NOW I SHALL relate the story of yesterday and, above all, I shall describe the great feast which concluded the peace ceremonies connected with the treaty between our princely house and that of Montanza, and what happened there.

First we assembled in the throne room and the treaty of lasting peace between our states was read aloud. Its wording was eloquent and high-sounding, and it also contained clauses relative to the abolishment of the border fortresses and free trade between our peoples and various agreements to facilitate this trade. Then came the signatures. The princes stepped forward to the table, followed by their chief nobles, and put their names on the two large documents which lay there. It was quite impressive. There followed a blaring fanfare from sixty trumpeters who stood along the four walls of the hall, at a distance of three paces from each other, clad alternately in our own and Montanza’s colors. Then those present trooped into the great banqueting hall with the master of ceremonies at their head, to the festal strains of specially composed music. The mighty room was lighted by fifty silver candelabra and two hundred torches held by lackeys in gilded liveries and also by lads who had been taken straight from the streets, dressed in foul rags with their bare dirty feet on the stone floor. At close quarters they smelled very disagreeable. There were five tables in the hall, weighed down with silver and majolica and vast dishes of cold meats and fruit of every hue, and twenty large groups of statuary modeled in sponge cake, which they told me represented various scenes from Greek mythology, a heathen faith of which I know little. All the appointments in the middle of the central table were of gold-candelabra, fruit bowls, plates, wine ewers and goblets-and here sat both the princes and all the other persons of royal blood and our and Montanza’s chiefest followers. The Prince sat opposite il Toro and beside him was the Princess in a gown of crimson with slashed jeweled sleeves of white damask and heavy gold embroideries over her fat bosom. On her head she wore a silver net studded with diamonds which flattered her ugly chesnut hair and, since she had indubitably spent several hours painting herself, it was for once easy to see that her plump flabby face must one time have been very beautiful. She smiled her own special smile. The Prince wore a simple close-fitting suit of black velvet, the sleeves inset with pleated yellow silk. He was slim and youthful and supple as a rapier. He was rather reserved, but seemed to be in good humor, for time and again he stroked his short black hair as is his habit when pleased. I felt passionately devoted to him. Il Toro was clad in a short, very broad-shouldered coat of dark green cloth and rare sables, and beneath that a scarlet suit with heavy golden chains depending from the collar. In this garb he looked shorter and burlier than ever, and his thick bull neck protruded from the brown sable fur in all its crimson obstinacy. In appearance he was well-bred amiability personified, but one cannot judge by people’s faces. It is their bodies which show them as the kind of animals they are.

Of course Don Riccardo was at that part of the table, in one of the best places, though by rights he should have been sitting at one of the other tables. He always pushes himself forward and naturally the Prince cannot do without him-nor the Princess either for that matter. He chattered and showed off from the very beginning, twiddling contentedly at his curly black beard. I gave him an icy glance, which none but myself could interpret. But enough of that.

A little apart-though how could that be, since they too were sitting at the table like all the others -were Giovanni and Angelica, side by side. It was natural that they should have been placed together since they were of much the same age and both of princely blood. At least he is, but she may very well be a bastard. They were the only young things among the many hundred guests and they seemed more like children than adults, and therefore rather apart from the others. It looked almost as though they had come there by mistake. Poor Angelica was making her entry into the great world and was dressed up in a white satin gown with long tight-fitting sleeves of gold brocade and a coif of pearls and thin gold thread on her colorless fair hair. Of course she looked frightful, and for those who were accustomed to seeing her in plain almost common clothes, the effect was grotesque and pretentious. Her mouth was agape as usual and the baby cheeks red with shyness. Her big blue eyes shone as though they had never seen so much as a wax candle before. Giovanni, too, seemed rather embarrassed among all these people and kept throwing them bashful glances, but he was a trifle more sophisticated, and the bashful-ness appeared more to be a part of his nature. He was dressed in blue velvet with a gold embroidered collar and a narrow chain with an oval gold locket which is reported to contain a portrait of his mother, she whom they say is in paradise-but who can tell? She may just as well be writhing in purgatory. He is deemed handsome. I heard some of the guests whisper something about it, but when I then heard them talking about a “handsome couple” I realized that they must have a very peculiar notion of beauty. At any rate he is not to my taste. I think that a man should look like a man. One cannot believe that he is a prince and a Montanza. How will he ever be able to reign over a people and sit on a throne? Personally, I doubt if he will ever get a chance to do so.

