The Italians Part 19

"Let that pa.s.s," interrupted the count, waving his hand. "You have asked me for an explanation--an explanation you shall have." He sighed deeply, then proceeded--the cavaliere following every word he uttered with open mouth and wildly-staring eyes: "Of the lady I can say no more than that, on my honor as a gentleman, to me she approaches nearer the divine than any woman I have ever seen--nay, than any woman I have ever dreamed of."

A flash of fire lit up the depths of the count's dark eyes, and there was a tone of melting tenderness in his rich voice as he spoke of Enrica. Then he relapsed into his former weary manner--the manner of a man p.r.o.nouncing his own death-warrant.

"Of the unspeakable honor you have done me, as has also the excellent Marchesa Guinigi--it does not become me to speak. Believe me, I feel it profoundly." And the count laid his hand upon his heart and bent his grand head. Trenta, with formal politeness, returned the silent salute.

"But"--and here the count's voice faltered, and there was a dimness in his eyes, round which the black circles had deepened--"but it is an honor I must decline."

Trenta, still rooted to the same spot, listened to each word that fell from the count's lips with a look of anguish.

"Sit down, cavaliere--sit down," continued Marescotti, seeing his distress. He put his arm round Trenta's burly, well-filled figure, and drew him down gently into the depths of the arm-chair. "Listen, cavaliere--listen to what I have to say before you altogether condemn me. The sacrifice I am making costs me more than I can express. You hold before my eyes what is to me more precious than life; you tempt me with what every sense within me--heart, soul, manliness--urges me to clutch; yet I dare not accept it."

He paused; so profound a sigh escaped him that it almost formed itself into a groan.

"I don't understand all this," said Trenta, reddening with indignation. He had been by degrees collecting his scattered senses.

"I don't understand it at all. You have, count, placed me in a most awkward position; I feel it very much. You speak of a mistake--a misapprehension. I beg to say there has been none on my part; I am not in the habit of making mistakes."--It will be seen that the cavaliere's temper was rising with the sense of the intolerable injury Count Marescotti was inflicting on himself and all concerned.--"I have undertaken a very serious responsibility; I have failed, you tell me.

What am I to say to the marchesa?"

His shrill voice rose into an angry cry. Altogether, it was more than he could bear. For a moment, the injury to Enrica was forgotten in his own personal sense of wrong. It was too galling to fail in an official emba.s.sy Trenta, who always acted upon mature reflection, abhorred failure.

"Tell her," answered the count, raising his voice, his eyes kindling as he spoke--"tell her I am here in Lucca on a sacred mission. I confide it to her honor. A man sworn to a mission cannot marry. As in the kingdom of heaven they neither marry nor are given in marriage, so I, the anointed priest of the people, dare not marry; it would be sacrilege." His powerful voice rang through the room; he raised his hands aloft, as if invoking some unseen power to whom he belonged.

"When you, cavaliere, entered this room, I was about to confide my position to you. I am at Lucca--Lucca, once the foster-mother of progress, and, I pray Heaven, to become so again!--I am at Lucca to found a mission of freedom." A sudden gesture told him how much Trenta was taken aback at this announcement. "We differ in our opinions as widely as the poles," continued the count, warming to his subject, "but you are my old friend--I felt you would not betray me. Now, after what has pa.s.sed, as a man of honor, I am bound to confide in you.

O Italy! my country!" exclaimed the count, clasping his hands, and throwing back his head in a frenzy of enthusiasm, "what sacrifice is too great for thee? Youth, hope, love--nay, life itself--all--all I devote to thee!"

As he was speaking, a ray of sunlight penetrated through the closed windows. It struck like a fiery arrow across the darkened room, and fell full upon the count's upturned face, lighting up every line of his n.o.ble countenance. There was a solemn pa.s.sion in his eyes, a rapt fervor in his gaze, that silenced even the justly-irritated Trenta.

