The Daughter of an Empress

Lorenzo trembled, and, grasping the pope's hand, he hastily and

anxiously said: "No, read it not. Of what use will it be to learn its

contents? It is tempting God to endeavor to learn the future in advance!

Let me destroy this fatal letter!"

And, while his faithful servant respectfully stood back, Ganganelli

broke the seal.

A pause ensued--a long, excruciating pause! Lorenzo, kneeling,

prayed--Pope Ganganelli read the letter of the physician of Bologna. His

face had assumed a mortal pallor; while reading, his lips trembled, and

tear-drops rolled slowly down over his sunken cheeks.

Falling from his hand, the letter rustled to the earth; with hanging

head and folded hands sat the pope. Lorenzo was still upon his knees

praying. Ganganelli suddenly raised his head, his eyes were turned

heavenward, a cheerful, God-given peace beamed from his eyes, and with a

clear, exulting voice, he said: "Lord, Thy will be done! I resign myself

to Thy holy keeping."

"The letter, then, brings good news?" asked Lorenzo, misled by the

joyfulness of the pope. "There is, then, no ground for the presentiments

of death, and the learned doctor says you will live?"

"The life eternal, Lorenzo!" said Ganganelli. "This letter confirms my

suppositions! Brunelli is a man of honor, and he has told me the

truth. Lorenzo, would you know what signifies this consuming fire,

this weariness and relaxation of my limbs? It is the effect of Acqua

Tofana!"

"Oh, my God," shrieked Lorenzo, "you are poisoned!"

"Irretrievably," calmly responded the pope; "Brunelli says it, and I

feel in my burning entrails that he speaks the truth."

"And are there no remedies?" lamented Lorenzo, wringing his hands. "No

means at least of prolonging your life?"

"There is such a means; and Brunelli recommends it. The application of

the greatest possible heat, the production of a continual perspiration,

which may a little retard the progress of the evil, and perhaps prolong

my life for a few weeks!

"Lorenzo, it is my duty to struggle every day with death. I have yet

much to complete before I die, yet much labor before I go to my eternal

rest, and, as far as I can, I must bring to an end what I have commenced

for the welfare of my people! Come, Lorenzo, let us return to the

Vatican; set pans of coals in my room, procure me furs and a glowing hot

sun! I would yet live some weeks!"

With feverish impetuosity Ganganelli grasped Lorenzo's arm and drew him

away. Then, suddenly stopping, he turned toward his favorite place.

"Lorenzo," he said in a low tone, and with deep sadness, "it was yet

very pleasant in the Franciscan cloister. Why did we not remain there?

Only see, my friend, how beautifully the sun glitters there among the

pines, and how delightfully this air fans us! Ah, Lorenzo, this world is

so beautiful, so very beautiful! Why must I leave it so soon?"