The Eternal City | Page 9

sir," said the young Roman, "is a type of the fair
lady who has appeared in the history of every nation since the days of

Helen of Troy."
"Has a woman of this type, then, identified herself with the story of
Rome at a moment like the present?" said the Englishman.
The young Roman smiled.
"Why did the Prime Minister appoint so-and-so?--Donna Roma! Why
did he dismiss such-and-such?--Donna Roma! What feminine influence
imposed upon the nation this or that?--Donna Roma! Through whom
come titles, decorations, honours?--Donna Roma! Who pacifies
intractable politicians and makes them the devoted followers of the
Ministers?--Donna Roma! Who organises the great charitable
committees, collects funds and distributes them?--Donna Roma!
Always, always Donna Roma!"
"So the day of the petticoat politician is not over in Italy yet?"
"Over? It will only end with the last trump. But dear Donna Roma is
hardly that. With her light play of grace and a whole artillery of love in
her lovely eyes, she only intoxicates a great capital and"--with a glance
towards the curtained door--"takes captive a great Minister."
"Just that," and the white plumes bobbed up and down.
"Hence she defies conventions, and no one dares to question her actions
on her scene of gallantry."
"Drives a pair of thoroughbreds in the Corso every afternoon, and
threatens to buy an automobile."
"Has debts enough to sink a ship, but floats through life as if she had
never known what it was to be poor."
"And has she?"
The voices from behind the curtained door were louder than usual at
that moment, and the young Roman drew his chair closer.

"Donna Roma, dear sir, was the only child of Prince Volonna. Nobody
mentions him now, so speak of him in a whisper. The Volonnas were
an old papal family, holding office in the Pope's household, but the
young Prince of the house was a Liberal, and his youth was cast in the
stormy days of the middle of the century. As a son of the revolution he
was expelled from Rome for conspiracy against the papal Government,
and when the Pope went out and the King came in, he was still a
republican, conspiring against the reigning sovereign, and, as such, a
rebel. Meanwhile he had wandered over Europe, going from Geneva to
Berlin, from Berlin to Paris. Finally he took refuge in London, the
home of all the homeless, and there he was lost and forgotten. Some
say he practised as a doctor, passing under another name; others say
that he spent his life as a poor man in your Italian quarter of Soho,
nursing rebellion among the exiles from his own country. Only one
thing is certain: late in life he came back to Italy as a
conspirator--enticed back, his friends say--was arrested on a charge of
attempted regicide, and deported to the island of Elba without a word
of public report or trial."
"Domicilio Coatto--a devilish and insane device," said the American
Ambassador.
"Was that the fate of Prince Volonna?"
"Just so," said the Roman. "But ten or twelve years after he disappeared
from the scene a beautiful girl was brought to Rome and presented as
his daughter."
"Donna Roma?"
"Yes. It turned out that the Baron was a kinsman of the refugee, and
going to London he discovered that the Prince had married an English
wife during the period of his exile, and left a friendless daughter. Out of
pity for a great name he undertook the guardianship of the girl, sent her
to school in France, finally brought her to Rome, and established her in
an apartment on the Trinità de' Monti, under the care of an old aunt,
poor as herself, and once a great coquette, but now a faded rose which
has long since seen its June."

"And then?"
"Then? Ah, who shall say what then, dear friend? We can only judge
by what appears--Donna Roma's elegant figure, dressed in silk by the
best milliners Paris can provide, queening it over half the women of
Rome."
"And now her aunt is conveniently bedridden," said the little Princess,
"and she goes about alone like an Englishwoman; and to account for
her extravagance, while everybody knows her father's estate was
confiscated, she is by way of being a sculptor, and has set up a
gorgeous studio, full of nymphs and cupids and limbs."
"And all by virtue of--what?" said the Englishman.
"By virtue of being--the good friend of the Baron Bonelli!"
"Meaning by that?"
"Nothing--and everything!" said the Princess with another trill of
laughter.
"In Rome, dear friend," said Don Camillo, "a woman can do anything
she likes as long as she can keep people from talking about her."
"Oh, you never do that apparently," said the Englishman. "But why
doesn't the Baron make her a Baroness and