{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_55239/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_55239","id":"gutenberg_55239","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55239","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - European","Category: History - Religious","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Italy -- Church history","Italy -- History"],"text":"ITALIAN\n YESTERDAYS\n\n\n BY\n\n MRS. HUGH FRASER\n\n Author of \u201cA Diplomatist\u2019s Wife in Japan,\u201d\n \u201cA Diplomatist\u2019s Wife in Many Lands,\u201d\n \u201cReminiscences of a Diplomatist\u2019s\n Wife,\u201d etc.\n\n\n VOL. II\n\n\n\n NEW YORK\n DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY\n 1913\n\n\n\n\n COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY\n DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY\n Published November, 1913\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOL. II\n\n\n CHAPTER I\n PAGE\n\n SAINTS OF THE CHURCH 1\n\n A Friend in Rome\u2014A Story of Two Ways of Loving\u2014Agla\u00eb\n and Boniface\u2014Become Christians\u2014A New Life\u2014Boniface\n Endures Terrible Tortures\u2014Martyrdom\u2014Death of\n Agla\u00eb\u2014Church of St. Boniface\u2014Alexis, the Pilgrim\u2014His\n Travels\u2014Return to Rome\u2014A Ragged Beggar\u2014His Death and\n Burial in St. Boniface\u2019s Church\u2014St. Alexis\u2019\n Monastery\u2014Trials of the Church After Constantine\u2014Rome\u2019s\n Lowest Ebb\u2014Growth of the Spiritual City\u2014Benedict the\n Blessed, and Scholastica.\n\n\n CHAPTER II\n\n FOUNDER OF MONASTICISM 15\n\n Norcia in the Sabines\u2014A Matrona\u2014The Twins, Benedict and\n Scholastica\u2014Benedict Goes to Rome\u2014Conversion of\n Placidus\u2014Benedict\u2019s Retirement to La Mentorella\u2014Life in\n a Cave\u2014Temptations\u2014Visit of St. Francis\u2014Benedict\u2019s\n Ministering\u2014Real Founder of Monastic Life\u2014Growth of His\n Order\u2014Placidus and Maurus\u2014St. Benedict\u2019s Personality and\n Conversions\u2014His Ideal of the Religious Life\u2014His Greatest\n Miracles\u2014His Sister, Scholastica\u2014The Last Day\n Together\u2014His Ascension.\n\n\n CHAPTER III\n\n ST. GREGORY THE GREAT 37\n\n Birth and Lineage of St. Gregory\u2014Path from the World to\n the Cloister\u2014Prayer, Study, and Charity\u2014His Cat\u2014A\n Prophecy\u2014A Cardinal Deacon\u2014Mission to\n Constantinople\u2014Eutyches\u2019 Heresy\u2014Rome in\n Pestilence\u2014Gregory Elected Pope\u2014His Unbelievable\n Accomplishments\u2014His Life as Pope\u2014Championship of\n the Oppressed\u2014Bond with English-speaking People\u2014The Great\n Procession During the Pestilence\u2014Gregory\u2019s Successors.\n\n\n CHAPTER IV\n\n MEMORIES OF THE PANTHEON 52\n\n The Pantheon\u2014Hadrian\u2019s Best Monument\u2014Long Idle\u2014Consecrated\n as St. Mary of the Martyrs\u2014The Cathedral, the Symbol\n of the Soul\u2014Its Purification\u2014Continuity of the Church\u2014A\n Priest\u2019s Visit\u2014The Alabaster Square\u2014Procession of the\n Martyrs\u2019 Relics\u2014Giovanni Borgi, the Workman\u2014Italian\n Guilds\u2014Giovanni\u2019s Selflessness\u2014His Rescue of the Forsaken\n Children\u2014Care of Them\u2014Crusade in Behalf of All the Waifs\n of Rome\u2014His Work of Love\u2014Giovanni\u2019s Successor,\n Later Pius IX.\n\n\n CHAPTER V\n\n EARLY LIFE OF FATHER MASTAI 70\n\n Birth in 1792\u2014A Happy Family\u2014His Youth\u2014Epilepsy\u2014The\n Church at the Time of Napoleon\u2014Abduction of Pius to\n Avignon\u2014Napoleon\u2019s Downfall\u2014Return of the Pope to\n Rome\u2014His Reception\u2014Prophecies Regarding Pius IX\u2014His\n Journey to Chile\u2014Ocean Trip\u2014Across the Andes\u2014Failure\n of Mission\u2014Rounding Cape Horn\u2014English Settlement on the\n Cape\u2014\u201cLove-of-the-Soil\u201d\u2014The Falkland Islands.\n\n\n CHAPTER VI\n\n POPE PIUS IX 91\n\n Director of Ospizio di San Michele\u2014A Splendid\n Record\u2014Archbishop of Spoleto\u2014A Turbulent\n Populace\u2014Order Restored\u2014Revolution in Europe\u2014Spoleto\n Saved\u2014The Earthquake in Umbria\u2014New Post at Imola\u2014Secret\n Societies\u2014A Cardinal\u2014Attack upon the Three Prelates\u2014The\n Cardinal\u2019s Bravery\u2014How the Saints Forgive\u2014Pope Pius\n IX\u2014His Charity and Justice\u2014Defenders of the Poor\u2014Anecdotes\n of the Cardinal\u2019s Generosity.\n\n\n CHAPTER VII\n\n CAPTIVITY OF POPE PIUS VII 108\n\n Lebzeltern, the Ambassador of the Austrian Emperor\u2014Origin\n of His Mission\u2014Napoleon\u2019s Anger Against Pius VII\u2014Arrest\n of the Pope\u2014Protests from the Church\u2014Napoleon\n Excommunicated\u2014Vain Efforts to Evade the Bull\u2014Instructions\n for the Mission\u2014\u201cDo All, or Else, _Do Nothing_\u201d\u2014Pius\n VII in His Sixty-eighth Year\u2014The Interview\u2014The Pope\u2019s\n Position\u2014His Generosity\u2014Message to Napoleon\u2014Continued\n Captivity\u2014Return to Rome\u2014Napoleon\u2019s Expiation.\n\n\n CHAPTER VIII\n\n IN SABINA 131\n\n Castel Gandolfo\u2014Its Gardens\u2014The Sabine Hills\u2014The\n Reverendo\u2014An Expedition into the Hills-The Campagna in the\n Early Morning\u2014\u201cOur Lady of Good Counsel\u201d\u2014Ancient\n Pr\u00e6neste\u2014Italy\u2019s Landscape\u2014Struggles of the\n Colonna\u2014Destruction of Palestrina\u2014Boniface\u2019s Revenge\n and Expiation\u2014Olevano, the Haunt of Artists\u2014\u201cPicturesque\n Utility\u201d\u2014The Wrong Train\u2014Romance of a Pebble\u2014The Work\n of the Saints.\n\n\n CHAPTER IX\n\n PEOPLE OF THE HILLS 152\n\n The Apennines\u2014View from a Peak\u2014Real\n Hospitality\u2014Polenta\u2014Woods of Sabina\u2014A Hill Family\u2014The\n Cook\u2014A Queer Adventure\u2014People of the South\u2014A Night\n Festival in the Abruzzi\u2014The Journey\u2014The Old Organ\u2014Marion\n Crawford\u2019s Boys\u2014Juvenile Theatricals.\n\n\n CHAPTER X\n\n A STORY OF VENICE 172\n\n A Follower of the Condottieri\u2014The Raw Recruit\u2014Division of\n the Dukedom of Milan\u2014Carmagnola\u2019s Turn\u2014Growth in\n Wealth and Power\u2014Disaffection\u2014Venice Acquires His\n Services\u2014War with Milan\u2014A Leisurely Campaign\u2014Carmagnola\n at the Height of His Glory\u2014Fortune Turns Against the\n Venetians\u2014Stirrings of Suspicion\u2014Reception in Venice\u2014The\n Senate Chamber\u2014Growing Dusk\u2014The Attack\u2014End of His Part in\n the World\u2014Another Story of the North\u2014St. Raniero, the Patron\n of Pisa\u2014The Power of Temperance.\n\n\n CHAPTER XI\n\n QUEEN JOAN OF NAPLES 191\n\n A Conspicuous Feminine Sinner\u2014Marriage of State\u2014Her\n Beauty\u2014Her Hungarian Husband\u2014Petrarch and the Monk\u2014Joan\u2019s\n Ascent to the Throne\u2014The Naples Succession\u2014Her\n Favourites\u2014The Churches of Naples\u2014Joan\u2019s Lovers\u2014Factions\n of Naples\u2014Charles of Durazzo\u2014A Bold Proposal\u2014Charles\u2019\n Ambitious Plots\u2014War of the Factions\u2014Disappearance of\n Maria\u2014Becomes the Wife of Charles\u2014Joan\u2019s Horror.\n\n\n CHAPTER XII\n\n A MEDI\u00c6VAL NIGHTMARE 208\n\n Pact Between Charles and Andrew of Hungary\u2014Joan\u2019s Homage\n to the Papal Legate\u2014Andrew Ignored\u2014Arrival of Andrew\u2019s\n Mother\u2014Andrew Upheld by the Pope\u2014His Reprisals\u2014\u201cThe\n Man Must Die\u201d\u2014The Queen\u2019s Conspiracy\u2014Last\n Meeting of Charles and Andrew\u2014The Hunting Expedition\u2014The\n Banquet in the Monastery\u2014The Murder\u2014Tempest Breaks\n over Joan\u2019s Head\u2014An Evil Blow at Charles\u2014Trial of Andrew\u2019s\n Murderers\u2014A Nightmare of Cruelty and Fear.\n\n\n CHAPTER XIII\n\n THE VAMPIRE-MONARCH FROM HUNGARY 233\n\n Charles\u2019 Further Acts as Dictator\u2014Rise of the Favoured\n Louis of Taranto\u2014Civil War\u2014A Scheme of the Empress of\n Constantinople\u2014Interference of the King of Hungary\u2014The\n Empress Again to the Rescue\u2014Hungary\u2019s Advance\u2014Death of\n the Empress\u2014Flight of the Neapolitan Nobles\u2014Joan and\n Her Husband in Provence\u2014Charles\u2019 Well-merited Fate\u2014The\n King of Hungary\u2019s Vengeance\u2014Government by Execution.\n\n\n CHAPTER XIV\n\n END OF JOAN\u2019S CAREER 246\n\n Joan Detained at Aix\u2014Greeted as a Queen\u2014Joan Pronounced\n Innocent\u2014Plans to Regain Naples\u2014Sale of a City\u2014Return to\n Naples\u2014Indecisive War\u2014Proposal for Personal\n Conflict\u2014Flight of the Royal Family\u2014Maria\u2019s Narrow\n Escape\u2014Hungarians Repulsed\u2014Pope Clement as\n Intermediary\u2014Departure of the King of Hungary\u2014Festivity\n in Naples\u2014Death of Louis and Joan\u2019s Further Marital\n Adventures\u2014Joan in Trouble\u2014Her Untimely End.\n\n\n CHAPTER XV\n\n NAPLES UNDER MURAT 263\n\n Beauty of Naples\u2014Figures of Its History\u2014St.\n Januarius\u2014Murat, King of Naples\u2014Achievements as King\u2014The\n Carbonari\u2014England\u2019s Promises\u2014Napoleonic Diplomacy\u2014Rise\n of the Bourbons\u2014Alliance with Austria\u2014Murat\u2019s\n Indecision\u2014Distrust of the Allies\u2014Murat\u2019s\n Statesmanship\u2014Talleyrand\u2019s Diplomacy\u2014Naples, the\n Gay\u2014Conspiracy in the Palace\u2014The Escape from\n Elba\u2014Ideal Government\u2014War Against Murat\u2014Advance of\n the Austrians\u2014Murat Driven to Naples\u2014Interview with His\n Wife\u2014Last Instructions to His Ministers\u2014Escape.\n\n\n CHAPTER XVI\n\n MURAT\u2019S LAST DAYS 299\n\n Naples in Anarchy\u2014Entrance of Austrians\u2014Murat\u2019s Repulse\n by Napoleon and by Louis\u2014His Demon of\n Ill-luck\u2014Ship-wrecked\u2014Aid in Corsica\u2014Emperor of Austria\u2019s\n Proposal\u2014Attempt Against Naples\u2014Murat Betrayed into\n Ferdinand\u2019s Hands\u2014Murat\u2019s \u201cTrial\u201d\u2014Letter to His\n Wife\u2014Before His \u201cJudges\u201d\u2014A Brave Death\u2014Ferdinand, the\n \u201cButcher King.\u201d\n\n\n CHAPTER XVII\n\n ITALIAN SEAS 315\n\n Our Moods and the Seas\u2014Memories in Landscapes\u2014The Healing\n of the Sea\u2014A Vision in the Bay of Naples\u2014Marion Crawford\u2019s\n Yacht Expected\u2014The Family Together at Leghorn\u2014Lady\n Paget\u2014A Bathing Scene\u2014Hugh Fraser\u2014\u201cSpannocchi\u201d for\n Dinner\u2014The Avenging Boatman\u2014Livorno, An Anomaly\u2014Sunset\n on the Mare Ligure\u2014Bay of Spezia, a Splurge of Colour and\n Light\u2014A Hail Storm in Venice\u2014The Joy of a Gondola\u2014Moods\n of Venice\u2014A Giorgione Beauty\u2014The Nurseries of Venice\u2014Her\n Shops\u2014Saints and Heresies of the Thirteenth Century.\n\n\n CHAPTER XVIII\n\n SOUTHERN SHORES 339\n\n Melancholy Ravenna\u2014Early Byzantine Architecture\u2014Forests\n of Stone-pine\u2014Smiles and Tears\u2014The Need of a Little\n Misfortune\u2014Monte Gargano\u2014Millions of Spanish\n Merinos\u2014Prim\u00e6val Forest\u2014A Forest Miracle\u2014Church of the\n Apparition of St. Michael\u2014Other Apparitions of the\n Archangel\u2014The Revelation to St. Aubert\u2014The Great Round\n Church\u2014Order of the Knights of St. Michael\u2014A \u201cMaiden\u201d\n Fortress of France.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nSAINTS OF THE CHURCH\n\n A Friend in Rome\u2014A Story of Two Ways of Loving\u2014Agla\u00eb and\n Boniface\u2014Become Christians\u2014A New Life\u2014Boniface Endures Terrible\n Tortures\u2014Martyrdom\u2014Death of Agla\u00eb\u2014Church of St. Boniface\u2014Alexis,\n the Pilgrim\u2014His Travels\u2014Return to Rome\u2014A Ragged Beggar\u2014His Death\n and Burial in St. Boniface\u2019s Church\u2014St. Alexis\u2019 Monastery\u2014Trials\n of the Church After Constantine\u2014Rome\u2019s Lowest Ebb\u2014Growth of the\n Spiritual City\u2014Benedict the Blessed, and Scholastica.\n\n\nIt was my good fortune, many years ago, to make friends with a\nwoman whose name was as beautiful as her mind\u2014Mary Grace. We met in\nanother hemisphere, under the Southern Cross, and for many days lived\ntogether in Chile\u2019s one little paradise, Vi\u00f1a del Mar. There, in shady\npatios trellised with jessamine and bougainvillea, we talked of the\nimpossible\u2014of meeting in Rome and going together to the holy places and\nmaking better acquaintance with the Saints. Two or three years later\nthe impossible happened. My Mary, with her daughter Lilium, floated\ninto my mother\u2019s drawing-room in the Odescalchi one April afternoon,\nwhen the swallows were whirling above the courtyard and the house\nseemed all roses and sunshine. In the weeks that followed all our dream\nprogramme was realised; together we went to the Pope\u2019s Mass, together\nknelt at his feet while Leo XIII laid his hand on Lilium\u2019s golden\nhead and blessed us and promised to pray for us and all our dear ones;\nand together we wandered from place to place in the Eternal City, I,\nwho had known it all my life, learning many things from her who came\nthere for the first time, as so often happens. Of all those pleasant\ninspiring hours the one we both remembered most appreciatively, I\nthink, was that of our visit to a lonely spot on the Aventine\u2014the hill\nthat somehow has always kept its character and is even to-day very\nlittle hurt by the destructions that have defaced most of the other\nquarters of the town.\n\nMy friend was Irish, \u201cpur sang,\u201d and her appreciations were extremely\nindividual ones; things that other people felt obliged to rave about\nleft her quite cold; but, when she had caught and joined the links\nof some beautiful story that the world had overlooked or forgotten,\nshe became a veritable flame of enthusiasm, and every tiny detail and\nsouvenir she could connect with it had to be sought out and stored in\nthe big warm shrine of her heart. I think, though I am not certain,\nthat she knew the story of the house on the Aventine before she came to\nRome. Anyway, it was she who took me there, and we went over story and\nhouse together, and were exceedingly loath to come away when the Ave\nMaria rang over the city and all respectable people turned their faces\nhomewards.\n\nHere is the story, a story of two ways of loving. It is in two parts,\nand I only learnt the first long after I was familiar with the second.\nThe beginning takes us back to the last years of the Third Century,\nto the oft-mentioned reign of Diocletian. At that time, although the\nAventine had never been one of the most distinguished quarters of Rome,\nit contained a few dwellings of nobles, who, doubtless, overlooked the\nmass of poorer houses that swarmed about its base, for the sake of the\nview, both over the city and towards the sea, from which comes always\nthe pleasant west wind that we Romans love. I have spoken of the palace\nof the good Marcella, where in her old age she was so roughly treated\nby Alaric\u2019s Goths; before Marcella\u2019s time there lived another noble\nlady on the Aventine, with very different ideas as to the conduct of\nlife. Her name was Agla\u00eb, not a Roman name, and I fancy she must have\ncome of Greek parentage, although she is spoken of as a noble Roman\nmatron. Of her husband, who seems to have died before the story begins,\nwe are told nothing; her whole existence was wrapped up in a quite\nunsanctified passion for a handsome pagan called Boniface, a man of\ngenerous heart, as the sequel shows, but a sensualist, like most of\nhis class at that time. He adored Agla\u00eb, and the two must have passed\nsome enchanting hours wandering on the terraces of the Aventine villa\nor sitting hand in hand to watch the sun sinking red into the distant\nsea. No thought of the future seems to have come to them there, nor any\ngleam of a scruple as to their way of life. Youth and beauty and love\nwere theirs; this world was sweet, and they had never heard of another.\n\nThen something happened. We are not told what it was\u2014perhaps some\nmiracle witnessed by Boniface at the martyrdom of some obscure\nChristian, one of those miracles which so often converted a crowd of\nbrutal, mocking bystanders into Christians on the spot. Whatever it\nwas, it rent his soul, summoned his intelligence, and claimed him for\never. If Agla\u00eb was not with him at the moment, he must have rushed\nto her for one last visit to tell her of it, for her conversion was\nsimultaneous, and sudden as his own. From that moment the lovers\nrenounced each other for the love of Christ, and the remainder of their\nlives was devoted to atoning for their guilt in the past. Agla\u00eb, in her\nlonely palace, gave herself up to prayer and penance; Boniface at once\njoined himself to the band of Christians who made it their business to\ngather up and bury the bodies of the martyrs. In no other way could he\nassuage the tumult of pain and repentance that filled his heart at the\nremembrance of his sins. Diocletian\u2019s persecution was not confined to\nRome, but was raging in many other parts of the Empire, notably in Asia\nMinor, and thither Boniface travelled with some devoted companions, in\norder to help and cheer the poor Christians in their sufferings.\n\nOn arriving at Tarsus, St. Paul\u2019s city, he got separated from his\nfellow-travellers, and, wandering around, found that a great number of\nthe Faithful were being cruelly tormented that day, in divers ways,\nfor the name of Christ, and his heart was both torn with compassion\nfor their pains and admiration for their heroism. Approaching them,\nhe kissed their chains and encouraged them to endure these passing\ntortures for the sake of Him who would so quickly and splendidly reward\nthem by an eternity of joy. Of course he was at once arrested, and the\ntormentors seem to have tasked their ingenuity in inventing agonies for\nhim to bear. His sins of the flesh were expiated by having his whole\nbody ploughed with hooks of iron, and by spikes of wood run in under\nhis nails and on his limbs; he had spoken sinful words; they poured\nmolten lead into his mouth; he had sinned in the lust of the eyes and\nthe pride of life; the executioners plunged him head downwards in a\ncauldron of boiling pitch. But from this the Lord delivered him. When\nthey drew him forth, his eyes were clear, his brow unscarred, and he\nlooked once more\u2014his last look\u2014on the fair world where he had been so\nsinfully happy, and through it all he praised God aloud, saying, \u201cLord\nJesus Christ, Son of God, I thank Thee!\u201d Then came the order\u2014so usual\nwhen all the torments had failed and the dear spirit still clung to the\nlacerated body\u2014\u201cBehead him!\u201d\n\nAs the axe fell, there was a terrific earthquake, and many of the\nbystanders were converted then and there, but no one was allowed\nto touch his body. Meanwhile his friends, who had been seeking for\nhim everywhere, learnt of his martyrdom, and came to gather up his\nremains. But a strict watch had been set, and it was only after paying\nfive hundred pieces of silver that they could obtain possession of\nthe dear corpse. With love and tears, they anointed it with precious\nbalms and wrapped it in costly coverings and transported it to Rome.\nDuring these months Agla\u00eb had been living a life of such whole-hearted\nrepentance that our dear Lord had taken her into great grace; and\nnow, by an exquisite, Divine bit of indulgence\u2014one of those flashes of\nhot sympathy that come straight from the Sacred Human Heart of Him in\nHeaven to some poor, broken human heart on earth\u2014He sent an Angel to\ntell her that her Boniface\u2019s body was returning to Rome and that she\ncould go and meet it. So Agla\u00eb, in her sombre penitential dress, her\nbeautiful face covered with a veil, went forth, and, at a given place,\nsaw the little procession approaching from the sea. There was no danger\nfor her in looking at the beloved features now. Very quiet and strong\nshe seems to have been as she met the wayfarers, bade them pause with\ntheir holy burden, and then led them back to her own house. There,\nwhere he and she had loved and sinned, she received him, who was to\nleave her no more. Those who had brought him told her of his glorious\nend, and she thanked the Lord for it again\u2014for the Angel had not let\nher wait so long for the story. And when she had shown her gratitude\nby most loving hospitality and precious gifts to those who had brought\nhis body, they went away and left her alone with her beloved. Ask any\nloving woman what she did then! Which of us would not place our dear\ntortured dead in our hall of honour, and burn sweet spices round them,\nand light tall tapers, and fill the place with every fragrance and\nloveliness that the garden has to give?\n\nAll this, we may be sure, Agla\u00eb did for Boniface; but she did that\nfrom which most women are debarred. She turned her palace into a Church\nfor his tomb, and prayed near it till she died, and then the poor and\nsuffering, who had been her one care from the day of her conversion,\ncame there and prayed for her soul. But we know that that went straight\nto Heaven.\n\nSo there stood the Church of St. Boniface, and, some two hundred years\nlater, a most noble Roman family had established their own palace close\nto it, and the Church, as we know it, now includes a part of the house\nof Alexis. For this is where a great saint grew to manhood, the loved\nson of rich and affectionate parents. Alexis had every gift of mind,\nwith beauty of countenance and strength of body; and, when the time was\nripe, his father and mother betrothed him to a bride of their choosing,\ngood and sweet, and very fair to see. In this they had, for the first\ntime, met with stubborn opposition from the boy, who had never opposed\nthem before. He told them that he had vowed himself to a single life\nfor God\u2019s service, and that no earthly bride, however beautiful, should\nmake him swerve from that allegiance. But they, like many other good\nparents, persisted in their project, convinced that they knew what was\ngood for their son; and the preparations for his marriage went merrily\nforward, each day but adding to the young man\u2019s grief and perplexity.\nRome was Rome still; he could protest, but he had to obey his father\u2019s\ndirect commands, and obey he did; but his vow had been made to a still\nhigher authority, and he meant to keep it, and prayed for grace and\nguidance to do so, nor were grace and guidance refused him, who, as the\nBreviary puts it, \u201cwas of Rome\u2019s noblest, but nobler yet through his\ngreat love for Christ.\u201d\n\nOn the night of his wedding, when the feasting and singing and\ncongratulating were over, and the matrons conducted the bride, probably\na child of thirteen or fourteen, to the lighted, perfumed bridal\nchamber, Alexis would not so much as touch her hand, but, like one\nGalahad of another time and clime, bade her farewell and departed,\nhaving received from God a special command to go on a pilgrimage to\nthe \u201cillustrious Churches of the Universe.\u201d He left all behind, riches\nand servants, and even his name, and for seventeen long years, with\nno companion but the Lady Poverty, wandered, a nameless poor pilgrim,\nthrough all the Holy Places, praising the Redeemer for His great\nmercies and praying for the hastening of the Kingdom of Heaven.\n\nAt the end of those seventeen years, he was one day praying fervently\nbefore an image of the Blessed Virgin in the great Church at Edessa,\nwhen a voice came from the image, proclaiming his name and rank. The\npeople were greatly excited and wished to show him honour, both for his\nown sake and because Our Lady Herself seemed to wish it. But Alexis\nknew better. That strange, sweet voice had not rung in his ears to\nlure him back to things of earthly pride, and for him the disclosure\nof his identity was the command to depart from that land. He fled, and\nboarded the first ship he could find to carry him away from Syria. He\nnever asked the vessel\u2019s destination; it was enough for him that he was\nobeying a command, but he was being led back to where the second phase\nof his spiritual career awaited him\u2014in his old home in Rome.\n\nAs the ship sped north and west, and one by one the lovely Greek\nislands seemed to come floating towards him, like opals on the shifting\nsapphire of the sea, he still kept silence, still prayed and praised.\nWhat cared he whither her course was set? The white sails might have\nbeen angel\u2019s wings\u2014so sure was Alexis that God was leading him. Then,\nwhen the Apennines swam up blue from the bluer water, and scents of\nviolet and orange blossom were wafted out to greet the wanderer, he\nknew that this was Italy\u2014and home. Still he spoke not\u2014questioned not;\npast the isles of the Sirens, past Circe\u2019s Promontory, still on, past\nall that shore of coral and pearl, of palm and ilex and olive, with\nVesuvius\u2019 dark smoke hanging like a menace in the background, the\nlittle Syrian galley held her way, and at last the helmsman turned her\nprow to the land, the sails were all furled but one; the enormous oars\nworked her up against a rushing yellow current till the long quay was\nreached, and with a rattling of chains the weary galley slaves shipped\ntheir oars and bent down to look, each through his little opening, at\n\u201cthe port of Rome.\u201d\n\nWith the merchants and the free seamen, Alexis stepped on shore, and\ngazed at the city of his birth. He had been brought back\u2014for what?\nBlindly, joyfully, obediently, he had gone forth, to fare alone with\nGod, and alone with God he was still to be. An hour or so later a\nhaggard mendicant stood at the gate of a palace on the Aventine, asking\nfor charity. That was never refused in that house, and the servants\nbrought him in, showed him a dark corner under a stairway close to the\nentrance, where they told him he might sleep, and gave him some scraps\nof food. Humbly and gratefully he accepted it all; he heard them speak\nof the master and the mistress and the \u201cwidow\u201d of the eldest son who\nwas long since dead; and that day or the next he must have seen his\nfather and mother, and the maid who had never been a wife, passing\nthrough the courtyards or lingering in the garden. God\u2019s ways are not\nour ways. When He covets the love of certain souls for Himself, He\nwill not share it with any one, and that Divine jealousy leads the\nchosen soul through hard paths. The hearts that love God intensely are\nthe very ones that are the most loving of their fellows, especially\nof all who hold close to them in the sacred ties of family affection.\nBut these ties have to be snapped on earth when the Divine Lover so\nwills\u2014and Saints like Alexis, and poor sinners like the rest of us,\nhave to leave the broken ends in His Hands, knowing that the pain we\nare made to cause our dear ones is as necessary for them as that which\nwe suffer is for us, and that every pang of theirs is a golden strand\nin the garment of their immortality. Alexis\u2019 parents had sinned against\nhim and Heaven in trying to force him to break his vow of virginity;\ntheir son had long forgiven them, but Heaven in its mercy was allowing\nthem to expiate their sin here instead of hereafter, and, through their\nobstinacy, the young girl who might, wedded to another spouse, have\nbecome a joyful mother of children, had to spend her life in their sad\nhouse, waiting upon them, and with the prospect of a very lonely age\nbefore her when they should have passed away.\n\nWe may be sure that many and many a time Alexis longed to emerge from\nhis despised obscurity and comfort them all three, but it was not for\nthat God had brought him back. The command of silence was never lifted,\nand so the son\u2014the heir\u2014lived on, a ragged beggar, laughed at and also\nabused by his father\u2019s servants, praying in St. Boniface\u2019s Church by\nday, sleeping in the cranny under the stairs at night, allaying his\nhunger by the scraps the servants threw him, and always blessing them\nand praising God, who thus satisfied His own servant\u2019s hunger for\npoverty and suffering and humiliation. This second trial, this exile of\nthe heart, lasted also seventeen years. At that time the very existence\nof Rome was threatened by Alaric the Goth; once and twice, he had\nturned from its gates laden with the ransom exacted for not entering\nthem; he was threatening to approach again, and this time he had sworn\nto enter and destroy. The population was crowding the Churches to pray\nfor deliverance, when a mysterious voice rang out in each separate\nChurch, \u201cSeek ye the man of God, that he may pray for Rome!\u201d Terror\nfell upon the suppliant masses, and none dared speak or move. Then the\nsame voice cried, \u201cSeek in the house of Euphemian.\u201d\n\nThere was a rush to the Aventine, for all knew the great noble\u2019s\ndwelling. The Pope, Innocent I, had heard the command and himself\nwent thither, followed by all his ecclesiastics and the Senators as\nwell. When they reached Euphemian\u2019s house it was the Pope who led them\nto the dark corner under the stairs\u2014dark no longer, but flooded with\ncelestial light, where the nameless beggar lay dying alone. His hands\nwere already cold, but in one he held a crucifix, in the other a slip\nof parchment which no one could make him relinquish, though many tried\nto take it away from him. Then Innocent commanded him, in the Name of\nGod, to give it up, and immediately Alexis let him take it with his own\nhand. And the Pope, standing up beside the dying man, opened the slip,\nand read aloud therefrom the name and family of the beggar; and a great\ncry went through the house that it was Alexis, the son who had been\nmourned for dead these many years. And father and mother and wife threw\nthemselves down beside him, embracing him and weeping bitterly, for in\nthat moment his soul had gone to God.\n\nThen Innocent buried him in the Church of St. Boniface, and it was\ncalled both by his name and that of Alexis for many years. Both their\nbodies rest there, and a chapel was thrown out at one side to take\nin the stairway, which, now covered with glass, remains to this day.\nBoth Boniface and Alexis had travelled and prayed and suffered in the\nEast, and their Church came to be a heritage of both East and West;\nfor, five hundred years after the July day on which Alexis died, a\ngreat monastery called after him and built close to the Church on the\nhill of the \u201chouse of Euphemian,\u201d sheltered monks of the Basilian and\nBenedictine orders at the same time, an innumerable spiritual family\n\u201cto replace the fair family he had renounced to this world.\u201d\n\nThe Aventine has been little touched by time and is still one of the\nquietest and loveliest spots in Rome. At certain seasons it suffers\nfrom malaria\u2014blown up from the marshes near Ostia\u2014and for that reason\nboth medi\u00e6val and modern builders have generally avoided it. But it is\nfull of gardens. That of St. Alexis\u2019 Convent, now an Asylum for the\nBlind, is famous for its orange and lemon trees; and one can trace\nthe dispositions of the terraces and courts of the old house in the\napproaches to the Church. I do not think that when my friend and I\nwere wandering there we noticed one curious feature which, however,\nstill exists to give one a glimpse of old Roman domestic ways\u2014the queer\nlittle cells, one on each side of the inner porch of Euphemian\u2019s house,\nwhere the slave porter, and his companion the watchdog, were _chained_,\nopposite to each other, to their respective posts! What queer and\nsympathetic confidences they must have exchanged sometimes!\n\nAlexis surely prayed for his native city, but all the prayers of all\nher Saints could not avert the trials that were to visit on Rome her\npast sins. Constantine the Great believed that he had left the Church\nin the West impregnable in strength and assured of peace; and for\nnearly three centuries after his death she was forced to fight for her\nexistence almost as stubbornly as she had during the three centuries\npreceding it. In 361, only twenty-four years after the death of\nConstantine, Julian the Apostate reversed his edicts and strained every\nnerve to re\u00ebstablish the worship of the Olympian deities. Paganism\nwas dead, and he failed in his iniquitous efforts to restore animation\nto its corpse, but much suffering did he bring to the Church, and it\nwas only at the price of blood that she conquered in the end. After\nJulian came the Barbarians\u2014Alaric, Genseric, Odoacer, Totila\u2014during the\nshort space of one hundred and thirty years Rome was taken and ravaged\nfive separate times, so that when, in 553, Narses, the prototype of\nNapoleon, abolished the Senate and annexed the city to the Eastern\nEmpire, she had reached the lowest point in her history and was\nscarcely regarded as a prize even by the Lombards, when, in response\nto the invitation of Narses himself, they overran Italy from the Alps\nto the sea, only to be finally expelled by Charlemagne some two hundred\nyears later.\n\nBut the Church had realised the truth of the saying that the darkest\nhour comes just before the dawn. The high courage that had come\nunscathed through such appalling conflicts rose gallant and audacious\nin its certainty of final victory, and, at the very moment when Rome\nseemed to be annihilated, decreed to it such a triumph as the world had\nnever seen before.\n\nIn 568, just a year after Narses, to gratify a personal spite, had\ninvited the hornet swarm of Lombards to cross the Alps, he died in the\ncity he had insulted. We must remember that there were two Romes: the\ncorporeal city, depopulated and impoverished, despoiled and dying\u2014the\ncity of the government of the once proud \u201cSenatus Populusque Romanus,\u201d\nwhich had failed signally at every point, and had crawled to the feet\nof every conqueror; and the spiritual city, ruled by strong and holy\nmen, who patiently went on with their invisible building, adding stone\nto stone with such calmness and patience that in contemplating their\nwork one is almost led to believe that they were unconscious of the\nmaterial ruin around them. During the forty years that followed the\ndeath of Narses there was growing up in Rome a phalanx of learned and\nholy ones to replace the leaders who had been found wanting, and we of\nto-day are still the inheritors and possessors of the treasures they\namassed. While the grass grew unchecked in the streets and all who\ncould migrated to happier lands; while commerce and war turned aside\nfrom the now worthless prize, and the poor tethered their few goats and\nsheep in the courtyards of the great ruined houses, the Benedicts, the\nGregorys, the Bonifaces, with their clear-eyed, disciplined cohorts,\nwere building the Liturgy, building the monastic orders, building\nthe polity that guides and rules the Church and the Faithful to-day.\nNothing escaped them; whether it were a question of the right antiphon\nfor one of the psalms of a Nocturn, the placing on the Index some\ndoubtful legend of a Saint (like that of our St. George, which the\npopular fancy was turning into a grotesque myth), the annihilation of\nsome startling new heresy which was raising its poisonous head, or the\nquestion of bringing Constantinople to its senses by bold remonstrance\nwith the Emperor\u2014to every detail was brought the thoroughness and\ndirectness of trained minds, the compelling force of superior courage\nand invincible intellect.\n\nAnd this work had been going on silently and infallibly from the\nmoment that official persecution ceased. Through sieges and invasions,\ndesertions and desolations, the mills of God were grinding the grain\nand filling the great storehouses with golden wealth. In 480, in\nthe little town of Nursia, high among the fastnesses of the Abruzzi,\nwhere the snow lay thick in winter, as in the Alps, there was born\nto the lord of the place a son, who was christened Benedict\u2014\u201cthe\nBlest,\u201d and a little daughter, whom the father, a great admirer of\nlearning, called Scholastica. When these two passed away, sixty-three\nyears later, Literature and Saintliness were throned in Europe, and\nhold their thrones still in the innumerable fortresses manned by the\nspiritual descendants of the Nursian twins. Outside the Church few,\ncomparatively, knew their names when they died. Learning and piety\nwould scarcely exist for us had they not lived.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nFOUNDER OF MONASTICISM\n\n Norcia in the Sabines\u2014A Matrona\u2014The Twins, Benedict and\n Scholastica\u2014Benedict Goes to Rome\u2014Conversion of Placidus\u2014Benedict\u2019s\n Retirement to La Mentorella\u2014Life in a Cave\u2014Temptations\u2014Visit\n of St. Francis\u2014Benedict\u2019s Ministering\u2014Real Founder of Monastic\n Life\u2014Growth of His Order\u2014Placidus and Maurus\u2014St. Benedict\u2019s\n Personality and Conversions\u2014His Ideal of the Religious Life\u2014His\n Greatest Miracles\u2014His Sister, Scholastica\u2014The Last Day Together\u2014His\n Ascension.\n\n\nIn the heart of the Sabines, where the Nar breaks out from the rock\nnear the mountain called the Lioness, there has been since very early\ntimes a little town, too inaccessible to tempt the spoiler and the\ninvader, too sturdy and independent to serve long as a footstool for\nmedi\u00e6val tyrants. It was well fortified, however, and the ancient\nwalls encircle it still, in good repair, as witnesses to its immunity\nfrom the fate that has annihilated so many other little old cities,\nits neighbours. Nature, stern and wild enough here, helped to protect\nit. Even now it can only be reached by a carriage journey, a lengthy,\ntedious business in the winter time, when the snow almost cuts it off\nfrom communication with the outside world. The townsfolk have long\nmemories, however. The chief square is called Piazza Sertorio, after\nthe Roman General, Quintus Sertorius, who was born here in the second\ncentury before Christ, and the only public monument in Norcia is a\nstatue of their other distinguished citizen, St. Benedict, in the same\nsquare. People from other places do not interest the good burghers\nof Norcia. They have accorded a passing notice to a gentleman named\nVespasian, known elsewhere as a fairly successful Emperor, but as they\nwould tell you, \u201ca person quite without education,\u201d that is to say,\nwith no manners; nevertheless, they have allowed a hill in the vicinity\nto be called Monte Vespasio, because his mother was a decent woman and\nowned a farm there.\n\nI fancy life in Norcia is in its essentials very much what it was\nwhen, in the year of grace 480, the lord of the manor was informed\nthat his good wife had borne him twins, a son and a daughter. It is\neasy, knowing the ways of the people, to call up the picture of the\n\u201cmatrona\u201d in her best gown\u2014the midwife is the most honoured woman in\nevery Roman town\u2014coming down from the lady\u2019s apartment in the tower,\nto the head of the house, sitting, quite forgotten and rather lonely,\nin the hall, waiting for news from the centre of interest upstairs. His\nown servants would only approach with signs of submission and respect;\nnot so the all-important matrona! Conscious of her dignity and grave as\na judge, she would advance a few steps and wait for him to rise. Then,\nas he approached on tiptoe and with some timidity, she would turn back\nthe woollen covering from the unexpectedly large bundle on her left\narm, and, without a word, show him two little pink faces where he only\nexpected one.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she would say, in answer to his exclamations of delight and\nastonishment, \u201ctwo has Domine Dio sent to this noble house. Two will\nbe the gifts my lord must bestow on his lady\u201d\u2014this to remind him as\nwell of the double remuneration due to herself. \u201cPretty? Oh, no, but\nthey are not bad\u2014thanks be! Will it please my lord to send for the\npriest\u2014the \u2018femminuccia\u2019 is the younger\u2014and seems not over-strong! I\nthank my lord!\u201d\n\nMy lord has been feeling in his pouch and has slipped two of his few\ngold pieces into her hand, and, seeing that he is inclined to admire\nthe babies, she covers them up and stalks away. Her demeanour has been\nrhadamanthine throughout. There must be no expression of admiration, no\nkissing or fondling of the little creatures before they are baptised.\nThat would call the attention of the Devil to the small unregenerates\nwho are still his property. When the taint of original sin has been\nwashed away they will be angels of innocence, beautiful cherubs to be\nshown proudly to all and sundry\u2014but not before!\n\nSo my lord sent for the priest and pondered meanwhile on the names\nhe would give the new son and daughter, little dreaming, good man,\nthat fifteen centuries later those names would be household words\nto every Catholic ear and perpetuated in the colossal literature of\nsanctuaries of holiness and learning. He fixed on Benedict for the\nboy, and Scholastica for the girl, and, so far as I can trace, it was\nthe first time the names had been used. Benedict means the \u201cBlest\u201d or\n\u201cWell Spoken\u201d; Scholastica signifies a lover of learning, or \u201cthe Well\nTaught,\u201d so we may infer that the lord of Norcia (it was called Nursia\nthen) was a man of more education than most country gentlemen of those\nrough times, times of which history says: \u201cEurope has perhaps never\nknown a more calamitous or apparently desperate period than that which\nreached its climax at this date, the year 480. Confusion, corruption,\ndespair, and death were everywhere; social dismemberment seemed\ncomplete. In all the ancient Roman world there did not exist a prince\nwho was not either a pagan, or an Arian, or a Eutychian. In temporal\naffairs, the political edifice originated by Augustus\u2014that monster\nassemblage of two hundred millions of human creatures, \u2018of whom not a\nsingle individual was entitled to call himself free\u2019\u2014was crumbling into\ndust under the blows of the Barbarians.\u201d[1]\n\nNevertheless, Rome still continued to be looked upon by the surrounding\nprovinces as the centre of education; there was none, at any rate,\nto be had anywhere else within reach; and thither the lord of Norcia,\na descendant of the great family of the Anicia so often mentioned in\nthe Roman chronicles, sent his son to be instructed in philosophy and\nlaw\u2014the two subjects which still promised some kind of a career to an\nintelligent youth. Benedict was scarcely that yet\u2014he was certainly not\nmore than twelve years old, so much of a child that his nurse, Cyrilla,\nwas sent with him to take care of him. Doubtless she found some\nrespectable people with whom to lodge, and indeed one feels some pity\nfor the simple countrywoman, charged with such a heavy responsibility\nin a strange and, as it must have seemed to her, a very wicked, great\ncity.\n\nSo it seemed to the boy, too. He studied, tried to carry out his\nfather\u2019s instructions as faithfully as he could, but all he saw around\nhim inspired him with such a horror of the world and its ways that\nlife became insupportable to him, and he resolved to fly into the\nwilderness and seek for God. He was only fourteen years old, but he\nknew with certainty that his life was not to lie in the crowded places.\nThe devout nurse did not oppose his decision; his will was hers, and\ntogether they left Rome and took the road towards their old home. I\nfancy that the boy only then told her that Norcia was not to be their\ndestination. Before reaching it he would find the place where Heaven\nwilled him to stay. Thus they travelled on, till they came to La\nMentorella, one of the strangest spots in all those strange mountains.\nIts parent is Guadagnolo, the highest standing town in the whole of\nRomagna, perched on a peak four thousand feet high, and yet shut in\non every side with a wall of rock that completely hides it from the\nouter world. Just below the town a ledge of the precipitous rock juts\nout abruptly and affords foothold for a Church and hermitage, built\nhere in memory of the conversion of St. Eustace, the mighty hunter. He\nwas called Placidus then, and was a soldier, a noble and a good man,\na commander-in-chief much trusted by his Emperor, Trajan, and very\nupright and charitable in all his dealings with his fellow-men. It has\nbeen thought by scientific historians that it is of him that Josephus\nspoke when recounting the exploits of the Tribune Placidus in the war\nwith the Jews. There are links which seem to connect Placidus with\nthe Octavian family, thus making him a relation of Augustus, and some\nwriters see in the young Placidus, whom his father, Tertullus, confided\nto Benedict\u2019s care, a descendant of the gallant soldier and hunter\nof Trajan\u2019s time. Be all that as it may, we do know that in the days\nof his pagan prosperity, Placidus, hunting in the mountains, sighted\na magnificent stag and pursued it madly through the narrow defiles\ntill it fled up to the summit of an apparently inaccessible rock, and\nthere turned and stood still, gazing down on him. Then Placidus fell\non his knees in mortal fear, for between the creature\u2019s antlers was a\ncrucifix of fire, from which shot forth rays of such brilliance that\nthey lighted up all the hillside. And from it came a voice saying:\n\u201cPlacidus, why dost thou pursue Me? I am Christ, whom thou hast\nhitherto served without knowing Me. Dost thou now believe?\u201d\n\nYes, indeed, Placidus believed, and his whole house with him, and in\nthe after years was privileged to suffer great things for his till then\nunknown Master. But, for me, I never got much further with his story\nthan that blessed word, \u201cWhom thou hast served without knowing Me.\u201d\nWhen I read it I think of all the good, brave souls who thus served in\npast ages and of those who are serving thus now, all over the world,\ntruly and successfully, by the inner light which is imparted to all, of\nevery clime and every faith, so long as they are sincere and have the\n\u201csingle eye\u201d to which Christ promised that \u201cthe body shall be full of\nlight.\u201d\n\nPlacidus, on becoming a Christian, took (or began to use, it may\nhave been his already) the name of Eustace. Either in his time or\nsoon afterwards a Church was built on the site of his vision and\nthe bell-tower of the \u201cMadonna della Vulturella,\u201d although its name\nhas been shortened to \u201cLa Mentorella,\u201d still carries on its summit a\ngigantic pair of antlers in commemoration of the miracle. Until a few\nyears ago (it may be so even now) the feast of St. Eustace attracted\ngreat crowds of pilgrims to the wild and beautiful spot. His day\u2014the\nday of his martyrdom under Trajan, who, after all his great services\ncould not forgive him for refusing to sacrifice to the gods on the\noccasion of the Triumph which Eustace had won for him\u2014falls on the\n20th of September, that ominous \u201cdate which marks one of the blackest\nsteps of history,\u201d as Dom Gu\u00e9ranger says\u2014and the martyr\u2019s feast has\nbeen combined with that of St. Michael on the 29th. Then the lonely\nrocks of Guadagnolo resound to hymns and litanies, and at night are\nall lit up with bonfires, one to every little group of pilgrims, who\nmake a point of passing the night there, each family sleeping round\nits own well-stacked fire. For the autumn nights are keen among those\nwild precipices, with two cold mountain streams, the Girano and the\nSiciliano, roaring along their deep beds in the impenetrable darkness\nbelow; and also the crags used to be the haunts of naughty brigands who\nmight well covet the gold chains and silver buttons, the rich cloth\nand lace of the peasants\u2019 costumes. So some of the men kept watch,\nwith their old-fashioned muzzle-loaders across their knees, while their\nrosaries slipped through their fingers\u2014and the Blessed Madonna and St.\nEustachio were pleased with their faith and kept the robbers away, for\nnever yet has the pilgrimage been disturbed by those sons of Belial.\n\nIt was to La Mentorella that Benedict came, in the year 494, and there\nhe remained for a while, praying to be delivered from the snares of\nthe world. And the faithful Cyrilla staid with him and, their little\nstore of money being exhausted, begged food from the good people round\nabout, for herself and him. For she had not the courage to send and\nask for money at home, now that the boy had broken away from teachers\nand parents to follow the higher call. And the neighbours gave gladly,\nand lent her utensils to cook with. One day she was grinding meal in a\nlittle sieve (a stone bowl pierced with holes). To her dismay she let\nit drop and it shivered in pieces at her feet. What should she say to\nthe lender? Hearing her lamentations, Benedict came to see what was\nthe matter. He picked up the broken pieces and at once they welded\nthemselves together in his hands, and he gave her back the sieve,\nwhole. Her delight got the better of her prudence, or else some one\nwitnessed the miracle, for immediately the people cried out that they\nhad a Saint in their midst, and they hung the stone bowl up in the\nChurch as a sacred thing.\n\nTheir laudations horrified Benedict, and he ran away, alone this time,\nto find a place where no such temptations could assault his humility.\nAt last he came to a solitary ravine with steep rocky walls through\nwhich rushed a turbulent little river, which four hundred years earlier\nhad served Nero unwillingly, being dammed up and made to spread out\ninto pleasure lakes for his gardens a little further on. All was\ndeserted now, and Benedict, being an active, agile boy, crept along\nthe face of the cliff and found a cave, so deep that the light of day\nnever penetrated beyond the entrance; and here he remained, sure of the\nfood his soul needed, solitary communion with God\u2014and royally careless\nabout sustenance for his body. But a kindred heart found him out. Lower\ndown on the course of the Anio, a company of monks had established\nthemselves on the ruins of Nero\u2019s villa. There were many such\ncommunities then, living apart from the world to pray and do works of\ncharity and penance, under no fixed rule, and therefore insufficiently\norganised, but many of them leading very holy lives all the same.\n\nOne of these monks of Sub Laqueum (as the place was called from the\nartificial lakes), Romanus by name, found out Benedict\u2019s hiding-place\nand took it upon himself to provide him with food. He told none of his\ncompanions about the ardent young recluse, but every day he cut his\none loaf of bread in two, and, going to the edge of the cliff, he let\ndown the half loaf on a string, to which he had attached a little bell\nso that Benedict should know when to come to the mouth of the cave and\nreach out to catch the bread. Romanus had given him a hair shirt and\na monastic habit made of skins. He slept on the bare ground and waged\nconstant war on all the impulses of the flesh. That rebelled, fiercely.\nMany a temptation assailed him. The remembered beauty of one woman in\nRome continually haunted him and very nearly dragged him forth from his\ncave to go and find her; but when that thought came to him, he pulled\noff his fur robe and rolled his young body in a clump of thorns that\ngrew on the platform of his cave, till it was all one bleeding wound,\nand his soul regained the mastery.\n\nSeven centuries afterwards St. Francis came from Assisi to visit the\nspot. He knelt there long and shed many tears over the thicket of\nthorns. Then he planted two rose trees there, and the thorns gave\nplace to roses that have bloomed for eight hundred summers, and were\nblooming when I saw them, with never a thorn on their stems. But every\nleaf of their foliage has a little white line zigzagging across it\u2014to\nmark the flight of the defeated Serpent from St. Benedict\u2019s Eden.\nThere is a pretty story that tells how, after nearly three years, the\nhermit\u2019s retreat was discovered. Sometimes the Devil, in sheer spite\n(or maybe the chafing points of rock on which Romanus was letting\ndown the bread), would cut the string and then, as Romanus could not\ncome back till the next day, poor young Benedict, his whole supply for\ntwenty-four hours whirled away into the river below, would grow faint\nand hungry before his benefactor could reach him again.\n\nThe Devil is always rampantly busy at holy seasons\u2014it enrages him to\nsee everybody trying to be good, and when Benedict had held out against\nhim for three solid years, he selected Easter Sunday for one of these\nwicked tricks. Romanus\u2019 string snapped, the loaf plunged into the\nriver, and Benedict, always blessing God, resigned himself and went on\nwith his prayers. The pangs of hunger made themselves felt with painful\npersistence, but he tried to take no notice of them. Not so his kind\nCreator. In His love for this faithful child He spoke to a good parish\npriest who was sitting down to his Easter dinner at that moment with\na glad heart: \u201cHow canst thou enjoy these luxuries whilst a servant of\nGod is pining for food?\u201d\n\nThe good priest sprang up, gathered together all that he could\ncarry, and, leaving his own dinner untouched, started out to find the\nsuffering recluse. He knew not his name or his dwelling, but angels\nguided his steps and helped him to reach the inaccessible cave. There,\ninstead of some aged penitent, he found a tall boy, with beautiful\nserious eyes, and lithe and strong though his body, clothed in tattered\nskins, was terribly thin.\n\nBenedict was as much surprised as his visitor. The latter spread the\ngood things before him and bade him eat.\n\n\u201cNay, friend,\u201d said Benedict, \u201cthou bringest meat, eggs!\u2014How can I\npartake of such luxurious food in this season? It is Lent.\u201d\n\n\u201cLent!\u201d replied the priest. \u201cNo, indeed, my son! Lent is over. This is\nEaster Sunday!\u201d\n\nThen the boy fell to, rejoicing. He had lost count of the day in his\nsolitude.\n\nThe priest stayed some time with him and questioned him of his way\nof life, and Benedict answered in all humility; and the visitor went\naway convinced of the truth proclaimed by the mysterious voice when it\ncalled him a servant of God.\n\nNow some of the shepherds of that country\u2014doubtless in seeking for\nsome strayed kid of the goats\u2014had caught sight of Benedict in his\ndark cave, and his matted hair and robe of skins had so terrified them\nthat they fled, thinking they had seen a strange wild beast. Now their\npastor told them about him, and the poor people began to come to him\nto ask for his prayers. And those who felt called to a higher life\ngathered themselves to him for guidance, and the fame of his sanctity\nand the miracles he wrought went abroad so that certain monks of Vico\nVaro begged him to come and rule over them. He consented at last and\ncame, but when they realised that he meant to enforce a strict rule\ninstead of letting them follow their own varying inclinations, their\nadmiration\u2014it had never been love\u2014turned to hatred. Satan entered in\namongst them, and they resolved to poison him. When the fatal cup was\nhanded to Benedict, he took it without a word\u2014and made the sign of the\nCross over it. It was shivered to fragments on the instant. Then he\nleft these false brethren and returned to his grotto, but never more\nto his solitude. Many came to him, some praying that he would guide\ntheir steps in religion, some to confide to him their sons to educate.\nThis multitude could not be housed in the clefts of the rock, so he\nbuilt twelve monasteries at Sub Laqueum, on the ruins of Nero\u2019s villa,\nand placed in each twelve monks, who bound themselves to live under\ncertain plain and simple rules\u2014much prayer, much labour, fasting and\npenance; active charity, life-long chastity, and finally poverty, for\nno individual might own property of any kind. Thus began the monastic\nlife of the West. Up to Benedict\u2019s time, as I have said, the religious\nlife was indeed led by many devout persons, but also by many who lacked\ntrue devotion and brought the calling into some disrepute. The Founder\n_par excellence_ appeared, and immediately it took on the character by\nwhich we recognise it now.\n\nIts deepest and strongest foundation was in its humility. In Benedict\nnature had been wholly subdued; his self-abasement was complete. No\nvision of the future had been granted him as yet, no breath of prophecy\nhad whispered that in the years to come thirty thousand monasteries in\nEurope would be called by his name.\n\nMeanwhile his twelve little houses at Sub Laqueum\u2014our Subiaco\u2014prospered\nexceedingly, and the numbers of his subjects increased daily. The times\nwere so terrible that men who loved God and His peace were overjoyed\nto find a spot where war and murder came not and where they could\nserve God with quiet hearts. There were some such among the Barbarians\nthemselves, and more than one Goth asked to be enrolled among\nBenedict\u2019s spiritual children. All had to work, and the Goths, big\nhonest fellows but dense and unskilful, joined the band of builders and\ncultivators of the soil. The country was thickly wooded then and there\nwas much felling to be done. One day a Goth, hewing away at a tree, let\nhis axe slip and fall into the lake. Immediately he began to weep and\nlament, for the implements were few and precious. Benedict came to him,\nsaw what had happened, and made the sign of the Cross over the water.\nAt once the heavy axe floated to the surface, and the Saint drew it\nforth and gave it back to the poor man, saying: \u201cEcce, labora, et noli\ncontristare!\u201d\u2014\u201cThere, work, and be not afflicted!\u201d\n\n\u201cSymbolical words,\u201d says Montalembert, \u201cin which we find an abridgment\nof the precepts and examples lavished by the monastic order on so many\ngenerations of conquering races! \u2018Ecce, labora!\u2019\u201d\n\nIn the miserable and confused condition of public affairs it was\ndifficult for parents of the better classes to procure proper education\nfor their sons, and, as soon as the fame of Benedict\u2019s holiness spread\nabroad, young boys of noble families were brought to him at Subiaco\nand confided to his care, in the hope that they, too, would devote\nthemselves to the service of God. Two of these, Placidus and Maurus,\nwere especially dear to him and were destined to become in a special\nmanner his disciples and helpers. Placidus, the younger of the two,\nwas the son of Tertullus, the feudal lord of Subiaco and of many other\ntowns, and a great benefactor to the infant community. But Benedict\nwould allow no distinctions of rank to interfere with the training\nin obedience and humility which is the only sure foundation for the\nreligious life, and the two young patricians had to perform their share\nof menial labour like all the rest.\n\nOne day Placidus had been sent to fetch water from the lake, and as\nhe stooped to lift out his heavy pitcher he lost his balance and fell\ninto the water, which at that spot formed a dangerous whirlpool. St.\nBenedict witnessed the accident and, running to Maurus, who stood\nhorrified beside him, said, \u201cGo, my son, and save thy companion.\u201d\n\nWithout an instant\u2019s hesitation Maurus walked across the water with a\nstep as firm as if it had been dry land, drew the drowning boy out of\nthe whirlpool, and set him safely on the bank. St. Gregory, in his life\nof St. Benedict, says: \u201cTo what shall I attribute so great a miracle?\nTo the virtue of the obedience, or to that of the commandment?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo both,\u201d says Bossuet. \u201cThe obedience had grace to accomplish the\ncommand, and the command had grace to give efficacy to the obedience.\u201d\n\nSt. Gregory gives us a beautiful picture of St. Benedict\u2019s loving\ntraining of these two predestined souls. He kept them always near him,\nand would walk along the woody banks of the Anio leaning on Maurus and\nleading Placidus by the hand, discoursing so wisely and yet so clearly\nthat the appeal to the more mature intelligence of the one was as\nconvincing as to the child-like mind of the other. They witnessed his\nmany miracles, trembled at the punishments that fell on some unfaithful\nmembers of the community, and stored up all his words in their\nhearts\u2014Placidus to be the Apostle of Sicily and the first martyr of the\norder, Maurus to become the founder of the religious life in France,\nwhere he died at the age of seventy after having, as the Breviary\nputs it, \u201cseen already more than one hundred of his spiritual children\nprecede him to Heaven.\u201d\n\nThose first years at Subiaco were very happy and consoling ones for\nSt. Benedict, but wicked men, some envious of his fame, some the open\nenemies of all virtue, tried by all means in their power to injure him\nand corrupt his followers. He took no notice of their calumnies, was\nunmoved by the attempt of one wretch to poison him; as long as he only\nwas attacked, he went calmly on his way. But when the conspirators sent\na crowd of abandoned women to invade the garden where the monks were\nworking, he felt the time had come when he should depart and draw the\nattacks away from his beloved disciples. So, having set all things in\norder and adjured the mountain community to be faithful to its vows,\nhe travelled southwards, surely with a heavy heart, and did not pause\ntill he had put nearly a hundred miles between himself and his beloved\nretreat at Subiaco.\n\nAbout eighty-five miles from Rome, where the ever-capricious Apennines\nsink to a rounded plain and rise in its centre in a natural fortress\nof rock, there stood, in Roman times, the little town of Cassinum, once\nthe home of Varrus, whom Cicero called \u201csanctissimus et integerrimus,\u201d\none of those who served God without knowing Him. The place was in\nruins when St. Benedict reached it, but he cared nothing for that;\nwhat arrested him was the sight of the poor country people climbing the\nhill to sacrifice to Apollo in the temple on the summit. Pagans yet! He\nstayed to teach them Christianity, and very soon the temple and grove\nof Apollo gave place to a Church and monastery\u2014the most famous in the\nworld, the monastery of Monte Cassino.\n\nSt. Benedict must have possessed even more than the Saint\u2019s usual\ngift of divine magnetism, for wherever he went eager disciples sprang\nup around him\u2014many faithful, some few less so, but all irresistibly\nattracted to the man himself. As it had been at Subiaco, so it was\nhere. Very quickly he converted the poor people of the district,\nsigns and wonders too many to recount \u201cconfirming the word,\u201d and his\ninexhaustible charity making the harried peasants feel that they had\nfound a father, a doctor, a protector, in the benignly gentle monk. The\ngreat heart that was utterly empty of self felt for all their sorrows\nand hardships; the eyes that, as St. Gregory tells us, had already been\nopened to the vision of the Godhead, saw, as mortals do not see, into\nthe hearts of men, and showed events taking place hundreds of miles\naway as clearly as those close by, so that when his monks returned from\nthe missions on which he sent them it was he who told them all they\nhad said and done and thought on the way. He seems to have understood\nthat God would spare him further wandering, and accepted Monte Cassino\nas the cradle of the order he was called to found. Here he composed\nthe Rule which became the model of all succeeding orders, and in its\nsimple completeness contains the essence and ideal of the religious\nlife. That, according to St. Benedict, must include prayer and praise\nand penance, labour, and unbounded charity, but it does not consist in\nthem. They are its garment, its inevitable expression, so to speak, but\nthe life is the life of the heart in constant union with God. He was\nopposed to all undue extremes in outward observances, though inflexible\nas to the keeping of the Rule. \u201cLet this,\u201d he said, \u201cbe arduous enough\nto give the strong something to strive for, but not so hard as to\ndiscourage the weak!\u201d\n\nHe worked at Monte Cassino as if for eternity, yet it was revealed\nto him that forty years after his death the Lombards would destroy\nthe convent and disperse the monks. It puzzles one to understand\nthat perfect trust and obedience. The knowledge saddened him, but it\nnever made him desist from his labours, so splendidly justified by\nafter events. \u201cI have obtained from the Lord this much,\u201d he told the\nfrightened disciples, \u201cwhen the Barbarian comes he will take things,\nnot lives\u2014_res, non animas_.\u201d But other Barbarians were overrunning\nthe country, left now to its fate by its supine and helpless rulers\nin Constantinople. The Goths were everywhere; many indeed became\ndevout followers of Benedict, but their Arian brethren pillaged and\npersecuted, burnt and ravaged, unchecked, and terribly did the people\nsuffer. St. Benedict, who foresaw the great destinies of these Northern\nraces when they should become enlightened, stood between the conquerors\nand the conquered as judge and protector, and both in the end always\nbowed to his ruling.\n\nThere is a wonderful story that I must set down, because it shows his\npower over nature, both animate and inanimate things. To me it seems\nmore impressive than all his other miracles, even those of restoring\nthe dead to life. A particularly fierce Goth robber, named Galla,\n\u201ctraversed the country panting with rage and cupidity, and made a sport\nof slaying the priests and monks who fell under his power, and spoiling\nand torturing the people to extort from them the little they had\nremaining. An unfortunate peasant, exhausted by the torments inflicted\nupon him by the pitiless Goth, conceived the idea of bringing them to\nan end by declaring that he had confided all that he had to the keeping\nof Benedict, a servant of God, upon which Galla stopped the torture\nof the peasant, but, binding his arms with ropes and thrusting him in\nfront of his own horse, ordered him to go before and show the way to\nthe house of this Benedict who had defrauded him of his expected prey.\nBoth thus pursued the way to Monte Cassino, the peasant on foot, with\nhis hands tied behind his back, urged on by the blows and taunts of the\nGoth, who followed on horseback.\n\n\u201cWhen they reached the summit of the mountain, they perceived the\nAbbot, seated alone, reading at the door of his monastery. \u2018Behold,\u2019\nsaid the prisoner, \u2018there is the Father Benedict of whom I told thee.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the Goth shouted furiously to the monk: \u2018Rise up, rise up, and\nrestore quickly what thou hast received from this peasant!\u2019 The man\nof God raised his eyes from his book and, without speaking, slowly\nturned his gaze first on the Barbarian on horseback, and then upon the\nhusbandman bound and bowed down by his cords. Under the light of that\npowerful gaze the cords which tied his poor arms loosed of themselves,\nand the innocent victim stood erect and free, while the ferocious\nGalla, falling on the ground, trembling and beside himself, remained\nat the feet of Benedict, begging the Saint to pray for him. Benedict\ncalled his brethren and directed them to carry the fainting Barbarian\ninto the monastery and give him some blessed bread. And when he had\ncome to himself the Abbot represented to him the injustice and cruelty\nof his conduct, and exhorted him to change it for the future. The Goth\nwas completely subdued.\u201d[2]\n\nThe picture of the holy abbot sitting and reading in the doorway is one\nwhich recurs several times in his history, and it is good to know that\nthe doorway is one of the very few fragments remaining of Benedict\u2019s\nhome at Monte Cassino. It still contains, I believe, an inscription to\nthat effect. The Lombard destruction left this archway standing, and\nalso the little tower whence Benedict\u2019s bell called the monks to work\nand prayer. One loves even to touch the stones that knew his presence\nat Monte Cassino. Subiaco is full of him indeed, but it was at Monte\nCassino that his greatest work was done; over its foreseen destruction\nhe wept bitterly and it was there that he died.\n\nA yet more notable encounter than the one with Galla took place at\nthe arched doorway, in 542, one year before Benedict\u2019s death. Totila,\nthe Ostrogoth, swept down through Italy to retrieve the losses and\ndefeats inflicted on his predecessor by Belisarius. It was a triumphal\nprogress. He was on his way to Naples when the whim took him to see for\nhimself the venerated prophet of the holy mountain. But first he wished\nto test the prophet\u2019s powers. So he caused the captain of his guard to\nbe dressed in all his own royal robes, down to the famous purple boots,\ngave him three noble counts for his attendants and a great escort of\nsoldiers, and told him to go and pass himself off on Benedict as the\nreal Totila. We are not informed how the unlucky captain regarded his\nmission\u2014probably with fear and reluctance\u2014but it failed dismally. As\nhe approached the monastery St. Benedict perceived him from afar and\ncalled out: \u201cMy son, put off the dress you wear! It is not yours.\u201d\n\nThe captain, terrified, threw himself on the ground. Then re-mounting,\nhe and his whole company turned round and galloped away at full speed\nto tell Totila that it was useless to attempt to deceive the man of\nGod. And Totila understood, and came himself, very humbly, and saw\nthe Abbot sitting as usual in the doorway, reading a holy book. The\nconqueror was afraid. He threw himself face downward on the sward and\ndared not approach. Three times Benedict bade him rise\u2014still he lay\nprone. Then the Saint left his seat and came and raised Totila up and\nled him to the house and talked long and earnestly with him, reproving\nhim for the wrong he had done and showing him that he must treat his\nconquered subjects kindly and justly. Also, St. Benedict, mercifully\nmoved thereto by the sincerity of the Barbarian, told him what lay in\nstore for him: \u201cYou shall enter Rome; you shall cross the sea; nine\nyears you shall reign, and in the tenth you shall die.\u201d\n\nAnd Totila repented of his many evil deeds and begged the seer to\npray for him, and went back to his camp a changed man. Thenceforth he\nprotected the weak, restrained his followers, and showed himself so\nmild and wise that the delighted Neapolitans, who had been expecting\na repetition of the awful massacres ordered by Belisarius, said that\nTotila treated them as if they were his own children. From that time\nthe tenth year was ever before his eyes, and when it came he died,\ncontrite and resigned.\n\nOne gleam from home was shed on St. Benedict at Monte Cassino. His\nsister Scholastica had long since followed his example and given\nherself to God. It was not permitted to women to take the final vows\nbefore the age of forty, but that did not prevent them from preparing\nfor the irrevocable dedication by living together in religious\ncommunities, under a fixed rule, from their early youth, when they\nwere so inclined. Such a life Scholastica had led, somewhere in the\nsolitudes of the Sabines\u2014perhaps in her own home at Norcia; but she\ncame at last to Monte Cassino and built a convent there for herself\nand her companions, so as to be near the brother she loved. Only once\na year did they meet, and then they spent the day together in a hut\non the side of Benedict\u2019s mountain, he coming down with a few of the\nbrethren, and she accompanied by some of the nuns. All their discourse\nwas of holy things and much they spoke of the longed-for joys of\nHeaven.\n\nNow, in the year 543, they had thus passed the day together and evening\nwas drawing on. St. Benedict rose, saying that he and his companions\nmust return to the monastery, but Scholastica, for the first time in\nall those years, begged him to remain with her till the morning. The\nSaint was horrified. \u201cDo you not know, my sister,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cthat\nthe Rule forbids a monk to pass the night out of the monastery? How can\nyou ask me to do such a thing?\u201d\n\nScholastica did not reply. She bowed her head on her hands on the\ntable that had served for their repast and wept, praying to God that\nher brother might stay, for she knew that they were to meet no more in\nthis world. She wept so heartbrokenly that her tears flooded the table\nand made little rivers on the ground. It was a mild February evening,\nand the sun had sunk away from a calm and cloudless sky. But suddenly\na fearful tempest arose, the thunder roared, the rain came down in\ntorrents, the lightning seared the heavens from side to side.\n\n\u201cSister, what have you done?\u201d St. Benedict exclaimed, fearing that the\nstorm was a manifestation of the Divine displeasure.\n\nScholastica raised her head and smiled at him through her tears. \u201cGod\nhas granted what you refused,\u201d she said. \u201cGo back to the monastery now,\nbrother, if you can!\u201d\n\nBut there was no going back through that tempest, and St. Benedict,\nperceiving that the Lord was on Scholastica\u2019s side, stayed with her\ntill morning, and they had great sweetness of holy converse all night\nlong. And when the sun rose, Scholastica asked for his blessing and\nsaid farewell for the last time, and she and her nuns went down the\nhill to their own convent, looking back many times, I think, to that\nother one on the hill. And three days later she died, and her brother\nsaw her soul mount to Heaven under the appearance of a spotless dove,\nand he called his monks and said to them, with great rejoicing: \u201cMy\nsister is with God. Go and bring her body hither that we may bury it\nwith honour.\u201d Which they did, and Benedict made her a grave at the foot\nof the altar in his Church.\n\nNow he knew that his own end was approaching, and he disposed all\nthings rightly, and mightily exhorted his brethren to persevere and\nto be faithful to their Rule. And he more than ever afflicted his body\nwith penance and abounded in charity to the poor. And thirty-four days\nafter Scholastica had departed, a great fever seized him, so that he\nhad no strength and suffered much. But he never ceased from praying\nand bade all his monks pray that God would have mercy on his soul.\nOn the sixth day of the fever he bade them carry him into the Church,\nwhere he had already caused his sister\u2019s grave to be opened to receive\nhim. There, on the edge of the grave, supported by his disciples, he\nreceived the Holy Viaticum, and then bade them lift him to his feet. He\nstretched out his arms, praised God once more for all His goodness, and\ndied\u2014_standing_, like the gallant warrior he was!\n\nThey buried him beside Scholastica. Two of his monks, whom he had sent\nforth on a mission, were very far away from Monte Cassino when they\nsaw, in the dead of night, a vast number of the stars of heaven run\ntogether to form a great bridge of light towards the east. A voice\nspoke to them, saying, \u201cBy this road, Benedict, the beloved of God, has\nascended to Heaven.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nST. GREGORY THE GREAT\n\n Birth and Lineage of St. Gregory\u2014Path from the World to the\n Cloister\u2014Prayer, Study, and Charity\u2014His Cat\u2014A Prophecy\u2014A\n Cardinal Deacon\u2014Mission to Constantinople\u2014Eutyches\u2019\n Heresy\u2014Rome in Pestilence\u2014Gregory Elected Pope\u2014His Unbelievable\n Accomplishments\u2014His Life as Pope\u2014Championship of the Oppressed\u2014Bond\n with English-speaking People\u2014The Great Procession During the\n Pestilence\u2014Gregory\u2019s Successors.\n\n\nThree years before St. Benedict and his sister Scholastica passed\naway, there was born, in a palace on the C\u0153lian Hill, a child who was\nchristened Gregory, a name which signified \u201cVigilant.\u201d His lineage was\nexceedingly illustrious, his parents belonging to the great old Gens\nAnicia, a family of nobles which had been respected and honoured ever\nsince the days of the Republic, and in which, to use the words of a\nchronicler of Gregory\u2019s time, \u201cthe men seemed all to have been born\nConsuls, and the women Saints.\u201d\n\nGregory\u2019s mother was St. Silvia, and I have seen the garden on the\nquiet C\u0153lian Hill where as a child he ran about at her side, asking\na thousand questions, as clever children will, while she tended her\nflowers and gathered healing herbs\u2014the \u201cbasilica\u201d and \u201cMadrecara\u201d and\n\u201cerba della Madonna\u201d still dear to Roman apothecaries\u2014to make into\nmedicines for the sick poor who thronged her charitable doors. Mothers\nsee a long way, and, while Gregory\u2019s father was planning a great career\nin the world for his only son, Silvia was praying that God would keep\nhim pure, and make him great in His sight. And her prayers prevailed,\nas mothers\u2019 prayers generally do, and, though she had to wait a little,\nshe lived to see their fulfilment.