CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 BY ROBERT HERRICK
 
 

 
 NORMAL SfcHOOt 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALUX 
 
 U 
 -o 19 
 MAY 2 "."'' 
 
 DFC 
 
 JUN6 1945
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER
 
 IN SIMILAR FORM 
 
 16mo, Boards, net 50c. 
 
 Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews 
 The Perfect Tribute 
 The Lifted Bandage 
 The Courage of 
 
 the Commonplace 
 The Counsel Assigned 
 
 Maltbie Davenport Babcock 
 The Success of Defeat 
 
 Katharine Holland Brown 
 The Messenger 
 
 Richard Harding Davis 
 The Consul 
 The Boy Scout 
 
 Marion Harland 
 
 Looking Westward 
 
 Robert Herrick 
 
 The Master of the Inn 
 The Conscript Mother 
 
 [Frederick Land i a 
 
 The Angel of Lonesome Hill 
 
 Francis E. Leupp 
 
 A Day with Father 
 
 Alice Duer Miller 
 Things 
 
 Thomas Nelson Pale 
 
 The Stranger's Pew 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 A Christmas Sermon 
 Prayers Written at Vailima 
 Ma Triplex 
 Father Damicn 
 
 Isobel Strong 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 Henry van Dyke 
 
 School of Life 
 
 The Spirit of Christmas 
 
 The Sad Shepherd 
 
 The First Christmas Tree
 
 'Five minutes at the most I had with him there by the side 
 of the highroad. . . ." [Page 95
 
 THE 
 
 CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 BY 
 
 Robert Herrick 
 
 Author of " The Master of the Inn " 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Charles Scribner's Sons 
 1916 
 
 29383
 
 Copyright, 1916, by Charles Scribner's Sons 
 
 Published April, 1916
 
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 THE 
 
 CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 WHEN I met the signora at 
 the tram station that May 
 morning she was evidently 
 troubled about something which was 
 only partly explained by her mur 
 mured excuse, "a sleepless night." 
 We were to cross the Campagna to 
 one of the little towns in the Alba 
 nian hills, where young Maironi was 
 temporarily stationed with his regi 
 ment. If we had good luck and hap 
 pened upon an indulgent officer, the 
 mother might get sight of her boy 
 for a few minutes. All the way over 
 [i]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 the flowering Campagna, with the 
 blue hills swimming on the horizon 
 before us, the signora was unusually 
 taciturn, seemingly indifferent to the 
 beauty of the day, and the wonder 
 ful charm of the Italian spring, to 
 which she was always so lyrically re 
 sponsive on our excursions. When a 
 great dirigible rose into the blue air 
 above our heads, like a huge silver 
 fish, my companion gave a slight 
 start, and I divined what was in her 
 mind the imminence of war, which 
 had been threatening to engulf Italy 
 for many months. It was that fear 
 which had destroyed her customary 
 gayety, the indomitable cheerfulness 
 of the true Latin mother that she 
 was. 
 
 "It is coming," she sighed, glanc 
 ing up at the dirigible. "It will not 
 
 [2]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 be long now before we shall know 
 only a few days." 
 And to the ignorant optimism of 
 my protest she smiled sadly, with 
 the fatalism that women acquire in 
 countries of conscription. It was fu 
 tile to combat with mere theory and 
 logic this conviction of a mother's 
 heart. Probably the signora had over 
 heard some significant word which 
 to her sensitive intelligence was more 
 real, more positive than all the sub 
 tle reasonings at the Consulta. The 
 sphinx-like silence of ministers and 
 diplomats had not been broken : there 
 was nothing new in the "situation." 
 The newspapers were as wordily 
 empty of fact as ever. And yet this 
 morning for the first time Signora 
 Maironi seemed convinced against 
 her will that war was inevitable. 
 
 [3]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 These last days there had been a 
 similar change in the mood of the 
 Italian public, not to be fully ex 
 plained by any of the rumors flying 
 about Rome, by the sudden exodus 
 of Germans and Austrians, by any 
 thing other than that mysterious 
 sixth sense which enables humanity, 
 like wild animals, to apprehend un 
 known dangers. Those whose lives 
 and happiness are at stake seem to 
 divine before the blow falls what is 
 about to happen. . . . For the first 
 time I began to believe that Italy 
 might really plunge into the deep 
 gulf at which her people had so long 
 gazed in fascinated suspense. There 
 are secret signs in a country like 
 Italy, where much is hidden from 
 the stranger. Signora Maironi knew. 
 She pointed to some soldiers waiting 
 ' [4]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 at a station and observed: "They 
 have their marching-kit, and they 
 are going north!" 
 
 We talked of other things while the 
 tram crept far up above the Cam- 
 pagna and slowly circled the green 
 hillsides, until we got down at the 
 dirty little gray town of Genzano, 
 where Enrico Maironi's regiment had 
 been sent. There were no barracks. 
 The soldiers were quartered here 
 and there in old stone buildings. 
 We could see their boyish faces at 
 the windows and the gray uniform 
 of the granatieri in the courtyards. 
 It seemed a hopeless task to find the 
 signora's boy, until a young lieu 
 tenant to whom the mother ap 
 pealed offered to accompany us in 
 our search. He explained that the 
 [51
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 soldiers had to be kept shut up in 
 their quarters because they were 
 stoned by the inhabitants when they 
 appeared on the streets. They were 
 a tough lot up here in the hills, he 
 said, and they were against the war. 
 That was why, I gathered, the gren 
 adiers had been sent thither from 
 Rome, to suppress all "demonstra 
 tions" that might embarrass the 
 government at this moment. 
 
 The citizens of Genzano certainly 
 looked ugly. They were dirty and 
 poor, and scowled at the young offi 
 cer. The little town, for all its heav 
 enly situation, seemed dreary and 
 sad. The word "socialismo" scrawled 
 on the stone walls had been half 
 erased by the hand of authority. War 
 meant to these people more taxes and 
 fewer men to work the fields. . . . The 
 [61
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 young lieutenant liked to air his 
 French; smoking one of the few good 
 cigars I had left, he talked freely 
 while we waited for Enrico to emerge 
 from the monastery where we finally 
 located him. It would be war, of 
 course, he said. There was no other 
 way. Before it might have been 
 doubtful, but now that the Germans 
 had been found over in Tripoli and 
 German guns, too, what could one 
 do? Evidently the lieutenant wel 
 comed almost anything that would 
 take the grenadiers from Genzano! 
 Then Enrico came running out of 
 the great gate, as nice a looking lad 
 of nineteen as one could find any 
 where, even in his soiled and mussed 
 uniform, and Enrico had no false 
 shame about embracing his mother 
 in the presence of his officer and of
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 the comrades who were looking down 
 on us enviously from the windows 
 of the old monastery. The lieutenant 
 gave the boy three hours' liberty to 
 spend with us and, saluting politely, 
 went back to the post. 
 
 With Enrico between us we wan 
 dered up the hill toward the green 
 lake in the bowl of the ancient 
 crater. Signora Maironi kept tight 
 hold of her lad, purring over him in 
 French and Italian the more inti 
 mate things in Italian turning as 
 mothers will from endearment to 
 gentle scolding. Why did he not 
 keep himself tidier? Surely he had 
 the needles and thread his sister 
 Bianca had given him the last time 
 he was at home. And how was the 
 ear? Had he carried out the doc 
 tor's directions? Which it is need- 
 
 f8]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 less to say Enrico had not. The 
 signora explained to me that the 
 boy was in danger of losing the hear 
 ing of one ear because of the careless 
 treatment the regimental doctor had 
 given him when he had a cold. She 
 did not like to complain of the mili 
 tary authorities : of course they could 
 not bother with every little trouble 
 a soldier had in a time like this, but 
 the loss of his hearing would be a 
 serious handicap to the boy in earn 
 ing his living. . . . 
 
 It seemed that Enrico had not yet 
 breakfasted, and, although it was 
 only eleven, I insisted on putting 
 forward the movable feast of conti 
 nental breakfast, and we ordered 
 our colazione served in the empty 
 garden of the little inn above the 
 lake. While Enrico ate and discussed 
 [91
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 with me the prospects of war, the 
 signora looked the boy all over 
 again, feeling his shoulders beneath 
 the loose uniform to see whether he 
 had lost flesh after the thirty-mile 
 march from Rome under a hot sun. 
 It was much as an American mother 
 might examine her offspring after 
 his first week at boarding-school, 
 only more intense. And Enrico was 
 very much like a clean, hearty, lov 
 able schoolboy, delighted to be let 
 out from authority and to talk like 
 a man with another man. He was 
 confident Italy would be in the war 
 oh, very sure! And he nodded his 
 head at me importantly. His cap 
 tain was a capital fellow, really like 
 a father to the men, and the cap 
 tain had told them but he pulled 
 himself up suddenly. After all, I 
 [10]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 was a foreigner, and must not hear 
 what the captain had said. But he 
 let me know proudly that his regi 
 ment, the granatieri of Sardinia, had 
 received the promise that they would 
 be among the first to go to the front. 
 The mother's fond eyes contracted 
 slightly with pain. 
 
 After our breakfast Enrico took me 
 into the garden of the old monas 
 tery where other youthful grenadiers 
 were loafing on the grass under the 
 trees or writing letters on the rough 
 table among the remains of food. 
 Some of the squad had gone to the 
 lake for a swim; I could hear their 
 shouts and laughter far below. Pres 
 ently the signora, who had been 
 barred at the gate by the old Fran 
 ciscan, hurried down the shady path, 
 [ll]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "I told him," she explained, "that 
 he could just look the other way and 
 avoid sin. Then I slipped through 
 the door!" 
 
