CHAPTER VIII
The importance of the matters extracted from Luigi does not lie on thesurface; it will have to be seen through Barto Rizzo's mind. This manregarded himself as the mainspring of the conspiracy; specially itsguardian, its wakeful Argus. He had conspired sleeplessly for thirtyyears; so long, that having no ideal reserve in his nature, conspiracyhad become his professional occupation,--the wheel which it was hisbusiness to roll. He was above jealousy; he was above vanity. No oneoutstripping him cast a bad colour on him; nor did he object to bow toanother as his superior. But he was prepared to suspect every one ofinsincerity and of faithlessness; and, being the master of the machineryof the plots, he was ready, upon a whispered justification, todespise the orders of his leader, and act by his own light in bluntdisobedience. For it was his belief that while others speculated he knewall. He knew where the plots had failed; he knew the man who had bentand doubled. In the patriotic cause, perfect arrangements arecrowned with perfect success, unless there is an imperfection of theinstruments; for the cause is blessed by all superior agencies. Such washis governing idea. His arrangements had always been perfect; hence thededuction was a denunciation of some one particular person. He pointedout the traitor here, the traitor there; and in one or two cases hedid so with a mildness that made those fret at their beards vaguelywho understood his character. Barto Rizzo was, it was said, born ina village near Forli, in the dominions of the Pope; according to therumour, he was the child of a veiled woman and a cowled paternity. Ifnot an offender against Government, he was at least a wanderer early inlife. None could accuse him of personal ambition. He boasted that hehad served as a common soldier with the Italian contingent furnishedby Eugene to the Moscow campaign; he showed scars of old wounds: brownspots, and blue spots, and twisted twine of white skin, dotting thewrist, the neck, the calf, the ankle, and looking up from them, heslapped them proudly. Nor had he personal animosities of any kind. Onesharp scar, which he called his shoulder knot, he owed to the knife ofa friend, by name Sarpo, who had things ready to betray him, and struckhim, in anticipation of that tremendous moment of surprise and wrathwhen the awakened victim frequently is nerved with devil's strength;but, striking, like a novice, on the bone, the stilet stuck there; andBarto coolly got him to point the outlet of escape, and walked off,carrying the blade where the terrified assassin had planted it. ThisSarpo had become a tradesman in Milan--a bookseller and small printer;and he was unmolested. Barto said of him, that he was as bad as a fewodd persons thought himself to be, and had in him the making of a greattraitor; but, that as Sarpo hated him and had sought to be rid of himfor private reasons only, it was a pity to waste on such a fellow steelthat should serve the Cause. "While I live," said Barto, "my enemieshave a tolerably active conscience."
The absence of personal animosity in him was not due to magnanimity. Hedoubted the patriotism of all booksellers. He had been twice betrayedby women. He never attempted to be revenged on them; but he doubtedthe patriotism of all women. "Use them; keep eye on them," he said.In Venice he had conspired when he was living there as the clerk ofa notary; in Bologna subsequently while earning his bread as a pettyschoolmaster. His evasions, both of Papal sbirri and the Austrianpolizia, furnished instances of astonishing audacity that made his namea byword for mastery in the hour of peril. His residence in Milan now,after seven years of exile in England and Switzerland, was an act ofpointed defiance, incomprehensible to his own party, and only to beexplained by the prevalent belief that the authorities feared to provokea collision with the people by laying hands on him. They had only oncemade a visitation to his house, and appeared to be satisfied at notfinding him. At that period Austria was simulating benevolence in herLombardic provinces, with the half degree of persuasive earnestnesswhich makes a Government lax in its vigilance, and leaves it simplyopen to the charge of effeteness. There were contradictory rumours asto whether his house had ever been visited by the polizia; but it was alegible fact that his name was on the window, and it was understood thathe was not without elusive contrivances in the event of the authoritiesdeclaring war against him.
Of the nature of these contrivances Luigi had just learnt something. Hehad heard Barto Rizzo called 'The Miner' and 'The Great Cat,' and he nowcomprehended a little of the quality of his employer. He had entereda very different service from that of the Signor Antonio-Pericles, whopaid him for nothing more than to keep eye on Vittoria, and recount hergoings in and out; for what absolute object he was unaware, but that itwas not for a political one he was certain. "Cursed be the day when thelust of gold made me open my hand to Barto Rizzo!" he thought; and couldonly reflect that life is short and gold is sweet, and that he was inthe claws of the Great Cat. He had met Barto in a wine-shop. He cursedthe habit which led him to call at that shop; the thirst which temptedhim to drink: the ear which had been seduced to listen. Yet as all hisexpenses had been paid in advance, and his reward at the instant ofhis application for it; and as the signorina and Barto were both goodpatriots, and he, Luigi, was a good patriot, what harm could be done toher? Both she and Barto had stamped their different impressions onhis waxen nature. He reconciled his service to them separately by theexclamation that they were both good patriots.
