“But this is not the worst,” she continued. “Our good Conte Muzio there”—indicating the quiet man who had first alluded to the increased taxation—“lamented our losses by this long prohibition upon the exporting corn-trade—a measure rendered indispensable, we were told, by the fears entertained respecting a scarcity after next harvest; so, although commerce languished, and in the seaports thousands of people were thrown out of their usual employment, we did not complain, but acquiesced in its necessity. We sold our grain meantime—at low prices, it is true—but still we sold. There was a silent yet almost a simultaneous demand for it all over the country. Once or twice I had my misgivings, and asked who the buyers could be, and what part of the State it was principally intended to supply. 'The interior, the interior,' was always the answer. There was nothing to say against that. Notwithstanding, I remarked once or twice to Alessandro: 'There will be some diavoleria here yet.' Now my words have come true! The prohibition is removed for a limited period; the ports are open again. At Civita Vecchia it is known to-day; the welcome news will reach Ancona to-morrow morning. For a moment there will be great joy. The merchants will scour the country to buy grain, but there is nothing left for them. It has all been sold—sold unsuspectingly into the hands of one person, the Cardinal Antonelli's brother. He has it all—a perfect monopoly of the corn-trade. Ha! ha! was it not cleverly done? There will be just time given for it to be all shipped, and then down comes another courier. The ports are once more closed, and the curtain falls upon the brother—or somebody else—chuckling over a few hundred thousand dollars he has realized by this pretty little transaction.”
“I cannot believe that till I have seen it,” said Testaferrata.
“You need not shake your head, marchese,” she retorted; “it is as true as that we are all sitting here. As for ourselves, nobody forced us to sell our corn: so, although to a certain degree we have been dupes, I see no particular cause of complaint. But it is the juggling, the pretence of sparing the country's resources, only to drain them tenfold more than by legitimate commerce, which it stirs my bile to contemplate! And if the coming harvest is not plentiful, and the price of bread rises in the autumn, what will become of the miserable population, already poor enough?”
The entrance of another personage at this moment gave an opportune turn to the conversation. The new-comer was a handsome, graceful young man about thirty, with an ease and sprightliness of manner that was remarkably opposed to the formality and ceremoniousness of those who had previously appeared. He was hailed with evident pleasure by the whole società; and the marchesa, with an exclamation of joy, gave him her hand to kiss, and inquired what good-fortune had sent her dear Checchino (the diminutive of Francesco) down from Rome.
“I am only here di passaggio, dear lady! My duty summons me to Ancona, to await our grand-master who is expected there next week from Venice; and my affection prompted me to leave Rome a few days earlier than necessary, that I might stop at Macerata with my friends.”
While the marchesa asked half a dozen questions in a breath about her Roman acquaintances, Alessandro, who had not yet gone out, told me, sotto voce, that this Checchino was a young cousin of theirs, a knight of Malta, whom they were all very fond of.
“A knight of Malta?” I answered, surveying him with increased interest. “I had fancied the order no longer existed.”
“No more it ought, to say the truth. You should hear Gentilina rave about it,” he said, raising his eyebrows, and emitting a sibilating sound from his lips, to denote the excess of her eloquence; “and I cannot deny that she has reason. It is un voto iniquo, a wicked, unnatural vow—an order which, if I were Pope, I would abolish the very first hour of my reign. The knights of Malta are rich; they have large revenues: Checchino receives one thousand dollars a year (£200), and has his apartments rent free in the palace of the Order in the Via Condotti in Rome, besides other advantages; so, for a single man, he is amply provided for. Then it is a distinction in society; only members of the best families are admitted; and a cavaliere di Malta is fit company for kings. But he cannot marry: he is bound by a vow as irrevocable as that of priests or friars, although exposed to far greater temptations; for he may go to every ball, theatre, or concert in Rome, or wherever he may be, without censure. He dances, he dresses in the height of fashion, he pays court, and yet he cannot marry—anything but that! What will you have? Gentilina has too much justice in all she says!”
CHAPTER XX.
Conversazione continued—Match-making—The Codini opposed to travelling—Hopes of the liberals centred in Piedmont—Volunnia's pleasantries—Story of the young noble and his pasteboard soldiers.