
 The Banditti. 85 
 
 deserved now a due recognition from him. Rogiero pat- 
 ted him affectionately ; but when, placing a hand on his 
 side, he felt it moist with clotted blood, and the horse 
 shivered somewhat on account of the pain of the exaspe- 
 rated wound, he exclaimed plaintively : " Allah ! my 
 good horse ! See what thanks you get from a man whom 
 misfortune has demented. Alas ! To treat the best of 
 friends as one would his bitterest enemy, is a sure sign of 
 a diseased brain ; " and he raised his eyes to heaven, 
 sighing bitterly. Afterwards, all armed as he was, he 
 stretched himself upon the ground, using his shield as a 
 pillow. He was extremely weary ; yet in the beginning 
 his mind was fixed on a single thought ; but soon after 
 an infinite number of fancies passed through his head 
 very distinct in the beginning, but afterwards broken, dis- 
 ordered, finally confused ; his heavy eyes gradually closed> 
 and he fell asleep. 
 
 He had remained for some time in that state, when he 
 was suddenly awakened by a loud roar of laughter, curses 
 and vulgar expressions, such as are wont among low 
 people. At a short distance from him, among the under- 
 brush, he saw a fire, and before it men of fierce aspect, 
 armed to the teeth, who revelled in a horrid manner ; he 
 heard also, when their infernal uproar subsided, a tearful 
 voice wailing ; and to this answering hoarse laughter, and 
 words of mockery. Rogiero, drawing his sword, softly 
 approached the place, and easily perceived that it was a 
 party of banditti, but he could not as readily notice what 
 was the cause of their merriment. Approaching still 
 nearer, he finally saw a man, whose voice, although al- 
 tered by fear, seemed to him the same as that of the man 
 who in the early morning had asked him for his company. 
 His garments seemed really those of a beggar, for he 
 wore a pilgrim's gray gown ornamented with shells, as 
 was the custom of those who went to the Holy Land ; 
 he might have been fifty years old, small in person, but 
 looked as if he might be very strong and active ; he had 
 a pale face all covered with wrinkles, sunken eyes, but 
 with very black pupils. 
 
 "Hark ye, for I want. to convince you that we are
 
 86 The Banditti. 
 
 not using you ill, but rather that it is for your good that 
 you should die. We have searched you from head to 
 foot, and have found neither an image of Saint, nor a 
 rosary of the Madonna, but instead this purse full of gold 
 so bright and new, that it is a real comfort to look at : 
 this of course it is better that we should keep ; at the 
 same time you yourself must be convinced that this can- 
 not be the property of a poor pilgrim ; and even if it was, 
 how could you, begging through the world, collect them 
 all new, and of the same year ? rgo, you are not a 
 pilgrim. It remains now to ascertain whether you are a 
 robber or a spy ; but it is useless to go at great length 
 into this inquiry, for in either case you must die. If you 
 are a robber, as it is probable, rivalry of trade, fear of see- 
 ing our profession in too many hands, now that business 
 is getting rather scarce, counsel us to kill you : if you 
 are a spy, the pleasure of revenge, the assurance of the 
 impossibility of your injuring us in the future, advise us 
 to kill you. Charity, my brother, is indeed a great vir- 
 tue ; but I have heard often that, to be perfect, it must 
 begin at home. Now charity to you would operate entirely 
 contrary to mine ; you are weak, and I am strong; -you 
 ran. and I overtook you. Ergo, I kill you. What say you 
 to my logic ? " 
 
 This argument was held by a bandit who seemed to 
 have some preeminence over the others : he was hand- 
 some, young and strongly built. His face though, from 
 the middle upward, was truly frightful on account of its 
 black eyebrows continually scowling, its wrinkled forehead 
 and threatening eyes ; from the middle downward, how- 
 ever, its red mouth always smiling, and showing a very 
 handsome set of white teeth, denoted him fond of wit 
 and merriment ; his face was indeed a contradiction, and 
 more so his soul : a nature unique in the world, which I 
 am sorry not to be able to unfold fully in this story, 
 because he who possessed it succumbed to a premature 
 destiny. At the end of his words the bystanders roared 
 out, " Drengotto is right, indeed he is right !" 
 
 The unfortunate pilgrim, espying the moment when he 
 would be heard, threw himself at the feet of the bandit,
 
 The Banditti. 87 
 
 exclaiming: "Beautiful knight, don't stain your hand 
 with innocent blood ! you would commit a grave sin. I 
 swear to you by the Cross of our Saviour that I am neither 
 a robber nor a spy. This gold was given me by a baron 
 of Chieti, who lodged me one night in his castle, and or- 
 dered me to carry it to the Abbot of Monte Cassino, to 
 use it for the service of the Church and for the poor. I 
 heard in the neighborhood that he, in his youth, had been 
 a very wicked man ; and now, in his old age, feeling that 
 death was approaching, his heart had been touched, and 
 had been taken suddenly with the fear of the devil ; . . . 
 and you, Sir Knight, do you not fear the devil ? . . . " 
 " Why should I fear old acquaintances ?" 
 "Ah! do not injure the poor, for they are the pro- 
 tected of the Lord. Let me go my way ; I will pray all 
 I can for you. Have you not a Christian soul ? Why do 
 you wish mine lost ? " 
 
 " Ne go minor em, nego minorem" resumed the bandit. 
 " First of all, in order that your argument may stand, 
 you would have to prove that you had one. But we will 
 waive that question. We will admit that you have a soul ; 
 if so, it must be either a good or a bad one ; if good, 
 what is there in life ft> attract you ? Life is a succession 
 of afflictions ; the world a prison of wild beasts ; both 
 weariness of spirit. Rejoice then that yd*u are approach- 
 ing the principal of all perfections ; rejoice that you are 
 going so speedily to delight in the inheritance of happi- 
 ness that the Lord has promised you. If bad, the wicked 
 soul owes a debt for his sins, and I collect it." 
 
 "And who has given you this right over my life?" 
 " Might, my dear brother, might. Do you think that 
 when they shall have taken me, and according to the 
 customs and laws of the country, burnt, hung, or buried 
 me alive, in the name of the laws, by the will of a king 
 Dei gratia, by a-, sentence made out /;/ nomine Domini, 
 anicn, according to all the proper rules and formalities, 
 full of quotations from Irnerins, Bulgarius and such old 
 Baccallau> it, who have as much to do with it as Pilate in 
 the Credo, will they have in reality any more right than
 
 88 The Banditti. 
 
 this ? Might, my boy, might is the great Mother Eve of 
 all rights." 
 
 Here all the banditti, who had been very attentive till 
 then to the dispute, cried out : 
 
 " Bravo ! our doctor of law. Well said, Drengotto !" 
 
 " Oh ! Sir Knight, you are too good a master of argu- 
 ment for a poor beggar like me to dispute ; I conjure 
 you upon the soul of your father, if he be dead." 
 
 " That is what I myself know not. Poor man ! In- 
 deed, I remember, he loved me very, very much. Every- 
 body told him that I was the perfect image of my mother. 
 He had me taught in grammar and rhetoric by a famous 
 master at home, and when I was old enough, he gave me 
 books, money, and a palfrey, and sent me to Bologna to 
 study law at that famous university. In a year or two, 
 instead of law, I learned all the vices that were, are, and 
 can be, and even a little more. I contracted all sorts of 
 debts, sold all my books, my palfrey, my clothes, and re- 
 turned home in my shirt sleeves. I made up a good 
 story about robbers, and my father believed it. But I 
 would not stay long at home ; my father allowed me too 
 small a pittance for my wants. So, espying where he kept 
 his strong-box, I one night decamped with it ; and that is 
 the last I ever heard of him." 
 
 So saying, he* smiled, but with such grim smiles, that 
 his companions could not follow him, nor applaud. 
 
 " Now then, pilgrim," he resumed, "since I cannot con- 
 vince you that your death is a blessing, let us see whether 
 I can reconcile you to it by the manner I intend to give 
 it to you. Know, then, that as I have been at a univer- 
 sity, I propose to give a classical Latin death. His 
 glorious Highness, the Emperor Frederick II., peace be 
 to his soul, among his other achievements, invented 
 the penalty of propaginare, from the Latin prof ago, 
 propaginis, which means to sprout, to shopt out. This, as 
 you will see, is a very curious sort of death; for it is done 
 by digging a hole in the ground as deep as you are tall, 
 and a little over ; then thrusting you into it, head fore- 
 most, and covering it over again with earth. What say ye 
 to that ? Is it not really an imperial idea ? "
 
 The Banditti. 89 
 
 " Yes, yes ; let us propaginate him ! let us propagin- 
 ate him ! " yelled in chorus those fierce men, and all set 
 themselves to work digging the hole. 
 
 " Oh, holy Virgin, aid me ! " exclaimed the pilgrim, 
 trembling all over. 
 
 "For shame! for shame!" continued Drengotto. 
 " Die like a man ; rather rejoice at the thought of a sure 
 revenge. You, thus propaginated, will sprout ; from the 
 seed of a spy must surely spring the tree of the gallows. 
 Comfort yourself then in the last hour with the hope that 
 one day or another we shall be the fruits of your tree." 
 
 " Do not kill me, most valiant knight, do not kill me, for 
 your holy baptism, for the blessing of God and the saints ; 
 keep me for your slave ; I know how to take care of a 
 horse ; I will love you and yours ; I will serve you faithfully. 
 Oh ! release me, release me ; death is such agonizing tor- 
 ture." And he wept and sighed desperately. 
 
 " How do you know that death is painful ? You have 
 never died before ; another time I may believe you, but 
 for this once I cannot." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, it is painful. Do you not see how I tremble 
 only at hearing it mentioned ? Even you would tremble 
 if you were near it. Why have we such an instinct of life, 
 if death is not a suffering ? " And he still wept, and 
 implored with piteous supplications. 
 
 " Come, come ! weep not, brother ; you really move 
 me to compassion. But consider, even Frederick the 
 glorious Emperor, who was a much greater man than you, 
 died ; even Innocent, the wise pontiff, is defunct ; and I, 
 even I, born of Sir Tafo of Andreuccio, a rich broker of 
 Naples, and Lady Ermellina his wife I even, who have 
 studied civil and common law in the University of Bo- 
 logna, young, handsome, strong, must likewise die.* 
 We are all born with this proviso ; it is a condition sine 
 qua non ; eternity only grants us a few years of life : do 
 not weep then over your misfortune ; or weep rather, 
 
 * This speech is very similar to that of Achilles to Lycaon in the 
 twenty-first book of Homer's Iliad. For my part, I don't believe 
 that there is any one who considers it epic rather than comic.
 
 9O The Banditti. 
 
 and I with you, for our unhappy race. Is that hole 
 ready ? " 
 
 It is not to be told how the pilgrim, who, by the com- 
 passionate sound with which the bandit had spoken, had 
 somewhat reassured himself, sunk crestfallen at the con- 
 cluding sentence, and much more so when he heard re- 
 peated from all around : " 'Tis ready, 'tis ready ! " 
 
 They fell upon him, though he strove to defend himself, 
 kicking and biting whomever approached him. Many 
 times was he seized, and as often he slipped from their 
 hands ; the muscles of his face were swollen convulsively ; 
 he yelled like a maniac, darting his eyes here and there ; 
 he used all the efforts of despair : but finally they succeeded 
 in holding him fast, and, turning him upside down, they 
 approached the hole. His howls became fiercer, if not 
 louder. 
 
 " Oh, great mother of God, aid me ! " he cried with won- 
 derful celerity. " St. Januarius ! St. Eramus ! St. Philip ! 
 Angels! Archangels! have mercy on my soul ! Holy mar- 
 tyrs . . . and confessors . . ." 
 
 '' So much the better," interrupted Drengotto. " If he 
 dies unconvinced, he will at least die converted. Hear 
 how we)l he recites the litanies of the saints ? " 
 
 " Well said, well said ! " exclaimed those wretches with 
 a tumult of laughter. They had already reached the hole, 
 in spite of the incredible efforts of the ill-starred man, and 
 already inserted his head into it, when suddenly there 
 were heard three sounds of a horn. The banditti, startled, 
 dropped hold of the man, and, careless what became of 
 him, took their arms, and under the orders of Drengotto, 
 they stood still, as if about to receive a great personage' 
 
 They gazed right and left, uncertain whence he would 
 appear ; for the forest was very thick, and the rustling of 
 the leaves prevented their hearing his footsteps. Sud- 
 denly Rogiero perceived a man of gigantic stature issue 
 forth from the darkness, and reveal by the light of the 
 fire all the majesty of his form. He was dressed like 
 the others of the banditti, except that he had a coat-of- 
 m ail carefully burnished, a horn at his side, and a plume 
 in his cap. The flame of the fire reflected on his conn-
 
 The Banditti. 91 
 
 tenance a vermilion light ; he had strong features, shaggy 
 eyebrows, bloodshot eyes, all the marks of a man domi- 
 neered by fierce passion ; at the same time his proud head, 
 large forehead, his chin somewhat turned upward, his lips 
 compressed, marked him as a man of strong will, and born 
 to rule. That countenance of his, though severe, had 
 nothing hideous in it ; rather it inspired confidence, as it 
 is always observed in the aspect of those who are strong 
 both in mind and in body. He was followed by four 
 banditti, who led a number of mules loaded with provi- 
 sions. When they had advanced, the leader looked 
 around to all his companions, and with lordly manner 
 courteously said to them : " Hail ! " 
 
 " Hail, all hail to you, captain ! " replied the banditti. 
 
 " Behold ! God does not wish the destruction of those 
 who offend Him. We have acquired the means of provid- 
 ing for a long time for our need, the need that places 
 arms in our hands against our fellow-men." 
 
 " Acquired ! " exclaimed one of the four who followed 
 him. " Acquired ! We could have easily done so, only 
 you would bay and pay for it with so many bright gold 
 coins of Frederick II." 
 
 " And is .it not an acquisition, Beltramo ? Nowa- 
 days the world is conquered more with gold than arms ; 
 and I fear it will be for a long time yet." 
 
 "I have nothing to say to that," replied Beltramo; 
 "but certainly that gold might have been spared."' 
 
 " Did you spend it of your own ? Did I ask you for 
 your share ? Oh ! Let us not weigh our hands upon 
 the poor and oppressed ; let us teach those men, who 
 have expelled us from their midst, that we are better than 
 they. Indeed, I could hp.ve taken away from those poor 
 vassals the goods that they were carrying to market : but 
 would you, Beltramo, feed on these provisions without 
 thinking of the tears that the hard exactor of the baron 
 would cause when he went around collecting the rents, 
 and they were unable to pay on our account ? No, no ; 
 bread stolen from the poor does not" comfort either body 
 or soul. This evening, returning joyfully to their fami- 
 lies, they will relate : Five banditti met us in our way ;
 
 92 The Banditti. 
 
 we fled, leaving our goods to save our lives ; they could 
 have taken them, but they called us back, and paid for 
 them more than we could have got at the market. And 
 when they pray, I feel certain that they will remember 
 us, and God, listening to the prayers of His chosen, 
 will look down upon us with mercy, will see our misery,' 
 and will remove us from this life of torment to ourselves, 
 and of fear to others. God is merciful in His works." 
 
 " Amen," said Drengotto, in an undertone. 
 
 "Why do you say amen, Drengotto?" asked a bandit 
 who stood near him. 
 
 " Because the sermon is over ; indeed it will certainly 
 end with a cord either to the loins or to the throat'' * 
 
 " Drengotto ! " called the leader. 
 
 Drengotto moved boldly to the front, replying : "Ad- 
 sum, captain." 
 
 " Give me an account of the day." 
 
 " Very little to report, Sir Ghino. We have been tramp- 
 ing backward and forward from the wood to the river all 
 day long, but have met neither a Christian nor a Saracen. 
 Returning towards evening with empty hands, our dogs, 
 snuffing and barking, rushed into a thicket, and we after 
 them ; here we perceived that they had got hold of a 
 beast of a pilgrim, who lies there on the ground ; we 
 hastened to liberate him, for, had we delayed, they would 
 have devoured him." 
 
 " That is well." 
 
 " Some of us proposed to let him go ; but I, having 
 full delegated powers from you, objected, saying : Let us 
 see first whether this good pilgrim carries about him relics 
 or beads; upon these holy things, sinners as we are, we 
 will not put our hands ; but if he possess any silver, gold, 
 or precious stones, we. will take them, for these are vani- 
 ties unworthy of religious men. After this we began to 
 search him, and, mirabilevisrt, wonderful sight ! he carried 
 neither rosaries nor relics of saints, but instead this purse 
 full of golden agostaries." 
 
 " O most valiant baron, for the honor of your name, 
 
 * To turn monk or be hung. TR.
 
 The Banditti. 93 
 
 for the souls of your dead, save me from that cruel man, 
 who in words and deeds seems Lucifer himself. Behold 
 he has prepared a ditch to bury me alive." Thus inter- 
 rupted the pilgrim, who, having heard the mild speech of 
 the chief, had risen on his knees, and thus dragged him- 
 self to his feet. The banditti, seeing him appear in that 
 attitude, with the fear of death in his face, covered with 
 mud and dirt, broke out in loud laughter, which was soon 
 repressed by a look from the stern chief. 
 
 " Rise," said Ghino. " Man never should kneel to 
 man ; " and unbinding his hands, he added, " Go ; you 
 are free." Then, without waiting for his thanks, he turned 
 to Drengotto, saying : " Is it true what I have heard ?" 
 
 " Yes, very true." 
 
 " Why did you wish to do this ? " 
 
 "Oh ! for a mere joke ; we only desired thus to have 
 an example of the manner in which the Emperor Fred- 
 erick executed our colleagues whenever they fell into his 
 hands." 
 
 " You have transgressed one of the laws of our com- 
 pany ; you deserve a punishment." 
 
 " Who has made these laws, captain ? " 
 
 " Our free will." 
 
 . " Who has made a thing can unmake it. Everything 
 changes in this world religious customs, heaven and 
 earth ; and a banditti's code, made after supper, with a 
 goblet in the hand, shall not change ?" 
 
 "Who is he that wishes to change these laws here?" 
 cried Ghino, in a voice that made his companions 
 shudder, and turning his eyes around in such manner 
 that caused those they met to be cast down. " Who is he 
 that wishes to change them here? Our little society 
 made these laws by free consent, and / will have them 
 obeyed." 
 
 " Don't talk to me of laws," exclaimed Drengotto, 
 mockingly; "no one is more convinced of their absurdity 
 than I who studied them at Bologna. Our laws are primo 
 mihi ... I ..." 
 
 " Wretch ! What avails you the blood of a weak man ?
 
 94 The Banditti. 
 
 What pleasure or what utility can you derive by barbar- 
 ously killing a man who implores your pity ? Remember 
 that one day you also shall be judged." 
 
 " Well, every man has his opinions, and mine is this. 
 There lived a people once, who used to murder, out of 
 pity, all the deformed of body, and they have been 
 praised ; then why should I be blamed for killing the de- 
 formed of spirit, which is worse ? Antiquity, Sir Ghino, 
 is esteemed the alma mater of useful knowledge." 
 
 " Who are you that pretend to scrutinize the thoughts 
 of man ? What proofs had you that he was a spy? If 
 these are your sentiments you deserve more than ever to 
 be punished. And you should remember that the weak 
 were never killed but by the coward." 
 
 "By this it seems that you accuse me of being a cow- 
 ard ; I will call you honest, and we shall have both lied, 
 or said a stupid thing each." 
 
 "Drengotto!" 
 
 " Oh, come now ! Let us throw aside this mask of virtue, 
 which does not become us, whose trade is to rob in the 
 highways ; it makes us look like the devil in a monk's 
 cowl. Let us look on ourselves in all our nakedness. It 
 is repulsive, but we have the courage to bear it. Let us 
 call ourselves openly assassins ; what is the use of hiding 
 it ? nobody would believe us. Mark this, be it an honor, 
 or a stain, every one of us carries the stamp of Cain upon 
 his forehead ; you may pull down the cap over your eyes 
 as much as you please ; the mark will pierce through the 
 cloth and show itself. Let us at least be sincere, for we 
 cannot deceive ourselves by feigning ; let us renounce 
 the pretence of a virtue from which we derive no 
 other benefit than the devil's mockery. To be thus 
 fully rascals, without laws, is more to our purpose than 
 to pretend to be honest with them. In the first case 
 we are always on our guard, because we keep constant 
 watch over each other ; in the latter case we trust, and 
 get betrayed ; and then what remains ? the halter. I 
 would bet this Damascus sword of mine, that you yourself, 
 with all your generosity, if the Pope or King Manfred 
 would promise you an estate, on condition of betraying
 
 The Banditti. 95 
 
 us, you would without a moment's hesitation sell us all, like 
 sheep to the butcher, body and soul . . ." 
 
 " Drengotto ! " cried Ghino, and his hand flew to his 
 dagger. 
 
 But the wretch, continuing his sarcastic loquacity, 
 continued : " But we keep a watch on you, because 
 we have no better opinion of you, than you, if you are 
 wise, ought to have of ourselves. Hence let every one do 
 as he pleases ; let us be united while we can. When we 
 cannot, we will destroy each other, as it will be most use- 
 ful to us. In the meanwhile allow us \.Q propaginate our 
 pilgrim. Liberty of action ! hurrah for liberty ! " 
 
 "Liberty of action!" cried some of the band fero- 
 ciously, and started to seize again the pilgrim ; but this 
 latter, taking advantage of the dispute, had crawled cau- 
 tiously behind them, and taken to his heels, so that by 
 this time he was miles off. Having thus remained de- 
 feated in their intent, they wanted to let the dogs loose, 
 search him through the forest, find him by all means, and 
 propaginate him. Ghino however, seconded by a part of 
 them, drew his sword, exclaiming : " I forbid it." 
 
 " Let us do it, or we'll kill you ! " cried the followers 
 of Drengotto. 
 
 " Kill me ? mean rascals ! " cried Ghino, brandishing 
 his sword. " Come on ! " 
 
 " Come on ! " And they would have come to blows, 
 had not Drengotto interposed, saying : 
 
 " Peace ! peace ! my masters ! Listen to me first. 
 Ghino, as you perceive, we hold two different opinions ; 
 we shall never be able to agree with words. We may talk 
 and talk even to the last day, each would persist in his 
 own idea ; and besides, it would take too long for one to 
 convince the other : let us settle it with the poniard, 
 which is the shortest way. Let us not do like the poten- 
 tates of the earth, who, when they have a quarrel to settle 
 between them, oblige the herds of men to murder each 
 other in the name of glory, without knowing why. Why 
 should our companions kill each other, and thus disap- 
 point the gallows ? The quarrel was between us two,
 
 96 The Banditti. 
 
 let us settle it between ourselves ; let us trust to the judg- 
 me?it of God" * 
 
 " And God has doomed you, for my sword has never 
 missed a blow." 
 
 " I know this too well ; nor must you imagine that I 
 want a regular duel with you ; you are stronger and more 
 skilful in arms than I. You have practised sword and 
 lance ever since your childhood, while I was reading 
 codes and comments in the University of Bologna. Let us 
 fight so that no one of us should have any advantage over 
 the other. Let us throw our poniards on the ground, take 
 the distance of one hundred steps, you on one side, I on 
 the other. At the given signal we will both run to seize 
 them : who reaches first, strikes. What say you to that ? " 
 
 The banditti were silent. Ghino sheathed his sword, 
 drew the poniard, and showing it to Drengotto, said : 
 
 " You wish it ? Hark ye, I have overtaken the goat 
 in his flight, and God will put wings to my feet, because 
 it is His cause." 
 
 " So much the better for you. What is the use of talk- 
 ing any more ? Our companions expected to see the 
 pilgrim propaginated. He escaped on your account ; 
 they must have a feast -at any rate." 
 
 "Be it as you will, and your blood be on your own head." 
 *. Saying this, Ghino stood a moment pensive ; then, 
 shaking his head, threw the poniard down so violently 
 that it stuck more than half in the ground ; then, turn- 
 ing his back, was about proceeding to his post. Dren- 
 gotto spied this movement, and rushing swiftly was on 
 the point of treacherously stabbing Ghino in the back, 
 when the blade of a sword, emerging from behind a tree, 
 struck the assassin's arm with so much force, that his 
 hand fell severed to the ground. The wounded man ut- 
 tered a piercing cry, remained a moment standing, finally 
 fell in a swoon. Ghino turned his head ; he compre- 
 hended the whole at one glance, and exclaimed : " There 
 lives a God who punishes treachery ! " 
 
 * Thus was called in those days a duel for the settlement of a pri- 
 vate quarrel. TR.
 
 The Banditti. 97' 
 
 The banditti, amazed and terror-struck, bent low their 
 heads, muttering in spite of themselves: "There is a 
 God!" 
 
 How was it that Rogiero had remained immovable at 
 the adventure of the pilgrim, and came so readily to the 
 rescue of the chief of the banditti ? This will be easily 
 explained by recalling what Lavater says respecting the 
 different effects of physiognomies. " We meet some- 
 times certain faces," says he, " that at the first sight be- 
 come the pleasure of our eyes, and the joy of our 
 hearts. They seem to us as faces that we must have 
 met before ; we love them without knowing why, or 
 being able to help it : while, on the contrary, we meet 
 others which inspire us with a feeling of repugnance and 
 aversion ; our reason may prevent our hating them, but 
 they will never inspire love in our souls." This feeling 
 must have actuated Rogiero. 
 
 His sudden appearance, the rich armor he wore, and 
 the beautiful face, gave him the air of St. George con- 
 quering the dragon, and the superstitious minds of the 
 banditti would have adored him for a St. George, or a 
 St. Michael, if Ghino, advancing frankly, and taking him 
 by the hand, had not said : " I owe you my life, brave 
 knight." 
 
 Nor did he say more, but the manner with which those 
 words were spoken showed Rogiero that he had found a 
 friend, one who would have given his property, his life, 
 his whole to see him happy; showed him, in fact, all those 
 feelings, which no language in the world can express, and 
 even if it could, the heart jvould disdain to proffer, for 
 profound gratitude is dumb. 
 
 These events took place in a very short space of time. 
 Ghino, having welcomed Rogiero, turned immediately to 
 Drengotto, and helped his companions, fastening as best 
 they could the severed arteries, so as to prevent the 
 further effusion of blood. Then he ordered four men to 
 lift him up, and carry him gently to his hut, he supporting 
 the head. As they went on, the wounded man came to 
 his senses, and raising his eyes, saw Ghino, to whom in a 
 feeble voice he spoke thus : 
 5
 
 98 The Banditti. 
 
 " What a curious man you are, Sir Ghino ! Now what 
 do you mean by this pretended compassion ? You neither 
 ought nor can feel any for me. Did I not attempt to kill 
 you? and treacherously, fools would say. What is 
 treachery? You offended me, I had a right to a revenge ; 
 I could not obtain it by fight ; it would have been adding 
 injury to insult, for you were the stronger ; I attempted 
 it as best I could ; I did not succeed ; patience ! It 
 was a quarrel between us two ; chance decided it against 
 me ; and I grieve no more at it than the physician 
 whose patient dies, or the lawyer who has lost a case. 
 Do go, .then ; this compassion of yours is an insult to me. 
 What matters if I have a hand the less ? Nature has pro- 
 vided for it, for she has given us two. Since we are 
 born to die, it is best that we go off by degrees rather 
 than all at once. In this way we get used to it: first 
 a hand, then a foot. Somebody had to pay for the 
 fiddle ; it fell to my lot ; patience ! Indeed, betting has 
 always been my ruin ! " 
 
 Ghino endeavored to soothe him, but he had again 
 fallen into a swoon. On arriving at the hut, the leader 
 ordered Beltramo to take good care of him, and watch 
 over him during the night ; then .turning to the others who 
 had followed him, said, with a solemn voice : " Let Dren- 
 gotto's fate be an example to you ; I pardon the guilty." 
 
 After which, offering Rogiero hospitality for the night, 
 he led the way through some very intricate paths of the 
 forest to his dwelling. Rogiero willingly accepted, for, 
 besides experiencing a great need of food and rest, he 
 derived great pleasure from Ghino' s society. We will. let 
 them go, for Ghino knows the way ; we will instead put 
 an end to this chapter, and to the life of Drengotto. 
 
 The banditti, dismissed by Ghino, dispersed with vari- 
 ous feelings and deep thoughts. 
 
 The four who had carried Drengotto laid him upon the 
 bed, and Beltramo, turning pitifully to his companions, 
 said, " Would, you have the heart to leave him alone ? " 
 
 " Are you not enough ? " replied one of them ; " what 
 could we do here all night long ? " 
 
 " We will play dice," added Beltramo.
 
 The Banditti. 99 
 
 " In that case I will remain." 
 
 " So will I. And I," replied the others. 
 
 But Beltramo, who had a spark of humanity more than 
 the rest, observed that Drengotto seemed yet in a swoon, 
 to which the others replied that he was surely asleep. 
 Deceived, if not convinced, by their assertion that he was 
 asleep, he put his conscience at rest, and took out the 
 dice. 
 
 " We -have no wine ! " they all exclaimed ; but one of 
 them, who was very impatient to begin the game, ob- 
 served : "Look on that table; don't you see how well 
 Drengotto is provided with it? Let us drink this, for it 
 would take too long to fetch it from our huts ; if Dren- 
 gotto lives, we will restore it to him ; if he dies, we shall 
 have drank it free, which turns vinegar into Greek* as 
 the poet says." 
 
 They laughed at the joke. Then taking the flasks of 
 wine and some candles, sat themselves in a circle on the 
 floor and began to play. They had already played 
 several games, and drank as many flasks of wine, when a 
 voice, that seemed to come from under ground, called, 
 " Beltramo ! " 
 
 " You are awake, Drengotto ? I come directly, it is 
 my turn now, I will throw the dice, and come to you." 
 
 " Beltramo ! " 
 
 " Here I am give me the dice there is a good throw ! 
 six and four is ten, and three, thirteen mark them, Cag- 
 nazzo, the game is not lost yet." Then getting up, he 
 went to the wounded man's side, who said to him : 
 
 " Beltramo, while I was in a swoon . . ." 
 
 " What ! were you not asleep ? " exclaimed Beltramo, 
 with great astonishment. 
 
 "While I was in a swoon," continued Drengotto with- 
 out minding him, " either I made some movement, or the 
 bandage . . ." 
 
 "Three, three ! I only need one to win the game !" 
 shouted a bandit. 
 
 * Excellent Italian wine, so called because the original vines had 
 been first introduced from Greece.
 
 100 The Banditti. 
 
 " It is your turn, Beltramo ; they ne.ed only one to 
 win." 
 
 " Only one ! How can that be ? wait one moment, 
 Drengotto, I will throw the dice, and return." 
 
 " The bandage was badly fastened, and the blood . . ." 
 
 Beltramo stopped short^ " The blood ? " repeated he 
 carelessly, and then added : " Cagnazzo, throw for me, 
 for I can't now." 
 
 " The blood of my body oozed entirely away from my 
 open veins, and I am dying : look ! " He removed the 
 covering miserable spectacle ! He was weltering in 
 blood. 
 
 " Thirteen ! Won ! We have won, Beltramo ; they 
 are losing five games." 
 
 " Mark them in the wall, to avoid questions. . . . 
 Blessed Virgin ! Why did you not call me before, Dren- 
 gotto ? " said Beltramo, endeavoring to rebind the 
 wound. 
 
 " It is of no use now," replied Drengotto, smiling. " It 
 is all over, consummatum est, I called you only to hear 
 my will ; and you also, my companions, come near and 
 be witnesses to my last wishes." 
 
 The banditti, who had finished the game, and without 
 the fourth could not go on well, arose, and each with a 
 glass in their hands approached the bed of the wounded 
 man. He, seeing them all ready to listen, began : 
 
 " On this twelfth day of, etc. . . . etc. . . . Whereas I am 
 fast approaching my end . . . with a very sound mind, as 
 it has always been ; I leave my soul to whomever it be- 
 longs, and my body, considering that its skin is not worth 
 much, to the ' beasts of the field,' and the ' fowls of the 
 air.' Item, I leave my arms and clothes to whoever 
 gets hold of them. Item, my money to you four that 
 you may have masses performed, or gamble it away at 
 dice. Item, to all of you the wine that I possess in my 
 hut, so that you may spend this night merrily and the 
 next, if there happen to be any left . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! we have already taken it," they all exclaimed. 
 
 " So much the better ; let the notary expunge that 
 item" said the dying man, smiling. " Then I institute
 
 The Banditti. 101 
 
 sole heir of all my debts Beltramo di Tafo, who has 
 watched me so tenderly in this my last illness." 
 
 " Oh ! small matter, small matter, Drengotto. You in 
 xny case would have clone the same." 
 
 " I suppose so, Beltramo. I beg you only for a special 
 favor, and conjure you not to deny it to our old friend- 
 ship. Should they take a notion to bury my body, look 
 for my hand, it must have been left there in the wood 
 and place it in my grave beside me, so that I may easily 
 find it when the archangel shall call in the last day of 
 judgment ; otherwise who knows where on earth they 
 will throw it, and I may be delayed a long time searching 
 for it, when I'd rather be of the first, to hear what they 
 are going to do with me." . . . Here he smiled, but it was 
 his last. His lips trembled, his teeth chattered violently, 
 his eyes opened and shut with the same velocity as the 
 wings of a butterfly when first caught. This convulsive 
 agony lasted a very short time, gradually it became 
 feebler and feebler ; it ceased at last, and of that creature 
 there was only left me corpse. 
 
 The banditti, who surrounded the bed with glasses in 
 their hands, seeing him expire, lifted them up to their 
 lips, saying : " This also is ended, peace to his soul ! " 
 and emptied them ; then, covering the body with a cover- 
 lid, returned to gamble away at dice the dead man's 
 money.
 
 102 The Palmer. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE PALMER. 
 
 la luce di Romeo, di cui 
 
 Fu 1'opra grande e bella mal gradita. 
 Ma i Provenzali, che fer contra lui, 
 
 Non hanno riso : e pero mal cammina 
 
 Qual si fa danno del ben fare altrui. 
 Quattro figlie ebbe, e ciascuna reina, 
 
 Ramondo Berlinghieri, e cio gli fece 
 
 Romeo, persona umile e peregrina ; 
 E poi il mosser le parole biece 
 
 A dimandar ragione a questo'giusto, 
 
 Che gli assegnj sette e cinque per diece. 
 Indi partissi povero e vetusto ; 
 
 E se'l mondo sapesse il cuor ch'egli ebbe 
 
 Mendicando sua vita a frusto a frusto, 
 Assai lo loda, e piu lo loderebbe. 
 
 DANTE, Paradiso, Canto 6. 
 
 The lustre shines of Romeo, whose meed 
 
 For fair and goodly works wJs rendered not. 
 The Provencals, they who 'gainst him proceed, 
 
 Have little cause for mirth: ill fares his way 
 Who draws from others' good his own ill deed. 
 
 Four daughters had Count Raymond Berenger, 
 And each became a queen through Romeo. 
 
 Yet he was humbly born, of foreign clay. 
 But envious tongues the count affected so, 
 
 He asked that just man reckoning of his store, 
 Who would for ten a twelve-fold increase show. 
 
 Then Romeo departed, old and poor : 
 But were that lofty courage known to men, 
 
 With which he begged a crust from door to door, 
 More than their present praise were given him then. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 GOOD Romeo (a palmer),* returning from St. 
 Jacopo di Galizia, was dragging his weary steps 
 towards night-fall through the streets of Mar- 
 seilles ; weakened by years and by the length of 
 his journey, he sought for an inn where for that night-he 
 
 * Romeo, a palmer, but more properly those that returned from 
 a pilgrimage to Rome, yet used also for those who returned from 
 Palestine.
 
 The Palmer. , 103 
 
 could rest his aching limbs. Having passed through many 
 streets of the city, he stopped at length before a splendid 
 palace, whence proceeded a brilliant light, and the harmo- 
 nious sounds of music and singing; he saw ladies and 
 knights, richly dressed, passing and repassing ; he saw 
 squires very busy, stewards running here and there with 
 their silver maces, for all was conducted in the best order, 
 and seneschals, and men-servants bearing up and down 
 the stairs most precious vases with exquisite refreshments : 
 all, in short, bore witness to a great feast within. The 
 palmer approaching one of the men assembled before the 
 door, asked him a simple question, and learned that the 
 palace belonged to Monseigneur Raymond Berenger, 
 C.ount of Provence. At this time the great renown of 
 Count Raymond was spread through ail Christendom, for 
 he came of high lineage, having the same origin as the 
 House of Arragon and the Count of Toulouse, and was 
 also a very prudent, courageous and courteous lord, and 
 a doer of all heroic deeds. The bravest knights of Pro- 
 vence, France, and Catalonia repaired to his court, as 
 also the most celebrated troubadours of those times, and 
 he himself took much pleasure in breaking a lance in the 
 tournament, or in singing a love song in the company of 
 ladies. 
 
 The palmer decided how to test the courtesy of the 
 count, and without another thought walked boldly into 
 the court. The knights wondered that a beggar should 
 have the audacity to come among them, and each one 
 avoided him, and, as if fearful that their silken garments 
 should be soiled by touching those of the poor pilgrim, 
 they drew back ; it thus happened, that instead of degrad- 
 ing him, as they had expected, they exalted him, for he 
 advanced alone, between two files of ladies and cavaliers, 
 who, however scornfully disposed they might have been, 
 did not manifest their ill-feelings externally, and that at- 
 titude was very respectful. 
 
 Count Raymond, who, in order to enjoy a full view of 
 the revel, was seated upon a throne-like platform, elevated 
 in the principal part of the hall, no sooner saw the palmer 
 advance, than he descended, and going to meet him, gave
 
 IO4 The Palmer. 
 
 him a gracious reception, saying : " Good palmer, you 
 are most welcome to our court; dispose of everything 
 around you, as may best give you pleasure, for we wish 
 you to be here as lord and master." 
 
 " Monseigneur Count, now I see that report, although 
 it speaks highly of your courtesy, cannot say so much, 
 but that it falls short of the truth. I came here to make 
 the experiment, whether in the hour of pride you would 
 disdain to look upon a servant of God, weakened by- 
 years and weary with his journey ; but you, count, have 
 left pride to the coward hearts which have yielded to its 
 power, and although they may conceal it with bones and 
 flesh, they cannot hide it from the eye of the Eternal." 
 He then glanced severely towards the knights, who, too 
 good courtiers to avoid the look, smilingly returned it. 
 The good pilgrim, disdaining their flatteries as he had 
 their scorn, continued speaking to Count Raymond. 
 " You are not ashamed to fulfil the hopes of the poor, 
 who put their trust in you ; you give them what they 
 need without being asked, for he who sees the need and 
 awaits the request, is almost prepared to deny it. You 
 will be rewarded in this life and in the next. The blessing 
 of the Lord will rest upon you. He will exalt you above 
 your rivals, glorify you above your enemies, and your name 
 will be preserved in your posterity, as the fragrance of 
 myrrh, after the fire has consumed its substance." 
 
 The knights and ladies were astonished at hearing the 
 pilgrim speak so wisely, and looked upon him as a re- 
 markable man. Count Raymond, well pleased, replied 
 with kindness : " We give you infinite thanks, good 
 palmer, for the faith you have placed in our courtesy, 
 although it is not worth remembering ; for we should 
 greatly wrong, we do not say our brothers in knighthood, 
 but our poorest vassals, in suspecting that they would 
 close their doors against the poor palmer." 
 
 " Not the act, but the manner, Monseigneur Count, 
 gains the heart ; there are some who deny in so kind a 
 manner, that you love them more than those who give 
 churlishly." 
 
 Then Count Raymond took the palmer by the hand,
 
 The Palmer. 105 
 
 and led him to the most retired apartments, and caused 
 refreshments to be placed before him. Observing his 
 fatigue, he would not engage him longer in conversation, 
 but ordered a fresh room to be prepared, and left him to 
 repose, while he returned to the feast. 
 
 The next morning, the count, rising very early, retired 
 to the garden, not so much to meditate with an undis- 
 turbed mind upon the affairs of the state, then threatened 
 with war by the Count de Toulouse, as to collect some 
 images of the dawn to embellish some verses which he 
 intended to send to the lady of his thoughts. Sauntering 
 along, wrapped in his own meditations, he met the palmer, 
 who, also rising early, had come there to greet the lord 
 with the first rays of the rising sun. He, after paying due 
 homage, asked the count why he seemed so troubled. 
 Raymond, although by nature very cautious, at once 
 placed so much faith in the pilgrim, that, without hesita- 
 tion, he confided his thoughts to him ; and the palmer 
 aided him with such sage advice, that it seemed to Ray- 
 mond, that rather than wish to avoid the war with the 
 Count de Toulouse, he ought to desire it, since he had so 
 expert and able a counsellor. He told him, nevertheless, 
 that he would not force him to remain, but that he should 
 go or stay at his own pleasure ; yet, if his desire had any 
 weight, he entreated him to stay. If Raymond was 
 charmed with the character of the palmer, the latter was 
 no less so with Raymond, hence they agreed perfectly ; 
 nor was it long before the palmer became his guide and 
 leader in everything. He always wore his religious dress, 
 and so judicious was he in his management, that the 
 count, though still retaining the same magnificent court, 
 increased his treasury more than two-thirds, and when the 
 war actually broke out with the Count de Toulouse (who 
 was the greatest prince in the world, having fourteen 
 counts under him), upon the question of their boundaries, 
 so many knights and barons, either from courtesy to Ray- 
 mond, or on account of his wealth, or through the palm- 
 er's influence, fought under the banners of Provence, that 
 the Count de Toulouse was worsted. 
 
 Now it happened that Count Raymond had four mar- 
 5*
 
 106 The Palmer. 
 
 riageable* daughters, and like all fathers, wished to marry 
 them to great and powerful lords, or make them queens 
 and empresses if possible ; but he was at a loss how to 
 accomplish it, for his wealth was insufficient to give them 
 all the dowries of queens. The palmer advised him to 
 give himself no concern, as he would provide for them. 
 In the first place, he married the eldest to Louis IX. of 
 France, with a very large dowry. Being reproved by the 
 count, he replied : " Leave it to me, monseigneur, for 
 the eldest being married with great cost, you will marry 
 the others with less, on account of the relationship." And 
 it all happened as he had predicted, for Edward III. of 
 England, in order to be brother-in-law to the King of 
 France, married the second with a small dowry ; and 
 soon after, Richard of Cornwall, his brother, chosen king 
 of the Romans, married the third. The fourth remained 
 at home, and the palmer said to Raymond: "We will 
 give her to some brave man, who may hold the place of 
 son and successor to you." The count consenting, he 
 married her to Charles d'Anjou, brother of King Louis of 
 France, who, he assured Raymond, would become one of 
 the best and most powerful lords in the world. 
 
 After so many years of loyalty and service, malicious 
 envy, the curse of the world, and the vice of courts, began 
 to whisper in Raymond's ear that the palmer had betrayed 
 him, and robbed him of his riches. At first he gave no 
 heed to the scandal, but hearing it daily repeated, he 
 determined to demand from the palmer an account of his 
 transactions. He, already prepared for it, showed his 
 documents, gave a reason for everything, and asked his 
 dismissal. The count, conscious that he had acted 
 unworthily, with humble excuses defended himself, and 
 urgently begged him not to leave him, now that they had 
 passed so great a part of their lives together ; but the pal- 
 mer checked all remonstrance by saying : " No, Mon- 
 seigneur Raymond, let us part now while we are friends ; 
 our separation will be very bitter, but each will leave to 
 the other a remembrance that he will with pleasure re- 
 call to his mind. If I remain, we may not be able to do 
 so. You are old, and with old age comes infirmity of
 
 The Palmer. 107 
 
 body and suspicion of iTiind. This may be a vice of age j 
 it may be the result of experience, which proves that men 
 are more ready to deceive than to be loyal : at any rate, 
 suspicion is the companion of old age, and would to 
 Heaven it were the only one ! This sudden questioning 
 of my conduct, although you might have remembered 
 that from a humble condition I have raised you to great 
 power, assures me that your age is not exempt from its 
 common- mistrust, either arising spontaneously *in your 
 mind, or the work of others. Now, thank God, I have 
 been able to satisfy your demands ; another time, I might 
 not be able to do so, for, as proofs sometimes fail to con- 
 vict one of crime, so they may also fail to show one's 
 innocence : and then you would punish me, and commit 
 an act which would irreparably stain your hitherto untar- 
 nished honor. Let us then provide, while there is time, for 
 my safety, and for your good name ; forasmuch as death 
 would separate us by force, let us part voluntarily. 
 Adieu ! It is a word full of sorrow, but it must needs be 
 said. May your remaining years be peaceful and glorious ; 
 may those who have removed me from you, serve you as 
 loyally as I. Poor I entered this court, poor will I leave 
 it. The wallet and staff, which I have preserved, as a 
 precious gift of misery, with which I look upon myself as 
 rich, and above riches, shall be my dress. My legs, 
 although weak, my palfrey : adieu. Whatever I may 
 have merited as a reward of my labors, either keep, or 
 give to the poor in Christ. Adieu, my dear lord, adieu ! 
 We shall meet in heaven." 
 
 Although the count besought him with prayers and 
 tears, he could not prevail upon him to remain. The 
 palmer departed in his humble dress, bearing with him the 
 love and good wishes of all. Raymond, with his vassals, 
 followed him, uttering sad laments ; reaching the gate of 
 the city, the palmer embraced the count, kissed him, and 
 once more taking leave, recommended him to the care of 
 God. Of the rest, he could not take the same leave ; 
 therefore, raising his hands, he blessed them ; and they, 
 kneeling, sighing, weeping and sobbing, as if each one
 
 io8 The Palmer. 
 
 had lost father or mother, received his benediction. As 
 the palmer came, so he departed, nor was it ever known 
 whence he came or whither he went, but the greater 
 number of those who saw and spoke to him, believed him 
 to be a saint. 
 
 Count Raymond did not long survive the departure of 
 the palmer, and by his death Provence fell under the 
 dominion of his son-in-law, Charles. 
 
 Charles^ the son of Louis VIII., and Bianca of Castile, 
 as son of France, possessed the county of Anjou, and the 
 seignory of Folcacchieri ; as husband of Beatrice, Prov- 
 ence, Languedoc, and part of Piedmont. What he was 
 in person and manners we find gracefully narrated in a 
 history of that century,* which we have taken as a guide 
 for this chapter : wise, magnanimous, of lofty intellect, 
 stern, firm in adversity, faithful to his word, speaking little, 
 working much; smiling seldom, and slightly; liberal of 
 his own wealth, and desirous of that of others ; he valued 
 little troubadours, minstrels, jugglers, and buffoons ; he 
 slept little, and was accustomed to say that the less he 
 slept the longer he lived ; his glance was fierce ; he 
 was tall, muscular, and of an olive complexion : au reste, 
 religious, and, as far as a soldier can be, honest. 
 
 Persuaded by St. Louis of France to join the crusade 
 against Jerusalem, in 1250, he, together with his brother, 
 and the first barony of France, fell into the power of the 
 infidels near Damietta. Liberated from prison, he re- 
 turned to Provence, where he was compelled to sustain 
 many conflicts with his vassals, whose rights he wished 
 to annul, and over whom he wished to make himself ab- 
 solute master. 
 
 About this time he received news of his election by 
 Urban IV. to the kingdom of Sicily, brought to him by 
 Cardinal Simon de Tours. After holding a consultation 
 with the King of France, the Count d'Artois and the 
 Count d'Alen9on, his brothers, who, in order to get rid 
 of this ambitious man, encouraged him to the enterprise, 
 and offered to assist him with arms and money, he agreed 
 
 * Giovanni Villani. L. 6, c. 91.
 
 The Palmer. 109 
 
 to prepare himself for the enterprise in honor of God 
 and of the. Holy Roman Church. 
 
 If natural avarice stimulated him to this undertaking, 
 no less did the urgent entreaties of his wife Beatrice, ' 
 who, to add to the treasury, sold all her jewels the 
 greatest sacrifice that any woman in the world can make. 
 The reason of this zeal on the part of Beatrice, as the 
 chronicles of the time relate, was that shortly before, 
 she had met her sisters at Paris to celebrate in the court 
 of her brother-in-law the festival of Christmas. She 
 was present with them on the day of the Epiphany, at 
 the Feast of Kings, which the monarchs of France were 
 accustomed to solemnize in the Church of Saint Denis. 
 There, because she was not entitled to wear a royal 
 crown, they had caused her seat to be placed one step 
 lower than theirs. Many were the arts adopted by this 
 ambitious woman, and perhaps not all to be narrated, to 
 draw over to her side the flower of French chivalry. 
 
 There were in those days two powerful incentives to 
 undertake the war : the courtesy of knights in not refus- 
 ing any enterprise asked by their lady-loves, and the 
 spirit of religion. Both of these were put into requisi- 
 tion, the fi rst by Beatrice, the second by the legates of 
 the Pope, who preached throughout France the crusade 
 against Manfred, promising the remission of sins and the 
 same indulgences that rewarded the Crusaders in Pales- 
 tine. But for those who valued lightly woman's flatteries 
 and the indulgences of the church (and this latter class, 
 the chronicles say, was by far- the more numerous), the 
 desire of great pay was enough to enlist them under the 
 standard of Charles. Add to all these things the natural 
 eagerness of the French for adventures, and the reader 
 need not be astonished to learn that his army amounted 
 to sixty thousand men, including cavaliers, archers, and 
 infantry of all kinds. 
 
 The death of Urban IV. and the election of Clement 
 IV. to the Pontificate, far from interrupting, rather has- 
 tened the event, for Clement was a vassal of Charles, 
 and a most zealous supporter of his rights. He had, in 
 early life, a wife and children, and was considered a
 
 1 10 The Palmer. 
 
 v 
 
 most able lawyer. His wife dying, he became a priest, 
 and rose successively to the dignities of Bishop of Pois, 
 Cardinal of Narbonne, Legate to England, and finally 
 Pope. Bartolommeo Pignattello, Archbishop of Cosenza, 
 vassal and enemy of Manfred, sent in great haste to Pro- 
 vence, and, uniting with Simon, Cardinal of St. Cecilia, 
 excited Charles to set sail for Italy. 
 
 Manfred was not disheartened at the news of so many 
 armaments, but, like a brave and high-spirited man, 
 made all the necessary arrangements to receive his 
 enemy. He took particular care to guard the boun- 
 diiries of his dominions, fortifying Cepperano, San Ger- 
 mano, and placing a chosen guard in Benevento. By sea 
 he was protected by his galleys, which having been 
 joined by those of the Genoese and the Pisans, amount- 
 ed in all to more than eighty. All the forces of the King 
 of France, not to mention those of a count, appeared in- 
 sufficient to injure him ; but nevertheless, so little are 
 human plans to be depended upon, that both by sea and 
 land he was beaten with wonderful facility, as we shall 
 narrate in the course of this history. 
 
 Now Charles, considering of how great moment his 
 presence in Italy would be, and thinking thai? another 
 opportunity might not present itself, determined, although 
 many tried to dissuade him from it, to set sail immedi- 
 ately, and go directly to Rome. He was well aware that 
 Manfred had guarded all the Roman shore, nor was he 
 ignorant that his own fleet was hardly one quarter as 
 large as that of his enenly ; nevertheless, he appointed 
 Guy de Montfort generalissimo of the land forces, and 
 commending the Countess Beatrice to his protection, 
 and confiding in the motto, which he was accustomed 
 often to repeat, " Good care conquers evil fortune," 
 he leaped aboard ship, and commanded the prow to be 
 turned towards desired Italy.
 
 The Naval Battle. in 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE NAVAL BATTLE. 
 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
 Without a grave, unknelPd, uncoffined, and unknown. 
 
 BYRON, C '/tilde Harold, Canto IV. 
 
 OME, let us admire the glories of creation upon 
 the last shores of the ocean. Behold, it rests 
 with the quietude of the lion ; no wind dares to 
 wrinkle its azure surface, no wave to groan 
 among its breakers. It seems a mirror in which the 
 firmament loves to reflect its treasures. The eye of man 
 watches far and far in search of a boundary which the 
 weakness of its construction hath impressed upon his 
 sight, but which the ocean has never known. Our look 
 is lost over the multitude of the waters, and is finally 
 forced to lower itself to the ground, whilst our mind 
 grieves at the thought that human nature is incapable of 
 sustaining long the contemplation of the elements ; like 
 unto the presumptuous mind that dares to attempt pene- 
 trating within the clouds which surround the throne of 
 the Omnipotent, after long wandering from abyss into 
 abyss of the intellectual world, is overcome by the mag- 
 nitude of the imagination, worn out by meditation, con- 
 vinced by the certainty that the Eternal cannot be 
 comprehended by the creature destined to die. Thus 
 like is the calm of the ocean ; and yet the planet of life 
 and light seems to approach it trembling, as the suppliant 
 to the throne of his Lord ; most of the time pale and 
 without ray ; and the ocean absorbs it in its bosom, as the 
 earth the dead. 
 
 But when this mass of water, furiously rSging, as if 
 anxious to regain its ancient dominion (since the earth 
 emerged from the depths of the sea at God's command),* 
 
 * GENESIS, c. I.
 
 112 The Naval Battle. 
 
 breaks against the shore, where it finds the insuperable 
 barrier, and the only one worthy of subduing its frightful 
 power, the Creator's word which repulses it back, 
 when, rolling in the might of its immensity, it overturns the 
 bark that it meets in its fatal course, whence the mariner, 
 despairing of every human help, looks to heaven, but 
 heaven shows itself to him threatening, there is no es- 
 cape ; the billows which he sees mounting from afar will 
 execute the sentence of death that nature has pro- 
 nounced against him. Then, among the thoughts of the 
 future life, there is mingled sadly the recollection of his 
 dear family, which tears his heart : and his children ? 
 and his wife ? does she sleep? Above the howling of 
 the wind, above the roaring of the sea, she seems to hear 
 her name sighed in the delirium of a horrible agony ; she 
 starts terrified, runs to the shore, but discerns naught but 
 foaming waves and darkened sky. May God rest in 
 peace the soul of the shipwrecked ! But ought he to have 
 challenged the terrible element with the weight of his 
 children on his heart ? When all is destruction, when all 
 is fear and terror, happy that brave man who can joyfully 
 roam upon the edge of the cliff, and smile, with the same 
 smile with which one greets his dearest friends, at the 
 waves, that, after having submerged thousands of ships, 
 come to break against the rocks of the shore ! Happy 
 he who can listen to the roaring of the thunder, to the 
 wild howls of the sea-monsters as to a sweet harmony, a 
 voice of love, like the one that used to lull him to sleep 
 in infancy ! but happier by far he who, in the hour of 
 storm, could entrust his body to the angry waves ! The 
 bystanders begged him for the madonna and the saints not 
 to attempt it ; but he, despising the advices of fear, de- 
 lighted to see himself elevated above the abyss, the de- 
 scription of which would make every one shudder. In- 
 deed, he seemed like an atom wandering through space ; 
 he knew tlfe danger, he looked death in the face, nor 
 did he tremble ; and in recompense his soul was purified 
 of many earthly passions, of many human weaknesses. 
 He learned that he alone can call himself happy who 
 does not fear death ; and, superior to all worldly miseries,
 
 The Naval Battle. 113 
 
 he discovered things which he is neither able" to tell nor 
 others to understand, but the remembrance of which re- 
 mains in his mind as a pledge of future greatness. Now 
 this brave one, elevated on the summit of a wave, soars 
 himself higher than the earth, discerning the distant shores 
 and his companions ; now lowered to the very depth, he 
 admires the overwhelming waters surround him like a 
 wall, and their tops foaming and hissing like snakes upon 
 the head of Medusa ; but yet he overcame them, and 
 when it pleased him returned safe to the shore. He alone 
 has the right of speaking of the ocean : let him lay his 
 hand upon its mane as upon the altar of God, and s y, 
 " I am worthy of thee." Come, let us adore the glories 
 of creation upon the last shores of the ocean. 
 
 I love thee, O ocean ! with the same love with which my 
 brothers of folly admire the face of woman ; I rejoice at 
 the sound of thy breakers, at thy rest, and thy tempests ; 
 free from the beginning of creation, no tyrant has been 
 able to impose laws on thee ; no ambitions, either by 
 flattery or force, control thee ; the changes of years and 
 seasons are nothing for thee : that barbarian kins; who 
 
 . . . ^* 
 
 wished to impose chains on thee stands as a monument of 
 mockery in history. Chains were made only for men. 
 
 Thou immense, thou powerful. O ocean ! since chaos 
 was water, and will return into water. In that last mo- 
 ment light will be again extinguished in its ancient ele- 
 ment. Fire, thy enemy, will be conquered, and thy vic- 
 tory announced to the world with its own destruction : 
 no more stars, neither moon, nor heaven, nor earth. 
 Thou wilt exult in thy triumph, in the solitude of thy 
 mightiness ; yet, whilst there remains in me a spark of 
 life, I will stroll upon thy last shores, and adore the glories 
 of creation in the power of the ocean. 
 
 It is now three days since Charles d'Anjou sailed over 
 the ocean with the eagerness of a heart panting for a 
 crown. Often sitting at dinner, or playing at chess, when 
 least they expect it, he starts from the table, ascends on 
 deck, gazes intently towards the South, and exclaims with 
 a voice both nervous and joyous : " Is that Italy ? "
 
 114 The Naval Battle. 
 
 " No, monseigneur, it is a cloud," the pilot answers ; 
 and Charles, disappointed, returns again whence he had 
 come. 
 
 Nowadays, a man, no matter how ignorant, easily un- 
 derstands that the robber has either no feeling at all, when 
 he is about appropriating another's property, or if he has 
 any, it must be very similar to that of a conqueror. It 
 is true that the latter strives to adorn it with the lofty 
 fancies of glory ; but flattery, which magnifies the crime 
 of the strong, a crime which is punished in the weak, 
 the difference of name, calling the latter a deed, an 
 enterprise, a conquest, what in the former would be called 
 a theft, does not appease conscience ; for what is taken 
 from others, be it much or little, be it with thousands of 
 armed men or with one hand alone, either must be con- 
 sidered a crime for all, or for none. Punishment is very 
 much' like a sign-board, which the more flaringly it is 
 painted, the less the inn is comfortable, and the wine 
 good ; it may surely be set down as a mark to pass off 
 bad merchandise for good, and which for centuries has 
 deceived the world, and will continue still. If we medi- 
 tate well on the history of the world, we will find that the 
 origin of punishment has been more a matter of force 
 than of reason. I have written these thoughts not be- 
 cause Charles had the slightest remorse for the great theft 
 which he was about to commit, but because they hap- 
 pened to come to my mind just now. What now agitated 
 the mind of Charles was the idea of the great danger, 
 together with a certain magnanimous feeling, which made 
 him desirous of perilous deeds. Such mixture of old 
 habits and new sensations is not easy to describe ; it was 
 not a desire of flight, and yet a beginning of fear, which 
 made him nervous ; not even a desire to hurry on the 
 enterprise ; and yet Charles, whenever they replied that 
 it was not land, but a cloud, the object which he thought 
 was Italy, sighed disappointedly. 
 
 Charles acted restlessly, nor could the barons whom 
 he had chosen for companions in any way soothe him. 
 They had fought at his side, both in Palestine and Pro- 
 vence ; they were famous in arms, but rigid as the armor
 
 The Naval Battle. 115 
 
 that covered them ; faces that never smiled ; ignorant of 
 everything, except their sword and. iron mace for in that 
 consisted all the education of the noblemen of those 
 days. They might have narrated past adventures, and 
 with the recital of perils escaped, encourage each other 
 to withstand bravely the approaching ones ; but when the 
 mind waits anxiously on the hilt of the sword, there is 
 hardly one who can relate, nor others who can listen to 
 stories of old times. Our barons, at the slightest noise, 
 would start with arms in their hands, fearful of being 
 attacked ; nor because they had been often deceived, 
 did they relax their suspicious anxiety. 
 
 The captain of the galley was a Provencal, with red 
 face, and red, curly hair, a merry fellow, a good judge of 
 wine, and a special admirer of champagne ; otherwise, 
 his learning amounted only to being able to sing half a 
 dozen tavern songs, and to swear by every oath that ran 
 through the mouths of all the seafaring men of those days ; 
 but since, whenever the stern countenance of Charles 
 appeared, the gay song would suddenly cease, and more 
 so the oaths, because the count was very religious, or 
 pretended to be, all the wit of the poor commander was 
 reduced to naught, and he stood on deck as a dead man. 
 He might have talked of wine, but how could he have 
 had the courage to approach the subject with a prince 
 who only drank water ? The poor captain was in 
 despair. 
 
 A profound silence, therefore, interrupted only by the 
 splashing of the oars, or by the wind flapping on the 
 sails, reigned throughout the galley. On the fourth day 
 of navigation, towards evening, Charles, noticing by the 
 motion that the galley was transported more violently 
 over the waves than for the three previous days, left the 
 cabin to have a look on deck. It was awfully dark : 
 not a ray of moon illumined the clouds, nor was there a 
 star visible ; it seemed as if the firmament was dead, and 
 the moaning of the sea bewailed its loss. Charles' galley 
 rides over the waves through a fearful darkness, as 
 an atom through space. The whole crew seem terror- 
 struck : Charles trepidates as the meanest of them, for
 
 ii6 The Naval Battle. 
 
 life is equally dear to him who handles a sceptre as to 
 him who palls an oar, and perhaps there is hardly any 
 difference between the'two, except that of the instrument 
 which they hold in their hands, at least in the love of 
 self-preservation. Some cried, some were silent, some 
 prayed, others groaned. The pilot, seeing the master 
 drunk with wine and fear, was crying from abaft : " Pull 
 harder with your oars ; furl the main sail if you wish to 
 be saved ; hurry up while you -have time, otherwise we 
 are lost, there is land on our lee ! " 
 
 Only the last words were heard of these orders : " We 
 are lost ; there is land on our lee ; " and had consequently 
 the contrary effect desired. 
 
 " We are lost / " murmured the crew to each other, and 
 all sunk down with fear and trepidation. 
 
 The pilot, fearing that, if continuing thus, they would 
 be inevitably lost, gave the helm in charge to a seaman 
 whom he could trust, and rushed to where Charles was, 
 leaning on the bulwarks. "Courage!" he exclaimed. 
 " Monseigneur, come to cheer your crew, otherwise I see 
 no way of safety." 
 
 Charles started at these words, and taking the pilot's 
 arm, advanced to where the rowers were ; who, despair- 
 ing of safety, were lying idly on their benches, waiting, 
 terrified, for imminent shipwreck. 
 
 " Friends," cried Charles to the galley slaves, " I can- 
 not understand how so much fear could have taken hold 
 of people used to a sea life. Are you women, that you 
 so easily give up in despair, as if the end of the world 
 had come ? For shame ! We have escaped far greater 
 perils, and with the aid of God first, and St. Denis, we 
 will overcome this. Don't you see that your own apathy 
 will lose the ship, and thus you will inevitably run against 
 death ? Think that you will have to answer to God for 
 thus having thrown away your life. Protect it then, for 
 I, from this moment, affranchise you ; therefore, cheer 
 up and do your best for the preservation of your life, and 
 the liberty which I have granted to you." 
 
 " Friends ! " Charles, that proud man, who boasted of a 
 thousand royal ancestors, has called with the name of
 
 The Naval Battle. 117 
 
 friends a vile crew composed mostly of men bought as 
 beasts in the market, or of convicts condemned to serve 
 the state for crimes committed against private individuals ! 
 Yet Charles has said so. Oh ! I wonder whether the 
 proud conqueror has ever fallen so low as when neces- 
 sity compels him to be on a level, and without distinction, 
 with the other race of Adam. Liberty ! Great heavens ! 
 Liberty ! on the lips of Charles d'Anjou, who is carrying 
 chains to a whole kingdom ! 
 
 " Liberty /' Liberty ! " was heard exclaimed throughout 
 the galley with such a tumult that it prevailed over the 
 noise of the agitated waves. " Liberty ! " and they all 
 bent on their oars to get away from the dangerous coast. 
 The galley, cutting through the billows, succeeded in es- 
 caping the rocks, but she was running the risk of en- 
 countering some of the galleys which King Manfred 
 kept watching on the coast. That danger, however, was 
 uncertain, for they also must be tossed about by the 
 storm, while the present was inevitable ; therefore, better 
 avoid this for the moment ; for the other they will pro- 
 vide when necessary. Thus thought Charles, and accord- 
 ing to all human calculations he was right. The chain of 
 events, however, which we cannot foresee nor prevent, 
 and which we call fortune, smiled over all those reason- 
 ings, and disposed totally different from what monseig- 
 neur the count had devised. 
 
 All at once the wind, as if worn out by the long ef- 
 fort, ceased of a sudden ; then began thunder and light- 
 ning, then a pouring of hail and rain. In that night 
 Charles had to experience all the sufferings of men 
 who spend their lives at sea. An hour had already 
 passed since they wandered thus, without knowing where, 
 flying over the waves, when, of a sudden, the galley 
 struck against a solid body, and her timbers shivered so 
 that it seemed as if she would go to pieces. A cry was 
 raised the cry of despair ! for they feared to have struck 
 against a rock, but when their cry ceased, they heard 
 another not less terrible near by. " Is it one of 01* gal- 
 leys that has collided with us ? " said part of the sailors ; 
 and others, " No, it is a Genoese galleon ; we have recog-
 
 ii8 The Naval Battle. 
 
 nized it by its shape ; " and others, " no, it is Sicilian ; " 
 others other things ; but all agreed that it belonged to 
 the enemy. 
 
 " The enemy ! the enemy ! " they cried from both the 
 galleys ; and if the crews had been allowed to express 
 their own desires, they would have let each other alone 
 for that night. 
 
 But Charles d'Anjou, who was really a brave warrior, 
 was not moved at those cries, and as he could not avoid 
 the battle, he magnanimously strove to come victoriously 
 out of it. 
 
 " Noble barons ! " said he, playfully, to the surround- 
 ing knights, who were already, with arms in their hands, 
 at his side, " the Church, in calling us to Sicily, has not 
 invited us to a wedding feast ; the tables are ready, and 
 we must put a good face on whatever is in store for us. 
 If we had the slightest doubt of your courage, we would 
 endeavor to encourage you to the battle by speeches, 
 as it has been the custom of captains in all ages ; but 
 we have fought too often together, and too often have we 
 been in the same dangers, to suppose that a word of ours 
 could add strength to your valor." 
 
 Then advancing where the crew stood awestruck, 
 " My men," he said, " if you had the choice of running 
 away, I would advise you to remain ; fear of death will 
 be more powerful than my voice ; let every one do his 
 best to save his life." 
 
 I will not say that this strange speech infused any sud- 
 den courage in those wretched beings, but spoken by a 
 man with Charles' reputation, it was able to give them 
 some lingering hope of safety if they imitated him in his 
 actions ; and truly, though not very enthusiastically, they 
 followed him in the fight. 
 
 " Get the hooks ! Get the hooks ! " was heard Charles' 
 voice calling out (these were long poles with large hooks 
 on one end to grapple an enemy's vessel, and keep it 
 fast to one's own, in order to come to a hand-to-hand 
 figh^. They were immediately brought, and put to use. 
 These however were not sufficient to accomplish the ob- 
 ject-, because the two galleys, tossed by the waves,
 
 The Naval Battle. 119 
 
 knocked fearfully against each other, or furiously parting, 
 tore them from the hands of those who held them. It 
 happened that some of the crew unwilling to leave hold of 
 them were lifted out from the deck, and suspended to the. 
 poles, so that when the galleys came to knock against eacM 
 other again either they were miserably crushed, or. unable 
 to sustain themselves long hanging from them, fell into 
 the water and were drowned. Charles, holding his iron 
 mace, with a foot on the bulwark of the galley, watched 
 anxiously the moment that it approached the other, and 
 then he would strike blows that seldom fell in vain. His 
 companions followed his example with battle-axes, and in 
 a short time they had caused the enemy severe losses 
 both in killed and wounded. These however held their 
 own, exchanging blow for blow, and boldly sustaining 
 the brunt of battle. One would have seen the rigging 
 dripping with blood, the deck with scattered brains and 
 severed limbs ; dead bodies hanging across the bulwarks, 
 and gradually sliding overboard ; others fallen supine, 
 entangling the legs of their mates, and causing them to 
 fall headlong into the sea ; some badly wounded running 
 abaft uttering piercing cries, while the rest, unmoved by 
 the slaughter, pushed their way through the dead and 
 wounded to be among the first to kill or be killed. 
 
 In the meanwhile the storm was again raging in the 
 fulness of its fury over their heads ; but the fury of the 
 unbridled elements is wonderfully solemn, and truly de- 
 serving the observer's attention. They seem like giants 
 who cannot be destroyed, and who have met in the fields 
 of the heavens not to challenge each other to death, but 
 to show their might ; now there prevails this, now that 
 element, until weary of the strife they retire without vic- 
 tory to return whenever it suits them to new experiments. 
 Not so with the fury of men :~every one of their acts is a 
 road to destruction ; small and fierce, they give the idea 
 of a heap of maddened ants, intent to devour each other 
 over a mound of earth ; death, that holds a foot over it, 
 stops to wonder how in those little bodies burns the ftiry 
 of extinguishing each other without his help. Imbecile 
 race, even in the acts that in the greater part of them are
 
 120 The Naval Battle. 
 
 cause of tears, it deserves a smile of contempt from him 
 who enjoys the spectacle of a tempest. 
 
 That battle fought thus at random produced no good 
 effect. More than an hour they had exchanged blows, 
 many fell dead on both sides, but no one seemed disposed 
 to yield. 
 
 The pilot, who had returned to the helm, a man of im- 
 pulsive character, seeing the battle flag, and desirous of 
 joining in the melee, left the helm again in charge of an 
 expert seaman, giving him 'directions how to govern the 
 ship, and rushed below deck to arm himself. 
 
 Meeting the captain of the galley, he said to him : 
 
 " What are you doing thus armed ? " 
 
 " What am I doing ? What can be done with a battle 
 axe in one's hand when they are fighting on deck ? I 
 mean to vent my spleen on some one there, for I am mad 
 as fury ; at any rate, if we must die to-night, I prefer to 
 die with a blow on my head rather than drown in the water. 
 I never expected to die drowned except in a wine-tub." 
 
 " And why did you leave the helm ? " 
 
 " I left some one else in charge ; but will you give me 
 your battle-axe ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly ; I will find another. But tell me what 
 you mean to do with it ? " 
 
 "The fight has been long and obstinate, victory still 
 hangs uncertain. Charles so heavily armed dares not 
 leap upon the Sicilian galley. . . " 
 
 " Well ..." 
 
 " I, as more experienced at sea, will attempt this ; often 
 the turn of events depends on a sudden bold step. Men 
 are like sheep ; when one goes the others follow. . . " 
 
 "Well. . ." 
 
 " When I shall have placed my foot on the enemy's 
 galley, I hope with the help of God to hold my ground 
 till the others come to the rescue ; otherwise the worst 
 that can happen is to get killed." 
 
 " 1 will follow you, heavy as I am ; come, and let us 
 show Count Charles how to jump on the enemy's galley." 
 
 They rushed upon the poop, where the two ships were 
 closed together, and taking a proper distance, they
 
 The Naval Battle. 12 1 
 
 leaped together over the sides. But as destiny willed, 
 the jolly commander, who had deliberated to fight rather 
 than be drowned, whether on account of his weight, or too 
 much wine, in placing his foot on the enemy's galley hit 
 fatally with his heel against the rail, and fell headlong 
 in the water. He cried for help, but in the tumult of the 
 battle no one heard or heeded him. 
 
 The pilot, more fortunate than his companion, jumped 
 safely upon the Sicilian galley, and at the same moment 
 struck a blow with. his battle-axe on the head of the first 
 man who came threateningly against him, and cleft it in 
 two. The wounded man uttered a cry, and was about 
 raising his 'hands to the wound, but death loosened his 
 . arms before he could accomplish the act, and he fell at 
 the feet of the pilot. He leaped over him, and passed 
 on, but being surrounded by many, and he, as yet, all 
 alone, had no other chance but to place his shoulders 
 against the main-mast of the ship, and whirling furiously 
 his battle-axe keep every one at bay. 
 
 In the meanwhile Charles, who from the moment he 
 had seen the pilot leap with such successful audacity on 
 the enemy's galley, felt stimulated by anger, shame, and a 
 noble desire to come to his aid ; considering also that in 
 the way they had fought they would come to naught, he 
 called aloud Sir Gilles, and ordered him to summon hastily 
 Micheaux, Labroderie, and all others that he could collect 
 together, and bring them near him. 
 
 Sir Gilles readily obeyed. Charles, withdrawing for an 
 instant, took off his iron gauntlets in order to be-less in- 
 cumbered, then returned to his post. The knights that 
 had been called joined him, and the Count of Provence 
 thus briefly addressed them: "Noble barons, our pilot, 
 setting a rare example of daring and valor, has already 
 leaped on the enemy's galley ; we allowed a glorious 
 deed to be taken away from us, but since we cannot ob- 
 tain the first glory, let us at least gain the second by 
 promptly giving aid to our brother in arms." 
 
 After this, they all gathered close to him ; and when 
 they had the opportunity, at a sign from Charles, they all 
 leaped over, crying: " Monjoy ! Monjoy /" By a lucky 
 6
 
 122 The Naval Battle. 
 
 chance all reached safely the enemy's ship. That 
 of men hurled with such impetus fell so irresistibly against 
 the Sicilians that at the first onslaught they staggered 
 back ; but regaining courage, these latter repulsed the 
 French, who began to yield, and gradually fell back so 
 far, that another step would have pitched them over- 
 board. Rarely it happens that man, placed between 
 death and desperate defence, does not overcome the trial. 
 The French regained, though with hard labor, the lost 
 space. The pressure was such that they could not use 
 their battle-axes either by the edge or by the point. 
 It was a pushing and pressing, backwards and forwards, 
 rather than a regular battle. Charles, being a daring man, 
 dropped suddenly his battle-axe, grappled his adversary 
 by the throat, and pressed it so, that he felled him stran- 
 gled to the ground : some of the strongest of his com- 
 panions had the same thought, and succeeded in it, for 
 the Sicilians had no suspicion of such a mode of warfare. 
 Others who had poniards used them. Then the enemy 
 drew back, and, being for the most part wounded, hesi- 
 tated to give a new assault. This instant of hesitation 
 decided the battle, since the French having clear space to 
 manage their battle-axes, in which they were very expert, 
 obliged them shortly to sue for quarter, which by order 
 of Charles was immediately granted. 
 
 Having obtained the victory, his first thought was to 
 search for the pilot, whose example had been the first in- 
 ducement to board the galley. They found him under a 
 heap of dead and wounded, but fortunately not dead. 
 
 Charles lifting him up asked : " Are you wounded ? " 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur, in many places, but not mortally, 
 I hope." 
 
 " Thank God and St. Martin of Tours ! Do you wish 
 to be carried to your. galley. ?"., 
 
 " I desire first to look for the commander ; he was my 
 companion in the attempt to the abordage, but I have not 
 seen him since. He must have fallen overboard." 
 
 Charles ordered that they should search for him ; then 
 turning to the Sicilians, who were kneeling before him, 
 he said to them : " Arise ! you have done all that is
 
 The Naval Battle. 123 
 
 granted to living men to do ; you deserve not this humil- 
 iation, and God forbid that we should have the intention 
 of giving it to you : fortune has conquered you ; we in- 
 stead praise your prowess and admire you. If all your 
 companions resemble you, the work to which we have been 
 called by the Vatican will be very arduous, but worthy of 
 a son of France ; thus, victory will be very glorious for 
 us, and defeat without shame. But now let us escape the 
 storm that still rages ; you guide us, for I trust in your 
 fidelity, because valorous men never were traitors." 
 
 Thus spoke Charles, and God who penetrated into his 
 heart, knew with what simulation. The truth was that 
 he was not so readily disposed to allow himself to be nav- 
 igated by the conquered, and had already said to the pilot : 
 "You will command this galley;" but, being expert in 
 worldly affairs, he knew that when one cannot use armed 
 diffidence (which is the best), there is nothing left but 
 the ostentation of security ; and in fact that half victory 
 of his did not reassure him at all respecting the daring and 
 strength of the enemy. 
 
 At this point a flash of lightning illuminated the scene. 
 Charles, his barons, and all, crossed themselves. Dark- 
 ness returned, . . . then another flash ; . . . finally with 
 a tremendous crash a thunderbolt struck the ship. Let 
 him who has not seen the thunderbolt fall near him, read 
 no further ; for his imagination, no matter how lofty, will 
 never conceive its mysterious terror; let him who has 
 seen it as we have recall to mind the sensation which he 
 experienced in that moment, and this, more than our 
 words, will give him an idea of the case we are describing. 
 
 The thunderbolt first struck the mainmast, a part of 
 which it split, a part it burnt ; after which it sprea'd all 
 over deck in a thousand inflamed tongues, which made it 
 look as if deluged with fire ; progressing thus further and 
 further, it parted into innumerable sparks, which finding 
 obstacles in the crevices of the galley, tore apart her flanks 
 with a wonderful impetus leaving thus large' gaps for the 
 rushing in of the agitated, waves : no living man could 
 have withstood the stifling sulphuric odor and the stun- 
 ning explosion. Imagine what it must have been, when
 
 124 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 added to the meteoric flame which burned the hair and 
 flesh of the dead and wounded on deck and blinded the 
 sight ! Both French and Italians fell backwards, as if 
 stricken by catalepsy. 
 
 The galley, abandoned to itself, was filling with water 
 through many fissures ; even had the crew used all their 
 efforts, they would not have been able to save her ; una- 
 ble as they were to move, they heard the gurgling of the 
 water pouring into her hold ; she swung for a moment, 
 finally she pitched ; the waves that had parted to receive 
 her in their depths gathered back surging over her ; she 
 sunk to the bottom as lead in deep water. Everything 
 disappeared : the brave and the coward, the innocent and 
 the guilty ; and the glory of the ocean prevailed over the 
 cry of victory. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE HEAD OF THE UNJUST JUDGE. 
 
 Signer, far mi convien come fa il buono 
 Senator sopra il suo strumento arguto, 
 Che spesso muta corda, e varia suono, 
 Ricei'cando ora il grave, ora 1'acuto. 
 
 ARIOSTO, Orlando Furioso, 
 
 My lord, so must I do, as one who plays 
 
 Skilfully on his sounding instrument, 
 Oft does he change the chord in various ways, 
 
 Now high, now low, harmonious sounds are blent. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 APPY was he * who, in the enthusiasm of his 
 divine soul, knew how to vary the tones of his 
 harp-strings, and shower celestial pleasure upon 
 his immortal verses. Beautiful as the rainbow of 
 God, playful as the butterfly upon the field, happy as the 
 
 * Ariosto.
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 125 
 
 greeting of a lover, he looked at earthly things through the 
 light of his joyousness ; he drank the honey from the flow- 
 ers, avoiding the poisonous by some singular instinct, or 
 changing their .baleful sweets into nectar upon his lips. 
 Alas ! I, who from my birth have been deprived of the 
 consolations of the imagination, left to the troubles of the 
 world, and recalling the years of my infancy, find no place 
 where thought loves to repose for a moment, and have 
 passed many many nights of my fair youth seated upon the 
 graves that inclose the generations of dust, to meditate 
 upon misfortunes and crimes, weeping that I was a man, 
 and smiling to think that I was mortal, and with the 
 humiliating feeling of being made of clay, have bowed my 
 head in the dust, invoking eternal darkness upon creation 
 to conceal within it my own shame, let not him who 
 is born thus dare to stretch out his hand to the harp of 
 harmony ; the strings will snap beneath his touch, the 
 notes of misfortune and sorrow will aqcompany his sad 
 voice : no laurel of the poet, but cypress watered with 
 tears, will be the crown for his head ; the hatred of men 
 his reward ; their execration his applause. 
 
 Oh innocent youth, caressed by the smile of the Eter- 
 nal, attracted by the flatteries of love, eager to rush upon 
 life, and joyfully waiting for a cfawn whose sun you will 
 never see, " Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway," 
 which gathers behind, live, live in the blessed illusions 
 of the present ; do not look on these pages of mine, do 
 not touch them, for they drip blood ! The peace of my 
 own heart is destroyed, but I do not wish to destroy 
 yours. Leave me to the solitude of my agonies ; what 
 could. I give you as a reward for lost happiness ? Knowl- 
 edge ? Adam ate the fatal fruit, and knew that he must 
 die ; behold the knowledge of man ! Poor animate earth, 
 how bitter are the days that you pass upon inanimate 
 earth ! 
 
 It is Yole ! See her with slow, sad steps, walking 
 through the alleys of the garden, one hand resting upon 
 her heart, the other hanging motionless at her side ; her 
 face is as white as the spotless veil that covers her^iosom,' 
 but only white. Holy Virgin ! Her eves shine with un-
 
 126 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 natural brilliancy, and with dilated pupils are fixed in 
 long and motionless gaze. What does the miserable girl 
 behold ? No earthly object. This sense would seem as 
 if dead or suspended, but for a tear which slowly forms 
 and trickles tremblingly down her cheeks, as a witness to 
 the trouble, too great for the mind to contain. Queen 
 Elena and Gismonda follow her at 'a distance. Poor, 
 unhappy girl ! She thought that their love-meeting had 
 been discovered, feared that Rogiero had been killed, 
 and the delicate fibres of her brain had yielded to the 
 weight of agony. Now a thousand confused recollections 
 flash through her mind, and on none can her thoughts 
 rest for an instant. Then comes a dizzy reaction, a con- 
 fused whirl, that gives her a sensation such as one feels, 
 who vainly endeavors to retain some object which is 
 constantly slipping from his grasp. Now the imaginations 
 of her fears appear to her like events which have taken 
 place in her presence. She hastens her step, she turns 
 into another path", but neither by accelerating the one, 
 nor by varying the other, can she fly from the illusions of 
 her wandering mind ; as the uncomfortable sleeper some- 
 times dreams that he is pursued by an indescribable and 
 terrible demon, and, fleeing and fleeing from him, that he 
 at length falls down ; endeavoring to rise, his paralyzed 
 limbs refuse their office, yet, on hands and knees, he 
 continues his flight until breath fails him, and he sinks 
 petrified by terror. Nature cannot sustain such suffering ; 
 he awakes, frightened, bathed in perspiration, stretches 
 out his hands, knows it to be a dream, and a sigh of relief 
 bursts from his overcharged heart. The past, to Yole, 
 has become a cloud, the future, darkness ; she recalls a 
 love, a face, a danger, but detached and unconnected ; 
 her ideas are like the clouds, when contrary winds rage, 
 no\v hurrying on one side, now impetuously meeting, nor 
 is the storm that follows less terrific than that which 
 afflicts her brain. What is now the condition of her soul, 
 that queen of human sensation ? Why does it remain in 
 the body, which has become a subject of tears and laugh- 
 ter ? Is it clear, or confused, like the body in which it 
 continues to live ? Will it not, or can it not, again take
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 127 
 
 command of the rebellious organs ? Why, more sublime 
 than the clay to which it is united, is it subject to all its 
 changes ? Science has not succeeded, and perhaps never 
 will, in revealing such mysteries ; but pity has long sighed 
 over this abasement of our unhappy race. Meanwhile, 
 how beautiful is Yole wandering in the silence of night, 
 like the moon in the heavens, guided by which the 
 pilgrim avoids the dangers of the road, and reaches his 
 family in safety, and stops upon his threshold to bless the 
 benign ray. Although she traverses various paths, she 
 directs her course to one determinate end ; sometimes 
 she encounters some object, which presents itself as an 
 insuperable obstacle, and immediately takes another 
 path ; had she found them all impassable, she would per- 
 haps have died. Thus wandering, she arrives at the 
 place where, on the preceding night, her mother had 
 found her ; she stopped, knelt, looked around to see if 
 she were observed, then wept softly ; then she heaped up 
 a little mound of earth, drew from her breast a cross of 
 precious stones, and planted it there. Oh the prayer of 
 the unfortunate girl, which she sighed forth with clasped 
 hands, was fervid and worthy to be heard ! At last she 
 arose, and seemed as if about to return to the castle. 
 Queen Elena ran to her, with sorrow such as any mother 
 who looks upon these pages may imagine, for these griefs 
 may be felt, not told. 
 
 " You are come at last," said Queen Elena, seeing 
 Yole approach the door of the hall, " you are come at 
 last, my dear daughter;" and, running to meet her, 
 kissed her. "Where have you been? 1 have called you 
 so long, and you did not reply." 
 
 " He is dead." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " He." 
 
 " What is his name ? " 
 
 Yole did not reply. 
 
 " Ah, my daughter ! When will you cease to distress 
 the heart of your poor mother ? W T hat have I done that 
 you should reward me thus ? Have I not borne you on 
 my bosom ? Have I not nourished you from my breast,
 
 128 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 and soothed the tears of your infancy ? Disclose to me 
 all your grief, I will do anything for you, anything rather 
 than see you unhappy; where can you hope for more 
 pity than from your mother ? " 
 
 - Yole was silent. 
 
 , " You wish to kill me,' I see, ungrateful girl ! You 
 did not give promise of such cruelty, no, you did not 
 give promise of that. Once you were gentle, kind and 
 compassionate, now how changed ! The rest of the few 
 days God grants to me, will be consumed in agony ; you 
 take them from me, . . . you ; . . . but no, I will never 
 curse the hour of your birth." 
 
 " I have cursed it." 
 
 " You have cursed it ! Then all hope is departed ! I 
 will never show my face again ; pardon the involuntary 
 fault which I committed, in giving you life, as I pardon 
 you the voluntary one of cursing it. Hidden in my cham- 
 ber from every human eye, I will kill myself with hunger. 
 From you I wish neither tears nor prayers ; nor should 
 you give them to me, for you hate that bond of love 
 which nature has established between mother and child ; 
 but by the agonies that you have made me endure, by 
 past griefs, by present ones, when I am dead, oh ! I 
 conjure you, Yole, do not come to reproach my dust for 
 giving you life, let me sleep in peace, bone of my 
 bone, do not persecute me in the bosom of Eternity ! " 
 
 Queen Elena turned to depart. Yole, agitated by 
 fi'erce emotions, drew herself up to her full height, extend- 
 ing her clenched hands, and rolling up her bloodshot 
 eyes, till the whites only were visible. She would have 
 recalled her mother, but the words could not escape from 
 her swelling throat ; her Only utterance was a sob of 
 anguish. The queen, not hearing the sound, went on;* 
 Yole, despairing of calling her back by her voice, endeav- 
 ored to do so by a gesture ; but even had she been able 
 to extend her arms, she could not have moved a ringer to 
 beckon her back, so tightly had the agitation which con- 
 vulsed her compressed her nails upon the palms. of her 
 hands. Again *she essayed to speak ; vain effort ! her 
 tongue refused its office ; she could utter 'only broken
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 129 
 
 and inarticulate sounds ; the tension of her nerves 
 relaxed, her eyelids drooped. Gismonda received her in 
 her arms 
 
 Rogiero, having followed" for s*ome~ distance the steps 
 of his faithful guide, arrived at the house. For, as Homer 
 relates of the vessels of Achilles and Ajax, the cottages 
 of Drengotto and Ghino were very far from each other, 
 being situated as a mark of the trust reposed in them by 
 their lords, at the very extremities of the banditti's set- 
 tlement. Indeed, they scorned danger more than all 
 their companions : the first, through his indifference to 
 good or evil, the principal characteristic of his disposi- 
 tion ; the second, because of a certain tranquil security, 
 that generally accompanies minds truly great. They 
 entered. Ghino, after he had rekindled the fire, ap- 
 proached Rogiero, to help him remove his armor. He 
 at first modestly refused, but the courteous host insisting, 
 he finally consented. Ghino, as he unbuttoned one part 
 after another, examined each attentively, praising one 
 and finding fault with another, manifesting much ac- 
 quaintance with arms, and a thorough knowledge of the 
 subject. Rogiero, looking round the hut, saw a very 
 long lance, the extreme length of which preventing its 
 being placed erect against the wall, it rested diagonally 
 between two corners. Wondering greatly at its size, and 
 desirous of knowing something about it, he asked, 
 
 " Courteous host, pray is that the spear of King Arthur 
 which you keep in the corner ? " 
 
 " A man once lived in Italy who wielded it in his youth, 
 as a shepherd wields his crook ; he conquered with it at 
 more than one tournament, and overthrew more than one 
 knight in battle. This is all that remains to me of the 
 inheritance of my ancestors, it is my father's lance. I 
 also once brandished it, now it has become too heavy 
 for my failing arm." 
 
 " God help us ! Failing ! It seems to me that you 
 cannot be over forty." 
 
 " Is it age alone that makes us weak ? " 
 6*
 
 130 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 " No, truly. But pray why does that little white flag 
 cover the point ? " 
 
 " Because it preserves from fading a spot of blood 
 that many years ago was incrusted upon it." 
 
 Just then a distant bell was heard sounding the Ave 
 Maria for the prayers which Catholics recite at evening 
 for the souls of their dead. Ghino listened earnestly to 
 the strokes, as if they announced some disaster to him, 
 then said to Rogiero, 
 
 " Young knight, I ask your pardon if for one moment 
 I leave you alone, for I must recite my prayers." 
 
 " What ! Have you anything to ask or to thank 
 Heaven for?" 
 
 " I ask nothing for myself; whatever fate is sent me, 
 good or bad, I bow in resignation ; but I pray for the 
 peace of the dead." 
 
 " And do you believe they are benefited by the prayers 
 of the living?" 
 
 " I do, and if not, it would serve to recall them to 
 mind. You would wish to remember, at least once a 
 day, a father killed by treachery." 
 
 " You speak truly. I will pray with you, although 
 prayers are unnecessary to recall my father's death to 
 me." 
 
 " Your father then is also dead ? " 
 
 " And killed with greater tortures than the most cruel 
 mind can imagine." 
 
 "Deprofundis clamavi" said Ghino, kneeling before 
 an image, where he prayed fervently for a long time, 
 keeping his face hidden in his hands. When he arose, 
 his eyes were full of tears, but the emotion that had forced 
 them there was past. Suddenly, as if the prayer had been 
 a parenthesis, resuming the conversation, he asked 
 Rogiero : 
 
 " Have you avenged him ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I am sorry for it." 
 
 "Another year, should we be permitted to meet again, 
 I hope I may reply differently to you." 
 