The plot for the rising in Milan city was two months old. It comprisedsome of the nobles of the city, and enjoyed the good wishes of thegreater part of them, whose payment of fifty to sixty per cent to theGovernment on the revenue of their estates was sufficient reason fora desire to change masters, positively though they might detestRepublicanism, and dread the shadow of anarchy. These looked hopefullyto Charles Albert. Their motive was to rise, or to countenance a rising,and summon the ambitious Sardinian monarch with such assurances ofdevotion, that a Piedmontese army would be at the gates when thebanner of Austria was in the dust. Among the most active members of theprospectively insurgent aristocracy of Milan was Count Medole, a youngnobleman of vast wealth and possessed of a reliance on his powersof mind that induced him to take a prominent part in the openingdeliberations, and speedily necessitated his hire of the friendlyoffices of one who could supply him with facts, with suggestions, withcounsel, with fortitude, with everything to strengthen his pretensionsto the leadership, excepting money. He discovered his man in BartoRizzo, who quitted the ranks of the republican section to serve him, andwield a tool for his own party. By the help of Agostino Balderini, CarloAmmiani, and others, the aristocratic and the republican sections ofthe conspiracy were brought near enough together to permit of a commonaction between them, though the maintaining of such harmony demanded anextreme and tireless delicacy of management. The presence of the Chief,whom we have seen on the Motterone, was claimed by other cities ofItaly. Unto him solely did Barto Rizzo yield thorough adhesion. He beingabsent from Milan, Barto undertook to represent him and carry out hisviews. How far he was entitled to do so may be guessed when it is statedthat, on the ground of his general contempt for women, he objected tothe proposition that Vittoria should give the signal. The propositionwas Agostino's. Count Medole, Barto, and Agostino discussed it secretly:Barto held resolutely against it, until Agostino thrust a sly-handedletter into his fingers and let him know that previous to anyconsultation on the subject he had gained the consent of his Chief.Barto then fell silent. He despatched his new spy, Luigi, to theMotterone, more for the purpose of giving him a schooling on theexpedition, and on his return from it, and so getting hand and brainand soul service out of him. He expected no such a report of Vittoria'sindiscretion as Luigi had spiced with his one foolish lie. That sheshould tell the relatives of an Austrian officer that Milan was soon tobe a dangerous place for them;--and that she should write it on paperand leave it for the officer to read,--left her, according to Barto'sreading of her, open to the alternative charges of imbecility or oftreachery. Her letter to the English lady, the Austrian officer'ssister, was an exaggeration of the offence, but lent it more the lookof heedless folly. The point was to obtain sight of her letter to theAustrian officer himself. Barto was baffled during a cours
e of anxiousdays that led closely up to the fifteenth. She had written no letter.Lieutenant Pierson, the officer in question, had ridden into the cityonce from Verona, and had called upon Antonio-Pericles to extract heraddress from him; the Greek had denied that she was in Milan. Luigicould tell no more. He described the officer's personal appearance,by saying that he was a recognizable Englishman in Austrian dragoonuniform;--white tunic, white helmet, brown moustache;--ay! and eh! andoh! and ah! coming frequently from his mouth; that he stood square whilespeaking, and seemed to like his own smile; an extraordinary touch ofportraiture, or else a scoff at insular self-satisfaction; at any rate,it commended itself to the memory. Barto dismissed him, telling him tobe daily in attendance on the English lady.
Barto Rizzo's respect for the Chief was at war with his intenseconviction that a blow should be struck at Vittoria even upon the narrowinformation which he possessed. Twice betrayed, his dreams and hauntingthoughts cried "Shall a woman betray you thrice?" In his imaginationhe stood identified with Italy: the betrayal of one meant that ofboth. Falling into a deep reflection, Barto counted over his hours ofconspiracy: he counted the Chief's; comparing the two sets of figures hediscovered, that as he had suspected, he was the elder in the patrioticwork therefore, if he bowed his head to the Chief, it was a voluntaryact, a form of respect, and not the surrendering of his judgement. Hewas on the spot: the Chief was absent. Barto reasoned that the Chiefcould have had no experience of women, seeing that he was ready to trustin them. "Do I trust to my pigeon, my sling-stone?" he said jovially tothe thickbrowed, splendidly ruddy young woman, who was his wife; "do Itrust her? Not half a morsel of her!" This young woman, a peasant womanof remarkable personal attractions, served him with the fidelity of afascinated animal, and the dumbness of a wooden vessel. She could havehanged him, had it pleased her. She had all his secrets: but it was notvain speaking on Barto Rizzo's part; he was master of her will; and onthe occasions when he showed that he did not trust her, he was carefulat the same time to shock and subdue her senses. Her report of Vittoriawas, that she went to the house of the Signora, Laura Piaveni, widow ofthe latest heroic son of Milan, and to that of the maestro Rocco Ricci;to no other. It was also Luigi's report.
