He was under Colonel Corte, operating on the sub-Alpine range of hills along the line of the Chiese South-eastward.  Here the volunteers, formed of the best blood of Milan, the gay and brave young men, after marching in the pride of their strength to hold the Alpine passes and bar Austria from Italy while the fight went on below, were struck by a sudden paralysis.  They hung aloft there like an arm cleft from the body.  Weapons, clothes, provisions, money, the implements of war, were withheld from them.  The Piedmontese officers despatched to watch their proceedings laughed at them like exasperating senior scholars examining the accomplishments of a lower form.  It was manifest that Count Medole and the Government of Milan worked everywhere to conquer the people for the king before the king had done a stroke to conquer the Austrians for the people; while, in order to reduce them to the condition of Piedmontese soldiery, the flame of their patriotic enthusiasm was systematically damped, and instead of apprentices in war, who possessed at any rate the elementary stuff of soldiers, miserable dummies were drafted into the royal service.  The Tuscans and the Romans had good reason to complain on behalf of their princes, as had the Venetians and the Lombards for the cause of their Republic.  Neither Tuscans, Romans, Venetians, nor Lombards were offering up their lives simply to obtain a change of rulers; though all Italy was ready to bow in allegiance to a king of proved kingly quality.  Early in the campaign the cry of treason was muttered, and on all sides such became the temper of the Alpine volunteers, that Angelo and Rinaldo Guidascarpi were forced to join their cousin under Corte, by the dispersion of their band, amounting to something more than eighteen hundred fighting lads, whom a Piedmontese superior officer summoned peremptorily to shout for the king.  They thundered as one voice for the Italian Republic, and instantly broke up and disbanded.  This was the folly of the young:  Carlo Ammiani confessed that it was no better; but he knew that a breath of generous confidence from the self-appointed champion of the national cause would have subdued his impatience at royalty and given heart and cheer to his sickening comrades.  He began to frown angrily when he thought of Vittoria.  “Where is she now?—­where now?” he asked himself in the season of his most violent wrath at the king.  Her conduct grew inseparable in his mind from the king’s deeds.  The sufferings, the fierce irony, the very deaths of the men surrounding him in aims, rose up in accusation against the woman he loved.

CHAPTER XXXI

EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR

The treachery of Pericles—­the white umbrella—­the death of Rinaldo Guidascarpi

The king crossed the Mincio.  The Marshal, threatened on his left flank, drew in his line from the farther Veronese heights upon a narrowed battle front before Verona.  Here they manoeuvred, and the opening successes fell to the king.  Holding Peschiera begirt, with one sharp passage of arms he cleared the right bank of the Adige and stood on the semicircle of hills, master of the main artery into Tyrol.