Chapter 16

At the great vegetable and fish-market of Rome there was to-day a very unusual and extraordinary life and movement. There was a crowd and tumult, a roaring and screaming, a shouting and laughing, such as had not been heard for a long time. It was partly in consequence of the fact that the whole diplomatic corps had been for some days agitated with preparations for entertainments in honor of the Archduke Ferdinand, who had come to Rome to see the wonders of the holy city, and who could hardly find time and leisure for the festivities offered him. But for the tradesmen and dealers, for the country people in the vicinity of Rome, this presence of the Austrian prince was a happy circumstance; for these banquets and festivals scattered money among the people, and the dealers and honest country people could fearlessly raise their prices, as they were sure of a sale for their commodities. The cooks and servants of the diplomatists and cardinals were seen running hither and thither in busy haste, everywhere selecting the best, everywhere buying and cheapening.

But in one place in the market there was to-day an especial liveliness and activity among the crowd, and to that spot Signor Gianettino bent his steps. He had seen the cook of the Spanish ambassador, the Duke of Grimaldi, among those collected there, and as this cook was one of his bitterest enemies and opponents, Signor Gianettino resolved to watch him, and, if possible, to play him a trick. He therefore cautiously mingled with the crowd, and made a sign to his followers to keep at a distance from him.

It was certainly a very important affair with which the Spanish cook Don Bempo was occupied, as it concerned the purchase of a fish that a countryman had brought to the city, of such a monstrous size and weight that the like had never been seen there. It was the most remarkable specimen with which the Roman fish-market had ever been honored. But the lucky fisherman was fully aware of the extraordinary beauty of his fish, and in his arrogant pride demanded twenty ducats for it.

That was what troubled Don Bempo. Twenty ducats for one single fish, and the major-domo of the Spanish ambassador had urged upon him the most stringent economy; but he had, indeed, at the same time urged upon him to provide everything as splendid as possible for the banquet which the Duke of Grimaldi was to give in honor of the Archduke Ferdinand; indeed, he had with an anxious sigh commanded him to outdo if possible the next day’s feast of Cardinal Bernis, and to provide yet rarer and more costly viands than the French cook.

That was what Don Bempo was now considering, and what made him waver in his first determination not to buy the fish.

There was only this one gigantic fish in the market; and, if he bought it, Signor Gianettino, his enemy, of course, could not possess it; the triumph of the day would then inure to the Spanish embassy, and Don Bempo would come off conqueror. That was indeed a very desirable object, but--twenty ducats was still an enormous price, and was not at all reconcilable with the recommended economy.

At any rate he dared not buy the fish without first consulting the major-domo of the duke.

“You will not, then, sell this fish for twelve ducats?” asked Don Bempo, just as Gianettino had unnoticedly approached. “Reflect, man, twelve ducats are a fortune--it is a princely payment!”

The fisherman contemptuously shook his head. “Rather than sell it for twelve ducats I would eat it myself,” said he, “and invite my friends, these good Romans, as guests! Go, go, sublime Spanish Don, and buy gudgeons for your pair of miserable ducats! Such a fish as this is too dear for you; you Spanish gentlemen should buy gudgeons!”

“Bravo! bravo!” cried the laughing spectators. “Gudgeons for the Spanish gentlemen with high-nosed faces and empty pockets!”

Don Bempo blushed with anger and wounded pride. “I shall unquestionably buy this fish,” said he, “for nothing is too dear for my master when the honor of our nation is to be upheld. But you must allow me time to go home and get the money from the major-domo. Keep the fish, therefore, so long, and I will return with the twenty ducats for it.”

And majestically Don Bempo made himself a path through the crowd, which laughingly stepped aside for him, shouting: “Gudgeons for the Spanish gentleman! _Viva_ Don Bempo, who pays twenty ducats for a fish!”

“He will certainly not come back,” said the fisherman, shaking his head.

“He goes to buy gudgeons!” cried another.

“What will you bet that he returns to buy the fish?” said a third.

“He will not buy it!” interposed a fourth. “These Spaniards have no money; they are poor devils!”

