The Passport

The Abbé Roux came forward and placed himself between Don Agostino and Monsieur d'Antin.

"Monsieur le Baron," he said, casting an angry glance at Don Agostino, "it seems to me that we are wasting time. Monsignor Lelli has come here, apparently, with the object of attempting to induce the princess to give way to the insolent demands of these ignorant peasants, and to dictate to her what she should and should not do. Well, I, Monsieur le Baron, as you well know, am honored by the princess's confidence; and, as you also know, I am deputed by her excellency to give Monsignor Lelli her final and definite answer to his representations on behalf of the peasants and their friends."

Don Agostino interrupted him.

"How did the princess know that I was coming here to-day on behalf of the peasants?" he asked, abruptly.

The Abbé Roux looked suddenly perplexed; and Monsieur d'Antin joined the tips of his fingers together and laughed softly to himself. Don Agostino glanced at him keenly. Baron d'Antin's manner puzzled him. It was the manner that an amused spectator of a comedy might display, but it was certainly not fitting to one of the characters on the stage.

The abbé scowled. "Parbleu!" he exclaimed, roughly, "we are not all imbeciles here; and we are better informed as to what has been going on than Monsignor Lelli is aware! We know, for instance, that he did not hesitate to compromise his position as parroco by encouraging with his presence a meeting held this morning in a caffè by the leaders of this agitation, and that he took upon himself the responsibility of being their spokesman. Ah, yes, monsignore, the princess expected your visit this afternoon; but, as you see, she altogether declines to receive you in person."

Don Agostino turned to him with quiet dignity.

"So be it, Monsieur l'Abbé," he said, tranquilly. "The princess must take the responsibility of declining to receive me in person, and to allow me access to Donna Bianca Acorari. Nevertheless, I am here as the representative of Donna Bianca's people, and I will discharge my duty. I shall say, boldly – "

"To the princess and Donna Bianca? No, monsignore, you will not have the opportunity. It would be well that you should understand this finally."

"No, not to the princess and Donna Bianca, but to you!" continued Don Agostino. "You tell me that you are honored with the princess's entire confidence. I hope that she equally enjoys your own, Monsieur l'Abbé. If so, you will repeat to her what I say. As you are aware that I attended the meeting held this morning in the principal caffè of Montefiano, you are, no doubt, also aware of the attitude of the people towards the princess, towards Monsieur le Baron d'Antin, and towards yourself. You no doubt know that they regard you, Monsieur l'Abbé Roux, as a foreigner who has abused the confidence the princess has had in you as a priest, in order by degrees to fill your own pockets out of Donna Bianca Acorari's possessions and at the expense of the people. You doubtless know that they accuse you of being the real lessee of the rents paid by the tenants on this estate, and believe that the recent raising of those rents and the dismissal of the fattoreFontana, for having protested against any increase in the rent, was due to you. You will have heard, also, that you are credited with having devised a scheme whereby Donna Bianca Acorari is to marry Monsieur le Baron d'Antin in order to keep her patrimony in the family – so to speak – and enable you to continue to administer the properties for some years to come. Of course, Monsieur l'Abbé, you know all this, since you are well informed of what is being said and done in Montefiano."

The Abbé Roux's face while Don Agostino was speaking presented a study in some of the various feelings capable of being reflected on the human countenance. Anger, mortification, dismay – all these displayed themselves in turn as he listened to Don Agostino's words, each one of which was delivered with a calm incisiveness which added to the force of his speech.

"Monsignore!" he exclaimed, furiously. "Are you aware of what you are saying? Monsieur le Baron," he added, turning to Monsieur d'Antin, "this is an insult – not to me only, but to the princess and to yourself – "

Monsieur d'Antin looked from one to the other curiously, almost as if he enjoyed the situation.

"I think not, Monsieur l'Abbé," he said, with a little smile, and rubbing his white hands gently together. "I think not, my dear friend. Monsignor Lelli is merely stating the opinion that others hold concerning you – or concerning us, perhaps I should say. He does not, I am convinced, mean us to suppose that he shares this opinion."

Don Agostino was silent.

