Angelo Sanmartino, a tale of Lombardy in 1859

Front matter

ANGELO SANMARTINO A TALE OF LOMBARDY IN 1859. EDINBURGH: EDMONSTON AND DOUGLAS. 18 GO. EDINBURGH \ PRINTED BY THOMAS CONSTABLE, FOR EDMONSTOX AND DOUGLAS. LONDON . . . HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. CAMBRIDGE . . MACMILLAN AND CO. DUBLIN . . . W. ROBERTSON. GLASGOW . . . J£iL__&__lACLEHOSE. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAP. I. TO GO, OR NOT TO GO, . . . . 1 II.— BROTHER AND SISTER, . . . .11 III. -A FORETASTE OF LIFE, ... .28 IV.— A BOY'S REMINISCENCES, ... Hi V.— THE TOGA VIRILIS, - . . . .69 VI.— A TYRO STATESMAN, .... 95 VII.— A COMMON OCCURRENCE, . . . 125 VIII.— NEIGHBOURLY INTERCOURSE, .142 IX.— ALTON VILLA, 165 X.— A PROPOSAL, 179 XL— HALCYON DAYS, 197 XII.-CLOUDS ON THE HORIZON, . . . 209 XIII.-NEW YEAR'S DAY OF 1859, . . . 222 XIV.— THE MEETING OF PARLIAMENT. . . 231 XV. - NEW SCENES AND PERSONAGES.

CONTENTS. IV PAGE CHAP. XVI. — THE STORY OF THE LIGONI, . . 298 XVIL— THE STORY OF THE LIGONI CON- TINUED, 327 XVIII.— THE STORY OF THE LIGONI CON- TINUED, 352 XIX.— BEGINNING HOSTILITIES, . . .381 XX.— FAREWELL FOND HOPES, . . .399 XXI.— A HERO, 420 XXII.— A DISCOVERY 450 XXIII.— CASUALTIES OF WAR, . . .484 XXIV— THE PRICE OF INDEPENDENCE, 51] XXV. -A SOLDIER'S WOOING, . . .525 XXVI.— A NEW PLAN, 540 XXVII— CONCLUSION

Chapter I. To Go, Or Not To Go

During the autumn of 1833, among the subjects of conversation at the dinner or tea parties in the neighbourhood of Lyndhurst, in the New Forest, a report circulated that Mr. and Mrs. Morestead of the Priory were about to spend some time abroad for the benefit of their daughter's health. " Poor Lucy ! she looks very delicate," observed one lady. " A nasty little hacking cough," said an other. " Ah ! " sighed out a third, " her mother will never save her, I fear." A And all three speakers shook their heads in satisfactory gloom, and joined in a chorus of half-suppressed moans, testifying to the sensibility of the utterers. Mr. Williams, husband of one of the afore said ladies, now broke silence for the first time in these words : — •' Well, if Lucy Morestead were my girl, 1 would take her to Devonshire.

Nothing like Devonshire for consumptive people. I should feel then that everything that could be done had been done ; and if after all my daughter died, it would be the will of God, and it would be my duty to submit and be resigned." Here the chorus modulated from moans to short sighs, expressive of accordance with the pious sentiment just delivered, and a saintly look took possession of the features of the three ladies. Mr. Williams went on: "As to going abroad, over the sea, it's all fudge. England was LOMBARD V. meant for English people to live and die in. Why, in the most desperate cases native air is always recommended, and many a time has done wonders. I don't understand how a man of sense like Morestead can make up his mind to leave his house and the fine estate, to say nothing of his seat in Parlia ment, and go gadding about inf oreign parts."

Mr. and Mrs. Morestead, however, did not share strong-minded Mr. Williams's opinion ; they had confidence in the " sweet south" for the restoration of their only daughter ; so leaving their son at school, and the pro perty under the care of a good steward, they quitted Lyndhurst for Italy, where, with the exception of two or three flying visits, paid to his home by Mr. Morestead for purposes of business, they remained two years. At the end of that time Lyndhurst was again agitated by a rumour that Lucy More stead was going to be married to an Italian gentleman. '; Did not I say that no good could come of taking girls abroad V remarked Mr. Wil liams. " I declare I would rather see my three daughters in their graves than married to foreigners." It was long since Lyndhurst had had such an exciting subject to discuss ; the whole neighbourhood was in a delightful ecstasy of wonder, compassion, and indignation.