Nevertheless the cavaliere was not a man to be put off by mere words, however imposing they might be. He returned, therefore, to the charge perseveringly.

"You speak of a mission, Count Marescotti; what is the nature of this mission? Nothing political, I hope?"

He stopped abruptly. The count's eyelids dropped over his eyes as he met Trenta's inquiring glance. Then he bowed his head in acquiescence.

"Another revolution may do much for Italy," he answered, in a low tone.

"For the love of G.o.d," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Trenta, stung to the quick by what he looked upon at that particular moment as in itself an aggravation of his wrongs, "don't remind me of your politics, or I shall instantly leave the room. Domine Dio! it is too much. You have just escaped by the veriest good luck (good luck, by-the-way, you did not in the least deserve) a life-long imprisonment at Rome. You had a mission there, too, I believe."

This was spoken in as bitter a sneer as the cavaliere's kindly nature permitted.

"Now pray be satisfied. If you and I are not to part this very instant, don't let me realize you as the 'Red count.' That is a character I cannot tolerate."

Trenta, so seldom roused to anger, shook all over with rage. "I believe sincerely that it is such so-called patriots as yourself, with their devilish missions, that will ruin us all."

"It is because you are ignorant of the grandeur of our cause, it is because you do not understand our principles, that you misjudge us,"

responded the count, raising his eyes upon Trenta, and speaking with a lofty disregard of his hot words. "Permit me to unfold to you something of our philosophy, a philosophy which will resuscitate our country, and place her again in her ancient position, as intellectual monitress of Europe. You must not, cavaliere, judge either of my mission or of my creed by the yelping of the miserable curs that dog the heels of all great enterprises. There is the penetralia, the esoteric belief, in all great systems of national belief."

The count spoke with emphasis, yet in grave and measured accents; but his l.u.s.trous eyes, and the wild confusion of those black locks, that waved, as it were, sympathetic to his humor, showed that his mind was engrossed with thoughts of overwhelming interest.

The cavaliere, after his last indignant outburst, had subsided into the depths of the arm-chair in which Marescotti had placed him; it was so large as almost to swallow up the whole of his stout little person.

With his hands joined, his dimpled fingers interlaced and pointing upward, he patiently awaited what the count might say. He felt painfully conscious that he had failed in his errand. This irritated him exceedingly. He had not entered that room--No. 4, at the Universo Hotel--in order to listen to the elaboration of Count Marescotti's mission, but in order to set certain marriage-bells ringing. These marriage-bells were, it seemed, to be forever mute. Still, having demanded an explanation of what he conceived to be the count's most incomprehensible conduct, he was bound, he felt, in common courtesy, to listen to all he had to say.

Now Trenta never in his life was wanting in the very flower of courtesy; he would much sooner have shot himself than be guilty of an ill-bred word. So, under protest, therefore--a protest more distinctly written in the general puckering up of his round, plump face, and a certain sulky swell about his usually smiling mouth--it was clear he meant to listen, cost him what it might. Besides, when he had heard what the count had to say, it was clearly his duty to reason with him.

Who could tell that he might not yield to such a process? He avowed that he was deeply enamored of Enrica--a man in love is already half vanquished. Why should Marescotti throw away his chance of happiness for a phantasy--a mere dream? There was no real obstacle. He was versatile and visionary, but the very soul of honor. How, if he--Trenta--could bring Marescotti to see how much it would be to Enrica's advantage that he should transplant her from a dreary home, to become a wife beside him?

Decidedly it was still possible that he, Cesare Trenta, who had arranged satisfactorily so many most difficult royal complications, might yet bring Marescotti to reason. Who could tell that he might not yet be spared the humiliation of returning to impart his failure to the marchesa? A return, be it said, the good Trenta dreaded not a little, remembering the characteristics of his dear friend, and the responsibility of success which he had so confidently taken upon himself before he started.

CHAPTER VI.

A NEW PHILOSOPHY.