The children took no part in the conversation and seemed grievously embarrassed when anyone looked at them. Nor did they talk very much together, but I noticed how they kept looking strangely at each other, and smiling secretly whenever their eyes met. I was surprised to see the girl smile, for as far as I remember I have never seen her do so before, at least not since she was quite small. She smiled very carefully as though feeling her way. Perhaps she knew that her smile was not beautiful. But then I never think that human beings are beautiful when they smile.

After closely watching their behavior I began to wonder more and more what might be the matter with them. They scarcely touched their food and at times they just sat there staring down at their plates. I could see that their hands were meeting in secret under the table. When anybody near by leaned against his neighbor and observed them, they became bewildered and red in the face and began to talk very earnestly to each other. By degrees I realized that there was something special between them-that they were in love with each other. This discovery had a strange effect on me. I scarcely know why it upset me so much, and made such a disagreeable impression on me.

Love is always disgusting, but love between these two who were no more than a pair of innocent children, seemed to me more repulsive than anything I had previously known. The mere sight of it made me burn with wrath and indignation.

But more of this later. I have dallied far too long with these infants who, after all, were not the principal figures at the banquet. I shall continue with my description of the latter.

After the guests had eaten the cold meats of which there was a profusion on the tables, the major-domo appeared in the doorway, mounted on a white mare saddled in purple, and loudly announced the first twelve dishes which were then borne in by numerous camerieri and scalchi, to the strains of a fanfare blown by two trumpeters who led the mare by the bridle. The smoking dishes spread a smell of meat, sauces, and fat which impregnated the whole room, and I, who can hardly endure the stink of food, was within an ace of vomiting. The seneschal arched his back like a cockerel and strutted importantly to the Prince’s table, where he began to carve the roasts, ducks and capons, the grease dripping from the fingers of his left hand which held the viands. All the while, he gesticulated with the long carving knife which he held in his right hand, as though he were a famous fencer exhibiting his perilous art. The guests stuffed themselves with food and I began to feel the discomfort, the vague nausea from which I always suffer when I see people eating, especially when they are gluttonous. They gaped in the most disgusting manner in order to make room for the too large bits and their jaw muscles champed in constant unison, while one could see the tongue moving about the food inside the mouth. Il Toro was the unpleasantest of all those who sat at the Prince’s table. He ate like a churl, devouring everything with a shocking appetite, and he had a nasty bright scarlet tongue, broad like that of an ox. On the other hand, the Prince did not eat voraciously. He partook of less than usual that evening and scarcely drank at all. Once I saw him raise his glass to himself and, sunk deep in thought, gaze into its greenish depths as though surveying the world through them. The others drank tremendously. The servants kept running around and filling up the goblets and beakers.

Gilded sturgeon, carp and pike were borne in on immense majolica dishes, receiving great applause for their skillful dressing, mighty galantines adorned with wax ornaments so that one could not see what they really were, pasties shaped like the heads of deer and calves, sucking pigs roasted whole and gilded, and sugared and perfumed dishes composed of fowls, quails, pheasants and herons. At last came two pages clad as hunters carrying an entire wild boar, as gilded as the rest, with flames issuing from its jaws which had been filled with a burning substance that smelled most foully. Girls dressed, or rather undressed, as nymphs, ran in to strew the floor with scented powders, in order to get rid of the disgusting stench, but the result was worse than ever, and the air became suffocatingly stuffy. For a space, I could scarcely breathe.

