Vittoria — Complete

by George Meredith

  CHAPTER III

  The old man had introduced her with much of the pride of a fatherdisplaying some noble child of his for the first time to admiringfriends.

  "She is one of us," he pursued; "a daughter of Italy! My daughter also;is it not so?"

  He turned to her as for a confirmation. The signorina pressed hisfingers. She was a little intimidated, and for the moment seemed shyand girlish. The shade of her broad straw hat partly concealed her vividfeatures.

  "Now, gentlemen, if you please, the number is complete, and we mayproceed to business," said Agostino, formally but as he conducted thesignorina to place her at the feet of the Chief, she beckoned to herservant, who was holding the animal she had ridden. He came up to her,and presented himself in something of a military posture of attentionto her commands. These were that he should take the poor brute towater, and then lead him back to Baveno, and do duty in waiting uponher mother. The first injunction was received in a decidedly acquiescentmanner. On hearing the second, which directed his abandonment of hispost of immediate watchfulness over her safety, the man flatly objectedwith a "Signorina, no."

  He was a handsome bright-eyed fellow, with a soldier's frame and a smileas broad and beaming as laughter, indicating much of that mixture ofacuteness, and simplicity which is a characteristic of the South, andmeans no more than that the extreme vivacity of the blood exceeds attimes that of the brain.

  A curious frown of half-amused astonishment hung on the signorina'sface.

  "When I tell you to go, Beppo!"

  At once the man threw out his fingers, accompanied by an amazinglyvoluble delivery of his reasons for this revolt against her authority.Among other things, he spoke of an oath sworn by him to a foreigngentleman, his patron,--for whom, and for whomsoever he loved, he wasready to pour forth his heart's blood,--to the effect that he wouldnever quit her side when she left the roof of her house.

  "You see, Beppo," she remonstrated, "I am among friends."

  Beppo gave a sweeping bow, but remained firm where he stood. Ammianicast a sharp hard look at the man.

  "Do you hear the signorina's orders?"

  "I hear them, signore."

  "Will you obey them?"

  She interposed. "He must not hear quick words. Beppo is only showinghis love for his master and for me. But you are wrong in this case, myBeppo. You shall give me your protection when I require it; and now, youare sensible, and must understand that it is not wanted. I tell you togo."

  Beppo read the eyes of his young mistress.

  "Signorina,"--he stooped forward mysteriously,--"signorina, that fellowis in Baveno. I saw him this morning."

  "Good, good. And now go, my friend."

  "The signor Agostino," he remarked loudly, to attract the old man; "thesignor Agostino may think proper to advise you."

  "The signor Agostino will laugh at nothing that you say to-day, Beppo.You will obey me. Go at once," she repeated, seeing him on tiptoe togain Agostino's attention.

  Beppo knew by her eyes that her ears were locked against him; and,though she spoke softly, there was an imperiousness in her voice not tobe disregarded. He showed plainly by the lost rigidity of his attitudethat he was beaten and perplexed. Further expostulations beingdisregarded, he turned his head to look at the poor panting beast underhis charge, and went slowly up to him: they walked off together, acrest-fallen pair.

  "You have gained the victory, signorina," said Ugo Corte.

  She replied, smiling, "My poor Beppo! it's not difficult to get the bestof those who love us."

  "Ha!" cried Agostino; "here is one of their secrets, Carlo. Take heed ofit, my boy. We shall have queens when kings are fossils, mark me!"

  Ammiani muttered a courtly phrase, whereat Corte yawned in very grimfashion.

  The signorina had dropped to the grass, at a short step from the Chief,to whom her face was now seriously given. In Ammiani's sight she lookeda dark Madonna, with the sun shining bright gold through the edgesof the summer hat, thrown back from her head. The full and steadycontemplative eyes had taken their fixed expression, after a vanishingaffectionate gaze of an instant cast upon Agostino. Attentive as theywere, light played in them like water. The countenance was vivid inrepose. She leaned slightly forward, clasping the wrist of one handabout her knee, and the sole of one little foot showed from under herdress.

