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 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 
 
 AND OTHER STOEIES.
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 
 
 AUTHOR OP " LIN'DISFAR.V CHASE," "a SIREN," " L\ BEATA," ETC. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1875. 
 
 [All Rights Reserved.]
 
 CHABLES DICKENS AND EVANS, 
 CRYSTAL PALACE PBESS.
 
 s 
 
 05 
 
 <0 
 
 $ 
 
 3 
 1215 
 
 CO^TE^TS. 
 
 >- Diamond Cut Diamond ..... l 
 
 a 
 
 oo The Golden Book of Torcello . . . .199 
 
 VlTTORIA ACCORAMBONI : — 
 
 Chap. I. — Going up to Town to be "Brought out" 241 
 
 „ II. — Three Strings to the Hero's Bow . . 253 
 
 ,, III. — The Brothers.in.Law .... 265 
 
 „ TV. — The Way of the World in Rome . . 272 
 
 „ V. — Least said, soonest mended . . . 281 
 ,, VI.— Looking for St. Peter's Keys, and 
 
 finding them 294 
 
 „ VII. — A Wedding Excursion .... 307 
 
 „ VIII. — Widowhood in the Sixteenth Obntuet 317 
 
 „ IX. — The Majesty of the Law . , . 325
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/diamondcutdiamon01trol
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The question whether old Domenico Rappi was a 
 fortunate and happy man or otherwise would be 
 answered differently, no doubt, by different per- 
 sons, according to their diverse estimates of what 
 things are most desirable in this world. He was 
 a " fattore," as it is called in Italy — a bailiff, as we 
 should say, for want of a better translation, though 
 that word does not quite satisfactorily express 
 the meaning of the Italian one. A bailiff usually 
 manages the estate of one single employer. A 
 ' ' fattore " often has the superintendence of several 
 estates belonging to more than one owner. The 
 connection of the "fattore" with the land-owner 
 is less close than that of a bailiff with the person 
 who employs him. He almost always manages the 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 2 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 property of an absentee landlord; for Italians do 
 not like to live in the country when it is in their 
 power to live in the capital, or even in a pro- 
 vincial city. He is thns more independent, and 
 more at liberty to live his own life as it pleases 
 him. And, somehow or other, a prolonged obser- 
 vation of the progress of social life in Italy almost 
 always leads the observer to the conclusion that it 
 is in the nature of things for " fattori " to become 
 gradually richer, while landlords become gradually 
 poorer. 
 
 To begin with, then, Domenico Rappi, the 
 fattore, may so far be considered to have been 
 fortunate in his position in life. He was further 
 fortunate in the locality his fate had assigned to 
 him. The large property he managed was situated 
 in the Casentino, as that upper valley of the Arno 
 is called through which the classic stream runs, 
 when first it descends from its birthplace in the 
 Apennines. It is a land flowing with milk and 
 honey. It has been celebrated by Dante for the 
 beauty and abundance of the rills which water it. 
 The name indicates that, from the very earliest 
 ages, it was famed for its dairy produce. It is a 
 land of Goshen, entirely shut in by ranges of the 
 Apennines on all sides. There is no large town 
 within its borders to disturb the purely pastoral 
 character of its scenery and population. And 
 the locality has always been a specially favourite
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAX LIFE. 3 
 
 one with the Tuscans. Surely fattore Bappi was 
 fortunate in that his lines had fallen in such 
 pleasant places. He was yet further fortunate in 
 having gathered together such a stock of this 
 world's goods as to place him and his far out of 
 the reach of care for the morrow, and to render 
 him the most important personage in his native 
 village and its neighbourhood. Fortunate, too, in 
 enjoying a large share of the esteem and respect 
 of his neighbours. And, lastly — for the list of his 
 good fortunes is not yet finished — he was fortunate 
 in himself and his personal constitution. He had 
 been a remarkably handsome young man, and was, 
 at the period to which this narrative relates, a 
 remarkably handsome old man : hazel eye, still 
 bright; flowing white hair; sweet-tempered mouthy 
 with perfect ranges of brilliantly white teeth; a 
 large, jolly-looking, florid face; a tremendous 
 breadth of chest, which was invariably covered by 
 a dazzling extent of scarlet waistcoat ; and a sound 
 constitution, perfect digestion, and unfailing health 
 and activity. 
 
 And yet it has been written that it might be 
 questioned whether this richly-gifted Domenico 
 Rappi was or was not a fortunate man. 
 
 What did the per contra consist in? What was 
 the nature of the ill-fortune that could avail so to 
 counterbalance all the above-rehearsed elements of
 
 4 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 good, as to make it doubtful which scale might 
 ultimately be found to kick the beam ? 
 
 Fattore Rappi had a wife ! — a circumstance that 
 of course ought to have been the crowning com- 
 pletion of his felicity ; but it was not so. 
 
 Olivia Marini had, some six-and-twenty years 
 before the time with which this narrative concerns 
 itself, been the recognized queen of beauty in all 
 the valley of the Casentino, when the handsome 
 and well-to-do fattore, who was about ten years 
 her elder, wooed and won her for his bride. But 
 Olivia's beauty was by no means her only dower. 
 She was the daughter of a fattore, who had, after 
 the usual fashion of f attori, increased his store ; 
 and Olivia brought a comfortable addition of means 
 to her husband. Now, inasmuch as words have 
 been already said which are of a nature, perhaps, 
 to prejudice the reader against the lady, it is as 
 well to state at once that no breath of reproach had 
 ever tarnished the fair fame of la Signora Rappi as 
 regards those aspects of wifely duty which are 
 generally considered to be the most important of 
 all to matronly reputation. No man, and, what is 
 more, no woman, had ever thought, said, or hinted 
 that Olivia Eappi had a thought or a glance for 
 any man other than her husband. Nor had any 
 demon of unreasonable jealousy ever lodged a 
 painful thought upon this subject in jolly farmer 
 Rappi's easy-going brain. Still, therefore, we
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 5 
 
 seem to coine upon nothing in the fattore's lot but 
 additional sources of prosperity and happhiess. 
 What could have been the peacock on the farmer's 
 wall — the skeleton in the farmer's cupboard ? 
 
 Drink ? No ! Scarcely a drunken man, and 
 much less a drunken woman, is to be found among 
 the Tuscan inhabitants of the central part of Italy. 
 The abundant vineyards of the Tuscan hills yield 
 their undoctored grape-juice to make glad the 
 heart of man, and not, as among less happy popu- 
 lations, to make his misery. No ! Fattore Eappi 
 liked his wine, was a first-rate judge of the quality 
 of it, and would have gone to the stake rather than 
 admit that his own product was not the best in the 
 Casentino. But nobody had ever seen him the 
 worse for liquor. As for the "fattoressa" — as a 
 fattore' s wife loves to be called — she was almost, 
 if not quite, a teetotaler ; not from any idea that 
 there was any virtue in abstaining from wine, but 
 because such had come to be her habit from 
 motives arising out of other elements hi her 
 character. 
 
 Was it jealousy on his wife's part that made the 
 bitter drop that spoiled the flavour of all the 
 fatt ore's life-draught ? 
 
 Not a bit of it ! He gave his wife no cause for 
 any such feeling; nor had she ever fancied that 
 she had any such cause. 
 
 Was there any of the chronic ill-health in the
 
 6 DLDIOXD CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 farmer's household which, sometimes has power to 
 mar happiness that would otherwise seem com- 
 plete ? 
 
 Nothing of the kind ! A heartier, healthier 
 couple than Domenico Rappi and his wife it would 
 have been impossible to find in all Tuscany. And 
 Signora Rappi had made her husband the happy 
 father of two handsome and perfectly healthy and 
 well-constituted daughters. If all the rest of the 
 world had needed the assistance of the faculty as 
 little as the inmates of farmer Rappi' s household, 
 the doctors might as well have shut up shop at 
 once. 
 
 The fattore had no son. But, though it may be 
 that he would have liked that one of his children 
 should have been of the coarser sex, this was not a 
 cause of unhappiness to him — certainly was not 
 that cause which has been alluded to as well-nigh 
 neutralizing all. the favourable ingredients in his 
 cup of life. 
 
 No ! As has been already hinted, it was his 
 wife that was the source of trouble ! Despite her 
 virtues, it was the Signora Rappi who made her 
 husband's life well-nigh a burden to him — despite 
 her virtues, though these have not yet been all 
 told. The fattoressa was economical and religious 
 — and surely these are good qualities ! Olivia 
 Rappi was very economical and very religious. 
 Well — surely there could not be much amiss in
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN" LIFE. 7 
 
 this ! It is true that too much of a good thing is 
 not good; and we can understand that economy 
 may be pushed a little too far. But it may be 
 feared that Protestant readers may be shocked at 
 the notion of stigmatizing religious feeling, even in 
 its excess, as a fault, and a source of trouble and 
 sorrow. But any readers, who may be conscious 
 of such a feeling, are requested to remember that 
 Domenico Rappi and his wife were not Protestants ; 
 and that Roman Catholicism shows itself very 
 differently in the countries of its native home, from 
 the appearance it wears when transplanted into 
 communities of Ans>*lo- Saxon race. 
 
 o 
 
 Yes; this was the trouble — the bitter drop in 
 his cup, that made it a question with the fattore 
 whether he was not in truth a very unfortunate 
 and unhappy, rather than a fortunate and happy 
 man. It was that his wife was a very religious 
 woman. 
 
 And if my readers will kindly accompany me 
 to the conclusion of this narrative, accepting my 
 assurance that the incidents of it- are by no means 
 untrue or uncommon, they will see how that which 
 is recognized as devout religious feeling and con- 
 duct in Roman Catholic communities, may in truth 
 make the unhappiness of a father and husband, and 
 take all the sunshine out of his life and out of his 
 home. 
 
 Olivia, the fattore' s eldest daughter, was twenty-
 
 8 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 four years of age, and Giulia, his youngest, eighteen 
 at the time our little family history commences. 
 Both of them were girls on whom the eye rested 
 with delight. On which of them it might love to 
 linger with the greater pleasure and the richest 
 association of ideas would depend on the tempera- 
 ment and mood of the looker; for, though both 
 undeniably beautiful, they differed from each other 
 remarkably. Olivia — to use the classical old Eng- 
 lish phrase — favoured her mother; Griulia, her 
 father. The former was, as her mother had been, 
 remarkably tall; and the pure, pale oval of her 
 face, showing ivory-white by the contrast with the 
 heavy braids of her black hair, seemed the very 
 ideal that a disciple of Beato Angelico might have 
 chosen as a model for the Madonna. The features, 
 though delicately cut, were so majestic in their 
 habitual repose ! There was so much of divinity 
 in the passionless placidity of the face ! — so much 
 of angelic grace in the generally slow and de- 
 liberate movements of her person, and the dignified 
 carriage of her figure ! The suggestion of celestial 
 purity and calm — unruffled by earthly passions, 
 untouched by human littlenesses — was complete, 
 as the charmed eye rested on the small head, a 
 little bent forward on the long;, slender neck, while 
 the wonderfully long, black, silken eye-lashes 
 drooped fringe-like over the large eyes. 
 
 And this was the j 1086 which the judicious
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 9 
 
 painter would have selected, by preference, as that 
 in which Olivia was to figure forth the presentment 
 of the Madonna. For when the long silken fringe 
 of lash was wholly raised, there was something in 
 those large and beautiful eyes which did not con- 
 vey exactly the impression which our supposed 
 painter was in search of — a something which did 
 not altogether fulfil the Madonna-like promise of 
 the general outline of the face. The impression 
 in this sense was immediate ; but it needed some 
 little reflection before the observer could render 
 himself an account of it. The large eyes in that 
 white face were undeniably handsome, and very 
 bright. Eyes surely should be bright. And it 
 seems like the captiousness of the determined fault- 
 finder in the old French story, who was reduced to 
 the necessity of complaining at a wedding that the 
 bride was too pretty, to say that Olivia's eyes were 
 too bright. And yet that was likely to be the 
 first impression of anyone whose gaze had been 
 attracted by that passionless purity of feature, 
 which has been described, when Olivia raised her 
 eyes to meet those of the observer. Or was it, per- 
 haps, that the brightness was accompanied by a 
 certain hardness — a steel-like glitter, which seemed 
 incongruous with the calm placidity of the outline 
 of the face ? Depth, also, is often predicated of an 
 eye as an especial beauty. And it could not be 
 said that Olivia's eyes had this mysteriously sug-
 
 10 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 gestive quality. Nor were they what could be 
 called liquid eyes. We are told by the learned in 
 such matters that there is no expression whatsoever 
 in any human eye — that all the expression resides 
 in reality in the forms and lines of those portions 
 of the face which immediately surround the eye. 
 But, if such be the case, it must be admitted that 
 those forms and lines can be wholly changed by the 
 mere dropping or raising of the eyelid. For in the 
 case of Olivia Rappi the whole expression was 
 altered by that sole difference. It was not that, 
 when that large and glittering eye was fully re- 
 vealed, the purity and passionlessness of the face, 
 which was its most striking characteristic, was 
 altered or defaced, but that some other things 
 seemed to be added thereto. There was what 
 seemed the outward expression of an unflinching* 
 strength of will. There was an unblenching 
 steadiness in the glance that seemed to say that 
 that serene calm would scarcely permit itself to be 
 ruffled by any emotion, or by any prospect of 
 suffering to itself — or to others. It never would 
 have occurred to any physiognomist to call Olivia 
 Rappi bold-eyed. She was rather, if such an ex- 
 pression may be permitted, retiring-eyed. Her 
 eyes never came out to meet you either in hostility 
 or affection. But if you sent yours to find them at 
 home, you were apt to meet a something in them 
 capable of producing in you either dislike, or un-
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 11 
 
 easiness, or even fear, according to your tempera- 
 ment. 
 
 A skilled practitioner of Lavater's science might 
 have remarked, too, of Olivia Rappi, that, just as 
 the repetition of a bit of colour in any second part 
 of a dress or a picture takes up and completes the 
 effect intended to be produced by it, so the shape 
 and expression of Olivia's mouth supplemented and 
 completed that which has been attributed to her 
 eyes. It was a handsome mouth, as surely as the 
 eyes were handsome eyes; and yet — and yet — it 
 was not, in a word, one of those mouths which call 
 forth human affections, and cause them to come 
 welling up from other hearts to meet them. Not 
 a coarse or a sensual mouth ! oh, dear, no ! The 
 utmost possible reverse of that. An ascetic mouth, 
 it might rather be said. The lips, though admir- 
 ably chiseled and curved, were thin ; and the mode 
 in which they met each other was more indicative 
 of firmness than of gentleness — spoke rather to the 
 practised and understanding eye of the possibilities 
 of certain spiritual sins than of any more earth- 
 born proclivities toward bodily failings. 
 
 There was something*, too, even in her beautiful 
 and strikingly elegant figure which produced an 
 impression analogous to that which has been 
 attributed to Olivia's eyes and mouth — a kind of 
 unbendingness — a slow-moving* dignity of upright- 
 ness, which never was betrayed into an impulsive
 
 12 DIA3I0XD CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 elegance or an impulsive awkwardness. Her hands 
 and feet were not small, but long, as befitted lier 
 height ; slender, and beautifully formed. 
 
 And all that Olivia Eappi has here been de- 
 scribed to be, her mother had been, when from 
 being Olivia Marini she became Olivia Eappi the 
 elder. We all know, alas ! too well, the kind of 
 changes that years bring with them, for it to be 
 necessary to say much in description of the fat- 
 toressa as she was when her eldest daughter was 
 four-and-twenty. Of course, the hard, bright eye 
 had become more hard and less bright — of course, 
 the thin, curved lips had become more thin and less 
 curved — of course, the slender, rigid waist had 
 become less slender and more rigid — of course, 
 those warning expressions of spiritual tendencies 
 toward certain faults had become developed into 
 hardly-marked and unmistakable manifestations of 
 them. All this may easily be imagined; and 
 nothing more, therefore, need be said at present 
 respecting the Signora Eappi. But as nothing 
 that has been set forth as to Olivia is in any degree 
 applicable to her younger sister, it will be necessary 
 to say a few words of little Giulia. 
 
 Giulia, as has been said, was eighteen when her 
 sister was twenty-four years old. And if Olivia 
 was, as the phrase goes, her mother's child, Giulia 
 was as markedly her father's. Of course, it could 
 not be said that the young girl of eighteen so
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 13 
 
 completely repeated what lier father had been at 
 that age, as Olivia in face and person was a repe- 
 tition of her mother. But there were such striking 
 similarities of temperament, of complexion, of fea- 
 ture, between the jolly and handsome old fattore 
 and his youngest daughter, as to suggest infallibly 
 an equally strong resemblance in character and 
 disposition. 
 
 And the presumption would have been found to 
 be a perfectly correct one. 
 
 It was an often-debated moot point among the 
 youths of the country-side which of the rich 
 fattore's two daughters was the most lovely, the 
 most fascinating. And so great was the difference 
 of style and of the entire idiosyucrasy between 
 them, that an experienced hand at such observa- 
 tions could have formed a shrewd opinion of the 
 character and tendencies of any of the male popu- 
 lation of the neighbourhood by ascertaining which 
 of the two Kappi girls he most admired. 
 
 If Oh via might have sat to any painter of the 
 Beato Angelico school for a Madonna, the first 
 glimpse of Giulia suggested as emphatically to an 
 artistic eye her special fitness to be the model 
 for an Aurora. There was all the fresh, elastic, 
 youthful gladness that should characterize the 
 rosy-fingered goddess of the morn; the beaming, 
 transparent innocence, too, in the dimpled cheek 
 and laughing blue eye. GriuhVs step, when she
 
 14 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOXD. 
 
 walked — if walking that could be called wliicli 
 rarely was subdued to the sober staidness of that 
 form of motion — seemed really to realize the old 
 classical image of a gait that did not bend the 
 grass-blades beneath it. She had a wealth of light 
 blonde hair of the silkiest and finest texture — too 
 fine, indeed, for artistic hair-dressing purposes ; for 
 it could not be got to remain in any form which 
 the art of the coiffeur could assign to it; but 
 would, with the slightest breath of air, constitute 
 itself into a sort of glorified nimbus around the 
 classically-shaped little head, that — very improperly 
 — seemed to figure forth a saintly halo above the 
 rounded temples of her whom we have likened to 
 a heathen goddess. 
 
 And, indeed, this impropriety of the light-flying 
 glossy tresses of film-like silk was often a source 
 of trouble to the light-hearted owner of them. For 
 grave and precise Signora Rappi, her dark-browed 
 lady mother, would frequently manifest austere 
 displeasure at this unarranged arrangement of the 
 rebel locks in question. Whether the fattoressa 
 had conceived the idea hinted at above, that her 
 nymph-like daughter was unduly appropriating 
 a saintly appendage to which, in her mother's 
 opinion, she had not the smallest possible claim, 
 may, perhaps, be doubted. But, for some reason 
 or other, or from some feeling or other, the 
 glancing aureole of golden gossamer of Nature's
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 15 
 
 own arrangement around her daughter's head was 
 an offence to the Signora Rappi, at which her 
 severe eyes were scandalized. And then little 
 Giulia, with an earnest protest as to her utter 
 inability to make her stupid hair stay as her 
 mother choose to have it, would, with a half -vexed, 
 half -laughing pout, bind it all viciously in a tight 
 knot at the back of her head, and — look more 
 fascinatingly like a heathen goddess than ever. 
 And then the fattoressa would frown more darkly 
 than before. And her sister Olivia would observe 
 gravely that it would be easy for Giulia to avoid 
 all trouble with her hair, if she wished to do so, 
 by simply tying a kerchief over it, closely fastened 
 beneath the chin. And then the fattore would 
 flare up with a " No ! I bar that ! Put your own 
 head in a poke, Livia, if you like ! But I like to 
 see my little GiukVs bright hair ; it's as good as 
 a sunbeam to my old eyes ! And I won't have it 
 covered up ! " 
 
 And so it would come to pass that poor little 
 Giulia's troublesome hair came to be a source of 
 domestic difference in the fattore's home — one of 
 the many sources, that is, with most of which 
 Giulia was connected in some way or other. And, 
 after such a little scene as the above, the conscious- 
 ness of this would make Giulia sad, and her laugh- 
 ing eyes droop for a whole five minutes ! But she 
 had one of those natures from which sorrow and
 
 16 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 trouble run off, as water does from a duck's back. 
 It could make no lasting impression upon her. 
 At the end of the five minutes she had no remem- 
 brance of the fact that she was under the shade of 
 her mother's displeasure, and forgot to feel any 
 grudge against Olivia for her sisterly suggestion. 
 
 Of course, enough has been said to let the judi- 
 cious reader understand that Giulia Rappi was the 
 very light of her father's eyes, his sunbeam in the 
 house, the bright bit in his life. And the acquaint- 
 ance which, it is hoped, he has made with the 
 two sisters, will no doubt have sufficed already to 
 explain in a great measure the nature of the doubts 
 which hung around the question whether the 
 fattore Domenico Eappi was or was not a happy 
 man.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Those who have lived in either Italy or France 
 sufficiently long to have become well acquainted 
 with the ways of life and modes of feeling among 
 those classes of the population which are not 
 generally the first to come under a foreigner's 
 observation, must have become aware, in the first 
 place, how very general among the male sex is — 
 if not settled unbelief in, at least — utter indifference 
 to the religion of which they profess in a certain 
 loose way to be members; and, in the second 
 place, how curiously and strangely the clergy 
 accept this state of things. If a man makes no 
 difficulty in allowing his wife and daughters to 
 frequent the churches as assiduously as the clergy 
 may wish — shows no objection to any intimacy 
 between the priesthood and the female members 
 of his household, and does not put himself pro- 
 minently forward as a political opponent of the 
 Church — the clergy of his parish will associate 
 with him on friendly terms, discreetly and con- 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 sistently " sink the shop " in their conversation 
 with him, and appear to consider him to all intents 
 and purposes a very satisfactory member of society. 
 Of course, if the priest has any belief in his own 
 theories and doctrines, he must consider his uncon- 
 fessing and uncommunicating parishioner as in- 
 fallibly lost to all eternity. But that consideration 
 does not appear to vex the generality of the sacer- 
 dotal caste at all. It would really seem as if it 
 had been agreed on all hands to conduct the 
 religious affairs of the community on the assump- 
 tion that the male sex — with the exception of the 
 priesthood — had no souls at all, and consequently 
 no concern whatever with any of the operations 
 and arrangements which are so busily put in action 
 for the benefit of female souls. 
 
 If, in truth, Domenico Rappi, that jolly fattore, 
 was considered to have a soul of his own, and really 
 to be as much immortal as his wife Olivia, the not 
 at all jovial fattoressa, the difference, not only in 
 the mode in which each of them regarded that fact 
 for themselves, but also in the mode in which it 
 was regarded by the official soul-managers of the 
 community, and generally by the world in which 
 they lived, was most singular. Nobody troubled 
 themselves about old Domenico' s soul — least of all 
 the jolly fattore himself ! Nobody, unless we are 
 to except, perhaps, the wife of his bosom. And 
 her care in this matter seemed to manifest itself
 
 A STOEY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 19 
 
 mainly — one may say solely — by endeavours to 
 direct Lis outward conduct, not generally, but with 
 reference to certain arrangements which were sup- 
 posed to have influence on the prospects of certain 
 other female souls. With the more immediate 
 concerns of his own proper soul, Olivia, his pious 
 wife, meddled as little as all the rest of the world. 
 
 Much the same remarks may be made with 
 regard to the intercourse between the fattore and 
 the official guardian of his spiritual affairs. Don 
 Ignazio Yerini, the " priore " (as the parish priest 
 of Marrolo, the " commune " in which Rappi lived, 
 was entitled to call himself, by reason of some 
 collegiate dignity belonging to his church, whereas 
 otherwise he would have been simply the "curato") 
 — Don Ignazio Verini belonged to that one of the 
 well-distinguished categories into which the parish 
 priests of Italy may be divided, which is more 
 usually to be met with in the cities and in the 
 higher ranks of the hierarchy. Leaving out of the 
 question the thoroughly black sheep of the sacer- 
 dotal flock, who may be found sometimes in country 
 parishes, but, it must be owned, more frequently in 
 the pages of fiction-writers of a certain school — ■ 
 leaving them aside, the Italian parochial clergy may 
 be classed under four categories : 
 
 First, and rarest, there is the earnest, fanatic, 
 ascetic, doctrinal priest. He has generally a fair 
 tincture of theological learning, and is quite won-
 
 20 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 derfully ignorant of aught else. He causes a great 
 deal of mischief and unhappiness in his parish, and 
 is entirely careless how much he causes, as being 
 fully persuaded that human affairs in this vale of 
 tears are supremely unimportant, save as they con- 
 duce, or do not conduce, to the leading of the 
 actors in them into Paradise when their short 
 sojourn here shall be at an end. He believes the 
 generation in which he lives to be the worst and 
 most hopeless that the world has yet seen, and con- 
 siders that the only thing yet possible for a faithful 
 priest in this lost age is to merit a distinguished 
 place in a better world by the intensity of his 
 hatred for the enemies of the Church in this, and 
 perhaps to succeed in saving a few select (female) 
 souls, together with his own. 
 
 Then, in the second place, and next rarest, it may 
 be feared, comes the priest who is a real blessing 
 to his parish, especially if it be a rural and some- 
 what poor one. He may be of the bookish and 
 contemplative, or of the genial, hail-fellow-well- 
 met type — more frequently in Italy of the latter. 
 But in either case, by the force of temperament^ 
 tins world and its concerns hold a larger space in 
 his thinkings and plannings and doings than the- 
 next world. He is not generally looked on very 
 favourably by his ecclesiastical superiors, but is 
 adored by his parishioners. He is probably a man 
 of verv little learning, but of strong and shrewd
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 21 
 
 native common-sense. He performs all his sacer- 
 dotal functions, perhaps, in a somewhat perfunctory 
 manner; but is always busy from morning till 
 night with schemes and labour for the (temporal) 
 benefit and comfort of this, that, and the other one, 
 or for the entire body of his people. He would 
 be much shocked at any suggestion that he was 
 otherwise than perfectly orthodox in his beliefs. 
 He accepts all that the Church teaches without 
 examination or questioning ; and, having so ac- 
 cepted it, neither thinks nor says anything more 
 about the matter. Spiritual-minded persons would 
 say that such an idiosyncrasy should have marked 
 the man as eminently unfitted for the priesthood 
 in any shape. But the spiritual-minded persons 
 are few — fewer, probably, among the inhabitants 
 of the old classic Latin land than among any other 
 civilized nation on the face of the earth. Whereas, 
 on the other hand, nowhere are there communities 
 which stand more in need of the helping which 
 may be rendered by a kindly will, joined to a 
 modicum of knowledge, and directed by an active 
 and practical spirit of plain, worldly common-sense. 
 Thirdly, and in strong distinction to the last 
 class, the members of which are as little priestly as 
 may be, are the priests who are all priest. They 
 are more commonly met with in the cities than in 
 the country. They are as entirely unspiritual as 
 the men referred to above — indeed, more so. But
 
 22 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 they genuinely believe themselves to be wholly 
 devoted to " spiritual interests " and " spiritual 
 affairs." And the matter is not one of hypocrisy 
 at all, but simply of terminology. By " spiritual/* 
 they mean belonging to or referring to the 
 " Church/* and the ecclesiastical persons of whom 
 they consider it to consist, in contradistinction to 
 all that refers to or interests laymen and non- 
 ecclesiastical persons. And when this meaning of 
 the word has been thoroughly understood and 
 accepted, it may be admitted that the members of 
 that class of the Romish priesthood of whom we 
 are speaking are wholly and entirely devoted to 
 spiritual affairs and interests. Protestants are apt, 
 somewhat unphilosophically, to imagine that men 
 of this stamp must be thorough- going, conscious 
 hypocrites, using religion as a cloak for mere 
 worldly ambition. But that is a mistake. In the 
 first place, many a man of this sort would be con- 
 tent to live and die in the humblest subaltern 
 obscurity, content that his name should no more 
 be heard of than that of a private soldier in the 
 ranks of a victorious army, if only he can add a 
 stone to the Temple of his idolatry — if only he 
 can spend and be spent in the great cause of 
 Church supremacy. In the next place, his beliefs,. 
 such as they are, are genuine. He really believes 
 that he believes all the teaching of the Church, 
 and all her interpretations of Holy Writ. But
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAX LIFE. 23 
 
 what lie does believe — with all his heart, and all 
 his mind, and all his strength — is that it is a good 
 and desirable thing that this world should be ruled 
 and managed by the priesthood of his Chnrch. 
 He really believes himself to " love God," and to 
 be eager only in " His service." And it is quite 
 true, if you understand " God " and " Church " 
 to be and to mean the same thing, and the " ser- 
 vice" of the one to be the service of the other. 
 They are men in whom, whatever department of 
 life their lot might have been cast in, esprit de corps 
 would have been the leading passion of their nature. 
 That which is selfishness in its most ordinarily 
 recognized form in other men, in them takes the 
 form of inordinate love for their caste. Their pride 
 is pride of caste. Their ambition is for the corps 
 to which they belong. Their grasping greed is for 
 the " Church." How should the soul be soiled by 
 such in a man who is himself content to live on a 
 crust ? Their unscrupulousness is for " God" — i.e., 
 for the Church. How can any means be unsancti- 
 fied by such an aim ? 
 
 This was the class of priests to which Don 
 Ignazio Verini belonged. He walked his course 
 through the world trampling on human hearts, 
 with a conscience not merely at rest, but thoroughly 
 applausive. Few men in the cause of their mun- 
 dane ambition or greed could be so ruthless as he 
 in what he deemed the service of God. For a
 
 24 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 silenced conscience may make some wail of remon- 
 strance heard ; but a conscience which has passed 
 over with bag and baggage to the enemy avails 
 simply to make the state of things worse than it 
 would be were conscience wholly deadened. 
 
 To complete the classification suggested above, 
 the fourth category of the sacerdotal class has yet 
 to be named. It is in Italy — especially in Central 
 and Southern Italy — the most numerous of all. It 
 consists of the mass of very poorly educated, very 
 narrow-minded men, to whom the priesthood is 
 simply a means of finding bread. There are very 
 many such in the rural parishes of Italy — men little 
 above the peasants among whom they live in social 
 standing or general cultivation, and not at all above 
 them or different from them in origin. Of course, 
 as in every other department of life, some of these 
 men are well-meaning enough, and desirous of 
 doing their duty as far as they know how to do it ; 
 and many are low-minded, depraved blackguards, 
 ready to avail themselves of the opportunities 
 afforded them by their sacred calling for any base 
 or mischievous purpose. The majority are content 
 to drone out their lives in laziness and ignorance, 
 discharging the mechanical duties of their function 
 in a perfunctory manner ; not exercising intelligent 
 thought upon any subject sufficiently for it to be 
 said correctly that they either believe or disbelieve 
 the doctrines they enunciate, and to whom the
 
 A STORY OF TUSCjLN LIFE. 25 
 
 main objects of life are their daily food and daily- 
 repose. 
 
 Of course, this last is the class from which the 
 remoter and poorer parishes are mainly supplied 
 with clergy. But the same causes, connected with 
 the circumstances of its original endowment, which 
 gave to the church of Marrolo the title of " Colle- 
 giate/' and to its incumbent that of "Priore," 
 made it a richer ecclesiastical prize than usually 
 falls to the share of men of that stamp. And so it 
 came to pass that Don Ignazio Verini, as has been 
 said, was the parish priest of Marrolo. 
 
 Verini was a notable specimen of the type of 
 priest who has been described under the third of 
 the above four .classes. As regards all those ex- 
 ternals which are so important in all those depart- 
 ments of life in which it is needed that one man 
 should exercise a moral influence over his fellows, 
 Verini was, in the eyes of his ecclesiastical superiors, 
 eminently " the right man for the place." A tall, 
 personable, dignified-looking man, with a good 
 forehead, a handsome though dry and severe 
 mouth, a large, square chin, indicative of great 
 power of will, a high, thin, rather hawk-like nose, 
 a large, clear, pale eye, and crisp, curly ham, now 
 beginning to be iron-grey. In matters still more 
 external, the outward presentment of the priest 
 was equally calculated to impose on the minds of 
 his parishioners. His spare, alert figure, always as
 
 26 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 upright as that of a drill-sergeant, was invariably 
 clad in a long, closely buttoned, cassock-like coat 
 of the finest cloth and glossiest black. The mud- 
 coloured high-lows, clasping ankles clad in coarse 
 worsted stockings, as much brown as black, which 
 form the more ordinary costume of the parochial 
 clergy in remote rural districts, and which were 
 exemplified in the person of his "Vicario," here- 
 after to be introduced to the reader, were not for 
 Don Ignazio. His well-turned leg, protruding 
 from below his black frock-coat, was incased in a 
 black silk stocking, and his well-shaped foot in a 
 neatly made and perfectly polished low-cut shoe 
 with a large silver buckle. Nor did he ever give 
 in to the easy-going modern abuse of wearing the 
 ordinary layman's chimney-pot hat, but always 
 mounted the large-flapped ecclesiastical three- 
 cornered hat of glossiest and fluffiest beaver. In a 
 word, he was priest from the crown of his correctly 
 tonsured head to the tips of his absolutely straight- 
 pointing and neither turned-out nor turned-in toes 
 (for this, too, is a sacerdotal speciality) ; and a 
 crossing- sweeper might be mistaken for a field- 
 marshal as easily as Don Ignazio could by any 
 human eye be mistaken for anything but a Eoman 
 Catholic churchman. 
 
 One word more respecting this resplendent 
 priest may be necessary to prevent the nature of 
 his position in his parish from being mistaken.
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 27 
 
 The world, especially the Protestant world, has 
 heard much evil of the relationships that are said 
 to be frequent between the members of a celibate 
 clergy and their female parishioners. And mis- 
 chief of this sort is undoubtedly far from uncom- 
 mon. And the many circumstances which tend 
 to make the intercourse between a priest and the 
 female members of his flock more intimate and 
 more frequent and more close than any which he 
 holds with those of his own sex, not only very 
 naturally lead to such mischief, but also very 
 naturally lead to the suspicion of it in many cases 
 where nothing of the kind exists. Of course the 
 intercourse between priests and women must be 
 close and intimate. It is on them that the priest 
 operates. It is through them that he exercises his 
 influence. They are the means of his power. It is 
 for them and by them that he exists. For it is not 
 too much to say that, but for the women, the whole 
 edifice of Rome's priestly power would ere this have 
 collapsed and crumbled to dust. 
 
 The connection and intimacy accordingly between 
 Don Ignazio and many of the female members of 
 his flock was very close and confidential. But any 
 suspicion of impropriety of the kind which the 
 world is so prompt to conceive would have griev- 
 ously wronged him. His heart was set on other 
 matters ! And so gravely dignified, so prudently 
 circumspect was his conduct on all occasions, that
 
 28 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 it liad never entered into the head of any human 
 being in his own parish to imagine otherwise. 
 
 A certain amount of what — for want of a better 
 term — may be called spiritual flirtation, a certain 
 tone and manner of conversation with the young 
 and pretty members of his flock, which produced 
 in them results and emotions that could not have 
 been produced by one of their own sex — results 
 and emotions very pernicious for them, but which 
 left him as impassible as if he were marble — he was 
 wont to permit himself — for the sake of the good 
 cause ; for the advancement of which, if they only 
 could have known it, he would at any moment 
 ruthlessly have ordered the youngest and the 
 prettiest of them to the stake and the fagot, had 
 it been needed, and had he possessed the power. 
 
 Such was Don Ignazio Yerini, the Priore of 
 Marrolo ; and such was the nature of his relation- 
 ship to his parishioners — in one respect at least, 
 which it was desirable should be at once explained 
 for fear of mistake and misconception.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was on a lovely October afternoon that, as soon 
 as the fattore had mounted his horse after his mid- 
 day meal to ride over on business to the neigh- 
 bouring town of Stia, Signora Eappi put on her 
 best bonnet and gown, and set forth to pay a 
 visit to the Priore. 
 
 Marrolo is one of the prettiest villages in the 
 CasentinOj which is so rich in pretty villages. It 
 stands not very high above the bottom of the 
 valley on the western hill, which shuts in the 
 Casentino between the main backbone of the 
 Apennines and that subsidiary range of mountains 
 which Italian geographers call the Ant-apennines. 
 Thus it faces toward the east, a little to the south ; 
 and the eye ranging delightfully from its terraced 
 gardens, or from the windows of its dwellings, first 
 over all the richly cultivated plain of the valley, 
 with the infant Arno shimmering in the midst of 
 it, and then over the magnificent chestnut woods 
 which clothe the lower slopes of the Apennines,
 
 SO DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 reposes contentedly on the lofty peaks above them, 
 in part bare and barren stone, and in part covered 
 with pine forest. The whole of that part of the 
 Apennine range which is seen from Marrolo was 
 once covered with forest ; and the now hopelessly 
 barren parts are snch because the forests have 
 been many generations ago with improvident 
 greed destroyed. For in these latitudes the 
 autumnal and spring rains descend with such 
 torrent-like force and abundance that, unless the 
 soil is protected by the shelter of forest growth, 
 the waters wash it all away — carry it in the process 
 of years to the Mediterranean, where, after having 
 for a few centuries caused much further evil by 
 blocking up the water-courses and thus engen- 
 dering malaria, it at last assumes the condition 
 of rich alluvial corn-bearing plains, as now between 
 the sea and Pisa, and becomes once again useful 
 for the support and multiplication of man. In the 
 meantime, nothing can be more utterly barren, 
 void even of grass or verdure of any kind, than 
 those parts of the mountain-tops from which the 
 ancient pine forests have been removed. But large 
 tracts of that part of the mountain opposite to 
 Marrolo have retained their woods. And this in- 
 appreciable advantage has been due to a once 
 wealthy and powerful community of monks who, 
 from the eighth century downward, made these 
 mountains their habitation. The evil occasioned
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 31 
 
 to the world by nionasticism lias no doubt been 
 greater than the good mankind has owed to the 
 system. But the evil is pretty well known to and 
 appreciated by the Protestant world in these days. 
 The good is perhaps less entirely recognized. The 
 monks of Camaldoli have been harried out of their 
 mountain home on the Apennine within the last 
 year or two. Doubtless it was on the whole best 
 that it should be so. But the noble forests, which 
 they for so many centuries preserved and cared 
 for, remain a lasting monument to the superiority 
 of their civilization, at least in some respects. 
 
 Don Ignazio Yerini at all events feels this 
 bitterly enough, as he looks across the valley to 
 the opposite mountains from the windows of his 
 comfortable parsonage ; and often makes the con- 
 trast between the bare and barren peaks, which 
 have been stripped by lay greed and improvidence, 
 and the beautiful and beneficent forests, which 
 have been preserved by ecclesiastical wisdom and 
 forethought, the theme of passionate diatribes on 
 the superiority of a civilization under priestly rule 
 to any other. 
 
 The house of the Priore was excellently well 
 situated for observations leading to similar re- 
 flections. It had been originally close to, but not 
 in contiguity with the church. But a chapel 
 having been at some period subsequent to the 
 building of the parsonage built on the bit of
 
 32 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 ground between it and the church, the three fabrics 
 had now the appearance of being under the same 
 roof ; and the Priore could pass from his dwelling 
 into his church without stepping outside of his own 
 door. The church, with the priest's dwelling thus 
 united to it, occupied a position with reference to 
 the habitations of the little community which is 
 very usual in the hill villages of Italy. It stood on 
 the highest ground in the place. The " paese," as 
 the Italian phrase is, occupied two streets, climbing 
 the side of the hill, zigzag fashion, and having 
 here and there sundry flights of stone steps to 
 form short cuts between one and the other. Then 
 above, and reached by a final set of steps at the 
 uppermost end of the higher street, there was a 
 platform, raised on a rocky eminence rising above- 
 the rest of the' soil, which had been terraced up 
 with supporting walls, and on which the church 
 and parsonage had been built. There was thus 
 in front of these buildings a little elevated 
 " piazza," inclosed by a parapet wall on the side 
 toward the valley, which was the accustomed 
 place of rendezvous for all the gossips of the 
 village on Sundays and other festivals. And in 
 an Italian village, " all the gossips " might as well 
 be written "all the inhabitants;" for assuredly 
 it would be difficult to find an Italian man or 
 woman, lad or lass, who does not deserve the epithet. 
 And accordingly, either a little before or after
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 33 
 
 tlie " funzione " in the church, pretty well the 
 whole population of Marrolo might be found 
 assembled on the piazza which has been described. 
 And it must be admitted that it is impossible to 
 impugn their taste in the selection of a place of 
 meeting*. Certainly no chamber within the walls 
 of Marrolo was half so pleasant as the piazza, with 
 its lovely view and fragrant turf and flowers. 
 And there the good " Marrolesi " would lounge by 
 the hour together — the old men in one group, the 
 old women in another ; the lads on one side of the 
 space, the lasses on the opposite side. For such 
 is the wont of Italian rural populations. Whatever 
 flirtations may be done, are never done in those lati- 
 tudes under the eyes of assembled elders and com- 
 peers. Perhaps the symptom is not a favourable one. 
 Signora Rappi found the walk to the Prioress 
 house a more fatiguing one than she could have 
 wished. The fattore's well-to-do homestead was 
 not exactly in the village, but a little more toward 
 the bottom of the valley below it ; and the October 
 afternoon sun was still hot. And the Signora 
 Rappi, though still in the prime of her years, and 
 still a fine matronly figure, was beginning to feel 
 a little short of breath, when she had, as was 
 frequently the case, to climb to the dwelling of 
 her spiritual director. If she had walked up the 
 two zigzag streets, she would have accomplished 
 her climb more easily. But she was eager on the 
 VOL. i. d
 
 34 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 errand on which she was bent, and had chosen the 
 short cut up more than one steep flight of steps. 
 And the result was that, when she reached the 
 platform on which the church and the priest's house 
 stood, one hand was pressed to her side, while 
 the other was removing with a handkerchief the 
 moisture from her brow; and a certain amount of 
 exacerbation of the spirit had been caused by the 
 annoyances of the flesh. 
 
 " Oh ! Signora Rappi, is it you ? " said old 
 Assunta, the priest's servant, who came to the 
 door in obedience to the visitor's knock; "what 
 a hot walk you must have had ! " 
 
 " Ah ! you'd have said so, if you had walked up 
 that hill from our farm ! I declare, I think the 
 hill grows steeper and longer than it used to be ! " 
 said the fattoressa crossly. 
 
 " It is changed since I knew it — or else I am — 
 one or the other of us," returned old Assunta 
 with a grin and a wink, meant to punish her 
 visitor for being out of humour. 
 
 ' c You ! of course, you find most things changed, 
 I should say ! But I want to see the Priore. He 
 is at home, I suppose. In short, I know he is ; for 
 I saw him ride by our place on his way home not 
 an hour ago." 
 
 1 ' Yes ; his Reverence is at home. But he went 
 to his writing directly he came in; and told me 
 not to disturb him/' said the old woman.
 
 A STOBY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 35 
 
 "He won't call it disturbing him, just to tell hira 
 that Fve come up the hill, and would be glad to 
 speak to him for a minute. I ska'n't keep him 
 long/' said the fattoressa, who had not quite yet 
 recovered her good temper. 
 
 " I'm none so sure of that ! I don't like to open 
 his door when he has bid me not ! " persisted the 
 old servant. 
 
 " Let me open his door, then ! I warrant he 
 won't bite me!" urged the fattoressa, with a toss 
 of her head. 
 
 " Well ! you may go and knock at his study 
 door, if you choose to ! I've nothing to do with 
 it ! " growled old Assunta. . 
 
 With this amount of permission, the Signora 
 Eappi made her way to the door of the priest's 
 sanctum, and, knockiug sharply on the panel with 
 her knuckle, was at once told to euter. 
 
 Don Ignazio was really engaged busily in writing. 
 He looked up with an expression of irritation in 
 his face as the door opened. But his brow imme- 
 diately cleared when he saw his visitor ; and, 
 pushing the letter he had been writing from before 
 him, he rose from his chair as he said : 
 
 " My good Signora Olivia ! Have you walked 
 up the hill at this hour ? I hope nothing — ? " 
 
 " No, your Reverence — nothing — that is, nothing 
 new. Assunta would hardly let me come in to 
 speak to you."
 
 36 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 " Assunta can not be trusted to make dis- 
 tinctions. It is true, I told her to let nobody 
 come in. But, of course, that did not apply to 
 you, my good Signora Rappi." 
 
 " Your Reverence is too good ! — always too good 
 to me ! " said the fattoressa, entirely mollified and 
 restored to good humour. 
 
 " 1 was busy, it is true — a letter of importance 
 to the Cardinal di Subiaco. But I could not have 
 got it off by to-night's post ; so I have plenty of 
 time at your service, Signora." 
 
 The Priore was engaged in writing an important 
 letter to the Cardinal di Subiaco. Don Ignazio 
 was quite above telling little lies for the purposes 
 of mere worldly courtesy. He was giving- the 
 Cardinal information respecting the hopes there 
 might be of getting a certain measure of the 
 Italian Government rejected in the Chamber of 
 Deputies, a result which the clerical party were 
 just then very intent on accomplishing. And at 
 the moment Signora Rappi interrupted him, he 
 was relating to his correspondent the result of his 
 ride that morning; which had taken him to a 
 neighbouring villa, the residence of a fair but 
 frail lady, who was known (to the Priore, at least) 
 to entertain sentiments for a certain liberal deputy 
 of a nature which laws human and divine required 
 her to feel only for her lawful husband ; and who, 
 being — despite of, or because of, her failings — a
 
 .1 STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 3? 
 
 very religious lady, and very desirous of the con- 
 solations of the confessional, had been, in very 
 discreet and judicious terms, given to understand 
 that the comfortable whitewashing she wished 
 could be granted, plenarily and amply, on condition 
 of the fair sinner accomplishing* for the glory of 
 God and the Church so desirable a good work as 
 the conversion of her friend the deputy's vote to 
 the right side on the occasion in question. "And 
 this, as your Eminence perceives, would leave us 
 only five more voices to gain in that godless 
 assembly to attain our object." 
 
 Such was the uncompleted letter which the 
 Priore, first carefully placing the sheet between the 
 leaves of his blotting-book, pushed aside from 
 before him, as, motioning his visitor to take a seat, 
 he resumed his own, and prepared to hear what 
 she had to say to him. 
 
 " There's nothing new, as I told your Reverence ; 
 and that's the same as saying there's nothing good 
 to be said," commenced the fattoressa, with a deep 
 sigh. " Giulia is going on worse than ever ! And 
 how to rule her I don't know ! I don't know what 
 the world is coming to, for my part ! Things were 
 not so when I was a girl ! " 
 
 "What can you expect, my dear Signora Rappi, 
 in times like these ? With heresy and hatred to 
 God's Church in high places, with the clergy 
 trodden down and persecuted and despoiled, how
 
 38 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 can -we expect wholesome authority to maintain 
 itself, or reverence and obedience to be found 
 any where ! Has you daughter Giulia specially 
 offended?" 
 
 " The worst is, I see no hope of guiding her. 
 And her father — you know the difficulties I have 
 to struggle with. Yesterday evening Olivia and I 
 were in the linen-room, looking over the presses. 
 I had a sheet in my hand, that looked as if there 
 were more knots in the spinning than there should 
 have been, and, as the light was failing, I stepped 
 to the window with it to hold it up to the light, 
 and what should I see down in the yard but that 
 bao-o-ao-e Giulia, standing with her shoulder leaning 
 against one side of the door of the bullock-stable, 
 while that reprobate, Carlo Sparti, was standing 
 just in the same way against the other door-post — 
 not a braccio between them! ( Santa Madonna! 3 
 I cried, crossing myself, your Reverence ! Olivia 
 ran to the window and saw it too ! And that was 
 not the worst ! For Olivia, like a good and 
 prudent girl, as she is, did not lose a moment, but 
 dashed out of the room and down the staircase, to 
 catch her sister in her disobedience. But there at 
 the back door of the house leading into the yard 
 she found her father standing as quiet and con- 
 tented as possible ! ' Where's Giula ? ' says Olivia. 
 ' There she is coming across the yard to the house/ 
 says Rappi. ' But somebody has just left the
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 39 
 
 yard/ says Olivia. f Yes, Carlo Sparti has just 
 gone out by the gate into the road. I bid him 
 good-night not half a minute ago/ says Rappi, as 
 quiet as possible. So that you see, your Rever- 
 ence, the impudent hussy must have been philan- 
 dering with the fellow under her father's very 
 eyes, and he never so much as opening his mouth 
 or lifting a finger to stop her ! And if that's the 
 way things are to go on, there is no saying what 
 end they may not come to. So I thought I would 
 come to your Reverence for a word of advice/' 
 
 " And you did quite right, as you always do, 
 my dear Signora Rappi. My best advice and help 
 is, you know, always at your service. In the first 
 place, we must not despair, or be impatient ; but 
 struggle steadily toward our good aims, with per- 
 severance and trust in God's good providence. We 
 know that Giulia is light-minded, vain, and dis- 
 obedient — a thoroughly worldly temperament and 
 disposition. It is a nature that needs much chas- 
 tening to save it from perdition. But we have 
 known all this before now ; and, as you are aware, 
 it^is that knowledge that has led me to the con- 
 clusion that the cloister would be the best and 
 safest home for her." 
 
 " I quite know that, your Reverence. But what 
 likelihood is there that we shall be able to get 
 her into a convent, with her father abetting her 
 as he does, and she with this animal of a
 
 40 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 Sparti running after her, and she encouraging' 
 bim?" 
 
 " Patience, and trust in Providence, my good 
 Signora Olivia/'' said the Priore, with a bland 
 smile, and laying his hand on the back of the 
 fattoressa's, which was lying spread upon the table. 
 " Of course, I need not tell you that we should not 
 dream of placing this giddy girl in a convent 
 against her will. God forbid ! There must be a 
 vocation. But see, now, how the providence of 
 God works to bring good out of evil. It is this 
 very silly love-fancy which will, in all probability, 
 shape her will to the desired end. There is nothing 
 so efficacious as disappointment in a silly, godless 
 whim of this sort, to produce in such a nature 
 as GiuhVs a vocation for a religious life. It is a 
 means which Providence uses again and again. 
 There is not a convent in existence that does not 
 owe to such working of the Holy Spirit many of 
 the most beautifully devoted lives it shelters." 
 
 " Disappointment ! but where is the disappoint- 
 ment to come from ? I am sure I don't see — 
 with her father a-going on as he does." 
 
 " Once more, dear Signora Olivia, patience and 
 faith ! Patience and faith ! See, now — it really 
 turns out as if it were intended to rebuke your 
 want of faith, my good Olivia ! See, now, how 
 Providence works ! What should you say if I had 
 found the means of getting rid of this pestilential
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. -il 
 
 fellow Sparti for good arid all? Listen! You 
 remember what a to-do there was at the time of 
 the godless conscription last year about a certain 
 refrattarioy* whom the police and the gendarmes 
 failed to catch — Paolo Torre his name was. Do 
 not you remember all about it ? " 
 
 " Sure I do, your Reverence ! There was more 
 trouble than enough about it," said the fattoressa, 
 who, like all those of the clerical party, or under 
 the influence of the clergy, especially detested and 
 abused the conscription, knowing very well that 
 her priestly friends were always plotting to defeat 
 the provisions of it. 
 
 " Well, they have never caught Paolo Torre yet ; 
 and the Government is extremely vexed at its 
 failure. Xow it so comes to pass that I have dis- 
 covered reasons to think that this Carlo Sparti 
 was concerned in hiding this man and helping him 
 off. And I am disposed to think that he will be 
 wanted in Florence before long, and that it is likely 
 to be a long while before Marrolo is troubled with 
 him any more. Did I not speak well, Signora, 
 when I said to you — Have faith in Providence ? " 
 
 " To think of that ! That would be a blessing, 
 indeed ! But how came one of their own side, an 
 out-and-out liberal like that fellow Sparti, to take 
 
 * The j'ouiig men who abscond and hide to avoid being taken 
 by the conscription are so called.
 
