第 48 页

our ladders and earned as much as we pleased. Of course, we fed ourselves

better, and bought ourselves clothes, and took such pleasure as we cared

for; so that it's all the harder nowadays to have to stint ourselves. But

if you'd only come to see us in the Pope's time! No taxes, everything to

be had for nothing, so to say--why, one merely had to let oneself live."

At this moment a growl arose from one of the palliasses lying in the

shade of the boarded windows, and the mason, in his slow, quiet way,

resumed: "It's my brother Ambrogio, who isn't of my opinion.

"He was with the Republicans in '49, when he was fourteen. But it doesn't

matter; we took him with us when we heard that he was dying of hunger and

sickness in a cellar."

The visitors could not help quivering with pity. Ambrogio was the elder

by some fifteen years; and now, though scarcely sixty, he was already a

ruin, consumed by fever, his legs so wasted that he spent his days on his

palliasse without ever going out. Shorter and slighter, but more

turbulent than his brother, he had been a carpenter by trade. And,

despite his physical decay, he retained an extraordinary head--the head

of an apostle and martyr, at once noble and tragic in its expression, and

encompassed by bristling snowy hair and beard.

"The Pope," he growled; "I've never spoken badly of the Pope. Yet it's

his fault if tyranny continues. He alone in '49 could have given us the

Republic, and then we shouldn't have been as we are now."

Ambrogio had known Mazzini, whose vague religiosity remained in him--the

dream of a Republican pope at last establishing the reign of liberty and

fraternity. But later on his passion for Garibaldi had disturbed these

views, and led him to regard the papacy as worthless, incapable of

achieving human freedom. And so, between the dream of his youth and the

stern experience of his life, he now hardly knew in which direction the

truth lay. Moreover, he had never acted save under the impulse of violent

emotion, but contented himself with fine words--vague, indeterminate

wishes.

"Brother Ambrogio," replied Tomaso, all tranquillity, "the Pope is the

Pope, and wisdom lies in putting oneself on his side, because he will

always be the Pope--that is to say, the stronger. For my part, if we had

to vote to-morrow I'd vote for him."

Calmed by the shrewd prudence characteristic of his race, the old

carpenter made no haste to reply. At last he said, "Well, as for me,

brother Tomaso, I should vote against him--always against him. And you

know very well that we should have the majority. The Pope-king indeed!

That's all over. The very Borgo would revolt. Still, I won't say that we

oughtn't to come to an understanding with him, so that everybody's

religion may be respected."

Pierre listened, deeply interested, and at last ventured to ask: "Are

there many socialists among the Roman working classes?"

This time the answer came after a yet longer pause. "Socialists? Yes,

there are some, no doubt, but much fewer than in other places. All those

things are novelties which impatient fellows go in for without

understanding much about them. We old men, we were for liberty; we don't

believe in fire and massacre."

Then, fearing to say too much in presence of that lady and those

gentlemen, Ambrogio began to moan on his pallet, whilst the Contessina,

somewhat upset by the smell of the place, took her departure, after

telling the young priest that it would be best for them to leave their

alms with the wife downstairs. Meantime Tomaso resumed his seat at the

table, again letting his chin rest on his hands as he nodded to his

visitors, no more impressed by their departure than he had been by their

arrival: "To the pleasure of seeing you again, and am happy to have been

able to oblige you."

On the threshold, however, Narcisse's enthusiasm burst forth; he turned

to cast a final admiring glance at old Ambrogio's head, "a perfect

masterpiece," which he continued praising whilst he descended the stairs.

Down below Giacinta was still sitting on the broken box with her infant

across her lap, and a few steps away Pierina stood in front of Dario,

watching him with an enchanted air whilst he finished his cigarette.

Tito, lying low in the grass like an animal on the watch for prey, did

not for a moment cease to gaze at them.

