“ ‘Is her courage,’ he asked himself, ‘boundless too? Does she fancy that at this moment the Dark One before her perceives a consanguinity with a person of flesh and blood? The great scholars will have it that this bronze St. Peter has once been the Jove of ancient Rome, enthroned on the Capitol, and that he is only in so far recast as the thunderbolt in his hand has been replaced by the key. Of this a simple priest can know nothing. But if it be so, then surely a divine energy has passed through the bronze, so that now all lines and forms therein are those of Peter himself. Surely, then, the transformed will have power to transform. And surely the woman who sets her pride in denying all, will find help with him who, before the cock crew the third time, three times had denied!’
“Lady Flora’s sojourn in Rome now, according to her plans for the journey, approached its end. From Rome she would go southwards, first to Naples and Sicily and later on to Greece. Since the time when the great and beloved poet Lord Byron glorified, and died for, this country, its soil to his countrymen has become both sacred and familiar, and it is to them a new colony, which the mighty British kingdom has acquired, this time by spiritual arms.
“It was at this stage of events that Father Jacopo looked me up, in considerable agitation of mind, and told me his and Lady Flora’s story.
“ ‘And now, my Atanasio,’ he said, ‘you will have to come to my aid, and to give me your advice.
“ ‘A couple of evenings ago I sat with Lady Flora in her red salon. Suddenly she turned toward me, with more hardness and mockery in her face than I have ever seen there, and asked me: “How, Father Jacopo, have you come upon the idea that I be afraid of you?”
“ ‘Any such thought had been far from me, and I told her so. “Oh, do not beat about the bush now,” she said. “For indeed
you permit yourself to believe that the hocus-pocus of your Rome, its holy water and rosaries and saints’ bones—in the twinkling of an eye, and whether I myself consent or not—shall change me into a meek little lamb within Saint Peter’s fold. You permit yourself to believe that I have already, in some alarm, experienced a need to go down on all fours, and that this alarm is the real reason for my departure—aye, for my flight—from Rome! But you are a simpleton, good Father. You are wasting your time pouring water on a Highlander, and no Gordon willl ever be bitten by the teeth of your holy skulls. I warrant you that they would crack in the attempt! For no outside touch will ever leave a mark on us, but it is we, my friend, who mark and stamp the things that touch us.
“ ‘ “Look here,” she continued, “in order to please you, and in gratitude for your kind guidance in Rome, I am still willing to go down on all fours. On my knees”—here she struck one of her mighty knees—“I shall ascend your holy stair, the Scala Santa! And you will see for yourself, then, that while my weight may have polished or worn your steps a bit, I myself”—and here she struck her mighty bosom—“shall be no softer and no more polished on the top of the stair than I was at the bottom of it! Come, my kind and wise friend, I shall order my carriage, and we will go there at once, and together!”
“ ‘I had to think,’ said Father Jacopo, ‘before I answered her: “Indeed, Milady, if—without any human companion, in the depth of night, and with the night of unbelief in your own heart—you would imitate this act of penance of the believers, I should feel that it was all done in vain. Aye, I might tremble to imagine who was now in reality accompanying you. But if you would consent to carry through the act as a common member of the long row of humble, poor sinners, I should feel that you might still partake of the blessing of human fellowship.”
“ ‘She looked at me and laughed again. “O la la,” she said, “a fox and a priest—the two will always have one more way
out than you expect, and it is hard for decent people to run them to earth. How often have I told you that the breath of your humble sinners is odious to me!”
“ ‘She recited some lines out of a book:
“……. mechanic slaves
With greasy aprons, rules and hammers, shall
Uplift us to the view;—in their thick breaths,
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded,
And forc’d to drink their vapor …
“ ‘ “Nay, give me an honest Scots northwestern! We two have got much in common, and can speak to one another.
“ ‘ “For the blessing of your human fellowship, Father Jacopo—what does it mean but that one man leans on another, because none of the whole crowd has energy to stand on his own legs. Your long row of humble poor sinners squeeze together, body to body, to keep warm. Oh, let them be cold, and keep their self-respect!
