 CHAPTER 61 OF THE CLOYSTER AND THE HAARTH by Charles Reed. The Princess Claelia ordered a full-length portrait of herself. Gerard advised her to employ his friend Pietro Vanucci. But she declined. It will be time to put a slight on the Gerardo when his work discontents me. Then Gerard, who knew he was an excellent draftsman, but not so good a colorist, begged her to stand to him as a Roman statue. He showed her how closely he could mimic marble on paper. She consented at first, but demurred when this enthusiast explained to her that she must wear the tunic, toga, and sandals of the ancients. Why, I had us leave be presented in my smock, said she, with medieval frankness. Alac, Signorina, said Gerard, you have surely never noted the ancient habit, so free, so ample, so simple, yet so noble, and most becoming your highness, to whom heaven hath given the Roman features, and Ike, a shapely arm at hand, his in modern guise. What, can you flatter like the rest Gerardo? Well, give me time to think on't. Come o' Saturday, and then I will say aye or nay. The respite thus gained was passed in making the tunic and toga, et cetera, and trying them on, in her chamber, to see whether they suited her style of beauty well enough to compensate their being a thousand years out of date. Gerard, hurrying along to this interview, was suddenly arrested, and routed to earth at a shop window. His quick eye had discerned in that window a copy of lactantius lying open. That is fairly writ, anyway, thought he. He eyed it a moment more with all his eyes. It was not written at all. It was printed. Gerard groaned, I am sped, my enemy is at the door, the press is in Rome. He went into the shop and effecting nonchalance, inquired how long the printing press had been in Rome. The man said he believed there was no such thing in the city. Oh, the lactantius! That was printed on the top of the upper nines. What! Did the printing press fall down there out of the moon? Nay, Messer, said the trader, laughing, it's shot up there out of Germany. See the title page. Gerard took the lactantius eagerly, and saw the following. opera et impensis, swenheim et panatz, allum norum Johannes fust, impressum subiachis, ed. 1465. Will you buy, Messer? See how fair and even be the letters. You are left can write like that, and scarce a quarter of the price. I would fain have it, said Gerard sadly, but my heart will not let me. Know that I am a calligraph, and these disciples of fust run after me round the world at taking the bread out of my mouth. But I wish them no ill, heaven forbid, and he hurried from the shop. Dear Margaret, said he to himself, We must lose no time, we must make our hay while shines the sun. One month more, and an avalanche of princess-type shall roll down on Rome from those upper nines, and lay us waste that writers be. And he almost ran to the Princess Claelia. He was ushered into an apartment new to him. It was not very large, but most luxurious. A fountain played in the centre, and the floor was covered with the skins of panthers, dressed with the hair, so that no footfall could be heard. The room was an anti-chamber to the Princess's boudoir. For on one side there was no door, but an ample curtain of gorgeous tapestry. Here Gerard was left alone till he became quite uneasy, and doubted whether the maid had not shown him to the wrong place. These doubts were agreeably dissipated. A light step came swiftly behind the curtain. It parted in the middle, and there stood a figure the heathens might have worshipped. It was not quite venous, nor quite Minerva, but between the two nobler than Venus, or womanly than Jupiter's daughter. Toga, tunic, sandals, nothing was modern, and as for beauty, that is of all times. Gerard started up, and all the artist in him flushed with pleasure. Oh! he cried innocently, and gazed in rapture. This added the last charm to his model. A light blush tinted her cheeks, and her eyes brightened, and her mouth smiled with delicious complacency at this genuine tribute to her charms. When they had looked at one another so some time, and she saw Gerard's eloquence was confined to ejaculating and gazing, she spoke, Well, Gerardo, thou seest I have made myself an antique monster for thee. A monster, I doubt Fracalona would fall down and adore your highness, seeing you so habited. Nay, I care not to be adored by an old man. I would lever be loved by a young one, of my own choosing. One took out his pencils, arranged his canvas, which he had covered with stout paper, and set to work, and so absorbed was he that he had no mercy on his model. At last, after near an hour in one posture, Gerardo, said she faintly, I can stand so no more even for thee. Sit down and rest awhile, signora. I thank thee, said she, and sinking into a chair, turned pale and sighed. Gerard was alarmed, and saw also he had been inconsiderate. He took water from the fountain, and was about to throw it in her face, but she put up a white hand deprecatingly, Nay, hold it to my brow with thine hand. Does he do not fling it at me? Gerard timidly and hesitating, applied his wet hand to her brow. Ah! she sighed, that is reviving, again! He applied it again. She thanked him, and asked him to ring a little hand-bell on the table. He did so, and a maid came, and was sent to Floreta with orders to bring a large fan. Floreta speedily came with the fan. She no sooner came near the princess than that lady's high-bred nostrils suddenly expanded like a blood-horses. Wretch, said she, and rising up with a sudden return to vigor, seized Floreta with her left hand, twisted it in her hair, and with the right hand boxed her ears severely three times. Floreta screamed and blubbered, but obtained no mercy. The antique toga left quite disengaged, a bare arm, that now seemed as powerful as it was beautiful. It rose and fell like the piston of a modern steam-engine, and heavy slaps resounded one after another on Floreta's shoulders. The last one drove her sobbing and screaming through the curtain, and there she was heard crying bitterly for some time after. "'Saints of heaven!' cried Gerard, what is amiss? What has she done?' She knows right well, it is not the first time, the nasty toad, I'll learn her to come to me stinking of the musk-cat. "'Alas, senora, it was a small fault,' me thinks. "'A small fault? Nay, it was a foul fault!' she added, with an amazing sudden descent to humility and sweetness. "'Are you roth with me for beating her, Gerardo?' "'Signora, it ill becomes me to school you, but me thinks such as heaven appoints to govern others, should govern themselves.' "'That is true, Gerardo, how wise you are!' To be so young!' She then called the other maid and gave her a little purse. "'Take that to Floreta, and tell her the Gerardo hath interceded for her, and so I must need's forgive her.' "'There, Gerardo!' Gerard coloured all over at the compliment, but not knowing how to turn a phrase equal to the occasion, asked her if he should resume her picture. Not yet. Beating that hussy hath somewhat breathed me. "'I'll sit a while, and you shall talk to me. I know you can talk, and it pleases you as rarely as you draw. That were easily done. Do it, then, Gerardo!' Gerard was taken aback, but, Signora, I know not what to say. This is sudden. "'Say your real mind. Say you wish you were anywhere but here.' "'Nay, Signora, that would not be sooth. I wish one thing, though.' "'I, and what is that?' said she gently. "'I wish I could have drawn you as you were beating that poor lass. You were awful yet lovely. Oh, what a subject for a python-ess!' "'A lass! He thinks but of his art. And why keep such a coil about my beauty, Gerardo? You are far fairer than I am. You are more like Apollo than I to Venus. Also, you have lovely hair and lovely eyes, but you know not what to do with them. "'I do, I, to draw you, Signora. Ah, yes, you can see my features with them, but you cannot see what any Roman gallant had seen long ago in your place. Yet sure you must have noted how welcome you are to me, Gerardo. I can see your highness is always passing kind to me, a poor stranger like me. No, I am not, Gerardo. I have often been cold to you, rude sometimes, and you are so simple you see not the cause. Alas, I feared for my own heart. I feared to be your slave. Ah, you have hitherto made slaves. Ah, Gerardo, I am unhappy. Ever since you came here I have lived upon your visits. The day you are to come I am bright. The other days I am listless and wish them fled. You are not like the Roman gallants. You make me hate them. You are ten times braver to my eye, and you are wise and scholarly and never flatter and lie. I scorn a man that lies. Gerardo, teach me thy magic. Teach me to make thee as happy by my side as I am still by thine. As she poured out these strange words, the princess's mellow voice sunk almost to a whisper and trembled with half suppressed passion, and her white hand stole timidly yet earnestly down Gerardo's arm till it rested like a soft bird upon his wrist and as ready to fly away at a word. Destitute of vanity and experience, wrapped up