Kabanata Kabanata 12 · Chapter Fourteen

While Fabrizio was in pursuit of love, in a village near Parma, the

Fiscal General Rassi, who did not know that he was so near, continued to

treat his case as though he had been a Liberal: he pretended to be

unable to find--or, rather, he intimidated--the witnesses for the

defence; and finally, after the most ingenious operations, carried on

for nearly a year, and about two months after Fabrizio's final return to

Bologna, on a certain Friday, the Marchesa Raversi, mad with joy,

announced publicly in her drawing-room that next day the sentence which

had just been pronounced, in the last hour, on young del Dongo would be

presented to the Prince for his signature and approved by him. A few

minutes later the Duchessa was informed of this utterance by her enemy.

"The Conte must be extremely ill served by his agents!" she said to

herself; "only this morning he thought that the sentence could not be

passed for another week. Perhaps he would not be sorry to see my young

Grand Vicar kept out of Parma; but," she added, breaking into song, "we

shall see him come again; and one day he will be our Archbishop." The

Duchessa rang:

"Collect all the servants in the waiting-room," she told her footman,

"including the kitchen staff; go to the town commandant and get the

necessary permit to procure four post horses, and have those horses

harnessed to my landau within half an hour." All the women of the

household were set to work packing trunks: the Duchessa hastily chose a

travelling dress, all without sending any word to the Conte; the idea of

playing a little joke on him sent her into a transport of joy.

"My friends," she said to the assembled servants, "I learn that my poor

nephew is to be condemned in his absence for having had the audacity to

defend his life against a raging madman; I mean Giletti, who was trying

to kill him. You have all of you had opportunities of seeing how mild

and inoffensive Fabrizio's nature is. Rightly indignant at this

atrocious outrage, I am going to Florence; I leave for each of you ten

years' wages; if you are in distress, write to me, and, so long as I

have a sequin, there will be something for you."

The Duchessa meant exactly what she said, and, at her closing words, the

servants dissolved in tears; her eyes too were moist: she added in a

voice faint with emotion: "Pray to God for me and for Monsignor Fabrizio

del Dongo, First Grand Vicar of the Diocese, who to-morrow morning is

going to be condemned to the galleys, or, which would be less stupid, to

the penalty of death."

The tears of the servants flowed in double volume, and gradually changed

into cries that were almost seditious; the Duchessa stepped into her

carriage and drove to the Prince's Palace. Despite the unusual hour, she

sent in a request for an audience by General Fontana, the Aide-de-Camp

in waiting; she was by no means in court dress, a fact which threw this

Aide-de-Camp into a profound stupor. As for the Prince, he was not at

all surprised, still less annoyed by this request for an audience. "We

shall see tears flowing from fine eyes," he said to himself, rubbing his

hands. "She comes to sue for pardon; at last that proud beauty is going

to humble herself! She was, really, too insupportable with her little

airs of independence! Those speaking eyes seemed always to be saying to

me, when the slightest thing offended her: 'Naples or Milan would have

very different attractions as a residence from your little town of

Parma.' In truth, I do not reign over Naples, nor over Milan; but now at

last this great lady is coming to ask me for something which depends

upon me alone, and which she is burning to obtain; I always thought that

nephew's coming here would bring me some advantage."

_THE FAREWELL AUDIENCE_

While the Prince was smiling at these thoughts, and giving himself up to

all these agreeable anticipations, he walked up and down his cabinet, at

the door of which General Fontana remained standing stiff and erect like

a soldier presenting arms. Seeing the sparkling eyes of the Prince, and

remembering the Duchessa's travelling dress, he imagined a dissolution

of the Monarchy. His bewilderment knew no bounds when he heard the

Prince say: "Ask the Signora Duchessa to wait for a quarter of an hour."

The General Aide-de-Camp made his half-turn, like a soldier on parade;

the Prince was still smiling: "Fontana is not accustomed," he said to

himself, "to see that proud Duchessa kept waiting. The face of

astonishment with which he is going to tell her about the _quarter of an

hour to wait_ will pave the way for the touching tears which this

cabinet is going to see her shed." This quarter of an hour was exquisite

for the Prince; he walked up and down with a firm and steady pace; he

reigned. "It will not do at this point to say anything that is not

perfectly correct; whatever my feelings for the Duchessa may be, I must

never forget that she is one of the greatest ladies of my court. How

used Louis XIV to speak to the Princesses his daughters, when he had

occasion to be displeased with them?" And his eyes came to rest on the

portrait of the Great King.

