In the forties, Signora Aurora Vertelli was the owner of a place near the Scala, at Milan, called the Casino. The Casino was the meeting-place of the Austrian officers, for at that time the old Lombardian city was garrisoned by Austrians, under the special command of Marshal Radetzky.
Count Joseph Wenzel Radetzky is a celebrated historical personage, and the words of a contemporary: "Radetzky is a great hunter before the Lord; he drives the people before him like the hunter game," describe him sufficiently. If Radetzky was a tyrant, his officers were a torture to Italy, and it often happened that the Bohemian and Croatian officers whipped women and children on the open streets, or else ran a dagger through the body of some peaceful citizen.
Aurora Vertelli, however, enjoyed the protection of the Austrian police! What the services were that she rendered the State is not known; but, nevertheless, the "handsome Aurora," as she was called, was in great favor at police headquarters. The eating at the Casino was celebrated, the wines were second to none, and diceand cards were provided for the "spiritual" amusement of the guests.
An Italian was seldom seen in the Casino, and those that came were generally those who had taken to the Austrian army.
On the night of the 15th to the 16th of March, 1848, lively scenes were being enacted in the Casino, and neither Aurora Vertelli herself nor old Major Bartolomeo Batto, who was one of the regular customers at the place, could restrain the excited guests.
"What is going on at Vienna, Lieutenant Pasky?" asked a young officer. "Have the riots there any importance?"
"No, thank God," replied the lieutenant; "thecanaillewill soon be brought to their senses."
"H'm, if the emperor would only be strict," said another.
"Ah, bah! the mob has no importance."
"And the cannons generally prove it."
"Comrades," said an elderly officer, approaching the group, "I think the affair is serious."
"How so? What has happened?"
"Well, the emperor has made concessions."
"But that would be a shame."
"They want to repeal the censorship—"
"That's good. The newspapers could then print what they pleased."
"The new press-bill is said to be very liberal."
"A bullet and a rope are the best laws."
"Besides that, the delegates of the German kingdom and the Lombardian-Venetian kingdom are going to be called in—"
A storm of anger rose, and a rough Austrian nobleman, Hermann von Kirchstein, passionately exclaimed:
"Comrades, the emperor can do what he wishes, but we shall do what we wish, and if the Italians make a move we shall crush them."
As if to add strength to his words, Herr von Kirchstein crushed the wineglass he held in his hand, amid the applause of his comrades.
"Bravo!" they cried.
Count Hermann looked proudly about and said:
"Only as late as yesterday I had an opportunity to show the Milanese who is master here."
"Tell us, comrade; tell us all about it," came from all sides.
"Well, last evening, about six o'clock, I was going across the Piazza Fontana, when two confounded Italians—a lady about forty years of age, dressed in deep mourning, and a young sixteen-year-old boy—approached me. They took one side of the pavement and did not stir to let me pass. I was walking along smoking a cigar, and did not look up; the lady did not move, and you can understand—"
The count made a gesture signifying that the lady had lost her balance, and, amid the coarse laughter of his comrades, he continued:
"I went ahead, but the young booby ran after me, cursed me, and tore my cigar out of my mouth. I drew my sword, but the woman clutched my arm and cried: 'You killed the father on the 3d of January, on the Corsa dei Servi—spare the son.'
"With my sword," continued Count Hermann, "I struck the woman over the hands until she let goof my arm, and then I broke the young fellow's skull. The people crowded around, and the police arrived, to whom I told the affair."
"Did the dastardly wretch lie dead on the ground?" asked a young officer.
"No, the police took him away; but after the explanations I gave, I think he must be tried at once; in urgent cases a criminal can be hanged inside of twenty-four hours."
"Antonio Balbini was strangled this morning, and nailed to the wall of the prison," said a deep voice, suddenly.
Every one turned toward the speaker, who continued in a calm voice:
"As I tell you, Count Hermann—nailed to the wall. Ah, we have splendid methods here to humiliate the mob. About eight days ago two traitors were fried in hot oil, and if they are to be buried alivea la proviguere—"
"What is that?" asked a captain, sipping sorbet.
"What? You don't know what that is?" said the first speaker, in hard metallic tones. "One would think you had just come from another world."
The speaker was an Italian, about thirty years of age, of extraordinary beauty. Deep black, sparkling eyes lighted up the finely-chiselled features, and perfect white teeth looked from under the fresh rosy lips and raven black mustache.
The Marquis Aslitta was since two months in Milan, and, as was said, had formerly lived at Naples. He carefully refrained from meeting his countrymen, and appeared to be a faithful servant of foreign tyrants.
While he spoke the officers appeared to feel uncomfortable, and if they laughed, it sounded forced and unnatural.
"To come back to theproviguere," said Aslitta, laughing loudly. "The prisoners are chained, their legs are broken, and they are hurled head foremost into a pit about four feet deep. Then the pit is filled with dirt, leaving the legs exposed up to the knees. It recalls little trees and looks comical."
Aslitta laughed again; but, singular thing, the laugh sounded like long-drawn sobs.
Count Hermann felt his hair stand on end.
"Let us play cards," he proposed; but before his comrades could say anything, a thunderous noise came from the direction of the Scala, mingled with loud cries.
"Long live La Luciola! Long live Italy!"
The officers hurried out. As soon as the hall was cleared, Aslitta strode toward Major Bartolomeo, and whispered in his ear:
"To-night in the little house on the Porta Tessina."
