When San Giacinto heard Corona's explanation of Faustina's
disappearance, he said nothing. He did not believe the story in the
least, but if every one was satisfied there was no reason why he should
not be satisfied also. Though he saw well enough that the tale was a
pure invention, and that there was something behind it which was not to
be known, the result was, on the whole, exactly what he desired. He
received the thanks of the Montevarchi household for his fruitless
exertions with a smile of gratification, and congratulated the princess
upon the happy issue of the adventure. He made no present attempt to
ascertain the real truth by asking questions which would have been hard
to answer, for he was delighted that the incident should be explained
away and forgotten at once. Donna Faustina's disappearance was of
course freely discussed and variously commented, but the general
verdict of the world was contrary to San Giacinto's private
conclusions. People said that the account given by the family must be
true, since it was absurd to suppose that a child just out of the
convent could be either so foolish or so courageous as to go out alone
at such a moment. No other hypothesis was in the least tenable, and the
demonstration offered must be accepted as giving the only solution of
the problem. San Giacinto told no one that he thought differently.
It was before all things his intention to establish himself firmly in
Roman society, and his natural tact told him that the best way to
accomplish this was to offend no one, and to endorse without question
the opinion of the majority. Moreover, as a part of his plan for
assuring his position consisted in marrying Faustina's sister, his
interest lay manifestly in protecting the good name of her family by
every means in his power. He knew that old Montevarchi passed for being
one of the most rigid amongst the stiff company of the strait-laced,
and that the prince was as careful of the conduct of his children, as
his father had formerly been in regard to his own doings. Ascanio
Bellegra was the result of this home education, and already bid fair to
follow in his parent's footsteps. Christian virtues are certainly not
incompatible with manliness, but the practice of them as maintained by
Prince Montevarchi had made his son Ascanio a colourless creature,
rather non-bad than good, clothed in a garment of righteousness that
fitted him only because his harmless soul had no salient bosses of
goodness, any more than it was disfigured by any reprehensible
depressions capable of harbouring evil.
There is a class of men in certain states of society who are manly, but
not masculine. There is nothing paradoxical in the statement, nor is it
a mere play upon the meanings of words. There are men of all ages,
young, middle-aged, and old, who possess many estimable virtues, who
show physical courage wherever it is necessary, who are honourable,
strong, industrious, and tenacious of purpose, but who undeniably lack
something which belongs to the ideal man, and which, for want of a
better word, we call the masculine element. When we shall have
microscopes so large and powerful that a human being shall be as
transparent under the concentrated light of the lenses as the tiniest
insect when placed in one of our modern instruments, then, perhaps, the
scientist of the future may discover the causes of this difference. I
believe, however, that it does not depend upon the fact of one man
having a few ounces more of blood in his veins than another. The fact
lies deeper hidden than that, and may puzzle the psychologist as well
as the professor of anthropology. For us it exists, and we cannot
explain it, but must content ourselves with comparing the phenomena
which proceed from these differences of organisation. At the present
day the society of the English-speaking races seems to favour the
growth of the creature who is only manly but not masculine, whereas
outside the pale of that strange little family which calls itself
"society" the masculinity of man is more striking than among other
races. Not long ago a French journalist said that many of the
peculiarities of the English-speaking peoples proceeded from the
omnipresence of the young girl, who reads every novel that appears,
goes to every theatre, and regulates the tone of conversation and
literature by her never-absent innocence. Cynics, if there are still
representatives of a school which has grown ridiculous, may believe
this if they please; the fact remains that it is precisely the most
masculine class of men who show the strongest predilection for the
society of the most refined women, and who on the whole show the
greatest respect for all women in general. The masculine man prefers
the company of the other sex by natural attraction, and would perhaps
rather fight with other men, or at least strive to outdo them in the
struggle for notoriety, power, or fame, than spend his time in friendly
conversation with them, no matter how interesting the topic selected.
This point of view may be regarded as uncivilised, but it may be
pointed out that it is only in the most civilised countries that the
society of women is accessible to all men of their own social position.
No one familiar with Eastern countries will pretend that Orientals shut
up their women because they enjoy their company so much as to be
unwilling to share the privilege with their friends.
