XXVIThe Caffè Garibaldi, which was situated in the main street of Montefiano—a street that bore, as a matter of course, the name of Corso Vittorio Emanuele—was doing an unusually brisk business. At each little marble-topped table a group of excited men was sitting, each member of which was talking at the top of his voice. Nobody was listening to his neighbor; but then, as all the world knows, there are occasions when no Italian ever does listen to his neighbor during a discussion; the whole aim and object of each speaker being to talk the other down. A considerable amount of wine was being drunk, and some of it was new wine, the process of fermentation being scarcely over. No doubt this fact accounted for much of the heat with which the sole topic of conversation in the Caffè Garibaldi that evening was being discussed. There was an argument, indeed, and, taking into consideration the number of half-litres consumed and the quality of at any rate a large proportion of the wine, it was perhaps as well that everybody was of the same opinion, though each strove to express that opinion more forcibly than his companion. A difference on the main issue in question would have certainly led to quarrels, and quarrels would as likely as not have resulted in the flow of other liquid than Stefano Mazza's red wine at eightsoldithe litre.In a room at the back of thecaffè—a room wherein was to be found the solitary billiard-table in Montefiano, and where the choicer and more exclusive elements of Montefianese society were wont to gather—the conversation was as animated and scarcely less noisy than in the portion communicating directly with the street bearing the name of the Re Galantuomo.Stefano Mazza, the host, was himself attending to the wants of his clients in this more select part of his premises; and Stefano Mazza was a person of considerable weight in Montefiano, not only bodily but, what was far more important, socially. Thesindacoof Montefiano himself, with all the importance of bureaucracy at his back, was not so influential a man as Stefano Mazza; for Mazza, so to speak, held thesindacoin the hollow of his hand, as he did a very considerable proportion of thesindaco'smunicipal councillors and of the inhabitants of Montefiano generally. There were few, very few of the Montefianesi, from officials to peasants, whose signatures to certain pieces of paper bearing the government stamp and setting forth that the signatories were in his debt to amounts ranging from thousands to tens oflire, Stefano did not possess. He was, in short, the money-lender, not only to Montefiano, but to a considerable portion of the agricultural district surrounding it, and, as such, his opinion on most questions was listened to with unfailing respect by all members of the community.On the whole,strozzinothough he was, Stefano was neither an unjust nor a hard man. To be sure, he charged a six-per-cent. interest for the money he loaned; but he was content with getting this interest and never departed from his conditions. He had been known to wait for his money, too, when, owing to bad seasons, some of his poorer clients were unable to pay their interest at the proper dates. The consequence was that Sor Stefano was regarded by his neighbors of all degrees as a personage with whom it was to their advantage to stand well; the more so as even the most prosperous among them could never tell when they might not want to borrow his money, or renew a bill for money already advanced by him.A sudden hail-storm which would devastate the crops or the vineyards in the space of a few minutes; an unfortunate season with the lambs or the pigs; a failure with the maize or the grain—and it was as likely as not that Sor Stefano's assistance would have to be sought in order to tide over the winter months; and often, too, in order to have the rent ready for Sor Beppe, thefattore, when he should come to collect it.It was certain, therefore, that nobody, not excepting Sor Beppe himself, was so thoroughly acquainted with the financial conditions of the tenants on the Montefiano estates as Stefano Mazza, the proprietor of the Caffè Garibaldi. Moreover, Sor Stefano and Sor Beppe were good and intimate friends, as their fathers had been before them. Sor Stefano, indeed, had recently stood by thefattoreon more than one occasion, when, after the rents had been farmed out to the new lessee, Sor Beppe had been compelled to obey instructions from Rome and increase them, thereby incurring the dislike of the small holders, who not unnaturally regarded him as the primary cause of the extra burden laid upon them.The news of Sor Beppe's dismissal from the office offattorehad stirred public opinion in and around Montefiano to its depths. Notwithstanding its Corso Vittorio Emanuele, its Via Giordano Bruno, and other outward and visible signs of a desire to tread the path of independence and liberty, Montefiano was conservative enough in maintaining its own traditions, and in not welcoming any changes in the order of things to which it had become accustomed. For five-and-twenty years Sor Beppe had beenfattoreat Montefiano to Casa Acorari; while, for fifty years before he succeeded to the post, it had been occupied by Sor Pompilio, his father. This fact was in itself sufficient to cause the news that anotherfattorewas to be appointed in the place of Giuseppe Fontana to be received with astonishment and not a little indignation.When it became known, however, that Sor Beppe had been dismissed because he had flatly declined to obey instructions of the administration in Rome to raise the rents of certain small holdings without laying the matter personally before the princess, popular indignation had increased until it became a deep and bitter anger. As Sor Beppe had pointed out to Don Agostino, it had been generally known in Montefiano for some time that theprincipessa'sforeign priest was practically the head of the administration to the Eccellentissima Casa Acorari; and during the last few weeks, since the sudden arrival at the castle of the princess and the Principessina Bianca, rumor had insisted that the newaffittuarioof the Montefiano estate was no other than the priest himself. If this were not so, it was argued, why did the newaffittuarionever show himself in the flesh, and why did the foreignmonsignoremake a point of personally examining every holding on the property? But that Sor Beppe should be dismissed from a post that he had honorably filled for five-and-twenty years because he would not lend himself to furthering this interloper's schemes for enriching himself at the expense of the poor, and of the good name of Casa Acorari, was an abominable thing. Men and women had talked of nothing else in the streets of thepaeseduring the day, and at night the men flocked to the Caffè Garibaldi to hear what Sor Stefano and the more influential members of the community might have to say on the subject.It was evident that these worthies had much to say; and, like their inferiors in the social scale of Montefiano, they said it loudly and decidedly. Such a thing could not be tolerated; and the voice of the majority was in favor of forming a deputation that should wait upon their excellencies at the castle and point out to them the injustice of Sor Beppe's dismissal, and the ill-feeling among the peasants that insistence on the raising of their rents would infallibly produce. There was, indeed, a secondary motive in the minds of those who, headed by Sor Stefano, had suggested the expediency of a deputation. For some little time mysterious rumors had circulated in Montefiano—rumors of which the Principessina Bianca was the central object. It was whispered, especially among the women, that there was something going on in the castle that was not satisfactory; that theprincipessinahad been brought to Montefiano because she wanted to marry abel giovanein Rome, whose only fault was that he had not a title; that instead of being allowed to marry the man she loved she was being forced to receive the attentions of the princess's brother—a worn-out foreign baron, old enough to be the poor child's father. It was insisted that the Principessina Bianca was unhappy, that she was practically a prisoner, and that the priest was at the bottom of it all. Who circulated these stories among the women, Sor Stefano knew perfectly well. It was certain that they became more definite from day to day, and that by degrees a very wide-spread feeling of suspicion had been aroused among all classes at Montefiano that the Principessina Bianca was being made the victim of an intrigue on the part of her step-mother's foreign advisers to possess themselves both of her person and her estates.Why, it was asked, was theprincipessinanever seen? The very few people who had happened to see her at the castle had come away full of enthusiasm concerning her beauty and her kindness of manner. When it became known that Sor Beppe had been dismissed, these stories had been repeated with greater insistence than ever. Probably the women had determined to excite the compassion and indignation of their menkind on theprincipessina'sbehalf; for several of the leading peasants and small farmers in and around Montefiano had openly talked of going to the castle and demanding an interview with the Principessina Donna Bianca, in order to see for themselves whether their youngpadronawere in reality exposed to the treatment they suspected.It was in order to consult together concerning the suggested deputation that the leading spirits of Montefiano had assembled at the Caffè Garibaldi that evening. Notwithstanding the noise, and the totally irrelevant side issues raised by many of his customers, it was clear to Stefano Mazza that the general consensus of public opinion was on his side. The dismissal of Sor Beppe should not be allowed to pass without a protest being made to theprincipessain person; and at the same time it should be clearly conveyed to her that anyfattorewho should be appointed to succeed Sor Beppe would find his task by no means easy, inasmuch as the people would with truth conclude that he had been sent to Montefiano to carry out changes which were obnoxious and unjust. Sor Stefano, anxious to please all parties, had further suggested that the deputation in question should insist upon the Principessina Bianca being present when its members were received by her step-mother. Her presence, he pointed out, would enable the representatives of the Montefiano people to ascertain whether Donna Bianca was or was not aware of what was being done in her name, whether it was true that she was merely a victim of the unscrupulous designs of this Belgian priest, and of another stranger who was, to all intents and purposes, her uncle. Donna Bianca Acorari was their legitimatepadrona, the daughter and heiress of the princes of Montefiano; and as such her own people at Montefiano had a right to approach her and hear from her own lips whether all that was said concerning her was truth or fiction.It was late that night when the Caffè Garibaldi put out its lights and barred its doors after the last of Sor Stefano's clients had left the premises. The chief point under discussion during the evening had been settled, however, and it was unanimously decided that a deputation, headed by thesindacoand Sor Stefano, should send a letter to the castle requesting to be received by the princess and the Principessina Donna Bianca. Perhaps thesindacoof Montefiano was the only one to display some hesitation as to the advisability of the course determined upon. He had no desire to compromise himself by lending his official sanction to any movement which might end in disturbance and in possible collision with the civil authorities. It was impossible to foretell what might take place were the princess and her adviser to oppose the wishes of the already suspicious and excited peasants, and refuse to entertain the objections of the deputation to the dismissal of thefattore, Giuseppe Fontana. TheavvocatoRicci,syndicof Montefiano, like many other petty Italian lawyers, nourished an ambition to enter political life as a means whereby to fill his empty pockets at the expense of those who might send him to join the large number of his fellow-lawyers in the Chamber of Deputies. It was a somewhat exalted ambition, no doubt; but theavvocatoRicci, after all, was in no more obscure a position than many another local attorney now calling himselfonorevoleand making the best of his opportunities as a deputy to rob with both hands, until such time as he should either be made a minister of state or fail to be re-elected by a disillusioned constituency.It would certainly not add to his prospects were he, assindacoof Montefiano, to compromise himself with the authorities of the Home Office in Rome for the sake of some discontented peasants in his commune, and he had already done his best that evening to throw cold water on Sor Stefano's suggestions, and to dissociate himself from any part in the movement in question. A few words, however, spoken in his ear by Stefano Mazza, conveying a gentle but pointed allusion to certain bills, more than once renewed which Sor Stefano happened to have in his keeping, had effectually silenced thesindacoRicci's official objections to making one of the proposed deputation to the castle.The gathering at the Caffè Garibaldi had taken place on the very evening of Concetta Fontana's delivery to Bianca Acorari of her lover's missive. Concetta, indeed, knew well enough that the meeting was to take place, and also what its object was. As a matter of fact, it was largely, if not entirely, owing to her that public interest in Montefiano had been aroused concerning the motives for the Principessina Bianca's confinement—for so Concetta had not hesitated to qualify it—in the castle and the park behind the castle. She had let fall mysterious hints as to what she had seen and heard during the hours she was employed in helping theprincipessina'smaid in mending the linen and in other household duties; and her tales had certainly not lost in the telling during the long summer evenings when the women of thepaesehad little to do but to sit and gossip outside their doors.Doubtless, like most gossip, the stories woven round Concetta Fontana's suggestion would soon have been replaced by others of closer interest. The premature appearance of the baker's baby, which had upset the ideas of Don Agostino's house-keeper as to the fitness of things, had been for some days relegated to an altogether secondary place; nor would the