GIFT OF C. H. Shinn C]^e jHonft'js ancööinö. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY S. H. ADAMS. ^^ Of THE MONK'S WEDDING ^ U^Ol^EL BY Convali jjcrtiinantj fHtjia ^^^^. SI^- P^' *y BOSTON CUPPLES AND HURD g4 Boylston Street 1887 i '-'^ ■'^-- ■■"> (^S^S^ Copyright, 1SS7, By Cupples and Hurd. A II Rights Reserved. Gift of CThe f^Döe i^arfe iprrgg. THE MONK'S WEDDING. It was evening in Verona. Round a spacious hearth, glowing with a fire which filled its roomy depth and centre, sat .a princely group. In the centre — Lord and Master — was that Scaliger whom they called Cangrande. Of the blooming ladies on either side of him, the one nearest to the fire and half in shadow, was his wife ; the other upon whom the full light shone, his relative and friend. Near them were the other members of the party, leaving the remainder of the hearth free, according to courtly custom, and with significant glances and half-suppressed laughter they were tell- ing stories. Into this brilliant, joyous company, a grave man entered, whose stern features and long flowing robe seemed out of another world. " Prince, I come to warm myself at your hearth," said the stranger, in a tone of ^ The Monk's Wedding, mingled seriousness and disdain, adding re- proachfully, " The negligent servants, despite this frosty evening, have delayed, or for- gotten, to light the fire in the upper guest- chamber." " Take a seat beside me, my Dante, " re- plied Cangrande, " but, if you would feel a genial warmth, you must not sit, as is your wont, mutely gazing at the flames. We are amusins: each other with stories and the hand which has to-day forged the Terza Rima (for in my astrological chamber I overheard you scanning the verse, ) this mighty hand, I say, must consent to grasp our diverting plaything without shivering it to pieces. Dismiss the Goddesses " — he meant the Muses — " for a while and satisfy yourself v/ith these l^^ely mortals " — and with a graceful wave of the hand Cangrande directed the eyes of his guest to the two ladies. Seemingly uncon- scious of his presence, the taller of them had not thought of moving, whilst the younger and more sprightly one gladly made place for the Florentine beside her. Disregard- ing, however, the invitation of his host he proudly chose a seat at the end of the table. f The Monk's Weddhig, 5 Either he was displeased at finding two ladies at the side of the Prince, if only for an even- ing, or he was disgusted with the court-fool who, with legs stretched out before him, was sitting on Cangrande's mantle which had fallen to the ground. This fool, a toothless old man, with goggle eyes and soft sensual mouth, fit only for gab- bling and licking sweet-meats, was beside Dante, the one elderly man in the company. He was called Gocciola, which means " little drop " — because it was his habit to secretly collect the little drops clinging to the empty glasses. He hated the Florentine with a kind of childish spite, seeing in him a rival for the, not always daintily bestowed, favor of the prince. He made up a face, and grin- ning scornfully, had the boldness to call the attention of his pretty neighbor on the left to the profile of the poet sharply outlined upon the ceiling of the lofty room. Dante's profile was like that of a gigantic woman, w4th long aquiline nose and drooping lips — one of the Parese — or weird sisters. The light-hearted maiden turned aside to hide a childlike laugh. A clever looking youth, 6 The Monk's Wedding, who now drew nearer and was named Asca- nio, helped her to smother it by addressing Dante with that measure of reverence with which the poet Hked to be approached. " Thou who art Italy's Homer and Virgil" — he said — "I beg of thee scorn not to share in our innocent sport. Deign to en- tertain us tonight, not with song, but with story. " " What is your theme 1 " Dante asked, still harshly though somewhat less ungra- ciously than at first. " Sudden change of profession, with good, bad, or laughable results. " the youth replied quickly. Dante was silent for a moment ; with melancholy eyes he thoughtfully sur- veyed the company which did not wholly dis- please him, for he discovered, together with many shallow brows, some that were strik- ingly noble and powerful. " Has any one of you made the uncowling of a monk his theme ? " he enquired, already in a milder tone. "Yes, Dante, " answered a soldier with a slightly foreign accent, who was dressed in chain armor, had an earnest, good-natured The Mo7tk's Wedding, 7 face, and wore a long drooping moustache. " I have related the story of the young Manuccio who leapt over the walls of his cloister to become a soldier. " *' He did right, " responded Dante, "for he had deceived himself as to his callino:. " A pert and somewhat voluptuous Paduan, named Tsotta, now interrupted with — "Mas- ter, I have narrated the story of Helena Manenta, who after her first curl had fallen under the consecrated shears covered the rest with both hands and slurred over her nun's vows, for among the people in the nave of the church she had caught sight of her lover who was carried off into slavery, but had been miraculously released, and was now hanging up his chains " — she was going to say — " in the church," when Dante cut short her chatter by saying, " And she also did well for she acted out the instincts of her amorous nature, but I shall tell you of a wholly different case from any that has been here mentioned. There was a monk who, not from his own instinct, nor from any longing for worldly pleasure, or power, nor because he had mistaken the bent of his capacities 8 The Monk's Wedding, or talents, but for the love of another, under the compulsion of another's will, on the ground of what may indeed be called filial piety, became false to himself ; broke vows made to himself even more than to the church ; flung aside the rope and cowl which had never been a trial to him, but on the contrary, had seemed a part of himself. Has this been related ? No ? Good ! Then I will do it; but, my patron and protector, say what must be the end of such a thing ? " — and he turned to Cangrande. " It must necessarily be bad," he replied without hesitation — " Who voluntarily takes a leap, leaps well ; — who is pushed to it leaps badly." " Thou speakest the truth. Prince," re- sponded Dante, " for if I understand it, the Apostle meant just this when writing to the Romans, that ' whatever is not of faith is sin,' which means acting against the truth of nature, and our highest convictions." " Is it at all necessary that there should be monks ? " whispered a voice out of a dim corner, as if to suggest that any sort of escape from an unnatural condition was a blessing. The Monk's Wedding, g The audacious question caused no shock, for at this court the boldest discussion of rehgious matters was allowed, yes, smiled upon, whilst a free or incautious word in re- gard to the person or policy of the Emperor was certain destruction. Dante's eyes sought the speaker and recognized in him a young ecclesiastic whose fingers toyed with the heavy gold cross he wore over his priestly robe. " Not on my account," said the Florentine deliberately, " May the monks die out as [j soon as a race is born that understands how to unite justice and mercy — the two highest attributes of the human soul — which seem now to exclude one another. Until that late hour in the world's history may the State administer the one, and the church the other. Since, however, the exercise of mercy re- quires a thoroughly unselfish heart, the three monastic vows are not only a proper but es- sential preparation ; for experience has taught that total abnegation is less difficult than a j reserved and partial self-surrender." - " Are there not more bad than good monks 1 " persisted the doubting ecclesiastic. 10 The Monk's Weddmg, *' No," said Dante, " when we take into con- sideration human weakness ; else there are more unjust than righteous judges, more cowards than brave warriors, more bad men than good." " And is not this the case ? " asked the guest in the dim corner. " No, certainly not," Dante replied, a heavenly brightness suddenly illuminating his stern features. " Is not philosophy asking and striving to to find out how evil came into this world ? Had the bad formed the majority we should, ^ on the contrary, have been asking how good came into the world." This proud enigmatical remark impressed the party forcibly but at the same time ex- cited some apprehension lest the Florentine was going deeper into scholasticism instead of relating his story. Cangrande saw his pretty young friend suppress a yawn, and said " Noble Dante, are you to tell us a true story or will you em- bellish a legend current among the people ; or can you not give us a pure invention of your own laurel-crowned head ? " ^ Dante replied with slow emphasis, " I evolve my story from an inscription on a grave." The Monk's Wedding, ii " On a grave ! " " Yes, from an inscription on a grave stone which I read years ago when with the Fran- ciscans at Padua. The stone was in a corner of the cloister garden hidden under wild rose bushes, but still accessible to the novices, if they crept on all fours and did not mind scratching their cheeks with thorns. I ordered the prior, or I should say, besought him, to have the puzzling stone removed to the library, and there commended to the interest of a gray-headed custodian. " What was on the stone ? " interposed somewhat listlessly the wife of the Prince. " The inscription, " answered Dante, " was in Latin and ran thus : — " Hie jacet monachus Astorre cum uxore Antiope. Sepeliebat Azzolinus.' " "What does it mean ? " eagerly cried the lady on Cangrande's left. The Prince fluently translated : — " Here sleeps the monk Astorre beside his wife Antiope. Both buried by Ezzelin." " Atrocious tyrant ! " exclaimed the impres- sible maiden, " I am sure he had them buried 12 The Month's Wedding, alive, because they were lovers, — and he in- sulted the poor victims, even in their graves, by styling her the ' wife of the monk ' , — cruel wretch that he was ! " " Hardly, " said Dante, " I construe it quite differently, and according to the history this seems improbable ; for Ezzelin's rigor was directed rather aQ-ainst breaches of ecclesias- tical discipline. He interested himself little either in the making or breaking of sacred vows. I take the ' Sepeliebat ' in a friendly sense, and believe the meaning to be that he srave the two burial. " " Right, " exclaimed Cangrande. " Floren- tine, I agree with you ! Ezzelin was a born ruler, and, as such men usually are, somewhat harsh and violent ; but nine tenths of the crimes imputed to him are inventions — forgeries of the clergy and scandal-loving people. " " Would it were so ! " sighed Dante, " at any rate where he appears upon the stage in my romance he has not yet become the mon- ster which the chronicle, be it true or false, pictures him to be ; his cruelty is only begin- ning to show itself in certain lines about the mouth. " The Monk's Wedding, ij " A commanding figure, " exclaimed Can- grande enthusiastically, desiring to bring him more palpably before the audience, " with black hair bristling round his great brow, as you paint him, in your Twelth Canto, among the inhabitants of Hell. But whence have you taken this dark head ? " " It is yours, " replied Dante boldly, and Cangrande felt himself flattered. " And the rest of the characters in my story, " he said with smiling menace, " I will also take from among you, if you will allow me, " and he turned toward his list- eners, " I borrow your names only, leaving untouched what is innermost; for that I cannot read. " My outward self I lend you gladly, " re- sponded the Princess, whose indifference was beginning to yield. A murmur of intense excitement now ran through the courtly circle, and "Thy story, Dante, thy story ! " was heard on all sides. " Here it is," he said, and began : — " Where in a slender bow the course of the Brenta nears the city of Padua without i^f The Monk's Wedding. touching it, there once glided over its swift but quiet waters, to the soft sound of flutes, a barque adorned with wreaths, and over-laden with a gay band in festal array. It was bear- ing homeward, on a lovely summer after- noon, the bride of Umberto Vicedomini. The Paduan had sought his betrothed in a cloister situated on the upper course of the river, to which, according to an old city cus- tom, maidens of rank retired before their nuptials for pious exercises. The lady was sitting on a purple cushion in the middle of the barque between her bridegroom and his three beautiful boys. Umberto Vice- domini had lost the wife of his youth five years before when the pest raged in Padua, and, although, still in the vigor of manhood, had but reluctantly consented to a second union to gratify his sick and aged father, who daily urged it upon him. With suspended oars the barque quietly floated onward at the will of the stream, the boatmen in an undertone accompanying the soft music with song. Suddenly there came a pause. All eyes were directed to the rioht bank of the river where a tall rider was C5 The Monk's Wedding, iß reining in his steed ; with a majestic wave of the hand, he saluted the company in the boat. A thrill of dismay passed from one to the other up and down the rows of seats, the oarsmen snatched the red caps from their heads, and the entire party including Diana, her bridegroom, and the boys, rose to do reverence to Ezzelin, the ruler. With up- lifted arms quicHy rttrowing themselves into all possible attitudes of humility and sub- servience they turned toward the strand with such violence that the boat lost its balance, swayed for an instant to the right and capsized A shriek of terror, a whirlpool, then a void in the middle of the stream filled from time to time with heads suddenly emerging only to sink again, or with the floating wreaths which had adorned the unlucky barque. Help Vv'as not far distant. A little lower down on the river was a small fishing-port where horses and litters had been waiting to convey the now drowning party to their homes in Padua. The two first boats which started to their relief approached rapidly from opposite di- rections. In the one, beside an old dwarf with shaggy beard, stood Ezzelin the tyrant i6 The Monk's Wedding. of Padua, and the innocent cause of this catas- trophe. In the other, and coming from the left shore, a young monk, with a boatman, who, at the moment of the accident was about to row the dusty pilgrim across the stream. Between them on the top of the water was now seen a mass of blonde hair, which the monk, kneeling, seized with out- stretched arm, while the boatman held the boat steady with all his strength on the other side. By means of a thick braid the monk at last raised a head with eyes shut fast, and assisted by Ezzelin, who was at his side, dragged a woman, in heavily dripping gar- ments, out of the current. The tyrant had sprung from his own boat into the other, and now contemplated the lifeless face before him, which seemed to wear an expression of both defiance and unhappiness. Ezzelin's gaze betrayed a species of satisfaction — perhaps at the repose of death, or perhaps at the grand features before him. "Do you know her, Astorre?" he asked of the monk, and when the latter shook his head, Ezzelin continued, " See ! it is the wife of your brother." The Monk^s Wedding, /pr The monk cast a shy pitiful look on the still face under which the heavy eyes slowly began to open. "Take her to the shore," commanded Ez- zelin, but the monk gave her in charge to his boatman, saying, "I must seek for my brother until I find Jiim. I will help thee, monk, said the tyrant,' yet I doubt if it is possible to save him ; I saw him as he clasped his arms tightly around his boys and with the three clinging to him sank heavily into the depths below." Meanwhile the Brenta had become covered with boats of every description. The men Y\'ere fishing with hooks, poles, angles and nets, while towering over all the workers, or bending over the burdens raised, was the tall form of the governor. "Come, Monk," he said finally, "there is nothing more here for thee to do. Umberto and his boys have now lain too long in the depths to be brought back again to life. The current has borne him far away ; it will lay them all on the shore when it is tired of them." "But do you see the tents there — yonder } i8 The Monk's Wedding. They were pitched on the strand for the re- ception of the wedding guests, but are now filled with their lifeless, or apparently life- less bodies, surrounded by mourning rela- tives and servants. Go, Monk, and fulfil thy ofiice. Comfort the living ; bury the dead." As he spoke the monk was already moving along the shore, and soon disappeared from sio-ht. Diana — bride and widow of his o brother in the midst of a crowd of friends, now came up to him — disconsolate indeed, but restored to her senses. The heavy hair still dripped, but upon quite a different gar- ment, for a compassionate peasant woman in the tent had taken possession of the wedding robe and given in exchange her own dress. "Pious brother," said she to Astorre, "I am left behind ; the litter intended for me in the confusion has been taken away to bear another to the city, either of the dead or the living. I pray you go with me to the house of my father-in-law, who is also thy father." The young widow deceived herself. 