CHAPTER IX.
The excitement which had reigned in Rome for weeks past was destined toend almost as suddenly as it had begun. The events which followed the22d of October have been frequently and accurately described; indeed,if we consider the small number of the troops engaged and thepromptness with which a very limited body of men succeeded in quellingwhat at first appeared to be a formidable revolution, we are surprisedat the amount of attention which has been accorded to the littlecampaign. The fact is that although the armies employed on both sideswere insignificant, the questions at stake were enormous, and the realpowers which found themselves confronted at Monte Rotondo and Mentanawere the Kingdom of Italy and the French Empire. Until the ultimatumwas presented to Italy by the French Minister on the 19th of October,Italy hoped to take possession of Rome on the pretext of restoringorder after allowing it to be subverted by Garibaldi's guerillas. Themilitary cordon formed by the Italian army to prevent Garibaldi'scrossing the frontier was a mere show. The arrest of the leaderhimself, however it was intended by those who ordered it, turned out ineffect to be a mere comedy, as he soon found himself at liberty and noone again attempted to seize him. When France interfered the scaleturned. She asserted her determination to maintain the Convention of1864 by force of arms, and Italy was obliged to allow Garibaldi to bedefeated, since she was unable to face the perils of a war with herpowerful neighbour. If a small body of French troops had not enteredRome on the 30th of the month, the events of 1870 would have occurredthree years earlier, though probably with different results.
It being the object of the general commanding the Pope's forces toconcentrate a body of men with whom to meet Garibaldi, who was nowadvancing boldly, the small detachments, of which many had already beensent to the front, were kept back in Rome in the hope of gettingtogether something like an army. Gouache's departure was accordinglydelayed from day to day, and it was not until the early morning of the3d of November that he actually quitted Rome with the whole availablecorps of Zouaves. Ten days elapsed, therefore, after the events lastdescribed, during which time he was hourly in expectation of orders tomarch. The service had become so arduous within the city that he couldscarcely call a moment his own. It was no time to think of socialduties, and he spent the leisure he had in trying to see FaustinaMontevarchi as often as possible.
This, however, was no easy matter. It was a provoking fact that hisduties kept him busily occupied in the afternoon and evening, and thatthe hours he could command fell almost always in the morning. To visitthe Palazzo Montevarchi on any pretext whatever before one o'clock inthe day was out of the question. He had not even the satisfaction ofseeing Faustina drive past him in the Corso when she was out with hermother and Flavia, since they drove just at the time when he wasoccupied. Gouache told himself again and again that the display ofingenuity was in a measure the natural duty of a man in love, but thedeclaration did not help him very much. He was utterly at a loss for anexpedient, and suffered keenly in being deprived of the possibility ofseeing Faustina after having seen her so often and so intimately. Aweek earlier he could have borne it better, but now the separation wasintolerable. In time of peace he would have disobeyed orders and thrownup his service for the day, no matter what the consequences turned outto be for himself; but at the present moment, when every man wasexpected to be at his post, such conduct seemed dishonourable andcowardly. He submitted in silence, growing daily more careworn, andlosing much of the inexhaustible gaiety which made him a generalfavourite with his comrades.
There was but one chance of seeing Faustina, and even that one offeredlittle probability of an interview. He knew that on Sunday mornings shesometimes went to church at an early hour with no one but her maid fora companion. Her mother and Flavia preferred to rise later and attendedanother mass. Now it chanced that in the year 1867, the 22d of October,the date of the insurrection, fell on Tuesday. Five days, therefore,must elapse before he could see Faustina on a Sunday, and if he failedto see her then he would have to wait another week.
Unfortunately, Faustina's early expeditions to church were by no meanscertain or regular, and it would be necessary to convey a message toher before the day arrived. This was no easy matter. To send anythingthrough the post was out of the question, and Gouache knew how hard itwould be to find the means of putting a note into her hands through aservant. Hour after hour he cudgelled his brains for an expedientwithout success, until the idea pursued him and made him nervous. Thetime approached rapidly and he had as yet accomplished nothing. Thewildest schemes suggested themselves to him and were rejected as soonas he thought of them. He met some of his acquaintances during the idlehours of the morning, and it almost drove him mad to think that almostany one of them could see Faustina any day he pleased. He did what hecould to obtain leave in the afternoon or evening, but his exertionswere fruitless. He was a man who was trusted, and knew it, and thedisturbed state of affairs made it necessary that every man should doprecisely what was allotted to him, at the risk of causing uselesscomplications in the effort to concentrate and organise the troopswhich was now going forward. At last he actually went to the PalazzoMontevarchi in the morning and inquired if he could see the princess.