“Who dares say that?” shrieked another, and now suddenly followed one of those quarrels which are so quickly excited on the least occasion among the passionate people of the south. There was much rage, abuse, and noise. How flashed the eyes, how shook the fists, what threats resounded there!

“Peace, my dear friends, be quiet, I tell you!” cried the fisherman, with his stentorian voice. “See, there comes a new purchaser for my fish. Be quiet, and let us see how much France is disposed to offer us.”

The disturbance subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, and all pressed nearer; all directed interrogating, curious, expectant glances at Signor Gianettino, who just at that moment approached with a proud and grave step, followed by the solemn train of six scullions with their baskets.

No one had before remarked him in the crowd, for they had been all eyes and ears for Don Bempo, and hence every one supposed that he had only just then arrived.

The shrewd chief cook also assumed the appearance of having only accidentally passed that way without the intention of buying any thing.

But he suddenly stopped before the great fish as if astonished at its enormous size, and seemed to view it with admiration and delight.

“What a rare and splendid animal is this!” he finally exclaimed with animation. “Really, one must come to Rome to see such a wonder!”

“That is understood!” exultingly cried the bystanders, who had a reverence for the fishes of Rome.

“This is no niggard! _He_ will not be so mean as to offer twelve ducats for such a miracle as this!”

“Twelve ducats!” cried Gianettino, folding his hands. “How can you think me so pitiful as to offer such a miserable sum for so noble a fish. No, truly, he must have a bold forehead who would offer so little money for this splendid animal!”

“Hear him! hear!” cried the people. “This is a learned man. He knows something of the value of rarities!”

“_Viva!_ Long life to the French cook, _il grande ministre della cucina!_”

Gianettino bowed politely in response to the compliment, and then civilly asked the price of the fish.

The fisherman stood there with an expression of regretful sadness upon his face. “I fear it will be of little use to name the price!” said he, “the fish is as good as sold!”

“Nevertheless, name the price!”

“Twenty ducats!”

“Twenty ducats!” exclaimed Gianettino, with an expression of the liveliest astonishment. “You jest, my friend! How can such a splendid animal be possibly sold for twenty ducats?”

“Here! hear!” shouted the crowd. “He finds the price too low!”

“He is a real gentleman!”

“He will not buy gudgeons like the Spaniard!”

“In earnest, friend, tell me the price of this fish!” said Gianettino.

“I have demanded twenty ducats for it,” sadly responded the fisherman, “and it is sold for that sum.”

“Impossible! In that case it would not be lying here!” replied Gianettino. “Or had the man paid you the money, and now gone for a cart for the conveyance of the giant?”

“I have not yet been paid.”

“The purchaser, then, has given you earnest money?”

“No, not even that. I have yet received nothing upon it.”

“And you can pretend that you have sold this fish,” cried Gianettino, “and that, too, for the ridiculously small sum of twenty ducats! Ah, you are a joker, my good man; you wish to excite in me a desire for this rare specimen, and therefore you say it is sold. But how can a fish that yet lies exposed for sale, and for which no one had made you a suitable offer, be already sold?”

And gravely approaching the giant of the waters, Gianettino laid his hand upon his head and solemnly said: “The fish is mine. I purchase it; you demand twenty ducats! But I shall give you what you ought to have, and what the creature is worth! I shall pay you six-and-thirty ducats for him!”

The crowd, which had maintained an anxious and breathless silence during this negotiation, now broke out with a loud and exulting shout.

“That is a real nobleman!”

“_Evviva il ministro della cucina! Il grande Gianettino!_”

“That is no parsimonious Spaniard! He is a French cavalier. He will buy no gudgeons, but will have the right Roman fish.”

“Gentlemen,” said Gianettino, modestly casting down his eyes, “I do not understand your praises, and it seems to me I only deal like a man of honor, as every one of you would do! This honest man taxes his wares too low; I give him what they are worth! That is all. If I acted otherwise I should not long remain in the service of the lofty and generous Cardinal Bernis! Justice and generosity, that is the first command of his excellency!”

“_Evviva_ the French ambassador!”

“Praise and honor to Cardinal Bernis!”

And while the people were thus shouting, Gianettino from his well-filled purse paid down the six-and-thirty ducats upon the fisherman’s board. He then commanded his six attendant scullions to bear off the fish.