'Twas not the panic and confusion which had led the servants of the elder Vicedomini to aban- don her, but sheer cowardice and superstition. The Monk's Wedding, ig They feared to take the widow to the pas- sionate old man, and with her the tidings of the extinction of his house. The monk, seeing many of his brother- hood engaged in acts of mercy, both within and without the tents, acceded to her re- quest. "Yes, we will go," he said, and they turned into a road leading to the city, whose domes and slender bell tow^ers soared into the azure heavens before their gaze. The way was crowded with hundreds of people hurrying to and from the strand. The two walked on silently in the middle of the road, often separated, but always finding each other again, and had reached the workmen's quarter. There the people were standing everywhere either talking in a loud tone, or whispering in groups — for the accident had brought the whole population to their feet. With sympathetic curiosity they gazed at the pair accidentally brought together — the one having lost a brother, the other a bride- groom. The Monk and Diana were familiarly known to every child in Padua, — Astorre, if he did not pass for a Saint, was yet reputed 20 The Monk's Wedding, a model monk ; he might have been called " The monk of Padua," as being the one most honored and revered by its inhabitants and with reason, for he had bravely, yes, joyfully, resigned the privileges of his high rank, and the boundless possessions of his family, and exposed his life without stint, in times of the plague or other public dangers. Moreover, with his chestnut-brown curly hair, soft, beaming eyes and aristocratic bearing, he was an attractive man — such as people love to picture their saints. Diana was, in her way, not less talked about. Her well-developed, powerful physi- que excited far greater admiration than more delicate charms ever do amongst the people. Her mother had been a German, a Hohen- stauffen, as some asserted, though, to be sure, only by blood, not legitimately. Germany and Italy, like good sisters, shared the credit of this grand figure. -4 However curt and reserved Diana might have appeared to her equals she was always accessible to those beneath her. She en- couraged the poor people to consult her about their business matters, gave them clear The Monk's Wedding, 21 and concise information, and kissed the rag- gedest of the children. She spent and gave away money without scruple or hesitation, perhaps, because her father, the old Pizzi- guerra, the richest Paduan, after Vicedomini, was at the same time the most vulgar miser, and Diana was ashamed of her father's vice. The loving people in their hours of gossip at taverns and elsewhere, married her every month to some one of the distinguished Paduans, but the reality did not respond to these pious wishes. Three obstacles impeded a marriao-e settlement : Diana's hio^h-arched and often frowninsf brows — her father's hard closed fists, and the blind attachment • of her brother Germano to the tyrant whose possible destruction would involve the faithful servant, and all his family. At last Umberto Vicedomini was betrothed to her, without love, as the gossips said ; — and now he lay in the Brenta ! Meanwhile the two were so absorbed in their natural grief that they neither heard nor heeded the eager talk which went on at their heels. Not that the bare fact of the monk and the lady walking together gave 22 The MonMs Wedding. any occasion for remark. It seemed quite in order since it was the monk's duty to com- fort her, and since they must both go the same way; for were they not the most appro- priate messengers to bear the sad tidings to the old Vicedomini ? The women had lamented that Diana should be forced to marry a man who ac- cepted her merely as a kind of substitute for his dear departed wife, and pitied her in the same breath for having lost this man be- fore the marriage. The men, on the other hand, discussed with Q-esticulations and violence the burninof question which the drowning in the Brenta of the four heirs of the first Paduan family had opened. The wealth of the Vicedomini was proverbial — the head of the family, as shrewd as he was able and energetic, had succeeded in remaining on good footing with the tyrant, four times excommunicated, and the church, which had put him under the ban, — had refused all his life to busy himself even in the slightest degree with political matters, but had devoted a tenacious and magnifxcent strenGTth of will to the one aim of increasins; The Monk's Wedding, 2^ the prosperity and worldly possessions of his family. Now this was annihilated. His eldest son and his grandchildren lay in the Brenta. His second and third sons had in this same unlucky year, only a few months before, vanished from the earth. The tyrant had claimed the first and left him behind on one of his wild battlefields. The other, of whom the unprejudiced father had made a merchant In Venetian style, had been cru- cified by pirates on a coast in the Orient, his ransom having arrived too late. His fourth was Astorre — the monk. That with his dying breath the father would attempt to free Astorre from his monastic vows, the quick-witted Paduans did not for a mo- ment question. Whether he would succeed and the monk consent was now matter of dispute In the excited little streets. Finally the strife became so noisy and fierce that even the grief-absorbed monk could no longer remain In doubt as to who was meant by the "egll" and "ella" which were heard on all sides. For this reason, and more for his companion's sake than for his own, he turned into a grass-grown path his 24 The Monk's Wedding. sandals knew full well, for It led along the damp decaying walls which surrounded his cloister. Here it was cool enough to make them shiver, but the dreadful news had reached even this secluded spot. Through the open windows of the refectory, built into the thick wall, sounded the clatter of plates at the belated dinner; the catastrophe had disturbed times and hours all over the city. . The conversation of the brothers at the table w^as so unusually loud and disputa- tious — so full of "inibus" and "atibus" (the monks spoke in Latin), that he knew they were discussing the same problem with the people in the streets. And though perhaps he did not quite take in the substance of their talk, still he could not help knowing of whom they talked. But what he did'^is- n cover was In the midst of his sentence Dante gave a sidelong glance at the aristocratic young priest who had concealed himself behind his neighbor. " Two burning hollow eyes, peering at him and the woman who walked by his side. They belonged to an unfortunate creature, The Monk's Wedding, 2^ a wretched monk, named Sera^IoDr-ivho was / consuming himself body and soul in the cloister. With his fevered imagination he had instantly conceived that the Brother Astorre would now no lono-er be oblis^ed to toil and fast, denying himself according to the rule of St. Francis ; but that by the humor of Death he was restored to all his worldly joys and possessions — and he en- vied him madly. He had been waiting for his return home that he might study his own face and read in it what the monk had resolved upon. His eyes devoured the woman and followed her steps: Astorre with his sister-in-lav/ finally turned into a square surrounded by four city-castles, where thev entered a low door leadino: to the most distinguished among them. Upon a stone seat in the courtyard two persons w^ere resting, one a fresh young German clad in armor from head to foot, the other a grey- headed Saracen. The German who was stretched out asleep had laid his blond curly head in the lap of the unbeliever, w^ho likewise slumbering, nodded his snow- white beard in fatherly fashion over him. 26 The Monk's Wedding, The two belonged to Ezzelin's body guard, which in imitation of his father-in-law, the Emperor Frederick, was composed of an equal number of Germans and Saracens. The tyrant was in the palace. He had thought it his duty to visit the old Vice- domini. In fact Astorre and Diana now heard upon the winding stairs the few quiet words in which Ezzelin was attempting to argue with the old man, who wholly beside himself, was weeping and cursing in a loud voice. They remained standing at the entrance to the hall among the crowd of pale menials who were trembling in every limb. The old man had heaped upon them the most violent oaths, and doubling up his fist chased them all out of his room because they had brought the unlucky tidings so tardily and then hardly dared to stammer them out. Added to this they had heard the step of the terrible tyrant in the house. It was forbidden to announce Ezzelin's ap- proach anywhere on pain of death — unhin- dered like a spirit he entered houses and chambers. "And you inform me of this so coolly, The Monk's Wedding. 2j cruel man," stormed out the Vicedomini in his despair, " as you would tell the loss of a horse, or a harvest ! You have murdered the four — who but you ? What was the need of your riding to the strand precisely at-'- that hour ? Why should you greet them upon the Brenta ? You did it to injure me. Do you hear ? " " Fate," replied Ezzelin." '' Fate ! " yelled the old man, "fate — star- gazing — conjurations and conspiracies — heads cut off — women flung from the pave- ment below — young men dropping from their horses, in your crazy fool-hardy battles, pierced through with a hundred arrows : — this is your age and rule, Ezzelin, you cursed damned one ! You drag us all along your bloody path ; all life, and even death itself, near you, is violent and unnatural. Nobody meets his end any longer as a repentant Christian in his bed." " You do me wrong," said the tyrant, " I have nothing to do with the church, it is true ; — 'tis a matter of indifference to me — but I have never prevented you and yours from alliance with it ; this you know, or 28 . The MonHs Wedding, you would not dare to exchange letters with the Holy See. Why are you twisting that paper in your hands to conceal from me the Papal seal ? An indulgence ? — a letter ? Give it to me ! verily a letter. May I read it ? Do you allow me ? " " ' Thy patron the Holy Father writes to thee that should thy lineage become extinct up to the fourth and last, the monk — he, ipso facto, would be released from his vow if with free will and of his own free choice be returned to the world.' Cunning foe ! How many ounces of gold has this parch- ment cost you ? " " Dost thou dare to scoff at me ? " howled the Yicedomini. " What remains to me but the monk, after the deaths of mv second and third son ? For whom have I amassed and hoarded up ? For the worms } for thee .^ Would'st thou rob me ? No } Then help me, good father." (Ezzelin, not then excom- municated, had stood godfather to the third Vicedomini boy — the same who later sacri- ficed himself for him upon the battlefield) ; " help me to persuade the monk to return to the world and take a wife — command The Monk's Wedding. 2g him to do it, thou all powerful ! Give him to me in place of the son whom thou hast V^ slain ; do this for me, if you love me." " This is no concern of mine," answered the tyrant, without the slightest emotion. " If he is a true monk, as I believe he is, why should he change his profession ? That the blood of the Vicedomini may not be exhausted ? Is the life of the world then dependent on it ? Are the Vicedomini a ne- cessity ? " At this the old man grew frantic with rage. " Thou wicked, cruel one — mur- derer of my children, I see through it. Thou — thou would'st be my heir and carry on thy mad campaigns with my money ! " Just then he caught sight of his daughter-in-law, who had pressed through the crowd of servants in advance of the monk and was standing on the threshold. Spite of his physical weak- ness he rushed towards her stasfs^erinor • seized and wrenched her hands apart, as if to make her responsible for the misfortune^ which had befallen them. " Where is ni}^ son, Diana ? " he gasped out. " He lies in the Brenta," she answered sadly, and her blue eyes grew dim. JO The Monk's Wedding. " Where are my three grandchildren ? " " In the Brenta," she repeated. "And you bring me yourself as a gift — you are pre- sented to me ? " And the old man laughed discord an tly- " Would that the Almighty," she said slowly, "had drawn me deeper under the weaves, and that thy children stood here in my stead ! " She was silent ; then bursting into sudden anger, " Does my presence in- sult you, and am I a burden to you ? " Impute the blame to him (pointing to the monk). He drew me from the water w^hen I was already dead and restored me to life." The old man now^ for the first time per- ceived his son, and collecting himself quickly, exhibited the powerful will w^hich his bitter grief seemed to have steeled rather than lamed. " Really — he drew you out of the Brenta ? H'm ! Strange. The ways of God are mar- vellous ! " He grasped the monk by the shoulder and arm at once, as if to take possession of him body and soul, and dragged him along to The Monk'^ Wedding, ji his great chair, Into which the old man fell without relaxing his pressure on the arm of his unresisting son. Diana followed, knelt down on the other side of the chair, and leaned her head upon the arm of It, so that only the coil of her blond hair was visible — like some inanimate object. Opposite the group sat Ezzelin, his right hand upon the rolled-up letter, like a commander-in-chief resting upon his staff. " i\Iy son — my own one," whimpered the dying man, with a tenderness in which truth and cunning mingled, " my last and only consolation. Thou staff and stay of my old age, thou wilt not crumble like dust under my trembling fingers. Thou must under- stand," he went on, already In a colder and more practical tone, " that as things are it is not possible for thee to remain longer in the cloister. It is also according to the canons, my son, is it not, that a monk whose father is sick unto death, or impoverished, should withdraw in order to nurse the author of his days, or to till his father's acres } But I need thee even more pressingly ; thy brothers and nephews are gone, and now thou must j2 The MonMs Wedding, keep the life-torch of our house burning. Thou art a httle flame I have kindled, and I cannot suffer it to glimmer and die out in a narrow cell. Know one thing ; " — he had read in the warm brown eyes a genuine sympathy, and the reverent bearing of the monk appeared to promise blind obedience. *' I am more ill than you suppose, am I not, Issacher ? " He turned to look a spare little man in the face, who, with phial and spoon in his hands, had stept behind the chair of the old Vicedomini, and now bowed his white head in afflrmation : — "I travel toward the river; but I tell thee, Astorre, if my wish is not granted, thy father will refuse to step into Charon's boat, and will sit cowering on the twilight strand." The monk stroked the feverish hand of the old man with tenderness, but answered quietly in two words — " My vows ! " Ezzelin unfolded the letter. " Thy vows," said the old man in a wheedling tone — " loosened strings ; filed-away chains. Make a movement and they fall. The Holy Church, to which thy obedience is due, has declared them null and void, There it stands written," . The Monks Wedding, jj and his thin finger pointed to the parchment with the Pope's seal. The monk approached the governor, took the letter from him respectfully, and read it through, closely watched the while by four eyes. Completely dazed, he took one step backward, as if he were standing on the top of a tower and all at once saw the rampart give wa}^ Ezzelin seized the reeling man by the arm with the curt question, " To whom did you make your vows, monk, — to yourself or to the church } " " To both, of course," shrieked the old man angrily ; " these are cursed subtleties. Take care, son, or he will reduce us, Vicedomini, to beggar}^" Without a trace of feelinsr or resentment, Ezzelin laid his right hand on his beard and swore — " If Vicedomini dies, the monk here inherits his property, and should the famuly become extinct with him if he love me and his native city, he shall found a hospital of such size and grandeur that the hundred cities (he meant the Italian) will envy us. Now, godfather, having cleared myself from j^ The Mo7ik's Wedding, the charge of rapacity, may I put to the monk a few questions ? — have I your permis- sion ? " The fury of the old man now rose to such a pitch as to bring on a fit of convulsions, but even then he did not release the arm of the monk. Issacher put carefully to the pale lips a spoon filled with some strong smelling es- sence. The sufferer turned his head away with an effort. " Leave me in peace," he groaned ; " you are the governor's physician as well," and closed his eyes again. The Jew looked at the tyrant as if to beg forgiveness for this suspicion. " Will he re- turn to life } " asked Ezzelin. " I think so," replied the Jew, " but not for long ; I fear he will not live to see the sun go down." The tyrant took advantage of the moment to speak to the monk who was exerting himself to the utmost to restore his father. "Answer