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.
In sovereign state while he enjoys the bliss
Eternally prepared for him, the king
Of happiness, dispenser of all joys,
## p.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v17 - Mai to Mom
Try above all to be calmer, my poor child.
The body must be cured; the soul is ill too; but I will answer
for its cure. ”
She had risen while speaking, rolling in her fingers a piece
of paper that contained a few louis.
XVII-623
(
## p. 9954 (#362) ###########################################
9954
PROSPER MÉRIMÉE
)
one.
« Take this,” she said, “if you have any little fancy — ”slip-
ping it under the pillow.
“No, madame! ” cried Arsène impetuously, thrusting back the
paper: «I do not wish anything from you but what you have
promised. Good-by. We shall see one another no more. Have
me taken to a hospital, so that I can die without bothering any
You would never be able to make anything out of me.
A great lady like you will have prayed for me; I am content.
Adieu. ”
And turning around as much as the apparatus that held her
to the bed would permit, she hid her head in the pillow, so as
to keep from seeing anything further.
“Listen, Arsène," said Madame de Piennes in a grave tone.
“I have plans for you: I want to make an honest woman of
you.
I have confidence in your repentance.
I shall see you
often, I shall take care of you. One day you will owe me your
self-esteem,” — taking her hand, which she pressed lightly.
« You have touched me,” cried the poor girl, "you have
pressed my hand. ”
And before Madame de Piennes could withdraw her hand, she
seized it and covered it with tears and kisses.
« Calm yourself, calm yourself, my dear,” said Madame de
Piennes. “ You must not talk any more. Now I know all, and
I understand you better than you understand yourself. It is I
who am to be the doctor of your head your poor weak head.
And you must obey me -I insist upon that — just like any other
doctor. I shall send you in a priest, one of my friends. You
must listen to him. I shall choose good books for you; you must
read them. We will talk together sometimes. And when you
get better, we will busy ourselves about your future. ”
The nurse entered, fetching a vial from the druggist. Arsène
continued to weep.
Repentance was not difficult for poor Arsène, who, with the
exception of a few hours of gross pleasure, had known only the
miseries of life.
The poor girl was in a pitiable condition. It was evident
that her last hour was near. Her respiration was nothing more
than a painful rattle; and Madame de Piennes was told that sev.
eral times during the morning she had been delirious, and that
the physician did not think she could last until the next day.
Arsène, however, recognized her protectress and thanked her for
coming
(
»
## p. 9955 (#363) ###########################################
PROSPER MÉRIMÉE
9955
“You will not tire yourself any more by mounting my stairs,”
she said in a faint voice.
Every word seemed to cost her a painful effort, and exhaust
the little strength she had left. They had to bend over her to
hear her. Madame de Piennes took her hand; it was already
cold and inanimate.
Max arrived shortly after, and silently approached the bed of
the dying girl. She made him a slight sign of the head, and
noticing that he had a book in his hand, — «You will not read
to-day,” she murmured faintly.
Abbé Dubignon, who had been all the morning with Arsène,
observing with what rapidity her strength was being exhausted,
wished to use for her salvation the few moments that yet re-
mained to her. He motioned Madame de Piennes and Max aside;
and bending over the bed of suffering, he spoke to the poor
girl those solemn and consoling words that religion reserves for
such moments. In a corner of the room, madame was on her
knees praying; Max, standing at a window, seemed transformed
into a statue.
“You pardon all those who have offended you, my daughter? ”
said the priest in a moved voice.
“Yes. May they be happy," said the dying girl, making an
effort to be heard.
“Trust in the mercy of God, my daughter,” resumed the
Abbé: "repentance opens the gates of heaven. ”
For several minutes longer the Abbé continued his exhorta-
tions; then he ceased to speak, in doubt whether he had not a
corpse before him.
Madame de Piennes softly arose to her feet,
and each one remained for awhile motionless, anxiously looking at
the livid face of Arsène. Each one was holding breath, for fear
of disturbing the terrible slumber that perhaps had commenced
for her; the ticking of a watch on the stand by the bed was dis-
tinctly heard in the room.
"She has passed away, the poor young lady," at last said the
nurse, after holding her snuff-box before the lips of Arsène:
see, the glass is not dimmed. She is dead. ”
"Poor child,” cried Max, coming out of the stupor in which
he seemed sunk, what happiness has she known in this world! »
Of a sudden, as if recalled by his voice, Arsène opened her
eyes: “I have loved,” she said in a lifeless voice. “I have
loved,” she repeated with a sad smile. They were her last words.