 " Amen, Sir Knight."
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 131 
 
 Although our heroes were not so hungry as those of 
 Homer,* whom it was necessary to provide with supper 
 thrice in one evening, provision must nevertheless be 
 made to meet the demands of appetite. Ghino set the 
 table, gave Rogiero some water to wash his hands, and 
 after washing his own, seated himself opposite. The 
 dishes were neither many nor rare. A crane which had 
 been roasted in the mofning was enough to satisfy both. 
 If the food does not please our readers, let them find 
 fault with the times of which we treat. The world, since 
 then, has changed in all things, both small and great : 
 falcons, hawks, sparrows, and similar game were highly 
 prized, and furnished the tables of the great. Nowadays 
 they would be spurned by the poorest beggar that ever 
 implored alms for the love of God. But it is worthy of 
 remark that all ages agree in the pleasure of drinking 
 wine, which redounds more to the credit of the wine than 
 to that of men, who have always loved, from fools, to 
 become drunkards, and vice versd per,omnia scecula 
 stzculorum. 
 
 While seated at table, an idea so perplexed Rogiero, 
 that he sat abstracted, forgetting to eat. Ghino, after 
 looking at him for some time, broke the silence by 
 saying : 
 
 " Sir Knight, if my question is not impertinent, will you 
 tell rne of what you are thinking so earnestly ? " 
 
 " Messer Ghino," said Rogiero, hesitating, " I would 
 willingly comply with your request did I not fear to seem 
 indiscreet." 
 
 " Do not hesitate on that account. Speak freely, for 
 you can ask me nothing that I shall not be pleased to an- 
 swer." 
 
 " I was thinking how a courteous baron, such as you 
 seem to be, can take pleasure in a profession that all 
 agree in calling infamous, for I do not believe that you 
 were born to it." 
 
 "You have guessed rightly, I was not born to it ; nor 
 do I differ from those who call it infamous, although I am 
 
 * Ulysses and Diomedes. Iliad, 9, 10.
 
 132 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 convinced that should you say to them : ' He that is 
 without sin among you, let him first cast a stone,' not 
 one of them would be so imprudent as to dare to do it. 
 I hate the banditti by whom I am surrounded, but I find 
 myself necessarily united with them. Fortune gave me 
 wealth and an illustrious name : my wealth is changed to 
 poverty, and my name to reproach. You may look upon 
 me as a plaything of fortune, or rather a wreck left by 
 the storm of persecution, for I am Ghino di Tacco dei 
 Grandi di Siena." * 
 
 " You Ghino di Tacco, the famous bandit ! " exclaimed 
 Rogiero, rising. 
 
 " Ghino di Tacco Monaceschi dei Pecorai da Torrita," 
 replied Ghino, unmoved. "You may have heard strange 
 tales of me, for I know that the crazy rabble paint me as 
 a giant of terrible aspect, and with a heart void of pity. 
 I know that women use my name to frighten children, 
 and to keep them still, as if I were an ogre or a goblin, 
 for 'tis an old saying that when men persecute their fel- 
 low-men, they are not contented with making them 
 merely unhappy, but wish to render them infamous also ; 
 this, however, is but a slight matter. Do you think me 
 one to care for blame or praise ? " 
 
 "I have often heard you spoken of as a knight well 
 skilled in arms, and more than one person has expressed 
 regret in my presence that you should be driven to a 
 calling which you certainly do not love." 
 
 " Thanks to those wise ones. In the state of warfare 
 against society in which I find myself, I endeavor to fol- 
 low to the utmost the rule of doing as little evil as possi- 
 ble. If, on the road, I meet some poor, good man, I 
 help him ; if a scholar, I give him money wherewith to 
 buy books, and entreat him to apply himself usefully, for 
 I love my country ; but the rich priest, the proud noble, 
 must pay a ransom. They have taken all from me ; some 
 of them must support me. They try to kill me, and they 
 do their duty. I do not kill, but I draw money from 
 
 * Ghino di Tacco is no fabulous creation, but a strictly historical 
 personage. See appendix.
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 133 
 
 them, and thus do mine. If they wish for peace, I will 
 be the first to lay down my arms. And if it is true that 
 the riches of the few make the misery of the many, 1 aidj 
 society, even when I wage war upon it." 
 
 " Truly, Siena lost much when you abandoned her." 
 
 " I did not abandon her, Sir Knight ; I was expelled 
 from her." 
 
 " Then there is no hope that you can ever return as a 
 true and loyal citizen ? " 
 
 " None whatever. The offence is too great for pardon. 
 Would you like to hear the story of my adventures ? It 
 is not long, although as terrible as any that have ever 
 happened in the world." 
 
 " I should esteem it as the greatest courtesy." 
 
 " Upon the banks of the Arbia, where P'arinata degli 
 Uberti, the brave knight, conquered his enemies, and sep- 
 arated their, cause from that of their country (for them 
 he wished dead, but his country powerful), rose the hum- 
 ble towers of my castle of Torrita. Not far from them 
 were situated the rich estate and proud castles of the 
 Counts of Santa Fiora. Haughty men ! elated with 
 wealth, they deemed that honor could not dwell in those 
 of poor estate, and exercised all their power to do evil, 
 for this they esteemed lordly ; to be courteous and kind, 
 weak. 
 
 " Tacco, my father, who wielded that lance, and whom 
 all considered an honorable knight, although of much less 
 wealth than the Counts of Santa Fiora, labored earnestly 
 in helping the poor of the neighborhood, in redressing 
 wrongs, and in restoring peace to those from whom it 
 Jiad departed. When he passed through the village, the 
 cry ran from mouth to mouth : ' Haste, and see the 
 knight!' and forthwith appeared a crowd of women at the 
 windows, men on the balconies of their shops, with heads 
 uncovered, and children crowding round him to kiss his 
 hand. He, far from being annoyed, was pleased with 
 this demonstration, and some of the children he patted 
 lightly on the cheek, and on others laid his terrible 
 hand, like the paw of a lion protecting its offspring. 
 Often he wept with tenderness ; oftener he exclaimed :
 
 134 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 ' Lordly squires, why seek to remove these people from 
 me ? Do you take it ill that they love me ? ' Some- 
 times, at sunset, dressed in a coat of skins, and mounted 
 on a sorry nag, he went along the road, and begged each 
 one that he met, in the name of his master, Tacco da 
 Torrita, to accept lodging for that night at the castle. 
 Then he delighted to reveal himself as the lord, and if 
 the guest were poor, he supplied his wants, and sent him 
 away contented. 
 
 " It often happened that the Counts of Santa Fioraheld 
 a great court, and caused it to be published abroad. 
 Irreparable dishonor ! their tables were deserted, while 
 the same day guests were not wanting at Torrita ; for you 
 must know, Sir Knight, that in giving, an indescribable 
 tact is required, which cannot be taught, but comes from 
 nature, like beauty of person. Giving to another, argues 
 yourself more powerful than he," and here Ghino, raising 
 his finger, commanded all Rogiero's attention, "and 
 men are not wont to pardon any kind of superiority ; a 
 gift is very often the result of pride in the giver, and is 
 based upon the inferiority of the receiver. Hence you 
 must not wonder if you often hear ingratitude spoken of 
 unjustly, for the present of the rich is a humiliation to the 
 poor rather than a benefit, because the rich man thinks that 
 on account of his wealth he can buy the poor, both body 
 and soul. That charm, that affability of manner, which, 
 because it costs no effort, we do not perceive or do not 
 remember, but which convinces at once the one accepting 
 that he does honor to him who gives, and by refusing 
 would offend him, so that through a sense of politeness he 
 is forced to accept the courtesy, are things, Sir Knight, to 
 admire, but not to be faught. These were the civil virtues 
 of my father. The military, you have mistaken his lance 
 for that of the fabulous husband of Queen Guinever ; it 
 will be enough to say, that once, jousting in the tourna- 
 ment commonly held in Siena at Christmas, he won 
 twenty suits of armor and as many horses, which he not 
 only restored to the knights, without ransom, but carried 
 them with him to Torrita, where he kept them several
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 135 
 
 days, magnificently entertained, and sent them back to 
 their castles captivated by his nobleness. 
 
 "The Counts of Santa Fiora not excelling in these 
 knightly exercises, used all their influence with the 
 mayoralty of Siena to have them abolished ; but always 
 in vain, for the Siencse are skilful in the use of arms, and 
 are great lovers of these combats. In the corrupt age in 
 which we live, emulation produces hate rather than virtue, 
 nor did my father, kind to all others, show much courtesy 
 towards the Counts of Santa Fiora, for every time he found 
 himself in arms with them, he always placed himself on 
 the opposite side, and gave them such blows that he often 
 sent them back wounded to their castles. Often from the 
 slightest causes the most savage encounters arose : the 
 hatred of the knights extended itself to -their vassals ; 
 who, often meeting each other in the fields, came first to 
 threatening words, then to blows and death. The barons 
 "deemed it necessary for their own honors to protect 
 their own followers, and thus open war broke out in the 
 bosom of a country that boasted liberty of the state, and 
 a republican government. My father, although much in- 
 ferior in wealth and in the number of his retainers, fought 
 so valiantly, that the counts, thinking open force useless, 
 had recourse to treachery. 
 
 " I remember nothing, being then only about four years 
 old, of the dreadful night when the treacherous vassals on 
 guard at the gate of the castle gave entrance to the 
 Counts of Santa Fiora's men ; I have only a confused 
 recollection of dishevelled damsels running hither and 
 thither, as if beset by evil spirits, and of a lady, very, very 
 pale, who took me in her arms, and carried me through 
 many dark paths, to a man completely armed, who 
 embraced us both. My poor mother ! Think with what 
 feeling so noble a lady fled, barefoot arid half-clad, with 
 her son clinging to her neck, from the pillaged home of 
 her noble husband, uncertain of his fate ; for at the sud- 
 den alarm he had hastened to arm himself for their de- 
 fence ! A thousand times have my old vassals related 
 to me the incredible feats which my father performed 
 during that night, which put to shame the fabulous deeds
 
 136 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 of the Knights of the Round Table ; but his enemies 
 were too numerous ; overpowered by numbers, he still 
 fought, until he knew that his wife, his children, and his 
 most faithful vassals had reached a place of safety. He 
 was the armed knight who had received us in the coun- 
 try, and whom I, although accustomed to see him every 
 day, did not recognize, such a change had his efforts both 
 of body and mind wrought in his appearance. They 
 have also told me, that, although he had received no mor- 
 tal wound, the cuts and stabs were so many, that for a 
 long time afterward he could not put on his armor. 
 Here a break occurs in my memory, and I can only recall 
 having been carried to a castle by the lady who saved me, 
 where was a beautiful woman dressed in black, and a 
 priest whom I recognized as the chaplain of the castle ; 
 they welcomed us courteously, and after my mother had 
 conversed with them apart, they wept more violently than 
 I believed any one could weep for another's misfortune. 
 My mother led me every evening to a dark place, where 
 a single lamp burned before the image of the Redeemer, 
 and here we prayed, together with the lady of the castle 
 and the chaplain ; then she carried me to bed, and before 
 I went to sleep, related to me many valiant achievements 
 performed by ancient knights. One evening I missed 
 her ; the next also. I inquired of her from the lady, but 
 she made me no reply. Without knowing why, I began to 
 weep : the chaplain dried his eyes behind the chair of the 
 lady, who appeared more moved by my tears than by the 
 death of her unfortunate sister. 
 
 " ' Whose long stick is this ? ' I asked the lady one day, 
 seeing that lance suspended in the castle hall. ' It is 
 your father's lance.' 'And that bloody garment ?' 'It 
 is your father's.' ' Why does he never come to see me? 
 Am I disagreeable to him ? ' ' You are an orphan ; he 
 loved you more than his life, but his enemies have killed 
 him. 1 ' Oh Dio ! where are those traitors ? What are 
 their names, lady ? ' ' Son of the betrayed, you shall 
 know, when you can avenge them.' ' When will that be, 
 dear lady ? ' ' When you can wield that spear, as you 
 now do the rod which you hold in your hand.' See how
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 137 
 
 ideas of vengeance and death entered my mind before I 
 knew how man can injure his fellow-man. 
 
 " From -that moment the only idea I cherished was that 
 of becoming strong enough to wield the lance. The dawn 
 found me in the woods, the setting sun left me there. In 
 short, I became 'a mighty hunter. 1 When, breathless 
 with exultation, I reached the castle, bearing upon my 
 shoulders a boar, killed by my spear, the lady would run 
 with joyful face to meet and kiss me. If unsuccessful, I 
 followed by-paths, and hid myself in the most retired part 
 of the castle, raging with anger. Often at night, when all 
 around was still, 1 went as stealthily as a robber to the 
 place where the lance stood, and taking it by one end, 
 tried to raise it ; prodigious were my exertions ; I placed 
 my hands in every position, pressed and shook it, but all 
 in vain, for its immovable weight seemed to scorn my 
 weakness ; till at length, disturbed from its equilibrium, it 
 would fall with a loud noise, and I would make my 
 escape through the darkness, ha-lf ashamed to be detected 
 in the attempt. In the morning, it would be standing in 
 the old position, as if to challenge me again. 
 
 " The time came at last, when with strained muscles 
 and clenched teeth I raised it in both hands and held it 
 fast. 'You have lifted it!' cried the lady's voice be- 
 hind me. ' Orphan, in a year and a day you shall know 
 what is required of you.' A splendid feast was pre- 
 pared, the banners waved on the castle walls, and the 
 trumpets resounded from morning till evening, to cele- 
 brate the festival of the raising of the lance. The days 
 passed, the months went by, the year was completed. At 
 midnight a knock came at my chamber door, and a voice 
 cried : ' Why sleeps the son of the betrayed ? The 
 hour of knowledge has come.' The lady of the castle 
 took me by the hand, she trembled like a leaf, and led 
 me to the chapel ; upon the altar lay an open book and 
 the bloody garment ; the lance was in my right hand. 
 ' This garment your father wore on the day of his death ; 
 the blood with which it is dyed is your father's, drawn 
 from his veins by the treachery of Iris enemies; swear, 
 son of the betrayed, upon the Holy Gospel, that you will
 
 138 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 avenge him.' I leaned the spear against the altar, and 
 striking both hands upon the book, cried : ' I swear it.' 
 The lady threw herself upon my neck, wept, laughed, 
 and kissed me passionately. ' Bold heart, true son of 
 my murdered brother, learn who you are.' She then 
 narrated what you already know, and added : ' The 
 lady who brought you that evening to the chapel was 
 your mother; she lived with me, as the wife of the 
 outlaw upon whose head a price is set only can live. 
 One night, a vassal, dressed in mourning, came to my 
 castle, and asked to see me. " What news, vassal," I de- 
 manded, as soon as I entered the hall. " My lady, I 
 bring you the words of your brother, but they are his last 
 words." " Tell them." " Before his head fell beneath the 
 axe, Mooseigneur Tacco ca*lled me to him and said, 
 ' When I am dead, take my shirt, and stain it deeply in 
 my blood ; take also my lance, and go with them both to 
 Radicofani, to my sister, the Lady Gualdrada, under- 
 stand clearly, my sister, the news would kill my wife, 
 and say to her, My lady, this is the inheritance which 
 your brother sends to his son Ghino, and he begs you, if 
 you ever loved him in life, and desire the peace of his 
 soul in death, that you never let his son know of his mis- 
 fortunes, until he is old enough to wield this lance; then 
 reveal his race, and make him swear upon the Gospel to 
 avenge me.' Of his wife he does not speak ; this hope 
 has made the hour of his murder less bitter." ' The news 
 could not be concealed from your mother ; she came to 
 me to learn the truth ; I neither denied nor confirmed it ; 
 she fell senseless, and now lies buried here beneath 
 you,r feet. After your father had been banished from the 
 country of Siena, he had turned bandit ; chained in his 
 sleep he fell into the hands of the Philistines. His words 
 moved the citizens, and he might have been saved ; but 
 Benincasa of Arezzo, judge of the criminal court of 
 Siena, sold his life, and the Counts of Santa Fiora paid 
 the price of blood. He died upon the scaffold, I tell you 
 upon the scaffold. Let your hatred rest upon the 
 counts if in your soul there is anything worse than hatred, 
 let it fall on Benincasa: they were old enemies, he, a
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 139 
 
 trembling coward who bartered the life of an innocent 
 man for ducats ; now he holds the office of Senator at 
 Rome. Fortune offers you a splendid place for revenge. 
 From this moment you can no longer dwell in my castle : 
 one hour has already passed since midnight, the heavens 
 rage furiously, but arm yourself and go. The only signal 
 at which the drawbridge of Radicofani shall fall, is the 
 head of Benincasa." 
 
 "The tempest roared, I heard it not ; in company with 
 my thoughts, I rode through my usurped territories. I 
 showed the bloody shirt, I showed the son of the good 
 knight, shaking his father's lance, and all the vassals 
 proffered rne aid. I chose four hundred, and with a speed 
 almost equal to my impatience, we reached Rome, 
 Rome, the great skeleton. We arrived at the base of the 
 Capitol. I seemed to hear the Roman spectres groan 
 from amidst those magnificent ruins. For one moment I 
 forgot my revenge, but for one moment only. I left my 
 companions, and ascended the staircase alone. A man 
 of low stature, of cadaverous complexion, thin, with wrin- 
 kled cheeks and forehead, was turning the pages of a 
 heavy volume with a palsied hand ; at first sight of him, 
 I felt that shudder which one feels at something loath- 
 some, and from which one recoils for fear of contamina- 
 tion : this loathing 1 have ever since felt when I meet men 
 wearing the toga : indeed they are the scum of human 
 vice ; sellers of words without sense ; mercenary as the 
 soul of Judas, they base their power upon the quarrels of 
 man against man, often of brother against brother, or of 
 father against son. Impudent beyond compare, they un- 
 cover with profane hands the stains of our race, they ex- 
 cite a mad thirst for riches, and they sow, as Cadmus the 
 dragon's teeth, the maxim, that there is no refined feeling 
 in the world that is worth a piece of coined gold ; puffed 
 up with vain knowledge, like a man drunk with wine, 
 deformed from the wearisome business of bending over 
 books, and thus confusing the intellect that nature has 
 given them ; three errors, written by ignorant people be- 
 fore them, they can transform into one truth ; he whose 
 memory is best stocked with these errors has the best
 
 140 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 reputation. Oh ! that they all had but one head ! I ap- 
 proached the seat of the vile man ; he raised his head, 
 half closing his eyes, weakened by reading, to see me 
 better. ' Who are you ? What do you want ? ' he asked 
 in a shrill voice. ' Be quick, for I have much to do this 
 morning.' ' Great Senator,' I replied, drawing nearer 
 to his seat, ' mine is a small affair, and may be settled in 
 a moment ! ' ' Do not come any nearer ; it is forbidden 
 to come too near the Senator.' I took no notice, but 
 still advancing, continued : ' You owe me a debt.' ' A 
 debt ? You are mad. Take this madman away, drive 
 him out, put him in prison ! ' ' You are the madman, to 
 believe yourself safe, when you have betrayed the inno- 
 cent ; you owe me my father's life.' By this time, I had 
 placed myself behind him, and seized him by the throat 
 with such fury that his^eyes seemed starting from his head, 
 and his lips hesitatingly murmured : ' Salvumfac spiritum 
 mtum ; ' but I whispered in his ear : ' Perdition ! Per- 
 dition ! ' I then drew my knife, and following the blue 
 impress of my fingers, cut off his head, grasping it by the 
 hair with the joy of a lover pressing the hand of his be- 
 loved. Meanwhile a crowd had collected. Undismayed, 
 I turned, extending my arm, showing my clenched hand, 
 and the bloody knife, and cried to them : ' Christians, I 
 make a vow to God, that whoever opposes my path shall 
 receive this knife in his heart.' It would seem that my 
 bearing corresponded to my words, for they drew back 
 on all sides, murmuring like the sea when the wind is at 
 rest. My vassals received me with loud cries of joy ; I 
 fastened the head of Benincasa to my father's lance, and 
 giving orders that the trumpets should sound joyfully, left 
 Rome, passing through an immense concourse of people 
 awe-struck by so bold an exploit. ' Guard ! Guard ! 
 Lower the drawbridge ! ' ' Who wishes to enter at such 
 an hour?' 'Lower the drawbridge, for I am Ghino.' 
 'My lord, you know her ladyship's command : have you 
 the token ? ' ' Knave, do you think that I would dare to 
 appear before her without it ? ' . I passed the bridge, I 
 flew to the chamber of Lady Gualdrada ; she was not 
 there. I ran to the chapel, and ere I reached it, her
 
 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 141 
 
 voice, chanting the psalms, announced her presence there : 
 I entered by a little door beside the altar, and saw her 
 kneeling by the chancel, absorbed in her devotions ; a 
 single candle shed its faint rays upon her, beside which 
 lay a rosary. At the grating of the door upon its hinges, 
 and at the noise of my footsteps, she raised her eyes, but 
 could perceive nothing in the darkness. I advanced 
 slowly, without uttering a word, extending the hand 
 which held the head of Benincasa ; gradually, as I ap- 
 proached the light, she perceived an indistinct object, 
 the head of a man suspended in the air. ' The face of 
 Benincasa ! ' I exclaimed. ' The signal was given, the 
 bridge was lowered.' ' It was well done,' replied the lady ; 
 and quietly closing her book, she took the candle, and 
 holding it before my eyes, looked at me fixedly. Ascer- 
 taining that I was indeed her nephew, her face became 
 alternately flushed and pallid. Grasping at the balus- 
 trade for support, her strength failed, and she fell sense- 
 less into my arms. Since that time every one has de- 
 clared war against me, and I am happily able to defend 
 myself from all. The excellent lady died, and appointed 
 me her heir. She held Radicofani as feudatory from the 
 church ; I hold it from no one, and acknowledge neither 
 vassalage nor homage : let them come and expel me, if 
 they wish. More than once have the Counts of Santa 
 Fiora had their heads broken, their castles burned, their 
 farms destroyed. At last, leaving the country, they betook 
 themselves to Siena, where fear of me holds them impris- 
 oned. Should they dare to pass its bounds, the penalty is 
 death. I need not relate to you all my deeds ; you 
 can imagine what must be those of a poor bandit ; but 
 if they are not illustrious, neither are they cruel. Good 
 is forbidden, glory refused me ; all that I can hope for, is 
 to be less hated. Now a desire has seized me to ap- 
 proach the kingdom of Sicily, for. I love Manfred ; and 
 although he does not know it, in me he has a friend who 
 will sustain him while life lasts." 
 
 " Holy Mary ! Do you love Manfred ? " 
 "Why should I not love him ? Are not his deeds such 
 that envy itself could not find fault with them ? "
 
 142 The Head of the Unjust Judge. 
 
 " How little you know him ! He is the worst man the 
 sun shines upon ; the murderer of his brother, and my 
 mortal enemy." 
 
 Then Rogiero related all that had happened, and what 
 he intended to do, and then added : "What do you think 
 of him ? Is this a man to be loved ? " 
 
 " You do well to hate him, if these things are true. I, 
 an Italian, see in Manfred a bold and wise compatriot, 
 who loves Italy, and wishes to make her great ; hence I 
 cannot, I ought not to hate him ; even were he not so, but 
 an avaricious and rapacious foreigner, I should indeed 
 like to assist in his expulsion by our own arms, but not 
 by the aid of foreign ones ; the fable is a very old one, of 
 the dog, that, covered with wasps, remained quiet without 
 even winking, saying to those who questioned him, that 
 they were now satiated with blood, and no longer gave 
 him any trouble, but that if he should shake them off, 
 other thirsty ones would take their place, to suck what 
 they had left." 
 
 " Should I then renounce my revenge, because his in- 
 terests are united to those of Italy ? No, let him die ; we 
 will provide for the arms of the foreigner." 
 
 " To get rid of the foreigners is not so easy as to invite 
 them ; and with most uncertain hope, you bring most 
 certain ruin upon your country." 
 
 " How then should I appease my father's spirit ? What 
 would you have done?" 
 
 " Sir Knight, I do not wish to call myself either a very 
 good, or a very bad man ; I do not know what I should 
 have done in your case. I thank fortune, that in aveng- 
 ing myself I have injured but few." 
 
 " Your reply is like pushing back the shipwrecked 
 sailor who is on the point of reaching the shore." 
 
 " But," replied Ghino, hiding his face, " I could give 
 you my life, though not my counsel." 
 
 " You hate me ? " 
 
 "I pity you. In any case, remember that I gladly 
 owe you my life." 
 
 They then arose and went to bed. In the morning, 
 Rogiero, taking leave of his host, who with regret wit- 
 nessed his departure, pursued his way.
 
 The Traitor's End. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 THE TRAITOR'S END. 
 
 Jamque rubescebat stellis Aurora fugatis : 
 Quum procul obscuros colles humilemque videmus 
 Italiam. Italiam primus conclamat Achates ; 
 Italiam laeto socii clamore salutant. 
 
 , Zz<5. 3. 
 
 Now paled the stars before the rosy dawn ; 
 Dimly appeared the mountains far withdrawn ; 
 Then soon the Italian shores Achates spied; 
 And, Italy ! each joyful sailor cried. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 EHOLD the Alps ! How many ages crown 
 their summits ! Time wraps them in his mys- 
 teries. Of those which are known some appear 
 as brilliant as the gems in a royal diadem ; 
 others glooming with a blood-red tint, like the last expir- 
 ing ray of the setting sun ; others shadowy with a terrible 
 darkness. From those rocks, blasted by the lightning, 
 the Roman eagle beheld the nations of the earth, and 
 spreading its wings for the destined course, heralded with 
 terror from province to province, from land to land, the 
 victory of the immortal legions. The lofty destiny of 
 Hannibal taught it the sad knowledge that it could be 
 conquered ; still, so long as the virtues of the nation 
 formed its nest, it remained, together with the Alps, the 
 terror of the nations. When consumed by years and by 
 vice the empire of the Caesars fell beneath the weight of 
 its own greatness, the proud eagle abandoned that corpse 
 of glory, leaving the hordea of northern crows to batten 
 on the dead remains. Charlemagne came, but the 
 eagle had fled, the nest was cold, and he scattered it to 
 the winds. The spirit of a proud captain wanders raging 
 over those fearful precipices. Miscreant ! To him the 
 fates of the world had granted the power to raise again 
 the ancient virtue of Rome, to show that the heroes of
 
 144 The Traitor's End. 
 
 antiquity could be now not merely imitated but surpassed 
 in Italy; the eagle rested upon his hand as securely as 
 upon the sceptre of Ccesar ; who would have prevented 
 him, or could, even if they had wished to ? Did he not 
 conquer at once men and fate. And surely Italian were 
 the voices that taught him the first words of love, Italian 
 was the air that he first breathed, Italian the sun that 
 warmed his infant limbs ! yet he did it not. Perhaps in 
 an unhappy life he has paid the penalty of this fault, but 
 it is an insufficient expiation. When our history shall 
 sound to future ages like the murmur of a distant water- 
 fall, and our undertakings like the traces of an extinct 
 volcano, and our language an object of wearisome re- 
 search to the learned, surely his name will still remain 
 great, like the summit of the St. Bernard which he trav- 
 ersed, which, rising immense, is lost in the obscurity of 
 the clouds on the horizon ; but the memory of this error 
 or crime will live eternally in connection with his name, 
 for it is not such as can be forgotten by time or blotted 
 out by repentance. Now his virtues, his vices, his bones 
 sleep in the tomb.* Let us not lay our hand too 
 heavily upon the great one who lies dead ; but we can- 
 not turn our thoughts from him without sighing. " Alas ! 
 thou mightst have been a god, and hast preferred being 
 a scourge. Who can rule by the sword after thee ? " 
 
 What did Nature intend, when she surrounded us with 
 the horrors of the snows, the ruin of the avalanche, the 
 fury of the hurricane, the awfulness of the solitude, the 
 precipices, the torrents of the Alps ? Did she think they 
 were a sufficient defence against the fury of men ? Were 
 it not better to instil into their hearts a thought of peace ? 
 Would the perversity of the " dust of earth" have over- 
 come the foresight of Nature ? These snows, these prec- 
 ipices, were conquered by those who, abandoning without 
 a care their wives and relatives, precipitated themselves 
 over our provinces, raging like streams of fiery lava. 
 Here they oppressed ; here they snatched the prey with 
 
 * Didymi Clerici prophetae minimi vitia, virtutes, ossa, hie tan- 
 dem conquiescere ccepere. Epitaph of Ugo Foscolo.
 
 The Traitor's End. 145 
 
 blood-stained hand ; here they fell ; now the rain washes, 
 the wind moves, their unturned, dishonored, unwept bones. 
 Miserable dupes, who rejoicingly rallied round the stan- 
 dard of the fierce one who enticed you with glory, be- 
 cause scorn would have driven you from him, come and 
 see in what your glory consists ! Shameful slaves of a 
 single man, betrayed* in life and derided in death, you fell 
 victims before the idol of the sword whom you wor- 
 shipped. They oppressed us, while here "they ate the 
 bread of wickedness and drank the wine of violence ; " 
 now they are dead, let us curse them, . . . no, . . . old in- 
 juries have been avenged.* Is not the mocking laugh on 
 the lips of the conqueror a bitter torment ? Our fathers 
 made others endure it long, we feel it now ; time ad- 
 vances, the implacable and just redresser of wrongs. 
 Long did we remain wicked ; had we continued strong 
 we should be so still; but courage and strength failed us, 
 others have prevailed. What avails lamentation ? . For 
 Heaven's sake, let us not murmur at any one but at our- 
 selves, who, first to offend, slept secure on the couch of 
 injury. The offence, however, slumbered not, but passed 
 the night in watching for vengeance, and sleep fled rag- 
 ing before the inexorable ones ; at our awakening, chains 
 clanked on all our limbs. Shame to the imprudent one, 
 who in the hour of danger rested in careless ease. What 
 avails it to show thy rent garment ? All mock, none aid 
 thee. Even oppression has its greatness ; dignity re- 
 mains with the conquered, as fear with the conqueror. 
 Raise thy head ; advance fearlessly ; thus, even if thou 
 livest without honor, thou shalt at least die without dis- 
 grace, and so shall the Eternal in the mysteries of ages 
 weave for thy distant descendants a new mantle of glory. 
 Upon the side of the Alps which slopes towards 
 France, a body of men, desirous of reaching the sum- 
 mit, were laboriously ascending. As the broken 'and 
 precipitous paths, the danger of the passes, the narrow- 
 ness of some places, did not allow any order to be kept, 
 the army of Charles advanced in detached groups of 
 
 * By the Sicilian Vespers.
 
 146 The Traitor's End. 
 
 twenty or more, each anxious to secure their own safety, 
 rather than that of the mass. Guy de Montfort, the 
 general-in-chief, Robert, Count of Flanders, the Count 
 of Vendamme, Pierre de Bilmont, the Constable Giles 
 Lebrun, Mirapoix, the Commissary General, Guillaume 
 L'Etendard, and other captains, abandoning their colors, 
 surrounded the litter of the Countess Beatrice, borne by 
 two hardy mountaineers, who, from time to time, ex- 
 hausted by fatigue, resigned it to others, who immediately 
 replaced them. The air blew bitter cold ; the rocky 
 path was broken ; the labor of every step was shown by 
 the perspiration which fatigue distilled upon their brows ; 
 often they stopped looking upwards to see when they 
 should reach the summit ; but the mountain concealed its 
 proud head among the gray clouds which rested upon it as 
 upon a glorious throne, seeming to boast itself impassable 
 to mortal foot, and to laugh at mortal weakness. Once 
 they gave a shout, but the noise sounded so wild among 
 those rugged precipices, it echoed so frightfully from 
 those unknown, terrible places, that they dared not re- 
 peat it ; the birds of prey flew screaming from their 
 nests, the wolves assembled in packs, and seeing the 
 multitude more numerous and more ferocious even than 
 themselves, they hid quickly among the bushes of the 
 gloomy valley. They climbed over rocks, they crossed 
 torrents, they removed snow, trees, stones and what- 
 ever else obstructed their path, with rare courage and 
 perseverance ; still, from time to time, a man might 
 be seen, exhausted and laboring for breath, throwing 
 himself despairing on the ground, and allowing his com- 
 panions to pass him, and to proceed as far as his eyes 
 could follow them ; but when he lost sight of them in 
 some turn of the mountain path, when his ear no longer 
 heard the voice of living men, and his looks wandered 
 terror-struck over those solitudes, he would spring trem- 
 bling to his feet, and hasten, as best he might, to rejoin 
 them : in another place might be seen a horse slipping 
 on the brink of a precipice, and dragging down with him 
 the soldier, who, carefully examining the road, is leading 
 him with the bridle twisted around his arm ; not know-
 
 The Traitor's End. 147 
 
 ing how to save himself he grasps his neighbor, who in 
 turn seizes another, and he another still ; thus, all to 
 gether fall in a body down the abyss ; a sharp scream is 
 heard, followed by a deathlike silence, for the place 
 where they lie mangled is beyond the reach of mortal 
 ear. More recently and with far greater danger, soldiers 
 of iron, protected by the genius of a brave captain, 
 crossed the St. Bernard and Spluga. In vain did the ar- 
 tillery and the incumbrances that modern warfare de- 
 mand, impede their march ; in vain the hurricane of the 
 Alps, the avalanches, the fury of the unchained elements. 
 They conquered, and left an example of an undertaking, 
 that, as long as man is clothed in flesh, can never be sur- 
 passed ; wherefore the good historian * said, " that it was 
 performed by giants, rather than by men." 
 
 But if storms and artillery did not delay the army of the 
 Count of Provence, he encountered the same dangerous 
 snows, the slippery paths, the rocks, the precipices, the 
 cliffs. In both armies, more than one soldier, grasping 
 his comrade tightly, felt the fearful pleasure of gazing 
 down at the horrors of the abyss, and so great was the 
 awe which filled his spirit, that drawing back hastily, he 
 made the sign of the cross, muttering a prayer. In both 
 armies more than one, looking back towards his home, 
 thought of his beloved children with a sigh, cursing the 
 ambition of the man who led a nation from one land to 
 die in another. They go on sad and silent, looking anxi- 
 ously around to avoid in time any evil that might happen 
 to them. Their thoughts are fierce and cruel, as nature 
 prompts, when man is forced by all-powerful necessity 
 to think of himself alone. Now, as they advance, they 
 reach a spot where the mountain, rising perpendicularly, 
 offers no access except to wings; the foremost, pressed 
 on by those behind, are crushed confusedly against it ; 
 urged on in vain, they impart from band to band, even 
 to the most distant, that involuntary immobility. 
 
 " Were there no graves in France tltat they have brought 
 us away to die on these barren mountains ? Where is Count 
 
 * Botta, History of Italy, chap. 20.
 
 148 The Traitor's End. 
 
 de Montfort ? Let the count come and lead us back to 
 our homes," cried the exasperated people. " Let us re- 
 turn then," cried the count angrily ; " since it is your 
 pleasure, let us return ; we have been three days upon 
 the road, and are already near the end, where our friends 
 of Monferrato have prepared resting-places and food to 
 refresh us. The provisions which we have left will hardly 
 last one day longer ; we shall die on the way of hunger 
 and cold ; but what matter ? let us return. Perhaps even 
 now, amidst the applause of Rome, Monseigneur Charles, 
 the most holy pope, the Italians, are watching for us ; 
 but let their hope in us be betrayed, let our cowardice be 
 apparent to the whole people. Our ancestors, led by 
 Charlemagne, crossed these very Alps, though fortified 
 by men, and defended by the entire nation ; happy was 
 he, for destiny called .him to lead the brave ! Let us 
 their degenerate children fly from them, although no one 
 disputes with us their passage. Let us return to France, 
 to our brothers, who, with unparalleled constancy, over- 
 came such great dangers in Palestine, and won a prize 
 of splendid glory ; let us return and restore the colors 
 given to us by our ladies, and honored by such illustrious 
 undertakings. I shall never go back there, for I should 
 fear lest every one who met me in the street, should 
 point me out to his companion, and say, ' Behold the 
 brave man who was unable to cross the mountain ! ' 
 Let us thus imitate our brave sovereign, who, with twenty 
 galleys, set sail with the chance of encountering the 
 eighty of the heretic Manfred ; thus let us keep our faith 
 with him. Truly, this is the way which leads to immor- 
 tality, this is the means whereby we shall merit the holy 
 indulgence which the pope with so great liberality has 
 granted us ; this is the performance of the vow you made 
 in presence of his legates when you undertook the 
 crusade. Think, you are now in presence of men and of 
 God. Our names will be immortalized, for dishonor will 
 take care to preserve them as monuments of shame. 
 The golden lily is tarnished, honor is lost. I here break 
 my sword, and swear on the faith of a knight never to 
 bear arms again. Let us go to meet disgrace and de-
 
 The Traitor's End. 149 
 
 spair, since you reject glory and safety." This, and 
 much beside, said the Count de Montfort, part of which 
 was not listened to, and part lost in the howling of the 
 wind and the noise of the multitude. They were on the 
 point of turning back, when the Countess Beatrice, a 
 high-spirited woman, rising on her litter, commanded her 
 mountaineers to stand on some horses, and raise her as 
 high as they could. By this means she succeeded in 
 mounting the cliff, which was about twelve feet high, and 
 there, as on a throne, she took the veil from her head 
 and waved it in triumph. " Long live the Countess ! 
 Long live the Lady," cried the people, in a frenzy of 
 delight. " Long live the Countess Beatrice ! " and 
 hastened with wonderful zeal to attempt to follow her. 
 The stronger climbing on the shoulders of the weaker, 
 and clinging with hands and feet, reached the top ; many 
 slipped, and unable to recover themselves, rolled down 
 upon the heads of their companions, apparently ex- 
 hausted ; those who accomplished the feat offered their 
 hands, belts, lances or anything they could to those be- 
 hind them : and thus, after a weary hour, about two hun- 
 dred succeeded in scaling the ascent, but it was with un- 
 imaginable noise, confusion and fury. Those who had 
 placed themselves under one climber were in a few mo- 
 ments oppressed by a hundred, and sought in vain to 
 free themselves from their uncomfortable position ; infu- 
 riated by resistance, they began to deal blows, and find- 
 ing those unavailing they had recourse to their swords ; 
 the nearest tried hard to draw back, and their blows and 
 thrusts against those who were pushing them on were nu- 
 merous; still, urged on by those who did not see what 
 was the matter, they were again thrown forward, and 
 those behind, advancing, fell in their turn upon the fallen : 
 and thus they lay, in piles, on each other ; many rose, 
 bruised and wounded ; many rose no more. Count 
 Guy, seeing that this way of mounting the height pro- 
 duced more harm than good, shouted to them to stop, 
 butyi vain ;. therefore he commanded the knights who 
 surrounded him to beat back the frenzied people with 
 their swords. Thus by the death and wounding of a few,
 
 150 The Traitor's End. 
 
 they succeeded in obtaining some degree of quiet. Then, 
 making them heap up rocks and earth against the' face 
 of the cliff, and animating them by .voice and example, 
 in four hours he had constructed a road over which, with 
 some difficulty, passed the horses, knights, baggage-wag- 
 ons, cars, and whatever else there was. When night 
 came, the fear that had hitherto kept them apart now 
 drew them together, and they remained quiet where they 
 were. Although the position they then occupied was 
 not dangerous, their imaginations were so filled with 
 thoughts of precipices and ruins, that, in the darkness, 
 they dared not stir hand or foot. 
 
 Morning dawned. No perfume of flowers, no song of 
 birds, greeted it among those solitary rocks : but the peaks 
 of the Alps, tinged with a brilliant orange, and standing 
 out clear against the blue horizon, now perfectly free from 
 clouds, were majestic and at the same time beautiful 
 objects. With the eagerness of those about to attain a 
 desired end, the French set forward : at first they moved 
 slowly, as if benumbed by cold, but motion gradually in- 
 ducing warmth, they were able to advance more rapidly. 
 Inspiring was the sight of that hurrying, bustlin'g multitude, 
 the glittering of the helmets, spears and armor of the 
 knights, the pennants streaming in the wind, the costly 
 dresses ; more inspiring was the clash of the trumpets 
 resounding from time to time, the spirited war-songs, the 
 cries of joy : it seemed an assemblage of knights met to 
 celebrate some solemn day ; a festival easier to imagine 
 than to describe. They reach the summit : their eyes, 
 sparkling with the eager hope of acquisition, glance over 
 the country spread out beneath them, and as far as sight 
 extends, to the distant horizon. Truth to tell, only the 
 eastern edge of Italy can .be perceived from that point ; 
 but so deeply were their minds impressed by the horrors 
 through which they had passed, so brilliant were the hopes 
 and fancies that glowed in their imaginations, excited by 
 the accounts they had heard, that it seemed as if they 
 were looking upon the terrestrial Paradise, which the 
 Eternal prepared for sinless creatures. Then they raised 
 their arms to heaven, crying : "Italy ! Italy ! " This cry
 
 The Traitor's End. 151 
 
 was caught up through the ranks, lind the most distant re- 
 peated, " Italy ! " Now indeed there was a stir, a hasten- 
 ing ; the voices of the captains were unheard, blows were 
 /unheeded : pushing, crushing, using hands and feet, they 
 strove who should first reach it. Truly the descent seemed 
 no less frightful than the ascent. But who that could enjoy 
 the sight of beautiful things would wish to sadden himself 
 by the contemplation of the mournful ! They saw flowery 
 fields, meadows blessed by Heaven ; that was the end 
 of the journey, of the path that led they knew not whither. 
 There they hoped to find food and rest for present need : 
 there lands, wealth, and whatever else could render life 
 happy. Already they supposed themselves masters of it. 
 They had conquered Nature, they gave no thought to men. 
 Unhappy ones ! There they would have found a tomb, if 
 fate had committed the defence of it to men, .... either 
 more brave or more united, ... or less infamous. 
 
 As we are sure that no one will read these pages, 
 whether they be good or bad, to learn geography, we 
 advise our reader not to be astonished if we suddenly 
 transport Rogiero from a forest of Terra di Lavoro to 
 Mirandola, formerly a very strong castle of Romagna, a 
 distance of several hundred -miles. The reason of his 
 going thither was, that from thence Parma could be 
 easily and quickly reached, and the report was that the 
 army of Charles was to take that route. Our hero, as he 
 advanced, felt such an increasing repugnance to go further, 
 that day by day he had travelled more slowly. That 
 name of traitor often sounded in his ear like a cry of 
 alarm; the words of Ghino. still disturbed him deeply.. 
 He thought to himself: " With the lofty purpose of over- 
 coming dangers, both of earth and heaven, of avenging my 
 father, and of recovering what has been taken from me 
 by the blackest treachery, I have undertaken labors under 
 which most men would have sunk'. I thought to win 
 greatness, and my hope is degenerated, not only into 
 nothingness, but into dishonor ! " Oh, the anguish of a 
 mind condemned to feel nobly, and to find in external 
 objects only weakness or crime. Ghino, whose life he
 
 152 The Traitor's End. 
 
 had saved, and who, from his position in life, must neces- 
 sarily be rather unscrupulous as regards precepts of honor, 
 had pitied him : what would those have done who were 
 under no obligations to him, and who professed to love 
 their country, and to practise the precepts of honor ? An 
 insupportable weight hung heavy on his heart. Thus, 
 saddling his horse a hundred times, and as often putting 
 him back into the stable, he passed two days at Mirandola. 
 Shut up in his own room, with his head bowed upon his 
 knees, he lamented his cruel fate ; and as whenever we 
 are in trouble we all turn to God, he often implored 
 Heaven to assist and guide him. In the second night of 
 his stay, while tossing from side to side, he in vain en- 
 deavored to call sleep to his eyes, he heard a noise as of 
 something moving softly through the room. He listened, 
 thinking that he must be mistaken ; perceiving that- it 
 was no delusion of his imagination, he demanded in a 
 clear voice, " Who is there ? " The reply came in a faint, 
 almost inaudible tone, as if from a disembodied spirit, 
 " Remember your father" " Who are you who know rny 
 secret ?" cried Rogiero, starting up in his bed. " Come, 
 angel or demon, you will be welcome ; counsel me whether 
 for perdition or salvation ; counsel me, for my soul can- 
 not counsel itself." 
 
 No reply, no further noise. Rogiero fell back upon the 
 bed, and the crowd of past events rose before his mind 
 like a terrible vision ; and when, towards morning, sleep 
 closed his weary eyes, his dreams were such as a man 
 may have upon the pillow of revenge. 
 
 In the morning he arose, pale, miserable, with haggard 
 eyes, and went down to pay the landlord. Just as he en- 
 tered the room, a man, enveloped in a cloak, came in by 
 the street door, whom the landlord immediately addressed, 
 saying : " Good-day to you, Master Lippo ; you look as 
 if you had been riding all night. What news do you bring 
 from up there ? " 
 
 " The Ghibellines are leaving the environs of Parma 
 without fighting, for the army of the count has taken an- 
 other route ; they say that it is advancing by way of 
 Milan, having for a guide that gallows-bird, Napoleone
 
 The Traitor's End. 153 
 
 della Torre, but here or there, thorns are sown on their 
 road." 
 
 " Why, who is there who could resist him on the road 
 to Milan ? There are no Ghibellines in that part of the 
 country ?" 
 
 " There are both Bianchi and Neri,* my good Giacomo, 
 for if all were alike the world would come to a standstill. 
 There is the Marquis Pelavicino, who is an adherent of 
 Manfred he is in the neighborhood of Pavia ; Buoso 
 da Duera in that of Cremona, and Mastino della Scala in 
 that of Verona. Truly you can judge whether they will 
 let him pass without paying toll. So be it. What is there, 
 Giacomo, by way of breakfast, for a poor Ghibelline ? " 
 
 Rogiero, as anxious to go now as yesterday he had 
 been to remain, paid the innkeeper, saddled his horse, and 
 left Mirandola. On the way he learned that the French, 
 instead of taking the most direct road, that from Asti to 
 Parma, were advancing by way of Cremona ; eager to 
 reach them, he turned his horse in the direction of the 
 Po. When he arrived at Lugara, though the sun was still 
 high and the boat ready to cross the river, the same 
 hesitation took possession of him as had detained him 
 at Mirandola ; the image of his father was faint, and that 
 repugnance to undertake a thing so hateful to him, and 
 that word, traitor, returned to disturb his soul. In the 
 silence of the night, upon his solitary bed, he vainly 
 sought relief from his uneasiness ; he seemed to be grop- 
 ing along in some dark place, where the longer he wan- 
 dered, the more he went astray. In the morning, when 
 he awoke, he perceived a slip of paper in his right hand ; 
 wondering he went to the window, and in the faint light 
 of dawn he read, " Remember your father /" 
 
 This reminder produced in his mind an effect like that 
 of tearing the bandage from a half-healed wound. Passion 
 overcame reason, and more fiercely than ever he resumed 
 his former purpose. He crossed the Po, passed Casal 
 Maggicre and Rovara, nor slackened his speed till he 
 
 * The Ghibellines were divided into two parties, called Blacks and 
 Whites. 
 
 7*
 
 154 The Traitor's End. 
 
 approached Cremona. He had nearly reached it, the 
 end of his journey was at hand, and now he wished it 
 more remote. He inquired of every one he met, and 
 those who told him that the distance still to travel was 
 short, he passed in silence, cursing them in his heart ; 
 those who affirmed that it was still- far off, he pleasantly 
 bade God-speed. Thus doubtful whether to go forward 
 or to 1 turn back, and still drawn on by fate, he found 
 himself one day, just before vespers, between San Daniele 
 and Cicognolo, towns not very far from Cremona. 
 Absorbed in thought, he dropped the bridle on his horse's 
 neck ; suddenly, as he raised his head to look at the 
 beautiful houses that were visible through the branches 
 of the trees, he found himself surrounded by a troop of 
 more than twenty horsemen, the leader of whom com- 
 manded Rogiero to follow him. 
 
 " Know," cried Rogiero, drawing his sword, for his 
 spear was useless, the men being so near "know that 
 no one crosses my path, except by force and at the risk 
 of his life." , 
 
 " Sir Knight," replied the captain, " God forbid that 
 we should use violence toward you ; our master, Buoso 
 da Duera, sent us to meet you, and to lead you to where 
 he is. May it please you to follow us, for we do not 
 wish to do you any injury." 
 
 " And how does your master know of me ? " 
 
 " Ycrti will learn that of himself. Are you not a Nea- 
 politan knight ? Have you not letters to deliver to him ?" 
 
 " Certainly I have." 
 
 " Come then, for you are expected." 
 
 Although Rogiero had peculiar views, for the time in 
 which he lived, yet both by his natural disposition, and 
 from the adventures which had befallen him, he was 
 convinced that there was a destiny which governed all his 
 actions ; that he might indeed, for a time, struggle against 
 it, but that, willing or not, he must eventually yield to it. 
 Induced by this feeling, he allowed himself to be con- 
 ducted unresistingly by those horsemen, who, riding 
 leisurely that they might not irritate him, arrived late in 
 the night at a castle, which, as well as he could see in
 
 The Traitor's End. 155 
 
 the uncertain light, seemed of great strength. Around 
 the castle were pitched a number of tents, whence trooped 
 a multitude of soldiers all going in one direction ; a bell 
 was sounding incessantly to assemble them, and at a 
 short distance was heard the calling of the rolls, the 
 assignment of the posts, and the issuing of orders. When 
 they reached the gate, a sentinel, who was pacing to and 
 fro with his halbert on his shoulder, stopped suddenly 
 and demanded : 
 
 " Who goes there ? " 
 
 " Long live the Ghibellines ! " replied the captain. 
 
 " Approach and give the countersign." 
 
 The captain advanced, and whispered a word in his 
 ear, then turning to his band said : " Forward." 
 
 Traversing extensive cloisters, they finally reach an 
 old court-yard, where under the colonnade appear a 
 number of troopers, some of whom are amusing them- 
 selves with chess or hazard, some drinking deeply, and 
 conversing and gesticulating violently. Here, three or 
 four are trying to join in a song, but at the very first 
 notes, some one of them sings false, and they begin 
 again ; there, a few are sitting with closed eyes, and their 
 heads gradually fall on their breasts ; they start from their 
 momentary slumbers, only to nod again ; others, entirely 
 overcome by sleep, have crossed their arms upon the 
 tables, and resting their heads upon them are snoring so 
 loudly as to be heard to a great distance. Some are 
 doing one thing, some another, for it would take too long 
 to describe them all. Ii* short, those countenances, par- 
 tially illuminated by a reddish light, those gestures, those 
 threatening and varied aspects, would have furnished a 
 subject to the Fleming for a wonderful picture. 
 
 No sooner had the captain made his appearance, than 
 there arose from all sides a tumult of voices crying : 
 " Good-evening welcome, have you had good sport, 
 captain ? Did you catch your man ? Tell us about it, 
 Piero. Come here, you may take my place ; Piero, will 
 you make a fourth ; we cannot begin our game without 
 you. Here, Piero, take a glass of wine ; you must want 
 it."
 
 156 The Traitor's End. 
 
 " Thanks, Malatolta ; thanks, Prencliparte ; thanks, 
 thanks, sirs ; I will be with you in a moment," cried the 
 guide of our hero, first distinguishing each one by his 
 name and surname, and then saluting all promiscuously, 
 as if to give the lie to that philosopher * who declared 
 that external objects strike the human mind at first in- 
 distinctly, then gradually -grow clear, and thus unite 
 the analytical examination with its opposite, the synthet- 
 ical, with a hundred other graceful trifles, which have 
 been set in our brains at school, as stones are set in a 
 ring. 
 
 The captain, dismounting, hurried Rogiero, who ear- 
 nestly recommended Allah to his care, to the part of the 
 castle opposite that by which they had entered. Looking 
 up at the upper windows, and seeing a light, he muttered, 
 as if in haste to be at liberty : " Now he can just as well 
 go by himself;" and as they reached the threshold of a 
 little door he added, " Sir Knight. Messer Buoso is cer- 
 tainly in his room, for I saw a light shining there. You 
 can easily find him without my accompanying you. Mount 
 these stairs, which will lead you to a landing-place where 
 three corridors meet : take the first one to the left ; when 
 you reach the end of it, turn to the right and you will 
 find six steps ; be careful not to stumble as you ascend 
 them, and the Lord help you. You will then see a large 
 hall with five doors in it ; the one just opposite you is the 
 door of Messer Buoso's room ; good-night." Hardly 
 stopping to finish the sentence, which he uttered with 
 amazing rapidity, he ran to joifi his companions, who 
 greeted him with shouts and laughter, and other marks of 
 intemperate joy. 
 
 Rogiero ascended the staircase. It was made of bricks ; 
 time had worn away the edges and the cement, leaving 
 depressions nearly large enough to receive the foot. 
 Constantly in danger of falling, groping, supporting him- 
 self more by his hands than by his feet, he reached the 
 entrance of the three corridors, illuminated by a dim lamp 
 
 * Condillac, Logica in princ.
 
 The Traitor's End. 157 
 
 which seemed extinguished, as that whimsical Florentine 
 said.* 
 
 Here a sudden tremor seized him ; he tried to go for-i 
 ward, he could not ; back, equally impossible ; he leaned 
 against the wall, as if turned to stone. New doubts, new 
 hesitations ; another step, and he is irreparably lost ; his 
 intentions are good, but supported by deeds partly mean, 
 partly dishonorable, all wicked. If he does not succeed 
 in accomplishing them who will believe that his design 
 was generous ? There will not always be darkness, as 
 in that place, nor can treachery be always concealed. 
 While he thus delayed, thinking of these things, he felt a 
 hand lightly laid upon his head, and a soft voice murmur- 
 ed in his ear : " Remember your father ! " 
 
 "Santa Maria I" exclaimed Rogiero; and turning 
 quickly, he saw, or thought he saw, in the corridor op- 
 posite, a phantom gliding away from him. Impelled by 
 an unconquerable desire to know what it was, he followed 
 it at his utmost speed. He passed through that corridor, 
 then through another, the spectre still keeping a few 
 paces in advance, though he did not hear a footfall. Al- 
 though these circumstances were more than sufficient in 
 those times, and perhaps even in our own, to make him 
 believe this apparition supernatural, Rogiero did not 
 allow himself to be influenced by fear ; although in truth 
 he did not know how to explain it, he was careful not to 
 attribute it to supernatural causes. The spectre retreat- 
 ing and Rogiero pursuing, they reached a place where 
 there was no light ; thus it was perfectly easy for the for- 
 mer to disappear. Rogiero, groping, wishyig, in spite of 
 
 * Al romor del tracollo 
 Che rimbombo dal tetto al fondamento, 
 Comparve un lumicin che parea spento, 
 Si facea lurne a stento. 
 
 SONETTO DEL MiGLiORUCCl, Barbiere Florentine. 
 
 From the roof, through the floor and the wall, 
 When resounded the noise of the fall, 
 In the distance a lamp faintly gleamed, 
 So dim, that extinguished it seemed. 
 
 M. G. M.
 
 158 The Traitor's End. 
 
 the darkness, to follow, stumbled and fell over a couch ; 
 then neither hearing nor seeing anything, he endeavored to 
 return. Thinking that he was retracing his steps, he passed 
 through two or three rooms, in the last of which he per- 
 ceived a ray of light shining through the chink of a 
 door ; he immediately went towards it, thinking that it 
 came from the light at the head of the stairs. He reached 
 it, opened it, and found himself in an immense room. A 
 very small part of it was lighted, the rest being lost in the 
 deepest shadow. Judging by what he saw of it, it was 
 hung with beautiful Flemish tapestries, representing hunts 
 or the most renowned warlike exploits of the Paladins of 
 Charlemagne or of the knights-errant of King Arthur. 
 At equal distances on one side, and probably around the 
 whole room, were arranged suits of ancient armor, sup- 
 ported by lances resting in stone sockets. The win- 
 dows, receiving their light from the court-yard, showed 
 scenes taken from the New Testament, formed from 
 glass of a thousand different tints. These things, which 
 we have required half a page to describe, Rogiero saw at 
 a glance ; nor indeed did he stop to observe them, for 
 they were common in those times. His attention was 
 more particularly attracted by two persons who were in 
 the room. One of these, of foreign dress and appear- 
 ance, was a French courier, dressed in a yellow doublet, 
 reaching nearly to his knees, fastened round his waist by 
 a broad leather belt, from which hung his horn and dag- 
 ger ; his breeches were of the same material as his 
 doublet, and like it, fitting closely ; he wore boots of red 
 leather, with s^jurs adapted rather for stabbing than for 
 urging a horse ; his head was uncovered ; his hair, parted 
 in the middle, fell down on either side to his ears, grow- 
 ing gradually longer till at the back it reached to his 
 shoulders ; his face said nothing it was a blank surface. 
 Very different seemed the second : he was seated before 
 a table upon which were papers and a sword ; his head 
 was resting on his hand, and he appeared to be reflecting 
 upon a letter which apparently he had just received. His 
 head was bald, the skin smooth, with the exception of
 
 The Traitor's End. 159 
 
 two or three wrinkles deeply furrowing his forehead ; his 
 face was broad at the cheek bones, which anatomists call 
 the zygomatic process, but thin and sharp towards the chin, 
 with the beard shamefully neglected. As to the rest of 
 his person, with the exception of the gauntlets, he was 
 fully armed ; after he had pondered for some time over 
 the letter, h exclaimed, " Eight thousand golden flo- 
 rins ! I would sell my soul too for it." 
 
 After this shocking impiety, he raised his eyes what 
 eyes ! cavernous, glittering like those of a fox which 
 has seized the prey and saw Rogiero. 
 
 ' Who are you ? Who brought you here ? How did 
 you obtain entrance into my room ?" 
 
 " My lord, I have been brought here by order of a 
 certain Buoso da Duera." 
 
 " By mine then, but how happens it that you did not 
 come in by the principal door, instead of entering unex- 
 pectedly from a private apartment ? " 
 
 " What could I know of it, my lord ? I was left 
 without escort, and in this strange place. I find myself 
 here, because I am not anywhere else." 
 
 " Some one has disobeyed my orders. You are per- 
 haps that Neapolitan knight ? " 
 
 " I am. Your men stopped me on the road, com- 
 pelling me ..." 
 
 "It was necessary to compel you. Good heavens! 
 You have letters for me which you probably would never 
 have brought me." 
 
 " And who told you, my lord . . . ? " 
 
 " Whoever told me could say it without much fear of 
 lying. Was Piero the captain who brought you here ? " 
 ' " Yes, Piero." 
 
 " And he stayed ? " 
 
 " If I am not mistaken, in the court-yard, to play and 
 drink with his companions." 
 
 " He must be punished. It is sufficient to write great 
 faults on the tablets of memory, but little ones must be 
 noted down that they may not be forgotten ; a fault 
 passed over is an invitation to crime." And here Buoso 
 drew some tablets from his breast, upon one of which he
 
 160 The Traitor's End. 
 
 wrote : " Captain Piero has incurred a penalty for trans- 
 gressing my commands." And putting them back he 
 added, " Before the end of the month he must pay it 
 either secretly or openly. Sir Knight, will you please to 
 give me the letters you have for me ? " 
 
 " Here they are." 
 
 " Knight," said Buoso, when he had read-them, "I per- 
 ceive by these that a great number of Neapolitan nobles, 
 weary of Manfred's tyranny, have sent you with their cre- 
 dentials to offer homage to the Count of Provence. It is 
 hot the will of God that I should oppose any obstacle to 
 the reasonable wishes of these valiant lords. To-inor- 
 row you may pursue your way to the French army, which 
 you will find not far from here, encamped in the country. 
 I should warn you, however, that the count does not ac- 
 company the army, but you will find in his stead the 
 Countess Beatrice and the general-in-chief, Guy de 
 Montfort." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my Lord Buoso, but will you be 
 kind enough to answer a question ? " 
 
 "Ask on." 
 
 " Are you not a Ghibelline ? " 
 
 " What is the meaning of Guelph or Ghibelline ? I am 
 for myself. I care no more for the name than for the color 
 of my dress ; for my part, I follow fortune." 
 
 " But have you not hitherto fought for the Ghibellines ? " 
 
 " I repeat that I always fight for myself. It is true 
 that last year I assisted Count Giordano, who joined 
 Manfred here in Lombardy, with five hundred lances ; my 
 only reward consisted in words, sometimes courteous, 
 sometimes threatening. Every man may err once in his 
 life, and happy is he who can boast of having erred only 
 once ; now I am tired of living upon promises ; and then 
 age is coming upon me, and I must begin to think of 
 death. If others do not care, I do for the pardon of the 
 Holy Church ; and I am anxious to be absolved from ex- 
 communication, that when it pleases God to call me to 
 Himself, I may be buried' in consecrated ground." 
 
 " My lord, I pray, if the question be not a trouble- 
 some one, does your heart say nothing to you ? "
 
 The Traitor's End. 161 
 
 " Where is the heart ? As for myself I have forgotten 
 it. The head does all, calculates all ; the heart is super- 
 fluous ; cool calculation is necessary to make one's way 
 in the world. With the heart one makes love-songs, not 
 plans whereby to succeed in life." 
 
 "But Italy?" 
 
 " Italy is here," replied Buoso, touching his forehead : 
 " I have heard of times when she was elsewhere, but I 
 have not seen them, nor do I believe in them. Never- 
 theless, if they can be, while we are waiting for them, let 
 every man point to his forehead and say, ' Italy is here.' " 
 
 " Fame, then ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Fame ! It is the shadow of success : be sure 
 to continue fortunate, and men will be sure to call you 
 great." 
 
 " I never till this moment heard mortal tongue uphold 
 treachery." 
 
 " Nor do I uphold it. Treachery, if I am not mis- 
 taken, means to break one's faith. Now there is no faith 
 stronger or more reasonable than that which every man 
 owes to himself, for nature has bound its contract with 
 conditions that cannot be broken, for when you injure 
 yourself you commit treachery and irreparable treach- 
 ery. I have never done any harm to others which, by 
 drinking or sleeping upon it, I could not entirely forget ; 
 so the sorrow we have given our fellow-creatures remains 
 in our minds like a remembrance, but the good we have 
 done ourselves clings to us like a feeling." 
 
 " And is this feeling in itself a happy one ? " 
 
 "Sir Knight, I have something else to do besides 
 answering your questions. If you asked them to sound 
 me, I have already told you enough, if you are wise, to 
 enable you to understand me ; if to satisfy your own 
 doubts, I must blame my friends of Naples, who have 
 chosen in you such a scrupulous messenger. Hold your- 
 self in readiness to go to : morrow; at daybreak I will 
 send you together with this French courier to the camp 
 of the count, to deliver your letters, and if it would not 
 trouble you, one from me also, which I will write before 
 I sleep."
 
 162 The Traitor's End. 
 
 " I submit myself to your pleasure." 
 
 "Sergio! Gilberto ! " called Buoso, and immediately 
 two servants appeared, to whom he gave the order : 
 " See that these guests are well cared for ; look to it 
 that they want nothing that they can desire. Adieu, Sir 
 Knight ; I hope to see you again before your departure." 
 
 Rogiero and the French courier followed the attentive 
 servants, who with several candles lighted the way ; hardly 
 had they left the hall, when the voice of Buoso was again 
 heard crying : " Sir Knight ! " 
 
 Rogiero returned and asked : "What do you wish ?" 
 
 " Sir Knight, do you know much about golden flor- 
 ins ? " 
 
 Rogiero colored slightly, and answered no. 
 
 Buoso smiled, and drawing out his purse, said : " That 
 is a great pity for a knight like you ! You do not know 
 the florin, which is the most beautiful coin struck in all 
 Christendom ? There are some who prefer the agostari 
 of Frederick* or the schifati of the Normans, but give rne 
 the beautiful golden florin, which is coined at Florence. 
 See here," he added, drawing one forth, and showing it 
 to Rogiero; "on the one side the lily, on the other John 
 the Baptist, whence the true proverb ' Those are the 
 best friends who have the sitting saint and the golden 
 lily.' It is now twelve years since they were first coined 
 by the Florentine merchants ; the gold is twenty-four 
 carats fine ; they are worth twenty soldi apiece, and 
 eight weigh an ounce. Would you do me a favor, Sir 
 Knight ? " 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, in the camp of Charles, you will see a 
 certain number of them given to a courier to bring to 
 me. It is a gift which the good Countess Beatrice wishes 
 to make me, and which I am not in a position to refuse. 
 Now I beg you to trouble yourself so far as to see that 
 there are a good eight thousand of them ; if there are 
 
 * A gold piece coined in the reign of Frederick II. On one side 
 it had the imperial eagle, on the other the head of the Emperor ; 
 its value was nearly five dollars.
 
 The Traitor's End. 163 
 
 more, let it go ; but if the sum is not complete, warn the 
 
 countess of the deficiency. Will you promise me to do 
 
 so?" 
 
 " I promise you." 
 
 " Many thanks, Sir Knight." 
 
 There is a worthy companion for Gano de Mayence, 
 
 thought Rogiero to himself, and I ? That night sleep 
 
 visited not his weary eyes. 
 
 " Good-day to you, my dear cousin," said the Countess 
 Beatrice, as she met Count Guy de Montfort at the 
 door of the room where she had slept. She advanced 
 hastily, with her dress more disarranged than was fitting 
 in a noble dame ; her maidens hastened after her and 
 continued adjusting, one her veil, another her girdle, 
 another some other part of her dress, as she hurried 
 along. 
 
 " Lady, may you be successful in everything you 
 wish ; what troubles ypu that you have risen so discom- 
 posed ? " 
 
 " Cousin, has the courier arrived ? " 
 
 " Lady, he has not yet been seen." 
 
 " Can Duera have betrayed us ? Did the reward ap- 
 pear too small ? Cousin, send some men to learn what 
 has happened. Let them offer the wretch double the sum 
 if he will let us pass. Jelavicino will quickly be upon us ; 
 if that should happen, we are lost. Hasten, dear cousin, 
 hasten." 
 
 " Let us wait awhile, lady." 
 
 " Ah ! Guy, Guy, your slowness will ruin us ; what 
 do you fear ? " 
 
 "What do I fear? If Charles had not commanded 
 me to bring him the army entire at any sacrifice, or if 
 he had not caused me to be accompanied by feminine 
 fears, I would already have routed Duera and crossed 
 the Oglio : for my years have been spent in conquering 
 my enemies with the sword, but I have never learned to 
 drive them away by gold ; neverfheless, since it has 
 pleased Monseigneur Charles to send me by this route 
 full of dangers, but wholly without honor, I must take
 
 1 64 The Traitor's End. 
 
 t 
 
 care of his money, for if we double the reward of Buoso 
 we shall not have enough to defray the expenses of the 
 army to Rome." 
 
 The countess was about to reply, and who knows 
 wjjen the discussion would have ended, if a page had not 
 entered at that moment, announcing that the courier, 
 bringing another man with him, could be seen riding to- 
 wards the house. 
 
 " Thank God ! " exclaimed the countess, and ran to 
 the window. "Yes, certainly it is he himself, . .". come 
 and see, cousin ; . . . but what is the matter with the lazy 
 fellows that they ride so slowly? Count, one would 
 think that you had infected all the horses in the army 
 with your own inactivity ; another time, count, take care 
 to give your couriers the best horses in the camp. Tell 
 me, count, in how many days can we reach Rome ? " 
 
 " Countess, receive good fortune with more equanimity, 
 and you will feel grief less in adversity. You do not yet 
 know what news the courier brings." 
 
 " Oh, my heart predicts good tidings, and it has never 
 deceived me. There is your hateful, scornful smile., 
 What would you have, cousin? I am made so; to re- 
 ceive good and evil tidings with the same demeanor is 
 perfectly impossible to me. What can you say of me ? 
 The countess laughs when fortune is propitious, weeps 
 when it is adverse ; but do you iji your own heart do 
 otherwise ? And you boast so much of your self-control, 
 of your power over your feelings ; ah, for shame ! weep 
 or laugh when you feel so disposed. Do you think that 
 I should lose my courage, and basely complain of adver- 
 sities, nor use what sense and strength Heaven has granted 
 me, to overcome them ?" 
 
 " Countess, the man who accompanies our courier is 
 a knight ; would it not be well for you to retire and ar- 
 range your dre.ss a little ?" 
 
 " Count de Mont-fort, we beg of you not to be more 
 concerned for our person than we ourselves are," said the 
 Countess Beatrice with a scornful gesture. Then look- 
 ing around, and perceiving that she was in truth rather 
 loosely arrayed, she blushed, smiled, and added : " Dear
 
 The Traitor's End. 165 
 
 cousin, I see that when you have lost a little of your sol- 
 dierly roughness, you will become an excellent major- 
 domo for the most stubborn lady who has passed her thir- 
 tieth year." Then the same impulse which had brought 
 her to that room in such (Kshabille, induced her to leave it 
 to adjust her dress, for the desire of appearing well, if in 
 some few women it is not the principal passion, is cer- 
 tainly the. second. 
 
 When the countess returned to the hall, the courier 
 and Rogiero were just entering by another door. The 
 courier, kneeling, announced his companion as the 
 bearer of the reply ; the countess raised him graciously, 
 and with the usual promise that his services should be re- 
 membered, dismissed him. Then Rogiero, slightly salut- 
 ing the lady, presented the. letters> which she, not able 
 to read, gravely transferred to Count de Montfort, saying 
 to him in a low voice : " Hasten, count, for I am very 
 anxious to know their contents." 
 
 De Montfort began to peruse them, but before he was 
 half through, the countess had interrupted him two or 
 three times, asking : " Oh ! what does he say ? Oh ! 
 what is it?" 
 
 " But, lady," said De Montfort, out of patience, " if you 
 do not let me read, it will take me a thousand years to 
 tell you." He himself was no scholar, being abLe to read 
 only with difficulty, and he often muttered between his 
 teeth : "This fellow shows himself a rascal even in his 
 handwriting ! would that the chaplain were here to make 
 out this scrawl." At last, in some way or other, he read 
 it, and without waiting to be asked, said softly to the 
 countess : " The traitor accedes to the plan, although 
 he writes, that as he has taken the trouble to send you a 
 Neapolitan knight, who will bring you more pleasing intel- 
 ligence than that which relates to the pass of the Oglio, 
 he thinks that the sum might be augmented. He begs 
 you, when you reach Rome, to use your influence that he 
 might be reconciled to the Church, and become a sharer 
 in the holy indulgences promised to whoever takes up the 
 cross against Manfred." 
 
 " In regard to the first request, you- may answer,
 
 1 66 The Traitor's End. 
 
 count, that we would willingly show our good-will to him 
 more bountifully, but that our present straitened circum- 
 stances do not permit it ; and that we estimate highly the 
 service that he renders us, and that the house of France 
 takes pride in showing itself grateful. As to the second, 
 assure him that we shall bear in mind to plead with Pope 
 Clement to bless him again, and receive him as a son ; 
 let him be at rest upon this point, for we sha.ll care for. 
 him as for a brother." 
 
 " Ah ! countess, the union of Buoso with the Prince 
 of Darkness seems to me so perfect, that it would be a 
 great sin to disturb it." 
 
 After these words, the countess, turning towards Ro- 
 giero with womanly grace, said to him : " Sir Knight, we 
 understand by these letters that you are the bearer of 
 good news ; impart it to us, and thus may you ever pre- 
 serve your lady's love." 
 
 " Lady, what it is, you will learn from these papers." 
 
 De Montfort, to whom they were handed, read first with 
 his natural coolness, but as he went on he began to shake 
 his head, muttering^ the words indistinctly. When he 
 reached the end, he'dropped the paper, and raising his 
 hands and eyes, said with a sigh : " Good Heavens ! we 
 shall have Italy without striking a blow ! I thought it a 
 land of bonor . . ." 
 
 So great was Rogiero's shame at this exclamation, that, 
 overcome by his emotions, he leaned against the wall, to 
 save himself from falling. 
 
 " What are you muttering, count ? " 
 
 " This land belongs to any one who will take it." 
 
 " Why, count ? " 
 
 "Because traitors take root here more readily than the 
 loyal, and the greatest of Manfred's barons call us, as 
 usual, liberators, because we are going to liberate them 
 from their tyrant ; for, as usual, they give that name to the 
 man whom they wish to betray." 
 
 " Ah, cousin ! so great is the joy you have given me 
 that 1 am ready to faint. I shall at last wear the crown ! 
 I too shall be saluted as queen ! I shall no longer be 
 distinguished from my proud sisters by the mark of shame !
 
 The Traitor's End. 167 
 
 I too shall be able to hold up my head bravely ! I too 
 . . . Count de Montfort, it seems as if you were an enemy, 
 that you grieve at what delights me ! " 
 
 " Madame, your wish was to obtain a crown. It will be 
 granted you : you are rejoiced at it, it is well ; mine was 
 to bring to a successful issue a glorious undertaking, and 
 to die honorably. I see now that it is an error to hope 
 it in this country, therefore I grieve." 
 
 " It is a generous sorrow, and well worthy of you, brave 
 baron," said the countess, pressing De Montfort's hand ; 
 "but rejoice for my sake, for you ought not to grieve at 
 what pleases me." 
 
 " Ah ! my beautiful cousin, if I wished to infuse bitter- 
 ness that you could not forget into your present pleasure, 
 I would tell you that the traitor does not change his heart 
 with the treachery that he commits. He remains like a 
 wild beast in his den, awaiting the prey ; the dominion 
 of Charles will become distasteful as that of Manfred has, 
 and then . . ." 
 
 " Your observations are as appropriate as to speak of 
 death at table, or to wear black at a wedding. Joy is so 
 rare and so sweet, that it should not be disturbed by your 
 melancholy fancies. It will be bitter enough to think of 
 misfortune when it comes : at present, count, let us be 
 merry : ' leave care for the morrow.' And you, Sir 
 Knight, know that you could have brought no news more 
 grateful than this, to the Countess Beatrice. Hence- 
 forward you will be with us ; 1 hope that you will often 
 gratify me with your presence. Meanwhile, not that I 
 consider it any recompense, but merely as a mark of my 
 gratitude, wear this jewel for rny sake." And here, taking 
 off a rich chain, she placed it with her own hands round 
 Ro'giero's neck, who, as he heard it ring against his armor, 
 shuddered and muttered : " Behold the crime is com- 
 pleted, the reward of treachery has been accepted. My 
 . soul has received the stamp of infamy, which eternity 
 can never efface." 
 
 De Montfort, observing the immoderate vivacity of the 
 countess, shaking his head, smiled slightly, and said in a 
 low voice : " She is a noble woman, but still a woman."
 
 1 68 The Traitor's End. 
 
 Beatrice, diverted by another care, little heeding whether 
 Rogiero had thanked her or not, ordered the money to 
 be brought, counted it, and gave it to the courier, to take 
 to Duera. De Montfort had gone to give orders for the 
 advance of the army, but like a wise captain he took good 
 care that his forces should be arranged in every particular 
 as if the enemy were there to attack them. 
 
 Buoso, having received the money, shut himself up in 
 Cremona, spreading the report that the French, crossing 
 the river Serio, had fallen back upon Milan, to attempt 
 the route through Parma. The army of Charles crossed 
 the Oglio without opposition, and following its course, 
 reached the Mantuan territory, where, joyfully received 
 by Ludovico, Count of San Bonifazio, the troops rested 
 somewhat from the fatigues they had endured. Resum- 
 ing their march, they crossed the Po upon a bridge pre- 
 pared for them by the Marquis Obizzo d'Este, and reached 
 the territory of Romagna in safety. Now began for 
 Charles d'Anjou the series of prosperous events which 
 enabled him in a few months to overturn the noble mon- 
 archy of Manfred. It is said that the Marquis Oberto 
 Pelavicino, who, having been advised of the movements 
 of the French, had immediately left his position at Pavia, 
 reached Soncino a few hours after they had passed it ; 
 where, seeing how the skilful General Guy de Montfort 
 had fortified the opposite bank of the river, he thought it 
 best not to follow him, and full of anger joined Buoso in 
 Cremona. The interview of these, two captains was full 
 of bitterness. If the report deserves belief, Pelavicino is 
 said to have prophesied to him : " Buoso, I am not aston- 
 ished that you endeavor to conceal your crime with false- 
 hood. You have committed the greatest, you can commit 
 the lesser. But if it is your part to deceive me, it is mine 
 not to believe you. I might reveal your disloyalty to the 
 nation, arouse the excited people against you, bring you 
 and your race to a miserable end ; but God forbid that 
 by .me should the sword be raised against my brother-in- 
 arms, against him to whom I have sworn friendship from 
 my earliest years. Nevertheless, bear it in your memory, 
 that with the price of your betrayed country you have
 
 The Traitor's End. 169 
 
 bought for yourself ruin in this life, and damnation in the 
 next." 
 
 A mind worthy of immortality, which from its prison 
 of clay dared to conceive the design of loo'king upon 
 the Eternal, and to examine the mysteries of Nature, 
 distributing at his will rewards and punishments, has 
 plunged into the infernal frosts that doomed spirit,* and, 
 as though divine wisdom had taken care to fulfil the 
 prediction of Oberto, the end of Buoso's life was in 
 nothing less terrible than he had foretold him. The 
 people, learning his perfidy, infuriated with anger, over- 
 threw his. house, destroyed his family, but granted him 
 life. Buoso, overwhelmed with want and misery, wan- 
 - dered through the streets of the city of which he had 
 been the lord, for Providence, to complete his punish- 
 ment, had deprived him of the will to take his own life. 
 During the day he wandered in his fierce loneliness, mut- 
 tering rapidly like a lunatic, heeding neither the cries, 
 the contumelies, nor the blows with which he was con- 
 stantly persecuted. At night, when ravenous hunger 
 tormented him, he would stop in some dark place, and 
 concealing his face, extend his hand, begging charity for 
 the love of God, in a voice which he endeavored to dis- 
 guise. Useless attempt ! there was no one who did not 
 recognize him. Some passed, shutting their hearts and 
 . purses against him, and in a harsh voice telling him : 
 " Despair and die ! " These were the most compassion- 
 
 * Va'via, rispose-, e cio che tu vuoi conta : 
 Ma non tacer, se tu di qua entr'eschi, 
 Di que' ch' ebb' or cosi la lingua pronta ; 
 Ei piange qui 1'argento de' Franceschi : 
 lo vidi, potrai djr, quel da Duera 
 1 La dove i peccatori stanno freschi. 
 
 DANTE, Inferno, c. 32. 
 
 "Away ! " he answered : " what thou wilt, relate ; 
 But, shouldst thou get from hence with breath again, 
 
 Mention him too so ready with his prate. 
 Here he bewails that silver of the French : 
 I saw Duera' s lord, thou mayst declare, 
 Down where the sinners in the coolness blench." 
 
 Translation of T. W. PARSONS, ESQ. 
 8
 
 The Traitor's End. 
 
 ate ! Those who possessed the diabolical knowledge of 
 adding torment to degradation, and enjoyed making the 
 iron enter more deeply into the soul, gave him a penny, 
 and with it the imprecation that food might be turned to 
 poison in his blood, and drink become as gall and vine- 
 gar to his agonized soul. One evening, trembling, his 1 
 teeth chattering with fever-chills, he went towards a mon- 
 astery, hoping that the friars would receive him out of 
 compassion ; he ascended the first and second step, he 
 raised his hand to knock, when suddenly he falls for- 
 ward against the door, and slipping along the wall, rolls 
 down the steps ; in the morning the porter found him 
 as cold as the stone upon which he lay. The friars pro- 
 tected his remains from the insults of the people, and 
 buried them in the cloisters. The charity of religion 
 stifled reproach upon the lip, but could utter no prayer 
 over him, nor sprinkle him with holy water. Pity herself 
 sighed with pleasure over that miserable grave.
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 171 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE THUNDERBOLT. 
 
 L'una zuffa e poi 1'altra io vi vo' dire 
 Che in due luoghi ad un tempo si travaglia, 
 Lo strepito 6 si grande del ferire, 
 Lo spezzar della piastra e della maglia, 
 Che fa chi guarda intorno sbigottire. 
 
 ARIOSTO, Orlando Furioso. 
 
 Two combats for my warlike theme I take, 
 That in two places at one time prevail : 
 
 So harsh the clangor meeting weapons make, 
 So loud resound the blows on coats of mail, 
 
 That well the looker on with fear may quake. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 [ERHAPS it was the reward of constancy. 
 Charles of Anjou reached the shore. When his 
 courage was struggling with death, if any one 
 had placed a hand on his heart, he would have 
 felt its pulsations neither increase nor diminish ; when, 
 losing all hopes of outside help, his soul was reduced to 
 the alternative either to give up in despair or survive, it 
 brought forth a vigor, of which he himself would not 
 have thought it capable, if the occasion had not pre- 
 sented itself. Charles reached the land, for his galley 
 had been submerged only a mile distant from the shore, 
 between Cape Linaro and Civita Vecchia ; but so weak and 
 exhausted, that it seemed as if his strength had only lasted 
 long enough not to perish in the water. In the morn- 
 ing there was seen that ambitious man, destined to over- 
 throw the throne of the great Frederick, stretched motion- 
 less upon the sand, chilled through all his bones, dripping 
 wet from head to foot. The vilest of men could have in- 
 sulted him, the most cowardly have killed him ; the slight- 
 est breath could have extinguished that vital spark which
 
 172 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 was flickering doubtfully around the seat of all sensations. 
 The sun, distilling into his veins its reviving warmth, 
 heated his blood, and recalled his senses to their usual 
 office ; he rose to a sitting posture as one beside him- 
 self, and turned his wandering eyes upon the surface of 
 the waters. The heaven smiled serene, the sea was 
 calm ; indeed one could have noticed floating planks, 
 oars, oarsmen, witness of its terrible fury ; yet it now 
 rejoiced in a beautiful azure ; placidly rippling, as under 
 the steps of our Lord, it seemed to invite one with the 
 flattery of its charms to trust to its immense surface. 
 Likewise sin tempts one ! Over all the debris of the ship- m 
 wreck was to be noticed the poor master of the galley : 
 he lay supine, his body swollen, floating here and there 
 at the mercy of the wind and waves like a cork island ; 
 at times the sea, lifting him on its surface, seemed to hand 
 him back to earth, but suddenly withdrawing, carried 
 him farther out than before ; at other times it would 
 deposit him on the shore, but soon after, as if repent- 
 ing, turned to bear him oft" again ; if it did not reach far 
 enough once or twice, it would recede as much as possi- 
 ble, as if to take a proper distance in order to rush more 
 impetuously, so that the third or fourth time, surging 
 around him, foaming, gurgling, it would carry him off in 
 triumph. It seemed like a boy amusing himself with his 
 plaything . . . but the playthings of the sea are ships sub- 
 merged and shipwrecked marjners. 
 
 " Poor Master Armond ! " sighed Charles, after having 
 sadly observed him a long time, and his soul was ab- 
 sorbed in mournful meditations ; when, lifting his head, 
 he noticed several sails appearing on the horizon, which, 
 aided by a favorable breeze, were steering for the land ; 
 and behold Charles, forgetting every other sensation, 
 anxious between fear and joy, rose to his feet to discover 
 whether by chance they may not be his. Compassion in 
 the heart of the ambitious man passes as swiftly as a 
 lucid interval in the mind of the insane. ! . . Master Ar- 
 mond, the pilot, and their 'brothers in misfortune, disap- 
 peared from the memory of the count, never to return 
 again.
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 173 
 
 " Is this a deception of my eyes ? or my desire de- 
 ceives me ? " exclaimed Charles, rubbing his eyes to see 
 better. " Is not that my beloved flag ? Certainly, it is ( 
 blue ... no ... yes ; so may St. Denis grant these to be 
 my ships, as that flag is really blue ! Alas ! But Man-j 
 fred's flag also bears a field of the same color, . . . but 
 the white eagle makes a larger mark, and would be seen 
 from here. . . . Swaying its folds methought I saw red . . . 
 yes. red. . . . Glorious St. Martin ! The go\&enfleur-de- 
 lis / " 
 
 And here he showed his extreme joy with such wild de- 
 monstrations, that he himself always blushed afterwards, 
 whenever he remembered it ; for it is a very old proverb, 
 that " no man is a hero 'when all alone." 
 
 Fortune, womanlike, tired of Manfred, followed the 
 footprints of Charles, and like a woman abandoned the 
 good for the bad. The galleys, called by the signals 
 made by Charles, approached the shore, and the French 
 hailed their lord with transports of joy, as if he had 
 miraculously arisen from the dead. Not far from where 
 they were they could discern the belfries, the church cupo- 
 las, and the houses of a city, it was Civita Vecchia. 
 Charles, coasting along the shore, brought his twenty gal- 
 leys into that port, and, leaving them there, with a part of 
 his people he hastily marched to Viterbo to meet Pope 
 Clement. They embraced and welcomed each other as 
 two men bound by present need and future interest. 
 
 By another route, Montfort, with a rare example of 
 prosperous fortune, having passed through the Roman 
 States, where he had been joined by the Guejphs of Italy, 
 among which were the four hundred Florentine men-at- 
 arms, was approaching Viterbo. Glad was Count Charles of 
 the arrival of Montfort, and much more so of the four hun- 
 dred Florentines that had joined him. It is well to know 
 that in 1260, when the Ghibelline party headed by Fari- 
 nata degli Uberti prevailed in Florence, all the Guelphs 
 evacuated the town on the night of the ijth September, 
 and sought a refuge in the city of Lucca. They were 
 well received for a long time by the faithful Lucca people, 
 until they themselves were defeated in the war which
 
 174 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 they sustained against the invincible Farinata. The Flo- 
 rentines were obliged to seek a safer asylum, in order to 
 escape the bitter persecutions of their enemies. " It was 
 a very sad spectacle," says the historian who narrates 
 these events, " matrons and children escaping over the 
 Alpine heights of St. Pellegrino ; many of the principal 
 citizens dying of hunger and cold in the road, until they 
 reached Bologna." Here the men trained themselves for 
 the profession of arms, exercising daily, so that in a short 
 time they acquired the reputation of valorous knights. 
 Called to Modena by the Guelph faction, they subdued the 
 Ghibellines ; the same they did at Reggio, where twelve 
 of them, who afterwards were c^jled the paladins, over- 
 came and killed the famous giant named Tacha, who with 
 an enormous iron mace killed and maimed everybody, 
 as the reader, who is desirous of learning those things, 
 can find in the chronicles of the times. These soldiers 
 of fortune, who had earned much in those wars, mounted 
 magnificent horses and wore very rich armor. They were 
 led by Guido Guerra, cadet of the Counts Guidi, grand 
 nephew of that Guido Sangue who also escaped from the 
 slaughter that the people of Ravenna committed of all his 
 family, if it be true what the ancient historians have trans- 
 mitted to us. Charles, having no more money, was very 
 lavish to them of promises, and the pontiff of indulgen- 
 ces ; so mu.ch so that this latter allowed them to carry 
 his own flag, displaying on a field argent, an eagle gules, 
 with serpent vert in its claws. 
 
 The Florentines received it with the joy of hatred that 
 supposes itself sanctified ; only they added to it a fleur- 
 de-lis gules over the head of the eagle ; since argent with 
 a fleur-de-lis gules were the arms of the Guelphs of 
 Florence, gules with a fleur-de-lis argent being the arms 
 of the Ghibellines. 
 
 Now the French and the Italian Guelphs united in 
 military order, with the Pontiff and Count of Provence at 
 their head, moved from Viterbo towards Rome. Clement, 
 clothed in his pontifical garments, mounted a snow-white 
 palfrey ; the magnificence of his mantle was such, that 
 it covered not only his person, but also the whole of the
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 175 
 
 palfrey, whence Dante with his keen satire, said what he 
 did in the twenty-first canto of // Paradiso. * 
 
 His horse's trappings, which were covered outside with 
 scarlet velvet, were embroidered in gold ; the very long 
 saddle cloth of the same material was also embroidered 
 with roses of gold. He wore on his head a mitre similar 
 to that worn nowadays by the bishops ; for the triple 
 crown did not yet adorn the pontifical heads, and it 
 was only towards the end of that century that Boniface 
 VIII., the glorious Pope, first used it. In his left hand 
 he held the silver crosier, like the shepherd's hook, to 
 denote the mildness with which our Saviour ordained 
 that the faithful should be governed. He lifted his right 
 hand in the act of blessing, and it was so habituated to 
 this motion, that it blessed when there was no need of it. 
 Both his hands were covered with most beautiful gloves, 
 and on the third finger of his right hand, over the glove, 
 shone a most precious ring. On each side of his horse's 
 head, to regulate his steps, walked two young pages sump- 
 tuously dressed, holding the bridle bit, which ended with 
 
 * Or voglion quinci e quindi chi rincalzi 
 Gli modern! pastori, e chi gli men!, 
 Tanto *n gravi, e chi dirietro gli alzi. 
 Cuopron de' manti loro i palafreni, 
 Si che due bestie van sott 'una pelle : 
 O pazienza, che tanto sostieni ! 
 
 And when I've seen, on some high holiday, 
 Through the live streets their long processions roll, 
 And the fat, ermined friars on palfreys gay, 
 Both creatures covered with one furry stole, * 
 Him I remembered robed in mean array, 
 Who entered Zion on an ass's foal. 
 
 He like an humble peasant meekly rode, 
 While shouted forth Jerusalem a song, 
 And with palm-boughs his gladsome pathway strewed ; 
 Our modern pastors need a hand full strong 
 On either side to prop their helpless load ; 
 O, patience! patience! that endur'st so long ! 
 T. W. PARSONS, ESQ., Paraphrase of a passage in Dante. 
 
 * " Both beasts furred over with a single stole," or " two beasts under one skin," 
 would be nearer to Dante's expression.
 