  Deliberately, but with no attempt at dramatic impressiveness, the Chiefbegan to speak. He touched upon the condition of Italy, and the new liltanimating her young men and women. "I have heard many good men jeer,"he said, "at our taking women to our counsel, accepting their help, andputting a great stake upon their devotion. You have read history, andyou know what women can accomplish. They may be trained, equally as weare, to venerate the abstract idea of country, and be a sacrifice to it.Without their aid, and the fire of a fresh life being kindled in theirbosoms, no country that has lain like ours in the death-trance canrevive. In the death-trance, I say, for Italy does not die!"

  "True," said other voices.

  "We have this belief in the eternal life of our country, and the beliefis the life itself. But let no strong man among us despise the help ofwomen. I have seen our cause lie desperate, and those who despairedof it were not women. Women kept the flame alive. They worship in thetemple of the cause."

  Ammiani's eyes dwelt fervidly upon the signorina. Her look, which wasfastened upon the Chief, expressed a mind that listened to strangematter concerning her very little. But when the plans for the risingof the Bergamascs and Brescians, the Venetians, the Bolognese, theMilanese, all the principal Northern cities, were recited, with apractical emphasis thrown upon numbers, upon the readiness of theorganized bands, the dispositions of the leaders, and the amount ofresistance to be expected at the various points indicated for theoutbreak, her hands disjoined, and she stretched her fingers to thegrass, supporting herself so, while her extended chin and animatedfeatures told how eagerly her spirit drank at positive springs, andthirsted for assurance of the coming storm.

  "It is decided that Milan gives the signal," said the Chief; and alight, like the reflection of a beacon-fire upon the night, flashed overher.

  He was pursuing, when Ugo Corte smote the air with his nervous fingers,crying out passionately, "Bunglers! are we again to wait for them, andhear that fifteen patriots have stabbed a Croat corporal, and wrestledhotly with a lieutenant of the guard? I say they are bunglers. Theynever mean the thing. Fifteen! There were just three Milanese among thelast lot--the pick of the city; and the rest were made up of Trentini,and our lads from Bergamo and Brescia; and the order from the Councilwas, 'Go and do the business!' which means, 'Go and earn your ounce ofAustrian lead.' They went, and we gave fifteen true men for one poordevil of a curst tight blue-leg. They can play the game on if we givethem odds like that. Milan burns bad powder, and goes off like a druggedpistol. It's a nest of bunglers, and may it be razed! We could dowithout it, and well! If it were a family failing, should not I toobe trusting them? My brother was one of the fifteen who marched out astargets to try the skill of those hell-plumed Tyrolese: and they did itthoroughly--shot him straight here." Corte struck his chest. "He gavea jump and a cry. Was it a viva for Milan? They swear that it was, andthey can't translate from a living mouth, much more from a dead one; butI know my Niccolo better. I have kissed his lips a thousand times, andI know the poor boy meant, 'Scorn and eternal distrust of suchpeddling conspirators as these!' I can deal with traitors, but theseflash-in-the-pan plotters--these shaking, jelly-bodied patriots!--trustto them again? Rather draw lots for another fifteen to bare theirbreasts and bandage their eyes, and march out in the grey morning, whilethe stupid Croat corporal goes on smoking his lumpy pipe! We shall hearthat Milan is moving; we shall rise; we shall be hot at it; and the newswill come that Milan has merely yawned and turned over to sleep on theother side. Twice she has done this trick, and the garrison there hassent five regiments to finish us--teach us to sleep soundly likewise! Isay, let it be Bergamo; or be it Brescia, if you like; or Ve
nice: sheis ready. You trust to Milan, and you are fore-doomed. I would swear itwith this hand in the flames. She give the signal? Shut your eyes, crossyour hands flat on your breasts: you are dead men if you move. She leadthe way? Spin on your heels, and you have followed her!"

