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

you, that you have been speaking the

truth to me.”

 

The colonel stood still and gazed at it blankly.

He could not quite make up his mind which was

mad, he or the Cardinal.

 

“You have asked me,” Montanelli went on,

“to give my consent to a man’s death. Kiss the

cross, if you dare, and tell me that you believe

there is no other way to prevent greater bloodshed.

And remember that if you tell me a lie you

are imperilling your immortal soul.”

 

After a little pause, the Governor bent down

and put the cross to his lips.

 

“I believe it,” he said.

 

Montanelli turned slowly away.

 

“I will give you a definite answer to-morrow.

But first I must see Rivarez and speak to him

alone.”

 

“Your Eminence—if I might suggest—I am

sure you will regret it. For that matter, he sent

me a message yesterday, by the guard, asking to

see Your Eminence; but I took no notice of it,

because–-”

 

“Took no notice!” Montanelli repeated. “A

man in such circumstances sent you a message,

and you took no notice of it?”

 

“I am sorry if Your Eminence is displeased. I

did not wish to trouble you over a mere impertinence

like that; I know Rivarez well enough by

now to feel sure that he only wanted to insult

you. And, indeed, if you will allow me to say so,

it would be most imprudent to go near him alone;

he is really dangerous—so much so, in fact, that

I have thought it necessary to use some physical

restraint of a mild kind––”

 

“And you really think there is much danger to

be apprehended from one sick and unarmed man,

who is under physical restraint of a mild kind?”

Montanelli spoke quite gently, but the colonel felt

the sting of his quiet contempt, and flushed under

it resentfully.

 

“Your Eminence will do as you think best,” he

said in his stiffest manner. “I only wished to

spare you the pain of hearing this man’s awful

blasphemies.”

 

“Which do you think the more grievous misfortune

for a Christian man; to hear a blasphemous

word uttered, or to abandon a fellow-creature in

extremity?”

 

The Governor stood erect and stiff, with his official

face, like a face of wood. He was deeply

offended at Montanelli’s treatment of him, and

showed it by unusual ceremoniousness.

 

“At what time does Your Eminence wish to

visit the prisoner?” he asked.

 

“I will go to him at once.”

 

“As Your Eminence pleases. If you will kindly wait a

few moments, I will send someone to prepare him.”

 

The Governor had come down from his official

pedestal in a great hurry. He did not want Montanelli

to see the straps.

 

“Thank you; I would rather see him as he is,

without preparation. I will go straight up to the

fortress. Good-evening, colonel; you may expect

my answer to-morrow morning.”

 

CHAPTER VI.

 

HEARING the cell-door unlocked, the Gadfly

turned away his eyes with languid indifference.

He supposed that it was only the Governor, coming

to worry him with another interrogation.

Several soldiers mounted the narrow stair, their

carbines clanking against the wall; then a deferential

voice said: “It is rather steep here, Your Eminence.”

 

He started convulsively, and then shrank down,

catching his breath under the stinging pressure of

the straps.

 

Montanelli came in with the sergeant and three

guards.

 

“If Your Eminence will kindly wait a moment,”

the sergeant began nervously, “one of my men

will bring a chair. He has just gone to fetch it.

Your Eminence will excuse us—if we had been expecting

you, we should have been prepared.”

 

“There is no need for any preparation. Will

you kindly leave us alone, sergeant; and wait at

the foot of the stairs with your men?”

 

“Yes, Your Eminence. Here is the chair; shall

I put it beside him?”

 

The Gadfly was lying with closed eyes; but he

felt that Montanelli was looking at him.

 

“I think he is asleep, Your Eminence,” the sergeant

was beginning, but the Gadfly opened his eyes.

 

“No,” he said.

 

As the soldiers were leaving the cell they were

stopped by a sudden exclamation from Montanelli;

and, turning back, saw that he was bending

down to examine the straps.

 

“Who has been doing this?” he asked. The

sergeant fumbled with his cap.

 

“It was by the Governor’s express orders, Your

Eminence.”

 

“I had no idea of this, Signer Rivarez,” Montanelli

said in a voice of great distress.

 

“I told Your Eminence,” the Gadfly answered,

with his hard smile, “that I n-n-never expected to

be patted on the head.”

 

“Sergeant, how long has this been going on?”

 

“Since he tried to escape, Your Eminence.”

 

“That is, nearly a week? Bring a knife and cut

these off at once.”

 

“May it please Your Eminence, the doctor

wanted to take them off, but Colonel Ferrari

wouldn’t allow it.”

 

“Bring a knife at once.” Montanelli had not

raised his voice, but the soldiers could see that he

was white with anger. The sergeant took a clasp-knife

from his pocket, and bent down to cut the

arm-strap. He was not a skilful-fingered man;

and he jerked the strap tighter with an awkward

movement, so that the Gadfly winced and bit his

lip in spite of all his self-control. Montanelli came

forward at once.

 

“You don’t know how to do it; give me the

knife.”

 

“Ah-h-h!” The Gadfly stretched out his arms

with a long, rapturous sigh as the strap fell off.

The next instant Montanelli had cut the other

one, which bound his ankles.

 

“Take off the irons, too, sergeant; and then

come here. I want to speak to you.”