in his Margaret and his art, Gerardo had not seen this revelation coming, though it had come by regular and visible gradations. He blushed all over. His innocent admiration of the regal beauty that besieged him did not for a moment displace the absent Margaret's image. Yet it was regal beauty and wooing with a grace and tenderness he had never even figured in imagination how to check her without wounding her. He blushed and trembled. The siren soar and encouraged him. Poor Gerardo, she murmured, fear not, none shall ever harm thee under my wing. Will not speak to me, Gerardo mio. Senora, mutter Gerardo deprecatingly, at this moment his eye, lowered in his confusion, fell on the shapely white arm and delicate hand that curled round his elbow like a tender vine, and it flashed across him how he had just seen that lovely limb employed on Floreta. He trembled and blushed. Alas! said the Princess, I scare him! Am I then so very terrible? Is it my Roman robe? I'll doff it, and habit me as when thou first cameest to me. Mindest thou? T'was to write a letter to John Baron Knight, her call of Dossini. Shall I tell thee? T'was the sight of thee and thy pretty ways, and thy wise words made me hate him on the instant. I liked the fool well enough before, or wished I liked him. Tell me now, how many times hast thou been here since then? Ah! Thou knowest not. Lovest me not, I doubt, as I love thee. Eighteen times, Gerardo, and each time dearer to me. The day thou comest not, tis night not day to Claelia. Alas! I speak for both. Cruel boy, am I not worth a word? Hast every day a princess at thy feet? Nay, pretty, pretty, speak to me, Gerardo. Senora, faltered Gerard, what can I say, that were not better left unsaid? O evil day, that ever I came here. Ah! Say not so, t'was the brightest day ever shone on me, or indeed on thee, I'll make thee confess so much ere long, ungrateful one. For highness, began Gerard in a low, pleading voice. Call me Claelia, Gerardo. Senora, I am too young, and too little wise to know, how I ought to speak to you, so as not to seem blind, nor yet ungrateful. But this, I know, I were both not and ungrateful, and the worst foe ere you had, did I take advantage of this mad fancy. Sure some ill spirit hath had leave to afflict you with all. For tis all unnatural that a princess adorned with every grace should abase her affections on a churl. The princess withdrew her hand slowly from Gerard's wrist. Yet as it passed lightly over his arm, it seemed to linger a moment at parting. You fear the daggers of my kinsmen, said she, half sadly, half contemptuously. No more than I fear the bodkins of your women, said Gerard Hortily, but I fear God and the saints and my own conscience. The truth, Gerardo, the truth, hypocrisy sits awkwardly on thee. Princesses, while they are young, are not despised for love of God, but of some other woman. Tell me whom thou lovest, and if she is worthy of thee, I will forgive thee. Know she in Italy upon my soul? Ah, there is one somewhere, then, where, where? In Holland, my native country. Ah, Marie de Bourgogne is fair, they say, yet she is but a child. Princess, she I love, is not noble, she is as I am, nor is she so fair as thou, yet is she fair and linked to my heart forever by her virtues and by all the dangers and griefs we have borne together, and for one another. Forgive me, but I would not wrong my Margaret, for all the highest dames in Italy. The slighted beauty started to her feet, and stood opposite him, as beautiful but far more terrible than when she slapped Floreta, for then her cheeks were red, but now they were pale, and her eyes full of concentrated fury. This to my face, unmannered wretch, she cried, was I born to be insulted as well as scorned by such as thou? Beware, we nobles, brook no rivals, bethink thee whether is better the love of a Cesarene or her hate, for after all I have said and done to thee it must be love or hate between us and to the death. Choose now! He looked up at her with wonder and awe as she stood towering over him in her Roman toga, offering this strange alternative. He seemed to have affronted a goddess of antiquity, he a poor puny mortal. He sighed deeply, but spoke not. Just something in his deep and patient sigh, touched a tender cord in that ungoverned creature, or perhaps the time had come for one passion to ebb and another to flow. The princess sank languidly into her seat, and the tears began to steal rapidly down her cheeks. Alas, alas, said Geron! Weep not, sweet lady, your tears they do accuse me, and I am like to weep for company. My kind patron, be yourself! You will live to see how much better a friend I was to you than I seemed. I see it now, Gerato, said the princess. Friend is the word, the only word can ever pass between us, Twain. I was mad. Any other man had tain advantage of my folly. You must teach me to be your friend, and nothing more. Gerard hailed this proposition with joy, and told her, out of Cicero, how Godlike a thing was friendship, and how much better and rarer and more lasting the love. To prove to her he was capable of it, he even told her about Denis and himself. She listened with her eyes half shut, watching his words to fathom his character, and learn his weak point. At last she addressed him, calmly, thus, Leave me now, Gerardo, and come as usual to-morrow. You will find your lesson well bestowed. She held out her hand to him. He kissed it, and went away pondering deeply this strange interview, and wondering whether he had done prudently or not. The next day he was received with marked distance, and the princess stood before him, literally like a statue, and after a very short sitting excused herself and dismissed him. God felt the chilling difference, but said to himself, She is wise. So she was in her way. The next day he found the princess waiting for him, surrounded by young nobles flattering her to the skies. She and they treated him like a dog that could do one little trick they could not. The cavaliers in particular criticised his work with a mass of ignorance and insolence combined that made his cheeks burn. The princess watched his face demurely with half-closed eyes at each sting the insects gave him, and when they had fled had her doors closed against every one of them for their pains. The next day Gerard found her alone, cold, and silent. After standing to him so some time, she said, You treated my company with less respect than became you. Did I, Senora? Did you? You fired up at the comments they did you the honour to make on your work. Nay, I said not, observed Gerard. Oh, high looks, speak as plain as I, words, your cheeks were red as blood. I was netled a moment at seeing so much ignorance and ill-nature together. Now it is me there host as you affront, forgive me, Senora, and acquit me of design. It would ill become me to affront the kindest patron and friend I have in Rome but one. How humble we are all of a sudden! In sooth, Ser Gerardo, you are a capital feiner. You can insult or truckle at will. Truckle to whom? To me for one, to one whom you affronted for a base-born girl like yourself, but whose patronage you claim all the same. Gerard rose and put his hand to his heart. These are biting words, Senora, have I really deserved them? Oh, what are words to an adventurer like you? Cold steel is all you fear. I am no swashbuckler, yet I have met steel with steel and me thinks I had rather face your kinsmen's swords than your cruel tongue, lady. Why do you use me so? Gerardo, for no good reason, but because I am wayward and shrewish and cursed and because everybody admires me but you. I admire you too, Senora. Your friends may flatter you more but believe me, they have not the eye to see half your charms. Their bubble yesterday showed me that. None admire you more truly or wish you better than the poor artist who might not be your lover but hoped to be your friend. But no, I see that may not be between one so high as you and one so low as I. Aye, but it shall, Gerardo, said the Princess, eagerly. I will not be so cursed. Tell me now where abides thy Margaret, and I will give thee a present for her, and on that you and I will be friends. She is a daughter of a physician called Peter, and they bide at Sevenburgan. Ah, me, shall I air-see it again? Tiswell, now go! And she dismissed him somewhat abruptly. Poor Gerard! He began to wade in deep waters when he encountered this Italian princess. Caledà ed Caledà salisfilia. He resolved to go no more when once he had finished her likeness. Indeed, he now regretted having undertaken so long and laborious a task. This resolution was shaken for a moment by his next reception, which was all gentleness and kindness. After standing to him some time in her toga, she said she was fatigued and wanted his assistance in a moment. Would he teach her to draw a little? He sat down beside her and taught her to make easy lines. He found her wonderfully apt. He said so. I had a teacher before thee, Gerardo, I, and one as handsome as thyself. She then went to a drawer and brought out several heads drawn with a complete