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The Colonel bowed courteously to an opinion expressed with so much authority.
“You 'll find, at least, that the Field-Marshal will be of my opinion,” continued she. “As a military position, it is worth nothing.”
“But as a capital city, Madame?” mildly interposed the Colonel.
“The old story,” said she, contemptuously. “Women and children!”
“Most legitimate objects of protection, I trust, Madame.”
But she turned contemptuously away, as if controversy with such an adversary was beneath her.
“We have three rocket-batteries, Madame,” interposed a staff officer, desirous of offering himself to her notice.
“I hope you will use them with effect, sir. I envy you the pleasure of seeing them plunging amidst that vile mob it is the fashion to call the people nowadays.”
“I hope we shall do our duty, Madame,” said an old, stern-looking major, who felt little flattered at this interference.
“I should like to see more chivalry,——more ardent devotion in the defenders of a monarchy,” said the Countess. “I can understand coldness in the lower classes, but that the well-born and the noble should be apathetic and slow to move is beyond my comprehension.”
“Bey'm Blitzen,” retorted the Major, “that is not bad I Here we are going to shed our blood for the Kaiser, and we are told that it is not enough, without we are born counts and barons.”
“What is it, Heckenstein?” said Count Dalton, as he entered the room and laid his hand familiarly on the other's shoulder. “I have seldom seen you look so angry.”
But the old soldier turned away without a reply.
“Madame de Heidendorf,” said the old General, “I know not what you have said to offend an old and tried servant of the Emperor,—a soldier of Wagram and Auster-litz,—a faithful follower, when the fortunes of this great Empire were at the lowest But, believe me, these are not times to flout loyalty and despise fidelity.”
“The times are worse than I thought them,” said the Countess, “when these principles have infected such men as Count Dalton. I had certainly hoped that his young relative would have received a very different lesson at his outset in life, nor can I wonder if such teachings end in evil. Here is the Archduke. How I wish his Highness had come a little earlier!”
As she spoke, the Prince entered, with all the careless ease of his ordinary manner. It was impossible to detect from his countenance whether he regarded the event as a serious one, or simply one of those popular commotions which are ever occurring in a large empire.
“I know you are discussing politics, or something akin to them,” said he, laughingly. “Madame de Heidendorf has her 'cabinet countenance' on, and Auersberg is looking as fierce as a field-marshal ought to do when contradicted. Come, General, present me to the Princess. It is an honor I have been long desiring. How tired you must be of all this, Madame!” said he to Kate. “Such wise people as will not talk gossip,—such high-minded souls as never will condescend to say a good thing, or hear one, are insupportable.” And, seating himself beside her, he rattled on about Vienna, its society, and its pleasures, with all the ease and flippancy of a young fashionable of the day, while, in an attitude of deep respect, not unmixed with a dash of impatience, stood the old Count before him.
“What does Auersberg want to tell us?” said the Prince, at last, looking up at the old General's face.
“To say adieu, your Royal Highness.”
“You don't go with the troops, surely?” said the Duke, laughing.
“At the head of my own regiment, your Royal Highness.”
“Ah, by the bye, the Auersbergs are in your brigade. Very proper that. And is this myprotégé?” said he, taking Frank's arm, and drawing him forward. “There's your best example, sir. Be only as good a soldier, and the name of Dalton will be a title of nobility amongst us. Good-bye, Lieutenant General, farewell. Give thatcanaillea lesson quickly, and come back to us as soon as you can.”
Kate rose and followed Frank out of the room. For a few seconds they were closely locked in each other's arms, without speaking. “Oh, Frank dearest! when are we to meet again,—and how?” cried she, passionately.
“In pride and happiness, too, Kate,” said the boy, joyfully. “I have no fears for the future. But what is this, sister dearest,—gold?”
“Do not refuse me, Frank. It is the only happiness left me.”
“But this is the Russian's, Kate.”
“No, believe me, it is not Count Stephen has made me his heir; he has given me all his fortune. Even good luck can come too late!” said she, with a sigh.
“Do not leave this till I write to you, Kate. I will do so very soon,—that is, if I can; but these are anxious times. You know, Kate,”—here the boy whispered, in a voice low and tremulous from agitation,—“You know, Kate, that I only left the ranks a couple of days ago. I can tell then, better than all these great folk, what soldiers think and say; they are not as they used to be. Lead them against the Frenchman, and they will fight as they have ever fought; but if it be to fire on their own townsfolk,—to charge through streets where they lounged along, hand-in-hand with the people, like brothers,—they will not do it.”
“This is very alarming, Frank. Have you told the Count?”
“No; nor would I for worlds. What! betray my comrades, and be called on before a court-martial to say who said this, and what man said t' other?”
“But could you not, at least, give him some warning?”