  Corte had spoken in a thick difficult voice, that seemed to require theaid of his vehement gestures to pour out as it did like a water-pipe ina hurricane of rain. He ceased, red almost to blackness, and knotted hisarms, that were big as the cable of a vessel. Not a murmur followed hisspeech. The word was, given to the Chief, and he resumed:--"You havea personal feeling in this case, Ugo. You have not heard me. I camethrough Paris. A rocket will soon shoot up from Paris that will bea signal for Christendom. The keen French wit is sick of itscompromise-king. All Europe is in convulsions in a few months: to-morrowit may be. The elements are in the hearts of the people, and nothingwill contain them. We have sown them to reap them. The sowing asks forpersistency; but the reaping demands skill and absolute truthfulness.We have now one of those occasions coming which are the flowers tobe plucked by resolute and worthy hands: they are the tests of oursincerity. This time now rapidly approaching will try us all, and wemust be ready for it. If we have believed in it, we stand prepared. Ifwe have conceived our plan of action in purity of heart, we shall beguided to discern the means which may serve us. You will know speedilywhat it is that has prompted you to move. If passion blindfolds you, ifyou are foiled by a prejudice, I also shall know. My friend, thenursing of a single antipathy is a presumption that your motive force ispersonal--whether the thirst for vengeance or some internal union ofa hundred indistinct little fits of egoism. I have seen brave and evennoble men fail at the ordeal of such an hour: not fail in courage, notfail in the strength of their desire; that was the misery for them!They failed because midway they lost the vision to select the rightinstruments put in our way by heaven. That vision belongs solely to suchas have clean and disciplined hearts. The hope in the bosom of aman whose fixed star is Humanity becomes a part of his blood, and isextinguished when his blood flows no more. To conquer him, the principleof life must be conquered. And he, my friend, will use all, because heserves all. I need not touch on Milan."

  The signorina drew in her breath quickly, as if in this abrupt close shehad a revelation of the Chief's whole meaning, and was startled by thesudden unveiling of his mastery. Her hands hung loose; her figure wastremulous. A murmur from Corte jarred within her like a furious discord,but he had not offended by refusing to disclaim his error, and hadsimply said in a gruff acquiescent way, "Proceed." Her sensations ofsurprise at the singular triumph of the Chief made her look curiouslyinto the faces of the other men; but the pronouncing of her name engagedher attention.

  "Your first night is the night of the fifteenth of next month?"

  "It is, signore," she replied, abashed to find herself speaking with himwho had so moved her.

  "There is no likelihood of a postponement?"

  "I am certain, signore, that I shall be ready."

  "There are no squabbles of any serious kind among the singers?"

  A soft dimple played for a moment on her lips. "I have heard something."

  "Among the women?"

  "Yes, and the men."

  "But the men do not concern you?"

  "No, signore. Except that the women twist them."

  Agostino chuckled audibly. The Chief resumed:

  "You believe, notwithstanding, that all will go well? The opera will beacted; and you will appear in it?"

  "Yes, signore. I know one who has determined on it, and can do it."

  "Good. The opera is Camilla?"

  She was answering with an affirmative, when Agostino brokein,--"Camilla! And honour to whom honour is due! Let Caesar claimthe writing of the libretto, if it be Caesar's! It has passed thecensorship, signed Agostino Balderini--a disaffected person out ofPiedmont, rendered tame and fangless by a rigorous imprisonment. Thesources of the tale, O ye grave Signori Tedeschi? The sources arepartly to be traced to a neat little French vaudeville, verysparkling--Camille, or the Husband Asserted; and again to a certainChronicle that may be mediaeval, may be modern, and is just, as thegreat Shakespeare would say, 'as you like it.'"

  Agostino recited some mock verses, burlesquing the ordinary libretti,and provoked loud laughter from Carlo Ammiani, who was familiar enoughwith the run of their nonsense.

  "Camilla is the bride of Camillo. I give to her all the brains, whichis a modern idea, quite! He does all the mischief, which is possiblymediaeval. They have both an enemy, which is mediaeval and modern. Noneof them know exactly what they are about; so there you have the modern,the mediaeval, and the antique, all in one. Finally, my friends, Camillais something for you to digest at leisure. The censorship swallowed itat a gulp. Never was bait so handsomely taken! At present I have the joyof playing my fish. On the night of the fifteenth I land him. Camillahas a mother. Do you see? That mother is reported, is generallyconceived, as dead. Do you see further? Camilla's first song treats of adream she has had of that mother. Our signorina shall not be troubled tofavour you with a taste of it, or, by Bacchus and his Indian nymphs, Ishould speedily behold you jumping like peas in a pan, like trout on abank! The earth would be hot under you, verily! As I was remarking, ormeant to be, Camilla and her husband disagree, having agreed to. 'Tis aplot to deceive Count Orso--aha? You are acquainted with Count Orso! Heis Camilla's antenuptial guardian. Now you warm to it! In that conditionI leave you. Perhaps my child here will give you a taste of her voice.The poetry does much upon reflection, but it has to ripen within you--amatter of time. Wed this voice to the poetry, and it finds passage'twixt your ribs, as on the point of a driven blade. Do I cry thesweetness and the coolness of my melons? Not I! Try them."

