The Gadfly - E. L. Voynich (phonics readers .txt) 📗

class="calibre1">quintessence of the spirit of mischief.

 

Having begun by disabling both the Governor’s

favourite nephew and his most valuable spy, the

“crooked Spanish devil” had followed up his

exploits in the marketplace by suborning the

guards, browbeating the interrogating officers,

and “turning the prison into a bear-garden.” He

had now been three weeks in the fortress, and the

authorities of Brisighella were heartily sick of their

bargain. They had subjected him to interrogation

upon interrogation; and after employing, to

obtain admissions from him, every device of threat,

persuasion, and stratagem which their ingenuity

could suggest, remained just as wise as on the day

of his capture. They had begun to realize that

it would perhaps have been better to send him into

Ravenna at once. It was, however, too late to

rectify the mistake. The Governor, when sending

in to the Legate his report of the arrest, had

begged, as a special favour, permission to superintend

personally the investigation of this case; and,

his request having been graciously acceded to, he

could not now withdraw without a humiliating

confession that he was overmatched.

 

The idea of settling the difficulty by a courtmartial

had, as Gemma and Michele had foreseen,

presented itself to him as the only satisfactory

solution; and Cardinal Montanelli’s stubborn refusal

to countenance this was the last drop which

made the cup of his vexations overflow.

 

“I think,” he said, “that if Your Eminence knew

what I and my assistants have put up with from

this man you would feel differently about the matter.

I fully understand and respect the conscientious

objection to irregularities in judicial

proceedings; but this is an exceptional case and

calls for exceptional measures.”

 

“There is no case,” Montanelli answered,

“which calls for injustice; and to condemn a

civilian by the judgment of a secret military tribunal

is both unjust and illegal.”

 

“The case amounts to this, Your Eminence:

The prisoner is manifestly guilty of several capital

crimes. He joined the infamous attempt of

Savigno, and the military commission nominated

by Monsignor Spinola would certainly have had

him shot or sent to the galleys then, had he not

succeeded in escaping to Tuscany. Since that

time he has never ceased plotting. He is known

to be an influential member of one of the most

pestilent secret societies in the country. He is

gravely suspected of having consented to, if not

inspired, the assassination of no less than three

confidential police agents. He has been caught—

one might almost say—in the act of smuggling

firearms into the Legation. He has offered armed

resistance to authority and seriously wounded two

officials in the discharge of their duty, and he is

now a standing menace to the peace and order of

the town. Surely, in such a case, a courtmartial

is justifiable.”

 

“Whatever the man has done,” Montanelli replied,

“he has the right to be judged according to law.”

 

“The ordinary course of law involves delay, Your

Eminence, and in this case every moment is precious.

Besides everything else, I am in constant

terror of his escaping.”

 

“If there is any danger of that, it rests with you

to guard him more closely.”

 

“I do my best, Your Eminence, but I am

dependent upon the prison staff, and the man

seems to have bewitched them all. I have

changed the guard four times within three weeks;

I have punished the soldiers till I am tired of it,

and nothing is of any use. I can’t prevent their

carrying letters backwards and forwards. The

fools are in love with him as if he were a woman.”

 

“That is very curious. There must be something

remarkable about him.”

 

“There’s a remarkable amount of devilry—I

beg pardon, Your Eminence, but really this man is

enough to try the patience of a saint. It’s hardly

credible, but I have to conduct all the interrogations

myself, for the regular officer cannot stand

it any longer.”

 

“How is that?”

 

“It’s difficult to explain. Your Eminence, but

you would understand if you had once heard the

way he goes on. One might think the interrogating

officer were the criminal and he the judge.”

 

“But what is there so terrible that he can do?

He can refuse to answer your questions, of course;

but he has no weapon except silence.”

 

“And a tongue like a razor. We are all mortal,

Your Eminence, and most of us have made mistakes

in our time that we don’t want published

on the house-tops. That’s only human nature,

and it’s hard on a man to have his little slips of

twenty years ago raked up and thrown in his teeth–-”

 

“Has Rivarez brought up some personal secret

of the interrogating officer?”

 

“Well, really—the poor fellow got into debt

when he was a cavalry officer, and borrowed a little

sum from the regimental funds–-”

 

“Stole public money that had been intrusted to

him, in fact?”

 

“Of course it was very wrong, Your Eminence;

but his friends paid it back at once, and the affair

was hushed up,—he comes of a good family,—and

ever since then he has been irreproachable. How

Rivarez found out about it I can’t conceive; but

the first thing he did at interrogation was to bring

up this old scandal—before the subaltern, too!

And with as innocent a face as if he were saying

his prayers! Of course the story’s all over the

Legation by now. If Your Eminence would only

be present at one of the interrogations, I am sure

you would realize–- He needn’t know anything

about it. You might overhear him from––”

 

Montanelli turned round and looked at the Governor

with an expression which his face did not often wear.

 

“I am a minister of religion,” he said; “not a

police-spy; and eavesdropping forms no part of

my professional duties.”

 

“I—I didn’t mean to give offence––”

 

“I think we shall not get any good out of

discussing this question further. If you will

send the prisoner here, I will have a talk with

him.”

