A LIBRARY OF FRENCH MASTERPIECES
EDITED BY EDMUND GOSSE, LL.D.
WITH PORTRAIT-NOTES BY OCTAVE UZANNE
70
This volume contains Four
Coloured Plates after
Water-colour Drawings by
EUGENE PAUL AVRIL.
ENGLISH EDITION
A LIBRARY OF FRENCH MASTERPIECES
EDITED BY EDMUND GOSSE
THE 'CHARTREUSE
OF PARMA*
TRANSLATED FROM THE
FRENCH OF
DE STENDHAL
%
WITH A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION BY
MAURICE HEWLETT
ILLUSTRATED BY
EUGENE PAUL AVRIL
LONDON : WILLIAM HEINEMANN. MCMIV
DE STENDHAL AND LA CHARTREUSE
AWARDED the highly honourable task of presenting
De Stendhal with his credentials to the English public,
I say that he ought to be greatly received, not only on
account of his genius, but on that of the kind his genius
is of. A dry point, a whim incarnate, a thinker who drove
his passions before him through close walls, he fenced
himself about with so many reserves, yet urged so im-
petuously through them that, had he accomplished no
more than this one book (as the fact is, in a technical
sense), you would still be sure of the whole of him; it had
still been possible to appraise him accurately by the side
of his great coeval, Balzac, or his great successor, Meri-
mee. He is literally, however, author of two romances
and some half-dozen conies ; of a treatise, De V Amour ^
which merely articulates theories clothed to better pur-
pose by his fancy; and of various scattered papers of
travel (not to be made into books by book-covers), con-
cerning which it is enough here to say that our respect for
his acute observation is mainly lost in regrets that he
observed such unnecessary detail. On the whole, and
this particular work apart, I believe he will be found the
most interesting fact in his books. He was of your rare,
slow-digesting order of genius, a writer who thought to
excess, whose invention was pent up, whose power of pro-
duction was conditioned by that, whose fastidiousness
& JL <J -^
The Chartreuse of Parma
was extreme. It was but seldom that his conception
found him high-spirited enough to combat all this; but
when it did, as once it did, his audacity catches the breath;
Put another way, it was but seldom that his critical faculty
was drugged by a great theme; but when it was the im-
mortal part of him, unlimed and unhooded, towered
high. You may take it that two ideas moved him pro- '
foundly Italy and Napoleon. In L'Abbesse de Castro
he had the first, in Le Rouge et le Noir the second; but
in La Chartreuse de Panne he had both, and produced
what I soberly believe to be the greatest novel of
France.
This is not to say, of course, that Napoleon was his
only hero. His heroes are always himself, as he saw him-
self in his heart's looking-glass, a Napoleon conceived in
a library and delivered by a study fire. Seeing Napoleon
in himself, the Napoleonic legend captivated him, filled
his mind; he could not imagine a great man who should
not be a Man of Destiny. Italy worked in with that.
Napoleon was the great condottiere; no mannish figure
could claim De Stendhal which had not Italian simplicity
of motive acting upon Italian singleness of design. All
his heroes, therefore, are alike at the root. Fabrice del
Dongo is Julien in a pallium; give Julien trunk-hose and
you have Branciforte, the sublime young brigand of
L'Abbesse. The differences in them are due to the mind,
not to the imagination. Irony was at work in the making
of Julien Sorel; irony played with the legend; so Julien
came out a little Naproleon of the alcove, whose Austerlitz
was Mademoiselle de la Mole, and his Moscow Madame
de Renal. Irony, in fact, and mechanical construction go
far to sterilize that magnificent medley called Le Rouge
et le Noir. I believe that the absence of Italy was fatal to
vi
The Chartreuse of Parma
De Stendhal; he could only breathe freely when the wind
blew from Lombardy, it seems. Yet it must be said
and not so oddly either that something of France was
necessary to his completion. If you study the opening
chapters of La Chartreuse you will find, I believe, that
Fabrice had French blood in him. Otherwise, for what,
pray, does the Lieutenant Robert, with his old shoes and
his five-franc piece, figure for a year in the company of
the Marchesa del Dongo? And why does Fabrice, on
the plain of Waterloo, encounter the General Comte
d'A ? Why should the general have been so glad to
have known him there? And why does the marchesa
have the habit of writing two or three times a year to
this worthy concerning the education of Fabrice? No;
obviously France had wedded Italy where Fabrice was
concerned. Fortunate conjunction! You have your
Man of Destiny a divine Italian fool salted over with
French wit. The crowning moment of the life of this de-
lightful creature comes when he is fast in prison, in the
Farnese tower and under sentence of death, with poison
imminent, watching through a loophole in his shutter for
Clelia Conti to come and feed her birds. The Fates -sit
darkling in the fog with thread and scissors; his beautiful
aunt (who loves him not as aunts use) is scheming in the
court of Ranuce-Ernest V. ; he has accomplished none of
his old ambitions and got the stuff for no new ones. Fa-
brice, at this ill-starred moment, bends himself to en-
trancing problems Will Clelia come to the window?
Or will she not? Julien Sorel, readers will remember,
was easily absorbed in similar tasks ; so was Jules Branci-
forte, the right-hand man of Prince Colonna. Love, in
the Italian manner, and Destiny (or the conviction of
Destiny) played the mischief with these fine young men.
vii
The Chartreuse of Parma
Looked at thus, broadly and collectively, De Stendhal's
heroes have all one texture.
The same monotony does not touch his women. De
Stendhal had studied women, as the treatise De L' Amour
will prove, but not disastrously, as the fate of so many
Frenchmen would have it. If he considered them charm-
ing fools, pity and love were always his conclusion; noth-
ing of bitter welled up in the mouth. Indeed, if he loved
anything made it was the type for which Gina del Dongo
and Mademoiselle de la Mole may stand beside Rosalind
and Perdita the girl of character and wit, whose pride
it yet is to fold arms over the bosom, be meek toward
a man, and turn her radiant armoury to his only service,
profit and honour. Mostly he chooses to see the lady
kneel in the dust, and from a high seat. Mademoiselle de
la Mole comes down very far to meet Julien, the little
hypocritical peasant; Helene de Campireali is many de-
grees above Jules; Vanina Vanini is a great lady. Clelia
Conti is an exception; there is no doubt about Fabrice.
Yet when she falls to love him and this is her reason
he is a condemned prisoner, a reputed assassin, a renegade
priest, ostensibly the discredited lover of a little strolling
actress. So the exception is not very real. De Sten-
dhal's women are always " kind." The ice about them
glitters, crisps, is provocative; but it is there, and very
apt to thaw under a beam or two from the bosom's lord.
And their wit is equal to their kindness, of the most can-
did quality. The great example of all is, of course, the
Duchess Gina in this book. " Mais savez-vous que ce que
vous me proposez la est fort immoral? " she says to
Count Mosca; but she does it all the same. The pro-
posal is that she shall marry the old Duke of Sanseverina
for the purpose of becoming, with greater convenience,
viii
The Chartreuse of Parma
the mistress of Count Mosca. This gentleman, being
married himself, is in a position to judge of the conven-
ience, but not of the morality; his reply, ingenious as it
is, convinces you of so much. So nice a question as is
here involved may be postponed; meantime I beg you to
observe the exquisite simplicity of the duchess, neither
condemning nor approving, wholly without preposses-
sion, commenting merely, as the conversation flows:
" Mais savez-vous. . . ."
Madame de Renal, wife of the Maire of Verrieres,
Julien's first victim (and destined to be his undoing), is
of another stamp. She is not witty at all, but of your
slow, tender, melting, mothering sort of women. She
reminds me rather of Madame de Warens, a very naive
lady as Rousseau describes her, though she moves to a
more tragic issue. Much of the Madonna (Raphael's:
Gina was like Luini's) is in her composition, something,
maybe, of the Magdalen, for if she is a sinner it is from
excess of benevolence in the first instance; and certainly
she must be forgiven for her much loving. Julien Sorel
one would gladly kick but for the pain it would cause this
generous heart ; and to be sure there is Destiny at work,
never to be escaped in a book of De Stendhal's. The
great scene of this particular book is the last, where you
have Mathilde de la Mole and Madame de Renal to-
gether, in accord, about the condemned body of Julien,
and this little scamp bored to death with their attentions.
absorbed altogether in his own emotion at the approach ,
of his own death. But enough of men and women, since
the best of them are here to speak for themselves. No
more romantic figures than Fabrice, Clelia and Gina, no
finer gentleman than Mosca della Rovere, no duke more
Hogarthian than Ranuce-Ernest IV., will stand up in
ix
The Chartreuse of Parma
a French novel. Let me, however, grapple with De
Stendhal's own person, and find out, if I can, the secret
of his force.
Of Stendhal, De Stendhal, Arrigo Beyle Milanese, it
is proper to record that he was born Beyle, and baptized
Henry. For purposes of epitaph he italianated himself;
more, he was nice in the business. He would have no
more of Enrico than of Henry, but chose a dialect, and
not a good dialect, to die in. The churchyard recalls
him to your thoughts as Arrigo, which is Milanese for
Henry. So he renounced at once orthography and
fatherland. This is as if a king of France, preoccupied
with English, and local English at that, should be buried
in Saint Saviour's at Southwark with the superscription
over his head of 'Arry de Bourbon. If it gives a hint of
the truth that De Stendhal was apt to let his whims ride
him, his books broaden the hint so far that there is dan-
ger of seeing, at first blush, little else than whim in them.
To be particular, he loved to documenter his work. He
will have you believe that this Chartreuse de Panne is
founded upon the memoirs of a canon of Sant' Antonio
at Padua. " Je public cette nouvelle," he says, " sans
rien changer au manuscrit de 1830." This is absurd, but
immaterial. Otherwise, however, with stories like Vit-
toria Accoramboni, " la traduction fidele d'un recit fort
grave ecrit a Padoue en Decembre 1585," or with
L'Abbesse de Castro, translated (he pretends) " from two
voluminous manuscripts, one Roman, the other Floren-
tine." Here two stumbling-blocks disturb the reader:
the first, that he attempts to imitate such compositions;
the second, that he imitates them so badly. He catches,
indeed, nothing but the callosity of the chronicler, gives
none of his savour of cheerful pedantry, takes none of the
The Chartreuse of Parma
diverticula amcena along which he would so easily and so
delightfully wander. To his credit, perhaps, De Sten-
dhal could not " fake " (if I may be forgiven) ; the pity is
that he thought he could. I think some or other such
attempt is to be found in every published tale of his.
Eren in Le Rouge ct le Noir, Julien has to get by heart
a long state-paper, which is not in the least degree like a
state-paper, which impedes the action, disintegrates the
plot, neither convinces nor surprises nor charms. But
perhaps something else was at work here.
He was a great reader of these things, it is evident.
He knew the Italian analysts well, and admired. From
them, as I take it, he got as much strength as weakness.
He got his conciseness, his dry light, his blessed reliance
upon naked fact, his style of the proces, which sets him at
such an advantage over the wordy Balzac. I know not
how better to expound the man in this particular than
to let him speak for himself, as he does in Vittoria Acco-
ramboni, "Ainsi, 6 lecteur benevole," he says, " ne cher-
chez point ici un style piquant, rapide, brillant de fraiches
allusions aux fagons de sentir a la mode, ne vous attendez
point surtout aux emotions entrainantes d'un roman de
George Sand; ce grand ecrivain eut fait un chef-d'oeuvre
avec la vie et les malheurs de Vittoria Accoramboni. Le
recit sincere que je vous present e ne peut avoir que les
avantages plus modestes de 1'histoire. Quand par hazard,
courant la poste seul a la tombee de la nuit, on s'avise de
reflechir au grand art de connaitre le coeur humain, on
pourra prendre pour base de ses jugements les circon-
stances de 1'histoire que voici. L'auteur dit tout, explique
tout, ne laisse rien a faire a 1'imagination du lecteur; il
ecrivit douze jours apres la mort de rherome." Then
there is a solemn footnote: " Le manuscrit italien est
xi
The Chartreuse of Parma
depose au bureau de la Revue des Deux-Mondes." Pass
over the caustic drop on the skin of George Sand, and
consider the last sentence. He tells everything, explains
everything, leaves nothing to the readers imagination:
this is a way of speaking. What he tells are bare facts,
what he explains are credible motives; but in so doing
he leaves exactly everything to the reader's imagination,
because he records, not describes. The whole secret of
good romancing is there. If authors of imagination
could only understand for how much facts, well-con-
ceived, count, and for how little descriptions ! It is, to my
mind, one of De Stendhal's chief claims to honour that
he relied upon this romance of fact, and made no attempt
to convince by description. Sometimes you may think
that he carries his principle to excess, that he conde-
scends to description deliberately jejune. It is true that
there are passages whose flowers are the veriest fritter-
ing ornaments. A mountain has a majestic summit, a
lake has a glassy surface, the forest of La Faggiola has
" sombres et magnifiques ombrages." This is when he
deigns to touch such affairs at all; the nearest he will
ever go is: " Cetait au commencement d'un matin
exquis d'Avril." But I think that he gains enormously
by this austere handling; he knows so well that the true
way of moving the imagination is to give the imagina-
tion room in which to move itself. Consider the Water-
loo chapters of this book, for instance; there is no pa-
thetic fallacy here, no geography. A clump of willows,
a little shot-torn wood, a muddy road, a bridge broken
down, a field with mist hanging about its edge. You
will find no less in a war bulletin of the day. Yet you
know that massed men are moving over broad plains,
or cuirassiers in flight; you hear the guns, the rattle of
The Chartreuse of Parma
artillery taking up position; the very vagueness of as-
sertion works the spell: this is the landscape of war on
a grand scale. Not Livy himself can marshal the facts
better, or know more surely when to sound the charge.
The soul is De Stendhal's chosen field; here is the
scope for his brushes, here he will give you intimacies in
plenty. The very pick of these are in the book which fol-
lows; I shall only cite two more one, the immortal chap-
ter in Le Rouge et le Noir where Julien in the twittering
dusk takes and retains the hand of Madame de Renal, a
scene so precisely recorded and so closely that you can
hear the boy's heart beating, and must swear it autobiog-
raphy; the second, from L'Abbesse de Castro. Here He-
lene de Campireali is at the thick of her secret affair with
Jules Branciforte, a sad detrimental, being brigand, the
son of a brigand. This is discovered, first by her mother,
who says nothing, next by her father, who prepares to
assassinate Jules. There is a scene of alarm at midnight,
in the throes of which Helene desperately consigns to
her mother Jules' letters to keep. The mother hides
them in her bed, the father bursts open the girl's cham-
ber, ransacks it, storms, threatens, vulgarizes everything;
at last, exhausted, he goes to bed. " Une heure apres,
quand le seigneur de Campireali fut rentre dans sa cham-
bre a cote de celle de sa femme, et tout etant tranquille
dans la maison, la mere dit a sa fille: ' Voila tes lettres, je
ne veux pas les lire, tu vois ce qu'elles ont failli nous
couter! A ta place, je les brulerais. Adieu, embrasse-
moi!' Helene rentra dans sa chambre, fondant en
larmes; il lid semblait que, depuis ces paroles de sa mere,
elle n'aimait plus Jules."
You can not go much nearer than that, it seems to
me. And yet De Stendhal, in the great scene of this
xiii
The Chartreuse of Parma
book between the Duke and the Duchess Gina, not only
does go nearer, but holds the cord taut through an en-
tire chapter, a whole night of fence and play of the mind.
Therefore, however arid you find his descriptions, and
however tawdry his ornaments, your pains will be re-
warded by landscape after landscape, patient, meticulous,
extraordinarily accurate, full of interest, of the soul.
This, as it was his only concern, should be yours also, if
you wish to get the best out of him that he can give you.
The study is not always rewarding; some of the souls that
he delights to describe seem scarcely worth his trouble.
In this Chartreuse, for example, one sees in the Marchesa
Raversi and her creature Rassi standing dishes of fiction;
so in Le Rouge et le Noir there are lay figures; and in
L'Abbesse de Castro the principal character is Prince Co-
lonna, who should be by rights in the second degree. But
to take minor parts only, what figures are TAbbe Blanes,
General Fabio Conti, the Princes of Parma, father and
son! Real humour went to the making of these; not wit
alone, nor perspicacity alone, but genuine, large, benevo-
lent insight; while he laughed the tears were near start-
ing in his eye. You are almost persuaded that De
Stendhal loved some of these people: a great concession
toward him, for there has been no writer since Dante
who has played the deist's God to his invention so con-
sistently as this man of fire cloaked in ice.
Construction may have been often a weakness in De
Stendhal. I am not concerned to deny it, since in La
Chartreuse, at least, there is no lack of design. Le
Rouge et le Noir, to be sure, is too long; it is diffuse, dis-
jointed, contains episodes enough unrelated to the main
stem. Though it have the stuff of great romance, great
romance it is not. What is far worse than ill-construc-
xiv
The Chartreuse of Parma
tion is mechanical construction. Julien Sorel, dreaming
of Napoleon, but actually on the threshold of M. de
Renal's service, pauses for a few moments' reflection in
the fatal church of Verrieres. There on his prie-dieu he
sees a scrap of newspaper with the words: " Details de
1'execution et des derniers moments de Louis Jenrel,
execute a; Besangon le. . . ." Louis Jenrel is an ana-
gram for Julien Sorel, and a very bad one. Jenrel is an
impossible name, yet there is worse to come. " Le papier
etait dechire. Au revers on lisait les deux premiers mots
d'une ligne, c'etaient: ' Le premier pas.' ' This is mere
carpentry; yet De Stendhal adds plank to plank. " En
sortant, Julien crut voir du sang pres du benitier: c'etait
de 1'eau benite qu'on avait repandue: le reflet des
rideaux rouges qui couvraient les fenetres la faisait
paraitre du sang. Enfin, Julien eut honte de sa terreur
secrete. ' Serais-je un lache? ' se dit-il: aux armes!"
All this, packed without significance into the end of
Chapter V and designed to balance the- tragic events of
Chapter LXXV, is unworthy of De- Stendhal. If a
reader fail to perceive it, it was not- worth putting in;
if he do perceive it, it was worth at all costs the keeping
out.- Nothing is worse than machinery in a work of art.
Happily there is little of the sort in La Chartreuse de
Pdftne. Fabrice's parentage, perhaps, goes near to dan-
ger, and he undoubtedly reads the planets with the Abbe
Blanes. Again, on his way to Milan with Gina, he falls-
in with, and saves from arrest, the General Conti (who is-
subsequently to -prove his jailer) and sees Clelia for the^
first time. But these are nothings. One of the ad- r
mirable 1 features- 6f the book is its steady organic- growth,-
its march of circumstance (given certain characters -in ^
certain conjunction), and the resultant conviction at the-'
xv
The Chartreuse of Parma
close that what you have been witnessing, unawares, is
the whole of the life of a world. Mechanical construc-
tion, forced, wilful design, are fatal to such an end.
I have done with the ungrateful task of girding at a
great man ; the rest must be pure enthusiasm. For irony,
of which (in both kinds) he was a master, it is difficult to
express one's admiration; luckily, one has only to say,
Read. Irony of phrase is, perhaps, the common property
of French wits. " Le pouvoir absolu tempere par des
chansons, qu'on appelle la monarchic fran<;aise," is a
pretty instance from Les Cenci; but of a higher order is
that constructive irony of which De Stendhal affords
some great examples. In L'Abbesse de Castro, Jules
Branciforte and his brigands are going to attack the Con-
vent of the Visitation, and carry away Helene, if they
are lucky. At setting out, the corporal observes: " ' Nous
allons attaquer tin couvent, il y a excommunication ma-
jeure, et, de plus, ce couvent est sous la protection im-
mediate de la Madone. . . .'
" ' Je vous entends! ' s'ecria Jules, comme reveille par
ce mot. ' Restez avec moi.'
" Le Caporal ferma la porte, et revint dire le chapelet
avec Jules. Cette priere dura une grande heure. A la
nuit on se remit en marche."
True, Italian history lends itself to that kind. The
ceremony of the exposition of the relics of Saint Clement
in Le Rouge et le Noir is finer in its way. Julien Sorel,
attached for the occasion to the Dean of Chapter, M.
Chelan, finds the young Bishop of Agde in the sacristy
before a looking-glass. " Julien trouva que le jeune
homme avait Tair irrite; de la main droite il donnait
gravement des benedictions du cote du miroir." The
poor young man was, in fact, practising. He sends Julien
xvi
The Chartreuse of Parma
for his mitre, which is under repair, having been damaged
in the transit from Paris. Julien, returning with it, grave
and proud of his burden, finds the bishop seated before
the mirror: " Mais, de temps a autre, sa main droite,
quoique fatiguee, donnait encore la benediction." Final-
ly, the ceremony begins. The bishop takes his place
before the altar of the relics; he kneels in the midst of
twenty-four young girls, " chosen from the most distin-
guished houses of Verrieres." Julien was melted to
tears. " At this moment he was heart and soul for the In-
quisition and the true faith." The king arrives it was
a great occasion for Verrieres throws himself upon his
knees; the priests unveil the charming statue of Saint
Clement.
" He was recessed under the altar, in the dress of a
young Roman soldier. In his neck was a deep wound
whence, as it seemed, the blood still flowed." The artist
had surpassed himself; the dying eyes, full of grace,
were half closed; a dawning moustache enhanced the
lovely mouth, half open still, as if in prayer. At the
sight of it the young girl by Julien's side shed tears; one
of these warm tears fell upon his hand.
" After a moment of prayer in profound silence,
broken only by the far sound of bells from all the villages
within a circuit of ten miles, the Bishop of Agde begged
the king's leave to speak. He ended a touching little ser-
mon with a few simple words, whose effect was all the
greater on that account.
' Never forget, young Christians, that you have seen
one of the greatest kings of the earth upon his knees
before the servants of the almighty and terrible God.
These poor servants, persecuted, murdered on earth, as
you see by the still bleeding wound of Saint Clement,
xvii
The Chartreuse of Parma
are triumphing in heaven. Young Christians, you will
remember this day all your lives; you will abhor impiety
for ever, will you not? All your lives long you will be
true to this God, so great, so terrible, yet so benefi-
cent?'"
" With these words the bishop stood up.
" ' You promise? ' he asked, holding up his hand,
like one inspired.
" ' We promise,' said all the young girls, dissolved
in tears.
' I receive your promise in the terrible name of
God,' said the bishop in a resonant voice. The cere-
mony was over.
" Even the king wept. It was a long time before
Julien had the hardihood to inquire where had been the
bones of the saint sent from Rome to Philip the Good,
Duke of Burgundy. He was told that they had been
hidden within the charming wax figure.
" His Majesty was graciously pleased to allow the
young ladies who had accompanied him in the chapel to
wear each a red ribbon embroidered with the words:
War upon Impiety. Perpetual Adoration."
I doubt if Voltaire ever used a graver dexterity than
that. Indeed, he would have shown his hand. One
would have to go to Swift to better it. In Heine's man-
ner, rather, are the last words of La Chartreuse, com-
mended by De Stendhal himself " to the Happy Few ":
(t The prisons of Parma were empty, Ernest V. adored
by his people. They compared his government to that of
the Grand Dukes of Tuscany." But to get the full effect
of that culmination the book must be read through. Of
a similar quality is the irony of Clelia's vow to the Ma-
donna, that if Fabrice be rescued from prison she will
xviii
The Chartreuse of Parma
never see him again. This reduces their love-affair,
which is never interrupted for a moment, to night, the
garden, and the dark. Unfortunately one of the children
falls ill, and they meet in the presence of candles; hence
the death of the child, and of Clelia, heartbroken over
her broken vow.
The greatest irony of all remains : that which is known
as tragic irony, and inheres in the very flesh of a tragic
book. Each of De Stendhal's three mature romances
is permeated with it. So Le Rouge et le Noir is a piti-
ful tragedy, L'Abbessc de Castro an heroic tragedy, La
Chartreuse de Parme a tragi-comedy : futility of earthly
endeavour is the end of each. Character is Destiny; the
struggles of a strong man with Fate, the rise and fall of
conflict, the inevitable end: it seems that we can not
better the instruction of the Greeks, save in this, that we
can enhance tragedy, sharpen it, make the pain more ex-
quisite by laughter; humane laughter, which may purge
the emotions as well as ever terror or tears. Terror was
never De Stendhal's weapon; tears he seldom moves.
Laughter is his chosen arm, of the noiseless, internal
kind. He sides with Cervantes, with whom indeed he has
much else in common.
He has (like Cervantes) three of the requisites of
romance: love of adventure, quickness of dramatic sense,
and feeling for atmosphere. If in addition he had had
rapidity of movement (which means high spirits) there
need have been no limits to his kingdom. But he never
had that. He was of a reflective habit: his bent was
analysis, his method patient accumulation of fact, and
his chosen style that of the police report. It is impos-
sible to imagine him overflowing with plots; history did
not move him; he preferred ideas. At root he was a
xix
The Chartreuse of Parma
moralist, never near to Walter Scott. Against this great
man he turns his irony more than once or twice.
Judged by method, judged by style, you may set De
Stendhal with the classics. His date would put him
there. And yet, if you look closely enough, you see him
an ultra-romantic born out of due time. He believed
himself, I am sure, academic. Actually, there is no more
ardent hunter of the strange beauty of romance. His
women proclaim it. He goes out armed with the sci-
entist's weapons the scalpel, the pins and corks; he will
impale you any one of his fluttering, lovely, hapless crea-
tures of an hour or so or so believe it. Really, he sees
them in a golden mist; really, he is on his knees. He
affects to expound what he treasures under a veil, just as
he hides the bones of Saint Clement under a charming
wax figure. Madame de Renal is a goddess to him, a
Mater Amabilis; all her pain is but a measure of his pre-
occupation with her. Does he explain the Duchess
Gina? Like Fabrice del Dongo, he loves Clelia most
dearly in the dark. Mystery is his business, and if it is
not there he will make it. Otherwise why bring in a
secret meeting and a state-paper to be committed to
memory into the middle of Julien's intrigue with
Mademoiselle de la Mole? De Stendhal is as romantic as
Balzac; as romantic as any realist alive or dead.
He has the true romantic spirit of adventure. The
Waterloo episode is a proof of that; so is Fabrice's flight
over the Po after the death of Giletti, his adventures in
Bologna, with that wonderful sense of fresh air and open
country. He has the " continual slight novelty " which
is the only test of romantic invention. Fabrice, going to
the wars, disguises himself as a dealer in barometers!
Julien has adventures too: the scene in the cafe at Be-
xx
The Chartreuse of Parma
sangon, with the friendly dame de comptoir, the scenes at
Strassbourg, the whole account of his leaguer of Ma-
dame de Renal. As for L'Abbesse de Castro, it is full of
adventurous landscape, with two magnificent battle-
pieces the fight in the wood, and the attack on the Con-
vent of the Visitation. But we come round in the end
once more to the truth, which is that De Stendhal will
live by one book La Chartreuse de Parme wherein you
have every quality which goes to show him great.
La Chartreuse depicts the Italy of the eighteenth
century: the Italy of faded simulacra, of fard and hair
powder, of cicisbei and curled abbati, of petits-maitres,
of the Grand Dukes of Tuscany, of Luca Longhi. For
the comedian of manners this is the time of times, since
manners seemed all, and Italy the place of places, where
manners have always been more than all. There was
matter for a Moliere, matter for a Hogarth (and Longhi
took of each); but there was something over. De Sten-
dhal, bringing the wit of one and the irony of the other
up to be fed, brought also that something over which
neither of these had dauntless appetite for romance,
and the arbitrary dealing " cet air de maitrise et ce beau
nonchaloir " of his own genius.
He is moralist since he is thinking man, he is wit
since he is Frenchman; more, he is a wizard who quick-
ens the old bones and colours the dead old dust with a
wave of mystery. Here is the Italy of Palladian archi-
tecture, of Bernini's simpering nymphs, of strutting
perukes; here are card-playing marquises, and discreet
drawing-room Jesuits; here are the Austrians at the
gates of Venice, and here the Milanese printing sonnets
on rose-coloured silk squares. In the midst of it all the
Abbe Blanes consults the stars from his tower-top;
xxi
The Chartreuse of Parma
Ranuce-Ernest V. geologizes in his woods, hammer in
hand; Clelia Conti feeds her birds, and Fabrice (fetters
on his ankles) watches her from the Farnese fortress.
The Fiscal-General Rassi schemes for a ribbon, la petite
Marietta wheedles for a shawl, Count Mosca della
Rovere suffers the gnawing of jealousy in a great mar-
ble palace, and the Duchess of Sanseverina, giving her-
self to Ranuce-Ernest for half an hour by the clock,
vows she can not be light-hearted again for a month.
Here are colours, here is fragrance for the dead old dust.
There is the same variegation of carmine and mildew in
Longhi's pictures, the same tragic hint, the same equiv-
ocal smile, the same grace, the same dignity. But
Longhi can not give you as much as De Stendhal, be-
cause he can not get so near. De Stendhal fills you
with his own large sense of life, ennobles you with his
own large grasp of the great world. He touches the
heart through the brain, speaking (as he says) " to the
happy few," who possess both these organs.
Not the least interesting point about La Chartreuse
de Parme is the fact that the Chartreuse itself has noth-
ing to do with the story, and is only mentioned in it
twice, on the last page.
MAURICE HEWLETT.
LONDON, July,
XXll
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
MARIE HENRI BEYLE, who called himself STENDHAL,
was born at Grenoble on the 2$d of January, 1783. His
father, Joseph Cherubin Beyle, was a lawyer and a member
of the parliament of Dauphine. His childhood and boyhood,
excited by echoes of the Revolution, but repressed in the
bosom of a royalist and conservative family, were turbulent
and distressing; in later years Grenoble was to him " like
the recollection of an abominable indigestion!' He escaped
from it in 1799, and spent a short time in the War Office in
Paris. In 1800 he went off to the wars, sazv Italy for the
first time, was present at the battle of Marengo, and fought
his first duel at Milan. From 1801 to 1806 Beyle was in
Paris and Grenoble, much occupied with affairs of the heart.
In the latter year he entered Napoleon's army, and remained
in it until after the retreat from Moscozv in 1814. He was
made " intendant militaire," and his zeal commended him
to the Emperor. On one occasion, called upon to raise five
million francs from a German state, Beyle produced seven
millions. He seems to have been one of the few officers who
kept their heads in the Hood of disaster; during the retreat
from Russia he was always clean-shaved and perfectly
dressed. But the fatigues of 1814 shattered his health, and
the ruin of Napoleon his hopes; he was obliged to with-
draw to Co mo to recover his composure. He refused an
administrative post in Paris under the new government, and
settled definitely at Milan. His career of violent action had
exhausted his spirits; he now adopted the mode of life of
a dilettante. He gave himself up to music, books, and love.
His first work, the "Letters Written from Vienna," appeared
xxiii
The Chartreuse of Parma
i'# 18 14; this essay, a musical criticism, was folloived in
by the " History of Italian Painting," and " Rome, Naples,
and Florence." He became poor, and in 1821, being sus-
pected of Italianism, zvas expelled from Milan by the Aus-
trian police; he took refuge in Paris. Stendhal's essay on
" Love," the earliest of his really remarkable books, was pub-
lished in 1822, but attracted no attention whatever; in eleven
years only seventeen copies of it were sold. His first novel,
"Armance" belongs to 1827. In 1830 he was appointed con-
sul at Trieste, and while he was there the great novel, " Le
Rouge et le Noir," appeared in Paris without attracting any
attention. Stendhal was so miserable at Trieste that he con-
trived to exchange his consulate for that of Civita Vecchia,
which he held until he died. In spite of the complete and
astonishing failures of each of his successive books, he con-
tinued to add to their number. He had but " one hundred
readers" in all Europe, but these he continued to address.
In 1838 he published a mystification, the supposed " Memoirs
in France" of a commercial traveller. Stendhal did not
taste literary success in any degree whatever until, in 1839,
and at the age of fifty-six, he produced " La Chartreuse de
Par me" This novel gave him fame, but he did not long
enjoy it. On the 2$d of March, 1842, having reached
his sixtieth year, he died in Paris, after a stroke of paraly-
sis. He lies buried at Montmartre, under the epitaph, in
Italian, which he had written for the purpose: "Here
lies Arrigo Beyle, the Milanese. Lived, Wrote, Died."
The life of Stendhal zvas obscure and isolated through-
out; but since his death he has excited boundless curios-
ity, and his influence has been steadily advancing. He
said of himself that he could afford to wait, that he would
certainly be appreciated in 1880. He proved himself a true
prophet, for it was just forty years after his death that his
reputation reached its highest pinnacle, and that, with the
discovery of his Correspondence, Stendhal entered into his
glory. E. G.
xxiv
INTRODUCTION
THIS novel was written in the year 1830, in a place
some three hundred leagues from Paris. Many years be-
fore that, when our armies were pouring across Europe,
I chanced to be billeted in the house of a canon. It was
at Padua a fortunate city, where, as in Venice, men's
pleasure is their chief business, and leaves them little
time for anger with their neighbours. My stay was of
some duration, and a friendship sprang up between the
canon and myself.
Passing through Padua again, in 1830, I hurried to
the good canon's house. He was dead, I knew, but I
had set my heart on looking once more upon the room
in which we had spent many a pleasant evening, sadly
remembered in later days. I found the canon's nephew,
and his wife, who both received me like an old friend. A
few acquaintances dropped in, and the party did not
break up till a late hour. The nephew had an excellent
sambaglione fetched from the Cafe Pedrocchi. But what
especially caused us to linger was the story of the Duch-
ess Sanseverina, to which some chance allusion was made,
and the whole of which the nephew was good enough to
relate, for my benefit.
" In the country whither I am bound," said I to my
friends, " I am very unlikely to find a house like this one.
To while away the long evenings I will write a novel on
xxv"
The Chartreuse of Parma
the life of your charming Duchess Sanseverina. I will
follow in the steps of that old story-teller of yours, Ban-
dello, Bishop of Agen, who would have thought it a
crime to overlook the true incidents of his tale, or add
others to it."
" In that case," quoth the nephew, " I will lend you
my uncle's diaries. Under the head of Parma he men-
tions some of the court intrigues of that place, at the
period when the influence of the duchess was supreme.
But beware ! it is anything but a moral tale, and now that
you French people pique yourselves on your Gospel pu-
rity, it may earn you a highly criminal reputation."
I send forth my novel without having made any
change in the manuscript written in 1830. This course
may present two drawbacks :
The first affects the reader. The characters, being
Italian, may not interest him, for the hearts and souls of
that nation are very different from the hearts and souls
of Frenchmen. The Italians are a sincere and worthy
folk, who, except when they are offended, say what they
think. Vanity only attacks them in fits. Then it be-
comes a passion, and is known as puntiglio. And, further,
among this nation poverty is not considered a cause of
ridicule.
The second drawback is connected with the author.
I will avow that I have been bold enough to leave my
personages in possession of the natural roughnesses of
their various characters. But to atone for this and I
proclaim it loudly I cast blame of the most highly
moral nature upon many of their actions. Where would
be the use of my endowing them with the high morality
and pleasing charm of the French, who love money above
every other thing, and are seldom led into sin either by
xxvi
The Chartreuse of Parma
love or hate? The Italians of my novel are of a very dif-
ferent stamp. And, indeed, it appears to me that every
stage of six hundred miles northward from the regions of
the South brings us to a different landscape, and to a
different kind of novel. The old canon's charming niece
had known the duchess, and had even been very much
attached to her. She has begged me not to alter any-
thing concerning these adventures of her friend, which
are certainly open to censure.
January 23, iSjg.
XXVll
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Portrait of Stendhal Frontispiece
COLOURED PLATES
"// she could have had her will he would not have
started at all" To face page Jfi
" Turning in his chair, he held out his arms to our hero " 168
" The young girl stopped short and dropped her eyes " . 334
" Clutching Fabrizio's arm, she cried k Hast thou
eaten?'" ,. 470
PORTRAITS OF STENDHAL
Page
At the, age of twenty -five, after a chalk drawing . . . 539
At the age of forty -six, after a medallion by David d' Angers . 540
After a painting by Dreux d'Orcy in the museum at Grenoble . 540
After a picture by Boilly, 1807 541
After a draining, 1833 541
Caricature by Henri Monnier, under the name of M. de
Fougeray . . -543
THE CHARTREUSE OF PARMA
CHAPTER I
MILAN IN 1796
ON the 1 5th of May, 1796, General Bonaparte marched
into the city of Milan, at the head of the youthful army
which had just crossed the Bridge of Lodi, and taught the
world that, after the lapse of centuries, Caesar and Alexander
had found a successor at last.
The prodigies of genius and daring witnessed by Italy
in the course of a few months, roused her people from
their slumbers. But one week before the arrival of the
French, the Milanese still took them for a horde of
brigands, whose habit it was to fly before the troops of
his Royal and Imperial Majesty. Such, at all events, was
the information repeated three times a week in their little
newspaper, no bigger than a man's hand, and printed on
dirty-looking paper.
In the middle ages, the Milanese had been as brave as
the French of the Revolution, and their courage earned
the complete destruction of their city by the German em-
peror. But their chief occupation, since they had become
his " faithful subjects," was to print sonnets on pink silk
handkerchiefs whenever any rich or well-born young lady
was given in marriage. Two or three years after that great
epoch in her life the said young lady chose herself a cava-
liere servente; the name of this cicisbeo, selected by the
husband's family, occasionally held an honoured place in
the marriage contract. Between such effeminate habits and
the deep emotions stirred by the unexpected arrival of
the French army, a great gulf lay. Before long a new and
* t
The Chartreuse of Parma
passionate order of things had supervened. On May 15,
1796, a whole people became aware that all it had hitherto
respected was supremely ridiculous, and occasionally hate-
ful, to boot. The departure of the last Austrian regiment
marked the downfall of the old ideas. To expose one's i
life became the fashionable thing. People perceived, after
these centuries of hypocrisy and insipidities, that the only
chance of happiness lay in loving with real passion, and
knowing how to risk one's life upon occasion. The con-
tinuance of the watchful despotism of Charles V and Philip
II had plunged the Lombards into impenetrable darkness.
They overthrew these rulers' statues, and forthwith found
themselves bathed in light. For fifty years, while Voltaire's
Encyclopedic was appearing in France, the monks had
been assuring the good folk of Milan that to learn to read,
or to learn anything on earth, was idle vexation of the
spirit, and that if they would only pay their priest's dues
honestly, and tell him all their small sins faithfully, they
were almost certain to secure a comfortable place in para-
dise. To complete the emasculation of this whilom doughty
people, the Austrian had sold them, on moderate terms, the
privilege of not furnishing recruits to the imperial army.
In 1796, the Milanese army consisted of eighty " fac-
chini " in red coats, who kept guard over the town, assisted
by four splendid Hungarian regiments. Morals were ex-
ceedingly loose, but real passion excessively rare. Apart
from the inconvenience of being obliged to tell everything
to his priest, the Milanese of the period of 1790 really did
not know the meaning of any vehement desire. The worthy
citizens were still trammelled by certain monarchical bonds,
which had their vexatious side. For instance, the arch-
duke, who resided in the city and governed it in the Em-
peror's name, had pitched on the very lucrative notion of
dealing in corn stuffs. Consequently, no peasant could sell
his crops until his Imperial Highness had filled up his
granaries.
In May, 1796, three days after the entry of the French,
a young miniature painter of the name of Gros, rather a
mad fellow he has since become famous who had arrived
The Chartreuse of Parma
with the troops, heard somebody at the Cafe dei Servi, then
a fashionable resort, relate the doings of the archduke, who
was a very fat man. Seizing the list of ices, printed on a
slip of common yellowish paper, he sketched on its blank
side the portly archduke, with immoderate quantities of
corn, instead of blood, pouring out of the hole in his
stomach, made by a French soldier's bayonet. In this land
of crafty despotism, that which we call jest or caricature
was unknown. The drawing left by Gros on the cafe table
acted like a miracle from heaven. During the night the
sketch was engraved; on the morrow twenty thousand
copies of it were sold.
That same day the walls were posted with the proclama-
tion of a war tax of six millions of francs, levied for the
support of the French army, which, though it had just won
six battles and conquered twenty provinces, was short of
shoes, pantaloons, coats, and hats.
So great was the volume of happiness and pleasure
which poured into Lombardy with these Frenchmen, poor
as they were, that nobody, save the priests and a few nobles,
perceived the weight of the tax, which was soon followed
by many others. The French soldiers laughed and sang
from morning till night. They were all of them under five-
and-twenty,and their general in chief, who numbered twenty-
seven years, was said to be the oldest man in his command.
All this youth and mirth and gay carelessness made cheery
answer to the furious sermons of the monks, who for six
months past had been asserting from the pulpit of every
sacred edifice that these Frenchmen were all monsters,
forced, on pain of death, to burn down everything, and
cut off every head, and that for this last purpose a guil-
lotine was borne at the head of every regiment.
In country places the French soldier was to be seen
sitting at cottage doors rocking the owner's baby; and
almost every evening some drummer would tune up his
violin, and dancing would begin. The French square
dances were far too difficult and complicated to be taught
to the peasant women by the soldiers, who, indeed, knew
but little about them. So it was the women who taught
The Chartreuse of Parma
the Frenchmen the monferino, the saltarello, and other Italian
dances.
The officers had been billeted, as far as possible,
upon rich families. They were in sore need of an opportu-
nity to retrieve past losses. A lieutenant named Robert, for
instance, was billeted in the palace of the Marchesa del
Dongo. When this officer, a tolerably handy young recruit,
entered into occupation of his apartment, his sole worldly
wealth consisted of a six-franc piece, which had been paid
him at Piacenza. After the passage of the Bridge of Lodi
he had stripped a handsome Austrian officer, killed by a
round shot, of a splendid new pair of nankeen pantaloons.
Never did garment appear at a more appropriate moment!
His officer's epaulets were woollen, and the cloth of his
coat was sewed to the sleeve linings, to keep the bits to-
gether. A yet more melancholy circumstance was that the
soles of his shoes were composed of portions of hats, picked
up on the battlefield beyond the Bridge of Lodi. These
improvised soles were bound to his shoes by strings, which
were aggressively visible so much so, in fact, that when
the major-domo of the household made his appearance in
Robert's room, to invite him to dine with the marchesa,
the lieutenant was cast into a state of mortal confusion.
He and his orderly spent the two hours intervening before
the dreaded repast in trying to stitch the coat together, and
dye the unlucky shoe-strings with ink. At last the awful
moment struck. " Never in all my life did I feel so un-
comfortable," said Lieutenant Robert to me. " The ladies
thought I was going to frighten them but I trembled
much more than they ! I kept my eyes on my shoes, and
could not contrive to move with ease or grace,
" The Marchesa del Dongo," he added, " was then in
the heyday of her beauty. You know what she was, with
her lovely eyes, angelic in their gentleness, and the pretty,
fair hair, which made so perfect a frame for the oval of
her charming face. In my room there was an Herodia, by
Leonardo da Vinci, which might have been her portrait.
God willed that her supernatural beauty should so over-
whelm my senses as to make me quite forget my own
4
The Chartreuse of Parma
appearance. For two years I had been in the Genoese
mountains, looking at nothing but ugliness and misery. I
ventured to say a few words about my delight.
" But I had too much good sense to dally long with com-
pliments. While I was making mine, I perceived in a
palatial marble dining hall some dozen lackeys and men
servants, dressed in what then appeared to me the height of
magnificence. Think of it ! The rascals not only wore
good shoes, but silver buckles into the bargain! Out of
the corner of my eye I could see their stupid gaze riveted
on my coat, and perhaps, too and this wrung my heart
upon my shoes. With one word I could have terrified the
whole set, but how was I to put them in their place with-
out running the risk of alarming the ladies? For to give
herself a little courage, the marchesa she has told me so
a hundred times over since had sent to the convent,
where she was then at school, for her husband's sister,
Gina del Dongo, who afterward became that charming
Contessa Pietranera. No woman was ever more gay and
lovable in prosperity, and none ever surpassed her in cour-
age and serenity under Fortune's frowns.
" Gina, who may then have been thirteen, but looked
eighteen, frank and lively, as you know, was so afraid of
bursting out laughing at my dress that she dared not even
eat. The marchesa, on the contrary, overwhelmed me with
stiff civilities; she read my impatience and discomfort in
my eyes. In a word, I cut a sorry figure. I was chewing
the cud of scorn, which no Frenchman is supposed to be
capable of doing. At last Heaven sent me a brilliant notion.
I began to tell the ladies about my poverty and the misery
we had suffered during those two years in the Genoese
mountains, where the folly of our old generals had kept
us. ' There,' said I, ' they gave us assignats which the
people would not take in payment, and three ounces of
bread a day.' Before I had been talking for two minutes
the kind marchesa's eyes were full of tears and Gina had
grown quite serious. ' What, lieutenant ! ' she cried, ' three
ounces of bread ? '
' Yes, mademoiselle. But, on the other hand, the
The Chartreuse of Parma
supply failed three times in the week, and as the peasants
with whom we lived were even poorer than ourselves, we
used to give them a little of our bread.'
" When we rose from table I offered the marchesa my
arm, escorted her as far as the drawing-room door, then,
hastily retracing my steps, presented the servant who had
waited upon me at dinner with the solitary coin on the
spending of which I had built such castles in the air.
" A week later," Robert went on, " when it had become
quite clear that the French did not guillotine anybody, the
Marchese del Dongo returned from Grianta, his country
house on Lake Como, where he had valiantly taken refuge
when the army drew near, leaving his young and lovely
wife and his sister to the chances of war. The marchese's
hatred of us was only equalled by his dread. Both were
immeasurable. It used to amuse me to see his large, pale,
hypocritical face when he was trying to be polite to me.
The day after his return to Milan I received three ells of
cloth and two hundred francs out of the six millions. I
put on fresh plumage and became the ladies cavalier, for
ball giving began."
Lieutenant Robert's story was very much that of all the
French soldiers. Instead of laughing at the brave fel-
lows' poverty, people pitied them and learned to love them.
This period of unforeseen happiness and rapture lasted only
two short years. So excessive and so general was the frolic
that I can not possibly convey an idea of it, unless it be by
means of the following profound historic reflection : This
nation had been bored for a century!
The sensuality natural to southern countries had for-
merly reigned at the courts of those famous Milanese dukes,
the Sforza and the Visconti. But since the year 1624, when
the Spaniards had seized the province, and held it under the
proud, taciturn, distrustful sway of masters who suspected
revolt in every corner, merriment had fled away, and the
populace, aping its rulers' habits, was much more prone to
avenge the slightest insult with a dagger thrust, than to
enjoy the moment as it passed.
But between May 15, 1796, when the French entered
6
The Chartreuse of Parma
Milan, and April, 1799, when they were driven out of
the city by the battle of Cassano, wild merriment, gaiety,
voluptuous pleasure, and oblivion of every sad, or even ra-
tional sentiment, reached such a pitch that old millionaire
merchants, usurers, and notaries were actually quoted by
name as having forgotten their morose and money-getting
habits during that period. One might have found a few
families of the highest rank that had retired to their coun-
try places to sulk at the general cheerfulness and universal
joy. And it is a fact, further, that these families had been
honoured with a disagreeable amount of attention by the
authorities in charge of the war tax, levied for the benefit
of the French troops.
The Marchese del Dongo, disgusted at the sight of so
much gaiety, had been one of the first to return to his
magnificent country seat at Grianta, beyond Como, whither
the ladies of his family conducted Lieutenant Robert. This
castle, standing in what is probably a unique position, on
a plateau some one hundred and fifty feet above the splen-
did lake, and commanding a great portion of it, had once
been a fortress. It had been built, as the numerous marble
slabs bearing the family arms attested, during the fifteenth
century. The drawbridges were still to be seen, and the
deep moats now dry, to be sure. Still, with its walls
eighty feet high and six feet thick, the castle was safe from a
coup de main, and this fact endeared it to the suspicious
marchese. Living there, surrounded by five-and-twenty or
thirty servants, whom he believed to be devoted to him
apparently because he never spoke to them without abusing
them he was less harried by fear than at Milan.
This alarm was not entirely unwarranted. The marchese
was in active correspondence with an Austrian spy sta-
tioned on the Swiss frontier, three leagues from Grianta,
to assist the escape of prisoners taken in battle, and the
French generals might have taken this exchange of notes
very seriously.
The marchese had left his young wife at Milan to man-
age the family affairs. She it was who had to find means
of supplying the contributions levied on the Casa del
7
The Chartreuse of Parma
Dongo, as it was locally called, and to endeavour to get
them reduced, which involved the necessity of her seeing
the noblemen who had accepted public positions, and even
some very influential persons who were not noble at all. A
great event occurred in the family. The marchese had ar-
ranged a marriage for his young sister Gina with a gentle-
man of great wealth and the very highest descent. But he
powdered his head. Wherefore Gina received him with
shrieks of laughter, and shortly committed the folly of mar-
rying Count Pietranera. He, too, was a high-born gentle-
man, and very good-looking as well, but he was ruined, as
his father had been before him, and crowning disgrace !
he was an eager partisan of the modern ideas ! The mar-
chese's despair was completed by the fact that Pietranera
was a lieutenant in the Italian Legion.
After two years of extravagance and bliss, the Paris Di-
rectorate, which took on all the airs of a well-established
sovereignty, began to manifest a mortal hatred of everything
that rose above mediocrity. The incapable generals sent to
the Army of Italy lost a series of battles on those very plains
of Verona which but two years previously had witnessed
the feats of Arcola and Lonato. The Austrians approached
Milan; Lieutenant Robert, now a major, was wounded at
the battle of Cassano, and came back for the last time to
the house of his friend the Marchesa del Dongo. It was
a sad farewell. Robert departed with Count Pietranera,
who was following the French retreat on Novi. The young
countess, whose brother had refused to give up her for-
tune, followed the retreating army in a cart.
Then began that period of reaction and return to the
old ideas which the Milanese call " i tredlci mcsi " (the thir-
teen months) because their lucky star did not permit this
relapse into imbecility to last beyond the battle of Marengo.
Everything that was old, bigoted, morose, and gloomy
came back to the head of affairs and of society. Before
long, those who had remained faithful to the old order were
telling the villagers that Napoleon had met the fate he so
richly deserved, and had been hanged by the Mamelukes
in Egypt.
8
The Chartreuse of Parma
Among the men who had retired to sulk in their country
houses, and who now came back, thirsting for vengeance,
the Marchese del Dongo distinguished himself by his eager-
ness. His zeal naturally bore him to the head of the party.
The gentlemen composing it, very amiable fellows when
they were not in a fright, but who were still in a state of
trepidation, contrived to circumvent the Austrian general,
who, though rather of a kindly disposition, allowed himself
to be persuaded that severity was a mark of statesmanship,
and ordered the arrest of a hundred and fifty patriots. They
were the best men Italy then possessed.
Soon they were all deported to the Bocche de Cattaro,
and cast into subterranean dungeons, where damp and,
especially, starvation w r reaked prompt and thorough justice
on the villains.
The Marchese del Dongo was appointed to an important
post ; and as the meanest avarice accompanied his numerous
other noble qualities, he publicly boasted that he had not
sent a single crown to his sister, the Countess Pietranera.
This lady, still fathoms deep in love, would not forsake her
husband, and was starving with him in France. The kind-
hearted marchesa was in despair. At last she contrived to
abstract a few small diamonds from her jewel case, which
her husband took from her every night and locked up in
an iron box under his bed. She had brought him a dowry
of eight hundred thousand francs, and he allowed her eighty
francs a month for her personal expenses. During the
thirteen months of the absence of the French from Milan,
this woman, timid as she was, found pretexts of one sort or
another which enabled her always to dress in black.
It must be confessed here that, after the example of
many serious authors, we have begun the story of our hero a
year before his birth. This important personage is no other,
in fact, than Fabrizio Valserra, Marchesino del Dongo, as he
would be called at Milan.* He had just condescended to
come into the world when the French were driven out, the
* The habit of the country, borrowed from that of Germany, is that
all the sons of a marchese should be called marchesino. The son of a
count is known as contino ; each of his daughters is a confessina.
9
The Chartreuse of Parma
chances of his birth making him the second son of that
most noble Marchese del Dongo, with whose large, pallid
countenance, deceitful smile, and boundless hatred of the
new order of ideas, my readers are already acquainted. The
whole of the family fortune was entailed on the eldest boy,
Ascanio del Dongo, the perfect image of his father. He
was eight years old, and Fabrizio two, when, like a flash,
that General Bonaparte whom all well-born folk believed to
have been hanged long since, descended from Mount St.
