Orsino's twenty-first birthday fell in the latter part of January, when
the Roman season was at its height, but as the young man's majority did
not bring him any of those sudden changes in position which make epochs
in the lives of fatherless sons, the event was considered as a family
matter and no great social celebration of it was contemplated. It
chanced, too, that the day of the week was the one appropriated by the
Montevarchi for their weekly dance, with which it would have been a
mistake to interfere. The old Prince Saracinesca, however, insisted that
a score of old friends should be asked to dinner, to drink the health of
his eldest grandson, and this was accordingly done.
Orsino always looked back to that banquet as one of the dullest at which
he ever assisted. The friends were literally old, and their conversation
was not brilliant. Each one on arriving addressed to him a few
congratulatory and moral sentiments, clothed in rounded periods and
twanging of Cicero in his most sermonising mood. Each drank his especial
health at the end of the dinner in a teaspoonful of old "vin santo," and
each made a stiff compliment to Corona on her youthful appearance. The
men were almost all grandees of Spain of the first class and wore their
ribbons by common consent, which lent the assembly an imposing
appearance; but several of them were of a somnolent disposition and
nodded after dinner, which did not contribute to prolong the effect
produced. Orsino thought their stories and anecdotes very long-winded
and pointless, and even the old prince himself seemed oppressed by the
solemnity of the affair, and rarely laughed. Corona, with serene good
humour did her best to make conversation, and a shade of animation
occasionally appeared at her end of the table; but Sant' Ilario was
bored to the verge of extinction and talked of nothing but archaeology
and the trial of the Cenci, wondering inwardly why he chose such
exceedingly dry subjects. As for Orsino, the two old princesses between
whom he was placed paid very little attention to him, and talked across
him about the merits of their respective confessors and directors. He
frivolously asked them whether they ever went to the theatre, to which
they replied very coldly that they went to their boxes when the piece
was not on the Index and when there was no ballet. Orsino understood why
he never saw them at the opera, and relapsed into silence. The butler, a
son of the legendary Pasquale of earlier days, did his best to cheer the
youngest of his masters with a great variety of wines; but Orsino would
not be comforted either by very dry champagne or very mellow claret. But
he vowed a bitter revenge and swore to dance till three in the morning
at the Montevarchi's and finish the night with a rousing baccarat at the
club, which projects he began to put into execution as soon as was
practicable.
In due time the guests departed, solemnly renewing their expressions of
good wishes, and the Saracinesca household was left to itself. The old
prince stood before the fire in the state drawing-room, rubbing his
hands and shaking his head. Giovanni and Corona sat on opposite sides of
the fireplace, looking at each other and somewhat inclined to laugh.
Orsino was intently studying a piece of historical tapestry which had
never interested him before.
The silence lasted some time. Then old Saracinesca raised his head and
gave vent to his feelings, with all his old energy.
"What a museum!" he exclaimed. "I would not have believed that I should
live to dine in my own house with a party of stranded figure-heads, set
up in rows around my table! The paint is all worn off and the brains are
all worn out and there is nothing left but a cracked old block of wood
with a ribbon around its neck. You will be just like them, Giovanni, in
a few years, for you will be just like me--we all turn into the same
shape at seventy, and if we live a dozen years longer it is because
Providence designs to make us an awful example to the young."
"I hope you do not call yourself a figure-head," said Giovanni.
"They are calling me by worse names at this very minute as they drive
home. 'That old Methuselah of a Saracinesca, how has he the face to go
on living?' That is the way they talk. 'People ought to die decently
when other people have had enough of them, instead of sitting up at the
table like death's-heads to grin at their grandchildren and
great-grandchildren!' They talk like that, Giovanni. I have known some
of those old monuments for sixty years and more--since they were babies
and I was of Orsino's age. Do you suppose I do not know how they talk?
You always take me for a good, confiding old fellow, Giovanni. But then,
you never understood human nature."
Giovanni laughed and Corona smiled. Orsino turned round to enjoy the
rare delight of seeing the old gentleman rouse himself in a fit of
temper.
"If you were ever confiding it was because you were too good," said
Giovanni affectionately.
