"Monsignore!" he exclaimed, furiously. "Are you aware of what you are saying? Monsieur le Baron," he added, turning to Monsieur d'Antin, "this is an insult – not to me only, but to the princess and to yourself – "
Monsieur d'Antin looked from one to the other curiously, almost as if he enjoyed the situation.
"I think not, Monsieur l'Abbé," he said, with a little smile, and rubbing his white hands gently together. "I think not, my dear friend. Monsignor Lelli is merely stating the opinion that others hold concerning you – or concerning us, perhaps I should say. He does not, I am convinced, mean us to suppose that he shares this opinion."
Don Agostino was silent.
"In any case," continued Monsieur d'Antin, with a slight shrug of the shoulders as the silence became markedly prolonged, "it is not worth your while to be angry, my dear abbé, for Monsignor Lelli might regard your anger as a proof that the peasants at Montefiano are a very shrewd race – ha, ha, ha!" and he broke into a gentle laugh which sounded genuine enough, but certainly did not tend to allay the abbé's fury.
"No," he continued. "Let us remain calm, I beg of you, and let us hear what else Monsignor Lelli has to tell us from these admirable peasants."
"I have little else to add to what I have already said," observed Don Agostino, "and I make no apologies for the words I have used. They are plain words, and even the Abbé Roux will not, I think, misunderstand them. As to my own opinion – well, I agree with you, Monsieur le Baron, that the people of Montefiano are shrewd, and I believe their accusations to be just."
The Abbé Roux made a step forward, and, purple with rage, shook his clinched fist in Don Agostino's face.
"And you," he exclaimed, "you, whom the Holy Father sent to minister to these pigs of peasants in order to avoid the scandal of proceeding against you for fraudulent speculation with money intrusted to you, you dare to bring these accusations against me! Liar, hypocrite, pig – like the peasants you represent!"
"My dear friend," remonstrated Monsieur d'Antin, laying his hand on the abbé's arm, "let me implore you to be calm. Recollect that you and Monsignor Lelli are priests – that you both wear the soutane. You cannot demand satisfaction of each other in the usual way – you cannot challenge each other to a duel. It would be – excessively funny," and Monsieur d'Antin laughed again, in evident enjoyment of the idea. "Besides," he continued, "Monsignor Lelli has, no doubt, more to tell us. We have not yet heard what it is that the peasants require of my sister."
"Monsieur," said Don Agostino, "I can answer for the peasants that, if they are allowed to see and speak with Donna Bianca Acorari, they will certainly not proceed to any excesses. They will probably return quietly to their occupations."
"And you," interrupted the Abbé Roux, in a voice that was hoarse and trembling with anger, "can take back to the peasants the princess's answer which I am commissioned to give in her name. The answer is, that they will not be permitted to see Donna Bianca Acorari, who has nothing to say in the matter of the administration of these lands, or to approach her with any story of their grievances. The princess, monsignore, is perfectly well aware of all that underlies this agitation, and that it is directed chiefly against myself. She will not be intimidated into recalling Giuseppe Fontana, or into lowering the rents. She – "
He stopped abruptly. A confused sound of voices came from the gallery outside, and a moment afterwards the door was flung hastily open and the old maggior-domo burst into the room, followed by several of the servants, who stood in a frightened group on the threshold.
"The contadini!" he exclaimed. "There is a crowd of three hundred or more outside the entrance-gates, and they declare that if the gates are not opened, they will break them down, Signor Abate! Ah, Madonna mia! It is a repubblica– a revolution – listen!" and rushing across the gallery, he threw open one of the windows looking into the court-yard.
The thick walls of the castle had effectually prevented any sound from penetrating to the apartments on the other side of the gallery, all of which were situated in the portion of the building added to the mediæval fortress by Cardinal Acorari, and overlooked the terrace and open country beneath it. From the gallery, however, the angry roar of an excited mob could distinctly be heard; and, when the windows were opened by the old maggior-domo, shouts of "Down with the foreigners! Long live the Principessina Bianca!" became plainly audible.