 42 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 any part in hiding a conscript ? That was doing' 
 our work for us/' said the fattoressa, much puzzled. 
 
 When she said " our work/' she spoke of the 
 party generally to which she and the priest be- 
 longed. For certainly the old fattore, who troubled 
 himself little about politics in any way, would not 
 have taken any part in any such disobedience to 
 the laws, or have permitted his wife to do so in 
 his own house. The fattoressa was quite right in 
 saying that the concealment of fugitive conscripts, 
 and the persuading of them to fly, too, as she might 
 have added, were the work of the black or clerical 
 party. 
 
 For all reply to the good dame's question, the 
 Priore contented himself with gently bending his 
 head with a bland smile, as he said, " Providence 
 works with all sorts of instruments, Signora, mi a ! 
 and there may have been all sorts of reasons for 
 this Sparti's conduct. This Torre may have been 
 a special friend of his — a creditor, perhaps. How 
 can I tell what reasons he may have had for be- 
 friendino* the man in his time of need ? It is 
 
 o 
 
 enough for us to know that Sparti will soon be 
 removed out of our way, and to be thankful accord- 
 ingly. Then, when all hope of ever seeing her 
 lover again is judiciously taken from this silly girl, 
 the best results may be expected." 
 
 "But you don't know, your Eeverence, how 
 many troubles and difficulties I have to struggle
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 43 
 
 with. There's Eappi lias no more religion than 
 a Turk. And I am afraid he will be very stiff 
 against letting the girl take the veil."" 
 
 "Dear Signora Olivia/' said the priest, again 
 laying his hand upon that of the fattoressa, and 
 smiling blandly, "we must not complain of the 
 position in which God's providence has placed us, 
 but strive to do His work in it, making the best 
 we may of the materials He has put into our 
 hands. Signor Eappi is a very worthy man — a 
 very excellent man ! And if he has not yet at- 
 tained to that earnestness in religious matters 
 which we could wish, we may not doubt that in 
 the Lord's good time he will seek rest and safety 
 in the loving arms of the Church. In the mean- 
 time a truly religious wife may do much — very 
 much. The constantly dropping water will, as 
 we all know, wear away a stone. And by being 
 urgent, nor overmuch, but constantly, in season 
 and out of season, a really devoted wife may work 
 a similar miracle. The surest guarantee for do- 
 mestic peace and happiness is, as of course we 
 know, a truly religious frame of mind and a loving 
 submission to the Church. A good wife should make 
 her husband feel this truth — should, with gentle 
 perseverance, persuade him that domestic peace 
 and happiness are only to be found for him in such 
 frame of mind and such submission." 
 
 " Indeed, your Eeverence, I do my best ! And
 
 !! DIAMOND GUT DIAMOND. 
 
 if it was not tha^t a man can always put on his 
 hat and just walk out of the house, I do some- 
 times think I should bring him round," said the 
 fattoressa, who comprehended her mission as 
 thoroughly as if she had been told in so many 
 words to worry her husband's heart out, and 
 make his life a burden to him. 
 
 The Priore passed his hand over the lower part 
 of his face; but there was a momentary twinkle 
 in his eyes which might have told a shrewder 
 observer than the good fattoressa what the ex- 
 pression of the mouth was which the prudent 
 hand concealed. 
 
 " Eh bene, cam mia, persevere ! Have faith and 
 patience and hope. And be sure I am watchful 
 for your welfare. So now, if you will excuse me, 
 I will finish my letter to his Eminence of Subiaco." 
 
 Whereupon the Priore gracefully extended his 
 hand, muttered a rapid benediction, and then 
 bowed a courteous adieu to his guest. 
 
 The fattoressa stooped to kiss the priest's hand, 
 then, retiring a step, made a profound reverence, 
 and left the room to have a chat with old Assunta 
 before walking down the hill in the cool of the 
 gloaming.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It may be admitted at once that all the accusations 
 which the fattoressa had brought against her 
 daughter Griulia in her conversation with the Priore 
 were perfectly true. It was quite true that she 
 was guilty of disobedience ; for she had been 
 bidden by her mother never to speak to that 
 pestilent liberalone Carlo Sparti again. And it 
 was true that while the fattoressa and her ex- 
 emplary Madonna-like elder daughter had been 
 on the previous evening engaged in that dearest 
 of all occupations to the heart of a thrifty Tuscan 
 housewife — the review and refolding of the enor- 
 mous stock of linen, the produce of Heaven knows 
 how many years of assiduous domestic spinning — 
 the truant Griulia had been engaged exactly as 
 her mother had described. True, also, that she 
 had been detected in the act of her disobedience 
 just in the manner that had been described to the 
 priest. 
 
 And there had been a special aggravation to
 
 46 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 the fattoressa's feelings in the fact that Giulia 
 should have chosen to absent herself on that parti- 
 cular occasion, and from that particular occupation 
 in which the Signora Olivia was on that evening 
 engaged. An enormous and quite wonderful store 
 of linen is the great pride and glory of a well-to-do 
 Tuscan housewife's heart. Huge cupboards and 
 presses full of this product of domestic industry 
 are to her what his hoarded chests of gold are to 
 a miser — as lovingly treasured, as certain never 
 to be put by her to use. For, indeed, the quantity 
 of her treasures makes this impossible. In many 
 a wealthy fattore's house more linen is stored 
 away than he or his can ever use in the course 
 of the longest life. The good woman at her 
 marriage probably has brought a goodly store 
 with her — the produce of the spinning of a whole 
 generation, or perhaps of two generations. And 
 she assiduously labours during her life to increase 
 the store, and compels her daughters to do the 
 same, as soon as she has any old enough. In 
 strictness of speech, it may be remarked that this 
 prized produce of female industry is not linen, 
 since the thread is spun from the hemp filaments 
 which the central districts of Italy produce in great 
 perfection and fineness. The spinning only is 
 done at home ; and, as it is upon the perfection 
 of that operation that the evenness and smooth- 
 ness of the cloth depends, it may easily be under-
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 47 
 
 stood how much of pride and rivalry goes to the 
 displaying of the hoarded treasures. 
 
 It was thus a special offence to the Signora 
 Rappi that her youngest daughter should be so 
 careless of the glory of the family, so little in- 
 terested in what should have interested her to the 
 highest degree, as to have absented herself from 
 the great revision of the family treasures. 
 
 Of course, her sister Olivia had felt aggrieved to 
 at least an equal extent. Nothing is more exaspe- 
 rating than when one is acting with irreproachable 
 virtue one's self, to see other persons very mani- 
 festly enjoying themselves, not only despite of, 
 but absolutely by reason of their wicked neglect 
 of the duty one's self is performing. And Giulia 
 was very manifestly enjoying keenly her flirtation 
 with that reprobate, Carlo Sparti. And then, 
 when she was at least going to have the enjoy- 
 ment of catching her sister in the forbidden delight, 
 and treating her accordingly, to find that it had 
 all passed under the aegis of her father's presence, 
 which made it impossible to say all the things 
 that Oh via was burning to say, and to make the 
 insinuations that she was eager to make — and, 
 indeed, impossible to enjoy her triumph, or say 
 anything at all for the nonce, seeing that it must 
 have been heard by the fattore. It was too pro- 
 voking. 
 
 And then there were other matters which had
 
 48 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 of late been producing a considerable degree of 
 irritation in the mind of the saint-like Olivia 
 against her more mundane younger sister. In the 
 neighbouring commune to Marrolo there lived a 
 certain Simone Bossi, a landowner, dwelling on 
 his own acres, and a wealthy man — •nobody knew 
 how wealthy a man; for old Simone, his father, 
 had died about two years before, leaving only one 
 son, the heir not only to his land, but to all the 
 savings of a long and penurious life. In fact, 
 young Simone Bossi might have been considered 
 quite a " Signore/' instead of a member of the 
 class of farmers, and fattori, and the like; might 
 have been so considered, had he been blockhead 
 enough to go away to Florence, and leave his 
 paternal acres to the care of a fattore, instead 
 of cultivatino- them himself, as his father had done 
 before him. But Simone knew a trick worth two 
 of that. He saw how the substance of his neigh- 
 bour fattore Eappi grew and increased at the cost 
 of his fellow landowners, and sagely determined 
 that he would remain a contadino, and that his 
 land should enrich nobody but himself. 
 
 Now old Simone Bossi, the father, had, in 
 addition to his own land, held a certain farm from 
 the monks of Camaldoli, as his father had done 
 before him, and his grandfather, and many gene- 
 rations past. As usual in such cases, the land 
 was held on very easy terms, and the farm might
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 49 
 
 almost be said to have become the property of the 
 Bossi family at a quit-rent. But then came the 
 Italian Revolution. The monks were turned out. 
 Their domains became the domains of the State. 
 The value of the land, and the terms on which 
 it was held, were looked into, and — Simone Bossi 
 was summoned to give up the farm, or pay about 
 twice as much for it as he had previously paid 
 to his old easy landlords. He chose the former 
 alternative — it may readily be understood with 
 what sort of feelings toward the Revolution, and 
 the new order of things, and the new government. 
 Of course the Bossi, father and son, became the 
 most thorough- going partisans of the retrograde, 
 black, or priestly party. 
 
 And from this disposition of things sundry 
 indirect consequences were likely to follow. For 
 it would be a great mistake to suppose that a due 
 acquaintance with theologic doctrines and ecclesi- 
 astical history and arrangements would suffice to 
 enable one to understand the functions and posi- 
 tion of a Roman Catholic priest as he exists in 
 Italian society. There are many matters which 
 especially belong to his department that have no 
 reference to religious doctrine or religious practice. 
 Match-making for one thing is — or, rather, as it is 
 rapidly becoming more correct to say, was — quite 
 a recognized function of the priest's position in 
 society. In the case of the aristocracy, this 
 vol. i. e
 
 50 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 business would fall not so much into the hands 
 of the parish priest as into those of the chaplain 
 or priestly hanger-on of the great family. In the 
 lower, and especially in the more rustic circles of 
 society, much of this nuptial go-between business 
 fell to the share of the parish priest. If marriages 
 are made in heaven, who so fit to be the master 
 of ceremonies on the occasion as heaven's minister ? 
 Now it will be easily understood, from what has 
 been said above, that young Simone Bossi, the 
 only son of his niggardly father, was a " capital 
 good match " — by far the best match at that time 
 in all the Casentino ! — understood, moreover, that 
 such a member of the diminished flock of the 
 faithful sons of Mother Church was likely to be 
 cared for with quite special interest by Mother 
 Church's servants and ministers. And what a 
 deplorable thing it would be if all this wealth and 
 power and influence should be lost to the good 
 cause ! — as it well might be should this young 
 ■Simone fall into the hands of a godless wife — a 
 wife, that is to say, not duly under the thumb of an 
 ecclesiastical director. The phrase here used — 
 "fall into the hands of a wife"" — is the proper 
 one to express the nature of the danger ; for 
 Simone Bossi could not reckon among the good 
 gifts wherewith he was endowed much power of 
 intellect or strength of will and character. He 
 was docile enough in the hands of his priestly
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 51 
 
 pastors and masters. But might lie not be equally 
 so in the hands of a wife ? So that it will be 
 seen at once how very necessary it was that due 
 care should be taken betimes to mate him judi- 
 ciously in this point of view — with a wife, that is, 
 who should be as entirely in the hands of the 
 priests as himself. 
 
 And where could a girl be found so completely 
 answering to all the exigencies of the case as 
 Olivia Rappi, the daughter of the rich fattore of 
 Marrolo ? She and her mother were as com- 
 pletely and thoroughly enslaved to the will of 
 " the Church " — that is, in their case, to the will 
 of Don Ignazio Verini, their parish priest — as the 
 most despotic churchman could desire. Olivia was 
 more than sufficiently attractive in person to make 
 it no very difficult or up-hill task to cause the young 
 man to fall in love with her. And two birds would 
 be killed by the ecclesiastical stone that should 
 be so thrown as to make Simone Bossi and Olivia 
 Rappi man and wife ; for thus at least one-half of 
 the rich fattore's wealth would be also secured to 
 the uses of the good cause. And if to this stroke 
 of good management could be added the further 
 success of so contriving things that the fattore's 
 other daughter, who was, as we know, not of the 
 right sort at all, should be driven into a convent, 
 why all, or nearly all, the Rappi riches would be 
 added to the Bossi riches, and Mother Church
 
 52 DIAMOND CUT ' DIAMOND. 
 
 would have a very potent finger in the use of all 
 of them. 
 
 Nothing was easier than to set all the first por- 
 tions of these desirable arrangements in good 
 train. But to get poor Griulia into a convent 
 might be somewhat more difficult ; for there was 
 not only her own utter aversion to such a destiny, 
 but her father in the way. Don Ignazio Verini, 
 however, had brought about more difficult things 
 than that in his day, and by no means despaired 
 of success. As for the rest — to bring Simone and 
 Olivia together — to engage all the influence of the 
 girl's mother, and to obtain the admission from 
 her father that the match was a very proper and 
 unobjectionable one — to bring the young lady her- 
 self, though of course less avowedly, to a similar 
 opinion — all was plain sailing to the priestly pilot. 
 
 But it so turned out that before long a small 
 rock was discovered right ahead, which, though 
 not sufficiently dangerous to give much alarm to 
 so skilled a navigator, was yet such as to require 
 some careful steering. In fact, it had never 
 occurred to the busy Priore or to Signora Rappi 
 that, in bringing young Simone Bossi into the 
 society of Olivia Eappi, they were at the same 
 time exposing him to the fascinations of the 
 unregenerate Giulia. And troublesome symptoms 
 soon began to manifest themselves to the vigilant 
 maternal eye, which seemed to point to a suspicion
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 53 
 
 that Sinione was inclined to make love to the wrong 
 girl. There was nothing very strong or violent in 
 his demonstrations of this sort. In the first place, 
 it was not in him to make violent love to any girl ; 
 and in the next place, he knew very well that he 
 had to marry Olivia — that he must not dream of 
 marrying Giulia — and that he had no more the 
 courage or the thought of rebelling against his 
 spiritual pastor, and declaring that his soul was 
 his own, in such sort as would be involved in his 
 refusing Olivia, the saint, and wooing Giulia, the 
 sinner, than he had of hanging himself. 
 
 But, despite all this, that unregenerate gold- 
 coloured nimbus floating around the laughter-loving 
 GiuhVs mundane little round head, and the saucy 
 glances of those bright blue eyes, did avail to draw 
 aside Simone from his due allegiance to a degree 
 which occasioned some little disquietude in the 
 fattore's domestic circle. 
 
 For one thing, for instance, it will be understood 
 that this culpable defection — or rather indication 
 that he would fain be guilty of defection, if he 
 dared — on the part of Signor Bossi, did not con- 
 tribute to make Olivia regard her sister with 
 kindly feelings. It is true that it would have 
 been much worse if Giulia had given evidence of 
 the slightest desire to secure Sinione' s attentions 
 herself. On the contrary, she was always jeering 
 •at him, and turning him into ridicule. But this
 
 54 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 did not please Olivia either ; but, on the contrary, 
 seemed to exacerbate the irritation caused by the 
 evidences of Simone's admiration. And then, 
 ao-ain, there was the wickedness of having that 
 other admirer, Carlo Sparti — a lover in no wise 
 patronized by the Church — and giving every sort 
 of evidence of liking it. And who does not know 
 how trying it is to a devout mind of the nature 
 of Olivia's, to experience the long tarrying of the 
 judgments that must fall — but don't — on the heads 
 of happy, laughing sinners ! 
 
 It would be very unjust to Olivia to allow it 
 to be imagined that she was at all desirous that 
 Carlo Sparti should make her the object of his 
 attentions instead of her sister Giulia. A libe- 
 ralone ! A man without any due feeling of 
 reverence for the Church ! Fie ! Olivia would 
 have very soon sent him to the right about, with 
 a flea in his ear. Indeed, she would have enjoyed 
 having the opportunity of thus manifesting her 
 opinion of him — if he would only have given her 
 an occasion for- doing so. But he never did. And 
 that circumstance did not tend to soothe the 
 irritated feelings of the Madonna-like Olivia. 
 
 There was still another point of view, in which 
 the abominable flirtation between Giulia and Carlo 
 was offensive to Olivia, besides the intrinsic wicked- 
 ness of it, in itself so revolting to so well-consti- 
 tuted a mind as hers. The admirable arrangement
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 55 
 
 so conducive to the interests of the good cause, 
 and to which the approbation of that saintly man, 
 the Priore, assured the blessing of heaven — -that 
 arrangement by virtue of which Olivia's dower 
 vas to consist of the whole of her father's worldly 
 vealth, instead of half of it only, depended, as 
 31ivia perfectly well understood, on her sister's 
 caking the veil. And how was such a purpose 
 at all consistent with what Olivia had seen from 
 the window, when she and her mother had been 
 engaged on the great revision of the linen stores ? 
 Was it not to be feared, on the contrary, that 
 every time such scandalous and shameless goings- 
 on were indulged in, the worldly mind of the 
 rebellious girl would be rendered more and more 
 averse from the holy calling which was before her ? 
 And to think that her father should quietly stand 
 there, and see it all without making the slightest 
 attempt at interfering', and should bid that animal 
 Carlo good-night, just as if he would be perfectly 
 happy to see him there again ! 
 
 If the reader had seen the expression of Olivia's 
 face as she rushed down the stairs to put an end 
 to the abomination she had witnessed, he would 
 perhaps have been inclined to find fault with the 
 description which called her features Madonna- 
 like. But the expression of the loveliest features 
 depends upon the nature of the emotions which 
 are animating them. And now that all the causes
 
 56 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 which so reasonably contributed to ruffle Olivia's 
 mind has been explained, it will be no wonder if 
 there were things to be read in her which are nob 
 usually found in that of the Madonna. 
 
 It will also be understood how it had come to 
 pass that the Signora Rappi had considered it sc 
 needful to pay a visit to her friend and counsellor, 
 that she had not hesitated to toil up the hill to 
 the parsonage under the rays of the afternoon 
 October sun.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 What made it all the wickeder that Giulia should 
 behave as she did, showing herself altogether averse 
 from the holy life to which her spiritual pastors and 
 masters destined her, and, instead of that, inclining 
 her mind and her ear to the perverse love-making 
 of Carlo Sparti, was that this Carlo was in truth but 
 a contadino. 
 
 Now the word " contadino," which literally 
 translated means simply countryman, is an Italian 
 social phrase technically used to signify one who 
 cultivates land not his own. The term does 
 not accurately correspond to the English word 
 <c farmer," because a farmer is one who hires 
 land and pays rent for it. And such is not the 
 system which prevails in Central Italy. The pay- 
 ment of rent for land, if not absolutely unknown, 
 is very unusual in that part of the world. The 
 prevailing system is called in Italian "mezzeria," 
 which may be translated as the half-and-half 
 arrangement. The contadino cultivates the land, 
 and is bound to hand over to the owner of it half
 
 58 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 the produce. The function of the fattore — over- 
 looking, probably, several farms and many " con- 
 tadini" — is to superintend this arrangement, to 
 see that the absentee landlord get his due half, 
 to receive his share of the produce, and to turn 
 it into cash, preparatory to handing the proceeds 
 to his employer. The farms are generally very 
 small, and hired labour is employed to a very small 
 extent. The ordinary practice is for the contadino 
 to cultivate his farm, or " podere," himself, with 
 the help of his own family. So that a large family, 
 provided that it is a healthy, active, and industrious 
 one, is by no means a burden, but rather a source 
 of prosperity to a contadino. 
 
 It follows that the social position of a contadino 
 is a far superior one to that of a hired agricultural 
 labourer. He has no master. There is no man to 
 say to him, "Go ! " and he must go; no man to call 
 him to account for the disposition of his hours. He 
 labours when and how he chooses, and rests when 
 he chooses. If the cultivation of the land intrusted 
 to him should be so unsatisfactory that the produce 
 is found to fall off notably, and more than the 
 difference of seasons can account for, the contadino 
 may be removed, but only after giving due notice. 
 
 Of course, as may be supposed, the standing and 
 position of the contadini differ very widely one from 
 another, as the size and value of their farms differ, 
 and as the men themselves differ. Generallv the
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. » 
 
 relationship between the landowner and the con- 
 tadino is a pleasant and friendly one. And in 
 many cases, especially in the rural districts more 
 remote from the great cities, contadini families may 
 frequently be met with which have tilled the same 
 acres from time immemorial. They may have been 
 on the land — probably have been on it as long as, 
 perhaps longer, than the owners — three, four, or 
 five hundred years. It would enter as little into 
 the calculation of one of these men that he might 
 be turned out of his ancestral homestead, as it 
 would into the contemplation of the owner of the 
 estate that he might suddenly be ousted from it. 
 Some of these contadini, the sons of a long line of 
 contadini forefathers, become rich. But it is rarely 
 that they think of changing their line of life for 
 that reason ; for Italy is, on the whole, perhaps the 
 most conservative country on the face of the globe. 
 And the mere fact that a man's ancestors have for 
 many generations lived in the same house, followed 
 the same occupation, and loved the same fields, is 
 generally felt by him as a very strong reason why 
 he should continue to do the same. 
 
 Now Carlo Sparti was a contadino of the class 
 here described. For generations past his family 
 had been getting richer. And the result was that 
 their dwelling had been improved ; that the store 
 of house-plenishing — especially of superabundant 
 linen — was increased ; that an additional podere
 
 60 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 had been obtained from the landlord ; that the 
 daily fare of the family was improved ; that on 
 Sundays and holidays the lads and lasses of the 
 family were the smartest of the rustic beaux and 
 belles in all the country-side ; and that there was 
 no necessity for sending out the sons to seek their 
 living in the world elsewhere. But it did not at 
 all result from their prosperity that they ever 
 dreamed of turning themselves into aught different 
 from contadini. The men of the family went out 
 to their daily labour — might be seen following the 
 slow steps of their oxen, goad in hand, along the 
 loamy furrows, or barefooted among the vines, 
 pruning and binding up the young shoots in the 
 spring, or purple-stained at the gathering of the 
 vintage in the autumn, or sleeping in the shade 
 during the hot hours of the summer day, after the 
 midday meal of onion soup, bread, figs, and wine, 
 every article in the simple composition of which 
 grew on the fields they tilled. 
 
 In short, however well-to-do the Sparti were ; 
 however respectable and respected from one end 
 of the Casentino to the other ; however smart and 
 spruce Carlo might look on festa days, or on 
 flirting expeditions to Marrolo — the most festive 
 days of all to him ; however handsome a young 
 fellow Carlo himself might be, still he and his 
 were contadini, and nothing but contadini. And 
 it was impossible not to feel that this damning
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 61 
 
 fact made G-iulia's rebellion against destiny and the 
 Church all the wickeder. 
 
 It may be, perhaps, that if, on the occasion of 
 that last interview between Carlo and Griulia at the 
 stable door, the former had had the misfortune to 
 come to speech with either the Signora Rappi or 
 the Signorina Olivia, he would not have ventured 
 to renew his offence so soon. But, as was seen, 
 that trial was spared him. The jovial old fattore 
 had bid him good-night in a very friendly manner; 
 and — it came to pass that on the third evening 
 from that day, at about eight o' clock, Carlo was 
 not sitting at the Sparti supper-table with the rest 
 of the family, but was sitting on a low stone-wall 
 in the immediate neighbourhood of the dam of 
 Tito Vanni's mill — all alone, and doing* nothing at 
 all — not even singing. 
 
 The habits of life of Tuscan countryfolks are 
 very much alike, be they fattori or be they con- 
 tadini ; and the same hour was the supper-time in 
 the Rappi household as in that of the Sparti. And 
 in the former, as well as in the latter, there was 
 one who seemed to want no supper that night. 
 
 " Where's Giulia ? Call your sister, Olivia. She 
 knows I expect her to be in her place at table 
 when the soup is put down ! " said the Signora 
 Rappi, in a sharp and angry tone, as the family — ■ 
 all except the defaulter — stood around the table., 
 about to take their places.
 
 62 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 "Ah, misericordia ! there are many tilings Giulia 
 knows are expected of her, that people may expect 
 a long time before she thinks of doing them," said 
 Olivia, spitefully, as she moved slowly to the door 
 on her errand to call the truant. 
 
 Presently she returned ; and her handsome 
 Madonna face had more of an expression of 
 triumph than of trouble or alarm as she declared 
 that G-iulia was not in her chamber — was certainly 
 not in the house, indeed ! What was to happen 
 next, she — Olivia — did not know ; but thought, for 
 her part, that it would be a good thing for all of 
 them if something were done with Giulia before she 
 had disgraced them all. 
 
 Then, and not till then, the fattore made his 
 confession. But, though grievously afraid, he 
 thought his best chance lay in carrying the war 
 into the enemy's country. 
 
 " Disgrace, indeed ! " he cried ; " I say that our 
 Giulia is a grace, and not a disgrace in the house, 
 or in any man's house ! And I don't want to 
 have anything to say to anybody that says or 
 thinks the contrary. I call it a disgrace for a 
 sister to talk that way of her own father's daughter. 
 What do you know about it ? I told Giulia to 
 step as far as Vanni's mill to give the miller a 
 message about that wheat of Cecco Drassi's. For 
 there's nobody can do an errand as well as she 
 can. So that's where she is, if you want to
 
 A STOEY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 63 
 
 know ! She'll be here directly ; and, wife, take 
 care there's a bit of supper kept hot for her. Dis- 
 grace, indeed ! A-looking after her poor old 
 father's business for him ! " 
 
 No doubt there was the affair of Cecco Drassi's 
 wheat, and no doubt a message had to be sent to 
 the miller. But it may be strongly suspected, I 
 take it, that the fattore knew just as well as Giulia 
 did whom she was likely to meet on her way to the 
 mill. 
 
 The mother and daughter looked at each other 
 significantly; and there was silence for a minute 
 or two, while the soup plates were being filled. 
 And then the Signora Kappi spoke — 
 
 " You don't like to hear of disgrace, Rappi ! 
 It pricks your conscience, maybe ! But I say there 
 is disgrace in a little girl like Griulia being out 
 stravaguing at this time of night ! And it's not 
 disgrace to her — it's disgrace to them that sent 
 her! And she, too, intended for the holy calling 
 she is ! I am sure I am afraid to think what the 
 Priore will say to it ! " 
 
 "Who cares what he will say?" cried the fattore, 
 in the first heat of his indignation. But the 
 strength of the sentiment was more than he could 
 venture to support. " And why should he say any- 
 thing?" he continued in a somewhat lower tone. 
 "What is the use of telling the Priore any- 
 thing about it ? Least said is soonest mended.
 
 64 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 The child will be here in a minute, I tell 
 you." 
 
 " I wish I knew nothing of GiukVs goings-on/' 
 said Olivia, with a profound sigh; "for then it 
 would not be my duty to say anything about her 
 and her doings. But I suppose father cannot 
 wish me to be guilty of sacrilege in the holy sacra- 
 ment of confession." 
 
 And Olivia crossed herself, and dropped her long 
 eyelashes over her fine eyes as she uttered the last 
 terrible words in a low, awestruck tone of voice. 
 
 The poor fattore groaned, and pushed from 
 before him his yet untasted plate of soup with an 
 air of speechless misery. 
 
 " Of course, your father cannot mean that ; and 
 of course he knows that it is our bounden duty to 
 conceal none of our thoughts in that holy sacra- 
 ment, much less the sinful thoughts of anger and 
 impatience which are caused in our minds by the 
 sad spectacle of a father abetting* his daughter in 
 such conduct." 
 
 "I should be sorry, indeed, not to seek abso- 
 lution for the feelings I am betrayed into day 
 after day in this house," sighed Olivia. 
 
 Poor .Rappi knew it all — all, and ever so much 
 more — the tears that a minute or two more would 
 bring forth respecting his own rapid progress 
 toward perdition; and the danger that he would 
 be driven into, in his agony, of uttering some
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 65 
 
 terribly blasphemous denunciation of Church and 
 churchmen, which would all be duly repeated to 
 his ecclesiastical tyrant. So he sought safety in 
 flight, as he had done many a time before; rose 
 from the table with a groan, and, putting his hat 
 on, even as his wife had complained to the priest 
 that it was in his power to do, went out supperless, 
 and strolled up the village in the direction of the 
 mill. 
 
 Meanwhile little Giulia, knowing well that, 
 despite the message she was intrusted with by her 
 father, it would be well for all parties concerned 
 that she should be absent as short a time as mio-ht 
 
 o 
 
 be from home, had sped lightly as a flitting ghost 
 along the vineyard path, through the narrow, 
 stone-wall-inclosed lane, over the stepping-stones 
 that crossed the brook that turned the mill-wheel, 
 and up the stony, stair-like bit of ascent that led 
 to the mill. And there in the moonlight, on the 
 low parapet wall beside the mill dam, she saw a 
 figure of a man sitting — the sight of which neither 
 caused her to jump nor scream, nor show any other 
 symptom of surprise whatever. Nevertheless she 
 said, with that profundity of craft which is known 
 to characterize the female young of the human race 
 — " What, Carlo, is that you ? Who would have 
 thought of seeing you there at this time of night !" 
 " What a wonderful chance ! It must be the 
 blessing of the Madonna ! If I was but sure of it, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 $6 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 no quantity of wax- candles would be enough to pay 
 her for it." 
 
 "Father has sent me with a message to the 
 miller. You are hardly likely to be there when I 
 come back, I suppose. If you were, we might 
 walk as far as the house together. I sham't be a 
 minute." 
 
 "Try me for all night, and see whether I am 
 here or not when you come back, that's all ! Ah, 
 Giulietta mia ! You don't know how much I love 
 you!" 
 
 te A rivederci dunque ! I sham't be a minute." 
 
 Certainly the message to Maso Vanni, the miller, 
 was given with no unnecessary prolixity ; and Griulia 
 came tripping back in almost as short a time as she 
 had promised. And then, as they walked homeward 
 arm-in-arm, as, being engaged, though not formally 
 betrothed, they were perfectly justified in doing, the 
 conversation between them very shortly took a more 
 serious and less light-hearted tone. 
 
 " Father is always as kind and as good as 
 possible. He gave me the message to the miller 
 on purpose to give us the chance, you know. 
 Dear father ! But I sometimes think that there 
 is no hope. The life at home gets worse and worse 
 every day. It is very difficult to bear. And — if 
 something does not happen before long to prevent 
 it — I am sure mother, and Olivia, and that horrid 
 old Priore, between them, will get their will, and
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 67 
 
 make me go into a convent," said the poor child, 
 almost sobbing. 
 
 " Fd burn down the convent myself, rather ! 
 But, Giulia mia ! why should we make so many 
 words about it ? There's my hand ! Will you 
 accept it ? I think your father would give you to 
 me, though I am not his equal in station." 
 
 "It is not that, Carlo mio ! I am sure father 
 has that opinion of you that he would gladly have 
 you for a son-in-law. But it is all very easy to say 
 that father would give me to you. You don't know 
 what it is at home. What with mother, and what 
 with the Priore, father can't say his soul is his own 
 — hardly. And I am quite sure that we shall never 
 make it out to be married here at Marrolo. Quite 
 sure. What ! you and me married by the Priore ! 
 He would excommunicate us for speaking of such 
 a thing ! " 
 
 " Let him excommunicate as much as he likes, I 
 should say. Any way, they can't put you into a 
 convent without your own consent, my heart's 
 treasure. And you would never speak that word." 
 
 " I don't know ! I sometimes think that it would 
 be the best thing to do. I should get rid of the life 
 I lead at home, any way. And it would be better 
 for father. And — and — I should not much care, if 
 they took you away from me." 
 
 The last words were spoken in a lower tone, 
 mid were accompanied by a half-sob, and a little
 
 68 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 nestling movement up to Carlo's side, as they 
 walked. 
 
 " An una mia ! my own sweet Giulietta ! That 
 shall never, never be ; not for all the priests in 
 Christendom. But we cannot go on in this way. 
 Something must be done. Ecco ! The fattore will 
 be at Stia to-morrow for market-day, and I will see 
 him there. I will talk to him when there is nobody 
 to spy and interrupt us. See now, anima mia, if 
 we do not settle something. I suppose you must 
 not take another turn before going into the 
 house ? " said Carlo, longingly. 
 
 " Not for the world ! I shall catch it bad enough, 
 as it is. You must run away now, before they hear 
 your voice from the window. Don't come any nearer ! ' ; 
 
 " Good-night, then, my own best and dearest ! 
 Keep up your courage ! Do not despair ! God 
 bless you a thousand times, my Giulietta ! I love 
 you with all my heart and soul ! " 
 
 "Thanks, Carlo! That is the best comfort. 
 Good-night! I must run in. God bless you!" 
 
 And so the lovers parted. 
 
 It turned out to be unnecessary for Carlo to go 
 to Stia on the following day, as he had promised 
 Giulia ; for he had not gone far toward his home, 
 after leaving her, before he fell in with the fattore 
 moodily lounging in a very disconsolate fashion, 
 with his hands behind his back, and his eyes fixed 
 on the ground.
 
 A STOBY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 69 
 
 " Did you see my girl at the mill ? w asked tke 
 fattore, after lie and tlie young contadino had 
 exchanged salutations. 
 
 " Yes, Signor Rappi, I saw her and walked 
 home with her. I left her at your door a minute 
 ago. And — I had made up my mind to speak 
 to you. If I had not met you now, I should have 
 gone to Stia to have a talk with you to-morrow. 
 I told the Signorina Giulia that I would do so." 
 
 " Well ! there's naught to hinder you from speak- 
 ing ! Speak as much as you please, if that will do 
 any good. For my part, I don't see that talking is 
 much likely to mend matters. Things are in a bad 
 way with us at home, friend Carlo. And to tell it 
 you all in one word — hearken in your ear!"- — -here 
 he lowered his voice to a whisper, and advanced 
 his face to within an inch of his companion's ear — 
 <c it's all along of that damned, cursed, hypocritical 
 old brute of a priest up there ! May the devil fly 
 away with him and all his fellows ! " 
 
 " The devil never did so good a job ! But what 
 I wanted to speak to you about is soon said," 
 replied Carlo, continuing his speech with a little 
 hesitation. "I know very well, Signor Eappi, 
 that I am but a contadino, and you are a fattore, 
 and there's a wide difference between us. But 
 things are pretty comfortable with us at home ; 
 and — in short, if you will give me your daughter 
 Giulia for my wife, I'll strive to make her happy,
 
 70 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 and be a good husband to her. She shall never 
 want for anything', and shall live as she has been 
 used to live ; and — and I think she would be 
 happier than she is at home. So you have only 
 to say the word, and there is my hand on it." 
 
 " Ah ! happier than she is at home, poor child I 
 she might easy be that ! And so might some more 
 of us ! And I wish with all my heart, friend Carlo, 
 that I could live to see Giulia your wife. So, that's 
 plain enough. But, Lord bless you ! it's little you 
 know about it. Suppose I was to go home and say 
 that you was going to marry Giulia out of hand,, 
 and I was to give notice to the Priore that the 
 banns were to be published in church. Do you 
 think it would come to pass ? Do you suppose we 
 could carry it through ? It makes a cold sweat 
 come over me to think of it. Why, the house 
 would not hold us at home. It can't be done. 
 It's not to be thought of." 
 
 " But I have thought of it a good bit," returned 
 Carlo, rather encouraged than otherwise by what 
 the fattore had said ; " and I'll tell you, Signor 
 Kappi, what I have been thinking, if you will 
 excuse me for making' so bold." 
 
 " Tell away, lad ! I'll be only too glad if you 
 see any way out of the wood; for I'm sure I don't," 
 said the old man. 
 
 " Well, this is what I thought. You have a 
 sister living' at Florence. Let la Signorina Giulia
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 71 
 
 go to visit lier aunt. And let us be married at 
 Florence without saying a word about it till it is 
 done, and can't be undone by all the Priores in the 
 land." 
 
 " Per Bacco ! ahi!" (with a long-drawn note of 
 emphasis on the last syllable) ; "what a piece of 
 work there would be when the truth came out ! I 
 do think she would set the Casentino on fire from 
 one end to the other ! " 
 
 " What, Giulia ? " said Carlo, aghast, 
 
 " No ; her mother," said the fattore, with a look 
 of grim humour, and a twinkle in his eye : " Giulia 
 is not come to that time of life yet." 
 
 " Nor ever will ! She has seen too much of the 
 priests," said Carlo. 
 
 " Well, your plan is not a bad one. It can 
 hardly be worse for me at home than it is now, 
 when all's said and done. And the Priore will 
 know that what's done can't be undone. And, as 
 it happens, my sister is one of the regular priests' 
 sort — hand and glove with them. If it wasn't for 
 that, we'd never get leave for Giulia to go to her. 
 As it is, perhaps we may. And then, when she has 
 been there the necessary time, I could come up to 
 Florence, and we could get the knot tied without 
 her aunt knowing anything about it till the job is 
 done." 
 
 " Bravo, Signor Rappi ! Capital! Non mi par 
 vero ! It does not seem true to me !" said Carlo,
 
 72 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 using the phrase the Tuscans have constantly in 
 their mouths to signify that anything is beyond 
 their utmost hopes — that it is, as we say, too good 
 to be true. 
 
 " Well, Til think of it ; and talk to Giulia about 
 it — when I can get an opportunity, which is not 
 every day. And now I suppose I must be going 
 home. Pray God Signora Olivia may be asleep. 
 But there's not much hope of that/' sighed the 
 poor fattore. 
 
 " Good-night, Signor Rappi ! I suppose I shall 
 be hearing from you V said Carlo, lingeringly. 
 
 " Yes ; as soon as I have anything to say. And 
 meantime you had better keep away from the 
 place. I'll tell Giulia I told you so. Good-night V 3 
 
 And so the two conspirators parted.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Fattore Rappi had found an opportunity in the 
 course of the following day to communicate to his 
 younger daughter the result of his conversation 
 with Carlo Sparti — to the infinite comfort and 
 rejoicing of Giulia, as may be supposed. So much 
 so that her experienced and cautious father, who 
 had learned by the observation of long years that 
 any manifestation of unusual gladness or light - 
 heartedness was especially calculated to produce a 
 corresponding increase of gloom and ill-temper in 
 the two other female members of his family, hinted 
 to her that she would do well to suppress any signs 
 of happiness on the occasion. 
 
 The next thing to be done was to open to the 
 Signora Olivia the scheme for sending Giulia on a 
 visit to her aunt in Florence. This aunt, a sister 
 of the fattore, was the childless wife of a rich wax- 
 chandler in Florence, Domenico Manforti by name, 
 and, as has been mentioned, she was quite as much 
 a devotee as her sister-in-law, Signora Rappi. It
 
 74 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 was quite in keeping with her husband's business 
 that she should be so. Readers belonging to the 
 outside world of heretics may not understand, per- 
 haps, why a wax-chandler or a wax- chandler's wife 
 should be more likely to be close friends of the 
 priests and of the " black party/' as the phrase 
 goes in Italy, than any other person. This only 
 shows their ignorance of the practices of Roman 
 Catholic devotion. There is nothing which the 
 Madonna and all the Saints like so much as wax- 
 candles. A vow to any one of these heavenly 
 personages generally takes the form of a present 
 of so many wax-candles. In the decking out of 
 the churches and altars for occasions of high cere- 
 monial, wax-candles always play the most con- 
 spicuous part. And thus it comes to pass that 
 there is a strong connection and bond of union 
 between the priests and the wax- chandlers. Re- 
 ligion and devout practices and beliefs are exceed- 
 ingly necessary to the wax-chandler's trade. The 
 true basis of friendship, as the old Roman historian 
 tells us, is to have the same likings and the same 
 dislikings. And thus it comes to pass that in 
 Roman Catholic countries the priests and the wax- 
 chandlers are apt to be fast friends. 
 
 The wax-chandler's house at Florence was over- 
 run by priests, as completely as a rotten ship is 
 by rats — all the more so from the fact that Signor 
 Domenico Manforti and his wife were childless.
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 75 
 
 The Signora Manforti was a woman after hier 
 sister-in-law's own heart — and therefore the 
 fattore's proposal that Giulia should be sent to 
 spend some time with her aunt was received with 
 more favour by his lady- wife than his suggestions 
 often were. Signor Kappi, moreover, rendered sly 
 by long oppression and snubbing, had baited the 
 trap very cunningly. He, for his part, would have 
 been well content to see Giulia married to their 
 neighbour, Carlo Sparti; but since that was not 
 to be, it really was cruel to the poor child to leave 
 her where she was constantly exposed to receive 
 his addresses. If the thing was to be broken off, 
 and given up for good and all, by far the best way 
 would be to send her out of the way for awhile — 
 with more to the like effect. 
 
 Of course the arrangement was not definitely 
 agreed to till the Signora Olivia had had an oppor- 
 tunity of consulting her director and conscience- 
 keeper. But the Priore was found to be favourable 
 to the project. He knew Signor Domenico Man- 
 forti, and, still more, his wife, perfectly well — 
 knew all the priests who were in the habit of 
 frequenting their house ; knew which of them 
 had the exclusive direction of the Signora Man- 
 forties conscience and conduct ; and upon the whole 
 judged that Giulia's stay in such a house, separated 
 altogether from her lover, hearing nothing from 
 him (for that would be provided for by the arrest
 
 76 DIAMOXD CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 which the Priore had reason to know was likely 
 to fall on the young man shortly) — hearing, on 
 the contrary, all that was bad of him — and assidu- 
 ously worked upon by all around her, in accordance 
 with instructions which he himself would com- 
 municate to his friend Signora Manforti's confessor, 
 would be more adapted than anything to forward 
 his and her mother's views respecting her. 
 
 So it was duly settled that in a few days — as 
 soon as the fattore could make it convenient to 
 •accompany her on the journey — Giulia should go 
 on a visit to the wax- chandler and his wife. 
 
 Giulia, in the meantime, during the few inter- 
 vening days before her departure for the capital, 
 found some little difficulty in keeping her own — ■ 
 and her father's — counsel. Of course it would not 
 do to allow any sign of pleasure or rejoicing in the 
 projected arrangements to be visible. A dull, 
 passive acquiescence was the tone of manner which 
 she strove to assume. But her sister Olivia was 
 not disposed to allow so fine an occasion to remain 
 without "improvement," or to accept her sister's 
 mere passive resignation as affording a sufficient 
 triumph to the victory of religious principle in the 
 household. This was the sort of " improvement " 
 Giulia had to listen to pretty nearly every hour of 
 the day, during the days that intervened before her 
 departure. 
 
 It would be: "Ah, Giulia! I shall never cease
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 77 
 
 to pray for you. That you may depend on. But 
 it is a dreadful disgrace to have a sister sent away 
 from her home for such causes. And mother feels 
 it, I can tell you, a great deal more than she is 
 willing to show." Or, at another time: "No 
 doubt it is for the best. They are very godly 
 people that you are going to, and there will be no 
 chance of your going* on there as you have here. 
 No slipping out of nights there — nothing of the 
 kind. No possibility of ever seeing a human soul 
 except such as aunt chooses to haye at her house, 
 and then under her own eyes. No going out of 
 the house from week's end to week's end, except 
 to mass, and then with aunt at your side. If any 
 thing can reclaim you, and saye you, Giulia, it will 
 be such a life as you will lead with Aunt Manforti. 
 But it is a terrible disgrace to the family — such a 
 thing neyer happened to any one of the Bappi 
 before, as the Priore was saying* to mother the 
 other day. And you must admit — eyen you will 
 hardly deny — that you would never haye come to 
 this if you had been willing* to be guided by 
 me." 
 
 All this, and much more in a similar strain, poor 
 little Giulia had to bear during those days, and 
 almost at eyery hour of them. The fattore's usual 
 troubles were somewhat mitigated during* the same 
 period. La Signora Bappi deemed that the step 
 which had been decided upon was, if not quite a
 
 78 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 decisive one, yet very nearly such, as to the 
 ultimate winning of the game which had been 
 played between herself and Don Ignazio on the 
 one side, and her husband on the other, for so 
 long a time, respecting Giulia's future destiny. 
 She had won an important move; and, at all 
 events, till that should be finally settled and scored 
 on her side, she was willing, to allow the unhappy 
 fattore some respite. Ginlia and her father, of 
 course, kept their own counsel; not venturing, 
 however, to say a word upon the subject even to 
 each other. Of Carlo nothing more was seen at 
 or near the Rappi homestead during those days. 
 And this circumstance, desirable as it was in the 
 Signora Olivia's eyes, might perhaps have awakened 
 some suspicion in her mind, had it not been that 
 she attributed Carlo's continued absence to the 
 cause which Don Ignazio had told her of, as about 
 to remove young Sparti from the neighbourhood. 
 The Priore had said nothing more to her on this 
 subject, and she had not ventured to ask him. 
 
 And thus the days passed, till the evening pre- 
 ceding that on which the fattore and Giulia were 
 to start in the fattore\s bagherino for Florence. 
 Despite the nature of the captivity to which she 
 was about to be consigned, and which she would 
 have to endure in solitary misery until the ex- 
 pected day of her delivery should arrive, Giulia was 
 looking forward to the morrow's journey with such
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 79 
 
 liigli spirits that some suspicion that all was not 
 going quite as it seemed might well have been 
 awakened in the minds of the Signora Rappi and 
 her elder daughter. They attributed any symptoms 
 of this sort, however, to the silly and childish 
 pleasure with which Giulia looked forward to one 
 day's emancipation from the toils, troubles, and 
 vexations of her home, and comforted themselves 
 Avith the thought of the amount of salutary dis- 
 cipline which awaited her at her journey's end. 
 But Giulia's light-heartedness was destined to be 
 very effectually dispelled, and her journey ren- 
 dered as sad a one as the most ascetic lover of 
 " discipline " could have desired, by an incident 
 which occurred on that last evening. 
 
 Just as the Rappi family were sitting down 
 supper, the sound of a horse's feet were heard at 
 the door, and in the next minute Signor Simone 
 Bossi entered the room, and accepted the pressing 
 invitations of the Signora Olivia to sup with 
 them. 
 
 The reception of Signor Bossi, the wealthy land- 
 owner, and good and faithful son of the Church, 
 and the protege of the priests, was, of course, a 
 very different one from that of the reprobate 
 liberalone contadino, poor Carlo Sparti. Of course 
 his visits and attentions, the object of which was 
 perfectly understood and recognized, were very 
 flattering to Olivia. And of course she considered
 
 80 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 herself a fortunate girl, to have gained the affections 
 — or, rather, the hand, for it was a business-like 
 matter — of a suitor every way so desirable and 
 unexceptionable. Of course Olivia was ready to 
 become his wife, purposing* to make him a very 
 good one, and was proud of the prospect. And 
 most assuredly she would have scouted the idea 
 of accepting the hand of such a one as Carlo Sparti, 
 if it had been offered to her. Yet, strange to say, 
 she never once had tasted the same sort of delight 
 at any portion of her extremely eligible lover's 
 love-making as she would have felt from any 
 manifestation of admiration stolen from her sister's 
 much-abused lover, if ever she could have managed 
 to steal any such. In truth, it must be admitted 
 that the love-making between Olivia and Signor 
 Simone was a very business-like and rather cold 
 and matter-of-fact sort of affair. As for the fat- 
 toressa, she was toward Simone all that the most 
 devoted mother-in-law could be to a wealthy and 
 very proper expected son-in-law. And of course 
 the fattore had nothing to say against Signor 
 Simone Bossi. He did not like him personally : 
 he was not a man of his sort. But it was im- 
 possible to deny that he was " a very good match. " — 
 that in marrying him his daughter would be making 
 a social step in advance of her own position, just as 
 Giulia, if she married Carlo Sparti, would be unde- 
 niably making a social step, though not so large a
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 81 
 
 one, in the other direction. The fattore, therefore, 
 on this as on all other occasions, received Signor 
 Simone with all becoming courtesy and civility. 
 The only one of the party to whom the presence 
 of Simone was positively disagreeable was Giulia. 
 She could not endure him — partly because she had 
 a kind of magnetic consciousness of his admiration, 
 which was exceedingly distasteful to her ; partly 
 because the slightest manifestation of this feeling- 
 was sure to be visited with cruel retribution on her 
 afterward ; and partly, perhaps most of all, because 
 she knew that Simone and Carlo exceedingly dis- 
 liked each other. 
 
 After the presentation of a nosegay of early 
 flowers, which Simone had brought carefully 
 wrapped in paper for his love, together with a 
 proper quantum of the gallant speeches prescribed 
 for usage on such occasions, the guest was duly 
 got into his place at table between Olivia the 
 mother and Olivia the daughter — an attempt on 
 his part to seat himself on the other side of his 
 appointed mistress, so as to be between her and 
 Giulia, having been skilfully defeated by the united 
 efforts of all the three women — and the supper began. 
 
 No sooner was the soup finished, than Simone, 
 addressing the fattore, asked him if he had heard 
 what had happened an hour or two ago over at 
 Sparti's farm ? A very ugly business, he was told, 
 it was likely to be. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 ±2 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 Giulia turned deadly pale, and felt that Olivia's 
 eye was fixed on her. 
 
 Xo ; they had heard nothing. What was it ? 
 
 " Oh (with a sneer), only the carabinieri — four 
 men and a brigadier — had come to the farm, and 
 Master Carlo was arrested and marched off to prison 
 — to Florence, even, as he, Bossi, had heard. 
 
 Olivia and her mother exchanged glances fur- 
 tively. 
 
 " Carlo Sparti arrested ! " cried the fattore ; 
 "what about, in God's name?" 
 
 " Accused of hiding and favouring the escape 
 of a deserter from the conscription. Don't you 
 remember, Signor Bappi, the affair of that poor 
 fellow, Paolo Torre? Well, it seems the govern- 
 ment have never been able to find him. And they 
 don't think he has left the country. And it seems 
 pretty clear — so I'm told — that Sparti had a main 
 hand in helping him off. Likely to be a bad job for 
 Sparti. It'll be the ruin of that family." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it ! " cried Eappi, 
 stoutly. 
 
 "Why, all the village knows it, Signor Rappi, 
 by this time. There were ever so many saw the 
 carabinieri take him. You may depend upon it, 
 there's no doubt at all about the matter." 
 
 " I mean that I don't believe Sparti ever had any 
 hand in hiding away that fellow from the con- 
 scription. And you may be sure they'll soon find
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 83 
 
 out that he had nothing to do with it. Pm off to 
 Florence to-morrow morning*, and I dare say I shall 
 he able to find out something more about it." 
 
 " You starting for Florence, Signer Rappi ! That 
 is something new, ain't it V asked the visitor. 
 
 " Yes. Giulia here is going to pay a visit to my 
 sister, Signora Manforti, the wax- chandler's wife, 
 in the Mercato Xuovo ; and I'm going to take her 
 in the bagherino." 
 
 "That's a pleasant er hearing for Miss Giulia than 
 it is for us, who are left behind in the Casentino. 
 Among all the gay Florence folks, you'll have 
 forgotten all your old friends before you come back 
 again, Signorina Giulia," said the gallant Simone. 
 
 "It's very little Giulia will have to do with any 
 of the gay people — or any people at all — at 
 Florence, Signor Simone. My sister-in-law, As- 
 sunta Manforti, is a pious woman, and has no 
 acquaintance with worldly people. If it was to 
 any other sort of person, or any other sort of house, 
 you might suppose I should not send my child 
 away from this roof. It is to be hoped she will 
 come back prepared for the holy vocation she is 
 intended for," said the Signora Rappi, speaking 
 to her guest, but at her daughter. 
 
 " And I don't suppose it much matters whether 
 she forgets anybody out of her own house, or 
 whether she remembers them," added Olivia, with 
 a toss of the head and a sneer.
 
 84 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 Simone Bossi perceived that lie was — to use a 
 vulgar but expressive phrase — putting his foot in 
 it ; and hastened to take refuge in some remark to 
 the fattore about his having a fine day for his 
 journey to-morrow. 
 
 " And if you will take my advice, Rappi," put in 
 his wife, "you will neither meddle nor make in that 
 matter of young Sparti. If he is innocent, they 
 will find it out without your help. And if he did 
 have a hand in screening a refrattario } it's not 
 very creditable for you to be showing any interest 
 in him." 
 
