Produced by Dagny [dagnypg@yahoo.com]
and David Widger [widger@cecomet.net]
ON the afternoon of that same day Pierre, having leisure before him, atonce thought of beginning his peregrinations through Rome by a visit onwhich he had set his heart. Almost immediately after the publication of"New Rome" he had been deeply moved and interested by a letter addressedto him from the Eternal City by old Count Orlando Prada, the hero ofItalian independence and reunion, who, although unacquainted with him,had written spontaneously after a first hasty perusal of his book. Andthe letter had been a flaming protest, a cry of the patriotic faith stillyoung in the heart of that aged man, who accused him of having forgottenItaly and claimed Rome, the new Rome, for the country which was at lastfree and united. Correspondence had ensued, and the priest, whileclinging to his dream of Neo-Catholicism saving the world, had from afargrown attached to the man who wrote to him with such glowing love ofcountry and freedom. He had eventually informed him of his journey, andpromised to call upon him. But the hospitality which he had accepted atthe Boccanera mansion now seemed to him somewhat of an impediment; forafter Benedetta's kindly, almost affectionate, greeting, he felt that hecould not, on the very first day and with out warning her, sally forth tovisit the father of the man from whom she had fled and from whom she nowasked the Church to part her for ever. Moreover, old Orlando was actuallyliving with his son in a little palazzo which the latter had erected atthe farther end of the Via Venti Settembre.
Before venturing on any step Pierre resolved to confide in the Contessinaherself; and this seemed the easier as Viscount Philibert de la Choue hadtold him that the young woman still retained a filial feeling, mingledwith admiration, for the old hero. And indeed, at the very first wordswhich he uttered after lunch, Benedetta promptly retorted: "But go,Monsieur l'Abbe, go at once! Old Orlando, you know, is one of ournational glories—you must not be surprised to hear me call him by hisChristian name. All Italy does so, from pure affection and gratitude. Formy part I grew up among people who hated him, who likened him to Satan.It was only later that I learned to know him, and then I loved him, forhe is certainly the most just and gentle man in the world."
She had begun to smile, but timid tears were moistening her eyes at therecollection, no doubt, of the year of suffering she had spent in herhusband's house, where her only peaceful hours had been those passed withthe old man. And in a lower and somewhat tremulous voice she added: "Asyou are going to see him, tell him from me that I still love him, and,whatever happens, shall never forget his goodness."
So Pierre set out, and whilst he was driving in a cab towards the ViaVenti Settembre, he recalled to mind the heroic story of old Orlando'slife which had been told him in Paris. It was like an epic poem, full offaith, bravery, and the disinterestedness of another age.
Born of a noble house of Milan, Count Orlando Prada had learnt to hatethe foreigner at such an early age that, when scarcely fifteen, h