CHAPTER IV.
Anastase Gouache recovered rapidly from his injuries, but not soquickly as he wished. There was trouble in the air, and many of hiscomrades were already gone to the frontier where the skirmishing withthe irregular volunteers of Garibaldi's guerilla force had now begun inearnest. To be confined to the city at such a time was inexpressiblyirksome to the gallant young Frenchman, who had a genuine love offighting in him, and longed for the first sensation of danger and thefirst shower of whistling bullets. But his inactivity was inevitable,and he was obliged to submit with the best grace he could, hoping onlythat all might not be over before he was well enough to tramp out andsee some service with his companions-in-arms.
The situation was indeed urgent. The first article of the famousconvention between France and Italy, ratified in September, 1864, readas follows:--
"Italy engages not to attack the actual territory of the Holy Father,and to prevent, even by force, all attack coming from outside againstsuch territory."
Relying upon the observance of this chief clause, France hadconscientiously executed the condition imposed by the second article,which provided that all French troops should be withdrawn from theStates of the Church. The promise of Italy to prevent invasion by forceapplied to Garibaldi and his volunteers. Accordingly, on the 24th ofSeptember, 1867, the Italian Government issued a proclamation againstthe band and its proceedings, and arrested Garibaldi at Sinalunga, inthe neighbourhood of Arezzo. This was the only force employed, and itmay be believed that the Italian Government firmly expected that thevolunteers would disperse as soon as they found themselves without aleader; and had proper measures been taken for keeping the general incustody this would in all probability have followed very shortly, ashis sons, who were left at large, did not possess any of their father'squalifications for leadership. Garibaldi, however, escaped eighteendays later, and again joined his band, which had meanwhile beendefeated by the Pope's troops in a few small engagements, and hadgained one or two equally insignificant advantages over the latter. Assoon as it was known that Garibaldi was again at large, a simultaneousmovement began, the numerous Garibaldian emissaries who had arrived inRome stirring up an attempt at insurrection within the city, whileGaribaldi himself made a bold dash and seized Monte Rotondo, anotherforce at the same time striking at Sutbiaco, which, by a strangeignorance of the mountains, Garibaldi appears to have believed to bethe southern key to the Campagna. In consequence of the protestationsof the French minister to the court of Italy, and perhaps, too, inconsequence of the approach of a large body of French troops by sea,the Italian Government again issued a proclamation against Garibaldi,who, however, remained in his strong position at Monte Rotondo.Finally, on the 30th of October, the day on which the French troopsre-entered Rome, the Italians made a show of interfering in the Pope'sfavour, General Menatiea authorising the Italian forces to enter thePapal States in order to maintain order. They did not, however, do morethan make a short advance, and no active measures were taken, butGaribaldi was routed on the 3d and 4th of November by the Papal forces,and his band being dispersed the incident was at an end. But for thearmed intervention of France the result would have been that whichactually came about in 1870, when, the same Convention being stillvalid, the French were prevented by their own disasters from sending aforce to the assistance of the Pope.
It is not yet time to discuss the question of the annexation of theStates of the Church to the kingdom of Italy. It is sufficient to haveshown that the movement of 1867 took place without any actual violationof the letter of the Convention. The spirit in which the ItalianGovernment acted might be criticised at length. It is sufficienthowever to notice that the Italian Government was, as it still is, aparliamentary one; and to add that parliamentary government, ingeneral, exhibits its weakest side in the emergency of war, as itsgreatest advantages are best appreciated in times of peace. In theItalian Parliament of that day, as in that of the present time, therewas a preponderance of representatives who considered Rome to be thenatural capital of the country, and who were as ready to trample upontreaties for the accomplishment of what they believed a righteous end,as most parliaments have everywhere shown themselves in similarcircumstances. That majority differed widely, indeed, in opinion fromGaribaldi and Mazzini, but they conceived that they had a right to takefull advantage of any revolution the latter chanced to bring about, andthat it was their duty to their country to direct the stream ofdisorder into channel which should lead to the aggrandisement of Italy,by making use of Italy's standing army. The defenders of the PapalStates found themselves face to face, not with any organised anddisciplined force, but with a horde of brutal ruffians and half-grownlads, desperate in that delight of unbridled license which has suchattractions for the mob in all countries; and all alike, Zouaves,native troops and Frenchmen, were incensed to the highest degree by theconduct of their enemies. It would be absurd to make the ItalianGovernment responsible for the atrocious defiling of churches, thepillage and the shocking crimes of all sorts, which marked the advanceor retreat of the Garibaldians; but it is equally absurd to deny that amajority of the Italians regarded these doings as a means to a verydesirable end, and, if they had not been hindered by the French, wouldhave marched a couple of army corps in excellent order to the gates ofRome through the channel opened by a mob of lawless insurgents.
