The Patriot Part 44

"Well?" said Cia, when the uncle had gone to bed. "Does my master really intend to go? For the love of Heaven, don't let him, my dear!" And she told Luisa that two hours before he had rolled his eyes in a strange manner, letting his head sink upon his breast, and when she had called to him he had not answered. Presently he had recovered, and had been provoked at her anxious questions, protesting that he had not been ill, that he had simply felt rather sleepy. Luisa listened to her, standing with her candle in her hand, her eyes gla.s.sy, and her attention divided between the words she was hearing and another very different thought, a thought very far removed from Uncle Piero, from the house, from Valsolda.

CHAPTER II

THE SUMMONS TO ARMS

On the morning of the twenty-fifth of February, the day fixed for their journey, Uncle Piero rose at half-past seven, and went to the window. A heavy, white fog hung over the lake, hiding the mountains so that they appeared only as short black streaks, one on the right, the other on the left, between the lake and the fog. "Alas!" the uncle sighed. He had not finished dressing when Luisa came in, and using the unpleasant weather as a pretext, once more begged him to remain at home, and let her go alone. Cia was greatly distressed, and had entreated her to urge him not to go, for she knew he had had an attack of giddiness on the twentieth, and that on the twenty-second he had gone to confession without mentioning it to any one. Seeing that he was growing impatient, Luisa decided it would be wiser to desist, and let him have his own way. Poor Uncle Piero, he had always enjoyed the best of health, and now he was extremely apprehensive, and the slightest disturbance alarmed him. But he did not feel that Luisa should be allowed to set out alone in her present state of mind, and so he was going to sacrifice himself for her. He finished dressing and returning to the window called out triumphantly to Luisa, who was in the little garden below.

"Look up!" said he. "Look up at the Boglia!"

High up above Oria through the smoking fog, the pale gold of the sun s.h.i.+ning on the mountain could be seen, and still higher up all was clear and transparent.

"Fair weather!"

Luisa did not reply, and the old man came down to the loggia in a cheerful frame of mind, and went out to the terrace to enjoy the magnificent struggle between fog and sun.

The stretch of water towards the east between the Ca Rotta, the last house of S. Mamette on the left, and the gulf of the Doi on the right, was one immense white sea. The Ca Rotta could just be distinguished, coming out of the fog like some spectre. At the gulf of the Doi, the narrow black streak of the mountains began, making a gap between the leaden lake and the fog, which, little by little, was a.s.suming a bluish hue. Vague lights broke in the sky towards Osteno; at the end of the eastern sea a new brightness trembled, streaks and spots, dark with the breeze, were forming; the eye of the sun appeared and disappeared among the whirling clouds above Osteno, until at last, growing rapidly larger, it shone forth triumphant. The fog fled in all directions in sheets and puffs, of which many sped past Oria, large and swift, while others cast themselves upon the sh.o.r.e; but the largest rolled away into the far east, where, behind and above a heavy white curtain, the mountains of the lake of Como rose, glorious in the blue.

Uncle Piero called Luisa to witness the spectacle, the last splendid scene of the drama, the triumph of the sun, the flight of the mists, the glory of the hills. He admired nature in a simple manner, without the refinement of the artistic sense, but with youthful ardour, and with the ring of sincerity in his voice; his admiration was that of an old man who has lived a life of purity, who has not exhausted the freshness of his spirit, who still retains a certain simplicity of imagination.

"Look, Luisa!" he exclaimed, "we must indeed cry out, 'Glory be to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!'" Luisa did not answer, but went quickly indoors, that she might not see that white enclosure beyond the kitchen-garden that was drawing her so strongly, with its tacit cry of reproach and grief. She had gone there that morning at six o'clock, and had remained an hour, seated on the wet gra.s.s.

The uncle remained on the terrace lost in contemplation until the moment of departure arrived. Had he been a vain poet he might have imagined that Valsolda was offering him this farewell spectacle to speed him on his way; that she wished to show herself more beautiful than he had, perhaps, ever seen her before. However, these poetic fancies did not come to him, and, besides, his journey was to be so short. But the image of Maria came to him instead; he saw her running round him, he took her upon his knee, and repeated the old rhyme to her:

Proud shade of the river Of Missipip----

"Enough!" he sighed. "It was a terrible thing!" and in answer to a summons from Cia he went slowly towards the little garden where Luisa was awaiting him, ready to go down to the boat. "Here I am," said he.

