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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3bfbb1 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67218 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67218) diff --git a/old/67218-0.txt b/old/67218-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ce10446..0000000 --- a/old/67218-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1846 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Conscript Mother, by Robert -Herrick - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Conscript Mother - -Author: Robert Herrick - -Release Date: January 21, 2022 [eBook #67218] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by University of California - libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER *** - - - - - -THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER - - - - -IN SIMILAR FORM - -16mo, Boards, net 50c. - - -_Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews_ - - The Perfect Tribute - The Lifted Bandage - The Courage of the Commonplace - The Counsel Assigned - -_Maltbie Davenport Babcock_ - -The Success of Defeat - -_Katherine Holland Brown_ - -The Messenger - - -_Richard Harding Davis_ - - The Consul - The Boy Scout - -_Marion Harland_ - -Looking Westward - -_Robert Herrick_ - - The Master of the Inn - The Conscript Mother - -_Frederick Landis_ - -The Angel of Lonesome Hill - - -_Francis E. Leupp_ - -A Day with Father - -_Alice Duer Miller_ - -Things - -_Thomas Nelson Page_ - -The Stranger’s Pew - -_Robert Louis Stevenson_ - - A Christmas Sermon - Prayers Written at Vailima - Æs Triplex - Father Damien - -_Isobel Strong_ - -Robert Louis Stevenson - -_Henry van Dyke_ - - School of Life - The Spirit of Christmas - The Sad Shepherd - The First Christmas Tree - - -[Illustration: “Five minutes at the most I had with him there by the -side of the highroad....” [_Page 95_] - - - - - THE - - CONSCRIPT MOTHER - - BY - - Robert Herrick - Author of “The Master of the Inn” - - NEW YORK - - Charles Scribner’s Sons - 1916 - - - - - _Copyright, 1916, by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ - - _Published April, 1916_ - - - - - THE - CONSCRIPT MOTHER - - - - -I - - -WHEN I met the signora at the tram station that May morning she was -evidently troubled about something which was only partly explained by -her murmured excuse, “a sleepless night.” We were to cross the Campagna -to one of the little towns in the Albanian hills, where young Maironi -was temporarily stationed with his regiment. If we had good luck and -happened upon an indulgent officer, the mother might get sight of her -boy for a few minutes. All the way over the flowering Campagna, with -the blue hills swimming on the horizon before us, the signora was -unusually taciturn, seemingly indifferent to the beauty of the day, -and the wonderful charm of the Italian spring, to which she was always -so lyrically responsive on our excursions. When a great dirigible -rose into the blue air above our heads, like a huge silver fish, my -companion gave a slight start, and I divined what was in her mind--the -imminence of war, which had been threatening to engulf Italy for many -months. It was that fear which had destroyed her customary gayety, the -indomitable cheerfulness of the true Latin mother that she was. - -“It is coming,” she sighed, glancing up at the dirigible. “It will not -be long now before we shall know--only a few days.” - -And to the ignorant optimism of my protest she smiled sadly, with the -fatalism that women acquire in countries of conscription. It was futile -to combat with mere theory and logic this conviction of a mother’s -heart. Probably the signora had overheard some significant word which -to her sensitive intelligence was more real, more positive than all the -subtle reasonings at the Consulta. The sphinx-like silence of ministers -and diplomats had not been broken: there was nothing new in the -“situation.” The newspapers were as wordily empty of fact as ever. And -yet this morning for the first time Signora Maironi seemed convinced -against her will that war was inevitable. - -These last days there had been a similar change in the mood of the -Italian public, not to be fully explained by any of the rumors flying -about Rome, by the sudden exodus of Germans and Austrians, by anything -other than that mysterious sixth sense which enables humanity, like -wild animals, to apprehend unknown dangers. Those whose lives and -happiness are at stake seem to divine before the blow falls what is -about to happen.... For the first time I began to believe that Italy -might really plunge into the deep gulf at which her people had so long -gazed in fascinated suspense. There are secret signs in a country like -Italy, where much is hidden from the stranger. Signora Maironi knew. -She pointed to some soldiers waiting at a station and observed: “They -have their marching-kit, and they are going north!” - - * * * * * - -We talked of other things while the tram crept far up above the -Campagna and slowly circled the green hillsides, until we got down at -the dirty little gray town of Genzano, where Enrico Maironi’s regiment -had been sent. There were no barracks. The soldiers were quartered here -and there in old stone buildings. We could see their boyish faces at -the windows and the gray uniform of the _granatieri_ in the courtyards. -It seemed a hopeless task to find the signora’s boy, until a young -lieutenant to whom the mother appealed offered to accompany us in our -search. He explained that the soldiers had to be kept shut up in their -quarters because they were stoned by the inhabitants when they appeared -on the streets. They were a tough lot up here in the hills, he said, -and they were against the war. That was why, I gathered, the grenadiers -had been sent thither from Rome, to suppress all “demonstrations” that -might embarrass the government at this moment. - -The citizens of Genzano certainly looked ugly. They were dirty and -poor, and scowled at the young officer. The little town, for all its -heavenly situation, seemed dreary and sad. The word “_socialismo_” -scrawled on the stone walls had been half erased by the hand of -authority. War meant to these people more taxes and fewer men to work -the fields.... The young lieutenant liked to air his French; smoking -one of the few good cigars I had left, he talked freely while we waited -for Enrico to emerge from the monastery where we finally located him. -It would be war, of course, he said. There was no other way. Before -it might have been doubtful, but now that the Germans had been found -over in Tripoli and German guns, too, what could one do? Evidently the -lieutenant welcomed almost anything that would take the grenadiers from -Genzano! - -Then Enrico came running out of the great gate, as nice a looking lad -of nineteen as one could find anywhere, even in his soiled and mussed -uniform, and Enrico had no false shame about embracing his mother in -the presence of his officer and of the comrades who were looking down -on us enviously from the windows of the old monastery. The lieutenant -gave the boy three hours’ liberty to spend with us and, saluting -politely, went back to the post. - -With Enrico between us we wandered up the hill toward the green lake -in the bowl of the ancient crater. Signora Maironi kept tight hold of -her lad, purring over him in French and Italian--the more intimate -things in Italian--turning as mothers will from endearment to gentle -scolding. Why did he not keep himself tidier? Surely he had the needles -and thread his sister Bianca had given him the last time he was at -home. And how was the ear? Had he carried out the doctor’s directions? -Which it is needless to say Enrico had not. The signora explained to -me that the boy was in danger of losing the hearing of one ear because -of the careless treatment the regimental doctor had given him when he -had a cold. She did not like to complain of the military authorities: -of course they could not bother with every little trouble a soldier had -in a time like this, but the loss of his hearing would be a serious -handicap to the boy in earning his living.... - -It seemed that Enrico had not yet breakfasted, and, although it was -only eleven, I insisted on putting forward the movable feast of -continental breakfast, and we ordered our _colazione_ served in the -empty garden of the little inn above the lake. While Enrico ate and -discussed with me the prospects of war, the signora looked the boy -all over again, feeling his shoulders beneath the loose uniform to see -whether he had lost flesh after the thirty-mile march from Rome under a -hot sun. It was much as an American mother might examine her offspring -after his first week at boarding-school, only more intense. And Enrico -was very much like a clean, hearty, lovable schoolboy, delighted to be -let out from authority and to talk like a man with another man. He was -confident Italy would be in the war--oh, very sure! And he nodded his -head at me importantly. His captain was a capital fellow, really like a -father to the men, and the captain had told them--but he pulled himself -up suddenly. After all, I was a foreigner, and must not hear what the -captain had said. But he let me know proudly that his regiment the -_granatieri_ of Sardinia, had received the promise that they would be -among the first to go to the front. The mother’s fond eyes contracted -slightly with pain. - - * * * * * - -After our breakfast Enrico took me into the garden of the old monastery -where other youthful grenadiers were loafing on the grass under the -trees or writing letters on the rough table among the remains of food. -Some of the squad had gone to the lake for a swim; I could hear their -shouts and laughter far below. Presently the signora, who had been -barred at the gate by the old Franciscan, hurried down the shady path. - -“I told him,” she explained, “that he could just look the other way and -avoid sin. Then I slipped through the door!” - -So with her hand on her recaptured boy we strolled through the old -gardens as far as the stable where the soldiers slept. The floor was -littered with straw, which, with an overcoat, Enrico assured me, made a -capital bed. The food was good enough. They got four cents a day, which -did not go far to buy cigarettes and postage-stamps, but they would be -paid ten cents a day when they were at war!... - -At last we turned into the highroad arched with old trees that led down -to the tramway. Enrico’s leave was nearly over. All the glory of the -spring day poured forth from the flowering hedges, where bees hummed -and birds sang. Enrico gathered a great bunch of yellow heather, which -his mother wanted to take home. “Little Bianca will like it so much -when she hears her brother picked it,” she explained. “Bianca thinks he -is a hero already, the dear!” - -When we reached the car-tracks we sat on a mossy wall and chatted. In -a field across the road an old gray mare stood looking steadfastly -at her small foal, which was asleep in the high grass at her feet. -The old mare stood patiently for many minutes without once cropping a -bit of grass, lowering her head occasionally to sniff at the little -colt. Her attitude of absorbed contemplation, of perfect satisfaction -in her ungainly offspring made me laugh--it was so exactly like the -signora’s. At last the little fellow woke, got somehow on his long -legs, and shaking a scrubby tail went gambolling off down the pasture, -enjoying his coltish world. The old mare followed close behind with -eyes only for him. - -“Look at him!” the signora exclaimed pointing to the ridiculous foal. -“How nice he is! Oh, how beautiful youth always is!” - -She looked up admiringly at her tall, handsome Enrico, who had just -brought her another bunch of heather. The birds were singing like mad -in the fields; some peasants passed with their laden donkeys; I smoked -contemplatively, while mother and son talked family gossip and the -signora went all over her boy again for the fourth time.... Yes, youth -is beautiful, surely, but there seemed something horribly pathetic -about it all in spite of the loveliness of the May morning. - - * * * * * - -The three hours came to an end. Enrico rose and saluted me formally. -He was so glad to have seen me; I was very good to bring his mother -all the way from Rome; and he and the comrades would much enjoy my -excellent cigarettes. “_A riverderci!_” Then he turned to his mother -and without any self-consciousness bent to her open arms.... - -When the signora joined me farther down the road she was clear-eyed but -sombre. - -“Can you understand,” she said softly, “how when I have him in my -arms and think of all I have done for him, his education, his long -sickness, all, all--and what he means to me and his father and little -Bianca--and then I think how in one moment it may all be over for -always, all that precious life--O God what are women made for!... We -shall have to hurry, my friend, to get to the station.” - -I glanced back once more at the slim figure just going around the bend -of the road at a run, so as not to exceed his leave--a mere boy and -such a nice boy, with his brilliant, eager eyes, so healthy and clean -and joyous, so affectionate, so completely what any mother would adore. -And he might be going “up north” any day now to fight the Austrians. - -“Signora,” I asked, “do you believe in war?” - -“They all say this war has to be,” she said dully. “Oh, I don’t -know!... It is a hard world to understand!... I try to remember that -I am only one of hundreds of thousands of Italian women.... I hope I -shall see him once more before they take him away. My God!” - - * * * * * - -That afternoon the expert who had been sent to Rome by a foreign -newspaper to watch the critical situation carefully put down his empty -teacup and pronounced his verdict: - -“Yes, this time it looks to me really like war. They have gone too far -to draw back. Some of them think they are likely to get a good deal -out of the war with a small sacrifice--everybody likes a bargain, you -know!... Then General Cadorna, they say, is a very ambitious man, and -this is his chance. A successful campaign would make him.... But I -don’t know. It would be quite a risk, quite a risk.” - -Yes, I thought, quite a risk for the conscript mothers! - - - - -II - - -The politician came to Rome and delivered his prudent advice, and the -quiescent people began to growl. The ministers resigned: the public -growled more loudly.... During the turbulent week that followed, while -Italy still hesitated, I saw Enrico Maironi a number of times. Indeed, -his frank young face with the sparkling black eyes is mingled with all -my memories of those tense days when the streets of Rome were vocal -with passionate crowds, when soldiers barred the thoroughfares, and no -one knew whether there would be war with Austria or revolution. - -One night, having been turned out of the Café Nazionale when the troops -cleared the Corso of the mob that threatened the Austrian embassy, I -wandered through the agitated city until I found myself in the quarter -where the Maironis lived, and called at their little home to hear if -they had had news of the boy. There was light in the dining-room, -though it was long past the hour when even the irresponsible Maironis -took their irregular dinner. As I entered I could see in the light of -the single candle three faces intently focused on a fourth--Enrico’s, -with a preoccupation that my arrival scarcely disturbed. They made me -sit down and hospitably opened a fresh bottle of wine. The boy had -just arrived unexpectedly, his regiment having been recalled to Rome -that afternoon. He was travel-stained, with a button off his military -coat which his sister was sewing on while he ate. He looked tired but -excited, and his brilliant eyes lighted with welcome as he accepted one -of my Turkish cigarettes with the air of a young worldling and observed: - -“You see, it _is_ coming--sooner than we expected!” - -There was a note of boyish triumph in his voice as he went on to -explain again for my benefit how his captain--a really good fellow -though a bit severe in little things--had let him off for the evening -to see his family. He spoke of his officer exactly as my own boy might -speak of some approved schoolmaster. Signor Maironi, who in his post -at the war office heard things before they got into the street, looked -very grave and said little. - -“You are glad to have him back in Rome, at any rate!” I said to the -signora. - -She shrugged her shoulders expressively. - -“Rome is the first step on a long journey,” she replied sombrely. - -The silent tensity of the father’s gaze, fastened on his boy, became -unbearable. I followed the signora, who had strolled through the open -door to the little terrace and stood looking blankly into the night. -Far away, somewhere in the city, rose a clamor of shouting people, and -swift footsteps hurried past in the street. - -“It will kill his father, if anything happens to him!” she said slowly, -as if she knew herself to be the stronger. “You see he chose the -grenadiers for Enrico because that regiment almost never leaves Rome: -it stays with the King. And now the King is going to the front, they -say--it will be the first of all!” - -“I see!” - -“To-night may be his last time at home.” - -“Perhaps,” I said, seeking for the futile crumb of comfort, “they will -take Giolitti’s advice, and there will be no war.” - -Enrico, who had followed us from the dining-room, caught the remark -and cried with youthful conviction: “That Giolitti is a traitor--he has -been bought by the Germans!” - -“Giolitti!” little Bianca echoed scornfully, arching her black brows. -Evidently the politician had lost his popularity among the youth of -Italy. Within the dining-room I could see the father sitting alone -beside the candle, his face buried in his hands. Bianca caressed her -brother’s shoulder with her cheeks. - -“I am going, too!” she said to me with a little smile. “I shall join -the Red Cross--I begin my training to-morrow, eh, _mamma mia_?” And she -threw a glance of childish defiance at the signora. - -“Little Bianca is growing up fast!” I laughed. - -“They take them all except the cripples,” the signora commented -bitterly, “even the girls!” - -“But I am a woman,” Bianca protested, drawing away from Enrico and -raising her pretty head. “I shall get the hospital training and go up -north, too--to be near ’Rico.” - -Something surely had come to the youth of this country when girls like -Bianca Maironi spoke with such assurance of going forth from the home -into the unknown. - -“_Sicuro!