"In any case," continued Monsieur d'Antin, with a slight shrug of the shoulders as the silence became markedly prolonged, "it is not worth your while to be angry, my dear abbé, for Monsignor Lelli might regard your anger as a proof that the peasants at Montefiano are a very shrewd race – ha, ha, ha!" and he broke into a gentle laugh which sounded genuine enough, but certainly did not tend to allay the abbé's fury.

"No," he continued. "Let us remain calm, I beg of you, and let us hear what else Monsignor Lelli has to tell us from these admirable peasants."

"I have little else to add to what I have already said," observed Don Agostino, "and I make no apologies for the words I have used. They are plain words, and even the Abbé Roux will not, I think, misunderstand them. As to my own opinion – well, I agree with you, Monsieur le Baron, that the people of Montefiano are shrewd, and I believe their accusations to be just."

The Abbé Roux made a step forward, and, purple with rage, shook his clinched fist in Don Agostino's face.

"And you," he exclaimed, "you, whom the Holy Father sent to minister to these pigs of peasants in order to avoid the scandal of proceeding against you for fraudulent speculation with money intrusted to you, you dare to bring these accusations against me! Liar, hypocrite, pig – like the peasants you represent!"

"My dear friend," remonstrated Monsieur d'Antin, laying his hand on the abbé's arm, "let me implore you to be calm. Recollect that you and Monsignor Lelli are priests – that you both wear the soutane. You cannot demand satisfaction of each other in the usual way – you cannot challenge each other to a duel. It would be – excessively funny," and Monsieur d'Antin laughed again, in evident enjoyment of the idea. "Besides," he continued, "Monsignor Lelli has, no doubt, more to tell us. We have not yet heard what it is that the peasants require of my sister."

"Monsieur," said Don Agostino, "I can answer for the peasants that, if they are allowed to see and speak with Donna Bianca Acorari, they will certainly not proceed to any excesses. They will probably return quietly to their occupations."

"And you," interrupted the Abbé Roux, in a voice that was hoarse and trembling with anger, "can take back to the peasants the princess's answer which I am commissioned to give in her name. The answer is, that they will not be permitted to see Donna Bianca Acorari, who has nothing to say in the matter of the administration of these lands, or to approach her with any story of their grievances. The princess, monsignore, is perfectly well aware of all that underlies this agitation, and that it is directed chiefly against myself. She will not be intimidated into recalling Giuseppe Fontana, or into lowering the rents. She – "

He stopped abruptly. A confused sound of voices came from the gallery outside, and a moment afterwards the door was flung hastily open and the old maggior-domo burst into the room, followed by several of the servants, who stood in a frightened group on the threshold.

"The contadini!" he exclaimed. "There is a crowd of three hundred or more outside the entrance-gates, and they declare that if the gates are not opened, they will break them down, Signor Abate! Ah, Madonna mia! It is a repubblica– a revolution – listen!" and rushing across the gallery, he threw open one of the windows looking into the court-yard.

The thick walls of the castle had effectually prevented any sound from penetrating to the apartments on the other side of the gallery, all of which were situated in the portion of the building added to the mediæval fortress by Cardinal Acorari, and overlooked the terrace and open country beneath it. From the gallery, however, the angry roar of an excited mob could distinctly be heard; and, when the windows were opened by the old maggior-domo, shouts of "Down with the foreigners! Long live the Principessina Bianca!" became plainly audible.

Don Agostino looked at the abbé and Monsieur d'Antin. "You see, monsieur," he said, quietly, to the latter, "I did not exaggerate matters. But even now it is not too late. If the princess and Donna Bianca will show themselves to the peasants, and allow me to address the people in their name, I am confident that order will quickly be restored. Hark!" he added. "They are attempting to break open the gates." And even as he spoke, the noise of heavy blows falling on wood-work re-echoed through the court-yard.

Monsieur d'Antin, to do him justice, appeared to be far more composed than the Abbé Roux. He listened for a moment or two almost impassively to the shouts and the uproar which were growing ever louder and more violent. The abbé, on the contrary, was trembling with an excitement that might have proceeded either from fear or from rage, and probably, as Don Agostino thought, from both. He had his watch in his hand, and looked at it repeatedly, as though counting every minute that passed. Don Agostino noticed his action, and as he did so a sudden suspicion dawned upon him.

