Sant' Ilario Part 36

There are no sn.o.bs among the Latin races, but there is a worse animal, the sycophant, descended directly from the dinner-tables of ancient Rome. In old-fas.h.i.+oned houses there are often several of them, headed invariably by the "giornale ambulante," the walking newspaper, whose business it is to pick up items of news during the day in order to detail them to the family in the evening. There is a certain old princess who sits every evening with her needlework at the head of a long table in the dismal drawing-room of a gigantic palace. On each side of the board are seated the old parasites, the family doctor, the family chaplain, the family lawyer, the family librarian, the peripatetic news- sheet and the rest.

"I have been out to-day," says her excellency.

"Oh! Ah! Dear me! In this weather! Hear what the princess says!

The princess has been out!" The chorus comes up the table, all the answers reaching her ears at once.

"And I saw, as I drove by, the new monument! What a ridiculous thing it is."

"Ho! ho! ho! Hah! hah! hah! Dear me! What a monument! What fine taste the princess has! Hear what the princess thinks of the monument!"

"If you will believe it, the bronze horse has a crooked leg." "He!

he! he! Hi! hi! hi! Dear me! A crooked leg! How the princess understands horses! The princess saw that he had a crooked leg!"

And so on, for a couple of hours, in the cold, dimly-lighted room until her excellency has had enough of it and rises to go to bed, when the parasites all scuttle away and quarrel with each other in the street as they walk home. Night after night, to decades of years, the old lady recounts the little journal of her day to the admiring listeners, whose chorus of approval is performed daily with the same unvarying regularity. The times are changing now; the prince is not so easily amused, and the sycophant has accordingly acquired the art of amusing, but there still survive some wonderful monuments of the old school.

Anastase Gouache was a man of great talent and of rising fame, but like other men of his stamp he preferred to believe that he was received on a friendly footing for his own sake rather than on account of his reputation. In his own eyes, he was, as a man, as good as those with whom he a.s.sociated, and had as much right to make love to Faustina Montevarchi as the young Frangipani, for whom her father destined her. Faustina, on her part, was too young to appreciate the real strength of the prejudices by which she was surrounded. She could not understand that, although the man she loved was a gentleman, young, good-looking, successful, and not without prospects of acquiring a fortune, he was yet wholly ineligible as a husband. Had she seen this ever so clearly it might have made but little difference in her feelings; but she did not see it, and the disparaging remarks about Anastase, which she occasionally heard in her own family, seemed to her utterly unjust as well as quite unfounded. The result was that the two young people were preparing for themselves one of those terrible disappointments of which the consequences are sometimes felt during a score of years. Both, however, were too much in love to bear suspense very long without doing something to precipitate the course of events, and whenever they had the chance they talked the matter over and built wonderful castles in the air.

About a fortnight after the marriage of San Giacinto they were seated together in a room full of people, late in the afternoon.

They had been talking for some time upon indifferent subjects.

When two persons meet who are very much in love with each other, and waste their time in discussing topics of little importance, it may be safely predicted that something unusual is about to occur.

"I cannot endure this suspense any longer," said Gouache at last.

"Nor I," answered Faustina.

"It is of no use to wait any more. Either your father will consent or he will not. I will ask him and know the worst."

"And if it is the worst--what then?" The young girl turned her eyes towards Anastase with a frightened look.

"Then we must manage without his consent."

"How is that possible?"

"It must be possible," replied Gouache. "If you love me it shall be possible. It is only a question of a little courage and good- will. But, after all, your father may consent. Why should he not?"

"Because--" she hesitated a little.

"Because I am not a Roman prince, you mean." Anastase glanced quickly at her.

"No. He wants me to marry Frangipani."

"Why did you never tell me that?"

"I did not know it when we last met. My mother told me of it last night."

"Is the match settled?" asked Gouache. He was very pale.

"I think it has been spoken of," answered Faustina in a low voice.

She s.h.i.+vered a little and pressed her hands together. There was a short silence, during which Anastase did not take his eyes from her, while she looked down, avoiding his look.

"Then there is no time to be lost," said Gouache at last. "I will go to your father to-morrow morning."

"Oh--don't, don't!" cried Faustina, suddenly, with an expression of intense anxiety.