The amusing thing was that the Prince never thought of asking himself

whether he should shew clemency to Fabrizio, or what form that clemency

should take. Finally, at the end of twenty minutes, the faithful Fontana

presented himself again at the door, but without saying a word. "The

Duchessa Sanseverina may enter," cried the Prince, with a theatrical

air. "Now for the tears," he added inwardly, and, as though to prepare

himself for such a spectacle, took out his handkerchief.

Never had the Duchessa been so gay or so pretty; she did not seem

five-and-twenty. Seeing her light and rapid little step scarcely brush

the carpet, the poor Aide-de-Camp was on the point of losing his reason

altogether.

"I have a thousand pardons to ask of Your Serene Highness," said the

Duchessa in her light and gay little voice; "I have taken the liberty of

presenting myself before him in a costume which is not exactly

conventional, but Your Highness has so accustomed me to his kindnesses

that I have ventured to hope that he will be pleased to accord me this

pardon also."

The Duchessa spoke quite slowly so as to give herself time to enjoy the

spectacle of the Prince's face; it was delicious, by reason of the

profound astonishment and of the traces of the grand manner which the

position of his head and arms still betrayed. The Prince sat as though

struck by a thunderbolt; in a shrill and troubled little voice he

exclaimed from time to time, barely articulating the words: "_What's

that! What's that_!" The Duchessa, as though out of respect, having

ended her compliment, left him ample time to reply; then went on:

"I venture to hope that Your Serene Highness deigns to pardon me the

incongruity of my costume"; but, as she said the words, her mocking eyes

shone with so bright a sparkle that the Prince could not endure it; he

studied the ceiling, an act which with him was the final sign of the

most extreme embarrassment.

"_What's that! What's that_!" he said again; then he had the good

fortune to hit upon a phrase:--"Signora Duchessa, pray be seated"; he

himself drew forward a chair for her, not ungraciously. The Duchessa was

by no means insensible to this courtesy, she moderated the petulance of

her gaze.

"_What's that! What's that_!" the Prince once more repeated, moving

uneasily in his chair, in which one would have said that he could find

no solid support.

"I am going to take advantage of the cool night air to travel by post,"

went on the Duchessa, "and as my absence may be of some duration, I have

not wished to leave the States of His Serene Highness without thanking

him for all the kindnesses which, in the last five years, he has deigned

to shew me." At these words the Prince at last understood; he grew pale;

he was the one man in the world who really suffered when he saw himself

proved wrong in his calculations. Then he assumed an air of grandeur

quite worthy of the portrait of Louis XIV which hung before his eyes.

"Very good," thought the Duchessa, "there is a man."

"And what is the reason for this sudden departure?" said the Prince in a

fairly firm tone.

"I have long had the plan in my mind," replied the Duchessa, "and a

little insult which has been offered to _Monsignor_ Del Dongo, whom

to-morrow they are going to sentence to death or to the galleys, makes

me hasten my departure."

"And to what town are you going?"

"To Naples, I think." She added as she rose to her feet: "It only

remains for me to take leave of Your Serene Highness and to thank him

most humbly for his _former_ kindnesses." She, in turn, spoke with so

firm an air that the Prince saw that in two minutes all would be over;

once the sensation of her departure had occurred, he knew that no

further arrangement was possible; she was not a woman to retrace her

steps. He ran after her.

"But you know well, Signora Duchessa," he said, taking her hand, "that I

have always felt a regard for you, a regard to which it rested only with

you to give another name. A murder has been committed; that is a fact

which no one can deny; I have entrusted the sifting of the evidence to

my best judges. . . ."

At these words the Duchessa rose to her full height; every sign of

respect and even of urbanity disappeared in the twinkling of an eye; the

outraged woman became clearly apparent, and the outraged woman

addressing a creature whom she knew to have broken faith with her. It

was with an expression of the most violent anger, and indeed of contempt

that she said to the Prince, dwelling on every word:

"I am leaving the States of Your Serene Highness for ever, so as never

to hear the names of the Fiscal Rassi and of the other infamous

assassins who have condemned my nephew and so many others to death; if

Your Serene Highness does not wish to introduce a feeling of bitterness

into the last moments that I shall pass in the presence of a Prince who

is courteous and intelligent when he is not led astray, I beg him most

humbly not to recall to me the thought of those infamous judges who sell

themselves for a thousand scudi or a Cross."

The admirable--and, above all, genuine--accent in which these words were

uttered made the Prince shudder; he feared for a moment to see his

dignity compromised by an accusation even more direct, but on the whole

his sensation soon became one of pleasure; he admired the Duchessa; her

face and figure attained at that moment to a sublime beauty. "Great God!