"Yes--good and confiding--that is it! You always did agree with me as to
my own faults. Is it not true, Corona? Can you not take my part against
that graceless husband of yours? He is always abusing me--as though I
were his property, or his guest. Orsino, my boy, go away--we are all
quarrelling here like a pack of wolves, and you ought to respect your
elders. Here is your father calling me by bad names--"
"I said you were too good," observed Giovanni.
"Yes--good and confiding! If you can find anything worse to say, say
it--and may you live to hear that good-for-nothing Orsino call you good
and confiding when you are eighty-two years old. And Corona is laughing
at me. It is insufferable. You used to be a good girl, Corona--but you
are so proud of having four sons that there is no possibility of talking
to you any longer. It is a pity that you have not brought them up
better. Look at Orsino. He is laughing too."
"Certainly not at you, grandfather," the young man hastened to say.
"Then you must be laughing at your father or your mother, or both, since
there is no one else here to laugh at. You are concocting sharp speeches
for your abominable tongue. I know it. I can see it in your eyes. That
is the way you have brought up your children, Giovanni. I congratulate
you. Upon my word, I congratulate you with all my heart! Not that I ever
expected anything better. You addled your own brains with curious
foreign ideas on your travels--the greater fool I for letting you run
about the world when you were young. I ought to have locked you up in
Saracinesca, on bread and water, until you understood the world well
enough to profit by it. I wish I had."
None of the three could help laughing at this extraordinary speech.
Orsino recovered his gravity first, by the help of the historical
tapestry. The old gentleman noticed the fact.
"Come here, Orsino, my boy," he said. "I want to talk to you."
Orsino came forward. The old prince laid a hand on his shoulder and
looked up into his face.
"You are twenty-one years old to-day," he said, "and we are all
quarrelling in honour of the event. You ought to be flattered that we
should take so much trouble to make the evening pass pleasantly for you,
but you probably have not the discrimination to see what your amusement
costs us."
His grey beard shook a little, his rugged features twitched, and then a
broad good-humoured smile lit up the old face.
"We are quarrelsome people," he continued in his most Cheerful and
hearty tone. "When Giovanni and I were young--we were young together,
you know--we quarrelled every day as regularly as we ate and drank. I
believe it was very good for us. We generally made it up before
night--for the sake of beginning again with a clear conscience. Anything
served us--the weather, the soup, the colour of a horse."
"You must have led an extremely lively life," observed Orsino,
considerably amused.
"It was very well for us, Orsino. But it will not do for you. You are
not so much like your father, as he was like me at your age. We fought
with the same weapons, but you two would not, if you fought at all. We
fenced for our own amusement and we kept the buttons on the foils. You
have neither my really angelic temper nor your father's stony
coolness--he is laughing again--no matter, he knows it is true. You have
a diabolical tongue. Do not quarrel with your father for amusement,
Orsino. His calmness will exasperate you as it does me, but you will not
laugh at the right moment as I have done all my life. You will bear
malice and grow sullen and permanently disagreeable. And do not say all
the cutting things you think of, because with your disposition you will
get into serious trouble. If you have really good cause for being angry,
it is better to strike than to speak, and in such cases I strongly
advise you to strike first. Now go and amuse yourself, for you must have
had enough of our company. I do not think of any other advice to give
you on your coming of age."
Thereupon he laughed again and pushed his grandson away, evidently
delighted with the lecture he had given him. Orsino was quick to profit
by the permission and was soon in the Montevarchi ballroom, doing his
best to forget the lugubrious feast in his own honour at which he had
lately assisted.
He was not altogether successful, however. He had looked forward to the
day for many months as one of rejoicing as well as of emancipation, and
he had been grievously disappointed. There was something of ill augury,
he thought, in the appalling dulness of the guests, for they had
congratulated him upon his entry into a life exactly similar to their
own. Indeed, the more precisely similar it proved to be, the more he
would be respected when he reached their advanced age. The future
unfolded to him was not gay. He was to live forty, fifty or even sixty
years in the same round of traditions and hampered by the same net of
prejudices. He might have his romance, as his father had had before him,
but there was nothing beyond that. His father seemed perfectly satisfied
with his own unruffled existence and far from desirous of any change.