“And be ordered from his presence for the presumption, or told that I was a rebel at heart, or such tidings had never been uttered by me. The old Feld would as soon believe that this earth was cut adrift to wander at hazard through all space, as that treason should lurk behind an Austrian uniform. It would be an evil hour for him who should dare to tell him so.”
“Oh, Frank, how terrible is all this!”
“And yet do I not despair; nay, Kate, but I am even more hopeful for it; and, as Walstein says, if the Empire halt so long behind the rest of Europe, she must one day or other take a race to come up with it.”
“And is Walstein a——a——” She stopped.
“No; he's very far from a Democrat or a Republican. He 's too well born and too rich and too good-looking to be anything but a Monarchist. Oh, if you but saw him! But, hark! there are the trumpets! Here come the 'Wurtem-burgs;' and there's my charger, Kate. Is he not splendid? A Banat horse, all bone and sinew.”
“How I should like to have been a man and a soldier!” said she, blushing deeply.
“There, that's Walstein,——that's he with the scarlet dolman!” cried Frank. “But he 's coming over,——he sees us. No, he's passing on. Did you see him, Kate?—did you remark him?”
“No, Frank dearest; I see nothing but you, my own fond brother.” And she fell upon his neck, weeping.
“Herr Lieutenant!” said a hussar, with his hand to his cap.
“Yes, I 'm ready,—I 'm coming,” cried Frank. And with one long, last embrace he tore himself away, springing down the stairs in mad haste.
“Madame de Heidendorf is good enough to say she will come and see the troops defile from the Glacis,” said the Archduke to Kate, as, still overwhelmed with sorrow, she stood where Frank had left her. “Perhaps you would do us the honor to come also?”
Kate accepted the invitation at once, and hurried to her room for a bonnet.
“Not that one, Madame la Princesse,” said Nina, eagerly; “the yellow with black lace, rather. The national colors will be a flattery to his Royal Highness.”
“What a coquette you are, Nina!”
“And how irresistible would Madame be were she to condescend to be even a little of one!” said Nina, smiling.
“Perhaps I may yet,” said Kate, half sighing as she spoke; and Nina's dark eyes sparkled as she heard her. “But what do you mean by coquetry, Nina?” asked she, after a pause.
“It may mean much, Madame, or very little. With such as I am it may be a rose-colored ribbon; with Madame la Princesse it may be the smile that wins royalty. Coquetry, after all, is a mere recognition of admiration. An old Spanish dramatist says, 'That a glance from bright eyes is like the hoisting of an ensign to acknowledge a salute.'”
“How you run on, Nina, and how ashamed I feel when I catch myself afterwards thinking over your words!”
Nina laughed merrily at this confession, while she opened the door for Kate to pass out. In a moment after, Kate was seated beside the Archduke, and Madame de Heidendorf followed in another carriage.
The Archduke was neither very good-looking nor agreeable. His manners were not remarkable for any peculiar elegance, nor was there in his air and bearing any of that special charm which very often seems the prerogative of royal personages; and yet it would have been excessively difficult to persuade Kate of all this as she drove along the streets crowded with uncovered heads. The clank of the escort that rode at either side, the quick roll of the drum and the rush out of the guard to salute as he passed, created a sensation of pleasure in her mind like the enjoyment of a delighted child. Oh, if Nelly could but see her now!—if dear old papa were but there to look at her; and Hanserl—little Hans——that loved the Hapsburg House as he loved the Patron Saint of his own village!
It was, indeed, worth something to taste of splendor like this! And now she issued forth into the spacious Glacis, glittering with thousands of bayonets, and trembling under the tramp of the moving squadrons. The whole line saluted as he drove slowly past, band after band taking up the sounds, till the proud hymn of Austria filled the whole air. The soldiers cheered, too, loud and long, for his Imperial Highness was beloved by the army, and, like all his house, was a thorough soldier.
“You have never seen our troops under arms before!” said he, with a proud elation in his look. “They are fine fellows, and faithful as they are brave.” He was about to say more, when the dull roll of a drum was heard along the line, and the deep-voiced command from regiment to regiment ran, “Alle nieder zum Gebet,” and, at the word, every weapon was lowered, and every head drooped forward in prayer. Not a sound—not a whisper—was heard in that mighty host, till, after the expiration of some minutes, the command once more summoned them to arms. Then came the word “March!” and with a cheer that made the very air vibrate, the troops set out for “Italy.”
Is there any enthusiasm like that of a young soldier setting forth on his first campaign? High in heart and hope, what can equal the glorious picture his fancy draws of fame and honor? Where will his imagination stop in creating scenes of heroic daring or deeds of noble chivalry? In such a mood Frank Dalton rode along amongst his comrades, with whom at once he became the greatest favorite. Explain it how one will, or give up the problem in despair, but there is no denying the fact, the Irish character has more of high spirits, more buoyancy, than that of any continental people. Deriving pleasure or amusement from incidents that others accept as commonplace, making even the rubs and collisions of life subservient to his playful humor, the Irishman has resources of ready wit and brilliant fancy you may seek for in vain amongst Germans, or Italians, or even Frenchmen.
