第 47 页

particularly clever, you know, in finding my way in places where I don't

care to go. Besides, this district is idiotic with all its dead streets

and dead houses, and never a face or a shop to serve as a reminder. Still

I think the place is over yonder. Follow me; at all events, we shall

see."

The four friends then wended their way towards the central part of the

district, the part facing the Tiber, where a small nucleus of a

population had collected. The landlords turned the few completed houses

to the best advantage they could, letting the rooms at very low rentals,

and waiting patiently enough for payment. Some needy employees, some

poverty-stricken families--had thus installed themselves there, and in

the long run contrived to pay a trifle for their accommodation. In

consequence, however, of the demolition of the ancient Ghetto and the

opening of the new streets by which air had been let into the Trastevere

district, perfect hordes of tatterdemalions, famished and homeless, and

almost without garments, had swooped upon the unfinished houses, filling

them with wretchedness and vermin; and it had been necessary to tolerate

this lawless occupation lest all the frightful misery should remain

displayed in the public thoroughfares. And so it was to those frightful

tenants that had fallen the huge four and five storeyed palaces, entered

by monumental doorways flanked by lofty statues and having carved

balconies upheld by caryatides all along their fronts. Each family had

made its choice, often closing the frameless windows with boards and the

gaping doorways with rags, and occupying now an entire princely flat and

now a few small rooms, according to its taste. Horrid-looking linen hung

drying from the carved balconies, foul stains already degraded the white

walls, and from the magnificent porches, intended for sumptuous

equipages, there poured a stream of filth which rotted in stagnant pools

in the roads, where there was neither pavement nor footpath.

On two occasions already Dario had caused his companions to retrace their

steps. He was losing his way and becoming more and more gloomy. "I ought

to have taken to the left," said he, "but how is one to know amidst such

a set as that!"

Parties of verminous children were now to be seen rolling in the dust;

they were wondrously dirty, almost naked, with black skins and tangled

locks as coarse as horsehair. There were also women in sordid skirts and

with their loose jackets unhooked. Many stood talking together in yelping

voices, whilst others, seated on old chairs with their hands on their

knees, remained like that idle for hours. Not many men were met; but a

few lay on the scorched grass, sleeping heavily in the sunlight. However,

the stench was becoming unbearable--a stench of misery as when the human

animal eschews all cleanliness to wallow in filth. And matters were made

worse by the smell from a small, improvised market--the emanations of the

rotting fruit, cooked and sour vegetables, and stale fried fish which a

few poor women had set out on the ground amidst a throng of famished,

covetous children.

"Ah! well, my dear, I really don't know where it is," all at once

exclaimed the Prince, addressing his cousin. "Be reasonable; we've surely

seen enough; let's go back to the carriage."

He was really suffering, and, as Benedetta had said, he did not know how

to suffer. It seemed to him monstrous that one should sadden one's life

by such an excursion as this. Life ought to be buoyant and benign under

the clear sky, brightened by pleasant sights, by dance and song. And he,

with his naive egotism, had a positive horror of ugliness, poverty, and

suffering, the sight of which caused him both mental and physical pain.

Benedetta shuddered even as he did, but in presence of Pierre she desired

to be brave. Glancing at him, and seeing how deeply interested and

compassionate he looked, she desired to persevere in her effort to

sympathise with the humble and the wretched. "No, no, Dario, we must

stay. These gentlemen wish to see everything--is it not so?"

"Oh, the Rome of to-day is here," exclaimed Pierre; "this tells one more

about it than all the promenades among the ruins and the monuments."

"You exaggerate, my dear Abbe," declared Narcisse. "Still, I will admit

that it is very interesting. Some of the old women are particularly

expressive."

At this moment Benedetta, seeing a superbly beautiful girl in front of

her, could not restrain a cry of enraptured admiration: "_O che

bellezza!_"

And then Dario, having recognised the girl, exclaimed with the same

delight: "Why, it's La Pierina; she'll show us the way."