men have paid much attention to the tales told them by their womenkind of the treatment to which the Principessina Bianca was being subjected, had it not been for Sor Beppe's sudden dismissal from office. It needed very little to impress upon the farmers and peasantry on thelatifondobelonging to Casa Acorari that the latter circumstance was in direct connection with the former; and that it had evidently been found necessary to get rid of Giuseppe Fontana and replace him by another agent who would be nothing more nor less than a tool in the hands of the foreign priest who had already persuaded the princess to consent to their rents being materially increased. It must be confessed that Concetta Fontana had lost no opportunity of duly impressing her friends and acquaintances with this plausible explanation of the reasons which had led to her father's dismissal. She had conceived an enthusiastic devotion to the Principessina Bianca almost from the first moment she had seen her and Bianca had spoken a few kindly words to her. This devotion had been further increased by realizing the loneliness of the girl's position, by sympathy with her for her enforced separation from the man she wished to marry, as well as by the discovery that Bianca was being exposed to the joint intrigues of Monsieur d'Antin and the Abbé Roux. The thought that her youngpadronahad need of her devotion had kindled Concetta's sense of loyalty, in which, as in that of her father, there was much that was nothing short of feudal feeling for the young head of the house of the Acorari of Montefiano.Concetta, however, could hardly be blamed if, in addition to her genuine desire to rescue Bianca Acorari from the fate into which she felt convinced that Baron d'Antin and the Abbé Roux were trying to force her, she hoped at the same time to benefit her father and bring about his reinstatement. Sor Beppe had been, as it were, stunned by the suddenness of the blow which had fallen upon him. As he had said to Don Agostino, he was too old for transplantation. The interests of Casa Acorari had been his interests ever since he could remember. However unsatisfactory the late Principe di Montefiano might have been in other relations of life—however neglectful he might have been of the fact that he was taking all he could get out of his properties and was putting nothing into them again—he had always been a just and considerate landlord towards the people of the place from which he took his principal title, and which had been the cradle of his race.It was the thought of how the late Prince Montefiano would have disapproved of the course taken by the Abbé Roux, and by the so-called administration of the affairs of Casa Acorari, that made the injustice of his dismissal all the harder for Sor Beppe to bear. If he had received his dismissal at the hands of the Principessina Bianca, it would have been bad enough; but to receive it from foreigners who, as he more than suspected, were only bent upon filling their own pockets during theprincipessina'sminority, was altogether intolerable. The sympathy which had been shown him in thepaese, and the general indignation aroused by the facts which had led to his dismissal had certainly been very pleasant to Sor Beppe's wounded feelings. He had made no secret of his conviction that so soon as the Principessina Bianca had the control of her affairs he would be reinstated, and public opinion in Montefiano quickly exonerated Donna Bianca Acorari from all responsibility in the matter. That such a thing had happened was, in the eyes of the Montefianesi, only a further proof of the bad foreign influence by which their young princess was surrounded.Sor Beppe had carefully abstained from going to the Caffè Garibaldi that evening. It was his custom to spend an hour or two there on most nights, taking a hand attresetteor playing a game of billiards. He was aware, of course, of the discussion that was to take place on that particular evening, and it certainly would not have been seemly for him to be present. Moreover, there was no reason to suppose that his cause would suffer by his absence from the gathering. He knew that his friend, Stefano Mazza, would take care that this was not the case.So, Sor Beppe had taken the opportunity of paying an evening visit to Don Agostino. He had attempted to see him immediately after his interview with the princess, when he had learned that she declined to interfere in his dismissal, but Don Agostino had already departed for Rome. After leaving Don Agostino, Sor Beppe had returned to his own set of rooms in the castle—the home of so many years, which he would now have to leave—and he had found Concetta awaiting him. The girl had required no pressing to deliver the packet Don Agostino had intrusted to her father. She had many times, she told him, wished to go to theprincipessinaand offer to take some message for her to her lover—oh, many times, if only to spite the baron and Monsieur l'Abbé, who thought they had laid their plans so well. But she had not dared to take the liberty. Now, of course, she had an excuse; and if Don Agostino was interesting himself in theprincipessina'slove-affairs, it was certainly a proof that the young man was worthy of her.And Sor Beppe had accompanied Concetta to the disused room next to the entrance-gate of the castle, where he kept his firewood and his coke, and had seen her pass through the trap-door and mount the narrow stone steps leading into the secret passage above. Then he had awaited her return, not without some misgivings at the length of time which elapsed before he saw her reappear.Concetta returned from her expedition flushed and excited, and, indeed, very nearly weeping. Her voice trembled as she recounted all that had passed between theprincipessinaand herself; how she had watched theprincipessinastanding at the window of her room, and had heard her cry to her absent lover; and how the poor child had seemed almost dazed when she gave her the packet, and had then broken down and cried in her, Concetta's, arms.She told her father how theprincipessinawas aware of his dismissal, but evidently knew nothing of the raising of the rents and his refusal to further acts of injustice, committed nominally in her interests; and how she had declared that, when she had the power to do so, she would reinstate him.Sor Beppe listened attentively. "She is her father's daughter," he said, when Concetta had concluded, "and she will not allow her people to be wronged."Concetta's eyes flashed. "And we," she exclaimed—"we will not allow her to be wronged!Vedete, it is not the princess, she wants to do her duty by theprincipessina—oh, I have heard that a hundred times from the maid, Bettina. It is the Abbé Roux. He makes the princess believe that her duty is to force the poor girl to do what he wants. But he will go too far, and then we shall see is it not true, Babbo?"Sor Beppe nodded. "He has gone too far already," he said. "Listen, Concetta: the peasants are angry—very angry; and not the peasants only, but also those who are more highly placed than they. There will certainly be trouble if the increase in the rents is insisted upon. Moreover, they suspect something, some foul play towards theprincipessina, and it is as likely as not that there will be a demonstration. Well, if there is, and the Abbé Roux, as you call him, attempts to carry out his plans, I would not answer for the consequences. They are patient, our people—very patient; but when their patience is exhausted, they are not easy to manage. Why, in the Castelli Romani, a few years ago, at Genzano and Ariccia, the peasants held their own against the soldiers, and got what they wanted, too—but there was blood spilled in the getting of it."Concetta Fontana glanced at her father quickly."Do I not know it?" she replied. "Yes, the people are angry. Well, let them be angry. Perhaps, if there is a demonstration, the princess will understand that there is something wrong, and Monsieur l'Abbé will be frightened. But theprincipessinawill not be frightened, I am sure of that. She will know that it is only her own people, who will not be ruled by strangers. To-day we shall know what has happened at the Caffè Garibaldi," and Concetta smiled with a satisfied air. "As to the Abbé Roux—" she added."Curse thepretaccio!" growled Sor Beppe, under his breath."He would be wiser to return to Rome," concluded Concetta, "if he does not want to takedelle belle bastonatesome fine day!"XXVIIPunctually at half-past seven on the morning after Sor Beppe's nocturnal visit to him, Don Agostino, robed in his vestments and accompanied by a small but sturdy acolyte, who was to act as server at the low mass he was about to celebrate, emerged from the sacristy of his church and ascended the steps of one of the side altars. The attendance was not large, the congregation consisting of a few peasant women and two old men; for the day was not afesta, and, consequently, the population of Montefiano was pursuing its usual occupations in thepaese, or in the fields and vineyards beyond it.As Don Agostino, after having arranged the sacred vessels and adjusted the markers in the missal to the proper pages, turned from the altar to commence the opening portion of the mass, his quick eyes fell upon Concetta Fontana, who was kneeling in the body of the church some little way behind the group of women gathered round the marble balustrade in front of the altar. It could not be said that Concetta was a frequent attendant at the half-past seven o'clock mass, and her presence had already excited whispered comments among the rest of the congregation, who had at once recognized Sor Beppe's daughter.The mass over, Don Agostino retired to the sacristy again to disrobe, and thither, after a few minutes had elapsed, Concetta Fontana followed him. Don Agostino was not surprised to see her. Indeed, he had risen earlier than usual that morning in expectation of a visit either from Fontana or his daughter. He had spent an hour or two in his garden tying up refractory branches of his rose-trees and generally attending to the needs of his fellow-beings of the vegetable world—for it was one of Agostino's theories that any form of life was an attribute of the God whom he worshipped as a God of sympathy and of love, and he regarded his trees and his flowers as sentient beings who had a right to his tenderness and care. It was certainly not a theory of which he spoke in the world; but then most of us who are not content with looking only at the binding of God's book of life probably have our little intimate thoughts and theories which, knowing our world, we are prudent enough to keep for our own use and enjoyment, and, perhaps, as stepping-stones on the path we have to tread.Concetta waited until she and Don Agostino were alone in the sacristy, and then she gave him the folded sheet of paper that Bianca Acorari had intrusted to her."To-morrow," she said, "theprincipessinawill send another letter by me. There were no writing-materials in her room, so she could only send a few lines, which your reverence will no doubt forward to their destination."Don Agostino took the paper and placed it carefully in his pocket-book. "I shall send it to the Signorino Rossano to-day," he replied. "Donna Bianca need have no fear of its not reaching him safely. So you took the packet to her last night?" he continued. "You had no difficulty in giving it into Donna Bianca's own hands?"Concetta quickly related to him all that had passed between Bianca and her the night before. "And I was to tell your reverence," she concluded, "from theprincipessina, that she would write to you herself, because herfidanzatowished her to do so. Ah, but you should have seen the proud way theprincipessinadrew herself up and looked—a look that a queen might give—when she spoke of herfidanzato!"Don Agostino glanced at her with a smile. "You will be faithful to theprincipessina,figlia mia?" he asked. "She needs friends, the poor child.""Faithful to her!" exclaimed Concetta. "I would do anything—anything, for theprincipessina. Imagine if I was glad when my father came home last night and told me I must take her the packet you had given him. I had wanted to go to her, and to tell her that I would do anything she bade me—oh, so often! But how could I venture? Besides, I was afraid of frightening her if I appeared in her room from the cardinal's portrait.""But she was not frightened?" Don Agostino asked."Niente affatto!" returned Concetta, emphatically. "It was I who was frightened when I saw her leaning out of the window in the moonlight and calling to her lover. I feared she might be walking in her sleep, and that she might throw herself down on the terrace. Ah, but she knows now that there are those who are ready to help her—and she will know it better in a few days' time."Don Agostino looked at her. "How do you mean? Why should she know it better in a few days than she does now?" he asked.Concetta pursed up her lips. "She will know it," she repeated, "and so will the principessa and the Abbé Roux. I am nothing—only a woman—but there are men who will help her—all Montefiano, if it comes to that."Don Agostino looked at her with greater attention. He had already heard through Ernana something concerning the ill-feeling the dismissal of Sor Beppe had aroused in Montefiano; and something, too, of the part the Abbé Roux was supposed to have played in bringing about thefattore'sdismissal."What do you mean?" he repeated. "You may speak openly to me,figlia mia," he continued, "for I also would do all I could to help Donna Bianca Acorari and to protect her from any evil designs against her. Moreover, Donna Bianca'sfidanzatois my friend, and his father and I have been friends for many years. After all, it is I, is it not, who have asked your father to convey that packet to theprincipessina? And he told me of the means whereby it might be conveyed."Concetta started. "Ah! he told you of the passage?" she exclaimed."Certainly," replied Don Agostino. "So you see," he added, "I am aware that it is possible to communicate with Donna Bianca without the fact being known to those who are trying to isolate her from the outer world. If you have theprincipessina'swelfare at heart, as I am sure that you have, you will take me entirely into your confidence, will you not?"Concetta nodded. "I know nothing for certain as yet," she said, after hesitating for a moment, "but the people are angry,reverendo, very angry.""Yes, I have heard something of that," said Don Agostino, as Concetta paused. "They are