Vittoria — Complete

by George Meredith

  CHAPTER XXXI

  EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR

  THE TREACHERY OF PERICLES--THE WHITE UMBRELLA--THE DEATH OF RINALDOGUIDASCARPI

  The king crossed the Mincio. The Marshal, threatened on his left flank,drew in his line from the farther Veronese heights upon a narrowedbattle front before Verona. Here they manoeuvred, and the openingsuccesses fell to the king. Holding Peschiera begirt, with one sharppassage of arms he cleared the right bank of the Adige and stood on thesemicircle of hills, master of the main artery into Tyrol.

  The village of Pastrengo has given its name to the day. It was a day ofintense heat coming after heavy rains. The arid soil steamed; the whitepowder-smoke curled in long horizontal columns across the hazy ring ofthe fight. Seen from a distance it was like a huge downy ball, kickedthis way and that between the cypresses by invisible giants. A pair ofeager-eyed women gazing on a battle-field for the first time could butask themselves in bewilderment whether the fate of countries were verilysettled in such a fashion. Far in the rear, Vittoria and Laura heard thecannon-shots; a sullen dull sound, as of a mallet striking upon rottentimber. They drove at speed. The great thumps became varied by musketryvolleys, that were like blocks of rockboulder tumbled in the roll ofa mountain torrent. These, then, were the voices of Italy and Austriaspeaking the devilish tongue of the final alternative. Cannon, rockets,musketry, and now the run of drums, now the ring of bugles, now thetramp of horses, and the field was like a landslip. A joyful brightblack death-wine seemed to pour from the bugles all about. The womenstrained their senses to hear and see; they could realize nothing ofa reality so absolute; their feelings were shattered, and crowded overthem in patches;--horror, glory, panic, hope, shifted lights withintheir bosoms. The fascination and repulsion of the image of Forcedivided them. They feared; they were prostrate; they sprang in praise.The image of Force was god and devil to their souls. They strove tounderstand why the field was marked with blocks of men who made a plumeof vapour here, and hurried thither. The action of their intellectsresolved to a blank marvel at seeing an imminent thing--an interrogationto almighty heaven treated with method, not with fury streaming forward.Cleave the opposing ranks! Cry to God for fire? Cut them through! Theyhad come to see the Song of Deborah performed before their eyes, andthey witnessed only a battle. Blocks of infantry gathered densely,thinned to a line, wheeled in column, marched: blocks of cavalry changedposts: artillery bellowed from one spot and quickly selected another.Infantry advanced in the wake of tiny smokepuffs, halted, advancedagain, rattled files of shots, became struck into knots, faced halfabout as from a blow of the back of a hand, retired orderly. Cavalrycurved like a flickering scimetar in their rear; artillery plodded toits further station. Innumerable tiny smoke-puffs then preceded a freshadvance of infantry. The enemy were on the hills and looked mightier,for they were revealed among red flashes of their guns, and stood partlyvisible above clouds of hostile smoke and through clouds of their own,which grasped viscously by the skirts of the hills. Yet it seemed astrife of insects, until, one by one, soldiers who had gone into yonderwhite pit for the bloody kiss of death, and had got it on their faces,were borne by Vittoria and Laura knelt in this horrid stream of mortalanguish to give succour from their stores in the carriage. Theirnatural emotions were distraught. They welcomed the sight of sufferingthankfully, for the poor blotted faces were so glad at sight of them.Torture was their key to the reading of the battle. They gazed on thefield no longer, but let the roaring wave of combat wash up to them whatit would.

  The hill behind Pastrengo was twice stormed. When the bluecoats firstfell back, a fine charge of Piedmontese horse cleared the slopes for asecond effort, and they went up and on, driving the enemy from hill tohill. The Adige was crossed by the Austrians under cover of Tyroleserifleshots.

