CHAPTER XI
In Father Fabiano's Cell
"You can enter the Basilica at your pleasure, Signori; the gate isunlocked," said the lay-brother, indicating the entrance to the churchwith a half-formed gesture of his hand, which fell to his side againwhen he had half raised it, as if the effort of extending his armhorizontally had been too much for him. It was a matter of course to himthat any human beings who came to St. Apollinare could have no businessthere but to see the old walls, which he, the friar, would have given somuch never to see again.
"We will do so presently," said Signor Logarini, in reply; "but, in thefirst place, we wish to speak with Father Fabiano--he is the custode ofthe church, is he not?"
"Father Fabiano is ill a-bed, Signor; I am only out of my bed sinceyesterday, and it is as much as I can do to crawl. There's not many daysin the year, I think, that we are both well; and if we should be bothdown together, God help us. It is not just the healthiest place in theworld, this."
"What is the matter with the padre? Has he been ill long?" asked thelawyer, with a glance at the Commissary.
"Since yesterday afternoon. Why, I tell you I was in bed yesterday; hedown, I must turn out. Ah--h--h! it 'll all be over one of these days."
"But what ails the custode?" asked Signor Logarini again.
"Fever and ague, I suppose; that is what is always killing both of usmore or less. Pity it is so slow about it!" muttered the lay-brother,returning to his seat in the sunshine.
"But I suppose that Father Fabiano is not so ill but that we can speakwith him? It is important that we should do so," said the Commissary,eyeing the friar with a suspicious glance.
"There is nothing to prevent you or anybody else going to him thatchoose to do so--nothing to prevent any one of those cattle doing so,for that matter. There is neither bolt nor latch; you can go into hischamber, if you are so minded," returned the lay-brother, rathersurlily.
"Will you go and tell him that--Signor Fortini from Ravenna wishes tospeak with him, and would be obliged by his permission to come into hisroom for a few minutes. We don't wish to disturb him more than isnecessary."
"I'll tell him--though you might as well go to him yourselves at oncefor that matter; it is weary work going up the stairs so often--and Ican hardly crawl."
And, so saying, the poor old lay-brother tottered off to one of thenumerous doorless entrances of the half-ruined mass of building, and sethimself wearily to climb a small stair, the foot of which was justwithin it.
The lawyer and the Commissary looked at each other; and the latter said,with a wink at his companion,--"I thought it better, you see, to saynothing about the Commissary of Police; it would have frightened the oldfellow out of his wits; and it is always time enough to let him know whowe are if he won't speak without. But I know these animals of friars,Signor Giovacchino, I know them well; and there isn't a man or woman,townsman or countryman, noble or peasant that I wouldn't rather have todeal with than a monk or a friar. Let 'em so much as smell the scent oflayman in any position of authority, and it makes 'em as obstinate andcontradictious and contrary as mules, and worse. If this old fellow herehas got anything to hide, you'll see that we shall not be able to get itout of him."
"But I don't see what interest or wish he can have to hide anything fromus," said Fortini.
"N--n--no; one don't see that he should have but one can't be toosuspicious, mio buono Signor Giovacchino," said the police authority;"and then, what does he mean by being ill?" he added, after a littlethought; "he was well yesterday. It looks me very much as if he did notwant to be questioned."
"I should not think that he can have much to tell. We shall see whetherhis account confirms the story of the girl as to what took place in thechurch. But the probability is that that part of her tale is all trueenough. The question is what did she do with herself during all thosehours that elapsed between the time she quitted the church and the timewhen she reached her home? And I have little hope that the friar shouldbe able to throw any light upon that," said the lawyer.
"We shall see; here comes the lay-brother. Ugh! what a life it must beto live in such a place as this from one year's end to the other;nothing but a frate could stand it," said the Commissary, looking uponthe desolation around him with infinite disgust.
"Father Fabiano is not much fit to speak to anybody; the cold fit of theague is very strong upon him. But if you choose to go up to him youcan--specially as there is nothing to stop you. He is in the right-handcell on the first landing-place up that staircase," said thelay-brother, feebly pointing to the entrance, from which he had comeout.
The lawyer and the police official followed the indications thus giventhem, and found, as old Simone had said, that there was neither bolt,lock, nor latch to prevent any creature that could push a door on itshinges, from entering the little bare-walled room in which the friar laybeneath a heavy quilted coverlet on a little narrow pallet.
