The Gadfly Read online

  CHAPTER VII.

  IT had long been dark when Arthur rang at the front door of the greathouse in the Via Borra. He remembered that he had been wandering aboutthe streets; but where, or why, or for how long, he had no idea. Julia'spage opened the door, yawning, and grinned significantly at the haggard,stony face. It seemed to him a prodigious joke to have the young mastercome home from jail like a "drunk and disorderly" beggar. Arthur wentupstairs. On the first floor he met Gibbons coming down with an air oflofty and solemn disapproval. He tried to pass with a muttered "Goodevening"; but Gibbons was no easy person to get past against his will.

  "The gentlemen are out, sir," he said, looking critically at Arthur'srather neglected dress and hair. "They have gone with the mistress to anevening party, and will not be back till nearly twelve."

  Arthur looked at his watch; it was nine o'clock. Oh, yes! he would havetime--plenty of time------

  "My mistress desired me to ask whether you would like any supper, sir;and to say that she hopes you will sit up for her, as she particularlywishes to speak to you this evening."

  "I don't want anything, thank you; you can tell her I have not gone tobed."

  He went up to his room. Nothing in it had been changed since his arrest;Montanelli's portrait was on the table where he had placed it, andthe crucifix stood in the alcove as before. He paused a moment on thethreshold, listening; but the house was quite still; evidently no onewas coming to disturb him. He stepped softly into the room and lockedthe door.

  And so he had come to the end. There was nothing to think or troubleabout; an importunate and useless consciousness to get rid of--andnothing more. It seemed a stupid, aimless kind of thing, somehow.

  He had not formed any resolve to commit suicide, nor indeed had hethought much about it; the thing was quite obvious and inevitable. Hehad even no definite idea as to what manner of death to choose; all thatmattered was to be done with it quickly--to have it over and forget. Hehad no weapon in the room, not even a pocketknife; but that was of noconsequence--a towel would do, or a sheet torn into strips.

  There was a large nail just over the window. That would do; but it mustbe firm to bear his weight. He got up on a chair to feel the nail; itwas not quite firm, and he stepped down again and took a hammer from adrawer. He knocked in the nail, and was about to pull a sheet off hisbed, when he suddenly remembered that he had not said his prayers. Ofcourse, one must pray before dying; every Christian does that. There areeven special prayers for a departing soul.

  He went into the alcove and knelt down before the crucifix. "Almightyand merciful God----" he began aloud; and with that broke off and saidno more. Indeed, the world was grown so dull that there was nothing leftto pray for--or against. And then, what did Christ know about a troubleof this kind--Christ, who had never suffered it? He had only beenbetrayed, like Bolla; He had never been tricked into betraying.

  Arthur rose, crossing himself from old habit. Approaching the table,he saw lying upon it a letter addressed to him, in Montanelli'shandwriting. It was in pencil:

  "My Dear Boy: It is a great disappointment to me that I cannot see youon the day of your release; but I have been sent for to visit a dyingman. I shall not get back till late at night. Come to me early to-morrowmorning. In great haste,

  "L. M."

  He put down the letter with a sigh; it did seem hard on the Padre.

  How the people had laughed and gossiped in the streets! Nothing wasaltered since the days when he had been alive. Not the least little oneof all the daily trifles round him was changed because a human soul, aliving human soul, had been struck down dead. It was all just the sameas before. The water had plashed in the fountains; the sparrows hadtwittered under the eaves; just as they had done yesterday, just as theywould do to-morrow. And as for him, he was dead--quite dead.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, crossed his arms along thefoot-rail, and rested his forehead upon them. There was plenty of time;and his head ached so--the very middle of the brain seemed to ache; itwas all so dull and stupid--so utterly meaningless----

  *****

  The front-door bell rang sharply, and he started up in a breathlessagony of terror, with both hands at his throat. They had come back--hehad sat there dreaming, and let the precious time slip away--and nowhe must see their faces and hear their cruel tongues--their sneers andcomments--If only he had a knife------

  He looked desperately round the room. His mother's work-basket stoodin a little cupboard; surely there would be scissors; he might sever anartery. No; the sheet and nail were safer, if he had time.