Anastase Gouache was disgusted with his state of forced inaction as hepaced the crowded pavement of the Corso every afternoon for three weeksafter his accident, smoking endless cigarettes, and cursing the fatewhich kept him an invalid at home when his fellow-soldiers wereenjoying themselves amidst the smell of gunpowder and the adventures offrontier skirmishing. It was indeed bad luck, he thought, to have wornthe uniform during nearly two years of perfect health and then to bedisabled just when the fighting began. He had one consolation, however,in the midst of his annoyance, and he made the most of it. He had beenfascinated by Donna Faustina Montevarchi's brown eyes, and for lack ofany other interest upon which to expend his energy he had so wellemployed his time that he was now very seriously in love with thatyoung lady. Among her numerous attractions was one which had a powerfulinfluence on the young artist, namely, the fact that she was, accordingto all human calculations, absolutely beyond his reach. Nothing hadmore charm for Gouache, as for many gifted and energetic young men,than that which it must require a desperate effort to get, if it couldbe got at all. Frenchmen, as well as Italians, consider marriage somuch in the light of a mere contract which must be settled betweennotaries and ratified by parental assent, that to love a young girlseems to them like an episode out of a fairy tale, enchantingly noveland altogether delightful. To us, who consider love as a usual if notan absolutely necessary preliminary to marriage, this point of view ishardly conceivable; but it is enough to tell a Frenchman that you havemarried your wife because you loved her, and not because your parentsor your circumstances arranged the match for you, to hear him utter theloudest exclamations of genuine surprise and admiration, declaring thathis ideal of happiness, which he considers of course as quiteunattainable, would be to marry the woman of his affections. Theimmediate result of a state in which that sort of bliss is consideredto be generally beyond the grasp of humanity has been to produce themoral peculiarities of the French novel, of the French play, and of theFrench household, as it is usually exhibited in books and on the stage.
The artist-Zouave was made of determined stuff. It was not for nothingthat he had won the great prize which brought him to the Academy inRome, nor was it out of mere romantic idleness that he had thrown overthe feeble conspiracies of Madame Mayer and her set in order to wear auniform. He had profound convictions, though he was not troubled withany great number of them. Each new one which took hold of him marked anepoch in his young life, and generally proved tenacious in proportionas he had formerly regarded it as absurd; and it was a proof of thesound balance of his mind that the three or four real convictions whichhe had accumulated during his short life were in no way contradictoryto each othe
r. On the contrary, each one seemed closely bound up withthe rest, and appeared to bring a fresh energy to that direct actionwhich, with Anastase, was the only possible result of any beliefwhatsoever.
There was therefore a goodly store of logic in his madness, and though,like Childe Harold, he had sighed to many, and at present loved butone, yet he was determined, if it were possible, that this loved oneshould be his; seeing that to sigh for anything, and not to take it ifit could be taken, was the part of a boy and not of a strong man.Moreover, although the social difficulties which lay in his way were anobstacle which would have seemed insurmountable to many, there were twoconsiderations which gave Anastase some hope of ultimate success. Inthe first place Donna Faustina herself was not indifferent; and,secondly, Anastase was no longer the humble student who had come toRome some years earlier with nothing but his pension in his pocket andhis talent in his fingers. He was certainly not of ancient lineage, butsince he had attained that position which enabled him to be received asan equal in the great world, and had by his skill accumulated a portionof that filthy lucre which is the platform whereon society moves andhas its exclusive being, he had the advantage of talking to DonnaFaustina, wherever he met her, in spite of her father's sixty-fourquarterings. Nor did those meetings take place only under the auspicesof so much heraldry and blazon, as will presently appear.
