The old Prince was left alone, as he had often been left before, when
Giovanni was gone to the ends of the earth in pursuit of his amusements.
On such occasions old Saracinesca frequently packed up his traps and
followed his son's example; but he rarely went further than Paris, where
he had many friends, and where he generally succeeded in finding
consolation for his solitude.
Now, however, he felt more than usually lonely. Giovanni had not gone
far, it is true, for with good horses it was scarcely more than eight
hours to the castle; but, for the first time in his life, old Saracinesca
felt that if he had suddenly determined to follow his son, he would not
be welcome. The boy was married at last, and must be left in peace for a
few days with his bride. With the contrariety natural to him, old
Saracinesca no sooner felt that his son was gone than he experienced the
most ardent desire to be with him. He had often seen Giovanni leave the
house at twenty-four hours' notice on his way to some distant capital,
and had not cared to accompany him, simply because he knew he might do so
if he pleased; but now he felt that some one else had taken his place,
and that, for a time at least, he was forcibly excluded from Giovanni's
society. It is very likely that but for the business which detained him
in Rome he would have astonished the happy pair by riding into the
gateway of the old castle on the day after the wedding: that business,
however, was urgent, secret, and, moreover, very congenial to the old
man's present temper.
He had discussed the matter fully with Giovanni, and they had agreed upon
the course to be pursued. There was, nevertheless, much to be done before
the end they both so earnestly desired could be attained. It seemed a
simple plan to go to Cardinal Antonelli and to demand the arrest of Del
Ferice for his misdeeds; but as yet those misdeeds were undefined, and it
was necessary to define them. The Cardinal rarely resorted to such
measures except when the case was urgent, and Saracinesca knew perfectly
well that it would be hard to prove anything more serious against Del
Ferice than the crime of joining in the silly talk of Valdarno and his
set. Giovanni had told his father plainly that he was sure Del Ferice
derived his living from some illicit source, but he was wholly unable to
show what that source was. Most people believed the story that Del Ferice
had inherited money from an obscure relative; most people thought he was
clever and astute, but were so far deceived by his frank and unaffected
manner as to feel sure that he always said everything that came into his
head; most people are so much delighted when an unusually clever man
deigns to talk to them, that they cannot, for vanity's sake, suspect him
of deceiving them. Saracinesca did not doubt that the mere statement of
his own belief in regard to Del Ferice would have considerable weight
with the Cardinal, for he was used to power of a certain kind, and was
accustomed to see his judgment treated with deference; but he knew the
Cardinal to be a cautious man, hating despotic measures, because by his
use of them he had made himself so bitterly hated--loth always to do by
force what might be accomplished by skill, and in the end far more likely
to attempt the conversion of Del Ferice to the reactionary view, than to
order his expulsion because his views were over liberal. Even if old
Saracinesca had possessed a vastly greater diplomatic instinct than he
did, coupled with an unscrupulous mendacity which he certainly had not,
he would have found it hard to persuade the Cardinal against his will;
but Saracinesca was, of all men, a man violent in action and averse to
reflection before or after the fact. That he should ultimately be
revenged upon Del Ferice and Donna Tullia for the part they had lately
played, was a matter which it never entered his head to doubt; but when
he endeavoured to find means which should persuade the Cardinal to assist
him, he seemed fenced in on all sides by impossibilities. One thing only
helped him--namely, the conviction that if the statesman could be induced
to examine Del Ferice's conduct seriously, the latter would prove to be
not only an enemy to the State, but a bitter enemy to the Cardinal
himself.
The more Saracinesca thought of the matter, the more convinced he was
that he should go boldly to the Cardinal and state his belief that Del
Ferice was a dangerous traitor, who ought to be summarily dealt with. If
the Cardinal argued the case, the Prince would asseverate, after his
manner, and some sort of result was sure to follow. As he thus determined
upon his course, his doubts seemed to vanish, as they generally do in the
mind of a strong man, when action becomes imminent, and the confidence
the old man had exhibited to his son very soon became genuine. It was
almost intolerable to have to wait so long, however, before doing
anything. Giovanni and he had decided to allow Del Ferice's marriage
to take place before producing the explosion, in order the more certainly
to strike both the offenders; now it seemed best to strike at once.