There had been an interval of silence, during which the count paced up and down the s.p.a.cious room meditatively, each step sounding distinctly on the stone floor. The rugged look of conscious power upon his face, the far-way glance in his sombre eyes, showed that his mind was working upon what he was about to say. Presently he ceased to walk, reseated himself opposite the cavaliere, and fixed a half-absent gaze upon him.

Trenta, who would cheerfully have undergone any amount of suffering rather than listen to the abominations he felt were coming, sat with half-closed eyes, gathered into the corner of the arm-chair, the very picture of patient martyrdom.

The count contemplated him for a moment. As he did so an expression, half cynical, half melancholy, pa.s.sed over his countenance, and a faint smile lurked about the corners of his mouth. Then in a voice so full and sweet that the ear eagerly drank in the sound, like the harmony of a cadence, he began:

"The Roman Catholic Church," he said, "styles itself divinely const.i.tuted. It claims to be supreme arbiter in religion and morals; supreme even in measuring intellectual progress; absolute in its jurisdiction over the state, and solely responsible to itself as to what the limit of that jurisdiction shall be. It calls itself supreme and absolute, because infallible--infallible because divine. Thus the vicious circle is complete. Now entire obedience necessarily comes into collision with every species of freedom--nay, it is in itself antagonistic to freedom--freedom of thought, freedom of action--specially antagonistic to national freedom."

"The supremacy of the pope (the Holy Father)," put in Trenta, meekly; he crossed himself several times in rapid succession, looking afterward as if it had been a great consolation to him.

"The supremacy of the pope," repeated the count, firmly, the shadow of a smile parting his lips, "is eternal. It is based as firmly in the next world as it is in this. It const.i.tutes a condition of complete tyranny both in time and in eternity. Now I," and the count's voice rose, and his eyes glowed, "I--both in my public and private capacity--(call me Antichrist if you please)." A visible shudder pa.s.sed over the poor cavaliere; his eyes closed altogether, and his lips moved. (He was repeating an Ave Maria Sanctissima). "I abhor, I renounce this slavery!--I rebel against it!--I will have none of it.

Who shall control the immortality of thought?--a Pius, a Gregory?

Ignorant dreamers, perjured priests!--never!"

As he spoke, the count raised his right arm, and circled it in the air. In imagination he was waving the flag of liberty over a prostrate world.

"But, alas! this slavery is riveted by the grasp of centuries; it requires measures as firm and uncompromising as its own to dislodge it. Now the pope "--Trenta did not this time attempt to correct Marescotti--"the pope is theoretically of no nation, but in reality he is of all nations; and he is surrounded by a court of celibate priests, also without nation. Observe, cavaliere--this absolute dominion is attained by celibates only--men with no family ties--no household influences." (This was spoken, as it were, _en parenthese_, as a comment on the earlier portion of the conversation that had taken place between them.) "Each of these celibate priests is the pope's courtier--his courtier and his slave; his slave because he is subject to a higher law than the law of his own conscience, and the law of his own country. Without home or family, nationality or worldly interest, the priest is a living machine, to be used in whatever direction his tyrant dictates. Every priest, therefore, be he cardinal or deacon, moves and acts the slave of an abstract idea; an idea incompatible with patriotism, humanity, or freedom."

An audible and deep groan escaped from the suffering cavaliere as the count's voice ceased.

"Now, Cavaliere Trenta, mark the application." As the count proceeded with his argument, his dark eyes, lit up with the enthusiasm of his own oratory, riveted themselves on the arm-chair. (It could not properly be said that his eyes riveted themselves on Trenta, for he was stooping down, his face covered with his hands, altogether insensible to any possible appeal that might be addressed to him.) "I, Manfredi Marescotti, consecrated priest of the people"--and the count drew himself up to the full height of his lofty figure--"I am as devoted to my cause--G.o.d is my witness"--and he raised his right hand as though to seal a solemn pledge of truth--"as that consecrated renegade, the pope! My followers--and their name is legion--believe in me as implicitly as do the tonsured dastards of the Vatican."