Bernard. He made his entry into Milan ; the event is
still unique in history. Conceive a whole population over
head and ears in love ! A few days later Napoleon won the
battle of Marengo. I need not tell the rest. The rapture
of the Milanese overflowed the cup. But this time it was
mingled with thoughts of vengeance. A good-natured folk
had been taught to hate. Soon the remnant of the patriots
exiled to Cattaro reappeared, and their return was cele-
brated by national festivities. Their pale faces, great
startled eyes, and emaciated limbs, contrasted strangely with
the joy that reigned on every side. Their arrival was the
signal for the departure of the families most concerned in
their banishment. The Marchese del Dongo was one of
the first to flee to his house at Grianta. The heads of the
great families were filled with rage and terror, but their
wives and daughters, remembering the delights of the first
French occupation, sighed regretfully for Milan and the gay
balls which, once Marengo was over, were given at the Casa
Tanzi. A few days after the victory the French general
charged with the duty of maintaining quiet in Lombardy
became aware that all the tenants of the noble families, and
all the old women in the country, far from dwelling on
the wonderful victory which had changed the fate of Italy,
and reconquered thirteen fortresses in one day, were think-
ing of nothing but the prophecy of San Giovita, the chief
patron saint of Brescia, according to which sacred pro-
nouncement the prosperity of Napoleon and of the French
nation was to end just thirteen weeks after Marengo. Some
slight excuse for the Marchese del Dongo and all the sulky
country nobility is to be found in the fact that they really
10
The Chartreuse of Parma
and truly did believe in this prophecy. None of these
people had read four books in his life. They openly pre-
pared to return to Milan at the end of the thirteenth week,
but as time went on, it was marked by fresh successes on
the French side. Napoleon, who had returned to Paris,
saved the revolution from within by his wise decrees, even
as he had saved it from foreign attack at Marengo. Then
the Lombard nobles in their country refuges discovered
that they had misunderstood the prediction of the patron
saint of Brescia. He must have meant thirteen months in-
stead of thirteen weeks ! But the thirteen months slipped
by, and the prosperity of France seemed to rise higher
day by day.
We pass over the ten years of happiness and progress
between 1800 and 1810. Fabrizio spent the earliest of them
at Grianta, where he dealt out many hard knocks among the
little peasant boys, and received them back with interest,
but learned nothing not even to read. Later he was sent
to the Jesuit school at Milan. The marchese, his father,
insisted that he should learn Latin, not out of those ancient
authors who are always holding forth about republics, but
out of a splendid tome enriched with more than a hundred
and fifty engravings, a masterpiece of seventeenth-century
art, the Latin Genealogy of the Valserra, Marchesi del
Dongo, published by Fabrizio del Dongo, Archbishop of
Parma, in the year 1650. The Valserra were essentially a
fighting race, and these engravings represented numerous
battles, in which some hero of the name was always depicted
as laying about mightily with his sword.
This book was a great delight to young Fabrizio. His
mother, who adored him, was allowed now and then to
go to Milan to see him, but her husband never offered
to pay the cost of these journeys. The money was always
lent her by her sister-in-law, the charming Countess Pietra-
nera, who, after the return of the French, had become one
of the most brilliant of the ladies at the court of the Viceroy
of Italy, Prince Eugene.
After Fabrizio had made his first communion, the
countess persuaded the marchese, who still lived in volun-
ii
The Chartreuse of Parma
tary exile, to allow the boy to pay her occasional visits. He
struck her as being out of the common, clever, very serious,
but handsome, and no discredit to a fashionable lady's
drawing-room though he was utterly ignorant, and hardly
knew how to write. The countess, who carried her char-
acteristic enthusiasm into everything she did, promised her
protection to the head of the Jesuit house if only her
nephew Fabrizio made astonishing progress in his studies,
and won several prizes at the close of the year. To put
him in the way of earning such rewards, she sent for him
every Saturday night, and frequently did not restore him
to his teachers till the Wednesday or Thursday following.
Though the Jesuits were tenderly cherished by the Viceroy,
their presence in Italy was forbidden by the laws of the
kingdom, and the Superior of the college, a clever man,
realized all the benefits that might accrue from his relations
with a lady who was all-powerful at court. He was too
wise to complain of Fabrizio's absences, and at the end
of the year five first prizes were conferred on the youth,
who was more ignorant than ever. In the circumstances,
the brilliant Countess Pietranera, attended by her husband,
then general in command of one of the divisions of the
Guard, and five or six of the most important personages
about the Viceroy's court, attended the distribution of prizes
in the Jesuit school. The Superior received the congratula-
tions of the heads of his order.
The countess was in the habit of taking her nephew
to all the gay fetes which enlivened the kindly Viceroy's
too short reign. She had made him an officer of hussars, on
her own authority, and the twelve-year-old boy wore his
uniform. One day the countess, delighted with his hand-
some looks, asked the prince to make him a page, which
would have been tantamount, of course, to an acknowledg-
ment of adherence to the new order of things of the Del
Dongo family. The next morning she was fain to use all
her influence to induce the Viceroy kindly to forget her
request, which lacked nothing but the consent of the
father of the future page a consent which would have
been loudly refused. As a result of this piece of folly,
12
"The Chartreuse of Parma
which made him shiver, the sulky marchese coined some
pretext for recalling young Fabrizio to Grianta. The
countess nursed a sovereign contempt for her brother,
whom she regarded as a dreary fool, who would be spite-
ful if he ever had the power. But she doted on Fabrizio,
and after ten years of silence she wrote to the marchese, to
beg that she might have her nephew with her. Her letter
remained unanswered.
When Fabrizio returned to the formidable pile built by
the most warlike of his ancestors he knew nothing about
anything in the world except drill, and riding on horseback.
Count Pietranera, who had been as fond of the child as
his wife, had taught him to ride, and taken him with him
on parade.
When the boy reached Grianta, with eyes still reddened
by the tears he had shed on leaving his aunt's splendid apart-
ments, his only greeting was that of his mother, who cov-
ered him with passionate caresses, and of his sisters. The
marchese was shut up in his study with his eldest son, the
Marchesino Ascanio. They were busy writing letters in
cipher, which were to have the honour of being sent to
Vienna, and they were only visible at mealtimes. The
marchese ostentatiously declared that he was teaching his
natural successor to keep the accounts of the revenues of
each of his estates by double entry, but in reality he was
far too jealous by nature to mention such matters to the son
on whom these properties were absolutely entailed. He
really employed him to translate into cipher the despatches
of fifteen or twenty pages which he sent, two or three times a
week, across the Swiss frontier, whence they were conveyed
to Vienna. The marchese claimed that he thus kept his
legitimate sovereign informed as to the internal conditions
of the kingdom of Italy a subject about which he himself
knew nothing at all. His letters, however, won him great
credit, and for the following reason : He was in the habit
of employing some trusty agent to count up the numbers
of any French or Italian regiment that marched along the
highroad when changing its place of garrison, and in mak-
ing his report to Vienna he always carefully diminished the
13
The Chartreuse of Parma
number of men reported present by a full fourth. These
letters, then, ridiculous as they otherwise were, had the
merit of contradicting others of a more truthful nature, and
thus gave pleasure in high quarters. Consequently, not
long before Fabrizio's return to Grianta, the marchese had
received the star of a famous order the fifth that adorned
his chamberlain's coat. It is true, indeed, that he had to
endure the grief of never wearing the said coat outside the
walls of his own study, but, on the other hand, he never
ventured to dictate any despatch without first enduing his
person with the richly embroidered garment, hung with
all his orders. Any other course would have seemed to
him a failure in respect.
The marchesa was delighted with her boy's charms.
But she had kept up the habit of writing, twice or thrice
in the year, to General Comte d'A (the name then
borne by Lieutenant Robert). She had a horror of lying
to those she loved ; she questioned her son, and was startled
by his ignorance.
" If," she argued, " he appears ill-instructed to me, who
know nothing, Robert, who knows so much, would think
his education an utter failure ; and nowadays some merit
is indispensable to success ! " Another peculiarity, which
almost equally astounded her, was that Fabrizio had taken
all the religious teaching given him by the Jesuits quite
seriously. Though herself a very pious woman, her child's
fanaticism made her shiver. " If the marchese has the sense
to suspect this means of influencing my son, he will rob
me of his love ! " She wept many tears, and her passionate
love for Fabrizio deepened.
Life in the great country house, with its thirty or forty
servants, was very dull ; and Fabrizio spent all his days
hunting, or skimming over the waters of the lake in a boat.
He was soon the sworn ally of all the coachmen and stable
assistants every one of them a vehement partisan of the
French who made open sport of the highly religious valets
attached to the persons of the marchese and his elder son.
The great joke against these individuals was that, like their
masters, they wore powder in their hair.
CHAPTER II
..." Alors que Vesper vient embrunir nos yeux
Tout epris de 1'avenir, je contemple les cieux,
En qui Dieu nous escrit, par notes non obscures
Les sorts et les destins de toutes creatures.
Car lui, du fond des cieux regardant un humain,
Parfois, mu de pitie, lui montre le chemin ;
Par les astres du ciel, qui sont ses caracteres,
Les choses nous predit, et bonnes et contraires ;
Mais les hommes, charges de terre et de trepas,
Meprisent tel ecrit, et ne le lisent pas." Ronsard.
THE marchese professed a hearty hatred of knowledge.
" Ideas," he said, " have been the ruin of Italy." He was
somewhat puzzled to reconcile this holy horror of informa-
tion with his desire that Fabrizio should perfect the educa-
tion so brilliantly begun under the auspices of the Jesuits.
To minimize the risk as far as possible, he commissioned
the worthy priest of Grianta, Father Blanes, to carry on
the boy's Latin studies. To this end the priest should him-
self have been acquainted with the language. But he thor-
oughly despised it. His knowledge of it was restricted to
the prayers in his missal, which he knew by rote, and the
sense of which, or something near it, he was capable of im-
parting to his flock. None the less was the father re-
spected, and even feared, all over the canton. He had
always averred that the famous prophecy of San Giovita,
patron saint of Brescia, would not be accomplished either in
thirteen weeks or thirteen months. He would confide to
his trusted friends that if he dared speak openly he could
give the proper interpretation of the number thirteen, and
that it would cause general astonishment (1813).
The fact is that Father Blanes a man of primitive vir-
tue and honesty, and a clever one into the. bargain spent
15
The Chartreuse of Parma
most of his nights on the top of his church tower. He had
a mania for astrology, and, after calculating the positions
and conjunctions of the stars all day, would pass the greater
part of his nights in tracing them in the sky. So poor was
he that his only instrument was a telescope with a long card-
board tube. My reader will conceive the scorn for lin-
guistic study nursed by a man who spent his life in discov-
ering the precise moment at which empires were to fall,
and revolutions, destined to change the face of the whole
world, were to begin. " What more do I know about a
horse," he would say to Fabrizio, " because somebody tells
me its Latin name is Equus ? "
The peasants dreaded the priest as a mighty magician,
and he, through the fear inspired by his tarryings on the
top of his tower, prevented them from thieving. His
brother priests of the neighbouring parishes envied him
his influence, and hated him accordingly. The marchese
frankly despised him, because he reasoned too much for
a person in so humble a position. Fabrizio worshipped
him. To please him he would sometimes spend whole
evenings over huge sums in addition or multiplication.
And then he would climb up into the tower. This was a
great favour one the priest had never bestowed on any
other person. But he loved the boy for the sake ,of his
simplicity. " If you don't become a hypocrite," he would
say, " you may turn into a man ! "
Twice or thrice in every year, Fabrizio, who was bold
and passionate in the pursuit of his pleasures, ran seri-
ous risks of drowning in the lake. He was the head and
front of all the great expeditions of the peasant boys of Gri-
anta and Cadenabbia. These urchins had provided them-
selves with a collection of small keys, and when the very
dark nights came, they did their best to open the padlocks
on the chains by which the fishermen moored their boats
to some big stone or tree close to the shore. It must be
explained that on the Lake of Como the fisherman puts
down his lines at a considerable distance from the edge
of the lake. The upper end of each line is fastened to a
lath lined with cork, to which is fixed a very flexible hazel
The Chartreuse of Parma
rod bearing a little bell, which tinkles as soon as the fish
takes the bait and shakes the float.
The great object of the nocturnal raids, in which Fabri-
zio acted as commander in chief, was to get to these lines
before the fishermen heard the tinkling of their little bells.
The boys chose stormy seasons, and embarked on their
risky enterprises early in the morning, an hour before dawn.
They felt convinced, when they got into their boats, that
they were rushing into terrible danger this constituted
the splendid aspect of their undertaking and, like their
fathers, they always devoutly recited an Ave Maria. Now,
it frequently would happen that at the very moment of the
start, and the instant after the recital of the Ave Maria,
Fabrizio would be struck by an omen. This was the fruit,
as affecting him, of his friend the priest's astrology, in the
actual predictions of which he had no belief at all. To his
juvenile imagination these omens were a certain indication
of success or failure, and as he was more resolute than any
of his comrades, the whole band gradually grew so accus-
tomed to accept such signs that if, just as the boat was
shoving off, a priest was seen on the coast line, or a raven
flew away on the left, the padlock was hastily put back upon
the chain and every boy went home to bed. Thus, though
Father Blanes had not imparted his somewhat recondite
science to Fabrizio, he had imbued him, all unconsciously,
with an unlimited confidence in those signs and portents
which may unveil the future.
The marchese was conscious that an accident to his
secret correspondence might place him at his sister's mercy.
Every year, therefore, when the St. Angela (the Countess
Pietranera's feast day) came around, Fabrizio was allowed
to spend a week at Milan. All through the year he lived on
the hope, or the regretful memory, of those seven days.
On so great an occasion, and to defray the expenses of this
politic journey, the marchese would give his son four
crowns. To his wife, who went with the boy, he gave, as
usual, nothing at all. But a cook, six lackeys, and a coach-
man and pair of horses started for Como the night before
the travellers, and while the marchesa was at Milan her
The Chartreuse of Parma
carriage was at her disposal, and dinner for twelve persons
was served every day.
The sullen retirement in which the Marchese del Dongo
elected to live was certainly not an amusing form of exist-
ence. But it had one advantage, that of permanently en-
riching the coffers of the families who chose to adopt it.
The marchese owned a revenue of more than two hundred
thousand francs ; he did not spend a quarter of it. He lived
on hope. During the years between 1800 and 1813 he
remained in the firm and unceasing expectation that Na-
poleon would be overthrown before the next six months
were out. His joy when he received the news of the catas-
trophe of the Beresina, in the spring of 1813, may conse-
quently be imagined. The capture of Paris and the fall of
Napoleon almost drove him wild with joy, and he ven-
tured on behaviour of the most insulting nature, both to
his wife and his sister. At last, after fourteen years of
waiting, he tasted the inexpressible delight of seeing the
Austrian troops re-enter Milan. The general in command,
obeying orders sent from Vienna, received the Marchese
del Dongo with a courtesy which almost amounted to re-
spect. One of the highest offices connected with the Gov-
ernment was at once offered him, and he accepted it as
the discharge of a just debt. His eldest son was made a
lieutenant in one of the finest of the imperial regiments, but
Fabrizio would never have anything to do with the cadet's
commission which was offered for his acceptance. The
marchese's triumph, which he enjoyed with peculiar inso-
lence, lasted but a few months, and was followed by a most
humiliating reverse. He had never possessed any business
aptitude, and his fourteen years of country life, surrounded
by his servants, his notary, and his doctor, coupled with
the ill humour which had crept upon him with advancing
years, had developed his incapacity to the extremest point.
In Austria no important post can be held for long by any
person lacking that particular talent demanded by the slow
and complicated, but essentially logical, system of admin-
istration peculiar to that ancient monarchy. The mar-
chese's blunders scandalized the clerks of his department,
18
The Chartreuse of Parma
and even hampered the progress of business, while his
ultra-monarchical vapourings irritated a populace which it
was important to lull back into its former state of slum-
brous indifference. So, one fine day, he was informed that
his Majesty was graciously pleased to accept his resigna-
tion of his office, and simultaneously appointed him sec-
ond grand major-domo of the Lombardo-Venetian King-
dom. The marchese was furious at the abominable injustice
of which he was the victim. In spite of his horror of the
free press, he printed a Letter to a Friend. Then he wrote
to the Emperor, assuring his Majesty that his ministers
were playing him false, and were no better than Jacobins.
This done, he betook himself sadly back to his home at
Grianta. One consolation he possessed. After the downfall
of Xapoleon certain powerful individuals' at Milan had or-
ganized a brutal attack on Count Prina, a man of first-class
worth, who had acted as minister in the service of the King
of Italy. Pietranera risked his own life to save that of the un-
happy man, who was thrashed to death with umbrellas, and
lingered in agony for five hours. If a certain priest, the
Marchese del Dongo's own confessor, had chosen to open
the iron gate of the Church of San Giovanni, in front of
ivhich Prina had been dragged (and, indeed, he had at one
moment been left lying in the gutter running along the
middle of the street), the victim might have been saved.
But the cleric scornfully refused to unlock the gate, and
within six months his patron enjoyed the happiness of se-
curing him a handsome piece of preferment.
The marchese detested his brother-in-law, Count Pietra-
nera, who, though his yearly income did hot amount to
fifty louis, dared to be fairly merry, ventured to cling faith-
fully to that which he had loved all his life, and was so in-
solent as to proclaim that spirit of impersonal justice which
Del Dongo was pleased to define as vile Jacobinism. The
count had refused to enter the Austrian service. The
attention of the authorities was drawn to this refusal on his
part, and a few months after the death of Prina the same
men who had paid for his assassination procured an order
for the imprisonment of General Pietranera. Upon this, his
19
The Chartreuse of Parma
wife sent for a passport and ordered post horses to take her
to Vienna, so that she might tell the Emperor the truth.
Prina's assassins took fright, and at midnight, just one hour
before the countess was to have started for Vienna, one of
them, a cousin of her own, brought her the order for her
husband's release. The following morning the Austrian
general sent for Count Pietranera, received him with every
possible respect, and assured him that his retiring pension
would shortly be paid on the most satisfactory scale. The
worthy General Bubna, who was both a clever and a kind-
hearted man, looked thoroughly ashamed of Prina's mur-
der and the count's imprisonment.
After this angry squall had blown over, calmed by
Countess Pietranera's firmness, the couple lived in tolerable
comfort on the retiring pension, which, thanks to General
Bubna's influence, was shortly granted them.
It was a fortunate circumstance that for five or six years
previously the countess had lived on terms of great friend-
ship with an exceedingly wealthy young man, who was also
her husband's intimate friend, and who placed the finest pair
of English horses then to be seen at Milan, his box at the
Scala Theatre, and his country house entirely at their serv-
ice. But the count was conscious of his own valour; he
had a generous soul, he was easily moved to anger, and
on such occasions indulged in somewhat unusual behaviour.
He was out hunting one day with some young men, when
one of them, who had served under a different flag, ventured
on some joke concerning the courage of the soldiers of
the Cisalpine Republic. The count boxed his ears, there
was a fracas then and there, and Pietranera, whose opinion
found no support among the company present, was killed.
This duel, if so it could be called, made a great stir; the
persons concerned in it found it more prudent to journey
into Switzerland.
That ridiculous kind of courage which men entitle resig-
nation the courage of the fool, who allows himself to be
hanged without opening his lips was not a quality pos-
sessed by the countess. In her rage at her husband's death
she would have had Limercati, the wealthy young man who
20
The Chartreuse of Parma
was her faithful adorer, instantly take his way to Switzer-
land, and there punish Pietranera's murderer either with a
rifle bullet or with a hearty cuffing. But Limercati regarded
the plan as simply ridiculous, and forthwith the countess
realized that, in her case, love had been killed by scorn.
She grew kinder than ever to Limercati. Her aim was
to rekindle his love, and that done, to forsake him and leave
him in despair. To explain this plan of vengeance to the
French mind, I should say that in Milan, a country far
distant from our own, love does still drive men to despair.
The countess, whose beauty, heightened by her mourning
robes, eclipsed that of all her rivals, set herself to coquette
with the best-born young men of the city, and one of them,
Count N , who had always said that Limercati's qualities
struck him as being too heavy and stiff to attract so bril-
liant a woman, fell desperately in love with her. Then she
wrote to Limercati :
" Would you like to behave, for once, like a clever man ?
Imagine that you have never known me. I am, with a touch
of scorn, perhaps,
Your very humble servant,
" GlNA PlETRANERA."
When Limercati received this note he departed to one
of his country houses ; his passion blazed, he lost his head,
and talked of shooting himself an unusual course in coun-
tries which acknowledge the existence of a hell.
The very morning after his arrival in the country he
wrote to the countess to offer her his hand and his two
hundred thousand francs a year. She sent him back his
letter, with the seal unbroken, by Count N 's groom;
whereupon Limercati spent three years on his estates, com-
ing back to Milan every two months, but never finding cour-
age to stay there, and boring all his friends with the story of
his passionate adoration of the lady and the circumstantial
recital of the favour she had formerly shown him. In the
earlier months of this period he added that Count N
would ruin her, and that she dishonoured herself by con-
tracting such an intimacy.
21
The Chartreuse of Parma
As a matter of fact, the countess had no love of any
kind for N , and of this fact she apprised him as soon
as she was quite certain of Limercati's despair. The count,
who knew the world, only begged her not to divulge
the sad truth she had confided to him. " If," he added,
" you will have the extreme kindness to continue receiv-
ing me with all the external distinctions generally granted
to the reigning lover, I may, perhaps, attain a suitable
position."
After this heroic declaration the countess would make
no further use of Count N 's horses and opera box. But
for fifteen years she had been accustomed to a life of the
greatest ease. She was now driven to solve the difficult, or
rather impossible, problem of living at Milan on a yearly
pension of fifteen hundred francs. She quitted her palace,
hired two fifth-floor rooms, and dismissed all her servants,
even to her maid, whom she replaced by a poor old char-
woman. The sacrifice was really less heroic and less painful
than it appears. No ridicule attaches to poverty in Milan,
and therefore people do not shrink from it in terror, as the
worst of all possible evils. After some months spent in this
proud penury, bombarded by perpetual letters from Limer-
cati, and even from Count N , who also desired to marry
her, it came to pass that the Marchese del Dongo, whose
stinginess was usually abominable, was struck by the no-
tion that his own enemies might perhaps be rejoicing over
his sister's sufferings. What ! Was a Del Dongo to be re-
duced to existing on the pension granted by the Viennese
court, against which he had so great a grievance, to its gen-
erals' widows?
He wrote that an apartment and an income worthy of
his sister awaited her at Grianta. The versatile-minded
countess welcomed the idea of this new life with enthusiasm.
It was twenty years since she had lived in the venerable pile
which rose so proudly among the old chestnut trees planted
in the days of the Sforzas. " There," she reflected, " I shall
find peace ; and at my age, is that not happiness ? (As she
had arrived at the age of one-and-thirty, she believed that
the hour of her retirement had struck.) " I shall find a
22
The Chartreuse of Parma
happy and peaceful life at last, on the shores of the noble
lake beside which I was born."
Whether she was mistaken I know not, but it is certain
that this eager-hearted creature, who had just so unhesitat-
ingly refused two huge fortunes, carried happiness with her
into the Castle of Grianta. Her two nieces were beside
themselves with delight. " You have brought the beautiful
days of my youth back to me ! " said the marchesa as she
kissed her. " The night before you arrived I felt a hundred
years old."
In Fabrizio's company the countess went about re-
visiting all those enchanting spots near Grianta which
travellers have made so famous : the Villa Melzi, on the
other side of the lake, opposite the castle, and one of the
chief objects in the view therefrom ; the sacred wood of
the Sfondrata; and the bold promontory which divides the
branches of the lake, that of Como, so rich in its beauty, and
that which runs toward Lecco, of aspect far more severe
a sublime and graceful prospect, equalled, perhaps, but not
surpassed, by the most famous view in all the world, that
of the Bay of Naples. The countess found the most ex-
quisite delight in calling up memories of her early days,
and comparing them with her present sensations. " The
Lake of Como," she said to herself, " is not hemmed in,
like the Lake of Geneva, by great tracts of land, carefully
hedged and cultivated on the best system, reminding one
of money and speculation. Here, on every side, I see
hills of unequal height, covered with clumps of trees, grow-
ing as chance has scattered them, and which have not yet
been ruined, and forced to bring in an income, by the hand
of man. Amid these hills, with their beautiful shapes and
their curious slopes that drop toward the lake, I can carry
on all the illusions of the descriptions of Tasso and Ariosto.
It is all noble and tender, it all speaks of love ; nothing re-
calls the hideousness of civilization. The villages set half-
way up the hills are sheltered by great trees, and above
the tree tops rise the charming outlines of their pretty
church spires. Where some little field, fifty paces wide,
shows itself here and there among the chestnuts and wild-
23
The Chartreuse of Parma
cherry trees my pleased eye notes plants of more vigor-
ous and willing growth than can be seen elsewhere. Be-
yond the hills, on whose deserted crests a happy hermit
existence might be spent, the wondering eye rests on the
Alpine peaks, covered with eternal snows, and their stern
severity reminds one sufficiently of life's misfortunes, to
increase one's sense of present delight. The imagination
is stirred by the distant sound of the church bells of some
little village hidden among the trees. Their tone softens as
it floats over the water, with a touch of gentle melancholy
and resignation, which seems to say, ' Life slips by. Do
not, then, look so coldly on the happiness that comes to
you. Make haste to enjoy.' '
The influence of these enchanting spots, unequalled on
earth for loveliness, made the countess feel a girl once
more. She could not conceive how she had been able to
spend so many years without returning to the lake. " Can
it be," she wondered, " that true happiness belongs to the
beginning of old age ? " She purchased a boat, and adorned
it with her own hands, assisted by Fabrizio and the mar-
chesa, for no money was to be had, though the household
was kept up with the utmost splendour. Since his fall the
Marchese del Dongo had doubled his magnificence. For
instance, to gain ten paces of ground on the shore of the
lake, close to the famous avenue of plane trees leading
toward Cadenabbia, he was building an embankment which
was to cost eighty thousand francs. At the end of this em-
bankment was rising a chapel, constructed entirely of enor-
mous blocks of granite, after drawings by the celebrated
Cagnola, and within the chapel, Marchesi, the fashionable
Milanese sculptor, was erecting a tomb on which the noble
deeds of the marchese's ancestors were to be represented in
numerous bas-reliefs.
Fabrizio's elder brother, the Marchesino Ascanio, tried
to join the ladies in their expeditions, but his aunt splashed
water over his powdered head, and was forever playing
some fresh prank on his solemnity. At last he relieved the
merry party of the sight of his heavy sallow countenance.
They dared not laugh when he was present, feeling that he
24
The Chartreuse of Parma
was the spy of the marchese, his father, and that it was
wise to keep on terms with the stern despot, who had
never recovered his temper since his forced resignation.
Ascanio swore to be avenged on Fabrizio.
One day there was a storm, and the boat was in some
danger. Though money was scarce enough, the two boat-
men were liberally bribed to prevent their saying anything
to the marchese, who was very angry already because his
daughters had been taken out. Then came a second hur-
ricane. On this beautiful lake storms are both terrible and
unexpected. Violent squalls sweep suddenly down the
mountain gorges on opposite sides of the shore, and battle
over the water. This time, in the midst of the whirlwind
and the thunderclaps, the countess insisted on landing; she
declared that if she could stand on a lonely rock, as large as a
small room, which lay in the middle of the lake, she would
enjoy a strange spectacle, and see her stronghold lashed
on every side by the furious waves. But, as she sprang from
the boat, she fell into the water. Fabrizio plunged in after
her, and they were both carried a considerable distance.
Drowning is certainly not an attractive death, but boredom,
at all events, fled astonished from the feudal castle. The
countess had fallen in love with Father Blanes's primitive
qualities, and astrological studies. The little money re-
maining to her after the purchase of her boat had been
spent on a small second-hand telescope, and almost every
night she mounted, with Fabrizio and her nieces, to the top
of one of the Gothic towers of the castle. Fabrizio was the
learned member of the party, which would thus spend sev-
eral very cheerful hours, far from prying eyes.
It must be acknowledged that there were days during
which the countess never spoke to anybody, and might be
seen walking up and down under the great chestnut trees,
plunged in gloomy reverie. She was too clever a woman
not to suffer, now and then, from the weariness of never
being able to exchange an idea. But the next day she
would be laughing again, as she had laughed the day before.
It was the lamentations of her sister-in-law which occasion-
ally cast a gloom over her naturally elastic nature. " Are we
25
The Chartreuse of Parma
doomed, to spend all the youth left to us in this dreary
house ? " the marchesa would cry. Before the arrival of
the countess she had not even had courage to feel such re-
pinings.
Thus the winter of 1814 to 1815 wore on. Twice, in
spite of her poverty, did the countess spend a few days in
Milan. She went to see a magnificent ballet by Vigano,
produced at the Scala, and the marchese did not forbid his
wife to accompany her sister-in-law. The quarterly pay-
ments of the little pension were drawn, and it was the poor
widow of the Cisalpine general who lent a few sequins
to the wealthy Marchesa del Dongo. These expeditions
were delightful; the ladies invited their old friends to din-
ner, and consoled themselves by laughing at everything, like
real children. Their light-hearted Italian gaiety helped
them to forget the melancholy gloom which the marchese
and his elder son shed over everything at Grianta. Fabrizio,
then hardly sixteen years old, represented the head of the
family in a very satisfactory manner.
On the I /th of March, 1815, the ladies, very lately re-
turned from a delightful little trip to Milan, were walking
up and down under the fine avenue of plane trees which
had lately been extended down to the very edge of the lake.
A boat appeared, coming from the direction of Como, and
made some peculiar signals. One of the marchese's agents
sprang ashore. Napoleon had just landed in the Gulf of
Juan! Europe in general was simple enough to be sur-
prised at this event, which did not astonish the Marchese
del Dongo. He wrote his sovereign a letter full of heart-
felt expressions of devotion, placed his talents and several
millions of money at his service, and reaffirmed that his
ministers were all Jacobins, and in league with the Parisian
leaders.
On the 8th of March, at six o'clock in the morning,
the marchese, adorned with all his insignia, was writing
the rough draft of a third political despatch from his son's
dictation. Solemnly he transcribed it in his large, care-
ful handwriting, on paper the watermark of which bore
his sovereign's effigy. At that very moment Fabrizio
26
The Chartreuse of Parma
was entering the presence of his aunt, the Countess Pie-
tranera.
" I am off! " he cried. " I am going to join the Em-
peror ! He is King of Italy as well ! How he loved your
husband ! I shall go through Switzerland. Last night my
friend Vasi, the barometer dealer at Menagio, gave me his
passport. Now do you give me a few napoleons, for I have
only two of my own. But if it comes to that, I'll walk ! "
The countess was weeping with terror and delight.
" Good God ! " she cried, as she seized Fabrizio's hands,
" how did such an idea come into your head ? "
She rose from her seat, and from the linen chest, where
it had been carefully concealed, took a little bead-embroid-
ered purse, containing all her earthly wealth.
" Take it," she said to her nephew, " but in God's name
do not get yourself killed ! What would be left to your
unhappy mother and to me if you were taken from us ? As
for Napoleon's success, that, my poor child, is impossible.
Did not you hear the story, a week ago, when we were at
Milan, of the three-and-twenty well-laid plots for his assas-
sination which he only escaped by a miracle ? And in those
days he was all powerful ! And you have seen it is not the
will to destroy him which our enemies lack. France has
been nothing since he left her ! "
The voice of the countess trembled with the liveliest
emotion as she spoke to Fabrizio of Napoleon's future fate.
" When I consent to your going to join them," she said, " I
sacrifice, for his sake, what I hold dearest in this world ! "
Fabrizio's eyes grew moist, and his tears fell as he embraced
his aunt. But not for an instant did he waver in his deter-
mination to depart. He eagerly explained to this beloved
friend the reasons which had decided him reasons which
we take the liberty of thinking somewhat comical.
" Yesterday evening, at seven minutes to six o'clock, we
were walking, as you know, on the shores of the lake, under
the plane trees, below the Casa Sommariva, and our faces
were turned southward. Then, for the first time, I noticed,
in the far distance, the boat from Como which was bearing
the great news to us. As I watched it, without a thought
27
The Chartreuse of Parma
of the Emperor, and simply envying the fate of those who
had an opportunity of travelling, I was suddenly over-
whelmed by a feeling of deep emotion. The boat had
touched the shore, and the agent, after whispering some-
thing to my father, who had changed colour, had taken us
aside to inform us of the terrible news. I turned toward
the lake with the simple object of hiding the tears of joy
with which my eyes were swimming. Suddenly, on my
right, and at an immense height, I perceived an eagle, Na-
poleon's own bird; it was winging its majestic way toward
Switzerland, and consequently toward Paris. ' And I, too/
said I to myself instantly, ' will cross Switzerland, swiftly
as an eagle, and will offer that great man a very little thing
indeed but still all that I have to offer the help of my
feeble arm ! He would fain have given us a fatherland, and
he loved my uncle ! ' That instant, while I yet watched the
eagle, by some strange charm, my tears were dried, and
the proof that my idea came from above is that at that very
moment, and without hesitation, my resolve was taken, and
the method of carrying out the journey became clear to me.
In a flash all the melancholy which, as you know, poisons
my life, especially on Sundays, was swept away as by some
divine breath. I saw the great figure of Italy rising out
of the mire into which the Germans have cast her, and
stretching out her wounded arms, on which the chains still
hung, towards her king and liberator. ' And I too/ I mur-
mured, ' the son, as yet unknown, of that unhappy mother,
I will depart, and I will die or win victory beside that Man
of Fate, who would have cleansed us from the scorn cast
on us by the vilest and most enslaved of the inhabitants of
Europe ! '
" You know," he added in a lower voice, drawing closer
to the countess, and as he spoke he fixed great flashing eyes
upon her, " you know the young chestnut tree which my
mother planted with her own hands the winter I was born,
beside the deep pool in our forest, two leagues off? Before
I would do anything I went to see it. ' The spring is not
far advanced/ said I to myself ; ' well, if there are leaves on
my tree, that will be a sign for me, and I too must cast
28
The Chartreuse of Parma
off the torpor in which I languish in this cold and dreary
house. Are not these old blackened walls the symbols
now, and once the strongholds, of despotism a true picture
of winter and its dreariness ? To me they are what winter is
to my tree.'
" Would you believe it, Gina ? At half-past seven yester-
day evening I had reached my chestnut tree. There were
leaves upon it pretty little leaves of a fair size already! I
kissed them, without hurting them, carefully turned the soil
round the beloved tree, and then, in a fresh transport, crossed
the mountain and reached Menagio. A passport was indis-
pensable, if I was to get into Switzerland. The hours had
flown, and it was one o'clock in the morning when I reached
Vasi's door. I expected to have to knock for long before I
could rouse him ; but he was sitting up with three of his
friends. At my very first word, ' You are going to Napo-
leon ! ' he cried, and fell upon my neck ; the others, too, em-
braced me joyfully. ' Why am I married? ' cried one."
The countess had grown pensive ; she thought it her
duty to put forward some objections. If he had possessed
the smallest experience Fabrizio would have perceived that
she herself had no faith in the excellent reasons she hastened
to lay before him. But though experience was lacking, he
had plenty of resolution, and would not even condescend to
listen to her expostulations. Before long the countess con-
fined herself to obtaining a promise that at all events his
mother should be informed of his plan.
" She will tell my sisters, and those women will betray
me unconsciously ! " cried Fabrizio, with a sort of heroic
arrogance.
" Speak more respectfully," said the countess, smiling
through her tears, " of the sex which will make your for-
tune. For men will never like you you are too impulsive
to please prosaic beings ! "
When the marchesa was made acquainted with her son's
strange project she burst into tears. His heroism did not
appeal to her, and she did everything in her power to dis-
suade him. But she was soon convinced that nothing but
prison walls would prevent him from starting, and gave him
29
The Chartreuse of Parma
what little money she had of her own. Then she recollected
that she had in her possession eight or ten small diamonds,
worth about ten thousand francs, given her the night be-
fore by the marchese, so that she might have them reset
the next time she went to Milan. Fabrizio returned the
poor ladies the contents of their slender purses, and his
sisters entered their mother's room while the countess was
sewing the diamonds into our hero's travelling coat. They
were so enthusiastic over his plan, and embraced him with
such noisy delight, that he snatched up a few diamonds,
which had not yet been hidden in his clothes, and insisted
on starting off at once.
" You will betray me without knowing it ! " he said to
his sisters, " and as I have all this money I need not take
clothes I shall find them wherever I go." He kissed his
loved ones, and departed that instant, without even going
back to his room. So rapidly did he walk, in his terror of
being pursued by mounted men, that he reached Lugano
that very evening. He was safe, by God's mercy, in a
Swiss town, and no longer feared that gendarmes in his
father's pay might lay violent hands on him in the lonely
road. From Lugano he wrote a fine letter to the marchese,
a childish performance which increased that gentleman's
fury. Then he took horse, crossed the St. Gothard, trav-
elled rapidly, and entered France by Pontarlier. The Em-
peror was in Paris, and in Paris Fabrizio's misfortunes
began. He had started with the firm intention of getting
speech with the Emperor, the idea that this might be difficult
never entering his head. At Milan he had seen Prince Eu-
gene a dozen times a day, and could have spoken to him each
time if he would. In Paris he went every day of his life
to watch the Emperor review his troops in the court of the
Tuileries, but never could get near him. Our hero be-
lieved every Frenchman must be as deeply moved as he
was himself by the extreme danger in which the country
stood. At the table of the hotel in which he lived, he made
no secret of his plans or his devotion. He found himself
surrounded by young men of agreeable manners, and still
more enthusiastic than himself, who succeeded, before many
The Chartreuse of Parma
days were passed, in relieving him of every penny he pos-
sessed. Fortunately, and out of sheer modesty, he had not
mentioned the diamonds given him by his mother. One
morning, when, after a night's orgie, it became quite clear
to him that he had been robbed, he bought himself two
fine horses, engaged an old soldier, one of the horse dealer's
grooms, as his servant, and, overflowing with scorn for the
young Parisians who talked so fine, started to join the army.
He had no information save that it was concentrating near
Maubeuge. Hardly had he reached the frontier, when it
struck him as absurd that he should stay indoors and warm
himself at a good fire while soldiers were bivouacking in
the open air. In spite of the remonstrances of his servant,
who was a sensible fellow, he insisted, in the most imprudent
manner, on joining the military bivouac on the farthest edge
of the frontier toward Belgium. He had hardly reached
the first battalion, lying beside the road, when the soldiers
began to stare at the young civilian, whose dress had not
a touch of uniform about it. Night was falling, and the
wind was very cold. Fabrizio drew near to a fire, and
offered to pay for leave to sit by it. The soldiers looked at
each other in astonishment, especially at this offer of pay,
but made room for him good-naturedly, and his servant
extemporized a shelter for him. But an hour later, when
the adjutant of the regiment passed within hail of the biv-
ouac, the soldiers reported the arrival of the stranger who
talked bad French. The adjutant questioned Fabrizio, who
told him of his worship for the Emperor in an accent of the
most doubtful description, whereupon the officer requested
that he would accompany him to the colonel, who was quar-
tered in a neighbouring farm. Fabrizio's servant at once
brought up the two horses. The sight of them seemed to
produce such an effect upon the noncommissioned officer
that he immediately changed his mind, and began to ques-
tion the servant as well. The man, an old soldier, suspected
his interlocutor's plan of campaign, and spoke of his mas-
ter's influence in high quarters, adding that his fine horses
could not easily be taken from him. Instantly, at a sign
from the adjutant, one soldier seized him by the collar, an-
31
The Chartreuse of Parma
other took charge of the horses, and Fabrizio was sternly
ordered to follow his captor and hold his tongue.
After making him march a good league through dark-
ness that seemed all the blacker by contrast with the bivouac
fires, which lighted up the horizon on every side, the ad-
jutant handed Fabrizio over to an officer of gendarmerie,
who gravely demanded his papers. Fabrizio produced his
passport, which described him as a " dealer in barometers,
travelling with his merchandise."
" What fools they are ! " cried the officer ; " this really is
too much ! "
He questioned our hero, who talked about the Emperor
and liberty in terms of the most ardent and enthusiastic de-
scription; whereupon the officer fell into fits of laughter.
" Upon my soul ! " he cried, " they are anything but clever ;
to send us greenhorns such as you is a little too much,
really ! " And in spite of everything Fabrizio could say,
and his desperate assurances that he really was not a dealer
in barometers, he was ordered to the prison of B , a
small town in the neighbourhood, where he arrived at three
o'clock in the morning, bursting with anger, and half dead
with fatigue.
Here he remained, astonished, first of all, and then
furious, and utterly unable to understand what had hap-
pened, for thirty-three long days. He wrote letter after
letter to the commandant of the fortress, the jailer's wife, a
handsome Flemish woman of six-and-thirty, undertaking to
deliver them ; but as she had no desire whatever to see so
good-looking a young fellow shot, and as, moreover, he
paid her well, she invariably put his letters in the fire. Very
late at night she would condescend to come to listen to
his complaints she had informed her husband that the sim-
pleton had money, whereupon that prudent functionary had
given her carte blanche. She availed herself of his permis-
sion, and gleaned several gold pieces; for the adjutant
had only taken the horses, and the police officer had confis-
cated nothing at all. One fine afternoon Fabrizio caught
the sound of a heavy though distant cannonade. Fighting
had begun at last ! His heart thumped with impatience, He
32
The Chartreuse of Parma
heard a great deal of noise, too, in the streets. An important
military movement was, in fact, in course of execution.
Three divisions were marching through the town. When
the jailer's wife came to share his sorrows, at about eleven
o'clock that night, Fabrizio made himself even more agree-
able than usual. Then, taking her hands in his, he said :
" Help me to get out ! I swear on my honour I'll come
back to prison as soon as the righting is over."
" That's all gammon ! " she replied. " Have you any
quibns (cash) ? " He looked anxious, not understanding
what the word quibus meant. The woman, seeing his ex-
pression, concluded his funds were running low, and, in-
stead of talking about gold napoleons, as she had intended,
only mentioned francs.
" Listen ! " she said. " If you can raise a hundred francs,
I will blind both eyes of the corporal who will relieve the
guard to-night, with a double napoleon. Then he will not
see you get out of prison, and if his regiment is to be off
during the day, he will make no difficulties." The bargain
was soon struck ; the woman even agreed to hide Fabrizio
in her own room, out of which it would be easier for him
to slip in the early morning.
The next day, before dawn, she said to our hero, and
there was real feeling in her tone : " My dear boy, you are
very young to ply this horrible trade of yours. Believe
me, don't begin it again ! "
" What ! " repeated Fabrizio. " Is it wicked, then, to
want to fight for one's own country ? "
" Enough ! But always remember I have saved your
life. Your case was a clear one. You would certainly
have been shot. But never tell anybody, for we should
lose our place, my husband and I. And, above all, never
repeat your silly tale about being a Milanese gentleman dis-
guised as a dealer in barometers ; it is too foolish ! Now,
listen carefully. I am going to give you the clothes of a
hussar who died in the prison the day before yesterday.
Never open your lips unless you are obliged to. If a ser-
geant or an officer questions you so that you have to reply,
say you have been lying ill in the house of a peasant, who
3 33
The Chartreuse of Parma
found you shaking with fever in a ditch, and sheltered you
out of charity. If this answer does not satisfy them, say
you are working your way back to your regiment. You
may be arrested because of your accent. Then say you
were born in Piedmont, that you are a conscript, and were
left behind in France last year, etc."
For the first time, after his three-and-thirty days of rage
and fury, Fabrizio understood the meaning of what had
befallen him. He had been taken for a spy ! He reasoned
with the jailer's wife, who felt very tenderly toward him
that morning, and at last, while she, armed with a needle,
was taking in the hussar's garments for him, frankly told
her his story. For a moment she believed it he looked
so simple and was so handsome in his hussar uniform !
" As you had set your heart on fighting," she said, half
convinced at last, " you should have enlisted in some regi-
ment as soon as you got to Paris. That job would have
been done at once if you had taken any sergeant to a tavern
and paid his score there." She added a great deal of good
advice for his future, and at last, just as day was breaking,
let him out of the house, after making him swear again and
again, a hundred times over, that, whatever happened to
him, her name should never pass his lips. As soon as
Fabrizio had got clear of the little town and began step-
ping out boldly along the highroad, with his sabre tucked
under his arm, a shadow fell upon his soul. " Here I am,"
he reflected, " with the clothes and the route papers of a
hussar who died in prison, where he was put, I understand,
for stealing a cow and some silver spoons and forks ! I
have inherited, so to speak, his existence, and that without
any wish or intention of my own. Look out for prisons!
The omen is clear I shall suffer many things from
prisons ! "
Hardly an hour after he had bidden farewell to his bene-
factress the rain began to fall with such violence that the
newly fledged hussar, hampered by the heavy boots which
had never been made for his feet, could hardly contrive to
walk. He came across a peasant riding a sorry nag, and
bought the horse, bargaining by signs, for the jailer's wife
34
The Chartreuse of Parma
had advised him to speak as little as possible, on account
of his foreign accent.
That day the army, which had just won the battle of
Ligny, was in full march on Brussels. It was the eve of
the battle of Waterloo. Toward noon, while the rain still
poured down, Fabrizio heard artillery firing. In his hap-
piness he forgot all the terrible moments of despair he had
endured in his undeserved prison. He travelled on, far into
the night, and, as he was beginning to learn a little sense,
he sought shelter in a peasant's hut, quite off the main
road. The peasant was crying, and saying that he had been
stripped of everything he had. Fabrizio gave him a crown,
and discovered some oats. " My horse is no beauty," the
young man reflected, " but still some adjutant fellow might
take a fancy to him," and he lay down in the stable beside
his mount. An hour before daylight next morning he was
on the road again. By dint of much coaxing he wheedled
his horse into a trot. Toward five o'clock he heard heavy
firing. It was the beginning of Waterloo.
35
CHAPTER III
FABRIZIO soon came upon some cantinieres, and the
deep gratitude he felt toward the jailer's wife incited him
to address them. He inquired of one of them as to where
the Fourth Regiment of Hussars, to which he belonged,
might be.
" You would do much better not to be in such a hurry,
my young fellow," replied the woman, touched by Fabrizio's
pallor and the beauty of his eyes. " Your hand is not steady
enough yet for the sword play that this day must see!
Now, if you had only a gun, I don't say but that you might
fire it off as well as any other man."
The advice was not pleasing to Fabrizio, but, however
much he pressed his horse, he could not get it to travel any
faster than the sutler's cart. Every now and then the artil-
lery fire seemed to grow closer, and prevented each from
hearing what the other said, for so wild was the boy with
enthusiasm and delight that he had begun to talk again.
Every word the woman dropped increased his joy, by mak-
ing him realize it more fully. He ended by telling the
woman, who seemed thoroughly kind-hearted, the whole of
his adventures, with the exception of his real name and his
flight from prison. She was much astonished, and could
make neither head nor tail of the handsome young soldier's
story.
" I have it ! " she cried at last, with a look of triumph.
" You are a young civilian, in love with the wife of some
captain in the Fourth Hussars! Your ladylove has given
you the uniform you wear, and you are tearing about after
her. As sure as God reigns above us, you are no soldier;
you have never been a soldier ! But, like the brave fellow
36
The Chartreuse of Parma
you are, you are determined to be with your regiment while
it is under fire rather than be taken for a coward."
Fabrizio agreed to everything. That was the only
method by which he could secure good advice. " I know
nothing of these French people's ways," said he to him-
self, " and if somebody doesn't guide me I shall get my-
self into prison again, or some fellow will steal my horse
from me ! "
" In the first place, my boy," said the cantiniere, who
was growing more and more friendly, " you must admit
you are under twenty I don't believe you are an hour over
seventeen ! "
That was true, and Fabrizio willingly admitted it.
" Then you're not even a conscript it's simply and
solely for the lady's sake that you are risking your bones.
Bless me, she's not oversqueamish ! If you still have any
of the yellow boys she has given you in your pocket, the
first thing you must do is to buy yourself another horse.
Look how that brute of yours pricks up her ears whenever
the guns growl a little close to her! That's a peasant's
horse; it'll kill you the moment you get to the front. See
that white smoke yonder, over the hedge? That means
musket volleys ! Therefore, my fine fellow, make ready
to be in a horrible fright when you hear the bullets whistling
over your head. You had far better eat a bit now, while
you have the time."
Fabrizio acted on her advice, and, pulling a napoleon out
of his pocket, requested the cantiniere to pay herself out
of it.
" It's a downright pity ! " cried the good woman ; " the
poor child doesn't even know how to spend his money!
'Twould serve you right if I pocketed your napoleon and
made my Cocotte start off at full trot. Devil take me if
your beast could follow her! What could you do, you
simpleton, if you saw me make off? Let me tell you that
when the big guns begin to grumble nobody shows his
gold pieces. Here," she went on, " I give you back eigh-
teen francs and fifty centimes ; your breakfast costs you thirty
sous. Soon we shall have horses to sell. Then you'll give
37
The Chartreuse of Parma
ten francs for a small one, and never more than twenty, not
even for the best ! "
The meal was over, and the cantiniere, who was still
holding forth, was interrupted by a woman who had been
coming across the fields, and now passed along the road.
" Halloo ! Hi ! " she shouted. " Halloo, Margot ! Your
Sixth Light Regiment is on the right ! "
" I must be off, my boy," said the cantiniere ; " but really
and truly I am sorry for you ! Upon my soul, I feel friendly
to you. You know nothing about anything ; you'll be wiped
out, as sure as God is God ; come along with me to the
Sixth ! "
" I understand very well that I know nothing at all," sa'id
Fabrizio ; " but I mean to fight, and I am going over there
to that white smoke."
" Just look how your mare's ears are wagging ! The
moment you get her down there she'll take the bit in her
teeth, weak as she is, and gallop off, and God knows where
she'll take you to! Take my advice, as soon as you get
down to the soldiers, pick up a musket and an ammunition
pouch, lie down beside them, and do exactly as they do.
But, Lord! I'll wager you don't even know how to bite
open a cartridge ! "
Fabrizio, though sorely galled, truthfully answered that
his new friend had guessed aright.
" Poor little chap, he'll be killed at once ! God's truth,
it won't take long ! You must and shall come with me," she
added with an air of authority.
" But I want to fight."
" So you shall fight ! The Sixth is a first-rate regiment,
and there'll be fighting for every one to-day."
"But shall we soon get to your regiment?"
" In a quarter of an hour, at the outside."
" If this good woman vouches for me," reasoned Fabri-
zio, " I shall not be taken for a spy on account of my uni-
versal ignorance, and I shall get a chance of fighting." At
that moment the firing grew heavier, the reports following
closely one upon the other, "like the beads in a rosary,"
said Fabrizio to himself.
38
The Chartreuse of Parma
" I begin to hear the volleys," said the cantiniere, whip-
ping up her pony, which seemed quite excited by the noise.
She turned to the right, along a cross-road leading through
the meadow; the mud was a foot deep, and the little cart
almost stuck in it. Fabrizio pushed at the wheels. Twice
over his horse fell down. Soon the road grew dryer, and
dwindled into a mere foot-path across the sward. Fabrizio
had not ridden on five hundred paces when his horse
stopped short a corpse lying across the path had startled
both beast and rider.
Fabrizio, whose face was naturally pale, turned visibly
green ; the cantiniere, looking at the dead man, said, as
though talking to herself, " Nobody of our division," and
then, raising her eyes to our hero's face, burst out laughing.
" Ha, ha, my child ! " she cried, " here's a lollypop for
you!"
Fabrizio sat on, horror-struck. What most impressed
him was the mud on the feet of the corpse, which had been
stripped of its shoes, and of everything else, indeed, except
a wretched pair of blood-stained trousers.
" Come," said the cantiniere, " tumble off your horse ;
you must get used to it. Ha," she went on, " he got it
through the head ! " The corpse was hideously disfigured.
A bullet had entered near the nose and passed out at the
opposite temple. One eye was open and staring.
" Now, then, get off your horse, boy," cried the can-
tiniere, " shake him by the hand, and see if he'll shake yours
back."
At once, though sick almost to death with horror, Fa-
brizio threw himself from his horse, seized the dead hand
and shook it well. Then he stood in a sort of dream ; he felt
he had not strength to get back upon his horse ; the dead
man's open eye, especially, filled him with horror.
" This woman will take me for a coward," thought he
to himself bitterly. Yet he felt that he could not stir; he
would certainly have fallen. It was a terrible moment. Fa-
brizio was just going to faint dead away. The cantiniere
saw it, jumped smartly out of her little cart, and without a
word proffered him a glass of brandy, which he swallowed
39
The Chartreuse of Parma
at a gulp. After that he was able to remount, and rode
along without opening his lips. Every now and then the
woman looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
" You shall fight to-morrow, my boy," she said at last.
" To-day you shall stay with me. You see now that you
must learn your soldier's trade."