The Italians have always been born musicians, and in Milan, too, there are plenty of artists. Among the latter, Maestro Ticellini occupied the first place. He had a great deal of talent, wrote charming cavatinas, and his songs were much sought after. He had not composed an opera as yet; and what was the cause of this? Simply because he could find no fitting libretto; the strict censorship always had something to say, and the most innocent verses were looked upon as an insult to his majesty, the emperor.
Since a few weeks Ticellini was in a state of great excitement. Salvani, the impresario of the Scala and a friend of Ticellini, had engaged La Luciola, the star of the opera at Naples, for Milan, and the maestro had not been able to find a libretto.
Dozens of text books had been sent back by the censor; the subjects out of the old and new history were looked down upon, because in all of them allusions were made to tyrants and oppressed people, and while La Luciola achieved triumphs each evening in the operas of Bellini and Donizetti, Ticellini grew desperate.
One night as he returned to his home in the Via deMonte an unexpected surprise awaited him. His faithful servant stood in front of the door and triumphantly waved a roll of paper before his eyes. Ticellini indifferently unrolled the package, but suddenly he broke into a cry of joy. He held a libretto in his trembling hands.
Shutting himself in his room, Ticellini flew over the manuscript. He did not notice that the binding which held the libretto was tricolored. And yet they were the Italian colors, white, green and red, the tricolor which was looked down upon.
The title already pleased the maestro. It was "The Queen of Flowers." The verses were very lucid and melodious, and the subject agreeable. The queen of flowers was the rose, which loved a pink, whereas the pink was enamored of a daisy. After many entanglings the allegory closed with the union of the pink and the daisy, and the rose generously blessed the bond. All was joy and happiness, and as soon as Ticellini had finished reading, he began to compose.
The part of the daisy was made for the high soprano of La Luciola, the pink must be sung by Signor Tino, the celebrated baritone, and Signora Ronita, the famous contralto, would secure triumphs as the rose. The subordinate characters were soon filled, and the next morning, when Ticellini breathlessly hurried to Salvani, he was in a position to lay the outline of the opera before him.
Salvani, of course, was at first distrustful, but after he assured himself that there was nothing treasonable in it, he put the manuscript in his pocket and went to see the censor.
The censor received Salvani cordially, and taking hisominous red pencil in his hand, he glanced over the libretto. But no matter how much he sought, he could not find a single libellous sentence, and at the end of an hour Salvani was able to bring his friend the news that the performance of the opera was allowed.
Ticellini was overjoyed; he worked night and day, and at the end of a week he appeared before Salvani, waving the completed score triumphantly in the air.
While the two friends were sitting at the piano, and Ticellini marked several songs and duets, a knock was heard.
"No one can enter," said Salvani, springing up; "we wish to be alone."
"Oh, how polite!" exclaimed a clear, bright voice, and as Salvani and Ticellini looked up in surprise they uttered a cry of astonishment:
"Luciola!"
La Luciola was very beautiful. She was slim and tall, about twenty-seven years of age, with beautiful black hair and finely-formed features. Her almond-shaped eyes were likewise dark, but had a phosphorescent gleam, which gave her the name of Luciola, or the fire-fly. She was dressed in a red satin dress, and wore a jaunty black felt hat. There was quite a romantic legend connected with the pretty girl: no one knew from what country she came, since she spoke all the European tongues with equal facility, and steadfastly refused to say a word about the land of her birth. She possessed the elegance of a Parisian, the grace of a Creole, and the vivacity of an Italian. Her real name was unknown. She was called the heroine of several romantic adventures, though no one could say which one of her numerousadmirers she preferred. La Luciola appeared to have no heart.
Very often La Luciola, dressed in men's clothes, would cross the Neapolitan plains, accompanied by her only friend, a tender, tall blonde. The latter was just as modest as La Luciola was audacious, and she clung to the proud Amazon like the ivy to the oak.
A few days before her departure from Naples, a Croatian officer had insulted her, and instead of asking a gentleman of her acquaintance to revenge the coarse remark, she herself sought the ruffian, dressed in men's clothes, and boxed his ears as he sat in a café. Amid the laughter of his comrades the officer left the café, and La Luciola triumphed.
Such was the person upon whom the fate of the new opera depended, for she reigned supreme at the Scala, and Salvani as well as Ticellini knew this.
While they were both meditating how to secure the Luciola in the easiest way, the songstress said:
"My visit seems to be unwelcome to the gentlemen?"
"Unwelcome?" repeated Salvani. "Signora, what are you thinking of? On the contrary, we were just speaking about you and wishing you were here."
"Flatterer," said La Luciola, laughing, and pointing her finger warningly at him.
"No, signora, Salvani says the truth," Ticellini said, earnestly. "We wish to ask a great favor of you."
"That is excellent. I also come to ask for a favor," replied the diva, springing up hurriedly. "You speak first, and then you shall hear what brought me to your office."
"Oh, signora," said Ticellini, crossing his hands and falling on one knee, "my fate lies in your hands."
"That sounds quite tragical! One would imagine I was Marshal Radetzky. But are you ever going to tell me what is the matter?"
"We—I—" began Salvani, stammering.
"My dear impresario," interrupted La Luciola, laughing, "let us make short work of it. I will tell you why I came, and, in the meantime, you can collect your thoughts. Well, then, I am growing tired at La Scala; Donizetti, Bellini, and whatever other names your great composers bear, are very good fellows, but, you know,toujours perdrix."
