The Minister of War was seated busily writing beneath the green-shaded
reading-lamp in the big library of the great old Antinori Palace, his
handsome residence in Rome.
Five years ago he had bought that enormous old place in the Via
Nazionale--a place full of historic interest--together with its old
furniture, its gallery of cinquecento paintings, and its corridor filled
with armour. It was a high, square, ponderous place of princely
dimensions, with a great central courtyard where an old fountain plashed
on in the silence as it had done for three centuries or more, while
around the arched cloisters were the carved arms of the various families
through whose hands the place had passed in generations bygone.
The library was a high room on the first floor, with long cases filled
with parchment-covered books, many of them illuminated codices and rare
editions, a fine frescoed ceiling, and a great open hearth over which
was an ornamentation of carved marble of the Renaissance with a grinning
mascherino. The floor was of marble, except that the littered
writing-table was set upon an oasis of thick Turkey carpet, giving to
the room an austere character of comfortless grandeur, like everything
else in that huge old palace of the days when every house of the Roman
nobility was a fortress.
An Italian Minister's life is not by any means an easy one, as Camillo
Morini had long ago discovered. He was often in his private cabinet at
the Ministry of War at nine o'clock in the morning, and frequently sent
home by his private secretary urgent papers which he could examine and
initial after dinner, as he had done that day. His wife and daughter
were up at the villa near Florence for the vintage, and he was alone and
undisturbed. He had not even troubled to change for dinner, but was
still in the linen suit he had worn during the day, and had merely
exchanged his white coat for an easy black alpaca one.
As Minister of War, his salary was one thousand pounds sterling per
annum, an amount quite inadequate for his needs. True, he travelled
free in his private saloon on the railway, but yet he had a most
uncomfortable time of it owing to the fact that he was expected by his
friends to repay them for services rendered with the gift of offices,
favours, introductions, and recommendations. Wherever he went he was
besieged by a host of people who wanted favours, exemptions of their
sons from military service, increased stipend, or the redressing of some
act of official injustice or petty tyranny.
His wife, too, was pestered with "recommendations" to him; for without
recommendations nothing could be obtained. If he went to inspect the
garrison of a provincial town, the prefect, the mayor, the head of the
_carabinieri_, and the most prominent citizens called on him every day;
while when in the country the wheezy village band played operatic airs
outside his window every evening, alternated with a chorus of children
from the elementary schools.
His sovereign, King Humbert, although good-natured and brave, was too
easy-going and lacking in moral stamina to make a really strong monarch,
hence the whole Cabinet, from the Prime Minister downwards, were guilty
of grave irregularities, if not of actual corruption. The fault,
however, lay with the system, rather than with the men. How could a
Cabinet Minister entertain lavishly and keep up appearances upon a mere
thousand pounds a year, when he had no private means?
Happily, the present hard-working, cultivated king, Victor Emmanuel the
Third, has mastered all the details of state business, and has swept his
Cabinet clean of those men who abused their position under his lamented
father, until the whole face of Italian politics has entirely changed
since the days when Camillo Morini held office as head of the army.
Under the late King Humbert, Ministers were often chosen, not because
they were capable statesmen, but simply because it was necessary that a
particular region should be represented in the Cabinet, so as not to
arouse local jealousies. In any case, their tenure of office was too
precarious and too short to enable them to do much good work, and
whatever the Minister managed to do would probably be undone by his
successor.
Morini would have gone out of office half a dozen times had he not
succeeded, by judicious bribery, in obtaining protection from his
enemies. Indeed, he only retained office by dint of his own ingenuity
and clever diplomacy towards those who were ever trying to hound him
down. Not only did he bear the great responsibility of the army, but,
in common with other members of the Cabinet, the greater part of his
activity was absorbed in the manipulation of party groups in the Chamber
and in studying parliamentary exigencies. He had to judiciously
subsidise certain newspapers in view of a general election, make use of
the secret service fund in certain quarters, and be careful not to
shower too many favours on one province; for if he offended any
particular town, the local deputy, hitherto a staunch ministerialist,
would turn and rend him.
