CHAPTER XX
THE OPERA OF CAMILLA
She was dressed like a noble damsel from the hands of Titian. An Italianaudience cannot but be critical in their first glance at a prima donna,for they are asked to do homage to a queen who is to be taken on hermerits: all that they have heard and have been taught to expect ofher is compared swiftly with the observation of her appearance andher manner. She is crucially examined to discover defects. There isno boisterous loyalty at the outset. And as it was now evident thatVittoria had chosen to impersonate a significant character, herindications of method were jealously watched for a sign of inequality,either in her, motion, or the force of her eyes. So silent a receptionmight have seemed cruel in any other case; though in all cases thecandidate for laurels must, in common with the criminal, go through theordeal of justification. Men do not heartily bow their heads untilthey have subjected the aspirant to some personal contest, and findthemselves overmatched. The senses, ready to become so slavish inadulation and delight, are at the beginning more exacting than thejudgement, more imperious than the will. A figure in amber and pale bluesilk was seen, such as the great Venetian might have sketched from hiswindows on a day when the Doge went forth to wed the Adriatic a superbItalian head, with dark banded hair-braid, and dark strong eyes underunabashed soft eyelids! She moved as, after long gazing at a paintingof a fair woman, we may have the vision of her moving from the frame.It was an animated picture of ideal Italia. The sea of heads right up tothe highest walls fronted her glistening, and she was mute as moonrise.A virgin who loosens a dove from her bosom does it with no greatereffort than Vittoria gave out her voice. The white bird fluttersrapidly; it circles and takes its flight. The voice seemed to be aslittle the singer's own.
The theme was as follows:--Camilla has dreamed overnight that her lostmother came to her bedside to bless her nuptials. Her mother was foldedin a black shroud, looking formless as death, like very death, savethat death sheds no tears. She wept, without change of voice, or mortalshuddering, like one whose nature weeps: 'And with the forth-flowing ofher tears the knowledge of her features was revealed to me.' Behold theAdige, the Mincio, Tiber, and the Po!--such great rivers were the tearspouring from her eyes. She threw apart the shroud: her breasts and herlimbs were smooth and firm as those of an immortal Goddess: but breastsand limbs showed the cruel handwriting of base men upon the body ofa martyred saint. The blood from those deep gashes sprang out atintervals, mingling with her tears. She said:
'My child! were I a Goddess, my wounds would heal. Were I a Saint, Ishould be in Paradise. I am no Goddess, and no Saint: yet I cannotdie. My wounds flow and my tears. My tears flow because of no fleshlyanguish: I pardon my enemies. My blood flows from my body, my tears frommy soul. They flow to wash out my shame. I have to expiate my soul'sshame by my body's shame. Oh! how shall I tell you what it is to walkamong my children unknown of them, though each day I bear the sun abroadlike my beating heart; each night the moon, like a heart with no bloodin it. Sun and moon they see, but not me! They know not their mother. Icry to God. The answer of our God is this:--"Give to thy children one byone to drink of thy mingled tears and blood:--then, if there is virtuein them, they shall revive, thou shaft revive. If virtue is not in them,they and thou shall continue prostrate, and the ox shall walk over you."From heaven's high altar, O Camilla, my child, this silver sacramentalcup was reached to me. Gather my tears in it, fill it with my blood, anddrink.'
The song had been massive in monotones, almost Gregorian in its severityup to this point.
'I took the cup. I looked my mother in the face. I filled the cup fromthe flowing of her tears, the flowing of her blood; and I drank!'
