Roma awoke next day with a sense of pain. Thus far she had beaten the
Baron--yes! But David Rossi? Had she sinned against God and against her
husband? She must confess. There was no help for it. And there must be
no hesitation and no delay.
Natalina came into the bedroom and threw open the shutters. She was
bringing a telegram, and Roma almost snatched it out of her hands. It
was from Rossi and had been sent off from Chiasso. "Crossed frontier
safe and well."
Roma made a cry of joy and leapt out of bed. All day long that telegram
was like wings under her heels and made her walk with an elastic step.
While taking her coffee she remembered the responsibilities she had
undertaken the day before--for the boy's funeral and Bruno's
maintenance--and for the first time in her life she began to consider
ways and means. Her ready money was getting low, and it was necessary to
do something.
Then Felice came with a sheaf of papers. They were tradesmen's bills and
required immediate payment. Some of the men were below and refused to go
away without the cash.
There was no help for it. She opened her purse, discharged her debts,
swept her debtors out of the house, and sat down to count what remained.
Very little remained. But what matter? The five words of that telegram
were five bright stars which could light up a darker sky than had fallen
on her yet.
In this high mood she went down to the studio--silent now in the absence
of the humorous voice that usually rang in it, and with Bruno's chisels
and mallet lying idle, with his sack on a block of half-hewn marble.
Uncovering her fountain, she looked at it again. It was good work; she
knew it was good; she could be certain it was good. It should justify
her yet, and some day the stupid people who were sheering away from her
now would come cringing to her feet afresh.
That suggested thoughts of the Mayor. She would write to him and get
some money with which to meet the expenses of yesterday as well as the
obligations which she might perhaps incur to-day or in the future.
"Dear Senator Palomba," she wrote, "no doubt you have often wondered why
your much-valued commission has not been completed before. The fact is
that it suffered a slight accident a few days ago, but a week or a
fortnight ought to see it finished, and if you wish to make arrangements
for its reception you may count on its delivery in that time. Meantime
as I am pressed for funds at the moment, I shall be glad if you can
instruct your treasurer at the Municipality to let me have something on
account. The price mentioned, you remember, was 15,000 francs, and as I
have not had anything hitherto, I trust it may not be unreasonable to
ask for half now, leaving the remainder until the fountain is in its
place."
Having despatched this challenge by Felice, not only to the Mayor, but
also to herself, her pride, her poverty, and to the great world
generally, she put on her cloak and hat and drove down to the Castle of
St. Angelo.
When she returned, an hour afterwards, there was a dry glitter in her
eyes, which increased to a look of fever when she opened the
drawing-room door and saw who was waiting there. It was the Mayor
himself. The little oily man in patent-leather boots, holding upright
his glossy silk hat, was clearly nervous and confused. He complimented
her on her appearance, looked out of the window, extolled the view, and
finally, with his back to his hostess, began on his business.
"It is about your letter, you know," he said awkwardly. "There seems to
be a little misunderstanding on your part. About the fountain, I mean."
"None whatever, Senator. You ordered it. I have executed it. Surely the
matter is quite simple."
"Impossible, my dear. I may have encouraged you to an experimental
trial. We all do that. Rome is eager to discover genius. But a simple
member of a corporate body cannot undertake ... that is to say, on his
own responsibility, you know...."
Roma's breath began to come quickly. "Do you mean that you didn't
commission my fountain?"
"How could I, my child? Such matters must go through a regular form. The
proper committee must sanction and resolve...."
"But everybody has known of this, and it has been generally understood
from the first."
"Ah, understood! Possibly! Rumour and report perhaps."
"But I could bring witnesses--high witnesses--the very highest if needs
be...."
The little man smiled benevolently.
"Surely there is no witness of any standing in the State who would go
into a witness-box and say that, without a contract, and with only a few
encouraging words...."
The dry glitter in Roma's eyes shot into a look of anger. "Do you call
your letters to me a few encouraging words only?" she said.
"My letters?" the glossy hat was getting ruffled.
"Your letters alluding to this matter, and enumerating the favours you
wished me to ask of the Prime Minister."
"My dear," said the Mayor after a moment, "I'm sorry if I have led you
to build up hopes, and though I have no authority ... if it will end
matters amicably ... I think I can promise ... I might perhaps promise a
little money for your loss of time."