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Grace King.
»
(
## p. 9956 (#364) ###########################################
9956
THE MEXICAN NUN
LA MONJA DE MEXICO - JUANA YÑEZ DE LA CRUZ
(1651-1695)
BY JOHN MALONE
M
Hile, in the middle of the seventeenth century, that portion
of North America which now comprises the United States
was unexplored wilderness, the empire of Spain held a
brilliant court in the city of the Montezumas. Scholars, artists,
and philosophers, boasting the
best blood of proud Castilian
races, were gathered in the
New World about the persons
who represented the Crown and
its authority. Great must have
been the surprise of the learned
and able in the imperial city of
Madrid, when in 1689, in that
city, Maria Luisa, Countess of
Parades, wife of the viceroy of
Mexico, caused to be published
a volume of poems by a native
of the wonderful country in
which Cortez and his daring fol-
lowers had set up the triumph-
ant standard of Spain. Still
greater was the wonder when
upon reading, it was found that
THE MEXICAN NUN
these poems of "La Monja
de Mexico ” (The Mexican Nun)
were brilliant enough to compare with any from the pen of the most
admired and distinguished authors of the home land. So eagerly was
the book read, and so passionately admired, that in three years it
went through as many editions, and gained for the cloistered writer
the unanimous tribute of the title “La Decima Musa” (The Tenth
Muse). Her world called her simply “The Mexican Nun”; but sub-
sequent generations have added to that title the name of «Immortal
honor of her sex and native land. ”
The distinguished Father Luis Morales, abbot of the monastery of
San Joaquin in Madrid, who approved the printing of the book, said of
## p. 9957 (#365) ###########################################
THE MEXICAN NUN
9957
it, “No greater treasure has been wafted by happy breezes from the
Indies into Spain. ”
The person whose humble state of life was thus glorified bore the
name in her convent of Sister Juana Yñez de la Cruz; and was born
on the 12th of November 1651, at a country place about forty miles
from the City of Mexico, called San Miguel de Nepanthla. Her
parents were Don Manuel Asbaje, a gentleman of good rank belong-
ing to the city of Vegara, and Doña Isabel Ramirez de Santillana,
a native of the city of Ayacapixtla. As a child the gift of poetry
approved itself in this Mexican country girl as early as her eighth
year, when it is said she accomplished the marvelous task of writing
a dramatic eulogy or Auto” in honor of the Blessed Sacrament. So
earnest was her disposition towards study, that having heard there
was a school of sciences in the City of Mexico devoted exclusively to
the education of boys, she earnestly begged her father to allow her
to assume male attire, and go to Mexico for the purpose of entering
this college. Her maternal grandmother, a resident of the City of
Mexico, learning of the child's impatience for larger opportunities of
study than were afforded by her father's house, obtained permission
to take the little one under her own roof and there superintend her
education. Finding in her grandmother's house a great store of
books, the future poetess eagerly, but with a discrimination beyond
the ordinary, absorbed a vast amount of knowledge. Under the
direction of Master Olivas, a teacher of Latin grammar, she easily
and quickly acquired a knowledge of classical authors, and became
proficient as a writer of prose and verse in the speech of Virgil.
The fame of this talented girl soon came to the ears of the vice-
roy, and caused his lady, the Marquesa de Macera, to bestow upon
the young poetess a position in the palace as one of the ladies of
honor. While occupying this distinguished place, Juana Yñez gave
so great evidence of the pre-eminence of her mental power, and was
withal so gentle and attractive, that many noble and brilliant offers
of marriage were laid at her feet.
In spite of the great praise and flattering hopes of social rank
poured daily down before her, she determined to take up a religious
life. In this she was encouraged by the direction and advice of
Father Antonio Nuñez, a very learned Jesuit, who was at that time
the confessor of the viceroy. Doña Juana at first assumed the habit
of the barefooted Carmelites in the convent of San José, of the City
of Mexico; but shortly realizing that the rigor of their rule was
too great for her, and acting upon the advice of her physician, she
removed to the house of the Jeromite nuns, where she made her sol-
emn profession before the end of her eighteenth year. For twenty-
seven years she remained in this house, devoted to the study of the
Scriptures and sacred theology, as well as mathematics, history, and
## p. 9958 (#366) ###########################################
9958
THE MEXICAN NUN
(
poetry. Her collected works, the best edition of which was published
in Madrid in the year 1725, in three quarto volumes, show that
the power of her Muse extended to all pleasing and soul-elevating
topics, whether connected with religion or with social life. Many
of her light and humorous sonnets to her private friends reveal the
very soul of wit. Her charming comedy on the obligations of hos-
pitality displays a delicate and masterful knowledge of the laws of
love and family, as well as of the somewhat severe and complicated
rules by which the Spanish comedy of the Cloak and Sword' was
constructed. So perfect is this social comedy, that it causes one to
wonder how this secluded Mexican nun could have acquired a knowl-
edge of the practical needs of the stage as complete as any that
illuminated the work of Calderon or of Lope de Vega.
