THE DECISION.
Gabriel Zimandy came to the princess one day with a very downcast mien.
"Our case makes no headway," he lamented, "and the reason is that your
advocate is a Protestant. Now there are two ways to remedy this: either
you must dismiss me and engage a Roman Catholic lawyer, or I must turn
Roman Catholic myself. The latter is the shorter and simpler expedient."
Blanka thought him in fun, and began to laugh. But Zimandy maintained
his solemnity of manner.
"You see, Princess," he went on, "I am ready to renounce the faith of my
fathers and incur the world's ridicule, all to serve you. I am going
this morning to the cardinal on whom the whole issue depends, to ask him
to be my sponsor at the baptism."
The princess pressed his hand warmly in sign of her appreciation of his
devotion.
In a few days the lawyer carried out his purpose and was received into
the Church of Rome. The newspapers gave the matter considerable
prominence, and it was generally expected that the godfather's present
to the new convert would be a favourable decision in the pending divorce
suit. And, in fact, a week later the decision was rendered. It was to
the following effect:
The husband and wife were declared divorced, but with the proviso that
the latter should never marry again, and the former not during his
divorced wife's lifetime. Thus the coffin-lid was closed on the young
wife, who was, as it were, buried alive; but in falling it had caught
and held fast the bridal veil of the Marchioness Caldariva, who could
not now hope to be led to the altar so long as the princess remained
alive. Had there been in this some malevolent design to wreak vengeance
on the two women at one stroke, the purpose could not have been better
accomplished.
The further provisions of the decree of the Roman Curia were of
secondary importance. Prince Cagliari was required to pay to Princess
Zboroy--for Blanka retained her rank and title--an annuity of twelve
thousand ducats, to give over for her use as a dwelling one wing of the
Cagliari palace, and to restore her dowry and jewels. These latter terms
were evidently to be credited to Gabriel Zimandy's generalship; for his
client might have found herself left with neither home nor annuity. So
the lawyer's conversion had met with its reward even in this world.
But Blanka's enjoyment of house and home and yearly income was made
dependent on a certain condition: she was never to leave Rome. The
nature of the decree rendered this provision necessary. As she was
forbidden to contract a second marriage, her judge found himself obliged
to keep her under his eye, to make sure that his mandate was obeyed; and
no more delicate and at the same time effective way to do this could
have been devised than to offer her a palace in Rome and bid her enjoy
its possession for the rest of her life. This was surely kinder than
shutting her up in a convent.
After the rendering of this decree Blanka lost no time in taking
possession of that half of the Cagliari palace assigned to her, and in
engaging a retinue of servants befitting her changed surroundings. Her
own property yielded her an income equal to that which she received from
the prince, and thus she was enabled to allow herself every comfort and
even luxury that she could desire. Of the two wings of the palace,
Blanka's faced the Tiber, while the other fronted upon the public
square. Each wing had a separate garden, divided from its neighbour by a
high wall of masonry, and the only connection between the two parts of
the house was a long corridor, all passage through which was closed.
What had once been a door, leading from the room which Blanka now chose
for her bedchamber into the corridor, was filled in with a fireplace,
whose back was formed by a damascened iron plate. This apartment the
princess selected for her asylum, her hermitage, where she could be
utterly shut out from the world.
The next day after the decision was rendered, Blanka was greeted by her
bosom friend, the fair widow Dormandy, with the announcement of her
engagement to Gabriel Zimandy. They intended to be married in Rome, she
said, and then return to Hungary, whither the bridegroom's business
called him. It was clear to Blanka now why her lawyer had been so ready
to renounce "the faith of his fathers." It was more for the sake of
winning the hand of Madam Dormandy, who was a devout Catholic, and of
marrying her then and there, in Rome, than on account of his client's
interests. Here let us take leave of the worthy man and let him depart
with God's blessing, his newly married wife by his side, and his
honorarium from Princess Blanka in his pocket.
Thus the divorced wife, who was yet hardly more than a girl, found
herself left alone in Rome. She shut herself off entirely from the
world, never venturing into society lest people should whisper to one
another as she passed,--"_la condannata!_" She received no one but her
father confessor, who came to her once a week. The sins which she had to
confess to him were,--the doubting of providence, rebellion against
human justice, forbidden dreams in waking hours, envy of others'
happiness, aversion to prayer, and hatred of life--all sins for which
she had to do penance.
Meanwhile quite a different sort of life was being led in the other wing
of the palace. She could not but hear, from time to time, sounds of
mirth and gaiety in the adjoining garden, or even through the solid
partition-wall of the house. Voices that she knew only too well, and
some that she hated, penetrated to her ears and drove her from one room
to another.
In due time, however, the malarial fever of the Italian summer came to
her as another distraction. It was an intermittent fever, and for six
weeks she was subject to its periodical attacks, which returned every
third day with the constancy of a devoted lover. When at length she
began to mend, her physician prescribed a change of air. Knowing that
his patient could not absent herself from Rome and its vicinity, he did
not send her to Switzerland, but to Tivoli and Monte Mario; and even
before venturing on these brief excursions she was obliged to ask
permission at the Vatican. The convalescent was allowed to spend her
days on Monte Mario, but required to return to Rome at nightfall. Good
morals and good laws demanded this.
Nevertheless, even this slight change--the drives to and from Monte
Mario, and the mountain air during the fine autumn days--did the
princess good, and eventually restored her health.
Meanwhile there was more than one momentous change in the political
world, but Blanka heeded them not. What signified to her the watchword
of the period,--"Liberty?" What liberty had she? Even were all the world
beside free, she was not free to love.