 176 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 golden rings, from which hung tassels of crimson silk. 
 Charles d'Anjou rode on the right hand of the Pope. He 
 wore a complete steel armor, wonderfully inlaid with golden 
 arabesques, only that, instead of a helmet, he wore on 
 his head a count's coronet. In his hand he carried a golden 
 staff adorned with precious stones : from the top of his 
 left shoulder, fastened by a beautifully embroidered ribbon, - 
 hung the cross that he had received from the Cardinal 
 Simon of Tours, to indicate to those who would believe 
 it, that no earthly interest but the greater glory of the 
 Church had induced him to that war against Manfred. 
 A mantle like the imperial, lined with ermine, and 
 embroidered outside with golden fleur-de-lis, completed 
 the dress. The horse which Monseigneur Charles mounted 
 was the same that he always rode in his war campaigns ; 
 a generous animal, white as snow-flakes, born of an Arab 
 mare, by a stallion of Normandy. From his flesh colored 
 nostrils he seemed to sniff the battle. He was beautifully 
 formed in every part of his body, but was rather heavily 
 caparisoned by a leather accoutrement, ornamented with 
 arabesques and steel buckles. By the manner in which 
 the count restrained the impatience of his generous steed, 
 he showed himself a master of horsemanship, and though 
 impassible in his countenance, still one could observe 
 that he rather incited than repressed him. On the other 
 side rode Countess Beatrice npon a Spanish jennet, who, 
 as if conscious of the high rank of the rider, tossed his 
 head and curvetted in a beautiful manner. She, boldly 
 disdaining to have her bridle held by a squire, as was 
 the custom of the ladies of those days, guided the horse 
 herself. Although she had pawned or sold many of her 
 jewels, as we have said before, in order to assist her hus- 
 band in that enterprise, one must not suppose that there 
 had not been left enough for' her to appear well adorned 
 with them ; she wore around her waist a bodice of golden 
 scales, which outlined her figure as far -as the hips, in 
 the same manner as the ancient Roman cuirasses ; in 
 the middle of the breast was a fleur-de-lis formed of 
 sapphires, rubies and other precious stones ; all the 
 rest was adorned with rosettes composed of fine small
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 177 
 
 stones of different colors : a very rich belt surrounded her 
 waist, on one side of which was fastened a purse, on the 
 other a poniard ; her dress of blue velvet was embroid- 
 ered with golden fleur-de-lis like that of Charles ; her 
 hair, arranged in very small braids that covered part of her 
 cheeks and neck, was surmounted by the coronet of a coun- 
 tess. Beatrice was not handsome, but tall and majestic. 
 In her face there appeared that indefinite stamp of 
 authority that the lords of the earth derive from their 
 fathers, or rather from the habit of commanding. The 
 people gathered on the passage, at the appearance of so 
 magnificent a lady, would acclaim her, and she with eyes 
 sparkling with joy would, courteously smiling, return their 
 salutations. There followed after them the principal 
 barons of Provence and of France, with different accoutre- 
 ments and arms, to describe which, we could easily fill 
 a thousand and more pages, much to the injury of our 
 publishers ; then followed the^army, divided into squad- 
 rons, beautifully arrayed, each of which was led by a knight 
 of great renown in arms. 
 
 In this wise they marched as far as Baccano. Here they 
 met two hundred light horsemen, dressed with blue tunics 
 embroidered with golden fleur-de-lis, mounted upon 
 horses aUof one color. They stood facing the advancing 
 army, and -so they remained until it had approached 
 within a bow-shot ; then they started their horses at a 
 precipitous speed, with their lances lowered, as if they 
 intended to assail it ; but of a sudden they stopped 
 short, and then they scattered themselves, represent- 
 ing a battle of infinite single combats. Having ex- 
 changed a few blows, they raised their lances and pre- 
 sented a long lane of interwoven weapons. Then they 
 returned to their skirmishing, and some went out and 
 others came in ; some ran to one side, some to the 
 other, and then they, would agglomerate and entangle 
 each other so as to form a swarming and orderly confu- 
 sion, wonderful to look at. At a given signal, in less time 
 than it takes to relate, they appeared drawn up in hol- 
 low squares, in close or open ranks, in a line along the 
 road, or in separate sections; then they resumed new 
 8*
 
 178 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 sham fights, new groups, and always so varied and beautiful 
 to look at, that I believe no such figures are executed 
 nowadays in the so much boasted modern ballets. 
 
 This spectacle, which did not cease until they had ar- 
 rived at the distance of seven miles from Rome, was sur- 
 prisingly agreeable to Charles. At that point, however, 
 giving their horses the rein, they disappeared. After the 
 count had ridden quite a long distance, he saw them 
 again across the road, immovable as the first time, hold- 
 ing their lances up, with pennants fluttering; but this 
 time they did not stir at his approach. Charles was 
 watching attentively to see what would take place, when 
 they opened right and left, and there appeared from be- 
 hind them a magnificent embassy of Roman noblemen, 
 who, dressed in their ermine togas, presented themselves 
 before the pope. Kneeling on the ground, they offered him 
 the golden keys of the city ; after which the one who 
 seemed the highest in authority among them, after having 
 received due permission from the pope, delivered an ad- 
 dress, which was neither in Latin nor in Italian, but which 
 he intended for the purest Latin. This we shall not report, 
 for it is enough to state that it was, as usual, humiliating 
 and servile, and, although it lasted more than half an hour, 
 the gist of it was, that it was the universal desire of the 
 Senate and people of Rome, Senatus Populiisque Romanus, 
 that Charles should be elected Senator of Rome, as if the 
 dominion of the pope was not enough, and even too 
 much, for them. And here we desire you to note, gentle 
 reader, that scarcely four years before this, a similar em- 
 bassy had been deputed to King Manfred, which assured 
 him that it was the universal desire of the Senate and 
 people of Rome that he should be elected perpetual Sena- 
 tor of Rome. Whether this offer, made by his subjects to 
 Charles, was acceptable to Clement, He only knows who 
 can penetrate the secrete of the heart. To all outward 
 appearances, however, he seemed to be very much 
 pleased with it, and gave a willing assent. Then they 
 brought forth an altar, upon which were laid several relics 
 of saints, and the book of the Gospels. The pope dis- 
 mounted, and with him Charles and the rest of the army.
 
 The Knight -of the Thunderbolt. 179 
 
 Then, ascending the altar, he kneeled before it, chanting 
 a prayer, which was responded to by all the bystanders ; 
 afterwards, rising, he asked Monseigneur Charles whether 
 he desired to be a Senator of Rome ; to which Charles re- 
 plied, that very willingly he would, if it so pleased his 
 holiness. Clement then opened the book of the. Gospels, 
 and ordered Charles to take the usual oath. Charles, 
 placing his hand on the Gospels, read the following for- 
 mula: "We, Charles of France, by the grace, of God, 
 Count of Anjou, of Folcacchieri, of Languedoc, of Prov- 
 ence, etc., etc., by the free will of the Roman Senate and 
 people, elected Senator of Rome, swear upon the holy 
 Gospels never, either by word or deed, to injure the life 
 or limbs of our most glorious, pious, universal, apos- 
 tolic Pontiff, Clement IV., nor his successors ; to reveal 
 all conspiracies against him ; to uphold him in the posses- 
 sion of the popedom and the free enjoyment of all the 
 royalties belonging to the patrimony of St. Peter ; to in- 
 sure the protection of the cardinals and their families, to 
 maintain the city of Rome in the fulness of her territory 
 and jurisdiction, and, in fine, to do all things that 
 may contribute to the greater honor of the holy Church 
 and of God." Having pronounced these words/ the 
 pontiff placed in his hand the keys, as symbol of 
 civil authority ; then the sword, as leader of his troops ; 
 and finally the standard of St. Peter, as champion of the 
 holy Church. At this point there arose such tumult of 
 cheering, such sound of trumpets, that it was heard as far 
 as Rome. It was already far in the night when they 
 reached the city of the Caesars. . . .The road was resplen- 
 dent as day through the many torches that burned on 
 each side. Under the gate stood the Carroccio, first in- 
 vented by Aribert, Archbishop of Milan, in 1026, to serve 
 as a signal of war to the Italian cities, not to do honor to 
 the arrival of those whom they ought to have repulsed. 
 This was a car, as my readers may know, drawn by four 
 or more fat white oxen, covered with scarlet cloth richly 
 embroidered. Around the base were fixed two tiers of 
 benches (for the wheels were concealed within), and 
 on these benches stood large silver candlesticks, with
 
 i8o The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 enormous wax candles. From the centre of the car rose 
 a mast, covered with drapery, in the middle of which hung 
 a gold crucifix. From the top of the mast hung the 
 gonfalon of Rome. The two hems of the gonfalon, which 
 drooped ten or more yards lower than the cart, were sup- 
 ported on the spear points of two knights of the noblest , 
 blood, armed in full armor. Many other smaller sym- 
 bolical pennons surrounded the principal one, in which 
 there were represented the lion, to indicate strength ; 
 the woman 'looking on a glass, for prudence; another 
 leaning on a pillar with scales in her hands, for justice, 
 and many and many other virtues that the Roman people 
 of those times had -only on their flags. The knights, 
 as soon as they saw the pontiff, the count and countess 
 approach, advanced to meet them, and covered them 
 with the gonfalon as with a canopy. The car moved ; 
 the pontiff was the first to pass the gates of Rome. The 
 streets, overspread with greens and flowers, sent forth a 
 delicious fragrance. The windows, illuminated and hung 
 with beautiful tapestries, were crowded with ladies in 
 their best apparel, who threw myriads of flowers of the 
 season on the French knights. These, in return, whether 
 young or old, turned their heads right and left like a 
 pendulum, and every time they discovered a pretty face, 
 they would smile, salute it with a hand to their lips, or 
 throw back the flowers that had been showered on them. 
 In one street was heard music and singing and women 
 were seen dancing, and men drinking and merry-mak- 
 ing. In another stood a juggler, astonishing with his 
 tricks the crowd of bystanders, until he passed his hat 
 around, crying " largess ; " when they would all disperse 
 right and left, seeking another one who had not yet arrived 
 at that conclusion. Elsewhere, in the centre of a square, 
 mounted upon a table, with a torch at his feet and a 
 lute on his shoulder, stood the charlatan,* as perhaps 
 
 * The name of charlatan is derived from those wandering minstrels, 
 who, like the ancient Rhapsodys, went from city to city singing of 
 Charlemagne ; hence the word Carlocantare, afterwards Carloto- 
 nare, and finally, with a further corruption, Ciarlatattare, and 
 Ciarlatano, a charlatan.
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 181 
 
 did the poor blind Homer in ancient times, singing the 
 deeds of Charlemagne, of Roland, and the other paladins. 
 Among all that crowd intent on amusement, you might 
 perceive the cut-purse, like a snake in the grass, gliding 
 with stealthy steps, avoiding the light, watching the chance 
 to pounce on the unwary ; for we must be convinced, 
 that ever since men had a head to think, and a hand to 
 steal, there have been thieves, and that these are the 
 usual followers of great lords when they enter with great 
 pomp in some city. Thus, passing through many and dif- 
 ferent spectacles of rejoicing, the pontiff, the count and 
 countess, with the principal barons, arrived at the Lateran 
 palace. The army had already been partitioned among 
 the different quarters prepared for it by the Roman mu- 
 nicipality. Charles, after supper, feeling tired, was wait- 
 ing for the pope to give the signal for retiring, but he 
 dared not to ask- for it. Clement did not wish him to lodge 
 in his palace, yet he dared not tell him so ; but finally, 
 considering that it belonged to him to speak, he rose from 
 the table, and said : " Count, we desire you to know 
 that no catholic prince, no matter how great or powerful, 
 has ever been lodged in this our palace of the LateVan, 
 and this we hold not as a respect due us, who are the ser- 
 vant of the servants of the Lord, but to the Most High, 
 whose Vicegerent we are. We do not intend to revoke 
 what has been established with so much wisdom by our 
 predecessors, and followed by so many emperors ; there- 
 fore, most beloved son, you must depart without murmur. 
 Our city abounds with palaces not less beautiful or rich 
 than this of ours. In thus dismissing you, we do not intend 
 to mortify you, but to show to the world the high fame 
 which you deservedly enjoy of being the most obedient 
 son of Holy Mother Church." 
 
 Charles, although he was not well disposed to bear the 
 papal arrogance, as he showed a few years afterwards by 
 the proud reply he gave to Nicholas III. of the Orsini 
 family, on this occasion took leave with a cheerful counte- 
 nance, and went to lodge somewhere else. The Count of 
 Provence, as a wise man, thought that it was of little
 
 1 82 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 consequence to submit once to another's will, in order to 
 have it all his own way afterwards. 
 
 On the following day, the pontiff and the count met 
 togetlver, and agreed upon many points that had been left 
 unsettled by their ministers, who had come to the con- 
 clusion that they would agree more readily in a personal 
 interview. What were their conversation and their agree- 
 ments is a subject for the historians : it is enough for 
 us to state that they agreed. After their meeting, heralds 
 went about the city, with the following proclamation : 
 " On the approaching feast of the Epiphany, Monseigneur 
 Charles and Lady Beatrice, Count and Countess of 
 Provence, will be crowned King and Queen of Sicily, 
 by the hand of His Holiness Clement IV., Most Glorious 
 Pontiff of Rome, in the Basilica of St. John Lateran ; 
 that for three days there will be held a great open Court, 
 the last the greatest of all, with the privilege to every 
 knight that bears arms of attending it; that every day 
 after the dinner there will be opened a tournament, the 
 challengers of which were Monseigneur Guy of Montfort, 
 Guillaume 1'Etendard, Boccard and Jouan, Counts of Van- 
 damme, Pier de Bilmont, Mirepoix the. Seneschal, Jouan 
 cle Bresilles, and Louis Jonville ; that all the knights that 
 desired to joust against them should carry their chal- 
 lenge to the cloister of St. Paul, whefe from sunrise till 
 sunset there would be exposed the escutcheons of the 
 challengers ; and that Countess Beatrice, queen of the 
 tournament, and Giles Lebrun, constable of the field, 
 would take note of the armorial devices, and the names 
 of the knights that presented themselves, etc." 
 
 The first rays of the sun had hardly lighted our hemi- 
 sphere, when a crowd of people were gathered the next day 
 around the gates of the monastery of St. Paul, awaiting 
 anxiously their opening. After long waiting they were 
 opened to the curiosity of the people, who in a moment 
 filled the vast enclosure of the cloister. It was a beauti- 
 ful architecture of those times, divided in four equal parts, 
 with arcades composed of several pointed arches, and 
 very delicate fluted columns ; the interior parts divided in 
 several pictures, representing, by the least bloody frescos
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 183 
 
 that in those days they knew how to paint, the principal 
 acts of the glorious apostle : among which was most 
 praised the one representing the saint in the hands of his 
 torturers, who were using all their ^efforts to stretch him 
 on the ground in order to flagellate him. Nor were the 
 acts of St. Paul alone painted there : there was a portrait 
 of Adam tilling the ground with a beautiful iron hoe ; 
 a Last Judgment, where certain diminutive devils carried 
 off the souls in the form of little babies from the mouths 
 of knights, kings, nuns, monks, and even from that of a 
 pope in fine, a Last Judgment very similar to the other 
 painted by Andrea Orgagna upon the walls of the ceme- 
 tery of Pisa ; and such like. Along the walls stood the 
 marble sarcophagi of the defunct great lords, carved with 
 figures that the monks of the place called Jmman. On 
 their lids stood statues of those that were enclosed with- 
 in : here a woman with her arms crossed on her breast, 
 the head leaning back, the eyes shut as if dead ; there 
 a magistrate dressed in his toga, sitting on one side, with 
 his head leaning on his hand, the face bent down, as if 
 in deep meditation ; further on a knight, armed cap-a-pie 
 with a naked sword in his hand, expiring over a pile of 
 trophies ; the common dead, without a stone, without 
 an epitaph that would recall them to the love of their 
 living posterity, were promiscuously buried under the 
 pavement of the porticos. . . . Because, whether alive or 
 dead, the common people were ever destined to serve as 
 a pavement to be trampled upon ; but since they are 
 pleased to remain so, I have nothing to say about it. 
 Trahit sua quemque voluptas. (Every one is attracted 
 by his peculiar pleasure.) 
 
 On the side opposite to the gate from which one en- 
 tered, upon a platform covered with crimson velvet, rose a 
 spear, and upon jt was hung a most splendid suit of armor. 
 At the foot of the spear stood four cups full of golden 
 besants, the prize of the conqueror of the tournament. 
 Beside this, but fixed in the ground, rose eight lances, 
 from each of which hung the shield with the name 
 and device of the knight to whom it belonged : the first 
 one said Montfort, and. the device was a woman re-
 
 1 84 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 versed. And here we must note that, in those times, it 
 was the greatest ipsult to carry the image of another, head 
 downward on the shield ; so that the proud Montfort, de- 
 siring to show in some manner his contempt for Italy, had 
 meant it in the figure of the woman as described above. 
 In the second there was written Etendard, and the devices 
 were, azure, dexter and sinister arms rambrased, conped, 
 with hammers in their hands striking upon an anvil, with 
 the motto, // nnll not break by hammering : in the third 
 and fourth, Vandamme ; one was sable, seme with roundlets, 
 argent, and was a gift of the lady of his thoughts, 
 meaning by this to signify the tears that she would shed 
 during his absence ; the other was vert, a man's heart 
 sanguine in the midst of flames, gules, pierced through 
 by an arrow or, similar to those which our modern lovers 
 place on the top of their erotic letters ; the fifth said Bil- 
 mont, and for device had azure, wind striving to put out a 
 fire, gules, with the motto, By plowing I will not be put out; 
 the sixth Mirepoix, the device vert, a turtle passant, with 
 the Latin motto, Tarde sed tuto ; the seventh Bresilles, 
 having for device purpure, a hound courant with a hare 
 in his mouth. The last was all argent, as was the custom 
 of new-made knights in their first year of knighthood, and 
 belonged to the young Jonville. Immediately beyond these 
 lances there was a long table covered by a rich carpet, 
 around which were seated the most beautiful Roman 
 and French ladies, ordinary judges of these kinds of fights, 
 and ; the Countess Beatrice in a more elevated seat as 
 queen. The constable Giles Lebrun held a parchment 
 book on a little stool at the foot of the table to inscribe 
 the names, and describe the armorial devices of those 
 that presented themselves for the tournament. The other 
 knights, some in armor, some clothed in rich silk doub- 
 lets, stood all around them. 
 
 The ninth hour had already passed, and no one had yet 
 presented himself to accept the challenge ; the fame of these 
 French knights was so great that no one dared to oppose 
 them. Guy de Montfort, dressed in a leathern doublet, 
 moved about among his brothers^of arms, and from time 
 to time would say, smiling, " Did I not tell you so ? "
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt 185 
 
 The people that had collected to see the sight stood 
 fixed at the distance of four or six yards from the es- 
 cutcheons of the challengers, as if a magic line kept 
 them from coming forward. The Roman ladies stared 
 towards the crowd to discover some of their admirers, 
 and noticing none, lowered their heads in shame ; the 
 French exulted over the shame of Italy. 
 
 The crowd is pushed back, and there appears a knight 
 of noble mien with the visor lowered, carrying a shield 
 with a device similar to that of Montfort, a figure of 
 Italia, only in its natural position. After saluting the 
 ladies, he struck with the point of his lance the insulting 
 device of Montfort. At the same moment he noticed 
 another lance of a wonderful size, stained with marks of 
 clotted blood, strike the same device, so that he turned' 
 his head, and perceived a knight all covered with mail, 
 his visor down, who carried for device azure a thunder- 
 bolt sanguine, that falling from the clouds destroyed a 
 tower or with the motto : It falls from a hidden hand. 
 
 " Sir Knights," said Constable Lebrun to the two who 
 had presented themselves, " we desire to notify you that 
 although it is in our power to accept the challenge d toute 
 entrance, yet we would prefer that there should be no 
 bloodshed." 
 
 " Truly," added Montfort, " I also advise you to do 
 what Monseigneur the constable says, my knights, for I do 
 not desire that on my account any lady should shed tears." 
 
 " If you do not desire to run the risk of accepting, the 
 challenge a toute entrance" replied the knight of Italia, 
 "you have only to beg us in the presence of these ladies, 
 and we will change it into premier sang." 
 
 " Sang bleu ! " cried Montfort, " was there ever heard 
 such impudence ? Write, constable, write their sentence 
 of death. Mind though, my knights, that I will still^ 
 grant you time to retract." 
 
 "Count," said the knight of the thunderbolt, "look if 
 you please at the point of my lance ; is it not blood that 
 stains it ? And mark, it is not mine, that blood." 
 
 " If deeds correspond to words," -added Montfort, " I 
 hope to derive some honor from your defeat."
 
 1 86 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 " Or perhaps you will curse the day that you challenged 
 a tournament," replied the knight of Italia. 
 
 " Cavaliers," spoke the knight of the thunderbolt, turn- 
 ing to the challengers, " boasts do not conquer in trials 
 of arms, and are highly unsuited to noble knights ; let 
 every one do the best he can ; victory will be to him 
 to whom God will grant it . . ." 
 
 " To him to whom the lance will grant it, you ought 
 to say, knight," replied Montfort. 
 
 "As you wish, monseigneur le count. Constable, 
 please describe my device, for I desire my name to be 
 hidden." 
 
 " And what shall I write of you ? " asked Lebrun to the 
 knight of Italia, after he had taken down the device of 
 the knight of the thunderbolt. 
 
 " Describe also my device." 
 
 " Prudent thought when one foresees his defeat," said 
 Montfort, smilingly ; " in this manner one throws away his 
 shield and his shame." 
 
 "Noble knights, our challengers are eight, while you 
 are only two," said the constable; " do you alone wish to 
 sustain the attack of all ? " 
 
 " Have you any companions?" asked the knight of the 
 thunderbolt to the knight of Italia. 
 
 " I have my heart, my sword, my lance, my battle-axe, 
 each of these is worth a Frenchman. You have them also, 
 so we are on a par." 
 
 Montfort ground his teeth with rage, and his eyes 
 rolled fiercely. The knight of the thunderbolt, shaking his 
 head, said : " Behold, we have said more than necessary 
 for a joust d, toute outrance. Knight, if you are as brave 
 as bold, I hope in God we shall have victory : nevertheless 
 I desire that on our side there should be eight also, for 
 fhough man ought to trust much in himself, yet he must not 
 presume. Now, monseigneur constable, I will bring the 
 other six : their device will be sable, a star or. 
 
 Saying this, without saluting, without bowing, he turned 
 towards the crowd, which wondering stood back to let 
 that giant pass, who in a moment disappeared. The
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 187 
 
 knight of Italia, bending low in a courteous manner to 
 the ladies, who willingly stared at him, also retired. 
 
 Having broken the ice, so to say, and roused up 
 Italian valor, there were seen coining forward many other 
 knights, who, with the lances or without them, struck the 
 shields of the challengers, so that by sunset the book of 
 the constable was full of names and descriptions of devices. 
 Montfort, frowning, said not a word ; Lebrun closing the 
 book, turned to him, saying : " Do you know, count, what 
 the proverb says ? " 
 
 " What have I got to do with your proverbs? " 
 
 " You will acquire wisdom by them : ' After you of- 
 fend, kill: " 
 
 " I have done the first to-day ; to-morrow I will do the 
 other." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it, if saying it were the same as 
 doing it ; but those knights did not look as if they would 
 yield so readily. You will find out that it will take more 
 than two mouthfuls to eat them up." 
 
 " That is because sixty years see differently from forty ; 
 and you now, lord constable, are more fit to quote pro- 
 verbs than wield a sword." 
 
 Giles Lebrun, a knight sans feur et sans reproche, hear- 
 ing that insulting reply, raised his head as in the days of 
 his youth, shook fiercely his hair, snow-white with honor- 
 able old age, and thought of striking the insolent in the 
 face. Montfort, however, caring little whether his remark 
 had pleased him or not, had already gone away. Prudence 
 advised Lebrun not to raise any scandal on the pres- 
 ent occasion, but revenge impressed the insult in his 
 heart. 
 
 On the sixth of January, A.D. 1266, a splendid assem-. 
 blage of prelates, magistrates and knights, both Italians 
 and French, preceded by the sound of trumpets, present- 
 ed themselves at the residence of the Count of Provence 
 to conduct him to the Lateran, where the pontiff waited for 
 him. Never did a war horse show so fiercely his internal 
 joy at the sound of the charge, as did now Beatrice at
 
 1 88 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 the sound of those trumpets that announced her approach- 
 ing coronation. Interrupting hastily her toilet, she rushed 
 impetuously toward the door to go out, although not yet 
 half dressed. Charles took her by the arm, and leading 
 her back to the place whence she had come, with a mild 
 voice said, "Madame, restrain yourself: receiving the 
 crown from the pontiff does not signify to be a queen." 
 
 The grand mass was celebrated by Pope Clement, as- 
 sisted by Rodolphus, Bishop of Albano, Archerius of St. 
 Pressede, Richard of St. Angiolo, Godfrey of St. George, 
 and Matthew of St. Mary in Portico, cardinal deacons. 
 The Count and Countess of Provence, dressed in plain 
 white, are kneeling upon rich cushions. After the mass 
 was over, the Cardinals Archerius and Rodolphus accosted 
 Charles, Richard and Godfrey, Beatrice, and led them to 
 the foot of the altar. Clement took the bull of investi- 
 ture from the altar, and read with a loud voice, " We, 
 Pope Clement IV., servant of the servants of God, by the 
 power delegated to us by Jesus Christ, and by the prince 
 of the apostles, Saint Peter, to provide for the greater glory 
 of the Church committed to our care by the Omnipotent 
 Goodness, ordain that Manfred of Swabia be considered 
 dethroned from the Kingdom of Sicily, its jurisdic- 
 tions, appurtenances, fiefs, etc., and the sentence of 
 excommunication, pronounced against him by our pre- 
 decessors, we, by these presents, confirm. We grant 
 the investiture of this same kingdom to our most be- 
 loved son, Charles, Count of Provence (excepting the 
 city of Benevento, with all its territory and appurtenances), 
 to his heirs both male and female ; but if the males are 
 living, females are excluded ; and among the males the 
 first-born is to succeed. Should these fail, or the condi- 
 tions agreed upon not be fulfilled, then the kingdom is to 
 revert to the Church. The conditions are, that the 
 kingdom shall not be divided ; that they shall swear al- 
 legiance, homage and fealty to the Church ; that if the king 
 is elected emperor, or sovereign of Lombardy or Ti^cany, 
 he shall renounce the kingdom within four months ; 
 that if the king has completed his eighteenth year, he 
 shall administer himself; if a minor, he shall put him-
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 189 
 
 self under the tutelage of the Church ; that annually, on 
 the eve of the Saints Peter and Paul, he shall pay a 
 rent of eight thousand ounces of gold, and a handsome, 
 sound and white palfrey ; that, at the demand of the 
 pontiff, he shall send as subsidy to the Church three- 
 hundred men-at-arms paid for three months, or these 
 be commuted in auxiliary ships ; that the king and his 
 successors shall not interfere in the elections or no- 
 minations of prelates, except in the case when it belongs 
 to them, by right of juspatronato ; that no -tax shall be 
 imposed on the property of the Church ; that they shall 
 hold ready one thousand knights for the Holy Land, etc., 
 etc." * 
 
 Charles, who had listened to all these conditions with 
 no intention in his mind of keeping even one of them, ma- 
 jestically replied : " We, Charles of France, by the grace 
 of God Count of Anjou, of Folcacchieri, Provence and 
 Languedoc, King of Sicily, of the Duchy of Apulia, of the 
 Princedom of Capua, do loyal homage to you, Clement 
 Pontiff IV. ; and in your name, to your successors, for the 
 kingdom of Sicily and all the land that is on this side of 
 the strait to the frontiers (excepting the city and county 
 of Benevento, its district and appurtenances), granted to 
 us and to our successors by the aforesaid Roman Church ; 
 we ratify all the conditions expressed in the bull, and 
 promise and swear to observe and to have them 
 observed." 
 
 Matthew, cardinal deacon, taking the book of the Gos- 
 pels, opened it before the count and countess, who placed 
 their right hands over it ; Clement, taking from the altar 
 two royal crimson mantles lined with ermine, handed 
 them to the cardinals, who placed them on the shoulders 
 of Charles and Beatrice ; they, immediately after, kneel- 
 ing upon the steps of the altar, received from the hands 
 of the pope the holy anointment, and the royal crowns 
 that Cardinal Matthew presented in a silver tray. Bea- 
 
 * Many other conditions were added to the above, which we have 
 omitted for brevity. See the original in Giannone's History of 
 Naples.
 
 190 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 trice trembled, grew pale, a tear broke forth from her eyes, 
 and fell almost prostrated upon the pavement. Charles, 
 impassible, had his mind turned more than to the present 
 ceremony, to the means of acquiring the kingdom of 
 which he at present had only the crown. The pontiff, 
 having crowned them, let himself also fall on his knees, 
 and raising his arms invoked the Holy Ghost, Veni Creator 
 Spiritus ; the people replied with tumultuous cheerings ; 
 the bells sending forth merry peals announced that the 
 ceremony was ended ; the trumpets added to the deafening 
 sounds : " Long live King Charles / " " Long live Queen 
 Beatrice 1 " " Long live ths Sovereigns of Sicily ! " And 
 the uproar was such that it seemed as if the church would 
 tumble down ; yet, among so many voices that cheered, 
 there was heard a cry which said : ''Death to the foreig- 
 ner ! " This cry was so terrible and sonorous, th'at every 
 one turned around, surely imagining to have at his side 
 the man who had dared so much. But, upon the lips of 
 his neighbor there was heard only the last syllable of 
 " Long live Charles I " Many suspected that it came 
 from the roof, and raised their eyes upwards ; nor did the 
 cry escape the ears of Charle's, and it was a death sen- 
 tence for many thousands of people that he sacrificed 
 afterwards to appease his suspicious mind. Clement, 
 after having finished the prayer, descended from the al- 
 tar, kissed the king on the forehead, embraced the queen, 
 and then said, " En uncti Domini et reges estis. Sicut 
 rugitus /eon is, ita est terror regis ; qui provocat eum fee- 
 cat in animam suam : sed sicut divisiones acquarum, ita 
 cor regis in manu Domini. Pax vobiscum." * 
 
 Amidst the applause of the Roman crowd, the new 
 sovereigns returned to the Lateran Palace, where they 
 sumptuously dined ; the pontiff sat between them at din- 
 ner, but in a more elevated seat, as it behooved his ex- 
 alted condition. After dinner they proceeded, acconi- 
 
 * " Behold, you are king and anointed of the Lord. The terror 
 of the king is like the roar of the lion ; he who provokes it sins 
 against his own soul ; but, like rivers of water, the heart of the 
 king is in the hands of God. Peace be with you 1 "
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 191 
 
 panied by the same court of the morning, to the square 
 of St. Paul, which was arranged for the use of tournaments. 
 Here the Roman youth used to exercise daily in certain 
 jousts that were fought with wooden lances, called ba- 
 gordi ; and would it had pleased God that in those 
 days our Italy had had wisdom of intellect, as she had 
 strength of arms ! It was an oval inclosure, surrounded 
 by a deep ditch four or five yards wide, which on those 
 occasions was filled with water. Towards the farther ex- 
 tremities it was marked by a straight line, and the space 
 between this and the end of the field was used for 
 the sergeants-at-arms, the heralds, the constables, and 
 other officers necessary to this kind of combats. Around 
 the ditch had been raised pavilions adorned with splendid 
 carpets, among which, as every one can imagine, was 
 distinguished that of Charles, for the richness of its golden 
 hangings, and by flags of a thousand colors. Handsome 
 young ladies richly dressed, and with a flush in their faces, 
 sat dignifiedly, anxious for a salute on the part of the 
 fighting knights that might distinguish them. Around the 
 stockade crowded the stupid and fierce rabble, pushing 
 each other to see better ; nor were the blows of the hal- 
 berds of the rough soldiers enough to keep it in order. 
 At a signal from Charles, there was sounded a horn ; 
 all the spectators were struck by a thrill of fear and 
 hope ; a profound silence ensued all around. It 
 sounded the second time, then the third. Then there 
 were lowered two small bridges at the upper end of the 
 square, and the knights two by two passed over the ditch. 
 Constable Giles Lebrun, standing in the middle of the 
 field, ordered the knights to approach, and swear upon 
 the Evangelists that they would fight honorably, without 
 frauds or witchcrafts ; that their weapons -were not 
 charmed, and that they would invoke no other aid 
 than that of God and the most holy Virgin ; then he re- 
 minded them that they were not to wound the horses. 
 He then apportioned to each party the advantage of the 
 wind and sun ; this done, he retired to the extreme right 
 of the field near the pavilion of King Charles, better to 
 receive his orders ; and there he remained immovable as
 
 192 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 the statue of the Commendador. Near him were placed 
 the prizes of the tournament. The other two minor con- 
 stables, and the heralds, placed themselves at the entrances 
 of the square we have described, near the two bridges. 
 The knights formed in a line opposite to each other and 
 awaited the signal. Giles Lebrun lowered his lance, and 
 the knights rushed to the charge. Shameful to relate, 
 six Italian knights fell unhorsed at the first encounter. 
 Only the knight of the thunderbolt and of Italia re- 
 mained in their saddles ; but, as if terrified by sudden 
 fear, they turned their horses towards the lists. There 
 rose of a sudden a great burst of laughter as in mockery 
 of the conquered, and a clapping of hands for the con- 
 querors, and such an uproar and stamping of feet as 
 deafened the people. The ladies waved their scarfs ; 
 Charles rejoiced in his heart that the reputation of the 
 French arms would be held up by the fear of the Italians. 
 
 "Are you an Italian ?" asked the knight of the thun- 
 derbolt of the knight of Italia. 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " And what do you propose to do ? " 
 
 " Conquer, or die." 
 
 " Let us then teach these proud ones, that we two are 
 enough for all of them." 
 
 At the same moment they turned the heads of their 
 horses. The spectators, in expectation of new prowess, 
 were silent. Transported by the impetus of their horses, 
 the challengers who first met the enemies' lances were 
 Bilmont and Bresilles : this latter, hit by the knight 
 of Italia, is thrown to the ground in a heap ; the former 
 is wounded by the knight of the thunderbolt by such a 
 blow of the lance, that, breaking his visor, it pierced 
 through td the back of his neck, lifted him from his horse, 
 and hurled him a corpse far from the field. The two 
 Italian knights, lowering again their lances, and continuing 
 their course, met Mirepoix the Seneschal, and Jonville the 
 young knight ; Mirepoix and his horse are overturned by 
 the spear of the knight of the thunderbolt, and the weight 
 of the animal breaks a leg of the fallen knight, who is 
 carried out of the field by the sergeants-at-arms. Jonville,
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 193 
 
 although home down'by a blow on the helmet till his 
 shoulders touched the back of his horse, his lance drop- 
 ping from his hand with the pain, yet drew his sword and 
 wanted to recommence the encounter. The knight of the 
 thunderbolt spurred his horse upon him, and took aim at 
 his side. Woe to Jonville if he had struck him, for he 
 nevermore would have worn mail or helmet ; but the 
 knight of Italia, seeing him approach, watched his chance 
 and gave such a hlovv upon his lance, that, turning it from 
 its aim, it pierced the side of the horse, nor did it stop till 
 it appeared, bloody, on the other side. Jonville staggered 
 at ., such a blow, and considering his life saved by the 
 courtesy of the knight of Italia, delivering him his sword, 
 said, " Sir Knight, your courtesy has conquered me." 
 
 " Leave the field, and hold yourself my prisoner en 
 parole" 
 
 The brothers Vandamme, noble jousters and full of 
 courage, ill brooking that affront, advanced bravely to 
 avenge it. The one who held the black shield with silver 
 drops, strikes the knight of the thunderbolt, pierces 
 through his shield, and passes by without being able to 
 withdraw his lance. The knight so hit did not bend an 
 inch from his horse, but missed his blow, which did not 
 hit the body of his adversary ; a thing which usually 
 happens to poor jousters, or those out of practice, in- 
 flamed with anger, he seized his iron mace that hung from 
 his saddle, and hurled it with such precision upon the 
 flying Vandamme, that it broke his helmet, steel cap 
 and visor ; his head escaped by miracle, only that the 
 impetus of the mace grazed his skin, and carried off 
 some locks of his hair. The knight of the thunderbolt, 
 whom victory seemed to have rendered more fierce, rushed 
 upon Vandamme, who, stunned by the blow, half blinded, 
 was staggering on his saddle, seized him by the throat, 
 dragged him from his horse, and then .spurred towards 
 the ditch to drown him there. A cry of rage was raised 
 at that act, and Montfort, with 1'Etendard, rushed down 
 to save their ill-fated companion. The knight of Italia 
 was now more fortunate than before, because, while his 
 adversary, struck by a powerful blow, endeavored, by 
 9
 
 194 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 strongly pressing his knees, not tt> lose his stirrups, the 
 straps of his saddle snapped, and he fell headlong to the 
 ground. The horse left to himself, was on the point of 
 running about the field, when the conquering knight seized 
 him by the bit, and courteously led him back to the con- 
 quered. 
 
 " Sir Knight, dismount, and let us exchange some 
 blows with our swords, since the horse cannot serve me 
 any more, at least for to-day," said Vandamme. 
 
 " Sir," replied the knight of Italia, " willingly would I 
 do your pleasure, but need calls me elsewhere. I see 
 that my companion is assailed by two knights, and I can- 
 not leave him alone ; we brought our challenge d toute 
 oytran.ee against Montfort, not against you." 
 
 " Sir Knight, I cannot acknowledge myself conquered 
 to-day without a condition." 
 
 " Name it." 
 
 "That you will meet me again to-morrow. Will you 
 promise it ? " 
 
 " I promise it, if there is no impediment in the way." 
 
 After these words the knight of Italia rode to the as- 
 sistance of his companion, who, assailed by Montfort 
 with a heavy blow of the spear on his right shoulder, had 
 been obliged to let go his hold of Vandamme, and lean 
 to the left so far, that if he had not stuck his spear in 
 the ground he would certainly have fallen ; but he raised 
 himself so quickly that PEtendard, having taken too low an 
 aim to strike at him, hit the ground instead. The knight 
 of Italia arriving at full gallop, struck 1'Etendard on 
 his shoulders so violently, that the latter, smiting with his 
 face on the armor of the horse's neck, received a fearful 
 contusion on the nose, and two or three mails of his visor 
 lodged in the flesh of his cheek. Continuing still on his 
 career he assails Montfort, and breaks his lance on his 
 shield ; then drawing his sword, thunders blows on him, 
 and endeavors to keep him at close quarters, so that he 
 may not make use of his lance. 
 
 At that moment there happened a wonderful event : the 
 horse of the knight of Italia^ from being all black, ap- 
 peared suddenly spotted with large white spots.
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 195 
 
 "Ah, disloyal knight !" cried Montfort, terrified, "you 
 are charmed} Constable!" 
 
 " Count, do you intend to cover the shame of your 
 defeat with the errors of the superstitious crowd ? Do 
 so if you consider it honorable ; but if you come near 
 you can easily perceive that I have painted my horse in 
 order that it may not be recognized, and that the heat 
 has now caused the paint to fall off." 
 
 Montfort, after having ascertained the fact, replied : 
 
 " However this may be, dismount, Sir Knight, and let 
 us fight on foot." 
 
 " As you will, count." They dismounted, and con- 
 tinued the fight more fiercely than before. 
 
 The knight of the thunderbolt, measuring his distance, 
 fell terribly uponl'Etendard, who, assailed so of a sudden, 
 tumbled from his horse. His enemy, believing him 
 faint, dismounted, and rushed upon him in order to 
 end the battle; but 1'Etendard, springing up, drew his 
 sword and defended himself bravely ; his blows were as 
 powerful as those of his antagonist, but had not so good 
 an effect on account of the weapons ; because the French 
 used quadrangular swords, sharp only in the point, which 
 were more properly called rapiers, while the Italians 
 used them sharp on both edges and on the point, and 
 distinguished them by the name of swords. Having 
 exchanged many blows that deserve no description, the 
 knight of the thunderbolt with the point of his sword 
 stjuck with such force the enemy's shield, that it pierced 
 it through. 
 
 " Sir Knight," he then exclaimed, " I know not whether 
 your shield will not break by hammering, but it is perfor- 
 ated by thrusting." 
 
 L'Etendard replied with a stoccado which, cutting the 
 links of the enemy's hauberk, wounded him slightly on 
 the side, drawing the warm blood. 
 
 The wounded knight, throwing away his shield, grasped 
 his sword with both hands, and struck, full of ire, at 
 the head of 1'Etendard. The latter, who was well on his 
 guard, hastily protected his head with the shield ; the 
 sword fell, cut through the shield, the crest, the helmet,
 
 196 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 and would probably have parted his head in two, if the 
 iron with which it was fixed to the hilt had not twisted ; 
 hence its force was stopped by the steel cap. The knight 
 of the thunderbolt, seeing his enemy stunned, rushed upon 
 him without loss of time, seized his right hand with his 
 left, and twisted it so strongly that the bones of the arm 
 snapped as if crushed. L'Etendard fainted with the great 
 pain, and let his rapier drop ; the other stepped right over 
 him. and with his right hand still armed with the hilt of 
 his sword, gave him such a heavy blow on the visor, that 
 he felled him again groaning to the ground, then, follow- 
 ing up his victory, he drew his poniard, bent over him, cut 
 the leather strap of his visor, and cried to him to surren- 
 der. There was no reply ; PEtendard's face was the color 
 of death, his mouth and nostrils filled with bloody foam, 
 a black rim around his eyes. Two or three times was 
 the knight of the thunderbolt tempted to thrust the 
 blade of his poniard into his throat, and raised it to 
 do so ; but afterward, disdaining the act, although the 
 custom of the times did not consider it cowardly, he took 
 away his antagonist's sword, and left him senseless on 
 the field. . 
 
 "How much better would it have been for you if 
 Godfrey de Presilles had not invented the tournament ! " 
 cried Montfort, hitting fiercely the knight of Italia. 
 " Resolve better ; do not give so much grief to your lady 
 love, and do not make your mother weep." 
 
 " Do you need any assistance ? " said the knight of the 
 thunderbolt to *his companion, approaching him, and 
 seeing him wounded in two or three places. 
 
 The latter did not reply, and, as if he was just fresh 
 for the contest, redoubling his efforts, assails Montfort 
 so furiously, that the latter, with all his art, is hardly able 
 to parry two blows out of three ; aiming terrible sword- 
 thrusts from above, from below, breaks his shield m 
 pieces, knocks in splinters his steel shoulder piece, and 
 wounds him so fearfully on the collar bone, that his arm 
 falls powerless at his side. 
 
 " Mark, Montfort, how much better it would have been 
 for you to have Italy without striking a blow ! And woe
 
 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 197 
 
 to you, if all her warriors would fight ! " exclaims the 
 assailant, and presses on him. 
 
 Montfort, oppressed by pain, begins to lose ground ; at 
 every blow he yields a step ; his adversary advancing, 
 steps on the very footprints that he leaves in retreating ; 
 the sword of the knight of Italia, swift as the tongue of 
 a serpent, now wounds him on the side, now penetrates 
 his visor ; he is assailed all over his body with more 
 than human impetus ; the thought that his adversary 
 might be charmed returns more dreadful than ever to his 
 mind, and has no small share in disheartening him. 
 
 " Surrender, or you are dead ! " cries the assailant, per- 
 ceiving Montfort on the edge of the ditch, so that another 
 step would plunge him into it. 
 
 " My ancestors never surrendered ! " 
 
 " That means that they were more valorous than you, 
 not that you should not yield to the strongest : acknowl- 
 edge yourself defeated." 
 
 "Kill me if you have defeated me, but hope not that 
 I will ever say so." 
 
 Then the victorious knight, turning his back, retires 
 from the place. Montfort, surprised, looks around and 
 finds himself upon the edge of the ditch. You would not 
 have done this the voice of his conscience reproached 
 him. Despairing of conquering his adversary, he returns 
 to the contest, in order to die honorably. 
 
 The knight of the thunderbolt, with his hands upon the 
 pommel of his sword fixed upon the ground, stood mo- 
 tionless, watching the mortal duel. He might have 
 finished it if he had willed it, with only a blow of his 
 sword, but, rejoicing in his companion's valor, he left him 
 all the glory of the victory. 
 
 Montfort fell finally prostrated ; his adversary pressed 
 him with a foot on his breast, and raising his sword with 
 both hands, rested the point upon the unfastened visor, 
 saying, " Sir Knight, much would it pain me to kill you, 
 for, although proud as Lucifer, I have proved you valiant 
 in arms, and you have done all you could to defend your- 
 self against me. Call yourself defeated, and remember 
 that if Italy does sleep she does not deserve to be
 
 198 The Knight of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 blazoned reversed upon your shield. She sleeps, but if 
 she should awake, what human race can conquer her?" 
 
 " Victory has given you the right of killing me, but 
 spare, in God's name, your bitter reproaches ; 1 would 
 have already killed you ! " replied Montfort, hardly able 
 to breathe on account of both his physical and moral 
 pains. 
 
 " Surrender, and have your life saved." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What shall we do with this obstinate man?" asked 
 the victor of the knight "of the thunderbolt, who calmly 
 replied, " Give him the coup de grace" 
 
 And he would have done so, had not at once a cry risen 
 from every side, saying, "Stop! stop!" and a noise was 
 heard of the crowd rushing towards them. He lifted his 
 head, and saw that the lists had been stepped over, the 
 ditches crossed, and a number of people were crowding 
 around him. 
 
 " What does this mean ?" he asked of his companion. 
 
 " The Count of Provence," replied he, "has declared 
 him conquered, having ordered Constable Lebrun to 
 raise his lance. Our part is ended ; let us go." 
 
 " Is it well that we should go off like runaways?" 
 
 " I think it is better ; these people who surround us 
 love Montfort, and it is not the first time that the reward 
 of the knight conqueror of the tournament has been death 
 by treachery ; if you wish to escape, mount your horse 
 and follow me." 
 
 The knight, leaving Montfort, who had fainted after 
 pronouncing his last words, mounted his horse, and fol- 
 lowed his unknown companion. The latter rode to the 
 place where stood the prizes of the tournament, took up 
 the spear with the armor, and handed it to his com- 
 panion ; then took one of the cups full of gold besants, 
 and threw them to the crowd, that scattered immediately 
 to pick up the coins ; this he repeated with the second, 
 the third and the fourth cups, and thus getting rid of them, 
 he rode safely out of that rabble. 
 
 It was the honorable Lebrun who, although insulted 
 the day before by Montfort, abhorring an ungenerous
 
 Remorse. 199 
 
 revenge, had saved his life. Charles, at his repeated 
 entreaties, had finally ordered him to raise the spear, which 
 the constable did very willingly, and then anxiously 
 advanced with the sergeant-at-arms to relieve Montfort, 
 whom they found senseless on the ground, and carefully 
 conveyed to his lodgings. 
 
 The knights of Italia and of the thunderbolt, although 
 riding very fast, were soon overtaken by their other six 
 companions, whom, having remained prisoners at first, 
 the success of the tournament had set free. Thus, all 
 joined together, they rode into the deepest recesses of a 
 neighboring forest. They had hardly proceeded a thou- 
 sand steps, when they met about two hundred men-at-arms, 
 who from afar saluted them with their swords and parti- 
 sans. The knight of the thunderbolt, approaching near, 
 lowered his visor, and said, " Companions, we have 
 conquered." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 For no night has followed day, nor day the night, that, mingled with 
 the cry of the new-born has not been heard the weeping of death 
 and funerals. LUCRETIUS, II. 
 
 |S it you, Sir Ghino? My heart had already re- 
 vealed it to me," exclaimed the knight of Italia, 
 lowering his visor in his turn, at which Ghino 
 with open arms ran towards him, crying, "You 
 here, Prince Rogiero ? " and they embraced and kissed 
 each other with much affection. 
 
 " But how, Sir Knight," resumed G'hino, " from being 
 so friendly with France, have you so quickly become an 
 enemy ? " 
 
 " You must know, Sir Ghino, that when I took the 
 letters from Naples to the Countess Beatrice on the
 
 2OO Remorse. 
 
 banks of the Oglio, Montfort, in a passion, cried out : 
 'Good heavens! we shall have Italy without striking a 
 blow /' Now I hope he has learned that woe to him if 
 the Italians did strike ! " . . . 
 
 " What presumption ! and he has not yet conquered. 
 Think how proud they will be when they are actual mas- 
 ters of Naples ! . . . Oh, if our own patriots ! . . . But 
 come now, Sir Knight, for you must be tired and wounded, 
 and I myself never came so near sinking under my armor 
 as to-day. By the help of God we have performed ex- 
 ploits enough for one day." 
 
 Thus they walked on towards a little house situated 
 very deep in the forest, where Ghino for the second time 
 received Rogiero as a guest. 
 
 When Rogiero, by a few days' rest and care, had nearly 
 recovered from the wounds which he had received, it 
 happened that one day, Ghino being absent on business 
 connected with his troop, he went out alone into the for- 
 est. His arms were crossed, his head bent; he walked 
 sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, lost in thought. 
 The remembrance 'of past events assailed his mind, at 
 first with a feeling of sadness, then with a painful irrita- 
 tion, finally with an excess of rage ; then he rushed for- 
 ward, thrusting his hands in his hair, wretched in appear- 
 ance, his eyes glaring, shouting and cursing like a crea- 
 ture afflicted by a demon. Bathed in perspiration, he 
 leaned against the trunk of a tree, and panting from 
 fatigue and grief, cried aloud, " Who denies that there 
 is a destiny ? Let him who denies it come and behold 
 the fearful sentence that condemns me to infamy ; and if 
 he has the heart let him say that there is no such thing 
 as destiny. See, to whichever -side I turn, there is only 
 crime, crime if I remain inactive, crime if I act. My 
 father's blood cries from the tomb, . . . should I shut my 
 heart and ears ... it will remain in accusation against me 
 before the throne of God, as a disgrace in the sight of 
 men. . . . Let me avenge it ! How ? Challenge King 
 Manfred to single combat ? . . . Fool ! those even \vho 
 feel most deeply the justice of my cause, would cast 
 upon me the imputation of madness ; I should have sacri-
 
 Remorse. 201 
 
 ficed myself uselessly. I should leave to my descendants 
 only a new crime to retaliate. Call in the stranger against 
 him? . . . My father's death will be avenged, but my 
 country oppressed I Strike him in secret ? That would be 
 the best. ... But then men, no one knows why, call that 
 treachery. Alas ! I see the scorn of the nation, like 
 some hideous monster, preparing to destroy my reputa-< 
 tion. I see crowding before *ny mind present and future 
 sins ; but mine stands out from the multitude in glaring 
 colors. I see my name as a metal plate riveted in the 
 memory of posterity, made more conspicuous by-my efforts 
 to destroy it, and attracting the attention of ages. This 
 is the greatest torment ; but the end of torment, death. 
 If life is a gift, I renounce it ; I would have renounced 
 it, had my reason foreknown what life is, and had the 
 choice of existence been presented to me. If it be a pun- 
 ishment, how have I deserved it? Why should I be 
 doubly afflicted for not bearing the punishment ? That 
 is not justice-! Justice ! dared I utter such a word in the 
 presence of the powerful one ? If Heaven had endowed 
 him with a compassionate heart, he would send for a 
 physician to see if my mind were sound. I have protected 
 my life from hunger, thirst, cold, from ' all the ills that 
 flesh is heir to ; ' but from infamy I have not been able 
 to protect it. If it was sin to destroy it, it was dishonor 
 to keep it. Between dishonor and sin I have chosen the 
 latter : if I ought to have chosen the former, why was it 
 not pointed out to me ? Why was such horror of dishonor 
 given me? Why was there imparted to my fellow beings 
 a fierce will to persecute the fallen ? Why should it be 
 a sin ? If a body be square or round, does it serve less 
 the purpose for which it was intended ? Nothing of hu- 
 manity is lost ; matter returns to matter. The spirit ? Is 
 it not trial enough to conquer the desire for life instilled 
 into our blood ; not pain enough, the unspeakable an- 
 guish of disturbing the order of our actual existence? If 
 it is permitted to kill another who wishes to do me harm, 
 why should I not kill myself to escape it ? What is this 
 life that it is worth preserving ? The world offers but 
 two paths to the living criminal or victim. For the first, 
 0*
 
 2O2 Remorse. 
 
 my soul is too little to despise fame, and him who confers 
 it ; for the second/^tifo '^reaf^to bear it like a coward. 
 Hitherto, every moment has been pain, every day a grief; 
 now, every year is about to be a crime." 
 
 And thus he would certainly, in his excited mood, 
 have repeated all the opinions advanced by the Abbot of 
 San Cirano, Robeck, Rousseau, Goethe, Ugo Foscolo, 
 and innumerable others, in Favor of suicide, and perhaps 
 would have ended by committing it, an argument which 
 does not admit of reasoning on the other side, if a 
 sonorous voice had not sounded in his ears, crying, 
 ''Remember your father" Rogiero sprang up, looked 
 around in alarm, and searched in all directions. Not a 
 trace, not a vestige of a human being. Now indeed he 
 is nearly distracted, and if the sentences that had just 
 fallen from him were in part fragments of wisdom, in part 
 wicked, as his fierce passion suggested, think what they 
 would be after this event. 
 
 " Who denies that there is a destiny ? Here am I, 
 overwhelmed by the delirium of desperate love, sur- 
 rounded by the meshes of crime, from which I cannot 
 escape. I groan under the weight of chains, which I have 
 not power to break. My pulses drop blood, and it is vain 
 to struggle : let me be quiet, let me await the fulfilment 
 of my destiny, and suffer in silence. Behold the abyss 
 of tears, of remorse, of anger : I would walk on sharp 
 iron to avoid it, but an irresistible power drags me into 
 it.- Whence comes this cursed power? From hell or 
 heaven ? I know not ; I do not wish to know. The 
 power lives and rules, and I am condemned to fall head- 
 long. Oh ! if it were granted to' me to demand the rea- 
 son ! If the power were mine to rush with the ele- 
 ments ! " 
 
 And here Rogiero became perfectly frantic. Trans- 
 ported by fury, he sped through the forest like one at- 
 tacked by that frightful disease called Lycanthropy,* and 
 
 * Lycanthropy, from the Greek. A kind of madness, in which 
 the sufferer runs through the country by night, howling like a wolf; 
 and sometimes bites and gnashes his teeth like a dog : whence it has 
 also been called Cynanthropy.
 
 Remorse. 203 
 
 from time to time gnashed his teeth, crying, " Tyrant ! 
 tormentor of souls ! may all nature perish ! " and many 
 other such things. Pursuing his headlong course, blind 
 both in mind and body, he suddenly heard some one cry 
 out in advance of him, " Stop, man ! if you do not wish 
 to eftter the grave before your time." 
 
 Rogiero, recalled to his senses, saw himself upon the 
 brink of an open grave. In a line with it were many 
 others, dug in the same field, also open, as if to be more 
 ready to engulf the race destined to die. The words 
 had been uttered by an old friar, who looked as if he 
 had not opened his lips, so absorbed was he in digging 
 his own last resting-place. I am well aware that the 
 science of Lavater, of discovering the hidden thoughts 
 of the mind from the external forms of the countenance, 
 is very uncertain ; nevertheless we are so made, that we 
 stop to look at the glass before we drink its contents. 
 Let us, however, study human countenances as much as 
 possible ; not that they can teach us wisdom, but because 
 they teach us to doubt, and doubt is all that is granted to 
 mortals. The friar seemed more than ninety years old : 
 his figure appeared to have been formerly as majestic and 
 upright as the pines that surrounded his holy abbey ;.but 
 now age had bent him towards the earth which he was 
 then opening with his own hand to receive him, on the 
 not far distant day of his death. Courteous were the mo- 
 tions of his lip, his smile, his gestures : his voice was deep 
 and solemn : his eyes flashed a fire which seemed eternal, 
 for neither years, nor watchings, nor tears, had been able 
 to dim, far less extinguish it. Michael Angelo,. if he had 
 wished to paint the Eternal Father, would have copied 
 his awfulness ; Raphael, to portray the Redeemer, would 
 have taken his gentleness for a model. Rogiero, feeling 
 a little comforted by the beauty of his aspect, although 
 somewhat ashamed, said to him : " Holy Father, if the 
 question is not impertinent, why are your hands employed 
 in so humble a labor ? The falling of the snow, and the 
 crumbling of the earth, will constantly fill this grave, 
 which, on the day of your death, might be finished in a
 
 2O4 Remorse. 
 
 few hours by any one. It seems to me that your time 
 might be better employed." 
 
 " My son," replied the friar, planting his spade in the 
 ground, and resting his chin on his hands, upon the han- 
 dle of it, in a grave manner, " you would have spoken 
 wisely, if so trifling were the object of my labors. *But 
 know that the intention of our glorious founder was far 
 different when he ordered this daily task. It is true that 
 the custom has nearly died out among the monks of this 
 monastery, and I am now almost the only one "who con- 
 stantly follows it. Let man consider that his body must 
 become two or three clods of earth and a myriad of insects, 
 and if his implacable passion* do not become perfectly 
 still, they will at least become calmer. By our confor- 
 mation, we are such that, requiring pleasure, we fly in alarm 
 not only from grief, but from toil. Now consider whether 
 our thoughts would willingly turn to the contemplation of 
 death, which is the greatest of griefs : we must compel 
 them to it with constant effort. Truly time would be 
 better employed in some great work, but opportunities for 
 great works occur but seldom, and it is well that it is so ; 
 and while awaiting them, what study is more advantage- 
 ous than that which teaches us the weakness of our nature, 
 and warns us that all conditions are equal in the scale of 
 death, and that perhaps a better earth is formed from the 
 limbs of a man, strengthened by constant toil, and pre- 
 served by temperate food, than from the weakened body 
 of him who has lived in luxury ? Oh, my son ! it is 
 no vain labor to turn the earth in which we are to be 
 buried." 
 
 " I should have thought that repeating the labor every 
 day would have long since habituated man to it, and his 
 dread would remain as it was before he commenced. 
 But, my father, what is life, that so much preparation is 
 required to finish it ? If a man, for weariness, or for grief, 
 or for any other reason, wishes for death, without think- 
 ing, he plunges his sword into his breast, then, in the 
 moment between the wound and death, his spirit will look 
 upon it as an act of its own will, and will enjoy the flatter- 
 ing idea that it has the power to destroy its body : but,
 
 Remorse. 205 
 
 thinking upon it, we learn that it is necessary, inevitable, 
 that the effort of our fortitude merely hastens it by a few 
 moments ; everything is reduced to meanness, misery, 
 cowardice. For Heaven's sake, let us not think of death, 
 for it afflicts us with too great sorrow : let us take it, if 
 necessary, without thinking of it." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the friar, striking his hand upon his 
 forehead, "you disclose to me a terrible secret. Per- 
 haps this labor, which hitherto I have looked upon as the 
 offspring of my own courage, is a tribute that age, shak- 
 ing the vigor of my spirit, confpelsme to pay to weakness. 
 In former times I learned that man shows himself weak 
 in everything ; but the evil one has taken me by surprise, 
 and pride has deluded me with the flattery that my work 
 was a magnanimous one. Still, I do not fear death." 
 
 " Nor do I fear it : I even seek it as a hidden treasure, 
 but cannot rind it : I long for it as a compensation for life, 
 and it is not granted to me. Why is there not, in the midst 
 of a life of trials, a spot where we may rest ? Why, amidst 
 so much grief, is there no asylum of peace?" 
 
 The friar was silent. Rogiero remained for some 
 time absorbed in thought. Looking around he perceived 
 a solemn solitude, a blessed silence, broken only by the 
 rustling of the distant leaves or by the voice of the wan- 
 dering larks, which, with swift curve, flew over the grave- 
 yard. His blood, cooled, flowed more calmly in his veins, 
 his pulses beat more gently, his breath came more freely. 
 
 " Oh, here indeed reigns peace ! " he exclaimed with a 
 sigh. 
 
 The friar was silent. 
 
 "If," continued Rogiero, "if the cry of vengeance 
 would not reach the altar of the Lord ; if the praises of 
 God would banish that voice from my ears ; if the shade 
 of the dead could not enter the sanctuary . . ." 
 
 " Certainly it will not, unless you yourself carry it 
 there." 
 
 " I ? When I would hide myself under the earth to 
 escape it !" 
 
 " Have you committed a crime ? " 
 
 " No."
 
 206 Remorse. 
 
 " Are you about to commit one ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And what do you wish of the Lord ? " 
 
 " That He would save me from a power that urges me 
 to sin." 
 
 " What power ? Man, say, I will and you can." 
 
 " Oh, friar, friar, you are incredulous ; but by night 
 and day I am condemned to hear the voice of my betrayed 
 father." 
 
 " What does he require ? " 
 
 " A crime." 
 
 " Beyond this," replied the friar, pointing to the grave, 
 " there is only pardon ; all that you relate is an illusion of 
 your own spirit, disposed to do evil." 
 
 "If it were so, could the House of God cure me?" 
 
 " It could." 
 
 " Father, I will become a friar." 
 
 " Because there is silence there," replied the old man, 
 indicating the abbey with his glance, "do you think that 
 all is peace within ? Do you not know that despair is 
 silent ? Do you not know that tears are consumed, but 
 not the anguish that causes them to be shed ? The 
 threshold of the convent is not a wall, that can protect 
 you from the passions of the world. If you bring them 
 there, there you will find them ; if you bear crime there, 
 you will find remorse ; if wishes, longing. Some have 
 lived, who, deceived by the appearance of this retirement, 
 or rather trusting too much to it, cast down by some 
 misfortune, angry but not satiated with the world, have 
 donned the dress of our order, but have not assumed its 
 spirit ; then gradually, their desires awaking in them with 
 greater force than ever, irritated at the difficulties of suc- 
 cess, either from weak they become wicked, or wear out 
 their lives in passion ; and none of these have saved their 
 souls. In the silence of these walls, deeds of sin are 
 buried. It is sufficient, if you wish to be happy, to lay 
 aside every desire of glory, every hatred, every love ; 
 you will be as one dead, as one never born ; your virtues 
 will pass away unknown, the applause of men, the crown 
 of wisdom or of power, will appear to your fancy as vanity ;
 
 * Remorse. 207 
 
 the only reality the earth that will cover you ; and you 
 will go down to death, unknown, un cared for, like a drop 
 of rain falling into the ocean." 
 
 " Father, do not repulse me from the sanctuary of 
 God." 
 
 " I repulse you ? Oh, if my head could be a stepping- 
 stone for you to reach celestial joys, I would lay it thou- 
 sands and thousands of times in the dust, thanking Eter- 
 nal Wisdom for having allotted it such a lofty destiny. 
 But I am a sinner ; it cannot be granted me to raise a soul 
 from the path of perdition and to obtain its salvation. No, 
 it cannot be granted. Who knows but what, by inviting 
 you to taste the comforts of religion, I should be instru- 
 mental in your ruin ; some may be lost as friars who as 
 knights would have been saved : at all events, it is neces- 
 sary to think well of the end." 
 
 While he was speaking, a bell of the abbey began to 
 toll : the friar raised his eyes to Heaven, and prayed fer- 
 vently, " May it please Thee, O Lord, to pardon the 
 soul of the poor brother Egidio." Then turning to Ro- 
 giero : " Hear, my son, this bell warns us that a soul is 
 passing. Poor brother Egidio ! . It is not yet eight 
 months since he first assumed the cowl, and he has so 
 weakened himself with fasts and discipline, that his body 
 could not bear up under them. Assuredly he was a great 
 sinner, but the mercy of the Eternal is greater than the 
 sin, and he will certainly be saved. I found him, like 
 you, on the way, and led him in, but his face appeared 
 very different from yours ; his voice, his words, different ; 
 now he is dying. Who is brother Egidio ? No one 
 knows; no one weeps for him. From your flashing looks 
 I see that you could not endure such oblivion; your eyes 
 show a passion that must break foith ; there is no power 
 that can restrain it ; if stopped, it will return to break 
 your heart. I do not know whither it will lead you, but 
 I am certain that if you became a friar it would be to 
 cast yourself into eternal flames before the time. The 
 peace of God be with you." 
 
 "Cruel man!" cried Rogiero, "you wish me peace, 
 and will not hold out your hand to help me ; you drive
 
 2O8 Remorse. 
 
 me from the place where I would seek safety, telling me 
 that that is not the way; but you do not point out any 
 other. But look down once upon thy creature, Almighty 
 God ! I will go and prostrate myself before His altar ; 
 I \vrll implore Him, beseech Him. All that man can do, 
 will I do, that He may listen to me, and answer." 
 
 Thus saying, he slowly followed the friar, and, reach- 
 ing a little door, pushed it open, passed through a corri- 
 dor, and found himself in a room on the ground floor. 
 Ascending a 'staircase at the end of the room, he arrived 
 at 'the first floor, and after spending some time in^yainly 
 Searching for a frian to direct him to the chapel, he found 
 himself beside a door, through which he heard the 
 subdued voice of some one reciting the prayers for the 
 dying. He opened the door and stopped on the threshold. 
 The setting sun, hidden behind a thick mist, tinged with 
 a blood-red glow an overhanging cloud, which reflected 
 in a fearful manner its lurid hue upon the objects beneath : 
 it penetrated through the small window, and illuminated 
 the face and breast of a dying man. Disabled by his ill- 
 ness, or* by some other cause, from lying down, he was 
 seated, propped up by a folded mattress ; his right hand 
 lay uncovered upon the bed, motionless. The tips of the 
 fingers were purple, but the rest of the hand was white, as 
 if already dead ; the left hand was concealed by the sheet. 
 At his left, upon the mattress, was placed a crucifix, but 
 the dying man kept his head averted, as if to avoid the 
 sight of it. From time to time he opened his eyes, now 
 dim and of a leaden hue, now bright as glass ; but 
 wandering, not fixed on anything, evidently seeing noth- 
 ing, like those of one blind with gutta serena ; his hair, 
 pushed back from his face, showed the stamp of death im- 
 pressed upon his forehead ; from his compressed lips 
 oozed a black foam, which dropped down upon his beard : 
 he gasped painfully for breath. The rest of the scene 
 the clothing that covered his feet, the friar, who, kneel- 
 ing at the foot of the bed, recited the holy prayers was 
 lost in obscurity. 
 
 Rogiero entered noiselessly. Why does he grow pale ? 
 Why does his heart almost cease to beat? He ap-
 
 Remorse. 209 
 
 preaches ; he bends down towards the dying man. Great 
 Heavens ! Roberto ! " 
 
 The dulled senses of the expiring one answer as if un-| 
 willingly to the call. He raises his eyes and looks at the 
 knight. Suddenly his blood flowed quickly through his 
 veins ; his hair rises on end ; his trembling shakes the bed ; 
 with a frightful cry he exclaims i " The betrayed ! The 
 betrayed ! Father, you have deceived me : why did you 
 tell me that God had forgiven my sins? Do you not see 
 that He rends the stones of the tomb and sends the dead 
 to bid me despair in my last moments." 
 
 "They are illusions of the evil one, my brother ; fix 
 your mind upon the image of the Redeemer." 
 
 Roberto, seeing the friar near him, clung to him in 
 terror, and hid his face in his bosom, uttering brokenly : 
 "Behold him ! there, . . . there, ... on the other side of 
 the bed. . . . For Jesus' sake, sprinkle some holy water 
 upon him, . . . drive him away ; . . . my thoughts cannot 
 dwell upon Paradise unless he is away ? " 
 
 The friar, who, absorbed in the holy duties of his office, 
 had not observed Rogiero's entrance, looked keenly into 
 the darkness and perceived a knight. A shudder, though 
 slight-, passed over his frame ; but, reassured by his trust 
 in divine aid, he 'began : 
 
 " In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of 
 the Holy Ghost, I conjure thee." 
 
 " Father, I am no ghost that you should conjure me." 
 
 " Do not heed him, father, do not heed him ; con- 
 tinue to exorcise him ; do you not see that he is trying 
 to deceive you, that he may remain ? " 
 
 " Unhappy one ! Roberto, do you not know my 
 voice ? " 
 
 " Oh ! that I had never heard it ! " 
 
 "The last time that I parted from you, I pressed your 
 hand, and we promised each other that if we ever met 
 again in this world, we would look upon each other as 
 friends ; do you now receive me thus ? Banish all fear ; 
 feel, I am alive." And so saying, he-laid his hand affec- 
 tionately upon Roberto's arm. 
 
 " It burns me, . . . Father, it burns me. . . . Throw
 
 2io Remorse. 
 
 some holy water upon him, . . . holy water. ... I can bear 
 no more. . . . Drive him away, or I shall die cursing." 
 
 " Son, do not utter such words ; thank God, the 
 knight before you is living." 
 
 " Living ? " 
 
 " Yes, living. Adore the eternal decrees ; perhaps he 
 was sent to gladden your dying moments by his forgive- 
 ness." 
 
 " He is living ! " cried the expiring man, and loosing 
 his clasp upon the friar's neck, he took Rogiero's hand, 
 and with the deepest anxiety touched it many times, as 
 if to assure himself that he was not deceived. " He is 
 living ! " and lifted it to his lips, and burst into a flood 
 of tears. 
 
 " But cheer up, Roberto ! take courage, do not weep 
 so ; many greater sinners than you have obtained forgive- 
 ness, and with less bitter repentance." 
 
 Roberto, still holding Rogiero's hand, looks into his 
 face, and in a piteous voice entreats, " Forgiveness ; for- 
 giveness ! " 
 
 " You have never done me any harm, Roberto ; why 
 should I forgive you ? " 
 
 " Oh, my crimes are infinite, and I need all the power 
 of hope to keep me from despairing of forgiveness, and 
 all the mercy of God to forgive them ; I have sinned 
 against the innocent against you for I have betrayed 
 you." 
 
 " Why have you betrayed me ? What had I done to 
 you?" asked Rogiero, in a voice that would have 
 softened the hardest heart. " Then injuring no one is 
 not enough to make one safe ? " 
 
 " But I have betrayed you !" 
 
 " Oh ! courteous knight, if your spirit is as gentle as 
 your face, you will not permit this soul to depart, un- 
 comforted by your forgiveness ; he has injured you, but 
 his penitence has expiated his sin, and he is about to ap- 
 pear before the judgment-seat of the Almighty." 
 
 " Good father, I do not remember any injury that this 
 man has done me ; but since he says that he has be- 
 trayed me, I forgive him. Injury, as you know, can be
 
 Remorse. 211 
 
 cancelled only in two ways : revenge or forgiveness. 
 The first is impossible, the second alone remains to me. 
 I forgive him." 
 
 " Father, you heard ; he forgives me." 
 
 " Yes, be of good cheer ; man has forgiven you : 
 think if God will not, who is so much more merciful than 
 man ? " 
 
 " Amen: 1 
 
 " Roberto, I beseech you, tell me how you have be- 
 trayed me." 
 
 " Why should I not tell you ? Oh ! that the whole 
 universe were here to listen to my confession, and see 
 how great a sinner I have been in the sight of the Lord. 
 Thus my submission might induce Him to look upon me 
 with mercy in this most bitter hour of my death, and 
 would atone for my sins : but no, for you might with- 
 draw your forgiveness and repent of having given it to 
 me, and curse me forever no, I will not tell you how I 
 betrayed you." 
 
 " Roberto, I am more accustomed to misfortune than 
 you would believe ; you cannot tell me anything that I 
 have not imagined or felt ; I have long been prepared 
 for any event. Speak ; I promise not to retract my for- 
 giveness." 
 
 " You swear it?" 
 
 " I swear it." 
 
 " Father, I beseech you, receive his oath." 
 
 Rogiero placed his right hand upon the crucifix and re- 
 peated what the father chose to dictate. 
 
 " Then you cannot now break your promise, Ro- 
 giero ? " asked Roberto, and Rogiero replied by an as- 
 senting gesture. "Then come here and sit near me oh 
 the side of the bed ; I will speak low, for my strength is 
 failing, and it may not be sufficient to end my confession. 
 Rogiero, you will hear the story of a crime which is too 
 great to admit of either tears or cries ; tears would freeze 
 on your eyelids, cries would stifle in your throat. Why 
 do you grow pale, Rogiero ? Oh, it is not time yet ! If 
 you are not brave now, I swear t6 you that you will die 
 before I end."
 
 212 Extreme Unction. 
 
 Rogiero, placing his hand in Roberto's that he might 
 feel that it did not tremble, said : 
 " Speak on." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 EXTREME UNCTION. 
 
 Posta s'era a seder sopra il suo letto 
 
 La miserella vinta dal dolore, 
 
 Ed avea nelle braccia 
 
 II figliuol pur mo' nato : 
 
 Questo, disse, c quel latte 
 
 Che ti puo dare il petto 
 
 Di tua madre infelice, e trapassata 
 
 Ogni cosa bruttando col suo sangue 
 
 Fini la vita. 
 
 CANACE, Tragedia Antica. 
 
 O'ercome with grief, the watched one 
 On the bedside her woes sat ruing, 
 
 Within her arms her new-born son. 
 "In vain for food my child is suing ; " 
 All things around with blood imbruing, 
 
 His hapless mother' s life is done. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 IT was a winter night ; gathered arotvnd the hearth, 
 we listened to the wild tale told us by the stew- 
 ard. Often affected by an unusual tremor, I 
 leaned against my neighbor, and as if from affec- 
 tion, pressed his hand, but in reality because I was afraid. 
 Certainly the story of the steward was frightful, and the 
 fire was beginning to die away, and the shadows- to grow 
 heavier ; but I felt within me a disturbance which could 
 not have been caused by those things. I have since 
 heard derided these secret intimations, by which an inter- 
 nal power seems to warn us of some impending misfor- 
 tune ; but I have never suffered any affliction which my
 
 Extreme Unction. 213 
 
 heart has not predicted. That evening was destined for 
 the commencement of my crimes. 
 
 " A light touch on my shoulder made me look round. 
 The face of Count Odrisio di Sanguine had always been 
 stern, this evening it was terrible ; it may have been the 
 effect of the red light of the dying embers, which reflected 
 upon his wrinkled features that strange expression ; 
 perhaps it came from the thought of what he was plotting 
 in his mind. At the sight of those white hairs standing on 
 end around his pale face, his black eyebrows contracted 
 painfully, the wan and faded hue of his usually ruddy 
 cheeks, I was about to cry out ; but he opened wide his 
 eyes, before half-closed, and by their angry flash and 
 expression, gave me to understand that I must be silent ; 
 then bending over the back of the seat, he whispered 
 softly in my ear : ' Follow me, but let no one perceive 
 your departure ; ' and went away as he came. Eager to 
 obey my master, I drew back a little from the hearth ; the 
 light no longer shining upon me, my companions took 
 no more notice of me ; under cover of the darkness, I 
 arose and left the room. 
 
 " I had hardly passe^ half way down the corridor, when 
 the baron's voice asked: 'Is that you, Roberto?' 'It 
 is I.' 'Tell me, Roberto, how do you esteem your mas- 
 ter ? ' ' As wise, kind, and courteous.' ' Truly ? ' ' As 
 the mass.' ' The saints forbid that I should question 
 you, to remind you of yoitr obligations to me, but how 
 do you think I have treated you ? ' ' As a father does a 
 beloved son.' 'Truly?' 'On the faith of a vassal.' 
 ' Then if I should ask a favor of you, would you grant 
 it ? ' ' My master, all that a man can, I would give for 
 you and yours, except my soul's salvation.' 'Have you 
 a cuirass ? ' ' No, my master.' ' A dagger ? ' ' Yes, my 
 master.' ' I ask of you only the death of a man.' ' By 
 treachery ? ' ' Just as you like, so long as you kill him ; 
 but . . . now that I think of it, by treachery would be 
 best.' ' My master, it is for you to command ; it is all 
 the same to me.' ' Well then, Roberto, an hour before 
 day-break, I want you to be on the right-hand terrace of 
 the castle, on the side that looks towards the garden.'
 
 214 Extreme Unction. 
 
 ' My master, I beg your pardon, but which of the two 
 terraces do you mean by the right-hand one?' 'The 
 right . . . the right coming from the 'avenue of pines.' 
 ' If I understand, you mean the one which is under the 
 room of my lady your daughter ? ' ' Yes ; ' and he 
 uttered the word with effort, with a groan of sorrow. 
 ' Then an hour before day-break be on the terrace, watch- 
 ing, with your dagger in your hand ; you will hear some 
 one descend ; wait till he is near the ground, then . . .' 
 'A good strong blow in the back, my 'master?' 'Yes. 
 ... I will come immediately, we will dig a grave ; ... no 
 one will know anything about the deed but you.' ' It will 
 be buried in my heart, as his body in the earth.' ' I hope 
 so, though the thing is not worth it, for it is only a rob- 
 ber, who for several nights has been trying to steal the 
 treasure of my family, and perhaps . . .' ' Yes, my mas- 
 ter, . . .' ' Still, as you love me, be careful to keep it a 
 secret ; good-night, Roberto.' ' The Lord preserve you, 
 my master.' 
 
 " I returned to the hall, where the other vassals were 
 still listening with the greatest attention to the steward's 
 legend, and, unperceived, I reseated myself by the fire ; 
 there, covering my face, I began to think, What is the 
 need of this ? It seems to me that it cannot be a robber, 
 for the count would have disposed his servants so as to 
 prevent his escape, and thus taken him alive, and killed 
 him at his leisure. It must be some secret lover whom 
 his daughter . . . Oh ! would it not be better to fulfil the 
 wish of those loving ones, than to stain his aged hands 
 with blood ? But perhaps it is a married man ; perhaps 
 a youth of lower rank ; it may be even one of his own 
 vassals ; perhaps he is now at my side ! I turned, and 
 saw near me an old falconer nearly blind from age, and, 
 reassured, I resumed my train of thought. Will the dust 
 into which my master's body will resolve itself be golden? 
 Can he trace his lineage further back than Adam ? 
 Should I kill by treachery a man to whom I perhaps have 
 sworn brotherhood? And thus wandering from thought 
 to thought, my mind was so withdrawn from all that was 
 taking place before my eyes, that when I recalled my
 
 Extreme Unction. 215 
 
 scattered senses, I perceived that rny companions had 
 left me alone, and had gone to rest without calling me. 
 Feeling my way, I went to the garden. 
 
 " I had been lying in wait about an hour, although my 
 impatience made it seem like a whole night, when I 
 heard a slight noise ; I peered into the gloom, and saw a 
 black figure suspended in the air ; I unsheathed my dag- 
 ger, drew near, and when I thought him just within reach, 
 gave a desperate blow. Fortunately for the unknown, he 
 had thought it well, when about five feet from the ground, 
 to let himself fall at once, so that my dagger smote the 
 wall, with such force as to strike fire : woe to him if it 
 had reached him, for it would certainly have pierced him 
 through. I do not know how it happened : perhaps the 
 unknown held his sword between his teeth ; but I was 
 immediately attacked in a most furious manner. We ex- 
 changed a few blows, but overcome by his strength and 
 superior skill, I dropped my dagger, and receiving a blow 
 full on the head, I fell to the ground. I remember, 
 although half stunned, that the window over the terrace 
 opened, and the bare arm of a woman, holding a light, 
 appeared, then a face as pale as death. A sharp cry was 
 heard, ' Let me die with him ! ' Then another voice 
 within said, ' Holy Virgin ! What are you doing, my 
 sweet lady ? You are mad ! . . . My lady, perhaps he is 
 safe.' A distant voice in affirmation exclaimed, ' I am 
 safe ! ' While I was trying to rise to my feet, I heard 
 hasty steps coming towards me, and the voice of the 
 baron, asking, 'Where is the body?' 'He would not 
 be killed, my master, and ran away after half killing me.' 
 The baron broke forth into curses, and went away in a 
 rage. 
 
 " He hid himself from every one : shut up in his room, 
 for a whole week he neither said nor did anything, except 
 'to send for a certain Rinaldo d' Aquino, Count di Caserta, 
 formerly very intimate at the castle, and who, the servants 
 said among themselves, was a rejected suitor of my Lady 
 Spina. At the end of the week, the vassals were ordered 
 to prepare for the nuptials of the baron's daughter, which 
 were to take place on the following day. Although accus-
 
 216 Extreme Unction. 
 
 tomed to execute his commands without comment or hes- 
 itation, this hasty resolution seemed to us extraordinary, 
 and we dared to say so to each other, and even to suspect 
 that it was against my lady's will. She seldom appeared 
 among us. but we always hailed her beautiful presence 
 with a smile, and sighed when she departed : she appeared 
 an angel among demons; conscious that prayers from 
 our lips would not be acceptable, we often begged her to 
 pray for us ; we held her as a link between our souls and 
 paradise. No prayer was proffered by a more fair or a 
 more good creature, and perhaps more acceptable. . . . 
 ' Ah ! father, do you believe that my sin has been really 
 forgiven ? ' said the dying Roberto to the friar, who stood 
 beside his bed comforting him. This one replied, ' May 
 you have the faith of hope in believing yourself forgiven, 
 as certainly as your sins have been remitted you ! Do 
 you think that mercy is less powerful than sin ? Look on 
 your Redeemer : He holds His arms open to embrace 
 all that have recourse to Him : has God ever repulsed 
 any sinner ? Have trust, have trust in God.' 
 
 " ' I will have trust in God, for there remains nothing 
 else for me to do,' resumed the sick man, and devout- 
 ly approached the crucifix to his lips. ' I remember it, 
 as if it was now,' resumed Roberto, continuing the story, 
 'for I was near by when she kneeled before the altar: 
 she trembled with convulsive shudders that might 
 have escaped looks less curious or less affectionate 
 than mine ; her nuptial veil, spangled with gold, covered 
 her face, yet I was sure she wept ; her bosom heaved 
 so under her dress from time to time, that it seemed as 
 if it would burst ; still, you could not hear a sigh, 
 but a heavy breathing, like that of the diver when he 
 takes breath before diving under the water. Scandal 
 might have found her form rather fuller than usual in a 
 maiden ; . . . perhaps I did not see right ; ... at any rate 
 I suspected so at the time. We-had reached that terrible 
 moment, in which the priest demands of the pair kneeling 
 before him the sacrifice of all the passions, thoughts, sighs, 
 in favor of one only creature in this world, in which he 
 binds the souls with that chain whose links death only
 
 Extreme Unction. 217 
 
 holds in its hand. She opened her veil and looked at her 
 father, and the father looked back at her. . . . Holy Vir- 
 gin ! What looks ! That of Lady Spina seemed the quiv- 
 ering flight of a swallow fallen from its nest before its 
 feathers have grown, anxious to see and yet afraid to 
 meet the object of its search ; it revealed a desperate 
 resignation for the loss of something more than earthly, 
 it begged for pity. That of Count Odrisio was at first benev- 
 olent, and, if I mistook it not, a mist of tears began to 
 issue from the inferior cavity of the eye. All of a sudden 
 it gleamed like an infernal lightning : who knows but the 
 evil spirit passed through it in that moment? He re- 
 mained immovable, with an expression of bitter reproach, 
 of profound anger, and yet entreating for mercy : my soul 
 felt then, but could not repeat now, the sensations that 
 agitated it. The fatal consent was forced from her pale 
 lips, the blessing given ; I heard both the consent and 
 the blessing like the sound of the axe upon the block 
 after having severed the head. I rushed away from the 
 chapel : that wedding was not a happy one. The next 
 morning we found Count Odrisio dead in his bed ; we 
 mourned for him as for a man who had done us neither 
 good nor harm. . . . Count Rinaldo came to live in the 
 castle, and for us vassals the marriage only changed the 
 coat-of-arms. ... If whilst Count Odrisio lived we seldom 
 set our eyes on Lady Spina, now she had become quite 
 invisible : one month after the fatal marriage I saw her 
 cross the gratings of the chapel ; her eyes were red 
 and swollen, the rest of her face pale, her lips violet ; her 
 skin sunk into the bones ; I signed me with the sign of 
 the cross in pity for her, for if death might not be fright- 
 ful upon the face of beauty, illness certainly is. And 
 Count Bjnaldo ? He also had been a very handsome 
 man, fond of hunting, of tournaments, and of every other 
 knightly exercise ; now, disordered in his person, he wan- 
 dered through the pine lanes, wailing with painful exclam- 
 ations, and losing every day the fairness of his face, the 
 color of his cheeks ; the horses idling in the grass of the 
 fields, the dogs crouching in the yard or near the fire-place, 
 the falcons resting on their perches : nothing availed to 
 10
 
 218 Extreme Unction. 
 
 cheer him from his mortal gloom, neither the frequent visits 
 that King Manfred paid him, nor the office of constable, 
 the very first in the kingdom, to which he was raised about 
 that time. The servants, following the moods of their 
 masters, went about with their heads low, without even 
 saluting each other. It was a house full of gloom, pre , 
 destined to misfortune. 
 
 " Retiring late one night to my little room, I felt an in- ' 
 clination to pass near the apartment of the count : hardly 
 had I placed my foot on the threshold of the hall, than I 
 heard a sound of persons speaking. I approached softly, 
 listening : the wind that night blew so hard, that the 
 words could not reach me in full ; notwithstanding I stood 
 listening : ' Count Odrisio, you have betrayed me ! had 
 I the power, your soul would not have rest under the 
 earth ; ' . . . the wind carried off what followed ; when it 
 slacked blowing, I heard from a different voice : ' irrepar- 
 able . . .' and the force of the wind prevented me from 
 hearing further. ' She got out of bed,' added the first 
 voice, that seemed to me that of Count Rinaldo. ' I 
 was awake, but pretended to sleep . . .' and then a new 
 interruption : ' I rose before her, found the letter, and 
 read : 'Your wonder, prince, at my obstinate repugnance 
 to betray my marriage vow is very offensive to me, but it 
 is deserved ; for the woman who has betrayed her first duty 
 can betray her second, and all ... nor do I complain of 
 it, for I consider it one of the lightest of the punishments 
 with which Eternal Justice makes me atone for my 
 father's death : happy if ..." a blast of wind snatched 
 away the last words ; and after that, what with the 
 shaking of the windows and the whistling of the wind 
 through the hall, I could not hear, except now from 
 Count Rinaldo, now from the other voice, these broken 
 sentences : ' He might have taken my life, not my honor. 
 . . . that child will never carry the escutcheon of Aquino' 
 ... it was a deception ... a crime . . . you have only to 
 say the word ... I will think of the rest ... it is all over 
 . . . the dead do not speak . . .' I withdrew cautiously, 
 because I thought they were coming towards my way ; 
 the adventure of the night when I was defeated, the
 
 Extreme Unction. 219 
 
 altered figure, the hastened marriage of Lady Spina, had 
 revealed to me a great deal, but much more the words 
 which J had just heard. One evening, while I was going 
 all alone towards the gate of the castle to see whether it 
 was well shut, I met a certain Count della Cerra, who, 
 being rather in reduced circumstances, often came to the 
 castle of my lord, and had ingratiated himself so much in 
 his good graces, that he had made him the recipient of all 
 his secret thoughts. ' Vassal/ said he, ' what would you 
 do to obtain your liberty ? ' ' What would I do ? say > 
 yourself what would I do, for, for my part, I don't know 
 it myself.' ' A very little service is required of you, 
 which your master could command of you, but which he 
 prefers to beg of you, and in recompense he offers you 
 your liberty, and a comfortable estate.' 'And what is 
 it?' 'A poniard thrust.' 'I have given hundreds to 
 my loss ; imagine if I would not give one to my profit.' 
 ' But mark, it must be given to one asleep, with great 
 caution, in the dark, having nothing else with you but 
 your poniard.' ' Is it not a question of killing a man ? the 
 poniard is all that is required ; . . . would that make any 
 difference with you ? ' ' Not for me, Roberto, but for you 
 who are accustomed to use your arms, as it behooves a 
 loyal man.' ' If I fight in the day-time, that is no reason 
 why I would not more willingly fight in the night ; and if 
 I strike on the breast, it is no reason I would not strike 
 better on the back ; when I can go by the level road, I 
 choose neither the ascent nor the precipice.' ' Well 
 said, vassal : then hold yourself ready for to-morrow even- 
 ing at this hour, and I will conduct you to the spot.' 
 ' But,' continued I, ' my good sir, I cannot obey you 
 without the certainty that the baron will affranchise me 
 from the servitude in which I was born.' ' Vassal, 
 would you doubt the faith of your baron ? ' ' Not 
 that of my baron, but . . .' 'Whose?' 'Yours.' 
 ' And what reason have you, vassal, to distrust me ? ' 
 'And what reason have I to trust you?' ' Do you not 
 see me riding daily by the side of your baron ? do you 
 think that I would ask you to do anything that he had not 
 ordered me?' 'Is the race of traitors now totally ex-
 
 22O Extreme Unction. 
 
 tinct?' At this point I noticed the count's eyes flash 
 fire and his cheeks redden, but he dared not show himself 
 angry, for I had the reputation of being bloodthirsty, and 
 he feared much. 'Very well ; not to have any more words 
 about it, what do you desire that I should bring as a token 
 of your master's will ? ' ' I do not know : you mention 
 something." ' Say his signet ring? ' ' That would be suffi- 
 cient, my master. 'Then meet me here to-morrow at the 
 same hour, and I will bring it.' There was no gainsaying 
 it ; I saw his very signet-ring ; I looked at it, turned it over 
 and over to see whether there was any deception ; it 
 was really his ring. 'You tremble?' 'said Count della 
 Cerra,when, after having made me go over a long distance 
 with eyes bandaged, he led me into a subterranean passage. 
 'Yes, I tremble, but with cold.' 'Sometimes one 
 trembles also for fear. 1 ' Yes, . . . but it is easily dis- 
 cerned when one trembles for fear or for cold.' ' This 
 we shall prove now, for we are at the place.' He took 
 away my bandage ; I was surrounded by darkness, 
 . . . darkness, meet company of crime. ' Now you must 
 try to descend by this opening very noiselessly, it is 
 only two feet from the ground ; put down one leg first, 
 then another ; then move three steps to the right, and 
 you will find yourself near a bed, where sleeps . . .' 
 ' Who sleeps ? ' ' What matters to you to know who 
 sleeps there? your business is only to finish him.' 
 ' What matters to me ? it matters a great deal : might 
 he not be a relative of mine ? ' ' Did I not tell you 
 that you were afraid ? come back, let me replace the 
 bandage, and take you back to the castle.' ' Reply to 
 me, first (and here, father, I proffered a cruel oath), ' re- 
 ply to me, is .he a relative of mine ? ' ' He is not your 
 relative.' ' Is he a friend of mine?' ' He is not your 
 friend.' 'No?' 'No, as true as He who is to judge 
 us.' 'Now you will see whether I am afraid.' I de- 
 scended on tip-toe, groping with my left hand in the dark, 
 the poniard in my right ; I felt the body of the sleeping 
 person, took aim at his heart, placed the point over it, 
 raised my hand, thrust it ... what a piercing cry ! " 
 And the dying man closed his ears with his hands as if it
 
 Extreme Unction. 221 
 
 had struck them in that moment. " Count Anselmo clella 
 Cerra, advancing to the threshold opened a dark lan- 
 tern, and asked: ' Is SHE dead?' Thrones of heaven! 
 a ray of light striking on the bloody bed, revealed 
 to me in the murdered the face of Lady Spina. I 
 ran about the room blind with rage, yelling like a mad- 
 man, when an infant cry was added to the tumult ol 
 anger, fear and terror. Staggering, I approached the bed, 
 moved the covering ; horrible sight ! a new-born infant 
 was lying near her, besmeared with her blood. The un- 
 happy mother had yet strength enough to raise herself a 
 moment to a sitting posture, lift up the child to her breast, 
 and kiss him. In doing this, the* blood which spurted out 
 of her wound stained the face of the child, and the mother, 
 opening painfully her mouth, pronounced with difficulty 
 the following words : ' Unhappy child, blood is the only 
 milk that your poor mother can give you,' and she fell. 
 I wrapped the baby in some linens, ran towards Count 
 Cerra, and hardly knowing what I was doing, placed him 
 in his hands. ' Anselmo, what have you done ? An- 
 selmo ! ' thus rushing down anxiously through the corri- 
 dor was heard Count Rinaldo crying, who, as he per- 
 ceived that atrocious spectacle, fell senseless to the floor. 
 ' I have not overstepped your orders, Rinaldo,' replied 
 Count della Cerra, grinning, ' and therefore you are 
 bound to protect me from all responsibility, both in this 
 world and in the next.' What can I tell you more of this 
 demon incarnate ? Taking advantage of the swpon of 
 Count Caserta, he proposed to me to dash the child's 
 brains against the wall, so as to get rid of him, as he said. 
 I ordered him not to attempt it, for that little soul going 
 to Limbo would have surely preceded his in the way to 
 perdition ; thus I saved the child. Count Rinaldo hardly 
 recovered one half of his intellect after that swoon ; he re- 
 membered the loss of his wife, for he felt it at every mo- 
 ment; the other horrors he forgot, or, if even they ap- 
 peared to his mind, he believed that they proceeded from 
 his terrified imagination. Anselmo della Cerra, after a 
 short while, changing his mind for some shrewd design of 
 his, not only did not wish the child killed, but instead, hav-
 
 222 Extreme Unction. 
 
 ing first made me swear upon the holy saints that I would 
 never reveal his birth to a living soul, ^e aided me with 
 money and advice in order to bring him up. This child 
 grew up blessed by God and men ; introduced into the 
 court of King Manfred, he so much pleased him, that he 
 was admitted first among his pages, and, when he was 
 grown up, among his esquires ; ... he would still have 
 been there, if . . . ' 
 
 "If what?" 
 
 " If now he was not before me." 
 
 Gentle reader, if you belong to the number of the 
 elect that feel, you will understand that the art of writing, 
 possessing only words to demonstrate the state of the soul, 
 can with great difficulty describe it in a suitable manner ; 
 for, to the greater part of men born with frozen hearts, 
 those words mean nothing, and to the lesser part that feel, 
 very little ; because the sensations which we describe are 
 not only rare, but unique, and belong to the diabolical 
 science of degflfcing the soul. 
 
 Rogiero found himself at once deprived of one father, 
 without their letting him know another; uprooted from a 
 sad certainty, to be thrown into a more painful doubt ; 
 from misfortune hurled into sin. Much he had despised, 
 until then, human nature and his own ; now he abhorred 
 it, because he saw the passions which he considered 
 generous changed for him into instruments of infamy. 
 His innocence had induced him to trust to other people's 
 word ; his compassion, to suppose as his father one who was 
 not such ; his filial affection, to betray his king to avenge 
 his betrayed father. Such complication of mysterious 
 events, so many traps set to drag him to crime, his dear- 
 est affections used as a mockery, rage, shame, anguish, 
 so affected him, that, seizing the bars of the bedstead, 
 urged by irresistible frenzy, he shook it so violently, that 
 the patient, the coverings, and everything else that stood 
 on it trembled ; the crucifix fell to the ground ; the dying 
 man embraced his confessor and hid his face in his 
 bosom. 
 
 "And did not justice avenge that crime? Could it 
 have remained hidden from men's revenge ? "
 
 Extreme Unction. -' 223 
 
 " Oh ! pray God that the powerful may not desire a 
 crime, for they care little even to hide it, and no one 
 avenges it." 
 
 "And the fratricide that they told me of King Man- 
 fred ? " 
 
 " It was false." 
 
 " And my being the son of Henry the Cripple? " 
 
 " False." 
 
 "And Henry?" 
 
 " He had been left alive, as I believe, in order to put 
 him in opposition to Manfred in the question about the 
 succession of the kingdom ; but having lost his brains 
 through long suffering, they preserved him alive, either 
 because they dared not kill him, or because even from 
 that time they had planned to represent him to you as 
 your father, and thus incite you to betray your king." 
 
 "This is a miracle of wickedness! And you knew 
 this, Roberto?" 
 
 " I knew it." 
 
 " And you betrayed me ? " 
 
 " They had sworn to make me rich, and not to kill me." 
 
 " Wretched soul ! be accursed through all eternity ! " 
 
 " Oh, father ! do you hear him ? . . . Had you not 
 forgiven me ? say, did you not swear to forgive me ?" 
 
 " If I have sworn, now I forswear : wherever your 
 spirit be called, I will pursue it with incessant, intermin- 
 able curses. ..." 
 
 " Say not so, Rogiero ! . . . Father, pray him not to 
 say so ! tell him how much penance I have undergone to 
 atone for my sins. ... I at least saved your life." 
 
 " I have cursed him who gave it to me : and -if. you had 
 done me no other injury, I would curse you for having 
 preserved it. Die accursed ! " 
 
 " Unmerciful ! a day will come in which you will pay 
 bitterly for your cruelty : soon to appear before the tri- 
 bunal of God. I feel that my crimes are too many, and 
 too heavy to be remitted. . . . Your forgiveness would not 
 have availed me, but it would have availed you, when in 
 your turn you will be judged. Once again . . . will you 
 keep your oath ? "
 
 224 Extreme Unction. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then go and let me die in peace." 
 
 " No : until th'e veil of death shall have fallen on 
 your eyes, I will stand before you, so that you may 
 despair and die." 
 
 Hardly had Rogiero finished those bitter words, when 
 the door of the cell opened, and there appeared two files 
 of monks carrying burning tapers in their hands ; the last 
 to come, venerable in aspect, was the friar whom Rogiero 
 had met in the grave-yard, bearing under a silk covering 
 the holy oil for the extreme unction. He advanced to 
 the bed ; but at the sight of Rogiero, who with his hand 
 raised was in the act of cursing, and that of Roberto, 
 who, supplicating, terrified at the near approach of perdi- 
 tion, bathed in perspiration, seemed to have exhausted all 
 means by which a man can move another to compas- 
 sion, he understood the case. Therefore turning to the 
 offender, with that dignity which is derived from zeal, he 
 touched his forehead, saying : " Creature born to die, can 
 you preserve your hatred forever ? " 
 
 " I know not, father, whether I can, but I do wish to." 
 
 "Worthy son of the fallen race of Adam, your feelings 
 are as base as the dust from which you sprang, and the 
 worms to which you will return." 
 
 " He murdered my mother ! " cried Rogiero, pointing 
 to the dying man ; " how could I help cursing him ? " 
 
 " He," replied the friar, raising his finger to heaven, 
 " allowed His Son to be killed in order to bless." 
 
 " I am not indeed God." 
 
 " I know that you are dust ; but there lives within you 
 a spark of divinity, a particle of the intellect of God, that 
 ought to exert all its power to follow the example of its 
 Maker, and to please Him and be worthy of that glory to 
 which He calls us with all the wonders of creation. The 
 Eternal, without sin, forgave unasked our sins ; you, who 
 are a sinner, forgive it also ; we all beg you for it kneeling 
 at your feet." 
 
 Saying which, he fell at the feet of Rogiero, and raising 
 his hands, he entreated him with the most loving expres- 
 sion. The other friars, following the motion of the abbot,
 
 Extreme Unction. 225 
 
 did likewise, and all together with one voice cried, 
 " Forgive, . . . forgive ! " 
 
 " If even they gave me dominion over the thunder- 
 bolt, ... if even power should be granted me over the 
 minds of men, . . . and everything created had a voice 
 to exalt me, and myriads of angels would sing to me 
 Hosannah forever, I would never forswear my curse. Be 
 acursed ! " cried he, with a powerful voice, shaking both 
 his hands upon the dying man ; " and with me, may all 
 the substances that have a body, and the intellectual, the 
 dead, the living and the unborn curse you ! may from 
 these hands fall fire and brimstone on your soul, and upon 
 the souls of your companions in crime ! may there never 
 be a mouth but to curse you, nor a creature who would 
 not rejoice at your torments ! " . . . 
 
 He thrust aside the old man who was embracing his 
 knees, and with a stride rushed out of the cell. Part of 
 the sacred oil was spilled upon the ground, but the abbot, 
 helped to rise by the bystanders, collected what was left, 
 and approached the bed to administer the holy office ; 
 already with his hand raised over the eyes of the dying 
 man, he had begun : " Per istam sanctam unctionem, et 
 snam," .... when the confessor from the other side of the 
 bed, with a faint voice whispered, " He is dead." 
 
 The abbot looked more attentively, and saw Roberto 
 with his eyes and lips open ; a mortal pallor overspread 
 his cheeks ; he seemed alive. He placed a hand upon 
 his heart; it felt as if he had placed it upon marble. He 
 took a corner of the sheet and covered his face, saying, 
 " He is gone in peace ! " 
 10*
 
 226 The Demoniac. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE DEMONIAC. 
 
 Che di amara radice 
 
 Amare foglie, e amaro frutto nasce ; 
 
 II misero si pasce 
 
 D'orrore, e di paura, 
 
 Di lacrime e sospiri, 
 
 Sempre in nuovi martiri, 
 
 E per lui solo al mondo il pianto dura. 
 
 ORESTE, Tragedia Antica. 
 
 . . . From bitter roots 
 
 Spring bitter'leaves and bitter fruits ; 
 
 Still feeds the wretched one 
 
 On shocks of horror, tears and sighs. 
 
 Ever new sufferings are begun, 
 
 For him alone the salt tear never dries. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 |UN, quick, Beltramo, bring me my armor 
 immediately, and my lance, and sword, 
 and" 
 
 "Dagger?" 
 
 /" Yes indeed, my dagger. The noblest invention for 
 destruction that the human mind can boast . . . the dagger. 
 Saddle my horse. . . ." 
 
 " Holy Saints ! Do you intend to depart, Sir Knight ? 
 Think what you are doing, for your wounds are only just 
 healing ; and, weak as you are, I do not know whether . . ." 
 " Go and do what I tell you. What has made you so 
 eager to look after my welfare ? Who told you to take 
 care of my health ? He who could or should care for it, 
 does not at all; and would you wish to, simpleton, who 
 are not competent to think for yourself? Do you pre- 
 tend to be less sad, less weak, less wicked than I ? " 
 
 " May I die excommunicated, Sir Knight, if I under- 
 stand a syllable of what you say. Have you not possibly 
 seen a goblin in the forest ? Come, do not persist in 
 going now ; Sir Ghino has not yet returned, and it would 
 not be at all courteous to go away without taking leave."
 
 The Demoniac. 227 
 
 " Why speak of courtesy to me, fellow, when others 
 betray me in jest, break my heart in sport, and come, as 
 if to a show, to enjoy the sight of my grief? My arms, 
 I say, my arms ! " 
 
 " Ah, Sir Knight ! you will throw away your life at 
 any rate. Life is life, however, and once lost, cannot be 
 bought back for money. It would be a great sin, too, for 
 you to die so miserably ; for you seem strong and valiant. 
 First get well cured, and you will not want for opportuni- 
 ties to leave this world. . . ." 
 
 " Where is my armor ? " 
 
 " Holy Saints ! Ah, Sir Knight ! if you have no love 
 for yourself, at least have some for me. Consider, I be- 
 seech you, that the iron nibbing against your wounds, 
 would reopen them in less than an hour." 
 
 " Oh ! what a fate is mine, that the hatred and the love 
 of men should be equally troublesome to me ! " 
 
 This dialogue, as my readers will have guessed, took 
 place between Rogiero, who, after leaving the convent, 
 had returned to Ghino's house, and Beltramo, the chari- 
 table watcher with the dying Drengotto. When Rogiero 
 ceased speaking, he became thoughtful, and bowed his 
 head in his hands. Beltramo, seeing that he was speaking 
 to the wind, thought that the best thing he could do was 
 to execute his orders. The bandit had hardly left the 
 room, when Rogiero, shaking his head, began to walk 
 hastily to and fro. 
 
 " I will prostrate myself before his throne," he cried ; 
 " I will prostrate. . . . Shall I, who would never have 
 bowed before a mortal, fall at his feet ? Yes, I will, for 
 my pride sprang from my innocence. . . . Oh ! how crime 
 degrades ! " 
 
 " Here is your armor, Sir Knight," said Beltramo, 
 entering. 
 
 Rogiero, not heeding him, continued : "Was my crime 
 voluntary ? I would have welcomed death to escape it ; 
 and yet I bear the penalty. This is a grievous path ; 
 misfortune lashes me on, that I may, without resting, 
 reach the end ; and at the end, infamy awaits me. . . ." 
 
 " Your armor, Sir Knigbt." . . .
 
 228 The Demoniac. 
 
 " Now I fear the repose of earth, because it would fall 
 upon me like a load upon the obstinate man who would 
 burden himself with more than he had strength to carry 
 . . . and it would not be voluntary . . . nor should I have 
 the same reasons as before to excuse myself . . . nor to 
 accuse him. . . . Should I not ? . . . Am I not surrounded 
 by snares ? Have they not dragged me to ruin as they 
 would a murderer to the gallows ? I will boldly say to 
 him 
 
 "Your armor, Sir Knight, your armor." 
 
 "What should I do with armor? My enemy is invin- 
 cible ; sword and spear are of no avail against him ; he 
 fights with the will. Greater strength than mine, greater 
 courage, have lost the battle. Take away this armor ; it 
 mocks my weakness ; for there is no created thing that 
 cannot destroy this feeble covering of flesh." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sir Knight, but did you not send 
 me for it ? " 
 
 " I send you for it ? Did you understand me rightly ?" 
 
 " Take from me any faculty you like, and you will not 
 hear a complaint ; but in my ears, Sir Knight, I believe 
 I am as good as any man." 
 
 Rogiero made a gesture as if trying to recall something 
 which had escaped his memory. " If I said so, I certainly 
 was right. . . . Oh ! condition that excites laughter, for it 
 is beyond weeping," he said, with a scornful look. " Ah ! 
 I remember now. Was I not to prostrate myself, and ask 
 pardon ? " He colored to the roots of his hair, and after 
 a short pause, resumed : " It is not with that, not with 
 that, that humiliation begins : it follows sin like its shadow. 
 It maybe increased by humbling one's self; but now the 
 degradation is complete. Give me my cuirass." 
 
 Beltramo, obeying the command, helped him to pass his 
 arms through the openings at the shoulders, and began to 
 fasten it, clasping the buckles that went from under the 
 right armpit to the waist ; for cuirasses, corselets, coats- 
 of-mail, and similar pieces of armor were made like 
 modern vests, except that they were hinged on one side 
 so as to open and shut, and on the other, as we have 
 said, they had several buckles by which they were fastened
 
 The Demoniac. 229 
 
 upon the wearer. Beltramo, busily engaged in clasping 
 them, was suddenly interrupted by an exclamation of 
 pain from Rogiero, who cried : " Ah ! How much have 
 my enemies given you to murder me ? " and with a quick 
 motion, he put his hand to his back to see if he were 
 wounded. 
 
 "Sir Knight," replied Beltramo, drawing back, "do 
 you believe yourself really among banditti ? Did I not 
 tell you that your wounds were not yet wholly cured ? 
 And this one will give you more pain on your journey 
 than any other, for it comes just under a buckle of the 
 cuirass. How have I injured you that you should so 
 strangely suspect me?" 
 
 Rogiero turned to Beltramo with such a smile as one 
 wears when listening to words without much meaning, 
 and said : " Every man is good till he becomes wicked ; 
 nor does the absence of crime argue rectitude of mind : 
 who knows how many you may have committed in inten- 
 tion ? But you will answer that your hand has not carried 
 out the treachery of your thought ; do you think that you 
 are on that account less guilty? Perhaps opportunity 
 was wanting ; but that may present itself at any moment. 
 You look incredulous. Do you not believe it ? Sound 
 your own heart, braggart, and tell me, if you dare, that 
 you have never conceived crime in your mind." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sir Knight, but I think the best 
 thing for our hearts is to leave them in peace. For rny- 
 self, I do not believe that I am better or worse than most 
 other men. This I know for certain, that I would not be- 
 tray any one, much less you, Sir Knight ; moreover, I 
 am a plain man, and do not understand such subtleties. 
 But think as you please about it ; it does not trouble me 
 at all. So approach without fear, if you wish me to fin- 
 ish fastening your cuirass ; or rather, if you will for once 
 take advice, let me remove it, so that, staying a few days 
 longer, you may entirely recover your health." 
 
 Rogiero, approaching Beltramo, ordered him to finish 
 arming him ; and although from time to time the iron, 
 pressing upon his unhealed wounds, gave him sharp tor- 
 ture, he no longer, as before, suspected treachery, but
 
 230 The Demoniac. 
 
 expressed his agony only by a stifled groan. Then Beltra- 
 mo would stop and look up at him. The expression of 
 pain had passed away from Rogiero's face, and his features 
 were set in a certain majestic impassiveness, which neither 
 appeared nor was natural to them, but was called there 
 by force, and there by force compelled to remain, from a 
 lofty impulse of pride; which was a sublime, and at the 
 same time a moving, spectacle. 
 
 "When," said Rogiero, "when Sir Ghino returns, tell 
 him that since our nature is so base, that our sorrows are 
 lessened or soothed by the recital of others' woes, let him 
 be comforted by hearing mine, for his, in comparison, are 
 mere child's play. Tell him that I left him not to sadden 
 him, if he truly loves me, with the knowledge of my terri- 
 ble story ; or if his love is mere pretence, not to give him 
 pleasure ; or rather it is better to say nothing whatever. 
 From my history he can learn only evil ; it will teach that 
 honor, that constancy, avail nothing ; that love, charity, 
 and. every other generous emotion avail nothing ; that a 
 power which we cannot resist forces us onward ; that 
 there is no man living who can boast himself guiltless, 
 if he does, he is a fool : and when an opportunity offers, 
 his soul will belie itself; in short, everything that it is 
 better not to know, the knowledge of which prostrates in- 
 stead of arousing the inind, and makes it groan under the 
 weight of humanity, like a slave under the weight of the 
 task assigned him/' In this strain he might have long 
 continued adding error to error, had not Beltramo, fast- 
 ening the last strap, said, " It is finished." 
 
 " Happy shall I be when those words are spoken over 
 my corpse ! Still, who knows whether, even in the grave, 
 some affliction does not await me, and whether even there 
 I am sure of finding rest ! Nevertheless, I cannot hope for 
 it elsewhere, since we have only life and death, and I 
 despair of ever finding it in the former." 
 
 Beltramo having finished arming him, he left the room, 
 and descended into the court-yard, where he found his 
 good steed Allah just saddled, and held by a groom. 
 Without another word, he put his foot in the stirrup, 
 mounted, and rode out of the court. Just as he passed
 
 The Demoniac. 231 
 
 through the gate, Ghino, returning with some of his men 
 from the expedition, appeared before him, crossing his. 
 path. 
 
 "Whither, prince?" 
 
 " Whither it pleases Him who has deprived me of father 
 and innocence at one blow." 
 
 " You give me strange tidings, Rogiero : will you have 
 the goodness to explain them, and tell me what has hap- 
 pened to you?" 
 
 " Do not seek to know, Sir Ghino. Already you know 
 enough to make you despise your race ; I should make 
 you hate it, which would be too great an injury, both to 
 you and to it. Let me pass." 
 
 " You are sick in soul, my friend ; and if pity does not 
 let us abandon one whose body is diseased, much less 
 can we desert one sick at heart, whose pains are much 
 more severe and terrible." 
 
 " Ghino, Ghino, step aside, or I will ride over you, 
 happen what may." 
 
 " Eternal God ! " cried Ghino, drawing back, and lift- 
 ing his hands to heaven, "Thou hast deprived him of 
 his senses ! " 
 
 " Friend," exclaimed Rogiero, as he passed him, " if 
 it is true, though I do not believe it, that one man can 
 love another, we should find another word to express that 
 love, since friendship means everything that hate, rage, 
 and deceit can commit against the human race. Hence- 
 forward, when any one wishes to call me friend, I will stand 
 against a wall, to protect myself from a blow from behind, 
 and will hold my purse, that I may not be robbed in an 
 embrace." And he added many similar sentences as he 
 rode along, but the wind bore them away. 
 
 Rogiero rode forward, agitated by the fever of sad 
 thoughts ; but all human troubles must find an end, abat- 
 ing if they are such as the strength can endure, or de- 
 stroying the mind if they gain the mastery. Rogiero's not 
 being strong enough to destroy it, the courtesy which was 
 a marked feature in his character began to make itself 
 felt, and reproved him for his churlishness to Ghino, the 
 only man whom he had deemed worthy of respect and
 
 232 The Demoniac. 
 
 honor. He turned his head, as if to make his apologies 
 towards the place where he had parted from that brave 
 man, thinking that his horse must have borne him out of 
 sight of his dwelling, but he was mistaken ; the steed, left 
 to his own will, had gone on very slowly, and he could 
 easily see the good Sir Ghino standing looking after him, 
 just where he had left him. Drawing the right bridle, he 
 touched his horse with the left spur, and before one could 
 say " Ave Maria," was beside Ghino, dismounted, and em- 
 braced him passionately. His head, as if weighed down 
 by his agitation, fell upon Ghino's shoulders ; his face was 
 pale, his eyes dry, his tongue powerless. Ghino sup- 
 ported him, apparently unmoved, except for a large tear, 
 that, rolling slowly down his cheek, rested upon Rogiero's 
 hair. Others followed ; but his countenance, as we have 
 said, remained unchanged ; not a muscle moved ; it 
 seemed as if the eyes had nothing to do with those tears, 
 as if they rose spontaneously from the heart. A poet, 
 seeing them fall from under those long lashes over a dry, 
 hard-featured face, such as Ghino's was, would have 
 thought of those verses of Homer, where he compares 
 the weeping of Agamemnon 
 
 To a streamlet deep, 
 
 Which darkly pours, o'er rocks precipitous, 
 
 Its gloomy waters.* 
 
 It would not be well to relate the emotions of our 
 heroes ; they cannot be described. They uttered not a 
 word, and yet that mute embrace said more than they 
 could have expressed in any other manner. The one did 
 not ask, and the other promised ; the one accepted, and 
 the other did not offer ; in short, these secret sympathies 
 of the purified nature, which the " common herd " cannot 
 conceive, are as sacred as the mysteries of the sanctuary. 
 
 "Then," began Ghino, after a long silence, "is your 
 intention of departing immediately unchangeable?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "Would you like any of rny men to accompany you ? " 
 
 * Iliad, Book IX.
 
 The Demoniac. 233 
 
 Rogiero pressed his hand, and gave him a grateful 
 look ; then replied : " Sir Ghino, the most endurable 
 thing that life now offers me is solitude." 
 
 " Be it as you wish. I am about to turn my steps to- 
 wards the kingdom of Naples. I shall take up my abode 
 on the slope of the mountains of Arpino, near the banks 
 of the Garigliano, in the territory once occupied by the 
 valor of the Saracens. That territory I look upon 
 as a paternal inheritance, for it belonged to a per- 
 secuted and unhappy race. There, Rogiero, you know, 
 will live a heart whose last sigh but one will be for God, 
 its last for you, and an arm which will fight in your de- 
 fence so long as it can lift a sword. Only do not call me 
 against Manfred; I can hold my right hand over burn- 
 ing coals, but not raise it against him whom I have once 
 loved." 
 
 " However strange it may seem to you, Sir Ghino, know 
 that if I ever call upon you for aid, it will be in favor of 
 King Manfred. More than this you cannot know, of what 
 has happened ; it would be too painful for me to tell, or 
 for you to hear ; let what I have told you suffice. Ghino, 
 my beloved friend, farewell." So saying, Rogiero again 
 pressed his hand. 
 
 Ghino replied: "You lift a weight from my heart. . I 
 am sure now that it will not be through us that the Bar- 
 barians are not driven beyond the Alps. Your sword, Ro- 
 giero, judging from what I saw at Rome, can fully compen- 
 sate for any evil your tongue may have done. Farewell. 
 Be sure not to forget, on the hillside of Arpino 
 
 " Forget ! when my soul can forget that there has been 
 a yesterday, and that there will be a morrow, then only 
 can it forget you, Ghino." 
 
 " Well and good : then there will I await your sum- 
 mons. Meanwhile we will sharpen our daggers, so that 
 if any of the French escape, they can tell those beyond 
 the mountains how Italian steel cuts. Farewell. Hold, 
 Rogiero, if it should happen that you cannot conveniently 
 come in person, take this dagger ; the messenger by 
 whom you send it to me will return accompanied by four 
 hundred troopers, and a friend."
 
 234 The Demoniac. 
 
 " What can I say, Ghino ? Farewell." 
 
 " Do not put off sending for me till you are in extrem- 
 ity. Often, Rogiero, a smaller number of men than I lead, 
 coming opportunely, has given the victory to an army, 
 which thousands, the moment being lost, could not save. 
 Do not think to spare me ; remember that in taking up 
 arms, I do nothing for you, little for Manfred, but much 
 for myself; for above all the highest pleasures of the loyal 
 citizen, I place that of righting for my country. Do you 
 promise; Rogiero ? " 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 " One more embrace, and farewell ! " 
 
 Ghino held his stirrup. Rogiero, when mounted, ex- 
 tended his hand to him : he lifted it to his forehead, say- 
 ing : " It does my head as much good as my father's bless- 
 ing. Above all, take care of your wounds. Farewell, 
 my beloved Rogiero ; farewell ! farewell ! " 
 
 The unfortunate youth departed, looking back, and 
 from time to time saluting his friend, who did not stir 
 from his place as long as he could follow him with his 
 eyes. When he had lost sight of him, on account of the 
 hilly character of the country, and the turnings and wind- 
 ings of the forest, he went up into a little tower, to wait 
 until he should emerge upon the open plain. He watched 
 him thence until he was lost in the distance : then, bend- 
 ing down, he leaned his elbows on the battlements of the 
 tower, and resting his cheek on his hand, remained a long 
 time gazing on the spot where Rogiero had disappeared. 
 What were the thoughts that passed through his mind we 
 cannot tell ; we will say only, that as he turned to de- 
 scend, he murmured : " As the joys of life come so 
 seldom, and pass so quickly, it is my opinion that they 
 are given us to make us feel our griefs the more keenly." 
 
 Rogiero, learning on the way that the court and the 
 principal barons were to assemble before long at Bene- 
 vento, where Manfred had ordered a general rendezvous, 
 determined to turn his course in that direction, instead of 
 to Naples, as he had at first intended. On the eighth 
 day after his parting from Ghino, and after a fatiguing 
 journey over bad roads, rendered more painful by the ir-
 
 The Demoniac. 235 
 
 ritation of his wounds, he came in sight of Santa Agata dei 
 Goti. Whether he feared that he should not be able to 
 conceal himself, or whether he desired to avoid the sight 
 of men. Rogiero resolved not to enter the city, but to stop 
 at the first inn he came to, in the country ; nor was it 
 long before his eye was attracted by a sign painted upon 
 a wall. The painter, as well as one could tell, had in- 
 tended to represent a moon in the first quarter, when, as 
 Horace says in one of his odes, and the muse knows with 
 how pretty a conceit, it resembles the horns of a heifer. 
 Some black balls under the moon were probably meant for 
 clouds, at least, I think so. Above this marvellous work 
 of art, the following couplet was written with a coal : 
 
 " Now dark and silent is the night ; 
 Come to the Moon for cheer and light." 
 
 Truly, said Rogiero to himself, it might be better, but 
 since we cannot have everything, we must take what we 
 can get. So saying, he dismounted, and having cared for 
 Allah as for a friend, he entered the inn. 
 
 The landlord stood in the centre of the room ; a 
 strange figure ; very thin and tall, he lost something of 
 his apparent height from a stoop, which also gave a hol- 
 lowness to his chest ; as thin as Pharoah's lean kine, so 
 that one fond of osteology might easily have counted his 
 bones ; a narrow forehead, about two inches high ; his 
 nose and chin like friends eager to embrace, endeavored 
 to pass the wide chasm of his livid lips ; his eyes were 
 red, his gestures like those of a monkey ; his speech at 
 first slow, then remarkably rapid. The first feeling which 
 his appearance excited was contempt ; the second, fear. 
 He wanted only a tail to be taken for Moloch, the demon 
 of avarice. 
 
 " Welcome," said he, cap in hand, making a very low 
 bow, the moment Rogiero appeared, and scrutinizing 
 him from head to foot, like a custom-house officer. 
 " Welcome, ir Knight. Alas ! I have never felt so 
 much inclined to grieve at my poverty as now, that I 
 cannot as I would wish do honor to the knight who
 
 236 The Demoniac. 
 
 favors me with his presence ; nevertheless, I hope, in 
 Santo Menna the Hermit, our holy patron saint, to be 
 able to serve you honestly for your money. You are a 
 lucky man to come first to the Moon ; if you had gone 
 farther, you might have found the Golden Eagle, or the 
 White Bear. Santo Menna ! fine monsters they are, ogres 
 to fleece poor strangers. And they boast that their ducks 
 are fatter than mine, as if they did not breathe the same 
 air ; and I can tell you, Sir Knight, that they have given 
 the unfortunates who happened to stop there, more 
 chickens dead of the pip than there are flowers in spring; 
 and one of my women-servants, who is acquainted with 
 those rascals, assured me the other day that they gave 
 an honest man a cat for a hare. For my part, I do not 
 know why government does not interfere, merely for the 
 public health. Well, for some time things have been go- 
 ing all wrong. I am a plain man, and do not know many 
 things that you noblemen know; still, if 'it were for me 
 to command, I should wish " 
 
 Rogiero, resigning himself to the prospect of a poor 
 supper, without paying any more attention to what the 
 landlord was saying, directed his steps towards a room 
 whence issued the confused noise of several people 
 speaking all together. Standing upon the threshold, he 
 perceived four men, who wore morions, dented and rusty, 
 and iron corselets ; they had placed their halberds and 
 daggers in a corner of the room, and were seated on one 
 side of a table, drinking and talking. These men, who 
 belonged to some company of armed vassals, such as 
 every baron took pride in keeping about him, rose at 
 Rogiero' s appearance, and saluted him very respectfully, 
 as from old habit they were accustomed to do, to all 
 whose armor was ornamented with gold or silver. Ro- 
 giero thanked them by a gesture, and signed them to be 
 reseated ; but his attention was not attracted by them so 
 much as by a fifth person, who, the moment he saw Ro- 
 giero enter, hastily pushing away from him a large dish of 
 delicious viands, began to eat instead a handful of dried 
 olives, and concealed his face as much as possible in his 
 cowl, for he wore a pilgrim's dress. With all his efforts,
 
 The Demoniac. 237 
 
 he did not succeed in escaping Rogiero's notice, who, 
 recognizing him, experienced a sensation of dread, such 
 as one would feel in listening to a terrible tale. Ashamed 
 of turning pale at the sight of a man whom he considered 
 so base, 'he drew a long breath, and said with a sigh: 
 " You here, pilgrim ? " 
 
 The sound of his own voice broke the spell. He re- 
 covered his vigor of thought and feeling, and glancing at 
 the four ruffians, he said, smiling scornfully : " Hence- 
 forward, it seems that you will not need my company." 
 
 " Ah ! he who seeks, finds, Sir Knight," replied the 
 pilgrim. " The snow falls where the wind blows it, and 
 from a better head than mine comes the saying : ' With 
 saints in the church, in the tavern with gluttons.' " 
 
 "And if I am not mistaken, it seems to me that you 
 are more fitted for the company of the latter than the 
 former ; and I can prove by day what I said to you 
 by night when I first met you. I do not know why you 
 try to deceive me, but certainly your eating, or abstain- 
 ing in my presence from food that you were enjoying, 
 will not aid you in your attempt. Continue your repast, 
 for whether I saw game or olives upon the table, I should 
 not change my opinion of you ; the face tells the story." 
 
 " Oh ! if you saw me, I will go on eating ; a sin con- 
 cealed is half pardoned ; but this time they will charge 
 me the entire debt." So saying, the pilgrim took some 
 great mouthfuls. " The worst of it, in my opinion, is the 
 scandal : I might almost say that without scandal there 
 would be no crime. When men do not see, God also 
 shuts His eyes, and permits " 
 
 " Wretch ! If the voice of your conscience makes you 
 safe, do you think that that of others would trouble you ? 
 The cedar of Lebanon bends before the fury of the blast, 
 but does not break." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir Knight, as it is impossible to continue 
 to speak in figures that a butler, hurrying with a 
 goblet filled to the brim, should not spill a few drops, so 
 it is likewise impossible that a man should keep his soul 
 white to the grave. Now, as you would not blame the but- 
 ler for concealing the deficiency of the cup, so also you
 
 238 The Demoniac. 
 
 would not condemn a man for hiding the black spots on his 
 soul under the part which is still white. 
 
 " ' With artful tricks, and sly deceit, 
 A man can live six months complete ; 
 With sly deceit, and artful tricks, 
 He well can live the other six,' 
 
 as the poet says." 
 
 Just then the landlord entered, bringing the food that 
 Rogiero had ordered. I will not say of what it consisted, 
 nor how it was prepared, for I am completely ignorant of 
 culinary matters. As far as I am concerned, Apicius 
 might have slept a thousand years on one side, for I cer- 
 tainly would not waken him. to make him lie on the other. 
 In this, as in everything else, we must yield the palm to 
 the author of Waverley. It is sufficient to say that 
 Rogiero' s forebodings were realized, and that he had never 
 in his life made a repast less to his taste, or more highly 
 lauded. 
 
 " I do not say it for a boast, for pride is too black a 
 sin," said the landlord, " but go to the Golden Eagle, if 
 you wish to taste miserable fare. Go to the White Bear. 
 Santo Menna ! there indeed one can say that the bread 
 is like rocks. Wine ? Oh ! I assure you, that I can 
 give you wine equal to what King Manfred drinks. 
 Filippellodi P"aggiano, a kinsman of mine, who has served 
 many years at court, assured me one day that in his 
 opinion they were of the same brand. Nor in my house 
 are you charged, as at others, fourtari a measure ; for let 
 us remain poor, but in the holy fear of "God. I buy it at 
 three tari and a half, and sell it at three and three 
 quarters. I shall gain but little in this world, but pa- 
 tience ! I shall save my soul in the next, for in this we are 
 but pilgrims, as Friar Giocondo says, but in the next we 
 are to live more than a million years. I have been told, 
 Sir Knight, that the punishment of landlords in a future 
 state will be to be sunk in the water that they have 
 mixed with their wine ; think how many fathoms deep 
 the host of the Golden Eagle will lie ! Truly I pity him, 
 for he has a family ; but as to him of the VVhite Bear, I
 
 The Demoniac. 239 
 
 believe that if he were permitted to try to rise to the sur- 
 face, it would take him all eternity to reach it ! " 
 
 The landlord, while thus running on, had unfolded a 
 wretched little table-cloth, and was spreading it on the 
 table.** Our pilgrim observing it, turned to Rogiero, say- 
 ing : " Sir Knight, may God preserve you, if you would 
 like my company, I will not be so uncourteous to you as 
 you were to me. Come, I will move up, and make room 
 for you to sit down." 
 
 " If," replied Rogiero, looking angrily at him, " if you 
 had the place of a dog at a table, and I were to sit in the 
 chair of the baron who threw him the bones, I would 
 scorn the seat." 
 
 " That is a brave man, sir," said the landlord, pretend- 
 ing to take Rogiero' s part. " That is what we call giving 
 three loaves for two, and better wine for good. You have 
 found your match, pilgrim, and so it always happens to 
 those who seek for more than they can get." 
 
 " Have I offended him, by making room for him at my 
 table ? " replied the pilgrim. " We have received from 
 very old times the example of the dog which bit the hand 
 that fed him ; nevertheless, what does our Master teach ? 
 ' If any man take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak 
 also ; ' and ' Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right 
 cheek, turn to him the other also.' So I pardon you." 
 
 " Indeed ! Show me what else you could do, and I 
 will thank you for your pardon." 
 
 " Often ! " declared the pilgrim, fixing upon Rogiero 
 eyes as malignant as those of a viper, "often has a spark 
 burnt castles and abbeys ; often has a worm destroyed the 
 loftiest oak upon the mountain." 
 
 " Be silent, if you wish me to consider you honest; if 
 there were a shadow of virtue in you, you would boast 
 less of yourself." 
 
 " That is not good reasoning ; praise in one's own 
 mouth may be a fault, but does not exclude the quality 
 praised." 
 
 " I swear that if you had the power of the sparks, you 
 would burn ; you are a crushed reptile." 
 
 " I am a man who is often hindered from doing good
 
 240 The Demoniac. 
 
 when he wishes, but who can do evil even when he does 
 not wish to?" 
 
 " The night when, unable to see your face, I knew you 
 to be a villain from the sound of your voice, my judgment 
 did not deceive me, although I did not know then, nor do 
 I now, of what sins you are guilty. I do not know 
 whether you are wickedly foolish, or wickedly wise, wicked 
 by art or by nature ; you appear to me like a murderous 
 face, half concealed by a cloak, like a spectre more than 
 half lost in the darkness ; every look of yours brings 
 trouble, every word pierces the heart. If it is true that 
 there are serpents whose breath has power to paralyze the 
 feelings, you are certainly one in form of a man." 
 
 " Sir Knight, although the excitement of your blood 
 caused by an imagined misfortune rendered you once 
 quick to insult, and me patient to suffer, I warn you that 
 it will not always be in your power to injure, though in 
 me the virtue of endurance remains unimpaired. There 
 is an eye which sees the wrongs of the weak, and a hand 
 which avenges them." 
 
 " Would that I could see it ! " 
 
 "Could you bear the sight? It lives, although con- 
 cealed. The thunderbolt descends from a hidden hand." 
 
 The voice in which the pilgrim uttered these last words 
 was so different from that in which he had hitherto spoken, 
 that Rogiero sank down almost senseless, with his head 
 upon the table. At the same moment the pilgrim beck- 
 oned to two of his companions, who rose and quickly 
 placed themselves by Rogiero' s table. The landlord, 
 seeing these ominous looking preparations, crept softly 
 towards the door. No one breathed : for full ten minutes 
 all was still. At last Rogiero murmured in a low voice : 
 " It is he, the fatal man, the instrument of destiny. 
 Did not my soul recognize his voice with the same horror ? 
 Did not my blood freeze, my pulses stand still ? " Then 
 in a louder voice : " It is he himself! " Uttering these 
 words, he clenched his hands, stretched forth his arms, 
 every muscle of his face rigid, as if he had collected all 
 his powers not to succumb to the stroke, and repeated 
 them over and over again. " Were he an incarnate fiend,
 
 The Demoniac. 241 
 
 we should sink together into the eternal fores, for I would 
 fasten myself upon him, nor leave him until he had given 
 me his reason for so cruelly persecuting and deceiving 
 me. Villain ! I never harmed him, had never even seen 
 him, and he has wished to madden me, has poisoned 
 my life. But the fool has left me enough to give him 
 death, and if he is mortal, he shall receive it now." 
 
 With a sudden movement he upset the table, and meat, 
 drink and crockery fell in ruins to the floor. He rose, 
 his looks terrible, his face flaming with anger, his gesture 
 threatening. Woe to the pilgrim if Rogiero had reached 
 him, for he would have had no need of a doctor to de- 
 spatch him to the other world ! The two ruffians who 
 road placed themselves beside the knight caught him by 
 the arms, saying: "Whither, Sir Knight?" 
 
 " With you I have nothing to do ; off, leave me, 
 for I must exchange some words with that fiend yonder." 
 
 "You can say all you want at this distance, as well as 
 if you were nearer : you do not seem to have lost your 
 tongue." 
 
 " No, no, I must be near him : off, I tell you ; " and 
 he tried to shake himself free. " Unhand me, I com- 
 mand you, I p ra y you." 
 
 " Do not come near, Sir Knight, or I will do you an 
 injury ; do you not know that the devil scorches? Ah ! 
 Puccio, hold him fast, I say, and you, Giannozzo 
 
 "Do so, if you can :' but you must tell me why you 
 have, for months, incited me to avenge a man who was 
 not- my father. Tell me, tell me, why have you urged 
 me on to crime ? " 
 
 Rogiero, in an access of fury, gathered his strength 
 and strained every nerve to get free from the ruffians, and 
 throw himself upon the pilgrim, but their hold was too 
 firm to be easily shaken off. Still with the sudden strength 
 he exerted, he drew them across the room with him. 
 The pilgrim, quickly losing his boasted courage, gave a 
 push to the table, and turned to fly. The table fell, as 
 Rogiero's had done, and everything on it also fell topsy- 
 turvy. Perhaps the vehemence of fear was as violent as 
 that of rage : perhaps they were placed insecurely on 
 11
 
 242 The Demoniac. 
 
 purpose, that the least push might upset them, and the 
 landlord have a chance to charge double for all that had 
 been upon them. 
 
 " A fine way truly to obtain the grace of our baron, you 
 rascals ! " howled the pilgrim, running round the room ; 
 "hold him, villains that you are; do you not see that if 
 he gets clear from you, he will strangle us all ? " 
 
 " What destruction ! " cried the landlord, on the other 
 hand. " What destruction ! Mother of Sorrows ! My 
 poor plates, which I bought bright and new at the fair of 
 Piscitella ! You have spoiled the set, sirs ; who will pay 
 for them? Eh? he who breaks must pay, who will 
 pay?" 
 
 " Do you use violence towards me ? " cried Rogiero, 
 in his turn. " What is this ? Ah ! if I could reach my 
 sword. Wretches ! Treachery ! Treachery ! " 
 
 " Go," ordered one of the ruffians to the landlord, "go 
 and get all the ropes you have in the kitchen " 
 
 " But this has nothing to do . . ." 
 
 " What ! Do you think we have done an agostards 
 worth of damage ? If we burnt the house down with you 
 and your family in it, the* loss would not amount to so 
 much." 
 
 "My prophecies have come true," said the other 
 ruffian ; " if you had followed my advice at first, and ac- 
 customed him to a broken head for payment, he would 
 not be so troublesome now. Go, this moment, you rascal, 
 and get the ropes." 
 
 " But consider see " 
 
 " If you say another word," said the ruffian, shaking 
 his fist, " I swear by the soul of my father, that in a very 
 short time you will cease answering questions in this 
 world." 
 
 The landlord, looking very dissatisfied, immediately 
 departed. Meanwhile Rogiero exerted himself to the ut- 
 most to break from their hold. He fought with hands, 
 feet and teeth ; those who received his blows felt them 
 for days after. He uttered fierce exclamations : often, 
 when thrown to the ground, with the weight of a man upon 
 him, with extraordinary strength and agility, he got him
 
 The Demoniac. 243 
 
 under, and rose, trampling upon him. The noise and 
 hubbub might have been heard half a mile off. At that 
 moment the landlord returned, with a scared look, holding 
 the ropes in his hand, crying : "There are people coining 
 this way ! " 
 
 One of the ruffians put his head out of the window, and 
 drew it back again, with an angry oath. 
 
 The noise was heard gradually approaching, and the 
 landlord began to cry in a loud voice : " Leave this 
 knight ! He is in my house, where he ought to be as safe 
 as in church ; if he has injured you, wait outside until he 
 departs. What a shame, so many against one ! What 
 treachery ! What murder ! I protest " 
 
 The ruffians laughed in his face. The pilgrim, who un- 
 derstood his artifice, said to him : " Listen, Pierone, do 
 you think that you have committed no other sins that 
 will bring you to the gallows, if you conceal this one ? 
 You have already received one agostaro, to help us cap- 
 ture this knight, if he were taken in your house. Here 
 is another. By the freedom with which I throw away 
 money, you can perceive that I do not spend my own. 
 He who commanded me to take him has power to hang 
 you even for giving a drink to a thirsty man. Do you 
 understand? You had better, if you don't want a coffin 
 in here before long." 
 
 A crowd of people, highly excited, came pouring into 
 the room ; they were vassals of the neighborhood, at- 
 tracted by the tumult. They asked what had happened, 
 what was the matter, and some tried to liberate Rogiero. 
 If he had kept silent, they would certainly have taken 
 him out of the hands of those ruffians, but seeing the pil- 
 grim attempt to hide himself in the crowd, he could not 
 help crying, pointing him out : " Seize that serpent, that 
 demon ; for months and months he has been persecuting 
 me ! " 
 
 All eyes were turned towards the pilgrim. He, per- 
 ceiving that he could not conceal himself, stepped boldly 
 forward, and turning towards the oldest in the room, 
 prayed with clasped hands and eyes upturned and wet 
 with tears : " Oh Lord, merciful and wise art Thou in
 
 244 The Demoniac. 
 
 all Thy works, and thus this Thy present dispensation 
 must be good, though it appears to us under the form of 
 evil ; yet may the prayers of these Thy faithful servants, 
 and of me a sinner, prevail with Thee to liberate this 
 poor, baptized flesh " and he pointed to the knight 
 "from such tribulation. See how the enemy of mankind 
 afflicts him ; see how the fallen angel exults in his vic- 
 tory " 
 
 "Ah, traitor!" shouted Rogiero, "let me but reach 
 you, and you will see which of us is possessed with a 
 devil ! " 
 
 . " Ah ! see, brothers," said the pilgrim, without heeding 
 him, " see to what sin brings us. Learn wisdom from the 
 example of others ; come to the sacraments, fast, watch, 
 for the tempter is always on the lookout " 
 
 " Is he possessed ? " cried the assembled crowd, greatly 
 frightened. 
 
 " Villains ! Fools ! " exclaimed the maddened Rogiero, 
 and sprang forward, grinding his teeth. 
 
 " Hold him fast, brothers, but tenderly ; for although 
 possessed, he is still a fellow-being. Hold him bind him 
 for the love of God ; see, brothers, the malice of the 
 devil, which excites him against me, because I am a 
 priest. Unhappy he, if he should strike me ! He 
 would incur excommunication. The canon speaks 
 clearly : Si quis suadente Diabulo Jmjus sacrilcgii re- 
 atum incurrerit, quod clericum, vel monachum, etc" 
 
 The people, who had entered, looking as fierce as if they 
 were going to take a castle by storm, dared not now 
 come near ; they crossed themselves, and muttered pray- 
 ers. Most of them thought it best not to go away, but 
 some went softly out of the door, and returned home. 
 The old men prayed ; the old women, incapable of feel- 
 ing pity, took occasion, from the demoniac they believed 
 themselves looking upon, to mention all they had ever 
 seen within the limits of the parish. The young men 
 looked, now at their fathers, now at Rogiero, who, it 
 appeared to them, had reason enough to be furious, when 
 he was so cruelly bound ; yet, fearful of doing wrong, 
 they were silent, wondering at the gravity of the paternal
 
 The Demoniac. 245 
 
 faces. The young girls, whether from a kindly feeling that 
 vanishes as years increase, or as I believe from weakness, 
 came nearer to him than any of the 'others, saying, 
 " Poor -young man ! What a pity ! How handsome he 
 would be ! Oh ! if he could recover his health, I would 
 give the cap which my uncle the priest brought me from 
 the fair!" "And I my best veil!" "Oh, but the 
 mercy of God is not obtained by caps and veils," said a 
 sweet-voiced young girl, with the face of an angel. 
 " Let us pray to Him from our hearts, and perhaps He 
 will hear us ; He is so good, mamma says, and we will 
 pray for a good thing, so He will listen." And the other 
 girls, following her advice, joined her in fervent prayer 
 for the unhappy man. Rogiero looked at them. Beauti- 
 ful they were by nature, more beautiful did they appear in 
 that attitude of prayer. He was naturally susceptible to 
 such influences ; he sighed and appeared to feel soothed 
 and comforted. For some moments he saw only through 
 the tears that filled his eyes. He was about to speak more 
 calmly than he had hitherto done, and those who held 
 him would have gladly let him go, on condition of their 
 own safety, when the pilgrim, perceiving the danger, 
 began to harangue: "Do not be deceived by this ap- 
 parent calmness, my brethren. Landlord, bring me the 
 holy water ; notice, sirs, the great, cunning of the infernal 
 spirit, which pretends to retreat when about to be con- 
 quered ; see how it writhes when sprinkled with holy 
 water ! " and taking the water, he threw it in Rogiero's 
 face. " Ne reminiscaris, Domine, delicta nostra, negue 
 vindictam sumas de peccatis nostris. Say the Pater Nos- 
 ter." 
 
 " Kill him ! " cried Rogiero, almost beside himself; 
 " kill that assassin of the innocent 
 
 " Et ne nos inducas in tentationem. 
 
 " Sed libera nos a malo. 
 
 " Amen. Oremus " repeated the pilgrim. 
 
 " Ah ! This is too much ! " cried Rogiero furiously, 
 endeavoring to escape from the hands of those execu- 
 tioners, and to kill or be killed. His state is easier to 
 imagine than to describe. Some idea can be formed of
 
 246 The Demoniac. 
 
 it from the fact that many who passed for brave men fled, 
 making the sign of the cross. At last he had exhausted 
 every effort that fury can suggest to the desperate ; and 
 the pretended pilgrim, with impious sacrilege, had pro- 
 nounced many holy exorcisms, but the devil did not come 
 out of him, for there was no devil there. The ruffians 
 glanced from time to time towards the door, to see if the 
 crowd was dispersing, that they might make their escape ; 
 it was diminished, but a formidable number still remained. 
 In this perplexity the landlord thus addressed the pilgrim : 
 " Holy pilgrim, you, as priest, know better than 1 that 
 sanctity of life is not sufficient to exorcise devils, but 
 that the gift of grace is also required. You, perhaps, have 
 received the power of driving out the lesser demons, but 
 this one is too mighty for you." 
 
 The pilgrim bit his lip with vexation at not having 
 thought first of this expedient ; still he determined to take 
 advantage of it, and with downcast face replied : " Be- 
 hold, the dust has forgotten its baseness, and God has 
 punished its presumption. And what a miserable sinner 
 am I, to wish to perform miracles granted only to the 
 saints of the Lord, and to omit the sacred rites, the 
 stole, and other ceremonials necessary to the office of the 
 exorcist ! Brethren, greater grace than mine is necessary 
 to relieve this afflicted one. My advice is to take him to 
 some place where he can receive the application of holy 
 relics and the Agnus Dei" 
 
 At these words of the perfidious pilgrim, the whole 
 crowd began to shout : " Let us take him to Sant' Agata ! 
 to Sant' Agata ! " repeated all ; though we do not say 
 that the ruffians joined very heartily in the cry, for each 
 of them seemed to feel the tightening of the halter round 
 his throat. They lifted up the senseless form of the un- 
 happy youth, and exclaiming, " Room for the demoniac ! 
 for charity's sake, men, room !" and enforcing their cries 
 with vigorous thrusts, they succeeded in passing the door. 
 The landlord had quietly approached the corner where 
 Rogiero had laid his arms and the more cumbrous parts 
 of his armor, and whilst with his lips he muttered the 
 word " charity," his brain was busy with the thought : If
 
 The Demoniac. 247 
 
 those rascals do not remember this armor, I by selling it 
 could more than make up for my loss ; so true it is that 
 one man's loss is another man's gain. One of the ruffians, 
 just as he was leaving the room, turned and froze the 
 course of the argument in the landlord's mind ; probably, 
 it" the crowd had not just then closed around him, he 
 would have returned for the armor. The landlord saw 
 him cross the threshold with the joy of a reprieved crimi- 
 nal ; he extended those eager hands, the mere appear- 
 ance of which gave the idea of rapine, and, trembling with 
 the certainty of success, seized the armor, and with side- 
 long steps, and watchful look, like a cat who had stolen 
 a fish from the kitchen, hastily crossed the room, and 
 went to hide it in the coal-bin. 
 
 The ruffians, who had a litter, born by two stout horses, 
 all ready for the removal of Rogiero, shut him into it, and 
 mounting their own steeds, rode at first slowly along the 
 road to Sant' Agata dei Goti. 
 
 They had already come quite near to the city, but the 
 crowd did not diminish, and the pilgrim did not relish the 
 thought of entering. On the way, he had been racking 
 his brains to think of some new expedient, but none 
 seemed practicable. Forced, however, to adopt some 
 measure, he called to some of the oldest of the throng, 
 and said to them, " I am thinking, brethren, of taking our 
 poor demoniac to Benevento." 
 
 " Oh ! Why so, holy pilgrim ?" 
 
 " Because the image of the Blessed Mary of Peace is 
 worshipped there, and seems to be there on purpose for 
 such miracles." 
 
 " Pilgrim, as far as I know, you have not yet visited 
 the shrine of Santo Menna, and do not know that every 
 year the Brothers are obliged to remove the votive offer- 
 ings, and hang them up in the refectory." 
 
 " It may be so, brothers ; but Santo Menna is a Nor- 
 man Saint, and Mary is a much greater saint than he, and 
 is the mother and spouse of the Lord, as you know." 
 
 " Certainly, I do not mean that you do not speak the 
 truth, but Santo Menna has performed other miracles, 
 and "
 
 248 The Demoniac. 
 
 "And you think he might also perform this, eh ? Who 
 denies it ? Let us leave the saints, and speak of worldly 
 matters. My brother, you know better than I, that Sant' 
 Agata is a bishopric, but Benevento an archbishopric. 
 Now, in the ecclesiastical hierarchy, an archbishop is 
 much more powerful than a bishop. Now, suppose that 
 the former should succeed, and not the latter, would not 
 your conscience smite you for having thus turned from 
 Herod to Pilate?" 
 
 "You speak the truth; but Santo Menna has per- 
 formed other miracles, and " 
 
 " Will do more. Who denies it ? We should not be 
 Christians if we denied it ; but what says the prophet ? 
 ' Onagrus Silvester, intelligis ne, me vclle ducere ilium in 
 ore leonis in capite draconis' " 
 
 The poor man, overwhelmed by the Latin, did not 
 dare to say another word ; the ore leonis, the capite dra- 
 conis, had made him shudder both inwardly and outwardly ; 
 he slunk back into the crowd. The news that they were 
 not going to Sant' Agata was quickly spread among them, 
 at which the greater number left the throng, and returned 
 whence they came. Gradually, as they advanced along 
 the road to Benevento, leaving Sant' Agata behind them, 
 others by twos and threes began to follow more slowly, 
 then stopped, then turned towards home. The company 
 lengthened out, like the flax as it becomes thread under 
 the old woman's fingers. The night was drawing on, and 
 the shadows becoming larger and deeper, when the ruf- 
 fians perceiving that now only a few young men were 
 following them, who would be gladly doing something 
 more agreeable than trudging thus by night, fifteen miles 
 or more over a mountainous country, had not their 
 sweethearts begged them to see the end of the matter 
 thought that they had- better be entirely alone, and in 
 that intention immediately turned their horses and 
 spurred in among them, dealing heavy blows to the right 
 and left with the handles of their halberds. 
 
 " Off with you, vassals ! off with you, peasants ! " they 
 shouted between the blows ; "home; it is growing late,
 
 The Conspiracy. 249 
 
 and the way is long ; home, or to-morrow the dew will 
 fall upon your heads." 
 
 These peasants, as we said before, had already more 
 than half a mind to return, and now, when such persua- 
 sive arguments were added, judge whether they did not 
 show their heels. He who runs, runs; but he who flees, 
 flies. So, all out of breath, they reached their homes, 
 where they related many things that were true, very 
 many that were false, and wished to take arms, follow the 
 ruffians, and take vengeance upon them, worthy to be re- 
 corded upon marble, and to be remembered for a thou- 
 sand years. But an old man rose, and observed that they 
 must be tired, and that they had only two legs apiece, 
 while the ruffians fled upon four ; that the best thing that 
 they could do, in his opinion, would be to go to bed, and 
 rise the next morning fresh and rested, so as to pursue 
 them to better advantage. The youths looked at each 
 other without saying a word, then went quietly off, to de- 
 posit between the sheets their words and thoughts of 
 blood. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 Da chi mi fido guardami, Dio ; 
 Da chi non mi fido mi guardar io. 
 
 Iscrizione net Piombi di Venezia. 
 
 May Heaven protect me from my trusted friend ; 
 From him I trust not, I'll myself defend. 
 
 An Inscription in the Prisons of Venice. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 will help me?" asked Rogiero languidly, 
 recovering from his long insensibility. " Who 
 will help me ? " 
 
 No one replied to the mournful question. The 
 unfortunate youth lay, without energy to open his eyes, as 
 11*
 
 250 The Conspiracy. 
 
 one who fears to unclose them only upon new troubles. 
 If they had been tangible, external, he might have risen 
 and wrestled with them in deadly strife ; but they existed, 
 torturing him, in the depths of his heart, and he had not 
 strength to stifle them there, and his own life with them. 
 Helpless, he groaned under the insupportable weight, and 
 although his intellect shrank from analyzing the course of 
 past events, still the agony they caused him weighed him 
 down. For the third time, and in a louder voice, he 
 repeated: " Who will help me ?" The sound died away 
 without reaching any compassionate being, who would 
 break the fearful silence ; then he slowly unclosed his 
 eyes ; " darkness there, and nothing more." He stretched 
 forth his hands ; they moved in emptiness. 
 
 "They might have killed me, but my death alone is 
 not enough for the cruel ones. Let agony of body first 
 exercise its tyranny, then the keener anguish of the spirit. 
 Let the agonies with which nature has encompassed me 
 be increased by those which my fellow-men heap upon 
 me, one after another, and let them triumph. Let me 
 not escape a single pang of what I am to suffer ; let every 
 stab have its groan, not confused but distinct ; every sting 
 its torture ; let me feel the whole agony of death. This 
 truly is of man ! " 
 
 He bowed his head, muttering fiercely. After a while, 
 he again moved. This time his hands encountered some 
 object. He took it up ; it was a human bone. He pressed 
 it to his breast as a friend ; he felt it all over, with the joy 
 of a mother stroking her firstborn's hair, then dropped 
 it, murmuring : " Yes ! The bones of one victim will be 
 the tomb for the bones of another ! " then taking it again : 
 " Perhaps thou wert more unhappy than I, for the only 
 thing granted without limit to mortals is bitterness. Per- 
 haps thou hadst a father, who shed many tears for thee, 
 but not over thy ashes ; perhaps a mother, who, mad with 
 grief, went seeking thee from cemetery to cemetery, to 
 say a prayer upon thy grave, and found it not. . . ." 
 
 His thoughts became, for a time, too agonizing to find 
 vent in words. Suddenly striking his forehead, he added : 
 " And I shall not have Yole ? If she survives . . ."
 
 The Conspiracy. 251 
 
 While lie was speaking, a tempest burst over the castle. 
 He clasped his hands, and raised them suppliant to heaven ; 
 but, as he bent in prayer, his knees struck upon the 
 breast of a skeleton, and the ribs broke under him with a 
 crackling sound, that seemed like a wail of sorrow. He 
 did not change his position, however, but still, influenced 
 by the event, began his supplication : " Oh, destroying 
 Power, hear my prayer, the prayer which a creature about 
 to be destroyed offers upon the altar of destruction. The 
 experience of ages teaches Thee that the earth is growing 
 old in years and sin, and that the heritage of crime 
 descends accumulating from father to son ; that there is 
 now not a sacred place where the righteous man can 
 offer prayer, not a stone which has not supported a vic- 
 tim's head, not a clod which is not sprinkled with una- 
 venged blood. The light shines upon open slaughter ; the 
 darkness veils secret treachery ; we are all destined to be, 
 in turn, betrayers and betrayed. If the woman, who, by 
 her first sin, brought death upon her head and ours, 
 could.be recalled to life, and from the borders of the 
 tomb could behold the deeds of her cruel descendants, 
 she would shrink back in terror under the stone, for a 
 second time invoking death. Formerly our ancestors 
 assembled in wicked bands, to receive pleasure from 
 " suffering nature," * and applauded fraternal homicide ; 
 but they were called barbarians. Collect, then, Thou who 
 hast the power, all the tempests into one ; let Thy fury 
 be poured out upon all creation ; let the earth be buried 
 under the fragments of worlds that overwhelm it ; destroy 
 man, and all trace of him. The only moment when we 
 can praise Thee, will be when life, trembling upon the 
 last lip, awaits but a sigh, to fly to where the unborn 
 
 * Potk a 1'alte patrizie, 
 Come alia plebe oscura, 
 Giocoso dar solletico 
 La soffrente natura. 
 
 PARINI, Ode a Silvia. 
 
 High and low take wondrous pleasure, 
 Nature's sufferings to measure.
 
 252 The Conspiracy. 
 
 lives dwell ; * and if Thou canst not endure Thy eternity 
 alone, and if Thou rejoicest in prayers, in incense, 
 ah ! do not, I conjure Thee, do not create the wild beast 
 endowed with reason . . ." 
 
 Shall we listen longer 1 to this afflicted one ? We have 
 already heard enough to learn how his mind wandered 
 from the right path, and how, tortured with overwhelming 
 anguish, his intellect dimmed, he impiously, or rather 
 foolishly, passed from supplication to curses of the only 
 Power that could assist him. 
 
 Ceasing his complaints, he laid himself down again 
 upon the ground, and with the calmness of despair re- 
 mained awaiting death. Thus passed many hours, when 
 a confused murmur, striking his ear, caused him to spring 
 from the ground and listen. It seemed just over his head. 
 "Perhaps it is only in my imagination," exclaimed he, 
 touching his forehead ; but his forehead was cool. Listen- 
 ing again more eagerly, he heard the noise distinctly. 
 Trying ever)' step, he groped along with outstretched 
 arms in the direction of the sound ; and as he advanced 
 the murmur grew louder, and apparently of human 
 voices, although he could not distinguish any words ; he 
 hastened forward ; the murmur grew fainter. Retracing 
 his steps, he tried to examine the place. Continuing his 
 search he found that he had passed under a staircase, 
 which, resting upon a half arch, reached from the upper 
 story of the building to the floor of the prison. He 
 groped his way to the foot of it ; it was very narrow, and 
 without a balustrade. Mounting cautiously, and feeling 
 his way, he found at the landing a small bridge, also 
 without any balustrade ; crossing which, he entered a cor- 
 ridor which brought him to a door strongly barricaded. 
 He saw that it was night, for so much light shone through 
 the chinks of the door, from a wood fire within, that his 
 eyes accustomed to the darkness could not at first bear 
 it. Looking for a good place to see through, he found 
 
 Qureris quo jaceas post obitum loco ? 
 Quo non nata jacent. 
 
 SENECA, Troas, cJior., Act 2.
 
 The Conspiracy. 253 
 
 a wide crack between the door and the door-post, 
 and perceived about forty people assembled, whom, in 
 spite of their being very plainly dressed, he immediately 
 recognized as noblemen whom he was accustomed to see 
 at King Manfred's court. They were now silent, but 
 from time to time first one and then another would glance 
 with suspicious, impatient looks towards a door opposite 
 to that through which Rogiero was looking. 
 
 " It is long past the hour !" one would say to another 
 then ; " was not nine o'clock at night the hour fixed for 
 the meeting ? " " Yes." 
 
 Just then steps were heard approaching. The knights 
 looked uneasy ; not one remained seated ; with eyes 
 fixed upon the door, they panted with anxiety to see who 
 would appear ; startled at the slight delay, many appeared 
 ready for flight ; a few drew their daggers, advancing res- 
 olutely, and these were the most timid, although the 
 gesture might betoken the contrary. The door opened : 
 a knight, closely wrapped in his cloak, and with a morion 
 on his head, entered the room. Perceiving the confu- 
 sion, the drawn daggers, he laughed aloud, opened his 
 cloak, showing himself covered from head to foot with 
 heavy armor, and said : " Put up your daggers, my lords, 
 or you will blunt their points." 
 
 " Oh ! Is it you ? " they all exclaimed. " Our mis- 
 trust was not groundless, for we never had to wait for you 
 before, count." 
 
 The voice of the new-comer was not altogether un- 
 known to Rogiero, who, observing him more attentively 
 as he came into the firelight, recognized the features of 
 Count del la Cerra. 
 
 "True," replied the count, "but the man trusts us 
 more the nearer he approaches his fate, and this new con- 
 fidence can be derived only from Providence." 
 
 " Speak out boldly, count ; where is your master ? " 
 
 " What master ? " 
 
 " The count." 
 
 " Ah ! That is what I was going to tell you, gentle- 
 men. The man detains him to concert with him upon the 
 defence of the kingdom. I come in his stead, most noble
 
 254 The Conspiracy. 
 
 barons, to disclose to you the state of affairs. Let that 
 suffice for the present : the arrangements for the future 
 we cannot quite decide upon ; for, as you see, we are not 
 so numerous as we ought to be, and we want him who is, 
 or who calls himself, our head. Our friends convoked 
 with the remaining barons of the kingdom for the next 
 assembly will meet, so far as I have been able to ascer- 
 tain, between this night and the next day; but, gentle- 
 men, if no one opposes, you will be able to meet in this 
 same place the following night." 
 
 "Unless illness prevents," replied the conspirators, 
 " we promise to be present." 
 
 " Now then, you must know that our letters have 
 reached Monseigneur Charles, and that they pleased him 
 beyond measure ; that the pope and the count both en- 
 courage us in our undertaking, the former promising us 
 everv spiritual assistance in his power, though, to speak 
 the truth, that is not much in the present crisis ; the lat- 
 ter promises us the support of his armies and privileges 
 and franchises, as rewards. Here are the letters that a 
 secret messenger brought us from Rome yesterday 
 night. If you please, barons, we will leave the pope's, 
 both because they are of slight importance and because 
 time presses, for I cannot, without laying myself open to 
 suspicion, absent myself long from court. Let us read 
 those of Monseigneur Charles." 
 
 No one could remain quiet. Urged by curiosity all 
 gathered around the Count della Cerra, who, drawing 
 some papers from his breast, chose one, and unfolding it, 
 read : " Charles, etc., etc., to the noble barons represent- 
 ing the kingdom of Naples, to them all collectively, and 
 to each one separately, greeting. We do not know, O 
 noble knights, whether most to congratulate ourselves 
 or you, the authority of the Holy Church, and still more 
 our natural affection, inciting us to the aid of all who 
 groan dejected under the weight of impious tyranny ; for 
 you know well how to estimate your sad condition and 
 the purity of our intentions, which instead of resisting, 
 you offer readily to second to the extent of your power. 
 Nor let this seem bitter to you, for you know that ser-
 
 The Conspiracy. 255 
 
 vitude sickens the heart, and weakens the mind : for you 
 only, most noble knights, richly endowed by nature, 
 have been able, a glorious example, to preserve your- 
 selves, in these stormy times, safe and unharmed. > If at 
 first, however, about to undertake greater enterprises, we 
 hoped to win greater gratitude, now, since it has pleased 
 God to grant our wishes, we shall obtain greater security. 
 It is always necessary to concede something to the prac- 
 tice of human affairs, and since this decree is inevitable, 
 we esteem ourselves fortunate in being able to yield 
 it out of the glory we would derive, rather than from 
 human blood and betrayed . . ." 
 
 " This bombast," interrupted an old man whom Rogiero 
 could not recognize, " does no good either to soul or 
 body ; it is easy to see that that letter comes from Rome 
 and smacks of Bull's pen. Pass on to the business, part 
 of it, if you please, Count Anselmo ; pass on to the con- 
 ditions." 
 
 "Just as you please," replied the Count della Cerra ; 
 and skipping two or three pages he continued: "The 
 world knows well whether the house of France is ac- 
 customed to set a price on the heads of its vassals, 
 whether it likes to conciliate or not the respect of the 
 people, the love of the barons, the good-will of all : the 
 world knows if it is covetous of the property of others, 
 rash, uneasy and cowardly " 
 
 " These are praises, Anselmo, not conditions," inter- 
 rupted the old man again. 
 
 Count Anselmo glanced rapidly over the letter, until 
 he had nearly reached the end ; then he said aloud, " Here 
 is what he promises : Do not doubt but that our grati- 
 tude will be commensurate with the benefit. Yours will 
 be the principal offices of the kingdom, yours the magistra- 
 cies, yours the right of approving the laws ; we will merely 
 assume such authority as you will be willing to grant us, 
 and will consider ourselves satisfied. Let the royalties 
 be abolished, the right of imposing taxes taken from the 
 prerogative of the crown, that of abating them preserved. 
 But there is no time to enumerate all the salutary reforms 
 that we meditate, in order to restore happiness to your
 
 256 The Conspiracy. 
 
 delightful country ; they will be such as a most affection- 
 ate father may grant, such as most loving children may 
 expect." 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " exclaimed the old man, for the third 
 time, " lack, I beseech you, whether it be not sent from 
 the Apostolic Secretary's office, sub annulo piscatoris ! " 
 
 " Hear the end," replied della Cerra, with sudden an- 
 ger, which he covered immediately with a laugh : " Use- 
 less, and perhaps injurious injurious would it be to 
 assure to you the peaceable possession of your castles, 
 estates and privileges ; however, you may not only hope, 
 but look upon it as certain, that we intend to bestow up- 
 on you all the grants and immunities by which a son of 
 France can demonstrate his gratitude to the most faith- 
 ful" 
 
 " A truce to the smooth phrases, count," said the old 
 man, " and pay attention, I pray, to the last sentence of 
 Charles's letter. He betrays himself just at the end ; in 
 spite of his fine promises, his intention is certainly to de- 
 spoil us." 
 
 " How?" asked many. 
 
 " Oh ! it is clear enough. He affirms that he wishes to 
 bestow grants upon us ; now as to baronies, he does not 
 bring them from Krance ; it is evident, then, that to give to 
 some he must take away from others . . ." 
 
 " Baron," interrupted Anselmo, " you make out the ex- 
 pression worse than it is. Do you think that he would 
 wish to take more, just as he is on the point of gaining a 
 kingdom ? " 
 
 " A good reason ! and when do you suppose that he 
 would wish to, when he was on the point of losing one ? " 
 
 " Something, baron, must be allowed to faith, some- 
 thing to fame, something . . ." 
 
 " Nothing. When these locks " (and the old man touch- 
 ed his hair) " were brown, I too thought as you say ; but 
 you do not say as you think, although yours are yet 
 black." 
 
 "If gray hairs have taught you only to calumniate your 
 fellow-men, it had been better if you had become bald 
 while they were yet brown."
 
 The Conspiracy. 257 
 
 The bystanders laughed at the repartee ; the old man, 
 undisturbed, waited till the laugh had ended, then replied : 
 " They have taught me to know them ; they have taught 
 me things which you also know, but conceal because it 
 does not suit you to declare them. To cut the matter 
 short, what guarantee does Charles offer for the execu- 
 tion of his promises ? " 
 
 " Guarantee ! Can a man who enters peaceably a 
 kingdom which he might acquire by force of arms give a 
 better proof of his good faith ? " 
 
 " Faith and reason, my Anselmo, change with the day : 
 it does not seem to me prudept to put ourselves at his 
 mercy. Let us beware where we tread, for we traverse a 
 road upon which we cannot retrace our steps. Let us be 
 cautious while we may, for afterwards it will not only be 
 too late, but foresight, may expose us to danger, lamenta- 
 tion to ridicule." 
 
 " For my part, I do not see' how we can avoid running 
 the risk. What we suffer under the man is certain ; what 
 Charles prepares for us is still uncertain. According to 
 the calculations of human prudence, it seems to me that 
 it is worth trying." 
 
 " You have evaded all my arguments, Anselmo, but I 
 will not stop to prove to you whether your idea deserves 
 praise or blame. I will again bring forward these same 
 doubts day after to-morrow, for much as I hate the man, 
 even more do I abhor infamy." 
 
 " When it is without gain, perhaps," muttered Count 
 Anselmo in an undertone. The knight did not hear him, 
 and continued : " Meanwhile I must weep, I know not 
 whether to say at the sad fatality of Italy, or at the base 
 spirit of her citizens, who, to free themselves from one 
 servitude, can devise no better means than to assume an- 
 other, or to break their fetters with the same iron which 
 they use to form new ones. When, when will come the 
 day in which we can raise to the Creator arms free from 
 every shameful mark of foreign rule ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, baron," replied the Count della Cerra, 
 ' ; nonsense ; let us think of ruling, which has ever been 
 the prerogative of us nobles. But, now that I think of it,
 
 258 The Conspiracy. 
 
 it is all very well for you, baron, to love liberty, for by it 
 you will gain an equal division of property. Did not your 
 creditors, ten years ago, make you sell your family fief? 
 Courage, baron ! Keep the prince your nephew favor- 
 able to Monseigneur de Provence, for he is a king who 
 will restore what the dice have taken from you." 
 
 " How ! Do you believe . . . ? " 
 
 '' I believe nothing . . ." 
 
 " Burn my soul . . ." 
 
 " Amen. The things that you propound are sincere, 
 but the time is unfavorable. Be convinced, baron, that 
 men wiser than you or I have thought the same. Poor 
 fellows! their meditations ended in sighs and longings; 
 their acts in voluntary exile, involuntary death." 
 
 " Be it as you will, count : think what you please of my 
 real sentiments, but I still hope to see that day." 
 
 " When do you hope it ? " 
 
 " When, every private passion, every individual interest, 
 laid aside, we shall agree . . ." 
 
 " Then it will never come for us, for we shall be de- 
 stroyed ; take away self-interest, and what remains ? " 
 
 Many more arguments were added on either side, which 
 we will omit as irrelevant to our present purpose. Finally, 
 the Count della Cerra, rising, took his cloak, and prepar- 
 ing to go, said to the conspirators : " There is nothing in 
 this world so difficult that a tenacious will and prudent 
 labor cannot make it successful. Farewell, barons : I 
 have been already too long away from court to escape 
 suspicion. 1 hope that next time you will not expect me 
 too impatiently. Adieu ; let us separate with the usual 
 precautions." 
 
 Cautious salutations followed. The light was extin- 
 guished, but from the noise of footsteps dying away in the 
 distance, Rogiero perceived that they were departing. 
 He waited a little longer, to be sure that there was not 
 one left, and then began to shake the door with the des- 
 peration of a man who, every other hope lost, rests his 
 safety upon the accomplishment of one last attempt ; he 
 tried every means in his power. Astonishing, almost in- 
 credible, were his efforts ; still, great as was his active
 
 The Conspiracy. 259 
 
 power, much greater was the passive resistance of the 
 door. He succeeded at last in moving it a little, but that 
 was a very different thing from forcing it open : much as 
 he had accomplished, more than twice as much remained 
 to be done, and just then the fire died entirely out ; ex- 
 haustion succeeded to fury. Perspiration poured from 
 his brow, blood from his hands ; overcome by despair and 
 weakness, he abandoned the attempt. The feelings with 
 which he turned away may be imagined. Passing through 
 the corridor, he crossed the bridge, descended the stairs, 
 and sitting on the lowest step, gave himself up to the rush 
 of thoughts and memories which almost overpowered him. 
 
 How long he remained in this half-unconscious state, 
 we know not ; but after some time, a sharp pain piercing 
 his eyeballs, summoned his faculties to renewed activity ; 
 but before he had unclosed his lids he seemed to hear 
 these words : " Oh Heavens ! what darkness ! I hoped 
 . to see him by the glare of the flames. What shall we do ? 
 Is not hell full of flames?" 
 
 " My lady," replied another voice, " you are not in hell, 
 and he whom you seek is close by. Meanwhile, I pray 
 you, do not hold me so tightly." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I will, till I have found him ; for you prom- 
 ised me. You men are treacherous, and I will not be 
 deceived." 
 
 " Santa Maria ! " cried Rogiero, opening his eyes, and 
 quickly closing them again, as if to retain longer an image 
 which he believed a dream ; but finding that he thus lost 
 it, he opened them again to see whether it were indeed ex- 
 ternal and real. " Santa Maria I" repeated the prisoner. 
 "Is it Yole?" 
 
 Yole, dressed in purest white, stood before him. She 
 advanced slowly, holding a dagger in her raised right hand, 
 while with the left she clung to a man bearing a lantern 
 who, however, could hardly be distinguished, as, either by 
 accident or purposely, he threw all the light upon her. 
 Yole hearing her name, listened as if uncertain, but hear- 
 ing it again, cried : " Where are you, Rogiero ? " and re- 
 linquishing her hold both of the man and the dagger, she 
 extended her arms. .
 
 260 The Conspiracy. 
 
 This was the second embrace of these two unfortunates, 
 destined, during their sad lives, to lighten with the sem- 
 blance of a happiness that they could not really enjoy the 
 weight of the anguish that they were obliged to suffer. Un- 
 happy ones ! who, after so many days of separation, could 
 speak only with sobs, comfort each other only with tears. 
 They remained embraced. Suddenly Rogiero perceived 
 the light fading. If the earth had slipped from under his 
 feet he would not have noticed it, so entirely was he 
 taken out of himself at that moment ; but he perceived 
 the loss of light, because it deprived him of the sight 
 of that face, which comforted him for the past and 
 strengthened him for the future. He looked round, 
 startled; the man who had conducted Yole there had 
 softly crept away, and was then closing the door, leaving, 
 with the blackest perfidy, the two lovers imprisoned. 
 Rogiero freed himself from those beloved arms, and, either 
 owing to his great speed, or to the trembling of the jailer's 
 hand in committing such a crime, he reached the door in 
 time to prevent his shutting it. The villain, seeing his 
 design frustrated, attempted to fly ; but Rogiero pursued 
 and quickly overtook him, and, seizing him roughly by 
 the throat, dragged rather than led him back into the 
 prison ; here, taking the lantern from his hand, and turn- 
 ing the light full upon him, he recognized the pilgrim. 
 He did not utter a word. Looking down, the shining blade 
 of the dagger which Yole had dropped caught his eye : 
 he took it, hurled the jailer to the ground, knelt on his 
 breast, twined his left hand in his hair, raising the dagger 
 in his right. The Swabian maiden, who had stood till 
 that moment as if bewildered, started, uttered a shriek, and 
 sprang forward to stay his hand, exclaiming : " Wretch ! 
 do you think that I would ever let myself be touched by 
 blood-stained hands?" 
 
 Rogiero raised his eyes and looked at Yole, then at the 
 jailer, again at Yole. She relinquished her lover's hand. 
 Rogiero understood the gesture, rose to his feet, and 
 spurning the miserable wretch with his foot, as he lay 
 there, cried : " Live, live for more atrocious crimes, for a 
 more infamous death." Without further delay he placed
 
 The Conspiracy. 261 
 
 the dagger in his belt, took the keys, and passing Yole's 
 arm within his own, added : " Come, my beloved, for the 
 innocent can find safety only in flight." 
 
 They hastened away. The jailer, although much bruised, 
 rose and followed them to the door, conjuring them for 
 the love of God to take him away with them, or kill him 
 immediately, but not to leave him there to die of hunger. 
 They did not listen to him ; Rogiero thrust him back, and 
 his cries were lost in the creaking of the bolts as they 
 were pushed through their rings. History relates nothing 
 further of his fate ; but a long time after, under the reign 
 of Charles II. the Lame, that ancient edifice being de- 
 molished by order of the legate of the pope, master of 
 Benevento, two skeletons were found in a dungeon, one 
 of which had part of its right hand between its teeth, a 
 proof that the poor wretch perished of hunger ; this we 
 suppose to be that of the jailer. 
 
 Yole and Rogiero walked on, without knowing whither, 
 in the darkness of the night ; their arms intertwined, her 
 hand in his, but without being pressed, without trem- 
 bling, in silence, with equal steps. 
 
 " I have called him," began Yole, as if speaking to her- 
 self, " with the first glimmering of dawn, before my 
 morning prayer ; I have called him with the last rays of 
 the dying day ; . . . if he had but replied to my eager 
 entreaty ! My life, saddened by an unknown sorrow, was 
 wasted by blinding ignorance, he appeared to me bright 
 as an angel of light, the abyss opened before me, and he 
 disappeared like the lightning in a storm." ' 
 
 All Italians, glowing under the too fervid rays of the 
 sun, incline, in speaking and writing, to a certain figur- 
 ative style, which, belonging peculiarly to the East, is 
 generally called Oriental ; the Neapolitans, and other 
 inhabitants of the Southern provinces, are particularly 
 addicted to it, when any emotion, glad or sorrowful, ex- 
 cites them ; therefore no one will, I hope, think the con- 
 versation which our lovers held that night either affected 
 or unnatural. 
 
 " Nor could I," replied Rogiero, gently pressing the 
 hand which he held : " nor could I hear you ; the space
 
 262 The Conspiracy. 
 
 between your lips and my heart was rilled by the treachery 
 of man and the curse of God ; the -curse of God, because 
 crime incited me to crime, and in that moment a con- 
 taminated soul devoted itself to infamy." 
 
 " When the sun shed its treasures of light, when the 
 heavens declared the glory of God, I demanded you of 
 Heaven, with the most fervent prayer of a suffering heart; 
 Heaven did not listen to the suppliant. In the storm, 
 by night, amid the howling of the wind, the crashing of 
 the thunder, I betook myself to the necromancers, with 
 their sacrilegious rites; Eternal God, absolve me from 
 the sin ! Everything was deaf to the unfortunate ! " 
 
 " Happy should I have been in any place where justice 
 or mercy could have placed me, could I have been free 
 from the den of wild beasts called men ! " 
 
 "Where your spirit was, I did not know, but I 
 mourned for you as dead; there, in the gardens of the 
 Capuan castle, . . . near the fountain, . . . between the gate 
 and the cloisters . . ." 
 
 "Where on that memorable night. . ." 
 
 " You revealed to me your love, and the Swabian maid 
 listened, there is a mound of earth . . . these hands raised 
 it ... upon which stands the cross which my sister Con- 
 stance hung round my neck when she departed for Arra- 
 gon ; there, every night, I invoked your spirit." 
 
 " Ah ! unhappy maiden ! How could you endure such 
 sorrow ? " 
 
 " How ! were not you also separated from me ? Had 
 not you also lost me ? If to know it, I must tell you, the 
 attempt would be useless, you would never comprehend it." 
 
 " I knew that you were living, but . . ." 
 
 " I sank under the stroke ; my intellect gave way, and 
 sorrow reigned triumphant in my heart ; only to-night, 
 after so long a time, I recovered the control of my will, 
 if indeed," added she, pressing his hand, " it is not still 
 a delusion : but greater than the joy of being free from 
 delirium is the fear of falling again into it." 
 
 "Oh ! do not say so; I should die of grief; speak, 
 my beloved, what angel led your steps to your poor 
 Rogiero's prison ?"
 
 The Conspiracy. 263 
 
 / 
 
 " My whole mind was destroyed, save that part of it 
 which answered to your name ; I heard Rogiero, I 
 remember nothing more .... 1 awoke in your arms." 
 
 " They loved each other so fondly, future ages will say, 
 and loved in vain . . ." 
 
 " In vain ?" 
 
 Rogiero did not reply. 
 
 " Is your love one that requires the aid of the Church to 
 preserve it inviolate ? That seeks its reward, as a work- 
 man does his wages? If it is thus, you did love in 
 vain. . . I received all that love could give when my lips 
 met yours." 
 
 Rogiero, gently drawing his arm from Yole's, put it 
 round her, and taking her right hand raised it to his lips ; 
 Yole laid her free hand upon his beautiful wealth of hair, 
 and sadly kissed it. 
 
 "Be this," she continued, " the crown of love upon the 
 condemned head . . ." 
 
 " Condemned !" 
 
 "Who can tell how many, preferring gain to ease, are 
 now seeking you from place to place ? How many mercen- 
 ary women pray to the saints, that their lovers or their hus- 
 bands may obtain the price of your blood ? How many 
 hopes, how many fears, depend on your head ? Between 
 you and the wild beast of the woods there is but this 
 difference, that the reward for you is the greater." 
 
 " My poor Yole ! " 
 
 "No one defends you, pity itself is silent, the sen- 
 tence . . ." 
 
 " What sentence ?" 
 
 " Of rebel to the kingdom, of traitor of your king . . ." 
 
 " Santa Maria /" 
 
 " Are you innocent ? " 
 
 " Can I be ? Am I not of the race of Adam ? " 
 
 " I mean of treachery ? " 
 
 "I am not..." Yole shrunk back. "Yes, away, 
 leave me," continued Rogiero impetuously ; "scorn me, 
 hate me ; join your equals ! . ... here is a stone, . . . cast it 
 at the miserable, ... all are so ! If you knew that there 
 was feigned a victim to be avenged, ... a crime to be
 
 264 The Conspiracy. 
 
 punished, . . . filial piety, . . . fratricide, . . . if you knew that 
 destiny urged me on with unknown voices, which seemed to 
 proceed from the spirits dwellers of the earth and air ; ... 
 that my steps were driven to crime, as the torrent is to the 
 ocean ; . . . that they influenced even my dreams, . . . would 
 you, daughter of earth, could you, condemn me ? Oh ! if 
 there were any one who could descend into the dark depth, 
 weigh the thoughts, and scrutinize the hearts, and stand 
 between my judges and me ; hear my defence, and render 
 justice, who would dispute with me the prize of patience ? 
 who would take from them the penalty of madness ? With- 
 in here," and Rogiero touched his breast, " eyes of flesh 
 cannot penetrate : "* the remembrances of men are like 
 ashes, their bodies like bodies of clay : ' the earthly judge 
 pronounces the sentence with anger, because he confounds 
 the crime with the man, and pardon appears to him an 
 injury, absolution a sin." 
 
 Just then the approaching tramp of horses struck upon 
 the lovers' ears. " Fly," cried Yole ; " whatever you may 
 be, we shall be blest, meeting in paradise, or will despair 
 together among the lost. I love you ; " and she quickened 
 her steps ; "if they overtake us, I will defend you, . . . I ! 
 fool that I am ! Can innocence or prayer avail against 
 the pitilessness of avarice ? Mother of God ! they have 
 seen us : ... hear how rapidly they follow ! . . . they are 
 close upon us. . . . Holy Virgin, protect us ! But I have so 
 often entreated Heaven in vain, let us have recourse to 
 flight. . . . Who will help us to escape from the eagerness 
 of their pursuit ? We are taken ! " 
 
 " Be firm ! " whispered Rogiero, seeing that their pur- 
 suers had overtaken them, and boldly advancing, said : 
 " Sir Knights, will you be kind enough to guide me to 
 the palace, for, if I am not mistaken, I can restore the 
 king his daughter." 
 
 " Santo Germano be praised ! " replied the captain of 
 the troops ; " we have been seeking her all over Bene- 
 vento. Princess, the queen, your mother . . ." 
 
 " Oh, my poor mother ! Let me go and console her ; 
 but how I can console her, I do not know ; every one I
 
 The Conspiracy. 265 
 
 see turns sadly away ; think what she must have suffered 
 when the sight of me gives her comfort ! " 
 
 " Sir Knight," said Rogiero, "farewell. Princess. . ." 
 
 " No, Sir Knight, I cannot let you depart unknown ; 
 you must come with me to the royal palace ; I do not 
 wish to deprive you of what the gratitude of my royal 
 master may deign to bestow upon you." 
 
 " Sir, thank God, I require no other reward for good 
 deeds than the pleasure I derive from them." 
 
 "I can readily believe you, Sir Knight; but gratitude 
 may be shown not only with jewels and gold. . ." 
 
 " Nevertheless . . ." 
 
 " It is impossible . . ." 
 
 " But . . ." 
 
 " I beg it of you as a favor ; do not refuse ; mount my 
 horse, for I must attend the princess, and cannot very 
 well take her up behind me." 
 
 Rogiero, thinking that if he persisted it might excite 
 suspicion, followed the advice of the knight, who ordered 
 his band to fall back a little. They had thus advanced 
 about a hundred paces, when Yole, reflecting upon how 
 much had happened in a few hours, unable to sustain the 
 intensity of her thoughts, or to understand how it had all 
 been brought about, began to wander more wildly than 
 before. 
 
 " Wretch ! " she cried to the captain who was escort- 
 ing her, " you have deceived me with fair words, you are 
 taking me to his execution ; can he not die without me ? 
 Of what use is this additional cruelty ? You do not 
 speak you are confounded can you not defend your- 
 self ? I do not ask for his life, for that is sacrificed to 
 your avarice ; but do not compel me to witness his death." 
 
 " Princess, on my honor as a knight, I am taking you 
 to your mother." 
 
 " Do you dare to say so ? Silence, do not perjure your- 
 self ! Say that you wish to be cruel. ... I will believe 
 you. ... I cannot injure you : ... it cannot avail now to 
 falsely call yourself honorable ; . . . how many people ! 
 What a crowd ! " 
 
 " Where ? " asked the knight, looking round. 
 12
 
 266 The Conspiracy. 
 
 " How many people are flocking to the square, but it 
 is not pity that draws them ; ... do not believe it ; ... 
 they pretend so, ... but they are morbidly curious as 
 ready to laugh at the sight of blood, as to weep at the 
 sight of the steps that lead to the scaffold . . ." 
 
 " But we are now in the street of San Salvadore." 
 
 " It is a festival ; . . . the bells are ringing, but no one 
 knows why ; perhaps to call God to witness stop 
 hush ! woe the sight ! See the executioner ; his eyes 
 are cast down in token of compassion ; but do you not 
 see a gleam of malignant pleasure, a feeling of gladness, 
 at his power to destroy ? The word brother is on his lips, 
 but do you not see a smile of joy distort his features ? " 
 
 " Princess, do you not see that it is night ? Such 
 deeds are not done in darkness." 
 
 " Ah, for pity ! The sufferer ascends the steps. ... I 
 know him. . . . Rogiero ! Rogiero ! " 
 
 Rogiero had listened intently to this conversation, 
 with what anguish may be easily imagined ; and now, 
 risking everything rather than leave her uncomforted, 
 pretending that he wished to speak to the knight, he 
 drew bridle and was quickly at Vole's side. She was not 
 yet free from the frightful vision. He dismounted, and 
 gently taking her hand, said, " I am Rogiero." 
 
