South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗
- Author: Norman Douglas
Book online «South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗». Author Norman Douglas
Chances. He Never Threatened; He Performed. Everybody Knew That. Signor
Malipizzo Did Not Like The Prospect Of Losing His Lucrative Job. Still
Less Did He Fancy The Notion Of Receiving A Charge Of Buck-Shot In His
Liver, One Evening From Behind A Wall. That Was Don Giustino's Cheerful
Way With People Who Annoyed Him. Those Infernal Clericals; Their
Sanguinary, Out-Of-Date Methods! Papacy And Camorra--Interconvertible
Terms--Who Could Plumb Their Depths? The Masons Were Different. They
Fought For The Enlightenment Of A People Deluded By Priestly Snares And
Intimidated By The Threats Of Assassins. Don Giustino. Holy Mother Of
God! What Would To-Morrow Bring?
Thinking Thus, The Judge Eyed His Victuals Resentfully. His Appetite
Was Gone--He Was Beginning To Feel Sick. Suddenly He Pushed His Plate
Away From Him And Hobbled Out Of The Room, Even Forgetting To Finish
His Wine. He Limped Across The Broiling Market-Place To Give The
Necessary Orders To His Faithful And Experienced Clerk Who, Having
Likewise Got Wind Of That Telegram, Was Not Unprepared For Some Change
Of Mind On The Part Of His Chief.
"The Young Idiot Must Come Up For Trial To-Morrow, If The Assassin
Arrives."
"A Sound Suggestion," The Grey-Haired One Replied. "It Will Take The
Wind Out Of His Sails. It Will Prove--"
"Of Course It Will. And Now, Don Carlo, Go And Take Your Little Nap. I
Will Stay Here, To Put My Papers In Order. May Your Dreams Be Happy."
The Judge Was Dowered With Extreme Irascibility Of Temper, Due To His
Chronic Valetudinarian Condition. He, Too--Within The Limits Of
Propriety--Was Not Going To Take Things Lying Down. So Much Was Certain.
At First He Was Too Agitated To Be Able To Collect His Thoughts.
Gradually, As He Moved About Those Rooms, Calmness And Confidence
Returned. He Was Alone. It Was Very Warm And Quiet Here, Amid These
Scenes Of His Many Little Triumphs. The Look Of The Archives, The
Familiar Smell Of The Place, Was Reassuring. He Began To Feel At Ease
Once More. Ideas Came To Him.
He Signed Warrants For The Arrest Of The Messiah, Krasnojabkin And Some
Fifteen Others Of Those Who Had Escaped His Wrath On The Previous
Occasion. They Would Be Under Lock And Key Within Two Hours. Don
Giustino Would Never Interfere On Behalf Of These Aliens. Nor Would Any
One Else. An Inspiration! It Would Proclaim His Zeal For The Public
Order--His Official Independence Of Mind.
And--Yes. There Was One Other Little Thing.
He Hobbled To Where The Various Pieces Justificatives Were Lying In
Their Sealed Envelopes. He Took Up The Receptacle Containing The Gold
Talisman Which Had Been Sequestrated From The Priest's Nephew, And
Broke It Open. It Could Always Be Sealed Up Again. The Coin, Attached
To Its String, Fell Out; It Was An Old-Fashioned Medal--Spanish,
Apparently. He Fingered It Awhile. Then, Opening The Packet Which Held
Muhlen's Gold, He Carefully Examined The Contents. Five Or Six Of These
Coins Were Of The Same Kind. French Napoleons. That Was Lucky. Any
Stick Was Good Enough To Beat A Dog With. This Was A Particularly Good
Stick. He Bored A Hole Through One Of The Napoleons And Placed It On
The Culprit's String, After Removing The Original Talisman, Which He
Bestowed In His Own Pocket. That Done, He Sealed Up The Two Parcels
Again, Conscientiously.
"There!" He Said. "He Laughs Best Who Laughs Last. Don Giustino Is A
Clever Man. But The Devil Himself Could Not Prove The Prisoner
Innocent, In The Face Of Evidence Like This. Down With The Pope!"
Never Had He Felt So Enlightened, So Gloriously Freemasonish.
Chapter 35
The Commendatore Giustino Morena--Familiarly Known As Don Giustino Or,
By His Enemies, As "The Assassin"--Was A Southerner By Birth, A City
Product. From Low Surroundings He Had Risen To Be A Prominent Member Of
The Chamber Of Deputies And One Of The Most Impressive Figures In The
Country.