"Well—and—" asked Salvani, breathlessly, as the diva paused.
"Well, I must have a newrôlein a new opera or I shall run away," said La Luciola, firmly.
Both men uttered a cry of joy. Luciola looked from one to the other and finally said:
"Does my demand embarrass you?"
"No, luck alone makes us dumb. We intended, signora, to ask you to-day to take a part in a new opera."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed La Luciola, clapping her hands with joy. "Who is the composer of the new opera? Gioberto, Palmerelli, or perhaps you, Ticellini? But stay! before we go any further, I make one condition: the subject must not be tragical."
"Oh, tragic opera has long since gone out of fashion."
"Thank God, you have the same opinion as I. What I should like now would be a spectacular piece, an allegory or something like it—pretty music and bright verses."
"Oh, signora!" exclaimed Ticellini, joyfully, "I have got what you want. The new opera is called the 'Queen of Flowers.'"
"What a pretty title!"
"Your part will be that of the daisy."
"Beautiful, beautiful!"
"Permit me to play you the first cavatina."
Ticellini hurried to the piano and began to play.
Luciola listened attentively and nodded satisfaction as Ticellini sung the verses.
"That will do," she said. "Get everything ready for the rehearsals; I shall sing the part."
She went out, and the next day the rehearsals began for the new opera, the first performance of which was to take place on the 15th of May, 1848.
The night of the 15th of May arrived, and both Salvani and Ticellini were very nervous about the first performance of the "Queen of Flowers." La Luciola was certainly the pet of the public, but the situation at Milan was such that it was a question whether the performance at the Scala would receive any attention. Even the day before, there had been very little call for tickets, and Salvani, who had spared no expense to mount the new opera properly, had awful dreams on the night of the 14th about deficits and bankruptcy.
At length, on the morning of the 15th, the demand became heavier, and after a few boxes had been taken, a negro appeared at the box-office about eleven o'clock, and pointed at a pack of tickets.
"Ah—your master desires a box?" asked Salvani, who did not disdain on special days to take charge of the box-office.
The negro laughed, so that the impresario could wonder at his white teeth, and shook his head, pointing once more at the tickets.
"You want two boxes, perhaps?"
Again the negro shook his head.
"Three boxes?"
"No."
"My God, are you dumb?"
An expressive look from the Nubian confirmed the insinuation. He put a roll of bank-notes on the package, and made a motion as if he wished to put the latter in his pocket.
"Do you want to buy the whole package?" asked Salvani, breathlessly.
"Yes," nodded the negro.
The impresario looked doubtingly at him, and said:
"But that is eleven boxes on the first tier, each of which costs fifty lire—"
"Yes."
"Twenty-two boxes on the third tier, at thirty-six lire; and all the boxes on the fourth tier, thirty boxes at twenty-five lire."
Again the Nubian nodded. Salvani began to reckon, and excitedly exclaimed:
"But that is impossible. Are you aware that this is a matter of 2,848 lire?"
Without hesitating, the negro laid the sum of 3,000 lire in bank-notes on the window and put the tickets in his pocket. Thereupon he drew his arm under that of the impresario and pointed to the stage.
"I do not understand," stammered Salvani. "You want to go on the stage?"
"Yes."
"Then follow me."
Salvani walked down a small stairway and soon stood, with the negro, on the dimly lighted stage. The Nubian walked in front of the prompter's box and pointed soexpressively toward the parterre and the parquet, that the impresario at once knew what he wanted.
"You want to buy the rest of the seats unsold?" he hastily asked.
"Yes."
"The places cost originally five, four and three lire."
"Yes."
"Well, I would be a fool if I did not take a hand in."
Before the Nubian had departed, he had purchased all of the seats still to be had, for the round sum of 6,000 lire, and with head proudly erect he strode through the streets.
When Ticellini appeared, Salvani triumphantly pointed to the pile of bank-notes, and when the maestro anxiously remarked that he thought it must be a trick of one of his rivals to ruin him, the impresario coolly said:
"Ticellini, would you be able to raise 6,000 lire to annihilate Gioberto and Palmerelli?"
The composer was silent. This kind of logic convinced him.
When the eventful evening came, the Scala looked magnificent.
For the first time since the Austrian occupation, all the aristocratic ladies appeared in full dress. Salvani, as well as the maestro, looked wonderingly at the audience. Very soon, however, their wonder changed to curiosity, for the toilets of the ladies were arranged in a peculiar way. Some were dressed entirely in green satin, with green leaves in their hair; others wore red satin, with red roses, and others again white satin andwhite flowers; and then the ladies were grouped together in such a way that the tricolor green, white and red always appeared. Ticellini was a patriot from head to foot, and his heart beat loudly when he saw the Italian tricolor.
What could it all mean? A revolution? That would destroy all chances of the success of his opera, but Ticellini did not think of himself, when the fatherland was in question, and he enthusiastically hummed the first lines of the national hymn:
"Chi per la patria muoreVessuto ha assai!"(He who has died for his country has lived long enough.)
The parquet and balcony were filled with students, and only one proscenium box was still empty.
A murmur ran through the theatre; the door of the proscenium box was opened and three persons entered it.
A tall, majestic man, whose dark locks inclosed a pale face, led a lady of extraordinary beauty. He was dressed in a frock suit, the lady in purple silk, with a white sash. A diadem of sparkling emeralds ornamented the finely shaped head, and on her neck and arms diamonds of the purest water shone.
