A Call to Arms

Shelley touched deep at that moment, and not solely on account of Henrietta. Hervey said nothing.

Then Shelley’s demeanour changed altogether. He gave a shrug. ‘I myself contemplated ordination lately.’

Hervey fixed him with a disapproving look. ‘And what decided you against so outlandish a notion?’

Shelley laughed and clasped his hand on Hervey’s. ‘You are, I think the saying is, “steady under fire”.’

Hervey poured more wine, feigning not to take notice. ‘I have a mind to visit the English College this afternoon. Shall you come?’

‘You surprise me, Hervey,’ replied Shelley, with a distinctly mock expression of it. ‘Why should so unbending a son of the established church want to see the English College?’

‘Why should I not want to see it? It has a claim to great antiquity. It is connected with King Alfred.’

‘Since Rome is nothing but antiquity, how can that be any particular recommendation?’

Hervey was determined not to be drawn. ‘Milton visited there, so I do not see that I may not.’ And — though there was no point in saying it — John Keble had insisted he did.

Shelley looked sceptical. ‘He visited, did he? Sacred Milton?’

‘I am sure of it.’

‘Then it is settled. I owe Milton too much to disregard his example.’

Hervey nodded, though in truth Shelley’s contrariness could exasperate.

‘Do you know his lines on the massacre in Piedmont?’

‘Indeed I do,’ said Hervey, pouring more sulphur water into his glass.

‘I have often wondered in what manner Milton wished God to “avenge His slaughtered saints”.’

Hervey was disinclined to discuss eschatology, however. ‘You know, I can admire your Cromwell for the stand he took in the affair.’

Shelley looked wary, expecting a trick.

‘Did you not know? He wrote to the Emperor and others on behalf of the Protestants, urging all sorts of visitations on the Duke of Savoy if he did not stop persecuting them. And it worked, it seemed.’

‘It is curious to imagine there are any Protestants in Italy. The country is so unsuited to fervour in such matters.’ Shelley took a sip of his wine, guardedly.

‘Well I may tell you that there are, and very proud too, and called Valdensians, though I can’t recall why. There is an Englishman who now ministers to them, who lost a leg at Waterloo. A general. I saw him carried from the field. Elizabeth and I thought we might call upon him on our way home.’

Shelley smiled. ‘You have a very charming way of avoiding the material issue, but not an entirely effective one. I asked how you supposed that Milton wished vengeance to be accomplished?’

Hervey did not hesitate. ‘Perhaps the wrath of God as well as the peace passes all understanding.’

Shelley raised his eyebrows and inclined his head, resigned to the knowledge that he could provoke his friend to no more.

However, Hervey was unsure whether the expression meant that Shelley acknowledged the reasoning, or that it was just the sort of rhetoric he had expected. ‘In any case, you surely cannot lay blame at the door of the English College?’

‘No, but it must have given rise to some very contrary sentiments.’

‘We all live with those!’

Shelley now looked at him intently. ‘Truly, you are a man of very decided certainties — even as regards contrary sentiments. I never had any thoughts of the army, as Coleridge and Southey had, but I think that were I ever to have served I should have wished to do so with an officer like you. Certainty can move mountains.’

‘Ha! I assure you, my dear Shelley, certainty in very senior officers is more often the cause of getting lost in mountains.’

‘Now here indeed is someone who at last speaks his own mind rather than the institution’s!’

‘Shelley, at times you speak absurdities.’

‘Very well, then. Let us speak not of absurdities. Where do we go this evening? I confess I shall be in need of gaiety after all the martyrdom at the English College.’

‘I am taking Elizabeth to the opera.’

‘And you did not ask me to accompany you? I call that dashed uncivil! Have you tired of me?’

Hervey frowned. ‘I have neglected Elizabeth of late.’

Shelley was about to protest further when the Greco’s proprietor approached their table, accompanied by a postal messenger. ‘Signor ’Ervey? Una lettera, molto urgente,’ said the messenger, and there were twenty scudi to pay.

Hervey gave over the money, and a further three for his trouble in searching him out.

When they had gone, Hervey began to examine the envelope.

‘It intrigues me why men tarry so long in contemplating an envelope when a moment’s address with a paper knife would reveal what they puzzle over,’ said Shelley.

But Hervey scarcely noticed. ‘I do believe it to be from a most gallant acquaintance of mine. It is sent from Naples only three days ago.’ He opened it and read the contents quickly. ‘It is indeed from him. And it appears he is made commodore. He says he will be in Naples for a month and more, and would see me in Rome as soon as I am able to receive him.’

‘And who is this gallant commodore? You have not told me of him.’

‘I would need many an evening to do him justice. I sailed to India and home in his frigate. He is uncommonly good company.’

‘An officer of the wooden walls, another high Tory!’

‘In that you suppose wrongly. There’s a radical heart beating in Commodore Peto’s breast — as well as one of oak. And you would not deride the latter, I’m sure?’

‘No, no; I should not deride a brave heart wherever it beat. How did he know you were here?’

Hervey put the letter in his pocket and stood up. ‘I knew his station was the Mediterranean, and so sent word to the embassy in Naples asking that the letter be forwarded when there was intelligence of his ship. I shall go to the post office at once and send him word to come at his pleasure. You will like him.’

‘A radical, you say?’

‘I did not quite say that. He has a radical bent. I would hardly think him a subscriber to the Black Hand, or whatever it is you revolutionaries read.’

‘Dwarf, Hervey, Black Dwarf.’

‘Just so. Shall you come with me to the college then?’

‘No; on second thoughts I’m a little weary. My eyes are aching again. I have not slept well these past nights. And I want to engage someone at once to find other lodgings. You do not forget Signora Dionigi’s party tomorrow evening?’

‘No, indeed.’ Hervey brushed the dust from his hat and placed it on his head a shade more carelessly than usual.

Shelley looked at him quizzically. ‘I perceive a sudden spring to your step — at last.’

Hervey failed to hear more than an easy remark. ‘Very well, then. Do we meet at the same time tomorrow?’

Shelley nodded, and with a wry grin. He had no words. And as he watched Hervey walk from the Caffe Greco, he wondered at the comradeship which black powder so evidently made.

There had been a night of rain and the Tiber had risen, so that the sewers were stagnant again and enterprising hawkers were doing a brisk trade in nosegays. Hervey made do without, though now the stench was so bad that he clutched a handkerchief to his face, and consoled himself with the thought that there would be incense enough to cover this rankness at the college. He quickened his pace, too, almost to double time, so that it was not long before he was pulling the bell handle at the ironclad doors of the English College, the Venerable College of St Thomas de urbe.

The portiere opened them, but he spoke no English, much to Hervey’s surprise — disappointment even — for John Keble had said the place was truly a piece of England in the heart of the old city, though he had not himself been to Rome. At length there came a tall man in a black cassock, and by the portiere’s manner, and a few of his words, Hervey supposed this must be the rector,