The greatest triumph of her genius, however, is the Corpus Christi
play entitled “The Divine Narcissus'; in which, by a simple yet
wonderful allegory, she weaves the fable of the pagan lover into a
marvelous broidery of the life and passion of the Christ. The dar-
ing of the thought and its treatment is Shakespearean in convincing
mastery.
But it was not in her impassioned verse alone that the genius of
this remarkable woman found expression. She was an artist in paint
as well, and her own exquisitely refined features have been preserved
for us by her own hand. The vignette which is here reproduced is
after a life-size copy in oil of the portrait that she painted of her-
self. Beneath it is a Spanish inscription of direct and simple elo-
quence: -“Faithful copy of another which she herself made and
painted with her own hand. The Rev. Mother Juana Yñez de la
Cruz, Phænix of America, glorious perfection of her sex, honor of the
nation of the New World, and subject of the admiration and praises
of the Old. ”
This copy was purchased by Dr. Robert H. Lamborn, and placed
in his collection of Mexican colonial works of art in Memorial Hall,
Philadelphia
The quiet of the convent walks did not save the poetess from the
noise of envy and detraction. Many rude assaults were made upon
her name and fame; but her unassuming modesty, her virtue, and her
generous and unselfish devotion, drew finally even those who most
maligned her into the ranks of her true friends. It was about two
years before her death, and while her name and the music of her
song were being chanted in a chorus of the highest praise, that she
at once and willingly gave up all efforts toward any of the world's
works, and under the care of her old confessor, Father Nuñez,
devoted herself and her remaining years to the study and hope of
eternity. Of this time of her life Father Nuñez said, “She seemed
to long for Heaven as the white dove longs for its nest. ”
## p. 9959 (#367) ###########################################
THE MEXICAN NUN
9959
The plague broke out in the City of Mexico in the early spring of
1695; and amongst the devoted women of God who went to the care
of the sick and dying was Sister Juana Yñez. One day she came
back to her cell with the dread infection heavy upon her; and on
the 17th of April of this year, having been forty-four years and five
months amongst men, her soul departed. Her death was bemoaned
by the people of two continents, and her obsequies were attended
with almost royal honors.
Jacallilne
ON THE CONTRARIETIES OF LOVE
(SECOND SONNET)
O
NE loves me though his homage I disdain ;
And one for whom I languish mocks my smile.
To double torment thus doth pride beguile.
And make me loathe and love at once in vain;
On him who honors casting wanton stain,
And hazarding to be esteemed vile
By wooing where I am not sought, the while
I waste the patience of a gentler swain.
So must I fear despite to my good fame;
For here with vanity, with conscience there,
My blushing cheeks betray my needless shame:
'Tis I am guilty towards this guiltless pair.
For shame! to court a light-love's woeful name,
And leave an earnest lover to despair.
LEARNING AND RICHES
W"
HY should the world be apt to censure me?
Wherein have I offended that I sought
To grace my mind with jewels dearly bought,
Nor turned my heart to jeweled vanity?
From greed of riches I am fancy-free;
But deem no work of fancy fairly wrought
Till crowned with diamonds from the mine of thought,
That worth my wealth, not wealth my worth, may be.
I am not Beauty's votary. I know
Her conquests fall a spoil to age at last;
## p. 9960 (#368) ###########################################
9960
THE MEXICAN NUN
I find no joy in money's gaudy show;
For gold like chaff into the furnace cast
Fits but to feed Art's flame, and keep the glow
Of golden Truth a glory unsurpassed.
DEATH IN YOUTH
I
(
NOTED once a fair Castilian rose,
All blushing with the bloom of life new-born,
Flaunt lovingly her beauty to the morn,
Whose whisper wooed the coy bud to unclose
Her dewy petals to his kiss. Thy foes,”
I cried, “the cankering elves of darkness, scorn!