How beautiful she is!" the Prince said to himself; "one ought to make

some concessions to a woman who is so unique, when there probably is not

another like her in the whole of Italy. Oh well, with a little policy it

might not be impossible one day to make her my mistress: there is a wide

gulf between a creature like this and that doll of a Marchesa Balbi, who

moreover robs my poor subjects of at least three hundred thousand francs

every year. . . . But did I hear aright?" he thought suddenly; "she

said: 'Condemned my nephew and so many others.'" Then his anger boiled

over, and it was with a stiffness worthy of his supreme rank that the

Prince said, after an interval of silence: "And what would one have to

do to make the Signora not leave us?"

"Something of which you are not capable," replied the Duchessa in an

accent of the most bitter irony and the most unconcealed contempt.

The Prince was beside himself, but his professional training as an

Absolute Sovereign gave him the strength to overcome his first impulse.

"I must have this woman," he said to himself; "so much I owe to myself,

then she must be made to die of shame. . . . If she leaves this cabinet,

I shall never see her again." But, mad with rage and hatred as he was at

this moment, where was he to find an answer that would at once satisfy

the requirements of what he owed to himself and induce the Duchessa not

to abandon his court immediately? "She cannot," he said to himself,

"repeat or turn to ridicule a gesture," and he placed himself between

the Duchessa and the door of his cabinet. Presently he heard a tap at

this door.

"Who is the creature," he cried, shouting with the full force of his

lungs, "who is the creature who comes here to thrust his fatuous

presence upon me?" Poor General Fontana shewed a pallid face of complete

discomfiture, and it was with the air of a man in his last agony that he

stammered these inarticulate words: "His Excellency the Conte Mosca

solicits the honour of being introduced."

"Let him come in," said, or rather shouted the Prince, and, as Mosca

bowed:

"Well," he said to him, "here is the Signora Duchessa Sanseverina, who

informs me that she is leaving Parma immediately to go and settle at

Naples, and who, incidentally, is being most impertinent to me."

"What!" said Mosca turning pale.

"Oh! So you did not know of this plan of departure?"

"Not a word; I left the Signora at six o'clock, happy and content."

This statement had an incredible effect on the Prince. First of all he

looked at Mosca; his increasing pallor shewed the Prince that he was

telling the truth and was in no way an accomplice of the Duchessa's

desperate action. "In that case," he said to himself, "I lose her for

ever; pleasure and vengeance, all goes in a flash. At Naples she will

make epigrams with her nephew Fabrizio about the great fury of the

little Prince of Parma." He looked at the Duchessa: the most violent

scorn and anger were disputing the possession of her heart; her eyes

were fixed at that moment on Conte Mosca, and the exquisite curves of

that lovely mouth expressed the bitterest disdain. The whole face seemed

to be saying: "Vile courtier!" "So," thought the Prince after he had

examined her, "I lose this means of bringing her back to my country. At

this moment again, if she leaves this cabinet, she is lost to me; God

knows the things she will say about my judges at Naples. . . . And with

that spirit, and that divine power of persuasion which heaven has

bestowed on her, she will make everyone believe her. I shall be obliged

to her for the reputation of a ridiculous tyrant, who gets up in the

middle of the night to look under his bed. . . ." Then, by an adroit

move and as though he were intending to walk up and down the room to

reduce his agitation, the Prince took his stand once again in front of

the door of the cabinet; the Conte was on his right, at a distance of

three paces, pale, shattered, and trembling so that he was obliged to

seek support from the back of the armchair in which the Duchessa had

been sitting during the earlier part of the audience, and which the

Prince in a moment of anger had pushed across the floor. The Conte was

in love. "If the Duchessa goes, I follow her," he said to himself; "but

will she want me in her train? That is the question."

On the Prince's left, the Duchessa, erect, her arms folded and pressed

to her bosom, was looking at him with an admirable impatience: a

complete and intense pallor had taken the place of the vivid colours

which a moment earlier animated that sublime face.

The Prince, in contrast to the other two occupants of the room, had a

red face and a troubled air; his left hand played convulsively with the

Cross attached to the Grand Cordon of his Order which he wore under his

coat: with his right hand he caressed his chin.

"What is to be done?" he asked the Conte, without knowing quite what he

himself was doing, and carried away by the habit of consulting this

other in everything.

"I can think of nothing, truly, Serene Highness," replied the Conte with

the air of a man yielding up his last breath. It was all he could do to

pronounce the words of his answer. The tone of his voice gave the Prince

the first consolation that his wounded pride had received during this

audience, and this grain of happiness furnished him with a speech that

gratified his vanity.

