Vittoria — Complete

  CHAPTER XV

  AMMIANI THROUGH THE MIDNIGHT

  Ammiani hurried Vittoria out of the street to make safety sure. 'Home,'she said, ashamed of her excitement, and not daring to speak more words,lest the heart in her throat should betray itself. He saw what thefright had done for her. Perhaps also he guessed that she was trying toconceal her fancied cowardice from him. 'I have kissed her hands,' hethought, and the memory of it was a song of tenderness in his blood bythe way.

  Vittoria's dwelling-place was near the Duomo, in a narrow thoroughfareleading from the Duomo to the Piazza of La Scala, where a confectionerof local fame conferred upon the happier members of the population mostpiquant bocconi and tartlets, and offered by placard to give an emotionto the nobility, the literati, and the epicures of Milan, and to allforeigners, if the aforesaid would adventure upon a trial of hisart. Meanwhile he let lodgings. It was in the house of this famousconfectioner Zotti that Vittoria and her mother had lived after leavingEngland for Italy. As Vittoria came under the fretted shadow ofthe cathedral, she perceived her mother standing with Zotti at thehouse-door, though the night was far advanced. She laughed, and walkedless hurriedly. Ammiani now asked her if she had been alarmed. 'Notalarmed,' she said, 'but a little more nervous than I thought I shouldbe.'

  He was spared from putting any further question by her telling him thatLuigi, the Motterone spy, had in all probability done her a servicein turning one or other f the machinations of the Signor Antonio. 'Mymadman,' she called this latter. 'He has got his Irma instead of me. Weshall have to supply her place tomorrow; she is travelling rapidly, andon my behalf! I think, Signor Carlo, you would do well by going to themaestro when you leave me, and telling him that Irma has beencaught into the skies. Say, "Jealous that earth should possess suchoverpowering loveliness," or "Attracted in spite of themselves by thatcombination of genius and beauty which is found united nowhere but inIrma, the spirits of heaven determined to rob earth of her Lazzeruola."Only tell it to him seriously, for my dear Rocco will have to work withone of the singers all day, and I ought to be at hand by them to helpher, if I dared stir out. What do you think?'

  Ammiani pronounced his opinion that it would be perilous for her to goabroad.

  'I shall in truth, I fear, have a difficulty in getting to La Scalaunseen,' she said; 'except that we are cunning people in our house. Wenot only practise singing and invent wonderful confectionery, but wedo conjuring tricks. We profess to be able to deceive anybody whom weplease.'

  'Do the dupes enlist in a regiment?' said Ammiani, with an intonationthat professed his readiness to serve as a recruit. His humour strikingwith hers, they smiled together in the bright fashion of young peoplewho can lose themselves in a ray of fancy at any season.

  Vittoria heard her mother's wailful voice. 'Twenty gnats in one,' shesaid.

  Ammiani whispered quickly to know whether she had decided for themorrow. She nodded, and ran up to her mother, who cried:

  'At this hour! And Beppo has been here after you, and he told me Iwrote for him, in Italian, when not a word can I put to paper: Iwouldn't!--and you are threatened by dreadful dangers, he declares. Hisbehaviour was mad; they are all mad over in this country, I believe.I have put the last stitch to your dress. There is a letter or twoupstairs for you. Always letters!'

  'My dear good Zotti,' Vittoria turned to the artist in condiments, 'youmust insist upon my mother going to bed at her proper time when I amout.'

  'Signorina,' rejoined Zotti, a fat little round-headed man, withvivacious starting brown eyes, 'I have only to tell her to do a thing--Ipull a dog by the collar; be it said with reverence.'

  'However, I am very glad to see you both such good friends.'

  'Yes, signorina, we are good friends till we quarrel again. I regretto observe to you that the respectable lady is incurably suspicious. Ofme--Zotti! Mother of heaven!'

  'It is you that are suspicious of me, sir,' retorted madame. 'Of me, ofall persons! It's "tell me this, tell me that," all day with you; andbecause I can't answer, you are angry.'

  'Behold! the signora speaks English; we have quarrelled again,' saidZotti.