ignorance of the art, but with great patience and natural talent. They were all heads of Gerard, and full of spirit, and really not unlike. One was his very image. There, said she, now thysiast who was my teacher. Not I, senora! What? No, you not, who teaches us women to do all things. No, you not, who teaches us women to do all things. Tis love, Gerardo! Love made me draw, because thou draweth, Gerardo! Love prints thine image in my bosom. My fingers touch the pen, and love supplies the want of art. And lo! thy beloved features lie upon the paper. Gerard opened his eyes with astonishment at this return to an interdicted topic. Oh, senora, you promised me to be friends, and nothing more. She laughed in his face. How simple you are! Who believes a woman promising nonsense! Impossibilities! Friendship, foolish boy! Who ever built that temple on red ashes? Nay, Gerardo! She added gloomily, between thee and me. It must be love or hate. Which you will, senora! said Gerard firmly. But for me, I will neither love nor hate you, but with your permission I will leave you. And he rose abruptly. She rose too, paler's death, and said, Ere thou, leavest me so, know thy fate. Outside that door are armed men who wait to slay thee at a word from me. But you will not speak that word, senora. That word I will speak. Nay, more! I shall noise it abroad. It was for proffering brutal love to me, thou word slain, and I will send a special messenger to Sevenburgen, a cunning messenger, well taught his lesson. Thy Margaret shall know thee dead, and think thee faithless. Thou go to thy grave, a dog's, for a man thou art not. Gerard turned pale, and stood dumb-stricken. God have mercy on us both! Nay, have thou mercy on her and on thyself. She will never know in Holland what thou dost in Rome, unless I be driven to tell her my tale. Come, yield thee, Gerardo, me, or what will it cost thee to say thou lovest me? I ask thee but to feign it handsomely. Thou art young, die not for the poor pleasure of denying a lady what, the shadow of a heart? Who will shed a tear for thee? I shall tell thee men will laugh, not weep over thy tombstone. Ah! She ended in a little scream, for Gerard threw himself in a moment at her feet, and poured out in one torrent of eloquence the story of his love and Margaret's, how he had been imprisoned, hunted with bloodhounds for her, driven to exile for her, how she had shed her blood for him, and now peined at home. How he had walked through Europe, environed by perils, torn by savage brutes, attacked by furious men with sword and axe and trap, robbed, shipwrecked for her. The Princess trembled and tried to get away from him, but he held her robe and he glung to her. He made her hear his bitterful story and Margaret's. He caught her hand and clasped it between both his, and his tears fell fast on her hand, as he implored her to think on all the woes of the true lovers she would part. And what but remorse, swift and lasting, could come of so deeper love betrayed and so false a love feigned with mutual hatred lurking at the bottom? In such moments none ever resisted Gerard. The Princess, after in vain trying to get away from him, for she felt his power over her, began to waver and sigh, and her bosom to rise and fall tumultuously, and her fiery eyes to fill. You conquer me, she sobbed, you are my better angel. Leave Rome! I will, I will. If you breathe a word of my folly, it will be your last. Think not so poorly of me, you are my benefactress once more. Is it for me to slander you? Go, I will send you the means. I know myself if you cross my path again, I shall kill you. Adio, my heart is broken. She touched her bell. Florida, said she, in a choked voice, take him safe out of the house, through my chamber, and by the side, Boston. He turned at the door. She was leaning with one hand on a chair, crying with averted head. Then he thought only of her kindness, and ran back and kissed her robe. She never moved. Once clear of the house he darted home, thanking heaven for his escape, soul and body. Landlady, said he, there is one who would pick a quarrel with me. What is to be done? Strike him first and advantage. Get behind him and then draw. Alas! I lack your Italian courage, to be serious is a noble. O holy saints, that is another matter. Change thy lodging a while, and keep snug, and alter the fashion of thy habits. She then took him to her own niece, who let lodgings at some little distance, and installed him there. He had little to do now, and no princess to draw. So he set himself resolutely to read that deed of Floris Brandt, from which he had hitherto been driven by the abominably bad writing. He mastered it, and saw at once that the loan on this land must have been paid over and over again by the rents, and that Giedrecht was keeping Peter Brandt out of his own. Fool not to have read this before! he cried. He hired a horse, and rode down to the nearest port. A vessel was to sail for Amsterdam in four days. He took a passage, and paid a small sum to secure it. The land is too full of cutthroats for me, said he, and his lovely fair weather for the sea. Our Dutch skippers are not shipwrecked like these bungling Italians. When he returned home, there sat his old landlady with her eyes sparkling. You are in luck, my young master, said she. All the fish run to your net this day, me thinks. See what a lucky hath brought to our house, this bill and this bag. Gerard broke the seals, and found it full of silver crowns. The letter contained a mere slip of paper with this line cut out of some manuscript. La lingua non haosso, ma fa rompere il dosso. Fear me not, said Gerard aloud. I'll keep mine between my teeth. What is that? Oh, nothing! Am I not happy, Dame? I am going back to my sweet-art, with money in one pocket, a land in the other. And he fell to dancing round her. Well, said she, I troll nothing could make you happier. Nothing except to be there. Well, that is a pity, for I thought to make you a little happier with a letter from Holland. A letter for me? Where? How? Who brought it? Oh, Dame! A stranger, a painter with a reddish face and an outlandish name. Anselmin, I trow. Hans, memmling a friend of mine, God bless him. Aye, that's it, Anselmin. He could scarce speak a word, but I had the wit to name thee. And I put the letter down under nods and smiles, nine nods and smiles, and gives him a pint of wine, and it went down him like a spoonful. That is Hans, honest Hans. Oh, Dame, I am in luck today, but I deserve it. For I care not, if I tell you, I have just overcome a great temptation for dear Margaret's sake. Who is she? Nay, I'd have my tongue cut out sooner than betray her, but oh, it was a temptation. Gratitude pushing me wrong. Beauty almost divine pulling me wrong. Curses reproachers and hardest of all to resist. Gentle tears from eyes used to command. Sure, some saint helped me, Anthony Belike, but my reward is come. Aye, is it, lad? And no farther off than my pocket. Come out, Gerard's reward, and she brought a letter out of her capacious pocket. Gerard threw his arm round her neck and hugged her. My best friend, said he, my second mother, I'll read it to you. Aye, do, do. Alas, it is not from Margaret. This is not her hand, and he turned it about. Aluck, but maybe her bill is within. The Lassers are eye for gliding in their bills under cover of another hand. True, whose hand is this? Sure I have seen it. I'd throw it as my dear friend, the Dumois El Van Eyck. Oh, then Margaret's bill will be inside. He tore it open. Nay, it is all in one writing. Gerard, my well-beloved son, she never called me that before, that I mined. This letter brings the heavy news from one who would leave her send the joyful tidings. Know that Margaret Brant died in these arms on Thursday's send-night last. What does the doting old woman mean by that? The last word on her lips was Gerard. She said, tell him I prayed for him at my last hour, and bid him pray for me. She died very comfortable, and I saw her laid in the earth, for her father was useless as you shall know. So know more at present from her that is with sorrowing heart thy loving friend and servant. Margaret Van Eyck. I, that is her signature, sure enough. Now what do you think of that, Dane, cried Gerard, with a grating laugh? There is a pretty letter to send to a poor fellow so far from home. But it is right, Dane, as I blame, for humoring the old woman and letting her do it, as for the old woman herself, she dote, she has lost her head, she is forescore. Oh, my heart, I'm choking. For all that, she ought to be locked up, or her hands tied. Say this had come to a fool. Say I was idiot enough to believe this. Know ye what I should do? Run to the top of the highest church tower in Roman, fling myself off it, cursing heaven. Woman, woman, what are you doing? And he seized her rudely by the shoulder. What are you weeping for? he cried, in a voice all unlike his own. And loud and hoarse as a raven. Would ye scald me to death with your tears? She believes it, she believes it. Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, then there is no God. The poor woman sighed and rocked herself. And must be the one to bring it the all smiling and smirking. I could kill myself for it. Death spares none, she sobbed. Death spares none. Gerard staggered against the window sill. But he is master of death, he groaned. Or they have taught me a lie. I begin to fear there is no God. And the saints are but dead bones. And hell is master of the world. My pretty Margaret, my sweet, my loving Margaret, the best daughter, the truest lover, the pride of Holland, the darling of the world. It is a lie. Where is this Cate of hands? I'll hunt him round the town. I'll cram his murdering falsehood down his throat. And he seized his heart and ran furiously about the streets for hours. Towards sunset he came back white as a ghost. He had not found Memling, but his poor mind had had time to realise the woman's simple words. The death spares none. He crept into the house, bent and feeble as an old man, and refused all food. Nor would he speak, but sat white, with great staring eyes muttering at intervals. There is no God. Alarmed both on his account and on her own, for he looked a desperate maniac, his landlady ran for her aunt. The good dame came, and the two women, braver together, sat one on each side of him, and tried to soothe him with kind and consoling voices. But he heeded them no more than the chairs they sat on. Then the younger held a crucifix out before him to aid her. Maria, mother of heaven, comfort him, they sighed. But he sat glaring. Deaf and blind, he said, but glaring, deaf to all external sounds. Presently, without any warning, he jumped up, struck the crucifix rudely out of his way with a curse, and made a headlong dash at the door. The poor women shrieked. But ere he reached the door, something seemed to them to draw him up straight by his hair, and twirl him round like a top. He whirled twice round, with arms extended, then fell like a dead log upon the floor with blood trickling from his nostrils and ears. End of chapter 61 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 62 Of The Cloister and the Half by Charles Reed This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham Gerard returned to consciousness and to despair. On the second day he was raving with fever on the brain. On a table hard by lay his rich, urban hair, long as a woman's. The deadlier symptoms succeeded one another rapidly. On the fifth day his leech retired and gave him up. On the sunset of that same day he fell into a deep sleep. Some said he would wake only to die. But an old gossip whose opinion carried weight, she had been a professional nurse, declared that his youth might save him yet could he sleep twelve hours. On this his old landlady cleared the room and watched him alone. She vowed a wax candle to the virgin for every hour he should sleep. He slept twelve hours. The good soul rejoiced and thanked the virgin on her knees. He slept twenty-four hours. His kind nurse began to doubt. At the thirtieth hour she sent for the woman of art. Thirty hours shall we wake him? The other inspected him closely for some time. His breath is even, his hand moist. I know there be learned leeches would wake him to look at his tongue and be none the wiser, but we that be women should have the sense to let bond nature alone. When did sleep ever harm the racked brain or the torn heart? When he had been forty-eight hours asleep it got wind, and they had much ado to keep the curious out. But they admitted only Fra Colonna and his friend the gigantic Fra Jerome. These two relieved the women and sat silent, the former eyeing his young friend with tears in his eyes, the latter with beads in his hand looked as calmly on him as he had on the sea when Gerard and he had encountered it hand to hand. At last, I think it was about the sixtieth hour of this strange sleep, the landlady touched Fra Colonna with her elbow. He looked. Gerard had opened his eyes as gently as if he had been but dozing. He stared. He drew himself up a little in bed. He put his hand to his head and found his hair was gone. He noticed his friend Colonna and smiled with pleasure. But in the middle of smiling his face stopped and was convulsed in a moment with anguish unspeakable, and he uttered a loud cry and turned his face to the wall. His good landlady wept at this. She had known what it is to awake bereaved. Fra Jerome recited canticles and prayers from his brevery. Gerard rolled himself in the bedclothes. Fra Colonna went to him and whimpering reminded him that all was not lost. The divine muses were immortal. He must transfer his affection to them. They would never betray him nor fail him like creatures of clay. The good, simple father then hurried away, for he was overcome by his emotion. Fra Jerome remained behind. Young man said he. The muses exist but in the brains of pagans and visionaries. The church alone gives repose to the heart on earth and happiness to the soul hereafter. Hath earth deceived thee? Hath passion broken thy heart after tearing it? The church opens her arms. Consecrate thy gifts to her. The church is peace of mind. He spoke these words solemnly at the door and was gone as soon as they were uttered. The church cried Gerard rising furiously and shaking his fist after the friar. Maladdiction on the church! But for the church I should not lie broken here and she lie cold, cold, cold in Holland. Oh my Margaret, oh my darling, my darling, and I must run from thee the few months thou hadst to live. Cruel, cruel, the monsters they let her die. Death comes not without some signs. These the blind selfish wretches saw not or wrecked not. But I had seen them. I that love her. Oh had I been there I had saved her. I had saved her. Idiot, idiot, to leave her for a moment. He wept bitterly a long time. Then suddenly bursting into rage again he cried vehemently. The church! For whose sake I was driven from her. My malison beyond the church. And the hypocrites that name it to my broken heart. A cursed be the world. Gisbrecht lives, Margaret dies, thieves, murderers, harlots, live forever. Only angels die, curse life, curse death. And whosoever made them what they are. The friar did not hear these mad and wicked words, but only the yell of rage with which they were flung after him. It was as well, for if he had heard them he would have had his late shipmate burned in the forum with as little hesitation as he would have roasted a kid. His old landlady who had accompanied Fra Colonna down the stair heard the raised voice and returned in some anxiety. She found Gerard putting on his clothes and crying. She remonstrated. What avails my lying here? Said he gloomily. Can I find here that which I seek? Saints preserve us, is he distraught again? What seek ye? Oblivion! Oblivion, my little heart! Oh, but ye are young to talk so. Young or old, what else have I to live for? He put on his best clothes. The good dame remonstrated. My pretty Gerard, know that it is Tuesday, not Sunday. Oh, Tuesday is it I thought it had been Saturday. Nay, thou hast slept long. Thou never wearest thy brave clothes on working days. Consider. What I did when she lived I did. Now I shall do whatever erst I did not. The past is the past. There lies my hair and with it my way of life. I have served one master as well as I could. You see my reward. Now I'll serve another and give him a fair trial too. Alas, sighed the woman turning pale. What mean these dark words? And what new master is this who service thou wouldst try? Satan! And with this horrible declaration on his lips, the miserable creature walked out, with his cap and feather set jointly on one side. And feeble limbs and a sinister face pale as ashes, and all drawn down as if by age. End of Chapter 62 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 63 Of The Cloister and the Hearth by Charles Reid This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham His pure and unrivaled love for Margaret had been his polar star. It was quenched, and he drifted on the gloomy sea of no hope. Nor was he a prey to despair alone, but to exasperation at all his self-denial, fortitude, perils, virtue, wasted, and worse than wasted, for it kept burning and stinging him that, had he stayed lazily, selfishly at home, he should have saved his Margaret's life. These two poisons, raging together in his young blood, maddened and demoralized him. He rushed fiercely into pleasure, and in those days even more than now pleasure was vice. Wine, women, gambling, whatever could procure him an hour's excitement and a moment's oblivion. He plunged into these things as men tired of life have rushed among the enemy's bullets. The large sums he had put by for Margaret gave him ample means for debauchery, and he was soon the leader of those loose companions he had hitherto kept at a distance. His heart deteriorated along with his morals. He sulked with his old landlady for thrusting gentle advice and warning on him, and finally removed to another part of the town to be clear of remonstrance and reminiscences. When he had carried this game on some time, his hand became less