FIRST HOURS OF THE FLIGHT
Vittoria slept on like an outworn child, while Giacinta nodded over her,
and started, and wondered what embowelled mountain they might be passing
through, so cold was the air and thick the darkness; and wondered
more at the old face of dawn, which appeared to know nothing of her
agitation. But morning was better than night, and she ceased counting
over her sins forward and backward; adding comments on them, excusing
some and admitting the turpitude of others, with 'Oh! I was naughty,
padre mio! I was naughty--she huddled them all into one of memory's
spare sacks, and tied the neck of it, that they should keep safe for her
father-confessor. At such times, after a tumult of the blood, women have
tender delight in one another's beauty. Giacinta doted on the marble
cheek, upturned on her lap, with the black unbound locks slipping across
it; the braid of the coronal of hair loosening; the chance flitting
movement of the pearly little dimple that lay at the edge of the bow of
the joined lips, like the cradling hollow of a dream. At whiles it would
twitch; yet the dear eyelids continued sealed.
Looking at shut eyelids when you love the eyes beneath, is more or less
a teazing mystery that draws down your mouth to kiss them. Their lashes
seem to answer you in some way with infantine provocation; and fine
eyelashes upon a face bent sideways, suggest a kind of internal smiling.
Giacinta looked till she could bear it no longer; she kissed the cheek,
and crooned over it, gladdened by a sense of jealous possession when she
thought of the adored thing her mistress had been overnight. One of her
hugs awoke Vittoria, who said, 'Shut my window, mother,' and slept
again fast. Giacinta saw that they were nearer to the mountains.
Mountain-shadows were thrown out, and long lank shadows of cypresses
that climbed up reddish-yellow undulations, told of the sun coming.
The sun threw a blaze of light into the carriage. He shone like a good
friend, and helped Giacinta think, as she had already been disposed to
imagine, that the machinery by which they had been caught out of Milan
was amicable magic after all, and not to be screamed at. The sound
medicine of sleep and sunlight was restoring livelier colour to her
mistress. Giacinta hushed her now, but Vittoria's eyes opened, and
settled on her, full of repose.
'What are you thinking about?' she asked.
'Signorina, my own, I was thinking whether those people I see on the
hill-sides are as fond of coffee as I am.'
Vittoria sat up and tumbled questions out headlong, pressing her eyes
and gathering her senses; she shook with a few convulsions, but shed no
tears. It was rather the discomfort of their position than any vestige
of alarm which prompted Giacinta to project her head and interrogate
the coachman and chasseur. She drew back, saying, 'Holy Virgin! they are
Germans. We are to stop in half-an-hour.' With that she put her hands to
use in arranging and smoothing Vittoria's hair and dress--the dress of
Camilla--of which triumphant heroine Vittoria felt herself an odd little
ghost now. She changed her seat that she might look back on Milan. A
letter was spied fastened with a pin to one of the cushions. She opened
it, and read in pencil writing:
'Go quietly. You have done all that you could do for good or for ill.
The carriage will take you to a safe place, where you will soon see your
friends and hear the news. Wait till you reach Meran. You will see
a friend from England. Avoid the lion's jaw a second time. Here you
compromise everybody. Submit, or your friends will take you for a mad
girl. Be satisfied. It is an Austrian who rescues you. Think yourself
no longer appointed to put match to powder. Drown yourself if a second
frenzy comes. I feel I could still love your body if the obstinate soul
were out of it. You know who it is that writes. I might sign “Michiella”
to this: I have a sympathy with her anger at the provoking Camilla.
Addio! From La Scala.'
The lines read as if Laura were uttering them. Wrapping her cloak across
the silken opera garb, Vittoria leaned back passively until the carriage
stopped at a village inn, where Giacinta made speedy arrangements to
satisfy as far as possible her mistress's queer predilection for bathing
her whole person daily in cold water. The household service of the inn
recovered from the effort to assist her sufficiently to produce hot
coffee and sweet bread, and new green-streaked stracchino, the cheese of
the district, which was the morning meal of the fugitives. Giacinta, who
had never been so thirsty in her life, became intemperately refreshed,
and was seized by the fatal desire to do something: to do what she could
not tell; but chancing to see that her mistress had silken slippers on
her feet, she protested loudly that stouter foot-gear should be obtained
for her, and ran out to circulate inquiries concerning a shoemaker who
might have a pair of country overshoes for sale. She returned to say
that the coachman and his comrade, the German chasseur, were drinking
and watering their horses, and were not going to start until after a
rest of two hours, and that she proposed to walk to a small Bergamasc
town within a couple of miles of the village, where the shoes could be
obtained, and perhaps a stuff to replace the silken dress. Receiving
consent, Giacinta whispered, 'A man outside wishes to speak to you,
signorina. Don't be frightened. He pounced on me at the end of the
village, and had as little breath to speak as a boy in love. He was
behind us all last night on the carriage. He mentioned you by name. He
is quite commonly dressed, but he's a gallant gentleman, and exactly
like our Signor Carlo. My dearest lady, he'll be company for you while I
am absent. May I beckon him to come into the room?'
