Violetta was crossing the Ticino when she met a Milanese nobleman who had received cold greeting from the king, and was returning to Milan with word that the Piedmontese declaration of war against Austria had been signed.  She went back to Milan, saw and heard, and gathered a burden for the royal ears.  This was a woman, tender only to the recollection of past days, who used her beauty and her arts as weapons for influence.  She liked kings because she saw neither master nor dupe in a republic; she liked her early lover because she could see nothing but a victim in any new one.  She was fond of Carlo, as greatly occupied minds may be attached to an old garden where they have aforetime sown fair seed.  Jealousy of a rival in love that was disconnected with political business and her large expenditure, had never yet disturbed the lady’s nerves.

At Turin she found Vittoria singing at the opera, and winning marked applause from the royal box.  She thought sincerely that to tear a prima donna from her glory would be very much like dismissing a successful General to his home and gabbling family.  A most eminent personage agreed with her.  Vittoria was carelessly informed that Count Ammiani had gone to Brescia, and having regard for her safety, desired her to go to Milan to be under the protection of his mother, and that Countess Ammiani was willing to receive her.

Now, with her mother, and her maid Giacinta, and Beppo gathered about her, for three weeks Vittoria had been in full operatic career, working, winning fame, believing that she was winning influence, and establishing a treasury.  The presence of her lover in Milan would have called her to the noble city; but he being at Brescia, she asked herself why she should abstain from labours which contributed materially to the strength of the revolution and made her helpful.  It was doubtful whether Countess Ammiani would permit her to sing at La Scala; or whether the city could support an opera in the throes of war.  And Vittoria was sending money to Milan.  The stipend paid to her by the impresario, the jewels, the big bouquets—­all flowed into the treasury of the insurrection.  Antonio-Pericles advanced her a large sum on the day when the news of the Milanese uprising reached Turin:  the conditions of the loan had simply been that she should continue her engagement to sing in Turin.  He was perfectly slavish to her, and might be trusted to advance more.  Since the great night at La Scala, she had been often depressed by a secret feeling that there was divorce between her love of her country and devotion to her Art.  Now that both passions were in union, both active, each aiding the fire of the other, she lived a consummate life.  She could not have abandoned her path instantly though Carlo had spoken his command to her in person.  Such were her first spontaneous seasonings, and Laura Piaveni seconded them; saying, “Money, money!, we must be Jews for money.  We women are not allowed to fight, but we can manage to contribute our lire and soldi; we can forge the sinews of war.”