He hastened to the train, to be the first to embrace "his glorious Alfonso" when he was summoned home to attend the Paris Conference, and he thought no honors too great for him. The king was of a of such a movement. "You ruin yourself, sire, to take this march at this moment," cried La Marmora, with intense excitement: "allies and enemies will have a right to despise us; we shall be dishonored! It is my duty to you, to whom my life belongs, to hinder at any cost what I consider an immense misfortune." The king replied with increasing heat, and turned to the marshal to confirm his opinion, but Canrobert agreeing with La Marmora, Victor haughtily yielded the point. Victor Emmanuel did not need any stimulus from his minister; he was equally enthusiastic and grateful, and enjoyed seeing La Marmora and the troops lionized. He ordered a solemn thanksgiving for their return, to be held in the piazza before the distribution of medals, when they were welcomed by rapturous applause by the citizens. La Marmora, remarking that he hoped that was the last of the demonstrations to be held in their honor, fairly fled from the field, and went and hid himself to escape the cheering crowds. He was made Generale d'Armata, and received the Green Cross of Savoy from Victor Emmanuel; from Queen Victoria, the Order of the Bath; from the Emperor of the French, the Legion of Honor and the medal of military valor; from the Sultan, the first class of the Order of the Medidjé; from the Queen of Spain, the Cross of the Order Carlo III. The general bore his honors modestly; he could not be spoiled by royal favors or popular adulation, any more than he could stoop to flatter king or people. Victor Emmanuel, who had made some objection to his re-entering the Cabinet, said to him, as they rode side by side to the Piazza d'Armi: "Now that you have resumed office, I whom his sovereign's displeasure was as nothhope you will do as I wish." "Puisque vous le voulez et que vous le croyez indispensable, je conserve nos positions." And they separated in a high state of indignation, La Marmora having passionately declared that if the troops retreated he would not, preferring to be taken prisoner by the Austrians than be the scorn of the French. This is not the language to which kings are accustomed, and La Marmora's manner may have been too warm; but all the same, he commands our admiration as a faithful subject and disinterested patriot, to ing compared to his welfare. All the more "Sire, I will do my duty now as always," praiseworthy was his conduct, inasmuch as La Marmora replied. And the fiery king had sometimes to swallow haughtier language from his unbending but devoted servant. In the beginning of the war of 1859 the king had decided on a retrograde movement without consulting La Marmora. On hearing it, the general hastened to the royal quarters, and insisted so strenuously on an audience, that the king, who was closeted with Marshal Canrobert, I called to the servant to let him in. La Marmora explained his reasons for disapproving of the decision to abandon the positions, and earnestly represented the disadvantages he held no command and consequently had no responsibility. The following day the king wrote him a note, thanking him that the troops had not "marched," and wrote also to Cavour, praising La Marmora as the most honest and devoted of subjects. In 1864, when the king signed the convention with France which lessened his popularity and drove the ministry out of office, it was to La Marmora he appealed in his difficulty; and though he had disapproved of the convention, he accepted office, and stood by Victor Emmanuel loyally. "The king's signature is there that settles the question," were the words with which he faced the affectionate terms to come and take his angry and excited assembly. For the unfortunate issue of the campaign of 1866, it has been the custom to throw all the blame on La Marmora. There were, however, other reasons to account for the defeat which it would take too much space to enter upon here; but it must be remembered that he had not the supreme command, as in the Crimea. He, indeed, wished to take upon himself all the responsibility of the unpopular peace; and Victor, who was quickly touched by generous sentiments, pressed his hands in both of his, as, with tears in his eyes, he protested against the sacrifice. But alas! "Hearts may beat and eyes be wet, And the souls be strangers yet." They had many things in common, but there were some delicate chords in Alfonso's nature which found no response in that of Victor Emmanuel. Nor was the king the only friend with whom he found himself at variance. Though a man of profound and passionate tenderness, he was outwardly cold, and not given much to the expression any feeling. Massari records that once he was betrayed into a word of admiration for Cavour, at which the latter was amazed, and rising from his seat, said, with his gay and mischievous smile: of "Only think! La Marmora and I have been colleagues for seven years, we have been friends much longer, and this is the first compliment he has ever paid me." "Thou art ungrateful," said the general, smiling; "have I not supported thee, and dost not thou know what I think of thee without compliments?" Yet we know that he felt a slight neglect on the part of his friends, and was often wounded by them unconsciously. Once, when prime minister during Cavour's retirement, he read an article of d'Azeglio's on the state of Central Italy before the annexation was decided upon, which seemed to reflect somewhat on the policy of the govHe immediately wrote to his cousin and friend, entreating him in the most ernment. place at the head of the Cabinet. This letter, in its simplicity and admiration of the merits of others, intermingled with a sense of not being himself quite appreciated, is touching in the extreme, and gives a better idea of La Marmora's character than any description. Quoting d'Azeglio's words, that only grand characters can save states at a critical juncture, he continues: "I feel myself incapable because I do not please the king, because I have public