 "You never said a wiser word in your life, 
 Signora ! " said Bossi, anxious both to prevent any 
 friendship between Carlo and the fattore, and to 
 atone for the little blunder he had made before; 
 " and as for the fellow being innocent, you may 
 take my word for it he knows where Paolo Torre is 
 at this moment. Why, they were old and close 
 friends, he and Torre. Oh ! they know what they 
 are about, the carabinieri do, you may depend ! " 
 
 It may be easily guessed what GriuhVs feelings 
 were during this conversation, and how kindly she 
 felt towards Signor Simone, and what sort of re- 
 ception she accorded to him when once again, before 
 taking himself off, he attempted to say some com- 
 plimentary word in her ear with reference to her 
 journey on the following day. At length he was 
 gone ; and Griulia, after having to endure, in the-
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 85 
 
 shape of a series of grimly expressed hopes that 
 she might return froin the discipline she was going 
 to a discreeter and more chastened girl, the ex- 
 pression of her Madonna-like sister's ill-temper, 
 which had been excited by the fickle Simone's 
 ill-judged compliments, at length escaped to her 
 room, to cry in peace over all the recollections that 
 her last night in her native home brought with it.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was true enough in those days — that is to say,. 
 the days shortly after the Italian government had 
 driven the Papal troops out of the once Pontifical 
 State and annexed the country to "Italy" — that 
 the offence of harbouring a deserter from the con- 
 scription, or favouring the escape or concealment of 
 one, was likely to be a bad business for the person 
 convicted of having been guilty of either of those 
 offences. So far Signor Simone Bossi had said no 
 more than the truth, though no doubt his motive 
 for saving it, when he did, was an abominably 
 spiteful one. 
 
 The young Italian government had been very 
 much and seriously troubled by the extreme un- 
 willingness of the population which had recently 
 passed under its rule from that of the Pope to 
 submit to the conscription. And the matter was 
 made much worse and more serious by the active and 
 never-ceasing efforts of the priests and their party 
 to intensify the dislike of the peasants for the new
 
 A STOBY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 87 
 
 civic duty imposed upon theni, to induce those who 
 had drawn bad numbers to abscond, and to give 
 them assistance in hiding themselves, and, in many 
 instances, getting away out of the country. Gene- 
 rally speaking, those guilty of such practices were 
 always the priests and the partisans of the former 
 government, who were their friends and under their 
 influence. And it was, therefore, on the first face 
 of the thing, impossible that Carlo Sparti, a known 
 liberal, should have had any hand in the escape of 
 this Paolo Torre. But of course it was possible 
 enough that private friendship might be the in- 
 ducement, rather than political feeling, in any given 
 case. And, unluckily, it was true enough that Carlo 
 had been known to be, in some sort, the friend of 
 the missing man. 
 
 It is true, too, that the Casentino district was 
 never at any time any part of the dominions of the 
 Pope. It was and had always been a portion of 
 Tuscany. But it is situated close to the frontier 
 of what had been the Papal territory, and such 
 epidemics as a popular determination to resist an 
 obnoxious law are very contagious. And symptoms 
 that this trouble was beginning to spread from one 
 province to the other were calculated to make the 
 government all the more severe in their determina- 
 tion to reform them. 
 
 The accusation under which Carlo Sparti laboured, 
 and which had caused his arrest, was, as Simone
 
 88 DIAMOXD CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 Bossi liad so spitefully said, a serious matter. And 
 it will be readily understood that the subject in all 
 its bearings formed the topic of conversation be- 
 tween the f attore and Giulia as they sat side by side 
 in the bagherino, on the following morning, on their 
 way to Florence. 
 
 If the reader has never been in Tuscany, he can 
 hardly be expected to know what a bagherino is. 
 It is a kind of very light gig, consisting of little 
 else than wheels, axle, shafts, and a very simple 
 and light frame behind the shafts, which supports 
 the seat slung between the wheels and over the 
 axle. The bottom of the vehicle — or, rather, the 
 place where the bottom should be — is occupied by 
 nothing more solid than a net-work of ropes, on 
 which a mat of rushes may be placed. The seat is 
 usually wide — wide enough to enable the sitter to 
 sit well back and at his ease, but it has no back to 
 it. It might be sat upon by a person facing the 
 direction from which the carriage is proceeding as 
 well as by one facing the horse. And in case of 
 need an extra passenger may be accommodated in 
 this manner. It will be seen that lightness is the 
 main characteristic of the little vehicle, and drawn, 
 as is usually the case, by one of the active, hardy 
 little ponies, which, bred in the maremma, are 
 common in all parts of Tuscany, to the music of the 
 little peal of bells he carries with him, the bag-
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 89 
 
 lierino often accomplishes its eight or ten miles 
 in the honr. 
 
 Signor Rappi's bagherino was a very smart one, 
 as became a man of his position and substance. 
 The pony was a perfect representative of his class ; 
 the harness was profusely adorned with brass 
 ornaments, burnished till they shone like gold; a 
 fox's tail hung from the frontlet over the pony's 
 nose ; and the bells, which were fixed to the high 
 peak of the extremely small saddle, were of silver, 
 and jingled melodiously to his short rapid little trot. 
 
 The pair who sat behind the pony might have 
 been deemed a perfect picture of the most charac- 
 teristic sitters in a carriage which is specially the 
 vehicle of rural Tuscany — a fattore, who was the 
 very picture of a fattore, and a fattore' s daughter, 
 such as could not have been matched in the Casen- 
 tino. Signor Rappi, his broad chest resplendent 
 in a scarlet waistcoat with silver buttons, occupied 
 fully two-thirds of the seat. His very low-crowned, 
 very broad-brimmed white felt hat seemed especially 
 calculated to set off in picturesque fashion his 
 broad, red, jolly-looking face. A bright blue coat 
 with huge metal buttons, a still brighter blue and 
 voluminous handkerchief about his thick neck, and 
 a pair of drab breeches, with continuations of gaiters 
 of the same material, showing a pair of legs that 
 a chairman might be proud of, completed his
 
 90 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 costume. Giulia was wrapped in a comfortable grey- 
 cloak — for the October mornings were beginning 
 to be fresh, and the travellers had a high, bleak 
 region to pass — the hood of which supplied the 
 place of any other covering for the head, and 
 framed as bright and lovable a dimpled, laughter- 
 sparkling face as ever hood had under it; for 
 Giulia was looking more like herself, as she sat by 
 her father's side in the bagherino, than she had 
 done for many a day. It was quite wonderful how 
 the fattore's spirits rose as the good little pony 
 placed mile after mile between him and — all the 
 disagreeables of his home ; and the contagion of 
 his cheerfulness affected Giulia. It was a long 
 time, too, since she had known what it was to be 
 at perfect peace and a safe distance from con- 
 tinually preaching, chiding, reproaching, evil- 
 predicting tongues, and the effect was such as 
 to make peace seem almost like perfect happiness. 
 Then the fresh air of the bright October morning 
 was cheering*, the brisk motion was cheering, the 
 jingle of the pony's bells was cheering. And who 
 that remembers Kousseau's exultation over his 
 "voyage a faire et Paris an bout/' can doubt that 
 this first excursion beyond the limits of her native 
 Casentino, with Florence at the end of it, must 
 have had a charm for the eighteen-year-old fattore's 
 daughter, which must have made life seem bright 
 and full of good promise to her, despite all the
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 91 
 
 threatening* of trouble with which the prospect 
 was checkered. 
 
 As for the threats that had been so reiteratedly 
 held out to her respecting the dreadful dulness and 
 " discipline " of the life she was to lead in the house 
 of her aunt, they did not avail at all to kill the joy 
 of the passing hour. Was not all that to end when 
 Carlo should come and carry her off to be his bride ? 
 And what would she not cheerfully endure for a 
 time, if the time were to be followed by such a 
 consummation ? La Signora Manf orti might shut 
 her up as close as she pleased, and deliver her over 
 to be preached at by all the priests in Florence, if 
 only she had that ending of it all to look forward 
 to. But, then, was that ending sure and certain ? 
 This terrible news of Carlo's arrest was a very 
 black overhanging cloud, which sadly marred the 
 sunshine of the bright October morning. Never- 
 theless, her father's talk upon the subject was 
 very reassuring and consoling. He felt perfectly 
 convinced that Carlo was entirely innocent of any 
 complicity in the deserter's escape ; that his 
 accusation and arrest had been occasioned only 
 by some blunder, which would assuredly soon ba 
 discovered and put right, and that all would ulti- 
 mately be well. And Giulia had a very high 
 opinion of her father's judgment and knowledge 
 of all things. She suffered herself to be persuaded, 
 and to give herself up to the delight of un-
 
 92 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 wonted freedom and all the new pleasure of her 
 journey. 
 
 The few miles which separate Marrolo from 
 the upper extremity of the valley of the Casentino 
 were soon passed over ; and then began the long 
 and toilsome ascent of the high range which 
 divides the Casentino from the Florentine Val 
 d'Arno. Slowly and laboriously the willing little 
 pony dragged his fat master and young mistress 
 up the steep but well-made road. To the north 
 of the Alps any man would have left the carriage 
 to walk up the hill and ease the willing little beast. 
 But that would have been a most un-Italian pro- 
 ceeding. An Italian — even in the coldest weather 
 — never walks when he can be carried. And 
 Signor Domenico and Griulia kept their seats with 
 untiring patience till they at length reached the 
 solitary inn at the top of the pass, called "La 
 Consuma." There they were to halt for the mid- 
 day rest and food. Signor Domenico was well 
 known there. But Giulia was a stranger, and had 
 to make acquaintance with the landlady and her 
 daughters, who of course looked upon GiuhVs visit 
 to Florence to see her aunt as one of the most 
 enviable and delightful occurrences that could 
 happen to a girl — perhaps upon the whole the most 
 enviable piece of good fortune that could fall to 
 the lot of any girl. 
 
 Then, after dinner, there was the long descent
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 93 
 
 to be made into the Florentine Val cVArno, coming 1 
 down upon the little town of Pont' a Sieve in the 
 latter district. And the pony had to take all care 
 and conduct himself very discreetly on the descent ; 
 for the fat tore, very soon after leaving the inn, 
 yielded to his usual { ' custom of an afternoon/' and 
 went fast asleep. So that little Giulia was left to 
 her own uninterrupted meditations on the imme- 
 diate future that lay before her. 
 
 And as she approached Florence and the end 
 of her journey, it must be owned that certain 
 darker tints of misgiving and apprehension over- 
 shadowed to a certain degree the light-heartedness 
 with which she had begun the journey in the bright 
 and bracing morning. It was not that she had 
 any very serious doubts as to Carlo obtaining his 
 freedom, and coming, with her father's help, to 
 claim her, and — in short, of all ending well and 
 happily. But, in the mean time, that which was 
 more immediately before her did not paint itself to 
 her imagination in attractive colours. Partly it was 
 mere shyness that afflicted her. She had never 
 seen this aunt of hers, nor her husband, Signer 
 Manforti. Then they were Florentine people, known 
 to be very fine, apt to give themselves great airs, 
 accustomed to wonderful refinements of luxury — 
 not kindly, simple, plain, unpretending folks, like 
 the country people of the Casentino. Exceedingly 
 wicked, too, the Florentines were well known to be
 
 94 DIAMOND GUT DIAMOND. 
 
 by Giulia and all the inhabitants of the Oasentino ; 
 and so crafty that they were able to steal a man's 
 shirt from off his back without his knowing it. 
 But this, of course, did not apply to her own uncle 
 and aunt ; and the consideration of such facts 
 almost reconciled Giulia to the extreme seclusion 
 which she had been so often told awaited her in the 
 house of the wax- chandler and his wife. 
 
 Then Font' a Sieve was passed ; and the twelve 
 miles of road which had still to be traversed before 
 the capital was reached were all on level ground. 
 But the increased number of vehicles of all sorts 
 which they encountered on the road made it abso- 
 lutely necessary for the fat tore to wake himself up 
 and attend to his driving. The Ave Maria bells 
 were ringing just as they reached the city and en- 
 tered it by the Porta Croce ; so that Giulia had still 
 light enough left her to see all that her eyes were 
 so eager to see, as they drove through the city to 
 the house of Signor Manforti in the Mercato Nuovo. 
 Giulia' s first impression was that all was in- 
 finitely less grand — poorer, dirtier, and more 
 sordid — than she had anticipated. The Santa 
 Croce quarter of the city is not a favourable spe- 
 cimen of the City of Flowers. But when they 
 reached the Piazza dello Signoria, which they had 
 to drive through, Giulia was equally disposed to 
 think that the glories of Florence far excelled all 
 that she could ever have conceived.
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 95 
 
 A very few minutes more brought them to their 
 journey's end in the Mercato Nuovo; and Giulia, 
 before she had recovered from the astonishment 
 into which the sight of the Palazzo Vecchio, and 
 its statues, and the great fountain, and the Loggia 
 had thrown her, and before she had had time to 
 duly consider the manner in which it would behove 
 her to accost her aunt, found herself in that ladv's 
 presence, in the comfortably furnished but gloomy 
 apartment above the cer&ria.* 
 
 After brief salutation, the fattore hurried back to 
 the street to see to the stabling of his little nag, 
 and the putting up of his baglieriuo ; and Giulia, 
 after a hasty presentation, was left with her aunt. 
 Signor Manforti had not yet come in from his 
 shop. 
 
 " You are welcome to this house, my niece ; and 
 may the Holy Mother of God and the Saints grant 
 that your stay here may be profitable to your soul's 
 welfare ! " said Signora Manforti, as she advanced 
 toward Giulia, and, placing one hand on each of her 
 shoulders, gave her a cold kiss, performed much 
 after the fashion in which the assembled ecclesi- 
 astics in a cathedral or monastic choir pass round 
 the kiss of peace, as it is called. 
 
 " Thanks, aunt ! It is very kind of you and of 
 my uncle to receive me/' said Giulia, looking up 
 with some trepidation at the tall, thin, and dry 
 
 *A wax-chandler's shop.
 
 96 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 figure, clothed from the neck to the feet in a long, 
 narrow, black robe of some unshining material. 
 
 "We are people, my niece, who, with the help 
 of G-od and his Holy Church, always endeavour to 
 do our duty — and we shall strive to do it by you. 
 It seems to me that you have not observed the holy 
 image of the Blessed Virgin on the wall opposite 
 to you." 
 
 It was true that there was a little picture on the 
 wall indicated, so smoke-begrimed as to give small 
 indication of the subject represented, had it not 
 been that the large circular gilt " glory" around 
 the head of the pictured Virgin made the nature 
 of the picture sufficiently evident to all Catholic 
 eyes. But, if this had not been sufficient, the 
 attention of every properly educated person enter- 
 ino- the room was unmistakably called to the 
 painting and to his duty as regarded it by a little 
 oil lamp, which was always kept burning, and 
 which hung from an iron bracket fixed in the wall, 
 immediately in front of the picture. 
 
 It was true, also, that Griulia, her mind being* 
 very full of other thoughts, had not observed the 
 holy image. Recalled, however, to her duty in this 
 respect by her grim aunt's slowly and austerely 
 enunciated observation, she coloured highly, and, 
 dropping a little courtesy opposite to the wall on 
 which the fetish hung, crossed herself in due form. 
 
 " I grieve to find, my niece, from the letters of
 
 A STOEY OF TUSCAN LIFE. S7 
 
 my sister-in-law, who is a devout woman, that your 
 conduct and disposition have not hitherto been 
 such as your best and truest friends could wish 
 them. Let us hope that your levity and back- 
 slidings have been mainly caused by the too great 
 freedom of a country home. Here you will have 
 no such temptations to turn your thoughts from 
 the meditations which ought wholly to employ 
 them. That excellent and holy man, the Prior e of 
 Marrolo, has also written to a very good and devout 
 priest, my own confessor and director, about you. 
 The Priore takes a strong interest in your spiritual 
 welfare ; and he, too, has not found that disposition 
 in you which is so necessary to a young person 
 destined to the holy vocation to which you are 
 called. It will be our earnest endeavour here to 
 correct that. And you may depend on it that you 
 will neither see nor hear here any person or any 
 thing of a nature likely to divert your mind from 
 the holy path before you." 
 
 Directly afterwards the wax-chandler entered the 
 room, and saluted and welcomed his niece in much 
 the same terms as his better half — who was very 
 conspicuously such. He was a roundabout little 
 man, very autocratic in his shop, and very meek 
 out of it. All the conversation between him and 
 his wife during the supper-time, which shortly 
 ensued, was of wax and wickedness — their own wax 
 and the wickedness of then- friends and neighbours. 
 
 YOL. I. H
 
 98 DIAMOND GUT DIAMOND. 
 
 With, regard to the wax, the wife said ditto to all 
 her husband said; and, with regard to the wicked- 
 ness, the husband said ditto to all his wife said. 
 
 Giulia was surprised that her father did not 
 return. The wax- chandler and his wife were not 
 surprised. They knew the habits of the fattore on 
 the occasions of his visits to Florence, and were 
 quite aware that supper in some other haunts than 
 their sombre little room, with its grim Madonna on 
 the wall, and talk to match, was more to his taste 
 than their society. jSTo doubt he would come back 
 in time to say good-night, with some excuse of 
 business having prevented him from returning to 
 sup with them. 
 
 When he did come, he with some difficulty 
 contrived to have a few private words of leave- 
 taking with his daughter. 
 
 " I know 'tis like shutting you into a dark cage, 
 my little birdie. 'Tis worse than the Murate.* But 
 it won't last long. It sha'n't last long, my pet. 
 Our friend Carlo will be all right — never doubt it. 
 And then I am there. It won't be long before you 
 hear of me — and of a certain other person too ! 
 Good-bye, darling ! I shall be off by sunrise to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 And so poor little Giulia was left in the gloomy 
 
 home, which was to be as a sort of vestibule of a 
 
 nunnery to her. 
 
 * The Florentine " Tombs." Formerly a convent ; so named 
 from the nuns having been walled up in it.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The fattore, when he parted from Giulia at her 
 aunt's house, intended, as he said, to start on his 
 return to the Casentino at sunrise on the following 
 morning. But it so happened that while indulging* 
 himself at his inn, before going to bed, with a spell 
 of that gossiping so dear to all Tuscans, he chanced 
 to hear something that induced him to postpone his 
 departure for a few hours. There was a certain 
 good-for-nothing sort of scamp who, among his 
 varied attempts to persuade the world to find him 
 in bread and cheese, had a year or two previously, 
 for a short space, kept a little inn in the small town 
 of Poppi in the Casentino. And in his capacity 
 of inn-keeper at that place, Gino Sartori (for that 
 was his name) had contrived to obtain credit for 
 certain supplies of hay and oats at one of the farms 
 in the management of fattore Rappi. Of course 
 his inn soon went to the bad; and one fine night 
 Gino added another moonlight flitting to the list 
 of his previous removals of a similar kind, and left
 
 100 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 his Casentino creditors to whistle for their money. 
 No doubt the man might have been traced and 
 pursued. But Kappi wisely judged that it would 
 have been throwing good money after bad to do so ; 
 and from that time to this he had never heard any- 
 thing more of his friend Grino Sartori. 
 
 Now it so chanced that, while chatting with the 
 people in the supper-room at his inn, some of 
 whom he knew, and some of whom he had never 
 seen before, the fattore learned that his old debtor 
 was now keeping a jeweller's shop on the Ponte 
 Vecchio, and was supposed to be doing pretty well. 
 Every one who has ever been at Florence must 
 have a vivid remembrance of the little shops which 
 turn the old bridge over the Arno into a street. 
 The Ponte Vecchio at Florence presents the only 
 remaining instance of a bridge thus turned into 
 a street — an arrangement which was once very 
 common in the ancient cities of Europe, and which, 
 if it had nothing else to recommend it, was re- 
 markable for the picturesque effect produced. 
 This, as the traveller will remember, is eminently 
 the case at Florence. The queer little houses on 
 the bridge are very small, and they are all in the 
 occupation of jewellers or goldsmiths. 
 
 Now to be the owner of a jeweller's shop would 
 seem, at the first blush of the thing, to bo a 
 strangely notable promotion for such a scamp as 
 the bankrupt inn-keeper of the Casentino. But
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 101 
 
 there are jewellers and jewellers. Some of the 
 shop-windows on the Ponte Vecchio are brilliantly 
 enough furnished to make it difficult for lady- 
 visitors to pass the bridge without stopping to 
 look at them. There are others which present a 
 frontage shabby enough, not to say gloomy and 
 dubious-looking. The show of goods in the win- 
 dows of these latter is of that peculiar sort which 
 suggests the idea that they do not represent the 
 real business transacted in the tenement they so 
 doubtfully adorn. In the case in question, there 
 may be seen one or two dim and dubious-looking 
 articles of would-be silver altar furniture ; a few 
 spoons and forks of the same questionable appear- 
 ance; and perhaps an antique enameled candlestick, 
 or two or three dim old miniatures or snuff-boxes, 
 to indicate that the owner of the establishment is 
 a dealer in antiquities and curiosities. In some 
 instances it is probable that such an external 
 appearance may cover a more or less legitimate 
 money-lending business, by means of which a small 
 capital may be made very quickly to grow into a 
 large one. In other instances, the same outward 
 signs and tokens may not unfairly be permitted to 
 lead to the conclusion that the trade carried on 
 there is really, to a certain extent, that of a dealer 
 in antiquities, strongly flavoured with a more or 
 less decided cross with a receiver of stolen goods. 
 Now the dingy-looking little shop, at present, as
 
 102 DIMIOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 Rappi learned, in the occupation of his debtor, Gino 
 Sartori, presented just such an appearance as has 
 been described; and certainly Sartori had never 
 possessed any capital to have commenced money- 
 lender even on the smallest scale. 
 
 Be his business, however, in the doubtful-looking 
 little shop what it might, Rappi was determined not 
 to leave Florence without at least an attempt to see 
 him, and bring him to book in the matter of that 
 old debt. On the following morning, therefore, as 
 soon as there was any hope of finding the shops 
 open, the fattore betook himself to the Ponte 
 Vecchio, and there very soon discovered the name 
 he was looking for over the shabbiest-looking little 
 shop-front of all the row. 
 
 Rappi entered, and asked a dirty, unwholesome- 
 looking lad, who was pretending to sweep the place, 
 if Signor Sartori was in. The boy said he would 
 see, and vanished up a stair so narrow as barely to 
 give passage to a man's body, constructed in the 
 thickness of the wall which separated the front 
 shop, opening on to the bridge, from a still smaller 
 back shop looking on to the river. These two very 
 small rooms on the ground-floor, and two equally 
 small on the first-floor, reached by the stairs in 
 question, formed the entirety of the dwelling. 
 
 In a minute or two the messenger returned, and 
 said that if the visitor would sit down in the back 
 shop, into which he ushered the fattore as ho
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 103 
 
 spoke, Signor Sartori would come down to him in a 
 minute or two. A minute or two, in Tuscany, 
 never under the most favourable circumstances, 
 means less than half an hour ; but no genuine 
 Tuscan complains of that, and Signor Rappi sat 
 down to wait patiently. For a while he amused 
 himself by looking out of the one little window on 
 to the river, which he could see all the way to the 
 Ponte Trinita, and beyond that again to the Ponte 
 alia Carraj a, with the woods of the Cascine behind it, 
 and the far Apennine behind Pistoia, already white 
 with the first snows of autumn, in the distance. 
 
 But the fattore was not much given to delight in 
 landscape scenery, and after a little while, being 
 tired of his occupation, he began to turn his atten- 
 tion to the contents of the little room he was in. 
 
 Now the fact was that Signor Grino Sartori, in 
 the up-stairs room over the front sho]3, had per- 
 fectly well heard and recognised the sonorous and 
 un-Florentine-like voice of the fattore; and had 
 been seized with a strong and immediate desire to 
 avoid an interview with his creditor. Hence had 
 arisen the direction given to the shop-boy to 
 usher the visitor into the back, or inner room ; the 
 purpose of our friend Grino being to slip down the 
 little stair — the position of which has been de- 
 scribed — and so escape, to be seen or heard of no 
 more till the fattore should be safe on his way back 
 to the Casentino, leaving his subordinate to make
 
 104 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 wliat excuse lie could to the baulked agriculturist. 
 Had it not been for this well-imagined plan, it is 
 probable that the visitor to the shop on the Ponte 
 Vecchio would not have been invited to enter the 
 back room ; for in that retirement, generally safe 
 from all intrusion, were stowed away more than one 
 article which, for one reason or another, it was not 
 expedient for the present to offer for open sale in 
 Florence. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that Signor Kappi, tired 
 of looking out of window, and driven for want of 
 some better amusement to peer about at whatever 
 was to be seen in the little room, opened the 
 unlocked door of a queer-looking little corner 
 cupboard which attracted his attention, and there 
 saw something which arrested it very much more 
 strongly. The article on which the fat tore's eyes 
 fixed themselves with staring astonishment was a 
 small enameled coffer in the shape of a miniature 
 nave of a church : to practised eyes a reliquary, in 
 short. It was evidently of great antiquity; and 
 the beauty of the enameled ornamentation was 
 such as to have riveted the attention and delighted 
 the eye of an artistic connoisseur or antiquary. 
 But fattore Domenico Eappi was assuredly 
 neither of these things. And yet he stared at the 
 little chest, as if he had never seen so interesting 
 an object. And as he stared, the interest seemed 
 to grow upon him. Eye-sight was no longer
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAX LIFE. 105 
 
 sufficient to satisfy it. And after a little hesitation 
 he put out his hand doubtfully, and took it up for 
 closer examination. 
 
 It was a choice specimen of old Lombard work, 
 probably of the twelfth century, in a very remarkable 
 state of preservation; and, if the right purchaser 
 could be hit upon, would be saleable for a very 
 considerable sum. The colours of the enameled 
 work were as brilliant as on the day when they left 
 the hand of the ancient artificer. And the varied 
 figures of saints which adorned the sides of the 
 little ark were of great interest, as unquestionable 
 documentary evidence of the costume of that dim 
 and distant period. Signor Rappi, however, soon 
 quitting these matters of antiquarian interest, 
 turned the reliquary over in his hand, and gazed 
 steadfastly at the plain unornamented metal bottom 
 of the chest, which was apparently of copper. 
 And there he saw a spot, about the size of a half- 
 dollar, where the surface of the metal had evidently 
 been recently rubbed or scratched. Pursing up his 
 lips, and significantly nodding his head up and 
 down three or four times, he stepped with the little 
 chest in his hand to the window, and there, 
 receiving the full, unbroken light of the Italian 
 sunshine on the place which had been tampered 
 with, he distinctly saw the remains of certain 
 marks which the rubbing and scratching had failed 
 entirely to obliterate.
 
 106 DIAMOND GUT DIAMOND. 
 
 " Per Bacco ! " said the f attore to himself, after 
 he had stood for a minute so, utterly speechless 
 with surprise. Then, after another short space 
 given to consideration, he replaced the reliquary 
 in the cupboard from which he had taken it, and 
 hastily opened the door of communication between 
 the back and front shop. And there, just as he 
 did so, he saw his acquaintance, Gino Sartori, 
 stealthily coming down the narrow stair, and on the 
 point of stealing out of the place by the shop-door. 
 Though thus caught, however, there was nothing 
 to convict him of the intention of giving his visitor 
 the slip. And he prepared to put the best face he 
 could on the matter respecting which, as he knew 
 very well, the f attore had called upon him. 
 
 It is needless to occupy space and time with the 
 dialogue that ensued. Of course it took the too 
 well-known forms of that which is wont to pass 
 between a creditor and a debtor, who is well deter- 
 mined not to pay, but who is anxious to make 
 promises serve the turn of not driving a creditor 
 to extremities. Probably the f attore might have 
 insisted longer and more vigorously on his own 
 point of view in this matter, had it not been for his 
 anxiety to come to an explanation on another sub- 
 ject which was now uppermost in his mmd. 
 
 " When your boy," said Eappi, " told me to wait 
 in the inner room there just now, I did not think I 
 had any thing to say to you, Signor Gino, more
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 107 
 
 than what I have been saying ; but — just come in 
 here a minute, will you?" added he, leading the 
 way back into the little room he had just left. 
 
 The master of the shop followed him in con- 
 siderable surprise, and not without a certain 
 amount of uncomfortable misgiving — which was 
 increased exceedingly when he saw the fattore 
 advance straight to the corner cupboard, open it, 
 and take from it the reliquary of which so much 
 has been said. Sartori made a sudden snatch at it ; 
 but the burly fattore held it high above his own 
 head, quite out of the other's reach. 
 
 " Yes ! I dare say ! But that sort of thing won't 
 do at all! Now you have got to tell me, Signor 
 Gino Sartori, how this here article came into your 
 keeping." 
 
 " I shall tell you nothing of the kind ! A pretty 
 sort of thing ! To come into a man's private room, 
 and open his cupboards and places, and ask 
 questions about his private affairs, and his way of 
 carrying on his business ! Please to hand me that 
 coffer." 
 
 Signor Gino did his very best to play his part 
 bravely. But his face had become the colour of a 
 boiled lobster ; and the tell-tale blood could not be 
 kept from rushing into it. 
 
 " No ! I am not going to hand it to you ! Not at 
 all so \" said Bappi. 
 
 "It will be the worse for you, if you don't,
 
 108 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 Signor Rappi, and pretty quick too ! I am 
 astonished at a prudent man like you to interfere 
 with another man's honest trade in such a way ! 
 Why, now, it is to that very article that I am 
 trusting for the means of paying you the money 
 due to you ! That came to me in the honest way 
 of trade not a week ago — a great stroke of luck ! 
 Such things don't happen to a man in my way of 
 business once in a life-time, hardly; but they <?o 
 happen now and then. It would be a pretty thing 
 if people in my line of business were obliged to let 
 every body know who they deal with, and where 
 they have made a good find. As well expect a 
 man out a-hunting to tell another fellow where the 
 game lies. But I don't mind telling you that I can 
 sell that there little article for about a hundred 
 times what I gave for it, or more; and the very 
 day it is sold you shall have your money, as sure as 
 the sun is in the sky ! " 
 
 While speaking thus, the ci-devant inn-keeper 
 succeeded in regaining some degree of composure, 
 and stood with his hand stretched out to receive 
 the casket. But the fattore still held it aloft, and 
 shook his head. 
 
 " It won't do, Signor Gino ; it won't do ! If you 
 won't tell me where you got this, I'll tell you 
 where it came from. This has been stolen out of 
 the sacristy of Marrolo church. Why, bless your 
 heart ! I have known this queer-looking bit o'
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 109 
 
 coloured work all my life ! I remember it when I 
 was a boy ; and the people always thought a deal of 
 it. Sell it for a hundred times what you gave for 
 it! Not at all unlikely, perBacco! And if my 
 recollection of the thing was not enough, here's the 
 marks at the bottom, and the words, 'Marrolo, 
 1519/ which all your scraping and scratching have 
 not rubbed out so but what good eyes can still read 
 it. Why, there's dozens of old people at Marrolo 
 who could swear to the thing*. It always used to 
 be put on the altar on Marrolo fest a day. But it's 
 many a year since I have seen it. And nowadays, 
 somehow, people don't think so much of such 
 matters as they used to. But this belongs to 
 Marrolo church, and to Marrolo church it will have 
 to go back. So, now, your wisest plan would be to 
 tell how you came by it." 
 
 The fattore had not uttered all this without 
 sundry attempts at interruption on the part of the 
 "jeweller." But on every such occasion the sturdy 
 agriculturist only raised his voice the more, and 
 raised it to such a pitch that Signor Gino was fain 
 to let him say his say, from the dread that the 
 sounds of altercation would be heard by the passers 
 in the street. 
 
 Then at length, after sundry attempts on the part 
 of Signor Gino to settle the matter, " reasonably 
 and comfortably," on terms increasingly advan- 
 tageous to the fattore, all which were found to be
 
 110 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 utterly vain, the truth at last came out. The 
 reliquary had been bought in the way of business 
 by Signor Sartori from Don Neri Vampa, the 
 " vicario " of Marrolo, who had sent the article to 
 him by a sure hand a very short time ago. Of 
 course he — Sartori — had known nothing whatever 
 about how the priest had become possessed of it ; 
 had no reason to doubt that it was legally his own 
 property. True, it did seem as if attempts had 
 been made to obliterate certain words and marks 
 from the bottom of the casket ; but he — Sartori — 
 knew nothing about that ; he had never touched the 
 bottom of the thing. 
 
 The fattore admitted that all that might be 
 perfectly true; but the article in question was 
 certainly the property of his parish of Marrolo. 
 Nobody, priest or other, had any right to remove or 
 sell it; and meanwhile he — Signor Rappi — absolutely 
 refused to relinquish possession of it. But Sartori, 
 frightened though he was, would by no means 
 consent to let the much-coveted reliquary pass 
 so easily out of his hands ; feeling, as he did, little 
 doubt that, if he did so, he would simply be giving 
 up the prize to another ; that nothing more would 
 ever be heard of the little casket, and that Signor 
 Rappi would simply pocket the proceeds of the 
 sale of it. In these suspicions, which would un- 
 failingly have been the reasonings of a Tuscan of 
 Signor Sartori's class, he did the fattore great
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. Ill 
 
 "wrong. In the first place, with regard to the 
 article itself — of the money value of which Signor 
 Rappi had no more idea than one of his own oxen 
 — the worthy agriculturist had no shadow of any 
 other thought than the restoration of it to his 
 parish church. The old communal feeling, which 
 regarded the property, the rights, the credit, the 
 glory of each man's own commune as his own, 
 is still very strong among the Italians. And 
 thousands of men in all classes might be found, 
 who, little as they might interest themselves about 
 Church affairs in any religious sense, and little as 
 they might care or understand about any article 
 of property in an artistic sense, would exert them- 
 selves with eager zeal to prevent any particle what- 
 ever of the property of the commune from being made 
 away with or removed. And to this feeling has been 
 due the preservation of many a relic which the greed 
 of priests and sacristans, and the like, would other- 
 wise have sacrificed to the ubiquitous dealers, who 
 are always beating up for the supply of amateurs, 
 and of the museums of Europe and America — 
 whither great numbers of such articles have found 
 their way despite such feeling. But in the second 
 place, Signor Rappi, on hearing Grino's account of 
 the manner in which he had become possessed of 
 the casket, had already conceived a plan of making 
 that knowledge useful to himself in another manner. 
 And furnished with this knowledge, he would have
 
 112 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 been content to leave the reliquary in the hands of 
 Sartori for the present, had he not been strongly 
 persuaded that in that case it "would never more be 
 seen by him, or by anybody whom he could put on 
 the traces of it. Nevertheless he felt that he had 
 no right to insist on simply carrying off the pro- 
 perty unauthorized and unwitnessed. 
 
 So after a good deal of that wrangling which, to 
 Italians, always seems to be rather an agreeable 
 occupation for an hour or so than otherwise, the 
 two men came to an agreement, to the effect that 
 Signor Rappi should be intrusted with the keeping 
 of the coffer for the nonce, giving a declaratory 
 receipt for the same to Signor Sartori, while the 
 latter should hand to the fattore a written declara- 
 tion of the circumstances under which he, Sartori, 
 came to be possessed of the object in dispute. 
 
 This having been at last settled, the little casket 
 was carefully wrapped up, so that it might not 
 attract the attention of anybody in the street ; and 
 the two men separated, the fattore highly pleased 
 at an incident which he hoped might have results 
 more important to him than the recovery of a bit o 
 communal property, dear as Marrolo was to him; 
 and Signor Gino Sartori in no small degree uneasy 
 as to the possible results of the same unlucky 
 chance to himself.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Signor Domexico Rappi had calculated, as has been 
 seen, on leaving Florence by sunrise, and reaching 
 his home in the Casentino in reasonable time the 
 same evening. But, as it turned out, it was past 
 mid-day before he started on his journey; and it 
 became necessary that he should rest for the night 
 at that same solitary inn on the top of the pass 
 leading from the Yal d' Arno into the Casentino at 
 which he and Giulia had made their mid-day halt 
 on the previous day. There was no great mis- 
 fortune in this. No very special business required 
 the fattore's presence at home just then. He knew 
 very well that his wife would not expect him " till 
 she saw him ; " and he was well known at the little 
 inn in question. 
 
 Signor Rappi's thoughts during his solitary 
 drive, while the pony was labouring up the long 
 ascent from Pout' a Sieve to the top of the ridge of 
 hill called the Prato Magno, turned mainly on his 
 adventure of that morning, and on the mode in 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 which lie might best set about turning it to account 
 in the way which had already occurred to him. 
 But it so happened that the same chance which had 
 induced him to defer his departure from the city, 
 by causing him to halt for the night on the road, 
 led to another adventure, of a nature quite as unex- 
 pected as that of the Marrolo casket. 
 
 Signor Kappi had had his supper, and had sat 
 over his flask of Chianti after it for a somewhat 
 longer time, perhaps, than was usually permitted to 
 him when under the severe and vigilant eye of the 
 Signora Olivia. It was thus rather late when, the 
 flask having been at last finished, the fattore betook 
 himself to the bench before the inn- door to enjoy a 
 little of the fresh mountain air, and take the chance 
 of a little gossip with any other lounger, for half 
 an hour before going to bed. It was a lovely 
 moonlight night, and though the October air on 
 that bleak height was beginning to be colder than 
 many a Northern man would have liked for sitting 
 out in, the fattore lingered, enjoying the " fresco." 
 Eor it is a remarkable fact that Italians seem to 
 enjoy sitting out of doors in weather that people 
 from the northern side of the Alps would be apt to 
 deem far too cold for the purpose. 
 
 The fattore sat and sat, watching the moon as 
 she sailed over the wood-covered mountains above 
 Valombrosa, and the naked, glistening peaks of the 
 Apennines in the opposite direction ; till, just as he
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 115 
 
 was about to turn in, giving up the hope of any 
 more companionship for that night, he heard the 
 distant tinkling of bells on the road in the direction 
 of the Casentino, and determined to wait till he 
 could see whose coming they announced. It was 
 not long before he became aware that the bells 
 were mule-bells; and the number of them, indi- 
 cating a cavalcade of at least five or six beasts, left 
 little doubt in the practised fattore' s mind that the 
 approaching traveller was simply a charcoal-burner, 
 bringing a load of his produce from the forests of 
 the Apennines to Florence. And such was soon 
 seen to be the case. 
 
 A solitary charcoal-burner, travelling with his 
 team of mules and cargo of produce by night, from 
 the solitudes of the Apennine forests to the 
 capital, did not, as may be supposed, offer any 
 very good prospect of chat to Signor Domenico 
 Rappi, the wealthy fattore. But just as any vilest, 
 raw spirit is better than nothing to a drunkard, the 
 chatter of any human being is better than silence 
 to a thorough-paced Tuscan; and the fattore de- 
 termined to wait till the charcoal-burner arrived 
 before he went to bed. It was pretty certain that 
 the new-comer would rest himself and his mules for 
 an hour or so, for the lone inn on the Consuma is a 
 regular halting-place for the traffic of all sorts that 
 crosses the mountain. 
 
 The charcoal-burners of the Apennines are a wild
 
 116 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 and rough set of men, very nomadic in their way of 
 life, pursuing their occupation for weeks at a time 
 in the solitudes of the mountain forests, but often 
 moving over the country sufficiently to make them 
 acquainted with a great variety of persons — 
 especially of those classes of persons who them- 
 selves live in out-of-the-way places, far from the 
 towns and out of the beaten track. Signor Rappi's 
 movements over the country in the neighbourhood 
 of the properties he managed had made him 
 acquainted more or less with some of these men; 
 but when the person whose approach had been 
 heralded by the music of his mule-bells arrived in 
 front of the inn, he did not turn out to be any one 
 whom Rappi had ever seen before. 
 
 That was no reason, however, for abstaining from 
 the expected pleasurable exercise of tongues. And 
 while the mules were getting a mouthful of dusty 
 hay — if the mixture of dried weeds and coarse 
 clover-stalks, which was all the provender the 
 mountain way-side inn afforded, could be called so 
 — and their driver regaled himself with a quarter of 
 a flask of wine on the bench before the door, the 
 fattore and he at once engaged in conversation. 
 
 A few years before, the conversation between 
 two Italians thus casually met would have been 
 confined to the weather, or at most to the price of 
 bread and wine, and the like. It was by no means 
 safe in those days to utter any opinion, or sem-
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 117 
 
 blance of an opinion, upon any more important 
 subject. But whatever the political changes may 
 have done, or failed to do, for Italy, they have at 
 least had the effect of loosening men's tongues. 
 The Italians may now, at least, talk of all that their 
 rulers do or leave undone, and they have made 
 haste to profit without stint by the new liberty. 
 
 The talk between the fattore and the black-faced 
 individual who had come out of the night to that 
 mountain trysting-place turned, accordingly, at 
 once upon the subject which was just then the 
 main topic of interest throughout the country-side 
 — the conscription. This led immediately and 
 naturally to the troubled question of the " refrattari" 
 — how many such there were, and what the pro- 
 babilities of their being caught, and what the fate 
 awaiting them if they were caught. And this led 
 the farmer to mention, as a matter that was no 
 secret, but necessarily known to all the country, 
 the arrest of Carlo Sparti. 
 
 "What! Carlo at Cerreto, beyond Stia — out 
 there V cried the charcoal-burner, who coining 
 from his mountain solitudes had not heard of the 
 fact. " What's the trouble with him? — he drew 
 a good number." 
 
 "Oh, you know him, do you ? No, he was not 
 drawn, and had no need to run away if he had 
 been. There would have been no difficulty in his 
 paying for a substitute. But there was a fellow,
 
 118 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 one Paolo Torre, who made himself scarce, and 
 Carlo is accused of having helped him off. And 
 Sparti will give no information about his where- 
 abouts, for the best of all reasons — because he 
 knows nothing about it." 
 
 yf Paolo Torre ! " exclaimed the charcoal-burner ; 
 iC all ! they won't catch him in a hurry. And if 
 they skin Carlo alive, he can't tell them anything* 
 about it. Ho ! ho ! ho ! " grinned the white teeth 
 out of the black face. 
 
 "But it's a regular shame — -jpropHo nale- 
 
 dizione di Uii> — that such a fellow as Carlo Sparti 
 should be lying in prison for such an animal as 
 that Paolo Torre ! " said the f attore, indignantly. 
 
 " So it is, Signor mia ! — so it is, sure enough ! 
 I know them both. Many a wet night I've had 
 shelter and supper at Carlo's farm, and Paolo is 
 no good to anybody. If the conscription only 
 took such fellows as he, there would be small harm 
 done!" 
 
 " I tell you what/' returned the f attore, after a 
 pause, u I wouldn't mind paying five hundred francs 
 down out of my own pocket to any one who would 
 put me in the way of finding Paolo Torre. Not 
 that I wish any harm to him, but I should like to 
 get Carlo out of his scrape. I am Domenico Eappi, 
 the fattore at Marrolo, and the five hundred francs 
 would not break me." 
 
 The charcoal-burner lifted his rabbit-skin cap as
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 119 
 
 the fattore named himself. He knew the fattore 
 perfectly well by reputation, and all about him — ■ 
 knew that his promise to pay five hundred francs 
 was quite as good as any bank-note to that amount. 
 The proposition was a very tempting one — and he, 
 too, on his part, would not be sorry to do Carlo 
 Sparti a good turn ; though he had the strong 
 dislike of all Italian men of his class to lend any 
 hand to help the law and the authorities against 
 any contravener of it. 
 
 " Well," said the man, after a long pause, during 
 which he tossed down the last drop of his quarter- 
 flask of wine, " I know where Paolo Torre is at this 
 minute, and I know who it was that helped him to 
 get off. But I don't like to have nothing to do 
 with the law and the Government and the carabi- 
 nieri, and such like. I never knew any good to 
 come from having anything to say to them. Quite 
 the contrary. But telling you is not telling them. 
 You will do with the information as you think fit. 
 I don't ask no questions about it. I only mention 
 the thing to you in the way of talk; and — I suppose 
 you have no need to say who told you ? " added the 
 black-faced man, with a meaning look out of his 
 eyes, the whites of which looked so large and 
 ghastly in the black face. 
 
 "You tell me where to find Paolo Torre, and tell 
 me who helped him to his hiding-place, and I will 
 give you five hundred francs as soon as I know
 
 120 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 that lie is where you say lie is ; and, I give you my 
 hand on it, I will say no word who told me. I am 
 the fattore at Marrolo, and my word is my bond." 
 
 "Yes, Signor Domenico, I know that. But 
 mayhap I had better not come to Marrolo for the 
 five hundred francs. Would you mind bringing 
 them to Meo Scarpa's trattoria,* at Poppi, as soon 
 as you have satisfied yourself that I have told you 
 the truth?" 
 
 "All right. So be it. I know Meo Scarpa's 
 trattoria very well ; and I will bring the money 
 there without fail. So, now, where is Signor Paolo 
 Torre?" 
 
 "Paolo Torre," said the charcoal-burner, lower- 
 ing his voice to a whisper, and looking cautiously 
 round to see that no eavesdropping ears were 
 within hearing, "is at this present speaking at 
 the Priory of Sant' Agnese, in Valtorta, behind 
 Stia, under Falterona. Perhaps you don't know 
 Sant' Agnese ? Few do. It is a very out-of-the- 
 way place — capital place for hiding." 
 
 Sant' Agnese was, indeed, a capital place for 
 hiding, whether from the pomps and vanities of 
 the world or from the law and the carabinieri. It 
 was a very small and very poor little oratory or 
 priory belonging to a convent of Franciscans, itself 
 very poor, in the little town of Prato Vecchio. It 
 
 * Eating-house of the lower order.
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 121 
 
 was situated, as the charcoal-burner had said, 
 behind Stia, another little town in the Casentino, 
 and the first by the walls of which the infant Arno 
 passes after its descent from its sources in the sides 
 of Falterona. But it was a long way behind Stia 
 — some ten miles or so within the recesses of a 
 little, narrow, winding valley — Valtorta, as it is 
 named, from the sinuosities of it — which cleaves 
 the flank of Falterona, the highest point of the 
 Apennines in that neighbourhood, from whose 
 sides, in opposite directions, both the Arno and 
 the Tiber flow. Rarely, indeed, did any feet, save 
 those of the four or five poor Franciscans who 
 inhabited the spot, penetrate the recesses of Val- 
 torta. Why should they ? For the path, such as 
 it was, led nowhither save to the half-dilapidated 
 little priory. And it seemed impossible to guess 
 why even that humble establishment should exist 
 there, unless it were that the founders of it had 
 been tempted by the possibility of obtaining a few 
 vegetables from a small, level bit of fertile land, 
 formed by a bend of the valley, and the alluvial 
 soil deposited there by the little stream that ran 
 through it. 
 
 The Italian Government has been accused of 
 being in a far greater hurry to turn the non- 
 mendicant monks, who possessed property, and 
 from whom, therefore, something was to be got, 
 out of their monasteries, than they were to meddle
 
 122 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 with the poor mendicants, who, once turned out of 
 their nests upon the world, had to be kept from 
 starving by the State. However this may be, 
 certain it is that many communities of mendicants 
 have been allowed to remain in their monasteries ; 
 and the few poor old men who inhabited the miser- 
 able little building in the Valtorta had perhaps 
 escaped observation — had, at all events, been allowed 
 to stay where they were. 
 
 To make all possible opposition to the law of the 
 conscription, to give as much trouble to the Govern- 
 ment, and to aid as many men as possible to escape 
 from its provisions was, as has been said, the special 
 policy of the clergy. And of course the recluses 
 of Sant' Agnese were ready and willing to do all 
 in their power for the advancement of the good 
 cause. 
 
 Signor Rappi had never been at Sant' Agnese, 
 but he easily understood, from his companion's 
 description, the exact locality of it. His plan was 
 to avoid, if possible, the use of force; for Signor 
 Eappi, like most of his countrymen, was very 
 averse from coming into contact in any way with 
 the law and its myrmidons, if he could possibly 
 avoid it. He purposed going himself to Sant* 
 Agnese, and seeing whether he could not bring 
 such persuasions to bear on the refrattario as might 
 induce him to give himself up, and clear Sparti of 
 the accusation which weighed upon him. But the
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 123 
 
 charcoal-burner had not yet done all that was 
 requisite for the earning of the five hundred francs. 
 He had promised to tell by whose help Paolo had 
 been enabled to find an asylum. 
 
 "Yes, Signor Fattore, I said I would tell that 
 too, and so I will. It was part of our bargain. 
 Of course I depend on you never to breathe a word 
 who told you. That would never do, you know ! 
 Devil another bag of charcoal should I sell ! These 
 priests, you know, have long arms ! " 
 
 " A clti lo Jite?* You need not tell me that, 
 my friend. You may depend upon me for making 
 no mischief. Ah ! the priests had a hand in it ? 
 I thought as much," said the fattore. 
 
 " Yes. You might ha' sworn to that. It was your 
 own priest, Signor Verini. Leastways it was he 
 that planned it and ordered it. He is too big a 
 man to put his own hand to it, you understand. 
 But it was he that told the vicario, Signor Yampa, 
 and old Nistri, the sacristan, what to do. That 
 same night he was at Sparti's farm, when they 
 were seen together — and that was the Prioress 
 contriving, too, that they should be seen together — 
 Paolo was hid in the vicar's house ; and at midnight 
 or a little after he and Nistri went up to Sant' 
 Agnese, with a word from the Priore that they 
 
 * "To whom do you tell it?" a common form of assent in 
 Tuscany.
 
 124 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 were to keep him snug till further orders. And 
 there you will find him, let the frati say what they 
 will. And now, Signor Fattore, I have earned my 
 five hundred francs, have I not ? " 
 
 " If I find Paolo there, you have earned them, 
 and shall have them — or if he has been there in 
 hiding at all/' said Pappi. 
 
 " Oh, you will find him there still. And now, 
 Signor Fattore, I must be going, or I shall be 
 late at Florence to-morrow morning. Remember 
 Scarpa's trattoria at Poppi ! " 
 
 And so the two men parted, and the fattore went 
 to bed.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Signob Rappi went to his bed at the way-side inn 
 on the Consuma, purposing to pass through Stia on 
 his way home the next morning, and to leave his 
 bagherino and pony there, while he made his way 
 up the valley to SamV Agnes e on foot, in search of 
 the hidden deserter. 
 
 At the same time, poor little Griulia\s first day in 
 the gloomy house in the Mercato Nuovo had wearily 
 come to an end, and she had gone to the little 
 closet appointed for her bed-chamber. Never since 
 Giulia had been born, probably, had a day of her 
 life ever passed before without a laugh in it. And 
 Giulia began to look forward to the time she would 
 have to remain beneath her aunt's roof with some- 
 thing like terror. Not much laughing could be 
 advantageously done in the presence of the fatto- 
 ressa and of her sister Olivia, it is true. But, then, 
 she was not always in their presence. There was 
 her father ; there were the fields, the neighbours, 
 the liberty of the country, the open air. There was
 
 126 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 nothing of all this in the Mercato Nuovo ; and it 
 was very, very dreary, indeed. To laugh, to smile, 
 even, in the presence of her aunt, seemed about as 
 possible and as congruous as a guffaw by a death- 
 bed. The Signora Manforti had no intention to be 
 otherwise than kind to her niece ; but there are 
 jDeople whose mere presence in a room suffices 
 effectually to banish all mirth, joy, or gladness. 
 Gloom seems to emanate by some secret process 
 from their persons, and cheerfulness to die away 
 around them as a light goes out in a mephitic 
 atmosphere. And the Signora Manforti was one 
 of these persons. It was that special gift that 
 peculiarly adapted her for her role in life. It was 
 not her devoteeship that had made her gloomy; 
 but her gloom- distilling power that had set her up 
 as a devotee. 
 