"And you, Cia, be careful not to let the house tumble into the lake while we are away!"

During the journey on Lake Maggiore on board the _San Bernardino_, Luisa remained in the second-cla.s.s cabin most of the time. She went on deck once to try and persuade Uncle Piero to go below also, but, although the wind was cold, Uncle Piero, wrapped in his heavy grey travelling cloak, would not stir from the deck, where he sat calmly watching the hills and villages, and chatting with a priest from Locarno, with a little old woman from Belgirate, and with other second-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers. Luisa was obliged to leave him there, while she herself went below again, preferring to be alone with her own thoughts. As they approached Isola Bella a sense of inward excitement and a vague foreboding of many things took possession of her. How would the meeting with Franco take place? How would he treat her? Would he repeat Uncle Piero's sermon to her? His letters were indeed always compa.s.sionate and tender, but who does not know that we write in one way and speak in another? How and where would they spend the evening? And then that other question, that question it so terrified her to think about----? All these anxious thoughts were rising higher and higher, threatening to become dominant, to place themselves in bold opposition to that image of the cemetery of Oria, which from time to time would return with impetuous violence, as if to s.n.a.t.c.h back its own. At the station of Cannero, Luisa heard the noise of many steps and of loud talking above her head, and went upstairs to look after her uncle. A party of soldiers, recalled to service, had come out to the steamer in two large barges. Other small boats bore women, children, and old men, who were crying and waving good-bye. The soldiers, most of whom were _Bersaglieri_, fine jolly young fellows, answered the greeting with shouts of "Hurrah for Italy!"

and made promises of presents from Milan. One old woman, all dishevelled, but tearless, had three sons among those soldiers, and was calling out to them to remember our Lord and the Madonna. "Yes, yes,"

grumbled an old sergeant who was escorting them, "Remember our Lord, and the Madonna, and the Bishop, and don't forget the _prevosto_, the parish priest!" The soldiers, who were well acquainted with the _prevosto_, or military prison, laughed loudly at the joke, as the steamer started forward. There were cries, and waving of handkerchiefs, and then the men burst into song, a song shouted by fifty strong voices.

Addio, mia bella, addio, L'armata se ne va.

The soldiers were all cl.u.s.tered together at the prow, among piles of bags and barrels, some sitting, some lying down, others standing, and all singing at the top of their voices to the dull accompaniment of the paddles as the steamer glided straight towards that background of sky, against which rose the pointed hills of Ispra, dividing the immense expanse of water from the Ticino beyond. The young men would soon be crossing the Ticino, probably to the cry of "Savoy for ever!" and amidst the fury of cannonading. Death was awaiting many of them down there under that clear sky, but all sang gaily, and only the dull noise of the paddles seemed to be aware of their fate. The free hills of Piedmont, past which the boat was gliding, although they stood in the shadow, seemed to s.h.i.+ne with pride and satisfaction at having given their sons to the captive hills of Lombardy, which wore an air of tragedy, although illumined by the sun. Luisa felt her blood begin to tingle, felt her once ardent patriotism begin to stir. And those mothers who had seen their sons depart thus? She foresaw whither her thoughts were tending, and hastened to a.s.sure herself that she also would gladly have given a son to Italy, that the grief of those mothers could not in any way be compared to hers. But what a difference there was between reading a letter in Valsolda, telling of the war, and feeling the very breath, hearing the very noise of war all about her, feeling it in the air itself! In the quiet of Valsolda, war was a shadow without substance; here the shadow became incarnate. Here Luisa's personal grief, that immense grief which filled the lifeless air surrounding her in Oria, seemed to shrink before the emotion of many, and her consciousness of this gave her an indefinable sense of discomfort and trouble. Was it the dread of losing a part of her own grief, a part, as it were, of herself?

Was it the desire to escape from a comparison from which she shrank? At the same time the idea that Franco was going to this war, the idea that had affected her so slightly in Valsolda, was now a.s.suming a new aspect of reality in her mind, was making her heart quiver, and it also was wrestling with the image of the cemetery of Oria. For the first time this image of the past was no longer the one, all-powerful master of her soul, and although her soul was indignant and regretful, new images, images of the present and of the future, were a.s.sailing it.

Uncle Piero began to feel cold and came down to the cabin.

"In little more than an hour we shall be at Isola Bella," said he.

"Are you tired?"

