It was suddenly lively in the garden. Cecil, Paulo’s old servant, approached from the house, with a lantern in his hand.
He comes down the alley with hasty steps, and with an anxious countenance approaches his master.
“What is it, Cecil?”
“Two letters, sir, that have just arrived. One comes from the hotel of the Russian legation, and the other from that of the Lord-Cardinal Bernis.”
Paulo shuddered slightly, and his hand involuntarily grasped after the first letter, but he suddenly constrained himself, and his glance fell upon Natalie, whose eyes were fixed with curiosity upon the two letters.
“We will first see what the good Cardinal Bernis writes us!” said Count Paulo, placing the Russian letter in his pocket with apparent indifference.
“Bernis?” asked Natalie. “Is not that the French Cardinal, who is at the same time a poet, and whom the pope, the great Ganganelli, so dearly loves?”
“The same,” said Paulo, “and besides, the same Cardinal Bernis whom I had months ago promised to allow the pleasure of making your acquaintance! He already knows you, Natalie, although he has never yet seen your fair face; he knows you from what I have told him.”
“Oh, let us quickly see what the good cardinal writes!” exclaimed Natalie, clapping her hands with the impatience of a child.
Count Paulo smilingly broke the seal and read the letter.
“You are in truth a witch,” said he; “you must have some genius in your service, who listens to every wish you express, in order to fulfil it without delay! This letter contains an invitation from the cardinal. He gives a great entertainment to-morrow, and begs of me that I will bring you to it. The improvisatrice Corilla will also be there!”
“Oh, then I shall see her!” exclaimed the delighted young maiden. “At length I shall see a poetess! For we shall go to this entertainment, shall we not, Paulo?”
The count thoughtfully cast down his eyes, and his hand involuntarily sought the letter in his pocket. An expression of deep care and anxiety was visible on his features, and Cecil seemed to divine the thoughts of his master, for he also looked anxious, and a deep sigh escaped from his breast.—Natalie perceived nothing of all this! She was wholly occupied by the thought of seeing Corilla, the great improvisatrice, of whom Carlo, Natalie’s music-teacher, had told her so much, and whose fame was sounded by children and adults in all the streets of Rome.
“We go to this festival, do we not, Paulo?” repeated she, as the count still continued silent.
Recovering from his abstraction, he said: “Yes, we will go! It is time that my Natalie was introduced into this circle of influential Romans, that she may gain friends among people of importance, who may watch over and protect her when I no longer can!”
“You will, then, leave me?” cried the young maiden, turning pale and anxiously grasping the count’s arm. “No, Paulo, you cannot do that! Would you leave me because I, a foolish child, desired to go to this festival, and was no longer contented with our dear and beautiful solitude? That was wrong in me, Paulo, as I now plainly see, and I desire it no longer! Oh, we will prepare other pleasures for ourselves here in our delightful paradise. You have often called me a poetess, and I will now believe I am, and no longer wish to see another. I will suffice for myself! Come, I will immediately sing you a song, a festival song, my friend!”
And taking her guitar, Natalie struck some joyous accords; but Count Paulo lightly laid his hands upon the strings so as to silence them, and drawing the tips of her fingers to his lips, with a slight shaking of his head, he said: “Not now, my charming poetess, I am not worthy of hearing you.”
“And it is late,” added Cecil, coming as it were to the aid of his master.
The count rose. “Yes, you are right—it is late,” said he, “and I must not longer keep Natalie from her slumber. Come, my sweet child, you must retire; you must sleep, that your brow may beam with blooming freshness to-morrow!”
Natalie made no answer; with a light sigh she mechanically took the count’s offered arm.
Cecil preceded them with the lantern in his hand. Thus they proceeded up the alley leading to the villa, all three silent and thoughtful. The sky had become obscured, a black cloud intercepted the light of the moon, and Natalie’s charmed garden was suddenly wrapped in gloom.
A cold shudder ran through her delicate frame.
“A feeling of anxiety has come over me!” she whispered, clinging close to the count’s side.
“Poor child!” said the count. “Are you already oppressed with fear?”
“What if the wall should give way, and bad people should intrude into our garden! Ah, Marianne says that misfortune lurks everywhere in the world, lying in ambush for those who think themselves safe, destroying their happiness, and making them wholly miserable; and people only laugh and rejoice that another man’s hopes have been wrecked! Ah, and I have felt so secure in my happiness! If misfortune should now actually come—if these walls should prove not high enough to keep it off! Ah, Paulo, protect me from lurking misfortune!”
They had now arrived at the door of the villa. Paulo pressed the trembling young maiden with paternal tenderness to his breast, and, lightly touching her forehead with his lips, he said: “Good-night, my love! Sleep gently, and be not anxious! So long as I live, misfortune shall never approach you! Rest assured of that!”
Thus speaking, he led her into the house, where Marianne was waiting to accompany her to her chamber.
Natalie silently followed her, but before entering her room she once more turned, and, pressing her fingers to her lips, wafted kisses in the air toward her friend.
“Good-night, Paulo!”
“Good-night, Natalie!”
The door closed behind her, and the smile instantly vanished from Paulo’s lips. With impetuous haste, beckoning Cecil to follow him, he strode through the corridor leading to his own apartments.