Vittoria sent this last phrase ringing out forcefully. From theinveterate contralto of the interview, she rose to pure soprano indescribing her own action. 'And I drank,' was given on a descent of thevoice: the last note was in the minor key--it held the ear as ifmore must follow: like a wail after a triumph of resolve. It wasa masterpiece of audacious dramatic musical genius addressed withsagacious cunning and courage to the sympathizing audience present. Thesupposed incompleteness kept them listening; the intentness sent thatlast falling (as it were, broken) note travelling awakeningly throughtheir minds. It is the effect of the minor key to stir the hearts ofmen with this particular suggestiveness. The house rose, Italians--andGermans together. Genius, music, and enthusiasm break the line ofnationalities. A rain of nosegays fell about Vittoria; evvivas, bravas,shouts--all the outcries of delirious men surrounded her. Men and women,even among the hardened chorus, shook together and sobbed. 'Agostino!'and 'Rocco!' were called; 'Vittoria!' 'Vittoria!' above all, withincreasing thunder, like a storm rushing down a valley, striking inbroad volume from rock to rock, humming remote, and bursting up againin the face of the vale. Her name was sung over and over--'Vittoria!Vittoria!' as if the mouths were enamoured of it.
'Evviva la Vittoria a d' Italia!' was sung out from the body of thehouse.
An echo replied--'"Italia a il premio della VITTORIA!"' a well-knownsaying gloriously adapted, gloriously rescued from disgrace.
But the object and source of the tremendous frenzy stood like one frozenby the revelation of the magic the secret of which she has studiouslymastered. A nosegay, the last of the tributary shower, discharged froma distance, fell at her feet. She gave it unconsciously preference overthe rest, and picked it up. A little paper was fixed in the centre.She opened it with a mechanical hand, thinking there might be patrioticorders enclosed for her. It was a cheque for one thousand guineas, drawnupon an English banker by the hand of Antonio-Pericles Agriolopoulos;freshly drawn; the ink was only half dried, showing signs of thedictates of a furious impulse. This dash of solid prose, and itsconvincing proof that her Art had been successful, restored Vittoria'scomposure, though not her early statuesque simplicity. Rocco gave aninquiring look to see if she would repeat the song. She shook her headresolutely. Her opening of the paper in the bouquet had quieted thegeneral ebullition, and the expression of her wish being seen, thechorus was permitted to usurp her place. Agostino paced up and down thelobby, fearful that he had been guilty of leading her to anticlimax.
He met Antonio-Pericles, and told him so; adding (for now the mask hadbeen seen through, and was useless any further) that he had not had theheart to put back that vision of Camilla's mother to a later scene, lestan interruption should come which would altogether preclude its beingheard. Pericles affected disdain of any success which Vittoria hadyet achieved. 'Wait for Act the Third,' he said; but his irritableanxiousness to hold intercourse with every one, patriot or critic,German, English, or Italian, betrayed what agitation of exultationcoursed in his veins. 'Aha!' was his commencement of a greeting; 'wasAntonio-Pericles wrong when he told you that he had a prima donna foryou to amaze all Christendom, and whose notes were safe and firm as thefooting of the angels up and down Jacob's ladder, my friends? Aha!'
'Do you see that your uncle is signalling to you?' Countess Lena said toWilfrid. He answered like a man in a mist, and looked neither at hernor at the General, who, in default of his obedience to gestures, camegood-humouredly to the box, bringing Captain Weisspriess with him.
'We 're assisting at a pretty show,' he said.
'I am in love with her voice,' said Countess Anna.
'Ay; if it were only a matter of voices, countess.'
'I think that these good people require a trouncing,' said CaptainWeisspriess.
'Lieutenant Pierson is not of your opinion,' Countess Anna remarked.Hearing his own name, Wilfrid turned to them with a weariness wellacted, but insufficiently to a jealous observation, for his eyes werequick under the carelessly-dropped eyelids, and ranged keenly over thestage while they were affecting to assist his fluent tongue.
Countess Lena levelled her opera-glass at Carlo Ammiani, and then placedthe glass in her sister's hand. Wilfrid drank deep of bitterness. 'Thatis Vittoria's lover,' he thought; 'the lover of the Emilia who onceloved me!'
General Pierson may have noticed
this by-play: he said to his nephew inthe brief military tone: 'Go out; see that the whole regiment is handyabout the house; station a dozen men, with a serjeant, at each of thebackdoors, and remain below. I very much mistake, or we shall have tomake a capture of this little woman to-night.'