The joys of purity thy day adorn,
And guard thee through the night's despoiling woes.
And thus, though withering Death may touch thy leaf,
And in his dusky veil thy fragrance fold,
Thy youth and beauty ever smile at grief.
Thy little life and story quickly told
Make blest the teaching of a sweet belief:
'Tis fairer fortune to die young than old. ”
THE DIVINE NARCISSUS
A SACRAMENTAL PLAY
[NOTE. — The action begins with a Loa or prologue in which the Western
World and America appear as persons habited in the dress of Indians. They
are about to offer sacrifice to the god of seed-time, when Zeal, a Spanish
soldier, interrupts them, and with his armed companions endeavors to compel
them to desist. He is prevented and rebuked by Religion in the person of
a virgin, who invites the attention of all to the story of the passion of the
Divine Narcissus.
The persons of the play then take the place of those of the Loa. The
Hebrew and the Gentile as Synagogue and Gentility, in the guise of nymphs
accompanied by an unseen chorus, alternate in songs of praise, – the first to
the Divine Narcissus, the Son of God, the second to the spirit of fountains
and flowers. Human Nature, another nymph, asks them to reconcile their
songs, and declares the divinity of Narcissus and her love for him. Grace,
Echo as Angelic Nature, Pride, Self-Love, and other nymphs, together with a
band of shepherds and the chorus, take part with Human Nature and her
loving Narcissus in acting a beautiful allegory in which the heathen myth is
wedded to Christ's passion. Echo, as Angelic Nature, sues in vain for the
love of Narcissus, and Human Nature comes to the grove to seek him. On
her coming she gives voice to the lament on the following page. ?
## p. 9961 (#369) ###########################################
THE MEXICAN NUN
9961
HU
Enter Human Nature
UMAN NATURE
Ah, weary me! my perilous quest
I follow still with faith untired.
My wandering steps may have no rest
Until I find my well-desired,
My loved Narcissus, whom in vain
I seek through shady grove and sunny plain.
Hope leads me to this pleasant glade,
With promise of my lost one's sight.
If I may trust her gentle aid,
His presence caused the sweet delight
Which beams in every fragrant flower,
And sets a-tremble all this leafy bower.
How many days, alas! have I
The woodland, flower by flower, searched
With many a heart-consuming sigh,
By thorns empierced, by slime besmirched;
Each woe to new hope giving birth!
Ages my days, my pilgrimage the earth!
My past declares our sacred troth;
The paths I've trod with ceaseless pain,
My sighs and groans commingling both
With tears that wet my cheeks like rain!
Nay, slavery and prison oft
My unforgetting fealty madly scoffed !
Once was I from his city driven,
E'en by the servants of his power,-
My mantle torn, my sceptre riven.
The watchers of his warden tower
My shoulders scourged with whips of flame,
And thrust me forth with Sin and Evil Fame,
O nymphs, who grace this fair retreat!
Your sympathy I pray impart:
Should you my soul's Beloved meet,
Tell him the longings of my heart;
The patience of my passion tell,
My tortured spirit and my anguish fell.
If sign you need my Loved to know,
His brow is fair as rosy morn,
His bosom whiter than the snow,
With light like that by jasper borne.
## p. 9962 (#370) ###########################################
9962
THE MEXICAN NUN
His eyes are limpid as the dove's,
And all their deep, unfathomed gleams are Love's.
His breath is like the fragrance thrown
From rarest incense; and his hand
Is jeweled with the jacynth stone,
The badge of Glory's knightly band,
The jewel of the sigh and tear,-
The crest of all who triumph over fear.
He stands as stately as the shaft
That lifts the temple dome on high;
His graceful gestures gently waft
A spell o'er every gazer's eye.
O maids! perfections all combine
To mark the person of my Love divine! -
Among the myriads you will know him
O'er all the better or the worse;
His god-like form will ever show him
The flower of the universe.
No other shepherd is there, here
Or elsewhere, equal to this Shepherd dear!
Then tell me where my soul's adored
His swift and busy footsteps turns!
What shady bower he fleeth toward
When high the midday sunlight burns!
For sad and weary is my heart
With wandering through the forest's every part.
[The action passes naturally to a culmination in the following scene of
the resurrection of Narcissus after his supposed death in the fountain. ]
Enter about the Fountain, Human Nature with all the nymphs and shep-
herds. They beurail the death of Narcissus. 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!