me, Astorre," he began, while he buried the outspread fingers of his right hand, a favorite gesture, in his beard — " how much have the three vows cost you which you took some ten years ago ; for I The Monk^s Wedding, jß take It you are now about thirty? The monk bowed assent, then raised his frank clear eyes and said without hesitation : "The two first, poverty and obedience, nothing — I had no desire for possessions, and it is easy for me to obey." He paused and blushed. The tyrant was pleased with this simple manliness. " Did your father compel or per- suade you to choose this profession ? " " No," he replied ;"for three or four generations, as the family history records, the last son of our house has been a priest or monk, perhaps because we needed an intercessor in Heaven, — or it may have been considered one way to preserve our power on earth ; — whatever the reason, it was a time-honored custom. I knew my destiny from childhood, and it was not repugnant to me. No restraint was ex- ercised over me." "And how about that third?" He meant the third vow ; Astorre understood him. Again blushing, but this time faintly, he replied " It was not easy for me, still I con- quered, like other monks who have good ad- visers, and such I had in St. Antonius," he added reverently. j6 The Monk's Wedding, •' This meritorious saint, as you know, my Lords, lived for some years in the Fran- ciscan cloisters at Padua," explained Dante. " Why shouldn't we know," jokingly retorted one of his hearers ; " haven't we all paid our respects to the relic swimming about in the cloister pond yonder? I mean the pike, which once heard a sermon of the saints, was converted, renounced animal food, kept hence- forth to the strait and narrow path, and at an advanced age remained a strict vegetarian." He choked down the end of his nonsense, for Dante frowned upon him and continued. " What did he advise you ? " asked Ezzelin. " To take up my profession in a simple straightforward way, as I would any other service, for instance, military service, which also requires obedient muscles, self-denial, and the strength to endure hardships of various kinds, although a true warrior does even feel them to be such ; to till the earth in the sweat of my brow, eat moderately, fast moderately, confess neither maidens nor young women, live in the sight of God and worship His Mother not more passionately than the breviary prescribes." The Monk's Wedding, J7 The tyrant smiled, then extended his right hand toward the monk in encouragement or blessing and said, " Fortunate one, thou hast a star ; with thee, to-day follows naturally upon yesterday, and will unawares usher in the morrow. Thou art something, and that not insignificant, for thou fulfillest the office of charity, which I neglect, however well I may perform a different one. If you should enter the world, which has its own laws, though it is too late for you to learn them, your clear star would become a mere fire-rocket, which after a few foolish leaps, would explode, hiss- ing into darkness, scoffed at by the heavenly powers. One thing more, and this I say, being what I am, the Lord of Padua. Thy character has elevated my people and set them an example of self-denial. The poorest was comforted by remembering he had seen thee sharing his scanty food and doing the same hard daily work. If you throw aside the cowl as an aristocrat, wed a proud lady, and draw with full hands from the wealth of your house, you will commit a robbery on the people, who had taken possession of you as one of their own ; you will create discontent j8 The Monk's Wedding. and dissatisfaction, and it would not surprise me if a train of evils should follow in their wake. These thino's are linked too^ether!" " Padua, and its ruler, cannot dispense with thee, the eyes of the multitude are drawn to thee, and thou hast more, or cer- tainly a nobler, spirit than thy low-born brethren. If the people, in mad frenzy, should threaten to murder this man," and he pointed to Issacher, " for instance, as they did in the time of the last plague, because he brought them relief, who would defend him against their insane fury until I could arrive, and command them to halt ? " " Issacher, help me to convince the monk," and Ezzelin turned to the physician with a cruel smile, " you see that even for your sake he must not be allowed to lay aside his cowl." " Prince, " whispered the Jew, " under thy sceptre this irrational scene, for which you so properly exacted a bloody penalty, will scarcely be repeated, and therefore on my account whose faith extols, as God's greatest blessing, the perpetuity of race, this illustri- ous Lord (he already substituted this title for that of Reverend) is no longer to remain unmarried." The Monk's Wedding, jg Ezzelln smiled at the subtlety of the Jew. " And whither do your own thoughts tend, Monk?" he inquired. " They are unchanged and persistent, yet, God forgive me, I would that my father never woke again, that I should be forced to oppose him cruelly. If he had but received extreme unction!" He kissed passionately the cheek of the fainting man, who thereupon returned to conscious- ness. Heaving a deep sigh, he raised his weary eyelids, and from under the gray bushy brows directed toward the monk a supplica- ting look. "How is it?" he asked, "to what hast thou doomed me, dearest — to heaven or to hell ?" " Father," prayed Astorre in a tremulous voice," thy time has come, only a short hour remains, banish all earthly cares and inter- ests, think of thy soul." " See, thy priests " (he meant those of the parish church), " are gathered together waiting to perform the last sacrament." It was so ! The door of the adjacent room had softly opened in which the faint glimmer of lighted candles was perceptible, whilst a_ ^o The Monk's Wedding. choir was Intoning a prelude, and the gentle vibration of a bell became audible. Now the old man, who already felt his knees sinking into Lethe's flood, clung to the monk, as once St. Peter to the Saviour on the Sea of Gennesareth. " Thou wilt do it for my sake ? " he stammered. " If I could ; if I dared," sighed the monk. " By all that is holy, my father, think on eter- nity, leave the earthly. Thine hour is come ! " This veiled refusal kindled the last spark of life in the old man to a blaze. " Disobe- dient, ungrateful one," he cried. Astorre beckoned to the priests. " By all the devils, spare me your kneadings and salvings," raved the dying man, " I have nothing to gain, I am already like one of the damned, and must remain so in the midst of paradise, if my son wantonly repudiates me, and destroys my germ of life." The horror-struck monk, thrilled to the soul by this frightful blasphemy, pictured his father doomed to eternal perdition. (This was his thought and he was as firmly con- vinced of the truth of it as I should have been in his place). He fell down on his The Monk's Wedding, ^/ knees before the old man, and in utter de- spair, bursting into tears, said : " Father, I beseech thee, have pity on thyself, and on me!" " Let the crafty one go his way," whispered the tyrant. The monk did not hear him. Again he gave the astounded priests a sign and the litany for the dying was about to begin. At this the old man doubled himself up like a refractory child, and shook his head. " Let the sly fox go where he must," ad- monished Ezzelin in a louder tone. " Father, Father," sobbed the monk, his whole soul dissolved in pity. " Illustrious Signor and Christian Brother," said the priest with unsteady voice, "are you in the frame of mind to meet your Creator and Saviour? " The old man took no notice. " Are you firm as a believer in the Holy Trinity? " answer me, Signor," said the priest, and then turned pale as a sheet, for " Cursed and denied be it for ever and ever," fell from the dying man's lips. " Cursed and — " " No more," cried the monk springing to his feet. " Father, I resign myself to thy ^^2 The Monk's Wedding, will. Do with me what you choose if only you will not throw yourself into the flames of Hell." The old man gasped as after some terrible exertion ; then gazed about him with an air ^. J. of relief, J_ had almost said of pleasure. Grop- ing, he seized the blonde hair of Diana, lifted her up from her knees, took her right hand, which she did not refuse, opened the cramped hand of the monk and laid the two to- ^ gether : — " Binding, in presence of the most Holy Sacrament! " he exclaimed triumphantly, and blessed the pair. The monk did not gainsay it, while Diana closed her eyes. " Now quick. Reverend Fathers, there is need of haste I think, and I am now in a Christian frame of mind." The monk and his affianced bride would fain have stepped behind the train of priests. " Stay," muttered the dying man, " stay where m}^ comforted eyes may look upon you until they close in death." Astorre and Diana were thus with clasped hands obliged to wait and watch the expiring glance of the ob- stinate old man. The Monk's Wedding, ^j The latter murmured a short confession, received the last sacrament and breathed his final breath, as they were anointing his feet, while the priests uttered in his already deaf ears those sublime words, " Rise, Christian Soul." The dead face bore the unmistake- able expression of triuniphant cunning. t The tyrant sat, whilst all around were upon their knees, and with calm attention observed the performance of the sacred of- fice, much like a savant studying on a sar- cophagus the representation of some relig- ious rites of an ancient people. He now approached the dead man and closed his eyes. He then turned to Diana. "Noble Lady," said he, " let us go home, your parents, even if assured of your safety, will long to see you." " Prince, I thank you, and will follow," she answered, but she did not withdraw her hand from that of the monk, whose eyes until then she had avoided. Now she looked her betrothed full in the face, and said in a deep, but melodious voice, whilst her cheeks glowed : " My Lord and Master, we ^/ The Monk's Wedding, \/could not let your father's soul perish ; thus have I become yours. Hold your faith to me, better than to the cloister. Your brother did not love me ; forgive me for saying it, I speak the simple truth. You will have in me a good and obedient wife, but I have two peculiarities, which you must treat with indulgence. I am hot with anger if any attack is made on my honor or my rights, and I am most exacting in regard to the fulfilment of a promise once made Even as a child I w^as so. I have few wishes, and desire nothing unreasonable, but when a thing has once been shown and promised me, I insist upon possessing it, and I lose my faith, and resent injustice more than other women, if the promise I have received is not faithfully kept. But how can I allow myself to talk in this way to you, my Lord, whom I scarcely know ? I have done. Farewell, my husband, grant me nine days to mourn your brother." At this she slowly released her hand from his and disappeared with the tyrant. Meanwhile, the band of priests had borne away the corpse to place it 'upon a bier in the palace chapel, and to bless it. The Äfonk's Wedding, ^5 Astorre was once more alone, in his for- feited monk's dress, which now covered a breast filled with repentance. A host of servants who had listened, and sufficiently comprehended the strange proceeding, ap- proached their new master shyly, and in submissive attitudes, being perplexed and intimidated, less by the change of masters than by the supposed sacrilege of the broken vow, for the reading of the papal letter had not reached their ears. But how could As- torre force himself to grieve for the loss of his father? He had recovered the strength of his own will, and the suspicion had stolen into his mind, nay, the maddening certainty had overwhelmed him that the dying man had taken unfair_ advantage of his pity and deceived his simple faith. He discovered in the despair of the old man the last resource of cunning, and in his mad blasphemies, a crafty purpose on the threshold of death. He next turned his thoughts, with unwil- lingness, even aversion, to the wife who had fallen to him. The idea of loving her, not from his own heart, but as his dead brother's proxy, chimed in with his perverted monkish ^^6 The Monk's Wedding, reasoning, although his healthy honest na- ture revolted against such a niggardly ex- pedient. Now that he considered her his ovv'n, he could not repress a certain amaze- ment at his wife's having addressed him in such concise terms, and at the frank, uncom- promising honesty with which she adjusted her claims. Truly a sturdier and more sub- stantial being than the ideal woman of the legend ! He had imagined women gentler. Suddenly Astorre was reminded of the contradiction between his monastic dress and all these feelins^s and reflections. He was ashamed of his cowl, and it grew irksome to him. " Bring me worldly garments," he ordered, and the officious servants hastened to obey his wish. He was soon dressed in a suit which had been his brother's ; they having been about the same height. At this moment his father's fool, named Gocciola, threw himself at his feet, and would do him homage, not, however, like the others, to ask the continuance of his service, but to pray for dismissal and permission to change his profession ; he said he was weary of the world, and it would ill become his gray The Monk's Wedding, ^/ hair to go Into the next hfe in cap and bells. Thus wailing and whining, he took posses- sion of the monk's cast-off garments, which the servants had not dared to touch. Then his inconstant brain turned a complete somer- sault, and he said greedily, " I think I'll wait and eat Amarella once more before I bid .-f farewell to the world and its delusions. We shall not have to wait long here, I think, for a wedding." And he licked the corners of his mouth with his flabby tongue. Then bending one knee before the Monk, he shook ^ his bells and sprang away, dragging rope and cowl behind him. Amarella, or Amare, Dante explained, was ,. the name given by the Paduans to their wedding-cake, on account of its flavor of bitter almonds, and also in graceful allusion to the verb of the first conjugation. Here he paused, and, shading brow and eyes with 'v \^ his hand, was evidently considering how to go on with the romance. During the interim, the Majordomo of the Prince, an Alsatian named Burcardo, with measured steps, ceremonious bows, and pro- fuse apologies for thus disturbing the enter- ^8 The Monk's Wedding, tainment, presented himself before Can- o^rande to ask for commands about some do- mestic matters. The Germans were in that day no rare apparition at the GhibelUne courts of Italy ; indeed they were sought and preferred to the natives, because of their honesty and quickness in apprehending cer- emonies and customs. When Dante raised his head again, he saw the Alsatian, and heard the dire havoc he was making among the Italian consonants, which, while it amused the courtiers, offended the sensitive ear of the poet. His eyes lingered with evident pleasure on the two young men, Ascanio and the mail-clad knight, and at last, thoughtfully on the ladies, the princess Diana, whose marble cheeks were now suffused with a faint flush of animation, and Antiope, the friend of Cangrande, a pretty sprightly creature. He then con- tinued: — " Behind the city-castle of the Vicedomini there formerly spread (though to-day the il- lustrious race has so long been extinct, that the plot of ground has w^holly changed its character) a district of such extent as to fur- The Monk^s Wedding. ^p nish pasturage for cattle, preserves for stag and deer, ponds full of fish, deep shady woods and sunny vineyards. On a brilliant morn- ing, seven days after the funeral, the monk, Astorre, was sitting in the dark shade of a cedar, with his back against the trunk, and the points of his shoes stretching out into the burning sunlight. (This title of " Monk " he retained among the Romans to the end of his short pilgrimage upon earth.) He was lying, rather than sitting, opposite a fountain, where, from the mouth of a great stone face, gushed a cool flood. As he was dreaming or thinking, I know not which, two young men, one in armor, the other in a handsome travelling costume, sprang from their dust-covered steeds, and- with rapid steps crossed the hot, sunny square in front of the palace. Ascanio and Germano, such were the rider's names, were favorite^ of the Governor, and had been youthful companions of the monk, with whom, in brotherly fashion, they had studied and played up to his fif- teenth year, or the beginning of his novitiate. Ezzelin had sent them with despatches to his brother-in-law. Emperor Frederick. The two 50 The Monk's Wedding. were on their way back to the tyrant bearing replies to important questions, and added to these, the news of the day, and a copy, made in the Imperial Chancery, of a pastoral letter addressed to the Christian Clergy, wherein the Holy Father accused the great-minded Emperor, in the face of the world, of the most utter godlessness. Although entrusted with this portentous document, as well as other weighty missives, the two could not find it in their hearts to rush past the home of their old play-fellow, which was directly en ro2ite to the tyrant's castle, without stop- ^ ping to