"Very well," he said, "I am the most reasonable of the three; I choose

to make a complete elimination of my position in the world. I am going

to speak _as a friend_"; and he added, with a fine smile of

condescension, beautifully copied from the brave days of Louis XIV,

"_like a friend speaking to friends_. Signora Duchessa," he went on,

"what is to be done to make you forget an untimely resolution?"

"Truly, I can think of nothing," replied the Duchessa with a deep sigh,

"truly, I can think of nothing, I have such a horror of Parma." There

was no epigrammatic intention in this speech; one could see that

sincerity itself spoke through her lips.

The Conte turned sharply towards her; his courtier's soul was

scandalised; then he addressed a suppliant gaze to the Prince. With

great dignity and coolness the Prince allowed a moment to pass; then,

addressing the Conte:

"I see," he said, "that your charming friend is altogether beside

herself; it is quite simple, she _adores_ her nephew." And, turning

towards the Duchessa, he went on with a glance of the utmost gallantry

and at the same time with the air which one adopts when quoting a line

from a play: "_What must one do to please those lovely eyes_?"

The Duchessa had had time for reflexion; in a firm and measured tone,

and as though she were dictating her _ultimatum_, she replied:

"His Highness might write me a gracious letter, as he knows so well how

to do; he might say to me that, not being at all convinced of the guilt

of Fabrizio del Dongo, First Grand Vicar of the Archbishop, he will not

sign the sentence when it is laid before him, and that these unjust

proceedings shall have no consequences in the future."

"What, _unjust_!" cried the Prince, colouring to the whites of his eyes,

and recovering his anger.

"That is not all," replied the Duchessa, with a Roman pride, "_this very

evening_, and," she added, looking at the clock, "it is already a

quarter past eleven,--this very evening His Serene Highness will send

word to the Marchesa Raversi that he advises her to retire to the

country to recover from the fatigue which must have been caused her by a

certain prosecution of which she was speaking in her drawing-room in the

early hours of the evening." The Prince was pacing the floor of his

cabinet like a madman.

"Did anyone ever see such a woman?" he cried. "She is wanting in respect

for me!"

The Duchessa replied with inimitable grace:

"Never in my life have I had a thought of shewing want of respect for

His Serene Highness; His Highness has had the extreme condescension to

say that he was speaking _as a friend to friends_. I have, moreover, no

desire to remain at Parma," she added, looking at the Conte with the

utmost contempt. This look decided the Prince, hitherto highly

uncertain, though his words had seemed to promise a pledge; he paid

little attention to words.

There was still some further discussion; but at length Conte Mosca

received the order to write the gracious note solicited by the Duchessa.

He omitted the phrase: _these unjust proceedings shall have no

consequences in the future_. "It is enough," the Conte said to himself,

"that the Prince shall promise not to sign the sentence which will be

laid before him." The Prince thanked him with a quick glance as he

signed.

The Conte was greatly mistaken; the Prince was tired and would have

signed anything. He thought that he was getting well out of the

difficulty, and the whole affair was coloured in his eyes by the

thought: "If the Duchessa goes, I shall find my court become boring

within a week." The Conte noticed that his master altered the date to

that of the following day. He looked at the clock: it pointed almost to

midnight. The Minister saw nothing more in this correction of the date

than a pedantic desire to show a proof of exactitude and good

government. As for the banishment of the Marchesa Raversi, he made no

objection; the Prince took a particular delight in banishing people.

"General Fontana!" he cried, opening the door a little way.

The General appeared with a face shewing so much astonishment and

curiosity, that a merry glance was exchanged by the Duchessa and Conte,

and this glance made peace between them.

"General Fontana," said the Prince, "you will get into my carriage,

which is waiting under the colonnade; you will go to the Marchesa

Raversi's, you will send in your name; if she is in bed, you will add

that you come from me, and, on entering her room, you will say these

precise words and no others: 'Signora Marchesa Raversi, His Serene

Highness requests you to leave to-morrow morning, before eight o'clock,

for your _castello_ at Velleja; His Highness will let you know when you

may return to Parma.'"

The Prince's eyes sought those of the Duchessa, who, without giving him

the thanks he expected, made him an extremely respectful curtsey, and

swiftly left the room.

"What a woman!" said the Prince, turning to Conte Mosca.

The latter, delighted at the banishment of the Marchesa Raversi, which

simplified all his ministerial activities, talked for a full half-hour

like a consummate courtier; he sought to console his Sovereign's injured

vanity, and did not take his leave until he saw him fully convinced that

the historical anecdotes of Louis XIV included no fairer page than that

with which he had just provided his own future historians.