"Ah, signora!" resumed the woman, in her resigned, doleful voice, "the

place is hardly inhabitable, as you must have seen. The only good thing

is that one gets plenty of room. But there are draughts enough to kill

me, and I'm always so afraid of the children falling down some of the

holes."

Thereupon she related a story of a woman who had lost her life through

mistaking a window for a door one evening and falling headlong into the

street. Then, too, a little girl had broken both arms by tumbling from a

staircase which had no banisters. And you could die there without anybody

knowing how bad you were and coming to help you. Only the previous day

the corpse of an old man had been found lying on the plaster in a lonely

room. Starvation must have killed him quite a week previously, yet he

would still have been stretched there if the odour of his remains had not

attracted the attention of neighbours.

"If one only had something to eat things wouldn't be so bad!" continued

Giacinta. "But it's dreadful when there's a baby to suckle and one gets

no food, for after a while one has no milk. This little fellow wants his

titty and gets angry with me because I can't give him any. But it isn't

my fault. He has sucked me till the blood came, and all I can do is to

cry."

As she spoke tears welled into her poor dim eyes. But all at once she

flew into a tantrum with Tito, who was still wallowing in the grass like

an animal instead of rising by way of civility towards those fine people,

who would surely leave her some alms. "Eh! Tito, you lazy fellow, can't

you get up when people come to see you?" she called.

After some pretence of not hearing, the young fellow at last rose with an

air of great ill-humour; and Pierre, feeling interested in him, tried to

draw him out as he had done with the father and uncle upstairs. But Tito

only returned curt answers, as if both bored and suspicious. Since there

was no work to be had, said he, the only thing was to sleep. It was of no

use to get angry; that wouldn't alter matters. So the best was to live as

one could without increasing one's worry. As for socialists--well, yes,

perhaps there were a few, but he didn't know any. And his weary,

indifferent manner made it quite clear that, if his father was for the

Pope and his uncle for the Republic, he himself was for nothing at all.

In this Pierre divined the end of a nation, or rather the slumber of a

nation in which democracy has not yet awakened. However, as the priest

continued, asking Tito his age, what school he had attended, and in what

district he had been born, the young man suddenly cut the questions short

by pointing with one finger to his breast and saying gravely, "_Io son'

Romano di Roma_."

And, indeed, did not that answer everything? "I am a Roman of Rome."

Pierre smiled sadly and spoke no further. Never had he more fully

realised the pride of that race, the long-descending inheritance of glory

which was so heavy to bear. The sovereign vanity of the Caesars lived

anew in that degenerate young fellow who was scarcely able to read and

write. Starveling though he was, he knew his city, and could

instinctively have recounted the grand pages of its history. The names of

the great emperors and great popes were familiar to him. And why should

men toil and moil when they had been the masters of the world? Why not

live nobly and idly in the most beautiful of cities, under the most

beautiful of skies? "_Io son' Romano di Roma_!"

Benedetta had slipped her alms into the mother's hand, and Pierre and

Narcisse were following her example when Dario, who had already done so,

thought of Pierina. He did not like to offer her money, but a pretty,

fanciful idea occurred to him. Lightly touching his lips with his

finger-tips, he said, with a faint laugh, "For beauty!"

There was something really pretty and pleasing in the kiss thus wafted

with a slightly mocking laugh by that familiar, good-natured young Prince

who, as in some love story of the olden time, was touched by the

beautiful bead-worker's mute adoration. Pierina flushed with pleasure,

and, losing her head, darted upon Dario's hand and pressed her warm lips

to it with unthinking impulsiveness, in which there was as much divine

gratitude as tender passion. But Tito's eyes flashed with anger at the

sight, and, brutally seizing his sister by the skirt, he threw her back,

growling between his teeth, "None of that, you know, or I'll kill you,

and him too!"

