It was a surprise to all of them, save to Agostino Balderini, who passed
his inspecting glance from face to face, marking the effect of the
announcement. Corte gazed at her heavily, but not altogether
disapprovingly. Giulio Bandinelli and Marco Sana, though evidently
astonished, and to some extent incredulous, listened like the perfectly
trusty lieutenants in an enterprise which they were. But Carlo Ammiani
stood horror-stricken. The blood had left his handsome young olive-hued
face, and his eyes were on the signorina, large with amazement, from
which they deepened to piteousness of entreaty.
"Signorina!--you! Can it be true? Do you know?--do you mean it?"
"What, signor Carlo?"
"This; will you venture to do such a thing?"
"Oh, will I venture? What can you think of me? It is my own request."
"But, signorina, in mercy, listen and consider."
Carlo turned impetuously to the Chief. "The signorina can't know the
danger she is running. She will be seized on the boards, and shut up
between four walls before a man of us will be ready,--or more than one,"
he added softly. "The house is sure to be packed for a first night; and
the Polizia have a suspicion of her. She has been off her guard in the
Conservatorio; she has talked of a country called Italy; she has been
indiscreet;--pardon, pardon, signorina! but it is true that she has
spoken out from her noble heart. And this opera! Are they fools?--they
must see through it. It will never,--it can't possibly be reckoned on to
appear. I knew that the signorina was heart and soul with us; but who
could guess that her object was to sacrifice herself in the front rank,--
to lead a forlorn hope! I tell you it's like a Pagan rite. You are
positively slaying a victim. I beg you all to look at the case calmly!"
A burst of laughter checked him; for his seniors by many years could not
hear such veteran's counsel from a hurried boy without being shrewdly
touched by the humour of it, while one or two threw a particular irony
into their tones.
"When we do slay a victim, we will come to you as our augur, my Carlo,"
said Agostino.
Corte was less gentle. As a Milanese and a mere youth Ammiani was
antipathetic to Corte, who closed his laughter with a windy rattle of his
lips, and a "pish!" of some emphasis.
Carlo was quick to give him a challenging frown.
"What is it?" Corte bent his head back, as if inquiringly.
"It's I who claim that question by right," said Carlo.
"You are a boy."
"I have studied war."
"In books."
"With brains, Colonel Corte."
"War is a matter of blows, my little lad."
"Let me inform you, signor Colonel, that war is not a game between bulls,
to be played with the horns of the head."
"You are prepared to instruct me?" The fiery Bergamasc lifted his
eyebrows.
"Nay, nay!" said Agostino. "Between us two first;" and he grasped
Carlo's arm, saying in an underbreath, "Your last retort was too long-
winded. In these conflicts you must be quick, sharp as a rifle-crack
that hits echo on the breast-bone and makes her cry out. I correct a
student in the art of war." Then aloud: "My opera, young man!--well,
it's my libretto, and you know we writers always say 'my opera' when we
have put the pegs for the voice; you are certainly aware that we do. How
dare you to make calumnious observations upon my opera? Is it not the
ripe and admirable fruit of five years of confinement? Are not the lines
sharp, the stanzas solid? and the stuff, is it not good? Is not the
subject simple, pure from offence to sensitive authority,
constitutionally harmless? Reply!"
"It's transparent to any but asses," said Carlo.
"But if it has passed the censorship? You are guilty, my boy, of
bestowing upon those highly disciplined gentlemen who govern your famous
city--what title? I trust a prophetic one, since that it comes from an
animal whose custom is to turn its back before it delivers a blow, and
is, they remark, fonder of encountering dead lions than live ones.
Still, it is you who are indiscreet,--eminently so, I must add, if you
will look lofty. If my opera has passed the censorship! eh, what have
you to say?"
Carlo endured this banter till the end of it came.
"And you--you encourage her!" he cried wrathfully. "You know what the
danger is for her, if they once lay hands on her. They will have her in
Verona in four-and-twenty hours; through the gates of the Adige in a
couple of days, and at Spielberg, or some other of their infernal dens of
groans, within a week. Where is the chance of a rescue then? They
torture, too, they torture! It's a woman; and insult will be one mode of
torturing her. They can use rods--"
The excited Southern youth was about to cover his face, but caught back
his hands, clenching them.