  'My mother thinks him a perfect web of plots,' Vittoria explained thecase between them, laughing, to Ammiani; 'and Zotti is persuaded thatshe is an inveterate schemer. They are both entirely innocent, only theyare both excessively timid. Out of that it grows.'

  The pair dramatized her outline on the instant:

  '"Did I not see him speak to an English lady, and he will not tell me aword about it, though she's my own countrywoman?"'

  '"Is it not true that she received two letters this afternoon, and stilldoes she pretend to be ignorant of what is going on?"'

  'Happily,' said Vittoria, 'my mother is not a widow, or these quarrelsmight some day end in a fearful reconciliation.'

  'My child,' her mother whimpered, 'you know what these autumn nights arein this country; as sure as you live, Emilia, you will catch cold, andthen you're like a shop with shutters up for the dead.'

  At the same time Zotti whispered: 'Signorina, I have kept the minestrahot for your supper; come in, come in. And, little things, little daintybits!--do you live in Zotti's house for nothing? Sweetest delicaciesthat make the tongue run a stream!--just notions of a taste--the palatesmacks and forgets; the soul seizes and remembers!'

  'Oh, such seductions!' Vittoria exclaimed.

  'It is,' Zotti pursued his idea, with fingers picturesquely twirling ina spider-like distension; 'it is like the damned, and they have but acrumb of a chance of Paradise, and down swoops St. Peter and has themin the gates fast! You are worthy of all that a man can do for you,signorina. Let him study, let him work, let him invent,--you are worthyof all.'

  'I hope I am not too hungry to discriminate! Zotti I see Monte Rosa.'

  'Signorina, you are pleased to say so when you are famishing. It isbecause--' the enthusiastic confectioner looked deep and oblique, as onewho combined a remarkable subtlety of insight with profound reflection;'it is because the lighter you get the higher you mount; up like aneagle of the peaks! But we'll give that hungry fellow a fall. A dish ofhot minestra shoots him dead. Then, a tart of pistachios and chocolateand cream--and my head to him who shall reveal to me the flavouring!'

  'When I wake in the morning, I shall have lived a month or two inArabia, Zotti. Tell me no more; I will come in,' said Vittoria.

  'Then, signorina, a little crisp filbert--biscuit--a composition! Youcrack it, and a surprise! And then, and then my dish; Zotti's dish,that is not yet christened. Signorina, let Italy rise first; the greatinventor of the dish winked and nodded temperately. 'Let her rise. Abattle or a treaty will do. I have two or three original conceptions,compositions, that only wait for some brilliant feat of arms, or adiplomatic triumph, and I send them forth baptized.'

  Vittoria threw large eyes upon Ammiani, and set the underlids humorouslyquivering. She kissed her fingers: 'Addio; a rivederla.' He bowedformally: he was startled to find the golden thread of theircompanionship cut with such cruel abruptness. But it was cut; thedoor had closed on her. The moment it had closed she passed into hisimagination. By what charm had she allayed the fever of his anxiety? Hernaturalness had perforce given him assurance that peace must surroundone in whom it shone so steadily, and smiling at the thought of Zotti'srepast and her twinkle of subdued humour, he walked away comforted;which, for a lover in the season of peril means exalted, as in a suddenconflagration of the dry stock of his intelligence. 'She must havesome great faith in her heart,' he thought, no longer attributing hisexclusion from it to a lover's rivalry, which will show that more thanimagination was on fire within him. For when the soul of a youth can beheated above common heat, the vices of passion shrivel up and aid thepurer flame. It was well for Ammiani that he did perceive (dimly thoughit was perceived) the force of idealistic inspiration by which Vittoriawas supported. He saw it at this one moment, and it struck a light tolight him in many subsequent perplexities; it was something he had neverseen before. He had read Tusc
an poetry to her in old Agostino's rooms;he had spoken of secret preparations for the revolt; he had declaimedupon Italy,--the poetry was good though the declamation may have beenbad,--but she had always been singularly irresponsive, with a practicalturn for ciphers. A quick reckoning, a sharp display of figures inItaly's cause, kindled her cheeks and took her breath. Ammiani nowunderstood that there lay an unspoken depth in her, distinct from hervisible nature.