The feudalism of it all was still real in fact, though abolished in
theory, and the old prince was as much a great feudal lord as ever,
whose interests were almost tribal in their narrowness, almost sordid in
their detail, and altogether uninteresting to his presumptive heir in
the third generation. What was the peasant of Aquaviva, for instance, to
Orsino? Yet Sant' Ilario and old Saracinesca took a lively interest in
his doings and in the doings of four or five hundred of his kind, whom
they knew by name and spoke of as belongings, much as they would have
spoken of books in the library. To collect rents from peasants and to
ascertain in person whether their houses needed repair was not a career.
Orsino thought enviously of San Giacinto's two sons, leading what seemed
to him a life of comparative activity and excitement in the Italian
army, and having the prospect of distinction by their own merits. He
thought of San Giacinto himself, of his ceaseless energy and of the
great position he was building up. San Giacinto was a Saracinesca as
well as Orsino, bearing the same name and perhaps not less respected
than the rest by the world at large, though he had sullied his hands
with finance. Even Del Ferice's position would have been above
criticism, but for certain passages in his earlier life not immediately
connected with his present occupation. And as if such instances were not
enough there were, to Orsino's certain knowledge, half a dozen men of
his father's rank even now deeply engaged in the speculations of the
day. Montevarchi was one of them, and neither he nor the others made any
secret of their doings.
"Surely," thought Orsino, "I have as good a head as any of them, except,
perhaps, San Giacinto."
And he grew more and more discontented with his lot, and more and more
angry at himself for submitting to be bound hand and foot and sacrificed
upon the altar of feudalism. Everything had disappointed and irritated
him on that day, the weariness of the dinner, the sight of his parents'
placid felicity, the advice his grandfather had given him--good of its
kind, but lamentably insufficient, to say the least of it. He was
rapidly approaching that state of mind in which young men do the most
unexpected things for the mere pleasure of surprising their relations.
He grew tired of the ball, because Madame d'Aranjuez was not there. He
longed to dance with her and he wished that he were at liberty to
frequent the houses la which she was asked. But as yet she saw only the
Whites and had not made the acquaintance of a single Grey family, in
spite of his entreaties. He could not tell whether she had any fixed
reason in making her choice, or whether as yet it had been the result of
chance, but he discovered that he was bored wherever he went because she
was not present. At supper-time on this particular evening, he entered
into a conspiracy with certain choice spirits to leave the party and
adjourn to the club and cards.
The sight of the tables revived him and he drew a long breath as he sat
down with a cigarette in his mouth and a glass at his elbow. It seemed
as though the day were beginning at last.
Orsino was no more a born gambler than he was disposed to be a hard
drinker. He loved excitement in any shape, and being so constituted as
to bear it better than most men, he took it greedily in whatever form it
was offered to him. He neither played nor drank every day, but when he
did either he was inclined to play more than other people and to consume
more strong liquor. Yet his judgment was not remarkable, nor his head
much stronger than the heads of his companions. Great gamblers do not
drink, and great drinkers are not good players, though they are
sometimes amazingly lucky when in their cups.
