This new piece of information passed very rapidly from one person to another, and had a tremendous effect on the guests. So it was no longer a joking matter. The chatter ceased, and only round Grossgemuth was there a certain buzz of conversation, as nobody could decide what was to be done with him. His wife was tired, and had gone to the hotel by car an hour ago. How could he be accompanied now, through streets which were probably in a state of tumult? Granted, he was an artist, an elderly man, a foreigner. Why should they want to harm him? But still it was a risk. The hotel was far off, opposite the station. Perhaps he ought to have a police escort? It would probably be worse.
Hirsch had an idea: “Listen, Donna Clara. If we could find some Morzi V.I.P.? Aren’t there any here? . . . He would make an ideal safe-conduct.”
“So he would,” agreed Donna Clara, and thought hard. “But you know that’s a splendid idea? . . . And we’re in luck . . . I saw one a little while ago. Not exactly a V.I.P., but a member of Parliament just the same. Lajanni, I mean. . . . Yes, yes, I’ll go and see about it straightaway.”
The Honorable Member Lajanni was a pale and shabbily dressed man. That evening he was wearing an old-fashioned dinner jacket, a slightly grubby shirt, and his fingernails were rimmed with gray. He was generally involved in settling agricultural disputes, and seldom came to Milan, so that few people knew him by sight. Up to now, instead of frequenting the buffet, he had gone off on his own to visit the Opera Museum. He had returned to the foyer some moments earlier, and was sitting in a corner on a sofa, smoking a Nazionale.
Donna Clara went straight up to him. He stood up.
“Tell me the truth, onorevole,” said Signora Passalacqua without losing time on formalities, “are you here to guard us?”
“Guard you? Whatever for?” exclaimed the member of Parliament, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.
“Why ask me? You must know, since you belong to the Morzi!”
“Oh, if it’s that . . . certainly I know something . . . and I knew it before, to be honest . . . yes, unfortunately I knew their plan of action.”
Without noticing the “unfortunately,” Donna Clara went on in a decided way: “Listen, onorevole, I realize you may find it a little comical, but we are in a very embarrassing situation. Grossgemuth is tired and wants to go to bed, and we don’t know how to get him to his hotel. The streets are in an uproar . . . there’s no knowing . . . a misunderstanding . . . an incident . . . it can happen in a moment. . . . But on the other hand, how can we explain these things to him? It’s hardly tactful, as he’s a foreigner? And then . . .”
Lajanni broke in: “In short, if I am not mistaken, you want me to escort him, give him my official protection, is that it? Ah! ah! . . .” He broke out laughing so loudly that Donna Clara stared at him dumbfounded. As he guffawed, he made signs with his right hand, as if to say he knew it was bad manners to laugh like this, he was very sorry about it, but it was all too amusing. At last he stopped for breath, and explained himself.
“But, dear lady, I’m the last person!” he said in his affected way, still shaking with laughter. “I am the very last person in the whole of the Scala who can protect Grossgemuth, including even the ushers and waiters. . . . My official position? Magnificent! But don’t you know who the Morzi would get rid of before anyone else here? Don’t you know?” And he waited for the answer.
“I’ve no idea . . . ,” said Donna Clara.
“Your humble servant, dear lady! They would settle their accounts with me by giving me precedence over all others.”
“You mean you’ve been disgraced, as it were?” said she, who never beat about the bush.
“I mean just that.”
“All of a sudden? This very evening?”
“Yes. That’s how things happen. To be precise, between the second and third acts, during a short discussion. But I think they’d been planning it for months.”
“Well, at least you haven’t lost your composure.”
“Oh, us!” he said bitterly. “We are always prepared for the worst. It’s a habit by now . . . Heaven help us, if not . . .”
“Ah, well. The deputation has failed, it seems. Forgive me . . . and best wishes, if that’s possible . . . ,” added Donna Clara, looking back at him over her shoulder. “No hope,” she announced to the Sovrintendente. “Our M.P. doesn’t count for anything anymore. . . . Don’t worry . . . I will look after Grossgemuth . . .”
The guests had followed the conversation at a discreet distance, almost in silence, and grasped some of the sentences. Nobody’s eyes opened wider than Cottes’s, for the man whose name was said to be Lajanni was none other than the mysterious man who had talked to him about Arduino.
Much comment was roused by Donna Clara’s unembarrassed talk with the Morzi deputy, not to mention that it was she who escorted Grossgemuth across the city. So there was truth in the old rumor that Donna Clara was on good terms with the Morzi. She appeared to steer clear of politics so as to keep in with both sides. After all, it was to be expected, considering the sort of woman she was. Wasn’t it obvious that Donna Clara would have thought of everything, and have made enough friends among the Morzi to make sure she stayed in power? Many of the ladies were indignant. The men, on the other hand, were inclined to pity her.
Grossgemuth’s departure with Signora Passalacqua marked the end of the reception, but increased the general agitation. Every social pretext for staying had fallen to the ground. The fiction was at an end. Silks, décolletés, tailcoats, jewels,
