第 44 页

whilst he read the newspapers and the letters which he received, all the

communications of good Abbe Rose, who kept him informed of his mission

among the wretched ones of gloomy Paris, now already steeped in fog and

mud.

One morning however, Pierre unexpectedly found Benedetta seated on the

fallen column which he usually made his chair. She raised a light cry of

surprise on seeing him, and for a moment remained embarrassed, for she

had with her his book "New Rome," which she had read once already, but

had then imperfectly understood. And overcoming her embarrassment she now

hastened to detain him, making him sit down beside her, and frankly

owning that she had come to the garden in order to be alone and apply

herself to an attentive study of the book, in the same way as some

ignorant school-girl. Then they began to chat like a pair of friends, and

the young priest spent a delightful hour. Although Benedetta did not

speak of herself, he realised that it was her grief alone which brought

her nearer to him, as if indeed her own sufferings enlarged her heart and

made her think of all who suffered in the world. Patrician as she was,

regarding social hierarchy as a divine law, she had never previously

thought of such things, and some pages of Pierre's book greatly

astonished her. What! one ought to take interest in the lowly, realise

that they had the same souls and the same griefs as oneself, and seek in

brotherly or sisterly fashion to make them happy? She certainly sought to

acquire such an interest, but with no great success, for she secretly

feared that it might lead her into sin, as it could not be right to alter

aught of the social system which had been established by God and

consecrated by the Church. Charitable she undoubtedly was, wont to bestow

small sums in alms, but she did not give her heart, she felt no true

sympathy for the humble, belonging as she did to such a different race,

which looked to a throne in heaven high above the seats of all the

plebeian elect.

She and Pierre, however, found themselves on other mornings side by side

in the shade of the laurels near the trickling, singing water; and he,

lacking occupation, weary of waiting for a solution which seemed to

recede day by day, fervently strove to animate this young and beautiful

woman with some of his own fraternal feelings. He was impassioned by the

idea that he was catechising Italy herself, the queen of beauty, who was

still slumbering in ignorance, but who would recover all her past glory

if she were to awake to the new times with soul enlarged, swelling with

pity for men and things. Reading good Abbe Rose's letters to Benedetta,

he made her shudder at the frightful wail of wretchedness which ascends

from all great cities. With such deep tenderness in her eyes, with the

happiness of love reciprocated emanating from her whole being, why should

she not recognise, even as he did, that the law of love was the sole

means of saving suffering humanity, which, through hatred, incurred the

danger of death? And to please him she did try to believe in democracy,

in the fraternal remodelling of society, but among other nations

only--not at Rome, for an involuntary, gentle laugh came to her lips

whenever his words evoked the idea of the poor still remaining in the

Trastevere district fraternising with those who yet dwelt in the old

princely palaces. No, no, things had been as they were so long; they

could not, must not, be altered! And so, after all, Pierre's pupil made

little progress: she was, in reality, simply touched by the wealth of

ardent love which the young priest had chastely transferred from one

alone to the whole of human kind. And between him and her, as those

sunlit October mornings went by, a tie of exquisite sweetness was formed;

they came to love one another with deep, pure, fraternal affection,

amidst the great glowing passion which consumed them both.

Then, one day, Benedetta, her elbow resting on the sarcophagus, spoke of

Dario, whose name she had hitherto refrained from mentioning. Ah! poor

_amico_, how circumspect and repentant he had shown himself since that

fit of brutal insanity! At first, to conceal his embarrassment, he had

gone to spend three days at Naples, and it was said that La Tonietta, the

sentimental _demi-mondaine_, had hastened to join him there, wildly in

love with him. Since his return to the mansion he had avoided all private

meetings with his cousin, and scarcely saw her except at the Monday

receptions, when he wore a submissive air, and with his eyes silently

entreated forgiveness.

