”
The tyrant took advantage of the moment to speak to the
monk, who was exerting himself to the utmost to restore his
father.
The tyrant took advantage of the moment to speak to the
monk, who was exerting himself to the utmost to restore his
father.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v17 - Mai to Mom
Grace enters, and
addressing Human Nature, says: -
Grace - Why weep you thus so grievously, fair nymph?
What seek you, and what is your cause of woe?
Human Nature -
The Master of my love in vain I seek.
I know not where the jealous Fates have hid
Him from my eager sight.
Grace -
Lament not! weep not!
Nor seek among the dead the Eternal One.
Narcissus, thy Beloved, lives.
## p. 9963 (#371) ###########################################
THE MEXICAN NUN
9963
Narcissus, brilliantly dressed and crowned as from the Resurrection, enters,
accompanied by a troop of rejoicing shepherds. Human Nature turns
and sees him.
Narcissus-
Fair maid.
Thy pearly tears are precious to my sight,
And melt my heart to pity! Why does grief
Thus flood thy gentle eyes ?
Human Nature -
I weep, my lord,
For my Narcissus. Oh, could you but tell
Me where to seek for my lost love!
Narcissus -
Dear spouse,
Has heaven's glory shining on my brow
So masked me that you know me not?
Human Nature -
O spouse adorable! My joy! My heart
Bows to the earth with its great happiness!
I kiss thy feet.
Narcissus -
No, dear one, thou must not!
A little longer must thou wait, •for I
Go now to join my Father on his throne.
Human Nature -
Thou wilt leave me here alone? Dear Lord, I faint
To think without thine arm to shelter me
My enemy the serpent may destroy me.
Enter Echo, Pride, and Self-Love
Echo - True that! for he has laid in wait for her
With wary cunning for these many years.
[Narcissus rebukes the envious nymphs, and calls on Grace to declare the
will of God. )
Narcissus Then to thy greater pain, since thou canst wish
Such evil to another, know my plan
Of safeguard for my chosen spouse. Speak, Grace,
The meaning of this parable which we
So far have acted. Tell my message.
Grace -
List
Ye all! The master I obey.
Echo -
Alas!
My woe grows heavier at thy words of dole.
Grace So shall the beauty of Narcissus bloom
In sovereign state while he enjoys the bliss
Eternally prepared for him, the king
Of happiness, dispenser of all joys,
## p. 9964 (#372) ###########################################
9964
THE MEXICAN NUN
Perfection's treasurer and crowned cause
Of wonder-making miracles. The orbs
Whose crystal radiance lights the firmament
Shall be his lofty glory's witnesses;
Their circled courses, as with pens of fire,
Shall write his deeds upon the vast of space;
The splendor of the morning stars, the flame
Of purifying fires, the storm-tossed plumes
Of ocean, the uplifted crags of earth,
And the unceasing music of the winds,
Shall praise him, and from him the myriad suns
And brilliant stars shall proudly borrow light.
The sapphire of the deep and placid lakes,
The pearly radiance of the flying mists,
Shall be the mirrors of his smile; the fields
Shall clothe themselves with flowers, and the pcaks
With snow, to imitate his glory.
The wild things of the forest and the air
From den and eyrie shall adore his name.
The silent caverns of the deep shall teem
With servants of his word. The sea itself
Shall pile its jeweled waves aloft to make
The thunderous altars of the choir of storms.
All growing things— the lofty pine, the moss
That clings about the desert rock-shall teach
His worship; him the boundless main declares,
Receiving all the waters of the earth
To give them back in helpful rain as he
Receives in adoration and gives back
In bliss.
And this has ever been since time
And movement of created things began.
For all things hold their being from his care.
Should he not care, chaos would mar the world.
This is the happy year that sways the flowers,
The fear that tells the lily to grow pale
And brings a blush upon the rose.
He came
To see in man, creation's prince, the best
Reflection of himself. God-Man, he saw,
And loved the Godlike image of himself.
Godlike to God the only worth can be.
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature. '
-
## p. 9965 (#373) ###########################################
9965
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
(1825-)
OREMOST among the German poets and novelists of our time
stand the two Swiss writers Gottfried Keller and Konrad
Ferdinand Meyer. Strongly contrasted as their lives were
in external circumstances, and widely different as were the fields from
which they chose their materials, in their artistic aims the two men
had much in common. Keller's life was a long battle with small
things, and fame was slow in coming; Meyer has led a life of literary
leisure, devoted to self-cultivation and indifferent to public recogni-
tion. But in the work of each of these poets
there is the same perfection of form and
fastidious polish of style. Keller is perhaps
more rugged and vigorous; Meyer depicts
life with the keen insight of a contemplat-
ive and poetic student of history. In both
cases the treatment is realistic. Keller's,
however, is obviously the realism of act-
ual observation and experience; Meyer's is
the realism of a plastic mind infusing life
into the facts and forms of a bygone age.
Together these two men are the chief orna-
ments of modern Swiss literature.
Konrad Ferdinand Meyer was born at K. F. MEYER
Zürich on October 12th, 1825. His younger
years were passed in Geneva and Lausanne, where he acquired com-
mand of the French language. For a time it was his intention to
study law; but after a brief experience at the University of Zürich,
he abandoned the idea. Moved solely by his own inclinations, and for
years with no other purpose than the gratification of his own tastes,
he devoted himself with scholarly ardor to the study of history. It
is a curious instance of a blind impulse guiding genius into its proper
course. Still unproductive, he went to Paris in 1857 to pursue his
historical studies, and spent the following year in Italy. Since 1875
he has lived at his country home, at Kilchberg near Zürich. His life
has been free from sordid cares, and filled chiefly with the joys of
scholarly labor and poetic creation.
## p. 9966 (#374) ###########################################
9966
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
Meyer had reached the prime of life when he first entered the
field of literature. His first public venture was a collection of Bal-
lads, which came out in 1867, when their author was in his forty-
second year.
In 1870 came a volume of poems entitled Romances
and Pictures. ' But it was not until the appearance of Hutten's Last
Days -- a highly original cycle of poems, half lyric, half epic — that
Meyer began to attract attention. This was in 1871; and in the same
year the idyllic Engelberg' was published. Herein also may be
found the epic element which reveals the mind of a poet, whose
chief intellectual delight is the study of history.
But it was the long array of his vigorous and brilliant stories that
brought to Meyer the full measure of fame he now enjoys. Der
Heilige (The Saint), in which is told the story of Thomas Becket,
is one of the most finished pieces of historical fiction in German lit-
erature. Next in finish of execution to this figure of Becket stands
that of the sombre and impressive Dante, into whose mouth, as
he sits in the halls of Cangrande, is put the thrilling tale of “The
Monk's Wedding. This book, which appeared in 1884, and (The
Temptation of Pescara' (1889), may perhaps be singled out as the
best of these historical romances; but the list of Meyer's works is a
long one, and none of them shows hasty workmanship nor flagging
powers; and the public interest remains unabated.
Meyer is a master of clear objective treatment. He never inter-
poses himself, nor intrudes historical information. As the reader
accompanies the characters through their experiences, he has only
to look about to see how things once appeared, and how men once
behaved in the dead days which the poet is re-creating. The thing
is presented as the author sees it in his plastic imagination, and the
vividness of the impression it conveys is independent of all historical
accessories and learned elucidation. Meyer is the veteran chief of
German novelistic literature at the end of the nineteenth century.
FROM "THE MONK'S WEDDING)
Copyright 1887, by Cupples & Hurd
"T
«ys it at all necessary that there should be monks ? ” whispered
a voice out of a dim corner, as if to suggest that any sort
of escape from an unnatural condition was a blessing.
The audacious question caused no shock; for at this court the
boldest discussion of religious matters was allowed, - yes, smiled
upon,- whilst a free or incautious word in regard to the person
or policy of the Emperor was certain destruction.
## p. 9967 (#375) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9967
»
Dante's eyes sought the speaker, and recognized in him a
young ecclesiastic whose fingers toyed with the heavy gold cross
he wore over his priestly robe.
“Not on my account,” said the Florentine deliberately. “May
the monks die out as soon as a race is born that understands
how to unite justice and mercy — the two highest attributes of
the human soul — which seem now to exclude one another. Until
that late hour in the world's history may the State administer the
one, and the Church the other. Since, however, the exercise of
mercy requires a thoroughly unselfish heart, the three monastic
vows are not only a proper but essential preparation; for expe-
rience has taught that total abnegation is less difficult than a
reserved and partial self-surrender. ”
“Are there not more bad than good monks ? ” persisted the
doubting ecclesiastic.
"No," said Dante, “when we take into consideration human
”
weakness; else there are more unjust than righteous judges, more
cowards than brave warriors, more bad men than good. ”
"And is not this the case ? ” asked the guest in the dim cor-
ner.
