The consul-general remained some minutes silently studying the younger man’s expressive back—irritation, obstinacy, something stronger, appeared in every line of his squared shoulders—then he rose and walked across to the window.
‘See here, Sybert,’ he said bluntly, ‘I’m your friend, and I don’t want to see you doing anything foolish. I know where your sympathies are; and if the rest of us looked into the matter with our eyes open, it’s possible ours would be on the same side. But that’s neither here nor there; we couldn’t do any good, and you can’t, either. You must think of your own position—you are secretary of the American Embassy and nephew of the ambassador. In common decency it won’t do to exhibit too much sympathy with the enemies of the Italian government. You say yourself that you don’t want to see a revolution. Then it’s your duty, in the interests of law and order, to do all you can to suppress it.’
‘Oh, I’m willing to do all I can toward relieving the suffering and quieting the people; but when it comes to playing the police spy and getting these poor devils jailed for twenty years because they’ve shouted, “Down with Savoy!” I refuse.’
Melville shrugged. ‘That part of the business can be left to the secret police; they’re capable of handling it.’
‘I don’t doubt that,’ Sybert growled.
‘Your business is merely to aid in pacifying the people and to raise subscriptions for buying food. You are in with the wealthy foreigners, and can get money out of them easier than most.’
‘I suppose that means I am to bleed Copley?’
‘I dare say he’ll be willing enough to give; it’s in his line. Of course he’s a friend, and I don’t like to say anything. I know he had nothing to do with getting up the wheat deal; but it’s all in the family, and he won’t lose by it. The corner is playing the deuce with Italy, and it’s his place to help a bit.’
‘What is playing the deuce with Italy is an extravagant government and crushing taxes and dead industries. The wheat famine is bad enough; but that isn’t the main trouble, and you know it as well as I do.’
‘The main trouble,’ his companion broke in sharply, ‘is the fact that the priests and the anarchists and the socialists and every other sort of meddling malcontent keep things so stirred up that the government is forced into the stand it takes.’
Sybert whirled around from the window and faced him with black brows and a sudden flaring of passion in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and then controlled himself and went on in a quiet, half-sneering tone—
‘I suppose the socialists and priests and the rest of your malcontents forced our late premier into office and kept him there. I suppose they yoked Italy with the Triple Alliance and drove the soldiers into Abyssinia to be butchered like hogs. I suppose they were at the bottom of the bank scandals, and put the charity money into official pockets, and let fifteen thousand peasants go mad with hunger last year—fifteen thousand!–’ His voice suddenly broke, and he half-turned away. ‘Good Lord, Melville, the poverty in Italy is something appalling!’
‘Yes, I dare say it is—but, just the same, that’s only one side of the question. The country is new, and you can’t expect it to develop along every line at once. The government has committed some very natural blunders, but at the same time it has accomplished a vast amount of good. It has united a lot of chaotic states, with different traditions and different aims, into one organic whole; it has built up a modern nation, with all the machinery of modern civilization, in an incalculably short time. Of course the people have had to pay for it with a good many deprivations—in every great political change there are those who suffer; it’s inevitable. But the suffering is only temporary, and the good is permanent. You’ve been keeping your eyes so closely on passing events that you’re in danger of losing your perspective.’
Sybert shrugged his shoulders, with a quick resumption of his usual indifference.
‘We’ve had twenty-five years of United Italy, and what has it accomplished?’ he demanded. ‘It’s built up one of the finest standing armies in Europe, if you like; a lot of railroads it didn’t need; some aqueducts and water-works, and a postal and telegraph system. It has erected any number of gigantic public buildings, of theatres and arcades and statues of Victor Emmanuel II; but what has it done for the poor people beyond taxing them to pay for these things? What has it done for Sicily and Sardinia, for the pellagra victims of the north, for the half-starved peasants of the Agra Romana? Why does Sicily hold the primacy of crime in Europe; why has emigration reached two hundred thousand a year? Parliament votes five million lire for a palace of justice, and lets a man be murdered in prison by his keepers without the show of a trial. The government supports plenty of universities for the sons of the rich, but where are the elementary schools for the peasants? Certainly Italy’s a Great Power—if that’s all you want—and her people can take their choice between emigrating and starving.’
‘Yes, it’s bad, I know; but that it’s quite as bad as you would have us believe, I doubt. You’re a pessimist by conviction, Sybert. You won’t look at the silver linings.’
‘The silver linings are pretty thin,’ he retorted. ‘Italian politics have changed since the days of Victor Emmanuel and Cavour.’
‘That’s only natural. You could scarcely expect any nation to keep up such a high pitch of patriotism as went to the making of United Italy—the country’s settled down a bit, but the elements of strength are still there.’
‘The country’s settled down a good bit,’ he agreed. ‘Oh, yes, I believe myself—at least I hope—that it’s only a passing phase. The Italian people have too much inherent strength to allow themselves to be mastered long by corrupt politicians. But that the country is in pretty low water now, and that the breakers are not far ahead, no one with his eyes open can doubt. The parliament is wasteful and senseless and dishonest, the taxes are crushing, the public debt is enormous, the currency is debased. If such a government can’t take care of itself, I don’t see that it’s the business of foreigners to help it.’
‘That is just the point, Sybert. The government can take care of itself and it will. The foreigners, out of common humanity, ought to help the people as much as they can.’
Sybert appeared to study Melville’s face for a few moments; then he dropped his eyes and examined the floor.
‘This is a time for those in power to choose their way very carefully. There are a good many discontented people, and the government is going to have more of a pull than you think to hold its own—there’s revolution in the air.’
Melville faced him squarely.
‘For goodness’ sake, Sybert, I don’t know how much influence you have, or anything about it, but do what you can to keep things quiet. Of course the government has made mistakes—as what government has not? But until there’s something better to be substituted there’s no use kicking. Plainly, the people are too ignorant to govern themselves, and the House of Savoy is the only means of salvation.’
Sybert waved his hand impatiently.
‘I haven’t been trying to undermine the government, I assure you. I know well enough that for a good many years to come Italy won’t have anything better to offer, and all my influence with the Italians—which naturally isn’t much—has been advice of the same nature. I know very well that if any radical change were attempted, only anarchy would result; so I counsel these poor starving beggars “patience” like a skulking coward.’