" Not at all. I want to fight now, at once," cried our
hero, and his look was so fierce that the cantiniere augured
well from it. The artillery fire grew heavier, and seemed
to draw nearer. The reports began to form a sort of con-
tinuous bass, there was no interval between them, and above
this deep note, which was like the noise of a distant torrent,
the musketry volleys rang out distinctly.
Just at this moment the road turned into a grove of
trees. The cantiniere noticed two or three French soldiers
running toward her as hard as their legs would carry them.
She sprang nimbly from her cart, and ran to hide herself
some fifteen or twenty paces from the road. There she
concealed herself in the hole left by the uprooting of a
great tree. " Now," said Fabrizio to himself, " I shall find
out whether I am a coward." He halted beside the forsaken
cart and drew his sword. The soldiers paid no attention to
him, but ran along the wood on the left side of the road.
" Those are some of our men," said the cantiniere coolly,
as she came back panting to her little cart. " If your mare
had a canter in her I would tell you to ride to the end of
the wood, and see if there is any one on the plain beyond."
Fabrizio needed no second bidding. He tore a branch from
a poplar tree, stripped off the leaves, and belaboured his
mount soundly. For a moment the brute broke into a can-
ter, but it soon went back to its usual jog-trot. The can-
tinier e had forced her pony into a gallop. " Stop ! stop ! I
say ! " she shouted to Fabrizio. Soon they both emerged
from the wood. When they reached the edge of the plain
they heard a most tremendous noise. Heavy guns and mus-
ketry volleys thundered on every hand right, left, and be-
hind them and as the grove from which they had just
emerged crowned a hillock some eight or ten feet higher
than the plain, they had a fair view of a corner of the battle-
40
The Chartreuse of Parma
field. But the meadow just beyond the wood was empty.
It was bounded, about a thousand paces from where they
stood, by a long row of very bushy willow trees. Beyond
these hung a cloud of white smoke, which now and then
eddied up toward the sky.
" If I only knew where the regiment was ! " said the
woman, looking puzzled. " We can't go straight across
that big meadow. By the way, young fellow," she said to
Fabrizio, " if you see one of the enemy, stick him with
the point of your sword ; don't amuse yourself by trying to
cut him down."
Just at that moment she caught sight of the four soldiers
of whom we have already spoken. They were coming out
of the wood on to the plain to the left of the road. One of
them was on horseback.
" Here's what you want," said she to Fabrizio. Then,
shouting to the mounted man, " Halloo, you ! Why don't
you come and drink a glass of brandy ? " The soldiers drew
nearer.
"Where's the Sixth Light Regiment?" she called out.
" Over there, five minutes off, in front of the canal that
runs along those willows. And Colonel Macon has just
been killed."
" Will you take five francs for that horse of yours ? "
" Five francs ! That's a pretty fair joke, my good
woman! Five francs for an officer's charger that I shall
sell for five napoleons before the hour's out ! "
" Give me one of your napoleons," whispered the can-
tinicrc to Fabrizio ; then, going close up to the man on
horseback, " Get off, and look sharp about it ! " she said ;
" here's your napoleon."
The soldier slipped off, and Fabrizio sprang gaily into
his saddle, while the cantiniere unfastened the little valise he
had carried on the other.
" Here ! why don't you help me, you fellows ? " said she
to the soldier. "What do you mean by letting a lady work !"
But the captured charger no sooner felt the valise than he
began to plunge, and Fabrizio, who was a first-rate horse-
man, had to use all his skill to retain his seat " That's a
41
The Chartreuse of Parma
good sign," said the cantiniere ; " the gentleman's not ac-
customed to the tickling of valises ! "
" It's a general's horse," cried the soldier who had sold
it. " That horse is worth ten napoleons if it's worth a
farthing."
" Here are twenty francs for you," said Fabrizio, who
was beside himself with joy at feeling a spirited animal be-
tween his legs.
Just at this moment a round shot came whizzing slant-
wise through the row of willows, and Fabrizio enjoyed the
curious sight of all the little branches flying left and right
as if they had been mowed off with a scythe. " Humph ! "
said the soldier, as he pocketed his twenty francs, " the
worry's beginning." It was about two o'clock in the day.
Fabrizio was still lost in admiration of this curious spec-
tacle, when a group of generals, escorted by a score of hus-
sars, galloped across one of the corners of the wide meadow
on the edge of which he was standing. His horse neighed,
plunged two or three times, and pulled violently at the curb.
" So be it, then," said Fabrizio to himself. He gave the
animal the rein, and it dashed, full gallop, up to the escort
which rode behind the generals.
Fabrizio counted four plumed hats.
A quarter of an hour later he gathered from some words
spoken by the hussar next him that one of these generals
was the famous Marshal Ney. That crowned his happiness ;
yet he could not guess which of the four was the marshal.
He would have given all the world to know, but he remem-
bered he must not open his lips. The escort halted to cross
a large ditch, which the rain of the preceding night had filled
with water. It was skirted by large trees, and ran along
the left side of the meadow at the entrance of which Fabrizio
had bought his horse. Almost all the hussars had dis-
mounted. The sides of the ditch were steep and exceedingly
slippery, and the water lay quite three or four feet below the
level of the meadow. Fabrizio, wrapped up in his delight,
was thinking more about Marshal Ney and glory than about
his horse, which, being very spirited, jumped into the water-
course, splashing the water up to a considerable height.
42
The Chartreuse of Parma
One of the generals was well wetted, and shouted with an
oath, " Devil take the damned brute ! " This insult
wounded Fabrizio deeply. " Can I demand an explana-
tion ? " he wondered. Meanwhile, to prove that he was not
so stupid as he looked, he tried to force his horse up the
opposite side of the ditch, but it was five or six feet high,
and most precipitous. He was obliged to give it up. Then
he followed up the current, the water rising to his horse's
head, and came at last to a sort of watering-place, up the
gentle slope of which he easily passed into the field on the
other side of the cutting. He was the first man of the escort
to get across, and trotted proudly along the bank. At the
bottom of the ditch the hussars were floundering about,
very much puzzled what to do with themselves, for in many
places the water wac five feet deep. Two or three of the
horses took fright and tried to swim, which created a ter-
rible splashing. Then a sergeant noticed the tactics followed
by the greenhorn, who looked so very unlike a soldier.
"Turn up the stream," he shouted; " there's a watering-
place on the left ! " and by degrees they all got over.
When Fabrizio reached the farther bank, he found the
generals there all alone. The roar of the artillery seemed to
him louder than ever. He could hardly hear the general
he had so thoroughly drenched, who shouted into his ear:
" Where did you get that horse ? "
Fabrizio was so taken aback that he answered in Italian :
" L'ho comprato poco fa! " (" I have just bought it.")
" What do you say ? " shouted the general again.
But the noise suddenly grew so tremendous that Fa-
brizio could not reply. At this moment, it must be acknowl-
edged, our hero felt anything but heroic. Still, fear was
only a secondary sensation on his part. It was the noise
that hurt his ears and disconcerted him so dreadfully. The
escort broke into a gallop. They were crossing a wide
stretch of ploughed land, which lay beyond the canal. The
field was dotted with corpses.
" The red-coats ! the red-coats ! " shouted the hussars
joyfully. Fabrizio did not understand them at first. Then
he perceived that almost all the corpses were dressed in
43
The Chartreuse of Parma
red, and also, which gave him a thrill of horror, that a
great many of these unhappy " red-coats " were still alive.
They were crying out, evidently asking for help, but nobody
stopped to give it to them. Our hero, in his humanity, did
all he could to prevent his horse from treading on any red
uniform. The escort halted. Fabrizio, instead of attend-
ing to his duty as a soldier, galloped on, with his eye on a
poor wounded fellow.
" Will you pull up, you idiot ? " shouted the troop ser-
geant-major. Then Fabrizio became aware that he was
twenty paces in advance of the generals' right, and just in the
line of their field-glasses. As he rode back to the rear of the
escort, he saw the most portly of the officers speaking to his
next neighbour, also a general, with an air of authority, and
almost of reprimand. He swore. Fabrizio could not re-
strain his curiosity, and, in spite of the advice of his friend
the jailer's wife, never to speak if he could help it, made
up a neat and correct little French sentence. " Who's that
general blowing up the one next him ? " he asked.
" Why, that's the marshal, to be sure ! "
"What marshal?"
" Marshal Ney, you fool ! Where in thunder have you
been serving up to now ? "
Touchy though he was by nature, Fabrizio never
dreamed of resenting the insult. Lost in boyish admiration,
he feasted his eyes on the " bravest of the brave," the fa-
mous Prince of the Moskowa.
Suddenly every one broke into a gallop. In a few min-
utes Fabrizio saw another ploughed field, about twenty
paces in front of him, the surface of which was heaving in a
very curious manner. The furrows were full of water, and
the damp earth of the ridges was flying about, three or
four feet high, in little black lumps. Fabrizio just noticed
this odd appearance as he galloped along ; then his thoughts
flew back to the marshal and his glory. A sharp cry rang
out close to him ; two hussars fell, struck by bullets, and
when he looked at them, they were already twenty paces be-
hind the escort. A sight which seemed horrible to him was
that of a horse, bathed in blood, struggling on the ploughed
44
The Chartreuse of Parma
earth, with its feet caught in its own entrails. It was trying 1
to follow the others. The blood was pouring over the mud.
" Well, I am under fire at last," he thought. " I have
seen it ! " he reiterated, with a glow of satisfaction. " Now
I am a real soldier ! " The escort was now galloping at full
speed, and our hero realized that it was shot which was
tossing up the soil. In vain he gazed in the direction
whence the fusillade came. The white smoke of the bat-
tery seemed to him an immense way off, and amid the
steady and continuous grumble of the artillery fire he
thought he could distinguish other reports, much nearer.
He could make nothing of it at all.
At that moment the generals and their escort entered a
narrow lane, sunk about five feet below the level of the
ground. It was full of water.
The marshal halted, and put up his glass again. This
time Fabrizio had a good view of him. He saw a very
fair man with a large red head. " We have no faces like that
in Italy," he mused. " With my pale face and chestnut hair
I shall never be like him," he added sadly. To him those
words meant, " I shall never be a hero ! " He looked at the
hussars. All of them except one had fair mustaches. If
Fabrizio stared at them, they stared at him as well. He col-
oured under their scrutiny, and, to ease his shyness, turned
his head toward the enemy. He saw very long lines of
red figures, but what astonished him was that they all looked
so small. Those long files, which were really regiments and
divisions, seemed to him no higher than hedges. A line of
red-coated horsemen was trotting toward the sunken road,
along which the marshal and his escort had begun to move
slowly, splashing through the mud. The smoke made it
impossible to see anything ahead. Only, from time to time,
hurrying horsemen emerged from the white smoke.
Suddenly Fabrizio saw four men come galloping as hard
as they could tear from the direction in which the enemy
lay. " Ah ! " said he to himself, " we are going to be at-
tacked ! " Then he saw two of these men address the mar-
shal, and one of the generals in attendance upon him gal-
loped off toward the enemy, followed by two hussars of the
45
The Chartreuse of Par
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neighbour does." The marshal halted for some time close
to several bodies of cavalry, which he ordered to charge.
But for the next hour or two our hero was hardly conscious
of what was going on about him; he was overcome with
weariness, and when his horse galloped he bumped in his
saddle like a lump of lead.
Suddenly the sergeant shouted to his men :
" Don't you see the Emperor, you " and instantly
the escort shouted " Vive 1'Empereur " at the top of their
voices. My readers may well imagine that our hero stared
with all his eyes, but all he saw was a bevy of generals gal-
loping by, followed by another escort. The long, hanging
plumes on the helmets of the dragoons in attendance pre-
vented him from making out any faces. " So, thanks to
that cursed brandy, I've missed seeing the Emperor on the
battle-field." The thought woke him up completely. They
rode into another lane swimming with water, and the horses
paused to drink.
" So that was the Emperor who passed by? " he said to
the next man. ^
" Why, certainly ; the one in the plain coat. How
did you miss seeing him ? " answered his comrade good-
naturedly.
Fabrizio was sorely tempted to gallop after the Em-
peror's escort and join it. What a joy it would have been
to serve in a real war in attendance on that hero ! Was
it not for that very purpose that he had come to France?
" I am perfectly free to do it," he reflected, " for indeed the
only reason for my doing my present duty is that my horse
chose to gallop after these generals."
But what decided him on remaining was that his com-
rades the hussars treated him in a friendly fashion ; he began
to believe himself the close friend of every one of the sol-
diers with whom he had been galloping the last few hours ;
he conceived himself bound to them by the noble ties that
united the heroes of Tasso and Ariosto. If he joined the
Emperor's escort he would have to make fresh acquaint-
ances, and perhaps he might get the cold shoulder, for
the horsemen of the other escort were dragoons, and he,
43
The Chartreuse of Parma
like all those in attendance on the marshal, wore hussar
uniform. The manner in which the troopers now looked
at him rilled our hero with happiness. He would have done
anything on earth for his comrades ; his whole soul and
spirit were in the clouds. Everything seemed different to
him now that he was among friends, and he was dying to
ask questions.
" But I am not quite sober yet," he thought. " I must
remember the jailer's wife." As they emerged from the
sunken road he noticed that they were no longer escorting
Marshal Ney ; the general they were now attending was tall
and thin, with a severe face and a merciless eye.
He was no other than the Count d'A , the Lieutenant
Robert of May 15, 1796. What would have been his de-
light at seeing Fabrizio del Dongo!
For some time Fabrizio had ceased to notice the soil
flying hither and thither under the action of the bullets.
The party rode up behind a regiment of cuirassiers ; he
distinctly heard the missiles pattering on the cuirasses, and
saw several men fall.
The sun was already low, and it was just about to set,
when the escort, leaving the lane, climbed a little slope
which led into a ploughed field. Fabrizio heard a curious
little noise close to him, and turned his head. Four men
had fallen with their horses ; the general himself had been
thrown, but was just getting up, all covered with blood.
Fabrizio looked at the hussars on the ground ; three of them
were still moving convulsively, the fourth was shouting
" Pull me out ! " The sergeant and two or three troopers
had dismounted to help the general, who, leaning on his
aide-de-camp, was trying to walk a few steps away from his
horse, which was struggling on the ground and kicking
furiously.
The sergeant came up to Fabrizio. Just at that moment,
behind him and close to his ear, he heard somebody say,
" It's the only one that can still gallop." He felt his feet
seized and himself lifted up by them, while somebody sup-
ported his body under the arms. Thus he was drawn over
his horse's hind quarters, and allowed to slip on to the
4 49
The Chartreuse of Parma
ground, where he fell in a sitting posture. The aide-de-
camp caught hold of the horse's bridle, and the general,
assisted by the sergeant, mounted and galloped off, swiftly
followed by the six remaining men. In a fury, Fabrizio
jumped up and ran after them, shouting, " Ladri! ladri! "
(" Thieves ! thieves ! ") There was something comical
about this running after thieves over a battle-field. The
escort and General Count d'A soon vanished behind
a row of willow trees. Before very long Fabrizio, still be-
side himself with rage, reached a similar row, and just be-
yond it he came on a very deep watercourse, which he
crossed. When he reached the other side he began to swear
again at the sight but a very distant sight of the general
and his escort disappearing among the trees. " Thieves !
thieves ! " he shouted again, this time in French. Broken-
hearted much less by the loss of his horse than by the
treachery with which he had been treated weary, and starv-
ing, he cast himself down beside the ditch. If it had been the
enemy which had carried off his fine charger he would not
have given it a thought, but to see himself robbed and be-
trayed by the sergeant he had liked so much, and the hussars,
whom he had looked on as his brothers, filled his soul with
bitterness. The thought of the infamy of it was more than
he could bear, and, leaning his back against a willow, he
wept hot, angry tears. One by one his bright dreams of
noble and chivalrous friendship like the friendships of the
heroes of Jerusalem Delivered had faded before his eyes !
The approach of death would have been as nothing in his
sight if he had felt himself surrounded by heroic and tender
hearts, by noble-souled friends, whose hands should have
pressed his while he breathed out his last sigh. But how was
he to keep up his enthusiasm when he was surrounded by
such vile rascals? Fabrizio, like every angry man, had
fallen into exaggeration. After a quarter of an hour spent
in such melancholy thoughts, he became aware that the bul-
lets were beginning to fall among the row of trees which
sheltered his meditation. He rose to his feet, and made
an effort to discover his whereabouts. He looked at the
meadow, bounded by a broad canal and a line of bushy
50
The Chartreuse of Parma
willows, and thought he recognised the spot. Then he
noticed a body of infantry which was crossing the ditch and
debouching into the meadows some quarter of a league
ahead of him. " I was nearly caught napping," thought he.
" I must take care not to be taken prisoner." And he be-
gan to walk forward very rapidly. As he advanced, his
mind was relieved ; he recognised the uniform. The regi-
ments which he feared might have cut off his retreat be-
longed to the French army ; he bore to the right, so as to
reach them.
Besides the moral suffering of having been so vilely
deceived and robbed, Fabrizio felt another, the pangs of
which were momentarily increasing he was literally starv-
ing. It was with the keenest joy, therefore, that after walk-
ing, or rather running, for ten minutes, he perceived that
the body of infantry, which had also been moving very
rapidly, had halted, as though to take up a position. A few
minutes more and he was among the nearest soldiers.
" Comrades, could you sell me a piece of bread?"
" Halloo, here's a fellow who takes us for bakers ! "
The rude speech and the general titter that greeted it
overwhelmed Fabrizio. Could it be that war was not, after
all, that noble and general impulse of souls thirsting for
glory which Napoleon's proclamations had led him to con-
ceive it? He sat down, or rather let himself drop upon
the sward; he turned deadly pale. The soldier who had
spoken, and who had stopped ten paces off to clean the
lock of his gun with his handkerchief, moved a little nearer,
and threw him a bit of bread; then, seeing he did not
pick it up, the man put a bit of the bread into his mouth.
Fabrizio opened his eyes, and ate the bread without having
strength to say a word ; when at last he looked about for the
soldier, intending to pay him, he saw he was alone. The
nearest soldiers to him were some hundred paces off,
marching away. Mechanically he rose and followed them ;
he entered a wood. He was ready to drop with weari-
ness, and was already looking about for a place where
he might lay him down, when to his joy he recognized
first the horse, then the cart, and finally the cantiniere
51
The Chartreuse of Parma
he had met in the morning. She ran to him, quite startled
by his looks.
" March on, my boy," she said. " Are you wounded ? and
where's your fine horse ? " As she spoke she led him to-
ward her cart, into which she pushed him, lifting him under
the arms. So weary was our hero that before he had well
got into the cart he had fallen fast asleep.
CHAPTER IV
NOTHING woke him, neither the shots that rang out
close to the little cart, nor the jolting of the horse, which
the good woman whipped up with all her might. The
regiment, after having believed all day long that victory was
on its side, had been unexpectedly attacked by clouds of
Prussian cavalry, and was retreating, or rather flying, to-
ward the French border.
The colonel, a handsome, well-set-up young man, who
had succeeded to Macon's command, was cut down. The
major who took his place, an old fellow with white hair,
halted the regiment. " Come," he shouted to his men, " in
the days of the Republic none of us ran away till the enemy
forced us to it. You must dispute every inch of the ground,
and let yourselves be killed ! " he added with an oath. " It's
our own country that these Prussians are trying to invade
now."
The little cart stopped short, and Fabrizio woke with a
jump. The sun had disappeared long ago, and he noticed
to his surprise that it was almost dark. The soldiers were
running hither and thither in a state of confusion, which
greatly astonished our hero. It struck him that they all
looked very crestfallen.
" What's the matter ? " said he to the cantiniere.
" Nothing at all. The matter is that we're done for, my
boy ; that the Prussian cavalry is cutting us down that's all.
The fool of a general took it for our own at first. Now
then, look sharp ! Help me to mend the trace ; Cocotte
has broken it ! "
Several musket shots rang out ten paces off. Our hero,
now thoroughly rested, said to himself : " But really, all this
whole day through I have never fought at all ! All I have
53
The Chartreuse of Parma
done was to ride escort to a general. I must go and fight,"
said he to the woman.
" Make your mind easy ; you'll fight more than you
want. We're all done for ! "
" Aubry, my boy," she shouted to a corporal who was
passing by, " give an eye to the little cart now and then."
"Are you going to fight?" said Fabrizio to Aubry.
" No ; I'm going to put on my pumps and go to the
ball."
" I'm after you."
" Look after the little hussar," shouted the cantiniere ;
" he's a plucky young chap."
Corporal Aubry marched on without saying a word ;
eight or ten soldiers ran up and joined him. He led them
up behind a big oak with brambles growing all round it.
Once there, he stationed them, still without opening his lips,
in a very open line, along the edge of the wood, each man
at least ten paces from his neighbour.
" Now, then, you fellows," he said, and it was the first
time his voice had been heard, " don't you fire until you
hear the word of command. Remember, you've only three
cartridges apiece."
" But what is happening?" wondered Fabrizio to him-
self. At last, when he was alone with the corporal, he said,
" I have no musket."
" Hold your tongue, to begin with. Go forward fifty
paces beyond the wood ; you'll find some of our poor fel-
lows who've just been cut down. Take a musket and am-
munition-pouch off one of them. But mind you don't take
them from a wounded man ; take the gun and pouch from
some man who is quite dead. And look sharp, for fear
you should get shot at by our own people ! "
Fabrizio started off at a run, and soon came back with
a musket and ammunition-pouch.
" Load your musket, and get behind this tree ; and above
all, don't fire till I give the word."
" Great God ! " said the corporal, breaking off, " he
doesn't even know how to load his weapon ! " He came to
Fabrizio's rescue, and went on talking as he did it. " If
54
The Chartreuse of Parma
any of the enemy's cavalry ride at you to cut you down,
slip round your tree, and don't fire your shot till your man's
quite close not more than three paces off; your bayonet
must almost touch his uniform. But will you chuck that
great sword of yours away ? " exclaimed the corporal. " Do
you want it to throw you down? 'Sdeath, what soldiers
they send us nowadays ! " And as he spoke he snatched
at the sword himself and threw it angrily away. " Here,
wipe the flint of your gun with your handkerchief. But
have you ever fired a gun off ? "
" I am a sportsman."
" God be praised ! " said the corporal, with a sigh of
relief. " Well, mind you don't fire till I give the word,"
and he departed.
Fabrizio was filled with joy. " At last," said he to him-
self, " I am really going to fight and kill an enemy ! This
morning they were shooting at us, and all I did was to ex-
pose myself a fool's errand ! " He looked about in every
direction with the most eager curiosity. After a moment
seven or eight musket shots rang out close to him, but as
he received no order himself he stood quietly behind his
tree. It had grown almost quite dark ; he could have fan-
cied he was hunting bears in the Tramezzina, above Gri-
anta. He bethought him of a hunter's trick : took a car-
tridge from his pouch and extracted the ball. " If I get a
sight of him," said he, " I mustn't miss him," and he
slipped the extra ball down the barrel of his gun. He heard
two shots fired close to his tree, and at the same moment
he beheld a trooper dressed in blue galloping in front of
him from right to left. " He's more than three paces off,"
said he, " but at this distance I can't well miss him." He
covered the horseman with his musket, and pulled the trig-
ger. The horse fell, and his rider with him. Our hero
fancied he was hunting, and ran joyfully up to the quarry
he had just bagged. He had got quite close to the man,
who seemed to him to be dying, when two Prussian troopers
rode down upon him at the most astounding rate, with their
swords lifted to cut him down. Fabrizio took to his heels,
and ran for the wood, throwing away his gun so that he
55
The Chartreuse of Parma
might run the quicker. The Prussian troopers were not
more than three paces behind him when he reached a plan-
tation of young oaks, very straight growing, and about as
thick as a man's arm, which skirted the wood. The little
oaks checked the horsemen for a moment, but they soon
got through them and pursued Fabrizio across a clearing.
They were quite close on him again when he managed to
slip between seven or eight big trees. Just at that mo-
ment his face was almost scorched by the fire from five or
six muskets just in front of him. He lowered his head, and
when he raised it again he found himself face to face with
the corporal.
" Have you killed yours ? " said the corporal.
" Yes, but I've lost my musket."
" Muskets are not the thing we are short of. You're a
good chap, though you do look like a muff. You've done
well to-day, and these fellows have just missed the two
who were after you, and were riding straight upon them.
I didn't see them.
" Now we must make off. The regiment must be half a
mile away; and, besides, there's a little bit of meadow to
cross, where we may be taken in flank." As he talked the
corporal marched swiftly along at the head of his ten men,
some two hundred paces farther on. As he entered the little
meadow of which he had spoken they came upon a
wounded general supported by his aide-de-camp and a serv-
ant. " You must give me four men," said he to the cor-
poral, and his voice was faint. " I must be carried to the
ambulance ; my leg is shattered."
" You may go to the devil," replied the corporal ; " you
and all the rest of the generals. You've all of you betrayed
the Emperor this day."
" What ! " cried the general in a fury ; " you won't obey
my orders ? Do you know that I am General Count B ,
commanding your division ? " and so forth, with a string of
invectives.
The aide-de-camp rushed at the soldier. The corporal
thrust at him with his bayonet, and then made off at the
double, followed by his men.
56
The Chartreuse of Parma
" May they all be like you ! " he repeated with an oath.
" With their legs shattered and their arms too ! A pack of
rascals, sold to the Bourbons and traitors to the Emperor,
every one of them ! "
Fabrizio heard the hideous accusation with astonish-
ment.
Toward ten o'clock in the evening the little party came
upon the regiment, at the entrance to a big village consist-
ing of several narrow streets. But Fabrizio noticed that
Corporal Aubry avoided speaking to any of the officers.
" It's impossible to get on ! " cried the corporal. Every
street was crowded with infantry, cavalry, and especially
with artillery caissons and baggage wagons. The corporal
tried to get up three of these streets, but after about twenty
paces he was forced to stop. Everybody was swearing,
and everybody was in a rage.
" Some other traitor must be in command ! " cried the
corporal. " If the enemy has the sense to move round the
village we shall all be taken like dogs. Follow me, men ! "
Fabrizio looked; there were only six soldiers left of the
corporal's party. Through a big, open doorway they passed
into a great poultry-yard, and thence into a stable, from
which a little door admitted them into a garden. Here
they lost their way for a moment, and wandered hither and
thither. But at last, climbing over a hedge, they found
themselves in a huge field of buckwheat, and within less
than half an hour, following the noise of shouting and other
confused sounds, they had got back into the high-road on
the other side of the village.
The ditches on either side of the road were full of
muskets which had been thrown away, and Fabrizio
took one for himself. But the road, broad as it was,
was so crowded with carts and fugitives that in half
an hour the corporal and Fabrizio had hardly got five
hundred paces forward. They were told that the road
would lead them to Charleroi. As the village clock struck
eleven
" Let us strike across country again," cried the cor-
poral. The little band now only consisted of three privates,
57
The Chartreuse of Parma
the corporal, and Fabrizio. When they had got about a
quarter of a league from the high-road
" I'm done up ! " said one of the soldiers.
" And so am I," said another.
" That's fine news ! We're all in the same boat," said
the corporal. " But do as I tell you, and you'll be the
better for it." He caught sight of five or six trees grow-
ing beside a little ditch in the middle of an immense field
of corn.
" Make for the trees," said he to his men. " Lie down
here," he added when they had reached them, " and, above
all, make no noise. But before we go to sleep, which of
you has any bread ? "
" I have," said one of the soldiers.
" Hand it over," commanded the corporal, with a mas-
terful air. He divided the bread into five pieces, and took
the smallest for himself.
" A quarter of an hour before daybreak," he said as he
munched, " you'll have the enemy's cavalry upon you. The
great point is not to get yourselves run through. On these
great plains one man alone with cavalry at his heels is done
for, but five men together may save themselves. All of
you stick faithfully to me, don't fire except at close quarters,
and I'll undertake to get you into Charleroi to-morrow
night." An hour before daybreak the corporal roused
them; he made them reload their weapons. The noise on
the highway still continued ; it had been going on all night,
like the noise of a distant torrent.
" It's like the noise sheep make when they are running
away," said Fabrizio to the corporal, with an artless air.
"Will you hold your tongue, you greenhorn?" said
the corporal angrily, and the three privates, who, with
Fabrizio, composed the whole of his army, looked at our
hero with an expression of indignation, as if he had said
something blasphemous. He had insulted the nation !
" This is rather strong," thought our hero to himself.
" I noticed the same sort of thing at Milan under the
viceroy. They are not running away oh, dear, no ! With
these Frenchmen you must never tell the truth if it hurts
58
The Chartreuse of Parma
their vanity. But as for their angry looks, I don't care a
farthing for them, and I must make them understand it."
They were still marching along some five hundred paces
from the stream of fugitives which blocked the high-road.
A league farther on the corporal and his party crossed a
lane running into the high-road, in which many soldiers were
lying. Here Fabrizio bought a tolerable horse for forty
francs, and from among the numerous swords that were
lying about he carefully chose a long, straight weapon.
" As I am told I must thrust," he thought, " this will be the
best." Thus equipped, he put his horse into a canter, and
soon came up with the corporal, who had gone forward;
he settled himself in his stirrups, seized the sheath of his
sword with his left hand, and addressed the four French-
men. " These fellows who are fleeing along the highway
look like a flock of sheep ; they move like frightened
sheep ! "
In vain did he dwell upon the word sheep ; his comrades
had quite forgotten that only an hour previously it had
kindled their ire. Here we perceive one of the contrasts
between the French and the Italian character; the French-
man is doubtless the happier of the two events glide over
him ; he bears no spite.
I will not conceal the fact that Fabrizio was very much
pleased with himself after he had talked about those sheep.
They marched along, keeping up a casual conversation.
Two leagues farther on the corporal, who was very much
astonished at seeing nothing of the enemy's cavalry, said to
Fabrizio :
' You are our cavalry, so gallop toward that farm on the
hillock yonder, and ask the peasant if he'll sell us some
breakfast. Be sure you tell him there are only five of us.
If he demurs, give him five francs of your money, on ac-
count ; but make your mind easy, we'll take the silver piece
back after we've had our breakfast."
Fabrizio looked at the corporal ; his gravity was imper-
turbable, and he really wore an appearance of moral supe-
riority. He obeyed, and everything fell out just as the
commander-in-chief had foretold, only Fabrizio insisted the
59
The Chartreuse of Parma
peasant should not be forced to return the five-franc piece
he had paid him.
" The money is my own," said he to his comrades. " I'm
not paying for you ; I'm paying for the corn he has given
my horse."
Fabrizio's French was so bad that his comrades thought
they detected a tone of superiority about his remark ; they
were very much offended, and from that instant they began
to hatch a quarrel with him. They saw he was very dif-
ferent from themselves, and that fact displeased them. Fa-
brizio, on the contrary, began to feel exceedingly friendly
toward them. They had been marching along silently for
about two hours when the corporal, looking toward the
high-road, shouted in a transport of delight, " There's the
regiment ! " They were soon on the high-road themselves,
but alas, there were not two hundred men round the eagle !
Fabrizio soon caught sight of the cantiniere; she was walk-
ing along with red eyes, and every now and then her tears
overflowed. In vain did Fabrizio peer about, looking for
Cocotte and the little cart.
" Pillaged ! lost ! stolen ! " cried the poor woman, in an-
swer to our hero's inquiring glance. Without a word he
threw himself from his horse, took him by the bridle, and
said to her, " Get on his back ! " She didn't wait for a sec-
ond invitation. " Shorten the stirrups for me," she said.
Once she was comfortably settled on horseback, she began
to tell Fabrizio all the disasters of the preceding night.
After an endless story, eagerly listened to, however, by
our hero, who could make nothing of it, we must admit, but
who had a deep feeling of regard for the good-natured
cantiniere, she added, " And to think that it should be
Frenchmen who have robbed, and beaten, and ruined me ! "
" What ! it wasn't the enemy ? " cried Fabrizio, with an
artlessness which made his handsome face, so grave and
pale, look more charming than ever.
" What a silly you are, my poor child ! " returned the
woman, smiling through her tears ; " and silly as you are,
you are a very good fellow."
" And however silly he may be, he pulled his Prussian
60
The Chartreuse of Parma
down well yesterday," added Corporal Aubry, who had hap-
pened to find his way through the crowd to the other side
of the horse on which the good woman was riding. " But
he's proud," said the corporal. Fabrizio started a little.
"And what's your name?" continued he. " For, after all,
if any report is sent in, I should like to give it."
" My name is Vasi," answered Fabrizio, with rather an
odd look. " I mean," correcting himself hastily, " Boulot."
Boulot had been the name of the owner of the route
papers the jailer's wife had given him. Two nights before,
as he marched along, he had studied them carefully, for he
was beginning to reflect a little, and was not so astonished
by everything that happened to him as he had been at first.
In addition to poor Boulot's papers he had also carefully
kept the Italian passport according to which he claimed
the noble name of Vasi, dealer in barometers. When the
corporal had taxed him with being proud it had been on
the tip of his tongue to reply, " Proud ! I, Fabrizio Valserra,
Marchesino del Dongo, who is willing to bear the name
of a dealer in barometers called Vasi ? "
While he was considering all this and saying to him-
self, " I must really remember that my name is Boulot, or
I shall find myself in the prison with which Fate threatens
me," the corporal and the cantiniere had been exchanging
ideas about him.
" Don't take what I say for mere curiosity," said the
cantiniere, and she dropped the second person singular,
which, in her homely fashion, she had hitherto been using.
" I'm going to ask you these questions for your own good.
Who are you, really and truly ? "
Fabrizio was silent for a moment; he was considering
that he might never come across better friends from whom
to ask advice, and advice he sorely needed. " We are going
into a fortified town ; the governor will want to know who
I am, and if my answers show that I know nothing about
the hussar regiment, the uniform of which I wear, I shall
be thrown into prison at once." Being an Austrian sub-
ject, Fabrizio realized all the importance of his passport.
The members of his own family, highly born and religious
61
The Chartreuse of Parma
as they were, had suffered frequent annoyance in this par-
ticular. The good woman's questions were not, therefore,
the least displeasing to him, but when he paused before
replying to choose out his clearest French expressions, the
cantiniere, pricked with eager curiosity, added by way of
encouragement, " We'll give you good advice about your
behaviour, Corporal Aubry and I."
" I'm sure of that," answered Fabrizio. " My name is
Vasi, and I belong to Genoa ; my sister, who was a famous
beauty, married a captain. As I am only seventeen, she
sent for me that I might see France and improve myself. I
did not find her in Paris, and knowing she was with this
army I followed it, and have hunted in every direction with-
out being able to find her. The soldiers, struck by my for-
eign accent, had me arrested. I had money at that time ;
I gave some to the gendarme in charge of me. He gave me
papers and a uniform, and said, ' Be off with you, and swear
you'll never mention my name to a living soul/ "
" What w r as his name ? " said the cantiniere.
" I gave my word," said Fabrizio.
" He's right," said the corporal. " The gendarme was
a blackguard, but our comrade mustn't tell his name. And
what was the name of the captain who married your sister ?
If we knew his name we might find him."
" Teulier, of the Fourth Hussars," answered our hero.
" Then," said the corporal rather sharply, " your for-
eign accent made the soldiers take you for a spy ? "
" That's the vile word ! " cried Fabrizio, and his eyes
flamed. " I, who worship the Emperor and the French
that insult hurts me more than anything ! "
" There's no insult ; there's where you're mistaken," re-
plied the corporal gravely. " The soldiers' mistake was very
natural."
Then he explained, with more than a little pedantry, that
in the army every man must belong to a regiment and wear
a uniform, and, failing that, would certainly be taken for
a spy.
:< The enemy," he said, " has sent us heaps of them. In
this war traitors abound."
62
'The Chartreuse of Parma
The scales fell from Fabrizio's eyes, and for the first
time he understood that in everything that had happened
to him during the past two months he himself had been
at fault.
" But the boy must tell us the whole story," said the can-
tiniere, whose curiosity was momentarily growing keener.
Fabrizio obeyed, and when he had finished
" The fact is," said she seriously, and addressing the
corporal, " the child knows nothing about soldiering. This
war will be a wretched war, now that we are beaten and
betrayed. Why should he get his bones broken, gratis
pro Deo!"
" And with that," said the corporal, " he doesn't even
know how to load his gun, either in slow time or in quick !
It was I who put in the bullet that killed his Prussian for
him."
" And, besides," added the cantiniere, " he lets everybody
see his money, and he'll be stripped of everything as soon
as he leaves us."
" And the first cavalry sergeant he comes across," the
corporal went on, " will take possession of him and make
him pay for his drinks, and he may even be recruited for
the enemy, for there's treachery everywhere. The first
man he meets will tell him to follow him, and follow him
he will ! He would do much better to enlist in our regi-
ment."
" Not so, I thank you, corporal," cried Fabrizio eagerly.
" I'm much more comfortable on horseback ; and, besides,
I don't know how to load a musket, and you've seen that
I can manage a horse."
Fabrizio was very proud of this little speech of his. I
will not reproduce the long discussion as to his future
which ensued between the corporal and the cantiniere.
Fabrizio remarked that in the course of it they repeated
all the incidents of his story three or four times over the
soldiers' suspicions; the gendarme who sold him the uni-
form and the papers ; the manner in which he had fallen in
with the marshal's escort on the previous day ; the story of
the horse, etc. The cantiniere, with feminine curiosity, con-
63
The Chartreuse of Parma
stantly harked back to the manner in which he had been
robbed of the good horse she had made him buy.
" You felt somebody seize your feet, you were drawn
gently over your horse's tail, and were left sitting on the
ground."
" Why is it," wondered Fabrizio, " that they keep going
over things which we all know perfectly well ! " He had not
yet learned that this is the method whereby the humbler
folk in France think a matter out.
" How much money have you ? " inquired the cantiniere
of him. Fabrizio answered unhesitatingly ; he was sure of
this woman's noble-heartedness that is the finest side of the
French character.
" I may have about thirty napoleons in gold, and eight
or ten five-franc pieces, altogether."
" In that case your course is clear," cried the cantiniere.
" Get yourself out of this routed army, turn off to one side,
take the first tolerable road you can find on the right, ride
steadily forward, away from the army always. Buy yourself
civilian clothes at the first opportunity. When you are eight
or ten leagues off, and you see no more soldiers about you,
take post-horses, get to some good town, and rest there for
a week, and eat good beefsteaks. Never tell any one that
you have been with the army; the gendarmes would take
you up at once as a deserter, and, nice fellow as you are,
my boy, you are not sharp enough yet to take in the
gendarmes. Once you have civilian clothes upon your
back, tear your route papers into little bits, and take back
your real name. Say you're Vasi and where should he say
he comes from ? " she added, appealing to the corporal.
" From Cambray, on the Scheldt it's a good old town,
very small, do you hear? with a cathedral and Fenelon."
" That's it," said the cantiniere, " and never let out that
you've been in the battle, never breathe a word about
B - nor the gendarme who sold you the papers. When
you want to get back to Paris, go first of all to Versailles,
and get into the city from that side, just dawdling along on
your feet as if you were out for a walk. Sew your money
into your trousers, and when you have to pay for anything,
64
The Chartreuse of Parma
mind you only show just the money you need for that.
What worries me is that you'll be made a fool of, and you'll
be stripped of everything you have. And what is to be-
come of you without money, seeing you don't even know
how to behave? "
The good woman talked on and on, the corporal backing
her opinions by nodding his head, for she gave him no
chance of getting in a word. Suddenly the crowd upon
the high-road quickened its pace, and then, like a flash, it
crossed the little ditch on the left-hand side and fled at
full speed.
" The Cossacks, the Cossacks ! " rang out on every side.
" Take back your horse," cried the cantiniere.
" God forbid ! " said Fabrizio. " Gallop ! be off ! I give
him to you. Do you want money to buy another little
cart? Half of what I have is yours."
" Take back your horse, I say," said the good woman
in a rage, and she tried to get off. Fabrizio drew his sword.
" Hold on tight ! " he cried, and he struck the horse two
or three times with the flat of the blade. It broke into
a gallop and followed the fugitives.
Our hero looked at the high-road. Only a few min-
utes before it had been crowded with some two or three
thousand people, packed like peasants in a religious pro-
cession.
Since that cry of " Cossacks " there was not a soul upon
it. The fugitives had thrown away their shakos, their
muskets, and their swords.
Fabrizio, thoroughly astonished, climbed about twenty
or thirty feet into a field on the right of the road; thence
he looked up and down the high-road and across the plain.
There was not a sign of any Cossack. " Queer people,
these Frenchmen," said he to himself. Then he went on :
" As I am to go to the right, I may as well start at once.
These people may have had some reason for bolting which
I don't know." He picked up a musket, made sure it was
loaded, shook the powder in the priming, cleaned the flint,
then chose himself a well-filled cartridge pouch and looked
all round him again. He stood literally alone in the middle
5 6 5
Tlie Chartreuse of Parma
of the plain, which had lately been so packed with people.
In the far distance he saw the fugitives still running along
and beginning to disappear behind the trees. " This really
is very odd," he said. And remembering the corporal's
manoeuvre on the preceding night, he went and sat down
in the middle of a cornfield. He would not go far away,
because he hoped to rejoin his friends the corporal and the
cantiniere.
Sitting in the corn,* he discovered he had only eighteen
napoleons left, instead of thirty, but he had a few little dia-
monds which he had hidden in the lining of his hussar boots
on the morning of his parting with the jailer's wife. He
concealed his gold pieces as best he could, and pondered
deeply the while over this sudden disappearance of his fel-
low-travellers.
"Is it a bad omen for me?" he wondered. His chief
vexation was that he had not asked Corporal Aubry the
following question : " Have I really been in a battle ? " He
thought he had, and he would have been perfectly happy if
he could have been quite certain of it.
" In any case," he said, " I was present at it under a
prisoner's name, and I had the prisoner's route papers in
my pocket, and even his coat upon my back. All that is
fatal for my future. What would Father Blanes have said
of it? And that unlucky Boulot died in prison, too. It all
looks very ominous. My destiny will lead me to a prison ! "
Fabrizio would have given anything in the world to know
whether Boulot had really been guilty. He had a recollec-
tion that the jailer's wife had told him the hussar had been
locked up, not only for stealing spoons and forks, but for
having robbed a peasant of his cow, and further beaten the
said peasant unmercifully. He had no doubt that he him-
self would some day find himself in prison for misdoings
of the same nature as those of the hussar. He thought of
his friend the priest. What would he not have given to be
able to consult him ! Then he recollected that he had not
written to his aunt since he left Paris. " Poor Gina ! " he
said, and the tears rose to his eyes. All at once he heard a
slight noise close to him. It was a soldier feeding three
66
The Chartreuse of Parma
horses, whose bridles he had removed and who seemed
half dead with hunger, on the growing corn.
He was holding them by the snaffle. Fabrizio flew up
like a partridge, and the soldier was startled. Our hero, per-
ceiving it, could not resist the pleasure of playing the hus-
sar for a moment. " Fellow," he shouted, " one of those
horses is mine, but I will give you five francs for the trouble
you've taken to bring it to me ! " " I wish you may get
it," said the soldier. Fabrizio, who was within six paces,
levelled his musket at him. " Give up the horse, or I'll
blow your brains out ! " The soldier had his musket slung
behind him ; he twisted his shoulder back to get at it. " If
you stir a step you're a dead man ! " shouted Fabrizio, rush-
ing at him. " Well, well ! hand over the five francs, and
take one of the horses," said the soldier, rather crestfallen,
after glancing regretfully up and down the road, on which
not a soul was to be seen. Fabrizio, with his gun still raised
in his left hand, threw him three five-franc pieces with the
right. " Get down, or you're a dead man ! Put the bit on
the black horse, and move off with the others. I'll blow
your brains out if you shuffle ! " With an evil glance the
man obeyed. Fabrizio came close to the horse and slipped
the bridle over his left arm without taking his eyes off the
soldier, who was slinking slowly away. When he saw he
was about fifty paces off our hero sprang upon the horse's
back.' He had hardly got into the saddle, and his foot was
still searching for the right stirrup, when a bullet whistled
close beside his head; it was the soldier who had fired his
musket at him. Fabrizio, in a fury, galloped toward him.
He took to his heels, and was soon galloping away on one
of his horses. " Well, he's out of range now," said Fabrizio
to himself. The horse he had just bought was a splendid
animal, but it seemed to be almost starving. Fabrizio went
back to the high-road, which was still quite deserted ; he
crossed it, and trotted on toward a little undulation in the
ground on the left, where he hoped he might find the can-
tiniere, but when he reached the top of the tiny eminence
he could only see a few scattered soldiers more than a league
away. He sighed. " It is written," he said, " that I am
The Chartreuse of Parma
never to see that good kind woman again ! " He went to a
farm which he had noticed in the distance, on the right of
the road. Without dismounting he fed his poor horse with
oats, which he paid for beforehand. It was so starving that
it actually bit at the manger. An hour later he was trotting
along the high-road, still in the vague hope that he might
find the cantiniere, or at all events come across Corporal
Aubry. As he pushed steadily forward, looking about on
every side, he came to a marshy stream, spanned by a nar-
row wooden bridge. Near the entrance to the bridge and
on the right-hand side of the road stood a lonely house,
which displayed the sign of the White Horse. " I'll have
my dinner there," said Fabrizio to himself. Beside the
bridge was a cavalry officer with his arm in a sling. He
was sitting on his horse and looked very sad. Ten paces
from him three dismounted troopers were busy with their
pipes.
" Those fellows," said Fabrizio to himself, " look very
much as if they might be inclined to buy my horse even
cheaper than the price I've paid for him." The wounded
officer and the three men on foot were watching him, and
seemed to be waiting for him. " I really ought to avoid
that bridge and follow the river bank on the right; that's
what the cantiniere would advise me to do, to get out of the
difficulty. Yes," said our hero to himself, " but if I take to
flight I shall be ashamed of it to-morrow. Besides, my
horse has good legs, and the officer's horse is probably tired
out. If he tries to dismount me I'll take to my heels."
Reasoning thus, Fabrizio shook his horse together and rode
on as slowly as possible.
" Come on, hussar ! " shouted the officer, with a voice
of authority. Fabrizio came on a few steps, and then halted.
" Do you want to take my horse from me ? " he called out.
" Not a bit of it ! Come on ! "
Fabrizio looked at the officer. His mustache was
white, he had the most honest face imaginable, the handker-
chief which supported his left arm was covered with blood,
and his right hand was also wrapped in a bloody bandage.
" It's those men on foot who will snatch at the horse's
68
The Chartreuse of Parma
bridle," thought Fabrizio; but when he looked closer he
saw that the men on foot were wounded as well.
" In the name of all that's honourable," said the officer,
who wore a colonel's epaulettes, " keep watch here, and tell
every dragoon, light-cavalry man, and hussar you may see
that Colonel Le Baron is in the inn there, and that he orders
them to report themselves to him." The old colonel looked
broken-hearted. His very first words had won our hero's
heart, and he replied very sensibly, " I'm very young, sir ;
perhaps nobody would listen to me. I ought to have a writ-
ten order from you."
" He's right," said the colonel, looking hard at him.
" Write the order, La Rose ; you can use your right hand."
Without a word, La Rose drew a little parchment-covered
book from his pocket, wrote a few words, tore out the leaf,
and gave it to Fabrizio. The colonel repeated his orders,
adding that Fabrizio would be relieved after two hours, as
was only fair, by one of the wounded soldiers who were with
him. This done, he went into the tavern with his men.
Fabrizio, so greatly had he been struck by the silent and
dreary sorrow of the three men, sat motionless at the end
of the bridge, watching them disappear. " They were like
enchanted genii," said he to himself. At last he opened the
folded paper, and read the following order:
" Colonel Le Baron, Sixth Dragoons, commanding the
Second Brigade of the First Cavalry Division of the Four-
teenth Corps, orders all cavalry, dragoons, light-cavalry men,
and hussars not to cross the bridge, and to report themselves
to him at his headquarters, the White Horse Tavern, close
to the bridge.
" Dated. Headquarters, close to the bridge over
the Sainte. June 19, 1815.
" Signed for Colonel Le Baron, wounded in the
right arm, and by his orders.
" SERGEANT LA ROSE."
Fabrizio had hardly kept guard on the bridge for half
an hour when six light-cavalry men mounted, and three on
The Chartreuse of Parma
foot, approached him. He gave them the colonel's order.
" We are coming back," said four of the mounted men, and
they crossed the bridge at full trot. By that time Fabrizio
was engaged with the two others. While the altercation
grew warmer the three men on foot slipped over the bridge.
One of the two remaining mounted men ended by asking to
see the order, and carried it off, saying, " I'll take it to my
comrades, who are sure to come back ; you wait patiently for
them," and he galloped off with his companion after him.
The whole thing was done in an instant.
Fabrizio, in a fury, beckoned to one of the wounded
soldiers who had appeared at one of the tavern windows.
The man, whom Fabrizio observed to be wearing a ser-
geant's stripes, came downstairs, and shouted, as he drew
near him, " Draw your sword, sir ! Don't you know you're
on duty ? " Fabrizio obeyed, and then said, " They've car-
ried off the order ! "
" They're still savage over yesterday's business," an-
swered the other drearily. " I'll give you one of my pistols.
If they break through again fire it in the air, and I'll come
down, or the colonel will make his appearance."
Fabrizio had noticed the gesture of surprise with which
the sergeant had received the intelligence that the order had
been carried off. He had realized that the incident was a per-
sonal insult to himself, and was resolved that nothing of the
sort should happen in future. He had gone back proudly to
his post, armed with the sergeant's pistol, when he saw seven
hussars come riding up. He had placed himself across the
entrance to the bridge. He gave them the colonel's order,
which vexed them very much. The boldest tried to get
across. Fabrizio, obeying the wise advice of his friend the
cantiniere, who had told him the previous morning that he
must cut and not thrust, lowered the point of his big straight
sword, and made as though he would have run through
anybody who disobeyed the order.
" Ha ! the greenhorn wants to kill us, as if we had not
been killed enough yesterday ! " They all drew their
swords, and fell upon Fabrizio. He gave himself up for
dead, but he remembered the look of surprise on the ser-
70
"// she could have had her will he would not
have started at all"
The Chartreuse of Parma
geant's face, and resolved he would not be despised a second
time. He backed slowly over his bridge, trying to thrust
with his point as he went. He looked so queer, with his
great straight cavalry sword, much too heavy for him, and
which he did not know how to handle, that the hussars
soon saw who they had to do with. Then they tried not to
wound him, but to cut his coat off his back. He thus re-
ceived three or four small sword cuts on the arm. Mean-
while, faithful to the cantiniere's advice, he kept on thrusting
with all his might. Unluckily one of his lunges wounded
a hussar in the hand. The man, furious at being touched
by such a soldier, replied with a violent thrust which
wounded Fabrizio in the thigh. The wound was all the
deeper because our hero's charger, instead of escaping from
the melee, seemed to delight in it, and to throw himself de-
liberately on the assailants. The hussars, seeing Fabrizio's
blood running down his right arm, were afraid they had
gone too far, and, forcing him over to the left parapet of
the bridge, they galloped off. The instant Fabrizio was
free for a moment he fired his pistol in the air to warn the
colonel.
Four mounted hussars and two on foot belonging to the
same regiment as the last had been coming toward the
bridge, and were still two hundred paces off when the
pistol shot rang out. They were carefully watching what
happened on the bridge, and thinking Fabrizio had fired
upon their comrades, the four mounted men galloped down
upon him, brandishing their swords; it was a regular
charge. Colonel Le Baron, summoned by the pistol shot,
opened the tavern door, rushed on to the bridge just as the
hussars galloped up to it, and himself ordered them to halt.
" There's no colonel here," cried one of the men, and
he spurred his horse. The colonel in his anger broke off
his remonstrance, and seized the rein of the horse on the off
side with his wounded hand. " Halt, sir ! " he cried to the
hussar. " I know you. You belong to Captain Henriet's
company."
" Well, then, let the captain give me his orders ! Captain
Henriet was killed yesterday," he added with a sneer, " and
The Chartreuse of Parma
you may go and be damned ! " As he spoke he tried to
force his way through, and knocked over the old colonel,
who fell in a sitting posture on the floor of the bridge.