"Yesterday, however," continued Benedetta, "I met him on the staircase

and gave him my hand. He understood that I was no longer angry with him

and was very happy. What else could I have done? One must not be severe

for ever. Besides, I do not want things to go too far between him and

that woman. I want him to remember that I still love him, and am still

waiting for him. Oh! he is mine, mine alone. But alas! I cannot say the

word: our affairs are in such sorry plight."

She paused, and two big tears welled into her eyes. The divorce

proceedings to which she alluded had now come to a standstill, fresh

obstacles ever arising to stay their course.

Pierre was much moved by her tears, for she seldom wept. She herself

sometimes confessed, with her calm smile, that she did not know how to

weep. But now her heart was melting, and for a moment she remained

overcome, leaning on the mossy, crumbling sarcophagus, whilst the clear

water falling from the gaping mouth of the tragic mask still sounded its

flutelike note. And a sudden thought of death came to the priest as he

saw her, so young and so radiant with beauty, half fainting beside that

marble resting-place where fauns were rushing upon nymphs in a frantic

bacchanal which proclaimed the omnipotence of love--that omnipotence

which the ancients were fond of symbolising on their tombs as a token of

life's eternity. And meantime a faint, warm breeze passed through the

sunlit, silent garden, wafting hither and thither the penetrating scent

of box and orange.

"One has so much strength when one loves," Pierre at last murmured.

"Yes, yes, you are right," she replied, already smiling again. "I am

childish. But it is the fault of your book. It is only when I suffer that

I properly understand it. But all the same I am making progress, am I

not? Since you desire it, let all the poor, all those who suffer, as I

do, be my brothers and sisters."

Then for a while they resumed their chat.

On these occasions Benedetta was usually the first to return to the

house, and Pierre would linger alone under the laurels, vaguely dreaming

of sweet, sad things. Often did he think how hard life proved for poor

creatures whose only thirst was for happiness!

One Monday evening, at a quarter-past ten, only the young folks remained

in Donna Serafina's reception-room. Monsignor Nani had merely put in an

appearance that night, and Cardinal Sarno had just gone off.

Even Donna Serafina, in her usual seat by the fireplace, seemed to have

withdrawn from the others, absorbed as she was in contemplation of the

chair which the absent Morano still stubbornly left unoccupied. Chatting

and laughing in front of the sofa on which sat Benedetta and Celia were

Dario, Pierre, and Narcisse Habert, the last of whom had begun to twit

the young Prince, having met him, so he asserted, a few days previously,

in the company of a very pretty girl.

"Oh! don't deny it, my dear fellow," continued Narcisse, "for she was

really superb. She was walking beside you, and you turned into a lane

together--the Borgo Angelico, I think."

Dario listened smiling, quite at his ease and incapable of denying his

passionate predilection for beauty. "No doubt, no doubt; it was I, I

don't deny it," he responded. "Only the inferences you draw are not

correct." And turning towards Benedetta, who, without a thought of

jealous anxiety, wore as gay a look as himself, as though delighted that

he should have enjoyed that passing pleasure of the eyes, he went on: "It

was the girl, you know, whom I found in tears six weeks ago. Yes, that

bead-worker who was sobbing because the workshop was shut up, and who

rushed along, all blushing, to conduct me to her parents when I offered

her a bit of silver. Pierina her name is, as you, perhaps, remember."

"Oh! yes, Pierina."

"Well, since then I've met her in the street on four or five occasions.

And, to tell the truth, she is so very beautiful that I've stopped and

spoken to her. The other day, for instance, I walked with her as far as a

manufacturer's. But she hasn't yet found any work, and she began to cry,

and so, to console her a little, I kissed her. She was quite taken aback

at it, but she seemed very well pleased."

At this all the others began to laugh. But suddenly Celia desisted and

said very gravely, "You know, Dario, she loves you; you must not be hard

on her."