Supposing, he argued with himself, that Donna Tullia and her husband
chose to leave Rome for Paris the day after their wedding, half the
triumph would be lost; for half the triumph was to consist in Del
Ferice's being imprisoned for a spy in Rome, whereas if he once crossed
the frontier, he could at most be forbidden to return, which would be but
a small satisfaction to Saracinesca, or to Giovanni.
A week passed by, and the gaiety of Carnival was again at its height; and
again a week elapsed, and Lent was come. Saracinesca went everywhere and
saw everybody as usual, and then after Ash-Wednesday he occasionally
showed himself at some of those quiet evening receptions which his son so
much detested. But he was restless and discontented. He longed to begin
the fight, and could not sleep for thinking of it. Like Giovanni, he was
strong and revengeful; but Giovanni had from his mother a certain
slowness of temperament, which often deterred him from action just long
enough to give him time for reflection, whereas the father, when roused,
and he was roused easily, loved to strike at once. It chanced one
evening, in a great house, that Saracinesca came upon the Cardinal
standing alone in an outer room. He was on his way into the reception;
but he had stopped, attracted by a beautiful crystal cup of old
workmanship, which stood, among other objects of the kind, upon a marble
table in one of the drawing-rooms through which he had to pass. The cup
itself, of deeply carved rock crystal, was set in chiselled silver, and
if not the work of Cellini himself, must have been made by one of his
pupils. Saracinesca stopped by the great man's side.
"Good evening, Eminence," he said.
"Good evening, Prince," returned the Cardinal, who recognised
Saracinesca's voice without looking up. "Have you ever seen this
marvellous piece of work? I have been admiring it for a quarter of an
hour." He loved all objects of the kind, and understood them with rare
knowledge.
"It is indeed exceedingly beautiful," answered Saracinesca, who longed to
take advantage of the opportunity of speaking to Cardinal Antonelli upon
the subject nearest to his heart.
"Yes--yes," returned the Cardinal rather vaguely, and made as though he
would go on. He saw from Saracinesca's commonplace praise, that he knew
nothing of the subject. The old Prince saw his opportunity slipping
from him, and lost his head. He did not recollect that he could see the
Cardinal alone whenever he pleased, by merely asking for an interview.
Fate had thrust the Cardinal in his path, and fate was responsible.
"If your Eminence will allow me, I would like a word with you," he said
suddenly.
"As many as you please," answered the statesman, blandly. "Let us sit
down in that corner--no one will disturb us for a while."
He seemed unusually affable, as he sat himself down by Saracinesca's
side, gathering the skirt of his scarlet mantle across his knee, and
folding his delicate hands together in an attitude of restful attention.
"You know, I daresay, a certain Del Ferice, Eminence?" began the Prince.
"Very well--the _deus ex machinâ_ who has appeared to carry off Donna
Tullia Mayer. Yes, I know him."
"Precisely, and they will match very well together; the world cannot help
applauding the union of the flesh and the devil."
The Cardinal smiled.
"The metaphor is apt," he said; "but what about them?"
"I will tell you in two words," replied Saracinesca. "Del Ferice is a
scoundrel of the first water--"
"A jewel among scoundrels," interrupted the Cardinal, "for being a
scoundrel he is yet harmless--a stage villain."
"I believe your Eminence is deceived in him."
"That may easily be," answered the statesman. "I am much more often
deceived than people imagine." He spoke very mildly, but his small black
eyes turned keenly upon Saracinesca. "What has he been doing?" he asked,
after a short pause.
"He has been trying to do a great deal of harm to my son and to my son's
wife. I suspect him strongly of doing harm to you."