"All this," said Agostino, "is an evasion, manifestly, of the question
concerning my opera, on which you have thought proper to cast a slur.
The phrase, 'transparent to any but asses,' may not be absolutely
objectionable, for transparency is, as the critics rightly insist,
meritorious in a composition. And, according to the other view, if we
desire our clever opponents to see nothing in something, it is notably
skilful to let them see through it. You perceive, my Carlo.
Transparency, then, deserves favourable comment. So, I do not complain
of your phrase, but I had the unfortunate privilege of hearing it
uttered. The method of delivery scarcely conveyed a compliment. Will
you apologize?"
Carlo burst from him with a vehement question to the Chief: "Is it
decided?"
"It is, my friend," was the reply.
"Decided! She is doomed! Signorina! what can you know of this frightful
risk? You are going to the slaughter. You will be seized before the
first verse is out of your lips, and once in their clutches, you will
never breathe free air again. It's madness!--ah, forgive me!--yes,
madness! For you shut your eyes; you rush into the trap blindfolded. And
that is how you serve our Italy! She sees you an instant, and you are
caught away;--and you who might serve her, if you would, do you think you
can move dungeon walls?"
"Perhaps, if I have been once seen, I shall not be forgotten," said the
signorina smoothly, and then cast her eyes down, as if she felt the
burden of a little possible accusation of vanity in this remark. She
raised them with fire.
"No; never!" exclaimed Carlo. "But, now you are ours. And--surely it is
not quite decided?"
He had spoken imploringly to the Chief. "Not irrevocably?" he added.
"Irrevocably!"
"Then she is lost!"
"For shame, Carlo Ammiani;" said old Agostino, casting his sententious
humours aside. "Do you not hear? It is decided! Do you wish to rob her
of her courage, and see her tremble? It's her scheme and mine: a case
where an old head approves a young one. The Chief says Yes! and you
bellow still! Is it a Milanese trick? Be silent."
"Be silent!" echoed Carlo. "Do you remember the beast Marschatska's
bet?" The allusion was to a black incident concerning a young Italian
ballet girl who had been carried off by an Austrian officer, under the
pretext of her complicity in one of the antecedent conspiracies.
"He rendered payment for it," said Agostino.
"He perished; yes! as we shake dust to the winds; but she!--it's
terrible! You place women in the front ranks--girls! What can
defenceless creatures do? Would you let the van-regiment in battle be
the one without weapons? It's slaughter. She's like a lamb to them.
You hold up your jewel to the enemy, and cry, 'Come and take it.' Think
of the insults! think of the rough hands, and foul mouths! She will be
seized on the boards--"
"Not if you keep your tongue from wagging," interposed Ugo Corte, fevered
by this unseasonable exhibition of what was to him manifestly a lover's
frenzied selfishness. He moved off, indifferent to Carlo's retort.
Marco Sana and Giulio Bandinelli were already talking aside with the
Chief.
"Signor Carlo, not a hand shall touch me," said the signorina. "And I am
not a lamb, though it is good of you to think me one. I passed through
the streets of Milan in the last rising. I was unharmed. You must have
some confidence in me."
"Signorina, there's the danger," rejoined Carlo. "You trust to your good
angels once, twice--the third time they fail you! What are you among a
host of armed savages? You would be tossed like weed on the sea. In
pity, do not look so scornfully! No, there is no unjust meaning in it;
but you despise me for seeing danger. Can nothing persuade you? And,
besides," he addressed the Chief, who alone betrayed no signs of
weariness; "listen, I beg of you. Milan wants no more than a signal.
She does not require to be excited. I came charged with several
proposals for giving the alarm. Attend, you others! The night of the
Fifteenth comes; it is passing like an ordinary night. At twelve a fire-
balloon is seen in the sky. Listen, in the name of saints and devils!"
But even the Chief was observed to show signs of amusement, and the
gravity of the rest forsook them altogether at the display of this
profound and original conspiratorial notion.
