THE INTERVIEW
Merthyr saw Laura first. He thought that Vittoria must be lying on her
couch: but Laura simply figured her arm in a sling, and signified, more
than said, that Vittoria was well and taking the air. She then begged
hungrily for news of Rome, and again of Rome, and sat with her hands
clasped in her lap to listen. She mentioned Venice in a short breath of
praise, as if her spirit could not repose there. Rome, its hospitals,
its municipal arrangements, the names of the triumvirs, the prospects of
the city, the edicts, the aspects of the streets, the popularity of the
Government, the number of volunteers ranked under the magical Republic--
of these things Merthyr talked, at her continual instigation, till,
stopping abruptly, he asked her if she wished to divert him from any
painful subject. "No, no!" she cried, "it's only that I want to feel an
anchor. We are all adrift. Sandra is in perfect health. Our bodies,
dear Merthyr, are enjoying the perfection of comfort. Nothing is done
here except to keep us from boiling over."
"Why does not Count Ammiani come to Rome?" said Merthyr.
"Why are we not all in Rome? Yes, why! why! We should make a carnival
of our own if we were."
"She would have escaped that horrible knife," Merthyr sighed.
"Yes, she would have escaped that horrible knife. But see the difference
between Milan and Rome, my friend! It was a blessed knife here. It has
given her husband back to her; it has destroyed the intrigues against
her. It seems to have been sent--I was kneeling in the cathedral this
morning, and had the very image crossing my eyes--from the saints of
heaven to cut the black knot. Perhaps it may be the means of sending us
to Rome."
Laura paused, and, looking at him, said, "It is so utterly impossible for
us women to comprehend love without folly in a man; the trait by which we
recognize it! Merthyr, you dear Englishman, you shall know everything.
Do we not think a tisane a weak washy drink, when we are strong? But we
learn, when we lie with our chins up, and our ten toes like stopped
organ-pipes--as Sandra says--we learn then that it means fresh health and
activity, and is better than rivers of your fiery wines. You love her,
do you not?"
The question came with great simplicity.
"If I can give a proof of it, I am ready to answer," said Merthyr, in
some surprise.
"Your whole life is the proof of it. The women of your country are
intolerable to me, Merthyr: but I do see the worth of the men. Sandra
has taught me. She can think of you, talk of you, kiss the vision of
you, and still be a faithful woman in our bondage of flesh; and to us you
know what a bondage it is: How can that be? I should have asked, if I
had not seen it. Dearest, she loves her husband, and she loves you. She
has two husbands, and she turns to the husband of her spirit when that,
or any, dagger strikes her bosom. Carlo has an unripe mind. They have
been married but a little more than four months; and he reveres her and
loves her." . . . . Laura's voice dragged. "Multiply the months by
thousands, we shall not make those two lives one. It is the curse of
man's education in Italy? He can see that she has wits and courage. He
will not consent to make use of them. You know her: she is not one to
talk of these things. She, who has both heart and judgement--she is
merely a little boat tied to a big ship. Such is their marriage. She
cannot influence him. She is not allowed to advise him. And she is the
one who should lead the way. And--if she did, we should now be within
sight of the City."
Laura took his hand. She found it moist, though his face was calm and
his chest heaved regularly. An impish form of the pity women feel for us
at times moved her to say, "Your skin is as bronzed as it was last year.
Sandra spoke of it. She compared it to a young vine-leaf. I wonder
whether girls have really an admonition of what is good for them while
they are going their ways like destined machines?"
"Almost all men are of flesh and blood," said Merthyr softly.
"I spoke of girls."
"I speak of men."
"Blunt--witted that I am! Of course you did. But do not imagine that
she is not happy with her husband. They are united firmly."
"The better for her, and him, and me," said Merthyr.
Laura twisted an end of her scarf with fretful fingers. "Carlo Albert
has crossed the Ticino?"
"Is about to do so," Merthyr rejoined.
"Will Rome hold on if he is defeated?"
"Rome has nothing to fear on that side."
"But you do not speak hopefully of Rome."
"I suppose I am thinking of other matters."
"You confess it!"
The random conversation wearied him. His foot tapped the floor.
"Why do you say that?" he asked.