 

“I venture very respectfully to advise Your Eminence

not to attempt it. The man is perfectly

incorrigible. It would be both safer and wiser to

overstep the letter of the law for this once, and get

rid of him before he does any more mischief. It

is with great diffidence that I venture to press the

point after what Your Eminence has said; but after

all I am responsible to Monsignor the Legate for

the order of the town––”

 

“And I,” Montanelli interrupted, “am responsible

to God and His Holiness that there shall

be no underhand dealing in my diocese. Since you

press me in the matter, colonel, I take my stand

upon my privilege as Cardinal. I will not allow a

secret courtmartial in this town in peace-time. I

will receive the prisoner here, and alone, at ten

to-morrow morning.”

 

“As Your Eminence pleases,” the Governor

replied with sulky respectfulness; and went away,

grumbling to himself: “They’re about a pair, as

far as obstinacy goes.”

 

He told no one of the approaching interview till

it was actually time to knock off the prisoner’s

chains and start for the palace. It was quite

enough, as he remarked to his wounded nephew,

to have this Most Eminent son of Balaam’s ass

laying down the law, without running any risk of

the soldiers plotting with Rivarez and his friends

to effect an escape on the way.

 

When the Gadfly, strongly guarded, entered the

room where Montanelli was writing at a table

covered with papers, a sudden recollection came

over him, of a hot midsummer afternoon when he

had sat turning over manuscript sermons in a study

much like this. The shutters had been closed, as

they were here, to keep out the heat, and a fruitseller’s

voice outside had called: “Fragola! Fragola!”

 

He shook the hair angrily back from his eyes

and set his mouth in a smile.

 

Montanelli looked up from his papers.

 

“You can wait in the hall,” he said to the

guards.

 

“May it please Your Eminence,” began the sergeant,

in a lowered voice and with evident nervousness,

“the colonel thinks that this prisoner is

dangerous and that it would be better––”

 

A sudden flash came into Montanelli’s eyes.

 

“You can wait in the hall,” he repeated quietly;

and the sergeant, saluting and stammering excuses

with a frightened face, left the room with his men.

 

“Sit down, please,” said the Cardinal, when the

door was shut. The Gadfly obeyed in silence.

 

“Signor Rivarez,” Montanelli began after a

pause, “I wish to ask you a few questions, and

shall be very much obliged to you if you will

answer them.”

 

The Gadfly smiled. “My ch-ch-chief occupation

at p-p-present is to be asked questions.”

 

“And—not to answer them? So I have heard;

but these questions are put by officials who are

investigating your case and whose duty is to use

your answers as evidence.”

 

“And th-those of Your Eminence?” There

was a covert insult in the tone more than in the

words, and the Cardinal understood it at once; but

his face did not lose its grave sweetness of

expression.

 

“Mine,” he said, “whether you answer them

or not, will remain between you and me. If they

should trench upon your political secrets, of course

you will not answer. Otherwise, though we are

complete strangers to each other, I hope that you

will do so, as a personal favour to me.”

 

“I am ent-t-tirely at the service of Your Eminence.”

He said it with a little bow, and a face

that would have taken the heart to ask favours out

of the daughters of the horse-leech.

 

“First, then, you are said to have been smuggling

firearms into this district. What are they

wanted for?”

 

“T-t-to k-k-kill rats with.”

 

“That is a terrible answer. Are all your fellow-men

rats in your eyes if they cannot think as you do?”

 

“S-s-some of them.”

 

Montanelli leaned back in his chair and looked

at him in silence for a little while.

 

“What is that on your hand?” he asked

suddenly.

 

The Gadfly glanced at his left hand. “Old

m-m-marks from the teeth of some of the rats.”

 

“Excuse me; I was speaking of the other

hand. That is a fresh hurt.”

 

The slender, flexible right hand was badly cut

and grazed. The Gadfly held it up. The wrist

was swollen, and across it ran a deep and long

black bruise.

 

“It is a m-m-mere trifle, as you see,” he said.

“When I was arrested the other day,—thanks to

Your Eminence,”—he made another little bow,—

“one of the soldiers stamped on it.”

 

Montanelli took the wrist and examined it

closely. “How does it come to be in such a state

now, after three weeks?” he asked. “It is all

inflamed.”

 

“Possibly the p-p-pressure of the iron has not

done it much good.”

 

The Cardinal looked up with a frown.

 

“Have they been putting irons on a fresh

wound?”

 

“N-n-naturally, Your Eminence; that is what

fresh wounds are for. Old wounds are not much

use. They will only ache; you c-c-can’t make

them burn properly.”

 

Montanelli looked at him again in the same

close, scrutinizing way; then rose and opened a

drawer full of surgical appliances.

 

“Give me the hand,” he said.

 

The Gadfly, with a face as hard as beaten iron,

held out the hand, and Montanelli, after bathing

the injured place, gently bandaged it. Evidently

he was accustomed to such work.

 

“I will speak about the irons,” he said. “And

now I want to ask you another question: What do

you propose to do?”

 

“Th-th-that is very simply answered, Your Eminence.

To escape