CHAPTER V
Beppo had effected a firm capture of his man some way down the slope.But it was a case of check that entirely precluded his own freemovements. They hung together intertwisted in the characters of speciouspacificator and appealing citizen, both breathless.
"There! you want to hand me up neatly; I know your vanity, my Beppo; andyou don't even know my name," said the prisoner.
"I know your ferret of a face well enough," said Beppo. "You dog thesignorina. Come up, and don't give trouble."
"Am I not a sheep? You worry me. Let me go."
"You're a wriggling eel."
"Catch me fast by the tail then, and don't hold me by the middle."
"You want frightening, my pretty fellow!"
"If that's true, my Beppo, somebody made a mistake in sending you to doit. Stop a moment. You're blown. I think you gulp down your minestra toohot; you drink beer."
"You dog the signorina! I swore to scotch you at last."
"I left Milan for the purpose--don't you see? Act fairly, my Beppo, andlet us go up to the signorina together decently."
"Ay, ay, my little reptile! You'll find no Austrians here. Cry out tothem to come to you from Baveno. If the Motterone grew just one tree!Saints! one would serve."
"Why don't you--fool that you are, my Beppo!--pray to the saintsearlier? Trees don't grow from heaven."
"You'll be going there soon, and you'll know better about it."
"Thanks to the Virgin, then, we shall part at some time or other!"
The struggles between them continued sharply during this exchangeof intellectual shots; but hearing Ugo Corte's voice, the prisoner'sconfident audacity forsook him, and he drew a long tight face like themask of an admonitory exclamation addressed to himself from within.
"Stand up straight!" the soldier's command was uttered.
Even Beppo was amazed to see that the man had lost the power to obey orto speak.
Corte grasped him under the arm-pit. With the force of his huge fist heswung him round and stretched him out at arm's length, all collar andshanks. The man hung like a mole from the twig. Yet, while Beppo pouredout the tale of his iniquities, his eyes gave the turn of a twinkle,showing that he could have answered one whom he did not fear. Thecharge brought against him was, that for the last six months he had beenuntiringly spying on the signorina.
Corte stamped his loose feet to earth, shook him and told him to walkaloft. The flexible voluble fellow had evidently become miserablydisconcerted. He walked in trepidation, speechless, and wheninterrogated on the height his eyes flew across the angry visages withdismal uncertainty. Agostino perceived that he had undoubtedly notexpected to come among them, and forthwith began to excite Giulio andMarco to the worst suspicions, in order to indulge his royal poetic soulwith a study of a timorous wretch pushed to anticipations of extremity.
"The execution of a spy," he preluded, "is the signal for the ringingof joy-bells on this earth; not only because he is one of a pestiferousexcess, in point of numbers, but that he is no true son of earth. Heescaped out of hell's doors on a windy day, and all that we do is topuff out a bad light, and send him back. Look at this fellow in whomconscience is operating so that he appears like a corked volcano! Youcan see that he takes Austrian money; his skin has got to be the exactcolour of Munz. He has the greenish-yellow eyes of those elective,thrice-abhorred vampyres who feed on patriot-blood. He is condemnedwithout trial by his villainous countenance, like an ungrammaticalpreface to a book. His tongue refuses to confess, but nature isstronger:--observe his knees. Now this is guilt. It is execrable guilt.He is a nasty object. Nature has in her wisdom shortened his stature toindicate that it is left to us to shorten the growth of his offendingyears. Now, you dangling soul! answer me:--what name hailed you when onearth?"
The fan, with no clearly serviceable tongue, articulated, "Luigi."
"Luigi! the name Christian and distinctive. The name historic:-LuigiPorco?"
"Luigi Saracco, signore."
"Saracco: Saracco: very possibly a strip of the posterity of cut-throatMoors. To judge by your face, a Moor undoubtedly: glib, slippery! witha body that slides and a soul that jumps. Taken altogether, more serpentthan eagle. I misdoubt that little quick cornering eye of yours. Do youever remember to have blushed?"
"No, signore," said Luigi.
"You spy upon the signorina, do you?"
"You have Beppo's word for that," interposed Marco Sana, growling.
