CHAPTER IV

It was a surprise to all of them, save to Agostino Balderini, who passed

his inspecting glance from face to face, marking the effect of the

announcement. Corte gazed at her heavily, but not altogether

disapprovingly. Giulio Bandinelli and Marco Sana, though evidently

astonished, and to some extent incredulous, listened like the perfectly

trusty lieutenants in an enterprise which they were. But Carlo Ammiani

stood horror-stricken. The blood had left his handsome young olive-hued

face, and his eyes were on the signorina, large with amazement, from

which they deepened to piteousness of entreaty.

"Signorina!--you! Can it be true? Do you know?--do you mean it?"

"What, signor Carlo?"

"This; will you venture to do such a thing?"

"Oh, will I venture? What can you think of me? It is my own request."

"But, signorina, in mercy, listen and consider."

Carlo turned impetuously to the Chief. "The signorina can't know the

danger she is running. She will be seized on the boards, and shut up

between four walls before a man of us will be ready,--or more than one,"

he added softly. "The house is sure to be packed for a first night; and

the Polizia have a suspicion of her. She has been off her guard in the

Conservatorio; she has talked of a country called Italy; she has been

indiscreet;--pardon, pardon, signorina! but it is true that she has

spoken out from her noble heart. And this opera! Are they fools?--they

must see through it. It will never,--it can't possibly be reckoned on to

appear. I knew that the signorina was heart and soul with us; but who

could guess that her object was to sacrifice herself in the front

rank,--to lead a forlorn hope! I tell you it's like a Pagan rite. You are

positively slaying a victim. I beg you all to look at the case calmly!"

A burst of laughter checked him; for his seniors by many years could not

hear such veteran's counsel from a hurried boy without being shrewdly

touched by the humour of it, while one or two threw a particular irony

into their tones.

"When we do slay a victim, we will come to you as our augur, my Carlo,"

said Agostino.

Corte was less gentle. As a Milanese and a mere youth Ammiani was

antipathetic to Corte, who closed his laughter with a windy rattle of his

lips, and a "pish!" of some emphasis.

Carlo was quick to give him a challenging frown.

"What is it?" Corte bent his head back, as if inquiringly.

"It's I who claim that question by right," said Carlo.

"You are a boy."

"I have studied war."

"In books."

"With brains, Colonel Corte."

"War is a matter of blows, my little lad."

"Let me inform you, signor Colonel, that war is not a game between bulls,

to be played with the horns of the head."

"You are prepared to instruct me?" The fiery Bergamasc lifted his

eyebrows.

"Nay, nay!" said Agostino. "Between us two first;" and he grasped Carlo's

arm, saying in an underbreath, "Your last retort was too long-winded. In

these conflicts you must be quick, sharp as a rifle-crack that hits echo

on the breast-bone and makes her cry out. I correct a student in the art

of war." Then aloud: "My opera, young man!--well, it's my libretto, and

you know we writers always say 'my opera' when we have put the pegs for

the voice; you are certainly aware that we do. How dare you to make

calumnious observations upon my opera? Is it not the ripe and admirable

fruit of five years of confinement? Are not the lines sharp, the stanzas

solid? and the stuff, is it not good? Is not the subject simple, pure

from offence to sensitive authority, constitutionally harmless? Reply!"

"It's transparent to any but asses," said Carlo.

"But if it has passed the censorship? You are guilty, my boy, of

bestowing upon those highly disciplined gentlemen who govern your famous

city--what title? I trust a prophetic one, since that it comes from an

animal whose custom is to turn its back before it delivers a blow, and

is, they remark, fonder of encountering dead lions than live ones. Still,

it is you who are indiscreet,--eminently so, I must add, if you will look

lofty. If my opera has passed the censorship! eh, what have you to say?"

Carlo endured this banter till the end of it came.

"And you--you encourage her!" he cried wrathfully. "You know what the

danger is for her, if they once lay hands on her. They will have her in

Verona in four-and-twenty hours; through the gates of the Adige in a

couple of days, and at Spielberg, or some other of their infernal dens of

groans, within a week. Where is the chance of a rescue then? They

torture, too, they torture! It's a woman; and insult will be one mode of

torturing her. They can use rods--"

The excited Southern youth was about to cover his face, but caught back

his hands, clenching them.