  Then, with Beppo at their heels, bearing water, wine, and brandy, thewomen walked in the paths of carnage, and saw the many faces of death.Laura whispered strangely, "How light-hearted they look!" The woundedcalled their comforters sweet names. Some smoked and some sang,some groaned; all were quick to drink. Their jokes at the dead wereuniversal. They twisted their bodies painfully to stick a cigar betweendead lips, and besprinkle them with the last drops of liquor in theircups, laughing a benediction. These scenes put grievous chains onVittoria's spirit, but Laura evidently was not the heavier for them.Glorious Verona shone under the sunset as their own to come; Peschiera,on the blue lake, was in the hollow of their hands. "Prizes worth anyquantity of blood," said Laura. Vittoria confessed that she had seenenough of blood, and her aspect provoked Laura to utter, "For God'ssake, think of something miserable;--cry, if you can!"

  Vittoria's underlip dropped sickly with the question, "Why?"

  Laura stated the physical necessity with Italian naivete.

  "If I can," said Vittoria, and blinked to get a tear; but laughterhelped as well to relieve her, and it came on their return to thecarriage. They found the spy Luigi sitting beside the driver. Heinformed them that Antonio-Pericles had been in the track of the armyever since their flight from Turin; daily hurrying off with whip ofhorses at the sound of cannon-shot, and gradually stealing back to theextreme rear. This day he had flown from Oliosi to Cavriani, and was,perhaps, retracing his way already as before, on fearful toe-tips. Luigiacted the caution of one who stepped blindfolded across hot iron plates.Vittoria, without a spark of interest, asked why the Signor Antonioshould be following the army.

  "Why, it's to find you, signorina."

  Luigi's comical emphasis conjured up in a jumbled picture the devotion,the fury, the zeal, the terror of Antonio-Pericles--a mixture ofdemoniacal energy and ludicrous trepidation. She imagined his longfigure, fantastical as a shadow, off at huge strides, and back, witheyes sliding swiftly to the temples, and his odd serpent's head raisedto peer across the plains and occasionally to exclaim to the reasonableheavens in anger at men and loathing of her. She laughed ungovernably.Luigi exclaimed that, albeit in disgrace with the signor Antonio, hehad been sent for to serve him afresh, and had now been sent forward toentreat the gracious signorina to grant her sincerest friend and adoreran interview. She laughed at Pericles, but in truth she almost loved theman for his worship of her Art, and representation of her dear peacefulpractice of it.

  The interview between them took place at Oliosi. There, also, she metGeorgiana Ford, the half-sister of Merthyr Powys, who told her thatMerthyr and Augustus Gambier were in the ranks of a volunteer contingentin the king's army, and might have been present at Pastrengo. Georgianaheld aloof from battle-fields, her business being simply to serve asMerthyr's nurse in case of wounds, or to see the last of him in caseof death. She appeared to have no enthusiasm. She seconded strongly thevehement persuasions addressed by Pericles to Vittoria. Her disapprovalof the presence of her sex on fields of battle was precise. Pericles hadfollowed the army to give Vittoria one last chance, he said, and dragher away from this sick country, as he called it, pointing at the dustyland from the windows of the inn. On first seeing her he gasped likeone who has recovered a lost thing. To Laura he was a fool; but Vittoriaenjoyed his wildest outbursts, and her half-sincere humility encouragedhim to think that he had captured her at last. He enlarged on the perilssurrounding her voice in dusty bellowing Lombardy, and on the ardourof his friendship in exposing himself to perils as tremendous, that hemight rescue her. While speaking he pricked a lively ear for the noiseof guns, hearing a gun in everything, and jumping to the window withhorrid imprecations. His carriage was horsed at the doors below. Letthe horses die, he said, let the coachman have sun-stroke. Lethundreds perish, if Vittoria would only start in an hour-intwo--to-night--to-morrow.