 So with her hand on her recap 
 tured boy we strolled through the 
 old gardens as far as the stable 
 where the soldiers slept. The floor 
 was littered with straw, which, with 
 an overcoat, Enrico assured me, 
 made a capital bed. The food was 
 good enough. They got four cents a 
 day, which did not go far to buy 
 cigarettes and postage-stamps, but 
 they would be paid ten cents a day 
 when they were at war ! . . . 
 
 At last we turned into the high 
 road arched with old trees that led 
 down to the tramway. Enrico's leave 
 was nearly over. All the glory of the 
 spring day poured forth from the 
 [12]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 flowering hedges, where bees hummed 
 and birds sang. Enrico gathered a 
 great bunch of yellow heather, which 
 his mother wanted to take home. 
 "Little Bianca will like it so much 
 when she hears her brother picked 
 it," she explained. "Bianca thinks he 
 is a hero already, the dear!" 
 
 When we reached the car-tracks 
 we sat on a mossy wall and chatted. 
 In a field across the road an old gray 
 mare stood looking steadfastly at 
 her small foal, which was asleep in 
 the high grass at her feet. The old 
 mare stood patiently for many min 
 utes without once cropping a bit of 
 grass, lowering her head occasionally 
 to sniff at the little colt. Her attitude 
 of absorbed contemplation, of per 
 fect satisfaction in her ungainly off 
 spring, made me laugh it was so 
 [131
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 exactly like the signora's. At last the 
 little fellow woke, got somehow on 
 his long legs, and shaking a scrubby 
 tail went gambolling off down the 
 pasture, enjoying his coltish world. 
 The old mare followed close behind 
 with eyes only for him. 
 
 "Look at him!" the signora ex 
 claimed, pointing to the ridiculous 
 foal. "How nice he is ! Oh, how beau 
 tiful youth always is !" 
 
 She looked up admiringly at her 
 tall, handsome Enrico, who had 
 just brought her another bunch of 
 heather. The birds were singing like 
 mad in the fields; some peasants 
 passed with their laden donkeys; 
 I smoked contemplatively, while 
 mother and son talked family gos 
 sip and the signora went all over 
 her boy again for the fourth time. 
 
 [14]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 . . . Yes, youth is beautiful, surely, 
 but there seemed something horri 
 bly pathetic about it all in spite of 
 the loveliness of the May morning. 
 
 The three hours came to an end. 
 Enrico rose and saluted me formally. 
 He was so glad to have seen me; I 
 was very good to bring his mother 
 all the way from Rome; and he and 
 the comrades would much enjoy my 
 excellent cigarettes. "A river derci!" 
 Then he turned to his mother and 
 without any self-consciousness bent 
 to her open arms. . . . 
 
 When the signora joined me far 
 ther down the road she was clear- 
 eyed but sombre. 
 
 "Can you understand," she said 
 softly, "how when I have him in 
 my arms and think of all I have 
 
 [15]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 done for him, his education, his long 
 sickness, all, all and what he means 
 to me and his father and little Bi- 
 anca and then I think how in one 
 moment it may all be over for al 
 ways, all that precious life O God 
 what are women made for ! . . . We 
 shall have to hurry, my friend, to 
 get to the station." 
 
 I glanced back once more at the 
 slim figure just going around the 
 bend of the road at a run, so as not 
 to exceed his leave a mere boy and 
 such a nice boy, with his brilliant, 
 eager eyes, so healthy and clean and 
 joyous, so affectionate, so completely 
 what any mother would adore. And 
 he might be going "up north" any 
 day now to fight the Austrians. 
 
 "Signora," I asked, "do you be 
 lieve in war?" 
 
 [16]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "They all say this war has to be," 
 she said dully. "Oh, I don't know! 
 ... It is a hard world to understand ! 
 ... I try to remember that I am only 
 one of hundreds of thousands of 
 Italian women. ... I hope I shall 
 see him once more before they take 
 him away. My God !" 
 
 That afternoon the expert who had 
 been sent to Rome by a foreign 
 newspaper to watch the critical situ 
 ation carefully put down his empty 
 teacup and pronounced his verdict: 
 'Yes, this time it looks to me 
 really like war. They have gone too 
 far to draw back. Some of them think 
 they are likely to get a good deal out 
 of the war with a small sacrifice 
 everybody likes a bargain, you know ! 
 . . . Then General Cadorna, they 
 
 [17]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 say, is a very ambitious man, and 
 this is his chance. A successful cam 
 paign would make him. . . . But I 
 don't know. It would be quite a 
 risk, quite a risk." 
 
 Yes, I thought, quite a risk for the 
 conscript mothers ! 
 
 II 
 
 The politician came to Rome and 
 delivered his prudent advice, and 
 the quiescent people began to growl, 
 ic ministers resigned: the public 
 growled more loudly. . . . During 
 tke turbulent week that followed, 
 while Italy still hesitated, I saw 
 Enrico Maironi a number of times. 
 Indeed, his frank young face with 
 the sparkling black eyes is mingled 
 with all my memories of those tense 
 
 [18] 

 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 days when the streets of Rome were 
 vocal with passionate crowds, when 
 soldiers barred the thoroughfares, 
 and no one knew whether there 
 would be war with Austria or revo 
 lution. 
 
 One night, having been turned out 
 of the Cafe Nazionale when the 
 troops cleared the Corso of the mob 
 that threatened the Austrian em 
 bassy, I wandered through the agi 
 tated city until I found myself in 
 the quarter where the Maironis lived, 
 and called at their little home to 
 hear if they had had news of the 
 boy. There was light in the dining- 
 room, though it was long past the 
 hour when even the irresponsible 
 Maironis took their irregular dinner. 
 As I entered I could see in the light 
 of the single candle three faces in- 
 
 [19]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 tently focussed on a fourth En 
 rico's, with a preoccupation that 
 my arrival scarcely disturbed. They 
 made me sit down and hospitably 
 opened a fresh bottle of wine. The 
 boy had just arrived unexpectedly, 
 his regiment having been recalled to 
 Rome that afternoon. He was travel- 
 stained, with a button off his mili 
 tary coat which his sister was sewing 
 on while he ate. He looked tired but 
 excited, and his brilliant eyes lighted 
 with welcome as he accepted one of 
 my Turkish cigarettes with the air 
 of a young worldling and observed: 
 'You see, it is coming sooner 
 than we expected !" 
 
 There was a note of boyish tri 
 umph in his voice as he went on to 
 explain again for my benefit how 
 his captain a really good fellow 
 
 [20]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 though a bit severe in little things 
 
 had let him off for the evening to 
 see his family. He spoke of his officer 
 exactly as my own boy might speak 
 of some approved schoolmaster. Si- 
 gnor Maironi, who in his post at the 
 war office heard things before they 
 got into the street, looked very 
 grave and said little. 
 
 : 'You are glad to have him back 
 in Rome, at any rate !" I said to the 
 signora. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders expres 
 sively. 
 
 "Rome is the first step on a long 
 journey," she replied sombrely. 
 
 The silent tensity of the father's 
 gaze, fastened on his boy, became 
 unbearable. I followed the signora, 
 who had strolled through the open 
 door to the little terrace and stood 
 
 [21]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 looking blankly into the night. Far 
 away, somewhere in the city, rose a 
 clamor of shouting people, and swift 
 footsteps hurried past in the street. 
 
 "It will kill his father, if anything 
 happens to him!" she said slowly, 
 as if she knew herself to be the 
 stronger. 'You see he chose the 
 grenadiers for Enrico because that 
 regiment almost never leaves Rome: 
 it stays with the King. And now the 
 King is going to the front, they say 
 -it will be the first of all !" 
 
 "I see!" 
 
 : ' To-night may be his last time at 
 home." 
 
 "Perhaps," I said, seeking for the 
 futile crumb of comfort, "they will 
 take Giolitti's advice, and there will 
 be no war." 
 
 Enrico, who had followed us from 
 
 [22]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 the dining-room, caught the remark 
 and cried with youthful conviction: 
 : 'That Giolitti is a traitor he has 
 been bought by the Germans !" 
 
 "Giolitti!" little Bianca echoed 
 scornfully, arching her black brows. 
 Evidently the politician had lost his 
 popularity among the youth of Italy. 
 Within the dining-room I could see 
 the father sitting alone beside the 
 candle, his face buried in his hands. 
 Bianca caressed her brother's shoul 
 der with her cheeks. 
 
 "I am going, too!" she said tome 
 with a little smile. "I shall join the 
 Red Cross I begin my training 
 to-morrow, eh, mamma mia ? " And 
 she threw a glance of childish defi 
 ance at the signora. 
 
 "Little Bianca is growing up fast !" 
 I laughed. 
 
 [23]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "They take them all except the 
 cripples," the signora commented 
 bitterly, "even the girls!" 
 
 "But I am a woman," Bianca pro 
 tested, drawing away from Enrico 
 and raising her pretty head. "I shall 
 get the hospital training and go up 
 north, too to be near 'Rico." 
 
 Something surely had come to the 
 youth of this country when girls 
 like Bianca Maironi spoke with such 
 assurance of going forth from the 
 home into the unknown. 
 
