The Gadfly - E. L. Voynich (phonics readers .txt) 📗
- Author: E. L. Voynich
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her. Yes, Gemma was right; he had got his life into
a tangle that he would have hard work to undo.
“Sit down and let us talk about it quietly,” he
said, coming back after a moment. “I think we
have misunderstood each other; of course I should
not have laughed if I had thought you were serious.
Try to tell me plainly what is troubling you;
and then, if there is any misunderstanding, we
may be able to clear it up.”
“There’s nothing to clear up. I can see you
don’t care a brass farthing for me.”
“My dear child, we had better be quite frank
with each other. I have always tried to be honest
about our relationship, and I think I have never
deceived you as to–-”
“Oh, no! you have been honest enough; you
have never even pretended to think of me as anything
else but a prostitute,—a trumpery bit of
second-hand finery that plenty of other men have
had before you—”
“Hush, Zita! I have never thought that way
about any living thing.”
“You have never loved me,” she insisted sullenly.
“No, I have never loved you. Listen to me,
and try to think as little harm of me as you can.”
“Who said I thought any harm of you? I–-”
“Wait a minute. This is what I want to say:
I have no belief whatever in conventional moral
codes, and no respect for them. To me the relations
between men and women are simply questions of
personal likes and dislikes––”
“And of money,” she interrupted with a harsh
little laugh. He winced and hesitated a moment.
“That, of course, is the ugly part of the matter.
But believe me, if I had thought that you disliked
me, or felt any repulsion to the thing, I would
never have suggested it, or taken advantage of
your position to persuade you to it. I have never
done that to any woman in my life, and I have
never told a woman a lie about my feeling for her.
You may trust me that I am speaking the truth–-”
He paused a moment, but she did not answer.
“I thought,” he went on; “that if a man is
alone in the world and feels the need of—of a
woman’s presence about him, and if he can find
a woman who is attractive to him and to whom he
is not repulsive, he has a right to accept, in a grateful
and friendly spirit, such pleasure as that woman
is willing to give him, without entering into any
closer bond. I saw no harm in the thing, provided
only there is no unfairness or insult or deceit
on either side. As for your having been in that
relation with other men before I met you, I did
not think about that. I merely thought that the
connexion would be a pleasant and harmless one
for both of us, and that either was free to break
it as soon as it became irksome. If I was mistaken
—if you have grown to look upon it differently—
then–-”
He paused again.
“Then?” she whispered, without looking up.
“Then I have done you a wrong, and I am very
sorry. But I did not mean to do it.”
“You ‘did not mean’ and you ‘thought’–-
Felice, are you made of cast iron? Have you never
been in love with a woman in your life that you
can’t see I love you?”
A sudden thrill went through him; it was so
long since anyone had said to him: “I love you.”
Instantly she started up and flung her arms round
him.
“Felice, come away with me! Come away from
this dreadful country and all these people and their
politics! What have we got to do with them?
Come away, and we will be happy together. Let
us go to South America, where you used to live.”
The physical horror of association startled
him back into self-control; he unclasped her hands
from his neck and held them in a steady grasp.
“Zita! Try to understand what I am saying
to you. I do not love you; and if I did I would
not come away with you. I have my work in
Italy, and my comrades–-”
“And someone else that you love better than
me!” she cried out fiercely. “Oh, I could kill
you! It is not your comrades you care about;
it’s–- I know who it is!”
“Hush!” he said quietly. “You are excited
and imagining things that are not true.”
“You suppose I am thinking of Signora Bolla?
I’m not so easily duped! You only talk politics
with her; you care no more for her than you do for
me. It’s that Cardinal!”
The Gadfly started as if he had been shot.
“Cardinal?” he repeated mechanically.
“Cardinal Montanelli, that came here preaching
in the autumn. Do you think I didn’t see your
face when his carriage passed? You were as white
as my pocket-handkerchief! Why, you’re shaking
like a leaf now because I mentioned his name!”
He stood up.
“You don’t know what you are talking about,”
he said very slowly and softly. “I—hate the
Cardinal. He is the worst enemy I have.”
“Enemy or no, you love him better than you
love anyone else in the world. Look me in the
face and say that is not true, if you can!”
He turned away, and looked out into the garden.
She watched him furtively, half-scared at
what she had done; there was something terrifying
in his silence. At last she stole up to him,
like a frightened child, and timidly pulled his
sleeve. He turned round.
“It is true,” he said.
CHAPTER XI.
“BUT c-c-can’t I meet him somewhere in the
hills? Brisighella is a risky place for me.”
“Every inch of ground in the Romagna is
risky for you; but just at this moment Brisighella
is safer for you than any other place.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. Don’t let that man
with the blue jacket see your face; he’s dangerous.