Il Toro accepted a portion of the boar as though he had eaten nothing before, and all the others took huge slices of the dark red flesh which still dripped blood, but was, nevertheless, regarded as a delicacy. It was horrible to see them start their chewing again, while the gravy trickled from their lips and beards; there was something shameless about the spectacle, and I who always avoid eating in public and never consume more than is absolutely necessary to maintain life, was more and more nauseated by these red swollen oversized creatures who seemed to be all stomach. Then, too, it was horrible to see the boar being opened up by the seneschal and the gory slices cut out of its inside until at last only the skeleton and a few rags of flesh remained.

Don Riccardo, eating left-handedly and with a special servant to cut his meat for him, put away a large quantity and drank deeply. His face was one wide foolish smile, and with his good arm he kept raising his goblet to his lips. His outfit of dark red velvet was meant to personify some kind of passion-he always dresses himself for his mistress. His eyes were brighter and wilder than usual and every now and again he gesticulated and recited some nonsensical poem or other, addressing anybody who would listen to him, except the Princess. High-sounding words about love and the joy of living flowed out of him as soon as the wine had poured down his throat. The Princess’ eyes glistened whenever he looked at her, and she smiled her mysterious smile at him. Otherwise, she sat there as usual during a feast, half present and half absent. Sometimes they glanced sideways at each other when they thought nobody else was looking, and then her eyes shone with a moist, almost morbid, luster. I noticed them. I never let them out of my sight, though they had no notions of it. Nor did they guess what was brewing in my soul. Who knows anything of that? Who knows what I, the dwarf, have abrewing in my innermost being, to which none has access? Who knows anything about the dwarf soul, the most enclosed of all, where their fate is determined? Who can guess my true identity? It is well for them that they cannot, for if they did they would be terrified. If they did, the smile would die on their faces and their lips would wither and fade forever. Not all the wine in the world would make them red and moist again.

Is there no wine in the world can make them moist again? Will they never smile again?

I also looked at the damigella Fiammetta who, though not at the Prince’s table, was quite honorably placed, better than her position warranted. She is fairly new to the court, and I had not paid much attention to her before, though I cannot think why. In point of fact, she is startingly handsome, tall and straight, young and yet mature, ripe for the world. Her face is dark and hard and very proud, with pure regular features and coal-black eyes with a deep-lying glint in them. I noticed that the Prince sometimes cast an uneasy glance in her direction, as though trying to discover what was going on behind her immobile face, or guess at her thoughts or mood. She never looked at him.

Now nearly all the lights in the hall were extinguished and a titillating music was heard, though no one knew its source. Twelve Moorish dancers came rushing into the darkness with burning torches between their teeth, and began to perform a mad breath-taking dance. Now they whirled with a ring of fire around their black heads, now they brandished their torches in the air or flung them high and caught them again between their glittering fangs. They played with the fire as though with something dangerous, and everybody stared at them, half fascinated and half scared by their strange demoniac appearance. They swarmed about the place where the princes were sitting and when they flourished their torches the sparks showered over the table. Their dusky faces were twisted into fierce grimaces as they lit the torches, and they resembled spirits of the underworld whence they had brought their fire. And why should they not have lighted them there? Why should they not have dipped their torches in the flames of hell? I stood with my old dwarf’s face hidden in the darkness and watched these spirits and their strange demoniac dance which seemed to have had the devil for teacher.

And as though to indicate their origin and recall the kingdom of death to which all must one day return, they ended by turning down their torches and extinguishing them on the floor; then they vanished as though the earth had opened and engulfed them.

There was a grisly feeling in the air before the lights went up again, and my dwarf’s eyes, which see better in the dark than the eyes of men, observed that some of the guests sat with their hands on their dagger hilts, as though ready for anything.

Why? It was only a troupe of dancers which the Prince had hired in Venice to entertain his guests.