“ ‘ “I shall tell you something, Father Jacopo,” she continued slowly. “While, formerly, the human body, with its vapors, to me was the most unpleasant; lately, here in Rome, it is the face that I loathe, because of the dishonesty and hypocrisy which I read in it. In the City of Rome there is but one honest face, and that is fifteen hundred years old.”
“ ‘She said no more, and I left her and walked away.
“ ‘But when I was alone,’ Father Jacopo finished, ‘I bethought myself of many things, and a question was put to me, which I myself cannot answer. Therefore I have come to you. Am I not committing a double wrong by allowing a haughty and unbelieving woman to share in the devotion of the humble and faithful? Shall I not thereby be blaspheming against the sacred act and against the sacred idea of community?’
“Like Father Jacopo himself,” the Cardinal said, “I had to think before I spoke.
“ ‘My Jacopo,’ I said at last. ‘Be you without fear. It is
not impossible that, in the wisdom of your simplicity, you have found the surest means of hindering the purpose of this woman, whom you call haughty and unbelieving. I cannot see her taking her stand in your humble and faithful row. Her
dégout
of human touch is very deep; she shakes hands with nobody. Very likely the great lady, in the countenance of a person to whom she gave her hand, has read amazement at the size of that hand. And, my friend, what handgrip would she find, in all Rome, to respond to her own?
“ ‘But if, in spite of all, she should take you at your word, then you may trustfully lay the responsibility for the blasphemy on my shoulders. For I tell you, Jacopo: there will be no blasphemy.
“ ‘There are in Rome—and in the world—so many poor wretches who yell and whine over the worthlessness of the world, and their own wretchedness, as over a toothache, and who cry out for salvation as for a hot poultice—or out with the tooth!—that one may well wonder at the patience of the Lord. But the human being, who in such dead earnest challenges—not Heaven, for Heaven is not to be challenged—but her own nature, Heaven will not let down. Through her own nature it will mightily answer her.
“ ‘She is right: she is a noblewoman, and it is she who will transform the things that touch or strike her—not the outside things that will ever transform her.
“ ‘The matter now stands between high powers. You and I, Jacopo, can but wait and see.’
“Father Jacopo let himself be consoled by my words, he thanked me and walked away.
“I did not see him again. Some time after our talk together I was informed that Lady Flora, in accordance with her plan, had left Rome. I much regretted not to have seen her before her departure, for I should have been happy to thank her for her very handsome donation to the Basilica of St. John Lateran.
“A few months later I learned that Father Jacopo had applied
for and obtained the modest office of parish priest in his native parish, a long way from Rome, in Piemonte.”
The Cardinal here made a long pause.
“The last chapter of—or the epilogue to—the story which I have had the honor to tell you, I know from the heroine.
“In the following spring I paid a visit to the Bath of Monte Scalzo, in Ascoli.
“Oh, how live and soothing is the air of that neighborhood to breathe! How exquisite in its pureness! With what noble force and mastery does it blue the distant mountains! This is the real country of my childhood. The austere, medieval castle, my father’s residence, stands far away from here; it is the dowry of my mother, the Villa Belvicino, which is pasted like a swallow’s nest between the long slopes and the endless olive groves. When I was a child she often took me with her here, and we were alone together and perfectly happy.
“In Monte Scalzo I looked up one of the guests of the Bath, an old friend.
“The human misery for which people resort to this particular Bath is that which has been named after the goddess of love of our own Roman ancestors. And the treatment which the Bath offers them, follows the old saying:
‘Hora cum Venere, decem annu cum Mercurio.’
Yet the visitors of the Bath never blab about their intimacy with the goddess, but they very courteously inquire after one another’s facial erysipelas, migraine or rheumatism.
“Their circle was naturally amiable, unprejudiced and fearless, and I felt content and easy in mind in their company. Many pleasant hours were passed at the card table, others were dedicated to music or to philosophical discussions. The lively conversation would also run on common friends and acquaintances, but would always be free of malice.
“This season it had become a fashion among the ladies and gentlemen of the Bath to designate both present and absent
friends by fictitious, romantic names—frequently taken from mythology, history or the classics. Until the newcomer in their circle had become accustomed to the pleasantry it might cause him some embarrassment.