A remarkably handsome child, a boy about eight or nine years, took a seat between the lady and gentleman, and it only needed a casual look upon the features of the youth to recognize him as the son of the pair. The box just opposite to them was Radetzky's, and was occupied by his adjutant. Observant of everything which looked like a manifestation or a demonstration, theythrew threatening glances at the color constellation, and the confidant of Radetzky immediately sent for Salvani.
The impresario appeared, excited and trembling. Suppose the adjutant should forbid the performance?
"What does this mean?" the officer angrily exclaimed. "Have you noticed the three colors?"
"Your Excellency, I—"
"Well, are you going to answer me?"
"Will your excellency condescend to take a look over the house—"
At the same moment, as Salvani had entered the box, the gentleman in the opposite box had arisen and placed a light blue band over the lady's shoulders. Simultaneously all the other ladies in the house threw sashes over their shoulders; yellow, blue, black, and brown were the colors which met the astonished gaze of the adjutant, and he grumblingly said:
"Wait,canaille, I will not be deceived."
Salvani had hurriedly left. The first notes of the overture ran through the house, and loud applause was heard. This time, too, the gentleman in the proscenium box gave the signal for the applause, but no one appeared to notice it.
Ticellini hurried to La Luciola's dressing-room. The diva was already dressed for her part, and looked so transcendently beautiful that the maestro held his breath.
"Well, maestro," said the diva, laughing, "do I please you, and do you think the opera will be a success?"
"Oh, signora, I have never doubted it, since you consented to take the part of Marguerite."
A dark form came from the rear of the dressing-room, and the Marquis Aslitta went toward Ticellini.
"Let me congratulate you, maestro," he cordially said, offering Ticellini his hand.
Ticellini hesitated before he took it. Aslitta was looked upon in Milan as a renegade, and therefore Ticellini was very glad when he was called away. Bidding good-by to the diva, he hurried back to the stage, and Aslitta remained alone with Luciola.
"Giorgio," whispered Luciola, giving the marquis her hand, "the eventful hour has arrived."
"Thanks, my darling," murmured the young man; "you are staking your existence to save my country—a whole life would not suffice to reward you."
Luciola threw herself into the outstretched arms of Aslitta.
"You love me, Giorgio?"
"Dearly; you are my goddess, my all."
"Oh, Giorgio; nothing shall be too difficult for me to do for you. But go now, the time has come."
"And you have forgotten nothing, and will observe the sign?"
"Be easy, I will think of everything."
"Then farewell; have courage."
"And hope," added Luciola, kissing Aslitta.
At this moment a heavy hand was laid upon Aslitta's shoulder, and a clear voice said:
"Marquis, you should have closed the door."
Aslitta turned hurriedly about. A man stood in front of him, whose appearance was very repulsive.
Count San Pietro had short, red-brown hair, and one of his eyes was always closed; a deep blue scar,reaching from the eye to the left ear, disfigured his otherwise handsome face in a horrible manner. A diabolical smile played upon his lips, and Aslitta grew pale as he recognized the count.
La Luciola, measuring the count with a stern look, said:
"Count, by what right have you come here?"
A malicious smile was the answer, and then San Pietro audaciously said:
"Who will prevent me from coming in?"
"I!" exclaimed Luciola, passionately. "Depart at once."
"Ah, you are defending the marquis."
Aslitta was moved to become angry, but he restrained himself, and laughingly said:
"Why should not others have the right to admire La Luciola?"
The diva trembled, but a look from Aslitta gave her courage, and, trying to appear cool, she said:
"Really, count, you frightened me; I hardly recognized you."
"And the marquis has no need to hide; he can leave that to the conspirators," remarked the count, with a piercing look.
Aslitta met the gaze fearlessly, and indifferently answered, evading the question:
"Count, have you a box for to-night's performance?"
"No, every place was taken when my servant went to the box-office."
"Then do me the honor to take a seat in my box."
"Ah, you were more fortunate than I."
The manager opened the door leading to the stage-row, and exclaimed:
"Signora, your scene begins."
"I am coming," said Luciola, and, passing by the gentlemen, she laughingly said:
"Good-by, and do not forget to applaud."
As soon as she had gone, the gentlemen went toward the auditorium, and on the stairs leading to the boxes Pietro paused and hissed:
"Marquis, you know I shall kill you the first chance I have."
"Really?" asked Aslitta; "have you become so bloodthirsty all of a sudden?"
"No evasions," replied the count. "You love Luciola?"
"Why not?"
"And Luciola loves you?"
"I am not vain enough to imagine your statement to be true."
"Beware, marquis," said the count; "I have eyes."
"So much the better for you."
"And in the dungeons of Milan there are cells, in which patriots are broken on the wheel and forced to name their accomplices—"
"Count," interrupted Aslitta, "there are also dark places in Milan, where Italians who betray their country to the oppressor are shot."
Stepping into his box, Aslitta closed the door in the count's face, and San Pietro was forced to go to the marshal's box.
As San Pietro took his place, La Luciola justappeared on the scene; deafening applause greeted her, and she gratefully bowed.
"Colonel," said San Pietro, turning to the adjutant, "I have to give you the name of a traitor."
"But not now," said the colonel, impatiently; "just listen to that beautiful duet."
The duet between the rose and the daisy was magnificently sung. No one noticed, however, that Luciola threw a look at the gentleman in the proscenium box, directing his attention to that occupied by Radetzky's adjutant. The unknown arose, and cast his sparkling eyes at San Pietro. He then looked down at the stage again, and La Luciola laughed with satisfaction. The duet finished amid applause.