"Not in the least. I feel wonderfully well."

"But nevertheless, you will go to bed early to-night?"

The uncle, whose thoughts were wandering, did not answer, but presently he exclaimed: "Do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking that now there ought to be another Maria."

Luisa, who was sitting beside him, sprang up shuddering, and went to the little window opposite, standing with her back to Uncle Piero, who did not understand in the least, and, concluding she was embarra.s.sed, went to sleep in his corner. The steamer touched at Intra. Now there was only Pallanza before Isola. They were skirting the coast; through the little oval window Luisa could see the banks, the houses, the trees slipping by. How fast the boat was gliding, how fast!

Pallanza. The steamer stopped five minutes.

Luisa went on deck and inquired when they would reach Isola Bella. They would not stop either at Suna or Baveno, so it was a question of only a few minutes now. And when would the steamer from Arona arrive? The steamer from Arona appeared to be late. She went below once more to awaken Uncle Piero, who presently came on deck with her. The last part of the journey was accomplished in silence. The uncle watched Pallanza, which they were leaving behind, while Luisa had fixed her gaze on Isola Bella, which they were rapidly approaching, and she saw nothing else.

The boat reached the landing-stage at Isola Bella at forty minutes past three. There was no sign of the steamer from Arona. A porter told Luisa that it was always late now because the train from Novara was never on time, owing to the movement of troops. No one else went ash.o.r.e at Isola, no one was on the beach save the attendant at the landing-stage. When the boat had left, he himself conducted the two travellers to the _Albergo del Delfino_. He said it was a mere chance their finding the hotel open at this season. A large family were spending the winter there. They were English people. Indeed, it seemed the Island of Silence. The lake lay about it, motionless and silent, the sh.o.r.e was deserted, no living being was to be seen in the porches of the poor little houses cl.u.s.tered together about the bay, between one of the round bastions of the gardens and the hotel. The English people had gone out in a boat; the hotel was as silent as the sh.o.r.e and the water. The new arrivals were given two large rooms on the second floor, both of which faced south, and overlooked the melancholy strait between the island and the wooded strip of coast that runs from Stressa to Baveno. The first room was on the western corner of the house, and its window looked out on the little church of S. Vittore, which rises beside the hotel, and upon the small Isola dei Pescatori in the distance. Uncle Piero planted himself at the window contemplating the little island, the little pile of houses rising out of the mirror of the lake and culminating in a campanile; the great mountains of Val di Toce and Val di Gravellone, half hidden in a thin mist through which the sun was s.h.i.+ning. Luisa, seeing that the room contained two beds, hastened to the other room, where an alcove also held two beds. "There," said Uncle Piero, coming in, a moment later, "this will do nicely for you two." Luisa asked the proprietor, in an undertone, if they could not have three rooms instead of two. No, it was impossible. "But this is all right," Uncle Piero repeated. "This is a perfect arrangement. You take this room, and I will have the other." Luisa was silent, and the proprietor withdrew. "Don't you see you have an alcove, just as at home?" It never struck the simple old man that the very sight of that alcove was a torment to Luisa. She told him she preferred the other room, which was lighter and more cheerful. "Amen!" said the uncle. "Do as you like. I am quite willing to be alcoved."

This corner of the hotel soon lapsed into silence once more. Luisa posted herself at the window. The boat from Arona must be very near now; the man who had accompanied them to the hotel was walking slowly towards the landing-stage, and in a few minutes she heard the noise of the paddles in the distance. Uncle Piero told Luisa he was tired, and remained in his room.

She went down towards the landing-stage and stopped behind a small house that hid the boat from view, but she could hear it distinctly. Suddenly the prow of the _San Gottardo_ glided slowly in front of her and stopped. Luisa recognised her husband in the midst of a noisy group.

Franco saw her, and springing ash.o.r.e, ran towards her, while she came forward a few steps to meet him. They embraced, he speechless and blind with emotion, laughing and crying, full of grat.i.tude, but uncertain as to her state of mind, as to how he should regulate his conduct; she more composed, extremely pale, and serious. "G.o.d bless you! G.o.d bless you!"

he kept repeating, as they turned towards the hotel. Then Franco overwhelmed her with questions, first about her journey and the pa.s.sing of the frontier, and then about Uncle Piero. When he mentioned the uncle, Luisa raised her head and said: "Look!" The old man was at the window waving his handkerchief and calling out his welcome in a ringing voice. "Oh!" cried Franco in amazement, and he ran forward.

