The Cloister and the Hearth

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Theodore Gaza defended that great man with moderation; George of
Trebizond with acerbity, and retorted on Plato. Then Cardinal Bessarion,
another born Greek, resisted the said George, and his idol, in a tract
"Adversus calumniatorem Platonis."

Pugnacity, whether wise or not, is a form of vitality. Born without
controversial bile in so zealous an epoch, Francesco Colonna, a young
nobleman of Florence, lived for the arts. At twenty he turned Dominican
friar. His object was quiet study. He retired from idle company, and
faction fights, the humming and the stinging of the human hive, to St.
Dominic and the Nine Muses.

An eager student of languages, pictures, statues, chronology, coins,
and monumental inscriptions. These last loosened his faith in popular
histories.

He travelled many years in the East, and returned laden with spoils;
master of several choice MSS., and versed in Greek and Latin, Hebrew and
Syriac. He found his country had not stood still. Other lettered princes
besides Cosmo had sprung up. Alfonso King of Naples, Nicolas d'Este,
Lionel d'Este, etc. Above all, his old friend Thomas of Sarzana had been
made Pope, and had lent a mighty impulse to letters; had accumulated
5000 MSS. in the library of the Vatican, and had set Poggio to translate
Diodorus Siculus and Xenophon's Cyropaedia, Laurentius Valla to
translate Herodotus and Thucydides, Theodore Gaza, Theophrastus; George
of Trebizond, Eusebius, and certain treatises of Plato, etc. etc.

The monk found Plato and Aristotle under armistice, but Poggio and
Valla at loggerheads over verbs and nouns, and on fire with odium
philologicum. All this was heaven; and he settled down in his native
land, his life a rosy dream. None so happy as the versatile,
provided they have not their bread to make by it. And Fra Colonna was
Versatility. He knew seven or eight languages, and a little mathematics;
could write a bit, paint a bit, model a bit, sing a bit, strum a bit;
and could relish superior excellence in all these branches. For
this last trait he deserved to be as happy as he was. For, gauge the
intellects of your acquaintances, and you will find but few whose minds
are neither deaf, nor blind, nor dead to some great art or science--

"And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out."

And such of them as are conceited as well as stupid shall even parade
instead of blushing for the holes in their intellects.

A zealot in art, the friar was a sceptic in religion.

In every age there are a few men who hold the opinions of another age,
past or future. Being a lump of simplicity, his sceptism was as naif as
his enthusiasm. He affected to look on the religious ceremonies of his
day as his models, the heathen philosophers, regarded the worship of
gods and departed heroes: mummeries good for the populace. But here his
mind drew unconsciously a droll distinction. Whatever Christian ceremony
his learning taught him was of purely pagan origin, that he respected,
out of respect for antiquity; though had he, with his turn of mind,
been a pagan and its contemporary, he would have scorned it from his
philosophic heights.

Fra Colonna was charmed with his new artist, and having the run of half
the palaces in Rome, sounded his praises so, that he was soon called
upon to resign him. He told Gerard what great princes wanted him. "But I
am so happy with you, father," objected Gerard. "Fiddlestick about being
happy with me," said Fra Colonna; "you must not be happy; you must be a
man of the world; the grand lesson I impress on the young is, be a man
of the world. Now these Montesini can pay you three times as much as I
can, and they shall too-by Jupiter."

And the friar clapped a terrific price on Gerard's pen. It was acceded
to without a murmur. Much higher prices were going for copying than
authorship ever obtained for centuries under the printing press.

Gerard had three hundred crowns for Aristotle's treatise on rhetoric.

The great are mighty sweet upon all their pets, while the fancy lasts;
and in the rage for Greek MSS. the handsome writer soon became a pet,
and nobles of both sexes caressed him like a lap dog.

It would have turned a vain fellow's head; but the canny Dutchman
saw the steel hand beneath the velvet glove, and did not presume.
Nevertheless it was a proud day for him when he found himself seated
with Fra Colonna at the table of his present employer, Cardinal
Bessarion. They were about a mile from the top of that table; but never
mind, there they were and Gerard had the advantage of seeing roast
pheasants dished up with all their feathers as if they had just flown
out of a coppice instead of off the spit: also chickens cooked in
bottles, and tender as peaches. But the grand novelty was the napkins,
surpassingly fine, and folded into cocked hats, and birds' wings, and
fans, etc., instead of lying flat. This electrified Gerard; though my
readers have seen the dazzling phenomenon without tumbling backwards
chair and all.

