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

worse for her, poor soul!”

 

CHAPTER V.

 

FOR a week the Gadfly lay in a fearful state.

The attack was a violent one, and the Governor,

rendered brutal by fear and perplexity, had not

only chained him hand and foot, but had insisted

on his being bound to his pallet with leather

straps, drawn so tight that he could not move

without their cutting into the flesh. He endured

everything with his dogged, bitter stoicism till the

end of the sixth day. Then his pride broke down,

and he piteously entreated the prison doctor for a

dose of opium. The doctor was quite willing to

give it; but the Governor, hearing of the request,

sharply forbade “any such foolery.”

 

“How do you know what he wants it for?” he

said. “It’s just as likely as not that he’s shamming

all the time and wants to drug the sentinel,

or some such devilry. Rivarez is cunning enough

for anything.”

 

“My giving him a dose would hardly help him

to drug the sentinel,” replied the doctor, unable

to suppress a smile. “And as for shamming—

there’s not much fear of that. He is as likely as

not to die.”

 

“Anyway, I won’t have it given. If a man

wants to be tenderly treated, he should behave

accordingly. He has thoroughly deserved a little

sharp discipline. Perhaps it will be a lesson to

him not to play tricks with the window-bars again.”

 

“The law does not admit of torture, though,”

the doctor ventured to say; “and this is coming

perilously near it.”

 

“The law says nothing about opium, I think,”

said the Governor snappishly.

 

“It is for you to decide, of course, colonel; but

I hope you will let the straps be taken off at

any rate. They are a needless aggravation of

his misery. There’s no fear of his escaping now.

He couldn’t stand if you let him go free.”

 

“My good sir, a doctor may make a mistake

like other people, I suppose. I have got him safe

strapped now, and he’s going to stop so.”

 

“At least, then, have the straps a little loosened.

It is downright barbarity to keep them drawn so tight.”

 

“They will stop exactly as they are; and I will

thank you, sir, not to talk about barbarity to me.

If I do a thing, I have a reason for it.”

 

So the seventh night passed without any relief,

and the soldier stationed on guard at the cell door

crossed himself, shuddering, over and over again,

as he listened all night long to heart-rending

moans. The Gadfly’s endurance was failing him

at last.

 

At six in the morning the sentinel, just before

going off duty, unlocked the door softly and entered

the cell. He knew that he was committing

a serious breach of discipline, but could not bear

to go away without offering the consolation of

a friendly word.

 

He found the Gadfly lying still, with closed eyes

and parted lips. He stood silent for a moment;

then stooped down and asked:

 

“Can I do anything for you, sir? I have only

a minute.”

 

The Gadfly opened his eyes. “Let me alone!”

he moaned. “Let me alone–-”

 

He was asleep almost before the soldier had

slipped back to his post.

 

Ten days afterwards the Governor called again

at the palace, but found that the Cardinal had

gone to visit a sick man at Pieve d’Ottavo, and

was not expected home till the afternoon. That

evening, just as he was sitting down to dinner, his

servant came in to announce:

 

“His Eminence would like to speak to you.”

 

The Governor, with a hasty glance into the

looking glass, to make sure that his uniform was

in order, put on his most dignified air, and

went into the reception room, where Montanelli

was sitting, beating his hand gently on the arm

of the chair and looking out of the window with

an anxious line between his brows.

 

“I heard that you called to-day,” he said, cutting

short the Governor’s polite speeches with

a slightly imperious manner which he never

adopted in speaking to the country folk. “It was

probably on the business about which I have been

wishing to speak to you.”

 

“It was about Rivarez, Your Eminence.”

 

“So I supposed. I have been thinking the matter

over these last few days. But before we go

into that, I should like to hear whether you have

anything new to tell me.”

 

The Governor pulled his moustaches with an

embarrassed air.

 

“The fact is, I came to know whether Your

Eminence had anything to tell me. If you still

have an objection to the course I proposed taking,

I should be sincerely glad of your advice in

the matter; for, honestly, I don’t know what

to do.”

 

“Is there any new difficulty?”

 

“Only that next Thursday is the 3d of June,

—Corpus Domini,—and somehow or other the

matter must be settled before then.”

 

“Thursday is Corpus Domini, certainly; but

why must it be settled especially before then?”

 

“I am exceedingly sorry, Your Eminence, if I

seem to oppose you, but I can’t undertake to be

responsible for the peace of the town if Rivarez is

not got rid of before then. All the roughest set

in the hills collects here for that day, as Your Eminence

knows, and it is more than probable that

they may attempt to break open the fortress gates

and take him out. They won’t succeed; I’ll

take care of that, if I have to sweep them from the

gates with powder and shot. But we are very

likely to have something of that kind before the

day is over. Here in the Romagna there is bad

blood in the people, and when once they get out

their knives–-”

 

“I think with a little care we can prevent matters

going as far as knives. I have always found

the people of this district easy to get on with, if

they are reasonably treated. Of course, if you

once begin to threaten or coerce a Romagnol he

becomes unmanageable. But have you any reason for

supposing a new rescue scheme is intended?”

