The Passport

The question was, whether Princess Montefiano would consent to receive this deputation, and to hear what its members had to say. Her decision would evidently be inspired by the Abbé Roux, and the abbé's recent action in causing the rents to be increased, and in the dismissal of an old, popular official for venturing to oppose that increase, convinced Don Agostino that the foreign priest, as the Abbé Roux was called, did not understand the character of the people he was attempting to rule.

Don Agostino's experience of human nature made him at once realize the danger of a misunderstanding on either side, in the present condition of public opinion in Montefiano. The abbé might easily underrate the force of that opinion and persuade the princess to decline to listen to, or even to receive a deputation formed to protest against his policy. If he were so to persuade Princess Montefiano, the situation would infallibly become critical, and very likely perilous. All would then depend on whether the Abbé Roux had the nerve and the tact to deal with it, or whether he would oblige the princess to appeal to the authorities to suppress the demonstration. In this latter case a collision would become inevitable; and it was this collision between his people – for was he not their parroco? – and the authorities, that Don Agostino was determined to use all his influence to avert.

Concetta Fontana watched his countenance, as for a few moments Don Agostino stood, apparently deep in thought.

"You would join the deputation, reverendo, would you not?" she asked him, presently.

Don Agostino hesitated.

"It depends," he replied. "You see, figlia mia," he continued, "we must be careful that in trying to do good we do not bring about a great deal of harm and unhappiness. I should like to talk with your father, and to-day I will go to see Stefano Mazza. The contadini are within their rights – I do not deny that – and a grave injustice has been done, both to them and to your father. Sicuro! they are in the right, but it should be the duty of those who have influence to prevent them from doing anything to put themselves in the wrong. Yes, tell your father that I should like to see him to-day. At mezzogiorno he will find a place ready for him if he likes to come to breakfast. We could talk afterwards – while Ernana is washing the dishes. You will go to see Donna Bianca again – as you did last night, will you not? You will tell her that her letter goes to-day to her fidanzato, and that he will receive it to-morrow morning in Rome. And you will tell her, also, that I am awaiting the letter she is going to write to me; and when I have it, I will answer her. In the mean time, figlia mia, be prudent – if you wish to serve the Principessina Bianca. You and your father have influence with the people – they wish you well. Talk to the women. It is the women who can often lead the men – is it not? Anything that is done must be done cautiously, moderately. There must be no folly – no threats employed in order to enforce demands that in themselves are just. You must tell the women that I, Don Agostino, will support all that is done to obtain justice in a just way – but I will not countenance any measures that may provoke disorder, and perhaps violence. Now go, figlia mia, and give my message to your father this morning – and to the Principessina Bianca when you think it safe to go again to her apartment."

And Don Agostino, opening the door of the sacristy, accompanied Concetta through the empty church, and then returned to his own house, and to his morning coffee which Ernana always prepared for him after he had said his early mass.

XXVIII

Silvio Rossano had quite made up his mind that some days must in all probability elapse before Don Agostino might be able to find a safe opportunity of conveying the letter and ring he had intrusted to him to Bianca. When, therefore, he found on his table, on returning to Palazzo Acorari as usual for breakfast, a notice from the post-office informing him that a registered packet addressed to him was lying at the central office, he did not suppose for a moment that the said packet had come from Montefiano. Indeed, it was not until late in the afternoon that he went to San Silvestro in order to get the packet, as he had some work to do at home which he was anxious to complete. His heart gave a sudden leap when he recognized Don Agostino's handwriting on the registered envelope. The arcade running round the court-yard and garden of palms at San Silvestro, thronged as it was with people asking for their correspondence at the poste-restante, with soldiers and men of business, priests and peasants, was certainly not the place to investigate the contents of Don Agostino's missive, which would scarcely have been registered had the contents not been important.