"And you are found spying on the mountain this particular day! LuigiSaracco, you are a fellow of a tremendous composition. A goose walkinginto a den of foxes is alone to be compared to you,--if ever such goosewas! How many of us did you count, now, when you were, say, a quarter ofa mile below?"
Marco interposed again: "He has already seen enough up here to make arope of florins."
"The fellow's eye takes likenesses," said Giulio.
Agostino's question was repeated by Corte, and so sternly that Luigi,beholding kindness upon no other face save Vittoria's, watched her, andmuttering "Six," blinked his keen black eyes piteously to get her signof assent to his hesitated naming of that number. Her mouth and the turnof her head were expressive to him, and he cried "Seven."
"So; first six, and next seven," said Corte.
"Six, I meant, without the signorina," Luigi explained.
"You saw six of us without the signorina! You see we are six here,including the signorina. Where is the seventh?"
Luigi tried to penetrate Vittoria's eyes for a proper response; butshe understood the grave necessity for getting the full extent of hisobservations out of him, and she looked as remorseless as the men. Hefeigned stupidity and sullenness, rage and cunning, in quick succession.
"Who was the seventh?" said Carlo.
"Was it the king?" Luigi asked.
This was by just a little too clever; and its cleverness, being seen,magnified the intended evasion so as to make it appear to them thatLuigi knew well the name of the seventh.
Marco thumped a hand on his shoulder, shouting--"Here; speak out! Yousaw seven of us. Where has the seventh one gone?"
Luigi's wits made a dash at honesty. "Down Orta, signore."
"And down Orta, I think, you will go; deeper down than you may like."
Corte now requested Vittoria to stand aside. He motioned to her with hishand to stand farther, and still farther off; and finally told Carlo toescort her to Baveno. She now began to think that the man Luigi was insome perceptible danger, nor did Ammiani disperse the idea.
"If he is a spy, and if he has seen the Chief, we shall have to detainhim for at least four-and-twenty hours," he said, "or do worse."
"But, Signor Carlo,"--Vittoria made appeal to his humanity,--"do theymean, if they decide that he is guilty, to hurt him?"
"Tell me, signorina, what punishment do you imagine a spy deserves?"
"To be called one!"
Carlo smiled at her lofty method of dealing with the animal.
"Then you presume him to have a conscience?"
"I am sure, Signor Carlo, that I could make him loathe to be called aspy."
They were slowly pacing from the group, and were on the edge of thedescent, when the signorina's name was shrieked by Luigi. The man camerunning to her for protection, Beppo and the rest at his heels. Sheallowed him to grasp her hand.
"After all, he is my spy; he does belong to me," she said, stillspeaking on to Carlo. "I must beg your permission, Colonel Corte andSignor Marco, to try an experiment. The Signor Carlo will not believethat a spy can be ashamed of his name.--Luigi!"
"Signorina!"--he shook his body over her hand with a most plaintiveutterance.
"You are my countryman, Luigi?"
"Yes, signorina."
"You are an Italian?"
"Certainly, signorina!"
"A spy!"
Vittoria had not always to lift her voice in music for it to sway thehearts of men. She spoke the word very simply in a mellow soft tone.Luigi's blood shot purple. He thrust his
fists against his ears.
"See, Signor Carlo," she said; "I was right. Luigi, you will be a spy nomore?"
Carlo Ammiani happened to be rolling a cigarette-paper. She put outher fingers for it, and then reached it to Luigi, who accepted it withsingular contortions of his frame, declaring that he would confesseverything to her. "Yes, signorina, it is true; I am a spy on you. Iknow the houses you visit. I know you eat too much chocolate for yourvoice. I know you are the friend of the Signora Laura, the widow ofGiacomo Piaveni, shot--shot on Annunciation Day. The Virgin bless him!I know the turning of every street from your house near the Duomo tothe signora's. You go nowhere else, except to the maestro's. And it'ssomething to spy upon you. But think of your Beppo who spies upon me!And your little mother, the lady most excellent, is down in Baveno, andshe is always near you when you make an expedition. Signorina, I knowyou would not pay your Beppo for spying upon me. Why does he do it? Ido not sing 'Italia, Italia shall be free!' I have heard you when I wasunder the maestro's windows; and once you sang it to the Signor AgostinoBalderini. Indeed, signorina, I am a sort of guardian of your voice. Itis not gold of the Tedeschi I get from the Signor Antonio Pericles."