Dario, no doubt, was of Celia's opinion, for he again looked at

Benedetta, but with a gay toss of the head, as if to say that, although

the girl might love him, he did not love her. A bead-worker indeed, a

girl of the lowest classes, pooh! She might be a Venus, but she could be

nothing to him. And he himself made merry over his romantic adventure,

which Narcisse sought to arrange in a kind of antique sonnet: A beautiful

bead-worker falling madly in love with a young prince, as fair as

sunlight, who, touched by her misfortune, hands her a silver crown; then

the beautiful bead-worker, quite overcome at finding him as charitable as

handsome, dreaming of him incessantly, and following him everywhere,

chained to his steps by a link of flame; and finally the beautiful

bead-worker, who has refused the silver crown, so entreating the handsome

prince with her soft, submissive eyes, that he at last deigns to grant

her the alms of his heart. This pastime greatly amused Benedetta; but

Celia, with her angelic face and the air of a little girl who ought to

have been ignorant of everything, remained very grave and repeated sadly,

"Dario, Dario, she loves you; you must not make her suffer."

Then the Contessina, in her turn, was moved to pity. "And those poor

folks are not happy!" said she.

"Oh!" exclaimed the Prince, "it's misery beyond belief. On the day she

took me to the Quartiere dei Prati* I was quite overcome; it was awful,

astonishingly awful!"

* The district of the castle meadows--see _ante_ note.--Trans.

"But I remember that we promised to go to see the poor people," resumed

Benedetta, "and we have done wrong in delaying our visit so long. For

your studies, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, you greatly desired to accompany

us and see the poor of Rome--was that not so?"

As she spoke she raised her eyes to Pierre, who for a moment had been

silent. He was much moved by her charitable thought, for he realised, by

the faint quiver of her voice, that she desired to appear a docile pupil,

progressing in affection for the lowly and the wretched. Moreover, his

passion for his apostolate had at once returned to him. "Oh!" said he, "I

shall not quit Rome without having seen those who suffer, those who lack

work and bread. Therein lies the malady which affects every nation;

salvation can only be attained by the healing of misery. When the roots

of the tree cannot find sustenance the tree dies."

"Well," resumed the Contessina, "we will fix an appointment at once; you

shall come with us to the Quartiere dei Prati--Dario will take us there."

At this the Prince, who had listened to the priest with an air of

stupefaction, unable to understand the simile of the tree and its roots,

began to protest distressfully, "No, no, cousin, take Monsieur l'Abbe for

a stroll there if it amuses you. But I've been, and don't want to go

back. Why, when I got home the last time I was so upset that I almost

took to my bed. No, no; such abominations are too awful--it isn't

possible."

At this moment a voice, bitter with displeasure, arose from the chimney

corner. Donna Serafina was emerging from her long silence. "Dario is

quite right! Send your alms, my dear, and I will gladly add mine. There

are other places where you might take Monsieur l'Abbe, and which it would

be far more useful for him to see. With that idea of yours you would send

him away with a nice recollection of our city."

Roman pride rang out amidst the old lady's bad temper. Why, indeed, show

one's sores to foreigners, whose visit is possibly prompted by hostile

curiosity? One always ought to look beautiful; Rome should not be shown

otherwise than in the garb of glory.

Narcisse, however, had taken possession of Pierre. "It's true, my dear

Abbe," said he; "I forgot to recommend that stroll to you. You really

must visit the new district built over the castle meadows. It's typical,

and sums up all the others. And you won't lose your time there, I'll

warrant you, for nowhere can you learn more about the Rome of the present

day. It's extraordinary, extraordinary!" Then, addressing Benedetta, he

added, "Is it decided? Shall we say to-morrow morning? You'll find the

Abbe and me over there, for I want to explain matters to him beforehand,

in order that he may understand them. What do you say to ten o'clock?"

Before answering him the Contessina turned towards her aunt and

respectfully opposed her views. "But Monsieur l'Abbe, aunt, has met

enough beggars in our streets already, so he may well see everything.

Besides, judging by his book, he won't see worse things than he has seen

in Paris. As he says in one passage, hunger is the same all the world

over." Then, with her sensible air, she gently laid siege to Dario. "You

know, Dario," said she, "you would please me very much by taking me