_” She nodded her head to emphasize what I suspected had -been a moot point between mother and daughter. The signora looked -inscrutably at the girl for a little while, then said quietly: “It’s -’most ten, Enrico.” - -The boy unclasped Bianca’s tight little hands, kissed his mother and -father, gave me the military salute ... and we could hear him running -fast down the street. The signora blew out the sputtering candle and -closed the door. - -“I am going, too!” Bianca exclaimed. - - * * * * * - -The poet was coming to Rome. After the politician, close on his -heels, the poet, fresh from his triumph at the celebration of Quarto, -where with his flaming allegory he had stirred the youth of Italy to -their depths! A few henchmen, waiting for the leader’s word, had met -Giolitti; all Rome, it seemed to me, was turning out to greet the poet. -They had poured into the great square before the terminus station -from every quarter. The packed throng reached from the dark walls of -the ancient baths around the splashing fountain, into the radiating -avenues, and up to the portico of the station itself, which was black -with human figures. It was a quiet, orderly, well-dressed crowd that -swayed back and forth, waiting patiently hour after hour--the train -was very late--to see the poet’s face, to hear, perhaps, his word of -courage for which it thirsted. - -There were soldiers everywhere, as usual. I looked in vain for the -familiar uniform of the _granatieri_, but the gray-coated boyish -figures seemed all alike. In the midst of the press I saw the signora -and Bianca, whose eyes were also wandering after the soldiers. - -“You came to welcome D’Annunzio?” I queried, knowing the good woman’s -prejudices. - -“Him!” the signora retorted with curling lip. “Bianca brought me.” - -“Yes, we have been to the Red Cross,” the girl flashed. - -“Rome welcomes the poet as though he were royalty,” I remarked, -standing on tiptoe to sweep with a glance the immense crowd. - -“_He_ will not go to the front--he will just talk!” - -“Enrico is here somewhere,” Bianca explained. “They told us so at -the barracks. We have looked all about and mamma has asked so many -officers. We haven’t seen him since that first night. He has been -on duty all day in the streets, doing _pichett ’armato_, ... I wish -Giolitti would go back home. If he doesn’t go soon, he’ll find out!” - -Her white teeth came together grimly, and she made a significant little -gesture with her hand. - -“Where’s mamma?” - -The signora had caught sight of another promising uniform and was -talking with the kindly officer who wore it. - -“His company is inside the station,” she explained when she rejoined -us, “and we can never get in there!” - -She would have left if Bianca had not restrained her. The girl wanted -to see the poet. Presently the night began to fall, the still odorous -May night of Rome. The big arc-lamps shone down upon the crowded faces. -Suddenly there was a forward swaying, shouts and cheers from the -station. A little man’s figure was being carried above the eager crowd. -Then a motor bellowed for free passage through the human mass. A wave -of song burst from thousands of throats, Mameli’s “L’Inno.” A little -gray face passed swiftly. The poet had come and gone. - -“Come!” Bianca exclaimed, taking my hand firmly and pulling the signora -on the other side. And she hurried us on with the streaming crowd -through lighted streets toward the Pincian hill, in the wake of the -poet’s car. The crowd had melted from about the station and was pouring -into the Via Veneto. About the little fountain of the Tritone it had -massed again, but persistent Bianca squirmed through the yielding -figures, dragging us with her until we were wedged tight in the mass -nearly opposite the Queen Mother’s palace. - -The vast multitude that reached into the shadow of the night were -cheering and singing. Their shouts and songs must have reached even the -ears of the German ambassador at the Villa Malta a few blocks away. -The signora had forgotten her grenadier, her dislike of the poet, and -for the moment was caught up in the emotion of the crowd. Bianca was -singing the familiar hymn.... Suddenly there was a hush; light fell -upon the upturned faces from an opened window on a balcony in the Hotel -Regina. The poet stood forth in the band of yellow light and looked -down upon the dense throng beneath. In the stillness his words began -to fall, very slowly, very clearly, as if each was a graven message for -his people. And the Roman youth all about me swayed and sighed, seizing -each colored word, divining its heroic symbol, drinking thirstily the -ardor of the poet. - -“The light has not wholly gone from the Aurelian wall ... fifty years -ago at this hour the leader of the Thousand and his heroic company.... -We will not be a museum, an inn, a water-color in Prussian blue!...” - -The double line of soldiers behind us had forgotten their formation and -were pressing forward to catch each word. The signora was gazing at the -man with fascinated eyes. Bianca’s little hand tightened unconsciously -on mine, and her lips parted in a smile. The poet’s words were falling -into her eager heart. He was speaking for her, for all the ardent youth -of Italy: - -“_Viva! Viva Roma senza onta! Viva la grande é pura Italia!..._” - -The voice ceased: for one moment there was complete silence; then a -cheer that was half a sigh broke from the crowd. But the blade of light -faded, the poet was gone. When at last I got the Maironis into a cab -there were bright tears in Bianca’s eyes and the mother’s face was -troubled. - -“Perhaps it has to be,” the signora murmured. - -“Of course!” Bianca echoed sharply, raising her little head defiantly. -“What else could Italy do?” - -The streets were rapidly emptying. Some companies of infantry that had -been policing the city all day marched wearily past. Bianca jumped up -quickly. - -“They’re _granatieri_! And there’s ’Rico’s captain!” - -The sympathetic cab-driver pulled up his horse while the soldiers -tramped by. - -“’Rico, ’Rico!” the girl called softly to the soldiers. - -A hand went up, and the boy gave us a luminous smile as his file swung -past. - -“I have seen him again!” the mother said hungrily. - - * * * * * - -The poet spoke the next day, and the next, to the restless people who -waited hour after hour in the street before his hotel. Having found -its voice--a voice that revealed its inner heart--young Italy clamored -for action. The fret of Rome grew louder hourly; soldiers cordoned -the main streets, while Giolitti waited, the ambassadors flitted back -and forth to the Consulta, the King took counsel with his advisers. -I looked for young Maironi’s face among the lines of troops barring -passage through the streets. It seemed as if he might be called at any -moment to do his soldier’s duty here in Rome! - -All day long and half the night the cavalry stood motionless before -the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, ready to clear away the mobs that -prowled about the corner of Via Cavour, where Giolitti lived. Once -they charged. It was the night the poet appeared at the Costanzi -Theatre. The narrow street was full of shouting people as I drove to -the theatre with the Maironis. Suddenly there was the ugly sound of -horses’ feet on concrete walks, shrieks and wild rushes for safety in -doorways and alleys. As our cab whisked safely around a corner the -cavalry came dashing past, their hairy plumes streaming out from the -metal helmets, their ugly swords high in the air. The signora’s face -paled. Perhaps she was thinking, as I was, that there might be one -thing worse than war with Austria, and that would be revolution. Bianca -exclaimed scornfully: - -“They had better be fighting Italy’s enemies!” - -“They are not yet enemies,” I ventured. - -She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. - -“They will be to-morrow!” - -The fever within the vast auditorium seemed to bear out the girl’s -words. Here was no “rabble of the piazza,” to repeat the German -ambassador’s sneer, but well-to-do Roman citizens. For three hours they -shouted their hatred of Teuton, sang patriotic hymns, cried defiance of -the politician Giolitti, who would keep the nation safely bound in its -old alliance. “_Fuori i barbari!... Giolitti traditore!_” One grizzled -Roman hurled in my ears: “I’ll drink his blood, the traitor!” - -When the little poet entered his flower-wreathed box every one cheered -and waved to him. He stood looking down on the passionate human sea -beneath him, then slowly plucked the red flowers from a great bunch of -carnations that some one handed him and threw them one by one far out -into the cheering throng. One floated downward straight into Bianca’s -eager hand. She snatched it, kissed the flower, and looked upward into -the poet’s smiling face.... - -He recited the suppressed stanzas of a war-poem, the slow, rhythmic -lines falling like the red flowers into eager hearts. The signora -was standing on her seat beside Bianca, clasping her arm, and tears -gathered slowly in her large, wistful eyes, tears of pride and -sadness.... Out in the still night once more from that storm of passion -we walked on silently through empty streets. “He believes it--he is -right,” the signora sighed. “Italy also must do her part!” - -“Of course,” Bianca said quickly, “and she will!... See there!” - -The girl pointed to a heap of stones freshly upturned in the street. It -was the first barricade. - -“Our soldiers must not fight each other,” she said gravely, and glanced -again over her shoulder at the barricade.... - -In front of Santa Maria the tired cavalry sat their horses, and a -double line of infantry was drawn across the Via Cavour before the -Giolitti home. The boys were slouching over their rifles; evidently, -whatever play there had been in this picket duty had gone out of it. -Suddenly Bianca and her mother ran down the line. “Maironi, Maironi!” -I heard some of the soldiers calling softly, and there was a shuffle in -the ranks. Enrico was shoved forward to the front in comradely fashion. -Mother and sister chatted with the boy, and presently Bianca came -dashing back. - -“They haven’t had anything to eat all day!” - -We found a café still open and loaded ourselves with rolls, chocolate, -and cigarettes, which Bianca distributed to the weary soldiers while -the young lieutenant tactfully strolled to the other end of the line. - -“To think of keeping them here all day without food!” the signora -grumbled as we turned away. The boys, shoving their gifts into pockets -and mouths, straightened up as their officer came back down the line. -“They might as well be at war,” the signora continued. - -When I returned to my hotel through the silent streets the _granatieri_ -had gone from their post, but the horsemen were still sitting their -sleeping mounts before the old church. Their vigil would be all night. - - * * * * * - -The nation’s crisis had come and passed. We did not know it, but -it was marked by those little piles of stones in the Via Viminale. -The disturber Giolitti had fled overnight at the invitation of the -government, which now knew itself to be strong enough to do what it -would. And thereafter events moved more swiftly. Rome was once more -calm. The people gathered again by the hundreds of thousands, but -peacefully, in the spirit of concord, in the Piazza del Popolo and in -the Campidoglio. Their will had prevailed, they had found themselves. -A great need of reconciliation, of union of all spirits, was expressed -in these meetings, under the soft spring sky, in spots consecrated by -ancient memories of greatness. - -In the crowd that filled the little piazza of the Campidoglio to the -brim and ran down into the old lanes that led to the Forum and the -city I met Signora Maironi once more. She had not come thither to -find her boy--soldiers were no longer needed to keep the Romans from -violence. She came in the hungry need to fill her heart with belief and -confidence, to strengthen herself for sacrifice. - -“We haven’t seen Enrico since that night on the streets. He is kept -ready in the barracks unless he has been sent away already.... But he -said he would let us know!” - -A procession with the flags of Italy and of the desired provinces -mounted the long flight of steps above us, and the syndic of Rome, the -Prince Colonna, came out from the open door and fronted the mass of -citizens. - -“He is going, and his sons!” the signora whispered. “He is a fine man!” -The prince looked gravely over the upturned faces as if he would speak; -then refrained, as though the moment were too solemn for further words. -He stood there looking singularly like the grave portraits of Roman -fathers in the museum near by, strong, stern, resolved. The evening -breeze lifted the cluster of flags and waved them vigorously. Little -fleecy clouds floated in the blue sky above the Aracœli Church. There -were no shouts, no songs. These were men and women from the working -classes of the neighboring quarter of old Rome who were giving their -sons and husbands to the nation, and felt the solemnity of the occasion. - -“Let us go,” the Prince Colonna said solemnly, “to the Quirinal to meet -our King.” - -As we turned down the hill we could see the long black stream already -flowing through the narrow passages out into the square before the -great marble monument. It was a silent, spontaneous march of the people -to their leader. The blooming roses in the windows and on the terraces -above gayly flamed against the dark walls of the old houses along the -route. But the hurrying crowd did not look up. Its mood was sternly -serious. It did not turn aside as we neared the palace of the enemy’s -ambassador. The time was past for such childish demonstrations. - -“If only we might go instead, we older ones,” the signora said sadly, -“not the children.... Life means so much more to them!” - -We reached the Quirinal hill as the setting sun flooded all Rome from -the ridge of the Janiculum. The piazza was already crowded and at the -Consulta opposite the royal palace, where, even at this eleventh -hour, the ambassadors were vainly offering last inducements, favored -spectators filled the windows. It was a peculiarly quiet, solemn scene. -No speeches, no cheers, no songs. It seemed as if the signora’s last -words were in every mind. “They say,” she remarked sadly, “that it will -take a great many lives to carry those strong mountain positions, many -thousands each month, thousands and thousands of boys.... All those -mothers!” - -At that moment the window on the balcony above the entrance to the -palace was flung open, and two lackeys brought out a red cloth which -they hung over the stone balustrade. Then the King and Queen, followed -by the little prince and his sister, stepped forth and stood above us, -looking down into the crowded faces. The King bowed his head to the -cheers that greeted him from his people, but his serious face did not -relax. He looked worn, old. Perhaps he, too, was thinking of those -thousands of lives that must be spent each month to unlock the Alpine -passes which for forty years Austria had been fortifying!... He bowed -again in response to the hearty cries of _Viva il Re!_ The Queen bowed. -The little black-haired prince by his father’s side looked steadily -down into the faces. He, too, seemed to understand what it meant--that -these days his father’s throne had been put into the stake for which -Italy was to fight, that his people had cast all on the throw of this -war. No smile, no boyish elation, relieved the serious little face. - -“Why does he not speak?” the signora murmured, as if her aching heart -demanded a word of courage from her King. - -“It is not yet the time,” I suggested, nodding to the Consulta. - -The King cried, “_Viva Italia!_” then withdrew from the balcony with -his family. - -“_Viva Italia!_” It was a prayer, a hope, spoken from the heart, and -it was received silently by the throng. Yes, might the God of battles -preserve Italy, all the beauty and the glory that the dying sun was -bathing in its golden flood!... - -Signora Maironi hurried through the crowded street at a nervous pace. - -“I do not like to be long away from home,” she explained. “’Rico may -come and go for the last time while I am out.” - -We had no sooner entered the door of the house than the mother said: -“Yes, he’s here!” - -The boy was sitting in the little dining-room, drinking a glass of -wine, his father on one side, his sister on the other. He seemed much -excited. - -“We leave in the morning!” he said. - -There was an exultant ring in his voice, a flash in his black eyes. - -“Where for?” I asked. - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“They never tell--to the front somewhere!... See my stripes. They have -made me bicyclist for the battalion. I’ve got a machine to ride now. I -shall carry orders, you know!” - -His laugh was broken by a cough. - -“Ugh, this nasty cold--that comes from Messer Giolitti--too much -night-work--no more of that! The rat!” - -I glanced at the signora. - -“Have you all his things ready, Bianca?” she asked calmly. “The cheese -and the cake and his clothes?” - -“Everything,” the little girl replied quickly. “’Rico says we can’t -come to see him off.” - -The mother looked inquiringly at the boy. - -“It’s no use trying. Nobody knows where or when,” he explained. “They -don’t want a lot of mothers and sisters fussing over the men,” he -added teasingly. - - * * * * * - -Little Bianca told me how she and her mother slipped past all the -sentinels at the station the next morning and ran along the embankment -outside the railroad yards where the long line of cattle-cars packed -with soldiers was waiting. - -“They know us pretty well in the regiment by this time,” she laughed. -“I heard them say as we ran along the cars looking for ’Rico, ‘See! -There’s Maironi’s mother and the little Maironi! Of course, they would -come somehow!’