On reaching home the Duchessa shut her doors, and gave orders that no

one was to be admitted, not even the Conte. She wished to be left alone

with herself, and to consider for a little what idea she ought to form

of the scene that had just occurred. She had acted at random and for her

own immediate pleasure; but to whatever course she might have let

herself be induced to take she would have clung with tenacity. She had

not blamed herself in the least on recovering her coolness, still less

had she repented; such was the character to which she owed the position

of being still, in her thirty-seventh year, the best looking woman at

court.

_THE SERVANTS_

She was thinking at this moment of what Parma might have to offer in the

way of attractions, as she might have done on returning after a long

journey, so fully, between nine o'clock and eleven, had she believed

that she was leaving the place for ever.

"That poor Conte did cut a ludicrous figure when he learned of my

departure in the Prince's presence. . . . After all, he is a pleasant

man, and has a very rare warmth of heart. He would have given up his

Ministries to follow me. . . . But on the other hand, during five whole

years, he has not had to find fault with me for a single aberration. How

many women married before the altar could say as much to their lords and

masters? It must be admitted that he is not self-important, he is no

pedant; he gives one no desire to be unfaithful to him; when he is with

me, he seems always to be ashamed of his power. . . . He cut a funny

figure in the presence of his lord and master; if he was in the room

now, I should kiss him. . . . But not for anything in the world would I

undertake to amuse a Minister who had lost his portfolio; that is a

malady which only death can cure, and . . . one which kills. What a

misfortune it would be to become Minister when one was young! I must

write to him; it is one of the things that he ought to know officially

before he quarrels with his Prince. . . . But I am forgetting my good

servants."

The Duchessa rang. Her women were still at work packing trunks, the

carriage had drawn up under the portico, and was being loaded; all the

servants who had nothing else to do were gathered round this carriage,

with tears in their eyes. Cecchina, who on great occasions, had the sole

right to enter the Duchessa's room, told her all these details.

"Call them upstairs," said the Duchessa.

A moment later she passed into the waiting-room.

"I have been promised," she told them, "that the sentence passed on my

nephew will not be signed by the Sovereign" (such is the term used in

Italy), "and I am postponing my departure. We shall see whether my

enemies have enough influence to alter this decision."

After a brief silence, the servants began to shout: "_Evviva la Signora

Duchessa_!" and to applaud furiously. The Duchessa, who had gone into

the next room, reappeared like an actress taking a _call_, made a little

curtsey, full of grace, to her people, and said to them: "_My friends, I

thank you_." Had she said the word, all of them at that moment would

have marched on the Palace to attack it. She beckoned to a postilion, an

old smuggler and a devoted servant, who followed her.

"You will disguise yourself as a _contadino_ in easy circumstances, you

will get out of Parma as best you can, hire a _sediola_ and proceed as

quickly as possible to Bologna. You will enter Bologna as a casual

visitor and by the Florence gate, and you will deliver to Fabrizio, who

is at the Pellegrino, a packet which Cecchina will give you. Fabrizio is

in hiding, and is known there as Signor Giuseppe Bossi; do not give him

away by any stupid action, do not appear to know him; my enemies will

perhaps set spies on your track. Fabrizio will send you back here after

a few hours or a few days: and it is on your return journey especially

that you must use every precaution not to give him away."

"Ah! Marchesa Raversi's people!" cried the postilion. "We are on the

look-out for them, and if the Signora wished, they would soon be

exterminated."

_THE ARCHBISHOP_

"Some other day, perhaps; but don't, as you value your life, do anything

without orders from me."

It was a copy of the Prince's note which the Duchessa wished to send to

Fabrizio; she could not resist the pleasure of making him amused, and

added a word about the scene which had led up to the note; this word

became a letter of ten pages. She had the postilion called back.

"You cannot start," she told him, "before four o'clock, when the gates

are opened."

"I was thinking of going out by the big conduit; I should be up to my

neck in water, but I should get through. . . ."

"No," said the Duchessa, "I do not wish to expose one of my most

faithful servants to the risk of fever. Do you know anyone in the

Archbishop's household?"

"The second coachman is a friend of mine."

"Here is a letter for that saintly prelate; make your way quietly into

his Palace, get them to take you to his valet; I do not wish Monsignore

to be awakened. If he has retired to his room, spend the night in the

Palace, and, as he is in the habit of rising at dawn, to-morrow morning,

at four o'clock, have yourself announced as coming from me, ask the holy

Archbishop for his blessing, hand him the packet you see here, and take

the letters that he will perhaps give you for Bologna."