  The signorina put her hand out for the scroll he was unfolding, and casther eyes along bars of music, while Agostino called a "Silenzio tutti!"She sang one verse, and stopped for breath.

  Between her dismayed breathings she said to the Chief:--"Believe me,signore, I can be trusted to sing when the time comes."

  "Sing on, my blackbird--my viola!" said Agostino. "We all trust you.Look at Colonel Corte, and take him for Count Orso. Take me for prettyCamillo. Take Marco for Michiela; Giulio for Leonardo; Carlo for Cupid.Take the Chief for the audience. Take him for a frivolous public. Ah, myPippo!" (Agostino laughed aside to him). "Let us lead off with a lighterpiece; a trifle-tra-la-la! and then let the frisky piccolo be drownedin deep organ notes, as on some occasions in history the people overruncertain puling characters. But that, I confess, is an illustrationaltogether out of place, and I'll simply jot it down in my notebook."

  Agostino had talked on to let her gain confidence. When he was silentshe sang from memory. It was a song of flourishes: one of thosebe-flowered arias in which the notes flicker and leap like youngflames. Others might have sung it; and though it spoke favourably of heraptitude and musical education, and was of a quality to enrapture easy,merely critical audiences, it won no applause from these men. Theeffect produced by it was exhibited in the placid tolerance shown by theuplifting of Ugo Corte's eyebrows, which said, "Well, here's a voice,certainly." His subsequent look added, "Is this what we have come hitherto hear?"

  Vittoria saw the look. "Am I on my trial before you?" she thought; andthe thought nerved her throat. She sang in strong and grave contraltotones, at first with shut eyes. The sense of hostility left her, andleft her soul free, and she raised them. The song was of Camilla dying.She pardons the treacherous hand, commending her memory and the strengthof her faith to her husband:--

  "Beloved, I am quickly out of sight: I pray that you will love more than my dust.

  Were death defeat, much weeping would be right; 'Tis victory when it leaves surviving trust. You will not find me save when you forget Earth's feebleness, and come to faith, my friend, For all Humanity doth owe a debt To all Humanity, until the end."

  Agostino glanced at the Chief to see whether his ear had caught note
ofhis own language.

  The melancholy severity of that song of death changed to a song ofprophetic triumph. The signorina stood up. Camilla has thrown off themask, and has sung the name "Italia!" At the recurrence of it the menrose likewise.

  "Italia, Italia, shall be free!"

  Vittoria gave the inspiration of a dying voice: the conquest of death byan eternal truth seemed to radiate from her. Voice and features were asone expression of a rapture of belief built upon pathetic trustfulness.

  "Italia, Italia shall be free!"

  She seized the hearts of those hard and serious men as a wind takes thestrong oak-trees, and rocks them on their knotted roots, and leaves themwith the song of soaring among their branches. Italy shone about her;the lake, the plains, the peaks, and the shouldering flushed snowridges.Carlo Ammiani breathed as one who draws in fire. Grizzled Agostinoglittered with suppressed emotion, like a frosted thorn-bush in thesunlight. Ugo Corte had his thick brows down, as a man who is readingiron matter. The Chief alone showed no sign beyond a half lifting ofthe hand, and a most luminous fixed observation of the fair young woman,from whom power was an emanation, free of effort. The gaze was sadin its thoughtfulness, such as our feelings translate of the light ofevening.

  She ceased, and he said, "You sing on the night of the fifteenth?"

  "I do, signore."

  "It is your first appearance?"

  She bent her head.

  "And you will be prepared on that night to sing this song?"

  "Yes, signore."

  "Save in the event of your being forbidden?"

  "Unless you shall forbid me, I will sing it, signore."

  "Should they imprison you?--"

  "If they shoot me I shall be satisfied to know that I have sung a songthat cannot be forgotten."

  The Chief took her hand in a gentle grasp.

  "Such as you will help to give our Italy freedom. You hold the sacredflame, and know you hold it in trust."

  "Friends,"--he turned to his companions,--"you have heard what will bethe signal for Milan."