>
C
“No, certainly not,” Dante replied, a heavenly brightness sud-
denly illuminating his stern features. Is not philosophy asking
«
and striving to find out how evil came into this world? Had the
bad formed the majority, we should, on the contrary, have been
asking how good came into the world. ”
This proud enigmatical remark impressed the party forcibly,
but at the same time excited some apprehension lest the Floren-
tine was going deeper into scholasticism instead of relating his
story.
Cangrande, seeing his pretty young friend suppress a yawn,
said, “Noble Dante, are you to tell us a true story, or will you
embellish a legend current among the people; or can you not
give us a pure invention out of your own laurel-crowned head ? »
Dante replied with slow emphasis, "I evolve my story from
an inscription on a grave. ”
« On a grave! ”
« Yes, from an inscription on a gravestone which I read years
ago, when with the Franciscans at Padua. The stone was in a
corner of the cloister garden, hidden under wild rose-bushes, but
still accessible to the novices, if they crept on all fours and did
not mind scratching their cheeks with thorns. I ordered the
(
C
## p. 9968 (#376) ###########################################
9968
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
prior — or, I should say, besought him — to have the puzzling
stone removed to the library, and there commended to the inter-
est of a gray-headed custodian.
"What was on the stone ? ” interposed somewhat listlessly the
wife of the Prince.
« The inscription,” answered Dante, “was in Latin, and ran
thus:
uxore Antiope. Sepeliebat
« ( Hic jacet monachus Astorre cum
Azzolinus. ) »
“What does it mean? ” eagerly cried the lady on Cangrande's
left.
The Prince fluently translated :
:-
(
Both
Here sleeps the monk Astorre beside his wife Antiope.
buried by Ezzelin. ”
>
"Atrocious tyrant! ” exclaimed the impressible maiden: "I am
sure he had them buried alive, because they were lovers; and he
insulted the poor victims even in their graves, by styling her the
wife of the monk,' - cruel wretch that he was!
“Hardly,” said Dante: “I construe it quite differently, and
according to the history this seems improbable; for Ezzelin's
rigor was directed rather against breaches of ecclesiastical disci.
pline. He interested himself little either in the making or break-
ing of sacred vows. I take the 'sepeliebat' in a friendly sense,
and believe the meaning to be that he gave the two burial. ”
«Right,” exclaimed Cangrande. « Florentine, I agree with
you! Ezzelin was a born ruler, and as such men usually are,
somewhat harsh and violent; but nine-tenths of the crimes im-
puted to him are inventions - forgeries of the clergy and scandal-
loving people. ”
"Would it were so! ” sighed Dante; at any rate, where he
appears upon the stage in my romance, he has not yet become
the monster which the chronicle, be it true or false, pictures him
to be; his cruelty is only beginning to show itself in certain
lines about the mouth. ”
“A commanding figure,” exclaimed Cangrande enthusiastically,
desiring to bring him more palpably before the audience, with
black hair bristling round his great brow, as you paint him, in
your Twelfth Canto, among the inhabitants of hell. But whence
have you taken this dark head ? »
»
(
»
## p. 9969 (#377) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9969
"It is yours," replied Dante boldly; and Cangrande felt him.
self flattered.
"And the rest of the characters in my story," he said with
smiling menace, “I will also take from among you, if you will
allow me,” — and he turned toward his listeners: “I borrow your
names only, leaving untouched what is innermost; for that I can-
not read. ”
“My outward self I lend you gladly,” responded the Princess,
whose indifference was beginning to yield.
A murmur of intense excitement now ran through the courtly
circle, and “Thy story, Dante, thy story! ” was heard on all
sides.
«Here it is,” he said, and began :-
[Dante begins his tale with a description of a bridal party returning in
festal barges upon the waters of the Brenta to Padua, where the wedding
is to be solemnized. Umberto Vicedomini, with his three sons by a former
marriage, and his bride, Diana, occupy one barge; an accident overturns
the vessel, and the entire party is drowned, with the exception of Diana,
who is rescued by Astorre, Umberto's younger brother. The news of this acci-
dent is brought to the aged head of the house of Vicedomini, who thus sees
all his hopes of a posterity cut off, for his only surviving son has already
assumed monastic vows. Upon his willingness to renounce these vows now
depends the future of the house of the Vicedomini. The old man is in the
midst of a heated interview with the ruler Ezzelin when Diana enters his
chamber. ]
Just then he caught sight of his daughter-in-law, who had
pressed through the crowd of servants in advance of the monk,
and was standing on the threshold. Spite of his physical weak-
ness he rushed towards her, staggering; seized and wrenched her
hands apart, as if to make her responsible for the misfortune
which had befallen them.
“Where is my son, Diana ? ” he gasped out.
“He lies in the Brenta,” she answered sadly, and her blue
eyes grew dim.
"Where are my three grandchildren? ”
«In the Brenta,” she repeated.
“And you bring me yourself as a gift-you are presented to
me? ” and the old man laughed discordantly.
“Would that the Almighty,” she said slowly, "had drawn me
deeper under the waves, and that thy children stood here in my
stead! ” She was silent; then bursting into sudden anger, —
XVII-624
»
## p. 9970 (#378) ###########################################
9970
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
“Does my presence insult you, and am I a burden to you?
Impute the blame to him (pointing to the monk). He drew me
from the water when I was already dead, and restored me to
life. ”
The old man now for the first time perceived his son; and
collecting himself quickly, exhibited the powerful will which his
bitter grief seemed to have steeled rather than lamed.
"Really - he drew you out of the Brenta ? H'm! Strange.
The ways of God are marvelous! ”
He grasped the monk by the shoulder and arm at once, as if
to take possession of him body and soul, and dragged him along
to his great chair, into which the old man fell without relaxing
his pressure on the arm of his unresisting son. Diana followed,
knelt down on the other side of the chair, and leaned her head
upon the arm of it, so that only the coil of her blond hair was
visible -- like some inanimate object. Opposite the group sat Ezze-
lin, his right hand upon the rolled-up letter, like a commander-
in-chief resting upon his staff.
“My son — my own one,” whimpered the dying man, with a
tenderness in which truth and cunning mingled, my last and
oniy consolation! Thou staff and stay of my old age, thou wilt
not crumble like dust under my trembling fingers. Thou must
understand,” he went on, already in a colder and more practical
tone, “that as things are, it is not possible for thee to remain
longer in the cloister. It is according to the canons, my son,
is it not, that a monk whose father is sick unto death, or impov.
erished, should withdraw in order to nurse the author of his
days, or to till his father's acres ? But I need thee even more
pressingly: thy brothers and nephews are gone, and now thou
must keep the life torch of our house burning. Thou art a little
flame I have kindled, and I cannot suffer it to glimmer and die
out in a narrow cell. Know one thing ”— he had read in the
warm brown eyes a genuine sympathy, and the reverent bear-
ing of the monk appeared to promise blind obedience: I am
more ill than you suppose am I not, Issacher ? » He turned
to look in the face a spare little man, who, with phial and spoon
in his hands, had stept behind the chair of the old Vicedomini,
and now bowed his white head in affirmation. I travel toward
the river; but I tell thee, Astorre, if my wish is not granted,
thy father will refuse to step into Charon's boat, and will sit
cowering on the twilight strand. ”
)
1
## p. 9971 (#379) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9971
»
(
The monk stroked the feverish hand of the old man with
tenderness, but answered quietly in two words: “My vows! ”
Ezzelin unfolded the letter. «Thy vows,” said the old man in
”
a wheedling tone — “loosened strings; filed-away chains. Make a
movement and they fall. The Holy Church, to which thy obedi-
ence is due, has declared them null and void. There it stands
written," and his thin finger pointed to the parchment with the
Pope's seal.
The monk approached the governor, took the letter from him
respectfully, and read it through, closely watched the while by
four eyes. Completely dazed, he took one step backward, as if
he were standing on the top of a tower, and all at once saw the
rampart give way.
Ezzelin seized the reeling man by the arm with the curt ques-
tion, “To whom did you make your vows, monk,— to yourself,
or to the Church ? »
« To both, of course, shrieked the old man angrily: "these
are cursed subtleties.
Take care, son, or he will reduce us,
Vicedomini, to beggary. ”
Without a trace of feeling or resentment, Ezzelin laid his
right hand on his beard and swore. “If Vicedomini dies, the
monk here inherits his property; and should the family become
extinct with him, if he love me and his native city, he shall
found a hospital of such size and grandeur that the hundred
cities »
(he meant the Italian)
« will envy us.
Now, godfather,
having cleared myself from the charge of rapacity, may I put to
the monk a few questions? — have I your permission ? ”
The fury of the old man now rose to such a pitch as to bring
on a fit of convulsions; but even then he did not release the arm
of the monk.