Monsieur d'Antin drew the abbé aside, and spoke with him for a minute or so in an undertone. The Abbé Roux, it was evident, dissented energetically from his remarks, and finally, with a shrug of the shoulders, Monsieur d'Antin left him and advanced to Don Agostino.

"Monsieur le Curé," he said, "as I have already told you, my sister does not take advice from me as to the management of her affairs, and I frankly confess to you that I do not understand the situation sufficiently to make interference on my part warrantable. The Abbé Roux is my sister's adviser in all that concerns her affairs. I must refer you to him."

Monsieur d'Antin approached the window again; and then, taking his cigarette-case from his pocket, he proceeded to light a cigarette with quiet deliberation. Don Agostino glanced at him almost with approval. At any rate, he reflected, Baron d'Antin, whatever else he might be, was no coward, and knew how to se tirer d'affaires like a gentleman.

"Yes," exclaimed the Abbé Roux, "you, Monsieur le Curé, have to refer to me in this matter. And I tell you again that it is useless that you and the canaille attempt to intimidate the princess – absolutely useless. What did I say to you a few minutes ago? We are not imbeciles here – certainly not imbeciles, monsieur; as you and your friends outside will find out – if they dare to continue this violence much longer. No; go to these insolent peasants, and tell them that your mission has failed."

Don Agostino looked the abbé steadily in the face for a moment, and then, without a word, turned his back upon him for the second time that afternoon.

"Monsieur le Baron," he said, coldly, "it would be well that you should inform the princess what is taking place, and you will doubtless know how to prevent her and Donna Bianca Acorari from being unduly alarmed. I have done my office here, and it is not my fault if I have failed. My place now is with my people."

Don Agostino was about to pass Monsieur d'Antin with a formal bow, when the latter suddenly held out his hand.

"Monsignore," he said, "you came as a peacemaker; and, believe me, I regret that you do not take away with you terms of peace. I regret it, I repeat, and I am not responsible for what has occurred, or for what may occur."

Don Agostino scarcely heard him. He hurried down the gallery and across the entrance-hall, followed by two trembling domestics, who unbarred the doors opening on to the court-yard.

By this time the fury of the crowd at finding itself prevented from entering the castle had passed all bounds of control. Blow after blow rained upon the wooden gates leading into the court; and suddenly, while Don Agostino was in the act of crossing the court-yard, the gates burst open with a crash, having given way before the impetus of a mad rush from the mob without.

For a moment the peasants stood undecided – surprised, perhaps, at the sudden yielding of the gates.

Don Agostino, seeing their indecision, advanced towards them.

"My friends – " he began.

A great shout drowned his voice.

"Traditore! Vigliacco d'un prete!"

Then a stone struck him, and, with a hoarse roar like that of an angry beast, the crowd surged into the court-yard.

XXXII

The stone hurled at Don Agostino had fortunately only hit him on the body, for, owing to the violence with which it had been thrown, it certainly would have stunned him had it struck him on the head. As it was, however, the folds of his soutane somewhat broke the force of the blow. Don Agostino was scarcely conscious that he had been struck, so great was his amazement at the savage reception he had met with at the hands of his parishioners. Looking round on the angry faces and threatening gestures of the mob of peasants in front of him, Don Agostino speedily realized that neither Sor Stefano nor any of the more prominent supporters of the peasantry were among those who had forced their way into the court-yard. A feeling of anger and indignation took possession of him as he noted the fact. It was the usual thing, he thought bitterly – the invariable system of the incitement of the poor and the ignorant to do the dirty work by those who would instantly desert them in the hour of danger.

Disgust at what he believed to be treachery on the part of those who had been mainly instrumental in instigating the peasants to their present action quickly took the place of the surprise and indignation that Don Agostino had felt at the way in which the people had suddenly turned against him.