  "Because, do you see,"--he turned to Laura and Georgiana, submitting tothe vexatious necessity of seeming reasonable to these creatures,--"sheis a casket for one pearl. It is only one, but it is ONE, mon Dieu! andinscrutable heaven, mesdames, has made the holder of it mad. Her voicehas but a sole skin; it is not like a body; it bleeds to death at ascratch. A spot on the pearl, and
it is perished--pfoof! Ah, cruelthing! impious, I say. I have watched, I have reared her. Speak to meof mothers! I have cherished her for her splendid destiny--to see it godown, heels up, among quarrels of boobies! Yes; we have war in Italy.Fight! Fight in this beautiful climate that you may be dominated by ablue coat, not by a white coat. We are an intelligent race; we are acivilized people; we will fight for that. What has a voice of the veryheavens to do with your fighting? I heard it first in England, ina firwood, in a month of Spring, at night-time, fifteen miles and aquarter from the city of London--oh, city of peace! Sandra you will comethere. I give you thousands additional to the sum stipulated. You haveno rival. Sandra Belloni! no rival, I say"--he invoked her in English,"and you hear--you, to be a draggle-tail vivandiere wiz a brandy-bottleat your hips and a reputation going like ze brandy. Ah! pardon,mesdames; but did mankind ever see a frenzy like this girl's? Speak,Sandra. I could cry it like Michiella to Camilla--Speak!"

  Vittoria compelled him to despatch his horses to stables. He had relaysof horses at war-prices between Castiglione and Pavia, and a retinueof servants; nor did he hesitate to inform the ladies that, beforeentrusting his person to the hazards of war, he had taken care to beprovided with safe-conduct passes for both armies, as befitted a prudentman of peace--"or sense; it is one, mesdames."

  Notwithstanding his terror at the guns, and disgust at the soldiery andthe bad fare at the inn, Vittoria's presence kept him lingering inthis wretched place, though he cried continually, "I shall haveheart-disease." He believed at first that he should subdue her; then itbecame his intention to carry her off.

  It was to see Merthyr that she remained. Merthyr came there the dayafter the engagement at Santa Lucia. They had not met since the days atMeran. He was bronzed, and keen with strife, and looked young, but spokenot over-hopefully. He scolded her for wishing to taste battle, andcompared her to a bad swimmer on deep shores. Pericles bounded withdelight to hear him, and said he had not supposed there was so muchsense in Powys. Merthyr confessed that the Austrians had as good asbeaten them at Santa Lucia. The tactical combinations of the Piedmontesewere wretched. He was enamoured of the gallantly of the Duke of Savoy,who had saved the right wing of the army from rout while covering thebackward movement. Why there had been any fight at all at Santa Lucia,where nothing was to be gained, much to be lost, he was incapable oftelling; but attributed it to an antique chivalry on the part of theking, that had prompted the hero to a trial of strength, a bout ofblood-letting.

  "You do think he is a hero?" said Vittoria.

  "He is; and he will march to Venice."

  "And open the opera at Venice," Pericles sneered. "Powys, mon cher,cure her of this beastly dream. It is a scandal to you to want a woman'shelp. You were defeated at Santa Lucia. I say bravo to anything thatbrings you to reason. Bravo! You hear me."

  The engagement at Santa Lucia was designed by the king to serve as aninstigating signal for the Veronese to rise in revolt; and this was thesecret of Charles Albert's stultifying manoeuvres between Peschieraand Mantua. Instead of matching his military skill against the wary oldMarshal's, he was offering incentives to conspiracy. Distrusting therevolution, which was a force behind him, he placed such reliance on itsefforts in his front as to make it the pivot of his actions.

  "The volunteers North-east of Vicenza are doing the real work for us,I believe," said Merthyr; and it seemed so then, as it might have beenindeed, had they not been left almost entirely to themselves to do it.

  These tidings of a fight lost set Laura and Vittoria quivering withnervous irritation. They had been on the field of Pastrengo, and it waswon. They had been absent from Santa Lucia. What was the deduction? Notsuch as reason would have made for them; but they were at the mercy ofthe currents of the blood. "Let us go on," said Laura. Merthyr refusedto convoy them. Pericles drove with him an hour on the road, andreturned in glee, to find Vittoria and Laura seated in their carriage,and Luigi scuffling with Beppo.

  "Padrone, see how I assist you," cried Luigi.

  Upon this Beppo instantly made a swan's neck of his body and trumpeted:"A sally from the fortress for forage."

  "Whip! whip!" Pericles shouted to his coachman, and the two carriagesparted company at the top of their speed.