  He had first an interview with Rocco Ricci, whom he prepared to replaceIrma.

  His way was then to the office of his Journal, where he expected to begreeted by two members of the Polizia, who would desire him to marchbefore the central bureau, and exhibit proofs of articles and the itemsof news for inspection, for correction haply, and possibly for approval.There is a partial delight in the contemplated submission to an act ofservitude for the last time. Ammiani stepped in with combative gaiety,but his stiff glance encountered no enemy. This astonished him. Heturned back into the street and meditated. The Pope's Mouth might, hethought, hold the key to the riddle. It is not always most comfortablefor a conspirator to find himself unsuspected: he reads the blanksignificantly. It looked ill that the authorities should allow anythingwhatsoever to be printed on such a morrow: especially ill, if they wereon the alert. The neighbourhood by the Pope's Mouth was desolate underdark starlight. Ammiani got his fingers into the opening behind therubbish of brick, and tore them on six teeth of a saw that had beenfixed therein. Those teeth were as voluble to him as loud tongues. TheMouth was empty of any shred of paper. They meant that the enemy wasready to bite, and that the conspiracy had ceased to be active. Heperceived that a stripped ivy-twig, with the leaves scattered around it,stretched at his feet. That was another and corroborative sign, clearerto him than printed capitals. The reading of it declared that the Revolthad collapsed. He wound and unwound his handkerchief about his fingersmechanically: great curses were in his throat. 'I would start for SouthAmerica at dawn, but for her!' he said. The country of Bolivar still hadits attractions for Italian youth. For a certain space Ammiani's soulwas black with passion. He was the son of that fiery Paolo Ammiani whohad cast his glove at Eugene's feet, and bade the viceroy deliver it tohis French master. (The General was preparing to break his sword on hisknee when Eugene rushed up to him and kissed him.) Carlo was of thisblood. Englishmen will hardly forgive him for having tears in his eyes,but Italians follow the Greek classical prescription for the emotions,while we take example by the Roman. There is no sneer due from us. Hesobbed. It seemed that a country was lost.

  Ammiani had moved away slowly: he was accidentally the witness of acurious scene. There came into the irregular triangle, and walking upto where the fruitstalls stood by day, a woman and a man. The man was anAustrian soldier. It was an Italian woman by his side. The sight of thecouple was just then like an incestuous horror to Ammiani. She led thesoldier straight up to the Mouth, directing his hand to it, and, whatwas far more wonderful, directing it so that he drew forth a packet ofpapers from where Ammiani had found none. Ammiani could see the light ofthem in his hand. The Austrian snatched an embrace and ran. Ammiani wasmoving over to her to seize and denounce the traitress, when he beheldanother figure like an apparition by her side; but this one was not awhitecoat. Had it risen from the earth? It was earthy, for a cloud ofdust was about it, and the woman gave a stifled scream. 'Barto! Barto!'she cried, pressing upon her eyelids. A strong husky laugh came fromhim. He tapped her shoulder heartily, and his 'Ha! ha!' rang in thenight air.

  'You never trust me,' she whimpered from shaken nerves.

  He called her, 'Brave little woman! rare girl!'

  'But you never trust me!'

  'Do I not lay traps to praise you?'

  'You make a woman try to deceive you.' If she could! If only she could!'

  Ammiani was up with them.

  'You are Barto Rizzo,' he spoke, half leaning over the man in hisimpetuosity.

  Barto stole a defensive rearward step. The thin light of dawn had in amoment divided the extreme starry darkness, and Ammiani, who knew hisface, had not to ask a second time. It was scored by a recent sword-cut.He glanced at the woman: saw that she was handsome. It was enough; heknew she must be Barto's wife, and, if not more cunning than Barto, hisaccomplice, his instrument, his slave.

  'Five minutes ago I would have sworn you were a traitress he said toher.