Another ill-suppressed groan escaped from Trenta, and for a moment interrupted the count's oration. The miserable cavaliere! He had, indeed, invoked an explanation, and, cost him what it might, he must abide it. But he began to think that the explanation had gone too far. He was sitting there listening to blasphemies. He was actually imperiling his own soul. He was horrified as he reflected that he might not obtain absolution when he confessed the awful language which was addressed to him. Such a risk was really greater than his submission to etiquette exacted. There were bounds even to that, the aged chamberlain told himself.

Gracious heavens!--for him, an unquestioning papalino, a sincere believer in papal infallibility and the temporal power--to hear the Holy Father called a renegade, and his faithful servants stigmatized as dastards! It was monstrous!

He secretly resolved that, once escaped from No. 4 at the Universo Hotel--and he wondered that a thunderbolt had not already struck the count dead where he stood--he would never allow himself to have any further intercourse whatever with him.

"I have been elected," continued the count, speaking in the same emphatic manner, and in the same distinct and harmonious voice, utterly careless or un.o.bservant of the conflict of feelings under which the cavaliere was struggling--"head pope, if you please, cavaliere, so to call me."--("G.o.d forbid!" muttered Trenta.)--"It makes my a.n.a.logy the clearer--I have been elected by thousands of devoted followers. But my followers are not slaves, nor am I a tyrant.

I have accepted the glorious t.i.tle of Priest of the People, and nothing--_nothing_" the count repeated, vehemently, "shall tempt me from my duty. I am here at Lucca to establish a mission--to plant in this fertile soil the sacred banner of freedom--red as the first streaks of light that lace the eastern heavens; red as the life-blood from which we draw our being. I am here, under the protection of this glorious banner, to combat the tyranny upon which the church and the throne are based. Instead of the fetters of the past, binding mankind in loathsome trammels of ignorance--instead of the darkness that broods over a subjugated world--of terrors that rend agonized souls with horrible tortures--I bring peace, freedom, light, progress. To the base ideal of perpetual tyranny--both here and hereafter--I oppose the pure ideal of absolute freedom--freedom to each separate soul to work out for itself its own innate convictions--freedom to form its independent destiny. Freedom in state, freedom in church, freedom in religion, literature, commerce, government--freedom as boundless as the suns.h.i.+ne that fructifies the teeming earth! Freedom of thought necessitates freedom in government. As the soul wings itself toward the light of simple truth, so should the body politic aspire to perfect freedom. This can only be found in a pure republic; a republic where all men are equal--where each man lives for the other in living for himself--where brother cleaves to brother as his own flesh--family is knit to family--one, yet many--one, yet of all nations!"

"Communism, in fact!" burst forth the cavaliere. His piping voice, now hoa.r.s.e with rage, quivered. "You are here to form a communistic a.s.sociation! G.o.d help us!"

"I care not what you call it," cried the count, with a rising pa.s.sion. "My faith, my hope, is the ideal of freedom as opposed to the abstraction of hierarchical superst.i.tion and monarchic tyranny. What are popes, kings, princes, and potentates, to me who deem all men equal? It is by a republic alone that we can regenerate our beloved, our unfortunate Italy, now tossed between a debauched monarch--a traitor, who yielded Savoy--an effete Parliament--a pack of lawyers who represent nothing but their own interests, and a pope--the recreant of Gaeta! The sooner our ideas are circulated, the sooner they will permeate among the ma.s.ses. Already the harvest has been great elsewhere. I am here to sow, to reap, and to gather. For this end--mark me, cavaliere, I entreat you--I am here, for none other."

Here the triumphant patriot became suddenly embarra.s.sed. He stopped, hesitated, stopped again, took breath, and sighed; then turned full upon Trenta, in order to obtain some response to the appeal he had addressed to him. But again Trenta, sullenly silent, had buried himself in the depths of the arm-chair, and was, so to say, invisible.