  Pericles fell a victim to a regiment of bersaglieri that wanted horses,and unceremoniously stopped his pair and took possession of them on theroute for Peschiera. He was left in a stranded carriage between a dustyditch and a mulberry bough. Vittoria and Laura were not much luckier.They were met by a band of deserters, who made no claim upon the horses,but stood for drink, and having therewith fortified their fine opinionof themselves, petitioned for money. A kiss was their next demand. Moneyand good humour saved the women from indignity. The band of rascals wentoff with a 'Viva l'Italia.' Such scum is upon every popular rising, asVittoria had to learn. Days of rain and an incomprehensible inactivityof the royal army kept her at a miserable inn, where the walls werebare, the cock had crowed his last. The guns of Peschiera seemed to roamover the plain like an echo unwillingly aroused that seeks a hollow forits further sleep. Laura sat pondering for hours, harsh in manner, as ifshe hated her. "I think," she said once, "that women are those personswho have done evil in another world:" The "why?" from Vittoria wasuttered simply to awaken friendly talk, but Laura relapsed into hergloom. A village priest, a sleek gentle creature, who shook his headto earth when he hoped, and filled his nostrils with snuff when hedesponded, gave them occasional companionship under the title ofconsolation. He wished the Austrians to be beaten, remarking, however,that they were good Catholics, most fervent Catholics. As the Lorddecided, so it would end! "Oh, delicious creed!" Laura broke out: "Oh,dear and sweet doctrine! that results and developments in a world wherethere is more evil than good are approved by heaven." She twistedthe mild man in supple steel of her irony so tenderly that Vittoriamarvelled to hear her speak of him in abhorrence when they quittedthe village. "Not to be born a woman, and voluntarily to be a woman!"ejaculated Laura. "How many, how many are we to deduct from the malepopulation of Italy? Cross in hand, he should be at the head of ourarms, not whimpering in a corner for white bread. Wretch! he makes themarrow in my bones rage at him. He chronicled pig that squeaked."

  "Why had she been so gentle with him?"

  "Because, my dear, when I loathe a thing I never care to exhaust mydetestation before I can strike it," said the true Italian.

  They were on the field of Goito; it was won. It was won against odds.At Pastrengo they witnessed an encounter; this was a battle. Vittoriaperceived that there was the difference between a symphony and a lyricsong. The blessedness of the sensation that death can be light and easydispossessed her of the meaner compassion, half made up of cowardice,which she had been nearly borne down by on the field of Pastrengo. Atan angle on a height off the left wing of the royal army the face ofthe battle was plain to her: the movements of the troops were clear asstrokes on a slate. Laura flung her life into her eyes, and knelt andwatched, without summing one sole thing from what her senses received.

  Vittoria said, "We are too far away to understand it."

  "No," said Laura, "we are too far away to feel it."

  The savage soul of the woman was robbed of its share of tragic emotionby having to hold so far aloof. Flashes of guns were but flashes of gunsup there where she knelt. She thirsted to read the things written bythem; thirsted for their mystic terrors, somewhat as souls of greatprophets have craved for the full revelation of those fitful underlightswhich inspired their mouths.

  Charles Albert's star was at its highest when the Piedmontese drums beatfor an advance of the whole line at Goito.

  Laura stood up, white as furnace-fire. "Women can do some good bypraying," she said. She believed that she had been praying. That was herpart in the victory.

  Rain fell as from the forehead of thunder. From black eve to black dawnthe women were among dead and dying men, where the lanterns trailed aslow flame across faces that took the light and let it go. They returnedto their ca
rriage exhausted. The ways were almost impassable forcarriage-wheels. While they were toiling on and exchanging theirdrenched clothes, Vittoria heard Merthyr's voice speaking to Beppo onthe box. He was saying that Captain Gambier lay badly wounded; brandywas wanted for him. She flung a cloak over Laura, and handed out theflask with a naked arm. It was not till she saw him again that sheremembered or even felt that he had kissed the arm. A spot of sweet fireburned on it just where the soft fulness of a woman's arm slopes to thebend. He chid her for being on the field and rejoiced in a breath, forthe carriage and its contents helped to rescue his wounded brotherin arms from probable death. Gambier, wounded in thigh and ankle byrifle-shot, was placed in the carriage. His clothes were saturated withthe soil of Goito; but wounded and wet, he smiled gaily, and talkedsweet boyish English. Merthyr gave the driver directions to wind alongup the Mincio. "Georgiana will be at the nearest village--she has aninstinct for battle-fields, or keeps spies in her pay," he said.