  He dragged the counterpane from his bed, and with frantic haste begantearing off a strip. The sound of footsteps came up the stairs. No; thestrip was too wide; it would not tie firmly; and there must be a noose.He worked faster as the footsteps drew nearer; and the blood throbbedin his temples and roared in his ears. Quicker--quicker! Oh, God! fiveminutes more!

  There was a knock at the door. The strip of torn stuff dropped from hishands, and he sat quite still, holding his breath to listen. The handleof the door was tried; then Julia's voice called:

  "Arthur!"

  He stood up, panting.

  "Arthur, open the door, please; we are waiting."

  He gathered up the torn counterpane, threw it into a drawer, and hastilysmoothed down the bed.

  "Arthur!" This time it was James who called, and the door-handle wasshaken impatiently. "Are you asleep?"

  Arthur looked round the room, saw that everything was hidden, andunlocked the door.

  "I should think you might at least have obeyed my express request thatyou should sit up for us, Arthur," said Julia, sweeping into the room ina towering passion. "You appear to think it the proper thing for us todance attendance for half an hour at your door----"

  "Four minutes, my dear," James mildly corrected, stepping into the roomat the end of his wife's pink satin train. "I certainly think, Arthur,that it would have been more--becoming if----"

  "What do you want?" Arthur interrupted. He was standing with his handupon the door, glancing furtively from one to the other like a trappedanimal. But James was too obtuse and Julia too angry to notice the look.

  Mr. Burton placed a chair for his wife and sat down, carefully pullingup his new trousers at the knees. "Julia and I," he began, "feel it tobe our duty to speak to you seriously about----"

  "I can't listen to-night; I--I'm not well. My head aches--you mustwait."

  Arthur spoke in a strange, indistinct voice, with a confused andrambling manner. James looked round in surprise.

  "Is there anything the matter with you?" he asked anxiously, suddenlyremembering that Arthur had come from a very hotbed of infection. "Ihope you're not sickening for anything. You look quite feverish."

  "Nonsense!" Julia interrupted sharply. "It's only the usual theatricals,because he's ashamed to face us. Come here and sit down, Arthur." Arthurslowly crossed the room and sat down on the bed. "Yes?" he said wearily.

  Mr. Burton coughed, cleared his throat, smoothed his already immaculatebeard, and began the carefully prepared speech over again:

  "I feel it to be my duty--my painful duty--to speak very seriouslyto you about your extraordinary behaviour in connecting yourselfwith--a--law-breakers and incendiaries and--a--persons of disreputablecharacter. I believe you to have been, perhaps, more foolish thandepraved--a----"

  He paused.

  "Yes?" Arthur said again.

  "Now, I do not wish to be hard on you," James went on, softening alittle in spite of himself before the weary hopelessness of Arthur'smanner. "I am quite willing to believe that you have been led away bybad companions, and to take into account your youth and inexperience andthe--a--a--imprudent and--a--impulsive character which you have, I fear,inherited from your mother."

  Arthur's eyes wandered slowly to his mother's portrait and back again,but he did not speak.

  "But you will, I feel sure, understand," James continued, "that it isquite impossible for me to keep any longer in my hous
e a person who hasbrought public disgrace upon a name so highly respected as ours."

  "Yes?" Arthur repeated once more.

  "Well?" said Julia sharply, closing her fan with a snap and laying itacross her knee. "Are you going to have the goodness to say anything but'Yes,' Arthur?"

  "You will do as you think best, of course," he answered slowly, withoutmoving. "It doesn't matter much either way."

  "Doesn't--matter?" James repeated, aghast; and his wife rose with alaugh.

  "Oh, it doesn't matter, doesn't it? Well, James, I hope you understandnow how much gratitude you may expect in that quarter. I told you whatwould come of showing charity to Papist adventuresses and their----"

  "Hush, hush! Never mind that, my dear!"

