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Updated: June 17, 2025
She picked up from the spot where he had thrown his shawl a handsome morocco-bound pocket copy of Dante, and opening it to discover the name of the owner, she saw written on the fly-leaf in a bold and beautiful hand, "S. E. M., Boboli Gardens, Florence. Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' entrate." "What does this mean, grandpa?" She held up the book and pointed out the words of the dread inscription.
So he began by condescendingly explaining that of course he was kind of sorry for the young man before him, young folks were young folks and of course he presumed likely 'twas natural enough, and the like of that, you understand. But of course also Mr. Speranza must realize that the thing could not go on any further.
She employed one of the persons bearing a placard to go about ringing a large hand bell which she, herself, had given to him for the purpose. She even published doggerel verses in the "Dublin Weekly Advertiser", and signed them "Speranza," which annoyed Lady Wilde intensely. One read thus:
Should he have the misfortune to be left here alone, no help, no consolation, no spark of hope, would soothe his last moments. One is involuntarily reminded of the famous inscription on the gate of the Inferno of Dante "'Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch' entrate."
'Mary' was Miss Ellen Downing, whose lover was also a fugitive after the outbreak; but he proved unfaithful, and she was one of the last I heard of who died of pining away. It used to be much talked of in my young days. Perhaps now that it is not, it more often occurs. 'Speranza' was Lady Wilde, a fluent poet and essayist, who survived her husband the archæologist.
Henceforth I am a Greylock, I am George, the second son of the Duke Wendelin, of whom you have heard, and I must confess to you, my noble lord, that I love your daughter Speranza, and I would not exchange places with any god if you would but give us your blessing." "A Greylock!" the prince exclaimed.
Gone, gone sixteen years of vanity and vexation. But from a practical point of view, what is a worst calamity of all is that the Speranza now lies high-and-dry in the village: for she was bodily picked up from the quay by the tidal wave, and driven bow-foremost into a street not half her width, and there now lies, looking huge enough in the little village, wedged for ever, smashed in at the nip like a frail match-box, a most astonishing spectacle: her bows forty feet up the street, ten feet above the ground at the stem, rudder resting on the inner edge of the quay, foremast tilted forward, the other two masts all right, and that bottom, which has passed through seas so far, buried in every sort of green and brown seaweed, the old Speranza.
Gertie Kendrick, with a brand-new ring upon her engagement finger, sniffed as she read that headline to Sam Thatcher, who had purchased the ring. "Al Speranza won't talk about himself!" exclaimed Gertie. "Well, it's the FIRST time, then. No wonder they put it in the paper."
Men's thoughts, in this region, seemed to centre night and day upon the tapis vert, and at the entrance of this salon was that fatal chamber, over which might have been written the famous line of Dante, "Voi che entrate lasciate ogni speranza." The reader will at once understand that I am referring to the gambling-house, the so-called "hell" of modern society.
The invocation lasted until three A. M. At that hour, with a genuine headache, but a sense of triumph which conquered pain, Albert climbed into bed. Upon the table lay a poem, a six stanza poem, having these words at its head: TO MY LADY'S SPRING HAT By A. M. Speranza. The following forenoon he posted that poem to the editor of The Cape Cod Item.
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