As A Child He Was Apprenticed To A Cobbler. There, Bending Over His
Work On The Pavement Outside The Shop-Door, His Blue Eyes And Curly
Fair Hair, His Rosy Cheeks, His Winning Smile, His Precocious Retorts,
Attracted The Most Favourable Comment From The Passers-By And Secured
Him An Unfailing Supply Of Chocolates And Cigarettes. People Liked Him
So Much That He Quickly Learned Not Only How To Mend Shoes But A Good
Many Other Things Which They Were Anxious To Teach Him. His Grown-Up
Friends Vied With One Another For A Place In His Affections And A
Certain Scandalous Affair With Knives, Which Somehow Or Other Got Into
The Daily Press Where It Had No Business To Be, Put The Seal On His
Reputation In The Quarter.
"That Boy Will Go Far!" The Old Men And Women Used To Say. "Only Look
At His Blue Eyes. Blessed The Mother That Bore Him, Whoever She
Was"--For Nobody Even Pretended To Know.
They Were Right; As Old Folks Are Apt To Be. The Victor In The
Disreputable Affray Happened To Be A Gentleman Of Middle Age, A
Distinguished Ornament Of The Black Hand. No Happier Fate Could Have
Been Devised For Giustino Than To Live Under The Patronage Of Such An
Individual. He Took Charge Of The Little Fellow, And Was Not Slow In
Discovering That His Protege Possessed Not Only A Muscular Framework
And Ready Wit, But The Malice, The Concentrated Ruthlessness And
Rapacity Of Fifty Devils Rolled Into One. Something Could Be Made Out
Of That Boy, He Concluded; The Society, Always Ready To Adopt Promising
Neophytes On The Recommendation Of A Qualified Practitioner Like
Himself, Would Doubtless Enrol Him In Due Course. Meanwhile He
Instructed Him, By Precept And Example, How To Be Religious In The
Manner Most Pleasing To The Madonna. He Narrated The Lives Of The
Saints, Forced Him To Attend Mass And Confess Himself To One Of The
Society's Trusted Priests And Taught Him, Above All Things, To Hate The
Government Because It Oppressed The Pope And The Poor. One Day He Said:
"You Must Now Attend Evening Classes. I Think You Will Do Well At Our
School Of The Holy Cross. Your Outfit Is Exceptional. Among Other
Things You Have The Great Advantage That The First And Second Fingers
Of Both Your Hands Are Of Equal Length. That Augurs Well! God Has
Favoured You, For Many Lads Have To Lengthen The First One
Artificially, Which Is Apt To Weaken The Joints."
The Master And Director Drew Good Salaries From The Numerous Pupils At
This Institution. Everything Useful To Young Boys Was Taught Here Save
Only Religion. Seeing That All The Scholars Were Drawn From Families
Distinguished For Their Piety And Adherence To The Pope, The Director
Considered A Religious Training To Be Superfluous--His Pupils Learnt
These Things On Their Mothers' Knees. Giustino Soon Acquired The
Jargon; He Passed His Examination In Fifteen Articles, In Secrecy,
Swiftness Of Foot And Nimbleness Of Hand. The Latter Was Taught On A
Clothed Wooden Figure Out Of Whose Pockets The Students Were Obliged To
Extract Handkerchiefs, Gold Watches And Jewelry With Such Dexterity
That Not One Of The Little Bells, Which Dangled From Its Hat, Gave
Forth The Slightest Sound; That Stage Passed, The Art Was Practised On
The Person Of The Director Himself Who, Walking Through The Streets As
An Ordinary Citizen, Was Supposed To Have His Pockets Picked In The
Approved Professional Manner. Those Who Failed To Come Up To The
Standard Were Thrashed Savagely Three Or Four Times; If They Still
Failed, They Were Sent Back To Their Parents With A Polite
Recommendation That They Should Be Taught Some Other Trade. Giustino
Was Seldom Punished. On The Contrary, The Director Was So Enamoured Of
His Progress And Blue Eyes That He Entered Him As A Fox Long Before The
Regular Three Years' Course Was Up, And Offered To Tattoo The Symbol Of
Proficiency, A Cross, On The Back Of His Right Hand.
