CHAPTER XXXVII
ON LAGO MAGGIORE
Carlo's hours were passed chiefly across the lake, in the Piedmontesevalleys. When at Pallanza he was restless, and he shunned the two orthree minutes of privacy with his betrothed which the rigorous Italianlaws besetting courtship might have allowed him to take. He hadperpetually the look of a man starting from wine. It was evident that heand Countess d'Isorella continued to hold close communication, for shecame regularly to the villa to meet him. On these occasions CountessAmmiani accorded her one ceremonious interview, and straightway lockedherself in her room. Violetta's grace of ease and vivacity soared toohigh to be subject to any hostile judgement of her character. She seemedto rely entirely on the force of her beauty, and to care little forthose who did not acknowledge it. She accepted public compliments quiteroyally, nor was Agostino backward in offering them. "And you havea voice, you know," he sometimes said aside to Vittoria; but she hadforgotten how easily she could swallow great praise of her voice; shehad almost forgotten her voice. Her delight was to hang her head aboveinverted mountains in the lake, and dream that she was just somethingbetter than the poorest of human creatures. She could not avoid puttingher mind in competition with this brilliant woman's, and feelingeclipsed; and her weakness became pitiable. But Countess d'Isorellamentioned once that Pericles was at the Villa Ricciardi, projectingmagnificent operatic entertainments. The reviving of a passion to singpossessed Vittoria like a thirst for freedom, and instantly confused allthe reflected images within her, as the fury of a sudden wind from thehigh Alps scourges the glassy surface of the lake. She begged CountessAmmiani's permission that she might propose to Pericles to sing in hisprivate operatic company, in any part, at the shortest notice.
"You wish to leave me?" said the countess, and resolutely conceived it.
Speaking to her son on this subject, she thought it necessary to makesome excuse for a singer's instinct, who really did not live save on thestage. It amused Carlo; he knew when his mother was really angry withpersons she tried to shield from the anger of others; and her not seeingthe wrong on his side in his behaviour to his betrothed was laughable.Nevertheless she had divined the case more correctly than he: thelover was hurt. After what he had endured, he supposed, with all hisforgiveness, that he had an illimitable claim upon his bride's patience.He told his another to speak to her openly.
"Why not you, my Carlo?" said the countess.
"Because, mother, if I speak to her, I shall end by throwing out my armsand calling for the priest."
"I would clap hands to that."
"We will see; it may be soon or late, but it can't be now."
"How much am I to tell her, Carlo?"
"Enough to keep her from fretting."
The countess then asked herself how much she knew. Her habit ofreceiving her son's word and will as supreme kept her ignorant ofanything beyond the outline of his plans; and being told to speak openlyof them to another, she discovered that her acquiescing imaginationsupplied the chief part of her knowledge. She was ashamed also to haveit thought, even by Carlo, that she had not gathered every detail of hisoccupation, so that she could not argue against him, and had to submitto see her dearest wishes lightly swept aside.
"I beg you to tell me what you think of Countess d'Isorella; not theafterthought," she said to Vittoria.
"She is beautiful, dear Countess Ammiani."
"Call me mother now and then. Yes; she is beautiful. She has a badname."
"Envy must have given it, I think."
"Of course she provokes envy. But I say that her name is bad, as envycould not make it. She is a woman who goes on missions, and carriesa husband into society like a passport. You have only thought of herbeauty?"
"I can see nothing else," said Vittoria, whose torture at the sight ofthe beauty was appeased by her disingenuous pleading on its behalf.