angry at the rents having been raised, and at your father's having been dismissed for his opposition to the increase. But his dismissal has nothing to do with Donna Bianca's position, and the people's anger will not help her, so far as I can see.""Ah, but it will help her," replied Concetta, eagerly. "They are angry about the rents and about my father, that is true; but they are also indignant at the way in which theprincipessinais shut up and not allowed to see anybody. They have heard that she is in love with somebody whom she is forbidden to see any more, and that the princess's brother wants to force her to marry him instead. And they have put the dots upon the i's, and believe that the foreign priest is at the bottom of the whole affair. You must remember,reverendo, that we Montefianesi look upon theprincipessinaas ourpadrona. We do not want foreigners to interfere between us and the Principessina Bianca.""I understand that perfectly well," Don Agostino observed, quietly. "But how do the Montefianesi propose to remedy matters? After all, Donna Bianca is a minor, and as such she is not yet her own mistress; nor," he added, "can her people here, however devoted to her they may be, make her so.""But they can make theprincipessaget rid of those who are advising her badly," said Concetta. "I do not know what has been decided," she continued, lowering her voice, "but last night there was a meeting at the Caffè Garibaldi. Of course, my father would not be present, for it was his dismissal that they were by way of discussing—that and the raising of the rents. But I am certain that they will have talked about other things besides these; and I know that Sor Stefano meant to propose that a deputation should go to the princess and insist on the rents being lowered to their original amount, and on my father being retained asfattore.""Precisely," interrupted Don Agostino. "But in what way will Donna Bianca be helped by all this talk? That is what I do not understand,figlia mia."Concetta directed a shrewd glance at him. "In this way," she replied, "Sor Stefano—oh, and many others, too—intend to see the Principessina Bianca herself, and to explain to her that she and nobody else ispadronaat Montefiano, and that they will hear from her own lips, when they have explained matters to her, whether what has been done in her name has her approval or not. This they will do,reverendo, not because they do not understand that theprincipessinais still a child, so to speak, but because they intend Monsieur l'Abbé and the baron to understand that their schemes are known and will not be tolerated.Mi spiego reverendo?"Don Agostino's face flushed and his eyes sparkled with an unusual excitement."Do you explain yourself?" he said, repeating Concetta's last words. "Certainly, you explain yourself very well. Ah, if your Montefianesi do that, they will, indeed, be helping theirpadrona."He paused suddenly, and his countenance became grave and preoccupied."And this deputation to the princess," he said, presently—"does your father know of the proposal?""Certainly he knows of it," answered Concetta; "but naturally," she added, "he can take no part in it. It is Sor Stefano who will be at the head of it, or perhaps thesindaco—oh, and representatives chosen by thecontadini. And you,reverendo, you will surely be asked to join it as theparroco.Sicuro!it will all have been settled last night; but as yet I have seen nobody, for until I had delivered theprincipessina'sletter, as I promised her I would do, I could not be easy in my mind."Don Agostino's expression remained grave and thoughtful. That the people of Montefiano should resent the interference of the Abbé Roux in their relations with Casa Acorari was certainly natural, and might in the end turn out to be a good thing for both Donna Bianca and Silvio. But Don Agostino well knew the danger that must attend any demonstration of hostility towards the princess and her advisers on the part of the peasants. Such demonstrations were apt unexpectedly to assume serious proportions. If the enragedcontadinifelt that they had the moral support of men like Sor Stefano, they might easily lose their heads, and, should their demands be refused, attempt to enforce them by measures which would necessitate the intervention of the civil authorities, if not of the military. What military intervention too frequently ended in, Don Agostino was fully aware, and he felt every effort should be made to prevent the threatened demonstration assuming any attitude that might furnish an excuse for obtaining it.The question was, whether Princess Montefiano would consent to receive this deputation, and to hear what its members had to say. Her decision would evidently be inspired by the Abbé Roux, and the abbé's recent action in causing the rents to be increased, and in the dismissal of an old, popular official for venturing to oppose that increase, convinced Don Agostino that the foreign priest, as the Abbé Roux was called, did not understand the character of the people he was attempting to rule.Don Agostino's experience of human nature made him at once realize the danger of a misunderstanding on either side, in the present condition of public opinion in Montefiano. The abbé might easily underrate the force of that opinion and persuade the princess to decline to listen to, or even to receive a deputation formed to protest against his policy. If he were so to persuade Princess Montefiano, the situation would infallibly become critical, and very likely perilous. All would then depend on whether the Abbé Roux had the nerve and the tact to deal with it, or whether he would oblige the princess to appeal to the authorities to suppress the demonstration. In this latter case a collision would become inevitable; and it was this collision between his people—for was he not theirparroco?—and the authorities, that Don Agostino was determined to use all his influence to avert.Concetta Fontana watched his countenance, as for a few moments Don Agostino stood, apparently deep in thought."You would join the deputation,reverendo, would you not?" she asked him, presently.Don Agostino hesitated."It depends," he replied. "You see,figlia mia," he continued, "we must be careful that in trying to do good we do not bring about a great deal of harm and unhappiness. I should like to talk with your father, and to-day I will go to see Stefano Mazza. Thecontadiniare within their rights—I do not deny that—and a grave injustice has been done, both to them and to your father.Sicuro!they are in the right, but it should be the duty of those who have influence to prevent them from doing anything to put themselves in the wrong. Yes, tell your father that I should like to see him to-day. Atmezzogiornohe will find a place ready for him if he likes to come to breakfast. We could talk afterwards—while Ernana is washing the dishes. You will go to see Donna Bianca again—as you did last night, will you not? You will tell her that her letter goes to-day to herfidanzato, and that he will receive it to-morrow morning in Rome. And you will tell her, also, that I am awaiting the letter she is going to write to me; and when I have it, I will answer her. In the mean time,figlia mia, be prudent—if you wish to serve the Principessina Bianca. You and your father have influence with the people—they wish you well. Talk to the women. It is the women who can often lead the men—is it not? Anything that is done must be done cautiously, moderately. There must be no folly—no threats employed in order to enforce demands that in themselves are just. You must tell the women that I, Don Agostino, will support all that is done to obtain justice in a just way—but I will not countenance any measures that may provoke disorder, and perhaps violence. Now go,figlia mia, and give my message to your father this morning—and to the Principessina Bianca when you think it safe to go again to her apartment."And Don Agostino, opening the door of the sacristy, accompanied Concetta through the empty church, and then returned to his own house, and to his morning coffee which Ernana always prepared for him after he had said his early mass.XXVIIISilvio Rossano had quite made up his mind that some days must in all probability elapse before Don Agostino might be able to find a safe opportunity of conveying the letter and ring he had intrusted to him to Bianca. When, therefore, he found on his table, on returning to Palazzo Acorari as usual for breakfast, a notice from the post-office informing him that a registered packet addressed to him was lying at the central office, he did not suppose for a moment that the said packet had come from Montefiano. Indeed, it was not until late in the afternoon that he went to San Silvestro in order to get the packet, as he had some work to do at home which he was anxious to complete. His heart gave a sudden leap when he recognized Don Agostino's handwriting on the registered envelope. The arcade running round the court-yard and garden of palms at San Silvestro, thronged as it was with people asking for their correspondence at theposte-restante, with soldiers and men of business, priests and peasants, was certainly not the place to investigate the contents of Don Agostino's missive, which would scarcely have been registered had the contents not been important.Silvio hurried out of the building, and, crossing the Corso, plunged into the comparative quiet of the little side streets behind Montecitorio, where he eagerly tore open the sealed envelope. There were only a few lines written by Don Agostino himself, and Silvio, hastily glancing at them, gathered that he had had an opportunity of sending the letter and ring to Bianca Acorari by a safe hand, and that her reply was enclosed. He added that he should write more fully in a day or two, by which time he believed he should have something of importance to communicate.Bianca's letter, too, was short and hastily written in pencil on a half-sheet of paper that Silvio recognized as having been torn from his own lengthy epistle to her. Brief as this letter was, however, it told him much that he was longing to know, and, indeed, repeated Bianca's words to him in the garden of the Villa Acorari, with which she had vowed that she would marry nobody if she did not marry him. But what set his mind at ease more than anything else was her assurance that means of communication were open to them. Bianca did not explain what these means were, but told him that she would write him a long letter the following day, and that he also could continue to write to her under cover to Monsignor Lelli, as there was now no danger of his letters being intercepted. This, at least, was a comforting piece of news, and Silvio wondered how it had come about that Don Agostino had been able to so quickly find the necessary channel of communication. It was scarcely likely, he reflected, that Don Agostino would venture to go himself to the castle at Montefiano after having been seen by Monsieur d'Antin in his company.He returned to Palazzo Acorari full of hope, and in better spirits than he had been for many a day. The uncertainty of the last few weeks had begun to tell upon him; and at the same time his complete separation from Bianca Acorari had only increased his love, and had made him more determined than ever to defeat the machinations of those who were trying to break down Bianca's love for him. The first thing to be done was to write to Bianca. She would be expecting to hear from him again, and to know that he had received her pencilled note safely. Silvio shut himself in his room and proceeded to write an epistle longer, if anything, than that he had confided to Don Agostino. The contents were much the same as the contents of other love-letters, and scarcely likely to be of interest to any one except himself and the person to whom they were addressed. Of course, he longed to see her again; and he implored her not to lose any opportunity of allowing him to do so that could be seized upon without risk to herself. He could always, he explained to her, come to Montefiano at any moment, and Monsignor Lelli doubtless would arrange that his presence in the place should be unsuspected.It was useless, he felt, to attempt to form a plan, until he should have heard again from her and from Don Agostino. He read the latter's note again and again with great attention. It was evident that Don Agostino had something more to communicate than he was able at that moment to write. No doubt he was making sure of his ground before summoning Silvio to Montefiano. In any case, there was nothing to do but to wait patiently for further light upon the situation; and in the mean time he might do more harm than good by suggesting any one of the expedients for obtaining another meeting with Bianca that came into his head.His letter written, he sought Giacinta's counsel as usual, and told her of what that day's post had brought to him. Giacinta was duly sympathetic. She had, indeed, long ago recognized that Silvio's passion for Bianca Acorari was not to be diminished by any amount of practical reasoning as to its folly. Perhaps the discovery that Monsignor Lelli, whom her father held in such high esteem, not only approved of Silvio's love for Donna Bianca, but had also undertaken to help him, so far as he might be able, to remove the difficulties that stood in the way of his marrying her, had caused Giacinta to take a less pessimistic view of her brother's infatuation; at any rate, since Monsignor Lelli's visit she had regarded the matter as one which must take its course, for better or for worse, since not only was there no apparent likelihood of Silvio being disheartened by the obstacles in his way, but it seemed that Donna Bianca Acorari also knew her own mind, and had no intention of allowing others to alter it for her.The professor, too, had become decidedly less cynical on the subject of his son's matrimonial aspirations since his conversation with Monsignor Lelli. To be sure, he did not encourage Giacinta to talk about it; and when she attempted to do so, he put the whole question quietly but decidedly away from him, as he did any question threatening to lead to social unpleasantness in private life. But Giacinta realized that her father also had modified his views as to the folly of Silvio's devotion to a girl whom he had seen only a few times in his life; and that, though he did not intend to move any further in the affair than he had already done, he was not so actively opposed to it as he had at first shown himself to be.Giacinta