Silvio hurried out of the building, and, crossing the Corso, plunged into the comparative quiet of the little side streets behind Montecitorio, where he eagerly tore open the sealed envelope. There were only a few lines written by Don Agostino himself, and Silvio, hastily glancing at them, gathered that he had had an opportunity of sending the letter and ring to Bianca Acorari by a safe hand, and that her reply was enclosed. He added that he should write more fully in a day or two, by which time he believed he should have something of importance to communicate.

Bianca's letter, too, was short and hastily written in pencil on a half-sheet of paper that Silvio recognized as having been torn from his own lengthy epistle to her. Brief as this letter was, however, it told him much that he was longing to know, and, indeed, repeated Bianca's words to him in the garden of the Villa Acorari, with which she had vowed that she would marry nobody if she did not marry him. But what set his mind at ease more than anything else was her assurance that means of communication were open to them. Bianca did not explain what these means were, but told him that she would write him a long letter the following day, and that he also could continue to write to her under cover to Monsignor Lelli, as there was now no danger of his letters being intercepted. This, at least, was a comforting piece of news, and Silvio wondered how it had come about that Don Agostino had been able to so quickly find the necessary channel of communication. It was scarcely likely, he reflected, that Don Agostino would venture to go himself to the castle at Montefiano after having been seen by Monsieur d'Antin in his company.

He returned to Palazzo Acorari full of hope, and in better spirits than he had been for many a day. The uncertainty of the last few weeks had begun to tell upon him; and at the same time his complete separation from Bianca Acorari had only increased his love, and had made him more determined than ever to defeat the machinations of those who were trying to break down Bianca's love for him. The first thing to be done was to write to Bianca. She would be expecting to hear from him again, and to know that he had received her pencilled note safely. Silvio shut himself in his room and proceeded to write an epistle longer, if anything, than that he had confided to Don Agostino. The contents were much the same as the contents of other love-letters, and scarcely likely to be of interest to any one except himself and the person to whom they were addressed. Of course, he longed to see her again; and he implored her not to lose any opportunity of allowing him to do so that could be seized upon without risk to herself. He could always, he explained to her, come to Montefiano at any moment, and Monsignor Lelli doubtless would arrange that his presence in the place should be unsuspected.

It was useless, he felt, to attempt to form a plan, until he should have heard again from her and from Don Agostino. He read the latter's note again and again with great attention. It was evident that Don Agostino had something more to communicate than he was able at that moment to write. No doubt he was making sure of his ground before summoning Silvio to Montefiano. In any case, there was nothing to do but to wait patiently for further light upon the situation; and in the mean time he might do more harm than good by suggesting any one of the expedients for obtaining another meeting with Bianca that came into his head.

His letter written, he sought Giacinta's counsel as usual, and told her of what that day's post had brought to him. Giacinta was duly sympathetic. She had, indeed, long ago recognized that Silvio's passion for Bianca Acorari was not to be diminished by any amount of practical reasoning as to its folly. Perhaps the discovery that Monsignor Lelli, whom her father held in such high esteem, not only approved of Silvio's love for Donna Bianca, but had also undertaken to help him, so far as he might be able, to remove the difficulties that stood in the way of his marrying her, had caused Giacinta to take a less pessimistic view of her brother's infatuation; at any rate, since Monsignor Lelli's visit she had regarded the matter as one which must take its course, for better or for worse, since not only was there no apparent likelihood of Silvio being disheartened by the obstacles in his way, but it seemed that Donna Bianca Acorari also knew her own mind, and had no intention of allowing others to alter it for her.

The professor, too, had become decidedly less cynical on the subject of his son's matrimonial aspirations since his conversation with Monsignor Lelli. To be sure, he did not encourage Giacinta to talk about it; and when she attempted to do so, he put the whole question quietly but decidedly away from him, as he did any question threatening to lead to social unpleasantness in private life. But Giacinta realized that her father also had modified his views as to the folly of Silvio's devotion to a girl whom he had seen only a few times in his life; and that, though he did not intend to move any further in the affair than he had already done, he was not so actively opposed to it as he had at first shown himself to be.

