THE CIRCOLO BARSANTI.
The wind, which blew so freshly in from sea across the open space of
the parade, was moaning like a wild thing, trapped and caged, in the
narrow streets behind the Duomo, towards which Dino was now taking his
way, with a mind full of doubt and rage and suspicion. Italia--God
bless her!--at least her last words had been of him. But to think of
her now was also to remember the young Marchese's look at her, the poor
child! as she took his ring: his laugh as he had turned away by the
quay. The remembered sound of that laughter made Dino clench his teeth
and break out into some wild bitter imprecation. 'I am like Palmira,'
he said to himself scoffingly. 'I can't even hate him, and he knows
it. I too wish he had never come back, because--because I liked him
so!'
As he walked on his mind was full of remembrances of their old days
together, when he and Gasparo had been playmates, companions, and
always with that difference between them. They had quarrelled scores
of times before now, and yet the old charm had never lost its power:
Dino was always ready to be brought back by a look, a word, the first
word of apology or regret. Regret! was it not enough for him to feel
that his dear old comrade counted upon him, wanted him still, despite
all his newer friends? 'I let him whistle me back at his good
pleasure, like a woman, like a dog,' he told himself moodily, and even
as he said it he felt in his heart that he would let himself be called
back again. Nor was he the only one: there was not one human being out
of all the little circle which made up his world who did not in some
degree conspire to pet and spoil the young Marchese. 'I'm a hundred
times cleverer than he is,' Dino reflected for the hundredth time.
'Ay, and better read, better educated. I can feel and understand a
thousand things, books, ideas, emotions, which are so many dead letters
to him. And what does it all amount to? What good is it? At
four-and-twenty I'm dependant on old Drea's good-nature for a chance of
earning my living by doing a common sailor's work, while _he_---- Why,
if he were to change places with me here to-night, by to-morrow he
would be the most popular man in Leghorn. Fortune is as much at his
beck and call as any of the rest of us. And now there's Italia----'
He thought how she too would recognise the prestige of the young
soldier's successes, and in what a different spirit! How often in
their long talks together had they arrived at the same conclusions, but
by what divergent ways? What was careless ease in her, in Dino was
pure recklessness: on the one side was the freedom of unconcern, and
opposed to it the freedom of desperation. And how could it well be
otherwise? He was sensitive, imaginative, unlucky. And he took life
hard. He could never make her understand his view of it; it was not in
her temperament to understand it. 'While the sun is shining it _can't_
be dark; and she lives in the sunshine--my darling!' he thought, with a
sudden revulsion, a rush of tender feeling. And she had bid the child
'take care of Dino.' He smiled to himself as he crossed over, out of
the moonlight, into the great shadow of the cathedral wall.
The _cafe_ to which he was going, and where his club met, stood at the
corner of two of the narrowest streets, a small, low room, lighted from
the ceiling by a row of gas jets in the form of a cross. On three
sides, against the wall, were large mirrors in tarnished frames; a
narrow divan covered with faded red velvet ran all around the room, and
in front of this was ranged a series of small marble-topped tables;
three or four men were seated there, drinking coffee and playing a game
of dominoes.
There was nothing at first sight to distinguish the place from any
other establishment of the same rank and kind. It was a shabby
second-rate cafe, of the stereotyped pattern; and even the police did
not take much interest in it, although it was true that the landlord
professed republican--or at least liberal--political sentiments. But
in a seaport town that was to be expected; and if Jack ashore preferred
drinking his glass of vermouth with the conviction that all men are
free and equal--so long as they can pay for what they are
consuming--why, it was not to be wondered at if the owner of a small
public-house could be found to agree with him. The 'Cross of Savoy'
was shrewdly suspected to be the headquarters of one of the branch
Societies belonging to the great net-work of the Circoli Barsanti. But
then, again, these said Circoli, founded early in the '70's, to
commemorate the name of a certain Sergeant Barsanti, accused, whether
falsely or not, of having caused the death of his commanding officer
during a trifling mutiny in the barracks at Padua, and himself
accordingly tried and sentenced and shot; these very Circoli, were they
not existing under Government permission, if not patronage? And if
Government chose to ignore the fact that some freak of popular opinion
had made of the murdered sergeant a popular hero and martyr, with a
name that was useful to conjure by--in a word, if the authorities saw
fit to connive at the existence of these breathing-holes, these
safety-valves, so to speak, of the public discontent, how in the name
of common-sense were the Leghorn police to be justified in interfering?