San Giacinto was pre-eminently a masculine man, as indeed were all the
Saracinesca, in a greater or less degree. He understood women
instinctively, and, with a very limited experience of the world, knew
well enough the strength of their influence. It was characteristic of
him that he had determined to marry almost as soon as he had got a
footing in Roman society. He saw clearly that if he could unite himself
with a powerful family he could exercise a directing power over the
women which must ultimately give him all that he needed. Through his
cousins he had very soon made the acquaintance of the Montevarchi
household, and seeing that there were two marriageable daughters, he
profited by the introduction. He would have preferred Faustina,
perhaps, but he foresaw that he should find fewer difficulties in
obtaining her sister for his wife. The old prince and princess were in
despair at seeing her still unmarried, and it was clear that they were
not likely to find a better match for her than the Marchese di San
Giacinto. He, on his part, knew that his past occupation was a
disadvantage to him in the eyes of the world, although he was the
undoubted and acknowledged cousin of the Saracinesca, and the only man
of the family besides old Leone and his son Sant' Ilario. His two boys,
also, were a drawback, since his second wife's children could not
inherit the whole of the property he expected to leave. But his
position was good, and Flavia was not generally considered to be likely
to marry, so that he had good hopes of winning her.
It was clear to him from the first that there must be some reason why
she had not married, and the somewhat disparaging remarks concerning
her which he heard from time to time excited his curiosity. As he had
always intended to consult the head of his family upon the matter he
now determined to do so at once. He was not willing, indeed, to let
matters go any further until he had ascertained the truth concerning
her, and he was sure that Prince Saracinesca would tell him everything
at the first mention of a proposal to marry her. The old gentleman had
too much pride to allow his cousin to make an unfitting match.
Accordingly, on the day following the events last narrated San Giacinto
called after breakfast and found the prince, as usual, alone in his
study. He was not dozing, however, for the accounts of the last night's
doings in the Osservatore Romano were very interesting.
"I suppose you have heard all about Montevarchi's daughter?" asked
Saracinesca, laying his paper aside and giving his hand to San Giacinto.
"Yes, and I am delighted at the conclusion of the adventure, especially
as I have something to ask you about another member of the family."
"I hope Flavia has not disappeared now," remarked the prince.
"I trust not," answered San Giacinto with a laugh. "I was going to ask
you whether I should have your approval if I proposed to marry her."
"This is a very sudden announcement," said Saracinesca with some
surprise. "I must think about it. I appreciate your friendly
disposition vastly, my dear cousin, in asking my opinion, and I will
give the matter my best consideration."
"I shall be very grateful," replied the younger man, gravely. "In my
position I feel bound to consult you. I should do so in any case for
the mere benefit of your advice, which is very needful to one who, like
myself, is but a novice in the ways of Rome."
Saracinesca looked keenly at his cousin, as though expecting to
discover some touch of irony in his tone or expression. He remembered
the fierce altercations he had engaged in with Giovanni when he had
wished the latter to marry Tullia Mayer, and was astonished to find San
Giacinto, over whom he had no real authority at all, so docile and
anxious for his counsel.
"I suppose you would like to know something about her fortune," he said
at last. "Montevarchi is rich, but miserly. He could give her anything
he liked."
"Of course it is important to know what he would like to give," replied
San Giacinto with a smile.
"Of course. Very well. There are two daughters already married. They
each had a hundred thousand scudi. It is not so bad, after all, when
you think what a large family he has--but he could have given more. As
for Flavia, he might do something generous for the sake of---"
The old gentleman was going to say, for the sake of getting rid of her,
and perhaps his cousin thought as much. The prince checked himself,
however, and ended his sentence rather awkwardly.
"For the sake of getting such a fine fellow for a husband," he said.
"Why is she not already married?" inquired San Giacinto with a very
slight inclination of his head, as an acknowledgment of the flattering
speech whereby the prince had helped himself out of his difficulty.
"Who knows!" ejaculated the latter enigmatically.
"Is there any story about her? Was she ever engaged to be married? It
is rather strange when one thinks of it, for she is a handsome girl.
Pray be quite frank--I have taken no steps in the matter."
"The fact is that I do not know. She is not like other girls, and as
she gives her father and mother some trouble in society, I suppose that
young men's fathers have been afraid to ask for her. No. I can assure
you that there is no story connected with her. She has a way of stating
disagreeable truths that terrifies Montevarchi. She was delicate as a
child and was brought up at home, so of course she has no manners."
"I should have thought she should have better manners for that,"
remarked San Giacinto. The prince stared at him in surprise.
"We do not think so here," he answered after a moment's pause. "On the
whole, I should say that for a hundred and twenty thousand you might
marry her, if you are so inclined--and if you can manage her. But that
is a matter for you to judge."
"The Montevarchi are, I believe, what you call a great family?"
"They are not the Savelli, nor the Frangipani--nor the Saracinesca
either. But they are a good family--good blood, good fortune, and what
Montevarchi calls good principles."
"You think I could not do better than marry Donna Flavia, then?"
"It would be a good marriage, decidedly. You ought to have married
Tullia Mayer. If she had not made a fool of herself and an enemy of me,
and if you had turned up two years ago--well, there were a good many
objections to her, and stories about her, too. But she was rich--eh!
that was a fortune to be snapped up by that scoundrel Del Ferice!"