'How on earth,' he resumed, while Wilfrid rose savagely and went outwith his stiffest bow, 'this opera was permitted to appear, I can'tguess! A child could see through it. The stupidity of our civilauthorities passes my understanding--it's a miracle! We have stringentorders not to take any initiative, or I would stop the Fraulein Camillafrom uttering another note.'
'If you did that, I should be angry with you, General,' said CountessAnna.
'And I also think the Government cannot do wrong,' Countess Lena joinedin.
The General contented himself by saying: 'Well, we shall see.'
Countess Lena talked to Captain Weisspriess in an undertone, referringto what she called his dispute with Carlo Ammiani. The captain wasextremely playful in rejoinders.
'You iron man!' she exclaimed.
'Man of steel would be the better phrase,' her sister whispered.
'It will be an assassination, if it happens.'
'No officer can bear with an open insult, Lena.'
'I shall not sit and see harm done to my old playmate, Anna.'
'Beware of betraying yourself for one who detests you.'
A grand duo between Montini and Vittoria silenced all converse. Camillatells Camillo of her dream. He pledges his oath to discover her mother,if alive; if dead, to avenge her. Camilla says she believes her motheris in the dungeons of Count Orso's castle. The duo tasked Vittoria'sexecution of florid passages; it gave evidence of her sound artisticpowers.
'I was a fool,' thought Antonio-Pericles; 'I flung my bouquet with theherd. I was a fool! I lost my head!'
He tapped angrily at the little ink-flask in his coat-pocket. The firstact, after scenes between false Camillo and Michiella, ends withthe marriage of Camillo and Camilla;--a quatuor composed of Montini,Vittoria, Irma, and Lebruno. Michiella is in despair; Count Orso isprofoundly sonorous with paternity and devotion to the law. He hasrestored to Camilla a portion of her mother's sequestrated estates.A portion of the remainder will be handed over to her when he hashad experience of her husband's good behaviour. The rest he considerslegally his own by right of (Treaties), and by right of possession anddocuments his sword. Yonder castle he must keep. It is the key ofall his other territories. Without it, his position will be insecure.(Allusion to the Austrian argument that the plains of Lombardy are thestrategic defensive lines of the Alps.)
Agostino, pursued by his terror of anticlimax, ran from the sight ofVittoria when she was called, after the fall of the curtain. He made hisway to Rocco Ricci (who had given his bow to the public from hisperch), and found the maestro drinking Asti to counteract his naturalexcitement. Rocco told Agostino, that up to the last moment, neither henor any soul behind the scenes knew Vittoria would be able to appear,except that she had sent a note to him with a pledge to be in readinessfor the call. Irma had come flying in late, enraged, and in disorder,praying to take Camilla's part; but Montini refused to act withthe seconda donna as prima donna. They had commenced the opera inuncertainty whether it could go on beyond the situation where Camillapresents herself. 'I was prepared to throw up my baton,' said Rocco,'and publicly to charge the Government with the rape of our prima donna.Irma I was ready to replace. I could have filled that gap.' He spoke ofVittoria's triumph. Agostino's face darkened. 'Ha!' said he, 'providedwe don't fall flat, like your Asti with the cork out. I should havepreferred an enthusiasm a trifle more progressive. The notion oftravelling backwards is upon me forcibly, after that tempest ofacclamation.'
'Or do you think that you have put your best poetry in the first Act?'Rocco suggested with malice.
'Not a bit of it!' Agostino repudiated the idea very angrily, and puffedand puffed. Yet he said, 'I should not be lamenting if the opera werestopped at once.'
'No!' cried Rocco; 'let us have our one night. I bargain for that.Medole has played us false, but we go on. We are victims already, myAgostino.'
'But I do stipulate,' said Agostino, 'that my jewel is not to meltherself in the cup to-night. I must see her. As it is, she is inevitablydown in the list for a week's or a month's incarceration.'