"Colonel," repeated the count again, "Aslitta conspires with the patriots, and—"
"To-morrow—to-morrow, count."
"To-morrow would be too late."
"Then, in the devil's name, speak now and be done with it. What do you wish?"
"That Aslitta be arrested this evening."
"Ah, La Luciola is divine; we must secure her for Vienna!" exclaimed the colonel, enthusiastically. "Will you arrange it?"
"What, your excellency?"
"Are you deaf? We must secure Luciola for Vienna."
"Have Aslitta arrested, and La Luciola will be a member of the Vienna Opera."
"Stupid, what interest has La Luciola in Aslitta?"
"She loves him," hissed the count.
"What! La Luciola disdains our advances, and falls in love with this Neapolitan! That is treason."
"Then your excellency—"
"I give youcarte blanche; bring Aslitta to the citadel, but not before the close of the performance; I wish to hear the opera to the end."
The adjutant tore a piece of paper from a note-book, wrote a few lines upon it and gave it to San Pietro. The count gave a diabolical laugh. His course was easy now.
As much as San Pietro had tried, he could not remember whom La Luciola looked like. Thanks to his wound, a blank had occurred in his memory, and certain episodes of his former life were covered with a heavy veil. As he now threw a glance at the opposite box, a part of this veil was torn asunder, and like a dazed person he looked at the gentleman dressed in black. The latter transfixed him likewise. Instinctively the count coughed and hid his face in his handkerchief. He could not meet the gaze of those coal-black eyes.
"No, no," he muttered, anxiously. "No one knows my former name; I would be a fool to get frightened."
As soon as the first act was over, San Pietro turned to an officer and said:
"Do you know the gentleman sitting in the opposite box?"
"Not personally, but from reputation. He is said to be enormously rich."
"What is his name?"
"The Count of Monte-Cristo; his wife, who is sitting next to him, is wonderfully handsome; they say she is a Greek. The pretty boy is their son."
"Thanks," said San Pietro; and then he muttered tohimself: "'Tis he; he has a son! This time he will not escape me."
"Do you know the count's political opinions?" said San Pietro, after a pause.
"I only know that immediately after the gentleman's arrival from Naples he sent his negro with his card to Radetzky, asking the marshal to allow him to pay his respects to him."
"That is decisive."
The opera had in the meantime been proceeded with; when the third act began a messenger appeared with an order which called the adjutant to the marshal's house. What could the officers do? The service went before everything else, and they disappeared just as La Luciola, Ruinta, and Signor Tino were singing a beautiful trio.
At length the last scene came; the rose, the proud queen of flowers, assented to the marriage of the pink and the daisy, and a bower of green vines was raised before an altar constructed of evergreens.
Red, white and green! The national colors!
At this moment Monte-Cristo arose and gave the signal. Immediately every one rose and clapped their hands, and he joyously exclaimed:
"Long live Italy! Long live the national flag!"
And then a loud voice thundered above the tumult:
"Fuori i barbari!Away with the foreigners!"
The next minute the students climbed on to the stage and divided the palms. A roar of a thousand voices was heard singing the national hymn:
"Chi per la patria muoreVessuto ha assai!"
La Luciola was carried in triumph to her coach by the students; the enthusiastic young men took the horses out of the traces and bore the carriage along themselves, shouting through the night air:
"Long live La Luciola! Long live Italy!"
When the Major von Kirchstein and his comrades, attracted by the noise, rushed out into the street, they saw La Luciola's carriage covered with flags bearing the national colors; the diva and her friend were seated therein, and La Luciola enthusiastically cried:
"Oh, Milla, Milla, this is great and sublime!"
"Comrades!" shouted the major in a rage, "follow me. We will capture La Luciola, and bring her to the citadel!"
Loud applause greeted the major's words, but before he had reached the coach a hand grasped him by the throat, and a hoarse voice cried in his ear:
"If you touch a hair of La Luciola's head, you are a dead man."
It was Aslitta. Our readers have already guessed that the marquis was playing the part of a Brutus, and La Luciola, who loved him dearly, supported him in his plans. The two fiery natures had become acquainted at Naples. Luciola's friend, the gentle Milla, had written the mysterious libretto and Aslitta had sent it toTicellini. Edmond Dantes had kept the oath he made upon Monte-Cristo, to be the warm friend of the oppressed. He was an admirer of Aslitta, and placed himself at his service and the cause he represented.
Up till now he had never met La Luciola, but when the diva saw at the Scala that evening the man whom her lover had talked to her about, she was seized with a deep emotion. Yes, she recognized and knew the man who took up the cause of Italy's misery, and had confidence in his ability to carry out whatever project he undertook.
As the major uttered the threat against La Luciola, Aslitta recognized the danger his love was in. He had already grasped the coach door with his hand, when he felt himself seized by strong arms and borne to the ground. A well-known voice hissed in his ear—the voice of San Pietro:
"We have got you."
A gag was inserted between Aslitta's lips, his arms and limbs were bound, and two pandours dragged him away, while the count said:
"You know the order; take good care of him! You must answer for the prisoner with your life."
One of the pandours pressed the muzzle of his gun against Aslitta's forehead and threateningly said:
"Do not stir or I will blow your brains out."
Aslitta was obliged to obey. The carriage in which he had been placed stopped, the marquis was lifted out, and the doors of a subterranean dungeon closed behind him.