"Del Ferice?" repeated San Giacinto. "The same who tried to prove that
your son was married by copying my marriage register?"
"The same. I will tell you the rest of the story some day. Then at that
time there was Bianca Valdarno--but she married a Neapolitan last year;
and the Rocca girl, but Onorato Cantalupo got her and her
dowry--Montevarchi's second son--and--well, I see nobody now, except
Flavia's sister Faustina. Why not marry her? It is true that her father
means to catch young Frangipani, but he will have no such luck, I can
tell him, unless he will part with half a million."
"Donna Faustina is too young," said San Giacinto, calmly. "Besides, as
they are sisters and there is so little choice, I may say that I prefer
Donna Flavia, she is more gay, more lively."
"Vastly more, I have no doubt, and you will have to look after her,
unless you can make her fall in love with you." Saracinesca laughed at
the idea.
"With me!" exclaimed San Giacinto, joining in his cousin's merriment.
"With me, indeed! A sober widower, between thirty and forty! A likely
thing! Fortunately there is no question of love in this matter. I think
I can answer for her conduct, however."
"I would not be the man to raise your jealousy!" remarked Saracinesca,
laughing again as he looked admiringly at his cousin's gigantic figure
and lean stern face. "You are certainly able to take care of your wife.
Besides, I have no doubt that Flavia will change when she is married.
She is not a bad girl--only a little too fond of making fun of her
father and mother, and after all, as far as the old man is concerned, I
do not wonder. There is one point upon which you must satisfy him,
though--I am not curious, and do not ask you questions, but I warn you
that glad as he will be to marry his daughter, he will want to drive a
bargain with you and will inquire about your fortune."
San Giacinto was silent for a few moments and seemed to be making a
calculation in his head.
"Would a fortune equal to what he gives her be sufficient?" he asked at
length.
"Yes. I fancy so," replied the prince looking rather curiously at his
cousin. "You see," he continued, "as you have children by your first
marriage, Montevarchi would wish to see Flavia's son provided for, if
she has one. That is your affair. I do not want to make suggestions."
"I think," said San Giacinto after another short interval of silence,
"that I could agree to settle something upon any children which may be
born. Do you think some such arrangement would satisfy Prince
Montevarchi?"
"Certainly, if you can agree about the terms. Such things are often
done in these cases."
"I am very grateful for your advice. May I count upon your good word
with the prince, if he asks your opinion?"
"Of course," answered Saracinesca, readily, if not very cordially.
He had not at first liked his cousin, and although he had overcome his
instinctive aversion to the man, the feeling was momentarily revived
with more than its former force by the prospect of being perhaps called
upon to guarantee, in a measure, San Giacinto's character as a suitable
husband for Flavia. He had gone too far already however, for since he
had given his approval to the scheme it would not become him to
withhold his cooperation, should his assistance be in any way necessary
in order to bring about the marriage. The slight change of tone as he
uttered the last words had not escaped San Giacinto, however. His
perceptions were naturally quick and were sharpened by the
peculiarities of his present position, so that he understood
Saracinesca's unwillingness to have a hand in the matter almost better
than the prince understood it himself.
"I trust that I shall not be obliged to ask your help," remarked San
Giacinto. "I was, indeed, more anxious for your goodwill than for any
more material aid."
"You have it, with all my heart," said Saracinesca warmly, for he was a
little ashamed of his coldness.
San Giacinto took his leave and went away well satisfied with what he
had accomplished, as indeed he had good cause to be. Montevarchi's
consent to the marriage was not doubtful, now that San Giacinto was
assured that he was able to fulfil the conditions which would be asked,
and the knowledge that he was able to do even more than was likely to
be required of him gave him additional confidence in the result. To
tell the truth, he was strongly attracted by Flavia; and though he
would assuredly have fought with his inclination had it appeared to be
misplaced, he was pleased with the prospect of marrying a woman who
would not only strengthen his position in society, but for whom he knew
that he was capable of a sincere attachment. Marriage, according to his
light, was before all things a contract entered into for mutual
advantage; but he saw no reason why the fulfilment of such a contract
should not be made as agreeable as possible.
The principal point was yet to be gained, however, and as San Giacinto
mounted the steps of the Palazzo Montevarchi he stopped more than once,
considering for the last time whether he were doing wisely or not. On
the whole he determined to proceed, and made up his mind that he would
go straight to the point.
Flavia's father was sitting in his study when San Giacinto arrived, and
the latter was struck by the contrast between the personalities and the
modes of life of his cousin whom he had just left and of the man to
whom he was about to propose himself as a son-in-law. The Saracinesca
were by no means very luxurious men, but they understood the comforts
of existence better than most Romans of that day. If there was massive
old-fashioned furniture against the walls and in the corners of the
huge rooms, there were on the other hand soft carpets for the feet and
cushioned easy-chairs to sit in. There were fires on the hearths when
the weather was cold, and modern lamps for the long winter evenings.