... We gave them the roses you brought yesterday--you -don’t mind? They loved them so--and said such nice things.” Bianca -paused to laugh and blush at the pretty speeches which the soldiers -had made, then ran on: “Poor boys, they’ll soon be where they can’t -get flowers and cakes.... Then we found ’Rico at last and gave him -the things just as the train started. He was so glad to see us! Poor -’Rico had such a cough, and he looked quite badly; he doesn’t know how -to take care of himself. Mother is always scolding him for being so -careless--boys are all like that, you know!... There was such a noise! -We ran along beside the train, oh, a long way, until we came to a deep -ditch--we couldn’t jump that! And they cheered us, all the soldiers -in the cars; they looked so queer, jammed in the cattle-cars with the -straw, just like the horses. Enrico’s captain gave us a salute, too. I -wonder where they are now.” She paused in her rapid talk for a sombre -moment, then began excitedly: “Don’t you want to see my Red Cross -dress? It’s so pretty! I have just got it.” - -She ran up-stairs to put on her nurse’s uniform; presently the signora -came into the room. She was dressed all in black and her face was very -pale. She nodded and spoke in a dull, lifeless voice. - -“Bianca told you? He wanted me to thank you for the cigarettes. He was -not very well--he was suffering, I could see that.” - -“Nothing worse than a cold,” I suggested. - -“I must see him again!” she cried suddenly, passionately, “just once, -once more--before--” Her voice died out in a whisper. Bianca, who had -come back in her little white dress, took up the signora’s unfinished -sentence with a frown: - -“Of course, we shall see him again, mamma! Didn’t he promise to write -us where they sent him?” She turned to me, impetuous, demanding, true -little woman of her race. “You know, I shall go up north, too, to one -of the hospitals, and mamma will go with me. Then we’ll find Enrico. -Won’t we, mother?” - -But the signora’s miserable eyes seemed far away, as if they were -following that slowly moving train of cattle-cars packed with boyish -faces. She fingered unseeingly the arm of Bianca’s dress with its cross -of blood-red. At last, with a long sigh, she brought herself back to -the present. Was I ready for an Italian lesson? We might as well lose -no more time. She patted Bianca and pushed her gently away. “Run along -and take off that terrible dress!” she said irritably. Bianca, with a -little, discontented gesture and appreciative pat to the folds of her -neat costume, left us alone. “She thinks of nothing but this war!” the -signora exclaimed. “The girls are as bad as the men!” - -“Is it not quite natural?” - -We began on the verbs, but the signora’s mind, usually so vivacious, -was not on the lesson. It was still with that slow troop-train on its -way to the frontier. - -“You are too tired,” I suggested. - -“No, but I can’t stay in here--let us go into the city.” - -Rome seemed curiously lifeless and dead after all the passionate -movement of the past week. It was empty, too. All the troops that had -filled the seething streets had departed overnight, and the turbulent -citizens had vanished. The city, like the heart of Italy, was in -suspense, waiting for the final word which meant war. - -“You will not stay here much longer, I suppose?” the signora questioned. - -“I suppose not.” Life seemed to have flowed out of this imperial Rome, -with all its loveliness, in the wake of the troop-trains. - -“If I could only go, too!... If we knew where he was to be!” - -“You will know--and you will follow with Bianca.” - -“I would go into battle itself to see ’Rico once more!” the poor woman -moaned. - -“There will be lots of time yet before the battles begin,” I replied -with lying comfort. - -“You think so!... War is very terrible for those who have to stay -behind.” - - - - -III - - -In obedience to Signora Maironi’s mysterious telegram, I waited outside -the railroad station in Venice for the arrival of the night express -from Rome, which was very late. The previous day I had taken the -precaution to attach to me old Giuseppe, one of the two boatmen now -left at the _traghetto_ near my hotel, all the younger men having been -called out. There were few _forestieri_, and Giuseppe was thankful to -have a real signore, whom he faithfully protected from the suspicious -and hostile glances of the Venetians. Every stranger, I found, had -become an Austrian spy! Giuseppe was now busily tidying up his ancient -gondola, exchanging jokes with the soldiers in the laden barks which -passed along the canal. Occasionally a fast motor-boat threw up a long -wave as it dashed by on an errand with some officer in the stern. All -Venice, relieved of tourists, was bustling with soldiers and sailors. -Gray torpedo-boats lay about the piazzetta, and Red Cross flags waved -from empty palaces. Yet there was no war. - -“Giuseppe,” I asked, “do you think there will be any war?” - -“_Sicuro!_” the old man replied, straightening himself and pointing -significantly with his thumb to a passing bargeful of soldiers. “They -are on the way.” - -“Where?” - -“Who knows?... The mountains,” and he indicated the north with his -head. “I have two sons--they have gone.” - -“And Italy will win?” I continued idly. - -“_Sicuro!_” came the reply reassuringly, “_ma!_” - -And in that expressive “_ma_” I might read all the anxiety, the fears -of Italy. - -At last the signora came, dressed in the same black she had worn the -day Enrico had left Rome. In her hand she carried a little bag. She -gave me a timid smile as Giuseppe settled her under the _felza_. - -“You were surprised at the telegram?” - -“A little,” I confessed. - -“I had to come,” she sighed as the gondola pushed into the narrow, -tortuous canal that led back to the piazza. - -“What news from Enrico?” - -“Nothing! Not a word!... That’s why I came.” - -“It’s only been a week--the mails are slow,” I suggested. - -“I could stand it no longer. You will think me mad. I mean to find him!” - -“But how---where?” I demanded in bewilderment. - -“That’s what I must discover here.” - -“In Venice!” - -“Somebody must know! Oh, I see what you think--I am out of my head.... -Perhaps I am! Sitting there in the house day after day thinking, -thinking--and the poor boy was so miserable that last morning--he was -too sick.” - -“Surely you must have some plan?” - -“An officer on the train last night--a major going up there to join his -regiment--he was very kind to me, lent me his coat to keep me warm, it -was so cold. He is a well-known doctor in Rome. Here, I have his card -in my sack somewhere.... He says it’s a matter of hours now before they -begin.” - -“Well,” I said, in a pause, hoping to bring the signora’s mind back -to the starting-point. “What has the major to do with your finding -Enrico?” - -“He told me to inquire at Mestre or here where Enrico’s train had been -sent.... They wouldn’t tell me anything at the railroad station in -Mestre. So I must find out here,” she ended inconsequentially. - -“Here in Venice? But they won’t tell you a thing even if they know. You -had a better chance in Rome.” - -She shook her head. - -“No, they wouldn’t tell his father--he tried to find out.” - -“And you couldn’t get north of Mestre. It’s all military zone now, you -know.” - -“Is it?” she answered vacantly. “I had to come,” she repeated like a -child, “and I feel better already--I’m so much nearer him.... Don’t you -really think I can get to see him for a few minutes?” - -I spent a futile hour, while Giuseppe pushed us languidly through the -gray lagoons, trying to convince Signora Maironi that her search for -the boy was worse than useless, might easily land her in prison should -she attempt to penetrate the lines. At the end she merely remarked: - -“’Rico expects me--he said that last night,--‘You will come up north to -see me, mother, before war is declared.’” - -Thereat I began again at the beginning and tried more urgently to -distract the signora from her purpose. - -“You might be locked up as a spy!” I concluded. - -“But I am an Italian woman--an Italian mother!” she cried indignantly. - -Giuseppe nodded sympathetically over his long sweep and murmured -something like “_Évero!_” It ended by my asking the old fellow if he -knew where the office of the Venetian commandant was. - -“_Sicuro!_” the old man laughed, waving a hand negligently toward the -Zattere. So we headed there. I thought that an hour or two spent in -vainly trying to see the busy gentleman in command of Venice would -probably do more than anything else to convince Signora Maironi of the -futility of her quest. As I helped her to the quay from the gondola in -front of the old convent which was now the military headquarters, she -said gently, apologetically: “Don’t be so cross with me, signor! Think -merely that I am an old woman and a mother with a son about to fight -for his country.” - -I saw her disappear within the gate after being questioned by the -sentinel; then Giuseppe and I waited in the shadow of an interned -German steamship--one, two, almost three hours, until the sun had set -the marble front of the Ducal Palace aflame with a flood of gold. Then -I heard Giuseppe murmuring triumphantly, “_Ecco! la signora!_” The -little black figure was waiting for us by the steps, a contented smile -on her lips. - -“Have I been long?” she asked. - -“It makes no difference, if you have found out something. Did you see -the commandant?” - -She nodded her head in a pleased manner. - -“I thought I should never get to him--there were so many officers and -sentinels, and they all tried to turn me off. But I wouldn’t go! It -takes a great deal to discourage a mother who wants to see her son.” - -“And he told you?” I asked impatiently. - -“Heavens, how lovely the day is!” the signora remarked with her -provoking inconsequentiality. “Let us go out to the Lido! Maybe we can -find a fisherman’s osteria at San Nicolo where we can get supper under -the trees.” - -The gondola headed seaward in the golden light. - -“It will be a terrible war,” the signora began presently. “They know -it.... The commandant talked with me a long time after I got to him, -while others waited.... There are many spies here in Venice, he told -me--Austrians who are hidden in the city.... He was such a gentleman, -so patient with me and kind.... Do you know, I wept--yes, cried like a -great fool! When he told me I must return and wait for news in Rome, -and I thought of that long ride back without seeing my sick boy--I just -couldn’t help it--I cried.... He was very kind.” - -In the end the facts came out, as they always did with the signora, in -her own casual fashion. The military commander of Venice, evidently, -was a kind, fatherly sort of officer, with sons of his own in the army, -as he had told the signora. After giving the distracted mother the -only sound advice he could give her--to resign herself to waiting for -news of her son by the uncertain mails--he had let fall significantly, -“But if you should persist in your mad idea, signora, I should take -the train to ----,” and he mentioned a little town near the Austrian -frontier not three hours’ ride from Venice. - -“What will you do?” I asked as we approached the shore of the Lido. - -“I don’t know,” the signora sighed. “But I must see Enrico once more!” - -The Buon’ Pesche, a little osteria near the waterside, was thronged -with sailors from the gray torpedo-boats that kept up a restless -activity, dashing back and forth in the harbor entrance. We found a -table under a plane-tree, a little apart from the noisy sailors who -were drinking to the success of Italian arms in the purple wine of -Padua, and, while the dusk fell over distant Venice, watched the antics -of the swift destroyers. - -“Don’t they seem possessed!” the signora exclaimed. “Like angry bees, -as if they knew the enemy was near.” - -We were speaking English, and I noticed that the country girl -who served us looked at me sharply. When we rose to leave it was -already dark, the stars were shining in the velvet sky, and Venice -was mysteriously blank. As we strolled across the grass toward the -boat-landing, a man stepped up and laid his hand on my shoulder, -indicating firmly that I should accompany him. He took us to the -military post at the end of the island, the signora expostulating and -explaining all the way. There we had to wait in a bare room faintly -lighted by one flaring candle while men came and went outside, looked -at us, talked in low tones, and left us wondering. After an hour of -this a young officer appeared, and with a smiling, nervous air began -a lengthy examination. Who was I? Who was the signora--my wife, my -mother? Why were we there on the Lido after dark, etc.? It was easy -enough to convince him that I was what I was--an amicable, idle -American. My pocketful of papers and, above all, my Italian, rendered -him quickly more smiling and apologetic than ever. But the signora, -who, it seems, had not registered on her arrival in Venice, as they -had ascertained while we were waiting, was not so easily explained, -although she told her tale truthfully, tearfully, in evident -trepidation. To the young officer it was not credible that an Italian -mother should be seeking her soldier son on the Lido at this hour. -Another officer was summoned, and while the first young man entertained -me with appreciations of English and American authors with whose works -he was acquainted, the signora was put through a gruelling examination -which included her ancestry, family affairs, and political opinions. -She was alternately angry, haughty, and tearful, repeating frequently, -“I am an Italian mother!” which did not answer for a passport as well -as my broken Italian. In the end she had to appeal to the kindly -commandant who had listened to her story earlier in the day. After -hearing the signora’s tearful voice over the telephone, he instructed -the youthful captain of artillery to let us go. The young officers, -whose responsibilities had weighed heavily on them, apologized -profusely, ending with the remark: “You know we are expecting something -to happen--very soon!... We have to be careful.” - -We hurried to the landing, where we found Giuseppe fast asleep in the -gondola, but before we could rouse him had some further difficulty with -suspicious _carabinieri_, who were inclined to lock us up on the Lido -until morning. A few lire induced them to consider our adventure more -leniently, and well past midnight the sleepy Giuseppe swept us toward -the darkened city. - -“You might think they were already at war!” I grumbled. - -“Perhaps they are,” the signora replied sadly. - -“Well, you see what trouble you will get into if you attempt to enter -the war zone,” I warned. - -“Yes,” the subdued woman said dully, “I understand!” - -“That story of yours doesn’t sound probable--and you have no papers.” - -She sighed heavily without reply, but I thought it well to drive home -the point. - -“So you had better take the train home to-morrow and not get arrested -as a spy.” - -“Very well.” - -Several hours later I woke from a dream with the song of a nightingale -in my ears mingled with a confused reverberation. It was not yet day; -in the pale light before dawn the birds were wheeling and crying in the -little garden outside my room. I stumbled to the balcony from which -I could see the round dome of the Salute against the cloudless sky -and a streak of sunrise beyond the Giudecca. What had cut short the -song of the nightingale? Suddenly the answer came in the roar of an -explosion from somewhere within the huddle of Venetian alleys, followed -by the prolonged shrieks of sirens from the arsenal and the sputter -and crackle of countless guns. I did not have to be told that this was -war! This was what those young officers on the Lido were expecting to -happen before morning. Austria had taken this way of acknowledging -Italy’s temerity in challenging her might: she had sworn to destroy -the jewelled beauty of Venice, and these bombs falling on the sleeping -city were the Austrian answer to Italy’s declaration of war! - -Another and another explosion followed in rapid succession, while the -sirens shrieked and the antiaircraft guns from palace roofs rattled -and spluttered up and down the Grand Canal. Then in a momentary lull -I could detect the low hum of a motor, and looking upward I saw far -aloft in the gray heavens the enemy aeroplane winging its way like -some malevolent beetle in a straight line across the city. The little -balconies all about were crowded with people who, unmindful of the -warnings to keep within doors, and as near the cellar as Venetian -dwellings permitted, were gazing like myself into the clear heavens -after the buzzing machine. Their voices began to rise in eager comment -as soon as the noise of bombs and guns died out. I caught sight of -Signora Maironi in a group on a neighboring balcony, looking fixedly at -the vanishing enemy. - -Presently, as I was thinking that the attack had passed, there came -again the peculiar hum of another aeroplane from behind the hotel. -It grew louder and louder, and soon came the roar of exploding -bombs followed by the crackle of answering guns. One deafening roar -went up from the canal near by, echoing back and forth between the -palace walls. That was very close, I judged! But the signora, as -if fascinated, stood there, gazing into space, waiting for the -evil machine to show itself. Gradually the noise died down as the -aeroplane swung into view and headed eastward like its mate for the -open Adriatic. A last, lingering explosion came from the direction -of the arsenal, then all was silence except for the twittering of -the disturbed birds in the garden and the excited staccato voices of -Venetians telling one another what had happened. - -Yes, this was war! And as I hurriedly dressed myself I thought that -Signora Maironi would be lucky if she got safely out of Venice back -to her home. We met over an early cup of coffee. The signora, to my -surprise, did not seem in the least frightened--rather she had been -stirred to a renewed determination by this first touch of war. - -“Return now without seeing my boy!” she said scornfully in reply to my -suggestion that we go at once to the railroad station. “Never!” - -“This is the first attack,” I protested, “you can’t tell when they -will be at it again, perhaps in a few hours.... It is very dangerous, -signora!” - -“I have no fear,” she said simply, conclusively. - - * * * * * - -So Giuseppe took her over to Mestre in the gondola. I judged that it -would be safer for her to start on her quest alone, depending solely on -her mother appeal to make her way through the confusion at the front. -She waved me a smiling farewell on the steps of the old palace, her -little bag in one hand, looking like a comfortable middle-aged matron -on a shopping expedition, not in the least like a timid mother starting -for the battle line in search of her child. - -And that was the last I saw of Signora Maironi for four days. -Ordinarily, it would not take that many hours to make the journey to -X----. But these first days of war there was no telling how long it -might take, nor whether one could get there by any route. Had her -resolution failed her and had she already returned to Rome? But in that -case she would surely have telegraphed. Or was she detained in some -frontier village as a spy?... - -The morning of the fifth day after the signora’s departure I was -dawdling over my coffee in the deserted _salone_, enjoying the scented -June breeze that came from the canal, when I heard a light step and a -knock at the door. Signora Maironi entered and dropped on a lounge, -very white and breathless, as if she had run a long way from somewhere. - -“Give me coffee, please! I have had nothing to eat since yesterday -morning.” And after she had swallowed some of the coffee I poured for -her she began to speak, to tell her story, not pausing to eat her roll. - - * * * * * - -“When I left you that morning--when was it, a week or a year ago?--I -seemed very courageous, didn’t I? The firing, the danger, somehow woke -my spirit, made me brave. But before I started I really wanted to -run back to Rome. Yes, if it hadn’t been for the idea of poor ’Rico -up there in that same danger, only worse, I should never have had the -courage to do what I did.... Well, we got to Mestre, as Giuseppe no -doubt told you. While I was waiting in the station for the train to -that place the commandant told me, I saw a young lieutenant in the -grenadier uniform. He was not of ’Rico’s company or I should have known -him, but he had the uniform. Of course I asked him where he was going. -He said he didn’t know, he was trying to find out where the regiment -was. He had been given leave to go to his home in Sardinia to bury his -father, poor boy, and was hurrying back to join the grenadiers. ‘If you -will stay with me, signora,’ he said, ‘you will find where your boy -is, for you see I must join my regiment at once.’ Wasn’t that lucky for -me? So I got into the same compartment with the lieutenant when the -train came along. It was full of officers. But no one seemed to know -where the grenadiers had been sent. The officers were very polite and -kind to me. They gave me something to eat or I should have starved, for -there was nothing to be bought at the stations, everything had been -eaten clean up as if the locusts had passed that way!... There was one -old gentleman--here, I have his card somewhere--well, no matter--we -talked a long time. He told me how many difficulties the army had to -meet, especially with spies. It seems that the spies are terrible. -The Austrians have them everywhere, and many are Italians, alas! the -ones who live up there in the mountains! They are arresting them all -the time. They took a woman and a man in a woman’s dress off the train. -Well, that didn’t make me any easier in my mind, but I stayed close to -my little lieutenant, who looked after me as he would his own mother, -and no one bothered me with questions.... - -“Such heat and such slowness! You cannot imagine how weary I became -before the day was done. Trains and trains of troops passed. Poor -fellows! And cannon and horses and food, just one long train after -another. We could scarcely crawl.... So we reached X---- as it was -getting dark, but the _granatieri_ were not there. They had been the -day before, but had gone on forward during the night. To think, if I -had started the night before I should have found ’Rico and had him a -whole day perhaps.” - -“Perhaps not,” I remarked, as the signora paused to swallow another cup -of coffee. “It was all a matter of chance, and if you had started the -day before you would have missed your lieutenant.” - -“Well, there was nothing for it but to spend the night at X----. For -no trains went on to Palma Nova, where the lieutenant was going in -the morning. So I walked into the town to look for a place to sleep, -but every bed was taken by the officers, not a place to sleep in the -whole town. It was then after nine o’clock; I returned to the station, -thinking I could stay there until the train started for Palma Nova. -But they won’t even let you stay in railroad stations any longer! So I -walked out to the garden in the square and sat down on a bench to spend -the night there. Luckily it was still warm. Who should come by with an -old lady on his arm but the gentleman I had talked with on the train, -Count--yes, he was a count--and his mother. They had a villa near the -town, it seems. ‘Why, signora!’ he said, when he saw me sitting there -all alone, ‘why are you out here at this time?’ And I told him about -there not being a bed free in the town. Then he said: ‘You must stay -with us. We have made our villa ready for the wounded, but, thank God, -they have not begun to come in yet, so there are many empty rooms at -your disposal.’ That was how I escaped spending the night on a bench -in the public garden! It was a beautiful villa, with grounds all about -it--quite large. They gave me a comfortable room with a bath, and that -was the last I saw of the count and his mother--whatever were their -names. Early the next morning a maid came with my coffee and woke me so -that I might get the train for Palma Nova. - -“That day was too long to tell about. I found my young lieutenant, -and as soon as we reached Palma Nova he went off to hunt for the -_granatieri_. But the regiment had been sent on ahead! Again I was just -too late. It had left for the frontier, which is only a few miles east -of the town. I could hear the big cannon from there. (Oh, yes, they had -begun! I can tell you that made me all the more anxious to hold my boy -once more in my arms.) Palma Nova was jammed with everything, soldiers, -motor-trucks, cannon--such confusion as you never saw. Everything had -to pass through an old gate--you know, it was once a Roman town and -there are walls and gates still standing. About that gate toward the -Austrian frontier there was such a crush to get through as I never saw -anywhere! - -“They let no one through that gate without a special pass. You see, -it was close to the lines, and they were afraid of spies. I tried and -tried to slip through, but it was no use. And the time was going by, -and Enrico marching away from me always toward battle. I just prayed -to the Virgin to get me through that gate--yes, I tell you, I prayed -hard as I never prayed before in my life.... The young lieutenant came -to tell me he had to go on to reach his regiment and offered to take -anything I had for Enrico. So I gave him almost all the money I had -with me, and the little watch you gave me for him, and told him to say -I should get to him somehow if it could be done. The young man promised -he would find ’Rico and give him the things at the first opportunity. -How I hated to see him disappear through that gate into the crowd -beyond! But there was no use trying: there were soldiers with drawn -bayonets all about it. My prayers to the Virgin seemed to do no good at -all.... - -“So at the end, after trying everywhere to get that special pass, I was -sitting before a café drinking some milk--everything is so frightfully -dear, you have no idea!--and was thinking that after coming so far I -was not to see my boy. For the first time I felt discouraged, and I -must have shown it, too, with my eyes always on that gate. An officer -who was waiting in front of the café, walking to and fro, presently -came up to me and said: ‘Signora, I see that sorrow in your eyes which -compels me to address you. Is there anything a stranger might do to -comfort you?’ So I told him the whole story, and he said very gently: -‘I do not know whether I can obtain the permission for you, but I know -the officer who is in command here. Come with me and we will tell him -your desire to see your son before the battle, which cannot be far off, -and perhaps he will grant your request.’ - -“Think of such fortune! The Virgin _had_ listened. I shall always pray -with better faith after this! Just when I was at the end, too! The kind -officer was also a count, Count Foscari, from here in Venice. He has a -brother in the garrison here, and there’s a lady to whom he wishes me -to give some letters.... I wonder if I still have them!” - -The signora stopped to investigate the recesses of her little bag. - -“First, let me know what the Count Foscari did for you,” I exclaimed, -tantalized by the signora’s discursive narrative. “Then we can look -after his correspondence at our leisure.” - -“There they are!... He took me with him to the office of the military -commander of the town--a very busy place it was. But the count just -walked past all the sentinels, and I followed him without being -stopped. But when he asked for the pass the commander was very cross -and answered, ‘Impossible!’--short like that. Even while we were -there, another, stronger order came over the telegraph from the staff -forbidding any civilian to pass through the town. I thought again it -was all over--I should never see ’Rico. But Count Foscari did not give -up. He just waited until the commander had said everything, then spoke -very gently to him in a low tone (but I could hear). ‘The signora is an -Italian mother. I will give my word for that! She wants to see her son, -who was sick when he left Rome.’ Then he stopped, but the other officer -just frowned, and the count tried again. ‘It is not much good that any -of us can do now in this life. We are all so near death that it seems -we should do whatever kindness we can to one another.’ He looked at me -more gently, but said nothing. The commandant’s secretary was there -with the pass already made out in his hand--he had been preparing it -while the others were talking--and he put it down on the table before -the officer for his signature. That one turned his head, then the -count gave a nod to the secretary, and the kind young man took the -seal and stamped it and handed it to me with a little smile. And the -commandant just shrugged his shoulders and pretended not to see. The -count said to him: ‘Thanks! For a mother.’ - -“So there I was with my pass. I thanked Count Foscari and hurried -through that gate as fast as my legs would carry me, afraid that some -one might take the paper away from me. What an awful jam there was! I -thought my legs would not hold out long on that hard road, but I was -determined to walk until I fell before giving up now.... I must have -passed forty sentinels; some of them stopped me. They said I would be -shot, but what did I care for that! I could hear the roaring of the -guns ahead, louder all the time, and the smoke. It was really battle. I -began to run. I was so anxious lest I might not have time.” - -“Were you not afraid?” - -“Of what? Of a shell hitting my poor old body? I never thought of -it. I just felt--little ’Rico is on there ahead in the middle of all -that. But it was beautiful all the same--yes,” she repeated softly, -with a strange gleam on her tired face, “it was _beau_ and horrible at -the same time.... I passed the frontier stones. Yes! I have been on -Austrian territory, though it’s no longer Austrian now, God be praised! -I was very nearly in Gradesca, where the battle was. I should never -have gotten that far had it not been for a kind officer in a motor-car -who took me off the road with him. How we drove in all that muddle! He -stopped when we passed any troops to let me ask where the _granatieri_ -were. It was always ‘just ahead.’ The sound of the guns got louder.... -I was terribly excited and so afraid I was too late, when suddenly -I saw a soldier bent over a bicycle riding back down the road like -mad. It was my ’Rico coming to find me!... I jumped out of the motor -and took him in my arms, there beside the road.... God, how he had -changed already, how thin and old his face was! And he was so excited -he could hardly speak, just like ’Rico always, when anything is going -on. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘I wanted so to see you. You told me you might -come up here, and I looked for you all along where the train stopped, -at Bologna and Mestre and Palma Nova. But I couldn’t find you. This -morning I knew you would come--I knew it when I woke.’ (Don’t you see -I was right in keeping on?)... The young lieutenant had told ’Rico I -was looking for him, and they let him come back on his bicycle to find -me. Poor boy, he was so excited and kept glancing over his shoulder -after his regiment! ‘You see, mamma,’ he said, ‘this is a real battle! -We are at the front! And our regiment has the honor to make the first -attack!’ He was so proud, the poor boy!... Of course I could not keep -him long--five minutes at the most I had with him there by the side of -the highroad, with all the noise of the guns and the passing wagons. -Five minutes, but I would rather have died than lost those minutes.... -I put your watch on his wrist. He was so pleased to have it, with the -illuminated hands which will give him the time at night when he is on -duty. He wrote you a few words on this scrap of paper, all I had with -me, leaning on my knee. I took his old watch--the father will want it. -It had been next his heart and was still warm.... Then he kissed me and -rode back up the road as fast as he could go. The last I saw was when -he rode into a cloud of dust.... - -“Well,” the signora concluded, after a long pause, “that is all! I -found my way back here somehow. I have been through the lines, on -Austrian territory, almost in battle itself--and I have seen my boy -again, the Virgin be praised! And I am content. Now let God do with him -what he will.” - -Later we went in search of Count Foscari’s brother and the lady to whom -he had sent his letters. Then Giuseppe and I took the signora to the -train for Rome. As I stood beside the compartment, the signora, who -seemed calmer, more like herself than for the past fortnight, repeated -dreamily: “My friend, I have seen ’Rico again, and I am content. -Perhaps it is the last time I shall have him in my arms, unless the -dear God spares him. And I know now what it is he is doing for his -country, what battle is! He is fighting for me, for all of us. I am -content!” - -With a gentle smile the signora waved me farewell. - - * * * * * - -Enrico came out of that first battle safely, and many others, as little -Bianca wrote me. She and the signora were making bandages and feeding -their thirsty hearts on the reports of the brave deeds that the Italian -troops were doing along the Isonzo. “They are all heroes!” the girl -wrote. “But it is very hard for them to pierce those mountains which -the Austrians have been fortifying all these years. There is perpetual -fighting, but Enrico is well and happy, fighting for Italy. Yesterday -we had a postal from him: he sent his respects to you....” - -Thereafter, there was no news from the Maironis for many weeks; then -in the autumn came the dreaded black-bordered letter in the signora’s -childish hand. It was dated from some little town in the north of Italy -and written in pencil. - -“I have been in bed for a long time, or I should have written before. -Our dear Enrico fell the 3d of August on the Col di Lana. He died -fighting for Italy like a brave man, his captain wrote.... Bianca is -here nursing me, but soon she will go back to Padua into the hospital, -and I shall go with her if there is anything that a poor old woman can -do for our wounded soldiers.... Dear friend, I am so glad that I saw -him once more--now I must wait until paradise....” - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -No attempt has been made to change the typesetting of the phrases and -words in Italian, due to differences in dialects. - -Railroad-station(s) have been changed on pages 77 and 84 to conform to -other occurrences in the book. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Conscript Mother</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Robert Herrick</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 21, 2022 [eBook #67218]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by University of California libraries)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide" style="width:350px;"> -<img src="images/i_cover.jpg" width="350" alt="Cover" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="ph2 nobreak">IN SIMILAR FORM</p> - -<p class="center">16mo, Boards, net 50c.</p></div> - -<hr class="ad" /> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">The Perfect Tribute<br /> -The Lifted Bandage<br /> -The Courage of the Commonplace<br /> -The Counsel Assigned</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Maltbie Davenport Babcock</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">The Success of Defeat</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Katherine Holland Brown</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">The Messenger</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Richard Harding Davis</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">The Consul<br /> -The Boy Scout</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Marion Harland</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">Looking Westward</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Robert Herrick</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">The Master of the Inn<br /> -The Conscript Mother</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Frederick Landis</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">The Angel of Lonesome Hill</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Francis E. Leupp</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">A Day with Father</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Alice Duer Miller</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">Things</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Thomas Nelson Page</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">The Stranger’s Pew</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">A Christmas Sermon<br /> -Prayers Written at Vailima<br /> -Æs Triplex<br /> -Father Damien</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Isobel Strong</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">Robert Louis Stevenson</p> - -<p class="rightadauthor"><i>Henry van Dyke</i></p> - -<p class="rightadtitle">School of Life<br /> -The Spirit of Christmas<br /> -The Sad Shepherd<br /> -The First Christmas Tree</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a id="i_frontispiece"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" width="350" alt="“Five minutes at the most I had with him there by the side -of the highroad....”" /></a></div></div> - -<p class="caption">“Five minutes at the most I had with him there by the side<br /> -of the highroad....” <span class="right noindent">[<i>Page</i> <a href="#Page_95">95</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1 center noindent">THE<br /> -CONSCRIPT MOTHER</p></div> - -<p class="center">BY</p> - -<p class="center">Robert Herrick</p> - -<p class="center">Author of “The Master of the Inn”</p> - -<hr class="title" /> - -<p class="center bgap">NEW YORK</p> - -<p class="center">Charles Scribner’s Sons</p> - -<p class="center">1916</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1916, by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p></div> - -<p class="center"><i>Published April, 1916</i> -</p> - -<div class="figcenter bgap"> -<img src="images/i_logo.jpg" width="75" alt="logo" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> -<h1 class="nobreak">THE<br /> -CONSCRIPT MOTHER</h1> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I</h2> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="dropcap">W</span>HEN I met the signora at -the tram station that May -morning she was evidently -troubled about something which was -only partly explained by her murmured -excuse, “a sleepless night.” -We were to cross the Campagna to -one of the little towns in the Albanian -hills, where young Maironi was -temporarily stationed with his regiment. -If we had good luck and happened -upon an indulgent officer, the -mother might get sight of her boy -for a few minutes. All the way over -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>the flowering Campagna, with the -blue hills swimming on the horizon -before us, the signora was unusually -taciturn, seemingly indifferent to the -beauty of the day, and the wonderful -charm of the Italian spring, to -which she was always so lyrically responsive -on our excursions. When a -great dirigible rose into the blue air -above our heads, like a huge silver -fish, my companion gave a slight -start, and I divined what was in her -mind—the imminence of war, which -had been threatening to engulf Italy -for many months. It was that fear -which had destroyed her customary -gayety, the indomitable cheerfulness -of the true Latin mother that she -was.</p> - -<p>“It is coming,” she sighed, glancing -up at the dirigible. “It will not -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>be long now before we shall know—only -a few days.”