At that period of the year, and especially during such a time ofdisturbance, there was no such thing as gaiety possible in Rome. Peoplemet quietly in little knots at each other's houses and talked over thestate of the country, or walked and drove as usual in the villas and onthe Pincio. When society cannot be gay it is very much inclined to growconfidential, to pull a long face, and to say things which, if utteredabove a whisper, would be considered extremely shocking, but which,being communicated, augmented, criticised, and passed about quicklywithout much noise, are considered exceedingly interesting. When everyone is supposed to be talking of politics it is very easy for every oneto talk scandal, and to construct neighbourly biography of an imaginarycharacter which shall presently become a part of contemporary history.On the whole, society would almost as gladly do this as dance. In thosedays of which I am speaking, therefore, there were many places wheretwo or three, and sometimes as many as ten, were gathered together incouncil, ostensibly for the purpose of devising means whereby the HolyFather might overcome his enemies, though they were very often engagedin criticising the indecent haste exhibited by their best friends inyielding to the wiles of Satan.
There were several of these rallying points, among which may be chieflynoticed the Palazzo Valdarno, the Palazzo Saracinesca, and the PalazzoMontevarchi. In the first of these three it may be observed in passingthat there was a division of opinion, the old people being the mostrigid of conservatives, while the children declared as loudly as theydared that they were for Victor Emmanuel and United Italy. TheSaracinesca, on the other hand, were firmly united and determined tostand by the existing order of things. Lastly, the Montevarchi all tooktheir opinions from the head of the house, and knew very well that theywould submit like sheep to be led whichever way was most agreeable tothe old prince. The friends who frequented those various gatheringswere of course careful to say whatever was most sure to please theirhosts, and after the set speeches were made most of them fell to theirusual occupation of talking about each other.
Gouache was an old friend of the Saracinesca, and came whenever hepleased; since his accident, too, he had become better acquainted withthe Montevarchi, and was always a welcome guest, as he generallybrought the latest news of the fighting, as well as the last accountsfrom France, which he easily got through his friendship with the youngattaches of his embassy. It is not surprising therefore that he shouldhave found so many opportunities of meeting Donna Faustina, especiallyas Corona di Sant' Ilario had taken a great fancy to the young girl andinvited her constantly to the house.
On the very first occasion when Gouache called upon the PrincessMontevarchi in order to express again his thanks for the kindness hehad received, he found the room half full of people. Faustina wassitting alone, turning over the pages of a book, and no one seemed topay any attention to her. After the usual speeches to the hostessGouache sat down beside her. She raised her brown eyes, recognised him,and smiled faintly.
"What a wonderful contrast you are enjoying, Donna Faustina," said theZouave.
"How so? I confess it seems monotonous enough."
"I mean that it is a great change for you, from the choir of the SacroCuore, from the peace of a convent, to this atmosphere of war."
"Yes; I wish I were back again."
"You do not like what you have seen of the world, Mademoiselle? It isvery natural. If the world were always like this its attraction wouldnot be dangerous. It is the pomps and vanities that are delightful."
"I wish they would begin then," answered Donna Faustina with morenatural frankness than is generally found in young girls of hereducation.
"But were you not taught by the good sisters that those things are ofthe devil?" asked Gouache with a smile.
"Of course. But Flavia says they are very nice."
Gouache imagined that Flavia ought to know, but he thought fit toconceal his conviction.
"You mean Donna Flavia, your sister, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes."
"I suppose you are very fond of her, are you not? It must be verypleasant to have a sister so nearly of one's own age in the world."
"She is much older than I, but I think we shall be very good friends."
"Your family must be almost as much strangers to you as the rest of theworld," observed Gouache. "Of course you have only seen themoccasionally for a long time past. You are fond of reading, I see."
He made this remark to change the subject, and glanced at the book theyoung girl still held in her hand.
"It is a new book," she said, opening the volume at the title-page. "Itis Manon Lescaut. Flavia has read it--it is by the Abbe Prevost. Do youknow him?"
Gouache did not know whether to laugh or to look grave.
"Did your mother give it to you?" he asked.