Giacinta had always been doubtful as to whether Bianca Acorari would have sufficient force of character to hold out against the pressure that would certainly be brought to bear upon her in order to make her relinquish all idea of becoming Silvio's wife. It was quite natural that Silvio himself should entertain no doubts on the subject; but then he was in love with Bianca, and she, Giacinta, was not so. But such passages as Silvio chose to read to her from the brief note he had that day received from Bianca finally removed all fears from her mind lest her brother might be exposed to the disappointment and mortification of finding that Donna Bianca had yielded to the influences by which she was surrounded.

"You see, Giacinta," Silvio said, triumphantly, "I was right. I have always told you that Bianca would never give way. And now, after being shut up in that dreary hole for nearly six weeks, she takes the first opportunity of repeating the promises she made to me at the Villa Acorari. If she has to wait three years to marry me, ebbene, she will wait three years – and nothing that they can say or do to her in the mean time will make the slightest difference. Oh, I know what you will say – that it is impossible to know what a person's character may be whom one has only seen a few times, and only talked to once. But sometimes two people know each other's character by instinct, by – by – oh, well, by something or other, though God knows what the something is."

Giacinta laughed. "There may be a scientific explanation of the phenomenon," she remarked; "perhaps Babbo will find one. No, Silvio," she continued, more gravely, "I confess I seem to have underrated Donna Bianca's character. She is apparently as much in earnest as you are, and I am glad she is so. It is at least a sign that, if you both succeed in attaining your object, you should be happy together, and your happiness is all that concerns me, Silvio mio."

"And Bianca's happiness," added Silvio, "that should concern you, too."

"It will concern me henceforth," returned Giacinta, "because, though I do not know Donna Bianca, I understand now that her happiness and yours is the same thing."

Silvio looked at her with a quick smile. "You will know Bianca some day," he said, "and then you will see how right I was."

Two mornings afterwards, Silvio received a second letter from Bianca, and from it he learned how it had happened that Don Agostino had so quickly been able to communicate with her. Bianca told him many other things as well; and among them was a piece of information which, while it gave him a considerable amount of satisfaction, at the same time made him uneasy and restless in his mind.

There was, she wrote, a threatening of disturbances among the people at Montefiano in consequence of the Abbé Roux having persuaded her step-mother to dismiss the fattore and to consent to the rents being raised. Bianca did not understand very well what was the matter, but it was evident that the Abbé Roux and her step-mother feared that things might become serious, for they had discussed in her presence the advisability of asking for soldiers to be sent to Montefiano if there was any more trouble with the contadini. Moreover, Concetta Fontana, the fattore'sdaughter, to whom Bianca had already alluded as being her and Silvio's friend and channel of communication, had told her that the people were angry because they suspected she was being kept as a kind of prisoner at Montefiano until she should consent to marry Baron d'Antin, and that her engagement to Silvio was perfectly well known in the paese. The peasants were going to send a deputation to the castle, and to insist not only on the increase in the rents being abandoned and the agent, Fontana, reinstated in his post, but also, according to Concetta, on seeing her, Bianca, and speaking with her as their padrona.

The intelligence certainly carried with it food for reflection. Silvio's first feeling on reading Bianca's words was one of satisfaction. If it were known or suspected at Montefiano that Donna Bianca Acorari was being kept in seclusion in order to force her to marry a foreigner old enough to be her father; if it were supposed that her property and interests were being tampered with by strangers for their own benefit, at the expense of her own people, a situation might easily develop which would compel Princess Montefiano to allow her step-daughter to marry the man she wished to marry. It was certainly no bad thing if Bianca were rescued from her present position by the force of public opinion; and if her own people gathered round her, Monsieur l'Abbé Roux and Monsieur le Baron d'Antin might very possibly find themselves obliged to retire from the scene. If this occurred, it might reasonably be hoped that the princess would listen to other counsels than those by which she had hitherto been influenced.