  "Tell her I am safe. We march to cut them (the enemy) off from Verona,and I can't leave. The game is in our hands. We shall give you Venice."

  Georgiana was found at the nearest village. Gambier's wounds had beendressed by an army-surgeon. She looked at the dressing, and said that itwould do for six hours. This singular person had fully qualified herselfto attend on a soldier-brother. She had studied medicine for thatpurpose, and she had served as nurse in a London hospital. Her nerveswere completely under control. She could sit in attendance by a sick-bedfor hours, hearing distant cannon, and the brawl of soldiery andvagabonds in the street, without a change of countenance. Her dresswas plain black from throat to heel, with a skull cap of white, likea Moravian sister. Vittoria reverenced her; but Georgiana's manner inreturn was cold aversion, so much more scornful than disdain that itoffended Laura, who promptly put her finger on the blot in the faircharacter with the word 'Jealousy;' but a single word is too broad amark to be exactly true. "She is a perfect example of your English,"Laura said. "Brave, good, devoted, admirable--ice at the heart. Thejudge of others, of course. I always respected her; I never liked her;and I should be afraid of a comparison with her. Her management of thehousehold of this inn is extraordinary."

  Georgiana condescended to advise Vittoria once more not to dangle afterarmies.

  "I wish to wait here to assist you in nursing our friend," saidVittoria.

  Georgiana replied that her strength was unlikely to fail.

  After two days of incessant rain, sunshine blazed over 'the wateryMantuan flats. Laura drove with Beppo to see whether the army was inmotion, for they were distracted by rumours. Vittoria clung to herwounded friend, whose pleasure was the hearing her speak. She expectedLaura's return by set of sun. After dark a messenger came to her, sayingthat the signora had sent a carriage to fetch her to Valeggio. Herimmediate supposition was that Merthyr might have fallen. She foundLuigi at the carriage-door, and listened to his mysterious directionsand remarks that not a minute must be lost, without suspicion. He saidthat the signora was in great trouble, very anxious to see the signorinainstantly; there was but a distance of five miles to traverse.

  She thought it strange that the carriage should be so luxuriously fittedwith lights and silken pillows, but her ideas were all of Merthyr, untilshe by chance discovered a packet marked I chocolate, which told her atonce that she was entrapped by Antonio-Pericles. Luigi would not answerher cry to him. After some fruitless tremblings of wrath, she lay backrelieved by the feeling that Merthyr was safe, come what might come toherself. Things could lend to nothing but an altercation with Pericles,and for this scene she prepared her mind. The carriage stopped while shewas dozing. Too proud to supplicate in the darkness, she left it tothe horses to bear her on, reserving her energies for the morning'sinterview, and saying, "The farther he takes me the angrier I shall be."She dreamed of her anger while asleep, but awakened so frequently duringthe night that morning was at her eyelids before they divided. Toher amazement, she saw the carriage surrounded by Austrian troopers.Pericles was spreading cigars among them, and addressing them affably.The carriage was on a good road, between irrigated flats, that flasheda lively green and bright steel blue for miles away. She drew down theblinds to cry at leisure; her wings were clipped, and she lost heart.Pericles came round to her when the carriage had drawn up at an inn.He was egregiously polite, but modestly kept back any expressions oftriumph. A body of Austrians, cavalry and infantry, were breakingcamp. Pericles accorded her an hour of rest. She perceived that he wasanticipating an outbreak of the anger she had nursed overnight, andbaffled him so far by keeping dumb. Luigi was sent up to her to announcethe expiration of her hour of grace.