" How Lucy Morestead, an English girl born and bred, and of such a good family, could think of marrying a foreigner !" was the cry on every side. "She could not know what she was doing; she would find it out too late. She would break her father and her mother's heart, and her own into the bargain. But girls cared for nothing when they had once got love in their heads, and these Italians had such deceitful, winning ways." Such were a few of the observations ut tered over numberless cups of tea. Then again others took a different view LOMBARDY. 5 os the matter. " It was all Mr. and Mrs. Morestead's fault ; they just deserved what they had got. If they must take their daughter abroad for health, what business had they to allow her to associate with the natives ? — there were always respectable English families in the towns on the Con tinent, and it was the duty of parents to keep their children in proper society. 'As you sow you reap.' '; Whether the reproach was thrown onthe father and mother, or on the daughter, or on the intruding foreigners, all seemed to agree that blame there wras in the matter, and no thing but blame.

However each individual criticism might be varied, the chorus of moans and sighs chimed into admirable harmony. In the meantime Lucy Morestead's marriage with Signor Angelo Sanmartino, a Milanese of good birth and fortune, was celebrated in bis native town. This union, when first proposed, had met much opposition from Lucy's parents, for both were very English in their leanings. But their prejudice against the suitor, simply because he was a foreigner, gradually wore off as they became acquainted with his intrinsic w7orth. The peremptory refusal given in the first instance was softened into hesitation, which the gentle and respectful, yet steady, persistance of the young people at length brought to approving consent. This was the more speedily given that Lucy's health, which had already much im proved, evidently began to suffer from the effect of contending feelings.

Mr. Morestead had not attained that cli max of philosophy which taught Mr. Williams to prefer seeing his daughters dead and buried rather than married to foreigners. We will even add here, that the good gentleman carried his weakness so far as to form a real friendship with his Italian son-in-law. A TALE OP LOMBARDY. 7 The first visits which Mrs. Morestead received on her return home, after her daugh ter's marriage, were more as if of condolence than of congratulation ; but at sight of the mother's serene countenance, and on hearing her satisfied account of Lucy's health and happiness, those who called prepared to moan, were obliged to fall into a more cheerful mood. " Of course." said Mrs. Morestead, " I miss my darling, and often feel sad; but we mothers, Mrs. Williams, cannot expect to keep our daughters always with us.

I say, as you did, when you married your dear Emily to Colonel Lestrange, and she went with her husband to India, ' The main point is to se cure a girl's happiness.'" At the end of some months, " Lucy More stead that was," as many of her old acquaint ances persisted to call her, came to visit her parents ; and never was the effect of a change of climate more strikingly demon strated than in the blooming looks, the rounded form, and elastic step of the whilom drooping girl. Besides, a glow of happiness, soft as the roseate tints of evening, wrapped her lovely features and figure in a radiance all its own, and not to be mistaken. " I only hope it may last," said Mrs. Wil liams. With the young wife came her husband, and Signor Angelo Sanmartino, despite the unlucky disqualification of foreign birth, met, as a guest and connexion of Mr. Morestead, with a courteous reception from all the neighbours.

" Well, take him all in all, only bating those abominable moustaches, this Signor does seem a gentlemanly pleasant fellow enough," observed Mr. Williams, much in the tone in which he might have said of an in habitant of the Zoological Gardens, " It seems tame and gentle." He added, " Only, you know, one never feels sure of these outlandish people ; they are slippery to deal with." " He is certainly very polite," remarked the lady of the last speaker ; " but goodness 1 to trust one's-self to such a black-haired, black -eyed, mustachio'd man, that can scarcely speak English ! Well, poor Lucy seems to bear up wonderfully." Several of the younger ladies in their private minds, and in confidence among each other, allowed that they possessed sufficient heroism to endure, as stoically as Lucy, the infliction of a husband remarkably hand some, with classical features, rich southern complexion, and a slight shade of melancholy hanging over his fine countenance, but which melted away like a mist before a sunbeam, when his frank intelligent smile brightened his features.