 And there was, as far as Giulia could see, no 
 possibility, or prospect of a possibility, of passing 
 any of the hours of the long day out of her aunt's 
 society. It was a dreadful prospect, which even 
 the vision of Carlo Sparti, seen at the far end of a 
 long vista of such days as that just come to an end, 
 could hardly render endurable. There had been 
 no question of going' out to mass, as Giulia had 
 supposed might probably be the case. It seemed 
 that Signora Manforti was in the habit of doing 
 so only on Sundays and Church festivals. About 
 seven o'clock in the morning a little oval brazen
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 127 
 
 waiter, with two miniature tin coffee-pots, each 
 holding one very small cupful of coffee, two not 
 very brilliantly clean glasses, and two little portions 
 of sugar, was brought from a neighbouring cafe. 
 Not a drop of milk, not a morsel of bread, accom- 
 panied the two little cups. And this was what 
 Signora Manforti, like the generality of her class 
 in Florentine homes, considered to be the materials 
 of a breakfast. Griulia, in her country home, had 
 been accustomed to a good plate of soup, with 
 plenty of bread, a morsel of meat, and then some 
 good fruit afterward, for her breakfast, at an hour 
 somewhat later than the miserable cup of black 
 coffee had made its appearance. And she flattered 
 herself that the coffee was an extra city luxury, 
 and that the breakfast would come in its due 
 season. But she was soon disabused of all imao-i- 
 
 o 
 
 nations of that kind. When the two little cups 
 of coffee had been swallowed, the Signora Manforti 
 invited her niece to go through the litanies to the 
 Virgin. They knelt down at a faldstool, which 
 the lady of the house dragged out from its place 
 against the wall, and placed in front of the little 
 picture with its lamp, which has been described, 
 and there went through the performance. The 
 Signora Manforti ^led off in a nasal sing-song, 
 which Giulia was expected audibly to accompany. 
 After a good hour had been passed in this exercise 
 of the lungs, Signora Manforti explained to her
 
 128 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 niece that it was her custom after the recitation of 
 the litanies to give an hour to contemplation. And 
 Giulia heard the decree with delight ; for she con- 
 ceived that it promised her the infinite relief of 
 getting away for a brief space, if only to such 
 peace as was to be found in the dull little closet 
 which was her sleeping- chamber. But she soon 
 found that she was mistaken in this respect. It 
 appeared that she was expected to contemplate 
 in her aunt's company. So both the women sat 
 down with their hands before them, in the deadly 
 silent and desperately gloomy little room. And 
 the Signora Manforti shut her eyes. Anybody 
 acquainted with the play of the facial muscles 
 would have known that she was not asleep. There 
 was a tight, vicious-looking screwing of the eye- 
 lids together that was not the appearance of sleep. 
 But poor Giulia was deceived. She felt very much 
 inclined to go to sleep herself, and she supposed 
 that her aunt had done so. The sitting there in 
 absolute immobility and rest, which was not repose, 
 became intolerable to her. And, cautiously glancing* 
 at her aunt, she rose from her chair, and was creep- 
 ing on tiptoe toward the window. To look out at 
 the life in the Mercato Nuovo would at least be 
 better than the " contemplation " to which she 
 had been condemned. But suddenly her aunt 
 opened her eyes to their widest extent, and in a 
 deep tone said, " Giulia ! what are you about ?
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 129 
 
 You. are disturbing my thoughts and your own ! 
 Return, I beg of you, to your devout contemplation 
 immediately ! And do not forget to mention your 
 distraction in your next confession. The penance 
 will not be a light one ! " 
 
 Giulia crept back to her chair, and recommenced 
 her "contemplation." It probably was occupied 
 by Carlo Sparti, and the probable nature of the 
 penance she had incurred, turn about. 
 
 Then after the "contemplation" came a yet 
 severer ordeal — the visit of the Reverend Egidio 
 Baldini, the confessor and " director " of the 
 Signora Manforti. Giulia was, of course, pre- 
 sented to the reverend gentleman in due form, 
 and was surprised — which a little reflection ought 
 to have prevented her from being — at finding 
 how thoroughly informed the priest was about 
 her and all that concerned her : the " holy vo- 
 cation to which she was destined/'' and the 
 obstacles which had unhappily tended to make 
 that high calling appear for the moment less 
 acceptable to her than it doubtless would seem in 
 her eyes when the divine grace should have duly 
 opened them. More strangely still, the Reverend 
 Egidio Baldini knew all about Carlo Sparti — so far, 
 at least, as concerned his arrest and the cause of it. 
 He seemed to know, moreover — speaking of it as a 
 matter generally talked of in Florence — that the 
 Government had a very strong case against him; 
 
 VOL. I. k
 
 130 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 that liis conduct was deemed to have been peculiarly 
 flagitious; and that doubtless he was a disgraced 
 and utterly ruined man. Then came the making 
 of an appointment for a day and hour when Giulia 
 should perform the sacred duty of confession ; and 
 an intimation on the part of the priest that he 
 should consider it a part of his duty to confer with 
 her for an hour daily on the state of her niind, and 
 her religious duties and prospects generally. 
 
 The Reverend Egidio Baldini was a soft, douce- 
 mannered, roundabout little man, anything but 
 terrible or even harsh in his appearance. Never- 
 theless, before he went away, he had, somehow, 
 inspired Giulia with both fear and strong dislike. 
 Painful as it had been to hear all that the man had 
 said, and the more that he had insinuated about 
 Carlo, Giulia had bravely kept her own counsel, 
 striving hard that no indication of emotion of 
 any sort — no expression of face whatever — should 
 betray to the skilled and vigilant eyes that were 
 watching her anything of satisfaction or dissatis- 
 faction, or of the fears, and yet less of the jealously 
 guarded hopes, which were treasured in her heart. 
 
 It was very evident, however, that the " dis- 
 cipline " in store for her under her aunt's roof 
 would be no light infliction, and she fervently 
 prayed that the days of it might be shortened — a 
 prayer the fervency of which was doubtless not 
 diminished by the fact that the expected end of
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 131 
 
 lier probation was to come in the shape of the 
 appearance of Carlo Sparti as her deliverer. 
 
 And thus the sad days in that saddest of all 
 homes wore on; and if it were really true that 
 mirth is sinful, and that our little Giulia's laughter- 
 loving face had dimpled with smiles too habitually 
 during all the years of her previous life in the free 
 air of the sunny Casentino, the utterly gloomy and 
 joyless days of her sojourn in her aunt's house may 
 be considered to have made atonement for all such 
 gladsomeness. According to the code of those 
 whose happiness depends almost wholly upon the 
 due satisfaction of them material wants, who know 
 nothing of depression or elevation of animal spirits, 
 and are in no degree dependent for their daily 
 happiness on the faces and tones of those around 
 them, the Signora Manforti was kind to her niece. 
 She always had a sufficiency of good food — except, 
 indeed, on Wednesdays and Fridays — no sort of 
 toil was imposed upon her — she would have been 
 happier if she had had any reasonable work to do 
 — no rough word was ever said to her, only a con- 
 tinual stone-wearing drop, drop, drop of a peren- 
 nial trickling preaching. But the worst and most 
 dreaded hours of the day were those of her inter- 
 views with the Eeverend Egidio Baldini — and these 
 were well-nigh intolerable. In short, the life was 
 such that Giulia very soon learned to consider the 
 brief space which she was permitted to pass within
 
 132 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 the four walls of her gloomy little chamber as by 
 far the happiest of her life. 
 
 As for the roses in her cheeks, they were soon 
 things of the past. The light in those bright eyes, 
 that Carlo had so often told her would suffice to 
 ripen the vintage if the sun should chance to go 
 out, held out somewhat longer; but that, too, was 
 beginning to fade. The quick, elastic step had, 
 to the great satisfaction and gravely expressed 
 approval of the Signora Manforti, been quelled 
 and tamed to the slow, dead-alive movement that 
 seemed alone proper to that sepulchre of a house. 
 And the curve of the lovely rounded cheek was 
 beginning to be concave instead of convex. 
 
 Hasten your movements, worthy fattore, for 
 things are going harder with your little Casentino 
 wild-flower than you think for ! Strive, good 
 Carlo — strive the best you may to free yourself 
 from your bonds, or it may be that you will come 
 too late to claim the prize that is waiting for 
 you! 
 
 The fattore, to do him justice, was by no means 
 disposed to let the grass grow under his feet in 
 following up the clue which the chance meeting 
 with the charcoal-burner had put into his hand. 
 It had been his intention, immediately on arriving 
 at Stia, on the morning after his meeting with the 
 charcoal-burner, to leave his little gig and the pony 
 there, and make his way up the Valtorta to Sant*
 
 A STOBY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 133 
 
 Agnese on foot. But, unfortunately, on reaching 
 Stia, he was met there by a man on the look-out 
 for him, with the intelligence that the owner of the 
 principal property managed by him had arrived at 
 his villa from Florence, and was anxious to see his 
 fattore as soon as possible. And Signor Domenico 
 was thus obliged to defer his proposed visit to the 
 priory of Santf Agnese to another day. But the 
 stay of the " Padrone " in the Casentino prolonged 
 itself for some weeks, and it thus came to pass that 
 this "other day" was not reached so soon as the 
 fattore had hoped. 
 
 And in the meantime a diversion (using the 
 word in only one of its senses, and not at all in 
 the other) occurred, which, although it brought 
 some little change into the life of little Giulia, 
 could hardly be said to have in any degree im- 
 proved it. 
 
 The matter fell out in this wise. 
 
 No sooner had Giulia disappeared from the home 
 of the fattore at Marrolo, and from the Casentino, 
 than certain noticeable changes in the behaviour of 
 Signor Simone Bossi led to an interview, in the 
 first place, between the Signora Olivia and her 
 spiritual director, the Priore ; and, in the second 
 place, between the latter personage and Signor 
 Bossi. In fact, the Signora Olivia thought it ex- 
 pedient to make the Priore aware that her proposed 
 son-in-law was manifesting a remarkable falling-off
 
 134. DIAMOXD CUT JDIAMOXD. 
 
 in liis assiduity at the farm, and that when he did 
 come there his manner seemed changed — especially 
 toward her daughter Olivia — and that — hum ! — 
 she, the Signora Olivia, did not know what to make 
 of it, and did not like the look of it. 
 
 The Priore, while commending her for speaking 
 to him upon the subject, had rather pooh-poohed 
 her misgivings, telling her that all would come 
 right, &c. But he had nevertheless thought it 
 well to have a conversation himself with his friend, 
 Signor Bossi, upon the subject. 
 
 And this conversation soon showed the expe- 
 rienced Priore that the difficulties ahead, in carrying 
 out their combined plans, were likely to prove 
 greater, rather than less, than his fellow-plotter, 
 the Signora Olivia, had feared. In a word, it 
 became evident that Signor Bossi, while obediently 
 frequenting the fattore's house for the purpose of 
 paying his addresses to the Signorina Olivia, had 
 fallen desperately in love with the Signorina 
 Giulia ! 
 
 Here was a subject for preaching and rebuking. 
 What ! when he, the Priore, had used all his 
 influence to obtain for him the hand of a young 
 lady every way so desirable as Olivia Eappi ! 
 What ! to turn the opportunities afforded him for 
 approaching one daughter into a means of making 
 love to another ! What ! to neglect and put a 
 gross affront on one who was everything that her
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 135 
 
 spiritual directors could wish, for the sake of a 
 girl of a thoroughly reprobate nature, a union with 
 whom would be highly disapproved of by the 
 Church in every respect. 
 
 But the Priore forbore, and said none of these 
 things. Those who are acquainted with the rela- 
 tionship between the clergy of the Eoman Catholic 
 Church and their flocks know perfectly well that, 
 even in the case of their most devout members, 
 the clergy use whip and rein after a very different 
 fashion in dealing with the two sexes. More espe- 
 cially is this the case as regards the young of 
 either sex. And Don Ignazio Verini, the Priore of 
 Marrolo, was not a man to make any mistake in 
 this matter. Sio*nor Sinione Bossi was a strong 
 partisan; a hater of the new-fangled notions and 
 of the liberal cause ; a friend to the priests ; a 
 great professor of religion ; and one who, some 
 fifty years hence, might be expected to have neither 
 a will of his own nor scarcely a shilling of which 
 the Church would not be the master. But, notwith- 
 standing all this, the Priore knew that it would be 
 useless to hope to bend or break the will of the 
 young man of five-and-twenty, as he might hope 
 to bend or break that of a girl — as he did fully 
 purpose to bend or break that of poor Giulia Eappi. 
 And, like a skilful general, without altogether 
 abandoning his original plan, he forthwith turned 
 his mind to the possibilities of doing the best that
 
 136 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 could be done with the materials before him. And 
 within five minutes of the moment in which it had 
 become apparent to his mind that Simone did want 
 to marry Giulia, and did not want to marry Olivia, 
 he had conceived a project of marrying him to the 
 fattore's youngest daughter, and perhaps obtaining 
 thus a greater eventual power over the income that 
 would be Signor Bossies from the discordance in 
 views and dispositions between husband and wife 
 than could have been enjoyed in consequence of his 
 marriage with Olivia. In that case, Olivia must go 
 into a nunnery ; and perhaps it would, after all, be 
 easier to accomplish that, religious-minded and 
 submissive as Olivia was, than to force Giulia into 
 a cloister against her will. So when Signor Bossi 
 confessed that it was his intention to proceed to 
 Florence, with a view to prosecuting his suit for 
 the Signorina GiuhVs hand, the Priore offered him 
 a letter to the Signora Manforti, and wrote a 
 despatch, "long and particular," as the attorneys 
 say, to the Reverend Egidio Baldini, explaining to 
 him the state of the case, and prescribing to him a 
 line of conduct in accordance with the necessities 
 of it. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that, when four or five 
 days of the life in the house in the Mercato Nuovo 
 which has been described had pretty well reduced 
 Giulia to a semi-comatose state of hopelessness and 
 misery and torpidity, there came that "diversion"
 
 A STOEY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 137 
 
 in her life which was occasioned by the appearance 
 of Signor Shnone Bossi in the Signora Manfortr's 
 house, and by the frequent opportunities which 
 were allowed him of seeing her.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The " diversion " which had thus come into the 
 life of the drooping and pining Giulia was not a 
 very diverting one. The persevering love-making 
 of one man, when a maiden's heart and troth are 
 plighted to another, are not apt to be found 
 amusing. But in GiuhVs case the matter was 
 worse than merely this ; and no little firmness and 
 resolution were needed to hold the course she had 
 marked out for herself without swerving. For the 
 foremost and constantly urged argument by which 
 Bossi sought to push his suit was the positively 
 asserted intelligence that Carlo Sparti had been 
 condemned to imprisonment in the fortress of 
 Volterra for fifteen years. And this news was 
 fully confirmed by the Reverend Egidio Baldini. 
 Thus assured of a fact which she had been pre- 
 viously told as likely enough to happen, and 
 hearing nothing from her father or from Carlo, it 
 never occurred to little Giulia to doubt the truth 
 of the statement. From her father she heard
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 139 
 
 nothing, for the reason that the reader is aware 
 of. The fattore was hoping from day to day that 
 the return of his employer to Florence would leave 
 him at liberty to pay his contemplated visit to 
 Santf Agnese, and return to his daughter in 
 triumph with the means of setting her lover at 
 liberty in his hand. From Carlo, of course, she 
 could hear nothing, because, in the first place, he 
 was, as we know, in durance vile; and, in the 
 second place, because, even if he had been at 
 liberty, it would have been no easy matter for him 
 to find any means of communicating with her in the 
 house of the Signora Manforti. 
 
 Then began, also, a series of attacks from her 
 aunt. If, indeed, it were the case — which it 
 seemed very difficult to the Signora Manforti to 
 believe — that Griulia was averse to the holy con- 
 dition of life for which she had been intended, 
 here was an alternative offered to her by the 
 indulgence of her family, and the thoughtful con- 
 sideration of her spiritual superiors, in the shape 
 of a marriage which any girl in her position might 
 well jump at. A more unexceptionable, a more 
 charming young man in every respect than Signor 
 Simone Bossi, the Signora Manforti had never seen. 
 A landed proprietor, too ! And a thoroughly pious 
 young man into the bargain ! What could any 
 girl wish more ? For her own part, the Signora 
 Manforti was disposed to consider that, seeing what
 
 140 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 the world was,, the life of a cloister was the happiest 
 that could fall to a female's lot. But here was a 
 choice for her uiece between the two alternatives 
 — Signor Simone Bossi, or the veil. Evidently 
 any third possibility was absolutely out of the 
 question. And then came the priest, with more 
 cleverly and insidiously urged arguments tending 
 to the same end. Signor Manforti, too, in the 
 long evenings when he came home from the cereria, 
 added his contribution to the combined attack 
 upon poor Giulia. The wax-chandler, for his 
 part, was quite incredulous as to the possibility 
 of any girl choosing to go into a nunnery rather 
 than accept such a position as Signor Bossies wife. 
 Why, of course, she would take him ! As for 
 that other, of whom he had heard something, 
 they would none of them set eyes on him for the 
 next fifteen years at least — and a good job, too; 
 for, by all accounts, he was as worthless a young 
 scamp as there was in Tuscany. 
 
 Yes, it was a hard time for poor Giulia; and 
 terribly changed she was both in mind and looks 
 from what she had been in the free old Casentiuo 
 days. That her eyes would never again rest on 
 Carlo Sparti, for the next fifteen years at least — 
 quite as good, or rather as bad, as an eternity to 
 poor little G-iuhVs eighteen -year- old mind — she 
 entirely believed; and the belief was breaking 
 her heart. But if all the others who had access
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 141 
 
 to lier — uncle, aunt, and confessor — were working 
 hard to drive her into the acceptance of Signor 
 Bossies hand, that gentleman himself was doing 
 his utmost to keep the memory of Sparti fresh in 
 her heart by his own frequent presence. He would 
 have acted more wisely to keep himself in the 
 background. But he was active in his wooing. 
 And this did much toward convincing Giulia that 
 a convent was the preferable lot of the two. 
 
 In the meantime things were hastening to a 
 denouement in the Casentino in more highly un- 
 expected ways than one. 
 
 Soon after the Prioress conversation with Signor 
 Bossi had led that reverend gentleman to conceive 
 the change in his plans which has been described, 
 he judged it expedient to have an interview with 
 the Signorina Olivia Rappi. To be sure, the 
 Prioress plans only concerned her so far as was 
 implied in the circumstance that her professed 
 lover was to be married to her sister, and she was 
 to be sent into a nunnery instead of becoming a 
 wife. And to such a holy-minded and docile 
 daughter of the Church, as Olivia had always shown 
 herself, it was not to be anticipated that these little 
 changes — all for the glory of God and the good 
 cause — would be at all disagreeable ; still less that 
 she would dream of making any opposition to them. 
 Nevertheless, the Priore thought it well, in the 
 plenitude of his indulgent consideration, to let that
 
 142 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 model young lady, the favourite lamb of all his 
 flock, know the changes in her destiny which 
 awaited her. 
 
 The Signorina Olivia had not been pleased at the 
 absence of Signor Bossi at Florence. It had not 
 unfrequently happened that certain hesitating and 
 furtive demonstrations on his part of a tendency 
 to pay more attention to Giulia than Olivia deemed 
 to be altogether proper under the circumstances, 
 had called a darkling shade over the holy calm of 
 that saintly brow and Madonna-like face, and had 
 been the occasion of subsequent sharp words and 
 sisterly taunts and insinuations, which, in truth, 
 Giulia had been far from deserving. But no feeling 
 of jealousy of this kind had been awakened in her 
 mind by Bosses absence from home, though she 
 resented it; for she felt very certain that there 
 would be no question or possibility of his seeing 
 Giulia in the house of the Signora Manforti. 
 
 When, therefore, in obedience to the Prioress 
 request that she would call upon him — always an 
 honour and a pleasure to so thoroughly right- 
 thinking and well-disposed a girl as Olivia — she 
 walked up the hill to the terrace on which the 
 church and the Prioress house stood, one fine after- 
 noon, through the vineyards, from which the grapes 
 had now all been gathered in, her handsome dark 
 brow wore its accustomed placid calm, and the 
 lines about the beautiful mouth and eyes expressed
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 143 
 
 a pleasurable anticipation of her interview with the 
 fascinating Priore, who, she doubted not, had some- 
 thing pleasant to communicate to her respecting 
 Signor Shnone, and the approaching arrangements 
 for her betrothal to him. 
 
 How little did the Madonna-like Olivia dream, 
 when old Assunta smilingly met her at the Prioress 
 door, and told her with a pleasantly understanding 
 look that his reverence was waiting for her in his 
 study, that from the end of one more short quarter 
 of an hour, never more would happiness or peace 
 or charity be present to her heart ! never more 
 would the saint-like beauty of her face be the reflex 
 of aught save the furies of jealousy, hatred, and 
 despair ! 
 
 The Priore was not long in saying what he had 
 to say. He met her smilingly, and with a manner 
 of the most cordially paternal affection and skilfully 
 expressed favouritism. A few excellently well- 
 turned words on the beauties of the character 
 which he had marked with ever-increasing pleasure 
 in Olivia from her cradle upward — on the happiness 
 and glory of living entirely to God, and for the 
 furtherance of the good cause and the welfare of His 
 Church — on that truly beautiful and celestial tran- 
 quillity of mind and heart, which had always marked 
 Ohvia as one of those choice and chosen natures, 
 whose whole being is set on things eternal, rather 
 than on the perishable miseries of this transitory
 
 144 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 world — formed his exordium. And then he quietly 
 and shortly told her of the slight change in his 
 views respecting her, which circumstances, and the 
 interests of the good cause, and the Church's 
 welfare, had led him to adopt. 
 
 After all, the members of a celibate priesthood — 
 be they good or be they bad, correct or licentious 
 in conduct, worldly or " other-worldly " — can never 
 know much of the sex with which they can have no 
 legitimate intercourse. Had Don Ignazio Verini 
 been aught but a priest, he would have been less 
 astonished than he was at the result which his com- 
 munication to the saintly Olivia produced. Those 
 whose knowledge of mankind, and especially of 
 womankind, is somewhat more extensive than was 
 that of the Priore, know well how exceedingly de- 
 ceptive are those indications of passionlessness which 
 depend on the outline and shape of the features, 
 and that calm of a mind which, like a deep, still 
 pool, is pellucidly quiescent only because no storm- 
 wind has ever as yet swept over it. Now the 
 storm-wind had come with terribly sudden force; 
 and Siddons — great artist as she was — or Eistori — 
 great tragedienne as she is — might have studied 
 the scene that followed with profit to their art. 
 
 It was appalling; and the Priore, little as he 
 was wont to be moved or influenced by the move- 
 ments of human hearts, was for the moment ap- 
 palled.
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 145 
 
 One has heard of a tigress bereft of her young, 
 or a miser robbed of his gold, as examples of 
 despair and fury. But in these eases the passion 
 which rages is not complex — is one and simple. 
 But the raging fury which shook Olivia, as the 
 storm shakes the aspens, was compounded of 
 sundry passions, some of which were wholly noxious 
 in their nature. Had she been told simply that 
 she was to give up her lover and take the veil, 
 no doubt she would have been violent in her 
 wrath. But the doom which was announced to 
 her was a much worse one. The man whom she 
 had been taught to look upon as her lover, almost 
 as her affianced husband, had been basely making 
 of her a mere blind and opportunity for wooing 
 her sister ! And this treason, this infamy, was 
 to be permitted, ratified, accepted ! It was to 
 succeed — to triumph ! What had her life been ? 
 and what had GiuhVs life been ? And now the 
 reward which was due to the virtue of the one 
 was to be given to the perversity of the other. 
 She was to be supplanted, disgraced ! — made 
 second to Giulia ! 
 
 But no ! It should never, never be ! She 
 would show them all that they had erred in ima- 
 gining that she was one who could be so treated. 
 It was wicked ! It was infamous ! It was the 
 vilest hypocrisy to pretend to say that such 
 atrocities were for the glory of God ! 
 
 VOL. I. l
 
 146 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 The Priore was astonished, dismayed; but not 
 for Ions:. He admitted to himself that he had 
 mistaken the nature of the effect such tidings as 
 those he had announced were likely to have on 
 the female mind. But he by no means admitted 
 the idea that it was beyond his power to dominate, 
 control, and bend this disturbed heart to his will. 
 Of course the paroxysm would pass. He ought 
 to have calculated better the nature of the action 
 of disappointment. For the nonce he set himself 
 to soothe the raging of the passionate girl's heart. 
 He assured her — and himself — that he was deaf 
 to all the injurious abuse she hurled at him ; and 
 finally dismissed her, taking the precaution to send 
 Assunta down the lull with her to her home; 
 and telling her that he should come and see 
 her there shortly, when he should, he doubted 
 not, find her in a better and calmer frame of 
 mind. 
 
 To himself he never for a moment admitted the 
 possibility of a doubt that he should eventually 
 succeed in arranging all these matters in the way 
 the exigencies of the case seemed to require; 
 though supposing that the doing so might perhaps 
 €Ost him somewhat more trouble than he had 
 imagined. 
 
 Had he marked and been able to read aright all 
 the meanings there were in the last glance which 
 those large dark eyes flashed at him from beneath
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 147 
 
 their thunder-laden brows, as she left his presence, 
 he might perhaps have judged differently. 
 
 Assunta could make nothing of it, as she won- 
 deringly executed her master's orders to accompany 
 the young lady to her home. She could not 
 succeed in getting one word from her during the 
 walk; and under these new and strange circum- 
 stances the old woman, instead of going in to have 
 a chat with her gossip, the Signora Rappi, judged 
 it more desirable to part company at the threshold. 
 
 Olivia turned stormfully to her own chamber. 
 To her mother's wondering question as to what was 
 amiss, she replied, as she shut and locked her door, 
 that her mother had better ask the Priore. And 
 then, absolutely and fiercely refusing to leave the 
 shelter of her room, she passed the remaining hours 
 of that miserable day in torment, such as might, 
 with more propriety than that with which the phrase 
 is often used, in speaking of human wretchedness, 
 be called the torments of the damned. 
 
 It was a bit of good fortune for the fattore that 
 he chanced not to be at home that afternoon. He 
 had at length been able to start on his proposed 
 •expedition to Sant' Agnese in the Valtorta. It was 
 possible, as he was aware, that the refrattario of 
 whom he was in search might have changed his 
 quarters. But it was not likely. For it could 
 hardly be that he could find another so good a 
 hiding-place. In the meantime Signor Rappi had
 
 148 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 said no word about the little enameled coffer 
 belonging to Marrolo church; but had kept it 
 carefully locked up in his strong box at home, 
 intending to bring forward his two heads of accusa- 
 tion against his spiritual pastors together, the more 
 to strengthen his attack. 
 
 It was much about the same hour that the un- 
 happy Olivia was setting forth on her walk up the 
 hill to visit the Priore, that her father was making 
 his way on foot up the Valtorta, and was approach- 
 ing the solitary little hermitage. Well as he knew 
 the country for miles around, the fattore had never 
 before been in the Valtorta, so out of the way was 
 the spot. There was no danger of missing the way, 
 however. The narrow little valley had but one 
 path, which hardly deserved to be called such, and 
 that led nowhither, save to the priory of Sant' 
 Agnese. It was about the hour of vespers as he 
 came to a turn in the valley, which he had no sooner 
 rounded than he heard the cracked jingling of a 
 little bell, and in the next minute could see it 
 swinging in a small, open, and half -ruined campa- 
 nile, above the desolate-looking and dilapidated 
 little buildings of the priory. In its best days the 
 building must have been a very humble one. It 
 consisted of a tiny little church, with an open loggia 
 of three arches at its west front, which imparted a 
 picturesque appearance to the fabric, and of a low 
 chamber built against the southern side of the
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. H9 
 
 church, by way of a common room or refectory, 
 with some half-dozen little bits of cells over it. 
 Behind the church — at the east end of it, that is to 
 say — was the most dreary and desolate-looking 
 « little cemetery that can be conceived ; and opening 
 into this, and niched under the eaves of the church, 
 were a confused mass of nondescript buildings, that 
 seemed to have a mixed character between stables, 
 poultry-sheds, and mortuary chambers. The whole 
 place seemed as if a walking-stick might have 
 sufficed to dislodge the stones one from above the 
 other. The mortar all appeared to have been eaten 
 •out from between them by long exposure to rain 
 and frost and wind, and in the place of it an abun- 
 dance of moss and lichens clothed the rickety old 
 wall with a more picturesque if less valuable substi- 
 tute. With the exception of a small quadrangle of 
 soil, enclosed by a low wall of loose stones gathered 
 from the adjacent hill-side, in which there were a 
 few miserable cabbages, there was no vestige of 
 cultivation about the place. 
 
 Nor was there a living soul to be seen. But the 
 little bell, pulled by an unseen hand, jingled on 
 its cracked summons to the evening office. The 
 western door of the church stood open, and the 
 fatture walked in. 
 
 And there, kneeling before a bench near the 
 door, was — the man he was in search of.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 With the exception of two cowled figures, also* 
 kneeling before a faldstool in front of the altar, 
 at the other end of the church, the refrattario was 
 the only living creature in the building. 
 
 In the dead silence which prevailed, the lusty 
 fattore's heavy tread on the flag-stone pavement 
 re-echoed through the little church, telling clearly 
 enough that the unusual sound came from no san- 
 dalled foot, and that the extraordinary circumstance- 
 of some stranger having found his way to Sant* 
 Agnese had occurred. The sound came as a cry of 
 warning to the guilty ears of the refrattario, and he 
 instantly started from his knees, and was making,, 
 quick as thought, for the eastern end of the church, 
 which doubtless communicated with some of the 
 hiding-places at the back of it. 
 
 But the fattore was not to be done in that 
 fashion. With an active spring forward, he suc- 
 ceeded in clutching the collar of the man he wanted,, 
 and Paolo Torre soon found that it was useless to-
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 151 
 
 attempt to struggle out of the grip that held him. 
 At the noise of the scuffle, the two monks at the 
 farther end of the church had risen from their 
 knees, and came forward to the spot where the 
 fattore and the deserter were standing. 
 
 " Signor/' said one of these men, " this is a 
 church ! Pray do not make it the scene of vio- 
 lence!" 
 
 "Certainly not, padre miaf" returned the fat- 
 tore; "but I came here to look for this man, who 
 is an offender against the law, and I cannot let him 
 go again. If he will come quietly out of the church 
 we can talk about it outside. I don't want to harm 
 him/' 
 
 The friar who had previously spoken said a word 
 or two in a low tone to the refrattario, and the 
 latter then suffered himself to be led quietly out of 
 the church into the little loggia in front of the 
 western door of it, followed by the two friars. 
 
 " Now/' said the fattore, when they were in the 
 full light of the afternoon sun, which was pouring 
 into the loggia a flood of light nearly blinding to 
 eyes just emerged from the dimness of the church 
 — " Now, Signor Paolo Torre ! I know you well 
 enough, you see ! You did not like to go for a 
 soldier, eh ? Well, I have nothing to say against 
 that — I should not like it myself. But then, you 
 know, there's the law. The law says you must go. 
 Says you, ' No, I won't ! ' Well, I have nothing to
 
 152 DIAMOND GUT DIAMOND. 
 
 say to that neither. It is not ray business to do 
 the work of the carabinieri for them. I am a 
 fattore, I am, as all the Casentino knows ; and not 
 a gendarme, nor a bit like one. But the trouble, 
 you see, is that you have got another man into a 
 scrape by bolting, and he one that never did you or 
 anybody else a bad turn, but many a good one, on 
 the contrary — and that's Carlo Sparti. ]STow, look 
 you, Carlo is a friend of mine, and the lawyers have 
 got him hard and fast in limbo at Florence, all 
 along of this job of yours — and that won't do 
 noways ! And that's why I have put myself out of 
 my way to look you up, my lad ! So, now, you 
 have got to come right off to Florence along with 
 me, and let 'em know that Carlo Sparti was noways 
 to blame for your giving the conscription the slip — 
 and that's all about it !" 
 
 The refrattario and the two monks looked at 
 each other in silence, while the fattore, with his eye 
 sharply watching every movement of his man, 
 awaited the result of his speech. 
 
 At last the deserter, with a sullen but half- 
 doubting manner, glancing up from under his 
 eyebrows, said : 
 
 " But, Signor Domenico — I know you well 
 enough, as well as every man, woman, and child in 
 the Casentino — you say well that you are not one of 
 the carabinieri, and I don't see that there's any of 
 'em anywhere hereabouts ; and I don't think I am
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 153 
 
 any way disposed to go to Florence — thanking you 
 all the same." 
 
 " Aha, my lad ! that's your game, is it ? Well, 
 now, look here, Paolo Torre, and let's see whether 
 it is a head or a pumpkin that you've got on your 
 shoulders. No, there are no earabinieri here no- 
 where about that I know of. There's nobody 
 but yourself, and these gentlemen, your friends, 
 and Domenico Eappi, the fattore of Marrolo. But, 
 all the same for that, I mean to take you with me 
 to Florence. Now, what's the good of talking ? 
 You'd fain have given me the slip in the church 
 just now, when I laid my hand on your collar — but 
 you didn't, you know, and I don't think you would 
 if you were to try it again. No, nor bolting won't 
 do ! " added the fattore, suddenly making a catch 
 at the deserter's collar, and firmly grasping it, as 
 his eye caught the signs of a purpose of that sort 
 moving in Paolo's mind. " And I don't think these 
 reverend gentlemen, sorry as they will be to lose 
 your company, will choose to meddle in such a job 
 as rescuing a deserter. So you had better come 
 along quietly. I have got my trap at the foot of 
 the valley, and we can be in Florence comfortably 
 by early to-morrow morning ; and I will give you 
 a better supper at the Consuma to-night than you 
 have had since you have been in your present 
 -quarters, I'll answer for it." 
 
 The deserter looked wistfully at the two monks.
 
 154 DIAMOND GUT DIAMOND. 
 
 But there was not the slightest sign of any inten- 
 tion on the part of his hosts to run any such risk 
 on their guest's behalf as the fattore had alluded 
 to. He glanced uneasily at the burly figure of the 
 fattore, looked round at the barren and desolate 
 hills, which shut in the dreary-looking little valley 
 and its lonely and dilapidated priory, and then 
 said : 
 
 " Well, Signor Domenico, since you wish it, and 
 since you are good enough to speak of some supper 
 — a thing these gentlemen here are too holy to care 
 about — I suppose I may as well go with you." 
 
 " Bravo ! We may as well be off at once, then. 
 We must just walk down to the foot of the valley - 
 You won't object to walking just a pace in front — 
 I couldn't be so uncivil as to go first, on no account. 
 And, look here ! just bear in mind that any good 
 citizen is justified in shooting down a deserter who 
 is escaping; and remember that I have one of 
 those playthings in my pocket " (showing him, as. 
 he spoke the words, the muzzle of a revolver in his 
 coat pocket), "and we shall have as pleasant a 
 journey as can be. Grood evening, Padri miei!" 
 he added to the monks, as he turned his face down 
 the valley, with his prize a step in front of him. 
 
 The fattore was as good as his word at the inn 
 on the top of the hill which divides the Casentino 
 from the Val d'Arno, called the Consuma ; and the 
 journey to Florence was a pleasant one, at least to
 
 A STOBY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 155 
 
 one of the travellers. But it is needless to give 
 any detailed account of it, or of the matter- 
 of-course steps which Signor Domenico took on 
 arriving in Florence with his capture. Suffice it 
 that, as a matter of course, he had no difficulty in 
 setting poor Carlo at liberty. It was not accom- 
 plished that day; for Italian officials will not be 
 hurried, even though a much more important 
 matter than the liberty of a Casentino contadino 
 had been at stake. But on the next day but one 
 Carlo stood with his good friend and hoped-for 
 father-in-law a free man on the flag-stones of 
 Florence. 
 
 Carlo was for going off instantly to the house 
 where his Giulia was immured under such cruel 
 circumstances, and it was with no little difficulty 
 that the fattore was able to keep him from doing 
 so. But such a course of action would have upset 
 all Signor Donienico's purposes and calculations. 
 He knew very well that Carlo Sparti' s appearance 
 at his sister's house would have been told to Signora 
 Olivia, in the Casentino, as quickly as the post 
 could carry the news — and that would have by no 
 means suited his plans. Nor did he wish Carlo to 
 show himself at Marrolo just yet. His purpose 
 was to return himself immediately, and to leave 
 Carlo in Florence, under the express promise that 
 he would not make any attempt to see Giulia for 
 the next three or four days. At the end of that
 
 156 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 time, Signor Domenico held out the nope to him 
 that he might claim his Griulia before the eyes of 
 all the world, and take her back with him to the 
 Casentino as his own. 
 
 For the fattore had now all his arms ready for 
 such a meeting with his spiritual pastors and 
 masters at Marrolo as he fully calculated would 
 give him the victory, and serve to close Signora 
 Olivia's mouth for at least some little space. 
 
 Carlo, of course, had to yield, and to give the 
 promise required of him ; and the fattore's good 
 little Casentino nag, who at least had profited by 
 the law's delay, if nobody else had, was, after his 
 three days' rest, once more put to the light Tuscan 
 bagherino, and Signor Domenico Eappi rattled away 
 towards his home in the Casentino. 
 
 He did not, however, drive directly to his own 
 homestead, but, to the considerable astonishment 
 of his steed, turned him into the yard of a farmer 
 of his acquaintance, which was situated some half- 
 mile or so on the Florence side of his own home ; 
 and there requested that his horse might be put 
 into the stable for an hour or so, as he had an 
 errand to do before going home. 
 
 For it was an important part of the fattore' s 
 plan to have his intended interview with the Priore 
 before facing the much more dreaded one with his 
 liege lady at home. 
 
 Carefully taking, therefore, from the cassetta
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 157 
 
 beneath, the seat of the " barrocino " a small 
 parcel enveloped in a silk handkerchief, which 
 contained the recovered enameled coffer, Signor 
 Domenico turned his face toward the hill, and 
 proceeded to climb to the terrace on which the 
 church of Marrolo and the house of the Priore were 
 situated. Arrived at the latter, he asked if he 
 could speak for a few minutes with the Priore; and 
 old Assunta, not a little surprised — for though a 
 visit from the fatt ore's wife was a very ordinary 
 occurrence in her experience, one from the fattore 
 himself was an almost unprecedented phenomenon 
 — went into her master's sanctum with her message,. 
 and came back immediately, bidding the visitor to 
 walk in.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Signoe Domenico was a little startled, but not at 
 all displeased at finding Don Neri Varnpa, the 
 vicar, in the Prioress study. Had the visitor been 
 the Signora Olivia Rappi, doubtless the vicar would 
 have been dismissed on her entrance into his 
 superior's parlour. But in the case of the stout 
 fattore it was otherwise. The magnificent Don 
 Ignazio, ever stately and courteous, and perhaps a 
 little more stately than usual, bowed to his visitor 
 with grave politeness, and, motioning him to a 
 chair, remained standing himself with his back to 
 the fireplace, while he awaited the fattore's declara- 
 tion of the object of his unusual visit. Don Neri 
 remained standing awkwardly and sheepishly near 
 the door. 
 
 What a contrast there was between the two 
 ecclesiastics ! It was difficult to imagine that they 
 were both individuals of the same profession, and 
 that a profession which above all others presupposes 
 the intrinsic and essential equality of its members.
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 159 
 
 The Priore has been already described. On the pre- 
 sent occasion, as lie stood somewhat haughtily drawn 
 up to his full height, with the fingers of his left 
 hand thrust into the opening between the buttons 
 on the breast of his glossy and spotless cassock, 
 his handsome head thrown a little back, and one 
 shapely foot and leg, clad the one in its neat thin 
 shoe with silver buckle, and the other in its accu- 
 rately fitting black silk stocking, a little advanced, 
 he lost none of the advantages of his specially com- 
 manding figure and dignified presence. He was 
 the very beau-ideal of the presentment of a high- 
 class Roman Catholic priest, of the type whose 
 thoughts, without ever ceasing to be wholly eccle- 
 siastic, are yet busied far more with the things of 
 this world than with those of a world to come. 
 
 Don Neri, the poor, underpaid vicar, whose 
 position in the hierarchy must be understood to be 
 closely analogous to that of curate in an Anglican 
 parish, presented as typical an embodiment of a 
 class of priests far more common in Tuscany, 
 especially in the rural districts of it, than that of 
 his superior. Of peasant birth, and very little 
 superior in learning to the peasantry among whom 
 he lived, and not at all in general culture or social 
 bearing, his outward man was as little removed 
 from the sordidness of an agricultural labourer as 
 was compatible with a certain measure of indis- 
 pensable compliance with the required costume of
 
 160 DIAMOND GUT DIAMOND. 
 
 his order. He wore a cassock instead of a fustian 
 jacket ; but it was soiled, dirty, torn, weather- 
 stained, and long* since threadbare. Frorn beneath 
 this came two thick-ankled legs, in rusty black 
 worsted stockings thrust into mud-soiled high-lows, 
 much the worse for wear, and looking as if they 
 had never known what it v/as to be cleaned since 
 the day they were made. The inch-width of clerical 
 linen collar around his neck, which ought to have 
 been white, and which on the neck of his superior 
 showed as spotless as snow, and as fine as a lady's 
 cambric handkerchief, had become of the colour of 
 mahogany from an indefinitely long period of unin- 
 terrupted service. The proper wide-leaved clerical 
 hat he had given up as a bad job altogether; and 
 held in his hand in the place of it an ordinary 
 chimney-pot hat — >or, rather, an extraordinary one, 
 so brown, so battered, so napless, so greasy was it. 
 It was very narrow in the brim and high in the 
 crown, of a form that might have been supposed to 
 have been purposely selected as that most adapted 
 to impart a thoroughly mean and hang- dog expres- 
 sion to the visage it surmounted. This he held in 
 his hand, as he stood humbly awaiting his superior's 
 permission either to go or to stay, and kept assi- 
 duously wiping it round and round with a snuff- 
 begrimed blue cotton handkerchief. 
 
 The Priore, it has been said, was and looked a 
 priest of the class whose interests and thoughts
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 161 
 
 centre in the things of this world. And some 
 people would be inclined to say that such was but 
 too likely to be the case with one so sleek, so 
 prosperous, so evidently clad in fine linen, and 
 faring sumptuously every day. But, at all events, 
 the absence of these snares did not avail to insure 
 spiritual-mindedness on the part of the poor vicar. 
 He was a wretched, hungry-looking creature of the 
 strongly-pronounced weasel-faced type ; as mean a 
 physiognomy as the human face divine was ever 
 degraded to. As he stood in an attitude which 
 suggested the idea of a lowly bow arrested when 
 half-way toward its completion, and there frozen 
 into permanence, his eyes professed to be turned 
 toward his magnificent superior ; but any one who 
 had watched them might have observed that they 
 ever and anon strayed with a furtive, suspicious, 
 uneasy glance from under their brows to the bluff 
 fattore. There was a shade of manner in the 
 bearing of Signor Domenico which a little per- 
 plexed and surprised both priests. It would give a 
 very mistaken idea of this nuance of manner if it 
 were described as aggressive or bullying*, or in any 
 degree approaching to insolence. But there was 
 a sort of expression of cool and comfortable con- 
 fidence about it that was by no means lost on 
 either of the members of that profession which 
 makes it so large a part of its business to spy 
 the movements of the heart beneath the outside 
 
 YOL. I. M
 
 162 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 appearances that are assumed for the purpose of 
 concealing them. It was strange that Signor 
 Rappi should seek voluntarily the presence of his 
 spiritual pastors ; stranger still that, being in the 
 presence of the Priore, he should manifest no desire 
 to get away with the expenditure of a few deferen- 
 tially courteous words, as unmeaning and as brief 
 as they could be made. What could have brought 
 the man there ? The Priore doubted not that it 
 was something connected with the arrest of young 
 Sparti; probably a petition that he, Don Ignazio, 
 would use his influence to procure his pardon and 
 release, which might possibly be accorded — when 
 the position of affairs in the fattore's family should 
 be such as no longer to make his detention ex- 
 pedient. As for Don Neri, it may well have been 
 that the vulpine astuteness which with him stood 
 in the place of conscience and of imagination 
 suggested the possibility of many disagreeable 
 causes that might have reference to the fatt ore's 
 visit. 
 
 The Priore was the first to speak. 
 
 " Good evening, Signor Doinenico." (This is 
 universally the salutation in the country as soon as 
 the hour of noon has passed.) "We have admirable 
 weather for the country. You have recently made 
 a visit to Florence, I think ? " 
 
 1 c Yes, your Reverence ; just returned. Indeed, 
 I have not been home yet ; for I had a little matter
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 163 
 
 of business to speak with your Reverence on, which 
 I thought might as well be settled before — well, 
 before seeing my wife — a good woman, Signor 
 Priore, an excellent woman ; but — you know." 
 
 "If all my parishioners were like the Signora 
 Olivia Rap pi, Marrolo would be a much better 
 place than it is, Signor Donienico," returned the 
 priest, with marked significance. " May I ask," he 
 added, with a slight degree of severity in his tone, 
 "whether you would prefer that our friend Don 
 Neri should withdraw while you speak with me ?" 
 
 "Not at all so, your Reverence. By no means. 
 My business will detain you for a very short time ; 
 it will be settled in no time — in the twinkling of an 
 eye. And, then, the fact is that what I have got 
 to say in some degree concerns Don Neri," replied 
 the fattore, in an unconstrained, cheery voice, that 
 brought a slight frown to the brow of the Priore. 
 
 He answered only by a stiff and haughty bend of 
 his head. 
 
 " I want your Reverence," pursued the fattore 
 bluntly, as he took the parcel, wrapped in its silk 
 handkerchief, that contained the precious coffer 
 from under his arm — " I want your Reverence to 
 be so good as to look at something that I have got 
 here." 
 
 " Humph ! a present to conciliate my good- will. 
 I wonder what the fool has brought me. He might 
 have known me better, I should have imagined,"
 
 164 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 thought the Priore to himself. But he said nothing* 
 in reply, only again bending his head gravely. 
 
 "Did your Reverence ever see that before?" 
 asked Signor Domenico, taking the coffer from its 
 covering, and holding it up before the priest's eyes. 
 " No — don't be in a hurry ! — Then you have seen it 
 before, any way/' he said, quickly stepping between 
 Don Neri and the door, toward which the vicar had 
 turned very hastily the moment his eye had caught 
 sight of the article that emerged from under the 
 fatt ore's handkerchief. 
 
 u What is the meaning of this ? " said the Priore, 
 now frowning heavily. " That coffer belongs to 
 the treasury of my church of Marrolo. Of course I 
 have seen it, though it is a good many years, I 
 think, since I have done so. Who has dared to 
 remove it from the church ? This is a very serious 
 matter, Signor Domenico Rappi. It will be well if 
 it does not turn out to be a question of sacrilege." 
 
 " Quite so ! just so ! your Reverence. This coffer 
 belongs and always has belonged to the parish 
 church and the parishioners of Marrolo," said the 
 fattore, giving a special emphasis to the latter 
 words, in reply to the somewhat marked intonation 
 with which the Priore had pronounced the " my " 
 in asserting that the coffer belonged to the church. 
 
 "And how comes it in your possession, pray?" 
 asked the Priore, throwing up his head angrily. 
 
 "That is just what I was going to tell your
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 165 
 
 Reverence. I found this coffer in the shop of a 
 dealer in such matters on the Ponte Vecchio at 
 Florence. I recognized it, and thought it my duty 
 to bring it back to Marrolo. No — don't go!" 
 added the fattore, again intercepting Don Neri, 
 who made a second and more determined attempt 
 to get to the door. 
 
 " I ask again/' said the Priore, looking this time 
 severely at the cowering figure of the unhappy 
 vicar, "what is the meaning of this ? And I ask it 
 now of you, Signor Vicar io. There must have been, 
 I am afraid, gross negligence on your part to have 
 rendered possible the abstraction of this coffer from 
 the treasury of the church." 
 
 " Oh, no, your Reverence — no negligence at all. 
 Don Neri knew very well what he was about when 
 he carried off this coffer and sold it to that old 
 rogue of a silversmith and money-lender on the 
 Ponte Vecchio," said the fattore drily. 
 
 " Heavens and earth, Signor Rappi ! Do you 
 know what you are saying ? What ! charge my 
 vicar with robbing the parish church ! Have you 
 reflected on the consequences of making such an 
 accusation without the most ample and undeniable 
 means of substantiating it V said the Priore, in his 
 most stately and magnificent manner. 
 
 " Xo, your Reverence. I have not thought of 
 that at all, because I Itacc the means of making 
 good what I have said. Bless your heart, there is
 
 166 DIAMOND CUT DIAJIOXD. 
 
 no mistake about it. Old Gino Sartori has con- 
 fessed the whole thing. The vicar here stole the 
 coffer out of the church, and sold it to Signor 
 Sartori. That's the long and the short of it." 
 
 But before the fattore had come to the end of 
 this speech, the miserable vicar, dropping his 
 wretched old hat on the floor, had sunk upon his 
 knees, and, bowing his head on his breast, held up 
 his clasped hands in mute supplication. 
 
 The Priore stood for a minute or two looking 
 from one to the other of the two men before him, 
 and apparently undecided what to do or say. Then 
 with a rapid, half-contemptuous, half-menacing 
 gesture of his hand, he bade the trembling culprit 
 rise from his knees and go into the next room, and 
 wait there till he should be called. 
 
 "You have acted wisely and with discretion, 
 Signor Rappi," continued he, as soon as the vicar 
 had slunk to the door, and had closed it behind him 
 —"wisely and with discretion, in coming directly to 
 me, before speaking of this very painful matter to 
 any other person. Marrolo owes to your zeal and 
 — and — patriotism the recovery of a valuable piece 
 of property, and I shall take care that your merits 
 are known and appreciated. I shall also take care 
 that the grievous faults into which the temptation 
 of a little money has led the man who has just left 
 us shall be duly punished and atoned for. But it 
 would not be for the advantage of the Church or of
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 167 
 
 our parish that there should be occasion for scandal. 
 Your wisdom in communicating the matter to me 
 before speaking of it to anybody in the village 
 shows me that you agree with me in this. It will 
 be well that nothing should be said about the 
 matter in the village — or elsewhere. The coffer 
 shall be replaced in the church, and shall be exhi- 
 bited on the altar next Sunday. That will be our 
 wisest plan, will it not ? " said the Priore, in a con- 
 descending and conciliatory manner. 
 
 " I dare say it will, your Reverence. I thought 
 perhaps that you might not like that the vicar 
 should be tried for robbery and sent to the galleys. 
 It would not look well for the Church, would it 
 now ? And that is why I came straight to you, 
 before speaking a word about it to anybody, so 
 that it might all be settled quiet and comfortable 
 between you and me, you see — if we could come to 
 understand each other." 
 
 " How understand each other ? It seems to me, 
 my good friend, that we have understood each 
 other very well. I tell you, Signor Domenico, that 
 I think you have acted with great wisdom and 
 discretion in the matter," said the Priore, looking 
 doubtfully at his companion. 
 
 " Thank you, Signor Priore," said Signor Do- 
 menico, with a bow ; " I don't think that we quite 
 understand each other yet. But Fm not afraid 
 that it will be difficult for us to do so. You see,
 
 168 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 we both want something. Y<m want, of course, 
 that this business should be kept quiet, and no 
 scandal made about it. Quite right, too. But I 
 want something else." And the fattore paused 
 and looked straight into the priest's face with a 
 steady but perfectly good-humoured expression. 
 
 A cloud gathered on the Priore's lofty brow, and 
 it was evident that it was not without an effort 
 of self-constraint that he replied, coldly, but still 
 civilly : 
 
 " Signor Domenico Rappi has no need to be told 
 that I am now, as at all times, more than ready to 
 do anything in my power for the welfare of his 
 family — or himself." 
 
 " Too much honour, Signor Priore ! I know it — 
 I know it ! But you see what I want is what I 
 think good for the welfare of my family, not what 
 anybody else thinks so. It might be different, 
 you know. Now, for instance, to make a long 
 story short, I want to give my girl Giulia to the 
 young fellow that loves her, and that she has set 
 her heart on — young Carlo Sparti. He is a good 
 and well-to-do young chap enough. And, bless 
 your heart, your Reverence, if you will excuse me 
 for mentioning it, it is no manner of use trying to 
 make a girl take a fancy to a young fellow because 
 he goes regular to confession and never misses 
 mass. If you'll believe me, that's not what will 
 make a girl fond of a chap — not a bit of it ; nor
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 169 
 
 all the preaching in the world won't do it. Now 
 there's Ginlia — she won't so mnch as look at 
 Simone Bossi. It is jnst sending him on a fool's 
 errand to bid him look after her. It is, indeed, 
 yonr Reverence." 
 
