The Cloister and the Hearth

by Charles Reade

  CHAPTER LX

  FRA COLONNA had the run of the Pope's library, and sometimes leftoff work at the same hour and walked the city with Gerard, on whichoccasions the happy artist saw all things en beau, and was wrapped up inthe grandeur of Rome and its churches, palaces, and ruins.

  The friar granted the ruins, but threw cold water on the rest.

  "This place Rome? It is but the tomb of mighty Rome." He showed Gerardthat twenty or thirty feet of the old triumphal arches were underground,and that the modern streets ran over ancient palaces, and over the topsof columns; and coupling this with the comparatively narrow limits ofthe modern city, and the gigantic vestiges of antiquity that peepedaboveground here and there, he uttered a somewhat remarkable simile. "Itell thee this village they call Rome is but as one of those swallows'nests ye shall see built on the eaves of a decayed abbey."

  "Old Rome must indeed have been fair then," said Gerard.

  "Judge for yourself, my son you see the great sewer, the work of theRomans in their very childhood, and shall outlast Vesuvius. You see thefragments of the Temple of Peace. How would you look could you see alsothe Capitol with its five-and-twenty temples? Do but note this MonteSavello; what is it, an it pleases you, but the ruins of the ancienttheatre of Marcellus? and as for Testacio, one of the highest hills inmodern Rome, it is but an ancient dust heap; the women of old Rome flungtheir broken pots and pans there, and lo--a mountain.

  "'Ex pede Herculem; ex ungue leonem.'"

  Gerard listened respectfully, but when the holy friar proceeded byanalogy to imply that the moral superiority of the heathen Romans wasproportionally grand, he resisted stoutly. "Has then the world lostby Christ His coming?" said he; but blushed, for he felt himselfreproaching his benefactor.

  "Saints forbid!" said the friar. "'Twere heresy to say so." And havingmade this direct concession, he proceeded gradually to evade it bysubtle circumlocution, and reached the forbidden door by the spiral backstaircase. In the midst of all which they came to a church with a knotof persons in the porch. A demon was being exorcised within. Now FraColonna had a way of uttering a curious sort of little moan, when thingsZeno or Epicurus would not have swallowed were presented to him asfacts. This moan conveyed to such as had often heard it not only strongdissent, but pity for human credulity, ignorance, and error, especiallyof course when it blinded men to the merits of Pagandom.

  The friar moaned, and said, "Then come away.

  "Nay, father, prithee! prithee! I ne'er saw a divell cast out."

  The friar accompanied Gerard into the church, but had a good shrugfirst. There they found the demoniac forced down on his knees before thealtar with a scarf tied round his neck, by which the officiating priestheld him like a dog in a chain.

  Not many persons were present, for fame had put forth that the lastdemon cast out in that church went no farther than into one of thecompany: "as a cony ferreted out of one burrow runs to the next."

  When Gerard and the friar came up, the priest seemed to think there werenow spectators enough; and began.

  He faced the demoniac, breviary in hand, and first set himself to learnthe individual's name with whom he had to deal.

  "Come out, Ashtaroth. Oho! it is not you then. Come out, Belial. Comeout, Tatzi. Come out, Eza. No; he trembles not. Come out, Azymoth. Comeout, Feriander. Come out, Foletho. Come out, Astyma. Come out, Nebul.Aha! what, have I found ye? 'tis thou, thou reptile; at thine oldtricks. Let us pray!

  "Oh, Lord, we pray thee to drive the foul fiend Nebul out of this thycreature: out of his hair, and his eyes, out of his nose, out of hismouth, out of his ears, out of his gums, out of his teeth, out of hisshoulders, out of his arms, legs, loins, stomach, bowels, thighs, knees,calves, feet, ankles, finger-nails, toe-nails, and soul. Amen."

  The priest then rose from his knees, and turning to the company, said,with quiet geniality, "Gentles, we have here as obstinate a divell asyou may see in a summer day." Then, facing the patient, he spoke tohim with great rigour, sometimes addressing 'the man and sometimes thefiend, and they answered him in turn through the same mouth, now sayingthat they hated those holy names the priest kept uttering, and nowcomplaining they did feel so bad in their inside.