When he had arrived there, and Cecil had closed the door behind him, the count with a deep sigh threw himself upon a chair, whilst Cecil silently busied himself in lighting the wax-candles and placing them upon the table beside his master.
“Will not your grace now read the other letter?” he timidly asked, as Count Paulo still remained buried in his silent reflections.
“Oh, this unblessed letter!” exclaimed the count, with a shudder. “I tell you, Cecil, I feel that it contains misfortune. It has lain with a heavy weight like a nightmare upon my breast and I yet felt not the strength in me to draw it forth and read it in Natalie’s presence!”
“That was well!” said Cecil, “and it was for that reason that I told you in advance that the letter was from Russia, that you might be on your guard. But now, Sir Count, we are alone, and now you can read it!”
“Yes, away with this childish fear!” cried the count, with resolution. “I will be a man, Cecil, and whatever this letter may contain, I will bear it like a man!”
Drawing forth the letter, he broke the seal with a trembling hand, and threw the cover across the room. Then unfolding the letter, he read. Behind him stood Cecil, involuntarily trembling with anxious expectation.
The letter fell from the count’s hands, and a deadly paleness spread over his face, which bore the expression of utter despair.
“Oh, my prophetic soul!” he sighed.
“Your presentiment is then fulfilled!” anxiously asked Cecil.
“Yes, it is fulfilled! My property is sequestrated; they refuse to send me the money I required; they command my immediate return to Russia, as my conge has expired and my respite is at an end!”
“And you are lost, my lord, if you do not obey this command!” said Cecil.
“And Natalie?” reproachfully asked the count. “Can I, dare I leave her?”
“She is much safer without than with you! They may not yet suspect who she is! It is very possible that it in reality only is because your leave of absence has expired, as the laws of Russia require that every absentee should return to his country once in every four years. Fulfil, therefore, this hard duty. Pretend to suppose that your recall is for no other reason than the renewal of your passport, and the giving you an opportunity to pay your homage to the empress. Appear innocent and unconcerned, and all may yet go well!”
“No,” gloomily replied the count, “nothing will go well any more! The whole future stands before me in clear and distinct traits—a future full of shame and horror! Oh, would it not be better to flee from that future and seek in some remote and hidden valley a place where, perhaps, misfortune cannot reach, nor destruction overtake us!”
“How?” reproachfully asked Cecil. “Is it Count Paulo who speaks thus? Is it the pupil whom I taught to defy misfortune and rise superior to disaster with courageous self-confidence? Is it the son of my heart for whom I have left all, sacrificed all, for whom I have offered up my fatherland, my freedom, and my independence; whom I shall love until my last breath? Paulo, pluck up a good heart, my son! You have proposed to yourself a great end, which was only to be reached by thorny and dangerous paths; will you now stop at the first cross-road and return upon your steps, instead of pressing forward sword in hand! No, no, I know you better, my son; this momentary hesitation will pass away, and you will again be great and strong for the struggle and the victory!”
With a faint smile Count Paulo gave him his hand. “You know not, my friend, how great is the sacrifice you demand of me!” said he, in a subdued tone. “I must leave Natalie. I must never see her more, never more draw consolation from her glance, nor hope from her charming smile! Oh, Cecil, you have not idea of what Natalie is to me; you know not that I—”
“I know,” interposed Cecil, solemnly, “I know that you have sworn upon the holy book to protect her with your life from every injury; I know that you have sworn never to give rest to yourself until you have reinstated her in her inherited rights, and that, until then, she shall be sacred to you, sacred as a sister, sacred as a daughter whose honor you will protect and defend against every outrage, against even every sinful thought. That have you sworn, and I know you will hold your word sacred and keep your oath!”
Count Paulo dropped his head upon his breast and sighed deeply.
“I must therefore leave her!” said he.
“Your own welfare demands it.”
“But how is she to live during our absence? Our money will not suffice to the end. Alas! we had so surely calculated on this remittance from my estates, and now it fails us!”
“We will sell that costly ornament of brilliants which you had destined as a present for Natalie on her seventeenth birthday.”
“Ah,” sighed the count, “you have a means for the removal of every obstacle. I must therefore go!”
“And I go with you,” said Cecil. “I would, if it must be so, be able to die for you!”
“They will destroy all three of us!” said the count. “Believe me, the knife is already sharpened for our throats! Believe also, Cecil, that I tremble not from fear of death. But I fear for Natalie! Ah, I already seem to see the approach of her murderers, to see them seize her with their bloody hands, and I shall not be there to protect her!”
While Count Paulo thus spoke, with a sad, foreboding soul, those two mysterious men, who had so threateningly watched and listened to Natalie and her friend, still remained under the wall.
The one still held the dagger in his hand, and was unquietly walking back and forth near his companion, who had calmly thrown himself upon the ground.
“You did wrong to hinder me, Beppo,” he angrily said. “It would have been best to have finished them at once. The occasion could not have been more favorable—the solitary garden, the nightly stillness and obscurity. Ah, one blow would have done the business!”