The contrarieties of nature, the contradictions of character, that puzzle politicians and drive political economists half crazy, are delightful elements of social intercourse; and what makes the “nation” ungovernable very frequently renders the “individual” the most easy-tempered and manageable man of his set. What a boon was it, then, to the gloomy, thoughtful Bohemian, to the dreary German, or the fitful, passionate nature of the wild Hungarian, to chance upon one who had moods of mind to suit them all, and stories of amusing thought that none of them possessed! Frank was the delight of the regiment; and whether he rode in the front or in the rear a group was sure to be gathered round him, listening with eagerness to his stories, or enjoying the quaint drollery which every passing object or event was sure to elicit.
Emerging at a bound from the petty annoyances and vexatious cares of his humble position, with all its harassing of debt and poverty, the boy was almost wild with delight at his newly won freedom. A thorough Dalton, he forgot every strait and difficulty he had passed through, and thought only of the present, or so much of the future as his hopes embellished. Kate's generosity, too, made him feel rich, and he was not unwilling to be thought so. That passion for ascendancy, that over-eagerness to make a fair figure before the world, no matter at what material sacrifice or at what heavy cost, was bred “in his very bone;” but so inveterately Irish is it that if the nation should ever be visited by the income-tax, there is not a man in the land who will not over-estimate his means for the sake of the boast to the collector!
À wealthy comrade, if he be but free-handed, is sure to be popular on a march. The fastidiousness that would stand aloof from more formal attentions gives way here to the chances of the road; and civilities that would elsewhere imply obligation are now the mere accidents of the way.
To the honor of the Austrian service be it said, “Tuft-hunting” is not to be found there. The officers of a regiment embrace representatives of every class of the Empire, from the haughtiest names of Europe down to the sons of the humblest peasant; and yet thecamaraderieis perfect. Very probably there is nothing more contributes to this than the absence of all secrecy as to each man's resources. The prince is known to be rich; the son of the little burgher, or Amtmann, is equally known to be poor. Nothing is expected from any above his means, and no disgrace attaches to narrow fortune. If, therefore, Frank was not surrounded by shrewd-witted adventurers, eager to make the most of his extravagance, he was not the less exposed to the flattering acknowledgments his generous habits evoked, and the vanity that comes of being distinguished amongst one's fellows. To be sure, this was his father's failing, and his grandfather's before him! Frank, then, entertained all the officers of his squadron on the march, practising a hundred little devices and surprises for them. Now, it was a cold luncheon, laid out in a wood at noonday; now, it was a smoking supper in a village, where even the generals were fain to munch “commissary rations.” Even the soldiers of his “Zug” participated in this liberality, and many a flask of wine was pledged to the health of the young lieutenant. As if to make him perfectly happy, the old Count, his uncle, was obliged to hurry forward, and thus Frank was relieved from the constraint of the only one whose presence could have imposed reserve.
It was in the boundless freedom of this liberty, unchecked by prudence, unrestrained by fear of consequences, Frank's lavish nature knew no bounds. He wrote to Vienna for horses of high price; he ordered carriages and liveries to be sent after him. The very surprise his extravagance excited was an incense that he gloried in. How many a generous nature has been wrecked by stupid admiration! how many a true heart been corrupted by the vulgarity of notoriety!
“What will the Dalton do next?——what has the fellow in his head now?” were surmises that he never heard without delight, and stimulated him to new efforts to create astonishment. Ireland, too, so remote from all their knowledge,—that far-away island,—furnished many a theme for wonder, and he repeated, with ecstasy, several of his father's stories of their former greatness and the barbaric splendor in which they lived. How easy is self-deception, and what a strange cheat is that a man can practise on himself! But so was it; he actually forgot the long years of their obscure poverty, all their hard trials and distresses, the penury of their daily life,—everything!—and could only think of Kate in all her splendor, and himself in every indulgence of his fancy. And yet he loved his father and Nelly too,—loved them both dearly. He would have given worlds that the old man could have seen him as he rode at the head of his men. He often felt his eyes grow dim as he fancied the burst of delight it would have caused him. And poor Nelly! how he pictured her features glowing with admiration, and yet trembling from agitation, for he thought of all her warnings.
It is a singular fact, that in the short interval before the tremendous events of the last great European convulsion, the aristocratic influence seemed at its very highest point. Never in each State of the Continent were the claims of family more regarded, nor the sway of proud names more submissively recognized. Like the fever-flush before death, it deceived many who beheld it! In the eyes of his astonished comrades, young Dalton perfectly represented this character. Rich, well born, brave, and eccentric, his seemed indeed an enviable lot in life. Happy for him if the deception had stopped short with them! Unluckily, however, it extended to himself, and he at last believed every fiction that his own brain suggested.
