"You should have appealed to Cupid!" said the cardinal, laughing. "In
such a case aid could come only from the god of ancient Rome, not of the
modern!"
The old man noticed not his words. Wholly absorbed in his reminiscences,
he listened only to the voice of his own breast, saw only the form of
the beautiful woman he had once so dearly loved!
"God listened not to my fervent prayers," he continued, with a sigh, "or
perhaps my stormily beating heart heard not the voice of God, because I
listened only to her; because with intoxicated senses I was listening
to the modest, childishly pure confession which she, kneeling in the
confessional, was whispering in my ears; because I felt her breath
upon my cheeks and in every trembling nerve of my being. And one day,
overcome by his glowing passion, the monk so far forgot his sworn duty
as to confess his immodest and insane love for the wife of another man!"
"Ah, she was, then, married?" remarked the cardinal.
"Yes, she was married; sold by her own parents, sacrificed at the shrine
of mammon, married to a man whom she did not and could not love, and who
pursued her with an insane jealousy. Ah, she suffered and suffered with
the uncomplaining calmness of an angel. And I, did I not also suffer? We
wept together, we complained together, until our hearts at length forgot
complaining, and an unspeakable, a terrible happiness, made us forget
our troubles. I had forgotten all--my God, my clerical vows; she also
had forgotten all--her husband, her vow of fidelity; and if a thought of
these things sometimes intruded upon our moments of happiness, it only
caused us to plunge into new delights, and to lull ourselves anew into a
blessed forgetfulness!"
"And the good, jealous husband remarked nothing?" asked the cardinal.
"He remarked nothing! He loved me, he confided in me, he called me his
friend; and when he was compelled to take a long journey, he confided to
me his house and his wife, establishing me as the guard of her virtue!"
The cardinal broke out into loud laughter. "These good husbands," said
he, "they are all alike to a hair. Every one has a friend in whom he
confides, and it is that very friend who betrays him. They must all
fulfil their destinies, these good husbands! Relate further, holy
father! Your story is very entertaining. I am curious to hear the end!"
"The end was terrible, replete with horror and shame," said the pope.
"We lived blessed days, heavenly nights. Oh, we were so happy that we
hardly had a thought for our criminality, but only for our love. One
night there was a knocking at the closed door of the house, and we
shudderingly recognized the voice of the husband demanding admission."