Anastase Gouache worked hard at the Cardinal's portrait, and at the same
time did his best to satisfy Donna Tullia. The latter, indeed, was not
easily pleased, and Gouache found it hard to instil into his
representation of her the precise amount of poetry she required, without
doing violence to his own artistic sense of fitness. But the other
picture progressed rapidly. The Cardinal was a restless man, and after
the first two or three sittings, desired nothing so much as to be done
with them altogether. Anastase amused him, it is true, and the statesman
soon perceived that he had made a conquest of the young man's mind, and
that, as Giovanni Saracinesca had predicted, he had helped Gouache to
come to a decision. He was not prepared, however, for the practical turn
that decision immediately took, and he was just beginning to wish the
sittings at an end when Anastase surprised him by a very startling
announcement.
As usual, they were in the Cardinal's study; the statesman was silent and
thoughtful, and Gouache was working with all his might.
"I have made up my mind," said the latter, suddenly.
"Concerning what, my friend?" inquired the great man, rather absently.
"Concerning everything, Eminence," answered Gouache "concerning politics,
religion, life, death, and everything else which belongs to my career. I
am going to enlist with the Zouaves."
The Cardinal looked at him for a moment, and then broke into a low laugh.
"_Extremis malis extrema remedial!_" he exclaimed.
"Precisely--_aux grands maux les grands remèdes,_ as we say. I am going
to join the Church militant. I am convinced that it is the best thing an
honest man can do. I like fighting, and I like the Church--therefore I
will fight for the Church."
"Very good logic, indeed," answered the Cardinal. But he looked at
Anastase, and marking his delicate features and light frame, he almost
wondered how the lad would look in the garb of a soldier. "Very good
logic; but, my dear Monsieur Gouache, what is to become of your art?"
"I shall not be mounting guard all day, and the Zouaves are allowed to
live in their own lodgings. I will live in my studio, and paint when I am
not mounting guard."
"And my portrait?" inquired Cardinal Antonelli, much amused.
"Your Eminence will doubtless be kind enough to manage that I may have
liberty to finish it."
"You could not put off enlisting for a week, I suppose?"
Gouache looked annoyed; he hated the idea of waiting.
"I have taken too long to make up my mind already," he replied. "I must
make the plunge at once. I am convinced--your Eminence has convinced
me--that I have been very foolish."
"I certainly never intended to convince you of that," remarked the
Cardinal, with a smile.
"Very foolish," repeated Gouache, not heeding the interruption. "I have
talked great nonsense,--I scarcely know why--perhaps to try and find
where the sense really lay. I have dreamed so many dreams, so long, that
I sometimes think I am morbid. All artists are morbid, I suppose. It is
better to do anything active than to lose one's self in the slums of a
sickly imagination."
"I agree with you," answered the Cardinal; "but I do not think you
suffered from a sickly imagination,--I should rather call it abundant
than sickly. Frankly, I should be sorry to think that in following this
new idea you were in any way injuring the great career which, I am sure,
is before you; but, on the other hand, I cannot help wishing that a
greater number of young men would follow your example."
"Your Eminence approves, then?"
"Do you think you will make a good soldier?"
"Other artists have been good soldiers. There was Cellini--"
"Benvenuto Cellini said he made a good soldier; he said it himself, but
his reputation for veracity in other matters was doubtful, to say the
least. If he did not shoot the Connétable de Bourbon, it is very certain
that some one else did. Besides, a soldier in our times should be a very
different kind of man from the self-armed citizen of the time of Clement
the Ninth and the aforesaid Connétable. You will have to wear a uniform
and sleep on boards in a guard-house; you will have to be up early to
drill, and up late mounting guard, in wind and rain and cold. It is hard
work; I do not believe you have the constitution for it. Nevertheless,
the intention is good. You can try it, and if you fall ill I will see
that you have no difficulty in returning to your artist life."
"I do not mean to give it up," replied Gouache, in a tone of conviction.
"And as for my health, I am as strong as any one."
"Perhaps," said the Cardinal, doubtfully. "And when are you going to join
the corps?"
"In about an hour," said Gouache, quietly.
