บทที่ บทที่ 11 · Chapter Eleven

On leaving the Archbishop's Palace, Fabrizio hastened to see little

Marietta; he could hear from the street the loud voice of Giletti who

had sent out for wine and was regaling himself with his friends the

prompter and the candle-snuffers. The _mammaccia_, who played the part

of mother, came alone in answer to his signal.

"A lot has happened since you were here," she cried; "two or three of

our actors are accused of having celebrated the great Napoleon's _festa_

with an orgy, and our poor company, which they say is Jacobin, has been

ordered to leave the States of Parma, and _evviva Napoleone_! But the

Minister has had a finger in that pie, they say. One thing certain is

that Giletti has got money, I don't know how much, but I've seen him

with a fistful of scudi. Marietta has had five scudi from our manager to

pay for the journey to Mantua and Venice, and I have had one. She is

still in love with you, but Giletti frightens her; three days ago, at

the last performance we gave, he absolutely wanted to kill her; he dealt

her two proper blows, and, what was abominable of him, tore her blue

shawl. If you would care to give her a blue shawl, you would be a very

good boy, and we can say that we won it in a lottery. The drum-major of

the _carabinieri_ is giving an assault-at-arms to-morrow, you will find

the hour posted up at all the street-corners. Come and see us; if he has

gone to the assault, and we have any reason to hope that he will stay

away for some time, I shall be at the window, and I shall give you a

signal to come up. Try to bring us something really nice, and Marietta

will be madly in love with you."

As he made his way down the winding staircase of this foul rookery,

Fabrizio was filled with compunction. "I have not altered in the least,"

he said to himself; "all the fine resolutions I made on the shore of our

lake, when I looked at life with so philosophic an eye, have gone to the

winds. My mind has lost its normal balance; the whole thing was a dream,

and vanishes before the stern reality. Now would be the time for action,"

he told himself as he entered the _palazzo_ Sanseverina about eleven

o'clock that evening. But it was in vain that he sought in his heart for

the courage to speak with that sublime sincerity which had seemed to him

so easy, the night he spent by the shore of the Lake of Como. "I am

going to vex the person whom I love best in the world; if I speak, I

shall simply seem to be jesting in the worst of taste; I am not worth

anything, really, except in certain moments of exaltation.

"The Conte has behaved admirably towards me," he said to the Duchessa,

after he had given her an account of his visit to the Archbishop's

Palace; "I appreciate his conduct all the more, in that I think I am

right in saying that personally I have made only a very moderate

impression on him: my behaviour towards him ought therefore to be

strictly correct. He has his excavations at Sanguigna, about which he is

still madly keen, if one is to judge, that is, by his expedition the day

before yesterday: he went twelve leagues at a gallop in order to spend a

couple of hours with his workmen. If they find fragments of statues in

the ancient temple, the foundations of which he has just laid bare, he

is afraid of their being stolen; I should like to propose to him that I

should go and spend a night or two at Sanguigna. To-morrow, about five,

I have to see the Archbishop again; I can start in the evening and take

advantage of the cool night air for the journey."

_SANGUIGNA_

The Duchessa did not at first reply.

"One would think you were seeking excuses for staying away from me," she

said to him at length with extreme affection: "No sooner do you come

back from Belgirate than you find a reason for going off again."

"Here is a fine opportunity for speaking," thought Fabrizio. "But by the

lake I was a trifle mad; I did not realise, in my enthusiasm for

sincerity, that my compliment ended in an impertinence. It was a

question of saying: 'I love you with the most devoted friendship, etc.,

etc., but my heart is not susceptible to love.' Is not that as much as

to say: 'I see that you are in love with me: but take care, I cannot pay

you back in the same coin.' If it is love that she feels, the Duchessa

may be annoyed at its being guessed, and she will be revolted by my

impudence if all that she feels for me is friendship pure and

simple . . . and that is one of the offences people never forgive."

While he weighed these important thoughts in his mind, Fabrizio, quite

unconsciously, was pacing up and down the drawing-room with the grave

air, full of dignity, of a man who sees disaster staring him in the

face.

The Duchessa gazed at him with admiration; this was no longer the child

she had seen come into the world, this was no longer the nephew always

ready to obey her; this was a serious man, a man whom it would be

delicious to make fall in love with her. She rose from the ottoman on

which she was sitting, and, flinging herself into his arms in a

transport of emotion:

"So you want to run away from me?" she asked him.

"No," he replied with the air of a Roman Emperor, "but I want to act

wisely."

This speech was capable of several interpretations; Fabrizio did not

feel that he had the courage to go any farther and to run the risk of

wounding this adorable woman. He was too young, too susceptible to

sudden emotion; his brain could not supply him with any elegant turn of

speech to give expression to what he wished to say. By a natural

transport, and in defiance of all reason, he took this charming woman in

his arms and smothered her in kisses. At that moment the Conte's

carriage could be heard coming into the courtyard, and almost

immediately the Conte himself entered the room; he seemed greatly moved.

"You inspire very singular passions," he said to Fabrizio, who stood

still, almost dumbfoundered by this remark.

"The Archbishop had this evening the audience which His Serene Highness

grants him every Thursday; the Prince has just been telling me that the

Archbishop, who seemed greatly troubled, began with a set speech,

learned by heart, and extremely clever, of which at first the Prince

could understand nothing at all. Landriani ended by declaring that it

was important for the Church in Parma that _Monsignor_ Fabrizio del Dongo

should be appointed his First Vicar General, and, in addition, as soon

as he should have completed his twenty-fourth year, his Coadjutor _with

eventual succession_.

"The last clause alarmed me, I must admit," said the Conte: "it is going

a little too fast, and I was afraid of an outburst from the Prince; but

he looked at me with a smile, and said to me in French: 'Ce sont là de

vos coups, monsieur!'

_THE AUDIENCE_

"'I can take my oath, before God and before Your Highness,' I exclaimed

with all the unction possible, 'that I knew absolutely nothing about the

words _eventual succession_.' Then I told him the truth, what in fact we

were discussing together here a few hours ago; I added, impulsively,

that, so far as the future was concerned, I should regard myself as most

bounteously rewarded with His Highness's favour if he would deign to

allow me a minor Bishopric to begin with. The Prince must have believed

me, for he thought fit to be gracious; he said to me with the greatest

possible simplicity: 'This is an official matter between the Archbishop

and myself; you do not come into it at all; the worthy man delivered me

a kind of report, of great length and tedious to a degree, at the end of

which he came to an official proposal; I answered him very coldly that

the person in question was extremely young, and, moreover, a very recent

arrival at my court, that I should almost be giving the impression that

I was honouring a bill of exchang