CHAPTER VII.
A SECOND TISSOT.
Messer Blondel's sagacity in forbearing completely and for so long aperiod the neighbourhood of Basterga proved an unpleasant surprise toone man; and that was the man most concerned. For a day or two thescholar lived in a fool's paradise, and hugging himself on certainsuccess, anticipated with confidence the entertainment which he wouldderive from the antics of the fish as it played about the bait, nowadvancing and now retreating. He had formed a low opinion of themagistrate's astuteness, and forgetting that there is a cunning which isrudimentary and of the primitives, he entertained for some time nomisgiving. But when day after day passed by and still, though more thana week had elapsed, Blondel did not appear, nor make any overture, when,watch he never so carefully in the dusk of the evening or at the quiethours of the day, he caught no glimpse of the Syndic's lurking figure,he began to doubt. He began to fear. He began to wait about the doorhimself in the hope of detecting the other: and a dozen times betweendawn and dark he was on his feet at the upper window, looking warilydown, on the chance of seeing him in the Corraterie.
At last, slowly and against his will, the fear that the fish would notbite began to take hold of him. Either the Syndic was honest, or he waspatient as well as cunning. In no other way could Basterga explain hisdupe's inaction. And presently, when he had almost brought himself toaccept the former conclusion, on an evening something more than a weeklater, a thing happened that added sharpness to his anxiety. He wascrossing the bridge from the Quarter of St. Gervais, when a man cloakedto the eyes slipped from the shadow of the mills, a little before him,and with a slight but unmistakable gesture of invitation proceeded infront of him without turning his head.
There was mist on the face of the river that rushed in a cataract below;a steady rain was falling, and darkness itself was not far off. Therewere few abroad, and those were going their ways without looking behindthem. A better time for a secret rendezvous could not be, and MesserBasterga's heart leapt up and his spirits rose as he followed thecloaked figure. At the end of the bridge the man turned leftwards on toa deserted wharf between two mills; Basterga followed. Near the water'sedge the projecting upper floor of a granary promised shelter from therain; under this the stranger halted, and turning, lowered with abrusque gesture his cloak from his face. Alas, the eager "Why, MesserBlondel----" that leapt to Basterga's lips died on them. He stoodspeechless with disappointment, choking with chagrin. The stranger notedit and laughed.
"Well," he said in French, his tone dry and sarcastic, "you do not seemoverpleased to see me, Monsieur Basterga! Nor am I surprised. Largepromises have ever small fulfilments!"
"His Highness has discovered that?" Basterga replied, in a tone no lesssarcastic. For his temper was roused.
The stranger's eyes flickered, as if the other's words touched a sore."His Highness is growing impatient!" he returned, his tone somewhatwarmer. "That is what he has sent me to say. He has waited long, and hebids me convey to you that if he is to wait longer he must have somesecurity that you are likely to succeed in your design."
"Or he will employ other means?"
"Precisely. Had he followed my advice," the stranger continued with anair of lofty arrogance, "he would have done so long ago."
"M. d'Albigny," Basterga answered, spreading out his hands with anironical gesture, "would prefer to dig mines under the Tour du Pin nearthe College, and under the Porte Neuve! To smuggle fireworks into theArsenal and the Town House; and then, on the eve of execution, to failas utterly as he failed last time! More utterly than my plan can fail,for I shall not put Geneva on its guard--as he did! Nor set every enemyof the Grand Duke talking--as he did!"
M. d'Albigny--for he it was--let drop an oath. "Are you doing anythingat all?" he asked savagely, dropping the thin veil of irony thatshrouded his temper. "That is the question. Are you moving?"
"That will appear."
"When? When, man? That is what his Highness wants to know. At presentthere is no appearance of anything."
"No," Basterga replied with fine irony. "There is not. I know it. It isonly when the fireworks are discovered and the mines opened and theengineers are flying for their lives--that there is really an appearanceof something."
"And that is the answer I am to carry to the Grand Duke?" d'Albignyretorted in a tone which betrayed how deeply he resented such taunts atthe lips of his inferior. "That is all you have to tell him?"