"Verily, for no other reason than that I have a wicked curiosity, and
that you come from Rome," said Laura, now perfectly frank, and believing
that she had explained her enigmatical talk, if she had not furnished
an excuse for it. Merthyr came from the City which was now encircled
by an irradiating halo in her imagination, and a fit of spontaneous
inexplicable feminine tenderness being upon her at the moment of their
meeting, she found herself on a sudden prompted to touch and probe and
brood voluptuously over an unfortunate lover's feelings, supposing that
they existed. For the glory of Rome was on him, and she was at the same
time angry with Carlo Ammiani. It was the form of passion her dedicated
widowhood could still be subject to in its youth; the sole one. By this
chance Merthyr learnt what nothing else would have told him.
Her tale of the attempted assassination was related with palpable
indifference. She stated the facts. "The woman seemed to gasp while she
had her hand up; she struck with no force; and she has since been
inanimate, I hear. The doctor says that a spasm of the heart seized her
when she was about to strike. It has been shaken--I am not sure that he
does not say displaced, or unseated--by some one of her black tempers.
She shot Rinaldo Guidascarpi dead. Perhaps it was that. I am informed
that she worshipped the poor boy, and has been like a trapped she-wolf
since she did it. In some way she associated our darling with Rinaldo's
death, like the brute she is. The ostensible ground for her futile bit
of devilishness was that she fancied Sandra to have betrayed Barto Rizzo,
her husband, into the hands of the polizia. He wrote to the Countess
Alessandra--such a letter!--a curiosity!--he must see her and cross-
examine her to satisfy himself that she was a true patriot, &c. You know
the style: we neither of us like it. Sandra was waiting to receive him
when they pounced on him by the door. Next day the woman struck at her.
Decidedly a handsome woman. She is the exact contrast to the Countess
Violetta in face, in everything. Heart-disease will certainly never
affect that pretty spy! But, mark," pursued Laura, warming, "when Carlo
arrived, tears, penitence, heaps of self-accusations: he had been unkind
to her even on Lake Orta, where they passed their golden month; he had
neglected her at Turin; he had spoken angry words in Milan; in fact, he
had misused his treasure, and begged pardon;--'If you please, my poor
bleeding angel, I am sorry. But do not, I entreat, distract me with
petitions of any sort, though I will perform anything earthly to satisfy
you. Be a good little boat in the wake of the big ship. I will look
over at you, and chirrup now and then to you, my dearest, when I am not
engaged in piloting extraordinary.'--Very well; I do not mean to sneer at
the unhappy boy, Merthyr; I love him; he was my husband's brother in
arms; the sweetest lad ever seen. He is in the season of faults. He
must command; he must be a chief; he fancies he can intrigue poor thing!
It will pass. And so will the hour to be forward to Rome. But I call
your attention to this: when he heard of the dagger--I have it from
Colonel Corte, who was with him at the time in Turin--he cried out
Violetta d'Isorella's name. Why? After he had buried his head an hour
on Sandra's pillow, he went straight to Countess d'Isorella, and was
absent till night. The woman is hideous to me. No; don't conceive that
I think her Sandra's rival. She is too jealous. She has him in some
web. If she has not ruined him, she will. She was under my eyes the
night she heard of his marriage: I saw how she will look at seventy!
Here is Carlo at the head of a plot she has prepared for him; and he has
Angelo Guidascarpi, and Ugo Corte, Marco Sana, Giulio Bandinelli, and
about fifty others. They have all been kept away from Rome by that
detestable ----- you object to hear bad names cast on women, Merthyr.
Hear Agostino! The poor old man comes daily to this house to persuade
Carlo to lead his band to Rome. It is so clearly Rome--Rome, where all
his comrades are; where the chief stand must be made by the side of
Italy's Chief. Worst sign of all, it has been hinted semi-officially to
Carlo that he may upon application be permitted to re-issue his journal.
Does not that show that the Government wishes to blindfold him, and keep
him here, and knows his plans?"
Laura started up as the door opened, and Vittoria appeared leaning upon
Carlo's arm. Countess Ammiani, Countess d'Isorella, and Pericles were
behind them. Laura's children followed.
When Merthyr rose, Vittoria was smiling in Carlo's face at something that
had been spoken. She was pale, and her arm was in a sling, but there was
no appearance of her being unnerved. Merthyr waited for her recognition
of him. She turned her eyes from Carlo slowly. The soft dull smile in
them died out as it were with a throb, and then her head drooped on one
shoulder, and she sank to the floor.