The avvocato De Sanctis lived in the Via Condotti, on higher ground
by some feet than the other end of the Ripetta. About the time when
Bianchi, fired with enthusiasm, was wading joyfully towards Palazzo
Cestaldini, the lawyer issued from his door with the same goal in
view. He had business with the Cardinal's maestro di casa concerning
some houses in the suburbs, his Eminence's property, of which the
leases were expiring, and which would require repairs before fresh
contracts could be signed. One secret of De Sanctis's success in his
profession was his very un-Italian habit of attending to each detail
as it came up, whenever that was possible. He was sure that the bad
weather would keep clients away to-day, and, undeterred by it himself,
set out to clear one piece of business off his crowded list. Of course
there was not a cab in sight, but he persevered, keeping to the higher
levels till it was necessary to strike off to the right to reach the
back entrance of Palazzo Cestaldini, which the Professor had also
fortunately recollected, thus avoiding the "sea" which, as Peppino had
assured Rinaldo, had already taken possession of the long street which
forms the southern bank of the Tiber.
Signor Bianchi had been warmly welcomed by the Cardinal, who was
feeling very unwell, poor gentleman; a fact which he concealed
from his guest, merely saying that he regretted not being able to
accompany him on his search and thanking him for being willing to
undertake it in such unfavorable circumstances. He conscientiously
pointed out that Bianchi was committing an imprudence in doing so;
the vaults were always damp, and just now probably some inches under
water. But the Professor made light of his warnings and begged to be
allowed to descend at once. Many valuable fragments had been found in
and around the palace, which, like so many others, was largely built
out of ancient and mediæval remains: a headless male figure, the
head was probably close by--perhaps he himself would find it! So two
workmen were summoned to accompany him with picks and lanterns, and a
few minutes later he was in his element, grubbing about in the vast
dark crypt, regardless of time, weather, hunger, or any of the other
conditions which call a halt to humanity in everyday life.
He had been thus employed for some hours when the avvocato De Sanctis,
having ended his business with the maestro di casa, inquired if he
might have the honor of paying his respects to the Cardinal. He
was much attached to the kind prelate, whom he regarded as very
good company, and who in his turn felt sincere affection for the
hard-working young lawyer who had attained success without ceasing to
be an honest Christian.
This morning, however, the Cardinal received him with a slight
expression of amusement. He had felt feverish the evening before;
his anxious attendants had hastily summoned his doctor, who had
administered some of the heroic remedies with which the local
pharmacopœia bristled in those prehistoric days; and the Cardinal
thought that the doctor and the rest, believing his life to be in
danger, had followed his general directions that on the first hint of
such a possibility his confessor and his man of business were to be
sent for without a moment's delay. The confessor, Padre Anselmo, from
San Severino, had not appeared, but here was De Sanctis, doubtless
prepared to receive his expiring instructions. When De Sanctis, after
kissing his patron's ring, explained that having had to call on
professional affairs, he availed himself of the opportunity to inquire
after the illustrious health, the Cardinal smiled indulgently.
"Figlio mio," he said, "I know all about these kind little accidental
visits. The doctor, and my chaplain, and that good old servant of mine,
thought that I was in danger, that the discovery of a statue in the
cellar had excited my nerves and brought on fever. So they summoned
you to attend my deathbed. I am surprised at not having yet received
a visit from Padre Anselmo, but they probably thought I could attend
to spiritual matters better when earthly ones were off my mind. Kind
souls, I am grateful to you all, and I trust that when I am in extremis
you will comfort me with your presence, but I think I shall be allowed
to give you plenty of trouble yet. I feel much better this morning,
though naturally a little weakened by our distinguished physician's
prescriptions. At my age, Guglielmo, one cannot be freely bled, and
dosed with quinine and palma Christi, without certain remorses of
nature making themselves felt." He laid two fingers delicately on his
broad red waistbelt to indicate the region of physical contrition, "but
as I said, I am much better this morning, in spite of the terrible
weather."
"It gives me happiness to hear that, Eminenza," De Sanctis replied,
"for I was grieved to learn, on my arrival here, of your Eminence's
indisposition. Word of an honest man, that was the first I heard of
it. No one sent for me on that account. But the Eminenza must be very
careful for the next few days. The flood will cause much sickness in
the town, and the damage done is already great. I have noted with
satisfaction that this respected palace was built with forethought for
such emergencies, the whole level of the courtyard being considerably
higher than that of the street."