In this wild delirium of the day-dream he rode along through the deep glens and valleys of the Tyrol, along the banks of the rapid Inn, through the glorious vale of Meran, and at last gained the great road which, through Trent and Rovoredo, debouches on the Lago di Guarda. Here a despatch from Vienna overtook them, with orders that a small party should be sent off under some officer of intelligence to examine the condition of the Stelvio Pass, the highest of all the Alpine roads of Europe, and which, crossing from the South Tyrol, descends directly into Italy by the Lake of Como.
Although it was still early, fresh snows were said to have fallen on that elevated road, and it was an important question whether it were longer practicable for the transit of artillery. Frank was delighted to be selected for this duty,—a separate command, no matter bow small or insignificant, had something adventurous and independent about it that pleased him. There was a dash of peril, too, in the enterprise; for already the Valteline and the Brianza were said to be overrun by bands of patriot troops, raising contributions for the war, and compelling others to take up arms.
Frank's instructions were, however, to examine and report upon the road, and, avoiding all possible collision with the enemy, either to unite with any Austrian brigade he could reach, or, if compelled, to retire upon the Tyrol. Some of his comrades pitied him for being selected for this lonely duty, others envied; but all regretted his departure, and with many a warm wish for a speedy meeting, and many a pledge of affection, they saw him depart on his enterprise.
In the small “Zug” of twenty men under his command, there was a young Hungarian cadet, who, although of good family and birth, Frank remarked never to have seen by any chance in society with the officers. Ravitzky was a handsome, daring-looking fellow, with that expression of mingled sadness and intrepidity in his face so peculiarly Hungarian. He was the best horseman in the regiment, and a thorough soldier in his look and carriage. It had often puzzled Frank why a youth with such advantages had not been promoted. On the one or two occasions, however, on which he asked the question, he had received evasive or awkward replies, and saw that the inquiry was at the least an unpleasant theme among his comrades.
Frank Dalton was well pleased at the opportunity now offered to know something more of this young soldier, almost the only one under his command who could speak any other language than Hungarian. Ravitzky, however, although perfectly respectful in his manner, was cold and reserved, showing no desire for an intimacy at which he might be supposed to have felt proud. Without actually repelling, he seemed determined to avoid nearer acquaintanceship, and appeared always happier when he “fell back,” to exchange a few guttural words with his comrades, than when called to “the front,” to converse with his officer.
Frank was piqued at all this; he saw that neither his rank, his supposed wealth, nor his assumed position imposed upon the cadet; and yet these were the very claims all his brother-officers had acknowledged. Amazed at this wound to his self-love, he affected to forget him altogether, or only remember him as one of the soldiers in his command. So far from seeming displeased, Ravitzky appeared more at his ease than before, and as if relieved from the worry of attentions that were distasteful to him. This conduct completed the measure of Frank's indignation, and he now began actually to hate the youth, on whom he practised all the possible tyrannies of military discipline. These Ravitzky bore without seeming to be aware of them, discharging every duty with an exactitude that made punishment or even reproof impossible.
It is likely that if Frank had not been corrupted by all the adulation he had so lately received,—if his self-esteem had not been stimulated into an absurd and overweening vanity, he would have read this youth's character aright, and have seen in him that very spirit of independence which once he himself sought to display, albeit by a very different road! Now, however, he received everything in a false light,—the reserve was insolence, the coldness was disrespect, the punctuality in duty a kind of defiance to him. How often he wished he had never taken him! The very sight of him was now odious to his eyes.
Austrian troops enjoy so much of freedom on a march, that it is difficult often for the most exacting martinet to seize opportunities for the small tyrannies of discipline. Frank's ingenuity was now to be tried in this way, and, it is but fair to confess, not unsuccessfully. He compelled the men to appear each morning as smart as if on parade,—their carbines in the bandoleers, and not slung at the saddle,—he inspected every belt and strap and buckle, and visited even the slightest infraction with a punishment Ravitzky accepted all this as the ordinary routine of discipline, and never, even by a look, appeared to resent it. Tyranny would seem to be one of the most insidious of all passions, and, if indulged in little things, invariably goes on extending its influences to greater ones.
At Maltz a new occasion arose for the tormenting influence of this power, as the military post brought several letters from Vienna, one of which was addressed to the cadet Ravitzky. It was about a week before Frank was indignantly complaining to his sister of the shameless violation of all feeling exhibited in opening and reading every soldier's letter. He was eloquently warm in defending such humble rights, and declaimed on the subject with all the impassioned fervor of an injured man, and yet so corrupting is power, so subtle are the arguments by which one establishes differences and distinctions, that now he himself saw nothing strange nor severe in exercising this harsh rule towards another.