So far, Silvio felt he had no cause to be otherwise than pleased at the thought that Bianca's own people at Montefiano were likely to interfere with the plans of the Abbé Roux and Monsieur d'Antin. His sense of satisfaction, however, was quickly succeeded by a feeling of uneasiness. Young as he was, he had some experience of what an uneducated mob, with grievances real or fancied, might be capable of doing. He had witnessed strikes in more than one part of Italy; and though it was true that, at Montefiano, disturbances which might occur would be made by peasants and not artisans, he knew how frequently it happened that the uneducated of all classes and occupations lost their heads and went to lengths which neither they nor their leaders perhaps ever contemplated. If Bianca were right, and the rents at Montefiano had been raised through the abbé's instrumentality, and a popular agent dismissed for venturing to oppose the increase, then much would depend on the princess's attitude towards the suggested deputation from her step-daughter's tenants. Should her attitude be unconciliatory, who could tell whether the anger and discontent of the peasantry might not be wreaked on Bianca herself, in whose name these grievances had been inflicted?

Silvio remembered having seen the agent, Fontana, on one occasion during the few days he had spent in the neighborhood of Montefiano; and he had likewise heard Don Agostino mention him as a fattore who was just towards the people as well as honest to his employers. At a crisis such as Bianca's letter pointed to as being imminent, the advice and services of a man like Fontana would have been invaluable to Princess Montefiano; for if the peasants were clamoring for his reinstatement, they certainly would have been more likely to be influenced by him than by strangers.

The idea that Bianca Acorari might be exposed to any danger, however problematical, was quite sufficient to render Silvio restless and uneasy. He wondered whether Don Agostino had been thinking of possible disturbances on the part of the peasants of Montefiano when he had written that in a few days he might have something of importance to communicate. To be sure, Don Agostino had not written again, and now nearly three days had passed since Silvio had received his first letter, enclosing the few lines Bianca had sent him by Concetta Fontana. He would certainly, Silvio told himself, have written, or even perhaps telegraphed, had anything alarming occurred at Montefiano. There was, it would appear, nothing to be done except to wait for Don Agostino's promised letter, or at least until Bianca herself should write again and give him further particulars of how matters were going.

That evening the spell of damp, hot weather, which so often makes Rome almost intolerable in the middle of September, broke. A heavy thunder-storm passed over the city, accompanied by torrents of rain, which descended in white sheets as if in the tropics. A steamy fog rose from the ground, parched by the long summer drought. Masses of inky-black clouds began to drift up from the sea; and at nightfall, long after the storm had rolled away to the mountains, a continuous flicker of lightning illumined the entire sky. In the caffès, or safely in the shelter of their own houses, people congratulated one another that the end of the heat had come, and that when the weather should mend again the first breath of autumn would be felt in the lighter, crisper air.

Silvio dined at home that night with his father and Giacinta, and afterwards, contrary to his usual custom, Professor Rossano did not go to the Piazza Colonna for his cup of coffee and to read his evening paper. The Piazza Colonna, indeed, would have been nothing but an exaggerated puddle, with streams of muddy water running through it from the higher level of Montecitorio; and, besides, it would have been unwise to be abroad in the streets while the first rains after the summer were falling – the only time during the whole year when a genuine malarial fever, and not the "Roman fever" of the overfed and overtired tourist, might possibly be picked up within the walls of Rome.

Dinner had been over some time, and they were smoking and talking together in the drawing-room, when the hoarse cries of the news-venders calling the evening papers came from the street without, and a few minutes later a servant entered the room with copies of the newspapers, which he gave to the professor. Giacinta took up a book and began to read, while Silvio walked restlessly up and down the room, every now and then going to the window to see if the rain had stopped.