It was high time for the visitors to depart, for other women, scenting

the presence of money, were now coming forward with outstretched hands,

or despatching tearful children in their stead. The whole wretched,

abandoned district was in a flutter, a distressful wail ascended from

those lifeless streets with high resounding names. But what was to be

done? One could not give to all. So the only course lay in flight--amidst

deep sadness as one realised how powerless was charity in presence of

such appalling want.

When Benedetta and Dario had reached their carriage they hastened to take

their seats and nestle side by side, glad to escape from all such

horrors. Still the Contessina was well pleased with her bravery in the

presence of Pierre, whose hand she pressed with the emotion of a pupil

touched by the master's lesson, after Narcisse had told her that he meant

to take the young priest to lunch at the little restaurant on the Piazza

of St. Peter's whence one obtained such an interesting view of the

Vatican.

"Try some of the light white wine of Genzano," said Dario, who had become

quite gay again. "There's nothing better to drive away the blues."

However, Pierre's curiosity was insatiable, and on the way he again

questioned Narcisse about the people of modern Rome, their life, habits,

and manners. There was little or no education, he learnt; no large

manufactures and no export trade existed. The men carried on the few

trades that were current, all consumption being virtually limited to the

city itself. Among the women there were bead-workers and embroiderers;

and the manufacture of religious articles, such as medals and chaplets,

and of certain popular jewellery had always occupied a fair number of

hands. But after marriage the women, invariably burdened with numerous

offspring, attempted little beyond household work. Briefly, the

population took life as it came, working just sufficiently to secure

food, contenting itself with vegetables, pastes, and scraggy mutton,

without thought of rebellion or ambition. The only vices were gambling

and a partiality for the red and white wines of the Roman province--wines

which excited to quarrel and murder, and on the evenings of feast days,

when the taverns emptied, strewed the streets with groaning men, slashed

and stabbed with knives. The girls, however, but seldom went wrong; one

could count those who allowed themselves to be seduced; and this arose

from the great union prevailing in each family, every member of which

bowed submissively to the father's absolute authority. Moreover, the

brothers watched over their sisters even as Tito did over Pierina,

guarding them fiercely for the sake of the family honour. And amidst all

this there was no real religion, but simply a childish idolatry, all

hearts going forth to Madonna and the Saints, who alone were entreated

and regarded as having being: for it never occurred to anybody to think

of God.

Thus the stagnation of the lower orders could easily be understood.

Behind them were the many centuries during which idleness had been

encouraged, vanity flattered, and nerveless life willingly accepted. When

they were neither masons, nor carpenters, nor bakers, they were servants

serving the priests, and more or less directly in the pay of the Vatican.

Thence sprang the two antagonistic parties, on the one hand the more

numerous party composed of the old Carbonari, Mazzinians, and

Garibaldians, the _elite_ of the Trastevere; and on the other the

"clients" of the Vatican, all who lived on or by the Church and regretted

the Pope-King. But, after all, the antagonism was confined to opinions;

there was no thought of making an effort or incurring a risk. For that,

some sudden flare of passion, strong enough to overcome the sturdy

calmness of the race, would have been needed. But what would have been

the use of it? The wretchedness had lasted for so many centuries, the sky

was so blue, the siesta preferable to aught else during the hot hours!

And only one thing seemed positive--that the majority was certainly in

favour of Rome remaining the capital of Italy. Indeed, rebellion had

almost broken out in the Leonine City when the cession of the latter to

the Holy See was rumoured. As for the increase of want and poverty, this

was largely due to the circumstance that the Roman workman had really

gained nothing by the many works carried on in his city during fifteen

years. First of all, over 40,000 provincials, mostly from the North, more

spirited and resistant than himself, and working at cheaper rates, had

invaded Rome; and when he, the Roman, had secured his share of the

labour, he had lived in better style, without thought of economy; so that

after the crisis, when the 40,000 men from the provinces were sent home

again, he had found himself once more in a dead city where trade was

always slack. And thus he had relapsed into his antique indolence, at

heart well pleased at no longer being hustled by press of work, and again