He was out of temper, too, that morning. The trim and orderly appearance of the men gave no opportunity of a grumble, and he strutted along on foot in front of his party, only anxious for something to catch at. On turning suddenly around, he saw Ravitzky with his open letter before him, reading. This was a slight breach of discipline on a march where infractions far greater are every day permitted; but it offered another means of persecution, and he called the cadet imperiously to the front,
“Are you aware, cadet,” said he, “of the general order regarding the letters of all who serve in the ranks?”
“I am, Herr Lieutenant,” said the other, flushing deeply, as he saluted him.
“Then you knew that you were committing a breach of discipline in opening that letter?”
“As the letter is written in Hungarian, Herr Lieutenant, I felt that to show it to you could be but a ceremony.”
“This explanation may satisfy you, sir; it does not suffice for me. Hand me your letter.”
Ravitzky grew scarlet at the command, and for an instant he seemed as though about to dispute it; but duty overcame every personal impulse, and he gave it.
“I see my own name here,” cried Frank, as the one word legible to his eyes caught him. “How is this?”
Ravitzky grew red and pale in a second, and then stood like one balancing a difficulty in his own mind.
“I ask again, how comes a mention of me in this document?” cried Frank, angrily.
“The letter, Herr Lieutenant, is from my cousin, who, aware that I was serving in the same troop with you, offered to make me known to you.”
“And who is this cousin with whom I am so intimate?” said Frank, proudly.
“Count Ernest Walstein,” said the other, calmly.
“What, he is your cousin? Are you really related to Walstein?”
The other bowed slightly in assent
“Then how is it, with such family influence, that you remain a cadet? you have been two years in the service?”
“Nearly four years, Heir Lieutenant,” was the quiet reply.
“Well, four years, and still unpromoted; how is that?”
Ravitzky looked as if unable to answer the question, and seemed confused and uneasy.
“You have always been a good soldier. I see it in your 'character roll;' there is not one punishment recorded against you.”
“Not one!” said the cadet, haughtily.
“There must, then, be some graver reason for passing you over?”
“There may be,” said the other, with a careless pride in his manner.
“Which you know?” said Frank, interrogatively.
“Which I guess at,” said Ravitzky.
“Here is your letter, cadet,” said Frank, banding it back to him. “I see you will not make a confidant of me, and I will not force a confession.”
Ravitzky took the letter, and, saluting with respect, was about to fall back, when Frank said,——
“I wish you would be frank with me, and explain this mystery.”
“You call it mystery, sir?” said the other, in astonishment “You are an Irishman born, and call this a mystery?”
“And why not? What has my birth to do with it?”
“Simply that it might have taught the explanation. Is it truth, or am I deceived in believing that your nation is neither well received nor kindly met by the prouder country with which you are united; and that, save when you stoop to blush at your nationality, you are never recognized as claimant for either office or advancement?”
“This may have been the case once to some extent,” said Frank, doubtingly, “but I scarcely think such differences exist now.”
“Then you are more fortunate than we,” said Ravitzky.
“But I see men of your nation the very highest in military rank,—the very nearest to the Sovereign?”
“Their's be the shame, then,” said Ravitzky. “There are false hearts in every land.”
“This is a puzzle to me I cannot comprehend.”
“I 'll tell you how to understand it all, and easily, too, Herr Lieutenant. Take this letter and forward it to the Council of War; declare that Cadet Ravitzky acknowledged to yourself that he was a Hungarian, heart and soul, and, save the eagle on his chako, had nothing of Austria about him. Add, that a hundred thousand of his countrymen are ready to assert the same; and see if they will not makeyouan Ober-lieutenant, and send me to Moncacs for life.” He held out the letter, as he spoke, for Frank to take, and looked as proudly defiant as if daring him to the act.
“You cannot suppose I would do this?”
“And yet it is exactly your duty, and what you took a solemn oath to perform not a week back.”
“And if there be such disaffection in the troops, how will they behave before an enemy?” asked Frank, eagerly.
“As they have always done; ay, even in this very campaign that now threatens us, where men are about to strike a blow for liberty, you 'll see our fellows as foremost in the charge as though the cause at stake was not their own.”
“Ravitzky, I wish you had told me nothing of all this.”
“And yet you forced the confession from me. I told Walstein, over and over, that you were not suited for our plans. You rich men have too much to lose to venture on so bold a game; he thought otherwise, and all because you were an Irishman!”
“But I have scarcely ever seen Ireland. I know nothing of its grievances or wrongs.”
“I believe they are like our own,” said Ravitzky. “They tell me that your people, like ours, are warm, passionate, and impatient; generous in their attachments, and terrible in their hatred. If it be so, and if England be like Austria, there will be the same game to play out there as here.”
Frank grew thoughtful at these words. He recalled all that the Abbé D'Esmonde had said to him about the rights of a free people and the duties of citizenship, and canvassed within his own mind the devoirs of his position; meanwhile Ravitzky had fallen back to the men and taken his place in the ranks.