It was, indeed, a heavy work to place the enormous animal upon their baskets, but the active Romans cheerfully lent a hand, and when they had succeeded in the difficult task, and the six youngsters bent under their heavy load, Signor Gianettino gravely put himself at the head of the train, and proudly gave the order: “Forward to the kitchen of his excellency Cardinal Bernis!”

At this moment a man was seen making his way through the crowd; thrusting right and left with his elbows, he incessantly pushed on, and, just as Signor Gianettino had fairly got his troop in motion, the man, who was no other than Don Bempo, succeeded in reaching the fisherman’s table.

“Here, I bring you the twenty ducats,” he proudly called out. “They will no longer say that the Spaniards buy gudgeons. The fish is mine! There are your twenty ducats!”

And, with a supercilious air, Don Bempo threw the money upon the table.

But just as proudly did the fisherman push back the money. “The fish is sold!” said he.

“Forward, march!” repeated Signor Gianettino his word of command. “Forward to the kitchen of his excellency Cardinal Bernis!”

And with solemn dignity the train began to move.

Don Bempo with a cry of rage rushed upon the fish.

“This fish is mine,” he wildly cried, “I was the first to offer its price, I offered twenty ducats, and only went home to get the money!”

“And I,” exclaimed Signor Gianettino, “I offered thirty-six ducats, and immediately paid the cash, as I always have money by me.”

“It is Signor Gianettino, the cook of the French ambassador, and I am ruined!” groaned Don Bempo, staggering back.

“Yes, it is the cook of his excellency the cardinal!” cried the crowd.

“And the cardinal is an honorable man!”

“He is no Spanish niggard!”

“He does not haggle for a giant fish; he pays more than is demanded!”

“I hope,” said Signor Gianettino to Don Bempo, who still convulsively grasped the fish, “that you will now take your hands from my property and leave me to go my way without further hindrance. It is not noble to lay hands on the goods of another, Don Bempo, and this fish is mine!”

“But this is contrary to all international law!” exclaimed the enraged Don Bempo. “You forget, signor, that you insult my master, that you insult Spain, by withholding from me by main force what I have purchased in the name of Spain.”

“France will never stand second to Spain!” proudly responded Gianettino, “and where Spain _offers_ twenty ducats, France _pays_ six-and-thirty!--Forward, my youngsters! To the kitchen of the French ambassador!”

And urgently pushing back Don Bempo, Gianettino solemnly marched through the crowd with his retinue, the people readily making a path for him and cheering him as he went.

It was a brilliant triumph in the person of the chief cook of their ambassador, which the French celebrated to-day; it was a shameful defeat which Spain suffered to-day in the person of her ambassador’s chief cook.

Proud and happy marched Signor Gianettino through the streets, accompanied by his gigantic fish, and followed by the shouts of a Roman mob.

Humiliated, with eyes cast down, with rage in his heart sneaked Don Bempo toward the Spanish ambassador’s hotel, and long heard behind him the whistling, laughter, and catcalls of the Roman people.

THE FISH FEUD

Cardinal Bernis was in his boudoir. Before him lay the list of those persons whom he had invited to his entertainment of the next day, and he saw with proud satisfaction that all had accepted his invitation.

“I shall, then, have a brilliant and stately society to meet this Austrian archduke,” said the well-contented cardinal to himself. “The _elite_ of the nobility, all the cardinals and ambassadors, will make their appearance, and Austria will be compelled to acknowledge that France maintains the best understanding with all the European powers, and that she is not the less respected because the Marquise de Pompadour is in fact King of France.”

“Ah, this good marquise,” continued the cardinal, stretching himself comfortably upon his lounge and taking an open letter from the table, “this good marquise gives me in fact some cause for anxiety. She writes me here that France is in favor of the project of Portugal for the suppression of the order of the Jesuits, and I am so to inform the pope! This is a dangerous thing, marquise, and may possibly burn your tender fingers. The suppression of the Jesuits! Is not that to explode a powder-barrel in the midst of Europe, that may shatter all the states? No, no, it is foolhardiness, and I have not the courage to apply the match to this powder-barrel! I fear it may blow us all into the air.”