Antonio-Pericles had this, in his case, singular piece of delicacy, thathe refrained from the attempt to see Vittoria immediately after hehad flung his magnificent bouquet of treasure at her feet. In hisintoxication with the success which he had foreseen and cradled to itsapogee, he was now reckless of any consequences. He felt ready to takepatriotic Italy in his arms, provided that it would succeed as Vittoriahad done, and on the spot. Her singing of the severe phrases of theopening chant, or hymn, had turned the man, and for a time had put a newheart in him. The consolation was his also, that he had rewarded it themost splendidly--as it were, in golden italics of praise; so thather forgiveness of his disinterested endeavour to transplant her wascertain, and perhaps her future implicit obedience or allegiance bought.Meeting General Pierson, the latter rallied him.
'Why, my fine Pericles, your scheme to get this girl out of the waywas capitally concerted. My only fear is that on another occasion theGovernment will take another view of it and you.'
Pericles shrugged. 'The Gods, my dear General, decree. I did my best tolay a case before them; that is all.'
'Ah, well! I am of opinion you will not lay many other cases before theGods who rule in Milan.'
'I have helped them to a good opera.'
'Are you aware that this opera consists entirely of politicalallusions?'
General Pierson spoke offensively, as the urbane Austrian militarypermitted themselves to do upon occasion when addressing the conqueredor civilians.
'To me,' returned Pericles, 'an opera--it is music. I know no more.'
'You are responsible for it,' said the General, harshly. 'It was takenupon trust from you.'
'Brutal Austrians!' Pericles murmured. 'And you do not think much of hervoice, General?'
'Pretty fair, sir.'
'What wonder she does not care to open her throat to these swine!'thought the changed Greek.
Vittoria's door was shut to Agostino. No voice within gave answer. Hetried the lock of the door, and departed. She sat in a stupor. It washarder for her to make a second appearance than it was to make thefirst, when the shameful suspicion cruelly attached to her had helped tobalance her steps with rebellious pride; and more, the great collectedwave of her ambitious years of girlhood had cast her forward to thespot, as in a last effort for consummation. Now that she had won thepublic voice (love, her heart called it) her eyes looked inward; shemeditated upon what she had to do, and coughed nervously. She frightenedherself with her coughing, and shivered at the prospect of again goingforward in the great nakedness of stagelights and thirsting eyes. And,moreover, she was not strengthened by the character of the music and thepoetry of the second Act:--a knowledge of its somewhat inferior qualitymay possibly have been at the root of Agostino's dread of an anticlimax.The seconda donna had the chief part in it--notably an aria (Rocco hadgiven it to her in compassion) that suited Irma's pure shrieks and thetragic skeleton she could be. Vittoria knew how low she was sinking whenshe found her soul in the shallows of a sort of jealousy of Irma. For alittle space she lost all intimacy with herself; she looked at her facein the glass and swallowed water, thinking that she had strained a dreamand confused her brain with it. The silence of her solitary room comingupon the blaze of light the colour and clamour of the house, and thestrange remembrance of the recent impersonation of an ideal character,smote her with the sense of her having fallen from a mighty eminence,and that she lay in the dust. All those incense-breathing flowers heapedon her table seemed poisonous, and reproached her as a delusion. She satcrouching alone till her tirewomen called; horrible talkative things!her own familiar maid Giacinta being the worst to bear with.
Now, Michiella, by m
aking love to Leonardo, Camillo's associate,discovers that Camillo is conspiring against her father. She utters toLeonardo very pleasant promises indeed, if he will betray his friend.Leonardo, a wavering baritono, complains that love should ask forany return save in the coin of the empire of love. He is seduced, andinvokes a malediction upon his head should he accomplish what he hassworn to perform. Camilla reposes perfect confidence in this wretch, andbrings her more doubtful husband to be of her mind.