It is of no use to deny the enormous influence of brandy and games of
chance on the men of the present day, but there is little profit in
describing such scenes as take place nightly in many clubs all over
Europe. Something might be gained, indeed, if we could trace the causes
which have made gambling especially the vice of our generation, for that
discovery might show us some means of influencing the next. But I do not
believe that this is possible. The times have undoubtedly grown more
dull, as civilisation has made them more alike, but there is, I think,
no truth in the common statement that vice is bred of idleness. The
really idle man is a poor creature, incapable of strong sins. It is far
more often the man of superior gifts, with faculties overwrought and
nerves strained above concert pitch by excessive mental exertion, who
turns to vicious excitement for the sake of rest, as a duller man falls
asleep. Men whose lives are spent amidst the vicissitudes, surprises and
disappointments of the money market are assuredly less idle than country
gentlemen; the busy lawyer has less time to spare than the equally
gifted fellow of a college; the skilled mechanic works infinitely
harder, taking the average of the whole year, than the agricultural
labourer; the life of a sailor on an ordinary merchant ship is one of
rest, ease and safety compared with that of the collier. Yet there can
hardly be a doubt as to which individual in each example is the one to
seek relaxation in excitement, innocent or the reverse, instead of in
sleep. The operator in the stock market, the barrister, the mechanic,
the miner, in every case the men whose faculties are the more severely
strained, are those who seek strong emotions in their daily leisure, and
who are the more inclined to extend that leisure at the expense of
bodily rest. It may be objected that the worst vice is found in the
highest grades of society, that is to say, among men who have no settled
occupation. I answer that, in the first place, this is not a known fact,
but a matter of speculation, and that the conclusion is principally
drawn from the circumstance that the evil deeds of such persons, when
they become known, are very severely criticised by those whose criticism
has the most weight, namely by the equals of the sinners in question--as
well as by writers of fiction whose opinions may or may not be worth
considering. For one Zola, historian of the Rougon-Macquart family,
there are a hundred would-be Zolas, censors of a higher class, less
unpleasantly fond of accurate detail, perhaps, but as merciless in
intention. But even if the case against society be proved, which is
possible, I do not think that society can truly be called idle, because
many of those who compose it have no settled occupation. The social day
is a long one. Society would not accept the eight hours' system demanded
by the labour unions. Society not uncommonly works at a high pressure
for twelve, fourteen and even sixteen hours at a stretch. The mental
strain, though, not of the most intellectual order, is incomparably more
severe than that required for success in many lucrative professions or
crafts. The general absence of a distinct aim sharpens the faculties in
the keen pursuit of details, and lends an importance to trifles which
overburdens at every turn the responsibility borne by the nerves. Lazy
people are not favourites in drawing-rooms, and still less at the
dinner-table. Consider also that the average man of the world, and many
women, daily sustain an amount of bodily fatigue equal perhaps to that
borne by many mechanics and craftsmen and much greater than that
required in the liberal professions, and that, too, under far less
favourable conditions. Recapitulate all these points. Add together the
physical effort, the mental activity, the nervous strain. Take the sum
and compare it with that got by a similar process from other conditions
of existence. I think there can be little doubt of the verdict. The
force exerted is wasted, if you please, but it is enormously great, and
more than sufficient to prove that those who daily exert it are by no
means idle. Besides, none of the inevitable outward and visible results
of idleness are apparent in the ordinary society man or woman. On the
contrary, most of them exhibit the peculiar and unmistakable signs of
physical exhaustion, chief of which is cerebral anæmia. They are
overtrained and overworked. In the language of training they are
"stale."
Men like Orsino Saracinesca are not vicious at his age, though they may
become so. Vice begins when the excitement ceases to be a matter of
taste and turns into a necessity. Orsino gambled because it amused him
when no other amusement was obtainable, and he drank while he played
because it made the amusement seem more amusing. He was far too young
and healthy and strong to feel an irresistible longing for anything not
natural.
On the present occasion he cared very little, at first, whether he won
or lost, and as often happens to a man in that mood he won a
considerable sum during the first hour. The sight of the notes before
him strengthened an idea which had crossed his mind more than once of
late, and the stimulants he drank suddenly fixed it into a purpose. It
was true that he did not command any sum of money which could be
dignified by the name of capital, but he generally had enough in his
pocket to play with, and to-night he had rather more than usual. It
struck him that if he could win a few thousands by a run of luck, he
would have more than enough to try his fortune in the building
speculations of which Del Ferice had talked. The scheme took shape and
at once lent a passionate interest to his play.
Orsino had no system and generally left everything to chance, but he
had no sooner determined that he must win than he improvised a method,
and began to play carefully. Of course he lost, and as he saw his heap
of notes diminishing, he filled his glass more and more often. By two
o'clock he had but five hundred francs left, his face was deadly pale,
the lights dazzled him and his hands moved uncertainly. He held the bank
and he knew that if he lost on the card he must borrow money, which he
did not wish to do.
He dealt himself a five of spades, and glanced at the stakes. They were
considerable. A last sensation of caution prevented him from taking
another card. The table turned up a six and he lost.