“They'll not compromise me before an enemy,” thought Frank; “that I may rely on.” And with this trustful assurance he mounted and rode slowly forward, deeply sunk in thought, and far less pleasantly than was his wont to be. From all the excitement of his late life, with its flatteries and fascinations, he now fell into a thoughtful mood, the deeper that it was so strongly in contrast to what preceded it The greater interests that now flashed across his mind made him feel the frivolity of the part he had hitherto played. “Ravitzky is not older than I am, and yet how differently doeshespeculate on the future!Hisambitions are above the narrow limits of selfish advancement, and the gloryheaims at is not a mere personal distinction.”
This was a dangerous theme, and the longer he dwelt upon it the more perilous did it become.
The snow lay in deep drifts in many parts of the mountain, and the progress of the little party became daily slower as they ascended. Frequently they were obliged to dismount and lead their horses for miles, and at these times Frank and Ravitzky were always together. It was intimacy without any feeling of attachment on either side, and yet they were drawn towards each other by some strange mysterious sympathy. Their conversation ranged over every topic, from the great events which menaced Europe to the smallest circumstances of personal history; and in all Frank found the cadet his superior. It was not alone that his views were higher, more disinterested, and less selfish, but his judgments were calmer and better weighed.
“Youwant to be a count of the Empire, and a grand cross of every order of Europe,” said Ravitzky one day to Frank, at the close of a rather warm discussion. “Iwant to see my country free, and live an humble soldier in the ranks.” This bold avowal seemed to separate them still more widely, and it was plain that each regarded the other with distrust and reserve. It was after some days of this distance that Frank endeavored to restore their intimacy by leading Ravitzky to speak of himself, and at last ventured to ask him how it came that he still remained a cadet, while others, in every way inferior to him, were made officers.
“I have refused promotion some half-dozen times over,” said the other. “As a kaiser-cadet, my time of service will expire in a few months hence; then I shall be free to leave the service. Were I to accept my grade as an officer, I should have to take an oath of fidelity to the Emperor, which I would not, and pledge myself to a course that I could not do.”
“Then they probably know the reasons for which you have declined promotion?”
“Assuredly they can guess them,” was the curt reply.
“You are a strange fellow, Ravitzky, and I scarcely understand you.”
“And yet there is nothing less a mystery than my conduct or my motives,” rejoined he, proudly. “My father is a noble, high in the service and confidence of the Emperor, and although a Magyar by birth, is Austrian by choice and predilection. My sympathies are with my countrymen. In obedience to his wishes I have entered this service; in justice to myself, I mean to quit it when I can with honor.”
“And for what, or where?” asked Frank.
“Who knows?” said he, sorrowfully. “Many of our nation have gone over the seas in search of a new land. Already we are almost as destitute of a home as the Poles. But why talk of these things, Herr Lieutenant? I may be led to say that which it would be your duty to report; you ought, perhaps, as it is, to denounce me. Have no fears; my life would always be spared; my family's fidelity would saveme. This is one of the glorious privileges of birth,” cried he, scornfully. “The 'fusillade' will be the sentence for one of those poor fellows yonder; but you and I are too well born for justice to reach.”
“Assuredly, I 'll not quarrel with the privilege!” said Frank, laughing.
“And yet, if I were as rich and as great as you are,” said Ravitzky, “it is exactly what I should do! With your fortune and your rank you want nothing from king or kaiser. Who, then, would not strive for the higher rewards that only a whole nation can confer?”
Frank blushed deeply at the allusion to his supposed wealth, but had not the courage to refute it. He, however, sought an opportunity to turn the conversation to other channels, and avoided, for the future, all mention of every theme of politics or party. The mischief, however, was done. He brooded forever in secret over all the Hungarian had told him; while old memories of fresh wrongs, as narrated by his father long ago, kept recurring and mingling with them, till not only the themes excluded other thoughts, but that he felt the character of his own ambition changing, and new and very different hopes succeeding to his former ones.
At last they reached the summit of the Stelvio, and began the descent of the mountain; and what a glorious contrast does the southern aspect of an Alpine range present to the cold barrenness of the north! From the dreary regions of snow, they came at length to small patches of verdure, with here and there a stunted pine-tree. Then the larches appeared, their graceful feathery foliage checkering the sunlight into ten thousand fanciful shapes; while streams and rivulets bubbled and rippled on every side,—not icebound as before, but careering along in glad liberty, and with the pleasant music of falling water. Lower down, the grass was waving as the wind moved on, and cattle were seen in herds revelling in the generous pasture, or seeking shelter beneath the deep chestnut-trees; for, already, even here, the Italian sun was hot. Lower again came dark groves of olives and trellised vines; long aisles of leafy shade traversing the mountain in every direction, now curving in graceful bends, now in bold zigzags, scaling the steep precipices, and sometimes hanging over cliffs and crags, where not even the boldest hand would dare to pluck the ruddy bunches.