opinion against me-not having done enough for the army, and little or nothing for Italy-and because I confess it-I have not one of those characters which save states." He wept He became estranged from Cavour in consequence of a trifling disagreement; and for years Victor Emmanuel and he lived apart. It was not till three months before the death of both-which occurred at the same time—that a reconciliation took place. La Marmora, wrapped in a mantle of proud reserve, would not make the smallest advance towards a more friendly understanding; but he would not sit at a dinner where the king was not the first toast. all night when he heard that Victor Emmanuel was dangerously ill, in 1869; and when, while he himself was suffering from the fatal malady which caused his death, he received affectionate letters from the crown prince and the king, he was overpowered with the tenderest emotions, and all his wrongs, real and supposed, were forgotten. He was sitting in the chamber one day, when he received a communication from the royal palace, and on opening it found it contained the portrait of the Princess Margherita, with the inscription in her own hand, "To my father's faithful friend." His eyes filled with tears when he saw this allusion to his old friend, and he treasured the little memento as a precious gift. Alfonso La Marmora was, in fact, what is commonly called a misunderstood man. And if his sensitive soul was sometimes wounded by the friends who loved and esteemed him, what must his sufferings have been under the foul charges of broken faith with allies, falsification of documents, deceive and equivocate." It can be easily treason to his country? The latter end understood that the statesman who was of his life was imbittered by these cruel guided by such principles was no match for accusations, set on foot by the malignity of the Grand Chancellor. His spotless fame Prince Bismarck, particularly after La Mar- was vindicated, however, and illustrious men mora had revealed inconvenient facts with of all nations as well as his own vied with regard to the Prussian alliance in his books, "A Little More Light" and "Secrets of State." The system of persecution was carried to the point of attempting to force the Italian government to inflict severe imprisonment on the ex-minister for having dared to defend himself from calumny by telling the truth about his allies. "I have always believed," says La Marmora, "that truth and sincerity are the best security for a good and sound policy. Neither will I be told that the deceptions and equivocations of others give us a right to each other in their expressions of sympathy and admiration. He had lost his wife in 1876. His grief was intense, and he had no wish to live after she had been taken from him in his desolate age. "I am alone! I am alone!" was the heart-broken exclamation of this noble, suffering heart. Death came, as a happy release, January 5th, 1878. It was serenely calm and peaceful, so that they thought he fell asleep when his spirit passed into another world, where, let us hope, there are no more misunderstandings. G. S. Godkin. II. ANNETTA. Ar these words, which she could interpret only in confirmation of her grieved foreboding, Annetta shrunk more and more. Her widened eyes, lifted upon Dan, had in them the pathos of the disappointment she had that very morning told him she could not bear. Looking across a brightly carpeted space, she seemed to be gazing across a gulf. Is there not an immeasurable distance between her who enthusiastically devises the bettering of a human character and him upon whom this enthusiasm is worse than wasted? Her quickened fancy, sadly busy with speculations as to what was passing in Dan's mind, and what was going to happen, had time to play discursively over his rude attire. She knew already that her furtive warning had sent him from the garden to his wonted toil. From this toil, she noted that he was immediately come. Pioche's Quarry, which had set its seal in rust-colored rock on the bleak open streets of own. that suburb, had marked the man for its If aware of Annetta's scrutiny, now wistful, And this imagined shame, while it made assurance of his unworthiness doubly sure, moved her again to speech. "O Dan, Dan! how could you use my name lightly or disrespectfully?" She began falteringly; but ended, her accents crisp with girlish scorn. "I, Miss Bairtmore? God above forbid." But what weight can one find in a reply, however prompt, uttered in muffled tones, with downcast eyes? "You are going to be dismissed, I suppose?" The disdain curling her red under-lip was by no means merely silent. Respectful and even deprecatory in manner, the matter of Dan's next utterance was such as to shock Annetta with a terror fairly electric in its vigor and suddenness. An interruption cut off the first word-a mere expletive-of Dan's answer to this indignant query. That "Oh!" was left petrified and meaningless in Annetta's ears. "Are you afther bein' sure that you know more. where Mr. Bairtmore is, Miss? A new meaning for Dan's constraint now flashed upon her. What if this meeting were a trap set for discovering if she and he had anything particular to say to each other? And she had freely displayed a marked particularity in word and look! Strong horrors shot through her leaping pulses. The shaded and shuttered windows, the closed doors of the office, were all at once alive as with ears and eyes. The pressing necessity for altering the situation struck Annetta to her feet. The evening paper, partially read at table, lay for. Tom's finishing, folded upon his desk. "You may be obliged to wait some time yet, Dan," said Annetta, nonchalantly, handing him the printed sheet. She was thinking, "Shall I leave him alone?" Tom's request that she should stay in the office forbade. She ran to fetch a guitar from the parlor. Tuning the instrument painstakingly, the indifference so hastily assumed found its higher expression in gay arpeggios. Dan, holding the newspaper religiously before his face, ventured presently from behind the barrier, in a low monotone: "If ye'd play louder, Miss, I might be