  She was expressionless, as if she had heard nothing; which fact,considering that she was very handsome, seemed remarkable to the youngman. Youth will not believe that stupidity and beauty can go together.

  'She is the favourite pupil of Bartolommeo Rizzo, Signor Carlo Ammiani,'quoth Barto, having quite regained his composure. 'She is my prettypuppet-patriot. I am not in the habit of exhibiting her; but since yousee her, there she is.'

  Barto had fallen into the Southern habit of assuming ease inquasi-rhetorical sentences, but with wary eyes over them. The peculiar,contracting, owl-like twinkle defied Ammiani's efforts to penetrate hislook; so he took counsel of his anger, and spoke bluntly.

  'She does your work?'

  'Much of it, Signor Carlo: as the bullet does the work of the rifle.'

  'Beast! was it your wife who pinned the butterfly to the SignorinaVittoria's dress?'

  'Signor Carlo Ammiani, you are the son of Paolo, the General: you callme beast? I have dandled you in my arms, my little lad, while the bandsplayed "There's yet a heart in Italy!" Do you remember it?' Barto sangout half-a-dozen bars. 'You call me beast? I'm the one man in Milan whocan sing you that.'

  'Beast or man, devil or whatever you are!' cried Ammiani, feelingnevertheless oddly unnerved, 'you have committed a shameful offence:you, or the woman, your wife, who serves you, as I see. You havethwarted the best of plots; you have dared to act in defiance of yourChief--'

  'Eyes to him!' Barto interposed, touching over his eyeballs.

  'And you have thrown your accursed stupid suspicions on the SignorinaVittoria. You are a mad fool. If I had the power, I would order you tobe shot at five this morning; and that 's the last rising of the lightyou should behold. Why did you do it? Don't turn your hellish eyes inupon one another, but answer at once! Why did you do it?'

  'The Signorina Vittoria,' returned Barto--his articulation came forthserpent-like--'she is not a spy, you think. She has been in England: Ihave been in England. She writes; I can read. She is a thing of whims.Shall she hold the goblet of Italy in her hand till it overflows? Shewrites love-letters to an English whitecoat. I have read them. Whobids her write? Her whim! She warns her friends not to enter Milan.She--whose puppet is she? Not yours; not mine. She is the puppet of anEnglish Austrian!'

  Barto drew back, for Ammiani was advancing.

  'What is it you mean?' he cried.

  'I mean,' said Ammiani, still moving on him, 'I mean to drag you firstbefore Count Medole, and next before the signorina; and you shall abjureyour slander in her presence. After that I shall deal with you. Mark me!I have you: I am swifter on foot, and I am stronger. Come quietly.'

  Barto smiled in grim contempt.

  'Keep your foot fast on that stone, you're a prisoner,' he replied,and seeing Ammiani coming, 'Net him, my sling-stone! my serpent!'he signalled to his wife, who threw herself right round Ammiani in atortuous twist hard as wire-rope. Stung with irritation, and a sense ofdisgrace and ridicule and pitifulness in one, Ammiani, after a struggle,ceased the attempt to disentwine her arms, and dragged her clingingto him. He was much struck by hearing her count deliberately, in herdesperation, numbers from somewhere about twenty to one hundred. Onehundred was evidently the number she had to complete, for when she hadreached it she threw her arms apart. Barto was out of sight. Ammianiwaved her on to follow in his steps: he was sick of her presence, andhad the sensations of a shame-faced boy whom a girl has kissed. She wentwithout uttering a word.

  The dawn had now traversed the length of the streets, and thrown openthe wide spaces of the city. Ammiani found himself singing, 'There's yeta heart in Italy!' but it was hardly the s
ong of his own heart. He sleptthat night on a chair in the private room of his office, preferring notto go to his mother's house. 'There 's yet a heart in Italy!' was on hislips when he awoke with scattered sensations, all of which collectedin revulsion against the song. 'There's a very poor heart in Italy!' hesaid, while getting his person into decent order; 'it's like the bell inthe lunatic's tower between Venice and the Lido: it beats now and thenfor meals: hangs like a carrion-lump in the vulture's beak meanwhile!'