Basterga was silent awhile. When he spoke again, it was in a lower andmore cautious tone. "No; you may tell his Highness this," he said, afterglancing warily behind him. "You may tell him this. The longest night inthe year is approaching. Not many weeks divide us from it. Let him giveme until that night. Then let him bring his troops and ladders and therest of it--the care whereof is your lordship's, not mine--to a part ofthe walls which I will indicate, and he shall find the guards withdrawn,and Geneva at his feet."
"The longest night? But that is some weeks distant," d'Albigny answeredin a grumbling tone. Still it was evident that he was impressed by theprecision of the other's promise.
"Was Rome built in a day? Or can Geneva be destroyed in a day?" Bastergaretorted.
"If I had my hand on it!" d'Albigny answered truculently, "the taskwould not take more than a day!" He was a Southern Frenchman and anardent Catholic; an officer of high rank in the employ of Savoy; for therest, proud, brave, and difficult.
"Ay, but you have not your hand on it, M. d'Albigny!" Basterga retortedcoolly. "Nor will you ever have your hand on it, without help from me."
"And that is all you have to say?"
"At present."
"Very good," d'Albigny replied, nodding contemptuously. "If his Highnessbe wise----"
"He is wise. At least," Basterga continued drily, "he is wiser than M.d'Albigny. He knows that it is better to wait and win, than leap andlose."
"But what of the discontented you were to bring to a head?" d'Albignyretorted, remembering with relief another head of complaint, on which hehad been charged to deliver himself. "The old soldiers and rufflerswhom the peace has left unemployed, and with whom the man Grio was toaid you? Surely waiting will not help you with them! There should besome in Geneva who like not the rule of the Pastors and the drone ofpsalms and hymns! Men who, if I know them, must be on fire for a change!Come, Monsieur Basterga, is no use to be made of them?"
"Ay," Basterga answered, after stepping back a pace to assure himself bya careful look that no one was remarking a colloquy which the time andthe weather rendered suspicious. "Use them if you please. Let them drinkand swear and raise petty riots, and keep the Syndics on their guard! Itis all they are good for, M. d'Albigny; and I cannot say that aughtkeeps back the cause so much as Grio's friends and their line ofconduct!"
"So! that is your opinion, is it, Monsieur Basterga?" d'Albignyanswered. "And with it I must go as I came! I am of no use here, itseems?"
"Of great use presently, of none now," Basterga replied with greaterrespect than he had hitherto exhibited. "Frankly, M. d'Albigny, theyfear you and suspect you. But if President Rochette of Chambery, who hasthe confidence of the Pastors, were to visit us on some pretext orother, say to settle such small matters as the peace has left in doubt,it might soothe their spirits and allay their suspicions. He, ratherthan M. d'Albigny, is the helper I need at present."
D'Albigny grunted, but it was evident that the other's boldnessimpressed him. "You think, then, that they suspect us?" he said.
"How should they not? Tell me that. How should they not? Rochette's taskmust be to lull those suspicions to sleep. In the meantime I----"
"Yes?"
"Will be at work," Basterga replied. He laughed drily as if it pleasedhim to baulk the other's curiosity. Softly he added under his breath,
"Captique dolis, lacrimisque coactis, Quos neque Tydides, nec Larrissaeus Achilles Non anni domuere decem, non mille carinae!
D'Albigny nodded. "Well, I trust you are really counting on somethingsolid," he answered. "F
or you are taking a great deal upon yourself,Monsieur Basterga. I hope you understand that," he added with asearching look.
"I take all on myself," the big man answered.
The Frenchman was far from content, but he argued no more. He reflecteda moment, considering whether he had forgotten anything: then, mutteringthat he would convey Basterga's views to the Grand Duke, he pulled hiscloak more closely about his face, and with a curt nod of farewell, heturned on his heel and was gone. A moment, and he was lost to sightbetween the wooden mills and sheds which flanked the bridge on eitherside, and rendered it at once as narrow and as picturesque as were mostof the bridges of the day. Basterga, left solitary, waited a whilebefore he left his shelter. Satisfied at length that the coast wasclear, he continued his way into the town, and thinking deeply as hewent came presently to the Corraterie. It cannot be said that hismeditations were of the most pleasant; and perhaps for this reason hewalked slowly. When he entered the house, shaking the moisture from hiscloak and cap, he found the others seated at table and well advanced intheir meal. He was twenty minutes late.