The girl had been following the party for a moment already without daring

to approach. Her eyes, glittering with the joy of a loving slave, had at

first darted towards the Prince, and then had hastily scrutinised the

Contessina--not, however, with any show of jealous anger, but with an

expression of affectionate submission and resigned happiness at seeing

that she also was very beautiful. And the girl fully answered to the

Prince's description of her--tall, sturdy, with the bust of a goddess, a

real antique, a Juno of twenty, her chin somewhat prominent, her mouth

and nose perfect in contour, her eyes large and full like a heifer's, and

her whole face quite dazzling--gilded, so to say, by a sunflash--beneath

her casque of heavy jet-black hair.

"So you will show us the way?" said Benedetta, familiar and smiling,

already consoled for all the surrounding ugliness by the thought that

there should be such beautiful creatures in the world.

"Oh yes, signora, yes, at once!" And thereupon Pierina ran off before

them, her feet in shoes which at any rate had no holes, whilst the old

brown woollen dress which she wore appeared to have been recently washed

and mended. One seemed to divine in her a certain coquettish care, a

desire for cleanliness, which none of the others displayed; unless,

indeed, it were simply that her great beauty lent radiance to her humble

garments and made her appear a goddess.

"_Che bellezza! the bellezza!_" the Contessina repeated without wearying.

"That girl, Dario _mio_, is a real feast for the eyes!"

"I knew she would please you," he quietly replied, flattered at having

discovered such a beauty, and no longer talking of departure, since he

could at last rest his eyes on something pleasant.

Behind them came Pierre, likewise full of admiration, whilst Narcisse

spoke to him of the scrupulosity of his own tastes, which were for the

rare and the subtle. "She's beautiful, no doubt," said he; "but at bottom

nothing can be more gross than the Roman style of beauty; there's no

soul, none of the infinite in it. These girls simply have blood under

their skins without ever a glimpse of heaven."

Meantime Pierina had stopped, and with a wave of the hand directed

attention to her mother, who sat on a broken box beside the lofty doorway

of an unfinished mansion. She also must have once been very beautiful,

but at forty she was already a wreck, with dim eyes, drawn mouth, black

teeth, broadly wrinkled countenance, and huge fallen bosom. And she was

also fearfully dirty, her grey wavy hair dishevelled and her skirt and

jacket soiled and slit, revealing glimpses of grimy flesh. On her knees

she held a sleeping infant, her last-born, at whom she gazed like one

overwhelmed and courageless, like a beast of burden resigned to her fate.

"_Bene, bene,_" said she, raising her head, "it's the gentleman who came

to give me a crown because he saw you crying. And he's come back to see

us with some friends. Well, well, there are some good hearts in the world

after all."

Then she related their story, but in a spiritless way, without seeking to

move her visitors. She was called Giacinta, it appeared, and had married

a mason, one Tomaso Gozzo, by whom she had had seven children, Pierina,

then Tito, a big fellow of eighteen, then four more girls, each at an

interval of two years, and finally the infant, a boy, whom she now had on

her lap. They had long lived in the Trastevere district, in an old house

which had lately been pulled down; and their existence seemed to have

then been shattered, for since they had taken refuge in the Quartiere dei

Prati the crisis in the building trade had reduced Tomaso and Tito to

absolute idleness, and the bead factory where Pierina had earned as much

as tenpence a day--just enough to prevent them from dying of hunger--had

closed its doors. At present not one of them had any work; they lived

purely by chance.

"If you like to go up," the woman added, "you'll find Tomaso there with

his brother Ambrogio, whom we've taken to live with us. They'll know

better than I what to say to you. Tomaso is resting; but what else can he

do? It's like Tito--he's dozing over there."

So saying she pointed towards the dry grass amidst which lay a tall young

fellow with a pronounced nose, hard mouth, and eyes as admirable as

Pierina's. He had raised his head to glance suspiciously at the visitors,

a fierce frown gathering on his forehead when he remarked how rapturously

his sister contemplated the Prince. Then he let his head fall again, but

kept his eyes open, watching the pair stealthily.

