While Giovanni was at the Palazzo Montevarchi, and while Corona was
busy with her dressmakers, Prince Saracinesca was dozing over the
Osservatore Romano in his study. To tell the truth the paper was less
dull than usual, for there was war and rumour of war in its columns.
Garibaldi had raised a force of volunteers and was in the neighbourhood
of Arezzo, beginning to skirmish with the outlying posts of the
pontifical army along the frontier. The old gentleman did not know, of
course, that on that very day the Italian Government was issuing its
proclamation against the great agitator, and possibly if he had been
aware of the incident it would not have produced any very strong
impression upon his convictions. Garibaldi was a fact, and Saracinesca
did not believe that any proclamations would interfere with his march
unless backed by some more tangible force. Even had he known that the
guerilla general had been arrested at Sinalunga and put in confinement
as soon as the proclamation had appeared, the prince would have
foreseen clearly enough that the prisoner's escape would be only a
question of a few days, since there were manifold evidences that an
understanding existed between Ratazzi and Garibaldi of much the same
nature as that which in 1860 had been maintained between Garibaldi and
Cavour during the advance upon Naples. The Italian Government kept men
under arms to be ready to take advantage of any successes obtained by
the Garibaldian volunteers, and at the same time to suppress the
republican tendencies of the latter, which broke out afresh with every
new advance, and disappeared, as by magic, under the depressing
influence of a forced retreat.
The prince knew all these things, and had reflected upon them so often
that they no longer afforded enough interest to keep him awake. The
warm September sun streamed into the study and fell upon the paper as
it slowly slipped over the old gentleman's knees, while his head sank
lower and lower on his breast. The old enamelled clock upon the
chimney-piece ticked more loudly, as clocks seem to do when people are
asleep and they are left to their own devices, and a few belated flies
chased each other in the sunbeams.
The silence was broken by the entrance of a servant, who would have
withdrawn again when he saw that his master was napping, had not the
latter stirred and raised his head before the man had time to get away.
Then the fellow came forward with an apology and presented a
visiting-card. The prince stared at the bit of pasteboard, rubbed his
eyes, stared again, and then laid it upon the table beside him, his
eyes still resting on the name, which seemed so much to surprise him.
Then he told the footman to introduce the visitor, and a few moments
later a very tall man entered the room, hat in hand, and advanced
slowly towards him with the air of a person who has a perfect right to
present himself but wishes to give his host time to recognise him.
The prince remembered the newcomer very well. The closely-buttoned
frock-coat showed the man's imposing figure to greater advantage than
the dress in which Saracinesca had last seen him, but there was no
mistaking the personality. There was the same lean but massive face,
broadened by the high cheekbones and the prominent square jaw; there
were the same piercing black eyes, set near together under eyebrows
that met in the midst of the forehead, the same thin and cruel lips,
and the same strongly-marked nose, set broadly on at the nostrils,
though pointed and keen. Had the prince had any doubts as to his
visitor's identity they would have been dispelled by the man's great
height and immense breadth of shoulder, which would have made it hard
indeed for him to disguise himself had he wished to do so. But though
very much surprised, Saracinesca had no doubts whatever. The only
points that were new to him in the figure before him were the outward
manner and appearance, and the dress of a gentleman.
"I trust I am not disturbing you, prince?" The words were spoken in a
deep, clear voice, and with a notable southern accent.
"Not at all. I confess I am astonished at seeing you in Rome. Is there
anything I can do for you? I shall always be grateful to you for having
been alive to testify to the falsehood of that accusation made against
my son. Pray sit down. How is your Signora? And the children? All well,
I hope?"
"My wife is dead," returned the other, and the grave tones of his bass
voice lent solemnity to the simple statement.
"I am sincerely sorry--" began the prince, but his visitor interrupted
him.
"The children are well. They are in Aquila for the present. I have come
to establish myself in Rome, and my first visit is naturally to
yourself, since I have the advantage of being your cousin."
"Naturally," ejaculated Saracinesca, though his face expressed
considerable surprise.