  "It's all nonsense, James; we've had more than enough of thissentimentality! A love-child setting himself up as a member of thefamily--it's quite time he did know what his mother was! Why shouldwe be saddled with the child of a Popish priest's amourettes? There,then--look!"

  She pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of her pocket and tossedit across the table to Arthur. He opened it; the writing was in hismother's hand, and was dated four months before his birth. It was aconfession, addressed to her husband, and with two signatures.

  Arthur's eyes travelled slowly down the page, past the unsteady lettersin which her name was written, to the strong, familiar signature:"Lorenzo Montanelli." For a moment he stared at the writing; then,without a word, refolded the paper and laid it down. James rose and tookhis wife by the arm.

  "There, Julia, that will do. Just go downstairs now; it's late, and Iwant to talk a little business with Arthur. It won't interest you."

  She glanced up at her husband; then back at Arthur, who was silentlystaring at the floor.

  "He seems half stupid," she whispered.

  When she had gathered up her train and left the room, James carefullyshut the door and went back to his chair beside the table. Arthur sat asbefore, perfectly motionless and silent.

  "Arthur," James began in a milder tone, now Julia was not there to hear,"I am very sorry that this has come out. You might just as well not haveknown it. However, all that's over; and I am pleased to see that youcan behave with such self-control. Julia is a--a little excited; ladiesoften--anyhow, I don't want to be too hard on you."

  He stopped to see what effect the kindly words had produced; but Arthurwas quite motionless.

  "Of course, my dear boy," James went on after a moment, "this is adistressing story altogether, and the best thing we can do is to holdour tongues about it. My father was generous enough not to divorce yourmother when she confessed her fall to him; he only demanded that theman who had led her astray should leave the country at once; and, asyou know, he went to China as a missionary. For my part, I was very muchagainst your having anything to do with him when he came back; but myfather, just at the last, consented to let him teach you, on conditionthat he never attempted to see your mother. I must, in justice,acknowledge that I believe they both observed that condition faithfullyto the end. It is a very deplorable business; but----"

  Arthur looked up. All the life and expression had gone out of his face;it was like a waxen mask.

  "D-don't you think," he said softly, with a curious stammeringhesitation on the words, "th-that--all this--is--v-very--funny?"

  "FUNNY?" James pushed his chair away from the table, and sat staring athim, too much petrified for anger. "Funny! Arthur, are you mad?"

  Arthur suddenly threw back his head, and burst into a frantic fit oflaughing.

  "Arthur!" exclaimed the shipowner, rising with dignity, "I am amazed atyour levity!"

  There was no answer but peal after peal of laughter, so loud andboisterous that even James began to doubt whether there was notsomething more the matter here than levity.

  "Just like a hysterical woman," he muttered, turning, with acontemptuous shrug of his shoulders, to tramp impatiently up anddown the room. "Really, Arthur, you're worse than Julia; there, stoplaughing! I can't wait about here all night."

  He might as well have asked the crucifix to come down from its pedestal.Arthur was past caring for remonstrances or exhortations; he onlylaughed, and laughed, and laughed without end.

  "This is absurd!" said James, stopping at last in his irritated pacingto and fro. "You are evidently too much excited to be reasonableto-night. I can't talk business with you if you're going on that way.Come to me to-morrow morning after breakfast. And now you had better goto bed. Good-night."

  He went out, slamming the door. "Now for the hysterics downstairs," hemuttered as he tramped noisily away. "I suppose it'll be tears there!"

  *****

  The frenzied laughter died on Arthur's lips. He snatched up the hammerfrom the table and flung himself upon the crucifix.

  With the crash that followed he came suddenly to his senses, standingbefore the empty pedestal, the hammer still in his hand, and thefragments of the broken image scattered on the floor about his feet.

  He threw down the hammer. "So easy!" he said, and turned away. "And whatan idiot I am!"

  He sat down by the table, panting heavily for breath, and rested hisforehead on both hands. Presently he rose, and, going to the wash-stand,poured a jugful of cold water over his head and face. He came back quitecomposed, and sat down to think.