Issacher put carefully to the pale lips a spoon filled with
some strong-smelling essence. The sufferer turned his head
away with an effort. "Leave me in peace,” he groaned: "you
,
are the governor's physician as well, and closed his eyes again.
The Jew looked at the tyrant as if to beg forgiveness for this
suspicion. «Will he return to life? ” asked Ezzelin. “I think
so,” replied the Jew, but not for long; I fear he will not live
to see the sun go down.
”
The tyrant took advantage of the moment to speak to the
monk, who was exerting himself to the utmost to restore his
father.
>>
## p. 9972 (#380) ###########################################
9972
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
((
»
(
"And whither' do your own thoughts tend, monk ? ” he in-
quired.
« They are unchanged and persistent; yet, God forgive me, I
would my father never woke again, that I should be forced to
oppose him so cruelly. If he had but received extreme unction! ”
He kissed passionately the cheek of the fainting man; who
thereupon returned to consciousness, and heaving a deep sigh,
raised his weary eyelids, from under whose gray bushy brows he
directed toward the monk a supplicating look. “How is it? ” he
asked: “to what hast thou doomed me, dearest, - to heaven, or to
hell ? ”
«Father,” prayed Astorre in a tremulous voice, "thy time has
come; only a short hour remains: banish all earthly cares and
interests, think of thy soul. See, thy priests” (he meant those
,
of the parish church) are gathered together waiting to perform
the last sacrament. ”
It was so! The door of the adjacent room had softly opened,
in which the faint glimmer of lighted candles was perceptible,
whilst a choir was intoning a prelude, and the gentle vibration of
a bell became audible.
Now the old man, who already felt his knees sinking into
Lethe's flood, clung to the monk, as once St. Peter to the Sav-
ior on the Sea of Gennesaret. “Thou wilt do it for my sake ? "
he stammered.
"If I could; if I dared,” sighed the monk. “By all that is
holy, my father, think on eternity; leave the earthly. Thine hour
is come! ”
This veiled refusal kindled the last spark of life in the old
man to a blaze. « Disobedient, ungrateful one! ” he cried.
Astorre beckoned to the priests.
"By all the devils, spare me your kneadings and salvings,"
raved the dying man. “I have nothing to gain; I am already
like one of the damned, and must remain so in the midst of
Paradise, if my son wantonly repudiates me and destroy's my
germ of life. ”
The horror-struck monk, thrilled to the soul by this frightful
blasphemy, pictured his father doomed to eternal perdition. (This
was his thought, and he was as firmly convinced of the truth of
it as I should have been in his place. ) He fell on his knees
before the old man, and in utter despair, bursting into tears,
said: “Father, I beseech thee, have pity on thyself and on me! »
D
## p. 9973 (#381) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9973
>
“Let the crafty one go his way,” whispered the tyrant.
The monk did not hear him. Again he gave the astounded
priests a sign, and the litany for the dying was about to begin.
At this the old man doubled himself up like a refractory child,
and shook his head.
“Let the sly fox go where he must,” admonished Ezzelin in
a louder tone.
"Father, father! ” sobbed the monk, his whole soul dissolved
in pity.
“Illustrious signor and Christian brother,” said the priest with
unsteady voice, “are you in the frame of mind to meet your
Creator and Savior? ” The old man took no notice.
"Are you firm as a believer in the Holy Trinity ? Answer
me, signor,” said the priest; and then turned pale as a sheet, for
«Cursed and denied be it for ever and ever,” fell from the dying
man's lips. “Cursed and— »
“No more,” cried the monk, springing to his feet. Father, I
resign myself to thy will. Do with me what you choose, if only
you will not throw yourself into the flames of hell. ”
The old man gasped as after some terrible exertion; then
gazed about him with an air of relief,- I had almost said, of
pleasure. Groping, he seized the blond hair of Diana, lifted her
up from her knees, took her right hand, - which she did not
refuse,- opened the cramped hand of the monk, and laid the
two together.
“Binding, in presence of the most holy sacrament! ” he ex-
claimed triumphantly, and blessed the pair. The monk did not
gainsay it; while Diana closed her eyes,
Now quick, reverend fathers: there is need of haste, I think,
and I am now in a Christian frame of mind. ”
The monk and his affianced bride would fain have stepped
behind the train of priests. “Stay,” muttered the dying man;
stay where my comforted eyes may look upon you until they
close in death. " Astorre and Diana were thus with clasped hands
obliged to wait and watch the expiring glance of the obstinate
old man.
The latter murmured a short confession, received the last
sacrament, and breathed his final breath as they were anointing
his feet, while the priests uttered in his already deaf ears those
sublime words, Rise, Christian Soul. ” The dead face bore the
unmistakable expression of triumphant cunning.
## p. 9974 (#382) ###########################################
9974
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
((
The tyrant sat, whilst all around were upon their knees;
and with calm attention observed the performance of the sacred
office, much like a savant studying on a sarcophagus the repre-
sentation of some religious rites of an ancient people. He now
approached the dead man and closed his eyes.
He then turned to Diana. "Noble lady,” said he, "let us
go home: your parents, even if assured of your safety, will long
to see you. "
“Prince, I thank you, and will follow,” she answered; but she
did not withdraw her hand from that of the monk, whose eyes
until then she had avoided. Now she looked her betrothed full
in the face, and said in a deep but melodious voice, whilst her
cheeks glowed:-"My lord and master, we could not let your
father's soul perish: thus have I become yours. Hold your faith
to me better than to the cloister. Your brother did not love me;
forgive me for saying it, - I speak the simple truth. You will
have in me a good and obedient wife; but I have two peculiari-
ties which you must treat with indulgence. I am hot with anger
if any attack is made on my honor or my rights, and I am most
exacting in regard to the fulfillment of a promise once made.
Even as a child I was so I have few wishes, and desire noth-
ing unreasonable: but when a thing has once been shown and
promised me, I insist upon possessing it; and I lose my faith,
and resent injustice more than other women, if the promise I
have received is not faithfully kept. But how can I allow my-
self to talk in this way to you, my lord, whom I scarcely know?
I have done. Farewell, my husband; grant me nine days to
mourn your brother. " At this she slowly released her hand from
his and disappeared with the tyrant.
Meanwhile the band of priests had borne away the corpse to
place it upon a bier in the palace chapel, and to bless it.
[In thus yielding to his father's importunities Astorre has weakened the
mainstays of his character; and if one vow may be broken, so may another
also. He loves a fair shy girl, Antiope, and marries her; but the imperious
and implacable Diana insists upon her prior rights. Contemptuously she con-
descends to return her betrothal ring if Antiope will come to her in humble
supplication. Astorre's sense of justice leads him to give his consent to this
humiliation, and Antiope now prepares to obey his wishes. This brings about
the final catastrophe. )
Antiope now hastily completed her toilet. Even the frivolous
Sotte was frightened at the pallor of the face reflected in the
## p. 9975 (#383) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9975
(
<
glass. There was no sign of life in it, save the terror in the
eyes and the glistening of the firmly set teeth. A red stripe,
A
caused by Diana's blow, was visible upon her white brow.
When at last arrayed, Astorre's wife rose with beating pulse
and throbbing temples; and leaving her safe chamber, hurried
through the halls to find Diana. She was urged on by the
excitement of both hope and fear. She would fly back jubilantly,
after she had recovered the ring, to meet her husband, whom she
wished to spare the sight of her humiliation.
Soon among the masqueraders she distinguished the conspicu-
ous figure of the goddess of the chase, recognized her enemy,
and followed, as with measured steps she passed through the
main hall and retired into one of the dimly lighted small side
rooms. It seemed the goddess desired not public humiliation,
but lowliness of heart.
Quickly Antiope bowed before Diana, and forced her lips to
utter, “Will you give me the ring ? ” while she touched the pow-
erful finger.
“Humbly and penitently ? ” asked Diana.
"How else ? ” the unhappy child said feverishly. But you
trifle with me; cruelly — you have doubled up your finger! ”
Whether Antiope imagined it, or whether Diana really was
trifling with her, a finger is so easily curved! Cangrande, you
have accused me of injustice. I will not decide.
Enough! the Vicedomini raised her willowy figure, and with
flaming eyes fixed on the severe face of Diana, cried out, Will
you torture a wife, maiden ? ” Then she bent down again, and
tried with both hands to pull the ring off her finger. Like a
flash of lightning a sharp pain went through her. The aven-
ging Diana, while surrendering to her the left hand, had with
the right drawn an arrow from her quiver and plunged it into
Antiope's heart. She swayed first to the left, then to the right,
turned a little, and fell with the arrow still deep in her warm
flesh.
The monk, who, after bidding farewell to his rustic guests,
hastened back and eagerly sought his wife, found her lifeless.
With a shriek of horror he threw himself upon her and drew the
arrow from her side; a stream of blood followed. Astorre dropped
senseless.