Don Agostino looked at the abbé and Monsieur d'Antin. "You see, monsieur," he said, quietly, to the latter, "I did not exaggerate matters. But even now it is not too late. If the princess and Donna Bianca will show themselves to the peasants, and allow me to address the people in their name, I am confident that order will quickly be restored. Hark!" he added. "They are attempting to break open the gates." And even as he spoke, the noise of heavy blows falling on wood-work re-echoed through the court-yard.
Monsieur d'Antin, to do him justice, appeared to be far more composed than the Abbé Roux. He listened for a moment or two almost impassively to the shouts and the uproar which were growing ever louder and more violent. The abbé, on the contrary, was trembling with an excitement that might have proceeded either from fear or from rage, and probably, as Don Agostino thought, from both. He had his watch in his hand, and looked at it repeatedly, as though counting every minute that passed. Don Agostino noticed his action, and as he did so a sudden suspicion dawned upon him.
Monsieur d'Antin drew the abbé aside, and spoke with him for a minute or so in an undertone. The Abbé Roux, it was evident, dissented energetically from his remarks, and finally, with a shrug of the shoulders, Monsieur d'Antin left him and advanced to Don Agostino.
"Monsieur le Curé," he said, "as I have already told you, my sister does not take advice from me as to the management of her affairs, and I frankly confess to you that I do not understand the situation sufficiently to make interference on my part warrantable. The Abbé Roux is my sister's adviser in all that concerns her affairs. I must refer you to him."
Monsieur d'Antin approached the window again; and then, taking his cigarette-case from his pocket, he proceeded to light a cigarette with quiet deliberation. Don Agostino glanced at him almost with approval. At any rate, he reflected, Baron d'Antin, whatever else he might be, was no coward, and knew how to se tirer d'affaires like a gentleman.
"Yes," exclaimed the Abbé Roux, "you, Monsieur le Curé, have to refer to me in this matter. And I tell you again that it is useless that you and the canaille attempt to intimidate the princess – absolutely useless. What did I say to you a few minutes ago? We are not imbeciles here – certainly not imbeciles, monsieur; as you and your friends outside will find out – if they dare to continue this violence much longer. No; go to these insolent peasants, and tell them that your mission has failed."
Don Agostino looked the abbé steadily in the face for a moment, and then, without a word, turned his back upon him for the second time that afternoon.
"Monsieur le Baron," he said, coldly, "it would be well that you should inform the princess what is taking place, and you will doubtless know how to prevent her and Donna Bianca Acorari from being unduly alarmed. I have done my office here, and it is not my fault if I have failed. My place now is with my people."
Don Agostino was about to pass Monsieur d'Antin with a formal bow, when the latter suddenly held out his hand.
"Monsignore," he said, "you came as a peacemaker; and, believe me, I regret that you do not take away with you terms of peace. I regret it, I repeat, and I am not responsible for what has occurred, or for what may occur."
Don Agostino scarcely heard him. He hurried down the gallery and across the entrance-hall, followed by two trembling domestics, who unbarred the doors opening on to the court-yard.
By this time the fury of the crowd at finding itself prevented from entering the castle had passed all bounds of control. Blow after blow rained upon the wooden gates leading into the court; and suddenly, while Don Agostino was in the act of crossing the court-yard, the gates burst open with a crash, having given way before the impetus of a mad rush from the mob without.
For a moment the peasants stood undecided – surprised, perhaps, at the sudden yielding of the gates.
Don Agostino, seeing their indecision, advanced towards them.
"My friends – " he began.
A great shout drowned his voice.
"Traditore! Vigliacco d'un prete!"
Then a stone struck him, and, with a hoarse roar like that of an angry beast, the crowd surged into the court-yard.
XXXII
The stone hurled at Don Agostino had fortunately only hit him on the body, for, owing to the violence with which it had been thrown, it certainly would have stunned him had it struck him on the head. As it was, however, the folds of his soutane somewhat broke the force of the blow. Don Agostino was scarcely conscious that he had been struck, so great was his amazement at the savage reception he had met with at the hands of his parishioners. Looking round on the angry faces and threatening gestures of the mob of peasants in front of him, Don Agostino speedily realized that neither Sor Stefano nor any of the more prominent supporters of the peasantry were among those who had forced their way into the court-yard. A feeling of anger and indignation took possession of him as he noted the fact. It was the usual thing, he thought bitterly – the invariable system of the incitement of the poor and the ignorant to do the dirty work by those who would instantly desert them in the hour of danger.