\n\nAs the boy grew up he threw himself heart and soul into his father\u2019s\nplans; he studied hard, and his naturally brilliant gifts brought him\nmuch distinction. He rejoiced in all the pleasant things that birth and\nwealth had bestowed on him\u2014good looks, popularity, rich garments, and\nsparkling jewels\u2014and no doubt was immensely pleased and flattered when,\nbeing still quite young, he was made Proctor of Rome. That charge,\nhowever, was a grave one at the time, as the Lombards, the most cruel\nand brutal of all the savage tribes that had threatened the Eternal\nCity, chose the period of Gregory\u2019s proctorship to descend upon her\nand make her feel the weight of their heavy hand. There were religious\ntroubles, too, and Gregory, who through all his busy official life in\nthe world was an ardent Christian, was deeply exercised and distressed\nby them. But the world was only to claim him for a little while, in his\nearly manhood. Then he was withdrawn from it to be prepared, through\nmany long years of prayer and penance and study, to step forth towards\nthe end of his life as its rescuer and ruler. Little by little the\ninner call came, faint at first, sometimes resisted, but ever stronger,\ntill Gregory understood and obeyed.\n\nHis heart had gone out at once to the Benedictine monks, when, on the\ndestruction of Monte Cassino by the Lombards, they had sought refuge\nin Rome. Some of them became his most intimate friends and their\nencouragement smoothed his path from the world to the cloister. From\nthe moment when he recognised and embraced his vocation, all hesitation\nleft him. He sold all his goods, distributed the larger part to the\npoor, and, as if to atone for what the Lombards had destroyed, built\nand endowed six new monasteries, placing twelve Benedictines in each,\nin Sicily. That done, he converted his home on the C\u0153lian into a\nseventh, where he gathered another community about him, of the same\nlearned Order. His father was dead, and his mother, on becoming a\nwidow, had already built a convent close by, where she had taken the\nveil herself.\n\nGregory now devoted himself to three things\u2014prayer, study, and charity.\nFor his own use\u2014he was quickly elected abbot of the monastery\u2014he\nreserved a small cell, where he could enjoy the solitude he now so\ngreatly desired, but\u2014a delightfully human touch!\u2014he could not get\non without his favourite cat, and one can see him, in imagination,\npausing from his writing to smooth her velvety head when she sprang\nupon the table and rubbed it against his cheek! I had a little cat once\nwho would sit motionless on a chair beside me all night while I was\nwriting, but the instant I laid down the pen she was on my lap or my\nshoulder, talking in her own way, most intelligently and cheeringly; so\nI was mightily pleased when I read about St. Gregory\u2019s cat!\n\nThe Benedictine Rule provided for all hospitality to strangers and\nthe poor, but at the same time directed that the monks themselves were\nnot to be disturbed from prayer and study. St. Gregory, however, seems\nto have received all who wished to see him, perhaps as an exercise of\npatience. Now there was a poor ship-wrecked sailor who seemed inclined\nto abuse the privilege. He came again and again, and was never turned\naway, but on the occasion of what proved to be his last visit Gregory\nhad not a single thing left to give him. He was looking round his rough\ncell in perplexity, when a messenger appeared bringing the silver\nbasin full of porridge, which was the only food he allowed himself\nand which his mother sent him every day! Here was what was needed!\nThe next moment the needy sailor man was walking away with the hot\nporridge and the silver porringer. What St. Silvia said when she heard\nof the incident has not been recorded\u2014but Gregory never gave the matter\nanother thought until one day, long after, when the importunate sailor\nappeared to him in his true character, that of an Angel of light,\nand told him that God had taken note of his charity and\u2014an alarming\nprophecy for the Saint\u2014that he would be elected Pope and do great\nthings for the Church.\n\nAll he asked was to be left quiet in his monastery, where he was\nputting his whole heart into living the life of a model monk. In his\nardour against himself, he carried his penances too far and fasted so\nrigorously that he came near to dying\u2014an imprudence for which he paid\never after in broken health and in being debarred from fasting at all.\nHe complains pitifully of having to \u201cdrag about such a big body with\nso little strength,\u201d but this was the least of the trials that awaited\nhim.\n\nIn the year 577, when Gregory was about thirty-seven years of age, the\nreigning Pope, Benedict I, sent for him and insisted upon making him\none of the Cardinal Deacons to whom was entrusted the jurisdiction of\nthe seven \u201cRegions\u201d into which the city was divided. Gregory protested,\nbut had to take on the charge, and from that time forward he belonged\nless to himself than to others. He was too necessary and valuable to\nbe spared. The next year, Pope Benedict being dead, his successor,\nPelagius II, decided to send Gregory on a very difficult and important\nmission to the Emperor Tiberius Constantinus at Constantinople, where\ntrouble of all kinds seemed to be brewing. Although Gregory bewails\nthis \u201cthrusting out from port into the storm,\u201d one cannot but feel how\nthe alert fighting spirit in the man leaps to the call. The born leader\nmay persuade himself that he is happiest in the seclusion he thinks\ngood for his soul, but when the call to arms comes every repressed\nfibre of his being wakes and cries for action.\n\nWhen Gregory, taking with him several of his monks, sailed away from\nItaly, he little dreamed that years were to pass before he should\nreturn. On his arrival in Constantinople, the first matter to claim his\nattention was the ugly new heresy started by Eutyches, who had drawn\nthe Emperor and many others into the path of error by declaring that\nthere was to be no resurrection of the flesh. Gregory was politely\nreceived by the Emperor, and instantly requested the latter to call a\nconference in which the dogma should be discussed. Tiberius consented,\nand there followed the famous conference in which Gregory\u2019s fiery\neloquence and invincible logic quashed the heresy at once. When he\nhad finished speaking, the Emperor commanded that a fire should be\nlighted, and with his own hands and in the presence of a vast concourse\nburnt the book which Eutyches had written to propound the heresy, and\ndeclared himself now and for ever the faithful son of the Church.\nEutyches, touched to the heart by Gregory\u2019s arguments, accepted\ndefeat and rebuke as but small punishment for his fault, and when he\nwas dying, soon afterwards, pulled up the skin of one poor emaciated\nhand with the fingers of the other and cried to those around him,\n\u201cI confess that in this flesh we shall rise from the dead!\u201d Gregory\nproved a successful ambassador in every way. The relations between the\nChurch and the imperial court had been badly interrupted by the Lombard\ninvasion, but he welded them smoothly and firmly together. Tiberius\ndied while Gregory was in Constantinople, and his successor, Maurice,\nwas badly disposed to the Church. Gregory brought him to a better mind\nand obliged him to rescind an edict he had just issued forbidding any\nmember of the army to embrace the monastic life.\n\nAt last, after six years of what must have been the most anxious work,\nrequiring all that the great man had of wisdom and firmness and tact,\nhe returned to Italy\u2014to find his beloved Rome in terrible distress from\na visitation of the pestilence. Gregory at once devoted himself to the\ncare of the sick and dying, and one can fancy how the poor people\u2019s\neyes lighted up when he appeared among them again. Then the good Pope\nPelagius succumbed to the disease, and at once all eyes turned to\nGregory, who was unanimously elected as his successor.\n\nGregory was honestly horrified. He refused, he pleaded, he argued, but\nno one would listen to him. Then he fled. Disguised as a peasant, he\nslipped away and hid himself in a secret cave in the hills, entreating\nthe Lord to protect him from the awful honour which his fellow-citizens\nwished to thrust upon him. They meanwhile were searching for him in\nevery direction, and would have failed in their quest had not Heaven\nput itself visibly on their side. From very far off they beheld a tall\npillar of light resting before the fugitive\u2019s cave\u2014they rushed to it,\ndragged him forth, and made him Pope. Seeing that his fellow-citizens\nwould not listen to him, he wrote to the Emperor Maurice, begging him\nnot to confirm the election, but the Romans intercepted the letter;\nthe Emperor was informed of the election in the usual way and was\nonly too glad to give it the imperial sanction, still required then\nfrom Constantinople. For once the \u201cVox Populi\u201d had proved itself what\nit never is, nowadays, the \u201cVox Dei,\u201d and for fourteen years Gregory\nreigned, in virtue and wisdom and glory, for the everlasting good\nof the people of God. Every gift that Heaven had bestowed upon him\nvindicated its unerring designs. He accomplished in those fourteen\nyears so many wonderful things that cold sense almost refuses its\nadherence to the visible facts. His colossal labours for the Church\ngave us the Gregorian chant, the Sacramentary of the missal, and the\nBreviary; his correspondence, so vast that, like Napoleon and Julius\nC\u00e6sar, he is supposed to have dictated to several secretaries at once,\nembraces every point that required treating of at home and abroad. His\nsermons, day after day, instructed the ignorant in the plain truths\nof salvation, while they no less amazed and illuminated the minds\nof the most learned; and through it all his soul was never disturbed\nfrom the calm heights of union with God, his heart never closed to a\nsingle cry from the suffering and the weary. The much abbreviated list\nof \u201csome of his labours,\u201d as the Breviary puts it, would stagger the\ngrasp of any modern scholar or ruler. In a few lines he is shown to us\nre\u00ebstablishing the Catholic Faith in many places where it had suffered,\nrepressing the Donatists in Africa, the Arians in Spain, expelling\nthe Agnostics from Alexandria, and refusing the \u201cPallium\u201d (the sign of\npontifical investiture) to Syagrius, the Bishop-elect of Autun, until\nhe had turned the \u201cheretic Neophytes\u201d[3] out of Gaul; quelling the\naudacity of John, the Patriarch of Constantinople, who had dared to\ncall himself the \u201cHead of the Universal Church,\u201d and so on, preaching,\nwriting, praying, and through it all suffering constantly and acutely.\n\nThere is a legend to the effect that all these pains and sicknesses\nhad been voluntarily accepted in order to deliver a certain soul from\nPurgatory. The legend is only a legend, unsupported by the authority of\nthe Church\u2014but it would have been just like St. Gregory to do it!\n\nIn every public or private trouble or upheaval, as well as in every\neffort to reorganise and restore, his name, his presence is dominant.\nAfter becoming Pope, he lived chiefly at the Lateran palace, then the\nofficial Papal residence, and they still keep there the narrow pallet\nthat served him for a bed, and\u2014mark this, ye modern schoolboys!\u2014the\nlittle rod which he had to use to keep his dark-eyed, rampageous young\nchoristers in order!\n\nThe men who can govern others with the most unerring wisdom are often\nentirely mistaken in their appreciation of themselves. Only the other\nday the local and most successful Superior of a great missionary\norder in America was bewailing his fate to me. \u201cI told the Bishop he\nwas making a dreadful mistake in making me the Rector,\u201d he declared.\n\u201cIt is not my work\u2014I was not intended to govern and lead! I am a born\nfree-lance\u2014I want to travel all over the country seeking out the lost\nsouls. I am no good at anything else!\u201d\n\nBut the Bishop knew better; and so it was with the great crowd\nof clergy and laity who designated Gregory for the Papacy. What\nhe accomplished during his pontificate has been well summed up\nby Montalembert: \u201cGregory, who alone amongst men has received, by\nuniversal consent, the double surname of Saint and Great, will be an\neverlasting honour to the Benedictine order, as to the Papacy. By his\ngenius, but especially by the charm and ascendency of his virtue, he\nwas destined to organise the temporal power of the Popes, to develop\nand regulate their spiritual sovereignty, to found their paternal\nsupremacy over the new-born crowns and races which were to become\nthe great nations of the future, and to be called France, Spain, and\nEngland. It was he, indeed, who inaugurated the middle ages, modern\nsociety, and Christian civilisation.\u201d The task he undertook was a\ngigantic one, for on the one side he had to contend with the exactions\nand oppressions of the corrupt and decrepit Byzantine Emperors who\nwere still the nominal rulers of Rome and his own secular masters; on\nthe other, with the great new forces let loose on the world in the\nincreasing vigour and supremacy of the Lombards and other northern\nnations, more than half barbarous still, but, as Gregory clearly\nperceived, possessed of an intelligence and vitality which only\nrequired training and instruction to grow into great, new polities\nwhich would replace the already dead Roman Empire.\n\nTo appreciate his labours one would have to read that colossal\ncorrespondence which has fortunately been preserved entire. Besides the\nmighty matters of Church and Empire which it sets forth, there shows\nall through the most tender and minute care for the lower and therefore\nunprotected classes, as well as for individual souls. Slavery, in every\nform, excited Gregory\u2019s generous indignation, and his most earnest\nefforts were devoted to restoring slaves to the rank of human beings.\nThe peasants on the great, estates were serfs\u2014practically slaves. He\ndecreed that their marriages should be inviolable, their property their\nown, their wills valid; that wherever possible the Church revenues\nshould be devoted to buying the freedom of slaves and that never, on\nany plea, should Christians be sold to Jews or pagans. At the same time\nhe enacted that neither Jews nor pagans should be baptised by force,\nand commanded that the synagogues of the Jews should be restored to\nthem and that they should be allowed freedom of worship. Always humble\nand diffident about asking anything for himself, it is amusing to find\nhim severely reprimanding a Bishop who had authorised or permitted\nextortionate exactions to be practised against an obscure farmer in\nSardinia, and at the same time writing meekly to the overseer of some\necclesiastical property in Sicily\u2014a stud farm where were kept four\nhundred stallions: \u201cYou have sent me one bad horse and four asses. I\ncannot ride the horse, because it is bad, nor the asses, because they\nare asses. If you would assist to sustain me, send me something that I\ncan use!\u201d\n\nBut, after all, the special bond between St. Gregory and\nEnglish-speaking peoples lies in the memorable act by which England was\nevangelised, after the Faith first planted there had been annihilated\nby the pagan Barbarians, Saxons, Angles, Scandinavians, to whom\nshe fell an easy prey when Rome withdrew its protecting legions and\nabandoned her to her fate.\n\nIt is rather sweet to know that it was the fair, innocent beauty of\na group of English children, standing, dazed and frightened, in the\nmarket to be sold, that first touched his heart to such warm pity for\ntheir country. He was then living as the abbot of the community he had\nfounded on the C\u0153lian Hill, and enough has been said to show how happy\nhe was in his quiet life there.\n\nIt must have been some unusual necessity which took him far down\ninto the town on a certain day and through the noisy, crowded slave\nmarket. But on seeing the children, with their blue eyes full of tears\nand their long golden hair shining in the sun, everything else was\nforgotten; he stopped abruptly to ask who they were.\n\n\u201cAngles, from the isle of Britain,\u201d was the answer, given indifferently\nenough. The keeper knew that the big, dark-faced monk was not a\nslave-buyer.\n\n\u201cAngles! They are born to be angels!\u201d cried Gregory, and straightway\nhe flew to the Pope and besought permission to go with some of his\nmonks to Britain to preach the Gospel. The Pope, taken by surprise,\nconsented, and before he had time to think over the matter Gregory,\nwith his volunteers, had put three days of travelling between himself\nand Rome. Then the news leaked out, and the people rose like one\nman and rushed to the Pope, who was on his way to St. Peter\u2019s, and,\narresting his progress, burst into indignant cries: \u201cYou have offended\nSt. Peter! You have ruined Rome in allowing Gregory to leave us!\u201d\n\nPelagius saw his mistake and sent messengers in all haste to call\nGregory back. Of course he obeyed; he never forgot England, but it\nwas only in the sixth year of his own pontificate (596) that he could\ncarry out his design, and then he could not himself take part in the\nexpedition. He found a noble substitute in St. Augustine, and it must\nhave been with a glad heart that he sent him forth, and gave him and\nhis forty Benedictines the final blessing, as they knelt (so we are\ntold) on the grassy stretch below the steps of Gregory\u2019s own convent\non the C\u0153lian Hill. The grass grows there still; still the green trees\nshadow the enclosure called St. Gregory\u2019s park, through which one\napproaches the Church, and still the flowers bloom in Silvia\u2019s garden\nwhere he played as a little boy. Even modern Rome has been loath to\nencroach on the place so dear to him who loved Rome so much.\n\nI have often wondered what became of the little English children he\nsaw and, seeing, loved. Surely he rescued them and placed them with\nkind people to be cared for. His quick notice of them reminds one of\nour own Pius IX, who could never pass an English child without stopping\nto bless it, and, while blessing the child, to pray for England, whom\nAugustine and his companions made \u201cthe Isle of Saints\u201d and the \u201cDowry\nof Mary.\u201d Poor England! she threw her glory to the winds at the command\nof an adulterous King and his unspeakable daughter, and, now that\neven the moth-eaten rags of her heresies will no longer hold together,\ndares to call her crumbling simulacrum of a Church the \u201cChurch of Saint\nAugustine\u201d! _That_ never died, in reality; and all honour to those of\nher children who, through three hundred years of abominable persecution\nand oppression, kept the Faith, and prepared the way for its splendid\nrenaissance to-day!\n\nOne more picture of St. Gregory must close this humble sketch of his\ngreat life. As already related, after he had been elected Pope he\nsent a letter to the Emperor Maurice, imploring him not to confirm the\ndecision of the people. And just then, as if jealous of all the good\nwork that was going forward, the Powers of Evil let loose a terrible\noutbreak of the pestilence in Rome. They could not touch the spiritual\ncity\u2014Rome invisible, the Sanctuary of the Faith, but the material\none seemed to be delivered into their hands and terrible were its\nsufferings. Poverty and neglect, and the ruin of ceaseless wars, had\nmade it vulnerable at every point; the pestilence had swept it again\nand again, but this was the most frightful visitation of all. Gregory\nand his monks, and many other charitable persons, devoted themselves\nto the sick and dying; the lazarets and hospitals were crowded\u2014every\nday with new sufferers as the dead were carried out; but it became\nimpossible to bury the dead fast enough. Neither prayer nor effort\nseemed of any avail, and dull despair settled on all hearts. Apparently\nthis was to be the end.\n\nThen Gregory instituted the first of those great processions which, in\nmoments of stress, have moved across the pages of history ever since,\nawing us a little by the whole-hearted faith and trust of our ancestors\nin the mercy of Heaven. Gregory decreed that all, Clergy and Laity,\nwho could stand on their feet should put on the garments of penitence\nand follow him through the stricken streets to pray at the Tomb of St.\nPeter. And all who could obeyed like one man. What a sight that must\nhave been when the Saint, \u201cthe strong, dark-faced man of heavy build,\u201d\nled his afflicted people from the \u201cMother of Churches\u201d at the Lateran\nGate down past all the ruined pomp of the Palatine and the Colosseum\nand the Forum towards the river and the great Basilica of Constantine\nbeyond! How the response of the Major Litanies must have thundered\nup from all those breaking hearts to the \u201cskies of brass\u201d that hung\nover Rome! The ever-repeated \u201cTe rogamus, audi nos!\u201d and \u201cLibera nos,\nDomine\u201d even now bring tears to one\u2019s eyes with their almost despairing\nsimplicity; _then_ they were the last appeals of a crushed and ruined\nrace for one more chance to repent and atone for its heaped misdeeds.\nAnd the chance was granted. As the endless procession moved along\ntowards St. Peter\u2019s its leader paused before the Mausoleum of Hadrian,\nthat huge monument of pagan ambition, and raised his eyes and heart in\nsupplication, offering we know not what of his own life and destiny for\nhis people\u2019s sins.\n\nSuddenly he stood transfigured. The chanting ceased; all eyes followed\nGregory\u2019s gaze, all ears were strained to catch the heavenly melody\nthat floated, high and clear, fresh as the song of birds at dawn, over\nthe sorrowing city:\n\n \u201cRegina C\u0153li laetare,\n Quia quem meruisti portare,\n Resurrexit, sicut dixit!\u201d\n\nIt was the chant of the Resurrection!\n\n\u201cAlleluia, Alleluia!\u201d came the sequel in one burst from that great\nmultitude, as the angels\u2019 voices grew fainter and were lost in the\ndepths overhead. And then, on hearts bursting now with relief and joy,\nthere fell the awe that mortals feel in the presence of the Heavenly\nOnes, for there, on the summit of the towering fortress, stood the\nradiant Archangel\u2014and he was sheathing his flaming sword.\n\nThe pestilence was over. Once more God had had mercy on His people.\nAnd, since the angels\u2019 song was addressed to the Queen of Heaven, we\nknow that it was she whose prayers had stayed the arm that had clung\nround her neck in Bethlehem.\n\nSt. Gregory passed to his reward on the 12th of March, 604, having\nreigned nearly fourteen years. The mourning city chose Sabinianus\nof Volterra to succeed him, but only three years had elapsed when\nSabinianus in his turn made place for a Boniface (III), who lived but\none year after his election, and then came another Boniface, a Saint,\na strong man of the Abruzzi, and in his reign the world found out\nthat, though imperial Rome was indeed dead, the Rome that Gregory and\nBenedict and their fellow-workers had planted on her grave during that\ncentury of apparent eclipse had taken root below and shot out branches\nabove and had become as a mighty tree affording guidance, shelter, and\nsustenance to the whole Christian world.\n\nEach of the great Popes seems to have had a special mission to fulfil,\none that coloured all his acts and sheds its individual lustre on his\nmemory. No doubt or hesitation seems to accompany the acceptance and\nfulfilment of it. Boniface\u2019s mission bade him place the seal of visible\nChristianity on the city and consecrate it to the Faith for all time.\nIt was Boniface, the fourth of that name, who decreed and carried out\nthe Triumph of which I spoke in a preceding chapter. But it is a big\nsubject and it must have a chapter to itself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nMEMORIES OF THE PANTHEON\n\n The Pantheon\u2014Hadrian\u2019s Best Monument\u2014Long Idle\u2014Consecrated as St.\n Mary of the Martyrs\u2014The Cathedral, the Symbol of the Soul\u2014Its\n Purification\u2014Continuity of the Church\u2014A Priest\u2019s Visit\u2014The\n Alabaster Square\u2014Procession of the Martyrs\u2019 Relics\u2014Giovanni Borgi,\n the Workman\u2014Italian Guilds\u2014Giovanni\u2019s Selflessness\u2014His Rescue of\n the Forsaken Children\u2014Care of Them\u2014Crusade in Behalf of All the\n Waifs of Rome\u2014His Work of Love\u2014Giovanni\u2019s Successor, Later Pius IX.\n\n\nIf you stand before San Pietro in Montorio and look down from the\nspot where St. Peter was crucified, you will see, rounding up in the\nlow-lying heart of the city, a dome, white, huge, uncrowned, standing\nout from the darker buildings round it like an enormous mother-of-pearl\nshell, softly iridescent, yet, when storm is in the air, taking on a\ngrey and deathlike hue. That is the Pantheon, and thus it has stood,\nreflecting every mood of the Roman sky, since the days of Hadrian,\nwho became Emperor in the year 117. Hadrian built the magic dome, but\nit is not his name that stands out in the gigantic lettering on the\npediment over the portico. Ninety years before his time Marcus Agrippa,\nthe intimate friend and (for his sins!) the son-in-law of Augustus,\nerected a magnificent temple close to the Baths which still bear his\nname in the Campus Martius, the field of which my brother has told the\ntouching story in \u201cAve, Roma Immortalis.\u201d Agrippa must have forgotten\nto properly propitiate the gods; we moderns should say that he \u201chad\nno luck,\u201d for his gorgeous temple was soon struck by lightning and\npresented a forlorn appearance when Hadrian, that enthusiastic builder,\ndecided to restore it.\n\nThis he did on his usual princely scale; when he had done with it, the\nPantheon (properly \u201cPantheum,\u201d all-holy) must indeed have dazzled the\neyes of the beholders, for the dome was entirely covered with tiles\nof gilt bronze that under the rays of the sun made it seem a second\nsun that had come to rest on earth. The gilt tiles were stripped off\nin 663 by a greedy little Emperor, Constans II, who took them away to\nSyracuse, whence the Saracens successfully looted them a few years\nafterwards. So the thing that looks like mother-of-pearl is really\nonly covered with sheets of lead\u2014but even lead, when the Heavens have\nlooked on it long enough, may become a thing of life and beauty. When\nHadrian had finished his building there was nothing left of Agrippa\u2019s\noriginal one except the portico; but Hadrian, with rare moderation,\nleft the original founder\u2019s name on that. The Pantheon, which is called\nby arch\u00e6ologists \u201cthe most perfect pagan monument in Rome,\u201d seems to\nhave been, in its beginnings, unfortunate, for only sixty-four years\nafter Hadrian\u2019s death it again stood sadly in need of repair, if we may\nbelieve the magniloquent inscription left on its front by Septimius\nSeverus and his son Caracalla, when they had carried out their pious\ndesigns of further restoration.\n\nBut it remains Hadrian\u2019s best monument, substantially what he made it,\na vast and perfect round under a vast and perfect dome, a place where\nthe winds of Heaven may sweep down from the central opening\u2014thirty feet\nacross\u2014overhead, and circle round the wide well of the interior and\nrise to the sky again without having encountered the shock of a single\nangle on their way. And for more than seventeen hundred and fifty\nyears the rain has fallen and the sun has shone and the stars have\nlooked down on Hadrian\u2019s pavement through the great opening, whence\nworshippers now, like the worshippers in his time, could raise their\neyes and thoughts to the vault of Heaven above. But for two hundred\nyears\u2014as if to partly balance the three centuries of persecution which\nhad preceded them\u2014the Pantheum was closed and none were permitted\nto pray there, two hundred years during which the silence was never\nbroken, and stars and sun and winds had their way in the stupendous,\nempty fane. It was the Emperor Honorius of inglorious memory who closed\nand sealed its bronze doors\u2014the same that guard it now, (and perhaps\nthis and a few other such acts, which showed him at heart a sincere\nbeliever, should be remembered to his attenuated credit)\u2014preferring to\nhave it abandoned altogether rather than used for the service of idols.\nAnd so it stood, a beautiful reproach, from 399 to 609, when our Pope\nBoniface told the Emperor Phocas that it was a burning shame not to\nwash it of pagan stains and consecrate it a Church of the Lord.\n\nPhocas\u2014that blood-stained figure who emerges now and then to surprise\nus by some memorable action\u2014said the Pope was right, and gave him\nthe building to do with it as he liked. And then Boniface carried out\nthe great plan which must have been simmering in his brain for years.\nThe temple, built for the seven deities of the seven planets, was to\nbecome the shrine of the bodies of the Saints and be consecrated to\nthe one True God, under the tide of \u201cSt. Mary of the Martyrs.\u201d Under\nthat perfect dome of exactly equal height and diameter (one hundred and\nforty-two feet) he would finally lay to rest all the sacred remains\nwhich were still buried in the Catacombs all round the city. But\nthere was much to do first. The rich architectural disposition of the\ninterior required no alteration beyond the erection of a High Altar;\nthe great window to the sky Boniface would not close; when dust and\nrubbish were cleared away the material preparations were over, but\nthe tremendous ceremony of purification and consecration had yet to\nbe accomplished. For these the illustrious predecessors of Boniface\nhad been inspired to draw up a ceremonial of such profound meaning and\nglorious diction as remains matchless in the annals of the Liturgy.\n\nWe can only see it now with the eyes of the spirit, but, even while\ntrying to do that, we must not let the magnificence of the external\nfunction make us forget that which the Church so lovingly and\nrepeatedly impresses upon us\u2014first, that there is but one Sanctuary\n_worthy_ of the Most High, His Throne and dwelling in the inaccessible\nlight of the Fixed Heaven, round which all universes that the human\nmind can grasp revolve, like starry spindrift round a living sun; and,\nsecondly, that the home God has built for Himself on earth and loves\nwith the most passionate tenderness is the heart of the Christian,\nwhere He will abide for time and eternity if it do not cast Him out.\nThe chief object of ecclesiastical architecture is to symbolise the\ngrandeur of the union between the soul and its Creator; as such, and as\nthe storehouse and dispensary of graces, the banqueting hall where He\nfeeds us with Himself, the arsenal where He arms us for the combat and\ntrains us for His soldiers, where, in His surpassing love and mercy, He\ndeigns to remain in the adorable Eucharist, the consecrated Church is\nthe crown of human production, and rightly do we strain every nerve to\nmake it rich and noble and fair.\n\nWhen that is done, and all that men can give has been lavished on\nbeautifying and enriching it, it has to be cleansed from every blemish\nof earthy contact before it can be offered to the service of God.\nWhen we wander through the Cathedrals of the world\u2014Westminster Abbey,\nStrasburg, Notre Dame, Milan\u2014asking ourselves how mere men ever\nattained to the production of such beauty and grandeur, do we ever stop\nto think that those towering walls were washed from vault to pavement,\nwithin and without, with holy oil, on the day of consecration?\n\nThe Cathedral was the symbol of the soul, and every act and prayer of\nthe ceremonial depicted for our forefathers\u2014so well instructed in the\ntruths we first take for granted and then forget\u2014the processes by which\nGod confers on us the gift of immortality. On the eve of the great day\nall left the building, the new doors were closed, no step sounded on\nthe pavement, no voice might break the stillness of the place. It was\na dead thing waiting for life, as the soul that is not united to God\nwaits, under its inherited burden of sinfulness, for regeneration.\n\nOutside the precincts a great tent has been erected, and here, all\nthrough the night, the Bishop and his assistants have been praying, the\nprayers of David the great penitent. All night long the penitential\npsalms have been going up, beseeching the Lord to wash away the sins\nof His people, His exiles on earth who are waiting without the camp,\nand entreating Him to take them into grace and bring them to their\nFather\u2019s home. With the first faint light of dawn the prayers cease,\nthe supplicants arise, and the Bishop puts on his vestments, one by one\nand with a special prayer for each, because he thus figures the Son of\nGod putting on the garment of our humanity. And because Christ, as man,\nprayed to His Father and ours, the Bishop comes forth from the tent and\nprostrates himself before the steps of the Church in fervent prayer,\nwith all his clergy kneeling around him.\n\nNow the natural soul is cold and blind, and closed to Grace; so the\nChurch stands, unlighted and with fast closed doors. And because the\nSpirit of God is all gentleness and mercy, and condescends to most\npatient stratagems to capture the heart He covets, the Bishop goes\nthree times round the great building, praying and knocking softly\nat its doors, while the clergy follow him and pray, too, as the\nangels pray for us. At last the first barrier falls; the doors open,\nreluctantly as it were. The Bishop crosses the threshold saying, \u201cPeace\neternal to this House, in the Name of the Eternal.\u201d The procession\npasses within, the shadows swallowing up the gold and crimson of the\nvestments that had been sparkling in the sun. A strange sight the empty\nChurch presents now. On the pavement two broad paths of ashes traverse\nits entire length and breadth, in the form of a Greek Cross. The\nassistants stand in silent groups while the Bishop, slowly moving down\nfrom the apse to the entrance, and then across from one transept to\nthe other, traces in the ashes the Latin and Greek alphabets, with his\ncrozier. Why? Because the first need of the soul is instruction. \u201cHow\nshall they know except they first be taught?\u201d And, since God will not\ntake possession of a soul without its own concurrence and consent, it\nmust know Him before it receives Him.\n\nKnowledge brings the desire for purification from sin, original or\nactual; and now the Church, the symbol of the soul, must be purified.\nThe Bishop mingles wine with water, to denote the Humanity and the\nDivinity of Christ; to these he adds ashes to commemorate His death,\nand salt as an emblem of His resurrection; the mystic flood is poured\nin waves over the Altar, and thence all down the pavement of the\nChurch, while hundreds of acolytes scale the ladders placed against\nthe walls and the mystic liquid runs down them in glistening sheets to\nmingle with the mimic ripples on the floor. Let it run. When it has\ndrained away, the holy oil flows golden and fragrant over the carved\nand gleaming walls, and pious hands are applying it to the exterior of\nthe building\u2014sometimes even to its roof\u2014in copious floods. Now indeed\nthe Church is ready for its destiny, even as the Christian emerges from\nBaptism ready for his God. The chants swell louder and sweeter, the\nAlleluia rings out triumphantly from a thousand hearts, the incense\nsends up its first perfumed spirals to hang among the fretted arches of\nthe deep vault; the sub-deacons approach the Pontiff and offer for his\nblessing the rich vessels and vestments which are the wedding presents\nof the Faithful to the new-born Bride of Christ\u2014the House is ready for\nthe Master and His guests.\n\nThe guests are waiting still in the exiles\u2019 tent, with Knights\nand Prelates for their Guard of Honour. Such nobility could not be\nentertained save in a spotless mansion. Their names? Oh, they had\nmany\u2014Greek and Latin and Persian and Armenian\u2014besides the \u201cwonderful\nnew names\u201d that had been given them in Heaven, for these guests were\nHoly Martyrs, and their relics were to be placed in the stone of\nthe High Altar, because the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass must always\nbe offered on them to-day, even as when the fervent yet trembling\nChristian knelt before their tombs in the Catacombs, and the doomed\nPriest asked the Lord to accept the Sacrifice in honour of those whom\nperhaps he had laid there an hour before.\n\nOh, the adorable continuity of the Church! In my eyrie in the Rockies,\none of the loneliest spots on earth, there came to my door quite\nunexpectedly one summer evening\u2014it was the 28th of June\u2014a missionary\npriest, very tired. He had driven some hundred and fifty miles to get\nto us; his game little horses, his buggy, his coat\u2014everything about\nhim was covered with dust, but his eyes beamed with benevolence as he\nsaid, \u201cI have come to say Mass for you.\u201d We could have kissed his feet.\nThe next morning, very early, in the sitting-room that was a bower of\nwild flowers, my son and I knelt and watched him prepare the altar.\nFrom his worn portmanteau the first thing he drew out was a square of\nwhite alabaster of which the centre had been removed, replaced, and\nsealed with a cross sunk into the stone. Very reverently he slipped it\nunder the white linen \u201ccorporal,\u201d lighted the blest candles on either\nside\u2014and began \u201cIntroibo ad altare Dei.\u201d\n\nThe alabaster square contained relics of the Martyrs; and our humble\nhome-made altar was, through them, His friends, as worthy of Him who\nwas about to descend upon it as the High Altar of St. Peter\u2019s on that\nmorning of his Feast in Rome.\n\n\nWhen St. Boniface cleansed and consecrated the Pantheon, he showed, in\nthe name he gave it, that it was to be the shrine of many valiant ones,\na shrine of which, more truly than of any of our battlefields, it could\nbe said:\n\n \u201cOn Fame\u2019s eternal camping ground\n Their silent tents are spread,\n And glory guards, with solemn round,\n The Bivouac of the Dead!\u201d\n\nBut one almost doubts whether the Pontiff himself appreciated the\nmagnitude of the task he had undertaken. In person he went through the\nmany Catacombs, for he was resolved that no smallest, humblest hero\nof the Lord should miss his share of the final triumph. He had had\ngreat cars prepared, decked with all possible richness, to convey the\nprecious remains which had so long held the outposts of the city, to\nthe Pantheon in its very heart; but when he had gone through all the\ndark, intricate passages of the underground cemeteries, tapping at the\nwalls and examining every atom of surface that might conceal a once\nproscribed tomb, I think his artificers must have had to build more\nchariots for the returning army than they had expected, for it was very\ngreat. At last, however, all was ready. It was the 13th of May, Anno\nDomini 609, and a glorious morning, when the converging processions\nset forth, met, and entered the city in triumph. The Pontiff in his\nsplendid vestments led the procession, swelled as it went along by\nall the inhabitants of Rome. Long serried ranks of prelates, priests,\nand monks followed him, carrying tall lighted tapers that gleamed but\nfaintly in the Roman sun; the air was sweet with fragrances that grew\nstronger as the convoy passed along the flower-strewn streets, and the\nperfume of hundreds of censers swung up on the bright air. Rome was\npoor then, but the Romans had still found blue and crimson tapestries\nto hang from the windows, and every portico and window was crowded with\neager onlookers who, as the procession approached, took up the roar of\nwelcome with which the city greeted its dead. But I think a hush fell\nwhen the dead came into sight at the turn of the street or the entrance\nof the Square, and the enormous cars moved nearer, their dear, terrible\nburden piled high above the sides, and covered with silks and flowers,\nthrough which here and there showed just enough of a coffin\u2019s outline\nto wring the heart and let loose a rain of tears. \u201cTwenty-seven great\ncars, filled with the bones of the Martyrs, did Boniface the Pope bring\nto the Pantheum, now consecrated to the Service of God and the honour\nof the Blessed Virgin.\u201d\n\nTruly may that splendid temple, open to the sky, claim its title\nof \u201cSt. Mary of the Martyrs,\u201d and rightly did the Pontiff and his\nfollowers as they brought them in raise the triumphant shout: \u201cThe\nSaints shall rejoice in their beds! Arise, ye friends of God, and enter\ninto the glory He has prepared for His elect!\u201d\n\n\nAfter all these great names it seems strange to have to record a very\nhumble one, that of a poor workingman, in connection with the Pantheon,\nbut I can never pass the famous Church without remembering a certain\nGiovanni Borgi, whose memory was held in great benediction in Rome in\nmy young days.\n\nDuring the preceding century the city was really in a fairly peaceful\nand prosperous condition, but the many institutions of charity which\nflourished under Gregory XVI and Pius IX had not reached the point\nwhere they could provide night refuges for its many waifs and vagrants.\nThere were numbers of poor boys\u2014street arabs, as we should call\nthem\u2014who wandered about in the daytime, earning a little here and there\nbut subsisting chiefly on charity and having no fixed dwelling-place of\nany kind. To these the broad steps and portico of the Pantheon offered\nat least shelter from the weather, and they used to gather there in\ncrowds after dark and sleep\u2014as boys can sleep\u2014on the stones.\n\nNow there was in Rome, towards 1780 or thereabouts, a poor mason\ncalled Giovanni Borgi. He belonged to the \u201copera di San Pietro\u201d: that\nis, he was one of the workmen engaged for life by the administration\nof St. Peter\u2019s for the maintenance and repair of the Basilica, the\nVatican Palace, and its many dependent buildings. The \u201copera\u201d was a\nclose corporation and included artisans of every necessary craft, from\nmosaic workers to bricklayers, plumbers, and carpenters. Of course\nthe privileges were largely hereditary, the Italian traditions of\nGuilds leading the son to follow the trade or profession of his father\nwhenever possible, but high character and a blameless record were also\nindispensable qualifications for every appointment. Giovanni Borgi,\nthough poor and almost illiterate, had worked all his life in the holy\nplaces and was regarded by his fellows as very nearly a saint. While\nhe worked he prayed, and when working hours were over he went regularly\nto the great Hospital of Santo Spirito in the \u201cBorgo,\u201d and sat up late\ninto the night nursing the sick and comforting the dying. The only\nreproach ever addressed to him was that he sometimes got sleepy over\nhis work the morning after some unusually long vigil by the bedside\nof some sufferer who had entreated him to remain with him. Everybody\nloved the queer little man, and he loved all the world but himself.\nTo this person he never gave a thought. Heaven had made him short\nand stumpy\u2014but he could walk as well as the youngest; he had but one\neye\u2014but its sight was perfect; a funny bald head\u2014but somebody had given\nhim an old wig to cover it with; what was there to complain about? So,\nbeing empty of itself, his heart had room for others, and he took his\nfellow-beings\u2019 wants and sufferings very seriously.\n\nOne evening, before going to the hospital, he was accompanying a\nreligious procession through the streets, when he noticed the dark\nforms of a little crowd of sleepers on the steps of the Pantheon.\nComing nearer, he found that they were boys of various ages, ragged\nand forlorn, huddled together for warmth, and sound asleep. A little\nfurther on, under the tables where fowls were sold in the daytime,\nmore of these waifs had taken refuge. The sight grieved the good mason\ndeeply. He could not pass on and leave them thus. Rousing some of them,\nhe asked many questions and learnt that not one of them had a home or\na guardian. Orphans, runaway boys from the hill villages, waifs of\none sort and another\u2014here was one of those collections of abandoned\nchildren who would later become criminals unless some kind hand were\nstretched out to save them. Giovanni did not hesitate for a moment. He\nbade the little crowd follow him to his lodging. There was one of those\ngreat ground-floor rooms only used for storing properties or cattle\u2014no\nRoman will sleep near the ground if he can help it, for fear of\nfever\u2014and in this barn-like place Giovanni bestowed his ragged guests\nafter giving them whatever he could beg or buy for their supper.\n\nI do not think he went to the hospital at all that night. I fancy\nhe sat long in the brick-floored room, staring at the three wicks of\nthe \u201clucerna\u201d and begging Heaven to show him what to do next. In the\nmorning he had to let his flock out, promising them some supper if they\nwould come back at nightfall and exhorting them to be good meanwhile.\nThe poor little creatures needed no second invitation and turned up\nfaithfully, their numbers swelled by others to whom they had spoken\nof their good luck. Giovanni saw that he would soon have a community\non his hands, and went to tell some priests, who were his friends,\nthat he must be helped to teach and govern, as well as to maintain the\nforsaken children. For their food\u2014breakfast and supper\u2014he begged, and\nthe kind-hearted neighbours responded generously. His first care was to\nteach them the Catechism, sitting among them in the evening and getting\nthem to talk about themselves; he also taught them what little he knew\nof reading and writing; but it hurt him sorely to turn them out to face\nall the temptations of the streets during the daytime.\n\nVery soon, the priests and some other charitable persons raised money\nto rent a part of an old palace, somewhat in ill-repair, but providing\nluxurious quarters in comparison to the Church steps and the fowl\nmarket. The priests offered to devote their evenings to teaching the\nboys, and found their efforts well rewarded, for the waifs, under\nthe kind, firm rule of old Giovanni, were eager to make the best\nof their wonderful new advantages. He very soon solved the question\nof occupation during the daytime by placing them out in a number of\nworkshops, where they could learn useful trades and earn something\ntowards their own maintenance. He sent them out in the morning, giving\neach a loaf of bread to take with him for dinner; then he went to his\nown work at St. Peter\u2019s. During the dinner hour he would rush round\nfrom one workshop to another to see that his \u201cchildren\u201d were behaving\nthemselves and that none had played truant. Then in the evening he\nwould go and fetch those of whose steadfastness he had any doubts, and\nby nightfall the whole big family was safely housed in the corner of\nthe old Palazzo.\n\nWhatever they had earned during the day had to be rendered up to \u201cTata\nGiovanni\u201d (Daddy John), as they had come to call him, and very dearly\nthey came to love their queer, kind protector. Old people used to\ndescribe his taking them all out to Villa Borghese on holidays, and\nsaid it was wonderful to see the old fellow flying round, playing ball\nwith the rest, his wig all awry and his mighty laugh showing how happy\nhe was with his children.\n\nHis good work had found friends and supporters from the beginning,\nand, being brought to the notice of Pius VI, the Pontiff bought the\nPalazzo Ruggia as a permanent home for it and constituted himself its\nchief protector. Thus encouraged, Tata Giovanni started on a crusade\nwhich had for its object nothing less than the reclamation of all the\ngood-for-nothing boys in Rome! He used to seek them out and follow them\nup, and if persuasion proved unavailing the dogged old man would seize\nthem by the arm and march them off to his \u201cAsilo\u201d without more ado.\nVagrancy, mendicancy, gambling roused his ire to such an extent that\nhis name became a terror to all youthful evildoers, and they would fly\nat the mere mention of it. Life at the Asilo was conducted on lines\nof military precision. The youngsters rose early, heard Mass, got a\ngood breakfast, and marched away to their work, where, as I have said,\ntheir guardian looked in on some of them\u2014and they never knew which it\nwould be \u2014during the course of the day. When the Ave Maria rang they\nall came home, and as they passed into the house Tata Giovanni stood at\nthe door with a bag in his hand, and into this they had to drop their\nearnings\u2014not a baiocco was to be spent on the way or kept back!\n\nThen came the lessons, followed by the rosary, and supper, this last\nthe crown of the day for the tired, healthy young people. The old\nideals still found many followers in those days, and it was not at all\nunusual to see some great Cardinal \u201cgird himself with a towel\u201d and\ntrot humbly a score of times between the kitchen and the refectory\nto wait on the boys. There were a hundred of them by this time, and\ngreat was Daddy John\u2019s preoccupation as to their morals. Long inured to\nshortening his hours of sleep, he would pace the dormitories all night\nlong to see that all was as it should be, only sleeping himself for a\nshort hour in the morning; and certainly Heaven blessed his efforts,\nfor as years went on, and his waifs grew old enough to go out into the\nworld on their own account and others took their places, not one that I\never heard of brought discredit on his education.\n\nThe sick at the hospital were not forgotten amid all these new labours\nand responsibilities; Tata Giovanni (no one ever called him anything\nelse) went to them whenever he could, and, when he could not, he would\nsend some of the older boys in his place, thus teaching them the lesson\nwhich had been the moral of his whole life\u2014that no one must live for\nhimself alone, and that the poorest and most ignorant can always find\nsome sufferer to cheer and console. He died at last\u2014the good, humble\nold workman\u2014fifteen years after he had strayed from the procession to\ninspect the ragged sleepers on the steps of the Pantheon. He passed\naway on the 28th of June, 1798. The whole city mourned for him, and\nhis boys were broken-hearted. His work of love had become a public\ninstitution and incorporated with another, of the same kind, lived till\na few years ago, when it was swept aside and swallowed up with hundreds\nof other beneficent foundations in the \u201cindiscriminate brigandage\u201d of\nRome\u2019s latest rulers.\n\nSeveral years after Tata Giovanni\u2019s death a young gentleman of noble\nbirth, who came from Sinigaglia, was appointed the director of the\nAsilo. It was not a distinguished appointment by any means; of course\nno salary was attached to the position\u2014it was not till the recent\nla\u00efcisation of charity that any but unpaid volunteers attended to the\nwants of the poor in the Eternal City. That made no difference to this\nhandsome young man, for he came of a wealthy family, but his father,\nwho had had great ambitions for his son, was by no means pleased to\nsee him buried in an orphan asylum. The young man himself was suffering\nunder great despondency. He desired with all his heart to be a priest,\nbut his health was so bad that the Bishop did not think it wise to\nordain him. As a child he had suffered a severe shock from falling\ninto the water and narrowly escaping drowning, and ever since his\nearly youth he had suffered from sharp attacks of epilepsy, terrible\nin themselves and yet more terrible in the constant dread that hung\nover their victim, who never knew when he might be struck down by the\nfearful visitation.\n\nVery gladly did Giovanni Maria Mastai-Ferretti of Sinigaglia accept\nthe charge of the Asilo which he had already constantly visited as a\nhelper and instructor. And here, for four years, he who was to become\nPius IX lived with the orphans, subsisted on their rough fare, and\ndevoted all his powers to making forsaken lads into good Christians\nand useful citizens. Workshops were now installed in the Asilo itself,\nand the higher arts went hand in hand with humble trades, each boy\u2019s\ntalent and inclinations being carefully observed and consulted. Many\ngood artists and good workmen were given to the world by the orphanage\nwhich had such humble beginnings, but for many of us its chief interest\nlies in its connection with the Pope, to whom it furnished the first\nopportunity of developing those gifts of organisation and command that\nlater served humanity so well. Here he waited, a humble postulant on\nthe threshold of the priesthood; here he prayed, as we know, those\nfervent, almost heart-broken prayers, that God would remove the\ninfirmity which darkened his life and barred his way to the Altar; it\nwas to his little room in the Asilo that he was brought back one night,\napparently dying, having been struck down by one of those fearful\nattacks in the street. From here he used to go, day after day, to one\nor another of the city\u2019s holy places to pray for relief or resignation;\nfrom here he started on the pilgrimage to Loreto, where the first light\nbroke across the darkness and he received the Divine assurance that\nhis prayers were heard, that the affliction was about to pass away. It\nwas, finally, in the little Church of San Giuseppe dei Falegnami (St.\nJoseph of the Carpenters), close to the Orphanage of Tata Giovanni,\nthat he said his first Mass, on Easter Sunday, April 11, 1819. It was\na very quiet affair, only a few near relations and his beloved orphans\nassisting at it. His uncle, Paulinus, who was a Canon of St. Peter\u2019s\nand who had been his tutor in sacred studies, stood beside him all\nthrough, for the Pope had only consented to the young man\u2019s ordination\non condition that he would never celebrate the Holy Mysteries unless\naccompanied by another priest. This command the Pontiff rescinded soon\nafterwards at Father Mastai\u2019s earnest request. He felt assured that\nhis malady would trouble him no more, and Pius VII, in reply, said,\n\u201cI also believe that, my son.\u201d From that moment, during his long and\neventful life, Giovanni Maria Mastai never suffered from any recurrence\nof the attacks which had, to outward seeming, saddened so many years\nof his life, but in reality had preserved and prepared him for his true\nvocation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nEARLY LIFE OF FATHER MASTAI\n\n Birth in 1792\u2014A Happy Family\u2014His Youth\u2014Epilepsy\u2014The Church at\n the Time of Napoleon\u2014Abduction of Pius to Avignon\u2014Napoleon\u2019s\n Downfall\u2014Return of the Pope to Rome\u2014His Reception\u2014Prophecies\n Regarding Pius IX\u2014His Journey to Chile\u2014Ocean Trip\u2014Across the\n Andes\u2014Failure of Mission\u2014Rounding Cape Horn\u2014English Settlement on\n the Cape\u2014\u201cLove-of-the-Soil\u201d\u2014The Falkland Islands.\n\n\nNearly a hundred years have passed since the day when the young priest\nwho was to be the best loved and the worst hated man in Europe said\nhis first Mass, and Time\u2019s heavy wings have already blurred his memory\nin their flight, to a fading outline for the present generation. Very\nfew now know anything about his early years, and in the story of them\nthe finger of God is so clear that it seems to be worth while to make a\nbrief record of the steps by which he was prepared for the burdens and\nhonours of his Pontificate. In reading about his childhood one seems\nto be carried back not one, but many centuries, so sharply does it\ncontrast with the ideals placed before children in these latter days.\nIt seems to be a road on which there is no returning, but there can be\nno harm in glancing back at it for a moment.\n\nIt was on the 13th of May, 1792, that Pius IX was born, in the\nUmbrian seaport of Sinigaglia, in the Papal States. His father, Count\nMastai-Ferretti, was the descendant of a long line of noblemen who had\ncome thither from Crema in Lombardy towards the end of the Fourteenth\nCentury. Home-loving but public-spirited men they had been, and for\na long time their fellow-citizens had confided to them the chief\ninterests of the town, one of the family always filling the office\nof Mayor, which had thereby become practically hereditary, to the\nadvantage and convenience of all concerned. So Count Mastai was Mayor\nof his native city at the time that his youngest son came to make the\neighth in the house already filled with the laughter and play of three\nsons and four daughters. The mother of this large family was Caterina\nSolazzo, one of those noble ladies of whom there were yet so many in\nItaly when I was a child\u2014a woman of high education and devout soul,\nwho saw in her maternal duties the highest honour to which woman could\naspire, and fulfilled them with whole-hearted joy and ardour. That\nmeant work such as the modern woman, who thinks she is an example to\ntoilers for the benefit of the race, would shrink from; the Countess\nhad to rise very early so that she should be the first to approach her\nchildren\u2019s bedsides when the rising sun woke the nursery to the frolic\nand laughter of a new day, and from that moment till all were tucked\nup and asleep at night she never let them out of her sight. The first\nwords they had ever spoken were the Holy Names, the first conscious\nmovement of each baby hand had been trained to make the sign of the\nCross.\n\nThey were all good and happy children, and the mother-heart prayed and\nwatched and taught, doubtless forming noble plans for all, but as the\nyoungest grew older his sweetness and goodness filled her with the hope\nthat he might be called to the special service of God. Even as a tiny\nchild his charity was of the alert, all-embracing kind that generally\nspells saintship in the end; toys, sweets, money\u2014the little boy always\nfound poor children to bestow them upon and would beg for his prot\u00e9g\u00e9s\nwhen his own stores were exhausted. Naturally of a particularly\ncheerful and sociable disposition\u2014as indeed he remained all his\nlife\u2014yet he pondered much on the stories he heard and took things to\nheart in a way very unusual for a child of his age. All devout and\nloyal subjects of the Papacy were grieving at that time over the trials\ninflicted by Napoleon on Pius VII, kept a prisoner far from his own\ndominions and subjected to many insults and privations. The Countess\none evening told her son that he must pray for the Holy Father, thus\nsuffering at the hands of wicked men. The child was deeply impressed,\nhe obeyed, and prayed with tears for the Pope, and then, in his young\nlogic, proposed to pray for the prompt punishment of his persecutors.\nGreat was the surprise of the ardent little champion when his mother\npointed out that that would be wrong\u2014he must pray for their conversion\ninstead!\n\nGiovanni Maria was about ten years old when, romping about the grounds\nof his father\u2019s country house, he fell into a pond and was nearly\ndrowned. At first the accident seemed to have had only slight effects,\nbut the malady which showed itself a little later and from which he\nsuffered so long was, probably with reason, ascribed to that cause. It\nwas a great sorrow to his father, who was bent upon his son\u2019s entering\nthe army, a desire which the boy was ready to satisfy through filial\nsentiment, but which went contrary to all his own wishes and to those\nof his mother. He was sent to an ecclesiastical school, of course\u2014no\nother could be thought of then for a gentleman\u2019s son\u2014and in spite\nof bad health worked hard and attained much distinction. As he grew\nup\u2014tall, handsome, and brilliantly intelligent\u2014his father repeatedly\napplied for a commission in the Noble Guards for him, but Prince\nBarberini, then the chief authority in the Papal army, sternly refused\nto grant it, saying that an officer subject to epileptic attacks would\nbe a danger to himself and others.[4]\n\nBy the time he was seventeen, it was fairly clear to all that he\ncould never be a soldier, a relief to him and to his mother, though\na terrible disappointment to the old Count. They had already brought\nhim to Rome, and under the care of his Uncle Paulinus, a Canon of\nSt. Peter\u2019s, he worked assiduously at his theological studies, always\nhoping and praying that the strange malady which had kept him out of\nthe army would not, in the end, keep him out of the Church. Those early\nyears in Rome were illuminated with the crowning joy of seeing Pius\nVII return in triumph to the Throne of St. Peter, an event which threw\nthe Romans, gentle and simple, into a state of delirious joy. Pius VI\nhad died in captivity at Valence, on the 29th of August, 1799; his,\nsuccessor, Cardinal Chiaramonti, was elected at Venice (Rome being\nin the hands of the French) on the 16th of March, 1800, and on the\n3d of July of the same year the French, having been expelled from the\nPapal States by the Neapolitans and Austrians, the new Pope, who had\ntaken the name of Pius VII, came back to his own. Everybody believed\nthat once more \u201cthe Church would have peace\u201d; Napoleon, whose genius\nrealised that there was no governing a nation of atheists, had restored\nReligion to her public place, and was preparing, by the Concordat,\nto harmonise Church and State as far as the times would allow. But\nthe Napoleon whose unerring eye showed him the necessity of Religion\nfor mankind had counted without the other Napoleon, whose towering\nambition demanded the sacrifice of all other claims to itself. With\nhis coronation as Emperor all barriers seemed to break down; the Pope\nwas to become his submissive vassal or cease to reign. His demands\nbecame more imperious and unreasonable every day and reached the limit\nof arrogance when he decided that the centre of Christendom was to\nbe transferred to Avignon; France was to enjoy that glory instead of\nItaly, and the Pope, no longer an independent sovereign, was to rule\nthe Church for the advantage and according to the caprices of the\nEmperor.\n\nThis proposition was first made soon after the election in Venice, when\nNapoleon had brought the Pope to Paris to crown him in Notre Dame. Pius\nVII replied, in an outburst of righteous indignation, that rather than\nso degrade his office he would resign it, and cause another election\nto be carried through; Napoleon could then do as he pleased with the\nobscure Benedictine monk who would be left on his hands!\n\nSurprised at his firmness, the Emperor yielded for the moment and\npermitted him to return to Rome, but, amidst all the rejoicings with\nwhich he was greeted, the good Pope\u2019s heart was heavy. He knew the\ncharacter of his adversary too well. On the day of his coronation,\nat the foot of the altar, Napoleon had solemnly sworn to uphold and\nprotect the Church. Immediately afterwards had come the insulting\nproposal to transfer the seat of her government to his own dominions.\nWho could say what he would do next?\n\nThat question did not long wait for its answer. The notion of having\nthe Papacy established at Avignon was too alluring to be renounced.\nAgain and again was it put forward, each time accompanied by some\noutrageous demand. The Pope was informed that he was to close all\nthe Roman ports to British vessels; that he was to declare war (!)\non Great Britain; that he was to annul the marriage of Jerome, the\nEmperor\u2019s brother, with a Protestant lady in America; and so on. And\nalways Pius VII replied by his quiet \u201cnon possumus\u201d\u2014\u201cwe cannot.\u201d Then\nthe great break came. The Emperor permitted himself an outburst of\ntemper in which all considerations of policy and decency were thrown to\nthe winds. On the 13th of May, 1809, the trembling world was informed\nthat the States of the Church had become part of the French Empire. On\nthe 10th of June all the Pope\u2019s insignia in Rome were torn down and\nreplaced by the heraldic _r\u00e9chauff\u00e9_, which now represented the arms\nof France; Rome was elevated to the dignity of being proclaimed \u201ca free\nFrench city\u201d!\n\nThe outraged Pontiff responded by laying the usurper and his supporters\nunder the major excommunication, and then came the crowning atrocity,\nthe one which Napoleon, a contrite prisoner in St. Helena, called the\nbeginning of his own downfall.\n\nIn the darkness of a soft summer night the Vatican was surrounded by\nFrench troops, and General Radet, sickly frightened at the task laid\nupon him, made his way with a detachment of soldiers to the Pope\u2019s\nbedroom. The horrified attendants in the corridors and anterooms were\nforcibly silenced, and Pius VII was roused from his sleep by the sudden\nentrance of this sinister company. He was a brave man, and, although\nit seemed only too probable that they had come to murder him, he lost\nneither his nerve nor his dignity. He asked them what the errand was\nwhich caused them thus to transgress on the rules of respect. At first\nthe General and his aides stood dumb, trembling with fear before the\nhelpless old man. At last Radet found his tongue and delivered his\nmaster\u2019s orders. The Pope was to rise at once and come downstairs,\nwhere a coach was waiting to take him into France. The instructions\nwere that he was to be taken by force if he resisted, but so great was\nthe awe inspired by his sacred person that, even in pronouncing the\narrest, Radet could not bring himself to touch his victim.\n\nThere was no question of physical resistance. Gathering courage from\nthe Pontiff\u2019s calm demeanour, Radet gave him a few minutes to put\non his clothes, and then hurried him downstairs surrounded by the\nsoldiers. Only two attendants were allowed to follow him, he was\nhustled into the coach; mounted guards closed in on every side, and the\nparty galloped at full speed out of the Porta del Popolo, heading for\nthe north. By this time the people had learnt what was happening, and\nthey came out in crowds and ran beside the coach, entreating with tears\nand sobs that their Father might not be taken away from them. The Pope\nblessed them from the carriage window as he was whirled along; soon all\nthe mourning crowd was left behind, but at each town that he passed\nthrough in his dominions the same heart-rending scenes were renewed.\nHis captors dared not pause\u2014some attempt at a rescue might yet snatch\nhim from their grasp\u2014and it was only when they reached Grenoble that\nthey stayed their flight. From there he was transferred to Savona,\nwhere he passed three melancholy years of captivity; when Napoleon\nwas preparing to start on the Russian Campaign, he brought the Pope to\nFontainebleau for safer keeping, and there Pius VII remained for nearly\ntwo years more.\n\nThe first care of the Allies after the taking of Paris on the 31st\nof March, 1814, was to officially reinstate the Pope in his temporal\nsovereignty, and secure it from future molestation, but Pius VII was\neven then approaching his own frontier. After Leipsic and the train\nof disasters which marked the close of 1813, Napoleon had informed his\nprisoner that he was free to go whither he chose. But it was not until\nthe 25th of January following that the preparations for his journey\nwere sufficiently completed for the Pope to leave Fontainebleau, and\nthen, worn out with suffering of mind and body, he had to travel by\nstages of only a few miles at a time and to rest for long periods on\nthe way. He finally reached Rome in May of that year, a few weeks after\nNapoleon had signed his abdication at Fontainebleau. Then for Napoleon\ncame Elba,\u2014the hundred days,\u2014the short triumph, the irrevocable\neclipse, and the five years at St. Helena. \u201cQui mange du Pape en\nmeurt.\u201d\n\nI used to have among my possessions a number of old coloured drawings,\nthe original designs for the decorations put up in Rome for the\nreturn of Pius VII. It was a triumph not decreed by politicians,\nbut a spontaneous outburst of overwhelming joy. For five years the\nentire government of the Church had been suspended; not once had the\nPontiff been allowed to make his voice heard in her affairs. There is\nsomething strangely sinister in that silence, during which no Bishops\nwere appointed, and not a single line was added to the ecclesiastical\narchives. The fear and depression that weighed down Catholic hearts\nwas indescribable, and the relief when the cloud lifted almost too\noverwhelming to be borne. The Papal States had suffered much during\nthose years, and the Pope\u2019s own city worst of all. Business was at a\nstandstill, more than a third of the population had migrated elsewhere,\npreferring exile to the tyranny of the French rule. Those who remained\nwere frightfully impoverished by heavy taxation and by the general\nparalysis of commerce which Napoleon\u2019s wars and blockades had brought\nnot only on Italy but on the whole of Europe.\n\nThe populations turned out _en masse_ to meet their sovereign as he\ntravelled home, and as he neared Rome many nobles who had retired to\ntheir estates came to accompany him on the last stages of his journey.\nAmong these were Count Mastai-Ferretti and his son, Giovanni Maria,\nnow eighteen years of age. The event made a profound impression on\nthe young man. As a child he had wept and prayed for the Holy Father\nin his captivity; through the first years of his youth the thought of\nPius VII, a helpless prisoner, had ever been present to his mind and\nmany a fervent prayer had gone up for his sovereign\u2019s and his country\u2019s\ndeliverance. Now it had come, and to him, not yet illuminated with\nknowledge of the future, as well as to all those around him, it seemed\nas if all trouble were passed away and the sun that shone so gloriously\non that 24th of May, when the people took the horses from the Pope\u2019s\ncarriage and themselves dragged it through the rejoicing streets,\nwere but an earnest of unbroken peace and happiness to come. Rome had\nseen many festivals, but none so spontaneously, madly joyful as this.\nFrom every window floated crimson and blue silk draperies rich with\ngold; the thousands of balconies were wreathed in flowers, and the\nvast procession moved along in a rain of roses and lilies and violets\nshowered from above; music was everywhere, but it was drowned in the\nshouts and hosannas of the multitude that had gone out to meet the\ntraveller with palms in their hands and now thronged the way before,\nbeside, behind him. The women were weeping for joy and audibly thanking\nGod for this great day; a hundred thousand persons knelt to receive\nhis blessing, and many, many of them must have remembered how they\nknelt to receive it last, as the coach was whirled along the highway\nin the summer\u2019s dawn and the weeping supplicants just caught a glimpse\nof the pale face and the blessing hand as it flashed by. Every town\nin the dominions had raised its triumphal arches, gathered all its\nflowers for his progress, but Rome surpassed them and all the records\nof herself that day. The \u201cTe Deum\u201d was sung in all the Churches as it\nhad never been sung before, Rome\u2019s thousand bells rang as if they would\nnever cease; and when darkness fell, St. Peter\u2019s gathered the stars to\nitself, and the magic dome, a hive of breathing gold, glowed through\nthe night, a beacon of joy to the dwellers in a hundred mountain towns\nof Sabina and Latium and all the country round.\n\nThirty-two years were to elapse before the youth kneeling beside his\nfather to receive the Pope\u2019s blessing on that day would himself ascend\nthe Papal Throne, but, strange to say, Pius VII himself had already\nforeseen the event. Pius IX had been reigning for some years when,\nthrough the merest accident, the written prophecy was discovered.\nPius VII, while a prisoner at Fontainebleau, one day handed to his\nbodyservant a sealed packet, saying that it was not to be opened until\n1846. The man religiously regarded the prohibition and put the packet\naway carefully. Before his own death he gave it to his son, repeating\nthe Pope\u2019s instructions. Eighteen forty-six was still far off, and the\nson laid the thing aside and had forgotten all about it when the year\nin question came round. Having occasion, however, to look through a\nnumber of old papers, he came across this, and broke the seal. Inside,\nin Pius VII\u2019s handwriting, were these words: \u201cThe prelate who fills the\noffice of Bishop of Imola in 1846 will be elected Pope and will take\nthe name of Pius IX.\u201d\n\nAnother prophecy, that of the venerable servant of God, Anna Maria\nTaigi, uttered in 1823, is very full and clear. After describing\nminutely the revolution of 1848 and all the sufferings that Rome\nand its ruler would undergo at that time, she added, \u201cThe Pope whose\ndestiny this is, is now a simple priest and far beyond the sea.\u201d After\nminutely describing the personal appearance of Pius IX, she continued:\n\u201cHe will be elected in a very unusual way and contrary to his own and\ngeneral expectation. He will inaugurate many wise reforms, which,\nif gratefully and wisely accepted by the people, will bring great\nblessings upon them. His name will be honoured throughout the world.\u201d\nShe spoke much of the great trials that he was to undergo in defence\nof the Church, and of the special assistance Heaven would give him to\nsustain them, and also of the gift of miracles which would be bestowed\non him during the latter years of his life. All that came to pass\nprecisely as the Saint foretold, and the present generation seems to\nbe seeing the beginning of the fulfilment of her closing prophecy: \u201cAt\nlast, after many and varied trials and humiliations, the Church shall\nachieve, before the eyes of the world, such a glorious triumph that men\nwill be struck silent with awe and admiration.\u201d\n\nThe famous prophecy of St. Malachy, the Archbishop of Armagh, who\ndied at Clairvaux in the arms of his friend, St. Bernard, in 1148,\ndesignated the title of Pius IX as \u201cCrux de Cruce\u201d\u2014\u201cCross of a\nCross\u201d\u2014and certainly that prediction, supposed to refer to the Cross of\nSavoy, was fulfilled!\n\nAnna Maria Taigi\u2019s mention of a \u201csimple priest then beyond the sea\u201d\nrefers to the mission to Chile, undertaken by Pius IX when he was as\nyet only Father Mastai, the director of Tata Giovanni\u2019s orphanage.\nIt is an episode of his history so generally forgotten that it seems\nworth while to recall it briefly to the minds of Catholic readers. The\nRepublic of Chile was just five years old\u2014it concluded its victorious\nstruggle with Spain for independence in 1818\u2014when the government sent\na respected prelate, Canon Cienfuegos, to Rome to ask Pius VII to\nreorganise ecclesiastical matters in Chile, where everything had been\nleft in a very unsatisfactory condition after the separation from the\nMother Country.\n\nPius VII gladly complied with the request. The mission would require\ndelicate handling and he singled out a diplomatist prelate, Monsignor\nMuzi, then Auditor of the Nunciatura at Vienna, for its accomplishment.\nIn order that his rank should be consonant with its dignity, Monsignor\nMuzi was made Archbishop of Philippi, and then appointed Vicar\nApostolic of Chile. He asked that Father Mastai might accompany him as\nAuditor, a post corresponding to that of \u201cConseiller d\u2019Ambassade\u201d in a\nsecular embassy; and another well-known ecclesiastic, Father Sallusti,\nwas named as the secretary.\n\nLong years afterwards, one of the \u201cboys\u201d described the last evening of\nFather Mastai at the Asilo. He had as yet said nothing to them of his\napproaching departure, but at supper they noticed that he seemed very\nsad. When the meal was over and they were about to leave the table,\nhe motioned to them to sit down again, as he had something to say\nto them. Then he told them that the next day he must leave them, to\ntravel far away on the business of the Church. There were a hundred and\ntwenty boys, big and little, in the hall, and there broke from them one\nsimultaneous cry of grief. Sobbing and wailing, they threw themselves\nupon him, the little ones climbing up into his arms and clinging to his\nknees, others catching at his garments as if to hold him back by force,\nand those who could not reach him through the press lifting up their\nvoices in supplication that the \u201cCaro Padre\u201d would not leave them. The\nFather wept, too, as he caressed and embraced the \u201cpiccolini,\u201d and,\nwhen at last he tore himself away and shut himself up in his room, a\nnumber of the older boys broke in and insisted on staying with him all\nnight. The dear patient man did not resent thus being robbed of his\nrest; he let them have their way, and talked to them long and earnestly\nof their present duties and their future lives. He would return some\nday, and how eagerly he would enquire for every one by name, how\nrejoiced he would be at a good report, how immeasurably grieved at a\nbad one.\n\nWith the dawn he had to leave them, and, as the narrator said, \u201cWe were\norphans more than ever before.\u201d\n\nGreat as was the grief of \u201cTata Giovanni\u2019s\u201d boys on losing their\nbeloved Director, it did not equal the despair and indignation of\nCountess Mastai when she learnt that her son had been picked out for a\njourney which was full of perils and hardships so late as twenty years\nago, and in those early days was veritably appalling.\n\nTo the ardent young priest, this fact had only added to the readiness\nhe felt in carrying out the Pope\u2019s wishes; he asked nothing better than\nto suffer in such a cause, but his mother, without saying anything to\nhim, flew to Cardinal Consalvi, then Secretary of State, and implored\nthat the appointment might be cancelled. Pius VII, however, refused to\nyield to her entreaties, and, when Father Mastai came to receive his\nfinal blessing before departing, he told him of the Countess\u2019s request\nand added, \u201cI assured her that you would return safe and sound.\u201d\n\nThe embassy was to embark at Genoa, and it was there, while waiting\nfor the final preparations to be made, that its members received the\nsad news of the death of Pius VII. This caused delay, and it was only\nafter the election of Leo XII and his confirmation of Archbishop\nMuzi\u2019s powers that the mission finally sailed from Genoa, on the\n5th of October, 1823. Ninety years ago! The world has shrunk since\nthen; the voyage that I made in 1885 in three weeks took Monsignor\nMuzi and his companions three months to accomplish. The \u201cgood barque\n_Elo\u00efse_,\u201d manned by \u201cthirty experienced seamen,\u201d had been chartered\nfor the expedition, but one\u2019s heart aches to think of what those three\ngood ecclesiastics must have suffered in one way and another on board\nof her. Very few Italians of their class are good sailors and all\nthe horrors of seasickness were certainly theirs, combined with the\nunsavoury and unwholesome food that was all people had to depend upon\nduring sea-journeys before the discovery of steam and cold storage.\nStorm after storm broke over the little vessel; she was nearly wrecked\noff Teneriffe; one dreadful night, the 5th of November, she was waylaid\nby pirates, who overhauled her from stem to stern seeking for plunder,\nand only abandoned her\u2014in furious disgust\u2014when Father Mastai had shown\nthem that there was not a single article of value on board. Then came\na sad encounter with a Brazilian slave trader, packed with unfortunate\nnegroes, a sight most grievous and terrible to the kind-hearted\npriests; and then, after two long months\u2019 sailing, a fearful storm\nwhich lasted eight days, during which the _Elo\u00efse_ was so beaten about\nthat no one hoped to escape alive. It was all a searching dispensation\nfor quiet, stay-at-home Italian gentlemen who had followed their pious\nway hitherto along the most familiar lines!\n\nThey reached Monte-Video on New Year\u2019s Day, 1824, stopped a few\ndays for repairs, and made Buenos Ayres soon after, their joy at\nfinding themselves on _terra firma_ much tempered by the extremely\nrude reception accorded to them by the civil authorities. But Buenos\nAyres was merely the starting-point for the most difficult part\nof the journey, the crossing of the Andes. Had the good Countess\nMastai-Ferretti had the slightest idea of what her cherished son was to\nencounter there, I believe she would have died of anxiety before his\nreturn! I only met one or two Europeans, when I was in Chile, who had\naccomplished the feat, and they told me that nothing would induce them\nto attempt it again. I have described some of the terrors of the passes\nin former works,[5] and will not enlarge upon them here. Suffice it to\nsay that for two whole months Monsignor Muzi and Fathers Sallusti and\nMastai rode through those appalling solitudes, over the bridle-paths\ncut in the face of the rock that towers thousands of feet above and\nsinks sheer down thousands of feet below, paths where one false step\nmeans death, and so narrow in some places that, if two parties meet,\nit is usual for them\u2014if they are not the fighting sort\u2014to decide on\nthe spin of a coin which shall dismount, pitch its mules over the\nprecipice, and crawl past the winners as best they can\u2014to continue the\njourney on foot!\n\nThe resting-places are even now the haunts of outlaws and robbers.\nThe members of the Roman Embassy of 1824 only escaped being murdered\n_en masse_, because, through some unforeseen occurrence, they changed\nthe time of their departure from a hamlet called Desmochadas. Had they\nwaited till the hour first fixed upon, they would have shared the fate\nof a party of merchants who, on that day, were massacred, to a man,\nby a band of robbers. It was Father Mastai who discovered\u2014and stayed\nbehind to take care of\u2014a sick English officer, named Miller, forsaken\nin a wayside inn; and it was Father Mastai, the others said, who had\nduring the whole journey sustained their courage by his unfailing fun\nand good-humour. It seems to me that this is not the least glorious\nnote in all his wonderful record, and because few, even of those who\nmost loved and venerated him in his later years, have ever heard of it\nI have written it here. The whole thing, somehow, is so absolutely Pius\nIX!\n\nVery sore and weary, the travellers reached Santiago on the 17th of\nMarch, only to encounter every kind of obstacle and annoyance in the\nattempt to carry out the object of their mission. The government\nhad changed, and the party in power had no desire to come to an\nunderstanding with the Holy See. The people, indeed, received the\nenvoys most enthusiastically, but Chile in 1824 was apparently\nmuch what I found it in 1885\u2014a country of ardent believers ruled by\natheists. Let some expert explain the problem, I cannot! For seven\nmonths Monsignor Muzi remained in Santiago, perseveringly trying to\nclear matters up and reach some _modus vivendi_ between Church and\nState. But his efforts were nullified by the hostility of the President\nand his supporters, and at last he had to acknowledge his defeat and\nwithdraw from the conflict.\n\nThe _Elo\u00efse_ meanwhile had successfully rounded Cape Horn and reached\nValparaiso, and on the 19th of October the Archbishop and his party\nembarked once more on the gallant little vessel and started for home.\nOf course no sailing vessel can pass through the twisting narrows and\nrocks of the Straits of Magellan, so for three weeks\u2014surely the most\nmiserable of their lives\u2014those poor priests, children of Italy and\nthe sun, shivered in the awful cold of those frozen regions, where the\nsea is the colour of cold steel, and the sailors, as they have often\ntold me, come down from the deck at night with their garments frozen\nstiff, and have to work their way into them, still frozen stiff as\nboards, in the morning. My own travelling in that part of the world\ndid not include the rounding of Cape Horn, but even the passage of the\nStraits, in a big liner, with the water smooth as glass, was such a\nfreezingly wretched experience that, having made it once, the prospect\nof its repetition took something away from my eagerness to go home. But\noutside the Horn, with the Antarctic Ocean, unbroken from the South\nPole, flinging its icy rollers against a little sailing vessel that\ntook three weeks to beat up on the other side\u2014_that_, the skippers have\ntold me, furnishes merchant seamen with their best nightmares to their\ndying day! Most of the coal supply for the West Coast is carried by\nthis route, and by the time it has reached the Horn the coal, loaded\nunder the damp English skies, has ignited and the remainder of the trip\nis made with hatches battened down and the pleasing knowledge that a\npuff of air finding its way into the hold will send the whole mass into\na blaze!\n\nYet, there is a little English colony that lives and flourishes in\nthese cold seas some two hundred and fifty miles to the east of the\nHorn, and we, in England, wear its wool and eat its mutton quite\nhabitually. I never could learn my geography properly until I began to\ntravel round the world. From that time maps became a special recreation\nof mine, and I had, when travelling through the Straits of Magellan,\nthought with both curiosity and pity of the handful of islands so much\nmore exposed than even we were in those comfortless days. I was told\nthe place was a purgatory\u2014that it was just possible to carry on life,\nand that no one stayed there who could help it. Some time afterwards,\nwhen we were established in Santiago, a card was brought up and I gazed\nat it for a moment in some bewilderment\u2014\u201cThe Governor of the Falkland\nIslands!\u201d Then it was true! Our indomitable fellow-countrymen had\nreally added another mesh to the net of Empire which Great Britain has\ncast over the world. My reflections were interrupted by the entrance\nof a big, handsome man, who looked as if he had just come out of\nYorkshire. His clear blue eyes, ruddy cheeks, and joyful bearing belied\nthe sad tales I had heard, and when, in the course of conversation, I\nasked some timid questions about his frozen place of exile, he laughed\nin a way that was good to hear. Frozen? Exile? Why, he would not\nlive anywhere else for the world! A grand climate, pleasant society,\nand better pasturage for sheep than could be found anywhere else!\n\u201cPasturage!\u201d I exclaimed. \u201cDo you mean to say that anything will _grow_\nin that latitude?\u201d \u201cGrow? I should think so!\u201d he replied. \u201cWe get the\nback wash of the Gulf Stream down there, and our sheep can graze all\nwinter in the open. Why, I have three trees, _real trees_, on Stanley\nIsland! I wish you and Mr. Fraser would come and pay me a visit there.\nMy wife and daughters would be so delighted to see you.\u201d Then, turning\nto my husband, he continued: \u201cOur flocks are getting too big for their\nfeeding grounds, so I have come to ask the Chilean Government to rent\nus five hundred thousand acres in Patagonia for a supplementary run.\nThe pasturage is not as good as that in the Falklands, but it will be\nbetter than nothing.\u201d\n\nOf course we instantly invited our visitor to dine. An English face\nwas always a joy to look at where one saw so few, and this man brought\nthe very atmosphere of the North Country with him. He told us many\ninteresting details about his little domain, the management of which\nhe took very seriously and evidently accomplished with much success.\n\u201cOf course I could do more,\u201d he said regretfully, \u201cif it were not for\nthe blind hostility of the Opposition.\u201d \u201cDoes it reach so far?\u201d I asked\npolitely. \u201cI should have thought there was quite enough to keep it busy\nat home.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t mean the little crowd at Westminster,\u201d he replied\nindignantly. \u201cPlease understand, Mrs. Fraser, that I have an opposition\n_of my own_!\u201d\n\n\u201cI do congratulate you,\u201d I said; \u201cthat is certainly a triumph! What\nBritisher could ask more?\u201d\n\nThere is a little plant of which every Englishman carries the seeds\nabout with him. It is called Love-of-the-soil. Give him a bit of land\nanywhere\u2014the best or the worst, a vast fertile tract or a few miles of\ndesert island; tell him it is his very own to do as he likes with, and,\nbefore you can turn round, every grain of its dust is sprouting with\nLove-of-the-soil. He sees, knows, loves only that spot. He will fight\nfor it, work for it, cheat for it if need be, perhaps even slay; for\nto him it has taken on the sacred character of the mother country, it\nis _his_ piece of England and woe to any one who tries to take it away\nfrom him! That is why English colonies succeed. And it is the lack of\nthis passion for the land which makes bad colonists of men of other\nnationalities. The Americans are simply brutal about their possessions.\nOut here in the Northwest one is horrified at the general callousness.\nI have watched people making what _we_ should call a home, breaking\nnew land, building a charming house, working hard to make everything\nwithin and without as perfect as they know how. A cloud of dust shows\nup on the road, a motor-car full of \u201cland grabbers\u201d kicks and coughs\nand stinks at the gate; the next minute the hard-eyed hucksters are\nbeing shown into all the sacred arena of airy rooms, and flowering\ngarden, are fingering, valuing, depreciating; there follows an hour or\ntwo of hard bargaining, and then your neighbour\u2019s wife flies across\nlots to tell you, with shining eyes, \u201cWe\u2019ve sold the place!\u201d \u201cSold\nthe place?\u201d I cry. \u201cWhy, I thought it was to be your home!\u201d \u201cWhat does\nthat matter?\u201d she retorts, huffed, \u201cI got my price! We can easily build\nanother house that we shall like just as much.\u201d\n\nI suppose it is a form of the disease now diagnosed as Americanitis,\nthe feverish restlessness that would rather \u201ctrek\u201d anywhere than stay\nput for more than a year or two. But is a terrible disqualification for\nbuilding a State. Since I have seen it at close quarters, I have often\nthought of the contrast presented by that handful of North Country\nshepherds and their descendants, in the Falklands,[6] so proud of doing\ntheir best with the best they could get, pleased with their drizzly\nclimate (it rains two hundred and fifty days in the year), because\nit is so English, proud of their thriving little country, sending out\ntheir pelts and mutton by the once-a-month steamer, actually growing\ntheir pelargoniums and fuchsias in the open air, and so furiously\ninterested in their miniature politics that the Government and the\nOpposition are ready to knock each other forty ways from Sunday\nevery time they meet! Good luck and long life to you, my incorrigible\nbrothers! The secret of success is certainly yours, and it all comes\nfrom the little plant called Love-of-the-soil.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nPOPE PIUS IX\n\n Director of Ospizio di San Michele\u2014A Splendid Record\u2014Archbishop\n of Spoleto\u2014A Turbulent Populace\u2014Order Restored\u2014Revolution\n in Europe\u2014Spoleto Saved\u2014The Earthquake in Umbria\u2014New Post\n at Imola\u2014Secret Societies\u2014A Cardinal\u2014Attack upon the Three\n Prelates\u2014The Cardinal\u2019s Bravery\u2014How the Saints Forgive\u2014Pope Pius\n IX\u2014His Charity and Justice\u2014Defenders of the Poor\u2014Anecdotes of the\n Cardinal\u2019s Generosity.\n\n\nAfter his return from Chile, Father Giovanni Maria Mastai was appointed\nDirector of the Ospizio di San Michele, a position which could not be\ncalled a great advancement in the eyes of the world, but which carried\nwith it a most weighty burden of responsibility. Some idea of this\ncharge can be grasped when we explain that the so-called \u201cHospital\u201d\nembraced six separate large establishments: namely, an orphanage for\nboys, another for girls, both containing complete schools for general\neducation as well as for the learning of trades and arts; a home\nfor the aged poor, a \u201cprotectory\u201d for unruly boys, a reformatory for\nfallen women\u2014and a prison for political offenders. The endowments of\nthe Ospizio, together with its earnings, rendered an income of fifty\nthousand dollars a year, then considered an ample sum for providing for\nthe wants of some thousands of persons. It will readily be understood\nthat this left little or nothing over for salaries to those in charge,\nbut, fortunately, in those days these were not needed, as all the\nemploy\u00e9s, except a few servants, were priests and religious, who gave\ntheir services for nothing except food and shelter.\n\nIn his own financial affairs, Father Mastai was the worst manager\npossible; he never kept any money longer than was needed to give it\naway; but where other funds were concerned he made no mistakes, and\nhis administration was as wise and careful as possible. His friends\nand family seem to have been a little surprised when his labours\nand trials during the South American mission received no more public\nrecognition than this appointment to a burdensome task, but he himself\nwas delighted. He had looked back to the years spent with \u201cTata\nGiovanni\u2019s\u201d boys with homesick regret; the work at San Michele was of\nthe same kind on a much larger scale, more orphans to train, more poor\nto cherish, more sinners to help and save, and his generous heart was\nfully satisfied. The Holy Father, Leo XII, watched the new Director\nclosely during the two years he left him in charge. At the end of that\nshort time the improvement in all the different departments of the\nOspizio was fully evident, and its self-supporting funds had increased,\nin spite of the innovation introduced by the new Director, who ordained\nthat a fair share of the inmates\u2019 earnings should be set aside for\ntheir own after use and benefit.\n\nLeo XII was now satisfied that he had not been mistaken in his judgment\nof Father Mastai\u2019s abilities and virtues, so, without any intermediate\npromotion, on the 21st of May, 1827, he appointed him Archbishop of\nSpoleto, the Pope\u2019s own native town. Great was the grief of the vast\nfamily at San Michele on learning the news, for whether as simple\npriest, powerful prelate, or Supreme Pontiff, Pius IX was always\nenthusiastically loved by all who approached him.\n\nSpoleto, as we know it to-day\u2014but how can I describe it? One magic\npen has pictured the Umbrian cities with such divine felicity that the\nrest of us must be for ever mute. Read what Edward Hutton says about\nSpoleto\u2014\u201ca beautiful city of rose colour set on a high hill.\u201d\u2014\u201cSpoleto,\nlike a tall and sweet maiden,\u2014kneeling at the head of her long valley\nunder the soft sky.\u201d Read all that that pure-souled genius has written\nabout Umbria and Tuscany, and you will know whatever your mind can\ngrasp of that which the poet and the mystic and the artist feel in\nthat immortal region; my business is not with them, but with the\n\u201canima latina\u201d of a holy, hard-working prelate sent in troublous times\nto govern a turbulent populace already inoculated with the fever\nof revolution, and preserving, in its murderous hatreds, the best\ntraditions of the late Middle Ages.\n\nThis was what the new Archbishop saw before him as, with his two\nbrothers, he approached Spoleto towards the end of June, 1827: \u201cA\nviolent party feud raging between two factions, finding its way into\nfamilies, separating father from son, brother from brother, sister\nfrom sister. Even the clergy had allowed themselves to be drawn into\nthe unhappy conflict, and, as a natural consequence, the interests\nof religion were suffering lamentably.\u201d[7] So the new Archbishop had\nno light task before him. I fancy, however, that his was a nature\nwhich was happiest in strenuous effort. There are people, even in\nthe modern world, who seem out of place unless they are leading a\nforlorn hope. We had a friend long years ago, the Marquis de B\u00e2court,\na delightful French diplomatist, with whom, after the vagrant manner\nof diplomatists, we foregathered in various parts of the world before\nmeeting him again in Chile, which certainly just then was not a bed\nof roses for foreign representatives. I was bewailing our own luck and\ncommiserating his, when he interrupted me by exclaiming: \u201cOh, but I am\nreally enjoying myself! I _love_ difficult and disagreeable affairs!\u201d\n\nOf these we know that Monsignor Mastai found many to adjust in his new\ncharge, and that he was signally successful in smoothing them out.\nWithin two years faction had died in the pretty Umbrian city on the\nhill, enemies were reconciled, order restored, and the clergy aroused\nto new zeal and regularity under his wise, strict rule. At the end of\nthose two years he held the people\u2019s hearts in his hands, and well it\nwas for them that he did, for thus he was enabled to save the town and\nits inhabitants from the terrible danger which suddenly threatened to\noverwhelm Spoleto in 1830. Leo XII had died on the 10th of February\nof the preceding year, and had been succeeded by Pius VIII, whose\nbeneficent reign was ended all too soon by death on the eve of All\nSaints\u2019, 1830. The gentle old man had, during his short Pontificate,\nattacked and handled with vigour and wisdom some of the most important\nquestions of the day, notably in his regulations for mixed marriages\nand in his stern condemnation of the secret societies; these had,\nduring the last momentous year of his life, produced the harvest of\nrevolution which convulsed Europe more or less from Warsaw to Rome; yet\nworse was to come, but Pius VIII was spared the trial of witnessing\nit. That was reserved for his successor, Gregory XVI, sturdy,\nimperturbable, broad-shouldered, bringing with him the breezes of the\nJulian Alps and the hard good sense of the Venetian from the mountains\nand the sea. He needed it all, for, as I have said elsewhere, the\nstorm that had muttered so long broke loose even before his election;\nthe henchmen of anarchy, who had long been secretly busy in the Papal\nStates, started a revolution in Rome itself in February, 1830; this was\npromptly quelled, but the trouble in the more northerly provinces was\nvery serious and the Pope had to appeal to Austria to subdue it.\n\nSpoleto had by no means escaped the general infection, but the\nArchbishop had, by constant watchfulness and his great personal\ninfluence, succeeded in preventing any open outbreak of the\nrevolutionary spirit which lurked there; what was his horror and that\nof the citizens when it became known that a body of four thousand\ninsurgents, retreating before the Austrians, were approaching the\ntown with the intention of holding it against their pursuers! The\nplace was in a panic\u2014the inhabitants already saw themselves trampled\ndown and massacred in the bloody conflict that would take place\u2014saw\nthe stern punishment that the Austrians would inflict upon them for\nharbouring the desperate revolutionaries. It was in this emergency\nthat Giovanni Maria Mastai showed the coolness of a statesman and the\ncourage of a soldier. At the risk of his life he drove at full speed to\nthe Austrian headquarters and insisted on interviewing the Commander.\nTo the surprised General he explained that the armed insurgents who\nwere demanding Spoleto\u2019s hospitality at the point of the bayonet were\nstrangers to her, that she was in no way responsible for them and\nthat she disclaimed all part in their designs. This point being made\nclear, he undertook to bring the rebels to submission, single-handed,\nif the General would promise not to let his own men enter Spoleto. The\npromise was, naturally, most readily given, the irritated commander\nbeing only too glad to relinquish an unpleasant job. And then the\nArchbishop, getting into his carriage again, rushed off to intercept\nthe revolutionaries in their march on the town.\n\nTo them he spoke only in words of tenderest pity. He said he knew that\nthey had been misled and deceived by wicked men, that their hearts were\nnot in this conflict, but really loyal to their sovereign, the Pope;\nhe told them that he could sympathise with their present situation,\nbrought about by despair at finding themselves far from their houses,\nwithout means of returning, and threatened with the reprisals of\nthe Austrians. He showed them the hopelessness of the struggle into\nwhich they had been drawn, and promised them, if they would lay down\ntheir arms, not only a free pardon, but the means of returning to\ntheir homes. His fatherly kindness carried all before it. Touched and\ngrateful, they surrendered their funny old muskets and cannon; the\nArchbishop went to his palace, scraped together all the money he had\nor could borrow on his own credit, and came back with twenty thousand\nfrancs which he distributed amongst them according to their needs, and\nhad the joy of seeing them all depart, pacified and sober, for their\nrespective provinces.\n\nHistory does not say that the people of Spoleto suggested any refunding\nof that big sum of money, but they showed their gratitude and delight\nin very enthusiastic ways, illuminating the city, having processions\nand fireworks in honour of him who had obtained its deliverance, and\ncheering to the skies whenever he showed himself, all of which was\ndoubtless most gratifying to their kind Pastor\u2019s heart; but he was\nalmost too busy to think much about such things at that moment, having\nbeen charged by the Secretary of State with the conduct of all civil\nmatters in Umbria, the proper authorities\u2014to a man\u2014having fled at the\napproach of the Austrians.\n\nTalking of those penniless rebels, I ought to say that there was one\namong them whom the Archbishop did not send home, because the man had\nno home to go to. So he brought him into his own house, kept him there\nin safety and comfort, and, regardless of what was sure to be said\nin Rome about his interceding for such a character, sent to beg the\nPope to give him a passport which would take him across the frontier.\nThe passport was granted, and the next time any communication passed\nbetween the charitable host and his quondam pensioner the former had\nbecome Pius IX and the latter Napoleon III, Emperor of the French.\n\nIn 1832 the whole province of Umbria was desolated by a destructive\nearthquake, in which a great number of lives were lost and many\nthousands of persons rendered homeless. Spoleto suffered severely\nand once more the good Archbishop was the comfort and mainstay of\nhis people. He seemed to be everywhere at once and called up doctors,\nnurses, and provisions with miraculous celerity, finding money somehow\nfor all the dreadful needs and sending aid of every kind to the more\ndistant places where he could not go himself. Other pastors were\ndoing all they could for their own flocks, but Monsignor Mastai\u2019s\nzeal and charity were so conspicuous as to draw down the special and\nenthusiastic commendation of Gregory XVI, who immediately promoted\nhim to the Archbishopric of Imola, a far more important See than that\nof Spoleto. Naturally the Spoleto people were frantic at the idea\nof losing him and sent a deputation of their most notable citizens\nto Rome to beg the Pope to change his mind. But they failed in their\nobject, and at the appointed time their Archbishop received their last\nfarewells\u2014a tumult of tears and blessings\u2014and set out for his new post,\nstopping on the road at Loreto to ask for Heaven\u2019s assistance, as he\nhad asked for it in his early youth, when his malady appeared to be\nbarring his way to the priesthood.\n\nHe found even more to do at Imola than he had at Spoleto in the matters\nof reorganisation and reform, and he threw himself into the work with\nall the ardour of his brave energetic soul, encountering many trials,\nbut coming victoriously through them all. Of course he made bitter\nenemies, for his boundless charity to the poor broke out in a blaze\nof indignation whenever he found that they were being oppressed or\ndefrauded. In such cases instant retribution overtook the offender, and\nno amount of apparent contrition could ever obtain office for him again\nif it depended on the decision of the Archbishop.\n\nThe secret societies, following their usual programme, had decided\nto \u201cremove\u201d Monsignor Mastai without delay. He was sitting in his\nstudy one morning when his faithful old servant, Baladelli, who had\naccompanied him everywhere, entered to say that a lady, who seemed in a\ngreat hurry, begged him to grant her a few minutes\u2019 \u201cconversation.\u201d\n\n\u201cAsk her to wait a little,\u201d said the Archbishop, as he rose and went\ninto his private chapel. Some time passed and the servant came and\nfound his master on his knees.\n\n\u201cMonsignor, will you not speak to that lady now?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cTell her to wait a little longer,\u201d was the reply.\n\nThe man retreated, to return more than once; Monsignor, still on his\nknees, always gave the same message, and at last Baladelli, after the\nmanner of old servants, lost his temper and exclaimed: \u201cFor goodness\u2019\nsake, come and speak with that poor woman! She has been waiting for\nhours.\u201d\n\nThen the Archbishop looked around at him and said, very quietly, \u201cI\nspeak with the living, not with the dead.\u201d\n\nThe frightened domestic rushed into the anteroom where the petitioner\nhad been left, and beheld a tumbled heap on the floor. Calling his\nfellow-servants to help him, he raised it up. The heavy veil had\nslipped from the face. The \u201clady\u201d was a man, with a great sharp knife\nconcealed in his feminine garments. He was stone dead.\n\nMonsignor Mastai was made a Cardinal (with the titular of the Church\nof St. Peter[8] and Marcellinus) on the 14th of December, 1840, to\nthe great happiness of his mother, a widow since 1833. During her\nlifetime he made a point of going once or more every year to visit her\nat Sinigaglia in the old house where his childhood had been passed. He\nfrequently was obliged to come to Rome on business, and so long as he\nwas Archbishop of Spoleto, he lodged at the orphanage of Tata Giovanni\non these occasions. That was no longer possible after he had been\npromoted to the more important See of Imola, as he was then expected\nto travel with a larger suite, for whom the Orphanage did not provide\nfitting quarters. He resented the expense of these more ostentatious\njourneys, complaining that the money they cost would have been better\nspent among his poor at Imola, but he had no choice in the matter and\nhad to submit to custom and tradition.\n\nA very unpleasant adventure marked the third year of his cardinalate.\nIn the heat of the summer he and two of his colleagues in the Sacred\nCollege arranged to take a few weeks of rest in a small and lonely\nvilla in a remote part of the country. They knew, of course, that\nthe revolutionary agents were abroad and at work, but it had not\noccurred to any of the trio that their own illustrious persons might\nbe designated as worthy objects of attack. But a certain Riotti, a\nPiedmontese, deep-dyed in conspiracy, conceived the brilliant idea\nof kidnapping the three prelates and holding them as hostages, to\nbe ransomed at the price of his own immunity should his treasonable\ndesigns be discovered. So, in the dead of night this hero, with six\nof his fellow-conspirators, broke into the villa, and the unfortunate\nprelates were roused from their sleep to find themselves confronted\nwith a band of desperate men armed to the teeth. The two other\nCardinals were not fighters, but Giovanni Maria Mastai was. What\nweapons he used I know not\u2014he had none at hand except his high courage\nand biting tongue, but the outcome was that the ruffians fled from his\npresence and were heard of no more. His companions said that it was\nentirely owing to his bravery that the whole party was saved.\n\nOne spring day at Imola, while the Carnival was roaring through the\nstreets, the Archbishop was down on his knees in the Church praying\nfor his people that they might not sin in their mirth. Alas! even his\nfervent prayers could not altogether avert that calamity! A sudden\ntumult of cries and footsteps came from the sacristy and he rushed\nthither to almost fall over a young man, who lay gasping in his blood\non the pavement. At the same moment his pursuers broke in after him,\nthree men with knives in their hands, furiously intent on finishing\ntheir victim. The Cardinal instantly placed himself before him and,\nholding up the gold cross which he wore on his breast, forbade them to\ncome a step nearer. In a torrent of burning eloquence he reproached\nthem with their atrocious cruelty and sacrilege of which they had\nbeen guilty, and ordered them to quit the Church. They stood for a\nmoment cowed and broken, then they fled, and he turned to the poor\nboy on the ground. Very tenderly he knelt down beside him, and soothed\nand comforted him, pillowing his bleeding neck on his arm, while the\nattendants who had arrived on the scene ran for a physician. The latter\ncame promptly, but said that the wound was mortal\u2014there was nothing to\nbe done. Then, still kneeling on the ground and holding the poor dying\nboy in his arms, the Cardinal helped him to make his confession, called\none of the priests of the Church to administer the last Sacraments, and\nknelt there till the young soul passed away, comforted and at peace.\n\nWhere injuries or insults were offered to himself, Cardinal Mastai\nforgave as only the Saints can forgive. The chief magistrate of Imola,\na hard and cruel man, had conceived the most bitter hatred of him for\nhis gentle methods and broad, progressive views, and expressed his\nhostility with much violence. The Mayor\u2019s wife, a good devout woman,\nwas much distressed at his attitude, and sought by every means in her\npower to heal the one-sided feud. A child was born to her, and she\nsecretly begged the Cardinal to volunteer to be its godfather\u2014she\nwas sure her husband\u2019s heart would be softened at such an evidence\nof condescension and good-will! Nothing loath, the good Cardinal\napproached the Mayor, personally, and with much gentleness and humility\nasked if he would permit him to stand sponsor for the baby. Whereupon\nthe Mayor flew into a passion and exclaimed: \u201cYou! You presume to\nsuggest such a thing! You, who are a friend of malcontents and rebels!\nNo, indeed! You are too liberal for me!\u201d Then he turned his back on his\nArchbishop and left him\u2014a suppliant refused!\n\nThe Archbishop accepted both the insult and the calumny without a\nword of protest. A month later he changed his name and assumed that\nof Pius IX. Learning that his old enemy was in Rome with his family\nat the time, he sent him word that, although he had refused to allow\nthe Archbishop of Imola to stand godfather to his child, he might not\nfeel the same objection to the Pope, who, if the infant were not yet\nbaptised, would be glad to be its sponsor. _En passant_ one is struck\nwith wonder that, amid all the preoccupation and inevitable excitement\nof that great change in his life, Pius IX should have found time to\nthink of the man at all. Naturally, he had conquered, and his old enemy\ncould scarcely express his gratitude at receiving such an honour. Even\nthen the Pope remembered him again, and very soon afterwards seized an\nopportunity of conferring on him a great material benefit. That is how\nthe Saints forgive!\n\nNaturally he had conquered, and the favour was received with almost\nunbelieving joy.\n\nOh, they were a good family, those Mastai-Ferrettis. After the\naccession of Pius IX, his brother, Cardinal Ferretti, a most wise\nand saintly man, acted as his Prime Minister for a time, before the\nrevolution. His memory was greatly venerated in Rieti, of which place\nhe was Cardinal Bishop. A terrible thing happened while he was there.\nOne of the Churches was broken into at night, the Tabernacle violated,\nand the pyx containing the Blessed Sacrament stolen. On learning of\nthis frightful sacrilege the next morning, the Cardinal called all his\nclergy together, and he and they, with bare feet and ropes round their\nnecks, went in procession to the public square. The entire population\ngathered round them, and then the Cardinal, standing bareheaded and\nbarefooted under the noonday sun, preached a sermon, taking for his\ntext the cry of Mary Magdalene on Easter morning: \u201cThey have taken away\nmy Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.\u201d\n\nWhen the sermon ended the people were kneeling on the stones, sobbing\nlike children. That night the door of the Church was left open, and the\npyx was restored; its sacred contents were intact.\n\nPius IX early let his family know that they were to expect neither\nwealth nor promotion from his hands. One ambitious relation asked him\nfor a title. \u201cYou have not the income to maintain it, my dear fellow,\u201d\nthe Pope replied, \u201cand I shall not provide you with one. Stay as you\nare.\u201d Another, a young nephew, was idling about Rome, giving himself\nno end of airs because his uncle was on the throne. His uncle sent\nhim back to Sinigaglia to learn sense in obscurity. Yet the poorest\nand meanest could always obtain aid and sympathy from Pius IX. I\nremember seeing the people push forward their written petitions as he\nused to drive through the city or walk in the environs. The queer,\noften dirty, scraps of paper were received by one of the Cardinals\nor the chamberlain who accompanied the Pope on these occasions, and\nevery one was examined, the circumstances verified, and genuine cases\nrelieved within twenty-four hours. Only one class dreaded the approach\nof the Holy Father\u2014neglectful or fraudulent officials. He relied on\nno reports of public or private institutions, but descended on them\nat all hours of the day or night, in person and without giving the\nslightest warning, to see for himself how things were being managed.\nLike Haroun-al-Raschid he would slip out alone, dressed as a layman,\nand dive unrecognised into hospitals, schools, and prisons, only\nrevealing his rank when he could not obtain admittance otherwise;\nand where he found anything out of order, correction, and in serious\ncases heavy retribution, instantly followed. One night, dressed as a\nprivate gentleman, he was thus going through the wards of the great\nHospital of Santo Spirito, where, as in most of the Roman hospitals,\ncharitable visitors were always free to come and cheer or tend the\nsick. That night a poor French artist was dying, and he called for a\npriest. The attendants looked everywhere for the Almoner or Chaplain\nof the Institution, but he was not to be found. The Pope said, \u201cI will\ntake his place,\u201d and to him the dying man made his confession, from him\nreceived the last Sacraments, and passed away, comforted and in peace.\nThe next morning the Almoner was dismissed.\n\nOne day the Holy Father, walking in the Quirinal Gardens, passed a\nsentry on duty. The man silently held out a loaf of bread for his\ninspection. Pius IX took it, examined it, and asked one question, \u201cDo\nyou always get bread as bad as this?\u201d \u201cAlways, Santo Padre,\u201d was the\nreply. A sudden descent on the Commissariat department showed that he\nhad spoken the truth. When the sun rose again the cheating commissary\nwas repenting of his sins in prison. There is a beautifully practical\nside to autocratic government!\n\nJustice had nothing to blush for in the Rome of those days, and the\npoor could obtain it as promptly and easily as the rich. There were\nthree separate institutions devoted entirely to the legal defence and\nprotection of persons who could not pay for the services of a lawyer.\nOne was the Arch-Confraternity of St. Ives, thus named after the Saint\nstill so dear to the people of Brittany, the lawyer who was a priest\nand who devoted all his talents to the defence and protection of the\npoor. But long before his time (he died on the 19th of May, 1303) St.\nGregory had instituted in Rome seven official defenders of the poor,\none for each Region of the city. They were called \u201cdefensori\u201d; some\neight hundred years later their official descendants, the College of\nProcurators, took the title of \u201cthe Rights of the Poor,\u201d and there was\nalso a civil office established by Urban VIII, of which the holder,\nwho had to be a noble and a layman, took the title of \u201cAdvocate\nof the Poor,\u201d exercising his powers in cases that came outside any\necclesiastical administration. The Congregation of St. Ives remained\nthe great standby of the lower classes down to my own time. It was\npartly a religious sodality, comprising both prelates and lawyers, who\nmet every Sunday for pious exercises, which were followed by a careful\nexamination of such appeals as had been laid before them during the\nweek. They took up all just and genuine claims and defended them at\ntheir own expense. Besides looking after the rights of their humble\nfellow-countrymen, they undertook the cases of all poor strangers who\ngot into trouble in the city.\n\nThere was a third body, the Arch-Confraternity of San Girolamo,\nthat devoted itself to the defence and aid of prisoners and, more\nespecially, of poor widows. The gentlemen composing it\u2014and they were\nthe flower of the aristocracy, ecclesiastical and social\u2014made it their\nbusiness to assist impecunious prisoners in every possible way, paying\ntheir fines, if such had been imposed on them, and arranging matters\nwith their creditors if they had been imprisoned for debt. The members\nhad free access to all the prisons and they took their duties very\nseriously, some of their number examining the food every day of the\nyear, and enquiring into all matters connected with the treatment of\nthe prisoners. Indeed some of the most important prisons were confided\nto their sole charge. They did no end of good, particularly in bringing\nabout amicable settlements of disputes which would otherwise have\ncaused fierce litigation.\n\nOur blessed Pius IX had a tender sympathy for poor debtors and often\ncame to their assistance. He was constantly in money difficulties\nhimself\u2014as generous people so often are\u2014during the earlier part of his\ncareer. When he became Archbishop of Spoleto he had to borrow a goodly\nsum, on his brother\u2019s security, from a Roman money-lender to defray the\nexpenses of his installation, and he was so recklessly charitable that\nagain and again there was not wherewithal to buy food.\n\nHis old housekeeper at Spoleto used to weep over the bare shelves of\nher larder\u2014everybody was fed, she declared, except her master and his\nhousehold! It was hoped that things would be better when he moved to\nImola, where the Episcopal revenue was double that of Spoleto, but\nthe master\u2019s ways were hopeless and he only laughed when his people\nremonstrated with him. There came a day at Imola when the distracted\nsteward, ready to tear his hair, exclaimed: \u201cEminenza, there was a\nhundred dollars in the treasury this morning, and _it is all gone_! I\nhave not a cent for the \u2018spese\u2019\u201d (the current expenses); \u201cwhat shall we\ndo?\u201d\n\nThe Cardinal reminded him that the good God had promised daily bread to\nHis children. \u201cThat is true, Eminenza,\u201d said the poor man, \u201cbut\u2014I am in\nterrible difficulty, all the same!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said his master, \u201cto-morrow is a fast day. I know you have some\ncheese in the house. Serve that for dinner.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the next day, Eminenza?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I will take care to leave enough for the next day!\u201d was the\nCardinal\u2019s reply.\n\nOn another occasion he was about to entertain a distinguished party at\ndinner. The gentlemen were already gathered in the drawing-room when\ntheir host was informed that a man wished to speak with him on urgent\nbusiness. He excused himself and came into the dining-room, where he\nfound one of his parishioners in frantic distress. He wanted a loan\nto save him from immediate bankruptcy. \u201cI have not a single dollar in\nmy possession, my poor friend,\u201d said the Cardinal, \u201cbut\u2014\u2014\u201d He glanced\nround the room, where all his best plate was laid out in preparation\nfor the coming feast, and pounced on a great gold soup tureen, a\ncherished gift from his mother. \u201cTake this,\u201d he said, putting it into\nthe man\u2019s hands, \u201cit will pay your debts.\u201d\n\nWith sublime carelessness he returned to his guests, and they and he\nsoon began to wonder why dinner was not served. A long time passed,\nand then the steward, pale as death and with tears in his eyes, came\nand informed him that somebody had stolen the gold soup tureen! He had\nlooked everywhere, searched the servants\u2019 rooms\u2014the household was in an\nuproar\u2014but the tureen was gone!\n\n\u201cOh, is that all?\u201d he laughed. \u201cI stole it myself! Get the old china\none and let us eat.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nCAPTIVITY OF POPE PIUS VII\n\n Lebzeltern, the Ambassador of the Austrian Emperor\u2014Origin of\n His Mission\u2014Napoleon\u2019s Anger Against Pius VII\u2014Arrest of the\n Pope\u2014Protests from the Church\u2014Napoleon Excommunicated\u2014Vain Efforts\n to Evade the Bull\u2014Instructions for the Mission\u2014\u201cDo All, or Else,\n _Do Nothing_\u201d\u2014Pius VII in His Sixty-eighth Year\u2014The Interview\u2014The\n Pope\u2019s Position\u2014His Generosity\u2014Message to Napoleon\u2014Continued\n Captivity\u2014Return to Rome\u2014Napoleon\u2019s Expiation.\n\n\nOne beautiful evening of early summer in the year 1810, the packet-boat\nplying between Genoa and Savona reached the latter port after a fair\nbut exciting passage; for, albeit the sea was scarcely ruffled by the\nbreeze\u2014which in itself was barely sufficient to fill the sails\u2014yet\nduring the whole of the voyage from Genoa a couple of British frigates\nhad accompanied the packet-boat, keeping however, much to the surprise\nof the voyagers, at a considerable distance and without manifesting\nany hostile intention. And when, at last, the packet-boat was safe at\nanchor in the harbour of Savona, the frigates likewise lay to, within\nabout a cannon-shot of the land, and began, apparently, to make all\nsnug for the night.\n\nAmong the passengers who now walked down the gang-plank of the\npacket-boat on to the quay, thankful for once to British eccentricity\nfor its unaccountable generosity in letting them go their way\nunmolested, was a man, still young, with an expression of imperturbable\ngood-nature not unmixed with a certain bland shrewdness. This person,\nafter directing a servant, by whom he was accompanied, to have his\nbaggage taken to an hotel\u2014possibly the \u201cRoma\u201d\u2014betook himself alone\nand on foot to the \u201cVescovado,\u201d the palace of the Bishop of Savona, \u201ca\nfairly large house,\u201d as Napoleon had described it in a letter in which\nhe had attempted to excuse himself for the choice of it as a residence\nfor his prisoner, Pope Pius VII.\n\nThe traveller, on arriving at the door of the Vescovado, found\nhis further way barred by a couple of gendarmes who were mounting\nguard there; to them, on their asking his business, he replied that\nhe desired an interview with the Sovereign Pontiff, and requested\nthat they would let him pass. For all answer they stared at him,\nopen-mouthed, taking him for an eccentric; when their commander, a\nColonel Th\u00e9venot, who chanced to be passing, took the matter out of\ntheir hands.\n\n\u201cWho are you, sir, and what do you want?\u201d he enquired.\n\n\u201cI wish to see the Holy Father, as soon as possible,\u201d replied the\nother. \u201cAllow me\u201d\u2014handing the Colonel a visiting card inscribed:\n\n \u201cLE CHEVALIER DE LEBZELTERN,\n Conseiller d\u2019Ambassade\n de\n Sa Majest\u00e9 l\u2019Empereur d\u2019Autriche et Roi\n Apostolique de Hongrie.\u201d\n\nHaving read the card, Th\u00e9venot glanced suspiciously at the owner of it;\nthen, seeing that he had indeed to do with a serious person, he turned\nrather red in the face.\n\n\u201cTut-tut, my dear sir, surely you cannot expect to obtain admission\nto the Pope in this rough-and-ready way,\u201d he stammered. \u201cIt is really\nquite out of the question, you know,\u201d with a wave of the hand to where,\nin the courtyard, a corporal\u2019s guard of fusiliers was preparing to\nrelieve the sentries posted in all the approaches of the building.\n\n\u201cAh, the guard of honour, I suppose, for His Holiness,\u201d returned the\nAustrian, with the vestige of a smile; whereat Colonel Th\u00e9venot\u2019s\nequanimity gave way.\n\n\u201cFrankly, sir,\u201d he broke out, \u201cplease understand that no living being\nis allowed to enter here without a written order from General Berthier,\nthe commandant of the town.\u201d\n\n\u201cFrankly, sir,\u201d retorted Lebzeltern in his turn, \u201cthat does not apply\nto myself, and I am going to enter.\u201d\n\nHappily for all concerned, the situation was dispelled at that moment\nby the sound of heavy firing from the direction of the harbour, where\nthe British frigates had suddenly come in closer towards the town\nin the intention of ascertaining the range of the French artillery,\nespecially of some large cannon on a new fort. The orders of Napoleon\nhimself, who was acquainted with this custom of the British, were\npositive in regard to such provocations; and it was strictly enjoined\nupon his officers to take no notice of them except in the event of\na serious attack. Nevertheless, the garrison of Savona lost its head\nupon this particular occasion and opened an extensive fire upon the two\ninquisitive ships. As Lebzeltern described it:\n\n \u201cIt was a splendid sight; the weather was superb, the sea like\n a mirror, the whole coast, as well as the English ships, being\n turned to gold in the sunset. On the side of Savona thundered the\n cannon, their smoke shot with flame; from the English, though,\n there came no sound except that of their bands playing their\n well-known air of, \u2018Go to bed, go to bed, and get up as quickly\n as you can!\u2019\u201d\n\nIn the confusion of what the French imagined to be the preliminaries\nof an action, the gates of the Vescovado were closed, and Lebzeltern,\nthus forced to abandon his quest for the moment, turned his footsteps\ntowards the hotel. There was nothing for it, as he saw, but to obtain\nGeneral Berthier\u2019s permission to see the Pope, with whom alone his\nmission to Savona was concerned. Having dined, therefore, he despatched\na messenger to the Papal \u201cmaestro di camera,\u201d Monsignor Doria, bearing\na letter from Count Metternich, the Austrian Ambassador in Paris, under\nwhose instructions he was acting, together with a formal request for an\naudience of the Holy Father.\n\nSome explanation is necessary of the origin of Lebzeltern\u2019s mission to\nSavona; and so I trust the reader will not take it amiss if I venture\nupon the attempt.\n\nWhen, in the summer of 1809, Napoleon sent orders to Rome for the\narrest of the Pope, he did so under the impulse of one of those blind\nrages of his which upset all the calculations of his wisest advisers,\nand which only ended in raising up insurmountable barriers in the\nway of his ultimate triumph. For years he had been angered by the\nPope\u2019s refusal either to close the ports of the Papal States against\nEnglish ships and merchandise, or to expel the English residents in\nhis dominions. In answer to the Emperor\u2019s repeated demands, Pius VII\nhad said that, as the Universal Spiritual Father of all the Christian\nfamily, he absolutely refused to close their home and his (_i.e._,\nthe Papal States) against his English children. Whereupon, in 1807,\nBenevento and Pontecorvo were taken from the Papal States and erected\ninto French Duchies for Talleyrand and Bernadotte, to be held by them\nas fiefs of the Empire. The next year, Rome itself was occupied by\nFrench troops, and the \u201clegations\u201d of Ancona, Urbino, Macerata, and\nCamerino seized by Napoleon\u2019s orders; and, in 1809, the Eternal City\nwas declared to be annexed to the Empire as the capital of the French\nd\u00e9partement or county of Rome. Finally, in the night of July 5-6, 1809,\nPope Pius VII was arrested by General Radet and taken as a prisoner to\nSavona.\n\nNapoleon\u2019s idea, in thus imprisoning the Pontiff and isolating him from\nhis accustomed friends, counsellors, and surroundings, was to wring\nfrom him by suffering that compliance with the imperial diplomacy which\nthe good old man had hitherto refused so uncompromisingly. To be sure,\nnow that Rome and the Papal States were in the hands of his soldiers,\nthe Emperor had no difficulty either in expelling or arresting the\nEnglish residing there, or in closing the whole of Romagna to British\nmerchandise; but, in his haste and anger, he had reckoned without the\nreligious difficulties of the new situation.\n\nTo begin with, in thus laying violent hands upon the person of the\nPope, he struck a blow not only at a fellow-Sovereign, but at the Head\nof the Catholic Church on earth; and, in so doing, wounded the whole\nof the Church in its tenderest feelings, stirring up against himself a\nresentment that knew no bounds, not only in France, Belgium, and Italy,\nbut, also, in Spain and Austria; as well as throughout the Catholic\nparts of Germany and the Netherlands. Protests multiplied on every\nhand, becoming increasingly violent, until Napoleon was forced to admit\nto himself that he had made a terrible mistake, and that his glory and\npower were insufficient to seduce the souls of men from their religious\nallegiance to the successor of St. Peter. Moreover, the dangers and\ndiscomforts of his situation were rendered intolerable by a Bull of\nExcommunication issued against him in that summer of 1809, in the tour\nof his triumph over the Austrians at Wagram; which Bull was served\nupon him in person, whilst surrounded by his marshals, by a solitary\necclesiastic who, true to his mission, did not honour him with any kind\nof salutation, but merely delivered the parchment into the Emperor\u2019s\nhand, turned his back upon him, and walked away. Napoleon, indeed,\nfeigned to make light of the excommunication, asking of those about him\nwhether the Pope expected the muskets to fall from the hands of his,\nthe Emperor\u2019s, soldiers; but, in his heart, he was greatly troubled. He\nhad known for some time that such a Bull was on its way to him, but had\ncontrived to evade the service of it on him. For Lebzeltern, himself,\nwho was Secretary of the Austrian Embassy in Rome at the period of\nthe Holy Father\u2019s arrest, and who had long been a valued and intimate\nfriend of Pius VII, had been entrusted with another such document at\nhis departure from Rome on an order transmitted to him from Napoleon\nthrough General de Miollis, ordering him (albeit a foreign diplomatist)\nto quit French territory immediately. Bearing with him, therefore,\nthe Bull of Excommunication, Lebzeltern had departed from Rome, being\nescorted on his way to Vienna as far as Klagenfurt in Styria by a\nFrench officer. On reaching Sch\u00f6nbrunn, however, he was arrested by the\nFrench military police; his baggage and, even, his person was submitted\nto a degrading search, and, at length, every other means of purloining\nthe Bull having been tried in vain, Lebzeltern was threatened with\nbeing shot unless he gave up the document\u2014for Napoleon would appear\nto have entertained a superstition that, if only he could escape\nfrom having the Bull served on him, its effect would be annulled!\nBut nothing would induce Lebzeltern to reveal its hiding-place; and\nso he was sent off as a state prisoner to Munich, with a special\nrecommendation to the Bavarian Government to treat him as harshly as\npossible. Having passed some months there, however, he was exchanged\nagainst a Baron d\u2019Ar\u00e9tin, and came to Vienna, believing himself to be\nfree at last; but now Wagram had been fought, and Napoleon was master\nthere; and Lebzeltern was again arrested on a trumped-up charge of\nseeking to escape from giving satisfaction to a French officer in\nan affair of honour! Nor would Napoleon let him go until compelled\nto do so by the insistent demands of Metternich, who was just then\nnegotiating the peace preliminaries at Altenburg. At long length,\nhowever, Lebzeltern was released, and joined the Austrian headquarters\nnear Sch\u00f6nbrunn a few days before the signing of the treaty of Vienna;\nand it was he to whom Emperor Francis unburdened himself with tears in\nhis eyes on the subject of the Treaty.\n\nSoon afterwards, Lebzeltern went to Paris as Secretary of Embassy\nunder Metternich; and when, in the late spring of 1810, Napoleon asked\nMetternich to find him a man to entrust with the errand of persuading\nthe Holy Father to accede to his views (_i.e._, the removal of the\nExcommunication and the abdication of the Temporal Power in favour of\nthe Napoleonic dynasty), Metternich recommended Lebzeltern as the one\nperson qualified to speak to the Pope with any chance of being accorded\na favourable hearing.\n\nThe whole hinge of the matter was the Pope\u2019s renunciation of the\nTemporal Power; only in return for which would Napoleon (as he made\nperfectly clear to Metternich) allow the Pontiff to return to Rome,\nwhence, alone, it was possible for Pius VII to direct the way of the\nCatholic Church. And, unless the Pope would surrender the patrimony of\nPeter, he should never see Rome again; and the Emperor would nominate\nanother Pontiff in his stead. The position was certainly simple enough,\naccording to Napoleon.\n\nBut Metternich had added, in private, a little word of his own in the\near of his estimable subordinate on the eve of the latter\u2019s departure\nfor Italy. \u201cDo all,\u201d said he, with a peculiar emphasis, \u201cor else, _do\nnothing_.\u201d And Lebzeltern, grasping the significance of the words, had\nbowed, smilingly, before withdrawing to prepare for the journey. He\nperfectly understood; what Metternich meant was that he was either to\neffect \u201cin toto\u201d what both of them knew to be impossible or else he\nwas to effect nothing at all. That is to say, he was not to attempt\nany compromise by which the Pope might be hoodwinked into doing what\nNapoleon wanted; for it was perfectly certain that Pius VII would\nrefuse to meet the Emperor\u2019s views as laid down by the Emperor himself\nfor transmission by Lebzeltern. And, as Metternich realised, the\nsalvation, not only of Austria but of all Europe, depended upon the\nPope\u2019s holding out against Napoleon; for the only thing that must\ninevitably, sooner or later, bring about the Emperor\u2019s downfall, was\nthe sense of their outraged religion in the hearts of the vanquished.\n\nAfter sending in his request for an audience to Monsignor Doria,\nLebzeltern went to call upon General Berthier, who was the commandant\nof Savona and the Pope\u2019s gaoler. Berthier had heard of his arrival,\nand began by telling Lebzeltern\u2014who had told him that the object of\nhis mission was to discuss some Austrian religious business with the\nHoly Father\u2014that he could only be allowed to converse with Pius VII\nin the presence of witnesses. To this Lebzeltern replied that it was\nimpossible for him to speak freely of the affairs of the Austrian\nCourt in the presence of any third party whomsoever; that, according to\nNapoleon himself, the Pope was under no kind of restraint; and, lastly,\nthat Napoleon both knew and approved of his, Lebzeltern\u2019s, mission. But\nit was not until Lebzeltern threatened to go back to Paris immediately\nand to complain of the obstacle placed in his path that Berthier\nfinally surrendered the point\u2014albeit not without a violent scene in\nwhich he complained bitterly of the Emperor for placing him (as was\ntrue enough) in so equivocal a position by first forbidding him to\nallow any one to have access to the Pope without direct orders to do so\nfrom Paris, and then sending Lebzeltern thus (underhandedly and without\nas much as a line from any French official excepting a passport) to\nmatch, as it were, his, Berthier\u2019s, intelligence against his obedience.\nFinally, he himself decided to give the preference to his intelligence.\n\nSo it was all of four days after his arrival at Savona that Lebzeltern\nwas ushered by Monsignor Doria into the Pope\u2019s presence.\n\nAt that time, Pius VII, although in his sixty-eighth year, looked\nconsiderably younger, his hair being still jet-black and abundant, and\nhis dark eyes full of life and light. The smile, too, which rarely\nleft his pale, kindly face, was peculiarly winsome in its frankness\nand its serenity. The only signs about him of what he had endured of\nlate at the hands of the French administration were a weariness in his\nvoice and a marked stoop like that of a very old or very tired man. On\nseeing Lebzeltern, though, he showed a greater animation and pleasure\nthan he had done for many months; especially was he delighted to learn\nthat their interview was to be an absolutely private one\u2014for this he\nregarded as a great indulgence on the part of his gaolers, it being the\nfirst time in his captivity (then nearly a year old) that he had been\nallowed to speak with any except in the presence of a third party.\n\nAt first, records Lebzeltern, the Holy Father spoke of his sufferings\nin the journey from Rome and of all he had endured since being torn\nfrom the Eternal City; also, he expressed his sympathies for his\nvisitor in what the latter had undergone of unjust imprisonment at\nthe hands of the French and the Bavarians. In return[9] Lebzeltern, as\nhe tells himself, gave the Pontiff an outline of public events since\ntheir last meeting in Rome, prior to the battle of Wagram\u2014the Treaty\nof Vienna and its results; the progress of the war in Portugal; and\nthe marriage of Napoleon to the Archduchess Marie-Louise. _All of\nwhich events Lebzeltern, a professional diplomatist and an Austrian\nofficial, believed to be hitherto unknown to the Pope_\u2014wherein lies one\nof the most curious points of modern history. For, if Pope Pius VII was\nsupposed, even by such men as Metternich and Lebzeltern, to be still,\nin May, 1810, in ignorance of the marriage of Napoleon to Marie-Louise,\nhow can it be claimed that the Supreme Pontiff\u2019s sanction had ever\nbeen given to that marriage? Apparently to Lebzeltern\u2019s surprise, Pius\nVII had, however, actually learned of the imperial marriage through\nsome secret channel: \u201c... outwitting the watchfulness of his gaolers,\nhe received news day by day...!\u201d For, amongst other indignities,\nno letters were ever permitted to reach or issue from the Holy\nFather except such as had been approved by Berthier and by a certain\nChabrol, Prefect of the \u201cd\u00e9partement\u201d of Montenotte, by whom the Papal\ncorrespondence was always read and censored; so that it was evidently\nNapoleon\u2019s purpose to keep his august prisoner in total ignorance of\nthe majority of the world\u2019s events.\n\nNevertheless, Pius VII spoke with no bitterness, but only with great\ngrief of the French Emperor, expressing the most sorrowful tenderness\ntowards the man whom he had crowned Emperor at Notre Dame a few years\npreviously. And all he asked was that he might be allowed to go back to\nRome in order to be able to do his duty by the Church as her Pastor.\n\nAt this point Lebzeltern made known the real object of his coming to\nSavona: namely, that Napoleon was anxious to come to an understanding\nwith the Pope. To the latter this was, indeed, a most welcome surprise;\nbut, almost immediately, he seemed to realise that he was suddenly in\nthe presence of some sort of insidious temptation which was preparing\nto attack him. And here Lebzeltern, by turning the talk during some\nminutes to Austrian affairs, sought to give his listener time in\nwhich to recover from the first effects of his surprise. And so, for\na while, they spoke of the dangers of a schism that threatened the\nGerman episcopate, so long deprived by Napoleon of the guidance of\ntheir Shepherd. And then, as the Pope began more clearly to divine\nthe probable intentions of the Emperor towards him, he reverted to the\nsubject of his captor:\n\n\u201cI want nothing for myself,\u201d he said, by way of warning Lebzeltern that\nit would be of no use for him to offer any personal advantage to the\nPope (as such) as the price of a reconciliation with Napoleon. \u201cI am\nold, and have no need of anything; I have sacrificed all I had to my\nduty. I have nothing left to lose. Therefore, no personal consideration\ncan make me turn aside from the narrow road along which the sacred\nvoice of my conscience has so far led me. I want no pension; the alms\nof the faithful will suffice me.... All I insist upon\u2014and with all my\nstrength\u2014is that I be allowed free communication with the Bishops and\nthe faithful.\u201d Once, too, he seemed uncertain of even the diplomatist\u2019s\nown intentions towards him. \u201cAt Rome, my dear Lebzeltern,\u201d he reminded\nhim, \u201cI opened my heart to you in the conviction that you were\nincapable of abusing my confidence ...\u201d\u2014speaking rapidly in Italian.\n\nAnd now, as Lebzeltern felt, the moment had come when he could no\nlonger defer the revelation of what it was that Napoleon proposed to\nthe Pope as the only possible basis of an agreement between them\u2014that\nis to say, the only price he would accept to let Pius VII out of\nprison. It was by no means easy, as he gives one to understand, for the\nyoung Austrian to do this thing; but, at length, he forced himself to\nthe point. After assuring the Holy Father once more of his own devotion\nto him, as well as of that of Metternich and the Emperor Francis,\nLebzeltern proceeded to explain that Napoleon had in no way abated his\ndesire to be the lord of Rome, which had long been one of the principal\nobjects of his ambition; also, that he had in no way changed his mind\nin regard to the Pope\u2019s surrender of the Temporal Power; and that,\nalthough Napoleon would not insist upon a formal deed of renunciation\non the part of Pius VII, yet, at the same time, he must insist that\nthe Pope should maintain an attitude of absolute submission in the\nmatter, an attitude which should in no way recall the past political\nposition of the Papacy, and which at bottom should be, in fact, an\nacknowledgment of the suzerainty of the French Emperor.\n\nThe words were scarcely out of Lebzeltern\u2019s mouth when the Pontiff took\nhim up with an amazing energy for so delicate a man.\n\n\u201cIs not Napoleon already, _de facto_, the master of Rome?\u201d he demanded.\n\u201cDoes he not parcel out my States as he pleases? Do not his troops\nalready hold my ports, camp in my capital, and live at my expense? And\nall I can do is to oppose a few protests to his armed force. But I know\nhim; he is a man who never really wants what he says he wants\u2014and what\nhe really wants he will never admit to a living soul beforehand.\u201d\n\nTo which Lebzeltern, in order to restore the Pope\u2019s equanimity, replied\nby telling him how Metternich, in speaking to Napoleon, had declared\nhimself openly on the side of the Holy Father; and, moreover, had\nemphatically impressed upon the Emperor the unchangeable principles[10]\nof the Austrian Government in regard to the Catholic Church and its\nvisible spiritual Head on earth.\n\n\u201cI should indeed be grateful for any help that Austria could give me,\u201d\nsaid the Pope. \u201cAll I ask is that Napoleon will let me go back to\nRome and that he will allow me to keep about me a sufficient number\nof people for the business of consistories and councils\u2014and that my\nrelations with the faithful may be free and unhampered. I have no\nmeans of compelling Napoleon to restore the dominions of which he has\nrobbed me\u2014very well, all I can do is to protest. Beyond that I can do\nnothing.\u201d\n\nHere Lebzeltern, it must be recorded, made some attempt to persuade\nthe Holy Father to make what he called \u201csacrifices\u201d in the interests\nof the distracted Church\u2014but of what nature, precisely, he did not\nspecify. But Pius VII, reading his mind, replied that the duty imposed\nupon him by his conscience of defending the rights of the Holy See\nand the patrimony of the Church\u2014which patrimony he was bound by his\noath as Pope to transmit intact, in so far as in him lay, to his\nsuccessors\u2014forbade his remaining silent under Napoleon\u2019s iniquity: his\nsilence would be understood, by his enemies, to be a tacit abdication\nof the Temporal Power, and would be considered by the faithful as a\ncowardly surrender.\n\nFrom this point in the conversation the two men understood each other\u2019s\nposition and standpoint clearly\u2014and yet, both did their best to avoid\nthe blind-alley into which the talk was surely leading them.\n\n\u201cLet Napoleon only allow me to return to Rome,\u201d pleaded the Pope\u2014\u201cthe\nCatacombs will be enough for me, they have served as a shelter before\nnow for other Pontiffs.... As to my sustenance, as I said before,\nthe faithful will take care of it. No doubt Napoleon would offer me a\nrevenue from the funds of the religious orders he has suppressed\u2014in the\nsame way that, when I went to Paris to crown him, he offered me some\neighteen or twenty million francs of such stolen money\u2014an unspeakable\nsuggestion which I refused with horror and indignation! But, indeed,\nnow that I think of it\u2014how could I possibly hold my tongue as he\nproposes I should do, and not protest, while he would go on suppressing\nconvents and religious orders under my very eyes, as well as\nintroducing innovations that I could not pass over in silence without\nbecoming his accomplice in the face of all Christendom?\u201d\n\nIn response Lebzeltern submitted that, possibly, Napoleon\u2019s malevolent\ndispositions towards the Church might be beneficially affected by the\nremoval of the ban of excommunication under which he still lay.\n\n\u201cBut Napoleon would be excommunicated without any Bull of mine,\u201d\nreplied the other. \u201cFor he is, _ipso facto_, as a persecutor of the\nChurch, outside her pale. Even if I had never issued any such ban\nagainst him, he would still be excommunicated by his own acts.\u201d\n\nLebzeltern now proposed that the Holy Father should write a letter to\nNapoleon, demanding with all gentleness and moderation to be set at\nliberty and allowed to resume his apostolic functions. \u201cI would even\nask his help to that end,\u201d pursued the Austrian, \u201cand I would publish\nthe letter. Such a letter would in no way disparage the Vicar of\nChrist, ever ready to forgive sinners; and, at the same time, it would\nplace Napoleon in an exceedingly embarrassing situation before the\nworld. By so doing, your Holiness would infallibly destroy at a single\nblow those weapons of calumny which he is employing against you, and\nwhich he means to go on employing.\u201d\n\n\u201cListen, Lebzeltern. You know that I am willing to concede all that\nit is possible to concede; but where my conscience is concerned, you\nbehold me perfectly resigned to remain as I am, a prisoner. If my\ncaptivity were a thousand times harsher\u2014if I had, even, to mount the\nscaffold\u2014I should not deviate by so much as a hair\u2019s breadth from\nwhat my duty demands of me. And it would be an unworthy betrayal of\nthat duty if I were to remove the ban of excommunication from Napoleon\nwithout good and sufficient reason. As to the letter you propose that\nI should write to him\u2014a kind of encyclical, as it were\u2014frankly I feel\nthat, in sending such a thing to a man like Napoleon, who is capable of\nchanging the wording of it, and then of publishing it to my detriment\nand his own ends, I should do wrong in taking so grave a risk without\nfirst consulting the Sacred College.\u201d\n\nAnd, on Lebzeltern\u2019s arguing that it was the Pope\u2019s duty to make the\nfirst move towards a reconciliation with the Emperor, Pius VII was\nsilent for a moment, as though deliberating upon his next words. At\nlast he spoke again:\n\n\u201cIf Napoleon shows a desire to become reconciled to the Church, and if\nhe will prove his sincerity by some deed, the thing can be arranged\u2014and\nI assure you that no one is more desirous of it than I.\u201d\n\nAnd with that the first interview came to an end. Lebzeltern did not\nsee the Pontiff again until two days later; on May 18, he found him in\na condition of great fatigue from overwork (as may easily be understood\nwhen one remembers that _the entire business of the Church had fallen\nupon the shoulders of the venerable Pontiff, deprived by Napoleon\u2019s\norders of assistance of any kind_ in the transaction of that stupendous\ntask!) and having before him a letter recently received from Cardinal\nFesch. In this letter the Cardinal had written of the Emperor\u2019s\nintention\u2014unless an agreement were speedily come to between himself\nand the Holy Father\u2014of settling the question by choosing Bishops that\nwould do his will from among the French clergy, Bishops who would\nadminister their dioceses in accordance with Napoleon\u2019s instructions\nalone and without any reference to the Pope. In answer, the Holy Father\nhad condescended to write back to the Cardinal to say that the Emperor\nwas evidently bent upon making impossible any reconciliation between\nthem; and that any Episcopal Council that the Emperor might call\ntogether upon his own initiative would be absolutely null and void.\nNevertheless, he, the Pope, being unwilling to refuse any chance of\nreconciliation, the Cardinal was to exhort Napoleon upon the subject;\nto assure him of his glory in this world and in the next if he would\nbut sincerely become reconciled to the Church; and, equally, to\nthreaten him with condign punishment upon himself and his dynasty, if\nhe should persist in his persecution of the Church.\n\nLebzeltern now had to recognise that the Sovereign Pontiff had, in\nhis heart, lost all confidence in Napoleon\u2019s good intentions; for\nPius VII now spoke of yet further pains and penalties that he had not\nmade use of and which were still at his disposal. Lebzeltern, though,\nundiscouraged, only tried the harder to incline the Pope towards an\nunderstanding with the Emperor.\n\n\u201cIf Napoleon will do something in favour of the Church, then, and\nnot before, will I withdraw my excommunication of him,\u201d replied the\nPontiff. \u201cTo gain absolution, one must do penance\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely, Holy Father\u2014but, generally speaking, the absolution precedes\nthe penance\u201d\u2014a specious argument, this, of the diplomatist, seeing that\nthe fruit of the absolution is dependent upon the performance of the\npenance.\n\nAll preliminaries being exhausted, it only remained for Lebzeltern to\ndisclose the absolutely last possible basis of an understanding between\nthe Pope and the Emperor.\n\n\u201cIf the Emperor were willing to forego any formal act of abdication of\nthe Temporal Power on the part of your Holiness,\u201d he ventured, \u201cmight\nhe count in return upon your absolute silence as to the past?\u201d\u2014By\nwhich Lebzeltern meant that the Pope should by his silence give a tacit\nsanction to all the things that Napoleon had done to the Church and her\nministers\u2014his imprisonment of the Pope and many of the Cardinals, his\nsequestration of countless Church moneys, his closing of the multitudes\nof religious houses, and his throwing of their occupants, destitute and\nhomeless, upon the world.\n\n\u201cOut of the question,\u201d said the Pope. \u201cI could never feel sure of any\npact with Napoleon.\u201d Presently, however, he added: \u201cThe guarantee,\nthough, of a third party to any treaty I might make with him would\ncertainly ease my mind considerably\u2014especially if Austria would furnish\nthe guarantee.\u201d And then, in an access of reconciliation, he continued:\n\u201cI have already told you what I would be disposed to do on my side\ntowards healing the breach between Napoleon and the Church. What more\ndoes he want of me? Does he wish me to recognise him as Emperor of the\nWest? Very well, I am willing to do so. Does he wish me to crown him\nas such at Rome? Very well, again I am quite ready to do so. For that\nwould not in any way be contrary to my conscience, provided only that\nhe makes his peace with the Church and ceases from persecuting her; but\nI insist upon it that he shall respect her earthly Head in that Head\u2019s\nunchangeable capacity as the spiritual chief of Christendom!\u201d\n\nLebzeltern was, indeed, astounded at the Pope\u2019s generosity.\n\n\u201cMost Holy Father,\u201d he stammered, \u201cyou have given too much not to give\njust one little thing more\u2014merely to allow your subjects to obey the\npresent Government in the Papal States, and to order them expressly to\ndo so.\u201d\n\nThere followed a gesture of such pain on the part of the Sovereign\nPontiff, expressing so eloquently his repugnance to this proposal, that\nLebzeltern was penetrated with a shaft of regret for having made it.\nMoreover, as he says himself, \u201cI trembled at the thought of all I had\nobtained from him!\u201d\n\nAt the same time, Lebzeltern felt convinced of the uselessness of the\nPope\u2019s concessions. He knew that Napoleon, unless he could obtain the\none thing on which his heart was set\u2014the actual sovereignty of the\nPapal States, and that with the Pope\u2019s consent and blessing,\u2014would not\nfor a moment consider anything else that might be offered him instead.\n\nSo Lebzeltern parted from the Holy Father for that day, his heart full\nof indefinable misgivings for the dark future in which the power of\nNapoleon loomed so vast and menacing, and in which there was no great\nlight visible to him of the Church, save only here and there, so to\nspeak, where the feeble red glow of a few distant, wide-scattered\nsanctuary-lamps starred the mirk of the new Europe.\n\nOn May 20, Lebzeltern went for the last time to the Vescovado, to take\nleave of the august prisoner within its walls.\n\nOn this last occasion of their meeting at Savona, the diplomatist found\nPius VII in a very strange frame of mind. Not by any means inclined to\nwithdraw the concessions he had made in the previous interview with\nLebzeltern, but only regretting them bitterly; hoping they might not\nsatisfy Napoleon and so be rejected by him. On Lebzeltern\u2019s presenting\nfor his consideration a written outline of the concessions in question,\nthe Pontiff, after considering them a little while, rose suddenly from\nhis chair and spoke as follows:\n\n \u201cI have made known to you, Lebzeltern, many of my most secret\n thoughts and sentiments which I would never have entrusted to\n another living man except my confessor; and I do not regret\n it, because I am perfectly certain that you will never abuse\n the confidence I have placed in you. Nevertheless, please bear\n in mind that I only authorise you to report of me to Napoleon\n and Metternich what I am now going to tell you, and which is\n just what you yourself have seen and heard\u2014that I am perfectly\n resigned to God\u2019s Will regarding me and that I humbly place\n my cause in His hands. Say that no consideration of any kind\n shall induce me to disobey my conscience and the Divine law.\n Tell them that I am calm and serene, and that all I ask of the\n Emperor\u2014for whom I only hope and pray that he may be granted\n the grace to make his peace with our holy mother the Church\u2014is\n that he will allow me the means of communicating freely with the\n faithful, and that he will no longer deprive them of the services\n of their father and servant. Tell the Emperor that I entreat\n him to remember that the glory of this world is in itself no\n passport to Heaven; that, albeit I yearn with all my heart to be\n reconciled with him, yet, that I will never be so at the price\n of my conscience. Assure him very earnestly that I have not the\n smallest personal feeling against him; that I forgive him with\n my whole heart all that he has done to me; and that nothing could\n hurt me more than that he should imagine me capable of harbouring\n resentments\u2014which in themselves are forbidden by God and have no\n place either in my heart or in my inclination.\u201d\n\nPresently, among other things, he went on to speak of the private\nmisgivings with which Napoleon\u2019s character inspired him: \u201cBetween\nourselves, Lebzeltern, I am convinced that Napoleon is not in good\nfaith when he says that he wishes to become reconciled with me.... If\nonly he would let me have some one here, at Savona, to help me in my\nwork, which is really and truly overwhelming; moreover, there is a vast\namount of specialist and technical business which I cannot possibly\ntransact by myself without consulting my expert advisers. And, to make\nmatters worse for me, my health and my eyesight are giving out; I do\nnot feel that I shall be able to carry my burden of solitary labour\nvery much longer; besides, it is bad for my temper, which I confess,\nfrankly, I often have great difficulty in curbing.\u201d\n\nNor is there anything wonderful in this when one remembers the\nPope\u2019s situation after being imprisoned nearly a year in the house\nof the Bishop of Savona, shut off from the Cardinals (of whom the\nonly news he had was that they had been imprisoned and maltreated\nin French fortresses by order of Napoleon) and from the faithful.\nAlone with his doubts and difficulties and age and ill-health; and\nthe insidious temptations put before him by the Emperor\u2019s instruments\n(conscious, some of these, as was Fesch; unconscious, again, as was\nLebzeltern)\u2014what is there astonishing or blamable in this \u201cgreat\ndifficulty\u201d so well and simply confessed by the most benignantly human\nBarnabo Chiaramonte?\n\nPresently he spoke again, to utter a final warning to Napoleon:\n\n \u201cIf Napoleon continues to make war upon religion (even although\n he does so under the guise of extending to it his hypocritical\n perfidious protection); if he attempts to have me dragged to\n Paris; if he goes on spreading the lie of my sacrificing the\n real interests of the Church to secondary matters and to worldly\n motives; if he persists in forcing me to more active reprisals,\n then\u2014I shall have to use the last weapons that remain to me and\n which would make a stir in the world that he does not yet dream\n of. The only regret I should have in that case would be that some\n others\u2014who have been less unkind to me than he\u2014might suffer, too.\n As to the precise nature of those weapons, it is possible that\n their effect might be very different from anything you could\n imagine. But, make your mind easy; have no fear that I shall\n employ them unless I am absolutely obliged to do so. Do not be\n afraid of my doing anything precipitately, for I pray constantly\n for grace and strength sufficient to enable me to carry my cross\n patiently. But if you only knew the unvarying torment of my\n nights as well as of my days, Lebzeltern\u2014the unceasing anguish of\n my solitude\u2014you would not wonder at what must sometimes appear to\n you incomprehensible inconsistencies in my attitude towards many\n things\u2014as must have been noticeable in the talks between us!\u201d\n\nAnd with that he dismissed Lebzeltern, who was as much moved as he;\nfor they now shared the same conviction of the utter emptiness of\nNapoleon\u2019s professions of a desire for reconciliation.\n\nAnd, as it proved, the doors of Savona did not open for Pius VII\nuntil the next year, 1811\u2014and then only to allow of his deportation\nto another prison at Fontainebleau, where he was to remain until\nNapoleon\u2019s downfall. Once only did the Sovereign Pontiff weaken (with\nnone but the purest of good intentions) when, in 1813, he consented,\nfor a moment, to renounce the Temporal Power, in order that he might\nbe allowed to go back to Rome, thence to direct the Church. But in\nvain, for Napoleon would not let him out of his hands, and Pius VII,\nperceiving the mistake he had made, announced to all whom it might\nconcern his resumption of the inalienable dominions and Temporal\nSovereignty of the Popes. And, in 1814, he returned to his rightful\nthrone in the Vatican amid the rejoicings of his subjects.\n\nBut what must have been his reflections in regard to his oppressor\nduring the five years (the exact duration of Napoleon\u2019s crime against\nhim) that were consumed in the terrific expiation of St. Helena? And\nhis awe and amazement at the stupendous vindication of his trust in the\nprovidence of Heaven?\u2014for, as the Italian saying has it, \u201cGod does not\npay wages day by day, but only on Saturdays\u2014and then He pays in full\nwith interest!\u201d\n\nPius VII\u2019s own revenge on Napoleon took the form of offering safe and\nhonoured homes, and the means to live, to his mother and his entire\nfamily after his downfall. Whereby many descendants of the Bonapartes\nare counted among the Roman nobles at this day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nIN SABINA\n\n Castel Gandolfo\u2014Its Gardens\u2014The Sabine Hills\u2014The Reverendo\u2014An\n Expedition into the Hills\u2014The Campagna in the Early Morning\u2014\u201cOur\n Lady of Good Counsel\u201d\u2014Ancient Pr\u00e6neste\u2014Italy\u2019s Landscape\u2014Struggles\n of the Colonna\u2014Destruction of Palestrina\u2014Boniface\u2019s Revenge and\n Expiation\u2014Olevano, the Haunt of Artists\u2014\u201cPicturesque Utility\u201d\u2014The\n Wrong Train\u2014Romance of a Pebble\u2014The Work of the Saints.\n\n\nWe had chosen Castel Gandolfo for our summer quarters and had spent\ntwo delightful months in the Villa Brazz\u00e0, situated on the lower edge\nof the town, which climbed up the gentle slope behind, and having for\nourselves the open view of all the Campagna below us, before. The house\ndid not look large from the road, but very little of it showed itself\nto the road at all. When one had passed under the arched \u201cportone,\u201d one\nfound a great rambling residence with a long terraced wing stretching\ndown into the garden, and in the garden itself pavilions, grottoes,\nterraces, all bowered in flowers and so artistically disposed that\nevery one seemed isolated and only approached by long winding walks\ndelightfully shady and green. Where the chief sitting-room opened\ntowards the garden there was a small terrace, completely shaded from\nthe morning sun, with a fountain so disposed that it fell all down one\nwall like a waterfall, and round it clambered and waved the wreaths of\na hundred creepers, ivy and stephanotis and jessamine and maidenhair\nfern, all wet and blooming in the gentle moisture of its spray. To\nthe left the wing, in which my own rooms were situated, ran far down,\naffording shade and coolness; a stairway led up to its roof, where vast\nbeds of petunias gave out their sweet perfume and were visited every\nevening at sunset by humming-bird moths, who fed on the honey in the\nwhite and purple chalices till they could scarcely fly away.\n\nThe house had been full of guests through July and August and the\nsummer had been divinely bright and cool. Through it all I had looked,\nday after day, over towards the Sabine Hills, so remote and mysterious\nfor all their nearness to Rome, and a great desire was upon me to\npenetrate into those blue fastnesses. They had been friends\u2014at a\ndistance\u2014all my life, since I could remember anything, and probably\nbefore that, for the big eastern window of the room where I was born\nlooked straight towards them, and doubtless their sun-smitten peaks\nwere the first outside objects my eyes ever beheld. They are our\nSibyls, in Rome. They reflect every change of sun and wind, and very\nearly I learnt to tell the signs of the coming weather which they\ninfallibly gave us.\n\nI made up my mind to reach them at last, and with some difficulty\npersuaded my brother and my stepfather to come with me. We were joined\nby a friend, an elderly English clergyman, much loved by us and always\nknown as the \u201cReverendo.\u201d He came of exceedingly well-known people, but\nwas a younger son with no money\u2014and no encumbrances, and he had long\namused us with his quaint ways. He was rather elderly, very tall, with\na paganly handsome head\u2014and a quiet way of saying incredible things\nthat made me love him much, and work him hard, for I was a rather\nspoilt young person in those days and allowed myself unlimited whims,\nwhich my blessed family helped me to carry out in the most exemplary\nway. I always had a very tender spot for the \u201cReverendo,\u201d and it became\nsomething uncomfortably near pity when I heard, from our servants, of\ncertain straits to which he was put in order to appear properly at the\nlittle gatherings to which we were always inviting him. He lived a long\nway from our house, and his means quite forbade the luxury of cabs,\nso in all weathers he came on foot. The carefully turned-up evening\ntrousers could be kept out of the mud, but not so the shoes below;\nso the Reverendo brought clean ones\u2014and evening socks\u2014with him. The\nporter\u2019s lodge was just inside the _porte coch\u00e8re_, and he would turn\nin there, regardless of what the inhabitants might be doing, sit down,\npull off the condemned foot-gear, toss it into various corners, put\non the clean things, and walk upstairs\u2014all without a single word to\nthe porter\u2019s wife and children, who put him down, quite smilingly, as\nanother \u201cmad Englishman.\u201d When the function upstairs was over he would\nreappear, change once more, and depart, always in perfect silence.\nBut one evening Mrs. Porter told my maid she could have wept for the\npoor gentleman! He came in as usual, sat down and pulled off boots\nand socks, flung them away, and then discovered that he had forgotten\nto bring fresh ones. Quite meekly he gathered up the muddy articles,\nput them on, and disappeared into the night, to return, nearly an hour\nlater, with his forgotten properties and go through the whole ceremony\nover again.\n\nLike so many quiet, cultivated Englishmen whom circumstances more than\ntaste have landed in the \u201cEstablishment\u201d for life, he had the social\ninstinct very strongly developed, loved bright society, and never\nrefused an invitation. He caught gladly at the idea of riding through\nSabina with us, and I knew that our expedition would be a success,\nwhich it might not have been without the little spice of interest that\nan outsider always brings into an otherwise too strictly family party.\n\nSo, one divine September morning we four rode forth, my dear mother\nalmost crying at our temerity in facing the brigands who were then\nsupposed to haunt the Eastern Hills. \u201cDo bring back your ears with\nyou!\u201d was her parting recommendation, and I know that during the days\nof our absence she constantly dreaded receiving the grim packet of\nsevered ears which the old-time brigands were in the habit of sending,\nwith their little account for ransom, to the relatives of those they\nhad captured. Years before, when we children were making expeditions\nfrom Rocca di Papa, we had, to our immense joy, been provided with\nbig formidable-looking toy pistols, which we were enjoined to carry\n\u201cin evidence\u201d\u2014so that the report might go about that the party was\nalways strongly armed! The only brigand we ever caught sight of in our\nrambles through the lonely country would be an occasional outlaw who\nhad escaped from the police to take hiding in the woods (where he was\ncharitably maintained by his sympathising fellow-townsfolk) and who\nwould scuttle away like a startled hare at the approach of a big party\nof young foreigners whose yells would probably reach to Rome itself if\nanybody interfered with them. The brigand of Romagna is, or was, a poor\ncreature, very easily disposed of; his cousin in Calabria or Sicily is\nquite a different kind of person, a resolute, unscrupulous gentleman\nwhom it is not at all pleasant to meet.\n\nIn one of his Roman books, Mr. Hare speaks of the unearthly beauty\nof the Campagna and its surrounding hills in the first moments of the\ndawn, and deplores the fact that so many travellers come and go away\nagain without ever having risen early enough to see it. I think dear\nMr. Hare made the discovery late in life himself, for, if I remember\nrightly, it was during a journey of exploration that we made together\nsomewhere that the fact struck him\u2014and I and my sister regarded him\nthen as distinctly middle-aged. My poor Annie was always a late riser,\nand vehemently deprecated the unripe hours of the morning, as she did\nevery other kind of discomfort; but to me they were hours of purest\nromance, and seldom have they seemed more perfect than on the day when\nI and my three cavaliers rode away from Castel Gandolfo through the\nwoods towards Genazzano (not Genzano) where we were to halt on our way\nto Palestrina.\n\nHave you ever ridden through deep chestnut woods when the sun is still\nso low that it only strikes the under branches of the trees, and creeps\nup their trunks like a rising bath of gold? When every dell is still a\nmist of cool emerald, and on the banks the level beams are kissing open\nthe tightly whorled fronds of the fern, filling the tiny cups of the\nmoss with topaz wine and turning its million-feathered spikelets into\nan upstanding frieze of fairy spears, each strung with a yellow pearl?\n\nWhere some stream has cut its way deep through the rich soil, the\nforget-me-nots have grown so high and thick that they almost meet\nacross the water; their blue is too dreamy yet to reflect the sky; they\nlook up to that with the calm unseeing innocence of a newborn child\nthat as yet knows not day from night. Ah, look well then, for later in\nthe day the jealous treetops will take all the light to themselves,\nand every lovely detail, below, only visible in that first fleeting\nhour, will be lost in the deep forest shadow that is neither light nor\ndarkness, but all one quivering mysterious green.\n\nWe four rode through the woods silently, drinking in the crystal\nfreshness of the air; and then, almost before we knew it, we were\nout in a blaze of heat, leaving the Alban Hills behind and crossing\nthe plain that divides them from the Sabines, one of the old roads\nto Naples. In that first week of September it was like an unroofed\nhot-house, vines and corn and pomegranates crowding against each other\ntill one would hardly have known where to get in the shears or the\nsickle; the dust from our horses\u2019 feet rose in golden clouds as we\nwent along, and everywhere was the whirr of wings and the long droning\nnote of the cicala. We were glad enough to reach Genazzano and pause\nin the shade before the old Church; but we had had some difficulty in\npenetrating so far, the Piazza and every street leading to it being\nfull of peasants, who had come in from all the surrounding district\nto pay their respects to the Madonna del Buon Consiglio, on this the\n8th of September, our Blessed Lady\u2019s birthday. Of course the greatest\nconcourse takes place here on April the 25th, the especial feast of\nOur Lady of Good Counsel, but the people are always glad to repair to\nthis famous sanctuary, and on the day we visited it the little town\nwas full of the brilliant costumes which one very rarely sees now.\nThe picture round which so much devotion centres is a very sweet one,\nrather Byzantine in character, as is natural, for it came to Italy from\nthe other side of the Adriatic\u2014miraculously transported, probably at\nthe time when all that country came under Moslem rule. It was thus that\nthe Holy House of Loreto, when the Holy places of Jerusalem fell into\nthe hands of the Turks, was carried by the Angels to Christian shores,\nand thence to Italy, the dwellers near its last Eastern resting-place\nmourning despairingly round the deserted spot from which it disappeared\nbetween dark and dawn on the night of the 9th of December, 1294. I am\nwriting of Genazzano and not of Loreto just now, but I must pause to\nremark that this miracle of the transportation of the house of the\nBlessed Virgin is far more clearly attested than many events in our\nown modern history; yet there are people, who would stake their lives\non the truth of those events, who dismiss the miracle of Loreto with a\nsmile of incredulity.\n\nThis picture of Our Lady of Good Counsel would not interest them. Yet I\nwould advise even such persons to go and have a look at the beautiful\ncopy of it in St. John Lateran\u2019s. It is quite small, a half length\nor less; the Blessed Mother holds the Child in her arms, and he is\nreaching up to whisper in her ear; she listens, with her heart in her\ndeep sweet eyes, and the \u201ccounsel\u201d is stored up for the children who\nappeal to her in their perplexities. There is an exquisite expression\nof confidence and familiarity on both the celestial Faces. Our Holy\nFather Pius X has such a great devotion to Our Lady of Good Counsel\nthat, as all Catholics know, he has added the invocation \u201cMater Boni\nConsilii, ora pro nobis,\u201d to the Litany of the Blessed Virgin.\n\nFrom Genazzano we went on to Palestrina, arriving there in time to\ngo and watch the sunset from the ruined terraces of the Temple of\nFortune. The place has passed from hand to hand, used as a fortress\nat one time and another since the fourth century before Christ; but to\nme its interest never lay in those comparatively modern developments.\nIt is the story of times lost in the mist of ages, when those first\ncyclopean blocks were fitted together without the aid of cement\u2014when\na race, whose only traces are these mute huge stones that suggest all\nand tell nothing, lived and fortified itself on this outpost of the\nmountains\u2014that is the story that I want to hear. There at Palestrina,\nwhen the sun was sinking into the level gold of the sea\u2014forty miles\naway, but so clear and calm\u2014I leaned over the stone bulwark, red in\nthe sunset, hot to my hand (had it not baked in four or five thousand\nyears of sunshine?), and felt that unearthly thrill of a revelation\npalpitatingly near, yet still withheld. It has come only a few times in\nmy life\u2014once at Torcello, once among the lost tombs of Etruria, there\nat Palestrina, and in the great hall of the unmarked sepulchre of the\nlast Ming Emperor in Pechilia. That was modern, indeed, a Seventeenth\nCentury affair, but the ancient spirit was there\u2014something that brooded\nover a lonely, mighty country, unchanged, untampered with, before the\nbeginnings of history.\n\nAt Palestrina\u2014or to give the place its right name, Pr\u00e6neste\u2014the\nEmperors were mere upstarts; Camillus, who took it and made it an\nappanage of Rome four hundred years or so before this time\u2014Marius and\nSulla, and the Roman ladies who had summer villas here and left those\namazing \u201cvanity boxes\u201d (such arsenals of cosmetics and beautifiers as\nsurprise even our modern beauty-artists) behind them\u2014all these seem\nvulgar intruders on that sacredly ancient ground.\n\nFor, of all the cities of Romagna, Pr\u00e6neste has, I think, the most\nperfect situation. It seems to have grown out of the wall of the\nhills to watch over the southern roads to Rome. Before it the Campagna\nstretches away to the sea and to the north, the horizon there brokenly\noutlined by the low Volscian and Ciminian Hills. Not so towards\nthe sea; in the near distance a castle or a single tower breaks the\nplain, midway Rome shimmers like a net of pearls thrown down across\nthe Tiber; but the West is the empty West always, left to the sun\nand the wind, with the wide Heavens above and that one long sword\nof light laid on its further bound where the tideless Mediterranean\nlaps against the shore. To the south, at an almost direct angle, rise\nthe Alban Hills, near, familiar, friendly, with their symmetrical\nvolcanic slopes so restful to the eye; where they sink to the plain\nfarthest from Palestrina the Appian Way leads on to Naples, and that\nis the way most of the world travels; but the more beautiful road is\nthe one which leads, right past the foot of the Sabines, through the\nlevel valley which separates them from the Alban range, to Anagni and\nValmontone and Frosinone, following the classic Liris as it takes an\nalmost straight course through the garden it has ploughed and watered.\nSeen from the Campagna, the Albans seem to be a range running east and\nwest, thrown up to make a frame and background for Rome; but travel\ndown the Liris and you will realise that all we see from Rome, Monte\nCavo, and his lesser brethren, with their scores of white towns, is\nsimply the culmination of a long branch of the Apeninnes, set up like\na screen between the central range and the fever-haunted seaboard\ncalled Maremma. When about two-thirds of the distance to Naples is\naccomplished, the range rises in the isolated peak of Rocca Monfina\nto the height of nearly four thousand feet and becomes merged in the\ncentral Apeninnes once more. The railway runs through now, but it is\nstill a wild, remote country, very feudal in its ways, with half-ruined\ncastles on every point of vantage, scowling down on a land that needs\nthem no longer, where fighting has ceased, and the good soil that has\nhad its way for centuries has brought forth those stores of corn and\nwine and oil which seem to be South Italy\u2019s inalienable dower.\n\nFrom Palestrina, looking down on that September evening, the bursting\nrichness of it all seemed almost incredible. Right at the foot of the\nhills a deep, abandoned watercourse was a golden river of standing\ncorn, bordered far on either side with dense greenery fringing off\ninto vineyards so teeming with fruit that, seen from above, it was\nlike a great mantle of dark amethyst patterned here and there, where\nthe white grapes grew, with jade. The woody slopes of the Sabines sank\ninto the rich carpet, and rose, away to the north, in stormy outlines,\nnow softened into dreamy rose and lilac, against the clear evening sky.\nAs the sun sank, even the cold silver of the olive trees, standing\ntier above tier on their shallow terraces, took on the flush, as if\nbathed in wine, and the darker foliage of oak and chestnut burned with\nsombre yet vivid intensity. Then the sun touched the sea\u2014lingered,\na ball of living crimson, for an instant, and plunged out of sight.\nOne star hung its newborn silver against the paling west; another and\nanother answered it, till all the dying blue overhead was pierced and\npatterned with the faint sparklets in their eternal dance. Then from\nbehind the wall of peaks a broad fan of misty silver was thrown up\nagainst the sky, growing, spreading, washing purple and crimson to one\nuntinted sheen; another moment, and the harvest moon heaved a golden\nshoulder over the crags, rolled up, rounded itself, and hung, a great\nhoney-coloured globe, flooding the hills and the Campagna and the\ndistant sea with calm, all-embracing effulgence.\n\nAt the time of my first visit to Palestrina I was still sufficiently\nattracted by the Middle Ages to find much romance in the struggles of\nthe Colonnas and their contemporaries, struggles which dragged the\nharrow over the vast Temple of Fortune\u2014reputed the biggest in the\nworld,\u2014threw its stones one upon another, and left the place merely\na beautiful tomb. Since then, I confess, my interest has died away.\nI can feel no sympathy with the noble cut-throats\u2014Sciarras, Colonnas,\nOrsinis\u2014whose deeds are written in blood over every page of the time.\nI used to weep over the sufferings they inflicted on Boniface VIII,\nbut, apart from the outrage on his sacred office, which can never be\ncondoned, one cannot help feeling that he deserved something of what\nhe got, and that, in spite of his high courage and notable intellect,\nhe had treated those his enemies very basely and cruelly. His election\nin 1217 had been bitterly opposed by two Colonna Cardinals\u2014Giacomo and\nPietro\u2014who were furious at the thought that the Papal chair should\nbe filled by one of the Gaetonis of Anagni, the hereditary rivals\nand enemies of their own family. The election went through, in spite\nof them, and they, fearing the new Pope\u2019s wrath, fled to Palestrina,\ntaking every member of the family with them. This was an open\ndeclaration of war, and the Pope realised that there would be no peace\nfor his realm till they were subdued. With truly medi\u00e6val promptitude,\nhe at once confiscated all their estates and called on all good\nChristians to take up arms against them. Their other strongholds fell\none by one into his hands, but Palestrina, with its tremendous defences\nand commanding position, resisted every attack of the besiegers.\nIt seemed impregnable. Then Pope Boniface remembered that the most\nvictorious and ruthless leader of the day, Guido de Montefeltro, was\ndown on his knees in a convent at Ancona, praying to be forgiven some\nof his deeds of blood before death should call him to judgment. He\ncommanded him to leave his retreat and come to give his advice as to\nthe reduction of Palestrina. Very unwillingly the old soldier obeyed,\nand returned to that world which he had left just in time to save his\nwicked soul. He went and looked at the Colonna fortress, examined the\ndefences with the eye of an expert, and returned to the Pope, who was\nat Rieti. He told him that there was no hope of taking Palestrina by\nforce of arms. \u201cWhat, then, am I to do?\u201d cried Boniface. Guido knew,\nbut was unwilling to say. The Pope insisted on his giving his opinion,\nand the crafty old fighter proffered the counsel for which Dante with\nsome justice put him in Malebolge\u2014\u201cPrometter lungo e tenere corto!\u201d\n\u201cPromise much\u2014fulfil little,\u201d it would run in English.\n\nBoniface instantly acted on the advice. The Colonnas were promised\nfull forgiveness. They thought it wise to accept and submit. In all the\nhabiliments of mourning repentance they issued from the stronghold they\nwere never to see again, and came in a body to Rieti. The Pope received\nthem, pronounced their crimes against himself forgiven, and kept them\nat Rieti as his guests. But prudence, as he apprehended it, forbade\nthat he should leave that eyrie and refuge of rebellion standing for\nthem to fly to the next time they picked a quarrel with him. So, while\nthey were sunning themselves in his favour in the mountain city of the\nSouth, he secretly despatched a faithful friend, Ranieri, the Bishop\nof Pisa, to wipe Palestrina off the face of the earth. Nothing was to\nbe spared, except the Cathedral. And very thoroughly did Ranieri do\nhis work. Every vestige of the fortress and palace and the big town\nwhich had grown up with them was destroyed\u2014\u201ca plough was driven over\nthe ruins, the ground was sown with salt, and even the famous marble\nstaircase of a hundred steps, up which people could ride their horses\ninto the palace,\u201d was swept away.\n\nThen the Colonnas, landless, homeless, penniless, understood how much\nthe Pope\u2019s forgiveness was worth, and they fled from his domains to\nnurse their wrongs and wait for revenge.\n\nThat came in good, or rather very evil, time, and Boniface paid in full\nduring the awful days at Anagni, days so dreadful that one quarrels\nwith Dante for not regarding them as sufficient expiation for the\nharassed Pontiff\u2019s one great sin. He was driven into a quarrel with\nPhilippe le Bel, the King of France, and Sciarra Colonna, the Head of\nthe proscribed House, caught at the chance and offered his services to\nthe French. In company with their leader, William de Nogaret, he broke\ninto Anagni, Boniface\u2019s own city where he had taken refuge, and, but\nfor the opposition of Nogaret, he would, apparently, have murdered his\ngreat enemy on the spot.\n\nHere Boniface showed all the valour of his race and place. He prepared\nto meet death with the dignity of a priest and the courage of a\nsoldier. \u201cIf I am to die, I will die like a Pope,\u201d he said. Every\nfriend, every Cardinal and chaplain and courtier fled as the shout of\n\u201cA Colonna, a Colonna!\u201d rose from the lower streets of the mountain\ntown. Not a soul was left in the palace but the Pope. He put on his\npontifical vestments, placed the tiara on his head, and mounted his\nthrone, where he sat like a statue, awaiting certain death. Colonna\nand Nogaret, with three hundred steel-clad men at their heels,\nclanked into the hall, and stood dumb for a moment at the sight of\ntheir great enemy, who neither spoke nor moved. Then they rushed upon\nhim and Sciarra Colonna assailed him with a fiery torrent of abuse,\nhis anger feeding on itself till it ran through him like a flame,\nand he struck the Pontiff on the face with his mailed hand. Nogaret\nprotested\u2014Boniface said no word. He meant to suffer for his sins in\nsilence, because so had the Redeemer suffered for sins not His. They\ndragged the Pope from his throne, hustled him out into the Square, all\nblack with the gaping, cowardly crowd of his own subjects, put him on\na vicious horse with his face to the tail, and led him with outbursts\nof derision through the streets. Not a hand was raised to defend him,\nnot a protest was heard. Then his conquerors brought him back to his\npalace and locked him up, without food or drink, for three miserable\ndays, during which they sacked not only the palace, but every house\nin the town, riding away at last glutted with plunder, destroying what\nthey could not carry off, and leaving literally nothing but bare walls\nbehind them. Then, all danger being past, Boniface\u2019s loving subjects\nbethought themselves of letting him out. They found him fainting from\nexhaustion, crying like a starved child for a morsel of bread and a\ncup of water. The women wept over him then, and ran to minister to his\nwants; not so much as a water-jar had been left in the palace, and they\nemptied their bronze concas into a wooden chest. Boniface died soon\nafter, in Rome, broken-hearted, and the carnival of anarchy in high\nplaces, with its raging hate and its fury of bloodshed, went on for\nmany a long year afterwards.\n\nTruly, medi\u00e6val history makes depressing reading! How gladly the mind\nreverts from it to the dawn of the centuries, when men fought for\ntheir cities and their wives and children, but not for mere hatred of\ntheir kind. And what a relief it is to turn from the endless carnage\nof the later Middle Ages to the history that is not written in blood\nand that charms and dominates us still, the history of strange holy\nlives every pulse of which was an act of love to God and mankind. It\nis but a step from one to the other\u2014from Boniface VIII and the Colonnas\nand the Orsinis to Benedict and Scholastica\u2014from smitten Palestrina to\ncloistered Subiaco behind it in the hills.\n\nOn the way thither one stopped for a day in Olevano, to me the least\nItalian, the most completely \u201cforeignised\u201d spot in all that country. It\nhas been for so many years the haunt of artists of every nationality\nthat it has none left of its own. Its beauty there is no denying;\nit laughs in sunshine and prosperity, and for that, in these bad\ntimes, one is grateful to it. But it is no more Italian than a fine\npiece of staging at the Haymarket. The background is perfect, and\nthe inhabitants are healthy and handsome, but the moment they see a\ntraveller coming they throw themselves into paintable attitudes; all\nnaturalness seems gone; everything and everybody is harnessed to the\nservice of picturesque utility. The famous inn, about which Gregorovius\nand Mr. Hare raved so enthusiastically, resounds with Northern tongues\nand with that ear-splitting affliction known as German Italian. The\nwalls are a visitors\u2019 book, of untold price, where almost every notable\nartist of the last hundred years has left his signature in sketch or\nportrait. At every turn you are tripped up by easels, wet canvases, and\nartists\u2019 umbrellas, and in the evening the beer flows freely and the\njolly brotherhood talks about itself at the top of its German voice,\ntill Italy\u2014our shy, melancholy Italy\u2014fades into the background, and a\nweary traveller trying to sleep, in one of the bedrooms which all open\nout of the central dining-room, is led to believe that he has taken the\nwrong train and been transported unawares to the scene of a \u201cKneipe\u201d in\nMunich or Dresden.\n\nTalking about \u201cwrong trains\u201d reminds me of an absurd incident that\nhappened in England. A wayfarer who had taken a little more than was\ngood for him wandered into Victoria Station, having quite forgotten\nthe name of the place he wished to make for. But he could remember\nwhat it was _not_. Into every train that came along he climbed\u2014and\nthen asked the guard for what point it was bound. None of the answers\nsatisfied him and he tumbled out on the platform again and again,\nwailing, \u201cWrong train! wrong train!\u201d At last, however, he struck the\nright one, the guard\u2019s answer to his query brought back the memory of\nhis domicile, and, much relieved, he sank down against the cushions\nand began to smoke. At the first station on the road a clergyman got\ninto the compartment, and the train steamed on. Harder and harder the\nreverend gentleman stared at his companion, who showed all too plainly\nthe evidences of his spree. Pretty soon, just as they were pulling\ninto another station, the Christian\u2019s conscience bade him admonish his\nerring brother.\n\n\u201cMy friend,\u201d he began in solemn tones, \u201cdo you know where you are going\nto?\u201d The overtaken one was all attention at once, and his monitor went\non, \u201cYou are going _straight to Hell_!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Lord!\u201d moaned the sinner on the opposite seat. \u201cWrong train\n_again_!\u201d And he sprang out of the carriage and stood weeping on the\nplatform while his one chance of getting home sped away from him into\nthe night.\n\nWe were little troubled by railways in the Sabines in my young days;\nsuch innovations had not ever been contemplated, and all our travelling\nwas done on horses or mules. It was rather a long ride from Olevano to\nSubiaco and I was very tired and stiff when our little party straggled\ninto the road leading up to the town. But\u2014what is youth without some\nimpossible romance? My \u201cromance\u201d had marched that way the year before,\nwith his company of Zouaves, condemned to garrison duty for three\ndreary months in the hills; and _this_ (\u201cparents, do you think you\nknow your children?\u201d) was the utterly idiotic motive which had made\nme drag my three unsuspecting men to Subiaco! I wanted to pick up a\nstone that had been touched by the adored one\u2019s foot! Very gingerly I\nclimbed down off my weary beast, selected a fine smooth pebble from the\nside of the road where I knew my idol must have passed, and, with much\ndifficulty, scrambled up again. The pebble was afterwards polished,\ncut, and set in Etruscan gold, as a pendant, marked with a mystic\ninscription signifying a challenge to fate to lessen the ardour of my\nattachment; and when I found it among my trinkets, long years after my\nreal fate had found and claimed me, I could have wept for the delicious\nrainbow-tinted sorrows of first youth!\n\nBut the treasure once secured, and the luxury of tears reserved for\nsome future unoccupied moment, I gave myself up to the magic of the\nconsecrated cleft in the hills, and, in spite of my own profound\nignorance in those days, in spite of the sceptical attitude of my\nPresbyterian stepfather and the Anglican Reverendo, and my dear\nMarion\u2019s bubbling fun and laughter\u2014for he was a mere boy then, of the\nmost irrepressible kind\u2014the \u201cSacro Speco\u201d made a profound impression on\nme.\n\nIt was as if a door leading out of some gay ballroom, all lights and\nflowers and dance music, had suddenly been opened and I had passed\nthrough it from the things of time to those of eternity. Fifteen\nhundred years were wiped out\u2014I saw St. Benedict, the \u201cbeloved, called\nfrom the cleft in the rock,\u201d praying, rejoicing, hiding from men to\nbe alone with God. And that seems to me the most wonderful thing in\nthe lives of the great Founders\u2014they had not at first the smallest\nforethought of their mission. They only knew that they must save their\nsouls in fear and trembling, and in blind humility they withdrew from\nall occasions of sin and prayed for purification. It forms a curious\ncontrast to the life led by most of us who consider ourselves pretty\ndecent Christians in the eyes of the world. _Our_ question is, \u201cHow\nmuch pleasure and amusement can I get in without actually falling into\nmortal sin?\u201d and many a dangerous permission we grant ourselves or\nwring from our unwilling directors, that refused would have prevented,\nor at least delayed, a hundred falls. It is so terribly easy to do\nwhat all the rest are doing\u2014to go and see the problem play, read the\ninteresting bad book, pay the visit at the country house where the\nold admirer will meet us and spread the old snares for our destruction\nand his own! We know all about it; it has happened so often; but we go\nahead, telling our hearts the lie they know so well: \u201cOh, it doesn\u2019t\nmatter! I know just where to stop!\u201d Steeped in affection to sin\u2014with,\nat the best, ages of Purgatory awaiting us\u2014we add every straw we can\ngather to our already huge burden and imagine we can lay it down with a\ngood deathbed confession and slip into Paradise with the best!\n\nVery different was the point of view of the great Saints. For one\nwho was converted late in life, we read of scores to whom Perfection\ncalled in the very dawn of reason; and it is precisely these, who\nnever committed a mortal sin in their lives, who were most severe with\nthemselves\u2014most nervous, as we should say\u2014about their final salvation.\n\nTheir sight, never clouded by any consent to evil, saw even in the most\ntrifling failings a heinous offence against the Divine Majesty, and Its\ninfinite Purity, visible to them, made their own fallen nature black\nby contrast. So they took that nature in hand, these athletes (called\nBenedict, and Francis, and Anthony, and many another blessed name\nwritten in the \u201cLibro d\u2019Oro\u201d of the recording Angel), and thought a\nlifetime would not be too much to give to the task of subduing it. And\nthe Heavenly Father bade them go on and be of good courage; and never,\ntill the predestined moment came, did He let them dream that their\nyears of prayer and fasting were just a preparation for generalship\nin His army, that in humbly striving to save their own souls they were\nfitting themselves to save millions and millions of others. The first\nsymptom one notices about them is their complete disregard of the\nnatty little idol we call \u201crespectability\u201d\u2014the Church calls it \u201chuman\nrespect.\u201d We quite understand that great men should kick it out of the\nway\u2014whoever heard of Wellington or Kitchener asking, \u201cWhat are people\ngoing to say?\u201d Their gifts and their calling place them above the reach\nof considerations by which we ordinary mortals are content to regulate\nour actions. We admire, rave over, their splendid carelessness. But\nwhen it comes to the Saints we take our shrunken measure, try to fit\nit to their conduct, and shake our heads. Their whole-heartedness is\neccentricity, they thought nothing of inflicting most damaging shocks\non public opinion\u2014what a pity! And if we see any of our acquaintances\nbeginning to follow in their steps we look the other way, as if the\npoor dears had come out into the street half dressed. I wonder how many\nof her friends cared to bow to the late Countess of Denbigh when, a few\nyears ago, she took Bridget\u2019s place at the crossing near Farm Street\nand swept it diligently, and stretched out her blessed hand for the\npennies, and never thought she was doing anything heroic\u2014just keeping\nold Bridget\u2019s crossing for her while she went to Mass! I believe the\nvery Angels wanted to throw down their shining mantles for her to walk\nover when she went to Heaven\u2014but I am sure some of her friends on earth\nthought she was putting them in a most embarrassing position.\n\nLady Georgiana Fullerton, in her \u201cLife of Santa Francesca Romana,\u201d has\ndescribed very truly and sympathetically these\u2014to us\u2014puzzling stages\nin the development of saintship. They vary in degree, of course, in\neach individual case, but the same note runs through all: \u201cPermission\nto labour first,\u2014the result far distant, but clear; the vision of that\nresult when once He had said, \u2018Begin and work.\u2019 To tarry patiently for\nthat signal, to obey it unhesitatingly when once given, is the rule\nof the Saints. How marvellous is their instinct! how accordant their\npractice! First, the hidden life, the common life; the silence of the\nhouse of Nazareth; the carpenter\u2019s shop; the marriage-feast, it may\nbe, for some; and, at last, \u2018the hour is come,\u2019 and the true work for\nwhich they are sent into the world has to be done, in the desert or in\nthe cloister, in the temple or in the market-place, on Mount Tabor or\non Mount Calvary; and the martyr or the confessor, the founder or the\nreformer of a religious order, comes forth, and in an instant, or in a\nfew years, performs a work at which earth wonders and angels rejoice.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nPEOPLE OF THE HILLS\n\n The Apennines\u2014View from a Peak\u2014Real Hospitality\u2014Polenta\u2014Woods\n of Sabina\u2014A Hill Family\u2014The Cook\u2014A Queer Adventure\u2014People of\n the South\u2014A Night Festival in the Abruzzi\u2014The Journey\u2014The Old\n Organ\u2014Marion Crawford\u2019s Boys\u2014Juvenile Theatricals.\n\n\nHow much our Italy of Rome and Naples owes to the Apennines! How\ngratefully should lovers of romance and history regard that mighty\nchain that runs, an inland sea of crag and peak, forest and ravine,\nbetween shore and shore! Physically and morally, it is the backbone\nof the country, the fortress of tradition, the nurse of what our\nmodern cant calls, \u201cPlain living and high thinking.\u201d Its hard, yet\nbeneficent, climate, with sharp delimitations of season, its passes\nso obdurate to the tainting allurements of railways, its hundreds\nof sturdy, self-contained little towns, each with its story of its\nown saints and heroes, its ancestry of tradition that laughs at the\nflight of centuries\u2014all this has bred a race of men and women of\nwhom modern Italy knows little, but who form the residue by which\nthe mixed enfeebled masses of her cities and plains will in the end\nbe saved. Faith is strong; morals, though often transgressed, still\nclear and commanding. New fads, make-believe religions, free love and\nrace suicide presented as twin benefits to humanity, the worship of\nmaterialism\u2014all the old crimes that come dressed up as new virtues\u2014find\nno foothold here. The \u201cpale-pink uplift\u201d of these modern shams would be\nlaughed to scorn by our people of Sabina and Abruzzi and Ciocciar\u00eca.\nTheir parish priests tramp round amongst them as friends and mentors.\nThe \u201cparroco\u201d and the apothecary may be the only persons in a whole\ncommunity who can read, but the child of ten knows the commandments\nof God and the Church, and the innovator who attempts to make little\nof these meets with a very cold reception. The people have many faults\nand many weaknesses, but they are all human ones, and, frankly, I would\nrather have to do with the man who has slain a rival or a sweetheart in\na fit of jealous anger than with a railway magnate or a prophet of the\nDecadent. The murderer\u2019s record is probably a good deal cleaner than\ntheirs.\n\nSo my inheritance of Sabina has always been very precious to me. Many\nweary years have passed since I set foot there, but the remembrance of\nyoung days spent in those high rich solitudes comes still as a fresh\nbreeze across the dusty wastes of the world, and very gladly shall\nI return to them before I die. I have travelled so far and seen such\nstrange and endless varieties of scenery that I think I have a right\nto say that there are few places on earth where nature has done more to\nrejoice and strengthen the body and soul of man.\n\nFrom Rome the Sabines are merely a noble chain of peaks, culminating\nin the calm Lion profile of the couchant \u201cLionessa,\u201d her face to the\nnorth, waiting through the long blue days of summer for the crown\nof snow that the winter lays on her brow. The slopes and spurs that\ndescend towards the Campagna are smiling enough\u2014as they should be,\nturned everlastingly to the sun and the sea. One must pass beyond\nall that, climb by rough and narrow paths to the great tossed heart\nof the hills, and stand on some peak like Guadognolo to take in the\namazing grandeur of the Sabines. Even from lower places\u2014Olevano, for\ninstance\u2014you may look east and west and south and north, and feel as\nif you were standing on an island crag in an ocean of long sapphire\nbillows rolling away, breaker beyond breaker, into infinity, a sea\nthat in some moment of surpassing pride raised its breast too near the\nsky and froze to stone in that passion of ambition; and your heart,\nthe heart of the native-born, tells you that every hollow between the\nbreakers holds its rivers and lakes smothered in olives and vines and\ncorn, its walled town and ancient Church, its old fortified farmhouses,\ndazzlingly white against the sun-warmed rock of the mounting\nridge\u2014farmhouses with broad brick loggias garlanded with festoons of\nscarlet and orange, the bursting red \u201cpepperoni\u201d as big as citrons, and\nstrings of flame-coloured maize like golden spear-heads, all drying in\nthe sun for the winter\u2019s needs.\n\nStop at one of these houses and ask for hospitality, and you will\nfind out what the word really means. I have often thought of it when I\nwas sitting through huge official dinners where the great ones of the\nearth were arranging its destinies over the champagne and truffles\u2014with\nthe murder of a nation in their hearts. The commanded smile, and the\ncold watchful eyes\u2014the men fencing with words for rapiers, and we\nwomen watching every play of the shrouded steel and pretending to talk\namiable nothings to each other; the gasp of relief at parting, and the\nconsignment to everlasting perdition of the adversary, which broke from\nour worried mate when the door of the brougham had been clapped to and\nwe could sink back on the cushions as we rolled away! Then would return\na vision of some halt in the hills at home, of the dark cavernous\nkitchen with its freshly sprinkled brick floor and its bunches of\nherbs hanging from the high blackened beams overhead shedding their\ndry fragrance on the air, so cool and refreshing on entering from the\nburning midday sunshine outside. \u201cFavorisca!\u201d cries the \u201cSposa\u201d\u2014she\nmay be eighteen or eighty, but that is her title from her wedding day\nforward.\u2014\u201cCondescend to enter! Let the signori be accommodated!\u201d The\nrush-bottomed chairs are set out on the loggia in the shade, the boys\nare sent to fetch ice-cool water from the well, and, as the bucket goes\nsplashing down into the invisible flood and comes up all diamonds in\nthe sun, \u201cSposa\u201d brings out four or five heavy glasses, freshly rinsed,\nin the fingers of one hand and a straw-bound fiaschetta of her own\nwine in the other. \u201cVino sincero, signori miei!\u201d she assures you as\nshe sets it down on the deal table already spread with the clean cloth\nthat smells of rosemary. Ay, a \u201csincere wine,\u201d with no \u201cdope\u201d in its\ncrimson or topaz depths, and the welcome is as sincere as the wine. She\npours it out, smiling, her handsome head and rich costume standing out\npicturesquely against the dark doorway behind her, within which one of\nher girls is kneeling on the bricks, washing freshly pulled lettuce for\nyour salad in a great copper bowl, hand-beaten and reflecting the light\nfrom every one of its red-bronze facets. Everything in the kitchen is\nof beaten copper; these people would as soon think of cooking in any\nother metal as of sleeping in cotton sheets\u2014a degradation the poorest\nscorns to put up with.\n\n\u201cSposa\u201d disappears within the kitchen and one of the girls comes out\nto entertain the visitors while the dinner is cooking. She stands with\none hand on the back of a chair, the other fingering her blue and\nyellow apron, pink with shyness, but devoured with curiosity. Every\ndetail of one\u2019s dress, every bit of jewellery is being taken in\u2014to be\ndescribed to all the other girls of the place when they meet at Church\non Sunday\u2014but she answers one\u2019s questions with a confident smile.\nHow old? Oh, \u201cin seventeen\u201d\u2014that is, sixteen last birthday. Her name?\nCandiduccia, at the Signora\u2019s service! Betrothed! A pinker flush and an\nindescribable little movement of the shoulders, and then down goes her\nhead, while \u201cMamm\u00e0,\u201d whose sharp ears have heard all, replies in her\ndeep sonorous tones, from among the pots and pans: \u201cA good youth, but\nhe is getting a bad bargain! This lazy one has not spun half her linen\nyet. I had mine all spun and woven by the time I was fourteen! Here,\nthou! come and fetch the plates! The illustrious ones are hungry!\u201d\n\nCandiduccia dives into the kitchen, and a moment later your dinner is\nbefore you\u2014a big dimpled omelet, trout from the stream fried in olive\noil, and crisp salad in a big majolica bowl. Sposa cuts the fresh rough\nbread\u2014first making the sign of the Cross over the loaf\u2014and serves you\ncream cheese, made from goat\u2019s milk, instead of butter. Butter and\ncow\u2019s milk do not enter into the Sabina bill of fare; our mountain\npeople do not care about these things, but it is a feast for the gods,\nall the same.\n\nWhen the time comes to go, you give Sposa what you think right, and\nshe takes it rather unwillingly, but very gratefully, and as you ride\naway she and her girls stand at the door and wave their hands and say,\n\u201cLa Madonna v\u2019accompagni\u201d; and the boys, young rascals, will race your\nhorses to the foot of the hill or the turn in the road, knowing well\nthat you will give them a few coppers for their very own as soon as you\nare out of sight of \u201cMamm\u00e0,\u201d who, you may be sure, will never hear of\nthe transaction.\n\nIf one is an invited guest at some important farmhouse, an elaborate\nfeast is prepared, and there are heart-burnings if the guests do not\neat heartily of everything. I remember once going with the Cavalettis\nto the \u201cbene\u201d of one of their tenants, for dinner\u2014a really medi\u00e6val\nrepast which staggered even my robust young appetite. It began with\nthe \u201cpolentata,\u201d a curious first course which is _de rigueur_ in\nSabina when guests of honour are being entertained. The chief table\nwas already set out with a dozen kinds of fresh and dried fruits,\n\u201calicetti\u201d (the tiny local sardines), smoked ham, and home-made\nliqueurs, all intended to stimulate the appetite. But before sitting\ndown to that we were led to a small pinewood table at one side of\nthe room and requested to take our seats around it. Then the mistress\nof the house advanced with a huge cauldron of polenta, which, to my\nconsternation, she poured out on the freshly scrubbed table-top, so\ndeftly that it exactly covered the entire surface. I stared, wondering\nwhat was to happen next; but my companions took no notice of me, and\nthe Marchese, whom his peasants adored\u2014as did everybody else who knew\nhim\u2014leant back in his chair and discussed the condition of the game in\nthe woods with \u201cSor Giacomo,\u201d while the wife, a piece of new string in\nher hands, watched the polenta cool and fix to about the consistency\nof cream cheese. Then, suddenly leaning over my shoulder, she cut it\nswiftly across and across with the string in symmetrical divisions\nnearly a foot square, one for each person, solemnly handed us each a\nspoon, and, bowing gracefully, begged us to eat!\n\nIt was a searching preparation for a hearty meal!\n\nOn another occasion we were invited to dinner at the house of a country\nnotable many miles away, but still connected with the Cavaletti\ndomains. It was early autumn, and we had an enchanting ride in the\nbright cool morning through the deep woods, where the chestnut burrs\ncame padding down on the moss with soft thuds as we passed, and here\nand there some delicate ash or birch was already flaming into orange\nwith the first touch of the frost. They looked like torches alight in\nthe forest. They are so deep and green, those woods of Sabina, rich\nwith oak and chestnut, elm and beech, a fairyland of moss and fern\nbelow, a world of sun and shadow above! The flowers are very delicate,\ntoo, harebells like thin amethyst, and the dainty wild pansy that lifts\nher little startled head like a Louis XV beauty who has lost her way;\nand there are stars of Bethlehem, growing always apart and lonely,\nfive white petals with a touch of greenish gold for a heart, swinging\nin the breeze on a long translucent stem; and wild strawberries\u2014snowy\nflower and crimson berry springing side by side among the broad\ntrefoil leaves; and wild garlic, a mass of spotless bloom, and magic\nelder with great posies of perfumed level rime; and fern so tall that\none could lose oneself in it, seeking for the threaded turquoise\nof forget-me-nots that grow beneath; and thousands more, fragile,\nexquisite things blooming in the deep peace of the undergrowth, while\nfar overhead the strong tree-tops laugh in the wind and take all the\nsun.\n\nI remember how sorry I was when we left the woods behind that day\nand reached a tiny walled town with, of course, a Church, a piazza, a\nfountain, and one big house standing aggressively square to the street,\na typical Italian house with as many windows as could possibly be put\ninto it, all green-shuttered, and most of them balconied. That was all\nI saw, for as we drew rein at the entrance we were surrounded by the\nwhole family, all grown-up men and women, who lifted us girls down from\nour saddles, took possession of all our belongings, and all but carried\nus up to a big cool room on the first floor, with many expressions of\nsympathy for our supposed fatigue after the long ride. I believe they\nthought us rather daring for venturing ourselves on the shaggy mountain\nponies at all, for few Italian women in the country ever mount anything\nmore frisky than a tried and sober donkey.\n\nHaving settled us on the \u201ccanap\u00e9\u201d\u2014a very large sofa covered with green\nand scarlet checks\u2014and provided us with rosolio and cakes to keep\nus good, all the ladies disappeared together. The men were buzzing\naround the Marchese, who, like the lover of horses he was, insisted\non seeing the animals housed and fed; then a kind of electric thrill\nran through the house, the Signora and her daughters came to fetch us\nfrom the salone, and everybody moved towards the dining-room. I was a\nlittle surprised to see so few seats at the table, which was covered\nwith every kind of dainty and very prettily arranged; but the matter\nwas explained when it became evident that the ladies of the family\nwere to wait upon us and their own men in approved feudal fashion. I\nsay \u201cladies\u201d advisedly, for these were people as far removed from the\npeasant class as they considered themselves from that of the Marchese.\nThey had never worn the costume of the contadine; they belonged to\nthe great respectable middle class, from which most of the professions\nare supplied; both men and women spoke without a trace of dialect, and\ntheir manners were perfect\u2014but then, thank Heaven, Italy is the natural\nhome of good manners! I shall never forget the gentle, unobtrusive\nsweetness of those women, as they moved about in perfect silence,\nin their black Sunday frocks and little bits of ancient jewellery,\nattending to all our wants so carefully and deftly, but refusing to\ntake any part in the conversation. That was not what was expected of\nthem!\n\nThe long elaborate feast had gone from \u201cante-pasto\u201d and vermouth\nright through to the sweets; my girl friend and I looked at each other\nquestioningly. We were growing fidgetty and wondered who was to give\nthe signal to rise, since we were the only women at the table\u2014when,\nto our dismay and despair, the whole meal began all over again! Course\nafter course, in regular sequence, we had to sit it through and pretend\nto taste the new varieties of fish, flesh, and fowl which came in a\nsteady stream from the kitchen. It was like some crazy dream! I think\nwe had sat at that table nearly four hours before we were invited to\ntake our coffee in the salone. The sun was sinking then, and, to our\nintense relief, the Marchese announced that we must be moving or we\nshould not reach home that night. The farewells were elaborate, and our\ngratitude for all the trouble the dear people had taken was very real;\nthey packed a whole hamper of ancient Roman dainties for us to take\nalong lest we should faint by the way; but our joy when we got into\nthe open air, with our faces towards home, was inexpressible. As we\nentered the woods\u2014less alluring in the dusk than in the fresh morning\nhours\u2014a shadowy fourth joined our party, a smiling little man on a very\nsmall donkey. In two minutes the Marchese had made friends with him and\ncalled out to us in English: \u201cGirls, think up some compliments! This\nis the man who cooked the dinner. They sent twenty miles for him\u2014and he\nwants to know if you liked it!\u201d\n\nA woman noted for the charm and variety of her entertainments once said\nto me: \u201cI do try to give respectable parties, but somehow they always\nturn into school feasts!\u201d I am afraid the same kind of thing happens\nto me in regard to serious subjects. With the best intentions in the\nworld I start to tell the story of some great person who has kindled my\nadmiration\u2014and in the middle of the tale the sun strikes on my page\u2014a\nchild laughs across the street\u2014or some old refrain comes lilting to my\nears, and farewell to the historic train of thought! My hero or saint\nrecedes into the shadows and relinquishes the canvas to a thousand\namiable little sprites of memory, who hold it till they have frisked\nthrough the very last step of their dance!\n\nI do not know why, on this sunny July morning, there should rise before\nme a picture of a dark old house in the steep street of a Sabina town,\nwhere we drew rein after a long day\u2019s ride to ask for rooms. The night\nwas falling, there was no inn in the place, and somebody had told us\nthat perhaps the people here would take us in. Our party was that with\nwhich I left Castel Gandolfo some chapters ago\u2014my stepfather, Marion,\nand the Hon. and Rev. G\u2014\u2014 C\u2014\u2014, who had already several times saved\nmy life by stopping my runaway steed, a wall-eyed old crock given\nto me because he looked so reassuringly tame. He was quiet enough at\nthat moment; we were both stiff and tired; and I slid to the ground,\nresolved not to go a step further, whatever the people of the house\nshould say. The padrona came down and looked us over critically. Yes,\nshe could take in the gentlemen if they would all sleep in one room,\nbut it was impossible to receive the signorina\u2014there was really nowhere\nto put her! I replied by walking into the house, and sitting down\non the first chair I could find, and defying her to turn me out. She\nstood and looked at me, considering. \u201cWell,\u201d she said at last, \u201cthere\n_is_ a room\u2014it belongs to my little boy\u2014perhaps he will not come home\nto-night. Yes, you may sleep there, Poverina! I see you are tired out.\u201d\n\nShe led me down a long twisting passage and threw open a door,\nholding the brass \u201clucerna\u201d high to light me in. I saw a bed and a\nchair, and what I took to be a highly variegated wallpaper. \u201cIt will\ndo beautifully,\u201d I said. \u201cTell the gentlemen that I don\u2019t want any\nsupper\u2014I am going straight to bed!\u201d\n\n\u201cBuon riposo, bella mia!\u201d (A good rest, my beautiful!) she replied,\nand shutting the door tramped away till her footsteps were lost in the\ndistance. Then I looked round. \u201cWhat a funny room for a little boy!\u201d\nI thought. Guns and hunting knives hung on racks all about, and what\nI had thought was wallpaper turned out to be a gigantic collection of\nthe pictures off the French match-boxes, which had just begun to find\ntheir way into our part of the world, and which were not admitted into\nour house because they were so improper. The little boy had covered the\nwalls with them from top to bottom! Well, it was none of my business,\nand I prepared to lie down and forget them, but when I went to lock the\ndoor I found that it had no key and would hardly close at all. Fatigue,\nhowever, got the better of nervousness\u2014it was a respectable house,\nafter all.\n\nI was almost ready to get into bed, when a heavy step came along the\npassage, accompanied by the cheerful whistling of an old opera air.\nI sprang up, too late to prevent the door being thrown wide open\u2014and\nfound myself staring at a tall young man in town clothes and a red tie,\nwho jumped back as if he had been shot. I screamed\u2014he swore\u2014and then we\nboth broke into peals of laughter. As soon as he could get his breath\nhe apologised abjectly for the intrusion\u2014\u201cMamm\u00e0\u201d had not told him\nabout any guests\u2014I was a thousand times welcome to his room\u2014and would I\npermit him to look for some necessary articles before he relieved me of\nthe inconvenience of his presence? I tried to bow with proper dignity,\nsitting on the edge of the bed with a cloak around me, and he scuttled\nabout, dived into various drawers for garments, tobacco, matches, and\ntook his leave with careful courtesy, never having even glanced in my\ndirection after the first startling encounter. The country dandy was\nquite as much of a \u201cblue-rose\u201d as the Austrian Prince who earned his\nname among the girls in Rome\u2014but that paladin belongs to another story.\n\nAs one travels southward the character of the people changes, and\nin the later years of my life I have felt more at home with my\nfellow-beings of the South than with the inhabitants of Romagna. Their\noutlook is simpler, more indulgent, and their religious faith far more\nfervent. I think the southern custom of going on pilgrimages was a\nvery valuable one to the contadini of the \u201cRegno.\u201d It used to be rare\nto find middle-aged people of the labouring class in the province,\nwho had not travelled a little in that way and thus learnt that the\nworld was not confined to their own small town or hamlet. I suppose the\ngood custom will die out in time, like so many others, but it will not\nsuffer much diminution while such wonderful new centres of attraction\nspring up as, for instance, the \u201cSantuario\u201d of New Pompeii, which I\ndescribed in a former book.[11] But many an unforgotten shrine in the\nmore remote hills has, like La Mentorana in the Sabines, its one day\nor night of glory in the year, when the peasants come in great bands,\neven from far away, and the chants and litanies go up all night long\nin and around some dim old Church. Such a festival takes place at San\nSalvatore in the Abruzzi, in the late summer, and is the scene of a\ngreat gathering of the people of the Penisola Sarrcutina.\n\nA night expedition is always alluring; and, besides, I had wanted to\nsee this particular festa for years, so I took one of the servants with\nme\u2014a broad-shouldered woman of the people, strong enough to carry me if\nneed be\u2014and we set out, in a carrozzella, on a moonless night towards\nnine o\u2019clock. Very soon we had left Sorrento and its lights behind\nand were climbing by steep narrow roads into the wild mountains that\ncluster round Monte Sant\u2019 Angelo. The chain of the Abruzzi that runs\nout into the sea as the backbone of the Penisola rises sharp and high\nfrom the rounded cup of the Piano di Sorrento, and, elsewhere, gives\nway but little on either side to the needs of men. From the \u201cPiano\u201d and\nthe narrowing strip of level land, the cliffs facing the north plunge\nclear into the water which has worn them into huge caves, each with\nits tiny cove of sand, divided from one another by great outstanding\nbuttresses of rock. As soon as one turns inland one is lost in the\ntwisting defiles that scar the mountains through and through; and the\ndeep old roads, narrow and steep, crawl up away from the regions of\nvines and olives till they reach wild, empty highlands, where only the\nhardiest shrubs and flowers will grow. It is an impressive experience\nto travel through these forgotten roads on a starlit night, further and\nfurther from the sound of the sea and the haunts of men. The loneliness\nis enormous, earth recedes from sight, and one is conscious of very\nlittle except that unfathomable sky overhead, dripping and sprayed\nwith live silver to its furthest faintest depths, while some gorgeous\nplanet of our own system wheels its way between crag and crag as one\nmoves along. Broom and wild rosemary reach out from the wall of rock to\nbrush your face; a tang of bitter sweetness, clear as an exclamation,\nfills your nostrils for an instant, and you know that you are passing\na clump of immortelles hidden in a cleft you cannot see. And then the\nwild power of it all goes to your head; you are not a modern mortal\nwith a thousand anchors fastening you to the scrap heap of the workaday\nworld, but a new-born princess of romance, travelling through the hills\nof fairyland to take possession of your unknown, enormous castle; its\nthousand windows are glowing gold beyond that last peak, all lighted\nup for your reception; in its deep courts and airy bowers invisible\nsubjects will minister to your wants. In a high tower looking south all\nthe great books in the world are waiting to be read; there is a terrace\na hundred feet from the ground, perfumed and trellised, where you can\nwatch the stars; and not a single creature in the whole world will ever\nfind the way to the castle!\n\n\u201cQu\u00ec si v\u00e0 a piedi, \u2018cellenza!\u201d said Maria, climbing down from her\nseat. The little carriage could go no further, and I returned suddenly\nto earth and meekly followed her example. The sound of voices and\nfootsteps began to fill the air, and we came on shadowy groups resting\nby the wayside, pilgrims who had come from far on foot. Then at a\nsudden turn we were in the piazza, and all outer things, sky and stars\nand peaks, were swallowed up in blackness, for the piazza was one\nblaze of orange light, from hundreds of torches, burning luridly and\noutlining the dark fa\u00e7ade of the Church with red-gold gleams that rose\nand sank like dancing waters; turning a face here, a costume there, to\nunearthly brightness and then leaping away in tall tongues of fire, to\nbe lost in the mist of smoke overhead. The crowd was so thick that we\ncould scarcely reach the Church, from the open doors of which a flood\nof broad yellow radiance streamed out over the heads of the pilgrims\nwho knelt in serried ranks on the portico, all faces turned to the\ninterior, whence streamed that soft illumination. When we stood on\nthe threshold I saw that it came from the High Altar, which seemed\nto be floating in a vast \u201cmandorla\u201d of light. Hundreds and hundreds\nof wax candles, each a tongue of steady golden flame, surrounded the\nTabernacle and reached, in an oval of fire, almost to the roof. The\nwalls of the Church were covered with white draperies, to which were\nfastened wreaths and garlands and single sprays of flowers, a delicate\nornamentation as old as ancient Rome and always used in the Penisola;\nand every pilaster was panelled from top to bottom with crimson damask\ntrimmed with gold\u2014those precious strips of drapery which the well-to-do\nfamilies hoard from generation to generation and lend to the different\nChurches as required. From door to Altar rails the Church was packed\nwith kneeling worshippers, and a great hush prevailed, for midnight had\nstruck and Mass was about to begin.\n\nMy companion, threading her way with coaxing apologies, pulled me along\ntill she found a place where we could both kneel by a pillar at the top\nof the Church, and just as we had settled ourselves a sweet-voiced old\norgan, high up in an invisible gallery, sent out the first notes of the\nchant, filling the little ancient building with a flood of music\u2014not\nthe usual gay tunes that Italians love to hear in Church, but solemn\nthrilling airs from some old Mass that I had never heard before. The\nsingers had been brought from far, and the voices were of the best,\nwhich is saying a great deal in South Italy, where everybody is born\nwith \u201ca harp in his throat.\u201d Somehow it was one of the most beautiful\nservices I ever attended. The absorbed devotion of the people, the\nreverent manner of the Celebrant and his assistants, the full-throated\nresponses that were taken up by the kneeling crowd outside, where\nevery sound was hushed the moment Mass began\u2014it was the very essence of\nwhole-hearted, loving worship.\n\nA number of persons went to Communion; there was a rousing sermon, and\nthen came much jollification in the piazza, crammed with little booths\nthat looked like altars of flame themselves, the wildly flaring torches\nlighting up strange wares\u2014long rosaries of yellow nuts that swung in\nthe wind, artificial roses set in a whirl of spun glass, each with its\npin to stick into hat or braids of hair, holy pictures in the crude\nreds and blues that the people love, sweetmeats and honey-cakes and\nfruit. Outside and everywhere beyond, the blackness of night, and on\nthat tiny plateau of the rocks a little whirlpool of life and fire.\n\nWe crept away, I and my Maria, and after some trouble found our\ncarrozzella and its driver, and started for home just as the darkness\nthinned before the dawn. It was cold enough in the mountain roads then,\nand I was glad to reach the lower levels and the hospitable gate of the\nvilla by the sea.\n\nI think it was in that same year that my brother\u2019s two boys,\nenthusiastically aided by all the sailors, invented a kind of\nswitchback railway which really carried passengers! They got four\nor five little trucks built\u2014without saying a word to any of us\u2014and,\ncoupling them together, started at the outer gate of the villa and\nraced down the long paved incline which led, between walls covered\nwith stephanotis and jessamine, to the round garden in front of the\nhouse. Here the encircling walk was also paved, and the impetus of the\ndownward rush carried the train once or twice round the whole space,\nafter which Luigi and Antonio submissively dragged it all the way to\nthe front gate again. There was quite an excitement in whirling round\nthe corners, and for some days every member of the family had to get\ninto the cars and be carried along, an occasional upset only adding\nto the delight of the experience, as far as Harold and Bertie were\nconcerned. Then they built a \u201cristorante\u201d at one point, and installed\ntheir sisters to dispense lemonade and bonbons to the weary travellers,\nwho were supposed to have come from an immense distance. Of course the\ntravellers had to pay\u2014such an undertaking costs money! Then, as the\nautumn days drew in, there were night excursions, when the train, with\nheadlights on, came roaring down the garden to a great accompaniment of\nhoots and whistles, quite an alarming thing to meet if one were taking\na stroll in the twilight.\n\nThe \u201cferro-via\u201d was a great success, but the owners of the line panted\nfor more public recognition. We elders did not care to risk ourselves\nin the trucks after dark, and for two or three evenings, as we sat\nover our tea in the drawing-room, we wondered rather at the steady\npersistence with which the train rushed backwards and forwards outside.\nThe boys were unusually silent about their exploits now, but from their\nbright eyes and their sisters\u2019 obstinate refusal to answer questions,\nwe could not help fancying that some kind of mischief was afoot. Then\none evening, just before dinner, Bonifazio came into the drawing-room,\nlooking very scared.\n\n\u201cSignora mia,\u201d he exclaimed to my sister-in-law, \u201cdo you know what\nthe Signorini are doing? The entire town is gathered in the piazzale\noutside the gate, and the young gentlemen are taking all the passengers\nthe cars will hold, twice round the garden\u2014for two sous the trip!\nAnd the young ladies are actually _selling refreshments to these\ncontadini_! For the love of Heaven, let the Signora stop this scandal!\nThe people are fighting to get into the cars!\u201d\n\nIt would be interesting to know what is really going on in children\u2019s\nminds\u2014those fairy plans which they weave steadily through lessons and\nplay and would rather die than confide to their elders! I remember\na surprise that my small brother and sister sprung upon the family\nbefore I was married\u2014a scheme all worked and irrevocably launched\nbefore accident revealed it to any of the grown-ups in the house. Daisy\nwas about nine years old, and Arthur, her submissive slave, just over\nseven. It was the height of the winter season, and there was the usual\nrush of engagements for weeks ahead, when at some afternoon reception\na friend of my mother\u2019s said to her: \u201cWe are so glad next Thursday is\nfree! We shall be so much interested to see your children\u2019s play!\u201d\n\n\u201cMy children\u2019s play? There must be some mistake,\u201d my mother replied. \u201cI\nhave not issued any invitations for theatricals!\u201d\n\n\u201cYour little people have,\u201d the lady retorted. \u201cLook at this!\u201d\n\nAnd she produced a card on which was written in a nice round hand:\n\u201cMiss Terry and Master Arthur Terry request the pleasure of Mrs. \u2014\u2014\u2019s\ncompany on Thursday next at nine o\u2019clock. (_Theatrakulls._)\u201d\n\nMy mother\u2019s feelings were not to be described! Within ten minutes three\nor four other people smilingly informed her that they, too, had been\ninvited and certainly meant to come. There was nothing for it but to\ngo straight home and find out what the little monkeys had committed us\nto. On being sternly questioned, Daisy, with the imperturbable calmness\nthat distinguished her even then, produced a list of some two hundred\nnames, culled from Mamma\u2019s visiting book, and said: \u201cThese are the\npeople we have asked. We chose the ones we liked, of course. _I_ have\ncomposed the play and it will be most interesting. Arthur is in love\nwith me, Sofia is my rival\u2014I have one or two other children in it,\nbut they are rather stupid, so I shall have to do most of the acting\nmyself. Don\u2019t worry me, please\u2014you have nothing to do but order the\nsupper and send for the chairs!\u201d\n\nOf course we submitted. Everything had been done in order; Daisy\n(Arthur could not write well enough as yet) must have devoted her\nplaytime, for days, to writing out the invitations, which the servants\nhad carried to their addresses, never doubting but that the Signora\u2019s\nauthorisation had been obtained. We were not allowed to see the last\nrehearsals even, the drop-curtain of the little theatre in the ballroom\nbeing jealously closed while they went on. I tried to get taken on as\nmanager\u2014no use! \u201cI know exactly what I am about,\u201d said my small sister.\n\u201cI haven\u2019t watched you grown-ups all these years for nothing! It\u2019s\ngoing to be a _great success_!\u201d\n\nWhich it certainly was! Daisy\u2019s speeches were a little long, because\nsome of the others forgot their parts and she had to bridge their\nsilences by expressing their sentiments for them. \u201cI know what you\nwould say, dear friend\u2014your heart is true, but you fear the vengeance\nof the Marquis! Oh, I understand!