The Patron, While Proud Of His Young Friend, Did Not Intend To Spoil
His Chances In After Life By An Indelible Bodily Mark Of This Kind
However Honourably Attained. He Had Other Designs For Him. To Pass The
Next Year Or Two, He Made Arrangements For Giustino, Now Grown Lean And
Wolfish, To Be Officially Received Into The Black Hand. As Probationer
He Was The Delight Of His Superiors; He Went Through The Various Tests
With Phenomenal Rapidity And Gave Abundant Proofs Of Manliness. At The
Age Of Sixteen He Had Already Killed Three Men--One Of Them Being A
Policeman Who Was Suspected Of Infidelity Towards The Society. It Was
Then That The Protector, Who Was No Fool, Spoke To Him A Second Time,
Saying:
"As You Know, My Son, I Can Neither Read Nor Write. Those Were Not
Considered Respectable Accomplishments, In My Day, For A Lad Of Spirit
Or A Man Of Honour. Devil's Work! But We Live In An Effeminate Age.
Virtue Is At A Discount. The Wise Man, While Observing These Things
With Regret, Adapts Himself To Them. He Marches With The Times. They
Call Us Reactionaries. It Depends Upon Boys Like You To Show The World
What Reactionaries Are Good For. The Whole Town Has Already Learnt To
Respect Your Manly Instincts. You Must Now Go Further And Learn To Read
And Write. You Will Then Enter The University. There You Will Study Law
And Politics. You Will Then Enter Parliament. There You Will Represent
Our Cause. The Means--The Money? Trust The Society! Only Be A Credit To
Your Friends, Defend The Poor, And Never Forget To Say Your Prayers.
Then The Good God Will Reward Your Efforts."
This Is Precisely What The Good God Did. Within A Short Space Of Time
The Young Deputy Had Made A Name For Himself; He Was Recognized As One
Of The Few Representatives Of The Black Hand Whose Word Could Be
Implicitly Relied Upon. He Had A Share In Everything; Commissions And
Percentages Poured In Upon Him. After Making An Example Of Half A Dozen
Tiresome Persons By Having Them Quietly Stabbed Or Shot--Nothing Was
Ever Proved Against Him Though Everybody Knew It Was His Work--He
Experienced No Further Opposition In His Political Career. Morena Never
Threatens, They Say; He Performs. A Safe Man! From A Timorous Liberal
Government, His Avowed Enemies, He Extorted The Title Of Commendatore;
Not Because He Attached Any Value To Such Outward Distinctions But
Because, Like A True Camorrista, He Never Lost An Opportunity Of
Showing That He Could Do What He Pleased With Everybody, Government
Included. It Was An Open Secret That The Next Vacant Portfolio Of
Justice Would Be At His Disposal. All This Of Course Was Years And
Years Ago.
To These Arts Of Statecraft He Added A Quite Unusual Legal Acumen And
Forensic Ability. For The Last Fifteen Years He Had Been In Receipt Of
Large Annual Retaining Fees From The Principal Commercial Firms Of The
Country; That Of One Shipping Company Alone Amounted To Fifty Thousand
Francs. They Found It Worth Their While Since, Without Doing A Stroke
Of Work For Them, He Gave His Tacit Support To Their Most Nefarious
Undertakings. A Useful Man! As A Lawyer In Private Cases His Reputation
Was Tremendous. Judges And Juries Had Been Known To Faint With Emotion
At His Dramatic Gestures, His Fiery Eloquence. He Could Pull Anybody
Out Of A Scrape. Wherever He Spoke The Court Was Crowded To Listen To
His Impassioned Arguments, To Look Upon The Cold Fire Of His Blue Eyes,
His Carefully Adjusted Dress, His Fair Hair Turning To Grey, His Smooth
Face Which He Kept Shaven For No Other Reason--So He Used To
Declare--Than Because He Reverenced The Fashions Of The Old Papal
Regime. "Just Like An Englishman," People Said.
He Had Lately Put On Flesh; It Inspired Confidence. Moreover, He Never
Married; That Also Was Something Out Of The Common--It Pointed To
Independence, To Lack Of Ordinary Human Frailties. In Short, He Was So
Perfect A Compound Of Vice And Intelligence That Even His Dearest
Friends Could Not Put Their Finger On The Exact Spot Where The One
Began And The Other Ended. And The Whole Of This Unique Mixture Was
Placed At The Disposal Of The Vatican. Don Giustino Was The Implacable
Enemy Of Modernism, A Living Disproof Of The Vulgar Assertion That
Freemasonry Is The Sole Key To Success In Modern Italy.
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