  "Ah, Luigi!" she said. "Signorina, only wait, and see how Luigi canserve two," he whispered, writhing under the reproachfulness of hereyes. At the carriage-door she asked Pericles whither he was taking her."Not to Turin, not to London, Sandra Belloni!" he replied; "not to aplace where you are wet all night long, to wheeze for ever after it. Goin." She entered the carriage quickly, to escape from staring officers,whose laughter rang in her ears and humbled her bitterly; she feltherself bringing dishonour on her lover. The carriage continued in thetrack of the Austrians. Pericles was audibly careful to avoid the borderregiments. He showered cigars as he passed; now and then he exhibiteda paper; and on one occasion he brought a General officer to thecarriage-door, opened it and pointed in. A white-helmeted dragoon rodeon each side of the carriage for the remainder of the day. The delightof the supposition that these Austrians were retreating before theinvincible arms of King Carlo Alberto kept her cheerful; but she heardno guns in the rear. A blocking of artillery and waggons compelled ahalt, and then Pericles came and faced her. He looked profoundly ashamedof himself, ready as he was for an animated defence of his proceedings.

  "Where are you taking me, sir?" she said in English.

  "Sandra, will you be a good child? It is anywhere you please, if youwill promise--"

  "I will promise nothing."

  "Zen, I lock you up in Verona."

  "In Verona!"

  "Sandra, will you promise to me?"

  "I will promise nothing."

  "Zen I lock you up in Verona. It is settled. No more of it. I come tosay, we shall not reach a village. I am sorry. We have soldiers fora guard. You draw out a board and lodge in your carriage as in a bed.Biscuits, potted meats, prunes, bon-bona, chocolate, wine--you shallfind all at your right hand and your left. I am desolate in offendingyou. Sandra, if you will promise--"

  "I will promise--this is what I will promise," said Vittoria.

  Pericles thrust his ear forward, and withdrew it as if it had beenslapped.

  She promised to run from him at the first opportunity, to despise himever after, and never to sing again in his hearing. With the darknessLuigi appeared to light her lamp; he mouthed perpetually, "To-morrow,to-morrow." The watch-fires of Austrians encamped in the fieldsencircled her; and moving up and down, the cigar of Antonio-Pericles wasvisible. He had not eaten or drunk, and he was out there sleepless; hewalked conquering his fears in the thick of war troubles: all for hersake. She watched critically to see whether the cigar-light waspuffed in fretfulness. It burned steadily; and the thought of Periclessupporting patience quite overcame her. In a fit of humour that wasalmost tears, she called to him and begged him to take a place in thecarriage and have food. "If it is your pleasure," he said; and threw offhis cloak. The wine comforted him. Thereupon he commenced a series ofstrange gesticulations, and ended by blinking at the window, saying,"No, no; it is impossible to explain. I have no voice; I am not, gifted.It is," he tapped at his chest, "it is here. It is, imprisoned in me."

  "What?" said Vittoria, to encourage him.

  "It can never be explained, my child. Am I not respectful to you? Am Inot worshipful to you? But, no! it can never be explained. Some do callme mad. I know it; I am laughed at. Oh! do I not know zat? Perfectlywell. My ancestors adored Goddesses. I discover ze voice of a Goddess:I adore it. So you call me mad; it is to me what you call me--
juste zesame. I am possessed wiz passion for her voice. So it will be till I goto ashes. It is to me ze one zsing divine in a pig, a porpoise world. Itis to me--I talk! It is unutterable--impossible to tell."

  "But I understand it; I know you must feel it," said Vittoria.

  "But you hate me, Sandra. You hate your Pericles."

  "No, I do not; you are my good friend, my good Pericles."

  "I am your good Pericles? So you obey me?"

  "In what?"

  "You come to London?"

  "I shall not."

  "You come to Turin?"

  "I cannot promise."

  "To Milan?"

  "No; not yet."

  "Ungrateful little beast! minx! temptress! You seduce me into yourcarriage to feed me, to fill me, for to coax me," cried Pericles.

  "Am I the person to have abuse poured on me?" Vittoria rejoined, andshe frowned. "Might I not have called you a wretched whimsicalmoney-machine, without the comprehension of a human feeling? You aredoing me a great wrong--to win my submission, as I see, and it halfamuses me; but the pretence of an attempt to carry me off from myfriends is an offence that I should take certain care to punish inanother. I do not give you any promise, because the first promise ofall--the promise to keep one--is not in my power. Shut your eyes andsleep where you are, and in the morning think better of your conduct!"