Whether Saracinesca was strictly honest in saying "you" to the Cardinal,
when he meant the whole State as represented by the prime minister, is a
matter not easily decided. There is a Latin saying, to the effect that a
man who is feared by many should himself fear many, and the saying is
true. The Cardinal was personally a brave man; but he knew his danger,
and the memory of the murdered Rossi was fresh in his mind. Nevertheless,
he smiled blandly as he answered--
"That is rather vague, my friend. How is he doing me harm, if I may ask?"
"I argue in this way," returned Saracinesca, thus pressed. "The fellow
found a most ingenious way of attacking my son--he searched the whole
country till he found that a man called Giovanni Saracinesca had been,
married some time ago in Aquila. He copied the certificates, and produced
them as pretended proof that my son was already married. If I had not
found the man myself, there would have been trouble. Now besides this,
Del Ferice is known to hold Liberal views--"
"Of the feeblest kind," interrupted the statesman, who nevertheless
became very grave.
"Those he exhibits are of the feeblest kind, and he takes no trouble to
hide them. But a fellow so ingenious as to imagine the scheme he
practised against us is not a fool."
"I understand, my good friend," said the Cardinal. "You have been injured
by this fellow, and you would like me to revenge the injury by locking
him up. Is that it?"
"Precisely," answered Saracinesca, laughing at his own simplicity. "I
might as well have said so from the first."
"Much better. You would make a poor diplomatist, Prince. But what in the
world shall I gain by revenging your wrongs upon that creature?"
"Nothing--unless when you have taken the trouble to examine his conduct,
you find that he is really dangerous. In that case your Eminence will be
obliged to look to your own safety. If you find him innocent, you will
let him go."
"And in that case, what will you do?" asked the Cardinal with a smile.
"I will cut his throat," answered Saracinesca, unmoved.
"Murder him?"
"No--call him out and kill him like a gentleman, which is a great deal
better than he deserves."
"I have no doubt you would," said the Cardinal, gravely. "I think your
proposition reasonable, however. If this man is really dangerous, I will
look to him myself. But I must really beg you not to do anything rash. I
have determined that this duelling shall stop, and I warn you that
neither you nor any one else will escape imprisonment if you are involved
in any more of these personal encounters."
Saracinesca suppressed a smile at the Cardinal's threat; but he perceived
that he had gained his point, and was pleased accordingly. He had, he
felt sure, sown in the statesman's mind a germ of suspicion which would
before long bring forth fruit. In those days danger was plentiful, and
people could not afford to overlook it, no matter in what form it
presented itself, least of all such people as the Cardinal himself, who,
while sustaining an unequal combat against superior forces outside the
State, felt that his every step was encompassed by perils from within.
That he had long despised Del Ferice as an idle chatterer did not prevent
him from understanding that he might have been deceived, as Saracinesca
suggested. He had caused Ugo to be watched, it is true, but only from
time to time, and by men whose only duty was to follow him and to see
whether he frequented suspicious society. The little nest of talkers at
Gouache's studio in the Via San Basilio was soon discovered, and proved
to be harmless enough. Del Ferice was then allowed to go on his way
unobserved. But the half-dozen words in which Saracinesca had described
Ugo's scheme for hindering Giovanni's marriage had set the Cardinal
thinking, and the Cardinal seldom wasted time in thinking in vain. His
interview with Saracinesca ended very soon, and the Prince and the
statesman entered the crowded drawing-room and mixed in the throng. It
was long before they met again in private.
The Cardinal on the following day gave orders that Del Ferice's letters
were to be stopped--by no means an uncommon proceeding in those times,
nor so rare in our own day as is supposed. The post-office was then in
the hands of a private individual so far as all management was concerned,
and the Cardinal's word was law. Del Ferice's letters were regularly
opened and examined.
The first thing that was discovered was that they frequently contained
money, generally in the shape of small drafts on London signed by a
Florentine banker, and that the envelopes which contained money never
contained anything else. They were all posted in Florence. With regard
to his letters, they appeared to be very innocent communications from all
sorts of people, rarely referring to politics, and then only in the most
general terms. If Del Ferice had expected to have his correspondence
examined, he could not have arranged matters better for his own safety.