There were new books on the tables, engravings, photographs, a few
objects of value and beauty not jealously locked up in closets, but
looking as though they were used, if useful, or at least as if some one
derived pleasure from looking at them. The palace itself was a stern
old fortress in the midst of the older part of the city, but within
there was a genial atmosphere of generous living, and, since Sant'
Ilario's marriage with Corona, an air of refinement and good taste such
as only a woman can impart to the house in which she dwells.
The residence of the Montevarchi was very different. Narrow strips of
carpet were stretched in straight lines across cold marble floors, from
one door to another. Instead of open fires in the huge chimney-places,
pans of lighted charcoal were set in the dim, empty rooms. Half a dozen
halls were furnished alike. Each had three marble tables and twelve
straight-backed chairs ranged against the walls, the only variety being
that some were covered with red damask and some with green. Vast
old-fashioned mirrors, set in magnificent frames built into the wall,
reflected vistas of emptiness and acres of cold solitude. Nor were the
rooms where the family met much better. There were more tables and more
straight-backed chairs there than in the outer halls, but that was all.
The drawing-room had a carpet, which for many years had been an object
of the greatest concern to the prince, who never left Rome for the
months of August and September until he had assured himself that this
valuable object had been beaten, dusted, peppered, and sewn up in a
linen case as old as itself, that is to say, dating from a quarter of a
century back. That carpet was an extravagance to which his father had
been driven by his English daughter-in-law; it was the only one of
which he had ever been guilty, and the present head of the family meant
that it should last his lifetime, and longer too, if care could
preserve it. The princess herself had been made to remember for five
and twenty years that since she had obtained a carpet she must expect
nothing else in the way of modern improvements. It was the monument of
a stupendous energy which she had expended entirely in that one
struggle, and the sight of it reminded her of her youth. Long ago she
had submitted once and for ever to the old Roman ways, and though she
knew that a very little saved from the expense of maintaining a score
of useless servants and a magnificent show equipage would suffice to
make at least one room in the house comfortable for her use, she no
longer sighed at the reflection, but consoled herself with making her
children put up with the inconveniences she herself had borne so long
and so patiently.
Prince Montevarchi's private room was as comfortless as the rest of the
house. Narrow, high, dim, carpetless, insufficiently warmed in winter
by a brazier of coals, and at present not warmed at all, though the
weather was chilly; furnished shabbily with dusty shelves, a
writing-table, and a few chairs with leather seats, musty with an
ancient mustiness which seemed to be emitted by the rows of old books
and the moth-eaten baize cover of the table--the whole place looked
more like the office of a decayed notary than the study of a wealthy
nobleman of ancient lineage. The old gentleman himself entered the room
a few seconds after San Giacinto had been ushered in, having slipped
out to change his coat when his visitor was announced. It was a fixed
principle of his life to dress as well as his neighbours when they
could see him, but to wear threadbare garments whenever he could do so
unobserved. He greeted San Giacinto with a grave dignity which
contrasted strangely with the weakness and excitement he had shown on
the previous night.
"I wish to speak to you upon a delicate subject," began the younger
man, after seating himself upon one of the high-backed chairs which
cracked ominously under his weight.
"I am at your service," replied the old gentleman, inclining his head
politely.
"I feel," continued San Giacinto, "that although my personal
acquaintance with you has unfortunately been of short duration, the
familiarity which exists between your family and mine will entitle what
I have to say to a share of your consideration. The proposal which I
have to make has perhaps been made by others before me and has been
rejected. I have the honour to ask of you the hand of your daughter."
"Faustina, I suppose?" asked the old prince in an indifferent tone, but
looking sharply at his companion out of his small keen eyes.
"Pardon me, I refer to Donna Flavia Montevarchi."
"Flavia?" repeated the prince, in a tone of unmistakable surprise,
which however was instantly moderated to the indifferent key again as
he proceeded. "You see, we have been thinking so much about my daughter
Faustina since last night that her name came to my lips quite
naturally."
"Most natural, I am sure," answered San Giacinto; who, however, had
understood at once that his suit was to have a hearing. He then
remained silent.
"You wish to marry Flavia, I understand," remarked the prince after a
pause. "I believe you are a widower, Marchese. I have heard that you
have children."
"Two boys."
"Two boys, eh? I congratulate you. Boys, if brought up in Christian
principles, are much less troublesome than girls. But, my dear
Marchese, these same boys are an obstacle--a very serious obstacle."
"Less serious than you may imagine, perhaps. My fortune does not come
under the law of primogeniture. There is no fidei commissum. I can
dispose of it as I please."