Fabrizio, who was two paces farther on the bridge, but
facing the tavern, urged his horse furiously forward, and
while the hussar's horse overthrew the colonel, who still
clung to the off rein, he thrust vehemently and angrily at
its rider. Luckily the man's horse, which was dragged
downward by the bridle, on to which the colonel was still
hanging, started to one side, so that the long blade of Fa-
brizio's heavy cavalry sword slipped along the hussar's
waistcoat and came right out under his nose. The hussar,
in his fury, turned round and hacked at Fabrizio with all
his strength, cutting through his sleeve and making a deep
wound in his arm. Our hero tumbled off his horse. One
of the dismounted hussars, seeing the two defenders of the
bridge lying on the ground, seized his opportunity, sprang
on to Fabrizio's horse, and would have galloped it off the
bridge and away, but the sergeant, who had hurried up from
the tavern, had seen his colonel fall, and believed him to
be seriously wounded. He ran after Fabrizio's horse, and
plunged the point of his sword into the thief's back, so that
he, too, fell. Then the hussars, seeing nobody but the ser-
geant standing on the bridge, galloped across it and rode
rapidly away.
The sergeant went to look after the wounded. Fabrizio
had already picked himself up ; he was not in much pain, but
he was losing a great deal of blood. The colonel rose to his
feet more slowly; he was quite giddy from his fall, but he
was not wounded at all.
" The only thing that hurts me," he said to his sergeant,
" is the old wound in my hand." The hussar whom the ser-
geant had wounded was dying.
" The devil may take him ! " cried the colonel. " But,"
said he to the sergeant and the two other troopers who now
hurried up, " look after this boy, whose life I did wrong
to endanger. I will stay at the bridge myself, and try to stop
these madmen. Take the young fellow to the inn and dress
his arm. Use one of my shirts for bandages."
72
CHAPTER V
THE whole affair had not lasted more than a minute.
Fabrizio's wounds were of the most trifling description ; his
arm was bound up in strips torn off one of the colonel's
shirts. He was offered a bed in the upper story of the inn.
" But while I am lying comfortably here," said Fabrizio
to the sergeant, " my horse will feel lonely in the stable, and
may take himself off with another master."
" Not bad, for a recruit," said the sergeant, and he set-
tled Fabrizio on some clean straw in the very manger to
which his horse was tied.
Then, as Fabrizio felt very faint, he brought him a bowl
of hot wine and talked to him for a while. Certain compli-
ments included in this conversation made our hero feel as
happy as a king.
It was near daybreak on the following morning when
Fabrizio awoke. The horses were neighing long and loud,
and making a terrible racket. The stable was full of smoke.
At first Fabrizio could make nothing of the noise, and did
not even realize where he was. At last, when the smoke
had half stifled him, it struck him that the house was on
fire ; in the twinkling of an eye he was out of the stable and
on his horse's back. He looked up and saw the smoke
pouring out of the two windows above the stable, and the
roof of the house hidden in a black, whirling cloud. A good
hundred fugitives had reached the tavern during the night,
and all of them were shouting and swearing at once. The
five or six who were close to Fabrizio seemed to him to be
completely drunk. One of them tried to stop him, shout-
ing, " Where are you taking my horse ? "
When Fabrizio had gone about a quarter of a league he
looked back. Nobody was following him ; the house was
blazing. He recognised the bridge, thought of his wound,
73
The Chartreuse of Parnm
and touched his arm, which felt hot and tight in the band-
ages. And what had become of the old colonel ? " He
gave his shirt to bind up my arm." That morning our hero
was the coolest and most collected man in the world; the
quantities of blood he had lost had washed all the romantic
qualities out of his character.
" To the right," said he, " and let us be off." He quietly
followed the course of the river, which, after passing under
the bridge, flowed toward the right side of the road. He
remembered the good cantiniere's advice. " What true
friendship ! " said he to himself ; " what an honest soul ! "
After an hour he began to feel very weak. " Now
then," he thought, " am I going to faint ? If I faint some-
body will steal my horse, and perhaps my clothes, and with
my clothes my valuables." Pie had not strength to guide
his horse, and was doing his best to keep steady in the
saddle, when a peasant digging in a field hard by the high-
road noticed his pallor, and offered him a glass of beer and
a bit of bread.
" Seeing you so pale," said the man, " I thought you
might have been wounded in the great battle." Never did
help come more in the nick of time. When Fabrizio began
to chew that morsel of black bread his eyes had begun to
sting when he looked in front of him. When he had
pulled himself together a little he thanked his benefactor.
" And where am I ? " he inquired. The peasant informed
him that three quarters of a league farther on he would
find the little town of Zonders, where he would be well
cared for. Fabrizio reached the town without well know-
ing what he was doing, his only care being how not to
fall off at every step his horse took. He saw a big gate
standing open and rode through it ; it led to a tavern, The
Currycomb. The good-natured mistress of the house, an
exceedingly fat woman, ran forward, calling for help in a
voice that shook with pity. Two young girls assisted Fa-
brizio to dismount. Before he was well out of his saddle he
fainted dead away. A surgeon was summoned and he was
bled. On that day and those following it he hardly knew
what was being done to him. He slept almost incessantly.
74
The Chartreuse of Parma
The puncture in his leg threatened to turn into a serious
abscess. Whenever he was in his senses he begged that
care might be taken of his horse, and frequently reiterated
that he would pay well, which mightily offended the good
hostess and her daughters. He had been admirably tended
for a fortnight, and was beginning to collect his thoughts
a little, when he noticed, one evening, that his nurses seemed
very much disturbed. Presently a German officer entered
his room. The language in which his questions were an-
swered was one which Fabrizio did not understand, but he
clearly perceived that he himself was the subject of the con-
versation ; he pretended to be asleep. Some time afterward,
when he thought the officer must have departed, he called his
hostess.
" Did not that officer come to write my name down on
a list and take me prisoner ? "
With tears in her eyes his hostess admitted the fact.
" Well, then," he cried, raising himself up in his bed,
" there's money in my pocket. Buy me civilian clothes,
and this very night I'll ride away. You've saved my life
once already by taking me in when I should have fallen and
died in the street. Save it again by helping me to get back
to my mother."
At this point the landlady's daughters both burst into
tears. They trembled for Fabrizio's safety, and as they
could hardly understand any French, they came close to his
bed to question him. They held a discussion with their
mother in Flemish, but every moment their wet eyes turned
pityingly upon our hero. He thought he gathered that his
flight might compromise them seriously, but that they were
ready to take the risk. He clasped his hands together and
thanked them earnestly.
A local Jew undertook to provide him with a suit of
clothes, but when he brought it, about ten o'clock that
night, the young ladies discovered, by comparing the coat
with Fabrizio's hussar jacket, that it was a great deal too
large for him. They set to work on it at once ; there was
no time to be lost. Fabrizio showed them several napoleons
hidden in his garments, and begged them to sew them into
75
The Chartreuse of Parma
those which had just been bought. With the suit the Jew
had brought a fine pair of new boots. Fabrizio did not hesi-
tate to ask the kind-hearted girls to cut open his hussar
boots at the place he showed them, and his little diamonds
were soon hidden in the lining of his new foot-gear.
A singular result of his loss of blood, and his conse-
quent weakness, was that Fabrizio had almost entirely for-
gotten his French. He talked to his hostesses in Italian, and
as they spoke nothing but their Flemish patois, intercourse
was really carried on solely by signs. When the young
girls, perfectly disinterested as they were, beheld the dia-
monds, their admiration for our hero knew no bounds.
They were convinced he was a prince in disguise. Aniken,
the younger and more artless of the two, kissed him without
further ceremony. Fabrizio, for his part, thought them
charming, and toward midnight, when, in consideration of
the journey he was about to take, the surgeon had allowed
him to drink a little wine, he was half inclined not to depart
at all.
" Where could I be better off than I am here ? " he said.
Nevertheless, about two o'clock in the morning he got up
and dressed. Just as he was leaving his room the kindly
hostess informed him that his horse had been carried off
by the officer who had searched the house a few hours
previously.
" Ah, the blackguard ! " cried Fabrizio, " to play such
a trick on a wounded man ! " and he began to swear. Our
young Italian was not enough of a philosopher to recollect
the price he himself had paid for the horse.
Aniken told him, through her tears, that a horse had
been hired for him. If she could have had her will he would
not have started at all. The parting was a tender one. Two
tall young fellows, the good landlady's kinsmen, lifted Fa-
brizio into his saddle and walked along, holding him up,
while a third preceded the little party by a few hundred
paces, on the lookout for any suspicious patrol upon the
road. After two hours' journey a halt was made at the
house of a cousin of the hostess of The Currycomb. In
spite of all Fabrizio could say he could not induce the
The Chartreuse of Parma
young men to leave him. Nobody, they declared, knew
the paths through the forest as well as they!
" But to-morrow morning, when my escape becomes
known, and you are not seen in the neighbourhood, your
absence will get you into trouble," urged Fabrizio.
A fresh start was made, and by good luck, when daylight
came, a heavy fog shrouded the plain. Toward eight o'clock
in the morning they were near a small town. One of the
young men went on to see whether the post-horses had all
been stolen. The postmaster had been able to hide them,
and to fill up his stables with vile screws instead. Two
horses were fetched out of the swamps where they had been
concealed, and three hours later Fabrizio clambered into a
little cabriolet, shabby enough, but dra\vn by two excellent
posters. He felt stronger already ; his parting with the host-
esses' young kinsmen was pathetic in the extreme. Never
not under one of the friendly pretexts Fabrizio could in-
vent could he induce them to accept a halfpenny.
" In your condition, sir, you need it much more than
we do," was the honest young fellows' invariable reply.
They departed at last, bearing letters in which Fabrizio,
somewhat steadied by the excitement of his journey, had
endeavoured to express all he felt for his benefactresses.
The tears were in his eyes as he wrote, and in his letter to
little Aniken some love passages certainly occurred.
Nothing extraordinary happened during the rest of his
journey. When he reached Amiens the sword thrust in
his thigh was causing him great suffering. The country
surgeon had not thought of keeping the wound open, and in
spite of the bleeding, an abscess had formed. During the
fortnight Fabrizio spent in the inn at Amiens, kept by an
obsequious and covetous family, the allies were overrunning
France, and so deeply did our hero reflect upon his late
experiences that he became another man. There was only
one point on which he still remained a child. Had the fight-
ing he had seen really been a battle? and, secondly, Was
it the battle of Waterloo?
For the first time in his life he found pleasure in read-
ing ; he was always hoping to discover in the newspapers or
77
The Chartreuse of Parma
the descriptions of the battle something which would en-
able him to recognise the ground he had ridden over with
Marshal Ney's and the other general's escort. During his
stay at Amiens he wrote almost every day to his good
friends of the Currycomb Inn. As soon as he was cured
he went to Paris. At his former hotel he found twenty let-
ters from his mother and his aunt, all beseeching him to re-
turn as quickly as possible. The last one from the Counters
Pietranera was couched in a sort of enigmatic tone which
alarmed him very much. This letter dispelled all his tender
dreams. To a man of his nature a word sufficed to stir up
apprehensions of the gravest kind, and his imagination im-
mediately depicted misfortunes aggravated by the most
gruesome details.
" Be careful not to sign your letters when you write us
news of yourself," said the countess. " When you return
you must not come straight to the Lake of Como. Stop
in Swiss territory, at Lugano." He was to arrive at that little
town under the name of Cavi ; there, at the principal inn, he
was to find his aunt's man-servant, who would tell him what
he was to do next. The countess closed her letter with the
following words : " Use every means to conceal the folly
you have committed, and, above all, keep no paper, whether
written or printed, about you ! In Switzerland you will be
surrounded by the friends of Ste.-Marguerite.* If I have
money enough I will send somebody to the Hotel des
Balances, at Geneva, to give you details which I can not
write, and which, nevertheless, you must have before you
arrive. But for God's sake, not another day in Paris; our
spies there will recognise you ! "
Fabrizio's imagination began to picture the most ex-
traordinary things, and the only pleasure of which he was
capable was that of trying to guess what the amazing fact
might be, with which his aunt desired to acquaint him.
Twice, during his journey across France, he was arrested,
* This name, thanks to Signer Pellico, is known all over Europe.
It is that of the street in Milan in which the Ministry of Police and
the prisons are situated.
The Chartreuse of Parma
but each time he contrived to obtain his release. These
annoyances he owed to his Italian passport, and that strange
title of " dealer in barometers," which tallied so ill with
his youthful countenance, and his arm in a sling.
At Geneva, at last, he met one of his aunt's serving-men,
who told him, from her, that he, Fabrizio, had been de-
nounced to the Milanese police, as having gone over to
Napoleon with proposals formulated by a huge conspiracy
organized in his late Kingdom of Italy. " If this was not
the object of his journey," said his accuser, " why should
he have taken a false name ? " His mother would endeavour
to prove the truth; firstly, that he had never gone beyond
Switzerland, and, secondly, that he had left the castle hastily
in consequence of a quarrel with his elder brother.
When Fabrizio heard the story, his first feeling was one
of pride. " I've been taken for a sort of ambassador to
Napoleon ; I am supposed to have had the honour of speak-
ing to that great man. Would to God it had been so ! "
He recollected that his ancestor seven generations back,
grandson of that Valserra who had come to Milan with
Sforza, underwent the honour of having his head cut off
by the duke's enemies, who laid hands upon him as he was
going into Switzerland, to carry proposals to the cantons and
to collect recruits. He could see, in his mind's eye, the en-
graving recording this fact in the family genealogy. When
Fabrizio cross-questioned the man-servant, he found him in
a fury about a matter which he let slip at last, in spite of
the fact that the countess had told him several times over to
hold his tongue about it. It was Fabrizio's elder brother,
Ascanio, who had denounced him to the Milanese police.
This cruel fact threw our hero into a state bordering on
madness. To get into Italy from Geneva, it was necessary
to pass through Lausanne. He insisted on starting in-
stantly on foot, and walking ten or twelve leagues, although
the diligence from Geneva to Lausanne was to depart within
two hours. Before he left Geneva, he had a quarrel in one
of the dreary cafes of the place, with a young man who, so
he declared, had looked at him strangely. It was perfectly
true. The phlegmatic, sensible young citizen, who never
79
The Chartreuse of Parma
thought of anything but making money, believed him to
be mad. When Fabrizio entered the cafe, he had cast wild
glances about him on every side, and then spilled the cup
of coffee he had ordered over his trousers. In this quarrel,
Fabrizio's first instinctive movement was quite in the style
of the sixteenth century. Instead of suggesting a duel to
the young Genevan, he drew his dagger and threw himself
upon him to strike him. In that moment of fury Fabrizio
forgot everything he had learned concerning the code of
honour, and fell back on the instinct or I should rather say
on the memories of his early boyhood.
The confidential servant whom he met at Lugano in-
creased his rage by relating fresh details. Fabrizio was very
much loved at Grianta, and nobody would ever have men-
tioned his name. But for his brother's spiteful proceeding
every one would have pretended to believe he was at Milan,
and the attention of the police would never have been
drawn to his absence. " You may be quite certain that the
customs officers hold a description of your appearance/'
said his aunt's messenger, " and if we travel by the high-road
you will be stopped on the frontier."
Fabrizio and his attendants knew every mountain-path
between Lugano and trie Lake of Como. They disguised
themselves as hunters in other words, as smugglers and
as they were three together, and resolute-looking fellows
into the bargain, the customs officers they met did no more
than greet them civilly. Fabrizio arranged matters so as to
arrive at the castle about midnight. At that hour his father
and all the servants with powdered heads were sure to be
safe in their beds. Without any difficulty he dropped into
the deep ditch and entered the castle by a small window
opening out of a cellar. Here his mother and his aunt were
awaiting him. Very soon his sisters joined them. For a
long time they were all in such a transport of tenderness
and tears, that they had hardly begun to talk sensibly before
the first rays of dawn warned these beings, who believed
themselves unhappy, that time was slipping by.
" I hope your brother will not have suspected your re-
turn ! " said the Countess Pietranera. " I have hardly
80
The Chartreuse of Parma
spoken to him since this fine prank of his, and his vanity did
me the honour of being very much hurt. To-night, at sup-
per, I condescended to address him I had to find some
pretext for hiding my wild delight, which might have roused
his suspicions. Then, when I perceived how proud he was
of this sham reconciliation, I took advantage of his satis-
faction to make him drink a great deal more than was good
for him, and he will certainly not have thought of lying in
ambush to carry on his spying operations."
" It's in your room that we must hide our hussar," said
the marchesa. " He can not start at once. We have not
collected our thoughts sufficiently as yet, and we must
choose the best way of throwing that terrible Milanese
police off the scent."
This idea was promptly put into practice. But on the
following day the marchese and his eldest son remarked that
the marchesa spent all her time in her sister-in-law's apart-
ment. We will not depict the passion of joy and tenderness
that filled these happy beings' hearts during the whole of
that day. The Italian nature is much more easily wrung
than ours by the suspicions and wild fancies born of a fever-
ish imagination. But its joys, on the other hand, are far
deeper than ours, and last much longer. During the whole
of that day the countess and the marchesa were absolutely
beside themselves ; they made Fabrizio begin all his stories
over and over again. At last, so difficult did any further
concealment of their feelings from the sharp eyes of the
marchese and his son Ascanio appear, that they decided to
be L ake themselves to Milan, and there conceal their mutual
ecstasy.
The ladies took the usual boat belonging to the castle
as far as Como ; any other course would have aroused innu-
merable suspicions. But when they reached the port of
Como, the marchesa recollected that she had left papers of
the most important description at Grianta. She sent the
boatmen back at once, and they were thus deprived of all
opportunity of noticing the manner in which the two ladies
employed their time at Como. The moment the latter ar-
rived, they hired one of the carriages that always stand near
6 81
The Chartreuse of Parma
the high tower, built in the middle ages, which rises above
the Milan gate, and started off at once, without giving the
coachman time to speak to a soul. About a quarter of a
league beyond the town, they fell in with a young sportsman
of their acquaintance, who, as they had no gentleman with
them, was good-natured enough to attend them to the gates
of Milan, whither he himself was bound, shooting on the way.
Everything promised well, and the ladies were talking most
merrily to the young traveller when, just where the road
bends round the base of the pretty hill and wood of San
Giovanni, three gendarmes in disguise sprang to the horses'
heads. " Ah ! " cried the marchesa, " my husband has be-
trayed us ! " and she fainted away.
A sergeant of gendarmes, who had been standing some-
what in the background, approached the carriage. He
stumbled as he walked, and spoke in a voice that was red-
olent of the tavern : " I am sorry to have to perform this
duty, but I arrest you, General Fabio Conti ! " Fabrizio
thought the sergeant was poking fun at him by calling him
general. " I'll pay you out for this," thought he to himself.
He had his eye on the gendarmes, and was watching his op-
portunity to leap from the carriage and take to his heels
across the fields.
"he countess smiled at a venture, as I think and then
said to the sergeant, " But, my good sergeant, do you take
this child of sixteen years old to be General Conti ! "
" Are you not the general's daughter ? " said the ser-
geant.
"Behold my father!" said the countess, pointing "to
Fabrizio. The gendarmes burst into a roar of laughter.
" Show your passports, and don't bandy words ! " said
the sergeant, nettled by the general mirth.
' These ladies never take any passport to go to Milan,"
said the coachman, with a cool and philosophic air ; " they
are coming from their house at Grianta. This one is the
Countess Pietranera, and that one is the Marchesa del
Dongo."
The sergeant, quite put out of countenance, went to the
horses' heads, and there held council with his men. The
82
The Chartreuse of Parma
conference had lasted quite five minutes, when the countess
begged the carriage might be moved a few paces farther
into the shade ; the heat was overwhelming, though it
was only eleven o'clock in the day. Fabrizio, who had been
looking about carefully in all directions, with a view to mak-
ing his escape, noticed, emerging from a field path which
led on to the dusty road, a young girl of fourteen or fifteen,
with her handkerchief to her face, shedding frightened
tears. She walked between two gendarmes in uniform,
and three paces behind her, also flanked by gendarmes, came
a tall, bony man, who gave himself dignified airs, like a
prefect walking in a procession.
" But where did you find them ? " said the sergeant, who
now appeared quite drunk.
" Running away across the fields, and not a passport be-
tween them ! " The sergeant seemed to have quite lost his
bearings. He had five prisoners now, instead of the two
he had been sent out to take. He retired a little distance,
leaving only one man to look after the prisoner with the
majestic demeanour, and another to keep the horses from
moving on.
" Stay here," whispered the countess to Fabrizio, who
had already jumped out of the carriage. " It will all coie
right."
They heard a gendarme exclaim : " What does it matter ?
If they have no passports we have a right to take them up."
The sergeant did not seem quite so sure. The name of
Pietranera had alarmed him. He had known the general,
and he was not aware of his death. " The general," he re-
flected, " is not the man to forego his vengeance if I arrest
his wife without authority."
During this deliberation, which was somewhat lengthy,
the countess had entered into conversation with the young
girl, who was still standing in the dust, on the road beside
the carriage. She had been struck by her beauty.
" The sun will do you harm, signorina. That honest
soldier," she added, addressing the gendarme standing at
the horses' heads, " will let you get into the carriage, I am
sure ! " Fabrizio, who was prowling round the carriage,
83
The Chartreuse of Parma
came forward to help the young lady into it. She had her
foot on the step, and Fabrizio's hand was under her arm,
when the imposing individual, who was standing six paces
behind the carriage, called out, in a voice that his desire
to look dignified made yet more rasping : " Stop on the
road ! Do not get into a carriage which does not belong
to you ! " Fabrizio had not heard this order. The young
girl, instead of trying to get up, tried to get down, and as
Fabrizio still held her, she fell into his arms. He smiled,
and she blushed deeply; for a moment after the girl had
freed herself from his clasp they stood looking into each
other's eyes.
" What a charming prison companion ! " said Fabrizio to
himself. " What deep thoughts lie behind that brow ! That
woman would know how to love ! "
The sergeant approached with an air of importance.
"Which of these ladies is called Clelia Conti?"
" I," said the young girl.
" And I," exclaimed the elderly man, " I am General
Fabio Conti, Chamberlain to his Serene Highness the
Prince of Parma, and I think it most improper that a man
of my position should be hunted like a thief ! "
" The day before yesterday, when you embarked at the
port of Como, did you not send the police inspector, who
asked you for your passport, about his business? Well,
to-day the inspector prevents you from going about your
business."
" My boat had already pushed off from the shore. I was
in a hurry, a storm was coming on, a man without a uniform
shouted to me from the pier to come back into the port. I
told him my name, and I went on my way."
" And this morning you sneaked out of Como ! "
" A man in my position does not take out a passport to
go from Milan to see the lake. This morning, at Como, I
was told I should be arrested at the gate. I left the town
on foot with my daughter. I hoped I might meet with some
carriage on the road, which would take me to Milan, where
my first visit will certainly be to the general commanding the
province, to lay my complaint before him."
The Chartreuse of Parma
The sergeant seemed relieved of a great weight.
" Very good, general, you are under arrest, and I shall
take you to Milan. And who are you ? " he said, turning to
Fabrizio.
" My son," put in the countess, " Ascanio, son of Gen-
eral Pietranera."
" Without a passport, madam ? " said the sergeant, very
much more politely.
" He is so young ! He has never had one ; he never
travels alone ; he is always with me ! "
While this colloquy was proceeding, General Conti had
been growing more and more dignified, and more and more
angry with the gendarmes.
" Not so many words ! " said one of them at last ;
" you're arrested, and there's an end of it."
"You'll be very lucky," said the sergeant, "if we give
you leave to hire a horse from some peasant! Otherwise,
in spite of the dust and the heat, and your chamberlain-
ship, you'll just march along among our horses."
The general began to swear.
" Will you hold your tongue ? " said the gendarme.
" Where's your uniform ? Any man who chooses can say
he is a general."
The general grew more and more furious. In the car-
riage, meanwhile, matters were going far better.
The countess was making all the gendarmes run about
as if they had been her servants. She had just given one
of them a crown to go and fetch her some wine, and above
all some cool water, from a villa which stood about two hun-
dred paces off. She had found time to pacify Fabrizio, who
was most anxious to bolt into the wood that clothed the
hill. " I have two good pistols," he kept saying. She per-
suaded the angry general to let his daughter get into her
carriage. On this occasion the general, who was fond of
talking of himself and his family, informed the ladies that
his daughter was only twelve years old, having been born
on October 27, 1803, but that she was so sensible that
every one took her for fourteen or fifteen.
" Quite a common person," was the verdict which the
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The Chartreuse of Parma
countess's eyes telegraphed to the marchesa's. In an hour's
time, thanks to the former lady, everything was settled.
One of the gendarmes, who had business in the adjoining
village, hired his horse to General Conti, after the countess
had told him he would have ten francs for it.
The sergeant departed alone with the general, and his
comrades remained under a tree, with four huge bottles of
wine which the gendarme, with the assistance of a peasant,
had brought back from the villa. The worthy chamberlain
authorized Clelia Conti to accept a seat in the ladies' car-
riage back to Milan, and the idea of arresting the 'gallant
General Pietranera's son never entered anybody's head.
After the first moments devoted to general civilities, and
remarks on the little incident just brought to a close, Clelia
Conti noticed the touch of enthusiasm evident in the beauti-
ful countess's manner when she spoke to Fabrizio. Clelia
was sure she was not his mother. More especially was her
attention attracted by the constant allusions to something
bold, heroic, dangerous in the highest degree, which he
had lately done. But what that might be the young girl,
clever as she was, could not divine. She gazed in wonder
on the young hero, whose eyes still seemed to sparkle with
the fire of action. He, on his side, was somewhat taken
aback by the singular beauty of the twelve-year-old girl, and
his glances brought the colour to her cheeks.
About a league from Milan, Fabrizio took leave of
the ladies, saying he must go and see his uncle. " If ever
I get out of my difficulties," said he, addressing Clelia,
" I shall go and see the great pictures at Parma. Will
you deign, then, to remember this name Fabrizio del
Dongo?"
" Very good ! " said the countess. " So that's how you
keep your incognito ! Signorina, be good enough to re-
member that this scamp is my son, and that his name is
Pietranera, and not Del Dongo ! "
That evening, very late, Fabrizio entered Milan by the
Renza gate, which leads to a fashionable promenade. The
very modest hoards amassed by the marchesa and her sister
had been exhausted by the expense of sending servants into
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The Chartreuse of Parma
Switzerland. Luckily Fabrizio still had a few napoleons,
and one of the diamonds, which they decided to sell.
The two ladies were much beloved, and knew everybody
in the city. The leading members of the Austrian and re-
ligious party spoke to Baron Binder, the chief of the police,
in Fabrizio's favour. These gentlemen could not under-
stand, they declared, how the prank of a boy of sixteen, who
had quarrelled with his elder brother and left his father's
house, could be taken seriously.
" My business is to take everything seriously," gently
replied the baron, a wise and melancholy man. He was
then engaged in organizing the far-famed Milan police, and
had undertaken to prevent a revolution like that of 1746,
which drove the Austrians out of Genoa. This Milanese
police, which afterward became celebrated by its connection
with the adventures of Pellico and Andryana, was not ex-
actly cruel, but it carried laws of great severity into logical
and pitiless execution. The Emperor Francis II was deter-
mined to strike terror into these bold Italian imaginations.
" Give me," said Baron Binder to Fabrizio's friends,
" the proved facts as to what the young Marchesino del
Dongo has been doing every day, from the moment he left
Grianta, on the 8th of March, until his arrival last night in
this city, where he is hidden in a room in his mother's
apartment, and I am ready to look upon him as the most
charming and frolicsome young fellow in the town. But if
you can not give me information as to the young man's
goings and comings for every day since his departure from
Grianta, is it not my duty to have him arrested, however
high may be his birth, and however deep my respect for the
friends of his family? And am I not bound to keep him
in prison until he has proved to me that he did not convey
a message to Napoleon from the few malcontents who may
exist among his Majesty, the Emperor-King's, Lombard
subjects? And further, gentlemen, note well, that even if
young Del Dongo contrives to justify himself on this point,
he will still remain guilty of having gone abroad without
a regular passport, and also of passing under a false name,
and knowingly using a passport issued to a mere artisan
37
The Chartreuse of Parma
that is to say, to an individual of a class infinitely inferior
to his own."
This declaration, merciless in its logic, was accompanied
by all that show of deference and respect due from the head
of the police to the exalted position of the Marchesa del
Dongo and of the important personages who had come
forward on her behalf.
When the marchesa heard the baron's reply she was in
despair.
" Fabrizio will be arrested ! " she exclaimed, bursting
into tears ; " and once he is in prison, God only knows when
he will come out ! His father will cast him off ! "
The two ladies took counsel with two or three of their
closest friends, and in spite of everything they said, the
marchesa wished to insist on sending her son away the fol-
lowing night.
" But/' said the countess, " you must surely see that
Baron Binder knows quite well that your son is here. He
is not a spiteful man."
" No, but he desires to please the Emperor Francis."
" But if he thought he could serve his own ends by
putting Fabrizio into prison, he would have done it already,
and if you insist on the boy's taking to flight, you insult him
by your want of confidence."
" But the very fact that he admits he knows Fabrizio's
whereabouts is as good as telling us to send him away.
No, I shall never breathe freely as long as I can say to
myself, ' In a quarter of an hour my boy may be shut up
between four walls ! ' Whatever Baron Binder's ambition
may be," added the marchesa, " he thinks his personal posi-
tion in this country will be strengthened by an affected con-
sideration for a man of my husband's rank, and the strange
frankness with which he avows that he knows where to lay
his hand on my son proves this to me. And besides, the
baron calmly sets forth the two offences of which Fabrizio
stands accused according to his brother's vile denunciation,
and explains that either of these entails imprisonment. Is
not that as good as telling us that if we prefer exile to
prison we have only to choose it ? "
88
The Chartreuse of Parma
" If you choose exile," repeated the countess, " we shall
never see the boy again." Fabrizio, who had been present
at the whole discussion with one of the marchesa's oldest
friends, now one of the councillors of the Austrian Tribunal,
was strongly in favour of making himself scarce, and that
very evening, in fact, he left the palace, concealed in the
carriage which was to convey his mother and aunt to the
Scala.
The coachman, whom they did not trust, betook himself,
as usual, to a neighbouring tavern, and while the footman,
a faithful servant, held the horses, Fabrizio, disguised as a
peasant, slipped out of the carriage and out of the town.
By the next morning he had crossed the frontier with equal
success, and a few hours later he was safe in a country house
belonging to his mother in Piedmont, near Novara, at a
place called Romagnano, where Bayard met his death.
The amount of attention bestowed by the two ladies on
the theatrical performance after they reached their box may
be easily conceived. They had only gone to the theatre to
secure an opportunity of consulting several of their friends
of the Liberal party, whose appearance at the Palazzo del
Dongo would have stirred suspicion on the part of the
police. The council in the box decided on making a fresh
appeal to Baron Binder. There could be no question of
offering money to the magistrate, who was a perfectly up-
right man. And besides, the ladies were very poor ; they
had obliged Fabrizio to take all the money remaining over
from the sale of the diamond with him. Nevertheless, it
was very important to know the baron's final word. The
countess's friends reminded her of a certain Canon Borda,
a very agreeable young man, who had formerly tried to
pay her court, and had behaved in a somewhat shabby
fashion to her. When he found his advances were rejected,
he had gone to General Pietranera, had told him of his wife's
friendship with Limercati, and was forthwith turned out of
the house for his pains. Now, the canon played cards every
evening with Baroness Binder, and was, naturally, her hus-
band's close friend. The countess made up her mind to the
horribly disagreeable step of paying a visit to the canon,
The Chartreuse of Parma
and the next morning early, before he had gone out, she
appeared in his rooms.
When the canon's only servant pronounced the name
of the Countess Pietranera, his master was so agitated that
his voice almost failed him, and he made no attempt to
rearrange a morning costume of the most extreme sim-
plicity.
" Show the lady in, and then go/' he said huskily. The
countess entered the room, and Borda cast himself on his
knees before her.
" It is in this position only that an unhappy madman
like myself can dare to receive your orders," said he to
the countess, who looked irresistibly charming in her morn-
inj dress, which was half a disguise.
Her deep grief at the idea of Fabrizio's exile and the
violence she did her own feelings in appearing under the
roof of a man who had once behaved like a traitor to her,
combined to make her eyes shine with an extraordinary
light.
" It is in this position," cried the canon again, " that I
must receive your orders for some service you must desire
of me, otherwise the poor dwelling of this unhappy madman
would never have been honoured by your presence. Once
upon a time, wild with love and jealousy, and seeing he had
no chance of finding favour in your eyes, he plajied a cow-
ard's part toward you."
The words were sincerely spoken, and were all the
nobler because at that moment the canon was in a position
of great power. The countess was touched to tears ; her
heart had been frozen with humiliation and dread, but these
feelings were replaced, in an instant, by a tender emotion
and a ray of hope. From a condition of great misery she
passed, in the twinkling of an eye, to one that was almost
happiness.
" Kiss my hand," she said, and she held it to the canon's
lips, " and stand up. I have come to ask you to obtain
mercy for my nephew Fabrizio. Here is the truth, without
the smallest disguise, just as it should be told to an old
friend. The boy, who is only sixteen years and a half old,
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The Chartreuse of Parma
has committed an unspeakable folly. We were living at the
Castle of Grianta, on the Lake of Como. One night, at
seven o'clock, a boat from Como brought us the news that
the Emperor had landed in the Gulf of Juan. The next
morning Fabrizio started for France, after having induced
one of his humble friends, a dealer in barometers of the
name of Vasi, to give him his passport. As he by no
means looks like a dealer in barometers, he had hardly trav-
elled ten leagues through France when he was arrested.
His outbursts of enthusiasm, expressed in very bad French,
were thought suspicious. After some time he escaped, and
contrived to get to Geneva. We sent to meet him at Lu-
gano."
" At Geneva, you mean," said the canon, smiling.
The countess finished her story.
" Everything that is humanly possible I will do for you,"
replied the canon earnestly. " I place myself entirely at
your orders. I will even risk imprudences," he added.
" Tell me, what am I to do at this moment, when my poor
room is to be bereft of the celestial vision which marks an
epoch in the history of my life? "
" You must go to Baron Binder ; you must tell him you
have loved Fabrizio from his babyhood, that you saw the
child at the time of his birth, when you used to come to our
house, and that you beseech Binder, in the name of his
friendship for you, to set all his spies to discover whether
before Fabrizio departed into Switzerland he ever had the
shortest interview with any of the suspected Liberals. If the
baron is at all decently served he will be convinced that this
whole business has been nothing but a childish freak. You
know that when I lived in the Palazzo Dugnani I had
quantities of engravings of Napoleon's battles. My nephew
learned to read from the inscriptions on those pictures.
When he was only five years old my poor husband would de-
scribe the battles to him ; we used to put the general's helmet
on the child's head, and he would drag his great sword about
the room. Well, one fine day the boy hears that the man
my husband worshipped, the Emperor, is back in France.
Like the young madcap he is, he started off to join him, but
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The Chartreuse of Parma
he did not succeed. Ask your baron what punishment he
can possibly inflict for that one moment of folly."
" I was forgetting something," cried the canon. " You
shall see that I am not quite unworthy of your gracious
pardon. Here," he said, hunting about among the papers
on his table, " here is the denunciation of that vile col-torto
[hypocrite] look! It is signed ' Ascanio Valserra del
Dongo ' which is at the bottom of the whole business. I
got it yesterday in the police office, and I went to the Scala,
hoping to meet somebody who was in the habit of going to
your box, by whom I might send it to you. The copy of
this paper reached Vienna long ago. This is the enemy we
have to fight ! " The canon and the countess read the docu-
ment together, and agreed that in the course of the day he
was to send her a copy by a safe hand. Then the countess
went back rejoicing to the Palazzo del Dongo.
" No one could have behaved more perfectly than this
man, who once behaved so ill," said she to the marchesa.
" To-night, at the Scala, when the theatre clock strikes a
quarter to eleven, we will turn everybody out of our box,
we will shut our door, and at eleven o'clock the canon will
come himself, and tell us what he has been able to do. This
plan seemed to us the one least likely to compromise him."
The canon was no fool ; he took good care not to break
his appointment, and having kept it, he gave proofs of a
thorough kind-heartedness and absolute straightforward-
ness rarely seen save in countries where vanity does not
override every other feeling. His accusation of the Countess
Pietranera to her own husband had caused him constant re-
morse, and he hailed the opportunity for atonement.
That morning, when the countess left him, he had said
to himself bitterly, " Now there she is, in love with her
nephew ! " and his old wound was not healed. " Otherwise,
proud as she is, she would have never come to me. When
poor Pietranera died she refused all my offers of service
with horror, though they were couched in the most polite
terms and transmitted to her by Colonel Scotti, who had
been her lover. To think of the beautiful Pietranera living
on fifteen hundred francs ! " he added, as he walked rapidly
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The Chartreuse of Parma
up and down his room, " and then settling herself at Gri-
anta with an odious secatore like the Marchese del Dongo !
But that is all explained now. That young Fabrizio is cer-
tainly very attractive tall, well-built, with a face that is
always gay, and, what's better, with a sort of tender voluptu-
ous look about him a Correggio face ! " added the canon
bitterly.
" The difference of age not too great, after all !
Fabrizio was born after the French came here about
'98, I think. The countess may be seven or eight and
twenty. No woman could be prettier, more delightful.
Even in this country, where there are so many lovely
women, she beats them all the Marini, the Gherardi, the
Ruga, the Aresi, the Pietragrua she is better-looking than
any of them ! They were living happily together on the
banks of that lovely Lake of Como when the young man
insisted on following Napoleon. Ah, there are hearts in
Italy still, in spite of what every one may do ! Beloved
country! No," he mused, and his breast swelled with jeal-
ousy, " there is no other possible means of explaining her
willingness to vegetate in the country and endure the dis-
gusting sight, every day and at every meal, of the Marchese
del Bongo's hideous countenance, and the vile sallow face
of the Marchesino Ascanio, who will be much worse than
his father, on the top of it! Ah, well! I will serve her
faithfully. At all events, I shall have the satisfaction of
seeing her nearer than through my opera-glasses."
Canon Borda explained the matter very clearly to the
ladies. In his heart Binder was disposed to do all he could
for them. He was heartily glad that Fabrizio had taken
himself off before definite orders had arrived from Vienna,
for Baron Binder could decide nothing himself; on this
matter, as on every other, he was obliged to wait for orders.
Every day he sent an exact copy of all his information to
Vienna, and awaited the imperial reply.
During his exile at Romagnano, Fabrizio was to be
sure, in the first place, to go to mass every day, to choose
some intelligent man, devoted to the cause of the monarchy,
as his confessor, and in confession to be careful to confide
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The Chartreuse of Parma
none but the most irreproachable sentiments to his ear;
secondly, he was not to consort with any man who had the
reputation of being clever, and, when occasion offered, he
was to speak of rebellion with horror, as a thing that should
never be permitted; thirdly, he was never to be seen in a
cafe, he was never to read any newspaper except the Turin
and Milan Official Gazettes, he was to express dislike of
reading in general, and he was never to peruse any work
printed later that 1720, the only possible exception being
Sir Walter Scott's novels ; " and lastly," said the canon, with
just a touch of spite, " he must not fail to pay open court
to some pretty woman in the district one of noble birth, of
course. That will prove he has none of the gloomy and
discontented spirit of the juvenile conspirator."
Before going to bed that night, the countess and the
marchesa wrote Fabrizio two voluminous letters, which
explained, with an anxiety that was most endearing, all the
advice imparted by the canon.
Fabrizio had not the slightest wish to conspire. He
loved Napoleon, believed himself destined, as a nobleman,
to be more fortunate than most men, and despised the whole
middle class.
Since he had left college he had never opened a book,
and while there, had only read books arranged by the Jesuits.
He took up his residence at some distance from Romagnano,
in a magnificent palace which had been one of the master-
pieces of the famous architect San Michele. But it had
been left untenanted for thirty years, so that the rain came
through all the ceilings, and there was not a window that
would shut. He took possession of the agent's horses, and
rode them all day long, just as it suited him. He never
opened his lips, and thought a great deal. The suggestion
that he should take a mistress in some ultra family tickled
his fancy, and he obeyed it to the letter. He chose for his
confessor a young and intriguing priest, who aimed at be-
coming a bishop (like the confessor of the Spielberg).*
* In Andryana's curious memoirs, which are as amusing as a
fairy-tale and should be as immortal as the works of Tacitus.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
But he travelled three leagues on foot, and wrapped himself
in what he believed to be impenetrable mystery, so as to
read the Constitutionnel, which he thought sublime "as fine
as Alfieri and Dante," he would often exclaim. Fabrizio
resembled young Frenchmen in this particular, that he
thought much more about his horse and his newspaper than
about his high-born mistress. But there was no room, as
yet, for any imitation of others in that simple and steadfast
soul, and he made no friends in the society to be found in the
town of Romagnano. His simplicity was taken for pride;
nobody could understand his nature ; " a younger son, who
is discontented because he is not the eldest," said the parish
priest.
95
CHAPTER VI
WE will honestly admit that the canon's jealousy was not
utterly unfounded. When Fabrizio returned from France
he appeared in Countess Pietranera's eyes as a handsome
stranger with whom she had once been intimately ac-
quainted. If he had made love to her she would have fallen
in love with him, and the admiration she already nursed for
both his person and his acts was passionate, and I might
almost say unbounded. But Fabrizio kissed her with so
much innocent gratitude and simple affection that she her-
self would have been horrified at the idea of seeking any
other feeling in a regard that was almost filial. " After all,"
said the countess to herself, " some few old friends who
knew me six years ago at the viceroy's court may still con-
sider me pretty, and even young; but to this boy I am a
respectable woman, and frankly, without any regard for my
vanity, a middle-aged woman, too ! " The countess la-
boured under a certain illusion with regard to her time of
life, but it was not the illusion of the ordinary woman.
" Besides," she added, " at Fabrizio's age a man is inclined
to exaggerate the effect produced by the ravages of time.
Now, an older man than he "
The countess, who had been walking up and down her
drawing-room, paused before a mirror, and smiled. My
readers must be informed that for several months past seri-
ous siege had been laid to Gina Pietranera's heart, and that
by a man quite out of the ordinary category. A short time
after Fabrizio's departure for France the countess, who,
though she did not quite acknowledge it to herself, was
already very much interested in him, had fallen into a con-
dition of the deepest melancholy. All her former occupa-
tions seemed to have lost their attraction, and if I may so
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The Chartreuse of Parma
describe it, their flavour. She told herself that Napoleon, u.
his desire to win the affections of the Italian people, would
certainly take Fabrizio for his aide-de-camp ! " He's lost
to me ! " she exclaimed, weeping. " I shall never see him
again ! He will write to me, but what can I be to him ten
years hence? "
While she was in this frame of mind she made a trip
to Milan, in the hope of obtaining more direct news of
Napoleon, and possibly further news of Fabrizio. Though
she did not admit it, her eager soul was growing very weary
of the monotony of her country life. " I do not live there,"
said she to herself. " I only keep myself from dying."
She shuddered at the thought of the powdered heads she
must behold every day her brother, her nephew Ascanio,
and their serving-men ; what would her trips on the lake be
without Fabrizio ? The affection that bound her to the mar-
chesa was her only consolation. But for some time past
her intimacy with Fabrizio's mother, who was older than
herself, and had no future outlook, had brought her less
satisfaction.
Such was the Countess Pietranera's peculiar position.
Now that Fabrizio was gone, she expected but little future
happiness, and she hungered for consolation and for novelty.
When she reached Milan she developed a passionate fondness
for the opera then in fashion. She shut herself up alone for
long hours at a stretch in her old friend's, General Scotti's,
box at the Scala. The men whose acquaintance she sought,
in the hope of obtaining news of Napoleon and his army,
struck her as coarse and vulgar. When she came home at
night she would extemporize on her piano till three o'clock
in the morning. One evening she went to the Scala, and
was sitting in a box belonging to one of her lady friends,
whither she had gone to try and gather news from France.
The Minister of Parma, Count Mosca, was presented to her.
He was an agreeable man, who spoke of France and of
Napoleon in a manner which made her heart thrill afresh
with hope and fear. The following day she returned to the
same box. The clever statesman returned also, and during
th<e whole of fh'e performance she talketi to him, and fount}
7 97
The Chartreuse of Parma
pleasure in the conversation. Never, since Fabrizio's de-
parture, had she thought an evening so enjoyable. The man
who thus diverted her thoughts, Count Mosca della Rovere
Sorezana, was then Minister of War, of Police, and of Fi-
nance to Ernest IV, that famous Prince of Parma, so cele-
brated for his severity, which Milanese Liberals termed cruel-
ty. Mosca might have been forty or forty-five years of age.
He was a large-featured man, without a vestige of self-impor-
tance and a simple cheery manner, which prepossessed peo-
ple in his favour. He would have been very good-looking,
if his master's whim had not obliged him to powder his
hair, as an earnest of the propriety of his political views. In
Italy, where the fear of wounding the vanity of others is
little felt, people soon fall into intimacy, and proceed to make
personal remarks. The corrective for this habit consists in
not meeting again, if feelings happen to be hurt.
" Tell me, count," said Countess Pietranera on the third
occasion of their meeting, " why you wear powder ? Pow-
der on a man like you delightful, still young, and who
fought with us in Spain ! "
" Because I brought no booty away with me from Spain.
After all, a man must live. I was mad for glory ; one word
of praise from Gouvion-St. Cyr, the French general who
commanded us, was all I cared for in those days. When
Napoleon fell, I discovered that while I had been spending
all my fortune in his service, my father, who had a lively
imagination, and dreamed of seeing me a general, had been
building me a palace at Parma; and in 1813 I discovered
that the whole of my worldly wealth consisted of a big un-
finished palace and a pension."
" A pension ! Three thousand five hundred francs, I
suppose, like my poor husband's."
" Count Pietranera was a full general. My poor major's
pension was never more than eight hundred francs, and until
I became Minister of Finance I was never paid even that ! "
As the only other occupant of the box was its owner, a
lady of exceedingly liberal opinions, the conversation was
continued in the same strain of intimacy. In answer to the
countess's questions, Count Mosca spoke of his life at
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Parma : " In Spain, under General St. Cyr, I braved volleys
of musketry fire for the sake of the Cross of Honour, and
afterward to win a little glory. Now I dress myself up like
a character in a comedy to secure a great establishment and
a certain number of thousand francs. When I played my
first moves in this game of chess the insolence of my su-
periors nettled me, and I resolved to reach one of the high-
est places. I have gained my object, but my happiest days
are always those I am able to spend, now and then, at
Milan. Here, as it seems to me, the heart of the old army of
Italy still throbs."
The frankness and disinvoltura with, which the minister
referred to so greatly-dreaded a prince piqued the countess's
curiosity. She had expected to meet a self-important
pedant ; instead of that she found a man who seemed rather
ashamed of his solemn position. Mosca had promised to
keep her informed of all the news from France he could
collect. This was a great indiscretion for any one living at
Milan the month before Waterloo. At that moment the
fate of Italy hung in the balance, and every one in Milan
was in a fever of hope or fear. In the midst of the universal
agitation, the countess made inquiries concerning the man
who spoke thus lightly of a position so universally envied,
and one which was his own sole subsistence. She learned
things that were curious, whimsical, and interesting. Count
Mosca della Rovere Sorezana, she was told, is on the point
of becoming the Prime Minister and acknowledged favour-
ite of Ernest IV, absolute ruler of the state of Parma, and
one of the richest princes in Europe into the bargain. The
count could already have attained this supreme position
if he would only have assumed a more serious demeanour.
The prince, it is said, has frequently remonstrated with him
on this point. " How can my ways matter to your High-
ness," he answers boldly, " so long as I transact your
business? "
" The favourite's good fortune," continued her infor-
mant, " is not without its thorns. He has to please a sover-
eign who, though certainly a man of sense and cleverness,
appears to have lost his head since the day he ascended an
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The Chartreuse of Parma
absolute throne, and who, for instance, nurses suspicions
really unworthy even of a woman."
" Ernest IV's bravery is limited to that he has displayed
in war. Twenty times over, and in the most gallant fashion,
he has led a column to the attack. But since his father,
Ernest III, has died, and he himself has taken up his resi-
dence within his dominions where, unluckily for himself,
he enjoys unlimited power he has begun to hold forth in
the wildest way against Liberals and liberty. He soon took
it into his head that his subjects hated him, and at last, in
a fit of temper, and egged on by a wretch by the name of
Rassi, a sort of Minister of Justice, he caused two Liberals,
whose guilt was probably of the slightest, to be hanged.
" Since that fatal moment, the sovereign's whole life
seems changed, and he is harried by the most extraordinary
suspicions. He is not yet fifty, but terror has so degraded
him, if one may so describe it, that when he begins to talk
about the Jacobins and the plans of their Central Committee
in Paris his face grows like that of a man of ninety, and he
falls back into all the fanciful terrors of babyhood. His
favourite, Rassi, the head of his judicial department (or
chief justice) has no influence except through his master's
terrors. As soon as he begins to tremble for his own credit,
he instantly discovers some fresh conspiracy of the blackest
and most fanciful description. If thirty imprudent souls
meet to read a number of the Constitutionnel, Rassi declares
they are conspiring, and sends them as prisoners to that
famous Citadel of Parma, which is the terror of the whole
of Lombardy. As this citadel is very high one hundred
and eighty feet, they say it is seen from an immense dis-
tance all over the huge plain, and the outline of the prison,
about which horrible stories are told, frowns like a merciless
sovereign over the whole tract of country from Milan to
Bologna."
" Would you believe it," said another traveller to the
countess, " at night Ernest IV sits shivering with terror
in his room on the third story of his palace, where he is
guarded by eighty sentries, who shout a whole sentence
instead of a password every quarter of an hour. With ten
The Chartreuse of Parma
bolts shot on each of his doors, and the rooms above and
below his apartments filled with soldiers, he is still terrified
of the Jacobins ! If a board in the floor creaks he snatches
at his pistols and is convinced a Liberal must be hidden un-
derneath his bed. Instantly every bell in the castle begins
to ring, and an aide-de-camp hurries off to wake Count
Mosca. When the Minister of Police reaches the castle
he knows better than to deny the existence of the con-
spiracy. Armed to the teeth, he and the prince go alone
round every corner of the apartments, look under all the
beds, and, in a word, perform a number of ridiculous antics
worthy of an old woman. In those happy days when the
prince was a soldier, and had never killed a man except in
war, all these precautions would have struck him as exceed-
ingly degrading. Being an exceedingly intelligent and
clever man, he really is ashamed of them. Even at the mo-
ment of taking them they appear ridiculous to him. And
the secret of Count Mosca' s immense credit is that he ap-
plies all his skill to prevent the prince from ever feeling
ashamed in his presence. It is he, Mosca, who, as Minister
of Police, insists on search being made under every bit of
furniture, and, as people at Parma declare, even in musical
instrument cases. It is the prince who objects, and jokes
his minister on his extreme punctiliousness. ' This is a
matter of honour to me/ Mosca replies. ' Think of the
satirical sonnets the Jacobins would rain down upon us if
we let them kill you ! We have to defend not only your life,
but our own reputation.' Still the prince appears to be
only half taken in by it all, for if any one in the town vent-
ures to say there has been a sleepless night in the castle,
Rassi forthwith sends the unseasonable joker to the citadel,
and once the prisoner is shut up in that high and airy dwell-
ing, it is only by a miracle that any one recollects his exis-
tence. It is because Mosca is a soldier, who, during the
Spanish campaigns, saved his own life twenty times over,
pistol in hand, and surrounded by pitfalls, that the prince
prefers him to Rassi, who is far more pliable and cringing.
The unhappy prisoners in the citadel are kept in the most
strict and solitary confinement. All sorts of stories arc cur-
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The Chartreuse of Parma
rent about them, The Liberals declare that Rassi has in-
vented a plan whereby the jailers and confessors are ordered
to convince them that almost every month one of them is
led out to execution. On that day they are allowed to
mount on to the terrace of the huge tower, one hundred
and eighty feet high, and thence they see a departing pro-
cession, in which a spy represents the poor wretch supposed
to be going out to meet his fate."
These tales and a score more of the same nature, and
not less authentic, interested the countess deeply. The day
after hearing them she questioned the count, and jested at
his answers. She thought him most entertaining, and kept
assuring him that he certainly was a monster, though he
might be unconscious of the fact. One day, as the count
was going home to his inn, he said to himself : " Not only
is the Countess Pietranera a charming woman, but when I
spend the evening in her box I contrive to forget certain
things at Parma, the memory of which stabs me to the
heart ! " This minister, in spite of his lively air and brilliant
manners, had not the soul of a Frenchman. He did not
know how to forget his sorrows. " When there was a thorn
in his pillow he was forced to break it and wear it down by
thrusting it into his own throbbing limbs." I must apologize
for introducing this sentence, translated from the Italian.
The morning following on his discovery, the count became
aware that in spite of the business which had called him
to Milan, the day was extraordinarily long; he could not
stay quiet anywhere, and tired his carriage horses out. To-
ward six o'clock he rode out to the Corso. He had hoped
he might have met the Countess Pietranera there. He
could not see her, and recollected that the Scala opened at
eight o'clock. Thither he betook himself, and did not find
more than ten persons in the whole of the great building.
