IV

The curtain parted over the inner doorway, and three gentlemen came out.

The first was a tall, spare man, about fifty years of age, with an

intellectual head, features cut clear and hard like granite, glittering

eyes under overhanging brows, black moustaches turned up at the ends,

and iron-grey hair cropped very short over a high forehead. It was the

Baron Bonelli.

One of the two men with him had a face which looked as if it had been

carved by a sword or an adze, good and honest but blunt and rugged; and

the other had a long, narrow head, like the head of a hen--a lanky

person with a certain mixture of arrogance and servility in his

expression.

The company rose from their places in the Loggia, and there were

greetings and introductions.

"Sir Evelyn Wise, gentlemen, the new British Ambassador--General Morra,

our Minister of War; Commendatore Angelelli, our Chief of Police. A

thousand apologies, ladies! A Minister of the Interior is one of the

human atoms that live from minute to minute and are always at the mercy

of events. You must excuse the Commendatore, gentlemen; he has urgent

duties outside."

The Prime Minister spoke with the lucidity and emphasis of a man

accustomed to command, and when Angelelli had bowed all round he crossed

with him to the door.

"If there is any suspicion of commotion, arrest the ringleaders at once.

Let there be no trifling with disorder, by whomsoever begun. The first

to offend must be the first to be arrested, whether he wears cap or

cassock."

"Good, your Excellency," and the Chief of Police went out.

"Commotion! Disorder! Madonna mia!" cried the little Princess.

"Calm yourselves, ladies. It's nothing! Only it came to the knowledge of

the Government that the Pope's procession this morning might be made the

excuse for a disorderly demonstration, and of course order must not be

disturbed even under the pretext of liberty and religion."

"So that was the public business which deprived us of your society?"

said the Princess.

"And left my womanless house the duty of receiving you in my absence,"

said the Baron.

The Baron bowed his guests to their seats, stood with his back to a wide

ingle, and began to sketch the Pope's career.

"His father was a Roman banker--lived in this house, indeed--and the

young Leone was brought up in the Jesuit schools and became a member of

the Noble Guard: handsome, accomplished, fond of society and social

admiration, a man of the world. This was a cause of disappointment to

his father, who has intended him for a great career in the Church. They

had their differences, and finally a mission was found for him and he

lived a year abroad. The death of the old banker brought him back to

Rome, and then, to the astonishment of society, he renounced the world

and took holy orders. Why he gave up his life of gallantry did not

appear...."

"Some affair of the heart, dear Baron," said the little Princess, with a

melting look.

"No, there was no talk of that kind, Princess, and not a whisper of

scandal. Some said the young soldier had married in England, and lost

his wife there, but nobody knew for certain. There was less doubt about

his religious vocation, and when by help of his princely inheritance he

turned his mind to the difficult task of reforming vice and ministering

to the lowest aspects of misery in the slums of Rome, society said he

had turned Socialist. His popularity with the people was unbounded, but

in the midst of it all he begged to be removed to London. There he set

up the same enterprises, and tramped the streets in search of his waifs

and outcasts, night and day, year in, year out, as if driven on by a

consuming passion of pity for the lost and fallen. In the interests of

his health he was called back to Rome--and returned here a white-haired

man of forty."

"Ah! what did I say, dear Baron? The apple falls near the tree, you

know!"

"By this time he had given away millions, and the Pope wished to make

him President of his Academy of Noble Ecclesiastics, but he begged to be

excused. Then Apostolic Delegate to the United States, and he prayed

off. Then Nuncio to Spain, and he went on his knees to remain in the

Campagna Romana, and do the work of a simple priest among a simple

people. At last, without consulting him they made him Bishop, and

afterwards Cardinal, and, on the death of the Pope, he was Scrutator to

the Conclave, and fainted when he read out his own name as that of

Sovereign Pontiff of the Church."

The little Princess was wiping her eyes.

"Then--all the world was changed. The priest of the future disappeared

in a Pope who was the incarnation of the past. Authority was now his

watchword. What was the highest authority on earth? The Holy See!

Therefore, the greatest thing for the world was the domination of the

Pope. If anybody should say that the power conferred by Christ on his

Vicar was only spiritual, let him be accursed! In Christ's name the Pope

was sovereign--supreme sovereign over the bodies and souls of

men--acknowledging no superior, holding the right to make and depose

kings, and claiming to be supreme judge over the consciences and crimes

of all--the peasant that tills the soil, and the prince that sits on the

throne!"