steady, and he could no longer write to satisfy himself. Moreover, his patience declined as the habits of pleasure grew on him, so he gave up that art and took likenesses in colors. But this he neglected whenever the idle rakes his companions came for him, and so he dived in foul waters seeking that sorry oyster-shell oblivion. It is not my business to paint at full length the scenes of coarse vice in which this unhappy young man now played a part, but it is my business to impress the broad truth that he was a rake, a debauchee, and a drunkard, and one of the wildest, loosest, and wickedest young men in Rome. They are no lovers of truth, nor of mankind who conceal or slur the wickedness of the good, and so, by their want of candour, rob despondent sinners of hope. Enough, the man was not born to do things by halves, and he was not vicious by halves. His humble female friends often gossiped about him. His old landlady told Teresa he was going to the bad and prayed her to try and find out where he was. Teresa told her husband Ludovico his sad story and bade him look about and see if he could discover the young man's present abode. Should remember his face, Ludovico mio? Teresa, a man in my way of life, never forgets a face, least of all of benefactors, but thou knowest I seldom go abroad by daylight. Teresa sighed, and how long is it to be so, Ludovico? Till some cavalier passes his sword through me, they will not let a poor fellow like me take to any honest trade. Pietro Vanucci was one of those who bear prosperity worse than adversity. Having been ignominiously ejected for late hours by their old landlady and meeting Gerard in the street, he greeted him warmly and soon after took up his quarters in the same house. He brought with him a lad called Andrea, who ground his colours, and was his pupil, and also his model, being a youth of rare beauty and as sharp as a needle. Pietro had not quite forgotten old times and professed a warm friendship for Gerard. Gerard, in whom all warmth of sentiment seemed extinct, submitted coldly to the other's friendship. And a fine acquaintance it was. This Pietro was not only a Libertine, but half a Misenthrope and an open Infidel. And so they ran in couples with mighty little in common. Oh rare phenomenon! One day when Gerard had undermined his health and taken the bloom of his beauty and run through most of his money, Vanucci got up a gay party to mount the tiger in a boat drawn by buffaloes. Lorenzo Di Madici had imported these creatures into Florence about three years before, but they were new in Rome and nothing would content this beggar-on-horseback Vanucci but being drawn by the brutes up the tiger. Each Libertine was to bring a lady and she must be handsome or he be fine. But the one that should contribute the loveliest was to be crowned with laurel and voted a public benefactor. Such was their reading of Virbonus et Kis. They got a splendid galley and twelve buffaloes and all the Libertines and their female accomplices assembled by degrees at the place of embarkation. But no, Gerard! They waited for him some time, at first patiently then impatiently. Vanucci excused him. I heard him say he had forgotten to provide himself with a farting-gale. Comrades, the good lad is hunting for a beauty fit to take rank among these beerless dames. Consider the difficulty, ladies, and be patient. At last Gerard was seen at some distance with a female in his hand. She is long enough, said one of her sex, criticising her from afar. Gemini, what step she takes, said another. Oh, it is wise to hurry into good company with Pietro's excuse. But when the pair came up Satire was choked. Gerard's companion was a peerless beauty. She extinguished the boatloader's stars the rising sun. Tall but not too tall and straight as a dart, yet supple as a young panther. Her face, a perfect oval, her forehead white, her cheeks a rich olive with the eloquent blood mantling below, and her glorious eyes fringed with long, thick silk and eyelashes that seemed made to sweep up sensitive hearts for a dozen. Saucy red lips and teeth of the whitest ivory. The women were visibly depressed by this wretched sight. The men, in ecstasies, they received her with loud shouts and waving of caps, and one enthusiast even went down on his knees upon the boat's gunnel and hailed her of origin divine. But his cher ami pulling for it and the goddess giving him a little kick, contemporaneously he lay supine, and the peerless creature frisked over his body without daining him a look, and took a seat at the prow. Pietro Vanucci sat in a sort of collapse, glaring at her and gaping with his mouth open like a dying godfish. The drover spoke to the buffaloes, the ropes tightened, and they moved upstream. What think ye of this new beef, madame? Ween airsoar monsters so vilely ill-favoured with their nasty horns that make one afeard, and their foul nostrils cast up into the air. Wholes be they not nostrils? Signorina, the beeves are a-present from Florence, the beautiful. Would ye look a gift-beef in the nose? They are so dull, objected the lively lady. I went up Tybur twice as fast last time, with but five mules and an ass. Nay, that is soon mended, cried a galant, and jumping ashore he drew his sword, and despite the remonstrances of the drivers went down the dozen buffaloes, goading them. They snorted and whisked their tails, and went no faster, at which the boat-load laughed loud and long. Finally he goaded a patriarch bull who turned instantly on the sword, sent his long horns clean through the spark, and with a furious jerk of his prodigious neck sent him flying over his head into the air. He described a bold parabola and fell sitting, and unconsciously waving his glittering blade into the yellow Tybur. The laughing lady screamed and wrung their hands, all but Gerard's fair. She uttered something very like an oath, and seizing the helm, steered the boat out, and the galant came up sputtering, gripped the gunnel, and was drawn in, dripping. He glared round him confusedly. "'I understand not that,' said he, a little peevishly, puzzled, and therefore it would seem discontented. At which finding he was by some strange accident not slain, his doublet being perforated instead of his body, they began to laugh again louder than ever. "'What are you cackling at?' remonstrated the spark. "'I desire to know how tis, that one moment a gentleman is out yonder a pricking of African beef, and the next moment,' Gerard's lady, disporting in his native stream. "'Tell him not to soul, if ye,' cried Vanucci, "'let him find out's own riddle. "'Confound ye all? I might puzzle my brain still doomsday. I should ne'er find it out. Also, where is my sword?' Gerard's lady, ask Tiber, your best way, signor, will be to do it over again, and in a word keep pricking of African beef till your mind receives light. So shall you comprehend the matter by degrees as lawyers mount heaven and buffaloes Tiber.' Here, a chevalier remarked that the last speaker transcended the sons of Adam as much in wit as she did the daughters of Eve in beauty. At which, and indeed at all their compliments, the conduct of Pietro Vanucci was peculiar. That signor had left off staring and gaping bewildered, and now sat coiled up snake-like on each his mouth muffled and two bright eyes fixed on the lady and twinkling and scintillating most comically. He did not appear to interest or amuse her in return. Her glorious eyes and eyelashes swept him calmly at times, but scarce distinguished him from the benches and things. Presently the unanimity of the party suffered a momentary check. Mortified by the attention the cavaliers paid to Gerard's companion, the ladies began to pick her to pieces soto voce and audibly. The lovely girl then showed that if rich in beauty she was poor in feminine tact. Instead of revenging herself like a true woman through the men, she permitted herself to over here and openly retaliate on her detractors. There is not one of you that wears nature's colours, said she. Look here, and she pointed rudely in one's face, this is the beauty that is to be bought in every shop. Here is churrosa, here is stybium, and here poor porisum. Oh, I know the articles bless you, I use them every day, but not on my face, no, thank you. Here Vanucci's eyes twinkled themselves nearly out of sight. Why, your lips are coloured and the very veins in your forehead, not a charm but would come off with a wet towel, and look at your great coarse black hair like a horse's tail drugged and stained to look like toe, and then your bodies are as false as your heads and your cheeks, and your hearts, I throw. Look at your padded bosoms and your wooden-heeled shoppings to raise your little stunted limbs up and deceive the world. Skinny dwarfs she are cushioned and stultified into great fat giants. Aha, madame, well is it, said of you, grande di legni, grosse di stracchi, rose debatito, bianche di calcina. This drew out a rejoinder. Avant, vulgar toad, telling the men everything, your coarse, ruddy cheeks are your own, and your little handful of African hair, but who is