After dinner the tables were split in pieces, and carried away, and lo,
under each was another table spread with sweetmeats. The signoras and
signorinas fell upon them and gormandized; but the signors eyed them
with reasonable suspicion.

"But, dear father," objected Gerard, "I see not the bifurcal daggers,
with which men say his excellency armeth the left hand of a man."

"Nay, 'tis the Cardinal Orsini which hath invented yon peevish
instrument for his guests to fumble their meat withal. One, being in
haste, did skewer his tongue to his palate with it, I hear; O tempora,
O mores! The ancients, reclining godlike at their feasts, how had they
spurned such pedantries."

As soon as the ladies had disported themselves among the sugar-plums,
the tables were suddenly removed, and the guests sat in a row against
the wall. Then came in, ducking and scraping, two ecclesiastics with
lutes, and kneeled at the cardinal's feet and there sang the service
of the day; then retired with a deep obeisance: In answer to which
the cardinal fingered his skull cap as our late Iron Duke his hat: the
company dispersed, and Gerard had dined with a cardinal and one that had
thrice just missed being pope.

But greater honour was in store.

One day the cardinal sent for him, and after praising the beauty of his
work took him in his coach to the Vatican; and up a private stair to a
luxurious little room, with a great oriel window. Here were inkstands,
sloping frames for writing on, and all the instruments of art. The
cardinal whispered a courtier, and presently the Pope's private
secretary appeared with a glorious grimy old MS. of Plutarch's Lives.
And soon Gerard was seated alone copying it, awe-struck, yet half
delighted at the thought that his holiness would handle his work and
read it.

The papal inkstands were all glorious externally; but within the ink
was vile. But Gerard carried ever good ink, home-made, in a dirty little
inkhorn: he prayed on his knees for a firm and skilful hand, and set to
work.

One side of his room was nearly occupied by a massive curtain divided
in the centre; but its ample folds overlapped. After a while Gerard
felt drawn to peep through that curtain. He resisted the impulse. It
returned. It overpowered him. He left Plutarch; stole across the matted
floor; took the folds of the curtain, and gently gathered them up with
his fingers, and putting his nose through the chink ran it against a
cold steel halbert. Two soldiers, armed cap-a-pie, were holding their
glittering weapons crossed in a triangle. Gerard drew swiftly back; but
in that instant he heard the soft murmur of voices, and saw a group of
persons cringing before some hidden figure.

He never repeated his attempt to pry through the guarded curtain; but
often eyed it. Every hour or so an ecclesiastic peeped in, eyed him,
chilled him, and exit. All this was gloomy, and mechanical. But the next
day a gentleman, richly armed, bounced in, and glared at him. "What is
toward here?" said he.

Gerard told him he was writing out Plutarch, with the help of the
saints. The spark said he did not know the signor in question. Gerard
explained the circumstances of time and space that had deprived the
Signor Plutarch of the advantage of the spark's conversation.

"Oh! one of those old dead Greeks they keep such a coil about."

"Ay, signor, one of them, who, being dead, yet live."

"I understand you not, young man," said the noble, with all the dignity
of ignorance. "What did the old fellow write? Love stories?" and his
eyes sparkled: "merry tales, like Boccaccio."

"Nay, lives of heroes and sages."

"Soldiers and popes?"

"Soldiers and princes."

"Wilt read me of them some day?"

"And willingly, signor. But what would they say who employ me, were I to
break off work?"

"Oh, never heed that; know you not who I am? I am Jacques Bonaventura,
nephew to his holiness the Pope, and captain of his guards. And I came
here to look after my fellows. I trow they have turned them out of
their room for you." Signor Bonaventura then hurried away. This lively
companion, however, having acquired a habit of running into that little
room, and finding Gerard good company, often looked in on him, and
chattered ephemeralities while Gerard wrote the immortal lives.

One day he came a changed and moody man, and threw himself into chair,
crying, "Ah, traitress! traitress!" Gerard inquired what was his ill?
"Traitress! traitress!" was the reply. Whereupon Gerard wrote Plutarch.
Then says Bonaventura, "I am melancholy; and for our Lady's sake read
me a story out of Ser Plutarcho, to soothe my bile: in all that Greek is
there nought about lovers betrayed?"