\u201d And so on. Then, at the critical\nmoment of the love scene, Arthur got stage-fright, and the Marquise,\nwho was naturally taller than her adorer, stooped towards him and\nenergetically whispered, \u201cGo down on your knees and kiss my hand _this\nminute, stupid_!\u201d at which a roar of merriment swept through the room,\nto end in a storm of applause as the small boy, dropping on one knee,\ngave the hand a smacking kiss and exclaimed ardently, \u201c_My Angel!_\u201d\n\nOh, yes, it was a great success! The little Marquise was a born\nactress, and carried it all off so well that the guests declared they\nhad never enjoyed an evening so much. But we \u201cgrown-ups\u201d had passed\nsome anxious moments; and when it was all over and the triumphant\nperformers had had all the applause, as well as all the cake and\ngoodies they wanted, we extracted a sleepy promise that we should be at\nleast warned the next time they asked the town to a play!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nA STORY OF VENICE\n\n A Follower of the Condottieri\u2014The Raw Recruit\u2014Division of\n the Dukedom of Milan\u2014Carmagnola\u2019s Turn\u2014Growth in Wealth and\n Power\u2014Disaffection\u2014Venice Acquires His Services\u2014War with Milan\u2014A\n Leisurely Campaign\u2014Carmagnola at the Height of His Glory\u2014Fortune\n Turns Against the Venetians\u2014Stirrings of Suspicion\u2014Reception in\n Venice\u2014The Senate Chamber\u2014Growing Dusk\u2014The Attack\u2014End of His Part\n in the World\u2014Another Story of the North\u2014St. Raniero, the Patron of\n Pisa\u2014The Power of Temperance.\n\n\nHere is a story of Venice. In the early part of the Fifteenth Century\na Northern soldier, riding home through the sweet-smelling summer\ntwilight, dreaming in all probability of some dusky-eyed maiden of\nthe border states, stopped by the side of a field to look about him\nfor a shelter for the night. That he would be welcome at any inn, he\nwas sure, for he was returning from the wars to spend his not very\nhard-earned prize money, of which his saddlebags were full.\n\nOne can imagine him, pushing back his helmet and regarding the fair\ncountryside with the appreciative eye of the professional marauder,\nsmacking his dusty lips at the thought of the weeks of hilarious\nwickedness that his loot would buy for him. The picture is not\noverdrawn, I can assure the reader, for they were little more than wild\nbeasts, those followers of the great Condottieri, brought under an iron\ndiscipline, the yoke of which they were willing to bear, for a time,\nin return for the ample pay and the opportunities, which their service\nafforded them, of sacking unoffending towns and robbing and spearing\nharmless and unarmed citizens and ravishing their wives and daughters.\nHere and there, stray flowers in those acres of weeds, a fairly decent\ncharacter appeared among them, but, from such accounts as can be found,\nthese latter never seem to have stayed long in their ranks.\n\nAs it has been said, the rival bands that infested Italy and Southern\nFrance in those merry days never made any serious attempt to injure\neach other, unless driven to such unpleasant measures by the sternest\nnecessity\u2014or, to be sure, unless some particularly rich bit of loot\nwas between them. As a general thing, though, they do not seem to have\ndisplayed even the common courage of the wolf. The longer a campaign\ncould be dragged out the better for all concerned, was their motto, and\nthey lived up to it, even to the point of punctiliously letting loose\nall the prisoners they took from each other after every engagement. A\nsafer and more care-free life than theirs would be difficult, if not\nimpossible, to imagine. The people who hired them were, of course,\nutterly unable to cope with their enemies\u2014with their enemies\u2019 bravos,\nthat is to say\u2014by themselves, and were as completely helpless against\ntheir own servants; it was altogether an ideal state of things.\n\nTo return to our trooper, breathing his horse and, probably, smacking\nhis lips over the prospect of the cheer with which his blood-spotted\nloot would provide him for the next month or so. Looking around in the\nearly dusk, he noticed a boy, working desultorily in the fields, and,\nwhile his horse rested, he studied him. There was something in the way\nin which he carried his head, and the set of his chin and jaw, which\nsounded a sympathetic echo in the trooper\u2019s breast. This was no common\npeasant, he told himself, and called out to the boy to come over and\nspeak to him. Nothing loath, the youth obeyed, and the upshot of this\nconversation was that the boy elected to take the trooper\u2019s advice and\nfollow him.\n\nThe trooper, one imagines, must have been in the service of Facino\nCane, a grizzled, deaf old soldier with a high reputation, as\nreputations went in those days, and it did not take the new recruit\nlong to show his worth. Even when he was still young, Cane seems to\nhave recognised in him an equal if not a superior and refused flatly to\npromote him, swearing that, if he was given one step, he would take all\nthe rest for himself.\n\nFrancesco Bussone, better known as Carmagnola, retired into himself,\nand bided his time. Cane was great, and with Cane there was always\nprofitable employment in plenty. So he decided to remain where he\nwas; but, if Facino Cane continued to behave as he had been doing of\nlate, it was not likely that he would last for very long, and in the\nhappy and quite possible event of his being assassinated before long,\nCarmagnola would take his place. There would be no one, he felt sure,\nwho would wish to oppose him, and, if there were, he thought he knew\nhow to overcome their opposition. Cane had a splendid force under\nhim\u2014and they would need a leader, to be of any use to themselves. They\nwould choose him for themselves. One can almost hear him saying to\nhimself, as he leaves the chief\u2019s presence and looks back at the door:\n\u201cEh! ch\u00ec va piano va sano\u2014ch\u00ec va sano va lontano!\u201d (\u201cWho goes slowly,\ngoes safely\u2014who goes safely, goes far!\u201d)\n\nCane, for his part, was neither going slowly nor safely. Giovanni, Duke\nof Milan, had but recently died. He had been as good a soldier as any\nCondottiere that ever drew sword and he had held his Dukedom together\nwith his own good right arm. But now, in the hands of his eldest son,\nGian Maria, the inheritance was falling to pieces. Gian Maria was a\ndegenerate\u2014a lunatic\u2014it is even said that he fed his hounds with human\nflesh; and, in a very short time, the cities of the Dukedom\u2014Piacenza,\nParma, Cremona, Lodi\u2014revolted, and the several Condottieri, who had\nformerly served Giovanni, seized the opportunity of realising their\nambition, which was to become independent rulers themselves. There was\nno great difficulty about this, once a division of the spoil was agreed\nupon, for each had a small army at his back and the ability to use it.\nThe inhabitants, helpless in the face of trained fighters, put forward\nno opposition, so that, in six months or less, six or seven Dukes\nexisted where only one had existed before.\n\nCane seized upon Pavia, the younger son\u2019s portion, and kept the heir a\nprisoner in his own court. Not long afterwards he dethroned the elder\nson, and, it is to be supposed, arranged his end for him at the hands\nof the Milanese. He, himself, died in Pavia within a day of the Duke\u2019s\nassassination. No remark is made by historians on the subject of his\ndeath save that he died, but where the character of his ducal prisoner\nis considered and the excellent reasons he had for wishing his gaoler\ndead are taken into account, the latter\u2019s end may, I think, be safely\nlaid at Filippo Maria\u2019s door.\n\nSo that, in the end, Carmagnola was right in his determination to wait\nupon events. Now his turn came. The soldiers were left leaderless,\nand Carmagnola seized the captainship instantly\u2014at the age of\ntwenty-two\u2014while Filippo Maria as instantly married Cane\u2019s widow,\nin order to get the old soldier\u2019s estates, and, these being secured,\nbrought a false accusation against her and had her executed.\n\nThis worthy couple then joined hands, to recover the lost cities, and\nCarmagnola began to show something of his quality. He recaptured Milan,\nkilling the usurper, and, one by one, brought back the other cities to\nhis employer, as a reward for which he was made Count of Castelmuro and\nmarried to a daughter of Giovanni Galleazzo, one Antonia.\n\nIt seemed as though Fortunatus\u2019 purse had been emptied over him, in the\nyears that followed; wealth, honour, position all were his, and so rich\nand powerful did he become that he was even permitted to invest in the\nbonded debt of Venice.\n\nHe must have grown careless, after a while, for his enemies\u2014and they\nwere numbered by the score\u2014continued to get the Duke\u2019s ear and to\npoison his mind. They probably used Carmagnola\u2019s popularity with his\nmen as an instrument, and played upon Filippo\u2019s morbid pride and his\nunhealthy nerves, until he saw in his great general a Frankenstein\nof his own creation, which, if it were not itself destroyed, would\npresently destroy him.\n\nOne cannot think that Carmagnola was anything but careless, for when\nPhilip demanded some of his bodyguard from him for a special purpose\nhe protested with honest vigour against this taking of a weapon from\none who knew how to use it and handing it to one who did not. Getting\nno reply, he became impatient, and sought one in person, by forcing his\nway into Philip\u2019s presence, but he was stopped at the gate and then his\ntemper left him.\n\nHis remarks were few and incisive, his opinions of the courtiers about\nPhilip\u2019s person plain as the tower at which he shouted them, and he\nwound up with an open threat directed at both. That done, he turned and\nrode off with his half-dozen attendants, and one brave gentleman who\nhad ridden out to pursue him was so terrified at the sight of him, as\nhe galloped across the marshy fields, his head on his chest, rage like\nan embodied spirit beside him, that he thought better of his intention\nand made back into the safe shelter of Abbiti. Carmagnola pursued his\nway without pausing until he came to the Court of Amadeus of Savoy, who\nwas his own liege lord, and here he immediately offered his services,\nexplaining at the same time what had just happened to him.\n\nFilippo, in the meanwhile, confiscated his estates and seized his wife\nand daughter as hostages. That Antonia was his own sister\u2014or, at least,\nhad always passed as such\u2014made not the slightest difference to the\nscoundrelly Filippo, and Carmagnola does not seem to have so much as\ntroubled his head about the women.\n\nYet, for some reason, he seems to have excused Filippo\u2019s\nconduct\u2014openly, at least\u2014and to have placed the blame where most of\nit belonged\u2014on his surroundings. Then, casually, as though the idea\nhad only just occurred to him, he spoke of various and choice pieces\nof territory, whose ownership, though nominally Filippo\u2019s, was, he\naverred, doubtful.\n\nTo his disappointment, Amadeus refused to be drawn into the affair,\nand Carmagnola presently set off for Venice, always a safe resort for\nwarriors of any quality.\n\nHe arrived at an auspicious moment, for Venice was hesitating as to\nthe worth-whileness of an alliance which had been proposed to her by\nFlorence for the purpose of attacking Carmagnola\u2019s late master, Filippo\nof Milan.\n\nThe Venetians, living as they did, in an almost continuous state of\nwar with one or other of their neighbours, were only too glad of the\nopportunity of gaining the services of the famous free-lance and gave\nhim the command of their land army, within a very few weeks of his\narrival\u2014Foscari, the Procurator of St. Mark, in the meantime, pushing\nforward the alliance with Florence, in season and out of season. In\nthis he was opposed by Mocenigo, the Doge, who, in spite of his eighty\nyears, and even on his deathbed, in the presence of senators and\nministers, uttered a solemn and prophetic warning against the war. He\nmust have been a truly wonderful old man, for in that farewell speech\nof his, delivered from the edge of the grave, he gave a complete and\naccurate account of the State\u2019s finances, and of its employ\u00e9s\u2019, down\nto the ship\u2019s caulkers and the manufacturers of fustian, besides\nremembering the number of gentlemen with incomes between seven hundred\nand four thousand ducats. At the end of it, he told his hearers that,\nif they rejected his advice and quarrelled with Milan, in a very short\nwhile they would find themselves under the heel of a military despotism\nwhich would take the very coats from their backs\u2014all of which presently\ncame to pass. Finally he warned them against Foscari, whose election to\nthe Dogeship some of them, as he knew, favoured.\n\nBut his warnings were in vain, for Foscari was elected over Loredano,\nin a conclave the account of which is curiously like that of a\npolitical convention of to-day\u2014the holding of a number of votes\nin reserve, the speeches on both sides, the trick by which Foscari\nirritated his noble old opponent into losing his temper and abusing\nhis adversaries. There is nothing new, of course, under the sun, but it\ngives one a queer thrill when one comes upon things like these.\n\nSoon afterwards, Carmagnola was offered the command already referred\nto, and Filippo, on hearing the news, made an attempt to have his old\ncomrade poisoned, but the agents were caught and executed after having\nbeen thoroughly and soundly tortured.\n\nThere followed visits and embassies from Milan and Florence\u2014the\nMilanese gay, careless, assured; the Florentines grave and soberly\nclad, leaving no stone unturned, no mine of favour unworked. Carmagnola\nstalked through the Milanese Masque, like a shadow through a field\nof poppies, and when the Senators, torn between the pleadings of the\nFlorentine Ambassador and the easy, somewhat scornful reply of the\nMilanese envoy, hesitated, the Condottiere, enraged by the attempt just\nmade upon his life, presented his side of the case, pointing out that\nFilippo\u2019s apparent strength was only the result of his, Carmagnola\u2019s,\nvictories, and that of his own he had none at all, and openly\nproclaiming his hatred and scorn, both of the Duke and his soldiers.\n\nThat settled the matter, and the league with Florence, which presently\nembraced Ferrara, Mantua, the Sienese, Amadeus VIII of Savoy, and King\nAlphonso of Naples, was formed.\n\nIt is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to discover the true\ncharacter of Carmagnola at this time of day. Some speak of him as being\na double-faced villain, some\u2014Sismondi, for instance\u2014as of a demigod.\nGreat he was, talented in many directions, and all but invincible; like\nothers, he may have had several sides to his nature, and each of these,\nas it met for the moment the sun of events, may have represented the\nwhole man for the time being.\n\nThe Duke of Milan now began to feel the weight of the hand he had\nturned against himself, although, at the outset of the war, Carmagnola\ndoes not appear to have exerted himself greatly. Brescia fell\u2014whether\nto the Florentine commander or to the Venetian, is a matter of opinion.\nProbably the Florentine siege works and the effect of Carmagnola\u2019s\nreputation were equally responsible\u2014and the Duke ceded the conquest on\nthe 30th of December; not, however, before he had made an attempt to\nburn down the Venetian arsenal and another of his several agents had\nbeen caught by the Venetians and carefully tortured to death.\n\nCarmagnola, from all accounts, seems still to have been divided between\nthe desire of earning his pay from the Venetians and an unwillingness,\neven now and in spite of everything, to push his old employer more\nthan was necessary to accomplish the ends he had in mind. This\nwas difficult, for the Venetians, having paid like the hard-headed\nmerchants they were, wanted plenty of blood and destruction for their\nmoney, and the amicable habit which time and practice had crystallised\ninto a precedent, of returning prisoners after an engagement, in order\nto keep the good work going on, was not at all to their minds.\n\nIt was not long before Filippo began to tire of the almost monotonous\nseries of defeats which overtook his leaders, and, though breathing\nfire against Carmagnola, and complaining bitterly of what he was\npleased to call the \u201cbad faith\u201d of the poor Florentines (whom he had\nbeen bullying so heartily and for so long), he was forced to sue for\nthe good offices of Pope Martin V, who, although none too pleased at\nbeing dragged into such company, yet helped him, for the sake of the\nsmudged name he bore.\n\nOf course such a peace could not last for any length of time. No one\nof the parties to it trusted any of the others in the slightest, and\nVenice had, so far, swallowed up all the profits of the campaign which\nincluded Brescia and all its castles and territory up to the Lago di\nGarda, and a portion of Cremona besides.\n\nThis peace was concluded on the 30th of December, 1426, and Carmagnola\nwent into winter quarters, under the admiring eyes of his temporary\nfellow-citizens.\n\nHis family had contrived to join him, by now, and the time passed\npleasantly away for the grizzled and somewhat war-worn captain. He\nhad punished Filippo, and had besides secured what promised to be the\nmost profitable employment upon which he had ever entered. He knew the\nVisconti; he must have been quite sure that Filippo had no intention of\ngiving up the struggle as tamely as that, and when it recommenced he\nwould, he imagined, be able to dictate the terms under which he could\ncondescend to serve.\n\nHe was right in both conjectures. No sooner was the peace signed than\nFilippo turned his energies to the accumulation of a force with which\nto open a campaign in the spring. Besides this, he assembled a fleet\nfor the purpose of attacking Mantua and Ferrara. This the Venetians\ndestroyed near Cremona on the 21st of May, 1427.\n\nFilippo, who had up till now taken small thought of anything except\nnumbers and talent, soon began to feel, as so many others have done\nbefore and since, the extreme difficulty of getting any cohesive\naction from a force which, split up into many small bodies, gave its\nallegiance to six or seven separate commanders, all of equal merit,\nand all claiming, on their records, the right to administer the whole.\nCarmagnola, on the other hand, being a Condottiere himself, allowed no\none, however distinguished his birth or his position, even to approach\nhis throne, much less share it. The Venetian authorities themselves he\nhandled as roughly as he dared, and they, as Mocenigo had prophesied,\nfound themselves under a despotism which made the rule of the dreaded\n\u201cTen\u201d a kindergarten affair in comparison.\n\nFilippo, exercising a purely imaginary authority, gave the command of\nhis troops to Nicolo Piccino, a pupil of the celebrated Braccio, and\nhe attacked Carmagnola at Casalecco on the 12th of July, but so thick\nwas the dust under foot that before they had well engaged they became\ninvisible and separated without shock.\n\nIt was a leisurely campaign. Whatever might be the anxiety of the\nprincipals to settle the quarrel, their defenders were not to be\nhurried, and it was not until the 11th of October that Carmagnola was\ncalled upon to fight a pitched battle. He had been spending most of his\ntime in the interval at the baths of Albano, where he took a cure for\nrheumatism.\n\nSuspicion is a disease among some people, and, though its workings are\nnot by any means confined to one class, it must be owned that power\nof any kind has always been a happy breeding ground for it. With the\nrulers of Venice it was hereditary, and, since it was unsafe openly to\nsuspect each other, they invariably lavished their venomous mistrust\nupon their servants and instruments. But, true to their Latinity, they\ngave their victim no chance of feeling it or even of defending himself.\nIn silence they judged, in silence they acted, and always with such a\nwealth of deception, cunning, and falsehood as to proclaim their own\ncowardice and meanness from the housetops.\n\nThe battle of the 11th of October took place in a marsh near Macalo,\nand Carmagnola having lured his adversary, Carlo Malastata, into the\nswamps\u2014with which he himself was perfectly familiar\u2014turned upon and\nbeat him soundly, capturing, it is said, upwards of five thousand,\nincluding Malastata himself.\n\nHe made no attempt to pursue, and immediately released all of his\nprisoners, thereby giving the Venetian Senate a solid handle for the\nblade of calumny which they had been forging. When the protests of\nthe Venetians reached him, he refused to discuss the matter, merely\nreplying that it was the custom of war and, further, that it was his\nwish. His contempt for his employers was a little too open, and they,\nthough apparently acquiescing and praising his skill, were already\nplotting his end. The gentle habit of executing a defeated general,\nwherever possible, was in vogue then and for many years afterwards. As\nlong as Carmagnola could continue to win cities and provinces for them,\nso long could he continue to live, but no longer.\n\nA new peace was signed on the 18th of April, 1428, and peace descended\nupon Venice for nearly three years. Carmagnola passed the time in\nVenice with his family around him; treated with all honour and respect\nto his face, laughed at, as he knew, for his low birth and rough ways,\nbehind his back. Disliked, but courted, under pressure, for no one\ncould say how long this new peace would last, and Venice, in the field,\nwas Carmagnola. Without him, Filippo\u2019s men\u2014Piccino, Tonelli, and the\nrest\u2014would strip her to the waterfront.\n\nThe Florentines, grown confident and aggressive, now took the\nopportunity to attack the Lord of Lucca, Paolo Quinigi, a one-time ally\nof Filippo\u2019s, and the Lucchesi, revolting, deposed Quinigi and sent him\nto Milan as a prisoner. The Florentines were, soon afterwards, attacked\nand routed by Piccino at Sarchio on the 2d of December, 1430; and once\nagain the old flame broke out.\n\nCarmagnola, to everybody\u2019s surprise, resigned his commission\u2014or,\nrather, attempted to resign it\u2014and the Senate, in a panic, offered\nhim such terms for another campaign as were never offered to any\nCondottiere before or since.\n\nCarmagnola, who was then, or had been but a short while before, in\ncommunication with Filippo, finally accepted the command, though with\nreluctance. Perhaps he had the prophetic depression which so often\nseizes commanders before a disaster; perhaps he had tired of Venice and\nher service.\n\nFortune had turned against the Venetians. First their admiral,\nTrevisano, was caught napping at Cremona and his fleet destroyed under\nCarmagnola\u2019s furious eyes. His remarks to the admiral afterwards and\nto the Venetian Senate were so mixed and incoherent with rage that the\nSenate hurriedly sent down special Commissioners to assure him of their\nconfidence and love.\n\nPiccino wandered about picking up odds and ends, a castle here, a town\nthere, but Carmagnola refused to move. Filippo, wild with delight,\nhovered in his neighbourhood, sending taunts and insults to him on\nevery opportunity, but the old tiger lay in his lair.\n\nHe had been defeated at Soncino, and, though that was a small and\nunimportant event in itself, yet taken in conjunction with the disaster\nto the fleet, it became a disaster, too. A distemper arose among the\nhorses that year in Italy, which accounts, in a large degree, for\nCarmagnola\u2019s inaction, and, though he roused himself sufficiently to\ndefeat the Hungarians at Friuli, he relapsed again afterwards into\ninactivity.\n\nNo signs of impatience or mistrust escaped the Senate, however.\nInstead, they sent a splendid deputation, begging him to give himself\nthe trouble of returning to Venice for a while to consult with the\nSignoria as to the conduct of the coming campaign; and he, never\ndoubting that his position was unchanged and that, surrounded by\nenemies, Venice still looked to him as the one man who could save\nher, rode through Lombardy in April, 1432, accompanied by Gonzaga,\nthe Lord of Mantua, and embarked on the Brenta, hailed by the populace\nand loaded with marks of deference and confidence by the great men of\nthe Senate who went out to meet him. All along the waterway, crowds\nturned out to greet the hope of Venice, and the rich and noble, whose\ncountry houses stood along the banks of the river, turned out likewise,\ndecorating their homes and making festas as he passed.\n\nA gay people they were, with their satins and their music and their\ndancing and their love-making. April in Venice is made for kissing, it\nis the only suitable occupation for any one with a spark of life in his\nsoul, and one can imagine the boats on the slow-moving river, as the\nevening came on, and the lovers\u2019 moon came out over the water\u2014music,\nlove\u2014youth and fire.\n\nIt was through this that the great Captain journeyed, leisurely, as\nbecame his dignity. At Mestre he was met by some gentlemen of his\nacquaintance, all smiles and bows and compliments, in whose company he\ncrossed the shadowy lagoons and disembarked.\n\nNine Senators\u2014red-robed, capped, monuments of the dignity of the\nState\u2014were waiting for him here, and his progress to the Palace of\nthe Doge was almost regal in its splendour. With all formality he\nwas introduced into the presence of the Senate, and given a chair of\nhonour. He was welcomed, praised, and listened to with deferential\nattention. It was growing late, by now, and the Senate Chamber was\nbecoming too dim to distinguish the faces of those about him. But no\nlights were called for, and he, dreaming no doubt, of seeing his wife\nand children again that night, sat on, while one Senator after another\nrose and spoke and sat down again.\n\nHe had other things upon his mind, too. Filippo\u2014old days\u2014old triumphs;\nthe promise that had been made him, that if he could but extinguish\nthe Visconti for ever, his old estates were to be given back to him,\nbesides new ones here in Venice. It had even been hinted and hinted\nstrongly that the only obstacle to his becoming Duke of Milan himself,\nwas the man who called himself the Duke\u2014Filippo Visconti. There seemed\nto be no bar to his advancement to any position he might choose\u2014he, the\nson of a peasant, picked up at dusk by a wandering trooper in Savoy!\n\nDusk! It was getting towards dark now!\n\nHe stirred in his chair and looked about him. The place seemed less\ncrowded than it had been when he had last observed it, and, thinking\nthat the moment had arrived when he could at last fling aside the world\nand return to his family, he rose to depart.\n\nWhat were those dark shapes hovering near his chair? Those were\nno Senators! He peered at them as he passed, but they paid him no\nattention and he moved on towards the door.\n\nInstantly he felt himself seized from behind and the dark shapes\nmaterialised into Sbirri\u2014soldier police\u2014as he struck out right and\nleft, bellowing and roaring in his fury. But he was only one, and there\nwere twenty or thirty of them, and he was chained hand and foot before\nhe had recovered from his first amazement.\n\nThe place was deserted now, save for them, and in the gloom he was\nhurried along, pushed and hustled, down, down, until a door creaked\nopen and he was flung into a cell, pitch-black and damp. The door\nslammed to behind him, and his little part in the world was played.\n\nThe next day he was \u201cput to the question,\u201d but no records remain, none\nbeing kept, of what passed in the little cell during the dread ordeal;\nand twenty days later, gagged and chained, he was led out to the\nPiazza, and there, between the pillars, beheaded.\n\nHis grave is in the great Church of St. Francis, in Milan, beside his\nwife.\n\n\nWhile we are still in the North, the story of the Patron of Pisa, St.\nRaniero, may interest my readers.\n\nHe was a Scacciari, born in Pisa about the year 1100, and grew up with\nthe other noble children of the place, cheerful and pleasure-loving\nas were they\u2014and as, it may be noticed in passing, were several of the\ngreatest Saints in the Calendar.\n\nHis conversion came about through a holy man, whose name has not\nsurvived. Raniero, one day, was playing and dancing with some damsels\nin the shade of a great tree, outside the city, when he noticed a man\nstanding near who seemed to be studying him intently; after a while,\nhe laid his lyre down on the grass and returned the gaze, with the\nintention of bringing home to the stranger the annoyance which the look\nwas causing him. But the stranger continued to stare, and presently the\nboy arose to approach him.\n\nBut, although he had risen to his feet, he made no attempt to\nadvance, for something in the stern, yet gently pitying, eyes of the\nother arrested his movement, and, before he could recover from the\nhalf-hypnotised condition, the stranger was moving off himself.\n\nThen the boy came to life, and ran after the man of God, flinging\nhimself upon his knees, and catching at the hem of his garment, and\ncrying out his sorrow for his sins; the other lifted him up, and bade\nhim be of good cheer, but Raniero, by now, was half blind with weeping\nand it was some time before he could see or hear clearly.\n\nHe did not turn back again towards Pisa, but made his way, by slow\nstages, to the Holy Land\u2014no very safe harbourage in the middle of the\nTwelfth Century. On arriving, he took off his own clothes, and received\nfrom a priest the shirt of a slave, which, for the proper humiliation\nof the flesh, he continued to wear until he died.\n\nNow it is the habit, even of the most broad-minded of our Protesting\nbrethren deliberately to close every avenue by which information might\nreach their intelligences, and to seal them up tightly, before they\nembark upon any study of the Saints, or of the Church. In parenthesis,\nit must be said of the Germans, doubtless true to the Teutonic passion\nfor accuracy, that as a general rule they will and do search after and\ntranscribe the true facts of a happening, at whatever cost to their\nown private feelings\u2014as Haeckel found to his cost. Not so with the\nEnglish. They glory in incredulity\u2014and prune their belief daily until\nnothing more than the bare tree is left. So that one is not in the\nleast astonished to find in the middle of an Englishman\u2019s otherwise\nfairly faithful tale a shocked horror\u2014indeed, it cannot be described in\nany other terms\u2014at the thought of the desert\u2019s being an abiding-place\nfor devils. People, on the other hand, find that people with any real\nexperience of the desert are quite ready to believe that anything\nhorrible might he found there. If ever there was a proper ballroom for\nSatan, says one, it is the desert!\n\nSt. Raniero found them there, aplenty\u2014so did St. Anthony\u2014and St.\nEphrem\u2014and St. Procopius and St. Jerome, and many, many more.\n\nSt. Raniero vowed himself to abstinence, and a hard struggle he found\nit to be until one morning, very early, when after a night of tossing\nand turning and praying, he fell asleep and dreamed that a wonderfully\nwrought vessel of gold, covered with the most beautiful gems, stood\nbeside him. It was full of pitch and sulphur, and these presently\nignited, burning fiercely, and threatening the destruction of the vase.\nBut, just as it seemed to be on the point of destruction, a little\nphial containing a few drops of water appeared, and he was bidden to\nsprinkle some upon the fire; he did so with some difficulty, since it\nwas burning so fiercely, and, behold! the fire was extinguished in a\nmoment.\n\nOn awakening he considered the dream for some time, trying to read\nsome meaning into it, and presently it was borne in upon him that the\nvessel was his body, the pitch and sulphur his passions and appetites,\nand that the water was temperance, which would quench these. From\nthat time onward he lived altogether upon bread and water, even\nperforming the most of his miracles with water, for which he had an\nespecial reverence, so that he came to be known in Pisa as \u201cSan Domini\ndell\u2019Acqua.\u201d\n\nThat he was a water-drinker himself did not affect his detestation\nof dishonesty in the matter of wine, however. Being at one time in\nMessina, he stayed one night at an inn there, and, after watching the\ninnkeeper for a little while, became persuaded that he was mixing water\ninto the wine which he was selling. Beckoning to him, Raniero told\nhim to cease, but the host first laughed and then grew angry, telling\nhim to mind his own business. Then the Saint took him by the shoulder\nand turned him round, and pointed to a cask which was set in a distant\ncorner.\n\n\u201cSee there,\u201d he said. Every one by now was looking in the same\ndirection, and to their terror and amazement there appeared upon the\ncask a huge black cat with enormous wings. The host flung himself at\nthe Saint\u2019s feet, howling, and the rest of the company began to crowd\nand push out of the place, but the Saint directed them to remain, and\ndismissed the demon swiftly.\n\nHe returned afterwards to Pisa, where he lived for many years, and\nperformed many wonders, healings, and conversions before he died, and\nhis tomb is in the wall of the Duomo, where an altar has been erected\nto his memory.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nQUEEN JOAN OF NAPLES\n\n A Conspicuous Feminine Sinner\u2014Marriage of State\u2014Her Beauty\u2014Her\n Hungarian Husband\u2014Petrarch and the Monk\u2014Joan\u2019s Ascent to the\n Throne\u2014The Naples Succession\u2014Her Favourites\u2014The Churches of\n Naples\u2014Joan\u2019s Lovers\u2014Factions of Naples\u2014Charles of Durazzo\u2014A Bold\n Proposal\u2014Charles\u2019 Ambitious Plots\u2014War of the Factions\u2014Disappearance\n of Maria\u2014Becomes the Wife of Charles\u2014Joan\u2019s Horror.\n\n\nOf all feminine sinners known to history, Joan of Anjou, Queen of\nNaples and of Jerusalem, affords, perhaps, the most conspicuous\nexample of the perils attendant upon what are known as \u201cmarriages of\nState\u201d\u2014that is to say, marriages brought about for reasons of State\nand without reference to the personal inclinations of the contracting\nparties themselves.\n\nThe elder of the two daughters born to Charles, Duke of Calabria\nand Marie of Valois\u2014both of whom had predeceased their father and\nfather-in-law, Robert, King of Naples\u2014Joan was married as a child of\nfourteen to her cousin Andrew, the grandson of King Charles of Hungary,\nthe brother of King Robert; and, on the death of the latter in the\nmonth of January, 1343, succeeded him as his granddaughter on the\nthrone of Naples. At that time Joan, although not yet fifteen years\nold, was beautiful with the beauty and grace of a grown woman; her\neyes were of a shade of brown so deep as to be almost black; whilst the\npallor of her complexion was enhanced by the lustrous dark hair of her\nwhich she wore, according to the fashion of the day, in two long and\nheavy plaits that fell nearly to her knees, moreover, her tall, slender\nfigure added several years to her appearance, whilst the expression of\nher face, albeit sensitive and gentle, was one of determination and of\na latent strength of purpose far beyond that of most girls of her age.\nFor Joan of Anjou had already learned the meaning both of love and of\nhate\u2014the hate of her husband and the guilty love of another than he.\nThe name of the man for whom she had, even then, betrayed her Hungarian\nhusband was Robert of Cabano, the son of Filippa Cabano, and her\nhusband, Raymond, a Saracen, bought out of slavery by another Raymond\nCabano, who had given him his own name in baptism and had procured for\nhim the post of head cook to Charles the Hammer, King of Naples and\nelder brother of King Robert, the grandfather and precursor of Queen\nJoan. From being head cook, Raymond had since risen to the most eminent\npost of Seneschal of the Kingdom of Naples.\n\nThe way of Joan\u2019s loveless marriage\u2014the source of all her sins and\nmisfortunes\u2014to her cousin Andrew of Hungary was this: It had been\narranged by her grandfather, King Robert, in the intention of making\namends to Andrew for having usurped the sovereignty of Naples from\nAndrew\u2019s father, Carobert of Hungary, the oldest son of King Robert\u2019s\nbrother, Charles the Hammer. With this object, King Robert had caused\nAndrew to be brought as a child to his Court at Naples, that the boy\nmight become fitted by education and surroundings to be the husband of\nJoan and share with her the crown of Naples and of Jerusalem. For, be\nit said, the Hungarian-born Andrew was by nature uncouth and savage\nand cold, and altogether unsuited, both in his temperament and his\nviews of life, to fulfil King Robert\u2019s expectations of him. Instead\nof growing more tender, more responsive and affectionate in the genial\nsurroundings of the Neapolitan Court, as had been hoped might prove to\nbe the case, he seemed, on the contrary, to become daily more reserved,\nmore imbued with the sense of his own importance, more generally\ndomineering and less sympathetic towards those about him. However,\nhis marriage with Joan had been duly solemnised some months before\nthe death of old King Robert in order that the latter\u2019s fondest wish\nmight be accomplished betimes; but, to the rage and disappointment of\nAndrew, as soon as the King was dead, Joan alone had been proclaimed as\nhis successor by her cousin, Charles, Duke of Durazzo and Albania, who\nhad presented her as their sole, legitimate sovereign to the populace\nassembled below the windows of the Castel Nuovo in a room of which King\nRobert\u2019s dead body, the breath but scarcely gone out of it, lay still\nwarm upon the bed on which he had died. Moreover, not only Charles\nof Durazzo, but others, including principally Robert of Cabano and\nanother cousin of the Queen, Louis of Taranto, had absolutely refused\nto do homage to Andrew of Hungary; to Joan alone had they bent the knee\nand sworn fealty. Only one person of all those present had protested\nenergetically against the exclusion of Prince Andrew from the immediate\nproclamation of sovereignty; this was a certain Father Robert, a monk,\nthe tutor of Andrew, whom he had accompanied from Hungary to Naples and\nwhom he never deserted as long as the Prince lived. This Father Robert\nearned the especial dislike of Petrarch, to whom the monk\u2019s austere\nand masterful personality was as gall on the tongue, to judge from the\npoet\u2019s description of him.\n\nAs has been told then, by the time that King Robert passed away,\nleaving his kingdom to Joan and to Andrew, her consort, these two\nhad been man and wife for long months; during which period Joan had\nloved, not her husband, but the handsome swaggering Saracen, Robert of\nCabano. But by now, when she was become Queen of Naples by the death\nof her grandfather, Joan had grown weary of the insolence of Robert\u2019s\ndominion over her and was minded to throw off the yoke of it. Also,\nher affections\u2014which, be it said in justice to her, had formerly been\nconsistently offered to her husband and as consistently rejected by\nhim\u2014had turned towards one of the very few completely disinterested\nand unselfish persons at the Court. This was Bertrand of Artois, whose\nfather, Charles of Artois, had been appointed by King Robert\u2019s will\none of the regents of the kingdom until Andrew and Joan should have\nattained their twenty-fifth year.\n\nJoan had only one sister, Mary, a mere child, who was scarcely thirteen\nyears old when Joan came to the throne; this Princess Mary, by the\nterms of King Robert\u2019s testament, was to inherit the throne in the\nevent of her elder sister\u2019s dying without issue; in addition, the\nold King had expressed a wish that Princess Mary should be affianced\neither to Louis, King of Hungary, elder brother of Andrew, or,\nfailing Louis, to the Duke of Normandy, eldest son of the King of\nFrance. In case of the death without heirs of both Joan and Mary, the\nsovereignty would by rights fall to Charles of Durazzo, eldest son of\nKing Robert\u2019s younger brother, who had died some years previously,\nJohn, Duke of Durazzo and Albania. John of Durazzo had left behind\nhim a widow, Agnes, and two younger sons besides Charles; these were\nLudovico, Count of Gravina, and Robert, Prince of the Morea. The\nyoungest brother of King Robert, Philip, Prince of Taranto, who had\nlikewise predeceased him, had also left a widow, who bore the title\nof Empress of Constantinople, inherited from her grandfather, Baldwin\nII, and three sons, Robert, Philip, and finally Louis of Taranto, the\nhandsomest and most accomplished knight of his day, then but barely\nturned three-and-twenty. There had survived King Robert, too, his widow\nSancia of Aragon, a character as noble and holy as the majority of\nthose composing the Neapolitan Court were debased and self-seeking and\nunscrupulous. Before departing this life King Robert had obtained from\nQueen Sancia a promise to the effect that she would remain in the world\nand at Court for a whole year, in order to watch over the young King\nand Queen, Andrew and Joan\u2014it being Queen Sancia\u2019s announced intention\nto enter as soon as possible into a convent, there to end her days\nin peace and prayer\u2014and to protect their relationship to one another\nfrom the perils which, as the dying man had clearly foreseen, must\ninevitably menace it. And, very particularly, he had warned his widow\nto be on her guard, where Joan was concerned, against three especial\ndangers\u2014the love of Bertrand of Artois, the beauty of Louis of Taranto,\nand the ambition of Charles of Durazzo.\n\n\nSo that, no sooner was King Robert dead, than his wishes in respect to\nthe mutual sovereignty of Andrew and John were contemptuously put aside\nby those who proclaimed Joan, and Joan alone, as their new Queen to\nthe Neapolitan people; but Joan\u2019s acquiescence in their proclamation\nof her as sole sovereign cannot be overlooked, foreshadowing as it\nwould almost seem to do some already half-formed instinctive project of\nbecoming actually that which she had been proclaimed to be\u2014the single\noccupant of the throne.\n\nInstantly, moreover, her Hungarian husband and his partisans, Father\nRobert, the Dominican Friar, together with divers Hungarian nobles\nand Giovanni Pipino, Count of Altamura, one of the most powerful\nlords of the kingdom and the most hated by the people, held counsel\namong themselves as to how they might best defeat the projects of the\nQueen\u2019s party. This, they decided, could only be done by acquainting\nKing Andrew\u2019s mother, Elizabeth of Poland, and his brother, King Louis\nof Hungary, with the terms of King Robert\u2019s last will, and of how a\nconspiracy had been set on foot to deprive King Andrew of his rightful\nshare in the government of Naples. Also, a complaint in the same\nterms was to be sent to the Pope at Avignon, and a request made of the\nHoly Father that he would issue a Bull of coronation on King Andrew\u2019s\nbehalf, thereby duly confirming him in his rights of, at least, equal\nsovereignty with Joan, his wife. At the same time, Father Robert tried\nto impress upon Andrew the advisability of coming as soon as possible\nto some kind of understanding upon the subject with Joan herself before\nher favourites should have alienated her affections entirely from him.\n\nThese favourites whom the good monk had in mind were some of them men\nand some of them women. Of the men\u2014Robert of Cabano, Louis of Taranto,\nand Bertrand of Artois\u2014we have already seen something; of the women we\nhave as yet made acquaintance with only two\u2014Filippa Cabano, the mother\nof Robert the half-breed, and formerly governess to the Princesses\nJoan and Mary; and the Empress of Constantinople, their aunt and the\nmother of Louis of Taranto and his brothers. Besides Donna Filippa\nand the Empress, however, there were three others who had influence\nover Joan\u2014the Countesses of Terlizzi and Morcone, daughters of Donna\nFilippa, and, lastly and supremely, a young and lovely girl of sixteen,\nknown simply as \u201cCancia,\u201d who occupied, officially, the position of\ntiring-woman to the young Queen.\n\nCancia had been put into this employment by her protectress, Donna\nFilippa, in order that, by her wiles and companionship, she might\ncorrupt the spirit of Joan and render her the more averse to the\nremonstrances of Father Robert, the Dominican, on behalf of Andrew of\nHungary, his pupil; and so bring her more and more under the influence\nof her lover, Robert of Cabano, Filippa\u2019s own son. And Cancia had\nplayed her part so effectually that, it is said, Joan loved her more\neven than she did her own sister, Princess Mary.\n\nAnd, as it happened, Donna Filippa was beginning to suspect that, at\nlast, Joan was tiring of her intrigue with Robert, and that she might\nat any moment turn elsewhere for the love denied her by her rightful\nhusband\u2014for life without love was insupportable to Joan\u2019s passionately\naffectionate nature.\n\nOld King Robert\u2014Robert the Wise, as he is commonly styled\u2014was buried\nbehind the high altar in the Church of Santa Chiara that he had built\nhimself; where his splendid Gothic tomb may be seen to this day, having\non it his likeness both as King and as Franciscan monk; for he was a\nTertiary of Franciscans and died, as becomes one, in their uniform. In\nthe same Church are to be found the tombs, too, of many of the actors\nin the tragedy of Queen Joan; of her father and mother and her little\nsister Maria; and of Maria\u2019s children by three successive husbands,\ntogether with the graves of Charles of Durazzo and of Raimondo Cabano,\nthe Seneschal. And here, in passing, I would like to say that there are\nno Churches in the whole world that can compare with the old Churches\nof the city of Naples for the number and the beauty and the poignant\ninterest of the tombs that these contain.\n\nSome days after King Robert\u2019s burial in Santa Chiara, Joan was\napproached by Filippa Cabano with a request that she would create\nFilippa\u2019s son, Robert, Grand Seneschal of the Kingdom in succession to\nhis father, who was but shortly deceased; also, that he might receive\nthe title of Count of Eboli. To both these outrageous demands the young\nQueen at first turned a deaf ear; not until Filippa\u2014who was accompanied\nby Robert in person\u2014threatened to make known to all the world the fact\nof Joan\u2019s new intrigue with Bertrand d\u2019Artois did the young Queen\nsurrender to her demands. It would seem that Filippa had, for some\ntime, suspected the cooling of Joan\u2019s fondness for her son; and so had\ndetermined to obtain from her for Robert a commanding and unassailable\nposition in the State.\n\nIn that same State of Naples, then, there were already two increasingly\ndefinite factions, each with a different aim: the party of the\nDominican Father Robert and of the Hungarian nobles, that sought to\nbring about the supremacy of King Andrew and the subjugation of Queen\nJoan; and the party of Donna Filippa, with their programme of \u201cNaples\nfor the Neapolitans\u201d\u2014that is, firstly, of securing sole sovereignty\nfor the Queen, and, secondly, of making the Queen herself the puppet of\ntheir own will and the instrument of their aggrandisement.\n\nAnd round about these openly contending factions there prowled,\nwatchful and ruthless, Charles of Durazzo, seeking only the opportunity\nto make himself master of the situation. There were no lengths to which\nDuke Charles was not prepared to go in order to attain his aim and to\nsatisfy the ambition that devoured him; no crime, however frightful,\nfrom the contemplation of which he shrank as a means to his end.\nCost what it might, he would be King of Naples and of Jerusalem. The\nchroniclers describe him as a pale man with close-cropped hair and a\nthick beard; and, when agitated, he had a trick of frowning. Charles\nof Durazzo had felt greatly aggrieved at the bestowal of Joan\u2019s hand in\nmarriage upon Andrew of Hungary; for he, Charles, had been the nearest\nin blood of all King Robert\u2019s nephews to the throne, and to him, as\nsuch, Joan ought to have been given. But never for an instant had he\nallowed so much as a glimpse of his disappointment to be seen by any\none; never once had he suffered a breath of complaint to escape him.\n\nNevertheless, his resolve was only the stronger for the iron\nself-discipline of the man; and, now that Joan was Queen, the hour\nwas come for him to try the first of the two alternatives by which\nhe was to achieve his object. He was still a bachelor, and Joan had\nfound favour in his eyes by reason of her loveliness; therefore, before\nhaving recourse to the other expedient that he had laid out for himself\nin case of need, Charles had determined to attempt the enlistment of\nJoan\u2019s co\u00f6peration in his designs.\n\nWith this object he obtained a private audience of the Queen, and\nstraightway proceeded to lay siege to her sympathies by every kind of\nflattery and the most skilful hints of the dangers that threatened\nher from the side of ungrateful and grasping favourites. Though he\nnamed no names, yet Joan understood only too well whom he meant and\ncould not help evincing signs both of her comprehension and of her\nagreement with him. From that he went on to speak more particularly of\nthe popular rejoicing at her succession to the throne; and, finally, of\nthe universal regret that she should be compelled by an unkind fate to\nshare that throne with one in every way unworthy both of herself and of\nit.\n\nSeeing clearly who it was to whom he referred in these terms, Joan\nattempted feebly to protest; but was powerless to prevent him from\ncontinuing with what he had to say of the certainty he felt that, if\nAndrew of Hungary were ever to be admitted to an actual share in the\ngovernment, the people of Naples would infallibly rise in arms against\nhim and the detested Hungarians who surrounded him. It would, indeed,\nDuke Charles assured the unhappy Queen, be only another instance of the\nSicilian Vespers; the Neapolitans would, of a surety, rise up as one\nman and exterminate their foreign oppressors, including Andrew himself\nand the monk whose mistaken counsels had inspired him with so suicidal\nan ambition.\n\n\u201cBut of what fault do they accuse Andrew?\u201d asked Joan, uncertainly.\n\nIn reply, the Albanian said that the people hated the Prince for his\nstupidity, his coarseness, and savagery; that the nobles accused him\nof violating their privileges and of surrounding himself to their\ndetriment with the basest adventurers; and that, lastly, he himself,\nCharles of Durazzo, accused Andrew of making Joan\u2019s life a misery to\nher.\n\nAnd then, before she could recover from her amazement at his boldness,\nCharles wound up by offering to remove Andrew from her path by\nmurdering him; whereupon, the better part in Joan triumphing for a\nmoment over the lower side of her nature, she dismissed Charles angrily\nfrom her presence, calling him coward and insolent. Without undue haste\nor appearance of anger, Charles left her, merely reminding her that it\nwas not altogether impossible that, some day, it should be his turn to\ncondemn and hers to be judged.\n\n\nSo that Duke Charles, having failed in his attempt to obtain Joan\u2019s\nconsent to the murder of Andrew, must instead have recourse to the\nsecond of the alternatives that had presented themselves to him.\n\nThis was to make himself the husband of the next heir to the throne\u2014the\nthirteen-year-old Maria, sister of Queen Joan. On reaching his own\npalace, therefore, he sent for a notary, one Nicholas of Melazzo, whose\nfate he held in his hands by means of a certain knowledge, and ordered\nhim to draw up a contract of marriage between the Princess Maria,\nhis cousin, and himself, Charles of Durazzo. This the notary, albeit\nterrified at the audacity of the thing (seeing that Maria, as will\nbe remembered, was intended by the terms of King Robert\u2019s will to be\nthe wife of either King Louis of Hungary or of the Duke of Normandy),\nconsented to do; and then Duke Charles ordered him at the same time to\nseek out Tommaso Pace, the valet of King Andrew and the notary\u2019s own\nclosest friend, and to find out if Pace had been approached at all by\nany of Queen Joan\u2019s partisans with a view to drawing him into any plot\nagainst Andrew\u2019s life. For, as Charles argued, if such a conspiracy\nshould ever arise, those concerned in it would be almost sure to\nendeavour to win over the King\u2019s valet to their undertaking in order\nthe more easily to carry it into effect.\n\nFrom that day on it was noticed that a complete change had taken\nplace in the manner of the Duke of Durazzo towards King Andrew\u2014or, to\ngive the latter the only title hitherto accorded to him, the Duke of\nCalabria. For, whereas hitherto Charles had shown himself the reverse\nof friendly towards Andrew, and had been ever the loudest in his denial\nof Andrew\u2019s right to be crowned King of Naples, he now overwhelmed the\nHungarian with every kind of courtesy and friendly advance. Charles\neven took pains to propitiate Andrew\u2019s shadow, the honest Dominican,\nexcusing himself to Father Robert for his outrageous conduct in\nproclaiming Joan alone as their new Queen to the people of Naples by\npleading the necessity of making an apparent concession to the popular\ndislike of the Hungarian element in the kingdom. He did not hesitate\nto declare to Father Robert his detestation of the persons who were\nbent upon estranging the young Queen from her husband for their own\nends; finally he concluded by placing what power he possessed at the\nmonk\u2019s disposal for the purpose of defeating the machinations of Joan\u2019s\ntreacherous favourites directed against her rightful husband and the\nlegal partner of her throne.\n\nTo these assurances Father Robert lent a willing, although not an\nentirely believing, ear; for he could only attribute the change in\nDuke Charles to some misunderstanding with the young Queen. At the\nsame time, Charles and Andrew of Hungary were become the closest of\ncomrades; never, now, was Andrew seen in public without his Albanian\ncousin by marriage; never did he withdraw himself from the circle of\nhis friends to the seclusion of his apartments but Charles of Durazzo\nwalked at his elbow.\n\nAnd so things went on for a while, until at length the whole Court\nwas ranged definitely on one side or on the other: on that of Queen\nJoan and the Neapolitan people itself to whom Andrew and his followers\nwere entirely odious, or, else, on that of Andrew and those who\nhoped eventually to make him sole sovereign of Naples to their own\nadvantage\u2014the Hungarian \u201cHey-ducs,\u201d the Count of Altamura, and their\nkind.\n\nThe war of the factions had begun by the omission of Andrew\u2019s name\nfrom all the proclamations, warrants, and so forth issued by the Queen\nin her own sole name. In retaliation for this indefensible slight,\nAndrew had ordered his followers to break open all the prisons within\nreach and to liberate their tenants, criminal or otherwise, in his\nname alone and in honour of his succession to the throne of Naples.\nHe had also loaded the members of his own party\u2014and especially the\nexecrated Altamura\u2014with honours and riches by means of patents signed\nby himself, only, as the one supreme temporal authority in the kingdom.\nIt may be added that, in all these arbitrary and illegal measures,\nso admirably calculated to arouse the bitterest anger and the most\nmurderous hatred of the Queen\u2019s supporters against him, Andrew of\nHungary\u2019s one confident adviser was none other than his evil genius,\nCharles of Durazzo. From that moment the party of Joan, led by the\nCounts of San-Severino, Mileto, Terlizzi, Balzo, Morcone, Catanzaro,\nand Sant\u2019 Angelo, and, more especially, by the Queen\u2019s ex-favourite,\nRobert of Cabano, Count of Eboli, and his successor in her affections,\nBertrand d\u2019Artois, was resolved upon ridding the land of Andrew and of\nhis minions. Of all the angry barons who had rallied to Joan\u2019s support,\nthe last mentioned, Bertrand d\u2019Artois, really loved her for herself,\nand was actuated by no motive of personal gain, except\u2014alas!\u2014his\nlawless hope of becoming united to her in matrimony once her husband\nwere removed from the path of his criminal passion. In vain his father,\nthe brave and noble Charles of Artois, one of the regents of the\nkingdom, strove to dissuade him from the perilous course of a love as\ntreasonable as it was immoral; nothing was of any avail to hold back\nthe young man from the pursuit of his designs.\n\nMore successful, however, was the restraining influence of another\nparent over another child in the same situation\u2014the influence of the\nEmpress of Constantinople over her youngest-born, the handsome Louis of\nTaranto, who, in deference to his mother\u2019s entreaties, turned away his\neyes as well as he could from his lovely, ill-mated cousin.\n\n\nAfter the rupture between Joan and the Duke of Durazzo, many weeks\nelapsed without her either meeting him or hearing much of his doings,\nbeyond that he was become the inseparable comrade of her husband;\nalthough, indeed, at times she cannot have helped wondering what shape\nhis enmity towards her might eventually assume.\n\nOne radiant morning of spring, however, as she was in her room in\nthe Castel Nuovo, looking out over the town and the sea beyond, all\nshimmering in the sunlight, towards Sorrento, there came a knock on the\ndoor, and Donna Filippa Cabano, mother of the Grand Seneschal, entered\nprecipitately, her face blanched with alarm and anger, to say that\nPrincess Maria, Joan\u2019s little sister, was nowhere to be found.\n\nA short while previously the child had been playing happily by herself\nin the castle grounds; and then, soon afterwards, she had simply\ndisappeared, none could say where or in what direction.\n\nJoan\u2019s consternation may be more easily imagined than described. Her\nlove for Maria was the one perfectly innocent, unspoilt love of her\nwhole existence, the very tenderest spot in all her heart. And now\nMaria was gone from her; the horror and grief of it were such that she\nshrieked as though a live coal had been laid upon her breast. That,\nhowever, was only in the first anguish of her loss; recovering herself\nquickly, she broke out in a storm of anger upon those responsible by\ntheir want of vigilance for the catastrophe; such was the Queen\u2019s fury,\nindeed, that Filippa fled from her in fear for her life. Instantly, the\nwhole castle was in an uproar, its inhabitants scouring every nook and\ncranny, indoors and out; but without success; and, presently, the whole\ncity of Naples was bent distractedly upon the same quest, hunting high\nand low for the beloved little girl. All, though, was in vain; and,\nalbeit, during that day and many days and nights to follow the search\nwas diligently pursued, yet, in spite of every effort, no trace could\nbe found of the lost Princess.\n\nThe only drop of comfort vouchsafed to Joan, during all those weary\nhours of agonising anxiety, came from Bertrand d\u2019Artois, who had been\nled, somehow, to suspect the agency of the Duke of Durazzo in respect\nto Maria\u2019s disappearance; a drop, however, that Joan refused to accept,\nsaying that such a thing was beyond the bounds of probability. For no\none, even, of Duke Charles\u2019 household, let alone the Duke himself, had\nso much as set foot within the castle precincts since the day when he\nhad left the place in anger. No stranger, even, had set foot, that\nmorning of Maria\u2019s disappearance, inside the gates, except Nicholas\nof Melazzo, for whose integrity Tommaso Pace, Prince Andrew\u2019s own\nbody-servant, was willing to answer on his life.\n\nIn this manner a month went by, bringing to Joan despair of ever seeing\nher sister again, until on April 30, 1343, there occurred an event\nso amazing as to deprive her at first of every other sensation; until\nher astonishment turned to fury at the insolent daring of it. On first\nlearning of it, she refused to believe it, and then, as the certainty\nof it took the place of incredulity, her indignation knew no bounds.\n\nFor, on the stroke of noon of that day, she learned that her sister\nhad become the legal wife of Charles of Durazzo, having been publicly\nmarried to him at an altar erected in the open air and in sight of all\nthe people before the Church of Saint John by the Sea, not a bow-shot\ndistant from the great gates of the Palazzo Durazzo. The marriage had\nbeen solemnised by Duke Charles\u2019 chaplain, the necessary dispensation\nfor the marriage of cousins, one of them being a minor, having been\nreceived from Rome the day before; and, at its conclusion, the newly\nwedded pair had faced the spectators hand in hand, and had solemnly\ndeclared that they took one another as husband and wife, calling upon\nGod and the people to bear witness to it. Their announcement had been\nacclaimed with tumultuous vociferations of applause and delight; after\nwhich the Duke and Duchess of Durazzo received the Papal benediction,\nprior to being escorted in procession round the city by their\nmen-at-arms and the sympathetic populace to the beating of drums and\nthe blowing of trumpets.\n\nSo that Charles of Durazzo was now the husband\u2014and it need hardly be\nsaid, the master\u2014of the thirteen-year-old heir to the throne. And when,\nafter curbing the useless rage in her heart, Joan summoned the pair to\nreceive her congratulations, she realised her folly in quarrelling with\nthat all-daring and remorseless man; also, she understood that nothing\nshort of the throne itself\u2014let the price be what it might\u2014would ever\nsatisfy his lust of power and glory and hate.\n\n\nThenceforth, the temptation of Joan to be, in very truth, at once the\nreal ruler of her own dominions and, at the same time, the arbiter of\nher own destiny, increased and grew to terrific powers; the desire to\nsatisfy her wishes absolutely in everything became a kind of diabolical\npossession, sweeping away every consideration of virtue and of mere\nworldly prudence; save only when, in rare intervals of reaction, she\nwould fall upon her knees in the solitude of her chamber, her face in\nher hands, sobbing as though her heart would break with the horror of\nher situation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nA MEDI\u00c6VAL NIGHTMARE\n\n Pact Between Charles and Andrew of Hungary\u2014Joan\u2019s Homage to the\n Papal Legate\u2014Andrew Ignored\u2014Arrival of Andrew\u2019s Mother\u2014Andrew\n Upheld by the Pope\u2014His Reprisals\u2014\u201cThe Man Must Die\u201d\u2014The Queen\u2019s\n Conspiracy\u2014Last Meeting of Charles and Andrew\u2014The Hunting\n Expedition\u2014The Banquet in the Monastery\u2014The Murder\u2014Tempest\n Breaks Over Joan\u2019s Head\u2014An Evil Blow at Charles\u2014Trial of Andrew\u2019s\n Murderers\u2014A Nightmare of Cruelty and Fear.\n\n\nTo judge from the sequence of events, it would appear almost certain\nthat, in his amazing marriage with Princess Maria, Charles of Durazzo\nmust have had the assistance\u2014or, at least, the tacit approval\u2014of Andrew\nof Hungary; and that, in return for this, Charles had promised Andrew\nthat he would take his part and support him against the faction of\nthe Queen. Certain it is, at all events, that, immediately after the\nmarriage of Charles and Maria, the party of Andrew, his Hungarian\nbarons and soldiers, redoubled in arrogance towards the Neapolitans,\nand their excesses of violence and rapine which, erstwhile, had been\nsubjected to an intermittent restraint, now became such as to evoke\nnot only complaints, but threats as well on the part of the unfortunate\npeople. Andrew himself, however, took no notice of such protests, but\nappeared, rather, to approve the outrages committed by his underlings.\n\nAnd as certain was it in the opinion of his enemies that the time\nwas come when they might strike him with propriety as well as with\nimpunity.\n\nOn August 31, 1344, Queen Joan came, surrounded by her friends, to the\nChurch of Santa Chiara, there to do homage for her crown to the Papal\nlegate, Cardinal San Martino de Monti; for the kingdom of Naples,\nhaving been bestowed by the Pope upon the House of Anjou after the\ndeposition by them of that of the Hohenstaufen, was considered as a\nfief of the Church.\n\nBy this ceremony the claims of Andrew of Hungary to a share in the\nthrone were formally ignored, and the single sovereignty ceremoniously\nconfirmed to Joan; for her husband was in no way admitted to join with\nher in the act of homage, nor was there any reference to him by word\nor deed from first to last; thereafter, his position in the realm was\nthat of its first subject and nothing more. In fact, he was simply\nthe Prince Consort of Naples. During the ceremony\u2014for he, like Joan,\nhad come to it with a numerous armed retinue\u2014the followers of the\nhusband and wife not only kept up a brisk exchange of threats, but had\nactually to be prevented by repeated energetic commands from drawing\ntheir swords then and there. When it was over, and Andrew had returned\nto the Castel Nuovo, his heart on fire with rage and humiliation\nand disappointment, his first act was to despatch a message to his\nmother, Elizabeth of Poland, informing her of his resolution to depart\nforthwith from the country which offered him nothing but deception and\nbetrayal.\n\nMany months passed away, however, without either his carrying out his\navowed intention or any answer reaching him from his mother; for, had\nhe meant what he said in the letter, the letter would never have been\nwritten at all; but he would have gone himself instead of sending\nit. So he had hesitated in his choice of a course of action; and,\nhesitating, was lost.\n\nIn place of a return letter, his mother came to fetch him away with her\non the vessel in which she had sailed from the port of Danzig; and no\nsooner was it known what she had come to do than there went up a sigh\nof thankfulness from all the Court, most especially from those who by\nher advent saw themselves delivered from the detestable necessity of\nassassinating the Hungarian Prince in order to insure their own safety\nfrom his jealousy and resentment. At once, too, the friends\u2014or, rather,\nthe party\u2014of Joan set themselves to convince the Queen of Poland of\ntheir amiable intentions towards her ungracious son by overwhelming her\nwith all manner of undesired civilities and entertainments. But nothing\ncould procure them the confidence of the terrified mother, or turn her\nfrom her purpose of removing Prince Andrew from their midst.\n\nThe only person, though, who expostulated with Queen Elizabeth for\nher project of withdrawing her son from Naples was his courageous and\nresolute tutor, the Dominican, Father Robert, who implored her to have\npatience and courage for a little while until he should have received\nfrom the Pope, who was then living at Avignon, an answer to the\nentreaty despatched so long before and in which Prince Andrew\u2019s claims\nto be the King of Naples\u2014in accordance with the wishes of the deceased\nKing Robert\u2014had been submitted to the judgment of the Holy Father with\nan entreaty that he would ratify them.\n\nBut all that Father Robert could obtain from the thoroughly terrified\nElizabeth was a delay of three days, at the expiration of which time,\nunless a favourable answer had been received from the Pope, she would\nset sail once more for Danzig, taking Prince Andrew with her.\n\nNot until the evening of that momentous third day, as she was\ncompleting her preparations for departure, did the Dominican come\nhurrying into Elizabeth\u2019s presence, having in his hands a sheet of\nparchment from which swung a seal upon a cord.\n\n\u201cNow, God be thanked!\u201d he cried, proffering her the parchment. \u201cYou see\nfor yourself, Madam\u2014the Holy Father consents, and your son is King of\nNaples and of Jerusalem! And, if I may say so, I think it is owing to\nme more than to any one else!\u201d\n\nAnd he went on to explain to the delighted Elizabeth how, without\nmentioning it to any one, he had taken on himself the responsibility of\npromising that certain laws prejudicial to the Church in the Kingdom\nof Naples should be abolished if the Pope would confirm the crown to\nAndrew of Hungary. At this juncture Andrew himself entered the room and\nwas informed of the change in his situation by being hailed as King of\nNaples by the Dominican. At once the young man\u2019s whole nature leapt out\nto grasp the splendour of his new power in an outburst of revengeful\nexaltation over those who had hitherto insulted and belittled him. Now,\nas he swore, they should indeed have reason to tremble for their former\nboldness, their contempt and defiance of him!\n\nA few days later Queen Elizabeth sailed away from Naples, her head\nstill full of forebodings; try as she would, she could not shake off\nthe fears that beset her so increasingly for the safety of her son whom\nshe was leaving behind with none but a handful of foreign adherents in\nthe midst of a Court and of a people bent, as she felt certain, upon\nhis destruction.\n\nBut these misgivings were in no wise shared by Andrew of Hungary,\nwho now proceeded without loss of time to carry out his intention of\npunishing his seditious subjects.\n\nThe first of those upon whom his hand fell was one of the chief\nCouncillors of the Kingdom, a certain Andrew of Isernia, who had been\nchiefly concerned in persuading Queen Joan\u2014who had looked upon him as a\nfather\u2014to set at naught the provisions of King Robert\u2019s will and to let\nherself be proclaimed the sole ruler of Naples to the detriment of her\nhusband.\n\nIn passing be it said that, instead of at once making public the\nPope\u2019s recognition of him as King of Naples, with, of course, absolute\nrights of life and death over its people, Prince Andrew had chosen to\nkeep the fact of his kingship a secret for a little time in order the\nbetter to enjoy the grim jest of his opponents\u2019 ultimate discomfiture\nwhen they should learn of his real power over them. Nevertheless,\nin the meantime, he had not been able to resist tasting the fruits\nof sovereignty in the shape of an \u201chors d\u2019\u0153uvre\u201d to his banquet of\nreprisals; with the consequence that Andrew of Isernia was found dead\none morning, near the Porta Petruccia of the city, bathed in blood,\nwith a score of sword wounds on his body.\n\nThe news of Isernia\u2019s murder was brought to Joan by Bertrand of Artois,\nwho had learned also of Andrew\u2019s confirmation as King by the Pope, as\nwell as of the fact that a list of persons to be summarily dealt with\nhad been drawn up by the Hungarian; and, supremely, that his, Bertrand\nof Artois\u2019, name was the first upon the list.\n\nThis last item it was that finally removed any lingering scruples\nfrom Joan\u2019s heart; for she loved Bertrand with all the passionate\nrecklessness of her fiery nature, and the thought that his handsome\nhead should roll upon the board of a scaffold maddened her against\nAndrew.\n\n\u201cThat decides it,\u201d she is said to have declared to her lover. \u201cThe man\nmust die.\u201d\n\nAnd, when he left her, Bertrand of Artois went out to gather\ntogether the others who were also of his conspiracy in the Queen\u2019s\nservice\u2014Robert of Cabano, and the Counts of Terlizzi and Morcone;\nCharles of Artois, the father of Bertrand himself; Godfrey of Marsano,\nHigh Admiral of the realm and Count of Squillace; and the Count of\nCatanzaro. With these men were allied several women\u2014notably Catherine\nof Taranto, Empress of Constantinople, mother of that Louis whose\nbeauty was splendid like the sun; Filippa, the mother of Robert of\nCabano and of his sisters, the Countesses of Morcone and Terlizzi;\nthose two dusky beauties themselves; and finally Donna Cancia, the\nlaughing girl-demon and bosom-friend of the Queen.\n\nTo these was joined that same Tommaso Pace, valet to Prince Andrew,\nwith whom the notary, Master Nicholas of Melazzo, had of late\nmaintained the closest of relations in obedience to the orders of\nCharles of Durazzo. No wonder, then, that within an hour after the\nconference of the plotters Charles of Durazzo was in possession of\nevery detail of it, as well as of the names of the plotters themselves.\n\nNow, before the actual ceremony of Andrew of Hungary\u2019s proclamation\nas King could take place, it was unavoidable that a few days should\nbe devoted to making all suitable preparations for that event; for,\nso soon as Isernia\u2019s killing had become known, Andrew had caused it\nto be announced that the murder was not a murder at all in reality,\nbut merely a legal execution duly carried out by the person\u2014a certain\nConrad de Gotis\u2014empowered to do so by Andrew himself as King of Naples\nby favour of the Pope. The unrest and uproar caused by this news in the\ncity were such that Andrew had thought it prudent to retire thence into\nthe neighbouring country until the time were come when, as crowned and\nanointed King, he should be endowed with a real and efficient majesty,\nthe which he was as yet very far from possessing. In this intention,\ntherefore, he had given out that he would go with the Court for a while\nupon a hunting expedition into the district between Capua Aversa.\n\nCharles of Durazzo received a personal invitation from Prince Andrew to\njoin him and the others of the party, but declined on the ground of his\nwife\u2019s being extremely indisposed; this, the last meeting on earth of\nthe two men, took place on the 19th of August in the year 1345, towards\nevening in a hall of the Castel Nuovo; it is said that, in declining\nAndrew\u2019s invitation, Charles begged him to accept a very fine falcon\nfrom among those for which his perch was justly celebrated. The falcon\npresented by Charles to Andrew may have been a jer-falcon; but I cannot\nhelp thinking that, in all likelihood, the bird was a peregrine from\nthe cliffs between Sorrento and Amalfi. With Charles was also Nicholas\nof Melazzo, from whom he had just been receiving the details of the\nQueen\u2019s conspiracy; and Charles, as he himself understood triumphantly,\nwas thenceforth to be master of the situation in the Kingdom of Naples.\n\nThe dawn of the next day saw a numerous cavalcade pass out from the\ngate of the Castel Nuovo and file slowly down through the city and\nso out into the misty lowlands towards Melito, where the sport was\nto begin. The illustrious company was headed by Andrew of Hungary\nin person, and beside him rode Queen Joan on a white palfrey; whilst\nclose behind them pressed the throng of those who had sworn to return\nto Naples only when Andrew should have ceased to breathe. Never before\nhad Andrew shown himself so gay, so responsive to all the delights of\nlife and friendship as on that morning; although he knew that he, as\nwell as the men who rode behind him, had death in his heart\u2014the death\nof many among those very men who were now preparing to consummate their\ntreachery by murdering him. But they, like Andrew of Hungary, were loud\nin talk and laughter, exchanging jests incessantly amongst themselves\nand even, now and again, with their victim himself as he turned in his\nsaddle and threw back to them a challenge of wits.\n\nOf all that festive throng two alone rode silent and preoccupied. Both\nwere women. One of them, the Queen, kept her eyes fixed steadfastly on\nthe landscape before her, from which the vapours were being rapidly\nscattered and dispelled by the sunrise, so that none might read her\nthoughts; whilst the other was an elderly German called Isolda, once\nthe nurse of Andrew and now his mother\u2019s ambassador, who, like Queen\nJoan, was too occupied with her own reflections to pay attention to\nwhat was going on about her. For old Isolda\u2019s heart was heavy with\nan indefinable presentiment of some evil that threatened her beloved\nfoster-child; and her powerlessness to analyse or to avert it was\nfrightful to the faithful soul of her.\n\nAnd so the August day grew to its full, hot and windless, and drew on\nto afternoon and sank to airless evening, whilst hawk after hawk soared\ninto the grey-blue sky all a-quiver with the heat, after heron and\nduck; or, else, hung poised there, hovering a little before swooping\ndown upon crouching hare or rabbit or partridge. But the main feature\nof the sport was the hunting of wild boars with hound and spear; at\nwhich Andrew of Hungary is said to have been an expert.