afther answerin' what yez asked me." The thin spray of elfin harmonics gave way instantly to strong vibrant chords. Under cover of the music, "I think, Miss," said Dan, "that the boss can do no less than send me off." He breathed hard, and added, "Because of the talk." Annetta took these words into herself and pondered them, her fingers still mechanically busy with the changing frets. She could make of them nothing explicit enough for her exigent mood. "But Dan"-without lifting her eyes"can you mean that you have been talking?" Entering the office from without, one must mount a short flight of steps-five or six, no Upon the topmost of these a foot-fall loud and sharp now sounded, and immediately Tom Bartmore was in the room, flashing imperious glances from his sister to Dan, from Dan to his sister. And conducting this silent, trenchant investigation, he was calling carelessly, at the height of a robust voice: "Come in, boys. Come right in." For an instant, the darkness beyond the wide-flung door gave no sign. Then two faces gleamed thence and two slouching figures emerged lothly into the light, stumbling heavily across the threshold. "Shut the door!" Bartmore commanded, still intent. When he relinquished his scrutiny of Annetta and her companion, it was to stride to his desk and swinging chair. Plunging into this, he drew from some compartment of that a heavy ledger, and began noisily to turn its leaves. Annetta could not be other than tinglingly conscious of her brother's scrutiny. Holding herself outraged by its impelling motive, the very force of this feeling steadied her nerves. Bartmore's back turned, she laid aside her guitar, and with the same flushed calmness sat in readiness for whatever might happen next. The two men whom Bartmore had brought, obeying the letter of his instructions, did by no means venture to seat themselves. They stood just within the office-door, drooping like tired animals, and like tired animals committing their weight to changing feet. Poor fellows what had they been doing? Something bad enough to take away what little self-respect they might ordinarily possess. Or was it only that they dreaded impending consequences? Old hands of Tom's, Annetta knew both well, and found it in her heart to pity both: yes, even Barney Flynn, who drank more of his earnings than went for his family's feeding and clothing. Might they not be suffering, as she so often, from some misinterpretation or exaggeration of Tom's? Annetta, wishing herself anywhere else, even dead, as girls who know nothing of death outside of poetry are desperately wont, ry. A long, awkward moment passing, Annetta had not long to wait, hiding her secret worspoke up cheerfully : She had barely noted how thoroughly Tom was enjoying the situation, when there came a rap at the door. "Sit down, Mike," she said; "take the chair near you; and, Barney, I want to hear how little Joe is. Come beside me on the sofa." But Bartmore, as one intensely alive to everything about him, cried out harshly: "Let the damned whelps alone!" transfixing them in the midst of grateful bowings and scrapings, with an aggressive glare. Through the stillness ensuing, the thick leaves of the ledger ceased turning. Bartmore's blunt forefinger slid softly downward, feeling its way through the closely written names on an open page. The clock above his desk told off many seconds with a rising inflection. A growing eagerness, perhaps a drowning hope to avert impending doom, now evidenced itself in the frontal corrugations of one culprit. Clutching his characterless hat by the apex of a crown which had long ceased to assert itself as distinct from a tattered brim, he passed the same from hand to hand, and then across his dry lips. These motions were preliminary to husky speech. "Give me one wurrud, Misther Bairtmore”—pleading not by voice alone, but adding a propitiatory wave of hand and hat. "Faith, there's nobody but God in heaven knows how Illen Ann an' the childer is fixed, wid Joe on his back this three-" "That will do, Barney," interrupted Bartmore, his tone displaying no more feeling than twigs dry enough to crackle. "Here, Dan!" Dan had laid aside the paper upon Bartmore's entry. His head leaning against the wall, he was gazing straight before him. He started, thinking very likely that his turn. had come sooner than he expected. But Bartmore had only to give this order: "Go to the camp and fetch McArdle." Dan gone, Bartmore rose to pace the room, his hands in his pockets, his head carried with an easy sense of domination. A long, gaunt shape now entering has once before appeared upon the scene of this story, but swiftly to disappear. Summoned from the atmosphere of the camp-kitchen, which was to her as water to a fish, McArdle's motions were no longer quick with mechanical celerity. An old bonnet, a fringeless, hueless shawl, added to her matutinal attire, she sidled in, her tread halting, an expression of awe dropped like a veil upon her counte nance. Bartmore greeted her with a business-like nod, and indicated by a careless thumb that she might be seated. McArdle chose the nearest chair wherein to subside, as if telescoped. No costume, however skillfully contrived, could have rendered this woman prepossessing. Taking critical note of a low forehead, a short nose, a massive upper-lip rudely sculptured, a strong projecting underlip, of long, bloodshot eyes, the observer was moved to remember hopefully the exhaustless variety of Nature's molds. If happily the one wherein McArdle's countenance had been cast might never again be needed! Bartmore's alert mind, not oblivious of McArdle's distaste for an interview, entered upon his meditated subject with undiminished zest. "Now," said he, in a high, swinging voice, sending her a masterful glance from this point and that of his brisk striding, "I want you to repeat verbatim what you told me last night." So ordered, McArdle swallowed hard, scooping her chin toward her breast. But speaking, it was with a smoldering eye, and accent of smothered resentment. "Twas tould me fresh from the facks be Heavy Weather. If yez don't belave me— here- -ax him." |