 "Sicuro!" She nodded her head 
 to emphasize what I suspected had 
 been a moot point between mother 
 and daughter. The signora looked 
 inscrutably at the girl for a little 
 while, then said quietly: "It's 'most 
 ten, Enrico." 
 
 The boy unclasped Bianca's tight 
 
 [24]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 little hands, kissed his mother and 
 father, gave me the military salute 
 . . . and we could hear him running 
 fast down the street. The signora 
 blew out the sputtering candle and 
 closed the door. 
 
 "I am going, too!" Bianca ex 
 claimed. 
 
 The poet was coming to Rome. 
 After the politician, close on his 
 heels, the poet, fresh from his tri 
 umph at the celebration of Quarto, 
 where with his flaming allegory he 
 had stirred the youth of Italy to 
 their depths ! A few henchmen, wait 
 ing for the leader's word, had met 
 Giolitti; all Rome, it seemed to 
 me, was turning out to greet the 
 poet. They had poured into the 
 great square before the terminus 
 
 [25]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 station from every quarter. The 
 packed throng reached from the 
 dark walls of the ancient baths 
 around the splashing fountain, into 
 the radiating avenues, and up to the 
 portico of the station itself, which 
 was black with human figures. It 
 was a quiet, orderly, well-dressed 
 crowd that swayed back and forth, 
 waiting patiently hour after hour 
 the train was very late to see the 
 poet's face, to hear, perhaps, his 
 word of courage for which it thirsted. 
 There were soldiers everywhere, as 
 usual. I looked in vain for the fa 
 miliar uniform of the granatieri, but 
 the gray -coated boyish figures seemed 
 all alike. In the midst of the press 
 I saw the signora and Bianca, whose 
 eyes were also wandering after the 
 soldiers. 
 
 [26]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "You came to welcome D'Annun- 
 zio?" I queried, knowing the good 
 woman's prejudices. 
 
 "Him!" the signora retorted with 
 curling lip. "Bianca brought me." 
 
 : 'Yes, we have been to the Red 
 Cross," the girl flashed. 
 
 "Rome welcomes the poet as though 
 he were royalty," I remarked, stand 
 ing on tiptoe to sweep with a glance 
 the immense crowd. 
 
 "He will not go to the front he 
 will just talk!" 
 
 "Enrico is here somewhere," Bi- 
 anca explained. "They told us so at 
 the barracks. We have looked all 
 about and mamma has asked so 
 many officers. We haven't seen him 
 since that first night. He has been 
 on duty all day in the streets, doing 
 pichett 'armato, ... I wish Giolitti 
 
 [27]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 would go back home. If he doesn't 
 go soon, he'll find out!" 
 
 Her white teeth came together 
 grimly, and she made a significant 
 little gesture with her hand. 
 
 1 ' Where's mamma ? " 
 
 The signora had caught sight of 
 another promising uniform and was 
 talking with the kindly officer who 
 wore it. 
 
 "His company is inside the sta 
 tion," she explained when she re 
 joined us, "and we can never get 
 in there ! " 
 
 She would have left if Bianca had 
 not restrained her. The girl wanted 
 to see the poet. Presently the night 
 began to fall, the still odorous May 
 night of Rome. The big arc-lamps 
 shone down upon the crowded faces. 
 Suddenly there was a forward sway- 
 [28]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 ing, shouts and cheers from the sta 
 tion. A little man's figure was being 
 carried above the eager crowd. Then 
 a motor bellowed for free passage 
 through the human mass. A wave of 
 song burst from thousands of throats, 
 Mameli's "L'Inno." A little gray face 
 passed swiftly. The poet had come 
 and gone. 
 
 "Come !" Bianca exclaimed, taking 
 my hand firmly and pulling the si- 
 gnora on the other side. And she hur 
 ried us on with the streaming crowd 
 through lighted streets toward the 
 Pincian hill, in the wake of the poet's 
 car. The crowd had melted from 
 about the station and was pouring 
 into the Via Veneto. About the lit 
 tle fountain of the Tritone it had 
 massed again, but persistent Bianca 
 squirmed through the yielding fig- 
 
 [29]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 ures, dragging us with her until we 
 were wedged tight in the mass 
 nearly opposite the Queen Mother's 
 palace, 
 
 The vast multitude that reached 
 into the shadow of the night were 
 cheering and singing. Their shouts 
 and songs must have reached even 
 the ears of the German ambassador 
 at the Villa Malta a few blocks 
 away. The signora had forgotten her 
 grenadier, her dislike of the poet, and 
 for the moment was caught up in 
 the emotion of the crowd. Bianca 
 was singing the familiar hymn. . . . 
 Suddenly there was a hush; light 
 fell upon the upturned faces from an 
 opened window on a balcony in the 
 Hotel Regina. The poet stood forth 
 in the band of yellow light and 
 looked down upon the dense throng 
 
 [301
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 beneath. In the stillness his words 
 began to fall, very slowly, very 
 clearly, as if each was a graven mes 
 sage for his people. And the Roman 
 youth all about me swayed and 
 sighed, seizing each colored word, 
 divining its heroic symbol, drinking 
 thirstily the ardor of the poet. 
 
 "The light has not wholly gone 
 from the Aurelian wall . . . fifty 
 years ago at this hour the leader of 
 the Thousand and his heroic com 
 pany . . . We will not be a museum, 
 an inn, a water-color in Prussian 
 blue ! . . ." 
 
 The double line of soldiers behind 
 us had forgotten their formation 
 and were pressing forward to catch 
 each word. The signora was gazing 
 at the man with fascinated eyes. 
 Bianca's little hand tightened un- 
 
 [31]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 consciously on mine, and her lips 
 parted in a smile. The poet's words 
 were falling into her eager heart. 
 He was speaking for her, for all the 
 ardent youth of Italy: 
 
 " Viva I Viva Roma senza onta ! 
 Viva la grande e pur a Italia I . . ." 
 
 The voice ceased: for one moment 
 there was complete silence; then a 
 cheer that was half a sigh broke 
 from the crowd. But the blade of 
 light faded, the poet was gone. 
 When at last I got the Maironis 
 into a cab there were bright tears 
 in Bianca's eyes and the mother's 
 face was troubled. 
 
 "Perhaps it has to be," the signora 
 murmured. 
 
 "Of course !" Bianca echoed sharp 
 ly, raising her little head defiantly. 
 "What else could Italy do?" 
 
 [32]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 The streets were rapidly empty 
 ing. Some companies of infantry 
 that had been policing the city all 
 day marched wearily past. Bianca 
 jumped up quickly. 
 
 "They're granatieri I And there's 
 'Rico's captain !" 
 
 The sympathetic cab-driver pulled 
 up his horse while the soldiers 
 tramped by. 
 
 " 'Rico, 'Rico ! " the girl called softly 
 to the soldiers. 
 
 A hand went up, and the boy gave 
 us a luminous smile as his file swung 
 past. 
 
 "I have seen him again!" the 
 mother said hungrily. 
 
 The poet spoke the next day, and 
 the next, to the restless people who 
 waited hour after hour in the street 
 
 [33]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 before his hotel. Having found its 
 voice a voice that revealed its in 
 ner heart young Italy clamored for 
 action. The fret of Rome grew 
 louder hourly; soldiers cordoned the 
 main streets, while Giolitti waited, 
 the ambassadors flitted back and 
 forth to the Consulta, the King took 
 counsel with his advisers. I looked 
 for young Maironi's face among 
 the lines of troops barring passage 
 through the streets. It seemed as 
 if he might be called at any mo 
 ment to do his soldier's duty here 
 in Rome ! 
 
 All day long and half the night the 
 cavalry stood motionless before the 
 Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, 
 ready to clear away the mobs that 
 prowled about the corner of Via 
 Cavour, where Giolitti lived. Once 
 
 [34]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 they charged. It was the night the 
 poet appeared at the Costanzi The 
 atre. The narrow street was full of 
 shouting people as I drove to the 
 theatre with the Maironis. Suddenly 
 there was the ugly sound of horses' 
 feet on concrete walks, shrieks and 
 wild rushes for safety in doorways 
 and alleys. As our cab whisked 
 safely around a corner the cavalry 
 came dashing past, their hairy plumes 
 streaming out from the metal hel 
 mets, their ugly swords high in the 
 air. The signora's face paled. Per 
 haps she was thinking, as I was, 
 that there might be one thing worse 
 than war with Austria, and that 
 would be revolution. Bianca ex 
 claimed scornfully: 
 
 "They had better be fighting Italy's 
 enemies !" 
 
 [351
 
 "They are not yet enemies," I 
 ventured. 
 
 She gave a little shrug of her 
 shoulders. 
 
 : 'They will be to-morrow!" 
 
 The fever within the vast audi 
 torium seemed to bear out the girl's 
 words. Here was no "rabble of the 
 piazza," to repeat the German am 
 bassador's sneer, but well-to-do Ro 
 man citizens. For three hours they 
 shouted their hatred of Teuton, sang 
 patriotic hymns, cried defiance of 
 the politician Giolitti, who would 
 keep the nation safely bound in its 
 old alliance. "Fuori i barbari ! . . . 
 Giolitti traditore ! " One grizzled Ro 
 man hurled in my ears: "I'll drink 
 his blood, the traitor!" 
 