offer him a word of sympathy. At the last inn before reaching Padua, where, without leaving the stirrup, they had let the horses drink, they had heard from the gos- siping landlord of the great city disaster and the still greater city scandal, of the loss of the wedding-barque, and the discarded cowl of the monk with all the attendant circum- stances, except that of uniting the hands of Diana and Astorre, which had not yet been made public. Indissoluble are the bonds ^hich chain us to the companions of our ^ childhood. Startled by the strange fate of The Monk's Wedding, 5/ Astorre, the two could not rest until they had beheld, with their own eyes, a friend thus restored to the world and to them. During many years they had seen the monk only by chance in the street, where they greeted him with a kindly but somewhat distant bow made the deeper by a sincere reverence. Gocciola, whom they found in the court of the palace munching a biscuit, as he sat swinging his legs over a bit of wall, led them into the garden. As they strolled along, the fool entertained the gentlemen not with the tragic fate of the house, but with his own affairs, which seemed to him of more impor- tance. He said that he was fervently striving for a blessed end, and swallowed the rest of the biscuit without chew^ing it with his loose teeth, so that it all but choked him. The grotesque faces he made up, together with his maudlin talk about living in a cell, caused Ascanio to break into such merry peals of laughter as would have driven every cloud out of the sky if the day had not revelled for its own delio^ht in all the crlowinor colors. Ascanio did not hesitate to banter the ^2 The Monk's Wedding, " Little Drop " in order the sooner to be rid of this annoying mortal. " Poor fellow," he began, " you will not gain the cell, for, be- tween ourselves, the tyrant has cast longing eyes on you. Let me tell you ; he has four fools, the Stoic, the Epicurean, the Platonic and the Skeptic, as he calls them. These four, when the grave tyrant desires to unbend, place themselves, at a sign from him, in the four corners of a hall, on whose vaulted ceiling the planets and heavenly constella- tions are pictured. My Uncle in everyday dress steps into the middle of the room, claps his hands, and the philosophers with a skip exchange corners. Day before yesterday, the Stoic died weeping and moaning, for the insatiable creature had devoured many pounds of vermicelli. My Uncle hinted to me, cursorily, that he thinks of replacing him and will entreat the Monk, your new master, to grant him you, as a contribution from his inheritance. Oh, Gocciola ! so the matter stands. Ezzelin is going to try to capture you ! Who knows whether he may not be right upon your heels at this moment '^. This was in allusion to the ubiquity of the The Monk's Wedding. * jj tyrant which kept the Paduans in a constant state of alarm. Gocciola uttered a shriek, as if the hand of the mighty one had fallen upon his shoulder, looked around trembling, and though there was nothing behind him but his own little shadow, with chattering teeth fled away to some hiding place. " I erase the fools of Ezzelin," said Dante, '^^ with a gesture of his hand, as if he held a pen and were writing a romance, instead of telling it. " This feature is untrue, Ascanio lied. It is nowise conceivable that a nature so serious and grand as Ezzelin's could have found pleasure in feeding fools, or listening to their silly chatter." This was a hit the Florentine directed at his host, on whose mantle Gocciola sat leering and grinning at the poet. Cangrande did not appear to heed it, but secretly promised himself to pay Dante back, with interest, at the first opportunity. ^ Satisfied, and almost gaily, Dante con- tinued his narration. " Soon the friends discovered the uncowled monk leaning against the trunk of a pine." ß4 ^'^^ Monk's Weddmg, " A cedar, Dante," corrected the Princess, who had listened with increasing attention. "A cedar, sunning the tips of his feet. He did not observe his guests coming up on either side, so deeply was he absorbed in his empty — or was it over-burdened.'^ — thoughts. Ascanio stooped, picked a blade of 2:rass and tickled the monk's nose until he sneezed three times lustily. Astorre warmly grasped the hands of his youthful playfellows, and drew them left and right down upon the grass beside him. " Now what do you say to it all } " he asked in a tone rather timid than defiant. " Well, first my hearty praise of your prior and your cloister " laughed Ascanio, " for keeping you so fresh ; you look younger than either of us. To be sure, the trig-fitting dress and smooth chin may have some share in this rejuvena- tion. Do you know that you are a handsome man } Here, dropt under this huge cedar you are like the first man, by God created thirty years of age, as the learned assert, and I," he went on with an artless expression, as he saw the monk blush at his audacity, " I am truly the last to blame you that you have The Monk's Wedding, 55 freed yourself from the monk's hood, for to preserve his race is the instinct of every Hving thing." " It was not my wish, nor my voluntary decision," the monk acknowledged truthfully. " Reluctantly I yielded to the will of my dying father." " Really !" Ascanio said, and smiled. " Do not tell this, Astorre, to an3^body but to us who love you ; to others this lack of indepen- dence would seem ridiculous. I pray you take care, Astorre, that in developing the man out of the monk you do not overstep the boundaries of good taste. The difficult transition should be made by delicate grada- tions. Accept counsel ; travel a year, perhaps, visit the Court of the Emperor ; messengers are constantly running from thence to Padua and back. Allow yourself to be sent by Ezzelin to Palermo. You will there become acquainted with tlie most perfect Knight, and a man wholly free from prejudice. I mean our Frederick the Second; and you will there also be brought to understand women, and wean yourself from the monkish habit of either disparaging them too much, ^6 The Monk's Wedding, or idolizing them. The character of the ruler colors court and city. Life here in Padua under my uncle, the tyrant, has grown wild, extravagant, arbitrary, and gives you a false picture of the world. Palermo, when under the most humane of all rulers, play and earnest, duty and pleasure, loyalty and fickleness, good faith and prudent mistrust, mingle in just proportions, affords a vastly truer picture. There, trifle away a twelve- month, or share In a campaign, without exposing yourself rashly. Keep your desti- nation ever in view, but just remind yourself of the way to manage horse and sabre; as a boy you knew how to do it well. Keep your gay brown eyes, which, by the torch of Aurora, sparkle and glow since you left the cloister, open on all sides, and return to us a man able to command himself and others." " He must marry a Swabian yonder at the Emperor's court," added the mail-clad friend good-naturedly. " They are more trustworthy and honest than our women." " Will you be silent ?" admonished Ascanio, " save me from your heavy flaxen braids." But the monk pressed Germano's right hand which he had not let go. Tlie Monk's Wedding, ßy " Frankly, Germano, what do you say to all this?" "To what," said Germano brusquely. " Why, to my new position ? " " Astorre my friend," answered the mous- tached youth, somewhat embarrassed, " when a thing is done, one no longer asks for advice, but simply defends the act ; if you must have my opinion, however, see here, Astorre, vio- lated faith, broken vows, desertion of one's colors etc., to these things in Germany we give harsh names. Of course, with 3'ou it was something quite different, not to be compared — then your dying father ! As- torre, my friend, you have acted well, only the contrary would have been better still. This is my opinion," he concluded cor- dially. " Then if you had been here, you would have refused me the hand of your sister, Germano ? " Germano looked as if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet. " The hand of my sister Diana, who is now in mourning for your brother } " " The same — she is my be- trothed." " Ah ! glorious," cried the worldly- wise Ascanio, and " Delightful," responded ^8 The Mo7ik's Wedding, Germano, " let me embrace thee brother, brother-in-law," for the soldier, in spite of his abruptness, had good manners. But he suppressed a sigh. Heartily as he esteemed his austere sister,^ he would have selected a wholly different woman for the monk sitting beside him. So he twisted his moustache, and Ascanio hastened to give the conversation a different turn. " Astorre," said he, pleasantly, " we must begin to get acquainted with each other anew ; no less than fifteen contempla- tive years in a cloister lie between our childhood and to-day. Not that, in the meantime, we have changed our natures, for who does that ? but we have developed ; Ger- mano, for instance, has gained fame and glory on the battle-field as a warrior, yet we have to accuse him of having become half- German. He," and Ascanio doubled up his arm as if pouring the contents of a whole beaker down his throat, " afterward grows melancholy, or quarrelsome. Then he de- spises our sweet Italian and says boastfully ' I shall speak German with you,' and growls out the bearish sounds of a savage tongue. The Monk's Wedding. 5p His servants turn pale, his creditors fly, and our Paduan women turn their stately backs upon him. This is perhaps why he has remained a maiden knight like yourself Astorre," and he laid his hand confidingly on the monk's shoulder. Germano laughed heartily and answered, pointing to Ascanio. " And he has found his vocation, which is to be the perfect courtier. " " Here you are mistaken, Germano," re- plied Ezzelin's favorite, " my aim has only been to enjoy life, to be easy and gay." As proof of this, he hailed the child of the gar- dener, who was stealing by in the distance, looking askance at her new master, the monk, and bade her come nearer. The pretty little thinsf bore on her lauo:hino^ head a basket heaped up with figs and grapes, and looked much more roguish than shy or bashful. Ascanio sprang up, threw his left arm round the maiden's slender waist, and with his right pulled a bunch of grapes out of her basket, trying at the same time to kiss her full rosy lips. The coy maiden blushed, but kept quite still for fear of spill- 6o The Mojik's Weddmg, ing her fruit. The monk, however, turned from the gay courtier with displeasure, and the little girl, frightened at his gesture, ran off as fast as she could, strewing the path behind her flying feet with the fruit. As- canio, holding his own bunch of grapes in his hand, stooped and picked up two others, one of which he offered Germano, who flung it contemptuously into the grass. The good-natured fellow passed the other over to the rnonk, who at first allowed it to lie untouched, but after a while thoughtlessly tasted one grape, and soon a second and a third. "A courtier" continued Ascanio, as, amused at the prudery of the thirty-years old monk, he threw himself down again be- side him on the grass, " don't you believe it Astorre ! believe exactly the contrary. I am the only one who, quietly and in plain words, can persuade my uncle not to become un- merciful, and, while a ruler, to remain a man ! " He is only just and true to himself," added Germano. " Oh, his justice, and the logic of his deeds ! " said Ascanio sadly. " Padua is a feoff The Monk's Wedding, 6i of the Empire ; Ezzelln is governor. Who- ever is dissatisfied with him rebels against the Empire ; and rebels, traitors must be — " he could not bring his lips to utter it — " horrible ! " he murmured. " And yet, to speak out frankly, why can't we Italians manage our own lives under this blue sky of ours? Why, forever, this misty phantom of the Empire stifling our breath '^. I speak not for myself; my fate is bound up with that of my uncle. If the Emperor dies — whom God preserve! — all Italy, with cursing and swearing, will overthrow the tyrant Ezzelin and will strangle the nephew along with him." Ascanio gazed at the luxurious earth, the radiant heavens, and uttered a sigh. " Both of us," added Germano coolly, " but not yet awhile; the governor, according to prophecy, is to maintain his power firmly for a long time to come. The learned Guido Bonatti and Paul of Bagdad, who might sweep the dust from the streets with his long beard, although usually in passionate contradiction to one another, have with accord unriddled for him a new and cu- 62 The Monk's Wedding, rious constellation in the following manner. Sooner, or later, a son of the peninsula is to win undivided power over it, with the help of a German Emperor, who for his part, is, on the other side of the mountains to unite all the Germans under the sway of one solid Imperial Crown. Is Frederic this Emperor? Is this king Ezzelin ? God alone can tell. Who knows the time and the hour? but the governor has staked our heads and his re- nown upon \V,y " A tissue of rationalism and blind delu- sion," said Ascanio, annoyed, whilst the monk heard, with amazement, of the might of the stars, the unbridled ambition of the ruler, and the all-engrossing rush and whirl of worldly life. The spectre of the cruelty of Ezzelin, whom, in his innocence, he had looked upon as incorporated justice, began also to alarm him. Ascanio responded to his doubts and fears by ejaculating with emphasis, " That dark- browed Guido and the bearded heathen, may they both find a miserable end ! They mis- lead my uncle, catering to his lusts and The Monk's Wedding, 6j humors, whilst they persuade him that he is only doing what is necessary. Have you ever observed him, Germano? how at his frugal meal he only colors the water in his transparent crystal cup with three or four drops of blood-red Sicilian ? how attentively his eyes follow this blood as it slowly clouds and permeates the pure stream? or how he loves to close the lids of the dead, so that it has become a courtesy to invite the governor to a death-bed, as to a feast, and to commit to him this last sad duty ? Ezzelin, my Prince, do not, I pray thee become cruel ! " exclaimed the youth, overcome by his feelings " No, I will not, my nephew," said a voice behind him. It was Ezzelin, who had ap- proached unseen, and though no listener, had heard the last bitter supplication. The three young men rose quickly and greeted the ruler, who accepted a seat beside them on the bank. His face was calm as the mask at the fountain. " You, niy messengers," he said, addressing Ascanio and Germano,"how came it that you sought out this man (he nodded lightly to the monk) before me ? " 6^ The Mo7ik's Wedding, "He was our playfellow and he has met with strange vicissitudes of late," said his nephew by way of excuse, and Ezzelin let it pass. He took the letters which Ascanio handed to him on bended knee and, with the exception of the Papal Bull, crowded them all into the bosom of his dress. " See here," said he, " the latest ; read it aloud, Ascanio, your eyes are younger than mine." Ascanio read the Apostolic letter, whilst Ezzelin, burying his right hand in his beard) listened with demoniac satisfaction. The triple-crowned writer began by giving the enlightened Emperor the name of " Apoc- alyptic Monster." " This is nothing new," said the tyrant, " I, too, was called by all sorts of extravagant names until I admon- ished the Pontifex that whoever had anything to say to Ezzelin must henceforth upbraid him in classic language. What name does he give me this time.f^ I am curious to know; hunt up the passage, Ascanio, in which he reproaches my father-in-law for his bad associate. Give it to me ! " He seized the letter and soon found the place. The Pope accused the Emperor of loving The Monk's Wedding, 6ß the husband of his daughter, Ezzelin da Ro- mano, the greatest criminal on the inhabited globe. " Correct," assented Ezzelin, and gave Ascanio back the letter. " Now read to me the sins of the Emperor, nephew," he said smilinor. Ascanio read on : " Frederic has said, three imposters — Moses, Mahomet, and " — he hes- itated — "had deceived the world." " Super- ficial ! " exclaimed Ezzelin with a frown, " they had their stars, but whether he said it or not, the remark engraves itself, and out- weighs for him who wears the tiara, an army and a fleet ; — proceed ! " Now followed a curious anecdote. " Fred- eric, riding through a cornfield, had joked with his attendants, and in blasphemous allusion to the sacred bread, recited these lines : — As many Gods there are as ears of grain, They quickly shoot aloft through sun and rain, And wave their golden heads on hill and plain." Ezzzelin thought a moment. " Curious ! " he whispered. " My memory has preserved this little verse somewhere. It is absolutely 66 The Mo7tk's Weddi7tz> at authentic. The Emperor recited it to me, with a merry laugh, as we were riding to- gether in sight of the temple ruins of Enna, throusfh those exuberant cornfields with which the goddess Ceres has blessed Sicilian soil. I remember it with the same clearness that shone over the Isle on that summer day. I am not the one, however, who repeated this conceit to the Pontifex ; I am too grave a man to do that. Who did it ? I appeal to you. There were three of us and the third — of this, too, I am as certain as of the luminous sun above us (a beam fell straight into the arbor) was Peter de Vinca, — the inseparable companion of the Emperor. May the pious Chancellor have feared for his soul and relieved his conscience by a letter to Rome ? Does a Saracen ride forth to-day ? Yes ? Quick, Ascanio, I will dic- tate a few lines." Ascanio drew out a little tablet and pencil, and, dropping upon his right knee, used the left as a desk. " Illustrious Prince and beloved father-in-law, one hurried word. The little verse in the Bull (you have far too much mind to repeat yourself) was heard The Mo7ik's Wedding. 