"An arrangement I have often murmured at," the Cardinal said, "for the
steep incline under the portone makes the horses slip, and the coachman
objects to waiting there. However, in times like these one appreciates
the necessity of it. He is a treacherous neighbor, Sor Tevere. There is
already a good deal of water in the cellars, Domenico says, and I fear
that poor Professor Bianchi is exposing himself to catch a bad cold."
"Professor Bianchi, Eminenza?" De Sanctis pricked up his ears. "Is he
in the vaults?"
"Where else?" replied the Cardinal, turning on him a glance of mild
surprise; "naturally he is examining the statue. It is my misfortune
that I cannot be at his side, but Heaven's will be done. See, I have
just received this note from him." And he handed a scrap of paper
to the lawyer. Scribbled on it was these words: "Probably a Hermes.
Græco-Roman. Fine preservation. Seeking for head."
As De Sanctis read, his eyes began to gleam with suppressed humor. His
familiar little demon of malice was whispering in his ear. He rose to
take his leave, and the Cardinal, who had been watching the sheets of
rain slipping down the window-panes, turned to him, saying, "Yes, go
home, my son, for unless you do that quickly you will have difficulty
in reaching your house."
"Is there anything I can do for the Eminenza first?" De Sanctis
inquired.
"Only this," said the Cardinal, "I shall be much obliged if you will be
so kind as to speak to the Professor and beg him, with my compliments,
to consider his health and desist from further work in that damp spot,
for the present. Please say, however, that I trust he will honor me
with another visit before taking his departure."
"Your Eminence shall be obeyed," De Sanctis replied. "But may I venture
to remind you that if he returns upstairs and the flood increases, he
may have to stay here all day. That would be a great fatigue for the
Eminenza, I fear."
"Fatigue?" The Cardinal's fine face lighted up as he spoke. "No,
indeed. A pleasure, a rare pleasure. We are two old enthusiasts,
Guglielmo, and have a thousand subjects of interest to discuss. I know
of no one whom I would rather have for my companion at such a time
than that learned man. I sit at his feet--as a humble disciple. I reap
instruction as he speaks."
"Doubtless, doubtless," the lawyer replied gravely. "I will execute the
commission at once."
As he sped down the stairs he laughed softly. "It is not professional,"
he told himself, "but it will be great fun, and he really deserves a
fright."
An hour later the Cardinal touched his handbell and Domenico's wrinkled
face at once appeared in the doorway. "Is the Signor Professore still
in the vaults?" the master inquired. "Please go down and see. It is
most imprudent for him to remain there any longer."
In ten minutes the servant returned, looking rather scared. "Eminenza,"
he said, "the gentleman must have left without coming upstairs. It is
impossible to go down into the vaults--they are full of water."
The Cardinal seemed disappointed. "That is unfortunate," he said at
last, "but you need not be alarmed, my good Domenico. You know there
is nothing there to be injured, the foundations are solid, and, thank
Heaven, the statue cannot swim away. The Professor was right to leave
at once--I hope he did not get a chill. Yes, you may bring my soup now,
and then I will sleep a little." As Domenico retired, his master shook
his head over his own weakness. "Paolo mio," he told himself, "you are
a very imperfect kind of creature. You are really disappointed because
you have been cheated of hearing all Bianchi had to say about the
discovery. What children we all are--clamoring for our playfellows and
turning sulky when we are deprived of them."
The vaults of Palazzo Cestaldini were much older than the dwelling
itself, being the indestructible remains of an Imperial mausoleum
which above ground had been partially overthrown in the course of
centuries of fighting, and then unscrupulously utilized as material
for the new palace. The vaults, deep and wide, ran the whole length of
the frontage, and were dimly lighted by heavily grated windows some
three feet above the level of the outer street. From within the space
had the appearance of a subterranean church with windows set high up
in the walls; from without, the few who were curious enough to look
down through the bars could see only depths of darkness with here and
there a corner of worn masonry catching the light. From the ground,
thirty feet below the windows, there rose on the street side a series
of shallow steps, like tiers in an amphitheater; these ran the whole
length of the wall and were surmounted by a narrow platform from which
it was possible to look out on the upper world. In truth the crypt had
been adapted by one of Paolo Cestaldini's ancestors for spectacular
purposes, the adjacent river, with its many conduits, providing all
that was necessary for mimic aquatic shows. Later, in more troubled
times, it had sheltered great numbers of fighting men, and the barred
windows had been crowded with rough faces and picturesque costumes,
and had served as loopholes and defenses in many a joyful riot. In
these days the vaulted roofs were gray with cobwebs and dark with
moisture. In one distant corner lay a pile of rococo plaster figures,
used long ago for some carnival pageant and then flung aside, legs and
arms interlaced and broken, to crumble into a gruesome resemblance to
blanched corpses deprived of burial.
