"Marcus Antonius, King Commius promises to appear in any place which shall be indicated to him, to do all that thou shalt command and to give hostages. One thing only he asks--that he shall be spared the disgrace of ever appearing before a Roman." Marcus Antonius was magnanimous. "I understand," said he, "that Commius may be somewhat disgusted by his interviews with our generals. I excuse him from ever appearing before any of us. I grant him his pardon; and I receive his hostages." What happened afterwards to Komm of the Atrebates is unknown; the rest of his life cannot be traced. FARINATA DEGLI UBERTI; OR, CIVIL WAR Ed ei s'ergea col petto e con la fronte, Come avesse lo inferno in gran dispitto. _Inferno_, Can. 10. She sat on the terrace of his tower, the aged Farinata degli Uberti fixed his keen gaze on the battlemented town. Standing at his side, Fra Ambrogio looked at the sky that was blushing with the rosy hues of evening and crowning with its fiery blossoms the garland of hills which encircles Florence. From the neighbouring banks of the Arno the perfume of myrtles was wafted upwards into the still air. The birds' last cries had re-echoed from the bright roof of San-Giovanni. Suddenly there came the sound of two horses passing over the sharp pebbles from the riverbed which paved the road, and two young riders, handsome as two St. Georges, emerging from the narrow street, rode past the windowless palace of the Uberti. When they were at the foot of the Ghibelline tower one spat as a sign of contempt; the other, raising his arm, put his thumb between his fore and his middle finger. Then both, spurring their horses, reached the wooden bridge at a gallop. Farinata, a witness of this insult offered to his name, remained tranquil and silent. His shrivelled cheeks trembled and briny tears moistened his yellow eyeballs. Finally, he shook his head three times and said: "Why does this people hate me?" Fra Ambrogio did not reply. And Farinata continued to gaze down upon the city, which he could no longer see save through the bitter mist which veiled his eyes. Then, turning towards the monk his thin face with its eagle nose and threatening jaws, he asked again: "Why does this people hate me?" The monk made a gesture as if he would drive away a fly. "What matters to you, Messer Farinata, the obscene insolence of two striplings bred in the Guelf towers of Oltarno?" FARINATA. Nothing to me, indeed, are those two Frescobaldi, minions of the Romans, sons of pimps and prostitutes. I fear not the scorn of such as they. Neither for my friends nor, especially, for my enemies is it possible to despise me. My sorrow is to feel weighing upon me the hatred of the people of Florence. FRA AMBROGIO.