</p> - -<p>And to the ignorant optimism of -my protest she smiled sadly, with -the fatalism that women acquire in -countries of conscription. It was futile -to combat with mere theory and -logic this conviction of a mother’s -heart. Probably the signora had overheard -some significant word which -to her sensitive intelligence was more -real, more positive than all the subtle -reasonings at the Consulta. The -sphinx-like silence of ministers and -diplomats had not been broken: there -was nothing new in the “situation.” -The newspapers were as wordily -empty of fact as ever. And yet this -morning for the first time Signora -Maironi seemed convinced against -her will that war was inevitable.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p> -<p>These last days there had been a -similar change in the mood of the -Italian public, not to be fully explained -by any of the rumors flying -about Rome, by the sudden exodus -of Germans and Austrians, by anything -other than that mysterious -sixth sense which enables humanity, -like wild animals, to apprehend unknown -dangers. Those whose lives -and happiness are at stake seem to -divine before the blow falls what is -about to happen.... For the first -time I began to believe that Italy -might really plunge into the deep -gulf at which her people had so long -gazed in fascinated suspense. There -are secret signs in a country like -Italy, where much is hidden from -the stranger. Signora Maironi knew. -She pointed to some soldiers waiting -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>at a station and observed: “They -have their marching-kit, and they -are going north!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We talked of other things while the -tram crept far up above the Campagna -and slowly circled the green -hillsides, until we got down at the -dirty little gray town of Genzano, -where Enrico Maironi’s regiment had -been sent. There were no barracks. -The soldiers were quartered here -and there in old stone buildings. -We could see their boyish faces at -the windows and the gray uniform -of the <i>granatieri</i> in the courtyards. -It seemed a hopeless task to find the -signora’s boy, until a young lieutenant -to whom the mother appealed -offered to accompany us in -our search. He explained that the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>soldiers had to be kept shut up in -their quarters because they were -stoned by the inhabitants when they -appeared on the streets. They were -a tough lot up here in the hills, he -said, and they were against the war. -That was why, I gathered, the grenadiers -had been sent thither from -Rome, to suppress all “demonstrations” -that might embarrass the -government at this moment.</p> - -<p>The citizens of Genzano certainly -looked ugly. They were dirty and -poor, and scowled at the young officer. -The little town, for all its heavenly -situation, seemed dreary and -sad. The word “<i>socialismo</i>” scrawled -on the stone walls had been half -erased by the hand of authority. War -meant to these people more taxes and -fewer men to work the fields.... The -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>young lieutenant liked to air his -French; smoking one of the few good -cigars I had left, he talked freely -while we waited for Enrico to emerge -from the monastery where we finally -located him. It would be war, of -course, he said. There was no other -way. Before it might have been -doubtful, but now that the Germans -had been found over in Tripoli and -German guns, too, what could one -do? Evidently the lieutenant welcomed -almost anything that would -take the grenadiers from Genzano!</p> - -<p>Then Enrico came running out of -the great gate, as nice a looking lad -of nineteen as one could find anywhere, -even in his soiled and mussed -uniform, and Enrico had no false -shame about embracing his mother -in the presence of his officer and of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>the comrades who were looking down -on us enviously from the windows -of the old monastery. The lieutenant -gave the boy three hours’ liberty to -spend with us and, saluting politely, -went back to the post.</p> - -<p>With Enrico between us we wandered -up the hill toward the green -lake in the bowl of the ancient -crater. Signora Maironi kept tight -hold of her lad, purring over him in -French and Italian—the more intimate -things in Italian—turning as -mothers will from endearment to -gentle scolding. Why did he not -keep himself tidier? Surely he had -the needles and thread his sister -Bianca had given him the last time -he was at home. And how was the -ear? Had he carried out the doctor’s -directions? Which it is needless -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>to say Enrico had not. The -signora explained to me that the -boy was in danger of losing the hearing -of one ear because of the careless -treatment the regimental doctor had -given him when he had a cold. She -did not like to complain of the military -authorities: of course they could -not bother with every little trouble -a soldier had in a time like this, but -the loss of his hearing would be a -serious handicap to the boy in earning -his living....</p> - -<p>It seemed that Enrico had not yet -breakfasted, and, although it was -only eleven, I insisted on putting -forward the movable feast of continental -breakfast, and we ordered -our <i>colazione</i> served in the empty -garden of the little inn above the -lake. While Enrico ate and discussed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>with me the prospects of war, the -signora looked the boy all over -again, feeling his shoulders beneath -the loose uniform to see whether he -had lost flesh after the thirty-mile -march from Rome under a hot sun. -It was much as an American mother -might examine her offspring after -his first week at boarding-school, -only more intense. And Enrico was -very much like a clean, hearty, lovable -schoolboy, delighted to be let -out from authority and to talk like -a man with another man. He was -confident Italy would be in the war—oh, -very sure! And he nodded his -head at me importantly. His captain -was a capital fellow, really like -a father to the men, and the captain -had told them—but he pulled -himself up suddenly. After all, I -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>was a foreigner, and must not hear -what the captain had said. But he -let me know proudly that his regiment -the <i>granatieri</i> of Sardinia, had -received the promise that they would -be among the first to go to the front. -The mother’s fond eyes contracted -slightly with pain.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After our breakfast Enrico took me -into the garden of the old monastery -where other youthful grenadiers -were loafing on the grass under the -trees or writing letters on the rough -table among the remains of food. -Some of the squad had gone to the -lake for a swim; I could hear their -shouts and laughter far below. Presently -the signora, who had been -barred at the gate by the old Franciscan, -hurried down the shady path.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> - -<p>“I told him,” she explained, “that -he could just look the other way and -avoid sin. Then I slipped through -the door!”</p> - -<p>So with her hand on her recaptured -boy we strolled through the -old gardens as far as the stable -where the soldiers slept. The floor -was littered with straw, which, with -an overcoat, Enrico assured me, -made a capital bed. The food was -good enough. They got four cents a -day, which did not go far to buy -cigarettes and postage-stamps, but -they would be paid ten cents a day -when they were at war!...</p> - -<p>At last we turned into the highroad -arched with old trees that led -down to the tramway. Enrico’s leave -was nearly over. All the glory of the -spring day poured forth from the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>flowering hedges, where bees hummed -and birds sang. Enrico gathered a -great bunch of yellow heather, which -his mother wanted to take home. -“Little Bianca will like it so much -when she hears her brother picked -it,” she explained. “Bianca thinks he -is a hero already, the dear!”</p> - -<p>When we reached the car-tracks -we sat on a mossy wall and chatted. -In a field across the road an old gray -mare stood looking steadfastly at -her small foal, which was asleep in -the high grass at her feet. The old -mare stood patiently for many minutes -without once cropping a bit of -grass, lowering her head occasionally -to sniff at the little colt. Her attitude -of absorbed contemplation, of perfect -satisfaction in her ungainly offspring -made me laugh—it was so -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>exactly like the signora’s. At last the -little fellow woke, got somehow on -his long legs, and shaking a scrubby -tail went gambolling off down the -pasture, enjoying his coltish world. -The old mare followed close behind -with eyes only for him.</p> - -<p>“Look at him!” the signora exclaimed -pointing to the ridiculous -foal. “How nice he is! Oh, how beautiful -youth always is!”</p> - -<p>She looked up admiringly at her -tall, handsome Enrico, who had -just brought her another bunch of -heather. The birds were singing like -mad in the fields; some peasants -passed with their laden donkeys; -I smoked contemplatively, while -mother and son talked family gossip -and the signora went all over -her boy again for the fourth time.... -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>Yes, youth is beautiful, surely, -but there seemed something horribly -pathetic about it all in spite of -the loveliness of the May morning.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The three hours came to an end. -Enrico rose and saluted me formally. -He was so glad to have seen me; I -was very good to bring his mother -all the way from Rome; and he and -the comrades would much enjoy my -excellent cigarettes. “<i>A riverderci!</i>” -Then he turned to his mother and -without any self-consciousness bent -to her open arms....</p> - -<p>When the signora joined me farther -down the road she was clear-eyed -but sombre.</p> - -<p>“Can you understand,” she said -softly, “how when I have him in -my arms and think of all I have -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>done for him, his education, his long -sickness, all, all—and what he means -to me and his father and little Bianca—and -then I think how in one -moment it may all be over for always, -all that precious life—O God -what are women made for!... We -shall have to hurry, my friend, to -get to the station.”</p> - -<p>I glanced back once more at the -slim figure just going around the -bend of the road at a run, so as not -to exceed his leave—a mere boy and -such a nice boy, with his brilliant, -eager eyes, so healthy and clean and -joyous, so affectionate, so completely -what any mother would adore. And -he might be going “up north” any -day now to fight the Austrians.</p> - -<p>“Signora,” I asked, “do you believe -in war?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> - -<p>“They all say this war has to be,” -she said dully. “Oh, I don’t know!... -It is a hard world to understand!... -I try to remember that I am only -one of hundreds of thousands of -Italian women.... I hope I shall -see him once more before they take -him away. My God!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That afternoon the expert who had -been sent to Rome by a foreign -newspaper to watch the critical situation -carefully put down his empty -teacup and pronounced his verdict:</p> - -<p>“Yes, this time it looks to me -really like war. They have gone too -far to draw back. Some of them think -they are likely to get a good deal out -of the war with a small sacrifice—everybody -likes a bargain, you know!... -Then General Cadorna, they -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>say, is a very ambitious man, and -this is his chance. A successful campaign -would make him.... But I -don’t know. It would be quite a -risk, quite a risk.”</p> - -<p>Yes, I thought, quite a risk for the -conscript mothers!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II</h2> -</div> - -<p>The politician came to Rome and -delivered his prudent advice, and -the quiescent people began to growl. -The ministers resigned: the public -growled more loudly.... During -the turbulent week that followed, -while Italy still hesitated, I saw -Enrico Maironi a number of times. -Indeed, his frank young face with -the sparkling black eyes is mingled -with all my memories of those tense -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>days when the streets of Rome were -vocal with passionate crowds, when -soldiers barred the thoroughfares, -and no one knew whether there -would be war with Austria or revolution.</p> - -<p>One night, having been turned out -of the Café Nazionale when the -troops cleared the Corso of the mob -that threatened the Austrian embassy, -I wandered through the agitated -city until I found myself in -the quarter where the Maironis lived, -and called at their little home to -hear if they had had news of the -boy. There was light in the dining-room, -though it was long past the -hour when even the irresponsible -Maironis took their irregular dinner. -As I entered I could see in the light -of the single candle three faces intently -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>focused on a fourth—Enrico’s, -with a preoccupation that -my arrival scarcely disturbed. They -made me sit down and hospitably -opened a fresh bottle of wine. The -boy had just arrived unexpectedly, -his regiment having been recalled to -Rome that afternoon. He was travel-stained, -with a button off his military -coat which his sister was sewing -on while he ate. He looked tired but -excited, and his brilliant eyes lighted -with welcome as he accepted one of -my Turkish cigarettes with the air -of a young worldling and observed:</p> - -<p>“You see, it <i>is</i> coming—sooner -than we expected!”</p> - -<p>There was a note of boyish triumph -in his voice as he went on to -explain again for my benefit how -his captain—a really good fellow -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>though a bit severe in little things—had -let him off for the evening to -see his family. He spoke of his officer -exactly as my own boy might speak -of some approved schoolmaster. Signor -Maironi, who in his post at the -war office heard things before they -got into the street, looked very -grave and said little.</p> - -<p>“You are glad to have him back -in Rome, at any rate!” I said to the -signora.</p> - -<p>She shrugged her shoulders expressively.</p> - -<p>“Rome is the first step on a long -journey,” she replied sombrely.</p> - -<p>The silent tensity of the father’s -gaze, fastened on his boy, became -unbearable. I followed the signora, -who had strolled through the open -door to the little terrace and stood -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>looking blankly into the night. Far -away, somewhere in the city, rose a -clamor of shouting people, and swift -footsteps hurried past in the street.</p> - -<p>“It will kill his father, if anything -happens to him!” she said slowly, -as if she knew herself to be the -stronger. “You see he chose the -grenadiers for Enrico because that -regiment almost never leaves Rome: -it stays with the King. And now the -King is going to the front, they say—it -will be the first of all!”</p> - -<p>“I see!”</p> - -<p>“To-night may be his last time at -home.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” I said, seeking for the -futile crumb of comfort, “they will -take Giolitti’s advice, and there will -be no war.”</p> - -<p>Enrico, who had followed us from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>the dining-room, caught the remark -and cried with youthful conviction: -“That Giolitti is a traitor—he has -been bought by the Germans!”</p> - -<p>“Giolitti!” little Bianca echoed -scornfully, arching her black brows. -Evidently the politician had lost his -popularity among the youth of Italy. -Within the dining-room I could see -the father sitting alone beside the -candle, his face buried in his hands. -Bianca caressed her brother’s shoulder -with her cheeks.</p> - -<p>“I am going, too!” she said to me -with a little smile. “I shall join the -Red Cross—I begin my training -to-morrow, eh, <i>mamma mia</i>?” And -she threw a glance of childish defiance -at the signora.</p> - -<p>“Little Bianca is growing up fast!” -I laughed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> - -<p>“They take them all except the -cripples,” the signora commented -bitterly, “even the girls!”</p> - -<p>“But I am a woman,” Bianca protested, -drawing away from Enrico -and raising her pretty head. “I shall -get the hospital training and go up -north, too—to be near ’Rico.”</p> - -<p>Something surely had come to the -youth of this country when girls -like Bianca Maironi spoke with such -assurance of going forth from the -home into the unknown.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sicuro!</i>” She nodded her head -to emphasize what I suspected had -been a moot point between mother -and daughter. The signora looked -inscrutably at the girl for a little -while, then said quietly: “It’s ’most -ten, Enrico.”</p> - -<p>The boy unclasped Bianca’s tight -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>little hands, kissed his mother and -father, gave me the military salute -... and we could hear him running -fast down the street. The signora -blew out the sputtering candle and -closed the door.</p> - -<p>“I am going, too!” Bianca exclaimed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The poet was coming to Rome. -After the politician, close on his -heels, the poet, fresh from his triumph -at the celebration of Quarto, -where with his flaming allegory he -had stirred the youth of Italy to -their depths! A few henchmen, waiting -for the leader’s word, had met -Giolitti; all Rome, it seemed to -me, was turning out to greet the -poet. They had poured into the -great square before the terminus -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>station from every quarter. The -packed throng reached from the -dark walls of the ancient baths -around the splashing fountain, into -the radiating avenues, and up to the -portico of the station itself, which -was black with human figures. It -was a quiet, orderly, well-dressed -crowd that swayed back and forth, -waiting patiently hour after hour—the -train was very late—to see the -poet’s face, to hear, perhaps, his -word of courage for which it thirsted.</p> - -<p>There were soldiers everywhere, as -usual. I looked in vain for the familiar -uniform of the <i>granatieri</i>, but -the gray-coated boyish figures seemed -all alike. In the midst of the press -I saw the signora and Bianca, whose -eyes were also wandering after the -soldiers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> - -<p>“You came to welcome D’Annunzio?” -I queried, knowing the good -woman’s prejudices.</p> - -<p>“Him!” the signora retorted with -curling lip. “Bianca brought me.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, we have been to the Red -Cross,” the girl flashed.