 And the worthy fattore paused and scratched his 
 head. 
 
 The brow of the Priore had been lowering more 
 and more heavily and threateningly as Signor 
 Bappi's address proceeded. Evidently the words 
 would have come fast and hot enough, if he had 
 chosen to give way to his emotions, but he did not 
 choose to do so. And he remained for some 
 seconds looking scowlingly at the fattore in silence. 
 At last he spoke, slowly and without any appearance 
 of temper. 
 
 " And what, my dear sir, would you wish me to 
 do in this matter ? If the young man and the 
 young woman are determined to set at naught the 
 wishes and advice of their natural advisers and 
 directors, what part or hand can I have in the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " Why, your Reverence, saving your presence, it 
 is as plain as a pikestaff. There's la Signora Rappi 
 at home there — a good woman, your Reverence, a 
 very good woman — but — whereas," continued the 
 fattore, proceeding with his argument as if the 
 thoughts that were in his own mind had been 
 uttered — " whereas if you were to say the word,
 
 170 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 you know, your Reverence, the thing would be all 
 right and straight in a minute." 
 
 "You wish me to tell your wife that, in my 
 opinion, she had better refuse her daughter to the 
 pious and dutiful son of the Church, whom I have 
 consistently recommended to her favourable con- 
 sideration, and give her to a young man whom I 
 have always advised her to shut her door to ? " said 
 the priest, looking hard at Signor Domenico. 
 
 "Yes, just that," replied the fattore, boldly, to 
 the no small surprise of the priest ; " that is it — 
 that is just what is wanted." 
 
 " And what reason, pray, would you suggest that 
 I should assign for such a change of opinion and 
 advice ? " rejoined the Priore, with something very 
 like a sneer in his voice. 
 
 " Reason ! " cried the fattore, with a genuineness 
 of surprise that was amusing in its naivete — 
 " Reason ! why, your Reverence would never think 
 of giving a woman any reasons — and your Reve- 
 rence the parish priest, too ! Surely, that is not 
 the way the gentlemen of your cloth talk to the 
 women ! Says you, ' I have changed my mind/ 
 and that's all about it. Does your Reverence think 
 that my wife would dream of asking the parish 
 priest for reasons, if he was to tell her black was 
 white, and white black again, a dozen times in an 
 hour ? Not she. You* say you choose to have it 
 that way, and it will be all right."
 
 A STOBY OF TUS&LN LIFE. 171 
 
 " And what if I decline to alter my opinion on 
 this subject ? " said the Priore, scarcely able to 
 prevent a smile from stealing over his face, the 
 result of a complacent consciousness of the truth of 
 what the worthy farmer was saying. 
 
 " But your Reverence won't decline. It would 
 be so disagreeable and such a scandal to the 
 Church, and give such a handle to them as are 
 only too glad when the clergy get into trouble, if 
 this matter of the Marrolo coffer were to be talked 
 about. A priest — Don Ignazio Verini's vicar — 
 sent to the galleys ! Just think of all the news- 
 papers would say ! Surely, your Reverence, we 
 had better just settle it quietly between you and 
 me," 
 
 Again the Priore was silent for a short time. 
 Yes, it was but too clear that the fattore had the 
 whip-hand of him. Assuredly it was not to be 
 thought of that the act of which this wretched 
 vicar had been guilty should be noised abroad from 
 the house-tops, and made into a theme for railing 
 at the Church and bringing discredit upon her 
 ministers. His vicar, too ! Not to be thought of 
 for a moment ! He was not hesitating. He knew 
 that he must accept the fattore's terms. But the 
 position was so new to him — it was something so 
 unprecedented for him to find himself face to face 
 with one of his own parishioners, receiving instead 
 of dictating conditions — that it needed a few
 
 172 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 minutes of struggle to enable him to accept it. 
 He gave a moment of rapid and masterly con- 
 sideration to the bearing of all the circumstances 
 of the case on each other, to see whether it might 
 be possible in any way to turn the tables on Signor 
 Domenico. But he could see no loop-hole of escape. 
 The matter was too clear and simple, and the proofs 
 too many and too easily appealed to. There was 
 nothing for it but to surrender at discretion.
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 " Perhaps, on the whole, it would be best for the 
 interests of the parish and of religion if — the 
 Signorina Griulia and this young Sparti were to 
 make a match of it/' said the Priore at last, with a 
 sort of gulp, which he could not quite succeed in 
 suppressing. 
 
 " No doubt of it, your Reverence," said the fat- 
 tore, with just the slightest gleam of a twinkle 
 in his eye. " Not a doubt of it. It will be best 
 for — all parties/* 
 
 " But the young man is at the present moment in 
 prison, is he not ? ,J asked the Priore. 
 
 "Not a bit of it, your Reverence. I caught the 
 deserter — Paolo Torre his name is. I delivered him 
 up in Florence safe enough. Carlo was soon shown 
 to be innocent of all complicity in Ins escape, and 
 was let out of prison yesterday." 
 
 " Humph ! you seem to have been pretty active, 
 Signor Domenico. And is the young man at 
 Marrolo now ? M
 
 174 DLDIOXD CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 " No, your Reverence, lie is at Florence, where 
 I left him. I would not let him come back to 
 ]\Iarrolo till I had seen how your Reverence would 
 see fit to settle all these matters." 
 
 iC That was very discreetly done, Signor Do- 
 menico. Your daughter Giulia is also in Florence, 
 I believe ? " 
 
 ff Yes, your Reverence; but I have forbidden 
 Carlo to see her till I knew what your Reverence 
 w^ould decide in the matter. I would not act in the 
 business without your Reverence, you know." 
 
 " Truly, you have shown your discretion at all 
 points, my good Domenico. And what do you 
 propose that the young' folks should do now ? " 
 
 " Well, your Reverence, you see — there are some 
 reasons that make me think it better, perhaps, that 
 the marriage should take place in Florence, and 
 then Sparti could bring his wife home to his own 
 house. You see there might be less trouble — from 
 jealousy, you know — or anything of that sort. I 
 thought that if your Reverence would say a word to 
 my wife, she might go back with me to Florence, 
 and then all return together when the marriage was 
 over. And then, when we were gone, perhaps your 
 Reverence might see well to say a word or two 
 to my daughter Olivia, to let her know — just all 
 about it." 
 
 "You think, then, of leaving for Florence with 
 •Signora Rappi, without informing the Signorina
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 175 
 
 Olivia of tlie purpose of your journey ? " asked the 
 Priore, looking from under liis eyebrows at the 
 fattore. 
 
 " Well, yes, I think so, your Reverence. Perhaps 
 it would — well — would come easier that way." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it would be 
 for the best/' said the Priore, thoughtfully, as he 
 remembered the glance he had seen in Olivia's eyes 
 when he had so coolly communicated to her his 
 change of plans as regarded her. 
 
 And so, after a few more words, it was settled 
 that Signor Rappi, on going home, should carry 
 with him a note from the priest, requesting the 
 Signora Rappi to step up to the rectory-house that 
 evening. 
 
 And then, the fattore having taken his leave, and 
 proceeded on his way down the hill to his own 
 house, there came a mauvais quart d'heure for the 
 unhappy vicar. 
 
 The Signora Rappi was a good deal surprised — 
 not at receiving a message from the Priore, request- 
 ing her to step up to his house for the purpose of 
 having a little conversation with her " spiritual 
 pastor and master " — but at receiving the missive 
 from the hands of her husband. The fattore, how- 
 ever, tossed the note to her, as he came in, saying 
 that " that had been brought for her from the 
 Priore," leaving her to imagine, if she chose, that 
 lie had taken it from the hand of some other
 
 176 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 messenger. Signor Domenico desired that some- 
 supper should be got for him, merely saying, in a 
 careless manner, that he should be obliged to return 
 to Florence on the following morning*, and that he 
 would tell his wife what he was going for at leisure, 
 when she returned from her visit to the Priore. In 
 reply to his inquiries for his elder daughter, he was 
 told that Olivia had been complaining of a bad 
 headache, and had gone to her own room. So,. 
 while his wife got ready for her visit, the servant 
 brought the fattore his supper, and he sat down to 
 it in solitude — and made none the worse meal on 
 that account. 
 
 Olivia' s plea of headache as a reason for shutting* 
 herself up in her own room was no mere excuse. 
 Her head, in truth, ached violently enough ; but 
 that was but one manifestation of the universal 
 fever of the blood produced by the terrible and 
 crushing heart-ache, which at one moment seemed 
 to benumb her into a half-comatose state of dead 
 despair, and in the next to wake into raging- 
 activity all the furies of jealousy, hatred, and burn- 
 ing desire for revenge. She was not lying down on 
 the bed, but sitting on the foot of it, staring, with 
 dry eyes and burning eyeballs, at the opposite 
 whitewashed wall. An ostentatiously large crucifix 
 was suspended at her back over the head of the 
 bed. But of all the mixed and jostling feelings 
 in her mind, not one prompted her to turn in that
 
 A STORY OF TV SO AN LIFE. 177 
 
 direction for comfort and consolation. And truly, 
 if any eye could have watched the unhappy 
 girl,, as she sat immovable, save that from time 
 to time she rocked herself backward and forward 
 on her seat, as if from bodily anguish, the observer 
 would have detected small trace, on the exquisitely 
 lovely features, of the Madonna-like calm and 
 sanctity of expression for which Olivia was cele- 
 brated. Her long hair of glossy black was falling 
 down on either side of the dead-white face, and 
 over her faultlessly-shaped shoulders; and her 
 hands — long, slender, and bloodless — were pressed 
 on either side of her throbbing temples, save when, 
 every now and then, as a fiercer gleam of uncon- 
 trolled fury flashed from her eyes, the arms would 
 be extended into the air, while the fingers worked 
 nervously, clasping and unclasping themselves in 
 a manner suggesting that the thoughts within, 
 which prompted their working, were such as to 
 make the blood run cold to think of. It is an 
 old remark, that those temperaments which are 
 the calmest and most impassible under ordinary 
 circumstances, are subject to the most irrepressible 
 and dangerous outbreaks of violence when a 
 tempest-wind of sufficient force to stir them does 
 arise. And Olivia exemplified the truth of the 
 observation in the most striking manner. 
 
 And that priest ! A clever man, an experienced 
 man, one whose bussines it was to know the hearts 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 of men, and more especially of women, and who 
 fancied he knew them so well. What did he really 
 know of the emotions which sway with most ter- 
 rible mastery the female heart ? What did he 
 dream of those depths of passion which he had 
 never fathomed, and which, like some deep, sleep- 
 ing pool, had lain still and quiescent under the 
 surface appearance of a placidly smooth oval face, 
 and the routine practice of devotional formalities ? 
 Less than any other man, who was not a priest, 
 would have known. Surely less, or he would never 
 have dreamed for an instant that even the Madonna - 
 faced Olivia could have tolerated the dispensations 
 to which he expected her to be docile, as if con- 
 fessions and fasts and litanies had really purged ail 
 human passion out of her. A blind leader of the 
 blind in truth ! 
 
 If the priest could have seen her as she sat there 
 in her great agony on the foot of her bed, with 
 her back turned to the crucifix, it may be doubted 
 whether he would have ventured on attempting to 
 play with her the game he had planned. 
 
 With her mother, la Signora Kappi, the case was 
 different. In the first place, mothers of fifty can 
 look more philosophically at such matters than 
 daughters of twenty ; and, in the second place, 
 the passions, hopes, and pride that were to be 
 crushed and abased, were not hers, but another's 
 — which makes resignation and reliance upon re-
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 179 
 
 ligion easier. Signora Rappi heard the priest's 
 behests with no little surprise, but with no attempt 
 at resistance or remonstrance. In her own heart 
 she had serious and very disagreeable misgivings 
 as to the effect this change in the dispensations of 
 Providence might produce on her elder daughter; 
 though she did not venture to manifest them. And 
 when the Priore intimated that perhaps it would be 
 for the best that she should accompany her husband 
 on his intended journey to Florence on the morrow, 
 without making any communication to her daughter 
 upon the subject on which he had been speaking 
 to her, it was with no little sense of relief that she 
 acquiesced in this arrangement, and with a very 
 sincere feeling of gratitude that she accepted the 
 Prioress offer to take upon himself the task of com- 
 municating to Olivia the decision which had been 
 come to with regard to the family affair during her 
 absence in Florence. (C It will be lonely and dull 
 enough for Olivia all by herself in the farm-house, 
 when they are all gone/' thought the Priore to 
 himself; "and it will be just the opportunity, 
 disgusted as she is, too, with the loss of her lover, 
 to direct her mind and reconcile it to a cloistered 
 life." 
 
 So all was settled quite smoothly. Signora 
 Rappi found her husband sitting on the bench 
 before the door, smoking his cigar after supper, 
 when she came back from the Priore' s house.
 
 180 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 " His Keverence tells me," slie said, ' c that lie 
 thinks it will be best for me to go with you to- 
 morrow to Florence, 'Menico. I hope it will all 
 turn out for the best. Who'd have thought that 
 Giulia would be married, after all, before her sister ? 
 I only hope, for my part, that Olivia won't take on 
 about it." 
 
 " You and the Priore and Olivia put your heads 
 together to make a match for her, and my little 
 Giulia and I have managed her affairs. I hope 
 Olivia's will turn out as well. I will go and see 
 that Nerone has got his supper (Nerone was the 
 little Casentino pony that drew the fattore' s bag- 
 herino), for we must be off by five o'clock in the 
 morning." 
 
 Not much passed between the fattore and his 
 wife on their journey. The Signora Olivia, to her 
 husband's considerable surprise and very great 
 comfort, did not seize the opportunity for lecturing 
 and preaching at her husband, as it was her usual 
 habit to put to profit those rare occasions when she 
 got within ear-shot of the fattore without the possi- 
 bility of his getting away from her. The fact was 
 that she did not see her way plainly before her. 
 She was mystified. It seemed as if there were an 
 intelligence of some sort between her husband and 
 the Priore, which was so unprecedented and ex- 
 traordinary a circumstance that it deranged the 
 bearing of all the points of the Signora Kappi's
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 181 
 
 compass, and made her feel as if she were not snre 
 that she should be sailing in the right direction by 
 bullying Signor Domenico as usual. 
 
 It is not necessary to follow the worthy couple 
 filling the bagherino so handsomely on their 
 journey, nor to recount all the lover's raptures 
 of Carlo, or the delight of Giulia at such a sudden 
 and brilliant sunrise after the black and miserable 
 night she had been passing in her aunt's house, or 
 the exceeding surprise and disappointment of the 
 latter lady when she learned the turn affairs had 
 taken. Of course it must be supposed that such a 
 man as Don Ignazio Verini must know best, and 
 must be right ; and her own confessor assured her 
 that she might depend upon it that such was the 
 case, and that the Priore had some sufficiently good 
 reason for changing his plans; but it was very 
 surprising, and had a disagreeable flavour about it 
 of the young lady, whom she had been coercing so 
 conscientiously, getting her own way at last. 
 
 Suffice it that all went " merry as a marriage- 
 bell ; " that the necessary preliminaries were very 
 speedily arranged ; and that on the fourth day from 
 the fatt ore's last departure from Marrolo the party 
 set out on their return thither — Signor Domenico 
 and his wife in one bagherino, and Carlo driving 
 his bride in another following it.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Don Igxazio knew that the fattore and his party- 
 might be expected to return to Marrolo on the 
 evening of the fourth day from that of his de- 
 parture for the capital. And he was very far from 
 unmindful of the task he had undertaken with 
 regard to the Signorina Olivia. But it was not 
 his plan to set about fulfilling his mission imme- 
 diately. It is not to be for a moment imagined 
 that he deferred the task because he was afraid, or 
 had any misgivings or even reluctance to execute it. 
 It is true that he had seen enough at his last inter- 
 view with the Signorina Olivia to have become 
 aware that there might be more difficulty than he 
 had at first imagined in bending her will to the fate 
 to which he destined her. But a practised horse- 
 breaker has no more idea of fearing the colt he has to 
 break, however the animal may kick and plunge at 
 first, or doubting of his own ultimate success, than 
 the Priore had of either dreading or thinking very 
 seriously of the business before him. But it was
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 183 
 
 not his purpose to set about it immediately, because 
 he considered that Olivia's life in the solitary farm- 
 house, alone with her auger aud disappointment, 
 would have an excellent effect in preparing her to 
 accept the destiny to which he proposed to urge 
 her. Utter weariness of the life on the outside is 
 often the most potent of the influences which dis- 
 pose " brides of Christ " to seek the tomb-like 
 repose of the inside of the cloister wall. 
 
 So Don Ignazio allowed the first and the second 
 day to pass by, before taking any step toward the 
 execution of his task. It was his purpose to go 
 down to the farm-house on the third day. But, as 
 fortune would have it, very early on the morning of 
 the third day, a man and horse arrived at the door 
 of the Priory with a message to the effect that the 
 " curato " of a village some eight or ten miles off 
 was supposed to be dying, and that the dying man 
 was most anxious to see the Prior e of Marrolo. It 
 was impossible to refuse to attend this summons ; 
 and the Priore, reflecting that fattore Rappi would 
 not get back to Marrolo till the evening of the 
 subsequent «day, and that he should have all the 
 morning: for the execution of the commission he 
 had charged himself with, thus put off going to see 
 Olivia till the fourth day. 
 
 He was detained at Repafratta, the name of the 
 village to which he had been called, the whole of 
 that day and far into the night, not being able to
 
 184 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 get back to Marrolo till near midnight. He was 
 up betimes the next morning, and proposed going 
 down to Signor Rappi's farm-house on his errand 
 as soon as he should have performed his morning 
 mass. 
 
 Now all this delay, intentional and unintentional, 
 was very unfortunate for Olivia Rappi. She had 
 been left, as it will be remembered, by the Priore, 
 in his last conversation with her, under the impres- 
 sion that Simone Bossi, who was, as she had been 
 led to believe, her lover, and had for months fre- 
 quented her father's house as such, was about to 
 marry her sister Giulia ; and nothing had been said 
 previous to the departure of her father and mother 
 for Florence to correct this impression. The mis- 
 take was a very terrible one for Olivia. It might 
 have been distasteful to her that Giulia' s marriage 
 with the man whose love-making to her sister she 
 had so often snubbed and thwarted should take 
 place, while her own marriage with her authorized 
 and recognized lover was still unsettled. But that 
 would have been as nothing compared with the 
 agony of fury and jealousy that was tearing her. 
 Her lover had been false to her — hideously, beyond 
 all possibility of forgiveness, false to her — for he 
 had been nourishing a passion for Giulia even while 
 he was pretending to be striving to win her love. 
 He had been making her a mere stalking-horse — 
 using the opportunities afforded him by the cruel
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 185 
 
 treachery lie was practising against her to make 
 love to her younger sister. (That this was not 
 altogether the case, the reader knows; but it 
 necessarily seemed so to the unfortunate Olivia.) 
 But not even this misery was all that was driving 
 her to despair. Not only her supposed lover, but 
 everybody else had been false to her — had con- 
 spired against her, and combined to make a dupe 
 and fool of her. That false, wicked priest, too ! 
 to whom she had for more years than she could 
 remember been taught to look up to as the very 
 representative of God upon earth. Religion ! — it 
 sickened her to think what a poor, cheated dupe 
 she had been made in the name of religion. It 
 was all a cheat and a lie ! Everything was a lie ! 
 There was no truth anywhere in the world ! Look 
 at the contrasted fates of her sister and herself ! 
 She had walked in the paths that had been pointed 
 out to her — Giulia had rebelled. Look at the 
 result ! She had been fooled to the top of her 
 bent — taught to believe that she was one of the 
 elect. Yes ; elected to bear all the misery, while 
 others were to gather the rewards. Religion ! 
 The very thought of the Priore, and his soft 
 words and his praises, sickened her. She hated 
 and loathed the whole thing. She hated the false, 
 false world, and the golden sunlight that smiled 
 down upon it all with a loathsome mockery. 
 
 During the three days in which the Priore had,
 
 186 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 partly by calculation and partly by accident, left 
 her to herself, Olivia could hardly be said to have 
 slept — hardly be said to have taken sustenance. 
 She had, during a few hours at a time, been in 
 a semi-unconscious state, but it was not restora- 
 tive, health-giving sleep. She had from time to 
 time, when the parched sensation in her throat 
 became intolerable, swallowed a little milk, but 
 that was all the nourishment she had taken. She 
 had hid herself away in her room, shutting out the 
 odious sunlight of the three brilliant days that had 
 passed, and feeling from hour to hour as if she 
 was approaching nearer and nearer to the faint line 
 which separates such misery as hers from absolute 
 raving madness. 
 
 The fourth day was of a different kind. The 
 wind had changed; a strong " greco," or south- 
 east wind, was blowing ; the whole sky was black 
 with heavy clouds, and threatened a deluge of rain. 
 The change was welcome to Olivia. The brilliant 
 sunshine had seemed to insult her misery. The 
 lowering sky appeared congenial to her condition of 
 mind. An irresistible feeling of restlessness seized 
 her, and she thought she would go out. 
 
 It was about the hour of the " Angelus " — noon- 
 day, that is to say — and the Priore had settled in 
 his mind to go down to the farm-house imme- 
 diately after the meal which it was his custom 
 to take at that hour. It was a favourable time
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 187 
 
 for Olivia to leave the house without being seen, 
 and without the consequent necessity of speaking 
 to anybody. The servant, who performed such 
 parts of the work of Signora Rappi\s house as she 
 did not attend to herself, was eating her own 
 dinner, and giving theirs to the men who worked 
 in the yard ; while such as did not live in the 
 house had, according to the invariable Tuscan 
 custom, retired into some stable or outhouse to 
 pass the two hours' cessation from work allotted at 
 mid- day in sleep or chat. Olivia was, therefore, 
 enabled to slip from the house unobserved ; and 
 turning, without any thought or knowledge whither 
 she was going, into the gateway of a field that 
 happened to stand open on the left hand of the 
 country lane into which the entrance to Signor 
 Domenico's farm-yard opened, she dreamily crossed 
 the field in the direction of the bottom of the 
 valley. There was no path through the field, and 
 nothing to make it appear probable that anyone 
 should pass that way. At the farther side of this 
 field was the Arno, a very small rivulet in this early 
 part of its course ; and along the bank of it, arti- 
 ficially raised into a causeway (for even here the 
 infant river can occasionally do mischief when 
 swollen by sudden and violent rains), there is a 
 path, which, in the direction up the stream, runs 
 along the river's bank for two or three miles, till it 
 is brought to a sudden ending by another little
 
 188 DIAMOND GUT DIAMOND. 
 
 stream, which, coming down from the hills on the 
 left hand, here falls into the Arno. Once npon a 
 time, Heaven knows how many years ago, there 
 was a bridge over this little stream, making it 
 possible to continue one's walk along the path by 
 the side of the Arno. But the little stream, puny 
 little trickle as it was in dry weather, like most 
 Tuscan streams, little or big, was capable of playing 
 all sorts of mischievous pranks at a very short 
 notice after a heavy rain-fall. And on some 
 occasion, more years ago than Olivia could re- 
 member, the wilful little stream had, in such a fit 
 of sudden rage, thrown down and carried away the 
 bridge. Elsewhere it would have been built up 
 again within the next week, but in Tuscany 
 nothing of the sort was thought of. It was left 
 to remain as the angry waters and the Madonna 
 (probably also angry) had left it ; and the peasants 
 quietly took to calling the spot " Conte Eotto " — 
 broken bridge — just as if that were, and always had 
 been, and always must be, the proper name of the 
 locality. 
 
 Along this path, which ended as has been de- 
 scribed, and thus in its truncated condition led 
 nowhither, Olivia sauntered on, utterly unconscious 
 of all external things — conscious only of her own 
 utter misery and despair. 
 
 Meanwhile the Priore was walking leisurely down 
 the hill after his good dinner, on his way to the
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 189 
 
 form-house, meditating as lie went on the best way 
 of setting* about the business in hand. He had not 
 yet, in the course of the three previous days, 
 thought much about it. There did not seem to 
 him difficulty enough in the matter to require much 
 preparation. On his way to the scene of action, he 
 tranquilly considered, as he walked, what would be 
 the best and readiest means of bringing his docile 
 and pious parishioner's mind into the condition he 
 wished it. Thus tranquilly pursuing his way, with 
 the deliberate and somewhat stately step of a dig- 
 nified ecclesiastic after dinner, the Priore reached 
 fattore Rappi's farm much about the time when, at 
 the end of the two hours' mid-day repose, the 
 labourers were returning to their work, and the 
 rustic world began to be alive again, after its 
 classic period of suspension of all active existence. 
 Arriving at the open door, he walked in, and, well 
 knowing the localities of the house, proceeded to 
 the kitchen, and there asked the servant to tell the 
 Signorina Olivia that he wished to speak with her. 
 The woman went on her errand, and quickly re- 
 turned, looking surprised, but not in the least 
 degree alarmed, with the answer that the Signorina 
 Olivia was not in her room; and she supposed 
 that she must have gone out for a walk, though it 
 seemed odd that, not having been out once during" 
 the last three fine days, she should have gone 
 out now, when, to all appearances, they were going
 
 190 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 to liave a storm shortly. It struck the Priore as 
 odd, too ; and some sort of feeling caused a cloud to 
 overshadow his brow as he heard the answer to his 
 request. Perhaps it was only that he was annoyed 
 at having to lose his time; for it was absolutely 
 necessary that he should speak with the girl before 
 the return of her parents, according to his promise, 
 and he could hardly go back up the hill again to 
 his house without seeing her, especially as it now 
 wanted only about three or four hours of the time 
 when the fattore and his companions might be 
 expected to arrive on their return. The servant 
 remarked that it was even then beginning to rain, 
 and doubtless, therefore, her young mistress would 
 return shortly to the house. Did she know, the 
 priest asked, in which direction she had gone ? 
 No ! she had not seen her — had not heard her speak 
 of any intention of going out. The Priore told her 
 to go and ask the men in the yard if they could tell 
 at all in which direction the Signorina had walked. 
 No ; they had none of them seen her, and had no 
 idea which way she had gone. 
 
 The Priore said that he would wait for her return, 
 and was shown into the fattore' s sitting-room for 
 that purpose. 
 
 The Priore waited for more than half an hour, 
 going from time to time to the window to look out 
 at the rain, which was now descending in torrents. 
 He became more and more surprised, as the minutes
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 191 
 
 went on, that the young lady did not return ; and 
 gradually a certain vague uneasiness began to steal 
 over hhn. At last, when the clock in the fattore's 
 parlour, at which the Priore had been glancing from 
 time to time, pointed to three, he went out into the 
 kitchen, and told the maid that it seemed to him 
 very strange that the Signorina had not long since 
 returned; and that, seeing that the storm of rain 
 continued as violent as ever, it seemed to him that 
 it would be well to send the men about the place to 
 look for her. A Tuscan is always ready to accept 
 any commission or job of any kind which has the 
 effect of taking him away from the regular work on 
 which he is employed; and the men undertook 
 readily enough to start off in search of their young 
 mistress. But the question was, which way to go. 
 There were three men disposable; and it was 
 settled, after losing half an hour in debating the 
 question, in true Italian fashion, that one of these 
 should go up the hill through the village toward 
 the church, while another followed the road leading 
 down the valley, and the third took that up the 
 valley, which is the way to Florence. If the 
 description of the locality at the beginning of this 
 chapter were sufficiently clear to enable the reader 
 to understand it, he will have perceived that 
 neither of these searchers could by any chance fall 
 in with Olivia. The last of the three, indeed, went 
 in the same direction in which she was wandering
 
 192 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 when last we saw her. But he was following the 
 road, while she was walking on the path by the side- 
 of the river, which was separated from the road by 
 the space of two or three fields. Besides, Olivia's 
 path, as we know, did not extend beyond two or 
 three miles, being brought to an abrupt termination 
 by the ruined bridge. Thus the man who had been 
 sent in that direction had soon passed the spot at 
 which her path had come to an end — and her walk 
 with it. For there, by the side of the little rivulet, 
 now rapidly becoming a dangerous torrent, she sat 
 down, regardless, and indeed unconscious, of the 
 rain, which was falling in torrents ; and there she 
 remained, gazing with a sort of stupefied fascination 
 at the raging and rising waters, observing them 
 with the outward eye, but with all the inner sense 
 wholly occupied by the more fiercely raging storm 
 within her own breast. 
 
 At last the man who had gone up the hill came 
 back. He had been all through the village. He 
 had inquired everywhere ; he could hear no tidings 
 of the missing young lady. In fact, the villagers 
 felt quite sure that she could not have passed up 
 the village street without having been seen by 
 some one, and that, in fact, she had not been 
 there. 
 
 It was now past four o'clock ; the other men had 
 not returned ; and the fattore might be expected 
 to be home in an hour or so. The Priore was
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 193 
 
 grievously perplexed. He could not prevent his 
 mind from recalling a too vivid picture of the 
 expression of Olivia's face, and of the look she gave 
 him when she left him, after he had made that fatal 
 communication to her. He was now seriously 
 alarmed. And when it wanted only ten minutes 
 to five, he decided on going out himself into the 
 storm to look for her, rather because the uneasiness 
 he felt made inaction and quiet waiting intolerable 
 to him, than because he had any idea that he could 
 do any better than those* who were already seeking 
 her. 
 
 The Prior e turned from the door of the house in 
 the direction that Olivia had taken. So did the 
 man who had been dispatched along the road in 
 that direction. But the latter, passing the open 
 gate of the field into which Olivia had strayed, had 
 thus missed all chance of finding her. The Priore, 
 on the other hand, not in consequence of any 
 reasoning upon the subject, and yet not quite by 
 chance, as it is called, turned into the gate, and 
 proceeded to cross the field towards the river, as 
 Olivia had done before him. Not wholly by chance, 
 though he, if he had asked himself the question, 
 would have said that it was so. But, in truth, there 
 was a half-recognized, vague dread in his mind, the 
 looming shadow of a possibility, which he would by 
 no means in words have admitted to be a possibility, 
 that led him to direct his steps toward the river. 
 yol. i. o
 
 194 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 In the meantime the fattore and his wife, in one 
 bagherino, and Carlo Sparti and his wife in another 
 following it, were journeying homeward in far too 
 happy and merry a frame of mind to care mnch for 
 the deluge of rain that was falling on them. They 
 had reached the inn at the Consuma before the 
 rain began, and had there dined merrily. It was 
 about an hour after they had started again that the 
 rain began; they were then not much more than 
 two hours from home ; there was nothing for it but 
 to push on at their best speed ; and it wanted a 
 good half-hour of six when the bagherini, amid 
 much laughter and rivalry between the fattore and 
 his son-in-law, came rattling down the last hill that 
 brought them to the bottom of the valley, within a 
 few miles of Marrolo. 
 
 They continued to dash along through the deluge 
 of rain as fast as the good ponies could lay leg to 
 ground, the two men shouting to their steeds and 
 to each other, and the women laughing and chat- 
 tering, till they were only about a couple of miles 
 from home. There in the centre of the road stood 
 one of the fattore' s men, wildly waving his arms 
 with the evident intention of stopping them. 
 What in the world could he be there for in that 
 storm of rain, and making frantic signs to them to 
 stop — there close to home, and in such weather ? 
 
 The two drivers pulled up their ponies — the 
 older man not without a certain feeling of alarm,
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 195 
 
 the younger surprised only, for his Giulia was there 
 beside him, and it did not seem to him to matter 
 much what could happen in all the rest of the 
 World. 
 
 " Pietro ! cite (Liavolo! What on earth is the 
 matter ? Why don't you speak, man ? " cried the 
 fattore. 
 
 " Oh, Signor Padrone ! here's the Priore — he 
 wants to speak to you before you go any farther," 
 said the man. 
 
 " The Priore ! — here ! — in this weather ? What 
 in the world do you mean ? Are you dreaming, or 
 drunk ? Where is the Priore ? " said the farmer, 
 with growing misgiving. 
 
 " Close by, Signor Padrone, at the gate leading 
 into the field of Cecco Passini. Perhaps it would 
 be better if you would get down from the bag- 
 herino, and just come and speak to him before 
 you go any farther," said the man, looking hard 
 into the fattore's face, as if to convey to him that 
 there was more in what he was saying than he 
 could then and there tell him. 
 
 " Well, this is the queerest go I ever heard of ! " 
 said the fattore, giving his wife the reins, and 
 getting out of the bagherino. " I say, Sparti," 
 he added, " come you, too. I can't understand 
 what it means." 
 
 The two men hurried forward, leaving the 
 ponies and the women standing in the road under
 
 196 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 the pelting rain, and at a turn in the road, which 
 had hid him from them, they saw the Priore 
 standing at the side of the way. 
 
 "What— what is it? What is the matter?" 
 said the fattore, with much alarm in his voice. 
 
 "My worthy Signor Domenico, a misfortune 
 has happened — a terrible misfortune. I wished 
 to spare your wife till it can be told to her in a 
 less terribly abrupt manner. Prepare yourself, my 
 dear sir, for a painful shock ! " said the priest. 
 
 "What is it? What has happened? Don't 
 keep me here, man, in suspense — speak out ! " 
 said the fattore, all his usual deference for the 
 Priore breaking down under his anxiety. 
 
 " A terrible accident has happened to your 
 daughter Olivia. She has fallen into the river, 
 and — " The Priore supplied the remainder of 
 his sentence by looking with sad and sympathizing 
 eyes into the fattore' s face, and slowly shaking* 
 his head. 
 
 "Not dead! You don't mean to say that my 
 child is drowned ! " cried the poor fattore, staring 
 at him with open-eyed horror. 
 
 "It is even so, my poor Signor Domenico. 
 There was no hand near to help her. She had 
 gone out before the storm commenced — perhaps 
 intending to meet you on your return — who knows ? 
 She seems to have taken the path along the bank 
 of the river. Perhaps she was unaware of the
 
 A STORY OF TUSCAN LIFE. 197 
 
 bridge over the Strina torrent being broken. 
 Perhaps she attempted to cross it. It was there, 
 at all events, that we found her body, in the deep 
 pool made by the fall of the torrent into the river. 
 Peace be with her soul ! " 
 
 The fattore wrung his hands and stood speechless, 
 as if stricken dumb by the suddenness of the blow. 
 
 " Who is to tell this to her mother ? n he said 
 at length, in a hoarse voice. 
 
 Carlo Sparti had meanwhile gone on a few steps 
 to a group of labouring men, who were standing 
 around and bending over the body of the luckless 
 girl, which had been brought up from the spot 
 where it had been found in the river to the road- 
 side, as being the most convenient means of con- 
 veying it to the farm-house. He came back to 
 the farmer, and, laying his hand affectionately on 
 his shoulder, said, " Go back, father, to the women. 
 I will see to conveying her to the house." And 
 the fattore, though he had demanded, in the first 
 agony of his grief, who was to take the duty of 
 telling the lost girl's mother, simply obeyed the 
 word of his son-in-law, and, still appearing more 
 like a person walking in his sleep than one 
 conscious of what he was doing, turned to carry 
 the tidings which had met him to the bereaved 
 mother and sister. 
 
 There is little more to be added to this true 
 story of priestly interference with the domestic
 
 198 DIAMOXD CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 arrangements of family life. The story is so far a 
 remarkable one, and one wliicli attracted much 
 observation, and was widely talked of at the time, 
 and is still remembered, as that it ended in the 
 miserable death of one of the parties whose destiny 
 the priest had undertaken to control. Natures as 
 violent as that of the hapless Olivia are not met 
 with every day, especially among the rural popula- 
 tion of Italy. But as far as concerns the wide- 
 spread misery which similar priestly manceuvrings 
 frequently produce, the story has nothing very 
 uncommon about it. 
 
 The fattore and his wife were spared the terrible 
 addition to their sorrow which would have been 
 occasioned by the knowledge that their child had 
 perished by her own act. It might have been that 
 she had fallen into the water, which in its swollen 
 condition was abundantly sufficient to have de- 
 stroyed her, if she had done so. 
 
 Did that magnificent specimen of the sacerdotal 
 caste, Don Ignazio Verini, equally believe that his 
 victim's death had been caused by accident ? It 
 may be shrewdly doubted. In any case, he never 
 allowed the slightest word of misgiving upon the 
 subject ever to pass his lips. Perhaps he may 
 have been visited by some passing stings of re- 
 morse. But passing they are sure to have been 
 — for had he not the consolation of knowing that 
 he had done all for the " glory of God ? "
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF 
 TORCELLO. 
 
 Those who, in visiting Venice, content themselves 
 with seeing the recognized stock sights, passing 
 up and down the Grand Canal in a gondola, and 
 lounging — matchless lounge as it is — in the Piazza 
 di San Marco; — and they are nine hundred and 
 ninety-nine out of every thousand who thus content 
 themselves — have seen but one-half, and that, if the 
 most beautiful, not the most curious and character- 
 istic half of Venice and of the life of its inhabitants. 
 He who would form a conception of this rarely-seen 
 other half must penetrate, and that on foot, the 
 extraordinary labyrinth of narrow lanes which 
 constitute the mass of the city. He will then 
 find at every turn, and in the most unexpected 
 corners, charming fragments of architecture — a 
 richly arcaded window, an ornamented doorway, 
 a picturesque stair, a sculptured column, or a
 
 200 THE GOLDEX BOOK OF TORCELLO. 
 
 beautiful arch — no longer, alas ! an archway — many 
 of them with traditional bits of historic lore still 
 clinging to them, and all attesting the wonderful 
 amount of the ancient Venetian wealth and magni- 
 ficence; — the debris of palaces, which have in the 
 days of the decline of the Adriatic's queen become 
 in too many instances hovels, the abode of a poverty 
 not many degrees removed from starvation ! But 
 he will also find traits, which it requires perhaps 
 habits of closer observation to appreciate, of the 
 Avays, ideas, and modes of life of a population 
 which is to the present day more unchanged than 
 perhaps in any other of the great cities of Italy. 
 The special characteristics of the Venetian people 
 were, probably in consequence of the intimate con- 
 nection with the East which subsisted during all 
 the centuries of the palmy days of Venice, more 
 peculiar and more strongly marked than was the 
 case in any city of the mainland. And the impress 
 which the population received from its government, 
 and from the circumstances among which it lived, 
 was so profound and durable, that the Venetians in 
 a thousand respects still possess a special idiosyn- 
 crasy of their own. 
 
 But such wanderings as I have recommended 
 among the " calli," " rami," " fondamenta," " saliz- 
 zade," and ' ' campielli IJ of the city (the Venetians 
 have a curiously strange nomenclature for the lanes, 
 and alleys, and courts which constitute their city,
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 201 
 
 that is quite peculiar to themselves) will not suffice 
 for the traveller who wishes to understand entirely 
 the old life of Venice, such as the histories of 
 the Republic from the fourth to the end of 
 the eighteenth century describe it, and such as the 
 memoirs, satires, and comedies of the last two of 
 these centuries especially show it to us. Venice 
 is garlanded, as many a poet has phrased it, with 
 many a subject isle, scattered in the lagoon at 
 different distances within a radius of some five 
 or six miles around Saint Mark's, all of which 
 were more or less important centres of population, 
 and were ruled with a paternal despotism by the 
 Doge and the dreaded " Ten." And the stranger 
 bent on forming for himself a correct idea of the 
 old Venetian life, such as it was, up to and at the 
 beginning of the present century, should not neglect 
 to push the skimming of his gondola over the lagoon 
 as far as the more interesting of these islets. Espe- 
 cially he should not omit to visit Torcello, the most 
 important among them politically during many 
 centuries, and the most interesting at the present 
 day from the wonderfully picturesque as well as 
 archaeologically interesting remains of its utterly 
 vanished prosperity, and from the strangely striking 
 picture of desolation, which flouts the ruins of its 
 pride and preaches a more eloquent and poetical 
 sermon on the old text, Vanitas vcmitatum, than 
 ■ever was heard from preacher's lips !
 
 202 THE GOLDEN, BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 
 
 And these observations may serve as the intro- 
 duction to a story which I picked up in the course 
 of ramblings such as those I have been recommend- 
 ing to the reader, and which seemed to me to 
 illustrate vividly enough, if I can only succeed in 
 telling it with the freshness with which it reached 
 me, several of the aspects of Venetian life to which 
 I have adverted. It is a bit of family history, the 
 present preservers of which are the grandchildren 
 of two, and the children of two others, of the 
 principal actors in it. 
 
 In a quiet little campiello, or court, reached only 
 by a sotto-portico arched passage, which opened into 
 one of the narrow lanes which form a perfect 
 labyrinth in that part of the city between the- 
 ehurch of Santa Maria dei Miracoli and the Eialto, 
 lived in the last year of the last century an old 
 man, who called himself a second-hand bookseller 
 and picture-dealer. His name was Marco Zeno, 
 and his family consisted of one son — at that time 
 in his twentieth year — and of an old woman, by 
 name Gate (which is Venetian short for Caterina) r 
 as a servant of all work. And few of the neigh- 
 bours could recollect a time when old Zeno's family 
 had been otherwise composed, for he had been for 
 many years a widower. Had the commerce he 
 professed to carry on depended on the exhibition of 
 his wares to the public, it would hardly have been 
 likely to flourish in the location he had chosen
 
 TEE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOECELLO. 203 
 
 for it. In truth, the Campiello Sabion was as 
 unpromising a place for "business" as could well 
 be imagined. It was, as has been intimated, no 
 thoroughfare, and could only be reached from an 
 obscure lane, almost as silent and deserted as itself. 
 It might be supposed that no foot, save that of 
 some one of the dwellers in the little court, would 
 ever have disturbed the; perfect stillness of the 
 place from one year's end to another. In some 
 other respects, perhaps, the Campiello Sabion was 
 not altogether unfitted for the purposes of the old 
 bookseller. It was extremely quiet ; more so than 
 could have been the case in the heart of any other 
 large city on the face of the earth. And this 
 suited Signor Zeno, as he was a lover of books as 
 well as a dealer in them, and a diligent vendor 
 of them. Moreover, the place was cleaner than, 
 neighbouring lanes — owing this privilege to its 
 no-thoroughfare character and its abundant un- 
 occupied space ; for though small, it appeared to 
 be more than enough for all the needs of its 
 inhabitants, few in number as they were, half the 
 floors of the old houses seeming to be uninhabited ; 
 affording convenient accommodation for the old 
 pictures which Signor Zeno would occasionally 
 expose to view there — cither simply because they 
 needed drying after a process of cleaning, or 
 because he deemed it advisable to give them a 
 treat to an amount of light which they never got
 
 204 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOECELLO. 
 
 inside liis own doors. And then it was a qniet 
 place, where the neighbours asked no questions 
 and troubled themselves not at all about any 
 affairs save those connected with the keeping 
 together of their own souls and bodies in as satis- 
 factory a manner as might be. 
 
 It is probable that this last consideration was not 
 the least influential in binding old Marco Zeno to 
 the obscure habitation he had occupied so long. 
 He was wont himself to assign more imao'inative 
 reasons for his attachment to the old house. He 
 maintained it to be the identical house from which 
 his namesake, Marco Polo, had gone forth to earn 
 for Venice, by his wonderful and adventurous 
 voyages, a never-to-be-forgotten share in the glories 
 of those early navigators whose enterprise and 
 daring opened new worlds to the knowledge and 
 commerce of mediaeval Europe. Tradition bears 
 out Signor Zeno's assertion to the present day; 
 and if it be true that the house is the same, only 
 in the sense in which the Highlander's knife, that 
 had had many a new handle and many a new 
 blade, was still the same knife — yet one feature of 
 more unquestionable identity remained, and still 
 remains to it, in its ancient and richly ornamented 
 marble doorway, which was the pride of the old 
 bookseller's heart. He was a man by no means 
 unlikely to be influenced by such considerations, 
 for he had the true antiquary's love for the past,
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOECELLO. 205 
 
 and reverence for all its traces and remains. Never- 
 theless it is probable that, as has been said, the 
 other considerations which have been alluded to had 
 their weight. 
 
 Old Marco Zeno was believed by all his neigh- 
 bours, and indeed by all who knew him at all, to 
 be a much richer man than any part of his outward 
 seeming and manner of life would seem to indicate. 
 The overt commerce which he carried on in the 
 Campiello Sabion could hardly have furnished 
 wherewithal to keep a family of mice in good 
 condition. But neither the old man, or his son, 
 or old Cate, ever seemed to want for anything. 
 The old man and his old servant certainly did not 
 indulge in any splendour of apparel ; but Zuane 
 (Venetian for Giovanni) his son used on festive days 
 to sport a toilette as smart as the smartest of his 
 fellows ; and if old Zeno was, as some said, a miser, 
 he certainly did not push his miserliness to the 
 length of denying himself or his household the 
 comforts of life. But if the old bookseller was 
 rich, where did he get his money ? There were 
 persons who said — and they were not the poor 
 neighbours in the campiello, but people in a less 
 humble position, who were more likely to have 
 some knowledge of such matters — that Marco Zeno 
 had made large gains in truth by picture-dealing ; 
 but not picture-dealing of any such overt kind as 
 was carried on in the Campiello Sabion. Those
 
 206 TEE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 
 
 were times in which such things were possible 
 enough to persons combining sufficient knowledge 
 of art and the commerce of it with the requisite 
 amount of activity, courage, address, and cunning. 
 All these were needed in no small degree for such 
 operations as those which were suspected to have 
 enriched old Marco Zeno. The French spoilers, 
 who, after the ever-infamous extorted vote of the 
 Senate, by which Napoleon, on the 12th of May, 
 1797, with unblushing perfidy put an end to the 
 ancient republican government of Venice, entered 
 the city with the purposes and intentions of common 
 robbers, were of course very anxious to secure the 
 entirety of the spoil to themselves. But where the 
 spoil was so abundant, and distributed over every 
 part of so large a city — where every one of the 
 inhabitants hated the spoiler with a truly Italian 
 hatred, and deemed that any fate for their treasures 
 was preferable to their falling into French hands — 
 this was difficult to accomplish entirely. It was a 
 great time for such operations as those which Marco 
 Zeno was supposed to have been engaged in ; and 
 more than one cautious, bold, and well-skilled 
 speculator was known to have made considerable 
 sums by the opportunities which the times offered. 
 It suited old Zeno too, that such operations as those 
 alluded to could often, from the circumstances of the 
 case, ally themselves with schemes for defrauding 
 the invader to the advantage of Venice, or at least
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOECELLO. 207 
 
 of Venetians. For Marco Zeno was a Venetian to 
 the heart's core. He was, as has been said, a 
 diligent reader; and all his reading was of the 
 works that chronicled his country's greatness. He 
 lived in the past ; and anyone who could have 
 heard his talk with the two or three old cronies 
 who frequented his house in the evening might 
 have supposed that the conversation was turning 
 on the burning questions of the day, when, in fact, 
 the question in debate was whether the noble 
 equestrian statue of Bartholomew Colleoni (who 
 died in 1488), which is now seen in the Piazza di 
 Giovanni e Paolo, ought, or ought not, to have 
 been placed by the Senate in the Piazza di San 
 Marco in compliance with the terms of the deceased 
 warrior's last will and testament, the ancient law, 
 which forbade the erection of an incumbrance of 
 any kind on the latter piazza, to the contrary not- 
 withstanding. 
 
 These fragmentary outlines may suffice to enable 
 the reader to complete for himself a tolerably ac- 
 curate notion of the character and habits of the 
 old bookseller. As to his exterior appearance, it 
 will be sufficient to say that he would have been an 
 admirable model to a painter engaged on a portrait 
 of Shylock. Meanly clad in a long threadbare coat 
 which nearly reached his heels, stooping much, not 
 straightforwardly, but in a queerly twisted, lopsided 
 fashion, with a physiognomy that must have been
 
 208 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOEOELLO. 
 
 handsome in its day, high-nosed, hollow- cheeked, 
 with an eye like an eagle's, an abundance of long 
 white locks, and an expression of shrewd intelli- 
 gence unextinguishable by age, there was withal 
 a something of nobility about the head, imparted to 
 its expression doubtless by the nature of the old 
 man's lifelong studies, and by the genuineness of 
 his admiration and sympathy with all the great 
 deeds of his beloved city. 
 
 And now I must endeavour, in as few words as 
 may be, to give the reader some idea of Zuane 
 Zeno, old Marco's only son, who was in his twen- 
 tieth year, as has been said, in the last year of last 
 century, when the events to be narrated took place, 
 and who was, when I saw him at the time of my 
 first visit to Venice, in truth the finest-looking old 
 man I ever saw. And I was assured by one who 
 was then still alive, and who doubtless remembered 
 every lineament of feature and outline of form as 
 only one person could remember them, that Zuane' s 
 match as a young man was not to be found in 
 all Venice in those days — and much less, thought 
 the speaker, in these. Let the reader picture 
 Zuane to him — or her — self, standing on the poop of 
 his gondola. Not that he was a gondolier, save on 
 his own gondola, and when he was making her 
 skim over the lagoon on his own business or 
 pleasure, in a style that never another in Venice 
 could emulate. Of all the athletic activities in
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 209 
 
 which men may be seen engaged, there is no one 
 at all comparable to the occupation of a gondolier 
 for the exhibition of the person in an attitude at 
 once graceful and picturesque, and calculated for the 
 effective manifestation of energy and vigour in every 
 muscle and limb. And Zuane Zeno on his gondola, 
 leaning forward to the oar-stroke, his tall person 
 and muscular figure shown to the best advantage 
 by a costume consisting of a white jacket and 
 trousers, with a red silk sash encircling the waist, 
 was, in truth, a study for a sculptor. Probably, 
 if a brisk breeze were blowing, his hat would be 
 thrown aside, and ever and anon at the recovery of 
 the oar he would toss back from his face the long-, 
 clustering chestnut locks that the wind made sport 
 of, with an action that might have become an 
 Apollo. 
 
 I spoke just now of Zuane' s urging his harca 
 over the lagoons on matters of business as well as 
 of pleasure. And of late the business had been 
 very serious and somewhat perilous business. 
 Zuane, under his father's tuition, had inherited all 
 the old man's love for Venice, and shared with him 
 all the bitterness which the last two years had 
 brought with them. Venetian patriots still love to 
 maintain that, if on the 12th of May, 1797, the 
 date of the fatal vote that put an end to the 
 Venetian Republic, the timid and spiritless Senate 
 had had energy and courage enough to throw the 
 VOL. i. p
 
 210 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOROELLO. 
 
 Frenchman's threats in his face, and, accepting 
 the aid which the population of the provinces were 
 eagerly offering — had determined on def ending- 
 Venice — the day of her downfall might have been 
 at least protracted. Few would be found to 
 share that opinion at the present day, but it was 
 at that time enthusiastically held by all the most 
 generous of the youth of Venice and her territory. 
 Enrolments were made, and eager offers poured in 
 upon the Senate. But the effete old pantaloons 
 who composed that venerable body were only 
 terrified by such propositions, and did their utmost 
 to discourage and prevent them, in then' dread that 
 the ruthless enemy at their gates might be moved, 
 by hearing of them, to scourge them with scorpions 
 instead of with whips. Now Zuane Zeno had been 
 one of the most active leaders of a movement for 
 the collecting of a force that should offer to the 
 Senate — and perhaps do somewhat more than offer 
 — the means and the policy of resistance. It had 
 all come to nothing, as so many other hopes and 
 noble efforts did in those days. But Zuane had 
 enthusiastically believed in it, and it had made the 
 business of his life, during the time that preceded 
 and immediately followed the infamous vote of 
 the Senate. The Austrians entered Venice on the 
 18th of January, 1798, by virtue of the agreement 
 of sale and barter, known as the treaty of Campo 
 Formio, which made over the unhappy city from its
 
 THE GOLDEX BOOK OF TOECELLO. 211 
 
 tyrant conqueror to its new masters. And then the 
 efforts which Zuane and others like him had been 
 making were seen to be hopeless j and Zuane' s 
 " occupation," like Othello's, " was gone." As by 
 the force of contrast, a lesser suffering may be 
 made to seem almost like a happiness in comparison 
 with the more acute agony which preceded it ; so 
 the Austrian occupation, odious as it was to Venice, 
 was hailed as a relief from the far more detestable 
 -and grievous presence of the French. And the 
 period which elapsed between the January of 1798 
 to the January of 1806, when Venice again fell into 
 the hands of the French, as a consequence of the 
 fresh hostilities between France and Austria, was 
 one of comparative rest and tranquillity for Venice. 
 It was, thus, mainly during the earlier months of 
 1797 that Zuane was making his own efforts to find 
 the means of averting the ruin of his country, and 
 during the latter months of the same year that 
 his father was much more successfully engaged in 
 cheating the conquerors, if cheating it could be 
 called. 
 