“Well, and what if the gentleman who sat near her had seized you before the blow was struck? How then?” asked the other. “You are yet but a novice and a bungler, friend Giuseppo. You yet lack discretion, the tranquil glance, the sure hand! You always suffer yourself to become excited, which is unartistic and even dangerous. We went out today only to obtain information; we were only to discover and observe the signora, and perhaps to watch for an opportunity. But to fall upon her in this garden would have been the extreme of stupidity, for we had all the servants and the hounds against us, and it is one of the first principles of our profession to put others in danger, but never to incur it themselves.”
“Wherefore, then, have we come here?” cried Giuseppo, with vehemence.
“To see her and know her, that we may surely recognize her again when the right hour comes. And that hour will come—I will answer for it. Did not the signora tell us that this lady would probably attend the festival of Cardinal Bernis?”
“She said so.”
“Well, and we have come here that we might see and know her in advance. She is very beautiful, and a truly respectable person, Giuseppo. I am pleased with the idea of this festival of the French cardinal. I think it will afford much business in our line.”
In the palace of the French ambassador at Rome, Cardinal Bernis, there was an unusually busy movement to-day. From the kitchen-boys to the major-domo, all were in a most lively motion, in the most passionate activity. For this morning, while taking his chocolate, the cardinal had sent for his major-domo, and, quite contrary to the usual joviality of his manner, had very seriously and solemnly said to him: “Signor Brunelli, I to-day intrust you with a very important and responsible duty, that of making as splendid as possible the grand festival we are three days hence to give in honor of the Archduke Ferdinand. No pains must be spared, nothing must be wanting; the most luxurious richness, the most tasteful decoration, the most extravagant splendor must be exhibited. For this entertainment must excite the attention not only of Rome, but of all Europe; it must become the subject of conversation at all the courts, and, above all, it must cause the despair of all present ambassadorial housekeeping. I have very important diplomatic reasons for this. All Europe shall see how devoted France is to the empire of Austria, and what a good understanding subsists between the two courts. Therefore, Signor Brunelli, strain your inventive head, that it may on this occasion hit upon whatever is most distinguished and pre-eminent, for this must be an entertainment never before equalled. That is what I expect, what I demand of you; and if you satisfy my demands, it will give me pleasure to reward your zeal by a present of a hundred ducats.”
Thus with solemn dignity spoke the cardinal, while sipping his chocolate; and Signor Brunelli had pledged himself by a solemn oath punctually to fulfil his master’s commands, and to astonish Rome with an entertainment such as had never been recorded in the annals of diplomatic history.
With a proud step had Brunelli gone to his own private cabinet, where, having shut himself up, he had devoted several hours to serious meditation upon the deep plans presenting themselves to his mind. But Signor Brunelli had, in fact, a very experienced and inventive head, and the cardinal acted wisely in confiding in his major-domo and leaving to him the ordering of the entertainment.
He had now, with the sharp glance of a military commander, arranged his plan of battle, and felt perfectly sure of victory. He therefore rang for a servant, and commanded the attendance of the chief cook in the cabinet of the major-domo. Then with a gentlemanlike listlessness he threw himself upon the divan and began to sip his coffee with the exact dignified deportment that had been displayed by his excellency the cardinal.
“Signor Gianettino,” said he, to the entering cook, “I propose honoring you to-day with a very important and significant affair. I wish, on the day after to-morrow, to prepare an entertainment which in splendor and magnificence shall surpass anything hitherto seen. You know that the major-domos of the other diplomatists have become my irreconcilable enemies through envy; they cannot forgive me for having more inventive faculties and better taste than any of them! We must bring these major-domos to despair, and with a gnashing of teeth they shall acknowledge that in all things I am their master. You, however, must aid me in this great work; in your hands, Signor Gianettino, lies a considerable part of my triumph and my laurels. For what does it help me, if the arrangements and decorations, if the whole establishment, are excellent, should there be a failure in the highest and most sublime part of the entertainment—in the food. The food, my dear sir, and a well-ordered table, is the gist of a festival, and should there be the least failure in that, the whole is profaned and desecrated, and must be covered with a mourning-veil. Take my words to heart, signor; let us have a table covered with food the mere odor of which shall set our first gourmets in ecstatic astonishment, while its judicious arrangement will give pleasure to the poetic mind! This is what I expect of you, and if you succeed in satisfying my requirements, I am ready to reward your exertions with fifty bottles of our best French wines.”
Signor Gianettino returned his thanks with a pleasant, thoughtful smile, and with a majestic step repaired to his boudoir, where he was seen for a long time, walking back and forth in deep thought and with a wrinkled brow. Then, stepping to his writing-table, he sketched the plan of this inordinately great dinner, at first slowly and thoughtfully, and then with constantly more and more fire and enthusiasm, carried away by the greatness of the occasion, and animated by the importance of his mission and his calling.
Then, throwing aside the pen, and exhausted by so great an effort, he gently glided down upon the divan, at the same time ringing for a servant whom he directed to bring his breakfast and afterward to summon all the cooks and scullions to his cabinet. He then stretched himself with eminent grace upon the divan, as he had seen the major-domo do; with a serious thoughtfulness he sipped the glass of Malvoisie the servant had brought him, with sundry pates and rare entremets.