  These and some other similar sentiments, and a heat about the browswhenever he set them frowning over what Barto had communicatedconcerning an English Austrian, assured Ammiani that he had no propercommand of himself: or was, as the doctors would have told him, bilious.It seemed to him that he must have dreamed of meeting the dark andsubtle Barto Rizzo overnight; on realizing that fact he could notrealize how the man had escaped him, except that when he thought overit, he breathed deep and shook his shoulders. The mind will, as youmay know, sometimes refuse to work when the sensations are shamefuland astonished. He despatched a messenger with a 'good morrow' to hismother, and then went to a fencing-saloon that was fitted up in thehouse of Count Medole, where, among two or three, there was the ordinaryshrugging talk of the collapse of the projected outbreak, bitter tohear. Luciano Romara came in, and Ammiani challenged him to small-swordand broadsword. Both being ireful to boiling point, and mad to strikeat something, they attacked one another furiously, though they were dearfriends, and the helmet-wires and the padding rattled and smoked to thethumps. For half an hour they held on to it, when, their blood being up,they flashed upon the men present, including the count, crying shame tothem for letting a woman alone be faithful to her task that night.The blood forsook Count Medole's cheeks, leaving its dead hue, as whenblotting-paper is laid on running-ink. He deliberately took a pair offoils, and offering the handle of one to Ammiani, broke the button offthe end of his own, and stood to face an adversary. Ammiani followed theexample: a streak of crimson was on his shirt-sleeve, and his eyeshad got their hard black look, as of the flint-stone, before Romara inamazement discovered the couple to be at it in all purity of intention,on the sharp edge of the abyss. He knocked up their weapons and stoodbetween them, puffing his cigarette leisurely.

  'I fine you both,' he said.

  He touched Ammiani's sword-arm, nodded with satisfaction to find thatthere was no hurt, and cried, 'You have an Austrian out on the ground bythis time tomorrow morning. So, according to the decree!'

  'Captain Weisspriess is in the city,' was remarked.

  'There are a dozen on the list,' said little Pietro Cardi, drawing out apaper.

  'If you are to be doing nothing else to-morrow morning,' added LeoneRufo, 'we may as well march out the whole dozen.'

  These two were boys under twenty.

  'Shall it be the first hit for Captain Weisspriess?' Count Medole saidthis while handing a fresh and fairly-buttoned foil to Ammiani.

  Romara laughed: 'You will require to fence the round of Milan city, mydear count, to win a claim to Captain Weisspriess. In the first place, Iyield him to no man who does not show himself a better man than I. It'sthe point upon which I don't pay compliments.'

  Count Medole bowed.

  'But, if you want occupation,' added Luciano, closing his speech with amerely interrogative tone.

  'I scarcely want that, as those who know me will tell you,' said Medole,so humbly, that those who knew him felt that he had risen to his highseat of intellectual contempt. He could indulge himself, having shownhis courage.

  'Certainly not; if you are devising means of subsistence for thewidows and orphans of the men who will straggle out to be slaughteredto-night,' said Luciano; 'you have occupation in that case.'

  'I will do my best to provide for them,'--the count persisted in his airof humility, 'though it is a question with some whether idiotsshould live.' He paused effectively, and sucked in a soft smile ofself-approbation at the stroke. Then he pursued: 'We meet the day afterto-morrow. The Pope's Mouth is closed. We meet here at nine in themorning. The next day at eleven at Farugino's, the barber's, in Monza.The day following at Camerlata, at eleven likewise. Those who attendwill be made aware of the dispositions for the week, and the day weshall name for the rising. It is known to you all, that without affixinga stigma on our new prima-donna, we exclude her from any share in thisbusiness. All the Heads have been warned that we yield this night tothe Austrians. Gentlemen, I cannot be more explicit. I wish that I couldplease you better.'

  'Oh, by all means,' said Pietro Cardi: 'but patience is the pestilence;I shall roam in quest of adventure. Another quiet week is a tremendoustrial.'