had always been doubtful as to whether Bianca Acorari would have sufficient force of character to hold out against the pressure that would certainly be brought to bear upon her in order to make her relinquish all idea of becoming Silvio's wife. It was quite natural that Silvio himself should entertain no doubts on the subject; but then he was in love with Bianca, and she, Giacinta, was not so. But such passages as Silvio chose to read to her from the brief note he had that day received from Bianca finally removed all fears from her mind lest her brother might be exposed to the disappointment and mortification of finding that Donna Bianca had yielded to the influences by which she was surrounded."You see, Giacinta," Silvio said, triumphantly, "I was right. I have always told you that Bianca would never give way. And now, after being shut up in that dreary hole for nearly six weeks, she takes the first opportunity of repeating the promises she made to me at the Villa Acorari. If she has to wait three years to marry me,ebbene, she will wait three years—and nothing that they can say or do to her in the mean time will make the slightest difference. Oh, I know what you will say—that it is impossible to know what a person's character may be whom one has only seen a few times, and only talked to once. But sometimes two people know each other's character by instinct, by—by—oh, well, by something or other, though God knows what the something is."Giacinta laughed. "There may be a scientific explanation of the phenomenon," she remarked; "perhaps Babbo will find one. No, Silvio," she continued, more gravely, "I confess I seem to have underrated Donna Bianca's character. She is apparently as much in earnest as you are, and I am glad she is so. It is at least a sign that, if you both succeed in attaining your object, you should be happy together, and your happiness is all that concerns me, Silviomio.""And Bianca's happiness," added Silvio, "that should concern you, too.""It will concern me henceforth," returned Giacinta, "because, though I do not know Donna Bianca, I understand now that her happiness and yours is the same thing."Silvio looked at her with a quick smile. "You will know Bianca some day," he said, "and then you will see how right I was."Two mornings afterwards, Silvio received a second letter from Bianca, and from it he learned how it had happened that Don Agostino had so quickly been able to communicate with her. Bianca told him many other things as well; and among them was a piece of information which, while it gave him a considerable amount of satisfaction, at the same time made him uneasy and restless in his mind.There was, she wrote, a threatening of disturbances among the people at Montefiano in consequence of the Abbé Roux having persuaded her step-mother to dismiss thefattoreand to consent to the rents being raised. Bianca did not understand very well what was the matter, but it was evident that the Abbé Roux and her step-mother feared that things might become serious, for they had discussed in her presence the advisability of asking for soldiers to be sent to Montefiano if there was any more trouble with thecontadini. Moreover, Concetta Fontana, thefattore'sdaughter, to whom Bianca had already alluded as being her and Silvio's friend and channel of communication, had told her that the people were angry because they suspected she was being kept as a kind of prisoner at Montefiano until she should consent to marry Baron d'Antin, and that her engagement to Silvio was perfectly well known in thepaese. The peasants were going to send a deputation to the castle, and to insist not only on the increase in the rents being abandoned and the agent, Fontana, reinstated in his post, but also, according to Concetta, on seeing her, Bianca, and speaking with her as theirpadrona.The intelligence certainly carried with it food for reflection. Silvio's first feeling on reading Bianca's words was one of satisfaction. If it were known or suspected at Montefiano that Donna Bianca Acorari was being kept in seclusion in order to force her to marry a foreigner old enough to be her father; if it were supposed that her property and interests were being tampered with by strangers for their own benefit, at the expense of her own people, a situation might easily develop which would compel Princess Montefiano to allow her step-daughter to marry the man she wished to marry. It was certainly no bad thing if Bianca were rescued from her present position by the force of public opinion; and if her own people gathered round her, Monsieur l'Abbé Roux and Monsieur le Baron d'Antin might very possibly find themselves obliged to retire from the scene. If this occurred, it might reasonably be hoped that the princess would listen to other counsels than those by which she had hitherto been influenced.So far, Silvio felt he had no cause to be otherwise than pleased at the thought that Bianca's own people at Montefiano were likely to interfere with the plans of the Abbé Roux and Monsieur d'Antin. His sense of satisfaction, however, was quickly succeeded by a feeling of uneasiness. Young as he was, he had some experience of what an uneducated mob, with grievances real or fancied, might be capable of doing. He had witnessed strikes in more than one part of Italy; and though it was true that, at Montefiano, disturbances which might occur would be made by peasants and not artisans, he knew how frequently it happened that the uneducated of all classes and occupations lost their heads and went to lengths which neither they nor their leaders perhaps ever contemplated. If Bianca were right, and the rents at Montefiano had been raised through the abbé's instrumentality, and a popular agent dismissed for venturing to oppose the increase, then much would depend on the princess's attitude towards the suggested deputation from her step-daughter's tenants. Should her attitude be unconciliatory, who could tell whether the anger and discontent of the peasantry might not be wreaked on Bianca herself, in whose name these grievances had been inflicted?Silvio remembered having seen the agent, Fontana, on one occasion during the few days he had spent in the neighborhood of Montefiano; and he had likewise heard Don Agostino mention him as afattorewho was just towards the people as well as honest to his employers. At a crisis such as Bianca's letter pointed to as being imminent, the advice and services of a man like Fontana would have been invaluable to Princess Montefiano; for if the peasants were clamoring for his reinstatement, they certainly would have been more likely to be influenced by him than by strangers.The idea that Bianca Acorari might be exposed to any danger, however problematical, was quite sufficient to render Silvio restless and uneasy. He wondered whether Don Agostino had been thinking of possible disturbances on the part of the peasants of Montefiano when he had written that in a few days he might have something of importance to communicate. To be sure, Don Agostino had not written again, and now nearly three days had passed since Silvio had received his first letter, enclosing the few lines Bianca had sent him by Concetta Fontana. He would certainly, Silvio told himself, have written, or even perhaps telegraphed, had anything alarming occurred at Montefiano. There was, it would appear, nothing to be done except to wait for Don Agostino's promised letter, or at least until Bianca herself should write again and give him further particulars of how matters were going.That evening the spell of damp, hot weather, which so often makes Rome almost intolerable in the middle of September, broke. A heavy thunder-storm passed over the city, accompanied by torrents of rain, which descended in white sheets as if in the tropics. A steamy fog rose from the ground, parched by the long summer drought. Masses of inky-black clouds began to drift up from the sea; and at nightfall, long after the storm had rolled away to the mountains, a continuous flicker of lightning illumined the entire sky. In the caffès, or safely in the shelter of their own houses, people congratulated one another that the end of the heat had come, and that when the weather should mend again the first breath of autumn would be felt in the lighter, crisper air.Silvio dined at home that night with his father and Giacinta, and afterwards, contrary to his usual custom, Professor Rossano did not go to the Piazza Colonna for his cup of coffee and to read his evening paper. The Piazza Colonna, indeed, would have been nothing but an exaggerated puddle, with streams of muddy water running through it from the higher level of Montecitorio; and, besides, it would have been unwise to be abroad in the streets while the first rains after the summer were falling—the only time during the whole year when a genuine malarial fever, and not the "Roman fever" of the overfed and overtired tourist, might possibly be picked up within the walls of Rome.Dinner had been over some time, and they were smoking and talking together in the drawing-room, when the hoarse cries of the news-venders calling the evening papers came from the street without, and a few minutes later a servant entered the room with copies of the newspapers, which he gave to the professor. Giacinta took up a book and began to read, while Silvio walked restlessly up and down the room, every now and then going to the window to see if the rain had stopped.The professor turned over the pages of his newspapers in a vain endeavor to extract some news from them. There might be, and no doubt there were, important events happening in the world, even in the month of September—events more important, for instance, than the fall from his bicycle of a student, or the drinking by a servant-girl of a solution of corrosive sublimate in mistake for water. If there were more noteworthy matters to chronicle, however, they had escaped the notice of the press that evening. Professor Rossano was about to betake himself to other and more profitable reading, when a paragraph containing a telegram dated from Montefiano caught his eye and arrested his attention."So," he observed, suddenly, "it seems that ourpadrona di casahas got herself into trouble with the people at Montefiano, or, rather, I suppose that meddlesome abbé has got her into trouble with them. Look, Silvio," he added, pointing to the paragraph in question, "read this," and he handed the newspaper to his son.Silvio took the paper quickly, and eagerly read the telegram. It was very short, and merely stated that in consequence of disorder among the peasantry on the estates belonging to Casa Acorari at Montefiano, and the fear of these disorders assuming more serious proportions, military assistance has been requested by the civil authorities; and that a detachment of infantry would in all probability be despatched from Civitacastellana if the situation did not become more satisfactory.Silvio uttered an exclamation of dismay."What did I tell you, Giacinta?" he said. "I was certain from Bianca's last letter that some mischief was brewing. Now there will probably be a collision with the military authorities; and we all know what that means.""Well," observed the professor placidly, "it is no affair of yours, Silvio, so far as I can see, if there are disturbances at Montefiano. Not but what you have done your best to add to their number! All the same," he continued, "it is a foolish thing, and a wrong thing, to drag the soldiery into these disputes if their intervention can possibly be avoided. I suppose the princess and the Abbé Roux are frightened. But surely there must be afattoreat Montefiano who can manage the people?""That is the point," returned Silvio. "The princess has dismissed thefattorebecause he objected to the raising of the rents; and the peasants are insisting on his being recalled."The professor glanced at him. "It seems," he remarked, dryly, "that you know all about it.""No, I don't," answered Silvio, bluntly. "But I want to know all about it," he added. "To-morrow I shall take the first train to Attigliano, and I shall drive from there to Montefiano. Don Agostino will tell me what it all means, and perhaps I shall see for myself what is going on.""Sciocchezze!" exclaimed the professor. "Why the devil should you go and interfere in the matter? It is no concern of yours, and you will only get a bullet put into you by a soldier, or a knife by a peasant. You are an imbecile, Silvio.""But it does concern me," Silvio replied, obstinately, "and, imbecile or not, by twelve o'clock to-morrow I will be at Montefiano. Who knows? Perhaps I might be of use. In any case, I go there to-morrow. No, Giacinta, it is perfectly useless to argue about it. I wish I had gone at once, when I received Bianca's last letter. I can guess what has happened. The princess has been advised not to receive the deputation from the peasants, or she has received it and refused to grant what was asked, and now the people are exasperated."The professor shrugged his shoulders. "Of course you will go," he said. "When people are in love they cease to be reasonable human beings, and you have not been a reasonable human being—oh, not since Easter. It is useless to talk to you, as useless as it would be to talk to a donkey in spring," and Professor Rossano got up from his chair and walked off to his library.Giacinta looked at her brother as the door closed behind the professor."Do you suppose the disturbances at Montefiano are serious?" she asked."Who can tell?" responded Silvio. "Those things are apt to become serious at a moment's notice. Anyhow," he continued, "I wish to be near Bianca, in case of any danger threatening her. The people might think she was responsible for the troops being summoned, and then, if any casualty were to happen, they might turn upon her as well as upon others at the castle. Of course I must go, Giacinta! Besides, who knows what this business may not lead to? Of one thing you may be certain. If Bianca is in any danger, I shall save her from it—I shall take her away from Montefiano."Giacinta stared at him. "You mean that you will make her run away with you?" she asked.Silvio shook his head. "I do not know," he replied. "It will all depend upon circumstances. But if I asked her to come with me, she would come. And there are those at Montefiano, Giacinta, who would help her to do so."Giacinta did not reply for a moment. Then she said again, quietly: "Of course you will go, Silvio. After all," she added, "if I were a man, and in your place, I should do the same."