  It was the priest who first confounded the victim and the culprit inidea, by pitching into the former, cuffing him soundly, kicking him, andspitting repeatedly in his face. Then he took a candle and lighted it,and turned it down, and burned it till it burned his fingers; when hedropped it double quick. Then took the custodial; and showed the patientthe Corpus Domini within. Then burned another candle as before, but morecautiously: then spoke civilly to the demoniac in his human character,dismissed him, and received the compliments of the company.

  "Good father," said Gerard, "how you have their names by heart. Ournorthern priests have no such exquisite knowledge of the hellishsquadrons."

  "Ay, young man, here we know all their names, and eke their ways, thereptiles. This Nebul is a bitter hard one to hunt out."

  He then told the company in the most affable way several of hisexperiences; concluding with his feat of yesterday, when he drove agreat hulking fiend out of a woman by her mouth, leaving behind himcertain nails, and pins, and a tuft of his own hair, and cried out in avoice of anguish, "'Tis not thou that conquers me. See that stone onthe window sill. Know that the angel Gabriel coming down to earth oncelighted on that stone: 'tis that has done my business."

  The friar moaned. "And you believed him?"

  "Certes! who but an infidel has discredited a revelation so precise."

  "What, believe the father of lies? That is pushing credulity beyond theage."

  "Oh, a liar does not always lie."

  "Ay doth he whenever he tells an improbable story to begin, and showsyou a holy relic; arms you against the Satanic host. Fiends (if any) benot so simple. Shouldst have answered him out of antiquity--

  'Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.'

  Some blackguard chopped his wife's head off on that stone, young man;you take my word for it." And the friar hurried Gerard away.

  "Alack, father, I fear you abashed the good priest."

  "Ay, by Pollux," said the friar, with a chuckle; "I blistered him witha single touch of 'Socratic interrogation.' What modern can parry theweapons of antiquity."

  One afternoon, when Gerard had finished his day's work, a fine lackeycame and demanded his attendance at the Palace Cesarini. He went, andwas ushered into a noble apartment; there was a girl seated in it,working on a tapestry. She rose and left the room, and said she wouldlet her mistress know.

  A good hour did Gerard cool his heels in that great room, and at lasthe began to fret. "These nobles think nothing of a poor fellow's time."However, just as he was making up his mind to slip out, and go abouthis business, the door opened, and a superb beauty entered the room,followed by two maids. It was the young princess of the house ofCesarini. She came in talking rather loudly and haughtily to herdependents, but at sight of Gerard lowered her voice to a very femininetone, and said, "Are you the writer, messer?"

  "I am, Signora.

  "'Tis well."

  She then seated herself; Gerard and her maids remained standing.

  "What is your name, good youth?"

  "Gerard, signora."

  "Gerard? body of Bacchus! is that the name of a human creature?"

  "It is a Dutch name, signora. I was born at Tergou, in Holland."

  "A harsh name, girls, for so well-favoured a youth; what say you?"

  The maids assented warmly.

  "What did I send for him for?" inquired the lady, with lofty languor."Ah, I remember. Be seated, Ser Gerardo, and write me a letter to ErcoleOrsini, my lover; at least he says so."

  Gerard seated himself, took out paper and ink, and looked up to theprincess for instructions.

  She, seated on a much higher chair, almost a throne, looked down at himwith eyes equally inquiring.

  "Well, Gerardo."

  "I am ready, your excellence."

  "Write, then." />
  "I but await the words."

  "And who, think you, is to provide them?"

  "Who but your grace, whose letter it is to be?"

  "Gramercy! what, you writers, find you not the words? What avails yourart without the words? I doubt you are an impostor, Gerardo."

  "Nay, Signora, I am none. I might make shift to put your highness'sspeech into grammar, as well as writing. But I cannot interpret yoursilence. Therefore speak what is in your heart, and I will empaper itbefore your eyes."

  "But there is nothing in my heart. And sometimes I think I have got noheart."

  "What is in your mind, then?"

  "But there is nothing in my mind; nor my head neither."

  "Then why write at all?"

  "Why, indeed? That is the first word of sense either you or I havespoken, Gerardo. Pestilence seize him! why writeth he not first? then Icould say nay to this, and ay to that, withouten headache. Also is it alady's part to say the first word?"

  "No, signora: the last."

  "It is well spoken, Gerardo. Ha! ha! Shalt have a gold piece for thywit. Give me my purse!" And she paid him for the article on the nail ala moyen age. Money never yet chilled zeal. Gerard, after getting a goldpiece so cheap, felt bound to pull her out of her difficulty, if the witof man might achieve it. "Signorina," said he, "these things are onlyhard because folk attempt too much, are artificial and labour phrases.Do but figure to yourself the signor you love--"

  "I love him not."