And they came, the cooks and scullions, they came in their white jackets, with their white aprons and snow-white caps; they came in solemn silence, fully impressed with the importance of the moment.
“Signors,” said the chief cook, “it is on a beautiful and sublime affair that I have assembled you here to-day. It concerns an increase of the fame and triumphs we have so many times gained over our diplomatic rivals, and an increase of the laurels we have won in the sacred realms of our art! I propose to prepare a banquet for to-morrow, and for that I require your support and aid, gentlemen. For what is the use of ever so good a plan of battle of a commander-in-chief, if his troops fail in courage and skill to carry out the plan of their general? Gentlemen, I doubt not your courage or skill! You will contend for the sake of the fame we have acquired and hitherto enjoyed without dispute, for the sake of the fame which the French cuisine has enjoyed for centuries, and which must be preserved until the end of all things! You will stand by me, gentlemen, in the praiseworthy effort to acquire new glory for France, by showing these little Austrian princes and these gentlemen diplomatists what wonderful things the French art of cookery can bring to pass. The plan is devised and sketched, and all that is now required is its execution. If this great work succeeds, then, gentlemen, you may feel assured of my eternal gratitude—a gratitude which I will prove to you by leaving all the remains of the dinner to your free use and sole benefit! Here is the plan, hasten to the work; I have assigned to each one the part he is to take in its accomplishment. Hasten, therefore! I, however, by way of exception, will myself go to the market to-day and make the necessary purchases. On such an important occasion, no one, however highly placed, must decline labor and the faithful performance of duty. I go, therefore, and six of the kitchen-boys may follow me with their baskets.”
Thus speaking, the chief cook, Signor Gianettino, took his hat and gold-headed cane to go to the market. Six kitchen-boys, armed with large baskets, followed him at a respectful distance.
At the great vegetable and fish-market of Rome there was to-day a very unusual and extraordinary life and movement. There was a crowd and tumult, a roaring and screaming, a shouting and laughing, such as had not been heard for a long time. It was partly in consequence of the fact that the whole diplomatic corps had been for some days agitated with preparations for entertainments in honor of the Archduke Ferdinand, who had come to Rome to see the wonders of the holy city, and who could hardly find time and leisure for the festivities offered him. But for the tradesmen and dealers, for the country people in the vicinity of Rome, this presence of the Austrian prince was a happy circumstance; for these banquets and festivals scattered money among the people, and the dealers and honest country people could fearlessly raise their prices, as they were sure of a sale for their commodities. The cooks and servants of the diplomatists and cardinals were seen running hither and thither in busy haste, everywhere selecting the best, everywhere buying and cheapening.
But in one place in the market there was to-day an especial liveliness and activity among the crowd, and to that spot Signor Gianettino bent his steps. He had seen the cook of the Spanish ambassador, the Duke of Grimaldi, among those collected there, and as this cook was one of his bitterest enemies and opponents, Signor Gianettino resolved to watch him, and, if possible, to play him a trick. He therefore cautiously mingled with the crowd, and made a sign to his followers to keep at a distance from him.
It was certainly a very important affair with which the Spanish cook Don Bempo was occupied, as it concerned the purchase of a fish that a countryman had brought to the city, of such a monstrous size and weight that the like had never been seen there. It was the most remarkable specimen with which the Roman fish-market had ever been honored. But the lucky fisherman was fully aware of the extraordinary beauty of his fish, and in his arrogant pride demanded twenty ducats for it.
That was what troubled Don Bempo. Twenty ducats for one single fish, and the major-domo of the Spanish ambassador had urged upon him the most stringent economy; but he had, indeed, at the same time urged upon him to provide everything as splendid as possible for the banquet which the Duke of Grimaldi was to give in honor of the Archduke Ferdinand; indeed, he had with an anxious sigh commanded him to outdo if possible the next day’s feast of Cardinal Bernis, and to provide yet rarer and more costly viands than the French cook.
That was what Don Bempo was now considering, and what made him waver in his first determination not to buy the fish.
There was only this one gigantic fish in the market; and, if he bought it, Signor Gianettino, his enemy, of course, could not possess it; the triumph of the day would then inure to the Spanish embassy, and Don Bempo would come off conqueror. That was indeed a very desirable object, but—twenty ducats was still an enormous price, and was not at all reconcilable with the recommended economy.
At any rate he dared not buy the fish without first consulting the major-domo of the duke.
“You will not, then, sell this fish for twelve ducats?” asked Don Bempo, just as Gianettino had unnoticedly approached. “Reflect, man, twelve ducats are a fortune—it is a princely payment!”
The fisherman contemptuously shook his head. “Rather than sell it for twelve ducats I would eat it myself,” said he, “and invite my friends, these good Romans, as guests! Go, go, sublime Spanish Don, and buy gudgeons for your pair of miserable ducats! Such a fish as this is too dear for you; you Spanish gentlemen should buy gudgeons!”
“Bravo! bravo!” cried the laughing spectators. “Gudgeons for the Spanish gentlemen with high-nosed faces and empty pockets!”