"All this," said Agostino, "is an evasion, manifestly, of the question

concerning my opera, on which you have thought proper to cast a slur. The

phrase, 'transparent to any but asses,' may not be absolutely

objectionable, for transparency is, as the critics rightly insist,

meritorious in a composition. And, according to the other view, if we

desire our clever opponents to see nothing in something, it is notably

skilful to let them see through it. You perceive, my Carlo. Transparency,

then, deserves favourable comment. So, I do not complain of your phrase,

but I had the unfortunate privilege of hearing it uttered. The method of

delivery scarcely conveyed a compliment. Will you apologize?"

Carlo burst from him with a vehement question to the Chief: "Is it

decided?"

"It is, my friend," was the reply.

"Decided! She is doomed! Signorina! what can you know of this frightful

risk? You are going to the slaughter. You will be seized before the first

verse is out of your lips, and once in their clutches, you will never

breathe free air again. It's madness!--ah, forgive me!--yes, madness! For

you shut your eyes; you rush into the trap blindfolded. And that is how

you serve our Italy! She sees you an instant, and you are caught

away;--and you who might serve her, if you would, do you think you can

move dungeon walls?"

"Perhaps, if I have been once seen, I shall not be forgotten," said the

signorina smoothly, and then cast her eyes down, as if she felt the

burden of a little possible accusation of vanity in this remark. She

raised them with fire.

"No; never!" exclaimed Carlo. "But, now you are ours. And--surely it is

not quite decided?"

He had spoken imploringly to the Chief. "Not irrevocably?" he added.

"Irrevocably!"

"Then she is lost!"

"For shame, Carlo Ammiani;" said old Agostino, casting his sententious

humours aside. "Do you not hear? It is decided! Do you wish to rob her of

her courage, and see her tremble? It's her scheme and mine: a case where

an old head approves a young one. The Chief says Yes! and you bellow

still! Is it a Milanese trick? Be silent."

"Be silent!" echoed Carlo. "Do you remember the beast Marschatska's bet?"

The allusion was to a black incident concerning a young Italian ballet

girl who had been carried off by an Austrian officer, under the pretext

of her complicity in one of the antecedent conspiracies.

"He rendered payment for it," said Agostino.

"He perished; yes! as we shake dust to the winds; but she!--it's

terrible! You place women in the front ranks--girls! What can defenceless

creatures do? Would you let the van-regiment in battle be the one without

weapons? It's slaughter. She's like a lamb to them. You hold up your

jewel to the enemy, and cry, 'Come and take it.' Think of the insults!

think of the rough hands, and foul mouths! She will be seized on the

boards--"

"Not if you keep your tongue from wagging," interposed Ugo Corte, fevered

by this unseasonable exhibition of what was to him manifestly a lover's

frenzied selfishness. He moved off, indifferent to Carlo's retort. Marco

Sana and Giulio Bandinelli were already talking aside with the Chief.

"Signor Carlo, not a hand shall touch me," said the signorina. "And I am

not a lamb, though it is good of you to think me one. I passed through

the streets of Milan in the last rising. I was unharmed. You must have

some confidence in me."

"Signorina, there's the danger," rejoined Carlo. "You trust to your good

angels once, twice--the third time they fail you! What are you among a

host of armed savages? You would be tossed like weed on the sea. In pity,

do not look so scornfully! No, there is no unjust meaning in it; but you

despise me for seeing danger. Can nothing persuade you? And, besides," he

addressed the Chief, who alone betrayed no signs of weariness; "listen, I

beg of you. Milan wants no more than a signal. She does not require to be

excited. I came charged with several proposals for giving the alarm.

Attend, you others! The night of the Fifteenth comes; it is passing like

an ordinary night. At twelve a fire-balloon is seen in the sky. Listen,

in the name of saints and devils!"

But even the Chief was observed to show signs of amusement, and the

gravity of the rest forsook them altogether at the display of this

profound and original conspiratorial notion.