And the cardinal began to read anew the letter of Madame de Pompadour which a French courier had brought him a few hours before.

“Ahem, that will be dangerous for the good father!” said he, shaking his head. “Austria also agrees to this magnificent plan of the Portuguese Minister Pombal, and I am inclined to think that this Austrian archduke has come to Rome only for the purpose of bringing to the pope the consent of the Empress Maria Theresa! Ha, ha! how singular! their chaste and virtuous Maria Theresa and our good Pompadour are both agreed in the matter, and in taking this course are both acting against their own will. The women love the Jesuits, these good fathers who furnish them with an excuse for every weakness, and hold a little back door open for every sin. That is very convenient for these good women! Yes, yes, the women--I think I know them.”

And, smiling, the cardinal sank deeper into himself, dreaming of past, of charming times, when he had not yet counted sixty-five years. He dreamed of Venice, and of a beautiful nun he had loved there, and who for him had often left her cloister in the night-time, and, warm and glowing with passion, had come to him. He dreamed of these heavenly hours, where all pleasure and all happiness had been compressed into one blessed intoxication of bliss, where the chaste priestess of the Church had for him changed to a sparkling priestess of joy!

“Yes, that was long ago!” murmured the cardinal, as at length he awoke from his blissful dreams of the past.

“Those were beautiful times--I was then young and happy; I was then a man, and now--now am old; love has withered, and with it poesy! I am now nothing but a diplomatist.”

There was a low knock at the door. The cardinal hastily but carefully returned the portrait of his beautiful nun to the secret drawer in his writing-table whence it had been taken, and bade the knocker to enter.

It was Brunelli, the major-domo of the cardinal, who came with a proud step, and face beaming with joy, to make a report of his plans and preparations for the morrow’s entertainment.

“In the evening the park will be illuminated with many thousand lamps, which will outshine the sun, so that the guests will there wander in a sea of light,” said he, in closing his report.

The cardinal smiled, and with a stolen glance at the small box that contained the portrait of this beautiful nun, he said: “Spare some of the walks in the alleys from your sea of light, and leave them in partial obscurity. A little duskiness is sometimes necessary for joy and happiness! But how is it with your _carte du diner_? What has Signor Gianettino to offer us? I hope he has something very choice, for you know the cardinals like a good table, and my friend Duke Grimaldi has a high opinion of our cuisine.”

“Ah, the Spanish ambassador, your excellency?” exclaimed Brunelli, contemptuously. “The Spanish ambassador knows nothing of the art of cookery, or he would not possibly be satisfied with his cook! He is a niggard, a poor fellow, of whom all Rome is speaking to-day, and laughing at him and his master, while they are praising you to the skies!”

And Signor Brunelli related to his listening master the whole story of the gigantic fish, and of the humiliation of the Spanish cook.

The cardinal listened with attention, and a dark cloud gradually gathered upon his thoughtful brow.

“That is a very unfortunate occurrence,” said he, shaking his head, as Brunelli ended.

“But at least it was an occurrence in which France triumphed, your excellency,” responded Brunelli.

“I much fear the Duke of Grimaldi will do as you have done,” said the cardinal; “he will confound my cook with France, and in his cook see all Spain insulted.”

“Then your excellency is not satisfied?” asked Brunelli, with consternation. “The whole palace is full of jubilation; all the servants and lackeys and even the secretary of the legation are delighted with this divine affair!”

The cardinal paid no attention to these panegyrics of his major-domo, but thoughtfully paced the room with long strides.

“And you think Gianettino had the right of it?” at length he asked.

“He was entirely in the right, your excellency. Nothing had been paid for the fish, and Gianettino’s right to purchase was perfect, and nobody could dispute it!”

“Well, when we are in the right, we must maintain our right,” said the cardinal, after a pause, “and as the affair is known to all Rome, it must be fought through with _eclat_! The fish, in all its pride of greatness shall grace our table to-morrow!”

“We have no dish of sufficient size in which to serve it.”