"Why not?" The artist seemed very much surprised.

"You do not know him! You do not know what he will say to you! You will be angry and lose your temper--he will be cruel and will insult you, and you will resent it--then I shall never see you again. You do not know--"

"This is something new," said Gouache. "How can you be sure that he will receive me so badly? Have your people talked about me?

After all, I am an honest man, and though I live by my profession I am not poor. It is true, I am not such a match for you as Frangipani. Tell me, do they abuse me at your house?"

"No--what can they say, except that you are an artist? That is not abuse, nor calumny."

"It depends upon how it is said. I suppose it is San Giacinto who says it." Gouache's face darkened.

"San Giacinto has guessed the truth," answered Faustina, shaking her head. "He knows that we love each other, and just now he is very powerful with my father. It will be worse if he wins the suit and is Prince Saracinesca."

"Then that is another reason for acting at once. Faustina--you followed me once--will you not go with me, away, out of this cursed city? I will ask for you first. I will behave honourably.

But if he will not consent, what is there left for us to do? Can we live apart? Can you marry Frangipani? Have not many people done before what we think of doing? Is it wrong? Heaven knows, I make no pretence to sanct.i.ty. But I would not have you do anything-- what shall I say? Anything against your conscience." There was a shade of bitterness in the laugh that accompanied the last words.

"You do not know what things he will say," repeated Faustina, in despairing tones.

"This is absurd," said Gouache. "I can bear anything he can say well enough. He is an old man and I am a young one, and have no intention of taking offence. He may say what he pleases, call me a villain, a brigand--that is your favourite Italian expression--a thief, a liar, anything he pleases. I will not be angry. There shall be no violence. But I cannot endure this state of things any longer. I must try my luck."

"Wait a little longer," answered Faustina, in an imploring tone.

"Wait until the suit is decided."

"In order to let San Giacinto get even more influence than he has now? It would be a mistake--you almost said so yourself a moment ago. Besides, the suit may for years."

"It will not last a fortnight."

"Poor Sant' Ilario!" exclaimed Gouache. "Does everybody know about it?"

"I suppose so. But n.o.body speaks of it. We all feel dreadfully about it, except my father and San Giacinto and Flavia."

"If he is in a good humour this is the very time to go to him."

"Please, please do not insist!" Faustina was evidently very much in earnest. With the instinct of a very young woman, she clung to the half happiness of the present which was so much greater than anything she had known before in her life. But Gouache would not be satisfied.

"I must know the worst," he said again, as they parted.

"But this is so much, better than the worst," answered Faustina, sadly.

"Who risks nothing, wins nothing," retorted the young man with a bright smile.

In spite of his hopefulness, however, he had received a severe shock on hearing the news of the intended match with young Frangipani. He had certainly never expected to find himself the rival of such a suitor, and his sense of possibility, if man may be said to possess such a faculty, was staggered by the idea. He suddenly awakened to a true understanding of his position in Roman society, and when he contemplated his discovery in all its bearings, his nerve almost forsook him. When he remembered his childhood, his youth, and the circ.u.mstances in which he had lived up to a recent time, he found it hard to realise that he was trying to marry such a girl, in spite of her family and in opposition to such a man as was now brought forward as a match for her. It was not in his nature, however, to be discouraged in the face of difficulties. He was like a brave man who has received a stunning blow, but who continues to fight until he has gradually regained his position. Gouache could no more have relinquished Faustina than he could have abandoned a half-finished picture in which he believed, any more than he had given up the attempt to break away the stones at the Vigna Santucci after he had received the bullet in his shoulder. He had acquired his position in life by indomitable perseverance and hopefulness, and those qualities would not now fail him, in one of the most critical situations through which he had ever pa.s.sed. In spite of Faustina's warning and, to some extent, in spite of his own better judgment, he determined to face the old prince at once and to ask him boldly for his daughter.

He had spoken confidently to Faustina of being married against the will of her father, but when he thought over this alternative he recollected a fact he had almost completely forgotten in considering his matrimonial projects. He was a soldier and had enlisted in the Zouaves for a term of years. It was true that by using the influence he possessed he might hope to be released from his engagement, but such a course was most repugnant to him.