The body must be cured; the soul is ill too; but I will answer
for its cure. ”
She had risen while speaking, rolling in her fingers a piece
of paper that contained a few louis.
XVII-623
(
## p. 9954 (#362) ###########################################
9954
PROSPER MÉRIMÉE
)
one.
« Take this,” she said, “if you have any little fancy — ”slip-
ping it under the pillow.
“No, madame! ” cried Arsène impetuously, thrusting back the
paper: «I do not wish anything from you but what you have
promised. Good-by. We shall see one another no more. Have
me taken to a hospital, so that I can die without bothering any
You would never be able to make anything out of me.
A great lady like you will have prayed for me; I am content.
Adieu. ”
And turning around as much as the apparatus that held her
to the bed would permit, she hid her head in the pillow, so as
to keep from seeing anything further.
“Listen, Arsène," said Madame de Piennes in a grave tone.
“I have plans for you: I want to make an honest woman of
you.
I have confidence in your repentance.
I shall see you
often, I shall take care of you. One day you will owe me your
self-esteem,” — taking her hand, which she pressed lightly.
« You have touched me,” cried the poor girl, "you have
pressed my hand. ”
And before Madame de Piennes could withdraw her hand, she
seized it and covered it with tears and kisses.
« Calm yourself, calm yourself, my dear,” said Madame de
Piennes. “ You must not talk any more. Now I know all, and
I understand you better than you understand yourself. It is I
who am to be the doctor of your head your poor weak head.
And you must obey me -I insist upon that — just like any other
doctor. I shall send you in a priest, one of my friends. You
must listen to him. I shall choose good books for you; you must
read them. We will talk together sometimes. And when you
get better, we will busy ourselves about your future. ”
The nurse entered, fetching a vial from the druggist. Arsène
continued to weep.
Repentance was not difficult for poor Arsène, who, with the
exception of a few hours of gross pleasure, had known only the
miseries of life.
The poor girl was in a pitiable condition. It was evident
that her last hour was near. Her respiration was nothing more
than a painful rattle; and Madame de Piennes was told that sev.
eral times during the morning she had been delirious, and that
the physician did not think she could last until the next day.
Arsène, however, recognized her protectress and thanked her for
coming
(
»
## p. 9955 (#363) ###########################################
PROSPER MÉRIMÉE
9955
“You will not tire yourself any more by mounting my stairs,”
she said in a faint voice.
Every word seemed to cost her a painful effort, and exhaust
the little strength she had left. They had to bend over her to
hear her. Madame de Piennes took her hand; it was already
cold and inanimate.
Max arrived shortly after, and silently approached the bed of
the dying girl. She made him a slight sign of the head, and
noticing that he had a book in his hand, — «You will not read
to-day,” she murmured faintly.
Abbé Dubignon, who had been all the morning with Arsène,
observing with what rapidity her strength was being exhausted,
wished to use for her salvation the few moments that yet re-
mained to her. He motioned Madame de Piennes and Max aside;
and bending over the bed of suffering, he spoke to the poor
girl those solemn and consoling words that religion reserves for
such moments. In a corner of the room, madame was on her
knees praying; Max, standing at a window, seemed transformed
into a statue.
“You pardon all those who have offended you, my daughter? ”
said the priest in a moved voice.
“Yes. May they be happy," said the dying girl, making an
effort to be heard.
“Trust in the mercy of God, my daughter,” resumed the
Abbé: "repentance opens the gates of heaven. ”
For several minutes longer the Abbé continued his exhorta-
tions; then he ceased to speak, in doubt whether he had not a
corpse before him.
Madame de Piennes softly arose to her feet,
and each one remained for awhile motionless, anxiously looking at
the livid face of Arsène. Each one was holding breath, for fear
of disturbing the terrible slumber that perhaps had commenced
for her; the ticking of a watch on the stand by the bed was dis-
tinctly heard in the room.
"She has passed away, the poor young lady," at last said the
nurse, after holding her snuff-box before the lips of Arsène:
see, the glass is not dimmed. She is dead. ”
"Poor child,” cried Max, coming out of the stupor in which
he seemed sunk, what happiness has she known in this world! »
Of a sudden, as if recalled by his voice, Arsène opened her
eyes: “I have loved,” she said in a lifeless voice. “I have
loved,” she repeated with a sad smile. They were her last words.