XXVI
The Caffè Garibaldi, which was situated in the main street of Montefiano—a street that bore, as a matter of course, the name of Corso Vittorio Emanuele—was doing an unusually brisk business. At each little marble-topped table a group of excited men was sitting, each member of which was talking at the top of his voice. Nobody was listening to his neighbor; but then, as all the world knows, there are occasions when no Italian ever does listen to his neighbor during a discussion; the whole aim and object of each speaker being to talk the other down. A considerable amount of wine was being drunk, and some of it was new wine, the process of fermentation being scarcely over. No doubt this fact accounted for much of the heat with which the sole topic of conversation in the Caffè Garibaldi that evening was being discussed. There was an argument, indeed, and, taking into consideration the number of half-litres consumed and the quality of at any rate a large proportion of the wine, it was perhaps as well that everybody was of the same opinion, though each strove to express that opinion more forcibly than his companion. A difference on the main issue in question would have certainly led to quarrels, and quarrels would as likely as not have resulted in the flow of other liquid than Stefano Mazza's red wine at eightsoldithe litre.
In a room at the back of thecaffè—a room wherein was to be found the solitary billiard-table in Montefiano, and where the choicer and more exclusive elements of Montefianese society were wont to gather—the conversation was as animated and scarcely less noisy than in the portion communicating directly with the street bearing the name of the Re Galantuomo.
Stefano Mazza, the host, was himself attending to the wants of his clients in this more select part of his premises; and Stefano Mazza was a person of considerable weight in Montefiano, not only bodily but, what was far more important, socially. Thesindacoof Montefiano himself, with all the importance of bureaucracy at his back, was not so influential a man as Stefano Mazza; for Mazza, so to speak, held thesindacoin the hollow of his hand, as he did a very considerable proportion of thesindaco'smunicipal councillors and of the inhabitants of Montefiano generally. There were few, very few of the Montefianesi, from officials to peasants, whose signatures to certain pieces of paper bearing the government stamp and setting forth that the signatories were in his debt to amounts ranging from thousands to tens oflire, Stefano did not possess. He was, in short, the money-lender, not only to Montefiano, but to a considerable portion of the agricultural district surrounding it, and, as such, his opinion on most questions was listened to with unfailing respect by all members of the community.
On the whole,strozzinothough he was, Stefano was neither an unjust nor a hard man. To be sure, he charged a six-per-cent. interest for the money he loaned; but he was content with getting this interest and never departed from his conditions. He had been known to wait for his money, too, when, owing to bad seasons, some of his poorer clients were unable to pay their interest at the proper dates. The consequence was that Sor Stefano was regarded by his neighbors of all degrees as a personage with whom it was to their advantage to stand well; the more so as even the most prosperous among them could never tell when they might not want to borrow his money, or renew a bill for money already advanced by him.
A sudden hail-storm which would devastate the crops or the vineyards in the space of a few minutes; an unfortunate season with the lambs or the pigs; a failure with the maize or the grain—and it was as likely as not that Sor Stefano's assistance would have to be sought in order to tide over the winter months; and often, too, in order to have the rent ready for Sor Beppe, thefattore, when he should come to collect it.
It was certain, therefore, that nobody, not excepting Sor Beppe himself, was so thoroughly acquainted with the financial conditions of the tenants on the Montefiano estates as Stefano Mazza, the proprietor of the Caffè Garibaldi. Moreover, Sor Stefano and Sor Beppe were good and intimate friends, as their fathers had been before them. Sor Stefano, indeed, had recently stood by thefattoreon more than one occasion, when, after the rents had been farmed out to the new lessee, Sor Beppe had been compelled to obey instructions from Rome and increase them, thereby incurring the dislike of the small holders, who not unnaturally regarded him as the primary cause of the extra burden laid upon them.
The news of Sor Beppe's dismissal from the office offattorehad stirred public opinion in and around Montefiano to its depths. Notwithstanding its Corso Vittorio Emanuele, its Via Giordano Bruno, and other outward and visible signs of a desire to tread the path of independence and liberty, Montefiano was conservative enough in maintaining its own traditions, and in not welcoming any changes in the order of things to which it had become accustomed. For five-and-twenty years Sor Beppe had beenfattoreat Montefiano to Casa Acorari; while, for fifty years before he succeeded to the post, it had been occupied by Sor Pompilio, his father. This fact was in itself sufficient to cause the news that anotherfattorewas to be appointed in the place of Giuseppe Fontana to be received with astonishment and not a little indignation.
When it became known, however, that Sor Beppe had been dismissed because he had flatly declined to obey instructions of the administration in Rome to raise the rents of certain small holdings without laying the matter personally before the princess, popular indignation had increased until it became a deep and bitter anger. As Sor Beppe had pointed out to Don Agostino, it had been generally known in Montefiano for some time that theprincipessa'sforeign priest was practically the head of the administration to the Eccellentissima Casa Acorari; and during the last few weeks, since the sudden arrival at the castle of the princess and the Principessina Bianca, rumor had insisted that the newaffittuarioof the Montefiano estate was no other than the priest himself. If this were not so, it was argued, why did the newaffittuarionever show himself in the flesh, and why did the foreignmonsignoremake a point of personally examining every holding on the property? But that Sor Beppe should be dismissed from a post that he had honorably filled for five-and-twenty years because he would not lend himself to furthering this interloper's schemes for enriching himself at the expense of the poor, and of the good name of Casa Acorari, was an abominable thing. Men and women had talked of nothing else in the streets of thepaeseduring the day, and at night the men flocked to the Caffè Garibaldi to hear what Sor Stefano and the more influential members of the community might have to say on the subject.
It was evident that these worthies had much to say; and, like their inferiors in the social scale of Montefiano, they said it loudly and decidedly. Such a thing could not be tolerated; and the voice of the majority was in favor of forming a deputation that should wait upon their excellencies at the castle and point out to them the injustice of Sor Beppe's dismissal, and the ill-feeling among the peasants that insistence on the raising of their rents would infallibly produce. There was, indeed, a secondary motive in the minds of those who, headed by Sor Stefano, had suggested the expediency of a deputation. For some little time mysterious rumors had circulated in Montefiano—rumors of which the Principessina Bianca was the central object. It was whispered, especially among the women, that there was something going on in the castle that was not satisfactory; that theprincipessinahad been brought to Montefiano because she wanted to marry abel giovanein Rome, whose only fault was that he had not a title; that instead of being allowed to marry the man she loved she was being forced to receive the attentions of the princess's brother—a worn-out foreign baron, old enough to be the poor child's father. It was insisted that the Principessina Bianca was unhappy, that she was practically a prisoner, and that the priest was at the bottom of it all. Who circulated these stories among the women, Sor Stefano knew perfectly well. It was certain that they became more definite from day to day, and that by degrees a very wide-spread feeling of suspicion had been aroused among all classes at Montefiano that the Principessina Bianca was being made the victim of an intrigue on the part of her step-mother's foreign advisers to possess themselves both of her person and her estates.
Why, it was asked, was theprincipessinanever seen? The very few people who had happened to see her at the castle had come away full of enthusiasm concerning her beauty and her kindness of manner. When it became known that Sor Beppe had been dismissed, these stories had been repeated with greater insistence than ever. Probably the women had determined to excite the compassion and indignation of their menkind on theprincipessina'sbehalf; for several of the leading peasants and small farmers in and around Montefiano had openly talked of going to the castle and demanding an interview with the Principessina Donna Bianca, in order to see for themselves whether their youngpadronawere in reality exposed to the treatment they suspected.
It was in order to consult together concerning the suggested deputation that the leading spirits of Montefiano had assembled at the Caffè Garibaldi that evening. Notwithstanding the noise, and the totally irrelevant side issues raised by many of his customers, it was clear to Stefano Mazza that the general consensus of public opinion was on his side. The dismissal of Sor Beppe should not be allowed to pass without a protest being made to theprincipessain person; and at the same time it should be clearly conveyed to her that anyfattorewho should be appointed to succeed Sor Beppe would find his task by no means easy, inasmuch as the people would with truth conclude that he had been sent to Montefiano to carry out changes which were obnoxious and unjust. Sor Stefano, anxious to please all parties, had further suggested that the deputation in question should insist upon the Principessina Bianca being present when its members were received by her step-mother. Her presence, he pointed out, would enable the representatives of the Montefiano people to ascertain whether Donna Bianca was or was not aware of what was being done in her name, whether it was true that she was merely a victim of the unscrupulous designs of this Belgian priest, and of another stranger who was, to all intents and purposes, her uncle. Donna Bianca Acorari was their legitimatepadrona, the daughter and heiress of the princes of Montefiano; and as such her own people at Montefiano had a right to approach her and hear from her own lips whether all that was said concerning her was truth or fiction.
It was late that night when the Caffè Garibaldi put out its lights and barred its doors after the last of Sor Stefano's clients had left the premises. The chief point under discussion during the evening had been settled, however, and it was unanimously decided that a deputation, headed by thesindacoand Sor Stefano, should send a letter to the castle requesting to be received by the princess and the Principessina Donna Bianca. Perhaps thesindacoof Montefiano was the only one to display some hesitation as to the advisability of the course determined upon. He had no desire to compromise himself by lending his official sanction to any movement which might end in disturbance and in possible collision with the civil authorities. It was impossible to foretell what might take place were the princess and her adviser to oppose the wishes of the already suspicious and excited peasants, and refuse to entertain the objections of the deputation to the dismissal of thefattore, Giuseppe Fontana. TheavvocatoRicci,syndicof Montefiano, like many other petty Italian lawyers, nourished an ambition to enter political life as a means whereby to fill his empty pockets at the expense of those who might send him to join the large number of his fellow-lawyers in the Chamber of Deputies. It was a somewhat exalted ambition, no doubt; but theavvocatoRicci, after all, was in no more obscure a position than many another local attorney now calling himselfonorevoleand making the best of his opportunities as a deputy to rob with both hands, until such time as he should either be made a minister of state or fail to be re-elected by a disillusioned constituency.
It would certainly not add to his prospects were he, assindacoof Montefiano, to compromise himself with the authorities of the Home Office in Rome for the sake of some discontented peasants in his commune, and he had already done his best that evening to throw cold water on Sor Stefano's suggestions, and to dissociate himself from any part in the movement in question. A few words, however, spoken in his ear by Stefano Mazza, conveying a gentle but pointed allusion to certain bills, more than once renewed which Sor Stefano happened to have in his keeping, had effectually silenced thesindacoRicci's official objections to making one of the proposed deputation to the castle.
The gathering at the Caffè Garibaldi had taken place on the very evening of Concetta Fontana's delivery to Bianca Acorari of her lover's missive. Concetta, indeed, knew well enough that the meeting was to take place, and also what its object was. As a matter of fact, it was largely, if not entirely, owing to her that public interest in Montefiano had been aroused concerning the motives for the Principessina Bianca's confinement—for so Concetta had not hesitated to qualify it—in the castle and the park behind the castle. She had let fall mysterious hints as to what she had seen and heard during the hours she was employed in helping theprincipessina'smaid in mending the linen and in other household duties; and her tales had certainly not lost in the telling during the long summer evenings when the women of thepaesehad little to do but to sit and gossip outside their doors.