\n\nAt dusk the royal party bent its way towards the town of Aversa, there\nto pass the night in the monastery of San Pietro a Maiella, a house of\nCelestine monks; for there was at hand no other building capable of\nsheltering so many persons and their horses. The choice of a fitting\nasylum for the Queen and her Consort and their followers was the\nbusiness of the Grand Seneschal, Robert of Cabano; and he it was who\nundertook the necessary arrangements; by his orders a bed was prepared\nfor Joan and her husband in a room at the end of a corridor on the\nthird floor of the monastery and about sixty feet above the ground.\n\nThat night, the monks having retired long before to their cells, the\ngreat refectory of the monastery rang with the jests and laughter of\nthe royal supper-party. Wine flowed in abundance; and none drank more\ndeeply than did Andrew of Hungary; until Robert of Cabano rose and said\nthat a draught of the same wine ought by rights to be given to each\nof the Hungarian sentries posted outside the monastery to compensate\nthem for keeping their cheerless watch outside in the darkness. Which\nproposal was carried out with loud applause, in which the sentries who\nhad been called into the hall to drink the health of the royal pair\njoined heartily, so that the place echoed to the thunderous shouts of\n\u201cLong live their Majesties, the King and Queen of Naples!\u201d\n\nThis feasting and good-fellowship was prolonged to a late hour, until\nat length the conspirators became impatient of Andrew\u2019s wakefulness,\nand Bertrand of Artois remarked pointedly that the chances were against\nany of them rising betimes in the morning after sitting up so late the\nnight before. To which Andrew answered scornfully that, speaking for\nhimself, an hour or two of sleep was amply sufficient, and that in this\nhe hoped he was not alone. But when the Count of Terlizzi expressed a\ndoubt of Andrew\u2019s being able to set an example of early rising under\nthe circumstances, the Prince gave a challenge to all present, to be up\nas soon as he in the morning; after which he withdrew with the Queen to\ntheir apartment, and silence soon fell over all the building.\n\nTowards two o\u2019clock there came a knock on the door of the royal\nbedchamber, followed by a second and a third; at the last of which\nAndrew sprang out of bed, calling out that he was awake and was coming\nat once. It is said that Joan, who had not closed an eyelid, was minded\nto warn her husband of his danger, but thought better of it and kept\nsilence whilst he drew on his clothes and, going to the door, opened\nit\u2014to find himself confronted by a group of men, including his valet,\nTommaso Pace, who had knocked on the door, and Nicholas of Melazzo.\n\nOn the instant that Andrew showed himself, Bertrand of Artois, as some\nsay, seized him by his long hair and tried to pull back his head; but\nhe contrived to free himself, exclaiming, \u201cThis is a base jest!\u201d Then,\nperceiving that the intentions of the group were really hostile, he\nendeavoured to retreat into the room for his sword, but was prevented\nfrom doing so by Nicholas of Melazzo, who thrust his dagger for a bolt\nthrough the staples of the door, whilst others, led by Bertrand of\nArtois and Robert of Cabano, flung themselves upon the Prince like a\npack of wolves, trying to pull him down. But Andrew, now fighting with\nall his strength, threw them off, and fled from them, shouting loudly\nfor help, and looking for an avenue of escape.\n\nThere was none, however, to be found; and at length, turning and\ntwisting from his assailants, Andrew slipped and fell; so that Bertrand\nof Artois, the nearest of them, was enabled to grapple with him, on\nthe floor, calling for a certain rope with which to strangle him. This\nrope, which was of silk twisted with gold threads, they had had made\non purpose to kill the Prince with, because of a talisman that he was\nsaid to have received from his mother and that was held to render him\ninvulnerable by steel or poison. It seems to me probable that Robert\nof Cabano had the rope ready in his hands and that, between them, he\nand Bertrand of Artois contrived to place it about the Prince\u2019s neck;\nfor, as Gravena tells us, when Robert of Cabano saw that one of their\nlot, the Count of Terlizzi, was turning away from the horrid scene, he\nmade him take hold of the rope and help them to draw it tight; saying:\n\u201cWhat are you doing, my brother-in-law? Here, take hold\u2014the rope\nis long enough for each of us to put a hand to it. What we want are\naccomplices, not witnesses!\u201d\n\nAnd so, between them all, they dragged Prince Andrew to a balcony\noverlooking the garden of the cloister, and, lifting him up, threw him\nover, so that he was hanged. And when they knew that he was dead they\nlet go of the rope; and the body fell down into the moonlit garden; and\nthey went away to their beds.\n\nBut the din of the murder had awakened Andrew\u2019s old nurse, Isolda, who\nnow, looking out of her window, saw him lying there and thought that he\nwas asleep. Going to the Queen\u2019s room, the door of which was fastened\non the inside, she called out to Joan, saying that the Prince was\nasleep in the garden. To which Joan only made reply, \u201cLet him sleep,\u201d\nand would not speak further. Then Isolda went and awakened the monks\nand made them go with her into the garden to where Andrew lay on the\ngrass; and, when she saw that he was dead, she rent the night with her\nlamentations. And two of the monks knelt down by the corpse, one at the\nhead and the other at the feet, and said the Penitential Psalms for the\nrepose of the Prince\u2019s soul, while two other monks went up to the door\nof the Queen\u2019s room and asked of her through it:\n\n\u201cOh, Queen, what are your commands that we should do with the dead body\nof your husband?\u201d\n\nBut she would not return any answer to them; so they went away again,\nvery greatly affrighted and troubled in spirit. And later they sent\nothers of their company once and twice on the same business; but\nJoan either would not or could not speak with them, until at last the\ntownspeople of Aversa gathered about the monastery gates, began to howl\nand to murmur amongst themselves, calling the Queen a murderess and\nsaying that she was afraid to look upon the face of her dead husband.\nNor did she show herself at all to them; but, later in the day, was\nborne out of Aversa and so back to Naples in a closed litter guarded by\nhorsemen.\n\n\nAnd now, at last, the tempest which had been brewing for so long in\nsilence broke into lightning over the head of Joan.\n\nCharles of Durazzo, who as husband to the heir to the throne, was now,\nnext to Joan herself, the most considerable person in the kingdom\u2014and,\nfurther, by reason of all he knew, far the most powerful\u2014now took the\nchief direction of its affairs.\n\nAfter leaving the body of Andrew of Hungary where it lay exposed\nfor two whole days to the battering of the elements\u2014for the weather\nhad suddenly turned wet and gusty\u2014at the foot of the monastery wall\nat Aversa, in order thereby to arouse to the full the compassion of\nthe populace that flocked to behold it, as well as to arouse their\nindignation against the murderers, Charles ordered the remains to be\nbrought in state to the Cathedral of San Gennaro in the city. There\nhaving rallied to him the dead Prince\u2019s Hungarian barons, together with\nthe Count of Altamura, he met the funeral procession and caused the\ncoffin containing the body to be placed upon a catafalque, by which he\ntook his stand.\n\n\u201cOh, people of Naples, gentle and simple alike, behold your King,\nmiserably strangled by his murderers!\u201d he cried, drawing his sword and\nlaying it upon the coffin. \u201cI appeal to you to help me avenge him!\u201d\n\nAnd immediately the vast church rang and echoed with the roar of those\nto whom he addressed himself.\n\n\u201cVengeance!\u201d they bellowed, forgetting in their desire for savagery\nhow, but a short while before, they had groaned beneath the insolent\nbrutality of that same Andrew of Hungary. \u201cVengeance, vengeance,\nvengeance!\u201d\u2014and from out the sombre interior of the Cathedral the\nroaring gushed in a flood of terrible sound, filling all the streets\nwith its clamour for blood. And, when the funeral was over, and the\ncoffin had been put away in the place prepared for it in the left\ntransept of the building, Duke Charles withdrew once more to his own\npalace, well pleased with what he had done, there to apply his energies\nto the work in hand.\n\nNow it so happened that several of those who had conspired with\nJoan to make an end of her husband had lost no time in claiming the\nvarious rewards that they deemed to be due to them from her. Filippa\nCabano and Robert, her son, as well as her daughters of Terlizzi\nand Morcone and their husbands, redoubled in arrogance and in the\ndaring of their clamour for honours and money; whilst Cancia, their\nlascivious instrument and the handmaid of their Sovereign, now secured\nfrom punishment by that Sovereign\u2019s impotence even to protest against\nher shamelessness, turned the Castel Nuovo into a place without a\nname. But of all Joan\u2019s fellow-conspirators the one who asked her the\nmost staggering price was her aunt, Catherine of Taranto, Empress\nof Constantinople, who asked that she should consent to announce\nher betrothal to Robert of Taranto, the Empress\u2019 eldest son. To this\ninsolent demand Joan could only summon sufficient strength to reply\nby asking a delay of three days, in which to make up her mind upon\nthe subject; which delay was granted her, the Empress only stipulating\nthat Prince Robert, in the meantime, should be allowed to take up his\nquarters in the Castel Nuovo and to see and speak with Joan at least\nonce a day.\n\nNo sooner, though, did it reach the ears of Charles of Durazzo that\nRobert of Taranto was installed in the Castel Nuovo as a preliminary to\nhis betrothal to the Queen than the Duke flung himself on to a horse\nand galloped furiously to the castle. On entering Joan\u2019s presence, he\nspoke briefly and to the point. To begin with, she must create him\nDuke of Calabria in his own right, thereby acknowledging him to be\nthe heir to the throne as the husband of her sister. And, as to Robert\nof Taranto, Charles absolutely forbade her to marry him or any other\nman without his express permission; threatening that, if she dared to\ndo otherwise, he would reveal to the whole world his knowledge of her\nparticipation in the murder of Andrew of Hungary. This he did because\nhe had no intention, whatsoever, of allowing her to marry again and so\nproviding, possibly, a direct heir to the throne other than his wife\nand himself. And again, Joan, helpless to refuse beneath her burden of\nremorse and of terror both for herself and for others, had no choice\nbut to temporise as best she could.\n\nThere was now no other course open to her than that of an explanation\nupon the subject of her situation with the Empress of Constantinople.\n\nThe latter, however, on learning of Duke Charles\u2019 opposition to the\nmarriage of her son to Joan, declared her resolution of striking him a\nblow that should assuredly wound him frightfully both in his affections\nas well as in the esteem of the public before whom, she assured Joan,\nhe would be eternally dishonoured by it in the event of his refusing to\nlisten to the voice of reason.\n\nFirst of all, advised the Empress, Charles must be made acquainted with\nthe fact that his veto of Joan\u2019s espousal to Robert was without reason;\nfor, in very truth, Joan was expecting shortly to become the mother\nof Andrew of Hungary\u2019s posthumous child, who, in the natural course\nof things, must eventually succeed to the throne of Naples. Should\nCharles, however, in the face of this persist in placing obstacles\nin the way of Joan\u2019s marriage to Robert, then the blow of which\nmention had been made\u2014albeit the Empress had not divulged its nature,\nprecisely\u2014should be launched upon him. Furthermore, added the Empress,\nshe herself would at once inform Charles of Joan\u2019s expectation of soon\nbecoming a mother.\n\nJoan, it must be added, had told her aunt of Charles\u2019 knowledge of the\npersons primarily responsible for Andrew\u2019s death; so that the Empress\nshould realise the peril that menaced her at the Duke of Durazzo\u2019s\nhands.\n\nUndeterred, though, by learning of his power over her, Catherine of\nTaranto betook herself immediately to the Palazzo Durazzo and boldly\nfaced the arch-schemer. In wickedness and courage she was a match for\nhim, and he knew it; so he received her news of the Queen\u2019s condition\nwith smooth words very delicately barbed and very poisonous. Thanking\nthe Empress with every show of respectful gratitude for the honour\nthat she had conferred upon him by coming thus in person with the\nall-important and all-welcome news; for himself he asked only the title\nof Duke of Calabria, which alone could enable him to watch over Joan\u2019s\ninterests properly and those of her child. Should the Queen, he added,\nsee her way to complying with his request, then he should no longer\nfeel it his duty to bring all the accomplices of her husband\u2019s murder\nto justice; since, if Andrew of Hungary\u2019s progeny were, in time, to\noccupy the throne, the murder itself would be rendered in a measure of\nno effect. In the event of Joan\u2019s refusal, however, the enquiry already\ninstituted in regard to the King\u2019s assassins would be prosecuted to\nthe bitter end without respect for any one whosoever\u2014an eventuality\nwhich as Charles pointed out to the Empress, with a diabolical smile,\nmight be very unpleasant for several of their mutual friends. By which\nshe was made to understand that Charles was perfectly aware of her own\nshare in that detestable transaction.\n\nIn answer, the resourceful Empress, careful to appear suitably\nfrightened by Charles\u2019 hints, declared her willingness to do all she\ncould to promote his wishes, begging only a little time in which to\nbring the Queen round to a more yielding frame of mind; a favour that\nCharles could not help but grant her. And so they parted, with the\nmutual assurance of a complete understanding.\n\nOn returning to the Castel Nuovo, the Empress, having reported what\nhad passed to the unhappy Joan, withdrew to consider her own plan of\naction in the struggle with Charles of Durazzo. At length, she hit upon\na scheme so truly infernal as to claim pre\u00ebminence over anything that\nhad preceded it in the long list of her iniquities. She would strike\nher enemy to the heart; she would kill his intellect and break him as\nsurely as with an iron bar upon the wheel, through the one person that\nhe loved and venerated in all the world\u2014his widowed mother, the saintly\nDuchess Agnes of Durazzo.\n\nNow it chanced that, during those days, Agnes of Durazzo lay sick of a\nlingering and mysterious malady, the nature of which it was beyond the\nability of her physician to determine. In all probability the Duchess\u2019\ndisease was one of an internal tumour; be that as it may, it was in\nevery symptomatic particular only too well adapted to the unspeakable\npurpose of the Empress, who forthwith set herself to disseminating\nrumours destructive to the reputation of the good and gentle Duchess.\nNot satisfied with this alone, moreover, she contrived by a hellish\nstratagem to deceive even the Duchess\u2019 doctor, so that he believed\nhimself justified in imparting his opinion to Charles of Durazzo, in\nperson.\n\nSo that mad horror, as of a lost soul, took possession of Charles,\nand the desire of the Empress that his mind should become the prey of\ndevils was fulfilled.\n\nThe luckless, blundering physician he dismissed curtly from his\npresence after their interview. An hour later the unfortunate man was\ndiscovered in a back street of Naples, stabbed to death,\u2014but not before\nhe had written out, by Charles\u2019 orders, the recipe of a certain draught\nto be administered to his illustrious patient; which thing was done in\nthe evening of the same day.\n\nShortly afterwards, Charles was hastily summoned to his mother\u2019s\nbedside from the room in which he had spent the rest of that awful day\nalone with his thoughts after parting from the doctor. On entering that\nof his mother, her attendants withdrew, leaving the fast-dying woman\nalone with the son who had destroyed her in the interests of the family\nhonour.\n\nWhat passed between them no man may say with any certainty; all that\nis absolutely sure is that, when a few minutes had gone by, the scream\nof a man in intolerable agony of soul rang out through the stone\ncorridor; and the Duchess\u2019 servants, rushing to her room, found her\nlying dead in the arms of her stricken son, who himself was entreating\nher frantically to come back to him, sobbing as though his heart would\nbreak, and imploring the mercy of Heaven for his misjudgment of her.\n\nFrom that hour there was something very dreadful in the look of the\nDuke of Durazzo, as though he were afraid of his own thoughts and were\nfor ever struggling to free himself from their compulsion. The only\nperson who understood a little of what was in his mind was, doubtless,\nthe Empress of Constantinople, and, when she saw that the man was\nfor the first time in all his life the prey of a hideous remorse, she\nbecame gradually afraid for herself and for her first-born, Robert of\nTaranto, for whom she was plotting to secure the hand of the Queen.\n\nTowards the end of the time agreed upon between Joan and the Empress,\nfor the former to make public her betrothal to Robert, who was still\nliving in the Castel Nuovo, and while the whole town was lamenting the\nmysterious death of the beloved Duchess Agnes of Durazzo, there came\nto pass a thing which utterly set at naught all the calculations of the\nEmpress and of her eldest son.\n\nIt so happened that one day Robert of Taranto had gone out riding\nwith Charles of Durazzo, whom the astute mother of Robert had, since\nthe demise of Duchess Agnes, persuaded her son to conciliate by\nevery possible means in his power. Now both Robert and his mother had\noverlooked, or were in ignorance of, the surpassing love that Louis\nof Taranto, the youngest of Robert\u2019s two brothers, had for some years\nborne to Joan; which love Louis had kept in check to the best of his\nability while Andrew of Hungary lived. But, now that Joan was a widow\nand the prize of any man bold enough to snatch it from the rest, Louis\nof Taranto felt no hesitation in doing so when the opportunity offered.\n\nTherefore, it came about that, on his return to the Castel Nuovo,\nRobert found himself shut out. Despite his clamour to be admitted,\nas he termed it, \u201cto his own house\u201d and his threats to exact bloody\nretribution from the sentries within for keeping him waiting, he\nreceived no attention from anybody until his mother came out to him,\ntrembling and confused, to say that in his absence his brother Louis\nhad effected an entry into the castle and had compelled Joan to go\nthrough a form of marriage with him.\n\nThe effect of the news upon Robert may be easily imagined. After\nstaring, speechless, at his informant for a few minutes, there broke\nfrom him a cry of rage and, turning his horse, he tore off at a gallop\ntowards the Palazzo Durazzo. Here he found Duke Charles in the company\nof the Duchess Maria and informed them as well as he could, for fury,\nof what had taken place. It ended in Charles\u2019 promising him that he\nwould leave no stone unturned to prevent the necessary confirmation\nby the Pope of the union of Louis with the Queen; and that, so long as\nhe, Charles of Durazzo, lived, no such confirmation should be put into\npractice.\n\nThat same day he wrote to the Pope at Avignon asking for a Papal\nenquiry into the murder of Andrew of Hungary and laying before the Holy\nFather the names of those implicated in it; thus he hoped to obtain\nthe deposal of Joan from the throne and the reversion of it to himself\nas husband of the next rightful heir, Maria of Anjou; also to insure\nthe destruction of the Empress of Constantinople as a participant in\nAndrew\u2019s death.\n\nIt was long before the Pope\u2019s answer reached him, and, when at last\nit did, it was rather disappointing. For Clement VI replied with\na Bull dated June 2, 1346, addressed to Beltram des Baux, Count\nof Monte Scaglioso and Chief Justice of Sicily, bidding him draw\nup a charge against the murderers of King Andrew\u2014who were formally\nanathematised\u2014and to punish them with the utmost severity. A secret\ncodicil to the Bull, however, expressly forbade the Chief Justice to\nproceed against or in any way to implicate in his handling of the case\neither the Queen herself or any of her relatives. So, to avoid causing\nstill more lamentable disorders in the already distracted kingdom, any\nsuch malefactors of the Blood Royal, added the Pope, would be dealt\nwith later by himself, alone, as the Supreme Head of the Church and\nSuzerain lord of the Kingdom of Naples.\n\nThe Count of Monte Scaglioso showed himself no laggard in discharging\nthe duty thus entrusted to his zeal and ability.\n\nWithin three days from the reception of the Papal Bull he was able to\nannounce that the trial of the late King\u2019s murderers would be held on\nthe following day in the great hall of San Luigi in the Castel Nuovo,\nthe same vast apartment in which Pope Celestino V had abdicated the\nPontificate in 1294. In the hall were seats for all the principal\nnobles of the kingdom round about that of the Chief Justice himself.\nThe two accused persons were both men\u2014Tommaso Pace, King Andrew\u2019s\nvalet, and Nicholas of Melazzo, the confederate of Charles of Durazzo\nand the same who had played the part of Judas as well as that of \u201cOmri\nwho slew his master.\u201d Both were brought from their prison to the Castel\nNuovo to undergo a preliminary torture that should make them confess\ntheir guilt at once and so save the time and trouble of their judges.\n\nOn the way from the prison to the palace the accused passed by Charles\nof Durazzo, to whom the wretched notary whispered, it is said, a\npromise to reveal nothing of what had formerly passed between them on\ncondition that Charles would provide for the other\u2019s widow and orphans;\nto which the Duke assented with a nod of the head.\n\nAnd Nicholas of Melazzo kept his word; for, during all the torments\nto which he was presently subjected, he held his mouth and played the\nman. But with the valet it was very different; no sooner did Tommaso\nPace feel his arms being dislocated at the shoulder in the torture\nknown as that \u201cof the Cord\u201d than he shrieked for mercy, swearing to\ntell everything and imploring to be conducted before his judges. And\nnow there ensued the first of a series of hellish scenes that were to\nfollow each other in the drama of medi\u00e6val reprisal, that nightmare of\ncruelty and fear.\n\nAs the two prisoners were being taken from the cell where they had\nbeen tortured to the hall of San Luigi, up a narrow, winding stairway,\nthe Count of Terlizzi, who was bringing up the doleful procession with\nseveral of his men-at-arms\u2014he having been present at the torturing of\nboth the accused, and being in terror of what Tommaso Pace might be\nabout to reveal\u2014suddenly sprang upon the valet (who was walking behind\nNicholas of Melazzo and their gaolers) and with the help of one of his\nsoldiers dragged him back into an embrasure of the stairway and there,\ntaking him by the throat, forced him to put out his tongue, which they\ncut out with a knife. Then, pushing the fainting wretch before them,\nthey rejoined the procession; but not before Pace\u2019s howls had drawn\nthe attention of Charles of Durazzo, who, like Terlizzi, had been\na witness of what had taken place in the torture-chamber. So struck\nwas he by the horrid energy of Terlizzi\u2019s act, and understanding its\npurport as he did, Charles fell for an instant beneath the spell of\nthe very danger which he had so laboriously created for the removal of\nJoan and Louis of Taranto from his path. It may be that there rang in\nhis ears, together with the miserable valet\u2019s inarticulate protests,\nthe words of the Psalm\u2014\u201che hath digged a pit for others and is fallen\ninto it himself\u201d; at any rate, he glanced at Nicholas of Melazzo\nand, halting the procession, drew him aside to where they could speak\nwithout being overheard. And Nicholas, reading the half-formed purpose\nin his face, once more whispered his promise of secrecy. Whereupon\nCharles, recovering his courage, promised on his part to take care of\nthe notary\u2019s family, adding a command that Nicholas should name every\nperson concerned in the King\u2019s assassination to the Chief Justice,\nexcepting Charles himself, and the Queen and the members of the royal\nfamily.\n\nThis command Nicholas obeyed implicitly; but when the Chief Justice\nbegan to question Tommaso Pace for a confirmation of the notary\u2019s\nevidence, the mutilated valet could only open his mouth and point to\nwhere his tongue had been.\n\nNevertheless, the Chief Justice ordered the immediate arrest of such\nof the conspirators as were present in the hall of San Luigi\u2014Robert of\nCabano and the Counts of Morcone and Terlizzi, the last of whom had\nthus gained nothing by his barbarity upon Tommaso Pace. Of the other\nconspirators, Filippa Cabano and her two daughters, together with Donna\nCancia, were thrown into prison immediately afterwards; and the rest,\nthe Lords Mileto, Catanzaro, and Squillace, being warned in season,\nsaved themselves by flight; old Charles of Artois and his son Bertrand\nbeing still secure in their fortress of Sant\u2019 Agata of the Goths, near\nwhat was probably the real site of the Caudine Forks and from which,\ncenturies later, the last Father of the Church, St. Alphonsus Liguori,\nwas destined to take his episcopal tide as Bishop of Sant\u2019 Agata; where\nhe died in the year 1788.\n\nAnd, when Nicholas of Melazzo had concluded his testimony, he was\nsentenced, with his accomplice, Tommaso Pace, to be dragged at the\ntail of a horse throughout the town and then hanged by the neck in\nthe Mercato, the great market square, in which square Conradin of\nHohenstaufen and Frederick of Baden had been decapitated by order of\nCharles I of Anjou in 1268, after the battle of Tagliacozzo. It was in\nthis same square of the Mercato that Masaniello\u2019s rebellion broke out,\nin the Seventeenth Century; and here took place also the execution of\nthe misguided Liberals in 1799.\n\nThe sentence upon the notary and the valet having been forthwith\ncarried into effect, the other prisoners were on the following day\ntaken out of the Castel Nuovo and conveyed on to a galley in the bay,\ntheir hands tied behind their backs and having each a hook passed\nthrough their tongue to prevent them from calling out any mention\nof some forbidding name in passing to the crowd. When they had been\ntortured on the galley\u2014a precaution for which the Count of Monte\nScaglioso would seem to have been answerable\u2014and their depositions\nagainst one another duly written down and signed, needless to say they\nwere, one and all, condemned to be burned alive.\n\nThe next morning the crowd (composed mainly of descendants of the\nslaves of the long-ago Romans) filled all the ways from the prison to\nthe Mercato, where on the side towards the Church of Sant\u2019 Eligio\u2014the\nusual spot on which executions usually took place being before the\nother Church in the piazza, the ancient Church of Santa Croce\u2014was\nerected a huge pile of wood and many bundles of twigs about a number of\nposts with staples to them. This was the pyre.\n\nFrom an early hour the populace had been swarming the city, tossed\nand churned hither and thither by its ravening for blood\u2014no matter of\nwhom\u2014and by its impatient excitement for the gratification of its lust\nof cruelty. At last, however, its waiting was rewarded and there went\nup to the heavens a roar of pleasure as the prison-gates were thrown\nopen and the spectacle began of the procession to the Mercato. I need\nnot describe it, save to say that all along the way the condemned, each\nin a separate cart, were tortured in a revolting manner with scourges,\nrazors, and red-hot pincers, so that several succumbed to their\nsufferings before reaching the pyre intended for them. Amongst those\nwho died thus was Robert of Cabano, Grand Seneschal of the Kingdom,\nand the only one of them all who refused to utter the least sound by\nwhich to betray his torments to the mob. And when, finally, the dying\nunfortunates were all made fast to the stakes and fire was put to them,\nthat same mob rushed over the intervening soldiers, extinguishing\nthe flames and seizing the still palpitating bodies, tore them in\npieces for the sake of the bones, with which to make whistles and\ndagger-handles.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE VAMPIRE-MONARCH FROM HUNGARY\n\n Charles\u2019 Further Acts as Dictator\u2014Rise of the Favoured\n Louis of Taranto\u2014Civil War\u2014A Scheme of the Empress of\n Constantinople\u2014Interference of the King of Hungary\u2014The Empress\n Again to the Rescue\u2014Hungary\u2019s Advance\u2014Death of the Empress\u2014Flight\n of the Neapolitan Nobles\u2014Joan and Her Husband in Provence\u2014Charles\u2019\n Well-merited Fate\u2014The King of Hungary\u2019s Vengeance\u2014Government by\n Execution.\n\n\nThis detestable butchery, strictly in accord with the criminal\nprocedure of the day, was but the beginning of a reign of terror in\nthe city and realm of Naples. The murder of Andrew of Hungary was soon\nno more than a pretext to serve Charles of Durazzo for ridding himself\nof all persons who, in any way, dared to manifest their disapproval of\nhis assumption of the Dictatorship of the Kingdom or to murmur against\nhis unbearable tyranny. Nor was it long before Louis of Taranto,\nwho by now had completely won the heart of Joan, and was seeking to\nobtain from the Pope the dispensations necessary to make lawful their\nirregular union, began to consider the high-handed and arrogant conduct\nof Charles\u2014whom and all whose works he abominated\u2014as an intolerable\naffront to himself. In consequence, having armed his retainers and\nincreased his forces as much as he could, Louis raised his standard as\nKing of Naples and Jerusalem and bade his loyal subjects rally to him\nin opposition to the Albanian usurper of his sovereign rights.\n\nIn this manner there broke out a regular civil war throughout the\ncountry; now the victory inclined to Louis, and now to Charles and\nhis ally, Robert of Taranto, the elder brother of Louis, and the\ndisappointed suitor of Joan. But a day soon came when there was no\nlonger left to Louis any more money; and without money he was naturally\nhelpless to pay his troops. Both he and Joan were in despair, when his\nmother, the Empress of Constantinople, who was living with them, showed\nthe true mettle of which she was made.\n\nBidding the young couple take heart, Catherine of Taranto promised\nsolemnly that, if they would but lend her the half of their forces and\nwould content themselves with remaining for a week on the defensive\nin the Castel Nuovo, she would bring them at the end of that time a\ntreasure such as they had never yet even imagined. To this proposal\nthey perforce consented; and the Empress, leading half her son\u2019s army,\nmarched boldly out from Naples by the Porta Capuana, along the road\ntowards Benevento, and so came by way of the Caudine Forks to the\ncastle of Saint Agatha of the Goths, where Queen Joan\u2019s former lover,\nBertrand of Artois, and his father, old Count Charles, were still\nskulking from the law.\n\nNow when Count Charles perceived that troops were preparing to besiege\nhim, and recognised their leader as the Empress, he sent out messengers\nto enquire her intentions in coming thus with a large force into his\nneighbourhood; to which Catherine replied, speaking as follows (her\nspeech is translated literally):\n\n \u201cMy most beloved ones (\u2018Dilettissimi miei\u2019), pray report to our\n friend Charles that we desire to speak with him privately upon\n a matter of equal interest to us both; and that he need feel no\n uneasiness at seeing us come thus with an armed force to him,\n for we have done so expressly for a certain purpose, the which we\n will explain to him at our leisure. We know that he is confined\n to his bed with an attack of gout and so we were not surprised\n that he did not come out in person to greet us. And so pray\n salute him from us and reassure him as to our intentions towards\n him; and say that we would fain enter to him\u2014if such be his\n pleasure\u2014with Master Nicholas Acciajuoli, our privy councillor,\n and no more than ten of our soldiers, in order to confer with him\n upon a subject too important to be confided to messengers.\u201d\n\nCompletely deceived by the pernicious woman\u2019s fair words as reported\nto him, Count Charles sent out his son Bertrand to receive her with all\ndue ceremony, and to escort her to where he himself lay prostrate with\nillness. Their meeting was cordial in the extreme; after expressing\nthe most heartfelt regrets at the venerable knight\u2019s sad condition, the\nEmpress, so soon as they were alone together, lowering her voice, said\nthat her object in so coming to him was to consult him in regard to the\nstate of affairs in Naples and to enlist his active support on behalf\nof the Queen. At the same time, she went on to say, there being no\nimmediate reason for her return to the capital, she would be more than\ngrateful for the favour of being allowed to remain yet a few days with\nhim at St. Agatha, in order to profit by his advice and to give him\nsome account of all that had come to pass in Naples during his absence.\n\nIt ended in Count Charles\u2019 head being quite turned by the Empress\u2019\nflattery; so that he not only begged her to remain his guest for so\nlong as she pleased, but also gave orders for the gates of the castle\nto be left open so that she might be accessible at all times to her\nofficers, civil and military, that were encamped outside the walls with\nher army.\n\nBut the fatuous credulity of Count Charles was soon undeceived. At\na late hour of the following night, the gates of the fortress being\nstill open and its rightful inmates sound asleep for the most part,\nthe foolish old Count was suddenly awakened from his slumbers by the\nEmpress of Constantinople, who, followed by several of her soldiers,\nentered his room, a dagger in her hand, and, advancing to his couch,\nseized him by the throat.\n\n\u201cOh, accursed traitor, you are now going to be punished as you\ndeserve!\u201d she cried. And when he begged only mercy for his son\u2014thinking\nthe Empress had in mind to slay them both, lest at any time they should\nconspire against the kingship of her son, Louis of Taranto\u2014and offered\nto put her in possession of his entire treasury if only she would\nspare the life of his adored son, to all his entreaties she answered\nonly that he must prepare to part for ever from his son, whom she had\ndecided to send away to the castle of Malfi; and that, as for Count\nCharles himself, the probability was that he would end his days in the\ndungeons of that of St. Agatha of the Goths. Prior to pronouncing these\nsentences, however, she had compelled him to show her where his immense\ntreasures were concealed behind the wall of his bedchamber\u2014a veritable\nAladdin\u2019s cave of gold in bars and in plate and of precious stones.\n\nThe chronicler, Domenico Gravina, relates how that a few days later\nCount Charles was found dead in his prison, the lips covered with a\nbloody froth, and the wrists all gnawed away\u2014so we may suppose him to\nhave died either of rage or of some corrosive poison; or, very likely,\nof both. And not long afterwards his son Bertrand, in despair, hanged\nhimself from a grating in the vault at Malfi, into which he had been\ntransferred by order of Catherine of Taranto.\n\nBut retribution, as condign as it was merited, was about to fall upon\nthe head of that wicked woman.\n\nOn returning, laden with her ill-gotten spoils, to Naples, her triumph\nwas dashed to the ground to learn that, during her absence, Charles\nof Durazzo, her ancient enemy and that of her house, had once more\nsent word to Joan, demanding that she should instantly create him Duke\nof Calabria, and so acknowledge him to be the rightful heir to the\nthrone as the husband of her sister Maria. This demand the Queen had\nrejected with contumely; and Charles, stung to madness by her refusal,\nhad thereupon sent back word to inform her that he had accordingly\nwritten to King Louis of Hungary, inviting him to take possession of\nthe kingdom and promising to deliver to him the chief murderers of his\nbrother Andrew, who had so far escaped the just consequences of their\niniquity.\n\nIt was now indispensable, as Joan saw clearly, to secure the public\nopinion of Europe to her side in the life-and-death struggle with her\nimplacable foe. Therefore, she sent ambassadors to plead her cause with\nthe Florentine Republic and to exonerate her of the crime generally\nimputed to her of having caused the murder of her husband. She even\nwrote in the same sense to the Hungarian King himself; but only\nreceived for reply a letter in which Louis of Hungary enumerated the\nproofs against her\u2014her disordered life both before and after marriage;\nthe exclusive power that she had arrogated to herself; the fact that it\nhad been in no way owing to her exertions that King Andrew\u2019s murderers\nhad ever been brought to justice, and that she had so quickly taken\nanother husband in his place\u2014all of which certainly pointed to Joan\u2019s\naggravated guilt.\n\nIndeed, the King of Hungary had already, on receipt of Charles of\nDurazzo\u2019s letter, written back to accept the offer of the throne and\nto say that he would at once set about making preparations for coming\ndown to Naples at the head of a large army of Hungarians. For, apart\nfrom Charles\u2019 invitation to him, King Louis, stirred up by love for his\nmurdered brother, as well as by the tears of their mother, Elizabeth,\nand the incitement of the Dominican, Father Robert, who, after Andrew\u2019s\ndemise, had taken refuge in Budapesth, was now entirely bent on\navenging his brother to the utmost of his ability.\n\nHe had in the past made strong endeavours to obtain from the Pope at\nAvignon a condemnation of Joan herself and of her accomplices of the\nBlood Royal, complaining that whereas the less prominent members of\nthe plot against his brother had suffered the just penalty of their\nsins, yet the principal authors of it had been let to go unpunished;\nand that Joan herself, the most guilty of all, had been suffered to\ncontinue with impunity her career of shameless immorality. To which\nthe Holy Father had answered that the Queen\u2019s conduct, both during and\nafter the murder of her husband, was of a surety most blameworthy; but\nthat, no tangible proof of complicity in Andrew\u2019s death having been\nbrought against her, he, the Pope, although willing to do justice to\nall parties in so far as in him lay, could not condemn Joan upon mere\nhearsay evidence. Should such good and solid evidence be produced\nbefore him against her, however, he would not fail to deal with her\naccordingly; until then he must suspend judgment.\n\nAs before, it was again the Empress Catherine who came to the rescue\nof the situation in which her son and his wife were now placed by\nthe action of Charles of Durazzo in inviting Louis of Hungary\u2019s\nintervention against them. As she saw clearly, the only thing left for\nthem to do now was to come to terms with their nearest enemy Charles\nhimself, and to bribe him to combine with them against the invader who\nwas already hastening to overwhelm them. Accordingly,, she arranged a\ntruce with Charles; and, together with Joan and Louis of Taranto, met\nhim in the gardens of the Castel Nuovo, where it was agreed between\nhim and Joan that he should be created Duke of Calabria and formally\nacknowledged as the heir to the throne. In return he was to join forces\nwith Joan and Louis against the King of Hungary. So soon as this\nagreement had been carried out, Charles, who now saw himself within\nmeasurable distance of the throne itself, set out from Naples with\nall the troops that could be spared for the purpose, for the city of\nAquila, where the populace was already declaring for Louis of Hungary.\nWith him went also Robert of Taranto, who had become reconciled to\nhis brother Louis in this the hour of the latter\u2019s greatest danger.\nAnd, just as they departed for Aquila, the Empress Catherine, who was\nwatching the troops defile along the street towards the Porta Capuana,\nwas taken suddenly ill and died, without speaking again, in the evening\nof the same day.\n\nIn the meantime the King of Hungary had already entered Italy from\nthe north, and had struck into the Neapolitan territory on the side\nof Apulia; and the news of his coming filled the Court of Naples with\ndismay. For it had been hoped that his progress might have been stayed\nby a legate whom the Pope had sent to meet him at Fogligno, within a\nlong day\u2019s march of the Neapolitan frontier, and to bar the way to him\nwith a threat of excommunication if he dared to advance any further\nwithout the permission of the Holy Father; but the Hungarian had\nrefused to pay any attention to Papal remonstrances, and had continued\non his way through the States of the Church into the Kingdom of Naples.\n\nOn learning of these events Queen Joan, hastily assembling such of\nthe nobles as she knew to be loyal to her, made them swear fidelity\nto Louis of Taranto, her husband, and then took ship by night in one\nof her own Proven\u00e7al galleys for Marseilles, the port of Avignon,\nwhich belonged to her\u2014so that she was, in a sense, the landlady of the\nPope. So soon, then, as Joan had departed to seek refuge at the Papal\nCourt, Louis of Taranto, taking with him his dead mother\u2019s Counsellor,\nNicholas Acciajuoli, set out with a small force for the citadel\nof Capua on the River Volturno, thinking there to check the enemy.\nUnhappily, though, the Hungarian monarch, obtaining information of his\nadversary\u2019s movements, turned aside, and, marching round the flank of\nthe Neapolitan forces by way of the mountains of Alife and Morcone,\nseized upon the city of Benevento, in rear of Louis of Taranto\u2019s army.\n\nAt Benevento, however, the King of Hungary was met by a deputation of\nNeapolitan subjects, who, frightened by the rapidity of his advance,\nas well as by the Queen\u2019s flight and by the sudden departure of her\nhusband for they knew not what place, had decided to make the best\nterms they could for themselves with the revengeful newcomer. And so\nthey brought him the keys of the city, and made submission to him as\nthe rightful successor of the late King Robert. The news of this event\nsoon reached Louis of Taranto\u2019s army, and at once a vile panic set\nin, and very soon Louis found himself deserted by all save only the\nfaithful, intrepid Acciajuoli; for there was more courage beneath the\nlawyer\u2019s gown than beneath the breastplates of all the army. Resistance\nto the Hungarian was no longer possible for Louis; and, together with\nAcciajuoli, he returned to Naples in the evening of the day on which he\nhad learned of the Hungarian\u2019s arrival at Benevento. At Naples, Louis\nwas met by his brother Robert and by Charles of Durazzo, both of whom,\nas well as all his other relations, entreated him to go away at once,\nlest he should bring down the wrath of the Hungarian upon them and upon\nthe whole city. Turning his back upon the cowards, Louis went down to\nthe seashore and, accompanied as ever by the loyal Acciajuoli, embarked\nin a crazy, rotten rowing-boat manned by four sailors, thanks to whose\ndevotion he ultimately reached Leghorn; whence he shortly joined Queen\nJoan in their kingdom of Provence.\n\nThe King of Hungary being encamped at Aversa, Charles of Durazzo and\nRobert of Taranto now repaired there to him with the purpose of turning\naway his anger from themselves and their families. They were received,\nto their great consolation and encouragement, with every possible\nmanifestation of benignity; the King even going so far as to enquire\nafter their youngest brothers, Louis of Durazzo and Philip of Taranto,\nand to express the most lively desire to make their acquaintance as\nsoon as possible. Finally he begged they might be sent for, in order,\nas he put it, \u201cthat he might make his entry into Naples in the midst\nof all his family.\u201d With these requests their elders made all speed to\ncomply, so that, within a few hours, the boy, Louis of Durazzo, and the\nyoung man, Philip of Taranto, were with them in the castle of Aversa,\nthe Hungarian headquarters. On their being presented to him, the King\nembraced them, and chatted with them a little while; after which he\nmade them, with their elder brothers, sit down with him to supper, not\nparting with them until a late hour of the night.\n\nNow there were with the King of Hungary two noblemen of Naples, Lillo\nof Aquila and the Count of Fondi, both of them brave and honourable\ngentlemen and haters of cruelty and treachery. And, when Charles of\nDurazzo went to bed that night, these came to his bedside and bade\nhim beware, for that the Hungarian was a tyrant and no gentleman and\nthat, for all his fair words, he had only that morning taken council\nwith his followers that he might put Charles himself to death and send\nthe other Neapolitan princes in captivity into Hungary. But to these\nwarnings Charles turned a deaf ear, although Lillo persisted in them\nand implored him, for the sake of all he held dear in this world, to\nsave himself with his brothers and his cousins; until Charles angrily\nbade his well-wishers to leave him in peace.\n\nAll the next day the demeanour of the King continued the same until the\nevening, when, as they were all at supper, Charles received yet a last\nwarning of his danger from Lillo of Aquila, who was waiting upon him at\ntable.\n\n\u201cOh, why does your Highness refuse to listen to me?\u201d he whispered.\n\u201cFly\u2014fly\u2014there is still time to save yourself.\u201d\n\nBut Charles, irritated by Lillo\u2019s persistency, threatened, unless he\nheld his peace, to repeat his words aloud to the King; and Lillo could\nonly bow in submission, whispering as he did so:\n\n\u201cAt least, I have done my duty; and now may the will of God be done,\nlikewise, in regard to you.\u201d\n\nAt that moment the King rose and confronted Charles, with a terrible\ncountenance; so that the latter was now, at last, rudely awakened from\nhis dream of security.\n\n\u201cAh, traitor, now I hold you in my hand!\u201d cried the King. \u201cBe sure that\nI will do justice upon you\u2014full justice\u2014for your crimes,\u2014your daring\nto march against my city of Aquila\u2014you, by whose invitation I came to\ngive peace to this miserable land that has groaned so long beneath the\nburden of you and yours.\u201d\n\nHe then went on to reproach Charles with having been, together with\nhis mother\u2019s brother, Cardinal de P\u00e9rigord, the means of postponing\nthe coronation of Andrew, and so of bringing him to his untimely end;\nfurthermore, he accused Charles of designing to obtain the kingdom\nfor himself by his abductive marriage with the Princess Maria, his\nown, King Louis\u2019, intended bride; which last delinquency had all along\nrankled fearfully in the King\u2019s mind, so that as he referred to it\nhis voice broke into a shout of fury. And then, turning away from the\nexcuses and pleadings for mercy of his victim, he ordered the Voivode,\nStephen of Transylvania, to take charge of all the prisoners and to\nkeep them for the night in a room near his, the King\u2019s, own apartment.\n\nThe next day King Louis, having visited that balcony in the Castle of\nAversa from which the dead body of his brother Andrew had been hanged\nand then thrown into the garden below, sent an order to the Voivode\nStephen that he was to have Charles of Durazzo brought by soldiers to\nthat same place and that they were to cut his throat; but the King\nhimself did not stay to witness the execution. And when word of the\nKing\u2019s order was brought to the Voivode, he told Charles to follow\nhim; and, together with some soldiers, they went out to the room of\nthe balcony. There the Voivode asked of Charles whether he wished to\nconfess his sins to a priest; who answered in the affirmative, and\nso one of the monks came to him from the monastery, and heard his\nconfession, and absolved him in so far as he was able to do. After\nwhich Duke Charles knelt down over against the fatal balcony and\ncommended his poor soul to God, and was killed by having a very sharp\nknife drawn across his throat (so that his head was nearly severed from\nhis body) by one of the soldiers, whilst another plunged a sword into\nhis heart that he might die quickly. And when the thing was done they\nthrew the dead body of the Duke over the balcony into the garden.\n\nAfter that, King Louis rode away with all his army from Aversa to\nNaples, being met on the way by a large deputation of nobles and\ncitizens of whom he took no notice, refusing to acknowledge their\ngreeting or to ride beneath a canopy they had provided for his entry\ninto the capital. On arriving in Naples the King at once gave himself\nup to the work of vengeance. The first to die was Donna Cancia, who,\never since the death of the other regicides, had been lying in prison;\nshe was burned alive in the Mercato. Soon after Cancia\u2019s death the\nKing ordered the arrest of the Count of Squillace, Godfrey of Mansano,\npromising to spare him if he would deliver up one of his relations,\na certain Conrad of Catanzaro, accused of having been among those\nprivy to the murder of Andrew. To this infamy Squillace consented,\nsaving his life by betraying Conrad to the Hungarian authorities,\nwho had him broken alive, as is related, upon a wheel studded with\nrazor-blades,\u2014but I incline to doubt this for more reasons than one.\nBut, instead of assuaging the rage of King Louis, these monstrous\nexecutions seem only to have filled him with a further appetite\nfor blood. As during the usurpation of power by Charles of Durazzo\nafter King Andrew\u2019s murder, so now executions multiplied to such an\nextent that they threatened soon to become the principal medium of\ngovernment; just as, four centuries and a half later, in the time of\nsuppression of 1799, there set in an epidemic of frantic denunciation,\nthe general terror making of society a hot-bed of the basest passions\nand motives\u2014avarice, cowardice, and hate. And soon the people began to\nthink how they might rid them of the ghastly incubus that had come to\nprey upon them in the person of the vampire-monarch from Hungary.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nEND OF JOAN\u2019S CAREER\n\n Joan Detained at Aix\u2014Greeted as a Queen\u2014Joan Pronounced\n Innocent\u2014Plans to Regain Naples\u2014Sale of a City\u2014Return to\n Naples\u2014Indecisive War\u2014Proposal for Personal Conflict\u2014Flight of the\n Royal Family\u2014Maria\u2019s Narrow Escape\u2014Hungarians Repulsed\u2014Pope Clement\n as Intermediary\u2014Departure of the King of Hungary\u2014Festivity in\n Naples\u2014Death of Louis and Joan\u2019s Further Marital Adventures\u2014Joan in\n Trouble\u2014Her Untimely End.\n\n\nIn those days of the King of Hungary\u2019s assize in Naples, Queen Joan\nreached her county of Provence and began to travel across it from Nice,\nwhere she had landed, towards Avignon.\n\nOn coming to the town of Aix, however, to her astonishment and\nperplexity, her journey was interrupted by the townspeople, who, albeit\nthey received her with every mark of respect, yet set a guard about\nthe castle of the place, the Ch\u00e2teau d\u2019Arnaud, in which she stayed; and\nrefused to let her issue thence until, as they said, they should have\nhad word from Avignon\u2014but in regard to what matter they would not tell\nher at once. Only after two months had gone by did the Archbishop of\nAix present himself before her with an explanation. It appeared that,\nat the very moment of Joan\u2019s landing in Provence, news had been brought\nto Aix that the King of France had sent his son, the Duke of Normandy,\nto Avignon to negotiate with Joan as to the cession of Provence to\nthe French Crown in exchange for a proportionate territory elsewhere;\nso that, on seeing Joan arrive thus timely in their midst, the people\nof Aix imagined, not unnaturally, that her presence among them must\nbe connected with the negotiations in question. And, as they were\ndetermined to die to the last man rather than pass under the detested\nrule of the French, they had resolved, if need be, to keep the Queen\na hostage among them, in order to prevent her from carrying on the\ndreaded negotiations. Having however, and to their great thankfulness,\nreceived from the Sovereign Pontiff himself an absolute denial of\nany such purpose of negotiation, they at once and with many apologies\nrestored the Queen to liberty.\n\nOn leaving Avignon, what was her delight on seeing the beloved Louis\nof Taranto come out to meet her, accompanied by all the Cardinals then\nin attendance upon the Pope! Joan was now, indeed, greeted as a Queen\nby her people, who strewed the way with flowers, the while a number\nof mounted pages rode beside the royal pair, holding above them a\ncanopy of crimson velvet; and, from every church the bells pealed out\na welcome to the Sovereigns. In the castle they were received with\nall pomp and circumstance by the Holy Father, who embraced and blessed\nthem; after which they took up their residence in the Ursuline convent;\nand a little later, to complete the gladness of Joan, her younger\nsister, Maria, now the mother of two baby girls, arrived at Avignon\nfrom the stricken city of Naples. After the death of her husband in the\ncastle of Aversa, Maria, bearing her children in her arms, had taken\nrefuge from the reprisals of the King of Hungary in the monastery of\nSanta Croce, where the monks took her in and fed and sheltered her\nduring some days, although they knew that not only their lives but\nthe existence of the monastery itself would fall a sacrifice to the\nHungarian\u2019s anger should he ever learn of their charity to the widow of\nCharles of Durazzo. At length she had contrived, thanks to the disguise\nof an old monastic gown, to embark with her babies upon a ship bound\nfor Provence; and her account of the things that were being done by\nthe Hungarian in Naples made both Joan and her husband long to get back\nthere with an army behind them, that they, in their turn, might satisfy\ntheir vengeance.\n\nAbout this time there arrived, too, at Avignon ambassadors from the\nKing of Hungary to the Pope, demanding in no measured terms the formal\ncondemnation of Joan as an accessory before the fact to the murder of\nher husband, and her deposition from the throne of Naples; and, most\nespecially, that the Holy Father should give the kingdom instead to\nLouis of Hungary. And now the Pope appointed a day for Joan on which\nto plead her cause before him and to disprove the charges made against\nher if she could; and this she did so ably that those who heard her\nbroke into loud applause, and the Pope pronounced her innocent before\nall the world, and the Hungarian envoys were compelled to go away\nempty\u2014although, to this day, there are those who have their doubts\nas to the veracity of Joan\u2019s denial of the sin imputed to her. At any\nrate, Pope Clement, who was a good and truth-loving Pontiff, believed\nher, and there is an end of it.\n\nAfter the discomfiture of the Hungarians, the Pope confirmed the\nmarriage of the Queen to her cousin, Louis of Taranto, and bestowed\nupon the latter the title of King of Naples and of Jerusalem; he had\nalready, on March 27, given him the Golden Rose. Simultaneously, the\nHoly Father sent an apostolic legate, Cardinal de Boulogne, to the King\nof Hungary, at Naples, to persuade him to cede the kingdom peaceably to\nits rightful sovereigns.\n\nWhile the Cardinal was engaged on this difficult task, Nicholas\nAcciajuoli betook himself, likewise, into Naples and set about raising\nan army wherewith to drive out the Hungarians in the event of their\nrefusing to listen to the Cardinal\u2019s arguments. But, to maintain such\nan army, great expenses were unavoidable; and the Queen, who had sent\nhim in answer to a deputation of Neapolitans entreating her to return\nand rule over them, was now obliged to raise money by every means at\nher disposal. For this purpose she sold all her jewels; but, these\nproving insufficient, she begged the Pope to buy of her the city of\nAvignon. To this he consented, and on June 19, 1348, gave her for it\na sum about equal to sixty thousand pounds of our money. Which amply\ndisproves the statement made by Alexandre Dumas,[12] who says that\nthe sale took place on the day immediately prior to Joan\u2019s trial,\nsuggesting as he does that the Pope\u2019s decision was influenced by his\neagerness to acquire possession of the city\u2014for the trial was held\nalmost at once after Joan\u2019s arrival at Avignon, on March 15.\n\nIn the meantime the King of Hungary had declined to accede to the\nPope\u2019s instance that he should retire from Naples to his own kingdom;\nand so there was nothing left for Joan and Louis of Taranto to do but\nto dispossess him at the sword\u2019s point. Thanks to the indefatigable\nefforts of Acciajuoli\u2014and, in perhaps even greater measure, to the\nmisrule of the Hungarian himself\u2014matters were now ripe for an armed\nintervention in Naples, where every strong place had surrendered to\nthe enemy, with the glorious exception of the castle of Melfi, of\nwhich Lorenzo Acciajuoli, the son of Nicholas, was the commander.\nFrom Melfi, where he had conferred with his son, Nicholas Acciajuoli\ntravelled throughout the country, crying the Queen\u2019s acquittal and the\nconfirmation of her union with Louis of Taranto and proclaiming far\nand wide the great indulgences and blessings promised by the Pope to\nall who should submit themselves to their lawful rulers, Queen Joan and\nher consort, King Louis. And, finding himself everywhere greeted with\ntumultuous declamations of loyalty towards Joan and of detestation of\nthe Hungarian, Acciajuoli returned to the Queen at Avignon with the\nnews that she might safely entrust her cause to her own people.\n\nOn September 10, 1348, she left Provence for Naples, accompanied by her\nhusband and her sister and the counsellors, Acciajuoli and Spinelli.\nBut, when they came to the shores of Naples, they could not land in the\nharbour because all the castles on that side of the city were occupied\nby the Hungarians, so that they had to go on to where the mouth of the\nclassic river, Sebeto, was crossed by a bridge, the Ponte Guiscardo;\nthence they were escorted by the nobles and townspeople to the Palazzo\nAdjutorio by the Porta Capuana, where they proceeded to establish\nthemselves and their Court.\n\n\nFor many months the fortunes of war inclined first to one side and\nthen to the other. It began by Nicholas Acciajuoli\u2019s blockading the\nHungarians in their strongholds, whilst Louis of Taranto employed his\nenergies in reducing various of the rebellious barons to allegiance.\nLittle by little, he extended his operations from the city of\nNaples into the furthest confines of the kingdom; until, by dint\nof perseverance, he had contrived to make himself, as it appeared,\nmaster of it. But suddenly his good-fortune deserted him, owing to his\nabandonment by one of the King of Hungary\u2019s mercenaries whom Louis had\nseduced to the side of the Queen by heavy bribes. This was that Werner\nwho styled himself \u201cthe enemy of GOD,\u201d and who now resold himself to\nthe Hungarian, to whose Vicar-General, Conrad Wolf (Conrado Lupo, as\nthe chronicler makes it), he opened the gates of Benevento.\n\nThe consequence of Werner\u2019s treachery was to force Louis of Taranto\nto fall back upon Naples; when the King of Hungary, on learning of it,\nmade all speed to rejoin his troops\u2014he had fled from Italy for a while\nto escape an epidemic of the plague\u2014before Aversa, bringing with him\nheavy reinforcements. Landing at Manfredonia, he advanced, practically\nunopposed, so swiftly as to take his adversary completely by surprise.\nHaving made himself master of the fortresses of Trani, Canosa, and\nSalerno in rapid succession, thus hemming in Louis of Taranto on the\neast and on the south, he proceeded to lay siege to Aversa on the\nnorth of Naples. This new move threatened disaster to Joan and her\nhusband, who, being forced to remain on the defensive in Naples, were\nobliged to witness the spectacle of as gallant a resistance as was\never made by any beleaguered garrison; and that without being able to\ncome in any way to the assistance of Pignatelli, the commandant of the\nplace, and his heroic soldiers, who only numbered about five hundred\nmen, as against some seventeen thousand of the enemy\u2019s forces. During\nthree months Pignatelli flung back the King of Hungary\u2019s attacks upon\nthe town; until finally, despairing of taking Aversa by assault, the\nHungarian resolved to reduce it by starvation.\n\nGradually the circumstances of the little garrison became hopeless; so\nthat Pignatelli was confronted with the alternative of surrender or of\ndeath either by starvation or in a last grapple with the besiegers. To\nadd to the general distress, a fleet of vessels bringing reinforcements\nto Queen Joan from Provence under the leadership of Renaud des\nBaux\u2014some relation this, I fancy, of that terrible Chief Justice,\nthe Count of Monte Scaglioso\u2014and upon the timely arrival of which all\ndepended, was delayed by contrary winds so that none could say where it\nwas or whether it would ever arrive at all.\n\nUnder these circumstances, Louis of Taranto, abhorring the thought of\nallowing the brave Pignatelli and his soldiers to sacrifice themselves\nto no purpose (seeing that the ultimate surrender of Aversa was\ninevitable), sent a message to the King of Hungary inviting him to\na personal encounter, in the same spirit in which the Emperor Paul\nPetrovitch sent a similar challenge to King George III of England.\nLouis of Taranto\u2019s proposal to the Hungarian was simplicity itself:\nthat he of them who should kill the other should be King of Naples and\nof Jerusalem. To this the King of Hungary consented, with the advice\nof his counsellors, stipulating only that the combat should take place\nin the presence of the Emperor of Germany, as C\u00e6sar and sovereign lord\nof all the princes of the West; or of the King of England, as a friend\nof both parties; or of the Patriarch of Aquileia, whose pretensions\nto equality with the Pope the Hungarian appears to have been by way of\nencouraging in revenge for Clement VI\u2019s decision in favour of Joan.\n\nThese proposals, however, came to naught, for in the meanwhile Aversa\nsurrendered to the Hungarians; so that there was no longer any call for\nhim to risk his life for nothing. He had only to close in upon Naples,\nand the doomed city must at once fall into his hands; it was not more\nthan twelve miles from Aversa to the capital and the Hungarian advance\nguard under Lupi was soon visible to the Neapolitans at the Porta\nCapuana; for it was easier for them, being mounted troops, to approach\nthe city from the direction of Poggia than from that of Capodimonte,\nthe more direct but more hilly road to Aversa.\n\nProvidentially, it was at this moment that the ships of Renaud des Baux\nhove in sight of Naples and speedily came to anchor in the port. Now\nit chanced that Maria of Durazzo with her two children had taken refuge\nfrom a possible sack of the city by the Hungarians in the Castel dell\u2019\nUovo, that, as the reader will remember, stands upon a rock surrounded\non three sides by the sea and connected with the mainland by a causeway\non arches. Both John and Louis, being occupied in the town itself at\nthe time of the fleet\u2019s arrival, and supposing that Maria had already\npreceded them on board the flagship, remained at their posts until\nthe last, encouraging their people and exhorting them to hold firm\nagainst the foe. But the Neapolitans, preferring surrender to possible\nannihilation, sent out a deputation to the King of Hungary to beg for\nterms; to the great anger and sorrow of their rightful sovereigns,\nwho only now, when all seemed over, reluctantly sought the shelter of\nDes Baux\u2019s vessels, off the Castello dell\u2019 Uovo. Here, being now much\npressed for time, they embarked on the nearest of the ships and, still\nin the belief that the Duchess of Durazzo was safe on board that of the\nAdmiral, they gave the signal to depart and sailed out of the harbour\nfollowed, as they imagined, by the rest of the fleet; for it was now\ndrawing on to night, and too dark for them to see clearly what was\ntaking place in rear of them.\n\nNot until they reached Gaeta, towards noon of the following day, after\nfighting their way through a dreadful storm, did they realise that the\nAdmiral\u2019s ship with the Queen\u2019s sister on board was not with the rest\nof the squadron that now came toiling, ship by ship, at long intervals\ninto the harbour. What had happened to it? Had it sunk or been flung\nashore by the waves during the night at some lonely spot upon that\ninhospitable coast? This was the agonising question that Joan asked of\nherself and of Louis and of all about them. And none could answer her.\n\nSuddenly, as all hope of her ever again holding her sister in her arms\nseemed to be on the point of vanishing from before Joan\u2019s eyes, a cry\nof joy broke from her where she was leaning upon the gunwale of the\nvessel, her gaze fixed upon the sea and the cloud-scuds to southward.\nHastening to her side, Louis saw that a ship in difficulties, a\nconsiderable distance from them, was being driven, in spite of\npersistent \u201ctacking,\u201d towards them in the harbour of Gaeta. Thinking\nit must be the Admiral, Louis hoisted signals to him, that he should\njoin them; but, to his amazement, no attention was at first paid to his\nsignals; by which I mean to say that Louis had flown the Royal Standard\nand that the other only continued the more desperately to endeavour to\nkeep out to sea.\n\nOf a sudden, though, the newcomer\u2019s sails were seen to collapse and\nfall to the deck; and, judging from the way in which she was tossed\nand rolled about by the waves, albeit without changing her position,\nthe watchers could see that she had cast anchor. Without further delay,\nLouis, in order to put an end to Joan\u2019s suspense, ordered a boat to be\nlowered and, together with several of his comrades-in-arms, sprang into\nit and was rowed out\u2014not without considerable difficulty\u2014to the vessel\nin the offing.\n\nOn drawing alongside, their feelings may more easily be imagined than\ndescribed at hearing the cries of a woman in distress come to them\nfrom out the creaking, storm-tossed galley which was unquestionably\nthat of Des Baux. Moreover, the deck was crowded with sailors, who now\ncalled to them to come quickly. Clambering over the side by means of a\nrope-ladder thrown down by the crew, Louis of Taranto and his comrades\nrushed towards the Admiral\u2019s quarters at the poop end of the deck, to\nfind his cabin shut and barred, the while the voice of Maria of Durazzo\ncalled to them from within, with redoubled energy, to come to her\nassistance. In an instant they had broken down the door and, surging\ninto the roomy cabin, found themselves in the presence of Maria and\nof the Admiral, who was endeavouring to stifle her cries and to push\nher, with the help of his son, Robert des Baux, into a cupboard of the\napartment.\n\nWithout a moment\u2019s hesitation, Louis of Taranto smote the Admiral with\nhis sword, so that he fell dead, whilst Maria sank on to a couch, her\nface in her hands to shut out the sight of the killing. But, having\nslain the Admiral, Louis was content and ordered Robert des Baux to be\nmerely put in irons and taken with them back to the other vessel, where\nQueen Joan was waiting so feverishly to learn if her sister were alive\nand on board or not. And when Maria at last rejoined the Queen she told\nher how, having once taken her away from the Castel dell\u2019 Uovo on his\nflagship, the Admiral, instead of sailing in the wake of the rest of\nthe fleet, had shaped his course for Marseilles; how he had tried to\ncompel her to marry his son, and how at length the sailors, learning of\nit, and angered at his attempt to make the coast of France instead of\nfollowing the Queen, had broken into mutiny on coming within sight of\nthe ships at Gaeta.\n\n\nIt would seem that the younger Des Baux was less to blame in the affair\nthan his father. At any rate, there is no evidence to show that he\nshared the latter\u2019s fate; although this may well have been owing to\nthe fact that, soon after Louis of Taranto\u2019s return with her sister\nto the Queen, news was brought to them from Naples of a sudden change\nin the situation there. It appeared that, soon after the departure\nof the Queen and her husband from the city, the answer of the King\nof Hungary to the deputies sent out to surrender the city to him was\nreceived and made known to the inhabitants. But of such a nature was\nit, so atrociously haughty and so sinister withal, that, rather than\nsubmit themselves to so despotic and so resentful a Prince, the unhappy\nNeapolitans declared their intention of dying with arms in their hands\nin the defence of their families and their homes. No sooner did the\nHungarians learn of this resolve than a desperate attack was delivered\nby them upon the Porta Capuana, which they succeeded in penetrating,\nand compelled the defenders to fall back towards the harbour and the\nfortresses in the southern quarter of the city.\n\nAs the Hungarians were, however, advancing through the black, deserted\nstreets upon the Castel Nuovo in the hope of capturing at least a\nportion of the royal family, the amazing rashness of their venturing\nthus under cover of night into the midst of an hostile, well-armed, and\nwell-barricaded populace suddenly became patent to the Neapolitans;\nas well as the extreme exhaustion of the Hungarian men and horses.\nNo sooner had the Neapolitans recognised their opportunity than they\nseized it, flinging themselves upon their enemies, whom they now beat\nback to the Porta Capuana and out through it into the country beyond,\namidst great slaughter and an indescribable confusion, taking no\nprisoners but killing all who fell into their hands.\n\nThis was practically the end of that war of the Hungarians against\nQueen Joan and Louis of Taranto, after whom messengers were despatched\nthat night to Gaeta, asking them to return and to lead their subjects\nonce more against the foreigners, who, said the message, had been\nbeaten back from Naples and were in full retreat upon their former\neastern base about Benevento. Soon after the return to Naples of Joan\nand Louis, however, a truce for twelve months was arranged between\nthem and the Hungarian, who was now more willing to listen to reason\nthan he had been before; so that when the Pope was invited by Joan to\nmediate between them, he welcomed the suggestion thankfully enough.\nPope Clement\u2019s first proposal, though, that Joan should make the King\nof Hungary the heir to her crown, and so put her sister Maria out of\nthe succession, Joan refused even to contemplate; and then the Pope\nsuggested that she should pay a lump sum in cash to the King of Hungary\nas ransom for all the fortresses that he still held in his hands in the\nKingdom of Naples; in return for which he was to abandon all further\nclaims upon and to the Crown.\n\nTo this Joan agreed willingly; but, when the proposal was made known to\nthe King of Hungary, he said: \u201cIt is not for money or lands that I have\nfought, but for vengeance on my brother\u2019s murderers. But now my work\nis done; the angry shades are satisfied, and I am going back to my own\ncountry.\u201d Nor would he accept so much as a single piece of money for\nall the strong places and the power that were still his in the Kingdom\nof Naples; but gave all over, undefiled by money, to Joan, and then\ndeparted as he had come, triumphant and unapproachable.\n\nAfter Louis of Hungary had gone away, there came a legate from the\nPope to crown Louis of Taranto as King of Naples and to solemnly ratify\nonce more his marriage with the Queen. All of which was carried out on\nMay 25, 1351, and the next three days, with an accompaniment of much\nfeasting and tourneys; also a general amnesty was issued to all who had\nin any way taken part against their lawful sovereigns in the late wars.\nThe ecclesiastical ceremonies took place in the Chapel of Justice built\nby Charles II, to which Joan afterwards added the Church called \u201cChiesa\ndell\u2019 Incoronata,\u201d in memory of her wedding to Louis of Taranto. Among\nthe frescoes in the Church are portraits of Joan and of Louis and\nof the infant son of the Duke of Calabria, all painted by Roberto di\nOderisio or, as some say, by his master, the great Giotto himself. It\nis recorded that the festivities passed off to the satisfaction of all\nand were only marred by a single untoward event. For it happened that,\nas King Louis was riding back from his coronation beside the Queen,\nand was passing through the Porta Petruccia towards the Castel Nuovo,\na party of ladies threw down upon him an immense quantity of flowers,\nmaking his horse rear up and break the rein. To save himself, lest it\nshould fall and crush him, the King sprang out of the saddle; but in\ndoing so he loosened the crown so that it fell from his head into the\nroadway and was broken into three pieces. And that same day there fell\nsick and died his infant daughter by Joan. However, the King forbade\nthat the festivities should be spoiled by mourning; and so they were\ncarried to their conclusion. And in memory of his coronation King Louis\ninstituted the Order of the Knot.\n\nThe short rest of his life, though, was full of wars and disquiet and\ndisillusionment, for he was constantly employed in repressing rebellion\nand in checking the independent tendencies of his barons. Among the\nmost formidable of the disturbers of his peace was Louis of Durazzo,\nbrother of that evil Charles who had perished by order of the King of\nHungary at Aversa. Louis of Durazzo was defeated, however, and ended\nhis days in the Castello dell\u2019 Uovo. But he left behind him a son,\nCharles, whose life was spared in answer to the pleading of Joan, who\ntook charge of him and loaded him with kindnesses and married him to\nher niece, Margaret, the daughter of Maria of Durazzo and of that other\nCharles.\n\n\nWorn out by incessant campaigning, King Louis fell victim to a malarial\nfever on June 5, 1362, in the forty-third year of his age.\n\nSoon afterwards Joan married James of Aragon, King of Minorca, who\nhad first fallen in love with her at Avignon, where the history of his\nfortunes and adventures, combined with the melancholy handsomeness of\nhim, had made a deep impression both upon Joan and upon her sister. For\nJames of Aragon had spent no less than thirteen years of his life as a\nprisoner in an iron cage, and was even said to have been reduced to the\nnecessity of begging his bread. No sooner was he married to Joan than\nhe devoted himself to making war upon Pedro the Cruel, the usurper of\nhis throne, and died near Navarre, in 1375.\n\nAfter King James\u2019 demise, Joan married again, as her fourth husband,\nDuke Otho of Brunswick; by now, having no children alive of her\nown, she adopted as her successor Charles of Durazzo, her nephew by\nmarriage, whose life she had saved.\n\nDuring the next few years Joan, as the result of a quarrel with Pope\nUrban VI (who as Bartolomeo Prignani had been formerly one of her\nown subjects), gave her support to the anti-Pope, Clement VII, whom\nshe sheltered in the Castello dell\u2019 Uovo. For this she was promptly\nexcommunicated, being at the same time declared deposed from the\nthrone, whilst her subjects were formally relieved of their allegiance\nto her. The Crown of Naples was bestowed by the Holy Father upon\nCharles of Durazzo, whom Joan had already proclaimed her successor\nand who now showed his gratitude in the following remarkable manner:\nHastily borrowing an army from his great uncle, old King Louis of\nHungary, who was still alive, Charles set out for Naples, where his\nwife and their two children were even then living as honoured guests\nand relatives under Joan\u2019s roof. So soon as she learned of this, Joan\nsent word to Louis of Anjou, brother of the King of France, to say that\nshe appointed him her successor instead of Charles and begging him to\ncome to her aid against the latter.