Don Bempo blushed with anger and wounded pride. “I shall unquestionably buy this fish,” said he, “for nothing is too dear for my master when the honor of our nation is to be upheld. But you must allow me time to go home and get the money from the major-domo. Keep the fish, therefore, so long, and I will return with the twenty ducats for it.”
And majestically Don Bempo made himself a path through the crowd, which laughingly stepped aside for him, shouting: “Gudgeons for the Spanish gentleman! Viva Don Bempo, who pays twenty ducats for a fish!”
“He will certainly not come back,” said the fisherman, shaking his head.
“He goes to buy gudgeons!” cried another.
“What will you bet that he returns to buy the fish?” said a third.
“He will not buy it!” interposed a fourth. “These Spaniards have no money; they are poor devils!”
“Who dares say that?” shrieked another, and now suddenly followed one of those quarrels which are so quickly excited on the least occasion among the passionate people of the south. There was much rage, abuse, and noise. How flashed the eyes, how shook the fists, what threats resounded there!
“Peace, my dear friends, be quiet, I tell you!” cried the fisherman, with his stentorian voice. “See, there comes a new purchaser for my fish. Be quiet, and let us see how much France is disposed to offer us.”
The disturbance subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, and all pressed nearer; all directed interrogating, curious, expectant glances at Signor Gianettino, who just at that moment approached with a proud and grave step, followed by the solemn train of six scullions with their baskets.
No one had before remarked him in the crowd, for they had been all eyes and ears for Don Bempo, and hence every one supposed that he had only just then arrived.
The shrewd chief cook also assumed the appearance of having only accidentally passed that way without the intention of buying any thing.
But he suddenly stopped before the great fish as if astonished at its enormous size, and seemed to view it with admiration and delight.
“What a rare and splendid animal is this!” he finally exclaimed with animation. “Really, one must come to Rome to see such a wonder!”
“That is understood!” exultingly cried the bystanders, who had a reverence for the fishes of Rome.
“This is no niggard! He will not be so mean as to offer twelve ducats for such a miracle as this!”
“Twelve ducats!” cried Gianettino, folding his hands. “How can you think me so pitiful as to offer such a miserable sum for so noble a fish. No, truly, he must have a bold forehead who would offer so little money for this splendid animal!”
“Hear him! hear!” cried the people. “This is a learned man. He knows something of the value of rarities!”
“Viva! Long life to the French cook, il grande ministre della cucina!”
Gianettino bowed politely in response to the compliment, and then civilly asked the price of the fish.
The fisherman stood there with an expression of regretful sadness upon his face. “I fear it will be of little use to name the price!” said he, “the fish is as good as sold!”
“Nevertheless, name the price!”
“Twenty ducats!”
“Twenty ducats!” exclaimed Gianettino, with an expression of the liveliest astonishment. “You jest, my friend! How can such a splendid animal be possibly sold for twenty ducats?”
“Here! hear!” shouted the crowd. “He finds the price too low!”
“He is a real gentleman!”
“He will not buy gudgeons like the Spaniard!”
“In earnest, friend, tell me the price of this fish!” said Gianettino.
“I have demanded twenty ducats for it,” sadly responded the fisherman, “and it is sold for that sum.”
“Impossible! In that case it would not be lying here!” replied Gianettino. “Or had the man paid you the money, and now gone for a cart for the conveyance of the giant?”
“I have not yet been paid.”
“The purchaser, then, has given you earnest money?”
“No, not even that. I have yet received nothing upon it.”
“And you can pretend that you have sold this fish,” cried Gianettino, “and that, too, for the ridiculously small sum of twenty ducats! Ah, you are a joker, my good man; you wish to excite in me a desire for this rare specimen, and therefore you say it is sold. But how can a fish that yet lies exposed for sale, and for which no one had made you a suitable offer, be already sold?”
And gravely approaching the giant of the waters, Gianettino laid his hand upon his head and solemnly said: “The fish is mine. I purchase it; you demand twenty ducats! But I shall give you what you ought to have, and what the creature is worth! I shall pay you six-and-thirty ducats for him!”
The crowd, which had maintained an anxious and breathless silence during this negotiation, now broke out with a loud and exulting shout.
“That is a real nobleman!”
“Evviva il ministro della cucina! Il grande Gianettino!”
“That is no parsimonious Spaniard! He is a French cavalier. He will buy no gudgeons, but will have the right Roman fish.”
“Gentlemen,” said Gianettino, modestly casting down his eyes, “I do not understand your praises, and it seems to me I only deal like a man of honor, as every one of you would do! This honest man taxes his wares too low; I give him what they are worth! That is all. If I acted otherwise I should not long remain in the service of the lofty and generous Cardinal Bernis! Justice and generosity, that is the first command of his excellency!”
“Evviva the French ambassador!”
“Praise and honor to Cardinal Bernis!”
And while the people were thus shouting, Gianettino from his well-filled purse paid down the six-and-thirty ducats upon the fisherman’s board. He then commanded his six attendant scullions to bear off the fish.
It was, indeed, a heavy work to place the enormous animal upon their baskets, but the active Romans cheerfully lent a hand, and when they had succeeded in the difficult task, and the six youngsters bent under their heavy load, Signor Gianettino gravely put himself at the head of the train, and proudly gave the order: “Forward to the kitchen of his excellency Cardinal Bernis!”