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Grace King.
»
(
## p. 9956 (#364) ###########################################
9956
THE MEXICAN NUN
LA MONJA DE MEXICO - JUANA YÑEZ DE LA CRUZ
(1651-1695)
BY JOHN MALONE
M
Hile, in the middle of the seventeenth century, that portion
of North America which now comprises the United States
was unexplored wilderness, the empire of Spain held a
brilliant court in the city of the Montezumas. Scholars, artists,
and philosophers, boasting the
best blood of proud Castilian
races, were gathered in the
New World about the persons
who represented the Crown and
its authority. Great must have
been the surprise of the learned
and able in the imperial city of
Madrid, when in 1689, in that
city, Maria Luisa, Countess of
Parades, wife of the viceroy of
Mexico, caused to be published
a volume of poems by a native
of the wonderful country in
which Cortez and his daring fol-
lowers had set up the triumph-
ant standard of Spain. Still
greater was the wonder when
upon reading, it was found that
THE MEXICAN NUN
these poems of "La Monja
de Mexico ” (The Mexican Nun)
were brilliant enough to compare with any from the pen of the most
admired and distinguished authors of the home land. So eagerly was
the book read, and so passionately admired, that in three years it
went through as many editions, and gained for the cloistered writer
the unanimous tribute of the title “La Decima Musa” (The Tenth
Muse). Her world called her simply “The Mexican Nun”; but sub-
sequent generations have added to that title the name of «Immortal
honor of her sex and native land. ”
The distinguished Father Luis Morales, abbot of the monastery of
San Joaquin in Madrid, who approved the printing of the book, said of
## p. 9957 (#365) ###########################################
THE MEXICAN NUN
9957
it, “No greater treasure has been wafted by happy breezes from the
Indies into Spain. ”
The person whose humble state of life was thus glorified bore the
name in her convent of Sister Juana Yñez de la Cruz; and was born
on the 12th of November 1651, at a country place about forty miles
from the City of Mexico, called San Miguel de Nepanthla. Her
parents were Don Manuel Asbaje, a gentleman of good rank belong-
ing to the city of Vegara, and Doña Isabel Ramirez de Santillana,
a native of the city of Ayacapixtla. As a child the gift of poetry
approved itself in this Mexican country girl as early as her eighth
year, when it is said she accomplished the marvelous task of writing
a dramatic eulogy or Auto” in honor of the Blessed Sacrament. So
earnest was her disposition towards study, that having heard there
was a school of sciences in the City of Mexico devoted exclusively to
the education of boys, she earnestly begged her father to allow her
to assume male attire, and go to Mexico for the purpose of entering
this college. Her maternal grandmother, a resident of the City of
Mexico, learning of the child's impatience for larger opportunities of
study than were afforded by her father's house, obtained permission
to take the little one under her own roof and there superintend her
education. Finding in her grandmother's house a great store of
books, the future poetess eagerly, but with a discrimination beyond
the ordinary, absorbed a vast amount of knowledge. Under the
direction of Master Olivas, a teacher of Latin grammar, she easily
and quickly acquired a knowledge of classical authors, and became
proficient as a writer of prose and verse in the speech of Virgil.
The fame of this talented girl soon came to the ears of the vice-
roy, and caused his lady, the Marquesa de Macera, to bestow upon
the young poetess a position in the palace as one of the ladies of
honor. While occupying this distinguished place, Juana Yñez gave
so great evidence of the pre-eminence of her mental power, and was
withal so gentle and attractive, that many noble and brilliant offers
of marriage were laid at her feet.
In spite of the great praise and flattering hopes of social rank
poured daily down before her, she determined to take up a religious
life. In this she was encouraged by the direction and advice of
Father Antonio Nuñez, a very learned Jesuit, who was at that time
the confessor of the viceroy. Doña Juana at first assumed the habit
of the barefooted Carmelites in the convent of San José, of the City
of Mexico; but shortly realizing that the rigor of their rule was
too great for her, and acting upon the advice of her physician, she
removed to the house of the Jeromite nuns, where she made her sol-
emn profession before the end of her eighteenth year. For twenty-
seven years she remained in this house, devoted to the study of the
Scriptures and sacred theology, as well as mathematics, history, and
## p. 9958 (#366) ###########################################
9958
THE MEXICAN NUN
(
poetry. Her collected works, the best edition of which was published
in Madrid in the year 1725, in three quarto volumes, show that
the power of her Muse extended to all pleasing and soul-elevating
topics, whether connected with religion or with social life. Many
of her light and humorous sonnets to her private friends reveal the
very soul of wit. Her charming comedy on the obligations of hos-
pitality displays a delicate and masterful knowledge of the laws of
love and family, as well as of the somewhat severe and complicated
rules by which the Spanish comedy of the Cloak and Sword' was
constructed. So perfect is this social comedy, that it causes one to
wonder how this secluded Mexican nun could have acquired a knowl-
edge of the practical needs of the stage as complete as any that
illuminated the work of Calderon or of Lope de Vega.