"Do you suppose I want charity?"
"Charity, my dear?"
"What else would it be? If I have no right to everything I will have
nothing. I will take none of your money. You can leave me."
The little man shuffled his feet, and bowed himself out of the room,
with many apologies and praises which Roma did not hear. For all her
brave words her heart was breaking, and she was holding her breath to
repress a sob. The great bulwark she had built up for herself lay
wrecked at her feet. She had deceived herself into believing that she
could be somebody for herself. Going down to the studio, she covered up
the fountain. It had lost every quality which she had seen in it before.
Art was gone from her. She was nobody. It was very, very cruel.
But that glorious telegram rustled in her breast like a captive
song-bird, and before going to bed she wrote to David Rossi again.
"Your message arrived before I was up this morning, and not being
entirely back from the world of dreams, I fancied that it was an angel's
whisper. This is silly, but I wouldn't change it for the greatest
wisdom, if, in order to be the most wise and wonderful among women, I
had to love you less.
"Business first and other things afterwards. Most of the newspapers have
been published to-day, and some of them are blowing themselves out of
breath in abuse of you, and howling louder than the wolves of the
Capitol before rain. The military courts began this morning, and they
have already polished off fifty victims. Rewards for denunciations have
now deepened to threats of imprisonment for non-denunciation. General
Morra, Minister of War, has sent in his resignation, and there is
bracing weather in the neighbourhood of the Palazzo Braschi. An editor
has been arrested, many journals and societies have been suppressed, and
twenty thousand of the contadini who came to Rome for the meeting in the
Coliseum have been despatched to their own communes. Finally, the Royal
Commissioner has written to the Pope, calling on him to assist in the
work of pacifying the people, and it is rumoured that the Holy Office is
to be petitioned by certain of the Bishops to denounce the 'Republic of
Man' as a secret society (like the Freemasons) coming within the ban of
the Pontifical constitutions.
"So much for general news, and now for more personal intelligence. I
went down to the Castle of St. Angelo this morning, and was permitted to
speak to the Royal Commissioner. Recognised him instantly as a regular
old-timer at the heels of the Baron, and tackled him on our ancient
terms. The wretch--he squints, and he smoked a cigarette all through the
interview--couldn't allow me to see Bruno during the private preparation
of the case against him, and when I asked if the instruction would take
long he said, 'Probably, as it is complicated by the case of some one
else who is not yet in custody.' Then I asked if I might employ separate
counsel for the defence, and he shuffled and said it was unnecessary.
This decided me, and I walked straight to the office of the great lawyer
Napoleon Fuselli, promised him five hundred francs by to-morrow morning,
and told him to go ahead without delay.
"But heigh-ho, nonny! Coming home I felt like the witches in 'Macbeth.'
'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.' It was
Senator Tom-tit, the little fat Mayor of Rome. His great ambition is to
wear the green ribbon of St. Maurice and Lazarus, as none know better
than myself. Wanting money on my fountain, I had written to the old
wretch, but the moment we met I could see what was coming, so I braved
it out, bustled about and made a noise. It was a mistake! There had been
no commission at all! But if a little money would repay me for a loss of
time....
"It wasn't so much that I cared about the loss of the fees, badly as I
needed them. It was mainly that I had allowed the summer flies who
buzzed about me for the Baron's sake to flatter me into the notion that
I was an artist, when I was really nobody for myself at all.
"This humour lasted all afternoon, and spoiled my digestion for dinner,
which was a pity, for there was some delicious wild asparagus. But then
I thought of you and your work, and the future when you will come back
with all Rome at your feet, and my vexation disappeared and I was
content to be nothing and nobody except somebody whom you loved and who
loved you, and that was to be everything and everybody in the world.
"I don't care a rush about the matter now, but what do you think I've
done? Sold my carriage and horses! Actually! The little job-master, with
his tight trousers, close-cropped head, and chamois-leather waistcoat,
has just gone off after cheating me abominably. No matter! What do I
want with a grand carriage while you are going about as an exile and an
outcast? I want nothing you have not got, and all I have I wish you to
have too, including my heart and my soul and everything that is in
them...."
She stopped. This was the place to reveal her great secret. But she
could not find her way to begin. "To-morrow will do," she thought, and
so laid down the pen.