At this moment a man was seen making his way through the crowd; thrusting right and left with his elbows, he incessantly pushed on, and, just as Signor Gianettino had fairly got his troop in motion, the man, who was no other than Don Bempo, succeeded in reaching the fisherman’s table.
“Here, I bring you the twenty ducats,” he proudly called out. “They will no longer say that the Spaniards buy gudgeons. The fish is mine! There are your twenty ducats!”
And, with a supercilious air, Don Bempo threw the money upon the table.
But just as proudly did the fisherman push back the money. “The fish is sold!” said he.
“Forward, march!” repeated Signor Gianettino his word of command. “Forward to the kitchen of his excellency Cardinal Bernis!”
And with solemn dignity the train began to move.
Don Bempo with a cry of rage rushed upon the fish.
“This fish is mine,” he wildly cried, “I was the first to offer its price, I offered twenty ducats, and only went home to get the money!”
“And I,” exclaimed Signor Gianettino, “I offered thirty-six ducats, and immediately paid the cash, as I always have money by me.”
“It is Signor Gianettino, the cook of the French ambassador, and I am ruined!” groaned Don Bempo, staggering back.
“Yes, it is the cook of his excellency the cardinal!” cried the crowd.
“And the cardinal is an honorable man!”
“He is no Spanish niggard!”
“He does not haggle for a giant fish; he pays more than is demanded!”
“I hope,” said Signor Gianettino to Don Bempo, who still convulsively grasped the fish, “that you will now take your hands from my property and leave me to go my way without further hindrance. It is not noble to lay hands on the goods of another, Don Bempo, and this fish is mine!”
“But this is contrary to all international law!” exclaimed the enraged Don Bempo. “You forget, signor, that you insult my master, that you insult Spain, by withholding from me by main force what I have purchased in the name of Spain.”
“France will never stand second to Spain!” proudly responded Gianettino, “and where Spain offers twenty ducats, France pays six-and-thirty!—Forward, my youngsters! To the kitchen of the French ambassador!”
And urgently pushing back Don Bempo, Gianettino solemnly marched through the crowd with his retinue, the people readily making a path for him and cheering him as he went.
It was a brilliant triumph in the person of the chief cook of their ambassador, which the French celebrated to-day; it was a shameful defeat which Spain suffered to-day in the person of her ambassador’s chief cook.
Proud and happy marched Signor Gianettino through the streets, accompanied by his gigantic fish, and followed by the shouts of a Roman mob.
Humiliated, with eyes cast down, with rage in his heart sneaked Don Bempo toward the Spanish ambassador’s hotel, and long heard behind him the whistling, laughter, and catcalls of the Roman people.
Cardinal Bernis was in his boudoir. Before him lay the list of those persons whom he had invited to his entertainment of the next day, and he saw with proud satisfaction that all had accepted his invitation.
“I shall, then, have a brilliant and stately society to meet this Austrian archduke,” said the well-contented cardinal to himself. “The elite of the nobility, all the cardinals and ambassadors, will make their appearance, and Austria will be compelled to acknowledge that France maintains the best understanding with all the European powers, and that she is not the less respected because the Marquise de Pompadour is in fact King of France.”
“Ah, this good marquise,” continued the cardinal, stretching himself comfortably upon his lounge and taking an open letter from the table, “this good marquise gives me in fact some cause for anxiety. She writes me here that France is in favor of the project of Portugal for the suppression of the order of the Jesuits, and I am so to inform the pope! This is a dangerous thing, marquise, and may possibly burn your tender fingers. The suppression of the Jesuits! Is not that to explode a powder-barrel in the midst of Europe, that may shatter all the states? No, no, it is foolhardiness, and I have not the courage to apply the match to this powder-barrel! I fear it may blow us all into the air.”
And the cardinal began to read anew the letter of Madame de Pompadour which a French courier had brought him a few hours before.
“Ahem, that will be dangerous for the good father!” said he, shaking his head. “Austria also agrees to this magnificent plan of the Portuguese Minister Pombal, and I am inclined to think that this Austrian archduke has come to Rome only for the purpose of bringing to the pope the consent of the Empress Maria Theresa! Ha, ha! how singular! their chaste and virtuous Maria Theresa and our good Pompadour are both agreed in the matter, and in taking this course are both acting against their own will. The women love the Jesuits, these good fathers who furnish them with an excuse for every weakness, and hold a little back door open for every sin. That is very convenient for these good women! Yes, yes, the women—I think I know them.”
And, smiling, the cardinal sank deeper into himself, dreaming of past, of charming times, when he had not yet counted sixty-five years. He dreamed of Venice, and of a beautiful nun he had loved there, and who for him had often left her cloister in the night-time, and, warm and glowing with passion, had come to him. He dreamed of these heavenly hours, where all pleasure and all happiness had been compressed into one blessed intoxication of bliss, where the chaste priestess of the Church had for him changed to a sparkling priestess of joy!
“Yes, that was long ago!” murmured the cardinal, as at length he awoke from his blissful dreams of the past.