To trace the drafts to the person who sent them was not an easy business;
it was impossible to introduce a spy into the banking-house in Florence,
and among the many drafts daily bought and sold, it was almost impossible
to identify, without the aid of the banker's books, the person who
chanced to buy any particular one. The addresses were, it is true,
uniformly written by the same hand; but the writing was in no way
peculiar, and was certainly not that of any prominent person whose
autograph the Cardinal possessed.
The next step was to get possession of some letter written by Del Ferice
himself, and, if possible, to intercept everything he wrote. But although
the letters containing the drafts were regularly opened, and, after
having been examined and sealed again, were regularly transmitted
through the post-office to Ugo's address, the expert persons set to catch
the letters he himself wrote were obliged to own, after three weeks'
careful watching, that he never seemed to write any letters at all, and
that he certainly never posted any. They acknowledged their failure to
the Cardinal with timid anxiety, expecting to be reprimanded for their
carelessness. But the Cardinal merely told them not to relax their
attention, and dismissed them with a bland smile. He knew, now, that he
was on the track of mischief; for a man who never writes any letters at
all, while he receives many, might reasonably be suspected of having a
secret post-office of his own. For some days Del Ferice's movements were
narrowly watched, but with no result whatever. Then the Cardinal sent for
the police register of the district where Del Ferice lived, and in which
the name, nationality, and residence of every individual in the "Rione"
or quarter were carefully inscribed, as they still are.
Running his eye down the list, the Cardinal came upon the name of
"Temistocle Fattorusso, of Naples, servant to Ugo dei Conti del Ferice:"
an idea struck him.
"His servant is a Neapolitan," he reflected. "He probably sends his
letters by way of Naples."
Accordingly Temistocle was watched instead of his master. It was found
that he frequented the society of other Neapolitans, and especially that
he was in the habit of going from time to time to the Ripa Grande, the
port of the Tiber, where he seemed to have numerous acquaintances among
the Neapolitan boatmen who constantly came up the coast in their
"martingane"--heavy, sea-going, lateen-rigged vessels, bringing cargoes
of oranges and lemons to the Roman market. The mystery was now solved.
One day Temistocle was actually seen giving a letter into the hands of a
huge fellow in a red woollen cap. The _sbirro_ who saw him do it marked
the sailor and his vessel, and never lost sight of him till he hoisted
his jib and floated away down stream. Then the spy took horse and
galloped down to Fiumicino, where he waited for the little vessel,
boarded her from a boat, escorted by a couple of gendarmes, and had no
difficulty in taking the letter from the terrified seaman, who was glad
enough to escape without detention. During the next fortnight several
letters were stopped in this way, carried by different sailors, and the
whole correspondence went straight to the Cardinal. It was not often that
he troubled himself to play the detective in person, but when he did so,
he was not easily baffled. And now he observed that about a week after
the interception of the first letter the small drafts which used to come
so frequently to Del Ferice's address from Florence suddenly ceased,
proving beyond a doubt that each letter was paid for according to its
value so soon as it was received.
With regard to the contents of these epistles little need be said. So
sure was Del Ferice of his means of transmission that he did not even use
a cipher, though he, of course, never signed any of his writings. The
matter was invariably a detailed chronicle of Roman sayings and doings, a
record as minute as Del Ferice could make it, of everything that took
place, and even the Cardinal himself was astonished at the accuracy of
the information thus conveyed. His own appearances in public--the names
of those with whom he talked--even fragments of his conversation--were
given with annoying exactness. The statesman learned with infinite
disgust that he had for some time past been subjected to a system of
espionage at least as complete as any of his own invention; and, what was
still more annoying to his vanity, the spy was the man of all others whom
he had most despised, calling him harmless and weak, because he cunningly
affected weakness. Where or how Del Ferice procured so much information
the Cardinal cared little enough, for he determined there and then that
he should procure no more. That there were other traitors in the camp was
more than likely, and that they had aided Del Ferice with their counsels;
but though by prolonging the situation it might be possible to track them
down, such delay would be valuable to enemies abroad. Moreover, if Del
Ferice began to find out, as he soon must, that his private
correspondence was being overhauled at the Vatican, he was not a man to
hesitate about attempting his escape; and he would certainly not be an
easy man to catch, if he could once succeed in putting a few miles of
Campagna between himself and Rome. There was no knowing what disguise he
might not find in which to slip over the frontier; and indeed, as he
afterwards proved, he was well prepared for such an emergency.