The greatest triumph of her genius, however, is the Corpus Christi
play entitled “The Divine Narcissus'; in which, by a simple yet
wonderful allegory, she weaves the fable of the pagan lover into a
marvelous broidery of the life and passion of the Christ. The dar-
ing of the thought and its treatment is Shakespearean in convincing
mastery.
But it was not in her impassioned verse alone that the genius of
this remarkable woman found expression. She was an artist in paint
as well, and her own exquisitely refined features have been preserved
for us by her own hand. The vignette which is here reproduced is
after a life-size copy in oil of the portrait that she painted of her-
self. Beneath it is a Spanish inscription of direct and simple elo-
quence: -“Faithful copy of another which she herself made and
painted with her own hand. The Rev. Mother Juana Yñez de la
Cruz, Phænix of America, glorious perfection of her sex, honor of the
nation of the New World, and subject of the admiration and praises
of the Old. ”
This copy was purchased by Dr. Robert H. Lamborn, and placed
in his collection of Mexican colonial works of art in Memorial Hall,
Philadelphia
The quiet of the convent walks did not save the poetess from the
noise of envy and detraction. Many rude assaults were made upon
her name and fame; but her unassuming modesty, her virtue, and her
generous and unselfish devotion, drew finally even those who most
maligned her into the ranks of her true friends. It was about two
years before her death, and while her name and the music of her
song were being chanted in a chorus of the highest praise, that she
at once and willingly gave up all efforts toward any of the world's
works, and under the care of her old confessor, Father Nuñez,
devoted herself and her remaining years to the study and hope of
eternity. Of this time of her life Father Nuñez said, “She seemed
to long for Heaven as the white dove longs for its nest. ”
## p. 9959 (#367) ###########################################
THE MEXICAN NUN
9959
The plague broke out in the City of Mexico in the early spring of
1695; and amongst the devoted women of God who went to the care
of the sick and dying was Sister Juana Yñez. One day she came
back to her cell with the dread infection heavy upon her; and on
the 17th of April of this year, having been forty-four years and five
months amongst men, her soul departed. Her death was bemoaned
by the people of two continents, and her obsequies were attended
with almost royal honors.
Jacallilne
ON THE CONTRARIETIES OF LOVE
(SECOND SONNET)
O
NE loves me though his homage I disdain ;
And one for whom I languish mocks my smile.
To double torment thus doth pride beguile.
And make me loathe and love at once in vain;
On him who honors casting wanton stain,
And hazarding to be esteemed vile
By wooing where I am not sought, the while
I waste the patience of a gentler swain.
So must I fear despite to my good fame;
For here with vanity, with conscience there,
My blushing cheeks betray my needless shame:
'Tis I am guilty towards this guiltless pair.
For shame! to court a light-love's woeful name,
And leave an earnest lover to despair.
LEARNING AND RICHES
W"
HY should the world be apt to censure me?
Wherein have I offended that I sought
To grace my mind with jewels dearly bought,
Nor turned my heart to jeweled vanity?
From greed of riches I am fancy-free;
But deem no work of fancy fairly wrought
Till crowned with diamonds from the mine of thought,
That worth my wealth, not wealth my worth, may be.
I am not Beauty's votary. I know
Her conquests fall a spoil to age at last;
## p. 9960 (#368) ###########################################
9960
THE MEXICAN NUN
I find no joy in money's gaudy show;
For gold like chaff into the furnace cast
Fits but to feed Art's flame, and keep the glow
Of golden Truth a glory unsurpassed.
DEATH IN YOUTH
I
(
NOTED once a fair Castilian rose,
All blushing with the bloom of life new-born,
Flaunt lovingly her beauty to the morn,
Whose whisper wooed the coy bud to unclose
Her dewy petals to his kiss. Thy foes,”
I cried, “the cankering elves of darkness, scorn!