“Then let a new one be made,” laughed the cardinal. “Take the measure of this Goliath, and hasten to the silversmith, that he may make a silver dish of the proper size. But see that it is completed by to-morrow morning, and that it is richly ornamented. If Rome has heard of the fish, so also must it hear of the dish. Hasten, therefore, Signor Brunelli, and see that all is done as I have ordered!”

“This is, in fact, a very diverting story,” said the cardinal, laughing, when he was again alone. “We have here a monster fish which will probably swallow my friendship with the Duke of Grimaldi! Well, we shall see!”

The cardinal then rang for his body-servant, whom he ordered to dress him.

“Court toilet?” asked the servant, astonished at being called to this service at so unusual an hour.

“No, house toilet!” said the cardinal. “I shall soon receive visitors.”

The shrewd cardinal had not deceived himself! In a few minutes an equipage rolled into the court and the footman announced his highness the Spanish ambassador, the Duke of Grimaldi.

“He is a thousand times welcome!” cried the cardinal, and as the door now opened and the Spanish duke entered, the cardinal advanced to receive him with open arms and a friendly smile.

“My dear, much-beloved friend, what a delightful surprise is this!” said the cardinal.

But the duke observed neither the open arms nor the pleasant smile, nor yet the friendly welcome of the cardinal. He strode forward with a serious, majestic _grandezza_, and placing himself directly before the cardinal, he solemnly asked: “Know you of the outrage which a servant of your house has inflicted on mine!”

“Of an outrage?” asked the cardinal, without embarrassment. “I have been told that your cook had a dispute with mine, because mine had bought a fish that was too dear for yours. That is all I know.”

“Then they have not told you,” thundered the duke, “that your servant, like an impudent street robber, has wrongfully seized my property. For that fish was mine, it belonged to the Spanish embassy, and therefore to Spain; and your servant has with outrageous insolence committed a trespass upon the property of a foreign power!”

“Did this fish, then, actually belong to the Spanish crown?” asked Bernis. “Was it already paid for, and legally yours?”

“It was not paid for, but was ordered, and my servant had gone home for the money.”

“As long as it was not paid for, no one could have any claim upon it.”

“You are, then, disposed to dispute the fish with me?” cried the duke.

“Should I dispute it,” smilingly responded the cardinal, “that would be the equivalent to a recognition of your right to it, which I have no idea of making. Besides, my friend, what does this quarrel of our cooks concern us, and what has Spain and France to do with these disputes of our servants? They may fight out their own quarrels with each other; let us give them leave to do so, and if they give each other bloody heads, very well, we will bind them up, that is all!”

“You take the affair with your usual practical indifference,” said the duke with bitterness, “and I can only regret being compelled to look at it in a different light. The question here is not of a difficulty between our servants, but of an insult which Spain has received from France in the face of all Rome. Yes, all Rome has witnessed this insult, and these miserable Romans have even dared to dishonor us with irony and satire, and to mock and deride Spain, while they overload you with their praises!”

“The good Romans, as you know, are like children. This contest of our cooks has delighted them, and they shouted a _viva_ to the conqueror. But I beg you not to forget that I have nothing to do with the victories of my cook.”

“But I have something to do with the defeats of mine! Whoever insults my servants insults me; and whoever insults me, insults the kingdom I represent--insults Spain! It is therefore in the name of Spain that I demand satisfaction. Spain has a right to this fish! I demand my right, I demand the surrender of the fish!”

“If you take this matter in earnest,” said the cardinal, “then am I sorry to be compelled also to be serious! If Spain can find offence in the fact that France has bought a fish which is too dear for the Spanish cook, I cannot see how I can here make satisfaction, as we cannot be taxed with any fault.”

“You refuse me the fish, then?” exclaimed the duke, bursting with rage.

“As you say that all Rome knows of this affair, and takes an interest in it, I cannot act otherwise. It must not have the appearance that France feels herself less great and powerful than Spain; that France pusillanimously yields when Spain makes an unjust demand!”

“That is to say, you wish to break off all friendly relations with us?”

“And can those relations be seriously endangered by this affair?” asked the cardinal with vivacity. “Is it possible that this trifling misunderstanding between two servants can exercise an influence upon a long-cherished friendship and harmony of two powers whose relations, whether friendly or otherwise, may uphold or destroy the peace of Europe?”