Vittoria supposed at once that this was a smoothing of the way for
the entrance of her lover and her joy. She stood up, letting all her
strength go that he might the more justly take her and cherish her. But
it was not Carlo who entered. So dead fell her broken hope that her face
was repellent with the effort she made to support herself. He said, 'I
address the Signorina Vittoria. I am a relative of Countess Ammiani. My
name is Angelo Guidascarpi. Last night I was evading the sbirri in this
disguise by the private door of La Scala, from which I expected Carlo to
come forth. I saw him seized in mistake for me. I jumped up on the
empty box-seat behind your carriage. Before we entered the village I let
myself down. If I am seen and recognized, I am lost, and great evil will
befall Countess Ammiani and her son; but if they are unable to confront
Carlo and me, my escape ensures his safety!
'What can I do?' said Vittoria.
He replied, 'Shall I answer you by telling you what I have done?'
'You need not, signore!
'Enough that I want to keep a sword fresh for my country. I am at your
mercy, signorina; and I am without anxiety. I heard the chasseur saying
at the door of La Scala that he had the night-pass for the city gates
and orders for the Tyrol. Once in Tyrol I leap into Switzerland. I
should have remained in Milan, but nothing will be done there yet, and
quiet cities are not homes for me.'
Vittoria began to admit the existence of his likeness to her lover,
though it seemed to her a guilty weakness that she should see it.
'Will nothing be done in Milan?' was her first eager question.
'Nothing, signorina, or I should be there, and safe!'
'What, signore, do you require me to help you in?'
'Say that I am your servant.'
'And take you with me?'
'Such is my petition.'
'Is the case very urgent?'
'Hardly more, as regards myself, than a sword lost to Italy if I am
discovered. But, signorina, from what Countess Ammiani has told me,
I believe that you will some day be my relative likewise. Therefore I
appeal not only to a charitable lady, but to one of my own family.'
Vittoria reddened. 'All that I can do I will do.'
Angelo had to assure her that Carlo's release was certain the moment his
identity was established. She breathed gladly, saying, 'I wonder at it
all very much. I do not know where they are carrying me, but I think I
am in friendly hands. I owe you a duty. You will permit me to call you
Beppo till our journey ends.'
They were attracted to the windows by a noise of a horseman drawing rein
under it, whose imperious shout for the innkeeper betrayed the soldier's
habit of exacting prompt obedience from civilians, though there was no
military character in his attire. The innkeeper and his wife came out
to the summons, and then both made way for the chasseur in attendance on
Vittoria. With this man the cavalier conversed.
'Have you had food?' said Vittoria. 'I have some money that will serve
for both of us three days. Go, and eat and drink. Pay for us both.'
She gave him her purse. He received it with a grave servitorial bow, and
retired.
Soon after the chasseur brought up a message. Herr Johannes requested
that he might have the honour of presenting his homage to her: it was
imperative that he should see her. She nodded. Her first glance at Herr
Johannes assured her of his being one of the officers whom she had seen
on the stage last night, and she prepared to act her part. Herr Johannes
desired her to recall to mind his introduction to her by the Signor
Antonio-Pericles at the house of the maestro Rocco Ricci. 'It is true;
pardon me,' said Vittoria.
He informed her that she had surpassed herself at the opera; so much
so that he and many other Germans had been completely conquered by her.
Hearing, he said, that she was to be pursued, he took horse and galloped
all night on the road toward Schloss Sonnenberg, whither, as it had been
whispered to him, she was flying, in order to counsel her to lie 'perdu'
for a short space, and subsequently to conduct her to the schloss of
the amiable duchess. Vittoria thanked him, but stated humbly that she
preferred to travel alone. He declared that it was impossible: that she
was precious to the world of Art, and must on no account be allowed
to run into peril. Vittoria tried to assert her will; she found it
unstrung. She thought besides that this disguised officer, with the
ill-looking eyes running into one, might easily, since he had heard her,
be a devotee of her voice; and it flattered her yet more to imagine him
as a capture from the enemy--a vanquished subservient Austrian. She had
seen him come on horseback; he had evidently followed her; and he knew
what she now understood must be her destination.
Moreover, Laura had underlined 'it is an Austrian who rescues you.' This
man perchance was the Austrian. His precise manner of speech demanded an
extreme repugnance, if it was to be resisted; Vittoria's reliance upon
her own natural fortitude was much too secure for her to encourage the
physical revulsions which certain hard faces of men create in the hearts
of young women.
'Was all quiet in Milan?' she asked.
'Quiet as a pillow,' he said.
'And will continue to be?'
'Not a doubt of it.'
'Why is there not a doubt of it, signore?'
'You beat us Germans on one field. On the other you have no chance. But
you must lose no time. The Croats are on your track. I have ordered out
the carriage.'
The mention of the Croats struck her fugitive senses with a panic.
'I must wait for my maid,' she said, attempting to deliberate.
'Ha! you have a maid: of course you have! Where is your maid?'
'She ought to have returned by this time. If not, she is on the road.'
'On the road? Good; we will pick up the maid on the road. We have not a
minute to spare. Lady, I am your obsequious servant. Hasten out, I beg
of you. I was taught at my school that minutes are not to be wasted.
Those Croats have been drinking and what not on the way, or they would
have been here before this. You can't rely on Italian innkeepers to
conceal you.'
'Signore, are you a man of honour?'
'Illustrious lady, I am.'
She listened simply to the response without giving heed to the
prodigality of gesture. The necessity for flight now that Milan was
announced as lying quiet, had become her sole thought. Angelo was
standing by the carriage.
'What man is this?' said Herr Johannes, frowning.
'He is my servant,' said Vittoria.
'My dear good lady, you told me your servant was a maid. This will never
do. We can't have him.'
'Excuse me, signore, I never travel without him.'
'Travel! This is not a case of travelling, but running; and when you
run, if you are in earnest about it, you must fling away your baggage
and arms.'
Herr Johannes tossed out his moustache to right and left, and stamped
his foot. He insisted that the man should be left behind.
'Off, sir! back to Milan, or elsewhere,' he cried.
'Beppo, mount on the box,' said Vittoria.
Her command was instantly obeyed. Herr Johannes looked her in the face.
'You are very decided, my dear lady.' He seemed to have lost his
own decision, but handing Vittoria in, he drew a long cigar from his
breastpocket, lit it, and mounted beside the coachman. The chasseur had
disappeared.
Vittoria entreated that a general look-out should be kept for Giacinta.
The road was straight up an ascent, and she had no fear that her maid
would not be seen. Presently there was a view of the violet domes of a
city. 'Is it Bergamo?--is it Brescia?' she longed to ask, thinking of
her Bergamasc and Brescian friends, and of those two places famous for
the bravery of their sons: one being especially dear to her, as the
birthplace of a genius of melody, whose blood was in her veins. 'Did
he look on these mulberry trees?--did he look on these green-grassed
valleys?--did he hear these falling waters?' she asked herself, and
closed her spirit with reverential thoughts of him and with his music.
She saw sadly that they were turning from the city. A little ball of
paper was shot into her lap. She opened it and read: 'An officer of the
cavalry.--Beppo.' She put her hand out of the window to signify that
she was awake to the situation. Her anxiety, however, began to fret. No
sight of Giacinta was to be had in any direction. Her mistress commenced
chiding the absent garrulous creature, and did so until she pitied her,
when she accused herself of cowardice, for she was incapable of calling
out to the coachman to stop. The rapid motion subdued such energy as
remained to her, and she willingly allowed her hurried feelings to rest
on the faces of rocks impending over long ravines, and of perched
old castles and white villas and sub-Alpine herds. She burst from the
fascination as from a dream, but only to fall into it again, reproaching
her weakness, and saying, 'What a thing am I!' When she did make her
voice heard by Herr Johannes and the coachman, she was nervous and
ashamed, and met the equivocating pacification of the reply with an
assent half-way, though she was far from comprehending the consolation
she supposed that it was meant to convey. She put out her hand to
communicate with Beppo. Another ball of pencilled writing answered to
it. She read: 'Keep watch on this Austrian. Your maid is two hours
in the rear. Refuse to be separated from me. My life is at your
service.--Beppo.'
Vittoria made her final effort to get a resolve of some sort; ending it
with a compassionate exclamation over poor Giacinta. The girl could soon
find her way back to Milan. On the other hand, the farther from Milan,
the less the danger to Carlo's relative, in whom she now perceived a
stronger likeness to her lover. She sank back in the carriage and closed
her eyes. Though she smiled at the vanity of forcing sleep in this way,
sleep came. Her healthy frame seized its natural medicine to rebuild her
after the fever of recent days.
She slept till the rocks were purple, and rose-purple mists were in
the valleys. The stopping of the carriage aroused her. They were at the
threshold of a large wayside hostelry, fronting a slope of forest and a
plunging brook. Whitecoats in all attitudes leaned about the door; she
beheld the inner court full of them. Herr Johannes was ready to hand her
to the ground. He said: 'You have nothing to fear. These fellows are on
the march to Cremona. Perhaps it will be better if you are served up in
your chamber. You will be called early in the morning.'