The porter replied that she was not visible, and that the prince hadgone out. There was nothing to be done, and he turned to go away.Suddenly he stopped as he stood under the deep arch, facing the blankwall on the opposite side of the street. That same wall was broad andsmooth and dark in colour. He only looked at it a moment, and then toexcuse his hesitation in the eyes of the porter, he took out acigarette, and lit it before going out. As he passed through the PiazzaColonna a few minutes later he went into a shop and bought two largetubes of paint with a broad brush. That night, when he was relievedfrom duty, he went back to the Palazzo Montevarchi. It was very late,and the streets were deserted. He stood before the great closed doorsof the palace and then walked straight across the street to the blankwall with his paint and brush in his hands.
On the following morning when the Montevarchi porter opened the gateshis eyes were rejoiced by some most extraordinary specimens ofcalligraphy executed upon the dark stones with red paint of a glaringlyvivid hue. The letters A. G. were drawn at least four feet high in thecentre, and were repeated in every size at irregular intervals for somedistance above, below, and on each side. The words "Domenica," Sunday,and "Messa," mass, were scrawled everywhere in capitals, in roundhand,large and small. Then to give the whole the air of having been designedby a street-boy, there were other words, such as "Viva Pio IX.," "Vivail Papa Re," and across these, in a different manner, and in greenpaint, "Viva Garibaldi," "Morte a Antonelli," and similar revolutionarysentiments. The whole, however, was so disposed that Gouache's initialsand the two important words stood out in bold relief from the rest, andcould not fail to attract the eye.
Of the many people who came and went that day through the great gate ofthe Palazzo Montevarchi two only attached any importance to the glaringscrawls on the opposite wall. One of these was Faustina herself, whosaw and understood. The other was San Giacinto, who stared at theletters for several seconds, and then smiled faintly as he entered thepalace. He, too, knew what the signs meant, and remarked to himselfthat Gouache was an enterprising youth, but that, in the interest ofthe whole tribe of Montevarchi, it would be well to put a stop to hislove-making as soon as possible. It was now Saturday afternoon andthere was no time to be lost.
San Giacinto made a short visit, and, on leaving, went immediately tothe Palazzo Saracinesca. He knew that at four o'clock Corona wouldprobably not yet be at home. This turned out to be the case, and havingannounced his intention of waiting for her return he was ushered intothe sitting-room. As soon as the servant was gone he went to Corona'swriting-table and took from it a couple of sheets of her paper and twoof her envelopes. These latter were stamped with a coronet and herinitials. He folded the paper carefully and put the four bits into hispocket-book. He waited ten minutes, but no one came. Then he left thehouse, telling the servant to say tha
t he had called and would returnpresently. In a few minutes he was at his lodgings, where he proceededto write the following note. He had taken two sheets in case the firstproved a failure:--
"I have understood, but alas! I cannot come. Oh, my beloved! when shallwe meet again? It seems years since Tuesday night--and yet I am sowatched that I can do nothing. Some one suspects something. I am sureof it. A TRUSTY PERSON will bring you this. I love you always--do notdoubt it, though I cannot meet you to-morrow."
San Giacinto, who had received a tolerable education and hadconscientiously made the best of it, prided himself upon hishandwriting. It was small, clear, and delicate, like that of manystrong, quiet men, whose nerves do not run away with their fingers. Onthe present occasion he took pains to make it even more careful thanusual, and the result was that it looked not unlike the "copperplate"handwriting a girl would learn at the convent, though an expert wouldprobably have declared it disguised. It had been necessary, in order todeceive Gouache, to write the note on the paper generally used by womenof society. As he could not get any of Faustina's own, it seemed thenext best thing to take Corona's, since Corona was her most intimatefriend.