  "Of my conduct, mademoiselle!" Pericles retained this sentence in hishead till the conclusion of her animated speech,--"of my conduct I judgebetter zan to accept of such a privilege as you graciously offer to me;"and he retired with a sour grin, very much subdued by her unexpectedcapacity for expression. The bugles of the Austrians were soon ringing.There was a trifle of a romantic flavour in the notes which Vittoriatried not to feel; the smart iteration of them all about her rubbed itoff, but she was reduced to repeat them, and take them in various keys.This was her theme for the day.

  They were in the midst of mulberries, out of sight of the army; greenmulberries, and the green and the bronze young vine-leaf. It was adelicious day, but she began to fear that she was approaching Verona,and that Pericles was acting seriously. The bronze young vine-leafseemed to her like some warrior's face, as it would look when beaten byweather, burned by the sun. They came now to inns which had been visitedby both armies. Luigi established communication with the innkeepersbefore the latter had stated the names of villages to Pericles, whostood map in hand, believing himself at last to be no more conscious ofhis position than an atom in a whirl of dust. Vittoria still refused togive him any promise, and finally, on a solitary stretch of the road, heappealed to her mercy. She was the mistress of the carriage, he said;he had never meant to imprison her in Verona; his behaviour was simplydictated by his adoration--alas! This was true or not true, but it wascertain that the ways were confounded to them. Luigi, despatchedto reconnoitre from a neighbouring eminence, reported a Piedmonteseencampment far ahead, and a walking tent that was coming on their route.The walking tent was an enormous white umbrella. Pericles advanced tomeet it; after an interchange of opening formalities, he turned aboutand clapped hands. The umbrella was folded. Vittoria recognized the lastman she would then have thought of meeting; he seemed to have jumped outof an ambush from Meran in Tyrol:--it was Wilfrid. Their greeting wasdisturbed by the rushing up of half-a-dozen troopers. The men claimedhim as an Austrian spy. With difficulty Vittoria obtained leave to drivehim on to their commanding officer. It appeared that the white umbrellawas notorious for having been seen on previous occasions threading thePiedmontese lines into and out of Peschiera. These very troopers sworeto it; but they could not swear to Wilfrid, and white umbrellas were notabsolutely uncommon. Vittoria declared that Wilfrid was an old Englishfriend; Pericles vowed that Wilfrid was one of their party. The prisonerwas clearly an Englishman. As it chanced, the officer before whomWilfrid was taken had heard Vittoria sing on the great night at LaScala. "Signorina, your word should pass the Austrian Field-Marshalhimself," he said, and merely requested Wilfrid to state on his wordof honour that he was not in the Austrian service, to which Wilfridunhesitatingly replied, "I am not."

  Permission was then accorded to him to proceed in the carriage.

  Vittoria held her hand to Wilfrid. He took the fingers and bowed overthem.

  He was perfectly self-possessed, and cool even under her eyes. Likea pedlar he carried a pack on his back, which was his life; for hisbusiness was a combination of scout and spy.

  "You have saved me from a ditch to-day," he said; "every fellow has somesort of love for his life, and I must thank you for the odd luck of yourcoming by. I knew you were on this ground somewhere. If the rascals hadsearched me, I should not have come off so well. I did not speak falselyto that officer; I am not in the Austrian service. I am a volunteer spy.I am an unpaid soldier. I am the dog of the army--fetching and carryingfor a smile and a pat on the head. I am ruined, and I am working my wayup as best I can. My uncle disowns me. It is to General Schoneck thatI owe this chance of re-establishing myself. I followed the army outof Milan. I was at Melegnano, at Pastrengo, at Santa Lucia. If I getnothing for it, the Lenkensteins at least shall not say that I abandonedthe flag in adversity. I am bound for Rivoli. The fortress (Peschiera)has just surrendered. The Marshal is stealing round to make a dash onVicenza." So far he spoke like one apart from her, but a flush crossedhis forehead. "I have not followed you. I have obeyed your briefdirections. I saw this carriage yesterday in the ranks of our troops. Isaw Pericles. I guessed who might be inside it. I let it pass me. CouldI do more?"

  "Not if you wanted to punish me," said Vittoria.

  She was afflicted by his refraining from reproaches in his sunken state.