Without hesitation, and with a demeanor as calm and composed as though he were mounting the steps of his pulpit, he ascended the double stone staircase leading from the court-yard to the doors from which he had issued only a minute or two previously. The doors were shut and bolted now. The servants had fled precipitately at the sight of the entrance-gates giving way before the assault of the mob, and Don Agostino found himself alone with an angry and menacing crowd confronting him, and behind him the great Renaissance palace of Cardinal Acorari, with its portal barred, and the wooden shutters outside the windows on the piano nobile already closed by its inmates. He stopped at the top of the first flight of steps; and, advancing to the stone balustrade, looked down on the peasants below him.

They were still crowded together round the entrance-gates, and seemed as though uncertain what their next move should be. Possibly, too, they were taken aback at finding themselves within a deserted court-yard, with closed windows all round them, and nothing but the solitary black figure of Don Agostino standing in front of the entrance to that portion of the castle inhabited by the princess and Bianca Acorari.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Don Agostino made a gesture as though to wave back a group of peasants who, detaching themselves from the rest, were approaching the flight of steps on which he stood – a gesture that was almost imperious.

"You have broken your word to me," he cried; "you, and those who have sent you here and are afraid to come themselves! You promised that you would make no move until I returned from the castle – " Shouts of "Abbasso il pretaccio! Liar – traitor!" interrupted and drowned his words.

Don Agostino's eyes flashed with anger.

"Silence!" he exclaimed. "And if there is a man among you, let him stand out and tell me what you mean – what you accuse me of. Choose your spokesman. I am waiting to hear what he has to say." He folded his arms and leaned against the balustrade almost indifferently. His demeanor was not lost on the crowd, composed of peasants though it was. Its members fell to talking excitedly among themselves, and presently one of the younger men came forward. Don Agostino recognized him as the speaker at the Caffè Garibaldi that morning, who had advocated no delay in going to the castle and insisting on seeing Donna Bianca Acorari in person.

"You ask us what it is we accuse you of!" he exclaimed, in a threatening voice. "Porca Madonna!"

"There is no necessity to be blasphemous," interrupted Don Agostino, sternly.

"If it had not been for your promises, and because we believed that you would not deceive us, we should have been here this morning. You persuaded us to delay, because all the time you knew that the soldiers had been sent for."

"I did not know it," said Don Agostino, in a voice that rang through the court-yard. "I swear that I did not know it until I read the telegram in the paper that you have probably all seen. Even now I do not know that the report is true. In the castle they deny that there has ever been any idea of sending for troops, and, still more, that they have been actually sent for. You accuse me of having deceived you. I tell you that until a few minutes ago I have been doing my best to persuade the princess to give you a hearing. But other counsels have prevailed, and I have not succeeded in seeing either her or the Principessina Donna Bianca. No – I have deceived you in nothing, but you have been deceived all the same. You have been deceived by those who have encouraged you to come here and commit acts of violence, but who have, nevertheless, taken good care not to compromise themselves. Now, my friends, I have answered your accusations. What further reasons have you to give for turning against me, who have never done anything to deserve your want of confidence?"

Cries of "È vero! È vero!" greeted Don Agostino's words, and a few shouts of "Evviva il parroco!" were raised from the back of the crowd.

Don Agostino slowly descended the steps, and advanced towards the foremost group of peasants.

"Listen to me, ragazzi miei," he said. "Be wise and go back to the paese, quietly. I told you this morning that you would obtain nothing by violence, and I tell it you again. There are other means – better means – of obtaining your rights than by committing wrongs. Have I ever deceived you? I think not. Did I deceive you, Angelo Frassi, when you were nearly crippled for life, and I sent you to the hospital in Rome, and you came back cured? Or you, Pietro Santucci, when your mother was dying, and you had not money left in the house to buy a piece of meat to make her a cup of broth? Via, figli miei, you have called me some hard names, but I think, all the same, that you will trust me for a little yet."

Don Agostino paused, and an outburst of cheering came from his audience. The peasants he had named, who were among the most threatening of the younger men among the mob, shrunk back shamefaced and abashed. The parroco'sappeal was true, and they knew it to be so. There were few in the crowd, moreover, who, in some way or another, had not experienced Don Agostino's sympathy and generosity.