“Those were beautiful times—I was then young and happy; I was then a man, and now—now am old; love has withered, and with it poesy! I am now nothing but a diplomatist.”
There was a low knock at the door. The cardinal hastily but carefully returned the portrait of his beautiful nun to the secret drawer in his writing-table whence it had been taken, and bade the knocker to enter.
It was Brunelli, the major-domo of the cardinal, who came with a proud step, and face beaming with joy, to make a report of his plans and preparations for the morrow’s entertainment.
“In the evening the park will be illuminated with many thousand lamps, which will outshine the sun, so that the guests will there wander in a sea of light,” said he, in closing his report.
The cardinal smiled, and with a stolen glance at the small box that contained the portrait of this beautiful nun, he said: “Spare some of the walks in the alleys from your sea of light, and leave them in partial obscurity. A little duskiness is sometimes necessary for joy and happiness! But how is it with your carte du diner? What has Signor Gianettino to offer us? I hope he has something very choice, for you know the cardinals like a good table, and my friend Duke Grimaldi has a high opinion of our cuisine.”
“Ah, the Spanish ambassador, your excellency?” exclaimed Brunelli, contemptuously. “The Spanish ambassador knows nothing of the art of cookery, or he would not possibly be satisfied with his cook! He is a niggard, a poor fellow, of whom all Rome is speaking to-day, and laughing at him and his master, while they are praising you to the skies!”
And Signor Brunelli related to his listening master the whole story of the gigantic fish, and of the humiliation of the Spanish cook.
The cardinal listened with attention, and a dark cloud gradually gathered upon his thoughtful brow.
“That is a very unfortunate occurrence,” said he, shaking his head, as Brunelli ended.
“But at least it was an occurrence in which France triumphed, your excellency,” responded Brunelli.
“I much fear the Duke of Grimaldi will do as you have done,” said the cardinal; “he will confound my cook with France, and in his cook see all Spain insulted.”
“Then your excellency is not satisfied?” asked Brunelli, with consternation. “The whole palace is full of jubilation; all the servants and lackeys and even the secretary of the legation are delighted with this divine affair!”
The cardinal paid no attention to these panegyrics of his major-domo, but thoughtfully paced the room with long strides.
“And you think Gianettino had the right of it?” at length he asked.
“He was entirely in the right, your excellency. Nothing had been paid for the fish, and Gianettino’s right to purchase was perfect, and nobody could dispute it!”
“Well, when we are in the right, we must maintain our right,” said the cardinal, after a pause, “and as the affair is known to all Rome, it must be fought through with eclat! The fish, in all its pride of greatness shall grace our table to-morrow!”
“We have no dish of sufficient size in which to serve it.”
“Then let a new one be made,” laughed the cardinal. “Take the measure of this Goliath, and hasten to the silversmith, that he may make a silver dish of the proper size. But see that it is completed by to-morrow morning, and that it is richly ornamented. If Rome has heard of the fish, so also must it hear of the dish. Hasten, therefore, Signor Brunelli, and see that all is done as I have ordered!”
“This is, in fact, a very diverting story,” said the cardinal, laughing, when he was again alone. “We have here a monster fish which will probably swallow my friendship with the Duke of Grimaldi! Well, we shall see!”
The cardinal then rang for his body-servant, whom he ordered to dress him.
“Court toilet?” asked the servant, astonished at being called to this service at so unusual an hour.
“No, house toilet!” said the cardinal. “I shall soon receive visitors.”
The shrewd cardinal had not deceived himself! In a few minutes an equipage rolled into the court and the footman announced his highness the Spanish ambassador, the Duke of Grimaldi.
“He is a thousand times welcome!” cried the cardinal, and as the door now opened and the Spanish duke entered, the cardinal advanced to receive him with open arms and a friendly smile.
“My dear, much-beloved friend, what a delightful surprise is this!” said the cardinal.
But the duke observed neither the open arms nor the pleasant smile, nor yet the friendly welcome of the cardinal. He strode forward with a serious, majestic grandezza, and placing himself directly before the cardinal, he solemnly asked: “Know you of the outrage which a servant of your house has inflicted on mine!”
“Of an outrage?” asked the cardinal, without embarrassment. “I have been told that your cook had a dispute with mine, because mine had bought a fish that was too dear for yours. That is all I know.”
“Then they have not told you,” thundered the duke, “that your servant, like an impudent street robber, has wrongfully seized my property. For that fish was mine, it belonged to the Spanish embassy, and therefore to Spain; and your servant has with outrageous insolence committed a trespass upon the property of a foreign power!”
“Did this fish, then, actually belong to the Spanish crown?” asked Bernis. “Was it already paid for, and legally yours?”
“It was not paid for, but was ordered, and my servant had gone home for the money.”
“As long as it was not paid for, no one could have any claim upon it.”
“You are, then, disposed to dispute the fish with me?” cried the duke.
“Should I dispute it,” smilingly responded the cardinal, “that would be the equivalent to a recognition of your right to it, which I have no idea of making. Besides, my friend, what does this quarrel of our cooks concern us, and what has Spain and France to do with these disputes of our servants? They may fight out their own quarrels with each other; let us give them leave to do so, and if they give each other bloody heads, very well, we will bind them up, that is all!”