And what, in direct consequence, could be more assured than the peace
of mind and general prosperity and safety of Signor Prospero
Neri--respectable householder and landlord--actually seated at one of
his own tables, drinking some of his own coffee with an air of
confidence in, and enjoyment of, the beverage which was more than
equivalent to a testimonial?
Master Prospero's peace of mind was naturally a matter of some
importance in his own estimation; and yet--such a difference can be
obtained in the final result by so small a change of the point of
sight--within a few yards of his complacent head, in an inner room
divided from the cafe proper by a swinging door, painted over with
cupids and arabesques, a discussion was going on at that very moment
which would have filled that worthy host with horror and dismay.
Three men were seated in that inner sanctum about a small round table;
above their heads a gas jet, turned up too high, flared unnoticed in
the draught; there were glasses on the table before them, and a dingy
carafe of water, and a pack of cards. But they had not been playing.
Their attitude seemed chiefly one of expectation.
After a longer silence than had hitherto fallen upon them--a silence
during which the wind was distinctly audible, rattling at the
window-shutters, and they could hear an occasional laugh and the click
of glasses in the outer room,--'Who was it made the appointment with
him? Was it you, Pietro Valdez?' asked the oldest man present. He
spoke slowly, and with a strong German accent.
The man addressed looked up from his occupation of rubbing his
moistened finger around the brim of his glass and thereby producing a
series of minor musical notes. 'Ay,' he said; 'I told him.'
And then, after a pause, 'I'll answer for the lad,' he added slowly.
'Do you mean for his coming to-night,--or altogether?' the German asked
abruptly, fixing a pair of piercing light blue eyes upon his
interlocutor.
Valdez picked up his empty glass; looked into it; then put it down with
a sudden movement upon the table.
'I mean--altogether,' he said gravely.
The other two men exchanged glances.
'_Per Bacco_! _I_ wouldn't do it! no, not for my own flesh and blood
brother,--not I!' cried the third man present, bringing the open palm
of his hand lightly down upon the table before him. It was noticeable
that they all three moved and spoke with a certain caution and in the
quietest tones possible. '_I_ would not do it. I wouldn't answer
for----'
The German checked his rising voice with a look. 'I have taken note of
what you are prepared to do, friend Valdez. You _are_ prepared?' he
added sharply, with another searching glance.
Pietro Valdez lifted his melancholy eyes from the table before him and
stared the speaker straight in the face. Then his head dropped again,
and he shrugged his shoulders wearily: 'I am prepared--yes. But I look
like joking, don't I? It is so probable that I should select this
occasion for a jest!'
'I ask your pardon, signor Valdez. I will make a note of what you have
said.'
'Ay, notes, notes. But _I_ see nothing done,' broke in little
Pierantoni irrepressibly. 'It is all very well to say the people can
wait. _Santa Pazienza!_ the people _have_ waited. They are getting
tired of waiting now. Once, the lower down you ground them the better
they submitted. We know all that--at Naples. But it's a mistake to
grind a man, or a people, down too far;--'tis so easy to grind all the
humanity out of them and leave only the beast. And some beasts have
teeth, and object to being baited.'
He got up and sat down again, holding his hands straight out before him
and shaking his ten hooked fingers with a gesture as if he were sowing
corn. 'If you shoot at the Czar of all the Russias--well, 'tis a kind
of logic. You pit one autocrat against the other: Death against the
Imperial Will: and the best man wins. And there's no more unanswerable
argument than a rifle ball. It was our lords and masters taught us
that long ago--at the Paris barricades. I say, if you shoot the Czar
you prove nothing new. But to fire at a popular Prince---- To take a
man at the apex of his power, in the midst of his people, to teach him
that there's no popularity, no moderation, no amount of good nature, or
good intentions, or good luck even, that can alter the eternal justice
of things---- That's not stabbing at a King: it's putting your knife
into the Institution; cutting the throat of royalty itself--and not
merely royalty as a political institution, but royalty as a symbol of
social inequality. Is it vengeance? I protest that it is no more an
act of vengeance than the sentence of a judge. Have we not tried them,
these Kings? _Cristo Santo!_ have we not tried 'em and found 'em
wanting? Is it a murder? do you call it murder when a man shoots down
a bandit--an outlaw--with a price upon his head? And they _are_
outlaws,' he added with a short laugh. 'Ay, and they wear their crowns
for a purpose. 'Tis a shining target at the least----'
'_Bene_.' The German contemplated him for a moment with an air of
faint amusement; then rose slowly from his place at table and moved
with a cat-like step towards the door. He stooped his shaggy head and
looked long and deliberately through the keyhole at the various
occupants of the adjoining room. '_Bene_. 'Tis all safe. But
eloquence like our Pierantoni's is apt to attract--crowds,' he said,
looking up again with a sudden peculiarly simple and artless smile.