"No, but she says that as it is by an abbe, she supposes it must bevery moral. It is true that it has not the imprimatur, but being by apriest it cannot possibly be on the Index."
"I do not know," replied Gouache, "Prevost was certainly in holyorders, but I do not know him, as he died rather more than a hundredyears ago. You see the book is not new."
"Oh!" exclaimed Donna Faustina, "I thought it was. Why do you laugh? AmI very ignorant not to know all about it?"
"No, indeed. Only, you will pardon me, Mademoiselle, if I offer asuggestion. You see I am French and know a little about these matters.You will permit me?"
Faustina opened her brown eyes very wide, and nodded gravely.
"If I were you, I would not read that book yet. You are too young."
"You seem to forget that I am eighteen years old, Monsieur Gouache."
"No, not at all. But five and twenty is a better age to read suchbooks. Believe me," he added seriously, "that story is not meant foryou."
Faustina looked at him for a few seconds and then laid the volume onthe table, pushing it away from her with a puzzled air. Gouache wasinwardly much amused at the idea of finding himself the moral preceptorof a young girl he scarcely knew, in the house of her parents, whopassed for the most strait-laced of their kind. A feeling of deepresentment against Flavia, however, began to rise beneath his firstsensation of surprise.
"What are books for?" asked Donna Faustina, with a little sigh. "Thegood ones are dreadfully dull, and it is wrong to read the amusingones--until one is married. I wonder why?"
Gouache did not find any immediate answer and might have been seriouslyembarrassed had not Giovanni Sant' Ilario come up just then. Gouacherose to relinquish his seat to the newcomer, and as he passed beforethe table deftly turned over the book with his finger so that the titleshould not be visible. It jarred disagreeably on his sensibilities tothink that Gio
vanni might see a copy of Manon Lescaut lying by theelbow of Donna Faustina Montevarchi. Sant' Ilario did not see theaction and probably would not have noticed it if he had.
Anastase pondered all that afternoon and part of the next morning overhis short conversation, and the only conclusion at which he arrived wasthat Faustina was the most fascinating girl he had ever met. When hecompared the result produced in his mind with his accurate recollectionof what had passed between them, he laughed at his haste and calledhimself a fool for yielding to such nonsensical ideas. The conversationof a young girl, he argued, could only be amusing for a short time. Hewondered what he should say at their next meeting, since all such talk,according to his notions, must inevitably consist of commonplaces. Andyet at the end of a quarter of an hour of such meditation he found thathe was constructing an interview which was anything but dull, at leastin his own anticipatory opinion.
Meanwhile the first ten days of October passed in comparative quiet.The news of Garibaldi's arrest produced temporary lull in theexcitement felt in Rome, although the real struggle was yet to come.People observed to each other that strange faces were to be seen in thestreets, but as no one could enter without a proper passport, verylittle anxiety gained the public mind.
Gouache saw Faustina very often during the month that followed hisaccident. Such good fortune would have been impossible under any othercircumstances, but, as has been explained, there were numerous littlesocial confabulations on foot, for people were drawn together by avague sense of common danger, and the frequent meetings of the handsomeZouave with the youngest of the Montevarchi passed unnoticed in thegeneral stir. The old princess indeed often saw the two together, butpartly owing to her English breeding, and partly because Gouache wasnot in the least eligible or possible as a husband for her daughter,she attached no importance to the acquaintance. The news that Garibaldiwas again at large caused great excitement, and every day brought freshnews of small engagements along the frontier. Gouache was not yet quiterecovered, though he felt as strong as ever, and applied every day forleave to go to the front. At last, on the 22d of October, the surgeonpronounced him to be completely recovered, and Anastase was ordered toleave the city on the following morning at daybreak.
As he mounted the sombre staircase of the Palazzo Saracinesca on theafternoon previous to his departure, the predominant feeling in hisbreast was great satisfaction and joy at being on the eve of seeingactive service, and he himself was surprised at the sharp pang hesuffered in the anticipation of bidding farewell to his friends. Heknew what friend it was whom he dreaded to leave, and how bitter thatparting would be, for which three weeks earlier he could have summoneda neat speech expressing just so much of feeling as should becalculated to raise an interest in the hearer, and prompted by just somuch delicate regret as should impart a savour of romance to his marchon the next day. It was different now.