\n\nOn the approach of Charles\u2019 army, Joan sent out his wife and children\nto plead with him that he would treat her generously; but, instead of\ndoing so, Charles laid siege to Joan in the Castel Nuovo; her husband,\nDuke Otho, he had blockaded behind him in the castle of Aversa. At\nlength, though, the German fought his way through the containing force\nbefore Aversa and fell upon Charles of Durazzo\u2019s flank and rear guard\nby way of Piedigrotta. Long the unequal combat raged, but at last when\nOtho himself, after being wounded and having broken his sword, and,\nthanks to his leading his men and becoming separated from them in the\nmidst of the enemy, had been taken prisoner, the little remnant of his\nfollowers, surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered, had no choice but to\nsurrender. Whereupon, Charles of Durazzo redoubled his efforts against\nthe Castel Nuovo and, shortly afterwards, succeeded in taking it; after\nwhich he wrote to the King of Hungary to say that the Queen of Naples\nwas his prisoner and asking that monarch\u2019s good pleasure in regard to\nher.\n\nSome months now passed, during which Otho of Brunswick, on promising\nto quit Neapolitan territory for ever, was given his liberty; and\nthe French army of Louis of Anjou compelled to abandon its march upon\nNaples. At the end of that time an answer was received from the King\nof Hungary, commanding that Joan should be put to death as a last\npropitiatory sacrifice to his murdered brother.\n\nSince the taking of Naples the Queen had been sent for safekeeping to\nthe castle of Muro in Calabria.\n\nOn the 5th of May, 1385, as she was praying in her room there, that\nlooked out over the ravine and the town below, the door was opened very\nstealthily, so that the Queen thought it was one of her maids and did\nnot turn her head to look at the intruder. Nor did she ever, in all\nprobability, see who it was that had entered; for, in the same moment,\na cord was slipped over her head and swiftly drawn tight about her\nthroat as only a man of strong hands could draw it; so that she died\ninstantly, her unfinished prayer upon her lips. And the four Hungarian\nsoldiers, who had seen her die, left her lying there and went away\nquietly to report to their commanding officer that the thing was done\nas it had been ordered. And the cord with which they had done it was\nthe same with which Andrew of Hungary had been strangled at Aversa; so,\nat least, it is said.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nNAPLES UNDER MURAT\n\n Beauty of Naples\u2014Figures of Its History\u2014St. Januarius\u2014Murat,\n King of Naples\u2014Achievements as King\u2014The Carbonari\u2014England\u2019s\n Promises\u2014Napoleonic Diplomacy\u2014Rise of the Bourbons\u2014Alliance\n with Austria\u2014Murat\u2019s Indecision\u2014Distrust of the Allies\u2014Murat\u2019s\n Statesmanship\u2014Talleyrand\u2019s Diplomacy\u2014Naples, the Gay\u2014Conspiracy\n in the Palace\u2014The Escape from Elba\u2014Ideal Government\u2014War Against\n Murat\u2014Advance of the Austrians\u2014Murat Driven to Naples\u2014Interview\n with His Wife\u2014Last Instructions to His Ministers\u2014Escape.\n\n\nThe fairest and, in some respects, the wickedest spot on the face of\nthe earth is that wonder city, that broods by the \u201ctideless, dolorous,\nmidland sea,\u201d Vesuvius, smoking like some monstrous chimney of hell\nbehind her, the deep blue, translucent glory of the sea like a drift of\nOur Blessed Lady\u2019s mantle before.\n\nTravelling round that bay and on around the point towards Calabria,\nhardly a dreamy mile goes by that some of the history of thousands of\nyears ago does not present itself.\n\nIt has been the home of saints and of scholars; of soldiers a few, of\nstatesmen a-many, of some of the most beautiful characters that ever\nwalked the earth, and of some of the very worst that ever polluted the\nworld with their presence. At the top of the list stands St. Januarius,\nBishop of Benevento, who with six of his companions came to Naples\nduring the ninth persecution to comfort and strengthen the Faithful,\nand who being seized with his companions was taken to Pozzuoli, and\nthere flung to the wild beasts; who, when they refused to harm him, was\nplunged into a blazing furnace, out of which he came intact, and was\nthereafter beheaded; but who stands at the bottom, I should be afraid\nto say. At this point there is an \u201cembarras de richesses!\u201d\n\n\nOf all the landmarks of history with which the Kingdom of Naples is\ndotted none, perhaps, is more rich in Romance or more imbued with the\nspirit of Tragedy than a certain straggling, half-ruined castle near\nthe little village of Pizzo, upon the coast of Calabria.\n\nA round tower, grey and sullen with age, faces the sea; in the wall of\nit is set a small, heavily barred window, through which one of the very\nfew comparatively good Kings of Naples looked his last upon a world\nwhich had seen him rise from a peasant to a monarch.\n\nThere is neither space nor need to recapitulate here the life of\nMurat. Italy, Russia, Germany, Austria, Egypt had felt the tread of his\nall-shattering squadrons, whose onset no horse or foot of continental\nEurope had ever been able to withstand. The Dictator of Europe had\ngiven him his sister for a wife. Naples had been proud to own him for\nher King. Glory, wealth, splendour had been his, and he could have kept\nthem\u2014I think it is safe to say that he could have kept them\u2014had he been\nable to stand firm. But he had not the strength, even when he joined\nthe Coalition in 1814. While he was still fighting Eug\u00e8ne, he could\nnot resist the temptation to intrigue with the Viceroy, who of course\ninstantly saw to it that the Allies were notified of the fact. In those\nstormy days nobody trusted his neighbour, nor did any one blame his\nneighbour particularly for trying to keep his political balance in any\nway that he could; so that Murat\u2019s\u2014inconsistency, let us call it\u2014was\nnot held against him afterwards. The Bourbons were not popular, either,\nand Ferdinand, that perfect product of the hapless, helpless race, was\ngenerally detested. It must be said for the Bourbons that their sins\nare, as a rule, of the negative sort, and cruelty is not one of them.\nFerdinand, however, besides being a spineless king, was a brute and a\ncoward, which again are not Bourbon traits.\n\nJoachim Murat\u2019s position was always a difficult one, to be sure.\nAlthough King of Naples, he was in Napoleon\u2019s time only a king at\nhis imperial brother-in-law\u2019s pleasure, and regarded by the latter as\nlittle more than a proconsul, elevated to a throne in order to carry\nout his master\u2019s wishes. At the same time he was conscientious enough\nto attempt the task of being a real king\u2014and a good one. He loved the\n\u201cflair\u201d of kingship, but he did recognise some of his responsibilities\ntowards his subjects and continued, while Napoleon\u2019s back was turned,\nto govern fairly well. The Neapolitans loved show and noise and\nceremony, and they liked the handsome, dashing, open-handed cavalryman.\nThe country was rich, too. In those days, even if the peasants lived\nlike cattle, at least they had plenty to eat and drink, and even now\nthose times are spoken of as a bankrupt speaks of the fat years behind\nhim.\n\n\u201cEra una schiuma d\u2019oro\u201d (It was a froth of gold), said one old man to\nme, some years ago, \u201cbefore this government of robbers took possession\nof it!\u201d\n\nOf all Napoleon\u2019s kinglings, Bernadotte alone contrived to keep his\ncrown, and that may very well have been because Napoleon did not choose\nhim, but only acceded to the popular demand when he let him reign.\n\nMurat came to the throne of the Two Sicilies in 1808, when poor unlucky\nJoseph was compelled, much against his will, to go to Spain. Joachim\nwas not always popular; indeed, that would have been impossible, in\nthe condition of things which prevailed in 1810 and 1811. He could\nnot always be on the spot, and in his absence he had to trust to\nhis government. This being made up of Neapolitans\u2014both Liberal and\notherwise\u2014and of the Frenchmen who had come in with him, did not trust\nitself, and the King\u2019s authority came to be decentralised beyond all\ncontrol from the throne. His life was conspired against several times.\nOnce in particular a plot was hatched to assassinate him while he was\nhunting in the woods of Mondragone, but one of the conspirators turned\nking\u2019s evidence and the plotters were caught. When they were brought to\ntrial, and their guilt was proved, their advocate was making the best\nhe could of a bad job, when the presiding judge stopped the proceedings\nto read aloud a paper which he had just received from the King.\n\n\u201cI had hoped,\u201d it said, \u201cthat those accused of conspiring against my\nperson might have been proved innocent; but I have heard with regret\nthat the Solicitor-General has demanded a heavy punishment against\nthem all. Their guilt may perhaps be real, but I am desirous of still\npreserving a ray of hope that they may be innocent, and I hasten to\nstop the decision of the Tribunal and to pardon the accused. I order\nthat upon receipt of this paper the trial be closed and the unhappy men\nset at liberty. As the trial concerns a foolish attempt upon my life,\nand the sentence is not yet pronounced, I do not offend against the law\nof the State, if without having received a recommendation to mercy I\nthus use the highest and best prerogative of the Crown.\u201d\n\nMurat set many public works on foot, notably during 1812. Roads\nand bridges and theatres were built, marshes drained and aqueducts\nconstructed, the most noteworthy of which achievements were the Strada\ndi Posilippo, the Campo di Marte, the observatory on the height of\nMiradone, and a lunatic asylum. This latter caused a good deal of\nsurprise as well, for lunatics were not generally coddled in that\nfashion in the Naples of 1812.\n\nIn the middle of all this activity, Murat was recalled to Paris, and\nit was only after many months and many experiences that he set eyes\nupon his kingdom again. Had his advice, which was to halt the 1812\ncampaign at Smolensk and establish a settled government in Poland, been\nfollowed, it is possible and more than possible that the disastrous\naffair would have had a different termination, for Napoleon could have\nkept his communications open; but the Emperor, at that time, suspected\nMurat and Ney and Rapp, believing that a weariness of war and a desire\nto reap some of the fruits of their labour was at the bottom of the\nreally excellent counsel that they offered him. And so he pushed on to\nMoscow, partly from impatience, partly to satisfy the gnawing appetite\nof the \u201cfolie de grandeurs\u201d which had hold of him, partly because he\ndid not trust his own men. \u201cOurs is not an army of position,\u201d he said.\n\u201cIt is an army of attack\u2014not of defence.\u201d\n\nMurat\u2019s conduct during the campaign was such as to extract an unwilling\npraise even from the Emperor, who was no believer in praise as an agent\nfor anything but the rank and file. Only when Murat left the wreck of\nthe army, the command of which Napoleon had entrusted to him, on the\nOder, did the quarrel which the war had drugged into a false quiet\nbreak out again.\n\nNapoleon, on hearing of Joachim\u2019s return to his kingdom, wrote a\nfrightful letter to Caroline, and this falling into her husband\u2019s\nhands drew from him a reply which threatened to break up the relations\nbetween the two for all time, and it was only Caroline\u2019s self-control\nand tact that healed the breach for the time being.\n\nA common danger and the ties of their old comradeship drew them\ntogether again when Murat arrived in Bohemia, and then he fought\nstoutly and well. It is hardly credible and, were it not history, it\nwould be absolutely inconceivable, that, while battling whole-heartedly\nfor the French in Bohemia, Murat was engaged, through his government,\nin an attempt to unify Italy by the assistance of Great Britain, which\nwas to supply twenty-five thousand men, who, with his own troops and\nthe disaffected Italians in the ranks of the French garrisons, were to\ndrive the Tricolour over the Alps. He contrived to persuade himself\nthat he was honest in his intentions, too, by a process of reasoning\npeculiar to several of the Emperor\u2019s lieutenants in those times. As\nFrenchmen they marched with the armies of France, and served her to the\nbest of their splendid ability; as kings and grand dukes, they served\ntheir subjects, or thought they did, with equal enthusiasm. Bentinck,\nhowever, being an Englishman, failed to understand the presence of\ntheir separate political entities in one person, and withdrew, so\nthat the unification of Italy, fortunately, one cannot but think, fell\nthrough, and Joachim returned to Naples in 1813.\n\nIt was then that the society, known as the Carbonari, who had appeared\nin the kingdom three years before, began to spread themselves in all\nclasses of society, conspiring in the sweet Italian fashion, which\nconspires for the sake of the pure delight of intriguing. They had\nno definite aim. Their professed \u201craison d\u2019\u00eatre\u201d was a vague dream of\na vague constitution, \u201c\u00e0 l\u2019Anglaise.\u201d In such hands, of course, this\nwould have been about as fruitful of any real liberty as the Commune,\nand none knew this better than Lord William Bentinck; but any stone\nwill do to throw at the Devil, and Lord William hastened to communicate\nwith the liberty-loving thieves, murderers, and brigands who\nrepresented the society of Naples. There were, to be sure, some honest\nmen among them, whose hearts were stronger than their heads. There\nalways are a few in these affairs, enticed in by flattery and utterly\nuninformed as to the real object of their associates, who are pushed to\nthe front for the public to see.\n\nAmong these was a certain young gentleman, a man of fortune and\ncourage\u2014a captain of militia in his own town, which stood upon the\nsummit of a high and precipitous mountain. His name was Capobianco\n(white-head) and, at the time when he came to the notice of the\nauthorities, they had discovered the trafficking of the society with\nLord William, who had been sending across volumes containing the\nnew Sicilian laws which had been enacted in that island, under the\nBourbons, or, to speak more accurately, had been forced upon the\nBourbons by Lord William, under pain of being left to look after\nthemselves and being compelled to fight for their own possessions.\nThe conspirators must have been a simple-minded people, if they really\nbelieved that Ferdinand had promulgated anything of the kind without\ncompulsion.\n\nLord William promised the Neapolitans a similar code, if they would\nonly restore Ferdinand\u2014Lord William was always rather free with his\npromises\u2014and the Government of Naples, finding the horrid thing in\ntheir midst, proscribed the society and threatened with most dreadful\npunishments any one who mentioned the word constitution. Whereupon the\nCarbonari dropped down into Calabria and proceeded to shout it aloud,\namong them young Capobianco.\n\nAs it has been said, his town was practically inaccessible, so\nthat, despairing of his capture, General Janelli made a pretence\nof refusing to believe in his association with the Carbonari; after\nseveral ineffectual efforts to entrap him (for Capobianco had a native\nmistrust of authority under any guise save that of the Church), he one\nday invited him to dinner upon the occasion of a public festival in\nCosenza. Capobianco hesitated, but finally made up his mind to attend,\nfeeling that he would be safe if he took unfrequented byways and\nsurrounded himself with a dependable escort.\n\nHe would feel safe, he told himself, in Cosenza, for he intended to\narrive when the banquet should be already begun and leave before it was\nover, and, in the house of the General, he would be in the company of\nall of the authorities of the province, whose presence he seems to have\nconceived to be a safeguard, for some reason or another.\n\nSo he went and was royally entertained. Healths were drunk, compliments\nwere exchanged, and Capobianco proposed to depart, followed by the\nsalutations of the General. He got no further than the ante-room,\nthough, where the gendarmes were waiting for him. They seized him and\ndragged him off to prison, where the next morning he was tried by a\nmilitary commission, condemned, and publicly beheaded before mid-day in\nthe Square.\n\nWhen this was bruited abroad, some of the \u201cpatriots\u201d fled to Sicily\nand the Bourbons, to breathe, as we are told, \u201cthe free atmosphere of\nSicily under the Bourbons!\u201d and Joachim\u2019s unpopularity began to assume\nthe proportions of a menace.\n\nStill, however, the better elements were upon his side, perhaps\nfrom expediency,\u2014for Murat\u2019s servants would receive short shrift at\nFerdinand\u2019s hands should that monarch return,\u2014but they gave Joachim\nsome very good advice among them, even if some of it is rather too\nsubtle. Napoleon\u2019s hands were too full to allow of his interference,\nand he, in his dealings with the Allies, invariably quoted fifty\nthousand Neapolitan troops as part of his own force. The Allies knew\nbetter, though. Two fatal defects in a ruler are over-craftiness and\ninconsistency. Murat had both. At one time, as it has been seen, he\nhastened to pardon those who had conspired against his life; a year\nlater he allowed his own resentment against the Carbonari to lead him\ninto an attempt to crush them by a severity which merely drove them\nin on each other and made a solid body out of a straggling mob. Before\nthis, with an ideal the meaning of which very few of them understood,\nthe Carbonari\u2014the leaders of the movement, that is to say\u2014were fighting\nthe clouds; but the harrying they received gave them a definite\ngrievance and one that was shared, for purely personal reasons, by\nthousands who would otherwise never have joined the movement at all.\n\nThe craftiness which Murat conceived to be policy delivered him into\nthe hands of men far cleverer than himself, whose life\u2019s business it\nwas to overreach one another.\n\nHe was a brave man and a most excellent soldier, but those were not\nqualities that could help him in the thimble-rigging, knife-in-the-boot\ngame of Napoleonic statecraft, played by men who had not an illusion\nremaining about each other, and who, with the possible exception of\nthe Russians, had each and all betrayed their neighbours over and over\nagain.\n\nMurat, at Ollendorf upon the shores of Ulm, received several very\npolite and pressing invitations to an alliance from the Austrian\nCommissioner, Count von Mier, and he had listened to them, as one\nof his contemporaries says, without disdain. Wishing, though, to get\nan idea of what his own people might think of such a suggestion, he\nconsulted two or three of his ministers and generals on the subject.\nThe result did not help him much, for they all held different opinions.\nOne held that France\u2019s welfare was that of Naples, and that with\nthe return of the Bourbons to Paris everything that the Revolution\nand the Empire had done for Italy would he wiped out; another, that\nMurat\u2019s duty was to establish himself firmly and hold fast to his\nthrone, whatever might happen to his own people and the Emperor. Upon\none point they were all agreed and that was that Murat\u2019s first and\nmost imperative duty was to so order his relations with the Powers\nas to exclude any possible chance of Ferdinand\u2019s return; it was as to\nthe best way of attaining that desired condition of things that they\ndiffered.\n\n\u201cThe old and the new era,\u201d said one, advocating the continuance of the\nexisting alliance with France, \u201care at war with one another, and the\nvictory cannot for the present be assigned to any particular state or\npeople. Should the new triumph, all the social institutions of Europe\nwill, in twenty years\u2019 time, be established upon the basis of the Civil\npolity introduced by the French; but, if the old, all progress will be\narrested and the new States be thrown back towards the hated condition\nof the past.\u201d\n\nHe goes on to remark upon the reliance to be placed upon the word of\nthe Kings then struggling against Napoleon, \u201cfor, if kings promise\nto-day, they will break their words to-morrow.\u201d\n\nThe other finishes his address, in which he advises Murat to let France\nbleed to death by herself, thus:\n\n\u201cAbove all, I beseech you not to be caught by false glory, but to\nbelieve that there is only one way to preserve your reputation, which\nis to preserve your Throne!\u201d The military element seems to have been\nof the same opinion as number two, but Joachim wavered\u2014as well he\nmight, for both parties to the discussion were right. Even if he joined\nhimself to the Allies, it was quite likely that his throne would\nbe taken from him at the first convenient moment. The Bourbons were\neverywhere, and Spain, Italy, Austria, and presently France, would\nbe filled with them. Their clamour would rise in a hurricane, and\nwhat could those who professed to hold their own crowns as gifts from\nthe Almighty say in answer to them? If the Emperor of Austria ruled\nby Divine Right, he must believe that Ferdinand did the same. If the\nDivine Right could be disregarded in one case, it could be disregarded\nin all, and there were plenty of evilly disposed persons who desired\nnothing better. It would be a weapon in their hands, and they had\nplenty of weapons already.\n\nIn spite of this, and in the face of it, Francis of Austria, by a\ntreaty concluded on the 11th of January, 1814, acknowledged Joachim\u2019s\ndominion and sovereignty over the States he ruled, and Joachim, as a\nmatter of form, returned the compliment.\n\nThus Naples was definitely placed in the ranks of France\u2019s enemies,\nAustria agreeing to furnish thirty thousand men for Italy and Naples\nthirty thousand, the allied forces to be under the command of the King\nof Naples, or, in his absence, of the officer highest in rank in the\nAustrian army.\n\nThis, together with a promise that Francis would use his good offices\nto bring about a reconciliation between Naples and England, as well as\nwith Austria\u2019s allies, was the published treaty, but there were several\nsecret clauses, some of which seem to indicate a lack of humour in the\nhigh contracting parties.\n\nFrancis, having acknowledged Joachim\u2019s sovereignty, pledged himself to\nobtain the renunciation of it from Ferdinand (as though the consent\nof that individual made any difference to anybody!), while Joachim\npromised, on his part, to indemnify Ferdinand, thereby acknowledging\nthat his own claim was that of _force majeure_ and nothing else; and\nyet the principle of Ferdinand\u2019s Divine Right was never called into\nquestion! But at the same time Murat was in correspondence with General\nMiollis, commanding the French troops in Rome, and with Barbou and\nFouch\u00e9, assuring them of his devotion and attachment to France, and\nendeavouring to explain away his treaty with Francis on the ground of\npolitical necessity!\n\nMiollis withdrew into Sant\u2019 Angelo, and the Neapolitan troops forced\nthe little body of French under Lascolette to shut themselves up in\nthe citadel of Civita Vecchia. But now, after having inaugurated his\ncampaign, Murat\u2019s indecision prevented him from giving any definite\norders, and his generals instantly began to suspect him of playing them\nfalse.\n\nProceeding into the States of Rome, he found anarchy prevailing in\nevery direction, and, already torn with conflicting emotions, he found\nhimself the target of generals, magistrates, and Austrian ministers,\nwho maintained that he had not acted up to his part of the treaty.\n\nThat roused him, and he woke up from his lethargy long enough to start\nthe Neapolitan troops forward and to settle the civil administration\na little. A good many Frenchmen still remained in the Neapolitan army\nand, in order to retain them, and have some company in his matricidal\ncourse, he assured them that the treaty was a feint and that he was\nworking heart and soul for his beloved country. But he so entangled\nhimself with lies that he presently found it difficult to move in\nany direction without finding the net of them about his feet. The\nNeapolitans disliked and distrusted the French, because they saw in\nthem a drag upon Joachim\u2019s wheel. The French despised the Neapolitans\nand presently departed, seeing clearly whither they were being led.\nSince the only officers of any value in the Neapolitan army were these\nFrenchmen, Murat was now compelled to rely upon the Germans\u2014that is to\nsay, the very men he had fought against in the preceding year.\n\nThe French were not in sufficient numbers to offer any real resistance\nand it was not long before Civita Vecchia, Sant\u2019 Angelo, Florence,\nLeghorn, Ferrara, and Ancona were in Murat\u2019s hands.\n\nBentinck presently landed at Leghorn with fourteen thousand\nAnglo-Sicilians, and Eug\u00e8ne, the Viceroy, found himself with fifty\nthousand men opposed to forty-five thousand Austrians, twenty thousand\nNeapolitans, eight thousand Germans under Murat and Bentinck\u2019s\nAnglo-Sicilians.\n\nOf course Murat mistrusted his allies, and the allies returned the\ncompliment with interest. He had no very high opinion of them as\nsoldiers, either, in which he was justified. Bellegarde carried his\nsuspicion so far as to refuse to build a bridge or two over the Po,\nlest Murat might use them against him, and Murat became convinced that\nBellegarde and Bentinck wanted to make him attack the Viceroy in order\nto injure his troops and his reputation, for what were thirty thousand\nNeapolitans in the scale against fifty thousand Frenchmen commanded by\ngood officers and in the hands of such generals as Eug\u00e8ne had on his\nstaff? He discovered, too, that Bentinck, who had landed as his ally,\nwas permitting his Sicilians to distribute pamphlet copies of an edict\nof Ferdinand\u2019s, reminding the Neapolitans of his rights and exciting\nthem to rise against Joachim. Bentinck was not a very clever man, and\nhere he showed himself to be a fool. He had already given the Duke of\nWellington a good deal of trouble by ruining the Duke\u2019s market for\nspecie in Spain, offering a higher price for it than the Duke could\nafford to give, and by various other ill-judged and ill-timed schemes;\nnow, having Joachim on his side\u2014the one man among them all who could\nlead an army\u2014he deliberately attempted to ruin his influence in the\nmoment of action, by turning his own men against him, and by siding\nwith Bellegarde in every question of military policy, wherein neither\nof them were really worthy to be allowed to carry out his, Joachim\u2019s,\norders.\n\nFrom the Austrian monarch, Murat might have expected that sort of\nthing, for Austria had at one time and another during the last twenty\nyears broken her word to about everybody with whom she had had any\ndealings. Metternich boasted of it openly, and, had Murat been gifted\nwith a little more political foresight, he might have felt even then\nthe hands that were pulling him down.\n\nIt may be said that he hoped for Napoleon\u2019s triumph in the latter\u2019s\nHomeric fight, nor could he be blamed where all the circumstances are\nconsidered. \u201cIn every transaction,\u201d says one of his staff, \u201cwhether\nemanating from the rulers of kingdoms or the commanders of the armies\nthat were sitting about in Italy, some perfidy transpired or lay\nconcealed.\u201d\n\nThe only people who were really happy at this time were the\nNeapolitans, who, with the English markets opened, began to prosper\nafter the long, lean years, and held their heads high now that their\nKing and their armies had been, as they thought, distinguishing\nthemselves. Poor Joachim now received a petition from his generals,\npublished with the approval of the whole army, begging him to summon\na council of war and hear their \u201copinions\u201d! It is a wonder that the\nveteran of a hundred pitched battles did not hang somebody for the\nimpertinence, for from any point of view it is difficult to understand\nwhat they expected of him in the way of action. But he let the incident\npass.\n\nNow the Pope, who had been released by Napoleon, approached the Papal\nDominions and reached Tara before Joachim, who was in Bologna, was\naware of the fact. Joachim, who had a good part of the Papal States in\nhis possession and hoped for more\u2014since Francis of Austria had promised\nhim his assistance in the matter,\u2014sought by every means to avert the\nHoly Father\u2019s onward progress from Reggio; but he had a stronger man\nthan himself to deal with, and one who had at his back the enthusiasm\nof a people. Murat\u2019s own officers helped to draw the Papal carriage in\none place, and his men broke their ranks, falling over one another for\nthe privilege of being allowed to approach the returning exile.\n\nIn spite of all that Joachim\u2019s envoy, General Carrascosa, could do,\nPius\u2019 determination to proceed was unaffected, and the general returned\nto his master, begging him for his own sake to give way before the\npopular enthusiasm, which every day was increasing. Murat, however,\ndecided upon a middle course. He would render to the Pope all the\nhonour in his power, but he would give him no assistance.\n\nAt Bologna, the Pope called upon Murat, and, though alone and helpless\nin the face of his opponent\u2019s armed strength, extracted from him the\nreturn of the Patrimony of Peter to the Church. Pius did not relinquish\nhis claim to the rest of the Papal Possessions, either, and continued\non his way to Cesena, his native place, by the Strada Emilia, among\nhis own subjects, although Murat, fearing the excited feeling among the\nlatter, wished him to go through Tuscany.\n\nMurat\u2019s power was toppling over, for, do what he might, his interests\nwere the interests of the France that he was fighting. But what could\nhe do? It would take a clever man to find his way safely out of such\nan impasse as confronted Joachim. Could he have remained neutral, it\nis possible that he might have survived the hurricane, but that was\nalmost impossible, cut off as he was from France and encircled by the\nAllies. Besides, the quarrel with England had brought such misery to\nhis subjects that this condition alone was reason enough for attempting\nthe impossible. Napoleon was battling with his back to the wall, and,\neven though he fought as man never fought before or since, the tide was\nengulfing him. His own ministers were carrying on secret correspondence\nwith the enemy, and preparing their own salvation, careless either of\ntheir duty or of their country\u2019s humiliation.\n\nWhen on the 15th of April, 1814, Murat received the news of the\ncapitulation of Paris and the abdication of the Emperor, he paled as he\nread the despatch and betrayed great agitation and nervousness, and for\nseveral days afterwards he was gloomy and unapproachable.\n\nHe repaired quietly to Bologna, and, while Italy went mad and raved in\nits madness, while the Milanese murdered Prina and Eug\u00e8ne Beauharnais\ntook refuge with the King of Bavaria, he returned to Naples, where he\nwas received like a conqueror and was compelled to bow his appreciation\nand render his thanks for a display, not one word or one smile of\nwhich, as he well knew, was genuine. The people expected very naturally\nthat a new order of things would bring them a new government, and\nMurat\u2019s own suspicions were confirmed when the treaty of peace was\nsigned at Paris and the Congress of Vienna was summoned without any\nmention of him at all. Legitimacy was now the rage, and Joachim, though\nwithout an invitation, despatched the Duke di Campochiaro and Prince de\nCariati as his representatives to Vienna. That done, he turned to his\nkingdom and, taking time by the forelock, he summoned the most able men\nof the country to him and set them to work upon the land, the finances,\nand the army, only warning them not to follow too hard after the latest\nfashion or to \u201crun backwards blindfold.\u201d\n\nAt the same time, on his own account, he lightened the heaviest of\nthe taxes, brought in measures for the encouragement of trade with\nEngland, and permitted the free export of grain. Then he decreed that\nthe offices of State were to be given only to Neapolitans, and that\nforeigners holding them who refused to be naturalised must resign,\nafter which he sat down to wait upon events.\n\nBy these measures he contrived to win over a large part of the people,\nand, by degrees, the old Murat began to emerge from his hiding-place in\nthe personality of the new. His Council had agreed with him in almost\nevery question of importance, and the counsels which he received,\nwhile suggesting a constitution, were really sincere in their hopes\nfor the maintenance of his dynasty. His army, which he had had time to\nput into shape again, was with him; the newspapers were obsequious in\ntheir praises of his virtues; and all the corporate bodies in the State\nannounced their readiness to pledge their lives and property in his\nsupport.\n\nThe Congress of Vienna began to pay some attention to these signs of\npopular approval and it was noised abroad that the Emperor of Russia\nhad let fall the remark that \u201cit was impossible to restore the \u2018Butcher\nKing\u2019 now that the interests of the people had to be considered.\u201d Then\nCaroline of Austria, Ferdinand\u2019s wife, died suddenly, and so little was\nher decease lamented that Francis forbade the Court to go into mourning\nfor her.\n\nIt may well be imagined that Joachim began to feel safe on his throne,\nand the fact that, by an agreement concluded at Charmont some little\ntime before the fall of Napoleon, Austria, Russia, Prussia, and England\nhad confirmed the principles of the alliance between Austria and Murat,\nhelped him to hope that, after all and in spite of everything, he might\nbe allowed to remain. He had not reckoned, though, with Talleyrand,\nwhose desire it was, just then, to show himself as a reformed character\nwho was ready to do anything to prove his detestation of the fiend\nwhom he had been serving and of all the fiend\u2019s family, which of course\nincluded Joachim.\n\nTalleyrand had besides a private grudge against Joachim, for the latter\nhad openly mistrusted him for years, and Napoleon\u2019s parting remarks on\nthe subject of his late Minister for Foreign Affairs must still have\nbeen tingling in that gentleman\u2019s ears when he set out for Vienna.\n\n\u201cI should have hung him long ago,\u201d said the Emperor. \u201cI always knew\nthat he would be the first to betray me when the occasion offered\nitself!\u201d\n\nTalleyrand, who had arrived at the Congress as an apologist both for\nFrance and himself, a man with no claims to consideration from anybody,\noutside the pale of Christian intercourse as an excommunicate bishop\nand an unfrocked priest, a creature at the sight of whom Francis\nand his Catholic princes must have shuddered; without a friend\u2014or a\ncase\u2014bankrupt of power and credit, contrived by the sheer force of his\nown genius to dominate the whole Congress after the first half-dozen\nsittings.\n\nHe set Austria and Russia by the ears, and heated up the quarrel\nuntil there was every prospect of war; lined up their adherents and\npushed them into the conflict, and man\u0153uvred so marvellously that,\nin a very short while, France and her friendship were the objects\nof the diplomacy of both contending parties. Metternich, Nesselrode,\nHardenberg, Castlereagh, Stewart, and Stackelberg were little more than\nchildren in his hands. His confr\u00e8res\u2014Noailles, Dupin, and Dalberg\u2014had\nno voice in the questions that arose. Talleyrand was the Congress,\nand when he began to use his power to pay off some of his grudges and\nenmities, it was on Murat that his hand first fell. More Legitimist\nthan the Legitimists, he set out to earn the million francs promised\nhim by Ferdinand for the throne of Naples.\n\nThe first inkling that Murat received of the turn that affairs had\ntaken was a request, couched in the terms of a command, from Francis,\nthat he would restore the Marches to the Pope. Now the Marches in\nquestion had been promised to Murat by Francis himself, not twelve\nmonths before, and Murat in answer proceeded to increase his garrison\nand commenced to strengthen the fortifications of Ancona. He, besides,\nstarted a quarrel with the Pope, and despatched a minister of his\ncalled Magella into the Marches to assist the Carbonari in their plots\nagainst the dominion of the Holy Father.\n\nIt was about this time that he began to receive overtures, couched in\nthe most affectionate and brotherly language, from Napoleon at Elba. A\nsuccession of disguised conspirators from Paris and other places passed\nin and out of the Palace, in Naples, generally under cover of the\nspring night, while the city disported itself along the waterfront, and\ngay ladies and gay men sat over their cards in the great, cool rooms or\nwandered about in the sleeping gardens.\n\nFor Naples was gay in those days. People saw light ahead after the\nyears of gloom. Hunger had vanished; real hunger, at any rate. The\nKing\u2019s public works gave employment. Uniforms glittered everywhere. To\ntheir minds, Naples was a Paris in miniature, so the lights shone and\nthe world danced and played on, music lay over the place in a rainbow\nweb of sound, and the blue sea smiled at the stars.\n\nBut up in the Palace, behind closed doors, Murat sat with his chin in\nhis hand, and his eyes wandering out to the sea from time to time, as\nthough he expected to see something there\u2014something whose name was\nnever mentioned except between him and his wife, and then only in\nwhispers.\n\nBy ones and twos the mysterious figures arrived, coming in through side\ndoors, and staying a while, talking with their hands to their mouths,\nsome volubly and eagerly, some gently and hesitatingly, but one thing\ncould be observed of all of them, and that was that, somewhere on their\npersons, casually as a trifle but plain enough to eyes that looked for\nit, was either a small bunch of violets or a strip of violet coloured\nribbon or a bit of violet coloured silk.\n\n\u201cAre you fond of the violet?\u201d they would ask when they met. \u201cIt will\nreturn in the spring,\u201d was the answer\u2014and it was spring already down\nthere. Spring breaks in February in Naples. The King was, outwardly,\nas gay as any, and only Caroline and a very few devoted friends saw the\nother side of him. The ambassadors of the Allies were watching him, as\nhe knew, and, as was bound to happen, word came to them that strange\nvisitors were being entertained at the Palace, among them Princess\nPauline, Napoleon\u2019s sister, who shortly afterwards returned to Elba.\n\nFerdinand, free of his rather dreadful Austrian consort, proceeded to\nespouse a certain Lucia Migliano, a lady, it is said, of noble birth\nbut of a vulgar and immoral character\u2014which is probably true, for how\ncould any clean and self-respecting woman have ever been induced to\nmarry Ferdinand?\n\nThat monarch now swore to the constitution of 1812. He opened,\ndissolved, and reopened a Parliament, and generally walked in the\npopular path. Those happenings, naturally, reacted upon the Neapolitans\nand helped to undermine Joachim\u2019s position badly. The Carbonari broke\nout again, soon afterwards, and Joachim began to be afraid lest these\npopular spasms should come to the ears of the Congress and affect his\ninterests; so he attempted to arrange matters with the Carbonari, which\nonly went to their heads and made them more offensive than ever.\n\nThings could not remain so for long, and there is no saying what might\nhave happened had not Napoleon discovered that the allied Powers had\nnot the slightest idea of living up to their word with him, that the\npromised annuity\u2014promised on the basis of the huge private fortune\nwhich they had looted from him\u2014was never going to be paid, and that\nsome one whom he had small difficulty in connecting with the Bourbon\nGovernment in Paris was attempting to poison him.\n\nOn the evening of the 4th of March, 1815, Murat, with some of his\nfamily, was amusing himself as best he could, attempting to divert his\nmind from the problems and questions which had harassed him all day,\nin his wife\u2019s apartments, when there appeared in the doorway a bowing\nattendant, begging the King and Queen Caroline to give an audience to\na messenger who was awaiting their pleasure in the next room. Murat\nassented carelessly and told the attendant to bring him in, but the\nformer replied that the newcomer had particularly asked that the King\nand Queen would give themselves the trouble to hear what he had to say,\nalone.\n\nBy this time Murat had an inkling of the news which awaited him\nand hurried out of the room, the Queen upon his arm. In the small\napartment, leading out of the gallery, they found Count Colonna, who\ncame forward out of the dark corner where he had been waiting and\npresented his despatches.\n\nIt is a picture that stands out vividly in the imagination: The Count\nstudying Murat\u2019s face as the latter reads the message, and glancing\nfrom time to time at the Queen, trying to read something of her\nhusband\u2019s mind in her face; Murat blinking in the half light over the\nwords, rejoicing in the news as he thinks of the manner in which the\nCongress of Legitimacy has been treating him, but endeavouring to keep\nhis features composed and his pleasure out of his voice.\n\n\u201cThat will spoil Metternich\u2019s sleep for a while,\u201d one can almost hear\nhim saying to himself. \u201cAnd Talleyrand\u2014how will he get out of this?\nOn guard, Messieurs! You will have to exercise something besides your\ntongues now!\u201d\n\nNapoleon had escaped from Elba, and announced that he proposed to chase\nthe Bourbons out of France, and suggested an alliance, begging Murat at\nthe same time to place a battleship or a frigate at the disposition of\nhis, the Emperor\u2019s, mother and sister.\n\nHurrying back to his guests, Murat divulged the news, and his cheer and\nexcitement were so obvious that some of them guessed then the course\nwhich he would pursue.\n\nThe next morning Murat despatched special messengers to Vienna and\nLondon, in which he assured the governments of Austria and Great\nBritain that, whatever might be the result of Napoleon\u2019s raid, he\nhimself would remain faithful to his treaty obligations.\n\nNeither of his correspondents had the slightest belief in his\nprotestations, and Francis, without waiting, took steps to crush him if\nhe moved\u2014or if he did not. But Murat\u2019s health was high and the memories\nof the golden years were like wine. He felt a real remorse for the\npart which he had played, and the splendour of Napoleon\u2019s lone-handed\nassault upon a world in arms appealed to every soldier-like instinct in\nhim.\n\nHe did not forget his own ambition, though, and he desired to make\nhimself so powerful that he could treat with either Austria or France\nupon terms of something like equality. It was Italy that he wanted. The\ngreat Powers would have their hands full now, and he hoped to be able\nto surprise the Germans while the armies of Europe were engaged with\nthe Emperor.\n\nCaroline, however, joined with his ministers and his Council in\nopposition to war. Naples and Italy had had enough, and even in the\nunlikely event of Murat\u2019s correspondents in the North having been\naccurate in their figures, or right in their appreciation of the\npopular feeling, it was practically certain that, whether the victor in\nthe coming contest were to be the Emperor or the Allies, neither would\nallow Murat to attack Italy and rule it undisturbed.\n\nHe assured his Council that Italy was ready to rise on either side of\nthe Po. He explained his mistrust of the Congress. He agreed that,\nalthough it would be unsafe to diminish the army in the present\ncondition of Europe, yet Naples could not support the troops unless\nfresh taxes were imposed; and that being out of the question, the only\nalternative was to quarter them upon somebody else. He went on to point\nout that political liberty was at the last gasp in Italy. But even that\nbattle-cry failed to arouse the enthusiasm of his audience. Political\nliberty, as a theory upon which to speculate over a glass or two of\nwine in the cool of the evening, was well enough, but political liberty\nas a reason for draining the country of blood and money any longer was\nquite another affair. The common people cared very little, if anything\nat all, for it; what they wanted was food and drink, and a chance\nto save a little money, and marry, and be happy. The taste survives\nin Calabria to this day. They _like_ an overlord, they _like_ having\nsomebody over them who will order their ways and provide them with work\nand see to their well-being, and knock their heads together when they\nmisbehave and pat them upon the back before their fellows when they\nare good. It is, after all, the ideal form of Government. No other\napproaches in efficiency to a beneficent and intelligent autocracy.\nThe main trouble is that very few autocracies have any intelligence.\nI am sure I do not know why. Logically a man who has been trained to\nrulership from the cradle should make a better ruler than the accident\nof a convention; and on the whole, one may say, he does. The Emperor of\nGermany, for instance, is a far better ruler than either Mr. Roosevelt,\nMr. Taft, or Mr. Wilson, or any President of the French Republic that\never lived. So was King Edward VII, so was Queen Victoria; but then,\nfrom nowhere in particular and without any training at all, a Lincoln\nemerges and gets elected\u2014that is the mystery which I have never been\nable to fathom\u2014by a number of people whose individual opinions upon any\nsubject of real importance are worth less than nothing!\n\nMurat, as has been seen, made a habit of mistaking craft for\nstatesmanship, and his Council, by now, were beginning to be aware\nof it. Frenchmen and Neapolitans, they saw that would be extremely\ndangerous for both countries\u2014particularly Naples\u2014and they resolved\nto wait to declare themselves until word came from London and Vienna.\nMurat, however, paid no heed to their resolution or their opinion, and\nbroke up the Council, secretly determined to make the effort.\n\nSome of the troops with which he proposed to undertake the conquest\nof Italy were more fit for sneak-thieving than actual fighting against\ndrilled men. The artillery, sappers, and cavalry were even worse than\nthe infantry, and when we are told that the regiments of the latter\nwere taken from the prisons and from the galleys, and that half of\nthe generals and colonels were French, and the dissensions between the\nnatives and the foreigners are remembered, one cannot but think that\nJoachim must have been a little off his head with the strain he had\nbeen enduring for the past year, if he hoped to annex Italy with such a\nforce as that.\n\nIn reply to Murat\u2019s request for permission to pass through the Papal\nStates, the Holy Father appointed a regency and betook himself to\nGenoa, accompanied by many of the Cardinals. As this occurred in the\nmiddle of Holy Week, the sacred offices were interrupted, many of the\npriests leaving the city to follow the Pope, and the indignation of the\nRomans knew no bounds. Murat wisely refrained from approaching the city\nand proceeded to Ancona, from whence he instructed the ambassadors at\nthe Congress to renew his protestations of fidelity to his treaties.\n\nThis quite unnecessary insult roused Francis of Austria effectually\nand he despatched Frimont, Bianchi, Mohr, Neipperg, and Wied, with\nforty-eight thousand infantry, seven thousand cavalry, and sixty-four\nguns, to repay Joachim for it. Besides these, Nugent had a brigade in\nTuscany, the Po was fortified at Piacenza, Borgoforte, Occhiobello, and\nLagoscuro by the Germans, who occupied every possible crossing and had\nat their backs the fortresses of Pizzighettone, Mantua, and Legnano,\nwith detachments in Commachio and at the bridge of Goro. It was a solid\naffair against which Joachim was ramming his head.\n\nHe, as soon as war had been declared on the 30th of March, annexed\u2014on\npaper\u2014the districts of Cerebino, Pesaro, and Gubbio, and issued edicts\nvilifying in the usual manner his opponents, whom he accused of every\nfault of which he himself had been guilty. Also, he addressed the\ninattentive and careless Italians, reminding them of such grievances\nas he could remember and, when the stock of those ran short, inventing\nseveral entirely new ones.\n\nHe had a few partial successes at first before Frimont arrived upon\nthe scene. Carrascosa managed to drive some Austrians\u2014it is all but\nimpossible to arrive at the real figures and facts of these contests,\nbut I should be inclined to say about fifteen hundred\u2014from Cesena.\nLater they came upon some more at Anzola, and these retired before\nthem probably, or I should say certainly, under orders. At Spilimberto\nhe had a personal brush with them, which resulted in a haphazard sort\nof success which he seems to have made no attempt whatever to push. A\nfew days later, after investing Ferrara\u2014the operation could not have\nbeen a very serious one, for it was only conducted for two and a half\ndays\u2014he attempted to storm the bridge-head at Occhiobello, but, finding\nit to be out of the question, left the array encamped on the spot and\nreturned to Bologna, where he learned what had become of two legions\nof his Guard which he had sent to Tuscany\u2014for no military reason\nthat I have been able to discover, save the very problematical one of\n\u201crousing\u201d the Tuscans.\n\nThey were commanded by Generals Pignatelli, Strongoli, and Livron, who,\nbeing of equal rank, were to act in concert, but not to attempt to take\nprecedence of each other\u2014which, as one historian very truly says, was a\n\u201cstrange and unusual idea in the composition of the army.\u201d\n\nThese contrived to get as far as Pistoia, where, hearing that the\ngarrison had designs upon them, they retired in something of a hurry to\nFlorence.\n\nIt was there that Joachim received a communication from Lord William\nBentinck to the effect that, since he had broken his treaty with\nFrancis, he could consider the treaty with England broken as well. He\nmight well have expected this piece of information one would think, but\nit seems to have depressed him greatly.\n\nThe King\u2019s edicts, too, had fallen flat. They had produced, we are\ntold, \u201cpromises, applause, poetic effusions, and popular orations,\nbut neither arms nor action; thus furnishing much future work for the\npolice, and nothing for war.\u201d\n\nThe forces he had counted upon did not materialise, and Joachim called\nhis ministers together. These had discovered by now that he never\ncalled upon them for advice unless he was in trouble, and their ardour\nand loyalty were shaken. Still, when he laid the facts before them,\nthey gave him the best they had, in the face of the rather desperate\ncircumstances. The army was straggled out over a line between Reggio,\nCarpi, and Ravenna, without any supports or reserves, in the face of\nan enemy stronger, numerically and morally, and in their position one\nblow might be the end; so Joachim\u2019s advisers recommended him to hold\non to the places he had only so long as it would take to send back the\nsick and the baggage, and then look for some point of attack where the\nresult would be a little less certain.\n\nA few days later the Germans stormed Carpi and chased General Pepes\nalmost as far as Modena, and only Murat\u2019s appearance upon the scene\nhalted the pursuit. On the 15th they seized Spilimberto, the defenders\nof which retired in considerable disorder to Sant\u2019 Ambrogio. By now,\nhowever, the advice of the Council had been carried out and the remains\nof the army, unhampered, were able to move about and were directed upon\nthe Reno, Ravenna, and Forl\u00ec. The troops upon the Reno were, however,\nattacked by the Germans and, after a three-hours\u2019 fight, retreated upon\nBologna.\n\nJoachim, at Imola, now discovered that the Austrian army had been\ndivided into two parts\u2014one under Bianchi, the other under Neipperg.\n\nThe former was advancing by the Florentine Road, the latter by the\nStrada Emilia, the idea being to enclose Joachim and force him into a\ngeneral engagement between them. They were divided by the chain of the\nApennines, and Murat perceived that Neipperg, at least, was inferior to\nhim. Fired by the memories of \u201896, he resolved to attack Bianchi and,\nif possible, cripple him before Neipperg could come to his assistance,\nafter which he would still be able to fight Neipperg, unless things\nwent very wrong indeed with superior numbers.\n\nMacerata was Murat\u2019s objective, but it was twenty days\u2019 march for\ntroops who reckoned a day\u2019s work as lightly as did his. For all that,\nhe contrived the retreat with creditable skill in spite of a scuffle\nwith Neipperg near the Roneo.\n\nBut when the battle of Macerata was fought, Joachim\u2019s fortune, which\nhad been so shy and fickle of late, deserted him entirely. Though he\nfought a stubborn enough battle, and though his own dispositions were\nsolid and well thought out, his instruments failed him. General Maio\nand General Lecchi made little or no attempt to shock their opponents,\nallowing their men to drift into action anyhow, and, as the day waned\nand the Neapolitans became too listless even to fire, word came to the\nKing from General Montigny in the Abruzzi, telling him that the Germans\nhad taken Antrodoco and Aquila, that the people were rising for the\nBourbons, and that the magistrates had transferred their allegiance,\nwhile he and the few faithful men who had remained with him had been\nforced back to Popoli.\n\nAt the same time, came a despatch from the Minister of War, telling him\nof the enemy\u2019s appearance upon the Liris, of the horrified feelings of\nthe people, and of the helpful activities of the Carbonari in Calabria.\n\nJoachim instantly decided to take his troops back into the Kingdom of\nNaples, and ordered a general retreat. Then it was that he became fully\naware of the sort of staff he had been leaning upon. Some of the troops\nseem to have been prepared to behave themselves, had their commanders\ngiven them any opportunity of so doing, but the generals had had enough\nand more than enough, and, to use an Americanism, they \u201clay down upon\nhim\u201d completely.\n\nWhen he called a council the next morning, they informed him that the\nlarger part of their men had deserted and that the rest would not obey\norders. When one comes to think about it, there does not seem to be any\nparticular reason why they should have, since no one made the faintest\nshow of imposing any kind of discipline upon them.\n\nThe enemy advanced on either side while this discussion was in\nprogress, and one brigade, which had obeyed the order to march and\nwhich Joachim opposed to them, rested upon their arms, and proved to\nbe utterly indifferent to the results. On his arrival in the Abruzzi,\nJoachim was astounded to discover that Montigny\u2014he of the \u201cfaithful\nfew\u201d\u2014had abandoned his post at Antrodoco without even waiting for the\nenemy to appear, and that his unedifying conduct alone was the cause of\nthe magistrates\u2019 defection. Also, it was Montigny and no one else who\nhad deliberately abandoned Aquila, although the enemy, by reason of the\ncondition of the roads, could not have brought up the guns necessary to\nreduce the place.\n\nJoachim, still dazed with this infamy, now received word, through\nPrince Cariati, whom he had sent to the Congress of Vienna, that the\nAllies were going to exterminate him, that no hope of any sort of\nreconciliation remained; at the same time, a letter from Napoleon\ncensured the recklessness of his campaign and went on to say that it\nmight prove the ruin of his own effort.\n\nIn this state of affairs, Murat bethought himself of the possibilities\nof a constitution as a prop to his own tottering throne. It would be\nfunny if it were not so melancholy! A constitution! With the Austrians\nat his gates, an English fleet in the Bay, the entire Kingdom torn\nto pieces, the Carbonari in every quarter, his army vanished, and his\nfriends in flight!\n\nCommodore Campbell had already threatened, unless the ships and the\nstores in the arsenal were delivered up to him, to fire a thousand\nrockets into the city. Poor Caroline collected some of the ministers\nand magistrates and asked for their advice, whereupon the Minister for\nPolice informed her that the first assault of an enemy would ignite\na conflagration in the city which nothing would be able to suppress.\nThey were reminded, too, by a general officer, that there were still\nten double ranges of batteries wherewith to defend themselves, and\nhe suggested that Campbell was counting upon the moral effects of his\nthreat among the people.\n\nSo Caroline, after the invariable accusations of treaty-breaking\nwith which everybody opened verbal fire on an enemy, and the equally\ninvariable appeal to history, stipulated for her own and her family\u2019s\nsafe return to France in an English vessel. Caroline was a Bonaparte,\nand she could keep her head, even in a crisis of this sort. She had\nruled wisely and well in her husband\u2019s absence, backing him up, in\nspite of her opposition to the war, stoutly. Now she proclaimed the\nterms of accommodation, and, having provided for a temporary peace, she\nturned to the immediate needs of the situation, and, having heartened\nthe city militia with her own courage, she pacified and quieted the\npopulace. With her in the palace were her sister Pauline and her uncle,\nCardinal Fesch, besides her four young children, whom she decided to\nsend to Gaeta.\n\nStout old Macdonald, the Minister for War, of whom Napoleon said during\nthe Peninsular Campaign, \u201cI would not dare to let Macdonald within\nsound of the pipes!\u201d was sent to supersede Manhir, and he did presently\nsucceed in driving the Austrians beyond the Melfa; but no further\nadvantage was gained, because the troops with which Murat was hoping to\neffect a junction were stampeded at Mignano.\n\nMurat\u2019s reign was over. The Bourbons were upon the top of him, and\nall that he could do now was to escape before they closed every road.\nHe believed that the Bourbons wished to capture him and wreak their\nvengeance upon him for the lean and restricted years.\n\nLeaving the wreck of his army to Carrascosa, he made his way into\nNaples as the sun was dropping over the hills, and hurried by\nround-about ways towards the Palace. He was in civilian dress, having\ndiscarded his uniform when he left the army, but he was recognised\nand, to his surprise, treated by those whom he met with all the respect\nwhich had been his as a king. In the harbour he could see the British\nfleet, lying at anchor, and perhaps the sight was not altogether an\nunwelcome one, for he had learned of Caroline\u2019s treaty with Campbell,\nand, little as the English might be to his taste, at least they had\nbeen worthy and steadfast enemies and infinitely better company for him\nthan the Bourbons.\n\nA little pleased, even through the fogs of his depression, at the\nmanner in which he had been received by the people, he ran into the\nPalace, seeking for his wife. Her he found in her own apartment, in the\nsame room where they had first heard of Napoleon\u2019s departure from Elba,\ntwo short months before, and in which he had left her to depart upon\nthis last disastrous campaign.\n\nIt must have been rather dark in there now that the twilight had come\ndown, and the memories of the past must have crowded thickly about him\nas he entered. He found Caroline alone, save for a lady-in-waiting, and\nhe went straight to her and caught her in his arms, his voice at first\ntoo choked for utterance.\n\nAt last, when he could master his voice, he spoke, calmly enough, and\nhis tremendous self-restraint was worthy of the old Murat of Jena and\nEylau.\n\n\u201cWe are betrayed by fortune, my dear,\u201d he said, \u201cand all is lost!\u201d\n\nCaroline was even steadier than he, and she smiled into his eyes.\n\n\u201cNot all,\u201d she answered quickly, \u201cif we preserve our honour and our\nconstancy!\u201d\n\nSitting down together, they dismissed the lady-in-waiting with\ninstructions to gather together the few proved friends who still\nremained to them, and then set themselves to the preparations for their\ndeparture. An hour or more they spent together, and then Murat emerged,\nhis head high and his face alight from the contact with his splendid\nwife. His ministers had assembled, and with them he arranged such of\nthe affairs of the kingdom as admitted of arrangement, and placed them\nin such a shape that the Bourbon could not help but keep them so, for\nhis own sake, and every last one of his acts and thoughts was directed\ntowards the future welfare of his people. Nothing else appeared to\nhave any place in his mind at all. He was cool, quiet, cheerful, and\ncollected, heartening those around him, and as free-handed to the\nFrench who were leaving him, and the servants whom he was leaving, as\nthough he were taking the crown instead of laying it down.\n\nHe had regained the priceless possession of hope. Napoleon\u2019s star was\nstill shining. France had taken him to her arms. Without the shedding\nof a single drop of blood he had regained the throne and, though all\nthe world might be in arms against him, he had faith in himself, the\nfaith that moveth mountains. Murat had resolved to go and join him,\nand, when the world war was over, and Napoleon\u2019s foot was again upon\nthe neck of his enemies, to return to Naples and drive Ferdinand into\nthe sea and under it.\n\nCaroline knew of his intention, for she let him go alone, and his\ninstructions to Carrascosa (before the latter departed to the little\nhouse, three miles out of Capua, where Lord Burghersh, Bianchi, and\nNeipperg waited to arrange the terms of the treaty of Casa Lanza)\nshow her hand plainly, for Carrascosa was told to stipulate that\nthe property sold or given away by Murat must be guaranteed to its\npossessors, in order, as Joachim said, to leave him the character of a\ngood king and that the Neapolitans might cherish his memory. He knew,\nand so did Caroline, exactly how long it would take Ferdinand to make\nhimself loathed and abominated by the people whose yoke Joachim had\nlifted.\n\nThat these did not trust Ferdinand\u2019s eloquent vow to abstain from\nretaliation against those who had served Murat, was made plain in\nthe very beginning of the negotiations, for they refused to take\nhis personal word for the fulfilment of any part of the treaty,\nand demanded the guarantee of the Emperor of Austria. It was little\nsecurity enough, in all conscience, for the guarantees of Francis had\nbeen the jest of Europe for years past, but they seemed to think that\nit might bind the hands of the \u201cButcher King\u201d for a while.\n\nOn the same evening that the treaty was ratified, Joachim departed\nincognito for Pozzuoli. From there he went on to Ischia, where he\nwas received with all the respect due to a monarch, and on the 22d\nhe sailed for France with a few friends. Caroline, as regent, still\nremained in the Palace, and the Neapolitan populace, in the absence\nof the troops, went off their heads. They had been hard held lately,\nand now they made up for it. They broke open the prisons and committed\natrocities that do not bear writing about. Even the presence of three\nhundred marines from the British fleet could do little to control the\nmob, but they produced a temporary calm, during which Caroline embarked\non one of the British men-of-war with Macdonald and two others.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nMURAT\u2019S LAST DAYS\n\n Naples in Anarchy\u2014Entrance of Austrians\u2014Murat\u2019s Repulse by\n Napoleon and by Louis\u2014His Demon of Ill-luck\u2014Ship-wrecked\u2014Aid in\n Corsica\u2014Emperor of Austria\u2019s Proposal\u2014Attempt Against Naples\u2014Murat\n Betrayed into Ferdinand\u2019s Hands\u2014Murat\u2019s \u201cTrial\u201d\u2014Letter to His\n Wife\u2014Before His \u201cJudges\u201d\u2014A Brave Death\u2014Ferdinand, the \u201cButcher\n King.\u201d\n\n\nNo sooner was Caroline on board than the city broke out again and\nanarchy reigned, until the Austrians sent in some troops in answer to\nthe frantic appeals of the magistrates, and these, with the British\nmarines, set upon the mob, killing a hundred or more of the worst of\nthem before order was restored.\n\nThe riot and the subsequent slaughter had apparently no effect upon\nthe people\u2019s feelings, for on the very next day they illuminated\nthe city gorgeously and the sound of their merriment could be heard\nout at sea. All the ships in the harbour were dressed, even that\none which sheltered Caroline and her followers, and on the 23d the\nAustrians entered with Crown Prince Leopold of Bourbon at their head,\nwho graciously acknowledged the howls of the crowd. Everything that\nsuggested Murat\u2014flags, statues, pictures\u2014was destroyed, and Caroline,\nfrom the deck of the British ship, watched the general jubilation over\nher husband\u2019s fall.\n\nJoachim, passing Gaeta, saw his standard still flying from that\nfortress, and, even then, would have landed and joined the garrison had\nhe been permitted to do so, but the port was blocked up with vessels\nand he was forced to proceed on his way.\n\nHe reached Fr\u00e9jus on the 28th of May, but, as the shore became clearer\nand the outline of the coast grew into the horizon, the hopes with\nwhich he had left Caroline began to weaken, and he became oppressed\nwith a sense of helplessness, seeming to feel that he was struggling\nagainst hopeless odds. The sight of the country he had once served\nso well, and where his name had been a household word\u2014he was known as\n\u201cthe Achilles of France\u201d\u2014struck chill upon his heart. He had loved his\nmistress, and had never counted the cost, but he had sided against her,\ntoo, and, as he well knew, a country, like a woman, forgets a thousand\nacts of devotion in the face of one affront. He had no friends there\nany more, save, perhaps, his brother-in-law; but Napoleon had a woman\u2019s\nmemory for past wrongs, too, and, though his letters had been full of\naffection while the issue of his own attempt was still problematical,\nnow that he had succeeded, he could repay to the uttermost farthing.\n\nHe might need Murat to lead the cavalry\u2014nay, as it seemed, he _must_\nneed him, for he could not, surely, allow a personal spite to prevent\nhim from using that weapon of weapons when the hilt of it was held\nout to him! Murat was not the only one, either. Ney had sworn to bring\nthe Emperor back in a cage like a wild beast\u2014and he had taken Ney to\nhis heart as soon as they met. Marmont had deliberately gone over to\nthe enemy\u2014taking his corps with him. Indeed, of all Napoleon\u2019s former\nadherents it might be said that only Soult had proved to be the true\nmettle, for he had not laid down his arms till after the Emperor had\ndescended from the throne, and he had fought his last fight, with as\nhigh a courage and as steadfast a heart as his first.\n\nSoult had never surrendered, nor had he ever allowed it to be said that\nforce of arms had compelled him to submit to the Allies. He had obeyed\nthe decision of his countrymen, and that was all.\n\nThe evil days upon which he had fallen had eaten into Murat\u2019s\nself-confidence badly, and he dared not even proceed to Paris, but\nremained at Toulon. From there he wrote to Fouch\u00e9, whom he still\nimagined to have kindly feelings towards him\u2014Fouch\u00e9\u2014because in his\nprosperity he had befriended him.\n\n\u201cYou know,\u201d he wrote, \u201cthe motive and the result of the war in Italy.\nArrived in France, I now offer my arm to the Emperor and trust that\nHeaven may allow me to atone for the disasters of the King by the\nsuccess of the Captain.\u201d\n\nFouch\u00e9 presented the letter to Napoleon without comment, and the latter\nread it. \u201cWhat treaties of peace have I concluded with the King of\nNaples since the war of 1814?\u201d he asked, handing it back, and Fouch\u00e9\nbowed himself out.\n\nMurat remained at Toulon, growing daily more hopeless, although\nthe inhabitants treated him with great respect. But he had passed\nthe point where the respect or otherwise of private citizens could\naffect him. Then came Waterloo, and the South of France took on the\npolitical aspect of the unhappy kingdom which he had just quitted.\nThe Monarchists rose and smote out right and left, massacring their\npolitical opponents and looting everything that those unfortunates\nleft behind them. Marshal Brune, who had previously been sent by the\nEmperor to maintain order in the South, was torn to pieces by a mob,\nand Joachim was forced to hide himself as best he could from the \u201cWhite\nTerror,\u201d which was overrunning the land.\n\nFrom his hiding-place, he wrote again to Fouch\u00e9, but that adaptable\ngentleman was now Minister to Louis XVIII, and vouchsafed no answer.\nFouch\u00e9 was one of those human chameleons that fit themselves into any\ncolour-scheme, and all the wars, plots, revolutions, and Armageddons of\nthe past years had passed him by. He had just succeeded in betraying\nWellington, to whom he had promised Napoleon\u2019s plan of campaign, by\nsending the plans and then taking steps to see that the messenger\nwas delayed long enough on the frontier to make the delivery of them\nuseless; and now he was more monarchist than the poor old monarch\nhimself, hunting out his late associates mercilessly. Murat begged\nfor a passport to England, but no notice was taken of his appeal. In\ndespair and having escaped, by what seemed to be a miracle, from the\nhands of the Marquis de la Rivi\u00e8re, who owed his life to Joachim\u2019s\nfavour, he wrote to Louis himself, requesting Fouch\u00e9 to deliver his\nletter. But Fouch\u00e9 sent no word, and no answer came from Louis, who\nprobably never saw the letter at all; and, seeing no other hope for\nhim, Murat resolved to go to Paris and place himself in the hands\nof the Allied Sovereigns. They could not, in reason, blame him for\ndoing to them that which they had all, at various periods during the\npast twenty years, done to one another. He had been a great figure\u2014a\ngreater figure than any of them. They had now no reason for betraying\nhis confidence; and they were neither vengeful nor bloodthirsty. He\nwould be safer with them than among his own countrymen. His idea was to\ntravel by sea\u2014for to attempt a land journey would have been something\nnot far removed from suicide\u2014to Havre de Gr\u00e2ce, whence he could make\nhis way to Paris with little risk. So, having made arrangements for a\nvessel, and chosen a wild and unfrequented part of the coast and a dark\nnight for his embarkation, he set out.\n\nBut the vessel, for some reason or other, did not arrive at the spot\nthat night and Murat was compelled to retire among the rocks and\nvineyards for shelter, and here he remained, hoping against hope, until\nthe darkness gave way to the summer dawn, and the light from the faint\ntopaz-coloured east on the waters showed nothing that looked like the\ncraft he had bargained for.\n\nPerhaps it was meant, that crushing disappointment, for there is no\nsaying, in the light of the conditions which reigned at the Capital,\nwhether he would ever have reached the Sanctuary of the Allies at\nall. The White Terror, a plague as fierce and irresponsible as the\nRed one of a quarter of a century earlier, was raging uncontrolled\nand uncontrollable, and the deeds of Murat, as King of Naples in 1814,\nwould not have counted then, for the Emperor\u2019s broken Marshal. Fouch\u00e9\u2019s\nagents very nearly caught him that time, and he had to fly from cover\nto cover like a hunted hare; but he escaped from them, and a while\nlater slipped away in a little ship that was bound for Corsica.\n\nEven now the demon of his ill-luck, still unsatiated, continued to\npursue him, for after two days a storm overtook them which forced them\nto lower their single, three-cornered sail, and let the boat run under\nbare poles for a day and a half, at the end of which time, when the\nlittle ship was filling rapidly, they were picked up by the _Corriera_,\non her way to Bastia. A large French vessel which they had spoken a few\nhours earlier had refused to have anything to do with them, and when\nthis other one, more charitable, came alongside, Murat, uncovering his\nface, told the Captain his name.\n\n\u201cA Frenchman,\u201d he said. \u201cI speak to Frenchmen, and, nearly shipwrecked,\nI ask aid from those who are themselves out of danger.\u201d\n\nGreatly to his surprise and his gratification, he was treated with\nevery honour and welcomed on board as a king, and, the next day, he\nlanded at Bastia.\n\nHe had come at a moment when Corsica was in the throes of a civil\nwar of its own, between the followers of the Bourbons, the adherents\nof Napoleon, and a party who, sitting on the fence between, called\nthemselves Independents. Many of Murat\u2019s old-time companions-in-arms\nhad been natives of Corsica, and, the Napoleonists and Independents\nbeing in the majority, they called upon Joachim to help them crush\nthe remainder and rule over the island afterwards. This was the sort\nof invitation which the fiery cavalryman was always only too ready to\naccept, and his heart soared into the heavens!\n\nOne begins to understand the reason why Napoleon could hold all Europe\ndown, when one reads the adventures of Murat and Ney and Soult. Even\nwhen the Great Force behind them was removed, and they were struggling\nsingle-handed, while the least and weakest chance remained to continue\nfighting, they would fight. They never counted the odds, they never\nparleyed with a compromise, repeated defeats never cooled their\ncourage; they would follow as hard upon the faintest ray of hope as\nthey had galloped into the blazing sunlight of an assured victory.\n\nIt was not long before Joachim became the object of the deepest\nsuspicion to such authorities as still remained in Corsica and\nhe removed himself to Vescovado, and thence to Ajaccio, with the\nenthusiastic assistance of the discontented element in the island.\nOnce more, under the action of the popular support, he began to feel a\nking, and frequently remarked that, if strangers rallied to him in this\nfashion, the Neapolitans might be expected to rise _en masse_ at his\nappearance. \u201cI accept it as a happy augury!\u201d he exclaimed.\n\nIt seems incredible that, after his experience among them, Joachim\nshould have an illusion left about his late subjects. But he evidently\nhad, and he determined to descend upon Salerno, where three thousand of\nhis former troops were quartered. They were, he was sure, discontented\nwith the Bourbons\u2014being what they were, they were bound to be\ndiscontented with any sort of established authority\u2014and with these\nhe expected to march towards Avellino, increasing his following as he\nwent, throwing a panic into the capital before him; in fine, repeating\nthe Napoleonic performance, and seating himself firmly upon the throne\nbefore the Austrians could descend upon him.\n\nHe had completed his arrangements, when he received a letter from\nMaceroni, informing him that the latter was upon his way to Ajaccio,\nand that he was bringing good news with him.\n\nHe waited a day for him, and Maceroni, when he appeared, presented\nMurat with a note written in French:\n\n \u201cHis Majesty the Emperor of Austria [it ran] will grant an asylum\n to King Joachim on the following conditions:\n\n \u201cFirst. That the King shall assume a private name; and the Queen\n having taken that of Lipano, the same is proposed to the King.\n\n \u201cSecond. That the King shall reside in one of the cities of\n Bohemia, Moravia, or Upper Austria, or, if he should prefer it,\n in the country; but in one of these provinces.\n\n \u201cThird. That he shall pledge his word of honour not to quit the\n Austrian territory without the express permission of the Emperor,\n and to live as a private individual, subject to the laws of the\n Austrian Monarchy.\u201d\n\nIt was signed by Metternich, and dated from Paris, on the 1st of\nSeptember.\n\nBut Joachim, in spite of his friend\u2019s entreaties, would have none of it.\n\n\u201cQuem Deus vult perdere, prius dementat.\u201d Joachim\u2019s soul was aflame now\nand he spoke contemptuously of the offer.\n\n\u201cA prison, then,\u201d he cried, \u201cis to be my asylum! A prison is a tomb,\nand nothing remains for a King who has lost his throne but the death of\na soldier. You have come too late, Maceroni. I have already determined\non my fate.... If I fail, imprisonment must be the natural consequence,\nbut I will never consent to drag out the miserable remnant of my days\nin slavery. Bonaparte resigned the throne of France, yet he returned\nto it in the same way which I now attempt.... I have not resigned my\nthrone or forfeited my right, therefore a fate worse than imprisonment\nwould be contrary to human justice; but be assured that Naples shall be\nmy St. Helena!