  "Well, then, the signor you love not-seated at this table, and dict tome just what you would say to him."

  "Well, if he sat there, I should say, 'Go away.'"

  Gerard, who was flourishing his pen by way of preparation, laid it downwith a groan.

  "And when he was gone," said Floretta, "your highness would say, 'Comeback.'"

  "Like enough, wench. Now silence, all, and let me think. He pestered meto write, and I promised; so mine honour is engaged. What lie shall Itell the Gerardo to tell the fool?" and she turned her head away fromthem and fell into deep thought, with her noble chin resting on herwhite hand, half clenched.

  She was so lovely and statuesque, and looked so inspired with thoughtscelestial, as she sat thus, impregnating herself with mendacity, thatGerard forgot all, except art, and proceeded eagerly to transfer thatexquisite profile to paper.

  He had very nearly finished when the fair statue turned brusquely roundand looked at him.

  "Nay, Signora," said he, a little peevishly; "for Heaven's sake changenot your posture--'twas perfect. See, you are nearly finished."

  All eyes were instantly on the work, and all tongues active.

  "How like! and done in a minute: nay, methinks her highness's chin isnot quite so."

  "Oh, a touch will make that right."

  "What a pity 'tis not coloured. I'm all for colours. Hang black andwhite! And her highness hath such a lovely skin. Take away her skin, andhalf her beauty is lost."

  "Peace. Can you colour, Ser Gerardo?"

  "Ay, signorina. I am a poor hand at oils; there shines my friend Pietro;but in this small way I can tint you to the life, if you have time towaste on such vanity."

  "Call you this vanity? And for time, it hangs on me like lead. Send foryour colours now--quick, this moment--for love of all the saints."

  "Nay, signorina, I must prepare them. I could come at the same time."

  "So be it. And you, Floretta, see that he be admitted at all hours.Alack! Leave my head! leave my head!"

  "Forgive me, Signora; I thought to prepare it at home to receive thecolours. But I will leave it. And now let us despatch the letter."

  "What letter?"

  "To the Signor Orsini."

  "And shall I waste my time on such vanity as writing letters--and tothat empty creature, to whom I am as indifferent as the moon? Nay, notindifferent, for I have just discovered my real sentiments. I hate himand despise him. Girls, I here forbid you once for all to mention thatsignor's name to me again; else I'll whip you till the blood comes. Youknow how I can lay on when I'm roused."

  "We do. We do."

  "Then provoke me not to it;" and her eye flashed daggers, and she turnedto Gerard all instantaneous honey. "Addio, il Gerardo." And Gerard bowedhimself out of this velvet tiger's den.

  He came next day and coloured her; and next he was set to make aportrait of her on a large scale; and then a full-length figure; andhe was obliged to set apart two hours in the afternoon, for drawing andpainting this princess, whose beauty and vanity were prodigious, andcandidates for a portrait of her numerous. Here the thriving Gerardfound a new and fruitful source of income.

  Margaret seemed nearer and nearer.

  It was Holy Thursday. No work this day. Fra Colonna and Gerard sat in awindow and saw the religious processions. Their number and pious ardourthrilled Gerard with the devotion that now seemed to animate the wholepeople, lately bent on earthly joys.

  Presently the Pope came pacing majestically at the head of hiscardinals, in a red hat, white cloak, a capuchin of red velvet, andriding a lovely white Neapolitan barb, caparisoned with red velvetfringed and tasselled with gold; a hundred horsemen, armed cap-a-pie,rode behind him with their lances erected, the butt-end resting on theman's thigh. The cardinals went uncovered, all but one, de Medicis, whorode close to the Pope and conversed with him as with an equal. At everyfifteen steps the Pope stopped a single moment, and gave the people hisblessing, then on again.

  Gerard and the friar now came down, and threading some by-streetsreached the portico of one of the seven churches. It was hung withblack, and soon the Pope and cardinals, who had entered the churchby another door, issued forth, and stood with torches on the steps,separated by barriers from the people; then a canon read a Latin Bull,excommunicating several persons by name, especially such princes as werekeeping the Church out of any of her temporal possessions.