At the mention of this name, Agostino and Vittoria laughed out.
"You are in the pay of the Signor Antonio-Pericles," said Agostino."Without being in our pay, you have done us the service to come up hereamong us! Bravo! In return for your disinterestedness, we kick you down,either upon Baveno or upon Stresa, or across the lake, if you preferit.--The man is harmless. He is hired by a particular worshipper of thesignorina's voice, who affects to have first discovered it when shewas in England, and is a connoisseur, a millionaire, a Greek, a richscoundrel, with one indubitable passion, for which I praise him. We willlet his paid eavesdropper depart, I think. He is harmless."
Neither Ugo nor Marco was disposed to allow any description of spy toescape unscotched. Vittoria saw that Luigi's looks were against him, andwhispered: "Why do you show such cunning eyes, Luigi?"
He replied: "Signorina, take me out of their hearing, and I will tellyou everything."
She walked aside. He seemed immediately to be inspired with confidence,and stretched his fingers in the form of a grasshopper, at which sightthey cried: "He knows Barto Rizzo--this rascal!" They plied him withsigns and countersigns, and speedily let him go. There ensued a sharpsnapping of altercation between Luigi and Beppo. Vittoria had to orderBeppo to stand back.
"It is a poor dog, not of a good breed, signorina," Luigi said, castinga tolerant glance over his shoulder. "Faithful, but a poor nose. Ah! yougave me this cigarette. Not the Virgin could have touched my marrow asyou did. That's to be remembered by-and-by. Now, you are going to singon the night of the fifteenth of September. Change that night.The Signor Antonio-Pericles watches you, and he is a friend of theGovernment, and the Government is snoring for you to think it asleep.The Signor Antonio-Pericles pacifies the Tedeschi, but he will know allthat you are doing, and how easy it will be, and how simple, for you tolet me know what you think he ought to know, and just enough to keephim comfortable! So we work like a machine, signorina. Only, not throughthat Beppo, for he is vain of his legs, and his looks, and his service,and because he has carried a gun and heard it go off. Yes; I am a spy.But I am honest. I, too, have visited England. One can be honest anda spy. Signorina, I have two arms, but only one heart. If you willbe gracious and consider! Say, here are two hands. One hand does thisthing, one hand does that thing, and that thing wipes out this thing.It amounts to clear reasoning! Here are two eyes. Were they meant tosee nothing but one side! Here is a tongue with a line down the middlealmost to the tip of it--which is for service. That Beppo couldn'tdeal double, if he would; for he is imperfectly designed--a mere dog'spattern! But, only one heart, signorina--mind that. I will neverforget the cigarette. I shall smoke it before I leave the mountain, andthink--oh!"
Having illustrated the philosophy of his system, Luigi continued: "Iam going to tell you everything. Pray, do not look on Beppo! This isimportant. The Signor Antonio-Pericles sent me to spy on you, because heexpects some people to come up the mountain, and you know them; andone is an Austrian officer, and he is an Englishman by birth, and heis coming to meet some English friends who enter Italy from Switzerlandover the Moro, and easily up here on mules or donkeys from Pella. TheSignor Antonio-Pericles has gold ears for everything that concernsthe signorina. 'A patriot is she!' he says; and he is jealous of yourEnglish friends. He thinks they will distract you from your studies;and perhaps"--Luigi nodded sagaciously before he permitted himself tosay--"perhaps he is jealous in another way. I have heard him speak likea sonnet of the signorina's beauty. The Signor Antonio-Pericles thinksthat you have come here to-day to meet them. When he heard that youwere going to leave Milan for Baveno, he was mad, and with two fists up,against all English persons. The Englishman who is an Austrian officeris quartered at Verona, and the Signor Antonio Pericles said that theEnglishman should not meet you yet, if he could help it."
Victoria stood brooding. "Who can it be,--who is an Englishman, and anAustrian officer, and knows me?"