Truly his position, head of an army costing sixteen millions annually,
and with a multitude of people bent on getting something out of him, was
the reverse of comfortable. He would have resigned long ago had he
dared, but resignation or dismissal from office would, he knew only too
well, spell ruin to him. So he was held there in an office of bribery
and dishonesty, which he had grown to regard with bitter hatred. He had
served through three administrations, it was true, and was a trusted
servant of his king, yet the daily worry of it all, the ever-present
fear of exposure and of downfall, held him in constant apprehension of a
future ruin and obscurity.
The dead silence of the night was unbroken save by the scratching of his
quill as he scribbled his signature upon one after another of the pile
of various papers at his elbow.
He wrote mechanically, for he was reflecting upon that scene in his
cabinet when the captain of Cacciatori Alpini had broken his sword
across his knee.
"A clever fellow!" he murmured. "He thought to bluff me, but he did not
know how closely I had had him watched. If I did not know all that I
do, I really believe I should have thought him innocent. A good actor.
I will send his broken sword as a present to that doddering old fool,
his general--as a souvenir of his visit to Rome without leave!" he
laughed to himself, still continuing to sign the commissions and
decrees.
Of a sudden there was a rap at the big white doors at the end of the
dimly lit room, and a gorgeously dressed man-servant in stockings and
gold-laced coat advanced to the table, saying--
"The Onorevole Ricci desires to see your Excellency."
"Pig's head! Didn't I give orders that I was not at home?" he cried,
turning furiously upon the man.
"But your Excellency is always at home to the Signor Deputato?" the
servant reminded him, surprised at the sudden outburst of anger.
"Ah!" growled his master. "Yes, you are right, Antonio! I forgot that
I told you I was always at home to him. I must see him, I suppose," he
sighed, and when the man had gone his brow contracted, his teeth
clenched; yet almost before he could recover his self-possession the
long white doors reopened, and his visitor--a short, dark-bearded,
middle-aged man in evening dress--was ushered in.
"Ah, my dear Camillo!" he cried enthusiastically, advancing towards the
Minister, who rose and took his hand. "I only arrived in Rome this
afternoon, and heard you had returned from England. Well, and how are
you after your holiday? I suppose I may take a cigar?" he asked,
crossing to the cigar-box, opening it, and selecting one.
"The rest was welcome," answered the other calmly, stretching his arms
above his head and glancing furtively at the new-comer as though he held
him in some suspicion. He was a pleasant-looking man, a trifle stout,
with a round, sun-bronzed face, as though fond of good living, while his
perfectly fitting dress-suit was cut in a style which showed it to be
the garment of a London tailor. He possessed the careless, easy manner
of the gentleman, striking a match and lighting his cigar with a
familiarity which showed that he was no stranger to the Minister's roof.
"I too have been in the country for quite a long while," he said--"at
Asti. I have to visit the electors now and then just to make them
promises and put them in a good-humour."
"Or they would hound you out, Vito--eh?--just as the Socialists would
throw me out if they could," laughed His Excellency drily, walking to
the cigar-box, selecting one, and lighting it.
"And Her Excellency and the signorina?" inquired the deputy.
"They are up at the villa. They always go there for the vintage."
"Of course, Rome in September is only fit for us politicians and the
English tourists. I wonder you are back so early."
"Duty, my dear Vito," replied the other. "One day, when you are
Minister, you will find that you had much more leisure as advocate in
Turin and deputy for Asti."
"I suppose so," he laughed. Then he added, "I met Angelo in the club an
hour ago. He has also been in England, it seems. I think I shall go to
England next summer--if you invite me."
"Which is not likely."
"Why?"
"Because when I am in England I like to be away from all my official
duties," frankly answered Morini. "They don't even know who or what I
am--and I delight in keeping them in ignorance."
"Then why did you invite Angelo? I am jealous, you see."
"Because I wished to consult him upon a confidential matter."
"Regarding an army contract tendered you by a German firm," replied the
other, carelessly blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips as he stood
with his back to the huge open grate. "You may as well tell the truth,
my dear friend."