The hall was illuminated again and immediately the major-domo reappeared in the doorway on his white mare and, to the shrill strains of a fanfare, announced the most exquisite course of the evening: “Pavoni!” Whereupon fifty servitors hastened in from every side, bearing aloft huge jeweled silver dishes on which were enthroned as many peacocks, gilded and with their iridescent tails outspread. Everybody manifested the most idiotic delight at the sight, and the depression aroused by the down-turned torches, presaging death, was swept away. These creatures are like children, forgetting one game for another. But they never forget the game I play with them.

Having gaped their fill at the monstrous dishes, they proceeded to devour them, just as they had done with all the other victuals. The banquet began all over again with the appearance of these vainglorious birds which I have always detested and which remind me of human beings, but that may be the reason why men admire them so and regard them as a delicacy. As soon as they had been gobbled up, new courses were brought in, pheasants, capons, quails, and ducks again, sturgeon, carp, and dripping venison steaks, fresh quantities of food with which they stuffed themselves until my mounting disgust was turned to nausea. Then came mounds of cakes, confectionery, and sweetmeats stinking of musk, which they swallowed as though they had had nothing else to eat throughout the evening. And at last they flung themselves upon the groups of Greek mythological statuary which they had pronounced so rarely beautiful and cut them up and devoured them until only a few morsels remained, and the stained tables looked as though they had been devastated by a horde of barbarians. I looked at the havoc and the hot sweaty creatures with the greatest aversion.

Now the master of ceremonies stepped forward and requested silence. He announced the performance of a superlatively beautiful allegory, composed at the Prince’s gracious command by his court poets for the diversion and edification of the honored guests. The skinny sallow scribblers who sat far down at the humblest table pricked up their ears and looked stupider than ever as they eagerly and superciliously awaited the performance of their work of genius, whose profound and symbolic purport was to constitute the climax of the feast.

Mars made his entrance on a stage at one side of the hall, clad in shining armor, and declared that he had decided to compel the two mighty champions Celefon and Kalixtes to a combat which should be renowned throughout the world and crown their names with eternal glory, but above all would tell mankind the power and the glory of himself, the god of war, how at his command gallant blood would flow and heroes fight each other at his will. He concluded by saying that as long as courage and chivalry remained on earth they would be at the service of Mars and none other, and then left the scene.

Now appeared the two champions and as soon as they caught sight of each other they began their sparring, so that their blades flashed through the air, and there followed a lengthy bout of fencing which was much appreciated by those in the hall who understood its subtleties. Even I must admit that they were notable swordsmen and I took great pleasure in that part of the piece. During the duel they pretended to inflict grievous wounds on each other and staggered exhaustedly under them until they sank lifeless to the floor.

The god of war reappeared and perorated about the honorable combat which had caused their heroic deaths, about his irresistible power over the senses of men and about himself, the mightiest on earth of all the Olympic gods.

After his departure a gentle music was heard. Shortly afterward the goddess Venus glided in, followed by her attendants, and found the two knights sadly mangled and, as she herself said, bathing in their blood. The attendant nymphs bent over them, lamenting that two such fine handsome men should have been needlessly bereft of their manhood and should have ceased to breathe. As they wept over this tragic fate, their mistress declared that only the cruel Mars could have incited them to this senseless duel. To this the nymphs agreed, but reminded her that Mars had once been her lover and that despite her celestial gentleness she had held him in her arms. But she asserted that this was a base slander, for how could the goddess of love favor the wild and barbaric deity who was hated and shunned by all, including his own father, the great Jupiter? Then she stepped forward and touched the fallen champions with her magic wand, whereupon they rose up all hale and hearty and pressed each other’s hands in token of lasting peace and friendship, swearing that never again would they yield to the fearsome Mars and wage bloody war against each other.

Then the goddess made a long and moving speech about love, praising it as the strongest and gentlest of all powers, as the source and vivifying origin of all things; of its delicate might which imbues strength with gentleness, which dictates heavenly laws for earthly beings, and compels all living creatures to obey them; which can change and purify the hard coarse senses of men, the acts of princes and customs of the people; of brotherly love and charity reigning in a devastated and bloodstained world with chivalry and magnanimity in their service, bestowing other virtues on mankind than those of martial glory and feats of arms. Raising her magic wand she proclaimed that her almighty divinity would conquer the earth and transform it into the happy abode of love and eternal peace.