When he recovered from his swoon, Germano was standing
over him with crossed arms. "Are you the murderer ? ” asked
(C
## p. 9976 (#384) ###########################################
9976
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
the monk. "I murder no women,” replied the other sadly. "It
is my sister who has demanded justice. ”
Astorre groped for the arrow and found it. Springing up
with a bound, and grasping the long weapon with the bloody
point, he fell in blind rage upon his old playfellow. The war.
rior shuddered slightly before the ghastly figure in black, with
disheveled hair, and crimson-stained arrow in his hand.
He retreated a step. Drawing the short sword which in place
of armor he was wearing, and warding off the arrow with it, he
said compassionately, “Go back to your cloister, Astorre, which
you should never have left. ”
Suddenly he perceived the tyrant, who, followed by the entire
company, was just entering the door opposite to them.
Ezzelin stretched out his right hand and commanded peace.
Germano dutifully lowered his weapon before his chief. The
infuriated monk seized the moment, and plunged the arrow into
the breast of the knight, whose eyes were directed toward Ezze-
lin. But he also met his death pierced by the soldier's sword,
which had been raised again with the speed of lightning.
Germano sank to the ground. The monk, supported by As
canio, made a few tottering steps toward his wife, and laying
himself by her side, mouth to mouth, expired.
The wedding guests gathered about the husband and wife,
Ezzelin gazed upon them for a moment; then knelt upon one
knee, and closed first Antiope's and then Astorre's eyes. In the
hush, through the open windows came the sound of revelry. Out
of the darkness was heard the words, “Now slumbers the monk
Astorre beside his wife Antiope,” and a distant shout of laughter.
(
»
Dante arose. "I have paid for my place by the fire,” he said,
and will now seek the blessing of sleep. May the God of peace
be with you! ” He turned and stepped toward the door, which
the page had opened, All eyes followed him, as by the dim
light of a flickering torch he slowly ascended the staircase.
Translation of Miss Sarah Holland Adams,
## p. 9976 (#385) ###########################################
## p. 9976 (#386) ###########################################
MICHEL ANGELO.
## p. 9976 (#387) ###########################################
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## p. 9976 (#388) ###########################################
CIEL ANGELO
## p. 9977 (#389) ###########################################
9977
MICHEL ANGELO
(1475-1564)
WHE most famous of Florentine artists, whose literary fame
rests on his sonnets and his letters, was born in Caprese,
Italy, March 6th, 1475. His father was Ludovico Buonarotti,
a poor gentleman of Florence, who loved to boast that he had never
added to his impoverished estates by mercantile pursuits. The story
of Michel Angelo's career as painter, sculptor, and architect, belongs
to the history of art. Under the patronage of Lorenzo de' Medici,
Angelo Doni, Pope Julius II. , and Pope Paul III. , his genius flow-
ered. In the decoration of the Sistine Chapel he seems to have put
forth his greatest energy both as poet and as painter. He described
the discomforts of working on this ceiling in a humorous sonnet
addressed to Giovanni da Pistoja; on the margin of which he drew a
little caricature of himself, lying upon his back and using his brush.
For a long time after these paintings were completed, he could read
only by holding the page above his head and raising his eyes. His
impaired sight occasioned a medical treatise on the eyes, which is
preserved in the MSS. of the Vatican. The twelve years between
1522 and 1534 he spent in Florence, occupied with sculpture and
architecture, under the capricious patronage of the Medici family.
His fine allegory of Night, sculptured upon the Medici tomb, was
celebrated in verse by the poets of the day. To Strozzi this quatrain
is attributed:-
« La Notte, che tu vedi in si dolci atti,
Dormire, fu da un angelo scolpita
In questo sasso: e perche dorme, ha vita;
Destala, se no'l credi, e parleratti. ”
[This Night, which you see sleeping in such sweet abandon, was sculptured
by an angel. She is living, although she sleeps in marble. If you doubt,
wake her: she then will speak. ]
Michel Angelo replied thus:-
«Grato mi e il sonno, e piu d'esser di sasso;
Mentre che il danno e la vergogna dura,
Non veder, non sentir m'e gran ventura;
Pero non mi destar; deh! parla basso. ”
[It is sweet to sleep, sweeter to be of marble. While evil and shame live:
it is my happiness to hear nothing and to feel nothing. Ah! speak softly, and
wake me not. )
## p. 9978 (#390) ###########################################
9978
MICHEL ANGELO
sea.
1
In 1535 he removed to Rome, where he spent the rest of his life;
dying there in 1564 at the ripe age of eighty-nine. During this period
he executed the Last Judgment,' and built the Farnese Palace.
Although Symonds considers his literary work merely “a scholastic
exercise upon the emotions, and says that “his stock in trade con-
sists of a few Platonic notions and a few Petrarchian antitheses,” the
Italian critics place Michel Angelo's sonnets immediately after those
of Dante and Petrarch. It may be mentioned here that the sculptor
was a devoted student of Dante, as his sonnets to the great poet
show. Not only did he translate into painting much symbolical
imagery of the Inferno,' but he illustrated the Divina Commedia'
in a magnificent series of drawings, which unfortunately perished at
The popular interest in so universal a genius lies not in descrip-
tions of his personality and traits of character, but in his theories
of art and life, and in those psychological moods which explain the
source of the intellectual and spiritual power expressed in his mys-
tical conceptions. These moods have free utterance in his poems,
written at all periods of his life.
The name most frequently associated with his poetry is that of
Vittoria Colonna, Marchesa di Pescara, whom he met in Rome after
he had passed the meridian of life. She had been for two years a
widow; and refusing to reward Michel Angelo's devotion by the
gift of her hand, finally entered a convent. Their friendship lasted
from 1527 to her death in 1547. Whether she was the Egeria of his
spiritual life, or a romantic love, has long been the subject of criti-
cal speculation. The first editor of Michel Angelo's poems attributed
most of his sonnets and madrigals to her inspiration; but only a few
may be thus credited with certainty. His extravagant admiration for
Tommaso dei Cavalieri, a young Roman gentleman of extraordinary
physical beauty and grace of manner,—the only person of whom
Michel Angelo ever drew a cartoon portrait,- is expressed with as
much devotion. Symonds speaks thus of Michel Angelo's ambiguous
beauty-worship: “Whether a man or a woman is in the case (for both
were probably the objects of his æsthetical admiration), the tone of
feeling, the language, and the philosophy do not vary. He uses the
same imagery, the same conceits, the same abstract ideas, for both
sexes; and adapts the leading motive which he had invented for a
person of one sex to a person of the other when it suits his purpose. ”
In his art too is found no imaginative feeling for what is specifically
feminine. With few exceptions, his women, as compared with those
of Raphael, Correggio, Titian, and Tintoretto, are really colossal
companions for primeval gods; such as, for example, his Sibyls and
Fates, which are Titanic in their majesty. Although tranquil women
of maturity exist by means of his marvelous brush and chisel, to
woman in the magic of youthful beauty his art seems insensible.
## p. 9979 (#391) ###########################################
MICHEL ANGELO
9979
The inference is, that emotionally he never feels the feminine spirit,
and reverences alone that of eternal and abstract beauty.
The literature that clusters around the name of Michel Angelo is
enormous. The chief storehouse of material is preserved in the Casa
Buonarotti in Florence. This consists of letters, poems, and memo-
randa in Michel Angelo's autograph; copies of his sonnets made by
his grandnephew and Michel Angelo the younger; and his corre-
spondence with famous contemporaries. In 1859 the British Museum
purchased a large manuscript collection of memoranda, used first
by Hermann Grimm in his Leben Michelangelos) (1860), the fifth
edition of which was published in Hanover in 1875. Public and pri-
vate libraries possess valuable data and manuscripts, more or less
employed by the latest biographers. To celebrate Michel Angelo's
fourth centenary, a volume of his Letters) was edited by Gaetano
Milanesi and published in Florence in 1875. The first edition of the
artist's poems was published in 1623 by Michel Angelo the younger,
as 'Le Rime di Michelangelo Buonarotti'; and they were known only
to the world in this distorted form until 1863, when a new edition
was brought out in Florence by Cesare Guasti. This is considered
the first classical and valuable presentation of his poetry. The
earliest lives of Michel Angelo are by Vasari, in his first edition of
the Lives of Italian Artists,' published in 1550, enlarged and repub-
lished in 1579; and by Condovi, who published his biography in 1553,
while his master was still living. Other important biographies are
by Aurelio Gotti in two volumes (Florence, 1875); by Charles Heath
Wilson (London, 1876); and by John Addington Symonds (two vol-
umes, London, 1892), which contains a bibliography, a portrait, and
valuable guidance for research upon Michel Angelo's genius, works,
and character. The same author translated his sonnets, and pub-
lished them with those of Campanella (London, 1878). His transla-
tions are used in the following selections.