"In my time Beauty was a sinner," the countess resumed. "My confessorhas filled my ears with warnings that it is a net to the soul, a weaponfor devils. May the saints of Paradise make bare the beauty of thiswoman. She has persuaded Carlo that she is serving the country. You havelet him lie here alone in a fruitless bed, silly girl. He stayed for youwhile his comrades called him to Vercelli, where they are assembled.The man whom he salutes as his Chief gave him word to go there. Theyare bound for Rome. Ah me! Rome is a great name, but Lombardy is Carlo'snatal home, and Lombardy bleeds. You were absent--how long you wereabsent! If you could know the heaviness of those days of his waiting foryou. And it was I who kept him here! I must have omitted a prayer, forhe would have been at Vercelli now with Luciano and Emilio, and youmight have gone to him; but he met this woman, who has convinced himthat Piedmont will make a Winter march, and that his marriage must bedelayed." The countess raised her face and drooped her hands from thewrists, exclaiming, "If I have lately omitted one prayer, enlighten me,blessed heaven! I am blind; I cannot see for my son; I am quite blind. Ido not love the woman; therefore I doubt myself. You, my daughter, tellme your thought of her, tell me what you think. Young eyes observe;young heads are sometimes shrewd in guessing."
Vittoria said, after a pause, "I will believe her to be true, if shesupports the king." It was hardly truthful speaking on her part.
"How can Carlo have been persuaded!" the countess sighed.
"By me?" Victoria asked herself, and for a moment she was exulting.
She spoke from that emotion when it had ceased to animate her.
"Carlo was angry with the king. He echoed Agostino, but Agostino doesnot sting as he did, and Carlo cannot avoid seeing what the king hassacrificed. Perhaps the Countess d'Isorella has shown him promises offresh aid in the king's handwriting. Suffering has made Carlo Albertoone with the Republicans, if he had other ambitions once. And Carlodedicates his blood to Lombardy: he does rightly. Dear countess--mymother! I have made him wait for me; I will be patient in waiting forhim. I know that Countess d'Isorella is intimate with the king. Thereis a man named Barto Rizzo, who thinks me a guilty traitress, and sheis making use of this man. That must be her reason for prohibitingthe marriage. She cannot be false if she is capable of uniting extremerevolutionary agents and the king in one plot, I think; I do not know."Vittoria concluded her perfect expression of confidence with thisatoning doubtfulness.
Countess Ammiani obtained her consent that she would not quit her side.
After Violetta had gone, Carlo, though he shunned secret interviews,addressed his betrothed as one who was not strange to his occupationand the trial his heart was undergoing. She could not doubt that she wasbeloved, in spite of the colourlessness and tonelessness of a love thatappealed to her intellect. He showed her a letter he had received fromLaura, laughing at its abuse of Countess d'Isorella, and the sarcasmslevelled at himself.
In this letter Laura said that she was engaged in something besidesnursing.
Carlo pointed his finger to the sentence, and remarked, "I must haveyour promise--a word from you is enough--that you will not meddle withany intrigue."
Vittoria gave the promise, half trusting it to bring the lost bloom oftheir love to him; but he received it as a plain matter of necessity.Certain of his love, she wondered painfully that it should continue sobarren of music.
"Why am I to pledge myself that I will be useless?" she asked. "Youmean, my Carlo, that I am to sit still, and watch, and wait."
He answered, "I will tell you this much: I can be struck vitally throughyou. In the game I am playing, I am able to defend myself. If you enterit, distraction begins. Stay with my mother."
"Am I to know nothing?"
"Everything--in good time."
"I might--might I not help you, my Carlo?"
"Yes; and nobly too. And I show you the way."
Agostino and Carlo made an expedition to Turin. Before he went, Carlotook her in his arms.
"Is it coming?" she said, shutting her eyelids like a child expectingthe report of firearms.
He pressed his lips to the closed eyes. "Not yet; but are you grow
ingtimid?"
His voice seemed to reprove her.
She could have told him that keeping her in the dark among unknownterrors ruined her courage; but the minutes were too precious, his touchtoo sweet. In eyes and hands he had become her lover again. The blissfulminutes rolled away like waves that keep the sunshine out at sea.