"Excellent! excellent! my Carlo," said old Agostino, cheerfully. "You
have thought. You must have thought, or whence such a conception? But,
you really mistake. It is not the garrison whom we desire to put on
their guard. By no means. We are not in the Imperial pay. Probably
your balloon is to burst in due time, and, wind permitting, disperse
printed papers all over the city?"
"What if it is?" cried Carlo fiercely.
"Exactly. I have divined your idea. You have thought, or, to correct
the tense, are thinking, which is more hopeful, though it may chance not
to seem so meritorious. But, if yours are the ideas of full-blown
jackets, bear in mind that our enemies are coated and breeched. It may
be creditable to you that your cunning is not the cunning of the serpent;
to us it would be more valuable if it were. Continue."
"Oh! there are a thousand ways." Carlo controlled himself with a sharp
screw of all his muscles. "I simply wish to save the signorina from an
annoyance."
"Very mildly put," Agostino murmured assentingly.
"In our Journal," said Carlo, holding out the palm of one hand to dot the
forefinger of the other across it, by way of personal illustration--"in
our Journal we might arrange for certain letters to recur at distinct
intervals in Roman capitals, which might spell out, 'This Night AT
Twelve,' or 'At Once.'"
"Quite as ingenious, but on the present occasion erring on the side of
intricacy. Aha! you want to increase the sale of your Journal, do you,
my boy? The rogue!"
With which, and a light slap over Carlo's shoulder, Agostino left him.
The aspect of his own futile proposals stared the young man in the face
too forcibly for him to nurse the spark of resentment which was struck
out in the turmoil of his bosom. He veered, as if to follow Agostino,
and remained midway, his chest heaving, and his eyelids shut.
"Signor Carlo, I have not thanked you." He heard Vittoria speak. "I
know that a woman should never attempt to do men's work. The Chief will
tell you that we must all serve now, and all do our best. If we fail,
and they put me to great indignity, I promise you that I will not live.
I would give this up to be done by anyone else who could do it better.
It is in my hands, and my friends must encourage me."
"Ah, signorina!" the young man sighed bitterly. The knowledge that he
had already betrayed himself in the presence of others too far, and the
sob in his throat labouring to escape, kept him still.
A warning call from Ugo Corte drew their attention. Close by the chalet
where the first climbers of the mountain had refreshed themselves, Beppo
was seen struggling to secure the arms of a man in a high-crowned green
Swiss hat, who was apparently disposed to give the signorina's faithful
servant some trouble. After gazing a minute at this singular contention,
she cried--
"It's the same who follows me everywhere!"
"And you will not believe you are suspected," murmured Carlo in her ear.
"A spy?" Sana queried, showing keen joy at the prospect of scotching such
a reptile on the lonely height. Corte went up to the Chief. They spoke
briefly together, making use of notes and tracings on paper. The Chief
then said "Adieu" to the signorina. It was explained to the rest by
Corte that he had a meeting to attend near Pella about noon, and must be
in Fobello before midnight. Thence his way would be to Genoa.
"So, you are resolved to give another trial to our crowned ex-Carbonaro,"
said Agostino.
"Without leaving him an initiative this time!" and the Chief embraced the
old man. "You know me upon that point. I cannot trust him. I do not.
But, if we make such a tide in Lombardy that his army must be drawn into
it, is such an army to be refused? First, the tide, my friend! See to
that."
"The king is our instrument!" cried Carlo Ammiani, brightening.
"Yes, if we were particularly well skilled in the use of that kind of
instrument," Agostino muttered.
He stood apart while the Chief said a few words to Carlo, which made the
blood play vividly across the visage of the youth. Carlo tried humbly to
expostulate once or twice. In the end his head was bowed, and he
signified a dumb acquiescence.
"Once more, good-bye." The Chief addressed the signorina in English.
She replied in the same tongue, "Good-bye," tremulously; and passion
mounting on it, added--"Oh! when shall I see you again?"
"When Rome is purified to be a fit place for such as you."
In another minute he was hidden on the slope of the mountain lying toward
Orta.