Gerard read him the life of Alexander. He got excited, marched about the
room, and embracing the reader, vowed to shun "soft delights," that bed
of nettles, and follow glory.

Who so happy now as Gerard? His art was honoured, and fabulous prices
paid for it; in a year or two he should return by sea to Holland, with
good store of money, and set up with his beloved Margaret in Bruges, or
Antwerp, or dear Augsburg, and end their days in peace, and love, and
healthy, happy labour. His heart never strayed an instant from her.

In his prosperity he did not forget poor Pietro. He took the Fra Colonna
to see his picture. The friar inspected it severely and closely, fell on
the artist's neck, and carried the picture to one of the Colonnas, who
gave a noble price for it.

Pietro descended to the first floor; and lived like a gentleman.

But Gerard remained in his garret. To increase his expenses would have
been to postpone his return to Margaret. Luxury had no charms for the
single-hearted one, when opposed to love.

Jacques Bonaventura made him acquainted with other gay young fellows.
They loved him, and sought to entice him into vice, and other expenses.
But he begged humbly to be excused. So he escaped that temptation. But a
greater was behind.



CHAPTER LX

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gerard listened respectfully, but when the holy friar proceeded by
analogy to imply that the moral superiority of the heathen Romans was
proportionally grand, he resisted stoutly. "Has then the world lost
by Christ His coming?" said he; but blushed, for he felt himself
reproaching his benefactor.

"Saints forbid!" said the friar. "'Twere heresy to say so." And having
made this direct concession, he proceeded gradually to evade it by
subtle circumlocution, and reached the forbidden door by the spiral back
staircase. In the midst of all which they came to a church with a knot
of persons in the porch. A demon was being exorcised within. Now Fra
Colonna had a way of uttering a curious sort of little moan, when things
Zeno or Epicurus would not have swallowed were presented to him as
facts. This moan conveyed to such as had often heard it not only strong
dissent, but pity for human credulity, ignorance, and error, especially
of course when it blinded men to the merits of Pagandom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good father," said Gerard, "how you have their names by heart. Our
northern priests have no such exquisite knowledge of the hellish
squadrons."

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

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

The friar moaned. "And you believed him?"

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

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

"Oh, a liar does not always lie."

"Ay doth he whenever he tells an improbable story to begin, and shows
you a holy relic; arms you against the Satanic host. Fiends (if any) be
not so simple. Shouldst have answered him out of antiquity--

'Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.'

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

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

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

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

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

"I am, Signora.

"'Tis well."

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

"What is your name, good youth?"

"Gerard, signora."

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

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

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

The maids assented warmly.

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

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

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

"Well, Gerardo."

"I am ready, your excellence."

"Write, then."

"I but await the words."

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

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

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

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

"But there is nothing in my heart. And sometimes I think I have got no
heart."

"What is in your mind, then?"

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

"Then why write at all?"

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

"No, signora: the last."

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

"I love him not."

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

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

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

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

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

She was so lovely and statuesque, and looked so inspired with thoughts
celestial, as she sat thus, impregnating herself with mendacity, that
Gerard forgot all, except art, and proceeded eagerly to transfer that
exquisite profile to paper.

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

"Nay, Signora," said he, a little peevishly; "for Heaven's sake change
not your posture--'twas perfect. See, you are nearly finished."

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

"How like! and done in a minute: nay, methinks her highness's chin is
not quite so."

"Oh, a touch will make that right."

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

"Peace. Can you colour, Ser Gerardo?"

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

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

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

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

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

"What letter?"

"To the Signor Orsini."

"And shall I waste my time on such vanity as writing letters--and to
that empty creature, to whom I am as indifferent as the moon? Nay, not
indifferent, for I have just discovered my real sentiments. I hate him
and despise him. Girls, I here forbid you once for all to mention that
signor's name to me again; else I'll whip you till the blood comes. You
know how I can lay on when I'm roused."

"We do. We do."

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

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

Margaret seemed nearer and nearer.


It was Holy Thursday. No work this day. Fra Colonna and Gerard sat in a
window and saw the religious processions. Their number and pious ardour
thrilled Gerard with the devotion that now seemed to animate the whole
people, lately bent on earthly joys.

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

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