The Eternal City | Page 8

bat in the dark.
III
The Baron Bonelli had invited certain of his friends to witness the Pope's procession from the windows and balconies of his palace overlooking the piazza, and they had begun to arrive as early as half-past nine.
In the green courtyard they were received by the porter in the cocked hat, on the dark stone staircase by lackeys in knee-breeches and yellow stockings, in the outer hall, intended for coats and hats, by more lackeys in powdered wigs, and in the first reception-room, gorgeously decorated in the yellow and gold of the middle ages, by Felice, in a dress coat, the Baron's solemn personal servant, who said, in sepulchral tones:
"The Baron's excuses, Excellency! Engaged in the Council-room with some of the Ministers, but expects to be out presently. Sit in the Loggia, Excellency?"
"So our host is holding a Cabinet Council, General?" said the English Ambassador.
"A sort of scratch council, seemingly. Something that concerns the day's doings, I guess, and is urgent and important."
"A great man, General, if half one hears about him is true."
"Great?" said the American. "Yes, and no, Sir Evelyn, according as you regard him. In the opinion of some of his followers the Baron Bonelli is the greatest man in the country--greater than the King himself--and a statesman too big for Italy. One of those commanding personages who carry everything before them, so that when they speak even monarchs are bound to obey. That's one view of his picture, Sir Evelyn."
"And the other view?"
General Potter glanced in the direction of a door hung with curtains, from which there came at intervals the deadened drumming of voices, and then he said:
"A man of implacable temper and imperious soul, an infidel of hard and cynical spirit, a sceptic and a tyrant."
"Which view do the people take?"
"Can you ask? The people hate him for the heavy burden of taxation with which he is destroying the nation in his attempt to build it up."
"And the clergy, and the Court, and the aristocracy?"
"The clergy fear him, the Court detests him, and the Roman aristocracy are rancorously hostile."
"Yet he rules them all, nevertheless?"
"Yes, sir, with a rod of iron--people, Court, princes, Parliament, King as well--and seems to have only one unsatisfied desire, to break up the last remaining rights of the Vatican and rule the old Pope himself."
"And yet he invites us to sit in his Loggia and look at the Pope's procession."
"Perhaps because he intends it shall be the last we may ever see of it."
"The Princess Bellini and Don Camillo Murelli," said Felice's sepulchral voice from the door.
An elderly aristocratic beauty wearing nodding white plumes came in with a pallid young Roman noble dressed in the English fashion.
"You come to church, Don Camillo?"
"Heard it was a service which happened only once in a hundred years, dear General, and thought it mightn't be convenient to come next time," said the young Roman.
"And you, Princess! Come now, confess, is it the perfume of the incense which brings you to the Pope's procession, or the perfume of the promenaders?"
"Nonsense, General!" said the little woman, tapping the American with the tip of her lorgnette. "Who comes to a ceremony like this to say her prayers? Nobody whatever, and if the Holy Father himself were to say...."
"Oh! oh!"
"Which reminds me," said the little lady, "where is Donna Roma?"
"Yes, indeed, where is Donna Roma?" said the young Roman.
"Who is Donna Roma?" said the Englishman.
"Santo Dio! the man doesn't know Donna Roma!"
The white plumes bobbed up, the powdered face fell back, the little twinkling eyes closed, and the company laughed and seated themselves in the Loggia.
"Donna Roma, dear 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