"Do not imagine that I am going to impose myself upon you as a poor
relation," continued the other with a faint smile. "Fortune has been
kind to me since we met, perhaps as a compensation for the loss I
suffered in the death of my poor wife. I have a sufficient independence
and can hold my own."
"I never supposed--"
"You might naturally have supposed that I had come to solicit your
favour, though it is not the case. When we parted I was an innkeeper in
Aquila. I have no cause to be ashamed of my past profession. I only
wish to let you know that it is altogether past, and that I intend to
resume the position which my great-grandfather foolishly forfeited. As
you are the present head of the family I judged that it was my duty to
inform you of the fact immediately."
"By all means. I imagined this must be the case from your card. You are
entirely in your rights, and I shall take great pleasure in informing
every one of the fact. You are the Marchese di San Giacinto, and the
inn at Aquila no longer exists."
"As these things must be done, once and for always, I have brought my
papers to Rome," answered the Marchese. "They are at your disposal, for
you certainly have a right to see them, if you like. I will recall to
your memory the facts of our history, in case you have forgotten them."
"I know the story well enough," said Saracinesca. "Our
great-grandfathers were brothers. Yours went to live in Naples. His son
grew up and joined the French against the King. His lands were
forfeited, he married and died in obscurity, leaving your father, his
only son. Your father died young and you again are his only son. You
married the Signora Felice--"
"Baldi," said the Marchese, nodding in confirmation of the various
statements.
"The Signora Felice Baldi, by whom you have two children--"
"Boys."
"Two boys. And the Signora Marchesa, I grieve to hear, is dead. Is that
accurate?"
"Perfectly. There is one circumstance, connected with our
great-grandfathers, which you have not mentioned, but which I am sure
you remember."
"What is that?" asked the prince, fixing his keen eyes on his
companion's face.
"It is only this," replied San Giacinto, calmly. "My great-grandfather
was two years older than yours. You know he never meant to marry, and
resigned the title to his younger brother, who had children already. He
took a wife in his old age, and my grandfather was the son born to him.
That is why you are so much older than I, though we are of the same
generation in the order of descent."
"Yes," assented the prince. "That accounts for it. Will you smoke?"
Giovanni Saracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto, looked curiously at his
cousin as he took the proffered cigar. There was something abrupt in
the answer which attracted his attention and roused his quick
suspicions. He wondered whether that former exchange of titles, and
consequent exchange of positions were an unpleasant subject of
conversation to the prince. But the latter, as though anticipating such
a doubt in his companion's mind, at once returned to the question with
the boldness which was natural to him.
"There was a friendly agreement," he said, striking a match and
offering it to the Marchese. "I have all the documents, and have
studied them with interest. It might amuse you to see them, some day."
"I should like to see them, indeed," answered San Giacinto. "They must
be very curious. As I was saying, I am going to establish myself in
Rome. It seems strange to me to be playing the gentleman--it must seem
even more odd to you."
"It would be truer to say that you have been playing the innkeeper,"
observed the prince, courteously. "No one would suspect it," he added,
glancing at his companion's correct attire.
"I have an adaptable nature," said the Marchese, calmly. "Besides, I
have always looked forward to again taking my place in the world. I
have acquired a little instruction--not much, you will say, but it is
sufficient as the times go; and as for education, it is the same for
every one, innkeeper or prince. One takes off one's hat, one speaks
quietly, one says what is agreeable to hear--is it not enough?"
"Quite enough," replied the prince. He was tempted to smile at his
cousin's definition of manners, though he could see that the man was
quite able to maintain his position. "Quite enough, indeed, and as for
instruction, I am afraid most of us have forgotten our Latin. You need
have no anxiety on that score. But, tell me, how comes it that, having
been bred in the south, you prefer to establish yourself in Rome rather
than in Naples? They say that you Neapolitans do not like us."
"I am a Roman by descent, and I wish to become one in fact," returned
the Marchese. "Besides," he added, in a peculiarly grave tone of voice,
"I do not like the new order of things. Indeed, I have but one favour
to ask of you, and that is a great one."
"Anything in my power--"
"To present me to the Holy Father as one who desires to become his
faithful subject. Could you do so, do you think, without any great
inconvenience?"