He felt quite shy at being there. " Can it be ? " he mused,
" that at five-and-forty I am committing follies for which
a subaltern officer would blush? Luckily nobody suspects
it." He fled, and tried to pass away the time by walking
about the pretty streets in the neighbourhood of the Scala
Theatre. They are full of cafes, which at that hour are
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The Chartreuse of Parma
teeming 1 with customers. In front of each, a crowd of idlers
sits on chairs, spreading right out into the street, eating
ices and criticising the passers-by. The count was a passer-
by of considerable notoriety, and he had the pleasure of
being recognised and accosted. Three or four importunate
individuals, of that class which it is not easy to shake off,
seized this opportunity of obtaining an audience from the
powerful minister. Two of them thrust petitions into his
hands, a third contented himself with giving him long-
winded advice as to his political conduct.
" So clever a man as I am must not go to sleep, and
a person so powerful as I should not walk in the streets," he
reflected. He went back to the theatre, and it occurred to
him to take a box on the third tier. Thence he could gaze
unnoticed right into the box on the second tier, in which
he hoped to see the countess appear. Two full hours of wait-
ing did not seem too long to this man who was in love.
Safely screened from observation, he gave himself up to
the enjoyment of his passionate dream. " What is old
age ! " he said to himself. " Surely, above all other things,
it means that the capacity for this exquisite foolery is lost ! "
At last the countess made her appearance. Through his
opera-glasses he watched her adoringly. " Young, brilliant,
blithe as a bird," he said, " she does not look five-and-
twenty. Her beauty is the least of her charms. Where else
could I discover a creature of such perfect sincerity, one
whose actions are never governed by prudence, who gives
herself up bodily to the feelings of the moment, and asks
nothing better than to be whirled off by some fresh object?
I can understand all Count Nani's wild behaviour ! "
The count gave himself excellent reasons for his extrava-
gant feelings so long as he only thought of attaining the
happiness he saw before his eyes. But his arguments were
not so cogent when he began to consider his own age, and
the anxieties, some of them gloomy enough, which clouded
his existence. " A clever man, whose terrors override his
intelligence, gives me a great position and large sums of
money for acting as his minister. But supposing he were
to dismiss me to-morrow? I should be nothing but an
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The Chartreuse of Parma
elderly and needy man; in other words, just the sort of
man that every one is inclined to despise. A nice sort of
individual to offer to the countess ! " These thoughts were
too dreary, and he turned his eyes once more upon the
object of his affections. He was never tired of gazing at
her, and he refrained from going to her box so that he
might contemplate her more undisturbedly. " I have just
been told," he mused, " that she only encouraged Nani to
play a trick on Limercati, who would not take the trouble
to run her husband's murderer through, or have him
stabbed by somebody else. I would fight twenty duels for
her ! " he murmured in a passion of adoration. He kept con-
tinually glancing at the Scala clock, with its luminous figures
standing out on a black ground, which, as each five minutes
passed, warned the spectators that the hour of their admis-
sion into some fair friend's box had duly arrived.
The count ruminated again : " I have only known her
such a short time that I dare not spend more than half an
hour in her box. If I stay longer than that I shall attract at-
tention, and then, thanks to my age, and still more to the
cursed powder in my hair, I shall look as foolish as a panta-
loon ! " But a sudden thought forced him to a decision.
" Supposing she were to leave her box to pay a visit to an-
other; I should be well punished for the stinginess with
which I had meted out my pleasure to myself ! " He rose to
his feet, meaning to go down to the box in which the
countess was sitting. Suddenly he felt that his desire to enter
it had almost entirely disappeared. " Now this really is de-
lightful," he exclaimed, and he stopped on the staircase to
laugh at himself. " I am positively frightened ! Such a thing
hasn't happened to me for five-and-twenty years ! " He had
almost to make a conscious effort to go into the box, and
like a clever man he took advantage of the circumstance.
He made no attempt whatever to appear at his ease, or to
show off his wit by plunging headlong into some joking
conversation. He had the courage to be shy, and applied
his mind to letting his agitation betray itself without ren-
dering him ridiculous. " If she takes it amiss," said he to
himself, " I am done for forever ! What ! Shyness in a
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The Chartreuse of Parma
man with powdered hair hair which would be gray if the
powder did not cover it! But it is the truth, therefore it
can not be ridiculous unless I exaggerate it, or wave it like
a trophy before her eyes." The countess had so often been
bored at the Castle of Grianta, among the powdered heads
of her brother, her nephew, and some tiresome neighbours
of the right way of thinking, that she never gave a thought
to the fashion in which her new adorer dressed his hair.
Her good sense, then, saved her from bursting out
laughing when he entered, and her whole attention was ab-
sorbed by the French news which Mosca always confided
to her particular ear when he entered her box. Some of this
news, no doubt, he invented. As she talked it over with
him that evening she noticed his glance, which was open
and kindly.
" I fancy," she said, " that when you are at Parma, sur-
rounded by your slaves, you do not look at them in so
kindly a manner. That would spoil everything, and give
them some hope of not being hanged."
The total absence of pretension on the part of a man
who bore the reputation of being the foremost diplomatist
in Italy struck the countess as peculiar, and even endowed
him with a certain charm in her eyes. On the whole, and
considering how well and brilliantly he talked, she was not
at all displeased that he should have taken it into his head
to play the part of her attentive swain for this one evening,
and with no serious ulterior intentions.
A great point had been gained, and a very risky one.
Fortunately for the minister, who at Parma never saw his
advances rejected, the countess had only just returned from
Grianta, and her mind was still numb with the dulness of
her rural life. She had forgotten, so to speak, how to be
merry, and everything connected with the elegancies and
frivolities of life wore an appearance of novelty which almost
made them sacred in her eyes. She had no inclination to
laugh at anything, not even at a shy man of five-and-forty
who had fallen in love with her. A week later the count's
boldness might have met with quite a different reception.
As a rule no visit paid to a box in the Scala lasts more
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The Chartreuse of Parma
than twenty minutes. The count spent the whole evening
in that in which he had been so happy as to find the
Countess Pietranera. " This woman," said he to himself,
" brings me back to all the follies of my youth," yet he felt
the danger of his position. " Will she forgive my folly for
the sake of my reputation as an all-powerful pasha at a place
forty leagues off ? How tiresome that life of mine at Parma
is ! " Nevertheless, as each quarter struck, he vowed to
himself he would depart.
" You must consider, signora," he said laughingly to the
countess, " that I am bored to death at Parma, and that
therefore I must be allowed to drink deep draughts of
pleasure whenever pleasure lies in my path. Thus, for this
one evening, and without making any ulterior claim on your
kindness, give me leave to pay my court to you. In a few
days, alas ! I shall be far from this box, where I forget all
my sorrows, and you will say, perhaps, all the proprieties."
A week after that lengthy visit to the box at the Scala,
which had been followed by various little incidents too nu-
merous to relate here, Count Mosca was madly in love, and
the countess was beginning to think that his age need be no
objection if he pleased her in other respects. Matters had
reached this point, when Mosca was recalled by a courier
from Parma. It was as though his prince had grown fright-
ened at being left alone. The countess went back to Gri-
anta. That beautiful spot, no longer idealized, now, by her
imagination, seemed to her a desert. " Have I really grown
fond of this man?" said she to herself. Mosca wrote, and
found himself at a loss ; separation had dried up the springs
of his ideas. His letters were amusing, and there was a
quaintness connected with them which did not fail to please.
So as to avoid the remarks of the Marchese del Dongo,
who was not fond of paying for the delivery of letters,
these were sent by messengers, who posted them at Como,
Lecco, Varese, and the other pretty little towns in the near
neighbourhood of the lake. One object of this manoeuvre
was that the couriers might bring back answers. It was
successfully attained.
Before long the countess began to watch for the days
1 06
The Chartreuse of Parma
when the post arrived. The couriers brought her flowers,
fruit, little presents of no value, but which entertained her
and her sister-in-law as well. Her memory of the count be-
gan to be mingled with thoughts of his great powe'r, and
the countess grew curious about everything that was said
concerning him. Even the Liberals paid homage to his
talents.
The chief ground of the count's evil reputation rested
on the fact- that he was considered the head of the ultra
party at the court of Parma, where the Liberal party was
led by an intriguing woman, capable of anything, even of
success, and very rich into the bargain the Marchesa
Raversi. The prince was very careful not to discourage
whichever of the two parties was not in power. He knew
well enough that he would always be master, even with
a ministry chosen out of the Marchesa Raversi's circle.
Numerous details of these intrigues were related at Gri-
anta. Mosca, whom all the world described as a minister of
first-rate talent and a man of action, was not present, and
therefore the countess was free to forget the hair powder,
which in her eyes symbolized everything that is most slow
and dreary. That, after all, was an infinitesimal detail, one
of the obligations imposed by the court at which he other-
wise played so noble a part. " A court is an absurd thing,"
said the countess to the marchesa, " but it's amusing. It's
an interesting game, but it must be played according to the
rules. Did anybody ever think of rebelling against the rules
of piquet? Yet once one has grown accustomed to them,
there is great enjoyment in beating one's adversary."
The countess gave many a thought to the writer of all
those pleasant letters. The days on which she received
them were bright days to her. She would call for her boat,
and go and read them at the most beautiful spots on the
lake at Pliniana, at Belano, or in the wood of the Sfon-
drata. These letters seemed to bring her some consolation
for Fabrizio's absence. At any rate, she could not deny the
count the right to be desperately in love with her, and be-
fore the month was out she was thinking of him with a very
tender affection. Count Mosca, on his part, was very nearly
10;
The Chartreuse of Parma
in earnest when he offered to send in his resignation, leave
the ministry, and spend his life with her at Milan or else-
where. " I have four hundred thousand francs," he said ;
" that would always give us fifteen thousand francs a year."
" An opera-box and horses again," reflected the countess.
The dream was a tempting one.
The charms of the sublime scenery round Como ap-
pealed to her afresh. On the shores of the lake she dreamed
again over the strange and brilliant existence which, con-
trary to all appearances, was opening once more before her.
She saw herself in Milan, on the Corso, happy and gay as
she had been in the days of the viceroy. " My youth would
come back to me. My life would be full, at all events."
Her ardent imagination sometimes deceived her, but she
had never laboured under those voluntary illusions which
are the result of cowardice. Above all things, she was per-
fectly straightforward with herself. " If I am a little beyond
the age for committing follies, envy which can deceive
as well as love may poison the happiness of my life at
Milan. After my husband's death, my proud poverty and
my refusal of two great fortunes were admired. This poor
little count of mine has not a twentieth part of the wealth
those two simpletons, Limercati and Nani, laid at my feet.
The tiny widow's pension, obtained with so much difficulty,
the sending away of my servants, the little room on the
fifth story, which brought twenty coaches to the door of
the house all that was curious and interesting at the time.
But I shall have some disagreeable moments, however clev-
erly I may manage, if with no more private fortune than my
widow's pension, I go back to Milan, and live there in the
modest middle-class comfort which the fifteen thousand
francs a year that will remain to Mosca after his resignation
will insure us. One curious objection, which will become
a terrible weapon in the hands of the envious, is, that though
the count has been separated from, his wife for years, he is
married. At Parma everybody is aware of this, but at Milan
it will be news, and it will be ascribed to me. Therefore,
farewell, my beautiful Scala! my heavenly Lake of Como,
fare thee well!"
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The Chartreuse of Parma
In spite of all her forebodings, if the countess had had
the smallest fortune of her own, she would have accepted
Mosca's offer to resign. She believed herself to be grow-
ing old, and the idea of a court alarmed her. But the fact
which, on this side of the Alps, will appear incredible to the
last degree, is that the count would have given in his resig-
nation most joyfully. At least he contrived to convince his
friend that so it was. Every letter of his besought her, with
ever-growing eagerness, to grant him another interview at
Milan. She did so. " If I were to swear that I loved you
madly," she said to him, " I should lie to you. I should
be only too happy if, now that I am past thirty, I could love
as I loved at two-and-twenty. But too many things which I
believed eternal have faded from my sight. I have the most
tender affection for you, I feel the most unbounded con-
fidence in you, and I prefer you to every other man I
know." She believed herself perfectly sincere, but the close
of this declaration was not absolutely truthful. It may be
that if Fabrizio had chosen he might have swept everything
else out of her heart, but Fabrizio, in Count Mosca's eyes,
was no more than a child. The minister arrived in Milan
three days after the young madcap had departed for Novara,
and lost no time in speaking to Baron Binder in his favour.
The count's opinion was, that there was no chance of saving
the youth from banishment.
He had not come to Milan alone. In his carriage had
travelled the Duke Sanseverina-Taxis a nice-looking little
old man of sixty-eight, gray-haired, polished, well-groomed,
immensely rich, but of inadequate birth. His grandfather
had amassed millions of money by farming the revenues of
the state of Parma. His father had induced the then reign-
ing prince to appoint him his ambassador at a certain court,
by means of the following argument : " Your Highness al-
lows your envoy at the court of thirty thousand francs
a year, and he cuts a very poor figure on the money. If
your Highness will appoint me I will be content with a
salary of six thousand francs ; I will never spend less than
a hundred thousand francs a year on my embassy, and my
man of business shall pay twenty thousand francs a year to
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The Chartreuse of Parma
the Department of Foreign Affairs at Parma. This sum will
be the salary of any secretary of my embassy selected by
the government. I shall show no jealousy about being in-
formed as to diplomatic secrets, if any such exist. My ob-
ject is to shed honour on my family, which is still a new
one, and to increase its dignity by holding a great official
position." The present duke, son of the ambassador, had
been clumsy enough to betray some Liberal tendencies, and
for the last two years he had been in a state of despair. He
had lost two or three millions in Napoleon's time, by his
obstinate insistence on remaining abroad, and notwithstand-
ing this he had failed, since the sovereigns had been re-
established in Europe, to obtain a certain great order which
figured in his father's portrait. The absence of this order
was wasting him away with sorrow.
So complete is the intimacy which in Italy results on
love, that personal vanity could be no stumbling-block be-
tween the two friends. It was, therefore, with the most per-
fect simplicity that Mosca said to the woman he worshipped :
" I have two or three plans to suggest to you, all of them
fairly well laid. I have dreamed of nothing else for the
last three months. First, I can resign, and we will live
quietly at Milan, Florence, Naples, or where you will. We
have fifteen thousand francs a year, independently of the
prince's bounty to us, which will last for a time, at all events.
Second, if you will condescend to come to the country
where I have some power, you will buy a country place
let us say Sacca, for instance, a charming house in the forest
overlooking the Po ; you can have the contract of sale duly
signed within a week. The prince will give you a position
at his court. But here a great difficulty comes in. You
would be well received at court, nobody would venture to
hesitate as to that in my presence, and besides, the princess
thinks she is unfortunate, and I have just rendered her sev-
eral services with an eye to your benefit. But there is one
capital objection of which I must remind you. The prince
is exceedingly religious, and, as you know, I am, unluckily,
a married man. This would give rise to innumerable small
difficulties. You are a widow, and that charming title must
1 10
The Chartreuse of Parma
be exchanged for another. Here my third proposal
comes in.
" It would be easy enough to find a husband who would
give us no trouble, but, above all things, we must have a man
of considerable age for why should you refuse me the hope
of taking his place some day? Well, I have arranged this
curious business with the Duke Sanseverina-Taxis, who is
quite ignorant, of course, of the name of his future duchess.
All he knows about her is that she will make him an am-
bassador and will procure him the order his father held, and
without which he himself is the most unhappy of men.
Apart from that mania the duke is by no means a fool. He
gets his coats and wigs from Paris ; he is not at all the kind
of man who deliberately plots wickedness. He honestly
believes that his honour is involved in wearing that particu-
lar order, and he is ashamed of his money. A year ago he
came and proposed to me to build a hospital, so as to get
his order. I laughed at him, but he did not laugh at me
when I proposed this marriage. My first condition, of
course, was that he was never to set his foot in Parma
again."
" But do you know that the suggestion you make to
me is exceedingly immoral ? " said the countess.
" Not more immoral than everything else at our court,
and at twenty others. There's one convenience about abso-
lute power, that it sanctifies everything in the eyes of the
people. Now where is the importance of an absurdity that
nobody notices ? Our policy for the next twenty years will
consist in being afraid of the Jacobins, and what a terror
it will be! Every year we shall believe ourselves on the
brink of another '93. Some day, I hope, you will hear the
remarks I make on that subject at my receptions ; they are
really fine ! Everything which may tend to diminish this
terror, however little, will be superlatively moral in the eyes
of the nobles and the bigots. Now, at Parma every one
who is not either noble or a bigot is in prison, or on the
road thither. You may be quite sure that till the day I
am disgraced no one will think this marriage the least ex-
traordinary. The arrangement involves no dishonesty to
ill
The Chartreuse of Parma
any one, and that, I imagine, is the great point. The prince,
whose favour is our stock in trade, has only imposed one
condition to insure his consent that the future duchess
should be of noble birth. Last year, as far as I can reckon,
my post brought me in a hundred and seven thousand
francs, and my whole income must have been a hundred and
twenty-two thousand. I have invested a sum of twenty
thousand francs at Lyons. Now, you must choose between
a life of splendour, with a hundred and twenty-two thousand
francs a year to spend which in Parma would be as much
as four hundred thousand in Milan (but in this case you
must accept the marriage which will give you the name of a
very decent man, whom you will never see except at the
altar) or a modest existence on fifteen thousand francs a
year at Florence or Naples for I agree with you, you have
been too much admired at Milan. We should be tormented
by envy there, and it might end by making us unhappy.
The life at Parma would, I hope, have some charm of nov-
elty, even for you who have seen the court of Prince
Eugene. It would be worth your while to make acquaint-
ance with it before we close that door. Do not think I de-
sire to influence your decision. As far as I am concerned,
my choice is made. I would rather live with you on a fourth
floor than continue alone in my great position."
The possibility of this strange marriage was discussed
daily between the lovers. The countess saw the duke at a
ball at the Scala, and thought him very presentable. In one
of their last conversations, Mosca thus summed up the
matter : " We must take some decisive step if we want to
spend our lives happily, and not to grow old before our
time. The prince has given his approbation. Sanseverina
is really rather attractive than otherwise. He owns the
finest palace in Parma and a huge fortune ; he is sixty-eight
years old, and is madly in love with the Collar of an Order ;
but there is one great blot upon his life he bought a bust
of Napoleon by Canova, for ten thousand francs. His sec-
ond misdoing, which will be the death of him if you do not
come to his rescue, is that he once lent twenty-five napo-
leons to Ferrante Palla, a madman, from our country, but
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The Chartreuse of Parma
a man of genius all the same, whom we have since con-
demned to death by default, I am happy to say. This
Ferrante once wrote two hundred lines of poetry, which are
quite unrivalled. I will recite them to you ; they are as fine
as Dante. The prince will send Sanseverina to the court of
. He will marry you the day he starts, and in the
second year of his journey which he calls an embassy
he will receive the collar of the order for which he sighs.
In him you will find a brother, whom you will not dislike.
He is ready to sign every document I give him beforehand,
and, besides, you will see him hardly ever, or never, just
as you choose. He will be glad not to show himself in
Parma, where the memory of his grandfather, the farmer
general, and his own imputed liberalism make him feel un-
comfortable. Rassi, our persecutor, declares that the duke
subscribed secretly to the Constitutionnel, through Fer-
rante, the poet; and for a long time this calumny was a
serious obstacle in the way of the prince's consent."
Why should the historian be blamed for faithfully re-
producing the smallest details of the story he has heard?
Is it his fault if certain persons, led away by a passion
which he, unfortunately for himself, does not share, stoop to
actions of the deepest immorality? It is true, indeed, that
this sort of thing is no longer done in a country where the
only passion that which has survived all others is the
love of money, which is the food of vanity ?
Three months after the events above related, the Duchess
Sanseverina-Taxis was astonishing the court of Parma by
her easy charm and the noble serenity of her intellect. Her
house was beyond all comparison the most agreeable in the
city. This fulfilled the promise made by Count Mosca to his
master. The reigning prince, Ranuzio-Ernest IV, and the
princess, his wife, to whom the duchess was presented by
two of the greatest ladies in the country, received her with
the utmost respect. She had been curious to see the prince,
the arbiter of the fate of the man she loved. She desired to
please him, and succeeded only too well. She beheld a
man of tall and somewhat heavy build ; his hair, mustaches,
and huge whiskers were of what his courtiers called a beau-
The Chartreuse of Parma
tiful golden colour ; elsewhere their dull tinge would have
earned the unflattering title of tow. From the middle of a
large face there projected, very slightly, a tiny, almost
feminine nose. But the duchess remarked that to realize all
these various uglinesses a close examination of the royal
features was necessary. Taking him altogether, the prince
had the appearance of a clever and resolute man. His air
and manner were not devoid of majesty, but very often he
took it into his head to try and impress the person to
whom he was speaking; then he grew confused himself,
and rocked almost perpetually from one leg to the other.
Apart from this, Ernest TV's glance was penetrating and
authoritative. There was something noble about the ges-
ture of his arm, and his speech was both measured
and concise.
Mosca had warned the duchess that the prince's audience
chamber contained a full-length portrait of Louis XIV and
a very fine Florentine scagliola table. The imitation struck
her very much. It was evident that the prince sought to
reproduce the noble look and utterance of Louis XIV, and
that he leaned against the scagliola table so as to make
himself look like Joseph II. Immediately after his first
words to the duchess he seated himself, so as to give her an
opportunity of making use of the tabouret which her rank
conferred on her. At this court the only ladies who have
a right to sit are duchesses, princesses, and wives of Spanish
grandees. The rest all wait until the prince or princess in-
vites them to be seated, and these august persons are
always careful to mark the degree of rank by allowing a
short interval to elapse before giving this permission to a
lady of less rank than a duchess. The duchess thought the
prince's imitation of Louis XIV was occasionally somewhat
too marked, as, for instance, when he threw back his head
and smiled good-naturedly.
Ernest IV wore a dress-coat of the fashion then reign-
ing in Paris. Every month he received from that city, which
he abhorred, a dress-coat, a walking-coat, and a hat. But
on the day of the duchess's visit he had attired himself, with
a whimsical mixture of styles, in red pantaloons, silk stock-
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The Chartreuse of Parma
ings, and very high shoes, such as may be observed in the
pictures of Joseph II.
He received the lady graciously, and said several sharp
and witty things to her. But she saw very clearly that
civil as her reception was, there was no excessive warmth
about it. " And do you know why ? " said Count Mosca,
when she returned from her audience. " It is because Milan
is a larger and finer city than Parma. He was afraid that
if he received you as I expected, and as he had given me
reason to hope, you would take him for a provincial per-
son, in ecstasies over the charms of a fine lady just arrived
from the capital. Doubtless, too, he is vexed by a pecu-
liarity which I hardly dare express to you. The prince
sees no lady at his court who can compete with you in
beauty ; last night, when he was going to bed, that was the
sole subject of his conversation with Pernice, his chief valet,
who is a friend of mine. I foresee a small revolution in
matters of etiquette. My greatest enemy at this court is
a blockhead who goes by the name of General Fabio Conti.
You must imagine an extraordinary creature who has spent
one full day of his whole life, perhaps, on active service, and
who therefore gives himself the airs of a Frederick the
Great; and, further, because he is the head of the Liberal
party here (God alone knows how liberal they are !), endeav-
ours to reproduce the noble affability of General Lafay-
ette."
" I know Fabio Conti," said the duchess. " I had a
glimpse of him at Como ; he was quarrelling with the gen-
darmes." She related the little incident, which my readers
may possibly recollect.
" Some of these days, madam if your intellect ever
contrives to probe the depths of our etiquette you will
become aware that no young lady is presented at this court
till after her marriage. Well, so fervent is our prince's
patriotic conviction of the superiority of his own city of
Parma over every other, that I am ready to wager any-
thing he will find means to have young Clelia Conti, our
Lafayette's daughter, presented to him. She is a charm-
ing creature, on my honour, and only a week ago was
The Chartreuse of Parma
supposed to be the loveliest person in the prince's do-
minions.
" I do not know/' the count went on, " whether the hor-
rible stories put about by our sovereign's enemies have
travelled as far as Grianta. He is described as a monster
and an ogre. As a matter of fact, Ernest IV is full of good
commonplace virtues, and it might be added that if he had
been as invulnerable as Achilles he would have continued
to be a model potentate. But in a fit of boredom and bad
temper, and a little, too, for the sake of imitating Louis
XIV, who found some hero of the Fronde living quietly
and insolently in a country house close to Versailles fifty
years after the close of that rebellion, and forthwith cut off
his head, Ernest IV had two Liberals hanged. These im-
pudent fellows were in the habit, it appears, of meeting on
certain days to speak evil of the prince and earnestly im-
plore Heaven to send a plague on Parma, and so deliver
them from the tyrant. The use of the word " tyrant " was
absolutely proved. Rassi declared this was a conspiracy;
he had them sentenced to death, and the execution of one
of them, Count L , was a horrible business. All this
happened before my time. Ever since that fatal moment,"
continued the count, dropping his voice, " the prince has
been subject to fits of terror which are unworthy of any
man, but which are the sole and only source of the favour
I enjoy. If it were not for the sovereign's alarms, my
particular style of -excellence would be too rough and
rugged to suit this court, where stupidity reigns supreme.
Will you believe that the prince looks under every bed in
his apartments before he gets into his own, and spends a
million yearly which at Parma is what four millions would
be at Milan to insure himself a good police force. The
head of that terrible police force, madam, now stands before
you. Through the police that is to say, through the
prince's terrors I have become Minister of War and of
Finance ; and as the Minister of the Interior is my nominal
chief insomuch as the police falls within his department
I have caused that portfolio to be bestowed on Count Zurla-
Contarini, an idiot who delights in work, and is never so
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The Chartreuse of Parma
happy as when he can write eighty letters in a day. This
very morning I have received one on which the count has
had the pleasure of writing No. 20,715 with his own hand."
The Duchess Sanseverina was presented to the melan-
choly-looking Princess of Parma, Clara Paolina, who, be-
cause her husband had a mistress (the Marchesa Balbi, a
rather pretty woman), thought herself the unhappiest, and
had thus become the most tiresome woman, perhaps, in the
universe.
The duchess found herself in the presence of a very tall
and thin woman, who had not reached the age of six-and-
thirty, and who looked fifty. Her face, with its noble and
regular features, might have been thought beautiful, in
spite of a pair of large round eyes, out of which she could
hardly see, if the princess had not grown so utterly care-
less of her personal appearance. She received the duchess
with such evident shyness that certain of the courtiers, who
hated Count Mosca, ventured to remark that the sovereign
looked like the woman who was being presented, and the
duchess like the sovereign who received her. The duchess,
surprised and almost put out of countenance, did not know
what terms she should employ to indicate the inferiority of
her own position to that which the princess chose to take
up. The only thing she could devise to restore some com-
posure to the poor princess, who was really not lacking in
intelligence, was to begin and carry on a long dissertation
on the subject of botany. The princess really knew a great
deal about the subject; she had very fine hot-houses filled
with tropical plants. The duchess, while simply attempting
to get out of her own difficulty, made a lasting conquest
of the Princess Clara Paolina, who, timid and nervous as
she had been at the opening of the audience, was so perfectly
at her ease before its close that, contrary to every rule of
etiquette, this first reception lasted no less than an hour and
a quarter. The very next day the duchess purchased quan-
tities of exotic plants, and gave herself out as a great lover
of botany.
The princess spent all her time with the venerable Father
Landriani, Archbishop of Parma, a learned and even a witty
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The Chartreuse of Parma
man, and a perfectly well-mannered man into the bargain.
But it was a curious sight to see him, enthroned in the
crimson velvet chair which he occupied by virtue of his
office, opposite the arm-chair in which the princess sat, sur-
rounded by her ladies of honour and her two ladies in
waiting. The aged prelate, with his long white hair, was
even more shy, if that were possible, than the princess.
They met every day of their lives, and every audience began
with a full quarter of an hour of silence to such a point
indeed, that one of the ladies in waiting, the Countess Alvizi,
had become a sort of favourite because she possessed the
knack of encouraging them to open their lips, and making
them break the stillness.
To wind up her presentations, the duchess was received
by the hereditary prince, who was taller than his father, and
even shyer than his mother. He was sixteen years old, and
an authority on mineralogy. When the duchess appeared
he blushed scarlet, and was so put out that he was quite
unable to invent anything to say to the fair lady. He was
very good-looking, and spent his whole life in the woods
with a hammer in his hand. When the duchess rose to her
feet to bring the silent audience to a close
" Heavens, madam," he cried, " how beautiful you
are ! " and the lady who had been presented to him did not
think the remark altogether ill-chosen.
The Marchesa Balbi, a young woman of five-and-twenty,
might, some two or three years before the arrival of the
duchess in Parma, have been quoted as a most perfect type
of Italian beauty. She still had the loveliest eyes in the
world, and the most graceful little gestures. But close ob-
servation showed her skin to be covered with innumerable
tiny wrinkles, which made her into a young-looking old
woman. Seen from a distance, in her box at the theatre,
for instance, she was still beautiful, and the good people
in the pit thought the prince showed very good taste. He
spent all the evenings in the Marchesa Balbi's house, but
frequently without opening his lips, and her consciousness
that the prince was bored had worried the poor woman into
a condition of extraordinary thinness. She gave herself
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The Chartreuse of Parma
airs of excessive cleverness, and was always smiling archly.
She had the most beautiful teeth in the world, and in season
and out she endeavoured to smile people into the belief that
she meant something different from what she was saying.
Count Mosca declared it was this perpetual smile while
she was yawning in her heart which had given her so
many wrinkles. The Balbi had her finger in every business,
and the state could not conclude a bargain of a thousand
francs without a " remembrance," so it was politely termed
at Parma, for the marchesa. According to public report
she had invested six millions of francs in England, but her
fortune, which was certainly a thing of recent growth, did
not really exceed one million five hundred thousand francs.
It was to protect himself from her cunning and to keep her
dependent on him that Mosca had made himself Minister
of Finance. The marchesa's sole passion was fear, disguised
in the shape of sordid avarice. " I shall die destitute," she
would sometimes say to the prince, who was furious at the
very idea. The duchess remarked that the splendid gilded
antechamber of the Balbi's palace was lighted by a solitary
candle, which was guttering down on to a precious marble
table, and her drawing-room doors were blackened by the
servants' fingers. " She received me," said the duchess to
her friend, " as if she expected me. to give her a gratuity of
fifty francs ! "
The tide of these successes was somewhat checked by
the reception the duchess received at the hands of the clev-
erest woman at the court of Parma, the celebrated Mar-
chesa Raversi, a consummate intrigante, who led the party
opposed to Count Mosca. She was bent on his overthrow,
and had been so more especially during the last few months,
for she was the Duke Sanseverina's niece, and was afraid the
charms of the new duchess might diminish her own share
of his inheritance.
" The Raversi is by no means a woman to be over-
looked," said the count to his friend. " So great is my opin-
ion of her capacity that I separated from my wife simply
and solely because she insisted on taking one of the mar-
chesa's friends, the Cavaliere Bentivoglio, as her lover."
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The Chartreuse of Parma
The Marchesa Raversi, a tall, masterful woman, with
very black hair, remarkable for the diamonds which she
wore even in the daytime, and for the rouge with which
she covered her face, had declared her enmity to the duchess
beforehand, and was careful to begin hostile operations as
soon as she beheld her. Sanseverina's letters betrayed so
much satisfaction with his embassy, and especially such de-
light in his hope of obtaining his much-coveted order, that
his family feared he might leave part of his fortune to
his wife, on whom he showered a succession of trifling pres-
ents. The Raversi, though a thoroughly ugly woman, had
a lover, Count Baldi, the best-looking man about the court.
As a general rule she succeeded in everything she under-
took.
The duchess kept up a magnificent establishment. The
Palazzo Sanseverina had always been one of the most splen-
did in Parma, and the duke, in honour of his embassy and
his expected decoration, was spending large sums on im-
provements. The duchess superintended all these changes.
The count had guessed aright. A few days after the
duchess's presentation the young Clelia Conti appeared at
court ; she had been created a canoness. To parry the blow
the conferring of this favour might appear to have given the
count's credit, the duchess, under pretext of opening the
gardens of her palace, gave a fete, and in her graceful way
made Clelia, whom she called her "little friend from the
Lake of Como," the queen of the revels. Her initials ap-
peared, as though by chance, on all the chief transparencies
which adorned the grounds. The youthful Clelia, though a
trifle pensive, spoke in the most charming fashion of her
little adventure on the shore of the lake, and of her own
sincere gratitude. She was said to be very devout and fond
of solitude. "I'll wager," said the count, "she's clever
enough to be ashamed of her father ! " The duchess made
a friend of the young girl ; she really felt drawn toward her.
She did not wish to appear jealous, and included her in all
her entertainments. She made it her rule to endeavour to
soften all the various hatreds of which the count was the
object.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
Everything smiled on the duchess. The court exis-
tence, over which the storm-cloud always hangs threaten-
ingly, entertained her. Life seemed to have begun afresh
for her ; she was tenderly attached to the count, and he was
literally beside himself with delight. His private happiness
had endued him with the most absolute composure regard-
ing matters which only affected his ambition, and hardly
two months after the duchess's arrival he received his patent
as Prime Minister, and all the honours appertaining to that
position, which fell but little short of those rendered to the
sovereign himself. The count's influence over his master's
mind was all powerful. A striking proof of the fact was
soon to become evident in Parma.
Ten minutes' walk from the town, toward the southeast,
rises the far-famed citadel, renowned all over Italy, the great
tower of which, some hundred and eighty feet high, may
be descried from an immense distance. This tower, built
toward the beginning of the sixteenth century by the
Farnese, grandsons of Paul III, in imitation of the Mauso-
leum of Adrian at Rome, is so thick that room has been
found on the terrace at one end of it, to build a palace for
the governor of the citadel, and a more modern prison,
known as the Farnese Tower. This citadel, built in honour
of Ranuzio-Ernest II, who had been his own stepmother's
favourite lover, has a great reputation in the country, both
for its beauty and as a curiosity. The duchess took a fancy
to see it. On the day of her visit, the heat in Parma had been
most oppressive. At the altitude on which the prison stood
she found a breeze, and was so delighted that she remained
there several hours. Rooms in the Farnese Tower were
immediately opened for her convenience.
On the terrace of the great tower she met a poor im-
prisoned Liberal, who had come up to enjoy the half-hour's
walk allowed him every third day. She returned to Parma,
and not having yet attained the discretion indispensable at
an autocratic court, she talked about the man, who had told
her his whole story. The Marchesa Raversi's party laid
hold of the duchess's remarks, and made a great deal of
them, in the eager hope that they would give umbrage to
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The Chartreuse of Parma
the prince. As a matter of fact, Ernest IV was fond of
reiterating that the great point was to strike people's im-
aginations. " Forever," he would say, " is a great word,
and sheds more terror in Italy than anywhere else." Con-
sequently he had never granted a pardon in his life. A week
after her visit to the fortress, the duchess received a written
commutation of a prisoner's sentence, signed by the prince
and minister, and with the name left blank. Any prisoner
whose name she might insert was to recover his confiscated
property, and to be allowed to depart to America and there
spend the remainder of his days. The duchess wrote the
name of the man to whom she had spoken. By ill-luck he
happened to be a sort of half-rascal, a weak-hearted fellow.
It was on his confessions that the celebrated Ferrante Palla
had been condemned to death.
The peculiar circumstances connected with this pardon
crowned the Duchess Sanseverina's success. Count Mosca
was deliriously happy. It was one of the brightest mo-
ments in his life, and had a decisive influence on Fabrizio's
future. The young man was still at Romagnano, near No-
vara, confessing his sins, hunting, reading nothing at all,
and making love to a high-born lady according to the in-
structions given him. The duchess was still somewhat dis-
gusted by this last stipulation. Another sign, which was
not a good one for the count, was that though on every
other subject she was absolutely frank with him, and, in fact,
thought aloud in his presence, she never mentioned Fabrizio
without having carefully prepared her sentence beforehand.
" If you wish it," said the count to her one day, " I will
write to that delightful brother of yours on the Lake of
Como, and with a little trouble on my own part and that of
my friends, I can certainly force the Marchese del Dongo
to sue for mercy for your dear Fabrizio. If it be true
and I should be sorry to think it was not that the boy is
somewhat superior to the majority of the young men who
ride their horses up and down the streets of Milan, what a
life lies before him ! that of a man who at eighteen years
old has nothing to do, and never expects to have any occu-
pation. If Heaven had granted him a real passion for any-
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The Chartreuse of Parma
thing on the face of the earth even for rod-fishing I
would respect it. But what is to become of him at Milan,
even if he is pardoned ? At one particular hour of the day
he will ride out upon the horse he will have brought over
from England; at another fixed hour sheer idleness will
drive him into the arms of his mistress, whom he will care
for less than he does for his horse. Still, if you order me
to do it, I will endeavour to procure your nephew the op-
portunity of leading that kind of life."
" I should like him to be an officer/' said the duchess.
" Could you advise any sovereign to confer such a posi-
tion, which may at any moment become one of some im-
portance, on a young man who, in the first place, is capable
of enthusiasm, and, in the second, has proved his enthusi-
asm for Napoleon to the extent of going to join him at
Waterloo ? Consider what we should all be now if Na-
poleon had won that battle ! True, there would be no
Liberals for us to dread, but the only way in which the
sovereigns of the ancient families could retain their thrones
would be by marrying his marshals' daughters. For Fa-
brizio the military career would be like the life of a squirrel
in a cage constant movement and no advancement ; he
would have the vexation of seeing his services outweighed
by those of any and every plebeian. The indispensable
quality for every young man in the present day that is to
say, for the next fifty years, during which time our terrors
will last, and religion will not yet be firmly re-established
must be lack of intelligence and incapacity for all enthu-
siasm. I have thought of one thing but you will begin by
crying out at the very idea and it is a matter which would
give me infinite trouble, that would last for many a day.
Still, it is a folly that I am ready to commit for you and
tell me, if you can, what folly I would not commit for the
sake of a smile from you ? "
"Well?" said the duchess.
" Well ! Three Archbishops of Parma have been mem-
bers of your family Ascanio del Dongo, who wrote a book
in 1 6 ; Fabrizio, who was here in 1699; and another
Ascanio, in 1740. If Fabrizio will enter the Church, and
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The Chartreuse of Parma
give proofs of first-rate merit, I will first of all make him
bishop of some other place, and then archbishop here, pro-
vided my influence lasts long enough. The real objection is
this : Shall I continue in power sufficiently long to realize
this fine plan? It will take several years. The prince may
die, or he may have the bad taste to dismiss me. Still, after
all, this is the only means I can perceive of doing anything
for Fabrizio which will be worthy of you/'
There was a long discussion; the idea was very repug-
nant to the duchess.
" Prove to me once again/' said she to the count, " that
no other career is possible for Fabrizio."
The count repeated his arguments, and he added : " What
you regret is the gay uniform. But in that matter I am
powerless."
The duchess asked for a month to think it over, and then,
with a sigh, she accepted the minister's wise counsels. " He
must either ride about some big town on an English horse,
with a stuck-up air, or take up a way of life which is not
unsuitable to his birth. I see no middle course," repeated
the count. " A nobleman, unfortunately, can not be either
a doctor or a lawyer, and this is the century of lawyers.
But remember, madam," he continued, " that it is in your
power to give your nephew the same advantages of life in
Milan as are enjoyed by the young men of his age who are
considered to be Fortune's favourites. Once his pardon is
granted, you can allow him fifteen, twenty, or thirty thou-
sand francs a year; the sum will matter little; neither you
nor I expect to put away money."
But the duchess pined for glory ; she did not want her
nephew to be a mere spendthrift. She gave in her adhesion
to her lover's project.
" Observe," the count said to her, " that I do not the
least claim that Fabrizio should become an exemplary priest,
like so many that you see about you. No. First and fore-
most, he remains an aristocrat; he can continue perfectly
ignorant if he so prefers it, and that will not prevent him
from becoming a bishop and an archbishop if the prince
only continues to consider me a useful servant. If your
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The Chartreuse of Parma
will condescends to change my proposal into an immutable
decree," he continued, our protege must not appear at
Parma in any modest position. His ultimate honours would
give umbrage if he had been seen here as an ordinary priest.
He must not appear at Parma without the violet stockings *
and all the appropriate surroundings. Then everybody will
guess that your nephew is going to be a bishop, and nobody
will find fault. If you will be ruled by me, you will send
Fabrizio to Naples for three years to study theology. Dur-
ing the vacations he can, if he chooses, go and see Paris and
London, but he must never show himself at Parma."
This last sentence made the duchess shiver. She sent a
courier to her nephew, desiring him to meet her at Piacenza.
I need hardly say that the messenger carried all the neces-
sary funds and passports.
Fabrizio, who was the first to arrive at Piacenza, ran to
meet the duchess, and kissed her in a transport of affection,
which made her burst into tears. She was glad the count
was not present. It was the first time since the beginning of
their liaison that she had been conscious of such a sensation.
Fabrizio was greatly touched, and deeply distressed,
also, by the plans the duchess had made for him. His hope
had always been that, once his Waterloo escapade had been
excused, he might yet become a soldier.
One thing struck the duchess and increased her romantic
admiration for her nephew; he absolutely refused to lead
the ordinary life of young men in large Italian cities.
" Don't you see yourself at the Corso, in Florence, or
Naples," said the duchess, " riding your thorough-bred
English horses, and then in the evening your carriage, and
beautiful rooms, and so forth ? " She dwelt with delight
on her description of the commonplace enjoyments from
which she saw Fabrizio turn in disdain. " He is a hero,"
thought she to herself.
"And after ten years of that delightful life," said Fa-
* In Italy, young men who are learned or protected in high quar-
ters are created monsignori and prelates, which does not mean that they
are bishops. They then wear violet stockings. A monsignore takes
no vows, and can relinquish his violet stockings if he desires to marry.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
brizio, " what shall I have done? What shall I be? Noth-
ing but a middle-aged young man who will have to make
way for the first good-looking youth who rides into society
on another English horse."
At first he would not hear of going into the Church. He
talked of going to New York, obtaining citizenship, and
serving as a soldier in the republic of America.
" What a mistake you will make ! You will have no
fighting, and you will just fall back into the old cafe life,
only without elegance, without music, and without love-
making," replied the duchess. " Believe me, your life in
America would be a sad business, both for you and me."
And she explained what dollar worship was, and the respect
necessarily paid to the artisan class, on whose votes every-
thing depended. They went back again to the Church plan.
" Before you lose your temper over it," said the duchess,
" try to understand what the count asks you to do. It is not
at all a question of your living a poor and more or less exem-
plary life, like Father Blanes. Remember the history of
your ancestors, who were Archbishops of Parma. Read
the notices of their lives in the Appendix to the Genealogy.
The man who bears a great name must be first and foremost
a true nobleman, high-hearted, generous, a protector of
justice, destined from the outset to stand at the head of his
order, guilty of but one piece of knavery in his life, and
that a very useful one."
" Alas ! " cried Fabrizio, " so all my illusions have van-
ished into thin air! " and he sighed deeply. " It is a cruel
sacrifice. I confess I never reckoned with the horror of
enthusiasm and intelligence, even when used in their own
service, which will reign for the future among all absolute
sovereigns."
" Consider that a proclamation, or a mere freak of the
affections, may drive an enthusiastic man into the opposite
party to that in the service of which he has spent his
whole life." .
" Enthusiastic ! I ! " repeated Fabrizio. " What an ex-
traordinary accusation! I can not even contrive to fall in
love ! "
126
The Chartreuse of Parma
" What ! " exclaimed the duchess.
" When I have the honour of paying my court to a beau-
tiful woman, even though she be religious and of the high-
est birth, I never can think of her except when I am looking
at her."
This confession had a very peculiar effect upon the
duchess.
" Give me a month," said Fabrizio, " to take leave of
Signora C at Novara, and, what is far more difficult, to
bid farewell to the dreams of all my life. I will write to my
mother, who will be good enough to come and see me at
Belgirate, on the Piedmontese shore of the Lago Maggiore,
and on the one-and-thirtieth day from this one I will be
at Parma incognito."
" Do not dream of such a thing," exclaimed the duchess ;
she had no wish that Count Mosca should see her with Fa-
brizio.
They met once more at Piacenza. This time the
duchess was sorely agitated. A storm had broken at court.
The Marchesa Raversi's party was on the brink of triumph ;
it was quite on the cards that Count Mosca might be re-
placed by General Fabio Conti, the head of what was known
at Parma as the Liberal party. With the exception of the
name of the rival whose favour was thus growing with the
prince, the duchess told Fabrizio everything. She discussed
all his future chances over again, even to the possibility that
the count's all-powerful protection might fail him.
" I am to spend three years at the Ecclesiastical Acad-
emy at Naples," exclaimed Fabrizio. " But as I am to be
first and foremost a young man of family, and as you do
not expect me to lead the severe life of a virtuous semina-
rist, the idea of my stay at Naples does not alarm me. The
life there will, at all events, be no worse than that at Roma-
gnano. The best company in that place was beginning to
look on me as a Jacobin. During my exile I have discov-
ered that I know nothing not even Latin nay, not even
how to spell ! I had determined to begin my education
afresh at Novara. I shall be glad to study theology at
Naples ; it is a complicated science."
127
The Chartreuse of Parma
The duchess was overjoyed. " If we are dismissed," she
said, " we will go and see you at Naples. But as, for the
moment, you accept the idea of the violet stockings, the
count, who knows the present condition of Italy thoroughly,
has given me a hint for you. Believe whatever is taught
you or not, as you choose, but never express any objection.
Tell yourself you are being taught the rules of whist ;
would you make any demur about the rules of whist ? I told
the count you were a believer, and he was very glad of it ;
it is useful both in this world and in the next. But do not,
because you believe, fall into the vulgarity of speaking with
horror of Voltaire, Diderot, Raynal, and all the other wild
Frenchmen who were the precursors of the two Chambers.
Those names should hardly ever be pronounced by you.
But if the necessity should arise, you must refer to them
with the calmest irony, as people whose theories have long
since been rejected, and whose attacks are no longer of the
slightest consequence. Accept everything you are told at
the academy with the blindest faith. Recollect that there are
individuals within its walls who will take faithful note of
your most trifling objections. A little love affair, if ju-
diciously managed, will be forgiven you, but a doubt, never !
Advancing years suppress the tendency to love-making
and increase that toward doubt. When you go to confes-
sion act on this principle. You will have a letter of recom-
mendation to the bishop who acts as factotum to the Car-
dinal Archbishop of Naples. To him alone you will confess
your escapade in France, and your presence near Waterloo
on the i8th of June. And even so, shorten the matter, make
little of the adventure ; only confess it so that nobody may
be able to reproach you with having concealed it you were
so young when it happened. The second hint which the
count sends you is this: If a brilliant argument occurs to
you, or a crushing reply which would change the course of
a conversation, do not yield to the temptation to shine ; keep
silence. Clever people will read your intelligence in your
eyes. It will be time enough for you to be witty when you
are a bishop."
Fabrizio began life at Naples with a quiet-looking car-
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The Chartreuse of Parma
riage and four faithful Milanese servants, sent him by his
aunt. After a year's study, no one called him a clever man ;
he rather bore the reputation of being an aristocrat, studi-
ous, very generous, and something of a libertine.
The year, which had been a fairly pleasant one to Fa-
brizio, had been terrible for the duchess. Two or three
times over the count had been within an inch of ruin. The
prince, who, being ill, was more timorous than ever, fancied
that by dismissing him he would get rid of the odium of
the executions which had taken place before the count be-
came minister. Rassi was the favourite with whom the
sovereign was determined not to part. The count's peril
made the duchess cling to him with passionate affection ; she
never gave a thought to Fabrizio. To give some colour to
their possible retirement, she discovered that the air of
Parma, which is, indeed, somewhat damp, like that of the
whole of Lombardy, was quite unsuited to her health. At
last, after intervals of disgrace, during which the Prime
Minister sometimes spent three weeks without seeing his
master privately, Mosca won the day. He had General
Fabio Conti, the so-called Liberal, appointed governor of
the citadel in which the Liberals sentenced by Rassi were
imprisoned. " If Conti shows any indulgence to his pris-
oners," said Mosca to his mistress, " he will be disgraced as
a Jacobin, whose political views have made him forget his
duty as a soldier. If he proves severe and merciless, which,
as I fancy, is the direction in which he will most likely lean,
he ceases to be the leader of his own party, and alienates all
the families whose relations are imprisoned in the citadel.
The poor wretch knows how to put on an air of the deepest
respect whenever he appears before the prince; he can
change his clothes four times a day, he can discuss a
question of etiquette, but his head is not strong enough
to guide him along the difficult path which is the only
one that can lead him to safety. And anyhow, I am on
the spot."
The clay after General Fabio Conti's appointment, which
closed the ministerial crisis, it was noised abroad that an
ultra-monarchical newspaper was to be published in Parma.
9 129
The Chartreuse of Parma
"What quarrels this newspaper will cause!" said the
duchess.
" The idea of publishing this newspaper is perhaps the
best I ever had," replied the count with a laugh. " Little by
little, and in spite of myself, I shall let the ultra-furies take
the management out of my hands. I have had good salaries
attached to all the positions connected with the editorial
staff people will apply to be appointed from all quarters
the matter will keep us busy for a month or two, and so my
late dangers will be forgotten. Those serious personages
P and D have already joined the staff."
" But the whole thing will be too revoltingly absurd ! "
"I hope so, indeed," replied the count. "The prince
shall read it every morning, and admire the doctrine of the
newspaper I have founded. As regards the details, he will
approve of some and find fault with others ; that will take up
two of his working hours. The newspaper will get into
difficulties, but by the time the serious troubles begin, eight
or ten months hence, it will be entirely in the hands of the
ultras. Then that party, which is a trouble to me, will have
to answer for it, and I shall make complaints against the
newspaper. On the whole, I would rather have a hundred
vile absurdities than see a single man hanged. Who will
remember an absurdity two years after its publication in the
official newspaper? Whereas, if I have to hang a man, his
sons and his whole family vow a hatred against me which
will last my whole life, and may shorten it."
The duchess, who was always passionately interested in
one thing or another, constantly active and never idle, w r as
cleverer than the whole court of Parma together. But she
had not the patience and calmness indispensable to success
in intrigue ; nevertheless, she contrived to follow the work-
ing of the various coteries with eager interest, and was even
beginning to enjoy some personal credit with the prince.
The reigning princess, Clara Paolina, who was loaded with
honours, but, girt about with the most superannuated eti-
quette, looked on herself as the unhappiest of women. The
Duchess Sanseverina paid court to her, and undertook to
convince her she was not so very wretched after all. It
. 130
The Chartreuse of Parma
must be explained that the prince never saw his wife except
at dinner. This repast lasted about twenty minutes, and
sometimes for weeks and weeks the prince never opened his
lips to Clara Paolina. The duchess endeavoured to change
all this. She herself amused the prince, all the more so
because she had managed to preserve her independence.
Even if she had desired it she could not have contrived
never to displease any of the fools who swarmed at court.
It was this utter incapacity on her part that caused her to
be detested by the common herd of courtiers, all of them
men of title, most of them enjoying incomes of about five
thousand francs a year. She realized this misfortune during
her first days at Parma, and turned her exclusive attention
to pleasing the prince and his consort, who completely
swayed the hereditary prince. The duchess knew how to
amuse the sovereign, and took advantage of the great at-
tention he paid to her lightest word, to cast hearty ridicule
on the courtiers who hated her. Since the follies into which
Rassi had led him and bloodstained follies can not be re-
paired the prince was occasionally frightened, and very
often bored. This had brought him to a condition .of melan-
choly envy. He realized that he was hardly ever amused,
and looked glum if he thought other people were; amusing
themselves. The sight of happiness drove him wild.
"We must hide our love," said the duchess to her lover,
and she allowed the prince to surmise that her affection for
the count, charming fellow though he was, was by no means
so strong as it had been.
This discovery insured his Highness a whole day of hap-
piness. From time to time the duchess would let fall a word
or two concerning a plan she had for taking a few months'
holiday every year; and spending the time in seeing Italy,
for she did not know the country at all. She would pay
visits to Naples, Florence, and Rome. Now, nothing in
the world could possibly be more displeasing to the prince
than any idea of such desertion. This was one of his ruling
weaknesses any action which might be imputed to scorn
of his native city stabbed him to the heart. He felt he had
no means of detaining the. Duchess Sanseverina, and the
131
The Chartreuse of Parma
Duchess Sanseverina was by far the most brilliant woman
at Parma. People even came back from their country
houses in the neighbourhood to be present at her Thursday
parties, a wonderful effort for these idle Italians. These
Thursday gatherings were real fetes, at which the duchess
almost always produced some fresh and attractive nov-
elty. The prince was dying to see one of these parties,
but. how was he to set about it? To go to a private
house was a thing which neither he nor his father had
ever done.