 The sound of his voice produced the accustomed ef- 
 fect : the afflicted girl recognized him and grew calm. 
 Rogiero wept, and the captain involuntarily raising his 
 hand to his eyes, found the tears rolling down his cheeks ; 
 well did he know the state of the case, and perhaps even 
 more than was to be known. Looking more closely at 
 Rogiero, he remembered him, for he had seen him very 
 often ; he might gain two thousand schifati, that is, nearly 
 fourteen thousand sequins, by denouncing him ; no one 
 could blame him, for it would be loyalty to his king ; he 
 could also thus obtain favor with Manfred ; but praised 
 be virtue ! he abhorred the price of blood, and said to 
 Rogiero, " Squire, if you are guilty, I will not be the one 
 to accuse you ; if innocent, to betray you : if you had 
 . any base motive for sinning, have now an honorable one 
 for reforming : take my horse and depart ; disguise your-
 
 The Spy. 267 
 
 self, and leave Benevento ; at the frontier, times are ap- 
 proaching when, if guilty, you can win reward ; if innocent, 
 honor ; do not hesitate a moment ; you might be lost 
 if you delayed for thanks ; if I am not mistaken, the 
 princess will not detain you." 
 
 Yole bowed her paleface ingratitude upon the knight's 
 shoulder, who added : " Away now, hasten." 
 
 Rogiero sprang again into the saddle, and bending 
 down to the daughter of Manfred, exclaimed : " My soul 
 is with you ! " and disappeared. 
 
 Yole sighed, but did not reply ; following her faithful 
 escort, and cheered by a ray of hope, she returned to her 
 mother's arms. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIT. 
 
 THE SPY. 
 
 Quanta, e qual sia quell' oste, e cio che pensi 
 II duce loro, a voi ridir prometto. 
 Vantomi in lui scoprir gPintimi sensi, * 
 E i secreti pensier trargli dal petto. 
 
 TASSO, Gerusalemme Liberata. 
 
 What and how great the host, and what may be 
 Their leader's thoughts, I promise you to show. 
 
 It is my boast his hidden mind to see, 
 
 And the deep secrets of his breast to know. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 HE more I think of it, the more suitable it appears 
 to me, that those compositions which are called 
 romances should be likened to " rose-trees in 
 full bearing." .Bright with blossoms, most beau- 
 tiful with their crimson adornments, most delightful from 
 their exquisite perfume, they attract the gaze of the pas- 
 ser-by, who, enchanted, wonders how a flower can have so 
 many of the charms of his loved one's face. The com-
 
 268 The Spy. 
 
 parison gains force, if we consider, that as the rose is sur- 
 rounded by thorns, so the paths that lead to success are 
 also strewn with obstacles, some difficult to overcome, 
 some impossible. They differ, however, in this, that in 
 passing by the rose-tree we are contented with the beauty of 
 the flower, without caring, partly from want of will, but 
 more from want of power, to study the causes of its birth, 
 its life, or its death. With the romance, on the contrary, 
 it is very different : art teaches us to arrange the events 
 in a strange, mysterious manner, and to present them 
 with as much skill as the poet can devise, so that the 
 emotions of the reader may be excited more and more to 
 the end ; but at that very point the greatest care, must be 
 taken to unfold the plot naturally, so that he may not be 
 irritated by finding that he has wasted his tears upon trials 
 in nothing appertaining to human nature. This is the 
 labor, this the trial ; this to genius is the rock ; to medi- 
 ocrity the abyss ; and such certainly it would be to us, were 
 not the events which we are relating true, or at least had 
 we not found them in an ancient chronicle, written on 
 parchment, in Gothic characters, with the capitals illum- 
 inated and gilded, which, although a little injured by the 
 moths, rats, and damp, we look upon as a great treasure, 
 as any one will be convinced who will come and see it. 
 
 The chronicle relates, that one day, as the Count della 
 Cerra was shut up in his private room, examining some 
 papers of great importance, he heard a knock at the door ; 
 asking who it was, he was answered, that a pilgrim, who 
 appeared to have travelled far, was very urgent to speak 
 to him. "A pilgrim? Let him ^come in," commanded 
 della Cerra. A few minutes after, a man entered, who, first 
 closing the door carefully, went up to the count, and 
 throwing off his pilgrim's dress, showed who he was. 
 
 " Gisfredo ! You here ! You dressed as a pilgrim ! Who 
 would have recognized you ? " 
 
 " Where nature fails, art supplies the deficiency, Sir 
 Count." 
 
 " What news ? Is that simpleton dead yet ? Has 
 your sharpness, joined to his weakness, already destroyed 
 him? Tell me, tell me, I am impatient to know; sit
 
 The Spy. 269 
 
 down beside me ; you will be more comfortable, and I 
 shall hear better." 
 
 "Too much honor, my master," replied Gisfredo, bow- 
 ing, and not wishing to accept the invitation ; but the 
 count insisting, he obeyed, and being hurried again by a 
 most emphatic " Well?" began his narrative : 
 
 " My master, since the night when you ordered me so 
 earnestly to watch Rogiero's movements, I, anxious to 
 please you, have never lost trace of him. That same 
 night I met him, when, I know not whether by chance or 
 purposely, he was spurring headlong towards a torrent, 
 where he would have killed himself if I had not stopped . 
 him. Trusting to the service I had rendered, I asked for 
 his company, for then I should ha^ebeen far more sure of 
 him, but he repulsed me angrily. The next day (a cold 
 shiver seizes me when I think of it) a troop of ban- 
 ditti stopped me, and after ill-treating me, and taking 
 away all my money, which I carried in a purse, they were 
 going, at all risks, to propaginate me. Both by disposition 
 and by habit I am averse from boasting of what I have 
 done for your lordship ; and then, no matter how much I 
 did, I could never acquit myself of the immense obliga- 
 tions I am under to you, my master; but I swear 
 
 "Cut it short, Gisfredo; you were in danger of your 
 life? It would have been a great misfortune, truly, if 
 they had killed you ! Are rascals scarce in this world ? '^ 
 
 " Your lordship is right. It is sufficient to know that 
 I was saved." 
 
 " I knew it already, for the devil always helps his own." 
 
 " Your lordship is right. I followed him with all the 
 ardor of vengeance, all the cunning of cowardice ; as long 
 as he was sufficiently excited by himself, I let him alone ; 
 but as he approached the French army he began to 
 slacken his zeal. This new hesitancy reached such a pitch, 
 that I thought it well to introduce myself- into his room 
 by night, and excite him by saying in a sad, ghostly voice : 
 ' Remember your father! He crossed the Po with incred- 
 ible fury, then fell back, worse than ever, into that state 
 of irresolution ; then I thought that I would precede him, 
 and presented myself to Count Buoso, told him that I
 
 270 The Spy. 
 
 was your servant, showed him my letters-patent, and in- 
 formed him that a Neapolitan courier, with letters address- 
 ed to him, was a day's journey behind me, and that he 
 had better send some of his people to meet and escort 
 him, for if he were to fall into the hands of the Ghibellines 
 with those papers upon him, it might do a great deal of 
 mischief. Buoso sent some men, who brought him there. 
 It was dark, and I hid myself in a corridor, to see him as he 
 passed, and I can tell you, my master, the storm of con- 
 tending passions which rent his soul was an astounding 
 thing to witness ; hardly able to stand, he leaned against 
 the wall for support, unable to go either forward or back." 
 
 "Do you enjoy describing his despair, miscreant?" 
 
 "Think how you w^ild have enjoyed seeing it, my 
 master ! Finding that he delayed too long, I crept softly 
 near him, and murmured in his ear, ' Remember your 
 father.' He turned, and pursued me eagerly, whilst I, 
 familiar with the place, fled from room to room, till I had 
 brought him to the one where Duera was ; I then easily 
 slipped away from him. From that time his course was 
 unavoidable ; the Ghibelline traitor received the letters . . ." 
 
 " Convert, you mean." 
 
 " Convert. The French received theirs, and he re- 
 mained in their camp till they reached Rome ! " 
 
 "What! Is he no longer with them?" demanded 
 Count Anselmo with a terrible oath, striking his fist upon 
 the table. 
 
 " Listen. At Rome the tournament was announced. 
 Rogiero, and Ghino di Tacco, the most famous bandit in 
 Italy, fought there unknown : I saw them deal such ter- 
 rible blows as 1 do not believe were ever equalled, far less 
 surpassed, in the world. Woe to us, my master, if we 
 should ever become the object of them ! " 
 
 Anselmo changed color, and in a voice less firm than 
 usual, ordered, " Proceed." 
 
 " The French were unhorsed, and almost all severely 
 wounded ; a Kilmont was killed ; De Montfort De 
 Montfort himself was declared conquered, and carried 
 away for dead from the field " 
 
 " What matters that ? Go on."
 
 The Spy. 271 
 
 "The victory won, Ghino, Rogiero, and their compan- 
 ions escaped ; I hastened to follow them at a distance, 
 and saw them enter the forest near Frascati, where 
 Rogiero stayed several days to heal the wounds which he 
 had received. One afternoon, as I was stealing towards 
 the house to gain intelligence, I saw him go alone out 
 into the forest ; I might have killed him, there was not 
 a soul near, and he was unarmed, but I had no orders, 
 so I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and abstained. 
 Hearing him utter strange words, I softly climbed a tree, 
 and to render him desperate, repeated, ' Remember 
 your father' He seemed like a wounded boar ; blind 
 with passion, he sought me through the forest, and wan- 
 dered hither and thither, till just at nightfall he reached 
 the Abbey of San Vittorino : there, my master, a piece of 
 ill-luck was preparing for us all . . ." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Your soldier Roberto, having become a friar, lay 
 there dying." 
 
 " Ah ! And he related to him . . ." 
 
 " As a lay brother told me, the whole story of your 
 treachery." 
 
 " Treachery ! Did you say treachery ? " 
 
 "It was not I who said it I am telling you what the 
 lay brother said." 
 
 " We are lost ! " muttered Count Anselmo, unprepared 
 for the intelligence : " 1 warned that simpleton of it ; 
 they will commit crimes, and cannot stifle remorse. If I 
 had killed him a day before, all would have been safe." 
 And without thinking, he put his hand to his belt, and drew 
 his dagger. Gisfredo, rising, drew back. They re- 
 mained silent for several minutes, when finally the count, 
 looking round, said : " Gisfredo, where are you ? Come 
 back here ; why did you go away ? " Then noticing the 
 dagger in his right hand, he replaced it, adding : " Do 
 not fear. Do you not know that you are more necessary 
 to me than any one else ? " and he muttered between his 
 teeth, " Your hour is not yet come." 
 
 " My master is right ; but I can hear just as well stand- 
 ing."
 
 272 The Spy. 
 
 " Do as you please. There is, then, no escape ? " 
 
 " Cannot you find any ? The deuce ! Is a head like 
 yours, my master, to be drowned in a goblet ? " 
 
 "Tell me if you know of anything, for Heaven's 
 sake ! " 
 
 " I would willingly, but truly I am ashamed to. It ap- 
 pears to me so easy, that you cannot but have thought 
 of it ; and then it is not becoming in me, who have 
 learned only grammar enough to take orders, to teach a 
 baron like you, who are deeply skilled in the mysteries of 
 astrology." 
 
 " It is not to be denied that my head is somewhat con- 
 fused to-day, lately everything has gone wrong." 
 
 "Ah ! my lord, I know how to make them go right ; 
 but you do not, or rather will not." 
 
 " That is ? " 
 
 " Spend freely ; you are chamberlain, and can do it, 
 and not with your own money either ; in our days 
 people do not work for love." . 
 
 " Ah ! You want money? " 
 
 " Not for myself, really, baron ; for what can I want 
 of money, when I have your favor? Although, truly, the 
 robbers took all that you gave me . . ." 
 
 " I do not know about robbers ; but certainly a rob- 
 ber did, when I gave it to you."- 
 
 " You do not believe it ? I swear by . . ." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, for an oath in your mouth would 
 be an additional reason for not believing you." 
 
 "Well, just as you please; men have often been de- 
 ceived through too much suspicion. The amount of it is, 
 that I have no more of the money, and to serve you effec- 
 tually I must have some." 
 
 "What need was there of so much circumlocution to 
 come to the point ? Here, here are some agostari." 
 
 Gisfredo extended his hand like one accustomed to such 
 presents, and put them away safely, bowing his thanks, 
 and resumed his former demeanor. 
 
 Anselmo added : " You rascal, now that you have 
 them, tell me what you intend to do." 
 
 "I protest, my master, that Gisfredo cares as little
 
 The Spy. 273 
 
 for money as a dog for blows ; but what I intend to do 
 for your advantage cannot be accomplished except by 
 money ; times are hard, human nature grows worse 
 every day, and men are such villains that they won't do 
 one a favor until they are paid for it." 
 
 " You are both proof and argument." 
 
 "Listen, baron. Rogiero, leaving Ghino, will of course 
 go directly to Manfred ; that is certain. Now, as I have 
 learned on the way that the king has convoked the Parlia- 
 ment of the kingdom to meet at Benevento in a few 
 days, his route must necessarily be to that city ; my ad- 
 vice, then, would be for me to set out immediately with 
 fifteen or twenty brave men, lie in wait for him, and make 
 him food for the wolves." 
 
 " San Germano ! " exclaimed Count Anselmo, striking 
 his forehead, " so true is it, that to see clearly what is 
 near, one should be short-sighted ! What you say is good, 
 but only in part. In the first place, you must take fewer 
 men with you, so as not to excite suspicion, and instead 
 of taking bandits you must stop at Count Caserta's castle 
 on the way, and bear an order from me to the governor, 
 who will furnish you with three or four soldiers not 
 more, I command you and take care that they do not 
 wear the livery of Aquino : as to killing him, it seems to 
 me that that is not good counsel ; what do you think ? " 
 
 " Ah ! Do what you please : I have given my opin- 
 ion ; dead men tell no tales." 
 
 Count Anselmo reflected for some time, and then con- 
 tinued : "No, no; that bloody corpse, on the high- 
 way, just at the time of the assembling of Parliament, 
 a squire, a deserter, under sentence, would make it 
 seem more important, and would induce them to search 
 into the matter more than it is really worth. Try to take 
 him alive; if you cannot, why, kill him, but bring his 
 body away with you, remove every trace, and bury it 
 where it cannot be found. Go, and make all possible 
 haste." 
 
 He departed. The reader already knows what he did, 
 and the result ; for Gisfredo, finding that he could not 
 kill Rogiero without danger, brought him insensible to 
 12*
 
 2/4 The Spy. 
 
 Benevento, where, finding Count Anselmo, who had ar- 
 rived there before the court, he put him, by his orders, 
 into the dungeon of the Roman legate's palace, which 
 had long been deserted, and which, through neglect, was 
 partly in ruins. The count intended him to die of hunger, 
 not, like Gisfredo, from desire of his death, but to save 
 the expense of keeping him alive. 
 
 Having fulfilled his commission, Gisfredo returned to 
 the dwelling of Count Anselmo, and said, " That is 
 done, baron ; our young gentleman will become a saint, 
 and perform miracles ; he is already in the cloister ; at 
 present all that is wanting is to lock-the door and to throw 
 the keys into the Galore, and all is finished." * 
 
 <; Let us think of something else : but find some priest 
 to say a mass for him, so that his soul may not accuse us, 
 and may know that we have behaved like good and loyal 
 Christians ; for the rest, we leave him to God." 
 
 " You are right, my master," replied Gisfredo, half in 
 irony, half in earnest, not knowing exactly which Anseimo 
 intended. Seeing a slight smile on the count's lips, he 
 added, laughing: "I will say the mass myself; I am cer- 
 tain that some one in the other world, either above or be- 
 low, will hear it." 
 
 " You will certainly come to some dreadful end, Gis- 
 fredo, you are so wicked ! I am now about to intrust a 
 more delicate charge to you, and one fully worthy of your 
 talents : lay aside that pilgrim garb, put on the livery of 
 my house, and go to court ; you will not be noticed, of 
 if you are, as my servant you will also be respected ; as- 
 sociate with Manfred's people, keep an eye upon the 
 ministers, the king, the queen, everyone; mark their 
 movements, their words, their looks, and if you can, even 
 their thoughts ; be faithful to me ; remember that my fall 
 would be accompanied by your ruin, my elevation by 
 your advantage." 
 
 * The Galore is a river near Benevento. The author alludes to 
 the fate of Count Ugolino, who, with his four children, was starved 
 to death in the tower Mnda, in Pisa. It was the Archbishop Rug- 
 gieri who had them locked into that tower, and had the keys thrown 
 into the Arno. See Dante, Inferno, XXXIII.
 
 The Spy. 275 
 
 Gisfredo executed the orders of his master, partly (and 
 here he was mistaken) in the hope of receiving some 
 great reward, and partly from inclination. He entered 
 court, and, like the crafty knave he really was, appeared, 
 now fawning, now haughty, here exercising courtesy, 
 there villany, withdrawing and reappearing at suitable 
 times, flattering the roughest of the barons by servility, 
 gaining over the most quick-witted of the servants with a 
 few agostari, and succeeded in a few hours in learning 
 more than any one else would have discovered in as many 
 years. In spite of his cunning, however, destiny, which 
 so often opposes generous deeds, had decreed that his 
 evil ones should prove fatal to him : those which we have 
 related have already exposed him, as we have seen, to 
 much danger ; we shall now learn how the last, in which 
 he lost his life, was brought about. 
 
 The family of Manfred, wearied with the exertions of 
 the day, had sought that sleep which for a long time had 
 not descended uninvoked upon their eyelids. 'Gisfredo, 
 with careful, stealthy steps, and attentive ears, had, to 
 make himself more useful to Count Anselmo, pene- 
 trated into the most retired of the royal apartments. The 
 fates led him on : he enters a long passage, feeling his 
 way, and walking on tiptoe ; hardly daring to breathe, he 
 passes through it, reaches a large hall, leaves the wall 
 which has hitherto guided him, and goes forward ; he 
 has scarcely reached the centre of the room, when a re- 
 pressed groan warns him that there is some one there : 
 he stops, a female voice wails through the vast apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " Can he," cries the mourner, " can he have pretended 
 an affection? Has the demon taught him to feign a 
 passion, to wither my heart, destroy my intellect, and 
 consume my life ? Were they all feigned, his courteous 
 acts, his long homage, his look, his voice, his embrace, 
 his kiss all false ? Were not his words frenzied with 
 love, did he not tremble, not sigh deeply ? And yet he 
 has left me alone in this path of sorrows : the thought 
 of parents, of heaven itself, cannot console me ; my pas- 
 sion is stronger than they. Let me at least be assured
 
 276 The Spy. 
 
 of his death, that I may know where to direct my com- 
 plaints ; if the grave hold his body, at least may it leave 
 his soul free or rather let it still retain it, that he may 
 leave it for a moment to tell me that he did not feign 
 that he did love me : but a moment, and then eternity 
 may claim him. Life, life is in the blood, and his blood 
 has been shed. Oh, that I had his corpse ! I would 
 watch it as if he were sleeping ; I would deceive myself, 
 saying: ' Presently he will wake.' And since he could 
 not be united to me in life, I would stay beside his bed, 
 waiting with resignation to be united to him in death. I 
 would warm his cold lips with kisses, I would pour balm 
 into his wound, Good Heavens? What a wound! 
 deep, directly through his breast, it is mortal, tell me 
 the truth, is it incurable, master? * He does not answer 
 me, he weeps, and you too weep, Gismonda. O 
 Rogiero ! who slew you ? Rogiero ! " 
 
 She rose hastily, and came rapidly forward towards 
 Gisfredo,'who, retreating with less than his usual caution, 
 stumbled over a footstool with a great noise : the acci- 
 dent confused him, and he lost the direction of the door ; 
 groping for the wall, the more he sought it, the farther he 
 went from it. Yole (for Yole it was who was thus lament- 
 ing), furious at the interruption, sprang forward and caught 
 him by the breast, her hand struck upon the hilt of a 
 dagger. Still holding him fast, she drew it, and threaten- 
 ing to bury it in his breast, cried : " You killed him ! 
 God has thrown you in my way that I may avenge him." 
 
 The present danger, no less than the worse impending, 
 if that cry of Yole's should bring any one to her aid, so 
 cowed Gisfredo, that by accident, rather than with any 
 real intention, he replied, " Have pity, my lady ; your 
 Rogiero is alive." 
 
 "Alive!" 
 
 " I swear it by all the saints in paradise." 
 
 " Alive ! " 
 
 " Yes, alive and well as you are, my lady." 
 
 *' It is not true ; you are deceiving roe." 
 
 * The title given to physicians in those times.
 
 The Spy. 277 
 
 " Do you not believe in the saints ? " 
 
 " I believe in them but in you, no . . ." 
 
 " But he is alive . . ." 
 
 " Then lead me to him, and until I see him, do not 
 hope that I shall release my hold of you, or remove this 
 dagger from your throat." 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! We shall be seen, my lady, we shall 
 be stopped ; you will ruin us both ; you will never see 
 Rogiero again ; to-morrow, I swear to you . . ." 
 
 The Swabian maid, infuriated by passion, pricked him 
 slightly, at which Gisfredo nearly fainted with terror, and 
 in a stern voice ordered, il Lead on, and be silent." 
 
 Gisfredo, seeing that there was no time to devise means 
 of escape, and that nothing could save him but honest 
 dealing, prepared, though sorely against his will, to act 
 honestly : it seemed as if, even when he really en- 
 deavored, he had not the power to do what he ought ; his 
 limbs themselves seemed to become involuntary traitors. 
 The Swabian maiden held him tightly, and often, suspect- 
 ing him, gave him a slight prick. He would utter a low 
 " Ah ! " and for a few steps would give her no cause for 
 suspicion ; then again would do worse than before. Thus 
 they reached the court : two sentries were pacing up 
 and down before the great gate ; to pass through it with- 
 out being seen, was impossible. There is no royal palace 
 without secret doors, by which, as Giuseppe Parini writes, 
 truth sometimes enters. Yole remembered, just in time, 
 that there was one in the building where they were. She 
 drew Gisfredo to it, almost by force ; and thus they 
 reached the open air. What happened afterwards, the 
 reader has already learned.
 
 278 Despair. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 Visibilmente si tramuta in faccia, 
 E trema d'una larva che il minaccia. 
 
 GROSSI, I Lombard i, 'alia Prima Crociata. 
 
 His features a visible change betrayed, 
 
 And trembled his limbs at a threatening shade. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 ^ANFRED ! In the time when, if his confidence 
 in his own wishes was rash, much greater were 
 the will of men and the vicissitudes of events to 
 uphold him; borne on "by fortune's favoring 
 gale," we have not attempted to describe him : now, in 
 the dark hour of adversity, the heart is moved by sensa- 
 tions that no one, however magnanimous, would wish to 
 repress ; there arise in the depths of the mind thoughts 
 that no one, however exalted, could call base. The Power 
 that rules the destinies of the world has willed that to 
 attain the reputation of greatness, the exercise of virtue 
 that is, what we call virtue is unnecessary. Nor let 
 any one boldly question this opinion, for we will ask him, 
 if that was virtue which led the ancient father to support 
 by the labor of his hands his numerous family, and both 
 by precept and example to bring them up in the love of 
 their fellow-men, and in the fear of GOD. And when he 
 assents, we will ask him again, why hardly a passing 
 whisper of memory breathes of him in the village where 
 he dwelt ? Why the piety of his grandchildren searches 
 the church-yard in vain for a sign, a cross, a stone, to 
 distinguish him from the crowd of dead ? Why, instead 
 of having rose-trees growing on his grave, does the over- 
 worked horse of the parish -priest eat away the few wild 
 flowers with which nature adorns it ? Then we shall see 
 if he will affirm that it is virtue which incites part of the 
 human race to smite the other part with the sword ; vir-
 
 Despair. 279 
 
 tue, to persecute the innocent because they are weak ; to 
 look upon their weakness, consequent upon their inno- 
 cence, as a crime, and punish and scorn it. Virtue, ava- 
 ricious rapine, terrible conflagrations, base crimes ! Vir- 
 tue, that the husbandman, driven out by soldiery, should 
 be compelled to flee with his family, bearing one child in 
 his arms and leading 1 ' another by the hand, while his wife 
 supports the daughter, their pride in the smiling days of 
 peace (for a mother's pride is in her beautiful children), 
 but for whom, now overwhelmed with misfortune, she 
 prays for death, from the mercy of the Lord ! Wretched 
 man ! his road leads to the mountain ; . those precipitous 
 cliffs promise nothing but the labor of climbing 'them ; 
 there he may find an asylum, for there there is no 
 booty. Half-way up the ascent, he turns to see once 
 more the cottage, dear by so many memories of love, 
 dear also by memories of sorrow. Alas ! it is no 
 longer to be seen ; bitter tears fall from his eyes, he 
 groans deeply, but the groan and the tear are not for 
 his burnt home, his ruined harvest, his possessions, ob- 
 tained with difficulty and long toil, now in one short 
 hour destroyed. He mourns for his native air ; for 
 the place where first the beloved maiden, suffused with 
 modest blushes, told him that he did not love in vain ; 
 where he was first saluted by the name of father. 
 He mourns for his parents' ashes ; his timid thought, 
 glancing forward to future years, does not fear the bitter- 
 ness of begging of the stranger for bread which will be 
 refused, nor of hearing added to the refusal the sharp 
 words of a heart which alleges vice as a pretext for not 
 being moved to pity ; it fears only the image of his 
 grandchildren, who, hardly able to lisp their questions, 
 will say to him, " Lead us where your father sleeps." 
 What can he reply ? "I have deserted him ! " The re- 
 proach of undutifulness rends his heart; can he complain 
 if they abandon him alive, he who abandoned his father 
 dead ? Living or dead, is the head of a father less 
 sacred? He turns, hastens along, raises his eyes to- 
 wards the mountain-top, eager to place the rock between 
 himself and the sight and thought of such misery. And
 
 280 Despair. 
 
 if such oppression is not virtue, why do those who hold 
 the empire of fame clothe it with the brilliancy of song, 
 or send it down to posterity with the monument of his- 
 tory ? Why in your halls, on your armor, even upon 
 your breasts, do I see only images of the latest con- 
 queror ? Oh, men have become so cowardly, that they 
 have made a god of violence, or and perhaps this is 
 more true -they have never known what virtue i-. 
 
 Manfred was not virtuous, he was great. Excluded 
 by his father's crime from the inheritance of power, he 
 made its acquisition the object of his every hope. Be- 
 tween him and the sceptre stood four lives, all sacred. 
 He stretched forth his hand and seized it. What were 
 the arguments which the ambitious one employed ? The 
 shadow of the throne conceals them, but they stand like 
 enemies drawn up in battle array before his soul and be- 
 fore God. He destroyed his enemies, first by fraud, 
 then by victory ; and after debasing them by bribery, he 
 slew them with the sword. Trusting in the destiny which 
 led him on, he overruled fortune and events. Not satis- 
 fied with the crown of Naples, he looked upon Italy, saw 
 her divided, and formed the design of bringing her under 
 
 o o o 
 
 his sole command. Penetrating into the mysteries of the 
 future, he beheld her the prey of the foreigner, and deter- 
 mined to prevent such a consummation ; nor, since Alaric 
 had devastated the beautiful country, had any one but 
 himself seemed chosen by Heaven for the vast enterprise ; 
 in him were wisdom in council, personal prowess, a won- 
 derful power of conciliating affection, and a tempering 
 mildness, unknown to his proud forefathers. Rome had 
 somewhat fallen from her power ; the Italians either 
 trusted him, or were but little jealous of him, looking upon 
 him as their natural sovereign, and as one whose interests 
 were entirely separate from Germany. Tuscany was Ghi- 
 belline, governed by the wisdom of Farinata ; Lombardy 
 mostly devoted to his name, through the influence of 
 Pelavicino, Duera, and the arms of Giordano Lancia. 
 He for the times, the times for him ; it may be thought 
 that he would have governed with absolute power ; per- 
 haps, elated by success, with tyranny ; but the work was
 
 Despair. 281 
 
 to unite Italy : that done, whenever oppression was at- 
 tempted by one person, one single blow would be suffi- 
 cient to destroy it ; and if every age does not produce 
 one wise man, every one can count many desperate ones. 
 
 Alone, in the vast hall adorned with the portraits of his 
 ancestors, upon a couch of Moorish workmanship, sat 
 Manfred, his face buried in the pillows ; save for a gasp- 
 ing sob, which from time to time shook his frame, he 
 'might have seemed asleep. We know not what thoughts 
 were passing through his mind, but they must have been 
 such as bring anguish, even upon the softest pillow. He 
 rose hastily, took two steps forward and stopped, resting 
 his right hand upon the table for support, his eyes motion- 
 less and fixed upon the ground, his lips quivering; the 
 blood ebbed and flowed upon his face like the waves of 
 the sea, now flushing in crimson, now leaving it perfectly 
 pallid. He turns with a start, fixing his eyes upon that 
 part of the room which the rays of the silver lamp upon 
 the table hardly reach, and seems about to flee ; sum- 
 moning up all his courage, he advances, stops, retreats 
 a step, then rushes desperately forward, and with 
 trembling hands touches the cause of his terror. To his 
 heated fancy, the insufficient light changes every object 
 to images which he cannot bear. Finally, he raises the 
 lamp to blow it out, but in the very act his restless glance 
 falls upon some new object which thrills him with horror. 
 He extends the hand which holds the lamp, advances it 
 to the wall, it is a sword which is hanging there. He 
 sighs, again raises the light towards his mouth, looks 
 again and again round the room, then with a great effort 
 blows upon the light, and it is dark. Through the dark- 
 ness sounds his rapid, excited, irregular step. 
 
 We know not whether it is so elsewhere, but in Italy it 
 certainly happens that a storm often recurs for several 
 days at a particular time, until it ceases entirely. So now, 
 as on the previous evening, the distant thunder begins to 
 sound, and the lightning to flash with ever increasing fury. 
 " The hour approaches ! " murmurs Manfred. The wild 
 south wind rises, the full force of the storm bursts over 
 the building, shaking it and seeming about to shatter it.
 
 282 Despair. 
 
 He listens to the distant gusts that make the doors 
 and casements rattle ; the hail strikes sharply upon the 
 windows, as if it would break them, or driving them from 
 their frames, carry them Heaven knows where. Holy 
 Mary ! it seems like the day of judgment ! Why does 
 Manfred traverse the room with trembling steps ? Does 
 he fear that that convulsion of the elements is a war that 
 nature has declared against him ? What is he muttering 
 between his teeth ? Saints of Paradise ! he is invoking 
 the powers of darkness. The storm still rages ; he makes 
 the sign of the cross, and hesitatingly looks up. A flash 
 of lightning shows him that he has unconsciously directed 
 his glance towards the portrait of his father Frederick ; 
 that red glare appears to animate it for a moment with 
 life the picture certainly rolls its bloodshot eyes, and 
 frames with its lips words of fire. Woe to Manfred if that 
 sight had lasted longer than the lightning flash ! His 
 brain would have given way, his heart burst. The dark- 
 ness hides the cause of his terror; the thunder breaks 
 immediately with a tremendous crash, and in the midst 
 of the reverberation Manfred shouts, " The hour is 
 past ! " Unable longer to support himself, almost faint- 
 ing, staggering like a drunken man, he went towards the 
 couch, and as he sank down upon it, his right hand struck 
 upon the royal crown, from which he hastily withdrew it, as 
 if he had touched a burning coal ; and truly the sensation 
 must have been such, for he cried, " It burns." Then, 
 like one laboring up a steep mountain-path, he sighed 
 heavily and often. A cold perspiration poured down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 Borne by the wind, now swelling as it rose and now 
 dying away with it, bringing comfort, even pleasure, to 
 the afflicted one, came the sweet sounds of a soft prelude 
 upon the lute. At first, groaning under the weight of his 
 mental suffering, he gave no heed ; but when there was 
 added to it a voice melodious with secret sadness a voice 
 which, like the lightning's flash, penetrated, aroused and 
 excited, so many pleasant memories and sweet tenderness 
 stole softly into Manfred's heart, that he slowly bowed his 
 head upon his hands and wept. They were tears such as
 
 Despair. 283 
 
 furrow the cheek, such as are like drops of oil upon red- 
 hot iron, but he wept. Thinking that nothing else could 
 console him so much as hearing more plainly the voice 
 which had so soothed him, he rose, and leaving the room, 
 went in the direction of the sound. 
 
 Queen Elena, having dismissed all her maidens, had 
 retired to her private apartments with her children, Yole 
 and Manfredino ; there they had united in prayer to the 
 Lord for pardon and peace. Just as the prayer was 
 concluded, the storm burst. Elena made as light as she 
 could of the sinister omen, and by her cheerful looks and 
 words encouraged Yole, who clung to her, and Man- 
 fredino, who, seated upon a footstool at her feet, had 
 taken one of her hands, and put it before his eyes to shut 
 out the lightning. 
 
 " Courage, my children," said the queen; "is this the 
 first storm you ever heard ? Is such terror becoming in 
 the children of a king ? " 
 
 "What, my mother?" replied Yole; "should not even 
 kings tremble before God?" 
 
 " They should, but it would be too much, my daughter. 
 to attribute every tempest to the anger of Heaven." 
 
 " Did you notice, mother, that we had hardly uttered 
 the last word of our prayer when the thunder crashed?" 
 
 " I did not observe it, for my mind was absorbed in the 
 thoughts of paradise." 
 
 " It seems to me," added Yole, lowering her voice, 
 and speaking in her mother's ear, " it seems as if God had 
 abandoned us." 
 
 " My daughter," replied Elena, in a tone of affection- 
 ate reproof, " not even the saints have penetrated the se- 
 crets of the Eternal ; if the prophets knew them, it was 
 because He Himself revealed them to their spirits, not 
 otherwise. Rejoice then at affliction sent by the Lord, 
 He wishes to prove us, and they who are proved are 
 among the number of the elect. Do you remember, my 
 dear child, St. Ambrose of Milan, who, coming to Mal- 
 mantile, asked the host concerning his worldly affairs, and 
 receiving the reply : ' I am rich, in good health, have a 
 handsome wife, a fine family, am esteemed, honored and
 
 284 Despair. 
 
 revered by all, have never known what it was to be ill or 
 sad, but always have lived and still live contented and 
 happy,' ordered his servants to saddle the horses, say- 
 ing, ' God is not in this place, nor with this man, for He 
 has granted him too much happiness.' * And then what 
 does King David say ? ' Many are the afflictions of the 
 righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.' 
 But let us turn our thoughts from such mournful con- 
 templations. The angels taught harmony to mortals to 
 .soothe their sorrows." So saying, she drew away the 
 hand that Manfredino held, and gently patting his cheek, 
 ordered : " Go, Manfredino, and bring me the lute which 
 is upon that table." 
 
 The boy raised his eyes, and hesitatingly looked at 
 her. 
 
 " Go, Manfredino," insisted the noble Elena ; " are you 
 perchance afraid ? " 
 
 The boy went with brave steps to the table, upon which 
 stood several instruments, took the lute, and handing it 
 to the queen, said, " Here, mamma, is the lute." 
 
 "Thanks, my son." 
 
 "Oh! is there need of thanks for such things, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 " Why not ? If it was your duty to obey me, it was 
 courtesy in me to thank you." 
 
 "Now, since you are so good, will you grant me a 
 favor?" 
 
 "What favor?" 
 
 " Promise me first that you will grant it." 
 
 " Has Queen Elena ever refused her children when 
 they have asked for anything worthy ? " 
 
 " Then you have granted me that you will play the bal- 
 lad of Lucia, and Yole will sing it ; it is so beautiful, the 
 ballad of Lucia, that, when I hear it, tears come to my 
 eyes. Why is it, mamma, that it makes me cry ? " 
 
 The queen ran. over with skilful fingers the chords of 
 her lute, drawing forth most sweet accords, so as to avoid 
 replying to him ; but she could not help murmuring to her- 
 
 * PASSAVANTI, Specchio dclla Vera Penitenza.
 
 Despair. 285 
 
 self: "Alas! sorrow has become the inheritance of the 
 house of Manfred ; even those who know not what it is, 
 love sorrow ; their soul forebodes the suffering that is to 
 come." And continuing her prelude : 
 
 " Yole, my daughter," she said, " sing the ballad of 
 Lucia." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! how can I ? my voice is so hoarse . . ." 
 
 " From sighing ? and is it not a sorrowful ballad that 
 you are to sing? it will better suit your subject." 
 
 Without saying more, they began to bring to a unison 
 the voice and the lute. There arose a soft insisting 
 sound on the same note, of that kind which the Greeks 
 call melody. It moved the soul of the listeners as does 
 the joyful glittering of the light on the surface of the 
 waters of a lake, a peaceful rest, an inspired sweetness 
 ... fool ! what mortal language is able to reveal the 
 mysteries of harmony ? 
 
 A door opens ; the three fixed their eyes on that point. 
 Manfred, contrary to his habit, for he always wore green 
 garments, was dressed in deep black, so that his body 
 was hardiy visible through the open door. His face was 
 pale and wan, his hair standing on end, his eyes staring 
 fixed, as a man just awakened from a frightful dream. 
 They screamed, terror-struck, and fearing that something 
 "dreadful had happened to him, his children rushed towards 
 him. 
 
 "I will defend myself!" exclaimed Manfred, carrying 
 his hand to his belt ; "you wish to murder your father, 
 as . . . it becomes you to condemn me ? crime is not 
 obliterated by crime : will revenge be eternal in my 
 house ? " 
 
 " Father ! husband ! father ! " 
 
 Indeed, those names must strike powerfully on the 
 heart of man, for they were able to recall Manfred from 
 his terror, and make him rejoice in the sight of his family. 
 Manfredino embraced his knees ; Yole kneeling seized 
 his hand, and impressed upon it tender kisses; Queen 
 Elena extending her arms invited him as to a safe refuge ; 
 overcome by the fulness of his emotion, he kissed his
 
 286 Despair. 
 
 son, raised and kissed Yole, and flew to the arms of his 
 beloved wife. 
 
 Having drank from the cup of family joy, Manfred 
 said: "And I have faith that destiny sends sorrow to 
 me, in order that I may intoxicate myself in the sweet- 
 ness of your kisses, my beloved ones ; and if it is so, I 
 have Cause to bless it, rather than complain. But here, 
 if I mistake not, I heard singing. Ah ! share with me 
 your pleasures : I came desirous of harmony ; it does my 
 spirit good." 
 
 Queen Elena and Yole did not reply, except by one re- 
 suming her lute and the other repeating in undertone the 
 notes of the song. When they were in accord, Yole be- 
 gan thus : 
 
 " O listening maidens, silent be, 
 
 But let your pitying teardrops run, 
 To hear ray song of misery ; 
 The mournful ballad is begun. 
 
 In days of yore a cavalier, 
 
 Led on by chance or fancy's spell, 
 A convent's windows wandered near ; 
 
 Deep in his soul sweet music fell. 
 
 He raised his head, and there alone, 
 
 Lucia, blooming maiden, knelt ; 
 Serene in heavenly rays she shone, 
 
 The knight love's tender influence felt. 
 
 No more he saw her, but in vain 
 
 Oft lingered near that lovely spot ; 
 When hope's last breath had died in pain, 
 
 He welcomed a crusader's lot. 
 
 He fought for Christ in Palestine, 
 And many a valiant deed had shown ; 
 
 At length, betrayed by fate, must pine, 
 In cruel chains, in dungeons lone. 
 
 The long-desired maiden's name, 
 
 As death drew near, he called once more ; 
 
 Soft slumber to his eyelids came, 
 
 He woke and found his pains were o'er.
 
 Despair. 287 
 
 In brightly shining garments clad, 
 
 There at his feet Lucia stood ; 
 Was it a living form she had ? 
 
 For from her cheek had fled the blood." 
 
 ' Lightly on angel wings I come, 
 
 From near God's throne to succor thee. 
 Patient, within thy native home, 
 
 Live, till heaven's kiss shall set thee free.' 
 
 O listening maidens, silent be, 
 
 But let your pitying teardrops run ; 
 No more I sing of misery ; 
 
 The mournful ballad now is done." * 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 Manfredino, who at the beginning of the song had 
 seated himself again on his stool, and listened with elbows 
 on his knees supporting his chin, saw his father, who, rapt 
 with the sweetness of the song, softly approached his 
 daughter, placed an arm over her shoulder, and leaned 
 his forehead on it; his lips curved into a smile, his brow 
 cleared. That expression, though, ceased with the song, 
 the smile disappeared, his brow contracted ; he carried 
 his hand to his heart, as if something had escaped from 
 it, then he exclaimed : " Listen to me now." He went 
 resolutely towards the table, took a harp, made in the 
 shape of a triangle, and began to play ; he sought with 
 very rapid motion now the grave, now the acute chords ; 
 
 * This story of Lucia is related by Ghirardacci in his Stories of 
 Bologna. Lucia, a most beauteous maiden, had become a nun ; one 
 day a Eolognese youth, seeing her behind the gratings where she was 
 listening to mass, fell desperately in love with her. The modest 
 maiden, noticing the love of the youth, never appeared again at the 
 gratings ; the youth, in despair, went to fight with the Crusaders in 
 Palestine, where, taken prisoner, and condemned to die, he invoked 
 the beloved maiden ; he fell asleep, and at his awaking he found 
 himself at Bologna, in the church of the convent where dwelt Lucia, 
 and she was at his side ; the youth asked her whether she was alive, 
 and she replied, yes, but of the true life. She then ordered him to 
 deposit his weapons on her tomb, and thank the most Blessed Virgin 
 for the grace which he had received. The miracle happened in
 
 288 Despair. 
 
 the middle ones that sweeten and soften the passages he 
 never touched ; it was a dissonance like the roaring 
 of wild beasts, the wailing of suffering persons it tore 
 the ears ; it seemed as if the strings would snap at the 
 stroke of his fingers ; you might fear at every moment 
 the instrument would coruscate and send forth sparks ; 
 and certainly art did not guide his quick hand, but rather 
 a convulsive motion. At the moment when that fierce 
 harmony increased in force, Manfred with a full voice 
 began : 
 
 " Of treachery, woe and slaughter I will sing in doleful verse, 
 While heaven and nature shudder at the story I rehearse. . 
 
 On a gloomy skull harsh-smiting stood an angry cavalier ; 
 A serpent, issuing from it, hissed through the meadow near. 
 
 Speak, cursed spirit ! speak, again the knight persistent cried : 
 At last from out the fleshless jaws a hollow voice replied : 
 
 I am thy ancestor, it said, and of old Alfred's race, 
 
 I had a brother, brave in fight, and famous in the chase, 
 
 Endowed with wondrous strength of limb, and beautiful to see, 
 As is the vision of the soul's delirious fantasy. 
 
 A damsel to our castle came, trembling in fear and flight ; 
 My father to his eldest son would wed the maiden bright. 
 
 But unto me the wayward one her sudden passion told, 
 
 And dost thou love me too ? she cried ; can'st thou indeed be bold ? 
 
 Then take this vial, it can change our woful lot to bliss. 
 
 But lady, what is this strange draught ? A deadly poison 'tis. 
 
 And should they drink who cross our love, they'll not molest us more. 
 Then o'er the horrid banquet a spousal oath we swore. 
 
 I was a parricide, half blind with horror and affright, 
 Trembled the roof above us, quenched was the torches' light. 
 
 But she was mine. To depths of hell we dragged each other down ; 
 United still, in endless flames our fearful crimes we own. 
 
 And lest the traveller on the plain should climb the mountain's crest, 
 And my deserted castle seek for shelter and for rest, 
 
 The pious herdsman points it our, and tells my tale of shame, 
 But first devoutly crosses him, and breathes the holy name.
 
 Despair. 289 
 
 My memory still renews its blight, no rest my spirit knows, 
 My homeless head from rock to rock the windy tempest throws. 
 
 Of treachery, woe and slaughter I have sung in doleful verse, 
 And I who wrought them suffer still, 'neath God and nature's curse." 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 The last verse of the ballad was sung in such a low 
 voice, that no one of the listeners was able to hear it. 
 The harp fell from the hands of Manfred, and striking 
 on the pavement, was broken ; he, overcome by the effort, 
 fell upon a chair. His children, his wife, ran to him, and 
 overwhelmed him with sweet caresses ; no one, though, 
 dared to console him with words ; perhaps a secret feel- 
 ing warned them that his sufferings were beyond conso- 
 lation. A solemn silence ensued. 
 
 A light knock at the door aroused them from that sor- 
 rowful state. Manfred, jealous of his family's secrets, 
 ordered them to draw aside, passed his hand over his 
 brow as if to remove every trace of suffering, and thus 
 composed to a royal attitude, said with a firm voice, 
 " Come in."
 
 290 
 
 The Surprise. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 E fino a quando il giogo 
 Soffrirem di. un tiranno ? 
 
 Sappiasi al fine 
 
 Che voi suo valor siete, e sua fortuna, 
 E che, sdegnati voi, Giovanni e un vinto 
 
 GIOVANNI DI GISCALA, Tragedia 
 
 . . . How long shall we 
 
 A tyrant's yoke endure ? Now must he know 
 That you his valor are, and you his fortune, 
 And John without your aid is overcome. 
 
 M. G.M. 
 
 t 
 
 OU here, Alberico ? " said Manfred, perceiving 
 the captain of the guard, who, putting his head 
 through the half-opened door, seemed desirous 
 of a new summons to enter. " Come in, Sir 
 Alberico."' , 
 
 " My king ! " replied the captain, advancing half-way 
 into the hall, where, bending low, he saluted in turn the 
 royal family. 
 
 "What brings you here, Alberico? Speak;" and 
 Manfred said these words in a friendly tone, for the times 
 looked threatening, and he felt, more than ever, the ne- 
 cessity of keeping his officers faithful. 
 
 " My king, a knight has come to the palace who de- 
 Tnands with great earnestness permission to speak to y\>ur 
 Serene Highness.* I told him that it was not conven- 
 ient, but he insisted, alleging it to be a matter of life and 
 death." 
 
 " His name ? " 
 
 " He was not willing to give it, neither would he show 
 
 * The titles " Your Majesty," " Sire," were first used by kings, 
 300 years after the epoch of this story, by Charles the Fifth of 
 Spain.
 
 The Surprise. 291 
 
 his face ; besides, he wears foreign armor, and keeps 
 his visor down ; but he carries no deadly weapons." 
 
 " Who asked you if he had deadly weapons? Where 
 is he ? " 
 
 " I introduced him into my own apartment, that he 
 might not be seen." 
 
 " Elena, Yole, Manfredino, adieu. You see what is 
 the glory of a throne, it asks even those few happy mo- 
 ments which every man finds in the bosom of his family ; 
 but it is a great weight which destiny has imposed upon 
 our shoulders, and w.hich we must bear till death. Be of 
 good cheer ; in a short time we hope to return to your 
 arms. Come, Sir Alberico." 
 
 Perhaps in speaking thus Manfred disguised his real 
 feelings. Perhaps he spoke sincerely, since it is human 
 nature, that the object attained, deprived of desire and 
 hope, falls short of the expectation, and the labor of the 
 attainment is not compensated by the joy of the acqui- 
 sition. 
 
 Reaching the door of the captain's room, Manfred 
 commanded him to stand without and watch to prevent 
 the entrance of any one. He advanced quietly. A 
 knight of noble presence, his visor down, leaning upon 
 the back of a chair, appeared buried in thought. Roused 
 by the noise of footsteps, he looked up and saw Manfred ; 
 he hesitated at first, as if undecided. At last, taking cour- 
 age, he advanced hastily, and bending upon one knee, 
 said in an agitated voice, " My king ! " 
 
 " Rise, Sir Knight, rise ; will you permit us to know 
 who thus presents himself before us ? May we also 
 know to what we must attribute the pleasure of listening 
 to you ? " 
 
 " My king, if your well-known generosity does not 
 make me too bold, I would beg you to allow me to re- 
 main unknown. What I have to tell you is neither ser- 
 vice nor favor, but that which the law commands ; and 
 yet I know that you will offer me a recompense ; and 
 should it please you so to do, let me take it in advance, 
 by being permitted to remain with my visor down." 
 
 Manfred thought for a moment, and then replied :
 
 292 The Surprise. 
 
 "Be it as you wish ; you have come into our presence 
 unarmed, which you need not have done. May no one 
 ever repent of having trusted to the honor of a Swabian." 
 
 " Many thanks ! " replied the knight, touching his 
 heart ; then in a louder voice he added : " My King, you 
 are betrayed." 
 
 " We know this, Sir Knight." 
 
 " What ! Do you know who are conspiring against 
 the throne ? " 
 
 " We know that our subjects are men, and that we have 
 always endeavored to make them glorious." 
 
 " Not all would betray you, and many would give their 
 lives for you." 
 
 " The hour of trial has not yet come." 
 
 " It will come." 
 
 " Then we shall see the faith, now we see the treason. 
 Sir Knight, have you nothing more to tell ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed." 
 
 " Speak." 
 
 " In your kingdom, in this city even, at this very mo- 
 ment, the greater number of the Neapolitan barons are 
 plotting against your life." 
 
 " What do you say ? Take care . . ." 
 
 " Are conspiring against your life." 
 
 " It is not possible." 
 
 " May falsehood be spoken in a king's presence?" 
 
 " How can you prove the accusation ? " 
 
 " Easily, thank GOD." 
 
 " How then ? " 
 
 " By leading your Serene Highness this very moment 
 to the place of meeting." 
 
 " Truly ? " 
 
 " Come." 
 
 " Cowards ! Fools ! " cried Manfred, striking the table 
 heavily. " They think to escape the name of cowards 
 by the deeds of traitors ; the,)' mean to ruin us at any 
 sacrifice, and they only ruin themselves. Then in the 
 depths of misery they will regret our loss, when we shall 
 be no more ; the usual reward of the good is to be 
 hated in life, and mourned after death. Indeed we are
 
 The Surprise. 293 
 
 sorry for them ! Oh, my great designs ! Oh, my hopes ! 
 Oh, my vain vigils of thought ! Truly, Italy seemed 
 dead, yet I trusted to find at least a sparlc of life pre- 
 served in her heart. I dared to stretch forth my hand to 
 ascertain if it were so ; and have withdrawn it with the 
 sad certainty that she has long been frozen in the ice of 
 death. Italy is dead, dead forever. Captain ! Captain ! 
 Let my esquires armed and mounted be in the court-yard 
 ready to escort me ; go, hasten, and be discreet." 
 
 While these events were transpiring in the royal palace 
 of Manfred, Count Rinaldo di Caserta, at a nocturnal 
 meeting of all the conspiring barons, was explaining to 
 them with admirable clearness the plans which had so 
 far terminated prosperously, and others which he designed 
 to undertake for the accomplishment of the desired end. 
 Ail that we have before related of Count della Cerra 
 was fully known to the Count di Caserta, but either be- 
 cause he was more closely occupied than before near 
 Manfred, or by his haughty disposition which detested 
 those minutiae which every undertaking, however great it 
 may be, involves, he left all the trouble to della Cerra. The 
 reader must sharpen his intellect to distinguish between 
 the dispositions of these two counts, for Rinaldo di Aquino 
 was a noble knight, and a courteous doer of all honorable 
 deeds ; a terrible thirst for vengeance had perverted his 
 good qualities. Carried away by the impetus of his pas- 
 sions, more than by deliberate purpose, he had tasted the 
 fruit of crime, and he had now entered upon a rough 
 path, which he knew not how to abandon ; nor, indeed, 
 did he wish to do so, for it was the only one that could 
 lead him to his object. The Count della Cerra had 
 come into the world with the disposition of Truffaldino ; 
 not only did he perform no honest deeds himself, but he 
 could not understand them in others, and charged with 
 folly all who did differently from himself. He loved no 
 one ; nor did he hate any one in particular. He hated 
 all ; he had long served di Caserta, because he had found 
 his advantage in so doing, but was ready to betray him, 
 should that advantage cease, or if some greater good 
 could thus be gained. He justified treason on these
 
 294 The Surprise. 
 
 grounds. When two men so he reasoned make a 
 compact, it is certain that each one promises to the other 
 such advantages, as alone, or accompanied by any other 
 man, he could not obtain ; but if one side ceases to present 
 these advantages, and is consequently deserted by the 
 other, the want of faith is not in the latter, but in the 
 former, who has failed in the condition of mutual useful- 
 ness the principal condition of the first agreement. In 
 short, not to delay any longer, for the hour is late, and 
 the way long, no head was ever baptized in this world that 
 would do more honor to the noose than his. 
 
 Rinaldo, continuing his oration, said to those present : 
 " Behold, Providence sends you the destined moment, so 
 long desired by you*, and hastened by so many vows ; we 
 are now here to see what we shall do. Already the vic- 
 torious armies of Charles are spread throughout the 
 country ; they are trying to cross over the Garigliano to 
 Castelluccio and Cepperano ; already are they prepared 
 to take Gaeta by storm-; the pope's blessing, the valor 
 which springs from a good cause, and the voice of the 
 people, are with them ; with Manfred are terror and fear. 
 Why do we then wait to rebel ? We have already delayed 
 longer than is prudent. Do we wish Charles to reach the 
 walls of Naples before we assist him ? Which then would 
 be greater the folly of the count in making us participa- 
 tors of the victory, or our imprudence in claiming it ; I 
 cannot say. There is no reward without some danger, 
 no guerdon without trouble ; although, calmly consider- 
 ing the matter, it seems to me that in making some dem- 
 onstration in favor of the Count of Provence, we run 
 no danger of any sort ; not yet have the armed troops of 
 Calabria, of Apulia, or even those of Sicily, marched to 
 meet them ; let us arise, let us break down delays, let not 
 these forces be united ; fortune never offers but one op- 
 portunity, and you know, barons, that one to-day is worth 
 more than two to-morrows, and that he who has one op- 
 portunity should not wait for another ; let this Colossus 
 of clay fall beneath the curse of the Church, beneath the 
 fury of the oppressed. Do we then wish to await the 
 worst outrages, to lift from our necks the infamous yoke
 
 The Surprise. 295 
 
 of Manfred ? Are not our suppressed baronial rights suf- 
 ficient ? Are not the forced taxes ? Our despoiled homes? 
 The contaminated houses of God ?" 
 
 " Our seduced wives ? " added a voice. 
 
 "Who speaks of wives? What do you mean by 
 wives?" cried di Caserta, irritated to fury. 
 
 " I have said it to add one more wrong to those you 
 have enumerated." 
 
 The count changed color ; he fell back upon the seat 
 from which he had arisen, to add more force and passion 
 to his oration, and although he used every effort, was un- 
 able to proceed ; he therefore commanded della Cerra, 
 who was seated by his side, to rule the meeting. 
 
 The old man, who the evening before had spoken with 
 so much wisdom, without waiting for a second invitation, 
 rose to his feet, and regarding the bystanders with a cer- 
 tain look of superiority, thus began : " Since the fates 
 decree that for a good end an infamous expedient must 
 be adopted, I console myself with the thought that public 
 virtue was always the daughter, rather than the mother, of 
 liberty; and as from a fetid root spring fragrant lilies, so 
 we may derive from treason holy provision for the happy 
 state of the people, for the prosperity of all. Now then, 
 as we do not hate the man himself, but the heavy yoke 
 with which he oppresses us, my advice would be, that in 
 the execution of our designs, no private hate, no particu- 
 lar animosity, should intervene, that our posterity may see 
 that if we had recourse to base means, it was because 
 necessity prevented us from using generous ones and 
 necessity is esteemed a great promoter of bad deeds ; 
 rather, thinking better of it, I trust it will redound to our 
 praise, because we, striving to do well, took no heed of 
 public opinion. Meanwhile let us urge my Lord of Prov- 
 ence to advance as rapidly as possible into the heart of 
 the kingdom : and since we are determined not to obey 
 the commands of the Svvabian, let tTs not aid him with 
 our forces ; it would be better not to answer his sum- 
 mons, than to desert him on the field : the first would 
 be culpable, certainly; but the second not only culpable, 
 but cowardly. Nor by this do I mean to say that we
 
 296 The Surprise. 
 
 must be disarmed ; no, let us rather collect our forces, 
 and form an army which shall be a curb to the conqueror, 
 and a guarantee for his promises. When we invite a 
 stranger into our house, we should receive him as a 
 friend, but always be so prepared tltat his friendly deport- 
 ment towards us be not merely voluntary, but compulsory ; 
 the power to injure others with impunity is a great incite- 
 ment to injury ; and complaint of wrongs, when complaint 
 is useless, is an additional stimulus to contempt. Let us 
 use the strength that GOD has given us ; let Charles see 
 that although we give ourselves to him, yet we need not 
 do sp ; and if he does not assure us, that we can assure 
 ourselves. You laugh, Count della Cerra? Do I speak 
 like a fool ? I have thought much, and cannot see how 
 we can better prevent what I spoke of the other even- 
 ing. ..." 
 
 " I laugh, baron yes, and I laugh with good cause, 
 since these precautions of yours are like those of a man 
 who, while the inside of the house is burning, tries to ex- 
 tinguish the fire by sprinkling the outside ; it is necessary 
 to destroy a part to preserve the whole ; it is better to 
 lop off the useless branches of a vigorous tree, so that it 
 may become more fruitful. What do you mean to do 
 with your armed preservers of order ? That is what 
 causes my laughter ; nor is it unreasonable, for when 
 Charles shall have the treasury in his hands, and the power 
 of sending to the scaffold whomsoever he pleases to call 
 rebels, the means, in short, of bribery and punishment, do 
 you not see that your army will be destroyed in an hour ? 
 You know that offering obstacles easy to overcome in- 
 creases the boldness of him who overcomes them. Hear 
 me now, and say if I counsel better than you. A long 
 time ago, a vile crew -of vassals, bought with ready money 
 from servitude, made themselves rich by our taxes, and 
 not to speak of their insolence in not wishing to recog- 
 nize feudal privileges, think in the simplicity of their hearts 
 to make themselves our equals, and dare even hope to 
 join together with its ancient protectors in the govern- 
 ment of the kingdom ; it is necessary to draw some 
 blood from this body, which every day threatens to grow
 
 The Surprise. 297 
 
 larger. It is better that they should be convinced that they 
 may change lords, not lordships ; that they must serve us, 
 that they must form a mass dead or alive, according to our 
 commands. The means to obtain this, consists in dispos- 
 ing them in armed bands, and sending them in aid of the 
 man. Stimulated, then, by the flattering hope of a liberty 
 which they neither know nor will ever be allowed to 
 know, let them march cheerfully to the encounter, to 
 slay and to be slain ; do not doubt but that French disci- 
 pline will prevail over them, but not without bloodshed, of 
 course, and then we shall have obtained two notable ad- 
 vantages that of being rid of so dangerous a people, and 
 that of having weakened those who wish to, rule us. The 
 powerful aid of our fortresses shall remain entire to us, 
 and with them the power of dispersing the new lords, in 
 the same way as the ancient ones will be dispersed ; the 
 end at which we aim is so glorious, that we need take no 
 heed of the means we use to reach it ; a treason more or 
 less must not stop us in our career, and it seems to me 
 that a little bloodshed in revolutions is always necessary. 
 What ! do you shudder ? How long since you have be- 
 come weak women, to be frightened at such words ? Is 
 there one among you who would dare to swear upon the 
 Gospel that he has not caused some secret murder to be 
 committed in .the vaults of his castle? In truth, I can 
 swear to you that revolutions without bloodshed have no 
 advantage. Let Charles and Manfred perish, and we will 
 provide for ourselves. Perhaps some will fear civil war, 
 contentions among the chiefs; but leaving aside the 
 pontiff, who is ever ready to take advantage of our dis- 
 cord, so that it will be necessary for us to be united in 
 order to repulse his e-ndeavors, civil war is always prefer- 
 able to the dominion of a foreigner. 
 
 Count Anselmo had got thus far in his speech, which, 
 if not by its depth, at least by its wickedness, was equal 
 to some pages of our Machiavelli, when a confused tramp- 
 ling of horses was heard close by. One of the conspira- 
 tors, rising quickly, went to the balcony of a neighboring 
 room, and immediately returned, crying: "Some armed 
 men are coming this way ! " 
 13*
 
 298 The Surprise. 
 
 All spoke confusedly : " We are betrayed ! " " It is 
 the patrol passing ! " " Mercy upon us, we are lost ! " 
 " No ! " " Yes, hear the noise ; it is too large a squadron 
 for the patrol." " I said so," said the old conspirator, 
 without rising from his seat, to his neighbor ; "conspira- 
 cies, when they go on for a long time, cannot be con- 
 cealed, especially among us, who are of so loquacious a 
 disposition ! " The confusion increased ; there was violent 
 rushing to and fro ; a few had drawn their swords, fastened 
 the door on the inside, and without a word showed them- 
 selves ready to defend themselves to the last ; most of 
 them invoked God, and wandered through the hall as if 
 deprived of their reason, like the men who were struck 
 with blindness by the angel of God before the house of 
 Lot. To so much confusion was added a very loud 
 knock at the street door, and a voice cried : "Open, by 
 command of the king ! " No one dared to move in an- 
 swer to the call, nor would they have been able to do so, 
 for the boldest gijarded the door. Some with their eyes 
 covered, some looking on the floor x meditated if there 
 might not be some hiding-place ; they saw a door, and all 
 crowding near, hastened to open it ; the first who were 
 pushed out fell forward against the sides of the entry, 
 and there, pressed together, could neither retreat nor go 
 on, while those behind cursed their delay and pushed 
 more violently than ever. 
 
 Rinaldodi Caserta, who had remained unheeding every- 
 thing since the remark which had interrupted his speech, 
 suddenly recovering himself, exclaimed : "Cowards! In 
 giving yourself to a conspiracy, you have not calculated 
 all the contingencies ; so much the worse for you ; this 
 is an affair of the dagger ; put death between you and 
 your oppressors, and fear no one." 
 
 The Neapolitans have but little reputation for courage ; 
 on the contrary, they have rather that of being cowards : 
 nevertheless fame sometimes errs, and history relates 
 valiant deeds done by them when excited by the example 
 or words of others ; therefore, hearing di Caserta, they 
 changed their minds and drew their swords, swearing to 
 fight to the last drop of their blood. By a strange con-
 
 The Surprise. 299 
 
 tradiction of our nature, those who had appeared most 
 eager for flight, now strove to put themselves in the most 
 dangerous positions. 
 
 Meantime, Manfred's guard had three times in vain 
 commanded them to open the door in the name of the 
 king ; they then attempted to burst it open ; the design 
 succeeded, and the king sprang up the stairs first, followed 
 by the unknown knight. They went through many rooms 
 without finding a trace of any living being, but at last 
 they reached a bolted door ; they tried to open it with 
 their hands alone ; not succeeding, they took a mace to 
 break it in ; it yielded at last, but not without some labor 
 and time, for it was very strongly barred. They entered 
 the hall, there was no one there ; they saw many cloaks 
 lying upon the table, and some torn pieces of cloth and 
 two swords on the floor, a fire, and many lights burning 
 all traces of recent occupants, but those occupants had 
 disappeared. Manfred, observing some papers, took 
 them in his hand, and saw with wonder that they were 
 letters from his enemies, the pontiff and Charles, to the 
 rebels. The guard, meantime, not being satisfied at the 
 escape of the traitors, did all sorts of strange things : it 
 happened that opposite the door by which they had en- 
 tered there was another a small door studded with iron, 
 of a very solid appearance, and thinking that some of 
 the fugitives might have escaped by it, they, without stop- 
 ping to think, crowded against it to push it open, as .a 
 short time before the conspirators had done, and it already 
 had begun to shake under their united blows, when the 
 captain showed how impossible it would have been for 
 them to have gone out by that way, for the bolts were on 
 that side. Now occurred a singular event : one of the 
 guard devoted to the king, looking at the tapestry with 
 which the hall was hung, had his attention attracted by 
 one part that represented the pope seated in the consis- 
 tory, in the act of receiving the Chinea (white palfrey), 
 and the tribute that, some centuries since, had been levied 
 upon the kingdom. Infuriated with blind passion, he 
 raised his mace, and threw it with all his force against the 
 arras : it was lucky for the pontiff then that he was of
 
 3OO The Surprise. 
 
 tapestry, for the mace struck just above his ear and cleft 
 his head ; but the weapon did not bound back, as it would 
 have done if it had been thrown at the wall, but penetra- 
 ted the arras and disappeared, and was heard to roll on 
 for some distance. Imagine the terror of the guard : he 
 was almost on the point of kneeling down and asking 
 pardon of the cloth ; but that unknown knight, Rogiero, 
 in fact, sprang forward, and tearing it entirely away, dis- 
 closed a very broad corridor. The discovery of this pas- 
 sage, joined to the observation of the captain, diverted 
 ihe attention of the guard from bursting open the other 
 door, and caused them to wait for orders from Manfred. 
 He boldly took in his hand a light, and leaped into the 
 corridor ; his 'soldiers followed him. 
 
 It is necessary to inform the reader that the hall where 
 the conspirators had met had once been destined for 
 criminal judgments, at the time that the pontifical vicar 
 governed Benevento for the Church. The small door 
 which the guard had attempted to burst open, led to the 
 prisons ; the large corridor, hidden behind the arras, 
 served for a room for trials. They saw ranged about in 
 order, like chef-d'ceuvres of art collected in some museum, 
 the instruments of torture used in those times to make 
 the accused confess. 
 
 Manfred, giving no heed to those instruments, went on 
 with great haste ; he traversed an incredible number of 
 rooms and galleries, the doors of which, in their flight, the 
 traitors had left open. At last, when they least expected 
 it, they came upon a deserted street near the walls ; they 
 looked and listened intently. Silence everywhere ; they 
 stood for some minutes in doubt whether to return or go 
 on, but the best way seemed to retrace their steps. 
 Reaching the hall of assembly, Manfred ordered his guard 
 to take possession of the cloaks, swords, and everything 
 left there by the conspirators ; the letters from his enemies 
 he put carefully in his bosom. On returning to the royal 
 palace, he perceived that the unknown knight, -taking ad- 
 vantage of the confusion, had disappeared. This unex- 
 pected event caused him no greater wonder, but it 
 increased his suspicions.
 
 The Surprise. 301 
 
 Meanwhile Rinaldo and Anselmo,' out of breath and 
 weary, for they had walked very rapidly, arrived at their 
 own dwelling. In what way they had drawn themselves 
 from so imminent a danger, we will explain in a few 
 words. Count della Cerra, a very shrewd man, had not 
 chosen the palace of the pontifical legate for the rendez- 
 vous of the conspirators without his accustomed penetra- 
 tion. Before leaving Naples, he had heard of the secret 
 exits of the palace of Benevento ; his first care, as soon 
 as he arrived in the city, was to ascertain if what report 
 said was true ; and fortune was so favorable to him, that 
 he found the plan among the archives. His malicious 
 nature would not allow him to disclose the secret passage 
 at the first noise : himself the most cowardly of men, he 
 enjoyed the cowardice of his equals, and in this fellow- 
 ship of baseness his heart was solaced ; nor would he, if 
 grave necessity had not forced him to it, have put an end 
 to the exhibition of their shame, for it was the most 
 pleasing spectacle which he had ever witnessed. There- 
 fore, while he saw fear among the conspirators, he stopped 
 to enjoy it, forgetful of danger ; but when they conceived 
 a sudden courage, when they agreed to defend each other 
 or die, then, as if unable to support this glow of generos- 
 ity, he imparted to them the means of saving themselves 
 by flight. Whether or not they accepted it with joyful 
 cries, let those judge who know that if man is sometimes 
 induced to become courageous through despair, oftener 
 he is made cowardly by security. 
 
 They had not quite recovered from their fatigue when 
 one of the king's guard entered the room, who com- 
 manded them, on the part of his Serene Highness, to pre- 
 sent themselves immediately at court. 
 
 " Do you know the reason of the summons ? " de- 
 manded della Cerra with ill-concealed impatience. 
 
 " My orders are to summon you .immediately to court," 
 and with these words the soldier made a bow and de- 
 parted. 
 
 " I will not go there," said Count Anselmo, " certainly 
 not. If they wish to imprison me, let them take me ; but 
 to go and put myself into their power, I know no human
 
 302 The Surprise. 
 
 or divine laws that command it. Up, up, count, there is 
 no time to think upon it : let us fly." 
 
 "Always to fly, always to fly, and never to kill!" 
 replied di Caserta ; " you may fly if you wish ; I hate the 
 advice of fear ; I never passed an hour that prepared me 
 to leave this life without my revenge ; before dying, I 
 hope to see the blood of my enemy ; if the vengeance 
 of the mind has failed, that of the hand cannot ; are you 
 not armed with a dagger ? What do you fear ? Death 
 settles all accounts." And taking Anselmo by the arm, 
 he added, "Come." 
 
 "See, my lord constable, see, my lord chamberlain," 
 exclaimed Manfred, as he saw the Counts di Caserta and 
 della Cerra enter the room, " the boasted fidelity of my 
 barons ; when I labor day and night to preserve them 
 from the invasion of the foreigner, when I am ready to 
 shed my blood on the field of battle for their safety, 
 unwilling even that I should close with glory a life worn 
 out with labor, they conspire to despatch me with the 
 dagger of an assassin, and offer my throne to my enemy, 
 the traitors ! " 
 
 "Your Highness," replied di Caserta, "are you really 
 sure that you have not been deceived ?" 
 
 " Deceived? See if I deceive myself; read these let- 
 ters, see the signature of the Count of Provence, and 
 gather from the reply what the villains must have offered 
 him." 
 
 " I am horrified," cried with one voice Anselmo and 
 Rinaldo. 
 
 " It is an indignity ; they wish me to be cruel. They 
 try to force me to tarnish my fame as a generous prince ; 
 they shall obtain what they wish ; perhaps the rays of to- 
 morrow's sun may shine upon a hundred headless bodies. 
 Here, where I call them to consult upon the affairs of the 
 kingdom, here they betray me infamous men ! " 
 
 " I have always encouraged your Serene Highness to 
 severity," added della Cerra, "nor do I know why evil 
 counsel should prevail ; the good have no need of mercy ;
 
 The Surprise. 303 
 
 to the bad, justice should show itself both inexorable and 
 severe." 
 
 "What have I done to the barons, that they should 
 screen themselves behind treason, in order to destroy 
 their king? . . ." 
 
 " The son of Frederick," began di Caserta. 
 
 " Glorious St. Germano ! " exclaimed della Cerra, "how 
 can they prefer an unknown man to so wise, so virtuous 
 a king? " 
 
 " No, my faithful barons, 1 feel that I am guilty ; but 
 if Manfred has sinned, he has not sinned against them." 
 He \vas then silent. After some time he murmured in 
 a low voice : "Perhaps I am judged, perhaps this is the 
 first hour of passion ; let us do all that belongs to a 
 magnanimous man to do in such a case, and then let us 
 leave to God to fulfil what He has decreed. Barons, be 
 seated." 
 
 When they were seated, he dictated to them, with won- 
 derful celerity, despatches for the lieutenants, the gov- 
 ernors and other magistrates who represented him in the 
 different cities of the kingdom, ordering them to move 
 as soon as possible with supplies; he laid out the roads 
 for them to take, the stops to make, and indicated Capua 
 and San Germano as the places to join forces. When the 
 despatches were written, he signed and sealed them with- 
 out reading ; thus, passed a grear,part of the night. This 
 business done, he sent off della Cerra to procure some 
 rapid couriers to carry them to their several destinations. 
 He remained alone with di Caserta. 
 
 " You at least do not betray me, faithful friend ! " said 
 Manfred, clasping his hand ; " our friendship is very old ; 
 it began under the auspices of that being who now blesses 
 it from heaven. . . . Oh ! how imprudent I am to renew 
 your sorrow ; time has not healed your wound ? Time, 
 then, has no power upon woes like yours ! Go now, 
 provide with Count Giordano for the safety of this city 
 and my family ; for the perfidy of a few rebels I must 
 not neglect the safety of my faithful subjects, nor can I ; 
 it would be attributed to cowardice. If the star of Svvabia 
 must set, let it set with the same brilliancy with which it
 
 304 The Surprise. 
 
 rose. The fame of my ancestors shines brightly, nor will 
 we dishonor it ; it is easy to make ourselves great when 
 fortune favors us, difficult when she frowns upon us. Go," 
 provide for all ; you have wisdom enough to rule the 
 kingdom ; do all that you wish, but let there be no blood- 
 shed. We will p/it the traitors in a situation which will 
 prevent them from injuring the good ; let them have for 
 punishment the shame of plotting a dishonorable work 
 uselessly ; I trust much to your vigilance and fidelity." 
 
 Di Caserta received these flatteries like a tamed lion, 
 and set out to do his office. 
 
 The Count della Cerra, having despatched the couriers, 
 returned to the palace; he went on his way thinking: 
 " Judge, O my head, if the favorable moment for discov- 
 ery has come : has Gisfredo been beforehand with me ? 
 Is Manfred deceiving us ? Indeed, Gisfredo has not shown 
 himself to me for some time, and Manfred is capable of 
 this and more. But Gisfredo could not have told him 
 how or when no, I have never intrusted it to him ; that 
 was a lucky foresight : then my confession may be some- 
 what necessary, and rewarded. But who will assure me 
 that Manfred will give me a reward ? If I had a guaran- 
 tee for it then he would certainly despise me wltat 
 matter ? do I not despise myself? That would be noth- 
 ing if the reward were only sure suppose I make him 
 swear it upon the gospels : but he is a heretic ! Upon 
 the honor of his family it is the same thing. I am really 
 sure, though, that he will reward the first accuser in order 
 that others may not lose courage to reveal to him future 
 conspiracies. Certainly it would not be great shrewdness 
 to punish as well as recompense at this time, and Manfred 
 is no fool : I should not like to be near mm, nor would 
 he like to have me ; he will send me as governor to some 
 distant province of Sicily : so much the better for me, I 
 will reign in my own fashion, and shall have the right of 
 life and death ; oh what great joy it is to sign a death 
 warrant ! See how hope blinds wisdom ! If Charles 
 should come? The least I could lose is my head if I 
 stay ; if I 'fly, I should lead a miserable life in this 
 wretched world, misery is an atrocious crime ! Through-
 
 The Surprise. 305 
 
 out the earth tribunals may be found to punish it. I 
 could not carry my fiefs and my government with me ; 
 let us seal the compact with ready money: it will be 
 better so ; I will go to Trapani, I will prepare a fast galley 
 there, and if affairs are ruined for the Swabian, Twill fly 
 to the Saracens, and, if need be, will abjure my faith. The 
 land of my birth what birth ? Wherever wines produce 
 juices that renew the blood, wherever beauty yields her 
 pleasures to gilded wishes, wherever may be found minds 
 to corrupt, virtues to despise, vices to exercise there is 
 my country. And in conclusion, Rinaldo is beginning to 
 be dangerous ; he has betrayed, and prudence counsels 
 me to leave him." Thus meditating, he entered the ante- 
 chamber of the king. 
 
 " Anselmo," said the Count di Caserta, meeting him, 
 for destiny had willed that he should return before him, 
 " I was waiting for you." 
 
 "Is anything amiss, Sir Rinaldo ? " 
 
 " Nothing amiss. Manfred does not distrust us ; be 
 not discouraged. Anselmo, let us show a bold front to 
 fortune, for events are not desperate yet. Have you 
 delivered the despatches?"' 
 
 " I have." 
 
 "And sent forth the couriers?" 
 
 "Yes, count." 
 
 " Why have you done this ? " 
 
 " And what should I have done ? " 
 
 " You are not the man to. need suggestions : you should 
 have thrown them into the river." 
 
 " You are right, count ; but the turmoil of these events 
 has somewhat confused my head. . . I know not, ... I 
 should not have thought . . ." 
 
 " Beware of what you do, Anselmo ; my heart, near ceas- 
 ing to beat, has resumed its old strength ; it watches, and 
 you would not be in time to betray me." 
 
 " Oh ! what are you saying, my noble protector? " re- 
 sumed Cerra with an obsequious demeanor. "I have 
 never thanked Heaven so much as now, that it grants me 
 an occasion to show you my gratitude by placing my life
 
 306 The Judgment of God. 
 
 in jeopardy for you. I have sworn to myself to partici- 
 pate both in your joys and in your sorrows." 
 
 Rinaldo made believe to thank him with a smile ; still, 
 knowing what a scoundrel he was, and danger making 
 him more suspicious, he did not like that the option of 
 being honest should depend on Cerra himself. Hence, 
 he made him go with him into the presence of Manfred, 
 nor did he leave him alone a moment, till the fell destiny 
 which now threatened the count had closed his lips with 
 the secret of death. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF GOD. 
 
 Cotal fine ebbe il maledetto Gano : 
 Che lo eterno giudicio e sempre appresso, 
 Quando tu credi che sia ben lontano. 
 
 PULCI, Morgante Maggiore. 
 
 Thus did the accursed Gano pass away : 
 For ever near eternal justice is, 
 Although far off thou thinkest it will stay. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 1PON the head of Manfred rests the crown of 
 kings if it were a circle of fire, it would bind it 
 less painfully. An excruciating pain tortures 
 his temples, as if the blade of a poniard was 
 piercing them through and through ; the fibres of his 
 brain, as if burnt over, beat with incredible anguish, yet 
 he lifts his head boldly as in the day of victory, and 
 shows that pride will domineer over his brow until death 
 shall have impressed upon it the stamp of destruction. 
 His eyes, accustomed to watch with fear in the night, or 
 sleep with horrible dreams, sparkle with such a lustre that 
 he must be a daring one who could look up to them the 
 second time. His face was pale, and a smile wavered
 
 The Judgment of God. 307 
 
 over it, but it was not a sinile of joy. Surrounded by 
 royal pomp, the purple mantle embroidered with gold 
 and ornamented with jewels, covered part of his person ; 
 he grasps the sceptre with his right hand, his left rests 
 upon the silver eagle that he wears embroidered on his 
 chest ; if he does this to prevent its flight, he attempts 
 it in vain. It is written in the book, where neither by 
 threat nor by prayer destiny erases aught, that the Swa- 
 bian eagle is to abandon forever the land of Naples. 
 
 On the right of the king sits Count Rinaldo di Caserta, 
 of the family of Aquino, as great constable of the king- 
 dom ; over his seat hangs the escutcheon bearing the ar- 
 morial pretence of his house, which in those times was 
 quartered per cross first and second, gules, three bars sinis- 
 ter, or, third and fourth, argent, three bars sinister, gules, 
 and- lion rampant, argent. 
 
 He wore a purple mantle lined with ermine, his head 
 covered with a red silk cap, and held in his hands the 
 royal sword, ensign of his office : forgetful of the people 
 'that stood around him, forgetful of himself, he fixed his 
 eyes on the face of Manfred to espy its grief; though, if he 
 rejoiced or despaired at the constancy of the king, no one 
 could tell, for he stood there immovable as a corpse. 
 First on the left hand of the king appeared the chief jus- 
 tice of the kingdom, Giordano Lancia, cousin of Manfred : 
 he also wore purple, and beside his shield, which bore 
 or, lion rampant, sable, a bordure, gules et or, which the 
 Count Lancia had assumed as descendant of the Dukes 
 of Bavaria, he displayed the gonfalon of justice, which 
 according to old customs he hung up to the balcony of his 
 palace every time a man was condemned to death. Im- 
 mediately after the constable on the right came the seat of 
 the high admiral, which was empty, because this office was 
 held by Marino Capece, who at that time, with his bro- 
 ther Corrado, governed Sicily : there was, however, hang- 
 ing over it the family arms, and a lantern', insignia of his 
 office. Second on the left of the king came Anselmo 
 della Cerra, grand chamberlain, also dressed in purple, 
 with a golden key at his belt : he turned his eyes suspic- 
 iously right and left, and would take note of everybody ;
 
 308 The Judgment of God. 
 
 where there was only a line of knights either he did not 
 look, or did it very slightly ; but he took great care in 
 glancing through the crowd, where it was most compact, to 
 discern the furthest ones, and those least visible in the 
 dim light. There followed after him the officers of the 
 crown in the following order, for it would take too long to 
 describe them all : the great prothonotary, whose duty it 
 was to receive the minutes, and reduce into decrees all that 
 the king ordained ; he sat the third after the king, and was 
 then, according to the histories of the time, a certain Messer 
 Giovanni d'Alife : the lord chancellor, president of the 
 civil affairs of the kingdom, and secretary of the king, sit- 
 ting the third on the left of Count della Cerra, was Cor- 
 rado di Pierleone Benincasa : finally the great butler, with 
 the boar's head embroidered on his purple mantle, sitting 
 upon the steps of the throne at the foot of the king, whom, 
 if my memory errs not, was named Giordano d' Angalone, 
 uncle to that- Natale d' Angalone who distinguished him- 
 self so much in the conspiracy of the Sicilian Vespers. The 
 several principal officers of the crown being disposed as we 
 have stated, the rest of the hall of parliament was occupied 
 by the lower nobility. It was noticeable though, that 
 among such a large assemblage of people naturally very 
 loquacious, there was not heard the least whispering : they 
 seemed the ghosts of the dead conjured by a necromancer 
 to appear upon that earth that had long before consumed 
 their corpses. 
 
 While all the assembled barons stood in great suspense 
 as to what was to follow, of a sudden a door opened, 
 and there appeared two priests carrying an altar, the 
 chronicle says, of wood ; but we find that such altars, al- 
 lowed in the times of the persecution of the Church, were 
 solemnly abolished after the Emperor Constantine, in the 
 year of grace 517, by a council in France. Hence we are 
 inclined to believe that Manfred, who wanted to do many 
 things his own" way, and different from the precepts of 
 the Church, behaved in the same manner in respect to 
 those altars. The priests arriving in the midst of the 
 hall, put down the altar, and having lighted two candles, 
 and placed on it a silver crucifix, and a missal with clasps
 
 The Judgment of God. 309 
 
 
 
 also of silver, without saying a word, retired whence 
 they had come. Manfred stood a moment, then he 1 
 slowly strove to rise from the throne ; it seemed at first 
 as if he could not ; he attempted again, and in vain ; 
 finally, by a violent effort he rose to his feet, descended 
 the steps, and stopped before the altar ; he deposited upon 
 it the sceptre, the crown, and the royal mantle ; then, 
 raising his right hand towards the barons, he exclaimed : 
 " We wish for no blood ; ... we wish not your dishonor ; . . . 
 cease to seek by treachery the means of dragging us from 
 the throne : . . . you could not do it. By your free and 
 universal consent we assumed this crown and sceptre at 
 Monreale ; by our own free will we restore to you this 
 sceptre and crown at Benevento ; may he whom you will 
 call to succeed us accomplish what we had hoped to do ; 
 may he with his virtues cause you to bless the moment in 
 which, changing faith, you thought the fall of your ancient 
 lord a great blessing ! " . . . And he was continuing with 
 great emotion, but the barons, no longer respecting the 
 king's speaking, drew their swords, and broke forth with 
 loud cries : " Death to traitors ! . . . Where are the 
 traitors?" And those who cried most were those who 
 were betraying him the most : Count Cerra cried himself 
 hoarse ; Rinaldo di Caserta raised his sword, but coming 
 to his senses from his distraction, and perceiving that it 
 was a question to defend, not to kill, the king, lowered it 
 again, sighing : " It is not yet time ! " 
 
 The noble Manfred, protesting against those cries, 
 broke forth, saying : " We wish for no blood : be this the 
 last command from our authority." 
 
 Then the barons, knowing not what to cry, said : 
 " Resume the crown we have given you, O king ; we 
 will give our lives to maintain it on your head." 
 
 " Nowadays," replied Manfred, " the crown of Sicily 
 is more a crown of thorns than one of glory ; still, we 
 will not refuse the charge, provided you will participate 
 in the dangers of supporting it, for we alone are not suf- 
 ficient. It behoves therefore to renew the ancient oath ; 
 this is the same crucifix that heard it is now ten years
 
 3io The Judgment of God. 
 
 ago your voices ; these the Gospels that felt the touch 
 of your hands ; swear." 
 
 All the barons of the kingdom replied tumultuously : 
 " O king, we are ready to do all you order us." 
 
 In the disorder that ensued, Anselmo found a chance 
 of approaching Rinaldb, who, having returned to his ab- 
 stractions, seemed like a somnambulist, and carefully whis- 
 pered in his ear : " Count, wake up ; we have got to renew 
 our oath of allegiance ; ... it will be an additional sin." 
 
 " It will not be the one that will send us to perdition," 
 replied Rinaldo ; then boldly approaching the altar, as 
 was. the custom, he kneeled down the first, and touch- 
 ing with his right hand the book of the Gospels, and with 
 his left the hand of the king, he pronounced with a loud 
 voice, which by -degrees became more faint, the follow- 
 ing formula : " In the presence of God and the saints, I 
 renew in the hands of my King, Manfred First, the oath 
 of fealty and loyal homage that I already swore to him at 
 Monreale." Saying which, either passion or conscience 
 smote him ; he turned pale, and the parts of the face the 
 least exposed to the circulation of the blood became 
 quite dark ; nevertheless, so anxious was the great chief 
 justice to pronounce his oath, that those emotions of 
 Caserta passed unnoticed. 
 
 After him there comes forward Count Anselmo, boldly, 
 smiling with that sardonic smile of his, as if mocking the 
 person of the king, and the more sacred presence of the 
 Man-God, the heaven and the earth ; he kneels before 
 the altar, and stretches his hand upon the Evangelists. . . . 
 
 " God ! " exclaimed the frightened wretch, for an iron 
 hand had grasped his wrist like a vice, and held it sus- 
 pended. 
 
 "Perjurer!" threateningly cries at his side a knight 
 all covered with mail ; " were it not for the respect due to 
 the sacred altar that you have polluted, and that of his 
 Serene Highness King Manfred, I would thrust a dagger in 
 the middle of your heart ; rise ; . . . before my king, before 
 you, honorable barons, 1 accuse this man, Anselmo, 
 Count della Cerra, guilty of high treason, and a traitor 
 to the kingdom."
 
 The Judgment of God. 311 
 
 " Thou liest in thy throat ! " although taken aback by 
 the event, replied immediately Anselmo della Cerra. 
 
 "I," continued the knight, turning to Manfred, "in 
 the presence of your Serene Highness, with your good and 
 gracious leave, affirm that Anselmo, Count della Cerra, 
 here present, is a traitor. He has attempted to deliver 
 your kingdom into the hands of your enemies, much to 
 your injury and disgrace, to the injury of the state, and 
 bad example to all your vassals ; he has persevered in the 
 infamous attempt with all his mind and strength ; and al- 
 though I have infinite proofs to sustain with certainty 
 my accusation, I confine myself to the production of 
 this paper, that of itself is entirely sufficient." 
 
 He handed cautiously a paper to the king, who had 
 recognized the knight as the same one who had dis- 
 covered the conspiracy the previous night : the paper 
 was a minute of a letter that Count Anselmo intended to 
 send to Charles d'Anjou, in which he magnified his ser- 
 vices, and promised to render still greater ones ; only he 
 should remember him. Towards the end he spoke of all 
 the remaining barons his co-conspirators as a set of fools 
 who, if it were not for him, would go of their own accord 
 to put themselves into the hands of Manfred ; neverthe- 
 less, he need not doubt, for he was able to overrule the 
 events, and resist fortune ; for he would willingly spend 
 the work of his hand and brain for such a wise and gener- 
 ous lord ; he would spend even his life, if the occasion 
 demanded ; and so on, with expressions sometimes flat- 
 tering, sometimes full of greediness, all vile. The paper, 
 however, was not signed by the count, only it was written 
 in his own handwriting : Rogiero had found it in the 
 corridor, where Cerra had lost it in his hasty flight. 
 
 " Even," continued Rogiero, " if my charge against 
 him should not be considered as sufficiently proved, as a 
 good and loyal vassal, I hold myself ready, oh my king, 
 to defend your honor and life, nor eschew any danger in 
 order to bring to your notice all conspiracies against 
 your state, if 1 wish not to be judged also guilty of high 
 treason. Therefore I offer to prove by personal combat 
 that what I have asserted is true. I humbly and earnestly
 
 312 The Judgment of God. 
 
 beg that you would consider the charge sufficient to grant 
 authorization for the duel, for I hope in the Judgment of 
 God to prove it for the honor, welfare and exaltation of 
 your state." 
 
 " And I," replied the accused, " Anselmo della Cerra, 
 by permission of your Serene Highness, declare this un- 
 known knight a liar, and protest that paper does not belong 
 to me, that my handwriting in it is counterfeited. . . ." He 
 had hardly pronounced the last words, than he perceived 
 the blunder he had committed, and strove to remedy it 
 by adding precipitously : " And hence I offer to . . ." 
 
 Manfred, who from the beginning of his speech had 
 fixed on him his piercing eyes, at that fatal point inter- 
 rupted him, asking : 
 
 "Who told you, Sir Count, that the handwriting of this 
 paper is similar to yours ? " 
 
 " I . . ." replied Anselmo, hesitatingly, " I saw it." 
 
 "Ah ! you have seen it? " said Manfred, lowering his 
 look. 
 
 "Yes," with increasing terror, added Anselmo. . 
 
 Manfred again fixed his eyes upon him so as to force 
 him to lower his to the ground, and after noticing his 
 confused looks, with a voice half threatening, half mock- 
 ing, said, " Very well." 
 
 Anselmo, obliged to finish his sentence of denial of the 
 v accusation, continued: "And hence I offer myself to 
 prove the contrary by every trial, either military or civil, 
 trusting only in the Judgment of God." * 
 
 Manfred in the meanwhile, after having carefully read 
 the paper, handed it to the constable, saying : "What do 
 you think of it ? " Rinaldo, taking it in his hands, pre- 
 ~ tended to scrutinize it attentively : the bystanders, unable 
 to restrain themselves, grouped around him ; some took 
 him by one arm, some by another ; some thrust their 
 heads under his chin, some over his shoulders ; the tall- 
 est of them stood in front of him, on tiptoe, with his head 
 bent on his breast, like a stork when it takes food ; the 
 
 * For these formulas, see FAUSTUS, Treatise on the Duel according 
 to the Laws of Honor.
 
 The Judgment of God. 313 
 
 shortest one lifting his face, and seeing so many men 
 standing before him like so many walls, took a chair and 
 mounted on it :. thus there arose a confusion, a hubbub, 
 such as the nature of the Neapolitans always adopts even 
 in the commonest operations of life. 
 
 The conspirators, who feared every movement to be 
 lost, with words and signs entreated Caserta to save them 
 from that danger ; and he, who seemed to be all ablaze 
 when the others seemed spent coals, assured them with a 
 look that his spirit was on the watch. At this point the 
 king, approaching him, repeated in a low tone, " What 
 do you think of it ? " 
 
 " You can authorize the combat." Which was true, 
 but he did not advise it for the sake of justice, but for the 
 hope that if there was any means of safety for him and his 
 fellow conspirators, it was by getting rid of the suspected 
 Count Cerra ; which would certainly happen, if he was 
 obliged to fight, being naturally a coward, and weakened 
 in body; while his adversary, to judge from appearances, 
 seemed a very brave warrior : in fine, Caserta was play- 
 ing on Cerra by accident the trick that Cerra had not 
 been able to play on Caserta by shrewdness. 
 
