When Fabrizio left the archiepiscopal palace he hurried off to Marietta’s dwelling¹. In the distance he heard Giletti’s rough voice. He had sent out for wine, and was carousing² 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 dominion³ 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 abominable⁴, 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 lottery⁵. The drum master of the carabineers is holding a competition 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 beckon⁶ you to come up. Try to bring us something very pretty. And Marietta dotes upon you.”
 
As he descended⁷ the winding⁸ stairs that led from the vile[190] garret, Fabrizio’s soul was filled 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 disappears 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 sincerity⁹ which had seemed so easy of attainment¹⁰ during the night he had spent on the shores of Como. “I shall displease¹¹ 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, except 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 because 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 excavations¹³ at Sanguigna in which he still delights—judging, at least, by his expedition the day before yesterday, galloping¹⁴ 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 advantage 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 seeking pretexts¹⁷ 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 truthfulness¹⁸ I overlooked the fact that my compliment winds up with an impertinence. I should have to say, ‘I regard you with the most devoted¹⁹ friendship, etc.,[191] but my heart is not capable of real love.’ Is not that tantamount 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 vexed²⁰ at my having guessed it. If her feeling for me is one of mere²¹ friendship she will be disgusted by my impudence²², 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 misfortune hovering²⁴ within ten paces of him.
 
The duchess gazed at him with admiration²⁵. 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 exquisite²⁶ possession. She rose from the ottoman on which she had been sitting, and threw herself passionately²⁸ into his arms.
 
“Are you bent²⁹ on leaving me?” she cried.
 
“No,” said he, looking like a Roman emperor, “but I want to behave well.”
 
The phrase was susceptible³⁰ of several interpretations³¹. 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 affected³².
 
“You inspire very strange devotions,” said he to Fabrizio, who was almost stunned³³ 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 agitated³⁴, 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 important for the sake of the Church in Parma that Monsignore[192] Fabrizio del Dongo should be appointed his chief grand vicar, and afterward³⁵, as soon as he had reached his five-and-twentieth year, his coadjutor, and his ultimate successor.
 
“This idea alarmed me, I confess,” said the count. “It is somewhat precipitate³⁶, 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, ‘Ce sont là vos coups³⁷, monsieur!’
 
“‘I will take my oath before God and your Highness,’ I cried with the utmost possible fervour, ‘that I was utterly³⁸ 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 impulsively³⁹ 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 tiresome⁴⁰ 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 drawn⁴¹ on me by the Emperor if I bestowed⁴² the reversion of so high a dignity on the son of one of the great officials of his Lombardo-Venetian kingdom. The archbishop protested there had been no pressure of any such kind. It was a pretty piece of folly⁴³ 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 virtue⁴⁴ was a fair one, but that I feared he was capable of enthusiasm, and that I had made a vow⁴⁵ I[193] would never place madmen of that kind, on whom rulers never can rely, in any exalted⁴⁶ position. Then,’ his Highness continued, ‘I had to endure a pathetic appeal nearly as long as the first. The archbishop sang the praises of enthusiasm for God’s house. “Bungler,” said I to myself, “you are risking the appointment you were very near getting! You should have cut it short, and thanked me fervently⁴⁷.” 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 tyrant⁴⁹ at whose feet Europe grovelled⁵⁰. Well, he was capable of enthusiasm, and this led him, when he was Bishop¹² of Imola, into writing that famous pastoral of the Citizen-Cardinal Chiaramonti, in support of the Cisalpine Republic.”
 
“‘My poor archbishop was struck dumb, and to complete his stupefaction I said to him, very gravely: “Farewell, monsignore; I will take four-and-twenty hours to think over your proposal.” The poor man added a few more entreaties⁵¹, 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 perused⁵² 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 incident. He took it like a true aristocrat⁵³, who had always believed in his own right to that extraordinary advancement⁵⁴, those lucky chances which might very well throw a common[194] man off his balance. He expressed his gratitude⁵⁵, 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 statuary they may unearth⁵⁶. I delight in excavations. If you will give me leave, I will go and look after those workmen. To-morrow evening, after I have paid the necessary visits, to return thanks, at the palace, and to the archbishop, I 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 holder⁵⁷ 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 Fabrizio. He does not feel shy in his presence. And, finally, for the last ten years he has been nursing a hearty⁵⁸ hatred⁵⁹ of the Bishop of Piacenza, who openly avows⁶⁰ his expectation of succeeding him at Parma, and who is, besides, the son of a miller⁶¹. 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 intimacy⁶² makes our archbishop 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-Maggiore, the nearest Austrian town. The workmen were cutting a long ditch along the plain. It was eight feet deep, and as narrow as might be. The object was to find, alongside the old Roman road, the ruins of a second temple,[195] which, according to local tradition, had been still standing⁶³ in the middle ages. Notwithstanding the prince’s authority, many peasants looked with a jealous eye on the long trenches⁶⁴ 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 passionate²⁷ interest. Now and then some medal was turned up, and he was resolved he would not give the labourers time to agree among themselves to pilfer⁶⁵ 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 larks⁶⁶. One of them fell wounded on the high-road. Fabrizio, when he followed it, saw a carriage in the distance, 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 himself 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 rusty⁶⁷ 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 allot⁶⁸ him some nobleman’s part in a play.
 
“Ha, villain,” he cried, “I’m heartily⁶⁹ 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 shrieks⁷⁰. Suddenly he saw the muzzle⁷¹ 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.
 
[196]
 
“Stop, you fool!” shrieked⁷² Giletti to the vetturino, skilfully⁷³ contriving⁷⁴ 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 tugged⁷⁵ 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 Fabrizio, to prevent his using it, touched the trigger. He had previously⁷⁶ 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 together 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. Fabrizio, 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 catching⁷⁷ at the carriage springs, ran several steps in his original direction before 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 moment 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 Fabrizio 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[197] 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 thigh⁷⁸; 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 adversaries⁷⁹ 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 delivered 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 thither⁸⁰, and then rushing upon each other.
 
The fight seemed to be growing less fierce, the thrusts rather less rapidly exchanged, when Fabrizio said to himself, “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 trifling⁸¹ 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 rascal⁸² is dead,” said Fabrizio to himself. He looked at the face; the blood was pouring from Giletti’s mouth.
 
[198]
 
Fabrizio ran to the carriage. “Have you a looking-glass?” he cried to Marietta. Marietta, very pale, was staring 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 swelled⁸³. Put on leeches⁸⁴ 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 gathering⁸⁵ 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 gendarmes⁸⁷,” 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 gallop¹⁵! You shall have four gold napoleons if you get across the Po before those fellows can reach me.”
 
“All right,” said the vetturino; “don’t be in a fright! Those men yonder are on foot, and if my little[199] horses only trot⁸⁸ they will be left far behind.” As he spoke⁸⁹ 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 abbé!” cried Marietta, 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 perfectly⁹⁰ 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 abbé 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 lodgings⁹² 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[200] 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 trotting⁹³ slowly forward, when the yellow barriers, striped with black, which marked the Austrian frontier, appeared in sight. The old woman addresse............