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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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