Camillo and Camilla agree to wear the mask of a dissipated couple.They throw their mansion open; dicing, betting, intriguing, revellings,maskings, commence. Michiella is courted ardently by Camillo; Camillatrifles with Leonardo and with Count Orso alternately. Jealous againof Camilla, Michiella warns and threatens Leonardo; but she becomesCamillo's dupe, partly from returning love, partly from desire forvengeance on her rival. Camilla persuades Orso to discard Michiella. Theinfatuated count waxes as the personification of portentous burlesque;he is having everything his own way. The acting throughout--owing tothe real gravity of the vast basso Lebruno's burlesque, and Vittoria'sarchness--was that of high comedy with a lurid background. Vittoriashowed an enchanting spirit of humour. She sang one bewitching barcarolethat set the house in rocking motion. There was such melancholy in herheart that she cast herself into all the flippancy with abandonment.The Act was weak in too distinctly revealing the finger of the poeticpolitical squib at a point here and there. The temptation to do it ofan Agostino, who had no other outlet, had been irresistible, and he satmoaning over his artistic depravity, now that it stared him in the face.Applause scarcely consoled him, and it was with humiliation of mind thathe acknowledged his debt to the music and the singers, and how littlethey owed to him.
Now Camillo is pleased to receive the ardent passion of his wife, andthe masking suits his taste, but it is the vice of his character thathe cannot act to any degree subordinately in concert; he insists uponpositive headship!--(allusion to an Italian weakness for sovereignties;it passed unobserved, and chuckled bitterly over his excess ofsubtlety). Camillo cannot leave the scheming to her. He pursuesMichiella to subdue her with blandishments. Reproaches cease upon herpart. There is a duo between them. They exchange the silver keys, whichexpress absolute intimacy, and give mutual freedom of access. Camillocan now secrete his followers in the castle; Michiella can enterCamilla's blue-room, and ravage her caskets for treasonablecorrespondence. Artfully she bids him reflect on what she is forfeitingfor him; and so helps him to put aside the thought of that which he alsomay be imperilling.
Irma's shrill crescendos and octave-leaps, assisted by her peculiarattitudes of strangulation, came out well in this scene. The murmursconcerning the sour privileges to be granted by a Lazzeruola wereinaudible. But there has been a witness to the stipulation. Theever-shifting baritono, from behind a pillar, has joined in with anaside phrase here and there. Leonardo discovers that his fealty toCamilla is reviving. He determines to watch over her. Camillo now tossesa perfumed handkerchief under his nose, and inhales the coxcombicalincense of the idea that he will do all without Camilla's aid, tosurprise her; thereby teaching her to know him to be somewhat a hero.She has played her part so thoroughly that he can choose to fancy hera giddy person; he remarks upon the frequent instances of girls who intheir girlhood were wild dreamers becoming after marriage wild wives.His followers assemble, that he may take advantage of the exchangedkey of silver. He is moved to seek one embrace of Camilla before theconflict:--she is beautiful! There was never such beauty as hers! Hegoes to her in the fittest preparation for the pangs of jealousy. But hehas not been foremost in practising the uses of silver keys. Michiella,having first arranged with her father to be before Camillo's doors at acertain hour with men-at-arms, is in Camilla's private chamber, with herhand upon a pregnant box of ebony wood, when she is startled by a noise,and slips into concealment. Leonardo bursts through the casement window.Camilla then appears. Leonardo stretches the tips of his fingers out toher; on his knees confesses his guilt and warns her. Camillo comes in.Thrusting herself before him, Michiella points to the stricken couple'See! it is to show you this that I am here.' Behold occasion for agrand quatuor!
While confessing his guilt to Camilla, Leonardo has excused it by anemphatic delineation of Michiella's magic sway over him. (Leonardo, infact, is your small modern Italian Machiavelli, overmatched in cunning,for the reason that he is always at a last moment the victim of hispoor bit of heart or honesty: he is devoid of the inspiration of greatpatriotic aims.) If Michiella (Austrian intrigue) has any love, it isfor such a tool. She cannot afford to lose him. She pleads for him; and,as Camilla is silent on his account, the cynical magnanimity of Camillois predisposed to spare a fangless snake. Michiella withdraws him fromthe naked sword to the back of the stage. The terrible repudiation sceneensues, in which Camillo casts off his wife. If it was a puzzle to oneItalian half of the audience, the other comprehended it perfectly, andwith rapture. It was thus that YOUNG ITALY had too often been treatedby the compromising, merely discontented, dallying aristocracy. Camillacries to him, 'Have faith in me! have faith in me! have faith in me!'That is the sole answer to his accusations, his threats of eternalloathing, and generally blustering sublimities. She cannot defendherself; she only knows her innocence. He is inexorable, being theguilty one of the two. Turning from him with crossed arms, Camillasings:
'Mother! it is my fate that I should know Thy miseries, and in thyfootprints go. Grief treads the starry places of the earth: In thy longtrack I feel who gave me birth. I am alone; a wife without a lord; Myhome is with the stranger--home abhorr'd!--But that I trust to meet thyspirit there. Mother of Sorrows! joy thou canst not share: So let mewander in among the tombs, Among the cypresses and the withered blooms.Thy soul is with dead suns: there let me be; A silent thing that sharesthy veil with thee.'
