CHAPTER XXXI
EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR VITTORIA DISOBEYS HER LOVER
Countess d'Isorella's peculiar mission to Milan was over with thevictory of the city. She undertook personally to deliver Carlo'sinjunction to Vittoria on her way to the king. Countess Ammiani deemedit sufficient that her son's wishes should be repeated verbally; andas there appeared to be no better messenger than one who was bound forTurin and knew Vittoria's place of residence, she entrusted the duty toVioletta.
The much which hangs on little was then set in motion:
Violetta was crossing the Ticino when she met a Milanese nobleman whohad received cold greeting from the king, and was returning to Milanwith word that the Piedmontese declaration of war against Austria hadbeen signed. She went back to Milan, saw and heard, and gathereda burden for the royal ears. This was a woman, tender only to therecollection of past days, who used her beauty and her arts as weaponsfor influence. She liked kings because she saw neither master nor dupein a republic; she liked her early lover because she could see nothingbut a victim in any new one. She was fond of Carlo, as greatly occupiedminds may be attached to an old garden where they have aforetime sownfair seed. Jealousy of a rival in love that was disconnected withpolitical business and her large expenditure, had never yet disturbedthe lady's nerves.
At Turin she found Vittoria singing at the opera, and winning markedapplause from the royal box. She thought sincerely that to tear a primadonna from her glory would be very much like dismissing a successfulGeneral to his home and gabbling family. A most eminent personage agreedwith her. Vittoria was carelessly informed that Count Ammiani had goneto Brescia, and having regard for her safety, desired her to go to Milanto be under the protection of his mother, and that Countess Ammiani waswilling to receive her.
Now, with her mother, and her maid Giacinta, and Beppo gathered abouther, for three weeks Vittoria had been in full operatic career, working,winning fame, believing that she was winning influence, and establishinga treasury. The presence of her lover in Milan would have called herto the noble city; but he being at Brescia, she asked herself why sheshould abstain from labours which contributed materially to the strengthof the revolution and made her helpful. It was doubtful whether CountessAmmiani would permit her to sing at La Scala; or whether the city couldsupport an opera in the throes of war. And Vittoria was sending moneyto Milan. The stipend paid to her by the impresario, the jewels, thebig bouquets--all flowed into the treasury of the insurrection.Antonio-Pericles advanced her a large sum on the day when the news ofthe Milanese uprising reached Turin: the conditions of the loan hadsimply been that she should continue her engagement to sing in Turin.He was perfectly slavish to her, and might be trusted to advance more.Since the great night at La Scala, she had been often depressed by asecret feeling that there was divorce between her love of her countryand devotion to her Art. Now that both passions were in union, bothactive, each aiding the fire of the other, she lived a consummate life.She could not have abandoned her path instantly though Carlo hadspoken his command to her in person. Such were her first spontaneousseasonings, and Laura Piaveni seconded them; saying, "Money, money! wemust be Jews for money. We women are not allowed to fight, but we canmanage to contribute our lire and soldi; we can forge the sinews ofwar."
Vittoria wrote respectfully to Countess Ammiani stating why she declinedto leave Turin. The letter was poorly worded. While writing it she hadbeen taken by a sentiment of guilt and of isolation in presuming todisobey her lover. "I am glad he will not see it," she remarked toLaura, who looked rapidly across the lines, and said nothing. Praiseof the king was in the last sentence. Laura's eyes lingered on ithalf-a-minute.
"Has he not drawn his sword? He is going to march," said Vittoria.
"Oh, yes," Laura replied coolly; "but you put that to please CountessAmmiani."
Vittoria confessed she had not written it purposely to defend the king."What harm?" she asked.
"None. Only this playing with shades allows men to call us hypocrites."
The observation angered Vittoria. She had seen the king of late; she hadbreathed Turin incense and its atmosphere; much that could be pleadedon the king's behalf she had listened to with the sympathetic pity whichcan be woman's best judgement, and is the sentiment of reason. She hadalso brooded over the king's character, and had thought that if theChief could have her opportunities for studying this little impressible,yet strangely impulsive royal nature, his severe condemnation of himwould be tempered. In fact, she was doing what makes a woman excessivelytender and opinionated; she was petting her idea of the misunderstoodone: she was thinking that she divined the king's character by mysticalintuition; I will dare to say, maternally apprehended it. And it wasa character strangely open to feminine perceptions, while to masculinecomprehension it remained a dead blank, done either in black or inwhite.
Vittoria insisted on praising the king to Laura.
"With all my heart," Laura said, "so long as he is true to Italy."
"How, then, am I hypocritical?"
"My Sandra, you are certainly perverse. You admitted that you didsomething for the sake of pleasing Countess Ammiani."
"I did. But to be hypocritical one must be false."
"Oh!" went Laura.
"And I write to Carlo. He does not care for the king; therefore it isneedless for me to name the king to him; and I shall not."
Laura said, "Very well." She saw a little deeper than the perversity,though she did not see the springs. In Vittoria's letter to her lover,she made no allusion to the Sword of Italy.
Countess Ammiani forwarded both letters on to Brescia.
When Carlo had finished reading them, he heard all Brescia clamouringindignantly at the king for having disarmed volunteers on Lago Maggioreand elsewhere in his dominions. Milan was sending word by every post ofthe overbearing arrogance of the Piedmontese officers and officials, whoclaimed a prostrate submission from a city fresh with the ardour of theglory it had won for itself, and that would fain have welcomed them asbrothers. Romara and others wrote of downright visible betrayal. It wasa time of passions;--great readiness for generosity, equal promptitudefor undiscriminating hatred. Carlo read Vittoria's praise of the kingwith insufferable anguish. "You--you part of me, can write like this!"he struck the paper vehemently. The fury of action transformed thegentle youth. Countess Ammiani would not have forwarded the letteraddressed to herself had she dreamed the mischief it might do. Carlosaw double-dealing in the absence of any mention of the king in his ownletter.
"Quit Turin at once," he dashed hasty lines to Vittoria; "and no 'Viva il Re' till we know what he may merit. Old delusions are pardonable; but you must now look abroad with your eyes. Your words should be the echoes of my soul. Your acts are mine. For the sake of the country, do nothing to fill me with shame. The king is a traitor. I remember things said of him by Agostino; I subscribe to them every one. Were you like any other Italian girl, you might cry for him--who would care! But you are Vittoria. Fly to my mother's arms, and there rest. The king betrays us. Is a stronger word necessary? I am writing too harshly to you;--and here are the lines of your beloved letter throbbing round me while I write; but till the last shot is fired I try to be iron, and would hold your hand and not kiss it--not be mad to fall between your arms--not wish for you--not think of you as a woman, as my beloved, as my Vittoria; I hope and pray not, if I thought there was an ace of work left to do for the country. Or if one could say that you cherished a shred of loyalty for him who betrays it. Great heaven! am I to imagine that royal flatteries--My hand is not my own! You shall see all that it writes. I will seem to you no better than I am. I do not tell you to be a Republican, but an Italian. If I had room for myself in my prayers--oh! one half-instant to look on you, though with chains on my limbs. The sky and the solid ground break up when I think of you. I fancy I am still in prison. Angelo was music to me for two whole days (without a morning to the first and a night to the second). H
e will be here to-morrow and talk of you again. I long for him more than for battle--almost long for you more than for victory for our Italy.
"This is Brescia, which my father said he loved better than his wife.
"General Paolo Ammiani is buried here. I was at his tombstone this morning. I wish you had known him.
"You remember, we talked of his fencing with me daily. 'I love the fathers who do that.' You said it. He will love you. Death is the shadow--not life. I went to his tomb. It was more to think of Brescia than of him. Ashes are only ashes; tombs are poor places. My soul is the power.
"If I saw the Monte Viso this morning, I saw right over your head when you were sleeping.
"Farewell to journalism--I hope, for ever. I jump at shaking off the journalistic phraseology Agostino laughs at. Yet I was right in printing my 'young nonsense.' I did, hold the truth, and that was felt, though my vehicle for delivering it was rubbish.
"In two days Corte promises to sing his song, 'Avanti.' I am at his left hand. Venice, the passes of the Adige, the Adda, the Oglio are ours. The room is locked; we have only to exterminate the reptiles inside it. Romara, D'Arci, Carnischi march to hold the doors. Corte will push lower; and if I can get him to enter the plains and join the main army I shall rejoice."
The letter concluded with a postscript that half an Italian regiment,with white coats swinging on their bayonet-points, had just come in.
It reached Vittoria at a critical moment.
Two days previously, she and Laura Piaveni had talked with the king.It was an unexpected honour. Countess, d'Isorella conducted them tothe palace. The lean-headed sovereign sat booted and spurred, hissword across his knees; he spoke with a peculiar sad hopefulness of theprospects of the campaign, making it clear that he was risking more thananyone risked, for his stake was a crown. The few words he uttered ofItaly had a golden ring in them; Vittoria knew not why they had it. Hecondemned the Republican spirit of Milan more regretfully than severely.The Republicans were, he said, impracticable. Beyond the desire forchange, they knew not what they wanted. He did not state that he shouldavoid Milan in his march. On the contrary, he seemed to indicate that hewas about to present himself to the people of Milan. "To act against theenemy successfully, we must act as one, under one head, with one aim."He said this, adding that no heart in Italy had yearned more than hisown for the signal to march for the Mincio and the Adige.
Vittoria determined to put him to one test. She summoned her boldness tocrave grace for Agostino Balderini to return to Piedmont. The petitionwas immediately granted. Alluding to the libretto of Camilla, the kingcomplimented Vittoria for her high courage on the night of the Fifteenthof the foregoing year. "We in Turin were prepared, though we had onlythen the pleasure of hearing of you," he said.
"I strove to do my best to help. I wish to serve our cause now," shereplied, feeling an inexplicable new sweetness running in her blood.
He asked her if she did not know that she had the power to movemultitudes.
"Sire, singing appears so poor a thing in time of war."
He remarked that wine was good for soldiers, singing better, such avoice as hers best of all.
For hours after the interview, Vittoria struggled with her deep blushes.She heard the drums of the regiments, the clatter of horses, thebugle-call of assembly, as so many confirmatory notes that it was aroyal hero who was going forth.
"He stakes a crown," she said to Laura.
"Tusk! it tumbles off his head if he refuses to venture something," wasLaura's response.
Vittoria reproached her for injustice.
"No," Laura said; "he is like a young man for whom his mother has made amatch. And he would be very much in love with his bride if he were quitecertain of winning her, or rather, if she would come a little more thanhalfway to meet him. Some young men are so composed. Genoa and Turinsay, 'Go and try.' Milan and Venice say, 'Come and have faith in us.' Myopinion is that he is quite as much propelled as attracted."
"This is shameful," said Vittoria.
"No; for I am quite willing to suspend my judgement. I pray that fortunemay bless his arms. I do think that the stir of a campaign, and acertain amount of success will make him in earnest."
"Can you look on his face and not see pure enthusiasm?"
"I see every feminine quality in it, my dear."
"What can it be that he is wanting in?"
"Masculine ambition."
"I am not defending him," said Vittoria hastily.
"Not at all; and I am not attacking him. I can excuse his dread ofRepublicanism. I can fancy that there is reason for him just now tofear Republicanism worse than Austria. Paris and Milan are two grislyphantoms before him. These red spectres are born of earthquake, and aremore given to shaking thrones than are hostile cannonshot. Earthquakesare dreadfuller than common maladies to all of us. Fortune may helphim, but he has not the look of one who commands her. The face is notaquiline. There's a light over him like the ray of a sickly star."
"For that reason!" Vittoria burst out.
"Oh, for that reason we pity men, assuredly, my Sandra, but not kings.Luckless kings are not generous men, and ungenerous men are mischievouskings."
"But if you find him chivalrous and devoted; if he proves his nobleintentions, why not support him?"
"Dandle a puppet, by all means," said Laura.
Her intellect, not her heart, was harsh to the king; and her heart wasnot mistress of her intellect in this respect, because she beheld ridingforth at the head of Italy one whose spirit was too much after thepattern of her supple, springing, cowering, impressionable sex,alternately ardent and abject, chivalrous and treacherous, and not to beconfided in firmly when standing at the head of a great cause.
Aware that she was reading him very strictly by the letters of his pastdeeds, which were not plain history to Vittoria, she declared that shedid not countenance suspicion in dealing with the king, and thatit would be a delight to her to hear of his gallant bearing on thebattle-field. "Or to witness it, my Sandra, if that were possible;--wetwo! For, should he prove to be no General, he has the courage of hisfamily."
Vittoria took fire at this. "What hinders our following the army?"
"The less baggage the better, my dear."
"But the king said that my singing--I have no right to think it myself."Vittoria concluded her sentence with a comical intention of humility.
"It was a pretty compliment," said Laura. "You replied that singing isa poor thing in time of war, and I agree with you. We might serve ashospital nurses."
"Why do we not determine?"
"We are only considering possibilities."
"Consider the impossibility of our remaining quiet."
"Fire that goes to flame is a waste of heat, my Sandra."
The signora, however, was not so discreet as her speech. On all sidesthere was uproar and movement. High-born Italian ladies were offeringtheir hands for any serviceable work. Laura and Vittoria were not alonein the desire which was growing to be resolution to share the hardshipsof the soldiers, to cherish and encourage them, and by seeing, to havethe supreme joy of feeling the blows struck at the common enemy.
