The Greatest Works of Charles Carleton Coffin. Charles Carleton Coffin
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procession to the churches, wearing robes embroidered with crosses; after they have performed mass, they spend the remainder of the time in idleness, or in something worse.
There comes a night in August, 1503. The Pope has invited nine of the cardinals to a banquet. He has a little scheme which he wishes to carry out: he wants to make Cesar king. To do that he must have more money; and though the people all over the world are paying him Peter's-pence and purchasing indulgences, the gold does not come in as fast as he would like. If he could only create a few cardinals, he would be in funds, for he can sell a cardinal's office for thirty thousand ducats. If the nine cardinals would only die, he could reap a rich harvest — more than two hundred thousand ducats — by selling their offices! With such an amount of money, be could carry on war, conquer cities, and make Caesar king.
Caesar prepares the banquet in the garden of the Vatican. It will be delightful for the old cardinals to sit there in an arbor on a summer night and quaff their wine. He will have a particular kind of wine for them — one cup, which none but the nine shall drink. He prepares it himself, and gives it into the hands of a trusty waiter.
"Let no one drink of this except the cardinals: it is for them alone. Be careful now," he says to the servant.
The servant carries the flagon into the arbor.
"Why do you put that goblet by itself?" asks the vintner who has charge of the wine.
"It is very choice wine. Only the cardinals are to drink it."
The Pope and Caesar enter the arbor, and the cardinals will soon be there. The Pope discovers that he has forgotten to put his charm upon his neck. It is a precious affair — a gold locket, with a crumb of holy bread in it. A fortune-teller has assured him that so long as he wears it no harm can come to him.
"Run and get it; you will find it on my table," he says to the servant who has brought in the flagon of choice wine.
The servant hastens away.
" I am very thirsty. I will take a glass of wine, if you please," he says to the vintner.
Is there any wine too good for the Pope? the vintner thinks not He will give him some of the choice vintage which is reserved for the favored few, and brings a glass for the Pope, and another for Caesar.
The cardinals come, and the Pope and Caesar receive them graciously, and all take their seats at the table.
But suddenly the Pope utters a piercing cry, and rolls upon the ground. He is in terrible agony; and Caesar is also seized with excruciating pains.
There is running here and there for doctors, who come in hot haste.
"Poison!"
They have drank the wine which was prepared for the cardinals. Caesar recovers, but the Pope is burning up. There is a fire in his bones. His flesh grows putrid; his tongue becomes black, and hangs from his mouth; ulcers break out upon his body, which swells to enormous size. His servants flee. There is no one to care for him. Alone in his chamber, he groans till death relieves his sufferings.
CHAPTER X
THE BOY WHO SUNG FOR HIS BREAKFAST
ON that day when Christopher Columbus wont out from the Alhambra, sad and dejected, there was a little boy in a town in Germany who was experiencing a sorrowful childhood. He was born on St Martin's Day, 1483, and his parents have christened him Martin. They are very poor. The father is a miner, and works hard in digging copper ore and smelting it. The family have little to eat better than rye bread and herrings.
Martin's father is a passionate man, and his mother is a stern woman. His school-master is hard-hearted and cruel; and between the three the boy gets many whippings. His lessons are dry as dust — the Catechism, Ten Commandments, Apostles' Creed, the Canticles, Psalms, and Latin exercises. One day the brute of a master punishes him not less than fifteen times! There is no joy in life. He hates the Catechism and the Creed, but makes good progress in Latin. The miner has sense enough to see that Martin can learn very little in such a school, and sends him to another, taught by monks, called a currend school. The boys attending it sing in the churches on Sunday, and go through the villages early every morning, and sing before the burghers' houses for a bit of bread. They carry little tin boxes with a slit in the cover, and the burghers' now and then drop in money. At times Martin obtains neither money nor bread. On Christmas mornings the boys go out early, Martin singing the solos, and the others joining in the choruses. The solo rises, sweet and clear, upon the wintry air:
"Praises now from all on earth!
'Tis the day of Jesus' birth,
Of a Virgin born in sooth;
Angels glory o'er the youth.
Kyrie eleeson.
"Only child of God's own kind
In a manger shepherds find;
God-babe sent our sins to free
By suff'ring our humanity.
Kyrie eleeson.
But it is not always Christmas, and there are days when the boys have little to eat. Martin often has only a crust. He grows thin and pale and weak. What shall he do? His father is so poor that he cannot help him; the monks have nothing to give him, and if the burghers do not supply him with food, he must starve.
There comes a cold and bitter morning. Martin goes out to sing through the streets, but the burghers do not like to be awakened so early, and the servants are surly. He sings before a house.
"Go away!"
It is a gruff voice that he hears, and he passes on to another residence; bat as soon as he begins to sing, the door opens, and a man's bead is thrust out.
"Clear out there! Don't you know better than to disturb the master so early?"
He will get nothing there, and moves on to a third house and sings; but before the carol is finished a servant comes out with a whip.
"Begone, you ragamuffin!"
Charity is frozen on this winter morning. Weak, faint, hungry, disheartened, lie turns away. What shall he do? "Why should he sing? No one will give him bread.
"I may as well go back to the convent and die," he says to himself.
He is standing before Conrad Cotta's house. The owner is a rich burgher. No one is astir about the premises that he can see. The daylight is streaming up the east, and the burghers of the town will soon be eating their breakfasts; then they will be off to their shops. Oh, if he but once in life could eat all that he wanted!
Shall he sing?
Herr Cotta is one of the chief men of the town; will be not rush out and whip him? The tears roll down the boy's cheeks as he stands there, irresolute.
Sing, boy! sing! The ages are waiting for you. Sing! sing! All the world will hear you. God knows what will come of it.
Sweet and clear, his voice rises on the morning air. The door opens, and Ursula Cotta stands beckoning to him. Little does Ursula Cotta know what will come from that lifting of her hand. She has seen the poor boy driven from the neighbors' houses, and the harsh words addressed to him have filled her with pain. She has seen him on Sunday, and has recognized his voice as being sweeter than all other voices in the choir. She will give him a good meal. He goes up the steps. She takes him by the hand, leads him into the house. He goes to a warm breakfast