"Signorina, I don't know names. Behold, that Beppo is approaching likethe snow! What I entreat is, that the signorina will wait a little forthe English party, if they come, so that I may have something to tellmy patron. To invent upon nothing is most unpleasant, and the SignorAntonio can soon perceive whether one swims with corks. Signorina, Ican dance on one rope--I am a man. I am not a midge--I cannot dance uponnothing."
The days of Vittoria's youth had been passed in England. It was notunknown to her that old English friends were on the way to Italy;the recollection of a quiet and a buried time put a veil across herfeatures. She was perplexed by the mention of the Austrian officer byLuigi, as one may be who divines the truth too surely, but will notaccept it for its loathsomeness. There were Englishmen in the army ofAustria. Could one of them be this one whom she had cared for when shewas a girl? It seemed hatefully cruel to him to believe it. She spoketo Agostino, begging him to remain with her on the height awhile to seewhether the Signor Antonio-Pericles was right; to see whether Luigi wasa truth-teller; to see whether these English persons were really coming."Because," she said, "if they do come, it will at once dissolve anysuspicions you may have of this Luigi. And I always long so much toknow if the Signor Antonio is correct. I have never yet known him to bewrong."
"And you want to see these English," said Agostino. He frowned.
"Only to hear them. They shall not recognize me. I have now anothername; and I am changed. My hat is enough to hide me. Let me hear themtalk a little. You and the Signor Carlo will stay with me, and when theycome, if they do come, I will remain no longer than just sufficient tomake sure. I would refuse to know any of them before the night of thefifteenth; I want my strength too much. I shall have to hear a miseryfrom them; I know it, I feel it; it turns my blood. But let me heartheir voices! England is half my country, though I am so willing toforget her and give all my life to Italy. Stay with me, dear friend, mybest father! humour me, for you know that I am always charming when I amhumoured."
Agostino pressed his finger on a dimple in her cheeks. "You can affordto make such a confession as that to a greybeard. The day is your own.Bear in mind that you are so situated that it will be prudent for youto have no fresh relations, either with foreigners or others, until yourwork is done,--in which, my dear child, may God bless you!"
"I pray to him with all my might," Vittoria said in reply.
After a consultation with Agostino, Ugo Corte and Marco and Giulio badetheir adieux to her. The task of keeping Luigi from their clutches wasdifficult; but Agostino helped her in that also. To assure them, afterhis fashion, of the harmlessness of Luigi, he seconded him in a contestof wit against Beppo, and the little fellow, now that he had shaken offhis fears, displayed a quickness of retort and a liveliness "unknownto professional spies and impossible to the race," said Agostino; "soabsolutely is the mind of man blunted by Austrian gold. We know thatfor a fact. B
eppo is no match for him. Beppo is sententious; ponderouslyillustrative; he can't turn; he is long-winded; he, I am afraid, myCarlo, studies the journals. He has got your journalistic style, whereinwords of six syllables form the relief to words of eight, and hardly onedares to stand by itself. They are like huge boulders across a brook.The meaning, do you, see, would run of itself, but you give us theseimpedimenting big stones to help us over it, while we profess tounderstand you by implication. For my part, I own, that to me, yourparliamentary, illegitimate academic, modern crocodile phraseology,which is formidable in the jaws, impenetrable on the back, can'tcircumvent a corner, and is enabled to enter a common understandingsolely by having a special highway prepared for it,--in short, thewriting in your journals is too much for me. Beppo here is an examplethat the style is useless for controversy. This Luigi baffles him atevery step."
"Some," rejoined Carlo, "say that Beppo has had the virtue to make youhis study."
Agostino threw himself on his back and closed his eyes. "That, then, ismore than you have done, signor Tuquoque. Look on the Bernina yonder,and fancy you behold a rout of phantom Goths; a sleepy rout, new risen,with the blood of old battles on their shroud-shirts, and a North-eastwind blowing them upon our fat land. Or take a turn at the otherside toward Orta, and look out for another invasion, by no means sopicturesque, but preferable. Tourists! Do you hear them?"
Carlo Ammiani had descried the advanced troop of a procession ofgravely-heated climbers ladies upon donkeys, and pedestrian guardsstalking beside them, with courier, and lacqueys, and baskets ofprovisions, all bearing the stamp of pilgrims from the great WesternIsland.