Disgust at what he believed to be treachery on the part of those who had been mainly instrumental in instigating the peasants to their present action quickly took the place of the surprise and indignation that Don Agostino had felt at the way in which the people had suddenly turned against him.
Without hesitation, and with a demeanor as calm and composed as though he were mounting the steps of his pulpit, he ascended the double stone staircase leading from the court-yard to the doors from which he had issued only a minute or two previously. The doors were shut and bolted now. The servants had fled precipitately at the sight of the entrance-gates giving way before the assault of the mob, and Don Agostino found himself alone with an angry and menacing crowd confronting him, and behind him the great Renaissance palace of Cardinal Acorari, with its portal barred, and the wooden shutters outside the windows on the piano nobile already closed by its inmates. He stopped at the top of the first flight of steps; and, advancing to the stone balustrade, looked down on the peasants below him.
They were still crowded together round the entrance-gates, and seemed as though uncertain what their next move should be. Possibly, too, they were taken aback at finding themselves within a deserted court-yard, with closed windows all round them, and nothing but the solitary black figure of Don Agostino standing in front of the entrance to that portion of the castle inhabited by the princess and Bianca Acorari.
Drawing himself up to his full height, Don Agostino made a gesture as though to wave back a group of peasants who, detaching themselves from the rest, were approaching the flight of steps on which he stood – a gesture that was almost imperious.
"You have broken your word to me," he cried; "you, and those who have sent you here and are afraid to come themselves! You promised that you would make no move until I returned from the castle – " Shouts of "Abbasso il pretaccio! Liar – traitor!" interrupted and drowned his words.
Don Agostino's eyes flashed with anger.
"Silence!" he exclaimed. "And if there is a man among you, let him stand out and tell me what you mean – what you accuse me of. Choose your spokesman. I am waiting to hear what he has to say." He folded his arms and leaned against the balustrade almost indifferently. His demeanor was not lost on the crowd, composed of peasants though it was. Its members fell to talking excitedly among themselves, and presently one of the younger men came forward. Don Agostino recognized him as the speaker at the Caffè Garibaldi that morning, who had advocated no delay in going to the castle and insisting on seeing Donna Bianca Acorari in person.
"You ask us what it is we accuse you of!" he exclaimed, in a threatening voice. "Porca Madonna!"
"There is no necessity to be blasphemous," interrupted Don Agostino, sternly.
"If it had not been for your promises, and because we believed that you would not deceive us, we should have been here this morning. You persuaded us to delay, because all the time you knew that the soldiers had been sent for."
"I did not know it," said Don Agostino, in a voice that rang through the court-yard. "I swear that I did not know it until I read the telegram in the paper that you have probably all seen. Even now I do not know that the report is true. In the castle they deny that there has ever been any idea of sending for troops, and, still more, that they have been actually sent for. You accuse me of having deceived you. I tell you that until a few minutes ago I have been doing my best to persuade the princess to give you a hearing. But other counsels have prevailed, and I have not succeeded in seeing either her or the Principessina Donna Bianca. No – I have deceived you in nothing, but you have been deceived all the same. You have been deceived by those who have encouraged you to come here and commit acts of violence, but who have, nevertheless, taken good care not to compromise themselves. Now, my friends, I have answered your accusations. What further reasons have you to give for turning against me, who have never done anything to deserve your want of confidence?"
Cries of "È vero! È vero!" greeted Don Agostino's words, and a few shouts of "Evviva il parroco!" were raised from the back of the crowd.
Don Agostino slowly descended the steps, and advanced towards the foremost group of peasants.
"Listen to me, ragazzi miei," he said. "Be wise and go back to the paese, quietly. I told you this morning that you would obtain nothing by violence, and I tell it you again. There are other means – better means – of obtaining your rights than by committing wrongs. Have I ever deceived you? I think not. Did I deceive you, Angelo Frassi, when you were nearly crippled for life, and I sent you to the hospital in Rome, and you came back cured? Or you, Pietro Santucci, when your mother was dying, and you had not money left in the house to buy a piece of meat to make her a cup of broth? Via, figli miei, you have called me some hard names, but I think, all the same, that you will trust me for a little yet."