6j only by four ears, mine and those of your Peter, a year ago, in the corniields of Enna, at the time you called me to your court, and I rode with you over the island. Have the winds of heaven proved treacherous and borne these lines to the Vicar of St. Peter? If you love me and yourself, Prhice, rack your Chancellor's brains for an answer." " Bloody suggestion ! I will not wrue it, my hand trembles," cried Ascanio, turning jDale, and he threw his pencil away. " Official duty," Germano said drily, picked up the pencil and finished the letter which he thrust under his helmet. "It will go off to-day. As regards my simple self I never liked this Capuan, he has a veiled look." The monk Astorre shivered in spite of the mid-day sun. After his peaceful cloister life the suspicion and treachery of the world seemed to him like the slippery coils of a viper he was grasping in his hands. A stern rebuke from Ezzelin, as he rose from his stone seat banished his reverie. " Say, monk, why do you bury yourself in your castle. You have not left it since you donned the world's garb. You shrink from 68 The Monk's Wedding, public opinion ? Face it boldly, it will yield, but make a single attempt at flight and it will hang upon your heels. Have you visi- ted Diana ? The week of mourning is past. I advise you to invite your kinsfolk and marry Diana to-day." '' Then be off with you to your remotest castle," concluded Ascanio. " I do not counsel this," said the tyrant, "no fear, no flight. To-day be married and to-morrow give the wedding feast with masks. Valeter He departed, motioning Germane to follow him." " May I interrupt," asked Cangrande, who had courteously waited until a pause came in the narrative. " You are Lord and Master " peevishly replied the Florentine. "Do you really impute to our immortal Emperor that word ' impostor ' as applied to three great souls 1 " " Non ligneC " I mean in your secret soul.^^ " With a motion of the head Dante nega- tived the question. " And yet you have condemned him as The Monk's Wedding, 6g being one of the ungodly, to the sixth circle in your hell. How could you do this ? jus- tify yourself." '• Illustrissimo," replied the Florentine, " the Commedia expresses the judgment and sentence of this age, Vv^hich, whether justly or unjustly, reads the most frightful blasphe- mies on that sublime brow. It is not for me to oppose the opinion of the pious, perhaps, however, the Future will judge him quite differently." - " My Dante," said Cangrande, a second time, " dost thou believe Petrus de Vinca in- nocent of this crime against the Emperor ? " "' Non ligiietr " I mean in your inmost soul 1 " Dante again shook his head. "Yet you allow the traitor to affirm his innocence in your Commedia." " Prince, have I any right, in lack of actual proof, to accuse one more son of this Italian peninsula where we know of so much double-dealing and knavery? " " Dante, noble poet, you do not believe in the guilt and you condemn ; you do believe in the guilt and you absolve." He then in 'JO The Monk's Wedding, playful fashion attempted to go on himself , with the story. " The monk and Ascanio left the garden and entered the Hall." But Dante caught the broken thread — saying, " Not so — they mounted to a small room in the tower ; the same which Astorre had occupied, when a curly-haired boy, for he could not at once accustom himself to the large and magnificent rooms, now his own, nor had he as yet touched any portion of the golden hoard bequeathed to him. At a com- manding gesture from Ascanio the stiff and surly looking Major-domo Burcardo, followed the two friends." Cangrande's major-domo, who had returned to the hall in order to listen to the story, now found himself so faithfully mirrored in it, that he deemed this misuse of his stately person most unseemly, in fact, presumptions, from the mouth of a stranger, to whom he had given the simplest room imaginable in the palace. What the others enjoyed as a joke he resented as an insult with frowning brows and angry glance. The Florentine seemed to relish his indig- i nation and went on with his tale. The Monk's Weddiiig, yi "Worthy Sir," Ascanio addressed the Major- domo (did I say he was by birth an Alsatian ?) " how does one get married in Padua ? As- torre and I find ourselves inexperienced in this science." The master of ceremonies struck an atti- tude and gazed fixedly at his master without deigning a look at Ascanio, who according to his notion, had no right to demand any- thing of him. " Destiiigeiidum est " said he solemnly ; "there are three distinct ceremonies to be observed ; the wooing, the espousals, and the wedding." " Where does all this stand written down } " enquired Ascanio laughing. ''Ecce!'' replied the Majordomo as he unfolded before them a big book which he always carried about with him. " Here ! " and he pointed with the first finger of his left hand to the title. " The ceremonies of Padua, collected after the most careful re- searches for the pious use and benefit of all respectable and honorable people by Messer Godoscalco Burcardo." He turned over the leaves and read. " Section ist. The Wooino:. 12 The Monk's Wedding, Paragraph ist. The earnest wooer brings with him a friend of Hke position as legal witness, and — " " By the superabundant merits of my patron saint, spare us the ante and post, the wooing and wedding. Serve up your middle course. How are Espousals conducted in Padua ? " " In Batooa " crowed the irritated Alsatian, whose barbarous pronunciation was exagger- ated by his excitement, "for patrician sposa- lizio the twelve noble families must be invited" — he counted them over from memory — " ten days beforehand, no earlier, no later, by the Majordomo of the Bridegroom attended by six servants. Before this assembly of nobles the rings are exchanged. The guests drink Cybrian and eat Am.arella." ' " Heaven preserve our teeth," laughed Ascanio, and snatching the book he read through the names of the families, six of which had been erased with broad strokes. They had probably been involved in some conspiracy against the tyrant and had thus perished. " Now listen, old man," commanded As- canio, acting for the monk, who had sunk The Monk's Wedding. yj into a chair, and, lost in thought, surrendered himself to his friendly guardian. " Make your rounds with the other six good-for- nothings ' at once, this very hour, without delay, do you understand ? and give the invitations for this evening at vesper time." " Ten days beforehand," repeated Messer Burcardo, majestically, as if proclaiming an Imperial law. " To-day, and for to-day, obstinate fellow." " Impossible," said the Majordomo quietly, " would you change the course of the planets and the seasons } " " You rebel ! do you want your throat or- namented with a rope, old man 1 " said Ascanio with a peculiar smile. This suiificed. Burcardo understood Ez- zelin had commanded, and the stiff-necked pedant yielded without grumbling; such an iron rod did the tyrant hold over his people. " But you are not to invite the two ladies Canossa; Signora Olympia, and Signorina Antiope." " Why not these ? " and the monk suddenly sprang to his feet as if touched by a magic wand. The empty air took form and color 7^ The Monk's Wedding. and a picture rose before his fantasy the bare outlines of which captivated his whole soul. " Because the Countess Olympia is a fool, Astorre. Do you not know the poor woman's history ? Ah ! you were at that time in swathing bands, or, to speak more properly, in the cowl. It was three years ago when the leaves were sere and yellow." *' No, 'twas in the summer, Ascanio " said the monk, "the anniversary must be fast approaching." "You are rio-ht! Do von then know the story } But how should you ? Count Ca- nossa was suspected of having secret dealings with the legate, was watched, seized and con- demned. The Countess threw herself at the feet of my uncle, but he wrapped himself in unapproachable silence ; she then allowed herself to be basely deceived by one of the chamberlains who, for the sake of the money he could make out of her, promised that the Count should receive his pardon before the block. This was not fulfilled, and when they brought to her the Count, beheaded, maddened by the sudden change from hope The Monk's Weddhig, 75 to despair, she flung herself out of the win- dow, but marvellous to relate, apparently suffered no injury except the spraining of her foot. From that day to this, however, her mind has been deranged.; If our natural moods imperceptibly resolve themselves one into another, as the light of day gradually fades and is lost in the darkness of nig^ht, hers, on the contrary, pass abruptly from bright to dark, twelve times in twelve hours. A prey to the bitterest unrest this miserable woman hurries from her deserted city-palace to her country house, and from there back again to the city in a state of constant be- wilderment. To-day she threatens to marry her daughter to the son of a farmer, because only in the humbler walks of life security and peace is to be found ; to-morrow the most aristocratic lover, (who, to be sure, through fear of such a mother is not likely to present himself,) is considered scarcely grand enough." If Ascanio, in the midst of his talk, had cast one hasty glance at Astorre he w^ould have paused in amazement, for the monk's face was positively transfigured with sym- pathy and pity. y6 The Monk's Wedding, But he went on heedless. " When the tyrant at the chase rides past Olympia's house, she rushes to the window and expects to see him dismount at her threshold, and, after this long and sufficient purification by suffering, that he will graciously and kindly conduct her back to court ; a thing he really has not the faintest idea of ever doino-. o Another day, or perhaps, the very same day, she imagines herself banished and perse- cuted by Ezzelin, who simply does not trouble himself about her. " She believes herself impoverished, and her estates, w^iich he has never meddled with, confiscated. Thus, she burns and freezes, flying from one extreme to another, is not only distracted herself, but distracts whoever she draws into the whirlpool of her ideas, and is the cause of mischief, where the people believe in her, since being only half a fool, she says many caustic and witty thino^s. To brins: her amonor sensible people, or to a festival, is not to be thought of. It is a miracle that her child Antiope, whom she idolizes, and whose marriage is the aim of all her fancies, has been able to The Monk's Weddmg, 77 retain her reason amid such bewildering cir- cumstances, but the girl is in the bloom and strength of youth, is pretty enough, and has a sweet nature." So Ascanio rambled on with his story. Astorre was lost in dreams ! I say this for what is the past but a dream .? All the monk had experienced three years ago was before his eyes. He saw a block, the execu- tioner beside it, and he himself, as substitute for a brother who was ill, waiting to admin- ister the last pious sacrament and give spiri- tual consolation to some poor sinner. The prisoner, Count Canossa, at last appeared in chains, but at the same time seeming far from prepared to submit to his fate ; either he fancied his pardon was at hand, now that he stood before the block, or he loved life and the sun, and abhorred the thought of darkness and the o-rave. He treated the monk rudely and refused to listen to his prayers. A horrible struggle was impending if he continued to resist, for he held his child by the hand, who, unperceived by the guards, had sprung to his side, and now clung to him, fastening her expressive eyes, 'j8 The Month's Wedding. full of supplication, on the face of the monk. The father drew the child close to his breast, as if with this fresh young life to protect himself from destruction, but was forced down by the executioner and his head pressed upon the block. Then the child laid her little head beside her father's. Did she hope to awaken the sympathy of the executioner ? Did she hope to encourage her father to endure the un- avoidable? Was she trying to whisper the name of a Saint in the ear of the unrecon- ciled man ? Was she in her overflowing: child-like love, without thought or considera- tion, doing an unheard-of thing ? Would she simply die with him ? The vision grew so clear to the mental eye of Astorreas to bring palpably before him, in colors startlingly life-like, the two necks lying side by side. The Count's brown and sunburnt. The child's, white as snow, half- hidden in her golden locks. The little neck was slender and exquisitely formed. Astorre shuddered, lest the falling axe, should mis- take its victim, and was stirred to his in- most soul, just as he had been two years The Monk's Wedding, 'jg before, when the frightful scene actually occurred, although he did not wholly lose consciousness as at the time it happened ; then he recovered his senses only after all was over. " Has my master any commands to give ! " and the droning voice of the Majordomo broke in upon his reverie — for this worthy did not at all relish being under Ascanio s orders. " Burcardo," replied Astorre, in a gentle voice — " do not forget to invite the two ladies Canossa — mother and daughter. It must not be said that the monk iTOores those who are shunned and neglected by the world. I recoo:nise the riorht of the unfortu- nate woman (here the Majordomo assented with an easy nod) to be invited and received by me. In her condition it might mortify her deeply to be thus overlooked." " For Heaven's sake, leave her out " cried Ascanio, "your betrothal is even now,^a wild affair enough, and it is just such mad-cap proceedings that excite half-crazy people. Take my word for it, she will, as is her wont, do something incredible, fling some unheard- 8o The Mo7ik's Wedding, of remark into the midst of the festivities, which already interest the gossiping Pad- uans sufficiently." But Messer Burcardo, who believed in the propriety of inviting the Canossa, in the Assembly of the twelve, whether she was in her senses or not, and also that his obedience was due to the Vicedomini and nobody else, bowed low before the monk and said as he withdrew: "Your Lordship alone is to be obeyed." " Oh, Monk ! Monk ! " exclaimed Ascanio, " to think of practising divine mercy in a world where common kindness can scarcely be exercised with impunity ! " " Such is human nature," interposed Dante. "A prophetic light sometimes reveals the brink of an abyss, but our imagined clever- ness steps in and with smiles and sophistries persuades us there is no danger." To allay his fears the light-hearted fellow reasoned with himself in this wise. " What in the world is this foolish woman to the monk, in whose life she does not play the slightest part 1 and after all if she gives us The Monk's Wedding, 8i something to laugh at, a spice is added to the Amerella ! " He had not the faintest suspicion what was passing in the soul of Astorre, and the monk would never have committed any part of his tender secret to this frivolous worldling. Therefore Ascanio let well enough alone, and remembering the other command of the tyrant to instruct the monk in the ways of the world enquired cheerily ; " Have you thought of the wedding ring Astorre ? for it stands written in the ' Ceremonies ' : section second, paragraph so-and-so, " The rings shall be exchanged." The monk replied he would hunt up one among the family jewels. " No, indeed, Astorre," said Ascanio, " if you take my advice you will buy your Diana a new one. Who knows what stories may be attached to a ring which has been used } Leave the past entirely behind ! Moreover you have now the best opportunity. Go, and buy her a ring of the Florentine on the bridge. Do you know the man ? — yet how should you } Listen ! early this morning as I was crossing the bridge on foot with Germano 82 The Mo7ik's Wedding, (the crowd was so thick that we had been obHged to dismount and lead our horses) I saw, my dear fellow, that at the weather- beaten head of the pier a goldsmith had opened his shop and all Padua was haggling and chaffering over his jewels. And why on the bridge, do you ask, Astorre, when there are so many more convenient places ? Because in Florence all the jew^elry shops are on the Arno bridge. Then, (admire the logic of fashion,) where should one buy his jewelry if not of a Florentine and where should a Florentine sell it if not on a bridge ? He would never think of doing differently ; if he does, his wares are always suspected of being coarse and common, and in fact, he himself of being no genuine Florentine. But there's no mistake as to this man. He has written in enormous letters over