The wonderful viol-like trembling of the contralto tones thrilledthrough the house. It was the highest homage to Vittoria that no longerany shouts arose nothing but a prolonged murmur, as when one tellsanother a tale of deep emotion, and all exclamations, all ulteriorthoughts, all gathered tenderness of sensibility, are reserved for theclose, are seen heaping for the close, like waters above a dam.The flattery of beholding a great assembly of human creatures boundglittering in wizard subservience to the voice of one soul, belongs tothe artist, and is the cantatrice's glory, pre-eminent over whateverpoor glory this world gives. She felt it, but she felt it as somethingapart. Within her was the struggle of Italy calling to Italy: Italy'sshame, her sadness, her tortures, her quenchless hope, and the view ofFreedom. It sent her blood about her body in rebellious volumes. Once itcompletely strangled her notes. She dropped the ball of her chin in herthroat; paused without ceremony; and recovered herself. Vittoria had toosevere an artistic instinct to court reality; and as much as she couldshe from that moment corrected the underlinings of Agostino's libretto.
On the other hand, Irma fell into all his traps, and painted herAustrian heart with a prodigal waste of colour and frank energy:
'Now Leonardo is my tool: Camilla is my slave: And she I hate goes forth to cool Her rage beyond the wave. Joy! joy! Paid am I in full coin for my caressing; I take, but give nought, ere the priestly blessing.'
A subtle distinction. She insists upon her reverence for the priestly(papistical) blessing, while she confides her determination to haveit dispensed with in Camilla's case. Irma's known sympathies with theAustrian uniform seasoned the ludicrousness of many of the double-edgedverses which she sang or declaimed in recitative. The irony ofapplauding her vehemently was irresistible.
Camilla is charged with conspiracy, and proved guilty by her ownadmission.
The Act ends with the entry of Count Orso and his force; conspiratorsoverawed; Camilla repudiated; Count Orso imperially just; Leonardochagrined; Camillo pardoned; Michiella triumphant. Camillo sacrificeshis wife for safety. He holds her estates; and therefore Count Orso,whose respect for law causes him to have a keen
eye for matrimonialalliances, is now paternally willing, and even anxious to bestowMichiella upon him when the Pontifical divorce can be obtained; so thatthe long-coveted fruitful acres may be in the family. The chorus singsa song of praise to Hymen, the 'builder of great Houses.' Camilla goesforth into exile. The word was not spoken, but the mention of 'bread ofstrangers, strange faces, cold climes,' said sufficient.
'It is a question whether we ought to sit still and see a firebrandflashed in our faces,' General Pierson remarked as the curtain fell. Hewas talking to Major de Pyrmont outside the Duchess of Graatli's box.Two General officers joined them, and presently Count Serabiglione, withhis courtly semi-ironical smile, on whom they straightway turned theirbacks. The insult was happily unseen, and the count caressed his shavenchin and smiled himself onward. The point for the officers to decidewas, whether they dared offend an enthusiastic house--the fiery coreof the population of Milan--by putting a stop to the opera before worseshould come.
Their own views were entirely military; but they were paralyzed by therecent pseudo-liberalistic despatches from Vienna; and agreed, withsome malice in their shrugs, that the odium might as well be left on theshoulders of the bureau which had examined the libretto. In fact, theysaw that there would be rank peril in attempting to arrest the course ofthings within the walls of the house.