"Tre-men-jous!" said the American.

"But, dear Baron," said the little Princess, "don't you think there was

an affair of the heart after all?" and the little plumes bobbed

sideways.

The Baron laughed again. "The Pope seems to have half of humanity on his

side already--he has the women apparently."

All this time there had risen from the piazza into the room a humming

noise like the swarming of bees, but now a shrill voice came up from the

crowd with the sudden swish of a rocket.

"Look out!"

The young Roman, who had been looking over the balcony, turned his head

back and said:

"Donna Roma, Excellency."

But the Baron had gone from the room.

"He knew her carriage wheels apparently," said Don Camillo, and the lips

of the little Princess closed tight as if from sudden pain.

V

The return of the Baron was announced by the faint rustle of a silk

under-skirt and a light yet decided step keeping pace with his own. He

came back with Donna Roma on his arm, and over his coolness and calm

dignity he looked pleased and proud.

The lady herself was brilliantly animated and happy. A certain swing in

her graceful carriage gave an instant impression of perfect health, and

there was physical health also in the brightness of her eyes and the

gaiety of her expression. Her face was lighted up by a smile which

seemed to pervade her whole person and make it radiant with overflowing

joy. A vivacity which was at the same time dignified and spontaneous

appeared in every movement of her harmonious figure, and as she came

into the room there was a glow of health and happiness that filled the

air like the glow of sunlight through a veil of soft red gauze.

She saluted the Baron's guests with a smile that fascinated everybody.

There was a modified air of freedom about her, as of one who has a right

to make advances, a manner which captivates all women in a queen and all

men in a lovely woman.

"Ah, it is you, General Potter? And my dear General Morra? Camillo mio!"

(The Italian had rushed upon her and kissed her hand.) "Sir Evelyn Wise,

from England, isn't it? I'm half an Englishwoman myself, and I'm very

proud of it."

She had smiled frankly into Sir Evelyn's face, and he had smiled back

without knowing it. There was something contagious about her smile. The

rosy mouth with its pearly teeth seemed to smile of itself, and the

lovely eyes had their separate art of smiling. Her lips parted of

themselves, and then you felt your own lips parting.

"You were to have been busy with your fountain to-day...." began the

Baron.

"So I expected," she said in a voice that was soft yet full, "and I did

not think I should care to see any more spectacles in Rome, where the

people are going in procession all the year through--but what do you

think has brought me?"

"The artist's instinct, of course," said Don Camillo.

"No, just the woman's--to see a man!"

"Lucky fellow, whoever he is!" said the American. "He'll see something

better than you will, though," and then the golden complexion gleamed up

at him under a smile like sunshine.

"But who is he?" said the young Roman.

"I'll tell you. Bruno--you remember Bruno?"

"Bruno!" cried the Baron.

"Oh! Bruno is all right," she said, and, turning to the others, "Bruno

is my man in the studio--my marble pointer, you know. Bruno Rocco, and

nobody was ever so rightly named. A big, shaggy, good-natured bear,

always singing or growling or laughing, and as true as steel. A terrible

Liberal, though; a socialist, an anarchist, a nihilist, and everything

that's shocking."

"Well?"

"Well, ever since I began my fountain ... I'm making a fountain for the

Municipality--it is to be erected in the new part of the Piazza Colonna.

I expect to finish it in a fortnight. You would like to see it? Yes?

I'll send you cards--a little private view, you know."

"But Bruno?"

"Ah! yes, Bruno! Well, I've been at a loss for a model for one of my

figures ... figures all round the dish, you know. They represent the

Twelve Apostles, with Christ in the centre giving out the water of

life."

"But Bruno! Bruno! Bruno!"

She laughed, and the merry ring of her laughter set them all laughing.

"Well, Bruno has sung the praises of one of his friends until I'm

crazy ... crazy, that's English, isn't it? I told you I was half an

Englishwoman. American? Thanks, General! I'm 'just crazy' to get him

in."

"Simple enough--hire him to sit to you," said the Princess.