his booth, " Niccolo Lippo dei Lippi, the gold- smith, exiled from his home by one of those corrupt and unjust decrees but too common on the Arno. Come, Astorre, let us go to the bridge." Astorre did not refuse. He may himself have felt the need of breaking the spell of The Monk's Wedding, 8j isolation which had bound him to the house ever since he threw off the monk's garb. " Have you any money in your pocket ? " asked Ascanio jokingly, " remember your vow of poverty is broken and the Florentine will charge you enough." The monk rapped on a window-pane in the room of the house- steward, conveniently situated on the lower floor over which the young men were now passing; the cunning face of the steward instantly appeared (a Genoese, if I've been rightly informed) and with a fawning bow he reached his master a purse well-filled with Byzantine gold. A servant then enveloped the monk in a comfortable summer mantle with a large hood. Upon the street, Astorre drew the hood deep over his face, less on account of the burning rays of the sun, than from long habit, and turning to his companion said pleasantly, " Am I not to be trusted to go alone on this small errand, Ascanio } Surely to buy a simple gold ring is not beyond the capacity of a monk, you'll risk me so far, a rivederci when the vesper bell rings." As- canio left him and called back over his 8/f The MonJis Wedding, shoulder " One, not two, Diana gives you yours, remember that Astorre." ' Twas only one of the many light bubbles which the merry fellow blew into the air every day. " If you ask me. Prince, why the monk dismissed his friend, I answer, that he longed to let the heavenly chords ring out clear and full which the child martyr had awakened in his soul." Astorre had reached the bridge. Not- withstanding the burning heat of the sun, it was crowded with people, and from both shores a double line of men and women were passing before the shop of the Floren- tine. The monk was not recognized under his cloak, although now and again a ques- tioning eye rested upon the uncovered part of his face. Nobles and citizens pressed around the booth. High-born dames alighted from their chairs and consented to be squeezed and jostled for the sake of buying a pair of bracelets or a coronet qf the latest pattern. By the ringing of a bell, the Flo- rentine had announced everywhere that he should close to-day after the Ave Maria, He had never dreamed of doing anything The Monk's Wedding, 8^ of the sort, but what does a lie cost a Florentine ? At last the monk stood before the booth, closely hemmed in by the crowd. The be- sieged trader who seemed to multiply himself tenfold glanced at the monk and at once detected his inexperience. " How can I serve the cultivated taste of Eccellenza 1 " he asked. " Give me a simple gold ring," replied the monk. The merchant seized a cup exquisitely wrought and covered with reliefs in Florentine taste, and shaking the bowl which contained more than a hundred rin2:s offered it to Astorre. The monk now found himself in a state of painful embarassment, he had no idea of the size of the finger on which he was to put the ring and, taking up several, hesitated whether to buy a large or a small one. The Florentine could not repress a gibe, for it was the fashioji on the Arno to add a sting to every speech. " Does not Eccellenza know the size of the finger he has pressed so often .f^ " he enquired, with innocent mien, yet, like the shrewd man he was, correcting himself instantly as he remembered that S6 The Monk's Wedding, most men preferred being thought knaves than fools, gave Astorre two rings, a large and a small one, which he contrived to slip between the thumb and forefinger of the monk: "for the Signor's two loves," he whispered, bowing. Before the monk, however, could manifest his indignation at this impudent remark he received a violent blow. It was the shoulder- piece of ^ horse in armor, which struck him so hard that he let the small ring fall to the ofround. At the same moment the deafen- ing blast of eight trumpets sounded in his ears. The band of the governor's German body-guard was riding in two lines of four horses each over the bridge, shoving the crowd in all directions and pressing the people up against the stone parapet. The old wooden planks of the bridge wxre much worn, and, especially in the middle, full of ruts, into one of which the rinof fell, and rolled over to the other side. Here a young maid named Isotta (or, as they shorten the name in Padua, Sotte) snatched up the sparkling thing, at the im- minent risk of being trampled on by the The Monk's Wedding, 8y horses. " A lucky ring ! " shouted the silly girl and with childish glee forced it on to the slender finger of her young mistress, whom she was accompanying ; it was the fourth finger of her left hand, which by its delicate shape, seemed to her especially worthy of this pretty ornament. In Padua, as in Verona, if I am right, they wear the betrothal-ring on the left hand. The noble Signorina was aiihoyed at Sotte's joke and yet somewhat amused by it. She struggled hard to pull the strange ring off again, but it resisted her efforts as if it had been molded on. Suddenly the monk stood before her in an attitude of joyful sur- prise. He had laid his left hand over his heart while his right was extended toward her, for although she had attained the bloom of maidenhood, by the exquisite deli- cacy of her throat, and still more by the beating of his own heart, he had recognized the child whose tender head he last saw on the block. Whilst the young girl stood confused, now lifting her questioning eyes to the monk and then letting them fall upon the 88 The Monk's Wedding. refractory ring, Astorre hesitated to ask her for it, still it had to be done. He opened his lips ; " Signorina " he began and felt himself in the embrace of two strong mailed arms, which had taken possession of him bodily. In a moment with the help of another soldier he was seated astride an impatient steed. " Let us see," laughed a good-natured voice, " whether you have for- gotten how to ride." It was Germane, at the head of the German cohort, which the Governor had ordered out for a review in the plain near Padua. Meeting his brother-in- law in this unexpected manner on the bridge he had conceived the joke of mounting him on one of the horses from w^hich a young Swabian sprang off at his command. The fiery steed, detecting instantly the change of riders, made a couple of wild springs ; it caused a stampede on the crowded bridge, and Astorre, whose hood had fallen back, and who, with difficulty kept hold of the reins, was recognized by the startled people. " The Monk ! The Monk ! " resounded from all sides, but the martial troop had already left the bridge and soon disappeared round The Monk's Wedding, herself dipped a finger in the bubbhng fairy spring. Was not the meeting on the bridge strange indeed, and if she should be proved to have been the monk's choice, would it be more remarkable than the fate which had torn him from the cloister? But if this was the case she now suffered a most cruel punishment. Her own mother had soiled her fair fame by unlicensed speech. A deep blush, and a still deeper, covered her face and neck, then, in the general silence she began to weep loud and bitterly. At this even the gray-haired Atenad stopped and listened. Then a frightful pain seemed to convulse her face and her rage increased. " And this other " she shrieked, pointing to Diana, " this broad piece of marble, scarcely hewed out of the rough, this ill-made giantess, which the Almighty Father formed when he was still an apprentice just learning to knead the dough, fie ! fie ! on this bungled clumsy body without life and soul, for who could have given her a soul.^^ her bastard mother, the stupid Ossola } or that niggardly miser there } Only with reluctance has he given her the barest apology for one." 102 The Monk's Wedding, The old Pizziguerra stood perfectly un- moved ; with the clear understanding of a miser he did not forget whom he had before him. But his daughter Diana forgot it. Beside herself, at the rude insult offered her, she frowned terribly, and clenched her hands, but, when the crazy woman attacked her parents, insulted her mother in the grave, and held up her father to general contempt, she lost all trace of self-control. " Hound ! " she exclaimed, and struck An- tiope in the face, for the loving and coura- 2:eous srirl had thrown herself before her mother; Antiope uttered a cry which rang through the hall and thrilled to the heart every one present. The w^heel in the head of the poor crazy woman turned completely round. Her wild fury changed into piteous wailing. " They have beaten my child " she groaned, sank upon her knees and sobbed, " is there no longer any God in Heaven } " With this the measure was full. It ^ 'would have run over earlier, but that Fate rushed on quicker than my tongue could relate it, so quick indeed that neither the The Monk's Wedding. loj monk, nor Germano standing close beside her saw Diana's uplifted arm in time to seize and restrain it. Ascanio grasped the mad woman round the waist, one of his friends took her by the feet and, scarcely- resisting, she was carried out of the hall, put into her chair, and taken home. Diana and Antiope remained standing face to face, one whiter than the other; Diana, contrite and repentant after her sudden fit of passion ; Antiope struggling for words, — her lips moved, but no sound escaped them. If the -monk now seized Antiope's hand to give his escort to her, who had been so mal- treated by his betrothed wife, he only fulfilled his chivalrous and hospitable duty. Every- body understood this. Diana, too, must surely desire to have the victim of her violence withdrawn from her sight. After a little while she departed with her father and brother, and the assembled guests likewise left as quickly as possible. There came a sound from under the table loaded with Cyprian wine and Amarella. A fool's cap appeared and Gocciola crept on all 104 ^^^^ Monk's Weddmg, fours out of his agreeable hiding-place. In his view the course things had taken was only too delightful, since now he had full freedom to gorge himself with Amarella, and to empty one glass after another. Thus he revelled for a time until he heard steps ap- proaching. His first impulse was to fly, but casting an angry look on the intruder he deemed flight unnecessary. It was the monk returning to his princely home joyous, exultant, and quite as intoxicated as himself, for the monk — " '' " Loved Antiope," interrupted the Prince's fair friend with a forced laugh. " You have said it, lady," responded the narrator in a tragic tone, *' he loved Antiope." " Naturally." " How else .^ " " It must be so ! " " 'Tis the usual way ! " resounded from all sides. "Softly, young people," murmured Dante. *' No, 'tis not the usual way. Do you think then that a love which implies the surrender of life and soul is an everyday affair } And do you really imagine that you have or are t/ loving in this way t Undeceive yourselves. Everyone talks of spirits but few have seen The Monis s Wedding. loß them. I will give you an indisputable proof of this. There is lying about in the house here a much-read storybook. Skimming through it I discovered amid plenty of rub- bish one true word. " Love," says this book, "is rare, and generally comes to a bad end." Thus much Dante had said in all seriousness, then he went on playfully. " Since you are all so thoroughly versed in love, and especi- ally since it does not fall within my province to instruct the young from my worthless head in such matters, I will pass by the treacherous soliloquy of the monk and say briefly that when the sensible Ascanio over- heard it, he was alarmed and tried to reason with him." " Will you mutilate your touching romance in this way, noble Dante .^ " said the excited friend of the Prince, as she turned toward the Florentine with imploring hands. "Pray, let us hear what the monk says, that our sympathy may be with him as we see him turn from a rough to a delicate nature ; from a cold and stormy heart, to one that is warm and full of feeling." " Yes, Florentine," interrupted the Prin- io6 The Monk's Weddings, laughingly, " Leave me now, I am going to espouse my dear sister Diana to the monk." The German knew his commander's sister and had a sort of quiet admiration for her with her stately figure, and honest eyes. When now he saw the monk, by whose side he rode at mid-day, hand in hand with a delicate little woman, who compared with the magnificent stature of Diana, seemed like a doll, he suspected breach of faith, flung his burning torch angrily upon the stone floor, from which one of the Saracens carefully picked it up, and hurried off to acquaint Germano with the monk's treason. Ascanio, divining the German's intention, begged Abu Mahommed to call him back, but he refused. " He would not obey," he said meekly, " and he is quite capable of slaughtering two or three of my attendants. In what other way can I serve you, Signor 1 The Monk^s Wedding, ijj Shall I imprison these blushing young people ? " "Astorre, they will separate us," shrieked Antiope, and sought refuge in the arms of the monk. The crime at the altar, although committed with a guileless soul, had robbed her of her natural courage. The monk on the other hand, emboldened and inspired by his guilty act, took one step toward the Saracen, and snatched his sword from its sheath. " Carefully, boy, you might cut yourself ! " said Abu Mahommed good- naturedly. " Let me tell you Abu," explained Ascanio, " this frantic man is my friend, and was for many years the monk Astorre, whom you surely must have seen in the streets of Padua. His own father cheated him out of his cloister vows and betrothed him to a woman he did not love. A few hours ago he exchanged rings with her, and now, as you see him here, he is the husband of another." " Fate," interposed the Saracen gently. " And the betrayed one " continued As- canio, " is Diana Pizziguerra, Germano's k jj^ The Monk's Wedduig. sister. You know Germano ; he is trustful and confiding by nature, but when he finds that he has been deceived, the blood rushes to his eyes and he kills." " Naturally," assented Abu Mahommed, " He is on his mother's side a German, and they are children of the truth." " Advise me, Saracen ! I know of but one recourse, perhaps a means of salvation, which is to bring the case before the Gover- nor. Ezzelin shall judge. Meanwhile, let your people keep guard over the monk in his own strong castle. I hasten to my uncle. But you, Abu Mahommed, take this lady to the Countess Cunizza, sister of the governor, the pious and much-beloved Domina, who for several weeks has had her court here. Take the pretty sinner, I trust her to your gray hair! " ''You may," said Mahommed, as if to reassure him. At this Antiope clung to the monk, crying even more piteously than at first. " They will separate me from you. Do not leave me Astorre, not for an hour, not for a moment, or I shall die ! " The monk lifted his sword. The Monk's Wedding. ijß Ascanio, who abhorred all violence, turned appealingly to the Saracen. With fatherly eyes the old man gazed at the lovers. " Oh let the poor shades cling together," he said in a soft tone, " do not begrudge the poor loving butterflies this one hour," — either he' was a philosopher and held life as an empty show, or he suspected that they would indeed be shades on the morrow through the con- demnation of Ezzelin. Ascanio, who never doubted the substan- tial reality of things, was fully alive to the second meaning, and, kind and tender hearted fellow as he was, hesitated to tear the lov- ing ones asunder. " Astorre," he asked, " do you kno\v me } " "You were my friend," answered the monk. " And am so still, you have no truer." " Oh, do not separate me from her," said the monk, in such an imploring tone that Ascanio could not withstand it. " Well, then, remain together until you must appear before your judge." He then whispered something to Abu Mahommed. .The Saracen approached the monk and u Ij6 The Mo7tk*s Wedding, gently took the sword away from him, loosening his grasp finger by finger, and dropped it back into its scabbard. Then he stepped to the window and beckoned to his troop. The Saracens immediately took pos- session of Madonna Olympia's chair wdiich had been left in the vestibule and brought it to the door for Antiope. Through a dark narrow court the hurried procession now moved onward. Antiope first, borne by four Saracens, at her side the monk and Ascanio, then the whole' tu-^aned band, Abu Mahommed bringing up the rear. They pursued their way across a small square, and passed a dimly-lighted church and as they were entering a dark lane on the other side of it, ran violently against a procession followed by an enormous crowd of people. A tumult arose. " Room for the Sposina," the people cried. Choir-boys brought out of the church long candles, whose flickering flames they protected with their hands. The dim yellow light revealed a litter and a bier. The Sposina was a young plebeian bride who had died suddenly ; they were bearing her corpse to the grave. The Monk's Wedding, ijy Antiope sprang from her chair, and the assembled people recognized the monk, who threw his