"Eh! I shall be delighted! Magari!" answered the prince, heartily. "To
tell the truth, I was afraid you meant to keep your Italian
convictions, and that, in Rome, would be against you, especially in
these stormy days. But if you will join us heart and soul you will be
received with open arms. I shall take great pleasure in seeing you make
the acquaintance of my son and his wife. Come and dine this evening."
"Thank you," said the Marchese. "I will not fail."
After a few more words San Giacinto took his leave, and the prince
could not but admire the way in which this man, who had been brought up
among peasants, or at best among the small farmers of an outlying
district, assumed at once an air of perfect equality while allowing
just so much of respect to appear in his manner as might properly be
shown by a younger member to the head of a great house. When he was
gone Saracinesca rang the bell.
"Pasquale," he said, addressing the old butler who answered the
summons, "that gentleman who is just gone is my cousin, Don Giovanni
Saracinesca, who is called Marchese di San Giacinto. He will dine here
this evening. You will call him Eccellenza, and treat him as a member
of the family. Go and ask the princess if she will receive me."
Pasquale opened his mental eyes very wide as he bowed and left the
room. He had never heard of this other Saracinesca, and the appearance
of a new member of the family upon the scene, who must, from his
appearance, have been in existence between thirty and forty years,
struck him as astonishing in the extreme; for the old servant had been
bred up in the house from a boy and imagined himself master of all the
secrets connected with the Saracinesca household.
He was, indeed, scarcely less surprised than his master who, although
he had been aware for some time past that Giovanni Saracinesca existed
and was his cousin, had never anticipated the event of his coming to
Rome, and had expected still less that the innkeeper would ever assume
the title to which he had a right and play the part of a gentleman, as
he himself had expressed it. There was a strange mixture of boldness
and foresight in the way the old prince had received his new relation.
He knew the strength of his own position in society, and that the
introduction of a humble cousin could not possibly do him harm. At the
worst, people might laugh a little among themselves and remark that the
Marchese must be a nuisance to the Saracinesca. On the other hand, the
prince was struck from the first with the air of self-possession which
he discerned in San Giacinto, and foresaw that the man would very
probably play a part in Roman life. He was a man who might be disliked,
but who could not be despised; and since his claims to consideration
were undeniably genuine, it seemed wiser to accept him from the first
as a member of the family and unhesitatingly to treat him as such.
After all, he demanded nothing to which he had not a clear right from
the moment he announced his intention of taking his place in the world,
and it was certainly far wiser to receive him cordially at once, than
to draw back from acknowledging the relationship because he had been
brought up in another sphere.
This was the substance of what Prince Saracinesca communicated to his
daughter-in-law a few minutes later. She listened patiently to all he
had to say, only asking a question now and then in order to understand
more clearly what had happened. She was curious to see the man whose
name had once been so strangely confounded with her husband's by the
machinations of the Conte Del Ferice and Donna Tullia Mayer, and she
frankly confessed her curiosity and her satisfaction at the prospect of
meeting San Giacinto that evening. While she was talking with the
prince, Giovanni unexpectedly returned from his walk. He had turned
homewards as soon as he had sent the military surgeon to Gouache.
"Well, Giovannino," cried the old gentleman, "the prodigal innkeeper
has returned to the bosom of the family."
"What innkeeper?"
"Your worthy namesake, and cousin, Giovanni Saracinesca, formerly of
Aquila."
"Does Madame Mayer want to prove that it is he who has married Corona?"
inquired Sant 'Ilario with a laugh.
"No, though I suppose he is a candidate for marriage. I never was more
surprised in my life. His wife is dead. He is rich, or says he is. He
has his card printed in full, 'Giovanni Saracinesca, Marchese di San
Giacinto,' in the most correct manner. He wears an excellent coat, and
announces his intention of being presented to the Pope and introduced
to Roman society."
Sant' Ilario stared incredulously at his father, and then looked
inquiringly at his wife as though to ask if it were not all a jest.
When he was assured that the facts were true he looked grave and slowly
stroked his pointed black beard, a gesture which was very unusual with
him, and always accompanied the deepest meditation.
"There is nothing to be done but to receive him into the family," he
said at last. "But I do not wholly believe in his good intentions. We
shall see. I shall be glad to make his acquaintance."
"He is coming to dinner."
The conversation continued for some time and the arrival of San
Giacinto was discussed in all its bearings. Corona took a very
practical view of the question, and said that it was certainly best to
treat him well, thereby relieving her father-in-law of a considerable
anxiety. He had indeed feared lest she should resent the introduction
of a man who might reasonably be supposed to have retained a certain
coarseness of manner from his early surroundings, and he knew that her
consent was all-important in such a case, since she was virtually the
mistress of the house. But Corona regarded the matter in much the same
light as the old gentleman himself, feeling that nothing of such a
nature could possibly injure the imposing position of her husband's
family, and taking it for granted that no one who had good blood in his
veins could ever behave outrageously. Of all the three, Sant' Ilario
was the most silent and thoughtful, for he feared certain consequences
from the arrival of this new relation which did not present themselves
to the minds of the others, and was resolved to be cautious
accordingly, even while appearing to receive San Giacinto with all due
cordiality. Later in the day he was alone with his father for a few
minutes.
"Do you like this fellow?" he asked, abruptly.
"No," answered the prince.
"Neither do I, though I have not seen him."
"We shall see," was the old gentleman's answer.
The evening came, and at the appointed hour San Giacinto was announced.
Both Corona and her husband were surprised at his imposing appearance,
as well as at the dignity and self-possession he displayed. His
southern accent was not more noticeable than that of many Neapolitan
gentlemen, and his conversation, if neither very brilliant nor very
fluent, was not devoid of interest. He talked of the agricultural
condition of the new Italy, and old Saracinesca and his son were both
interested in the subject. They noticed, too, that during dinner no
word escaped him which could give any clue to his former occupation or
position, though afterwards, when the servants were not present, he
alluded more than once with a frank smile to his experiences as an
innkeeper. On the whole, he seemed modest and reserved, yet perfectly
self-possessed and conscious of his right to be where he was.
Such conduct on the part of such a man did not appear so surprising to
the Saracinesca household, as it would have seemed to foreigners. San
Giacinto had said that he had an adaptable character, and that
adaptability is one of the most noticeable features of the Italian
race. It is not necessary to discuss the causes of this peculiarity.
They would be incomprehensible to the foreigner at large, who never has
any real understanding of Italians. I do not hesitate to say that,
without a single exception, every foreigner, poet or prose-writer, who
has treated of these people has more or less grossly misunderstood
them. That is a sweeping statement, when it is considered that few men
of the highest genius in our century have not at one time or another
set down upon paper their several estimates of the Italian race. The
requisite for accurately describing people, however, is not genius, but
knowledge of the subject. The poet commonly sees himself in others, and
the modern writer upon Italy is apt to believe that he can see others
in himself. The reflection of an Italian upon the mental retina of the
foreigner is as deceptive as his own outward image is when seen upon
the polished surface of a concave mirror; and indeed the character
studies of many great men, when the subject is taken from a race not
their own, remind one very forcibly of what may be seen by
contemplating oneself in the bowl of a bright silver spoon. To
understand Italians a man must have been born and bred among them; and
even then the harder, fiercer instinct, which dwells in northern blood,
may deceive the student and lead him far astray. The Italian is an
exceedingly simple creature, and is apt to share the opinion of the
ostrich, who ducks his head and believes his whole body is hidden.
Foreigners use strong language concerning the Italian lie; but this
only proves how extremely transparent the deception is. It is indeed a
singular fact, but one which may often be observed, that two Italians
who lie systematically will frequently believe each other, to their own
ruin, with a childlike faith rarely found north of the Alps. This seems
to me to prove that their dishonesty has outgrown their indolent
intelligence; and indeed they deceive themselves nearly as often as
they succeed in deceiving their neighbours. In a country where a lie
easily finds credence, lying is not likely to be elevated to the rank
of a fine art. I have often wondered how such men as Cesare Borgia
succeeded in entrapping their enemies by snares which a modern
northerner would detect from the first and laugh to scorn as mere
child's play.