  At this awful ceremony Gerard trembled, and so did the people. But twoof the cardinals spoiled the effect by laughing unreservedly the wholetime.

  When this was ended, the black cloth was removed, and revealed a gaypanoply; and the Pope blessed the people, and ended by throwing historch among them: so did two cardinals. Instantly there was a scramblefor the torches: they were fought for, and torn in pieces by thecandidates, so devoutly that small fragments were gained at the priceof black eyes, bloody noses, and burnt fingers; In which hurtling hisholiness and suite withdrew in peace.

  And now there was a cry, and the crowd rushed to a square where was alarge, open stage: several priests were upon it praying. They rose, andwith great ceremony donned red gloves. Then one of their number kneeled,and with signs of the lowest reverence drew forth from a shrine a squareframe, like that of a mirror, and inside was as it were the impressionof a face.

  It was the Verum icon, or true impression of our Saviour's face, takenat the very moment of His most mortal agony for us. Received as it waswithout a grain of doubt, imagine how it moved every Christian heart.

  The people threw themselves on their faces when the priest raised it onhigh; and cries of pity were in every mouth, and tears in almost everyeye. After a while the people rose, and then the priest went round theplatform, showing it for a single moment to the nearest; and at eachsight loud cries of pity and devotion burst forth.

  Soon after this the friends fell in with a procession of Flagellants,flogging their bare shoulders till the blood ran streaming down; butwithout a sign of pain in their faces, and many of them laughing andjesting as they lashed. The bystanders out of pity offered them wine;they took it, but few drank it; they generally used it to free the tailsof the cat, which were hard with clotted blood, and make the next strokemore effective. Most of them were boys, and a young woman took pity onone fair urchin. "Alas! dear child," said she, "why wound thy white skinso?" "Basta," said he, laughing, "'tis for your sins I do it, not formine."

  "Hear you that?" said the friar. "Show me the whip that can whipthe vanity out of man's heart! The young monkey; how knoweth he thats
tranger is a sinner more than he?"

  "Father," said Gerard, "surely this is not to our Lord's mind. He was sopitiful."

  "Our Lord?" said the friar, crossing himself. "What has He to do withthis? This was a custom in Rome six hundred years before He was born.The boys used to go through the streets, at the Lupercalia floggingthemselves. And the married women used to shove in, and try and get ablow from the monkeys' scourges; for these blows conferred fruitfulnessin those days. A foolish trick this flagellation but interesting tothe bystander; reminds him of the grand old heathen. We are so prone toforget all we owe them."

  Next they got into one of the seven churches, and saw the Pope give themass. The ceremony was imposing, but again--spoiled by the inconsistentconduct of the cardinals and other prelates, who sat about the altarwith their hats on, chattering all through the mass like a flock ofgeese.

  The eucharist in both kinds was tasted by an official before the Popewould venture on it; and this surprised Gerard beyond measure. "Who isthat base man? and what doth he there?"

  "Oh, that is 'the Preguste,' and he tastes the eucharist by way ofprecaution. This is the country for poison and none fall oftener by itthan the poor Popes."

  "Alas! so I have heard; but after the miraculous change of the breadand wine to Christ His body and blood, poison cannot remain; gone is thebread with all its properties and accidents; gone is the wine."

  "So says Faith; but experience tells another tale. Scores have died inItaly poisoned in the host."

  "And I tell you, father, that were both bread and wine charged withdirest poison before his holiness had consecrated them, yet afterconsecration I would take them both withouten fear."

  "So would I, but for the fine arts."

  "What mean you?"

  "Marry, that I would be as ready to leave the world as thou, were it notfor those arts, which beautify existence here below, and make it dear tomen of sense and education. No; so long as the Nine Muses strew my pathwith roses of learning and art, me may Apollo inspire with wisdom andcaution, that knowing the wiles of my countrymen, I may eat poisonneither at God's altar nor at a friend's table, since, wherever I eatit or drink it, it will assuredly cut short my mortal thread; and I amwriting a book--heart and soul in it--'The Dream of Polifilo,' theman of many arts. So name not poison to me till that is finished andcopied."

  And now the great bells of St. John Lateran's were rung with a clash atshort intervals, and the people hurried thither to see the heads of St.Peter and St. Paul.