These melancholy surroundings struck chill on the lawyer's humor as
he descended the stairs and peered round for the Professor. Ah, there
he was, down on his knees digging madly at a mound of earth; one of
his workmen had left him; the other was holding a lantern for him
with evident impatience to be gone. Water was trickling and lapping
somewhere, and everything underfoot was moist and slippery, but
the Professor seemed unconscious of all but his quest. He stood up
suddenly, one hand to his aching back, the other raised in triumph.
"The head!" he shouted. "I can feel it through the mold. Nunc
Dimittis!" And he went down on his knees again and began to remove the
earth with extreme care, his face streaming with perspiration, his
spectacles two shifting blots of light in the beams of the lantern.
Suddenly this was set down with a clang and the workman flew past
De Sanctis towards the exit. "Come away!" he cried, pointing at the
same time to the stairs, down which a thin, continuous sheet of water
was flowing. "The river is out at last. There will be a sea here in
half-an-hour."
"Rubbish," replied De Sanctis, "that is only the rain." And he came
stealthily to Bianchi's side and, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder,
bent down and said sternly, "Signor Professore, what have you done with
Giannella Brockmann's money?"
The Professor leaped to his feet with a scream and his pick fell
from his hand. He stared in the lawyer's face, his own sickly with
fear. In the scant up-thrown rays of the lantern it was impossible to
distinguish more than a pair of gleaming black eyes and an accusing
scowl; the rest was dreadful shadow.
But ere another word had been spoken a ripple of water broke round De
Sanctis's feet. "Diamini, but he was right, that man!" he exclaimed;
and in an instant he too had dashed away towards the stairs.
In that instant Bianchi had recognized him and breathed again. It
was only De Sanctis, after all; an inconvenient, intrusive person to
whom unimportant matters could easily be explained some other time.
Meanwhile he must hasten to uncover, and feast his eyes on, the marble
head which he was certain lay close to his hand; he must carry it up
to the Cardinal himself, if it were not too heavy. What a triumph that
would be. Ah, gently--there showed a gleam of whitish surface. Hands
now, not to injure the precious thing. Doubled over, down on his knees,
he worked like a demon, with blackened fingers and earth-choked nails,
till at last it lay revealed, a calm immortal countenance gazing up
at him with eyes that seemed to have been seeing in the grave; full,
closed lips smiling as if with Olympic scorn at the hopes and fears of
perishable man. Some under-ripple of life seemed to be pulsing over the
broad brow, the divinely moulded cheeks and chin. Bianchi sank back on
his knees, his hands clasped, trembling with unbearable joy.
"Greek, Greek," he whispered, as the saints have whispered prayers in
ecstatic trances, "purest Greek. There were but five or six in the
whole world--I have found one more. Dio mio, Dio mio, let me not die of
happiness."
He seized the light and bent tenderly to uncover the throat. Ah, there
it was, the original severance; the cement still clung to it where it
had been attached to the beautiful but far less ancient figure which
lay prone in mutilated grandeur in the trench, some twenty yards away.
The Professor bent closer still over the perfect thing, touching the
creamy marble with his cheek, with his tongue, while he rubbed the
mould off his fingers with his coat tails, his shirt front, anything
to leave their sensitive tips free to feel the marvelous surface, as
different from that of the figure yonder as true old Sevres from modern
imitation. Fra Tommaso was right; Bianchi could have told it in the
dark, that touch of the creator's chisel during the one short period
of perfect sculpture our world has ever known, the touch which made
every atom of the marble its living vehicle, which gave the uneven yet
flawless surface so closely resembling human flesh that the senses
tell us it breathes and dimples with the very tide of life. Brought to
Rome by Greece's conquerors, fitted to a body wrought, at the command
of an imperious ignorant master, by a Greek sculptor in captivity,
remembering through his tears the glories of Greece's past--here was
an immortal crown to which the stately figure had served as a humble
pedestal. What wonder that Carlo Bianchi, in his passionate reverence
for true art, trembled and worshiped, and shivered with insane
joy--while inch by inch the turbid waters of the Tiber rose on the
floor of his fane, poured in from the ten great windows high in the
wall a hundred feet away, covered the statue in the trench and crept up
the hollow at the foot of the stairs, gurgling pleasantly on the steps
as it reached them one by one.
When it had cut off retreat behind him it swam forward with a leap,
broke over him where he knelt, drowned the white glory from his side
and swept his extinguished lantern far beyond his reach.
Then indeed he sprang to his feet. But they slipped from under him
and he fell forward, his hand landing on the cold, submerged face.