A PRAYER FOR STRENGTH
B
URDENED with years and full of sinfulness,
With evil custom grown inveterate,
Both deaths I dread that close before me wait,
Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.
addressing Human Nature, says: -
Grace - Why weep you thus so grievously, fair nymph?
What seek you, and what is your cause of woe?
Human Nature -
The Master of my love in vain I seek.
I know not where the jealous Fates have hid
Him from my eager sight.
Grace -
Lament not! weep not!
Nor seek among the dead the Eternal One.
Narcissus, thy Beloved, lives.
## p. 9963 (#371) ###########################################
THE MEXICAN NUN
9963
Narcissus, brilliantly dressed and crowned as from the Resurrection, enters,
accompanied by a troop of rejoicing shepherds. Human Nature turns
and sees him.
Narcissus-
Fair maid.
Thy pearly tears are precious to my sight,
And melt my heart to pity! Why does grief
Thus flood thy gentle eyes ?
Human Nature -
I weep, my lord,
For my Narcissus. Oh, could you but tell
Me where to seek for my lost love!
Narcissus -
Dear spouse,
Has heaven's glory shining on my brow
So masked me that you know me not?
Human Nature -
O spouse adorable! My joy! My heart
Bows to the earth with its great happiness!
I kiss thy feet.
Narcissus -
No, dear one, thou must not!
A little longer must thou wait, •for I
Go now to join my Father on his throne.
Human Nature -
Thou wilt leave me here alone? Dear Lord, I faint
To think without thine arm to shelter me
My enemy the serpent may destroy me.
Enter Echo, Pride, and Self-Love
Echo - True that! for he has laid in wait for her
With wary cunning for these many years.
[Narcissus rebukes the envious nymphs, and calls on Grace to declare the
will of God. )
Narcissus Then to thy greater pain, since thou canst wish
Such evil to another, know my plan
Of safeguard for my chosen spouse. Speak, Grace,
The meaning of this parable which we
So far have acted. Tell my message.
Grace -
List
Ye all! The master I obey.
Echo -
Alas!
My woe grows heavier at thy words of dole.
Grace So shall the beauty of Narcissus bloom
In sovereign state while he enjoys the bliss
Eternally prepared for him, the king
Of happiness, dispenser of all joys,
## p. 9964 (#372) ###########################################
9964
THE MEXICAN NUN
Perfection's treasurer and crowned cause
Of wonder-making miracles. The orbs
Whose crystal radiance lights the firmament
Shall be his lofty glory's witnesses;
Their circled courses, as with pens of fire,
Shall write his deeds upon the vast of space;
The splendor of the morning stars, the flame
Of purifying fires, the storm-tossed plumes
Of ocean, the uplifted crags of earth,
And the unceasing music of the winds,
Shall praise him, and from him the myriad suns
And brilliant stars shall proudly borrow light.
The sapphire of the deep and placid lakes,
The pearly radiance of the flying mists,
Shall be the mirrors of his smile; the fields
Shall clothe themselves with flowers, and the pcaks
With snow, to imitate his glory.
The wild things of the forest and the air
From den and eyrie shall adore his name.
The silent caverns of the deep shall teem
With servants of his word. The sea itself
Shall pile its jeweled waves aloft to make
The thunderous altars of the choir of storms.
All growing things— the lofty pine, the moss
That clings about the desert rock-shall teach
His worship; him the boundless main declares,
Receiving all the waters of the earth
To give them back in helpful rain as he
Receives in adoration and gives back
In bliss.
And this has ever been since time
And movement of created things began.
For all things hold their being from his care.
Should he not care, chaos would mar the world.
This is the happy year that sways the flowers,
The fear that tells the lily to grow pale
And brings a blush upon the rose.
He came
To see in man, creation's prince, the best
Reflection of himself. God-Man, he saw,
And loved the Godlike image of himself.
Godlike to God the only worth can be.
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature. '
-
## p. 9965 (#373) ###########################################
9965
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
(1825-)
OREMOST among the German poets and novelists of our time
stand the two Swiss writers Gottfried Keller and Konrad
Ferdinand Meyer. Strongly contrasted as their lives were
in external circumstances, and widely different as were the fields from
which they chose their materials, in their artistic aims the two men
had much in common. Keller's life was a long battle with small
things, and fame was slow in coming; Meyer has led a life of literary
leisure, devoted to self-cultivation and indifferent to public recogni-
tion. But in the work of each of these poets
there is the same perfection of form and
fastidious polish of style. Keller is perhaps
more rugged and vigorous; Meyer depicts
life with the keen insight of a contemplat-
ive and poetic student of history. In both
cases the treatment is realistic. Keller's,
however, is obviously the realism of act-
ual observation and experience; Meyer's is
the realism of a plastic mind infusing life
into the facts and forms of a bygone age.
Together these two men are the chief orna-
ments of modern Swiss literature.
Konrad Ferdinand Meyer was born at K. F. MEYER
Zürich on October 12th, 1825. His younger
years were passed in Geneva and Lausanne, where he acquired com-
mand of the French language. For a time it was his intention to
study law; but after a brief experience at the University of Zürich,
he abandoned the idea. Moved solely by his own inclinations, and for
years with no other purpose than the gratification of his own tastes,
he devoted himself with scholarly ardor to the study of history. It
is a curious instance of a blind impulse guiding genius into its proper
course. Still unproductive, he went to Paris in 1857 to pursue his
historical studies, and spent the following year in Italy. Since 1875
he has lived at his country home, at Kilchberg near Zürich. His life
has been free from sordid cares, and filled chiefly with the joys of
scholarly labor and poetic creation.
## p. 9966 (#374) ###########################################
9966
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
Meyer had reached the prime of life when he first entered the
field of literature. His first public venture was a collection of Bal-
lads, which came out in 1867, when their author was in his forty-
second year.
In 1870 came a volume of poems entitled Romances
and Pictures. ' But it was not until the appearance of Hutten's Last
Days -- a highly original cycle of poems, half lyric, half epic — that
Meyer began to attract attention. This was in 1871; and in the same
year the idyllic Engelberg' was published. Herein also may be
found the epic element which reveals the mind of a poet, whose
chief intellectual delight is the study of history.
But it was the long array of his vigorous and brilliant stories that
brought to Meyer the full measure of fame he now enjoys. Der
Heilige (The Saint), in which is told the story of Thomas Becket,
is one of the most finished pieces of historical fiction in German lit-
erature. Next in finish of execution to this figure of Becket stands
that of the sombre and impressive Dante, into whose mouth, as
he sits in the halls of Cangrande, is put the thrilling tale of “The
Monk's Wedding. This book, which appeared in 1884, and (The
Temptation of Pescara' (1889), may perhaps be singled out as the
best of these historical romances; but the list of Meyer's works is a
long one, and none of them shows hasty workmanship nor flagging
powers; and the public interest remains unabated.
Meyer is a master of clear objective treatment. He never inter-
poses himself, nor intrudes historical information. As the reader
accompanies the characters through their experiences, he has only
to look about to see how things once appeared, and how men once
behaved in the dead days which the poet is re-creating. The thing
is presented as the author sees it in his plastic imagination, and the
vividness of the impression it conveys is independent of all historical
accessories and learned elucidation. Meyer is the veteran chief of
German novelistic literature at the end of the nineteenth century.
FROM "THE MONK'S WEDDING)
Copyright 1887, by Cupples & Hurd
"T
«ys it at all necessary that there should be monks ? ” whispered
a voice out of a dim corner, as if to suggest that any sort
of escape from an unnatural condition was a blessing.
The audacious question caused no shock; for at this court the
boldest discussion of religious matters was allowed, - yes, smiled
upon,- whilst a free or incautious word in regard to the person
or policy of the Emperor was certain destruction.
## p. 9967 (#375) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9967
»
Dante's eyes sought the speaker, and recognized in him a
young ecclesiastic whose fingers toyed with the heavy gold cross
he wore over his priestly robe.
“Not on my account,” said the Florentine deliberately. “May
the monks die out as soon as a race is born that understands
how to unite justice and mercy — the two highest attributes of
the human soul — which seem now to exclude one another. Until
that late hour in the world's history may the State administer the
one, and the Church the other. Since, however, the exercise of
mercy requires a thoroughly unselfish heart, the three monastic
vows are not only a proper but essential preparation; for expe-
rience has taught that total abnegation is less difficult than a
reserved and partial self-surrender. ”
“Are there not more bad than good monks ? ” persisted the
doubting ecclesiastic.
"No," said Dante, “when we take into consideration human
”
weakness; else there are more unjust than righteous judges, more
cowards than brave warriors, more bad men than good. ”
"And is not this the case ? ” asked the guest in the dim cor-
ner.
