"The Cardinal d'Andrea was fond of theatricals; indeed, private representations were among the few enjoyments he had. He relished them amazingly."
When we repeated this statement to the member of the cardinal's household to whom we are indebted for our information on the preceding points, he turned on us a look of bewildered astonishment which we shall not soon forget. "Poesie! poesie!" he exclaimed. "All an invention; all an invention."
Even in his early life, when, as a layman, he could have frequented the theatre without any breach of decorum, he had avoided it. As a clergyman, of course he could not go without losing caste. It might have well happened that, in his travels in France, Switzerland, Germany, and various parts of Italy, he had at some time or other chanced to be a guest where courtesy called on him to be present at private theatricals held in the family. Of this our informant could not speak, for he had not always been with him on these journeys. But since he had been made cardinal he had been with him, and could not recall a single instance where the cardinal had attended such a private representation. In his own palace he could not have had them. His own character did not run in that line of amusement; and even if he had desired it, the size and form of the apartments would have rendered them impossible.
But such effusions of our "secretary's" poetic or inventive memory are of themselves too slight and trivial to merit a place in The Galaxy. There must be something of graver import to come. And in fact these things have only been the preliminaries for the grand events which are to be recorded of Cardinal d'Andrea; his escape from Rome by the active aid of this secretary; the espionage over his words and acts when he returned—an espionage which this secretary detected, though he could not foil it; the finding of the cardinal unexpectedly and mysteriously dead in his bed one morning; and finally, the saving of his important private papers, by this secretary, from the clutches of Cardinal Antonelli—papers which he has persistently guarded and still retains, and which hereafter, we may be allowed to conjecture, can serve to refresh and stimulate his wondrous powers of memory, if any stimulation be needed.
The scene opens some time during the course of those two years, to the beginning of which the first jump backward brought our writer. The plan to oust Cardinal Antonelli from office had been formed, as we were told, and failed; and Cardinal d'Andrea had lost somewhat of the pope's favor, and had incurred the bitter enmity of Cardinal Antonelli and of the Jesuits and ultramontanes. We may reasonably allow some months for so much. When time had brought things to this pass, "there was a party in the Piazza di Spagna, given by a Russian princess, at which the élite of Roman society was assembled. Among the guests was Cardinal d'Andrea. Madame C——, the wife of Captain C——, of the French army, was, as usual, coquetting with the Cardinal di C——a, a prince of the most ancient of Roman houses, with one of the finest palaces in Rome." The secretary loiters to describe Captain C——, of the French army, and Madame C——, his young and handsome wife, and to tell his readers of her notorious intrigue with the above-named Cardinal Prince di C——a, of the ancient family and with the fine palace. "Four days after this party, Captain C—— appeared at his wife's apartments. He was cool and deliberate. He upbraided her in unmeasured terms. She bitterly resented.... His rage became terrible. Ere she could utter a prayer or a cry, he seized the miserable woman and shot her; then shot himself! The affair created some little sensation."
We should think it would, especially in peaceful, slow-going, decorous Rome. Even in New-York, or in London, or in Paris, such a tragedy, in which persons of that social standing were concerned, would have created quite a sensation.
The Prince di C——a, "of one of the most ancient of Roman houses, with one of the finest palaces in Rome," can of course be none other than the Prince Colonna. The Roman princes are few in number, and can easily be counted. No other has a surname to suit. The ancient family and the fine palace are earmarks also. He means Colonna. But then, many, many years have passed since there was a cardinal of that family. In fact, take the list of cardinals since 1850, and the only one whose name the designation C——a could fit is Cardinal Cuesta, a Spaniard, who at the date of this party, (somewhere, if we follow the "secretary," in the winter of 1862-63,) was an aged septuagenarian bishop, zealously ruling his diocese in Spain; moreover, he was not then a cardinal. He was made cardinal two years afterward. Furthermore, he resides not in Rome but in Spain, whence he was lately called to Rome for the present council. He obviously cannot be the man. And so the Cardinal Prince di C——a vanishes into thin air, like a poetic phantom, as he is.
Captain C——, of the French army, and his wife, Madame C——, seem disposed to follow him into empty space. No French officer then in Rome, and we have consulted several, can remember any French captain who killed his wife and then committed suicide. The police never got wind of the double tragedy. It escaped even the keen-scented newspaper itemizers. The "little sensation" is a feat of memory.
Decidedly our "secretary" is as unlucky at tragedies as he is at funerals, even though he assures us "the incidents of that reunion have fixed themselves very much on my memory, for it was the last time the Cardinal d'Andrea appeared at such assemblies." In fact, he proceeds to narrate how that very night, by his skilful planning, the cardinal was able to get out of Rome. This gives us, for the first time, we may say, in this article, the slightest soundings of truth. Cardinal d'Andrea did once leave Rome for Naples without the regular permission which was required for one in his position. We will speak further on of the motives and circumstances of that departure. Here we will only state the fact, that he left Rome on the 16th of June, 1864. The writer of this article was in Rome at the time, and, for peculiar reasons, no such tragedy as that "remembered" and the sensation it created could have escaped his knowledge. We may add that in Rome such parties are given in winter and never in summer. The strangers who visit Rome in winter, and leave after Easter, are in June in Switzerland or some other cool place. As for the élite of Roman society, they are "out of town."
But let us leave facts aside, and enter on that dream-land, the incidents of which are so firmly fixed on the memory of our secretary. Hear him: