EPILOGUE
No uncontested version of the tragedy of Count Ammiani's death passedcurrent in Milan during many years. With time it became disconnectedfrom passion, and took form in a plain narrative. He and Angelowere captured by Major Nagen, and were, as the soldiers of the forcesubsequently let it be known, roughly threatened with what he termedI 'Brescian short credit.' The appearance of Major Weisspriess andhis claim to the command created a violent discussion between the twoofficers. For Nagen, by all military rules, could well contest it. ButWeisspriess had any body of the men of the army under his charm, andseeing the ascendency he gained with them over an unpopular officer,he dared the stroke for the charitable object he had in view. Havingestablished his command, in spite of Nagen's wrathful protests andmenaces, he spoke to the prisoners, telling Carlo that for his wife'ssake he should be spared, and Angelo that he must expect the fate of amurderer. His address to them was deliberate, and quite courteous: heexpressed himself sorry that a gallant gentleman like Angelo Guidascarpishould merit a bloody grave, but so it was. At the same time heentreated Count Ammiani to rely on his determination to save him. MajorNagen did not stand far removed from them. Carlo turned to him andrepeated the words of Weisspriess; nor could Angelo restrain hiscousin's vehement renunciation of hope and life in doing this. Heaccused Weisspriess of a long evasion of a brave man's obligation torepair an injury, charged him with cowardice, and requested Major Nagen,as a man of honour, to drag his brother officer to the duel. Nagen thensaid that Major Weisspriess was his superior, adding that his gallantbrother officer had only of late objected to vindicate his reputationwith his sword. Stung finally beyond the control of an irritable temper,Weisspriess walked out of sight of the soldiery with Carlo, to whom, ata special formal request from Weisspriess, Nagen handed his sword. Againhe begged Count Ammiani to abstain from fighting; yea, to strike him anddisable him, and fly, rather--than provoke the skill of his right hand.Carlo demanded his cousin's freedom. It was denied to him, and Carloclaimed his privilege. The witnesses of the duel were Jenna and anotheryoung subaltern: both declared it fair according to the laws of honour,when their stupefaction on beholding the proud swordsman of the armystretched lifeless on the brown leaves of the past year left them withpower to speak. Thus did Carlo slay his old enemy who would have servedas his friend. A shout of rescue was heard before Carlo had yielded uphis weapon. Four haggard and desperate men, headed by Barto Rizzo, burstfrom an ambush on the guard encircling Angelo. There, with one thoughtof saving his doomed cousin and comrade, Carlo rushed, and not oneItalian survived the fight.
An unarmed spectator upon the meadow-borders, Beppo, had but obscureglimpses of scenes shifting like a sky in advance of hurricane winds.
Merthyr delivered the burden of death to Vittoria. Her soul had crossedthe darkness of the river of death in that quiet agony preceding therevelation of her Maker's will, and she drew her dead husband to herbosom and kissed him on the eyes and the forehead, not as one who hadquite gone away from her, but as one who lay upon another shore whithershe would come. The manful friend, ever by her side, saved her by hisabsolute trust in her fortitude to bear the burden of the great sorrowundeceived, and to walk with it to its last resting-place on earthunobstructed. Clear knowledge of her, the issue of reverent love,enabled him to read her unequalled strength of nature, and to relyon her fidelity to her highest mortal duty in a conflict with extremedespair. She lived through it as her Italy had lived through the hourswhich brought her face to face with her dearest in death; and she alsoon the day, ten years later, when an Emperor and a King stood beneaththe vault of the grand Duomo, and the organ and a peal of voicesrendered thanks to heaven for liberty, could show the fruit of herdevotion in the dark-eyed boy, Carlo Merthyr Ammiani, standing betweenMerthyr and her, with old blind Agostino's hands upon his head. And thenonce more, and but for once, her voice was heard in Milan.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
A common age once, when he married her; now she had grown old A fortress face; strong and massive, and honourable in ruin Agostino was enjoying the smoke of paper cigarettes An angry woman will think the worst Anguish to think of having bent the knee for nothing Art of despising what he coveted As the Lord decided, so it would end! "Oh, delicious creed!" Be on your guard the next two minutes he gets you alone But is there such a thing as happiness By our manner of loving we are known Compliment of being outwitted by their own offspring Conduct is never a straight index where the heart's involved Confess no more than is necessary, but do everything you can Critical in their first glance at a prima donna Deep as a mother's, pure as a virgin's, fiery as a saint's Defiance of foes and (what was harder to brave) of friends Do I serve my hand? or, Do I serve my heart? English antipathy to babblers Every church of the city lent its iron tongue to the peal Fast growing to be an eccentric by profession Foolish trick of thinking for herself Forgetfulness is like a closing sea Fortitude leaned so much upon the irony Good nerve to face the scene which he is certain will be enacted Government of brain; not sufficient Insurrection of heart Grand air of pitying sadness Had taken refuge in their opera-glasses Hated tears, considering them a clog to all useful machinery He is in the season of faults He is inexorable, being the guilty one of the two He postponed it to the next minute and the next Her singing struck a note of grateful remembered delight I always respected her; I never liked her I hope I am not too hungry to discriminate I know nothing of imagination Impossible for us women to comprehend love without folly in man In Italy, a husband away, ze friend takes title Intentions are really rich possessions Ironical fortitude It rarely astonishes our ears It illumines our souls Italians were like women, and wanted--a real beating Longing for love and dependence Love of men and women as a toy that I have played with Madness that sane men enamoured can be struck by Morales, madame, suit ze sun Necessary for him to denounce somebody Never, never love a married woman No intoxication of hot blood to cheer those who sat at home No word is more lightly spoken than shame Not to be feared more than are the general race of bunglers O heaven! of what avail is human effort? Obedience oils necessity Our life is but a little holding, lent To do a mighty labour Pain is a cloak that wraps you about Patience is the pestilence People who can lose themselves in a ray of fancy at any season Profound belief in her partiality for him Question with some whether idiots should live Rarely exacted obedience, and she was spontaneously obeyed She thought that friendship was sweeter than love She was sick of personal freedom Simple obstinacy of will sustained her Speech was a scourge to her sense of hearing Taint of the hypocrisy which comes with shame The devil trusts nobody The divine afflatus of enthusiasm buoyed her no longer They take fever for strength, and calmness for submission Too weak to resist, to submit to an outrage quietly Too well used to defeat to believe readily in victory Was born on a hired bed Watch, and wait We are good friends till we quarrel again We can bear to fall; we cannot afford to draw back Went into endless invalid's laughter Who shrinks from an hour that is suspended in doubt Whole body of fanatics combined to precipitate the devotion Why should these men take so much killing? Will not admit the existence of a virtue in an opposite opinion Women and men are in two hostile camps You can master pain, but not doubt Youth will not believe that stupidity and beauty can go together
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