And he kept his word. But he had told no one, save the Cardinal, of his
intention; and for a day or two, though he passed many acquaintances in
the street, no one recognised Anastase Gouache in the handsome young
soldier with his grey Turco uniform, a red sash round his slender waist,
and a small _képi_ set jauntily upon one side.
It was one of the phenomena of those times. Foreigners swarmed in Rome,
and many of them joined the cosmopolitan corps--gentlemen, noblemen,
artists, men of the learned professions, adventurers, duellists driven
from their country in a temporary exile, enthusiasts, strolling
Irishmen, men of all sorts and conditions. But, take them all in all,
they were a fine set of fellows, who set no value whatever on their
lives, and who, as a whole, fought for an idea, in the old crusading
spirit. There were many who, like Gouache, joined solely from conviction;
and there were few instances indeed of any who, having joined, deserted.
It often happened that a stranger came to Rome for a mere visit, and at
the end of a month surprised his friends by appearing in the grey
uniform. You had met him the night before at a ball in the ordinary garb
of civilisation, covered with cotillon favours, waltzing like a madman;
the next morning he entered the Café de Rome in a braided jacket open at
the throat, and told you he was a soldier--a private soldier, who touched
his cap to every corporal of the French infantry, and was liable to be
locked up for twenty-four hours if he was late to quarters.
Donna Tullia's portrait was not quite finished, and Gouache had asked for
one or two more sittings. Three days after the artist had taken his great
resolution, Madame Mayer and Del Ferice entered his studio. He had had no
difficulty in being at liberty at the hour of the sitting, and had merely
exchanged his jacket for an old painting-coat, not taking the trouble to
divest himself of the remainder of his uniform.
"Where have you been all this time?" asked Donna Tullia, as she lifted
the curtain and entered the studio. He had kept out of her way during the
past few days.
"Good heavens, Gouache!" cried Del Ferice, starting back, as he caught
sight of the artist's grey trousers and yellow gaiters. "What is the
meaning of this comedy?"
"What?" asked Gouache, coolly. Then, glancing at his legs, he answered,
"Oh, nothing. I have turned Zouave--that is all. Will you sit down, Donna
Tullia? I was waiting for you."
"Turned Zouave!" exclaimed Madame Mayer and Del Ferice in a breath.
"Turned Zouave!"
"Well?" said Gouache, raising his eyebrows and enjoying their surprise.
"Well--why not?"
Del Ferice struck a fine attitude, and, laying one hand upon Donna
Tullia's arm, whispered hoarsely in her ear--
"_Siamo traditi_--we are betrayed!" he said. Whereupon Donna Tullia
turned a little pale.
"Betrayed!" she repeated, "and by Gouache!"
Gouache laughed, as he drew out the battered old carved chair on which
Madame Mayer was accustomed to sit when he painted.
"Calm yourself, Madame," he said. "I have not the least intention of
betraying you. I have made a counter-revolution--but I am perfectly
frank. I will not tell of the ferocious deeds I have heard discussed."
Del Ferice scowled and drew back, partly acting, partly in earnest. It
lay in his schemes to make Donna Tullia believe herself involved in a
genuine plot, and from this point of view he felt that he must pretend
the greatest horror and surprise. On the other hand, he knew that Gouache
had been painting the Cardinal's portrait, and guessed that the statesman
had acquired a strong influence over the artist's mind--an influence
which was already showing itself in a way that looked dangerous. It had
never struck him until quite lately that Anastase, a republican by
descent and conviction, could suddenly step into the reactionary camp.
"Pardon me, Donna Tullia," said Ugo, in serious tones, "pardon me--but I
think we should do well to leave Monsieur Gouache to the contemplation of
his new career. This is no place for us--the company of traitors--"
"Look here, Del Ferice," said Gouache, suddenly going up to him and
looking him in the face,--"do you seriously believe that anything you
have ever said, in this room is worth betraying? or, if you do, do you
really think that I would betray it?"
"Bah!" exclaimed Donna Tullia, interposing, "it is nonsense! Gouache is a
gentleman, of course--and besides, I mean to have my portrait, politics
or no politics."