"Lend me some money, Filippo," he said to the man nearest him, who
immediately counted out a number of notes.
Orsino paid with the money and the bank passed. He emptied his glass and
lit a cigarette. At each succeeding deal he staked a small sum and lost
it, till the bank came to him again. Once more he held a five. The other
men saw that he was losing and put up all they could. Orsino hesitated.
Some one observed justly that he probably held a five again. The lights
swam indistinctly before him and he drew another card. It was a four.
Orsino laughed nervously as he gathered the notes and paid back what he
had borrowed.
He did not remember clearly what happened afterwards. The faces of the
cards grew less distinct and the lights more dazzling. He played blindly
and won almost without interruption until the other men dropped off one
by one, having lost as much as they cared to part with at one sitting.
At four o'clock in the morning Orsino went home in a cab, having about
fifteen thousand francs in his pockets. The men he had played with were
mostly young fellows like himself, having a limited allowance of pocket
money, and Orsino's winnings were very large under the circumstances.
The night air cooled his head and he laughed gaily to himself as he
drove through the deserted streets. His hand was steady enough now, and
the gas lamps did not move disagreeably before his eyes. But he had
reached the stage of excitement in which a fixed idea takes hold of the
brain, and if it had been possible he would undoubtedly have gone as he
was, in evening dress, with his winnings in his pocket, to rouse Del
Ferice, or San Giacinto, or any one else who could put him in the way of
risking his money on a building lot. He reluctantly resigned himself to
the necessity of going to bed, and slept as one sleeps at twenty-one
until nearly eleven o'clock on the following morning.
While he dressed he recalled the circumstances of the previous night and
was surprised to find that his idea was as fixed as ever. He counted the
money. There was five times as much as the Del Ferice's carpenter,
tobacconist and mason had been able to scrape together amongst them. He
had therefore, according to his simple calculation, just five times as
good a chance of succeeding as they. And they had been successful. His
plan fascinated him, and he looked forward to the constant interest and
occupation with a delight which was creditable to his character. He
would be busy and the magic word "business" rang in his ears. It was
speculation, no doubt, but he did not look upon it as a form of
gambling; if he had done so, he would not have cared for it on two
consecutive days. It was something much better in his eyes. It was to do
something, to be some one, to strike out of the everlastingly dull road
which lay before him and which ended in the vanishing point of an
insignificant old age.
He had not the very faintest conception of what that business was with
which he aspired to occupy himself. He was totally ignorant of the
methods of dealing with money, and he no more knew what a draft at three
months meant than he could have explained the construction of the watch
he carried in his pocket. Of the first principles of building he knew,
if possible, even less and he did not know whether land in the city
were worth a franc or a thousand francs by the square foot. But he said
to himself that those things were mere details, and that he could learn
all he needed of them in a fortnight. Courage and judgment, Del Ferice
had said, were the chief requisites for success. Courage he possessed,
and he believed himself cool. He would avail himself of the judgment of
others until he could judge for himself.
He knew very well what his father would think of the whole plan, but he
had no intention of concealing his project. Since yesterday, he was of
age and was therefore his own master to the extent of his own small
resources. His father had not the power to keep him from entering upon
any honourable undertaking, though he might justly refuse to be
responsible for the consequences. At the worst, thought Orsino, those
consequences might be the loss of the money he had in hand. Since he had
nothing else to risk, he had nothing else to lose. That is the light in
which most inexperienced people regard speculation. Orsino therefore
went to his father and unfolded his scheme, without mentioning Del
Ferice.
Sant' Ilario listened rather impatiently and laughed when Orsino had
finished. He did not mean to be unkind, and if he had dreamed of the
effect his manner would produce, he would have been more careful. But he
did not understand his son, as he himself had been understood by his own
father.
"This is all nonsense, my boy," he answered. "It is a mere passing
fancy. What do you know of business or architecture, or of a dozen other
matters which you ought to understand thoroughly before attempting
anything like what you propose?"
Orsino was silent, and looked out of the window, though he was evidently
listening.
"You say you want an occupation. This is not one. Banking is an
occupation, and architecture is a career, but what we call affairs in
Rome are neither one nor the other. If you want to be a banker you must
go into a bank and do clerk's work for years. If you mean to follow
architecture as a profession you must spend four or five years in study
at the very least."