If my face had been able to smile I should have done so during this ingenuous epilogue, but these sentimental outpourings were most flatteringly received and caused many of those present to feel really moved and enchanted, so that the last mellifluous words were followed by an almost reverential silence. The scribblers who had achieved this result looked highly pleased and obviously appropriated to themselves all the credit of this successful entertainment, although nobody gave them a thought. Undoubtedly they regarded this eloquent and skillful allegory as the only important item in all the festivities which celebrated the peace treaty between our princely house and that of Mon-tanza. But I wonder if what was to follow was not the most important of all.

As usual I had my place behind my princely lord, and from the depths of my experience could guess at his wishes before they were uttered, sometimes before he even formulated them to himself, thus fulfilling his commands as though I were a part of himself. Now he gave me a sign, imperceptible to all others, which meant that I was to serve il Toro, his son, and his foremost men with the rare wine which is in my sole keeping and which I alone know how to prepare. I fetched my golden ewer and filled il Toro’s goblet. He had thrown off his fur-trimmed coat which had become too warm during all his potations, and there he sat in his scarlet garb, short and stout and sanguine, his face as red as fire. The golden chains round his bull neck were tangled together so that he looked as if he were fettered in them. I filled his goblet to the brim. His replete body exuded an odor of sweat, eructations and wine fumes, and it nearly made me vomit to be so near such a repulsive bestial creature. I thought: “Is there anything so vile as a human being?” and continued down the table to some of his foremost men, commanders and noble lords, who had been put at the Prince’s table. Then I filled Giovanni’s gold beaker, while Angelica looked at me with her stupid bright blue eyes, as foolish and wondering as in her childhood days when she read in my compressed old man’s face that I did not want to play with her. I saw that she dropped his hand when I approached and I also saw how she paled, presumably because she feared that I had discovered their shameful secret. And she was quite right. With disgust I had observed their growing intimacy, the more shameful since they belonged to two opposing parties, and were themselves but innocent children who had allowed themselves to be dragged down into the slough of love. I had observed their blushes, caused by the fire of love within their veins, by concupiscent appetites whose revelation is enough to make one sick. It was with the strongest distaste that I had marked the combination of innocence and carnal desires which is particularly nauseating and whereby love between persons of that age is rendered even viler and more abhorrent than any other kind. I took pleasure in filling his beaker which was only half empty, but that is of no consequence when I add my own wine.

Last of all I approached Don Riccardo and filled his goblet to the brim. It was not part of my mission, but I have missions of my own. I give myself orders to fulfill. When I saw the Prince looking at me I met his eyes with serenity. They were strange. Human eyes are sometimes like that -a dwarf’s never. It was as though everything in his soul had floated to the surface and was watching me and my actions with mingled fear, anxiety, and desire; as though strange monsters had emerged from the depths, twisting and turning with their slimy bodies. An ancient being like myself never looks like that. I stared straight in his eyes and I hope that he noticed the steadiness of my hand.

I know what he wants, but I also know that he is a knight. I am no knight, but only the dwarf of a knight. I can guess his desires before they have been uttered, perhaps before he has formulated them to himself, and thus I perform his most inaudible commands, as though I were a part of himself. It is good to have a little bravo like that who can render all manner of service.

While I filled Don Riccardo’s goblet, which was empty as usual, he leaned back guffawing with laughter so that his beard stood straight out and his mouth with all its broad white teeth gaped open like a crater. I could see right down his throat. I have already mentioned my distaste for laughing people, but the sight of this fool who “loves life” and finds it so irresistibly amusing, roaring with vulgar laughter, was particularly revolting. His gums and lips were wet and the tears swam in the nasty little glands in the corners of his eyes from which radiated small red streaks over the dark brown unnaturally brilliant eyes. His larynx bounced up and down under the short black bristles on his throat. On his left hand he wore a ruby ring which I recognized as one which the Princess had given him when he was ill and which I had carried next my heart wrapped up in one of her nauseous love letters. Everything about him disgusted me.