On a certain Thursday it was raining and bitterly cold.
All through the evening the duke had been listening to the
carriages rattling across the pavement of the square in front
of his palace, on their way to the Palazzo Sanseverina. A
fit of impatient anger seized him. Other people were amus-
ing themselves, and he, their sovereign prince and abso-
lute lord, who ought to amuse himself more than anybody
in the world, was feeling bored.
He rang for his aide-de-camp. It took a little time
to station a dozen trusty servants in the street leading from
the palace of his Highness to the Palazzo Sanseverina. At
last, after an hour, which to the prince seemed like a cen-
tury, and during which he had been tempted, twenty times
over, to set forth boldly without any precaution whatsoever,
and take his chance of dagger thrusts, he made his appear-
ance in the Duchess Sanseverina's outer drawing-room. If
a thunderbolt had fallen in that drawing-room, it could not
have caused such great surprise. In the twinkling of an
eye, as the prince passed forward, a stupor of silence fell
upon the rooms which had just been so noisy and so gay.
Every eye was fixed on the prince, and stared wider and
wider. The courtiers seemed put out of countenance ; the
duchess alone did not appear astonished. When the power
of speech returned, the great anxiety of all the company
present 'was to decide the important question whether the
duchess had been warned of the impending visit, or whether
it had taken her, like everybody else, by surprise.
The prince amused himself, and my readers will now be
able to realize the impulsive nature of the duchess, and the
132
The Chartreuse of Parma
infinite power which the vague ideas of possible departure
she had so skilfully dropped had enabled her to attain.
As she accompanied the departing prince to the door, he
addressed her in the most flattering strain. A strange no-
tion entered her head, and she ventured to say, quite simply,
and as though it were the most ordinary matter in the world :
" If your Most Serene Highness would address two or
three of the gracious expressions you have showered on
me to the princess, you would ensure my happiness far more
thoroughly than by telling me, here, that I am pretty. For
I would not, for all the world, that the princess should look
askance at the signal mark of favour with which your High-
ness has just honoured me." The prince looked hard at
her, and responded dryly :
" I suppose I am free to go where I choose."
The duchess coloured.
" My only desire," she instantly replied, " was to avoid
giving your Highness the trouble of driving out for noth-
ing, for this Thursday will be my last. I am going to spend
a few days at Bologna or Florence."
When she passed back into the drawing-rooms, every
one thought she had reached the very height of court f;
vour, and she had just dared what no one in the memor
of man Jiad ever dared at Parma. She made a sign to th<
count, who left his whist table and followed her into a smal ;
room, which, though lighted up, was empty.
" What you have done is very bold," he said. " I should
not have advised you to do it. But when a man's heart is
really engaged," he added with a laugh, " happiness in-
creases love, and if you start to-morrow morning, I follow
you to-morrow night ! The only thing which will delay m<
is this troublesome Finance Ministry, which I have been
foolish enough to undertake. But in four hours of steady
work I shall be able to give over a great many cash boxes.
Let us go back, dear friend, and show off our ministerial
conceit freely and unreservedly ; it may be the last perform-
ance we shall give in this city. If the man thinks he is
being set at defiance he is capable of anything ; he will call
that making an example! When all these people havs
'33
The Chartreuse of Parma
parted we will see about barricading you in for the night,
rhaps your best plan would be to start at once for your
use at Sacca, near the Po, which has the advantage of
ing only half an hour's journey from the Austrian states."
It was an exquisite moment, both for the duchess's love,
d for her vanity. She looked at the count, and her eyes
re moist with tears. That so powerful a minister, sur-
anded by a mob of courtiers who overwhelmed him with
mage equal to that they paid to the prince himself, should
ready to leave everything for her, and that so cheer-
ly!
When she went back to her rooms she was giddy with
light ; every one bowed -down before her.
" How happiness does change the duchess ! " said the
urtiers on every side ; " one would hardly know her again.
A 4 , last that Roman soul, which as a rule scorns everything,
.ually condescends to appreciate the exceeding favour
jch the sovereign has just shown her,"
Toward the end of the evening the count came to her.
" i must tell you some news." Immediately the persons
>se to the duchess retired to a distance.
"When the prince returned to the palace," the count
nt on, " he sent to the princess to announce his arrival.
< lagine her astonishment ! ' I have come,' he said, 'to give
u an account of a really very pleasant evening which I
have just spent with the Sanseverina. It is she who begged
; ' to give you details of the manner in which she has re-
; anged that smoky old palace.' And then the prince, seat-
C himself, began to describe each of your rooms. He
:nt more than five-and-twenty minutes with his wife, who
s shedding tears of joy. In spite of her cleverness, she
ild not find a word to carry on the conversation in the
' -/-lit tone which it was his Highness's pleasure to give it."
The prince was not a bad man, whatever the Italian
)erals might say of him. He had, it is true, cast a certain
mber of them into prison, but this was out of fright, and
he would sometimes reiterate, as though to console himself
for certain memories, " It is better to kill the devil than to
let the devil kill us." On the morrow after the party to
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The Chartreuse of Parma
which we have just referred he was quite joyous; he had
done two good actions had been to the party, and had
talked to his wife. At dinner he spoke to her again. In
a word, that Thursday party at the Sanseverina palace
brought about a domestic revolution which resounded all
over Parma. The Raversi was dismayed, and the duchess
tasted a twofold joy. She had been able to serve her lover,
and she had found him more devoted than ever.
" And all that because a very imprudent notion came into
my head," said she to the count. " I should have more free-
dom, no doubt, at Rome or at Naples, but could I find any
existence so fascinating as this ? No, my dear count, and, in
good truth, I owe my happiness to you."
135
CHAPTER VII
ANY history of the four years that now elapsed would
have to be filled up with small court details, as insignificant
as those we have just related. Every spring the marchesa
and her daughters came to spend two months either at the
Palazzo Sanseverina or at the duchess's country house at
Sacca, on the banks of the P6. These were very delightful
visits, during which there was much talk of Fabrizio. But
the count would never allow him to appear at Parma. The
duchess and the Prime Minister found it necessary to re-
pair an occasional blunder, but on the whole Fabrizio fol-
lowed the line of conduct mapped out for him with toler-
able propriety. He was the great nobleman studying the-
ology, who did not reckon absolutely upon his virtue to
insure his advancement. At Naples he had taken a strong
fancy to antiquarian studies. He made excavations, and this
passion almost took the place of his fondness for horses.
He sold his English horses so as to continue his researches
at Miseno, where he found a bust of the youthful Tiberius,
which soon ranked as one of the finest known relics of an-
tiquity. The discovery of this bust was almost the keenest
pleasure Fabrizio knew while he was at Naples. He was
too proud-spirited to imitate other young men, and, for in-
stance, to play the lover's part with a certain amount of
gravity. He had mistresses, certainly, but they were of no
real consequence to him, and in spite of his youth he might
have been said not to know what love was. This only made
the women love him more. There was nothing to prevent
him from behaving with the most perfect coolness, for in
his case one young and pretty woman was always as good
as any other young and pretty woman ; only the one whose
acquaintance he had last made seemed to him the most at-
136
The Chartreuse of Parma
tractive. During the last year of his sojourn, one of the most
admired beauties in Naples had committed imprudences for
his sake. This had begun by amusing him, and ended by
boring him to death ; and that to such a point that one of
the joys connected with his departure was that it delivered
him from the pursuit of the charming Duchess of . It
was in 1821 that, his examination having been passed with
tolerable success, the director of his studies received a
decoration and a pecuniary acknowledgment, and he him-
self started, at last, to see that city of Parma of which he
had often dreamed. He was a monsignore, and had four
horses to his carriage. At the last posting station before
Parma he took two horses instead, and when he reached the
town he stopped before the Church of St. John. It con-
tained the splendid tomb of the Archbishop Ascanio del
Dongo, his great-great-uncle, author of the Latin Gene-
alogy. He prayed beside the tomb, and then went on foot
to the palace of the duchess, who did not expect him till
several days later. Her drawing-room was very full. Soon
she was left alone.
" Well, are you pleased with me ? " he said, and threw
himself into her arms. " Thanks to you, I have been spend-
ing four fairly happy years at Naples, instead of boring
myself at Novara with the mistress the police authorized me
to take."
The duchess could not get over her astonishment; she
would not have known him if she had met him in the street.
She thought him, what he really was, one of the best-look-
ing men in Italy. It was his expression, especially, that was
so charming.
When she had sent him to Naples he had looked a
reckless daredevil ; the riding-whip which never left his hand
seemed an inherent portion of his being. Now, when
strangers were present, his manner was the most dignified
and guarded imaginable, and when they were alone she
recognised all the fiery ardour of his early youth. Here
was a diamond which had lost nothing in the cutting.
Hardly an hour after Fabrizio's arrival Count Mosca made
his appearance ; he had come a little too soon. The young
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The Chartreuse of Parma
man spoke so correctly about the Parmesan order conferred
on his tutor, and expressed his lively gratitude for other
benefits to which he dared not refer in so open a manner
with such perfect propriety, that at the first glance the
minister judged him correctly. " This nephew of yours,"
he murmured to the duchess, " is born to adorn all the
dignities to which you may ultimately desire to raise him."
Up to this point ail had gone marvellously well. But when
the minister, who had been very much pleased with Fabrizio,
and until then had given his whole attention to his behaviour
and gestures, looked at the duchess, the expression in her
eyes struck him as strange.
" This young man makes an unusual impression here,"
said he to himself. The thought was a bitter one. The
count had passed his fiftieth year a cruel word, the full
meaning of which can only be realized, perhaps, by a man
who is desperately in love. He was exceedingly kind-
hearted, very worthy to be loved, except for his official
severity. But in his eyes that cruel phrase, my fiftieth year,
cast a black cloud over all his life, and might even have
driven him to be cruel on his own account. During the five
years which had elapsed since he had persuaded the duchess
to settle in Parma, she had often roused his jealousy, more
especially in the earlier days. But she had never given
him any cause for real complaint. He even believed, and
he was right, that it was with the object of tightening her
hold upon his heart that the duchess had bestowed apparent
favour on certain of the young beaux about the court. He
was sure, for instance, that she had refused the advances of
the prince, who, indeed, had dropped an instructive remark
on the occasion.
" But," the duchess had objected laughingly, " if I ac-
cepted your Highness's attentions, how should I ever dare
to face the count again ? "
" I should be almost as much put out of countenance as
you. The poor dear count my friend! But that is a dif-
ficulty very easily surmounted, and which I have already
considered. The count should be shut up in the citadel for
the rest of his life ! "
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At the moment of Fabrizio's arrival, the duchess was so
transported with delight that she gave no thought at all to
the ideas her looks might stir in the count's brain. Their
effect was deep, and his consequent suspicion ineradicable.
Two hours after his arrival Fabrizio was received by the
prince. The duchess, foreseeing the good effect of this
impromptu audience on the public mind, had been soliciting
it for two months beforehand. This favour placed Fabrizio,
from the very outset, above the heads of all his equals. The
pretext had been that he was only passing through Parma
on his way to see his mother in Piedmont. Just at the
very moment when a charming little note from the duchess
brought the prince the information that Fabrizio was waitr
ing on his pleasure, his Highness was feeling bored.
" Now," said he to himself, " I shall behold a very silly
little saint; he will be either empty-headed or sly." The
commandant of the fortress had already reported the pre-
liminary visit to the archbishop uncle's tomb. The prince
saw a tall young man enter his presence ; but for his violet
stockings he would have taken him for a young officer.
This little surprise drove away his boredom. " Here,"
thought he to himself,'" is a fine-looking fellow, for whom I
shall be asked God knows what favours all and any that
are at my disposal. He has just arrived ; he must feel some
emotion. I'll try a little Jacobinism, and we shall see what
kind of answers He'll give."
After the first few gracious words spoken by the prince,
" Well, monsignore," said he to Fabrizio, " are the in-
habitants of Naples happy ? Is the King beloved ? "
" Most Serene Highness," replied Fabrizio, without a
moment's hesitation, " as I passed along the streets I used
to admire the excellent demeanour of the soldiers of his
Majesty's various regiments. All good society is respect-
ful, as it should be, to its masters ; but I confess I have never
in my life permitted people of the lower class to speak to
me of anything but the labour for which I pay them."
" The deuce ! " thought the prince ; " what a priestling !
Here's a well-trained bird ! The Sanseverina's own wit ! "
Thoroughly piqued, the prince used all his skill to draw
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The Chartreuse of Parma
Fabrizio into talk upon this risky subject. The young man,
stimulated by the danger of his position, was lucky enough
to find admirable answers. " To put forward one's love for
one's king," said he, " is almost an insolence. What we
owe him is blind obedience." The sight of so much pru-
dence almost made the prince angry. " This young man
from Naples seems to be a clever fellow, and I don't like
the breed. It's all very well for a clever man to behave
according to 'the best principles, and even to believe in
them honestly somehow or other he is always sure to be
first cousin to Voltaire and Rousseau ! "
The prince felt there was a sort of defiance of himself in
the correct manners and unassailable answers of this youth
just leaving college ; things were by no means turning out
as he had foreseen. In the twinkling of an eye he changed
his tone to one of simple good-nature, and going back, in a
few words, to the great principles of society and govern-
ment, he reeled off, applying them to the occasion, certain
sentences from Fenelon which had been taught him in his
childhood for use at public audiences.
" These principles surprise you, young man," said he
to Fabrizio (he had addressed him as monsignore at the
beginning of the audience, and proposed to repeat the title
when he dismissed him, but during the course of the con-
versation he considered it more skilful and more favourable
to the development of the feelings to use a more intimate and
friendly term), " these principles, young man, surprise you.
I confess they have no close resemblance with the slices of
absolutism (he used the very words) which are served up
every day in my official newspaper. But, good God! why
do I quote that to you ? You know nothing of the writers
in that paper ! "
" I beg your Most Serene Highness's pardon. Not only
do I read the Parma newspaper, which seems to me fairly
well written, but I share its opinion, that everything which
has been done since the death of Louis XIV in 1715, is at
once a folly and a crime. Man's foremost interest is his
own salvation there can not be two opinions on that score
'and that bliss is to last for all eternity. The words liberty,
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The Chartreuse of Parrna
justice, happiness of the greatest number, are infamous and
criminal; they give men's minds a habit of discussion and
disbelief. A Chamber of Deputies mistrusts what those
people call the ministry. Once that fatal habit of distrust
is contracted, human weakness applies it to everything.
Man ends by distrusting the Bible, the commands of the
Church, tradition, etc., and thenceforward he is lost. Even
supposing and it is horribly false and criminal to say it
this distrust of the authority of the princes set up by God
could insure happiness during the twenty or thirty years of
life on which each of us may reckon, what is half a century,
or even a whole century, compared with an eternity of tor-
ment?"
The manner in which Fabrizio spoke showed that he was
endeavouring to arrange his ideas so that his auditor might
grasp them as easily as possible. He was evidently not
repeating a lesson by rote.
Soon the prince ceased to care about coping with the
young man, whose grave and simple manner made him feel
uncomfortable.
" Farewell, monsignore," he said abruptly. " I see that
the education given in the Ecclesiastical Academy at Naples
is an admirable one, and it is quite natural that when these
excellent teachings are sown in so distinguished an intelli-
gence, brilliant results should be obtained. Farewell ! "
And he turned his back on him.
" That fool is not pleased with me," said Fabrizio to
himself.
" Now," thought the prince, as soon as he was alone,
" it remains to be seen whether that handsome young fel-
low is susceptible of any passion for anything; in that case
he will be perfect. Could he possibly have repeated his
aunt's lessons more cleverly? I could have fancied I heard
her speaking! If there was a revolution here it would be
she who would edit the Moniteur, just as the San Felice did
it in old days at Naples. But, in spite of her five-and-twenty
years and her beauty, the San Felice was hanged for good
and all a warning to ladies who are too clever ! "
When the prince took Fabrio for his aunt's pupil he
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The Chartreuse of Parma
made a mistake. Clever folk born on the throne, or close
behind it, soon lose all their delicacy of touch. They pro-
scribe all freedom of conversation around them, taking it fbr
coarseness ; they will not look at anything but masks, and yet
claim to be judges of complexion ; and the comical thing
is that they believe themselves to be full of tact. In this
particular case, for instance, Fabrizio did believe very nearly
everything we have heard him say. It is quite true that he
did not bestow a thought on those great principles more
than twice in a month. He had lively tastes, he had intelli-
gence, but he also had faith.
The taste for liberty, the fashion for and worship of the
happiness of the greatest number, which is one of the
manias of the nineteenth century, was in his eyes no more
than a heresy, which would pass away like others, after slay-
ing many souls, just as the plague, while it rages in any
particular region, kills many bodies. And in spite of all
this, Fabrizio delighted in reading the French newspapers,
and even committed imprudences for the sake of procuring
them.
When Fabrizio returned, rather in a flutter, from his
audience at the palace, and began to relate the prince's vari-
ous attacks upon him to his aunt, " You must call at once,"
she said, " on Father Landriani, our excellent archbishop.
Go to his house on foot, slip quietly up the stairs, don't
make much stir in the antechamber, and if you have to wait,
all the better a thousand times better. Be apostolic, in a
word."
"I understand," said Fabrizio; "the man is a Tar-
tuffe."
" Not the least in the world ; he is the very embodiment
of virtue."
" Even after what he did at the time of Count Palanza's
execution ? " returned Fabrizio in astonishment.
" Yes, my friend, even after what he did then. Our
archbishop's father was a clerk in the Ministry of Finance,
quite a humble, middle-class person ; that explains every-
thing. Monsignore Landriani is a man of intelligence,
lively, far-reaching, and profound. He is sincere, he loves
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The Chartreuse of Parma
virtue. I am convinced that if the Emperor Decius were
to come back to earth he would cheerfully endure martyr-
dom, like Polyeuctus, in the opera that was performed here
last week. There you have the fair side of the medal ; here is
the reverse : The moment he enters the sovereign's presence,
or even the presence of his Prime Minister, he is dazzled by
so much grandeur, he flushes, grows confused, and it be-
comes physically impossible to him to say ' No.' This ac-
counts for the things he has done and which have earned him
his cruel reputation all over Italy. But what is not generally
known is that when public opinion opened his eyes as to
Count Palanza's trial, he voluntarily imposed on himself the
penance of living on bread and water for thirteen weeks as
many weeks as there are letters in the name Davide Palanza.
There is at this court an exceedingly clever rascal of the
name of Rassi, the prince's chief justice, or head of the
Law Department, who, at the period of Count Palanza's
death, completely bewitched Father Landriani. While he
was doing his thirteen weeks' penance, Count Mosca, out
of pity, and a little out of spite, used to invite him to dinner
once or twice a week. To please his host the good arch-
bishop ate his dinner like anybody else he would have
thought it rebellion and Jacobinism to parade his repentance
of an action approved by his sovereign. But it was quite
well known that for every dinner which his duty as a faithful
subject had forced him to eat like everybody else, he en-
dured a self-imposed penance of two days on bread and
water. Monsignore Landriana, though his mind is superior
and his knowledge first-class, has one weakness he likes
to be loved. You must look at him tenderly, therefore, and
at your third visit you must be frankly fond of him. This,
together with your birth, will make him adore you at once.
Show no surprise if he accompanies you back to the head
of the stairs ; look as if you were accustomed to his ways
he is a man who was born on his knees before the nobility.
For the rest, be simple, apostolic no wit, no brilliancy, no
swift repartee. If you do not startle him he will delight
in your company. Remember, it is on his own initiative
that he must appoint you his grand vicar; the count and
143
The Chartreuse of Parma
I will appear surprised, and even vexed, at your too
rapid promotion. That is essential on account of the
sovereign."
Fabrizio hurried to the archiepiscopal palace.
By remarkable good luck the good prelate's servant,
who was a trifle deaf, did not catch the name of Del Dongo.
He announced a young priest called Fabrizio. The arch-
bishop was engaged with a priest of not very exemplary
morals, whom he had summoned in order to reprimand him.
He was in the act of administering a reproof a very pain-
ful effort to him, and did not care to carry the trouble about
with him any longer. He therefore kept the great-nephew
of the famous Archbishop Ascanio del Dongo waiting for
three quarters of an hour.
How shall I reproduce his excuses and his despair when,
having conducted the parish priest as far as the outermost
antechamber, he inquired, as he passed back toward his
apartment, what he could do for the young man who stood
waiting, caught sight of his violet stockings, and heard the
name Fabrizio del Dongo?
The matter struck our hero in so comic a light that even
on this first visit he ventured, in a passion of tenderness,
to kiss the saintly prelate's hand. It was worth something
to hear the archbishop reiterating in his despair " That a Del
Dongo should have waited in my antechamber ! " He felt
obliged, in his own excuse, to relate the whole story of the
parish priest, his offences, his replies, and so forth.
" Can that really be the man," said Fabrizio to himself,
as he returned to the Palazzo Sanseverina, " who hurried
on the execution of that poor Count Palanza ? "
" What does your Excellency think ? " said Count
Mosca laughingly, as he entered the duchess's room. (The
count would not allow Fabrizio to call him " your Excel-
lency.")
" I am utterly amazed ! I know nothing about human
nature. I would have wagered, if I had not known his name,
that this man could not bear to see a chicken bleed."
" And you would have won," replied the count. " But
when he is in the prince's presence, or even in mine, he
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The Chartreuse of Parma
can not say * No.' As a matter of fact, I must have my yel-
low ribbon across my coat if I am to produce my full
effect upon him ; in morning dress he would contradict me,
and I always put on my uniform before I receive him. It
is no business of ours to destroy the prestige of power the
French newspapers are demolishing it quite fast enough.
The respectful mania will hardly last out our time, and you,
nephew, you'll outlive respect you'll be a good-natured
man."
Fabrizio delighted in the count's society. He was the
first superior man who had condescended to converse with
him seriously, and, further, they had a taste in common
that for antiques and excavations. The count, on his side,
was flattered by the extreme deference with which the
young man listened to him, but there was one capital ob-
jection Fabrizio occupied rooms in the Palazzo Sansever-
ina; he spent his life with the duchess, and let it appear, in
all innocence, that this intimacy constituted his great hap-
piness, and Fabrizio's eyes and skin were distressingly
brilliant.
For a long time Ranuzio-Ernest IV, who seldom came
across an unaccommodating fair, had been nettled by the
fact that the duchess, whose virtue was well known at
court, had made no exception in his favour. As we have
seen, Fabrizio's intelligence and presence of mind had dis-
pleased him from the very outset ; he looked askance at the
extreme affection, somewhat imprudently displayed, be-
tween aunt and nephew. He listened with excessive atten-
tion to the comments of his courtiers, which were endless.
The young man's arrival, and the extraordinary audience
granted him, were the talk and astonishment of the court
for a good month. Whereupon the prince had an idea.
In his guard there was a private soldier who could carry
his wine in the most admirable manner. This man spent
his life in taverns, and reported the general spirit of the mili-
tary direct to the sovereign. Carlone lacked education,
otherwise he would long ago have been promoted. His
orders were to be in the palace every day when the great
clock struck noon.
to J45
The Chartreuse of Parma
The prince himself went a little before noon to arrange
something about the sun-blind in a room on the mezzanine
connected with the apartment in which his Highness
dressed. He returned to this room a little after noon had
struck, and found the soldier there. The prince had a sheet
of paper and an ink-bottle in his pocket. He dictated the
following note to the soldier :
" Your Excellency is a very clever man, no doubt, and
it is thanks to your deep wisdom that we see this state so
well governed. But, my dear count, such great successes
can not be obtained without rousing a little envy, and I
greatly fear there may be some laughter at your expense,
if your sagacity does not guess that a certain handsome
young man has had the good fortune to inspire, in spite of
himself, it may be, a most extraordinary passion. This for-
tunate mortal is, we are told, only twenty-three years of age,
and, dear count, what complicates the question is that you
and I are much more than double that. In the evening, and
at a certain distance, the count is delightful, sprightly, a man
of wit, as charming as he can be ; but in the morning, and in
close intimacy, the newcomer may, if we look at matters
closely, prove more attractive. Now, we women think a
great deal of that freshness of youth, especially when we
ourselves are past thirty. Is there not talk already of set-
tling the charming young man at our court in some great
position? and who may the person be who most constantly
mentions the subject to your Excellency? "
The prince took the letter and gave the soldier two
crowns.
" These over and above your pay," he said, with a
gloomy look. " You will keep absolute silence to every-
body, or you will go to the dampest of the lower dungeons
in the citadel."
In his writing-table the prince kept a collection of en-
velopes addressed to the majority of the people about his
court by the hand of this same soldier, who was supposed
not to know how to write, and never did write even his
146
'4
The Chartreuse of Parma
police reports. The prince chose out the envelope he
wanted.
A few hours later Count Mosca received a letter through
the post. The probable hour of its arrival had been care-
fully calculated, and at the moment when the postman, who
had been seen to go in with a letter in his hand, emerged
from the minister's palace, Mosca was summoned to the
presence of his Highness. Never had the favourite appeared
wrapped in so black a melancholy. To enjoy it more thor-
oughly the prince called out as he entered : " I want to divert
myself by gossiping with my friend, not to work with my
minister. I am enjoying the most frightful headache to-
night, and I feel depressed into the bargain."
Must I describe the abominable -temper that raged in the
breast of Count Mosca della Rovere, Prime Minister of
Parma, when he was at last permitted to take leave of his
august master? Ranuzio-Ernest IV possessed a finished
skill in the art of torturing the human heart, and I should
not do him much injustice if I were to compare him here
with a tiger who delights in playing with his victim.
The count had himself driven home at a gallop, called
out that not a soul was to be admitted, sent word to the
auditor in waiting that he was dismissed (the very thought
of a human being within hearing distance of his voice was
odious to him), and shut himself up in his great picture
gallery. There, at last, he could give rein to all his fury, and
there he spent his evening, walking to and fro in the dark,
like a man beside himself. He tried to silence his heart, so
as to concentrate all the strength of his attention on the
course he should pursue. Plunged in an anguish which
would have stirred the pity of his bitterest enemy, he mused :
" The man I hate lives with the duchess, spends every
moment of his time with her. Must I try to make one of
her women speak? Nothing could be more dangerous
she is so kind, she pays them well, they adore her (and
who, great God! does not adore her?). Here lies the ques-
tion," he began again passionately. " Must I let her guess
the jealousy which. devours me, or must I hide it?
" If I hold my r/e'ace, no attempt at concealment will
147
The Chartreuse of Parma
be made. I know Gina ; she is a woman who always follows
her first impulse ; her behaviour is unforeseen even by her-
self; if she tries to trace out a plan beforehand, she grows
confused; at the moment of action some new idea always
occurs to her, which she follows delightedly as being the
best in the world, and which ruins everything.
" If I say nothing of my martyrdom, then nothing-
is hidden from me, and I see everything which may
happen.
" Yes, but if I speak, I call other circumstances into ex-
istence ; I make them reflect, I prevent many of the hor-
rible things which may happen. . . . Perhaps he will be
sent away " (the count drew a breath). " Then I shall almost
have won my cause. Even if there were a little temper at
first, I could calm that down. . . . And if there were tem-
per, what could be more natural? . . . She has loved him
like a son for the last fifteen years. There lies all my hope
like a son! . . . But she has not seen him since he ran away
to Waterloo ; but when he came back from Naples, to her,
especially, he was a different man ! A different man! " he
reiterated furiously, " and a charming man, too ! Above
all, he has that tender look and smiling eye which give so
much promise of happiness. And the duchess can not be
accustomed to seeing such eyes at our court. Their place
is taken here by glances that are either dreary or sardonic.
I myself, worried by business, ruling by sheer influence
only, over a man who would fain turn me into ridicule
what eyes must I often have ! Ah, whatever care I take, it
is my eyes, after all, that must have grown old. Is not my
very laughter always close on irony? ... I will go further
for here I must be sincere does not my merriment betray
its close association with absolute power and . . . wicked-
ness ? Do not I say to myself, sometimes especially when
I am exasperated ' I can do what I choose ' ? And I even
add a piece of foolishness ' I must be happier than others,
because in three matters out of four I possess what others
have not, sovereign power. . . . Well, then, let me be just.
This habit of thought must spoil my smile must give me
a ItJbk of &t;igfietl ^Ifishness. . . . And how charming is
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The Chartreuse of Parma
that smile of his ! It breathes the easy happiness of early
youth, and sheds that happiness around him."
Unfortunately for the count, the weather that evening
was hot, oppressive, close on a thunder-storm the sort of
weather, in a word, which in those countries inclines men to
extreme resolves. How can I reproduce all the arguments,
all the views of what had happened to him, which for three
mortal hours tortured the passionate-hearted man? At last
prudent counsels prevailed, solely as a result of this reflec-
tion : " In all probability I am out of my mind. When I
think I am arguing I am not arguing at all. I am only
turning about in search of a less cruel position, and I may
pass by some decisive reason without perceiving it. As
the excess of my suffering blinds me, let me follow that rule
approved by all wise men, which is called prudence.
" Besides, once I have spoken the fatal word jealousy,
my line is marked out for good and all. If, on the contrary,
I say nothing to-day, I can always speak to-morrow, and
everything remains in my hands." The excitement had
been too violent ; the count would have lost his reason if it
had lasted. He had a moment's relief his attention had
just fixed itself on the anonymous letter. Whence could it
come? Hereupon supervened a search for names, and a
verdict on each as it occurred, which created a diversion.
At last the count recollected the spiteful flash in the sover-
eign's eye when he had said, toward the close of the audience :
" Yes, dear friend, there can be no doubt that the pleasure. 1 ;
and cares of the most fortunate ambition, and even of un-
limited power, are nothing compared with the inner happi-
ness to be found in the relations of a tender and loving inter-
course. Myself, I am a man before I am a prince, and when
I am so happy as to love, it is the man, and not the prince,
that my mistress knows."
The count compared that twinkle of spiteful pleasure
with the words in the letter, " It is thanks to your deep wisdom
that we see this state so well governed"
'' The prince wrote that sentence ! " he exclaimed. " It
is too gratuitously imprudent for any courtier. The letter
comes from his Highness."
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The Chartreuse of Parma
That problem once solved, the flush of satisfaction
caused by the pleasure of guessing it soon faded before
the cruel picture of Fabrizio's charms, which once more
rose up before him. It was as though a huge weight had
fallen back upon the heart of the unhappy man. " What
matters it who wrote the anonymous letter ? " he cried in his
fury. " Does it make the fact it reveals to me any less true ?
This whim may change my whole life," he added, as though
to excuse his own excitement. " At any moment, if she
cares for him in a certain way, she may start off with him
to Belgirate, to Switzerland, or to any other corner of the
world. She is rich, and, besides, if she had only a few louis
a year to live on, what would that matter to her? Did she
not tell me, only a week ago, that she was tired of her palace,
well arranged and magnificent as it is? That youthiul na-
ture must have novelty ! And how simply this new happi-
ness offers itself to her ! She will be swept away before she
has thought of the danger before she has thought of pity-
ing me ! and yet I am so wretched ! " he exclaimed, bursting
into tears.
He had sworn he would not go to see the duchess that
evening, but he could not resist the temptation. Never had
his eyes so thirsted for the sight of her. About midnight
he entered her rooms. He found her alone with her nephew.
At ten o'clock she had dismissed all her company and closed
her doors.
At the sight of the tender intimacy between the two, and
the unaffected delight of the duchess, a frightful difficulty,
and an unexpected one, rose up before the count's eyes ; he
had not thought of it during his lengthy ponderings in the
picture gallery. How was he to conceal his jealousy?
Not knowing what pretext to adopt, he pretended he
had found the prince exceedingly prejudiced against him
that evening, contradicting everything he said, and so forth.
He had the pain of perceiving that the duchess hardly listened
to him, and paid no attention to circumstances which only
two nights before would have led her into a whole train of
argument. The count looked at Fabrizio. Never had that
handsome Lombard countenance seemed to him so simple
150
The Chartreuse of Parma
and so noble. Fabrizio was paying much more attention
than the duchess to the difficulties he was relating.
" Really," said he to himself, " that face combines ex-
treme kind-heartedness with a certain expression of tender
and artless delight which is quite irresistible. It seems to
say, ' The only serious matters in this world are love and the
happiness it brings/ And yet if any detail which demands
intelligence occurs, his eye kindles, and one is quite aston-
ished and amazed.
" In his eyes everything is simple, because everything is
sent from above. My God, how am I to struggle against
such an enemy ? And after all, what will my life be without
Gina's love? With what delight she seems to listen to the
charming sallies of that young intellect, which, to a woman's
mind, must seem unique ! "
A frightful thought clutched the count like a cramp.
" Shall I stab him there, in her sight, and kill myself after-
ward ? " He walked up and down the room ; his legs were
shaking under him, but his hand closed convulsively upon
the handle of his dagger. Neither of the others were pay-
ing any attention to him. He said he was going to give an
order to his servant. They did not even hear him ; the
duchess was laughing fondly at something Fabrizio had
just said to her. The count went under a lamp in the outer
drawing-room, and looked to see whether the point of his
dagger was sharp. " My manner to the young man must
be gracious and perfectly polite," he thought, as he returned
and drew close to them.
His brain was boiling. They seemed to him to be bend-
ing forward and exchanging kisses there in his very sight.
" That is not possible under my eyes," he thought. " My
reason is going. I must compose myself. If I am rough
the duchess is capable, out of sheer pique to her vanity, of
following him to Belgirate, and there, or during the jour-
ney, a chance word may give a name to what they feel for
each other; and then, in a moment, all the consequences
must come.
" Solitude will make that one word decisive, and besides,
what is to become of me once the duchess is far away from
The Chartreuse of Parma
me? And if, after a great many difficulties with the prince, I
should go and show my aged and careworn face at Belgirate,
what part should I play between those two in their delirious
happiness ?
" Even here, what am I but the terso incommode (our
beautiful Italian language was made for the purposes of
love) ! Terso incommode (the third party, in the way) !
What anguish for a man of parts to feel himself in this vile
position, and not to have strength of mind to get up and
go away ! "
The count was on the point of breaking out, or at all
events of betraying his suffering by the disorder of his
countenance. As he walked round the drawing-room, find-
ing himself close to the door, he took to flight, calling out,
in good-natured and friendly fashion, " Good-bye, you
two! I must not shed blood," he murmured to himself.
On the morrow of that horrible evening, after a night
spent partly in revolving Fabrizio's advantages, and partly
in the agonizing paroxysms of the most cruel jealousy, it
occurred to the count to send for a young man-servant of
his own. This man was making love to a girl named Cec-
china, one of the duchess's waiting-maids, and her favourite.
By good luck, this young servant was exceedingly steady in
his conduct, even stingy, and was anxious to be appointed
doorkeeper in one of the public buildings at Parma. The
count ordered this man to send instantly for Cecchina. The
man obeyed, and an hour later the count appeared unexpect-
edly in the room occupied by the girl and her lover. The
count alarmed them both by the quantity of gold coins he
gave them ; then, looking into the trembling Cecchina's
eyes, he addressed her in the following words : " Are there
love passages between the duchess and monsignore ? "
" No," said the girl, making up her mind after a mo-
ment's silence. " No, not yet ; but he often kisses the sig-
nora's hands. He laughs, I know, but he kisses them pas-
sionately."
This testimony was borne out by a hundred answers to
as many questions put by the distracted count. His pas-
sionate anxiety ensured the poor folks honest earning of
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The Chartreuse of Parma
the money he had given them. He ended by believing what
they told him, and felt less wretched. " If ever the duchess
suspects this conversation of ours/' he said to Cecchina, " I
will send your lover to spend twenty years in the fortress,
and you will never see him again till his hair is white."
A few days went by, during which it became Fabrizio's
turn to lose all his cheerfulness.
" I assure you," he kept saying to the duchess, " Count
Mosca has an antipathy to me."
" So much the worse for his Excellency ! " she replied
with a touch of peevishness.
This was not the real cause of the anxiety which had
driven away Fabrizio's gaiety. " The position," he mused,
" in which chance has placed me is untenable. I am quite
sure she will never speak a too significant word would be
as horrifying to her as an act of incest. But supposing that
one evening, after a day of imprudence and folly, she should
examine her own conscience ! What will my position be if
she believes I have guessed at the inclination she seems to
feel toward me ? I shall simply be the casto Giuseppe "
(an Italian proverb alluding to Joseph's ridiculous position
with regard to the wife of the eunuch Potiphar).
" Shall I make her understand by confiding to her
frankly that I am quite incapable of any serious passion?
My ideas are not sufficiently well ordered to enable me to
express the fact so as to prevent its appearing a piece of
deliberate impertinence. My only other resource is to simu-
late a great devotion for a lady left behind me in Naples,
and in that case I must go back there for four-and-twenty
hours. This plan is a wise one, but what a trouble it will
be ! I might try some obscure little love affair here at
Parma. This might cause displeasure, but anything is pref-
erable to the horrible position of the man who will not un-
derstand. This last expedient may, indeed, compromise
my future. I must try to diminish that danger by my pru-
dence, and by buying discretion." The cruel thought, amid
all these considerations, was that Fabrizio really cared for
the duchess far more than he did for anybody else in the
world. " I must be awkward indeed," said he to himself
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The Chartreuse of Parma
angrily, " if I am so afraid of not being able to convince her
of what is really true."
He had not wit to extricate himself from the difficulty,
and he soon grew gloomy and morose. " What would be-
come of me, great heavens, if I were to quarrel with the only
being on earth to whom I am passionately attached ? "
On the other hand, Fabrizio could not make up his
mind to disturb so delightful a condition of felicity by an
imprudent word. His position was so full of enjoyment,
his intimate relations with so charming and so pretty a
woman were so delightful ! As regarded the more trivial
aspects of life, her protection insured him such an agreeable
position at the court, the deep intrigues of which, thanks to
the explanations she gave him, amused him like a stage play.
" But at any moment," he reflected, " I may be wakened as
by a thunderclap. If one of these evenings, so cheerful and
affectionate, spent alone with this fascinating woman, should
lead to anything more fervent, she will expect to find a
lover in me. She will look for raptures and wild transports,
and all I can ever give her is the liveliest affection, with-
out any love. Nature has bereft me of the capacity for that
sort of sublime madness. What reproaches I have had to
endure on that score already! I fancy I still hear the
Duchess of A , and I could laugh at the duchess ! But
she will think that I fail in love for her, whereas it is love
which fails in me; and she never will understand me.
Often, when she has told me some story about the court,
with all the grace and frolicsomeness that she alone pos-
sesses and a story, besides, which it is indispensable for me
to know I kiss her hands and sometimes her cheek as well.
What should I do if her hand pressed mine in one particu-
lar way ? "
Fabrizio showed himself daily in the most esteemed and
dullest houses in Parma. Guided by his aunt's wise coun-
sels, he paid skilful court to the two princes, father and son,
to the Princess Clara Paolina, and to the archbishop. Suc-
cess came to him, but this did not console him for his
mortal terror of a misunderstanding with the duchess.
154
CHAPTER VIII
THUS, only a month after his arrival at court, Fabrizio
was acquainted with all the worries of a courtier, and the
intimate friendship which had been the happiness of his life
was poisoned. One evening, harassed by these thoughts,
he left the duchess's apartments, where he looked far too
much like the reigning lover, and, wandering aimlessly
through the town, happened to pass by the theatre, which
was lighted up. He went in. This, for a man of his cloth,
was a piece of gratuitous imprudence, and one he had fully
intended to avoid while at Parma, which, after all, is only a
small town of forty thousand inhabitants. It is true, indeed,
that from the first days of his residence there he had put
aside his official dress, and in the evenings, unless he was
going to very large parties, he wore plain black, like any
man in mourning.
At the theatre he took a box on the third tier, so as not
to be seen. The piece was Goldoni's " Locandiera." He was
looking at the architecture of the house, and had hardly
turned his eyes upon the stage. But the numerous audience
was in a state of constant laughter. Fabrizio glanced at the
young actress who was playing the part of the Locandiera,
and thought her droll ; he looked at her more attentively,
and she struck him as being altogether pretty, and, above
all, exceedingly natural. She was a simple young creature,
the first to laugh at the pretty things Goldoni had put into
her mouth, which seemed to astonish her as she spoke them.
He inquired her name, and was told it was Marietta Val-
serra.
" Ah," thought he to himself, " she has taken my name !
How odd ! " Contrary to his intention, he did not leave the
theatre until the play was over. The next day he came back.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
Three days after that he had found out where Marietta Val-
serra lived.
On the very evening of the day on which, with a good
deal of difficulty, he had procured this address, he noticed
that the count looked at him in the most pleasant manner.
The poor jealous lover, who had hard work to restrain
himself within the bounds of prudence, had set spies upon
the young man's conduct, and was delighted at his freak
for the actress. How shall I describe the count's delight
when, the day after that on which he had been able to force
himself to be gracious to Fabrizio, he learned that the
young man partly disguised, indeed, in a long blue over-
coat had climbed to the wretched apartment on the fourth
floor of an old house behind the theatre, in which Marietta
Valserra lived. His delight increased twofold when he
knew that Fabrizio had presented himself under a false
name, and was honoured by the jealousy of a good-for-
nothing fellow of the name of Giletti, who played third-rate
servants' parts in the city, and danced on the tight rope in
the neighbouring villages. This noble lover of Marietta's
was heaping volleys of abuse on Fabrizio, and vowed he
would kill him.
Opera companies are formed by an impresario, who en-
gages the artists he can afford to pay, or finds disengaged,
from all quarters, and the company thus collected by chance
remains together for a season or two, at the outside. This
is not the case with comedy companies. These, though they
move about from town to town, and change fheir place of
residence every two or three months, continue, neverthe-
less, as one family, the members of which either love or hate
each other. These companies frequently comprise couples,
living in constant and close relations, which the beaux of
the towns in which they occasionally perform find it very
difficult to break up. This is exactly what happened to our
hero. Little Marietta liked him well enough, but she was
horribly afraid of Giletti, who claimed to be her lord and
master, and kept a close eye upon her. He openly declared
that he would kill the monsignore, for he had dogged Fa-
brizio's steps, and had succeeded in finding out his name.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
This Giletti was certainly the most hideous of beings, and
the least attractive imaginable as a lover. He was enor-
mously tall, hideously thin, deeply pitted with small-pox, and
had something of a squint into the bargain. Notwithstand-
ing this, he was full of the graces peculiar to his trade, and
would make his entry on the wings, where his comrades
were assembled, turning wheels on his hands and feet, or
performing some other pleasing trick. His great parts were
those in which the actor appears with his face whitened with
flour, and receives or inflicts innumerable blows with a stick.
This worthy rival of Fabrizio's received a salary of thirty-
two francs a month, and thought himself very well off in-
deed.
To Count Mosca it was as though he had been brought
back from the gates of the tomb, when his watchers brought
him the proofs of all these details. His good-nature re-
asserted itself; he was gayer and better company than ever
in the duchess's rooms, and took good care not to tell her
anything of the little adventure which had restored him to
life. He even took precautions to prevent her hearing any-
thing of what was happening until the latest possible mo-
ment ; and finally, he gathered courage to listen to his
reason, which for a month had been vainly assuring him that
whenever a lover's merits fade, that lover should take a
journey.
Important business summoned him to Bologna, and
twice a day the cabinet couriers brought him, not so much
the necessary papers from his offices, as news of little Mari-
etta's amours, of the redoubtable Giletti's fury, and of Fa-
brizio's undertakings.
Several times over one of the count's agents bespoke
performances of " Arlecchino schelettro e pasta," one of
Giletti's triumphs (he emerges from the pie just as his rival
Brighella is going to eat it, and thrashes him soundly). This
made a pretext for sending him a hundred francs. Giletti,
who was over head and ears in debt, took good care to say
nothing about this windfall, but his pride reached an aston-
ishing pitch.
What had been a whim in Fabrizio's case, now became a
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The Chartreuse of Parma
matter of piqued vanity. (Young as he was, his anxieties
had already driven him to indulge in whims.) His vanity
led him to the theatre; the little girl acted very well and
amused him. When the play was over he was in love for
quite an hour. The count, receiving news that Fabrizio
was in real danger, returned to Parma. Giletti, who had
served as a dragoon in the fine " Napoleon " regiment, was
seriously talking of murdering Fabrizio, and was making
arrangements for his subsequent flight into the Romagna.
If my reader be very young, he will be scandalized by my
admiration for this fine trait of virtue. Yet it involved no
small effort of heroism on the count's part to leave Bologna.
For too often, indeed, in the mornings, his complexion
looked sorely jaded, and Fabrizio's was so fresh and pleasant
to look at ! Who could have reproached him with Fa-
brizio's death if it had occurred in his absence, and on ac-
count of so foolish a business ? But to his rare nature, the
thought of a generous action, which he might have done,
and which he had not performed, would have been an eternal
remorse ; and, further, he could not endure the idea of seeing
the duchess sad, and by his fault.
When he arrived, he found her taciturn and gloomy.
This is what had happened. Her little maid Cecchina, tor-
mented by remorse and gauging the importance of her own
fault by the large sum she had been paid for committing it,
had fallen sick. One night the duchess, who had a real re-
gard for her, went up to her room. The young girl could
not resist this mark of kindness. She burst into tears,
begged her mistress to take back the money still remaining
to her out of what she had received, and at last gathered
courage to tell her the story of the count's questions and
her own replies. The duchess ran across to the lamp and put
it out. Then she told Cecchina that she would forgive her,
but only on condition that she never said a word about the
strange scene to anybody on earth. " The poor count," she
added carelessly, " is afraid of looking ridiculous all men
are alike."
The duchess hurried down to her own apartments. She
had hardly shut herself into her own room before shfe b'tirst
The Chartreuse of Parma
into tears. The idea of love passages with Fabrizio, at
whose birth she had been present, was horrible to her, and
yet what other meaning could her conduct bear?
Such had been the first cause of the black depression
in which the count found her plunged. When he arrived,
she had fits of impatience with him, and almost with Fa-
brizio ; she would have liked never to have seen either of
them again. She was vexed by Fabrizio's behaviour with
little Marietta, which seemed to her ridiculous. For the
count who, like a true lover, could keep nothing from his
mistress had told her the whole story. She could not grow
accustomed to this disaster ; there was a flaw in her idol.
At last, in a moment of confidence, she asked the count's
advice. It was an exquisite instant for him, and a worthy
reward for the upright impulse which had brought him back
to Parma.
"What can be more simple?" said the count, with a smile.
" These young fellows fall in love with every woman they
see, and the next morning they have forgotten all about
her. Ought he not to go to Belgirate to see the Marchesa
del Dongo ? Very well, then. Let him start. While he is
away I shall request the comedy company to remove itself
and its talents elsewhere, and will pay its travelling ex-
penses. But we shall soon see him in love again with
the first pretty woman chance may throw across his path.
That is the natural order of things, and I would not have
it otherwise. If it is necessary, let the marchesa write
to him."
This suggestion, emitted with an air of the most com-
plete indifference, was a ray of light to the duchess; she
was afraid of Giletti.
That evening the count mentioned, as though by chance,
that one of his couriers was about to pass through Milan on
his way to Vienna.
Three days later Fabrizio received a letter from his
mother.
He departed, very much annoyed because Giletti's jeal-
ousy had hitherto prevented him from taking advantage of
the friendly feelings of which Marietta had assured him
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The Chartreuse of Parma
through her mamaccia, an old woman who performed the
functions of her mother.
Fabrizio met his mother and one of his sisters at Bel-
girate, a large Piedmontese village on the right bank of the
Lago Maggiore. The left bank is in Milanese territory,
and consequently belongs to Austria.
This lake, which is parallel to the Lake of Como, and,
like it, runs from north to south, lies about thirty miles far-
ther westward. The mountain air, the calm and majestic
aspect of the splendid lake, which recalled that near which
he had spent his childhood, all contributed to change Fa-
brizio's annoyance, which had verged upon anger, into a
gentle melancholy. The memory of the duchess rose up
before him, clothed with infinite tenderness. It seemed to
him, now he was far from her, that he was beginning to
love her with that love which he had never yet felt for any
woman. Nothing could have been more painful to him
than the thought of being parted from her forever, and if,
while he was in this frame of mind, the duchess had con-
descended to the smallest coquetry such, for example, as
giving him a rival she would have conquered his heart.
But far from taking so decisive a step, she could not
help reproaching herself bitterly because her thoughts
hovered so constantly about the young traveller's path. She
upbraided herself for what she still called a fancy, as if it
had been an abomination. Her kindness and attention to
the count increased twofold, and he, bewitched by all these
charms, could not listen to the healthy reason which pre-
scribed a second trip to Bologna.
The Marchesa del Dongo, greatly hurried by the ar-
rangements for the wedding of her eldest daughter with a
Milanese duke, could only spend three days with her be-
loved son. Never had she found him so full of tender affec-
tion. Amid the melancholy which was taking stronger and
yet stronger hold of Fabrizio's soul, a strange and even
absurd idea had presented itself to him, and was forthwith
carried into effect. Dare we say he was bent on consulting
Father Blanes? The good old man was perfectly incapable
of understanding the sorrows of a heart tarn by various
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The Chartreuse of Parma
boyish passions of almost equal strength; and besides, it
would have taken a week to give him even a faint idea of
the various interests at Parma which Fabrizio was forced
to consider. Yet when Fabrizio thought of consulting him,
all the fresh feelings of his sixteenth year came back to him.
Shall I be believed when I affirm that it was not simply to
the wise man and the absolutely faithful friend that Fabrizio
longed to speak? The object of this excursion and the
feelings which agitated our hero all through the fifty hours
of its duration are so absurd, that for the sake of my story
I should doubtless do better to suppress them. I fear Fa-
brizio's credulity may deprive him of the reader's sympathy.
But thus he was. Why should I flatter him more than
another? I have not flattered Count Mosca nor the prince.
Fabrizio, then, if the truth must be told, accompanied
his mother to the port of Laveno, on the left bank of
the Lago Maggiore, the Austrian side, where she landed
about eight o'clock at night. (The lake itself is consid-
ered neutral, and no passports are asked of any one who
does not land.) But darkness had hardly fallen before he,
too, had himself put ashore on that same Austrian bank,
in a little wood which juts out into the water. He had hired
a sediola a sort of country gig which travels very fast in
which he was able to follow about five hundred paces behind
his mother's carriage. He was disguised as a servant be-
longing to the Casa del Dongo, and none of the numerous
police or customs officers thought of asking him for his
passport. A quarter of a league from Como, where the
Marchesa del Dongo and her daughter were to spend the
night, he took a path to the left, which, after running round
the village of Vico, joined a narrow newly made road along
the very edge of the lake. It was midnight, and Fabrizio
had reason to hope he would not meet any gendarmes. The
black outline of the foliage on the clumps of trees through
which the road constantly passed stood out against a starry
sky, just veiled by a light mist. A profound stillness hung
over the waters and the sky. Fabrizio's soul could not
resist this sublime beauty; he stopped and seated himself
on a rock which jutted out into the lake and formed a
" 161
The Chartreuse of Parma
little promontory. Nothing broke the universal silence,
save the little waves that died out at regular intervals upon
the beach. Fabrizio had the heart of an Italian. I beg the
fact may be forgiven him. This drawback, which will make
him less attractive, consisted, above all, in the following
fact : he was only vain by fits and starts, and the very sight
of sublime beauty filled his heart with emotion, and blunted
the keen and cruel edge of his sorrows. Sitting on his lonely
rock, no longer forced to keep watch against police agents,
sheltered by the darkness of the night and the vast silence,
soft tears rose in his eyes, and he enjoyed, at very little
cost, the happiest moments he had known for many a day.
He resolved he would never tell a lie to the duchess ; and
it was because he loved her to adoration at that moment that
he swore an oath never to tell her that he loved her-, never
would he drop into her ear that word love, because the
passion to which the name is given had never visited his
heart. In the frenzy of generosity and virtue which made
him feel so happy at that moment, he resolved, on the earliest
opportunity, to tell her the whole truth that his heart had
never known what love might be. Once this bold decision
had been adopted, he felt as though a huge weight had been
lifted off him. " Perhaps she will say something to me
about Marietta. Very good; then I will never see little
Marietta again," he answered his own thought, joyously.
The morning breeze was beginning to temper the over-
whelming heat which had prevailed the whole day long. The
dawn was already outlining the Alpine peaks which rise over
the northern and eastern shores of the Lake of Como with
a pale faint light. Their masses, white with snow, even in
the month of June, stand out sharply against the clear blue
of a sky which, at those great heights, no cloud ever dims.