There is an extraordinary readiness in Italians to fit themselves and
their lives to circumstances whenever they can save themselves trouble
by doing so. Their constitutions are convenient to this end, for they
are temperate in most things and do not easily fall into habits which
they cannot change at will. The desire to avoid trouble makes them the
most courteous among nations; and they are singularly obliging to
strangers when, by conferring an obligation, they are able to make an
acquaintance who will help them to pass an idle hour in agreeable
conversation. They are equally surprised, whether a stranger suspects
them of making advances for the sake of extracting money from him, or
expresses resentment at having been fraudulently induced to part with
any cash. The beggar in the street howls like a madman if you refuse an
alms, and calls you an idiot to his fellow-mendicant if you give him
five centimes. The servant says in his heart that his foreign employer
is a fool, and sheds tears of rage and mortification when his shallow
devices for petty cheating are discovered. And yet the servant, the
beggar, the shopkeeper, and the gentleman, are obliging sometimes
almost to philanthropy, and are ever ready to make themselves agreeable.
The Marchese di San Giacinto differed from his relations, the
Saracinesca princes, in that he was a full-blooded Italian, and not the
result of a cosmopolitan race-fusion, like so many of the Roman nobles.
He had not the Roman traditions, but, on the other hand, he had his
full share of the national characteristics, together with something
individual which lifted him above the common herd in point of
intelligence and in strength. He was a noticeable man; all the more so
because, with many pleasant qualities, his countrymen rarely possess
that physical and mental combination of size, energy, and reserve,
which inspires the sort of respect enjoyed by imposing personages.
As he sat talking with the family after dinner on the evening of his
first introduction to the household what passed in his mind and in the
minds of his hosts can be easily stated.
Sant' Ilario, whose ideas were more clear upon most subjects than those
of his father or his wife, said to himself that he did not like the
man; that he suspected him, and believed he had some hidden intention
in coming to Rome; that it would be wise to watch him perpetually and
to question everything he did; but that he was undeniably a relation,
possessing every right to consideration, and entitled to be treated
with a certain familiarity; that, finally and on the whole, he was a
nuisance, to be borne with a good grace and a sufficient show of
cordiality.
San Giacinto, for his part, was deeply engaged in maintaining the exact
standard of manners which he knew to be necessary for the occasion, and
his thoughts concerning his relatives were not yet altogether defined.
It was his intention to take his place among them, and he was doing his
best to accomplish this object as speedily and quietly as possible. He
had not supposed that princes and princesses were in any way different
from other human beings except by the accidents of wealth and social
position. Master of these two requisites there was no reason why he
should not feel as much at home with the Saracinesca as he had felt in
the society of the mayor and municipal council of Aquila, who possessed
those qualifications also, though in a less degree. The Saracinesca
probably thought about most questions very much as he himself did, or
if there were any difference in their mode of thinking it was due to
Roman prejudice and tradition rather than to any peculiarity inherent
in the organisation of the members of the higher aristocracy. If he
should find himself in any dilemma owing to his ignorance of social
details he would not hesitate to apply to the prince for information,
since it was by no means his fault if he had been brought up an
innkeeper and was now to be a nobleman. His immediate object was to
place himself among his equals, and his next purpose was to marry
again, in his new rank, a woman of good position and fortune. Of this
matter he intended to speak to the prince in due time, when he should
have secured the first requisite to his marriage by establishing
himself firmly in society. He meant to apply to the prince, ostensibly
as to the head of the family, thereby showing a deference to that
dignity, which he supposed would be pleasing to the old gentleman; but
he had not forgotten in his calculations the pride which old
Saracinesca must naturally feel in his race, and which would probably
induce him to take very great pains in finding a suitable wife for San
Giacinto rather than permit the latter to contract a discreditable
alliance.
San Giacinto left the house at half-past nine o'clock, under the
pretext of another engagement, for he did not mean to weary his
relations with too much of his company in the first instance. When he
was gone the three looked at each other in silence for some moments.
"He has surprisingly good manners, for an innkeeper," said Corona at
last. "No one will ever suspect his former life. But I do not like him."
"Nor I," said the prince.
"He wants something," said Sant' Ilario. "And he will probably get it,"
he added, after a short pause. "He has a determined face."