When the hated Austrian uniforms appeared in the brilliantly lighted streets, a threatening noise was uttered by the mob, and the students who surrounded Luciola's carriage threw themselves upon the officers.
It was a foolish beginning, for they had no weapons—they only possessed burning patriotism, and their hatred of the foreign oppressor.
A shot now fell, and at the same time the tall form of Count San Pietro loomed up, giving commands to the soldiers to make the attack—an attack against a defenceless crowd of human beings. As soon as the students heard the shot, they surrounded the carriage of the diva again. The latter tried to encourage the trembling Milla. As for herself, she had no fear, and though she could not understand Aslitta's absence, she was far from imagining the truth.
Suddenly San Pietro's repulsive features appeared at the carriage window, and Luciola's heart ceased beating.
Had he betrayed Aslitta?
The count had arranged things well. Narrower andnarrower grew the circle about the patriots, and the students tried in vain to draw the carriage away from the soldiers.
"Luciola," said the count, maliciously, "do you still think you can escape me?"
Luciola drew herself up, and casting a look of contempt at the count, she cried, in loud, clear tones:
"Miserable coward!"
San Pietro uttered a cry of rage, and lifted his sword aloof.
Luciola looked coolly at him; not a muscle of her fine face quivered, but her hand grasped the jewelled hilt of a dagger.
She did not intend to fall into the villain's hands alive.
Suddenly, above the roar of the multitude, a voice thundered:
"Benedetto! Murderer! Escaped galley slave—beware! God cannot be mocked at! Shame over you!"
And as these words were heard, Count San Pietro, the favorite of Radetzky, tremblingly looked in the direction from whence the words came, and which sounded to him like the call of the judgment day. On the pedestal of a marble statue opposite to him stood the man he had recognized at the Scala, who pointed threateningly at him, and Benedetto, wild with rage, pulled a pistol from his pocket and fired at Monte-Cristo. When the smoke cleared away, Monte-Cristo still stood there; at the same time the crowd separated in the centre, and two harnessed horses were shoved in front of Luciola's carriage. How it happened no one knew—in an instant the traces were fastened to the shafts, the negro who saton the box whipped up the horses, and in a second the carriage rolled away.
The shots fired after them did not reach them, and in a few minutes they had disappeared.
"Death and thunder," hissed Benedetto, "this one at least shall not escape me"; and foaming with rage, he threw himself upon the count.
The latter let him come. Benedetto put the muzzle of his pistol to the count's breast, but at the same moment the iron arm of the latter had clutched the scoundrel by the throat, and with a hoarse laugh Benedetto let his weapon fall and sank upon his knees. Quick as thought the count seized the weapon, and placing it against Benedetto's forehead, said in a loud, clear voice:
"All you people who are with this villain whom you call Count San Pietro ought, at least, to know whom your ally is. Listen attentively, gentlemen. The man to whom you bend the knee is an escaped galley slave—he murdered his mother!"
A cry of horror came from the lips of the crowd, and the Croatians, whose roughness was proverbial, turned with horror from the scoundrel.
Monte-Cristo threw the pistol on the ground, and, getting down from the pedestal, he walked slowly through the lines of the retreating soldiers.
As soon as Benedetto felt himself free he sprang up, and, turning to the crowd, he hissed:
"Do not believe him, he lied; he is an enemy of Austria! How will you be able to look Marshal Radetzky in the face, if you allow him to escape?"
The name of Radetzky acted like magic upon thesoldiers. They turned pale and rushed in pursuit of Monte-Cristo.
They had caught up to the count, when he suddenly vanished from their gaze. To the bystanders it seemed as if a wall had opened to give him protection.
But soon the riddle was solved. The wall through which the Count of Monte-Cristo had escaped belonged to the Vertelli house, and all the officers knew that the building contained several secret passages.
"Follow me," said Benedetto, angrily, entering the Casino.
On the threshold Major Bartolomeo met him. Benedetto grasped the old veteran by the throat, and shaking him like a leaf, he exclaimed:
"Wretch, you have betrayed us; but you shall pay for it!"
"I," stammered the major, "I—am—innocent."
"Oh, no deception. I know you. How long is it since you called yourself Cavalcanti, and played the part of my father? Come, men, take this man prisoner. I will report to the marshal about it."
Led by Ali's strong hands the noble steeds flew along the streets of Milan like the wind. La Luciola appeared now to have changed roles with Milla, for she wept bitterly.
"Oh, Milla," groaned the diva, "Aslitta is surely dead, or else he would have kept his word, and if I have lost him my life will be at an end."
"But, Eugenie," consoled Milla, "why fear the worst always? I—"
The sudden stoppage of the coach caused Milla to pause. The negro sprang from the box, opened the door and motioned with his hand to the ladies to descend.
"Come, Milla," said La Luciola, "wherever we are, we are under the protection of a powerful friend."
They were ushered into a beautifully furnished hallway, which led to a room furnished with heavy velvet draperies. A man with gray hair and aquiline nose, our old friend Bertuccio, received the ladies with a deep bow.
"Signora," he said, turning to Luciola, "have no fear; you are in the house of a friend. Follow me."
La Luciola and Milla accepted the invitation anduttered a cry of surprise. They had entered a room decorated with the finest frescoes and hung with the richest silk and satin tapestries. In the centre of the room was a tent of blue silk under which sat a lady of extraordinary beauty, the same one who had attracted such attention at the Scala.