The little Neapolitan leaned half-way across the table, his black eyes
flashing. '_Per Cristo!_--you suspect some one? some--traitor?'
'Traitors? 'tis a word you are fond of using, you Italians. I look at
things differently. Why should we expect a new experience in life from
that of other men? A man lives with his enemies; if he is lucky, he
may meet with his friends.' He looked at Valdez as he spoke: he was
always looking at Valdez, who bore his scrutiny with the most
unaffected unconcern. 'As for suspecting, I suspect,--every one,' he
said. 'It is my business to suspect. And for convenience sake I begin
with the suspicion of our worthy landlord.' And, with a quick
side-glance, he added lightly, 'Valdez, you see, our friend Valdez does
not answer for _him_.'
'Nay,' said Valdez slowly, 'I say nothing for or against him. He is
one of those men in whom necessity is the mother of virtue. He'll walk
straight enough if you watch him carefully. He won't run off the line
so long as there are no corners.'
At this the German made some inarticulate sound of assent, and for a
time again relapsed into silence. Finally, as some neighbouring clock
struck the hour of eleven, he looked up with another grunt. 'This
place closes in half an hour. The young man is not coming,' he said.
'He will come,' Valdez repeated calmly.
'_Per Bacco!_ if he doesn't----'
But even as Pierantoni opened his lips to speak the gaily-painted door
behind him opened quickly and softly, and was as softly shut.
'Am I late?' asked Dino, looking all about him.
There was more curiosity than excitement in the expression of his face.
'I thought you told me it was to be an especially important sort of
meeting? Why, where are the others? There's no one here!' he said, in
a hurried aside to Valdez as he drew up a chair and took his place at
the table beside his friend. Pierantoni's face he knew by sight
already, but he gazed at the stranger present with considerable
interest and wonder, noting each personal peculiarity of his
appearance, his careless dress, his broad shoulders and large very
white hands; he wore a large and valuable ring upon one of them, and
there was an ugly scar, the red mark of an old wound, across his wrist.
Dino could not keep his eyes from it. He had always longed to see this
man. The German leaned back quietly in his chair.
'Your name is Bernardino de Rossi. You are Livornese by
birth,--twenty-four years old. You have belonged to this Society for
nearly three years, having been introduced and vouched for by Signor
Pietro Valdez, here present. And for the last four years--for the last
five years, if I mistake not,' he hesitated for an instant and appeared
to consult his memory, 'you have held a position in the Telegraph
Office of Leghorn. I believe I am right in all these particulars?'
'Perfectly right. It is nearly five years. I was nineteen when I went
into the office,' said Dino promptly, though not without a little
inward astonishment. What had this meeting then to do with him? and
why had Valdez not spoken more clearly? But he was soon to know.
'And three weeks ago a slight disturbance--a regretable
disturbance--connected with a small demonstration in favour of General
Garibaldi, took place. The procession was dispersed by the police, but
not before you had been recognised as being implicated in it. In
consequence of this, and partly, also, because of your refusing to give
up the name of one of your fellow-clerks who was known to have been
there with you, you were unfortunately dismissed from your post this
morning. I say unfortunately because, for some few weeks at all
events, you will now be placed under police surveillance. You should
have been more careful, sir!' the speaker concluded brusquely.