The opera closed when the king marched. Carlo Ammiani's letter washanded to Vittoria at the fall of the curtain on the last night.
Three paths were open to her: either that she should obey her lover,or earn an immense sum of money from Antonio-Pericles by accepting animmediate engagement in London, or go to the war. To sit in submissiveobedience seemed unreasonable; to fly from Italy impossible. Yet thelatter alternative appealed strongly to her sense of duty, and as itthereby threw her lover's commands into the background, she left itto her heart to struggle with Carlo, and thought over the two finalpropositions. The idea of being apart from Italy while the livingcountry streamed forth to battle struck her inflamed spirit like theshock of a pause in martial music. Laura pretended to take no partin Vittoria's decision, but when it was reached, she showe
d hera travelling-carriage stocked with lint and linen, wine in jars,chocolate, cases of brandy, tea, coffee, needles, thread, twine,scissors, knives; saying, as she displayed them, "there, my dear, all mymoney has gone in that equipment, so you must pay on the road."
"This doesn't leave me a choice, then," said Victoria, joining herhumour.
"Ah, but think over it," Laura suggested.
"No! not think at all," cried Vittoria.
"You do not fear Carlo's anger?"
"If I think, I am weak as water. Let us go."
Countess d'Isorella wrote to Carlo: "Your Vittoria is away after theking to Pavia. They tell me she stood up in her carriage on the Pontedel Po-'Viva il Re d'Italia!' waving the cross of Savoy. As I havepreviously assured you, no woman is Republican. The demonstration wasa mistake. Public characters should not let their personal preferencesbetrumpeted: a diplomatic truism:--but I must add, least of all acantatrice for a king. The famous Greek amateur--the prop of failingfinances--is after her to arrest her for breach of engagement. Youwished to discover an independent mind in a woman, my Carlo; did younot? One would suppose her your wife--or widow. She looked a superbthing the last night she sang. She is not, in my opinion, wanting inheight. If, behind all that innocence and candour, she has any trainedartfulness, she will beat us all. Heaven bless your arms!"
The demonstration mentioned by the countess had not occurred.
Vittoria's letter to her lover missed him. She wrote from Pavia, aftershe had taken her decisive step.
Carlo Ammiani went into the business of the war with the belief that hisbetrothed had despised his prayer to her.
He was under Colonel Corte, operating on the sub-Alpine range of hillsalong the line of the Chiese South-eastward. Here the volunteers, formedof the best blood of Milan, the gay and brave young men, after marchingin the pride of their strength to hold the Alpine passes and bar Austriafrom Italy while the fight went on below, were struck by a suddenparalysis. They hung aloft there like an arm cleft from the body.Weapons, clothes, provisions, money, the implements of war, werewithheld from them. The Piedmontese officers despatched to watch theirproceedings laughed at them like exasperating senior scholars examiningthe accomplishments of a lower form. It was manifest that Count Medoleand the Government of Milan worked everywhere to conquer the people forthe king before the king had done a stroke to conquer the Austriansfor the people; while, in order to reduce them to the condition ofPiedmontese soldiery, the flame of their patriotic enthusiasm wassystematically damped, and instead of apprentices in war, who possessedat any rate the elementary stuff of soldiers, miserable dummies weredrafted into the royal service. The Tuscans and the Romans had goodreason to complain on behalf of their princes, as had the Venetians andthe Lombards for the cause of their Republic. Neither Tuscans, Romans,Venetians, nor Lombards were offering up their lives simply to obtain achange of rulers; though all Italy was ready to bow in allegiance to aking of proved kingly quality. Early in the campaign the cry of treasonwas muttered, and on all sides such became the temper of the Alpinevolunteers, that Angelo and Rinaldo Guidascarpi were forced to jointheir cousin under Corte, by the dispersion of their band, amounting tosomething more than eighteen hundred fighting lads, whom a Piedmontesesuperior officer summoned peremptorily to shout for the king. Theythundered as one voice for the Italian Republic, and instantly broke upand disbanded. This was the folly of the young: Carlo Ammiani confessedthat it was no better; but he knew that a breath of generous confidencefrom the self-appointed champion of the national cause would havesubdued his impatience at royalty and given heart and cheer to hissickening comrades. He began to frown angrily when he thought ofVittoria. "Where is she now?--where now?" he asked himself in the seasonof his most violent wrath at the king. Her conduct grew inseparable inhis mind from the king's deeds. The sufferings, the fierce irony, thevery deaths of the men surrounding him in aims, rose up in accusationagainst the woman he loved.