"San Giacinto has not done that," observed Orsino coldly.
"San Giacinto has a very much better head on his shoulders than you, or
I, or almost any other man in Rome. He has known how to make use of
other men's talents, and he had a rather more practical education than I
would have cared to give you. If he were not one of the most honest men
alive he would certainly have turned out one of the greatest
scoundrels."
"I do not see what that has to do with it," said Orsino.
"Not much, I confess. But his early life made him understand men as you
and I cannot understand them, and need not, for that matter."
"Then you object to my trying this?"
"I do nothing of the kind. When I object to the doing of anything I
prevent it, by fair words or by force. I am not inclined for a pitched
battle with you, Orsino, and I might not get the better of you after
all. I will be perfectly neutral. I will have nothing to do with this
business. If I believed in it, I would give you all the capital you
could need, but I shall not diminish your allowance in order to hinder
you from throwing it away. If you want more money for your amusements or
luxuries, say so. I am not fond of counting small expenses, and I have
not brought you up to count them either. Do not gamble at cards any more
than you can help, but if you lose and must borrow, borrow of me. When I
think you are going too far, I will tell you so. But do not count upon
me for any help in this scheme of yours. You will not get it. If you
find yourself in a commercial scrape, find your own way out of it. If
you want better advice than mine, go to San Giacinto. He will give you a
practical man's view of the case."
"You are frank, at all events," said Orsino, turning from the window
and facing his father.
"Most of us are in this house," answered Sant' Ilario. "That will make
it all the harder for you to deal with the scoundrels who call
themselves men of business."
"I mean to try this, father," said the young man. "I will go and see San
Giacinto, as you suggest, and I will ask his opinion. But if he
discourages me I will try my luck all the same. I cannot lead this life
any longer. I want an occupation and I will make one for myself."
"It is not an occupation that you want, Orsino. It is another
excitement. That is all. If you want an occupation, study, learn
something, find out what work means. Or go to Saracinesca and build
houses for the peasants--you will do no harm there, at all events. Go
and drain that land in Lombardy--I can do nothing with it and would sell
it if I could. But that is not what you want. You want an excitement for
the hours of the morning. Very well. You will probably find more of it
than you like. Try it, that is all I have to say."
Like many very just men Giovanni could state a case with alarming
unfairness when thoroughly convinced that he was right. Orsino stood
still for a moment and then walked towards the door without another
word. His father called him back.
"What is it?" asked Orsino coldly.
Sant' Ilario held out his hand with a kindly look in his eyes.
"I do not want you to think that I am angry, my boy. There is to be no
ill feeling between us about this."
"None whatever," said the young man, though without much alacrity, as he
shook hands with his father. "I see you are not angry. You do not
understand me, that is all."
He went out, more disappointed with the result of the interview than he
had expected, though he had not looked forward to receiving any
encouragement. He had known very well what his father's views were but
he had not foreseen that he would be so much irritated by the
expression of them. His determination hardened and he resolved that
nothing should hinder him. But he was both willing and ready to consult
San Giacinto, and went to the latter's house immediately on leaving
Sant' Ilario's study.
As for Giovanni, he was dimly conscious that he had made a mistake,
though he did not care to acknowledge it. He was a good horseman and he
was aware that he would have used a very different method with a restive
colt. But few men are wise enough to see that there is only one
universal principle to follow in the exertion of strength, moral or
physical; and instead of seeking analogies out of actions familiar to
them as a means of accomplishing the unfamiliar, they try to discover
new theories of motion at every turn and are led farther and farther
from the right line by their own desire to reach the end quickly.
"At all events," thought Sant' Ilario, "the boy's new hobby will take
him to places where he is not likely to meet that woman."
And with this discourteous reflection upon Madame d'Aranjuez he consoled
himself. He did not think it necessary to tell Corona of Orsino's
intentions, simply because he did not believe that they would lead to
anything serious, and there was no use in disturbing her unnecessarily
with visions of future annoyance. If Orsino chose to speak of it to her,
he was at liberty to do so.