  Gerard and the friar got a good place in the church, and there was agreat curtain, and after long and breathless expectation of the people,this curtain was drawn by jerks, and at a height of about thirty feetwere two human heads with bearded faces, that seemed alive. They wereshown no longer than the time to say an Ave Maria, and then the curtaindrawn. But they were shown in this fashion three times. St. Peter'scomplexion was pale, his face oval, his beard grey and forked; his headcrowned with a papal mitre. St. Paul was dark skinned, with a thick,square beard; his face also and head were more square and massive, andfull of resolution.

  Gerard was awe-struck. The friar approved after his fashion.

  "This exhibition of the 'imagines,' or waxen effigies of heroes anddemigods, is a venerable custom, and inciteth the vulgar to virtue bygreat and invisible examples.

  "Waxen images? What, are they not the apostles themselves, embalmed, orthe like?"

  The friar moaned.

  "They did not exist in the year 800. The great old Roman families alwaysproduced at their funerals a series of these 'imagines,' thereby tyingpast and present history together, and showing the populace thefeatures of far-famed worthies. I can conceive nothing more thrilling orinstructive. But then the effigies were portraits made during life orat the hour of death. These of St. Paul and St. Peter are moulded out ofpure fancy."

  "Ah! say not so, father."

  "But the worst is, this humour of showing them up on a shelf, and halfin the dark, and by snatches, and with the poor mountebank trick of adrawn curtain.

  'Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic incredulus odi.'

  Enough; the men of this day are not the men of old. Let us have donewith these new-fangled mummeries, and go among the Pope's books; therewe shall find the wisdom we shall vainly hunt in the streets of modernRome."

  And this idea having once taken root, the good friar plunged and torethrough the crowd, and looked neither to the right hand nor to the left,till he had escaped the glories of the holy week, which had broughtfifty thousand strangers to Rome; and had got nice and quiet among thedead in the library of the Vatican.

  Presently, going into Gerard's room, he found a hot dispute afootbetween him and Jacques Bonaventura. That spark had come in, all steelfrom head to toe; doffed helmet, puffed, and railed most scornfully on aridiculous ceremony, at which he and his soldiers had been compelled toattend the Pope; to wit the blessing of the beasts of burden.

  Gerard said it was not ridiculous; nothing a Pope did could beridiculous.

  The argument grew warm, and the friar stood grimly neuter, waiting likethe stork that ate the frog and the mouse at the close of their combat,to grind them both between the jaws of antiquity; when lo, the curtainwas gently drawn, and there stood a venerable old man in a purple skullcap, with a beard like white floss silk, looking at them with a kindthough feeble smile.

  "Happy youth," said he, "that can heat itself over such matters."

  They all fell on their knees. It was the Pope.

  "Nay, rise, my children," said he, almost peevishly. "I came not intothis corner to be in state. How goes Plutarch?"

  Gerard brought his work, and kneeling on one knee presented it to hisholiness, who had seated himself, the others standing.

  His holiness inspected it with interest.

  "'Tis excellently writ," said he.

  Gerard's heart beat with delight.

  "Ah! this Plutarch, he had a wondrous art, Francesco. How each characterstandeth out alive on his page: how full of nature each, yet how unlikehis fellow!"

  Jacques Bonaventura. "Give me the Signor Boccaccio."

  His Holiness. "An excellent narrator, capitano, and writeth exquisiteItalian. But in spirit a thought too monotonous. Monks and nuns werenever all unchaste: one or two such stories were right pleasant anddiverting; but five score paint his time falsely, and sadden the heartof such as love mankind. Moreover, he hath no skill at characters. Nowthis Greek is supreme in that great art: he carveth them with pen; andturning his page, see into how real and great a world we enter of war,and policy, and business, and love in its own place: for with him, as inthe great world, men are not all running after a wench. With this greatopen field compare me not the narrow garden of Boccaccio, and his littlemill-round of dishonest pleasures."

  "Your holiness, they say, hath not disdained to write a novel."

  "My holiness hath done more foolish things than one, whereof it repentstoo late. When I wrote novels I little thought to be head of theChurch."

  "I search in vain for a copy of it to add to my poor library."

  "It is well. Then the strict orders I gave four years ago to destroyevery copy in Italy have been well discharged. However, for yourcomfort, on my being made Pope, some fool turned it into French: so thatyou may read it, at the price of exile."

  "Reduced to this strait we throw ourselves on your holiness'sgenerosity. Vouchsafe to give us your infallible judgment on it!"