  And it was for such things as these--for these false and slavish people,these dumb and soulless gods--that he had suffered all these torturesof shame and passion and despair; had made a rope to hang himself,forsooth, because one priest was a liar. As if they were not all liars!Well, all that was done with; he was wiser now. He need only shake offthese vermin and begin life afresh.

  There were plenty of goods vessels in the docks; it would be an easymatter to stow himself away in one of them, and get across to Canada,Australia, Cape Colony--anywhere. It was no matter for the country, ifonly it was far enough; and, as for the life out there, he could see,and if it did not suit him he could try some other place.

  He took out his purse. Only thirty-three paoli; but his watch was agood one. That would help him along a bit; and in any case it was of noconsequence--he should pull through somehow. But they would searchfor him, all these people; they would be sure to make inquiries at thedocks. No; he must put them on a false scent--make them believe himdead; then he should be quite free--quite free. He laughed softly tohimself at the thought of the Burtons searching for his corpse. What afarce the whole thing was!

  Taking a sheet of paper, he wrote the first words that occurred to him:

  "I believed in you as I believed in God. God is a thing made of clay,that I can smash with a hammer; and you have fooled me with a lie."

  He folded up the paper, directed it to Montanelli, and, taking anothersheet, wrote across it: "Look for my body in Darsena." Then he put onhis hat and went out of the room. Passing his mother's portrait, helooked up with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. She, too, had liedto him.

  He crept softly along the corridor, and, slipping back the door-bolts,went out on to the great, dark, echoing marble staircase. It seemed toyawn beneath him like a black pit as he descended.

  He crossed the courtyard, treading cautiously for fear of waking GianBattista, who slept on the ground floor. In the wood-cellar at the backwas a little grated window, opening on the canal and not more than fourfeet from the ground. He remembered that the rusty grating had brokenaway on one side; by pushing a little he could make an aperture wideenough to climb out by.

  The grating was strong, and he grazed his hands badly and tore thesleeve of his coat; but that was no matter. He looked up and down thestreet; there was no one in sight, and the canal lay black and silent,an ugly trench between two straight and slimy walls. The untrieduniverse might prove a dismal hole, but it could hardly be more flatand sordid than the corner which he was leaving behind him. There wasnothing to regret; nothing to look back upon. It had been a pestilentlittle stagnant world, full of squalid lies and clumsy cheats andfoul-smelling ditches that were not
even deep enough to drown a man.

  He walked along the canal bank, and came out upon the tiny square by theMedici palace. It was here that Gemma had run up to him with her vividface, her outstretched hands. Here was the little flight of wet stonesteps leading down to the moat; and there the fortress scowling acrossthe strip of dirty water. He had never noticed before how squat and meanit looked.

  Passing through the narrow streets he reached the Darsenashipping-basin, where he took off his hat and flung it into the water.It would be found, of course, when they dragged for his body. Then hewalked on along the water's edge, considering perplexedly what to donext. He must contrive to hide on some ship; but it was a difficultthing to do. His only chance would be to get on to the huge oldMedici breakwater and walk along to the further end of it. There was alow-class tavern on the point; probably he should find some sailor therewho could be bribed.

  But the dock gates were closed. How should he get past them, and pastthe customs officials? His stock of money would not furnish the highbribe that they would demand for letting him through at night andwithout a passport. Besides they might recognize him.

  As he passed the bronze statue of the "Four Moors," a man's figureemerged from an old house on the opposite side of the shipping basinand approached the bridge. Arthur slipped at once into the deep shadowbehind the group of statuary and crouched down in the darkness, peepingcautiously round the corner of the pedestal.

  It was a soft spring night, warm and starlit. The water lapped againstthe stone walls of the basin and swirled in gentle eddies round thesteps with a sound as of low laughter. Somewhere near a chain creaked,swinging slowly to and fro. A huge iron crane towered up, tall andmelancholy in the dimness. Black on a shimmering expanse of starry skyand pearly cloud-wreaths, the figures of the fettered, struggling slavesstood out in vain and vehement protest against a merciless doom.