With this round statement Donna Tullia sat down, and Del Ferice had no
choice but to follow her example. He was profoundly disgusted, but he saw
at a glance that it would be hopeless to attempt to dissuade Madame Mayer
when she had once made up her mind.
"And now you can tell us all about it," said Donna Tullia. "What, in the
name of all that is senseless, has induced you to join the Zouaves? It
really makes me very nervous to see you."
"That lends poetry to your expression," interrupted Gouache. "I wish you
were always nervous. You really want to know why I am a Zouave? It is
very simple. You must know that I always follow my impulses."
"Impulses!" ejaculated Del Ferice, moodily.
"Yes; because my impulses are always good,--whereas when I reflect much,
my judgment is always bad. I felt a strong impulse to wear the grey
uniform, so I walked into the recruiting office and wrote my name down."
"I feel a strong impulse to walk out of your studio, Monsieur Gouache,"
said Donna Tullia, with a rather nervous laugh.
"Then allow me to tell you that, whereas my impulses are good, yours are
not," replied Anastase, quietly painting. "Because I have a new dress--"
"And new convictions," interrupted Del Ferice; "you who were always
arguing about convictions!"
"I had none; that is the reason I argued about them. I have plenty
now--I argue no longer."
"You are wise," retorted Ugo. "Those you have got will never bear
discussion."
"Excuse me," answered Gouache; "if you will take the trouble to be
introduced to his Eminence Cardinal Antonelli--"
Donna Tullia held up her hands in horror.
"That horrible man! That Mephistopheles!" she cried.
"That Macchiavelli! That arch-enemy of our holy liberty!" exclaimed Del
Ferice, in theatrical tones.
"Exactly," answered Gouache. "If he could be induced to devote a quarter
of an hour of his valuable time to talking with you, he would turn your
convictions round his finger."
"This is too much!" cried Del Ferice, angrily.
"I think it is very amusing," said Donna Tullia, "What a pity that all
Liberals are not artists, whom his Eminence could engage to paint his
portrait and be converted at so much an hour!"
Gouache smiled quietly, and went on with his work.
"So he told you to go and turn Zouave," remarked Donna Tullia, after a
pause, "and you submitted like a lamb."
"So far was the Cardinal from advising me to turn soldier, that he
expressed the greatest surprise when I told him of my intention,"
returned Gouache, rather coldly.
"Indeed it is enough to take away even a cardinal's breath," answered
Madame Mayer. "I was never, never so surprised in my life!"
Gouache stood up to get a view of his work, and Donna Tullia looked at
him critically.
"_Tiens_!" she exclaimed, "it is rather becoming--what small ankles you
have, Gouache!"
Anastase laughed. It was impossible to be grave in the face of such
utterly frivolous inconsistency.
"You will allow your expression to change so often, Donna Tullia! It is
impossible to catch it."
"Like your convictions," murmured Del Ferice from his corner. Indeed Ugo
did not know what to make of the scene. He had miscalculated the strength
of Donna Tullia's fears as compared with her longing to possess a
flattering portrait of herself. Rather than leave the picture unfinished,
she exhibited a cynical indifference to danger which would have done
honour to a better man than Del Ferice. Perhaps, too, she understood
Gouache well enough to know that he might be trusted. Indeed any one
would have trusted Gouache. Even Del Ferice was less disturbed at the
possibility of the artist's repeating any of the trivial liberal talk
which he had listened to, than at the indifference to discovery shown by
Donna Tullia. To Del Ferice, the whole thing had been but a harmless
play; but he wanted Madame Mayer to believe that it had all been in
solemn earnest, and that she was really implicated in a dangerous plot;
for it gave him a stronger hold upon her for his own ends.
"So you are going to fight for Pio Nono," remarked Ugo, scornfully, after
another pause.
"I am," replied Gouache. "And, no offence to you, my friend, if I meet
you in a red shirt among the Garibaldini, I will kill you. It would be
very unpleasant, so I hope that you will not join them."
"Take care, Del Ferice," laughed Donna Tullia; "your life is in danger!
You had better join the Zouaves instead."