Beneath them, as they went, the great plain of Lombardy opened to their view,—that glorious expanse of wood and waving corn, with towns and villages dotting the surface; while directly below, at their very feet, as it were, stretched the Lake of Como, its wooded banks reflected in the waveless water. What a scene of beauty was that fair lake, with its leafy promontories, its palaces, and its Alpine background, all basking under the deep blue of an Italian sky; while perfumes of orange groves, of acacias and magnolias, rose like an incense in the air, and floated upwards!
Even the hard nature of the wild Hungarian—the rude dweller beside the dark-rolling Danube or the rapid Theiss—could not survey the scene unmoved; and, dismounting from their saddles, the hussars moved stealthily along, as if invading the precincts of some charmed region. Frank was in no haste to leave so picturesque a spot, and resolved to halt for the night beneath the shade of some tall chestnut-trees, where they had sought shelter from the noonday sun. Como was at his feet, straight down beneath him was the wooded promontory of Bellagio, and in the distance rose the Swiss Alps, now tinged with the violet hue of sunset Never was there a scene less likely to suggest thoughts of war or conflict If the eye turned from the dark woods of the Brianza to the calm surface of the lake, everything wore the same aspect of peaceful security. Figures could be seen seated or walking on the terraces of the villas; gorgeously decked gondolas stole over the bay, their gold-embroidered ensigns trailing lazily in the water. Equipages and troops of horsemen wound their way along the leafy lanes; not a sight nor sound that did not portend ease and enjoyment.
With all Frank's ardor for adventure, he was not sorry at all this. His orders to fall back, in case he saw signs of a formidable movement, were too peremptory to be disobeyed, and he would have turned away with great reluctance from a picture so temptingly inviting. Now there was no need to think of this. The great dome of the Milan Cathedral showed on the horizon that he was not thirty miles from the Austrian headquarters, while all around and about him vouched for perfect quiet and tranquillity.
Tempted by a bright moonlight and the delicious freshness of the night, he determined to push on as far as Lecco, where he could halt for the day, and by another night-march reach Milan. Descending slowly, they gained the plain before midnight, and now found themselves on that narrow strip of road which, escarped from the rock, tracks the margin of the lake for miles. Here Frank learned from a peasant that Lecco was much too distant to reach before daybreak, and determined to halt at Varenna, only a few miles off.
This man was the only one they had come up with for several hours, and both Frank and Ravitzky remarked the alarm and terror he exhibited as he suddenly found himself in the midst of them.
“Our cloth here,” said the cadet, bitterly, “is so allied to thoughts of tyranny and cruelty, one is not to wonder at the terror of that poor peasant.”
“He said Varenna was about five miles off,” said Frank, who did not like the spirit of the last remark, and wished to change the topic.
“Scarcely so much; but that as the road was newly mended, we should be obliged to walk our cattle.”
“Did you remark the fellow while we were talking,—how his eye wandered over our party? I could almost swear that I saw him counting our numbers.”
“I did not notice that,” said the cadet, with an almost sneering tone. “I saw that the poor fellow looked stealthily about from side to side, and seemed most impatient to be off.”
“And when he did go,” cried Frank, “I could not see what way he took. His 'Felice notte, Signori,' was scarce uttered when he disappeared.”
“He took us for a patrol,” remarked the other, carelessly; and whether it was this tone, or that Frank was piqued at the assumed coolness of the cadet, he made no further remark, but rode on to the front of the party. Shortly after this the moon disappeared; and as the road occasionally passed through long tunnellings in the rock, the way became totally obscured, so that in places they were obliged to leave the horses entirely to their own guidance.
“There 's Varenna at last!” said Frank, pointing out some lights, which, glittering afar off, were reflected in long columns in the water.
“That may still be a couple of miles off,” said Ravitzky, “for the shores of the lake wind greatly hereabouts. But, there! did you not see a light yonder?—thatmay be the village.” But as he spoke the light was gone; and although they continued to look towards the spot for several minutes, it never reappeared.
“They fish by torchlight here,” said Ravitzky, “and that may have been the light; and, by the way, there goes a skiff over the water at a furious rate!—hear how the fellows ply their oars.”
The dark object which now skimmed the waters must have been close under the rocks while they were speaking; for she suddenly shot out, and in a few minutes was lost to view.
“Apparently the clink of our sabres has frightened those fellows, too,” said Frank, laughing, “for they pull like men in haste.”
“It's well if it be no worse,” said the cadet.
“Partly what I was thinking, myself,” said Frank. “We may as well be cautious here.” And he ordered Ravitzky, with two men, to ride forty paces in advance, while four others, with carbines cocked, were to drop a similar distance to the rear.