arms protectingly around her, while they knew he had been betrothed this very day to Diana Pizziguerra. Abu Ma- hommed, however, commanded order, and it was soon restored, so that without further adventure they reached the palace. Astorre and Antiope were received by the servants with looks of astonishment. They quickly entered the door-way and vanished without bidding farewell even to Abu Ma- hommed and Ascanio. The latter wrapt himself in his cloak, and accompanied the Saracen a few steps further, as he made his nightly round of the castle where he was on guard, counting its gates, and measuring with his eyes the height of the walls. " An eventful day," said Ascanio. " A blessed night," answered the Saracen looking at the star-sown heavens. The eternal lights, whether ruling human fate or not, moved on according to their own silent laws, until Aurora with flaming torch kindled a new day, the last Astorre and Antiope were ever to see. Ij8 The Monk's Wedding. In the early morning hour, the tyrant and his nephew looked down through a little round window in his tower upon the square beneath. It was filled with an excited mul- titude, and the busy hum of voices rose like the surge of ocean-billows. The news of the encounter of Antiope's chair with the bier yesterday evening, and the excitement it caused had flown through the city with the speed of lightning. All heads, waking or dreaming, were occupied with nothing but the monk and his wedding ; — not only had he sacreligiously broken his vows to heaven, but now his earthly ones as well ; he had betrayed his bride, flung his ring away, and with rashly-kindled passion wooed another, a fifteen year old maiden, just budding into life. The tyrant, who would countenance no illegal proceedings, ordered the house, in which the two sinners were concealed, to be guarded by his Saracens ; he meant to-day to bring to judgment the mis- deeds of the two aristocrats ; — for the young Antiope was a Canossa ; — to restore the chaste Diana to her rightful position, and, lest the virtue of his people should suffer The Monk's Wedding. ijg through the bad example of their nobles, to throw the bloody heads of the misdoers out of the window. The tyrant, while he fixed his eyes on the seething crowd below, listened to Ascanio's account of what happened yesterday. The love of the two young people did not move him at all, but the incident of the ring struck him as a new manifestation of Fate« " I blame you for not having torn them apart at once. I approve your having put them under arrest. The betrothal with Diana is legal. The Sacrament, forced by the sword, or bought with the purse, is null and void. The priest who allowed himself to be fright- ened or bribed, deserves the gallows, and if caught will swing. Once more, why did not you step between the untutored boy and the child ? Why did you not wrench an ecstatic fool out of the arms of a poor bewildered maiden ? You gave her to him ! Now they are man and wife." Ascanio, who, after a good night's sleep had regained his light-heartedness, concealed a smile. " Ha, Epicurean ! " said Ezzelin reproachfully. But in a coaxing tone As- 1^0 The Monk's Wedding. canio answered, " It is done, my illustrious uncle, and now if you will only take the case into your powerful hands everything will be righted. I have summoned both parties. If you have the will, Ezzelin, by your firm judicious hand this knot is easily untied. Love is a spendthrift ; and avarice knows not honor. The enamoured monk will gladly fling to the base miser, old Pizziguerra, what- ever sum of money he desires. Germano will draw his sword ; no doubt, you must bid him thrust it back into its scabbard. He is your man! He will gnash his teeth but he will obey." " I ask myself," said Ezzelin, " whether I do right to defend the monk from the sword of Germano. Is Astorre to be allowed to live ? Can he live, having flung aside the sandal of the monk, and trodden the newly- donned shoe of the knight in the mire re- solving the Cantus firmus of the monastery into the yell of a vulgar street-song? I may do my best to lengthen out the exist- ence of this vacillating, worthless man, but \/ can I ward off his fate? If Astorre is des- tined to die by the hand of Germano I The Monk's Wcddmg, i^r may command the latter to lower his sword, yet the former will run upon it. I know this ; I have experienced it ; " and he fell to brooding. Ascanio turned his face ax'C^ay. He knew a cruel history, The tyrant had once besieged and taken a castle wehere the rebels, w^io had held out against him, were all condemned to the sword. One of the soldiers was appointed to execute this command. Among the first to receive the death-stroke knelt a beautiful boy, whose features attracted the tyrant. Ezzelin detected in them a resemblance to his own, and inquired of the youth his name and origin. He proved to be the son of a woman whom Ezzelin had loved and wronged years before. He pardoned the condemned. The boy, excited, urged on by his own curi- osity, and perhaps by the envious taunts of those who had lost their sons or relations by this bloody sentence, did not rest until he had solved the mystery of his preference. He is said to have drawn the dagger against his own mother and thus obliged her to confess the wretched secret. The dis- 1^2 The Monk's Wedding, closure of his illegitimacy poisoned his young soul. He conspired anew against the tyrant, fell upon him in the street, and was cut down by the same soldier who had before lifted the sword to kill him, and now hap- pened to be the first to come to Ezzelin's rescue. Ezzelin, whilst reflecting on the fate of his son, dropped his head and covered his face with his right hand. Then he raised it slowly and asked, " But what is to become of Diana .^ " Ascanio shrugged his shoulders. " Diana was born under an evil star," he said. " She has had to resign two husbands, one to the Brenta, the other to a more lovely woman ; and added to all this her miserly father ! She must retire into a convent, — what else remains for her } " At this moment a tumult arose in the square below, — murmurs, threats, curses were heard on all sides ; irritated individuals shouted and yelled, but just as the single voices seemed about to unite in the one hideous cry, " Death to the Monk ! " the fury of the mob changed singularly, and only The Monk's Wedding, /^j a long-drawn note of admiration and amaze- ment, and " Ah ! Ah ! how beautiful she is ! " passed from mouth to mouth. Through the window the tyrant and Ascanio could comfortably watch this scene. Saracens on slender Arab steeds surrounded the monk Astorre, and his young wife, both borne along by mules. The new Vicedomini rode veiled, but when the thousand hands of the people were raised in violence to attack the monk, her husband, she threw her arms pas- sionately around him. The hasty movement tore her veil. It was not alone the charm 1 of her face, nor the youthful beauty of her figure, which had disarmed the crowd ; but the full play of her spirit, the unreserved feeling, the living inspiration, which trans- ported every one, as it had the monk the day before, who now moved on like a triumph- ant victor with his spoils, fearing nothing, and with the air of one who bore a charmed life._^ Ezzelin observed this conquest of beauty almost with contempt, but turned with interest toward a second procession which was entering the square from the other side. Three nobles, accompanied like Astorre, by 144 '^^^ Monk's Wedding, a large number of people, were making their way through the crowd. Conspicuous among them rose the snow-white head of the old Pizziguerra, on his left Germano. The wrath of the soldier-knight yesterday had been terrible, when his German brought him the news of Astorre's treachery. He w^as rushing forward to take instant revenge when he was met and restrained by the Saracen who brought him the summons to appear at the palace of the governor early on the following morning. He was then obliged to tell his sister of the monk's crime, which he would have preferred to conceal from her until after he had avenged the wrong. She had received the tidings with perfect com- posure, and now rode on her father's right, the same as ever, save that her stately head was bowed one shade lower by the heavy thought it bore. The crowd that a minute ago would have proclaimed with a sort of wrathful triumph the coming of the injured one to claim her rights, now, dazzled by the beauty of Antiope, comprehending, but at the same time forgiv- ing the treachery of the monk, contented The Mo7ik's Wedding. i^f^ themselves with sympathetic murmurs, such as — "the poor soul, always unfortunate, always sacrificed ! " The five now entered the bare hall where the tyrant was sitting in a chair raised a few steps above the ground. The contending parties respectfully took their places oppo- site each other; here Pizziguerra and a little at one side the grand form of Diana, there the monk and Antiope with hands locked together. Ascanio leaned against the high chair of the tyrant, as if he would take an impartial position between his two old comrades. " Signors," began Ezzelin, " I shall not treat your case as a state affair, where breach of faith is treason, and this treason a capital offense, but simply as a family matter. In fact the Pizziguerra, the Vicedomini and the Canossa are of as noble blood as myself, only the favor of his august majesty has made me governor over these your lands." Ezzelin bowed his. head in recognition of the higher power; he could not uncover it, for he was accustomed to go bare-headed through all kinds of wind and weather, except when 1^6 The Monk's Wedding, forced to don the warrior's helmet. " Thus we twelve noble families form a great house- hold to which I belong in virtue of one of my maternal ancestors. But we are sadly reduced in numbers through the blind folly and wicked mutiny of some members against the highest worldly authority. If you sym- pathize with me we shall spare and preserve the few still belonging to us. On this ground I restrain the revenge of the Pizzi- guerra against Astorre Vicedomini, although I call it in its innermost nature a just one. If you " and he turned to the three Pizzi- guerra, " do not approve of my leniency, consider this one thing. I, Ezzelin da Romano, am the first and therefore the chief cause of all this misfortune. Had I not on a certain day, and at a certain hour, ridden along the banks of the Brenta, Diana would now be properly married, and this man still murmuring his breviary. Had I not ordered my Germans to muster on a certain day and at a certain hour Germano would not have given the monk such an untimely ride, and the ring on the hand of this lady beside him, rolled to her by his evil demon" — ("by my The Monk^s Wedding. i^j good genius " joyfully interposed the monk) would have been drawn off her finster as^ain Therefore Signors, help me to unravel and smooth out this intricate matter, for, if you in- sist on stern justice I must first and foremost condemn myself. This extraordinary speech did not put the old Pizziguerra out of countenance and when the tyrant turning to him said, " My noble lord you are the complainant,'" he replied briefly, " Eccellenza, Astorre Vicedomini be- trothed himself publicly and in the regular form to my child Diana, and then without Diana's having offended him in an)' way, broke his engagement. This inexcusable? illegal, sacriligious deed, weighs heavily, and demands, if not blood, which your Grace does not wish to shed, a heavy penalt}^" and he made the gestures of a shopkeeper piling weight upon weight into his scales. " Without Diana's having offended him ? " repeated the tyrant. "It seems to me she did offend. Had she not an insane woman before her? Yet Diana reviled and struck. Diana gives way to violent passion when she thinks her rights infringed." 1^8 The Monk's Wedding, Diana nodded and said, " You speak the truth, EzzeHn ! " " And this it was," continued the tyrant, " which turned Astorre's heart away from her, he saw in her a barbarian." " No, my Prince," contradicted the monk, insulting the betrayed one afresh, " I never looked at Diana, I only saw the sweet face which received the blow, and my whole soul was moved to pity and love." The tyrant shrugged his shoulders. " You see, Pizziguerra," he smiled, " the monk is like a maiden who for the first time has tasted strong wine and behaves accordingly. But we are old sober people ; we must con- trive some settlement of this affair." Pizziguerra answered, " Much, Ezzelin, would I do to please you, because of your great service,to Padua. Yet can the insulted honor of our house be propitiated otherwise than with the sword 'I " Thus speaking Diana's father made a stately flourish with his arm which somehow ended in a move- ment very like that of a man who holds out his hand to be filled. " Astorre, make an offer ! " said the gov- The Monk's Weddmg. i^g ernor with the double meaning, " either of your hand, or your money and lands." " My Prince," and the monk now turned frankly and nobly to the tyrant, " if you call me unstable, or bereft of my senses, I cannot blame you, for a powerful God whom I denied, because I did not suspect his existence, has taken his revenge and completely over- powered me. Even now he drives me like a storm-wind whirling my mantle over my head. Must my happiness — oh, beggarly word ! — must the highest boon of my life be paid for with my life ? I accept it and find the price all too low. But if I may live, and live with her, I will not haggle," and he added with a blissful smile, " take my entire fortune, Pizziguerra ? " " My friend," pursued the tyrant, " I will assume the guardianship of this spendthrift- lover. Let me negotiate with you, Pizzi- guerra. You hear that he has given me full power to do so. What do you say to the mines of the Vicedomini ? " The old man preserved a decent silence, but his eyes which were near together glis- tened like two diamonds. 1^0 The Monk's Wedding, *' Take my pearl fisheries also," cried Astorre, but Ascanio came gliding down the steps and closed his mouth with his hand. " Noble Pizziguerra, take the mines," said Ezzelin persuasively, " I know the honor of your house is beyond everything and is not to be bought at any price, but I know like- wise that you are a good Paduan and will stretch a point for the peace of your city." The old man remained obstinately silent. " Take the mine he offers, and let him keep his own mine of joy ! " urged Ezzelin, who enjoyed a play upon words. " The mines and the fisheries ? " asked the old man as if hearing with difficulty. " The mines, I said, and nothing else. They yield many thousand pounds annually. If you should demand more, Pizziguerra, I should feel myself deceived in you and you would certainly expose yourself to the hate- ful suspicion of chaffering over your honor." The old miser was afraid of the tyrant, and since he dared not demand any more, gulped down his vexation and extended to the monk his withered hand. *' We must have it in writing," he said, " since life is uncertain." The Monk's Weddijig, i^i He drew from his girdle-pocket a small account book and pencil, scratched with trembling fingers a rough draft of the title deed and gave it to the monk to sign. This done, he bowed before the governor and because of his feeble health begged to be excused, although one of the twelve, from attending the monk's marriage-feast. Germano had stood beside his father burning with rage. Now he unfastened one of his iron gloves and would have flung it into the monk's face had not a commanding gesture of the tyrant's bidden him halt. " Son, will you break the public peace ? " interposed the old Pizziguerra. " My word given, includes and guarantees yours. Obey or be cursed. I will disinherit you ! " he threatened. Germano laughed. " Attend to your own dirty bargains, father," he replied contemptu- ously. "Yet surely you, Ezzelin, Lord of Padua, will not hinder me. It is my manly right and a private affair. If I refuse obedi- ence to the Emperor, and to thee, his gover- nor, have me beheaded : but with your sense of justice you will not hinder me from Tj2 The Monk's Weddmg, throttling this monk who has fooled and deceived me and my sister. If falsehood is to go unpunished who would wish to live ? This earth is a place too small for the monk and me to inhabit together. He will under- stand this himself when he comes to his senses." " Germano, ' said Ezzelin, " I am thy commander-in-chief. Tomorrow the trumpet may sum.mon us to the battle-field. Thou belongest not alone to thyself or to thy family, but to the Empire." ST' Germano made no answer. He re-fastened his glove. Then he exclaimed, " In old times, among the blind heathen, there was a god who avenged breaches of faith. I don't think this has changed with the ring, ing of church bells. To Him I commit my cause ! and he ended by lifting his hands j fervently to heaven. " Then it is in good hands," and Ezzelin smiled. "This evening the wedding is to be celebrated with masks in the Vicedomini palace, according to custom. I give the feast and invite you Germano and Diana. Not in armor, Germano, with short sword ! " The Mo7ik^s Wedding, ißj *' Cruel," groaned the soldier. "Come, father, how can you longer make a spectacle of our disgrace ?" And he dragged the old man away with him. " And you Diana ? " asked Ezzelin, as he saw that she alone and the newly-married pair were still before his judgement seat. " Do you not accompany your father and brother ? " " If you will permit me," said she, " I have a word to say to this lady," and overlooking the monk, fastened her eyes upon Antiope. Antiope, whose hand had all this time rested in that of the monk, followed the whole proceeding with deep interest, and though a passive spectator evinced a series of lively emotions. Now she blushed with a young wife's first love, then she turned pale with a feeling of guilt as she discovered under Ezzelin's smile and gracious words his real condemnation of them. One mo- ment she exulted like a child escaping punishment, and the next showed a dawning consciousness of her dignity as the wife of the new Vicedomini. But when Diana addressed her she cast a shy inimical look at her powerful rival. i^^ The Monk's Weddijig, Diana, however, was not to be turned aside. "See here Antiope, my finger bears your husband's ring;" she stretched it out, " This you must not forget. I am not super- stitious as most people, but in your place I confess it would disturb my peace of mind. Deeply as you have sinned against me I will nevertheless be good and merciful to you. According to custom this evening your marriao^e is to be celebrated with masks. I shall appear to you. Come repentant and humbly to draw this ring yourself from my finger." Antiope uttered a cry of fear and clung to her husband, where protected by his arms she said excitedly, " I am to humble myself, what do you bid me Astorre ? My honor is thine, I am no longer aught but thy prop- erty, thy heart, thy breath of life, thy soul. If thou allow or command it, then — " Astorre tenderly soothed his wife, and turning to Diana said, " She will do it. May her humility and mine propitiate thee. Be our guest this evening and remain friendly to my house." He next addressed Ezzelin respectfully thanking him for his judgment The Monk's Wedding. 