Her solitude in the villa was beguiled by the arrival of the score of anoperatic scena, entitled "HAGAR," by Rocco Ricci, which she fancied thateither Carlo or her dear old master had sent, and she devoured it. Shethought it written expressly for her. With HAGAR she communed duringthe long hours, and sang herself on to the verge of an imagined desertbeyond the mountain-shadowed lake and the last view of her belovedMotterone. Hagar's face of tears in the Brerawas known to her; and Hagarin her 'Addio' gave the living voice to that dumb one. Vittoria revelledin the delicious vocal misery. She expanded with the sorrow of poorHagar, whose tears refreshed her, and parted her from her recentnarrowing self-consciousness. The great green mountain fronted herlike a living presence. Motterone supplied the place of the robust andvenerable patriarch, whom she reproached, and worshipped, but with afathomless burdensome sense of cruel injustice, deeper than the tears orthe voice which spoke of it: a feeling of subjected love that was likea mother's giving suck to a detested child. Countess Ammiani saw theabrupt alteration of her step and look with a dim surprise. "What doyou conceal from me?" she asked, and supplied the answer by charitablyattributing it to news that the signora Piaveni was coming.
When Laura came, the countess thanked her, saying, "I am a wretchedcompanion for this boiling head."
Laura soon proved to her that she had been the best, for after very fewhours Vittoria was looking like the Hagar on the canvas.
A woman such as Violetta d'Isorella was of the sort from which Laurashrank with all her feminine power of loathing; but she spoke of herwith some effort at personal tolerance until she heard of Violetta'sstipulation for the deferring of Carlo's marriage, and contrived toguess that Carlo was reserved and unfamiliar with his betrothed. Thenshe cried out, "Fool that he is! Is it ever possible to come to the endof the folly of men? She has inflamed his vanity. She met him when youwere holding him waiting, and no doubt she commenced with lamentationsover the country, followed by a sigh, a fixed look, a cheerful air, andthe assurance to him that she knew it--uttered as if through the keyholeof the royal cabinet--she knew that Sardinia would break the Salascoarmistice in a mouth:--if only, if the king could be sure of supportfrom the youth of Lombardy."
"Do you suspect the unhappy king?" Vittoria interposed.
"Grasp your colours tight," said Laura, nodding sarcastic approbation ofsuch fidelity, and smiling slightly. "There has been no mention of theking. Countess d'Isorella is a spy and a tool of the Jesuits, takingpay from all parties--Austria as well, I would swear. Their object isto paralyze the march on Rome, and she has won Carlo for them. I am toldthat Barto Rizzo is another of her conquests. Thus she has a madman anda fool, and what may not be done with a madman and a fool? However, Ihave set a watch on her. She must have inflamed Carlo's vanity. He hasit, just as they all have. There's trickery: I would rather behold theboy charging at the head of a column than putting faith in this basecreature. She must have simulated well," Laura went on talking toherself.
"What trickery?" said Vittoria.
"He was in love with the woman when he was a lad," Laura replied, andpertinently to Vittoria's feelings. This threw the moist shade acrossher features.
Beppo in Turin and Luigi on the lake were the watch set on Countessd'Isorella; they were useless except to fortify Laura's suspicions. TheDuchess of Graatli wrote mere gossip from Milan. She mentioned that Annaof Lenkenstein had visited with her the tomb of her brother CountPaul at Bologna, and had returned in double mourning; and that MadameSedley--"the sister of our poor ruined Pierson"--had obtained grace,for herself at least, from Anna, by casting herself at Anna's feet,--andthat they were now friends.
Vittoria felt ashamed of Adela.
When Carlo returned, the signora attacked him boldly with all herweapons; reproached him; said, "Would my husband have treated me in sucha manner?" Carlo twisted his moustache and stroked his young beardfor patience. They passed from room to balcony and terrace, and Laurabrought him back into company without cessation of her fire of questionsand sarcasms, saying, "No, no; we will speak of these things publicly."She appealed alternately to Agostino, Vittoria, and Countess Ammiani forsupport, and as she certainly spoke sense, Carlo was reduced to gloomand silence. Laura then paused. "Surely you have punished your brideenough?" she said; and more softly, "Brother of my Giacomo! you areunder an evil spell."