padded more? Why, you are shaped like a fire-shovel. You lie, Malapert. Oh, the well-educated young person, where did pick her up, Sir Gerard. Hold thy peace, Marcia, said Gerard, awakened by the raised trebles from a gloomy reverie. Be not so insolent. The grave shall close over thy beauty as it hath over fairer than thee. They began, said Marcia, petulantly. Then be thou the first to leave off. At thy request, my friend. Then she whispered, Gerard, it was only to make you laugh, you are distraught, you are sad. Judge whether I care for the quips of these little fools or the admiration of these big fools. Dear senior Gerard, would I were what they take me for? You should not be so sad. Gerard sighed deeply and shook his head. But touched by the earnest young tones, pressed the jet-black locks, much as one strokes the head of an affectionate dog. At this moment a galley, drifting slowly downstream, got entangled for an instant in their ropes. For the river turning suddenly, they had shot out into the stream, and this galley came between them and the bank. In it a lady of great beauty was seated under a canopy, with galants and dependents standing behind her. Gerard looked up at the interruption. It was the Princess Cleilia. He coloured and withdrew his hand from Marcia's head. Marcia was all admiration. Aha, ladies said she, here is a rival on your will. Those cheeks were coloured by nature, like mine. Peace, child, peace, said Gerard. Make not too free with the great. Why, she heard me not. Oh, sir Gerard, what a lovely creature. Two of the females had been for some time past, putting their heads together and casting glances at Marcia. One of them now addressed her. Signorina, do you love almonds? The speaker had a lap full of them. Yes, I love them when I can get them, said Marcia pettishly, and eyeing the fruit with ill-concealed desire, but yours is not the hand to give me any eye-trow. You are much mistook, said the other. Here, catch, and suddenly threw a double-handful into Marcia's lap. Marcia brought her knees together by an irresistible instinct. Aha! you are caught, my lad," cried she of the nuts. It is a man or a boy. A woman still part of her knees to catch the nuts the sureer in her apron, but a man closer to his, for fear they should fall between his hose. Confess now, did's never wear farting gale air to-day. Give me another handful, sweetheart, and I'll tell thee. There! I said he was too handsome for a woman. Sir Gerard, they have found me out, observed the epicane, calmly cracking an almond. The Libertines vowed, it was impossible, and all glared at the goddess like a battery. But Vanucci struck in and reminded the gaping gazes of a recent controversy in which they had, with a unanimity not often found among dunces, laughed Gerard and him to scorn for saying that men were as beautiful as women in a true artist's eye. Where are ye now? This is my boy Andrea, and you have all been down on your knees to him. Ha-ha! but, oh, my little ladies, when he lectured you and flung your stibium, your charusa, and your purpurisome back in your faces, I was like to burst, and grinds my colours. Ha-ha! hee-hee-ho! The little imposter ducked him. What for, seniors, cried Andrea, in dismay, and lost his rich carnation. But the females collected round him, and vowed nobody should harm a hair of his head. The dear child, how well his pretty little saucy ways become him. Oh, what eyes and teeth, and what eyebrows and hair, and what lashes, and what a nose! The sweetest little ear in the world, and what health! Touch but his cheek with a pin the blood should squirt. Who would be so cruel? He is a rose-bud washed in dew, and they revenge themselves for their beau's admiration of her by lavishing all their tenderness on him. But one there who was still among these butterflies, but no longer of them, the sight of Princess Kallelia had torn open his wound. Scarce three months ago he had declined the love of that peerless creature, a love illicit, and insane, but at least refined. How much lower had he fallen now? How happy he must have been when the blandishments of Kallelia that might have melted an anchorite could not tempt him from the path of loyalty. Now what was he? He had blushed at her seeing him in such company. Yet it was his daily company. He hung over the boat in moody silence. And from that hour another phase of his misery began and grew upon him. Some wretched fools tried to drown care in drink. The fumes of intoxication vanish, the inevitable care remains, and must be faced at last with an aching head, disordered stomach, and spirits artificially depressed. Gerard's conduct had been of a piece with these maniacs. To survive his terrible blow he needed all his forces, his virtue, his health, his habits of labour, and the calm sleep that is labour's satellite, and above all his piety. Yet all these barms to wounded hearts he flung away and trusted to moral intoxication. Its brief fumes fled, the bereaved heart lay still heavy as lead within his bosom. But now the dark vulture remorse sat upon it, rending it. Broken health, means wasted, innocence fled. Margaret parted from him by another gulf wider than the grave. The hot fit of despair passed away. The cold fit of despair came on. Then this miserable young man spurned his gay companions and all the world. He wandered alone. He drank wine alone to stupefy himself and paralysed a moment the dark foes to man that preyed upon his soul. He wandered alone amidst the temples of old Rome and lay stony-eyed, woe-begon, among their ruins, worse wrecked than they. Last of all came the climax to which solitude that gloomy yet fascinating foe of mind's disease pushes the hopeless. He wandered alone at night by dark streams and eyed them, and eyed them with decreasing repugnance. There glided peace, perhaps annihilation. What else was left him? These dark spells have been broken by kind words, by loving and cheerful voices. The humblest friend the afflicted one possesses may speak, or look, or smile, a sun-beam between him and that worst-madness Gerard now brooded. Where was Teresa? Where his hearty kind old landlady? They would see with their homely but swift intelligence. They would see and save. No, they knew not where he was, or whither he was gliding. And is there no mortal eye upon the poor wretch and the dark road he is going? Yes, one eye there is upon him, watching his every movement, following him abroad, tracking him home. And that eye is the eye of an enemy, an enemy to the death. End of chapter 63 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 64 of The Cloister and the Hearth by Charles Reid This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham In an apartment, richly furnished, the floor covered with striped and spotted skins of animals, a lady sat with her arms extended before her, and her hands half-clenched. The agitation of her face corresponded with this attitude. She was pale and red by turns, and her foot restless. Presently the curtain was drawn by a domestic. The lady's brow flushed. Maid said in an awestruck whisper, "'Adeza! The man is here!' The lady bade her admit him and snatched up a little black mask and put it on. And in a moment her colour was gone and the contrast between her black mask and her marble cheeks was strange and fearful. A man entered, bowing and scraping. It was such a figure as crowds seemed made of. Short hair, roundish head, plain but decent clothes, features neither comely nor forbidding, nothing to remark in him but a singularly restless eye. After a profusion of bows, he stood opposite the lady and awaited her pleasure. "'They have told you for what you are wanted?' "'Yes, senora. "'Did those who spoke to you agree as to what you are to receive?' "'Yes, senora, it is the full price, and purchases the greater vendetta, unless of your benevolence you choose to content yourself with the lesser.' "'I understand you not,' said the lady. "'Ah, this is the senora's first. The lesser vendetta, lady, is the death of the body only. We watch our man come out of a church or take him in an innocent hour and so deal with him. In the greater vendetta we watch him and catch him hot from some unrepentant sin and so slay his soul as well as his body. But this vendetta is not so run upon now as it was a few years ago. Man silenced me his tongue and let his treasonable heart beat no more, but his soul I have no feud with. "'So be it, senora. He who spoke to me knew not the man, nor his name, nor his abode. From whom shall I learn these? From myself.' At this the man, with the first symptoms of anxiety he had shown and treated her to be cautious and particular in this part of the business. "'Fear me not,' said she. "'Listen, it is a young man, tall of stature and urban hair and dark blue eyes and an honest face would deceive a saint. He lives in the Via Claudia at the corner house, the Glovers. In that house there lodge but three males, he and a painter short of stature and dark visaged, and a young slim boy, he that hath betrayed me, is a stranger, fair and taller than thou art.' The