The sword of wealth

by Henry Wilton Thomas

It was patent to Tarsis that the situation offered no alternative; the man who had come between him and the success he prized above all else must be asked to partake of the hospitality of his house. And it was equally patent to Mario Forza, when he received the invitation, that the royal wish might not be disregarded. He had seen Hera driving on the Bastions; once or twice their eyes had met; he believed that they shared alike a yearning to speak, to have an exchange of confidence—a desire which might not be gratified with honour; but now by the King’s gift this opportunity was to be theirs. It seemed to him a gift eminently worthy of a king. Tarsis did not deem it necessary to acquaint his wife with what had chanced. On the contrary, he decided to take these lovers unawares, to watch them, and satisfy his mind as to a suspicion that had crept into it and was gaining strength.

Probably no man of intelligence in Italy was further from understanding Mario’s political aims, or caring to understand them, than Tarsis. And no one understood them better than the King; he knew that in the leader of the New Democracy he had a stalwart friend, law and order a genuine champion. Mario’s party had frankly accepted the monarchy, convinced that the industrial reforms Italy needed could be accomplished by improving rather than pulling down the existing form of government.

The duty on breadstuffs had been so high that many thousands of mouths found it difficult to get bread. In the past few weeks there had been outbreaks of the people. In towns of middle and southern Italy and Sicily mobs of men and women had busied themselves taking food wherever they could find it. This imitation of the fowls of the air and the beasts of the forest worked well enough for the feeders until the soldiers arrived and the bullets began to whistle. One day the King, who had never relished the campaign against his hungry subjects, issued a decree reducing the duty on breadstuffs. It was submitted to Parliament and passed without speeches for or against.

There was a notion in the heads of the law-makers that if some measure of relief was not adopted the full stomachs might not be able to hold the empty ones at bay. Mario Forza had much to do with inculcating that idea. He proved himself the dangerous man his foes pronounced him by pointing out the peril and the means of averting it. Upon his motion the Chamber remitted taxes on many things that the people needed to support life, and planned public works to give the idle an opportunity to earn food. It voted 100,000 liras to aid the poor, and then, feeling that it had smothered the volcano, adjourned for a fortnight to attend the Turin exposition, leaving the throne and the cabinet to keep an eye on the crater.

It was at this juncture that the King chose to visit the Barbiondi palace. He had shown his sympathy with the suffering by adding to the Parliamentary fund for their relief 150,000 liras from his private purse. Long before the hour for his appearance the Milanese began to assemble, for the most part, it is believed, bent upon giving him an evidence of good will. They gathered about the gates of the palace and along Corso Venezia, through which the royal equipage was to pass. Soon the halls and reception chambers of the house pulsated with the voices and laughter, the rustle and movement, that attend the arrival of guests. A line of carriages set them down at the portico.

In that stream of Lombard aristocracy was Hera’s father, with Donna Beatrice by his side, and many like them—men bearing noble names who owed much to the peasant-born Tarsis. He had swollen their fortunes by casting them for lucrative parts in the drama that had attracted so many gentlemen of quality—the drama of the factory, the bank, the steamship line. Their families made up the fashionable world of Milan. Most of them had grand dwellings in town and villas on the Lakes or in the Brianza; they entertained with radiant hospitality, drove blooded horses, and stirred the dust of country roads with their automobiles. Most of them were willing to forget their titles. They belonged to the group that was fast going away from old ideas; the notions their fathers respected, and which they too once respected, seemed to them absurd and ridiculous.

Hera was gowned in something that shimmered softly like the petals of a tea rose. What happened before the day was over caused the journals to give a more circumstantial account of the reception than they might have done otherwise. One of the chroniclers thus pictured Hera as she stood, Tarsis at her side, receiving the guests, with Heribert and his slashing warriors for a background: “Her deep grey eyes were full of life and expression. She moved with marvellous grace. Her voice was sweet and melodious. Never had anyone seen in the person of one woman so much charm, so much beauty, united with such brightness of intellect. She was graceful without affectation, witty without malice, and captivating to every guest.”

The Honourable Mario Forza was among the last to appear. He came in with the Cardinal, a hale man of sixty, with kindly blue eyes. As they drew near Hera felt her blood ebb and flow and her breath catch. The elder man was the first to be greeted, and while he paid her some hearty compliments Mario stood alone, for Tarsis did not offer his hand. When the Cardinal had moved away, and they were face to face, Hera noted with a sinking heart that the rugged glow had gone from his cheeks, and from his eyes the boyish lustre that had reflected a soul without bitterness.

“It is a pleasure for which I am indebted to His Majesty,” he said, as they clasped hands, and their glances met.

“I am glad to see you again,” she returned, while Tarsis, his back to the oncoming guests, held her and the other in full survey. So intent was he watching them that the Mayor of Milan, a rotund little man, who stood in full regalia waiting to be noticed, was obliged to cough diplomatically once or twice. The hosts turned to receive the Mayor, and Forza, with a ceremonious bow, joined the Cardinal and passed on to mingle with the throng.