 When the little poet entered his 
 flower- wreathed box every one 
 
 [36]
 
 cheered and waved to him. He stood 
 looking down on the passionate hu 
 man sea beneath him, then slowly 
 plucked the red flowers from a great 
 bunch of carnations that some one 
 handed him and threw them one by 
 one far out into the cheering throng. 
 One floated downward straight into 
 Bianca's eager hand. She snatched 
 it, kissed the flower, and looked up 
 ward into the poet's smiling face. . . . 
 He recited the suppressed stanzas 
 of a war-poem, the slow, rhythmic 
 lines falling like the red flowers into 
 eager hearts. The signora was stand 
 ing on her seat beside Bianca, clasp 
 ing her arm, and tears gathered 
 slowly in her large, wistful eyes, 
 tears of pride and sadness. . . . Out 
 in the still night once more from 
 that storm of passion we walked on 
 
 [37]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 silently through empty streets. "He 
 believes it he is right," the signora 
 sighed. "Italy also must do her 
 part!" 
 
 "Of course," Bianca said quickly, 
 "and she will ! . . . See there !" 
 
 The girl pointed to a heap of stones 
 freshly upturned in the street. It 
 was the first barricade. 
 
 "Our soldiers must not fight each 
 other," she said gravely, and glanced 
 again over her shoulder at the bar 
 ricade. . . . 
 
 In front of Santa Maria the tired 
 cavalry sat their horses, and a double 
 line of infantry was drawn across the 
 Via Cavour before the Giolitti home. 
 The boys were slouching over their 
 rifles; evidently, whatever play there 
 had been in this picket duty had 
 gone out of it. Suddenly Bianca and 
 
 [38]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 her mother ran down the line. "Mai- 
 roni, Maironi !" I heard some of the 
 soldiers calling softly, and there was 
 a shuffle in the ranks. Enrico was 
 shoved forward to the front in com 
 radely fashion. Mother and sister 
 chatted with the boy, and presently 
 Bianca came dashing back. 
 
 "They haven't had anything to eat 
 all day!" 
 
 We found a cafe still open and 
 loaded ourselves with rolls, choco 
 late, and cigarettes, which Bianca 
 distributed to the weary soldiers 
 while the young lieutenant tactfully 
 strolled to the other end of the line. 
 
 "To think of keeping them here 
 all day without food!" the signora 
 grumbled as we turned away. The 
 boys, shoving their gifts into pockets 
 and mouths, straightened up as their 
 
 [39]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 officer came back down the line. 
 : 'They might as well be at war," 
 the signora continued. 
 
 When I returned to my hotel 
 through the silent streets the grana- 
 tieri had gone from their post, but 
 the horsemen were still sitting their 
 sleeping mounts before the old 
 church. Their vigil would be all 
 night. 
 
 The nation's crisis had come and 
 passed. We did not know it, but it 
 was marked by those little piles of 
 stones in the Via Viminale. The dis 
 turber Giolitti had fled overnight at 
 the . invitation of the government, 
 which now knew itself to be strong 
 enough to do what it would. And 
 thereafter events moved more swift 
 ly. Rome was once more calm. The 
 
 [40]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 people gathered again by the hun 
 dreds of thousands, but peacefully, 
 in the spirit of concord, in the Pi 
 azza del Popolo and in the Campi- 
 doglio. Their will had prevailed, they 
 had found themselves. A great need 
 of reconciliation, of union of all 
 spirits, was expressed in these meet 
 ings, under the soft spring sky, in 
 spots consecrated by ancient memo 
 ries of greatness. 
 
 In the crowd that filled the little 
 piazza, of the Campidoglio to the 
 brim and ran down into the old 
 lanes that led to the Forum and the 
 city I met Signora Maironi once 
 more. She had not come thither to 
 find her boy soldiers were no longer 
 needed to keep the Romans from 
 violence. She came in the hungry 
 need to fill her heart with belief and 
 
 [41]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 confidence, to strengthen herself for 
 sacrifice. 
 
 "We haven't seen Enrico since that 
 night on the streets. He is kept 
 ready in the barracks unless he has 
 been sent away already. . . . But he 
 said he would let us know !" 
 
 A procession with the flags of Italy 
 and of the desired provinces mounted 
 the long flight of steps above us, 
 and the syndic of Rome, the Prince 
 Colonna, came out from the open 
 door and fronted the mass of citi 
 zens. 
 
 "He is going, and his sons!" the 
 signora whispered. "He is a fine 
 man!" The prince looked gravely 
 over the upturned faces as if he 
 would speak; then refrained, as 
 though the moment were too solemn 
 for further words. He stood there 
 
 [42]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 looking singularly like the grave 
 portraits of Roman fathers in the 
 museum near by, strong, stern, re 
 solved. The evening breeze lifted the 
 cluster of flags and waved them vig 
 orously. Little fleecy clouds floated 
 in the blue sky above the AraCoeli 
 Church. There were no shouts, no 
 songs. These were men and women 
 from the working classes of the 
 neighboring quarter of old Rome 
 who were giving their sons and hus 
 bands to the nation, and felt the so 
 lemnity of the occasion. 
 
 "Let us go," the Prince Colonna 
 said solemnly, "to the Quirinal to 
 meet our King." 
 
 As we turned down the hill we 
 could see the long black stream al 
 ready flowing through the narrow 
 passages out into the square before 
 
 [43]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 the great marble monument. It was 
 a silent, spontaneous march of the 
 people to their leader. The blooming 
 roses in the windows and on the ter 
 races above gayly flamed against 
 the dark walls of the old houses 
 along the route. But the hurrying 
 crowd did not look up. Its mood was 
 sternly serious. It did not turn aside 
 as we neared the palace of the 
 enemy's ambassador. The time was 
 past for such childish demonstra 
 tions. 
 
 "If only we might go instead, we 
 older ones," the signora said sadly, 
 "not the children. . . . Life means so 
 much more to them !" 
 
 We reached the Quirinal hill as the 
 setting sun flooded all Rome from 
 the ridge of the Janiculum. The pi 
 azza was already crowded and at the 
 
 [44]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 Consulta opposite the royal palace, 
 where, even at this eleventh hour, 
 the ambassadors were vainly offer 
 ing last inducements, favored spec 
 tators rilled the windows. It was a 
 peculiarly quiet, solemn scene. No 
 speeches, no cheers, no songs. It 
 seemed as if the signora's last words 
 were in every mind. : 'They say," 
 she remarked sadly, "that it will 
 take a great many lives to carry 
 those strong mountain positions, 
 many thousands each month, thou 
 sands and thousands of boys. . . . 
 All those mothers !" 
 
 At that moment the window on 
 the balcony above the entrance to 
 the palace was flung open, and two 
 lackeys brought out a red cloth 
 which they hung over the stone bal 
 ustrade. Then the King and Queen, 
 
 [45]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 followed by the little prince and his 
 sister, stepped forth and stood above 
 us, looking down into the crowded 
 faces. The King bowed his head to 
 the cheers that greeted him from 
 his people, but his serious face did 
 not relax. He looked worn, old. Per 
 haps he, too, was thinking of those 
 thousands of lives that must be 
 spent each month to unlock the Al 
 pine passes which for forty years 
 Austria had been fortifying ! . . . He 
 bowed again in response to the 
 hearty cries of Viva il Re I The Queen 
 bowed. The little black-haired prince 
 by his father's side looked steadily 
 down into the faces. He, too, seemed 
 to understand what it meant that 
 these days his father's throne had 
 been put into the stake for which 
 Italy was to fight, that his people 
 
 [461
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 had cast all on the throw of this war. 
 No smile, no boyish elation, relieved 
 the serious little face. 
 
 "Why does he not speak?" the 
 signora murmured, as if her aching 
 heart demanded a word of courage 
 from her King. 
 
 "It is not yet the time," I sug 
 gested, nodding to the Consul ta. 
 
 The King cried, "Viva Italia /" 
 then withdrew from the balcony 
 with his family. 
 
 "Viva Italia!'" It was a prayer, a 
 hope, spoken from the heart, and it 
 was received silently by the throng. 
 Yes, might the God of battles pre 
 serve Italy, all the beauty and the 
 glory that the dying sun was bath 
 ing in its golden flood ! . . . 
 
 Signora Maironi hurried through 
 the crowded street at a nervous pace. 
 
 [47]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "I do not like to be long away 
 from home," she explained. "'Rico 
 may come and go for the last time 
 while I am out." 
 
 We had no sooner entered the door 
 of the house than the mother said: 
 "Yes, he's here!" 
 
 The boy was sitting in the little 
 dining-room, drinking a glass of 
 wine, his father on one side, his 
 sister on the other. He seemed much 
 excited. 
 
 "We leave in the morning!" he 
 said. 
 
 There was an exultant ring in his 
 voice, a flash in his black eyes. 
 
 "Where for?" I asked. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "They never tell to the front 
 somewhere ! . . . See my stripes. 
 They have made me bicyclist for 
 
 [48]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 the battalion. I've got a machine to 
 ride now. I shall carry orders, you 
 know!" 
 
 His laugh was broken by a cough. 
 
 "Ugh, this nasty cold that comes 
 from Messer Giolitti too much 
 night- work no more of that! The 
 rat!" 
 
 I glanced at the signora. 
 
 "Have you all his things ready, 
 Bianca?" she asked calmly. "The 
 cheese and the cake and his 
 clothes?" 
 
 "Everything," the little girl re 
 plied quickly. "'Rico says we can't 
 come to see him off." 
 