"Eh, eh! But there must be a provision," said Montevarchi, growing
interested in the subject.
"That shall be mutual," replied San Giacinto, gravely.
"I suppose you mean to refer to my daughter's portion," returned the
other with more indifference. "It is not much, you know--scarcely worth
mentioning. I am bound to tell you that, in honour."
"We must certainly discuss the matter, if you are inclined to consider
my proposal."
"Well, you know what young women's dowries are in these days, my dear
Marchese. We are none of us very rich."
"I will make a proposal," said San Giacinto. "You shall give your
daughter a portion. Whatever be the amount, up to a reasonable limit,
which you choose to give, I will settle a like sum in such a manner
that at my death it shall revert to her, and to her children by me, if
she have any."
"That amounts merely to settling upon herself the dowry I give her,"
replied Montevarchi, sharply. "I give you a scudo for your use. You
settle my scudo upon your wife, that is all."
"Not at all," returned San Giacinto. "I do not wish to have control of
her dowry---"
"The devil! Oh--I see--how stupid of me--I am indeed so old that I
cannot count any more! How could I make such a mistake? Of course, it
would be exactly as you say. Of course it would."
"It would not be so as a general rule," said San Giacinto, calmly,
"because most men would not consent to such an arrangement. That,
however, is my proposal."
"Oh! For the sake of Flavia, a man would do much, I am sure," answered
the prince, who began to think that his visitor was in love with the
girl, incredible as such a thing appeared to him. The younger man made
no answer to this remark, however, and waited for Montevarchi to state
his terms.
"How much shall we say?" asked the latter at length.
"That shall be for you to decide. Whatever you give I will give, if I
am able."
"Ah, yes! But how am I to know what you are able to give, dear
Marchese?" The prince suspected that San Giacinto's offer, if he could
be induced to make one, would not be very large.
"Am I to understand," inquired San Giacinto, "that if I name the amount
to be settled so that at my death it goes to my wife and her children
by me for ever, you will agree to settle a like sum upon Donna Flavia
in her own right? If so, I will propose what I think fair."
Montevarchi looked keenly at his visitor for some moments, then looked
away and hesitated. He was very anxious to marry Flavia at once, and he
had many reasons for supposing that San Giacinto was not very rich.
"How about the title?" he asked suddenly.
"My title, of course, goes to my eldest son by my first marriage. But
if you are anxious on that score I think my cousin would willingly
confer one of his upon the eldest son of your daughter. It would cost
him nothing, and would be a sort of compensation to me for my
great-grandfather's folly."
"How?" asked Montevarchi. "I do not understand."
"I supposed you knew the story. I am the direct descendant of the elder
branch. There was an agreement between two brothers of the family, by
which the elder resigned the primogeniture in favour of the younger who
was then married. The elder, who took the San Giacinto title, married
late in life and I am his great-grandson. If he had not acted so
foolishly I should be in my cousin's shoes. You see it would be natural
for him to let me have some disused title for one of my children in
consideration of this fact. He has about a hundred, I believe. You
could ask him, if you please."
San Giacinto's grave manner assured Montevarchi of the truth of the
story. He hesitated a moment longer, and then made up his mind.
"I agree to your proposal, my dear Marchese," he said, with unusual
blandness of manner.
"I will settle one hundred and fifty thousand scudi in the way I
stated," said San Giacinto, simply. The prince started from his chair.
"One--hundred--and--fifty--thousand!" he repeated slowly. "Why, it is a
fortune in itself! Dear me! I had no idea you would name anything so
large---"
"Seven thousand five hundred scudi a year, at five per cent," remarked
the younger man in a businesslike tone. "You give the same. That will
insure our children an income of fifteen thousand scudi. It is not
colossal, but it should suffice. Besides, I have not said that I would
not leave them more, if I chanced to have more to leave."
The prince had sunk back into his chair, and sat drumming on the table
with his long thin fingers. His face wore an air of mingled surprise
and bewilderment. To tell the truth, he had expected that San Giacinto
would name about fifty thousand as the sum requisite. He did not know
whether to be delighted at the prospect of marrying his daughter so
well or angry at the idea of having committed himself to part with so
much money.
"That is much more than I gave my other daughters," he said at last, in
a tone of hesitation.
"Did you give the money to them or to their husbands?" inquired San
Giacinto.
"To their husbands, of course."
"Then allow me to point out that you will now be merely settling money
in your own family, and that the case is very different. Not only that,
but I am settling the same sum upon your family, instead of taking your
money for my own use. You are manifestly the gainer by the transaction."
"It would be the same, then, if I left Flavia the money at my death,
since it remains in the family," suggested the prince, who sought an
escape from his bargain.
"Not exactly," argued San Giacinto. "First there is the yearly interest
until your death, which I trust is yet very distant. And then there is
the uncertainty of human affairs. It will be necessary that you invest
the money in trust, as I shall do, at the time of signing the contract.