"Excellent! excellent! my Carlo," said old Agostino, cheerfully. "You

have thought. You must have thought, or whence such a conception? But,

you really mistake. It is not the garrison whom we desire to put on their

guard. By no means. We are not in the Imperial pay. Probably your balloon

is to burst in due time, and, wind permitting, disperse printed papers

all over the city?"

"What if it is?" cried Carlo fiercely.

"Exactly. I have divined your idea. You have thought, or, to correct the

tense, are thinking, which is more hopeful, though it may chance not to

seem so meritorious. But, if yours are the ideas of full-blown jackets,

bear in mind that our enemies are coated and breeched. It may be

creditable to you that your cunning is not the cunning of the serpent; to

us it would be more valuable if it were. Continue."

"Oh! there are a thousand ways." Carlo controlled himself with a sharp

screw of all his muscles. "I simply wish to save the signorina from an

annoyance."

"Very mildly put," Agostino murmured assentingly.

"In our Journal," said Carlo, holding out the palm of one hand to dot the

forefinger of the other across it, by way of personal illustration--"in

our Journal we might arrange for certain letters to recur at distinct

intervals in Roman capitals, which might spell out, 'This Night AT

Twelve,' or 'At Once.'"

"Quite as ingenious, but on the present occasion erring on the side of

intricacy. Aha! you want to increase the sale of your Journal, do you, my

boy? The rogue!"

With which, and a light slap over Carlo's shoulder, Agostino left him.

The aspect of his own futile proposals stared the young man in the face

too forcibly for him to nurse the spark of resentment which was struck

out in the turmoil of his bosom. He veered, as if to follow Agostino, and

remained midway, his chest heaving, and his eyelids shut.

"Signor Carlo, I have not thanked you." He heard Vittoria speak. "I know

that a woman should never attempt to do men's work. The Chief will tell

you that we must all serve now, and all do our best. If we fail, and they

put me to great indignity, I promise you that I will not live. I would

give this up to be done by anyone else who could do it better. It is in

my hands, and my friends must encourage me."

"Ah, signorina!" the young man sighed bitterly. The knowledge that he had

already betrayed himself in the presence of others too far, and the sob

in his throat labouring to escape, kept him still.

A warning call from Ugo Corte drew their attention. Close by the chalet

where the first climbers of the mountain had refreshed themselves, Beppo

was seen struggling to secure the arms of a man in a high-crowned green

Swiss hat, who was apparently disposed to give the signorina's faithful

servant some trouble. After gazing a minute at this singular contention,

she cried--"It's the same who follows me everywhere!"

"And you will not believe you are suspected," murmured Carlo in her ear.

"A spy?" Sana queried, showing keen joy at the prospect of scotching such

a reptile on the lonely height. Corte went up to the Chief. They spoke

briefly together, making use of notes and tracings on paper. The Chief

then said "Adieu" to the signorina. It was explained to the rest by Corte

that he had a meeting to attend near Pella about noon, and must be in

Fobello before midnight. Thence his way would be to Genoa.

"So, you are resolved to give another trial to our crowned ex-Carbonaro,"

said Agostino.

"Without leaving him an initiative this time!" and the Chief embraced the

old man. "You know me upon that point. I cannot trust him. I do not. But,

if we make such a tide in Lombardy that his army must be drawn into it,

is such an army to be refused? First, the tide, my friend! See to that."

"The king is our instrument!" cried Carlo Ammiani, brightening.

"Yes, if we were particularly well skilled in the use of that kind of

instrument," Agostino muttered.

He stood apart while the Chief said a few words to Carlo, which made the

blood play vividly across the visage of the youth. Carlo tried humbly to

expostulate once or twice. In the end his head was bowed, and he

signified a dumb acquiescence.

"Once more, good-bye." The Chief addressed the signorina in English.

She replied in the same tongue, "Good-bye," tremulously; and passion

mounting on it, added--"Oh! when shall I see you again?"

"When Rome is purified to be a fit place for such as you."

In another minute he was hidden on the slope of the mountain lying toward

Orta.