 The mother looked inquiringly at 
 the boy. 
 
 "It's no use trying. Nobody knows 
 where or when," he explained. "They 
 don't want a lot of mothers and sis- 
 No]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 ters fussing over the men," he added 
 teasingly. 
 
 Little Bianca told me how she and 
 her mother slipped past all the sen 
 tinels at the station the next morn 
 ing and ran along the embankment 
 outside the railroad yards where the 
 long line of cattle-cars packed with 
 soldiers was waiting. 
 
 ''They know us pretty well in the 
 regiment by this time," she laughed. 
 "I heard them say as we ran along 
 the cars looking for 'Rico, ' See ! 
 There's Maironi's mother and the 
 little Maironi ! Of course, they would 
 come somehow ! ' . . . We gave them 
 the roses you brought yesterday 
 you don't mind? They loved them 
 so and said such nice things." Bi 
 anca paused to laugh and blush at 
 
 [50]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 the pretty speeches which the sol 
 diers had made, then ran on: "Poor 
 boys, they'll soon be where they 
 can't get flowers and cakes. . . . Then 
 we found 'Rico at last and gave him 
 the things just as the train started. 
 He was so glad to see us ! Poor 'Rico 
 had such a cough, and he looked 
 quite badly; he doesn't know how 
 to take care of himself. Mother is 
 always scolding him for being so 
 careless boys are all like that, you 
 know ! . . . There was such a noise ! 
 We ran along beside the train, oh, a 
 long way, until we came to a deep 
 ditch we couldn't jump that! And 
 they cheered us, all the soldiers in the 
 cars; they looked so queer, jammed 
 in the cattle-cars with the straw, just 
 like the horses. Enrico's captain gave 
 us a salute, too. I wonder where 
 
 [51]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 they are now." She paused in her 
 rapid talk for a sombre moment, then 
 began excitedly: "Don't you want 
 to see my Red Cross dress? It's so 
 pretty ! I have just got it." 
 
 She ran up-stairs to put on her 
 nurse's uniform; presently the sig- 
 nora came into the room. She was 
 dressed all in black and her face was 
 very pale. She nodded and spoke in 
 a dull, lifeless voice. 
 
 "Bianca told you? He wanted me 
 to thank you for the cigarettes. He 
 was not very well he was suffering, 
 I could see that." 
 
 "Nothing worse than a cold," I 
 suggested. 
 
 "I must see him again !" she cried 
 suddenly, passionately, "just once, 
 once more before " Her voice died 
 out in a whisper. Bianca, who had 
 
 [52]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 come back in her little white dress, 
 took up the signora's unfinished sen 
 tence with a frown: 
 
 "Of course, we shall see him again, 
 mamma ! Didn't he promise to write 
 us where they sent him ? " She turned 
 to me, impetuous, demanding, true 
 little woman of her race. "You know, 
 I shall go up north, too-, to one of 
 the hospitals, and mamma will go 
 with me. Then we'll find Enrico. 
 Won't we, mother?" 
 
 But the signora's miserable eyes 
 seemed far away, as if they were 
 following that slowly moving train 
 of cattle-cars packed with boyish 
 faces. She fingered unseeingly the 
 arm of Bianca's dress with its cross 
 of blood-red. At last, with a long 
 sigh, she brought herself back to 
 the present. Was I ready for an 
 
 [53]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 Italian lesson? We might as well 
 lose no more time. She patted Bi- 
 anca and pushed her gently away. 
 "Run along and take off that ter 
 rible dress!" she said irritably. Bi- 
 anca, with a little, discontented ges 
 ture and appreciative pat to the 
 folds of her neat costume, left us 
 alone. "She thinks of nothing but 
 this war!" the signora exclaimed. 
 : 'The girls are as bad as the men !" 
 
 "Is it not quite natural?" 
 
 We began on the verbs, but the 
 signora's mind, usually so vivacious, 
 was not on the lesson. It was still 
 with that slow troop-train on its 
 way to the frontier. 
 
 :< You are too tired," I suggested. 
 
 "No, but I can't stay in here let 
 us go into the city." 
 
 Rome seemed curiously lifeless and 
 
 [54]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 dead after all the passionate move 
 ment of the past week. It was empty, 
 too. All the troops that had filled 
 the seething streets had departed 
 overnight, and the turbulent citi 
 zens had vanished. The city, like the 
 heart of Italy, was in suspense, 
 waiting for the final word which 
 meant war. 
 
 : 'You will not stay here much 
 longer, I suppose ?" the signora ques 
 tioned. 
 
 "I suppose not." Life seemed to 
 have flowed out of this imperial 
 Rome, with all its loveliness, in the 
 wake of the troop-trains. 
 
 "If I could only go, too ! ... If we 
 knew where he was to be !" 
 
 ''You will know and you will fol 
 low with Bianca." 
 
 "I would go into battle itself to 
 
 [55]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 see 'Rico once more!" the poor 
 woman moaned. 
 
 "There will be lots of time yet be 
 fore the battles begin," I replied 
 with lying comfort. 
 
 :4 You think so! ... War is very 
 terrible for those who have to stay 
 behind." 
 
 m 
 
 In obedience to Signora Maironi's 
 mysterious telegram, I waited out 
 side the railroad station in Venice 
 for the arrival of the night express 
 from Rome, which was very late. The 
 previous day I had taken the pre 
 caution to attach to me old Giu 
 seppe, one of the two boatmen now 
 left at the traghetto near my hotel, 
 all the younger men having been 
 called out. There were few forestieri, 
 
 [56]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 and Giuseppe was thankful to have 
 a real signore, whom he faithfully 
 protected from the suspicious and 
 hostile glances of the Venetians. 
 Every stranger, I found, had be 
 come an Austrian spy ! Giuseppe was 
 now busily tidying up his ancient 
 gondola, exchanging jokes with the 
 soldiers in the laden barks which 
 passed along the canal. Occasionally 
 a fast motor-boat threw up a long 
 wave as it dashed by on an errand 
 with some officer in the stern. All 
 Venice, relieved of tourists, was 
 bustling with soldiers and sailors. 
 Gray torpedo-boats lay about the 
 piazzetta, and Red Cross flags waved 
 from empty palaces. Yet there was 
 no war. 
 
 "Giuseppe," I asked, "do you think 
 there will be any war?" 
 [57]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "Sicuro!" the old man replied, 
 straightening himself and pointing 
 significantly with his thumb to a 
 passing bargeful of soldiers. "They 
 are on the way." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Who knows? . . . The mountains," 
 and he indicated the north with his 
 head. "I have two sons they have 
 gone." 
 
 "And Italy will win?" I continued 
 idly. 
 
 "Sicwro/" came the reply reassur 
 ingly, "ma /" 
 
 And in that expressive "ma" I 
 might read all the anxiety, the fears 
 of Italy. 
 
 At last the signora came, dressed 
 in the same black she had worn the 
 day Enrico had left Rome. In her 
 hand she carried a little bag. She 
 
 [58]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 gave me a timid smile as Giuseppe 
 settled her under the felza. 
 
 : 'You were surprised at the tele- 
 
 *\ ? 
 gram : 
 
 "A little," I confessed. 
 
 "I had to come," she sighed as the 
 gondola pushed into the narrow, tor 
 tuous canal that led back to the 
 piazza. 
 
 "What news from Enrico?" 
 
 "Nothing ! Not a word ! . . . That's 
 why I came." 
 
 "It's only been a week the mails 
 are slow," I suggested. 
 
 "I could stand it no longer. You will 
 think me mad. I mean to find him !" 
 
 "But how where?" I demanded 
 in bewilderment. 
 
 "That's what I must discover here." 
 
 "In Venice!" 
 
 "Somebody must know! Oh, I see 
 
 [59]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 what you think I am out of my 
 head. . . . Perhaps I am ! Sitting there 
 in the house day after day thinking, 
 thinking and the poor boy was so 
 miserable that last morning he was 
 too sick." 
 
 " Surely you must have some plan ? " 
 "An officer on the train last night 
 a major going up there to join his 
 regiment he was very kind to me, 
 lent me his coat to keep me warm, 
 it was so cold. He is a well-known 
 doctor in Rome. Here, I have his 
 card in my sack somewhere. . . . He 
 says it's a matter of hours now be 
 fore they begin." 
 
 "Well," I said, in a pause, hoping 
 to bring the signora's mind back to 
 the starting-point. "What has the 
 major to do with your finding En 
 rico?" 
 
 [60]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "He told me to inquire at Mestre 
 or here where Enrico's train had 
 been sent. . . . They wouldn't tell me 
 anything at the railroad station in 
 Mestre. So I must find out here," 
 she ended inconsequentially. 
 
 "Here in Venice? But they won't 
 tell you a thing even if they know. 
 You had a better chance in Rome." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No, they wouldn't tell his father 
 he tried to find out." 
 
 "And you couldn't get north of 
 Mestre. It's all military zone now, 
 you know." 
 
 "Is it?" she answered vacantly. "I 
 had to come," she repeated like a 
 child, "and I feel better already 
 I'm so much nearer him. . . . Don't 
 you really think I can get to see him 
 for a few minutes?" 
 
 [61]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 I spent a futile hour, while Giu 
 seppe pushed us languidly through 
 the gray lagoons, trying to convince 
 Signora Maironi that her search for 
 the boy was worse than useless, 
 might easily land her in prison should 
 she attempt to penetrate the lines. 
 At the end she merely remarked: 
 
 "Rico expects me he said that 
 last night, 'You will come up north 
 to see me, mother, before war is de 
 clared.'" 
 