 Old Marco Zeno had been a warm man, however, 
 previously to the operations which were supposed 
 to have so considerably enriched him. He had 
 been so warm a man that Zuane had not been 
 called upon to adopt any specific trade or calling 
 as a means of earning his own living. Any of the 
 neighbours in the Campiello Sabion would probably
 
 212 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBGELLO. 
 
 have assumed, as a matter of course, that Zuane was 
 his father's assistant, and would be his successor in 
 his business, such as it was. And perhaps Marco 
 Zeno and his son would, if they had been questioned 
 on the subject, have said the same thing. But, in 
 truth, whatever old Marco's trade secrets may have 
 been, Zuane shared none of them ; nor did the care 
 of the business in the Campiello, such as it was, 
 receive or need any assistance from him. What he 
 did share with his father was the old man's readings 
 and talkings over the old glories of Venice and his 
 love for them • and what his father did share with 
 him, for the short period during which they lasted, 
 was the young* man's ardent hope that something 
 might yet be done to avert the catastrophe which 
 brought a state counting* fourteen centuries of 
 existence to so shameful an ending*. There was 
 thus a very complete intelligence between them ; 
 and if old Marco still strove to increase a store 
 already more than sufficient for his needs, his object 
 in that, as in all else, was to gratify his ambitious 
 aspirations on behalf of a son of whom any father 
 might well have been proud. 
 
 It was a stormy night towards the end of 
 January, 1797; stormy, for a strong south wind 
 was blowing the waters of the Adriatic, " restless " 
 still, as when Horace so called it, against its northern 
 shore, and driving them into the lagoons, till the 
 surface of these was almost as rough as that of the
 
 THE GULDEN BOOK OF TOBGELLO. 213 
 
 sea outside the Lido ; but uot uniformly dark; for the 
 moon was near the full; and though great masses 
 e-f black clouds scudding across the sky towards the 
 Friuli Alps made the night one of pitchy darkness, 
 while the moon was behind them, the boisterous 
 gale so tore and rent them, that ever and anon the 
 full moonlight would suddenly shine out and illumine 
 the whole extent of the lagoon and its numerous 
 islets with its silvery and deceptive radiance. 
 
 And Zuane was bound that night for one of the 
 more distant of these, the island of Torcello. In 
 pursuing the objects which the reader wots of, 
 Zuane had little to do with the mainland. The 
 same efforts were being made there by other trusty 
 hands. Zuane' s special recruiting-ground was the 
 islands of the lagoon. And it was perhaps the most 
 promising for the purpose which all the territory of 
 the Republic offered — not in point of the quantity 
 bat of the quality of the material to be found there. 
 Though Venice had governed her subject isles with 
 a high and sometimes with a somewhat heavy hand, 
 the sparse population of these small dependencies was 
 evidently Venetian and anti-French to a man. And 
 they were a hardy, bold, adventurous race, with 
 little to lose on the one hand save lives, which were 
 too hard and joyless to be excessively cared for; 
 and on the other hand with all that ideal to save, 
 which had gilded those hard lives with the pride of 
 a glorious eitizenship.
 
 214 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOECELLO. 
 
 So Zuane was bound for Torcello that stormy 
 night. 
 
 It was a night on which the best gondolier in 
 Venice would not have cared to be on the lagoon, 
 unless impelled by some very special motive — 
 especially single-handed in a gondola. And Zuane 
 was alone. It was not that he might not readily 
 have found a companion to share his task ; but he 
 had his own reasons for choosing to be unaccom- 
 panied. Risk to life there was probably not much — 
 for Zuane, like most of his fellows, could swim like 
 a duck — but the risk of failure to accomplish the 
 end in view was considerable ; and that was almost 
 worse to Zuane. And the exertion needed for the 
 effort was very severe indeed. 
 
 It was nine o'clock when Zuane's gondola shot 
 out into the lagoon from the narrow mouth of an 
 obscure canal in the neighbourhood of the Sacco della 
 Misericordia. Standing on the poop, oar in hand, 
 clad not as he was described in a previous page, be 
 sure, but in some dark- coloured material from head 
 to foot, he had been lurking under the deep shadow 
 of a bridge, while watching till the moon should be 
 entirely obscured, and then in the utter darkness 
 sent his boat, with three or four rapid and vigorous 
 strokes, darting out into the open lagoon with the 
 speed of a shot. There was not much danger that, 
 on a night like that, he should be challenged by any 
 officials of the effete government whose purposes he
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBGELLO. 215 
 
 was thwarting. Nevertheless Zuane dreaded thai, 
 with a truly Venetian feeling of the omnipotence 
 and omnipresence of " the Ten/' much more than 
 he feared the storm. The worst part of his struggle 
 with the wind and waves was not, however, come yet. 
 The part of the lagoon between Venice and Murano, 
 the celebrated and secular seat of the glass manu- 
 factory, is so land-locked that the storm was not 
 much felt there. But when he had shot out past 
 the last corner of Murano, it needed all his perfect 
 skill and exceptional strength and vigour to keep 
 h:s boat's head to the wind and drive her through 
 the surging water. But he stuck to the work 
 "bravely ; and though the perspiration poured from 
 his brow like rain as he bent forward over the oar, 
 and though it was considerably past midnight before 
 his short voyage was accomplished, he pushed his 
 gondola safely and unerringly at last into a small 
 creek, which nothing but a very perfect acquaint- 
 ance with the locality could have enabled him to find 
 in the thick darkness. 
 
 In the next minute, however, it became evident 
 that the violence of the storm had not prevented 
 him from being expected ; for as he sprang ashore, 
 and was fastening his boat to the stump of a 
 broken marble column, a figure stepped from 
 behind the shelter afforded by a fragment of a 
 broken fence of reeds, and came towards the 
 water's edge. Zuane' s business, as we know, was
 
 216 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 
 
 to seek for men. And, liad the darkness continued, 
 it might have been supposed that lie had fallen 
 in with, a promising recruit, for the figure was 
 evidently youthful, and of fair stature. But just 
 at that moment the moon shone out, as she had 
 done two or three times before during Zuane's 
 voyage, and showed the individual, who had clearly 
 been waiting his arrival, to be of the sex less 
 available for recruiting* purposes. Yes ! the figure 
 of a young girl, and one which the capricious 
 moonlight did well to shine on, for she was worm 
 looking at. 
 
 She could not have been above eighteen, even 
 allowing for the more rapid development of every- 
 thing that grows, and of the human form among 
 the rest, in these latitudes. Her hair, of the 
 true Titian auburn tint, was arranged in a 
 labyrinth, of plaits, which served to show its 
 wonderful length and abundance, and coiled round 
 her head in a high coronet. At the back were 
 inserted two or three long silver pins, with massive 
 ornamented heads. She wore a dress of dark 
 printed stuff, falling in ample folds to a little above 
 the ankle. A white muslin kerchief was crossed 
 over her bosom, and on it rested a gold cross 
 attached to a row of coral beads. Long gold 
 earrings of filagree work hung from her ears. The 
 short skirt exhibited to advantage a neat ankle and 
 a pair of slender feet in spotless white stockings
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOUCELLO. 217 
 
 and the peculiar heelless slipper worn by the 
 women of these regions. Over her shoulders hung 
 the white veil, called here the " Indiana," universal 
 among the female population of the islands. It 
 serves to set off admirably the pale, olive-coloured 
 skins and delicately- cut features which mostly 
 distinguish the women of the lagoons, and can be 
 gathered over the head and bust in an endless 
 variety of coquettish folds. It was a charming face 
 in all respects, but its crowning glory w T as a pair of 
 long, deep, violet-coloured eyes, of that peculiar 
 hue which, with their fringe of long dark lashes, 
 always form so lovely a combination with light 
 hair. Such was Olinda, the only daughter of old 
 Placido Pavanello, fisherman and landowner of 
 Torcello. Landowner indisputably, for he was the 
 undoubted proprietor of some rood or two of arid, 
 half-cultivated island soil, which had never, from 
 long beyond the memory of man, owned any other 
 lord than a Pavanello. Old Placido would not have 
 exchanged that patch of wretched soil out there 
 among the greedy waters of the Adriatic for any 
 similar quantity of the fattest pasture land in the 
 valley of Lombardy, though the profit of it might 
 be reckoned by a very small number of yearly 
 francs. He and his daughter were mainly de- 
 pendent on his skill and industry as a fisherman 
 for their means of existence. Nevertheless, it was 
 easily to be seen that Olinda was not altogether
 
 218 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 
 
 as the majority of her compeers. There was a 
 delicacy about her person, and a daintiness about 
 her habiliments, that showed that more than usual 
 protecting care and petting had gone to the 
 fostering of her. Her apparel, as regarded its 
 form and fashion, was exactly that of all the other 
 girls of the island ; but there was a dainty nicety 
 about it, and a grace in the wearing of it, that was by 
 no means shared by the rest of the female population. 
 It might also be seen, however, that, little as the 
 place and the hour might have led one to expect it, 
 all the little toilette elegancies at her disposition 
 had been put in requisition on the present occasion. 
 
 Yes, there could be no doubt that Zuane had 
 been waited for. 
 
 Nevertheless, he seemed himself to be surprised 
 at the extremely pleasant apparition that greeted 
 his landing. 
 
 "You here, Linda V he exclaimed, in a tone of 
 astonishment ; " and on such a night as this ! And 
 it must be past midnight, though I left Venice at 
 nine. All the wind in the sky is blowing over the 
 lagoon, and it's the mercy of the Madonna that I 
 got here at all. And I ought to have been here 
 more than an hour ago. Anima mia ! (These last 
 words might be taken as a pious ejaculation applied 
 to the speaker's own soul, or as an expression of 
 tenderness applied to his hearer, according to the 
 choice of the latter.)
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 219 
 
 " The night is not amiss ; on land, at least. It 
 must be bad enough on the lagoon. But the wind 
 is in the south; it is not cold. I have been waiting 
 since a little after ten. I knew you would be so 
 disappointed not to meet father at the landing- 
 place. . . . Zuaue." There was half a moment's 
 pause before the utterance of the last word, and 
 then it was dropped so timidly, and with such an 
 involuntary expression of tenderness from the lips 
 — perhaps in penitence for the monstrous falsehood 
 of the fib which had preceded it — that Zuane's 
 attempted reply resulted only in a gurgling sort of 
 sigh, and had to be supplemented by a rapid move- 
 ment, which placed him closely by her side. 
 
 "Father said there was no getting across the 
 lagoon to-night, and he made sure you would not 
 come. So he went to Mazzorbo (a neighbouring 
 island) to look up the young men there. I am 
 afraid he will not be back for an hour or more 
 yet!" 
 
 "But he won't land here coming from Maz- 
 zorbo ! " said Zuane, maliciously ; and he ought 
 to have been whipped for saying it ! 
 
 Olinda dropped her eyes to the ground beneath 
 his gaze, and carefully making hieroglyphics with 
 the point of her little slipper on the sand, as she 
 spoke, said : " I was waiting to meet you, Zuane . . . 
 because I knew you would be so disappointed in not 
 finding father here ! "
 
 220 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 
 
 This time she succeeded in eliciting a reply in 
 words. 
 
 " Disappointed ! Bio mio ! Disappointed ! . . . 
 at getting the rare chance of passing an hour with 
 you, and telling you what I have been so long 
 burning to say to you ! Disappointed ! I never 
 was so happy in all my life as I am at this moment ! 
 And don't you know, in your heart of hearts, Linda, 
 ■tesoro dell 3 an ima m in, that that is (rod's own truth ! " 
 
 And while he was speaking, he very timidly, and 
 ■one might almost say cautiously, raised his arm 
 round her till it was at the height of her waist, 
 but still without venturing palpably to touch, much 
 less clasp it. Linda, with the consciousness of the 
 exact whereabouts of his arm thrilling through 
 every nerve of her, stood motionless as a statue, 
 as if she feared that the slightest movement might 
 be interpreted as indicating a desire to escape from 
 that rudimentary and half-developed embrace. 
 
 "1 am glad you are not disappointed, Zuane ! " 
 she said, whispering the words as though she were 
 afraid that the passing wind might hear them. 
 
 " Si' or Placido thought I should not come across 
 the lagoon to-night. But there was somebody else 
 who knew I should come ! . . . waiting too till this 
 time at night ! " And then the hand, which had 
 advanced itself round to the front of the little waist, 
 permitted itself to touch the belt that circled it 
 with an almost imperceptible pressure. Perceptible
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 221 
 
 enough, however,, to the object of it to cause her, by 
 an equally infinitessimal approach, to bring her head 
 the least bit in the world nearer to his shoulder. 
 Certainly she did not bring it into absolute contact 
 with him; but the effect of the indubitable ap- 
 proximation was like that of presenting to each 
 other the positive and negative needles when charged 
 with electricity ! The electric spark passed ; and 
 Zuane's arm and hand with a sudden rush closed 
 around her and pressed her to his side, while her 
 face, upturned for the first time since their meeting, 
 received his kiss ! And then they both knew all 
 about it ! knew that each was all in all to the other 
 — that each belonged to the other. Very few were 
 the words that had been spoken ; but no others 
 were needed ! 
 
 Of course there had been words of courtesy 
 between them which had not said much — glances 
 which had said much more — solitary musings, 
 dreainings, hopes, and fears. But of courtship, 
 of "paying addresses,''' of love declarations, of 
 acceptance, of betrothal — all was comprised in the 
 brief scene that has been recounted, on the deserted 
 shore of the little lagoon island in that stormy mid- 
 night hour ! 
 
 In some of the business of life these southrons 
 are apt to be slow and dilatory ; but in some other 
 departments of it they can, as the reader sees, be 
 rapid enough !
 
 222 TEE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 
 
 After the all too rapid passage o£ a few precious 
 moments, well remembered by both of them during 
 more than fifty years of subsequent life, Linda, 
 dropping any further reference to the subject of 
 Zuane's disappointment, said, as she quietly put 
 her arm within his, " Shall we go to the landing- 
 place where father will come ashore from Mazzorbo, 
 or shall we go and wait for him at home ? But, 
 tired as you must be, we had better go to the house 
 perhaps." 
 
 "Henceforward, benedetto tesoro mio, it is all one 
 to me which way I go, so that I go with you ! " 
 
 And with that they turned to walk towards the 
 fisherman's habitation. 
 
 It was a strange walk that across the almost 
 deserted island, stranded by the centuries on the 
 shore of the stream of time ! not strange to Linda 
 Pavanello and Zuane Zeno — they were of course 
 thinking solely of each other — but strange enough to 
 any less preoccupied observer. A strange walk it is 
 by daylight ; and it was stranger still at that weird 
 hour ! They passed through small enclosures, 
 divided by attempts at fences made of joined 
 reeds, which looked like little fields that had 
 " suffered a sea change ; " had drifted out to sea 
 and been wrecked and starved to the palest sand- 
 complexion ; by the margins of half-dried up canals, 
 once the watery highways between rows of stately 
 palaces; over bridges, the cut stones of whose
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 223 
 
 arches barely still clung together sufficiently to 
 support their steps ; bridges which no longer con- 
 nected anything save one patch of barren sand with 
 its fellow. And yet they were walking over the 
 site of a once proud city ; over what had once been 
 quays thronged by vessels laden with rich cargoes 
 and crowds of busy traffickers ; over the foundations 
 of buildings which had been the homes of genera- 
 tions that had succeeded each other for more than 
 ten centuries,, but of which literally no stone now 
 remains upon another ! 
 
 The wind changed during their short walk. And 
 as they came near the ghost-like group of buildings 
 which, once the heart's core of the ancient city, 
 are now the only habitable remains of it, the moon 
 was shining out of a clear sky. 
 
 Perhaps no more intensely melancholy scene, 
 no spot more eloquent in all its characteristics 
 and surroundings of caducity and decay, and the 
 transitory nature of man's most durable achieve- 
 ments, can be found on all the face of the earth. 
 Noble castles have been built on green fields — the 
 castles have had their day, and have fallen; but 
 the green fields remain and re-assert themselves. 
 But here the very soil on which the city was built, 
 in the presence of a mightier and more eternal 
 force and of a more active enemy, seems as if it 
 were returning to the condition of earth before it 
 was yet fitted for the occupation of man. There is
 
 •221 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 
 
 still tlie very ancient cathedral, with its tall white 
 tower showing itself across the lagoons like a pale 
 ghost, a treasure to the archeeologist and a delight 
 to the artist ; and the skeleton of what was once 
 the seat of the Torcello legislature, rocking in its 
 fall, but vet testifying that Torcello was once 
 among not the meaner of earth's cities — a truth 
 that is further attested in a yet more striking and 
 singular manner by the strange fact, that the latest 
 of the recorded acts of the city legislature is dated 
 only two years before the period at which the 
 events here related took place ; and, more singular 
 still, that this act relates to the admission of one 
 Yineenzo Lucerini to the rights and privileges of a 
 member of the Grand Council of Torcello. Cer- 
 tainly human ambition has occasionally proposed 
 strange aims to itself, but that of the man who, in 
 1795, aspired to form part of the " Grand Council" 
 of this desolate island, does seem to indicate a 
 faculty for living on, in, and for the past, which has 
 probably never been equalled; unless, indeed, it 
 may be supposed that this membership of the 
 phantom aristocracy of a city of ghosts carried 
 with it some privileges of exclusive fishing — ■ 
 which is possible. I should not like, however, 
 even now, to utter these last sentences publicly 
 on what was once the grand piazza of the city; 
 for the scanty remnant of the once teeming popu- 
 lation is still proud of its ruined city, proud of
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 225 
 
 its ancestry, proud of its ancient glories, and of 
 its name. 
 
 Thoughts of this kind would have been likely 
 enough to occupy the mind of old Placido Pava- 
 nello when crossing the desolate Grand Piazza on 
 his homeward way some hour or so later. But 
 such were not the thoughts that busied the heads 
 or hearts of Olinda and Zuane as they traversed the 
 same path. Very closely pressed side to side they 
 walked, his left arm round her waist, while she 
 held his brown, oar-hardened right palm between 
 both her slender hands in front of them ; for were 
 they not already indissolubly pledged to each 
 other ? And what impertinent eye was there to 
 spy, save that of the chaste moon, no longer coyly 
 playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds, but 
 looking down serenely and approvingly on the 
 lovers ? They traversed the piazza in an oblique 
 direction between the old cathedral wall on the 
 right and the still partially inhabited " Palazzo 
 Pubblico " on the left, passing close to a singular, 
 massive marble chair, the episcopal seat of bishops 
 gone to dust ten centuries ago, and now strangely 
 placed, nobody knows why or when, all by itself in 
 the midst of the open space of the piazza. And 
 quitting this at the corner nearest to the east end 
 of the cathedral, a few steps farther on, they 
 reached the fisherman's dwelling. It was, like 
 every other building and thing on the island, a 
 vol. i. Q
 
 226 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 
 
 ruin. But the inhabited rooms were water-tight ; 
 and among two or three other little evidences of 
 neater womanly care than any of its neighbour 
 dwellings exhibited, there were in a long box on 
 one of the massive weather-blackened stone window- 
 sills some thriving carnations and a cactus or two 
 with its brilliant scarlet flowers in bloom, producing 
 a mass of gay and youthful colour that made a 
 contrast with that of the dark and stern old walls, 
 typical of the similar contrast between Olinda her- 
 self and the moral and melancholy aspects of the 
 life to which destiny had assigned her. The house 
 had evidently once been a house of pretension and 
 consequence — a "palazzo." Probably old Placido 
 would have told you the "Palazzo Pavanello." 
 And it is likely enough that such a pretension might 
 have been an authorized one, for the name occurs 
 more than once in the still preserved lists of the 
 ancient island dignitaries. The old fisherman, the 
 vitality and clinging adhesiveness of whose race 
 had made him still a survivor where time and 
 change had submerged or swept away so much 
 else, may well have been the lineal descendant of 
 some former doge; and mace-bearers and train- 
 bearers may have on state occasions preceded and 
 followed the master of that house as he passed 
 down those weather-blackened steps to attend 
 some ceremony in the neighbouring Palazzo Pub- 
 blico. The ground-floor of the building was now
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 227 
 
 occupied by the fisherman's nets and the other 
 implements of his calling. The interior steps, 
 which have been referred to, led to the first floor, 
 where the two or three rooms still inhabited were 
 situated. Heavy nnpainted shutters closed the 
 windows of the other rooms on this floor, and 
 the floor above seemed to have reached a more 
 advanced stage on the way to final ruin. 
 
 But neither of all this did Zuane take any note. 
 Placida's home was familiar to him; for many a 
 conference had been held there regarding the hopes 
 and possibilities of collecting among the men of the 
 islands a force which might have assisted in the 
 defence of Venice. And ardent as Zuane was in 
 the cause, it is probable that old Placido may have 
 occasionally found his attention wandering from 
 the business in hand, while occupying itself with . . . 
 matters which culminated — more happily than the 
 other affairs — in the scene we have witnessed. 
 
 From that first heavenly moment of mutual 
 avowal at the landing-place amid the storm, 
 during the walk across the island, everything had 
 been forgotten save the ecstasy of present con- 
 sciousness. But when they found themselves 
 within the dark shadow of the gloomy room (not 
 the one where the flowers were), in which the 
 fisherman and his daughter lived, something — 
 possibly the poor and barren aspect of all that sur- 
 rounded them — seemed to suggest the consideration
 
 228 TEE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 
 
 of tlie future before theru, and to throw certain 
 shadows over the prospect of it. 
 
 Was there not reason to fear that the lovers had 
 listened too exclusively to the dictates of their own 
 hearts in assuming for themselves the position of 
 an affianced couple? Might there not have been 
 in this a reckoning without the host that might 
 bode future sorrow and trouble ? Zuane was only 
 twenty, and was entirely dependent on his father. 
 But had he been thirty, to marry in defiance of the 
 will and prohibition of a father is a step that is 
 rarely and very reluctantly taken by an Italian. 
 Nor if Zuane had been willing to take it, was it to 
 be supposed that old Pavanello would have allowed 
 his daughter to go to a husband under such circum- 
 stances. And was it to be expected that Marco 
 Zeno would approve the marriage of his son with 
 the penniless daughter of a Torcello fisherman ? 
 Zuane indeed knew better than Olinda did how 
 little this was to be hoped for. He knew that 
 his father was a much richer man than Pavanello 
 and his daughter could reasonably imagine him to 
 be. He knew that the old picture- dealer had high 
 aspirations for the advancement of his son. And 
 as these thoughts passed through his mind he be- 
 came sad. Not that the idea of renouncing his 
 love presented itself to him as any possible solution 
 of the difficulties he saw ahead; but he foresaw 
 sorrow. And it needed but half a word to causo
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 229 
 
 the shadow which was throwing itself across his 
 mind to be reflected on that of Olinda. Her young 
 mind had never hitherto been led to contemplate, 
 much less to grieve, over the poverty, obscurity, 
 and lowliness of her own lot in life. But she was 
 very humble-minded ; and at the first turning of 
 her thought in that direction saw at one dismayed 
 glance all the length of social distance that sepa- 
 rated her from her lover. 
 
 It came to pass then that the conversation be- 
 tween the pair, though to the full as loving as ever, 
 had assumed a grave and serious character, not 
 untinged with melancholy, when the heavy tread 
 of Si'or Placido's huge fisherman's boots was heard 
 on the steps outside. 
 
 "Linda's right enough!" said her father, after 
 the first warm greeting between the old and the 
 young man ; " I gave you up ! I hardly thought 
 anybody could have got a boat across the lagoon 
 to-night single-handed. It was as much as I could 
 do to get to Mazzorbo even ! But I have not been 
 for nothing ! Five names promised, my lad ! and 
 good ones ! But there's not many that for the 
 sake of Venice would have come from Murano to 
 Torcello such a night as this ! " he added, casting 
 an admiring glance at the young fellow as he spoke. 
 " If all the lads in the Veneto were like you, we'd 
 soon show those accursed Frenchmen that the old 
 winged lion has not lost his teeth yet ! "
 
 230 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 
 
 " I trust we shall give them that lesson/' said 
 Zuane, "lout I won't take credit when I don't 
 deserve it. It was not to talk to you, Si'or Placido 
 — not mainly — that I crossed the lagoon to-night." 
 
 " What for then, in the name of all the saints ? n 
 said the old man, staring at him, and stopping short 
 in the arduous task of withdrawing his legs from 
 his enormous boots. 
 
 " It was to see Olinda. I want her to be my 
 wife ! " returned Zuane, with a direct brevity that 
 seemed to be dictated by a determination to prove 
 both to Linda and to himself that the tone of their 
 late conversation had in no degree impaired his 
 fixed resolution to reach that upshot sooner or 
 later. 
 
 Si' or Placido stood with one stockinged foot on 
 the floor, and one uplifted boot in his hand, staring 
 from one to the other of the lovers. 
 
 " So, then, this was the meaning of your patriot- 
 ism, was it, figliuolo mio ! " he said with a sneer that 
 had some bitterness in it. 
 
 " No ! Si' or Placido ! Not so, I came here 
 before I had ever seen your daughter-." 
 
 "That's true too," said the old man after a pause. 
 He then proceeded leisurely to pull off the other 
 boot, and when that was accomplished, sat himself 
 heavily down in his old wooden arm-chair, and 
 letting: his errand white old head fall on his breast, 
 remained in deep thought for a few moments.
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 231 
 
 " Well, Zuane Zeno," said lie at the end of that 
 time, " Til speak honestly too. As times go, I 
 don't know a young man in Venice or the islands 
 that I would rather give my girl to. As times go/' 
 he added, nodding his head several times, and 
 drawing a deep sigh. " The time has been when 
 a Venetian retail dealer's son — you'll pardon me for 
 putting the thing as it is — would no more have 
 dreamed of mating with the daughter of a Pa- 
 vanello of Torcello than he would have dreamed of 
 marrying the emperor's daughter ! But those days 
 are gone ! gone ! gone ! gone as much as I shall be 
 before long. And then that child, with the last 
 drop of the Pavanello b ood in her veins, would be 
 left alone in the world. Yes ! take her, Zuane ! 
 take her ! I know that you are good, and brave, 
 and true, and that you love Venice. I am glad 
 that she should be your wife. Never forget, and 
 never let your children forget, what blood their 
 mother has in her veins, and who and what her 
 fathers were ! " 
 
 All this was of course very satisfactory. Only 
 that the point of view from which the proud old 
 man looked at the matter, and the tone in which he 
 spoke of it, were so unexpected, and so far from 
 " harping aright " the fears of the young couple, 
 that, oppressed by the difficulty of bringing their 
 own views and those of the old man into any sort 
 of accordance, they remained mutely glancing at
 
 232 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 
 
 eacli other. It would clearly have been of no use, 
 however, to attempt to open Si' or Placido's eyes 
 to the nature of the real difficulties they appre- 
 hended on that occasion. And after a few more 
 words of friendly talk between the two men, and an 
 entreaty by Zuane tacitly conveyed by the eye-lan- 
 guage of lovers, that Linda would accompany him 
 on his return walk to his boat, and a tacit acqui- 
 escence on hers, Zuane started on his way back to 
 Venice. 
 
 Quite determined to lose no time in fronting the 
 difficulties which he knew lay before him, he went 
 the first thing the next morning into a little interior 
 court of the old Marco Polo house, where he knew 
 his father was busy with a new acquisition. Old 
 Marco was in high good-humour, engaged in ex- 
 amining, spectacles on nose and magnifying-glass 
 in hand, a picture which he had, Heaven knows by 
 what means, succeeded in abstracting from a church, 
 and finding it a greater treasure than he had antici- 
 pated. 
 
 u Whose brush painted that black bit of canvas ? M 
 cried he to his son, as the latter entered the little 
 court. 
 
 " The kitchen wench, I should say, with the soot 
 off: the bottom of her pots and pans, to look at it ! " 
 said his son. 
 
 " You would say ! Ay ! and so would most people 
 say. But I tell you that that canvas was painted
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 233 
 
 by the hand of one Jacopo Robusti, commonly 
 called Tintoretto,, and by none other. Aha ! Old 
 eyes are sometimes better than young ones, I wot ! 
 And to think of these animals of priests covering 
 such a work as this layer after layer with the smoke 
 of their filthy candles. It is enough to break one's 
 heart to think of it ! " 
 
 "But if they had not done so, and had known 
 better, the picture would not have come into your 
 hands, father ! " 
 
 " That's true too, my boy ! Not so badly said ! 
 Not so badly said ! " returned the old man, again 
 bending down over his treasure, and lovingly re- 
 moving with a finger moistened by his tongue some 
 of the secular dirt that lay thick on the cheek 
 of a Madonna. 
 
 " Can I help you with your job, father ? " 
 
 " No, no ! no hands but my own. Not a touch. 
 Go you about your own affairs. And be carefid. 
 Not that the old fools in the palace yonder would 
 dare to lay a hand on you. But be careful all the 
 same." 
 
 " Yes, father, I will ! And I have good hope of 
 being able to do something for the cause. But, 
 father, before I go I want to speak to you a minute 
 about myself." 
 
 The old man looked up from his task sharply. 
 
 "Not to be longer than need be about it," 
 continued Zuane, "I want your consent to my
 
 234- THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 
 
 marriage with the best and loveliest girl my eyes 
 ever rested on. I am quite sure you will be 
 charmed with her." 
 
 "Not longer than need be," said his father, 
 slowly, after staring at him through his spectacles 
 for some instants. ' ' No ; you are not longer about 
 it than need be, certainly. Perhaps I may be 
 somewhat longer; but then I am old, you know. 
 Who is the lady?" 
 
 "The daughter of one of the best friends to 
 the good cause, and one of the honestest citizens 
 Venice has to boast of," said Zuane, firmly. 
 
 "That is all very well. And, pray, where did 
 you meet with him and with her ?" 
 
 "In the first instance, in going among the 
 islands on the business you know of, father. He 
 is a landowner of Torcello." 
 
 " A landowner of Torcello ! Are you mad ? A 
 landowner ? A dry ditch and rush owner, you 
 mean. A landowner who gets his living from the 
 water, I take it. Why there's not a soul on 
 Torcello, morels the pity, save a handful of poor 
 fishermen, each more poverty-stricken than the 
 other." 
 
 " The father of Olinda is a fisherman, certainly ; 
 and, I suppose, not rich," said Zuane, very quietly. 
 
 " There ; let me attend to my Tintoretto ; and 
 don't talk nonsense. No ! I will not give my 
 consent to your marrying a Torcello fisherman's
 
 TEE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 235 
 
 daughter ! I have other views for you. Off with 
 you!" 
 
 Zuauc judged that it would be his wisest course 
 not to pursue the matter any farther just then, 
 especially as it was clear that, putting aside his 
 objections to the wishes of his son, the old picture- 
 dealer wanted at that moment to get rid of him, 
 and be left to savour the enjoyment of gradually 
 discovering the beauties of his new acquisition. 
 So he went off, to wander by himself on the solitary 
 Fondamenta Nuova, which looked out on the lagoon 
 towards Torcello, and meditate on Olinda's sweet- 
 ness, and beanty, and modest grace. 
 
 That night his gondola was again skimming the 
 lagoon between "Venice and Torcello ; and the little 
 voyage was much more easily made. It was a 
 lovely moonlight night, and he reached the sad and 
 deserted-looking creek that made his landing-place 
 more than an hour earlier than he had arrived the 
 preceding night. Nothing had been said between 
 him and Olinda about his coming on that night, 
 but she was there awaiting him at the landing- 
 place, and both seemed to take it as a matter of 
 course that they should meet there. 
 
 In ancient documents recording the meetings 
 of ambassadors and other great personages for the 
 despatch of business, the chroniclers were often 
 wont to place the letters P. P. at the beginning of 
 their record, and then go at once to the business
 
 236 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 
 
 in hand. The P. P. meant "Prcemissis prcetermitten- 
 dis," and the writers deemed themselves thus dis- 
 pensed from recounting all the details of cere- 
 monial which were a matter of course. Now it 
 seems to me that my readers will be able to 
 imagine for themselves all that took place between 
 Zuane and Olinda with sufficient vividness and 
 accuracy to justify me in passing on with a P. P. 
 to the less pleasant portions of the business to be 
 treated between them. It was impossible any 
 longer to defer communicating to Si' or Placido the 
 nature and cause of the difficulty which had arisen 
 in their path. But both Zuane and Olinda felt 
 that this was a difficult task, and feared that the 
 revelation might convert Olinda's father into a 
 more obstinate opponent than Zuane's. Neverthe- 
 less the thing had to be done, and Zuane performed 
 it as skilfully and delicately as he could. The old 
 fisherman was at first very slow to understand the 
 nature of the difficulty, and when it was at last 
 made clear to him, he seemed to be more astonished 
 than offended. He had so genuinely believed that 
 he was the party condescending to an alliance 
 for his daughter which was much beneath her ! 
 Surely the world must not only be strangely changed 
 since his day, but altogether turned topsy-turvy. 
 
 ' ' My children/' said the old man at length, " it 
 cannot be that Signor Marco Zeno, our Zuane's 
 worthy father, has understood this matter aright.
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 237 
 
 Signor Marco was mucli occupied, as it seems, 
 when Zuane spoke with hini ; and perhaps my 
 young friend himself is not aware of all the cir- 
 cumstances that might recommend the alliance he 
 is anxious to make to his father. I shall have the 
 honour of paying a visit to Signor Marco Zeno 
 myself. I think you will find, my dears, that he 
 will change his mind after he has heard what I 
 have to say to him." 
 
 So on the following day Signor Placido Pavanello 
 found his way to the picture-dealer's obscure 
 dwelling in the Campiello Sabion, dressed in the 
 grand suit reserved for many a year for occasions 
 of high festival and ceremony. And a very fine 
 and grand old man he looked as he entered the 
 presence of the picture-dealer. Under his arm he 
 carried what seemed to be a small and very thin 
 folio volume, about the size of a sheet of foolscap 
 paper, bound in red leather. Old Marco, to whom 
 the name of his visitor had been announced, and 
 who was, therefore, well aware of the nature of his 
 business, had intended to receive him sitting. But 
 he rose to his feet, despite himself, as the tall and 
 upright old man, whose bearing was such as it 
 might have been if he had concentrated in his 
 own person the quintessential spirit of all the past 
 Doges of his beloved island, entered the room, 
 and, uncovering his white hairs, saluted him with 
 lofty courtesy. It was a perfect triumph of that
 
 238 TEE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 
 
 influence of the eternally and visibly grand and 
 noble to which the Italians are so specially sus- 
 ceptible. 
 
 " Signor Zeno," he said, after a few words of 
 courtesy had passed between the two old men, 
 spoken in a tone of equality which the picture- 
 dealer would not have believed possible between 
 himself and so poor a man as his visitor, " I take 
 it, from what those blundering young people of 
 ours have told me, that you have not rightly 
 apprehended the position of the lady to whose 
 hand your excellent son aspires/' 
 
 " Aspires ! " echoed old Marco, in a tone which 
 would have been a sneer if it had not been forced 
 into another key by genuine astonishment. 
 
 " Aspires," repeated Signor Placido, quietly and 
 firmly. "You are, I am told, a rich man, Signor 
 Zeno," he continued, " and I am a very poor one. 
 And it is not unreasonable, when the hearts and 
 heads of young folks are carried away by very 
 different feelings, for the fathers to consider what 
 each can contribute to the proposed partnership." 
 
 "It is very reasonable, I take leave to think," 
 put in Old Marco. 
 
 " Nevertheless, a parent who is really anxious for 
 his child's happiness will allow some weight to the 
 dictates of the child's own heart. And that moves 
 me to waive the too close weighing of the difference 
 which, despite the wealth you possess, makes the
 
 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TORCELLO. 239 
 
 contribution which my daughter will bring to the 
 proposed match by far the greater." 
 
 " I am utterly unable to understand what you 
 inean," said the picture* dealer, thoroughly mystified. 
 
 " One minute and you will see. Wealth is a 
 good thing, but it may be gained ... or lost. 
 My Olinda possesses that which cannot be lost, and 
 can hardly ever more be gained/'' said the old 
 fisherman, dropping his voice and sadly shaking 
 his head, as he uttered the last words. "Look at 
 this, Signor Zeno," he continued, taking the old 
 volume which has been mentioned from under his 
 arm. " To you of all men, if what I have heard of 
 you be true, it is needless to say one word in ex- 
 planation of the importance of the document I am 
 going to show you. This is an extract, duly 
 guaranteed and witnessed by notary public, you 
 observe, from the Libro cV Oro of Torcello, testifying 
 to all men that the name of the poor fisherman 
 who stands before you, and of his fathers before 
 him for many and many a generation, have had 
 their place on that record. You are a reader of 
 archives, Signor Marco. Look into the archives, 
 and you will find the name of Pavanello in some of 
 the noblest places in the history of my country. 
 Nor need I remind one who is so well read in 
 Venetian history as yourself, that in the proudest 
 days of Venice her wealthiest senators have deemed 
 the nobility attested by the Libro tV Oro of Torcello
 
 240 THE GOLDEN BOOK OF TOBCELLO. 
 
 to be a sufficient dowry for the bride of their 
 sons/' 
 
 Signor Marco Zeno was too good a Venetian, 
 and too fervent an antiquarian and lover of the 
 past, not to be considerably impressed by the state- 
 ments made and the evidences offered to him. He 
 did not yield immediately and on the spot . . . 
 but he did eventually. And Olinda's dower — not 
 the first by any means, but probably the last that 
 will ever be supplied from that source — was fur- 
 nished by her right to the patricianship established 
 by the celebrated and still preserved Libko t>' Oro- 
 di Tor cello.
 
 VITTORIA ACCORAMBONI 
 
 A TRUE ITALIAN HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 GOIXG UP TO TOWN TO BE 
 
 It was in the last quarter of that stormy and 
 many- coloured sixteenth century — time of "re- 
 naissance" we call it, but a time of universal 
 dissolution and near approaching end of all things, 
 as it appeared to the Tribulation-mongers of that 
 day — that the following facts occurred. They 
 really did occur. No filling in of historical out- 
 line with lights and shadows of fictitious detail, 
 and no heightening of colour for the sake of effect, 
 shall be attempted in this narrative ; the reader is 
 invited to receive the tale as a piece of well-authen- 
 ticated history : showing, somewhat strikingly, how 
 the world went in the good old times three hundred 
 years ago. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 212 VITTORIA ACCOEAMBONI. 
 
 There lived in the remote little city of Gubbio an 
 ancient but obscure family of provincial nobles, 
 named Accoramboni. Gubbio, in its pleasant 
 niche at the western foot of that part of the Apen- 
 nines which crosses the province of the ecclesias- 
 tical state called the Marches, was a long way 
 from Rome — a longer way, taking all the diffi- 
 culties of the journey into account, than London 
 is now-a-days. And in proportion to its distance 
 from Rome, the centre of life, wealth, honour, 
 preferment, and all good things, despite its ante- 
 Roman Etrurian reminiscences, and other claims 
 to respect, was life at Gubbio stagnant and ob- 
 scure. The sun, to use Queen Dido's metaphor, 
 yoked his team very far away from the quiet little 
 city under the Apennines. Count Claudio Accoram- 
 boni and his countess, however, might have been 
 content to live and die, and make their wine and 
 press their olives on the paternal acres, as a long 
 line of unrecorded Accorambonis had done before 
 them, had they not chanced to have a daughter, 
 who grew in this rustic retirement so rare a per- 
 fection of loveliness and grace, that her parents felt 
 it to be their duty to the dear girl to give her a 
 few seasons in town. In fact, Vittoria Accoram- 
 boni was rightly judged by her judicious parents 
 to be far too superior an article for the native 
 Gubbio market. 
 
 All the chroniclers — and they are many — who
 
 VFPTOBIA AGCOBAMBONL 243 
 
 have left records of Vittoria and her eventful 
 history, vie with each other in their enthusiastic 
 accounts of her surpassing beauty. And yet this, 
 we are assured, was but one portion of the irre- 
 sistible charm with which she enchanted all who 
 came within the sphere of her influence. One 
 grave old monk writes — crossing himself, one may 
 fancy, the while — of the "portentous power of 
 attraction" which her tongue exercised when she 
 spoke. Others speak of the inimitable grace of 
 ber movements, the sylph-like perfection of her 
 form, her artless elegance, and entire freedom from 
 all affectation. Her talents, too, were no less 
 admirable than her beauty. She was a poetess ; 
 and if the productions of her muse, whether printed 
 or preserved in manuscript, cannot be said to be 
 much read by her countrymen of the present 
 generation, yet they sufficed to obtain a place 
 for her name in the huge volumes of the literary 
 historians of her country. Quadrio, Tiraboschi, 
 Mazzuchelli, and the others, all have a niche in 
 their Pantheons for the fairest of their host of 
 songstresses. 
 
 It has often been remarked that the wide dif- 
 ferences of social habits, and still more of moral 
 feeling, which exist between one age and social 
 system and another, make it exceedingly difficult 
 for us duly to appreciate and understand the life 
 of the middle ages, and to estimate fairly the
 
 244 YITTOBIA AGGOBAMBONL 
 
 characters of its actors. And, doubtless, the entire 
 difference of our own practice and modes of thought 
 with respect to such matters must have the effect 
 of making the conduct of Count Claudio Accoram- 
 boni and his wife, in this business of the disposal 
 of their peerless daughter to the best advantage, 
 seem altogether strange and unnatural. As soon as 
 ever her surpassing beauty, and rare endowments 
 of mind and body, manifested themselves, Vittoria 
 seems to have been considered by this sixteenth 
 century family as a valuable piece of marketable 
 property, to be disposed of in such manner as would 
 produce the greatest amount of advantage to the 
 family. The means adopted to this end, and the 
 differences of opinion on the subject between 
 various members of the family, will further illus- 
 trate the enormous differences of our own ways 
 of thinking and acting on such subjects. 
 
 Rome, of course, was the only market for such 
 merchandise as Count Claudio had to offer for sale ; 
 and to Rome, accordingly, the Accoramboni family 
 removed. Vittoria had a good escort on her long 
 and far from safe journey to the capital of the- 
 world; for, besides father and mother, four adult 
 brothers accompanied her — remarkably noble and 
 needy youths, all trusting to Vittoria, the family 
 treasure, to open for them some of the numerous 
 roads to fortune, which in those days all converged 
 on the Papal city.
 
 VITTOBIA ACCOBAJIBONI. 245 
 
 Tkis wonderful Rome had still in the sixteenth 
 century very legitimate pretensions to take rank 
 as the capital of the civilised world. The authority 
 which the popes claimed over all the civil powers 
 of Christendom, and which, though often rebelled 
 against in practice, was still admitted almost uni- 
 versally in theory, caused their capital to be the 
 centre of all the political intrigues and schemes of 
 Europe ; caused it to be perpetually thronged with 
 ambassadors and diplomatists of every grade, with 
 petitioners, adventurers, fortune-hunters, and nota- 
 bilities of every sort from every part of the world. 
 Most of the special peculiarities which stamped 
 the age with its own social character existed in 
 a concentrated degree at Rome. The system of 
 superseding law by privilege, which lay at the root 
 of most of the social disorders of the age, existed 
 in greater intensity in Rome than in any other 
 society. The turbulences and disorders arising 
 thence were more constant, more audacious, and 
 more serious there than elsewhere. The wonderful 
 ■encroachment of ecclesiastical power, and its strange 
 and curious intermixture in all the affairs of life, 
 which also was one leading characteristic of the 
 time, was, as might have been expected, most 
 remarkable and most mischievously active in Rome. 
 It was the head- quarters, too, of literature, art, 
 and magnificence. The gorgeous and ostentatious 
 -splendour which characterized the period were
 
 246 VITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONI. 
 
 there to be seen in their most dazzling excess and 
 profusion. In no city of similar size, probably,, 
 was ever known so great an expenditure of wealth. 
 For Rome, like a spendthrift swindler, had the 
 spending of revenues drawn from every country in 
 Europe. Unproductive herself, she squandered the 
 lightly-come-by contributions from every hive of 
 industrious workers, and was only left to beggary 
 when her trick was detected. 
 
 Every new pope brought up fresh swarms of 
 relatives, dependents, friends, countrymen, to seek 
 their fortune in the great world-carnival. In the 
 papacy of a Genoese pope, Rome would swarm with 
 Ligurians. With a Medici in St. Peter's chair, 
 Florence almost monopolised the good things which 
 flow from the hand of Heaven's vicegerent. With 
 the Bolognese pope, who held the keys at the time 
 we are writing of, Bologna had her turn. And the 
 hot pursuit of Fortune was all the hotter, and the 
 means used for attracting her smile were all the 
 more unscrupulous, because popes' reigns are mostly 
 short. In no case was the need of hurry to make 
 hay while the sun shone more imperative. A 
 pope's death was as a sudden and entire turn of 
 the wheel of Fortune. Those who were at the top 
 found themselves, between the rising and the set- 
 ting of the sun, hurled to the bottom ; and those 
 who were at the bottom as suddenly were lifted 
 to the top. And the recurrence of these violent
 
 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONL 247 
 
 changes, which threw the whole Roman world into 
 tenfold confusion, turbulence, and trouble, was 
 strangely frequent. During the whole of the six- 
 teenth century the popes reigned, on an average, 
 only six years each. In the natural course of things 
 it must be expected that the mode of making a 
 pope would ensure his being an old man. But this 
 probability was further increased by the frequent 
 policy of the College of Cardinals. The different 
 parties who found themselves, as would of course 
 frequently happen, unable to secure the election 
 they wished, would unite in selecting as pope some 
 member of their body whose age and infirmities 
 seemed to promise that they would very shortly 
 have another opportunity of trying their strength 
 in the conclave. Many popes owed their elevation 
 solely to this consideration. 
 
 A thirteenth Gregory was seated in the chair of 
 St. Peter at the time Vittoria and her family made 
 their appearance on this seething*, many-coloured, 
 and turbulent scene. We have not the precise 
 date of their journey. But it is certain that it was 
 after 1576, and before — probably not much before 
 — 1580. Rome was in a yet more turbulent and 
 lawless condition than usual during these years; 
 for the reigning pope was a particularly weak and 
 incapable ruler. Gregory the Thirteenth, we are 
 told, was not stained by any of those more glaring- 
 vices which had marked many of his recent pre-
 
 248 VITTORIA ACCOBAMBONI. 
 
 decessors. He simply neglected every portion of 
 his manifold duties. His father, as one of the 
 Venetian ambassadors reports to the Senate, lived 
 to be eighty, and his grandfather to be ninety. 
 And the great and absorbing object of the pope's 
 thoughts and cares was to live as long. With this 
 view, says the ambassador, he systematically refused 
 to occupy himself with any troublesome business, 
 on the ground that nothing is more conducive to 
 longevity than a mind at ease ! When reports 
 were made to him of the scandalous scenes of 
 anarchy and violence which were continually oc- 
 curring, and were rendering his capital as unsafe a 
 residence for quiet citizens as a field of battle 
 or a den of robbers, he never was betrayed into 
 expending more of his carefully-treasured vital 
 force than was needed for tranquilly observing that 
 he would pray for the evil-doers. 
 
 During this and the preceding centuries the 
 great feudal princes and barons of the ancient and 
 powerful clans of Savelli, Orsini, Colonna, Gaetani, 
 and others, such were the pest and ever-present 
 danger of Rome. Constantly in open warfare with 
 each other, and often with the popes themselves, 
 these haughty and unruly subjects, and their 
 numerous bodies of armed retainers, who knew no 
 law save the will of their employer, often tasked 
 to the utmost the strength of the most vigorous of 
 the popes. And under such a ruler as Gregory the
 
 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONI. 249 
 
 Thirteenth their utter lawlessness reduced Rome to 
 a state of anarchy which, had it continued un- 
 checked, must have entirely sapped the foundations 
 of all civil society. A notice of one of the ordinary 
 street tumults that took place about the time in 
 question, as it has been preserved in the pages of 
 a contemporary chronicler, will serve to give an idea 
 of the sort of deeds which were wont to pass in 
 Rome unchecked and unpunished, and will, at the 
 same time, introduce to the reader one of the prin- 
 cipal dramatis personce in the tale we have to tell. 
 
 The u Bargello/' as the principal police-officer of 
 the city was called, had, with his band of armed 
 followers, arrested certain outlaws belonging to the 
 territory of Naples ; and it would seem that these 
 men were in the pay, or otherwise under the pro- 
 tection, of some one of the great Roman barons. 
 "While the bargello, therefore, was conducting his 
 prisoners through the streets he was met by a 
 cavalcade of noble youths, Raimondo Orsini, Pietro 
 Oaetani, Silla Savelli, and others, who disputed 
 his passage. The bargello, writes the chronicler, 
 " spoke to them cap in hand, with great respect, 
 endeavouring to quiet them, and persuade them 
 to let him do his duty. They, however, would hear 
 nothing, but attacked him and his men, killed 
 several, took others into houses, and flung them 
 from the windows, to the great ignominy and 
 contumely of public justice." All this, however,
 
 250 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONL 
 
 could not have mattered much, or have been worth 
 recordings but that an unlucky shot from one of 
 the bargello's men killed the noble Raiinondo Orsini. 
 The bargello at once fled from Borne, knowing full 
 well that neither pope nor law could save his life 
 from the vengeance of the Orsini. But the noble 
 anger of that proud house was not to be thus 
 balked. And Ludovico Orsini, the brother of 
 Raimondo, and the gentleman with whom the 
 reader will have to make further acquaintance,, 
 avenged his brother, and asserted the honour of 
 the clan, by murdering the lieutenant-general of 
 police, the officer on whom the bargello depended, 
 as he was coining down from the papal palace on 
 Monte Cavallo. 
 
 Such was the Roman world to which Count 
 Claudio Accoramboni was bringing his daughter 
 and four sons to seek their fortunes about the year 
 1578. 
 
 But in accordance with the saying, that when 
 things are at the worst they must mend, there was 
 a change preparing for Rome and its lawless nobles,, 
 and almost equally villainous outlawed bandits, in a 
 manner and from a quarter from which no human 
 being in Rome dreamed of expecting it. 
 
 Among the cardinals resident in the city was an 
 old man whose infirmities made him seem yet older 
 than he was, and whose quiet and retired life was 
 remarkable only for its purity and for its perfect
 
 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONI. 251 
 
 inoffensiveness to any man alive. Nor were the 
 social position or connections of this good old man 
 more calculated to draw attention on him than the 
 unpretending modesty of his blameless life. For 
 the old Cardinal di Montalto was the son of a 
 peasant of the March of Ancona ; had begun lif e 
 as an humble mendicant friar ; and having first risen 
 by his virtues and talents to be the general of his 
 order, had by this road reached the cardinalate. 
 Yet it was on this obscure old man that the eyes of 
 his fellows of the Sacred College had turned as 
 the most likely candidate for the papacy, on the 
 evidently not distant day when Gregory the Thir- 
 teenth, despite all his precautions, should not be 
 able to live any longer. There were not wanting 
 members of the college bearing the names of Medici, 
 Este, Farnese, and others of the great princely 
 families of Italy ; but every man was afraid of his 
 fellow. Most men in Rome at that day, whether 
 clerical or lay, had so much cause to fear. And 
 it was thought that no man need fear poor old 
 Cardinal di Montalto, who had never given offence 
 to any one, or seemed capable of conceiving a 
 feeling of animosity or resentment. Besides the 
 very manifest infirmities of old Peretti — that 
 was the Cardinal di Montalto's family name — his 
 tottering gait and bent body were, on the principle 
 above mentioned, all recommendations in his favour. 
 It was clear he could not last long*. And his short
 
 252 VJTTOBIA ACCORAMBONL 
 
 papacy would give rival parties time, as each hoped, 
 to strengthen itself, and to be ready then for the 
 struggle which they feared to undertake at the 
 present moment. As for the old man himself, 
 when spoken to on the subject, he would treat the 
 matter as one in which a man so near the grave 
 could have little interest ; and with a mild sigh and 
 gentle shake of his bent head, followed by a hollow 
 cough, would give his hearers to understand how 
 entirely his mind was occupied on other things. 
 