  The man approached unsteadily along the water side, shouting an Englishstreet song. He was evidently a sailor returning from a carouse at sometavern. No one else was within sight. As he drew near, Arthur stood upand stepped into the middle of the roadway. The sailor broke off in hissong with an oath, and stopped short.

  "I want to speak to you," Arthur said in Italian. "Do you understandme?"

  The man shook his head. "It's no use talking that patter to me," hesaid; then, plunging into bad French, asked sullenly: "What do you want?Why can't you let me pass?"

  "Just come out of the light here a minute; I want to speak to you."

  "Ah! wouldn't you like it? Out of the light! Got a knife anywhere aboutyou?"

  "No, no, man! Can't you see I only want your help? I'll pay you for it?"

  "Eh? What? And dressed like a swell, too------" The sailor had relapsedinto English. He now moved into the shadow and leaned against therailing of the pedestal.

  "Well," he said, returning to his atrocious French; "and what is it youwant?"

  "I want to get away from here----"

  "Aha! Stowaway! Want me to hide you? Been up to something, I suppose.Stuck a knife into somebody, eh? Just like these foreigners! And wheremight you be wanting to go? Not to the police station, I fancy?"

  He laughed in his tipsy way, and winked one eye.

  "What vessel do you belong to?"

  "Carlotta--Leghorn to Buenos Ayres; shipping oil one way and hidesthe other. She's over there"--pointing in the direction of thebreakwater--"beastly old hulk!"

  "Buenos Ayres--yes! Can you hide me anywhere on board?"

  "How much can you give?"

  "Not very much; I have only a few paoli."

  "No. Can't do it under fifty--and cheap at that, too--a swell like you."

  "What do you mean by a swell? If you like my clothes you may change withme, but I can't give you more money than I have got."

  "You have a watch there. Hand it over."

  Arthur took out a lady's gold watch, delicately chased and enamelled,with the initials "G. B." on the back. It had been his mother's--butwhat did that matter now?

  "Ah!" remarked the sailor with a quick glance at it. "Stolen, of course!Let me look!"

  Arthur drew his hand away. "No," he said. "I will give you the watchwhen we are on board; not before."

  "You're not such a fool as you look, after all! I'll bet it's your firstscrape, though, eh?"

  "That is my business. Ah! there comes the watchman."

  They crouched down behind the group of statuary and waited till thewatchman had passed. Then the sailor rose, and, telling Arthur tofollow him, walked on, laughing foolishly to himself. Arthur followed insilence.

  The sailor led him back to the little irregular square by the Medicipalace; and, stopping in a dark corner, mumbled in what was intended fora cautious whisper:

  "Wait here; those soldier fellows will see you if you come further."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Get you some clothes. I'm not going to take you on board with thatbloody coatsleeve."

  Arthur glanced down at the sleeve which had been torn by the windowgrating. A little blood from the grazed hand had fallen upon it.Evidently the man thought him a murderer. Well, it was of no consequencewhat people thought.

  After some time the sailor came back, triumphant, with a bundle underhis arm.

  "Change," he whispered; "and make haste about it. I must get back, andthat old Jew has kept me bargaining and haggling for half an hour."

  Arthur obeyed, shrinking with instinctive disgust at the first touch ofsecond-hand clothes. Fortunately these, though rough and coarse, werefairly clean. When he stepped into the light in his new attire, thesailor looked at him with tipsy solemnity and gravely nodded hisapproval.

  "You'll do," he said. "This way, and don't make a noise." Arthur,carrying his discarded clothes, followed him through a labyrinth ofwinding canals and dark narrow alleys; the mediaeval slum quarter whichthe people of Leghorn call "New Venice." Here and there a gloomy oldpalace, solitary among the squalid houses and filthy courts, stoodbetween two noisome ditches, with a forlorn air of trying to preserveits ancient dignity and yet of knowing the effort to be a hopelessone. Some of the alleys, he knew, were notorious dens of thieves,cut-throats, and smugglers; others were merely wretched andpoverty-stricken.