 " We had thought, constable," said Manfred to Caserta, 
 "to have this affair tried by civil judgment, for by these 
 Judgments of God there has never resulted aught that is 
 satisfactory ; for often the man challenged to it does not 
 come to the field in person,* and with a manifest injus- 
 tice very often guilt prevails over innocence." 
 
 " Yet our religion . . ." interrupted a knight. 
 
 " Religion is a holy thing ; but there is such a thing as 
 superstition as deformed an object as the former is 
 lovely ; but the ignorant crowd, baron, as they are both 
 mysterious, is not able to distinguish the one from the 
 other." 
 
 "God," insisted the knight, "has often visibly pro- 
 tected innocence in His Judgments" 
 
 " But often also He has not. Why should we put 
 
 * The challenged in those Judgments of God were not obliged 
 to fight in person, and often they were represented by a so-called 
 champion who defended their cause. 
 14
 
 3 H The Judgment of God. 
 
 Him to the necessity of performing a miracle, when we 
 know not whether He has decreed it in His holy will : 
 why appeal to Him when man can do of himself? Has 
 He not given us our wisdom for this ? " 
 
 The knight either that he knew not what to reply, or 
 for other reasons drew back, murmuring: "He is a 
 heretic." 
 
 Rinaldo, who for his private ends desired that the duel 
 should take place, had allowed the knight to speak, be- 
 cause he was adopting a means of persuasion which it 
 would not become him to use ; and beside, his insisting 
 would have given rise to suspicion : now, however, per- 
 ceiving that those persuasions were not sufficient, he 
 added his own. 
 
 " My king," said he to Manfred, " you know better 
 than any one else that there are two causes for which, 
 according to the constitution of the kingdom, a duel can 
 be allowed in your states : first for charge of high treason, 
 second for murder by poison or otherwise ; so that your 
 Serene Highness could not withdraw your consent, for . . ." 
 
 " And if we should, constable, what would you have 
 to say? It is better now than never : should errors live 
 forever ? Shall there be no end, no limit, to the follies of 
 our ancestors? Would you grieve that these remains of 
 barbarous ages should be abolished?" 
 
 Giordano Lancia, cousin of Manfred, strongly attached 
 to him both by love and interest, gave force to the ad- 
 vice given by Caserta, in saying : " My king, I take the 
 liberty to observe that these Judgments of God constitute 
 part of the baronial privileges ; it seems to me that just 
 now it is not the season for reforms, and they would 
 complain of this more than any other, because, as it is 
 an external demonstration of those privileges, it would 
 humble them more in the eyes of the people." * 
 . ' Manfred, who had not thought that there would be 
 such strong opposition to his views, moved by the advice 
 
 * Nobles in those days were not amenable to civil trials whenever 
 they were accused of treason or other crimes, but to the so-called 
 Judgment of God ; and in some cases they were also allowed to be 
 represented by a cliampion.
 
 The Judgment of God. 315 
 
 of such authoritative persons, shrugged his shoulders, say- 
 ing : " Truly error arrives as swiftly as desire, and departs 
 as slowly as hope ! " Then advancing towards the chief 
 prothonotary, he ordered, " Make out our letters-patent : , 
 we grant the free field." 
 
 The chief prothonotary, readily fulfilling his office, ' 
 handed the parchment to Manfred to sign, who affixing 
 his signature handed it back at once. Then Sir (iio- 
 vanni d'Alife read : " We, Manfred First, by the grace of ' 
 God, King of Sicily, etc., etc., by these presents grant to 
 Sir Anselmo Count della Cerra accused, and to the 
 unknown knight accuser, here present, free and safe 
 field 3>X. first blood in this our city of Benevento, in which 
 each of them may settle with arms the charge of high 
 treason through the space of this day only, anything to the 
 contrary notwithstanding, etc., etc. In witness whereof 
 we have ordered these presents to be issued, signed with 
 our hand and sealed with our seal, this 24th day of Jan- 
 uary, A.D. 1265. MANFRED." 
 
 Anselmo did not expect this ; noticing that the king 
 was consulting with his chosen barons, among whom was 
 Count Rinaldo, he felt sure that the judgment of God 
 would go no further. Hence it is not to be told how un- 
 expected was to him the king's concession of the trial 
 by arms: he listened to it as one beside himself; yet 
 the prothonotary had hardly finished reading the letter- 
 patent than he thought within himself: Rinaldo must have 
 certainly opposed its coming to this pass ; at least he 
 ought have done so ; perhaps he had no means of prevent- 
 ing it, ... but might he not have advised it ? why ? I see 
 no motive for it ; this duel must not take place, nor shall 
 it. Let. us see if perchance the occasion has not arrived 
 for placing myself under the protection of a throne, and 
 him under that of the axe. . . . No,-r-it is now too late, 
 events have dragged me on ; in spite of my care to avoid 
 the fatal union, their safety is essentially joined to mine, 
 nor can I cause the axe to fall on the neck of my com- 
 panions without losing my own head . . . my head ! here 
 I must summon all my shrewdness : courage, Anselmo, 
 fail not to yourself in this extreme danger ; sharpen your
 
 316 The Judgment of God. 
 
 wits, face fortune boldly ; she is propitious to the bold, 
 and there is nothing else left for your safety but audacity. 
 In the same manner as it is told in the old legends of 
 Gan of Mayence, mentioned in the epigraph of the pres- 
 ent chapter, who, condemned by Charlemagne to be 
 quartered for having betrayed the Christians at the battle 
 of Roncesvalles, when Roland and the greater part of 
 the paladins of France were killed, when approaching his 
 place of execution, begged of the emperor only one favor, 
 which, with the exception of his life, having been granted, 
 he asked to be quartered by four green horses ; a ruse which 
 did not avail that traitor more than his availed Count 
 Anselmo, for, as the legend states, Malagigi, by art of 
 necromancy, evoked four demons in the form of green 
 horses, and Manfred by his authority removed all the 
 obstacles set forth by the ill-starred della Cerra. 
 
 " My king," with a modest mien spoke Anselmo, turn- 
 ing to Manfred, ""there is no dove, no matter how white, 
 that cannot be contaminated by the malignity of others ; 
 my loyalty to you can be demonstrated by thousands of 
 proofs ; nor fear any offence from this man, who, to say 
 the least, conies among us unknown, like the robber . . ." 
 
 " I might reveal myself, and then what would become 
 of you, Anselmo ? " 
 
 " I am speaking to my king, and beg ndt to be inter- 
 rupted." (Manfred motioned the knight to be silent.) 
 " Now God knows how willingly I would meet any man 
 in the world, and even this man, to defend it with arms ; 
 but belonging to an illustrious family, honored among the 
 noblest in the kingdom, the laws of chivalry forbid me 
 to measure my sword with one who not only shows no 
 proof that he is a knight, but keeping himself concealed 
 within his armor, may be attainted with infamous 
 crimes . . ." 
 
 " I infamous ? You are such . . ." 
 
 " Or banished for murder, high treason, or any other 
 cause expressed in the constitution . . ." (The unknown 
 was on the point of breaking forth ; but Manfred restrained 
 him by a severe look ; yet he kept pressing, with a hand 
 trembling with rage, the hilt of his sword.) ". . . so that I
 
 The Judgment of God. 
 
 317 
 
 can refuse him with good reason, in order that, with the 
 assistance of God, in whom I trust, this being the cause 
 of innocence, hence His cause, I may not win a victory 
 against this man, more degrading than a defeat would be 
 against an honorable knight." ' 
 
 "Count della Cerra," replied .Manfred, "know that a 
 man who labors, as this knight has done, to defend the 
 glory of our house, cannot be infamous, nor stained with 
 the crimes you have mentioned ; nevertheless, since we, 
 like you, desire that the laws of chivalry may be preserved 
 inviolate, we will that you shall not fight but with a 
 knight." So saying, he ordered Rogiero to approach the 
 altar: as he obeyed, "Kneel," he added, and taking the 
 sword from his side, he unsheathed it, and struck it three 
 times upon his helmet, and continued : " You are a knight : 
 your actions have clearly showed that you have long known 
 its duties ; we doubt not that you will do honor to your 
 new rank." (And so saying he fastened again his sword 
 with his own hands.) "Nor shall we consent that you 
 should present yourself in the field without armorial bear- 
 ings. Constable Rinaldo, we beg of you to favor us, by 
 lending him your armorial shield ; we assure you that your 
 or and gules bars, and liot&*rgent, will not grieve at this; 
 for if it was alloweS to a private knight to carry the arms of 
 kings, we would have presented him with our own eagle." 
 
 Count Caserta, detaching the shield from his seat, 
 handed it obsequiously to Manfred, who fitted it on the 
 arm of the new knight. Rogiero, overcome by so much 
 demonstration of love, could not articulate any other 
 words but these : " O my king, thanks, thanks ! " 
 
 " Now, Count della Cerra," said Manfred, " you see 
 standing against you this man, whom by no exception can 
 you now refuse, because, if even he had been contami- 
 nated by those stigmas of traitor or assassin that you have 
 suggested, the order of chivalry now conferred by us has 
 remitted them all, as the Holy Baptism does of sins." 
 
 " The mouse had fallen into cruel paws" to use Dante's 
 words. The more Count Cerra strives to get out of the 
 meshes, the more he gets entangled in them, and on every
 
 318 The Judgment of God. 
 
 side the way of escape is barred. Nevertheless, he has 
 not the heart to give up the attempt ; imagining that the 
 obstinacy of the knight in keeping himself incognito must 
 involve some great mystery, and that, if he were dis- 
 covered, it might lead to some chance by which the 
 duel could be prevented, he has recourse to a new ruse. 
 Turning to Manfred, he said, " If I mistake not, accord- 
 ing to the laws of chivalry, the choice of the weapons 
 belongs to me." 
 
 "It is so. Choose." 
 
 " Since I have the choice, the following are the weapons 
 which I select : two sharp Genoese knives two palms 
 long, a round shield, a woollen mantle, turban on the 
 head, and a garland of flowers." 
 
 Many were astonished at the unexpected proposition 
 of Cerra, considering it a bold one. Others, and among 
 these Manfred, with a sounder judgment, considered it 
 cowardly, recognizing in this "a mere pretext to prevent 
 the trial. 
 
 " We,*as master of the field," spoke .the king, some- 
 what provoked, " cannot admit these weapons, unusual 
 in the customs of knighthood." 
 
 " I also cannot in any other way remove from me the 
 shame of the suspicion . . ." 
 
 "We know not, Sir Count, if it is greater shame to 
 give room for suspicion by one's conduct, than the appa- 
 rent attempt to evade the trial that might vindicate that 
 suspicion ; the first is uncertain, the second is too cer- 
 tain . . ." 
 
 " Let not the choice of weapons deter your Serene 
 Highness from granting the field," interrupted the un- 
 named knight, " for I can fight unknown, even in the 
 manner proposed by my adversary." 
 
 " And how can you ?" asked the king. 
 
 "By covering my face with a black silk veil, like that 
 which hid the face of Count -Anselmo, when he led me 
 into a prison of Naples to let me know my father. 5 ' 
 
 Rinaldo, who was listening attentively to the dispute, 
 recognized the knight, and deeply meditating, wondered 
 at the power of destiny that had forced him to hand with
 
 The Judgment of God. 319 
 
 a good-will his escutcheon to a man who, many years 
 before, he had solemnly sworn, should never bear it. 
 
 Anselmo recognized him also, and he found no other 
 expedient to hide his fierce trepidation, than crying, 
 "Well, then, be it as your Serene Highness desires: I 
 consent to fight with the usual weapons of chivalry." 
 
 " Constable," then said Manfred, " the grave cares of 
 state prevent us from being present at this judgment of 
 Go'd ; therefore we delegate to you our office of judge 
 and master of the field, and expressly ordain that you 
 be obeyed, as if you were ourself. Note that we 
 have only granted the duel at first blood ; take a suf- 
 ficient escort to repress any movement in favor of either 
 of the combatants, and if any one attempt it, let him 
 be immediately put to death ; sustain your own and 
 our honor ; take good care to preserve order ; do not 
 forget that very often these affairs of honor have ended 
 in shameful assassinations. I appoint you, Giordano 
 d'Angalone, second of the unknown knight ; and you, 
 Benincasa, of Count Anselmo ; fulfil your office as 
 valiant knights. Count Lancia, follow us. Constable, 
 you will inform us in our palace of the results of the 
 judgment." Saying these words, he dismissed with a salute 
 the assembled barons, and disappeared with Count Lan- 
 cia through a door of the hall. 
 
 " Rinaldo," whispered Count della Cerra, seizing the 
 first opportunity of approaching him while they were 
 going toward the lists beyond the walls of Benevento, 
 " Rinaldo, you have seen with how much constancy I 
 have saved your life ; now it stands to reason that you 
 should do something to save mine." 
 
 " I was just thinking of this ; be of good cheer, 
 Anselmo." 
 
 " Tell me how, Rinaldo, for it is in my hands to ruin 
 you all . . ." 
 
 " And yourself with us, though . . ." 
 
 " There is no denying this : but what does the proverb 
 say, count ? sorrow divided is half pleasure ; and besides, 
 who knows the end ? One consequence may bring 
 another . . ."
 
 320 The Judgment of God. 
 
 " You say wisely, Anselmo. Listen : you must not be 
 frightened at nothing ; be firm, ward off the first blows, 
 which you can easily, being covered all over with mail 
 armor ; then I will raise a tumult in the camp, will have 
 your adversary killed, who, if I mistake not, jimst be . . ." 
 
 " The son of your wife . . . certainly." 
 
 "Just so : and you will escape . . ." 
 
 " Who assures me that you will do this ? " 
 
 "Who can assure you, Anselmo? I am not responsi- 
 ble for these times, in which faithless men can no longer 
 trust to each other." 
 
 And they would have continued speaking, only that at 
 this moment they had reached the field. Rinaldo, calling 
 the captain-at-arms, secretly ordered him to place his sol- 
 diers in a hollow square, and allow neither of the com- 
 batants to go out, till one or the other was either killed 
 or defeated ; and if either dared, to kill him on the spot. 
 Then taking aside the old conspirator, whose name the 
 old chronicle omits, he said to him, that, should the 
 unknown knight, as seemed probable, kill or wound 
 Count Anselmo, he with the boldest of his companions 
 should break through the files of the soldiers, who would 
 make no opposition, and endeavor by all means to kill 
 him also. The knight, hearing the order, shook his hea"cl, 
 saying: "Very well; I like the idea, it is all right; 
 doubt not it shall be done." 
 
 In the meanwhile the seconds, having dismounted, be- 
 gan to examine their principals, as was customary, to see 
 whether they were fully armed, and whether their armor 
 was properly buckled, and no part of it weak or broken. 
 Then the second of Anselmo went to the unknown knight, 
 and verified with his own hands whether, under the silk 
 cords that fastened the neck-piece to the helmet, there was 
 any brass, iron or any other metal ; the same did Count 
 Angalone with Anselmo, and found that everything was 
 without fraud. This done, the combatants exchanged 
 swords, for the usage was that each should fisrht with the 
 sword of the other ; these also were first tried by the 
 seconds to exclude any suspicion that they might be fraud- 
 ulently manufactured with base metal ; they did not
 
 The Judgment of God. 321 
 
 measure their length, because as that of Anselmo was 
 shorter than that of Rogiero, it compensated for the ad- 
 vantage of stature that this latter had over the former. 
 
 The seconds then placed the ends of a little cord, per- 
 haps four yards long, in the hands of the combatants, and, 
 remounting, visited the whole field to see whether there 
 were any cavities or mounds which might prevent the 
 knights from stepping backwards : after which they re- 
 turned to their principals, and made a sign to the con- 
 stable that all was ready. 
 
 The constable sent forward a herald, who, with the sword 
 of justice, cut the cord, and the knights began the assault. 
 
 Shall we relate the incidents of this duel ? Shall 
 we narrate what is so often described in Italian or 
 foreign poems? We will not do it; first, because any 
 one who would desire such things would find a wonder- 
 ful description of them in the Jerusalem Delivered of 
 Tasso, and another equally wonderful in the Lombards 
 at the First Crusade of Tommaso Grossi, (a new glory of 
 Italy, second to none7 and if he desired it, easily the 
 first ;) second, because the events of ours were very com- 
 mon-place. Rogiero was far superior, both in strength 
 and agility, to Count Anselmo ; yet this latter kept on 
 the defensive, trusting in the assistance promised. But he 
 could not sustain it long : a little time having already 
 passed, and, noticing that no one moved to his rescue ac- 
 cording to the agreement, he supposed that Rinaldo, hav- 
 ing fallen into his habitual abstraction, had forgotten it : 
 hence he turned his face towards where he was, to rouse 
 him, or to induce some of the conspirators to remind him 
 of it. Useless attempt : not one of all those that had gath- 
 ered there made even the slightest motion of raising a 
 hand. Rogiero noticed the opportunity for him to advance 
 a step, strike a goodly blow, and end the business. Never- 
 theless, as it usually happens, feeling stronger than his ad- 
 versary, he wanted him to experience, before death, the 
 more terrible pangs of fear. Thus the duel continued : 
 Rogiero was unhurt ; Anselmo, partly disarmed, had his 
 hauberk broken in two or three places, his neck-plate bent, 
 but there was no blood shed yet : indeed he groaned with 
 14*
 
 322 The Judgment of God. 
 
 pain on account of the heavy blows, which, added to 
 surprise at not being rescued, and fear of the aid arriving 
 too late, caused him to falter, and to lose ground. At every 
 step he turned his head desperately towards Caserta, who 
 stood there immovable, and as many times offered the 
 chance to his adversary to despatch him at once : in truth, 
 Rogiero at last tired of that game, watched his chance, 
 struck a powerful left-hand blow, hit Anselmo in the silk 
 cords that fastened the neck-plate to the helmet, and 
 knocking those pieces of armor to the ground, wounded 
 him in the throat. Anselmo dropped senseless to the 
 ground. Whether terror or pain took away his senses, 
 we know not ; certainly they were both terrible ; his face 
 turned yellow as gold, his forehead livid, his lips con- 
 vulsed ; from the open wound the blood spurted out im- 
 petuously, red and thick, sure sign that the artery was cut 
 an incurable wound. The spectators raised a cry, and 
 breaking through the files of soldiers, rushed at great 
 speed towards the fallen one. Rogiero, turning around, 
 noticed that the conspiring barons, more than all others, 
 strove to get near him, and suspected treachery ; ap- 
 proaching his second, he said: "Now save me, valiant 
 knight, or I am a dead man." 
 
 " And what makes you doubt our faith ? " asked Gior- 
 dano d'Angalone, blushing. 
 
 " Faith is already broken : why did they force the files ? 
 I tell you they will murder me, and you will be responsi- 
 ble for my life in the face of men and Heaven." 
 
 " May God forbid such infamy ! Mount behind me, for 
 my Sorrel has saved me from greater dangers than the 
 present." 
 
 Rogiero, without a moment's hesitation, with a won- 
 derful leap, armed as he was, mounted astride on the 
 back of the horse; Giordano d'Angalone, with voice and 
 spurs, lanced him at a full gallop where he saw the least 
 crowd. At that sudden tramping, at that furious pace, 
 no man showed lameness : they all scampered right and 
 left, leaving the space free, through which the generous 
 steed soon carried off the riders out of all danger. 
 
 When they arrived near the gate of Benevento, Rogiero,
 
 The Judgment of God. 323 
 
 who had not been able to speak thus far on account of 
 the rapidity of the horse, dismounted, and offering his 
 hand to Count Giordano, said to him : " Count, I know 
 too well that generous actions need no reward, for they 
 are sufficient reward unto themselves ; nevertheless know 
 that I owe you my life, and that it will be a happy day for 
 me when I can . . ." 
 
 "What do you mean?" interrupted Giordano; "don't 
 you wish that I should conduct you to the king?" 
 
 " Time is pressing, count, and I have much to do ; I 
 cannot . . ." 
 
 " Save your honor, what sort of loyalty is yours to King 
 Manfred ? You know the traitors, and yet you do not re- 
 veal them to him ? . . ." 
 
 " I cannot. I have revealed to him all that was per- 
 mitted to me : my silence proceeds from such a series of 
 events, that I, I myself, who experience all the weight of 
 their atrocious reality, hardly believe them credible. This 
 only I beg you to assure him, that I have to-day killed the 
 very worst of his traitors ; yet many others remain. Tell 
 him to distrust, and be on the watch against some of those 
 he trusts the most, for he is threatened with absolute 
 ruin. . ." 
 
 " The safety of my king then requires that I should not 
 let you go . . ." 
 
 " No, count ; you would do me harm, and would not 
 benefit your king ; let me go ; for every step, every 
 thought of mine, will be for the preservation of the house 
 of Manfred." 
 
 " We should lose a valiant companion, the king a loyal 
 knight . . ." 
 
 " Neither he nor you will lose me ; I am going to procure 
 for him four hundred men-at-arms, and a famous leader." 
 
 " And where will you conduct them ? " 
 
 " Tell him, to San Germano ; there we will meet, count ; 
 perhaps you will know me then, and perhaps, danger be- 
 ing then passed, it will be a delight and pleasure for me 
 to relate to you my past labors and the dangers incurred. 
 Farewell, count ; my homage to Manfred." 
 
 So saying, he moved off with hasty steps. Count Gior-
 
 324 The Judgment of God. 
 
 dano went sorrowfully to report these events to Man- 
 fred 
 
 Count Rinaldo having ordered Anselino's wound to be 
 bandaged, had him placed on a litter and carried by 
 another road to his palace. On the way to it he 
 ordered the captain-at-arms that, after the litter was within, 
 he should allow no one ingress into the palace ; which 
 was accordingly done. The old conspirator, seeing that 
 he could not enter, nor having been able until now to 
 speak with Rinaldo, pushed through the crowd, until 
 finally he approached him, and pulling him by the sleeve, 
 obliged him to turn around. 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked the count, sternly. 
 
 " Count, remember that according to all rules he ought 
 not to live . . ." 
 
 " That is my affair ; would that you had fulfilled your 
 duty with the other, as you ought ! " 
 
 The old man was about replying, but Rinaldo turned 
 his back upon him, and followed the litter that had already 
 entered the palace. % 
 
 Rinaldo alone, near the bed where lies the wounded 
 Anselmo, counts every minute of his life, and, noticing 
 that he is gradually passing away, he hesitates to hasten 
 its consummation. Suddenly, however, whilst the dying 
 man draws in a long breath, which Rinaldo thinks his 
 last, uttering a deep groan, he awakes. 
 
 "Anselmo, my friend, how do you feel ?" 
 
 Anselmo, opening his eyes, recognizes Caserta, and 
 murmurs to himself : " Now I am truly lost." 
 
 " I am Rinaldo. Why do you call yourself lost, An- 
 selmo ?" 
 
 " Satan is at the head of the bed, . . . waits for my 
 soul ; ... he is right : ... it is his property. ... I saw well 
 that you were Caserta . . ." 
 
 " O my friend, God knows that I feel strongly for your 
 suffering . . ." 
 
 "I know it, my friend, I know it." 
 
 " I lose the most faithful . . ." 
 
 " What do you say ? am I to die ? am I so near 
 death. .?"
 
 The Judgment of God. 325 
 
 "You are." 
 
 "Oh! then, in charity, send fora confessor; let him 
 come immediately." 
 
 "A confessor ! And what are you going to do with a 
 confessor ? " 
 
 " Who lives badly, ends badly ; . . . I know it : ... yet 
 a hope in God . . ." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " No, ... I tell you no ; ... the precepts of religion, 
 which I learned when a child, awake in my mind, and 
 bid me not despair. Oh ! how beautiful Faith appears 
 to us in the hour of death ! the little good I have done 
 flatters me that I may be pardoned, and ascend to 
 heaven . . ." 
 
 " You are losing your wits, Anselmo ; I see that you 
 are getting childish : what are you talking about para- 
 dise ? Where is your strong mind, your unbelief in the 
 Creator ? . . ." 
 
 " I have said it Satan is at the head of the bed. You 
 come to hasten me to perdition ; ... go away, I command 
 you, I beg you ; ... in the name of God, go away ; . . . no, 
 come near, for I may even persuade you ; . . . Rinaldo, 
 have pity on me ; death is a great mystery ! would that I 
 were able to tell you the thousandth part of what I feel, 
 of what I see . . . raise your eyes, do you not see the 
 glory of heaven ? " 
 
 " I see nothing but the roof." 
 
 " Yet there is a light brighter than the sun, a sad mel- 
 ody ; there is Christ . . . Christ with the thunderbolts that 
 flash in His terrible hands. ... A confessor, Rinaldo, a 
 confessor . . ." 
 
 " What are you going to do with a confessor at this 
 hour ? Come, have courage ; what do you think death is ? 
 It is a bitter drink ! shut your eyes, swallow it without 
 being frightened ; once down the throat, it is all over." 
 
 " Oh ! I want to confess my sins." 
 
 " But reflect, you cannot confess your sins without im- 
 plicating your companions and myself . . ." 
 
 " And do you wish that I should lose my soul to save 
 your body ? "
 
 326 The Judgment of God. 
 
 " And do you expect that I should lose my head for 
 the sake of your soul ? " 
 
 " Oh ! this is torture ! This is barbarity ! I will 
 scream so loud that somebody will hear me. . . ." 
 
 'You shall not scream," thought Caserta to himself; 
 and that was his death sentence : rising, he placed his 
 hand under his doublet, and approached the dying man : 
 " Come now, calm yourself, my friend," he said to him ; 
 " since this is your desire I will content you." 
 
 " Yes ? many thanks. . . . May God reward you this 
 very moment ... go quick." 
 
 " I will go ; only I beg you not to reveal the names . . ." 
 
 " I promise it to you." 
 
 " Be of good cheer." 
 
 " I will, ... but go." 
 
 "I am going. And . . . what do you feel here?" 
 asked Caserta, touching with his left hand the wound. 
 
 " Pain ! " 
 
 " And here ? " running his fingers down and pressing 
 the left rib ... 
 
 " Pain ! " 
 
 "And here?" 
 
 " D . . . eath ! " 
 
 Count Rinaldo, swiftly thrusting his right hand where 
 the left was, had plunged a poniard into the heart of the 
 wretched Anselmo, and immediately stepped back not 
 to be stained by the blood, and stood with stupid curiosity 
 contemplating the last struggles of his victim. 
 
 When these ceased, he withdrew the poniard, and mur- 
 mured, " Poor Anselmo ! How ha,ve you ended ! Indeed, 
 your long services, our ancient friendship, did not deserve 
 this ; no, indeed they did not ! nor was I angry with you, 
 nor hated you ; but I found you in my way, and I destroyed 
 you. Unwary man ! did you not know that my breath 
 poisons, my look burns, my touch destroys ? why did you 
 thrust yourself in my path ? I have killed you ; . . . one of 
 us had to die ; you have lost the game, it is your fault ; 
 if I had lost it, it would have been my fault : you said so 
 much that your doctrines finally penetrated my heart ; ac- 
 cording to your theories, 1 ought to have abandoned you
 
 The Judgment of God. 327 
 
 long since, for it is now a long time since you have been 
 perfectly useless to me : yet 1 have waited till you became 
 dangerous to me, . . . therefore you cannot complain ; ... it 
 is your own work . . . perhaps I have learned more than you 
 wished ; but let the glory of having made an excellent 
 disciple comfort you : I am perfectly convinced that 
 when your soul shall be freed from this sudden terror, it 
 cannot condemn me, perhaps it will be the first to 
 praise me ; now you have ceased to labor, you owe me 
 for your rest and quietude ; you have gone where ' the 
 wicked cease from troubling, and the weary be at rest ; 
 there the prisoners rest together, they hear not the voice 
 of the oppressor ; the small and great are. there, and the 
 servant is free from his master' . . ." 
 
 All of a sudden, with a terrible crash, the glass of a 
 window in that room violently struck, fell in fragments on 
 the pavement, and an arrow, flying swiftly over the head 
 of Caserla, stuck fast in the wooden roof. 
 
 " Vengeance of God !" broke forth Count Rinaldo with 
 a wild cry, and crossing his arms over his chest he stood 
 convulsively agitated, lowering his looks to the ground. 
 He stood thus a little while, then, his fear diminishing, he 
 opened his eyes, raised them hesitatingly, and saw the 
 arrow, which had a paper fastened to its shaft ; he 
 mounted upon a stool, stretched his hand and took it ; the 
 writing said : " Count Caserta, consider that Eternal Jus- 
 tice punishes crimes and you have the example under your 
 eyes ; desist from your conspiracy and let it be a punish- 
 ment to you to know that you have done wrong fill now ; 
 otherwise a word from me can cause you to die the death 
 of traitors." 
 
 "They threaten!" murmured Rinaldo, and grasping 
 again his poniard, he stared around with a savage look ; 
 " but I see no one ; " and he added, looking at the corpse, 
 " nor is there anything more for me to do here." 
 
 Then he covered the dead with the bedclothes, and left 
 the room with the steps of sin. Reaching the head of the 
 stairs, he met the king, who with several court officers 
 had come to visit the wounded man, when he, hastily ap- 
 proaching him, said : " My king, you have come in vain."
 
 328 The Judgment of God. 
 
 " Why so, Count Rinaldo ? How is the sufferer ?" 
 
 " He is dead." 
 
 " Dead ! Was the wound so mortal that it did not 
 spare him an hour ? " 
 
 " O my good master, it was frightful, and cut nearly 
 one-half of his neck ; the last words he said were, that I 
 should ask your forgiveness for him . . ." 
 
 "Then he was betraying me ? " 
 
 " It seems so." 
 
 " Lucky for him that he died ; thus he has spared me 
 the pain of sending him to the gallows . . ." 
 
 "Save your honor. Serene Highness," interrupted the 
 courtier who had advised the religious duel, " you should 
 have said to decapitate him, because, according to the 
 constitution of the kingdom, such is the privilege of the 
 nobles." 
 
 Manfred smiled, and Caserta thought : " I have spared 
 you the pain of executing Anselmo, but I have deprived 
 you of the pleasure of killing me and my companions, 
 your joy is very pleasing to me." 
 
 The king, seeing that his visit was of no avail, returned 
 to his palace, where among other things he ordered 
 Caserta to have the body of Count della Cerra buried 
 privately.
 
 The Flight. 329 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE FLIGHT. 
 
 Tu vedrai che lo indugio e la dimora 
 Che si frappone alia vendetta accresce 
 Questa gran piaga ch'c, da se mortale. 
 
 ARRENOPIA, Tragedia Antica. 
 
 For thou wilt see that vengeance, long delayed, 
 Increases that great wound mortal before. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 E cannot assure our amiable reader, who has so 
 kindly followed us to this point of our history, 
 if the chronicle from which we have derived the 
 preceding narrative is or is not complete, since, 
 as the pages are not numbered, we are unable to ascertain 
 whether any are wanting ; the truth is, that, omitting 
 to state when and how Charles left Rome, by what road, 
 and whether he met any obstacles in his way, without 
 any further explanation, it runs on to the events which 
 happened after the famous passage of the Garigliano ex- 
 ecuted by the French army ; so that, in order to add 
 a supplement to this space, we will endeavor to nar- 
 rate, as best we can, what happened in the interval. 
 After having been crowned at Rome on the day of Epiph- 
 any, the Count of Provence, without any delay, set for- 
 ward, both in order to avail himself of that first enthu- 
 siasm of his troops, and also because, if he delayed, he 
 would have had no money to pay them ; and Pope Cle- 
 ment, for many reasons, principal among which was that 
 he himself did not have any, could not lend any to him. 
 The histories of the times do not tell us whether Charles 
 did what all the other captains both before and after him 
 have done when marching to the conquest of the king- 
 dom of Naples, namely, divide their armies in two, sending 
 one along the sea-shore, and the other along the foot of 
 the Apennines, with the intention of uniting at Capua and
 
 330 The Flight. 
 
 then marching together on Naples. Rather it seems that 
 he acted differently ; and unwilling to separate his troops, 
 he approached with his entire strength by way of Frosinone 
 to the pass of Cepperano : perhaps he feared to meet too 
 strong a resistance at Fondi and Itri, which fortified 
 places he would have to pass if he came along the coast, 
 and thought that, even if he succeeded in getting over these 
 two passes, there would have remained a third one, and 
 the most difficult of all that of the Volturno, near Capua ; 
 which, as the river was very deep, and the bridge defended 
 by both ancient and new towers, seemed impregnable. 
 Passing through the Roman Campania, the people not only 
 did not oppose him, but gave him all aid and assistance 
 as to the most beloved son and champion of Holy Church. 
 The Archbishop of Cosenza, Bartolommeus Pignatelli, 
 accompanied him as apostolic legate, blessing any one who 
 joined him in the enterprise against Manfred, and ready 
 to excommunicate any one who would dare to take his part. 
 So great was the authority of his preaching, that many 
 people of the country came from every part, willing to be 
 killed in favor, as they said of religion against a heretic. 
 The people of Mount San Giovanni, that in 1494 fought 
 so nobly against the army of France with so much peril 
 to Charles VIII., received with infinite joy the fatal 
 Anjou, and aided him with spontaneous subsidies. Even 
 the weather (for when fortune takes her favorites in hand, 
 she never does things by halves), that, as it was the month 
 of February, ought to have been rainy, was as clear as 
 June; the sun, unusually warm, seemed glad to illuminate 
 with resplendent light the steps of the man of destiny. So 
 that the army of Charles, like people anxious not to be too 
 late at a feast, on the fourth of the month arrived on the 
 banks of the Garigliano. This principal river of all the 
 kingdom ofNaples, that has its source at a little distance 
 from the Lake Celano, passing through Sora, Cepperano, 
 and Pontecorvo, falls finally into the Tyrrhenean Sea, form- 
 ing a natural boundary between the Roman Campania and 
 Terra cli Lavoro. They say that its waters run for eighty-five 
 miles, and they affirm that it can be navigated for twenty- 
 five above the sea ; yet at Cepperano and at Castelliiccio is
 
 The Flight. 331 
 
 not so deep but that it can be forded. Manfred, who well 
 knew the importance of the place, sent there, immediately 
 after the meeting at Benevento, the Constable Rinaldo, 
 Count of Caserta, to whom he added Giordano Lancia, with 
 many companies of Apulian troops, so as to defend the 
 pass : he ordered them not to come to any engagement ; if 
 assailed, to strive to plunge the enemy into the river. The 
 Svvabian knew that delay would have been more useful to 
 him than victory itself, and the enterprise of Charles would 
 result in a flight, if he could not engage soon in a battle ; 
 for he lacked money, the first and perhaps the only sinews 
 of war. He did not omit the slightest prevision required 
 of an expert military commander : the place easily defensi- 
 ble, the sufficient troops, all affectionate to him, famous 
 for discipline and valor, the loyalty of the Counts of 
 Caserta and Lancia, to whom he had committed the com- 
 mand, encouraged him to hope well. At this point the 
 chronicle resumes the narrative, and relates that on the 
 evening of the fifth of February, while Manfred was return- 
 ing to Benevento, from which city he had gone out to 
 meet a- troop of soldiers that were to be sent to him from 
 Apulia, he was complaining of the negligence of the gov- 
 ernors in forwarding them, and of the slowness of the lead- 
 ers in bringing them up, showing himself more than usually 
 sad ; when, raising his eyes to the horizon, he saw a big 
 black cloud, that overshadowing the setting sun, obscured 
 it to the sight. What was the relation which passed in that 
 moment between that scene and the thoughts of Manfred, 
 we know not ; but he stood contemplating it with a mys- 
 terious calm, and immersed in profound meditation, much 
 more than man would use in like cases. The outward rim 
 of the cloud, however, shone with the color of blood, and 
 from it darted several rays, that, spreading widely through 
 the hemisphere, tinged with red every object that the eye 
 could discern ; from time to time a puff" of wind shook 
 violently the leaves of the trees, and flew over the ground, 
 carrying before it a whirlwind of dust and straws; the 
 birds flew lower and lower, as if foretelling the clouding 
 up of the heavens, and announcing with their voices the ap- 
 proaching storm. Giordano d'Angalone, who was riding
 
 332 The Flight. 
 
 near the king, thinking that he divined Manfred's thoughts, 
 said : " This evening the sun dies before his time." 
 
 Manfred, eying him with knitted brow, replied : " It 
 dies, but brilliantly." And turning his eyes, which he 
 did, to glance through the valley, he exclaimed : " Oh ! 
 why does that courier hurry so ? truly he must bring some 
 bad news." 
 
 The knights that accompanied Manfred directed their 
 eyes to the point where he was looking, strained their 
 sight as much as possible, but, unable to discern anything, 
 said together : 
 
 " Save your grace, you must be mistaken . . ." 
 
 " Mistaken ! Look there, there on the left, near the 
 devil's rock," and he pointed with his finger, "in the di- 
 rection of the chapel of our Lady of Tears, do you not 
 see a man striving to "gain the summit of the hill?" 
 
 They tried again more eagerly than before, but after 
 repeated efforts they replied : " We see nothing at all." 
 
 Nevertheless, at the order of Manfred, they all stopped 
 on that hill ; nor had they to wait long before they saw a 
 dark spot, that seemed to detach itself from the extreme 
 horizon, and by degrees enlarge as it approached. They 
 all wondered much at the circumstance, and all agreed to 
 attribute it to a miracle ; and truly, says the chronicle, it 
 was not without the will of God, Who, purifying his intel- 
 lectual and bodily faculties, foretold to his wearied soul the 
 sorrow of the approaching misfortune ; which we will not 
 affirm, although among many nations of the earth there 
 existed, and perhaps still exists, the belief that the predes- 
 tined have the gift of prophecy, and that by certain signs in 
 the eyes one could tell the man, who, before closing them 
 forever, has received, as if in recompense of his prem- 
 ature death, the power of foreseeing the events that are 
 to happen. Now they clearly distinguish the courier : he 
 had his mouth covered by a scarf, in order that, in the fast 
 running, the air might not be prevented from entering free- 
 ly into his lungs ; he held his spurs more than half transfixed 
 in the horse's sides, for either distracted by other thoughts 
 he did not notice that continuing thus he would kill the 
 animal, or else, calculating that, on account of the
 
 The Flight. 333 
 
 fatigue incurred, he could not endure much longer, he 
 desired that these last moments of life might be consumed 
 in a desperate effort to reach his destination ; brutal, but 
 not unusual cruelty among us, who call ourselves images 
 of the Creator ! The poor beast breathed in a most fear- 
 ful manner, his mouth was stained with bloody foam, his 
 sides dripping with blood, his body all in a sweat ; yet he 
 flies with such fearful pace, that he could hardly be fol- 
 lowed by the eyes in the rapid strides which he takes from 
 the last cloud of dust to the new one which he raised with 
 his tramping. Arriving to within forty paces of Manfred, 
 he stumbled down with a long stride, and dropping his head 
 lay immovable : the courier, pulling the bridle, spurring 
 harder than before, attempted to raise him up ; it was 
 labor lost. " You might have waited another forty steps 
 to die ! " murmured the courier, dismounting, and, without 
 even deigning him a look, advanced on foot toward the 
 king ; he kneeled panting at his stirrup, but overcome by 
 fatigue fell headlong on the ground. Manfred dismounted, 
 raised him tenderly, seated him, and with his own hand 
 unloosened his belt, that he might breathe more easily. 
 Revived after a short rest, the courier began sorrowfully : 
 " O King Manfred, I bring you bad news." 
 
 "It is now long since we have expected good ones." 
 And thus saying, Manfred put his elbow on the saddle 
 of his horse, and let his head fall on the palm of the hand. 
 ' I am about to relate a great misfortune, my king." 
 'And we are prepared to listen to it : relate it." 
 'The Provengals have crossed the Garigliano . . ." 
 ' What ! Thou liest ! " 
 
 ' So would it please the Holy Virgin and San Germano 
 that you had justly given me the lie, as I would not call 
 you to answer for it." 
 
 " Why have they fought ? Had they not orders to 
 avoid a battle ? Behold, he who uses arms without wis- 
 dom,' lays them down with loss ; . . . those men are re- 
 sponsible for the bloodshed . . ." 
 
 "O my sovereign, what do you say about blood? an 
 eternal disgrace has contaminated the honor of the barons 
 of the kingdom."
 
 334 The Flight. 
 
 " How ! " 
 
 " Charles crossed the river without striking a blow." 
 " God ! ..." broke forth Manfred with a loud cry, 
 grinding his teeth and raising his head, and let fall such 
 a hard blow with his fist on the back of the horse, that 
 this latter .started to run ; but he thrust his right hand 
 in his mane, and with a convulsive strength forced him to 
 stop ; then interrogated the courier : " Where is Caserta ? 
 Where is Lancia ? Is this the faith of relatives ? Have 
 they survived to such a shame ? If they have, ... I 
 leave them life for a punishment." 
 
 " Alas, my king ! it was Caserta who betrayed you." 
 " Who ? Caserta ? Have you named Caserta ? Why 
 has he betrayed me ? What had I done to him ? Did 
 I not honor him ? Did I not call him to share my gov- 
 ernment ? Did I not appoint him, after me, the first 
 officer of the kingdom ? Did I not give him the preference 
 over my own relatives? Rinaldo ! my friend! Why? 
 Ah ! what a flash of old remembrance ! Lady Spina ! 
 Time has reduced even her very bones to ashes, but has 
 not erased the offence ? He who offends forgets ; but 
 the offended binds his memory with an iron chain, and 
 places on his soul the weight of revenge : is not revenge 
 the gangrene of the heart ? I have erred ; miserable is 
 the king that offends ; more miserable he that offends and 
 does not kill ! Rinaldo has done his part, because we 
 failed in ours : he who wears a cro\vn should never err ; 
 we are paying a very bitter penalty for it, but yet a due 
 atonement. Ought we? . . . A Manfred? . r. No, we 
 ought not have done it ; but whom God wishes to destroy 
 He first renders mad.' J * 
 
 These last words escaped brokenly from the lips of the 
 king, for passion had palsied his tongue ; his eyes sunk 
 under his eyebrows, a livid hue colored his forehead, his 
 muscles swelled, all his countenance was so distorted that 
 the bystanders shuddered with terror ; he covered his face 
 with both his hands, and after meditating a while, removed 
 
 * An expression often used by the chronicler Villani in the nar- 
 rative of these events, Book VII.
 
 The Flight. 335 
 
 them, showing himself calm. Calm ! he evoked a sensa- 
 tion similar to that of him who, sitting on the border of 
 the sea, enjoys watching the calm waves slightly rippled 
 by the evening breeze, when of a sudden his delighted 
 eyes, glancing farther, perceives pieces of shipwrecks and 
 floating corpses signs of the last storm. 
 
 The courier, who had had no courage to open his lips, 
 after receiving express orders, continued thus : " On the 
 evening of the 4th of February, our scouts, returning in 
 haste, gave us warning to be on the alert, for the enemy's 
 vanguard was already in sight : indeed, there was no need 
 of advice, for Count Lancia was watching incessantly, 
 and encouraging the soldiers by words and deeds to 
 worthy actions. Presently there appeared a division of 
 the troops of Charles, then another, and another still, but 
 night supervening, we could discern no more ; but to all 
 appearance they had no intention of giving battle. It 
 was already past the first hour of the night, and I was 
 on duty by the tent of my commander, Count Gior- 
 dano, when an armed man approached it ; I bent my 
 bow and asked : ' Who goes there ? ' ' Swabia,' replied 
 the knight ; ' go and awake Count Giordano, for I must 
 speak to him.' ' There is no need of waking me,' 
 replied my commander, putting his head out of the 
 tent, 'for he must be a poor vassal that sleeps while his 
 lord is in danger; speak, constable, for I am at your 
 orders.' And he came out ; standing in the open air, for 
 the sky was clear, and there blew not a breath of wind, 
 Caserta began : ' Dear Giordano, if you, as I doubt not, 
 love the king as I do, I have been thinking that you 
 would not oppose a stratagem of mine, by which I am sure 
 to destroy the army of the ProvenQal.' Lancia replied 
 that he would willingly assist him ; nothing he held more 
 at heart than the service of his king : ' expound your plan, 
 for on my part I would do rny utmost to execute it with 
 alacrity.' ' Very well, my dear Giordano,' added Rinaldo, 
 ' you know that this river Garigliano is not only fordable 
 here, but the higher one goes towards its source the easier 
 it is to ford, especially at Castelluccio ; we, according to 
 the rules of art and the orders of the king, have spread
 
 336 The Flight. 
 
 our forces upon the right bank of the river, to repulse the 
 enemy wherever he attempts to cross over ; but do you 
 think this a wise plan when we could do better? Cer- 
 tainly you don't think so; the Provenqal has not cer- 
 tainly agreed to manoeuvre his troops to suit us ; rather 
 I am inclined to believe that he will mass them all upon 
 one point, and there forcing ours, which would be insuf- 
 ficient to resist, will ford the Garigliano, and will assail us 
 in the rear and flank, much to our disadvantage : I think 
 then, in order to obviate this datiger, that we should with- 
 draw somewhat back . . .' ' What ? ' interrupted Count 
 Giordano, ' transgress entirely the orders of Manfred ! ' 
 ' The king,' added Caserta, ' ordered so because he 
 thought it the best ; but we are held by our oath of fealty 
 to undertake not what seems, but what is really the best ; 
 if he should reproach us for it, we should reply : We have 
 conquered ; doubt not, this is one of those valid excuses, 
 that admit of no reply to the contrary. I was saying then 
 that we should retire somewhat, and divide our forces 
 among the woods along the road, I above the bridge with 
 my Apulians, you below it with your Germans ; Charles, 
 to-morrow, seeing the bridge undefended, will not send 
 his troops elsewhere, nor display his front more than 
 needed ; he will push forward by this pass, believing, 
 pretentious as he is, that we hadn't the courage to stand, 
 and fled at his sight ; we will wait his advancing in mass ; 
 I then issuing from the wood will charge him on the left, 
 breaking his column ; the moment you see the French 
 disordered you will attack them on the right, and destroy 
 the bridge ; those that will be cut oft" between us and 
 the river, we will hurl into it ; those that remain be- 
 tween us and the interior, will have to surrender, having 
 San Germano in their front ; the fact that the troops en- 
 trusted to your valor are few, is no hindrance to the 
 plan, for your few Germans are worth my many Apulians, 
 and as you have to assail them near the bridge, you can- 
 not meet but a depth of six or eight files of soldiers ; 
 whilst I must fight them assuredly in a larger number. 
 What do you think of it, Giordano ? is it not a good stra- 
 tagem ? ' Count Lancia thought a long while, then re-
 
 The Flight. 337- 
 
 plied, briefly : ' I cannot agree with you, constable ; your 
 stratagem, to say the least, seems to me a very risky one, 
 nor of much avail to us now ; one can conquer by fight- 
 ing and also by avoiding a battle, and now this last 
 seems to be the case ; if Charles weakens part of his front 
 to make a vigorous impression elsewhere, we will press 
 him with similar manoeuvre on his weak point, surround 
 him in his rear, thus obtaining with more ease and greater 
 fortune the same desired effect, without deviating from 
 the orders received.' The discussipn waxed warm for 
 some time, but being unable to agree, Count Giordano 
 finally proposed,to assemble a council of war, and let it 
 decide : at this point the constable in a severe tone 
 said : ' Lieutenant, we have until now spoken to you so 
 as to have you a companion in this fair enterprise ; since 
 you will not be our companion, we order you to execute 
 what we deem it best to command.' ' You might have 
 done so in the beginning, constable, if you had expected, 
 in revealing to me your design, to find in me a subservient 
 rather than a free-spoken soldier ; nevertheless I protest 
 that I will do all I can to win, but that in spite of victory 
 I will disapprove of your conduct before Manfred.' ' You 
 will do what you please, but in the meanwhile obey;' 
 and he went away. Count Giordano raised his hand to 
 heaven, and I heard him say : ' God grant this stratagem 
 may end successfully, but I fear me it will miscarry !' We 
 separated silently, leaving many fires lighted to deceive 
 the enemy : the constable with his Apulians went east ; 
 we few, with our commander, hid near the bridge. The 
 dawn appeared that was to shine upon the disgrace of 
 the kingdom, when the Provencals, seeing the head of the 
 bridge without defence, sent forward several scouts ; soon 
 after there appeared a stout man covered with splendid 
 armor, that certainly must have been Count d'Anjou . . ." 
 
 " And did he seem to you as brave as fame tells ? " in- 
 terrupted Manfred. 
 
 " I know not whether brave, but prudent he certainly is, 
 
 for he gave orders to his troops, the moment they crossed 
 
 the bridge, not to advance in column, as the constable 
 
 had thought, but to deploy right and left on the banks 
 
 15
 
 338 The Flight. 
 
 of the river. Count Giordano, who stood upon a promi- 
 nence with some of his officers watching the movements 
 of the enemy, at the sight exclaimed : ' I knew too well 
 that this would be the case, yet the error might be amended 
 if the constable would return quickly and join me.' 
 And he despatched the first, then the second, as many as 
 five couriers ; they all did like the raven of Noah never 
 returned. Agitated with impatience, our commander 
 raised his face and saw . . . infamous spectacle ! the 
 Apulians disappearing in a shixmeful flight over the oppo- 
 site mountains. % He could not credit his own eyes, he 
 could have stabbed any one who would have said they 
 ran away ; but he had finally to yield to the conviction 
 of the bitter truth. ' Alas ! ' he exclaimed, overwhelmed 
 with grief, ' it was a great deal worse than I feared ; I was 
 prepared for the blunder, but not for the treachery ; and 
 now, what shall we do ? ' he asked, turning to his follow- 
 ers, who all cried out together, ' Fight and die !' ' God 
 forbid that I should allow this ; preserve your lives, brave 
 men, for a more generous and less desperate opportunity. 
 I say more generous, because it is not virtue to throw 
 away our lives inadvisedly ; on some other occasion our 
 lives may be of more use to our king. At San Germano 
 we can easily prove that we were not the cowards, but 
 the betrayed ! Now my master sends me to you, Serene 
 Highness, and begs you to hasten to the rescue, and . . ." 
 
 Manfred did not stop to hear the end. He leaped to 
 his saddle and hastened towards Benevento, without even 
 saluting the courier. This latter followed panting on 
 foot ; nor could he understand that after he had taken so 
 much pains, after he had so kindly welcomed him in the 
 beginning, now he had so uncharitably neglected him. 
 He accused the stars, and his ill-luck, and did not think 
 that ' the first bringer of unwelcome news hath but a los- 
 ing office.' 
 
 On arriving at his royal seat of Benevento, ^Manfred 
 sent for the Emir of the Saracens, Sidi Jussuff, of the 
 race of Ben-izeyen, who, presenting himself and saluting 
 his lord with every demonstration of respect, according 
 to the Oriental custom, stood immovable before him,
 
 The Flight. 339 
 
 awaiting his orders. Manfred thus spoke : " Count 
 d'Angalone, have the German companies ready to march 
 for San Germano in two hours ; you, Abu Jussuff, do the 
 same with your Saracens ; you know that although we 
 are believers in Isa (Jesus) yet we consider them as our 
 most faithful subjects : go, and tell them that there is a 
 short work for them, that the dragon threatens the moon, 
 buf that God, the compassionate, the merciful, hath de- 
 creed that it shall issue more bright from its dirty claws ; 
 nor will victory be uncertain, for has not your prophet 
 said : ' He who feeds on iniquity shall find his moutlifull 
 of dust'?"* 
 
 The Emir, crossing his hands on his breast, and bowing 
 very low, was on the point of departing, when d'Anga- 
 lone, turning to Manfred, said : " Please your Serene High- 
 ness, have you noticed in returning to the city what a 
 night is threatening ? The road we have to go is very 
 rough ; if the storm overtakes us, we will labor in vain, 
 without proceeding a step." 
 
 "Weak is the faith that takes counsel of the 
 weather," interrupted the Emir ; " the beast that Allah 
 has made a companion of man looks to the sign and to 
 the hand, not to the path, and if along the road he falls 
 over the precipicej dies happy in his fidelity ; is man 
 less gifted than the dog ? The doom of God cometh 
 to pass, no one can escape it. He causes the angel of 
 death to descend with the spirit on whom he pleases among 
 his servants, and you are smitten, whether sitting at your 
 table or fighting in battle ; God is knowing, powerful, 
 and hath destined all that is to pass ; hence the best advice 
 is obedience to the king." 
 
 Count d'Angalone, whom that doctrine of fatalism did 
 not suit, was about replying ; but Manfred prevented him 
 by a disdainful motion of the hand, and exclaimed, "It 
 is destined ; the Emir has replied for me." 
 
 They left the hall. Manfred remained alone. Fierce 
 thoughts rushed through his mind with the same celerity 
 with which the clouds were passing at that moment 
 
 * All the words italicised are quotations from the Koran.
 
 340 The Flight. 
 
 through the sky, and they were not less threatening. We 
 will not describe them, nor could we, if we would. The 
 two painful hours having passed, first the Emir, then d' An- 
 galone, came to notify him that the Saracen and Ger- 
 man troops were ready to start. Manfred, uttering a 
 deep sigh, looked about the room, took the Emir by the 
 arm, and, " Let us go," he said, " where destiny stronger 
 than us leads. . . . Ah ! my horse ; . . . I had forgotten 
 it " 
 
 " I have provided for that," replied d'Angalone ; " it is 
 ready saddled at the gate of the palace." 
 
 " Thanks, count, thanks ; you have done well." 
 
 And they went down. Hardly had they issued from 
 the door than a pitiful spectacle presented itself to the eyes 
 of Manfred. Upon the lowest steps, in a sweet attitude 
 of love, kneeled his wife and children ; he had forgotten 
 them ! Have the cares of state such power as to make 
 the soul forget so large a part of itself? Neither the 
 gloomy light of the resin torches, nor their bituminous 
 smoke, caused any alteration in their lovely faces, and* 
 though they felt within their tears bursting, yet they 
 smiled in order not to afflict the king ; ideal" power of 
 tenderness ! Why does Manfred lower his visor ? Does 
 he fear that his face might reveal his remorse at having 
 forgotten them, or his pity at sight of them ? Remorse 
 and pity are both praiseworthy sensations ; the former 
 belongs to the creature destined to die, the latter suits 
 even the angels. He who created the race of kings willed 
 that they should be more than men ; they must repulse 
 tears from their eyes, they never ought to feel the cry of 
 nature ; but will they be able ? Manfred approaches his 
 dear ones trembling ; he must not tremble, he is a king ! 
 Is it not flesh which covers him? blood which runs 
 through his veins? a heart which beats in his breast? . . . 
 
 ." Elena ! Yole ! Manfredino ! wife, children ! Why 
 have you come out thus in the open air ? Don't you see 
 how threatening the sky is, and the storm is about to 
 burst?" 
 
 "Why do you depart without saying farewell to us?
 
 The Flight. 341 
 
 why do you depart without taking us with you ?" replied 
 the queen, questioning in her turn. 
 
 "With me! amidst the dangers of arms, amidst the 
 rage of fierce soldiers, amWst the tumult of battles, 
 amidst the dead, . . . amidst the flight?" and this last 
 word escaped his lips almost in spite of himself. 
 
 " Shall we then remain far away from you, to be crushed 
 by uncertainty more distressing than misfortune itself, 
 and die of grief? Who can comfort you but I ? If, 
 may God avert it ! you should be wounded, what would 
 the world say of Queen Elena ? A stranger's hand bound 
 the wounds of the son of Frederick, because his wife dwelt 
 far from the field. Have I so ill deserved of you that 
 you would have me bear such a reproach ?" 
 
 " But you see, we are about starting, nor could you 
 follow us in the saddle ; how shall we convey you ? A 
 few moments' delay may hurl me where .... there is no 
 rising." 
 
 "Oh! mind not that; I have provided: look, these 
 are litters . . ." 
 
 " In truth, you will prevent our going fast." 
 
 " No, you go ahead, nor mind who follow you. Do not 
 even turn back to look ; we will follow at a distance ; the 
 sight of you will suffice us . . ." 
 
 " You will prevent my fighting . . ." 
 
 " Fear not ! I will show you before rushing to the 
 battle, this your Manfredino . . ." (the king bent down, 
 placed both his hands upon the head of his little boy, 
 exclaiming : " O my hope ! ") "and I will tell you to save 
 him, for he is your blood ; that your enemies will not 
 spare him, if you yield . . ." 
 
 "I yield? when has ever Manfred yielded? when, O 
 queen, has your husband returned conquered ? We will 
 conquer. . . ." 
 
 "And we, gathered in your tent, will pray unto the 
 Lord to give you victory, not to look down upon your 
 forehead marked by the anathema, to unbind what His 
 vicar on earth has bound, for he has bound it unjustly, 
 ... to hear the prayers of the afflicted, . . ..and protect 
 the innocents."
 
 342 The Flight. 
 
 " Do not, do not invoke the Eternal to look down 
 upon Manfred ; pray to Him for yourself, pray to Him for 
 our children ; you are worthy to be listened to, and He 
 will listen : I will recommend myself to my sword." 
 
 And he turned to depart ; biit they threw themselves at 
 his feet, embraced his knees, breaking forth with tearful 
 voices : " Do not leave us, father ! do not leave me, 
 husband ! " 
 
 " Come then, since you wish it, come to participate in 
 my sorrows, in my death ; you prefer my company to 
 your lives, to your safety, and I accept you. Beware 
 though, you will taste untold of bitterness, for the friend 
 of the unhappy is more miserable than he ; later you may 
 repent ; you do not believe me ? I pity you ; you know 
 not how bitter misfortune is ; how the love of self-pre- 
 servation, innate in our own blood, torments us ; you 
 cannot know: but have your will. And Thou, merciful 
 God, who gathereth the storm, and ruleth the thunder- 
 bolt, spare these innocents, look Thou mercifully dov/n 
 upon them ; if I have sinned, let not these beloved heads 
 bear the weight of my iniquities." 
 
 Thus spoke Manfred, deeply moved ; then added : 
 "Benincasa! Benincasa ! take four hundred lancers, and 
 act as escort to my royal family. Mark, Benincasa, this 
 is my own blood ; you also are a father, and know by ex- 
 perience what means my blood : I recommend them to 
 you." 
 
 " My beloved king," replied Benincasa, lifting his hand 
 to his heart, " I will take more care of them than if they 
 were my own children . . ." 
 
 " Enough ! guard them as you would your own ; that 
 will be sufficient for me." 
 
 Late was the night, and profoundly dark ; the uncer- 
 tain ray of neither moon nor star was visible through 
 the clouds that enveloped the hemisphere ; in such fear- 
 ful obscurity as saddened the earth, even a flash of light- 
 ning would have been welcome. From the fury of the 
 whirlwind that howled through the crags of the mountains, 
 from the bellowing thunder of the tossing clouds, there 
 arose a sound of woe and terror like the strange tumult
 
 The Flight. 343 
 
 of a multitude of lost souls sighing and lamenting in 
 divers tongues and horrid languages. Among those 
 mountain paths, one warned by the noise of the torrent 
 beneath that he was stepping on the edge of a precipice, 
 stepped back, crying to his neighbor, " There is death ; " 
 and the other, feeling his way on the other side, and 
 finding that there also the path ended in a precipice, 
 would reply, " Nor is there life on this side." They would 
 hold by each other's hand, and lowering their heads, 
 groping in the dark, often traversed unhurt the dan- 
 gerous path ; many also climbed great distances on their 
 hands and feet; many clung to the rocks, and never left 
 them until the storm abated from its fury. There were 
 cases of men having their arms or legs broken by trees 
 that, uprooted by the wind, fell from on high ; and even 
 some that, struck on the head, fell lifeless in the path ; 
 and others who, too sure of their own strength, but not 
 sure of foot, were carried away by the force of the tem- 
 pest, without even time to manifest by a cry their miser- 
 able death to their companions. The furious element ab- 
 sorbed them, as if too jealous to divide with others the 
 power of fear, and as if resolved that no terror should be 
 greater than his. 
 
 Through such turmoil the noble Manfred, mounted upon 
 a generous battle-horse that he had chosen, notwithstand- 
 ing that the Emir Jussuff had made him observe that he was 
 white of the left fot, and hence of ill omen, rode boldly, 
 trusting to the instinct and strength of the animal, who, 
 as if to justify the trust that the rider placed in him, car- 
 ried him safely with wonderful rapidity over a rough road 
 full of impediments and danger. The officers of his suite, 
 either because they rode less powerful horses, or because 
 they had less brave hearts, could not keep up with him : 
 so that he preceded them by a long distance. The legend 
 relates that the souls of the dead along that road came 
 out of their tombs, and carrying in their hands lighted 
 torches, went before him, lighting the way, and that both 
 the horse and the rider, not fearing these apparitions, 
 availed themselves of that light to proceed safely. The 
 chronicle also adds that Manfred, having exclaimed, "All
 
 344 The Flight. 
 
 hail, and thanks to you, whoever you are, whether infernal 
 or celestial spirits, that enlighten my way," the lights sud- 
 denly ceased, and immediately after there appeared a 
 sceptred ghost, luminous with transparent light, as of a 
 cloud that veils the disk of the moon, who, wonderful to 
 ^ relate, instead of sending forth rays of light, was sur- 
 rounded by an atmosphere darker than the darkness of 
 that night. He resembled the Emperor Frederick, al- 
 though his face could not be described with precision, 
 like an image in a dream that the mind does not com- 
 pletely form : he did not seem alive, not yet dead rather 
 like a person awakened after a long lethargy, who has 
 not yet wholly recovered the use of his senses. This 
 ghost seized the reins of the horse, and with a voice 
 which, although it surpassed the roaring of the storm, 
 yet was not heard by any one except Manfred, cried, 
 " Welcome, my son ; for more than twenty years I have 
 waited for you at this pass : " and at the end of the words 
 transported him with such rapidity, that the king, neither 
 hearing nor feeling the horse's hoofs on the ground, im- 
 agined that he was running to the mouth of Vesuvius, to 
 be thrown down into the infernal lava : when of a sudden 
 the ghost stopped, leaving the reins, and stretching his 
 arm in the act of imprecating, disappeared with a horrid 
 howl. The horse, that until then had run furiously, all of 
 a sudden shied ; and although Manfred used all his 
 strength and skill, he was not able to"make him advance 
 a step, but rather, prancing, he reared more and more. 
 His officers coming up to him, wondered that their 
 horses, also shying, refused to advance. They lighted the 
 Greek-fire in a lantern, and searched the ground : a ghastly 
 corpse lay across the road. Who was he ? how came 
 he there ? who could tell in that fearful night. Perhaps a 
 guide fallen from the upper precipice, perhaps a peasant 
 trampled by the preceding troops. Manfred ordered it 
 to be removed, not to discourage his approaching soldiers, 
 and be . thrown in the nearest bush. Then moving on, 
 agitated, but not cowed by such strange events, he fixed 
 his eyes on the firmament, and said menacingly : " You
 
 The Saracen. 345 
 
 can tear the crown from my head, even my intellect, for 
 which men have extolled me ; but I defy you to take 
 away my constancy." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE SARACEN. 
 
 MESSO. 
 
 Fuggite, o triste e sconsolate donne, 
 Fuggite in qualche pni, secura parte, 
 Che i nemici gia son dentro le mura. 
 
 SOFONISBA. 
 
 Ove si puo fuggir ? Che luogo abbiarao 
 Che ci conservi, o che da lor ci asconda, 
 Se 1'aiuto di Dio non ci difende ? 
 
 SOFONISBA, Tragcdia Antica. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Flee, O ye women, sad and comfortless, 
 Flee to some spot where ye may be secure. 
 Already are our foes within the walls. 
 
 SOFONISBA. 
 
 But whither can we flee ? Where is the place, 
 That can protect us, or conceal us from them, 
 If the Almighty one defend us not ? 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 |O, the Proven9al has not conquered ; he has 
 merely crossed the frontier, like the trader who 
 from the Roman States passes into our king- 
 dom. Let these be his glories ! let destiny re- 
 serve no better ones than these ! this we desire, this we 
 hope, this we will strive for with our whole might. Let 
 Jiim exult in the grossness of his mind over the shame of 
 such victory ; the heavens have not granted him even the 
 modesty that robbers have, of enjoying in silence the 
 15*
 
 346 The Saracen. 
 
 fruits of infamy : verily, if he conquers not in this way, he 
 will certainly not in any other ; the world knows what a 
 warrior he is : the records of his enterprises are extant in 
 Egypt, where he bought wijh gold a life that he had not 
 dared to spend fighting for Christ.* Oh ! cause of God to 
 such hands entrusted ! Was it too small a grief to see 
 your Holy Sepulchre in the hands of the dogs, that there 
 must also be added the greater shame of having your 
 holy flag contaminated by this French robber ? King- 
 doms are ill conquered by art ; and treachery is a road 
 to disgrace, not to glory. Upon the road that leads to 
 royal Naples rises now Manfred, armed with the sword 
 of the Emperor Frederick, preceded by his eagle, ac- 
 customed from so many years of victory to rest on the 
 tents of the conquered, surrounded by his faithful barons, 
 who step by step recovered the kingdom, and then gave 
 it to him. Different battles are now preparing for you 
 than those of your Provence ; here are no vassals defend- 
 ed only by innocence, here no barons under the safe- 
 guard only of justice ; indeed, if these were our only de- 
 fences, we would now surrender as conquered ; you are 
 invincible, as every one knows, against innocence ; but 
 we have yet ten thousand Apulians and Germans, all the 
 Saracens of Lucera, innumerable archers, inpregnable 
 walls, dangerous marshes, inaccessible mountains. But 
 what are we saying of marshes, mountains, bulwarks ? 
 Are we so degenerate that we nqed bulwarks for cuir- 
 asses ? Are we so fallen from ancient valor to need any 
 other defence but our breasts ? Shall French pride boast 
 of this unhoped-for glory? Shall Italian valor grieve at 
 the unwonted shame ? But we will not dwell longer in 
 such ignominious surmisings. In the open fields our 
 fathers fought, and we will issue in the open fields ; let 
 us go and make a generous amend for our brothers' faults, 
 let us turn into bitter the sweet fruits of Italy in their 
 mouths, let us make them feel that it was an ill moment 
 
 * Alluding to Charles being taken prisoner with his brother St. 
 Louis by the Turks near Damietta, and ransomed in 1250. See 
 Chapter VIII.
 
 The Saracen. 347 
 
 when they touched the Italian soil ; that our climate is 
 unsuitable, our air pestilential to the lilies of France. 
 Here arose, here live, and will live forever to victory, 
 the Imperial Eagles : perhaps at this moment Charles, 
 the king of our kingdom ! advised by fear, is resolving 
 to abandon these possessions, given him by his Roman 
 pontiff, without even looking at them : it is too late, the 
 Alps are never crossed in vain. Son of an unhappy father 
 was he who dared to invade the garden of the empire ; 
 a widow before a bride, will be the lover of him who 
 attacked the inheritance of the descendants of Constan- 
 tine. From beyond the mountains they will see naught 
 but the funeral rites of the fools that committed them- 
 selves to this adventurous enterprise ; let them have 
 the mourning since they had not the wisdom ; after the 
 deed even the fool becomes wise : and indeed our thought, 
 cheered by the favorable auspices, flattered, by the glory 
 of success, rejoices to look upon the future and contem- 
 plate you all, venerable with honorable old age, in the 
 halls of your castles, surrounded by your children and 
 children's children, earnestly begged to relate the history 
 of the many trophies hanging from the walls. You wlil 
 then look smiling on them with the knowledge that you 
 will live immortal in the memory of your descendants, 
 and will begin thus : " It is now many and many years 
 since a race of barbarians moved from beyond the moun- 
 tains to infest our beautiful country ; pray, children, 
 peace to their souls, for they too were baptized Christians ! 
 but they left their bodies to the fields, their arms to us, 
 to their children tears, and the grief of not being able to 
 avenge them ; fortunate only in this, that dying, we 
 could not take away from them the glory of perishing by 
 our sword." 
 
 Thus spoke Manfred in the presence of his barons, 
 when he arrived at San Germane : and if he had ad- 
 dressed them merely to obtain glory as an orator, his 
 desire would have been fulfilled, for they received it with 
 such a tumult of clapping of hands, and approving cries, 
 that it seemed as if all San Germano was tumbling down. 
 Nevertheless, not all those that applauded believed what
 
 348 The Saracen. 
 
 Manfred said, and he least of all : yet his condition was 
 not thus far desperate, for San Germano was really a 
 strongly fortified place, and he superintended constantly 
 its further strengthening, nor ever spared himself, for by 
 day and by night he inspected the sentries, went round with 
 the patrols, rewarded the deserving, kindly admonished 
 the indolent. The usages of warfare of those times ren- 
 dered the place impregnable, except by a blockade ; but 
 Manfred had provided for this by storing provisions for 
 two years ; nor could the enemy surround the place in 
 such manner that there would not remain some way open 
 to the country. The Count of Provence saw all these 
 difficulties, and almost despaired of success : he might 
 have ventured an assault, and would have attempted it ; 
 but those walls appeared too strong and too carefully 
 guarded to run the risk with any good hopes. Should he 
 be repulsed, as it seemed probable, he would have slack- 
 ened the ardor of the French who are giants in pros- 
 perous fortune, and are discouraged beyond all reason 
 in reverses and lose his reputation of invincible, that 
 so much aided him. Should he fail in the attempt, there 
 would result from it a series of evils, the least of which 
 would have been to renounce entirely the enterprise. It 
 did not seem to him, nor was it prudent, after so many 
 trials undergone, so many desired expectations, so many 
 designs, to entrust the success of his undertaking to the 
 uncertain issue of a battle, in which the experience 
 of his troops, the brave knights armed cap-d-pie at a 
 great expense, would have availed him for nothing. 
 He knew also too well that those many Romans who 
 had joined him did not come to aid him, but to par- 
 ticipate in the spoils conquered by the valor of his troops ; 
 and that at the first disaster they would depart as fast as 
 they came, spreading everywhere the report of his defeat, 
 and magnifying it in order to excuse their flight and de- 
 sertion. On the other hand, inactivity injured him as 
 much as defeat ; provisions were getting scarce, the treas- 
 ury empty, and the Romans, as we have said, accompa- 
 nied him for gain, not for loss ; if chance opened to him no 
 way of safety, he felt that he was lost. True it is, though,
 
 The Saracen. 349 
 
 that in his face he showed the opposite ; and contrary to 
 his usual habit he smiled often ; and if he saw any captain 
 or soldier discouraged, he would call him by name, and 
 say kindly : " Courage, for we have overcome the bridge, 
 and with the aid of St. Martin we will overcome the wall ; 
 watchfulness will conquer ill-fortune." In this wise he 
 encouraged others when he himself was on the point of 
 despairing. 
 
 Whilst thus Manfred, in spite of his beautiful talk of, 
 coming out in the open field, remained shut up within 
 the fortress not because he failed in courage, for on the 
 contrary he was very brave, but because he distrusted 
 his faithful barons and Charles, who, unable to show 
 himself a lion, watched with the sagacity of a fox the 
 opportune moment, there happened at San Germano a 
 circumstance, serious in itself, more serious in its conse- 
 quences, and it was the following: 
 
 Many of the principal captains of King Manfred were 
 walking one day upon the battlements of the walls, among 
 whom Count Giordano d'Angalone, and the Emir Abu 
 Jussuff, conversing, as is customary among soldiers, of 
 the affairs of the war ; and as usual, from one subject 
 passing to another, Count Giordano came to speak of 
 present events, and with satisfactory arguments asserted 
 that the enemy's army would inevitably soon be dismem- 
 bered, for it would havet>een folly more than daring to 
 advance into the interior of the Neapolitan state, leaving 
 San Germano in its rear. Nor was the Count of Provence 
 so poor a general as to commit such irreparable errors ; 
 yet delay was almost ruinous, for he knew that he was 
 short both of provisions and money for his soldiers. 
 As to these, they never trust to promises : with them 
 gold only can make them go forward, and iron go back- 
 wards ; more than any other people in the world they fol- 
 low the ancient maxim, that, where there is nothing to 
 gain, one surely loses. And thus he kept on, express- 
 ing other opinions ; finally concluding, that it was a most 
 wise act of the king to abandon Benevento, and come 
 with all the forces he was able to muster to defend San 
 Germano. At this the Emir replied that he was speaking
 
 35O The Saracen. 
 
 very wisely ; but at the same time San Germano came 
 very near not being reinforced on rris account ; and if 
 they had followed his (Count d'Angalone's) advice, the, 
 fortress would by this time have been taken ; and with 
 Charles in their front the fate of'the kingdom would have 
 been soon settled. 
 
 Count d'Angalone, ill brooking such a reproach in the 
 presence of his companions of arms, replied that he 
 knew nothing of what he was talking about ; he had never 
 advised Manfred aught but what was soldierly ; it would 
 have been treachery to have stopped him from coming to 
 the rescue of San Germano ; that, with his permission, he 
 must be mistaken. The bystanders enjoying greatly the 
 garrulous dispute of the two, surrounded them curiously 
 to see how it would end. 
 
 The Emir, piqued at these words, exclaimed, " Then 
 you, count, have committed a treachery, though by the 
 soul of my father I would sustain that you are not a trai- 
 tor. Do you not remember when, for fear of wetting your 
 collar or spoiling your sleep, you wanted to detain the 
 king at Benevento because the night was getting rainy ? " 
 There arose all round. a mocking laugh; d'Angalone 
 became red-hot in the face, and with bitter words re- 
 proved the Emir ; this latter on his part was not silent, 
 and the dispute grew warm to such a point, that the count 
 without further ceremony told him that he lied in his 
 throat, and he would prove it by all manner of means ; 
 that if crazy people in his country were worshipped as 
 saints, in his they were whipped to teach them wis- 
 dom ; that to assail a squadron of cavalry was a very dif- 
 ferent thing from plundering a caravan of traders ; and to 
 lead armies differed very much from leading sheep ; and 
 many other insulting expressions he added, which the 
 Emir did not at all deserve", for he was a very brave and 
 worthy military man. But passion never measures words 
 or blows ; and the man whose ' face becomes very red 
 from anger, will afterwards turn pale for shame. The 
 Eaiir, although he" felt the lie direct as the point of a 
 poniard in his heart, curling his lips in a certain biting 
 smile of his, replied mockingly :
 
 The Saracen. 351 
 
 " My lord count, you being a tall man, measure your 
 faith wifh the clouds ; and as to your duties, you take 
 counsel with the moon. In truth, count, I feared in that 
 night that the wind would blow out the fire of your loyalty 
 along the road. Before going into battle, you had better 
 come to some understanding with the enemy not to strike 
 with the edge or the point of the sword, and not to hurt 
 each other, and particularly not to strike on the head : 
 and be careful not to forget your cloak, so that in return- 
 ing heated from the field you may not catch a cold." 
 And continued in this strain. In the meanwhile, the 
 laughter increased all around, and sharp retorts flew back- 
 ward and forward. D'Angalone, unskilled in that battle 
 of epigrams, knowing that for one he would get one hun- 
 dred in reply, unable to restrain himself, having lost the 
 light of reason, carried on by passion, raised his fist and 
 struck the Emir so violently on the face, that the blood 
 spurted from his nose, where he hit him. Jussuff, stunned 
 by the blow, but more so by the insult, put his hand to 
 the scimitar ; the same did Giordano, and they would 
 have come to bloodshed, if the mutual friends interposing 
 had not prevented them, ready now to prevent the conse- 
 quences of a contest that they had encouraged with pleas- 
 ure, by inciting one against the other. Certainly these 
 men had no suspicion that such great evil would result 
 from it ; but knew they not that when passions are excited, 
 no one knows where or when they will subside, and that 
 having no power to moderate them, all our wisdom is re- 
 duced to never touching therh'Jt '- V ' $ f $> * % 
 
 They led the Emir, bleeding, to his quarters ; and 
 Giovanni Villani narrates * that the Saracens, seeing him 
 so ill used, and hearing the cause of it, became so exasper- 
 ated, that, taking up arms, they rushed upon the Christians, 
 who, having received them with their visors lowered, there 
 arose a terrible fight, with the worst of the Saracens. Our 
 chronicle, however, relates that they truly intended to raise 
 the dei'il, and worse, set fire to the town, murder and kill 
 ail, happen what might afterwards. But the Emir prevented 
 
 * Hist., Book VII.
 
 352 The Saracen. 
 
 it, crying, that he desired no one to be so bold as to mix 
 in his affairs, that it was a private offence, and had to^be 
 settled privately ; that he would deem it an eternal shame 
 to himself, that any one sholild show himself readier than 
 he was to vindicate his own honor : let them then retire. 
 The first who should dare to advance a step he would 
 cleave his head from his shoulders. "So that," adds the 
 chronicles, " the Saracens, persuaded by the speech, and 
 more so by the conclusion, consented, although unwillingly, 
 to stay quiet." 
 
 On the morrow, the Eniir, calling his secretary, handed 
 him a paper carefully folded, scented with musk, sealed 
 with green silk, and wax, ordering him to carry it to 
 Covint Giordano d'Angalone. The secretary having ful- 
 filled his orders, the count broke the seal and read : "To 
 the praised in the faith of Isa, and imitator of the precepts 
 of his faith, Giordano d'Angalone, count, captain of the 
 fourth company of the German horses. In San Ger- 
 mano, this last day of the moon of Gemmadi, year of the 
 Hegira 643. Behold, thou hast covered me with dust in 
 the presence of our friends, thou hast rendered me impo- 
 tent to fight even our own enemies : is it written in any 
 law or commandment of thy God to strike the friend who 
 hath not offended thee, or whom thou hast first offended ? 
 Does it become thy valor, or thy fame as a brave 
 knight, that thou shouldst do thus to the loyal servants of 
 thy king? Now let it be known to thy worship, if thou 
 art valiant, that I do challenge thee to come out to-mor- 
 row after the first hour, upon the place where thou hast 
 struck me, so that we may fight together. Come alone 
 if thouwishest, or with thy followers, for this matters little, 
 and I will prove to thee with sword and lance that thou 
 hast not behaved as becomes a valorous baron. If I, as 
 I hope, shall kill thee, my sword will again resume its 
 edge against all, which now, by thy fault, it has not, ex- 
 cept against thee alone ; if thou comest not, I will not 
 abandon thee, even if thou shouldst fly beyond the moun- 
 tains or beyond the seas ; if thou comest not, I will pro- 
 claim thee throughout Christendozn for a coward, and vile 
 in the will of God and His commandments, in that of the
 
 The Saracen. 353 
 
 saints in holiness, and in that of all the honorable knights. 
 God the Great, and Muhammad His prophet, vouchsafe 
 long life and grant special gifts to any one that will read 
 this letter correctly, and make the way short and the em- 
 bassy acceptable to him who will consign it to the above 
 said count, Captain Giordano d'Angalone. The servant 
 of God, Jussuff, of the race of Ben-izeyen, Emir of the 
 Saracens of Apulia." 
 
 Count Giordano, having carefully read the cartel, 
 opened a little drawer, and taking out a few agostaris, 
 placed them in the hands of the Saracen herald, saying : 
 " Keep these with my thanks." Then he added in a 
 lower tone : " Tell your master that I am ready to do 
 all he desires ; that to-morrow I expect him in courtesy to 
 my table, and soon after breakfast we will enter the lists, 
 where God will give the victory to whomever He willeth." 
 
 This affair could notJDe kept so secret that it did not 
 reach the ear of Manfred, who on account of the times 
 could ill afford to lose either of those leaders. Wishing 
 therefore to remedy this matter, he did, what he would 
 'never have thought of doing, namely, rendered more 
 fatal to himself and to his interests. 
 
 Count d'Angalone, obeying peremptory orders, appears 
 in the presence of the king ; he comes forward with un- 
 certain steps, his head bent low, pale in the face, sure 
 of having incurred his lord's displeasure ; receiving no 
 order to approach, nor even to stop, he stood at a re- 
 spectful distance further off than usual, however ; only 
 once he dared to lift his eyes to Manfred (oh, how dis- 
 comforting is the anger of a revered person to a sensitive 
 soul !), he had not the courage to withstand his look, and 
 lowered them immediately to the ground. The king sat 
 in the severity of his justice, looking fixedly, scowlingly, 
 at the poor count. After a good quarter of an hour of 
 silence, during which there seemed to d'Angalone that 
 all the generations of men from Adam downward were 
 standing around contemplating his shame, the voice of 
 the king began gravely to speak thus : " We leave you to 
 decide, count, whether it arises from your king's suspicions, 
 or from others' actions, that he cannot nowadays distin-
 
 354 The Saracen. 
 
 guish his friends from his enemies. Whilst an army of 
 barbarians, greedy for our estates, intent on our total ex- 
 termination, stands drawn in battle array in our front, 
 and teaches us to stand united in our guard if we desire 
 safety, there is one who dares to disgrace with the low- 
 est of insults a beloved leader, attached to us through 
 honorable services, through long and often proved fidelity ; 
 a leader who constitutes the principal force in our present 
 defences, so that, if he should withdraw or betray us, 
 we should have no other escape than recommending our 
 soul to the saints ; and such a one dares then to call 
 Count Caserta infamous ! 
 
 " We leave you to decide, Count Giordano, which of 
 these two is more traitor, and deserves more a mark of 
 infamy ; if crimes are to be weighed by the injury which 
 they cause, and certainly they are, the latter took away 
 from us his person with a few troops of vassals ; the 
 former takes away our means of defence, obstructs our 
 way to victory, hands bound to the enemy ourselves, 
 our .children, our subjects ; nor stops he there, but with 
 unheard-of presumption despises the laws of the kingdom, 
 despises the person of the king, who would rather be 
 buried under the ruins of his throne than suffer his royal 
 authority to be in the slightest manner set aside ; and 
 sends cartels, and proposes duels, and prepares weapons 
 under our own eyes. It is so unusual, it is so grave a 
 transaction, Count Giordano, that we, as a wise sove- 
 reign, fearing that our ire may disturb our mind, and af- 
 fect our judgments, have desired, before pronouncing 
 judgment, to consult you in your opinion : speak." 
 
 " My king," with slow and broken voice answered 
 Count Giordano, " I acknowledge myself guilty ; I did 
 not send the cartel, I only accepted it, because so it be- 
 hooved any one to do who wears spurs and sword of a 
 knight. I am ready to accept cheerfully -and calmly any 
 severe punishment that your Serene Highness may be 
 willing to inflict ; only I beg you not to degrade me so low 
 in your eyes as to compare me to that wretch, di Caserta ; 
 this, I will not say my own, but the merits of my ancestor
 
 The Saracen. 355 
 
 in support of your house, do not deserve, nor the years 
 of unstained renown . . ." 
 
 And he would have continued, but Manfred interrupted 
 him with less harsh expression, yet still severe. 
 
 " We accept your submission, count. Will you remit 
 your quarrel into our hands ? " 
 
 " I could not refuse, even if I wished to, convinced 
 that whatever your Serene Highness may dispose, will 
 be according to the rules of honor." 
 
 " In the meanwhile, surrender your sword ; retire to 
 the prisons of the palace; you are prisoner of the 
 king." 
 
 D'Angalone, laying down his sword, and bowing to the 
 king, retired. Manfred, inclined to hope well by the sub- 
 mission of the count, sent immediately for the Emir, de- 
 siring that that day should not pass without pacifying the 
 two. 
 
 As a man of experience, knowing that the Orientals 
 are more than anything else affected by appearances, he 
 called the primary officers of his household, filled the tables 
 full of papers, oidered the entrance hall to be filled with 
 orderlies and couriers : in fine, he put forward an osten- 
 tatious display of state affairs. 
 
 Hardly had the Emir placed his foot in the royal hall, 
 without being announced, for thus had been ordered, than 
 Manfred, dismissing all the other officers, rushed to him, 
 speaking with affectionate accents : " Welcome the blessed 
 of the Lord, Abu Jussuff, worthy descendant of the Bcn- 
 izeyen ! The presence of the faithful servant is as sweet 
 to his king as the perfume of myrrh, as the water sent down 
 in abundance from the rain-cloud that it may bring forth 
 corn and herbs ; come, sit at my side, here on my left. The 
 king who listens on his right hand to the advice of the arch- 
 angel, and on his left to that of the friend, and bears be- 
 fore him as a sign on the forehead the fear of God that 
 king walks in the right way, in the way of those whom He 
 hath filled with grace ; and his steps will lead to glad- 
 ness, and a blessing will be in his house from father to 
 son for everlasting." 
 
 At this point the Emir pointed to his bruised face,
 
 356 The Saracen. 
 
 wishing, as it seemed, to begin ex abrupto. Manfred did 
 not await for him to speak, but hastily continued : " May 
 God and the Prophet vouchsafe thee all thy desires ! We 
 know, faithful Emir, what thou wishest to say, and have 
 called thee for this; for our sleep last night was not so 
 tranquil as the others, nor the light of this morn so shining 
 as before, nor has the warbling of the morning birds of the 
 Lord cheered us. Behold, it hath pleased Him, who causeth 
 to laugh and to weep, to sadden this our servant, and 
 fill his mouth with bitter drink. Praise be to God, Lord 
 of the worlds 1 let His will be done. The star of the Ben- 
 izeyen has ceased to shine on his race ; the faithful JussufT 
 has been vilified where the Creator has impressed His 
 image ; but the crow is black in the face of heaven, the 
 clove white ; nor has the reptile, although it has lifted 
 its head, ever been able to contaminate the flesh of the 
 eagle it has only stained . its wings with poison. God 
 protects the strength of the lion, and the name of the just, 
 for they are both His, and emanation of His power ; yet 
 if the offence was small, the sin was great. As from the 
 grain of sand to the mountain, likewise from an unac- 
 complished thought in the secret of the mind to the 
 greatest crime, all is in the presence of Allah and 
 his Prophet, and one day all will be weighed, and every 
 sin will receive its punishment according to its deserts ; 
 thus before the vassals pay to Munchir and Nechir 
 the penalty of the grave, we kings of the earth are deputed 
 to make them suffer punishment in this life ; and We in- 
 tend to punish the insult offered thee in such way, that 
 thou shall feel satisfied . . ." 
 
 Manfred intended to continue ; but the Emir breaking 
 him short amidst that whirlwind of Oriental metaphors, 
 raised his voice, exclaiming : 
 
 " Offspring of emperors! The man that calls another 
 in a question of honor is worthy of the dust, and that his 
 children should beg the bread of infamy from the enemies 
 of his life . . ." 
 
 " Is it perchance the mouth of calumny that wishes to 
 avenge thee ? Or is it the arm of an assassin that under- 
 takes thy defence ? Are we not thy Melek to whom the
 
 The Saracen. 357 
 
 Prophet has granted full .dominion over thy life, over thy 
 goods ? " 
 
 " Not over my honor." 
 
 " Then if we should ask a sacrifice for the good of our 
 people and of ourselves, will it avail nothing with thee, the 
 benefits which we and our fathers have bestowed on thee ? 
 nothing to have removed thee and thine from the moun- 
 tains of Sicily, where you shared your liv with the beasts 
 of the field ? " 
 
 " To what purpose do you recall what I know ? I will 
 kill my wives, my children, my horse, my dog, and myself 
 over them, if you desire it . . ." 
 
 " We desire not thy blood rather thy life and thy fame 
 we desire. Thou wilt see a noble knight ask thy pardon 
 before an assemblage of knights ; thou wilt see him cover 
 his head with the dust that thou hast trampled upon as with 
 a crown of glory ; thou wilt see him kneeling at thy feet as 
 to the throne of his king : what more wilt thou ? There 
 is a limit to revenge ; what does thy Koran teach in the 
 Sura Aaraf ? Pardon willingly, do good to your fellow- 
 men, contend not with the ignorant. Does not our gospel 
 teach the same ? '' 
 
 " My Prophet is my heart. The count has seen my 
 blood, he has covered me with dust, nor can I forgive him ; 
 indeed, if you desire it, I can give my spirit to Eblis for 
 seven thousand years, that he may torment it at his will ; 
 indeed, I can drag the chain of seventy cubits through fire 
 and brimstone all over Gehenna for the time to which 
 Allah condemns fhe prevaricators : but I cannot forgive 
 the count, for he has covered me with dust." 
 
 " Remit, O Emir, your quarrel to your king ; Manfred 
 begs it of you." , 
 
 " I have remitted it to the edge of my sword ;" and he 
 drew it sparkling from its sheath, and placing it under 
 the eyes of Manfred : " Ask it to remit it to you ; if it re- 
 plies, it is yours." 
 
 " JussufF, we will it so." 
 
 " Do you will it so ? Be it so ; to-morrow let the 
 hand that struck me be brought in this turban with a pa- 
 per in its fingers, containing the request for pardon, and I
 
 358 The Saracen. 
 
 will send it back to you sealed with my seal ; then I will 
 call myself satisfied, and will desist from the quarrel." 
 
 " This is African cruelty, and my kingdom will never 
 be stained by such barbarism. Come, Jussuff, since them 
 wilt not remit the quarrel, thou canst at least postpone 
 it." 
 
 " Postpone "it ? know you" what is written in the book 
 of the wise ? WJien a beam begins to rot, change if, 
 otherwise it will fall on thy head, and upon that of thy 
 family ; if thou allowest the blood to rest upon the wound, 
 death will reap the fruit of your negligence. Sleep upon 
 the offence, and thou wilt become worthy that the offence 
 sleepeth upon thee" 
 
 " Then go, faithful servant ; incite to slaughter both 
 Saracens and Christians, open with thy own hands the 
 gates, and deliver us to the enemy : indeed, in this very 
 town a wicked Emir killed before the altars its glorious 
 founder, St. Bertarius : repeat thou the wicked deed, for 
 we will not be the less innocent, thou the less guilty. 
 Remit to me your quarrel ; thy king begs it of thee." 
 
 " I cannot, son of Frederick, I cannot . . ." 
 