Doubtless, like most gossip, the stories woven round Concetta Fontana's suggestion would soon have been replaced by others of closer interest. The premature appearance of the baker's baby, which had upset the ideas of Don Agostino's house-keeper as to the fitness of things, had been for some days relegated to an altogether secondary place; nor would the men have paid much attention to the tales told them by their womenkind of the treatment to which the Principessina Bianca was being subjected, had it not been for Sor Beppe's sudden dismissal from office. It needed very little to impress upon the farmers and peasantry on thelatifondobelonging to Casa Acorari that the latter circumstance was in direct connection with the former; and that it had evidently been found necessary to get rid of Giuseppe Fontana and replace him by another agent who would be nothing more nor less than a tool in the hands of the foreign priest who had already persuaded the princess to consent to their rents being materially increased. It must be confessed that Concetta Fontana had lost no opportunity of duly impressing her friends and acquaintances with this plausible explanation of the reasons which had led to her father's dismissal. She had conceived an enthusiastic devotion to the Principessina Bianca almost from the first moment she had seen her and Bianca had spoken a few kindly words to her. This devotion had been further increased by realizing the loneliness of the girl's position, by sympathy with her for her enforced separation from the man she wished to marry, as well as by the discovery that Bianca was being exposed to the joint intrigues of Monsieur d'Antin and the Abbé Roux. The thought that her youngpadronahad need of her devotion had kindled Concetta's sense of loyalty, in which, as in that of her father, there was much that was nothing short of feudal feeling for the young head of the house of the Acorari of Montefiano.
Concetta, however, could hardly be blamed if, in addition to her genuine desire to rescue Bianca Acorari from the fate into which she felt convinced that Baron d'Antin and the Abbé Roux were trying to force her, she hoped at the same time to benefit her father and bring about his reinstatement. Sor Beppe had been, as it were, stunned by the suddenness of the blow which had fallen upon him. As he had said to Don Agostino, he was too old for transplantation. The interests of Casa Acorari had been his interests ever since he could remember. However unsatisfactory the late Principe di Montefiano might have been in other relations of life—however neglectful he might have been of the fact that he was taking all he could get out of his properties and was putting nothing into them again—he had always been a just and considerate landlord towards the people of the place from which he took his principal title, and which had been the cradle of his race.
It was the thought of how the late Prince Montefiano would have disapproved of the course taken by the Abbé Roux, and by the so-called administration of the affairs of Casa Acorari, that made the injustice of his dismissal all the harder for Sor Beppe to bear. If he had received his dismissal at the hands of the Principessina Bianca, it would have been bad enough; but to receive it from foreigners who, as he more than suspected, were only bent upon filling their own pockets during theprincipessina'sminority, was altogether intolerable. The sympathy which had been shown him in thepaese, and the general indignation aroused by the facts which had led to his dismissal had certainly been very pleasant to Sor Beppe's wounded feelings. He had made no secret of his conviction that so soon as the Principessina Bianca had the control of her affairs he would be reinstated, and public opinion in Montefiano quickly exonerated Donna Bianca Acorari from all responsibility in the matter. That such a thing had happened was, in the eyes of the Montefianesi, only a further proof of the bad foreign influence by which their young princess was surrounded.
Sor Beppe had carefully abstained from going to the Caffè Garibaldi that evening. It was his custom to spend an hour or two there on most nights, taking a hand attresetteor playing a game of billiards. He was aware, of course, of the discussion that was to take place on that particular evening, and it certainly would not have been seemly for him to be present. Moreover, there was no reason to suppose that his cause would suffer by his absence from the gathering. He knew that his friend, Stefano Mazza, would take care that this was not the case.
So, Sor Beppe had taken the opportunity of paying an evening visit to Don Agostino. He had attempted to see him immediately after his interview with the princess, when he had learned that she declined to interfere in his dismissal, but Don Agostino had already departed for Rome. After leaving Don Agostino, Sor Beppe had returned to his own set of rooms in the castle—the home of so many years, which he would now have to leave—and he had found Concetta awaiting him. The girl had required no pressing to deliver the packet Don Agostino had intrusted to her father. She had many times, she told him, wished to go to theprincipessinaand offer to take some message for her to her lover—oh, many times, if only to spite the baron and Monsieur l'Abbé, who thought they had laid their plans so well. But she had not dared to take the liberty. Now, of course, she had an excuse; and if Don Agostino was interesting himself in theprincipessina'slove-affairs, it was certainly a proof that the young man was worthy of her.
And Sor Beppe had accompanied Concetta to the disused room next to the entrance-gate of the castle, where he kept his firewood and his coke, and had seen her pass through the trap-door and mount the narrow stone steps leading into the secret passage above. Then he had awaited her return, not without some misgivings at the length of time which elapsed before he saw her reappear.
Concetta returned from her expedition flushed and excited, and, indeed, very nearly weeping. Her voice trembled as she recounted all that had passed between theprincipessinaand herself; how she had watched theprincipessinastanding at the window of her room, and had heard her cry to her absent lover; and how the poor child had seemed almost dazed when she gave her the packet, and had then broken down and cried in her, Concetta's, arms.
She told her father how theprincipessinawas aware of his dismissal, but evidently knew nothing of the raising of the rents and his refusal to further acts of injustice, committed nominally in her interests; and how she had declared that, when she had the power to do so, she would reinstate him.
Sor Beppe listened attentively. "She is her father's daughter," he said, when Concetta had concluded, "and she will not allow her people to be wronged."
Concetta's eyes flashed. "And we," she exclaimed—"we will not allow her to be wronged!Vedete, it is not the princess, she wants to do her duty by theprincipessina—oh, I have heard that a hundred times from the maid, Bettina. It is the Abbé Roux. He makes the princess believe that her duty is to force the poor girl to do what he wants. But he will go too far, and then we shall see is it not true, Babbo?"
Sor Beppe nodded. "He has gone too far already," he said. "Listen, Concetta: the peasants are angry—very angry; and not the peasants only, but also those who are more highly placed than they. There will certainly be trouble if the increase in the rents is insisted upon. Moreover, they suspect something, some foul play towards theprincipessina, and it is as likely as not that there will be a demonstration. Well, if there is, and the Abbé Roux, as you call him, attempts to carry out his plans, I would not answer for the consequences. They are patient, our people—very patient; but when their patience is exhausted, they are not easy to manage. Why, in the Castelli Romani, a few years ago, at Genzano and Ariccia, the peasants held their own against the soldiers, and got what they wanted, too—but there was blood spilled in the getting of it."
Concetta Fontana glanced at her father quickly.
"Do I not know it?" she replied. "Yes, the people are angry. Well, let them be angry. Perhaps, if there is a demonstration, the princess will understand that there is something wrong, and Monsieur l'Abbé will be frightened. But theprincipessinawill not be frightened, I am sure of that. She will know that it is only her own people, who will not be ruled by strangers. To-day we shall know what has happened at the Caffè Garibaldi," and Concetta smiled with a satisfied air. "As to the Abbé Roux—" she added.
"Curse thepretaccio!" growled Sor Beppe, under his breath.
"He would be wiser to return to Rome," concluded Concetta, "if he does not want to takedelle belle bastonatesome fine day!"
XXVII
Punctually at half-past seven on the morning after Sor Beppe's nocturnal visit to him, Don Agostino, robed in his vestments and accompanied by a small but sturdy acolyte, who was to act as server at the low mass he was about to celebrate, emerged from the sacristy of his church and ascended the steps of one of the side altars. The attendance was not large, the congregation consisting of a few peasant women and two old men; for the day was not afesta, and, consequently, the population of Montefiano was pursuing its usual occupations in thepaese, or in the fields and vineyards beyond it.
As Don Agostino, after having arranged the sacred vessels and adjusted the markers in the missal to the proper pages, turned from the altar to commence the opening portion of the mass, his quick eyes fell upon Concetta Fontana, who was kneeling in the body of the church some little way behind the group of women gathered round the marble balustrade in front of the altar. It could not be said that Concetta was a frequent attendant at the half-past seven o'clock mass, and her presence had already excited whispered comments among the rest of the congregation, who had at once recognized Sor Beppe's daughter.
The mass over, Don Agostino retired to the sacristy again to disrobe, and thither, after a few minutes had elapsed, Concetta Fontana followed him. Don Agostino was not surprised to see her. Indeed, he had risen earlier than usual that morning in expectation of a visit either from Fontana or his daughter. He had spent an hour or two in his garden tying up refractory branches of his rose-trees and generally attending to the needs of his fellow-beings of the vegetable world—for it was one of Agostino's theories that any form of life was an attribute of the God whom he worshipped as a God of sympathy and of love, and he regarded his trees and his flowers as sentient beings who had a right to his tenderness and care. It was certainly not a theory of which he spoke in the world; but then most of us who are not content with looking only at the binding of God's book of life probably have our little intimate thoughts and theories which, knowing our world, we are prudent enough to keep for our own use and enjoyment, and, perhaps, as stepping-stones on the path we have to tread.
Concetta waited until she and Don Agostino were alone in the sacristy, and then she gave him the folded sheet of paper that Bianca Acorari had intrusted to her.
"To-morrow," she said, "theprincipessinawill send another letter by me. There were no writing-materials in her room, so she could only send a few lines, which your reverence will no doubt forward to their destination."
Don Agostino took the paper and placed it carefully in his pocket-book. "I shall send it to the Signorino Rossano to-day," he replied. "Donna Bianca need have no fear of its not reaching him safely. So you took the packet to her last night?" he continued. "You had no difficulty in giving it into Donna Bianca's own hands?"
Concetta quickly related to him all that had passed between Bianca and her the night before. "And I was to tell your reverence," she concluded, "from theprincipessina, that she would write to you herself, because herfidanzatowished her to do so. Ah, but you should have seen the proud way theprincipessinadrew herself up and looked—a look that a queen might give—when she spoke of herfidanzato!"
Don Agostino glanced at her with a smile. "You will be faithful to theprincipessina,figlia mia?" he asked. "She needs friends, the poor child."
"Faithful to her!" exclaimed Concetta. "I would do anything—anything, for theprincipessina. Imagine if I was glad when my father came home last night and told me I must take her the packet you had given him. I had wanted to go to her, and to tell her that I would do anything she bade me—oh, so often! But how could I venture? Besides, I was afraid of frightening her if I appeared in her room from the cardinal's portrait."
"But she was not frightened?" Don Agostino asked.
"Niente affatto!" returned Concetta, emphatically. "It was I who was frightened when I saw her leaning out of the window in the moonlight and calling to her lover. I feared she might be walking in her sleep, and that she might throw herself down on the terrace. Ah, but she knows now that there are those who are ready to help her—and she will know it better in a few days' time."
Don Agostino looked at her. "How do you mean? Why should she know it better in a few days than she does now?" he asked.
Concetta pursed up her lips. "She will know it," she repeated, "and so will the principessa and the Abbé Roux. I am nothing—only a woman—but there are men who will help her—all Montefiano, if it comes to that."
Don Agostino looked at her with greater attention. He had already heard through Ernana something concerning the ill-feeling the dismissal of Sor Beppe had aroused in Montefiano; and something, too, of the part the Abbé Roux was supposed to have played in bringing about thefattore'sdismissal.
"What do you mean?" he repeated. "You may speak openly to me,figlia mia," he continued, "for I also would do all I could to help Donna Bianca Acorari and to protect her from any evil designs against her. Moreover, Donna Bianca'sfidanzatois my friend, and his father and I have been friends for many years. After all, it is I, is it not, who have asked your father to convey that packet to theprincipessina? And he told me of the means whereby it might be conveyed."
Concetta started. "Ah! he told you of the passage?" she exclaimed.
"Certainly," replied Don Agostino. "So you see," he added, "I am aware that it is possible to communicate with Donna Bianca without the fact being known to those who are trying to isolate her from the outer world. If you have theprincipessina'swelfare at heart, as I am sure that you have, you will take me entirely into your confidence, will you not?"
Concetta nodded. "I know nothing for certain as yet," she said, after hesitating for a moment, "but the people are angry,reverendo, very angry."