A spur of the Alps running southward toward the favoured
land of Italy separates the slopes of Como from those of
Garda. Fabrizio's eye followed all the branchings of the
noble range ; the dawn, as it drove away the light mists ris-
ing from the gorges, revealed the valleys lying between.
He had resumed his way some minutes previously; he
climbed the hill which forms the Durini promontory, and at
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The Chartreuse of Parma
last his eyes beheld the church tower of Grianta, from which
he had so often watched the stars with Father Blanes.
" How crassly ignorant I was in those days ! " he thought.
" I couldn't even understand the absurd Latin of the astro-
logical treatises my master thumbed; and I believe the
chief reason of my respect for them was that, as I only
comprehended a word here and there, my imagination un-
dertook to supply their meaning after the most romantic
fashion."
Gradually his reverie wandered into another direction.
Was there anything real about this science ? Why should it
be different from others? A certain number of fools and
of clever people, for instance, agree between themselves that
they understand the Mexican language. By this means they
impose on society, which respects them, and on govern-
ments, who pay them. They are loaded with favours, just
because they are stupid, and because the people in power
need not fear their disturbing the populace, and stirring in-
terest and pity by their generous sentiments. " Look at
Father Bari, on whom Ernest IV has just bestowed a pen-
sion of four thousand francs and the cross of his order, for
having reconstituted nineteen lines of a Greek dithyramb !
" But, after all, what right have I to think such things
absurd ? " he exclaimed of a sudden, stopping short. " Has
not that very same cross been given to my own tutor?"
Fabrizio felt profoundly uncomfortable. The noble pas-
sion for virtue which had lately thrilled his heart was being
transformed into the mean satisfaction of enjoying a good
share in the proceeds of a robbery. " Well," said he at
last, and his eyes grew dim as the eyes of a man who is
discontented with himself, " since my birth gives me a right
to profit by these abuses, I should be an arrant fool if I
did not take my share; but I must not venture to speak
evil of them in public places." This argument was not de-
void of sense, but Fabrizio had fallen a long way below the
heights of sublime delight on which he had hovered only an
hour before. The thought of his privileges had scorched
that always delicate plant which men call happiness.
" If I must not believe in astrology," he went on, mak-
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The Chartreuse of Parma
ing an effort to divert his thoughts, " if, like three-fourths of
the non-mathematical sciences, this one is no more than
an association of enthusiastic simpletons with clever hum-
bugs, paid by those they serve, how comes it that I dwell so
often, and with so much emotion, upon that fatal episode?
I did escape, long since, from the jail at B , but I was
wearing the clothes and using the papers of a soldier who
had been justly cast into prison."
Fabrizio's reasoning would never carry him any farther
than this. He revolved the difficulty in a hundred ways,
but he never could surmount it. He was too young as yet.
During his leisure moments, his soul was steeped in the
delight of tasting the sensations arising out of the romantic
circumstances with which his imagination was always ready
to supply him. He by no means employed his time in pa-
tiently considering the real peculiarities of things, and then
discovering their causes. Reality still seemed to him dull
and dirty. I can conceive its not being pleasant to look at.
But then one should not argue about it. Above all things,
one should not put forward one's own various forms of
ignorance as objections.
Thus it was that, though Fabrizio was no fool, he was
not able to realize that his half belief in omens really was
a religion, a profound impression received at his entrance
into life. The thought of this belief was a sensation and a
happiness, and he obstinately endeavoured to discover how
it might be proved a science which really did exist, like that
of geometry, for instance. He eagerly ransacked his mem-
ory for the occasions on which the omens he had observed
had not been followed by the happy or unfortunate event
they had appeared to prognosticate. But though he be-
lieved himself to be following out a course of argument, and
so drawing nearer to the truth, his memory dwelt with
delight on those cases in which the omen had, on the whole,
been followed by the accident, good or evil, which he had
believed it to foretell, and his soul was filled with emotion
and respect. And he would have felt an invincible repug-
nance toward any one who denied the existence of such
signs, more especially if he had spoken of them jestingly.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
Fabrizio had been walking along without any regard
for distance, and he had reached this point in his powerless
arguments when, raising his head, he found himself con-
fronted by the wall of his own father's garden. This wall,
which supported a fine terrace, rose more than forty feet
above the road, on the right-hand side. A course of
dressed stone, running along the top, close to the balustrade,
gave it a monumental appearance. " It's not bad," said
Fabrizio coldly to himself. " The architecture is good ; very
nearly Roman in style." He was applying his new an-
tiquarian knowledge. Then he turned away in disgust his
father's severity and, above all, his brother Ascanio's de-
nunciation after his return from France, came back to his
mind.
" That unnatural denunciation has been the origin of
my present way of life. I may hate it, I may scorn it, but,
after all, it has changed my fate. What would have become
of me once I had been sent to Novara, where my father's
man of business could hardly endure the sight of me, if my
aunt had not fallen in love with a powerful minister? and
then, if that same aunt had possessed a hard and unfeeling
nature, instead of that tender passionate heart which loves
me with a sort of frenzy that astounds me? Where should
I be now if the duchess had been like her brother, the
Marchese del Dongo ? "
Lost in these bitter memories, Fabrizio had been walk-
ing aimlessly forward. He reached the edge of the moat,
just opposite the splendid fagade of the castle. He scarcely
cast a glance at the huge time-stained building. The noble
language of its architecture fell on deaf ears ; the memory of
his father and his brother shut every sensation of beauty
out of his heart. His only thought was that he must be on
his guard in the presence of a dangerous and hypocritical
enemy. For an instant, but in evident disgust, he glanced
at the little window of the third-floor room he had occupied
before 1815. His father's treatment had wiped all the charm
out of his memories of early days. " I have never been back
in it," he thought, " since eight o'clock at night on that
seventh of March. I left it to get the passport from Vasi,
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and the next morning, in my terror of spies, I hurried on
my departure. When I came back, after my journey to
France, I had not time even to run up and look once at
my prints ; and all that thanks to my brother's accusation."
Fabrizio turned away his head in horror. " Father
Blanes is more than eighty-three now," he mused sadly;
" he hardly ever comes to the castle, so my sister tells me.
The infirmities of years have laid their hand upon him ; that
noble steady heart is frozen by old age. God knows how
long it may be since he has been in his tower! I'll hide
myself in his cellar, under the vats or the wine-press, until
he wakes ; I will not disturb the good old man's slumbers !
Probably he will even have forgotten my face six years
makes so much difference at my age. I shall find nothing
but the shell of my old friend. And it really is a piece of
childishness," he added, "to have come here to face the
odious sight of my father's house."
Fabrizio had just entered the little square in front of
the church. It was with an astonishment that almost
reached delirium that he saw the long, narrow window on
the second story of the ancient tower lighted up by Father
Blanes's little lantern. It was the father's custom to place
it there when he went up to the wooden cage which formed
his observatory, so that the light might not prevent him
from reading his planisphere. This map of the sky was
spread out on a huge earthenware vase, which had once
stood in the castle orangery. In the orifice at the bottom of
the vase was the tiniest of lamps, the smoke of which was
carried out of the vase by a slender tin tube, and the shadow
cast by this tube on the map marked the north. All these
memories of simple little things flooded Fabrizio's soul with
emotion and filled it with happiness.
Almost unthinkingly he raised his two hands and gave
the little low, short whistle which had once been the signal
for his admission. At once he heard several pulls at the
cord running from the observatory, which controlled the
latch of the tower door. In a transport of emotion he
bounded up the stairs and found the father sitting in his
accustomed place in his wooden arm-chair. His eye was
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The Chartreuse of Parma
fixed on the little telescope. With his left hand the father
signed to him not to interrupt his observation. A moment
afterward he noted down a figure on a playing card; then,
turning in his chair, he held out his arms to our hero, who
cast himself into them, bursting into tears. The Abbe
Blanes was his real father.
" I was expecting you," said Blanes when the first out-
burst of tenderness had subsided. Was the abbe posing as
a wise man, or was it that thinking of Fabrizio so often as
he did, some astrological sign had warned him, by a mere
chance, of his return?
" The hour of my death draws near," said Father
Blanes.
" What ! " exclaimed Fabrizio, much affected.
" Yes," returned the father, and his tone was serious,
but not sad. " Five months and a half, or six months and
a half, after I have seen you again, my life, which will have
attained its full measure of happiness, will fade out, ' come
face al mancar dell'alimento ' " (even as the little lamp when
the oil fails in it).
" Before the closing moment comes I shall probably be
speechless for one month or two. After that I shall be re-
ceived into our Father's bosom, provided, indeed, that he
is satisfied that I have fulfilled my duty at the post where
he set me as sentinel.
" You are worn out with weariness, your agitation makes
you inclined for sleep. Since I have expected you I have
hidden a loaf and a bottle of brandy in the large case which
contains my instruments. Support your life with these, and
try to gather enough strength to listen to me for a few
moments more. I have it in my power to tell you several
things before this night has altogether passed into the day.
I see them far more distinctly now, than I may, perhaps, see
them to-morrow, for, my child, we are always weak, and
we must always reckon with this weakness. To-morrow,
it may be, the old man, the earthly man, in me, will be
making ready for my death, and to-morrow night, at nine
o'clock, you must leave me."
When Fabrizio had obeyed him in silence, as was his
The Chartreuse of Parma
wont, " It is true, then," the old man resumed, " that when
you tried to see Waterloo, all you found at first was a
prison? "
" Yes, father," replied Fabrizio, much astonished.
" Well, that was a rare good fortune, for your soul,
warned by my voice, may make itself ready to endure an-
other prison, far more severe, infinitely more terrible. You
will probably only leave it through a crime, but, thanks be
to Heaven ! the crime will not be committed by your hand.
Never fall into crime, however desperately you may be
tempted. I think I see that there will be some question of
your killing an innocent man, who, without knowing it, has
usurped your rights. If you resist this violent temptation,
which will seem justified by the laws of honour, your life will
be very happy in the eyes of men . . . and reasonably
happy in the eyes of the wise," he added, after a moment's
reflection. " You will die, my son, like me, sitting on a
wooden seat, far from all luxury, and undeceived by it.
And, like me, without having any serious reproach upon
your soul.
" Now future matters are ended between us ; I am not
able to add anything of much importance. In vain I have
sought to know how long your imprisonment will last
whether it will be six months, a year, ten years. I can not
discover anything. I must, I suppose, have committed
some sin, and it is the will of Heaven to punish me by the
sorrow of this uncertainty. I have only seen that after the
prison yet I do not know whether it is at the very moment
of your leaving it there will be what I call a crime ; but,
happily, I think I may be sure that it will not be committed
by you. If you are weak enough to dabble in that crime,
all the rest of my calculations are but one long mistake.
Then you will not die with peace in your soul, sitting on a
wooden chair and dressed in white ! " As he spoke these
words the father tried to rise, and then it was that Fabrizio
became aware of the ravages time had worked on his frame.
He took almost a minute to get up and turn toward Fa-
brizio. The young man stood by, motionless and silent. The
father threw himself into his arms, and strained him close
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"Turning in his chair, he held out liis arms
to our hero "
The Chartreuse of Parma
to him several times over with the utmost tenderness.
Then, with all the old cheerfulness, he said : " Try to sleep
in tolerable comfort among my instruments. Take my fur-
lined wrappers; you will find several which the Duchess
Sanseverina sent me four years ago. She begged me to
foretell your future to her, but I took care to do nothing
of the kind, though I kept her wrappers and her fine quad-
rant. Any announcement of future events is an infringe-
ment of the rule, and involves this danger that it may
change the event, in which case the whole science falls to
the ground, and becomes nothing more than a childish
game. And, besides, I should have had to say some hard
things to the ever-lovely duchess. By the way, do not let
yourself be startled in your sleep by the frightful noise the
bells will make in your ear, when they ring for the seven
o'clock mass ; later on they will begin to sound the big bell
on the lower floor, which makes all my instruments rattle.
To-day is the feast of San Giovita, soldier and martyr. You
know our little village of Grianta has the same patron saint
as the great city of Brescia, which, by the way, led my
illustrious master, Jacopo Marini, of Ravenna, into a very
comical error. Several times over he assured me I should
attain a very fair ecclesiastical position; he thought I was
to be priest of the splendid Church of San Giovita at Brescia,
and I have been priest of a little village numbering seven
hundred and fifty souls. But it has all been for the best.
I saw, not ten years since, that if I had been priest of
Brescia, my fate would have led me to a prison, on a hill
in Moravia, the Spielberg. To-morrow I will bring you
all sorts of dainty viands, stolen from the great dinner which
I am giving to all the neighbouring priests, who are coming
to sing in my high mass. I will bring them into the bottom
of the tower, but do not try to see me, do not come down to
take possession of the good things until you have heard me
go out again ; you must not see me by daylight, and as the
sun sets at twenty-seven minutes past seven to-morrow, I
shall not come to embrace you till toward eight o'clock.
And you must depart while the hours are still counted by
nine that is to say, before the clock has struck ten. Take
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The Chartreuse of Parma
care you are not seen at the tower windows; the gen-
darmes hold a description of your person, and they are,
in a manner, under the orders of your brother, who is a
thorough tyrant. The Marchese del Dongo is breaking,"
added Blanes sadly, " and if he were to see you, perhaps
he would give you something from his hand directly into
yours. But such benefits, with the stain of fraud upon
them, are not worthy of a man such as you, whose strength
one day will be in his conscience. The marchese hates his
son Ascanio, and to that son the five or six millions of
his property will descend. That is just. When he dies you
will have four thousand francs a year, and fifty yards of black
cloth for your servants' mourning."
170
CHAPTER IX
THE old man's discourse, Fabrizio's deep attention to it,
and his own excessive weariness, had thrown him into a
state of feverish excitement. He found it very difficult to
sleep, and his slumber was broken by dreams which may
have been omens of the future. At ten o'clock next morn-
ing, he was disturbed by the rocking of the tower, and a
frightful noise which seemed to be coming from without.
Terrified, he leaped to his feet, and thought the end of the
world must have come. Then he fancied himself in prison,
and it was some time before he recognised the sound of the
great bell which forty peasants had set swinging in honour
of the great San Giovita. Ten would have done it just as
well.
Fabrizio looked about for a place whence he might look
on without being seen. He observed that from that great
height he could look all over his father's gardens, and
even into the inner courtyard of his house. He had for-
gotten it. The thought of his father, now nearing the close
of his life, changed all his feelings toward him. He could
even distinguish the sparrows hopping about in search of
a few crumbs on the balcony of the great dining-room.
" They are the descendants of those I once tamed," he
thought. This balcony, like all the others, was adorned
with numerous orange trees, set in earthenware vases, large
and small. The sight of them touched him. There was
an air of great dignity about this inner courtyard, thus
adorned, with its sharply cut shadows standing out against
the brilliant sunshine.
The thought of his father's failing health came back to
him. " It really is very odd ! " he said to himself. " My
father is only thirty-five years older than I am thirty-five
The Chartreuse of Parma
and twenty-three only make fifty-eight." The eyes which
were gazing at the windows of the room occupied by the
harsh parent, whom he had never loved, brimmed over with
tears. He shuddered, and a sudden chill ran through his
veins when he fancied he recognised his father crossing an
orange-covered terrace on the level of his chamber. But
it was only a man-servant. Just beneath the tower a num-
ber of young girls in white dresses, and divided into several
groups, were busily outlining patterns in red, blue, and
yellow flowers on the soil of the streets along which the
procession was to pass. But there was another sight which
appealed yet more strongly to Fabrizio's soul. From his
tower he could look over the two arms of the lake for a
distance of several leagues, and this magnificent prospect
soon made him forget every other sight. It stirred the most
lofty feelings in his breast. All his childish memories
crowded on his brain ; and that day spent prisoned in a
church tower was perhaps one of the happiest in his life.
His felicity carried him to a frame of thought consider-
ably higher than was as a rule natural to him. Young as he
was, he pondered over the events of his past life as though
he had already reached its close. " I must acknowledge that
never, since I came to Parma," he mused at last, after sev-
eral hours of the most delightful reverie, " have I known
calm and perfect delight such as I used to feel at Naples,
when I galloped along the roads of Vomero, or wandered
on the coasts of Misena.
" All the complicated interests of that spiteful little court
have made me spiteful, too. ... I find no pleasure in hat-
ing anybody; I even think it would be but a poor delight
to me to see my enemies humiliated, if I had any. But,
hold ! " he cried ; " I have an enemy Giletti ! Now, it is
curious," he went on, " that my pleasure at the idea of seeing
that ugly fellow going to the devil should have outlived
the very slight fancy I had for little Marietta. . . . She is
not to be compared to the Duchess d'A , to whom I was
obliged to make love, at Naples, because I had told her I
had fallen in love with her. Heavens, how bored I used
to be during those long hours of intimacy with which the
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The Chartreuse of Parma
fair duchess used to honour me! I never felt anything of
that sort in the shabby room bedroom and kitchen, too
in which little Marietta received me twice, and for two
minutes each time!
" And heavens, again ! What do those people eat ? It
was pitiful ! I ought to have given her mamaccia a pen-
sion of three beefsteaks a day. . . . That little Marietta,"
he added, " distracted me from the wicked thoughts with
which the neighbourhood of the court had inspired me.
" Perhaps I should have done better to take up with the
' cafe life/ as the duchess calls it. She seemed rather to
incline to it, and she is much cleverer than I am. Thanks
to her bounty or even with this income of four thousand
francs a year, and the interest of the forty thousand francs
invested at Lyons, which my mother intends for me I
should always have been able to keep a horse and to spend
a few crowns on making excavations and forming a collec-
tion. As I am apparently never destined to know what love
is, my greatest pleasures will always lie in that direction.
I should like, before I die, to go back once to the battle-
field of Waterloo, and try to recognise the meadow where
I was lifted from my horse in such comical fashion, and
left sitting on the grass. Once that pilgrimage had been
performed, I would often come back to this noble lake.
There can be nothing so beautiful in the whole world
to my heart, at all events! Why should I wander so far
away in search of happiness? It lies here, under my very
eyes.
" Ah," said Fabrizio again, " but there is a difficulty
the police forbid my presence near the Lake of Como. But
I am younger than the people who direct the police. Here,"
he added with a laugh, " I shall find no Duchess d'A ,
but I should have one of the little girls who are scattering
flowers down yonder, and I am sure I should love her
just as much. Even in love matters, hypocrisy freezes me,
and our fine ladies aim at too much sublimity in their
effects. Napoleon has given them notions of propriety and
constancy.
" The devil ! " he exclaimed a moment later, pulling his
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The Chartreuse of Parma
head in suddenly, as if afraid he might be recognised, in
spite of the shadow cast by the huge wooden shutters which
kept the rain off the bells. " Here come the gendarmes in
all their splendour ! " Ten gendarmes, in fact, four of whom
were non-commissioned officers, had appeared at the head
of the principal street of the village. The sergeant posted
them a hundred paces apart, along the line the procession
was to follow. " Everybody here knows me. If I am seen,
I shall be carried at one bound from the shores of Como
to the Spielberg, where I shall have a hundred-and-ten-
pound weight of fetters fastened to each of my legs. And
what a grief for the duchess ! "
It was two or three minutes before Fabrizio was able to
realize that, in the first place, he was eighty feet above other
people's heads, that the spot where he stood was compara-
tively dark, that anybody who might glance upward would
be blinded by the blazing sun, and, last of all, that every eye
was staring wide about the village streets, the houses
of which had been freshly whitewashed in honour of the
feast of San Giovita. In spite of the cogency of these argu-
ments, Fabrizio's Italian soul would have been incapable of
any further enjoyment if he had not interposed a rag of old
sacking, which he nailed up in the window, between himself
and the gendarmes, making two holes in it so that he might
be able to look out.
The bells had been crashing out for ten minutes, the
procession was passing out of the church, the mortaretti
were exploding loudly. Fabrizio turned his head and
looked at the little esplanade, surrounded by a parapet, on
which his childish life had so often been endangered by the
mortaretti, fired off close to his legs, because of which his
mother always insisted on keeping him beside her, on feast
days.
These mortaretti (or little mortars), it should be ex-
plained, are nothing but gun barrels sawn off in lengths
of about four inches. It is for this purpose that the peas-
ants so greedily collect the musket barrels which Euro-
pean policy, since the year 1796, has sown broadcast over
the plains of Lombardy. When these little tubes are cut
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The Chartreuse of Parma
into four-inch lengths, they are loaded up to the very muzzle,
set on the ground in a vertical position, and a train of pow-
der is laid from one to the other ; they are ranged in three
lines, like a battalion, to the number of some two or three
hundred, in some clear space near the line of procession.
When the Holy Sacrament approaches, the train of powder
is lighted, and then begins a sharp, dropping fire of the
most irregular and ridiculous description, which sends all
the women wild with delight. Nothing more cheery can
be imagined than the noise of these mortaretti, as heard from
a distance across the lake, and softened by the rocking of the
waters. The curious rattle which had so often been the
delight of his childhood put the overserious notions which
had assailed our hero to flight. He fetched the Father's
big astronomical telescope, and was able to recognise most
of the men and women taking part in the procession. Many
charming little girls, whom Fabrizio had left behind him as
slips of eleven and twelve years old, had now grown into
magnificent-looking women, in all the flower of the most
healthy youth. The sight of them brought back our hero's
courage, and for the sake of exchanging a word with them,
he would have braved the gendarmes willingly.
When the procession had passed, and re-entered the
church by a side door, which was out of Fabrizio's range of
vision, the heat at the top of the tower soon became in-
tense. The villagers returned to their homes, and deep
silence fell over the place. Several boats filled with peasants
departed to Bellagio, Menaggio, and other villages on the
shores of the lake. Fabrizio could distinguish the sound
of every stroke of the oars. This detail, simple as it was,
threw him into a perfect ecstasy ; his delight at that moment
was built up on all the unhappiness and discomfort which
the complicated life of courts had inflicted upon him. What
a pleasure would it have been, at that moment, to row a
league's distance over that beautiful calm lake, in which
the depths of the heavens were so faithfully reflected ! He
heard somebody open the door at the bottom of the tower
Father Blanes's old servant, laden with a big basket ; it was
as much as he could do to refrain from going to speak to
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The Chartreuse of Parma
her. " She has almost as much affection for me as her
master has," he thought. " And I am going away at nine
o'clock to-night. Would she not keep silence, as she would
swear to me to do, even for those few hours? But/' said
Fabrizio to himself, " I should displease my friend ; I might
get him into trouble with the gendarmes." And he let
Ghita depart without saying a word to her. He made an
excellent dinner, and then lay down to sleep for a few
minutes. He did not wake till half-past eight at night.
Father Blanes was shaking his arm, and it had grown quite
dark.
Blanes was exceedingly weary; he looked fifty years
older than on the preceding night; he made no further
reference to serious matters. Seating himself in his wooden
chair, " Kiss me," he said to Fabrizio. Several times over
he clasped him in his arms. At last he spoke : " Death,
which will soon end this long life of mine, will not be so
painful as this separation. I have a purse which I shall
leave in Ghita's care, with orders to use its contents for
her own need, but to make over whatever it may contain
to you, if you should ever ask her for it. I know her ; once
I have given her this command she is capable, in her desire
to save for you, of not eating meat four times in the year,
unless you give her explicit orders on the subject. You
may be reduced to penury yourself, and then your old
friend's mite may be of service to you. Expect nothing
but vile treatment from your brother, and try to earn money
by some labour that will make you useful to society. I fore-
see strange tempests; fifty years hence, perhaps, no idle
man will be allowed to live. Your mother and your aunt
may fail you; your sisters must obey their husbands'
will " Then suddenly, he cried :" Go ! Go! Fly!"
He had just heard a little noise in the clock, a warning that
it was about to strike ten. He would not even give Fabrizio
time for a farewell embrace.
" Make haste ! make haste ! " he cried. " It will take you
at least a minute to get down the stairs. Take care you do
not fall ; that would be a terrible omen." Fabrizio rushed
down the stairs, and once out on the square, he began to run.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
He had hardly reached his father's castle before the clock
struck ten.
Every stroke echoed in his breast, and rilled him with
a strange sense of agitation. He paused to reflect, or
rather to give rein to the passionate feelings inspired by the
contemplation of the majestic edifice at which he had looked
so coolly only the night before. His reverie was disturbed
by human footsteps; he looked up, and saw himself sur-
rounded by four gendarmes. He had two excellent pistols,
the priming of which he had renewed during his dinner;
the click he made as he cocked them attracted one of the
gendarme's notice, and very nearly brought about his arrest.
He recognised his danger, and thought of firing at once.
He would have been within his rights, for it was his only
chance of resisting four armed men. Fortunately for him,
the gendarmes, who were going round to clear the wine-
shops, had not treated the civilities offered them in several
of these hospitable meeting-places with absolute indiffer-
ence. They were not sufficiently quick in making up their
minds to do their duty. Fabrizio fled at the top of his
speed. The gendarmes ran a few steps after him, shouting,
" Stop ! stop ! " Then silence fell on everything once more.
Some three hundred paces off Fabrizio stopped to get his
breath. " The noise of my pistols very nearly caused my
arrest. It would have served me right if the duchess had
told me if ever I had been allowed to look into her beau-
tiful eyes again that my soul delights in contemplating
things that may happen ten years hence, and forgets to look
at those which are actually under my nose/'
Fabrizio shuddered at the thought of the danger he had
just escaped. He hastened his steps, but soon he could
not restrain himself from running, which was not over-
prudent, for he attracted the attention of several peasants on
their homeward way. Yet he could not prevail upon him-
self to stop till he was on the mountain, over a league from
Grianta, and even then he broke into a cold sweat, when-
ever he thought of the Spielberg.
" I've been in a pretty fright ! " said he to himself, and at
the sound of the word he felt almost inclined to be ashamed.
12
The Chartreuse of Parma
" But does not my aunt tell me that the thing I need most
is to learn how to forgive myself? I am always comparing
myself with a perfect model, which can have no real exis-
tence. So be it, then. I will forgive myself my fright, for,
on the other hand, I was very ready to defend my liberty,
and certainly those four men would not all have been left
to take me to prison. What I am doing at this moment," he
added, " is not soldierly. Instead of rapidly retiring after
having fulfilled my object, and possibly roused my enemy's
suspicions, I am indulging a whim which is perhaps more
absurd than all the good father's predictions."
And, in fact, instead of returning by the shortest road,
and gaining the banks of the Lago Maggiore, where the
boat awaited him, he was making a huge detour for the pur-
pose of seeing his tree my readers will perhaps recollect
Fabrizio's affection for a chestnut tree planted by his
mother some three-and-twenty years previously. " It
would be worthy of my brother," he thought, " if he had
had that tree cut down; but such creatures as he have no
feeling for delicate matters. He will not have thought of
it, and besides," he added resolutely, " it would not be an
evil omen." Two hours later there was consternation in
his glance ; mischievous hands, or a stormy wind, had
broken off one of the chief branches of the young tree, and
it was hanging withered. With the help of his dagger
Fabrizio cut it off carefully, and closely pared the wound,
so that the rain might not enter the trunk. Then, though
time was very precious to him, for it was nearly dawn, he
spent a good hour in digging up the ground round the
beloved tree. When all these follies were accomplished, he
rapidly proceeded on his way toward the Lago Maggiore.
He did not feel depressed on the whole ; the tree was doing
well, it was stronger than ever, and in five years it had
almost doubled in size. The broken branch was a mere
accident, of no consequence.
Now that it had been lopped off, the tree would not
suffer, and would even grow the taller, as its limbs divided
at a greater height.
Before Fabrizio had travelled a league, a brilliant strip
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The Chartreuse of Parma
of white light in the east outlined the peaks of the Resegon
di Lek, a well-known mountain in that country. The road
he was now following was full of peasants, but instead of
thinking of military matters, Fabrizio was filled with emo-
tion by the sublime or touching aspects of the forest round
the Lake of Como. They are perhaps the most lovely
in the world. I do not mean those which bring in the great-
est number of " new crowns," as they say in Switzerland,
but those which appeal most strongly to the human soul.
For a man in Fabrizio's position, exposed to all the atten-
tions of the gendarmes of Lombardy and Venetia, it was
mere childishness to listen to their language. At last he said
to himself : " I am half a league from the frontier. I shall
meet the customs officers and the gendarmes making their
round. This fine cloth coat of mine will rouse their sus-
picions ; they will ask me for my passport. The said pass-
port bears a name doomed to a prison, written in fair char-
acters, and so I find myself under the agreeable necessity
of committing murder. If the gendarmes walk two to-
gether, as they generally do, I dare not wait till one of them
seizes me by the collar before I fire ; if he should hold me
for one instant before he falls, I shall find myself at the
Spielberg."
Fabrizio filled with a special horror at the idea of firing
first, and possibly on an old soldier who had served under
his uncle, Count Pietranera ran to hide himself in the hol-
low trunk of a huge chestnut tree. He was putting fresh
caps into his pistols when he heard a man coming through
the wood, singing, as he came, in a charming voice, a delight-
ful air by Mercadante, then fashionable in Italy.
" That's a good omen ! " said Fabrizio to himself ; he
listened attentively to the melody, and the sound of it wiped
out the little touch of anger which had begun to season his
arguments. He looked carefully up and down the high-
road and saw nobody. " The singer will come up some side
road," thought he to himself. Almost at that very moment
he saw a servant, very neatly dressed in the English style,
ride slowly up the road on a hack, leading a very fine blood-
horse, perhaps a trifle too thin.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
" Ah," said Fabrizio to himself, " if I had reasoned like
Mosca, who is perpetually telling me that the risk a man
runs always marks the ratio of his rights over his neighbour,
I should crack this serving-man's skull with a pistol-shot,
and once I was on that horse, I should snap my fingers at all
the gendarmes in the world. Then, as soon as I got back
to Parma, I would send money to the man or his widow.
But that would be an abominable action."
1 80
CHAPTER X
EVEN as he moralized, Fabrizio sprang upon the high-
road from Lombardy to Switzerland, which, at this spot, is
quite four or five feet below the level of the forest. " If my
man takes fright," said our hero to himself, " he will start
off at a gallop, and I shall be left here, looking a sorry
fool." By this time he was not more than ten paces from
the servant, who had stopped singing. Fabrizio read in his
eyes that he was frightened ; perhaps he was going to turn
his horses round. Without any conscious intention, Fa-
brizio made a bound, and seized the near horse by the
bridle.
" My friend," said he to the serving-man, " I am not a
common thief, for I am going to begin by giving you twenty
francs; but I am obliged to borrow your horse. I shall
be killed if I do not clear out at once. The four brothers
Riva, those great hunters whom you doubtless know, are
on my heels. They have just caught me in their sister's
bedroom. I jumped out of the window, and here I am.
They have turned out into the forest, with their hounds and
their guns. I had hidden myself in that big hollow chest-
nut tree because I saw one of them cross the road; their
hounds will soon be on my track. I am going to get on
your horse and gallop a league beyond Como; thence I
shall go to Milan, to cast myself at the viceroy's feet. If
you consent with a good grace, I'll leave your horse at the
posting-house, with two napoleons for yourself. If you
make the slightest difficulty I shall kill you with these pis-
tols. If, when I am once off, you set the gendarmes after
me, my cousin, the brave Count Alari, the Emperor's
equerry, will see to your bones being broken for you."
Fabrizio invented his speech as he delivered it, which
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The Chartreuse of Parma
he did in the most gentle manner. " For the rest," he said,
laughing, " my name is no secret. I am the Marchesino
Ascanio del Dongo. My home is close by, at Grianta.
Now, then," he cried, raising his voice, " let the horse
go ! " The stupefied servant said never a word. Fabrizio
put up the pistol he had held in his left hand, laid hold of
the bridle, which the man had dropped, sprang on the
horse, and cantered off. When he had ridden three hundred
paces he perceived he had forgotten to give him the twenty
francs he had promised. He pulled up; the road was still
empty, except for the servant, who was galloping after him.
He waved him forward with his handkerchief, and when he
was within fifty paces threw a handful of silver coins upon
the road, and started off again. Looking back from a dis-
tance, he saw the servant picking up the silver. " Now, that
really is a sensible man," said Fabrizio, laughing ; " not a
useless word did he say." He rode rapidly southward,
halted at a lonely house, and started forth again a few hours
later. By two o'clock in the morning he had reached the
Lago Maggiore. He soon saw his boat, standing on and
off. He made the signal agreed on, and she approached the
shore. He could find no peasant with whom he might leave
the horse, so he turned the noble creature loose, and three
hours later, he was at Belgirate. Once in a friendly country,
he took some repose. He was full of joy, for he had been
thoroughly successful. Dare we mention the true cause
of his delight? His tree was growing splendidly, and his
soul had been refreshed by the deep emotion he had felt in
Father Blanes's arms. " Does he really believe," said he
to himself, " in all the predictions he has made to me ? Or
is it that as my brother has given me the reputation of a
Jacobin, a man who knows neither truth nor law, and capa-
ble of any crime, he simply desired to induce me to resist
the temptation of taking the life of some villain who may
do me an evil turn ? " The day after the next, Fabrizio was
at Parma, where he vastly entertained the duchess and the
count by relating with the greatest exactness, as was his
wont, the whole story of his journey.
When Fabrizio arrived, he found the porter and all the
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The Chartreuse of Parma
servants at the Palazzo Sanseverina garbed in the deepest
mourning.
" Whose loss do we mourn? " he inquired of the duchess.
" That excellent man who was known as my husband has
just died at Baden. He has left me the palace that was
a settled thing; but, as a proof of his regard, he has added
a legacy of three hundred thousand francs, and this places
me in a serious difficulty. I will not give it up for the
benefit of his niece, the Marchesa Raversi, who plays me
the vilest of tricks every day of her life. You, who under-
stand art, must really find me some good sculptor, and I
will put up a monument to the duke which shall cost three
hundred thousand francs." The count began to tell stories
about the Raversi.
" In vain have I striven to soften her by kindness," said
the duchess. " As for the duke's nephews, I have had them
all made colonels or generals, and in return, never a month
passes without their sending me some abominable anony-
mous letter. I have been obliged to hire a secretary to read
all my letters of that description."
" And their anonymous letters are the least of all their
sins," continued Count Mosca. " They carry on a regular
manufacture of vile accusations. Twenty times over I ought
to have had the whole set brought before the courts, and
your Excellency " (turning to Fabrizio) " will guess
whether my worthy judges would have condemned them
or not."
" Well, that's what spoils all the rest, to me," replied
Fabrizio, with that artlessness that sounded so comical at
court. " I would much rather see them sentenced by magis-
trates who would judge them according to their own con-
sciences."
" If you, who travel to improve your mind, would give
me the addresses of a few such magistrates, you would do me
a real kindness. I would write to them before I went to
bed to-night."
" If I were a minister this lack of upright judges would
wound my vanity."
" But it strikes me," rejoined the count, " that your Ex-
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The Chartreuse of Parma
cellency, who is so fond of the French, and once upon a
time even lent them the help of your invincible arm, is for-
getting one of their great maxims, ' It is better to kill the
devil than that the devil should kill you ? ' I should very
much like to see how anybody could govern these eager
beings who read the history of the French Revolution all day
long, with judges who would acquit the persons I accused.
They would end by acquitting rascals whose guilt was per-
fectly evident, and every man of them would think himself
a Brutus. But I have a bone to pick with you. Does not
your sensitive soul feel some remorse concerning that fine
horse, rather too lean, which you have just turned loose
on the shores of the Maggiore ? "
" I certainly intend," said Fabrizio very gravely, " to
send the owner of the horse whatever sum may be necessary
to pay him the expenses of advertising, and any others he
may have incurred in recovering the beast from the peasants
who must have found it. I propose to read the Milanese
newspaper carefully, so as to find any advertisement touch-
ing a strayed horse. I am quite familiar with the appearance
of this one."
" He really is primitive,'' said the count to the duchess.
" And what would have become of your Excellency," he
continued, laughing, " if, while you were galloping along
on that horse's back, he had happened to stumble? You
would have found yourself at the Spielberg, my dear young
nephew, and with all my credit, I should barely have con-
trived to get some thirty pounds struck off the weight of the
shackles on each of your legs. In that delightful retreat you
would have spent quite ten years ; your legs would possibly
have swelled and mortified. Then they would have been
neatly cut off for you."
" Ah, for pity's sake, don't carry the wretched story any
further," broke in the duchess with tears in her eyes. " He
is back, and safe "
" And I am even more glad of it than you, you may be
sure of that," responded the minister very gravely. " But
pray, since this boy was set on going into Lombardy, why
did he not ask me to get him a passport in a fitting name ?
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The Chartreuse of Parma
The moment I heard of his arrest I should have hurried off
to Milan, and my friends there would have been willing
enough to close their eyes and pretend their police had
taken up one of the Prince of Parma's subjects. The story
of your trip is entertaining and amusing enough, I am quite
ready to admit that," the count continued, and his tone
grew less gloomy. " Your leap on to the high-road de-
cidedly enchants me. But between ourselves, since that
serving-man held your life in his hands, you had a right to
deprive him of his. We propose to raise your Excellency to
a brilliant position at least, such are the orders this lady
gives me, and I do not think my bitterest enemies can accuse
me of ever having neglected her commands. What a heart-
break it would have been to her if that lean horse of yours
had happened to make a false step while you were riding
a steeple-chase upon his back ! It would almost have been
better if he had broken your neck outright."
" You are very tragic to-night, dear friend," said the
duchess, quite overcome.
" Because tragic events are happening all around us,"
replied the count, and he, too, was moved. " This is not
France, where everything ends with a song or a sentence
of imprisonment, and I really am wrong to laugh when I
talk to you of such matters. Well, nephew mine, granting
that I find a chance some day of making you a bishop
for, frankly, I can not begin with making you Archbishop
of Parma, as the duchess here would very reasonably have
me do. Supposing you were settled in your bishopric, and
far from the sound of our wise counsels ; tell us what your
policy would be."
" I would kill the devil sooner than let him kill me, as
my friends the French so sensibly say," answered Fabrizio,
with shining eyes. " I would hold the position you gave me
by every means, even with my pistols. I have read the
story of our ancestor, who built Grianta, in the Del Dongo
Genealogy. Toward the end of his life his good friend
Galeazzo, Duke of Milan, sent him to inspect a fortified
castle on our lake. There was some fear of a fresh invasion
by the Swiss. ' I really must send a civil word to the com-
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The Chartreuse of Parma
mandant of the fortress/ said the duke, just as he was dis-
missing him. He wrote two lines, and gave him the letter ;
then he took it back. ' It will be more courteous if I seal
it/ said the prince. Vespasiano del Dongo departed. But
as he was sailing over the lake he remembered an old Greek
story, for he was a learned man. He opened his good
master's letter, and found it was an order to the command-
ant of the fortress to put him to death the moment he ar-
rived. So absorbed had Sforza been in his effort to make
the deception he had been playing on our ancestor life-like,
that he had left a considerable space between the last line of
his note and his signature. Vespasiano del Dongo inserted
an order to recognise him as governor-general of all the
lake castles, in the blank space, and tore the upper part of
the letter off. When he had reached the fortress, and his
authority had been duly acknowledged, he threw the com-
mandant down a well, declared war on Sforza, and, after
a few years, exchanged his strong castle for the huge estates
which have enriched every branch of our family, and which
will one day benefit me to the extent of four thousand francs
a year."
" You talk like an academician ! " cried the count laugh-
ingly. " You have told the story of a splendid prank. But
it is not once in ten years that the delightful opportunity
for doing such startling things presents itself. A man who
may be stupid at times, but is watchful and prudent always,
may often enjoy the pleasure of outwitting men of imagina-
tion. It was a freak of the imagination that led Napoleon
to put himself into the hands of the prudent John Bull, in-
stead of trying to escape to America. John Bull sat in his
counting-house, and laughed at the Emperor's letter and
his reference to Themistocles. The mean Sancho Panzas of
this world will always triumph over the noble-hearted Don
Quixotes. If you will consent not to do anything extraordi-
nary, I don't doubt you may be a highly respected, if not
a highly respectable, bishop. Nevertheless, I hold to my
previous observation. In this matter of the horse your
Excellency behaved very foolishly. You have been within
an ace of imprisonment for life."
1 86
The Chartreuse of Parma
Fabrizio shuddered at the words. He sat on, plunged in
a deep astonishment. " Was that the imprisonment which
threatens me ? " he mused. " Is that the crime I was not
to commit?" Father Blanes's predictions, the prophetic
value of which he had despised, began to assume all the im-
portance of real omens in his eyes.
" Well," cried the duchess, quite surprised, " what is
the matter with you? The count has cast you into a very
gloomy reverie."
" The light of a new truth has fallen upon my mind, and
instead of rebelling against it, I am adopting it. It is quite
true. I have been very near a prison that never would have
opened its doors again. But the servant lad looked so
handsome in his English livery it would have been a sin to
kill him."
The count was delighted with his air of youthful wisdom.
" He is satisfactory in every way," he said, looking at
the duchess. " I must tell you, my boy, that you have made
a conquest, and perhaps the most desirable one you could
possibly have made."
" Ha ! " thought Fabrizio, " now I shall hear some jest
about little Marietta." He was mistaken. The count went
on : " Your evangelic simplicity has won the heart of our
venerable archbishop, Father Landriani. One of these days
you will be made a grand vicar, and the beauty of the joke
is that the three present grand vicars, all of them men of
parts and hard-working, and two of them, I believe, grand
vicars before you were born, are about to send a fine letter
to their archbishop, begging you may take rank above them
all. These gentlemen base this request on your virtuous
qualities, in the first place, and in the second, on the fact
that you are great-nephew to the famous Archbishop
Ascanio del Dongo. When I heard of the respect your
virtues had inspired, I instantly promoted the senior grand
vicar's nephew to a captaincy. He had remained a lieu-
tenant ever since he had served at the siege of Tarragona,
under Marshal Suchet."
" Go at once, just as you are, in your travelling dress,
and pay an affectionate call on your archbishop," exclaimed
The Chartreuse of Parma
the duchess. " Tell him all about your sister's marriage.
When he knows she is going to be a duchess he will think
you more apostolic than ever. Of course, you will forget
everything the count has just confided to you about your
approaching appointment."
Fabrizio hurried off to the archiepiscopal palace. His
behaviour there was both modest and simple. This was
a tone he could assume only too easily. For him the effort
was when he had to play the nobleman. While he was lis-
tening to Monsignore Landriani's somewhat lengthy dis-
sertations he kept saying to himself, " Ought I to have fired
my pistol at the man-servant who was leading the lean
horse?" His reason replied in the affirmative. But he
could not reconcile his heart to the thought of that hand-
some young fellow dropping disfigured from his saddle.
" That prison which would have swallowed me up if
the horse had stumbled was it the prison with which so
many omens threaten me ? "
The question was of sovereign importance to him. And
the archbishop was enchanted with his air of deep attention.
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CHAPTER XI
WHEN Fabrizio left the archiepiscopal palace he hurried
off to Marietta's dwelling. In the distance he heard Giletti's
rough voice. He had sent out for wine, and was carousing
with his friends the prompter and the candle snuffer. The
mamaccia, who performed the functions of a mother to
Marietta, was the only person who answered his signal.
" Things have happened while you have been away/' she
cried. " Two or three of our actors have been accused of
having held an orgy in honour of the great Napoleon's
birthday, and our unlucky company has been given the name
of Jacobin. So we have been ordered to clear out of the
dominion of Parma, and, Evriva Napoleone! But the Prime
Minister is supposed to have paid our reckoning. Giletti
certainly has money in his pocket. I don't know how much,
but I have seen him with a handful of crown pieces. The
manager has given Marietta five crowns for her travelling
expenses to Mantua and Venice, and one for mine. She
is still very much in love with you, but she is afraid of
Giletti. Three days ago, at her last performance, he really
would have killed her. He boxed her ears soundly twice
over, and, what is abominable, he tore her blue shawl. If
you would give her a blue shawl it would be very good-
natured of you, and we would say we had won it in the lot-
tery. The drum master of the carabineers is holding a com-
petition to-morrow you will see the hour advertised at
every street corner. Come and see us then. If Giletti goes
to the match, and we can hope he will stay away for any
time, I will be at the window, and will beckon you to come
up. Try to bring us something very pretty. And Marietta
dotes upon you."
As he descended the winding stairs that led from the vile
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The Chartreuse of Parma
garret, Fabrizio's soul was rilled with compunction. " I am
not a bit altered," he thought. " All those fine resolutions
I made on the shores of the lake, when I looked at life with
so much philosophy, have flown away. I was not in my
normal condition then. It was all a dream, which disap-
pears when I have to face stern realities. This would be
the moment for action," he went on, as he re-entered the
Sanseverina Palace about eleven o'clock at night. But in
vain did he search his heart for that noble sincerity which
had seemed so easy of attainment during the night he had
spent on the shores of Como. " I shall displease the person
I love best in the world. If I speak, I shall look like an
inferior play-actor. I really never am worth anything, ex-
cept in certain moments of excitement."
" The count is wonderfully good to me," said he to the
duchess, after he had given her an account of his visit to the
archbishop. " I value his kindness all the more highly be-
cause I fancy I notice that he does not particularly care
about me. Therefore I must be all the more correct in my
behaviour to him. I know he has excavations at Sanguigna
in which he still delights judging, at least, by his expedi-
tion the day before yesterday, galloping twelve leagues to
spend two hours with his workmen. He is afraid that if
they find fragments of statuary in the antique temple, the
foundations of which he has just laid bare, they may steal
them. I should like to offer to go and spend thirty-six
hours at Sanguigna. I am to see the archbishop to-morrow,
about five o'clock. I could start in the evening, and take ad-
vantage of the cool hours of the night for my ride."
The duchess made no answer at first. Presently she said
to him in a very tender voice : " It looks as if you were seek-
ing pretexts for getting away from me ; you are hardly back
from Belgirate, and you find out a reason for starting off
again."
" Here's a fine opportunity for me," thought Fabrizio.
" But I was a little mad when I was sitting by the lake. In
my passion for truthfulness I overlooked the fact that my
compliment winds up with an impertinence. I should have
to say, ' I regard you with the most devoted friendship, etc,,
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The Chartreuse of Parma
but my heart is not capable of real love/ Is not that tanta-
mount to saying : ' I see you are in love with me. But pray
take care! I can not return it to you in kind.' If the
duchess has any passion for me, she will be vexed at my
having guessed it. If her feeling for me is one of mere
friendship she will be disgusted by my impudence, and such
offences are never forgiven."
While he was weighing these important considerations
Fabrizio was walking, quite unconsciously, up and down the
room, looking grave and proud, like a man who sees mis-
fortune hovering within ten paces of him.
The duchess gazed at him with admiration. This was
not the child she had known from his birth, the nephew
ever ready to obey her commands. This was a serious man
a man whose love would be an exquisite possession. She
rose from the ottoman on which she had been sitting, and
threw herself passionately into his arms.
" Are you bent on leaving me ? " she cried.
" No," said he, looking like a Roman emperor, " but I
want to behave well."
The phrase was susceptible of several interpretations.
Fabrizio had not courage to go farther, and run the risk
of wounding the adorable woman before him. He was too
young, too easily moved. His mind did not suggest any
well-turned expression which might convey his meaning.
In a fit of passion, which was natural enough, and in spite
of his reason, he clasped the charming creature in his arms
and rained kisses upon her. Just at that moment the count's
carriage was heard in the courtyard, and almost instantly
he entered the room. He looked quite affected.
" You inspire very strange devotions," said he to Fa-
brizio, who was almost stunned by the phrase. " This
evening the archbishop was received in audience by the
prince, as he is regularly every Thursday. The prince
has just informed me that the archbishop, who seemed
greatly agitated, began by making a very prosy speech,
evidently learned by heart, of which the prince could make
nothing at all. Landriani ended by saying that it was im-
portant for the sake of the Church in Parma that Monsi-
'9 1
The Chartreuse of Parma
gnore Fabrizio del Dongo should be appointed his chief
grand vicar, and afterward, as soon as he had reached his
five-and-twentieth year, his coadjutor, and his ultimate suc-
cessor.
" This idea alarmed me, I confess," said the count. " It
is somewhat precipitate, and I was afraid it might throw the
prince into a fit of ill-humour. But he looked at me and
laughed, and said to me in French, ' Cetsont Id vos coups,
monsieur! '
" ' I will take my oath before God and your Highness/
I cried with the utmost possible fervour, ' that I was utterly
ignorant of the idea of the " future succession." : Then I
went on to tell the real truth, as we talked it over here a
few hours since, and I added impulsively that I should have
considered his Highness had conferred an overwhelming
favour on me if he had ultimately granted you a modest
bishopric to begin with. The prince must have believed
me, for it pleased him to be gracious. He said to me in
the simplest possible way : * This is an official affair between
me and the archbishop. You have nothing whatever to do
with it. The old gentleman has sent me in a very long and
tolerably tiresome report, which he winds up with a formal
proposal. I replied that the individual was still very young,
and more especially a very new arrival at my court; that
I should almost look as if I were honouring a letter of
credit drawn on me by the Emperor if I bestowed the re-
version of so high a dignity on the son of one of the great
officials of his Lombardo-Venetian kingdom. The arch-
bishop protested there had been no pressure of any such
kind. It was a pretty piece of folly to say that to me. It
surprised me in a man who is generally so intelligent. But
he always loses his head completely when he talks to me,
and to-night he was more nervous than ever, which led me
to think he passionately desired what he asked for. I told
him that nobody knew better than myself that there had
been no attempt in high quarters to put forward Del Dongo,
that nobody about my court denied his powers, that his
reputation for virtue was a fair one, but that I feared he
was capable of enthusiasm, and that I had made a vow I
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The Chartreuse of Parma
would never place madmen of that kind, on whom rulers
never can rely, in any exalted position. Then,' his Highness
continued, ' I had to endure a pathetic appeal nearly as
long as the first. The archbishop sang the praises of en-
thusiasm for God's house. " Bungler," said I to myself,
" you are risking the appointment you were very near get-
ting! You should have cut it short, and thanked me fer-
vently." Not a bit, he went on pouring out his homily with
a bravery that was ridiculous. I cast about for an answer
that would not be too unfavourable to young Del Dongo's
cause. I found it, and a fairly apposite one, as you will
perceive.
" ' " Monsignore," I said, " Pius VII was a great Pope,
and a great saint. He was the only one of all the sovereigns
who dared to say No to the tyrant at whose feet Europe
grovelled. Well, he was capable of enthusiasm, and this
led him, when he was Bishop of Imola, into writing that
famous pastoral of the Citizen-Cardinal Chiaramonti, in sup-
port of the Cisalpine Republic."
: ' My poor archbishop was struck dumb, and to com-
plete his stupefaction I said to him, very gravely : " Fare-
well, monsignore ; I will take four-and-twenty hours to think
over your proposal." The poor man added a few more
entreaties, which were both ill-expressed and, considering I
had bidden him " Farewell," somewhat inopportune. Now,
Count Mosca della Rovere, I desire you will inform the
duchess that I will not delay for four-and-twenty hours a
matter which may give her pleasure. Sit you down here,
and write the archbishop the note of approval which will
close the whole business/ I wrote the note, he signed it,
and he said, ' Take it to the duchess instantly.' Here,
madam, is the note, and to it I owe the happiness of seeing
you again to-night."
The duchess perused the paper with delight. While the
count had been telling his long story Fabrizio had had time
to collect himself. He did not appear astonished by the in-
cident. He took it like a true aristocrat, who had always
believed in his own right to that extraordinary advancement,
those lucky chances which might very well throw a com-.
13 193
The Chartreuse of Parma
mon man off his balance. He expressed his gratitude, but
in measured language, and ended by saying to the count :
" A good courtier should flatter the ruling passion.
Yesterday you expressed your fear that your workmen
at Sanguigna might steal the fragments of antique statu-
ary they may unearth. I delight in excavations. If you
will give me leave, I will go and look after those work-
men. To-morrow evening, after I have paid the necessary
visits, to return thanks, at the palace, and to the archbishop,
1 will start for Sanguigna."
" But can you imagine," said the duchess, " any reason
for the good archbishop's sudden devotion to Fabrizio ? "
" There is no need of any imagination. The grand vicar
whose brother is a captain said to me, yesterday, ' Father
Landriani argues on this unvarying principle, that the
holder of the title is superior to the coadjutor, and he is
beside himself with delight at having a Del Dongo at his
orders, and under an obligation conferred by himself.
Everything that draws attention to Fabrizio's high birth
increases his private satisfaction that is the man he has
under him. In the second place, he likes Monsignore Fa-
brizio. He does not feel shy in his presence. And, finally,
for the last ten years he has been nursing a hearty hatred of
the Bishop of Piacenza, who openly avows his expectation
of succeeding him at Parma, and who is, besides, the son
of a miller. It is with an eye to this future succession that
the Bishop of Piacenza has entered into close relations with
the Marchesa Raversi, and this intimacy makes our arch-
bishop tremble for his pet plan that of seeing a Del Dongo
on his staff, and of issuing his orders to him."