 Manfred rose impetuously, and, seizing the Emir by 
 the arm, led him to the balcony, from which could be 
 seen upon the declivity of Mount Cassino the ruins of 
 the city of Eraclea,' destroyed with fire and sword by 
 the fury of the Vandals. Those relics appeared solemn, 
 and truly worthy of the giants of Rome, who not only 
 emulated, but with the fragments of their greatness sur- 
 passed in magnificence all that which the miserly ambi- 
 tion of modern times attempts to raise. " There was 
 a powerful city," said Manfred, " now it lies a heap of 
 stones and rubbish : it is now six centuries since a fierce 
 people descended from the Alps, met discordant and 
 jealous citizens, and overran our beautiful country. 
 Look," he added with more sonorous voice, pointing to 
 those ruins, " the history of the deeds of the Vandals is 
 composed of such pages. Such will become San Ger- 
 mano, and by your fault ; but when future ages shall 
 have hidden the memory of my kingdom and my name, 
 there will ever a voice arise from these ruins that will
 
 The Saracen. 359 
 
 cry to posterity : ' Here a valiant king was betrayed by 
 an unfaithful servant.' " 
 
 " Oh, if I could ! . . . But I cannot, . . . Manfred, I 
 cannot. 
 
 " Enough ! since prayer is of no avail, I will com- 
 mand. My people are my children, and one day I shall 
 have to give an account to Him who intrusted them to 
 my rule. In virtue of our royal authority we order tlree 
 to defer this quarrel ; the command of the king, what- 
 ever it may be, is holy." 
 
 " There are those who would deny this, son of Freder- 
 ick, but I will not be the one. Behold," and thus speaking 
 he struck aslant his scimitar against the pavement, so that 
 it broke in pieces, " behold, you break the sword in my 
 hand, take away the strength from my arm, extinguish in 
 my heart the spirit of life, and fill it with the seed of 
 shame ; I am become as one unborn, as one buried ; 
 men will see me, but will not recognize me, since the 
 Emirs of the race of Ben-izeyen were wont to appear 
 with the splendor of the rays of glory. Perhaps a day 
 will come in which you will call for my aid, and I will 
 reply : ' Give me the arm which you have taken away 
 from me ; ' you will call me in the name of honor, and I 
 will say to you : ' O my lord, how can I hear you ? you 
 have stupefied my heart, have closed the ear of my glory.' 
 Praised be Allah, Lord of the heavens and of the 
 earth, and of all that is between them, the Potent, the For- 
 giving / Lord of the day of reckoning ! Blessed be 
 Thou in Thy thoughts and in Thy deeds ; but why hast 
 Thou willed that the glorious race of the Ben-izeyen 
 should end in dishonor ? I honor Thee, O Lord, I wor- 
 ship Thee with my face upon the stone ; but why* hast 
 Thou inspired the heart of my Melek to condemn me 
 to feed on dust ? Oh ! my years fly and pass away in 
 sadness even into eternity. Had I but died a day before, 
 the black day would have been spared to my eyes. Ah ! 
 often did my loving father say, the worst is to live too 
 long . . ." And he departed desolate, not tearful ; but over- 
 come by such grief as a strong heart can feel, the sight 
 of which would excite more wonder than compassion.
 
 360 The Saracen. 
 
 Manfred remained immovable for some time after the 
 Emir had left. Then he struck his forehead with his hands, 
 exclaiming : " Generous sdlil, and worthy of me ! Be- 
 hold ! crime has formed alliance with virtue, and they 
 both advance together to drag me from my throne ! Won- 
 ders have already appeared in the heavens ! This is a 
 prodigy of the earth. ... Be firm, Manfred, your time is 
 approaching." 
 
 " The enemy ! the enemy have taken the town ! " 
 This cry suddenly strikes the ear of Manfred, and makes 
 him start terror-struck. Was it a fancy of his agitated 
 mind ? No ; he hears indeed a turmoil and precipitous 
 running, a confused crying: "The enemy! the enemy 
 have taken the town ! " 
 
 The face of the king was wont to become pale when 
 he thought on danger ; when it was near it became red. 
 He put on his iron gauntlets, seized his shield, called his 
 squire to fasten his helmet, then he chose a lance for 
 the rest he was already fully armed and he rushed out 
 of the hall, crying to all those he met : " Noble barons, 
 come at least to die valiantly ! " 
 
 The same tumult of cries and tramping of horses 
 reached the ears of Queen Elena, who, overcome by 
 past sufferings, lay sick in bed. The gentle Yole sat 
 near her bed, with her head leaning on the left side, often 
 kissing her ; Manfredino, sitting at the foot, often joined 
 his infantile hands and prayed Jesus to restore his mother's 
 health. 
 
 " Yole ! Yole ! " said Elena, raising her head, " do you 
 hear ? it seems to me a cry of battle. . . . Holy mother 
 of God ! it comes near ; go to the balcony, see what is 
 happening." 
 
 Yole ran hastily to the balcony, and, " The enemy ! " 
 she cries, " the enemy ! mother . . . ! " 
 
 " The enemy ! " repeats Elena, sitting up in bed. 
 
 "They are about forty; . . . three seem to be the lead- 
 ers ; one has a black shield with drops of silver, the 
 other has for device a heart pierced by an arrow, the 
 third has a, white flag . . . with red eagle, ... it is the flag 
 of the Florentine Guelphs. . . . What blows ! mercy on
 
 The Saracen. 361 
 
 us ! what blows ! they drive everything before them, . . . 
 how many they kill and wound ! " 
 
 " Come, . . . support me ... so that I may see them." 
 
 "There is Manfred ! What a whirlwind of horses and 
 knights ! . . the dust hides them all. ... I see nothing 
 more." 
 
 " Let me look on the arm of the king ! " said Elena, 
 and prepared to descend from the bed. 
 
 " The dust is clearing off ; . . . our father has conquered. 
 ... Oh ! how they run ; . . . oh ! how he pursues them at 
 full gallop . . . ! They are already far off; . . . they have 
 disappeared." 
 
 In order that our kind reader might learn how this 
 event happened, we will inform him that, a little outside 
 the walls of San Germano, out of the Roman gate,* some- 
 what to the left, there existed several wells between the 
 city and the encampment of Charles, where the grooms 
 both of the French and Neapolitans went to draw water, 
 and often led the very horses there to drink. Charles 
 might have easily infected this water, but considering 
 that he would have deprived his own army of it, as 
 well as the enemy, who, on the other hand, was well 
 provided with it inside the walls, he let it alone ; the more 
 so inasmuch that from that mingling of people he hoped, 
 without really knowing why, that there might arise a good 
 opportunity to assail the town. The Neapolitan grooms 
 did not come out through the large gate, but from a little 
 door that was near it, and the moment they were out it was 
 closed again with heavy iron bars. It would have been 
 temerity rather than courage to attempt, by unexpectedly 
 assailing these grooms, to enter promiscuously in the city 
 while these ran away into it, nor did Charles dare order it, 
 fearing every man would refuse it as certain death, a.nd also 
 as being of doubtful success. Two French knights, the 
 brothers Boccard and Jouan Vandamme, and a Florentine 
 knight, Stbldo Giacoppi dei Rossi, standard-bearer of the 
 Italian Guelphs, together with some fifty other soldiers 
 accustomed to the most risky enterprises, agreed to make 
 the attempt. Early in the morning of the tenth of Febru- 
 ary, they concealed themselves within a ditch, which the 
 16
 
 362 The Saracen. 
 
 night before they had covered over with briars, and which 
 hid them like a thatched roof; there they remained wait- 
 ing until the grooms came to fetch water. The ruse suc- 
 ceeded to the best of their expectation. The Neapolitan 
 grooms came out from the town carelessly towards sunset, 
 going to the wells, where, meeting some of the French 
 grooms, they began to insult them both with words and fists, 
 crying in mockery of the count : " Where is our Chariot ? 
 Where is Chariot ? " The French grooms answered 
 back, and hence arose the most fearful hand fight that 
 was ever seen ; which, as it was fought without weapons, 
 or for some reason that has not come down to us, is 
 distinguished in the chronicles of the time by the name of 
 badalucco. At this point the hidden knights, issuing from 
 their hiding place, assailed the Apulian grooms, and very 
 soon drove them to flight. Those within the town seeing 
 them appear opened the little gate, so that they might 
 take refuge within, and when noticing the enemies behind 
 them, they attempted to shut it, they were not in tune, for 
 pursued and pursuers rushed in with the impetuosity of a 
 river, and wonderfully swift, passed over it. They had, 
 however, time to let down the portcullis, which, falling 
 heavily, separated six knights from their fellows, and pro- 
 bably crushed as many with its -iron points. Those that 
 had entered, nothing daunted by that first check, advanced 
 further, striking right and left, and driving the unprepared 
 Apulians before them till they almost reached the 
 royal palace. Here Manfred issued forth, accompanied 
 by his best barons, and began a terrible engagement ; this 
 did not long last doubtful, for the pursued taking courage, 
 turned about and repulsed the enemy. The crowd 
 more and more increased around the French, who, de- 
 spairing now of success, turned thejr backs to those 
 whom they had at first attacked. Indeed, retreat could 
 not have saved them ; it would have been better, there- 
 fore, to die with wounds on their breasts ; but if we could 
 reason with fear as to the possibility of escape, we would 
 see more brave deeds than take place nowadays. 
 
 The Count of Provence, notified of this occurrence 
 (for the chronicle narrates, although with slight appear-
 
 The Saracen. 363 
 
 ance of truth, that this ambuscade was attempted un- 
 known to him), turned to the knights who surrounded 
 him, and spoke thus : " Knights, shall we abandon our 
 brothers in the hands of the enemy, because they were 
 more valorous than we?" So saying, he seized his heavy 
 mace, for, from old habit, he never took off his armor 
 when he was in camp, and rushed out of his tent. Tra- 
 dition states that on the way he exclaimed : " O glorious 
 Saint Martin of Tours ; we make a vow to present to 
 your sanctuary a solid golden candlestick, if you will 
 enable us to save those valiant knights of ours ! " 
 
 Let us see what the flower of French chivalry can do. 
 They had arrived an arrow's distance from the walls, 
 when the Neapolitans darted their javelins. At that first 
 discharge many knights lost their horses, many horses 
 their knights ; those that followed, unable to restrain their 
 horses coming in full gallop, stumbled over them : hence 
 there arose a sudden confusion, a sort of wavering all 
 along the line. Charles, however, had run ahead, and pre- 
 ceded them at the distance of three lances ; they rallied, 
 and, bolder than before, spurred after him. A new dis- 
 charge of javelins succeeded, and a new confusion. In 
 such manner they could not accomplish aught : the count 
 perceived this, and thought of a remedy ; he dismounts 
 from his horse, takes off the saddle, and placing it over 
 his head, continues his way towards the walls , his follow- 
 ers imitate him, and through this expedient, better pro- 
 tected, they reached the Roman gate. Here they were 
 assailed by a shower of missiles, iron pointed beams, and 
 every sort of weapons thrown by the besieged ; while on the 
 part of the assailants there was no reply made, but a fear- 
 ful and incessant hammering of maces against both the gate 
 and the postern. Charles above every other hammered 
 desperately against the small gate, and at every blow one 
 could see flying around nails, splinters and clouds of 
 dust. Not being all able to work around the gates, some 
 with unadvisable temerity attempted to escalade the walls; 
 but their strength failing, part of them, pulled down by 
 their own weight, grazing the walls and leaving against it 
 the skin of their hands and face, fell headlong to the
 
 364 The Saracen. 
 
 
 
 ground, a heap of mangled bones ; otHers, having reached 
 the battlements, repulsed by a spear on the breast, wav- 
 ing their arms in the air, would fall cutting a curve in the 
 sky ; some fell wounded by their own weapons, some by 
 falling upon the spears of those standing below. There 
 were cases in which those falling killed the companions 
 upon whom they fell, and they by a strange chance re- 
 mained unhurt. Death revelled in full sway. 
 
 Convinced now by such bloody experiment that in this 
 manner they were unable to ascend, the French were 
 about to retire, when a voice arose to encourage them, 
 crying : " The gate is broken ! " And in truth Charles, 
 hammering with his mace, had done so much, that the lit- 
 tle gate had fallen from its hinges, and he, followed by his 
 knights, had passed the threshold. At the same moment 
 that he stepped inside, a shower of arrows covered all his 
 body without wounding him, for he was predestined ; but 
 one of these arrows passed through the bars of the visor 
 of young Joinville, reputed the most gallant and brave 
 young knight, and piercing through his left eye, entered 
 the brain : he fell, saddened not by his premature death, 
 but by the thought of his aged father left desolate in the 
 vast castle of his ancestors. Poor father ! of several chil- 
 dren this one only had been left to him, his only hope 
 and comfort in his weary old age ; it would have been 
 mercy to have spared him ! The good old baron in his 
 secret heart had prepared a wife for him, his neighbor's 
 daughter, whom he knew the young knight had met 
 under the oak ; he sought for this oak, and on its bark 
 he found traced the names of the lovers, and drawing his 
 poniard, with a hand trembling with age and joy, he had 
 carved his own, as of a hand imposed upon them to bless 
 them. Poor father. Strangers and mercenary people 
 laid him down on his bier, and distant relatives inherited 
 his castle. It was perhaps pity for the brave youth, or 
 perhaps natural hesitation of fear, that arrested the French 
 on the threshold of the small gate. Charles turns his 
 head, sees them wavering, and exclaims : " Does this 
 seem a gate to pass without toll? We have paid it ; let 
 us then march on to victory."
 
 The Saracen. 365 
 
 Having passed through the gate, there was yet the 
 portcullis to be overcome. The slaughter recommenced, 
 for the Neapolitans from behind the gratings darted arrows 
 incessantly, and the French had none to reply ; they 
 crowded about the timbers, and struck them such fearful 
 blows with their axes, that had they not been covered 
 over with brass, they would have scattered them in splin- 
 ters, and opened the way ; but the brass resisted their 
 fury ; the vain attempts proved it to be a useless work, 
 which could not be accomplished except with long time 
 and hard labor. 
 
 Another incident was added to dishearten them. The 
 brothers Vandatnme, Stoldo dei Rossi and the few left of 
 their companions were flying toward the gate. When they 
 were within twenty steps of it, seeing the portcullis low- 
 ered, recognizing their companions, ashamed to be caught 
 in that act of flying, knowing there was no means of 
 escape, they turned desperately back, and yelling fiercely 
 rushed against their pursuers : but it was in vain ; for 
 Manfred arrived thundering, and assailants issued from 
 everywhere, pressing upon them. After a few more mo- 
 ments of bestial fight, in which they fouglrt even with their 
 teeth, totally exhausted, they threw up those few weapons 
 that had remained to them, and asked for quarter. Any 
 one who reads may imagine how bitter was this sight to 
 those who stood outside the portcullis. It is told of one 
 baron who was so blinded by rage, that he inserted his 
 hand armed with a battle axe through the gratings, think- 
 ing that, by throwing it, he might reach the fight that was 
 going on twenty and more steps distant from him ; a blow 
 falling from the sword of Giordano Lancia, severed it near 
 the elbow, and taught him never to insert it again through 
 any portcullis gratings ; and the chronicle states that he 
 never did it again. The fears of the Count of Provence 
 now were realized ; he thought of sounding a retreat ; the 
 attempt to secure a victory by valor was lost, there only 
 remained the chance of accomplishing it by good fortune. 
 
 Evening was approaching. Manfred, after the surrender 
 of the brothers Vandamme, of Stoldo and only six others 
 of the fifty that had attempted the ambuscade, was about
 
 366 The Saracen. 
 
 to order the lifting of the portcullis in order to rush upoc 
 the enemy, and repulse him from the walls. All at once 
 he hears on his rear a running of people, and a wild cry 
 of " The enemy ! the enemy ! " he turns his head and 
 perceives a flag flying on the turret of the gate of the 
 Rapido which did not look like his ; he trained his sight, 
 rubbed his eyes, looked again, and asked of Count Cal- 
 vagno, who stood beside him: "The Lord aid us; that 
 does not seem our flag. Look at it, count, for the air is 
 thick, and we do not discern well." 
 
 " O my good king," replied Count Calvagno, " you 
 have not been mistaken ; the flag is blue, but within are 
 the lilies of France." 
 
 " How can it be ? . Are not the Saracens on guard on 
 those walls?" And furiously spurring his horse, he 
 rode in that direction. 
 
 While he rushes to inquire into the matter, we will nar- 
 rate how it all happened. Guy de Montfort, the best 
 master of war that the French army possessed, and who, 
 being in the most intimate councils of Charles, partici- 
 pated in all his plans, observing the progress of the attack 
 of which he had disapproved, thought that, since they had 
 begun, he would strive to render its results of the least 
 possible injury to the French. Therefore, taking some com- 
 panies of Burgundian troops, whilst Charles was righting 
 furiously before the gate, he marched around San Germane, 
 forded the river Rapido, and presented himself unobserved 
 before the gate of that name ; the further he advanced the 
 less noise he heard ; he raised his eyes to the battlements, 
 there was not a sentry visible ; he looked to the turrets, 
 not even a guard ; he wondered, advanced cautiously 
 fearing some ambuscade. They arrive under the walls, 
 saw no one ; lean the ladders against them and began to 
 ascend ; not a person looks out. Mount upon the bat- 
 tlements ; they are deserted. " God hatlrblinded them ! " 
 exclaims Montfort devoutly. " God hath blinded them ! " 
 repeat the soldiers, and advance further. He fortifies the 
 walls, places his bravest troops in the turrets, and hoists 
 his flag there ; he descends, opens the city gate ; and de- 
 spatches messengers to Charles, asking him to hasten on
 
 The Saracen. 367 
 
 that side, for the city was taken. The news reached 
 Charles just as he was about ordering the retreat. He re- 
 gained his fallen spirit, and since he was for that day in 
 love with St. Martin of Tours, " O glorious baron," ex- 
 claimed he, signing himself with the sign of the cross, "two 
 \yill be the golden candlesticks that I will present to your 
 temple of Tours, of twenty pounds each ! " ^ His troops 
 also took new courage at the news, and he, ordering that 
 they should still pretend to insist in their attack on that 
 side, starts for the place where fortune had fought for him. 
 Manfred learned on his way there, that the report of 
 his having refused free field to their Emir against Anga- 
 lone having been spread among the Saracens, they had 
 abandoned their posts, and retired to their quarters to 
 weep over the head of Jussuff, as if he were buried; and 
 that the enemy, taking advantage of the occasion, scaled 
 the walls, and had taken possession of them. Manfred 
 was disturbed, but not disheartened on this account, and 
 hastening to the relief, passed under the quarters of the 
 Saracens and called : " Jussuff! Jussuff." 
 
 "What wills the Melek from the beast that has. 
 speech ? " replied the Emir, appearing over the terrace 
 with a mournful face. 
 
 " Did I not foretell it to thee ? Through you the 
 enemy are within the city ; come out to the rescue . . ." 
 
 ' How can I without a sword ? " 
 
 ' I will give thee mine." 
 
 ' And who will give me the arm ? " 
 The battle." 
 And the heart ? " 
 
 ; I will tear it from thy breast if ever I reach thee," 
 cried Manfred, angered, " accursed in the soul of thy 
 father, in the holiness of thy faith ! " and without dallying 
 further, gallops on, eager to come to battle. 
 
 And behold the strife raging in different parts of the 
 city with different success ! Night having supervened, it 
 rendered it still more frightful. The French, who had en- 
 tered it by surprise, now showed themselves worthy to have 
 conquered it by valor ; repulse did not shake them. Set 
 upon from above, from the sides, in front, they returned
 
 368 The Saracen. 
 
 to the assault with wonderful courage : it was not an or- 
 dered battle, but an infinite number of skirmishes fought 
 in the streets, and in the squares ; every corner of a street 
 presented a new defence to the Neapolitans, every house 
 a bulwark ; from both sides resounded loudly in the 
 dark the war-cry : "Monjoy ! Monjoy / France et Saint 
 Martin! Swabia ! Swabia ! Manfred and the Imperial 
 Eagle!" The troops drunk with blood rushed impetu- 
 ously, blindly striking right and left both enemies and 
 friends. To a terrible darkness succeeded a more terrible 
 light: fires broke out on every side; scenes presented 
 themselves worthy only for demons to look upon ; arms, 
 men, horses in a heap ; the face of the dying more 
 ghastly by that lurid light, the face of the fighters more 
 threatening ; arms and glittering swords, as if suspended in 
 the vacuum, appearing from the darkness, striking down 
 and disappearing ; wounded men with agonizing cries dis- 
 appearing in the darkness, and reappearing through the 
 reflection of the flames, showing at every instant their fast 
 approach to death ; imploring looks answered by murder- 
 ous blows, and these avenged by still more bloody homi- 
 cides ; blood calling for blood ; some who killed in front 
 were often killed from behind ; even the horses, maddened 
 by the fury of the battle, rushed wildly, neighing through 
 the battle, tearing with their teeth, trampling on the fallen 
 whether dead or alive, their feet and legs besmeared with 
 blood. 
 
 Histories and chronicles of the time agree in stating that 
 had not the Neapolitans lost courage by the unexpected 
 entrance of the enemy into the city, and the fear that 
 the Saracens would turn their weapons against Manfred, 
 they would have been the conquerors ; but disheartened 
 just at the moment when they most needed courage, 
 decimated by the fierce valor of the French constantly 
 reinforced by fresh troops, they began to yield. They only 
 made a stand in the street where Manfred fought ; finally 
 even here, assailed from all the surrounding streets which 
 had fallen into the power of the enemy, they turned their 
 backs, crying : " Sauve qui pent." 
 
 Then commenced a most miserable slaughter. The
 
 The Saracen. 369 
 
 enemy pressed after them with the fury of wild beasts ; 
 they killed whomsoever they met, whether resisting or not ; 
 they spared neither age nor sex. We have not the heart : 
 to narrate the excesses committed during that night by 
 the French army, although we know that the greater part 
 of the history of men is composed of such deeds. It is 
 enough to state that both by fire and by sword the dead 
 amounted to over ten thousand. 
 
 Manfred, carried along with the flight of his soldiers, con- 
 vinced that the voice of fear had become more powerful 
 than his, desiring of dying with wounds on his breast, 
 made a last effort to rally, and turned his horse towards 
 the enemy. He would have met what he sought for, be- 
 cause, conspicuous by the silver eagle which he wore for 
 a crest on his helmet, all the enemy's swords would have 
 been turned against him, had not a fresh troop, whom he 
 had not seen before, issuing forth from a street that led 
 to the gate of Abbruzzo, surrounded him with the cry : 
 " Swabia ! Swabia ! " A knight of gigantic stature, wear- 
 ing a wolf for a crest, approached him, leaping his horse 
 through the crowd ; and bending over the saddle, said to 
 him in haste : " Glorious king, the city is taken, the Pro- 
 ven^al victorious. If we had arrived sooner, we would 
 have made you conquer ; now we can do nothing but save 
 you. You know us not, but we are your friends." 
 
 The hour has not yet arrived, thought Manfred ; then 
 he replied to the knight, "Great thanks, baron, since you 
 have come, 1 accept you ; we may yet arrest the fortune 
 of Charles at Benevento." 
 
 " And if it please God, reverse it ! " added the un- 
 known. Then, raising his voice, which resounded above 
 the din of war around it, he ordered his men to put their 
 lances in rest, and advance in close phalanx. That bat- 
 talion of iron marched forward, cutting its way against all 
 opposition, and slowly advancing, like a heavy chariot, 
 approached the gate of Abbruzzo, still known as St. 
 John's gate. 
 
 " My children ! the queen ! " exclaimed Manfred, sud- 
 denly; and without saying a word to the knight that rode 
 16*
 
 The Saracen. 
 
 beside him, turned his horse in the direction they had 
 cgme. 
 
 " His children ! " was heard at the same time a voice 
 exclaiming from the middle of the squadron, "let us save 
 them." 
 
 Now let it not be irksome to our gentle reader that 
 we, using a privilege common to all novel writers, should 
 turn a step backwards, for we have something to relate 
 respecting Queen Elena and her children. 
 
 Corrado cli Pierleone Benincasa, master of the defence 
 of the royal palace of San Germano, learning that the 
 city had been taken by assault, wondered in not seeing 
 Manfred and his followers come to its rescue. Fear- 
 ing, therefore, that he might have been killed, he col- 
 lected hastily all the knights that had remained on guard 
 in the palace, and spoke thus : " Any one among you 
 who desires to save his life with shame, let him imme- 
 diately depart, and take refuge wherever his heart dic- 
 tates ; whoever, though, desires to remain faithful to his 
 king, let him know that there is nothing left us but an 
 honorable death." 
 
 They all replied that they desired to remain faithful to 
 Manfred ; that they feared not death, but dishonor. Cor- 
 rado, deeply moved, exclaimed : " May Heaven protect 
 your valor and loyalty!" Then he strengthened the 
 gates, distributed the soldiers, and recommended himself 
 to Divine Providence, trusting in its aid. Having ful- 
 filled all the duties of a wise captain under the circum- 
 stances, he directed his steps to the queen's apartment. 
 The faithful baron wavered in ascending the steps, he 
 wept, and joining his hands, from time to time would sigh : 
 " O noble house of Manfred, how low fallen ! " To the 
 maidens and servants who came in his way, and anxiously 
 asked : " What news, Sir Corrado ? " he would reply, 
 " Recommend yourselves to God," and went on. Reach- 
 ing the queen's rooms, he stopped a moment, brushed 
 away his tears with the back of his hand, and knocked 
 softly. Gismonda opened to him. Corrado entered, as- 
 suming a bold expression ; but when he perceived his 
 king's family, unable to restrain himself, he broke forth
 
 The Saracen. 371 
 
 in tears, and kneeled at the foot of the bed, where lay 
 the queen. 
 
 " What means this, great chancellor ? " asked the 
 noble Elena. 
 
 " My queen, the town is taken . . ." 
 
 "Taken! and Manfred?" Corrado did not reply. 
 " Glorious Virgin ! Is he dead, perhaps ? " 
 
 " Dead ! " cried with one voice Yole and Manfredino. 
 
 " I know not whether he be dead or alive, . . . but he 
 is dead for us, for he does not come to our rescue." 
 
 " He might have abandoned the ten to save the hun- 
 dred. Is there any escape, chancellor ? " 
 
 " None. Now, what shall we do ? " 
 
 " Gismonda," spoke the queen, with an altered voice, 
 " bring me my royal mantle and my crown." 
 
 These were brought to her ; she wrapped herself in 
 the first, placed the other on her head, descended from 
 the bed, and sat in a throne-like seat, with a child on each 
 side ; then said to Corrado : " See, Corrado, what is 
 left us to do to die like a queen ; had we been a knight 
 we should not have asked any one" what we had to do." 
 
 " Noble queen, speak not thus. I have provided for 
 myself and my followers, according to the rules of honor. 
 I only came to ask whether you knew any secret way that 
 led out of the palace, to put you in safety, so that while 
 we should be defending the gate of the palace, you and 
 your children might escape the fury of the enemy." 
 
 " We know no other means of safety, and even if we 
 knew it, it should have been a means of safety for all or 
 for none." 
 
 " Magnanimous being ! Farewell, my sweet lady ; 
 be assured that the French will never reach you except 
 through here ; " and he touched his breast. " May it 
 please you to allow me to kiss for the last time your 
 royal hand, and assure me of your grace if ever I did 
 aught that might have displeased your royal highness. 
 As for the rest, remember me in your prayers." 
 
 He took up Manfredino in his arms, kissed him on his 
 forehead, and restoring him to his mother's arms, prayed 
 fervently : " O Lord Jesus, who was crucified for us, grant
 
 372 The Saracen. 
 
 that Thy servant might save this innocent boy ! Listen ! 
 listen ! the assault has already begun. I must hence 
 Swabia ! Swabia ! my knights ! " he cried, running to- 
 wards the door, where arriving he turned towards the 
 queen, repeating the prayer : " Recommend me to God." 
 
 The assault on the palace had lasted now more than 
 an hour ; but although the Apulian barons held on with 
 admirable constancy, it was clear that they could not 
 last much longer, when of a sudden the enemy's blows 
 began to slacken, and presently to cease entirely ; soon 
 they heard the enemy scatter in flight, and a few minutes 
 after resounding the joyfiil cry of " Long live Manfred ! " 
 
 " Open to the king ! " cried hundreds of voices ; and 
 those on the inside, having recognized the silver eagle, 
 opened the door. Manfred entered, accompanied by a 
 few knights ; the remaining ones stopped around the gate. 
 He advanced anxiously, traversed the court-yard, and ar- 
 rived at the staircase ; it was dark. On placing his foot 
 on the first step it stumbled on a body ; a deep groan 
 and painful lament arose from it. They brought torches, 
 and he recognized in the dying man the faithful Benin- 
 casa, who, mortally wounded by an arrow in his. .breast, 
 had dragged himself to die tranquilly at his post 
 
 " Corrado, do you recognize me ? " Manfred asked him 
 pitifully. 
 
 " Ah ! indeed I do, . . ." replied the dying baron, rais- 
 ing his heavy eyes ; " you lose the most faithful ; . . . and 
 1 ... I die happy in having saved yonr family . . ." 
 
 "No; you "will live, Corrado!" broke forth Manfred, 
 and leaned towards him ; . . . but he had breathed his last. 
 A tear fell from the eye of the king upon the face of the 
 dead ; but time pressed, and he rushed on in deep sobs. 
 
 On the morning after the Proven9al had become master 
 of San Germano, the brutal rabble, in order to please the 
 new master, put a rope around the neck of the faithful 
 Benincasa, and dragged him ignominiously through the 
 streets of the city. Time, however, true dispenser of jus- 
 tice, has rendered the verdict whether in that moment the 
 disgraced one was Corrado Benincasa, or the Count of 
 Provence, who, having the power, did not prevent it I
 
 The Saracen. 373 
 
 have sure faith that the avenging angel noted that deed, 
 arfd that even from that hour Charles d'Anjou rendered 
 himself deserving of the divine ire that so bitterly pun- 
 ished him in the Sicilian Vespers. 
 
 The family of King Manfred heard hasty steps ap- 
 proaching their room ; heard the pressure on the door 
 fastenings. Manfredino hid himself behind his mother's 
 mantle ; Gismonda uttered a cry ; the queen rose, and 
 Yole came near to support her. 
 
 " There is no need of it, . . ." said the queen, remov- 
 ing from her her daughter's arms, and stood in a dignified 
 attitude. 
 
 The folding doors fly open. ..." Blessed Virgin ! 
 Manfred ! " The king utters not a word, runs towards 
 the queen, puts his sword between his teeth, and lifting his 
 wife on his right arm, his son on his left, carries them out 
 of the room. 
 
 A Tcnight of splendid form, although armed cap-a-pie, 
 approaches Yole and offers his hand ; the modest maiden 
 blushes, and refuses timidly. The knight approaches 
 near and whispers a word. What has he said to her? 
 Has he perhaps charmed her by magic? ... I know not ; 
 but she rushes to his embrace, as if forgetful of her station, 
 forgetful of her decorum. He lifts her up in hi arms, 
 and follows Manfred. Whatever was the impulse that 
 agitated Yole in that first moment, it was not sufficient 
 to efface the natural delicacy for which she was famous 
 above all the maidens of Italy. Hardly had they reached 
 the threshold of the room, than she cried, " Where is Gis- 
 monda ? " 
 
 " Here I am ! " replied the maiden, who, escorted by 
 another knight, walked beside her ; " I am following you, 
 my lady." Yole smiled to her encouragingly. 
 
 In descending the stairs, the knight, whose crest was a 
 wolf, perceiving the king burdened in carrying both the 
 queen and his boy, spoke thus : " Monseigneur, you can- 
 not go on so." 
 
 " And what am I to do ? " 
 
 " Give me the boy."
 
 374 The Saracen. 
 
 " My son ! you want my son ? If I should give him to 
 you, will you restore him safe to my arms ? " 
 
 " I hope so, ... or at least he will not die before me." 
 
 " Take him, then ! " And he handed the boy to him. 
 The robust knight raised him in his arms, and as the boy, 
 in leaving his father's arms, bewailed, he chided him, say- 
 ing, " Children of kings should not cry." Then Manfredino 
 was silent, and the knight, sitting him on his left arm, said : 
 " Hold close to my neck ; " which having been done, he 
 covered him with his enormous shield, so that he could 
 not have been hit in any part. " Now you may sleep 
 there, for you are safe," he added, and rushed down the 
 steps, from where he had had the body of poor Benincasa 
 removed, not to sadden the eyes of the royal family. 
 
 They issued into the open air. The enemy had disap- 
 peared. They heard from afar a clashing of swords, a con- 
 fused crying of " Swabia ! Monjoy /" They wondered, nor 
 could imagine what it could be ; they took advantage of 
 the propitious occasion, and mounting their horses, lifting 
 the ladies in front of their saddles, spurred towards the 
 gate of Saint John. Without meeting any adventures 
 worth noting, they reached the walls, went out of the 
 gate, and galloped towards the open country, crying often 
 with cheerful voices, " The king is safe." 
 
 Manfred, often recurring in his mind to the events of 
 that memorable night, would exclaim, both with pleasure 
 and regret : " Even misfortune is good for something ; 
 had it not been for that, I should never have known these 
 faithful ones who surround me." 
 
 Shall I turn back to contemplate for the last time the 
 conquered city ? I will, for the angel has not forbidden 
 me under penalty of being changed into a statue of 
 salt. Behold, it burns like Gomorrah : the one guilty of 
 rebellion to God, the other guilty of rebellion to its king. 
 I say both guilty, for otherwise -I could not understand 
 why the same punishment should have fallen upon them. 
 A few hours of fire burns works over which human indus- 
 try has labored for many years ! The palace of the 
 baron and the hut of the poor now fall together in the 
 universal destruction ; the citizens, whether partisans of
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 375 
 
 Manfred or Charles, robbed ; their houses plundered, 
 those resisting, killed ; the weak, mocked. Indeed, the 
 Count of Provence had assured all who would give cred- 
 ence to his assurances, that he had come to release the 
 Apulians from the Swabian oppression, and called him- 
 self a liberator. Nor were sacred persons and prop- 
 erty better protected : clergymen, venerable for holi- 
 ness of life, for age and learning, cruelly maltreated by 
 the savage, soldiery ; the devout offerings of the faithful 
 before the images of saints, stolen if of gold, let alone 
 if of wax ; even the images and statues of saints, broken 
 and shared if of precious metal, let alone if painted or 
 of wood. What more ? the mind recoils at the sad re- 
 cital' ; the sacred oil scattered to the ground, or used to 
 anoint their beards ; the eucharistic bread scattered about, 
 and the golden vases and chalices containing it seized, to 
 be gambled off at dice, or to drink out of them. Yet the 
 Count of Provence swore that he had come to restore 
 religion in the kingdom of a heretic, and called himself 
 the first-born of the Church ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE SORROWFUL NIGHT. 
 
 Un angioletto con le man di rose 
 Chiuse gli occhi infelici in tanta angoscia. 
 
 SAN BENEDETTO. 
 
 A little cherub, with its hands of rose, 
 Closed her unhappy eyes on all her woes. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 5 AD is the kingdom of darkness sad. as the 
 thoughts of a fugitive king. As it happens 
 sometimes to the decrepid old man to recall the 
 days of his youth for there is no age without 
 its joys and his blood would flow warmer, his pulses
 
 376 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 beat faster, his face become red with a crimson flush ; 
 when of a sudden, being on the brink of the sepulchre, 
 the jmage of death would assail him stronger than ever, 
 and freeze all his hopes ; likewise the spirit of Manfred, 
 though looking back to some of the past events of that 
 memorable night, derived comfort from them ; yet soon 
 after, the weight of the present misfortune and the fear 
 of the future discouraged him. The fates had deprived 
 him even of the flattery of hope ! He rode silently ; he 
 might have shown himself cheerful, even narrate the 
 pleasant legend; for he was capable of dissimulating above 
 any other man in his times ; much resembling in this the 
 land of his kingdom, that bewitches the looker-on with 
 the treasures of creation, at the same time that the vol- 
 cano is preparing ruin for it in its bowels ; yet, knowing 
 that it would avail him nothing to pretend cheerfulness, 
 and even if it had, no one would have believed him, 
 he abandoned himself to the sadness of his thoughts. 
 His followers, convinced that if there was any way of 
 safety, Manfred would have found it before them for 
 misfortune never cowed him down, and he was a man to 
 do by himself also rode on silently. Without resting a 
 moment, they arrived at San Pietro in Fine, a town eight 
 miles distant from San Germane. They wanted to stop 
 there, but the place did not seem safe enough ; tliey re- 
 solved to continue their flight. The horses, although 
 tired, justified the trust that the knights had placed in 
 their niettle. 
 
 "Are you suffering?" asked Manfred of the noble 
 Elena, who, chilled by the sharp wind, aching from having 
 remained a long time in the same position, and weak from 
 the nervous debility that had for so long afflicted her, 
 had unconsciously sighed. 
 
 " I ? Think only of saving yourself, think of saving 
 my children." 
 
 " You do suffer," insisted Manfred. 
 
 " Oh, mind it not ! Perhaps this suffering of mine 
 will be accepted as part of the expiation ! " 
 
 " No, no ; white is white, nor does the tare change the 
 nature of the wheat ; every soul is for itself. Jn the
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 377 
 
 valley of Jehoshaphat every living being will answer for his 
 own sins. You ought not to suffer on my account." 
 
 Now they had reached the foot of the mountain Ces- 
 ima, on the summit of which even to this day we per- 
 ceive the town of Presenzano. Manfred ordered that 
 they should leave the beaten road, and, turning to the 
 right, get into the pine woods that shade all its declivity, 
 for he intended to halt there. 
 
 The order was cheerfully obeyed, for the precipitate 
 flight and shrewdly biting air of the night had subdued 
 even the bravest. They went perhaps a hundred steps 
 into the woods, and there they stopped. In less than 
 no time there arose a cheerful fire to unstiffen their limbs. 
 Manfred turned around and saw Elena at his side, and 
 Yole at the side of Elena. . . . Manfredino was wanting ; 
 but, turning his head, saw the knight, who handed him 
 to him safe and sound. The king took him in his arms ; 
 the boy smiled, and raising his hands caressed his face. 
 The father's looks softened at the lovely act, and bending 
 affectionately, he kissed him on the forehead. 
 
 "We then have lost nothing?" exclaimed Manfred, 
 after looking again and again on his family. 
 
 " We have lost Benincasa," replied Yole, with a soft 
 voice. 
 
 " In truth, my daughter, you have spoken a wise word." 
 
 " Certainly," added the knight, entering into the con- 
 versation ; " it is not to be denied that it would have been 
 better for all of us if the grand chancellor had lived ; yet 
 he deserves not so much compassion. If he has lost his 
 life, he has acquired fame, which in substance is the life 
 of the brave, for they live for it ; and if to obtain it they 
 die, their death should be esteemed fortunate and happy. 
 Perhaps the perverse world, accustomed more to remem- 
 ber deeds that sadden it, rather than those that honor it, 
 will not preserve the fame of this valorous knight except 
 among a few ; but those few will be those who do .not 
 measure virtue by success, and in whatever part of the 
 world, in whatever time they meet the fame of a brave 
 man, they will hail it as a saint, and will raise an altar to 
 it in their hearts. The others, whose existence is only
 
 378 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 shown by the appetite for food, are not of any account. 
 I have always begged God in my prayers for two things 
 to deliver me from the praises of the imbecile, and from 
 the contempt of the brave." 
 
 "Well said," said Manfred approvingly; "so it is. 
 Rarely does one meet a brave man joined to a wicked 
 mind. Knight, in courtesy, I beg a favor of you." 
 " You have only to command, monseigneur ; speak." 
 "1 beg of you to reveal to me who you are." 
 "You do me an honor, monseigneur, to interest your- 
 self in a person of small condition, such as I am ! How- 
 ever, my face is not one that loves to be concealed, nor 
 my brow one that would turn pale at the sight of the 
 brave. Behold, look me in the face ; be it good or bad, 
 it is what nature has given me." 
 
 He raised his visor, and the king saw one of those 
 heads which the heavens granted to the Italians, when 
 with the head they used to grant also the faculty of blush- 
 ing ; yet he did not remember ever having seen it, and 
 he was about asking his name, when the knight added : 
 " You do not know me by sight, nor do I know you, 
 although I have always been an admirer of your valor and 
 virtue. You see in me, monseigneur, a citizen, who 
 banished from his city, carries its arms for a crest" (and 
 he pointed to the wolf),* " in order that it may see the 
 deeds performed by the son it has expelled, and grieve that 
 these are not done in its behalf or in its renown. You see 
 in me a man who, persecuted by men, avenges himself by 
 pitying them, and rendering them good for evil. In fine, 
 I am Ghino di Tacco da Torrita . . ." 
 
 "You Sir Ghino!" repeated the king with surprise; 
 and all the Apulians that were there pressed around to 
 look upon that man who had raised himself to such a 
 fame as to compete with the most illustrious captains of 
 armies. Ghino stood immovable in a warrior-like pose, 
 not with ostentatious artificial stiffness, but a pose ac- 
 quired by his body through long habit. Manfred, after 
 looking at him long, added, moved : " O noble blood, 
 
 * The arms of the city of Siena.
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 379 
 
 how low reduced ! Great soul, to what state reduced ! 
 how have you borne life ? how have you saved it from 
 death ? from infamy ? " 
 
 " O my king, I have overrun this land, that hides her 
 present shame with the ancient glories, and found it full 
 of crimes ; my arm has protected innocence, and peo- 
 ple have blessed me ; and since eternal is the war that 
 injustice wages against innocence, I have rested but few 
 moments." 
 
 "And in those moments?" 
 
 Ghino lowered his looks, and hesitatingly added : 
 
 " People say that the ancient division of things must 
 return ; man has a right to existence. I have asked bread, 
 and have taken it from those who have denied it to me." 
 
 " But why did you not come to our court ? Where is 
 the knight who has not found a protection against the 
 scourge of fortune-under the wings of the eagle of Manfred ? 
 Feared you that we should have shown ourselves less 
 courteous to you than to others ! Ghino, you have 
 wronged us." 
 
 " No, monseigneur, never have I doubted your cour- 
 tesy. I doubted rather that it would have been a presump- 
 tion in me to claim it. The reputation of Ghino is very 
 contradictory. Those who have brought me to this state, 
 in order to justify their crime before the world, and perhaps 
 to subdue the cry of their own conscience, proclaim with 
 loud outcries that I am a fugitive from the gallows, a 
 dangerous robber ; indeed, the innocent saved from the 
 cruelty of the oppressor, the women protected, the castle 
 secured from the avarice of the powerful neighbor, do not 
 say so. Nevertheless, evil howls louder than good, and 
 my present condition speaks against me. Would it have 
 been generous in me to invoke your light in order to illu- 
 minate the darkness that human perverseness had drawn 
 over my head ? In the meanwhile I strove to do noble 
 works, and often my lips would say : men will in the end 
 cease to be unjust, though my spirit did not hope for 
 it ; and when they will restore to me the good name 
 which they have stolen from me, then, I thought, I will 
 repair to the court of Manfred. It was 'perhaps pride, it
 
 380 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 was perhaps veneration for your Serene Highness ; at 
 any rate I believe then, and believe still, that not every 
 Ghibelline is of service to the son of Frederick." 
 
 " You are right, noble baron, in your opinion that not 
 every man that hates Rome is worthy to love Manfred ; 
 yet you were mistaken when you thought that we had 
 not the heart and the mind to distinguish you among the 
 thousand that cry 'our party! our party !' to be above 
 the law.* It is a long time since we have desired to 
 know you personally, and now we thank fortune that be- 
 fore ending our days it has reserved us this pleasure." 
 
 " Noble king, fame has related wonders of your 
 knightly courtesy, but the reality far surpasses the report 
 of it." 
 
 " And if Heaven grants that this may not be the last of 
 the Swabian kingdom of Apulia, you will never depart 
 from our side. We will appoint you Condottiero of some of 
 our troops, and give you an honorable and safe residence 
 in our kingdom. Our court had the reputation through 
 Christendom of being the first in the glory of its trouba- 
 dours ; now, with GhinodiTacco, it will acquire also that 
 of being the first in the glory of arms. If misfortune has 
 realized so much for us, we shall never again beg for for- 
 tune. And now that we think of it, this same night we 
 noticed among your people, Sir Ghino, a knight who has 
 rendered us valuable services, who killed a traitor at 
 Benevento yes, certainly it was he. Yole, where is the 
 knight who carried you on his horse ? " 
 
 Yole bent her face, perhaps to hide its blushes, and re- 
 plied : " He is gone." 
 
 " If the knight desires to remain unknown, it would 
 be discourtesy in us to insist upon knowing him, never- 
 theless, let him have our thanks, and we beg you, Sir 
 Ghino, to convey them to him ; and tell him also that, if 
 reward of honors and estates can in part compensate the 
 
 * Alluding to the great number of Condottieri, soldiers of fortune 
 and feudal barons, who in those disordered times pretended to follow 
 the Ghibelline or Guelph party, but in reality acting for their private 
 interests, and tyrannizing both in the cities and territories where 
 they had their estates.
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 381 
 
 great debt we owe him, the desire of Manfred will be to 
 show himself grateful." 
 
 They would have kept talking till morning, so charmed 
 were each of the other, if at that moment the queen, lean- 
 ing heavily on Manfred's arm, had not reminded him that 
 they had dismounted there to rest ; hence he took off 
 his mantle, and spreading it on the ground near the fire, 
 pointed it out with a sad smile to Queen Elena, saying : 
 " Lie here, my queen ; oh ! the day when you came a 
 bride to my royal bed, you would not have thought, un- 
 nappy one, that you would have to pass a night of pain 
 upon the bare ground. Who would have told you ? It 
 seemed then that your life would have been a serene sky ; 
 and if among so many happy thoughts there flashed the 
 image of the last solemn hour, certainly you must have 
 imagined it as brilliant as the setting sun in a summer 
 day." 
 
 " My sweet husband, joy and sorrow comes from the 
 Lord ; blessed be He in His holy will . . ." 
 
 " Suffering is the virtue of the beast of burden ; yet it 
 would have been a blessing to have granted me either 
 fewer sorrows, or more patience to bear them : but you, 
 my queen, teach me how you are able to suffer, without 
 protesting ? " 
 
 " Bear in mind that Divine dispensation is just ; it is 
 merciful if it makes you happy, vastly more merciful 
 if it makes you to sutfer ; the sufferings that you will have 
 endured will be so much on the way to paradise, every 
 grief a step bringing you nearer to the beginning of all 
 perfections." 
 
 "Rest, my good Elena ; I am convinced that it is too 
 late for me to learn such doctrines. Grief obscures my 
 faith, at least within my spirit. When the times become 
 quieter, I purpose to call a learned priest. . . . Why do you 
 smile, Sir Ghino ? Do you suppose there is no such per- 
 son as a wise priest ? Our kingdom, now that the times 
 are against them, numbers over five thousand priests ; 
 shall there not be one learned and wise among five thou- 
 sand ? Yes, in truth I will consult with him, and discuss 
 about this theology."
 
 382 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 Manfred had misinterpreted the smile of Sir Ghino, in 
 order to hit sarcastically those whom ho called his ene- 
 mies. Ghino did not reply, but taking his cloak from 
 his shoulders, folded it up, and bending towards where 
 the queen was about to lie, said : 
 
 " Noble queen, rough is this cloth, nor suitable to 
 your delicate limbs ; nevertheless if you deign to rest 
 upon it, I assure you by the faith in Christ that it belongs 
 to an honorable knight." 
 
 "Many thanks, knight," added Elena, with delicate 
 grace ; "no one in the world would deny that, resting on 
 the mantle of Manfred, and on that of noble Ghino, 1 had 
 not lain in the bed of chivalry. Nevertheless I beg you to 
 keep it ; the night bites shrewdly, the air is very cold, 
 and you may have need of it." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed," answered Ghino, shaking his head, "it 
 will not be the first time that I have learned to do with- 
 out it. O, my noble lady, since I knew that my enemies 
 had burned the castle of my fathers, I have had no other 
 bed but the earth, and often no other covering but the 
 sky ; the sky would be cloudy, and the thunderbolt often 
 broke my sleep, and I, starting, have seen its last flash 
 lightening through the clouds ; and my face was glazed 
 with frost, my hair hung with icicles, and terror pressed 
 my brain, for vengeance was far from me. Now the sky 
 is bright, the vengeance accomplished, the fire near, so if 
 you have no other reason for refusing it, behold,. I have 
 spread it for you." . 
 
 So saying he laid it on the ground, and then, cour- 
 teously saluting the royal family, retired, saying : " May 
 you rest in a better bed to-morrow ! " 
 
 " We hope so ! " replied Manfred, and the queen, 
 " God's will be done." 
 
 Ghino, retiring to some distance from the royal family, 
 unloosened his helmet, and hung it to a branch of a pine ; 
 he leaned his spear against the trunk, then lay on the 
 ground ; his bare head rested on his shield, his sword be- 
 tween his legs, then leaning his cheek on his right hand, 
 in a few moments he was asleep. So did they all ; only 
 Manfred, who lay across the borders of the mantles
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 383 
 
 where his family slept, with his face turned towards the 
 fire, his hand supporting his head, remained watching the 
 different aspects of a burning log. It appeared first 
 sparkling with a beautiful golden light ; by degrees 
 exhausting the moisture, it turned red ; later, the need of 
 it increasing, blue and green ; of a sudden, it reappeared 
 radiant with gold, because all things before their extinc- 
 tion revive in a spark of life ; finally it went out ; then 
 there arose from it a dense smoke at first, then less thick, 
 later of an ashy color, then pale white ; finally it also 
 vanished ; only a sad handful of ashes had remained of 
 that brilliant object, delight of the eyes. Why did Man- 
 fred watch intently a circumstance that" passes unob- 
 served a hundred times in our life ? Oh ! misfortune is 
 an acute observer ! and the reason why, he whispered 
 in the following words : " It is gone even fame is a 
 Smoke ; eternity and oblivion swallow virtues and crimes ; 
 but at least, from that log there remained the ashes ; 
 what remains of us?" Sleep weighed on his eyelids. 
 At first, now he closed them, now he strove to reopen 
 them, as if anxious to contend against its power. But 
 who can fight against it? Manfred succumbed, as a man 
 deprived of his senses, dropping like a corpse. 
 
 Who is the bold one that dares to come near the sleep- 
 ing royal family ? Is it hate or love that guides his steps? 
 Cautiously, noiselessly, a knight approaches them, points 
 the butt of his spear on the ground, leans heavily upon 
 it, and stands gazing. Oh ! beautifully beams the face 
 of beauty, when the happy dream caresses it with the 
 tips of the feathers of its wings ; beautifully, when hope 
 hovers around it as a perfumed atmosphere ; beautifully, 
 when its lips tremble with the trepidation of joy ; in that 
 moment, poets fancy its hair blown by the breath of the 
 Graces, in under that, at each undulation, they may appear 
 in a new and more bewitching fprm ; and imagine invisi- 
 ble sylphs floating through the air, singing secret har- 
 monies, which human ears cannot distinguish, but that, 
 sweetly penetrating into the soul, charm it with ineffable 
 delight. Other and more lovely fancies they imagine ; 
 yet there is no poetry that can describe the emotions that
 
 384 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 the sleeping beauty arouses. When in the silent mid- 
 summer night, the firmament, serene as the innocent soul, 
 shrouds the earth with its pure and transparent azure as 
 with a canopy of glory, and myriads of celestial bodies 
 exalt in the joy of their light the magnificence of the 
 creator, then only, the inspired poet might find an image 
 worthy to compare with the face of the sleeping maiden 
 beauty : which of these two spectacles contains more 
 charms, he neither knows nor can tell to himself; they 
 are both divine works, both emanations of the loving 
 thought of God ; our soul can only silently, adoringly, 
 rejoice in the ecstasy of its sensations. 
 
 Either Vole's mind could not withstand, unused as it 
 was to it, even a dream of happiness, or that it really 
 was too intense for her to bear ; she suddenly awoke, pro- 
 nouncing the word "Rogiero." 
 
 Rogiero, leaning on his lance, stood before her. She 
 started, and rushing to him said smilingly : " Why did you 
 fly from us ? The king has asked for the saviour of his 
 daughter." 
 
 " Oh ! if he knew that I was he who went as far as the 
 banks of the river Oglio to hasten against him those ene- 
 mies that now invest his kingdom, if he knew that I am 
 a condemned man, certainly he would not have asked for 
 me." 
 
 " You did so being deceived, nor would your worst 
 enemy consider you unworthy of pity, and pardon : but 
 you spontaneously fought for his honor at Benevento ; 
 you, risking your life, warned him against his traitors ; you 
 saved him and his family at San Germane. The heart of 
 the king is magnanimous." 
 
 "To what purpose discover myself? I expect no re- 
 wards of money or possessions. The reward which I de- 
 sire, the son of Frederick will never grant to me ; let me 
 then die unknown.' 1 
 
 "Ah, you will not die !" 
 
 " Why should I live ? Who would not prefer an honor- 
 able death to a life of misery ? Have I not borne exist- 
 ence long enough ? I will not renew my ancient com- 
 plaints, but I swear to you by the love I bear you, that
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 385 
 
 on the field of Benevento I will use all efforts to die as a 
 soldier." 
 
 " And if you should die, think you that I would con- 
 sent to remain alone in this desert of grief?" 
 
 " Have I asked you to do so ? No, Yole, no ; Hea- 
 ven has destined us to premature end. ... I abhor the 
 nonsense of soothsayers, yet they foresaw this end for 
 me. . . . Die then, unhappy maiden, for death alone can 
 give you rest ; . . and if you promise, that in the hour when 
 your sad parents surround your dying bed, and would easily 
 consent to any request of yours, if you promise to ask 
 them, in token of their love, to allow you to be buried 
 in my tomb, near my bones. . . . Oh ! too sad a request 
 is this which I ask of you, Yole, yet the only one that I 
 hope to assuage the bitterness of my last days." 
 
 " I have thought of this." 
 
 " The same angel, then, guards our souls, and inspires 
 the same thoughts. . . Then, when opening the tomb, 
 where the pity of my brothers-in-arms shall have placed 
 me, they will lower you down to sleep at my side ; cer- 
 tainly my arms will stretch towards you. It will be the 
 cold embrace of death, but it will last through eter- 
 nity . . ." 
 
 "Through eternity ! And tell me, will I feel it? will 
 you feel it ? " 
 
 " I have asked the sepulchres, and they have only re- 
 plied by silence and darkness." 
 
 " And the second life ? The desired . . ." 
 
 "Hope. Divine justice must have punished the as- 
 sassins who murdered my mother ; . . . and hence I sin- 
 cerely believe in a reward for those who suffer . . ." 
 
 " Your mother murdered ! Oh ! you never spoke to 
 me of your mother, speak . . . speak to me of your 
 mother . . ." 
 
 "Did I speak of my mother? Hush! . . . Say no 
 more ; . . . we may yet live ; . . . then 1 will tell you all 
 about her. . . . Who knows but at this moment she prays 
 for our peace, looks at us from above, perhaps weeps for 
 us, if the immortals weep ! . . . you will know her in 
 heaven. . . . Now add not another word ; ... it would 
 17
 
 386 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 sadden you if I should relate that mystery of crime and 
 pe'rfidy. I almost despise myself for having, ah ! too 
 bitterly, known it." 
 
 " I will be silent, I will rejoice even, if you wish me 
 to, in the secret desire of meeting her in the abode of the 
 just. I have often listened to the rewards to come, to 
 the life without end, to the joys that are never embittered 
 by grief, to peaceful thrones above the clouds and storms, 
 and I have full faith in the paradise to come . . ." 
 
 " Keep it as a treasure ... it will comfort you . . ." 
 
 " If it was not so, I should despair. Once happy there 
 we will pray for peace for those we leave behind for my 
 best of mothers . . ." 
 
 ' For your generous father . . ." And saying this, Ro- 
 giero turned his eyes toward the place where lay Manfred. 
 Holy Mary ! The king sitting, and supporting him- 
 self with his left hand fixed on the ground, and the other 
 holding his right knee, with his face raised, was listening 
 to them. Rogiero moved as if to fly ; Yole leaned 
 against a tree. 
 
 "Stop, Rogiero," spoke the king; "you fly in vain; 
 come here, give me your hand so that I may rise." 
 
 Rogiero obeyed. Manfred continued : " You love ? 
 and it seems happiness to you? Look," and he pointed 
 out to him his royal family, stretched on the ground, 
 " these are the joys of love." 
 
 " Oh ! if I only had them . . ." replied Rogiero. 
 
 " You might rue the day when they called you father. 
 But it is useless to warn, for we were condemned from 
 the beginning to this painful experience. . . . Do you wish 
 that I should utter a fierce imprecation on your head ? 
 . . . Well, may you obtain these joys of love . . . but from 
 whom ? You have raised your look to the daughter 
 of the king ; my daughter is of the blood of Emperors ; 
 speak, what is yours, Rogiero ? " 
 
 " Mine ? I know not." 
 
 " Was no one present at your birth ? Did no one 
 nourish you ? no one educate you ? More than any other 
 animal, the infant left to itself, dies." 
 
 " My mother was murdered at the moment she gave
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 387 
 
 me birth ; crime brought me to the world before my time ; 
 . . . the assassin was my nurse .... Oh ! in pity sake, 
 my beloved king, leave the history of my life in the ob- 
 scurity of sin ; even I know only bloody fragments of it ; 
 yet I know enough of it to be able to swear to you that 
 my descent would not contaminate the rank you granted 
 me at Benevento." 
 
 " And what was the name of your mother ? " 
 
 " My king, you shall know it, when it will be a glory 
 for me to recall it." 
 
 " You first betrayed me, then you fought against my 
 traitors ; why was it easier for you to commit the fault 
 than to amend it ? " 
 
 " I saw your brother." 
 
 " Which brother ? " 
 
 " Henry the Cripple, and Caserta showed him to 
 me . . ." 
 
 " Where did you see him ? Is he alive ? " 
 
 " He died in my arms, broken down with sufferings, 
 deprived of intellect, a miserable monument of persecution 
 and pity. They told me that I was his son, and he also 
 recognized me ; they swore that you had been his execu- 
 tioner, and he also confirmed it. Perhaps for many years 
 they had taught him to believe so, and I ..." 
 
 " And you rushed to avenge him ; and you did well, in 
 the desire, not in the means. Had you not a poniard at 
 your side ? Why did you go as far as Cremona to call 
 upon the stranger for your revenge ?" 
 
 v< Does passion ever reason ? If I had had any control 
 over my actions, would they have been able to deceive 
 me so basely ? Whenever my mind undertook to medi- 
 tate upon my misfortunes, a voice that seemed to have 
 come from heaven, upbraided me, saying: 'Remember 
 your father! Oh ! I am more unfortunate than guilty. 
 In the Abbey of St. Victor, in the Roman Campania, an 
 ancient vassal of my family, the murderer of my mother, 
 revealed to me the fraud . . ." 
 
 " Why did "they incite you against me ? Why did 
 they pervert the heart of my faithful squire ? intrust my 
 ruin to the arm that defended me ? Are there not traitors
 
 388 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 enough on this earth ? This is a wonderful mystery, and 
 I am not able to penetrate it. And what did you do 
 then ? " 
 
 " I wept with grief, and hastened to save my good king. 
 Being arrested at St. Agata dei Goti, they carried me to 
 Benevento, and threw me into a prison, where through a 
 bolted door I heard that they were conspiring agairfst 
 you. Nevertheless 1 had been condemned to die there of 
 starvation, had not an angel saved me ; ... it was your 
 daughter that . . ." 
 
 " And who told you of him ? " 
 
 " Many are the ways of the Lord, dear father. A spy 
 of Caserta, surprised in the most private rooms of your 
 royal palace, revealed to me the crime . . ." 
 
 " Then I came to disclose to you the conspiracy . . ." 
 
 " Why did you not tell me the names ? to what good 
 all this mystery ? " 
 
 " My beloved king, although Rinaldo d' Aquino made 
 me a criminal, and many a time has attempted my life, 
 yet he is related to me by blood. Time will explain this 
 mystery. 1 led that night your sacred person to the place 
 of the conspiracy, because I could think of nothing 
 better to do. I hoped that my loyalty might make you 
 forgive the perfidy of my relative. Heaven willed other- 
 wise. Then I endeavored to spare his shame. I warned 
 him by secret letters to withdraw from the guilty path. 
 Fool ! I thought the man capable of repentance. I 
 challenged to death Count Cerra, for he was the most* 
 dangerous of the conspirators. Thus I hoped to frighten 
 the rest of them, and warn you, my king, of the danger." 
 
 " And have all the traitors deserted ? " 
 
 "All, at least all those I knew, have taken refuge with 
 Caserta in the castles of the frontier." 
 
 "You have done the good of your own will, the bad 
 at the instigation of others ; you have run*many dangers 
 for our sake. You deserve a reward, and you shall have 
 it." 
 
 " O my noble lord, I desire nothing more than to die 
 for you. Keep your reward for others who make it the 
 object of their works. I would desire only one reward,
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 389 
 
 and this I know to be too high for me, and therefore dare 
 not ask it. It is now many years since I loved Yole with 
 the love of the saints ; it was for her that I conquered at 
 the tournament of your coronation, for her that 1 became 
 brave, for her that I became knightly ; every act, every 
 thought, has been that I may be acceptable to her. I 
 cannot now tear her image from my heart, nor can she 
 mine. We love with a desperate love, nor wish to be united 
 but in the grave." 
 
 "No, be it in life ; you have saved her, she is yours. 
 Beware of what you are doing before accepting her," said 
 Manfred, smiling; "beware, it is a sorry gift which I 
 make to you." 
 
 " VVhatever lot befalls me, it will ever be a heaven in 
 the arms- of Yole." 
 
 " In truth, no one can escape his destiny. Give me 
 your hand, Rogiero, and you yours, Yole." Thus saying, 
 Manfred had taken the hands of the young couple in his, 
 and drew them together. The waning flame shifting con- 
 tinually over the burnt embers, sent forth a wavering blue 
 light, such as superstition believes the light of a lamp be- 
 comes when the ghost of the dead passes near it. The tips 
 of the fingers already touch each other; the hands almost 
 clasp ; when the flame, suddenly blazing, illuminated the 
 face of Rogiero. We have said it, that face inspired 
 sadness ; time had stamped on the forehead of that 
 unhappy one the few years that had passed. It must have 
 been very handsome once, but now it was pale, attenuated. 
 Manfred saw, or it seemed to him that he saw, in that face 
 the living image of one dead, whom he never recalled to 
 mind without a sigh ; and if the memory of her surprised 
 him in the middle of the gay song, the notes would expire 
 upon his lips, and the hand wander unconscious of what 
 it was doing. He violently parted the two, and keeping 
 them distant from each other as far as his arms could 
 reach, he exclaimed : " I swear to you by all the saints 
 in Heaven, you can never be man and wife ! " 
 
 A cry of terror broke forth from the lovers, and both 
 eagerly pressed upon him to ask the reason why ; when 
 they were disturbed by an approaching tramping of
 
 390 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 horses, and a great light coming from the main road, that 
 surrounded the wood." 
 
 " We are pursued ! " exclaimed Manfred, and in an 
 attitude of desperate defence, placed himself in front of 
 his family. 
 
 " We are pursued ! " exclaimed Rogiero, and covering 
 Yole with his body, touched Ghino, who was fast asleep, 
 with the butt of his lance. He started up at a jump, 
 unsheathing his sword in the act, asking : " What is it ? '' 
 
 "Ghino? the enemy . . ." says Rogiero. 
 
 " Where are they ? " 
 
 " There, on the road." 
 
 " I see nothing but lights there. St. Ambrosius ! lights 
 are not enemies, they might even be friends ; I will go to 
 reconnoitre." He detached his helmet from the pine, 
 and fastening it on his head, took his spear, and started 
 out of the wood. 
 
 "You will not go alone," said Manfred, "I will go 
 with you." 
 
 " Welcome, my king." 
 
 "Nor will I remain," said Rogiero; "are we not 
 brothers-in-arms, Sir Ghino ? " 
 
 " Welcome to you also. Let us go with the aid of the 
 saints. Go softly lest the boy awake and get frightened," 
 said he, passing near Manfredino, and walked some dis- 
 tance on tiptoe. The others did the same ; and Manfred 
 repressed even a sigh that came from the depth of his 
 heart. 
 
 They reached the last trees of the forest, and perceived 
 a large squadron of Saracens, who, carrying lighted pine 
 branches, caused a light. Looking more attentively, 
 they recognized the Emir Jussuif, and Count Giordano 
 d'Angalone, who, mounted on war horses, advanced slow- 
 ly, without exchanging a word. Arriving near where 
 Manfred was hidden, the Emir, turning to Giordano, 
 asked : " My lord count, observe the ground, if you please, 
 and tell me whether you think it smooth enough for a 
 fight." 
 
 " Jussuff, it seemed prepared for the purpose ; never- 
 theless, I beg you to wait till daylight."
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 391 
 
 " Did [ wait to commit the crime ? why should I wait 
 to amend it ? O good Manfred, where could your faith- 
 ful servant rejoin you ? " 
 
 " Let it be done as you will ; certainly death will not be 
 so bitter to me as the fact that by my fault Manfred has 
 lost San Germane, and perhaps even the kingdom." 
 
 " May God avert it, Count Giordano." 
 
 " And tell me, Emir, know you whether the royal family 
 is safe ? " 
 
 "Yes, you can die with this assurance." 
 
 " Emir, listen to me : neither you nor I know upon 
 whose sword death now rests. Not to threaten you, mark, 
 but might not you be the one killed ? " 
 
 " I will endeavor not to be, yet I might." 
 
 "And in such case who will lead this squadron, which 
 is almost intact, and might be of so much help in the 
 present strait to Manfred.? If you desire to aid him 
 while alive, you would not want to injure him if dead." 
 
 " You speak the words of the wise, Count Giordano : 
 would to Heaven that you had always spoken so ! Omar, 
 Hussein, Soraka!" he called, turning to his squad- 
 ron. The ones named came out of the ranks, and he 
 ordered them : " By the faith which binds you to me, 
 your Emir, I command you that, should this knight kill 
 me, you will obey him until he will have led you to Man- 
 fred, as if he were my son. . . . Oh, my son ! recommend 
 him to Zuleika, and tell her to be a good mother to him, 
 Soraka ; and tell her also on my part to take good care 
 of Zekim, the dog of my love, and divide her bread with 
 Borak, the companion of my battles, until it may please 
 the Prophet to call him to another life... . . Poor Borak ! " 
 he added, patting the horse on his neck, "there will be no 
 place for you in paradise ; it is written, seven alone will be 
 the animals that will enter there above ; . . . truly you are 
 handsomer than the ass of Haazy, and the ox of Said 
 Musa, even if they were as white as frost. . . . Oh, poor 
 Borak ! I will not meet you in paradise ; you are disin- 
 herited." After caressing him a while longer, drawing the 
 rein, he leaped towards Count Giordano, saying: "Count, 
 my will is finished; have you any dispositions to make ?"
 
 392 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 " Nothing, except you tell Manfred that my last sigh, 
 next to God, was to him." 
 
 " Then we may begin." Each drew their swords, 
 and measuring their distance, rushed precipitously upon 
 each other. 
 
 " Lower your swords ! the king is at hand." 
 
 This cry came from the manly breast of Ghino, whilst 
 the two knights were about falling on each other ; who, 
 wondering, turned around, and saw Manfred hastening 
 towards them. They dismounted from their horses, and 
 so did all the surrounding Saracens. Jussuff, approaching 
 Manfred, kneeled down according to the custom of the 
 Orientals, touching the dust with his beard, and grieving 
 with a pitiful voice, said : " Oh ! my good lord, make 
 me worthy to be trampled upon by you ; my soul has 
 fallen so low that it envies the 'death of the venomous 
 insect ! " 
 
 On the other side Count Giordano, in a humble atti- 
 tude, took Manfred's hand, and raising it to his lips, 
 kissed it, sighing : " O my good king ! " 
 
 " I have betrayed you," continued Jussuff, "as Iscariot 
 betrayed the Son of Mary ; nor let the punishment be 
 less terrible." 
 
 The chronicle states that in other times Manfred would 
 have fulfilled his threat to Jussuff to tear his heart from his 
 breast, but being in such straits, he had to act not as he 
 desired, but as best he could. He placed his hand upon 
 the Emir's head, and spoke thus : " The arrow, if not 
 shot, will not wound ; the bow, if not bent, will not 
 throw ; indeed, thou wert the arrow, but the blow did not 
 come from thee. It is written in the book of the law 
 that man cannot change one white hair into black ; * 
 indeed, we believe that he cannot pull it out, if destiny 
 does not will it. The influence of the stars had decreed 
 from everlasting time what has now been accomplished. 
 Be .then of good cheer : if the fortune of Manfred can 
 
 * Neither shall thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not 
 make one hair white or black. MATTHEW v. 36.
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 393 
 
 be restored, it will be restored ; if you think you have 
 offended us, we forgive you." 
 
 " Most generous king ! May the Great God grant that 
 the flag of your enemies compose the tent that will shelter 
 you from the summer's sun ; may the souls of the 
 prophets exalt you over the head of Charles ! " 
 
 " We hope so, ... but from our sword." 
 
 " Yes, hope it, for every good work will receive its re- 
 ward, even on earth, and many such rewards are due you. 
 Now go, let me finish my duel, and then I will place my- 
 self at your side, nevermore to leave you. My faithful 
 men," added he, turning to his Saracens, " should I die, 
 every enemy that you kill in the king's defence will be the 
 best funeral rites that you could offer to my spirit. Now 
 then, Angalone ; " and he raised his scimitar. 
 
 " Stop, Emir, thou art doing wrong to the person of 
 thy king ! " exclaimed Manfred, interposing. 
 
 " Oh ! stand back, by the head of your father, Man- 
 fred ; let me not curse the moment that I have seen the 
 face of my Melek" 
 
 "Let him doit, my king," begged d'Angalone; "he 
 thirsts for my blood." 
 
 " Not for your blood, count, but for my fame ! Jus- 
 suff, thou hast lost for us a splendidly fortified town, now 
 thou wouldst lose us our friend* Know that, without 
 chiding thee with the least reproach, we would willingly 
 lose three, ten cities, our kingdom, but not the friend of 
 our youth." 
 
 " Nor was I the less a friend to you than Giordano : 
 you wish that infamy should cover me ; it will cover my 
 grave, not my life." And, deeply affected, he drew a 
 poniard, and raising his arm as high as he could, was 
 about stabbing himself in the breast. D'Angalone, who 
 stood near him, prevented him, crying to him : " May the 
 prophet guard you, you are committing a sin ! " 
 ' " Teach me, then, the way not to commit it ! " 
 
 "We will teach it to you," said Manfred ; " once be- 
 fore we begged you to postpone this duel ; to postpone 
 does not mean to abandon it ; and you can always resume 
 17*
 
 394 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 your quarrel, when we shall have dispersed the enemy 
 that stands before us." 
 
 " Willingly would I do it, to please my king ; but I 
 know no example of this in the histories taught me by my 
 fathers." 
 
 " Indeed, there must be hundreds of such examples ! 
 Mollak," called Manfred, "is it not true that in your 
 histories there occur examples of emirs and rajahs that 
 have postponed duels at the desire of their sovereigns ?" 
 
 The mollaks were in the camps of the Saracens what 
 are in ours the military chaplains, only that they possessed 
 higher attributes such as being consulted in worldly 
 affairs, sitting the next after the emirs in their councils of 
 war, being reputed wise and learned, and many others not 
 worthy of enumerating. The mollak called seemed a 
 man verging on his sixtieth year ; venerable for his 
 snow-white beard, with a red face, very small black eyes, 
 sparkling like two berries ; he smiled often, but that 
 smile was imperceptible, except by the trembling of the 
 hair of his upper lip, and as such motion could also be 
 caused by the slightest blowing of the wind, he could thus 
 laugh in people's faces without their ever suspecting it : 
 for the rest, shrewd as a pedler, sharp as a Jew in his 
 purchases, hypocrite a little less than the politicians of the 
 nineteenth century. And yet the Saracens reputed him 
 a holy man ; and if he had told them that his mule dis- 
 cussed theology with him, they would have believed him ; 
 if he had affirmed that he was one of the seven sleepers 
 who slept seven thousand years, seven days, seven hours 
 and a quarter, they would have believed him ; if he had 
 threatened them that he would snatch the sun from the 
 firmament, they would all have kneeled at his feet, beg- 
 ging him not to do it, for fear that they should all be 
 reduced to ashes. Poor infidels ! God knows how 
 many such saints they worship in their mosques. Hear- 
 ing the summons, he approached, folded his arms on his 
 breast, bowed reverentially, and said, " The God of mercy 
 vouchsafe wisdom to those who believe and do the things that 
 be right ; may He illumine the steps of your glory, Emir, 
 for many are in the histories the examples that you desire."
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 395 
 
 " I have never known them." 
 
 " That is because you have never studied them. The 
 histories of old narrate that when Roger the Norman 
 took away our dominion of Sicily, one Robert Sorlone, 
 his relative, was advancing with a troop of knights, even 
 into the county of Geranii. There governed at that time 
 the praised in the faith of the Prophet, Said Sheik-Ali, 
 father of the beautiful Zuleima. Zuleima was the love 
 of Ibrahim and Rhedi, chief youths in their tribe, of the 
 same age, of the same strength and bravery They both 
 made their harmonious harps resound through the stillness 
 of the night, they both sang under the window-blinds of the 
 fair Zuleima, and called her their crown of life, pupil of 
 their eyes, and compared themselves to the nightingale 
 enamored of the rose of the valley, and begged the lovely 
 maiden that she would at least look compassionately on the 
 last sigh that they intended to exhale under her balcony. 
 The night that preceded the battle, a pansy flower, which 
 more than any other resembles the heart, fell from it. 
 Each youth wanted it for himself; they fought for it, 
 and if people had not arrived, they would have torn each 
 other with their teeth. Ibrahim broke his harp over the 
 head of Rhedi ; they agreed therefore to settle with the 
 sword who should possess the maiden. Said Sheik-Ali 
 ordered them into his house, and called his daughter. 
 There entered the beauty with the gazelle eye, the 
 deer's foot, pink as the pomegranate. All looks, all 
 thoughts, turned to her. They all trembled with pleasure 
 at the sight of the mortal houri. ' This maiden,' said the 
 Sheik, pointing to her, ' will never belong to him who kills 
 my friend : the husband of my daughter will be only he 
 who in the next battle will kill my enemy ! ' And Zuleima 
 disappeared, and with her the light of the youths' eyes. 
 Near the rock which is now called from. Sorlone, the next 
 dawn saw two knights hidden. The Normans advanced, 
 preceded by Robert in splendid armor, adorned with 
 gold and red feathers ; the two hidden knights rushed 
 upon him. The blood of Sorlone has given the name to 
 that rock." 
 
 " Which of the two killed him Ibrahim or Rhedi ? "
 
 396 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 asked at the same time Jussuff and Ghino, who were 
 listening attentively. 
 
 " Both wounded him. Rhedi remained dead on the 
 field. Ibrahim, though all bleeding from many wounds, 
 cut off the head of Robert, and without even waiting to 
 bind up his wounds, ran to lay it at the feet of Zuleima. 
 Here he fell, and his soul ascended to the dwelling of his 
 fathers. By decision of the wise in war, Ibrahim was 
 declared the victor." 
 
 " And they did an injustice !" exclaimed Ghino ; " for 
 they showed equal courage and equal prowess ; an inch 
 of iron that penetrates more or less should not distinguish 
 the brave." 
 
 " You have spoken the words of the wise," said Jussuff, 
 looking Ghino in the face, smilingly. " I agree with 
 you . . ." 
 
 " And I would speak many others of them, if you were 
 willing to listen. If you are the noble knight you say 
 and for which I hold you, you ought to remit your quarrel 
 to King Manfred ; you should prefer the good of all to 
 your own. What do you suppose a malefactor is ? a 
 man who seeks his own good by injuring others. . . . Be- 
 sides, you sacrifice nothing in postponing the meeting ; 
 your mollak affirms it. I also, who have often attended 
 duels everywhere in Italy, swear it to you." 
 
 " Do you swear it, noble knight ?" 
 
 "By my faith," replied Ghino, touching his forehead. 
 " I would not wish you dishonored, even if your infamy 
 would be my glory." 
 
 "I believe you; your face seems that of a wise knight," 
 said the Emir, and with the point of his poniard he 
 pricked the skin of his left hand, and spilled on the ground 
 a few drops of blood. " Preserve, O earth," he implored, 
 " this blood of mine, with my shame ; if one day I shall 
 come to ask it of thee, paying in exchange the blood 
 of my offender, then restore it to me pure and incon- 
 taminate. But if I should die without ransoming it, 
 then sprinkle it over my temples, and let it be a witness 
 against me in the day of judgment. Count Giordano
 
 The Sorrowful Night. 397 
 
 d'Angalone, you are safe from me and mine, we are 
 friends as long as the king has enemies." 
 
 " Be it as you will, Jussuff." 
 
 " Now let us go to relieve our family," commanded 
 Manfred, " who must still be anxious about us." 
 
 The order was obeyed, and there was no more sleep 
 for that night. They rekindled the fires, and sat narrat- 
 ing the events of the day. Manfred sat between Jussuff 
 and d'Angalone. The queen welcomed them, Yole 
 smiled sweetly on them, and they were appeased. 
 
 The Emir being asked how he happened to be with 
 Count Giordano, replied : " Know, then, that after the 
 call of the king, who passed under my quarters, I threw 
 myself on the ground, to weep over the past and present 
 misfortune, when I heard a murmur that seemed to arise 
 from the pavement, and whisper in my ears : The 
 Provengals are burning the palace of the king ; there is 
 imprisoned your insulter ; if he should die, who can heal 
 your dishonor? have you forgotten that the remedy is in 
 the hands of him who struck you ? I rose at once, and 
 thought that if I could not fight, my troops could. I 
 ordered them to arm themselves, and led them to the 
 palace. I know not what was the matter with the Pro- 
 vengals ; they stood still, as if they feared to advance 
 further. We rushed upon them, dispersed them, entered 
 the prisons, and took out Count Giordano. I told him 
 the reason why I had hastened to save him, he replied to 
 me, weeping, ' Since Manfred had fled on account of 
 the perfidy of his own captains, he would not live to bear 
 his reproaches ; he hated life.' I replied to him he was 
 right indeed, but I had not been able to prevent the 
 deed ; I could only avenge it, and had already done so. 
 That the heads of the rajahs who commanded the troops 
 that garrisoned the turrets and battlements of the gate 
 Rapido had been buried in a separate ground from their 
 bodies. I gave him a horse and arms, and we left. The 
 Provencals already occupied the palace." 
 
 " And did they burn it ? " asked Manfred. 
 
 " No, they spared it in order that Charles might sleep 
 there."
 
 398 The Sorrowful Night. 
 
 " O Charles ! you already enjoy the satisfaction of 
 resting your limbs in the bed of the conquered ; enjoy it ; 
 but I call the world to witness whether this has happened 
 through the cowardice of the son of Frederick ! " 
 
 " Now that Charles has placed his foot within the king- 
 dom, something must be given to him." 
 
 " What is that you say, Emir ? Have your lips uttered 
 those words ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly : is he not a Christian ? Would you not 
 allow him the ground to be buried in ? '' 
 
 "Would that I had only that to allow him ; go on 
 with the story." 
 
 " It is ended, my king. We tried our fortune once 
 more : but the enemy stood on their guard ; we killed 
 many, many also of ours remained on the field : twice, while 
 I was running without sword through the fight, encouraging 
 my Saracens, d'Angalone covered me with his shield, and 
 defended me from the blows of the enemy. Giordano, I 
 thanked you then, and repeat it now, and always. In the 
 meanwhile the Provencals were surrounding the town, and 
 their infantry had begun to appear from the gate of Ab- 
 bruzzo ; we ran the risk of being surrounded and cap- 
 tured. I knew you were safe, Angalone was with me ; I 
 had obtained what I desired : we closed up our ranks, 
 and scattering all that opposed our way, we came out to 
 the open country." 
 
 The shadows of night were beginning to disperse in 
 the east, objects assumed a distinct form, and day was 
 about to appear. The trumpets sounded the departure ; 
 the king mounted his horse, his troops followed him ; 
 they crossed the river Volttirno at a little distance from 
 where they had passed the night, and by way of Talese 
 they marched on to Benevento. Tradition states thaf 
 Manfred, seeing around him so many faithful followers, 
 often repeated this sentence : " Even misfortune is good 
 for something; I have proved these men, and can trust 
 to them as to the edge of my sword.
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 399 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BENEVENTO. 
 
 But he has more fear of a life of shame than of a glorious death, 
 and trusting entirely in the mercy of the Lord, raises his right hand 
 and signs himself with the sign of the cross, then takes his sword, 
 and turns his horse. . . . Round Table, chap. 28. 
 
 * 
 
 }ET the conquered king learn to die. The day 
 destined for the end of his glory, let that same 
 day close the eyes of his mortal life. Let him 
 look around from the field where might has 
 prostrated him ; what hope flatters him ? There is not 
 an arm that would rise for him ; the tears of the afflicted 
 that are lost in the hurrahs of victory only now insistingly 
 penetrate into his soul. If between the degradation of 
 being dragged in triumph behind the chariot of the con- 
 queror and death, he has chosen degradation, those that 
 bore his rule were less than reptiles, and the crown fell 
 upon his head like the tile on the head of Pyrrhus. Is he 
 not awed at the insults of the cowards who run as to a 
 feast, to rejoice under the shadow of the great fall ? Is he 
 not stung by the mockery of the traitors ? At the end 
 of his meditation, does he not see a revenge of blood, a 
 justice, upon the edge of the enemy's sword ? The con- 
 queror fears God, and will not kill him. Does it suit the 
 man, on whom hung the destinies of millions of his fel- 
 low-beings, to taste the bitterness of panting doubtfully 
 for his own? The bitter hour is past ; half eternity will . 
 not compensate for it ! ... he will live behold his life ! 
 his thoughts fixed upon a diadem that will never adorn 
 his temples, nor those of his children, pining tinder its 
 light as his hope gradually approaches its setting, like the 
 flower, once a nymph, under the light of the star that 
 has ceased to love her ; * he will shake the iron bars of 
 his prison, bite them, stain them with blood, and fall ex- 
 
 * Clytie, changed to a sunflower.
 
 4OO The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 hausted of strength in despair at his own impotence. 
 His thoughts are like vultures devouring his entrails ; he 
 fears every food ; he drinks no liquid before he has 
 scanned it across the light ; he dares not move a step 
 before he has tried the place where he is forced to put 
 his foot ; his own shadow frightens him. . . . And his chil- 
 dren ? He is not allowed to see them, nor does he wish to. 
 What to teach them ? How to curse ? The clanking 
 of their chains, better than his voice, will make them 
 grow up in hatred. Will he show them his misery ? Is 
 not that which they bear enough ? He desires neither to 
 see nor to hear a living soul ; his mind has become fierce, 
 his intellect wild : no one speaks to him, and yet he bends 
 his ears to unknown voices and replies. Often a remem- 
 brance of victory inflames his eyes ; but suddenly lower- 
 ing them, they see such a miserable object that pity itself 
 has no tears for it ; he shuts his eyes and his heart so 
 close, that not even a sigh escapes. Victory always ex- 
 alts one, although sometimes defeat does not degrade ; 
 but the soul of bronze that can survive it has paid a 
 penalty greater than the reward of a crown. 
 
 I accuse no one ; and if the ashes of one should stir 
 in their cell of death, and utter a sigh ... oh ! I have not 
 wished to weigh my hand upon the great man that sleeps. 
 Rewards and punishments beyond the grave belong to 
 God's judgment, and man should not dare to usurp the at- 
 tributes of the Omnipotent. But what eyes can follow the 
 fatal man even to the tomb, without shedding tears of 
 blood ? Surrounded by daily vexations that poison life, 
 and allow not even the comfort of great misfortunes, that 
 of suffering without shame ; pierced by minutest wounds, 
 from which life oozes out drop by drop ; forced to beg 
 bread from those who, by the baptism of fire, were 
 of his own religion,* . . . may Heaven grant rest to the 
 ashes of the warrior ! But ought he, the man of might, 
 who had looked upon the universe from such an height 
 that hardly any human mind has power to imagine, have 
 
 * " jpirai demander la soupe ace braves: quiconque a result 
 bapteme de feu, est de ma religion.. (Words of Napoleon.)
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 401 
 
 allowed himself to fall so low ? It was in his choice to die 
 by the sword of the brave or by the perfidy of fear. 
 He did not expect this.* And what? He who scruti- 
 nized mockingly the vices of men, and used them as a 
 foundation of his power, ought he to have trusted faith ? 
 In that island where, like a new Prometheus, a deep hate 
 chained him, every day the fiery planet taught him how 
 the man who had known no equal upon earth ought to 
 have died ; for there the sun, unlike our climate, is not 
 accompanied by the sad twilight, but rises suddenly iiv 
 the fulness of its rays in the firmament, and as suddenly 
 abandons it to the empire of darkness. f Who knows how 
 many times that austere man, contemplating the solemn 
 example, lowered his looks depressed, and murmured 
 words of grief over the lost opportunity ! Oh ! if, falling, 
 the hero had not disappeared in him ! oh, if he himself had 
 not revealed the secret, that his heart was composed of 
 clay like all the other children of Adam ! if the curve of his 
 life had not grown pale at its setting, but, still sparkling 
 with light, had sunk in the silence of the ages, who born 
 of woman could we compare with him ? The Wisdom 
 that governs creation willed, perchance, to show by his 
 solemn vicissitudes to what extremes it can exalt and de- 
 press a human soul ? If it be so, I am overwhelmed ; 
 for the last act of him who could number his victories 
 with his years, the astonished nations cannot yet decide 
 whether it ought to be attributed to constancy or coward- 
 ice. | 
 
 Beautiful is the rest after victory, but more beautiful the 
 morning hailed by the greedy thought of conquest. The 
 predestined Charles hardly perceived the first dawning 
 of day, before, calling his squires, he ordered them to 
 fasten on his heaviest armor ; several times he reproved 
 them for their slowness, and by his impatience he gave 
 occasion for delay. Finally he comes forth, all armed ; 
 
 * Words of Napoleon in leaving the English ship " Bellerophon." 
 f See description of the island of Saint Helena. 
 
 \ To die a prince, or live a slave 
 Thy choice is most ignobly brave ! 
 
 BYRON'S Ode to Napoleon*
 
 402 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 the vanguard waited for him in the square, ready to start ; 
 being received with loud hurrahs, he replies modestly : 
 " We have not yet conquered." 
 
 The orders are given, the march begun. Charles pur- 
 sues his rival with the ardor of a falcon, for he knew 
 too well that fortune often changes by the delay of one 
 hour, and his troops were invincible in the first flush of 
 victory. He did not take the road to Capua, being the 
 longest ; but by the way of Venafro, where, knowing that 
 the excesses committed at San Germano would set the 
 Neapolitans against him, and also severely admonished 
 for it by the pontifical legate, he strove to repair the fault. 
 Therefore he received with kindness the syndics of the 
 cities, and dismissed them with assuring expressions, tell- 
 ing them to report to their citizens that he had come to 
 restore religion, and to vindicate them against their ty- 
 rant. Then he proceeded to worship the bones of the 
 martyr St. Nicandro, from which bones there pereolates 
 once a year a white moisture called manna; in truth, 
 when he visited the shrine, the season of the miracle was 
 past. Nevertheless, the Count of Provence prayed so 
 much Cardinal Pignatelli, and Pignatelli the monks, and 
 the monks the saint, that this latter condescended, for 
 that once, to renew the miracle out of season. It is not 
 to be told what a hubbub that made among the people : 
 they recollected that King Manfred had never visited 
 those bones, that the saint never had renewed the miracle 
 for him ; Charles was therefore a Christian, a true cham- 
 pion of the church ; Manfred a heretic. They would 
 never support the rule of a renegade, of an excommu- 
 nicated man. The Archbishop of Cosenza removed the 
 interdict, and scattered with full hands the treasures of 
 indulgences. The bells pealed out glorious anthems ; the 
 priests called the new master, ' the arm of Juda ; ' the 
 citizens, ' the brave and courteous ; ' only a few, more 
 prudent, were silent and waited. The short stay which 
 he made at Venafro erased the bad.impression made at 
 San Germano, reassured the wavering, confirmed his par- 
 tisans. He left that city, accompanied by the good wishes 
 of its people, and advanced along the banks of the Vol-
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 403 
 
 turno toward its mouth, in order to cross it with greater 
 security ; for although the river widens the nearer it gets 
 to the sea, yet it runs less rapidly than above Venafro, for 
 the reason that, at this point, it is joined almost instan- 
 taneously by the rivers Cavaliere and della Lorda. Al- 
 ready several companies had forded the river, when 
 Charles noticed a squadron of horsemen coming his way, 
 he stood in doubt as to their intention, but as they ap- 
 proached, he recognized from their flags and dresses 
 that they were ambassadors. These had been deputed 
 to render him lawful homage as liege lord by Rocca 
 d'Arce, Rocca d'Evandro, Rocca Guglielma, Rocca 
 Monfina, Castel Forte, and many other fortified places, 
 some spontaneously, some instigated by Count Rinaldo. 
 They were welcomed ; Charles praised them for their 
 submission, and assured them that, trusting to their good 
 faith, he would introduce no garrison into their fortresses ; 
 in reality because he did not wish to diminish his 
 army, for he intended to assail his enemy with all his 
 forces, knowing that, in the condition in which things were, 
 the sum total would depend upon the issue of a single 
 battle. Then he dismissed them he loading them with 
 promises, and the cardinal with indulgences. Having 
 crossed the Volturno, he advanced by forced marches, 
 skirting the foot of the Matese mountains, so that towards 
 evening he arrived before Alife. This city also opened the 
 gates to him, and if he had been less severe, the citizens 
 would have carried him in triumph through the street. 
 Charles repressed that movement, and they contented 
 themselves by hurrahs so loud as to stifle the voice of 
 conscience that called them traitors. If, however, there 
 is any cause that can excuse treachery, the people of 
 Alife had one. They kept in mind the offence of Fred- 
 erick II., who, through Count Celano, destroyed by fire 
 and sword their unhappy city. The citizens begged him 
 for pardon, but the eipperor was inexorable. He, dying, 
 left to the people of Alife a legacy of revenge, and they 
 made his son pay for it. Indeed, shameful was the crime, 
 more shameful the revenge ; but one sin brings another, 
 and infamy perpetuates itself in the world. Talese did no
 
 404 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 better than Alife. An ancient tradition asserted that the 
 ruins of a city, which were visible a mile distant from that 
 city, had been once another Talese, destroyed by the 
 Saracens ; hence the Taleseans hated them, and for 
 their sakes would have wished Manfred also dead ; 
 nevertheless, at the first appearance of the troops of 
 Charles they closed the gates, and made a show of resist- 
 ance. The Provencals were getting ready to assail it, 
 when the Archbishop of Cosenza, in full pontificals, ad- 
 vanced under the walls and ordered the citizens to open 
 the gates. If they resisted, it would be the worse for 
 them, for in a short time a deserved punishment would 
 fall upon them, both in this life and in the next. Talese 
 fell into the power of Charles, in the same manner that 
 Jericho fell into the hands of the Jews, except that in 
 Talese the walls did not fall. Charles took no other re- 
 venge from that shadow of resistance, except depriv- 
 ing the city of the honor of his presence. He marched 
 on, and advanced to St. Agata dei Goti, not that he 
 hoped to take possession of it as he did, but because, if 
 the battle was to be fought in the plains of Benevento, it 
 was necessary for him to hold it, otherwise it would have 
 threatened too close on his rear. Destiny granted him 
 more than he desired. Two miles before reaching St. 
 Agata he met a solemn embassy that offered to him the 
 keys of the city, and with humble prayers recommended 
 it. Such unexpected good fortune moved the heart of 
 Charles, although naturally so fierce, that he hardly knew 
 what to say. He entered St. Agata exultingly, and was 
 seen, while passing the gate, to bend in the saddle, 
 and kiss the threshold. Both French and Romans said 
 that in that tour, rather than conquest, there appeared 
 clearly the hand of Providence; Charles himself began 
 to believe it also. The idea of being predestined seems a 
 great thing, and seduces even great minds. Without 
 even taking rest, armed as he was, he rode to the church 
 that contains the sacred relics of St. Menna the Solitary, 
 and rendered thanks to the Most High. 
 
