and wiped his forehead, from which great drops of sweat fell. I had fully as many on my face, and other drops in my eyes.

"I began again:

"It seems to me those citizens did not wish to do this business on land: they thought that here it would be kept more quiet. But it is very hard on me, my child; for though you are a good child, I cannot but obey. The sentence of death is there all regular and correct, the order of execution signed with flourish and seal. Nothing has been left out.'

"He bowed to me politely, blushing.

"I ask for nothing, captain,' he said in a voice as sweet as usual. I should be distressed to make you fail in your duty. I only want to speak a little with Laure, and pray you to protect her in case she should survive me, which I do not believe she will.'

"Oh, as for that, it's all right, my boy: if it does not displease you, I shall take her to her family on my return to France, and I shall only leave her when she no longer cares to see me. But to my mind, you may flatter yourself that she will never recover from that stroke, poor little woman!'

"My brave captain, you will suffer more than I in what remains for you to do, I feel sure; but what can we do? I may count upon you to keep for her all that belongs to me, to protect her, to see that she receives what her old mother may leave her, may I not?- to guarantee her life, her honor? And also to see that her health is cared for. See, I must tell you further that she is very delicate,' he added in a lower voice: 'her chest is often affected so that she faints many times a day; she must always wrap herself well. But you will replace her father, her mother, and me, as much as possible, will you not? If she could keep her rings, which her mother gave her, I should be very glad. But if it is necessary to sell them for her, it must be done. My poor Laurette! see how beautiful she is.'

"I pressed his hand as a friend; but he still held mine, and looked at me in a curious way.

"Look here: if I have any advice to give you,' I added, 'it is not to speak to her about it. We will arrange the thing so that she shall not know it, or you either, be sure of that: that concerns me.'

"Ah! that is different,' said he: 'I did not know. That would be better indeed. Besides, good-bys, good-bys, they weaken one.'

"Yes, yes,' I said to him, 'do not be a child: it is better so. Do not embrace her, my friend; do not embrace her if you can help it, or you are lost.'

"It seemed to me that he did not keep the secret well; for they walked arm in arm during a quarter of an hour.

"Night came all of a sudden. It was the moment I had resolved to take. But that moment has lasted for me up to this day, and I shall drag it after me all my life, like a ball."

Here the old commandant was forced to stop. I was careful not to speak, for fear of turning the course of his ideas; he began again, striking himself on the breast:

"That moment, I tell you—I cannot yet understand it. I felt a fury seizing me by the hair; and at the same time I do not know what made me obey, and pushed me on. I called the officers, and said to one of them, 'Come, a skiff overboard, as we are now executioners! You will put that woman into it, you will take her farther and farther away until you hear gun-shots! Then you will return.' To obey a piece of paper! for after all, that was what it came to. There must have been something in the air which pushed me on. I saw from afar the young man — oh, it was horrible to see - kneel before his Laurette, and kiss her knees, her feet.

"These small boats hold six men," he continued. "They threw themselves into it, and carried Laure off with them, without her having time to cry or speak. Oh! there are things for which no honest man can console himself if he has caused them. There is no use in saying one forgets such things.

"I was speaking to you still, I think, of the little Laurette! Poor woman! How stupid some men are in this world! The officer was fool enough to steer the boat before the brig. After this, it is right to say we cannot foresee everything. I counted. upon night to hide the business; and I did not count upon the light of twelve guns fired all at once. And, ma foi! from the boat she saw her husband fall into the sea, shot.

"If there is a God up there, he knows how what I am going to tell you happened; as for me, I do not know, but it was seen. and heard, as I see and hear you. At the moment of the shot she raised her hand to her head as if a ball had struck her brow, and sat in the boat without fainting, without crying, without speaking, and returned to the brig when they wanted, and as they wanted. I went to her, and spoke to her for a long time,

and as well as I could. She seemed to listen to me, and looked me in the face, rubbing her forehead. She did not understand, and her brow was red, and her face all pale. She trembled all over as though afraid of every one. That trembling remains. still with her. She is still the same poor little one: idiot, or imbecile, or crazy, as you choose. Never has a word been drawn. from her, except when she asks to have taken out what she has in her head.

"From that moment I became as sad as she; and I felt something in me that said to me, 'Stay by her the rest of your days, and take care of her.' I have done it. When I returned to France, I asked to pass with the same rank into the land troops; having a hatred to the sea, because I had thrown into it innocent blood. I sought for Laure's family. Her mother was dead. Her sisters, to whom I took her insane, would have none of her, and proposed to put her into Charenton. I turned my back on them, and kept her with me.

"Ah! my God, comrade, if you wish to see her, it rests only with yourself."