Uncle Piero was waiting for him on the landing, his face wearing an expression of satisfaction that seemed to spread all over his peaceful breast. "How are you, my boy?" said he, taking both his hands and shaking them heartily, but, nevertheless, holding him at a distance. He did not want kisses, feeling that at such a moment they would mean thanks; but he could not hold out against Franco's impetuosity. "Did you fancy a lady of the house of Maironi could travel without a courier?"

said he, when he had extricated himself from the young man's arms.

"Moreover, I came to enlist in the _Bersaglieri_!" And the man who had said he was tired started downstairs, saying he was going to order dinner.

There was no sofa in their room. Franco drew Luisa to a seat on the bed, and sat down beside her, encircling her shoulders with his arm. He could not talk to her, could only keep on repeating: "I thank you! I thank you!" as he lavished eager caresses, eager kisses, and tender names upon her. Luisa did not respond in any way, but trembled violently with bowed head. Presently he checked himself, and, taking her head in his hands like some sacred thing, fell to touching with his lips the white hairs he saw here and there. She knew he was searching out the white hairs, understood those timid kisses, and was moved. She felt her heart of ice melting, and, seized with terror, struggled to defend herself more against her own emotions than against Franco. "You don't know," she said, "how cold my heart is. I did not even want to come, did not want to leave Maria or give you the pain of finding me in this state. But I came on Uncle Piero's account. He was determined to set out alone, and that I could not allow."

When she had p.r.o.nounced these cruel words she felt Franco's lips withdrawn from her hair, felt his arm forsake her shoulders. Both were silent for a time, then Franco murmured with great gentleness:

"Only thirteen hours more. Then perhaps I shall never trouble you again." At that moment Uncle Piero entered and announced that dinner was ready. Luisa took her husband's hand and pressed it in silence; it was not a lover-like pressure, but it told him she shared his emotion.

At dinner neither Franco nor Luisa could eat. But the uncle had a good appet.i.te, and talked a great deal. He did not approve of Franco's enlisting. "What sort of a soldier do you expect to become?" said he.

"What will you do without your camphor, your sedative water, and all the rest?"

Franco replied that he had cast aside all remedies, that he felt as if he were of steel, and that he should become the most robust soldier of the whole ninth regiment. "Maybe," the uncle grumbled, "maybe. And you, Luisa, what do you say about it?" Luisa believed it would be as her husband had said. "Then that is enough!" the uncle cried. "And so, hurrah!" He had a great opinion of the strength of Austria, and did not view matters in the same rosy light as did Franco. According to Franco there was not the slightest doubt that the Italians would be victorious.

He had seen one of Niel's adjutants, who had come to Turin on a secret mission, and had heard him say to some staff officers: "_Nous allons supprimer l'Autriche!_" Of course they fully expected to leave at least fifty thousand Italians and Frenchmen between the Ticino and the Isonzo.

"Excuse me, Signori," said the waiter who was serving them, "but did the gentlemen speak of enlisting in the ninth regiment?"

"Yes."

"The Queen's Brigade! A splendid brigade! I served in the tenth. We covered ourselves with glory in 1848, as you may remember. Goito, Santo Lucia, Governolo, and Volta. Now it will be your turn."

"We will do our best."

Luisa shuddered slightly. The English people, who were dining at a table near them, heard this dialogue and looked at Franco. For some minutes no one in the room spoke; there pa.s.sed before them the vision of a column of infantry charging with fixed bayonets, amidst a shower of grapeshot.

After dinner the uncle remained at the hotel for his usual nap, and Franco went out with Luisa. They turned to the right towards the Palace.

It was rather dark and a few infrequent drops of rain were falling. The steps leading from the sh.o.r.e to the courtyard of the villa were slippery, and Franco offered his arm to his wife, who took it in silence. They stopped between the deserted courtyard and the stairs that lead to the landing-stage, to count the hours which the clock on the Palace was ringing out. Six o'clock. Two hours had pa.s.sed, and there now remained only eleven before the separation, before the unknown! They walked on slowly and silently, following the straight path between the lake and the side of the Palace, as far as the corner which commands a view of the Isola dei Pescatori, where some lights were already visible.

Two women came towards them, chattering, and walking arm in arm. Franco allowed them to pa.s.s, and then asked his wife if she remembered the Ranc.