Don Agostino paused, and an outburst of cheering came from his audience. The peasants he had named, who were among the most threatening of the younger men among the mob, shrunk back shamefaced and abashed. The parroco'sappeal was true, and they knew it to be so. There were few in the crowd, moreover, who, in some way or another, had not experienced Don Agostino's sympathy and generosity.
Almost mechanically they made way for him to pass between their ranks, and followed him over the debris of the broken gates out on to the square-paved piazza, in front of the walls and round battlemented towers flanking the main entrance to the castle.
Don Agostino had just breathed a sigh of relief at the effects of his appeal, when a band of some fifty or sixty men, accompanied by as many women and children, rushed into the piazza out of the steep road leading up to the castle from the town.
"The troops!" they shouted. "The troops! They are entering the town now. In a few minutes they will be here!"
A howl of rage answered them from the mob of peasants behind and around Don Agostino.
"Traditore – traditore! porco d'un prete! It was for this you were waiting – deceiving us with your lies till you knew the soldiers would be here! Ah, vigliacco!"
A rush was made at him by those nearest, and Don Agostino had just time to defend himself from a blow dealt with the handle of a broken spade, the end of which was still covered by the rusty iron ferrule. His suspicions were verified now. The Abbé Roux had lied to him, and when Don Agostino had seen him glancing every now and again at his watch, he had been calculating how many minutes might elapse before the appearance of the troops he had caused to be summoned. It had been the knowledge that these troops were in the vicinity that had doubtless given the abbé courage to refuse to listen to any representations, even from Monsieur d'Antin, as to the advisability of treating with the peasants.
It had been the suspicion – nay, almost the certainty, that the Abbé Roux was lying, and that troops had already been requisitioned, which had made Don Agostino determined if possible to persuade the peasants to leave the court-yard of the castle. If the troops should arrive when the mob was within the walls, the peasants would be caught, as it were, in a trap, and any additional act of violence on their part, or error of judgment on the part of the officers of the pubblica sicurezza, who, in accordance with the law, would have to accompany the officer commanding and call upon him to order the soldiers to charge or fire on the crowd, might lead to appalling results.
It had been of the safety of his people that Don Agostino had been thinking, far more than of his own safety, and even now, with the angry mob shouting execrations and threats upon him for his treachery, he reproached himself bitterly for having played into the Abbé Roux's hands, by delaying his exit from the castle until the peasants had already commenced their assault.
He had little time to think of this now, however. It was in vain that he attempted for a moment to make his voice heard above the din. The mob was too angry now, too certain that it had been deceived, to listen to him a second time, and Don Agostino knew it.
He turned and faced the crowd in silence, and the thought of the irony of his situation brought a fleeting smile to his lips. How could the peasants know that he sympathized with them – that it was not he who had deceived them, but that he himself had been deceived?
"Morte – morte al pretaccio! Morte all 'assassino!"
Well, death must come some time; and, at any rate, he had tried to do his duty. Death, perhaps, would come to him as it had done to his Master, at the hands of those who knew not what they did.
"Morte – morte al traditore!"
A heavy blow struck from behind him fell upon his head, causing him to reel and totter back. Don Agostino shut his eyes, and his lips moved silently. Surely, death was very near now. Surely —
Suddenly another voice sounded in his ears. His name was shouted out loudly; yes, but in very different accents from those of the peasants now closing round him.
Don Agostino opened his eyes in time to see two men with raised reaping-hooks, who were apparently about to strike him a more deadly blow than the rest, hurled right and left, and the next moment Silvio Rossano stood by his side.
"Stand back!" Silvio shouted. "Back, I say, or by God, I will blow the brains out of the first man who comes within a metre of Don Agostino!" and as he spoke he covered the nearest peasant with a revolver.
"Coraggio, Don Agostino!" he said, quickly, "you are not hurt – no? In a minute or two the troops will be here. Ah, I could stay no longer. I knew the mob had gone to the castle, and that you were still there. And then, on my way here, I met Fontana and his daughter, and they told me the peasants had turned against you. When I heard that I ran as hard as I could – and here I am!"