"Welcome, sisters," said Haydee in a gentle voice as she came toward them, "I was expecting you."
La Luciola and Milla bent over to kiss the white hand she extended toward them, but Haydee would not permit it, and pressing her lips to the young girl's forehead she drew them both to the divan.
"You have acted courageously, sister," said Haydee, turning to Luciola, "but I was not anxious about you. He told me he would watch over you."
La Luciola understood whom she meant by this "he," and she timidly replied:
"Madame, you seem to know all about the terrible affair. Would you permit me a question?"
"Gladly. Ask without fear; I will answer you."
La Luciola hesitated a moment and then firmly said:
"Madame, there is a patriot in Milan who is putting his life at stake for the freedom of Italy. He offered his breast to the minions of Radetzky—"
"You are speaking of the Marquis Aslitta," said Haydee, gently.
"Yes, of him, and if you knew my past you would understand that it is the love I bear for him which keeps me alive."
"Speak freely, sister," whispered the handsome Greek, "perhaps I can help you."
"I am a Frenchwoman by birth," said the diva,timidly. "My youth was passed in the capital. I was courted and petted, and yet I was not happy. My father, occupied with his financial operations, did not bother himself about me. My mother was just as unhappy as I was. I would have become desperate if a dear friend had not clung to me," and putting her arm about Milla's waist, the diva continued:
"We were both devoted to music. It was a substitute for happiness to me, and in the empire of harmony I tried to forget my barren life. A certain trouble happened to me; in a twinkling all the ties which bound me to home were broken, and I fled, with misery and desperation in my heart! Madame, I was then hardly twenty, but virtue, honesty and love were already to me empty words!"
"Poor sister," murmured Haydee, "how you must have suffered."
"Yes, I suffered greatly," continued Luciola, with tears in her eyes. "The world appeared to be a desert, and so I devoted myself to art. In Naples I discovered that there was something besides the applause of the crowd and one's own ambition! A group of young Italian noblemen had come to Naples to free their brothers from the tyranny of the Austrian oppressors. One night we heard a loud noise. Not having anything to lose, I had my horse harnessed and rode in the direction of the cry. Milla insisted upon accompanying me. When we reached the spot, a bloody fight was going on. We saw shining uniforms. It was at Crotona in Calabria. On a ledge stood a young man, swinging a sword and urging his comrades on against the Austrians. A shot was fired and the young man fell. I urged my horse on toward the spot where I had last seen him. The unhappy manhad fallen down a precipice. With the help of my strong tunic, Milla and I succeeded in drawing him up. We brought him to my house and I cared for him tenderly. Giorgio Aslitta awoke to new life. His first words, as he gained sensibility, were:
"Chi per la patria muoreVessuto ha assai!"
"Ah, the battle hymn of the Italians," interrupted Haydee, her eyes glistening.
"Yes; and when I heard these words I was saved! I believed in man again, and no love song ever sounded so sweet to me as that patriotic hymn."
Hardly had Luciola uttered the last words, than a deep voice said:
"Eugenie Danglars, I thank you in the name of humanity! The past is forgiven!"
The diva turned affrightedly around. The Count of Monte-Cristo stood before her, leading his son by the hand.
"Oh, how grateful I am to you," said Luciola, sobbing. "You recognized me?"
"I have never lost sight of you," replied Monte-Cristo, earnestly; "and the name you bear makes me a debtor to you."
"You shame me, count—you my debtor?"
"Rest satisfied with what I have told you. I am not at liberty to reveal the sorrowful past to you. But be assured that if I have ever caused you grief, it was because I am the instrument of a higher power."
"You know something about my parents. I beseech you, do not hide anything from me," implored Luciola. "I know that my father lives, and—"
"One moment," interrupted Monte-Cristo, giving Haydee a wink.
Immediately the young woman put her hand upon the boy's shoulder and led him out.
"I know that my father is doing Stock Exchange business in Germany," continued Luciola, "but my poor mother—"
"Your mother lives too," interrupted the count, sorrowfully, "though I do not know whether you will ever see her again."
"I do not understand," stammered La Luciola.
"Listen, my child, and be strong. Have you recognized the wretch who calls himself Count San Pietro?"
"Recognized? No; he is a wretch who merits the contempt of every one."
"I thought Eugenie Danglars was shrewder than that. Of course his scar disfigures his face so much as to make it almost unrecognizable. Who was it, Eugenie, who, in former years, had the audacity to ask your hand in marriage, and then—"
"Prince Cavalcanti!" exclaimed La Luciola, horror-stricken.
"Yes, if you wish to call him thus; in reality, though, he is the escaped galley slave and murderer, Benedetto."
"But what has the wretch to do with my mother?"
"Unfortunately, more than you think; to rob your mother of her treasure, a full million, the monster plunged a dagger in her breast—"
"Oh, the miserable coward! But you told me my mother lived—"
"Yes, she lives! The murderer did not strike the heart as he had intended, and, after months of agony, the poor woman recovered."
"Thank God! But where is she? I want to go toher and throw myself at her feet. My love will make her forget her grief," exclaimed Luciola, passionately.
"That is impossible just now. Your mother had intended to enter a convent, but chance just happened to throw her in Valentine de Villefort's way. You know her?"
"Oh, certainly; Valentine, the only one whom I love to remember among all my past acquaintances."
"Well, then, Valentine is now Madame Morrel. They left France and went to India. They needed a governess for their little daughters, and so she asked Madame Danglars to take the position."