  Their talk bordered the old life which they had known, like a rivulet,coming to falls where it threatens to be e, torrent and a flood; likeflame bubbling the wax of a seal. She was surprised to find herselfexpecting tenderness from him: and, startled by the languor in herveins, she conceived a contempt for her sex and her own weak nature. Tomask that, an excessive outward coldness was assumed. "You can serve asa spy, Wilfrid!"

  The answer was ready: "Having twice served as a traitor, I need not beparticular. It is what my uncle and the Lenkensteins call me. I do mybest to work my way up again. Despise me for it, if you please."

  On the contrary, she had never respected him so much. She got herselfinto opposition to him by provoking him to speak with pride of his army;but the opposition was artificial, and she called to Carlo Ammiani inheart. "I will leave these places, cover up my head, and crouch till thestruggle is decided."

  The difficulty was now to be happily rid of Wilfrid by leaving him insafety. Piedmontese horse scoured the neighbourhood, and any mischancethat might befall him she traced to her hand. She dreaded at everyinstant to hear him speak of his love for her; yet how sweet it wouldhave been to hear it,--to hear him speak of passionate love; to shapeit in deep music; to hear one crave for what she gave to another! "I amsinking: I am growing degraded," she thought. But there was no other wayfor her to quicken her imagination of her distant and offended lover.The sights on the plains were strange contrasts to these conflictinginner emotions: she seemed to be living in two divided worlds.

  Pericles declared anew that she was mistress of the carriage. She issuedorders: "The nearest point to Rivoli, and then to Brescia."

  Pericles broke into shouts. "She has arrived at her reason! Hurrah forBrescia! I beheld you," he confessed to Wilfrid,--"it was on ze rightof Mincio, my friend. I did not know you were so true for Art, or whata hand I would have reached to you! Excuse me now. Let us whip on. Iam your banker. I shall desire you not to be shot or sabred. You aredeserving of an effigy on a theatral grand stair-case!" His gratitudecould no further express itself. In joy he whipped the horses on. Foolsmight be fighting--he was the conqueror. From Brescia, one leap tookhim in fancy to London. He composed mentally a letter to be forwardedimmediately to a London manager, directing him to cause the appearanceof articles in the journals on the grand new prima donna, whose si
nginghad awakened the people of Italy.

  Another day brought them in view of the Lago di Garda. The flag ofSardinia hung from the walls of Peschiera. And now Vittoria saw thePastrengo hills--dear hills, that drove her wretched languor out of her,and made her soul and body one again. The horses were going at a gallop.Shots were heard. To the left of them, somewhat in the rear, on higherground, there was an encounter of a body of Austrians and Italians:Tyrolese riflemen and the volunteers. Pericles was raving. He refusedto draw the reins till they had reached the village, where one of thehorses dropped. From the windows of the inn, fronting a clear space,Vittoria beheld a guard of Austrians surrounding two or more prisoners.A woman sat near them with her head buried in her lap. Presently anofficer left the door of the inn and spoke to the soldiers. "That isCount Karl von Lenkenstein," Wilfrid said in a whisper. Pericles hadbeen speaking with Count Karl and came up to the room, saying, "Weare to observe something; but we are safe; it is only fortune of war."Wilfrid immediately went out to report himself. He was seen giving hispapers, after which Count Karl waved his finger back to the inn, and hereturned. Vittoria sprang to her feet at the words he uttered. RinaldoGuidascarpi was one of the prisoners. The others Wilfrid professed notto know. The woman was the wife of Barto Rizzo.

  In the great red of sunset the Tyrolese riflemen and a body of Italiansin Austrian fatigue uniform marched into the village. These formed inthe space before the inn. It seemed as if Count Karl were declaiming anindictment. A voice answered, "I am the man." It was clear and straightas a voice that goes up in the night. Then a procession walked somepaces on. The woman followed. She fell prostrate at the feet of CountKarl. He listened to her and nodded. Rinaldo Guidascarpi stood alonewith bandaged eyes. The woman advanced to him; she put her mouth on hisear; there she hung.

  Vittoria heard a single shot. Rinaldo Guidascarpi lay stretched upon theground and the woman stood over him.