Otherwise there would be no fairness in the arrangement."
"So you say that you are descended from the elder branch of the
Saracinesca. How strange are the ways of Providence, my dear Marchese!"
"It was a piece of great folly on the part of my great-grandfather,"
replied the other, shrugging his shoulders. "You should never say that
a man will not marry until he is dead."
"Ah no! The ways of heaven are inscrutable! It is not for us poor
mortals to attempt to change them. I suppose that agreement of which
you speak was made in proper form and quite regular."
"I presume so, since no effort was ever made to change the dispositions
established by it."
"I suppose so--I suppose so, dear Marchese. It would be very
interesting to see those papers."
"My cousin has them," said San Giacinto. "I daresay he will not object.
But, pardon me if I return to a subject which is very near my heart. Do
I understand that you consent to the proposal I have made? If so, we
might make arrangements for a meeting to take place between our
notaries."
"One hundred and fifty thousand," said Montevarchi, slowly rubbing his
pointed chin with his bony lingers. "Five per cent--seven thousand five
hundred--a mint of money, Signor Marchese, a mint of money! And these
are hard times. What a rich man you must be, to talk so lightly about
such immense sums! Well, well--you are very eloquent, I must consent,
and by strict economy I may perhaps succeed in recovering the loss."
"You must be aware that it is not really a loss," argued San Giacinto,
"since it is to remain with your daughter and her children, and
consequently with your family."
"Yes, I know. But money is money, my friend," exclaimed the prince,
laying his right hand on the old green tablecover and slowly drawing
his crooked nails over the cloth, as though he would like to squeeze
gold out of the dusty wool. There was something almost fierce in his
tone, too, as he uttered the words, and his small eyes glittered
unpleasantly. He knew well enough that he was making a good bargain and
that San Giacinto was a better match than he had ever hoped to get for
Flavia. So anxious was he, indeed, to secure the prize that he entirely
abstained from asking any questions concerning San Giacinto's past
life, whereby some obstacle might have been raised to the intended
marriage. He promised himself that the wedding should take place at
once.
"It is understood," he continued, after a pause, "that we or our
notaries shall appear with the money in cash, and that it shall be
immediately invested as we shall jointly decide, the settlements being
made at the same time and on the spot."
"Precisely so," replied San Giacinto. "No money, no contract."
"In that case I will inform my daughter of my decision."
"I shall be glad to avail myself of an early opportunity to pay my
respects to Donna Flavia."
"The wedding might take place on the 30th of November, my dear
Marchese. The 1st of December is Advent Sunday, and no marriages are
permitted during Advent without a special licence."
"An expensive affair, doubtless," remarked San Giacinto, gravely, in
spite of his desire to laugh.
"Yes. Five scudi at least," answered Montevarchi, impressively. "Let us
by all means be economical."
"The Holy Church is very strict about these matters, and you may as
well keep the money."
"I will," replied San Giacinto, rising to go. "Do not let me detain you
any longer. Pray accept my warmest thanks, and allow me to say that I
shall consider it a very great honour to become your son-in-law."
"Ah, indeed, you are very good, my dear Marchese. As for me I need
consolation. Consider a father's feelings, when he consigns his beloved
daughter--Flavia is an angel upon earth, my friend--when, I say, a
father gives his dear child, whom he loves as the apple of his eye, to
be carried off by a man--a man even of your worth! When your children
are grown up, you will understand what I suffer."
"I quite understand," said San Giacinto in serious tones. "It shall be
the endeavour of my life to make you forget your loss. May I have the
honour of calling to-morrow at this time?"
"Yes, my dear Marchese, yes, my dear son--forgive a father's
tenderness. To-morrow at this time, and---" he hesitated. "And
then--some time before the ceremony, perhaps--you will give us the
pleasure of your company at breakfast, I am sure, will you not? We are
very simple people, but we are hospitable in our quiet way. Hospitality
is a virtue," he sighed a little. "A necessary virtue," he added with
some emphasis upon the adjective.
"It will give me great pleasure," replied San Giacinto.
Therewith he left the room and a few moments later was walking slowly
homewards, revolving in his mind the probable results of his union with
the Montevarchi family.
When Montevarchi was alone, he smiled pleasantly to himself, and took
out of a secret drawer a large book of accounts, in the study of which
he spent nearly half an hour, with evident satisfaction. Having
carefully locked up the volume, and returned the sliding panel to its
place, he sent for his wife, who presently appeared.
"Sit down, Guendalina," he said. "I will change my coat, and then I
have something important to say to you."
He had quite forgotten the inevitable change in his satisfaction over
the interview with San Giacinto, but the sight of the princess recalled
the necessity for economy. It had been a part of the business of his
life to set her a good example in this respect. When he came back he
seated himself before her.