I do not know what he was laughing at, nor does it matter, for I certainly should not have found it in the least amusing. Anyhow he never did so again.

My task was done. I awaited further developments beside this ebullient fool of a whoremonger, and smelt the stink of him and the velvet of his dark red suit which was meant to express passion.

My lord the Prince raised his greenish goblet, turning his amiable smile toward the honored guests, toward Lodovico Montanza and his brilliant train around the table, but most of all toward il Toro who was sitting opposite him. His pale aristocratic face was delicate and noble and very different from the hot and swollen countenances of the others. In gentle but virile tones he bade them drink a toast to the lasting peace which henceforth should reign between their two states, between the princely houses and between the peoples. The long meaningless fighting was at an end and a new era had started which was going to bring peace and prosperity to us all. The old saying of peace on earth was at last to be realized. Thereupon he drained his glass and in solemn silence the noble guests emptied their golden goblets.

Afterward my lord remained sitting with his glass in his hand and his absent gaze seemed to be contemplating the world through it.

The ripple of voices began again and I do not know exactly how long it lasted; that kind of thing is difficult to reckon, one loses a sense of time. I was far too strung up, violently and indescribably so, and furious because Giovanni had not touched his wine. Aflame with wrath I saw Angelica smile faintly and pull it toward her, pretending that she wanted to drink it herself. I had hoped that they would both do so, that in their infatuation they would want to drink from the same source; but neither touched it. Perhaps the accursed girl suspected something, perhaps in their prurient exaltation they felt no need of wine. I seethed with bitterness. Why should they live? Devil take them!

Don Riccardo on the other hand gulped it down in a single draught. He emptied this his last goblet to the Princess, saluting the “lady of his heart” as usual. In a last attempt at wit he gesticulated humorously with his useless right arm and raised the excellent libation which I had served him with his left hand, smiling the while that much admired but essentially vulgar smile of his. And she smiled back at him, first rather mischievously, and then with that moist desirous glint in her eyes which I find so sickening. I cannot understand how anybody can have that kind of expression in his eyes.

Suddenly il Toro gave vent to a weird howl and stared straight ahead of him with stiff glaring eyes. Two of his men who had been sitting on the same side of the Prince’s table hastened to him, but simultaneously began to stagger, seized the edge of the table and collapsed on their seats, where they writhed in agony, groaning something about having been poisoned. Not many heard them, but one of the others, who was not yet so seriously affected, shouted to the whole room: “We are poisoned!” Everybody sprang up and confusion reigned. Other members of il Toro’s suite leaped up with drawn daggers and other weapons and rushed to the central table where they attacked our men and tried to push their way through to the Prince. But his followers had risen in their turn to defend themselves and their lord, and a terrible tumult began. There were many killed and wounded on both sides and blood flowed in torrents. It was like a battlefield indoors among the decked tables, between drunken red-faced war-riors who after sitting peacefully beside each other suddenly found themselves fighting desperately for their lives. Screams echoed from every side and drowned the groans and sighs of the dying. Ap-palling curses summoned all the devils in hell to this spot where the foulest of all crimes had been committed. I climbed onto a chair so as to get a good view of what was happening about me and stood there, frenzied with excitement, surveying the tremendous results of my work: the extirpation by me of this loathsome race which deserves noth-ing else. I saw how my mighty sword went forth over them, pitilessly destructive, demanding ven-geance and punishment for everything. How I dis-patched them to burn eternally in the fires of hell! May they burn forever! All these creatures who call themselves men, and who inspire such disgust and nausea! Why should they exist? Why should they revel and laugh and love and overrun the earth? Why should these lying dissemblers and braggarts exist, these lustful shameless creatures whose virtues are even viler than their sins? May they burn in the fires of hell! I felt like Satan himself, surrounded by all the infernal spirits invoked at their nocturnal meetings, swarming around them with grinning faces, dragging their souls still hot and stinking from their bodies, down into the kingdom of death. I felt my temporal power with a joy greater than I had ever known, and so acute that I nearly lost consciousness. I felt how the world had, through me, been filled with terror and doom, and transformed from a brilliant feast to a place of fear and destruction. I brew my draught and princes and powerful nobles groan in their death pangs or wallow in their blood. I offer my potion and the guests at the lavish tables grow pale and their smiles fade and none raises his glass again or prates of love and the joy of living. For after my drink they forget all the beauty and wonder of life and a mist enfolds everything and their eyes fail and darkness falls. I turn down their torches and extinguish them so that it is dark. I assemble them with their unseeing eyes at my somber communion feast where they have drunk my poisoned blood, that which my heart drinks daily, but which for them spells death.