V
Early next morning Roma received a visit from the lawyer who conducted
the business of her landlord. He was a middle-aged man in
pepper-and-salt tweeds, and his manner was brusque and aggressive.
"Sorry to say, Excellency, that I've had a letter from Count Mario at
Paris saying that he will require this apartment for his own use. He
regrets to be compelled to disturb you, but having frequently apprised
you of his intention to live here himself...."
"When does he want to come?" said Roma.
"At Easter."
"That will do. My aunt is ill, but if she is fit to be moved...."
"Thanks! And may I perhaps present...."
A paper in the shape of a bill came from the breast-pocket of the
pepper-and-salt tweeds. Roma took it, and, without looking at it,
replied:
"You will receive your rent in a day or two."
"Thanks again. I trust I may rely on that. And meantime...."
"Well?"
"As I am personally responsible to the Count for all moneys due to him,
may I ask your Excellency to promise me that nothing shall be removed
from this apartment until my arrears of rent have been paid?"
"I promise that you shall receive what is due from me in two days. Is
not that enough?"
The pepper-and-salt tweeds bowed meekly before Roma's flashing eyes.
"Good-morning, sir."
"Good-morning, Excellency."
The man was hardly out of the house when a woman was shown in. It was
Madame Sella, the fashionable modiste.
"So unlucky, my dear! I'm driven to my wits' end for money. The people I
deal with in Paris are perfect demons, and are threatening all sorts of
pains and penalties if I don't send them a great sum straight away. Of
course if I could get my own money in, it wouldn't matter. But the dear
ladies of society are so slow, and naturally I don't like to go to their
gentlemen, although really I've waited so long for their debts that
if...."
"Can you wait one day longer for mine?"
"Donna Roma! And we've always been such friends, too!"
"You'll excuse me this morning, won't you?" said Roma, rising.
"Certainly. I'm busy, too. So good of you to see me. Trust I've not been
_de trop_. And if it hadn't been for those stupid bills of mine...."
Roma sat down and wrote a letter to one of the _strozzini_ (stranglers),
who lend money to ladies on the security of their jewels.
"I wish to sell my jewellery," she wrote, "and if you have any desire to
buy it, I shall be glad if you can come to see me for this purpose at
four o'clock to-morrow."
"Roma!" cried a fretful voice.
She was sitting in the boudoir, and her aunt was calling to her from the
adjoining room. The old lady, who had just finished her toilet, and was
redolent of perfume and scented soap, was propped up on pillows between
the mirror and her Madonna, with her cat purring on the cushion at the
foot of her bed.
"Ah, you do come to me sometimes, don't you?" she said, with her
embroidered handkerchief at her lips. "What is this I hear about the
carriage and horses? Sold them! It is incredible. I will not believe it
unless you tell me so yourself."
"It is quite true, Aunt Betsy. I wanted money for various purposes, and
among others to pay my debts," said Roma.
"Goodness! It's true! Give me my salts. There they are--on the
card-table beside you.... So it's true! It's really true! You've done
some extraordinary things already, miss, but this ... Mercy me! Selling
her horses! And she isn't ashamed of it!... I suppose you'll sell your
clothes next, or perhaps your jewels."
"That's just what I want to do, Aunt Betsy."
"Holy Virgin! What are you saying, girl? Have you lost all sense of
decency? Sell your jewels! Goodness! Your ancestral jewels! You must
have grown utterly heartless as well as indifferent to propriety, or you
wouldn't dream of selling the treasures that have come down to you from
your own mother's breast, as one might say."
"My mother never set eyes on any of them, auntie, and if some of them
belonged to my grandmother, she must have been a good woman because she
was the mother of my father, and she would rather see me sell them all
than live in debt and disgrace."
"Go on! Go on with your English talk! Or perhaps it's American, is it?
You want to kill me, that's what it is! You will, too, and sooner than
you expect, and then you'll be sorry and ashamed ... Go away! Why do you
come to worry me? Isn't it enough ... Natalina! Nat-a-_lina_!"
Late that night Roma resumed her letter to David Rossi:
"DEAREST,--You are always the last person I speak to before I go
to bed, and if only my words could sail away over Monte Mario in
the darkness while I sleep, they would reach you on the wings of
the morning.