"My dear, I have got a husband for Flavia," were his first words.
"At last!" exclaimed the princess. "I hope he is presentable," she
added. She knew that she could trust her husband in the matter of
fortune.
"The new Saracinesca--the Marchese di San Giacinto."
Princess Montevarchi's ruddy face expressed the greatest astonishment,
and her jaw dropped as she stared at the old gentleman.
"A pauper!" she exclaimed when she had recovered herself enough to
speak.
"Perhaps, Guendalina mia--but he settles a hundred and fifty thousand
scudi on Flavia and her heirs for ever, the money to be paid on the
signing of the contract. That does not look like pauperism. Of course,
under the circumstances I agreed to do the same. It is settled on
Flavia, do you understand? He does not want a penny of it, not a penny!
Trust your husband for a serious man of business, Guendalina."
"Have you spoken to Flavia? It certainly looks like a good match. There
is no doubt about his being of the Saracinesca, of course. How could
there be? They have taken him to their hearts. But how will Flavia
behave?"
"What a foolish question, my dear!" exclaimed Montevarchi. "How easily
one sees that you are English! She will be delighted, I presume. And if
not, what difference does it make?"
"I would not have married you against my will, Lotario," observed the
princess.
"For my part, I had no choice. My dear father said simply, 'My son, you
will pay your respects to that young lady, who is to be your wife. If
you wish to marry anyone else, I will lock you up.' And so I did. Have
I not been a faithful husband to you, Guendalina, through more than
thirty years?"
The argument was unanswerable, and Montevarchi had employed it each
time one of his children was married. In respect of faithfulness, at
least, he had been a model husband.
"It is sufficient," he added, willing to make a concession to his
wife's foreign notions, "that there should be love on the one side, and
Christian principles on the other. I can assure you that San Giacinto
is full of love, and as for Flavia, my dear, has she not been educated
by you?"
"As for Flavia's Christian principles, my dear Lotario, I only hope
they may suffice for her married life. She is a terrible child to have
at home. But San Giacinto looks like a determined man. I shall never
forget his kindness in searching for Faustina last night. He was
devotion itself, and I should not have been surprised had he wished to
marry her instead."
"That exquisite creature is reserved for a young friend of ours,
Guendalina. Do me the favour never to speak of her marrying anyone
else."
The princess was silent for a moment, and then began to make a series
of inquiries concerning the proposed bridegroom, which it is
unnecessary to recount.
"And now we will send for Flavia," said Montevarchi, at last.
"Would it not be best that I should tell her?" asked his wife.
"My dear," he replied sternly, "when matters of grave importance have
been decided it is the duty of the head of the house to communicate the
decision to the persons concerned."
So Flavia was sent for, and appeared shortly, her pretty face and
wicked black eyes expressing both surprise and anticipation. She was
almost as dark as San Giacinto himself, though of a very different
type. Her small nose had an upward turn which disturbed her mother's
ideas of the fitness of things, and her thick black hair waved
naturally over her forehead. Her figure was graceful and her movements
quick and spontaneous. The redness of her lips showed a strong
vitality, which was further confirmed by the singular brightness of her
eyes. She was no beauty, especially in a land where the dark complexion
predominates, but she was very pretty and possessed something of that
mysterious quality which charms without exciting direct admiration.
"Flavia," said her father, addressing her in solemn tones, "you are to
be married, my dear child. I have sent for you at once, because there
was no time to be lost, seeing that the wedding must take place before
the beginning of Advent. The news will probably give you pleasure, but
I trust you will reflect upon the solemnity of such engagements and lay
aside---"
"Would you mind telling me the name of my husband?" inquired Flavia,
interrupting the paternal lecture.
"The man I have selected for my son-in-law is one whom all women would
justly envy you, were it not that envy is an atrocious sin, and one
which I trust you will henceforth endeavour---"
"To drown, crush out and stamp upon in the pursuit of true Christian
principles," said Flavia with a laugh. "I know all about envy. It is
one of the seven deadlies. I can tell you them all, if you like."
"Flavia, I am amazed!" cried the princess, severely.
"I had not expected this conduct of my daughter," said Montevarchi.
"And though I am at present obliged to overlook it, I can certainly not
consider it pardonable. You will listen with becoming modesty and
respect to what I have to say."
"I am all modesty, respect and attention--but I would like to know his
name, papa--please consider that pardonable!"
"I do not know why I should not tell you that, and I shall certainly
give you all such information concerning him as it is proper that you
should receive. The fact that he is a widower need not surprise you,
for in the inscrutable ways of Providence some men are deprived of
their wives sooner than others. Nor should his age appear to you in the
light of an obstacle--indeed there are no obstacles---"
"A widower--old--probably bald--I can see him already. Is he fat, papa?"