Carlo started up in anger. Bending to Vittoria, he offered her his handto lead her out, They went together.
"A good sign," said the countess.
"A bad sign!" Laura sighed. "If he had taken me out for explanation! Buttell me, my Agostino, are you the woman's dupe?"
"I have been," Agostino admitted frankly.
"You did really put faith in her?"
"She condescends to be so excessively charming."
"You could not advance a better reason."
"It is one of our best; perhaps our very best, where your sex isconcerned, signora."
"You are her dupe no more?"
"No more. Oh, dear no!"
"You understand her now, do you?"
"For the very reason, signora, that I have been her dupe. That is, I ambeginning to understand her. I am not yet in possession of the key."
"Not yet in possession!" said Laura contemptuously; "but, never mind.Now for Carlo."
"Now for Carlo. He declares that he never has been deceived by her."
"He is perilously vain," sighed the signora.
"Seriously"--Agostino drew out the length of his beard--"I do notsuppose that he has been--boys, you know, are so acute. He fancies hecan make her of service, and he shows some skill."
"The skill of a fish to get into the net!"
"My dearest signora, you do not allow for the times. Iremember"--Agostino peered upward through his eyelashes in a way thathe had--"I remember seeing in a meadow a gossamer running away with aspider-thread. It was against all calculation. But, observe: there wereexterior agencies at work: a stout wind blew. The ordinary reckoningis based on calms. Without the operation of disturbing elements, thespider-thread would have gently detained the gossamer."
"Is that meant for my son?" Countess Ammiani asked slowly, withincredulous emphasis.
Agostino and Laura, laughing in their hearts at the mother's mysteriousveneration for Carlo, had to explain that 'gossamer' was a poetic,generic term, to embrace the lighter qualities of masculine youth.
A woman's figure passed swiftly by the window, which led Laura tosuppose that the couple outside had parted. She ran forth, calling toone of them, but they came hand in hand, declaring that they had seenneither woman nor man. "And I am happy," Vittoria whispered. She lookedhappy, pale though she was.
"It is only my dreadful longing for rest which makes me pale," she saidto Laura, when they were alone. "Carlo has proved to me that he is wiserthan I am."
"A proof that you love Carlo, perhaps," Laura rejoined.
"Dearest, he speaks more gently of the king."
"It may be cunning, or it may be carelessness."
"Will nothing satisfy you, wilful sceptic? He is quite alive to theCountess d'Isorella's character. He told me how she dazzled him once."
"Not how she has entangled him now?"
"It is not true. He told me what I should like to dream over withouttalking any more to anybody. Ah, what a delight! to have known him, asyou did, when he was a boy. Can one who knew him then mean harm to him?I am not capable of imagining it. No; he will not abandon poor brokenLombardy, and he is right; and it is my duty to sit and wait. No shadowshall come between us. He has said it, and I have said it. We have butone thing to fear, which is contemptible to fear; so I am at peace."
"Love-sick," was Laura's mental comme
nt. Yet when Carlo explained hisposition to her next day, she was milder in her condemnation of him, andeven admitted that a man must be guided by such brains as he possesses.He had conceived that his mother had a right to claim one month fromhim at the close of the war; he said this reddening. Laura nodded. Heconfessed that he was irritated when he met the Countess d'Isorella,with whom, to his astonishment, he found Barto Rizzo. She had picked himup, weak from a paroxysm, on the high-road to Milan. "And she tamed thebrute," said Carlo, in admiration of her ability; "she saw that he wasplot-mad, and she set him at work on a stupendous plot; agents runningnowhere, and scribblings concentring in her work-basket. You smile atme, as if I were a similar patient, signora. But I am my own agent. Ihave personally seen all my men in Turin and elsewhere. Violetta has notone grain of love for her country; but she can be made to serve it. Asfor me, I have gone too far to think of turning aside and drilling withLuciano. He may yet be diverted from Rome, to strike another blow forLombardy. The Chief, I know, has some religious sentiment about Rome. Somight I have; it is the Head of Italy. Let us raise the body first. Andwe have been beaten here. Great Gods! we will have another fight for iton the same spot, and quickly. Besides, I cannot face Luciano and tellhim why I was away from him in the dark hour. How can I tell him that Iwas lingering to bear a bride to the altar? while he and the rest--poorfellows! Hard enough to have to mention it to you, signora!"