"Yes, I have heard something of that," said Don Agostino, as Concetta paused. "They are angry at the rents having been raised, and at your father's having been dismissed for his opposition to the increase. But his dismissal has nothing to do with Donna Bianca's position, and the people's anger will not help her, so far as I can see."
"Ah, but it will help her," replied Concetta, eagerly. "They are angry about the rents and about my father, that is true; but they are also indignant at the way in which theprincipessinais shut up and not allowed to see anybody. They have heard that she is in love with somebody whom she is forbidden to see any more, and that the princess's brother wants to force her to marry him instead. And they have put the dots upon the i's, and believe that the foreign priest is at the bottom of the whole affair. You must remember,reverendo, that we Montefianesi look upon theprincipessinaas ourpadrona. We do not want foreigners to interfere between us and the Principessina Bianca."
"I understand that perfectly well," Don Agostino observed, quietly. "But how do the Montefianesi propose to remedy matters? After all, Donna Bianca is a minor, and as such she is not yet her own mistress; nor," he added, "can her people here, however devoted to her they may be, make her so."
"But they can make theprincipessaget rid of those who are advising her badly," said Concetta. "I do not know what has been decided," she continued, lowering her voice, "but last night there was a meeting at the Caffè Garibaldi. Of course, my father would not be present, for it was his dismissal that they were by way of discussing—that and the raising of the rents. But I am certain that they will have talked about other things besides these; and I know that Sor Stefano meant to propose that a deputation should go to the princess and insist on the rents being lowered to their original amount, and on my father being retained asfattore."
"Precisely," interrupted Don Agostino. "But in what way will Donna Bianca be helped by all this talk? That is what I do not understand,figlia mia."
Concetta directed a shrewd glance at him. "In this way," she replied, "Sor Stefano—oh, and many others, too—intend to see the Principessina Bianca herself, and to explain to her that she and nobody else ispadronaat Montefiano, and that they will hear from her own lips, when they have explained matters to her, whether what has been done in her name has her approval or not. This they will do,reverendo, not because they do not understand that theprincipessinais still a child, so to speak, but because they intend Monsieur l'Abbé and the baron to understand that their schemes are known and will not be tolerated.Mi spiego reverendo?"
Don Agostino's face flushed and his eyes sparkled with an unusual excitement.
"Do you explain yourself?" he said, repeating Concetta's last words. "Certainly, you explain yourself very well. Ah, if your Montefianesi do that, they will, indeed, be helping theirpadrona."
He paused suddenly, and his countenance became grave and preoccupied.
"And this deputation to the princess," he said, presently—"does your father know of the proposal?"
"Certainly he knows of it," answered Concetta; "but naturally," she added, "he can take no part in it. It is Sor Stefano who will be at the head of it, or perhaps thesindaco—oh, and representatives chosen by thecontadini. And you,reverendo, you will surely be asked to join it as theparroco.Sicuro!it will all have been settled last night; but as yet I have seen nobody, for until I had delivered theprincipessina'sletter, as I promised her I would do, I could not be easy in my mind."
Don Agostino's expression remained grave and thoughtful. That the people of Montefiano should resent the interference of the Abbé Roux in their relations with Casa Acorari was certainly natural, and might in the end turn out to be a good thing for both Donna Bianca and Silvio. But Don Agostino well knew the danger that must attend any demonstration of hostility towards the princess and her advisers on the part of the peasants. Such demonstrations were apt unexpectedly to assume serious proportions. If the enragedcontadinifelt that they had the moral support of men like Sor Stefano, they might easily lose their heads, and, should their demands be refused, attempt to enforce them by measures which would necessitate the intervention of the civil authorities, if not of the military. What military intervention too frequently ended in, Don Agostino was fully aware, and he felt every effort should be made to prevent the threatened demonstration assuming any attitude that might furnish an excuse for obtaining it.
The question was, whether Princess Montefiano would consent to receive this deputation, and to hear what its members had to say. Her decision would evidently be inspired by the Abbé Roux, and the abbé's recent action in causing the rents to be increased, and in the dismissal of an old, popular official for venturing to oppose that increase, convinced Don Agostino that the foreign priest, as the Abbé Roux was called, did not understand the character of the people he was attempting to rule.
Don Agostino's experience of human nature made him at once realize the danger of a misunderstanding on either side, in the present condition of public opinion in Montefiano. The abbé might easily underrate the force of that opinion and persuade the princess to decline to listen to, or even to receive a deputation formed to protest against his policy. If he were so to persuade Princess Montefiano, the situation would infallibly become critical, and very likely perilous. All would then depend on whether the Abbé Roux had the nerve and the tact to deal with it, or whether he would oblige the princess to appeal to the authorities to suppress the demonstration. In this latter case a collision would become inevitable; and it was this collision between his people—for was he not theirparroco?—and the authorities, that Don Agostino was determined to use all his influence to avert.
Concetta Fontana watched his countenance, as for a few moments Don Agostino stood, apparently deep in thought.
"You would join the deputation,reverendo, would you not?" she asked him, presently.
Don Agostino hesitated.
"It depends," he replied. "You see,figlia mia," he continued, "we must be careful that in trying to do good we do not bring about a great deal of harm and unhappiness. I should like to talk with your father, and to-day I will go to see Stefano Mazza. Thecontadiniare within their rights—I do not deny that—and a grave injustice has been done, both to them and to your father.Sicuro!they are in the right, but it should be the duty of those who have influence to prevent them from doing anything to put themselves in the wrong. Yes, tell your father that I should like to see him to-day. Atmezzogiornohe will find a place ready for him if he likes to come to breakfast. We could talk afterwards—while Ernana is washing the dishes. You will go to see Donna Bianca again—as you did last night, will you not? You will tell her that her letter goes to-day to herfidanzato, and that he will receive it to-morrow morning in Rome. And you will tell her, also, that I am awaiting the letter she is going to write to me; and when I have it, I will answer her. In the mean time,figlia mia, be prudent—if you wish to serve the Principessina Bianca. You and your father have influence with the people—they wish you well. Talk to the women. It is the women who can often lead the men—is it not? Anything that is done must be done cautiously, moderately. There must be no folly—no threats employed in order to enforce demands that in themselves are just. You must tell the women that I, Don Agostino, will support all that is done to obtain justice in a just way—but I will not countenance any measures that may provoke disorder, and perhaps violence. Now go,figlia mia, and give my message to your father this morning—and to the Principessina Bianca when you think it safe to go again to her apartment."
And Don Agostino, opening the door of the sacristy, accompanied Concetta through the empty church, and then returned to his own house, and to his morning coffee which Ernana always prepared for him after he had said his early mass.
XXVIII
Silvio Rossano had quite made up his mind that some days must in all probability elapse before Don Agostino might be able to find a safe opportunity of conveying the letter and ring he had intrusted to him to Bianca. When, therefore, he found on his table, on returning to Palazzo Acorari as usual for breakfast, a notice from the post-office informing him that a registered packet addressed to him was lying at the central office, he did not suppose for a moment that the said packet had come from Montefiano. Indeed, it was not until late in the afternoon that he went to San Silvestro in order to get the packet, as he had some work to do at home which he was anxious to complete. His heart gave a sudden leap when he recognized Don Agostino's handwriting on the registered envelope. The arcade running round the court-yard and garden of palms at San Silvestro, thronged as it was with people asking for their correspondence at theposte-restante, with soldiers and men of business, priests and peasants, was certainly not the place to investigate the contents of Don Agostino's missive, which would scarcely have been registered had the contents not been important.
Silvio hurried out of the building, and, crossing the Corso, plunged into the comparative quiet of the little side streets behind Montecitorio, where he eagerly tore open the sealed envelope. There were only a few lines written by Don Agostino himself, and Silvio, hastily glancing at them, gathered that he had had an opportunity of sending the letter and ring to Bianca Acorari by a safe hand, and that her reply was enclosed. He added that he should write more fully in a day or two, by which time he believed he should have something of importance to communicate.
Bianca's letter, too, was short and hastily written in pencil on a half-sheet of paper that Silvio recognized as having been torn from his own lengthy epistle to her. Brief as this letter was, however, it told him much that he was longing to know, and, indeed, repeated Bianca's words to him in the garden of the Villa Acorari, with which she had vowed that she would marry nobody if she did not marry him. But what set his mind at ease more than anything else was her assurance that means of communication were open to them. Bianca did not explain what these means were, but told him that she would write him a long letter the following day, and that he also could continue to write to her under cover to Monsignor Lelli, as there was now no danger of his letters being intercepted. This, at least, was a comforting piece of news, and Silvio wondered how it had come about that Don Agostino had been able to so quickly find the necessary channel of communication. It was scarcely likely, he reflected, that Don Agostino would venture to go himself to the castle at Montefiano after having been seen by Monsieur d'Antin in his company.
He returned to Palazzo Acorari full of hope, and in better spirits than he had been for many a day. The uncertainty of the last few weeks had begun to tell upon him; and at the same time his complete separation from Bianca Acorari had only increased his love, and had made him more determined than ever to defeat the machinations of those who were trying to break down Bianca's love for him. The first thing to be done was to write to Bianca. She would be expecting to hear from him again, and to know that he had received her pencilled note safely. Silvio shut himself in his room and proceeded to write an epistle longer, if anything, than that he had confided to Don Agostino. The contents were much the same as the contents of other love-letters, and scarcely likely to be of interest to any one except himself and the person to whom they were addressed. Of course, he longed to see her again; and he implored her not to lose any opportunity of allowing him to do so that could be seized upon without risk to herself. He could always, he explained to her, come to Montefiano at any moment, and Monsignor Lelli doubtless would arrange that his presence in the place should be unsuspected.
It was useless, he felt, to attempt to form a plan, until he should have heard again from her and from Don Agostino. He read the latter's note again and again with great attention. It was evident that Don Agostino had something more to communicate than he was able at that moment to write. No doubt he was making sure of his ground before summoning Silvio to Montefiano. In any case, there was nothing to do but to wait patiently for further light upon the situation; and in the mean time he might do more harm than good by suggesting any one of the expedients for obtaining another meeting with Bianca that came into his head.
His letter written, he sought Giacinta's counsel as usual, and told her of what that day's post had brought to him. Giacinta was duly sympathetic. She had, indeed, long ago recognized that Silvio's passion for Bianca Acorari was not to be diminished by any amount of practical reasoning as to its folly. Perhaps the discovery that Monsignor Lelli, whom her father held in such high esteem, not only approved of Silvio's love for Donna Bianca, but had also undertaken to help him, so far as he might be able, to remove the difficulties that stood in the way of his marrying her, had caused Giacinta to take a less pessimistic view of her brother's infatuation; at any rate, since Monsignor Lelli's visit she had regarded the matter as one which must take its course, for better or for worse, since not only was there no apparent likelihood of Silvio being disheartened by the obstacles in his way, but it seemed that Donna Bianca Acorari also knew her own mind, and had no intention of allowing others to alter it for her.
The professor, too, had become decidedly less cynical on the subject of his son's matrimonial aspirations since his conversation with Monsignor Lelli. To be sure, he did not encourage Giacinta to talk about it; and when she attempted to do so, he put the whole question quietly but decidedly away from him, as he did any question threatening to lead to social unpleasantness in private life. But Giacinta realized that her father also had modified his views as to the folly of Silvio's devotion to a girl whom he had seen only a few times in his life; and that, though he did not intend to move any further in the affair than he had already done, he was not so actively opposed to it as he had at first shown himself to be.