Almost mechanically they made way for him to pass between their ranks, and followed him over the debris of the broken gates out on to the square-paved piazza, in front of the walls and round battlemented towers flanking the main entrance to the castle.

Don Agostino had just breathed a sigh of relief at the effects of his appeal, when a band of some fifty or sixty men, accompanied by as many women and children, rushed into the piazza out of the steep road leading up to the castle from the town.

"The troops!" they shouted. "The troops! They are entering the town now. In a few minutes they will be here!"

A howl of rage answered them from the mob of peasants behind and around Don Agostino.

"Traditore – traditore! porco d'un prete! It was for this you were waiting – deceiving us with your lies till you knew the soldiers would be here! Ah, vigliacco!"

A rush was made at him by those nearest, and Don Agostino had just time to defend himself from a blow dealt with the handle of a broken spade, the end of which was still covered by the rusty iron ferrule. His suspicions were verified now. The Abbé Roux had lied to him, and when Don Agostino had seen him glancing every now and again at his watch, he had been calculating how many minutes might elapse before the appearance of the troops he had caused to be summoned. It had been the knowledge that these troops were in the vicinity that had doubtless given the abbé courage to refuse to listen to any representations, even from Monsieur d'Antin, as to the advisability of treating with the peasants.

It had been the suspicion – nay, almost the certainty, that the Abbé Roux was lying, and that troops had already been requisitioned, which had made Don Agostino determined if possible to persuade the peasants to leave the court-yard of the castle. If the troops should arrive when the mob was within the walls, the peasants would be caught, as it were, in a trap, and any additional act of violence on their part, or error of judgment on the part of the officers of the pubblica sicurezza, who, in accordance with the law, would have to accompany the officer commanding and call upon him to order the soldiers to charge or fire on the crowd, might lead to appalling results.

It had been of the safety of his people that Don Agostino had been thinking, far more than of his own safety, and even now, with the angry mob shouting execrations and threats upon him for his treachery, he reproached himself bitterly for having played into the Abbé Roux's hands, by delaying his exit from the castle until the peasants had already commenced their assault.

He had little time to think of this now, however. It was in vain that he attempted for a moment to make his voice heard above the din. The mob was too angry now, too certain that it had been deceived, to listen to him a second time, and Don Agostino knew it.

He turned and faced the crowd in silence, and the thought of the irony of his situation brought a fleeting smile to his lips. How could the peasants know that he sympathized with them – that it was not he who had deceived them, but that he himself had been deceived?

"Morte – morte al pretaccio! Morte all 'assassino!"

Well, death must come some time; and, at any rate, he had tried to do his duty. Death, perhaps, would come to him as it had done to his Master, at the hands of those who knew not what they did.

"Morte – morte al traditore!"

A heavy blow struck from behind him fell upon his head, causing him to reel and totter back. Don Agostino shut his eyes, and his lips moved silently. Surely, death was very near now. Surely —

Suddenly another voice sounded in his ears. His name was shouted out loudly; yes, but in very different accents from those of the peasants now closing round him.

Don Agostino opened his eyes in time to see two men with raised reaping-hooks, who were apparently about to strike him a more deadly blow than the rest, hurled right and left, and the next moment Silvio Rossano stood by his side.

"Stand back!" Silvio shouted. "Back, I say, or by God, I will blow the brains out of the first man who comes within a metre of Don Agostino!" and as he spoke he covered the nearest peasant with a revolver.

"Coraggio, Don Agostino!" he said, quickly, "you are not hurt – no? In a minute or two the troops will be here. Ah, I could stay no longer. I knew the mob had gone to the castle, and that you were still there. And then, on my way here, I met Fontana and his daughter, and they told me the peasants had turned against you. When I heard that I ran as hard as I could – and here I am!"

Don Agostino felt sick and dizzy from the blow he had received. "You are just in time, Silvio mio," he said. "Another minute, and who knows whether you would have found me alive? Oh, but it is not their fault, the poor people – they think that I knew the troops had been sent for, and that I meant to deceive them."