Gouache had told San Giacinto that he was engaged every afternoon, inhopes that he would in turn chance to mention the fact to Faustina. Itwas therefore pretty certain that Anastase would not be at home betweenfour and five o'clock. San Giacinto drove to the Zouave's lodgings andasked for him. If he chanced to be in, the note could be given to hisold landlady. He was out, however, and San Giacinto asked to be allowedto enter the room on the pretext of writing a word for his friend. Thelandlady was a dull old creature, who had been warming herself with apot of coals when San Giacinto rang. In answer to his request sheresumed her occupation and pointed to the door of the Zouave'sapartment.
San Giacinto entered, and looked about him for a conspicuous place inwhich to put the letter he had prepared. He preferred not to trust tothe memory of the woman, who might forget to deliver it until the nextday, especially if Gouache came home late that night, as was verylikely. The table of the small sitting-room was littered with lettersand papers, books and drawings, so that an object placed in the midstof such disorder would not be likely to attract Gouache's attention.The door beyond was open, and showed a toilet-table in the adjoiningchamber, which was indeed the bedroom. San Giacinto went in, and takingthe note from his pocket, laid it on an old-fashioned pincushion beforethe glass. The thing slipped, however, and in order to fasten it firmlyhe thrust a gold pin that lay on the table through the letter andpinned it to the cushion in a conspicuous position. Then he went outand returned to the Palazzo Saracinesca as he had promised to do.
In doing all this he had no intention of injuring either Gouache orFaustina. He perceived clearly enough that their love affair could notcome to any good termination, and as his interests were now veryclosely bound up with those of the Montevarchi, it seemed wisest tobreak off the affair by any means in his power, without complicatingmatters by speaking to Gouache or to Faustina's father or mother. Heknew enough of human nature to understand that Gouache would be annoyedat losing the chance of a meeting, and he promised himself to watch thetwo so carefully as to be able to prevent other clandestine interviewsduring the next few days. If he could once sow the seeds of a quarrelbetween the two, he fancied it would be easy to break up the relations.Nothing makes a woman so angry as to wait for a man who has promised tomeet her, and if he fails to come altogether her anger will probably bevery serious. In the present case he supposed that Faustina would go tothe church, but that Gouache, being warned that he was not to come,would not think of keeping the tryst. The scheme, if not profound, wasat least likely to produce a good deal of trouble between the lovers.
San Giacinto returned to the Palazzo Saracinesca, but he found only theold prince at home, though he prolonged his visit in the hope of seeingCorona or Sant' Ilario.
"By the bye," he said, as he and his companion sat together in theprince's study, "I remember that you were so good as to say that youwould let me see those family papers some day. They must be veryinteresting and I would be glad to avail myself of your offer."
"Certainly," replied Saracinesca "They are in the Archives in a room ofthe library. It is rather late now. Do you mind waiting till to-morrow?"
"Not in the least, or as long as you like. To tell the truth, I wouldlike to show them to my future father-in-law, who loves archaeology. Iwas talking about them with him yesterday. After all, however, Isuppose the duplicates are at the Cancelleria, and we can see themthere."
"I do not know," said the prince, carelessly, "I never took the troubleto inquire. There is probably some register of them, or something toprove that they are in existence."
"There must be, of course. Things of that importance would not beallowed to go unregistered, unless people were very indifferent inthose days."
"It is possible that there are no duplicates. It may be that there isonly an official notice of the deed giving the heads of the agreement.You see it was a friendly arrangement, and there was supposed to be noprobability whatever that your great-grandfather would ever marry. Thepapers I have are all in order and legally valid, but there may havebeen some carelessness about registering them. I cannot be sure. Indeedit is thirty years at least since I looked at the originals."
"If you would have them taken out some time before I am married, Ishould be glad to see them, but there is no hurry. So all this riot andrevolution has meant something after all," added San Giacinto to changethe subject "Garibaldi has taken Monte Rotondo, I hear to-day."
"Yes, and if the French are not quick, we shall have the diversion of asiege," replied Saracinesca rather scornfully. "That same taking ofMonte Rotondo was one of those gallant deeds for which Garibaldi is sojustly famous. He has six thousand men, and there were only threehundred and fifty soldiers inside. Twenty to one, or thereabouts."
