"Did you have to agree quite so fast to sending her on to the Spanish Netherlands?" Marc asked after Veronica and Susanna had left the supper table. "I've known you all my life, Papa, so don't try to look innocent. You could have thought of something to keep her here, if you wanted to."
"But you did nothing wrong?" Cavriani's eyebrow was up again.
"We did nothing wrong. We did not even come close to doing anything wrong." Marc smiled rather ruefully. "Papa, I am afraid that all those lessons that I was given by all those tutors whom you hired actually did have an effect. I find, when I examine my conscience, that I disapprove of fornication and adultery and-umm-almost all the other things that the ministers hope that a young man will grow up to disapprove of. Adultery, Apostasy. Arrogance. Flattery, Fornication, Freemasonry. I could compile a whole alphabetical list." Now he grinned. "Which is a shame, honestly, considering that Susanna really is the loveliest girl I have ever met, and doing something wrong would have been a lot of fun. Especially in the fornication area."
Cavriani laced his fingers across his chest, leaned back, and contemplated his son. He saw that the incorrigible curl had escaped once more and was hanging down right in the middle of Marc's forehead. That rebellious curl would remain-if Marc was, by the grace of God, granted a long life-until a receding hairline took care of the problem.
He contemplated Susanna with his mind. Blondish, but really light brown, straight hair, a little wispy-check. Eyes of no particular color, somewhere between gray and hazel-check. Nose present, but rather narrow in the bridge-check. Teeth present, but if she had been an up-timer, she would have been given 'braces'-check. Mouth quite a bit wide for the rest of the face, smiling readily, but the lips were thin rather than full-check. Clear skin-check, and remind Potentiana's cousin to bring up the topic of seeing a physician in the Spanish Netherlands for one of these new vaccinations with catpox to ward off the smallpox. Tiny in both height and girth. If a Grantviller were to rate her buxomness on a scale of one to ten, possibly a two, if the man doing the rating were in a generous mood.
There were, he thought, a couple of possibilities. The first was that Marc was not fully in the possession of his senses, to categorize this as, "the loveliest girl I have ever met."
Cavriani did not believe for an instant that his son was not in possession of his wits.
The second was that this was the girl whom, Catholic seamstress of luxury clothing or not, Divine Providence had predestined to become his daughter-in-law. God, therefore, had providentially instilled in Marc a due appreciation of God's gracious gift of a good wife, whose worth was above that of pearls and rubies.
Clearly, it would be more prudent to act, for the time being, on the basis of the second hypothesis. Cavriani thought the parents of Romeo and Juliet had behaved in a remarkably stupid manner ever since the first time he saw the play.
"Susanna has explained to us," he began, "why she is not currently enthusiastic about the idea of marrying you. However, if you listened carefully, none of her reasons contained any objection to you, as a person. Merely to the circumstances. Also, you are both still very young to be considering marriage-given, which I will grant as a presupposition, that you have done nothing wrong and there is no urgent cause for you to take precipitous steps."
Marc was listening intently.
"We have closed no doors. You mother's cousin will have her address, once she is safely brought to the Netherlands. There is no reason why you could not write to her. I gave her our firm's main address in Geneva. For business reasons, clearly. Still, there is no reason why she should not address a letter to you there, if she should wish to do so. I am sure she is aware that it would reach you, eventually. I gave her no reason to think that I am inclined to behave like an irrational parent in a tragic play, I hope."
Marc caught the reference. "I don't think," he commented, "that anyone has ever considered relocating the site of 'Romeo and Juliet' to Geneva. Or to the Tyrol, which is where Susanna's parents still were the last she heard from them. Papa, you should send them a message to say that she is well. And maybe mention what a fine young man I am?" He winked.
Cavriani assumed a supremely dignified expression, ignoring the interruption. "Since she has explained her reasoning about not wishing to live in a Calvinist city in a quite coherent manner, then perhaps we should make the effort to find out whether it would be possible for you to live in a Catholic city, or if it would cause you unbearable discomfort. Or, at least, if such an arrangement were to be permanent, whether you could settle in a city in which the majority of the population was Catholic and the predominant forms of dress and public display were formed by that fact and would allow Susanna the suitably-paid exercise of her talents. Without causing you unbearable discomfort. On condition, of course, that such a city granted Calvinists liberty of worship."
Cavriani pursed his lips. He had not explained the logic of his thought processes as clearly as he might have wished. "Surely, within the next five or ten years, there should be several such cities to choose among. If things go as we hope."
Hope had become the dominant expression on Marc's face.
Cavriani continued his musings. "Or, possibly, living in the Netherlands, it will dawn upon her that Fredrik Hendrik and his courtiers do not limit their wardrobes to black gabardine with white linen collars. The court maintained by the House of Orange does not dress quite as flamboyantly as that of Savoy, for example, but there is still quite a lot of satin and lace present. However, we should not rely too heavily on that possibility."
Cavriani rose and looked out the window. "The Americans have a lot of lovely proverbs to be added to the classical store that we find in Aesop and others. One of my favorites is, 'God helps those who help themselves.' So, after we have been to Geneva and allowed your mother to assure herself that you are in splendid health, I will arrange for you to experience living in a Catholic city. Events in Naples have not been developing as quickly as I had hoped. I think-indeed, I am sure-that you should plan to spend the next year, or perhaps two, in Naples."
Part IX
October, 1634
Of Splendour In the Grass, of Glory In the Flower
Chapter 70
Mars gravior sub pace latet.
General Horn's Camp, outside Rheinfelden
There were safe-conducts for the whole Rhine from Basel to the Netherlands; a whole file of safe-conducts. For the Upper Rhine, one from the margrave of Baden Durlach. One from the Basel Landvogt in Riehen. One from General Horn. The last one, improbably enough, from Duke Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar. Marc had seen it for himself as his father placed it in the passport case. What's more, they were all quite authentic. Once the boat reached the Main, Frau Dreeson would leave Susanna to join her husband in Frankfurt. For the Middle Rhine, there were safe-conducts from the duke of Lorraine and from Nils Brahe in Mainz.
And a couple of French ones, probably not quite so genuine, that Freinsheim had produced when Margrave Friedrich asked him about it. Papa had once more reminded Marc never to look gift horses in the mouth. On the other hand, they might possibly be real. Richelieu had sent a minor diplomat, who rejoiced in the rather excessive name Michel l'Esclavon, duc d'Espehar, marquis de Choses-sans-Valeur, vicomte de Lavion, seigneur de l'Haleur, chevalier Sanscourage de Contre-Ours, to Basel to make a very stiff diplomatic demand to Margrave Friedrich V for the return of Freinsheim. Espehar had managed, by following Wettstein out of the city, to finagle a position inside Horn's camp from which he had actually seen, close up, the Gustav take off carrying Don Fernando and the archduchess. He might have been sufficiently impressed to thank his impromptu guides by signing a couple of documents.