" Then such a romantic name, Angelo Sanmartino ! and Signora, so much prettier than common Mistress ! " so whispered the o-irls ainonothemselves. The matrons made a point of calling the bride " Poor Lucy," or " that poor dear — I can't remember her out landish name." Time went on, and in spite of good Mrs. Williams's misgivings respecting the dura tion of Lucy's happiness, strange to say, it lasted unabated, save by the sorrow occasioned her by the successive loss of her father and mother, which occurred in the first eleven years of her marriage.

Chapter II. Brother And Sister

And now Lucy's brother was possessor of the Priory, and filled his father's place. A strong affection united the brother and sister, though their views differed on most subjects. John Morestead, at the time a schoolboy, wondered much, and felt in some sort ag grieved, that his sister Lucy chose to many a Don Whiskerandos. But when he found that his brother-in-law could take a day's shooting, and bring down plenty of birds, and was, moreover, extremely generous of cigars, cigar cases, riding whips, fowling pieces, and other such pleasant things, besides finding no end of amusement for him when he went to stay with his sister near Milan, he grew reconciled to Angelo San martino, and ended by having a hearty lik ing for him, only reserving the right of a general aversion to all other foreigners.

And these feelings grew with his growth, and strengthened with his strength, and flourished in full vigour even now that he was come to man's estate, and was married, and father of a family. John Morestead was a favourable speci men of an English country gentleman, a kind husband and father, a fair landlord, a good agriculturist, a man with a clear head and thoroughly versed in all local business and interests, a friendly neighbour and a proper dispenser of beef and blankets, and a supporter of schools for the poor. He was regularly sent up to Parliament at every election. In politics he was a Conservative and a Tory. He had a natural and invincible aversion and jealousy towards France. As for other nations, he very seldom gave them a thought, or if his mind glanced at them at all, it was to wonder for a moment why any countries had been created but England and her dependencies.

Then he would turn away from the subject as from some inscrutable dispensation of Providence, and comforted himself in the contemplation of the superior greatness, power, wisdom, and virtues of England and Englishmen. Mr. Morestead was a man of quiet gen tlemanly manners, reserved and somewhat haughty, unostentatiously tenacious of his social position as descendant of one of the oldest families in the country. Partly from feeling and partly from principle, he held strongly to family ties. He entertained a deep affection for his sister, and little Angelo, the darling of mother and father, was also a great favourite with his uncle. Lucy and her brother kept up a regular intercourse either by letter or occasional visits, in spite of great discrepancies of opinions ; for during the years which had formed John Morestead's character and views, his sister had identified herself with her adopted country, and shared all her husband's ideas, which were those of a liberal Lombard, loath ing the Austrian domination in his native land.

It is needless to specify with what opposite sympathies the English Tory and his sister. the Italian Liberal, looked upon the eventful period of 1848. Shortly previous, Lucy had paid a visit to the Priory with her boy. An gelo, the future hero of our tale, was scarcely thirteen, too young to share in the active part taken by his father in public affairs. We will only cursorily say here, that Lucy's husband, true to his patriotic principles, took arms in the famous five days' fight, which at that period drove the Austrians from Milan. He formed part of the band of volunteers under the distinguished and valiant Manara, himself a young husband and father. During the three months' campaign, Angelo Sanmartino was among the foremost. When ill fortune fell upon the Italian arms, he aban doned his native province, and followed the Piedmontese army into Piedmont.

There he was joined by his wife aud child. He took service in the Lombard Legion during its brief existence, and when that ended with the Peace of 1849, he left the army. Determined, like many others, never to put again his foot on the Lombard territory, so long as it should be soiled by the presence of the Austrians, he took the necessary legal measures to renounce for himself and his son the quality of subjects to the Austrian Emperor, and to become naturalized Pied montese. Lucy approved, heart and soul, of all her husband did. He was a hero in her eyes, and her love gathered new strength from her admiration. Her Angelo was doubly dear for every danger he incurred, for every sa crifice he made. Indeed she had been kept up throughout by the consciousness that all the thrilling anxieties she endured were the mite she brought to the cause.

