ter part of his life to business. Having traveled
much in Oriental countries he had acquired there great wealth and learning
more precious, he said, than gold or diamonds, to which he no longer gave
more than a passing thought. "I value a tooth more than a ruby," he used
to say, smiling, "and power more than knowledge." This good father loved
to hear Don Juan relate his youthful adventures, and would say,
banteringly, as he lavished money upon him: "Only amuse yourself, my dear
child!" Never did an old man find such pleasure in watching a young man.
Paternal love robbed age of its terrors in the delight of contemplating so
brilliant a life.

At the age of sixty, Belvidero had become enamored of an angel of peace
and beauty. Don Juan was the sole fruit of this late love. For fifteen
years the good man had mourned the loss of his dear Juana. His many
servants and his son attributed the strange habits he had contracted to
this grief. Bartholomeo lodged himself in the most uncomfortable wing of
his palace and rarely went out, and even Don Juan could not intrude into
his father's apartment without first obtaining permission. If this
voluntary recluse came or went in the palace or in the streets of Ferrara
he seemed to be searching for something which he could not find. He walked
dreamily, undecidedly, preoccupied like a man battling with an idea or
with a memory. While the young man gave magnificent entertainments and the
palace re-echoed his mirth, while the horses pawed the ground in the
courtyard and the pages quarreled at their game of dice on the stairs,
Bartholomeo ate seven ounces of bread a day and drank water. If he asked
for a little poultry it was merely that he might give the bones to a black
spaniel, his faithful companion. He never complained of the noise. During
his illness if the blast of horns or the barking of dogs interrupted his
sleep, he only said: "Ah, Don Juan has come home." Never before was so
untroublesome and indulgent a father to be found on this earth;
consequently young Belvidero, accustomed to treat him without ceremony,
had all the faults of a spoiled child. His attitude toward Bartholomeo was
like that of a capricious woman toward an elderly lover, passing off an
impertinence with a smile, selling his good humor and submitting to be
loved. In calling up the picture of his youth, Don Juan recognized that it
would be difficult to find an instance in which his father's goodness had
failed him. He