HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP OF VENCATA
Barely two days after the evening at the Palazzo Sansevero, Derby was
driving up the Sicilian hills towards the palace--courtesy gave it the
name--of the venerable Archbishop of Vencata. Porter, in company with
Tiggs and Jenkins--Derby's American assistants--had been left at the inn
in the town, but Derby was anxious to present his letter as soon as
possible, in order that there might be no delay in commencing work at
the mines.
The carriage in which Derby sat had at first sight seemed liable to
tumble apart, like so many separate pieces of mosaic puzzle, and he had
taken his place on the old cloth cushion rather dubiously. But the
driver gayly, and with every appearance of confidence in himself and his
equipage, had cracked his whip and shouted all the names in the calendar
to the horses, whose muscles gradually became sufficiently taut to impel
them onward. A few dozen yards having been made without mishap, Derby
felt that the special protection of Providence must be over them, and he
leaned back contentedly, puffing at his pipe and enjoying to the full
the witchery of a Sicilian sunset. The rickety conveyance clattered
slowly up a winding road that seemed like a white band tied about the
mountainside, holding here little terraced vineyards, there a huddling
group of houses that else would surely have slipped into the ravine. For
a short distance it hung out over the sea, then cut inward, as though
the band of white had been laced in and out among the silvery sprays of
the olive leaves.
Below it all, and beyond, lay the Mediterranean, its blue waters now
deepened to indigo, shading into wide lakes of purple, under the
reflection of the setting sun, which, like a great red lantern, seemed
sinking into the sea. A sharp turn inward and upward brought the
conveyance shambling into a little courtyard. It halted before the
doorway of a low, white-washed house smothered in semi-tropical vines,
which extended from the eaves over a pergola built along the wall at the
terrace edge. Beneath this arbor was a rustic seat, on the cushions of
which a big gray cat sat up slowly, and stared at the intruders with
insolent, unwinking eyes.
A woman's voice droned a dirgeful song that had a half Oriental, half
negro suggestion in its monotonous pitch, while from afar, like an echo
over the mountainside, came faintly the wailing cadence of the
_caramella_ of some shepherd boy, and the tinkle of goat bells,
interrupted by the hoot of little owls crying through the dusk.
The bells of the flapping harness settled into silence, the droning
sing-song ceased, and from the stone flagging within came the shuffle
of wooden shoes. An old woman, in the inevitable dark stuff dress of her
class, and the blue apron gay-bordered with red and white, stood in the
doorway. Her big hoop earrings fell to her shoulders, but were partly
hidden by the kerchief which she held over her head with one hand, as if
in fear of a draught, while with the other she still grasped the door
latch.
To Derby's inquiry as to whether His Eminence were at home, she
responded suspiciously--almost contemptuously, as she looked him over
from head to toe. Certainly, His Exaltedness was at home. What should
one of his venerability be doing abroad at such an hour!
Derby's bow was apologetic. Would Signora have the kindness to deliver
the letter which he tendered her?
She turned the envelope over in her hands, looked again at the stranger,
and at last stood aside so that he might enter.
Derby waited in the dim, low-ceilinged passageway, which suggested
anything but the antechamber of an archbishop's palace. Presently a door
opened, a feeble yellow haze filtered into the corridor, and the old
woman reappeared and led Derby into a small, stone-paved apartment
illumined by a single flickering lamp of the most primitive design, by
the light of which the archbishop had evidently been reading. As soon as
Derby entered, the venerable prelate arose. In his long _sottana_ of
violet he looked strangely diminutive and feminine; his pale skin and
mild eyes, and the soft white hair like a fringe beneath his velvet
cap--all gave an impression of great gentleness, an impression
heightened by contrast with the bare, white-washed walls and rigorously
meager furnishing of the cell-like room. With the courteous manner of
all southern countries, the archbishop placed the best chair for his
guest, and said smilingly:
"Do you speak Italian? Ah--I am glad you understand that language! My
French is very failing, and as for Inglese--_non lo conosco_. It is too
difficult at my age. If I were younger I should like to learn your
tongue." He said this with inimitable grace, and added with a gentle
inclination: "You are Americano, are you not? Your land has done much
for my people! But tell me, Signore, in what way may I serve you? Sua
Eccellenza il Principe Sansevero places you under our protection, but he
does not tell us what it is that has brought you to us." The archbishop,
leaning back in his chair, might so have sat for his portrait--his white
hands folded one over the other, and the great amethyst ring on the
third finger of his right hand seeming to reflect the paler shadings in
the folds of his gown.
[Illustration: "'YOU ARE AMERICANO, ARE YOU NOT? YOUR LAND HAS DONE MUCH
FOR MY PEOPLE!'"]
"I have come, your Eminence," said Derby, going to the point at once,
"to work the 'Little Devil' mine." Before the archbishop could utter a
protest, he continued very quickly and distinctly: "I know just such
mines as that which are being operated now without danger or suffering
to the miners."
Then, briefly as possible, he went on to outline his system of mining.
There was no necessity, he said, for miners to descend below the surface
of the earth, and he would need only a dozen men--instead of the many
workers, including women and children, that were now employed. To
Derby's surprise, the old man seemed troubled.
"I grow old, Signore; one does not easily take in new ideas! By your
method--am I right?--you will employ a dozen men in place of a hundred.
That troubles me, though your plan seems good. If there are but a small
handful needed, it must put the others out of work. The mines are hard.
A harder existence cannot well be imagined--but the good God must know
it is for the best, since he allows it to continue. To be sure," he
interrupted himself sadly, "he calls them to him soon!"
"You mean they die young in the mines? That is what I have been told."