</p> - -<p>“Rome welcomes the poet as though -he were royalty,” I remarked, standing -on tiptoe to sweep with a glance -the immense crowd.</p> - -<p>“<i>He</i> will not go to the front—he -will just talk!”</p> - -<p>“Enrico is here somewhere,” Bianca -explained. “They told us so at -the barracks. We have looked all -about and mamma has asked so -many officers. We haven’t seen him -since that first night. He has been -on duty all day in the streets, doing -<i>pichett ’armato</i>, ... I wish Giolitti -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>would go back home. If he doesn’t -go soon, he’ll find out!”</p> - -<p>Her white teeth came together -grimly, and she made a significant -little gesture with her hand.</p> - -<p>“Where’s mamma?”</p> - -<p>The signora had caught sight of -another promising uniform and was -talking with the kindly officer who -wore it.</p> - -<p>“His company is inside the station,” -she explained when she rejoined us, -“and we can never get -in there!”</p> - -<p>She would have left if Bianca had -not restrained her. The girl wanted -to see the poet. Presently the night -began to fall, the still odorous May -night of Rome. The big arc-lamps -shone down upon the crowded faces. -Suddenly there was a forward swaying, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>shouts and cheers from the station. -A little man’s figure was being -carried above the eager crowd. Then -a motor bellowed for free passage -through the human mass. A wave of -song burst from thousands of throats, -Mameli’s “L’Inno.” A little gray face -passed swiftly. The poet had come -and gone.</p> - -<p>“Come!” Bianca exclaimed, taking -my hand firmly and pulling the signora -on the other side. And she hurried -us on with the streaming crowd -through lighted streets toward the -Pincian hill, in the wake of the poet’s -car. The crowd had melted from -about the station and was pouring -into the Via Veneto. About the little -fountain of the Tritone it had -massed again, but persistent Bianca -squirmed through the yielding figures, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>dragging us with her until we -were wedged tight in the mass -nearly opposite the Queen Mother’s -palace.</p> - -<p>The vast multitude that reached -into the shadow of the night were -cheering and singing. Their shouts -and songs must have reached even -the ears of the German ambassador -at the Villa Malta a few blocks -away. The signora had forgotten her -grenadier, her dislike of the poet, and -for the moment was caught up in -the emotion of the crowd. Bianca -was singing the familiar hymn.... -Suddenly there was a hush; light -fell upon the upturned faces from an -opened window on a balcony in the -Hotel Regina. The poet stood forth -in the band of yellow light and -looked down upon the dense throng -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>beneath. In the stillness his words -began to fall, very slowly, very -clearly, as if each was a graven message -for his people. And the Roman -youth all about me swayed and -sighed, seizing each colored word, -divining its heroic symbol, drinking -thirstily the ardor of the poet.</p> - -<p>“The light has not wholly gone -from the Aurelian wall ... fifty -years ago at this hour the leader of -the Thousand and his heroic company.... -We will not be a museum, -an inn, a water-color in Prussian -blue!...”</p> - -<p>The double line of soldiers behind -us had forgotten their formation -and were pressing forward to catch -each word. The signora was gazing -at the man with fascinated eyes. -Bianca’s little hand tightened unconsciously -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>on mine, and her lips -parted in a smile. The poet’s words -were falling into her eager heart. -He was speaking for her, for all the -ardent youth of Italy:</p> - -<p>“<i>Viva! Viva Roma senza onta! -Viva la grande é pura Italia!...</i>”</p> - -<p>The voice ceased: for one moment -there was complete silence; then a -cheer that was half a sigh broke -from the crowd. But the blade of -light faded, the poet was gone. -When at last I got the Maironis -into a cab there were bright tears -in Bianca’s eyes and the mother’s -face was troubled.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it has to be,” the signora -murmured.</p> - -<p>“Of course!” Bianca echoed sharply, -raising her little head defiantly. -“What else could Italy do?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> - -<p>The streets were rapidly emptying. -Some companies of infantry -that had been policing the city all -day marched wearily past. Bianca -jumped up quickly.</p> - -<p>“They’re <i>granatieri</i>! And there’s -’Rico’s captain!”</p> - -<p>The sympathetic cab-driver pulled -up his horse while the soldiers -tramped by.</p> - -<p>“’Rico, ’Rico!” the girl called softly -to the soldiers.</p> - -<p>A hand went up, and the boy gave -us a luminous smile as his file swung -past.</p> - -<p>“I have seen him again!” the -mother said hungrily.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The poet spoke the next day, and -the next, to the restless people who -waited hour after hour in the street -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>before his hotel. Having found its -voice—a voice that revealed its inner -heart—young Italy clamored for -action. The fret of Rome grew -louder hourly; soldiers cordoned the -main streets, while Giolitti waited, -the ambassadors flitted back and -forth to the Consulta, the King took -counsel with his advisers. I looked -for young Maironi’s face among -the lines of troops barring passage -through the streets. It seemed as -if he might be called at any moment -to do his soldier’s duty here -in Rome!</p> - -<p>All day long and half the night the -cavalry stood motionless before the -Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, -ready to clear away the mobs that -prowled about the corner of Via -Cavour, where Giolitti lived. Once -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>they charged. It was the night the -poet appeared at the Costanzi Theatre. -The narrow street was full of -shouting people as I drove to the -theatre with the Maironis. Suddenly -there was the ugly sound of horses’ -feet on concrete walks, shrieks and -wild rushes for safety in doorways -and alleys. As our cab whisked -safely around a corner the cavalry -came dashing past, their hairy plumes -streaming out from the metal helmets, -their ugly swords high in the -air. The signora’s face paled. Perhaps -she was thinking, as I was, -that there might be one thing worse -than war with Austria, and that -would be revolution. Bianca exclaimed -scornfully:</p> - -<p>“They had better be fighting Italy’s -enemies!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> - -<p>“They are not yet enemies,” I -ventured.</p> - -<p>She gave a little shrug of her -shoulders.</p> - -<p>“They will be to-morrow!”</p> - -<p>The fever within the vast auditorium -seemed to bear out the girl’s -words. Here was no “rabble of the -piazza,” to repeat the German ambassador’s -sneer, but well-to-do Roman -citizens. For three hours they -shouted their hatred of Teuton, sang -patriotic hymns, cried defiance of -the politician Giolitti, who would -keep the nation safely bound in its -old alliance. “<i>Fuori i barbari!... -Giolitti traditore!</i>” One grizzled Roman -hurled in my ears: “I’ll drink -his blood, the traitor!”</p> - -<p>When the little poet entered his -flower-wreathed box every one -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>cheered and waved to him. He stood -looking down on the passionate human -sea beneath him, then slowly -plucked the red flowers from a great -bunch of carnations that some one -handed him and threw them one by -one far out into the cheering throng. -One floated downward straight into -Bianca’s eager hand. She snatched -it, kissed the flower, and looked upward -into the poet’s smiling face....</p> - -<p>He recited the suppressed stanzas -of a war-poem, the slow, rhythmic -lines falling like the red flowers into -eager hearts. The signora was standing -on her seat beside Bianca, clasping -her arm, and tears gathered -slowly in her large, wistful eyes, -tears of pride and sadness.... Out -in the still night once more from -that storm of passion we walked on -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>silently through empty streets. “He -believes it—he is right,” the signora -sighed. “Italy also must do her -part!”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Bianca said quickly, -“and she will!... See there!”</p> - -<p>The girl pointed to a heap of stones -freshly upturned in the street. It -was the first barricade.</p> - -<p>“Our soldiers must not fight each -other,” she said gravely, and glanced -again over her shoulder at the barricade....</p> - -<p>In front of Santa Maria the tired -cavalry sat their horses, and a double -line of infantry was drawn across the -Via Cavour before the Giolitti home. -The boys were slouching over their -rifles; evidently, whatever play there -had been in this picket duty had -gone out of it. Suddenly Bianca and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>her mother ran down the line. “Maironi, -Maironi!” I heard some of the -soldiers calling softly, and there was -a shuffle in the ranks. Enrico was -shoved forward to the front in comradely -fashion. Mother and sister -chatted with the boy, and presently -Bianca came dashing back.</p> - -<p>“They haven’t had anything to eat -all day!”</p> - -<p>We found a café still open and -loaded ourselves with rolls, chocolate, -and cigarettes, which Bianca -distributed to the weary soldiers -while the young lieutenant tactfully -strolled to the other end of the line.</p> - -<p>“To think of keeping them here -all day without food!” the signora -grumbled as we turned away. The -boys, shoving their gifts into pockets -and mouths, straightened up as their -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>officer came back down the line. -“They might as well be at war,” -the signora continued.</p> - -<p>When I returned to my hotel -through the silent streets the <i>granatieri</i> -had gone from their post, but -the horsemen were still sitting their -sleeping mounts before the old -church. Their vigil would be all -night.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The nation’s crisis had come and -passed. We did not know it, but it -was marked by those little piles of -stones in the Via Viminale. The disturber -Giolitti had fled overnight at -the invitation of the government, -which now knew itself to be strong -enough to do what it would. And -thereafter events moved more swiftly. -Rome was once more calm. The -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>people gathered again by the hundreds -of thousands, but peacefully, -in the spirit of concord, in the Piazza -del Popolo and in the Campidoglio. -Their will had prevailed, they -had found themselves. A great need -of reconciliation, of union of all -spirits, was expressed in these meetings, -under the soft spring sky, in -spots consecrated by ancient memories -of greatness.</p> - -<p>In the crowd that filled the little -piazza of the Campidoglio to the -brim and ran down into the old -lanes that led to the Forum and the -city I met Signora Maironi once -more. She had not come thither to -find her boy—soldiers were no longer -needed to keep the Romans from -violence. She came in the hungry -need to fill her heart with belief and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>confidence, to strengthen herself for -sacrifice.</p> - -<p>“We haven’t seen Enrico since that -night on the streets. He is kept -ready in the barracks unless he has -been sent away already.... But he -said he would let us know!”</p> - -<p>A procession with the flags of Italy -and of the desired provinces mounted -the long flight of steps above us, -and the syndic of Rome, the Prince -Colonna, came out from the open -door and fronted the mass of citizens.</p> - -<p>“He is going, and his sons!” the -signora whispered. “He is a fine -man!” The prince looked gravely -over the upturned faces as if he -would speak; then refrained, as -though the moment were too solemn -for further words. He stood there -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>looking singularly like the grave -portraits of Roman fathers in the -museum near by, strong, stern, resolved. -The evening breeze lifted the -cluster of flags and waved them vigorously. -Little fleecy clouds floated -in the blue sky above the Aracœli -Church. There were no shouts, no -songs. These were men and women -from the working classes of the -neighboring quarter of old Rome -who were giving their sons and husbands -to the nation, and felt the solemnity -of the occasion.</p> - -<p>“Let us go,” the Prince Colonna -said solemnly, “to the Quirinal to -meet our King.”</p> - -<p>As we turned down the hill we -could see the long black stream already -flowing through the narrow -passages out into the square before -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>the great marble monument. It was -a silent, spontaneous march of the -people to their leader. The blooming -roses in the windows and on the terraces -above gayly flamed against -the dark walls of the old houses -along the route. But the hurrying -crowd did not look up. Its mood was -sternly serious. It did not turn aside -as we neared the palace of the -enemy’s ambassador. The time was -past for such childish demonstrations.</p> - -<p>“If only we might go instead, we -older ones,” the signora said sadly, -“not the children.... Life means so -much more to them!”</p> - -<p>We reached the Quirinal hill as the -setting sun flooded all Rome from -the ridge of the Janiculum. The piazza -was already crowded and at the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>Consulta opposite the royal palace, -where, even at this eleventh hour, -the ambassadors were vainly offering -last inducements, favored spectators -filled the windows. It was a -peculiarly quiet, solemn scene. No -speeches, no cheers, no songs. It -seemed as if the signora’s last words -were in every mind. “They say,” -she remarked sadly, “that it will -take a great many lives to carry -those strong mountain positions, -many thousands each month, thousands -and thousands of boys.... -All those mothers!”</p> - -<p>At that moment the window on -the balcony above the entrance to -the palace was flung open, and two -lackeys brought out a red cloth -which they hung over the stone balustrade. -Then the King and Queen, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>followed by the little prince and his -sister, stepped forth and stood above -us, looking down into the crowded -faces. The King bowed his head to -the cheers that greeted him from -his people, but his serious face did -not relax. He looked worn, old. Perhaps -he, too, was thinking of those -thousands of lives that must be -spent each month to unlock the Alpine -passes which for forty years -Austria had been fortifying!... He -bowed again in response to the -hearty cries of <i>Viva il Re!</i> The Queen -bowed. The little black-haired prince -by his father’s side looked steadily -down into the faces. He, too, seemed -to understand what it meant—that -these days his father’s throne had -been put into the stake for which -Italy was to fight, that his people -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>had cast all on the throw of this war. -No smile, no boyish elation, relieved -the serious little face.</p> - -<p>“Why does he not speak?” the -signora murmured, as if her aching -heart demanded a word of courage -from her King.</p> - -<p>“It is not yet the time,” I suggested, -nodding to the Consulta.</p> - -<p>The King cried, “<i>Viva Italia!</i>” -then withdrew from the balcony -with his family.</p> - -<p>“<i>Viva Italia!</i>” It was a prayer, a -hope, spoken from the heart, and it -was received silently by the throng. -Yes, might the God of battles preserve -Italy, all the beauty and the -glory that the dying sun was bathing -in its golden flood!...</p> - -<p>Signora Maironi hurried through -the crowded street at a nervous pace.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> - -<p>“I do not like to be long away -from home,” she explained. “’Rico -may come and go for the last time -while I am out.”</p> - -<p>We had no sooner entered the door -of the house than the mother said: -“Yes, he’s here!”</p> - -<p>The boy was sitting in the little -dining-room, drinking a glass of -wine, his father on one side, his -sister on the other. He seemed much -excited.</p> - -<p>“We leave in the morning!” he -said.</p> - -<p>There was an exultant ring in his -voice, a flash in his black eyes.</p> - -<p>“Where for?” I asked.</p> - -<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“They never tell—to the front -somewhere!... See my stripes. -They have made me bicyclist for -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>the battalion. I’ve got a machine to -ride now. I shall carry orders, you -know!”</p> - -<p>His laugh was broken by a cough.</p> - -<p>“Ugh, this nasty cold—that comes -from Messer Giolitti—too much -night-work—no more of that! The -rat!”</p> - -<p>I glanced at the signora.</p> - -<p>“Have you all his things ready, -Bianca?” she asked calmly. “The -cheese and the cake and his -clothes?”</p> - -<p>“Everything,” the little girl replied -quickly. “’Rico says we can’t -come to see him off.”</p> - -<p>The mother looked inquiringly at -the boy.</p> - -<p>“It’s no use trying. Nobody knows -where or when,” he explained. “They -don’t want a lot of mothers and sisters -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>fussing over the men,” he added -teasingly.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Little Bianca told me how she and -her mother slipped past all the sentinels -at the station the next morning -and ran along the embankment -outside the railroad yards where the -long line of cattle-cars packed with -soldiers was waiting.</p> - -<p>“They know us pretty well in the -regiment by this time,” she laughed. -“I heard them say as we ran along -the cars looking for ’Rico, ‘See! -There’s Maironi’s mother and the -little Maironi! Of course, they would -come somehow!’... We gave them -the roses you brought yesterday—you -don’t mind? They loved them -so—and said such nice things.” Bianca -paused to laugh and blush at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>the pretty speeches which the soldiers -had made, then ran on: “Poor -boys, they’ll soon be where they -can’t get flowers and cakes.... Then -we found ’Rico at last and gave him -the things just as the train started. -He was so glad to see us! Poor ’Rico -had such a cough, and he looked -quite badly; he doesn’t know how -to take care of himself. Mother is -always scolding him for being so -careless—boys are all like that, you -know!... There was such a noise! -We ran along beside the train, oh, a -long way, until we came to a deep -ditch—we couldn’t jump that! And -they cheered us, all the soldiers in the -cars; they looked so queer, jammed -in the cattle-cars with the straw, just -like the horses. Enrico’s captain gave -us a salute, too. I wonder where -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>they are now.” She paused in her -rapid talk for a sombre moment, then -began excitedly: “Don’t you want -to see my Red Cross dress? It’s so -pretty! I have just got it.”