"You want to know all that is happening, and here goes again. The
tyrannies of military rule increase daily, and some of its
enormities are past belief. Military court sat all day yesterday
and polished off eighty-five poor victims. Ten of them got ten
years, twenty got five years, and about fifty got periods of one
month to twelve.
"Lawyer Napoleon F. was here this afternoon to say that he had
seen Bruno and begun work in his defence. Strangely enough he
finds a difficulty in a quarter from which it might least be
expected. Bruno himself is holding off in some unaccountable way
which gives Napoleon F. an idea that the poor soul is being got
at. Apparently--you will hardly credit it--he is talking
doubtfully about you, and asking incredible questions about his
wife. Lawyer Napoleon actually inquired if there was 'anything in
it,' and the thing struck me as so silly that I laughed out in his
face. It was very wrong of me not to be jealous, wasn't it? Being
a woman, I suppose I ought to have leapt at the idea, according to
all the natural laws of love. I didn't, and my heart is still
tranquil. But poor Bruno was more human, and Napoleon has an idea
that something is going on inside the prison. He is to go there
again to-morrow and to let me know.
"Such doings at home too! I've been two years in debt to my
landlord, and at the end of every quarter I've always prayed like
a modest woman to be allowed to pass by unnoticed. Celebrity has
fallen on me at last, though, and I'm to go at Easter. Madame de
Trop, too, has put the screw on, and everybody else is following
suit. Yesterday, for example, I had the honour of a call from
every one in the world to whom I owed twopence. Remembering how
hard it used to be to get a bill out of these people, I find their
sudden business ardour humorous. They do not deceive me
nevertheless. I see the die is cast, the fact is known. I have
fallen from my high estate of general debtor to everybody and
become merely an honest woman.
"Do I suffer from these slings of fortune? Not an atom. When I was
rich, or seemed to be so, I was often the most miserable woman in
the world, and now I'm happy, happy, happy!
"There is only one thing makes me a little unhappy. Shall I tell
you what it is? Yes, I _will_ tell you because your heart is so
true, and like all brave men you are so tender to all women. It is
a girl friend of mine--a very close and dear friend, and she is in
trouble. A little while ago she was married to a good man, and
they love each other dearer than life, and there ought to be
nothing between them. But there is, and it is a very serious thing
too, although nobody knows about it but herself and me. How shall
I tell you? Dearest, you are to think my head is on your breast
and you cannot see my face while I tell you my poor friend's
secret. Long ago--it seems long--she was the victim of another
man. That is really the only word for it, because she did not
consent. But all the same she feels that she has sinned and that
nothing on earth can wash away the stain. The worst fact is that
her husband knows nothing about it. This fills her with
measureless regret and undying remorse. She feels that she ought
to have told him, and so her heart is full of tears, and she
doesn't know what it is her duty to.
"I thought I would ask you to tell me, dearest. You are kind, but
you mustn't spare her. I didn't. She wanted to draw a veil over
her frailty, but I wouldn't let her. I think she would like to
confess to her husband, to pour out her heart to him, and begin
again with a clean page, but she is afraid. Of course she hasn't
really been faithless, and I could swear on my life she loves her
husband only. And then her sorrow is so great, and she is
beginning to look worn with lying awake at nights, though some
people still think she is beautiful. I dare say you will say,
serve her right for deceiving a good man. So do I sometimes, but I
feel strangely inconsistent about my poor friend, and a woman has
a right to be inconsistent, hasn't she? Tell me what I am to say
to her, and please don't spare her because she is a friend of
mine."
She lifted her pen from the paper. "He'll understand," she thought.
"He'll remember our other letters and read between the lines. Well, so
much the better, and God be good to me!"
"Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! I feel like a child--as if
the years had gone back with me, or rather as if they had only
just begun. You have awakened my soul and all the world is
different. Nearly everything that seemed right to me before seems
wrong to me now, and _vice versa_. Life? That wasn't life. It was
only existence. I fancy it must have been some elder sister of
mine who went through everything. Think of it! When you were
twenty and I was only ten! I'm glad there isn't as much difference
now. I'm catching up to you--metaphorically, I mean. If I could
only do so physically! But what nonsense I'm talking! In spite of
my poor friend's trouble I can't help talking nonsense to-night."