Captain Mansana and Mothers Hands | Page 6

position not far from the widowed lady. Many of the
bystanders were moved to tears to see her, standing there with that still
gaze of hers upon the coffin, the funeral wreaths, the silent crowds. But
she did not weep; for all this pomp and ceremony could not give her
back what she had lost, nor could it add one jot to the honours her own
heart had long since rendered to the dead. She looked upon it all as
upon something she had seen and known years ago. How beautiful she
still was, I thought; and that not merely because of the noble curves that
time had not yet wholly swept from brow and cheek, nor because of the

eyes, which once had been the loveliest in the town, and indeed were so
even when I knew her thirteen years before, in spite of the many tears
they had shed. But more than all this, was the halo of truth and purity
that surrounded her form, her movements, her face, her expression.
This was as visible to the beholder as light itself, and like the light it
transfigured what it touched. Treachery and deceit felt its influence the
moment they came beneath her glance, and before she had had
occasion to utter a syllable.
Never shall I forget the meeting between her and her sons. Both young
men embraced and kissed her. She held each of them clasped in her
arms for some moments as if she were praying over them. A deep hush
fell on the spectators, and several men mechanically bared their heads.
The younger Mansana, whom his mother had embraced first, drew back
with his handkerchief at his eyes. The elder brother stood rooted to the
spot when she had released him from her clasp. She looked long and
intently upon him. Following her eyes, the gaze of the whole multitude
was riveted upon him, while his cheek crimsoned under the ordeal. Her
expression was full of an unfathomable insight, a sorrow beyond the
reach of words. How often have I recalled it since! But the son, even
while he reddened, relaxed no whit the stern directness of his gaze at
her, and it was clear enough that she felt obliged to avert her own eyes
lest they should rouse him to defiant anger. Here, in sharp antithesis to
one another, the two divergent tendencies and contrasted characteristics
of their family stood revealed.
CHAPTER II
By the scene which I had witnessed my memory was long haunted; but
not so much by a recollection of the impressive part which the mother
had played, as by the defiant countenance, the tall, muscular figure, and
the athletic bearing, of the young officer of the Bersaglieri. I was
curious to learn something of his history, and discovered, to my
surprise, that it was the daring exploits of this son, which, by recalling
attention to the father, were responsible for the tardy honours now
accorded to the latter's memory. I felt I had struck upon something
characteristically Italian. The father, the mother, the speeches, the

procession, the beauties of the scene at the last ceremony in the
graveyard, the watch-fires on the mountains--of all these not a word
more was spoken. Until the moment that we separated in Rome itself,
we were entertained with anecdotes concerning this officer of the
Bersaglieri.
It seemed that as a boy he had served with Garibaldi, and had shown
such promise that his father's friends had thought it worth while to send
him to a military academy. As was the case with so many Italians in
those days, he was entrusted with a command before he had passed his
final examination; but as he speedily distinguished himself, he had not
long to wait before obtaining his regular commission. One act of daring
made his name known all over Italy, even before he had served in battle.
He was out with a reconnoitring party, and chanced to be making his
way, unaccompanied by any of his companions, to the summit of a
wooded hill; when through the thicket, he saw a horse; then, catching
sight of another, he drew nearer, and discovered a travelling carriage,
and, finally, perceived a little group of persons--a lady and two
servants--encamped in the long grass. He immediately recognised the
lady; for, some days previously, she had driven up to the Italian
advanced guard, and sought refuge from the enemy, of whom she
professed great alarm. She had been allowed to pass through the lines;
but instead of continuing her journey, she had evidently found her way
back to this retreat by another route, and was now resting there with her
attendants. The horses looked as if they had received severe treatment,
and had been driven furiously all through the night; it