</p> - -<p>She ran up-stairs to put on her -nurse’s uniform; presently the signora -came into the room. She was -dressed all in black and her face was -very pale. She nodded and spoke in -a dull, lifeless voice.</p> - -<p>“Bianca told you? He wanted me -to thank you for the cigarettes. He -was not very well—he was suffering, -I could see that.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing worse than a cold,” I -suggested.</p> - -<p>“I must see him again!” she cried -suddenly, passionately, “just once, -once more—before—” Her voice died -out in a whisper. Bianca, who had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>come back in her little white dress, -took up the signora’s unfinished sentence -with a frown:</p> - -<p>“Of course, we shall see him again, -mamma! Didn’t he promise to write -us where they sent him?” She turned -to me, impetuous, demanding, true -little woman of her race. “You know, -I shall go up north, too, to one of -the hospitals, and mamma will go -with me. Then we’ll find Enrico. -Won’t we, mother?”</p> - -<p>But the signora’s miserable eyes -seemed far away, as if they were -following that slowly moving train -of cattle-cars packed with boyish -faces. She fingered unseeingly the -arm of Bianca’s dress with its cross -of blood-red. At last, with a long -sigh, she brought herself back to -the present. Was I ready for an -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>Italian lesson? We might as well -lose no more time. She patted Bianca -and pushed her gently away. -“Run along and take off that terrible -dress!” she said irritably. Bianca, -with a little, discontented gesture -and appreciative pat to the -folds of her neat costume, left us -alone. “She thinks of nothing but -this war!” the signora exclaimed. -“The girls are as bad as the men!”</p> - -<p>“Is it not quite natural?”</p> - -<p>We began on the verbs, but the -signora’s mind, usually so vivacious, -was not on the lesson. It was still -with that slow troop-train on its -way to the frontier.</p> - -<p>“You are too tired,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“No, but I can’t stay in here—let -us go into the city.”</p> - -<p>Rome seemed curiously lifeless and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>dead after all the passionate movement -of the past week. It was empty, -too. All the troops that had filled -the seething streets had departed -overnight, and the turbulent citizens -had vanished. The city, like the -heart of Italy, was in suspense, -waiting for the final word which -meant war.</p> - -<p>“You will not stay here much -longer, I suppose?” the signora questioned.</p> - -<p>“I suppose not.” Life seemed to -have flowed out of this imperial -Rome, with all its loveliness, in the -wake of the troop-trains.</p> - -<p>“If I could only go, too!... If we -knew where he was to be!”</p> - -<p>“You will know—and you will follow -with Bianca.”</p> - -<p>“I would go into battle itself to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>see ’Rico once more!” the poor -woman moaned.</p> - -<p>“There will be lots of time yet before -the battles begin,” I replied -with lying comfort.</p> - -<p>“You think so!... War is very -terrible for those who have to stay -behind.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III</h2> -</div> - -<p>In obedience to Signora Maironi’s -mysterious telegram, I waited outside -the railroad station in Venice -for the arrival of the night express -from Rome, which was very late. The -previous day I had taken the precaution -to attach to me old Giuseppe, -one of the two boatmen now -left at the <i>traghetto</i> near my hotel, -all the younger men having been -called out. There were few <i>forestieri</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>and Giuseppe was thankful to have -a real signore, whom he faithfully -protected from the suspicious and -hostile glances of the Venetians. -Every stranger, I found, had become -an Austrian spy! Giuseppe was -now busily tidying up his ancient -gondola, exchanging jokes with the -soldiers in the laden barks which -passed along the canal. Occasionally -a fast motor-boat threw up a long -wave as it dashed by on an errand -with some officer in the stern. All -Venice, relieved of tourists, was -bustling with soldiers and sailors. -Gray torpedo-boats lay about the -piazzetta, and Red Cross flags waved -from empty palaces. Yet there was -no war.</p> - -<p>“Giuseppe,” I asked, “do you think -there will be any war?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p> - -<p>“<i>Sicuro!</i>” the old man replied, -straightening himself and pointing -significantly with his thumb to a -passing bargeful of soldiers. “They -are on the way.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“Who knows?... The mountains,” -and he indicated the north with his -head. “I have two sons—they have -gone.”</p> - -<p>“And Italy will win?” I continued -idly.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sicuro!</i>” came the reply reassuringly, -“<i>ma!</i>”</p> - -<p>And in that expressive “<i>ma</i>” I -might read all the anxiety, the fears -of Italy.</p> - -<p>At last the signora came, dressed -in the same black she had worn the -day Enrico had left Rome. In her -hand she carried a little bag. She -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>gave me a timid smile as Giuseppe -settled her under the <i>felza</i>.</p> - -<p>“You were surprised at the telegram?”</p> - -<p>“A little,” I confessed.</p> - -<p>“I had to come,” she sighed as the -gondola pushed into the narrow, tortuous -canal that led back to the -piazza.</p> - -<p>“What news from Enrico?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing! Not a word!... That’s -why I came.”</p> - -<p>“It’s only been a week—the mails -are slow,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“I could stand it no longer. You will -think me mad. I mean to find him!”</p> - -<p>“But how—-where?” I demanded -in bewilderment.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I must discover here.”</p> - -<p>“In Venice!”</p> - -<p>“Somebody must know! Oh, I see -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>what you think—I am out of my -head.... Perhaps I am! Sitting there -in the house day after day thinking, -thinking—and the poor boy was so -miserable that last morning—he was -too sick.”</p> - -<p>“Surely you must have some plan?”</p> - -<p>“An officer on the train last night—a -major going up there to join his -regiment—he was very kind to me, -lent me his coat to keep me warm, -it was so cold. He is a well-known -doctor in Rome. Here, I have his -card in my sack somewhere.... He -says it’s a matter of hours now before -they begin.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said, in a pause, hoping -to bring the signora’s mind back to -the starting-point. “What has the -major to do with your finding Enrico?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> - -<p>“He told me to inquire at Mestre -or here where Enrico’s train had -been sent.... They wouldn’t tell me -anything at the railroad station in -Mestre. So I must find out here,” -she ended inconsequentially.</p> - -<p>“Here in Venice? But they won’t -tell you a thing even if they know. -You had a better chance in Rome.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“No, they wouldn’t tell his father—he -tried to find out.”</p> - -<p>“And you couldn’t get north of -Mestre. It’s all military zone now, -you know.”</p> - -<p>“Is it?” she answered vacantly. “I -had to come,” she repeated like a -child, “and I feel better already—I’m -so much nearer him.... Don’t -you really think I can get to see him -for a few minutes?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p> - -<p>I spent a futile hour, while Giuseppe -pushed us languidly through -the gray lagoons, trying to convince -Signora Maironi that her search for -the boy was worse than useless, -might easily land her in prison should -she attempt to penetrate the lines. -At the end she merely remarked:</p> - -<p>“’Rico expects me—he said that -last night,—‘You will come up north -to see me, mother, before war is declared.’”</p> - -<p>Thereat I began again at the beginning -and tried more urgently to -distract the signora from her purpose.</p> - -<p>“You might be locked up as a -spy!” I concluded.</p> - -<p>“But I am an Italian woman—an -Italian mother!” she cried indignantly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> - -<p>Giuseppe nodded sympathetically -over his long sweep and murmured -something like “<i>Évero!</i>” It ended -by my asking the old fellow if he -knew where the office of the Venetian -commandant was.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sicuro!</i>” the old man laughed, -waving a hand negligently toward -the Zattere. So we headed there. I -thought that an hour or two spent -in vainly trying to see the busy -gentleman in command of Venice -would probably do more than anything -else to convince Signora Maironi -of the futility of her quest. As -I helped her to the quay from the -gondola in front of the old convent -which was now the military headquarters, -she said gently, apologetically: -“Don’t be so cross with me, -signor! Think merely that I am an -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>old woman and a mother with a son -about to fight for his country.”</p> - -<p>I saw her disappear within the gate -after being questioned by the sentinel; -then Giuseppe and I waited in -the shadow of an interned German -steamship—one, two, almost three -hours, until the sun had set the -marble front of the Ducal Palace -aflame with a flood of gold. Then I -heard Giuseppe murmuring triumphantly, -“<i>Ecco! la signora!</i>” The -little black figure was waiting for us -by the steps, a contented smile on -her lips.</p> - -<p>“Have I been long?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“It makes no difference, if you have -found out something. Did you see -the commandant?”</p> - -<p>She nodded her head in a pleased -manner.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span></p> - -<p>“I thought I should never get to -him—there were so many officers -and sentinels, and they all tried to -turn me off. But I wouldn’t go! It -takes a great deal to discourage a -mother who wants to see her son.”</p> - -<p>“And he told you?” I asked impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Heavens, how lovely the day is!” -the signora remarked with her provoking -inconsequentiality. “Let us -go out to the Lido! Maybe we can -find a fisherman’s osteria at San -Nicolo where we can get supper under -the trees.”</p> - -<p>The gondola headed seaward in the -golden light.</p> - -<p>“It will be a terrible war,” the signora -began presently. “They know -it.... The commandant talked with -me a long time after I got to him, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>while others waited.... There are -many spies here in Venice, he told -me—Austrians who are hidden in -the city.... He was such a gentleman, -so patient with me and kind.... -Do you know, I wept—yes, cried -like a great fool! When he told me -I must return and wait for news in -Rome, and I thought of that long -ride back without seeing my sick -boy—I just couldn’t help it—I cried.... -He was very kind.”</p> - -<p>In the end the facts came out, as -they always did with the signora, -in her own casual fashion. The military -commander of Venice, evidently, -was a kind, fatherly sort of officer, -with sons of his own in the army, as -he had told the signora. After giving -the distracted mother the only sound -advice he could give her—to resign -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>herself to waiting for news of her son -by the uncertain mails—he had let -fall significantly, “But if you should -persist in your mad idea, signora, I -should take the train to ——,” and -he mentioned a little town near the -Austrian frontier not three hours’ -ride from Venice.</p> - -<p>“What will you do?” I asked as -we approached the shore of the Lido.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” the signora sighed. -“But I must see Enrico once more!”</p> - -<p>The Buon’ Pesche, a little osteria -near the waterside, was thronged -with sailors from the gray torpedo-boats -that kept up a restless activity, -dashing back and forth in the harbor -entrance. We found a table under a -plane-tree, a little apart from the -noisy sailors who were drinking to -the success of Italian arms in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>purple wine of Padua, and, while -the dusk fell over distant Venice, -watched the antics of the swift destroyers.</p> - -<p>“Don’t they seem possessed!” the -signora exclaimed. “Like angry bees, -as if they knew the enemy was near.”</p> - -<p>We were speaking English, and I -noticed that the country girl who -served us looked at me sharply. -When we rose to leave it was already -dark, the stars were shining in the -velvet sky, and Venice was mysteriously -blank. As we strolled across -the grass toward the boat-landing, -a man stepped up and laid his hand -on my shoulder, indicating firmly -that I should accompany him. He -took us to the military post at the -end of the island, the signora expostulating -and explaining all the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>way. There we had to wait in a bare -room faintly lighted by one flaring -candle while men came and went -outside, looked at us, talked in low -tones, and left us wondering. After -an hour of this a young officer appeared, -and with a smiling, nervous -air began a lengthy examination. -Who was I? Who was the signora—my -wife, my mother? Why were we -there on the Lido after dark, etc.? -It was easy enough to convince him -that I was what I was—an amicable, -idle American. My pocketful of -papers and, above all, my Italian, -rendered him quickly more smiling -and apologetic than ever. But the -signora, who, it seems, had not registered -on her arrival in Venice, as -they had ascertained while we were -waiting, was not so easily explained, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>although she told her tale truthfully, -tearfully, in evident trepidation. To -the young officer it was not credible -that an Italian mother should be -seeking her soldier son on the Lido -at this hour. Another officer was summoned, -and while the first young -man entertained me with appreciations -of English and American authors -with whose works he was acquainted, -the signora was put through -a gruelling examination which included -her ancestry, family affairs, -and political opinions. She was alternately -angry, haughty, and tearful, -repeating frequently, “I am an -Italian mother!” which did not answer -for a passport as well as my -broken Italian. In the end she had -to appeal to the kindly commandant -who had listened to her story earlier -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>in the day. After hearing the signora’s -tearful voice over the telephone, -he instructed the youthful -captain of artillery to let us go. The -young officers, whose responsibilities -had weighed heavily on them, apologized -profusely, ending with the remark: -“You know we are expecting -something to happen—very soon!... -We have to be careful.”</p> - -<p>We hurried to the landing, where -we found Giuseppe fast asleep in the -gondola, but before we could rouse -him had some further difficulty with -suspicious <i>carabinieri</i>, who were inclined -to lock us up on the Lido until morning. -A few lire induced them -to consider our adventure more leniently, -and well past midnight the -sleepy Giuseppe swept us toward -the darkened city.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> - -<p>“You might think they were already -at war!” I grumbled.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they are,” the signora replied -sadly.</p> - -<p>“Well, you see what trouble you -will get into if you attempt to enter -the war zone,” I warned.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” the subdued woman said -dully, “I understand!”</p> - -<p>“That story of yours doesn’t sound -probable—and you have no papers.”</p> - -<p>She sighed heavily without reply, -but I thought it well to drive home -the point.</p> - -<p>“So you had better take the train -home to-morrow and not get arrested -as a spy.”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>Several hours later I woke from a -dream with the song of a nightingale -in my ears mingled with a confused -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>reverberation. It was not yet day; -in the pale light before dawn the -birds were wheeling and crying in -the little garden outside my room. -I stumbled to the balcony from which -I could see the round dome of the -Salute against the cloudless sky and -a streak of sunrise beyond the Giudecca. -What had cut short the song -of the nightingale? Suddenly the -answer came in the roar of an explosion -from somewhere within the -huddle of Venetian alleys, followed -by the prolonged shrieks of sirens -from the arsenal and the sputter -and crackle of countless guns. I did -not have to be told that this was -war! This was what those young -officers on the Lido were expecting -to happen before morning. Austria -had taken this way of acknowledging -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>Italy’s temerity in challenging -her might: she had sworn to destroy -the jewelled beauty of Venice, and -these bombs falling on the sleeping -city were the Austrian answer to -Italy’s declaration of war!</p> - -<p>Another and another explosion followed -in rapid succession, while the -sirens shrieked and the antiaircraft -guns from palace roofs rattled and -spluttered up and down the Grand -Canal. Then in a momentary lull I -could detect the low hum of a motor, -and looking upward I saw far aloft -in the gray heavens the enemy aeroplane -winging its way like some -malevolent beetle in a straight line -across the city. The little balconies -all about were crowded with people -who, unmindful of the warnings to -keep within doors, and as near the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>cellar as Venetian dwellings permitted, -were gazing like myself into -the clear heavens after the buzzing -machine. Their voices began to rise -in eager comment as soon as the -noise of bombs and guns died out. -I caught sight of Signora Maironi -in a group on a neighboring balcony, -looking fixedly at the vanishing -enemy.</p> - -<p>Presently, as I was thinking that -the attack had passed, there came -again the peculiar hum of another -aeroplane from behind the hotel. It -grew louder and louder, and soon -came the roar of exploding bombs -followed by the crackle of answering -guns. One deafening roar went up -from the canal near by, echoing back -and forth between the palace walls. -That was very close, I judged! But -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>the signora, as if fascinated, stood -there, gazing into space, waiting for -the evil machine to show itself. -Gradually the noise died down as -the aeroplane swung into view and -headed eastward like its mate for -the open Adriatic. A last, lingering -explosion came from the direction of -the arsenal, then all was silence except -for the twittering of the disturbed -birds in the garden and the -excited staccato voices of Venetians -telling one another what had happened.