"Poor mother," muttered Luciola, sorrowfully. "How hard it must have been for her to take a dependent position."
"Madame Danglars," said the count, "accepted the offer with thanks, and she tenderly loves Valentine and her daughters."
"How long has my mother been in India?"
"About three years."
"And do you know where she is?"
"I do not know Morrel's present address, but expect a letter from him soon."
Just then the deep tones of a bell were heard, and Monte-Cristo arose.
"My child," he solemnly said, "whatever your past has been, you have expiated it a thousand times, and you deserve the love of a humane and honest man."
"Ah, you recall Aslitta to me—where is he?"
Monte-Cristo sorrowfully shook his head.
"Eugenie, the Marquis d'Aslitta was arrested two hours ago."
"Arrested. Oh, my God! That is worse than death."
"All is not lost yet."
"Where is he?"
"In the citadel."
"Count, rescue him. You are superhuman. But tell me who betrayed him?"
"Benedetto."
Luciola uttered a cry of horror.
"I will do what I can," continued the count, "to rescue him."
"A thousand thanks; I believe you."
The count went to the door and called:
"Spero."
The handsome boy immediately appeared, and looked inquiringly at his father.
"Come with me," said the count. "You are still a child, but from this day forth you enter life. Courage and devotion to a just cause make the weak strong. Should I die before my work is done, then take my place."
A pressure of a silver bell brought Ali to the count.
"Are all here?" he asked.
The Nubian nodded.
"Ali, you know what you have to do. As soon as the slightest traitorous voice is heard, you give the signal."
Ali again nodded; the count shoved the curtain aside and disclosed a secret staircase.
"Spero, conduct La Luciola," he ordered, as he descended the stairs, followed by Spero and the diva.
Arriving at the foot of the stairs, Monte-Cristo entered a large hall, in which several hundred men were assembled. They all rose up from their seats, and, taking off their hats, greeted the count with loud cries of:
"Long live Italy!"
Monte-Cristo approached a white-haired old man, the Marquis of Sante-Croce, and asked him to preside over the assembly. Sante-Croce nodded, and began his address:
"Friends and patriots," he said, "the long-wished-for day has come. Are you ready to defend the flag?"
"So help us God! Out with the foreigners!" was shouted from all sides.
"Good! Now listen to what our noble friend, the Count of Monte-Cristo, has to tell us!"
The marquis took his seat, and the count, unrolling a paper, said in an earnest voice:
"I can bring you a piece of news which Marshal Radetzky has just received; a revolution has broken out in Vienna, and at this very hour the viceroy is leaving Milan."
A murmur of astonishment ran through the assembly.
"My couriers," continued the count, "were quicker than the emperor's, and in consequence of that I am better informed than the officials. The emperor has bowed to the necessity of the situation, and made important concessions—"
"No concessions!" said a voice; "we want freedom!"
"Patience," said Monte-Cristo. "The emperor has repealed the censorship; the new press law is very liberal, and the representatives of the German and Lombard-Venetian provinces have been convoked."
The astonishment was now general. Loud cries of "Impossible! impossible!" were heard.
"And when will the convocation take place?" asked Sante-Croce.
"Unfortunately not so soon—on the 3d of July," said the count, sorrowfully.
Angry murmurs arose.
"They wish to mock us," said a young man. "Radetzky's minions have murdered my brother; I demand revenge!"
"My mother was wounded at Corsa," said a second. "No compromises: war!"
"Yes, war to the knife!" shouted the whole assembly.
"One moment!" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, in a tone of command. "I know how angry you all are, and yet counsel you to reflect. A nation which is eager for independence, is strong and powerful, but your oppressors are as numerous as sands in the sea. You will conquer, Milan will be free; but when you have spilled your blood, and piled your bodies up like a wall, theallies upon whom you count will desert you. You will fall again into the hands of the enemy, and the heavy yoke will become heavier. Charles Albert, the king of Sardinia, will betray you as soon as his ends have been served. Do you still desire to carry out your ideas?"
Monte-Cristo's words sounded prophetic. The patriots could not dissimulate the impression they made. But their opinions did not change.
"And if the worst should come!" said one, courageously, "I would rather die than hesitate any longer. To arms!"
"To arms, then!" repeated the Marquis of Sante-Croce, solemnly, "and may God be with us!"
"But where is Aslitta? He must lead us," some cried.
La Luciola advanced.
"The patriot Aslitta has been imprisoned," she sorrowfully said; "he is lying in the citadel."
A cry of rage arose.
"Let us rescue him," came from all sides. "Let us storm the citadel before they murder him."
"Yes, let us rescue him," said Monte-Cristo. "Let the fight begin to-morrow! To arms in the name of humanity and freedom!"
Suddenly a man arose from the crowd, who had heretofore remained silent, and casting a look at the count, he slowly said:
"We hardly know you. What guarantee will you give us that you won't betray us?"
"The man is right," the count replied. "Sante-Croce, here is my own child. Take Spero with you. Let him vouch for his father with his head!"
Sante-Croce refused to accept the guarantee, but Monte-Cristo was firm. The boy, with proudly uplifted head, strode toward the old man and said:
"I shall accompany you. My father has taught me to do my duty."
With enthusiastic cries the patriots crowded about the handsome lad, and Monte-Cristo felt his heart throb with joy as he looked at Spero.
"And I, too, will accompany you!" exclaimed La Luciola. "Italy must be freed, and Aslitta rescued."