The professor turned over the pages of his newspapers in a vain endeavor to extract some news from them. There might be, and no doubt there were, important events happening in the world, even in the month of September – events more important, for instance, than the fall from his bicycle of a student, or the drinking by a servant-girl of a solution of corrosive sublimate in mistake for water. If there were more noteworthy matters to chronicle, however, they had escaped the notice of the press that evening. Professor Rossano was about to betake himself to other and more profitable reading, when a paragraph containing a telegram dated from Montefiano caught his eye and arrested his attention.

"So," he observed, suddenly, "it seems that our padrona di casa has got herself into trouble with the people at Montefiano, or, rather, I suppose that meddlesome abbé has got her into trouble with them. Look, Silvio," he added, pointing to the paragraph in question, "read this," and he handed the newspaper to his son.

Silvio took the paper quickly, and eagerly read the telegram. It was very short, and merely stated that in consequence of disorder among the peasantry on the estates belonging to Casa Acorari at Montefiano, and the fear of these disorders assuming more serious proportions, military assistance has been requested by the civil authorities; and that a detachment of infantry would in all probability be despatched from Civitacastellana if the situation did not become more satisfactory.

Silvio uttered an exclamation of dismay.

"What did I tell you, Giacinta?" he said. "I was certain from Bianca's last letter that some mischief was brewing. Now there will probably be a collision with the military authorities; and we all know what that means."

"Well," observed the professor placidly, "it is no affair of yours, Silvio, so far as I can see, if there are disturbances at Montefiano. Not but what you have done your best to add to their number! All the same," he continued, "it is a foolish thing, and a wrong thing, to drag the soldiery into these disputes if their intervention can possibly be avoided. I suppose the princess and the Abbé Roux are frightened. But surely there must be a fattore at Montefiano who can manage the people?"

"That is the point," returned Silvio. "The princess has dismissed the fattore because he objected to the raising of the rents; and the peasants are insisting on his being recalled."

The professor glanced at him. "It seems," he remarked, dryly, "that you know all about it."

"No, I don't," answered Silvio, bluntly. "But I want to know all about it," he added. "To-morrow I shall take the first train to Attigliano, and I shall drive from there to Montefiano. Don Agostino will tell me what it all means, and perhaps I shall see for myself what is going on."

"Sciocchezze!" exclaimed the professor. "Why the devil should you go and interfere in the matter? It is no concern of yours, and you will only get a bullet put into you by a soldier, or a knife by a peasant. You are an imbecile, Silvio."

"But it does concern me," Silvio replied, obstinately, "and, imbecile or not, by twelve o'clock to-morrow I will be at Montefiano. Who knows? Perhaps I might be of use. In any case, I go there to-morrow. No, Giacinta, it is perfectly useless to argue about it. I wish I had gone at once, when I received Bianca's last letter. I can guess what has happened. The princess has been advised not to receive the deputation from the peasants, or she has received it and refused to grant what was asked, and now the people are exasperated."

The professor shrugged his shoulders. "Of course you will go," he said. "When people are in love they cease to be reasonable human beings, and you have not been a reasonable human being – oh, not since Easter. It is useless to talk to you, as useless as it would be to talk to a donkey in spring," and Professor Rossano got up from his chair and walked off to his library.

Giacinta looked at her brother as the door closed behind the professor.

"Do you suppose the disturbances at Montefiano are serious?" she asked.

"Who can tell?" responded Silvio. "Those things are apt to become serious at a moment's notice. Anyhow," he continued, "I wish to be near Bianca, in case of any danger threatening her. The people might think she was responsible for the troops being summoned, and then, if any casualty were to happen, they might turn upon her as well as upon others at the castle. Of course I must go, Giacinta! Besides, who knows what this business may not lead to? Of one thing you may be certain. If Bianca is in any danger, I shall save her from it – I shall take her away from Montefiano."

Giacinta stared at him. "You mean that you will make her run away with you?" she asked.

Silvio shook his head. "I do not know," he replied. "It will all depend upon circumstances. But if I asked her to come with me, she would come. And there are those at Montefiano, Giacinta, who would help her to do so."