 

He stood by the window, looking on, till the

sergeant threw down the fetters and approached him.

 

“Now,” he said, “tell me everything that has

been happening.”

 

The sergeant, nothing loath, related all that he

knew of the Gadfly’s illness, of the “disciplinary

measures,” and of the doctor’s unsuccessful attempt

to interfere.

 

“But I think, Your Eminence,” he added,

“that the colonel wanted the straps kept on as a

means of getting evidence.”

 

“Evidence?”

 

“Yes, Your Eminence; the day before yesterday

I heard him offer to have them taken off if

he”—with a glance at the Gadfly—“would answer

a question he had asked.”

 

Montanelli clenched his hand on the window-sill,

and the soldiers glanced at one another: they

had never seen the gentle Cardinal angry before.

As for the Gadfly, he had forgotten their existence;

he had forgotten everything except the

physical sensation of freedom. He was cramped

in every limb; and now stretched, and turned, and

twisted about in a positive ecstasy of relief.

 

“You can go now, sergeant,” the Cardinal said.

“You need not feel anxious about having committed

a breach of discipline; it was your duty to

tell me when I asked you. See that no one disturbs

us. I will come out when I am ready.”

 

When the door had closed behind the soldiers,

he leaned on the window-sill and looked for a while

at the sinking sun, so as to leave the Gadfly a little

more breathing time.

 

“I have heard,” he said presently, leaving the

window, and sitting down beside the pallet, “that

you wish to speak to me alone. If you feel well

enough to tell me what you wanted to say, I am

at your service.”

 

He spoke very coldly, with a stiff, imperious

manner that was not natural to him. Until the

straps were off, the Gadfly was to him simply a

grievously wronged and tortured human being;

but now he recalled their last interview, and the

deadly insult with which it had closed. The Gadfly

looked up, resting his head lazily on one arm.

He possessed the gift of slipping into graceful attitudes;

and when his face was in shadow no one

would have guessed through what deep waters he

had been passing. But, as he looked up, the clear

evening light showed how haggard and colourless

he was, and how plainly the trace of the last few

days was stamped on him. Montanelli’s anger

died away.

 

“I am afraid you have been terribly ill,” he said.

“I am sincerely sorry that I did not know of all

this. I would have put a stop to it before.”

 

The Gadfly shrugged his shoulders. “All’s fair

in war,” he said coolly. “Your Eminence objects

to straps theoretically, from the Christian standpoint;

but it is hardly fair to expect the colonel

to see that. He, no doubt, would prefer not to

try them on his own skin—which is j-j-just my

case. But that is a matter of p-p-personal convenience.

At this moment I am undermost—

w-w-what would you have? It is very kind of

Your Eminence, though, to call here; but perhaps

that was done from the C-c-christian standpoint,

too. Visiting prisoners—ah, yes! I forgot.

‘Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the l-least of

these’—it’s not very complimentary, but one of

the least is duly grateful.”

 

“Signor Rivarez,” the Cardinal interrupted, “I

have come here on your account—not on my own.

If you had not been ‘undermost,’ as you call it, I

should never have spoken to you again after what

you said to me last week; but you have the double

privilege of a prisoner and a sick man, and I could

not refuse to come. Have you anything to say

to me, now I am here; or have you sent for me

merely to amuse yourself by insulting an old man?”

 

There was no answer. The Gadfly had turned.

away, and was lying with one hand across his eyes.

 

“I am—very sorry to trouble you,” he said at

last, huskily; “but could I have a little water?”

 

There was a jug of water standing by the window,

and Montanelli rose and fetched it. As he

slipped his arm round the Gadfly to lift him, he

suddenly felt the damp, cold fingers close over

his wrist like a vice.

 

“Give me your hand—quick—just a moment,”

the Gadfly whispered. “Oh, what difference does

it make to you? Only one minute!”

 

He sank down, hiding his face on Montanelli’s

arm, and quivering from head to foot.

 

“Drink a little water,” Montanelli said after a

moment. The Gadfly obeyed silently; then lay

back on the pallet with closed eyes. He himself

could have given no explanation of what had happened

to him when Montanelli’s hand had touched

his cheek; he only knew that in all his life there

had been nothing more terrible.

 

Montanelli drew his chair closer to the pallet

and sat down. The Gadfly was lying quite motionless,

like a corpse, and his face was livid and

drawn. After a long silence, he opened his eyes,

and fixed their haunting, spectral gaze on the Cardinal.

 

“Thank you,” he said. “I—am sorry. I think

—you asked me something?”

 

“You are not fit to talk. If there is anything

you want to say to me, I will try to come again

to-morrow.”

 

“Please don’t go, Your Eminence—indeed,

there is nothing the matter with me. I—I have

been a little upset these few days; it was half of

it malingering, though—the colonel will tell you

so if you ask him.”

 

“I prefer to form my own conclusions,” Montanelli

answered quietly.

 

“S-so does the colonel. And occasionally, do

you know, they are rather witty. You w-w-wouldn’t

think it to look at him; but s-s-sometimes he

gets hold of an or-r-riginal idea. On

Friday night, for instance—I think it was Friday,

but I got a l-little mixed as to time towards the

end—anyhow,