The consciousness that he was assuming a responsibility made Frank feel anxious and excited, and at the same time he was not without the irritating sense that attaches to preparations of needless precaution. From this, however, he was rallied by remarking that Ravitzky seemed more grave and watchful than usual, carefully examining the road as he went along, and halting his party at the slightest noise.
“Did you hear or see anything in front?” asked Frank, as he rode up beside them.
“I have just perceived,” said the cadet, “that the boat which half an hour ago shot ahead and left us, has now returned, and persists in keeping a little in advance of us. There! you can see her yonder. They make no noise with their oars, but are evidently bent on watching our movements.”
“We 'll soon see if that be their 'tactic,'” said Frank, and gave the word to his men “To trot.”
For about half a mile the little party rode sharply forwards, the very pace and the merry clink of the accoutrements seeming to shake off that suspectful anxiety a slower advance suggests. The men were now ordered to walk their horses; and just as they obeyed the word, Ravitzky called out, “See! there she is again. The winding of the bay has given them the advantage of us, and there they are still in front!”
“After all,” rejoined Frank, “it may be mere curiosity. Cavalry, I suppose, are seldom seen in these parts.”
“So much the better,” said Ravitzky, “for there is no ground for them to manouvre, with a mountain on one hand, and a lake on the other. There! did you see that light? It was a signal of some kind. It was shown twice; and mark, now! it is acknowledged yonder.”
“And where is the boat?”
“Gone.”
“Let us push on to Varenna; there must be some open ground near the village!” cried Frank. “Trot!”
An older soldier than Frank might have felt some anxiety at the position of a party so utterly defenceless if attacked; perhaps, indeed, his inexperience was not his worst ally at this moment, and he rode on boldly, only eager to know what and where was the peril he was called on to confront Suddenly Ravitzky halted, and called out, “There's a tree across the road.”
Frank rode up, and perceived that a young larch-tree had been placed across the way, half carelessly, as it seemed, and without any object of determined opposition.
Two men dismounted by his orders to remove it, and in doing so, discovered that a number of poles and branches were concealed beside the rocks, where they lay evidently ready for use.
“They've had a Tyroler at work here,” cried an old Corporal of the Hussars; “they mean to stop us higher up the road, and if we fall back we 'll find a barricade here in our rear.”
“Over with them into the lake,” said Frank, “and then forward at once.”
Both orders were speedily obeyed, and the party now advanced at a rapid trot.
They were close to Varenna, and at a spot where the road is closely hemmed in by rocks on either side, when the sharp bang of a rifle was heard, and a shrill cry shouted something from the hillside, and was answered from the lake. Ravitzky had but time to give the word “Forwards!” when a tremendous fire opened from the vineyards, the roadside, and the boat. The red flashes showed a numerous enemy; but, except these, nothing was to be seen. “Forwards, and reserve your fire, men!” he cried. And they dashed on; but a few paces more found them breasted against a strong barricade of timber and country carts, piled up across the way; a little distance behind which rose another barricade; and here the enemy was thickly posted, as the shattering volley soon proved.
As Frank stood irresolute what course to take, the Corporal, who commanded the rear, galloped up to say that all retreat was cut off in that direction, two heavy wagons being thrown across the road, and crowds of people occupying every spot to fire from.
“Dismount, and storm the barricade!” cried Frank; and, setting the example, he sprang from his saddle, and rushed forwards.
There is no peril a Hungarian will not dare if his officer but lead the way; and now, in face of a tremendous fire at pistol-range, they clambered up the steep sides, while the balls were rattling like hail around them.
The Italians, evidently unprepared for this attack, poured in a volley and fled to the cliffs above the road. Advancing to the second barricade, Frank quickly gained the top, and sprang down into the road. Ravitzky, who was ever close behind him, had scarcely gained the height, when, struck in the shoulder by a ball, he dropped heavily down upon the ground. The attack had now begun from front, flanks, and rear together, and a deadly fire poured down upon the hussars without ceasing, while all attempt at defence was hopeless.
“Open a pass through the barricade,” shouted Frank, “and bring up the horses!” And while some hastened to obey the order, a few others grouped themselves around Ravitzky, and tried to shelter him as he lay.
“Don't leave me to these fellows, Dalton,” cried he, passionately; “heave me over into the lake rather.”
Frank now saw that the poor fellow's cheek was torn with a shot, and that his left hand was also shattered.
“The fire is too heavy, Herr Lieutenant; the men cannot open a way for the cattle,” whispered the old Corporal.
“What's to be done then?” asked Frank; but the poor Corporal fell dead at his side as he spoke. The brunt of the conflict was, however, at the barricades; for, despairing of any prospect of removing the obstacles, many of the hussars had ridden recklessly at them, and there, entangled or falling, were shot down remorselessly by the enemy. One alone forced his way, and with his uniform bloody and in rags dashed up to Frank.