'The temper this people is changeing oddly,' said General Pierson. Majorde Pyrmont listened awhile to what they had to say, and returned to theduchess. Amalia wrote these lines to Laura:--'If she sings that song sheis to be seized on the wings of the stage. I order my carriage to be inreadiness to take her whither she should have gone last night. Do youcontrive only her escape from the house. Georges de P. will aid you. Iadore the naughty rebel!'
Major de Pyrmont delivered the missive at Laura's box. He went down tothe duchess's chasseur, and gave him certain commands and money for ajourney. Looking about, he beheld Wilfrid, who implored him to take hisplace for two minutes. De Pyrmont laughed. 'She is superb, my friend.Come up with me. I am going behind the scenes. The unfortunateimpresario is a ruined man; let us both condole with him. It is possiblethat he has children, and children like bread.'
Wilfrid was linking his arm to De Pyrmont's, when, with a vividrecollection of old times, he glanced at his uniform with Vittoria'seyes. 'She would spit at me!' he muttered, and dropped behind.
Up in her room Vittoria held council with Rocco, Agostino, and theimpresario, Salvolo, who was partly their dupe. Salvolo had laid afreshly-written injunction from General Pierson before her, biddinghim to exclude the chief solo parts from the Third Act, and to bringit speedily to a termination. His case was, that he had been readyto forfeit much if a rising followed; but that simply to beard theauthorities was madness. He stated his case by no means as a pleader,although the impression made on him by the prima donna's success causedhis urgency to be civil.
'Strike out what you please,' said Vittoria.
Agostino smote her with a forefinger. 'Rogue! you deserve an imperialcrown. You have been educated for monarchy. You are ready enough todispense with what you don't care for, and what is not your own.'
Much of the time was lost by Agostino's dispute with Salvolo. Theyhaggled and wrangled laughingly over this and that printed aria, butit was a deplorable deception of the unhappy man; and with Vittoria'sstronger resolve to sing the incendiary song, the more necessary it wasfor her to have her soul clear of deceit. She said, 'Signor Salvolo,you have been very kind to me, and I would do nothing to hurt yourinterests. I suppose you must suffer for being an Italian, like the restof us. The song I mean to sing is not written or printed. What is inthe book cannot harm you, for the censorship has passed it; and surelyI alone am responsible for singing what is not in the book--I and themaestro. He supports me. We have both taken precautions' (she smiled)'to secure our property. If you are despoiled, we will share with you.And believe, oh! in God's name, believe that you will not suffer to nopurpose!'
Salvolo started from her in a horror of amazement. He declared that hehad been miserably deceived and entrapped. He threatened to send thecompany to their homes forthwith. 'Dare to!' said Agostino; and to judgeby the temper of the house, it was only too certain, that if he did so,La Scala would be a wrecked tenement in the eye of morning. But Agostinobacked his entreaty to her to abjure that song; Rocco gave way, andhalf shyly requested her to think of prudence. She remembered Laura, andCarlo, and her poor little frightened foreign mother. Her intenseideal conception of her duty sank and danced within her brain as thepilot-star dances on the bows of a tossing vessel. All were against her,as the tempest is against the ship. Even light above (by which I wouldimage that which she could appeal to pleading in behalf of the wisdomof her obstinate will) was dyed black in the sweeping obscuration; shefailed to recollect a sentence that was to be said to vindicate hersettled course. Her sole idea was her holding her country by an unseenthread, and of the everlasting welfare of Italy being jeopardized if sherelaxed her hold. Simple obstinacy of will sustained her.
You mariners batten down the hatchways when the heavens are dark andseas are angry. Vittoria, with the same faith in her instinct, shut theavenues to her senses--would see nothing, hear nothing. The impresario'sfigure of despair touched her later. Giacinta drove him forth in the actof smiting his forehead with both hands. She did the same for Agostinoand Rocco, who were not demonstrative.
They knew that by this time the agents of the Government were in allprobability ransacking their rooms, and confiscating their goods.
'Is your piano hired?' quoth the former.
'No,' said the latter, 'are your slippers?'
They went their separate ways, laughing.
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