"I cannot paint his Eminence's portrait," returned Ugo, with a sneer, "so
there is no chance of that."
"You might assist him with wholesome advice, I should think," answered
Gouache. "I have no doubt you could tell him much that would be very
useful."
"And turn traitor to--"
"Hush! Do not be so silly, Del Ferice," interrupted Donna Tullia, who
began to fear that Del Ferice's taunts would make trouble. She had a
secret conviction that it would not be good to push the gentle Anastase
too far. He was too quiet, too determined, and too serious not to be a
little dangerous if roused.
"Do not be absurd," she repeated. "Whatever Gouache may choose to do, he
is a gentleman, and I will not have you talk of traitors like that. He
does not quarrel with you--why do you try to quarrel with him?"
"I think he has done quite enough to justify a quarrel, I am sure,"
replied Del Ferice, moodily.
"My dear sir," said Gouache, desisting from his work and turning towards
Ugo, "Madame is quite right. I not only do not quarrel, but I refuse to
be quarrelled with. You have my most solemn assurance that whatever has
previously passed here, whatever I have heard said by you, by Donna
Tullia, by Valdarno, by any of your friends, I regard as an inviolable
secret. You formerly said I had no convictions, and you were right. I had
none, and I listened to your exposition of your own with considerable
interest. My case is changed. I need not tell you what I believe, for I
wear the uniform of a Papal Zouave. When I put it on, I certainly did not
contemplate offending you; I do not wish to offend you now--I only beg
that you will refrain from offending me. For my part, I need only say
that henceforth I do not desire to take a part in your councils. If Donna
Tullia is satisfied with her portrait, there need be no further occasion
for our meeting. If, on the contrary, we are to meet again, I beg that we
may meet on a footing of courtesy and mutual respect."
It was impossible to say more; and Gouache's speech terminated the
situation so far as Del Ferice was concerned. Donna Tullia smilingly
expressed her approval.
"Quite right, Gouache," she said. "You know it would be impossible to
leave the portrait as it is now. The mouth, you know--you promised to do
something to it--just the expression, you know."
Gouache bowed his head a little, and set to work again without a word.
Del Ferice did not speak again during the sitting, but sat moodily
staring at the canvas, at Donna Tullia, and at the floor. It was not
often that he was moved from his habitual suavity of manner, but
Gouache's conduct had made him feel particularly uncomfortable.
The next time Donna Tullia came to sit, she brought her old Countess, and
Del Ferice did not appear. The portrait was ultimately finished to the
satisfaction of all parties, and was hung in Donna Tullia's drawing-room,
to be admired and criticised by all her friends. But Gouache rejoiced
when the thing was finally removed from his studio, for he had grown to
hate it, and had been almost willing to flatter it out of all likeness to
Madame Mayer, for the sake of not being eternally confronted by the cold
stare of her blue eyes. He finished the Cardinal's portrait too; and the
statesman not only paid for it with unusual liberality, but gave the
artist what he called a little memento of the long hours they had spent
together. He opened one of the lockers in his study, and from a small
drawer selected an ancient ring, in which was set a piece of crystal with
a delicate intaglio of a figure of Victory. He took Gouache's hand and
slipped the ring upon his finger. He had taken a singular liking to
Anastase.
"Wear it as a little souvenir of me," he said kindly. "It is a Victory;
you are a soldier now, so I pray that victory may go with you; and I give
Victory herself into your hands."
"And I," said Gouache, "will pray that it may be a symbol in my hand of
the real victories you are to win."
"Only a symbol," returned the Cardinal, thoughtfully. "Nothing but a
symbol. I was not born to conquer, but to lead a forlorn hope--to deceive
vanquished men with a hope not real, and to deceive the victors with an
unreal fear. Nevertheless, my friend," he added, grasping Gouache's hand,
and fixing upon him his small bright eyes,--"nevertheless, let us fight,
fight--fight to the very end!"
"We will fight to the end, Eminence," said Gouache. He was only a private
of Zouaves, and the man whose hand he held was great and powerful; but
the same spirit was in the hearts of both, the same courage, the same
devotion to the failing cause--and both kept their words, each in his own
way.