>
C
“No, certainly not,” Dante replied, a heavenly brightness sud-
denly illuminating his stern features. Is not philosophy asking
«
and striving to find out how evil came into this world? Had the
bad formed the majority, we should, on the contrary, have been
asking how good came into the world. ”
This proud enigmatical remark impressed the party forcibly,
but at the same time excited some apprehension lest the Floren-
tine was going deeper into scholasticism instead of relating his
story.
Cangrande, seeing his pretty young friend suppress a yawn,
said, “Noble Dante, are you to tell us a true story, or will you
embellish a legend current among the people; or can you not
give us a pure invention out of your own laurel-crowned head ? »
Dante replied with slow emphasis, "I evolve my story from
an inscription on a grave. ”
« On a grave! ”
« Yes, from an inscription on a gravestone which I read years
ago, when with the Franciscans at Padua. The stone was in a
corner of the cloister garden, hidden under wild rose-bushes, but
still accessible to the novices, if they crept on all fours and did
not mind scratching their cheeks with thorns. I ordered the
(
C
## p. 9968 (#376) ###########################################
9968
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
prior — or, I should say, besought him — to have the puzzling
stone removed to the library, and there commended to the inter-
est of a gray-headed custodian.
"What was on the stone ? ” interposed somewhat listlessly the
wife of the Prince.
« The inscription,” answered Dante, “was in Latin, and ran
thus:
uxore Antiope. Sepeliebat
« ( Hic jacet monachus Astorre cum
Azzolinus. ) »
“What does it mean? ” eagerly cried the lady on Cangrande's
left.
The Prince fluently translated :
:-
(
Both
Here sleeps the monk Astorre beside his wife Antiope.
buried by Ezzelin. ”
>
"Atrocious tyrant! ” exclaimed the impressible maiden: "I am
sure he had them buried alive, because they were lovers; and he
insulted the poor victims even in their graves, by styling her the
wife of the monk,' - cruel wretch that he was!
“Hardly,” said Dante: “I construe it quite differently, and
according to the history this seems improbable; for Ezzelin's
rigor was directed rather against breaches of ecclesiastical disci.
pline. He interested himself little either in the making or break-
ing of sacred vows. I take the 'sepeliebat' in a friendly sense,
and believe the meaning to be that he gave the two burial. ”
«Right,” exclaimed Cangrande. « Florentine, I agree with
you! Ezzelin was a born ruler, and as such men usually are,
somewhat harsh and violent; but nine-tenths of the crimes im-
puted to him are inventions - forgeries of the clergy and scandal-
loving people. ”
"Would it were so! ” sighed Dante; at any rate, where he
appears upon the stage in my romance, he has not yet become
the monster which the chronicle, be it true or false, pictures him
to be; his cruelty is only beginning to show itself in certain
lines about the mouth. ”
“A commanding figure,” exclaimed Cangrande enthusiastically,
desiring to bring him more palpably before the audience, with
black hair bristling round his great brow, as you paint him, in
your Twelfth Canto, among the inhabitants of hell. But whence
have you taken this dark head ? »
»
(
»
## p. 9969 (#377) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9969
"It is yours," replied Dante boldly; and Cangrande felt him.
self flattered.
"And the rest of the characters in my story," he said with
smiling menace, “I will also take from among you, if you will
allow me,” — and he turned toward his listeners: “I borrow your
names only, leaving untouched what is innermost; for that I can-
not read. ”
“My outward self I lend you gladly,” responded the Princess,
whose indifference was beginning to yield.
A murmur of intense excitement now ran through the courtly
circle, and “Thy story, Dante, thy story! ” was heard on all
sides.
«Here it is,” he said, and began :-
[Dante begins his tale with a description of a bridal party returning in
festal barges upon the waters of the Brenta to Padua, where the wedding
is to be solemnized. Umberto Vicedomini, with his three sons by a former
marriage, and his bride, Diana, occupy one barge; an accident overturns
the vessel, and the entire party is drowned, with the exception of Diana,
who is rescued by Astorre, Umberto's younger brother. The news of this acci-
dent is brought to the aged head of the house of Vicedomini, who thus sees
all his hopes of a posterity cut off, for his only surviving son has already
assumed monastic vows. Upon his willingness to renounce these vows now
depends the future of the house of the Vicedomini. The old man is in the
midst of a heated interview with the ruler Ezzelin when Diana enters his
chamber. ]
Just then he caught sight of his daughter-in-law, who had
pressed through the crowd of servants in advance of the monk,
and was standing on the threshold. Spite of his physical weak-
ness he rushed towards her, staggering; seized and wrenched her
hands apart, as if to make her responsible for the misfortune
which had befallen them.
“Where is my son, Diana ? ” he gasped out.
“He lies in the Brenta,” she answered sadly, and her blue
eyes grew dim.
"Where are my three grandchildren? ”
«In the Brenta,” she repeated.
“And you bring me yourself as a gift-you are presented to
me? ” and the old man laughed discordantly.
“Would that the Almighty,” she said slowly, "had drawn me
deeper under the waves, and that thy children stood here in my
stead! ” She was silent; then bursting into sudden anger, —
XVII-624
»
## p. 9970 (#378) ###########################################
9970
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
“Does my presence insult you, and am I a burden to you?
Impute the blame to him (pointing to the monk). He drew me
from the water when I was already dead, and restored me to
life. ”
The old man now for the first time perceived his son; and
collecting himself quickly, exhibited the powerful will which his
bitter grief seemed to have steeled rather than lamed.
"Really - he drew you out of the Brenta ? H'm! Strange.
The ways of God are marvelous! ”
He grasped the monk by the shoulder and arm at once, as if
to take possession of him body and soul, and dragged him along
to his great chair, into which the old man fell without relaxing
his pressure on the arm of his unresisting son. Diana followed,
knelt down on the other side of the chair, and leaned her head
upon the arm of it, so that only the coil of her blond hair was
visible -- like some inanimate object. Opposite the group sat Ezze-
lin, his right hand upon the rolled-up letter, like a commander-
in-chief resting upon his staff.
“My son — my own one,” whimpered the dying man, with a
tenderness in which truth and cunning mingled, my last and
oniy consolation! Thou staff and stay of my old age, thou wilt
not crumble like dust under my trembling fingers. Thou must
understand,” he went on, already in a colder and more practical
tone, “that as things are, it is not possible for thee to remain
longer in the cloister. It is according to the canons, my son,
is it not, that a monk whose father is sick unto death, or impov.
erished, should withdraw in order to nurse the author of his
days, or to till his father's acres ? But I need thee even more
pressingly: thy brothers and nephews are gone, and now thou
must keep the life torch of our house burning. Thou art a little
flame I have kindled, and I cannot suffer it to glimmer and die
out in a narrow cell. Know one thing ”— he had read in the
warm brown eyes a genuine sympathy, and the reverent bear-
ing of the monk appeared to promise blind obedience: I am
more ill than you suppose am I not, Issacher ? » He turned
to look in the face a spare little man, who, with phial and spoon
in his hands, had stept behind the chair of the old Vicedomini,
and now bowed his white head in affirmation. I travel toward
the river; but I tell thee, Astorre, if my wish is not granted,
thy father will refuse to step into Charon's boat, and will sit
cowering on the twilight strand. ”
)
1
## p. 9971 (#379) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9971
»
(
The monk stroked the feverish hand of the old man with
tenderness, but answered quietly in two words: “My vows! ”
Ezzelin unfolded the letter. «Thy vows,” said the old man in
”
a wheedling tone — “loosened strings; filed-away chains. Make a
movement and they fall. The Holy Church, to which thy obedi-
ence is due, has declared them null and void. There it stands
written," and his thin finger pointed to the parchment with the
Pope's seal.
The monk approached the governor, took the letter from him
respectfully, and read it through, closely watched the while by
four eyes. Completely dazed, he took one step backward, as if
he were standing on the top of a tower, and all at once saw the
rampart give way.
Ezzelin seized the reeling man by the arm with the curt ques-
tion, “To whom did you make your vows, monk,— to yourself,
or to the Church ? »
« To both, of course, shrieked the old man angrily: "these
are cursed subtleties.
Take care, son, or he will reduce us,
Vicedomini, to beggary. ”
Without a trace of feeling or resentment, Ezzelin laid his
right hand on his beard and swore. “If Vicedomini dies, the
monk here inherits his property; and should the family become
extinct with him, if he love me and his native city, he shall
found a hospital of such size and grandeur that the hundred
cities »
(he meant the Italian)
« will envy us.
Now, godfather,
having cleared myself from the charge of rapacity, may I put to
the monk a few questions? — have I your permission ? ”
The fury of the old man now rose to such a pitch as to bring
on a fit of convulsions; but even then he did not release the arm
of the monk.
Issacher put carefully to the pale lips a spoon filled with
some strong-smelling essence. The sufferer turned his head
away with an effort. "Leave me in peace,” he groaned: "you
,
are the governor's physician as well, and closed his eyes again.