  "Gently, gently, good Francesco. A Pope's novels are not matters offaith. I can but give you my sincere impression. Well then the workin question had, as far as I can remember, all the vices of Boccaccio,without his choice Italian."

  Fra Colonna. "Your holiness is known for slighting Aeneas Silvius asother men never slighted him. I did him injustice to make you hisjudge. Perhaps your holiness will decide more justly between these twoboys-about blessing the beasts."

  The Pope demurred. In speaking of Plutarch he had brightened up fora moment, and his eye had even flashed; but his gene
ral manner was asunlike what youthful females expect in a Pope as you can conceive. I canonly describe it in French. Le gentilhomme blase. A highbred, andhighly cultivated gentleman, who had done, and said, and seen, andknown everything, and whose body was nearly worn out. But double languorseemed to seize him at the father's proposal.

  "My poor Francesco," said he, "bethink thee that I have had a life ofcontroversy, and am sick on't; sick as death. Plutarch drew me to thiscalm retreat; not divinity."

  "Nay, but, your holiness, for moderating of strife between two hot youngbloods, {Makarioi oi eirinopioi}."

  "And know you nature so ill, as to think either of these high-mettledyouths will reck what a poor old Pope saith?"

  "Oh! your holiness," broke in Gerard, blushing and gasping, "sure, hereis one who will treasure your words all his life as words from Heaven."

  "In that case," said the Pope, "I am fairly caught. As Francesco herewould say--

  {ouk estin ostis est' anyr eleutheos}.

  I came to taste that eloquent heathen, dear to me e'en as to thee, thoupaynim monk; and I must talk divinity, or something next door to it.But the youth hath a good and a winning face, and writeth Greek like anangel. Well then, my children, to comprehend the ways of the Church, weshould still rise a little above the earth, since the Church is betweenheaven and earth, and interprets betwixt them.

  "The question is then, not how vulgar men feel, but how the commonCreator of man and beast doth feel, towards the lower animals. This, ifwe are too proud to search for it in the lessons of the Church, the nextbest thing is to go to the most ancient history of men and animals."

  Colonna. "Herodotus."

  "Nay, nay; in this matter Herodotus is but a mushroom. Finely were wesped for ancient history, if we depended on your Greeks, who did butwrite on the last leaf of that great book, Antiquity."

  The friar groaned. Here was a Pope uttering heresy against his demigods.

  "'Tis the Vulgate I speak of. A history that handles matters threethousand years before him pedants call 'the Father of History.'"

  Colonna. "Oh! the Vulgate? I cry your holiness mercy. How you frightenedme. I quite forgot the Vulgate."

  "Forgot it? art sure thou ever readst it, Francesco mio?"

  "Not quite, your holiness. 'Tis a pleasure I have long promised myself,the first vacant moment. Hitherto these grand old heathen have left mesmall time for recreation."

  His Holiness. "First then you will find in Genesis that God, havingcreated the animals, drew a holy pleasure, undefinable by us, fromcontemplating of their beauty. Was it wonderful? See their myriad forms;their lovely hair and eyes, their grace, and of some the power andmajesty: the colour of others, brighter than roses, or rubies. And when,for man's sin, not their own, they were destroyed, yet were two of eachkind spared.

  "And when the ark and its trembling inmates tumbled solitary on theworld of water, then, saith the word, 'God remembered Noah, and thecattle that were with him in the ark.'

  "Thereafter God did write His rainbow in the sky as a bond that earthshould be flooded no more; and between whom the bond? between God andman? nay, between God and man, and every living creature of all flesh:or my memory fails me with age. In Exodus God commanded that the cattleshould share the sweet blessing of the one day's rest. Moreover He'forbade to muzzle the ox that trod out the corn. 'Nay, let the pooroverwrought soul snatch a mouthful as he goes his toilsome round: thebulk of the grain shall still be for man.' Ye will object perchancethat St. Paul, commenting this, saith rudely, 'Doth God care for oxen?'Verily, had I been Peter, instead of the humblest of his successors,I had answered him. 'Drop thy theatrical poets, Paul, and read theScriptures: then shalt thou know whether God careth only for men andsparrows, or for all his creatures. O, Paul,' had I made bold to say,'think not to learn God by looking into Paul's heart, nor any heart ofman, but study that which he hath revealed concerning himself.'