Alas ! how many sacrifices were made by how many hearts ! and cruel indeed was the ill success after all of the righteous arms. This pressed on Lucy as on her husband, and saddened the joy of being once more to gether. And even a happiness dashed with so much sorrow was not to last. Angelo Sanmartino brought from his campaign the germ of a disease which soon developed itself into a mortal illness. And Lucy, after long and tender nursing, closed those beloved eyes, and remained a widow with a fatherless boy. This sad event brought Mr. Morestead to his sister's side, and soon, still half-stunned by the shock of her bereavement, she found herself and her son in her paternal home. How changed from the blooming brilliant Lucy that had visited her brother only two years before ! " So, Lucy Morestead that was, is come back a widow," sighed out Mrs. Williams.

" Ay," replied her husband ; " that is what comes of marrying your daughters to foreigners ! " The good man forgot that at that very moment his own daughter Emily was re turned to her father's house, having buried her husband, the late Colonel Lestrange, in the Mysore. Well might people now say, "Poor Lucy!" The expression was appropriate : not that Signor Sanmartino had left his wife and son deprived of fortune ; on the contrary, they held fair estates in Lombardy, and Lucy possessed a paternal portion in England ; but the real treasure of life, reciprocated love, had been torn from them. The soul of the world seemed fled, leaving a deep. B heavy, dark void in her heart's core. From the very depth of this grief sprung a sort of consolation, for there is comfort in cling ing to the thought of the beloved departed.

The memory seems in a way to hold his place ; the very recollections, that make tears well up to the eyes, refresh the parch ed heart. The perpetual silent questions, " What would he have wished ? what would he have thought 1 what would he have had me do ? " became for Lucy the living spring, the regulating motive power of her life. Then again, when her eyes rested on young Angelo's features, so like his father's, she felt her husband was not quite lost to her. One thing, however, added to the desola tion of her bereavement, and this was the utter want of sympathy in all around her for the interests which for }rears had formed the vital elements of her life in Italy — for those subjects which had been literally questions of life and death to herself and her nearest and dearest. An inhabitant of the earth suddenly transported to the moon, where, we are told, there is no atmosphere, might feel much as Luc}7 did.

Her neighbours were good, kind, friendly people, who, in their way, felt for and moaned over the young widow as such ; but not one of them had the slightest notion touching that cause which had made Lucy and man}7 others widows, and Angelo and many others fatherless, would still make many more so, and yet be blessed and prayed for by the sufferers. The political sympathies of Mr. Morestead and his friends w7ere antagonistic to hers, as she had well known for years ; but from consideration for his sister's position and feelings, he avoided as much as possible speaking of these subjects in her presence, or if he did, he was careful to soften bis expressions. Lucy understood and appreciated his for bearance, and exercised the same towards him. By tacit agreement, brother and sister generally maintained mutual silence on all matters connected with foreign politics ; thus they avoided wounding each other, but the very constraint exercised in a spirit of conciliation created a yawning gap in daily communication.

Mr. Morestead retired every morning after breakfast to his study and to his conserva tive papers, while the Signora Sanmartino went to her sitting-room, and breathed more freely as she read the columns of the Daily Ne%vs. It had happened now and then, at some moment when her mind was brimful of some matter of this kind, if a really warm-hearted affectionate lady friend dropped in, that Lucy had allowed some of her thoughts and feelings to overflow, but she met with little or no response. Lucy's morning-room opened by French windows upon the garden ; and one day she was sitting at her table so absorbed by a strongly-written leader in the paper upon some news from Italy, that she did not hear the steps of three ladies, who, stealing along the turf walk, passed noiselessly through the open window into the room ; nor did she perceive that any one was near, till she was startled by the question from one of the fair intruders, " What is it that interests you so much 1 " " This," replied Lucy, laying her finger upon a column of the newspaper which detailed facts so stringent, so clearty put, and clinched by such conclusive reasoning, that it appeared to her as if none could be insensible to a statement equally moderate and unanswerable.