 Thereat I began again at the be 
 ginning and tried more urgently to 
 distract the signora from her pur 
 pose. 
 
 "You might be locked up as a 
 spy !" I concluded. 
 
 "But I am an Italian woman an 
 Italian mother!" she cried indig 
 nantly. 
 
 [621
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 Giuseppe nodded sympathetically 
 over his long sweep and murmured 
 something like " Evero /" It ended 
 by my asking the old fellow if he 
 knew where the office of the Vene 
 tian commandant was. 
 
 "Sicuro!" the old man laughed, 
 waving a hand negligently toward 
 the Zattere. So we headed there. I 
 thought that an hour or two spent 
 in vainly trying to see the busy 
 gentleman in command of Venice 
 would probably do more than any 
 thing else to convince Signora Mai- 
 roni of the futility of her quest. As 
 I helped her to the quay from the 
 gondola in front of the old convent 
 which was now the military head 
 quarters, she said gently, apologeti 
 cally: "Don't be so cross with me, 
 signor ! Think merely that I am an 
 
 [631
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 old woman and a mother with a son 
 about to fight for his country." 
 
 I saw her disappear within the gate 
 after being questioned by the sen 
 tinel; then Giuseppe and I waited in 
 the shadow of an interned German 
 steamship one, two, almost three 
 hours, until the sun had set the 
 marble front of the Ducal Palace 
 aflame with a flood of gold. Then I 
 heard Giuseppe murmuring trium 
 phantly, "Ecco! la rignora I" The 
 little black figure was waiting for us 
 by the steps, a contented smile on 
 her lips. 
 
 "Have I been long?" she asked. 
 
 "It makes no difference, if you have 
 found out something. Did you see 
 the commandant ? " 
 
 She nodded her head in a pleased 
 manner. 
 
 [64]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "I thought I should never get to 
 him there were so many officers 
 and sentinels, and they all tried to 
 turn me off. But I wouldn't go ! It 
 takes a great deal to discourage a 
 mother who wants to see her son." 
 
 "And he told you?" I asked impa 
 tiently. 
 
 "Heavens, how lovely the day is !" 
 the signora remarked with her pro 
 voking inconsequentiality. "Let us 
 go out to the Lido ! Maybe we can 
 find a fisherman's osteria at San 
 Nicolo where we can get supper un 
 der the trees." 
 
 The gondola headed seaward in the 
 golden light. 
 
 "It will be a terrible war," the si 
 gnora began presently. "They know 
 it. ... The commandant talked with 
 me a long time after I got to him, 
 
 [65]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 while others waited. . . . There are 
 many spies here in Venice, he told 
 me Austrians who are hidden in 
 the city. . . . He was such a gentle 
 man, so patient with me and kind. 
 . . . Do you know, I wept yes, cried 
 like a great fool ! When he told me 
 I must return and wait for news in 
 Rome, and I thought of that long 
 ride back without seeing my sick 
 boy I just couldn't help it I cried. 
 . . . He was very kind." 
 
 In the end the facts came out, as 
 they always did with the signora, 
 in her own casual fashion. The mili 
 tary commander of Venice, evidently, 
 was a kind, fatherly sort of officer, 
 with sons of his own in the army, as 
 he had told the signora. After giving 
 the distracted mother the only sound 
 advice he could give her to resign 
 
 [66]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 herself to waiting for news of her son 
 by the uncertain mails he had let 
 fall significantly, "But if you should 
 persist in your mad idea, signora, I 
 
 should take the train to ," and 
 
 he mentioned a little town near the 
 Austrian frontier not three hours' 
 ride from Venice. 
 
 "What will you do?" I asked as 
 we approached the shore of the Lido. 
 
 "I don't know," the signora sighed. 
 "But I must see Enrico once more !" 
 
 The Buon' Pesche, a little osteria 
 near the waterside, was thronged 
 with sailors from the gray torpedo- 
 boats that kept up a restless activity, 
 dashing back and forth in the harbor 
 entrance. We found a table under a 
 plane-tree, a little apart from the 
 noisy sailors who were drinking to 
 the success of Italian arms in the 
 
 [671
 
 purple wine of Padua, and, while 
 the dusk fell over distant Venice, 
 watched the antics of the swift de 
 stroyers. 
 
 "Don't they seem possessed!" the 
 signora exclaimed. "Like angry bees, 
 as if they knew the enemy was near." 
 
 We were speaking English, and I 
 noticed that the country girl who 
 served us looked at me sharply. 
 When we rose to leave it was already 
 dark, the stars were shining in the 
 velvet sky, and Venice was mysteri 
 ously blank. As we strolled across 
 the grass toward the boat-landing, 
 a man stepped up and laid his hand 
 on my shoulder, indicating firmly 
 that I should accompany him. He 
 took us to the military post at the 
 end of the island, the signora ex 
 postulating and explaining all the 
 
 [68]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 way. There we had to wait in a bare 
 room faintly lighted by one flaring 
 candle while men came and went 
 outside, looked at us, talked in low 
 tones, and left us wondering. After 
 an hour of this a young officer ap 
 peared, and with a smiling, nervous 
 air began a lengthy examination. 
 Who was I? Who was the signora 
 my wife, my mother? Why were we 
 there on the Lido after dark, etc. ? 
 It was easy enough to convince him 
 that I was what I was an amica 
 ble, idle American. My pocketful of 
 papers and, above all, my Italian, 
 rendered him quickly more smiling 
 and apologetic than ever. But the 
 signora, who, it seems, had not regis 
 tered on her arrival in Venice,, as 
 they had ascertained while we were 
 waiting, was not so easily explained, 
 
 [69]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 although she told her tale truthfully, 
 tearfully, in evident trepidation. To 
 the young officer it was not credible 
 that an Italian mother should be 
 seeking her soldier son on the Lido 
 at this hour. Another officer was sum 
 moned, and while the first young 
 man entertained me with apprecia 
 tions of English and American au 
 thors with whose works he was ac 
 quainted, the signora was put through 
 a gruelling examination which in 
 cluded her ancestry, family affairs, 
 and political opinions. She was al 
 ternately angry, haughty, and tear 
 ful, repeating frequently, "I am an 
 Italian mother!" which did not an 
 swer for a passport as well as my 
 broken Italian. In the end she had 
 to appeal to the kindly commandant 
 who' had listened to her story earlier 
 
 [70]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 in the day. After hearing the si- 
 gnora's tearful voice over the tele 
 phone, he instructed the youthful 
 captain of artillery to let us go. The 
 young officers, whose responsibilities 
 had weighed heavily on them, apolo 
 gized profusely, ending with the re 
 mark: "You know we are expecting 
 something to happen very soon ! 
 . . . We have to be careful." 
 We hurried to the landing, where 
 we found Giuseppe fast asleep in the 
 gondola, but before we could rouse 
 him had some further difficulty with 
 suspicious carabinieri, who were in 
 clined to lock us up on the Lido un 
 til morning. A few lire induced them 
 to consider our adventure more leni 
 ently, and well past midnight the 
 sleepy Giuseppe swept us toward 
 the darkened city. 
 
 [71]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 "You might think they were al 
 ready at war!" I grumbled. 
 
 "Perhaps they are," the signora re 
 plied sadly. 
 
 "Well, you see what trouble you 
 will get into if you attempt to enter 
 the war zone," I warned. 
 
 ; 'Yes," the subdued woman said 
 dully, "I understand!" 
 
 'That story of yours doesn't sound 
 probable and you have no papers." 
 
 She sighed heavily without reply, 
 but I thought it well to drive home 
 the point. 
 
 "So you had better take the train 
 home to-morrow and not get ar 
 rested as a spy." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Several hours later I woke from a 
 dream with the song of a nightingale 
 in my ears mingled with a confused 
 [72]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 reverberation. It was not yet day; 
 in the pale light before dawn the 
 birds were wheeling and crying in 
 the little garden outside my room. 
 I stumbled to the balcony from which 
 I could see the round dome of the 
 Salute against the cloudless sky and 
 a streak of sunrise beyond the Giu- 
 decca. What had cut short the song 
 of the nightingale? Suddenly the 
 answer came in the roar of an ex 
 plosion from somewhere within the 
 huddle of Venetian alleys, followed 
 by the prolonged shrieks of sirens 
 from the arsenal and the sputter 
 and crackle of countless guns. I did 
 not have to be told that this was 
 war ! This was what those young 
 officers on the Lido were expecting 
 to happen before morning. Austria 
 had taken this way of acknowledg- 
 
 [73]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 ing Italy's temerity in challenging 
 her might: she had sworn to destroy 
 the jewelled beauty of Venice, and 
 these bombs falling on the sleeping 
 city were the Austrian answer to 
 Italy's declaration of war ! 
 
 Another and another explosion fol 
 lowed in rapid succession, while the 
 sirens shrieked and the antiaircraft 
 guns from palace roofs rattled and 
 spluttered up and down the Grand 
 Canal. Then in a momentary lull I 
 could detect the low hum of a motor, 
 and looking upward I saw far aloft 
 in the gray heavens the enemy aero 
 plane winging its way like some 
 malevolent beetle in a straight line 
 across the city. The little balconies 
 all about were crowded with people 
 who, unmindful of the warnings to 
 keep within doors, and as near the 
 
 [741
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 cellar as Venetian dwellings per 
 mitted, were gazing like myself into 
 the clear heavens after the buzzing 
 machine. Their voices began to rise 
 in eager comment as soon as the 
 noise of bombs and guns died out. 
 I caught sight of Signora Maironi 
 in a group on a neighboring bal 
 cony, looking fixedly at the vanish 
 ing enemy. 
 