The Cardinal did not hesitate. He had just received the fourth letter,
and if he waited any longer Del Ferice would take alarm, and slip through
his fingers. He wrote with his own hand a note to the chief of police,
ordering the immediate arrest of Ugo dei Conti del Ferice, with
instructions that he should be taken in his own house, without any
publicity, and conveyed in a private carriage to the Sant' Uffizio by men
in plain clothes. It was six o'clock in the evening when he wrote the
order, and delivered it to his private servant to be taken to its
destination. The man lost no time, and within twenty minutes the chief of
police was in possession of his orders, which he hastened to execute with
all possible speed. Before seven o'clock two respectable-looking citizens
were seated in the chief's own carriage, driving rapidly in the direction
of Del Fence's house. In less than half an hour the man who had caused so
much trouble would be safely lodged in the prisons of the Holy Office, to
be judged for his sins as a political spy. In a fortnight he was to have
been married to Donna Tullia Mayer,--and her trousseau had just arrived
from Paris.
It can hardly be said that the Cardinal's conduct was unjustifiable,
though many will say that Del Fence's secret doings were easily
defensible on the ground of his patriotism. Cardinal Antonelli had
precisely defined the situation in his talk with Anastase Gouache by
saying that the temporal power was driven to bay. To all appearances
Europe was at peace, but as a matter of fact the peace was but an armed
neutrality. An amount of interest was concentrated upon the situation of
the Papal States which has rarely been excited by events of much greater
apparent importance than the occupation of a small principality by
foreign troops. All Europe was arming. In a few months Austria was to
sustain one of the most sudden and overwhelming defeats recorded in
military history. In a few years the greatest military power in the world
was to be overtaken by an even more appalling disaster. And these
events, then close at hand, were to deal the death-blow to papal
independence. The papacy was driven to bay, and those to whom the last
defence was confided were certainly justified in employing every means in
their power for strengthening their position. That Rome herself was
riddled with rotten conspiracies, and turned into a hunting-ground for
political spies, while the support she received from Louis Napoleon had
been already partially withdrawn, proves only how hard was the task of
that man who, against such odds, maintained so gallant a fight. It is no
wonder that he hunted down spies, and signed orders forcing suspicious
characters to leave the city at a day's notice; for the city was
practically in a state of siege, and any relaxation of the iron
discipline by which the great Cardinal governed would at any moment in
those twenty years have proved disastrous. He was hated and feared; more
than once he was in imminent danger of his life, but he did his duty in
his post. Had his authority fallen, it is impossible to say what evil
might have ensued to the city and its inhabitants--evils vastly more to
be feared than the entrance of an orderly Italian army through the Porta
Pia. For the recollections of Count Rossi's murder, and of the short and
lawless Republic of 1848, were fresh in the minds of the people, and
before they had faded there were dangerous rumours of a rising even less
truly Republican in theory, and far more fatal in the practical social
anarchy which must have resulted from its success. Giuseppe Mazzini had
survived his arch-enemy, the great Cavour, and his influence was
incalculable.
But my business is not to write the history of those uncertain days,
though no one who considers the social life of Rome, either then or now,
can afford to overlook the influence of political events upon the
everyday doings of men and women. We must follow the private carriage
containing the two respectable citizens who were on their way to Del
Ferice's house.