"He approaches the gigantic; but as I have often told you, Flavia, the
qualities a wise father should seek in choosing a husband for his child
are not dependent upon outward---"
"For heaven's sake, mamma," cried Flavia, "tell me the creature's name!"
"The Marchese di San Giacinto--let your father speak, and do not
interrupt him."
"While you both insist on interrupting me," said Montevarchi, "it is
impossible for me to express myself."
"I wish it were!" observed Flavia, under her breath. "You are speaking
of the Saracinesca cousin, San Giacinto? Not so bad after all."
"It is very unbecoming in a young girl to speak of men by their last
names---"
"Giovanni, then. Shall I call him Giovanni?"
"Flavia!" exclaimed the princess. "How can you be so undutiful! You
should speak of him as the Marchese di San Giacinto."
"Silence!" cried the prince. "I will not be interrupted! The Marchese
di San Giacinto will call to-morrow, after breakfast, and will pay his
respects to you. You will receive him in a proper spirit."
"Yes, papa," replied Flavia, suddenly growing meek, and folding her
hands submissively.
"He has behaved with unexampled liberality," continued Montevarchi,
"and I need hardly say that as the honour of our house was concerned I
have not allowed myself to be outdone. Since you refuse to listen to
the words of fatherly instruction which it is natural I should speak on
this occasion, you will at least remember that your future husband is
entirely such a man as I would have chosen, that he is a Saracinesca,
as well as a rich man, and that he has been accustomed in the women of
his family to a greater refinement of manner than you generally think
fit to exhibit in the presence of your father."
"Yes, papa. May I go, now?"
"If your conscience will permit you to retire without a word of
gratitude to your parents, who in spite of the extreme singularities of
your behaviour have at last provided you with a suitable husband; if, I
say, you are capable of such ingratitude, then, Flavia, you may
certainly go."
"I was going to say, papa, that I thank you very much for my husband,
and mamma, too."
Thereupon she kissed her father's and her mother's hands with great
reverence and turned to leave the room. Her gravity forsook her,
however, before she reached the door.
"Evviva! Hurrah!" she cried, suddenly skipping across the intervening
space and snapping her small fingers like a pair of castanets. "Evviva!
Married at last! Hurrah!" And with this parting salute she disappeared.
When she was gone, her father and mother looked at each other, as they
had looked many times before in the course of Flavia's life. They had
found little difficulty in bringing up their other children, but Flavia
was a mystery to them both. The princess would have understood well
enough a thorough English girl, full of life and animal spirits, though
shy and timid in the world, as the elderly lady had herself been in her
youth. But Flavia's character was incomprehensible to her northern
soul. Montevarchi understood the girl better, but loved her even less.
What seemed odd in her to his wife, to him seemed vulgar and ill-bred,
for he would have had her like the rest, silent and respectful in his
presence, and in awe of him as the head of the house, if not in fact,
at least in manner. But Flavia's behaviour was in the eyes of Romans a
very serious objection to her as a wife for any of their sons, for in
their view moral worth was necessarily accompanied by outward gravity
and decorum, and a light manner could only be the visible sign of a
giddy heart.
"If only he does not find out what she is like!" exclaimed the princess
at last.
"I devoutly trust that heaven in its mercy may avert such a catastrophe
from our house," replied Montevarchi, who, however, seemed to be
occupied in adding together certain sums upon his fingers.
San Giacinto understood Flavia better than either of her parents; and
although his marriage with her was before all things a part of his plan
for furthering his worldly interests, it must be confessed that he had
a stronger liking for the girl than her father would have considered
indispensable in such affairs. The matter was decided at once, and in a
few days the preliminaries were settled between the lawyers, while
Flavia exerted the utmost pressure possible upon the parental purse in
the question of the trousseau.
It may seem strange that at the time when all Rome was convulsed by an
internal revolution, and when the temporal power appeared to be in very
great danger, Montevarchi and San Giacinto should have been able to
discuss so coolly the conditions of the marriage, and even to fix the
wedding day. The only possible explanation of this fact is that neither
of them believed in the revolution at all. It is a noticeable
characteristic of people who are fond of money that they do not readily
believe in any great changes. They are indeed the most conservative of
men, and will count their profits at moments of peril with a coolness
which would do honour to veteran soldiers. Those who possess money put
their faith in money and give no credence to rumours of revolution
which are not backed by cash. Once or twice in history they have been
wrong, but it must be confessed that they have very generally been
right.
As for San Giacinto, his own interests were infinitely more absorbing
to his attention than those of the world at large, and being a man of
uncommonly steady nerves, it seems probable that he would have calmly
pursued his course in the midst of much greater disturbances than those
which affected Rome at that time.