 The fatal day approached. Manfred, on the day after 
 Charles had entered St. Agata dei Goti, called a council of 

 
 The Battle of Benevento. 405 
 
 war at Benevento to discuss whether they should accept 
 battle, or shut themselves up within the defences of the 
 city. Count Giordano d'Angalone, by Manfred's orders, 
 spoke the first. "In my opinion," said he, "the same 
 reasons that ought to have ruined Charles' enterprise at 
 San Germano will ruin it at Benevento ; we must keep 
 him at bay ; you must not be impatient of delay ; by dal- 
 lying, we use up the enemy. Your Serene Highness will 
 in the meanwhile get reinforcements from the troops that 
 Corrado of Antioch has in the Abbruzzis, from those that 
 the Counts Federigo, Ventimiglia and Capece are collect- 
 ing in Calabria and Sicily, and it will give also time to the 
 barons to bring up their contingencies." 
 
 " Count d'Angalone," interrupted Manfred, " to-day the 
 situation is very different from what it was at San Ger- 
 mano : what then seemed favorable, now would be inju- 
 rious ; our honor requires an amend." 
 
 " Save your Serene Highness* grace, you know better 
 than any other that the atfairs of the kingdom are not 
 governed by the same rules as the songs of the trouba- 
 dours ; and honor belongs to the conqueror . . ." 
 
 " And what then ? " interposed Ghino di Tacco ; " since 
 this Provengal thief was so ready to invest the kingdom, 
 and is so ready of wit as to send a glove in token of chal- 
 lenge to the son of an emperor calling him out to battle, 
 shall we be so cowardly as not to reply to the call ? " 
 
 " How long since has it been the custom, my brave 
 knight," added d'Angalone, " that we should fight when 
 it pleases the enemy ? Duels perhaps have different laws, 
 but for battles, the most honorable time is when you are 
 most sure of success . . ." 
 
 "You speak like the wise master of war that you are," 
 interrupted the Marquis and Count of Lancia ; " neverthe- 
 less you must consider that, by the reinforcements that 
 we have found at Benevento, we already outnumber the 
 army of France ; consider also that this raid of Charles 
 will spread about with the fame of a victor)', and he will 
 be certainly reinforced by the Church of Rome, which is 
 prone to aid when it is sure of a reward ; and beside, I 
 say it with deep regret, but yet experience has taught me
 
 406 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 to say it, who knows how many people, flattered by the 
 hope of change, deluded by Charles' promises, and even 
 inspired by their ill-will, may not rebel against our king 
 on account of this delay ? This is a fire that we must 
 quench at all costs ; bad example is very contagious ; 
 and if it spread in the provinces, we shall have both in- 
 ternal and foreign war, when at present we have only the 
 latter." 
 
 " Machatub Ruby ! " exclaimed the Emir, " it is 
 destined ; if Allah so will, you will find your fate accom-' 
 plished while you are preparing to resist it ; if we are to 
 win, the troops we have will be sufficient ; if we are to 
 lose, those that are to come will not be sufficient." 
 
 " I repeat to you that precautions for the probabil- 
 ities of victory are never too many, and this fatalist 
 doctrine of yours does good neither to the soul nor to the 
 body ; besides, the Gospel condemns it." 
 
 Thus replied the wise Giordano ; and although the 
 only one to sustain his own opinion, he would with his wise 
 argument have succeeded in persuading Manfred, when 
 of a sudden a loud sound of trumpets cut short the words 
 in his mouth. . . . Manfred sprang up, grasping his sword, 
 the assembled captains did the same, crying : " To 
 arms ! to arms ! " Giordano himself, without his brain 
 contributing to it at all, carried away by the battle cry, 
 found his hand on the hilt of his sword, and his voice 
 sounding " to arms." 
 
 " Be it ' to arms,' then ! " exclaimed Manfred, exalted 
 by military ardor ; then hastily commanded : " Count 
 d'Angalone, Calvagno, you take your German companies, 
 and form with them a single battalion in column, rather 
 than in line ; it will be the vanguard. Let it attack 
 first, and strive to break the enemy's ranks, and advance 
 further and further without disbanding, even if it reaches to 
 the rear of Charles. You, Count Lancia, Ghino, with your 
 Tuscans and Lombards, and you, Jussuff, with all your 
 Saracens, will compose the main body of the battle ; 
 you will follow immediately the vanguard, not too near 
 though, half a bow-shot distance ; you will avail yourself 
 of the first impression made by the Germans, which infal-
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 407 
 
 libly must take place ; rush after them, disband in skir- 
 mish order ; if necessary, dismount from your horses, and 
 disperse the enemy's ranks. Rogiero, we entrust the 
 royal standard to you ; we at the head of the bridge with 
 our Apulians will command the reserve. Go and execute 
 all these'orders ; we will join you in an instant ; indeed, 
 I shall not recommend you to do your duty, only pray 
 fortune to favor your bravery." 
 
 " Elena, my sweet wife," spoke Manfred, hastening to 
 the queen, armed as he was with mail and armor ; he 
 shook her delicate hand with his iron gauntlet so strongly, 
 that the blue marks remained on it for some time. 
 " Elena, farewell ! Before this sun sets I shall be either 
 victorious or dead." Then, without waiting a reply, he 
 turned to his children, embraced and kissed them : " You 
 will be happy, I hope ; but if fate should decree other- 
 wise, remember always that you are grandchildren of em- 
 perors, children of the noble Manfred. The only advice 
 that a conquered king can give to his children to well 
 conduct themselves in life, is to know how to die. Fear 
 not death ; it is false that it is a terrible thing ; the nearer 
 rnan approaches it, the less repugnant it seems, and on the 
 point of meeting it, even beautiful. Preserve your days, 
 my children, in spite of persecution, in spite of misery, but 
 do not forget that heaven has prepared an asylum against 
 infamy the grave. . . ." They were all weeping ; Man- 
 fred smiled lovingly on them, then added : " Is this the way 
 you give courage to your king for the approaching battle ? 
 Is it becoming in you to bid farewell with tears to the war- 
 rior in the moment of danger ? In truth, I swear to you 
 that before long those tears will bathe the cheeks of the 
 Provencal women. . . . But destiny. . . . Oh ! where art 
 thou, my faithful Benincasa?" 
 
 " Are there wanting faithful servants to your sacred 
 person?" exclaimed, coming forward with grave steps, 
 the king's physician, John of Procida; "if my king will 
 honor me with his commands, as long as my life lasts I 
 swear to execute them." 
 
 " Generous son of a generous father, we doubt not
 
 408 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 your valor. If you had the years of Benincasa beside 
 his name and resemblance, we should not know that there 
 was any difference between you two ; yet your offer is so 
 acceptable to us, that we will entrust our family to you 
 alone, though still so young. If the end of our reign is 
 decreed above, if the race of Frederick shall nevermore 
 rule the possessions of Sicily, you will conduct in safety my 
 wife and children to Lucera, or, better, to Manfredonia. . . . 
 You, my beloved, will repair wherever you please, whether 
 to Epirus to your father, or to Arragon to the court of 
 Peter. Certainly you will have lost your crown, lost me 
 your husband, whom you would have loved even without 
 a crown ; our children will remain to yon, our children, 
 queen, support to your failing years, comfort for your last 
 misfortunes ; to know that you will be safe after my 
 death gives strength to my soul. Come now, a kiss ; . . . 
 weep not so ; ... you know not whether it will be the 
 last. Only God knows." Then he loosened himself from 
 their embraces, speaking to John of Procida : " Re- 
 member, at Manfredonia ; nor surrender the -fortress, 
 either by threats or prayers, until there should arrive gal- 
 leys from Catalonia or Greece. . . ." 
 
 Rogiero, who, while Manfred was in the arms of his 
 family, had remained immovable, only four steps distant, 
 now attempted to raise his looks and move a step ; he at- 
 tempted to speak, but his words issued broken, his lips 
 trembled convulsively. Yole fixed her eyes on him, 
 with the pupils intent, eyes dilated in a terrible manner ; 
 she also attempted to reply to him, but her heaviag heart 
 prevented the utterance of a single word. She tried 
 again ; she employed every power of her mind, every 
 faculty of her body, to this effect, but in vain ; the veins 
 of her temples swelled with a lead color, her face reddened 
 with a flush of blood ; it seemed that her whole life would 
 escape in those words ; nature could not withstand that 
 impossible effort, and, with a piercing cry, she fell, pale, 
 senseless, in her mother's arms. 
 
 The Provengal trumpets call once again the enemy to 
 battle. Manfred, seeming to hear in that sound a voice of 
 mockery, rushes to the door, crying : Swabia ! Swabia !
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 409 
 
 Rogiero, seeing the king departing, looks at Yole, raises 
 his hand to Heaven, sighing : " Grant that I may see 
 her happy, or never see her again ! " and follows him. 
 Elena, supporting her daughter, cannot follow Manfred 
 with her steps, but she follows him with a cry. Only 
 Manfredino runs after his father's steps, crying : " Father, 
 father ! 'will you come back this evening?" Unhappy 
 boy ! he first hears his steps distinctly, then a confused 
 noise, finally nothing but silence. He returns weeping, 
 with his hands in his hair, saying : " Father is gone, 
 gone, and has not promised me to come back this even- 
 ing!" 
 
 The army of Charles, arriving on the summit of the 
 neighboring mountains, admires the city of Benevento, so 
 famous for its beauty and antiquity, no less than for the 
 erroneous traditions of the people. Its origin is lost in 
 the darkness of mythology, although there are not want- 
 ing authors who assert that it was built by Diomedes, king 
 of theytolis, after the Trojan war. There are few 
 records of it during the dominion of the Romans, since 
 the history of this nation absorbs all other histories of 
 the conquered cities ; and as long as it lasted, Rome 
 meant the whole of Italy. Chronicles relate that Totilas 
 took it from the dominion of the empire of the East ; 
 but its greatness begins after the conquest of the Longo- 
 bards, for Otaris having subdued Italy as 'far as Reggio 
 in Calabria, founded it into a rich dukedom, and gave it 
 in fief -to Tatone, his favorite general. We will not give 
 the chronology of the dukes that succeeded him ; we will 
 'only state that, on the descent of Charlemagne in Italy, 
 the duchy was not suppressed, but confirmed to the 
 Duke Arechi, with the condition that he should shave his 
 beard, and cause all his Longobards to do likewise. Also, 
 that he should coin money with the name of Charles, and 
 should destroy the fortresses of Salerno, of Acerenza and 
 Conza. Grimoaldo, valorous son of Arechi, did not keep 
 these conditions, alleging that he was free and unstained, 
 both on his father's and on his mother 's side, and with the 
 aid of God he would maintain himself free. Nor did his 
 18
 
 410 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 deed belie his words, for he maintained himself indepen- 
 dent against the empire ; caused himself to be anointed 
 by the bishops as a king, and used a royal crown. The 
 dukes that succeeded this Grimoaldo until the Normans 
 are not distinguished except by the different image im- 
 pressed on their medals, or by some crime. The new! 
 masters, the Normans, bitterly oppressing the 1 people, I 
 forced them to implore the aid of Pope Leo IX., who 
 went to Germany to the Emperor Henry III., and agreed 
 with him to exchange the one hundred silver marks and 
 white palfrey imposed by Benedict II. upon the church of 
 Banberg, for the lordship of Benevento, provided he 
 furnished .him with troops to conquer it. Pope Leo suc- 
 ceeded in his enterprise with the aid of the people, and 
 gave the investiture of the dukedom to Rodulphus, a 
 Longobard, who shortly after was expelled by Anfred the 
 Norman, Count of Apulia, elder brother of Guiscard. 
 By this new offence the asperity between Rome and the 
 Normans increased, and there arose from it a tedious 
 series of small encounters, which have nothing in common 
 with great battles except the slaughter. Finally, in the 
 year 1059, these contentions were appeased by a treaty 
 signed in the city of Melfi, and Benevento was restored 
 to the Holy See, to be later snatched away from it again. 
 The greatest damage which the contested city received 
 was inflicted by Frederick II., who in 1242, after having 
 conquered it, levelled her walls. It bare the marks of 
 the ferocity and ambition of those who had first oppressed 
 it, and then chosen it for a residence. The aspect itself 
 was the history of its vicissitudes. Near it was admired a 
 triumphal arch of Parian marble, erected to Trajan, to* 
 commemorate the road that he had constructed at his 
 expense from Brindisi to Rome. A portion of the walls 
 that were not demolished by Frederick, showed a strange 
 style of architecture, introduced by the northerners into 
 Italy ; the new repairs, and the eight gates constructed 
 by the orders of Manfred, the renaissance of arts. The 
 castle built by the Holy See, at the instance of the pontifi- 
 cal governor, rising with its brown towers over the city, 
 showed, and perhaps still shows to the traveller, what
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 411 
 
 was in those times the solemn majesty of the successors 
 of St. Peter. 
 
 The Count of Provence, the more he looked at the city, 
 the more he thought it worthy of conquest. He scanned 
 her round many times with his eyes, to discover a weak 
 point in which he could make a breach, and attempt 
 an assault ; but he saw that it was turreted with such 
 mastery of military art, that it would have been an impos- 
 sible thing to conquer it by force. He sighed, and turned 
 to contemplate the valley beneath. It was spacious, 
 and worthy to fight- a decisive battle in ; the rivers 
 Galore and Sabato, joining their waters at the end of Ben- 
 evento, ran through it, and a magnificent bridge offered 
 a wide passage from one bank, to the other. He asked 
 what was the name of the valley. They replied, " Santa 
 Maria della Grandella." 
 
 " Oh, if we could only draw the enemy into this valley ! " 
 exclaimed Charles to Montfort. 
 
 " Let us rush precipitously to occupy that bridge, 
 and .-. :" 
 
 " And the enemy, recognizing his advantage, will not 
 come out to fight. . . . Challenge the enemy with all your 
 trumpets." 
 
 This was the first call that interrupted the council of 
 war of Manfred. After this signal he stopped, panting 
 with hope and fear, to espy what would come out of it. 
 The gates open, and the companies of the enemy's 
 troops issue forth and spread in order of battle through 
 the valley, towards the head of the bridge. 
 
 " Do my eyes deceive me ?'" asked Charles of the 
 barons that stood around him ; " is Manfred coming 
 out ? Yes, he comes out. . . . Bon Dieu, great thanks ! 
 Behold, barons, the day that you have so much desired! . . . 
 Monjoy ! Monjoy I the battle is near" 
 
 " My fair cousin," said in undertone Montfort to the 
 Count of Provence, "there are some knights in the 
 enemy's camp ..." And the rest he whispered in such a 
 way that not one of the barons that stood around could 
 hear him. Charles seemed at firt indignant, and abso- 
 lutely refused ; but Montfort insisted, and he finally con-
 
 412 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 sented, saying, " Do as you wish, cousin ; but mind that 
 he be worthy of wearing it. Certainly, there are some 
 terribly brave men among the knights of the enemy." 
 
 " Leave it to me : I will find your man, a heart of iron, 
 with a head in the clouds." And so saying, Montfort 
 sought among the files a Gascon gentleman named Sir 
 Enry de Cocence, and reported to him that the king, in 
 consideration of his many merits, had thought of allowing 
 him to wear his own royal arms, and appoint him com- 
 mander of the vanguard. "I," added he slyly, "might 
 have contended for the honor, but as a good friend of 
 yours desisted. Think of the honor that will redound to 
 your family. Think, Sir Enry, that henceforth you will 
 be able to engraft in your arms the lily of France." 
 
 " Truly, great is the honor that King Charles confers 
 on us," replied the knight, "yet not greater than 'the 
 race of the Viscounts of Cocence is accustomed to. 
 Look, Sir Montfort, this gold bit, gules / -Do you know 
 the origin of it ?" 
 
 " I have heard it spoken of, Sir Henry. . . ." 
 
 " What ! do you ignore perhaps, Sir Montfort, that 
 Sir Regnault de Cocence quartered it for having held the 
 bridle of King Clodoveus may the Lord rest his soul ! 
 after the battle of Soissons ? And these hands clasped 
 in or?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, viscount ; but come, for the king is 
 waiting for us, and the enemy is advancing." 
 
 " Godfrey Viscount, flag-bearer of the Emperor Charle- 
 magne, peace to his imperial soul, had them cut at the 
 battle of Chiusa, while carrying the oriflamme ; and the 
 chronicle relates that Sir Godfroy, without flinching, 
 seized it with his teeth, and thus restored it to the em- 
 peror, who said to him : ' O sir . . .' " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; it is to be found in the history of th'e king- 
 dom, page four thousand one hundred and eight. I will 
 show you the passage : it is said that it was written by 
 Arduin, ... a very learned man that Arduin, Viscount 
 chief councillor of Charlemagne, and deacon of St. 
 Rhemis." And thus interrupting him, and dragging him
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 413 
 
 along, Montfort led him to the presence of Charles, 
 saying to him : " Here is the viscount." 
 
 " Sir Enry, your lofty deeds have found so much merit 
 in our eyes, that we have come to the resolution of arm- 
 ing you with our armor, and of placing you to the van- 
 guard of the army." He made a sign to his esquires, 
 who surrounded the viscount, and began to unbuckle his 
 armor. " Gran mercy, Sir Charles : great is the honor 
 you do me, yet such as the race of the Cocence has 
 been accustomed to from time immemorial. You know 
 . . ." (and " tout doucement" said he, vexed, to the es- 
 quires, who were pulling off his armor very roughly) 
 " you know, Sir Charles, the origin of the gold bit ? " 
 
 " St. Denis ! Do you imagine that we are so ignorant, 
 of the glories of France ? " 
 
 " Certainly, just what I say : and the hands clasped 
 in . . . ? " 
 
 " Of course we do ; ... great fame awaits you in that 
 valley, Sir Enry.!' 
 
 " Man does what he cap ; nevertheless we will do so 
 much, Sir Charles, that you will remain satisfied : we will 
 assail the enemy in the rear . . ." (" Doucement" said he 
 to the esquires, who, in removing his gauntlets, had 
 scratched his hands) " in the rear, crossing over those 
 hills. ... It is true that, before reaching the rear of the 
 enemy, we will meet Benevento ; but we will take it by 
 force, and then . . ." 
 
 Thus speaking, he had been left in his leathern doublet ; 
 the enemy was fast approaching the plain ; Charles 
 began to arm him with his armor, and while doing so he 
 advised him, saying : " No, Sir Enry ; you will leave the 
 trouble of guiding the movements to the marshall Mire- 
 poix and to Vandamme ; you try to strike good blows : 
 the command may destroy you . . ." (at this point he 
 buckled his spurs.) " I could swear that no knight will have 
 gained his golden spurs better than you." Then he took 
 away from his neck* the order of Commander d 1 Outremer, 
 and placing it on that of the viscount, added : " This 
 henceforth will honor your life or your grave." The Order 
 of Outremer, known also by the name of the Vessel and
 
 414 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 the Double Moon, was instituted by St. Louis, brother of 
 Charles d'Anjou, in 1262, in his second voyage into Africa. 
 It was composed of a chain of scallop shells intermixed 
 with half moons, from which hung a medallion that re- 
 presented a ship upon the sea. Every object had its 
 meaning : the scallop shells indicated the shores olAigues- 
 mortes, where the French embarked ; the half moons, the 
 war undertaken against the infidels ; the ship, their cross- 
 ing the sea. In truth, Charles recalled a very disastrous 
 campaign with those insignia of the Holy Land upon his 
 breast ; nevertheless, calculating the good that would ac- 
 crue to him by this ostentation of piety, greater than the 
 evil by the lowered reputation of arms, he wore it al- 
 ways in Italy. 
 
 The viscount being fully armed, Charles ordered his 
 horse to be brought ; the generous animal appeared, cov- 
 ered with an immense cloth embroidered irithjleur~de-tif, 
 and as soon as he recognized his master, ' he neighed. 
 Charles showed some repugnance in yielding him, yet 
 finally, tossing his head, "G^" said he, "Benevento is 
 well worth a caparisoned horse." This business ended, 
 " Barons," he added, " listen to the orders : you, Sir Vis- 
 count de Cocence, Marshal Mirepoix, Vandamme, Cler- 
 mont, take with you one thousand French knights, and 
 sustain the first assault ; the battle will be composed of 
 the brigades of the Flemings, the Brabantians, the Picar- 
 dians, the Romans and the knights of the queen ; Guill- 
 aume 1'Etendard will be flag-bearer, and commanded by 
 our cousin Robert of Flanders, the constable Giles 
 Lebrun, and Beltrand de Balz ; we will command the 
 reserve with the Provengals ; we will have with us Guy 
 de Montfort, Crary, and you, Count Guerra, with the 
 Guelphs of Tuscany ; the war-cries are the usual ones 
 of France, ' Monjoy, Chevaliers.' Go then, my children, 
 and acquire glory." 
 
 They were about moving, when, riding on a very white 
 mule, and surrounded by prelates, appe*ared Bartholomew 
 Pignatelli, Archbishop of Cosenza, arrayed in his most 
 magnificent robes ; the mule itself was covered by a cloth 
 of gold embroidered with silver kettles ; the servants also
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 415 
 
 wore garments of gold with silver kettles, and even the 
 major-domos carried golden maces with silver kettles. In 
 truth, .this armorial device is very glorious, since the 
 chronicles of the times relate that a certain Landulph, 
 captain of the galleys of King Roger during the siege of 
 Constantinapolis, was so bold, that, penetrating into the 
 kitchens of the Emperor Emmanuel, he carried off three 
 silver kettles, and then assumed them as a family pre- 
 tence ; still it smacks a little of ridicule, and the vanity 
 of the archbishop in sticking it up everywhere rendered it 
 still more so. Pignatelli coming before Charles, asked 
 him gravely whether he desired him to read the bulls of 
 the indulgeces granted by Alexander IV., Urban IV., 
 and Clement IV., to all those who fought in this holy 
 crusade. Charles replied that there was no need of it, 
 for he knew them all par cceur ; he would thank him, 
 however, if he would only bless them. 
 
 The archbishop then took in his hand the sprinkler, 
 without dismountingfrom his mule, and with many goodly 
 orisons blessed them ; then he recited in haste a sort of 
 peroration, in which he called Manfred, son of Acab, ac- 
 cursed by the sacred anathema, race of vipers, Arian, 
 follower of Arnold, of Priscillian, and an atheist, all at the 
 same time ; and on the contrary calling the French true 
 children of Israel, descendants in direct line from the tribe 
 of Judah. He sang the Exurge, Domine, et defende cau- 
 sam tuam, etc., and dismissed them to slaughter each 
 other merrily in yonder plains. 
 
 " Now are mine ears with^ notes of anguish thrilled." 
 
 On both sides, crying u Monjoy" and " Swabia" the 
 armies rush at a great pace on each other, anxious of vic- 
 tory. The French, under the orders of Marshal Mirepoix, 
 assail in a rather wide line of battle, because, seeing the 
 German squadron advance en masse., they hope to surround 
 them in the flanks with the extreme right and left of their 
 line of battle, commanded by the brothers Vandamme. 
 The German cavalry had in those days the reputation of 
 unconquerable, and, to tell the truth, (so much things 
 change in this world,) incapable then, for want of discipline,
 
 416 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 of resistance, was insuperable in the first charge. Ex- 
 ecuting then the orxlers of the king, it persists against the 
 centre of the enemy's vanguard, and presses onward with 
 so much constancy that, partly by its great valor, partly be- 
 cause the French centre was too weak, it began to waver, 
 to scatter, and finally to disperse. The extreme wings of 
 the vanguard, that had already advanced, forming a semi- 
 circle to attack the German flanks, met of a sudden the 
 .main battle of Manfred, that marched in line at a short 
 distance from the vanguard; so that, instead of attacking 
 on the flanks, they were obliged to defend themselves in the 
 front from overwhelming forces. Fortune still led on the 
 sad flattery of early success : the centre squadrons of the 
 battle, composed of the troops of Ghino and the Saracens, 
 taking advantage of the gap opened by the Germans, gal- 
 loped at full speed within it, crying " Swabia ! Swabia ! " 
 which resounded through the neighboring valleys, and in- 
 creased the terror. The Saracens added to this the inces- 
 sant beating of their drums ; for in that age they were 
 the only ones who used this invention of theirs, which was 
 afterwards adopted by European civilization to trans- 
 mit signals in war, and to tear the ears of the citizens 
 in peace ; adding to it the fifes of its own, to complete 
 the harmony. Robert of Flanders and the Constable 
 Lebrun hastened forward with the French centre to sup- 
 port the wavering fates of the day. " Monjoy and St. 
 Martin!" cry they in their turn, and bravely meet the 
 enemy. The knights of the queen formed a part of this 
 division, and tradition states that many valiant encoun- 
 ters took place, which history has not transmitted to us ; 
 it only narrates that Sir Enry de Cocence, maddened that 
 he had been driven back more than two bows' distance, 
 rushed furiously through the ranks, exclaiming, " Christian 
 knights, onward for St. Denis ; . . . what will they say of 
 me in France ? Shame on you ! onward ! . . . onward ! . . . 
 our enemies are Turks, heretics . . . their swords do not cut, 
 God has excommunicated them." Two knights of Manfred, 
 noticing Cocence, whom they mistook for Charles d'Anjou 
 moving about so openly among his soldiers, detached them- 
 selves from the ranks, and placing their spears in rest,
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 417 
 
 rushed upon him : these were Ghino and Rogiero. In- 
 deed, the bystanders warned the viscount of the imminent 
 danger, but he, waiting for them in an attitude of defiance, 
 cried : "Now you will see good fun." The knights ar- 
 riving at a full gallop struck him simultaneously in the 
 middle of the breast, in such way that both the points 
 pierced him through at" a cross angle, and, lifting him from 
 the saddle, dragged him a step or two, thus transfixed in 
 their spears. There arose a cry of victory in Manfred's 
 army, believing that the Count of Provence had been killed, 
 and the battle continued more fiercely than ever. Nor did 
 the French defend themselves less bravely, although it 
 appeared evident that in the end they would have lost. 
 Thus belaboring each other, the two armies had passed 
 the morning hours, when on the bloody field Giordano 
 d'Angalone, without crest on his helmet, his mail ripped, 
 his armor bent in several parts, holding in his hand his 
 broken sword, met the Emir Jussuff. " Give me your 
 scimetar," said he ; " we only need a few more blows, 
 and the victory is ours." 
 
 " Follow me, count," replied the Emir, " and I will 
 provide you with a sword." And so saying, he set spurs 
 against Clermont, who from his arms, and more so from 
 his acts, showed himself a very valiant knight. Cler- 
 mont, seeing that warrior rush upon him so heedlessly, 
 placed himself in guard, sure of his back-hand stroke ; 
 when he had reached the proper distance he struck with 
 his full force. The Emir, with wonderful dexterity, bent 
 his body upon the neck of the horse, and the enemy's sword 
 passed by, hardly grazing his back. He then pulled the 
 bridle of his swift Borak, turned him back, and let fall a 
 blow on the helmet of Clermont, who, relaxing his hold, 
 opening his arms, fell dead on the field. The Emir bent 
 from his saddle, seized Clermont's sword, and handing it 
 to Count d'Angalone, said : "Take it, thus Jussuff pro- 
 vides his friends with swords." 
 
 " Brave man !" replied Giordano, " I will use it in such 
 way as to correspond worthliy to the manner in which it 
 was provided for me." And he disappeared in the thick- 
 est of the fight. 
 18*
 
 418 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 The army of Charles, repulsed on all sides, had only left 
 on the field the knights of the queen, who, resolved to 
 die rather than retreat, had formed themselves into a hol- 
 low square, contesting against all the army of Manfred. 
 Giordano Lancia, judging it unwise that all the forces of 
 the king should be occupied against that handful of men 
 that were gradually being destroyed in their outer lines ; 
 fearing also that those that had been dispersed would re- 
 organize and return to the assault, called Ghino and 
 d'Angalone, and ordered them to detach their squad- 
 rons, and pursue relentlessly the retreating French ; he 
 would remain there to destroy that last residue of the 
 army of Charles. They obeyed the order, and with loos- 
 ened bridle galloped after the fugitives, killing both those 
 who resisted and those who surrendered, granting quar- 
 ter to none. Every mercy was extinct; the fierce 
 slaughter saddened even the sight of the conquerors them- 
 selves. 
 
 "on Dieu ! I cannot stand that sight," cries Charles, 
 who, from the summit of the hill called the Stone of 
 Rcsetto contemplated that slaughter ; " my spear, squires, 
 . . . my horse ; . . . here, quick, to the rescue ! " 
 
 " Fair cousin," holding him back exclaims Guy de 
 Montfort, " be still for Saint Martin, let him win yet for a 
 quarter of an hour, arid then the victory will be ours. . ." 
 
 " But I will not allow ..." . 
 
 " And I swear to you by the soul of my father that I 
 will have you arrested ; ... be patient ! " 
 
 The Germans, in spite of d'Angalone' s remonstrances, 
 attracted by the greediness of gain, broke the ranks, as if 
 sure of the victory, and disbanded here and there for 
 plunder. The horses wandered loose, for the knights, hav- 
 ing dismounted, began to search in the pockets of the 
 dead and dying, to snatch the precious ornaments from 
 the armors, using their swords for a lever. Some, stretch- 
 ing their rapacious hands on the corpses, tore violently 
 either cloth or leather that suited their wants, carrying 
 sometimes part of the skin with it ; others also, unable to 
 pull off the rings from the dead men's fingers, cut them 
 clo'se to the hand, and placed ring and fingers. in their
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 419 
 
 pockets, so disgustingly does human rapacity shows it- 
 self. At this moment Ghino and d'Angalone beating the 
 rascals with the butts of their spears, " To horse, scound- 
 rels ? " they exclaim, " to horse ! " The beaten ones, in- 
 tent on booty, either felt not the blows, or, running further 
 on, shook their shoulders, and returned to the plunder 
 worse than before. 
 
 " Now is the time to descend, cousin," said Montfort ; 
 and Charles mounting on horseback, thus spoke to his 
 knights : " Follow me, noble barons ; you will see my 
 crest where there will be more glory to reap. You, 
 Guido Guerra, remind your Florentines that, conquering 
 at Benevento, they will regain their desired Florence." 
 And he rushed to the plain. 
 
 A courier despatched by Count Lancia presents him- 
 self to Manfred, and says : " My lord the king, we have 
 conquered." 
 
 The king, raising his eyes to Heaven with a spontane- 
 ous thought of thanking God for it, noticed the French 
 reserve, that, coming down the declivity of the hill of Ro- 
 setto, was fast approaching the plain, and orders the 
 courier : " Go, quick, return to Giordano, and tell him to 
 be on his guard, for we have not conquered yet." 
 
 Then he stood fixed, contemplating the squadron of the 
 Guelphs, and judging them, as they really were excellent 
 soldiers, asked who were they. They told him the Guelphs 
 of Florence. It is said that he remarked at this news : 
 " Now, why have we not the aid of the Ghibellines, 
 whom we have supported all over Italy with so much 
 blood and treasure?" And more enraptured by the 
 sight of that battalion that moved with such admirable 
 order: "Indeed, those troops cannot lose to-day!" he 
 said ; meaning by this that, if he should win, he would 
 have them taken in his pay, and restored to their state. 
 
 " To horse, rascals ! to horse ! Behold the enemy ! " 
 kept crying Ghino and Giordano ; but the ProvenQals, 
 galloping at full speed, were already on them. The Ger- 
 mans and the Italians, leaving, though unwillingly, their 
 plunder, rose to oppose them ; their horses, feeding about, 
 had got away, and in the sudden panic many lost theirs,
 
 420 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 and had to seize the first that came to hand. Hardly 
 had they reformed their squadrons when the French fell 
 upon them with most impetuous fury, and repulsed them 
 some forty steps. Then the Germans made a stand. 
 The space which divided them was spread with corpses ; 
 the French wavered, abhorring to trample on the bodies 
 of their fallen brothers. Charles, fearing that from that 
 hesitation the enemy might take time to reorganize his 
 ranks, and perhaps jeopardize the success of the battle, 
 exclaims : " Come, knights, don't mind trampling upon 
 them ; those dead brothers of ours will be happy to offer 
 us their breasts as a path to victory. " Monjoy / Mori- 
 joy ! " And he was the first to gallop over them. 
 
 " Steady ! forward ! will you fly from those you have 
 already defeated ? Manfred is watching us ; victory or 
 death ! Swabia ! Swabia /" Ghino and Giordano might 
 cry themselves hoarse, the soldiers advanced unwillingly, 
 a panic had seized them. Montfort rushed about, fiercer 
 than the others ; mounted upon a powerful Norman horse, 
 striking right and left with his iron mace, belaboring ter- 
 ribly the people of Manfred. Ghino noticed him, and 
 recognized him from his shield, for, after the tournament 
 of Rome, he had laid aside the device of Italy reversed, 
 and resumed that of his family, which bore argent, three 
 ancient chairs gules. The good Tuscan could stand no 
 longer the slaughter that he made of his men ; seizing 
 therefore a lance from one of them, and placing it in rest, 
 he rushed upon Montfort, crying : " En garde, for you are 
 a dead man." 
 
 Montfort avoided the lance, and when Ghino had passed 
 by him, flung his mace at him, but missed the blow. 
 Ghino, lowering again his lance, galloped against Mont- 
 fort ; this latter, with a bold face and trembling heart, en- 
 deavored to defend himself, when one of his esquires 
 rushed at Ghino's back, and threw a javelin, which, pass- 
 ing through where the shoulder-piece joins to the back, 
 hurled him from his horse to the ground, mortally wounded. 
 
 " Truly, Raul," said Montfort, smiling to his esquire, 
 " the knight you have killed was a brave man, nor de- 
 served to die treacherously ; nevertheless, it is well for
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 421 
 
 you, for a dead man wars no more, and the smell of a 
 dead enemy is a perfume of roses." Saying which, he 
 spurred his horse upon him, who, less' brutal than his 
 master, disdained to trample upon the fallen, and leaped 
 clear over him. Fool ! He knew not that the heavens 
 reserved for him a death a thousand times more miserable. 
 It is to be believed that Providence, which caused his 
 great-grandfather, Simon Montfort, to die of a stone fallen 
 on his head at the siege of Tolosa, his grandfather Al- 
 mericus of a dart in his loins und?r Tolemaides, and his 
 father Simon of honorable wounds, defending the liberty 
 of the English against King Henry, forbade to Guy, in 
 punishment of his barbarity, the glory of falling upon the 
 field of battle, now hereditary in his family. Having 
 been taken prisoner in the naval battle fought between 
 the Sicilians and Neapolitans in the Gulf of Naples in 
 1287, he ended in the squalor of a Sicilian prison a life 
 which he had illustrated with famous deeds of arms, and 
 contaminated with ferocious crimes. 
 
 Count Giordano d' Angalone saw that fall, and a mourn- 
 ful foreboding filled his soul ; yet, resolved not to return 
 defeated whence he had departed as a victor, finding him- 
 self near the squadron of the Guelphs, he rushed in the 
 midst of it, desirous of a noble death. Opening his way 
 impetuously, he felled many right and left till he reached 
 the standard-bearer, Corrado da Montemagno of Pistoja ; 
 he seized the battle-flag with his left, while with his right 
 he used his sword. Corrado in his turn held fast to it, 
 defending himself. The Paladins, for thus they were 
 called, as we noticed in a previous chapter, the twelve 
 Guelphs who killed Tacha of Modena, surrounded Anga- 
 lone, and wounded him mortally in several places. The 
 brave knight heeded them not, and continued his fight 
 with the standard-bearer, who, assailed by a stronger 
 man, wounded also in many parts, let himself fall from 
 the saddle almost at the same moment that d' Angalone 
 also fell expiring, wrapped in the lily of Florence. Atro- 
 cious was the hatred of the Italian party-men in those 
 times, and atrocious the deeds committed by them ; 
 brothers fought against brothers, sons against their fathers
 
 422 The Battle of Benevento! 
 
 (which made Shakspeare cry, " a plague on both your 
 houses ") ; hence, it is not without emotion that I find 
 related in my chronicle, that the Guelphs, after ihe bat- 
 tle, gave an honorable interment to Count d'Angalone, 
 burying him in the same grave with Corrado di Monte- 
 magno, and placed a cross over it, bearing on its right 
 arm the name of Giordano, and on the left that of Cor- 
 rado, and begging a requiem to the souls of these two 
 brave knights killed on the field of battle. 
 
 The captains being aead, there was no way of stopping 
 the flight. There was seen nothing but a running through 
 the country, and nothing heard but " Sauve qui pent." 
 Retreating in this manner, they arrived where Giordano 
 Lancia, having defeated the knights of the queen, was 
 reorganizing his -soldiers to lead them to the rescue of the 
 battle. " Behold the enemy ! " cried, pale with fear, 
 the first who arrived. "What enemy?" "The Guelphs 
 of Florence, the French, a squadron of wild demons." 
 " Let them come ; we are here to fight them." 
 
 The French, arriving, charge with great valor the troops 
 of Lancia, and are with equal bravery repulsed ; they re- 
 form their ranks, return to the charge, .and are again re- 
 pulsed. The third charge was the bloodiest. Nor because 
 they are badly cut up, do they desist, but they attempt 
 to charge the fourth time. Infinite the blows struck and 
 parried, infinite the wounds, infinite the deaths; but Lan- 
 cia kept crying to his men, " Steady ! " and these, upheld 
 by the example, did not budge an inch. Rogiero fought 
 in the front ranks. Manfred's flag stood safe in his hand 
 as upon the top of a turret. The bravest men crowded 
 around it with terrible impetus, and when he waved it to 
 the wind, there arose a cry of joy, and the courage of the 
 combatants would redouble. 
 
 When an invading army charges upon the enemy, a 
 repulse is equivalent to a defeat. Charles felt that by that 
 obstinate resistance the undertaking would fail. But 
 though disheartened, he did not despair : rather, by reason 
 of the danger itself, his mind more eagerly sought the 
 way of success. Often we have observed that man 
 in misfortune becomes wicked, and commits acts
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 423 
 
 that he never would have thought of in good fortune. 
 This happened in the present case : the son of France 
 had recourse to fraud, and discarding all the acknowledged 
 laws of war of those days, intent only on causing the great- 
 est possible injury to the enemy, he ordered to strike at the 
 horses. This was against the convention mutually agreed 
 upon by the two nations at war upon the manner of 
 fighting ; but victory absolves every sin committed to ac- 
 quire it, and if Grotius proclaimed that one must keep 
 faith with his enemies and cause them the least evil pos- 
 sible, we believe that he said this in July, but would 
 not have confirmed it in January. 
 
 The order of Charles was quickly passed through the 
 ranks, and from every side rose the cry : " The rapier, 
 the rapier Land wound the horses" It was immediately* 
 executed. The front ranks of Lancia, before they had 
 time to defend themselves, found themselves unhorsed ; 
 Lancia himself had his horse killed under him ; the 
 unhorsed ones had to fall in disorder upon the ranks 
 that stood behind them ; these opened to save them, 
 only in doing this they were not able to repulse the 
 enemy : all rushed in together. French prowess, en- 
 couraged by the hope of victory, fought with redoubled 
 energy. The soldiers of the king ii^hat extreme emer- 
 gency did not fail to themselves ; equal was the bravery, 
 but the conditions were unequal. There never was a more 
 bloody battle, nor one fought with more courage, either 
 in ancient or modern times. For a long time the valley 
 of Sta. Maria della Grandella exhaled pestiferous vapors 
 on account of the smell which the unburjed bodies sent 
 forth. For more than fifty years after, the white bones 
 scattered through the fields attested with what rage 
 thousands of victims had slaughtered each other ; and 
 even to this day it often happens that the cultivator, 
 ploughing the earth, is suddenly stopped by some skele- 
 ton which comes across his plough. 
 
 Without helmet on his head, with his hair wet with 
 perspiration and blood, wounded in the face, with the 
 royal standard in his left hand torn to shreds, and the 
 sword in his right hacked to the very hilt, Rogiero presents
 
 424 The Battle of Benevento. 
 
 himself to Manfred, and cries from afar: "To the rescue, 
 my king, to the rescue ! " 
 
 " What means this ? Are the cowards abandoning the 
 field ? Where is Sir Ghino ? " 
 
 Dead , . ." 
 
 "D'Angalone ?" 
 
 " Dead . . ." 
 
 " Vengeance of God ! Barons, to the rescue ! follow 
 your king, he will lead you to glory or to death ; " and 
 spurred his horse. Hearing a very faint noise behind 
 him, he turned his head. Perhaps only ten knights fol- 
 lowed him ; the remaining ones, to the number of one 
 thousand four hundred knights, and perhaps four thou- 
 sand foot soldiers, did not stir. 
 
 " Come, hasten, to the rescue ! delay will be fatal," 
 continues Manfred. The same impassibility on the part 
 of his feudal nobles. The great treachery begins to 
 dawn on the king's mind, his heart trembles. "O 
 my faithful barons," exclaims he, anxiously approaching 
 them, " onward for your own preservation, for that of your 
 children. ... I will not remind you of my benefits; . . . 
 think of your honor, consider the shame . . ." 
 
 " We consider our souls ; we desire absolution from 
 the excommunicatio^*. . ." 
 
 " What excuse is this ? Did you not fight with me 
 against Pope Alexander ? The year is not yet passed 
 that you in armed bands performed several raids in the 
 Roman Campania. Now, I don't ask you to invade 
 other people's country, but to defend the kingdom." 
 
 " The kingdom is yours ; defend it yourself, if you 
 can." 
 
 " Yes, I can, if assisted by your valor ; accustomed 
 as you are to fight under the eagle of the son of 
 Frederick, you will not abandon him in the midst of 
 victory ; fulfil the oath of fealty that you swore to me at 
 Monreale and at Benevento ; ah ! let Manfred be for the 
 second time indebted to you for the throne." 
 
 They replied to him only by sounding their trumpets 
 in retreat, and turning their backs on the battle ; incredible 
 treachery, if the histories of the times, both Guelph and
 
 The Battle of Benevento. 425 
 
 Ghibelline, did not relate it. The Neapolitan feudal 
 barons, in the same manner as the Poles in their ancient 
 constitution, mounted on horseback when the kingdom 
 was in danger, and, like them, formed the principal or 
 the most numerous part of the army. Whoever has read 
 the history of Poland, will wonder at the resemblance be- 
 tween the Pospolitis and the squadrons of the Neapoli- 
 tan barons ; the same show of dress, the same instability, 
 the same manners ; with only this difference, that the Poles 
 defended what they, supposed liberty, the Neapolitans, 
 the monarchy. Manfred, who doubted their good faith, 
 had placed them under his immediate orders, trusting that 
 his personal authority would have curbed their insincerity. 
 He now perceived how they answered his hopes ; he con- 
 templated them a few moments, staggered by the unheard- 
 of cowardice ; finally he broke forth with this exclama- 
 tion : " Fool that I was ! and I begged them ! " Then 
 he raised his hand in the act of imprecating : " No, . . . 
 you do not deserve even my imprecation, I condemn you 
 to live ! . . . fortunate I am, in that my glory and re- 
 nown are not in their power, like my throne." He turned 
 his horse, and with his voice and spurs urged him to a 
 gallop. At that moment there happened a wonderful 
 event : the silver eagle that he had for a crest fell on the 
 pommel of his saddle. . . . He turned pale at the fatal 
 augury, saying : " Hoc est signum Dei, for I had fixed 
 this crest with my own hands, so that it could not fall." 
 
 He gathered all his powers ; and, since he could not 
 live as a king, he rushed into the thickest of the battle to 
 die as a king.
 
 426 
 
 The Revenge. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE REVENGE. 
 
 Un' alma coronata si diparte, 
 
 E lascia qui del suo gran nome un ombra. 
 
 O del mondo vivente, o del noil nato 
 
 Occhi pietosi, nella morte sua 
 
 Osservate, apprendete 
 
 D'un gran regno che cade e d'un che nasce 
 
 La vicenda solenne. . . . 
 
 CLEOPATRA, Tragedia Antica. 
 
 A crowned soul departs, 
 
 And leaves of his great name the shadow here. 
 O pious eyes, now living or unborn, 
 Look on, and from his death the lesson learn, 
 How a great kingdom falls, and one uprises 
 In solemn revolution. 
 
 M. G. M. 
 
 F it was pity that shrouded the rays of the stars 
 in the firmament the last night of February, 1265, 
 and prevented their shining upon that wicked 
 field, why does every day the sun issue forth 
 from the east to illuminate deeds that night has no dark- 
 ness deep enough to hide ? A heavy, thick, foggy 
 atmosphere covers the valley of Santa Maria della Gran- 
 della ; to the noise of the striking weapons, to the glit- 
 tering of swords, to the cries of threats and mercy, 
 silence has succeeded silence and darkness, mournful 
 companions of death ! Only here and there a sigh of a 
 dying man, a calling of father or son by some agonized 
 sufferer. Eut these groanings sounded feeble as the breath 
 of the evening breeze thai hardly stirs the leaves on the 
 trees, and passes by ; they disturb not that solemn still- 
 ness. All is war in this world ; yet the wild beast de- 
 vours, but hides again in the thickest of the wood. We 
 (J know not whether more foolish or perverse) dare to 
 boast of the slaughter, and call it victory, and give thanks 
 to the Most High for it, as if to associate Him with our
 
 The Revenge. 427 
 
 crimes. The dew of Heaven falls equally sorrowfully 
 upon the bodies of the Apulians and the Provenqals ; 
 and, for my part, when I consider that the dew begins 
 and ends a day, I imagine to myself nature weeping over 
 the unhappy race of Adam. They have all abandoned 
 the fallen ones upon the field ; the defeated ones are 
 seeking with the anxiety of terror an asylum for the life 
 which they have saved from the enemy's sword ; the con-' 
 querors are busy, drinking in wine-cups forgetfulness of 
 the wounded brothers ; in the morn they will pray for 
 their rest, and will bury them ; but in the meanwhile, dead 
 with the dead, they think only of pleasure. 
 
 A man wrapped in a black cloak comes down from the 
 hill of the Stone of Rosetto, and turns his steps to the 
 plain of Santa Maria ; a big mastiff precedes him, carry- 
 ing in his mouth a lantern to light the way. His dress is 
 that of a holy friar, his face almost entirely hidden within 
 his hood ; yet, from that little which is visible, you would 
 take him for the evil spirit who comes to enjoy the fruits 
 of his temptation. With his arms crossed over his breast, 
 but without reciting any prayers, he passes among the 
 dead, looks at them, tramples over them, and keeps on. 
 He had searched more than an hour over the bloody field, 
 when he broke forth wearily : " Surely they swore to me 
 he was dead !" He rested a while*, then continued his 
 search. There, where the slaughter had been the greatest, 
 in the midst of a heap of corpses horribly mutilated, 
 pressing with his foot the head of a fallen one, he heard a 
 feeble groan. 
 
 " Of little chanty ! Are you a Christian ? a friar of the 
 Lord ! and trample on the head of the dying ? " 
 
 " Who are you ? Is my hope deceiving me ? Tell me 
 who are you ? " 
 
 " A dying man." . 
 
 The monk hid his face still more within the hood, took 
 the lantern from the mouth of the dog, held it near 
 the face of the fallen one, and " You are Manfred ! " he 
 cried with savage joy. 
 
 " I was Manfred ; now, I am a man who is dying. Oh !
 
 428 The Revenge. 
 
 if before appearing before the tribunal of God. you would 
 in charity, holy brother . . ." 
 
 "Speak, king of the earth ; I rejoice in listening to you." 
 
 " Heaven has sent you to me, . . . but call me not 
 a king ; the crown which I obtained with crimes, the 
 Eternal has taken away with death. Will you listen to 
 my confession ? " 
 
 " It is my sacred duty ; yet how do you hope to appease 
 divine justice ? . . ." 
 
 " I have heard that the greatest crime committed by 
 Cain was to despair of God's mercy. . . . Leave the care of 
 forgiveness to Him who has the power; ... do you listen. 
 ... I will take you back in the bitterness of my soul 
 through all my years, I will confess my sins before you, 
 and God's mercy will absolve me through you." 
 
 The monk sat upon the ground, signed him with the 
 sign of the cross, whispered an orison, then said : 
 " Speak, king ; I am ready." 
 
 " Father, holy father, I am about accusing myself of a 
 crime that my heart breaks in thinking of." 
 
 " Have faith ; you begin already to distrust ? " 
 
 " No, I hope in God's mercy. By my hands was shed 
 that blood upon which, slipping, I now lie forever ; my 
 throne, weighed down by a nefarious death, has fallen in 
 ruins over my head, csushing my family with me. . . . You 
 see in me, . . . you will be horror struck, but in the name 
 of God, do not fly from me, . . . you see in Manfred the 
 assassin of the Emperor Frederick . . ." 
 
 " You a parricide ? " 
 
 " A parricide ! " and for a long time they both re- 
 mained silent. Then Manfred resumed : " Speak not, 
 holy father ; you could not say a word but my conscience 
 has repeated it to me a thousand times, nor could 
 your reproaches sting me mgre severely than it has 
 done. ... If remorse can expiate sin ... oh ! mine was 
 terrible, but likewise has been my remorse. It was on 
 the night of the i3th of December; the emperor was 
 lying ill, ... in his last illness. ... I was sitting near his 
 bed ; . . . the imperial mantle and crown stood upon a 
 table a little away from me ; . . . the evil spirit tempted
 
 The Revenge. 429 
 
 me ; my eyes rested on the crown ; I thought of the 
 power, I thought of conquest. ... I pictured to myself 
 kings and countries conquered at the foot of my throne ; 
 . . . looking forward to future ages, every century seemed 
 to me to be luminous with my fame ; . . . the morfe I 
 gazed at the jewels that adorned it, the more they 
 seemed to shine. ... I stretched my hand to seize it ; ... 
 ah ! I drew it back in the very act. . . . Although I stood 
 between Frederick and the diadem, yet the life of Fred- 
 erick stood between me and the crown ; my soul was dark- 
 ened ; I looked on my father ; he slept ; only the faintest 
 breathing indicated that he was alive ; . . . a few days, 
 a few hours, might end his precarious existence : . . . 
 but the glitter of the diadem flattered me more fiercely 
 than before. . . . After an hour of meditation, parricide 
 did not appear to me so horrible ; . . . life was extin- 
 guishing itself, ... it was only hastening it a few hours ; 
 . . . glory and power dazzled me like two suns ; . . . the 
 crime seemed to me like a little cloud in a serene sky 
 ... I did not see God, for rny heart was hardened ; . . . 
 the tempter conquered ; . . . I seized a pillow from under 
 his head, . . . placed it over his face, . . . pressed it thus 
 with my hands only a few seconds. ... It was over ! . . ." 
 Manfred, overcome by the terrible recollection, fell back 
 as in a swoon ; very little life now remained to him, and 
 yet the most bitter grief that he had ever suffered was 
 afflicting him in these last hours. Hardly come to himself 
 again, he stretched his hands, groping about, and not 
 meeting the object he sought for, he broke forth : "Alas ! 
 the confessor is fled ; . . . my narrative has driven him 
 away . . ." 
 
 " I have not moved, I am at your side, O king," re- 
 plied the monk with a stifled voice. 
 " Has not your hair stood on end ? " 
 " Go on confessing your greatest sins . . ." 
 " Greatest ! Does not parricide terrify you, father ?" 
 " There is no crime in the world that could retard or 
 accelerate for one moment the pulsations of my heart ; . . . 
 go on, king, go on in your confession." 
 
 " Have not the teachings of the gospel softened your
 
 430 The Revenge. 
 
 heart, then? Is not Manfred confessing his sins, O 
 friar?" 
 
 " I came to this world an innocent soul ; my mother 
 rejoiced in the gentle boy, my father showered his favors 
 on* me for my virtuous deeds ; in the happy dawn of my 
 days I loved every created being, the good because good, 
 the bad because he might become good ; a coward 
 poisoned my life, thrust me into the path of perdition. I 
 have gone over it ; only a demon could listen to your 
 confession, and you, O king, have made me such . . ." 
 
 " Your words . . . your fury I . ." 
 
 " Give me back my innocence, . . . my innocence. . . . 
 I am Caserta : look upon my countenance, worn out by 
 grief: my sins are yours ; . . . they will be punished in me, 
 but justice will add them also to your punishments." 
 
 " Go, in God's name, go." 
 
 " Go ! why ? Have I not come to your death as to 
 a nuptial banquet ? " 
 
 " I am dying . . ." 
 
 " And is it not now twenty years and more that I have 
 lived for this your last agony ? " 
 
 "Go, I conjure you." 
 
 "By whom will you conjure me? by God's name ? I 
 have denied Him for you. By the love of my wife ? You 
 have contaminated her. By my children ? Through you 
 I was a father, but not of a son of mine. Cease then to 
 conjure me, O king." * 
 
 " The powers of hell disappear at the sign of the cross : 
 will not man cease to torment at the prayers of the 
 dying." 
 
 " No : allow me rather, O king, that I should sit and 
 enjoy ,the convulsions of your agony." 
 
 " But go, cruel man ! let me die in peace." 
 
 " No. You have filled a cup of despair ; now forbid 
 me not, O king, to exult in putting it to your lips.' : 
 
 " Your conscience . . ." 
 
 " My conscience ! have I not told you that it would 
 frighten even Satan himself? have I not told you that it 
 is your work ? " 
 
 " Traitor ! . . ."
 
 The Revenge. 431 
 
 " Be silent, guilty being. Was it not you that, affecting 
 friendship, robbed me of the love of her, whom I loved 
 with intense passion ? You were the traitor, when, drunk 
 with power, you loaded my head with infamy : beware, 
 degraded creature, of uttering a sigh ; or, if in the fury that 
 torments you, you feel the need of cursing curse your- 
 self ; I have accomplished your destruction, and now I 
 trample upon you." 
 
 "If the voice of the king, although rising from the 
 dust, would deign to appeal to any other judge but God, 
 it would say to you, that before Lady Spina was dragged 
 by force before the altar, she loved me, and had accepted 
 me as her beloved husband . . ." 
 
 " She loved you, . . . and she was punished . . ." 
 
 " Did she not die in the fire of the castle ? " 
 
 " I killed her . . ." 
 
 " Ah ! may God forgive you." 
 
 " And I poured my sin upon your head." 
 
 " She will not accuse me : . . . our love was mutual . . . 
 she was mine ! . . . that sin weighs not on my conscience, 
 . . for the others the Lord will have mercy on my soul . . ." 
 
 " It is too late; you cannot repent of sin on the thres- 
 hold of death : do you not remember what is written in 
 the Scripture ? " 
 
 " I remember that my sins were horrible, but infinite 
 goodness hath large embrace for every one that asks for 
 pardon . . ." 
 
 " It is written : ' I have called, and ye refused : I 
 have stretched out my hand, and ye have not regarded ; 
 you have set at nought all my counsels, and would none 
 of my reproof : I also will laugh at your calamity, I will 
 mock when your fear cometh.' " 
 
 " But it is also written : ' The earth is full of the mercy 
 of the Lord ; He will save His creatures with mercy, not 
 with justice.' " 
 
 " Your measure is full, you are lost, I tell you, you 
 hope in vain."' 
 
 " You hope in vain, if you believe you can make me 
 despair in these last moments when a sincere faith rejoices 
 me with hopes. . . . Do you hear the whispers of your
 
 432 The Revenge. 
 
 passions ? They will tell you that whilst you think of 
 tormenting, you yourself are the tormented. . ." 
 
 "Certainly, it is I who in this moment see the tombs 
 open and the souls of the father, the brothers, and sons 
 killed by me, arise to surround my death-bed ; I who 
 hear their mocking accents, I, the laughter with which they 
 accompany my death ; ... for you there will descend the 
 angels from heaven to bring you peace ; for you there 
 darts from the throne of the omnipotent a ray of glory 
 upon which your blessed soul will ascend to celestial 
 joys. . . . Tell me, guilty wretch, what atonement in the 
 day of judgment will you set against the murder of your 
 father ? 
 
 ' My repentance . . ." 
 ' To that of Corrado ? " 
 ' My repentance . . ." 
 ' To that of your son . . ." 
 ' What son ? " 
 
 At a short distance there is heard a plaintive voice 
 murmuring, " Yole ! " Caserta starts to his feet, notices 
 a dying man, lifts him by the arm, and without any respect 
 for the sacred hour during which man called to the 
 other life strives for awhile against the power of extinc- 
 tion, he drags him where Manfred lies, and throwing 
 him into his arms howls ferociously : " Behold your 
 son ! . . . oh ! my revenge is now full." Then he sat 
 down again, and turned the light of the lantern upon 
 those faces to contemplate their expression. 
 
 Manfred recognized the dying man, threw his arms 
 around him, and pressing him to his heart, exclaimed 
 painfully : " O Rogiero ! O iny son ! ah, my heart had 
 told me ; . . . how do I see you, Rogiero ! " 
 
 The unhappy youth, hardly able to open his eyes, asks : 
 " Where have they dragged me ? " 
 
 " To the arms of a king, ... to the arms of a father!" 
 replies Caserta. 
 
 " Father ! king ! who is my father? You,- perhaps; 
 Manfred ! " 
 
 " Ah misery ! to the son of guilt, an embrace of 
 blood 1 "
 
 The Revenge. 433 
 
 " Obscurity and grief saddened my years ; . . . I lived a 
 life of tears ; . . . crimes, sorrow, remorse. . . . Oh ! all is 
 compensated by the sweetness of this embrace. ... I 
 bless life ! . . ." 
 
 " Rejoice in the arms of a father whom you have be- 
 trayed, . . . rejoice in a parricide father ! " 
 
 " Whose voice is this, father ? It grates painfully on 
 my wounds . . ." 
 
 " It is the voice of a slave who insults the death of 
 his master . . ." 
 
 " It is the voice of Caserta ; do you not recognize it, 
 Rogiero ? " 
 
 " I know you as a wretch ; but beware : short is the joy 
 that springs from the tears of others ; ... an awful destiny 
 awaits you, Rinaldo; . . .you shake your head in derision? 
 From the depth of the misery where your perfidy has cast 
 us, I contemplate your end, and I seem to sit upon a 
 throne of glory. . . . Alas ! my words fail to my lips ; . . . 
 father, is Yole safe ? " 
 
 " She is safe." 
 
 " No, she is a prisoner." 
 
 "He said a prisoner. . . . To whom did you intrust 
 die unhappy one?" 
 
 " Do you not remember ? To Procida." 
 
 " Then bite your tongue ; . . . serpent, she is safe. 
 Father, I am dying . . ." 
 
 " O my son ! " 
 
 " Why do you weep ? I see death with the same joy 
 with which I saw you, O my betrayed father ; . . . my ex- 
 istence has been a torture, . . . it is a blessing to end it. ... 
 The blood of my mother was my baptismal water, ... oil 
 of extreme unction is the blood of my father. . . . Has 
 there ever lived a soul in the world more miserable 
 than I ? " 
 
 " O my son ! " 
 
 " Hold me fast to your heart, . . . give me your hand, 
 . . . father ; . . . I am going to the reward of misfortune." 
 
 He lifted the paternal hand to his mouth and kissed it, 
 then tried to place it over his head ; falling back in the 
 act, and uttering a groan, Rogiero expired.
 
 434 The Revenge. 
 
 Who could blame me, if, as Timantis covered with a 
 veil the face of Agamemnon, I should pass over without 
 describing the sensations that agitated Manfred ? Who 
 could do this ? Who could even attempt it ? I say 
 naught of the time that intervened between the death of 
 Rogiero and those words that the king spoke. " My death 
 will not be so peaceful, yet I hasten it with my desire, . . . 
 and feel that it is approaching. Rinaldo, on the point of 
 appearing before the tribunal of the Eternal, I desire not 
 to leave an object of hatred upon the earth ; . . . needing 
 God's forgiveness, I give you mine ; . . . you see before 
 you whether you have offended me ; . . . forgive then ; . . . 
 let our mutual love be a merit toward repentance ; . . . take 
 my hand before it is cold with death . . ." 
 
 " Touch me not. I came to see you die, not to for- 
 give." 
 
 " Ah ! . . . I die, . . . and forgive you . . ." 
 
 " I live and hate you." 
 
 Manfred drooped down, and before long he began to 
 sigh convulsively, and at intervals gasp the following 
 broken sentences : " Speak to me not so mildly ; . . . oh ! 
 show yourself not to me so lovingly ; . . . call me parricide 
 . . . reproach me bitterly, O father. . . . What do you, Cor- 
 rado ? why do you wipe my forehead ? your linen has become 
 red ; . . . there was blood in it ... it is yours ... oh ! he 
 kisses me where there was his blood . . . blessed be you 
 of the Lord . . . the kingdom of heaven . . . my soul . . . 
 the joy of heaven . . . Lord have mercy on my sinful soul." 
 
 Count Caserta, intently bending over the face of Man- 
 fred to note every sigh, every agitation of the muscles, 
 every slightest contortion of his lips, when he saw him 
 dead, rose impetuously, and, throwing away the lantern, 
 ran precipitously through the field of battle : often he 
 stumbled against a dead body, often hitting against some 
 fallen weapon, wounded himself; he seemed not to feel 
 anything, with his cheeks sunk, his fists clenched, he 
 ground his teeth, uttering fearful oaths, often striking his 
 head and face, howling : " He is dead, and did not de- 
 spair."
 
 The Revenge. 435 
 
 Here ends our chronicle : only that, as it is the custom 
 with novelists to accompany their heroes to the altar, or' 
 to the grave, it behooves me, since I cannot lead them 
 to the first, to follow them to the second. Speaking 
 therefore first of Charles d'Anjou, Count of Provence, I 
 find in the histories that after the battle of Benevento, he 
 occupied without much opposition the Neapolitan States, 
 and with no less fortune he conquered the island of Sicily . ' 
 how he ruled, why his power in Italy declined, how it 
 ceased, I will not relate, for it may be an interesting sub- 
 ject for any one who wishes to continue the history up to 
 the famous revolution of the Sicilian Vespers ; only, trans- 
 lating as faithfully as I can a Latin passage of Nicholas 
 Jamsilla, a cotemporary chronicler, I will show to my readers 
 how foolishly the Neapolitan barons trusted in the faith cf 
 the French ; they suffered insupportable burdens, they 
 had to bend under foreign tyranny, and bear universal 
 mockery and contempt beside. Let the Italians keep 
 the example in their minds, and learn wisdom if they can. 
 " Oh King Manfred ! " exclaims Jamsilla, " in the de- 
 spair of every hope, now we have learned what you were, 
 and sorrowfully deplore you. Flattered by the hope of 
 present dominion, we reputed you a rapacious wolf among 
 quiet lambs, and while we anxiously awaited large icwards 
 in recompense for our disloyalty, too late we recognized 
 you as a mild lamb. Now we acknowledge the mildness 
 of your rule, when we compare it with the severity of the 
 new. We often complained that you had usurped part of 
 our privileges to strengthen your royal prerogatives ; now 
 first our estates, then our persons are we obliged to offer 
 as a prey to the cruel foreigner." 
 
 I will not relate the miserable end of Manfred with dif- 
 ferent words than those used by the chronicler Villani 
 so much the more trustworthy, inasmuch as he, belong- 
 ing to the Guelph party, uses all his efforts to embellish 
 the lofty deeds of Charles, and to find excuses for his bad 
 ones : " For more than three days they sought for the 
 body of Manfred, nor could it be found, and no one knew 
 whether he had been killed or taken, or had escaped, 
 for he had not worn royal armor in the battle.
 
 436 The Revenge. 
 
 Finally, alow clown of his people recognized him through 
 several marks in his person, in the midst of the field 
 where the battle had been the fiercest. Having found it, 
 the said clown placed it astride of an ass of his, and went 
 about, crying: i lVho buys Manfred?' Then a baron 
 of King Charles gave him a good beating with a stick, and 
 carried the body of Manfred before the king, who seeing 
 it, called all the barons that had been taken prisoners, 
 and asked each one whether it was the body of Manfred ; 
 all timidly replied yes. But when Count Giordano 
 Lancia came, he wrung his hands, weeping, and crying : 
 ' Alas ! my good master, what do I see ? my brave, 
 my wise master, who has so cruelly taken your life ? 
 Vase of philosophy, honor of knighthood, glory of kings, 
 why is a knife denied me that I may kill myself to accom- 
 pany you in death ?' For which he was very much praised by 
 the French barons." (And Charles also praised him for 
 his attachment to his king, but it did not restrain him from 
 basely making him die in the prisons of Provence.) 
 " King Charles was requested by several barons to allow 
 them to bury it with due honors. Charles replied : ' Le 
 fairois-je volontiers, si lui ne fut excommunie.' But be- 
 cause he was excommunicated, King Charles would not 
 allow it to be buried in a sacred place, but at the foot of 
 the bridge of Benevento, and over his grave a stone was 
 thrown by every one of his army, which made a great 
 mountain of stones." So far Villani. The divine Dante, 
 singing this sorrowful episode, adds that the Archbishop 
 of Cosenza, Bartholomeus Pignatelli, by order of Pope 
 Clement, had it taken out from under that mausoleum 
 of stones, and thrown in the open field upon the banks of 
 the river Verde, now known by the name of Marino, 
 which runs near Ascoli ! . , 
 
 And while some beckoned us with bended hand 
 One called " Whoe'er thou art there journeying s 
 
 Turn ! Think hast ever looked on me before ? " 
 I turned and gazed upon the one who spoke. 
 
 Handsome and blond, he looked high-born, but o'er 
 One brow appeared the severance of a stroke. 
 
 When I had humbly answered him that ne'er
 
 The Revenge. 437 
 
 Had I beheld him" Look ! " he said, and high 
 Up on his breast showed me a wound he bare ; 
 
 Then added smilingly, " Manfred am I, 
 The Empress Constance' grandson : in such name 
 
 Do I entreat, when back thon shall have gone, 
 To my fair daughter hie, of whose womb came 
 
 Sicily's boast and Aragon's renown, 
 And tell her this if aught but truth be said 
 
 That after two stabs, each of power to kill, 
 I gave my soul back weeping ere it fled 
 
 To Him who pardoneth of His own free will. 
 My sins were horrible : but large embrace 
 
 Infinite Goodness hath, whose arms will ope 
 For every child who turneth back to Grace ; 
 
 And if Cosenza's bishop, by the Pope 
 Clement set on to hound me to the last, 
 
 That page of Holy Writ had better read, 
 My bones had still been sheltered Trom the blast 
 
 Near Benevento, by the bridge's head, 
 Under their load of stones : but now without 
 
 The realm they lie, by Verde's river bare 
 For winds and rains to beat and blow about, 
 
 Dragged with quench'd candles and with curses there. 
 Yet not by their poor malediction can 
 
 Souls be lost so but that Eternal Love 
 May be brought back while hope hath life in man. 
 
 'Tis true that one who sets himself above 
 The Holy Church, and dies beneath its ban 
 
 (Even though he had repented at the last), 
 Outside this mount must unadmitted rove 
 
 Thirty times longer than the term had been 
 Of his presumptuous contumacy past, 
 
 Unless good prayers a shorter penance win. 
 See now what power thou hast to make me glad : 
 
 Report of me to my good Constance bear, 
 How thou saw'st me and what I've told thee add ; 
 
 For much it profits us what they do there. * 
 
 Ghino di Tacco, although mortally wounded, was car- 
 ried off by his faithful followers to a place of safety ; and 
 they sought so much, that they were able to obtain two 
 very famous physicians, and intrusted him into their 
 hands, in order that they might exercise their best skill to 
 cure him. Having examined him from head to foot, one 
 
 * DANTE'S PURGATORIO, Canto Third. Translation of T. W. 
 PARSONS, ESQ.
 
 438 The Revenge. 
 
 declared that he was wounded in the lungs, the other af- 
 firmed that he was not ; they discussed the whole night 
 about it without agreeing ; on the morning, unable to 
 come to any understanding, they were on the point of put- 
 ting their hands to their daggers the better to convince 
 each other ; it failed of a very little that to cure a 
 wounded man two had killed one another. 
 
 Ghino's followers interposed, tired of the disgusting 
 squabble, and ordered them with severe looks to be 
 silent, and take good care to cure him, otherwise it would 
 be the worse for them. Then they were silent : one 
 began to bleed him, the other to give him strengthening 
 drinks ; one ordered diet, the other to eat and drink ; as 
 it pleased God, the strong constitution of Ghino over- 
 came every obstacle, and he was cured. People said 
 that that cure was a miracle ; and in fact until then, 
 within the best memory of man, no one had ever survived 
 to the science of two physicians. Having returned in 
 process of time to his castle of Radicofani, he, though 
 hating it, kept on his old profession of robbing the high- 
 ways ; when, towards the end of the century, having- 
 taken prisoner the Abbot de Cligny, who was going to 
 the baths of Siena, the good prelate became so enamored 
 of his virtues, that he reconciled him with the Church, 
 and Pope Boniface VIII. being of a noble spirit, and a 
 great encourager of merit, called him to his court, gave 
 him the priory of an hospital, and made him a knight ; 
 which history any one who desires to know it can read 
 it in the last day of the Decameron of Boccaccio* With 
 all the diligence that I have used in my researches, I have 
 never been able to satisfy my curiosity respecting the 
 Emir Jussuff. It is possible that he died in battle ; pos- 
 sible also that he had the chance of escaping to Africa : 
 yet I cannot certify to the one thing nor the other, and 
 leave it to the conscience of the reader to believe what 
 he thinks the more probable of the two. 
 
 l''a'i)ous for a very long time resounded through the 
 
 * As a complement to Ghino's history we have appended this novel 
 of Boccaccio. See Appendix. TRANS.
 
 The Revenge. 439 
 
 kingdom the report of the dreadful death of Rinaldo 
 d' Aquino. Time had buried it in oblivion. Now, as 
 fortune wills, it is recalled by me to the memory of 
 men. Invited to court by the Count of Provence, he 
 refused ; and Charles, delighted to >njoy the benefit with- 
 out paying the reward of treachery, allowed him will- 
 ingly to retire from the world. Rinaldo, in the solitude 
 of his castle, incessantly meditating the crimes and the 
 revenge committed, tormented by the sting of remorse, 
 feeling that from the death of Manfred he had not derived 
 that comfort which he had hoped before it happened, 
 watching in the nights, wandering sleepless through 
 the halls of his palace, murmuring in the fever of grief 
 horrible imprecations, fearful of the light of day as if it 
 was the presence of an enemy, avoiding all human soci- 
 ety, he dared one day to cast a glance within his soul, 
 and wondered how he could bear it still to abide within 
 his body. He resolved to die. In the evening he came 
 clown to the hall, and gathering all his domestics, he dis- 
 missed them with many presents, stating that he intended 
 to enter a new life. They all supposed that he had re- 
 solved to enter into some convent, and praised him much 
 for it. He had been always a good master to them. 
 They knelt before him, and wept with grief ; perhaps in 
 that moment they felt the loss of their position perhaps 
 it was sincere grief. Enough what was real was the 
 weeping. They wanted his blessing ; they begged repeat- 
 edly for it. Rinaldo, like a man beside himself, came sud- 
 denly to his senses, and resuming his baronial haughtiness, 
 commanded them all to rise and depart. Silently they all 
 returned to their rooms, to meditate plans in order to pro- 
 vide for their remaining years. On the morrow, an 
 esquire, whom the new command had not been able to 
 make forget his ancient habits, not seeing the count 
 appear at the usual hour, went softly to his room, and 
 listened ; he heard no sound ; he looked through the key- 
 hole, and saw his master hanging by the neck. The faith- 
 ful servant uttered a piercing cry, and with all his 
 strength forced the door so violently, that he threw it un- 
 hinged into the middle of the room.
 
 440 The Revenge. 
 
 Count Rinalclo had placed a stool over the bed ; then 
 hanging the rope to the beam, and fixing a noose around 
 his neck, had kicked away the stool, and remained sus- 
 pended. Upon the head of the bed stood an open box ; the 
 treasure it contained was the skull of Lady Spina. Though 
 his face was black, his mouth distorted, yet he did not 
 seem dead. The servant, drawing his knife, ran towards 
 Count Rinaldo to cut the rope. The mastiff of Caserta 
 that lay under the bed, imagining that the servant was 
 attempting to strike his master, jumped upon him fiercely, 
 and seized him by the throat. The servant defended 
 himself as best he could, and loudly called for help. He 
 called so long that finally he was heard by several of his 
 companions ; they rushed to the room, bound the dog, 
 and cutting the rope, laid Caserta upon the bed. They 
 used all means possible to revive him, but in vain ; 
 perhaps if the servant had immediately cut the rope, he 
 might have been saved : the time that the mastiff held 
 him back ended certainly the life of the miserable Ca- 
 serta. If it was chance which punished Rinaldo for the 
 treachery committed against Manfred by the faithfulness 
 of his dog, it must be confessed that chance sometimes is 
 more wise than justice. Angiolo di Costanzo, in the his- 
 tory of Naples, desiring to clear in some measure the 
 fame of Count Rinaldo, narrates that he, having been in- 
 formed that the king had seduced the countess, desirous 
 of proceeding as a knight and according to the rules of 
 honor, sent secretly to Rome, where he knew that with 
 Charles there was the flower of the chivalry of that age, 
 a confidential agent of his, who proposed before the as- 
 sembly of those knights, whether it was lawful in such 
 case to rebel against his king, and fail in his fealty ; 
 which, as the reader may imagine, was decided by the 
 knights and literati who followed Charles, not only that 
 it was lawful, but rather it was a duty to do so. I for 
 my part, being born of the people, do not know how a 
 knight should act, nor in what he makes the rules of 
 honor to consist ; but I think that treachery is always 
 treachery ; that it is dishonorable to betray faith to him to 
 whom one has sworn it. That if Manfred acted ill, Ca-
 
 The Revenge. 441 
 
 scrta did worse ; the guilt of others does not diminish 
 one's own ; infamies cannot be cancelled by each other ; 
 and at any rate, that if Rinaldo desired to avenge himself, 
 he should have avenged himself against the offender, not 
 against his people, nor by calling the foreigner to oppress 
 his country ; that the poniard or the poison should be 
 reputed less blamable than this disgraceful revenge. 
 
 John of Procida, destined later to avenge the family of 
 Manfred, did not succeed in saving it. Having taken 
 refuge in Lucera he sent to the seashore to procure a 
 galley or other vessel that could take them to Catalonia. 
 The messengers fell into the hands of the enemy and were 
 killed. Lucera, besieged by the French, defended itself 
 bravely ; certainly there was very little hope ; the food 
 and the garrison diminished from day to day, but Procida 
 protested that Charles should not enter the city as long as 
 there was a living soul in it. Tempted to betray his trust, 
 he threw with his own hands the shameful ambassador 
 from the walls of the city. All that man could do, he had 
 done : famine and death stared them in the face. Be it 
 that the long siege wearied Charles, be it that he feared 
 to take it by assault, though possessing such pre- 
 ponderating forces, he had recourse to fraud. He pro- 
 posed to Procida that if he surrendered the town (since 
 it was useless to resist), he would grant to Manfredino 
 the investiture of the principality of Taranto, and the 
 other possessions left in the will of the Emperor Fred- 
 erick to his father Manfred. He would not exact any 
 homage of allegiance, any cession of the crown of 
 Naples ; for security he would engage his word as king. 
 He admired besides the rare fidelity of Procida, who with 
 such noble resistance defended the cause of his mas- 
 ter ; he would surely compensate it ; faith was a beautiful 
 virtue, nor less praiseworthy because contrary to his own 
 designs ; he would hold him as his truest friend, as he had 
 held him his most generous enemy. Procida refused to 
 surrender, suspicious of the flattery ; the besieged ones' 
 however compelled him. Charles d' Anjou kept his promise 
 to Manfredino of Swabia in the same manner that 
 Henry the Swabian kept it to William the Norman ; thus
 
 442 The Revenge. 
 
 in those remote times kings resembled each other in their 
 faith ! Elena, Yole, Manfredino and Procida, imprisoned 
 in the castle dell' Uovo in Naples, attested by a fresh 
 example that the conquered should never trust but to 
 their graves. Procida was able, however, to deceive the 
 guards, lower himself from the tower, and escape. He 
 took upon himself the vengeance of Manfred, and so 
 rnuch he worked in Aragon at the court of King Peter, 
 so much at Constantiriapolis with the Emperor Paleolo- 
 
 ' gus, so much he incited his compatriots, whom, with in- 
 credible boldness, he visited in Sicily, so much Pope 
 Nicholas of the Orsini, to whose court he went dressed 
 as a monk that, after three years of continual voyages, 
 of drawbacks and danger*, he revolutionized Sicily 
 against King Charles, restored there Constance, daughter 
 of Manfred, queen to Peter of Aragon, and, with one 
 exception, destroyed all the French that dwelt in the 
 island. A wonderful history, that, should fortune look 
 smilingly on me, I would not spare any labor to add to 
 this. 
 
 Elena and her children never re-appeared to the light 
 of day ; how long they lived, how they died, is a mys- 
 tery of crime. The story was at one time related, that in 
 the western tower of the castle dell' Uovo, on the eve of 
 All Souls' Day, after the bell had rung the midnight hour, 
 there would be heard a cry, and soon after would be seen a 
 sceptred female ghost gliding swiftly along the battle- 
 ments without moving steps, and enter the chapel ; the 
 sentries never dared to wait for it at their post, and would 
 all fly at that hour into their quarters. Once a certain 
 soldier of GaScony, -incited by his companions and by 
 wine, dared to follow the ghost and enter into the 
 chapel with it ; in the morning he was found senseless on 
 the pavement. Coming to his senses, he related that the 
 sceptred ghost, kneeling before the altar, had struck a 
 tombstone, and from the opened sepulchre had risen two 
 
 -other ghosts one of a maiden, the other of a boy who, 
 throwing themselves on the neck of the first, had em- 
 braced her as one does the dearest of kin ; that after- 
 wards they began fervently to pray before the image of
 
 The Revenge. 443 
 
 the Madonna. The image thus prayed to, turning to the 
 infant she held on her arm, spoke thus : " Grant to 
 these afflicted ones their request, my sweet Son," to 
 which the infant making no reply, the Virgin rising. to her 
 feet, placed him upon the altar, and kneeling before 
 him in a supplicating attitude, begged again : " Grant 
 to these afflicted ones their request, my sweet Son ; " at 
 which prayer the sacred infant, gathering with his hand 
 some blood that dropped from the- bosom of the 
 sceptred ghost, wrote several letters upon the table of 
 the altar ; then the lamps were extinguished, an earth- 
 quake shook the chapel, and he fell, struck senseless to 
 the ground. They went up to the altar, and there they 
 found written with fresh blood, REVENGE. They wiped it 
 out, but every succeeding year, on All Souls' Day, it re- 
 appeared redder than before ; nor did it evef cease to ap- 
 pear until the slaughter of the Sicilian Vespers. He who 
 can do all, might have performed the above miracle. Still, 
 I think that it ought to be attributed to superstition ; 
 which, however, demonstrates how strong was the pre- 
 conceived ill-will of the people, who were convinced that 
 Heaven was in" league with them to obtain revenge 
 against the foreign oppressor. 
 
 What is the moral of this book ? If minds accustomed 
 to speculate upon the reasons of things will learn from this 
 history that crime begets revenge, and with never-ending 
 alternation revenge begets crime ; and that when virtue 
 has no power to please, there is no other argument to re- 
 strain man from wrongdoing, and the best that can be 
 done is to frighten him by the consequences of evil, curb 
 him by terror, since we cannot do it by love if, I say, he 
 will learn these truths, I doubt not that the moral of the 
 book will appear such as I intended to instil in it. 
 
 And now, gentle reader, addio, (farewell.) Meditating 
 upon this word it seems to me that not only it sounds 
 plaintive on account of the sensations it arouses, but 
 also by a sad combination of the letters, farewell ; if 
 you could feel even one half the sadness in receiving it, 
 which I feel in giving it, oh ! the reward would far sur- 
 pass my hopes.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 BOCCACCIO'S NOVEL II., TENTH DAY. 
 
 BHINO DI TACCO was a man famous for his bold and 
 insolent robberies, who, being banished from Siena, and at 
 utter enmity with the Counts of Santa Fiore, caused the 
 town of Radicofani to rebel against the Church, 'and 
 lived there, whilst his gang robbed all who passed that 
 way. Now, when Boniface the Eighth was pope, there came to 
 court the Abbot of Cligny, reputed to be one of the richest prelates 
 in the world, and having impaired his stomach with high living, he 
 was advised by his physicians to go to the baths of Siena, as a cer- 
 tain cure. Having leave from the pope, the abbot set out with a 
 goodly train of coaches, carriages, horses and servants, paying no re- 
 gard to the rumors concerning this robber. Ghmo was apprised of 
 his coming and took his measures accordingly ; when, without the 
 loss of a man, he inclosed the abbot and his whole retinue in a nar- 
 row defile, whence it was impossible for them to escape. This be- 
 ing done, he sent one of his principal followers to the abbot, with his 
 service, requesting he would do him the favor to alight, and visit 
 him at his castle. The abbot replied, with a great deal of passion, 
 that he had nothing to do with Ghino, but that his resolution was to 
 go on, and he would see who dared to stop him. "My lord," 
 quoth the man, with a great deal of humility, "you are now in a 
 place where all excommunications are kicked out of doors, so please 
 to oblige my master in this thing; it will be your best way." 
 
 Whilst they were talking together, the place was soon surrounded 
 with highwaymen, and the abbot, seeing himself a prisoner, went 
 with a great deal of ill-will with the fellow to the castle, followed 
 by his whole retinue, where he dismounted, and was lodged, by 
 Ghino' s appointment, in a poor dark little room, whilst every other 
 person was well accommodated according to his respective station, 
 and the carriages and all the horses taken exact care of. This be- 
 ing done, Ghino went to the abbot, and said, " My lord, Ghino, 
 whose guest you are, requests the favor of you to let him know 
 whither you are going, and upon what account ? " The abbot was 
 wise enough to lay all his haughtiness aside for the time being, and 
 satisfied him with regard to both. Ghino went away on hearing this
 
 446 Appendix. 
 
 and having made up his mind that he would cure his lordship with- 
 out a bath, he ordered a great fire to be kept constantly in his room, 
 coming to him no more till next morning, when he brought him two 
 slices of toasted bread, in a fine napkin, and a large glass of his own 
 rich white wine, saying to him, "My lord, when Ghino was young 
 he studied physic, and he declares that the very best medicine for a 
 pain in the stomach is what he has now provided for you, of which 
 these things are to be the beginning. Then take them and have a 
 good heart." The abbot, whose hunger was much greater than was 
 his will to joke, ate the bread, though with a great deal of indigna- 
 tion, and drank the glass of wine, after which he began to talk a 
 little arrogantly, asking many questions, and demanding more par- 
 ticularly to see this Ghino. But Ghino passed over part of what he 
 said as vain, and the rest he answered very courteously, declaring 
 that Ghino meant to make him a visit very soon, and then left him. 
 The abbot saw him no more till next morning, when he brought him 
 as much bread and wine as before, and in the same manner. And thus 
 he continued doing many days, till he found the abbot had eaten 
 some dried beans, which he had left purposely in the chamber, when 
 he inquired of him, as from Ghino, how he found his stomach ? The 
 abbot replied, " I should be well enough if I were out of this man's 
 clutches. There is nothing I want now so much as to eat, for his 
 medicines have had such an effect upon me, that I am ready to die 
 with hunger." 
 
 Ghino, then, having furnished a room with the abbot's own goods, 
 and provided an elegant entertainment, to which many people of the 
 town were invited, as well as the abbot's own domestics, went the 
 next morning to him, and said, "My lord, now you find yourself 
 recovered, it is time for you to quit this infirmary." So he took 
 him by the hand, and leading him into the chamber, left him there 
 with his own people. Whilst Ghino was away giving orders about 
 the feast, the abbot gave his people an account of the life he had 
 led in that place, they on the other hand declaring that they had 
 been used by Ghino with all possible respect. When the time came, 
 they sat down, and were nobly entertained, but still without Ghino's 
 making himself known. After the abbot had been treated for some 
 days in that manner, Ghino had all the goods and furniture brought 
 into a large room, and the horses were likewise led into a court- 
 yard which was under it. Then he inquired how his lordship now 
 found himself, and whether he was yet able to ride. The abbot 
 made answer, that he was strong enough, and his stomach perfectly 
 well, and that he only wanted to be quit of this man. Ghino then 
 brought him into the room where all his goods were, and leading 
 hi ai also to the window, that he might take a view of his horses, he 
 said, " My lord, you must understand it was no evil disposition, but 
 his being driven a poor exile from his own house, and persecuted 
 by many enemies, that forced Ghino di Tacco, whom you see before 
 you, to be a robber upon the highways, and an enemy to the court 
 of Rome. You seem," however, to be a person of honor ; since,
 
 Appendix. 447 
 
 therefore, I have cured you of your weakness of stomach, I do not 
 mean to treat you as I would do another person that should fall 
 into my hands that is, to take what I please ; but I would have 
 you consider my necessity, and then give me what you will yourself. 
 Here is all that belongs to you ; the horses you may see out of the 
 window : take either part or the whole, just as you are disposed, and 
 go or stay, as is most agreeable to you." 
 
 The abbot was surprised to hear a highwayman talk in so courte- 
 ous a manner, which did not a little please him ; KO turning all his 
 former passion and resentment into kindness and goodwill, he ran 
 with a heart full of friendship to embrace him : "I protest solemnly, 
 that to procure the friendship of such a one as 1 take you to be, I 
 would undergo more than what you have already made me suffer. 
 Cursed be that evil fortune which has thrown you into this way of 
 life ! " So taking only a few of his most necessary things, and also 
 of his horses, and leaving all the rest, he came back to Rome. 
 
 The pope had heard of the abbot's being a prisoner, and. though 
 he was much concerned at it, yet upon seeing him he inquired 
 what benefit he had received from the baths? The abbot replied, 
 with a smile, " Holy father, I found a physician much nearer, 
 who has cured me exceedingly well;" and he told him the manner 
 of it, which made the pope laugh heartily. Then, going on with his 
 story, and moved by a truly generous spirit, he requested of his holi- 
 ness one favor. The pope, imagining he would ask something else, 
 freely consented to grant it. Then said the abbot, " Holy father, 
 what I have to ask is, that you would bestow a free pardon on Ghino 
 di Tacco, my doctor, because of all the people of worth that I ever met 
 with, he certainly is most to be esteemed, and the damage he does is 
 more the fault of fortune than himself. Change but his condition, and 
 give him something to live upon, according to his rank and station, 
 and I dare say you will have the same opinion of him that I have." 
 The -pope being of a noble spirit, and a great encourager of merit, 
 promised to do so, if he was such a person as the abbot reported, 
 and, in the meantime, gave letters of safe conduct for his coming 
 thither. Upon that assurance, Ghino came to court, when the 
 pope was soon convinced of his worth, and reconciled to him, giving 
 him the priory of an hospital, and creating him a knight. And 
 there he continued as a friend and loyal servant of the Holy Church, 
 and to the Abbot of Cligny, as long as he lived.
 
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 14. MILLBANK. 
 ,15. EDNA BROWNING. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 "Mrs. Holmes' stories are universally read. Her admirers are numberless. 
 She is in many respects without a rival in the world of fiction. Her characters 
 are always life-like, and she makes them talk and act like human beings, subject 
 to the same emotions, swayed by the same passions, and actuated by the same 
 n.otives which are common among men and women of every day existence. Mrs. 
 Holmes is very happy in portraying domestic life. Old and young peruse hei 
 stories with great del\ght, for she writes in a style that all can comprehend." 
 New Yrk Weekly. 
 
 ' Mrs. Holmes' stories are all of a domestic character, and their interest, 
 therefore, is not so intense as if they were more highly seasoned with sensational- 
 ism, but it is of a healthy and abiding character. Almost any new book which her 
 publisher might choose to announce from her pen would get an immediate and 
 general reading. The interest in her tales begins at once, and is maintained to 
 the close. Her sentiments are so sound, her sympathies so warm and ready, 
 and her knowledge of manners, character, and the varied incidents of ordinary 
 life is so thorough, that she would find it difficult to write any other than an 
 excellent tale if she were to try it" Boston Banner. 
 
 " Mrs. Holmes is very amusing ; has a quick and true sense of humor, a 
 sympathetic tone, a perception of character, and a familiar, attractive style, 
 j.teasantly adapted to the comprehension and the taste of that large class oi 
 American readers for whom fashionable novels and ideal fantasies have M: 
 d-.irm " Henry T. Tucker man. 
 
 e volumes are all handsomely printed and bound in cloth, -ilt 1 
 oryrHere, and sent by mail, pas tage free, on receipt of price [$1.50 each], bj 
 
 G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers, 
 
 Madison Square, Aew York