"Yes, Signore, in their twenty-eighth year the people are at the end of
life; at the age of twelve they are already stooped and wrinkled old men
and women. For the children it is most terrible; it is they who climb up
the high ladders out of the pits in the earth--it gives one a foretaste
of inferno to see such things. _Cosi Dio, m' ajuti_, it is true! Yet so
they live--otherwise they must die. What can we do? Since the Santa
Maria does not intervene, the poor must work or starve. They have not
the money to go away to the country beyond the sea, to America, the land
of plenty! If some of the rich abundance might be brought to my
people----" He shook his head, looking, it seemed, beyond the white
walls of the room, as though he saw a vision.
Then slowly, carefully, Derby explained. It was to bring some of the
customs of the land of plenty that he had come. He would pay the
men--the father, the brother, the big son--more money than had been
earned hitherto by the whole family. No, His Eminence did not
understand--the work was not to be harder, but easier! And for the
reason that he had already explained: Machinery would take the place of
children's hands; steel pipes, and not human beings, would descend into
the stifling fumes. He wanted to get a few intelligent men to go with
their families to the deserted village clustered about the "Little
Devil."
Still the old man sat, looking straight before him.
"All that you tell me, Signore," he said at last, his voice echoing a
sweetness, a cheerful patience that was doubtless the keynote to his
nature--"it all sounds very beautiful; but, indeed, it cannot be! The
great Duke Scorpa has given the matter much thought. The mine owners
cannot pay the people more--there is scarcely any profit as it is. The
duke has often told me this himself, so I know it to be true."
Derby thereupon said that the great Duke Scorpa had doubtless done
everything possible, and that under the old method there had been no
help for the conditions, but--and again he expressed himself as clearly
as possible--with the new method and with machinery, one man could do
the work of many. So the wages might be trebled and yet the mines be
made to pay.
As Derby talked, a faint color mounted in the cheeks of the
archbishop--his eyes grew eagerly wistful, and at last he leaned forward
in his chair, his voice almost breathless as he asked, "Can such a thing
be true--that in your country the father can earn sufficient that the
little children need not work? Ah, Signore--who knows?--who knows?--may
be at last the cry of the _bambinos_ has reached the throne of the Santa
Vergine!" He sat again silent, but this time with a smile on his lips.
Then the old woman appeared in the doorway and the archbishop arose.
"It is the hour for my supper," he said. "I shall esteem it an honor if
you will break bread with me." Derby was about to decline, thinking it
better to return later, but the manner of the old man left no doubt as
to the genuineness of his invitation, and Derby accepted. In the
adjoining room a small table was set with very few utensils. Two plates,
two forks, two spoons, a cup, and a wine glass apiece--that was all.
After the blessing, they were served a frugal meal of bread and goats'
milk, a pudding of macaroni, and a plate of figs; there was also wine,
acid and thin, which the good Marianna--for so the housekeeper was
called--had doubtless pressed herself.
Her son Teobaldo, who waited at table, was dressed in some semblance of
a livery--black broadcloth and a white tie. The archbishop ate
sparingly--he drank a little of the milk, and tasted a piece of fruit,
but his conversation with his guest seemed to satisfy him far more than
food could do.
Full of the hope of relief for his people, he now turned to plans for
the Signore Americano's protection. Throughout the mountains, the hard
life had made a hard people, he said, and unfriendly to foreigners. What
could they expect from the hands of strangers when their own nobility,
even their priests, were powerless to help! But the Signore should be
put under the guidance of Padre Filippo--and also there should be two
_carabinieri_ for protection. Besides, Padre Filippo would recommend
carpenters and mechanics of Vencata Minore--the village nearest the
"Little Devil"--good men and honest, who would help in the work.
The meal ended, they returned to the living room. The old woman fussed
at the wick of the lamp and then placed a book close to the light and
opened it at the page marked by a bit of paper. The archbishop smiled.
"She takes good care of me, my Marianna. Once she lost my place, but
she is very careful."
Derby looked at the page beneath the flickering dimness. "Does Your
Eminence read by this light?"
"Oh, yes, a little. By day I can see nearly as well as ever, but in the
evening I can read only the books that have large print--and only for a
little time. But what would you have, Signore? My eyesight may not any
longer be like that of a boy." Then he added: "The good sun brings now
each day a longer time to read, and perhaps by the time another winter
makes the days again grow short, I shall be near the Great Light that
knows no setting."
"You might have a good lamp and see very well," suggested Derby.
"A lamp? But in this I burn olive oil. It is very good oil, Signore--no
one makes it better than Marianna! The reading at night is only for
young eyes." Again he smiled.
With difficulty he wrote a letter of direction to Padre Filippo and
affixed his seal. Also he promised that two _carabinieri_ should be at
the inn at eight o'clock on the following morning, to accompany the
expedition to the mines. And they should carry a letter to Donna
Marcella--in her house the Americans had better lodge. From there they
could with ease go each day on muleback to the "Little Devil."
At last Derby arose to leave. And then, although he was not of the Roman
faith, he swiftly bent and kissed the ring on the thin, white hand that
had been placed in his own. Into the archbishop's eyes came a look of
tenderness that yet seemed tinged by a vague fear, as he laid his free
hand on the bent head and gave his blessing, "_Deus te benedicet, meum
filium._ May you fulfil your hopes for my people in safety!" Very
slightly the old man's voice broke.
Derby stood at his full height, towering by head and shoulders over the
archbishop as he again thanked him for his hospitality and his
protection. He walked back to the inn, his mind full of many things. At
the _ufficio della posta_ he glanced up, hesitated, and then, with a
smile, went in and wrote out the following telegram:
"MISS NINA RANDOLPH,
"Palazzo Sansevero,
"Rome.
"Send immediately by express one good Rochester
burner lamp and barrel of kerosene to
"Sua Eminenza,
"L'Arcivescovo di Vencata,
"JOHN."