She thanked him, and felt grateful. 'Beppo, look to yourself,' she said,
and ran to her retirement.
'I fancy that 's about all that you are fit for,' Herr Johannes
remarked, with his eyes on the impersonator of Beppo, who bore the
scrutiny carelessly, and after seeing that Vittoria had left nothing
on the carriage-seats, directed his steps to the kitchen, as became his
functions. Herr Johannes beckoned to a Tyrolese maid-servant, of whom
Beppo had asked his way. She gave her name as Katchen.
'Katchen, Katchen, my sweet chuck,' said Herr Johannes, 'here are ten
florins for you, in silver, if you will get me the handkerchief of that
man: you have just stretched your finger out for him.'
According to the common Austrian reckoning of them, Herr Johannes had
adopted the right method for ensuring the devotion of the maidens of
Tyrol. She responded with an amazed gulp of her mouth and a grimace of
acquiescence. Ten florins in silver shortened the migratory term of the
mountain girl by full three months. Herr Johannes asked her the hour
when the officers in command had supper, and deferred his own meal till
that time. Katchen set about earning her money. With any common Beppo it
would have been easy enough--simple barter for a harmless kiss. But this
Beppo appeared inaccessible; he was so courtly and so reserved; nor is
a maiden of Tyrol a particularly skilled seductress. The supper of the
officers was smoking on the table when Herr Johannes presented himself
among them, and very soon the inn was shaken with an uproar of greeting.
Katchen found Beppo listening at the door of the salle. She clapped her
hands upon him to drag him away.
'What right have you to be leaning your head there?' she said, and
threatened to make his proceedings known. Beppo had no jewel to give,
little money to spare. He had just heard Herr Johannes welcomed among
the officers by a name that half paralyzed him. 'You shall have anything
you ask of me if you will find me out in a couple of hours,' he
said. Katchen nodded truce for that period, and saw her home in the
Oberinnthal still nearer--twelve mountain goats and a cow her undisputed
property. She found him out, though he had strayed through the court
of the inn, and down a hanging garden to the borders of a torrent
that drenched the air and sounded awfully in the dark ravine below. He
embraced her very mildly. 'One scream and you go,' he said; she felt the
saving hold of her feet plucked from her, with all the sinking horror,
and bit her under lip, as if keeping in the scream with bare stitches.
When he released her she was perfectly mastered. 'You do play tricks,'
she said, and quaked.
'I play no tricks. Tell me at what hour these soldiers march.'
'At two in the morning.'
'Don't be afraid, silly child: you're safe if you obey me. At what time
has our carriage been ordered?'
'At four.'
'Now swear to do this:--rouse my mistress at a quarter past two: bring
her down to me.'
'Yes, yes,' said Kitchen, eagerly: 'give me your handkerchief, and she
will follow me. I do swear; that I do; by big St. Christopher! who's
painted on the walls of our house at home.'
Beppo handed her sweet silver, which played a lively tune for her
temporarily--vanished cow and goats. Peering at her features in the
starlight, he let her take the handkerchief from his pocket.
'Oh! what have you got in there?' she said.
He laid his finger across her mouth, bidding her return to the house.
'Dear heaven!' Katchen went in murmuring; 'would I have gone out to that
soft-looking young man if I had known he was a devil.'
Angelo Guidascarpi was aware that an officer without responsibility
never sleeps faster than when his brothers-in-arms have to be obedient
to the reveillee. At two in the morning the bugle rang out: many lighted
cigars were flashing among the dark passages of the inn; the whitecoats
were disposed in marching order; hot coffee was hastily swallowed; the
last stragglers from the stables, the outhouses, the court, and the
straw beds under roofs of rock, had gathered to the main body. The march
set forward. A pair of officers sent a shout up to the drowsy windows,
'Good luck to you, Weisspriess!' Angelo descended from the concealment
of the opposite trees, where he had stationed himself to watch the
departure. The inn was like a sleeper who has turned over. He made
Katchen bring him bread and slices of meat and a flask of wine, which
things found a place in his pockets: and paying for his mistress and
himself, he awaited Vittoria's foot on the stairs. When Vittoria came
she asked no questions, but said to Katchen, 'You may kiss me';
and Kitchen began crying; she believed that they were lovers daring
everything for love.
'You have a clear start of an hour and a half. Leave the high-road then,
and turn left through the forest and ask for Bormio. If you reach Tyrol,
and come to Silz, tell people that you know Katchen Giesslinger, and
they will be kind to you.'
So saying, she let them out into the black-eyed starlight.