  "Thrice he forbade the Jews to boil the kid in his mother's milk; notthat this is cruelty, but want of thought and gentle sentiments, and sopaves the way for downright cruelty. A prophet riding on an ass didmeet an angel. Which of these two, Paulo judice, had seen the heavenlyspirit? marry, the prophet. But it was not so. The man, his visioncloyed with sin, saw nought. The poor despised creature saw all. Nor isthis recorded as miraculous. Poor proud things, we overrate ourselves.The angel had slain the prophet and spared the ass, but for thatcreature's clearer vision of essences divine. He said so, methinks.But in sooth I read it many years agone. Why did God spare repentantNineveh? Because in that city were sixty thousand children, besides muchcattle.

  "Profane history and vulgar experience add their mite of witness. Thecruel to animals end in cruelty to man; and strange and violent deaths,marked with retribution's bloody finger, have in all ages fallen fromheaven on such as wantonly harm innocent beasts. This I myself haveseen. All this duly weighed, and seeing that, despite this Francesco'sfriends, the Stoics, who in their vanity say the creatures all subsistfor man's comfort, there be snakes and scorpions which kill 'Dominumterra' with a nip, musquitoes which eat him piecemeal, and tigers andsharks which crack him like an almond, we do well to be grateful tothese true, faithful, patient, four-footed friends, which, in lieu ofpowdering us, put forth their strength to relieve our toils, and do feedus like mothers from their gentle dugs.

  "Methinks then the Church is never more divine than in this benedictionof our four-footed friends, which has revolted you great theologicalauthority, the captain of the Pope's guards; since here she inculcateshumility and gratitude, and rises towards the level of the mind divine,and interprets God to man, God the Creator, parent, and friend of manand beast.

  "But all this, young gentles, you will please to receive, not asdelivered by the Pope ex cathedra, but uttered carelessly, in a freehour, by an aged clergyman. On that score you will perhaps do well toentertain it with some little consideration. For old age must surelybring a man somewhat, in return for his digestion (his 'dura puerorumilia,' eh, Francesco!), which it carries away."

  Such was the purport of the Pope's discourse but the manner high bred,languid, kindly, and free from all tone of dictation. He seemed to begently probing the matter in concert with his hearers, not playingSir Oracle. At the bottom of all which was doubtless a slight touch ofhumbug, but the humbug that embellishes life; and all sense of it waslost in the subtle Italian grace of the thing.

  "I seem to hear the oracle of Delphi," said Fra Colonnaenthusiastically.

  "I call that good sense," shouted Jacques Bonaventura.

  "Oh, captain, good sense!" said Gerard, with a deep and tender reproach.

  The Pope smiled on Gerard. "Cavil not at words; that was an unheardof concession from a rival theologian." He then asked for all Gerard'swork, and took it away in his hand. But before going, he gently pulledFra Colonna's ear, and asked him whether he remembered when they wereschool-fellows together and robbed the Virgin by the roadside of themoney dropped into her box. "You took a flat stick and applied bird-limeto the top, and drew the money out through the chink, you rogue," saidhis holiness severely.

  "To every signor his own honour," replied Fra Colonna. "It was yourholiness's good wit invented the manoeuvre. I was but the humbleinstrument."

  "It is well. Doubtless you know 'twas sacrilege."

  "Of the first water; but I did it in such good company, it troubles menot."

  "Humph! I have not even that poor consolation. What did we spend it in,dost mind?"

  "Can your holiness ask? why, sugar-plums."

  "What, all on't?"

  "Every doit."

  "These are delightful reminiscences, my Francesco. Alas! I am gettingold. I shall not be here long. And I am sorry for it, for thy sake. Theywill go and burn thee when I am gone. Art far more a heretic than Huss,whom I saw burned with these eyes; and oh, he died like a martyr."

  "Ay, your holiness; but I believe in the Pope; and Huss did not."

  "Fox! They will not burn thee; wood is too dear. Adieu, old playmate;a
dieu, young gentlemen; an old man's blessing be on you."

  That afternoon the Pope's secretary brought Gerard a little bag: in itwere several gold pieces.

  He added them to his store.

  Margaret seemed nearer and nearer.

  For some time past, too, it appeared as if the fairies had watched overhim. Baskets of choice provisions and fruits were brought to his door byporters, who knew not who had employed them, or affected ignorance; andone day came a jewel in a letter, but no words.