Behind the Throne

The dead silence of the night was unbroken save by the scratching of his quill as he scribbled his signature upon one after another of the pile of various papers at his elbow.

He wrote mechanically, for he was reflecting upon that scene in his cabinet when the captain of Cacciatori Alpini had broken his sword across his knee.

“A clever fellow!” he murmured. “He thought to bluff me, but he did not know how closely I had had him watched. If I did not know all that I do, I really believe I should have thought him innocent. A good actor. I will send his broken sword as a present to that doddering old fool, his general – as a souvenir of his visit to Rome without leave!” he laughed to himself, still continuing to sign the commissions and decrees.

Of a sudden there was a rap at the big white doors at the end of the dimly lit room, and a gorgeously dressed man-servant in stockings and gold-laced coat advanced to the table, saying —

“The Onorevole Ricci desires to see your Excellency.”

“Pig’s head! Didn’t I give orders that I was not at home?” he cried, turning furiously upon the man.

“But your Excellency is always at home to the Signor Deputato?” the servant reminded him, surprised at the sudden outburst of anger.

“Ah!” growled his master. “Yes, you are right, Antonio! I forgot that I told you I was always at home to him. I must see him, I suppose,” he sighed, and when the man had gone his brow contracted, his teeth clenched; yet almost before he could recover his self-possession the long white doors reopened, and his visitor – a short, dark-bearded, middle-aged man in evening dress – was ushered in.

“Ah, my dear Camillo!” he cried enthusiastically, advancing towards the Minister, who rose and took his hand. “I only arrived in Rome this afternoon, and heard you had returned from England. Well, and how are you after your holiday? I suppose I may take a cigar?” he asked, crossing to the cigar-box, opening it, and selecting one.

“The rest was welcome,” answered the other calmly, stretching his arms above his head and glancing furtively at the new-comer as though he held him in some suspicion. He was a pleasant-looking man, a trifle stout, with a round, sun-bronzed face, as though fond of good living, while his perfectly fitting dress-suit was cut in a style which showed it to be the garment of a London tailor. He possessed the careless, easy manner of the gentleman, striking a match and lighting his cigar with a familiarity which showed that he was no stranger to the Minister’s roof.

“I too have been in the country for quite a long while,” he said – “at Asti. I have to visit the electors now and then just to make them promises and put them in a good-humour.”

“Or they would hound you out, Vito – eh? – just as the Socialists would throw me out if they could,” laughed His Excellency drily, walking to the cigar-box, selecting one, and lighting it.

“And Her Excellency and the signorina?” inquired the deputy.

“They are up at the villa. They always go there for the vintage.”

“Of course, Rome in September is only fit for us politicians and the English tourists. I wonder you are back so early.”

“Duty, my dear Vito,” replied the other. “One day, when you are Minister, you will find that you had much more leisure as advocate in Turin and deputy for Asti.”

“I suppose so,” he laughed. Then he added, “I met Angelo in the club an hour ago. He has also been in England, it seems. I think I shall go to England next summer – if you invite me.”

“Which is not likely.”

“Why?”

“Because when I am in England I like to be away from all my official duties,” frankly answered Morini. “They don’t even know who or what I am – and I delight in keeping them in ignorance.”

“Then why did you invite Angelo? I am jealous, you see.”

“Because I wished to consult him upon a confidential matter.”

“Regarding an army contract tendered you by a German firm,” replied the other, carelessly blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips as he stood with his back to the huge open grate. “You may as well tell the truth, my dear friend.”

The Minister, starting, looked at him sharply, and asked —

“How did you know?”

“Never mind how I know, Camillo. It is, as you see, useless for you to try and deceive me. You have given the contract to those Germans – for a consideration. But don’t think that I blame you. Why, I should do the very same thing myself. I get a little in my own small way out of certain people in Asti, but not enough. That’s why I am compelled, so much against my will, to come to you.”

“Ah!” groaned the Minister, facing him quickly and determinedly. “The same old story – eh? Money.”

“Like air, it is a necessity of life,” he replied, smiling. “I have been in want of it for a month past, but preferred to wait rather than to trouble you while you were on holiday.”

“But you surely get enough now!” protested His Excellency. “I’ve obtained a dozen different favours for you; I’ve given you appointments; I’ve allowed you to make recommendations for military decorations in Piedmont; I’ve allowed you to handle the secret service funds; and I’ve done all I could so as to place you in a position to receive secret commission. But of course, if you fail to make use of your opportunities, it is not my fault.”