Donna Faustina was in the room, as he had reason to expect, but it wasseveral minutes before Anastase could summon the determinationnecessary to go to her side. She was standing near the piano, whichfaced outwards towards the body of the room, but was screened by asemicircular arrangement of plants, a novel idea lately introduced byCorona, who was weary of the stiff old-fashioned way of setting all thefurniture against the wall. Faustina was standing at this pointtherefore, when Gouache made towards her, having done homage to Coronaand to the other ladies in the room. His attention was arrested for amoment by the sight of San Giacinto's gigantic figure. The cousin ofthe house was standing before Flavia Montevarchi, bending slightlytowards her and talking in low tones. His magnificent proportions madehim by far the most noticeable person in the room, and it is no wonderthat Gouache paused and looked at him, mentally observing that the twowould make a fine couple.
As he stood still he became aware that Corona herself was at his side.He glanced at her with something of inquiry in his eyes, and was aboutto speak when she made him a sign to follow her. They sat down togetherin a deserted corner at the opposite end of the room.
"I have something to say to you, Monsieur Gouache," she said, in a lowvoice, as she settled herself against the cushions. "I do not know thatI have any right to speak, except that of a good friend--and of awoman."
"I am at your orders, princess."
"No, I have no orders to give you. I have only a suggestion to make. Ihave watched you often during the last month. My advice begins with aquestion. Do you love her?"
Gouache's first instinct was to express the annoyance he felt at thisinterrogation. He moved quickly and glanced sharply at Corona's velveteyes. Before the words that were on his lips could be spoken heremembered all the secret reverence and respect he had felt for thiswoman since he had first known her, he remembered how he had alwaysregarded her as a sort of goddess, a superior being, at once woman andangel, placed far beyond the reach of mortals like himself. Hisirritation vanished as quickly as it had arisen. But Corona had seen it.
"Are you angry?" she asked.
"If you knew how I worship you, you would know that I am not," answeredGouache with a strange simplicity.
For an instant the princess's deep eyes flashed and a dark blushmounted through her olive skin. She drew back, rather proudly. Adelicate, gentle smile played round the soldier's mouth.
"Perhaps it is your turn to be angry, Madame," he said, quietly. "Butyou need not be. I would say it to your husband, as I would say it toyou in his presence. I worship you. You are the most beautiful woman inthe world, the most nobly good. Everybody knows it, why should I notsay it? I wish I were a little child, and that you were my mother. Areyou angry still?"
Corona was silent, and her eyes grew soft again as she looked kindly atthe man beside her. She did not understand him, but she knew that hemeant to express something which was not bad. Gouache waited for her tospeak.
"It was not for that I asked you to come with me," she said at last.
"I am glad I said it," replied Gouache. "I am going away to-morrow, andit might never have been said. You asked me if I loved her. I trustyou. I say, yes, I do. I am going to say good-bye this afternoon."
"I am sorry you love her. Is it serious?"
"Absolutely, on my part. Why are you sorry? Is there anything unnaturalin it?"
"No, on the contrary, it is too natural. Our lives are unnatural. Youcannot marry her. It seems brutal to tell you so, but you must know italready."
"There was once a little boy in Paris, Madame, who did not have enoughto eat every day, nor enough clothes when the north wind blew. But hehad a good heart. His name was Anastase Gouache."
"My dear friend," said Corona, kindly, "the atmosphere of CasaMontevarchi is colder than the north wind. A man may overcome almostanything more easily than the old-fashioned prejudices of a Romanprince."
"You do not forbid me to try?"
"Would the prohibition make any difference?"
"I am not sure." Gouache paused and looked long at the princess. "No,"he said at last, "I am afraid not."
"In that case I can only say one thing. You are a man of honour. Doyour best not to make her uselessly unhappy. Win her if you can, by anyfair means. But she has a heart, and I am very fond of the child. Ifany harm comes to her I shall hold you responsible. If you love her,think what it would be should she love you and be married to anotherman."
A shade of sadness darkened Corona's brow, as she remembered thoseterrible months of her own life. Gouache knew what she meant and wassilent for a few moments.
"I trust you," said she, at last. "And since you are going to-morrow,God bless you. You are going in a good cause."