 

“I heard, both this morning and yesterday,

from confidential agents of mine, that a great

many rumours are circulating all over the district

and that the people are evidently up to some mischief

or other. But one can’t find out the details;

if one could it would be easier to take precautions.

And for my part, after the fright we had

the other day, I prefer to be on the safe side.

With such a cunning fox as Rivarez one can’t be

too careful.”

 

“The last I heard about Rivarez was that he was

too ill to move or speak. Is he recovering, then?”

 

“He seems much better now, Your Eminence.

He certainly has been very ill—unless he was

shamming all the time.”

 

“Have you any reason for supposing that

likely?”

 

“Well, the doctor seems convinced that it was

all genuine; but it’s a very mysterious kind of illness.

Any way, he is recovering, and more intractable than ever.”

 

“What has he done now?”

 

“There’s not much he can do, fortunately,”

the Governor answered, smiling as he remembered

the straps. “But his behaviour is something indescribable.

Yesterday morning I went into the

cell to ask him a few questions; he is not well

enough yet to come to me for interrogation—and

indeed, I thought it best not to run any risk of

the people seeing him until he recovers. Such

absurd stories always get about at once.”

 

“So you went there to interrogate him?”

 

“Yes, Your Eminence. I hoped he would be

more amenable to reason now.”

 

Montanelli looked him over deliberately, almost

as if he had been inspecting a new and disagreeable

animal. Fortunately, however, the Governor

was fingering his sword-belt, and did not see the

look. He went on placidly:

 

“I have not subjected him to any particular

severities, but I have been obliged to be rather

strict with him—especially as it is a military

prison—and I thought that perhaps a little indulgence

might have a good effect. I offered to

relax the discipline considerably if he would behave

in a reasonable manner; and how does Your

Eminence suppose he answered me? He lay looking

at me a minute, like a wolf in a cage, and then

said quite softly: ‘Colonel, I can’t get up and

strangle you; but my teeth are pretty good; you

had better take your throat a little further off.’

He is as savage as a wild-cat.”

 

“I am not surprised to hear it,” Montanelli

answered quietly. “But I came to ask you a

question. Do you honestly believe that the presence

of Rivarez in the prison here constitutes a

serious danger to the peace of the district?”

 

“Most certainly I do, Your Eminence.”

 

“You think that, to prevent the risk of bloodshed,

it is absolutely necessary that he should

somehow be got rid of before Corpus Domini?”

 

“I can only repeat that if he is here on Thursday,

I do not expect the festival to pass over without

a fight, and I think it likely to be a serious one.”

 

“And you think that if he were not here there

would be no such danger?”

 

“In that case, there would either be no disturbance

at all, or at most a little shouting and stone-throwing.

If Your Eminence can find some way

of getting rid of him, I will undertake that the

peace shall be kept. Otherwise, I expect most

serious trouble. I am convinced that a new rescue

plot is on hand, and Thursday is the day when we

may expect the attempt. Now, if on that very

morning they suddenly find that he is not in the

fortress at all, their plan fails of itself, and they

have no occasion to begin fighting. But if we

have to repulse them, and the daggers once get

drawn among such throngs of people, we are

likely to have the place burnt down before nightfall.”

 

“Then why do you not send him in to Ravenna?”

 

“Heaven knows, Your Eminence, I should be

thankful to do it! But how am I to prevent the

people rescuing him on the way? I have not soldiers

enough to resist an armed attack; and all

these mountaineers have got knives or flint-locks

or some such thing.”

 

“You still persist, then, in wishing for a courtmartial,

and in asking my consent to it?”

 

“Pardon me, Your Eminence; I ask you only

one thing—to help me prevent riots and bloodshed.

I am quite willing to admit that the military

commissions, such as that of Colonel Freddi,

were sometimes unnecessarily severe, and irritated

instead of subduing the people; but I think that

in this case a courtmartial would be a wise measure

and in the long run a merciful one. It would

prevent a riot, which in itself would be a terrible

disaster, and which very likely might cause a return

of the military commissions His Holiness has abolished.”

 

The Governor finished his little speech with

much solemnity, and waited for the Cardinal’s

answer. It was a long time coming; and when

it came was startlingly unexpected.

 

“Colonel Ferrari, do you believe in God?”

 

“Your Eminence!” the colonel gasped in a

voice full of exclamation-stops.

 

“Do you believe in God?” Montanelli repeated,

rising and looking down at him with steady,

searching eyes. The colonel rose too.

 

“Your Eminence, I am a Christian man, and

have never yet been refused absolution.”

 

Montanelli lifted the cross from his breast.

 

“Then swear on the cross of the Redeemer Who

died for