Bravo listened with all his ears. "'It is enough,' said he. "'Stay, senora, haunteth he any secret place where I may deal with him?' My spy doth report me, he hath of late frequented the banks of Tiber after dusk, doubtless to meet his light or love, who calls me her rival, even ne slay him and let my rival come and find him the smooth, heartless, insolent traitor. "'Be calm, senora, he will betray no more ladies.' "'I know not that. He weareth a sword and can use it. He is young and resolute.' Neither will avail him. Are ye so sure of your hand? What are your weapons?' The Bravo showed her a steel gauntlet. "'We strike with such force we need, must guard our hand. This is our mallet.' He then undid his doublet and gave her a glimpse of a coat of mail beneath, and finally laid his glittering stiletto on the table with a flourish. The lady shuddered at first, but presently took it up in her white hand and tried its point against her finger. "'Beware, madam,' said the Bravo. "'What? Is it poisoned? Saints forbid we steal no lives. We take them with steel point, not drugs, but his newly ground, and I feared for the senora's white skin.' "'His skin is as white as mine,' said she, with a sudden gleam of pity. It lasted but a moment. But his heart is black as soot. Say, do I not well to remove a traitor that slanders me?' The senora will settle out with her confesso. I am but a tool in noble hands, like my stiletto.' The princess appeared not to hear the speaker. "'Oh, how I could have loved him to the death as now I hate him! Fool, he will learn to trifle with princess to spurn them and fawn on them and prefer the scum of the town to them and make them a byword.' She looked up. "'Why, loiterers, thou here hast thee revenge me!' "'It is customary to pay half the price beforehand, senora.' "'Ah, I forgot. Thy revenge is bought. Here is more than half.' And she pushed a bag across the table to him. "'When the blow is struck, come for the rest.' "'You will soon see me again, senora.' And he retired, bowing and scraping. The princess, burning with jealousy, mortified pride and dread of exposure, for till she knew Gerard no public stain had fallen on her. Sat where he left her, masked, with her arms straight out before her and the nails of her clenched hand nipping the table. So sat the fabled sphinx. So sits a tigress. Yet there crept a chill upon her now that the assassin was gone and moody misgivings heaved within her, precursors of vain remorse. Gerard and Margaret were before their age. This was your true medieval, proud, amorous, vindictive, generous, foolish, cunning, impulsive, unprincipled, and ignorant as dirt. Power is the curse of such a creature. Forced to do her own crimes, the weakness of her nerves would have balanced the violence of her passions and her bark being worse than her bite. But power gives a feeble, furious woman male instruments, and the effect is as terrible as the combination is unnatural. In this instance it whetted an assassin's dagger for a poor, forlorn wretch just meditating suicide. End of chapter 64 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 65 Of The Cloister and the Hearth by Charles Reed This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham It happened two days after the scene I have endeavored to describe that Gerard, wandering through one of the meanest streets in Rome, was overtaken by a thunderstorm and entered a low hostelry. He called for wine continuing soon drank himself into a half stupid condition and dozed with his head on his hands and his hands upon the table. In the course of time the room began to fill and the noise of the rude guests to wake him. Then it was he became conscious of two figures near him conversing in a low voice. One was a pardoner. The other, by his dress, clean but modest, might have passed for a decent tradesman, but the way he had slouched his hat over his brows so as to hide all his face except his beard, showed he was one of those who shunned the eye of honest men and of the law. The pair were driving a bargain in the sin market. And by an arrangement not uncommon at that date the crime to be forgiven was yet to be committed under the celestial contract. He of the slouched heart was complaining of the price pardons had reached. If they go up any higher we poor fellow shall be shut out of heaven altogether. The pardoner denied the charge flatly. Indulgences were never cheaper to good husband men. The other inquired, who were they? Why such a sin by the market like reasonable creatures. But if you will be so perverse as to go and pick out a crime the pope hath set his face against blame yourself, not me. Then to prove that crime of one sort or another was within the means of all but the very scum of society he read out the scale from a written parchment. It was a curious list one that could be printed in this book and to mutilate it would be to misrepresent it. It is to be found in any great library. Suffice it to say that murder of a layman was much cheaper than many crimes my lay readers would deem light by comparison. This told and by a little trifling concession on each side the bargain was closed the money handed over and the aspirant to heaven's favour for given before hand for removing one layman. The price for disposing of a clerk bore no proportion. The word assassination was never once uttered by either merchant. All this buzzed in Gerard Zier but he never lifted his head from the table, only poisoned stupidly. However when the parties rose and separated he half raised his head and eyed with a scowl the retiring figure of the purchaser. If Margaret was alive mothered he I'd take thee by the throat and throttle thee thou cowardly stammer but she is dead dead dead die all the world is not to me so that I die among the first. When he got home there was a man in a slouched hat walking briskly to and fro on the opposite side of the way. Why there is that cur again thought Gerard but in this state of mind the circumstance made no impression whatever on him. End of chapter 65 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 66 of The Cloyster and the Hearth by Charles Reid This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham Two nights after this Pietro Vanucci and Andrea sat waiting supper for Gerard. The former grew peevish. It was past nine o'clock at last he sent Andrea to Gerard's room on the desperate chance of his having come in unobserved. Andrea shrugged his shoulders and went. He returned without Gerard but with a slip of paper. Andrea could not read as scholars in his day and charity boys in ours understand the art but he had a quick eye and had learned how the words Pietro Vanucci looked on paper. That is for you, I throw said he, proud of his intelligence. Pietro snatched it and read it to Andrea with his satirical comments. Dear Pietro, dear Andrea, life is too great a burden so dismalad but that is no reason for being abroad at supper time supper is not a burden where my habits said the poplar to the juniper bush. And thou Andrea, my amethyst ring and me in both your hearts a month or two. Why Andrea? For my body ere this she read it will lie in tibre. Trouble not to look for it it is not worth the pains o unhappy day that I was born o happy night that ridds me of it. Adieu, adieu, the broken hearted Gerard. Here is a sorry jest of the peevish rogue, said Pietro but his pale cheek and chattering teeth belied his words. Andrea filled the house with his cries, o miserable day, o calamity of calamities Gerard, my friend, my sweet patron, help, help! He is killing himself, o good people, help me save him! And after alarming all the house he ran into the street bareheaded imploring all good Christians to help him save his friend. A number of persons soon collected but poor Andrea could not animate their sluggishness. Go down to the river no, it was not their business, what part of the river it was a wild goose chase. It was not lucky to go down to the river after sunset too many ghosts walked those banks all night. A lucky, however, who had been standing some time opposite the house, said he would go with Andrea and this turned three or four of the younger ones. The little band took the way to the river. The lucky questioned Andrea. Andrea sobbing told him about the letter and Gerard's moody ways of late. That lucky was a spy of the Princess Claelia. Their Italian tongues went fast till they neared the tiber but the moment they felt the air from the river and the smell of the stream in the calm spring night they were dead silent. The moon shone calm and clear in a cloudless sky their feet sounded loud and ominous. Their tongues were hushed. Presently hurrying round a corner they met a man. He stopped irresolute at the sight of them. The man was bare-headed and his dripping hair glistened in the moonlight and at the next step they saw his clothes were drenched with water. Here he is! The young man unacquainted with Gerard's face and figure. The stranger turned instantly and fled. They ran after him might and main Andrea leading and the princesses lucky next. Andrea