 Presently, as I was thinking that 
 the attack had passed, there came 
 again the peculiar hum of another 
 aeroplane from behind the hotel. It 
 grew louder and louder, and soon 
 came the roar of exploding bombs 
 followed by the crackle of answering 
 guns. One deafening roar went up 
 from the canal near by, echoing back 
 and forth between the palace walls. 
 That was very close, I judged ! But 
 
 [751
 
 THE CONSCRIFf MOTHER 
 
 the signora, as if fascinated, stood 
 there, gazing into space, waiting for 
 the evil machine to show itself. 
 Gradually the noise died down as 
 the aeroplane swung into view and 
 headed eastward like its mate for 
 the open Adriatic. A last, lingering 
 explosion came from the direction of 
 the arsenal, then all was silence ex 
 cept for the twittering of the dis 
 turbed birds in the garden and the 
 excited staccato voices of Venetians 
 telling one another what had hap 
 pened. 
 
 Yes, this was war ! And as I hur 
 riedly dressed myself I thought that 
 Signora Maironi would be lucky if 
 she got safely out of Venice back to 
 her home. We met over an early cup 
 of coffee. The signora, to my sur 
 prise, did not seem in the least fright- 
 
 [76]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 ened rather she had been stirred 
 to a renewed determination by this 
 first touch of war. 
 
 "Return now without seeing my 
 boy!" she said scornfully in reply 
 to my suggestion that we go at once 
 to the railroad-station. "Never !" 
 
 "This is the first attack," I pro 
 tested, "y u can't tell when they 
 will be at it again, perhaps in a few 
 hours. ... It is very dangerous, si- 
 gnora !" 
 
 "I have no fear," she said simply, 
 conclusively. 
 
 So Giuseppe took her over to Mes- 
 tre in the gondola. I judged that it 
 would be safer for her to start on 
 her quest alone, depending solely on 
 her mother appeal to make her way 
 through the confusion at the front. 
 
 [77]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 She waved me a smiling farewell on 
 the steps of the old palace, her little 
 bag in one hand, looking like a com 
 fortable middle-aged matron on a 
 shopping expedition, not in the least 
 like a timid mother starting for the 
 battle line in search of her child. 
 
 And that was the last I saw of 
 Signora Maironi for four days. Ordi 
 narily, it would not take that many 
 
 hours to make the journey to X . 
 
 But these first days of war there 
 was no telling how long it might 
 take, nor whether one could get 
 there by any route. Had her resolu 
 tion failed her and had she already 
 returned to Rome? But in that case 
 she would surely have telegraphed. 
 Or was she detained in some frontier 
 village as a spy ? . . . 
 
 The morning of the fifth day after 
 
 f78l
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 the signora's departure I was daw 
 dling over my coffee in the deserted 
 salone, enjoying the scented June 
 breeze that came from the canal, 
 when I heard a light step and a 
 knock at the door. Signora Maironi 
 entered and dropped on a lounge, 
 very white and breathless, as if she 
 had run a long way from somewhere. 
 " Give me coffee, please ! I have had 
 nothing to eat since yesterday morn 
 ing." And after she had swallowed 
 some of the coffee I poured for her 
 she began to speak, to tell her story, 
 not pausing to eat her roll. 
 
 "When I left you that morning 
 when was it, a week or a year ago? 
 I seemed very courageous, didn't 
 I? The firing, the danger, somehow 
 woke my spirit, made me brave. But 
 
 [79]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 before I started I really wanted to 
 run back to Rome. Yes, if it hadn't 
 been for the idea of poor 'Rico up 
 there in that same danger, only worse, 
 I should never have had the courage 
 to do what I did. . . . Well, we got 
 to Mestre, as Giuseppe no doubt 
 told you. While I was waiting in the 
 station for the train to that place 
 the commandant told me, I saw a 
 young lieutenant in the grenadier 
 uniform. He was not of 'Rico's com 
 pany or I should have known him, 
 but he had the uniform. Of course 
 I asked him where he was going. 
 He said he didn't know, he was try 
 ing to find out where the regiment 
 was. He had been given leave to go 
 to his home in Sardinia to bury his 
 father, poor boy, and was hurrying 
 back to join the grenadiers. 'If you 
 
 [80]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 will stay with me, signora,' he said, 
 'you will find where your boy is, 
 for you see I must join my regiment 
 at once.' Wasn't that lucky for me? 
 So I got into the same compartment 
 with the lieutenant when the train 
 came along. It was full of officers. 
 But no one seemed to know where 
 the grenadiers had been sent. The 
 officers were very polite and kind 
 to me. They gave me something to 
 eat or I should have starved, for 
 there was nothing to be bought at 
 the stations, everything had been 
 eaten clean up as if the locusts had 
 passed that way ! . . . There was one 
 old gentleman here, I have his card 
 somewhere well, no matter we 
 talked a long time. He told me how 
 many difficulties the army had to 
 meet, especially with spies. It seems 
 
 [81]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 that the spies are terrible. The Aus- 
 trians have them everywhere, and 
 many are Italians, alas ! the ones 
 who live up there in the mountains ! 
 They are arresting them all the 
 time. They took a woman and a 
 man in a woman's dress off the 
 train. Well, that didn't make me 
 any easier in my mind, but I stayed 
 close to my little lieutenant, who 
 looked after me as he would his own 
 mother, and no one bothered me 
 with questions. . . . 
 
 "Such heat and such slowness! 
 You cannot imagine how weary I 
 became before the day was done. 
 Trains and trains of troops passed. 
 Poor fellows ! And cannon and horses 
 and food, just one long train after 
 another. We could scarcely crawl. 
 ... So we reached X - as it was 
 
 [82]
 
 getting dark, but the granatieri were 
 not there. They had been the day 
 before, but had gone on forward 
 during the night. To think, if I had 
 started the night before I should 
 have found 'Rico and had him a 
 whole day perhaps." 
 
 "Perhaps not," I remarked, as the 
 signora paused to swallow another 
 cup of coffee. "It was all a matter 
 of chance, and if you had started 
 the day before you would have 
 missed your lieutenant." 
 
 "Well, there was nothing for it 
 
 but to spend the night at X . For 
 
 no trains went on to Palma Nova, 
 where the lieutenant was going in 
 the morning. So I walked into the 
 town to look for a place to sleep, 
 but every bed was taken by the 
 officers, not a place to sleep in the 
 
 [831
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 whole town. It was then after nine 
 o'clock; I returned to the station, 
 thinking I could stay there until the 
 train started for Palma Nova. But 
 they won't even let you stay in 
 railroad-stations any longer ! So I 
 walked out to the garden in the 
 
 /s- 
 
 square and sat down on a bench to 
 spend the night there. Luckily it 
 was still warm. Who should come by 
 with an old lady on his arm but the 
 gentleman I had talked with on the 
 train, Count yes, he was a count 
 and his mother. They had a villa 
 near the town, it seems. 'Why, si- 
 gnora ! ' he said, when he saw me sit 
 ting there all alone, 'why are you 
 out here at this time?' And I told 
 him about there not being a bed 
 free in the town. Then he said: 'You 
 must stay with us. We have made 
 
 [84]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 our villa ready for the wounded, but, 
 thank God, they have not begun to 
 come in yet, so there are many 
 empty rooms at your disposal.' That 
 was how I escaped spending the 
 night on a bench in the public gar 
 den ! It was a beautiful villa, with 
 grounds all about it quite large. 
 They gave me a comfortable room 
 with a bath, and that was the last I 
 saw of the count and his mother 
 whatever were their names. Early 
 the next morning a maid came with 
 my coffee and woke me so that I 
 might get the train for Palma Nova. 
 "That day was too long to tell 
 about. I found my young lieutenant, 
 and as soon as we reached Palma 
 Nova he went off to hunt for the 
 granatieri. But the regiment had been 
 sent on ahead ! Again I was just too 
 
 [85]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 late. It had left for the frontier, 
 which is only a few miles east of the 
 town. I could hear the big cannon 
 from there. (Oh, yes, they had be 
 gun ! I can tell you that made me all 
 the more anxious to hold my boy 
 once more in my arms.) Palma Nova 
 was jammed with everything, sol 
 diers, motor-trucks, cannon such 
 confusion as you never saw. Every 
 thing had to pass through an old 
 gate you know, it was once a Ro 
 man town and there are walls and 
 gates still standing. About that gate 
 toward the Austrian frontier there 
 was such a crush to get through as 
 I never saw anywhere ! 
 
 "They let no one through that 
 gate without a special pass. You see, 
 it was close to the lines, and they 
 were afraid of spies. I tried and tried 
 
 [86]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 to slip through, but it was no use. 
 And the time was going by, and 
 Enrico marching away from me 
 always toward battle. I just prayed 
 to the Virgin to get me through that 
 gate yes, I tell you, I prayed hard 
 as I never prayed before in my life. 
 . . . The young lieutenant came to 
 tell me he had to go on to reach his 
 regiment and offered to take any 
 thing I had for Enrico. So I gave 
 him almost all the money I had 
 with me, and the little watch you 
 gave me for him, and told him to say 
 I should get to him somehow if it 
 could be done. The young man 
 promised he would find 'Rico and 
 give him the things at the first op 
 portunity. How I hated to see him 
 disappear through that gate into 
 the crowd beyond ! But there was no 
 
 [87]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 use trying: there were soldiers with 
 drawn bayonets all about it. My 
 prayers to the Virgin seemed to do 
 no good at all. . . . 
 