He was a clever man. But at times, in moments of irritation, the senseof his cleverness and of his superiority to the mass of men led him todo the thing which he had better have left undone. It was so thisevening. Face to face with d'Albigny, he had put a bold face on thedifficulties which surrounded him: he had let no sign of doubt oruncertainty, no word of fear respecting the outcome escape him. But themoment he found himself at liberty, the critical situation of hisaffairs, if the Syndic refused to take the bait, recurred to his mind,and harassed him. He had no _confidante_, no one to whom he couldbreathe his fears, no one to whom he could explain the situation, orwith whom he could take credit for his coolness: and the curb ofsilence, while it exasperated his temper, augmented a hundredfold thecontempt in which he held the unconscious companions among whom chanceand his mission had thrown him. A spiteful desire to show that contemptsparkled in his eyes as he took his seat at the table this evening; butfor a minute or two after he had begun his meal he kept silence.
On a mind such as his, outward things have small effect; otherwise thecheerful homeliness of the scene must have soothed him. The lamp,telling of present autumn and approaching winter, had been lit: awood-fire crackled pleasantly in the great fireplace and was reflectedin rows of pewter plates on either dresser: a fragrant stew scented theair; all that a philosopher of the true type could have asked was at hisservice. But Basterga belonged rather to the fifteenth century, thecentury of the south, which was expiring, than to the century of thenorth which was opening. Splendour rather than comfort, the gorgeousnessof Venice, of red-haired dames, stiff-clad in Titian velvets, of tablesgleaming with silk and gold and ruby glass, rather than the plainhomeliness which Geneva shared with the Dutch cities, held his mind.To-night in particular his lip curled as he looked round. To-night inparticular ill-pleased and ill-content he found the place and thecompany well matched, the one and the other mean and contemptible!
One there--Gentilis--marked the great man's mood, and, cringing, afterhis kind, kept his eyes low on his platter. Grio, too, knew enough toseek refuge in sullen silence. Claude alone, impatient of the constraintwhich descended on the party at the great man's coming, continued totalk in a raised voice. "Good soup to-night, Anne," he said cheerfully.For days past he had been using himself to speak to her easily andlightly, as if she were no more to him than to the others.
She did not answer--she seldom did. But "Good?" Basterga sneered in hismost cutting tone. "Ay, for schoolboys! And such as have no palate savefor pap!"
Claude being young took the thrust a little to heart. He returned itwith a boy's impertinence. "We none of us grow thin on it," he said witha glance at the other's bulk.
Basterga's eyes gleamed. "Grease and dish-washings," he exclaimed. Andthen, as if he knew where he could most easily wound his antagonist, heturned to the girl.
"If Hebe had brought such liquor to Jupiter," he sneered, "do you thinkhe had given her Hercules for a husband, as I shall presently give youGrio? Ha! You flush at the prospect, do you? You colour and tremble," hecontinued mockingly, "as if it were the wedding-day. You'll sleep littleto-night, I see, for thinking of your Hercules!" With grim irony hepointed to his loutish companion, whose gross purple face seemed thecoarser for the small peaked beard that, after the fashion of the day,adorned his lower lip. "Hercules, do I call him? Adonis rather."
"Why not Bacchus?" Claude muttered, his eyes on his plate. In spite ofthe strongest resolutions, he could not keep silence.
"Bacchus? And why, boy?" frowning darkly.
"He were better bestowed on a tun of wine," the youth retorted, withoutlooking up.
"That you might take his place, I suppose?" Basterga retorted swiftly."What say you, girl? Will you have him?" And when she did not answer,"Bread, do you hear?" he cried harshly and imperiously. "Bread, I say!"And having forced her to come within reach to serve him, "What do yousay to it?" he continued, his hand on the trencher, his eyes on herface. "Answer me, girl, will you have him?"