The Duchessa addressed to the Archbishop the actual original of the

Prince's note; as this note concerned his First Grand Vicar, she begged

him to deposit it among the archives of the Palace, where she hoped that

their Reverences the Grand Vicars and Canons, her nephew's colleagues,

would be so good as to acquaint themselves with its contents; the whole

transaction to be kept in the most profound secrecy.

The Duchessa wrote to Monsignor Landriani with a familiarity which could

not fail to charm that honest plebeian; the signature alone filled three

lines; the letter, couched in the most friendly tone, was followed by

the words: _Angelina-Cornelia-Isotta Valserra del Dongo, duchessa

Sanseverina_.

"I don't believe I have signed all that," the Duchessa said to herself,

"since my marriage contract with the poor Duca; but one only gets hold

of those people with that sort of thing, and in the eyes of the middle

classes the caricature looks like beauty." She could not bring the

evening to an end without yielding to the temptation to write to the

poor Conte; she announced to him officially, for his _guidance_, she said,

_in his relations with crowned heads_, that she did not feel herself to

be capable of amusing a Minister in disgrace. "The Prince frightens you;

when you are no longer in a position to see him, will it be my business

to frighten you?" She had this letter taken to him at once.

For his part, that morning at seven o'clock, the Prince sent for Conte

Zurla, the Minister of the Interior.

"Repeat," he told him, "the strictest orders to every _podestà_ to have

Signor Fabrizio del Dongo arrested. We are informed that possibly he may

dare to reappear in our States. This fugitive being now at Bologna,

where he seems to defy the judgment of our tribunals, post the _sbirri_

who know him by sight: (1) in the villages on the road from Bologna to

Parma; (2) in the neighbourhood of Duchessa Sanseverina's _castello_ at

Sacca, and of her house at Castelnuovo; (3) round Conte Mosca's

_castello_. I venture to hope from your great sagacity, Signor Conte,

that you will manage to keep all knowledge of these, your Sovereign's

orders, from the curiosity of Conte Mosca. Understand that I wish Signor

Fabrizio del Dongo to be arrested."

_RASSI_

As soon as the Minister had left him, a secret door introduced into the

Prince's presence the Fiscal General Rassi, who came towards him bent

double, and bowing at every step. The face of this rascal was a picture;

it did full justice to the infamy of the part he had to play, and, while

the rapid and extravagant movements of his eyes betrayed his

consciousness of his own merits, the arrogant and grimacing assurance of

his mouth showed that he knew how to fight against contempt.

As this personage is going to acquire a considerable influence over

Fabrizio's destiny, we may say a word here about him. He was tall, he

had fine eyes that shewed great intelligence, but a face ruined by

smallpox; as for brains, he had them in plenty, and of the finest

quality; it was admitted that he had an exhaustive knowledge of the law,

but it was in the quality of resource that he specially shone. Whatever

the aspect in which a case might be laid before him, he easily and in a

few moments discovered the way, thoroughly well founded in law, to

arrive at a conviction or an acquittal; he was above all a past-master

of the hair-splittings of a prosecutor.

In this man, whom great Monarchs might have envied the Prince of Parma,

one passion only was known to exist: he loved to converse with eminent

personages and to please them by buffooneries. It mattered little to him

whether the powerful personage laughed at what he said or at his person,

or uttered revolting pleasantries at the expense of Signora Rassi;

provided that he saw the great man laugh and was himself treated as a

familiar, he was content. Sometimes the Prince, at a loss how further to

insult the dignity of this Chief Justice, would actually kick him; if

the kicks hurt him, he would begin to cry. But the instinct of

buffoonery was so strong in him that he might be seen every day

frequenting the drawing-room of a Minister who scoffed at him, in

preference to his own drawing-room where he exercised a despotic rule

over all the stuff gowns of the place. This Rassi had above all created

for himself a place apart, in that it was impossible for the most

insolent noble to humiliate him; his method of avenging himself for the

insults which he had to endure all day long was to relate them to the

Prince, in whose presence he had acquired the privilege of saying

anything; it is true that the reply often took the form of a

well-directed cuff, which hurt him, but he stood on no ceremony about

that. The presence of this Chief Justice used to distract the Prince in

his moments of ill humour; then he amused himself by outraging him. It

can be seen that Rassi was almost the perfect courtier: a man without

honour and without humour.

"Secrecy is essential above all things," the Prince shouted to him

without greeting him, treating him, in fact, exactly as he would have

treated a scullion, he who was so polite to everybody. "From when is

your sentence dated?"

"Serene Highness, from yesterday morning."

"By how many judges is it signed?"

"By all five."

"And the penalty?"

"Twenty years in a fortress, as Your Serene Highness told me."