“Never fear. I do not stir a finger without some consideration,” he laughed. “You surely know me too well after all these years. No; I find that it is not sufficient. Money I want, and money I must have. Recollect what services I have rendered to you in the Camera, my dear Camillo,” he went on. “You surely do not forget the dead set made against you a year ago, and how I succeeded in uniting the various groups and inducing them to pass a vote of confidence! You never were nearer downfall than you were that afternoon – except, perhaps, to-night. You have enemies, my dear friend – enemies in the Socialist groups, who declare that you have held office too long,” he added.

“I know,” exclaimed the other hoarsely. “I know that,” and he tossed his cigar away with a quick, impatient gesture.

“While you’ve been abroad I have been active in secretly ascertaining the real state of political opinion in the north, and much as I regret to tell you, it is distinctly antagonistic. Now that Milan is such a strong Socialist centre the other large towns are following, and an agitation is spreading against you. They want a fresh man in office as Minister of War – the man who is so cleverly scheming to replace you.”

“To replace me!” exclaimed Morini. “And who is this man, pray?”

The words which Vito Ricci had spoken sank like iron into his soul. He knew, alas! how very precarious was his office.

“The man is our friend Angelo,” slowly replied the crafty deputy. “Already in the north he is looked upon as your successor. If the groups in the Camera fall asunder, then your dismissal is imminent. I know this is a very unwelcome piece of news, my dear Camillo, but it is a hard fact which I have come here to-night to reveal to you.”

Chapter Ten

“For Mary’s Sake.”

His Excellency’s face fell. He was silent for several moments.

The easy-going, well-dressed political adventurer before him was, he knew, in the secrets of the strong party who were his opponents and who were ever plotting his downfall. He had, since his return to Rome, heard rumours through certain quarters in which secret service money was spent that an agitation had been set afoot by his antagonists, but he had never dreamed that the prime mover of it all was the very man in whom he had so implicitly trusted, one of the men who owed everything to him – Angelo Borselli! The revelation staggered him. He really could not believe it to be actually true.

“And so he intends to become Minister – eh?” remarked Morini bitterly, when he at last found tongue.

“He is working for that end,” replied Ricci. “I was in Milan and Parma a week ago, and on every hand I saw how cleverly he was stirring up ill-feeling against you. He is secretly allied to the Socialists – of that I am certain.”

“Because he sees that through them he can obtain office,” replied His Excellency, his pale face now very serious. “You have done well to tell me this, caro mio,” he added. “I shall know now how to deal with the man who learns my secrets and then seeks to betray me.”

“But your position is daily becoming one of graver peril,” exclaimed the wily advocate, placing his hand confidentially upon the Minister’s arm. “The agitation is widespread. The Socialists intend that the Government shall fall.”

“But you will help me, Vito, as before?” Morini urged quickly. “Those shrieking Socialist maniacs shall not gain the ascendency?” he declared, clenching his hands and pacing the room quickly.

Vito Ricci, deputy for the town of Asti, shrugged his shoulders, but did not reply. In the Italian Camera every politician of any prominence had a small body of adherents, and political ability consisted in so manipulating a number of these bodies as to form a majority; therefore for this purpose each Minister secretly bribed one or more of the most unscrupulous deputies to juggle with the party. A group might to-day be on the side of the Government, and to-morrow with the Opposition. There were no real political principles at stake in the policy of these groups, and the only important question was that of party management and judicious bribery.

Vito Ricci was a professional politician, with whom politics was a regular trade. The Government granted him a free railway pass – as it did all the other deputies at Montecitorio – and he made money wherever he could. His position enabled him to obtain many favours for himself and his friends. The system of recommendations and parliamentary influence was one of the worst features of Italian political life, for it was generally regarded as one of the deputy’s chief duties that, for a consideration, he should help his friends and constituents to procure favours, promotions, decorations, and concessions of contracts which would not be otherwise obtainable. Political jobbery was regarded as inevitable.

Indeed, Vito Ricci lived upon the bribes he received – and lived well.

“You are silent,” remarked His Excellency, looking him straight in his face. “Why?”

“Because I have nothing to say.”

“You don’t promise to assist me!” he exclaimed. “You don’t declare your readiness to unite the groups again in our favour!”