The Minister of the Interior sat in his cabinet before a table covered
with blue-books and the square sheets of his "projects of law," and the
Commendatore Angelelli, with his usual extravagant politeness, was
standing and bowing by his side.
"And what is this about proclamations issued by Rossi?" said the Baron,
fixing his eye-glasses and looking up.
"We have traced the printer who published them," said Angelelli. "After
he was arrested he gave the name of the person who paid him and provided
the copy."
The Baron bowed without speaking.
"It was a certain lady, Excellency," said Angelelli in his thin voice,
"so we thought it well to wait for your instructions."
"You did right, Commendatore. Leave that part of the matter to me. And
Rossi himself--he is still in England?"
"In France, your Excellency, but we have letters from both London and
Paris detailing all his movements."
"Good."
"The Chief Commissioner writes that during his stay in London Rossi
lodged in Soho, and received visits from nearly all the representatives
of revolutionary parties. Apparently he united many conflicting forces,
and not only the Democratic Federations and the Socialist and Labour
Leagues, but also the Radical organisations and various religious guilds
and unions gathered about him."
The Baron made a gesture of impatience. "It's a case of birds of a
feather. London has always been the central home of anarchy under
various big surnames. What does the Commissioner understand to be
Rossi's plan?"
"Rossi's plan, the Commissioner thinks, is to send back the Italian
exiles, and to disperse them, with money and literature gathered abroad,
among the excited millions at home."
"Wonderful!" said the Baron.
Angelelli laughed his thin laugh, like a hen cackling over its nest.
Then he said:
"But the Prefect of Paris has formed a more serious opinion, your
Excellency."
"What is it?"
"That Rossi is conspiring to assassinate the King."
The Baron blinked the glasses from his nose and sat upright.
"Apparently he was having less success in Paris, where the moral plea
has been overdone, when reports of the Rocco incident...."
"A most unlucky affair, Commendatore."
"Meeting at cafés in order to avoid the control of the police ... In
short, although he has no exact information, the Prefect warns us to
keep double guard over the person of his Majesty."
The Baron rose and perambulated the hearthrug. "A pretty century, truly,
for fools who pass for wise men, and for weaklings who threaten when the
distance is great enough!... Commendatore, have you mentioned this
matter to anybody else?"
"To nobody whatever, Excellency."
"Then think no more about it. It's nothing. The public mind must not be
alarmed. Tighten the cord about our man in Paris. Adieu!"
The Baron's next visitor was the Prefect of the Province, who looked
more solemn and soldierly than ever.
"Senator," said the Baron, "I sent for you to say that the Council has
determined to put an end to the state of siege."
The Prefect bowed again severely.
"The insurrection has been suppressed, the city is quiet, and the
severities of military rule begin to oppress the people."
The Prefect bowed again and assented.
"The Council has also resolved, dear Senator, that the country shall
celebrate the anniversary of the King's accession with general
rejoicings."
"Excellent idea, sir," said the Prefect. "To wipe out the depression of
the late unhappy times by a public festival is excellent policy. But the
time is short."
"Very short. The anniversary falls on Easter Monday. That is to say, a
week from to-day. You will therefore take the matter in hand immediately
and push it on without further delay. The details we will discuss later,
and arrange all programmes of presentations and processions. Meantime I
have written a proclamation announcing the event. Here it is. You can
take it with you."
"Good!"
"The King will also sign a decree of amnesty to all the authors and
accomplices of the late acts and attempts at rebellion who were not the
organising and directing minds. That is also written. Here it is. But
his Majesty has not yet signed it."
The Prefect took a second paper from the Baron's hand, glanced his eyes
over it, and read certain passages. "'Seeing that on a day of public
rejoicing we could not restrain an emotion of grief ... turning a
pitying eye upon the inexperienced youths drawn into a vortex of
political disorder ... we therefore decree and command the following
acts of sovereign clemency....' May I expect to receive this in the
course of the day, your Excellency?"
"Yes. And now for your own part of the enterprise, dear Senator. You
will order all mayors of towns to assemble in Rome to complete the
preparations. You will arrange a procession to the Quirinal, when the
people will call the King on to the balcony and sing the National Hymn.
You will order banners to be made bearing suitable watchwords, such as
'Long live the King,' 'May he govern as well as reign,' 'Long live the
Crown,' the 'Flag,' and (perhaps) the 'Army.' You will oppose these
generating ideas to 'Atheism' and 'Anarchy.' The essential point is
that the people must be caused by festivals, songs, bands of music, and
processions to think of the throne as their bulwark and the King as
their saviour, and to take advantage of every opportunity to attest
their gratitude to both. You follow me?"
"Perfectly."
"Then lose no time, Senator.... One moment."
The Prefect had risen and reached the door.
"If you can double the King's guard and change the company every day
until the festival is over...."
"Easily, your Excellency. But wait; the Vatican Chief of Police has
asked for help on Holy Thursday."
"Give it him. Let the timid old man of the Sacred College have no excuse
for saying we take more care of the King than of the Pope."
The Minister of Justice was the next of the Baron's visitors. He was a
short man with a smiling and rubicund face, and he wore yellow kid
gloves.
"All goes well and wisdom is justified of her children," said the Baron,
rising again and promenading the hearthrug. "The national sentiment,
dear colleague, is a sword, and either we must use it on behalf of the
Government and the King, or stand by and see it used by the hostile
factions."
"Men like Rossi are not slow to use it, sir," said the little Minister.
"Tut! It's not Rossi I'm thinking of now. It's the Church, the clergy,
rich in money and in the faith of the populace. That's why I wanted to
do something as set-off against those mourning demonstrations which the
Pope has appointed."
"Yes, the old gentleman of the Vatican knows the instincts and cravings
of our people, doesn't he, sir? He knows they like a show, and the
seasoning of their pleasures with a little religion."
"It's the rustiest old weapon in the Pope's arsenal, dear colleague, but
it may serve unless we do something. If the people can be persuaded that
the Pope is their one friend in adversity, there couldn't be a better
feather in the Papal cap. Happily our people love to sing and to dance
as well as to weep and to pray. So we needn't throw up the sponge yet."
Both laughed, and the little Minister said, "Besides, it is so easy to
change religious processions into political ones. And then the Vatican
is always intriguing with the powers of rebellion and preaching
obedience to the Pope alone."
The creaking of the Baron's patent-leather boots stopped, and he drew up
before his colleague.
"Watch that sharply," he said, "and if you see any sign on the part of
the Vatican of intriguing with men like Rossi, any complicity with
conspiracy, or any knowledge of plots pointing to revolution and
regicide, let the Council hear of it immediately."
The Baron's face had suddenly whitened with passion, and his little
colleague looked at him in alarm. A secretary entered the room and
handed the Baron a card. The Baron fixed his eye-glasses and read:
"MONSIGNOR MARIO, Cameriere Segreto Partecipante di Sua Santità Pio X.
Vaticano."
"St. Anthony! Talk of the angels...." muttered the little Minister.
"Will you perhaps...."
"Certainly," said the Minister, and he left the room.
"Show the Monsignor in," said the Baron.