She held out her hand as she rose to leave him, and he bent over it andtouched it with his lips, as he would have kissed the hand of hismother. Then, skirting the little assembly of people, Anastase wentback towards the piano, in search of Donna Faustina. He found heralone, as young girls are generally to be found in Roman drawing-rooms,unless there are two of them present to sit together.
"What have you been talking about with the
princess?" asked DonnaFaustina when Gouache was seated beside her.
"Could you see from here?" asked Gouache instead of answering. "Ithought the plants would have hindered you."
"I saw you kiss her hand when you got up, and so I supposed that theconversation had been serious."
"Less serious than ours must be," replied Anastase, sadly. "I wassaying good-bye to her, and now--"
"Good-bye? Why--?" Faustina checked herself and looked away to hide herpallor. She felt cold, and a slight shiver passed over her slenderfigure.
"I am going to the front to-morrow morning."
There was a long silence, during which the two looked at each otherfrom time to time, neither finding courage to speak. Since Gouache hadbeen in the room it had grown dark, and as yet but one lamp had beenbrought. The young man's eyes sought those he loved in the dusk, and ashis hand stole out it met another, a tender, nervous hand, tremblingwith emotion. They did not heed what was passing near them.
As though their silence were contagious, the conversation died away,and there was a general lull, such as sometimes falls upon anassemblage of people who have been talking for some time. Then, throughthe deep windows there came up a sound of distant uproar, mingled withoccasional sharp detonations, few indeed, but the more noticeable fortheir rarity. Suddenly the door of the drawing-room burst open, and aservant's voice was heard speaking in a loud key, the coarse accentsand terrified tone contrasting strangely with the sounds generallyheard in such a place.
"Excellency! Excellency! The revolution! Garibaldi is at the gates! TheItalians are coming! Madonna! Madonna! The revolution, Eccellenza mia!"
The man was mad with fear. Every one spoke at once. Some laughed,thinking the man crazy. Others, who had heard the distant noise fromthe streets, drew back and looked nervously towards the door. ThenSant' Ilario's clear, strong voice, rang like a clarion through theroom.
"Bar the gates. Shut the blinds all over the house--it is of no use tolet them break good windows. Don't stand there shivering like a fool.It is only a mob."
Before he had finished speaking, San Giacinto was calmly bolting theblinds of the drawing-room windows, fastening each one as steadily andsecurely as he had been wont to put up the shutters of his inn atAquila in the old days.
In the dusky corner by the piano Gouache and Faustina were overlookedin the general confusion. There was no time for reflection, for at thefirst words of the servant Anastase knew that he must go instantly tohis post. Faustina's little hand was still clasped in his, as they bothsprang to their feet. Then with a sudden movement he clasped her in hisarms and kissed her passionately.
"Good-bye--my beloved!"
The girl's arms were twined closely about him, and her eyes looked upto his with a wild entreaty.
"You are safe here, my darling--good-bye!"
"Where are you going?"
"To the Serristori barracks. God keep you safe till I comeback--good-bye!"
"I will go with you," said Faustina, with a strange look ofdetermination in her angelic face.
Gouache smiled, even then, at the mad thought which presented itself tothe girl's mind. Once more he kissed her, and then, she knew not how,he was gone. Other persons had come near them, shutting the windowsrapidly, one after the other, in anticipation of danger from without.With instinctive modesty Faustina withdrew her arms from the youngman's neck and shrank back. In that moment he disappeared in the crowd.
Faustina stared wildly about her for a few seconds, confused andstunned by the suddenness of what had passed, above all by the thoughtthat the man she loved was gone from her side to meet his death. Thenwithout hesitation she left the room. No one hindered her, for theSaracinesca men were gone to see to the defences of the house, andCorona was already by the cradle of her child. No one noticed theslight figure as it slipped through the door and was gone in thedarkness of the unlighted halls. All was confusion and noise andflashing of passing lights as the servants hurried about, trying toobey orders in spite of their terror. Faustina glided like a shadowdown the vast staircase, slipped through one of the gates just as thebewildered porter was about to close it, and in a moment was out in themidst of the multitude that thronged the dim streets--a mere child andalone, facing a revolution in the dark.