" I will read it to you," she said eagerly. She did so, but her auditors were only slightly moved. "Very eloquent," observed Mrs. B suppressing a yawn. " Of course you under stand all that better than I do. Poor dear ! what trials you went through ! " " What a comfort it must be to you," sighed out Mrs. C , " to be once more in quiet England ! As for me, I make it a rule never to read of those horrid broils abroad." " You should not look at the papers, dear Mrs. Sanmartino : pray, do not," observed Mrs. B persuadingly ; " they agitate you too much, and bring back to your mind the frightful scenes you have witnessed. I never cast my eyes upon the papers, except just to glance at the fashionable movements or some interesting trial. I leave politics to the gentlemen." Mrs. C here took up the strain.

" Oh dear, yes, so do I ; I do so hate poli tics ! I cannot bear to see Mr. C set out to a public meeting, or to an election dinner. I am so afraid of something hap pening. Poor dear." she added, turning to Lucy, "I am sure I can feel for what you have suffered;" and kind Mrs. C cooed over the young widow, aud screwed her features into an expression of sore com passion. Mrs. Williams, our old acquaintance, who was one of the party, here declared that there were some things in these matters that did interest her, and turning to Lucy. asked her if she did not feel very much for the Pope, when his own subjects had obliged him to fly from Rome, and was not rejoiced to know him now restored to the Vatican. Lucy answered, " I must say, on the con trary, that I look on the Pope as having be trayed the cause of Italy, and as the worst enemy of her independence."

" Well," replied Mrs. Williams, rather mor tified, " I don't pretend to know much about these things ; but I have been told that Pius the Ninth is so good a man, and the Romans so wicked. Now, I like good people. Some great man said, ' An honest man's the noblest work of God.' " Lucy turned the conversation quietly on other subjects ; and after chatting for some time, the visitors withdrew. No sooner were they out of sight, than Signora Sanmartino flung her arms upon the table, rested her head upon them, and exclaimed aloud, in a paroxysm of grief beyond tears, " Alone, alone, alone ! " Young Angelo, who had been sitting with a book unobserved in a bay wrindow looking into the garden, came up to his mother, and putting his arm round her neck, said, " Mother, no one here cares for our Italy, or for my father, and the cause for which he fought.

Oh ! mother, let us go from this country." Yes, my darling, we will go ; we will go where people will feel and suffer or rejoice with us. We will spend the winter in Genoa." " Oh, I am so happy, mother. Why not go directly V " Because, after all, your uncle is kind." " Yes, my uncle is kind to us, but he does not like Italy. I know he don't ; I hear him talk when you are not by." " Still," continued Lucy, " he is fond of me and of you, and we ought not to be ungrateful. If we went away directly, he would be hurt ; but for the winter, I shall say that my health requires a change — as in truth it does. We will go to Genoa, and there you will follow your studies, my darling, as your father intended ; and there you shall grow up, an honour to his memory and to his country. My own Angelo, you will be the comfort of your mother's widowed life."

But Lucy was not destined to see this pictured future, nor even the coming winter for which she was planning. Her originally fragile constitution had now been deeply shaken. What appeared to be a trifling indisposition which seized her shortly after the conversation we have mentioned, and to which neither she nor any one else paid any attention, suddenly took a more serious character, and in a few days it became certain that the young widow's earthly career was drawing to a close. Oppressed by mortal disease, she could scarcely attend to complicated arrangements for her son. She dictated and signed a short will, leaving him to the guardianship of his uncle. The dying Lucy received from her brother the promise of paternal care and affection for his nephew ; and from Angelo, that of filial compliance with his uncle's directions till he should be of age.

"God bless thee, my child!" said she in a failing voice ; " thy father and mother will watch over thee from a higher world." A few hours later, the gentle spirit had fled to join the beloved one who had preceded her.