 "So at the end, after trying every 
 where to get that special pass, I was 
 sitting before a cafe drinking some 
 milk everything is so frightfully 
 dear, you have no idea ! and was 
 thinking that after coming so far I 
 was not to see my boy. For the first 
 time I felt discouraged, and I must 
 have shown it, too, with my eyes al 
 ways on that gate. An officer who was 
 waiting in front of the cafe, walking 
 to and fro, presently came up to me 
 and said: 'Signora, I see that sorrow 
 in your eyes which compels me to 
 address you. Is there anything a 
 stranger might do to comfort you?' 
 So I told him the whole story, and 
 
 [88]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 he said very gently: 'I do not know 
 whether I can obtain the permission 
 for you, but I know the officer who 
 is in command here. Come with me 
 and we will tell him your desire to 
 see your son before the battle, which 
 cannot be far off, and perhaps he 
 will grant your request.' 
 
 "Think of such fortune! The Vir 
 gin had listened. I shall always pray 
 with better faith after this ! Just 
 when I was at the end, too ! The kind 
 officer was also a count, Count Fos- 
 cari, from here in Venice. He has a 
 brother in the garrison here, and 
 there's a lady to whom he wishes me 
 to give some letters. ... I wonder 
 if I still have them!" 
 
 The signora stopped to investigate 
 the recesses of her little bag. 
 
 "First, let me know what the 
 
 [891
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 Count Foscari did for you," I ex 
 claimed, tantalized by the signora's 
 discursive narrative. "Then we can 
 look after his correspondence at our 
 leisure." 
 
 "There they are! . . . He took me 
 with him to the office of the mili 
 tary commander of the town a very 
 busy place it was. But the count just 
 walked past all the sentinels, and I 
 followed him without being stopped. 
 But when he asked for the pass 
 the commander was very cross and 
 answered, 'Impossible!' short like 
 that. Even while we were there, 
 another, stronger order came over 
 the telegraph from the staff forbid 
 ding any civilian to pass through 
 the town. I thought again it was all 
 over I should never see 'Rico. But 
 Count Foscari did not give up. He 
 
 [90]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 just waited until the commander had 
 said everything, then spoke very 
 gently to him in a low tone (but I 
 could hear). 'The signora is an 
 Italian mother. I will give my word 
 for that ! She wants to see her son, 
 who was sick when he left Rome.' 
 Then he stopped, but the other offi 
 cer just frowned, and the count tried 
 again. 'It is not much good that 
 any of us can do now in this life. 
 We are all so near death that it 
 seems we should do whatever kind 
 ness we can to one another.' He 
 looked at me more gently, but said 
 nothing. The commandant's secre 
 tary was there with the pass already 
 made out in his hand he had been 
 preparing it while the others were 
 talking and he put it down on the 
 table before the officer for his signa- 
 
 [911
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 ture. That one turned his head, then 
 the count gave a nod to the secre 
 tary, and the kind young man took 
 the seal and stamped it and handed 
 it to me with a little smile. And the 
 commandant just shrugged his shoul 
 ders and pretended not to see. The 
 count said to him : ' Thanks ! For a 
 mother.' 
 
 "So there I was with my pass. I 
 thanked Count Foscari and hurried 
 through that gate as fast as my legs 
 would carry me, afraid that some 
 one might take the paper away from 
 me. What an awful jam there was ! 
 I thought my legs would not hold 
 out long on that hard road, but I 
 was determined to walk until I fell 
 before giving up now. ... I must 
 have passed forty sentinels; some of 
 them stopped me. They said I would 
 
 [92]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 be shot, but what did I care for that ! 
 I could hear the roaring of the guns 
 ahead, louder all the time, and the 
 smoke. It was really battle. I began 
 to run. I was so anxious lest I might 
 not have time." 
 
 "Were you not afraid?" 
 
 "Of what? Of a shell hitting my 
 poor old body? I never thought of 
 it. I just felt little 'Rico is on there 
 ahead in the middle of all that. But 
 it was beautiful all the same yes," 
 she repeated softly, with a strange 
 gleam on her tired face, "it was 
 beau and horrible at the same time. 
 ... I passed the frontier stones. 
 Yes ! I have been on Austrian ter 
 ritory, though it's no longer Aus 
 trian now, God be praised! I was 
 very nearly in Gradesca, where the 
 battle was. I should never have got- 
 
 [93]
 
 THE CONSCRIFf MOTHER 
 
 ten that far had it not been for a 
 kind officer in a motor-car who took 
 me off the road with him. How we 
 drove in all that muddle ! He stopped 
 when we passed any troops to let 
 me ask where the granatieri were. 
 It was always 'just ahead.' The 
 sound of the guns got louder. ... I 
 was terribly excited and so afraid 
 I was too late, when suddenly I 
 saw a soldier bent over a bicycle rid 
 ing back down the road like mad. 
 It was my 'Rico coming to find me! 
 ... I jumped out of the motor and 
 took him in my arms, there beside 
 the road. . . . God, how he had 
 changed already, how thin and old 
 his face was ! And he was so excited 
 he could hardly speak, just like 
 'Rico always, when anything is going 
 on. * Mother,' he said, 'I wanted so 
 
 [94]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 to see you. You told me you might 
 come up here, and I looked for you 
 all along where the train stopped, 
 at Bologna and Mestre and Palma 
 Nova. But I couldn't find you. This 
 morning I knew you would come 
 I knew it when I woke.' (Don't you 
 see I was right in keeping on?) . . . 
 The young lieutenant had told 'Rico 
 I was looking for him, and they let 
 him come back on his bicycle to find 
 me. Poor boy, he was so excited and 
 kept glancing over his shoulder after 
 his regiment ! * You see, mamma,* 
 he said, ' this is a real battle ! We are 
 at the front ! And our regiment has 
 the honor to make the first attack ! ' 
 He was so proud, the poor boy ! . . . 
 Of course I could not keep him long 
 five minutes at the most I had 
 with him there by the side of the 
 
 [95]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 highroad, with all the noise of the 
 guns and the passing wagons. Five 
 minutes, but I would rather have 
 died than lost those minutes. ... I 
 put your watch on his wrist. He was 
 so pleased to have it, with the illumi 
 nated hands which will give him the 
 time at night when he is on duty. 
 He wrote you a .few words on this 
 scrap of paper, all I had with me, 
 leaning on my knee. I took his old 
 watch the father will want it. It 
 had been next his heart and was still 
 warm. . . . Then he kissed me and 
 rode back up the road as fast as he 
 could go. The last I saw was when 
 he rode into a cloud of dust. . . . 
 
 "Well," the signora concluded, after 
 a long pause, "that is all! I found 
 my way back here somehow. I have 
 been through the lines, on Austrian 
 
 [96]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 territory, almost in battle itself 
 and I have seen my boy again, the 
 Virgin be praised ! And I am con 
 tent. Now let God do with him what 
 he will." 
 
 Later we went in search of Count 
 Foscari's brother and the lady to 
 whom he had sent his letters. Then 
 Giuseppe and I took the signora to 
 the train for Rome. As I stood be 
 side the compartment, the signora, 
 who seemed calmer, more like her 
 self than for the past fortnight, re 
 peated dreamily: "My friend, I have 
 seen 'Rico again, and I am content. 
 Perhaps it is the last time I shall 
 have him in my arms, unless the 
 dear God spares him. And I know 
 now what it is he is doing for his coun 
 try, what battle is ! He is fighting for 
 me, for all of us. I am content !" 
 
 [97]
 
 THE CONSCRIPT MOTHER 
 
 With a gentle smile the signora 
 waved me farewell. 
 
 Enrico came out of that first battle 
 safely, and many others, as little Bi- 
 anca wrote me. She and the signora 
 were making bandages and feeding 
 their thirsty hearts on the reports of 
 the brave deeds that the Italian troops 
 were doing along the Isonzo. "They 
 are all heroes !" the girl wrote. "But 
 it is very hard for them to pierce 
 those mountains which the Austrians 
 have been fortifying all these years. 
 There is perpetual fighting, but En 
 rico is well and happy, fighting for 
 Italy. Yesterday we had a postal 
 from him: he sent his respects to 
 you. . . ." 
 
 Thereafter, there was no news from 
 the Maironis for many weeks; then 
 
 [98]
 
 in the autumn came the dreaded 
 black-bordered letter in the signora's 
 childish hand. It was dated from 
 some little town in the north of 
 Italy and written in pencil. 
 
 "I have been in bed for a long 
 time, or I should have written be 
 fore. Our dear Enrico fell the 3d of 
 August on the Col di Lana. He died 
 fighting for Italy like a brave man, 
 his captain wrote. . . . Bianca is here 
 nursing me, but soon she will go 
 back to Padua into the hospital, 
 and I shall go with her if there is 
 anything that a poor old woman can 
 do for our wounded soldiers. . . . 
 Dear friend, I am so glad that I 
 saw him once more now I must 
 wait until paradise. ..."
 
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