When the ditch was dug, he wound stout ropes about the mould, and with the aid of windlasses prepared for that purpose, he raised it with every possible precaution, swung it out over the ditch, and let it down slowly until it was on a level with the furnace. He fixed it firmly in place there by piling around it the dirt taken from the ditch, treading it down, and putting in place, as the dirt rose about the mould, the pieces of earthen pipe which were to serve as air-holes. All these preparations took the rest of the day. Night came. For forty-eight hours Benvenuto had not slept nor lain down, nor even sat down. The workmen implored, Scozzone scolded, but Benvenuto would hear none of it: he seemed to be sustained by some more than human power, and made no other reply to the entreaties and scolding than to assign to each workman his task, in the short, stern tone of an officer manœuvring his troops.
Benvenuto was determined to begin the casting at once: the energetic artist, who was accustomed to see all obstacles yield before him, exerted his imperious power upon himself; he ordered his body to act, and it obeyed, while his companions were obliged to withdraw, one after another, as in battle wounded soldiers leave the field and seek the hospital.
The casting furnace was ready: it was filled with round ingots of brass and copper, symmetrically piled one upon another, so that the heat could pass between them, and the fusion be effected more quickly and more completely. He set fire to the wood around it as in the case of the other furnace, and as it was mostly spruce, the resin which exuded from it, in conjunction with the combustible nature of the wood, soon made such a fierce flame that it rose higher than was anticipated, and lapped the roof of the foundry, which took fire at once, being of wood. At the sight of this conflagration, and more especially at the heat which it gave forth, all the artist's comrades, save Hermann, drew back; but Hermann and Benvenuto were a host in themselves. Each of them seized an axe and cut away at the wooden pillars which upheld the roof, and in an instant it fell in. Thereupon Hermann and Benvenuto with poles pushed the burning fragments into the furnace, and with the increased heat the metal began to melt.
But Benvenuto had at last reached the limit of his strength. For nearly sixty hours he had not slept, for twenty-four he had not eaten, and during the whole of that time he was the soul of the whole performance, the axis upon which the whole operation turned. A terrible fever took possession of him: a deathly pallor succeeded to his usual high color. In an atmosphere so intensely hot that no one could live beside him, he felt his limbs tremble and his teeth chatter as if he were amid the snows of Lapland. His companions remarked his condition and drew near to him. He tried to resist, to deny that he was beaten, for in his eyes it was a disgrace to yield even before the impossible; but at last he was fain to confess that his strength was failing him. Fortunately, the fusion was nearly accomplished: the most difficult part of the operation was past, and what remained to be done was mere mechanical work. He called Pagolo; Pagolo did not reply. But the workmen shouted his name in chorus and he at last appeared; he said that he had been praying for the successful issue of the casting.
"This is no time to pray!" cried Benvenuto, "and the Lord said, 'He who works prays.' This is the time for work, Pagolo. Hark ye: I feel that I am dying; but whether I die or not, my Jupiter must live. Pagolo, my friend, to thee I intrust the management of the casting, sure that thou canst do it as well as I, if thou wilt. Understand, Pagolo, the metal will soon be ready; thou canst not mistake the proper degree of heat. When it is red thou wilt give a sledge hammer to Hermann, and one to Simon-le-Gaucher.—My God! what was I saying? Ah, yes!—Then they must knock out the two plugs of the furnace; the metal will flow out, and if I am dead you will tell the king that he promised me a boon, and that you claim it in my name, and that it—is—O my God! I no longer remember. What was I to ask the king? Ah, yes!—Ascanio—Seigneur de Nesle—Colombe, the provost's daughter—D'Orbec—Madame d'Etampes—Ah! I am going mad!"
Benvenuto staggered and fell into Hermann's arms, who carried him off like a child to his room, while Pagolo, intrusted with the superintendence of the work, gave orders for it to go on.
Benvenuto was right: he was going mad, or rather a terrible delirium had taken possession of him. Scozzone, who doubtless had been praying as Pagolo had, hurried to his side; but Benvenuto continued to cry, "I am dying! I am dying! Ascanio! Ascanio! what will become of Ascanio?"
A thousand delirious visions were crowding in upon his brain: Ascanio, Colombe, Stefana, all appeared and disappeared like ghosts. In the throng which passed before his eyes was Pompeo the goldsmith, whom he slew with his dagger; and the keeper of the post-house at Sienna, whom he slew with his arquebus. Past and present were confounded in his brain. How it was Clement VII. who detained Ascanio in prison; again it was Cosmo I. who sought to force Colombe to marry D'Orbec. Then he would appeal to Queen Eleanora, thinking he was addressing Madame d'Etampes, and would implore and threaten her by turns. Then he would make sport of poor weeping Scozzone, and bid her beware lest Pagolo should break his neck clambering around on the cornices like a cat. Intervals of complete prostration would succeed these paroxysms, and it would seem as if he were at the point of death.
This agonizing state of affairs endured three hours. Benvenuto was in one of his periods of torpor when Pagolo suddenly rushed into the room, pale and agitated, crying:—
"May Jesus and the Virgin help us, master! for all is lost now, and we can look nowhere but to Heaven for help."