“A lady of the coterie, who was away at the moment, and who obviously was sincerely missed by everyone, was referred to as Diana, or at other times as Principessa Daria, or as just Daria—and always with quite exceptional affection and respect. I was therefore surprised when I realized that this name was in fact an abbreviation of the word dromedaria, which seemed to me a gross nickname for a woman of high rank and—as I gathered—past the prime of youth. But a gentleman of the society, a famous orientalist, smilingly undertook to enlighten me.
“ ‘Think no ill of us, Your Eminence,’ he said. ‘For if we allow ourselves to name a highly esteemed friend after a somewhat disregarded beast of burden, the appellation is derived from an old revered Arab legend.
“ ‘ “Do you know,” the Arab asks the foreigner, “why the dromedary, while carrying her hard and heavy loads, does still carry her head so high, and does turn it from right to left with such haughty disdain of all other creatures? I shall tell you the reason. Allah, the Almighty, confided to the Prophet the ninety-nine of his hundred names, and all these are set down in the Koran. The hundredth name, though, he withheld even from the Prophet himself, and it is known to no human being on earth. But the dromedary knows it. Therefore she gazes round with pride and keeps aloof, conscious of her superiority as keeper of the secret of Allah. She says to herself:
I know the name.”
“ ‘The lady of whom we are speaking,’ he added, ‘in mien and carriage displays the pride of one initiated, of the Keeper of the Seal. And this is why we have given her the name which offends you.’
“I had been staying at the Bath for a few days when one evening a lady entered the room and at once was surrounded
and greeted with joy. My orientalist and the other gentlemen gallantly and respectfully kissed her hand. The lady’s unusual height allowed of no mistake. I at once recognized Lady Flora. She had become extremely thin, and so looked still taller. She no longer had her brilliant red hair, but bore a most elegantly dressed wig. Her silk frock, costly as ever, had a choice and tasteful trimming of ribbons and lace.
“She carried herself with the same nobility and truthfulness as at our first meeting, and during the conversation of this evening I learned that her wit was as live and sparkling as ever, and that there was moreover now added to it a gentle and delicate irony, of which I had no remembrance. In the course of the evening the talk of the circle, which did generally brush everything between Heaven and Earth, a couple of times turned to events of an amorous nature. Lady Flora then joined in with a fine, gay equipoise, and promptly and pleasingly inserted quotations from a couple of poets. Alas, her full clear harmonious voice of former days was gone. But in her present broken, low and hoarse voice, like to the cackle of an old wise raven or a cockatoo, there was a new joviality, a mirthful forbearance with and benevolence toward the frailty of humanity. The bold verse of Zoram Moroni she delivered as frankly as a young boy, but at the recitation of a sublime and moving love poem a deep, delicate blush mounted to her face.
“And one thing more. I could feel no surprise at the fact that her friends at the Bath had named her Diana. When at an earlier time I had occupied myself with Lady Flora, in my thoughts I had characterized her as a person of high birth and great wealth, as a native of Britain and a great traveler, and as a mind equal or superior to my own; but hardly ever as a woman. Now through the fellowship with the libertines of Monte Scalzo she was changed; mystically she had become a maiden—an old maid.
“When her eye fell upon me, she amicably came forward to greet me, and almost at once inquired after Father Jacopo. As
she learned that he had altogether retired from Rome and was now living among poor and simple people, she was silent for a while.
“ ‘Poor Father Jacopo,’ she said. ‘He took upon himself to tackle things and people that he had not been born to meddle with. However, he was a good, kind man, and I hope and trust that by now he too will be happy.’
“I could not ask her how she had come to be at Monte Scalzo, but the thought occupied me.
“One evening we were sitting on the western terrace, and together were silently watching how the air above us and around us was slowly emptied of the light of sunset, how night filled the valley, and the stars, one by one, came out in the vault of the sky.
“ ‘What a sweet and fragrant wind,’ she remarked.
“Our talk fell on poetry, and in the course of it I named the English poet Swift.