It is unnecessary to detail the remainder of the conversation.Saracinesca went off into loud abuse of Garibaldi, confounding thewhole Italian Government with him and devoting all to one commondestination, while San Giacinto reserved his judgment, believing thatthere was probably a wide difference between the real intentions of theguerilla general and of his lawful sovereign, Victor Emmanuel theSecond, King of Italy. At last the two men were informed that Coronahad returned. They left the study and found her in the sitting-room.
"Where is Giovanni?" she asked as soon as they entered. She wasstanding before the fireplace dressed as she had come in.
"I have no idea where he is," replied Saracinesca. "I suppose he is atthe club, or making visits somewhere. He has turned into a very orderlyboy since you married him." The old man laughed a little.
"I have missed him," said Corona, taking no notice of herfather-in-law's remark. "I was to have picked him up on the Pincio, andwhen I got there he was gone. I am so afraid he will think I forgot allabout it, for I must have been late. You see, I was delayed by a crowdin the Tritone--there is always a crowd there."
Corona seemed less calm than usual. The fact was, that since the affairwhich had caused her husband so much annoyance, some small part ofwhich she had perceived, she had been trying to make up to him for hisdisappointment in not knowing her secret, by being with him more thanusual, and by exerting herself to please him in every way. They did notusually meet during the afternoon, as he generally went out on foot,while she drove, but to-day they had agreed that she should come to thePincio and take him for a short drive and bring him home. The plan waspart of her fixed intention to be more than usually thoughtful where hewas concerned, and the idea that she had kept him waiting and that hehad gone away caused her more regret than would have been natural inthe ordinary course of events.
In order to explain what now took place, it is necessary to return toGiovanni himself who, as Corona had said, had waited for his wife nearthe band-stand on the Pincio for some time, until growing weary, he hadwalked away and left the gardens.
Though he manfully concealed what he fe
lt, the passion that had beensown in his heart had grown apace and in a few days had assumeddominating proportions. He suspected everything and everybody whiledetermined to appear indifferent. Even Corona's efforts to please him,which of late had grown so apparent, caused him suspicion. He askedhimself why her manner should have changed, as it undoubtedly hadduring the last few days. She had always been a good and loving wife tohim, and he was well pleased with her gravity and her dignified way ofshowing her affection. Why should she suddenly think it needful tobecome so very solicitous for his welfare and happiness during everymoment of his life? It was not like her to come into his study early inthe morning and to ask what he meant to do during the day. It was a newthing that she should constantly propose to walk with him, to drivewith him, to read aloud to him, to make herself not only a part of hisheart but a part of his occupations. Had the change come gradually, hewould not have distrusted her motives. He liked his wife's company andconversation, but as they each had things to do which could notconveniently be done together, he had made up his mind to the existencewhich was good enough for his companions in society. Other men did notthink of spending the afternoon in their wives' carriages, leavingcards or making visits, or driving round and round the Villa Borgheseand the Pincio. To do so was to be ridiculous in the extreme, andbesides, though he liked to be with Corona, he detested visiting, andhated of all things to stop a dozen times in the course of a drive inorder to send a footman upstairs with cards. He preferred to walk or tolounge in the club or to stay at home and study the problems of hisimprovements for Saracinesca. Corona's manner irritated him therefore,and made him think more than ever of the subject which he would havedone better to abandon from the first.
Nevertheless, he would not show that he was wearied by his wife'sattention, still less that he believed her behaviour to be prompted bya desire to deceive him. He was uniformly courteous and gentle,acquiescing in her little plans whenever he could do so, and expressinga suitable degree of regret when he was prevented from joining her bysome previous engagement. But the image of the French Zouave was everpresent with him. He could not get rid of Gouache's dark, delicatefeatures, even in his dreams; the sound of the man's pleasant voice andof his fluent conversation was constantly in his ears, and he could notlook at Corona without fancying how she would look if Anastase werebeside her whispering tender speeches.