  Beside one of the little bridges the sailor stopped, and, looking roundto see that they were not observed, descended a flight of stone stepsto a narrow landing stage. Under the bridge was a dirty, crazy old boat.Sharply ordering Arthur to jump in and lie down, he seated himself inthe boat and began rowing towards the harbour's mouth. Arthur lay stillon the wet and leaky planks, hidden by the clothes which the man hadthrown over him, and peeping out from under them at the familiar streetsand houses.

  Presently they passed under a bridge and entered that part of the canalwhich forms a moat for the fortress. The massive walls rose out of thewater, broad at the base and narrowing upward to the frowning turrets.How strong, how threatening they had seemed to him a few hours ago! Andnow----

  He laughed softly as he lay in the bottom of the boat.

  "Hold your noise," the sailor whispered, "and keep your head covered!We're close to the custom house."

  Arthur drew the clothes over his head. A few yards further on the boatstopped before a row of masts chained together, which lay across thesurface of the canal, blocking the narrow waterway between the customhouse and the fortress wall. A sleepy official came out yawning and bentover the water's edge with a lantern in his hand.

  "Passports, please."

  The sailor handed up his official papers. Arthur, half stifled under theclothes, held his breath, listening.

  "A nice time of night to come back to your ship!" grumbled the customsofficial. "Been out on the spree, I suppose. What's in your boat?"

  "Old clothes. Got them cheap." He held up the waistcoat for inspection.The official, lowering his lantern, bent over, straining his eyes tosee.

  "It's all right, I suppose. You can pass."

  He lifted the barrier and the boat moved slowly out int
o the dark,heaving water. At a little distance Arthur sat up and threw off theclothes.

  "Here she is," the sailor whispered, after rowing for some time insilence. "Keep close behind me and hold your tongue."

  He clambered up the side of a huge black monster, swearing under hisbreath at the clumsiness of the landsman, though Arthur's naturalagility rendered him less awkward than most people would have been inhis place. Once safely on board, they crept cautiously between darkmasses of rigging and machinery, and came at last to a hatchway, whichthe sailor softly raised.

  "Down here!" he whispered. "I'll be back in a minute."

  The hold was not only damp and dark, but intolerably foul. At firstArthur instinctively drew back, half choked by the stench of raw hidesand rancid oil. Then he remembered the "punishment cell," and descendedthe ladder, shrugging his shoulders. Life is pretty much the sameeverywhere, it seemed; ugly, putrid, infested with vermin, full ofshameful secrets and dark corners. Still, life is life, and he must makethe best of it.

  In a few minutes the sailor came back with something in his hands whichArthur could not distinctly see for the darkness.

  "Now, give me the watch and money. Make haste!"

  Taking advantage of the darkness, Arthur succeeded in keeping back a fewcoins.

  "You must get me something to eat," he said; "I am half starved."

  "I've brought it. Here you are." The sailor handed him a pitcher, somehard biscuit, and a piece of salt pork. "Now mind, you must hide in thisempty barrel, here, when the customs officers come to examine to-morrowmorning. Keep as still as a mouse till we're right out at sea. I'll letyou know when to come out. And won't you just catch it when the captainsees you--that's all! Got the drink safe? Good-night!"

  The hatchway closed, and Arthur, setting the precious "drink" in a safeplace, climbed on to an oil barrel to eat his pork and biscuit. Then hecurled himself up on the dirty floor; and, for the first time since hisbabyhood, settled himself to sleep without a prayer. The rats scurriedround him in the darkness; but neither their persistent noise nor theswaying of the ship, nor the nauseating stench of oil, nor the prospectof to-morrow's sea-sickness, could keep him awake. He cared no more forthem all than for the broken and dishonoured idols that only yesterdayhad been the gods of his adoration.

  PART II.

  THIRTEEN YEARS LATER.