"Oh," with a mock solemnity, "he is far too grand a person for that! A

member of Parliament, a leader of the Left, a prophet, a person with a

mission, and I daren't even dream of it. But this morning, Bruno tells

me, his friend, his idol, is to stop the Pope's procession, and present

a petition, so I thought I would kill two birds with one stone--see my

man and see the spectacle--and here I am to see them!"

"And who is this paragon of yours, my dear?"

"The great David Rossi!"

"_That_ man!"

The white plumes were going like a fan.

"The man is a public nuisance and ought to be put down by the police,"

said the little Princess, beating her foot on the floor.

"He has a tongue like a sword and a pen like a dagger," said the young

Roman.

Donna Roma's eyes began to flash with a new expression.

"Ah, yes, he is a journalist, isn't he, and libels people in his paper?"

"The creature has ruined more reputations than anybody else in Europe,"

said the little Princess.

"I remember now. He made a terrible attack on our young old women and

our old young men. Declared they were meddling with everything--called

them a museum of mummies, and said they were symbolical of the ruin that

was coming on the country. Shameful, wasn't it? Nobody likes to be

talked about, especially in Rome, where it's the end of everything. But

what matter? The young man has perhaps learned freedom of speech in some

free country. We can afford to forgive him, can't we? And then he is so

interesting and so handsome!"

"An attempt to stop the Pope's procession might end in tumult," said the

American General to the Italian General. "Was that the danger the Baron

spoke about?"

"Yes," said General Morra. "The Government have been compelled to tax

bread, and of course that has been a signal for the enemies of the

national spirit to say that we are starving the people. This David Rossi

is the worst Roman in Rome. He opposed us in Parliament and lost.

Petitioned the King and lost again. Now he intends to petition the

Pope--with what hope, Heaven knows."

"With the hope of playing on public opinion, of course," said the Baron

cynically.

"Public opinion is a great force, your Excellency," said the Englishman.

"A great pestilence," said the Baron warmly.

"What is David Rossi?"

"An anarchist, a republican, a nihilist, anything as old as the hills,

dear friend, only everything in a new way," said the young Roman.

"David Rossi is the politician who proposes to govern the world by the

precepts of the Lord's Prayer," said the American.

"The Lord's Prayer!"

The Baron paraded on the hearthrug. "David Rossi," he said

compassionately, "is a creature of his age. A man of generous impulses

and wide sympathies, moved to indignation at the extremes of poverty and

wealth, and carried away by the promptings of the eternal religion in

the human soul. A dreamer, of course, a dreamer like the Holy Father

himself, only his dream is different, and neither could succeed without

destroying the other. In the millennium Rossi looks for, not only are

kings and princes to disappear, but popes and prelates as well."

"And where does this unpractical politician come from?" said the

Englishman.

"We must ask you to tell us that, Sir Evelyn, for though he is supposed

to be a Roman, he seems to have lived most of his life in your country.

As silent as an owl and as inscrutable as a sphinx. Nobody in Rome knows

certainly who his father was, nobody knows certainly who his mother was.

Some say his father was an Englishman, some say a Jew, and some say his

mother was a gipsy. A self-centred man, who never talks about himself,

and cannot be got to lift the veil which surrounds his birth and early

life. Came back to Rome eight years ago, and made a vast noise by

propounding his platonic scheme of politics--was called up for his term

of military service, refused to serve, got himself imprisoned for six

months and came out a mighty hero--was returned to Parliament for no

fewer than three constituencies, sat for Rome, took his place on the

Extreme Left, and attacked every Minister and every measure which

favoured the interest of the army--encouraged the workmen not to pay

their taxes and the farmers not to pay their rents--and thus became the

leader of a noisy faction, and is now surrounded by the degenerate class

throughout Italy which dreams of reconstructing society by burying it

under ruins."

"Lived in England, you say?"

"Apparently, and if his early life could be traced it would probably be

found that he was brought up in an atmosphere of conspiracy--perhaps

under the influence of some vile revolutionary living in London under

the protection of your too liberal laws."

Donna Roma sprang up with a movement full of grace and energy. "Anyhow,"

she said, "he is young and good-looking and romantic and mysterious, and

I'm head over ears in love with him already."

"Well, every man is a world," said the American.

"And what about woman?" said Roma.

He threw up his hands, she smiled full into his face, and they laughed

together.