All the time, he submitted with a good grace to do whatever sheproposed, and on this afternoon he found himself waiting for her besidethe band-stand. At first he watched the passing carriages indifferentlyenough, supposing that his own liveries would presently loom up in thelong line of high-seated coachmen and lacqueys, and having no especialdesire to see them. His position when in Corona's company grew everyday more difficult, and he thought as he stood by the stone pillar atthe corner that he would on the whole be glad if she did not come. Hewas egregiously mistaken in himself, however. As the minutes passed hegrew uneasy, and watched the advancing carriages with a feverishanxiety, saying to himself that every one must bring Corona, andactually growing pale with emotion as each vehicle turned the distantcorner and came into view. The time seemed interminable after he hadonce yielded to the excitement, and before another quarter of an hourhad elapsed, Sant' Ilario turned angrily away and left the Pincio bythe stairs that descend near the band-stand towards the winding driveby which the Piazza del Popolo is reached.
It is not easy for a person who is calm to comprehend the workings of abrain over excited with a strong passion. To a man who has lost thesober use of his faculties in the belief that he has been foullybetrayed, every circumstance, every insignificant accident, seems alink in the chain of evidence. A week earlier Giovanni would havethought himself mad if the mere idea had suggested itself to him thatCorona loved Gouache. To-day he believed that she had purposely senthim to wait upon the Pincio, in order that she might be sure of seeingGouache without fear of interruption. The conviction thrust itself uponhim with overwhelming force. He fancied himself the dupe of a commonimposition, he saw his magnificent love and trust made the sport of avulgar trick. The blood mounted to his dark face and as he descendedthe steps a red mist seemed to be spread between his eyes and allsurrounding objects. Though he walked firmly and mechanically, salutinghis acquaintances as he passed, he was unconscious of his actions, andmoved like a man under the influence of a superior force. Jealousy isthat one of all the passions which is most sure to break out suddenlyinto deeds of violence when long restrained.
Giovanni scarcely knew how he reached the Corso nor how it was that hefound himself ascending the dusky staircase which led to Gouache'slodgings. It was less than a quarter of an hour since San Giacinto hadbeen there, and the old woman still held her pot of coals in her handas she opened the door. As she had pointed to the door when SanGiacinto had come, so she now directed Giovanni in the same way. ButGiovanni, on hearing that Anastase was out, began to ask questions.
"Has any one been here?" he inquired.
"Eh! There was a gentleman a quarter of an hour ago," replied the woman.
"Has any lady been here?"
"A lady? Macche!" The old creature laughed. "What should ladies dohere?"
Giovanni thought he detected some hesitation in the tone. He was in themood to fancy himself deceived by every one.
"Are you fond of money?" he asked, brutally.
"Eh! I am an old woman. What would you have? Am I crazy that I shouldnot like money? But Signor Gouache is a very good gentleman. He payswell, thank Heaven!"
"What does he pay you for?"
"What for? For his lodging--for his coffee. Bacchus! What should he payme for? Strange question in truth. Do I keep a shop? I keep lodgings.But perhaps you like the place? It is a fine situation--just in theCorso and only one flight of stairs, a beautiful position for theCarnival. Of course, if you are inclined to pay more than SignorGouache, I do not say but what---"
"I do not want your lodgings, my good woman," returned Giovanni ingentler tones. "I want to know who comes to see your lodger."
"Who should come? His friends of course. Who else?"
"A lady, perhaps," said Giovanni in a thick voice. It hurt him to sayit, and the words almost stuck in his throat. "Perhaps a lady comessometimes," he repeated, pulling out some loose bank notes.
The old woman's filmy eyes suddenly twinkled in the gloom. The sound ofthe crisp pieces of paper was delightful to her ear.
"Well," she said after a moment's hesitation, "if a beautiful lady doescome here, that is the Signore's affair. It is none of my business."
Giovanni thrust the notes into her palm, which was already wide open toreceive them. His heart beat wildly.
"She is beautiful, you say?"
"Oh! As beautiful as you please!" chuckled the hag.
"Is she dark?"
"Of course," replied the woman. There was no mistaking the tone inwhich the question was asked, for Giovanni was no longer able toconceal anything that he felt.
"And tall, I suppose? Yes. And she was here a quarter of an hour ago,you say? Speak out!" he cried, advancing a step towards the oldcreature. "If you lie to me, I will kill you! She was here--do not denyit."
"Yes--yes," answered the woman, cowering back in some terror. "Percarita! Don't murder me--I tell you the truth."