Don Agostino felt sick and dizzy from the blow he had received. "You are just in time, Silvio mio," he said. "Another minute, and who knows whether you would have found me alive? Oh, but it is not their fault, the poor people – they think that I knew the troops had been sent for, and that I meant to deceive them."
The peasants, who had fallen back at Silvio's unexpected appearance and at the sight of his revolver, now began to crowd round Don Agostino again, and once more cries of "Morte al pretaccio!" were raised, coupled with threats against Silvio and curses at his interference.
Suddenly a woman's voice rose above the uproar. "Fools! – idiots! Are you trying to murder your best friend, Don Agostino? And that other – do you know who he is? He is the fidanzato of the Principessina Bianca!"
The voice was Concetta Fontana's. Accompanied by her father and Sor Stefano, she forced her way through the crowd to where Don Agostino and Silvio were standing.
"Yes," roared out Sor Beppe, "my daughter is right – and you – you are pigs and beasts, and it is I who say it! Don Agostino knew no more than I did that the soldiers had been summoned. Evviva il fidanzato della principessina!"
The effect of Sor Beppe's intervention was instantaneous, and the mob took up his cry, while Concetta, after whispering a few words in her father's ear, disappeared within the gateway of the castle.
Suddenly a cry arose from the end of the piazza. "The troops – the troops!"
The leaders of the peasants shouted to the rest to follow them. "Back to the castle!" they cried. "The soldiers shall find us there!" and the crowd surged again through the broken-down gates into the court-yard.
"For the love of God, come!" exclaimed Don Agostino to his companions. "We must put ourselves between them and the soldiers, or who knows what may happen? You, Signor Mazza, speak to the peasants – they will listen to you." Accompanied by Silvio, Fontana, and Sor Stefano, Don Agostino hurried to the gateway and entered the court-yard. Already the mob had swarmed up the staircase at the opposite end of the court, and the foremost were attempting to break in the great double doors in the centre of the piano nobile.
They were scarcely inside the court, when the quick tramp of armed men was heard in the piazza; a sharp word of command re-echoed through the gateway, and then a long metallic rattle of steel, as a company of grenadiers and a detachment of infantry fixed bayonets. A moment afterwards the granatieri marched through the gateway, the officer in command of them being accompanied by a delegate of public safety wearing the tricolor scarf.
The delegate stepped forward, and in the name of the law called upon the rioters to desist. A shout of defiance answered his words. "We go to see our padrona! Evviva la principessina, abbasso gli stranieri!" and a volley of blows resounded on the doors at the top of the double flight of steps.
At this moment the outside shutters of a window in the gallery were thrown open, and the Abbé Roux appeared at it.
"Signor Delegate," he cried, "in the name of the Principessa di Montefiano, I call upon you to protect the inhabitants of this castle from the assault of a disorderly mob. Those men," he added, pointing to Don Agostino and his companions, "are the ringleaders – they are responsible for this agitation."
A howl of execration from the mob followed the Abbé Roux's speech, and sticks and stones were hurled at the window at which he was standing.
The delegate looked from the abbé to Don Agostino and Silvio Rossano, who was standing by his side, in some perplexity.
"Your names, signori," he said, curtly.
"Agostino Lelli, parroco of Montefiano."
"Silvio Rossano, son of the Senator Rossano."
"Evviva! Evviva il fidanzato della nostra principessina!" shouted the crowd.
The official looked up to the window again.
"There is surely some mistake – " he began.
"I tell you, Signor Delegate, that there is no mistake," shouted the Abbé Roux. "Is this a time to waste words, when in a moment the mob will be inside the castle?"
The delegate shrugged his shoulders. Then he turned to Don Agostino and Silvio. "Signori," he said, courteously, "I must ask you to consider yourselves under arrest pending further inquiries. Have the kindness to place yourselves behind the troops!"
The peasants began to leave the staircase and flock into the body of the court-yard.
"Morte al prele straniero!" they shouted. "We will have no arrests!"
The delegate made a sign to the officer in command of the grenadiers, and immediately the three bugle-calls which the law ordains shall precede any action on the part of troops against the public resounded through the court-yard.
Moved partly by rage and partly by fear, the peasants made another rush towards the staircase. The delegate called upon the officer in command to order his men to charge. The captain hesitated.
"Signor Delegate," he said, "a little patience; it maybe that my men may be saved from having to perform a disagreeable duty."