"Take the lady and gentlemen upstairs, Pierina, since they would like to

see the place," said the mother.

Other women had now drawn near, shuffling along with bare feet in old

shoes; bands of children, too, were swarming around; little girls but

half clad, amongst whom, no doubt, were Giacinta's four. However, with

their black eyes under their tangled mops they were all so much alike

that only their mothers could identify them. And the whole resembled a

teeming camp of misery pitched on that spot of majestic disaster, that

street of palaces, unfinished yet already in ruins.

With a soft, loving smile, Benedetta turned to her cousin. "Don't you

come up," she gently said; "I don't desire your death, Dario _mio_. It

was very good of you to come so far. Wait for me here in the pleasant

sunshine: Monsieur l'Abbe and Monsieur Habert will go up with me."

Dario began to laugh, and willingly acquiesced. Then lighting a

cigarette, he walked slowly up and down, well pleased with the mildness

of the atmosphere.

La Pierina had already darted into the spacious porch whose lofty,

vaulted ceiling was adorned with coffers displaying a rosaceous pattern.

However, a veritable manure heap covered such marble slabs as had already

been laid in the vestibule, whilst the steps of the monumental stone

staircase with sculptured balustrade were already cracked and so grimy

that they seemed almost black. On all sides appeared the greasy stains of

hands; the walls, whilst awaiting the painter and gilder, had been

smeared with repulsive filth.

On reaching the spacious first-floor landing Pierina paused, and

contented herself with calling through a gaping portal which lacked both

door and framework: "Father, here's a lady and two gentlemen to see you."

Then to the Contessina she added: "It's the third room at the end." And

forthwith she herself rapidly descended the stairs, hastening back to her

passion.

Benedetta and her companions passed through two large rooms, bossy with

plaster under foot and having frameless windows wide open upon space; and

at last they reached a third room, where the whole Gozzo family had

installed itself with the remnants it used as furniture. On the floor,

where the bare iron girders showed, no boards having been laid down, were

five or six leprous-looking palliasses. A long table, which was still

strong, occupied the centre of the room, and here and there were a few

old, damaged, straw-seated chairs mended with bits of rope. The great

business had been to close two of the three windows with boards, whilst

the third one and the door were screened with some old mattress ticking

studded with stains and holes.

Tomaso's face expressed the surprise of a man who is unaccustomed to

visits of charity. Seated at the table, with his elbows resting on it and

his chin supported by his hands, he was taking repose, as his wife

Giacinta had said. He was a sturdy fellow of five and forty, bearded and

long-haired; and, in spite of all his misery and idleness, his large face

had remained as serene as that of a Roman senator. However, the sight of

the two foreigners--for such he at once judged Pierre and Narcisse to be,

made him rise to his feet with sudden distrust. But he smiled on

recognising Benedetta, and as she began to speak of Dario, and to explain

the charitable purpose of their visit, he interrupted her: "Yes, yes, I

know, Contessina. Oh! I well know who you are, for in my father's time I

once walled up a window at the Palazzo Boccanera."

Then he complaisantly allowed himself to be questioned, telling Pierre,

who was surprised, that although they were certainly not happy they would

have found life tolerable had they been able to work two days a week. And

one could divine that he was, at heart, fairly well content to go on

short commons, provided that he could live as he listed without fatigue.

His narrative and his manner suggested the familiar locksmith who, on

being summoned by a traveller to open his trunk, the key of which was

lost, sent word that he could not possibly disturb himself during the

hour of the siesta. In short, there was no rent to pay, as there were

plenty of empty mansions open to the poor, and a few coppers would have

sufficed for food, easily contented and sober as one was.

"But oh, sir," Tomaso continued, "things were ever so much better under

the Pope. My father, a mason like myself, worked at the Vatican all his

life, and even now, when I myself get a job or two, it's always there. We

were spoilt, you see, by those ten years of busy work, when we never left