"The death penalty would have given offence," said the Prince, as though

speaking to himself; "it is a pity! What an effect on that woman! But he

is a del Dongo, and that name is revered in Parma, on account of the

three Archbishops, almost in direct sequence. . . . You say twenty years

in a fortress?"

"Yes, Serene Highness," replied the Fiscal, still on his feet and bent

double; "with, as a preliminary, a public apology before His Serene

Highness's portrait; and, in addition, a diet of bread and water every

Friday and on the Vigils of the principal Feasts, _the accused being

notorious for his impiety_. This is with an eye to the future and to put

a stop to his career."

_THE MARCHESA RAVERSI_

"Write," said the Prince: "'His Serene Highness having deigned to turn a

considerate ear to the most humble supplications of the Marchesa del

Dongo, the culprit's mother, and of the Duchessa Sanseverina, his aunt,

which ladies have represented to him that at the date of the crime their

son and nephew was extremely young, and in addition led astray by an

insensate passion conceived for the wife of the unfortunate Giletti, has

been graciously pleased, notwithstanding the horror inspired by such a

murder, to commute the penalty to which Fabrizio del Dongo has been

sentenced to that of twelve years in a fortress."

"Give it to me to sign."

The Prince signed and dated the sentence from the previous day; then,

handing it back to Rassi, said to him: "Write immediately beneath my

signature: 'The Duchessa Sanseverina having once again thrown herself

before the knees of His Highness, the Prince has given permission that

every Thursday the prisoner may take exercise for one hour on the

platform of the square tower, commonly called Torre Farnese.'"

"Sign that," said the Prince, "and, don't forget, keep your mouth shut,

whatever you may hear said in the town. You will tell Councillor De'

Capitani, who voted for two years in a fortress, and even made a speech

upholding so ridiculous a sentence, that I expect him to refresh his

memory of the laws and regulations. Once again silence, and good night."

Fiscal Rassi performed with great deliberation three profound reverences

to which the Prince paid no attention.

This happened at seven o'clock in the morning. A few hours later, the

news of the Marchesa Raversi's banishment spread through the town and

among the _caffè_: everyone was talking at once of this great event.

The Marchesa's banishment drove away for some time from Parma that

implacable enemy of small towns and small courts, boredom. General Fabio

Conti, who had regarded himself as a Minister already, feigned an attack

of gout, and for several days did not emerge from his fortress. The

middle classes, and consequently the populace, concluded from what was

happening that it was clear that the Prince had decided to confer the

Archbishopric of Parma on Monsignor del Dongo. The shrewd politicians of

the _caffè_ went so far as to assert that Father Landriani, the

reigning Archbishop, had been ordered to plead ill health and to send in

his resignation; he was to be awarded a fat pension from the tobacco

duty, they were positive about it; this report reached the Archbishop

himself, who was greatly alarmed, and for several days his zeal for our

hero was considerably paralysed. Two months later, this fine piece of

news found its way into the Paris newspapers, with the slight alteration

that it was Conte Mosca, nephew of the Duchessa Sanseverina, who was to

be made Archbishop.

The Marchesa Raversi meanwhile was raging in her Castello di Velleja;

she was by no means one of those little feather-pated women who think

that they are avenging themselves when they say damaging things about

their enemies. On the day following her disgrace, Cavaliere Riscara and

three more of her friends presented themselves before the Prince by her

order, and asked him for permission to go to visit her at her

_castello_. His Highness received these gentlemen with perfect grace,

and their arrival at Velleja was a great consolation to the Marchesa.

Before the end of the second week, she had thirty people in her

_castello_, all those whom the Liberal Ministry was going to bring into

power. Every evening, the Marchesa held a regular council with the

better informed of her friends. One day, on which she had received a

number of letters from Parma and Bologna, she retired to bed early: her

maid let into the room, first of all the reigning lover, Conte Baldi, a

young man of admirable appearance and complete insignificance, and,

later on, Cavaliere Riscara, his predecessor: this was a small man dark

in complexion and in character, who, having begun by being instructor in

geometry at the College of Nobles at Parma, now found himself a

Councillor of State and a Knight of several Orders.

_CAVALIERE RISCARA_

"I have the good habit," the Marchesa said to these two men, "of never

destroying any paper; and well it has served me; here are nine letters

which the Sanseverina has written me on different occasions. You will

both of you proceed to Genoa, you will look among the gaol-birds there

for an ex-lawyer named Burati, like the great Venetian poet, or else

Durati. You, Conte Baldi, sit down at my desk and write what I am going

to dictate to you."