With a sudden movement Giovanni turned on his heel and enteredGouache's sitting-room. It was now almost dark in the house and hestruck a match and lighted a candle that stood on the stable. The glareilluminated his swarthy features and fiery eyes, and the veins stoodout on his forehead and temples like strained and twisted cords. Helooked about him in every direction, examining the table, strewn withpapers and books, the floor, the furniture, expecting every moment tofind something which should prove that Corona had been there. Seeingnothing, he entered the bedroom beyond. It was a small chamber and hehad scarcely passed through the door when he found himself before thetoilet-table. The note San Giacinto had left was there pinned upon thelittle cushion with the gold pin, as he had placed it.<
br />
Giovanni stared wildly at the thing for several seconds and his facegrew deadly white. There was no evidence lacking now, for the pin wasCorona's own. It was a simple enough object, made of plain gold, thehead being twisted into the shape of the letter C, but there was nomistaking its identity, for Giovanni had designed it himself. Coronaused it for fastening her veil.
As the blood sank from his head to his heart Giovanni grew very calm.He set the candle upon the toilet-table and took the note, afterputting the pin in his pocket. The handwriting seemed to be feigned,and his lip curled scornfully as he looked at it and then, turning itover, saw that the envelope was one of Corona's own. It seemed to him apitiable piece of folly in her to distort her writing when there wassuch abundant proof on all sides to convict her. Without the slightesthesitation he opened the letter and read it, bending down and holdingit near the candle. One perusal was enough. He smiled curiously as heread the words, "I am so watched that I can do nothing. Some onesuspects something." His attention was arrested by the statement that atrusty person--the words were underlined--would bring the note. Themeaning of the emphasis was explained by the pin; the trusty person washerself, who, perhaps by an afterthought, had left the bit of gold as aparting gift in case Gouache marched before they met again.
Giovanni glanced once more round the room, half expecting to find someother convicting piece of evidence. Then he hesitated, holding thecandle in one hand and the note in the other. He thought of stayingwhere he was and waiting for Gouache, but the idea did not seemfeasible. Nothing which implied waiting could have satisfied him atthat moment, and after a few seconds he thrust the note into his pocketand went out. His hand was on the outer door, when he remembered theold woman who sat crouching over her pan of coals, scarcely able tobelieve her good luck, and longing for Giovanni's departure in orderthat she might count the crisp notes again. She dared not indulgeherself in that pleasure while he was present, lest he should repent ofhis generosity and take back a part of them, for she had seen how hehad taken them from his pocket and saw that he had no idea how much hehad given.
"You will say nothing of my coming," said Giovanni, fixing his eyesupon her.
"I, Signore? Do not be afraid! Money is better than words."
"Very good," he answered. "Perhaps you will get twice as much the nexttime I want to know the truth."
"God bless you!" chuckled the wrinkled creature. He went out, and thelittle bell that was fastened to the door tinkled as the latch sprangback into its place. Then the woman counted the price of blood, whichhad so unexpectedly fallen into her hands. The bank-notes were many andbroad, and crisp and new, for Giovanni had not reckoned the cost. Itwas long since old Caterina Ranucci had seen so much money, and she hadcertainly never had so much of her own.
"Qualche innamorato!" she muttered to herself as she smoothed the notesone by one and gloated over them and built castles in the air under thelight of her little oil lamp. "It is some fellow in love. Heaven pardonme if I have done wrong! He seemed so anxious to know that the womanhad been here--why should I not content him? Poveretto! He must berich. I will always tell him what he wants to know. Heaven bring himoften and bless him."
Then she rocked herself backwards and forwards, hugging her pot ofcoals and crooning the words of an ancient Roman ditty--
"Io vorrei che nella luna Ci s'andasse in carrettella Per vedere la piu bella Delle donne di la su!"
What does the old song mean? Who knows whether it ever meant anything?"I wish one might drive in a little cart to the moon, to see the mostbeautiful of the women up there!" Caterina Ranucci somehow felt asthough she could express her feelings in no better way than by singingthe queer words to herself in her cracked old voice. Possibly shethought that the neighbours would not suspect her good fortune if theyheard her favourite song.