Vittoria | Page 6

to awaken swiftly from his disguise of an absolute
gravity. A red light stood in his eyeballs, as if upon a fiery answer. The
intemperate fit subsided. Smoothing dawn his mottled grey beard with
quieting hands, he took refuge in his habitual sententious irony.
"My friend, I am not a hare in front of the king, nor am I a ram in the
rear of him: I fly him not, neither do I propel him. So, therefore, I
cannot predict the movements of the king. Will the wind blow from the
north to-morrow, think you?"
The mountaineer sent a quick gaze up the air, as to descry signs.
"Who knows?" Agostino continued, though not playing into the smiles
of his companions; "the wind will blow straight thither where there is a
vacuum; and all that we can state of the king is, that there is a positive
vacuum here. It would be difficult to predict the king's movements save
by such weighty indications."
He laid two fingers hard against the rib which shields the heart. It had
become apparently necessary for the speaker to relieve a mind
surcharged with bile at the mention of the king; for, having done, he
rebuked with an amazed frown the indiscretion of Carlo, who had
shouted, "The Carbonaro king!"
"Carlo, my son, I will lean on your arm. On your mouth were better,"
Agostino added, under his voice, as they moved on.
"Oh, but," Carlo remonstrated, "let us trust somebody. Milan has made
me sick of late. I like the look of that fellow."
"You allow yourself, my Carlo, an immense indulgence in permitting
yourself to like the look of anything. Now, listen--Viva Carlo Alberto!"
The old man rang out the loyal salutation spiritedly, and awoke a
prompt response from the mountaineer, who sounded his voice wide in
the keen upper air.

"There's the heart of that fellow!" said Agostino. "He has but one idea
--his king! If you confound it, he takes you for an enemy. These free
mountain breezes intoxicate you. You would embrace the king himself
if you met him here."
"I swear I would never be guilty of the bad joke of crying a 'Viva' to
him anywhere upon earth," Carlo replied. "I offend you," he said
quickly.
The old man was smiling.
"Agostino Balderini is too notoriously a bad joker to be offended by the
comments of the perfectly sensible, boy of mine! My limbs were stiff,
and the first three steps from a place of rest reminded me acutely of the
king's five years of hospitality. He has saved me from all fatigue so
long, that the necessity to exercise these old joints of mine touched me
with a grateful sense of his royal bounty. I had from him a chair, a bed,
and a table: shelter from sun and from all silly chatter. Now I want a
chair or a bed. I should like to sit at a table; the sun burns me; my ears
are afflicted. I cry "Viva!" to him that I may be in harmony with the
coming chorus of Italy, which I prophetically hear. That young fellow,
in whom you confide so much, speaks for his country. We poor units
must not be discordant. No! Individual opinion, my Carlo, is discord
when there is a general delirium. The tide arriving, let us make the best
of the tide. My voice is wisdom. We shall have to follow this king!"
"Shall we!" uttered one behind them gruffly. "When I see this king
swallow one ounce of Austrian lead, I shall not be sorry to follow him!"
"Right, my dear Ugo," said Agostino, turning round to him; "and I will
then compose his hymn of praise. He has swallowed enough of
Austrian bread. He took an Austrian wife to his bed. Who knows? he
may some day declare a preference for Austrian lead. But we shall have
to follow him, or stay at home drivelling."
Agostino raised his eyes, that were glazed with the great heat of his
frame.

"Oh, that, like our Dante, I had lived in the days when souls were
damned! Then would I uplift another shout, believe me! As things go
now, we must allow the traitor to hope for his own future, and we
simply shrug. We cannot plant him neck-deep for everlasting in a
burning marl, and hear him howling. We have no weapons in these
times--none! Our curses come back to roost. This is one of the serious
facts of the century, and controls violent language. What! are you all
gathered about me? Oracles must be moving, too. There's no rest even
for them, when they have got a mountain to scale."
A cry, "He is there!" and "Do you see him?" burst from the throats of
men surrounding Agostino.