"'An idea has occurred to me, and I write you a line. I am going to my

cottage, by Castelnuovo; if you care to come over and spend a day with

me, I shall be most delighted; there is, it seems to me, no great danger

after what has just happened; the clouds are lifting. However, stop

before you come to Castelnuovo; you will find one of my people on the

road; they are all madly devoted to you. You will, of course, keep the

name Bossi for this little expedition. They tell me that you have grown

a beard like the most perfect Capuchin, and nobody has seen you at Parma

except with the decent countenance of a Grand Vicar.'"

"Do you follow me, Riscara?"

"Perfectly; but the journey to Genoa is an unnecessary extravagance; I

know a man in Parma who, to be accurate, is not yet in the galleys, but

cannot fail to get there in the end. He will counterfeit the

Sanseverina's hand to perfection."

At these words, Conte Baldi opened those fine eyes of his to their full

extent; he had only just understood.

"If you know this worthy personage of Parma, who, you hope, will obtain

advancement," said the Marchesa to Riscara, "presumably he knows you

also: his mistress, his confessor, his bosom friend may have been bought

by the Sanseverina: I should prefer to postpone this little joke for a

few days and not to expose myself to any risk. Start in a couple of

hours like good little lambs, don't see a living soul at Genoa, and

return quickly." Cavaliere Riscara fled from the room laughing, and

squeaking through his nose like Punchinello. "_We must pack up our

traps!_" he said as he ran in a burlesque fashion. He wished to leave

Baldi alone with the lady. Five days later, Riscara brought the Marchesa

back her Conte Baldi, flayed alive; to cut off six leagues, they had

made him cross a mountain on mule-back; he vowed that nothing would ever

induce him again to take _long journeys_. Baldi handed the Marchesa

three copies of the letter which she had dictated to him, and five or

six other letters in the same hand, composed by Riscara, which might

perhaps be put to some use later on. One of these letters contained some

very pretty witticisms with regard to the fears from which the Prince

suffered at night, and to the deplorable thinness of the Marchesa Balbi,

his mistress, who left a dint in the sofa-cushions, it was said, like

the mark made by a pair of tongs, after she had sat on them for a

moment. Anyone would have sworn that all these letters came from the

hand of Signora Sanseverina.

"Now I know, beyond any doubt," said the Marchesa, "that the favoured

lover, Fabrizio, is at Bologna or in the immediate neighbourhood. . . ."

"I am too unwell," cried Conte Baldi, interrupting her; "I ask as a

favour to be excused this second journey, or at least I should like to

have a few days' rest to recover my health."

"I shall go and plead your cause," said Riscara.

He rose and spoke in an undertone to the Marchesa.

"Oh, very well, then, I consent," she replied with a smile. "Reassure

yourself, you shall not go at all," she told Baldi, with a certain air

of contempt.

"Thank you," he cried in heart-felt accents. In the end, Riscara got

into a post-chaise by himself. He had scarcely been a couple of days in

Bologna when he saw, in an open carriage, Fabrizio and little Marietta.

"The devil!" he said to himself, "it seems, our future Archbishop

doesn't let the time hang on his hands; we must let the Duchessa know

about this, she will be charmed." Riscara had only to follow Fabrizio to

discover his address; next morning our hero received from a courier the

letter forged at Genoa; he thought it a trifle short, but apart from

that suspected nothing. The thought of seeing the Duchessa and Conte

again made him wild with joy, and in spite of anything Lodovico might

say he took a post-horse and went off at a gallop. Without knowing it,

he was followed at a short distance by Cavaliere Riscara, who on coming

to a point six leagues from Parma, at the stage before Castelnuovo, had

the satisfaction of seeing a crowd on the _piazza_ outside the local

prison; they had just led in our hero, recognised at the post-house, as

he was changing horses, by two _sbirri_ who had been selected and sent

there by Conte Zurla.

Cavaliere Riscara's little eyes sparkled with joy; he informed himself,

with exemplary patience, of everything that had occurred in this little

village, then sent a courier to the Marchesa Raversi. After which,

roaming the streets as though to visit the church, which was of great

interest, and then to look for a picture by the Parmigianino which, he

had been told, was to be found in the place, he finally ran into the

_podestà_, who was obsequious in paying his respects to a Councillor of

State. Riscara appeared surprised that he had not immediately dispatched

to the citadel of Parma the conspirator whose arrest he had had the good

fortune to secure.

"There is reason to fear," Riscara added in an indifferent tone, "that

his many friends, who were endeavouring, the day before yesterday, to

facilitate his passage through the States of His Highness, may come into

conflict with the police; there were at least twelve or fifteen of these

rebels, mounted."

"_Intelligenti pauca_!" cried the _podestà_ with a cunning air.