In a moment he was up again, wading through the fast-rising flood,
staggering towards the blackness which shrouded the stairway. But
long before he reached it the shelving ground was letting him down,
down into the water, and at last he turned and struggled back in the
direction of the distant windows, gray blurs now upon an enormous pall
of darkness, with something that caught a gleam of light flowing in
and sliding over their edges. Again and again he fell, betrayed by the
uneven ground and the swaying current. He was wet to the skin but he
did not know it. For once in his semi-vitalized existence he was awake
to all realities. He knew that unless he could attain to some higher
level there would soon be another cold body lying among the antiquities
in the crypt.
As he fell for the third time and scrambled up with his mouth and eyes
full of water, another reality, forgotten in the joy of his discovery,
and then in the fever of self-preservation, recurred to his mind.
He remembered Giannella, his all but fraudulent concealment of her
inheritance, his machinations to effect a marriage with her before
she should learn of it. If he were to die (oh, horrid thought!) would
not the Judge of souls ask him the same question that that brigand
De Sanctis had asked, "What have you done with Giannella Brockmann's
money?" Carlo Bianchi could certainly say "Domine Dio, it is all there
I have not spent a penny of it yet. It is at interest in the Banco di
Roma, three and a half per cent." Then the Lord would say, "All there,
two hundred scudi, and you have not let that poor child have the shoes
she needs so badly? You have let Mariuccia, who has saved you money for
twenty years, continue to work hard and eat little so as to share her
wages with Giannella Brockmann? Miser, idolater, begone! My good San
Pietro, have the kindness to take this sinner away and send him to hell
at once."
Then it would be all over; and Carlo Bianchi would have to roast, and
gnash his teeth, and have nothing to look at for all eternity but ugly
grinning devils. No beautiful angels with Greek heads and Roman--no,
Græco-Roman, bodies. Would the wings be strong enough to carry all
that marble? Good God, he was going mad. And the water was up to his
waist. One more fight he must make for life, for nice dry clothes,
for Mariuccia's golden fries, for his cigar and slippers and _The
Archæological Review_ after dinner. Also, of course, for the chance to
undo the intended wrong to Giannella and get it erased from his account
this side of judgment. He vowed miserably that if the mercy of God
would but bring him safely out of this pit of destruction, his first
act should be to tell Giannella everything and give her even the whole
two hundred scudi to squander on shoes, ribbons, chocolates, theaters,
anything she liked. And (yes, the water was certainly getting deeper)
he would promise not to marry her unless she were quite willing. Higher
than that, human nature could not rise.
When he had registered these generous vows he felt quite light-hearted
as to eternity, and more confident of reaching physical safety. Now he
was at the foot of the steps below the windows. Blessed steps. He had
forgotten their existence. He scrambled up them and sank down on one,
exhausted and dripping, but above the level of the flood. There was
just enough daylight here for him to see the perils he had escaped. He
shivered as he looked back on the expanse of black choppy water lost in
the shadows from which he had come.
The sense of relief was great, but it was uncomfortably tempered by
finding that a thin sheet of liquid was flowing over his cold seat,
from the window above him, so he rose wearily and reached the window
itself at last. Standing there clinging to the bars, he looked out at
a changed upper world. The view seemed to embrace water everywhere.
Well-known landmarks of old Ripetta, a pillar here, a battered statue
there, a lamp-post all awry a little farther on--these seemed to be
holding their own with difficulty in the shadow tossing stream which
swept by, sending billow after billow through his opening and carrying
past the strangest kind of flotsam in its course. An open umbrella came
dancing towards him like an evil bird with claws to its wings; then a
derelict hencoop from some poulterer's shop, followed first by a wicker
cradle and then by a floating island of cabbages and carrots sustaining
a pair of old boots. Not a human being was in sight, and the poor
prisoner's heart sank within him, for he knew that only a speedy rescue
could save him from the effects of the chill which already had him in
its grip, causing his teeth to chatter pitifully.
Suddenly he gave a shout, and waved an arm wildly through the bars. Far
down the street a boat had appeared, a boat with three or four men in
it, surely one of the rescue parties which never fail to give aid in
these periodical calamities. Heaven had taken pity on him; and at once
he began to think that in his recent excitement he had promised Heaven
too high a price for its mercies. Perhaps the arrangement would have to
be revised; he must reflect seriously before permitting Giannella to
embark on a course of extravagance and dissipation.
Again he waved his arms and shouted to the boat. Oh horror, it was
turning round--he could see its side rocking in the swirl of the
current--it was heading the other way! It was gone!