This man had the power of assuming at will an indescribable air of ease
and authority. All traces of his former manner of lounging good-nature
had vanished. His voice even was changed. He spoke now with the
clearness and rapidity of a man accustomed to undisputed command. 'You
should have been more careful, sir. You have lessened your chance of
being useful.'
Dino felt himself going red and white by turns.
'There was no other choice, your--your--sir! I mean,' he said after a
moment. 'The man you speak of--he's no friend of mine--depended upon
my holding my tongue. I was bound as a gentleman not to betray him.'
'The Society has nothing to do with your being, or not being, a
gentleman, sir!' the great man interrupted sharply, and looking at Dino
with not unkindly eyes. 'You will attend to what I say, if you please,
as at present you are merely wasting my time in this matter.' He
glanced across at Valdez, and then tapped the table before him
thoughtfully with his finger-tips: it was the hand on which he wore his
great signet ring, and the brilliants which surrounded it glittered
oddly enough among the heaps of tobacco ash and burnt-out matches which
littered the mean little table.
'H--m,' he said thoughtfully; and turning his eyes abruptly upon De
Rossi, 'You know who I am?' he demanded. 'Ah--I see you do. Well,
that simplifies matters. You will understand how it is that I am
giving you these orders. I suppose there is no need of my reminding
you of the new--the special engagements you entered into on the day
following the little _emeute_ we have spoken of----?'
'Ah!' said Dino, suddenly straightening himself upon his chair.
Valdez lifted his eyes quickly, then let them drop again. The lad was
beginning to understand.
'You and one other man placed yourselves on that occasion on the
Society's list of volunteers. I don't know how much you meant by doing
so, but that's not my affair. You would not have been accepted if you
had not been considered a fit person--and properly vouched for. It
seemed hardly probable at the time that any very especial service would
be demanded from you, but of course you took your chance of that. I
have known men wait for years and years without getting such a chance;
but you are to be congratulated, young man, you are more fortunate than
they.'
There was a dingy carafe standing in its little saucer on the centre of
the table. Dino reached over and poured himself out a glass of water;
he swallowed it down at a gulp. Then he leaned deliberately back in
his chair. He had turned very pale, and his eyes were shining.
'What is there to be done, sir? I'm ready,' he said quietly.
The German looked at him grimly enough for a moment, and then for the
first time his face relaxed into its wonderful child-like smile.
'_Schoen_,' he said approvingly. Then, with a sudden reassumption of
his former manner, 'Have you any present means of support? What are
you going to do with yourself at once?' he demanded.
Dino told him.
'Very well then. For the next fortnight you will go about your work in
the boats, and you will be careful to give cause of suspicion to no
one. You observe that I say _to no one_. If you have a--a _maedchen_
whom you fancy yourself in love with, you will remember that the
Society does not admit of rivals. At the end of the fortnight you will
be sent to Rome, means being provided for your journey. And in the
meantime you will not show yourself again at this club. Whatever
orders you may need will reach you through Signor Valdez.'
There was a moment's pause. 'And--and what am I to do in Rome when I
get there?' Dino asked presently. His lips had turned dry again: he
found a certain difficulty in speaking.
'You will leave Leghorn on the 11th or 12th of next month. On the 13th
of April His Majesty, King Humbert, will hold a grand review of his
troops in the new quarter of the Macao, near the railway station. The
Queen will be present at the ceremony with the court and the young
Prince. The King will appear riding at the head of his staff. You
will take up your place in the crowd at the corner nearest the Royal
carnages. His Majesty will pass you twice--coming and going; the
second time he passes----'
They had all drawn nearer the small table as he went on speaking in
lower and lower tones; and now the four faces were very close together.
'And then?' Dino tried to say, but his lips only moved. He had no
voice in which to frame the words.
'Signor Valdez is nearest to you. Tell him, Valdez,' the German said
peremptorily, and threw himself back in his chair.
And then Dino felt Valdez's warm breath in his ear. He heard certain
words which, for a moment, seemed to convey no meaning. He looked
straight across the room at the foolish painted door through which he
had entered. He felt thirsty again--that intolerable thirst! and the
gas flickered and made a curious sound--like a whistle; and--and----
He stood up suddenly in his place, and stared at the three impassive
faces before him. They were all watching him.
'My God!' he said in a broken whisper; 'great God! _you want me to
assassinate the King!_'