The Jew looked at the tyrant as if to beg forgiveness for this
suspicion. «Will he return to life? ” asked Ezzelin. “I think
so,” replied the Jew, but not for long; I fear he will not live
to see the sun go down.
”
The tyrant took advantage of the moment to speak to the
monk, who was exerting himself to the utmost to restore his
father.
>>
## p. 9972 (#380) ###########################################
9972
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
((
»
(
"And whither' do your own thoughts tend, monk ? ” he in-
quired.
« They are unchanged and persistent; yet, God forgive me, I
would my father never woke again, that I should be forced to
oppose him so cruelly. If he had but received extreme unction! ”
He kissed passionately the cheek of the fainting man; who
thereupon returned to consciousness, and heaving a deep sigh,
raised his weary eyelids, from under whose gray bushy brows he
directed toward the monk a supplicating look. “How is it? ” he
asked: “to what hast thou doomed me, dearest, - to heaven, or to
hell ? ”
«Father,” prayed Astorre in a tremulous voice, "thy time has
come; only a short hour remains: banish all earthly cares and
interests, think of thy soul. See, thy priests” (he meant those
,
of the parish church) are gathered together waiting to perform
the last sacrament. ”
It was so! The door of the adjacent room had softly opened,
in which the faint glimmer of lighted candles was perceptible,
whilst a choir was intoning a prelude, and the gentle vibration of
a bell became audible.
Now the old man, who already felt his knees sinking into
Lethe's flood, clung to the monk, as once St. Peter to the Sav-
ior on the Sea of Gennesaret. “Thou wilt do it for my sake ? "
he stammered.
"If I could; if I dared,” sighed the monk. “By all that is
holy, my father, think on eternity; leave the earthly. Thine hour
is come! ”
This veiled refusal kindled the last spark of life in the old
man to a blaze. « Disobedient, ungrateful one! ” he cried.
Astorre beckoned to the priests.
"By all the devils, spare me your kneadings and salvings,"
raved the dying man. “I have nothing to gain; I am already
like one of the damned, and must remain so in the midst of
Paradise, if my son wantonly repudiates me and destroy's my
germ of life. ”
The horror-struck monk, thrilled to the soul by this frightful
blasphemy, pictured his father doomed to eternal perdition. (This
was his thought, and he was as firmly convinced of the truth of
it as I should have been in his place. ) He fell on his knees
before the old man, and in utter despair, bursting into tears,
said: “Father, I beseech thee, have pity on thyself and on me! »
D
## p. 9973 (#381) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9973
>
“Let the crafty one go his way,” whispered the tyrant.
The monk did not hear him. Again he gave the astounded
priests a sign, and the litany for the dying was about to begin.
At this the old man doubled himself up like a refractory child,
and shook his head.
“Let the sly fox go where he must,” admonished Ezzelin in
a louder tone.
"Father, father! ” sobbed the monk, his whole soul dissolved
in pity.
“Illustrious signor and Christian brother,” said the priest with
unsteady voice, “are you in the frame of mind to meet your
Creator and Savior? ” The old man took no notice.
"Are you firm as a believer in the Holy Trinity ? Answer
me, signor,” said the priest; and then turned pale as a sheet, for
«Cursed and denied be it for ever and ever,” fell from the dying
man's lips. “Cursed and— »
“No more,” cried the monk, springing to his feet. Father, I
resign myself to thy will. Do with me what you choose, if only
you will not throw yourself into the flames of hell. ”
The old man gasped as after some terrible exertion; then
gazed about him with an air of relief,- I had almost said, of
pleasure. Groping, he seized the blond hair of Diana, lifted her
up from her knees, took her right hand, - which she did not
refuse,- opened the cramped hand of the monk, and laid the
two together.
“Binding, in presence of the most holy sacrament! ” he ex-
claimed triumphantly, and blessed the pair. The monk did not
gainsay it; while Diana closed her eyes,
Now quick, reverend fathers: there is need of haste, I think,
and I am now in a Christian frame of mind. ”
The monk and his affianced bride would fain have stepped
behind the train of priests. “Stay,” muttered the dying man;
stay where my comforted eyes may look upon you until they
close in death. " Astorre and Diana were thus with clasped hands
obliged to wait and watch the expiring glance of the obstinate
old man.
The latter murmured a short confession, received the last
sacrament, and breathed his final breath as they were anointing
his feet, while the priests uttered in his already deaf ears those
sublime words, Rise, Christian Soul. ” The dead face bore the
unmistakable expression of triumphant cunning.
## p. 9974 (#382) ###########################################
9974
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
((
The tyrant sat, whilst all around were upon their knees;
and with calm attention observed the performance of the sacred
office, much like a savant studying on a sarcophagus the repre-
sentation of some religious rites of an ancient people. He now
approached the dead man and closed his eyes.
He then turned to Diana. "Noble lady,” said he, "let us
go home: your parents, even if assured of your safety, will long
to see you. "
“Prince, I thank you, and will follow,” she answered; but she
did not withdraw her hand from that of the monk, whose eyes
until then she had avoided. Now she looked her betrothed full
in the face, and said in a deep but melodious voice, whilst her
cheeks glowed:-"My lord and master, we could not let your
father's soul perish: thus have I become yours. Hold your faith
to me better than to the cloister. Your brother did not love me;
forgive me for saying it, - I speak the simple truth. You will
have in me a good and obedient wife; but I have two peculiari-
ties which you must treat with indulgence. I am hot with anger
if any attack is made on my honor or my rights, and I am most
exacting in regard to the fulfillment of a promise once made.
Even as a child I was so I have few wishes, and desire noth-
ing unreasonable: but when a thing has once been shown and
promised me, I insist upon possessing it; and I lose my faith,
and resent injustice more than other women, if the promise I
have received is not faithfully kept. But how can I allow my-
self to talk in this way to you, my lord, whom I scarcely know?
I have done. Farewell, my husband; grant me nine days to
mourn your brother. " At this she slowly released her hand from
his and disappeared with the tyrant.
Meanwhile the band of priests had borne away the corpse to
place it upon a bier in the palace chapel, and to bless it.
[In thus yielding to his father's importunities Astorre has weakened the
mainstays of his character; and if one vow may be broken, so may another
also. He loves a fair shy girl, Antiope, and marries her; but the imperious
and implacable Diana insists upon her prior rights. Contemptuously she con-
descends to return her betrothal ring if Antiope will come to her in humble
supplication. Astorre's sense of justice leads him to give his consent to this
humiliation, and Antiope now prepares to obey his wishes. This brings about
the final catastrophe. )
Antiope now hastily completed her toilet. Even the frivolous
Sotte was frightened at the pallor of the face reflected in the
## p. 9975 (#383) ###########################################
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
9975
(
<
glass. There was no sign of life in it, save the terror in the
eyes and the glistening of the firmly set teeth. A red stripe,
A
caused by Diana's blow, was visible upon her white brow.
When at last arrayed, Astorre's wife rose with beating pulse
and throbbing temples; and leaving her safe chamber, hurried
through the halls to find Diana. She was urged on by the
excitement of both hope and fear. She would fly back jubilantly,
after she had recovered the ring, to meet her husband, whom she
wished to spare the sight of her humiliation.
Soon among the masqueraders she distinguished the conspicu-
ous figure of the goddess of the chase, recognized her enemy,
and followed, as with measured steps she passed through the
main hall and retired into one of the dimly lighted small side
rooms. It seemed the goddess desired not public humiliation,
but lowliness of heart.
Quickly Antiope bowed before Diana, and forced her lips to
utter, “Will you give me the ring ? ” while she touched the pow-
erful finger.
“Humbly and penitently ? ” asked Diana.
"How else ? ” the unhappy child said feverishly. But you
trifle with me; cruelly — you have doubled up your finger! ”
Whether Antiope imagined it, or whether Diana really was
trifling with her, a finger is so easily curved! Cangrande, you
have accused me of injustice. I will not decide.
Enough! the Vicedomini raised her willowy figure, and with
flaming eyes fixed on the severe face of Diana, cried out, Will
you torture a wife, maiden ? ” Then she bent down again, and
tried with both hands to pull the ring off her finger. Like a
flash of lightning a sharp pain went through her. The aven-
ging Diana, while surrendering to her the left hand, had with
the right drawn an arrow from her quiver and plunged it into
Antiope's heart. She swayed first to the left, then to the right,
turned a little, and fell with the arrow still deep in her warm
flesh.
The monk, who, after bidding farewell to his rustic guests,
hastened back and eagerly sought his wife, found her lifeless.
With a shriek of horror he threw himself upon her and drew the
arrow from her side; a stream of blood followed. Astorre dropped
senseless.