 Rome, however, though quite agreeing with the 
 Cardinal di Montalto in the opinion that he could 
 not last long, yet thought it probable that he would 
 last longer than the octogenarian pope; and con- 
 sidered that for such brief space he would be 
 the most convenient, inoffensive, meek pope that 
 could be found. Despite himself, therefore, Felix 
 Peretti, Cardinal di Montalto, occupied an important 
 position in the Roman world when the Accoramboni 
 family arrived in the Eternal City.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THREE STRINGS TO THE HEROINE* S BOW. 
 
 The "sensation" caused by the first appearance 
 of the beauty on this great theatre and focus of 
 all the grandeurs of the world, exceeded all that 
 the proprietors of the new "great attraction" had 
 promised themselves. All Rome talked of nothing- 
 else than the lovely and all-accomplished Yittoria. 
 Cardinals met to discuss the rival pretensions of the 
 French and Spanish courts, but found themselves 
 neglecting such trifling matters to expatiate, quite 
 en connaisseurs, on the marvellous perfections of 
 the young provincial from the Marches. Princes of 
 the noblest and most powerful families of Italy, 
 young and old, single or married, swore that the 
 bewitching stranger was worthy of promotion to 
 the honour of becoming — the plaything of an hour 
 to any one of them. Father, mother, and brothers, 
 all found themselves suddenly changed into people 
 of importance; sought for, courted, and made
 
 254 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 much of by magnates lay and ecclesiastical, into 
 whose presence they would have hardly ventured to 
 come cap in hand a few short weeks ago. In a 
 word, their speculation promised excellently well ; 
 and only prudence was needed to make the most of 
 it. Very much prudence — Italian prudence, of a 
 far more long-sighted and subtly calculating kind 
 than is ordinarily known to the more off-hand and 
 open men of a less guileful race. This excess of 
 prudence, and the exaggerated value attached to it, 
 and admiration of it, is a marked and peculiar 
 characteristic of the Italian character. It is not a 
 pleasing one. And were it not that there seem to 
 be reasons for believing that the same peculiarity 
 marked the old Roman character, it might be 
 attributed to the unhappy social organisation which 
 has for so many centuries sown the field of society 
 broadcast with dangers and pitfalls of all kinds, so 
 as to make every man afraid of his neighbour. It 
 is difficult not to place somewhat of the strange 
 cautiousness which meets one at every turn both 
 in Italian histories of the past and in the modern 
 life of the people, to the account of this cause. 
 But we remember the dictum of the old poet, who 
 more than any other has daguerreotyped for us 
 the life, manners, and modes of thought of the 
 old Roman world — Horace — to the effect that " no 
 one of the gods refuses his favour to the man 
 whom Prudence stands by," and recognize in the
 
 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 255 
 
 thought the ancestors of Italy's present and 
 mediaeval inhabitants. 
 
 The game now to be played out by the combined 
 sagacity of the Accoramboni family was one which 
 called forth all the resources of this favourite 
 faculty. If the prizes in the wheel were numerous 
 and splendid, so also were the dangers which lay 
 thick and various round about them ; so many 
 things had to be considered in that strangely con- 
 stituted and cynically corrupt Roman world, which 
 the members of a simpler, because a more law- 
 governed, state of society would never dream of. 
 Enmities had to be forecastingly provided against. 
 And if this were impossible, they were to be pro- 
 vidently counteracted by such protections as might 
 be most suited for overcoming them ; and if it 
 were absolutely inevitable to give offence either 
 to one or to another person, the means of injuring 
 possessed by either at the time being or prospec- 
 tively in the future, had to be carefully and 
 sagaciously compared and balanced. And in a 
 state of society where every man, from my lord 
 cardinal down to the vagabond, who was first 
 cousin to the laundress who washed for my lord 
 ■cardinal's valet, and every woman, from the princess 
 of an ail-but sovereign house down to the old 
 hag on whose daughter one of his highnesses 
 lawless free lances was known to cast an eye of 
 affection — all in every class and in every degree
 
 256 VITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONL 
 
 sought to secure life,, property, and advancement, 
 not by their own merits or industry, or the pro- 
 tection of the public law, but by favour, privilege, 
 and patronage — in such a state of society these 
 calculations and provisions were complex and 
 difficult matters, as will be seen in the sequel of 
 this true history. 
 
 No part of the difficulty which lay before 
 Vittoria's judicious father and anxious mother, 
 arose from lack of eligible candidates for their 
 daughter's favour. Suitors on all sorts of terms 
 came forward in abundance. To choose wisely 
 and prudently among them was the point. And 
 the difficulty of the case was sadly increased by 
 a discordance of opinion between Vittoria's papa 
 and mamma. The case was as follows : From 
 among the crowd of pretendants, three stood for- 
 ward prominently as the most promising. The 
 first was Francesco Peretti, the favourite nephew 
 of poor quiet old Cardinal di Montalto. The 
 Perettis were poor, and not even noble. What 
 then had simple Francesco Peretti to offer, that 
 could justify him in dreaming of carrying off a 
 prize that princes and cardinals were disputing ? 
 His personal qualifications may have been high, 
 or may have been none at all. Of the many 
 contemporary writers who have expressly or in- 
 cidentally mentioned the facts of this history, no 
 one has thought it worth his while to advert even
 
 VITTOBIA ACCOBAMBOXI. 257 
 
 to such, irrelevant circumstances. But Francesco 
 Peretti was the nephew of the uncle ; and it might 
 well be that the nephew of old Fra Felice (Friar 
 Felix, as we should say) would turn out to be the 
 greatest catch in all Rome. For all the world in 
 the Eternal City seemed to have made up their 
 minds that the decrepit old cardinal friar was to 
 be pope. And a pope's favourite nephew ! And 
 such a pope ; a meek old man used to the quietest 
 retirement, without worldly sense or passion in him 
 enough to resent the taking of his cloak off his 
 back ! Why, it would be as good as having the 
 papacy itself for one's dower ! " And then, my 
 dear Yittoria, it is your duty, you know, to think 
 of your family. There are four brothers ! God 
 knows, it's little enough I can do for them. But 
 with the position that such a marriage would place 
 you in, there are no limits — positively no limits to 
 the hopes that might open before all of us." It is 
 true that in catching Peretti, Yittoria was playing 
 her great stake for a bird not in the hand, but still 
 in the bush of the future. It was possible, after 
 all, that the Cardinal di Montalto might never be 
 pope. But, on the other hand, the Peretti marriage 
 was free from great risks and perils which sur- 
 rounded the union with another of the trio of 
 aspirants, who, out of all those that at first entered 
 their names, finally ran for the plate. 
 
 All these things duly meditated and calculated, 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 VITTOBIA ACCOEAMBONL 
 
 papa Accorainboni declared liimself decidedly in 
 favour of knocking down all that desirable lot, 
 with magnificent liead of hair annexed, lovely eyes, 
 attractive form, brilliant accomplishments laid on 
 regardless of expense, &c. &c. &c, known by the 
 name and title of Vittoria Accorainboni to Francesco 
 Peretti, as to the best bidder. 
 
 But, as has been said, there was an unhappy 
 difference of opinion between the chiefs of the 
 Accorainboni councils. And while in reply to 
 Peretti' s proposals, " papa said, yes ! she may ; 
 mamma said, no ! she shan't ! " For the female 
 imagination was dazzled by the brilliant magni- 
 ficence of the second candidate for her daughter's 
 hand. This was no less a man than the Italian 
 historical reader's old acquaintance, Prince Paolo 
 Giordano Orsini ! There was an offer ! the head 
 of all the Orsini clan ! the noblest family in Eome ! 
 The owner of immense territories, and so powerful 
 that popes themselves quailed before him, and 
 hesitated to put the law in execution against him 
 or his. Was such a son-in-law to be for a moment 
 compared to the obscure nephew of an old monk, 
 who might or might not one day be pope ? In 
 this case the bird was a bird in the hand, and not 
 one in the bush ; and a bird of such dazzling 
 plumage ! The prince was the man for the lady 
 mother's money ; and if her word was worth any- 
 thing, no trumpery commoner should ever have
 
 "ITT OBI A ACCOBAMBONI. 259 
 
 lier darling child, &c. &c. &c. — a whole page of 
 etceteras ! 
 
 There were, however, some drawbacks to the 
 brilliant advantages of a union with the prince; 
 that must be admitted. In the first place — and 
 this was the consideration that chiefly weighed 
 with the prudent and wary father — the whole of 
 the powerful and unscrupulous Orsini clan would 
 doubtless be furious at such a mismarriage on the 
 part of its chief. And there were other very 
 influential personages likely to be highly offended 
 by the marriage. It was not without reason, in 
 short, that Count Claudio Accoramboni considered 
 the connection, however flattering, as doubly 
 hazardous. Then, again, the noble Orsini had, 
 about two years previously, murdered his first 
 wife. Not that such a circumstance could be 
 held in any wise to sully the character of one in 
 the unattackable position of the Prince Orsini, or 
 that any great weight should be attributed to an 
 accident that would frequently happen in the 
 noblest families. Still, Vittoria's father thought 
 that, all other things being equal, it might be held 
 to be an objection to a son-in-law in the eyes of a 
 fond parent ; while her mamma felt strongly that 
 in the case of a prince, it was mere invidious 
 cavilling to rake up matters of a kind that were 
 never alluded to in really good society. Again : 
 though of course no nobility could be more exalted >
 
 260 VITTOBIA ACG0BA2IB0XI. 
 
 more undoubted, more ancient and celebrated than 
 that of the chief of the great house of Orsini, 
 whose names are to be found on every page of 
 the history of their country for hundreds of years 
 back, as the constant disturbers of peaceful life 
 and social progress, by their noble determination 
 to be subject to no law save that of their own 
 fierce will, though all the world recognized this 
 nobility as of the purest water and most genuine 
 dye, yet, somehow or other, old Dame Nature, 
 obstinately taking note only of his highnesses 
 manner of life, had got it mto her stupid old 
 head that he was not noble at all, but to a re- 
 markable degree the reverse. Not that it would 
 have signified a rush what Dame Nature, with her 
 old-fashioned notions, might have thought about 
 the matter, had it not been that she had unfortu- 
 nately found the means of expressing her opinion 
 so emphatically, that it was impossible not to be 
 more or less annoyed by it. It was now fifty 
 years that she had been making up her mind as 
 to the genuineness of the nobility of the most 
 noble prince ; and she now announced her opinion 
 on the subject to the world by fashioning him into 
 the most hideously bloated caricature of the human 
 form and face divine that a nightmare fancy could 
 conceive. He was, we are told, so enormously fat, 
 that his leg was as large round as an ordinary 
 man's body. And one of these huge unnaturally
 
 VITTORIA ACCORAMBONI. 261 
 
 bloated limbs was afflicted -with a loatlisonie 
 cancerous affection, named, we are told, by the 
 science of that good old time, a "lupa," or she- 
 wolf, because it was necessary continually to supply 
 it with abundant applications of raw flesh, in order 
 that, exerting on them its destroying power, it 
 might so the more spare the living tissues of the 
 noble patient's body. It might seem, on the whole, 
 to the livers in a degenerate age, that these cir- 
 cumstances might also have weighed somewhat in 
 the estimate of the prince as a bridegroom, formed 
 by the young lady and her family. But they do 
 not appear to have done so. And the facts have 
 been preserved by the contemporary writers only 
 as the envious talk of other Roman ladies, mothers 
 and daughters, who would fain have secured the 
 noble prince, lupa and all, for themselves. 
 
 Strange, is it not, to note how entirely changed 
 our nineteenth century world is from a state of 
 society in which noble matrons and damsels could 
 be led by such feelings to indulge in such talk ! 
 "What do May Fair drawing-rooms care about the 
 fifty years, or other drawbacks, of great catches 
 in the matrimonial market, that have been already 
 caught ? But Roman sixteenth-century saloons 
 did, as it seems, find no little delectation in such 
 considerations. 
 
 That other little circumstance of the removal of 
 his first wife by the agency of his highness' s own
 
 262 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 noble hands, though it was by no means felt to 
 have cast any stain on the prince's fair fame as 
 a knight and a gentleman, or to have rendered 
 him generally on that account a less desirable 
 family connection, yet was one of the causes 
 that, as prudent Count Accoramboni perceived,, 
 contributed to surround a marriage between his 
 daughter and the prince with especial danger. 
 For the first Princess Orsini, thus removed, was 
 no other than Isabella dei Medici, the sister of 
 Francis, the reigning Duke of Florence, and of 
 the Cardinal Ferdinand dei Medici, one of the most 
 powerful of the Sacred College. Now this poor- 
 Isabella had unhappily been led, by the total 
 neglect of her noble husband, to requite his 
 conduct to her, in such sort, as to make her 
 death no less necessary to the honour of her 
 " serene " and " most reverend " brothers, than 
 to that of her husband. So much so, that the 
 former, far from feeling any estrangement from 
 their brother-in-law on that account, considered 
 themselves beholden to him for his nice care for 
 the reputation of the family. And, notwith- 
 standing any little unpleasantness as to the manner 
 of their dear departed sister's death, the duke and 
 the cardinal would have felt that the " honour " 
 of the Medici family was dreadfully compromised 
 by their brother-in-law making so shocking a 
 misalliance. And Count Accoramboni wisely con-
 
 VITTOEIA AGCOBAMBONI. 263 
 
 sidered that it might not pay iu the long run to 
 encounter such enmities, even to make his daughter 
 Princess Orsini. 
 
 But no prudent considerations of this kind could 
 induce his lady wife to give up the dear vision of 
 becoming mother-in-law to a prince. Despite his 
 fifty years, his infirmities, and his monstrous 
 unwieldy person, she felt that a prince is a prince 
 for a' that, and a' that, and twice as muckle's a' 
 that. And the Orsini offer had, accordingly, her 
 consistent and unflinching support. 
 
 As for the third proposals, perhaps it would 
 have been better to say nothing about them, were 
 it not for the paramount obligation to tell the 
 truth, and, as far as in him lies, the whole truth, 
 which is binding on whosoever presumes to meddle 
 with history. Be as angry as you will, gentle 
 reader, with the novelist who recounts to you what 
 you had rather not hear. His business and duty 
 is to please you. But do not blame a poor dealer 
 with facts, who is forbidden by the primary law of 
 his duty to make things pleasant on all occasions, 
 and who would fail in setting before you a true 
 picture of any bygone state of society, if he shrank 
 from telling you everything which is disagreeable 
 in the telling. 
 
 Well, then, the beautiful Vittoria's third suitor 
 was his eminence the most reverend sexagenarian 
 Cardinal Bishop Farnese. Suitor ? Proposals ?
 
 264 YITTOBIA ACC0RA2IB0NL 
 
 Why, the old man was a priest irrevocably vowed 
 to celibacy ! Yes, indeed. That was unquestion- 
 ably the state of the case. And yet his "pro- 
 posals" had the energetic support of two of the 
 brothers. What ! when it has been just related 
 how two other brothers, acting according to the 
 ideas prevalent in that age, thought it necessary to 
 connive at their fallen sister's murder, to purge the 
 family of the disgrace brought on it by her fault ! 
 And these two Accoramboni brothers, too, were of 
 " noble birth." But they were reprobate castaways 
 then, these young Grubbio counts ? Far from it ! 
 One of them, we are assured by a monk who has 
 written a biography of Sixtus the Fifth, was " a 
 young man of saintly morals," and was shortly 
 afterwards made a bishop. And, doubtless, if 
 proposals of the nature of those of his venerable 
 eminence the Cardinal Farnese had come from any 
 one of the same rank as the Accorambonis, the 
 young brother of saintly morals would have duly 
 resented them. That is the whole explanation of 
 the matter. What but honour could accrue to an 
 obscure provincial count's daughter and her family 
 from any connection with a cardinal and a Farnese ? 
 Such were the principles avowed and recognized 
 in the Eoman world of the sixteenth century.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BROTHEES-IX-LAW. 
 
 Thus Vittoria's three suitors had each their par- 
 tisans in the family councils. The father was 
 strong in favour of Francesco Peret/ti, the nephew 
 of his uncle ; the mother was desperately bent on 
 having "the sweet prince;" and the brother of 
 saintly morals was of opinion that most might be 
 made out of the noble and reverend Famese. 
 
 And what about the lovely maid herself ? Did 
 she remain aloof and fancy-free while her elders 
 were debating her destiny ? Did she take either 
 side in the momentous question ? Did she tell one 
 lover to " ask mamma/'' and the other to " speak 
 to papa?" Or, are we to suppose that she was 
 looked upon by her parents as an article to be 
 disposed of, and as having no voice in the matter ? 
 If we could discover any hint that could indicate a 
 preference on the young lady's part at this stage of 
 the matter, it would help to throw a light upon
 
 266 TITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONI. 
 
 some subsequent parts of the story. But no word 
 of the sort is to be found. 
 
 In this position of matters Count Claudio, finding 
 it hopeless to bring his wife over to his opinion,. 
 and thinking that delay might prove the most 
 dangerous of all courses, determined to exert his 
 authority as head of the family, and Vittoria was 
 duly married to Francesco Peretti, to the great 
 disgust of the exemplary old Cardinal Farnese, and 
 to the rage and fury of the Duke of Bracciano — 
 one of Orsha's titles, by which he is often called. 
 To the last her mother protested, as one of the 
 chroniclers writes, that, "for her part, she would 
 not have preferred a future uncertain greatness for 
 her daughter to princely grandeur present in the 
 person of the prince, who was brother-in-law of an- 
 other cardinal and prince, Ferdinando dei Medici." 
 
 Meanwhile, Vittoria w^as received into the Peretti 
 family in a manner, writes the historian, which 
 ought to have contented and made the happiness of 
 any woman. The old Cardinal di Montalto showed 
 her every mark of affection. Though by no means 
 rich, he did his utmost to satisfy all her tastes 
 and caprices. The old monk, in the words of the 
 chronicler, " even anticipated her womanish desires 
 for ornaments, servants, pomp, dresses, jewels, and 
 a coach," that then rare and much-coveted apex of 
 fashionable luxury and ostentation. Her husband, 
 we are assured, loved her "almost madly, and quite
 
 VITTORIA ACC0R1MB0NI. 26? 
 
 beyond what husbands are wont to feel for their 
 wives." Donna Canmiilla, Francesco Peretti's 
 mother, and the cardinal's favourite sister, treated 
 her with the greatest affection, and the old cardinal 
 himself ' ' seemed to study nothing else than to spy 
 out her wishes, and satisfy them even before they 
 were expressed, although they were often of a very 
 costly nature." 
 
 Her family, too, began almost immediately to 
 reap important advantages from the new connection. 
 Of her four brothers, two had favoured the wishes 
 of his most noble and most reverend eminence the 
 Cardinal Farnese ; and the other two were of their 
 mother's faction, warm supporters of Prince Orsini's 
 wooing. But the winning candidate does not 
 appear to have allowed any unkind feeling to have 
 diminished the cordiality of his affection for his 
 new brothers-in-law. 
 
 First, her eldest brother, Ottavio, the " young' 
 man of saintly morals," who had striven to make 
 his sister the mistress of the sexagenarian priest, 
 had to be provided for. He, as might, perhaps, 
 have been guessed, had embraced the ecclesiastical 
 career ; and the pious and exemplary cardinal, his 
 new uncle-in-law, lost no time in writing to the 
 Duke of Urbino, who was their common sovereign 
 (both Gubbio and Fermo, the Cardinal di Montalto's 
 birthplace being in the territory of the Dukes of 
 Urbino), to beg him to propose Ottavio Acco-
 
 268 VITTORIA ACCORAMBONL 
 
 ramboni to tlie Pope for a bishopric. He was 
 accordingly made Bishop of Fossonibroni almost 
 immediately. Of course it was easier to make a 
 churchman's fortune than to find advancement for 
 a layman ; almost all careers of the latter category 
 requiring, more or less, some measure of capacity 
 for being useful on the part of those who seek 
 promotion in them. However, when the lovely 
 Vittoria began to sigh about poor dear Griulio, her 
 second brother, and to fret over his want of a 
 position, the good uncle-in-law again put his 
 shoulder to the wheel. He could not make Giulio 
 a bishop, but he succeeded in inducing his eminence 
 Cardinal Sforza to take him as his " gentleman of 
 the chamber." It would seem that brother Giulio 
 must have been of the Orsini faction in the matter 
 of the wooing. But the benefits showered on the 
 family by the unvindictive Perettis fell impartially 
 on the supporters of either rival. The third 
 brother, Flaminio, was a Farnese-ite. And that 
 worthy old churchman, despite the natural disgust 
 which he must have felt at the insulting rejection 
 of his flattering offers to the Accoramboni family, 
 seems to have charged himself with the fortunes of 
 his zealous and faithful, though unsuccessful, sup- 
 porter. The fourth brother still remained to be 
 provided for ; and Vittoria did not disguise from 
 herself that the peculiar circumstances of his case 
 in some degree increased the difficulty of placing
 
 VITTOBIA AGGOBAMBONI. 269 
 
 him in an independent and honourable position. 
 The truth was, that Marcello Accoramboni had 
 been " a little wild." He had, indeed, given him- 
 self to the culture of that noxious plant the avencu 
 selvatica, or wild oat, on such an extensive scale as 
 to have attracted the notice of the police authorities, 
 who had strongly recommended him to sow none 
 of his favourite plant within the walls of Home, 
 and, indeed, as the surest mode of securing this 
 result, had requested him not to favour that city 
 with his presence until specially invited. In short, 
 Marcello Accoramboni was a bandit ; and Vittoria 
 did not venture to speak to the Cardinal di Montalto 
 about him. The inexhaustible kindness, however, 
 of her uncle-in-law extended itself even to this 
 black sheep of the Accoramboni flock. Guessing 
 all that his favourite nephew's beautiful bride would 
 have asked if she had dared, the indulgent old 
 cardinal protected the scapegrace from the police, 
 connived at his visits to Rome, and suffered him, 
 when there, to find an inviolable asylum in his 
 own sacred palace. " And it may fairly be said," 
 remarks the cardinal's biographer, " that by saving 
 this man's life, he was nurturing a snake in his 
 bosom." From which strong language it would 
 seem that Marcello Accoramboni's differences with 
 the law had been of a serious nature. And further, 
 from the protection against the law accorded to 
 such an offender by one in the position of the
 
 270 VITTORIA ACCORAMBONL 
 
 highly-respected Cardinal di Montalto, who was 
 designated by public opinion for the next successor 
 to the chair of St. Peter, and who was sedulously 
 nursing a reputation for goodness and respectability 
 of all sorts, we may draw some noteworthy conclu- 
 sions as to the general respect in which the law was 
 then held in Rome, and the feeling of the society 
 .generally with regard to those who lived under its 
 ban. 
 
 This fourth brother, Marcello the bandit, it 
 must be observed, had been a violent supporter of 
 Orsini's pretensions to his sister's hand. 
 
 And now it would seem that if ever a young wife 
 had reason to be contented with her lot, Vittoria 
 should have been so. All Rome thought so, and 
 expressed their opinions volubly enough, especially 
 all those Roman dames and damsels who " owed it 
 to themselves to declare that they, for their parts, 
 had never seen anything so very wonderful about 
 the girl, and had always said so." And this debt 
 to themselves they paid over and over again. For 
 the favourite nephew of a cardinal, whom all the 
 world fully expected to be the next pope, is a very 
 important man in the Eternal City ; and not even 
 Roman prudence could prevent ladies' tongues from 
 saying of him, and especially of his wife, what they 
 owed to themselves to say. 
 
 Gregory the Thirteenth, meanwhile, was be- 
 coming visibly more and more infirm. And
 
 YITTORIA ACCOBAMBONI. 271 
 
 Vittoria's ultimate greatness seemed to be pros- 
 perously and rapidly ripening. If only, indeed, 
 the Cardinal di Montalto should survive the 
 reigning pope. For the mild and gentle old man 
 was to all appearance little less infirm than the 
 man he was to succeed. As usual he was seen, 
 though sadly bent by age and much troubled at 
 times by his cough, assiduous at all his religious 
 duties. In the consistorial meetings of the Sacred 
 College, though constant in his attendance, and 
 ever one of the first cardinals in his place, he took 
 but little part in debate, having apparently no 
 strong political opinions, and being anxious only 
 about the punctual discharge of his own especial 
 duties and devout practices. At mass and other 
 public devotions he was seen constantly. And 
 these devout exercises, it was evident, so called 
 for the exertion of all the little strength and life 
 he had in him, that if ever worldly schemes and 
 ambitions had held any place in his chastened 
 heart, they had long ago burned themselves out. 
 As for the talk and schemes about raising him to 
 the papacy, he would never take any part in them ; 
 and would reply to any mention of the subject 
 only by a sad smile, and a gentle shake of the 
 venerable old bent head, generally interrupted by a 
 return of that distressing and ominous churchyard 
 cough. What a pope for a nephew !
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE WAY OF THE W0ELD IN E0ME. 
 
 One night, after the family of Francesco Peretti 
 had retired, the household was disturbed by an 
 impetuous knocking at the great door of the 
 palace. And in a minute or two afterwards 
 Catarina, the lady Vittoria's maid, came in great 
 haste into the chamber of her master and mistress, 
 and put a letter into the hands of the former. 
 She supposed, she said, that it must be some- 
 thing of great importance, for it had been brought 
 to the door in hot haste by Mancino, who had 
 charged her to deliver it without a moment's delay 
 to her master, as any loss of time would be of 
 disastrous consequence. 
 
 Now, the man who was known by this nickname 
 of "Mancino" — the left-handed, in English — was 
 one Dominico di Acquaviva, a bandit, whom Peretti 
 and his uncle the cardinal protected by affording 
 him sometimes an asylum, when hard pressed by 
 the police. He was a Fermo man — a fellow-
 
 VITTORIA ACC0BA2IB0NI. 273 
 
 countryman of the Perettis — a circumstance quite 
 sufficient, according to the ideas and feelings of 
 that day, to account for their protecting him 
 against the law. 
 
 Francesco's first impulse was to tell the man to 
 come up, that he might ask him further about his 
 mission. But he was told that the Mancino had 
 gone off hurriedly as soon as ever he had given 
 the letter. Francesco found that it was from 
 his not too respectable brother-in-law, Marcello 
 Accoramboni. It urged him to come to him forth- 
 with to a certain spot on the Monte Cavallo, where 
 he was waiting for him; adding further, that his 
 presence was needed on an affair of the utmost 
 importance, and of the most secret nature, in which 
 any delay would be fatal. Peretti does not seem to 
 have hesitated a minute about doing as he was 
 requested. He dressed himself in all haste, girded 
 on a sword, and ordered one single servant to be 
 ready to attend him with a torch. But, as he was 
 about to leave the house, his mother Cammilla 
 threw herself in his way, and implored him not 
 to go forth at that hour of the night. Vittoria 
 also joined her mother-in-law, and added her sup- 
 plications to her young husband not to put himself 
 into danger. Cammilla, poor mother, clung to his 
 knees in the extremity of her anxiety to prevent 
 her son from accepting the strange invitation. The 
 presence of Vittoria prevented her from saying all 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 VITTOEIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 that she nright otherwise have urged, as to the 
 character and habits of this bandit brother-in-law ; 
 but she observed that such a step on his part was 
 something wholly unprecedented, that he had never 
 before had any such business in conjunction with 
 her son, as could give rise to such a demand for so 
 untimely an interview; and finally, she declared 
 that she had a presentiment of evil such as on 
 former occasions had never deceived her — for- 
 getting, poor soul, that the infallibility of her 
 presentiment, if trusted, must make her suppli- 
 cation necessarily of no avail. In support of the 
 reasonableness of her fears, she entreated him to 
 remember, says the chronicler, "the extreme in- 
 dulgence of the times ; " by which she meant the 
 utter relaxation of all law and order, which made it 
 unsafe for any man to traverse the streets of Rome 
 after nightfall. 
 
 Francesco, however, was not to be deterred from 
 doing as he proposed. No danger, he said, should 
 prevent him from treating the brother of his 
 adored Yittoria as his own, so he broke away from 
 the weeping women, and went forth into the streets 
 with one man bearing a torch before him. But the 
 unhappy mother, clinging yet to the possibility of 
 frustrating her infallible presentiment, as a last 
 effort rushed after him, and catching him by his 
 cloak flying in the night- wind, hurriedly poured 
 into his ear all the grounds for misgiving, that the
 
 TITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONI. 275 
 
 poor woman could not bring herself to speak out 
 before her daughter-in-law. Was not this union 
 of two such men as Marcello Accoramboni and the 
 Mancino ominous of evil, both bandits, and both 
 men stained with blood, as they were ? For what 
 good or lawful purpose could two such men want 
 him in the streets of Rome at that hour of the 
 night ? Why had the Mancino, the bringer of this 
 fatal letter, gone off in such a hurry, avoiding 
 all questioning ? If Marcello had been in need of 
 defence from immediate danger, would he have 
 sent away from him a man carrying arms, and 
 accustomed to the use of them, like the Mancino ? 
 But all these arguments, urged with the hot 
 eloquence of affection and alarm, were fruitless. 
 Ashamed, perhaps, of going back to his wife and 
 telling her that he had thought better of facing 
 those dangers she had told him of, and had decided 
 on leaving her brother to his fate, he resisted all 
 poor CanmiihVs entreaties, and hurried on his 
 way. 
 
 He had reached the Monte Cavallo, and was near 
 the top of the ascent, when three shots from an 
 -arquebuse were heard, and Peretti fell mortally 
 wounded. In the next instant, four bravoes rushed 
 up to the body and made sure of their work by 
 repeated stabs with their daggers. The servant 
 with the torch fled, and carried to the wife and 
 mother the news of the fulfilment of that pre-
 
 276 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONT. 
 
 sentiment which the latter had been expressing to 
 him only a few minntes before. 
 
 Of course the rest of the night passed in the 
 murdered man's house in distracted lamentation. 
 Vittoria vied with her mother-in-law in the violence 
 and bitterness of her grief. But with early morn- 
 ing arrived the Cardinal di Montalto. The loss of 
 his nephew was probably more severe than that 
 sustained by either the widow or the childless 
 mother. Those who do not know what the pride 
 of family, and the desire of establishing a name and 
 a race is in an Italian breast, will hardly understand 
 how this should be so. They cannot tell what a 
 nephew is to an ambitious churchman. Yet the 
 old man entered the house with his accustomed 
 grave calmness. He bade the women restrain the 
 violence of their feelings, and cease to deplore the 
 irrevocable. He caused the mangled body to be 
 brought in from the public way where the mur- 
 derers had left it, and prepared for its decent and. 
 seemly burial. " Such was the influence of his 
 authority/' writes the previously quoted chronicler, 
 "that during the whole preparations and celebra- 
 tion of the funeral, nothing was heard from those 
 women, or seen in their manner, other than what 
 is seen in the case of ordinary deaths in well- 
 regulated and wisely-disciplined families." 
 
 It chanced that a consistory of cardinals had 
 been appointed for the very next day after
 
 VITTORIA ACCOBAMBOXI. 277 
 
 Francesco Peretti's murder. All Ronie was of 
 course talking of the deed ; not simply of the fact 
 that a man had been murdered on the Monte 
 Cayallo during the past night — that was far too 
 common an occurrence to excite much notice — but 
 that the favourite nephew of the man, who it was 
 universally expected would be pope, had been mur- 
 dered; and that, as everybody at once suspected 
 and cautiously whispered, by one of the most 
 powerful nobles in Eome. For there seems to have 
 been but little doubt in the public mind, from the 
 first, that Prince Paolo Giordano Orsini, Duke of 
 Bracciano, was the author of his rival's death. 
 
 A curious feature, recurring again and again 
 in every page of ruediasval and modern Roman 
 history, and strongly marked to the present day 
 in the social aspects of the Eternal City, is a con- 
 tinual watchfulness, and cunning subtle deduction 
 from it, and the corresponding equally vigilant 
 care to elude it. The minute circumstances and 
 acts which are meditated and commented on, and 
 the diplomatic caution with which those whose 
 position draws men's eyes on them act in every 
 detail of life, surprise the observer who belongs 
 to a state of society constituted on different prin- 
 ciples. He generally explains the phenomenon by 
 attributing it to the simple frivolity of a people 
 who have no larger interests to employ their 
 thoughts. But the true explanation lies deeper
 
 278 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONL 
 
 among the fundamental principles of the Roman 
 social system. The small matters thus spied out, 
 on the one hand, and hidden on the other, are of 
 real importance in a society governed by privilege 
 instead of by law. In proportion as law is weak, 
 and privilege powerful, individual will, character, 
 and caprice become important. The cardinal has 
 a nephew, and the nephew has a secretary, and 
 the secretary has a fair friend, and the fair friend 
 has a favourite maid, and the favourite maid has a 
 lover, and the lover has a cousin, and the cousin 
 may sell apples at the street corner, perhaps. The 
 apple-seller has in the all- destructive and demo- 
 ralising hierarchy of privilege a certain amount of 
 power as against some other poor devil less " pro- 
 tected" than himself. In every despotism the 
 despot will be keenly watched by those subjected 
 to his power. Cunning watchfulness is the natural 
 arm of the unprotected weak against the unre- 
 strained strong. But in Rome an altogether special 
 perfection of cunning, hypocrisy, and guile is 
 generated by the peculiarity of the circumstances 
 that lead the great objects of spying watchfulness 
 to be constantly on their guard against it, and to 
 elude and delude it by unsleeping caution and 
 secrecy. The lay despot of any other social system 
 is studied and watched, but has rarely any such 
 object before him as to make him care much to
 
 VITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONI. 279 
 
 avoid the scrutiny. Every cardinal is living with 
 a view to the papacy, if not absolutely in his own 
 person, in that of the leading man of his party, 
 whose success is all-important to him. Hence 
 every attempt to spy out the secret of a real 
 emotion, to obtain a gliinpse of the true desire or 
 intention, to peer through some crevice in the 
 screen of dissimulation and caution, is met by 
 these cynosures of Eoman eyes by a trained and 
 practised secretiveness, which has thus, under the 
 specious name of prudence, become one of the 
 most admired and cultivated of accomplishments. 
 
 All Rome was thus on the watch, therefore, for 
 some slip of bad play on the part of the Cardinal di 
 Montalto, which might afford a momentary view 
 of the cards he held, and a shrewd guess at his 
 game. 
 
 Certainly, the chance was a rare one. Every- 
 body knew how wrapped up the x>ld man was in 
 the nephew who had been thus taken from him. 
 It was impossible to doubt the severity of the blow. 
 It was almost equally impossible to doubt that the 
 cardinal must have pretty well known what hand 
 had struck it. The world of Rome felt little or no 
 doubt that the formidable Duke of Bracciano was 
 the murderer, if not by his own hand, by that of 
 his hired assassins. Here, then, was a rare oppor- 
 tunity of observing the character and tendencies
 
 280 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONL 
 
 of the man who was expected to be shortly pope. 
 Would grief and natural indignation be allowed 
 to have their natural course ? Would the future 
 pope throw down the gauntlet to the most powerful 
 and audacious subject in Koine ?
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED. 
 
 Not a cardinal in all Eoine was more scrupulously 
 punctual in his attendance at all consistorial and 
 other meetings than the old and infirm Cardinal di 
 JMontalto. He was noted for being almost always 
 the first, or among the first, to enter the hall of 
 meeting. But it was universally thought that on 
 this occasion he would absent himself from the 
 unluckily inopportune assembly. His much-loved 
 nephew, the prop of his old age, the hope of his 
 ambition, who alone could have made the triple 
 crown, in any worldly point of view, worth having 
 to him, was lying a yet unburied mangled corpse in 
 the house of mourning he must leave to attend the 
 conference. He must quit his desolate sister in her 
 sorrow, and leave alone with the dead the weeping 
 women whom his presence and authority alone had 
 restrained from abandoning themselves to all the 
 excesses of hysterical emotion. But it was not so 
 much the painful effort necessary for tearing him-
 
 282 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 self from this sad scene to present himself in his 
 place at the Consistory, that led people to whisper 
 to each other that old Mont alto wonld never be able 
 to be at that day's meeting; it was the thought 
 that surely, under such circumstances, he would 
 not venture to meet the prying eyes of the public, 
 and especially of his peers of the Sacred College. 
 Human infirmity, it was thought, could hardly in 
 such a case attain to that perfect suppression of 
 all emotion, that impassible and inscrutable de- 
 meanour of features, voice, and manner, which it 
 was, as a matter of course, considered that policy 
 and prudence in such a case demanded. What was 
 it the old man had to conceal ? Was he not to be 
 supposed to grieve over his nephew's untimely 
 death ! He was to conceal everything he felt on 
 any subject. It was the traditional rule of conduct 
 so universal, received from generation to genera- 
 tion, as to have become instinctive in the Roman 
 nature. Something might gleam out from the inner 
 hidden soul of the man in the weak moment of 
 deep affliction ; some feeling which might be made 
 the basis of carefully-reasoned theories as to the 
 inscrutable old man's real thoughts and desires ! 
 We are told of profound comparative anatomists 
 who, from the sight of the small fragment of an 
 antediluvian fossil skeleton, can determine the 
 structure of the entire organisation. And the 
 cunning moral anatomists of Rome ask only a
 
 VITTORIA AGGOBAMBONI. 283 
 
 momentary flash of real emotion to construct from 
 it a whole theory of probable human character and 
 intentions. This was the ordeal to which it was 
 thought that the heavily- stricken Cardinal di Mon- 
 talto would not venture to expose himself. 
 
 All Eome was wrong. Punctual at the appointed 
 hour, with bent body and tottering step, as usual, 
 but not one iota more so than usual, and with his 
 wonted calmly benignant but wholly impassible 
 expression of features, the old man walked, one of 
 the first to arrive, as ever, into the hall of meeting. 
 
 Of course every eye was on him, striving in vain 
 to penetrate below that unruffled surface to the 
 tumultuous movements which they thought must 
 needs be raging beneath it. Then, one after 
 another, their eminences advanced to condole with 
 him on his misfortune. Just as in an exhibition of 
 animal magnetism, the spectators attempt to satisfy 
 themselves of the genuineness of the patient's 
 insensibility by poking, pricking, and pinching* 
 him in every sensitive part, so the curious witnesses 
 of this exhibition of stoicism proceeded to test the 
 perfection of it by the closest scrutiny of the 
 performer under the scalpel of their compassion 
 and sympathy. But, to the admiration of all pre- 
 sent, no shadow of failing under the ordeal rewarded 
 the vigilance of the observers. With affectionate 
 thanks to each for their kind sympathy, the old 
 man replied to one, that in this world such mis-
 
 284 VITTOBIA ACGOBAjIBONL 
 
 fortunes must be looked for, that history was full 
 of such; to another, that excessive grief for the 
 irremediable was but blameable weakness; and 
 reminded a third that David, the man after God's 
 own heart, had arisen and washed his face when his 
 child was finally taken from him. 
 
 The most accomplished and practised members 
 of the court, writes an historian, attributed this 
 immobility of his to an affectation of the stoic 
 courage of Brutus and Cato; but the wise judged 
 that "without true Christian virtue it was impos- 
 sible to feign to such perfection!" So that the 
 capacity for dissimulation so much admired by 
 Rome, was actually erected by it into "a Christian 
 virtue \" 
 
 When Gregory, the octogenarian pope, entered 
 the Consistory, "the first thing he did," says the 
 chronicler, " was to fix his eyes on the Cardinal di 
 Montalto, and burst into tears." But Peretti re- 
 mained to all appearance unmoved. And when it 
 came to his turn to approach the pope for the 
 transaction of business connected with the offices 
 he held, and the pope, again giving way to tears, 
 condoled with, him, and promised him that every 
 effort should be made to discover the murderers, 
 and bring them to condign punishment, the car- 
 dinal, humbly thanking his holiness for his sym- 
 pathy, besought him to make no further inquiry 
 into the matter, lest many w r ho were innocent might
 
 TITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONI. 285 
 
 be made miserable by another's crime. For his 
 own part, he assured the pope, that, from the 
 bottom of his heart, he pardoned whosoever had 
 done the deed. And, thus saying, he passed on to 
 speak, with imperturbable calm, of the ordinary 
 business in hand. 
 
 It is curious to observe in all this the total 
 ignorance manifested by all parties concerned, and 
 by the historians who narrate the facts, of the 
 most elementary notions of the duties and functions 
 of civil government. 
 
 The pope, we are told, expressed the utmost 
 astonishment, on quitting the Consistory, at the 
 Cardinal di Montalto's admirable self-possession; 
 and, in talking to his nephew, the Cardinal di San 
 Sisto, said, shaking his head, u Truly that man is a 
 great friar ! " 
 
 But the poor cardinal had to undergo yet another 
 severe ordeal. Roman etiquette required that all 
 the great personages of the city, lay as well as 
 ecclesiastic, should severally visit him to condole 
 with him on his loss. Among the rest Prince 
 Orsini would, of course, have to discharge this 
 ceremonial obligation. Information had been care- 
 fully obtained when this trying visit was to be 
 paid, and at the time named for it the receiving- 
 room and ante-chamber of the cardinal were filled 
 to overflowing with prelates and others, who, on 
 one pretence or another, had gone thither, " every
 
 286 YITTOniA ACCOBAMBONI. 
 
 one of them," says the historian, "with the de- 
 liberate purpose of minutely observing the first 
 meeting of those two faces, judging that the 
 cardinal would scarcely succeed in hiding, at 
 least at the first moment of meeting, some slight 
 alteration of countenance." But the reverend and 
 illustrious concourse of spies were disappointed; 
 for Montalto received the prince with his usual 
 suavity of manner and cheerful countenance, and 
 discoursed with him on indifferent subjects as he 
 had often done before. So that Orsini, on leaving 
 him, " said laughingly to his companions, as he got 
 into his carriage, ' Faith, it is true enough that the 
 old fellow is a very great friar ! ' " 
 
 It is worth observing that these reiterated testi- 
 monies to the old cardinars consummate mastery of 
 the art of dissimulation are triumphantly related by 
 his biographer, a monk of his own order, as bright 
 srems in the coronet of virtues with which he 
 crowns his hero. And he assures us, moreover, 
 that the circumstances of this tragic affair, which 
 in less masterly hands might easily have turned 
 to the considerable injury of his chances of the 
 papacy, were, by his consummate skill, so managed 
 as to materially strengthen them. "For," said 
 the cardinals to themselves, "evidently this man, 
 either by nature cannot, or from policy will not, do 
 injury to any one, however grievously he may be 
 offended."
 
 VITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONI. 287 
 
 In the meantime his liberal conduct to Vittoria 
 also won him golden opinions in all quarters. The 
 young widow had to return to her father's house, 
 and might have been sent back as empty-handed as 
 she had come from it. But Montalto made her a 
 present of all the gold and silver plate, the costly 
 ■dresses and jewels which he and her late husband 
 had purchased for her. 
 
 While Rome was still admiring this liberality, and 
 within a very few days after the murder, the atten- 
 tion of the city was excited, and the feelings of the 
 cardinal outraged anew, by the news that Vittoria 
 and her mother had left their home, and sought 
 shelter in the palace of Prince Orsini. The gross 
 indecency and audacity of such a step seems irre- 
 concilable with any other supposition than that 
 they were both guilty accomplices in the murder of 
 Peretti. It was said that they sought in the palace 
 of Orsini, which was inviolable by the police, an 
 asylum from any pursuits which might be directed 
 against them on account of Perettr's death. And 
 the action of the executive authorities in such 
 matters was so little regulated by reason and justice, 
 was so arbitrary and uncertain, at one moment 
 inflicting the most violent punishments without a 
 shadow of real evidence against the accused, and 
 at another permitting the most notorious crimes to 
 remain unnoticed, that the mere circumstance of 
 persons, however innocently connected by chance
 
 288 VITTORIA ACCORAMBONL 
 
 of time and place with any crime, seeking to put 
 themselves out of the way of the officers of justice, 
 was no presumption of their guilt. But the Car- 
 dinal di Montalto was abundantly able to have 
 protected Vittoria and her mother in these circum- 
 stances if they had needed it. And, again, why 
 had her mother more cause to fear the pursuit of 
 the police than her father ? But, in any case, it is 
 impossible not to feel that the roof of the Prince 
 Orsini ought to have been, under the circumstances, 
 the very last in Rome to which Vittoria should 
 have had recourse. 
 
 Rome heard without surprise, though not without 
 much disgust, that a marriage was forthwith to 
 take place between Prince Orsini, Duke of Brac- 
 ciano, and Vittoria Accoramboni. But, in the 
 meantime, the officers of justice, stimulated, it 
 would seem, by the extraordinary character of the 
 circumstances, had, despite the Cardinal di Mon- 
 talto' s desire to the contrary, commenced a more 
 than usually active investigation into the murder. 
 The bargello succeeded in capturing the Mancino. 
 And on his second examination, on the 24th of 
 February, 1582, "without the application of tor- 
 ture," this man confessed that the murder had 
 been plotted by the mother of Vittoria and the 
 maid Catarina, and had been committed by some 
 free lances in the employ of a certain noble, " whose 
 name is for good and sufficient reasons not re-
 
 VITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONI. 289 
 
 corded." Sucli are the words of tlie legal record, 
 as quoted by the historian. Catarina, the maid, 
 had been sent to the safe refuge of Orsini's feudal 
 hold at Bracciano. This woman, according to some 
 of the accounts of the story, was the sister of the 
 bandit Mancino. 
 
 Very little mystery, therefore, seems to hang 
 about the main points of the story. The Countess 
 Accoramboni had never given up her ambitious 
 hope of seeing her daughter the wife of one of 
 Rome's greatest nobles, whose first consort had been 
 a sovereign princess. Her bandit son Marcello, 
 who had been equally anxious for the marriage of 
 his sister with the chief of the great Orsini family, 
 had, in conjunction with his mother, determined 
 that the marriage with Peretti, brought about by 
 his father, should not frustrate their hopes and 
 plans ; and the noble suitor himself, who had with 
 his own hands disembarrassed himself of his first 
 wife, and who had no lack of men at his beck, 
 perfectly ready to do any deed of blood he might 
 command them, had, without any difficulty, as we 
 may well suppose, fallen in with their views as to 
 the best method of attaining the object of his 
 wishes. The murder was, there can be no question, 
 concocted by the Signora Accoramboni, her son 
 Marcello, and Prince Paolo Giordano Orsini. But 
 it is upon the cards- -just upon the cards — that 
 Vittoria herself may not have had any guilty 
 
 yol. i. u
 
 290 VITTOBIA ACCOBAIIBONI. 
 
 knowledge of the plot. It is true, she is recorded 
 to have joined her mother-in-law in imploring her 
 husband not to go out on the fatal expedition 
 which led him to his murderers. True, also, that 
 she composed an elegy on his fate, still extant, in 
 very unexceptionable Petrarchian verse. But the 
 entreaties of a young wife to a young husband not 
 to expose himself to personal danger for the sake 
 of succouring her brother, might very easily, as 
 everybody can understand, be so shaped as to act 
 as so many incitements to him to meet the peril. 
 And as for the Petrarchian elegy, if, as there is 
 reason to suppose, it gave no umbrage to the noble 
 Orsini, we can hardly be justified in attributing to 
 it any great weight as an exposition of her genuine 
 sentiments. On the other hand, there is the 
 damning fact of her all but immediate residence in 
 the house of the man whom all Eome kneiu, it may 
 be said, to be the murderer of her husband. Even 
 supposing that Orsini and her mother succeeded in 
 persuading her that he was innocent of any con- 
 nection with the crime, still the suspicion, however 
 erroneous, which attached to him, ought to have 
 made it impossible for her to think of availing 
 herself of such an asylum. 
 
 The judicial investigation, as has been said, had 
 succeeded in obtaining evidence against the Acco- 
 rambonis, mother and son, and against a prince 
 whose name the police records were afraid to
 
 VITTOBIA ACCOBAMBONI. 291 
 
 mention. But with, this information Justice con- 
 tented herself. No further steps were taken in the 
 matter, at the urgent request of the Cardinal di 
 Montalto. The Mancino was released from prison, 
 and sent away to his own native village, with the 
 intimation that his life would be forfeited if he left 
 it without express permission from Rome. And 
 thus far all was decorously wiped up ; and the 
 disagreeables were confined to the unlucky Peretti, 
 who had lost his life — not altogether without 
 affording by his death a useful social example — for 
 having dared to marry one who was desired by a 
 Eoman prince ; and to his poor mother and uncle, 
 who had philosophy enough to remark that such 
 things must be expected in this world. But still all 
 was not quite satisfactorily settled. The Duke of 
 Bracciano had publicly announced his intention of 
 forthwith marrying the lovely widow, who had so 
 confidingly flown to his protection. For the strong 
 disapprobation of all the great Orsini clan of such 
 a match the powerful head of the house seems to 
 have cared little. But there were other and more 
 powerful personages, as has been already observed, 
 to whom such a marriage was exceedingly dis- 
 tasteful. The Medici conceived that the lustre of 
 their name would be tarnished by the misalliance of 
 one who had once been connected by marriage with 
 their own race. And the two brothers of the ill- 
 starred Isabella, the Duke of Florence and the
 
 292 VITTORIA ACCORAMBONL 
 
 cardinal, thought it hard that, after having con- 
 nived at the murder of their sister for the sake of 
 preserving immaculate the fair fame of both the 
 Medici and Orsini name, their partner in the enter- 
 prise should now spoil all by this degrading alliance. 
 The Cardinal &e 3 Medici, therefore, and the Spanish 
 ambassador, whose master fully entered into the 
 feelings of his friend and ally, the Duke of Flo- 
 rence, on this subject, went together to Pope 
 Gregory, and besought him to prevent so great a 
 scandal as the intended marriage. The pope found 
 it impossible to refuse two such applicants, and he 
 accordingly issued his precept to Orsini to contract 
 no such marriage without express licence from him, 
 or, after his death, from his successor. Moreover, 
 as papal precepts addressed to an Orsini were not 
 always very sure of meeting with obedience, to 
 make all sure, he shut up Yittoria in the castle of 
 St. Angelo. 
 
 The Medici had insisted to the pope on the 
 " scandal " of the marriage they wished to prevent. 
 And scandalous enough such a marriage would 
 assuredly have been under the circumstances of the 
 case. But it is worth remarking, that the only 
 ground of scandal thought of or mentioned was 
 the inequality of birth between the parties. And 
 the papal prohibition was based on this ground 
 alone. 
 
 As is usual with them, the old historians who have
 
 VITT0B1A ACCORAMBONI. 293 
 
 left us the record of the facts of this strange story 
 are very chary in the matter of dates. But with 
 regard to this imprisonment of Vittoria, they do 
 furnish us with a couple of them. She was sent to 
 Saint Angelo in January, 1583, and remained there 
 till the 10th of April, 1585. The latter day there 
 was no mistaking, as it was one of the great epochs 
 of Roman history. On the 10th of April, 1585, 
 died Pope Gregory the Thirteenth.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LOOKING FOR ST. PETEe's KEYS, AND FINDING 
 THEM. 
 
 The reader of papal history is often struck by the 
 extreme swiftness with which the acts of a pope 
 are undone and reversed as soon as even the breath 
 is out of his body. It is like the action of a spring, 
 which flies back to its original form and position 
 instantly on the removal of the force which has 
 compressed it. This, again, is one of the con- 
 sequences and evidences of a state of society 
 governed not by law, but by personal interest, 
 favour, and privilege. Power passes from top to 
 bottom of the social scale into new hands, and, as a 
 natural and recognized consequence, it is wielded 
 with quite different objects, is directed to a new 
 set of aims, and made to subserve a new system 
 of interests and passions. 
 