Don Agostino went up to him. "You are right, Signor Capitano. For God's sake, let us have patience! Let me see if I can make them hear reason – ah!"
"Cristo!" swore the officer, drawing in his breath sharply.
A sudden silence had fallen on the mob, and those who were half-way up the stone staircase paused and stood still.
Then, Sor Stefano's voice rang out:
"Ecco la principessina! Evviva la nostra padrona!"
A great shout answered him. The doors at the top of the staircase had opened, and in the centre of them stood Bianca Acorari. She remained for a moment or two looking steadily down on the astonished crowd of peasants and the double line of granatieri drawn up at the back of the court-yard. Then, raising her head proudly, she moved forward and rested her hands on the stone balustrade. It was perhaps no wonder that a silence had fallen on the crowd; that the captain of granatieri had sworn, and that one of his men had let his musket fall with a clatter to the ground. The sudden appearance of a young girl, simply dressed in white, with the light falling on her tawny gold hair, and her creamy complexion flushed with a glow of excitement, her every movement full of high-bred grace and dignity, among a mob of angry peasants, formed a picture that certainly could not be seen every day.
"They tell me that you want to see me – to speak with me. Well, I am here to speak with you. I am Bianca Acorari."
The low, clear voice could be heard all over the court-yard. There was no tremor of fear, no trace of excitement, even, in its tones. For a few moments soldiers and peasants gazed, as though spellbound, at the girlish figure standing alone upon the steps against the background formed by the columns and heavy mouldings of the portico. Then the silence which succeeded her appearance was broken; and when she ceased speaking, the peasants greeted her with an outburst of cheering, in which – did discipline permit – the soldiers looked as though they would willingly join.
If the delegate representing the law had been perplexed before, he was fairly bewildered now at the turn events had taken. The message received that morning from the sindaco of Montefiano had been urgent, and the instant despatch of an armed force had been requested by that official for the purpose both of maintaining public order and of protecting the Princess Montefiano and Donna Bianca Acorari from violence at the hands of their unruly tenants.
The delegato, indeed, was about to demand an explanation from the avvocato Ricci, who had waited for the arrival of the troops before venturing to show himself among the mob in his official capacity as syndic, when the Abbé Roux, livid with rage and excitement, rushed from the doorway down the steps to where Bianca was standing.
"Signor Delegato," he cried, "once more I request that the castle be cleared of these rioters. In the name of her excellency, the princess – " A woman's voice interrupted him.
"Eccolo – Ecco l'Abate! Fuori gli stranieri!"
A cry of execration rose from the crowd, and in an instant its passions were kindled afresh. A sudden rush was made for the staircase, but the captain in command of the granatieri had watched his opportunity, and by a rapid movement his men had placed themselves between the mob and its base. At the same time a detachment of the infantry left outside the court-yard filed through the gateway and occupied the space in the rear of the mob.
The peasants, as Don Agostino had foreseen would probably be the case were they to be surprised in the court-yard by the troops, were trapped; and it was the discovery that they were so which redoubled their fury against the foreign priest. Uttering a volley of curses and blasphemies, a group of the younger men attempted to force their way to the staircase. For the second time the bugle sounded the three warning blasts. At that instant both Silvio and Don Agostino hurled themselves against the foremost of the peasants who were struggling to break through the ranks of the granatieri. They tried to force them back, imploring them at the same time not to oblige the troops to use their weapons.
The delegate misunderstood the action of the two men whom he had a few minutes previously told to consider themselves as under arrest, and a further furious appeal from the Abbé Roux did not help him to keep his head or his temper. He turned angrily to the officer in command, and ordered him to give the word to his men to charge the crowd.
"Yes – yes!" shouted the abbé. "Drive the canaglia out of the court-yard! Donna Bianca Acorari, Signor Delegate, has no business to be here. She is a minor, and has no authority. She is being deceived by certain adventurers who have incited the peasants to revolt. You, Signor Capitano, give the order to charge, as the law requires you to do."
The delegate stamped his foot angrily. "In the name of the law, charge the crowd!" he shouted to the soldiers.
"No! I, Bianca Acorari, Principessina di Montefiano, forbid it! I will not have the people – my people – touched."