Yes; it was a terrible storm; I don’t remember to
have seen the vines so bad for a long time.”
The Gadfly spread his arms on the table, and
laid his face upon them, like a man overcome with
fatigue or wine; and the dangerous new-comer in
the blue jacket, glancing swiftly round, saw only
two farmers discussing their crops over a flask of
wine and a sleepy mountaineer with his head on
the table. It was the usual sort of thing to see in
little places like Marradi; and the owner of the
blue jacket apparently made up his mind that
nothing could be gained by listening; for he drank
his wine at a gulp and sauntered into the outer
room. There he stood leaning on the counter and
gossiping lazily with the landlord, glancing every
now and then out of the corner of one eye through
the open door, beyond which sat the three figures
at the table. The two farmers went on sipping
their wine and discussing the weather in the local
dialect, and the Gadfly snored like a man whose
conscience is sound.
At last the spy seemed to make up his mind that
there was nothing in the wine-shop worth further
waste of his time. He paid his reckoning, and,
lounging out of the house, sauntered away down
the narrow street. The Gadfly, yawning and
stretching, lifted himself up and sleepily rubbed
the sleeve of his linen blouse across his eyes.
“Pretty sharp practice that,” he said, pulling
a clasp-knife out of his pocket and cutting off a
chunk from the rye-loaf on the table. “Have
they been worrying you much lately, Michele?”
“They’ve been worse than mosquitos in August.
There’s no getting a minute’s peace; wherever
one goes, there’s always a spy hanging about.
Even right up in the hills, where they used to be
so shy about venturing, they have taken to coming
in bands of three or four—haven’t they, Gino?
That’s why we arranged for you to meet Domenichino
in the town.”
“Yes; but why Brisighella? A frontier town
is always full of spies.”
“Brisighella just now is a capital place. It’s
swarming with pilgrims from all parts of the country.”
“But it’s not on the way to anywhere.”
“It’s not far out of the way to Rome, and many
of the Easter Pilgrims are going round to hear
Mass there.”
“I d-d-didn’t know there was anything special
in Brisighella.”
“There’s the Cardinal. Don’t you remember
his going to Florence to preach last December?
It’s that same Cardinal Montanelli. They say he
made a great sensation.”
“I dare say; I don’t go to hear sermons.”
“Well, he has the reputation of being a saint,
you see.”
“How does he manage that?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it’s because he gives
away all his income, and lives like a parish priest
with four or five hundred scudi a year.”
“Ah!” interposed the man called Gino; “but
it’s more than that. He doesn’t only give away
money; he spends his whole life in looking after
the poor, and seeing the sick are properly treated,
and hearing complaints and grievances from morning
till night. I’m no fonder of priests than you
are, Michele, but Monsignor Montanelli is not like
other Cardinals.”
“Oh, I dare say he’s more fool than knave!”
said Michele. “Anyhow, the people are mad after
him, and the last new freak is for the pilgrims to
go round that way to ask his blessing. Domenichino
thought of going as a pedlar, with a basket
of cheap crosses and rosaries. The people like to
buy those things and ask the Cardinal to touch
them; then they put them round their babies’
necks to keep off the evil eye.”
“Wait a minute. How am I to go—as a pilgrim?
This make-up suits me p-pretty well, I think; but
it w-won’t do for me to show myself in Brisighella
in the same character that I had here; it would be
ev-v-vidence against you if I get taken.”
“You won’t get taken; we have a splendid
disguise for you, with a passport and all complete.”
“What is it?”
“An old Spanish pilgrim—a repentant brigand
from the Sierras. He fell ill in Ancona last year,
and one of our friends took him on board a trading-vessel
out of charity, and set him down in Venice, where he had
friends, and he left his papers with us to show his
gratitude. They will just do for you.”
“A repentant b-b-brigand? But w-what about
the police?”
“Oh, that’s all right! He finished his term of
the galleys some years ago, and has been going
about to Jerusalem and all sorts of places saving
his soul ever since. He killed his son by mistake
for somebody else, and gave himself up to the
police in a fit of remorse.”
“Was he quite old?”
“Yes; but a white beard and wig will set that
right, and the description suits you to perfection
in every other respect. He was an old soldier,
with a lame foot and a sabre-cut across the face
like yours; and then his being a Spaniard, too—
you see, if you meet any Spanish pilgrims, you can
talk to them all right.”
“Where am I to meet Domenichino?”
“You join the pilgrims at the cross-road that
we will show you on the map, saying you had lost
your way in the hills. Then, when you reach the
town, you go with the rest of them into the
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