"She's true enough," the woman said, evidently permitting herself toentertain an opinion; a sign that she required fresh schooling.
"So are you," said Barto, and eyed her in a way that made her ask, "Now,what's for me to do?"
He thought awhile.
"You will see the colonel. Tell him to come in corporal's uniform.What's the little wretch twisting her body for? Shan't I embrace herpresently if she's obedient? Send to the polizia. You believe yourhusband is in the city, and will visit you in disguise at the corporal'shour. They seize him. They also examine the house up to the point wherewe seal it. Your object is to learn whether the Austrians are movingmen upon Milan. If they are-I learn something. When the house has beenexamined, our court here will have rest for a good month ahead; andit suits me not to be disturbed. Do this, and we will have a red-wineevening in the house, shut up alone, my snake! my pepper-flower!"
It happened that Luigi was entering the court to keep an appointmentwith Barto when he saw a handful of the polizia burst into the house anddrag out a soldier, who was in the uniform, as he guessed it to be, ofthe Prohaska regiment. The soldier struggled and offered money tothem. Luigi could not help shouting, "You fools! don't you see he's anofficer?" Two of them took their captive aside. The rest made a searchthrough the house. While they were doing so Luigi saw Barto Rizzo'sface at the windows of the house opposite. He clamoured at the door, butBarto was denied to him there. When the polizia had gone from the court,he was admitted and allowed to look into every room. Not finding him, hesaid, "Barto Rizzo does not keep his appointments, then!" The same wordswere repeated in his ear when he had left the court, and was inthe street running parallel with it. "Barto Rizzo does not keep hisappointments, then!" It was Barto who smacked him on the back, and spokeout his own name with brown-faced laughter in the bustling street. Luigiwas so impressed by his cunning and his recklessness that he at oncetold him more than he wished to tell:--The Austrian officer was with hissister, and had written to the signorina, and Luigi had delivered theletter; but the signorina was at the maestro's, Rocco Ricci's, and therewas no answer: the officer was leaving for Verona in the morning. Aftertelling so much, Luigi drew back, feeling that he had given Barto hisfull measure and owed to the signorina what remained.
Barto probably read nothing of the mind of his spy, but understood thatit was a moment for distrust of him. Vittoria and her mother lodged atthe house of one Zotti, a confectioner, dwelling between the Duomo andLa Scala. Luigi, at Barto's bidding, left word with Zotti that he wouldcall for the signorina's answer to a certain letter about sunrise. "Ipromised my Rosellina, my poppyheaded sipper, a red-wine evening, or Iwould hold this fellow under my eye till the light comes," thought Bartomisgivingly, and let him go. Luigi slouched about the English lady'shotel. At nightfall her brother came forth. Luigi directed him to bein the square of the Duomo by sunrise, and slipped from his hold; theofficer ran after him some distance. "She can't say I was false to hernow," said Luigi, dancing with nervous ecstasy. At sunrise Barto Rizzowas standing under the shadow of the Duomo. Luigi passed him and wentto Zotti's house, where the letter was placed in his hand, and thedoor shut in his face. Barto rushed to him, but Luigi, with a vixenishcountenance, standing like a humped cat, hissed, "Would you destroy myreputation and have it seen that I deliver up letters, under the nosesof the writers, to the wrong persons?--ha! pestilence!" He ran, Bartofollowing him. They were crossed by the officer on horseback, whochallenged Luigi to give up the letter, which was very plainly beingthrust from his hand into his breast. The officer found it no difficultmatter to catch him and pluck the letter from him; he opened it, readingit on the jog of the saddle as he cantered off. Luigi turned in a terrorof expostulation to ward Barto's wrath. Barto looked at him hard, whilehe noted the matter down on the tablet of an ivory book. All hesaid was, "I have that letter!" stamping the assertion with an oath.Half-an-hour later Luigi saw Barto in the saddle, tight-legged about arusty beast, evidently bound for the South-eastern gate, his brows setlike a black wind. "Blessings on his going!" thought Luigi, and sang oneof his street-songs:--"O lemons, lemons, what a taste you leave in themouth! I desire you, I love you, but when I suck you, I'm all caughtup in a bundle and turn to water, like a wry-faced fountain. Why not besatisfied by a sniff at the blossoms? There's gratification. Why did yougrow up from the precious little sweet chuck that you were, Marietta?Lemons, O lemons! such a thing as a decent appetite is not known aftersucking at you."
His natural horror of a resolute man, more than fear (of which he had norecollection in the sunny Piazza), made him shiver and gave his tonguean acid taste at the prospect of ever meeting Barto Rizzo again. Therewas the prospect also that he might never meet him again.