\u201d\n\nOn the night of the 28th of September, the forlorn hope embarked at\nAjaccio. The weather was mild and clear, the sea calm, and both the\ntroops and their leader happy and confident. They did not know that\nFerdinand had had intelligence of every move that Joachim had made\nsince his landing in Corsica, through one of Joachim\u2019s own servants,\na man of the name of Cabarelli. This man, who owed everything that\nhe possessed to Murat\u2019s kindness, accosted him at Ajaccio, and, while\noffering himself to his old master\u2019s service, begged him not to attempt\nthe crazy enterprise. In this he was acting according to his orders,\nfor the Neapolitan Government was frightened; but, having discovered,\ndoubtless from Joachim\u2019s own rash words, that he was bent upon the\naffair and would allow nothing to stop him, Cabarelli forwarded to his\nemployers Joachim\u2019s entire plans, preparations, and movements.\n\nThe only thing that he did not learn was the destination of the little\nforce, and the lack of that knowledge prevented Ferdinand from taking\nany steps towards dealing with Joachim when he should arrive. Ferdinand\nwas afraid, too, of any rumour spreading, for Murat had still many\nfriends in the Kingdom and he, Ferdinand, had none.\n\nFor a week all went well with the expedition, but on the seventh day a\nstorm arose which lasted for three days and which scattered the little\nfleet hopelessly. Joachim\u2019s boat chanced to find its way into the\nGulf of Santa Eufemia, and Joachim, after some hesitation, resolved to\nstake all upon the throw and land at Pizzo, with the twenty-eight men\nremaining to him.\n\nThis was on the 8th of October. It was a festa and, in consequence, the\nmilitia were paraded in the market place, when the party came ashore.\nNo sooner were these on land than they raised Murat\u2019s standard and\nadvanced upon the town, shouting, \u201cLong live King Murat!\u201d\n\nBut there was no response and the onlookers remained silent. It was\nas though a cold mist had settled upon the sunny morning, and Murat\nhastened on to Monteleone, where he trusted to the gratitude of the\ncitizens for many favours which he had done them in the past. But two\nBourbon adherents\u2014a certain Captain Trentacapilli and an agent of the\nDuke dell\u2019 Infantado\u2014hastily collected a following of men and weapons\nand met Joachim on the road, where they opened fire upon him.\n\nHe, however, did not return their fire, but only saluted them,\nwhereupon, taking heart from his inaction, they fired again, killing\none and injuring another of his followers. The remainder prepared to\ndefend themselves, but Joachim prevented them.\n\nNow a crowd began to collect, and very soon the only avenue of escape\nfor Joachim was by the steep cliff, down which he ran, hailing, as he\narrived upon the beach, his ship, which was still but a little distance\nfrom the land. His captain, Barbara, though\u2014another upon whom Joachim\nhad lavished every sort of kindness and whom he had raised from nothing\nat all to the rank of a Baron\u2014paid no heed to him and sailed away with\nthe booty which he had on board.\n\nThen Joachim, despairing at last, attempted to make his escape in a\nsmall skiff which lay on the beach; but it was too heavy for him to\nmove, and the next moment Trentacapilli and his rabble were upon him,\nstriking him in the face and tearing off the jewels which he wore\nupon his cap and breast, and bellowing their insults at him while he\nwas being led up to the grey, straggling castle; and only when he was\ninside the gates and out of sight did their howling cease.\n\nA tiny light penetrated through the gloom that surrounded him when\nCaptain Stratti, upon hearing who the prisoner was, treated him with\nmarked deference and respect, addressing him as \u201cMajesty\u201d and securing\nfor him the best room that he could. General Nunziante also, upon\narriving, paid him every mark of respect, and endeavoured, as far as\nit was possible for him to do, to show his sympathy for the unfortunate\nand betrayed captive.\n\nThis treatment appears to have restored Murat considerably, and that\nnight he slept soundly and peacefully. No idea of the sort of vengeance\nwhich Ferdinand and his abominable government were preparing for him\nappears to have entered his head, and he still seems to have thought\nit possible to come to some arrangement with that royal hyena, for he\nremarked to Nunziante, the day before his execution, that it would be\neasy to come to an accommodation with Ferdinand by the latter yielding\nto him the Kingdom of Naples and by his yielding to Ferdinand his\nclaims to Sicily.\n\nFerdinand, in the meanwhile, having recovered from the nightmare of\nterror which had seized him upon the receipt of the news of Joachim\u2019s\nlanding at Pizzo, allowed his joy and relief full play. At first he\nwanted to imprison every one who could even be suspected of a suspicion\nin the direction of Muratism, but his courage failed him, and he had\nto content himself with despatching Canosa\u2014who may I think, without\ninjustice, be classed among the three or four worst and most despicable\ncharacters that ever infested that sunny land\u2014into Calabria with _carte\nblanche_ to represent his master.\n\nThe order for Murat\u2019s execution was sent down by signal telegraph, and,\nthat done, a court-martial was composed to try him! Seven \u201cjudges\u201d were\nchosen, three of whom, besides the Procurator General, had been raised\nfrom poverty and obscurity and loaded with money and honours by Murat\nhimself; and, in order to save themselves from any taint of common\ngratitude or even decency, which might bring them into disfavour with\ntheir present sovereign lord, they first of all thanked the latter\nhumbly for deigning to make use of them, and, by their bearing and\nremarks during the trial, made it impossible for Murat to sit in the\nsame room with them, even had he desired to do so.\n\nIn the round tower, Joachim spent the last night of his life,\nmercifully undisturbed by the knowledge of the Court which was to\ngo through the farce of trying him. It was long after daylight when\nNunziante entered, so softly that the sleeping man did not awaken. Nor\ndid Nunziante arouse him\u2014an act of charity which must surely have been\nput to his credit when the long roll-call summoned him in his turn!\n\nOn Joachim\u2019s awakening and opening his eyes, Nunziante broke the news\nof his approaching trial as gently as possible.\n\n\u201cI am lost, then!\u201d exclaimed Murat. There were tears in his eyes, and\nNunziante himself was unable to speak for emotion, but he brought his\nprisoner pen and paper.\n\n \u201cMy dear Caroline [wrote Murat]: My last hour has struck. Within\n a few moments I shall have ceased to live and you will have lost\n your husband. Do not forget me! My life has never been stained by\n an act of injustice. Adieu, my Achilles, my Letitia, my Lucian,\n and my Louisa. Show yourselves worthy of me. I leave you without\n a Kingdom, without wealth, in the midst of many enemies. Be\n united and rise above misfortune. Look upon yourselves as you\n are, not as you might be, and God will bless your humility. Do\n not curse my memory. Know that my greatest misery in this last\n hour of my life is to die far from my children. Receive your\n father\u2019s blessing\u2014receive my embraces and my tears. May the\n memory of your unhappy father be ever present with you.\n\n \u201cJOACHIM.\u201c\n\nIn the letter he placed some locks of hair.\n\nWith infamous cynicism, a defender had been appointed for him before\nthe Court, but Murat, rising above his misery, rejected the melancholy\nfoolery with a contempt the expression of which must have cut into the\nhorny feelings of his Judges and left them sore for many a long day.\n\nHe was their King, he told them, but went on to observe: \u201cIf I am to be\ntried in the light of a Marshal of France, I may be tried by a Council\nof Marshals; if as a General, by Generals. But before I descend so low\nas to submit to the decision of the Judges who have been selected _many\npages must be torn from the history of Europe_!\u201d\n\nTo Storace, who had been appointed to defend him, and who now begged to\nbe allowed to do what he could, Joachim replied:\n\n\u201cYou cannot save my life. Allow me to save my dignity. I forbid you to\nspeak in my defence.\u201d\n\nStorace, who, with Stratti and Nunziante, appears as one of the three\nrays of human light in the whole horrid affair, left him sadly, as the\nmagistrate entered and with gusto proceeded to torment the victim with\nquestions. But he did not get very far before Joachim turned upon him.\n\n\u201cI am Joachim Murat,\u201d he replied, \u201cKing of the Two Sicilies and your\nKing. Leave me and relieve my prison of your presence!\u201d\n\nIt seems to have occurred to him that, possibly, Ferdinand was\nrevenging himself now for the murder of the Duc d\u2019Enghien\u2014for he\nmentioned the tragedy and swore to Stratti that he had had no hand in\nit. He had been Governor of Paris when the young Duke was kidnapped and\nshot, but he could have done nothing to save him. Murat was speaking\nthe truth. The Duc d\u2019Enghien was murdered by Talleyrand, who devised\nthe whole affair and drove Napoleon into giving the order by suggesting\nthe result of it upon the Royalists who had, then, made several\nattempts upon the First Consul\u2019s life.\n\nMurat then thanked Stratti for his kindness and begged to be left\nalone, when he crossed his arms on his breast and stared at the\nportraits of his family. His first notice of the sentence which had\nbeen pronounced upon him came through a priest, whose name was Masdea.\nThe latter, as he told Joachim, had had cause to be grateful to him in\nthe past for some unexpected help in the building of a Church, and it\nwas that which had induced him to brave the displeasure of Joachim\u2019s\nenemies now. He assured Joachim that his prayers would be offered up\nfor the repose of his soul, and begged him to prepare himself as a\nChristian to appear before his Maker; and Joachim did so, Masdea says,\nwith philosophic resignation.\n\nThe \u201cCourt\u201d by now had its sentence ready:\n\n \u201cJoachim Murat, by the fortune of arms, having returned into\n that private life in which he was born, and having ventured\n with twenty-eight comrades to attempt this rash enterprise, not\n trusting to the force of arms [this, by the way, seems to be\n a queer sort of grievance] but to rebellion, has excited the\n people to rise against the lawful sovereign, endeavoured to\n revolutionise the Kingdom and Italy, and is therefore condemned\n to die as a public enemy, by the law made during the Decennium,\n and which is still maintained in full vigour.\u201d\n\nJoachim seemed to be very little interested in the reading of his doom.\nExcept for an occasional glance of cold contempt, he paid no attention\nto the herald or his message.\n\nThen he was led down some stone steps into a sort of court, which may\nbe seen to this day, and placed against the wall on the left of the\nfoot of the stairs.\n\nHe refused to have his eyes bound and looked calmly on while the\nmuskets of the firing party were being loaded. When all was ready, he\nstraightened himself up and looked steadily at his executioners.\n\n\u201cSpare my face,\u201d he said, \u201cand aim at my heart.\u201d\n\n\nSo died Joachim Murat, in the forty-eighth year of his life, and he met\nhis end with a fearlessness and dignity which shone the brighter for\nthe squalid surroundings in which he displayed them.\n\nThere is a story still current in the Penisola that, after his death,\nhis head was cut off, by Ferdinand\u2019s order, and carried to Naples, in\norder that the \u201cButcher King\u201d might be sure that his gallant enemy was\nno more.\n\nOne would have imagined that the gruesome proof would have satisfied\nhim and, having seen it, he would have been content to bury it\ndecently. But the report goes on to say that nothing would induce\nhim to part with it afterwards and that he kept it in a specially\nconstructed case, under lock and key, by the side of his bed. Here,\nwhenever his crazy panics seized him, he could open the box and finger\nthe head and reassure himself again.\n\nAnd all this happened, not in the time of Caligula or Tiberius, but\nthree years before the birth of Queen Victoria.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nITALIAN SEAS\n\n Our Moods and the Seas\u2014Memories in Landscapes\u2014The Healing\n of the Sea\u2014A Vision in the Bay of Naples\u2014Marion Crawford\u2019s\n Yacht Expected\u2014The Family Together at Leghorn\u2014Lady Paget\u2014A\n Bathing Scene\u2014Hugh Fraser\u2014\u201cSpannocchi\u201d for Dinner\u2014The Avenging\n Boatman\u2014Livorno, an Anomaly\u2014Sunset on the Mare Ligure\u2014Bay of\n Spezia, a Splurge of Colour and Light\u2014A Hail Storm in Venice\u2014The\n Joy of a Gondola\u2014Moods of Venice\u2014A Giorgione Beauty\u2014The Nurseries\n of Venice\u2014Her Shops\u2014Saints and Heresies of the Thirteenth Century.\n\n\nLet us come back to happier themes! Many and enchanting books have\nbeen written about Italian cities and Italian country, but none about\nour Italian seas. People who look at the map may think this a limited\nsubject; there is the Mediterranean and there is the Adriatic, what\nmore can be said? _Amici miei_, to a sea-lover there are as many seas\nas ports; the dear salt water and the sunrise and the sunset know it,\nand have a separate caress for each. They make\u2014or fit into\u2014the thousand\nmoods of mind that colour a pilgrim\u2019s life, and the pictures of them\nin my gallery of remembrance are clearer than any of my landscapes and\nmore helpful\u2014because they never hurt. The landscapes, all except the\nloveliest ones where the spirit poised for one longing instant\u2014like\na bird on the topmast of a ship and, like the bird, was given no more\nthan time to take breath and wing away again\u2014are mostly inhabited. Here\nyour friend quarrelled with you; there your true love kissed you and\nbetrayed; further on your child was sick and every aspect of the most\nbeautiful scenery in the world brings back only the poignant watches\nwhen a flush of colour in the little face sent you crazy with joy and\nsomething wrong again with the little pulse froze your heart with fear.\nOn land we cannot get away from ourselves and others; earth is greedily\ndominant, monstrously exacting. But the sea repudiates all individual\nties. You must be empty of yourself or it will not speak to you at\nall. Its laws are not our laws, and the first thing it does, if you\nare docile to its magic, is to wash out your personality, and, oh, how\nglad some of us are\u2014or would be\u2014if we only could utterly forget that\nirritant, insistent factor of existence!\n\nIn our long wanderings most paths, as we look back on them, show the\nlittle red stains where we cut our feet; we have left shreds of our\nsoul\u2019s garments on many a thorn by the way; but for me, and I fancy\nfor some of you others, the breath and the sound and the touch of the\nsea has been nothing but coolness and healing, a sunbath for life\u2019s\nchillinesses, a fountain of strength in its languors. I think I should\nknow now the right point to make for, according to the distemper that\nmight be assailing me; and, though twenty years ago I sought and loved\nthe onslaught of the Atlantic and the Valhalla of the March tides in\nthe Channel, to-day I would fare no further than my home seas, those\nthat lap and sing on the Italian shores.\n\nI was sailing up into, the Bay of Naples once, just as the morning\nhad conquered the last star; the sky was a faint milky blue, and the\nmountains were cowled outlines, very dark and still. Not a breath\nstirred the sea, not a sound came from the land. Suddenly from the\nshadows that were neither land nor sea, I saw coming towards me a tall\nglorious form, floating on the water, pointing to the sky, clothed in\nlong straight robes of white, making for open sea with the steady rush\nof a seabird on rested pinions. It took all the growing daylight to\nitself\u2014it _was_ the daylight, for a few breathless seconds\u2014a vision of\nthe Immaculate Conception, it seemed to me; then the music of ripple\non prow whispered across the water, the sun leapt up behind Sant\u2019\nAngelo; I rubbed my eyes and, lo, a slender vessel with snowy sails,\ntall and narrow, from some strange port, such sails as our seamen never\nunfurled. She brought the wind as she had taken the daylight, and a\nmoment later she swept past in her immaculate pride and was gone.\n\nI always rather resented the advent of battleships and royal yachts\nand gaudy truck of that kind in our Southern waters, but the private\nyachts inspired us with a pleasant, mysterious interest that was not\nunwelcome. Once, when we were watching anxiously for my brother,\nduring his venturesome sail from New York to Naples, the children\nwere cruising round the Bay not far from Naples. A large beautiful\nyacht was seen to come in and cast anchor off Santa Lucia, and at once\nthe greatest excitement prevailed on the Crawford felucca. Was that\nthe _Alda_? Oh, surely it must be! At once the _Margherita_ headed\nfor the port, and the nearer she came to the new arrival the surer\nwas everybody that the _Alda_\u2014which none of them had seen, as Marion\nhad just bought her\u2014had reached port at last. How well she had stood\nthe voyage! No sign of the heavy weather mentioned in the wire from\nGibraltar! No sign of the Padrone either, but, of course, he would have\nhad to go on shore to report himself and get his harbour papers from\nthe Consul. What was this? Dark-faced sailors in fezes? How like Marion\nto pick up a Lascar crew in New York! Let us row round her and hail\nsomebody\u2014good Heavens! The first shout brought a dozen lovely Turkish\nladies to the cabin windows, smiling, interested, only too ready to ask\nthe pretty boatful on board. The children stared, open-mouthed! Then\na burst of uncontrollable laughter shook the _Margherita_ from stem to\nstern. Papa had certainly not brought a harem from New York! \u201cA casa,\u201d\ncame the order to the grinning sailors, and the _Margherita_ turned\ntail and ran for home.\n\nThere is a busy unromantic seaport called Livorno, a long way up\nthe coast from Naples, a Tuscan town of white streets and shadeless\nsquares, all alive with commerce, and, until I came to years of reason,\nrepresented to me by the huge flapping straw hats, fine as silk and\npale gold in colour, which we children regarded as signals of summer\nwhen, on the first hot day, the ribbons that held them were tied under\nour chins, and we were admonished, on pain of sunstrokes and spankings,\nnot to take them off. I had among my possessions a toy Swiss cottage\nall made of the same pretty straw, and I imagined that \u201cLeghorn\u201d\nwas a straw city with bunches of red poppies and blue ribbons on the\nhouse-tops for ornament. It was rather a blow to discover, on being\ntaken there when I was seven years old, to find that the only traces of\nmy toy city were the thin golden strings which most of the women were\nplaiting with lightning quickness as they walked in the streets or sat\nin the doorways. After that, as I grew older, Leghorn meant just the\nsea in some of its most enchanting aspects, for it was very rarely that\nwe missed our few weeks of bathing there in September, if we had spent\nthe summer in the North. It was the beginning of the autumn homecoming;\nwe took an apartment on the long bright boulevard that faces the sea,\nthe cook and one or two of the servants came up from Rome to look after\nus, and, always, we had a royally good time. The last, I think, was the\nbest of all, happening after a memorable summer in the Bagni de Lucca,\nwhich I have described elsewhere. My sister had just become engaged,\nand her fianc\u00e9, Erich von Rabe, of course followed us to Leghorn. Hugh\nFraser was there, occupied mostly, it seemed to me, in saving the Paget\nchildren from getting drowned, since they would attempt to follow their\nindomitable young mother in her long swims out in the deep. Lady Paget\ndid everything beautifully; she was built like a goddess and could not\ndo anything else, whether she rode or danced or glided about in great\nold rooms or flowery gardens; but she never seemed more of a goddess\nthan when she stood for an instant in her clinging draperies with her\narms above her head and then leapt, like a curved arrow, out and down\ninto the sun-kissed waves. One held one\u2019s breath while they engulfed\nher\u2014and then, yards beyond, up came that proud small head, and away she\nwould go, with long easy strokes, a being at one with the sun and the\nsea\u2014a joy to behold.\n\nAll that was in the morning, when the spaces under the big tents on the\noutrunning piers of the \u201cstabilimenti\u201d were crowded to the very edge\nwith cheery, chattering groups, the ladies embroidering as fast as they\ntalked, the children romping, the young men making love, and the old\npeople, who would not face the cold joy of a plunge, smiling benignly\non it all. The piers were low, and a sudden gust of wind would fling\nthe salt water up without warning; then there were shrieks mingled with\nlaughter, flurrying of skirts and scraping of chairs and snatching up\nbabies, and all the fun of settling down again, only to renew the game\nat the next shower. This gathering only took place in the morning.\nAs soon as the sun was right overhead, the ladies packed their fancy\nwork into their reticules, wiped the remains of \u201cciambelle\u201d from the\nchildren\u2019s mouths, straightened their hats\u2014all with an incessant fire\nof chatter like that of a tree full of roosting sparrows suddenly\ndisturbed\u2014and away everybody trailed along the blazing white boulevard\nfor home, mid-day dinner, and the rapturous quiet of the siesta\nafterwards.\n\nI believe I was a little jealous, even then, of the kind of official\nownership which the Ambassador and his family seemed to claim in the\nman who, though neither of us dreamed it yet, was very soon to be my\nhusband. Anyway, I permitted myself an occasional mood of pleasant\nmelancholy towards evening when my own dear people, like all the others\nwho had any deference at all for public opinion, were driving round\nand round the public gardens, listening to the band. Two of our party\nhad agreed to slap public opinion quite brutally in the face; these\nwere my erratic sister and her equally erratic fianc\u00e9. They hired a\nlittle sailing boat, and day after day, towards four o\u2019clock, went off\nby themselves, unchaperoned save by the boatman, for long expeditions,\nwhence they returned, gloriously happy and hungry, just in time for a\nvery late dinner. Once and once only they lured me out\u2014why, I could not\nimagine at the moment, as I was a bad sailor in those days and did not\nin the least want to go, but I soon found out their wicked motive. I\nhad taken it upon myself to order the meals while we were at Leghorn,\nas my mother thought it would be good practice for me. Now there was\none dish which we all, except Annie and Erich, particularly disliked,\na fry of very bony, very rank-smelling crayfish, called \u201cspannocchi.\u201d\nAfter one trial I had steadily refused to have it brought to the table.\nBut those two young monsters liked \u201cspannocchi,\u201d and they laid their\nplot quite cleverly and everything turned out just as they intended.\nWe beat out to sea, the weather was squally, and in a short time I was\nlying, a seasick heap, in the bottom of the boat, begging with tears\nto be taken home. This was what they had been waiting for. \u201cNot unless\nyou promise us spannocchi for dinner to-morrow!\u201d they exclaimed in a\nbreath, grinning down at me in my misery. They looked as big and wicked\nas the pictures of the demon lover in our old ballad book, when he is\nsailing the faithless wife to hell!\n\nOf course I promised\u2014and was a most unpopular person with the rest of\nthe family at dinner-time the next night. But their boatman avenged\nme in the end. The day before we returned to Rome they took leave of\nhim with a little present, and he, who had all along imagined them to\nbe a young married couple, because they came unaccompanied, testified\nhis gratitude and good-will in true Italian fashion, by crying\nenthusiastically: \u201cHeaven bless you, my good Signori, and may it be _a\nfine boy_!\u201d\n\nAnnie put her head down and ran for home, and Erich was not allowed to\ncome to dinner that night.\n\n\nLivorno is an anomaly, an Italian city with no history, no ancient\nmonuments, no works of art. In fact, it always seemed to me less\nItalian than any spot I knew in the whole country, but in the days when\nwe used to frequent it I took that, as one took everything else in\nthat cheerful age, for granted, and it was only long afterwards that\nI gave myself the trouble to hunt up the causes of the phenomenon.\nThen I learnt that down to the days of the Medici it was a small\nfishing village with a few hundred inhabitants, bearing, for some\nunknown reason, the name of another tiny place further north, Livorno\nVercellese. The Medici first noted its possibilities, and set to work\nto make it the real port of Florence, till then largely dependent\nfor such a commodity on Pisa, a little further up the coast. Pisa,\nthe ancient rival of Genoa and Venice, still sick with memories of\nher past greatness and, since 1405, the bought-and-paid-for fief of\nFlorence, was always seething with disaffection and conspiracy. Its\nlast desperate effort at retrieving its independence was made in\n1494, and the Florentines were put to the trouble of besieging it\nand taking it by force. It was some sixty or seventy years later (I\nthink during the reign of Francesco, the father of Marie de Medici)\nthat Livorno recommended itself to the ruler of the Republic as a fine\nspot for a port that would have no disturbing memories of independence\nto interfere with its usefulness. In order to insure this they did\nnot colonise it with Italians at all, but craftily invited the more\ncommercially-minded among the malcontents of all Europe to come and\nopen up trading houses there. The invitation was eagerly accepted:\npersecuted Catholics from England and Germany, Moors from Spain, Jews\nin great numbers from all parts came, settled, and flourished, the Jews\nof course outnumbering all the rest, so that the Leghorn population\nis largely Jewish to this day. But there are also several old English\nmerchant houses that, while still affecting to regard England as\n\u201chome,\u201d are deeply rooted in the bright little city on the Ligurian\nSea, and very kind and hospitable were their representatives to us.\nI remember certain commodities\u2014great chests of tea, rolls of English\nflannel, and fine table linen\u2014my mother always sent for to one of these\nLeghorn merchants, and I fancy it is due to the little English-speaking\ncommunity that the town is generally known by that barbarous travesty\nof its Italian name. In our times it has, of course, all the unsightly\nriches of a great modern military and commercial centre\u2014foundries,\ndocks, ship-yards, fortifications, naval arsenals, and all the rest\nof it\u2014but its real attractions lie in the marvellous freshness of\nits air and its unbroken sea-line, changing in tint at every hour of\nthe day and taking on certain splendours that I never remember seeing\nelsewhere. Livorno always seems cool, for when the sun is shining his\nhottest the breeze never fails, and the billows roll in and break in\nlaughter and thunder on the rocks and toss their spray almost to the\nwindows of your room, where the light comes up in a glow of green and\ngold through the Venetians and the wind plays games with the clean\nwhite curtains all day long.\n\nBut it is at evening that the Mare Ligure takes you and holds you\nwith a spell of its own. At sunset the wind generally dies down, and\nthen the sun sinks slowly over a softly-moving but untroubled sea. The\nsky clears of its dancing clouds and becomes\u2014not sky, somehow, but a\nfathomless infinity of breathing rose and topaz, transparent and liquid\nlike jewelled wine. And every ripple and dimple of the water soaks up\nthe transcendent flush, swaying rhythmically, and smoothing out into\nvast pools of melting mother-of-pearl, in which that living wet crimson\nseems to lie like a transparent veil over deeper tints that float\nbeneath. When the sun is gone, the red deepens to the velvet of a dark\nJune rose, and the western sky is flame, not light; but hurrying night\nhas chilled the east behind you, and now every ripple is violet blue on\nits hither side, the golden glow recedes further and further towards\nthe west, is sucked away in the trail of the sun at last, and then\nnothing is left of the day but a forsaken sweep of primrose and the\nwraith of a new-born star.\n\nFor sheer splurge of colour and light one must go further north and be\nout in the Bay of Spezia some September noon, when the harbour is full\nof white battleships all beaconed with signals like strung flowers,\nand the bands are playing madly and salutes are crashing through the\nmusic for some royal holiday. The white town and the green hills behind\nit seem to thrill visibly in unison, and the sea is cobalt that would\nmake your eyes ache but for the fringe of feathery white ripples that\nthe breeze combs up all over its surface, and the sky is transparent\nturquoise, and night seems a thousand years away. Further on yet Genoa\nthe Superb has a sea as blue, sky as stainless, but she dominates in\nher white and emerald loveliness so that her setting is almost effaced.\nOne forgets to notice the steps of the throne where Sovereign Beauty\nqueens it so royally.\n\nThen cross the plain to Venice, the witch who holds East and West in\nher soft hands and plays with their riches as a millionaire\u2019s child\nmight slip a rain of gold pieces from one palm to another, in idleness,\nrecking nothing of their value. Sea and sky, priceless palace and empty\nisland\u2014it is all hers\u2014she can never exhaust her past, and our century,\njejune and vulgar as it is, only seems to touch her to a scornful\nsmile. But Venice can tremble still. Once in many years there sweeps\ndown on her one of Nature\u2019s handfuls of retribution\u2014a storm that makes\nher quake to her artificial incredible foundations. I saw one such.\nIt was in May, Venice\u2019s most perfect month. We had been out to the\nLido that morning, bathing in water smooth as cream; there was not a\ncloud in the sky. We had barely got home when inky darkness descended,\nand out of it burst a gale that lashed the Grand Canal to fury, and\na machine-gun fire of hail was flung against the windows, to result,\nan instant later, in a crash of broken glass and tumbling bricks that\nwas truly appalling. Through the tumult came shrieks and cries. Every\nwindow in the Ducal Palace was smashed, and most of the others in the\ntown; when it was over\u2014the whole thing did not last more than twenty\nminutes\u2014I went out on our balcony and picked up, from the thick layer\nlying there, hailstones as big as pigeons\u2019 eggs. The next day we went\nout again to the Lido, and where a long green pergola of vines had\nshaded the way to the bathing establishment now stood a bare tracery of\ndry branches. Not a single leaf was left.\n\nBut generally the Adriatic waits on Venice with subservient calm,\nand one can float over those vast yet not unpictured lagoons in still\nassurance that one\u2019s reveries will not be disturbed. I doubt whether\nsuch lengths of languorous idling be good for young strong people, but\nas a rest-cure for tired ones there can be nothing more complete. The\nshape and build of the gondola (what a perfect name for the gliding\nsinuous thing!) was evolved by an artist in comfort; the enormous\nleather cushions let you sink into their thickness as far as you please\nwithout ever touching the limit of their pleasant elasticity. Whether\ncowled in to keep off the sun\u2019s rays in the day or uncovered to give\nyou all the coolness of the evening, the gondola seat relieves you of\nall responsibility for your body; it holds you as an experienced nurse\nholds a tired child; and in its silent swan-like rush through the water\nyou get just the sense of motion necessary to keep your nerves employed\nyet soothed. With the right companion, what talks are possible, as\nyou glide out in the last flush of evening towards the more distant\nlagoons and wait for the moon to come up out of Istria, across the\nsea! Your gondolier, silent as Charon, is behind you and you forget\nhis existence. And all the rest is behind, too, but very far behind:\ndaily life with its horrid strident claims and calculations that won\u2019t\neven leave honeymooning couples alone! Time has ceased, and the world\nis standing still to let you look at life in its beauty and kiss its\nface in its peace. When at last you say, without turning your head, \u201cA\ncasa, Sandruccio!\u201d your black swan quivers an instant from low stern\nto dark arched prow, swings round in the smallest space any boat did\never turn in, and you float back to the regular rhythm of Sandruccio\u2019s\ntwenty-foot oar, till a necklace of lights lies low on the land and\nthe faintest of songs\u2014a very mist of music\u2014is wafted over the water.\n\u201cAlla Pizzetta?\u201d enquires Sandruccio, speaking for the first time and\nin a voice expressing much amused indulgence for dreaming lovers. A few\nminutes later he is imperiously ordering fellow-gondoliers out of his\nway to the steps, is holding the side of the swan the eighth of an inch\noff the grind of the stone, and you and your other self dance on shore\nto become light-hearted young people, keeping time surreptitiously\nto the gay waltz of the band and laughing at everything and nothing\nbecause all the festive crowd around you is doing the same thing.\n\nWitch and tyrant as she is\u2014and perhaps for that very reason, since\ntyrants must know how to yield as well as how to rule\u2014Venice will meet\nyou in almost all your moods, and create new ones for you if you have\nnone of your own.\n\nI used to get dazzled with all the splendour of palaces and Churches;\nthese last are so full of the glorification of great men\u2014the monuments\nand ornamentation are so obtrusive that there seems scarcely any room\nfor prayer. San Marco itself, dream of beauty as it is, inspires less\ndevotion than many a humble country Church without a single work of\nart to recommend it. Without the ineffable Presence in the Tabernacle\nI should have felt more piously disposed at the foot of the lonely\nshrine out in the Lagoon, where the Blessed Madonna\u2019s picture smiles\ndown from its tall tarred post on the flowers that one or other of her\nchildren brings there every day. The water laps gently at her feet, the\nsky arches blue overhead, and one can dream very good and happy dreams\nas one gazes up at her. But in San Marco, just as in the Doges\u2019 Palace,\none is teased by two things\u2014the necessity of thought and appreciation,\nand that horrid sense one has in so many places in Italy, of all the\nprying irreverence that expert\u2014sceptic\u2014heretics of the Ruskin tribe\nhave brought to bear on it\u2014as if the cleverest ant that ever crawled\nand builded underground could measure the courses of the stars!\n\nTo forget, and rest from, other people\u2019s thoughts, I used to walk a\ngood deal through those narrow, noiseless streets where never hoof or\nwheel comes to break the stillness, where old houses lean close to\nshare old secrets, and the shadows lie clear and cool through most\nof the daylight hours. When the sun does strike down he turns the\ngrey to gold, seems to gather up all the perfume of the small hidden\ngardens and fling it to you with a laugh on a spray of jessamine\nthat has tossed itself over some ancient wall, or a tangle of red\ncarnations spilling down through the scrollwork of a balcony projecting\nthe wide curve of its iron bars far overhead, above the street.\nThrough a half-open _portone_, dull green, like the narrow canals\nin the shade, you catch a glimpse of a courtyard deep sunk between\nhigh walls that are dimpled and lichened to indescribable richness\nof colour, and gleaming here and there with some lovely fragment of\nbas-relief. Cupid with one wing gone and half a bow\u2014a row of bursting\npomegranates trailing off into nothing\u2014a few letters of some once\npompous inscription\u2014who knows, who cares? They served out their own\nuses centuries ago and were stuck in here to corner a window frame,\nto key an arch, to replace a brick, but the sun and the rain and the\nsalt sweetness of Adriatic airs have fused and mellowed them to the\ngold-white tint of fresh curds, smoothed their marbled surface to\nthe velvet uniformity of magnolia petals. There is a fountain in the\ncourtyard, of course, a rough half shell of stone set into the wall,\nwhere a slow jet trickles all day long and is just now spilling over\nthe brim of the red copper \u201cconca\u201d that some woman has set a-tilt below\nit\u2014and forgotten, perhaps, to run upstairs and pull in the wire that\ndangles overhead between two windows, flapping with garments of many\ncolours like a string of signals at sea. For there are windows that\nlook into the courtyard, row above row\u2014and there she is, looking out\nof one, a red-haired, brown-eyed young creature with broad shoulders\nand sunburnt throat, a strapping baby trying to wriggle out of its\nswaddling bands in her arms. In a minute she comes down, and clatters\nover the broad damp stones in her wooden clogs with yellow velvet\ntoe-caps\u2014and the sight of them sets me dreaming of the Venetian ladies\nthree hundred years ago, picking their way to Mass through the narrow\ntwisting \u201ccalle\u201d on clogs, too, but such clogs! A narrow stein, twelve\nor fourteen inches high, resting on a base not more than two inches\nwide, and spreading at the top into a pretty little slipper, lined\nwith velvet, and the whole thing was covered with crimson velvet and\ngold lace held in place by dozens of gold-headed nails! How any grown\nwoman ever balanced herself on these stilts is a mystery to me still.\nMy father at one time collected ancient footgear, and then forgot\nall about it; so it came to pass that in a corner of our old nursery\nat the Villa Negroni there lay the strangest heap of toys that any\nmodern child ever had to play with\u2014several pairs of these exquisitely\nornamented \u201csabots\u201d tumbled in with pink and scarlet silk slippers of\nthe Watteau period\u2014and later. One pair, I remember, with heels like\nknitting pins, so high that only the very point of the foot touched the\nground at all. But, oh, how the little feet that wore them must have\nsuffered! They had certainly walked in such shoes from childhood, for\nthe foot had sunk down and lost shape until, pathetically small as the\nlittle slipper was, it was as lumpy and shapeless as a clenched fist\nand almost as broad as it was long.\n\nBy the time I remembered her again, after my mental excursion, my\nGiorgione beauty had twisted a towel into a turban, placed it on her\nred hair, and, lifting the \u201cconca\u201d on to her head with a turn of the\nhand and without spilling a drop, had disappeared up the dark stairway,\nall in less time than it takes to tell. Then, after stealing one fat,\npink oleander blossom from the tree in the corner, I went on my way,\nsniffing its nutty sweetness, to lose myself in the silent labyrinth\nof those little-trodden alleys and then be suddenly brought to a\nstandstill by a deep narrow canal, unbridged, green, silent, serving\nas the water door to the rooms of dark old houses that frowned at\neach other across it. At every few yards stone steps led down, the\nwater lapping confidentially over the lowest ones. From far away\ncomes the long warning cry, \u201cO, Prem\u00ed\u201d\u2014that has puzzled generations\nof etymologists unable to give even a guess at its derivation. But\neverybody knows its meaning\u2014you hear it a hundred times a day at every\nangle of the canals, telling those whom it concerns that a gondola is\ncoming round the corner. The next moment it has swung into sight, the\nlong, sinuous black thing cutting through the water so smoothly and\nimperiously, pulling up suddenly without jerk or sound beside the steps\nto let its fare slip on shore or its gondolier deliver a message\u2014in\nthe soft lisping dialect that sounds like insects\u2019 wings in a summer\nnoon\u2014to some one waiting for it on a balcony above.\n\nIt is the little things that are so real and charming in Venice, I\nthink; the glimpses of life among the unchanging, persistent, common\npeople, who live as they have always lived in the discreet still\natmosphere of the back streets and the forgotten waterways.\n\n\nSometimes grown-up Venice is a little overpowering; one feels called\nupon to note every turn and building, for fear of missing some\nexquisite bit of architecture, some play of light and shade that\nmust be remembered. Then one is glad to get away to one or another\nof the islands that lie around her, the nurseries where she played,\nand dreamed of the future, a thousand years ago. The dearest of them\nall to me is Torcello. We rowed out there one morning in August, when\nthe sea was very calm and the sun a little veiled by clouds sweeping\nslowly up from the south. As we approached the island it seemed as if\nits few buildings were flush with the water; so low does it lie that\nthe grasses and wild roses on the shore were dipping in the wash of\nthe ripples. Some peasants had been cutting the grass, the scent of\nnew-mown hay filled the air, and two great boats pushed out from some\ninlet and passed between us and the land, laden ten feet high with a\ncargo of fragrant green gold. As they met the breeze, up went the tawny\nsails and they skimmed away over the blue water like bees heavy with\npollen. Then there was the cool rush of the turning prow, our gondola\nran in softly to the strand, some one held up an arm, and I sprang on\nshore\u2014to find myself in another age and another clime. I had to wait a\nfew minutes to realise what it all meant, for the \u201cambiente\u201d was new to\nmy senses. A stretch of turf and wild roses\u2014that explained itself\u2014youth\nand roses never need introduction\u2014but the still white Church, so\nlong and low, with its slender columns like altar candles, its grave\nByzantine lines\u2014that made me pause. It seemed as if some Saint had\nturned from his prayers to ask me what I came for, and I could only\nreply: \u201cYou must tell me\u2014there is nothing here that I have a name for,\nbut there is something that was mine\u2014give it back to me!\u201d\n\nWhen I walk through a familiar room in the dark, a peculiar warning\nlike a ghostly touch is laid on my forehead as I come near any object\non a level with it, and that same feeling came to me there at Torcello,\nI remember. It seemed as if it all were known to me, as if every flower\nand blade of grass called out, \u201cWe were here with you before!\u201d\u2014as if\nthe small forsaken basilica had meant the heart of home in some lapsed\nperiod that life, as I knew it, could in no way account for. Its\nloveliness was so removed, so ascetic that one held one\u2019s breath for\nfear of disturbing its peace; the marble seats, the central throne,\nseemed all peopled by grave shades of presbyters, surrounding their\nBishop, their long straight vestments marked with the gold cross from\nshoulder to shoulder and from neck to feet; I could almost fancy I\nheard their deep chant, first from this side of the mounting tribune\nand then from that, echoing in the cold spaces overhead and dying away\ndown the nave among the columns. I believed the old story then, that\nTorcello had been the first resting-place of the hunted exiles fleeing\nseaward from the Huns; it was not that; I doubt whether the basilica\nwas really built in the Seventh Century as the guidebooks say; Rialto\nhad its Church long before Torcello; but Rialto has been the artery\nof Venice\u2019s throbbing vitality too long for any associations to cling\nto it now, while Torcello has stood aside, a recluse that has never\nwavered in its loyalty to the Past, and the Past is enshrined there for\nall time. I was surprised to find that it and I were friends. There are\nonly two of all the dead and gone centuries of Europe that seem really\nmy own besides the one I was born in\u2014and they do not belong to the\nchaotic times of Barbarian invasion and Byzantine supremacy. But the\nnameless sweetness of the airs that play so gently over the forsaken\nisland said something that day that could never be forgotten, and the\nimpression was so strong and so perfect that I have never wished to\ntamper with it by a second visit.\n\nStrangely enough Torcello dismissed us with contumely, for as we left\nit in the late afternoon we encountered a fearful storm and came, I\nthink, very near to being swamped. The thunder simply hurled itself\nfrom every quarter at once, the sea rose in inky billows of terrifying\ndimensions, and between them and the rain we were drenched to the skin,\nand very thankful when Sandruccio, who behaved splendidly, finally\nlanded us on the slippery steps of our hotel.\n\nFor a day or two after that we stayed within call, so to speak, and\nhad no fancy for putting out to the Lagoons. There were mornings when\nit was pleasant to be utterly and frankly frivolous and do nothing\nbut wander under the arcades of the Piazzetta and in and out of the\nbewilderingly pretty shops. Such a spread of colour and glitter they\nwere, and so tempting was it to pick up some of the alluring trifles\nfor the new home we were going to make in Peking! The Murano glass\nat Salviati\u2019s I still think the most beautiful product of our own or\nany other time. Every tint of sea and sky and jewel gleamed in the\nethereal beakers and vases; I remember a tall goblet of transparent\ntopaz, shot with gold, that twisted and curled on its tendril stem like\na newly opened convolvulus, spreading at last into a cup too ethereal\nfor earthly lips to touch, so full of light that the most sparkling\nwine would have darkened it; and all round, for handles, were blown\nwreaths of milky iridescent foam, so faint that it seemed as if they\nmust run down its sides and wet your fingers with salt spray. It was\nlike getting into the Sea-King\u2019s palace under the sea to spend an hour\nat Salviati\u2019s; every lovely freak and fancy of sun and water, from\nthe brooding sapphire of secret caves to the last bubble of spray on a\ncurling wave, it was all there, caught and crystallised for mortals to\nlove and handle.\n\nThose were the days of beads\u2014one wore as many chains as one liked,\nthe more the better\u2014and for years I went round with a little Venetian\nrosary of blue and gold flecked with fairy roses round my neck. The\nmother-of-pearl overcame me altogether\u2014long garlands of the tiny\nshells strung in fanciful patterns\u2014each perfect in itself and shot with\nrainbows through its moonlight sheen\u2014but the dignity of a married woman\nforbade the wearing of such things now. For years they lay about on my\ndressing-table reflected in the depths of a Venetian mirror which also\naccompanied me everywhere, a big oval set in a frame of translucent\nflowers and leaves, neither white nor silver nor pearl, but just the\ncolour of the foam when the sun shines through it.\n\nWe went out to Murano once and saw all the processes of glass-blowing,\nand they made a little vase for me while I was there; but the secrets\nof those marvellous colours were not explained, and I came away with\none cherished illusion intact\u2014I am still sure that the glass-blowers\nhave a tributary tribe of nymphs and fairies who gather their tints for\nthem out at sea, in nets woven of sunbeams and moonrays!\n\nDuring that honeymoon summer, Venice indoors, with all its matchless\nart treasures, appealed to me less than Venice out of doors. At the\ntime of my first stay there I was only sixteen, but mature enough to\nappreciate what I was seeing, and my dear old stepfather was a splendid\nguide and allowed us to miss nothing. He was a strange combination,\ndear man\u2014an expert at explaining beauty of colour and technique and\nstonily impervious to impression or atmosphere. All that remained to\nhim of his Calvinistic New England education was a giant conscience,\nto which other people\u2019s inclinations had to bow wherever he took the\nlead, as he did, imperiously, in matters of sightseeing. Often I would\nhave begged off some expedition, feeling surfeited already with beauty\nand history, and longing to be healthily frivolous for a few hours, as\nyouth needs to be sometimes. But it was of no use\u2014go with him I must,\nand very glad I was of it afterwards, for, returning in later years\nto the places where he had piloted me about, I could make at once for\nthe things I wanted to see again, without troubling my head about the\nothers. One of these, alas! was gone when Hugh and I, just married,\ncame to Venice. The St. Peter Martyr of Titian had perished in a fire.\nI had lingered before it long, as a girl, for there was something more\nthan mere beauty in the painting; one felt there was truth, relatively\nas absolute as that for which the Saint gave his life\u2014a picture not\nonly of himself but of what he died for, loyalty to the unalterable\nessence of things as they are.\n\nIt is as hard to describe a beloved picture as a beloved face, but this\none had been seldom copied or reproduced, and it is gone, now, so I\nwill try. In a dark glade of the woods through which flamed red bars\nof sunset, two ruffians were attacking the Saint and his companion;\nPeter knelt between them in the foreground, looking up to Heaven, ere\nthe last blow fell, with a wonderful expression of mingled pain and\njoy. The sweep of the drapery, the slight sinking to one side, showed\nthat his strength was gone already, but through the physical anguish\non his face there shone such radiance that one knew Heaven was already\nopened to his eyes\u2014it was not trust, it was certainty. The assassins,\ngreat bulky brutes, towered over him, but their figures were shadowed\nand dark and formless as evil itself; all the light, all the reality,\nwere centred on the bending head, the dying eyes, the praying hands,\nthe mystic cross that barred the priestly garment. I think there were\npalms and angels hovering overhead; but in a very old drawing, half\nlife-size, of this picture\u2014to all appearance contemporary with the\npainting\u2014that I found among my dear father\u2019s possessions they were\nabsent. In the background lay the body of the martyr\u2019s slain companion,\nmartyred, too, but all the glory and the promise seemed to be for\nPeter\u2014none for him. As I have said, I was only sixteen then, and knew\nless about Peter the Martyr than I did about Confucius or Genghis\nKhan, and for many years I wondered why the other martyr had remained\nnameless and unsainted. It shows the incompleteness of my education\nwhen I confess that it was only a year or two ago that I pieced his\nstory together for myself. Let some one correct me if I am wrong,\nbut I _think_ the neglected companion was Conrad, the confessor of\nSt. Elizabeth of Hungary, a man of high learning and much piety, but\nto whom, on account of his harsh treatment of the \u201cdear Saint,\u201d the\nChurch refused the honours of canonisation. But we know that Conrad was\nmurdered for the Faith, and may be equally sure that it was owing to\nSt. Elizabeth\u2019s prayers that Heaven allowed him to expiate his fault by\na heroic death.\n\nThe Thirteenth Century, so rich in Saints, was appallingly prolific\nin heresies, too, and of these the Manich\u00e6an, ancient as the Devil\nhimself, was just then the most aggressive. It had gained much ground\nin the north of Italy, and when Peter was born in Verona his whole\nfamily had been led away by it. But the true faith was still taught\nin the schools, and by the time the boy was seven years old he had\nlearnt the Apostles\u2019 Creed, and neither blows nor caresses at home\ncould shake him in his loyalty to it. Later he was sent to Bologna to\npursue the studies considered necessary for a gentleman in those days,\nbut Providence had other designs and uses for him. He was yet in his\nteens when the call came; he answered it at once, renounced the world,\nand took the Habit of the Preachers, the sons and followers of St.\nDominic. The Breviary says, \u201cWith great splendour did his virtues shine\nin Religion,\u201d especially in his gifts of preaching, which brought the\nstrayed lambs back to the Fold by thousands at a time. He had always\nprayed for the crowning grace of martyrdom, and when it approached he\ntold those who loved him that his end was close at hand. The Manich\u00e6ans\nfeared him as much as they hated him, for he was as stern with the\nrecalcitrant as he was tender to the contrite. He was returning, in\nthe exercise of his ministry, from Como to Milan, when they murdered\nhim. With his last breath he repeated the Apostles\u2019 Creed. The antiphon\nfor his feast repeats the words used by Innocent IV in the Bull of his\ncanonisation, which took place the year after his death, an immense\nnumber of authentic miracles having already testified to the honour\nand glory God had bestowed upon him in Paradise. \u201cAs purest flame leaps\nup from the depths of smoke, as the rose blooms on the thorny branch,\nso Peter, Teacher and Martyr, is born of faithless parents.\u201d \u201cSoldier\nin the Preachers\u2019 camp, he stands now in the ranks of the warriors\ntriumphant.\u201d \u201cHis soul was all-angelic, his tongue fruitful, his life\napostolic, and his death precious.\u201d \u201cThe unconquered athlete battles\nstrong in death, professing aloud the Faith for which he bleeds. It is\nthus that the martyr triumphs as he does for the Faith.\u201d\n\nTo all but us benighted Catholics \u201cthe Faith,\u201d in these latter days,\nis a mere sun-myth, and the blackest heresy a disease that has lost\nall its terrors\u2014as harmless as chickenpox or a cold in the head. Let\nus who know better at least have the grace to acknowledge our debt to\nthe great ones who fought for our heritage and kept it clean with their\nblood!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nSOUTHERN SHORES\n\n Melancholy Ravenna\u2014Early Byzantine Architecture\u2014Forests of\n Stone-pine\u2014Smiles and Tears\u2014The Need of a Little Misfortune\u2014Monte\n Gargano\u2014Millions of Spanish Merinos\u2014Prim\u00e6val Forest\u2014A Forest\n Miracle\u2014Church of the Apparition of St. Michael\u2014Other Apparitions\n of the Archangel\u2014The Revelation to St. Aubert\u2014The Great Round\n Church\u2014Order of the Knights of St. Michael\u2014A \u201cMaiden\u201d Fortress of\n France.\n\n\nThe real life of the Adriatic coast seems to diminish visibly when\none leaves Venice and drops down towards Ravenna; it has been drawn\naway inland to busy cities that turn their backs on the sea, and the\nsea itself has sullenly withdrawn, leaving ancient ports empty and\nuseless, like stranded wrecks that will never feel the leap of the\nwaves beneath their keels again. One should visit Ravenna either in\nthe heyday of irrepressible youth or much later in life when twilight\nis companionable and sympathetic; otherwise, its melancholy is too\nall-pervading, too depressing to be healthy. It is a city of ghosts,\nbig-eyed, hard-featured Byzantine ghosts; the great mosaics are full of\ntheir portraits, and, with all the beauty of gold and colour, there is\nsomething sinister and deathly in those tall straight figures, stiff\nof gesture, rapacious of eye\u2014likenesses caught unawares of people who\nin their hearts prized power and wealth above all other things in this\nlife or the next.\n\nI do not think any one Italian-born can feel much more than judicial\nadmiration of the severe early architecture, perfect though it be.\nThe sharp square outlines, the sulky red\u2014that might be rosso antico,\nso little has it yielded in tint or surface to the touch of Time,\u2014all\nthis, to me, seems misplaced under the dreamy blue of the Italian sky.\nWithin the Churches the long aisles of double-storied arches cramp\nthe spaces where fancy might soar and prayer take wing. They make an\nimpression of narrowness, almost of Puritanism, that stifles emotion\nand frowns at joy. Of course, all this is rank artistic heresy, or will\nseem so to the crowd of submissive art experts who tumble over each\nother in their haste to repeat the dictums of a few famous specialists;\nbut I fancy there are many simple-minded people who will agree with me,\nall the same. It has always puzzled my own ignorance to understand how\nanything so un-Italian as the early Byzantine style came to take root\nand flower successfully on Italian soil. The radiant, light-flooded\nclimate does so much to soften and humanise the alien growth that it\nbuys its pardon for it in the end; but when some enthusiast, thrilled\nwith admiration for what he has seen basking in southern sunshine,\nundertakes to reproduce it under the cold and lowering English skies,\nits true character is shown at once. It is all too akin to them. One\nescapes from the prison gloom of Westminster Cathedral to fly to the\nBrompton Oratory and sink down in a corner and thank Heaven that St.\nPhilip Neri was a Roman, and that his sons and followers can still give\nus Churches with big airy domes and broad smooth naves where the light\nflows free, and transepts that open wide for worshippers and pool up\nthe blessed sunshine like any bay in the Mediterranean.\n\nBut there was one point on which Ravenna, in my day at least (for it\nhas suffered since then), yielded the palm to no Mediterranean port\u2014the\nstately forest of stone-pines that stood like troops at rest, for\nmiles along the shore. The stone-pine is always beautiful, whether as\na solitary, striking up, one shaft of grace and strength, against the\nsky, or as in great companies sunk to the knees in the deep turfy mould\nthat their needles have piled below them in the course of centuries.\nThey grow thus in the South over many a green acre of villa land,\nsheltering an unending profusion of the delicate wild flowers that\nthrive in that rich soil. But for real forests of stone-pines you\nmust go further north and skirt the coast. There you will see them\nin their glory, miles of them together, and, if you are quiet and\nwill listen, you will learn a great deal. For, like the sons of the\nProphets, they have secrets of their own that have never been shared\nwith other tribes, secrets that have only been confided to them, and\nthat is why the solitary pine is such a true solitary; he invites no\ncompanions from the gregarious world around; towering and alone, he\nseems to gaze at unseen horizons, to praise the Lord in the murmur of\nthe far-spreading branches that crown the fretted column of his stem;\nas for Elijah on Mount Carmel, so for him the past and the present and\nthe future blend into one great chord of trusting acceptance that no\npassing storms can shatter, no warm caress lure from its allegiance.\n\nHave you, in some fleeting moment, caught the opening bars of an air\nthat has haunted you afterwards for years, and then been led to where\nsome great orchestra gave it to you in all its completeness? That was\nwhat happened to me when I first stood in the \u201cPineta\u201d of Viareggio\nand heard the full-voiced chant of the pines and the sea. I realised\nthat they were part of one another, so to speak, that the whisper of\nthe villa pine in the South is an echo and a greeting, brought by the\nwind from the family home in the North, where all the secrets of tree\nmusic are guarded as in some jealous ancient academy\u2014no outsiders are\never privileged to carry them away! Psalms and marches and dirges, the\nwild call of the Laga, the C Major of the \u201cTe Deum,\u201d the wail of the De\nProfundis\u2014the trees overhead and the surges on the shore will let you\nhear it all, and once heard it can never be forgotten.\n\nIt seems strange that Viareggio, the most prosaic and unpicturesque\nof all the Italian watering-places on the Ligurean shores, should\npossess this wonder still in its perfection, while the sister forest\non the Adriatic side has been forsaken by the sea and devastated both\nby fire and by the frosts of that terrible winter of 1878-1879. We\nonce abandoned Leghorn and went instead to Viareggio for our September\nbathing\u2014a great mistake, only made up to us by the drives through\nthe Pineta in the evenings. The discomforts and the ugliness of the\ntown have long since been forgotten\u2014perhaps because the ups and downs\nof existence have shown me far less bearable ones\u2014and now the most\nvivid recollection is that of the enchanted air and fragrances of the\nPineta. I think it will be so in the next life; if we win through\nall right, we shall remember nothing of earth but its sweetnesses,\nand the _very_ wise people refuse to look at anything else, even now!\nThe real philosophers, who are the real Saints, always seem to smile,\nthough sometimes it is through tears. And there is one queer thing\nabout tears\u2014the people who have never wept don\u2019t begin to know even\nhow to smile, much less how to laugh. I am always sorry and frightened\nfor them if they are nice good people, for we all have to pay our\nlittle tribute to trouble, our tithe to humanity\u2019s debt; some get it\nspread all over a lifetime, some all in a moment, and these are the\nspoiled ones of the nursery on whom I suppose long discipline might\nhave lain too heavily for their courage. I remember one startling case\nthat impressed me very deeply, that of a nice American family\u2014father,\nmother, and daughters twain\u2014pleasant, harmless, good-looking people\nwith plenty of money and perfect health. I liked being with them,\nthough our views of life were severed as the Poles, mine reaching out\nto the impossible and sensational (I was very young!), and theirs so\nsatisfied with the comfortable half lights of their own surroundings\nthat they simply could not imagine anything desirable beyond.\n\nOne day I gave voice to my curiosity. \u201cDo tell me about yourself,\nMrs. \u2014\u2014,\u201d I said to the mother. \u201cYou look just as young as your own\ndaughters. I don\u2019t think you can ever have had a trouble!\u201d\n\n\u201cI never have,\u201d she replied, turning on me her mild, satisfied gaze.\n\u201cI cannot remember a single sorrow in all my life, not a death in\nmy family, not an hour\u2019s sickness even, amongst us all. We have all,\n_always_, had everything we could wish for.\u201d\n\nIt was the first time I had ever heard any one say such a thing, and\nI felt awe-struck and envious. A few months afterwards they all went\nback to America, at least they started to go. Their ship went down\nin mid-ocean, and the dear people reached home sooner than they had\nexpected. But, for that sharp short suffering, it is just possible that\nlife and its unending pleasantnesses might have made it hard for them\nto get to Heaven at all.\n\nThere was more than mere fun in Thackeray\u2019s tale of \u201cThe Rose and the\nRing.\u201d When the Fairy Blackstick frowned at Prince Giglio and said,\n\u201cWhat you need, young man, is a little misfortune!\u201d she asserted a most\nobvious and irritating fact. But it has one delightful side to it\u2014that\nbitter draught that wise Doctor Fate insists on our taking from time\nto time; the good things, even tiny little ones that we never noticed\nbefore, do taste so wonderfully sweet afterwards!\n\nBut we were talking of shore forests. There is one, not of pine but\nbeeches, on the Adriatic, exactly opposite Naples on the Tyrrhenian\nSea.[13] Here a great promontory runs out towards the east, rising\ninto mountains which have caused the whole to be called the \u201cMonte\nGargano,\u201d though each peak has its own name besides. People call the\nisolated district (which really belongs to the Province of Molise)\nManfredonia, from the name of its chief town, long a pet stronghold of\nSuabian King Manfred, who founded and fortified it in the Thirteenth\nCentury. But Nature protected the Monte Gargano in another way and a\nvery effectual one. It was meant to be an island; on the western side\nthe Abruzzi shrinking back in the real mainland, and the Adriatic,\nwithdrawing slowly from the coast, have left a strip of land many miles\nwide\u2014flat, marshy, abominably feverish\u2014as a kind of defensive trench to\ncut off the Gargano promontory from the rest of Italy, and, as it were,\nremind it for ever that by formation it does not belong to her at all,\nbut to the limestone plateau of Dalmatia, across the way. This vast\nplain (for it stretches far and far past the promontory, towards the\nsouth) refuses to nourish a single tree on the few feet of soil which\ncover the mother-rock, but it provides such splendid food for sheep\nthat, since time immemorial, it has been given up to them. Alphonsus I\nannexed it as a royal meadow in 1445, and imported his Spanish merinos\nwith such success that two hundred years later four and a half millions\nof the beautiful creatures were herded by Neapolitan peasants on these\npastures. Even now, though only a scanty half million graze on them,\nthe sheep are lords and owners of all that ground. During the summer\nthey are led to the mountains, partly for their own sake, partly for\nthat of their keepers, who could not live in the miasma-haunted plains\nin August and September. In crossing, even by train, the twenty-two\nmiles that separate Foggia from Manfredonia, the traveller is always\nwarned to close the carriage windows; but in October the sheep are all\ndriven back, and for weeks the three great roads that converge towards\nthe flats are just broad ribbons of dust, through which comes the\ndrumming of invisible millions of little hoofs. Along the edges of the\nyellow cloud phantom figures of shepherds dressed in sheepskins take\nshape at intervals and disappear again; and the dogs, dear faithful\nthings, fly round and herd up the stragglers and nip at the legs of\ntruants with the noisy joy that even long marches through the scorching\nplains can never quite suppress.\n\nFrom every point on those plains Monte Gargano can be seen, raising\nits peaks against the blue, and clothed down to the very water\u2019s edge\nin magic beechwoods, homes of light and shadow and flickering gold,\nmusical with song, fragrant with wild flowers, and carpeted with the\nrich mould that a thousand autumns have spread along its ways. Nothing\nis ever disturbed on Monte Gargano. But for the sea and the fever-land,\nthe forest would long ago have been cut down, its riches dispersed,\nits very site perhaps forgotten; but now all stands as it did from\nthe first, and winter and summer have their own way there, and the\nherdsmen fold their cattle in the deep caves of the hills even as they\ndid fourteen hundred years ago, in the reign of the holy Pope, St.\nGelasius, when Heaven\u2019s gates opened one May morning to let through a\nflash of wings and the gleam of an Archangel\u2019s sword, and the fairest\nof Gargano\u2019s peaks became Monte Sant\u2019 Angelo.\n\nAnd this was the way of it. While the rest of Italy was torn with the\nstruggles of rival barbarians, and desolated by the rapacity of men\nlike the Galla who drove his poor captives before him to the feet of\nSt. Benedict at Monte Cassino, the peasants of Monte Gargano, safe\nin their isolation, lived as they live to-day, obscure, contented,\nminding their own affairs\u2014which are chiefly their own cattle\u2014with all\ntheir mind. In that wild place the cattle stray sometimes and it is\nhard to find them again, and so it happened that on the 8th of May,\ntowards 493, or thereabouts, a young herdsman went climbing into the\nhills with some companions to look for a valuable steer that he had\nlost. Having wandered and searched for some time in vain, they were\nfeeling deeply discouraged, when they perceived the creature hopelessly\nentangled in a thicket of briars at the entrance of a deep cavern. In\nfear, or irritation, one of the pursuers drew his bow and let fly an\narrow at the animal, but, to the man\u2019s amazement, the missile turned\nin the air and struck him who had shot it. Terrified at this portent,\nthey all fled and did not stop till they reached the town of Sipontum,\nfar below, where they related what had happened to them. Fear fell\non the inhabitants, and no one had the courage to go and examine the\ncavern, though all were consumed with curiosity to know what, or who,\nit contained. In this dilemma they referred the case to their Bishop,\nand he replied that he must lay the thing before the Lord, and ordained\nthree days of fasting and prayer for all the population, during which\nthey were to join him in begging that Heaven\u2019s will in the matter might\nbe made clear.\n\nAnd the petition was granted, for on the third day the great Archangel\nMichael appeared to the Bishop and told him that the portent of the\nreturning arrow was intended to show that he wished to have a sanctuary\nconsecrated in that cave to the glory of God and in honour of the\nAngels. So immediately the Bishop came forth and, gathering all the\npeople to him, led them, with prayers and chants, into the heart of\nthe hills to the mysterious cavern, and, entering in, they found it\nhollowed out and disposed in the form of a Church, with all things\nready, so that the Bishop at once said Mass there; and from that hour\nso many wonderful miracles took place on that spot that all men knew\ncertainly that it was greatly favoured by Heaven. And from that day to\nthis it has been a place of holy pilgrimage, where many sinners have\nbeen converted, and many afflicted with terrible diseases cured.\n\nThe Church celebrates the Apparition of St. Michael the Archangel\non Monte Gargano on the 8th of May, but the feast of that spring\nmorning is not the only one in which she commemorates his glorious\ninterventions on her behalf. Far away in the North, another promontory,\nstrangely like that of Monte Gargano, once encircled by forests, too,\nbut now cut off from the land at each return of the tide, the Mont\nSaint-Michel, stands as the last outpost of France, flinging defiance\nat its twin peak across the water in Britain. There is something\nstrangely significant in the choice of these two points for the most\nnotable apparitions of the great Archangel, who commands the heavenly\nhosts and watches with such sublime benignity over the destinies of\nmen. One in the North and one in the South, the great lonely rocks\nrise sheer from the sea as if set apart as resting-places where the\nglorious pinions might be folded for a while, and the effulgence of\nthe angelic countenance, too overwhelming for man to bear as it comes\nstraight from the Presence of God, a little tempered and veiled by\nthe mists of sorrowful earth. But one feels, too, that the purity of\nthe lonely rock, the brave song of the wind, the long roll of Atlantic\nsurge, and the chant of Adriatic billows were dear and welcome to the\nWarrior Angel, who holds our world in his hands as the Creator\u2019s chief\nMinister, who carries out His mandates, chastising when he must, but\nso tender to the contrite, so inspiring to the valiant, so royal in\nprotection to the oppressed!\n\nOf all the peaks that bear his name through the length and breadth\nof Europe none has been more signally his own than this one on the\ncoast of Brittany. The East has its own, in Phrygia, where also the\nArchangel deigned to manifest his love for us poor mortals by his\nvisible presence, and where the marvel of that love is commemorated\nunder the title of \u201cThe Synax of Michael, Prince of the Army and of the\nother Incorporeal Powers.\u201d The Greeks always give such thunderously\nfull tides to their Friends in Heaven! But I am sure they cannot\nhonour their great protector half so heartily as he has been honoured\non the Mont Saint-Michel ever since he touched it and consecrated it\nfor all time, in the Eighth Century. The details that have come down\nto us of that apparition are somewhat less full than those of the one\nat Monte Gargano, but the subsequent history of the French Sanctuary,\nwhich stood for just a thousand years as an impregnable fortress, is\nconnected, right through, with humanity as the lonely shrine of the\nSouth has never been. Its name alone is like a war-cry\u2014\u201cSaint Michel\nau P\u00e9ril de la Mer\u201d\u2014St. Michael of the Peril of the Sea\u2014and bespeaks\nthe invincible ally of the race that was once the ardent apostle of\nChristianity and its most valiant champion. It was to St. Aubert that\nthe revelation came, when he was Bishop of Avranches, in the reign of\nChildebert III. The Archangel appeared to him in his sleep, says the\nBreviary, and bade him build a Church on the sentinel rock, round which\nalready many pious hermits were gathered to serve God in solitude. Now\nSt. Aubert was a man who reflected much before taking any new step,\nand he hesitated so long that the Archangel had to repeat his visit\nthree times before he was obeyed\u2014a great encouragement, this, to timid\nsouls!\u2014but then the Saint went to work valiantly enough. The rock\nwas of a strange rounded shape, and he built on its summit a great\nround Church, as closely resembling the holy cave at Monte Gargano as\npossible. Then he sent to that place to fetch stones and relics from\nit, all of which he set with great honour in the newer sanctuary;\nand when all was done he established and endowed there a monastery\nof twelve \u201choly clerks for the perpetual service of the Blessed\nArchangel.\u201d But Richard I, Duke of Normandy, wished still further to\nhonour St. Michael, so he sent away the clerks and established the\nBenedictines in their place; and the fame of the Shrine and of the\nmany miracles performed there drew a great concourse of pilgrims from\nall over the world, especially royal pilgrims, from England and Europe\ngenerally, so that when the order of the Knights of St. Michael was\ninstituted, this was their Chapter House. By that time it was already\none of the most ancient and one of the few \u201cmaiden\u201d fortresses of the\nrealm, and never, until the monarchy succumbed to the Revolution, did\na single foe to France succeed in setting foot within its walls. For a\nthousand years, seven times a day, the praises of God had rang out from\nit over the sea; for a thousand years the standard of France floated\nstainless above its battlements. \u201cMonsieur Saint-Michel, Archange,\npremier Chevalier, qui pour la querelle de Dieu victorieusement\nbatailla contre le dragon\u201d (it is thus that his titles are given in\nthe Institutes of the Order founded in 1469) took care of his own\u2014till\nFrance drove him away.\n\n\n THE END\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n\n[1] Montalembert.\n\n[2] Montalembert.\n\n[3] This term requires explanation. The two great sins of the Church\nin Gaul were first Simony, and secondly, the practice of admitting\nunprepared laymen to Holy Orders and often to the Episcopate. This last\nvice Gregory called \u201cThe heresy of Neophytes.\u201d\n\n[4] In a former volume I stated that Pius IX had for a short time\nserved in the Noble Guards. This was an error, for he never obtained\nadmittance, although I believe a portrait of him in the uniform was\nextant in the earlier years of the Nineteenth Century. It may have\nbeen altogether a \u201cfake\u201d or else taken to please his father when there\nappeared to be some hope of the latter\u2019s ambition being fulfilled.\n\n[5] \u201cReminiscences of a Diplomatist\u2019s Wife\u201d (Dodd, Mead & Co.); \u201cThe\nLooms of Time\u201d (Isbister).\n\n[6] The Islands, about a hundred in number, but most of them very\nsmall, and uninhabited, have been the cause of sharp contention and\nhave changed hands several times since their discovery in 1592\u2014France,\nSpain, England, and the United States have variously claimed them.\nTwice the matter has been decided by an Englishman\u2019s landing and\nrunning up the Union Jack. The last time this occurred was in 1833,\nwhen, in the middle of the quarrel, Captain Falkland took possession of\nthem on his own responsibility. Great Britain has held them ever since\nas one of her recognised colonies. They are self-governing and have\na population altogether of two thousand souls; the capital, Stanley,\nclaiming nearly half of the number.\n\n[7] \u201cA Popular Life of Pius IX,\u201d Rev. Richard Brennan. (Benziger, 1877.)\n\n[8] St. Peter the exorcist, martyred with the Priest Marcellinus, under\nDiocletian. His name occurs in the Canon of the Mass.\n\n[9] \u201cLe Pape Pie VII \u00e0 Savone,\u201d p. 83. H. Chatard. Plon, Nourrit et\nCie. (Paris, 1887.)\n\n[10] \u201c_Unchangeable principles_,\u201d\u2014unchangeable, that is to say, until,\nof course, 1870, since when\u2014\u2014!\n\n[11] \u201cReminiscences of a Diplomatist\u2019s Wife.\u201d\n\n[12] \u201cCrimes C\u00e9l\u00e8bres: Jeanne de Naples.\u201d\n\n[13] In our parlance all that it not the Adriatic is the Mediterranean,\nbut the Italians only give this name to the waters that separate\nItaly and Spain from Africa, and differentiate the remainder as the\nLigurean Sea\u2014in the Bay of Genoa, the Tyrrhenian that Rome and Naples\ncontemplate, and the Ionian, which washes up from Sicily under Italy\u2019s\ninstep in the Gulf of Taranto.\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes\n\nOriginal spelling and punctuation have been preserved as much as\npossible. Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.","title":"Italian Yesterdays, vol. 2","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":104840}