When he recovered from his swoon, Germano was standing
over him with crossed arms. "Are you the murderer ? ” asked
(C
## p. 9976 (#384) ###########################################
9976
KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER
the monk. "I murder no women,” replied the other sadly. "It
is my sister who has demanded justice. ”
Astorre groped for the arrow and found it. Springing up
with a bound, and grasping the long weapon with the bloody
point, he fell in blind rage upon his old playfellow. The war.
rior shuddered slightly before the ghastly figure in black, with
disheveled hair, and crimson-stained arrow in his hand.
He retreated a step. Drawing the short sword which in place
of armor he was wearing, and warding off the arrow with it, he
said compassionately, “Go back to your cloister, Astorre, which
you should never have left. ”
Suddenly he perceived the tyrant, who, followed by the entire
company, was just entering the door opposite to them.
Ezzelin stretched out his right hand and commanded peace.
Germano dutifully lowered his weapon before his chief. The
infuriated monk seized the moment, and plunged the arrow into
the breast of the knight, whose eyes were directed toward Ezze-
lin. But he also met his death pierced by the soldier's sword,
which had been raised again with the speed of lightning.
Germano sank to the ground. The monk, supported by As
canio, made a few tottering steps toward his wife, and laying
himself by her side, mouth to mouth, expired.
The wedding guests gathered about the husband and wife,
Ezzelin gazed upon them for a moment; then knelt upon one
knee, and closed first Antiope's and then Astorre's eyes. In the
hush, through the open windows came the sound of revelry. Out
of the darkness was heard the words, “Now slumbers the monk
Astorre beside his wife Antiope,” and a distant shout of laughter.
(
»
Dante arose. "I have paid for my place by the fire,” he said,
and will now seek the blessing of sleep. May the God of peace
be with you! ” He turned and stepped toward the door, which
the page had opened, All eyes followed him, as by the dim
light of a flickering torch he slowly ascended the staircase.
Translation of Miss Sarah Holland Adams,
## p. 9976 (#385) ###########################################
## p. 9976 (#386) ###########################################
MICHEL ANGELO.
## p. 9976 (#387) ###########################################
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## p. 9976 (#388) ###########################################
CIEL ANGELO
## p. 9977 (#389) ###########################################
9977
MICHEL ANGELO
(1475-1564)
WHE most famous of Florentine artists, whose literary fame
rests on his sonnets and his letters, was born in Caprese,
Italy, March 6th, 1475. His father was Ludovico Buonarotti,
a poor gentleman of Florence, who loved to boast that he had never
added to his impoverished estates by mercantile pursuits. The story
of Michel Angelo's career as painter, sculptor, and architect, belongs
to the history of art. Under the patronage of Lorenzo de' Medici,
Angelo Doni, Pope Julius II. , and Pope Paul III. , his genius flow-
ered. In the decoration of the Sistine Chapel he seems to have put
forth his greatest energy both as poet and as painter. He described
the discomforts of working on this ceiling in a humorous sonnet
addressed to Giovanni da Pistoja; on the margin of which he drew a
little caricature of himself, lying upon his back and using his brush.
For a long time after these paintings were completed, he could read
only by holding the page above his head and raising his eyes. His
impaired sight occasioned a medical treatise on the eyes, which is
preserved in the MSS. of the Vatican. The twelve years between
1522 and 1534 he spent in Florence, occupied with sculpture and
architecture, under the capricious patronage of the Medici family.
His fine allegory of Night, sculptured upon the Medici tomb, was
celebrated in verse by the poets of the day. To Strozzi this quatrain
is attributed:-
« La Notte, che tu vedi in si dolci atti,
Dormire, fu da un angelo scolpita
In questo sasso: e perche dorme, ha vita;
Destala, se no'l credi, e parleratti. ”
[This Night, which you see sleeping in such sweet abandon, was sculptured
by an angel. She is living, although she sleeps in marble. If you doubt,
wake her: she then will speak. ]
Michel Angelo replied thus:-
«Grato mi e il sonno, e piu d'esser di sasso;
Mentre che il danno e la vergogna dura,
Non veder, non sentir m'e gran ventura;
Pero non mi destar; deh! parla basso. ”
[It is sweet to sleep, sweeter to be of marble. While evil and shame live:
it is my happiness to hear nothing and to feel nothing. Ah! speak softly, and
wake me not. )
## p. 9978 (#390) ###########################################
9978
MICHEL ANGELO
sea.
1
In 1535 he removed to Rome, where he spent the rest of his life;
dying there in 1564 at the ripe age of eighty-nine. During this period
he executed the Last Judgment,' and built the Farnese Palace.
Although Symonds considers his literary work merely “a scholastic
exercise upon the emotions, and says that “his stock in trade con-
sists of a few Platonic notions and a few Petrarchian antitheses,” the
Italian critics place Michel Angelo's sonnets immediately after those
of Dante and Petrarch. It may be mentioned here that the sculptor
was a devoted student of Dante, as his sonnets to the great poet
show. Not only did he translate into painting much symbolical
imagery of the Inferno,' but he illustrated the Divina Commedia'
in a magnificent series of drawings, which unfortunately perished at
The popular interest in so universal a genius lies not in descrip-
tions of his personality and traits of character, but in his theories
of art and life, and in those psychological moods which explain the
source of the intellectual and spiritual power expressed in his mys-
tical conceptions. These moods have free utterance in his poems,
written at all periods of his life.
The name most frequently associated with his poetry is that of
Vittoria Colonna, Marchesa di Pescara, whom he met in Rome after
he had passed the meridian of life. She had been for two years a
widow; and refusing to reward Michel Angelo's devotion by the
gift of her hand, finally entered a convent. Their friendship lasted
from 1527 to her death in 1547. Whether she was the Egeria of his
spiritual life, or a romantic love, has long been the subject of criti-
cal speculation. The first editor of Michel Angelo's poems attributed
most of his sonnets and madrigals to her inspiration; but only a few
may be thus credited with certainty. His extravagant admiration for
Tommaso dei Cavalieri, a young Roman gentleman of extraordinary
physical beauty and grace of manner,—the only person of whom
Michel Angelo ever drew a cartoon portrait,- is expressed with as
much devotion. Symonds speaks thus of Michel Angelo's ambiguous
beauty-worship: “Whether a man or a woman is in the case (for both
were probably the objects of his æsthetical admiration), the tone of
feeling, the language, and the philosophy do not vary. He uses the
same imagery, the same conceits, the same abstract ideas, for both
sexes; and adapts the leading motive which he had invented for a
person of one sex to a person of the other when it suits his purpose. ”
In his art too is found no imaginative feeling for what is specifically
feminine. With few exceptions, his women, as compared with those
of Raphael, Correggio, Titian, and Tintoretto, are really colossal
companions for primeval gods; such as, for example, his Sibyls and
Fates, which are Titanic in their majesty. Although tranquil women
of maturity exist by means of his marvelous brush and chisel, to
woman in the magic of youthful beauty his art seems insensible.
## p. 9979 (#391) ###########################################
MICHEL ANGELO
9979
The inference is, that emotionally he never feels the feminine spirit,
and reverences alone that of eternal and abstract beauty.
The literature that clusters around the name of Michel Angelo is
enormous. The chief storehouse of material is preserved in the Casa
Buonarotti in Florence. This consists of letters, poems, and memo-
randa in Michel Angelo's autograph; copies of his sonnets made by
his grandnephew and Michel Angelo the younger; and his corre-
spondence with famous contemporaries. In 1859 the British Museum
purchased a large manuscript collection of memoranda, used first
by Hermann Grimm in his Leben Michelangelos) (1860), the fifth
edition of which was published in Hanover in 1875. Public and pri-
vate libraries possess valuable data and manuscripts, more or less
employed by the latest biographers. To celebrate Michel Angelo's
fourth centenary, a volume of his Letters) was edited by Gaetano
Milanesi and published in Florence in 1875. The first edition of the
artist's poems was published in 1623 by Michel Angelo the younger,
as 'Le Rime di Michelangelo Buonarotti'; and they were known only
to the world in this distorted form until 1863, when a new edition
was brought out in Florence by Cesare Guasti. This is considered
the first classical and valuable presentation of his poetry. The
earliest lives of Michel Angelo are by Vasari, in his first edition of
the Lives of Italian Artists,' published in 1550, enlarged and repub-
lished in 1579; and by Condovi, who published his biography in 1553,
while his master was still living. Other important biographies are
by Aurelio Gotti in two volumes (Florence, 1875); by Charles Heath
Wilson (London, 1876); and by John Addington Symonds (two vol-
umes, London, 1892), which contains a bibliography, a portrait, and
valuable guidance for research upon Michel Angelo's genius, works,
and character. The same author translated his sonnets, and pub-
lished them with those of Campanella (London, 1878). His transla-
tions are used in the following selections.
A PRAYER FOR STRENGTH
B
URDENED with years and full of sinfulness,
With evil custom grown inveterate,
Both deaths I dread that close before me wait,
Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.