Very early on the next morning but one, Fabrizio was
overlooking the workers on the excavations at Sanguigna,
opposite Colorno (the Versailles of the Parmese princes).
These excavations stretched across the plain close to the
high-road leading from Parma to the bridge of Casal-Mag-
giore, the nearest Austrian town. The workmen were cut-
ting a long ditch along the plain. It was eight feet deep,
and as narrow as might be. The object was to find, along-
side the old Roman road, the ruins of a second temple,
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The Chartreuse of Parma
which, according to local tradition, had been still standing in
the middle ages. Notwithstanding the prince's authority,
many peasants looked with a jealous eye on the long
trenches cut across their land. In spite of everything they
were told, they fancied search was being made for some
treasure, and Fabrizio's presence was particularly valuable
as a check on any little outbreak on their part. He was not
at all bored. He watched the work with passionate interest.
Now and then some medal was turned up, and he was re-
solved he would not give the labourers time to agree among
themselves to pilfer it.
It was about six o'clock in the morning of a lovely day.
He had borrowed an old single-barrelled gun. He shot at a
few larks. One of them fell wounded on the high-road.
Fabrizio, when he followed it, saw a carnage in the dis-
tance, coming from Parma, and travelling toward Casal-
Maggiore. He had just reloaded his gun when the vehicle,
a very shabby one, came slowly up to him, and in it he
recognised little Marietta. With her were the ungainly
Giletti and the old woman she passed off as her mother.
Giletti took it into his head that Fabrizio had set him-
self thus in the middle of the road, gun in hand, with the
idea of insulting him, and perhaps of carrying off little
Marietta. Like a bold fellow, he jumped out of the carriage
instantly. In his left hand he grasped a large and very
rusty pistol, and in his right a sword, still in its scabbard,
which he was in the habit of wearing when necessity obliged
the manager of his company to allot him some nobleman's
part in a play.
" Ha, villain," he cried, " I'm heartily glad to catch you
here, only a league from the frontier ! I'll soon settle your
business for you ; your violet stockings won't protect you
here/'
Fabrizio had been making signs to little Marietta, and
scarcely paying any attention to Giletti's jealous shrieks.
Suddenly he saw the muzzle of the rusty pistol within three
feet of his own chest. He had only time to strike at the
pistol with his gun, using it as if it had been a stick; the
pistol went off, but nobody was wounded,
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The Chartreuse of Parma
" Stop, you fool ! " shrieked Giletti to the vetturino, skil-
fully contriving at the same time to spring at the barrel of
his adversary's gun and hold it away from his own body.
He and Fabrizio each tugged at the gun with all his
strength. Giletti, who was much the stronger of the two,
kept slipping one hand over the other toward the lock, and
had very nearly got possession of the weapon when Fa-
brizio, to prevent his using it, touched the trigger. He
had previously noticed that the muzzle was over three
inches above Giletti's shoulder. The shot went off close to
the man's ear ; he was a little startled, but pulled himself to-
gether in a moment.
" Oho ! you'd like to blow my brains out, you scoundrel !
I'll soon settle you ! "
Giletti threw away the scabbard of his sword, and fell
upon Fabrizio with the most astonishing swiftness. Fa-
brizio, who was unarmed, gave himself up for lost.
He bolted toward the carriage, which had stopped some
paces behind Giletti, and, turning to the left, he caught hold
of the springs, ran quickly round it, and past the right-hand
door, which was open. Giletti, tearing along on his long
legs, and not having thought of catching at the carriage
springs, ran several steps in his original direction.J}efore he
could stop himself. Just as Fabrizio ran past the open
door he heard Marietta say in an undertone : " Look out
for yourself ; he'll kill you ! Here ! " and at the same mo-
ment he saw a great hunting-knife fall out of the carriage.
He bent down to pick it up, but just at that moment a
sword thrust from Giletti touched him on the shoulder.
When Fabrizio stood up he found himself within six inches
of Giletti, who gave him a furious blow in the face with the
pommel of his sword. So violent was this blow that Fa-
brizio was quite dazed, and at that moment he was very
near being killed. Fortunately for him, Giletti was still too
close to be able to thrust at him. When Fabrizio recovered
his wits he took to flight at the top of his speed. As he
ran he threw away the sheath of the hunting-knife, and then,
turning sharp round, he found himself within three paces of
Giletti, who was tearing after him. Giletti was running as
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The Chartreuse of Parma
fast as he could go; Fabrizio made a thrust at him, and
though Giletti had time to strike up the hunting-knife a
little, he received the thrust full in his cheek. He passed
close to Fabrizio, who felt himself wounded in the thigh ;
this was by Giletti's knife, which he had found time to open.
Fabrizio made a spring to the right, turned round, and at
last the adversaries found themselves within reasonable
fighting distance.
Giletti was swearing furiously. " Ah, I'll cut your throat
for you, you scoundrel of a priest ! " he cried over and over
again. Fabrizio was quite out of breath, and could not
speak ; the blow on his face with the pommel of the sword
hurt him dreadfully, and his nose was pouring blood. He
parried various blows with his hunting-knife, and deliv-
ered several thrusts without well knowing what he was
about. He had a sort of vague idea that he was performing
in a public assault-at-arms. This idea had been suggested to
him by the presence of his workmen, who, to the number of
five-and-twenty or thirty,' had formed a ring round them,
but at a very respectful distance, for both of the combatants
kept running hither and thither, and then rushing upon
each other.
The fight seemed to be growing less fierce, the thrusts
rather les& rapidly exchanged, when Fabrizio said to him-
self, " Judging by the way my face hurts me he must have
disfigured me." Stung to fury by the thought, he rushed
at his enemy, holding the hunting-knife in front of him.
The point entered Giletti's chest on the right, and passed
out near his left shoulder. At the same moment the whole
length of Giletti's sword ran through the upper part of
Fabrizio's arm, but as the sword slipped beneath the skin
the wound was quite a trifling one.
Giletti had fallen. Just as Fabrizio went toward him,
with his eye on his left hand, which held the knife, that hand
unclosed mechanically, and the weapon dropped from its
grasp.
" The rascal is dead," said Fabrizio to himself. He
looked at the face; the blood was pouring from Giletti's
mouth.
197
The Chartreuse of Parma
Fabrizio ran to the carriage. " Have you a looking-
glass ? " he cried to Marietta. Marietta, very pale, was star-
ing at him, and did not answer. The old woman, with the
greatest coolness, opened a green workbag and handed
Fabrizio a small mirror about the size of a man's hand, with
a handle to it. Fabrizio felt his face all over as he peered
into the glass. " My eyes are all right/' said he. " That's
a great thing." Then he looked at his teeth ; they were not
broken. " Then why does it hurt me so ? " he murmured.
The old woman replied : " Because the top of your cheek
has been crushed between Giletti's sword and the bone we
all have there. It's all blue and horribly swelled. Put on
leeches at once, and it will be nothing at all."
" Ah, leeches at once," said Fabrizio, laughing, and he
recovered all his self-possession. He saw the workmen
gathering round Giletti, looking at him without daring to
touch him.
" Why don't you help the man ? " he shouted. " Take his
coat off him ! " He would have proceeded, but raising his
eyes he saw, some three hundred paces off, five or six men
advancing along the high-road, with slow and measured
step, toward the spot on which he stood.
" Those are gendarmes," thought he to himself, " and as
there's a man dead they will arrest me, and I shall have the
pleasure of making my solemn entry into the city of Parma
with them! What a nice story for the courtiers who are
the Raversi's friends and hate my aunt ! " Instantly, and
as quick as lightning, he threw all the money he had in his
pockets to the astonished workmen, and jumped into the
carriage.
" Prevent those gendarmes from following me," he
shouted to the men, " and I will make your fortunes. Tell
them I am innocent, that the man attacked me and would
have killed me. And you," he added to the vetturino,
" make your horses gallop ! You shall have four gold na-
poleons if you get across the Po before those fellows can
reach me."
" All right," said the vettnrino ; " don't be in a
fright! Those men yonder are on foot, and if my little
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The Chartreuse of Parma
horses only trot they will be left far behind." As he spoke
he shook them up into a gallop.
Our hero was much offended by the coachman's use of
the word fright. He really had been in a horrible fright
after receiving the blow from the sword pommel in his face.
" We may meet people on horseback coming this way,"
said the vetturino, thinking of his four napoleons, " and
the men who are following us may shout to them to stop
us." This meant " Reload your weapons."
" Ah, how brave you are, my little abbe ! " cried Mari-
etta, and she kissed Fabrizio. The old woman had thrust
her head out of the window ; presently she drew it in again.
" Nobody is following you, sir," she said to Fabrizio
very coolly, " and there is nobody on the road in front of
you. You know how precise the Austrian police officials are ;
if they see you come galloping up to the embankment beside
the Po you may be perfectly certain they will stop you."
Fabrizio put his head out of the window. " You can
trot now," said he to the coachman. Then, turning to the
old woman, "What passport have you?"
" Three instead of one," replied she, " and each of them
cost us four francs. Isn't that cruel for poor play-actors,
travelling all the year round ? Here is a passport for Signor
Giletti, a dramatic artist that shall be you and here are
Mariettina's and mine. But Giletti had all our money in his
pocket. What is to become of us? "
" How much had he ? " said Fabrizio.
" Forty good crowns of five francs each," said the old
woman.
" That is to say, six crowns and some small change,"
laughed Marietta. " I won't have my little abbe imposed
upon."
" Is it not quite natural, sir," returned the old woman
with the greatest calmness, "that I should try to do you
out of four-and-thirty crowns? What are thirty-four
crowns to you? And as for us, we've lost our protector.
Who is to look after our lodgings now, and bargain with
the vetturino when we travel, and keep everything in order ?
Giletti was not a beauty, but he was useful, and if this child
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The Chartreuse of Parma
here had not been a fool and fallen in love with you at
first sight, Giletti would never have noticed anything, and
you would have given us good silver crowns. I can assure
you we are very poor."
Fabrizio was touched. He took out his purse and gave
the old woman several gold pieces.
" You see," he said, " that I have only fifteen left, so it
will be useless to try and get any more out of me."
Little Marietta threw her arms round his neck and the
old woman kissed his hands. The carriage was still trot-
ting slowly forward, when the yellow barriers, striped with
black, which marked the Austrian frontier, appeared in
sight. The old woman addressed Fabrizio.
" You would do well to pass on foot with Giletti's pass-
port in your pocket. We will stop a few minutes, on the
pretext of making ourselves look tidy. And besides, the
customs officers will open our baggage. If you will take
my advice, you had better walk lazily through Casal-Mag-
giore ; even turn into the cafe and drink a glass of brandy.
Once you are out of the village make off. The police on
Austrian territory are devilishly sharp ; they will soon find
out that a man has been killed. You are travelling with a
passport which does not belong to you; for less than that
you might get two years in prison. When you leave the
town turn to the right, and get to the banks of the Po. Hire
a boat, and take refuge at Ravenna or Ferrara. Get out of
the Austrian states as quickly as ever you can. Two louis
will buy you another passport from some custom-house
officer; this one would be the ruin of you. Remember
you've killed the man ! "
Fabrizio carefully reread Giletti's passport as he walked
toward the bridge of boats at Casal-Maggiore. Our hero
was seriously alarmed; he had a vivid recollection of all
Count Mosca had told him concerning the risk he would
run if he re-entered Austrian territory, and only two paces
in front of him he saw the fateful bridge which was to
admit him to those dominions, the capital of which, in his
eyes, was the Spielberg. But what else was he to do? By
an express convention between the two states the duchy
200
The Chartreuse of Parma
of Modena, which bounds the dominion of Parma on the
south, returned all fugitives who passed over its borders.
The Parmese frontier running up into the mountain country
near Genoa was too distant; his misadventure would be
known at Parma before he could reach those mountains.
Nothing remained to him, therefore, except the Austrian
states on the left bank of the Po. Thirty-six hours or two
days would probably elapse before there could be time to
write to the Austrian authorities and request his arrest. On
the whole, Fabrizio thought it wiser to burn his own pass-
port, which he lighted at the end of his cigar. He would
be safer on Austrian ground as a vagabond than as Fa-
brizio del Dongo, and there was the possibility of his being
searched.
Apart from his very natural repugnance to the idea of
staking his life on the unhappy Giletti's passport, the docu-
ment itself presented some material difficulties. Fabrizio's
stature did not, at the most, exceed five foot five, instead of
the five, foot ten described in the passport. He was nearly
twenty-four, and looked younger. Giletti was thirty-nine.
We will confess that our hero spent a full half-hour walking
up and down an embankment on the river, close by the
bridge of boats, before he could make up his mind to go
down upon it. " What advice should I give to another
man in my place? " said he to himself at last. " Clearly, to
go across. It is dangerous to stay in Parma. A gendarme
may be sent in pursuit of the man who has killed another,
even against his own will." Fabrizio turned out his pockets,
tore up all his papers, and kept literally nothing except his
handkerchief and his cigar case. It was important to
shorten, by every possible means, the examination he would
have to undergo. He thought of a terrible difficulty which
might be made, and to which he could find no good answer.
He was going to call himself Giletti, and all his linen was
marked F. D.
Fabrizio, as will be observed, was one of those unhappy
beings who are tortured by their own imaginations, a some-
what common weakness among intelligent people in Italy.
A French soldier of equal or even inferior courage would
201
The Chartreuse of Parma
have set about crossing the bridge at once, without think-
ing of any difficulty beforehand, and he would have done
it with perfect composure, whereas Fabrizio was very far
from being composed when, at the far end of the bridge, a
little man dressed in gray said to him, " Go into the police
office and show your passport."
The office had dirty walls, studded with nails on which
the officials' pipes and greasy hats were hung. The big
deal writing-table at which they sat was covered with ink
stains and wine stains. Two or three big green leather
registers also showed stains of every shade of colour, and
the edges of the pages were blackened by dirty hands. On
these registers, which were piled one upon the other, lay
three splendid laurel wreaths, which had been used the
night before, in honour of one of the Emperor's fete days.
Fabrizio was struck by all these details ; they sent a pang
through his heart. This was the price he paid for the splen-
did luxury and freshness of his beautiful rooms in the
Palazzo Sanseverina. He was obliged to enter the dirty
office and stand there like an inferior. He was soon to be
cross-questioned.
The official who stretched out a yellow hand to receive
his passport was a short, dark man, with a brass jewel in his
neckcloth. " Here's a common man, in a bad temper,"
said Fabrizio to himself. He seemed very much surprised
when he read the passport, and the perusal lasted quite five
minutes.
" You've had an accident," said he to the stranger, look-
ing at his cheek.
" The vetturino upset us over the river embankment."
Then silence fell again, and the official cast strange glances
at the traveller.
" I have it," said Fabrizio to himself ; " he's going to tell
me that he's sorry to have to give me an unpleasant piece of
news, and that I am arrested."
All sorts of wild notions crowded on to our hero's
brain. His logic at that moment was of the weakest descrip-
tion. He thought, for instance, of bolting through the office
door, which was standing open. " I would get rid of my
202
The Chartreuse of Parma
coat, I would jump into the Po, and I have no doubt I could
swim across. Anything is better than the Spielberg."
While he weighed his chances of succeeding in this prank,
the police officer was looking hard at him ; their two faces
were a study. The presence of danger inspires a sensible
man with genius, raising him, so to speak, above himself.
In the case of the man of imagination, it inspires him with
romances, which may indeed be bold, but which are fre-
quently absurd.
Our hero's look of indignation under the scrutinizing
glance of this police officer with the brass jewellery was
something worth seeing. " If I were to kill him," said
Fabrizio to himself, " I should be sentenced to twenty years
at the galleys or to death. That would be far less awful
than the Spielberg, with a chain weighing a hundred and
twenty pounds on each foot, and eight ounces of bread for
my daily food. And it would last twenty years, so that I
should be forty-four before I came out." Fabrizio's logical
mind overlooked the fact that as he had burned his own
passport, there was nothing to acquaint the police officer
with the detail of his being the rebel Fabrizio del Dongo.
Our hero was tolerably frightened, as my readers per-
ceive. His alarm would have been far greater if he had been
aware of the thoughts passing in the official's mind. The
man was a friend of Giletti's; his surprise at seeing his
passport in the hands of another person may therefore be
imagined. His first impulse had been to arrest the stranger.
Then he reflected that very likely Giletti had sold the pass-
port to the good-looking young fellow, who had probably
just got into some scrape at Parma. " If I arrest him," said
he to himself, " Giletti will get into trouble. It will easily be
discovered that he has sold his passport. But, on the other
hand, what will my superiors say if they find out that I,
who am a friend of Giletti's, have countersigned his pass-
port when presented by another person ? " The officer
stood up with a yawn, and said to Fabrizio, " Wait here,
sir ! " Then, as was natural to a policeman, he added,
" There is a difficulty." Fabrizio said within himself,
" What there is going to be, is my flight."
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The Chartreuse of Parma
The official, indeed, had left the office, leaving the door
open, and the passport was still lyi-ng on the deal table.
" There's no doubt about my danger," thought Fabrizio to
himself. " I will take up my passport, and walk quietly back
across the bridge. If the gendarme questions me I will tell
him I have forgotten to get it countersigned by the police
officer at the last village in the dominion of Parma." The
passport was actually in Fabrizio's hand when, to his inex-
pressible astonishment, he heard the clerk with the brass
jewellery say:
" Upon my soul ! I am done up ; I'm choking with heat ;
I am going to get a cup of coffee at the cafe. When you've
finished your pipe just go into the office ; there's a passport
to be signed. The traveller is waiting."
Fabrizio, who was just stepping out on tiptoe, found
himself face to face with a good-looking young fellow, who
was humming a tune, and heard him say, " Very good.
We'll see to their passport. I'll oblige them with my
flourish."
" Where do you wish to go, sir?"
' To Mantua, Venice, and Ferrara."
" Ferrara let it be," answered the official, whistling ; he
took up a stamp, printed the visa upon the passport in blue
ink, and rapidly inserted the words " Mantua, Venice, and
Ferrara " in the blank space left by the stamp. Then he
waved his hand in the air several times, signed his name, and
dipped his pen in the ink again to make his flourish, a feat
he performed slowly and with infinite care. Fabrizio
watched every motion of his pen. The clerk looked com-
placently at his flourish, added five or six dots, and then re-
turned the passport to Fabrizio, saying indifferently, " A
pleasant journey to you, sir."
Fabrizio was departing with a rapidity which he was
attempting to conceal when he felt himself stopped by a
touch on his left arm. Instinctively his hand sought the
handle of his dagger, and if he had not seen houses all
round him he might have been guilty of a blunder. The
man who had touched his left arm, seeing his startled look,
said apologetically :
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The Chartreuse of Parma
" But I spoke to you three times, sir, and you did not
answer. Have you anything to declare at the custom-
house?"
" I've nothing on me but my handkerchief ; I am going
to shoot with one of my relations, quite close by."
He would have been sorely puzzled if he had been asked
to mention that relation's name.
Thanks to the great heat and his own emotions, Fa-
brizio was dripping as if he had fallen into the Po. " I
am brave enough when I have to do with play-actors, but
custom-house clerks with brass jewellery drive me beside
myself. I'll write the duchess a comic sonnet on that sub-
ject."
Fabrizio entered the town of Casal-Maggiore and imme-
diately turned to the right, down a shabby street leading to
the Po. " I am in sore need," said he to himself, " of the
assistance of Bacchus and Ceres," and he entered a shop,
over the door of which a gray cloth hung from a pole. On
this cloth was inscribed the word Trattoria. A ragged bed
sheet, supported by two thin wooden hoops and hanging
within three feet of the ground, sheltered the door of the
trattoria from the direct blaze of the sun. Within it a half-
naked and very pretty woman received our hero respect-
fully, a fact which gave him the keenest satisfaction. He
lost no time in telling her that he was starving with hunger.
While the woman was preparing his breakfast a man of
about thirty years of age came into the room. On his
first entrance he made no sign of greeting, but suddenly
he rose from the bench on which he had cast himself with
an easy gesture, and said to Fabrizio :
" Eccellenza! la riverisco!" (I salute your Excellency!)
Fabrizio felt exceedingly cheerful at that moment, and in-
stead of at once expecting something gloomy he answered
with a laugh :
" And how the devil do you know my Excellency ? "
" What ! doesn't your Excellency recollect Ludovico,
one of the Duchess Sanseverina's coachmen? At Sacca,
the country house where we went every year, I always got
fever, so I asked my mistress to give me a pension, and I
20$
The Chartreuse of Parma
retired. I am rich now, for instead of the pension of twelve
crowns a year, which was the very most I could have ex-
pected, my mistress told me that to give me leisure to write
sonnets (for I am a poet in the vulgar tongue) she would
allow me four-and-twenty crowns; and the signor count
told me that if ever I was in need I had only to come and
tell him. I had the honour of driving monsignore for a
stage when he went to make his retreat, like a good church-
man, at the Carthusian monastery at Velleia."
Fabrizio looked at the man, and began to recall him
a little. He had been one of the smartest coachmen at the
Casa Sanseverina ; now that he was rich, as he affirmed, his
only garments were a coarse, tattered shirt and a pair of
canvas nether garments, which hardly reached his knees,
and had once been dyed black. A pair of shoes and a very
bad hat completed his costume; and further, he had not
been shaved for a fortnight. Fabrizio, as he ate his ome-
let, chatted with him on absolutely equal terms. He
thought he perceived that Ludovico was his hostess's lover.
He soon despatched his meal, and then said to Ludovico in
an undertone, " I have a word for you."
" Your Excellency can speak freely before her ; she is a
really good woman," said Ludovico, with a tender glance.
"Well, then, my friends," said Fabrizio at once, " I am
in trouble, and I want your help. To begin with, there is
nothing political about my business. I have simply killed
a man who tried to murder me because I was speaking to
his mistress."
" Poor young fellow ! " quoth the hostess.
" Your Excellency may reckon on me," cried the coach-
man, with eyes that shone with the most fervent devotion.
" Where does your Excellency desire to go ? "
" To Ferrara. I have a passport, but I would rather not
face the gendarmes, who may know something of what has
happened."
" When did you put the fellow out of the way ? "
" At six o'clock this morning."
" Is there no blood on your Excellency's clothes ? " said
the hostess.
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The Chartreuse of Parma
" I was thinking of that," replied the coachman ; " and
besides, the cloth is too fine. Such stuff as that is not often
seen in our country. It would attract attention. I will go
and buy clothes from the Jew. Your Excellency is about
my height, only thinner."
" For mercy's sake, don't call me your Excellency ! That
will attract attention."
" Yes, your Excellency," replied the coachman, as he
went out of the shop.
" Halloo ! halloo ! " shouted Fabrizio. " What about the
money ? Come back ! "
"Don't talk of money," said the hostess. "He has
sixty-seven crowns, which are very much at your service,
and I," she added, dropping her voice, " have forty, which
I offer you with all my heart. One does not always happen
to have money about one when such accidents as these
occur."
When Fabrizio had entered the trattoria he had taken
off his coat on account of the heat.
" If any one should come in, that waistcoat of yours
might get us into difficulties ; that fine English cloth would
be remarked."
She gave the fugitive one of her husband's waistcoats,
made of canvas dyed black. A tall young man entered the
shop through an inner door ; there was a touch of elegance
about his dress.
" This is my husband," said the hostess. " Pietro An-
tonio," said she to her husband, " this gentleman is a friend
of Ludovico's. He had an accident this morning on the
other side of the river ; he wants to escape to Ferrara."
" Oh, we'll get him through," said the husband very civ-
illy. " We have Carlo Giuseppe's boat."
Another weakness of our hero's character, which we
will confess as frankly as we have related his fright in the
police office at the end of the bridge, now caused his eyes to
brim with tears.
The absolute devotion he had met with among these
peasants moved him deeply. He thought, too, of his aunt's
characteristic kind-heartedness. He would have liked to
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The Chartreuse of Parma
have been able to make all these people's fortunes. Ludo-
vico now came back, carrying a bundle.
" Good-bye to this other fellow," said the husband in
the most friendly fashion.
" That's not it at all," replied Ludovico, in a very anx-
ious voice. " People are beginning to talk about you. It
was noticed when you left the main street and turned down
our vicolo that you hesitated, like a man who wanted to
hide himself."
" Get up quickly to the room above," said the husband.
This room was a very large and handsome one. The two
windows were filled with gray linen instead of glass. It
contained four beds, each about six feet wide and five feet
high.
" And quick ! and quick ! " said Ludovico. " There's a
conceited fool of a gendarme lately arrived here who wanted
to make love to the pretty woman below stairs, and I
warned him that when next he went out patrolling on the
roads he would very likely meet a bullet. If that dog hears
your Excellency mentioned, he'll want to play us a trick ;
he'll try to get you arrested here, so as to bring disrepute
on Theodolinda's trattoria. What ! " Ludovico went on,
when he saw Fabrizio's shirt all stained with blood and his
wounds tied up with handkerchiefs ; " so the porco defended
himself ! This is enough to get us arrested a hundred times
over. I didn't buy a shirt." Unceremoniously he opened
the husband's cupboard, and handed over one of his shirts to
Fabrizio, who was soon dressed as a rich middle-class coun-
tryman. Ludovico unhooked a net which was hanging on
the wall, put Fabrizio's clothes into the basket for holding
the fish, ran down the stairs, and went swiftly out by a back
door, Fabrizio following him.
" Theodolinda," he called out, as he hurried past the
shop, " hide what we've left upstairs. We'll go and wait in
the willows, and you, Pietro Antonio, make haste and send
us a boat. It will be well paid for."
Ludovico led Fabrizio over more than twenty ditches;
the widest of these were bridged by very long and very
elastic wooden boards. Ludovico pulled these planks over
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as fast as they crossed them. When they reached the last
cutting he pulled the plank away eagerly. " Now we can
breathe," he said. " That dog of a policeman will have to
go more than two leagues round before he can reach your
Excellency. But you've turned white ! " said he to Fa-
brizio. " I've not forgotten to bring a little bottle of
brandy."
" I shall be very glad of it ; the wound in my thigh
is beginning to hurt, and besides, I was in a horrible
fright while I was in the police office at the end of the
bridge."
" I should think so indeed," said Ludovico. " With a
bloody shirt like yours, I don't understand how you ever
dared to go into such a place. As for the wounds, I know
all about that sort of thing. I'll take you to a nice cool place
where you can sleep for an hour; the boat will come to
fetch us there, if there's a boat to be had. If not, when
you're a little rested we'll go on two short leagues farther,
and I'll take you to a mill where I can get a boat myself.
Your Excellency knows a great deal more than I do; my
mistress will be in despair when she hears of the accident.
She will be told you are mortally wounded, or perhaps that
you have killed the other treacherously. The Marchesa
Raversi will not fail to put about every kind of spiteful re-
port to distress my mistress. Your Excellency might
write."
"And how shall I send my letter?"
" The men at the mill to which we are going earn twelve
sous a day ; they can get to Parma in a day and a half that
means four francs for the journey, and two francs for the
wear and tear of their shoes. If the message was carried for
a poor man like myself it would cost six francs ; as it will
be done for a nobleman, I will give twelve."
When they reached the resting-place, in a thicket of
alder and willow trees, very cool and shady, Ludovico went
on an hour's distance to fetch paper and ink. " Heavens !
how comfortable I am here ! " exclaimed Fabrizio ; " for-
tune, farewell ! I shall never be an archbishop."
When Ludovico returned he found him sound asleep,
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The Chartreuse of Parma
and would not wake him. The boat did not come till near
sunset. As soon as Ludovico saw it appearing in the dis-
tance, he roused Fabrizio, who wrote two letters.
" Your Excellency is very much wiser than I am," said
Ludovico, with a look of distress, " and I am afraid you will
be displeased with me at the bottom of your heart, what-
ever you may say, if I add a certain thing."
" I am not such an idiot as you think," said Fabrizio.
" And whatever you may say to me, I shall always look upon
you as a faithful servant of my aunt's, and a man who has
done everything in the world to help me out of a very ter-
rible difficulty."
A good many further protestations were necessary be-
fore Ludovico could be induced to speak, and when he
finally made up his mind he began with a preface which
lasted quite five minutes. Fabrizio grew impatient, and then
he thought : " Whose fault is this ? The fault of our vanity,
which this man has seen very clearly from his coach-box ? "
At last Ludovico's devotion induced him to run the risk
of speaking frankly.
" What would not the Marchesa Raversi give the runner
you are going to send to Parma for those two letters?
They are written by your own hand, and therefore can be
used as evidence against you. Your Excellency will take
me for an indiscreet and curious person, and besides, you
will be ashamed, perhaps, to let the duchess see a poor
coachman's handwriting. But for the sake of your safety, I
am forced to speak, even if you do think it an impertinence.
Could not your Excellency dictate those two letters to me ?
Then I should be the only person compromised, and very
little compromised at that, for I could always say that you
made your appearance in front of me in a field, with an ink-
horn in one hand and a pistol in the other, and ordered me
to write."
" Give me your hand, my dear Ludovico," cried Fa-
brizio ; " and to convince you I have no desire to keep any-
thing secret from such a friend, you shall copy these two
letters just as they are." Ludovico realized the full extent
of this mark of confidence, and was very much touched by
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The Chartreuse of Parma
it, but at the end of a few lines, seeing the boat coming
rapidly toward them
" These letters will be finished more quickly/' said he
to Fabrizio, " if your Excellency would take the trouble of
dictating them to me." As soon as the letters were finished,
Fabrizio wrote an A and a B on the bottom line, and on a
little scrap of paper which he afterward crumpled up, he
wrote in French, " Croyez A ct B." The messenger was to
hide this scrap of paper in his clothes.
When the boat was within hailing distance, Ludovico
shouted to the boatmen, using names which were not their
own. They did not reply, but approached the bank about
a thousand yards lower down, looking about on every side,
lest any custom-house officer should have caught sight of
them.
" I am at your orders," said Ludovico to Fabrizio.
" Would you wish me to take the letters to Parma myself?
Would you like me to go with you to Ferrara ? "
" To come with me to Ferrara is a service which I did
not venture to ask of you. I shall have to land and try to
get into the town without showing my passport. I don't
mind telling you that I have the greatest repugnance to the
idea of travelling under Giletti's name, and nobody that I
can think of, except yourself, can procure me another pass-
port."
" Why did you not speak of that at Casal-Maggiore ? I
know a spy there who would have sold us an excellent pass-
port, and not dear either, for forty or fifty francs."
One of the two boatmen, who had been born on the right
bank of the Po, and consequently needed no passport to get
him to Parma, undertook to deliver the letters. Ludovico,
who knew how to handle an oar, pledged himself to manage
the boat with the other man's assistance.
" Lower down the river," he said, " we shall meet several
armed police-boats, and I know how to keep out of their
way." A dozen times they had to hide themselves in the
midst of low islets covered with willows; three times they
landed, to let the empty boat pass in front of the police
boats. Ludovico took advantage of these long spells of
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The Chartreuse of Parma
idleness to recite several of his sonnets to Fabrizio. They
were good enough as regarded feeling, but this was weak-
ened by the form of expression, and none of them were
\vorth writing down. The curious thing was that the ex-
coachman's passions and conception were lively and pic-
turesque, but the moment he began to write he grew cold
and commonplace. " The very opposite," said Fabrizio to
himself, " of what we see in the world. There everything is
gracefully expressed, but the heart has nothing to do with
it." He discovered that the greatest pleasure he could do
to his faithful servant was to correct the spelling of his
sonnets.
" When I lend my manuscript to anybody I get laughed
at," said Ludovico. " But if your Excellency would con-
descend to dictate the spelling of the words to me, letter
by letter, envious people would have to hold their tongues.
Spelling is not genius."
It was not till the evening of the second day that Fa-
brizio was able to land, in perfect safety, in an alder copse
a league from Ponte-Lago-Oscuro. All the day long he
lay hid in a hemp field, and Ludovico went on to Ferrara,
where he hired a little lodging in the house of a needy
Jew, who at once realized that there was money to be
earned if he would hold his tongue. In the evening, as
the darkness was falling, Fabrizio rode into Ferrara on a
pony. He was in urgent need of care. The heat on the river
had made him ill ; the knife thrust in his thigh and the
sword thrust Giletti had given him in the shoulder, at the
beginning of their fight, had both become inflamed, and
made him feverish.
212
CHAPTER XII
THE Jew landlord of their lodgings brought them a dis-
creet surgeon, who, soon coming to the conclusion that
there was money to be made, informed Ludovico that his
conscience obliged him to report the wounds of the young
man, whom Ludovico called his brother, to the police.
" The law is clear," he added. " It is quite evident that
your brother has not hurt himself, as he declares, by fall-
ing off a ladder with an open knife in his hand."
Ludovico coldly answered the worthy surgeon to the
effect that if he ventured to listen to the promptings of his
conscience, he, Ludovico, would have the honour, before
he left Ferrara, of falling upon him with an open knife in
his hand. When he related the incident to Fabrizio he
blamed him severely. But there was not an instant to be
lost about decamping. Ludovico told the Jew he was going
to try what an airing would do for his brother. He fetched
a carriage, and our friends left the house, never to return
to it again. My readers doubtless find these descriptions
of all the steps necessitated by the lack of a passport very
lengthy. But in Italy, and especially in the neighbourhood
of the Po, everybody's talk is about passports. As soon as
they had slipped safely out of Ferrara, as if they were merely
taking a drive, Ludovico dismissed the carriage, re-entered
the town by a different gate, and then came back to fetch
Fabrizio in a sediola, which he had hired to take them twelve
leagues. When they were near Bologna, our friends had
themselves driven across country, to the road leading into
the city from Florence. They spent the night in the most
wretched tavern they could discover, and the next morning,
as Fabrizio felt strong enough to walk a little, they entered
Bologna on foot. Giletti's passport had been burned. The
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The Chartreuse of Parma
actor's death must now be known, and it was less dangerous
to be arrested for having no passport, than for presenting one
belonging to a man who had been killed.
Ludovico knew several servants in great houses at
Bologna. It was agreed that he should go and collect in-
telligence from them. He told them he had come from
Florence with his young brother, who, being overcome with
sleep, had let him start alone an hour before sunrise. They
were to have met in the village where Ludovico was to
halt during the sultry midday hours, but when his brother
did not arrive, Ludovico had resolved to retrace his steps.
He had found him wounded by a blow from a stone and
several knife thrusts, and robbed into the bargain, by peo-
ple who had picked a quarrel with him. The brother was a
good-looking young fellow; he could groom and manage
horses, and would be glad to take service in some great
house. Ludovico intended to add, if necessity should arise,
that when Fabrizio had fallen down, the thieves had taken
to flight, and had carried off a little bag containing their
linen and their passports.
When Fabrizio reached Bologna he felt very weary, and
not daring to go into an inn without a passport, he turned
into the large Church of San Petronio. It was deliciously
cool within the building, and he soon felt quite recovered.
" Ungrateful wretch that I am," said he to himself suddenly ;
" I walk into a church, and just sit myself down as if I were
in a cafe" He threw himself on his knees, and thanked
God fervently for the protection He had so evidently ex-
tended to him since he had had the misfortune of killing
Giletti. The danger which still made him shudder was that
of being recognised in the police office at Casal-Maggiore.
" How was it," he thought, " that the clerk, whose eyes
were so full of suspicion, and who read my passport three
times over, did not perceive that I am not five foot ten tall,
that I am not eight-and-thirty years old, and that I am not
deeply pitted with the small-pox? What mercies do I owe
thee, oh, my God ! and I have waited until now to lay my
nothingness at Thy feet. My pride would fain have believed
it was to vain human prudence that I owed the happiness
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The Chartreuse of Parma
of escaping the Spielberg, which was already yawning to
engulf me."
More than an hour did Fabrizio spend in the deepest
emotion at the thought of the immense goodness of the
Most High. He did not hear Ludovico approach him and
stand in front of him. Fabrizio, who had hidden his face in
his hands, raised his head, and his faithful servant saw the
tears coursing down his cheeks.
" Come back in an hour," said Fabrizio to him with
some asperity.
Ludovico forgave his tone in consideration of his piety.
Fabrizio recited the seven penitential psalms, which he
knew by heart, several times over, making long pauses over
the verses applicable to his present position.
Fabrizio asked pardon of God for many things, but it
is a remarkable fact that it never occurred to him to reckon
among his faults his plan of becoming an archbishop simply
and solely because Count Mosca was a prime minister, and
considered this dignity, and the great position it conferred,
suitable for the duchess's nephew. He had not indeed de-
sired the thing at all passionately, but still he had considered
it exactly as he would have considered his appointment to
a ministry or a military command. The thought that his
conscience might be involved in the duchess's plan had
never struck him. This is a remarkable feature of the teach-
ing he owed to the Jesuits at Milan. This form of religion
deprives men of courage to think of unaccustomed matters,
and more especially forbids self-examination, as the greatest
of all sins a step toward Protestantism. To discover in
what one is guilty, we must ask questions of one's priest, or
read the list of sins as printed in the book entitled Prepara-
tion for the Sacrament of Penitence. Fabrizio knew the
Latin list of sins, which he had learned at the Ecclesias-
tical Academy at Naples, by heart, and when, as he re-
peated this list, he came to the word " Murder," he had
honestly accused himself before God of having killed a
man, though in defence of his own life. He had run rapidly,
and without the smallest attention, through the various
clauses relating to the sin of simony (the purchase of ec-
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The Chartreuse of Parma
clesiastical dignities with money). If he had been invited
to give a hundred louis to become grand vicar to the Arch-
bishop of Parma, he would have shrunk from the idea with
horror. But although he neither lacked intelligence nor,
more especially, logic, it never once came into his head
that the employment of Count Mosca's credit in his favour
constituted a simony. Herein lies the triumph of the
Jesuits' teaching; it instils the habit of paying no attention
to things which are as clear as day. A Frenchman brought
up amid Parisian self-interest and scepticism might hon-
estly have accused Fabrizio of hypocrisy at the very mo-
ment when our hero was laying open his heart before his
God with the utmost sincerity, and the deepest possible
emotion.
Fabrizio did not leave the church until he had prepared
the confession which he had resolved to make the very next
morning. He found Ludovico sitting on the steps of the
huge stone peristyle which rises on the great square before
the facade of San Petronio. Just as the air is purified by a
great thunder-storm, so Fabrizio's heart felt calmer, happier,
and, so to speak, cooler. " I am much better. I hardly feel
my wounds at all," he said, as he joined Ludovico. " But,
first of all, I must ask your forgiveness; I answered you
crossly when you came to speak to me in the church. I was
examining my conscience. Well, how does our busi-
ness go ? "
" It's going right well. I've engaged a lodging not at
all worthy of your Excellency, indeed kept by the wife of
one of my friends, who is a very pretty woman, and in
close intimacy, besides, with one of the principal police
agents. To-morrow I shall go and report that our passports
have been stolen. This declaration will be well received,
but I shall pay the postage of a letter which the police
will send to Casal-Maggiore to inquire whether there is a
man there of the name of San Micheli, who has a brother
named Fabrizio in the service of the Duchess Sanseverina
of Parma. It's all done, siamo a cavallo " (an Italian proverb,
meaning " we are saved ").
Fabrizio had suddenly become very grave. He asked
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The Chartreuse of Parma
Ludovico to wait for him a moment, returned to the church
almost at a run, and had hardly got inside when he cast
himself once more upon his knees and humbly kissed the
stone pavement. " This is a miracle," he cried, with tears
in his eyes. " Thou sawest my soul ready to return to the
path of duty, and Thou hast saved me. O God, I may
be killed some day in a scuffle. Remember, O Lord, when
my dying moment comes, the condition of my heart at this
moment." In a passion of the liveliest joy, Fabrizio once
more recited the seven penitential psalms. Before he
left the church, he approached an old woman who sat in
front of a great Madonna and beside an iron triangle set
vertically on a support of the same metal. The edges of this
triangle bristled with little spikes, destined to support the
small tapers which the faithful burn before Cimabue's fa-
mous Madonna.
Only seven tapers were burning when Fabrizio ap-
proached. He noted the fact in his memory, so as to re-
flect on it when he should have time.
" How much do the tapers cost ? " said he to the
woman.
" Two baiocchi each."
And, indeed, they were no thicker than a penholder, and
not a foot high.
" How many tapers will your triangle hold ? "
" Sixty-three, since there are seven already."
" Ha ! " said Fabrizio. " Sixty-three and seven make
seventy; I must remember that, too." He paid for the
tapers, set up and lighted the first seven himself, and
then knelt down to make his offering. As he rose from
his knees he said to the old woman, " It is for a mercy
bestowed."
" I am dying of hunger," said Fabrizio to Ludovico as
he rejoined him.
" Don't let us go into a tavern ; let us go to the lodg-
ings," said his servant. " The mistress of the house will
go out and buy you what you want for breakfast; she'll
cheat us out of a score of sous, and that will make her feel
all the more kindly to the new arrival."
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The Chartreuse of Parma
" That means that I shall have to go on starving for
another hour," said Fabrizio, laughing as merrily as a child,
and he entered a tavern close to San Petronio. To his
extreme astonishment he beheld, sitting at a table close to
his own his aunt's principal man-servant, Pepe, the very
man who had once been sent to meet him at Geneva. Fa-
brizio signed to him to keep silence ; then, after a hasty re-
past, with a happy smile trembling on his lips, he rose to
his feet. Pepe followed him, and for the third time our
hero passed into San Petronio. Ludovico discreetly held
back, and walked up and down the square.
" Oh, monsignore, how are your wounds ? The duchess
is in dreadful anxiety. For one whole day she believed you
were dead, and cast away on some island in the river. I
must send a messenger to her instantly. I have been hunt-
ing for you for six days ; I spent three of them at Ferrara,
going to all the inns."
" Have you a passport for me ? "
" I have three. One with all your Excellency's names
and titles, one with nothing but your name, and the third
with a false name, Giuseppe Bossi. Each of the passports
will serve your Excellency's purpose, whether you choose
to arrive from Florence or from Modena. All you have to
do is to walk out beyond the town. The count would be
glad if you would lodge at the Albergo del Pellegrino, which
is kept by a friend of his."
Fabrizio walked, as though by chance, up the right aisle
of the church to the spot where his tapers were burning.
He fixed his eyes on the Cimabue Madonna, then, kneeling
down, he said to Pepe, " I must thank God for a moment."
Pepe followed his example. As they left the church Pepe
noticed that Fabrizio gave a twenty-franc piece to the first
beggar who asked charity of him. The beggar set up a
shout of gratitude, which attracted the crowds of indigent
people of every sort who generally collect on the square of
San Petronio all round the charitable donor. Everybody
wanted his or her share of the napoleon. The women, de-
spairing of getting through the press round the lucky men-
dicant, fell upon Fabrizio, shrieking to him to say it was
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The Chartreuse of Parma
true he had given his gold piece to be divided among all
the poor beggars. Pepe brandished his gold-headed cane,
and ordered them to leave " his Excellency " alone.
" Oh, your Excellency," screamed all the women at
once, even louder than before, " give the poor women an-
other gold piece." Fabrizio quickened his pace ; the women
ran after him, calling aloud, and many male beggars ran
up from side streets, so that quite a little disturbance en-
sued. The whole of the filthy and noisy crowd kept shout-
ing " Your Excellency ! " Fabrizio found it by no means
easy to get out of the press. The scene recalled his im-
agination to earth. " I am only getting what I deserve,"
thought he. " I have been rubbing shoulders with the com-
mon folk."
Two of the women followed him as far as the Saragossa
Gate, through which he passed out of the town. There
Pepe stopped them by threatening them seriously with his
cane and throwing them some small coins. Fabrizio
climbed the pretty hill of San Michele in Bosco, walked
partly round the town, outside the walls, turned into a foot-
path, which, five hundred paces farther on, ran into the road
from Florence, returned to Bologna, and gravely presented
a passport containing a very accurate description of his per-
son to the police commissary. This passport described
him as Giuseppe Bossi, student of theology. Fabrizio
noticed a little splash of red ink that seemed to have been
dropped by accident on the lower right-hand corner of the
paper. Two hours later he had a spy upon his heels, on
account of the title " your Excellency " applied to him by
his companion in the presence of the beggars at San Pe-
tronio, although his passport detailed none of those honours
which entitle a man to be addressed as " Excellency " by
his servants.
Fabrizio perceived the spy, and snapped his fingers at
him. He gave not a thought, now, either to passports or
police officers, and was as amused as a child with everything
about him. When Pepe, who had been ordered to stay with
him, saw how well pleased he was with Ludovico, he
thought his own best course was to carry the good news to
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The Chartreuse of Parma
the duchess himself. Fabrizio wrote two long letters to
his dear ones. Then he bethought him of writing a third
to the venerable Archbishop Landriani. This letter pro-
duced a most extraordinary effect. It contained the exact
history of his fight with Giletti. The good archbishop, quite
overcome by his emotion, did not fail to go and read the
letter to the prince, whose curiosity to know how the young
monsignore would set about excusing so terrible a murder
made him willing to listen. Thanks to the Marchesa Ra-
versi's many friends, the prince, like the whole city of
Parma, believed Fabrizio had obtained the assistance of
some twenty or thirty peasants to kill an inferior actor who
had ventured to dispute his possession of little Marietta.
At despotic courts truth lies at the mercy of the first clever
schemer, just as in Paris it is ruled by fashion.
" But, devil take it," said the prince to the archbishop,
" one has those things done by a third person. It is not
customary to do them oneself. And then actors like Giletti
are not killed ; they are bought."
Fabrizio had not the smallest suspicion of what was
going on at Parma. As a matter of fact, the death of a
player who only earned thirty-two francs a month in his
lifetime was going near to overthrow the ultra ministry, with
Count Mosca at its head.
When the news of Giletti's death reached him, the prince,
nettled by the airs of independence which the duchess gave
herself, had ordered Rassi, his Minister of Justice, to deal
with the whole trial as if the accused person had been a
Liberal. Fabrizio, for his part, believed that a man of his
rank was above all law. The fact that in countries where
the bearers of great names are never punished, there is
nothing that can not be achieved, even against such persons,
by intrigue, had not entered into his calculations. He would
often talk to Ludovico of his perfect innocence, which was
soon to be proclaimed. His great argument was that he was
not guilty. At last, one day, Ludovico said to him : " I
can not conceive why your Excellency, who is so clever and
knows so much, takes the trouble of saying such things to
me, who am his devoted servant. Your Excellency is too
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The Chartreuse of Parma
cautious. Such things are only good for use in public or be-
fore the judges."
" This man believes I am a murderer, and he does not
love me the less," mused Fabrizio, thunder-struck.
Three days after Pepe's departure, Fabrizio was aston-
ished to receive a huge letter bound with a silken cord, like
those used in Louis XIV's time, and addressed to " His Most
Reverend Excellency, Monsignore Fabrizio del Dongo,
Chief Grand Vicar of the Diocese of Parma, Canon, etc."
"But am I all that already?" he said to himself with
a laugh. Archbishop Landriani's epistle was a masterpiece
of perspicacity and logic. It covered no less than nineteen
large sheets, and gave a very good account of everything
that had happened at Parma with regard to Giletti's death.
" The march of a French army on the town, under the
command of Marshal Ney, would not have made more stir,"
wrote the good archbishop. " Every soul, my very dear
son, except the duchess and myself, believes you killed the
actor Giletti because you wanted to do it. If that misfor-
tune had befallen you, it would have been one of those
matters that can be hushed up by means of a couple of hun-
dred louis and an absence of six months. But the Raversi is
bent on using the incident to overthrow Count Mosca. It is
not the terrible sin of murder for which the public blames
you, it is simply for your awkwardness, or rather insolence,
in not having condescended to employ a bulo [a kind of in-
ferior bully]. I give you the clear substance of the talk I
hear all round me. For since this most deplorable event
I go every day to three of the most important houses in
this city, so as to find opportunity for justifying you, and
never have I felt I was making a holier use of what little
eloquence Heaven has bestowed on me."
The scales began to fall from Fabrizio's eyes. The nu-
merous letters he received from the duchess, all throbbing
with affection, never condescended to report anything of
what was happening around her. The duchess assured him
she would leave Parma forever, unless he soon returned
there in triumph. " The count," she wrote, in a letter which
reached him together with the archbishop's, " will do all
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The Chartreuse of Parma
that is humanly possible for you. As for me, this last prank
of yours has changed my nature; I have grown as stingy
as Tombone, the banker. I have discharged all my work-
men. I have done more I have dictated the inventory of
my belongings to the count, and I find I have very much
less than I thought. After the death of that excellent Pietra-
nera (whose murder, by the way, you would have done far
better to avenge, than to risk your life against such a creature
as Giletti), I was left with twelve hundred francs a year, and
debts amounting to five thousand. Among other things,
I remember, I had thirty pairs of white satin slippers which
had come from Paris, and only one single pair of walking
shoes. I have almost made up my mind to take the three
hundred thousand francs the duke left me, and which I had
intended to lay out entirely on a magnificent monument to
his memory. For the rest, it is the Marchesa Raversi who
is your bitterest enemy, and therefore mine. If you are
bored at Bologna, you have only to say one word, and I
will go to you there. Here are four more bills of ex-
change."
The duchess never told Fabrizio a word about the opin-
ion concerning his business which prevailed at Parma. Her
first object was to console him, and in any case the death of
such an absurd person as Giletti did not strike her as matter
of any serious reproach to a Del Dongo.
" How many Gilettis have our ancestors sent into the
next world ! " she would say to the count ; " and nobody ever
dreamed of finding fault with them for it."
Fabrizio, filled with astonishment, and perceiving for
the first time the real condition of things, set himself to
study the archbishop's letter. Unfortunately the archbishop
himself believed him better informed than he really was.
As Fabrizio understood the matter, the Marchesa Raversi's
triumph rested on the impossibility of discovering any eye-
witnesses of the fatal scuffle. His own servant, who had been
the first to bring the news to Parma, had been inside the
village tavern at Sanguigna when the incident occurred.
Little Marietta, and the old woman who acted as her mother,
had disappeared, and the marchesa had bought over the man
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The Chartreuse of Parma
who had driven the carriage, and who was now making a
deposition of the most abominable kind. " Although the
proceedings are wrapped in the deepest mystery," wrote the
good archbishop in his Ciceronian style, " and directed by
Rassi, of whom Christian charity forbids me to speak evil,
but who has made his fortune by pursuing unfortunate
beings accused of crime, even as the hound pursues the hare ;
though Rassi, I say, whose baseness and venality you can
not overrate, has been charged with the management of the
trial by an angry prince, I have obtained a sight of the vet-
turino's three depositions. By a signal piece of good for-
tune the wretch has flatly contradicted himself, and I will
add, seeing I speak to my vicar-general, who will rule this
diocese when I am gone, that I sent for the priest of the
parish in which this wandering sinner dwells. I will con-
fide to you, my very dear son, though under the secret of
the confessional, that the priest already knows, through the
vetturino's wife, the actual number of crowns her husband
has received from the Marchesa Raversi. I will not dare
to say that the marchesa has insisted on his slandering you,
but that is very likely. The crowns were paid over by a
miserable priest who performs very dubious functions in
the marchesa's service, and whom I have been obliged, for
the second time, to prohibit from saying mass. I will not
weary you with the recital of several other steps which you
might fairly have expected from me, and which, indeed, it
was only my duty to take. A canon, a colleague of yours
at the cathedral, who is occasionally too apt to remember
the influence conferred on him by the possession of the
family fortune, of which, by God's will, he has become the
sole inheritor, ventured to say, in the house of Count Zurla,
Minister of the Interior, that he considered this trifle clearly
proved against you (he was speaking of the unhappy Gi-
letti's murder). I summoned him to my palace, and there,
in presence of my three other vicars-general, of my chaplain,
and of two priests who happened to be in my waiting-room, I
requested him to enlighten us, his brothers, as to the grounds
on which he based the complete conviction he declared
himself to have acquired, of the guilt of one of his colleagues
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The Chartreuse of Parma
at the cathedral. The only reasons the poor wretch could
articulate were very inconclusive. Every one present rose
up against him, and although I did not think it necessary to
add more than a very few words, he burst into tears, and be-
fore us all made a full confession of his complete error.
Whereupon I promised him secrecy, in my own name and
that of all those who had been present at the conference, on
condition, however, that he should use all his zeal to rectify
the false impression produced by the remarks he had been
making during the past fortnight.
" I will not repeat, my dear son, what you must have
known for long that out of the four-and-thirty peasants
working on Count Mosca's excavation, and who, according
to the Raversi, were paid to assist you in your 