The joys of purity thy day adorn,
And guard thee through the night's despoiling woes.
And thus, though withering Death may touch thy leaf,
And in his dusky veil thy fragrance fold,
Thy youth and beauty ever smile at grief.
Thy little life and story quickly told
Make blest the teaching of a sweet belief:
'Tis fairer fortune to die young than old. ”
THE DIVINE NARCISSUS
A SACRAMENTAL PLAY
[NOTE. — The action begins with a Loa or prologue in which the Western
World and America appear as persons habited in the dress of Indians. They
are about to offer sacrifice to the god of seed-time, when Zeal, a Spanish
soldier, interrupts them, and with his armed companions endeavors to compel
them to desist. He is prevented and rebuked by Religion in the person of
a virgin, who invites the attention of all to the story of the passion of the
Divine Narcissus.
The persons of the play then take the place of those of the Loa. The
Hebrew and the Gentile as Synagogue and Gentility, in the guise of nymphs
accompanied by an unseen chorus, alternate in songs of praise, – the first to
the Divine Narcissus, the Son of God, the second to the spirit of fountains
and flowers. Human Nature, another nymph, asks them to reconcile their
songs, and declares the divinity of Narcissus and her love for him. Grace,
Echo as Angelic Nature, Pride, Self-Love, and other nymphs, together with a
band of shepherds and the chorus, take part with Human Nature and her
loving Narcissus in acting a beautiful allegory in which the heathen myth is
wedded to Christ's passion. Echo, as Angelic Nature, sues in vain for the
love of Narcissus, and Human Nature comes to the grove to seek him. On
her coming she gives voice to the lament on the following page. ?
## p. 9961 (#369) ###########################################
THE MEXICAN NUN
9961
HU
Enter Human Nature
UMAN NATURE
Ah, weary me! my perilous quest
I follow still with faith untired.
My wandering steps may have no rest
Until I find my well-desired,
My loved Narcissus, whom in vain
I seek through shady grove and sunny plain.
Hope leads me to this pleasant glade,
With promise of my lost one's sight.
If I may trust her gentle aid,
His presence caused the sweet delight
Which beams in every fragrant flower,
And sets a-tremble all this leafy bower.
How many days, alas! have I
The woodland, flower by flower, searched
With many a heart-consuming sigh,
By thorns empierced, by slime besmirched;
Each woe to new hope giving birth!
Ages my days, my pilgrimage the earth!
My past declares our sacred troth;
The paths I've trod with ceaseless pain,
My sighs and groans commingling both
With tears that wet my cheeks like rain!
Nay, slavery and prison oft
My unforgetting fealty madly scoffed !
Once was I from his city driven,
E'en by the servants of his power,-
My mantle torn, my sceptre riven.
The watchers of his warden tower
My shoulders scourged with whips of flame,
And thrust me forth with Sin and Evil Fame,
O nymphs, who grace this fair retreat!
Your sympathy I pray impart:
Should you my soul's Beloved meet,
Tell him the longings of my heart;
The patience of my passion tell,
My tortured spirit and my anguish fell.
If sign you need my Loved to know,
His brow is fair as rosy morn,
His bosom whiter than the snow,
With light like that by jasper borne.
## p. 9962 (#370) ###########################################
9962
THE MEXICAN NUN
His eyes are limpid as the dove's,
And all their deep, unfathomed gleams are Love's.
His breath is like the fragrance thrown
From rarest incense; and his hand
Is jeweled with the jacynth stone,
The badge of Glory's knightly band,
The jewel of the sigh and tear,-
The crest of all who triumph over fear.
He stands as stately as the shaft
That lifts the temple dome on high;
His graceful gestures gently waft
A spell o'er every gazer's eye.
O maids! perfections all combine
To mark the person of my Love divine! -
Among the myriads you will know him
O'er all the better or the worse;
His god-like form will ever show him
The flower of the universe.
No other shepherd is there, here
Or elsewhere, equal to this Shepherd dear!
Then tell me where my soul's adored
His swift and busy footsteps turns!
What shady bower he fleeth toward
When high the midday sunlight burns!
For sad and weary is my heart
With wandering through the forest's every part.
[The action passes naturally to a culmination in the following scene of
the resurrection of Narcissus after his supposed death in the fountain. ]
Enter about the Fountain, Human Nature with all the nymphs and shep-
herds. They beurail the death of Narcissus. 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!