“You take the affair with your usual practical indifference,” said the duke with bitterness, “and I can only regret being compelled to look at it in a different light. The question here is not of a difficulty between our servants, but of an insult which Spain has received from France in the face of all Rome. Yes, all Rome has witnessed this insult, and these miserable Romans have even dared to dishonor us with irony and satire, and to mock and deride Spain, while they overload you with their praises!”
“The good Romans, as you know, are like children. This contest of our cooks has delighted them, and they shouted a viva to the conqueror. But I beg you not to forget that I have nothing to do with the victories of my cook.”
“But I have something to do with the defeats of mine! Whoever insults my servants insults me; and whoever insults me, insults the kingdom I represent—insults Spain! It is therefore in the name of Spain that I demand satisfaction. Spain has a right to this fish! I demand my right, I demand the surrender of the fish!”
“If you take this matter in earnest,” said the cardinal, “then am I sorry to be compelled also to be serious! If Spain can find offence in the fact that France has bought a fish which is too dear for the Spanish cook, I cannot see how I can here make satisfaction, as we cannot be taxed with any fault.”
“You refuse me the fish, then?” exclaimed the duke, bursting with rage.
“As you say that all Rome knows of this affair, and takes an interest in it, I cannot act otherwise. It must not have the appearance that France feels herself less great and powerful than Spain; that France pusillanimously yields when Spain makes an unjust demand!”
“That is to say, you wish to break off all friendly relations with us?”
“And can those relations be seriously endangered by this affair?” asked the cardinal with vivacity. “Is it possible that this trifling misunderstanding between two servants can exercise an influence upon a long-cherished friendship and harmony of two powers whose relations, whether friendly or otherwise, may uphold or destroy the peace of Europe?”
“Honor is the first law of the Spaniard,” proudly responded the duke “and whoever wounds that can no longer be my friend! France has attached the honor of Spain, and all Rome has chimed in with the insulting acclamations of France—all Rome knows the story of this fish!”
“Then let us show these silly Romans that we both look upon the whole affair merely as a jest. When you to-morrow laughingly eat of this fish, the good Romans will feel ashamed of themselves and their childish conduct.”
“You propose then, to-morrow, when the nobility of Rome, when all the diplomatists are assembled, to parade before them this fish, which to-day sets all tongues in motion?” asked the duke, turning pale.
“The fish was bought for this dinner, and must be eaten!” said the cardinal, laughing.
“Then I regret that I cannot be present at this festival!” cried the duke, rising. “You cannot desire that I should be a witness to my own shame and your triumph. You are no Roman emperor, and I am no conquered hero compelled to appear in your triumphal train! I recall my consent, and shall not appear at your to-morrow’s festival!”
“Reflect and consider this well!” said the cardinal, almost sadly. “If you fail to appear to-morrow, when the whole diplomacy are assembled at my house for an official dinner, that will signify not only that the duke breaks with his old friend the cardinal, but also that Spain wishes to dissolve her friendly relations with France.”
“Let it be so considered!” said the duke. “Better an open war than a clandestine defeat! Adieu, Sir Cardinal!”
And the duke made for the door. But the cardinal held him back.
“Have you reflected upon the consequences?” he asked. “You know what important negotiations at this moment occupy the Catholic courts. Of the abolition of the greatest and most powerful of orders, of the extirpation of the Jesuits, is the question. The pope is favorable to this idea of the Portuguese minister, Pombal, but he desires the co-operation of the other Catholic courts. Austria gives her consent, as do Sardinia and all the other Italian states; only the court of Spain has declared itself the friend and defender of the Jesuits, and for your sake has France hitherto remained passive on this most important question, and has affected not to hear the demands of her subjects; for your sake has France stifled her own convictions and joined in your support. Therefore, think well of what you are about to do! To break off your friendly relations with France, is to compel France to take sides against Spain; and if the powerful voice of France is heard against the Jesuits, the single voice of Spain will be powerless to uphold them.”
“Well, then, let them go!” cried the duke. “What care I for the Jesuits when the defence of our honor is concerned? Sir Cardinal, farewell; however France may decide, Spain will never submit to her arrogance!”
The duke abruptly left the room, slamming the door after him.
Cardinal Bernis saw his departure with an expression of sadness.
“And such are the friendships of man,” he murmured to himself; “the slightest offence is sufficient to destroy a friendship of many years. Well, we must reconcile ourselves to it,” he continued after a pause, “and, at all events, it has its very diverting side. For many months I have taken pains to support Grimaldi with the pope in his defence of the Jesuits, and now that celebrated order will be abolished because a French cook has bought a fish that was too dear for the Spanish cook! By what small influences are the destinies of mankind decided!
“But now I have not a moment to lose,” continued the cardinal, rousing himself from his troubled thoughts. “Grimaldi has rendered it impossible for me longer to oppose the views of the Marquise de Pompadour; I must now give effect to the commands of my feminine sovereign, and announce to the pope the assent of France to his policy. To the pope, then, the letter of the marquise may make known the will of Louis.”
The cardinal hastily donned his official costume, and ordered his carriage for a visit to the Vatican.