gained on him but in a moment he twisted up a narrow alley. Andrea shot by unable to check himself and the pursuers soon found themselves in a labyrinth in which it was vain to pursue a quick-footed fugitive who knew every inch of it and could now only be followed by the ear. They returned to their companions and found them standing on the spot where the man had stood and utterly confounded. For Pietro had assured them that the fugitive had neither the features nor the stature of Gerard. Are he verily sure? Said they. He had been in the river. Why in the saint's name fled he at our approach. Then said Vanouchi. Friends, me thinks this has not to do with him we seek. What shall we do, Andrea? Hear the lucky put in his word. Let us track him to the water's side to make sure. See, he has come dripping all the way. This advice was approved and with very little difficulty they tracked the man's course. But soon they encountered a new enigma. They had gone scarcely fifty yards ere the drops turning away from the river and took them to the gate of a large gloomy building. It was a monastery. They stood irresolute before it and gazed at the well. It seemed to them to hide some horrible mystery. But presently Andrea gave a shout. Here be the drops again! cried he. And this road leadeth to the river. They resumed the chase and soon it became clear the drops were now leading them home. The track became wetter and wetter and took them to the tiber's edge and there on the bank a bucketful emerged from the stream. At first they shouted and thought they had made a discovery but reflection showed them it amounted to nothing. Certainly a man had been in the water and had got out of it in safety but that man was not Gerard. One said he knew a fisherman hard-buy that had nets and drags. They found the fisherman and paid him liberally to sink nets in the river above and below and promised him gold should he find the body. Then they ran vainly up and down the river which flowed so calm and voiceless holding this and a thousand more strange secrets. Suddenly Andrea with a cry of hope ran back to the house. He returned in less than half an hour. No, he groaned and rung his hands. What is the hour? asked the lucky. Four hours past midnight. My pretty lad said the lucky solemnly Say a mass for thy friend's soul for he is not among living men. The morning broke worn out with fatigue Andrea and Pietro went home heart-sick. The days rolled on mute as the timbre as to Gerard's fate. End of Chapter 66 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 67 of The Cloister and the Half by Charles Reid This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham It would indeed have been strange if with such barren data as they possessed those men could have read the handwriting on the river's bank. For there on that spot an event had just occurred which, take it all together, was perhaps without a parallel in the history of mankind and may remain so to the end of time. But it shall be told in a very few words partly by me partly by an actor in the scene. Gerard then recording his brief adieu to Pietro and Andrea had stolen down to the river at nightfall. He had taken his measures with a dogged resolution not uncommon in those who are bent on self-destruction. He filled his pockets with all the silver and copper he possessed that he might sink the sureer and so provided hurried to a part of the stream some especially women who look about to make sure there is somebody at hand but this resolute wretch looked about him to make sure there was nobody and to his annoyance he observed a single figure leaning against the corner of an alley so he affected to stroll carelessly away but returned to the spot. Lo, the same figure emerged from a side street and loitered about. Can he be watching me? Can he know what I am ever? thought Gerard impossible. He went briskly off walked along a street or two made a detour and came back. The man had vanished but Lo on Gerard looking all round to make sure there he was a few yards behind apparently fastening his shoe Gerard saw he was watched and at this moment observed in the moonlight a steel gauntlet in his sentinel's hand then he knew it was an assassin. Strange to say it never occurred to him that his was the life aimed at. To be sure he was not aware he had an enemy in the world. He turned and walked up to the bravo my good friend said he eagerly sell me thine arm a single stroke see here is all I have that he forced his money into the bravo's hands O prithee, prithee do one good deed and rid me of my hateful life and even while speaking he undid his doublet and bared his bosom. The man stared in his face Why do you hesitate shriek Gerard have you no bowels is it so much pains to lift your arm and fall it is it because I am poor and can't give you gold useless wretch can't only strike a man behind not look one in the face there then do but turn thy head and hold thy tongue and with a snarl of contempt he ran from him and flung himself into the water at the heavy plunge of his body in the stream the bravo seemed to recover from a stupor he ran to the bank and with a strange cry the assassin plunged in after the self-destroyer what followed will be related by the assassin end of chapter 67 recording by Tom Denham chapter 68 of The Cloyster and the Hearth by Charles Reid this Librivox recording is in the public domain recording by Tom Denham a woman has her own troubles as a man has his and we male writers seldom do more than indicate the griefs of the other sex the intelligence of the female reader must come to our aid and fill up our cold outlines so have I indicated rather than described what Margaret Brandt went through up to that eventful day when she entered Eli's house and enemy read her sweetheart's letter and remained a friend and now a woman's greatest trial drew near and Gerard far away she availed herself but little of Eli's sudden favor for this reserve she had always a plausible reason ready and never hinted at the true one which was this there were two men in that house at sight of whom she shuddered with instinctive antipathy and dread she had read wickedness and hatred in their faces and mysterious signals of secret intelligence she preferred to receive Catherine and her daughter at home the former went to see her every day and was wrapped up in the expected event Catherine was one of those females whose office is to multiply and rear the multiplied who when at last they consent to leave off pelting one out of every room in the house with babies hover about the fair scourges that are still in full swing and do so cluck in proxy it was in this spirit she entreated Eli to let her stay at Rotterdam while he went back to Tegu the poor lass hath not a soul about her that knows anything about anything what avail a pair of soldiers why that sort of cattle should be putting outer doors the first at such and a time need I say poor soul she was full of anxiety as the time grew near she should die and gerard away but things balance themselves her poverty and her father's helplessness which had cost her such a struggle stood her in good stead now adversity's iron hand had forced her to battle the lassitude that overpowers the rich of her sex to be forever on her feet working she kept this up to the last by Catherine's advice and so it was that one fine evening just at sunset she lay weaker's water but safe with a little face by her side and the heaven of maternity opening on her why just weep sweetheart all of a sudden he is not here to see it ah well lass he will be here at his ween meantime God have been as good to thee as to air a woman born and do but be think thee it might have been a girl didn't my very own Kate threaten me with one and here we have got the bonniest boy in Holland and a rare heavy one the saints be praised for it ah mother I am but a sorry ungrateful wretch to weep if only Gerard were here to see it it is strange I bore him well enough to be away from me in my sorrow but oh it does seem so hard he should not share my joy pretty pretty come to me Gerard dear dear Gerard and she stretched out her feeble arms Catherine hustled about but avoided Margaret's eyes not restrain her own tears at hearing her own absent child thus earnestly addressed presently turning round she found Margaret looking at her with a singular expression heard you not no my lamb what I did cry on Gerard but now I I sure I heard that well he answered me tush girls say not that mother assure as I lie here with his boy by my side his voice came back to me Margaret so yet me thought was not his happy voice but that might be the distance all voices go off sad like at a distance why are not happy sweetheart and I so happy this night mother I seem never to have felt a pain or no no care and her sweet eyes turned and gloated on the little face in silence that very night Gerard flung himself into the tiber and that very hour she heard him speak her name he cried aloud in death's jaws and despairs Margaret count for it those who can I cannot end of chapter 68 recording by Tom Denham