Il Toro sat motionless. His face was blue and his underjaw with its sparse beard viciously lowered as though he wanted to bite somebody with his brownish tusks. He was a frightful sight with his eyes bulging yellow and bloodshot from their sockets. Suddenly he twisted his hunched neck around as though trying to dislocate it, and the clumsy head lurched over on one side. At the same time his short bull body arched itself backward in a bow, jerked convulsively as though stabbed- and he was dead. By now all his men at the Prince’s table were writhing in infernal agony, but it was not long before they too ceased to give any sign of life. As for Don Riccardo, he died leaning back with half-closed eyes as though reveling in my drink, much as he used to do when he had tasted a really rare wine; suddenly he threw out his arms as though wanting to embrace the whole world, fell backward, and died.

During the fighting and confusion nobody had any time for those who were dying, so they had to expire in their own way as best they could. Only Giovanni, who had been sitting on the same side as il Toro and who, thanks to the damned girl, had not tasted my potion, hurried forward to his father and stood bending over his horrible body as though under the delusion that he could help him. But a burly man with fists like those of a blacksmith elbowed his way to him just as the old scoundrel breathed his last, seized the lad as though he had been a feather and dragged him through the hall. The young coward allowed himself to be taken away and thus escaped us. Devil take him!

The tables were upset and their furnishings trampled underfoot by the combatants who were now quite insane with bloodlust. The women had fled shrieking, but in the midst of all the desolation I saw the Princess standing as though petrified, with rigid features and glassy eyes. Her cadaverous pallor contrasted comically with the paint which still remained on her middle-aged face. Some of the servants managed to lead her from that terrible room, and she followed them listlessly, as though unaware of where she was or whither they were conducting her.

Though inferior in number, il Toro’s men still brandished their inadequate weapons as they retreated toward the exit doors. The battle continued on the stairs, and they were pursued down them and out into the square. Here the sorely pressed enemy was relieved by Montanza’s bodyguard which had been summoned from the Palazzo Geraldi and, under cover of the latter, they contrived to make their escape from the town. Otherwise they would undoubtedly have been mowed down to the last man.

I stood there alone in the abandoned hall, now in semidarkness since all the candelabra had been thrown onto the floor. Only the ragged, apparently half-starved urchins remained, creeping around with their torches and hunting among the corpses for scraps of food and grimy delicacies, which they devoured at incredible speed, simultaneously grabbing as much of the silver as they could hide beneath their tatters. When they judged it unsafe to stay any longer, they threw away their torches and stole out with their booty on padding naked feet, and I was left alone in the room. Undisturbed I gazed around me, sunk deep in thought.

The flickering rays of the dying torches illuminated the mutilated corpses of friend and foe, lying in their blood on the stone floor among the trampled bloodstained napery and the remnants of the great banquet. Their festal garments were torn and dirty and their pallid faces still twisted and evil, for they had died fighting in the midst of their mad fury. I stood there, surveying everything with my ancient eyes.

Brotherly love. Eternal peace.

How these creatures love to discuss themselves and their world in great and beautiful words!