She understood his boyish sense of shame. Making smooth allowances for afeeling natural to his youth and the circumstances, she said, "I am yoursister, for you were my husband's brother in arms, Carlo. We two speakheart to heart: I sometimes fancy you have that voice: you hurt me withit more than you know; gladden me too! My Carlo, I wish to hear whyCountess d'Isorella objects to your marriage."
"She does not object."
"An answer that begins by quibbling is not propitious. She opposes it."
"For this reason: you have not forgotten the bronze butterfly?"
"I see more clearly," said Laura, with a start.
"There appears to be no cure for the brute's mad suspicion of her,"Carlo pursued: "and he is powerful among the Milanese. If my darlingtakes my name, he can damage much of my influence, and--you know whatthere is to be dreaded from a fanatic."
Laura nodded, as if in full agreement with him, and said, aftermeditating a minute, "What sort of a lover is this!"
She added a little laugh to the singular interjection.
"Yes, I have also thought of a secret marriage," said Carlo, stung byher penetrating instinct so that he was enabled to read the meaning inher mind.
"The best way, when you are afflicted by a dilemma of such a character,my Carlo," the signora looked at him, "is to take a chess-table andmake your moves on it. 'King--my duty;' 'Queen--my passion;' 'Bishop--mysocial obligation;' 'Knight--my what-you-will and my round-the-cornerwishes.' Then, if you find that queen may be gratified withoutendangering king, and so forth, why, you may follow your inclinations;and if not, not. My Carlo, you are either enviably cool, or you are anenviable hypocrite."
"The matter is not quite so easily settled as that," said Carlo.
On the whole, though against her preconception, Laura thought him anhonest lover, and not the player of a double game. She saw that Vittoriashould have been with him in the critical hour of defeat, when hispassions were down, and heaven knows what weakness of our commonmanhood, that was partly pride, partly love-craving, made his naturewaxen to every impression; a season, as Laura knew, when the mistress ofa loyal lover should not withhold herself from him. A nature tender likeCarlo's, and he bearing an enamoured heart, could not, as Luciano Romarahad done, pass instantly from defeat to drill. And vain as Carlo was(the vanity being most intricate and subtle, like a nervous fluid), hewas very open to the belief that he could diplomatize as well as fight,and lead a movement yet better than follow it. Even so the signora triedto read his case.
They were all, excepting Countess Ammiani ("who will never, I fear, dome this honour," Violetta wrote, and the countess said, "Never," andquoted a proverb), about to pass three or four days at the villa ofCountess d'Isorella. Before they set out, Vittoria received a portentousenvelope containing a long scroll, that was headed "YOUR CRIMES,"and detailing a lest of her offences against the country, from therevelation of the plot in her first letter to Wilfrid, to servicesrendered to the enemy during the war, up to the departure of CharlesAlbert out of forsaken Milan.
"B. R." was the undisguised signature at the end of the scroll.
Things of this description restored her old war-spirit to Vittoria.She handed the scroll to Laura; Laura, in great alarm, passed it on toCarlo. He sent for Angelo Guidascarpi in haste, for Carlo read it asan ante-dated justificatory document to some mischievous design, andhe desired that hands as sure as his own, and yet more vigilant eyes,should keep watch over his betrothed.