FORWARD!
In the streets of Milan the battle raged. The Italians resembled lions
in courage, and soon one bulwark after another fell into their hands.
The ladies of the aristocracy were busy in the Casa Borromeo melting
lead and making cannon-balls. All the druggists and chemists
manufactured powder and gun-cotton, and the gunsmiths gave up their
stocks of firearms.
In spite of the brave resistance of the Austrians, the Borletto Palace
had been conquered again by the patriots. Radetzky demanded an
armistice, but his proposition was declined. The enemy were not allowed
time to collect themselves.
One barrack after the other was captured, and then the great mass of the
patriots turned toward the Casa Santa Margarita, where the _elite_ of
the artillery had taken up a position, and a bitter struggle ensued. The
battle raged indecisively for a long time, when suddenly a bright flame
issued from the gate. A patriot, Pasquale Sottocorni, had stealthily
reached the palace and set it on fire. He was the first victim of his
heroic deed, and died with the cry on his lips:
"Long live Italy!"
But his boldness helped the patriots materially. The escaping soldiers
were taken prisoners, and the ranks of the people were recruited in
numbers. The Poliziotti barracks still remained to be captured. The
Poliziotti was intensely hated in Milan because it was mainly filled
with renegades--Italians who sold themselves to Radetzky.
While the fight was going on about the building, Bartolomeo and the
corporal were sitting in a room playing cards. The major permitted his
pupil to win and lose at times. Every minute he gained was precious to
him, and the corporal did not dream of shooting his teacher while they
were playing _ecarte_.
From time to time a soldier put his head in the room to ask when the
execution was going to take place.
Every time he did so he was told to be off.
The corporal had just finished dealing the cards, when the soldier again
appeared.
"Corporal," he said, breathlessly, "the Poliziotti are giving way, the
Croatians are decimated--shall we go to their rescue?"
"Bah! we are only a handful," growled the corporal. "Let us await the
result."
The door closed behind the soldier. Bartolomeo now sprang up, took the
sword and gun from the drunken corporal, and cried in his ear:
"Obey my order, or you are a dead man!"
"What--should--I--do?" stammered the corporal, partly sobered.
"Hoist the white flag--quick!"
"But I--have--no--authority--here!"
"Who cares?" exclaimed Bartolomeo, "give the order--the people will be
needlessly sacrificed--are you going now?"
The corporal still hesitated, but just then a police sergeant ran in and
cried:
"Corporal--let your men get shot--the scoundrels refuse to fight!"
Bartolomeo had placed himself behind the corporal; the muzzle of the gun
lay against his knee, and this fact made the Austrian obedient.
"My people are right," he said, gruffly; "I have given the order to
hoist the white flag."
"The white flag? What for?"
"Special order from the marshal," replied the corporal.
"Which reached you?" asked the sergeant, distrustfully.
"Yes; do not consider any longer!" thundered Bartolomeo, coming forward:
"I have brought the order myself."
The sergeant saw the Austrian uniform; he disappeared hurriedly, and
Bartolomeo called after him:
"God help you if the flag is not hoisted before two minutes have
passed."
Suddenly the firing ceased, a loud noise was heard. The Italians saluted
the white flag--the signal of peace.
In the barracks itself loud curses were heard--Count San Pietro had
discovered that the white flag had been hoisted, and was heaping insults
upon the officers. No one admitted having given the order. Benedetto,
though, did not look kindly upon the proposition of an old colonel to
have the flag removed. With a diabolical smile he said:
"If the patriots have any confidence in the flag then it's their own
fault. Follow my commands punctually, and I will forget your stupidity."
A few minutes later a terrible crash was heard, followed by a loud cry.
From all the windows the bullets flew; the cannons threw death and
destruction into the ranks of the trusting patriots.
The confusion only lasted a moment.
"Surround the rat-hole! Not a single one must escape--down with the
poliziotti!" exclaimed the Italians, wildly.
In firm columns they advanced against the barracks, and then they
paused. Suppose treachery was in store for them?
The patriots now retreated to the right and left, to make room for two
persons: a white-haired old man and a handsome dark-featured boy. The
old man turned to the Italians, and said in a loud voice:
"Friends and brothers! The barracks of San Francisco, San Vittore and
the military hospital are in our possession. Radetzky's palace has been
stormed, and the marshal's baton has fallen into the hands of the
conquerors. Forward, with God! We two, an old man and a weak child, will
show you the way!"
Proudly erect, the old man strode toward the door, and Spero walked
hurriedly behind him, and a fanatical, enthusiastic crowd followed.
On the threshold stood an Austrian officer. He lifted his gun, and
triumphantly exclaimed:
"Ha, Monte-Cristo--to-day I shall strike you through the heart! Curses
on you and your race!"
The gun directed against Spero's breast went off. When the smoke had
cleared away, the boy stood there unharmed, while a man tumbled down at
his feet. It was Bartolomeo! Taking advantage of the confusion, he ran
away and came just in the nick of time to receive Benedetto's murderous
bullet in his breast.
A quarter of an hour later Aslitta appeared accompanied by Monte-Cristo
and La Luciola. He was still pale and exhausted, but he swung his sword
and joyfully exclaimed: "Radetzky has fled. The citadel has
surrendered."
The Italians embraced each other. Their dream was realized. Milan was
free.
"Papa," whispered Spero, "come with me. There is a man lying over there
who sacrificed himself for me."
Monte-Cristo bent over the major, whose pale face lighted up joyfully
when he saw the count.
"Let me see the wound," said Monte-Cristo. "Who knows but--"
"Unnecessary," whispered Bartolomeo; "my adopted son
understands--how--to--aim!"
"Ha! then it was Benedetto!" exclaimed the count.
"His bullet was intended for me," said Spero. "He said he wished to
strike you through the heart."
"The monster!" said Monte-Cristo, and turning to Bartolomeo, he added:
"and how shall I thank you?"
"Ah!--that--does good," stammered Bartolomeo. "Count--care for--Aurora.
Ah!--I am dying. Your hand--farewell--child. Italy--is--free!"
The major stretched himself out and his eyes became glassy.
Spero sobbed bitterly, and the count whispered:
"May the earth be light to you. If you have sinned, your love for your
country has made atonement!"
One hour later the count, Haydee and Spero bade adieu to Aslitta and
Luciola in the Café Vidiserti.
"Farewell, marquis," said the count, throwing a knowing glance at
Aslitta, who held the diva in his arms.
Aslitta nodded.
"To-day Luciola will be my bride," he gently said.
"Why do you wish to leave us?" exclaimed Luciola, sobbing.
"Because others need me. Come, Haydee, Mercedes is waiting."