 It was quite in accordance, therefore, with the 
 ordinary march of events in the Roman world, that 
 Vittoria Accoramboni should be restored to liberty
 
 VITTOEIA AGCOBAMBONI. 295 
 
 on the death of the pope who had imprisoned her. 
 A powerful friend was no donbt on the watch to 
 take instant advantage of the opportunity; for, 
 though more than two years had elapsed since the 
 gates of St. Angelo had closed upon her — a terribly 
 long trial for the constancy of a swain of more 
 than fifty years, and half as many stone, whose 
 physicians shook their heads, as they redoubled 
 their applications of raw flesh to his diseased limbs 
 — her Orsini still was true ; and on the very same 
 day that ended the old pope's life, she walked 
 forth from her prison, and returned to his protec- 
 tion. 
 
 Still, however, there remained considerable 
 difficulties in the way of the marriage. The pro- 
 hibition pronounced against it by Gregory the 
 Thirteenth had been especially extended beyond 
 his own lifetime; and the penalty pronounced in 
 case of disobedience was that of being considered 
 in open rebellion to the Holy See. Now, though 
 a position of open rebellion against the sovereign 
 was nothing new to an Orsini, and Prince Paolo 
 Giordano was by no means likely to be definitively 
 deterred from doing that on which his heart was 
 set by the threat of it, yet it was a sufficiently 
 serious matter to make it very desirable that, if 
 possible, he should attain his object without in- 
 curring it. Again, in case the Cardinal di Mont alto 
 should be elected pope, as all Rome supposed he
 
 296 VITTOEIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 would be, it was natural to suppose that he would 
 be little inclined to permit the marriage which 
 his predecessor had forbidden. The object of the 
 prince, therefore, was to obtain a juridical opinion 
 to the effect that Gregory's prohibition ceased to 
 have force after his death ; and then to celebrate 
 the marriage before the next pope should be elected. 
 The intervals between the end of one pope's 
 reign and the beginning of that of his successor 
 were always times of extra licence, turbulence, 
 violence, and lawlessness. And many tilings were 
 done during these interregnums which, bad as 
 the papal government was at all times, would not 
 have been done while the chair of St. Peter was 
 occupied. And these frequently-recurring periods 
 of all but total anarchy varied, of course, in dura- 
 tion, according to the amount of difficulty ex- 
 perienced and time consumed by the cardinals in 
 coming; to such a degree of agreement as was 
 necessary for the election of a new pope. In the 
 present case, Orsini flattered himself that he should 
 have plenty of time to accomplish his marriage be- 
 fore the conclave could come to an election. For 
 though it was very generally believed that Montalto 
 would be pope, it was perfectly well understood 
 that this result would only be brought about as 
 a compromise between strong parties in the con- 
 clave, each sufficiently powerful to prevent then 
 opponents' success, but not able to elect their own
 
 VITTOBIA ACCOnniBONL 297 
 
 candidate. It was thought, therefore, that the 
 election of Cardinal di Montalto would not be 
 -decided on until after there had been a certain 
 amount of struggle and trying* of their respective 
 strength by the opposing factions. 
 
 Orsha's first step was not a difficult one. Theo- 
 logians of respectable standing were readily found, 
 who declared that the prohibition was valid only 
 during the reign of the pope who pronounced it. 
 It might probably have been less easy to find 
 canonists willing to support the opposite opinion 
 while there was no pope on the throne, and an 
 Orsini wished for a contrary decision. Still the 
 law required that Vittoria's nearest relations should 
 consent to the marriage. It would seem that her 
 father must have died during the interval that 
 had elapsed since her marriage with Peretti ; for 
 we do not hear of any application having been 
 made to him, but to her brothers, who, after 
 their father's death, were, for this purpose, their 
 sister's legal guardians. The consent of the three 
 younger brothers appears to have been obtained 
 without any difficulty ; but the elder, the young 
 man of saintly morals, who had become Bishop 
 of Fossombrone, absolutely refused to permit the 
 match. 
 
 This hitch in the accomplishment of his object 
 seems to have given Orsini more trouble than it 
 might have been supposed he would have per-
 
 298 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONI. 
 
 mitted it to do. The spectacle of the great chieftain 
 of the house of Orsini waiting, and waiting in vain, 
 for the consent to his marriage of the low-born 
 bishop of an obscure little town in the Umbrian 
 Apennines, seems strange to us, and must, one 
 would think, have seemed something more than 
 strange to the noble lover. And this consideration 
 suggests the probability that his anxiety that all 
 should be done with scrupulous legality may have 
 been due rather to the lady, or to that superior 
 and managing woman, her mother, on her behalf. 
 When young ladies just out of their teens marry 
 infirm old nobles of fifty, they are apt to evince a 
 much more lively respect for, and interest in, law 
 and its provisions, than might be expected from 
 the giddiness natural to their age and sex. 
 
 But from whatever quarter proceeded this un- 
 usual stickling for legality, certain it is that the 
 anxious couple spared no pains to attain it. But 
 that troublesome brother with his saintly morals 
 was immovable. Whether it were that the holy 
 man had never got over his discomfiture in his 
 scheme of disposing of his sister to that pillar of 
 the Church, the most reverend Cardinal Farnese, 
 or whether, as a bishop, he was especially afraid 
 of doing what might naturally be supposed to be 
 most offensive to the man who would in all pro- 
 bability be pope in a few days, it is certain that 
 no instances could obtain from him the desired
 
 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 299 
 
 consent. And the conclave was sitting all this 
 while — and it was a long journey from Borne to 
 Fossorabrone — and precious time was being lost. 
 The conclave might declare their election any day ; 
 and Yittoria might be marched back again to St. 
 Angelo as quickly after the election of the new 
 pope as she had escaped from it after the death of 
 the old one. It was determined, however, to try 
 one more urgent appeal to the obstinate bishop - 
 brother, and a courier was despatched, we are told, 
 on relays of horses, with orders to spare neither 
 horse nor man for the bringing back an answer 
 with the utmost speed. 
 
 In the meantime, however, the conclave of 
 cardinals had been getting on with their work, 
 and had arrived at the conclusion that the best 
 compromise to be made between the contending 
 parties was the election of the infirm Cardinal di 
 Montalto, who was sure not to last long, sooner 
 than had been expected. The old pope had died 
 on the 14th of April, and on the 24th it was known 
 that the election was made. The courier from 
 Fossombrone had not returned, and Yittoria and 
 her prince felt that, legal or not legal, it was now 
 or never the moment for their marriage. There 
 was not an instant to be lost, and the wedding 
 was solemnized on the very same day that the 
 Cardinal di Montalto was proclaimed pope by the 
 name of Sixtus the Fifth.
 
 300 VITTOBIA AGCOBAMBONI. 
 
 Nothing could have been more insulting to the 
 new pope than this marriage ; performed as if in 
 defiance of him, at the very moment it was known 
 that he was the new sovereign. It was as if the 
 parties to it had hesitated to fly in the face of the 
 late pope's prohibition as long as they feared the 
 possibility of the election of some strong-handed 
 and energetic ruler, and had only ventured on 
 defying him when they were assured that they 
 would have to deal with the weak and ail-but 
 imbecile Cardinal di Montalto. But though deeply 
 offended at the manner in which the thing had 
 been done, it is probable that the old man was 
 not much surprised to find, when he came out 
 from the conclave, that Orsini and his niece-in- 
 law had availed themselves of the licence of an 
 iuterregnum to effect what it was notorious that 
 they desired. 
 
 But if Pope Sixtus was not surprised, a very 
 great and by no means agreeable surprise awaited 
 the Prince Orsini, in common with all the rest of 
 the Eternal City. 
 
 The transformation of a cardinal into a pope is, 
 in all cases, a great and remarkable one, watched, 
 canvassed, and speculated on with intense interest 
 by the court and city of Rome, and indeed, in those 
 days, by the whole of Christendom. But never 
 had such a transformation been seen as that which 
 struck all Rome mute with astonishment, and half
 
 YITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 301 
 
 of it with terror, when the weak and meek old 
 Mendicant friar Felix Peretti came forth from the 
 conclave as Sixtus the Fifth. Upright as an arrow, 
 imperious and dignified in gesture and bearing, 
 firm of step and keen of eye, the new pope advanced 
 to the altar to celebrate the service which is a 
 pope's first duty, and pronounced the sacred words 
 in strong ringing tones, which came from as sound 
 a chest as any man that heard him could boast. 
 The tottering gait, the bent body, the distressing- 
 cough, the downcast eye, the humble bearing, had 
 all vanished as by magic. The astonished cardinals 
 quailed before the power they had created, as 
 Frankenstein before the being he had called to life. 
 The deed was irrevocable. But probably there was 
 not a single cardinal there who would not have 
 given much to undo what had been done. 
 Nothing, of course, remained but to bend the head 
 with such humility as they might to a ruler who 
 evidently intended to rule them in earnest. The 
 congratulations and obeisances had to be made, and 
 were made humbly, to the peasant's son by Estes, 
 Farneses, Savellis, and all the greatest and proudest 
 names in Rome. The Cardinal de' Medici only, as 
 is recorded, ventured, in offering his congratula- 
 tions, to slide among them some word of remark on 
 the wondrously restorative power which, by God's 
 blessing, the papal consecration had exercised on 
 his holiness.
 
 302 VITTOBIA AGGOBAMBONI. 
 
 " Truly," replied Sixtus, " I have been many 
 years looking for the keys of St. Peter, and had to 
 keep my eyes on the earth to find them. Having 
 found them, I can raise my eyes to heaven, hence- 
 forward to look earthwards no more." 
 
 However alarmed and disgusted Rome was, at 
 the promise of vigour and strong-handed govern- 
 ment in the new sovereign, the Roman world could 
 not refuse its praise and admiration of the skilful 
 and consistent hypocrisy of years, which had worked 
 to so successful a result. And we, while branding* 
 as it deserves so base and degrading a system of 
 ethics, and abominating the social system which 
 generates and fosters it, must needs admit that the 
 consummate hypocrite — the " great friar," as old 
 Gregory admiringly called him — governed Rome 
 and his states to better purpose than any pope 
 since. Justice was, if severely, at least equitably 
 exercised. The peasant's son quailed before none 
 of the turbulent feudatories, who had been the 
 terror of preceding popes. Rome, to its infinite 
 surprise, became peaceable and safe. The brigands 
 and bandits were mercilessly extirpated. The roads 
 were no longer dangerous to property and life. 
 And malefactors, and lawless men of all ranks, 
 found that the States of the Pope, instead of being, 
 as hitherto, their own special refuge and territory, 
 were the least safe abiding-place for them in all 
 Italy.
 
 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONZ 303 
 
 Paolo Giordano Orsini was not among the least 
 thunderstruck at the new character in which Sixtus 
 the Fifth showed himself. Besides that the entire 
 course of his life and habits was such as to render 
 any strong and vigorous occupant of St. Peter's 
 chair especially obnoxious to him, he had the con- 
 sciousness of having first deeply injured the pope in 
 the most cruel manner, and then recently insulted 
 him by a most audacious defiance of his authority. 
 It was with no easy mind, therefore, that the 
 prince presented himself at the first general recep- 
 tion, when all the lay and ecclesiastical notabilities 
 of Rome went to kiss the foot of their new sove- 
 reign. He had counted on observing narrowly the 
 pope's manner to him when he should, in his turn, 
 kneel before him, and say his few words of com- 
 pliment, and judging thence how far Rome might 
 be a safe home for him for the future. Sixtus 
 showed no sign of anger, but he made no word of 
 answer to Orsini' s address. The omen was con- 
 sidered rather a discouraging one. It reminds one 
 of the showman, who, when his head was in the 
 lion's mouth, said, " If he wags his tail I am a lost 
 man." Orsini thought that the pope had for a 
 moment glanced sternly at him ; and there was an 
 anxious consideration whether this glance was to 
 be deemed equivalent to the wag of the lion's tail. 
 It was decided that the omen was not sufficiently 
 clear; and the prince determined on learning with
 
 304 VITTOBIA AGCOBAMBONI. 
 
 greater certainty what he had to expect from the 
 new pope, before he made up his mind as to his 
 own line of conduct. 
 
 He made application, therefore, for a private 
 audience, which was at once granted him ; and on 
 an appointed day, having, as the historians tell us, 
 learned by heart the speech he meant to address to 
 the pope, he presented himself for the third time 
 before the old man whose nephew he had murdered, 
 and who knew that he was the murderer, while on 
 his part Orsini was perfectly aware that he knew it. 
 The interview must have been one which a student 
 of human character and passions would have liked 
 (safely ensconced out of harm's way behind some 
 curtain in the audience chamber) to have witnessed. 
 We must picture to ourselves Sextus, upright and 
 rigid, on his seat of state, somewhat stern of eye 
 and feature, but calm, impassible, perfectly self- 
 possessed, and utterly inscrutable, in his unim- 
 passioned gravity. The unwieldly monster of 
 bloated corpulence before him performs the cere- 
 monial kiss on the sacred slipper, as we may well 
 suppose, with scarcely less physical trouble and 
 difficulty than mental scorn and rebellious pride. 
 The arrogant and lawless ruffian noble stands 
 cowed before the stern old man, and begins, not 
 without visible signs of being ill at ease, his 
 crammed speech. 
 
 He congratulated Sixtus on having attained a
 
 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 305 
 
 dignity which, &c, &c, prosperity of the time, 
 pride of Kome, and happiness of the entire world, 
 &c, &c. 
 
 Sixtus sat silent, and made no sign. • 
 
 Orsini was forced to recommence, and this time 
 congratulated himself on the happiness of living 
 nnder so gracious, so clement, and worthy a 
 sovereign. 
 
 Still the pope neither moved a mnscle nor 
 breathed a sound. 
 
 The culprit's mind misgave him more and more. 
 He became evidently disconcerted, and, as the 
 historian writes, "his tongue vacillated." Yet it 
 was impossible to stand silent while that cold, 
 grave eye was bent upon him, as waiting to hear 
 the real business on which he had sought an 
 audience, and he essayed to falter something about 
 offering himself and all his power and influence to 
 his sovereign. 
 
 Then at length Sixtus spoke. 
 
 " What your deeds have been/'' he said, " to me 
 and mine, Duke of Bracciano, your own conscience 
 is now telling you, quite as well as I could do. But 
 reassure yourself ! That which has been done 
 against Francisco Peretti, or against Felix, Cardinal 
 di Montalto, I pardon you, as fully and as surely 
 as I warn you to hope for no pardon for aught 
 which shall henceforward be done against Sixtus. 
 Go, clear your house and your estates of the law- 
 
 YOL. I. X
 
 306 VITTORIA ACCOBA1IBONL 
 
 less followers and bandits that you feed and give 
 asylum to. Go ! and obey !" 
 
 The last words were accompanied by one of 
 those terrible lightning glances which all the his- 
 torians of this remarkable man speak of as having 
 had power to make the stoutest heart quail. The 
 haughtiest and most masterful of Rome's lawless 
 barons slunk from the Mendicant monk's presence 
 like a whipped cur.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A WEDDING EXCUESION. 
 
 The remark of one of the biographers of Sixtus — 
 the monk Tempesti — on the conduct of the pope 
 towards Orsini, is too curiously illustrative of the 
 moral sense and notions of the time to be passed 
 over. The disobedience of the prince to the pre- 
 cept forbidding him to marry Vittoria, would have 
 afforded, says the monk, an excellent opportunity 
 of taking vengeance for the murder of Peretti. 
 But, having pardoned the first offence when 
 cardinal, Sixtus did not like immediately to punish 
 the second as pope. He, therefore, intimated to him 
 the order to send away his bandit followers, so that 
 if he disobeyed this command "this fault might 
 serve as an opportunity of punishing the first most 
 heinous offence. A sentiment truly worthy and 
 princely !" 
 
 The general course of the conduct and adminis- 
 tration of Sixtus, however, were such as to justify 
 us in believing that his sentiments were less
 
 308 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONL 
 
 princely than Ms admiring biographer supposes on 
 this occasion. There seems no reason to doubt 
 that he absolutely spoke sincerely, and meant what 
 he said, intending to let bygones be bygones, and 
 to act no more severely towards Orsini, in the 
 matter of the bandits kept in pay by him, than he 
 did to all the other ruffian nobles of Rome on the 
 same subject. 
 
 It never seems, however, to have occurred to 
 Orsini for an instant that the pope meant nothing 
 more than what he said. That glance from the 
 eye of the man whose kinsman he had murdered 
 seemed to him quite a sufficient assurance that 
 Borne was no longer any place for him. Perhaps, 
 also, he felt no desire to inhabit a city in which 
 law and order were henceforth to be paramount. 
 So he came from the presence of Sixtus, and told 
 Vittoria that they must seek a home elsewhere. 
 She, on her part, was ready enough to turn her 
 back on Rome, for Rome was beginning, we are 
 told, to turn its back on her. Not by any means, 
 it must be understood, because it was felt that her 
 conduct had been base, unwomanly, or criminal, 
 but because it had been imprudent, and wanting in 
 sagacity and judgment. "There is no telling," 
 says the historian, "the tittle-tattle and gossip of 
 the Roman ladies about her. One of them, a 
 person of high rank, who had at first been very 
 fond of her, could not refrain from saying, dis-
 
 Y ITT OBI A ACCORAMBOXI. 309 
 
 dainfully, c See, now, what that silly fool Yittoria 
 has done for herself! She might have been the 
 first princess in Koine; and she has taken for a 
 husband a living gangrene, full of sores, and fifty 
 years old \'" 
 
 It is worth noting that to be the wife of a pope's 
 favourite nephew, even though pope and nephew 
 be peasant born, is evidently deemed by the Eoman 
 dames of rank a higher position than to be wife to 
 the proudest and most powerful lay baron in Italy. 
 And in a society far too corrupt to recognize 
 honourableness as anything different from profit 
 and power, or to estimate it except in proportion 
 to its productiveness of these, the examples of the 
 Riarci, the Borgias, and the Famesi, abundantly 
 justified the correctness of their appreciation. 
 Yittoria' s mother, it may be said, was of a dif- 
 ferent opinion. But the choice before her was not 
 between Orsini and a pope's nephew, but between 
 the latter and one who might, or who possibly 
 might never, become the former. It is further 
 very noticeable that the lady of rank who calls 
 Yittoria "a silly fool" — (matta) — for having played 
 her cards as she had done, evidently takes it for 
 granted that she was a consenting party to the 
 murder of her first husband, inasmuch as on no 
 other supposition could it be said that she might 
 have been, as Francesco Peretti's wife, the greatest 
 princess in Rome.
 
 310 VITTOBIA ACCOEAMBONL 
 
 It was about the middle of June, 1585, not quite 
 two months after the election of Sixtus, that Orsini 
 and his wife left Eome. A pretext for their de- 
 parture — for such a step could not with any 
 decorum be taken by such a personage in those 
 days without a false reason to hide the true one — 
 was found in the recommendation of his physicians 
 that he should try certain mineral waters in the 
 neighbourhood of the Lago di Garda for his 
 health. 
 
 Vittoria and her husband were accompanied on 
 their journey by that Ludovico Orsini of whose 
 dealings with the peace officers of the city the 
 reader has already heard. He, too, as may readily 
 be imagined, found Rome under Sixtus the Fifth no 
 longer a desirable residence. Things were not as 
 they were. The good old times, when a gentleman 
 could live like a gentleman, were gone. Rome was 
 going to the dogs, and he, for his part, did not 
 know what things were coming to. We have 
 heard similar grumblings under similar circum- 
 stances, with a similar impression of the accurate 
 truth of the last of the complainer's assertions. 
 
 This Ludovico, who had thus fallen on bad times > 
 was a cousin of the prince ; and being, as we have 
 seen, a gentleman of high and nice feelings when 
 the honour of the family was in question, had been 
 grievously pained and offended by the misalliance 
 made by the head of his race. The enmity arising
 
 VITTOBIA ACC0EA1IB0NL 311 
 
 from this circumstance was, with that chivalrous 
 sense of justice and fairness which is ever found 
 united with the feelings that moved Ludovico, 
 exhibited by him, not towards the powerful and 
 wealthy head of his house, who "had been be- 
 witched, poor fellow ! " but wholly against Vittoria, 
 the bewitching. So that, for her at least, this 
 addition to the family travelling party did not 
 promise to alleviate any of the disagreeable cir- 
 cumstances which necessarily attached to it. 
 
 Bearing in mind what journeys were in those 
 days, under the best circumstances, one may fancy 
 that Vittoria, with her diseased and shockingly 
 unwieldy husband, and the hostile kinsman, who 
 hated her as the cause not only of disgrace to his 
 family, but of this exile from their homes in the 
 world's capital, did not much enjoy her "bridal 
 trip." We are inclined to be decidedly of the 
 opinion of the Roman lady of rank, and to think 
 that there was nothing, at all events yet, to repay 
 one for murdering a husband. 
 
 It was in the territory of Venice that Orsini had 
 determined on seeking a safe asylum and a home. 
 There had been a connection of long standing 
 between the government of the great republic and 
 the Orsini family, more than one of the name 
 having held command of the forces of the Queen of 
 the Adriatic. And when at length the travellers 
 had arrived within a short distance of the city, the
 
 312 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONL 
 
 Senate sent messengers to offer Orsini a gnard of 
 honour, and a public entry into the city. This, 
 however, the prince declined; and .thinking, pro- 
 bably, that, under all the circumstances, the less o£ 
 publicity attending his movements the better, he 
 determined on not going to Venice at all. Turning 
 his steps, therefore, towards Padua, he hired in that 
 city a magnificent palace for his residence during 
 the coming winter, and then moving on in the 
 direction of the Lago di Garda, established himself 
 for the summer at Salo, a lovely spot at the head of 
 a little bay on the western shore of the lake, at no 
 very great distance from Brescia. 
 
 Ludovico Orsini, in the meantime, had gone on 
 to Venice ; and shortly succeeded in obtaining from 
 the senate the command of the Venetian troops in 
 Corfu. 
 
 Orsini and his wife remained during the rest of 
 the summer at Salo ; where, says the historian, " he 
 hired a superb villa, and strove by various pastimes 
 to divert his wife, and his own profound melancholy 
 caused by his infirmities of body, which became 
 more and more troublesome, and by the memories 
 of Rome, and of his own excesses ." The picture of 
 the "interior" of Vittoria and her princely hus- 
 band in their delicious villa in one of the loveliest 
 spots in Europe, is not hard to imagine. Only we 
 should be inclined to suggest, that in all probability 
 the parts sustained in that domestic drama, as far
 
 VITTORIA ACCORAMBONI. 313 
 
 as the efforts to amuse were concerned,, were rather 
 the reverse of the cast supposed by the historian. 
 We cannot but suspect that these "efforts" fell 
 to the share of the young wife, while the all too 
 unainusable patient was the princely husband. 
 Perhaps, also, we might venture to infer that 
 these sweet summer months on the beautiful shores 
 of the lake beloved by poets, were not a period of 
 unmixed connubial felicity to the lady Vittoria . 
 The reward of ambition had not come yet. But 
 perhaps it was coming, and that in no very distant 
 future. That one's newly-married husband should 
 weigh twenty stone, and have a " lupa " consuming 
 his bloated limbs, may in one point of view be 
 unfavourable circumstances. But from a different 
 stand-point they may be very much the reverse. 
 After all, a well-jointured widowhood, to be made 
 the most of while yet in the flower of her age and 
 the pride of her beauty, with the rank of a princess, 
 and the revenue of one, might be a better thing 
 than to be the wife of either a pope's nephew or a 
 great prince. We can understand that the position 
 of a wife may well have begun to show itself to the 
 beautiful and accomplished Vittoria as not the most 
 desirable in the world. 
 
 Still Vittoria could not disguise from herself that 
 she had rather difficult cards to play. The whole 
 of the great Orsini clan were her enemies, for the 
 same reason that moved the enmity of Ludovico.
 
 314 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 From the pope she had little reason to expect 
 either favour or protection. The Duke of Florence, 
 and the powerful Cardinal de' Medici, his brother, 
 were hostile to her, on the grounds which have 
 been explained. Her own eldest brother, the only 
 one of them who had such a position as could have 
 enabled him to afford her any support or protection, 
 had also been estranged from her by the marriage 
 she had contracted in despite of his prohibition. It 
 was a dreary outlook into the future for a young 
 beauty only a few years out of her girlhood. And 
 as her husband's increasing malady brought the 
 consideration of it more closely before her, she felt 
 that she should need all that the most cautious 
 prudence and self-possession could effect. 
 
 Orsini, to do him justice, seems to have been 
 anxious, when the conviction of the great pre- 
 cariousness of his life forced itself on him, to make 
 the best provision he could for her who had been 
 either the partner or the victim of his crime. About 
 the beginning of November in that autumn of 1585, 
 he made spontaneously, as the historians especially 
 assure us, a will bequeathing to Vittoria a hundred 
 thousand crowns in money, besides a very consider- 
 able property in plate, jewels, furniture, carriages, 
 horses, &c. It was further ordered that a palace 
 should be purchased for her in any city of Italy she 
 might select, of the value of ten thousand crowns, 
 and a villa of the value of six thousand. More-
 
 YITTOBIA ACCOEAHBONI. 315 
 
 over, a household of forty servants was to bo 
 maintained for her. And the Duke of Ferrara was 
 named the executor of this will. 
 
 Having made this provision, the prince deter- 
 mined on a journey to Venice in search of better 
 medical aid. But a journey in this direction did 
 not by any means suit the plans which Vittoria 
 had determined on. Keflecting on the dangerous 
 amount of hostility which would surround her on 
 every side as soon as her husband should have 
 breathed his last, and conscious that this would be 
 increased by the exorbitancy of the provisions of 
 the will in her favour, she had made up her mind 
 that her only safe course was to get her husband 
 out of Italy while it was yet possible, over the 
 Swiss frontier, which is at no great distance from 
 Salo, so that at the moment of his death she and 
 her property might be in safety under the protec- 
 tion of the Cantons. But the journey to Venice 
 threatened to destroy this scheme, for it became 
 daily more evident that the end was not far off. 
 
 Vittoria, therefore, strove to persuade him, before 
 they had got far on their way, to return to Salo. 
 And, as the sufferings of the invalid in travelling 
 were greater than he had anticipated, she had not 
 much difficulty in doing so ; though the difficulty 
 of moving, which drove him back, seemed to 
 promise ill for the scheme of getting him to travel 
 very far in the opposite direction.
 
 316 VITTOEIA ACCORAMBONL 
 
 On the 12th of November, however, Orsini felt 
 a little better. On the 18th his physicians bled 
 him, and left him with somewhat of better hope 
 that, by strict attention to a severe system of 
 diet, and extreme temperance, some degree of re- 
 storation might be looked for. To Vittoria this 
 reprieve was all-important, as promising a possi- 
 bility of putting her plan for escaping into a secure 
 asylum into execution. The noble patient only 
 knew that he felt better than he had for many 
 days; and, little in the habit of suffering a denial to 
 the demands of any of his appetites, and delighted 
 to find that any of them were still sufficiently 
 alive to afford him the means of a gratification, 
 he ordered, as soon as ever the doctors were out 
 of the house, that dinner should be served him. 
 Nobody dared to disobey or to remonstrate ; so fine 
 a thing is it to be too great a man to be contra- 
 dicted. The dinner was brought, and once again 
 the gross body had the pleasure of swallowing. 
 The prince, says the historian, ate and drank as 
 usual. But, scarcely had he finished his repast, 
 before he fell into a state of insensibility ; in which 
 condition he remained till two hours before sunset, 
 when he expired.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WIDOWHOOD IX THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY : ITS PROS 
 AXD CONS. 
 
 This sudden catastrophe was a terrible blow to 
 Vittoria, who seems to have been perfectly well 
 aware of all the dangers and difficulties of her 
 position. " As soon as she saw that the prince was 
 dead/' writes the monk Tempesti, " the ill-advised 
 Vittoria fell into a swoon ; and when she recovered 
 from it, gave way to utter despair, oppressed by 
 the tumult of thoughts which all at once rushed to 
 her mind. She thought of the loss of her present 
 grandeur, of the necessity of returning to an 
 obscure life without protectors and without sup- 
 port, exposed to the rage of the Orsini, detested 
 by Ludovico, by the Cardinal de' Medici, and by 
 all that royal family. She saw vividly before her, 
 her first murdered husband, who upbraided her with 
 the great love he had borne her. And this painful 
 thought was rendered more insupportable by the 
 consideration of the incomparable greatness of the
 
 318 VITTORIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 Peretti family, now that Sixtus was pope. Over- 
 powered by these bitter reflections, which thus 
 shaped themselves to her mind, ' If only I had 
 had better judgment, I should now be a princess 
 in the enjoyment of every happiness in Rome ! I 
 should be waited on, courted, worshipped by all 
 Rome, instead of being an exile, a wanderer, with 
 treachery around me on all sides, and odious to 
 Sixtus, whom I have so deeply outraged ! ' She 
 felt so keen a pang of shame and despair, that she 
 seized a pistol to put an end to her troubles. But 
 her brother Flaminio (who had joined her immedi- 
 ately after her husband's death) struck it from her 
 hand." 
 
 Her brother Marcello had also joined her at 
 Salo, and the first step they took was to write to 
 announce the death to her enemy Ludovico, who 
 was still, it seems, at Venice, not having yet de- 
 parted to enter on his new duties at Corfu. 
 
 Prince Paolo Giordano Orsini had left by his first 
 wife, Isabella de' Medici, a son, Virginio Orsini, 
 who was at the time of his father's death being 
 educated at Florence, under the care of the duke, 
 his maternal uncle. This young man was, of 
 course, the natural heir of the deceased prince; 
 and the will made in favour of his widow, though 
 it in no wise touched the immense territorial 
 possessions, nor would, according to our mode of 
 feeling on such matters, appear an unreasonably
 
 VITTOEIA ACCOEAHBONL 319 
 
 large provision for the widow of a man of suck 
 fortune and position, was denounced by the family 
 as monstrously unjust towards the heir. Their 
 first step was to attempt to set the document aside, 
 legally, on the ground of its having been made at 
 the instigation of too violent an affection. 
 
 Vittoria, when the first violence of her despair 
 had in some degree subsided, on looking round her 
 to see where she might hope for aid, decided on 
 making three applications. Her first letter was to 
 the Duke of Ferrara, who had been named the 
 executor of her husband's will. And the Duke, it 
 would seem, promised that he would, and did, take 
 care, that any questions arising on it should be 
 honestly and fairly determined by the proper 
 tribunals, and that it should receive full execution. 
 The second letter was to the Senate of Venice, in 
 which she set forth her friendless position, men- 
 tioned modestly her claims on the protection of the 
 republic as the widow of an Orsini, and besought 
 the senators to see that she had justice done her. 
 This application also was favourably received ; and 
 the Senate ordered their governor in Padua to see 
 that she was put in possession of at least that valu- 
 able moveable property in jewels, &c, which was 
 then in that city. The third application was a more 
 difficult one to make ; and hi it she took a totally 
 different tone. In her letters to the Duke of 
 Ferrara and to the Venetian Senate she evidently
 
 320 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONI. - 
 
 liad not abandoned the hope of securing the 
 splendid position which her husband had intended 
 to provide for her. But in the third, which was 
 to no other than Pope Sixtus, she represented 
 herself to stand in a very different position. She 
 appears to take it as certain, in writing to him, that 
 she shall fail in making good her claim to any 
 provision whatever under her husband's will ; does 
 not even intimate any intention of resisting the 
 intentions of his family; talks much of her re- 
 morse, and repentance, disgust with the world and 
 all its vanities ; and begs of his charity an alms of 
 five hundred crowns to enable her to enter some 
 convent either in Rome or Venice. It may be 
 shrewdly doubted whether Vittoria intended this 
 humble plea for the injured pope's merciful con- 
 sideration to be taken by him quite literally. 
 Sixtus, however, either did not or would not see 
 any other meaning in it. His sister Cammilla, 
 whose agony for the loss of her son we have seen, 
 and who found it too hard a task to pardon the 
 false wife, who had, as she doubted not, conspired 
 to murder him, would fain have had the pope reject 
 her supplication. But, "What!" said Sixtus, "if 
 this wretched creature repents, and wishes to spend 
 the remainder of her life in God's service, shall we, 
 His vicar, refuse to her the means of doing so?" 
 So he gave orders that the exact sum asked, neither 
 more nor less, should be remitted to her at Padua.
 
 VITTOniA AGGOBAMBONI: 321 
 
 Vittoria wrote also to her brother, the Bishop of 
 Fossoinbrone, acquainting him with the misfortune 
 that had befallen her. It is likely that she had 
 placed no great reliance on help or comfort from 
 this quarter. But she, in all probability, hardly 
 expected to receive a reply, in which the right 
 reverend prelate, whose morals had by this time, it 
 is to be supposed, reached a pitch of the most 
 aggravating sanctity, told her that since her present 
 position was miserable, and there was every reason 
 to suppose that worse was at hand, she ought to 
 thank God for having thus shown her the vanity of 
 all earthly hopes and pleasures, and put the passing- 
 hours to profit in preparing herself for eternity, as 
 it was very evident that the Orsini would not be 
 content without compassing her death. 
 
 The dramatis personce of this faithful extract 
 from the chronicles of the good old times, are, 
 every one of them, it must be admitted, far from 
 engaging characters. But the present writer may 
 mention, as a little bit of confidence between him 
 and the reader, that he, for his part, would experi- 
 ence less repugnance in taking any one of them 
 by the hand — even the noble twenty-stone Orsini 
 himself — than this young man of saintly morals 
 developed into a bishop. 
 
 In the meantime, Ludovico Orsini had arrived in 
 Padua from Venice; and his first interview with 
 the beautiful widow showed her only too clearly 
 
 YOI. I. y
 
 322 VITTOUIA ACCOBAMBONI. 
 
 what slie had to expect of justice, forbearance, or 
 knightly bearing from so illustrious a nobleman. 
 He came with a retinue of armed men at his heels, 
 whom he bade to surround the house, and keep 
 good watch that nothing left it ; while he went in, 
 and, roughly calling the frightened widow to his 
 presence, bade her give account to him of every- 
 thing the late prince had left. Having no means 
 of resistance, Vittoria had no choice but to obey. 
 But Ludovico, finding, we are told, that certain 
 objects of value which he knew his cousin to have 
 had in his possession were not forthcoming, be- 
 came so violent in his threats, that, being in fear 
 for her life, she produced the missing articles, "and 
 gave him good words, and behaved with so much 
 submission, that he wrote off to the Cardinal de' 
 Medici that there would be no difficulty in the 
 business, and that the whole matter was in his 
 own hands." On learning', however, shortly after- 
 wards, that, notwithstanding her timidity and 
 apparent submissiveness, the widow had already 
 made application to powerful protectors, and had 
 taken steps for the enforcing of her legal rights, 
 the noble bully was all the more enraged, from 
 having prematurely boasted to the Medici of his 
 power to crush her and her pretensions so easily. 
 Vittoria, moreover, immediately, as it would seem, 
 after this scene of violence, took the prudent step 
 of removing to the house her husband had hired in
 
 VITTOBIA ACC0BA1IB0XL 323 
 
 Padua. She was there more immediately under 
 the protection of the podesta of that city, who had 
 been charged by the Senate to see that the will in 
 her favour was duly carried into execution as far 
 as the goods situated within the territory of the 
 republic were concerned; and was altogether, in 
 such a city as Padua, less exposed to any lawless 
 violence than at Salo. 
 
 Meanwhile the Duke of Ferrara had also been 
 taking steps to have Vittoria's title to the chattel 
 property duly decided by the Venetian courts. 
 And on the 23rd of December a decision was 
 given on the various points raised in her favour. 
 Whether she would ever be able to make good her 
 claim to the remainder of the large property to 
 which she was entitled under her husband's will 
 seemed exceedingly doubtful. But, as was always 
 the case at that period, when a very much larger 
 portion of the wealth of the rich consisted in plate, 
 gems, tapestry, and other such moveable goods, 
 than in these days of public funds and joint-stock 
 companies, the property secured to her by the 
 decision of the Venetian courts was very con- 
 siderable ; sufficiently so in all probability to have 
 already worked a change in the fair widow's views 
 as to the desirability of ending her days in a con- 
 vent, and certainly not disposing her to adopt her 
 reverend brother's pious and fraternal mode of 
 looking at her position and prospects.
 
 324 VITTORIA ACCOBAMBONI. 
 
 But if the sentence of the judges at Padua was 
 of sufficient importance to make a notable differ- 
 ence in the prospects of Vittoria, it had unhappily 
 a fully proportionate effect in exasperating the 
 rage and cupidity of her enemies. And the result 
 which followed in the powerful and populous walled 
 city of Padua, under the strong and vigilant 
 government of the Eepublic of Venice — by far 
 the best of any then existing in Italy — is a notable 
 and striking sample of the social life of the six- 
 teenth century. 
 
 That same night, the night of the 23rd of 
 December, the house in which Vittoria was living 
 was forcibly entered by forty armed men in dis- 
 guise. The first person they met was Flaminio 
 Accoraniboni, who was immediately slain. Mar- 
 cello, the other brother, had left the house but a 
 short time previously, and thus saved his life. The 
 assassins then proceeded to the chamber of Vittoria, 
 and one of them, a certain Count Paganello, as it 
 afterwards appeared, seized her by the arms, as she 
 threw herself upon her knees, and held her, while 
 Bartolomeo Visconti — another noble, observe — 
 plunged a dagger into her side, and " wrenched it 
 upwards and downwards until he found her heart."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW. 
 
 Had the deed, thus quickly done, and quickly told, 
 been perpetrated in those days in any other part of 
 Italy save the territory of the Queen of the Adriatic 
 (and, it is fail* to add, save Rome, also, during the 
 short five years of the papacy of Sixtus the Fifth), 
 this history would probably have been all told, and 
 have ended here. But the government of Venice, 
 with all its faults, did perform more of the duties 
 for which all governments are established, than 
 that of any of the Italian states of that day, and 
 meted out justice with an impartiality and a vigour 
 unknown elsewhere. How much vigour was needed 
 for the task, and how hard a struggle law — even in 
 the hands of the powerful and unbending oligarchy 
 of Venice — had with lawless violence, is curiously 
 shown by what follows. 
 
 The paucity of dates, universal in the old Italian 
 chroniclers, has already been complained of. But 
 with regard to the concluding facts of this history,
 
 326 VITTORIA ACCOBAMBONL 
 
 we are puzzled by the multiplicity of them. They 
 all, however, especially as given by a contemporary 
 writer, whose account was reproduced in the pages 
 of the "Revue des Deux Mondes" some twenty 
 years ago, mention days of the month only. The 
 murder of Vittoria is stated to have taken place on 
 the night of the 23rd of December. And the 
 French writer tells the story as not doubting that 
 this was the December following the November in 
 which Orsini died. Yet it is hardly possible to 
 suppose that #11 which must have happened in the 
 interim, the protest against the will, the consulta- 
 tions between Ludovico and the Medici at Florence, 
 the action in the matter of the Duke of Ferrara, 
 and, above all, the legal examination and decision 
 of the Paduan law courts, all took place within 
 forty days. Moreover, some of the dates assigned 
 to the remaining facts of the story are evidently 
 erroneous. Assuming*, then, that the date of the 
 murder is correctly given, as being that least likely 
 to have been forgotten, the remaining facts may 
 best be told, without attempting any accurate 
 statement of the days on which they occurred. 
 They no doubt happened, as related, immediately 
 after the commission of the murder. 
 
 On the morning following, the bodies of the 
 murdered brother and sister were laid in a neigh- 
 bouring church, and all Padua thronged to see the 
 pitiful sight. The exceeding beauty of Vittoria
 
 VITTORIA ACCOBAMBONI. 327 
 
 moved to frenzy the pity and indignation of a 
 people whose capacity for emotion was fostered 
 and cultivated by every peculiarity of the social 
 system in which they lived, at the expense of their 
 reflective powers and judgment. They " gnashed 
 with their teeth/" as the historian says, against 
 those who could have the heart to destroy so lovely 
 a form. Of course the news of such a murder was 
 very rapidly spread all over Italy; and when it 
 reached Koine, the monk biographer of Sixtus 
 naively tells us, the pope, who was in the act of 
 sending off the five hundred crowns which poor 
 Vittoria had asked of his charity, locked them up, 
 and then visited " the seven churches " to pray for 
 her soul instead. 
 
 It required very little sagacity to guess who was 
 the author of the audacious crime which had been 
 committed. And the magistrates of Padua sent at 
 once to Ludovico Orsini to summon him to an 
 examination. He presented himself at the tribunal 
 with forty armed* men at his back. The "Captain 
 of the City" — the head of the executive power — 
 shut the gates of the town-hall against this band, 
 and signified to the prince that he could bring in 
 with him only three or four followers. He pre- 
 tended to assent, but immediately on the door 
 being opened, the whole of the band rushed in. 
 Before the magistrates he began to bluster, affect- 
 ing to consider himself exceedingly ill-treated in
 
 328 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 being thus summoned before a court of justice. 
 Men of his rank, he said, were not wont to be 
 questioned. As for the death of the late prince's 
 wife, and that of her brother, he knew nothing of 
 the matter; but he should hold the magistrates 
 responsible for the safeguard of the property she 
 had held in her hands, which he demanded should 
 be delivered over to him. 
 
 In all sincerity, the noble and lawless murderer 
 was probably no little astonished at the measures 
 the Venetian magistrates were taking. His Eoman 
 experiences fully justified him in thinking that it 
 was quite out of the question that a man of his 
 name and station should be in earnest called upon 
 to answer for his deeds. And he probably little 
 thought, even yet, that the outrage his bravo es had 
 committed would be followed by any serious results. 
 When ordered to put his answer to the questions of 
 the tribunal into writing, he positively refused to 
 degrade himself by doing anything of the kind. 
 But he offered to show the magistrates a letter, 
 which he had written to his relative, the Prince 
 Virginio Orsini, at Florence, in which the truth, as 
 far as he was concerned, respecting the late occur- 
 rences, was stated, and which he demanded to be 
 allowed to send. The magistrates consulted on 
 the propriety of at once arresting him. But the 
 presence of his band of armed followers, and the 
 certainty that the arrest would not be effected
 
 VITTOEIA ACCOBAMBONI. 329 
 
 without the loss of probably ruany lives, induced 
 thera to temporise. He was permitted to send 
 the letter, which, of course, represented him as 
 altogether ignorant of the means by which the 
 Princess Vittoria had met her death, and to depart 
 from the town-hall. 
 
 But the magistrates gave instant orders that the 
 gates and walls of the city should be guarded, and 
 no one permitted, without special license, to leave 
 the town. They also caused the messenger, who 
 was carrying Orsini^s letter to his cousin, to be 
 stopped as soon as he was clear of the city gates ; 
 and on searching him, found a second letter, to the 
 f olio win 2^ effect : 
 
 "to the illustrious lord, the prince virglnto 
 
 ORSIXI. 
 
 " Most Illustrious Signor, — We have executed 
 that which was determined on between us ; . and 
 that in such sort, that we have entirely duped the 
 noble Captain Tondini [probably the chief of the 
 Paduan magistrates], so that I pass here for the 
 most upright man in the world. I did the job in 
 person. Do not fail, therefore, to send here forth- 
 with the people you know of." 
 
 This letter was immediately sent off to Venice by 
 the magistrates. And the same evening (say the 
 contemporary accounts, though, bearing in mind 
 the distance, about twenty miles, and the usual
 
 330 YITTOFJA ACCORA1IBOXI. 
 
 rate of locomotion at that day, this seems hardly 
 credible) a special commissioner, Signor Luigi 
 Bragadino, no less a man than one of the chiefs 
 of the Conncil of Ten, arrived in Padua with full 
 powers from the Senate, and orders to take, alive 
 or dead, at any cost, Ludovico Orsini and all his 
 followers. 
 
 The lion of St. Mark was a different guess sort of 
 power to have to deal with from the imbecile and 
 corrupt successors of St. Peter, under whose no- 
 rule Orsini had formed his ideas of public justice. 
 Things began to look very serious. But still he 
 could not yet imagine that it would literally come 
 to pass that he should be seized and brought to 
 trial, like a common plebeian. He thought, pro- 
 bably, that a show of resistance would be sufficient 
 to convince the magistrates that the easiest and 
 best course was to drop the matter, as he had so 
 often seen to be the case. So he gathered his men 
 into his house, barricaded doors and windows, and 
 prepared to stand a siege. 
 
 The audacity, and to modern notions, the absur- 
 dity, of an individual thus attempting to brave the 
 whole power of the state, and that state Venice, 
 is to us hardly intelligible. But powerful as the 
 Senate of Venice was — far more powerful than any 
 other Italian government of that period — and fully 
 determined as the magistrates were to vindicate the
 
 VITTORIA AGCORAMBONI. 331 
 
 outrage done to their authority by the perpetrators 
 of the late crime,, "at any cost," as their orders ran, 
 the means to which they were obliged to resort for 
 the attainment of this end are a very significant 
 proof of the sort of difficulties the civil power had 
 to contend with in sixteenth-century Italy. 
 
 Luigi Bragadino, chief of the dreaded Ten, im- 
 mediately on his arrival, proceeded to the town- 
 hall, and sat there in council with the podesta and 
 captain more than an hour. A proclamation was 
 then issued, calling on all well-disposed subjects 
 of St. Mark to present themselves armed in the 
 neighbourhood of the house occupied by the prince. 
 Those who had no arms were directed to apply at 
 the fortress, where arms would be distributed to 
 them. Two thousand ducats were promised to any 
 man who should deliver Ludovico Orsini, alive or 
 dead, to the captain ; and five hundred ducats for 
 any one of his followers. Cannon were placed on 
 the city walls, near which the house held by the 
 enemy was situated. Boats full of armed men 
 were stationed on the river, which likewise passed 
 near the house, to prevent the possibility of escape 
 by that means. A body of cavalry was placed 
 in an open spot in the vicinity. Barricades were 
 erected in the streets of the city, in case the enemy 
 should make a united sally against the citizens. 
 And, finally, all persons who were not armed were
 
 332 VITTOEIA ACCORAMBONI. 
 
 enjoined to keep within doors, that they might not 
 run into danger needlessly, or embarrass the move- 
 ments of the armed men. 
 
 It must be admitted that these preparations for 
 the arrest of a murderer testify that the Vene- 
 tian government, if it declined to admit the noble 
 Signor Ludovico's theory, that an Orsini ought to 
 be allowed to do whatever he pleased unquestioned, 
 was at least abundantly impressed with the diffi- 
 culty of laying hands on so great a man. One of 
 the old writers, indeed, who has recorded these 
 warlike dispositions, seems to have felt that his 
 readers might be struck by the apparent dispro- 
 portion of the extent of them to the object in 
 view. And to explain it, he enlarges on the con- 
 sideration that the desperadoes under Orsini' s 
 orders, though but forty men, were all soldiers, 
 thoroughly armed, accustomed to warfare, and to 
 desperate deeds of all sorts, opposed to citizens 
 altogether unused to arms. And he seems to 
 imply that even the paid men-at-arms at the dis- 
 posal of the city authorities were naturally to be 
 expected to be soldiers of a very different stamp 
 from the dare-devil ruffians in the pay of Orsini. 
 
 When these manifold preparations were all ready, 
 three of the principal citizens of the town were 
 sent to Orsini to ask if he would surrender, in- 
 timating that in doing so lay his only hope of 
 mercy.
 
 VITTOniA AGGOBAMBONI. 333 
 
 The noble felon took a very lofty tone with these 
 ambassadors. If all the forces assembled against 
 him were immediately withdrawn, he said, he would 
 consent to meet the magistrates with three or four 
 only of his followers, "to treat respecting the 
 matter," on the express condition that he should 
 be at liberty to return to his house whensoever he 
 so pleased. 
 
 The magistrates, on receiving this insolent reply, 
 sent the bearers of it back again, with orders to 
 assure Orsini that if he did not at once and uncon- 
 ditionally surrender himself, they would raze the 
 house to the ground. He answered that he would 
 die rather than make such a submission. So the 
 attack was begun. 
 
 The magistrates might, one of the narrators tells 
 us, have levelled the house with the ground by one 
 discharge of all the artillery they had. And they 
 were blamed by public opinion for not doing so, 
 inasmuch as the course adopted by them involved 
 a greater risk of the possibility that the besieged 
 might make a sortie. And then, said the townsfolk, 
 who knew what the result might have been ? But 
 the worthy chief of the Ten, who, in the midst of 
 his vigorous measures, " had yet a prudent mind," 
 and did not forget that St. Mark would have a bill 
 to pay for the mischief done, when it was all over, 
 was bent on unkennelling the vermin with as little 
 damage to property as might be.
 
 334 VITTOBIA ACC0RA2IB0NL 
 
 One or two guns accordingly were directed 
 against a colonnade in front of the house, which 
 speedily came down. This did not seem, however, 
 to abate a jot the courage of the besieged, who 
 kept up a brisk fire from the windows, without, 
 however, doing other damage than wounding one 
 townsman in the shoulder. Some cannon of heavier 
 calibre were then directed against one corner of the 
 main building, and at the first discharge brought 
 down a large mass of wall, and with it one Pandolfo 
 Lesprati, of Camerino, "a man of great courage, 
 and a bandit of much importance. He was out- 
 lawed in the States of the Church, and the illus- 
 trious Signor Vitelli had put a price of four hundred 
 crowns on his head for the murder of Vincent 
 Vitelli, who had been killed in his carriage by stabs 
 given by Ludovico Orsini by the arm of Pandolfo. 
 Stunned by his fall, he could not move, and a 
 certain man, a servant of the Lista family, ad- 
 vanced and very bravely cut off his head, and 
 carried it to the magistrates at the fortress." 
 
 Another shot brought down another fragment 
 of the house, and with it another of the chiefs of 
 Ludovico's band, crushed to death in the ruins. 
 Orsini now became aware that further resistance 
 was hopeless. It was evident that the magistrates 
 were in earnest in their determination to have him 
 in their power; and bidding his people not to 
 surrender till they had orders from him, he came
 
 YITTOIIIA AGCORAMBONI. 335 
 
 out and gave himself up. He, probably, still 
 thought that the Senate would not think of pro- 
 ceeding to extremity with " a man of his sort/' as 
 he frequently said. And when brought before the 
 magistrates he behaved in this supercilious manner, 
 u leaning against the balcony, and cutting his nails 
 with a little pair of scissors/' while they questioned 
 him. When told that he would be imprisoned, he 
 desired only that it might be in some place " fit for 
 a man of his quality;" and on that condition he 
 consented to send orders to his followers to sur- 
 render. 
 
 The town soldiers, therefore, entered the house, 
 and marched off to prison, two and two, all the 
 survivors they found in it ; and " the bodies of the 
 slain were left to the dogs ! " Ludovico Orsini was 
 strangled in his prison the same night. Two of his 
 men were hung the next day ; thirteen the day 
 after ; " and the gallows," says the contemporary 
 chronicler, " is still standing for the execution of 
 the remaining nineteen, on the first day that is not 
 a festival. But the executioner is excessively 
 fatigued, and the people are, as it were, agonised 
 by the sight of so many deaths. So they have 
 put off the remaining executions for a couple of 
 days." 
 
 And so ends the history of the marvellously 
 beautiful Vittoria Accoramboni and her two hus- 
 bands; a striking, but by no means unique or
 
 336 VITTOBIA ACCORAMBOXL 
 
 abnormal sample of a state of society produced and 
 fashioned, according to the certain and invariable 
 operation of God's moral laws, by the same evil 
 influences, lay and spiritual — absolutely the same 
 in kind, if somewhat mitigated in intensity — 
 from which Italy is now straining every nerve to 
 escape. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 CKAELES EICEEXS A^'D EYA:.S. CliYSTAL PALACE PSL3S. 
 
 u

 
 EIGHTOtf 
 
 SON A S O. ' 
 
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