William Le Queux - Behind the Throne

His sovereign, King Humbert, although good-natured and brave, was too easy-going and lacking in moral stamina to make a really strong monarch, hence the whole Cabinet, from the Prime Minister downwards, were guilty of grave irregularities, if not of actual corruption. The fault, however, lay with the system, rather than with the men. How could a Cabinet Minister entertain lavishly and keep up appearances upon a mere thousand pounds a year, when he had no private means?

Happily, the present hard-working, cultivated king, Victor Emmanuel the Third, has mastered all the details of state business, and has swept his Cabinet clean of those men who abused their position under his lamented father, until the whole face of Italian politics has entirely changed since the days when Camillo Morini held office as head of the army.

Under the late King Humbert, Ministers were often chosen, not because they were capable statesmen, but simply because it was necessary that a particular region should be represented in the Cabinet, so as not to arouse local jealousies. In any case, their tenure of office was too precarious and too short to enable them to do much good work, and whatever the Minister managed to do would probably be undone by his successor.

Morini would have gone out of office half a dozen times had he not succeeded, by judicious bribery, in obtaining protection from his enemies. Indeed, he only retained office by dint of his own ingenuity and clever diplomacy towards those who were ever trying to hound him down. Not only did he bear the great responsibility of the army, but, in common with other members of the Cabinet, the greater part of his activity was absorbed in the manipulation of party groups in the Chamber and in studying parliamentary exigencies. He had to judiciously subsidise certain newspapers in view of a general election, make use of the secret service fund in certain quarters, and be careful not to shower too many favours on one province; for if he offended any particular town, the local deputy, hitherto a staunch ministerialist, would turn and rend him.

Truly his position, head of an army costing sixteen millions annually, and with a multitude of people bent on getting something out of him, was the reverse of comfortable. He would have resigned long ago had he dared, but resignation or dismissal from office would, he knew only too well, spell ruin to him. So he was held there in an office of bribery and dishonesty, which he had grown to regard with bitter hatred. He had served through three administrations, it was true, and was a trusted servant of his king, yet the daily worry of it all, the ever-present fear of exposure and of downfall, held him in constant apprehension of a future ruin and obscurity.

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.”