</p> - -<p>Yes, this was war! And as I hurriedly -dressed myself I thought that -Signora Maironi would be lucky if -she got safely out of Venice back to -her home. We met over an early cup -of coffee. The signora, to my surprise, -did not seem in the least frightened—rather -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>she had been stirred -to a renewed determination by this -first touch of war.</p> - -<p>“Return now without seeing my -boy!” she said scornfully in reply -to my suggestion that we go at once -to the railroad station. “Never!”</p> - -<p>“This is the first attack,” I protested, -“you can’t tell when they -will be at it again, perhaps in a few -hours.... It is very dangerous, signora!”</p> - -<p>“I have no fear,” she said simply, -conclusively.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>So Giuseppe took her over to Mestre -in the gondola. I judged that it -would be safer for her to start on -her quest alone, depending solely on -her mother appeal to make her way -through the confusion at the front. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>She waved me a smiling farewell on -the steps of the old palace, her little -bag in one hand, looking like a comfortable -middle-aged matron on a -shopping expedition, not in the least -like a timid mother starting for the -battle line in search of her child.</p> - -<p>And that was the last I saw of -Signora Maironi for four days. Ordinarily, -it would not take that many -hours to make the journey to X——. -But these first days of war there -was no telling how long it might -take, nor whether one could get -there by any route. Had her resolution -failed her and had she already -returned to Rome? But in that case -she would surely have telegraphed. -Or was she detained in some frontier -village as a spy?...</p> - -<p>The morning of the fifth day after -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>the signora’s departure I was dawdling -over my coffee in the deserted -<i>salone</i>, enjoying the scented June -breeze that came from the canal, -when I heard a light step and a -knock at the door. Signora Maironi -entered and dropped on a lounge, -very white and breathless, as if she -had run a long way from somewhere.</p> - -<p>“Give me coffee, please! I have had -nothing to eat since yesterday morning.” -And after she had swallowed -some of the coffee I poured for her -she began to speak, to tell her story, -not pausing to eat her roll.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“When I left you that morning—when -was it, a week or a year ago?—I -seemed very courageous, didn’t -I? The firing, the danger, somehow -woke my spirit, made me brave. But -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>before I started I really wanted to -run back to Rome. Yes, if it hadn’t -been for the idea of poor ’Rico up -there in that same danger, only worse, -I should never have had the courage -to do what I did.... Well, we got -to Mestre, as Giuseppe no doubt -told you. While I was waiting in the -station for the train to that place -the commandant told me, I saw a -young lieutenant in the grenadier -uniform. He was not of ’Rico’s company -or I should have known him, -but he had the uniform. Of course -I asked him where he was going. -He said he didn’t know, he was trying -to find out where the regiment -was. He had been given leave to go -to his home in Sardinia to bury his -father, poor boy, and was hurrying -back to join the grenadiers. ‘If you -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>will stay with me, signora,’ he said, -‘you will find where your boy is, -for you see I must join my regiment -at once.’ Wasn’t that lucky for me? -So I got into the same compartment -with the lieutenant when the train -came along. It was full of officers. -But no one seemed to know where -the grenadiers had been sent. The -officers were very polite and kind -to me. They gave me something to -eat or I should have starved, for -there was nothing to be bought at -the stations, everything had been -eaten clean up as if the locusts had -passed that way!... There was one -old gentleman—here, I have his card -somewhere—well, no matter—we -talked a long time. He told me how -many difficulties the army had to -meet, especially with spies. It seems -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>that the spies are terrible. The Austrians -have them everywhere, and -many are Italians, alas! the ones -who live up there in the mountains! -They are arresting them all the -time. They took a woman and a -man in a woman’s dress off the -train. Well, that didn’t make me -any easier in my mind, but I stayed -close to my little lieutenant, who -looked after me as he would his own -mother, and no one bothered me -with questions....</p> - -<p>“Such heat and such slowness! -You cannot imagine how weary I -became before the day was done. -Trains and trains of troops passed. -Poor fellows! And cannon and horses -and food, just one long train after -another. We could scarcely crawl.... -So we reached X—— as it was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>getting dark, but the <i>granatieri</i> were -not there. They had been the day -before, but had gone on forward -during the night. To think, if I had -started the night before I should -have found ’Rico and had him a -whole day perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not,” I remarked, as the -signora paused to swallow another -cup of coffee. “It was all a matter -of chance, and if you had started -the day before you would have -missed your lieutenant.”</p> - -<p>“Well, there was nothing for it -but to spend the night at X——. For -no trains went on to Palma Nova, -where the lieutenant was going in -the morning. So I walked into the -town to look for a place to sleep, -but every bed was taken by the -officers, not a place to sleep in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>whole town. It was then after nine -o’clock; I returned to the station, -thinking I could stay there until the -train started for Palma Nova. But -they won’t even let you stay in -railroad stations any longer! So I -walked out to the garden in the -square and sat down on a bench to -spend the night there. Luckily it -was still warm. Who should come by -with an old lady on his arm but the -gentleman I had talked with on the -train, Count—yes, he was a count—and -his mother. They had a villa -near the town, it seems. ‘Why, signora!’ -he said, when he saw me sitting -there all alone, ‘why are you -out here at this time?’ And I told -him about there not being a bed -free in the town. Then he said: ‘You -must stay with us. We have made -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>our villa ready for the wounded, but, -thank God, they have not begun to -come in yet, so there are many -empty rooms at your disposal.’ That -was how I escaped spending the -night on a bench in the public garden! -It was a beautiful villa, with -grounds all about it—quite large. -They gave me a comfortable room -with a bath, and that was the last I -saw of the count and his mother—whatever -were their names. Early -the next morning a maid came with -my coffee and woke me so that I -might get the train for Palma Nova.</p> - -<p>“That day was too long to tell -about. I found my young lieutenant, -and as soon as we reached Palma -Nova he went off to hunt for the -<i>granatieri</i>. But the regiment had been -sent on ahead! Again I was just too -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>late. It had left for the frontier, -which is only a few miles east of the -town. I could hear the big cannon -from there. (Oh, yes, they had begun! -I can tell you that made me all -the more anxious to hold my boy -once more in my arms.) Palma Nova -was jammed with everything, soldiers, -motor-trucks, cannon—such -confusion as you never saw. Everything -had to pass through an old -gate—you know, it was once a Roman -town and there are walls and -gates still standing. About that gate -toward the Austrian frontier there -was such a crush to get through as -I never saw anywhere!</p> - -<p>“They let no one through that -gate without a special pass. You see, -it was close to the lines, and they -were afraid of spies. I tried and tried -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>to slip through, but it was no use. -And the time was going by, and -Enrico marching away from me -always toward battle. I just prayed -to the Virgin to get me through that -gate—yes, I tell you, I prayed hard -as I never prayed before in my life.... -The young lieutenant came to -tell me he had to go on to reach his -regiment and offered to take anything -I had for Enrico. So I gave -him almost all the money I had -with me, and the little watch you -gave me for him, and told him to say -I should get to him somehow if it -could be done. The young man -promised he would find ’Rico and -give him the things at the first opportunity. -How I hated to see him -disappear through that gate into -the crowd beyond! But there was no -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>use trying: there were soldiers with -drawn bayonets all about it. My -prayers to the Virgin seemed to do -no good at all....</p> - -<p>“So at the end, after trying everywhere -to get that special pass, I was -sitting before a café drinking some -milk—everything is so frightfully -dear, you have no idea!—and was -thinking that after coming so far I -was not to see my boy. For the first -time I felt discouraged, and I must -have shown it, too, with my eyes always -on that gate. An officer who was -waiting in front of the café, walking -to and fro, presently came up to me -and said: ‘Signora, I see that sorrow -in your eyes which compels me to -address you. Is there anything a -stranger might do to comfort you?’ -So I told him the whole story, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>he said very gently: ‘I do not know -whether I can obtain the permission -for you, but I know the officer who -is in command here. Come with me -and we will tell him your desire to -see your son before the battle, which -cannot be far off, and perhaps he -will grant your request.’</p> - -<p>“Think of such fortune! The Virgin -<i>had</i> listened. I shall always pray -with better faith after this! Just -when I was at the end, too! The kind -officer was also a count, Count Foscari, -from here in Venice. He has a -brother in the garrison here, and -there’s a lady to whom he wishes me -to give some letters.... I wonder -if I still have them!”</p> - -<p>The signora stopped to investigate -the recesses of her little bag.</p> - -<p>“First, let me know what the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>Count Foscari did for you,” I exclaimed, -tantalized by the signora’s -discursive narrative. “Then we can -look after his correspondence at our -leisure.”</p> - -<p>“There they are!... He took me -with him to the office of the military -commander of the town—a very -busy place it was. But the count just -walked past all the sentinels, and I -followed him without being stopped. -But when he asked for the pass -the commander was very cross and -answered, ‘Impossible!’—short like -that. Even while we were there, -another, stronger order came over -the telegraph from the staff forbidding -any civilian to pass through -the town. I thought again it was all -over—I should never see ’Rico. But -Count Foscari did not give up. He -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>just waited until the commander had -said everything, then spoke very -gently to him in a low tone (but I -could hear). ‘The signora is an -Italian mother. I will give my word -for that! She wants to see her son, -who was sick when he left Rome.’ -Then he stopped, but the other officer -just frowned, and the count tried -again. ‘It is not much good that -any of us can do now in this life. -We are all so near death that it -seems we should do whatever kindness -we can to one another.’ He -looked at me more gently, but said -nothing. The commandant’s secretary -was there with the pass already -made out in his hand—he had been -preparing it while the others were -talking—and he put it down on the -table before the officer for his signature. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>That one turned his head, then -the count gave a nod to the secretary, -and the kind young man took -the seal and stamped it and handed -it to me with a little smile. And the -commandant just shrugged his shoulders -and pretended not to see. The -count said to him: ‘Thanks! For a -mother.’</p> - -<p>“So there I was with my pass. I -thanked Count Foscari and hurried -through that gate as fast as my legs -would carry me, afraid that some -one might take the paper away from -me. What an awful jam there was! -I thought my legs would not hold -out long on that hard road, but I -was determined to walk until I fell -before giving up now.... I must -have passed forty sentinels; some of -them stopped me. They said I would -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>be shot, but what did I care for that! -I could hear the roaring of the guns -ahead, louder all the time, and the -smoke. It was really battle. I began -to run. I was so anxious lest I might -not have time.”</p> - -<p>“Were you not afraid?”</p> - -<p>“Of what? Of a shell hitting my -poor old body? I never thought of -it. I just felt—little ’Rico is on there -ahead in the middle of all that. But -it was beautiful all the same—yes,” -she repeated softly, with a strange -gleam on her tired face, “it was -<i>beau</i> and horrible at the same time.... -I passed the frontier stones. -Yes! I have been on Austrian territory, -though it’s no longer Austrian -now, God be praised! I was -very nearly in Gradesca, where the -battle was. I should never have gotten -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>that far had it not been for a -kind officer in a motor-car who took -me off the road with him. How we -drove in all that muddle! He stopped -when we passed any troops to let -me ask where the <i>granatieri</i> were. -It was always ‘just ahead.’ The -sound of the guns got louder.... I -was terribly excited and so afraid -I was too late, when suddenly I -saw a soldier bent over a bicycle riding -back down the road like mad. -It was my ’Rico coming to find me!... -I jumped out of the motor and -took him in my arms, there beside -the road.... God, how he had -changed already, how thin and old -his face was! And he was so excited -he could hardly speak, just like -’Rico always, when anything is going -on. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘I wanted so -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>to see you. You told me you might -come up here, and I looked for you -all along where the train stopped, -at Bologna and Mestre and Palma -Nova. But I couldn’t find you. This -morning I knew you would come—I -knew it when I woke.’ (Don’t you -see I was right in keeping on?)... -The young lieutenant had told ’Rico -I was looking for him, and they let -him come back on his bicycle to find -me. Poor boy, he was so excited and -kept glancing over his shoulder after -his regiment! ‘You see, mamma,’ -he said, ‘this is a real battle! We are -at the front! And our regiment has -the honor to make the first attack!’ -He was so proud, the poor boy!... -Of course I could not keep him long—five -minutes at the most I had -with him there by the side of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>highroad, with all the noise of the -guns and the passing wagons. Five -minutes, but I would rather have -died than lost those minutes.... I -put your watch on his wrist. He was -so pleased to have it, with the illuminated -hands which will give him the -time at night when he is on duty. -He wrote you a few words on this -scrap of paper, all I had with me, -leaning on my knee. I took his old -watch—the father will want it. It -had been next his heart and was still -warm.... Then he kissed me and -rode back up the road as fast as he -could go. The last I saw was when -he rode into a cloud of dust....</p> - -<p>“Well,” the signora concluded, after -a long pause, “that is all! I found -my way back here somehow. I have -been through the lines, on Austrian -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>territory, almost in battle itself—and -I have seen my boy again, the -Virgin be praised! And I am content. -Now let God do with him what -he will.”</p> - -<p>Later we went in search of Count -Foscari’s brother and the lady to -whom he had sent his letters. Then -Giuseppe and I took the signora to -the train for Rome. As I stood beside -the compartment, the signora, -who seemed calmer, more like herself -than for the past fortnight, repeated -dreamily: “My friend, I have -seen ’Rico again, and I am content. -Perhaps it is the last time I shall -have him in my arms, unless the -dear God spares him. And I know -now what it is he is doing for his country, -what battle is! He is fighting for -me, for all of us. I am content!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> - -<p>With a gentle smile the signora -waved me farewell.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Enrico came out of that first battle -safely, and many others, as little Bianca -wrote me. She and the signora -were making bandages and feeding -their thirsty hearts on the reports of -the brave deeds that the Italian troops -were doing along the Isonzo. “They -are all heroes!” the girl wrote. “But -it is very hard for them to pierce -those mountains which the Austrians -have been fortifying all these years. -There is perpetual fighting, but Enrico -is well and happy, fighting for -Italy. Yesterday we had a postal -from him: he sent his respects to -you....”</p> - -<p>Thereafter, there was no news from -the Maironis for many weeks; then -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>in the autumn came the dreaded -black-bordered letter in the signora’s -childish hand. It was dated from -some little town in the north of -Italy and written in pencil.</p> - -<p>“I have been in bed for a long -time, or I should have written before. -Our dear Enrico fell the 3d of -August on the Col di Lana. He died -fighting for Italy like a brave man, -his captain wrote.... Bianca is here -nursing me, but soon she will go -back to Padua into the hospital, -and I shall go with her if there is -anything that a poor old woman can -do for our wounded soldiers.... -Dear friend, I am so glad that I -saw him once more—now I must -wait until paradise....”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak">Transcriber’s Notes:</p> -</div> - -<p>No attempt has been made to change the typesetting of the phrases and -words in Italian, due to differences in dialects.</p> - -<p>Railroad-station(s) have been changed on pages 77 and 84 to conform to -other occurrences in the book.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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