“Well, that is very modest, and I dare say not affected. For there is no man, however gifted, even however conceited, who has any real confidence in himself until he has acted.”
“Well, we shall soon act,” said Lothair, “and then I. suppose I shall know my nature.”
“In time,” said the princess, “and with the continued inspiration of friendship.”
“But you too are a great friend of Theodora?”
“Although a woman. I see you are laughing at female friendships, and, generally speaking, there is foundation for the general sneer. I will own, for my part, I have every female weakness, and in excess. I am vain, I am curious, I am jealous, and I am envious; but I adore Theodora. I reconcile my feelings toward her and my disposition in this way. It is not friendship—it is worship. And indeed there are moments when I sometimes think she is one of those beautiful divinities that we once worshipped in this land, and who, when they listened to our prayers, at least vouchsafed that our country should not be the terrible wilderness that you crossed this day.”
In the mean time Colonna, with folded arms and eyes fixed on the ground, was listening to Theodora.
“Thus you see,” she continued, “it comes to this—Rome can only be freed by the Romans. He looks upon the secret societies of his own country as he does upon universal suffrage—a wild beast, and dangerous, but which may be watched and tamed and managed by the police. He listens, but he plays with them. He temporizes. At the bottom of his heart, his Italian blood despises the Gauls. It must be something deeper and more touching than this. Rome must appeal to him, and in the ineffable name.”
“It has been uttered before,” said Colonna, looking up at his companion, “and—” And he hesitated.
“And in vain you would say,” said Theodora. “Not so. There was a martyrdom, but the blood of Felice baptized the new birth of Italian life. But I am not thinking of bloodshed. Had it not been for the double intrigues of the Savoyards it need not then have been shed. We bear him no ill-will—at least not now—and we can make great offers. Make them. The revolution in Gaul is ever a mimicry of Italian thought and life. Their great affair of the last century, which they have so marred and muddied, would never have occurred had it not been for Tuscan reform; 1848 was the echo of our societies; and the Seine will never be disturbed if the Tiber flows unruffled. Let him consent to Roman freedom, and ‘Madre Natura’ will guarantee him against Lutetian barricades.”
“It is only the offer of Mary-Anne in another form,” said Colonna.