  He crossed foils with Leone Rufo, but finding no stop to the drawn'swish' of the steel, he examined the end of his weapon with alengthening visage, for it was buttonless. Ammiani burst into laughterat the spontaneous boyishness in the faces of the pair of ambitiouslads. They both offered him one of the rapiers upon equal terms. CountMedole's example of intemperate vanity was spoiling them.

  'You know my opinion,' Ammiani said to the count. 'I told you lastnight, and I tell you again to-day, that Barto Rizzo is guilty of grossmisconduct, and that you must plead the same to a sort of excuseabletreason. Count Medole, you cannot wind and unwind a conspiracy like awatch. Who is the head of this one? It is the man Barto Rizzo. He tookproceedings before he got you to sanction them. You may be the vessel,but he commands, or at least, he steers it.'

  The count waited undemonstratively until Ammiani had come to an end.'You speak, my good Ammiani, with an energy that does you credit,' hesaid, 'considering that it is not in your own interest, but anotherperson's. Remember, I can bear to have such a word as treason ascribedto my acts.'

  Fresh visitors, more or less mixed, in the conspiracy, and generallywilling to leave the management of it to Count Medole, now entered thesaloon. These were Count Rasati, Angelo Dovili, a Piedmontese General,a Tuscan duke, and one or two aristocratic notabilities and historicnobodies. They were hostile to the Chief whom Luciano and Carlo reveredand obeyed. The former lit a cigarette, and saying to his friend, 'Doyou breakfast with your mother? I will come too,' slipped his hand onAmmiani's arm; they walked out indolently together, with the smallestshade of an appearance of tolerating scorn for those whom they leftbehind.

  'Medole has money and rank and influence, and a kind ofI-don't-know-what womanishness, that makes him push like a needle forthe lead, and he will have the lead and when he has got the lead, there's the last chapter of him,' said Luciano. 'His point of ambition is theperch of the weather-cock. Why did he set upon you, my Carlo? I saw thebig V running up your forehead when you faced him. If you had finishedhim no great harm would have been done.'

  'I saw him for a short time last night, and spoke to him in my father'sstyle,' said Carlo. 'The reason was, that he defended Barto Rizzo forputting the ring about the Signorina Vittoria's name, and causing theblack butterfly to be pinned to her dress.'

  Luciano's brows stood up.

  'If she sings to-night, depend upon it there will be a disturbance,' hesaid. 'There may be a rising in spite of Medole and such poor sparks,who're afraid to drop on powder, and twirl and dance till the wind blowsthem out. And mind, the chance rising is commonly the luckiest. If I geta command I march to the Alps. We must have the passes of the Tyrol. Itseems to me that whoever holds the Alps must ride the Lombard mare. Youspring booted and spurred into the saddle from the Alps.'

  Carlo was hurt by his friend's indifference to the base injury done toVittoria.

  'I have told Medole that she will sing to-night in spite of him,' he wassaying, with the intention of bringing round some reproach upon Lucianofor his want of noble sympathy, when the crash of an Austrian regimentalband was heard coming up the Corso. It stirred him to love his friendwith all his warmth. 'At any rate, for my sake, Luciano, you willrespect and uphold her.'

  'Yes, while she's true,' said Luciano, unsatisfactorily. The regiment,in review uniform, followed by two pieces of artillery, passed by. The
ncame a squadron of hussars and one of Uhlans, and another foot regiment,more artillery, fresh cavalry.

  'Carlo, if three generations of us pour out our blood to fertilizeItalian ground, it's not too much to pay to chase those drilled curs.'Luciano spoke in vehement undertone.

  'We 'll breakfast and have a look at them in the Piazza d'Armi, and showthat we Milanese are impressed with a proper idea of their power,' saidCarlo, brightening as he felt the correction of his morbid lover's angerin Luciano's reaching view of their duties as Italian citizens. Theheat and whirl of the hour struck his head, for to-morrow they might bewrestling with that living engine which had marched past, and surelyall the hate he could muster should be turned upon the outer enemy. Hegained his mother's residence with clearer feelings.