755 and his favor, bowed and led his wife away. But upon the threshold he stopped an instant to inquire of Diana, " In what costume will you appear among us to-night that we may recognize you and show you honor ? " She smiled contemptuously and again speaking to Antiope, " I shall come as that which I call myself and which I am. The untouched, the maidenly," she said proudly. Then she repeated, " Antiope remember, come humbly and repentant." "You mean it honestly, Diana? You have no covert design ? questioned the tyrant when the Pizziguerra was left alone with him. " None," she replied, disdaining further protestation. " And what will become of you, Diana 1 " he asked. " Ezzelin," she answered bitterly, "before this thy judgment-seat, my father has bartered away our honor and right to revenge for a few lumps of metal. I am not worthy to have the sun shine on me. The cell alone remains for such as I am ! " And she left the hall. " Most excellent uncle," said Ascanio 1^6 The Monk's Wedding, joyfully. You have united the happiest pair in Padua, and converted a tragic drama into a charming idyl, with which I shall enter- tain my children and grand-children at our hearth fire when I am a venerable old man." " My nephew ! composer of idyls ! " said the tyrant with a dash of raillery as he stepped to the* window to look down upon the square where the crowd still lingered in feverish curiosity. Ezzelin had given directions to have those leaving the palace before him let out by the back door. •' Paduans," he said in a powerful tone, (the multitude were silent as the desert) I have examined the matter. It was intricate and there was fault on both sides. I have pardoned it, for I am always inclined to mercy when the majesty of the Empire is not concerned. This evening the wedding of Astorre Vicedomini and Antiope Canossa will be celebrated, with masks. I, Ezzelin, give the feast and invite you all. May you enjoy it. I am the host. To you belong street and tavern. But let no one enter, or in any wise endanger the palace of the Vicedomini, else by my hand — and now The Mo7ik's Wedding. ißy return each of you quietly to his home if you love me." An indistinct murmur arose, it rippled and ran. " How they love you ! " joked Ascanio. Dante paused for breath, then with rapid sentences concluded his story. The trial being over at mid-day the tyrant rode forth to visit a remote castle which was in process of rebuilding. He desired and intended to return to Padua early in the evening that he might see Antiope humili- ate herself before Diana. Contrary to all will and foresight, however, he was detained. A Saracen came galloping after him into the court-yard of the castle, breathless and covered with dust, to deliver a letter by the Emperor's own hand which required immediate answer. The matter was of importance. A short time before, Ezzelin had fallen upon an Imperial strong- hold at Ferrara, in the night, the com- mander of which, a Sicilian, his keen eye sus- pected of being a traitor. Ezzelin had taken the citadel and put the hypocritical Imperial governor in chains. Now the Hohenstaufen 1^8 The Monk's Wedding, demanded the reason for this clever but daring infringement on his authority. With his left hand pressed upon his thinking brow Ezze- lin's right glided swiftly over the parchment as his stylus went on from first to second and from second to third. He discussed radi- cally, with his illustrious father-in-law, the aim and possibilities involved in a campaign at that moment impending, or at least planned. Thus the hours sped away and it was only when he remounted his horse that he knew from the aspect of the heavens — for the stars were all out in fullest brilliancy — that it would be impossible to reach Padua before midnight. Leaving his retinue far behind, like a spirit he flew oyer the nightly plain. But he chose his way and rode cautiously round a small ditch over which the bold horseman on any other day would have thought it play to leap; he would not risk the chance of a fall from the horse which might detain him. Again he spurred on his steed and the racer stretched himself out, but Padua's lights did not yet glimmer through the darkness. Before the great city castle of the Vice- The Monk's Weddmg. i^g domini, even as the twilight melted into the dark of evening the intoxicated people had assembled. Scenes of wanton, unbridled mirth alternated with more innocent sport on this not very large piazza. A wild pas- sionate merriment, a species of bacchanalian hilarity, seemed fermenting in the dense crowed to W'hich the youths from the High School added an element of wit and derision. The tumult was now interrupted by a long- drawn-out Cantilene, or kind of litany, such as our country-people used to sing. It was a procession of peasants, old and young, from one of the numerous villages belonging to the Vicedomini. These poor people, who, in their isolation, had heard nothing of the monk's return to the w^orld, but only through uncertain rumor of the espousals of the heir, had started before sunrise with the customary wedding-gifts and after a long day's travel over the dusty highway had just reached their destination. They held to- gether and wound their way slowly through the seething mass of the people in the square \ here a curly-haired boy with golden honey^ comb, there a shy, proud maiden bearing i6o The Monk's Wedding, tenderly on her arms a bleating lamb, decked out with ribbons. All longed for a sight of their new master. Little by little they now disappeared in the arched eii^rance, where to the right and left the torches flaring in the iron rings contended with the last clear light of day. Ascanio, usually so pleasant and friendly, as manager of the feast, issued his commands from the doorway, yelling and screaming in a most excited manner. From hour to hour the mischievous dis- position of the people increased, and to such a pitch, that when, at last, the distinguished masqueraders appeared they were pushed and jostled in every direction without the slightest respect for their rank. The torches were snatched from the hands of their atten- dants and trodden out on the stone pavement, the ladies separated from their manly escorts and wantonly insulted, with no fear of a dagger-stroke, such as on any other evening would instantly have requited such audacity. Especially one tall figure in the guise of a Diana had to struggle against a dense ring of low ecclesiastics and schoolboys. A lean The Malik's Weddhio-, i6i <=> haggard man was parading his mythological knowledge. " Thou art not Diana," he said in a nasal tone, " but quite another person. I recognize thee. Here sits thy little dove ! " and he pointed to the silver crescent over the brow of the goddess. She, however, w^as not gracious like Aphrodite, but harsh like Artemis. " Away swine," she said, vexed. " I am a true goddess, and abhor ecclesiastics." " Coo, Coo, Coo," said the man and in trying to touch her, uttered a frightful shriek and fell back, and moaning raised his hand. It was pierced through and through, and streaming with blood. The wrathful maiden had put her hand to the quiver at her back. She had stolen it from her brother and with one of his sharp finely cut arrows now chastised the loathsome hand. Already, however, the attention of the mob was diverted by another spectacle quite as shocking, if not so bloody. The lowest and worst portion of the population of the town, pick-pockets, cut-throats, beggars and vaga- bonds of every description were yelling, whistling, dancing, joking and sneering in 102 The Mo7ik's Weddmg, front and behind of a most grotesque-looking pair. A large, wild-looking woman, not with- out some remnants of beauty was arm in arm with a drunken monk in a tattered cowl. This was the cloister brother Sera- pion, who, spurred on by Astorre's example had escaped from his cell by night and for a week had been grovelling in the slums of the city. The crowd halted before a lighted corner of the palace and in a shrill voice and with gesticulations of a public crier the woman vociferated, " Know all men by these presents that soon the monk Astorre will slumber beside his wife Antiope." Hoarse extravagant laughter attended this announce- ment. Gocciola's cap and bells now appeared at the open turret-window. " Good woman, be still ! " said the fool in a whining voice, " you wound my educated feelings, and insult my sense of shame." " Good fool," replied the impudent thing, "don't let this offend you. We give the proper name to what the aristocrats do. We put the labels on the apothecary's boxes." " By my seven deadly sins," cried Serapion, The Monk's Wedding, i6j exultingly, " so we do ; until midnight the marriage of my dear brother shall be pro- claimed and sung out in all the squares of Padua. Forward ! March ! Hey-dey ! " and he lifted his naked leg with the sandal, out of the heap of rags, which was all that remained of his soiled monastic dress. These beastly pranks, added to the infuri- ated voices mingling in the crowd, beat like a storm upon the outer walls of the gloomy castle whose windows and apartments opened for the most part on the inner court. In a quiet, secluded chamber Antiope was being dressed and adorned with flowers by her maids, Sotte and one other, whilst Astorre was receiving, at the top of the stairs, the endless swarm of guests. " Sotte," whispered the bride to her serv- ant who was braiding her hair, " you re- semble me, and are just about my size, exchange clothes with me if you love me. Go and draw the ring from her finger re- pentant and humbly." Bow before the Pizziguerra, with arms crossed, like the veriest slave. Fall upon your knees. Throw yourself on the ground. Make a show of lö/j. The Monk's Wedding, the most abject contrition, and pain. Only take from her the ring. I will reward you for this service royally. Take all the jewels I possess," she said imploringly. This temp- tation the vain Sotte could not withstand. Astorre, who turned aside a moment from his duty as host to visit his beloved, found the two women exchanging dresses in the chamber. He instantly divined their inten- tion " No, No, Antiope, you must not slip through it in this way," he said. " Our word must be kept. I ask it of your love. I com- mand it ! " and even as he hoped to soften the severe word with a kiss and a caress, he was torn away by Ascanio who hastened to explain that his peasants wished to offer him in person their gifts, and without delay, in order that they might start on their home- ward journey in the cool of the night. When Antiope looked round in order to return her husband's kiss, she kissed the empty air. She now hastily completed her toilet. Even the frivolous Sotte was frightened at the pallor of the face reflected in the glass. There was no sign of life in it save the terror in the eyes, and the glistening of the The Monk's Wedding, i6^ firmly-set teeth. A red stripe, caused by Diana's blow, was visible upon her white brow. When at last arrayed, Astorre's wife rose with beating pulse and throbbing temples,, and leaving her safe chamber hurried through the halls to find Diana. She was urged on by the excitement of both hope and fear. She would fly back jubilantly, after she had recovered the ring, to meet her husband whom she wished to spare the sight of her humiliation. Soon among the masqueraders she distin- guished the conspicuous figure of the Goddess of the Chase, recognized her enemy and followed, as with measured steps, she passed through the main hall and retired into one of the dimly-lighted small side rooms. It seemed the Goddess desired not public humiliation, but lowliness of heart. Quickly Antiope bowed before Diana, and forced her lips to utter, " Will you give me the ring ? " while she touched the powerful finger. " Humbly and penitently ? " asked Diana. " How else 1 " the unhappy child said fever- Ly' 1 66 The Monk's Weddings ishly. " But you trifle with me ; cruelly — you have doubled up your finger ! " Whether Antiope imagined it, or whether Diana really was trifling with her, a finger is so easily curved ! Cangrande, you have accused me of injustice. I will not decide. Enough ! the Vicedomini raised her wil- lowy figure and with flaming eyes fixed on the severe face of Diana cried out, " Will you torture a wife, maiden ? " Then she bent down again and tried with both hands to pull the ring off her finger. Like a flash of lightening a sharp pain went through her. The avenging Diana, while surrendering to her the left hand, had with the right drawn an arrow from her quiver and plunged it into Antiope's heart. She swayed first to the left, then to the right, turned a little and fell with the arrow still deep in her warm flesh. The monk, who, after bidding farewell to his rustic "guests, hastened back and eagerly sought his wife, found her lifeless. With a shriek of horror he threw himself upon her and drew the arrow from her side, a stream of blood followed. Astorre dropped sense- less. The Mo7ik's Wedding, i6j When he recovered from his swoon Ger- man© was standing over him with crossed arms. " Are you the murderer ? " asked the monk. " I murder no women," repHed the other, sadly. " It is my sister who has de- manded justice! " Astorre groped for the arrow and found it. Springing up with a bound and grasp- ing the long weapon with the bloody point he fell in blind rage upon his old playfellow. The warrior shuddered slightly before the ghastly figure in black with dishevelled hair and crimson-stained arrow in his hand. He retreated a step. Drawing the short sword which in place of armour he was »wearing and warding off the arrow with it, he said compassionately, " Go back to your cloister, Astorre, which you should never have left." Suddenly he perceived the tyrant, who, followed by the entire company, was just entering the door opposite to them. Ezzelin stretched out his right hand and commanded peace. Germano dutifully low ered his weapon before his Chief. The infuriated monk seized the moment and i68 ' The Monk's Wedding. plunged the arrow into the breast of the knight whose eyes were directed toward Ezzelin. But he also met his death pierced by the soldier's sword which had been raised again with the speed of lightning. Germano sank to the ground. The monk, supported by Ascanio, made a few tottering steps toward his wife and laying himself by her side, mouth to mouth, expired. The wedding-guests gathered about the husband and wife. Ezzelin gazed upon them for a moment then knelt upon one knee and closed first Antiope's and then Astorre's eyes. In the hush, through the open windows came the sound of revelry. Out of the darkness was heard the words, " Now slumbers the monk Astorre beside his wife Antiope," and a distant shout of laughter. Dante arose. " I have paid for my place by the fire," he said, " and will now seek the bless- ing of sleep. May the God of Peace be with The Monk's Wedding, i6g you ! " He turned and stepped toward the door, which the page had opened. All eyes followed him, as by the dim light of a flickering torch, he slowly ascended the ^0 staircase. THE END. P-B MO H lüO iff T>TJ^ rsr V'S*»^ 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. 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