"Is she in there?" I asked.

"Certainly, here! Wait! ho! ho! mule." And he stopped his poor mule, which seemed relieved at the command. At the same time he raised the oilcloth of his little cart, as if to arrange the straw which almost filled it; and I saw something very painful. I saw two blue eyes, large beyond measure, admirable in shape, looking out of a pale emaciated face, inundated with straight light hair. She looked at us a moment, trembled, smiled faintly I noticed with astonishment that on her long fingers she had two diamond rings.

at me.

PASQUALE VILLARI

(1827-1914)

T HAS been said that the history of any given nation can be clearest understood and best written by a member of that

nation, as obviously fitted by temperament to enter into that sympathy with the past which is the first requisite of the historian. The truth of this is exemplified in the case of Pasquale Villari, a modern Italian historian, whose noted lives of Savonarola and of Machiavelli owe their value as much to the author's comprehension of the Italian temperament as to his thorough and extensive scholarship. The first volume of the Life and Times of Savonarola' was published in 1859, the second in 1861. In writing this history, Villari had to deal with one of the most complex periods of Italian development, when the Renaissance was approaching its zenith, introducing into European life the elements out of which the modern world was to be formed. Like other transitional periods, it was fraught with much that seems inexplicable and contradictory, even to a far-removed generation; furthermore, Villari had to treat of a character concerning the estimate of whose place and work in the world a historian might easily go astray. Savonarola in his perfect simplicity is one of the most unintelligible figures of history, when regarded, as is usually the case, as a mediæval friar of a profound and mystic devotional genius. Villari does not question the genius, but he places Savonarola where he belongs, in the modern and not in the medieval world.

"It cannot be denied that he had the spirit of an innovator; and indeed, the main purpose of our work has been to insist on this point. Savonarola was the first to raise the standard announcing the uprisal of the truly original thought of the Renaissance at the close of the great epoch of humanistic learning. He was the first man of the fifteenth century to realize that the human race was palpitating with the throes of a new life; and his words were loudly echoed by that portion of the Italian people still left untainted by the prevalent corruption. He accordingly merits the title of prophet of the new civil

ization.

Columbus discovered the paths of the sea, Savonarola those of the soul; he endeavored to conciliate reason with faith, religion with liberty. His work may be ranked with that of the Council of Constance, of Dante Alighieri, of Arnaldo of Brescia: he aspired to the reform of Christianity and Catholicism that has been the constant ideal of the greatest minds of Italy.»

Villari thus renders an enormous service to the life and work of Savonarola. Seen in this light, the Dominican friar of San Marco becomes the embodiment of the better elements of the Renaissance; he perished because his environment was chiefly made up of the lower elements of that great growth in the direction of the new world. A Florence leavened by the Medici surrounded the prophet. Villari has described this environment with wonderful penetration, using the slightest details as explanatory of the central figure. For these reasons his 'Life of Savonarola' is pre-eminent among the other biographies of the great Dominican.

In his 'Niccolo Machiavelli and His Times,' he approaches his subject in the same rational and sympathetic manner. The first volume of this work is devoted to a survey of the principal Italian States, Milan, Florence, Venice, Rome, and Naples,-of the political condition of Italy at the end of the fifteenth century, and of the literature of the period. In this way he prepares the reader for a comprehension of the character of Machiavelli, by the comprehension of the social and political conditions which produced him. In his own words, he "studied Machiavellism before Machiavelli.» His estimate of the great politician is singularly original and striking: he proceeds upon the assumption that Machiavelli's noted maxim, "The end justifies the means," was but a corollary to a much more comprehensive principle,-namely, that the whole is greater than the parts; that the welfare of society is of more importance than the welfare of the individual. He first points out that the political and social state of the Italy of Machiavelli's time was directly productive of the theories of statecraft embodied in The Prince.' "All private relations were ruled by Christian morality, or at all events professed unquestioning adherence to its precepts; but it was forsaken in public life, where it was supposed to have no practical value. Good faith, loyalty, and Christian goodness would have subjected to certain destruction any prince or government that should have actually obeyed their dictates in political matters. The State would have certainly fallen a prey to the enemy; would perhaps have dissolved into anarchy." Machiavelli "clearly saw that statecraft has ways and means of its own, which are not the ways and means of private morality: that on the contrary, the morality of private life may sometimes check a statesman in mid-career, and render him vacillating, without his being either a good or a bad man; and that it is mainly vacillation of this kind that leads to the downfall of States. There must be no vacillation, he said, but a daring adoption of the measures demanded by the nature of events. Such measures will always be justified when the end is obtained. And the end in view must be the welfare of the State. He who obtains this, if even he be a