The brigadier shook his head, and merely repeating his former caution, withdrew, leaving one of his men in charge of the prisoner.
The five leading men of the Carbonari—men of middle age, save one—and all with families, were arrested that morning and conveyed to Parma, and afterwards to Mantua. I believe it was upwards of two years before they were brought to trial, when one of them was sentenced to the gallyes for life; three others to four years’ detention with hard labour, and the fifth acquitted. Of Sebastian Spada no one ever heard more.
It is scarcely necessary to say that Carlo Eisingarde returned no more to Gariglano, where his name was not uttered without a curse; nor his memory recalled save with execration. It needed not Italian subtlety to read by what vile treachery to his companions, he achieved a vengeance on his enemy. Rumour ran that he had obtained a high place under the Imperial Government, and a title. Indeed, men read in the newspapers the name of Baron Eisingarde being entrusted with this, or sent about that, and none doubted whom it to referred. With his brother Francesco, none ever interchanged a word; their very servants left, and they were replaced by Germans or Swiss. If the young fellow strolled into public places, every head was averted; if he sat down to rest, men quitted the bench beside him.
Sterner and deeper thoughts than these worked,—indeed, within the hearts of those whose fathers, husbands, or brothers, had been betrayed and ruined by Carlo’s treachery; but a special charge was given to the police to watch over the safety of young Eisingarde, and all knew, or at least believed, that he was continually followed by a gendarme, and that even a passing slight to him might cost years in a dungeon.
It is not easy to say whether any pitied the youth, or tried to disconnect him from his brother’s infamy; but certainly none were bold enough to avow such compassion. As for himself, though for a while he assumed an air of haughty contempt for the townsfolk, the utter isolation of his lot, the dreary misery of his companionless, friendless life preyed upon him, and he shrank from public gaze and passed all his days within the house, or the not less gloomy garden at the back of it. It was only at night that he ventured out; then, mounting his horse, he would scour the country for miles, galloping at random and recklessly, seeking less distraction from sorrow than the excitement which speed and a certain degree of peril are sure to awaken, and that amount of feverish exaltation which served to cheer him.
“Maladizione! there he goes,” would be the exclamation of some startled sleeper, as the clatter of his horse’s feet resounded through the silent streets, and many a wicked prayer and evil “accidente” followed him as he swept past.
At last came the time of his being of age: the period at which he was to be put in possession of his share of the fortune left by his father; and the formalities of law required that Carlo, who had latterly acted as his guardian, should declare, before the authorities of the place, that his own functions had ceased, and his brother Francesco was in full possession of his property.
Every effort was made by the Eisingardes, aided indeed by the government, to conceal the intended visit from the people of Gariglano: not that any violence or breach of the public peace was to be apprehended—the garrison was sufficient guarantee against this—but because all recurrence to an unhappy past was to be deprecated, and the ducal government strongly desired to suppress everything that savoured of public excitement. Despite all the precautions taken, the news got wind, that, on such a day, at such an hour, Carlo Eisingarde would appear before the tribunal in the piazza, and resign his guardianship.
An occasion like this in village life would once have been a joyous ceremonial, second only to a festival of the church. Far different was the sentiment that awaited it now. Though the ceremony was not to occur before noon, the piazza was crowded from an early hour of the morning. There had been some thought of a demonstration, by having the widow of his victim, and the relatives of the other prisoners, arrayed on the steps of the court-house; but the authorities had taken steps to intimate that the very slightest show of public feeling would be severely repressed, and the instigators of it dealt with by military law. The crowd, therefore, was silent, no organisation was attempted, but a sentiment deeper than all organisation pervaded the dense mass, and every lip, and every clenched hand there, declared the pent-up thirst for vengeance that fevered them.
Has he arrived?—when did he come?—which way did he enter the town? were questions raised on all sides: the general belief was that he had arrived during the night, and driven to the house of the chief judge, and not to his own palace. At last a movement was felt in the crowd, one of those strange impulses which seem to make masses vibrate with emotion like a single human heart; then the great massive gates of the old palace were seen to open, a sight not seen for many a year, and a very old woman, bent almost double, issued forth, leaning on the arm of her son. They were both in deep mourning—as, by a legal fiction, just succeeding to a lapsed heritage—and their thin cheeks, sunk and wasted, told of sorrow.
As the crowd fell back to let them pass, no touch of compassion was to be seen on any face; looks of scorn and hatred alone met them, and a low, scarce audible mutter tracked them as they went. The young man tried to pass rapidly on, but the old woman’s strength was unequal to it, and she was forced to stop to catch breath; as she did so she raised her head, and bent her eyes upon the crowd, and with a look so full of hatred and malignant passion, that the bystanders shrunk back or turned away with a sort of sickly terror; the horrible fear of the evil eye having its echo in every Italian heart! Just as the widow and her son gained the steps of the building, the clatter of horses was heard, advancing at speed, and an open calèche with four posters dashed into the piazza, and never slackening speed through the affrighted crowd, drew up at the tribunal.
An Austrian general in full uniform quickly descended, and then there followed a tall fine-looking man, well-grown and powerful, that all