There was not so much as a single chair in the room. The walls wereclean, and freshly whitewashed; and the brick floor was also clean.There were a few pegs of deal in the wall on the side of the cellopposite to the doorway, on which some garments were hanging; and on thewall facing the bed there was a large, rudely carved, and yet morerudely painted crucifix. By the side of the bed nearest the door therehung, on a nail driven into the wall, a copper receptacle for holywater, the upper part of which was ornamented with a figure of St.Francis in the act of receiving the "Stigmata," in repousse work, by nomeans badly executed. And pasted on the bare wall, immediately above thepillow of the little bed, was a coloured print of the cheapest andvilest description, representing the Madonna with the seven legendarypoignards sticking in her bosom, and St. Francis, supported on eitherside by a friar of his order, kneeling at her feet.
These objects formed absolutely the entire furniture of the cell. Therewas nothing else whatsoever in the room; neither the smallest fragmentof a looking-glass, nor any means or preparation for ablutionwhatsoever.
The old monk lay on his back in the bed, wit his head propped ratherhighly on a hard straw bolster; and the extreme attenuation of his bodywas indicated by the very slight degree in which the clothes thatcovered him were raised above the level of the bedstead. On the coverletupon his chest, there was a rosary of large beads turned out ofbox-wood. The parts of each bead nearest to the string and in contactwith each other were black with the undisturbed dirt and dust of manyyears. But the protuberant circumference of each wooden ball waspolished to a rich shining orange-colour by the constant handling of thefingers.
It seemed both to Signor Fortini and to the Commissary, that there couldbe no doubt about it, that the old man was really ill. He was lying inhis frock of thick brown woollen, and the cowl of it was drawn over hishead. He seemed to be suffering from cold, and his teeth were audiblychattering in his head; and his thin, thin claw-like hands shook as theyclutched his crucifix. His face was lividly pale, and his eyes gleamedout from under the cowl with a restless feverish brightness.
That he was ill could hardly be doubted. And it seemed to the lawyer andthe Commissary as well as to the old lay-brother, natural enough tosuppose that a man who fell ill at St. Apollinare was ill with fever andague. But whether that were really the nature of his malady, hisvisitors had not sufficient medical knowledge to judge; but it wasprobable enough that the aged monk had had quite sufficient experienceof fever and ague, to know pretty well himself, whether he weresuffering from that cause or not.
"We are sorry to find you ill, father," said Fortini; "and though wehave come from Ravenna on purpose to speak with you, we would not havedisturbed you if our business had not been important. Are you sufferingmuch now?"
"Not much more than usual," said the sick man, shutting his eyes, whilehis pallid lips continued to move, as he muttered to himself an "AveMaria."
"And can you give us your attention for a few minutes?" rejoined thelawyer.
"I will answer to your asking as far as I can; but my head is confused,and I don't reme
mber much clearly about anything. It seems to me as if Ihad been lying on this bed for months and months," replied the oldfriar.
"And yet, you know, you were up and well yesterday morning, when youwere with the young girl who came to copy the mosaics, you know, on thescaffolding in the church?" said the lawyer.
"Yes; I was with the girl--Paolina Foscarelli, a Venetian--on thescaffolding. Was it yesterday?"
"Yesterday it was that she was here. Yesterday morning. And it is hardlynecessary to ask you if you know what happened here in the Pineta muchabout that time, or shortly afterwards. You have heard of the murder, ofcourse?"
So violent a trembling seized on the aged man as the lawyer spoke thus,that he was unable to answer a word. His old hands shook so that hecould hardly hold the beads in his fingers, while his chattering teethand trembling lips tried to formulate the words of a prayer.
"Did you, or did you not hear that a dreadful murder was committedyesterday morning in the Pineta not far from this place?" said theCommissary, speaking for the first time, and in a less kindly mannerthan the old lawyer had used.
A redoubled access of teeth-chattering and shivering was for some timethe only result elicited by this question. The old friar shook in everylimb; and the beads of the rosary rattled in his trembling fingers, ashe attempted to pass them on their string in mechanically habitualaccompaniment to the invocations his lips essayed to mutter.
"It is a terrible thing to speak of truly, father; and we are sorry tobe obliged to distress you by forcing such a subject on your thoughts;but it is our duty to make these inquiries; and you can tell us the fewfacts--they cannot be many or of much importance--which have come toyour knowledge on the subject," said the lawyer, speaking in more gentleaccents.
"I heard nothing; but I saw," said the aged man, closing his eyes, as ifto shut out the vision which was forced back upon his imagination; andfumbling nervously with his beads, while his pale blue lips trembledwith mutterings of mechanically repeated ejaculations.
"Take your time, padre mio," said the lawyer gently, making a gesturewith his raised band, at the same time, to repress the less patienteagerness of the Commissary of Police; "we do not want to hurry you.Tell us what it was that you saw."
A Siren Page 50