Giacinta had always been doubtful as to whether Bianca Acorari would have sufficient force of character to hold out against the pressure that would certainly be brought to bear upon her in order to make her relinquish all idea of becoming Silvio's wife. It was quite natural that Silvio himself should entertain no doubts on the subject; but then he was in love with Bianca, and she, Giacinta, was not so. But such passages as Silvio chose to read to her from the brief note he had that day received from Bianca finally removed all fears from her mind lest her brother might be exposed to the disappointment and mortification of finding that Donna Bianca had yielded to the influences by which she was surrounded.
"You see, Giacinta," Silvio said, triumphantly, "I was right. I have always told you that Bianca would never give way. And now, after being shut up in that dreary hole for nearly six weeks, she takes the first opportunity of repeating the promises she made to me at the Villa Acorari. If she has to wait three years to marry me,ebbene, she will wait three years—and nothing that they can say or do to her in the mean time will make the slightest difference. Oh, I know what you will say—that it is impossible to know what a person's character may be whom one has only seen a few times, and only talked to once. But sometimes two people know each other's character by instinct, by—by—oh, well, by something or other, though God knows what the something is."
Giacinta laughed. "There may be a scientific explanation of the phenomenon," she remarked; "perhaps Babbo will find one. No, Silvio," she continued, more gravely, "I confess I seem to have underrated Donna Bianca's character. She is apparently as much in earnest as you are, and I am glad she is so. It is at least a sign that, if you both succeed in attaining your object, you should be happy together, and your happiness is all that concerns me, Silviomio."
"And Bianca's happiness," added Silvio, "that should concern you, too."
"It will concern me henceforth," returned Giacinta, "because, though I do not know Donna Bianca, I understand now that her happiness and yours is the same thing."
Silvio looked at her with a quick smile. "You will know Bianca some day," he said, "and then you will see how right I was."
Two mornings afterwards, Silvio received a second letter from Bianca, and from it he learned how it had happened that Don Agostino had so quickly been able to communicate with her. Bianca told him many other things as well; and among them was a piece of information which, while it gave him a considerable amount of satisfaction, at the same time made him uneasy and restless in his mind.
There was, she wrote, a threatening of disturbances among the people at Montefiano in consequence of the Abbé Roux having persuaded her step-mother to dismiss thefattoreand to consent to the rents being raised. Bianca did not understand very well what was the matter, but it was evident that the Abbé Roux and her step-mother feared that things might become serious, for they had discussed in her presence the advisability of asking for soldiers to be sent to Montefiano if there was any more trouble with thecontadini. Moreover, Concetta Fontana, thefattore'sdaughter, to whom Bianca had already alluded as being her and Silvio's friend and channel of communication, had told her that the people were angry because they suspected she was being kept as a kind of prisoner at Montefiano until she should consent to marry Baron d'Antin, and that her engagement to Silvio was perfectly well known in thepaese. The peasants were going to send a deputation to the castle, and to insist not only on the increase in the rents being abandoned and the agent, Fontana, reinstated in his post, but also, according to Concetta, on seeing her, Bianca, and speaking with her as theirpadrona.
The intelligence certainly carried with it food for reflection. Silvio's first feeling on reading Bianca's words was one of satisfaction. If it were known or suspected at Montefiano that Donna Bianca Acorari was being kept in seclusion in order to force her to marry a foreigner old enough to be her father; if it were supposed that her property and interests were being tampered with by strangers for their own benefit, at the expense of her own people, a situation might easily develop which would compel Princess Montefiano to allow her step-daughter to marry the man she wished to marry. It was certainly no bad thing if Bianca were rescued from her present position by the force of public opinion; and if her own people gathered round her, Monsieur l'Abbé Roux and Monsieur le Baron d'Antin might very possibly find themselves obliged to retire from the scene. If this occurred, it might reasonably be hoped that the princess would listen to other counsels than those by which she had hitherto been influenced.
So far, Silvio felt he had no cause to be otherwise than pleased at the thought that Bianca's own people at Montefiano were likely to interfere with the plans of the Abbé Roux and Monsieur d'Antin. His sense of satisfaction, however, was quickly succeeded by a feeling of uneasiness. Young as he was, he had some experience of what an uneducated mob, with grievances real or fancied, might be capable of doing. He had witnessed strikes in more than one part of Italy; and though it was true that, at Montefiano, disturbances which might occur would be made by peasants and not artisans, he knew how frequently it happened that the uneducated of all classes and occupations lost their heads and went to lengths which neither they nor their leaders perhaps ever contemplated. If Bianca were right, and the rents at Montefiano had been raised through the abbé's instrumentality, and a popular agent dismissed for venturing to oppose the increase, then much would depend on the princess's attitude towards the suggested deputation from her step-daughter's tenants. Should her attitude be unconciliatory, who could tell whether the anger and discontent of the peasantry might not be wreaked on Bianca herself, in whose name these grievances had been inflicted?
Silvio remembered having seen the agent, Fontana, on one occasion during the few days he had spent in the neighborhood of Montefiano; and he had likewise heard Don Agostino mention him as afattorewho was just towards the people as well as honest to his employers. At a crisis such as Bianca's letter pointed to as being imminent, the advice and services of a man like Fontana would have been invaluable to Princess Montefiano; for if the peasants were clamoring for his reinstatement, they certainly would have been more likely to be influenced by him than by strangers.
The idea that Bianca Acorari might be exposed to any danger, however problematical, was quite sufficient to render Silvio restless and uneasy. He wondered whether Don Agostino had been thinking of possible disturbances on the part of the peasants of Montefiano when he had written that in a few days he might have something of importance to communicate. To be sure, Don Agostino had not written again, and now nearly three days had passed since Silvio had received his first letter, enclosing the few lines Bianca had sent him by Concetta Fontana. He would certainly, Silvio told himself, have written, or even perhaps telegraphed, had anything alarming occurred at Montefiano. There was, it would appear, nothing to be done except to wait for Don Agostino's promised letter, or at least until Bianca herself should write again and give him further particulars of how matters were going.
That evening the spell of damp, hot weather, which so often makes Rome almost intolerable in the middle of September, broke. A heavy thunder-storm passed over the city, accompanied by torrents of rain, which descended in white sheets as if in the tropics. A steamy fog rose from the ground, parched by the long summer drought. Masses of inky-black clouds began to drift up from the sea; and at nightfall, long after the storm had rolled away to the mountains, a continuous flicker of lightning illumined the entire sky. In the caffès, or safely in the shelter of their own houses, people congratulated one another that the end of the heat had come, and that when the weather should mend again the first breath of autumn would be felt in the lighter, crisper air.
Silvio dined at home that night with his father and Giacinta, and afterwards, contrary to his usual custom, Professor Rossano did not go to the Piazza Colonna for his cup of coffee and to read his evening paper. The Piazza Colonna, indeed, would have been nothing but an exaggerated puddle, with streams of muddy water running through it from the higher level of Montecitorio; and, besides, it would have been unwise to be abroad in the streets while the first rains after the summer were falling—the only time during the whole year when a genuine malarial fever, and not the "Roman fever" of the overfed and overtired tourist, might possibly be picked up within the walls of Rome.
Dinner had been over some time, and they were smoking and talking together in the drawing-room, when the hoarse cries of the news-venders calling the evening papers came from the street without, and a few minutes later a servant entered the room with copies of the newspapers, which he gave to the professor. Giacinta took up a book and began to read, while Silvio walked restlessly up and down the room, every now and then going to the window to see if the rain had stopped.
The professor turned over the pages of his newspapers in a vain endeavor to extract some news from them. There might be, and no doubt there were, important events happening in the world, even in the month of September—events more important, for instance, than the fall from his bicycle of a student, or the drinking by a servant-girl of a solution of corrosive sublimate in mistake for water. If there were more noteworthy matters to chronicle, however, they had escaped the notice of the press that evening. Professor Rossano was about to betake himself to other and more profitable reading, when a paragraph containing a telegram dated from Montefiano caught his eye and arrested his attention.
"So," he observed, suddenly, "it seems that ourpadrona di casahas got herself into trouble with the people at Montefiano, or, rather, I suppose that meddlesome abbé has got her into trouble with them. Look, Silvio," he added, pointing to the paragraph in question, "read this," and he handed the newspaper to his son.
Silvio took the paper quickly, and eagerly read the telegram. It was very short, and merely stated that in consequence of disorder among the peasantry on the estates belonging to Casa Acorari at Montefiano, and the fear of these disorders assuming more serious proportions, military assistance has been requested by the civil authorities; and that a detachment of infantry would in all probability be despatched from Civitacastellana if the situation did not become more satisfactory.
Silvio uttered an exclamation of dismay.
"What did I tell you, Giacinta?" he said. "I was certain from Bianca's last letter that some mischief was brewing. Now there will probably be a collision with the military authorities; and we all know what that means."
"Well," observed the professor placidly, "it is no affair of yours, Silvio, so far as I can see, if there are disturbances at Montefiano. Not but what you have done your best to add to their number! All the same," he continued, "it is a foolish thing, and a wrong thing, to drag the soldiery into these disputes if their intervention can possibly be avoided. I suppose the princess and the Abbé Roux are frightened. But surely there must be afattoreat Montefiano who can manage the people?"
"That is the point," returned Silvio. "The princess has dismissed thefattorebecause he objected to the raising of the rents; and the peasants are insisting on his being recalled."
The professor glanced at him. "It seems," he remarked, dryly, "that you know all about it."
"No, I don't," answered Silvio, bluntly. "But I want to know all about it," he added. "To-morrow I shall take the first train to Attigliano, and I shall drive from there to Montefiano. Don Agostino will tell me what it all means, and perhaps I shall see for myself what is going on."
"Sciocchezze!" exclaimed the professor. "Why the devil should you go and interfere in the matter? It is no concern of yours, and you will only get a bullet put into you by a soldier, or a knife by a peasant. You are an imbecile, Silvio."
"But it does concern me," Silvio replied, obstinately, "and, imbecile or not, by twelve o'clock to-morrow I will be at Montefiano. Who knows? Perhaps I might be of use. In any case, I go there to-morrow. No, Giacinta, it is perfectly useless to argue about it. I wish I had gone at once, when I received Bianca's last letter. I can guess what has happened. The princess has been advised not to receive the deputation from the peasants, or she has received it and refused to grant what was asked, and now the people are exasperated."
The professor shrugged his shoulders. "Of course you will go," he said. "When people are in love they cease to be reasonable human beings, and you have not been a reasonable human being—oh, not since Easter. It is useless to talk to you, as useless as it would be to talk to a donkey in spring," and Professor Rossano got up from his chair and walked off to his library.
Giacinta looked at her brother as the door closed behind the professor.
"Do you suppose the disturbances at Montefiano are serious?" she asked.
"Who can tell?" responded Silvio. "Those things are apt to become serious at a moment's notice. Anyhow," he continued, "I wish to be near Bianca, in case of any danger threatening her. The people might think she was responsible for the troops being summoned, and then, if any casualty were to happen, they might turn upon her as well as upon others at the castle. Of course I must go, Giacinta! Besides, who knows what this business may not lead to? Of one thing you may be certain. If Bianca is in any danger, I shall save her from it—I shall take her away from Montefiano."
Giacinta stared at him. "You mean that you will make her run away with you?" she asked.
Silvio shook his head. "I do not know," he replied. "It will all depend upon circumstances. But if I asked her to come with me, she would come. And there are those at Montefiano, Giacinta, who would help her to do so."
Giacinta did not reply for a moment. Then she said again, quietly: "Of course you will go, Silvio. After all," she added, "if I were a man, and in your place, I should do the same."