Chapter III

A FORETASTE OF LIFE. Passionate, deep, and lasting was the grief of Angelo for the loss of his mother. But " the strong hours conquer man," says Schiller's Wallcnstein ; and of course a boy docs not resist the mighty influence. Sorrow falls upon youth like snow upon the ten der blade in early spring, bending beneath the chilling mantle which, by degrees, melts before the breath of spring, and the young green shoots rise the more rich and vigorous from the moistened soil. The first feeling which mingled soothingly with his anguish was the perception that it was shared strongly, though silently, by his uncle. The sympathy of bereavement drew together, and formed a tie between the youth and the man. filling up the gap of years. And thus it was that, some months after the sad event recorded in the end of our last chapter, Angelo submitted with good grace to his uncle's determination of sending him, with his own boy Walter, to Winchester School.

When first the plan had been started, the boy explained that his mother's intention had been other ; that she meant to take him to Genoa, and give him his education there ; and he urged that his mother's wishes should be carried out. Mr. Morestead, from his unfeigned respect for his sister's memory, listened to the state ment, and to the boy's pressing entreaties on the subject, with a patience which, under any other circumstances, he certainly would not have accorded to such ideas. He let his nephew go on without interruption, and then pondered a little. At last he said, " Well, ray poor dear sister may have had such a project — indeed, no doubt it was as you say ; still I do think that when she would have come to talk the matter over with me, I should have succeeded in making her change her mind."

Then again he con sidered, and presently went on : — ■" With all due deference to the supposed wishes of the departed, I cannot but think, Angelo, that I fulfil the duty she laid upon me in her last moments by doing for you what my judg ment clearly points out to lie best — that which I do for my own son. I could not answer it to my conscience not to give you the advantage of an English education. There is nothing like it, my boy ; it will make a man of you." Then he added, with some emotion in the intonation, " Besides, Angelo, you are all that remains to me of your mother, and I would fain not send you far from me." The lad w7as more touched by this feeling than by the preceding arguments, so he made no further opposition when his uncle clinched his discourse with, " Winchester is the light thing, depend upon it, my man."

Consequently, Angelo entered Winchester School at the end of the Easter holidays, six months after his mother's death. The ingenious reader need hardly be told, that a youth making his appearance among some scores of English boys, under such an outlandish name as Angelo Sanmartino, would inevitably become a target to be shot at by arrows from every quiver full of jokes and puns, good, bad, or indifferent. Angelo, however, kept his ground and his temper very well. He was not quite a novice in school ways, for be had begun his studies in Milan, and continued them in Piedmont, and he knew that the edge of such fun is soonest blunted by good humour, while any evidence of annoyance acts like a grindstone to a blade. Moreover, besides being some thing of a practical philosopher, our young hero reversed, in this case, the attributes of Falstaff, and was not only the cause of wit in others, but was himself witty ; and so quick. so inventive, so full of repartee, that his com panions felt themselves worsted at their own weapons, and soon let the subject of the name fall into oblivion.

In the meanwhile, the masters w7ere well pleased with him ; for his education had been by no means neglected, and it caused some surprise that a boy who had learned only in foreign schools, should be found on a par with those of his age bred at Winchester : his teachers put him into a tolerably ad vanced form, and he was soon looked upon as a promising pupil. So things went on very fairly with Angelo for a time. It happened, however, one day that he was shaping into a walking-stick a branch cut from a hazel-bush, and thereon carving various fanciful ornaments. For this purpose he was using a clasp-knife, the dar ling possession of most schoolboys. Unseen by the artist absorbed in his work, a knot of his companions stood at a little distance looking on and exchanging sundry winks, nods, and grins.

At length, one of the group, his class-fellow, John Brown, broke forth with — " I say, Sanmartino, is that the sort of knife the Italians carry about with them to stab their enemies ? " Angelo looked up, turned pale, then red, quietly closed his knife, and flung it from him ; rose, walked up to John Brown, and deliberately knocked him down, saying — " That is for insulting Italians and Italy." Of course there was a great hubbub, and a combat-royal took place according to all the rules of English boxing, with the due accompaniment of a ring and seconds, and black eyes and bloody noses. c John was taller, larger, broader of shoul der ; carried more weight than his opponent, besides being well skilled in the pugilistic science. It was evident to all connoisseurs that the chances of war were too unequal to allow a doubt of John's victory.