She did not answer, but that which he had quite falsely attributed toher before, a blush, slowly and painfully darkened her cheeks and neck.He seized her brutally by the chin, and forced her to raise her face."Blushing, I see?" he continued. "Blushing, blushing, eh? So it is forhim you thrill, and lie awake, and dream of kisses, is it? For this newyouth and not for Grio? Nay, struggle not! Wrest not yourself away! LetGrio, too, see you!"
Claude, his back to the scene, drove his nails into the palms of hishands. He would not turn. He would not, he dared not see what waspassing, or how they were handling her, lest the fury in his breastsweep all away, and he rise up and disobey her! When a movement told himthat Basterga had released her--with a last ugly taunt aimed as much athim as at her--he still sat bearing it, curbing, drilling, compellinghimself to be silent. Ay, and still to be silent, though the voice thatso cruelly wounded her was scarcely mute before it began again.
"Tissot, indeed!" Basterga cried in the same tone of bitter jeering. "Afig for Tissot! No more shall we
Upon his viler metal test our purest pure, And see him transmutations three endure!
And why? Because a mightier than Tissot is here! Because," with a coarselaugh,
"Our stone angelical whereby All secret potencies to light are brought
has itself suffered a transmutation! A transmutation do I say! Rather aneclipse, a darkening! He, whom matrons for their maidens fear, has come,has seen, has conquered! And we poor mortals bow before him."
Still Claude, his face burning, his ears tingling, put force uponhimself and sat mute, his eyes on the board. He would not look round, hewould not acknowledge what was passing. Basterga's tone conveyed ameaning coarser and more offensive than the words he spoke; and Claudeknew it, and knew that the girl, at whom he dared not look knew it, asshe stood helpless, a butt, a target for their gloating eyes. He wouldnot look for he remembered. He saw the scalding liquid blister the skin,saw the rounded arm quiver with pain; and remembering and seeing, he wasresolved that the lesson should not be lost on him. If it was only bysuffering he could serve her, he would serve her.
He dared not look even at Gentilis, who sat opposite him; and who wasstaring in gross rapture at the girl's confusion, and the burningblushes, so long banished from her pale features. For to look at thatmean mask of a man was the same thing as to strike! Unfortunately, as ithappened, his silence and lack of spirit had a result which he had notforeseen. It encouraged the others to carry their brutality to greaterand even greater lengths. Grio flung a gross jest in the girl's face:Basterga asked her mockingly how long she had loved. They got no answer;on which the big man asked his question again, his voice grown menacing;and still she would not answer. She had taken refuge from Grio'scoarseness in the farthest corner of the hearth: where stooping over apot, she hid her burning face. Had they gone too far at last? So far,that in despair she had made up her mind to resist? Claude wondered. Hehoped th
at they had.
Basterga, too, thought it possible; but he smiled wickedly, in the prideof his resources. He struck the table sharply with his knife-haft."What?" he cried. "You don't answer me, girl? You withstand me, do you?To heel! To heel! Stand out in front of me, you jade, and answer me atonce. There! Stand there! Do you hear?" With a mocking eye he indicatedwith his knife the spot that took his fancy.
She hesitated a moment, scarlet revolt in her face; she hesitated for along moment; and the lad thought that surely the time had come. But thenshe obeyed. She obeyed! And at that Claude at last looked up; he couldlook up safely now for something, even as she obeyed, had put a bridleon his rage and given him control over it. That something was doubt. Whydid she comply? Why obey, endure, suffer at this man's hands that whichit was a shame a woman should suffer at any man's? What was his holdover her? What was his power? Was it possible, ah, was it possible thatshe had done anything to give him power? Was it possible----
"Stand there!" Basterga repeated, licking his lips. He was in a crueltemper: harassed himself, he would make some one suffer. "Remember whoyou are, wench, and where you are! And answer me! How long have youloved him?"
The face no longer burned: her blushes had sunk behind the mask ofapathy, the pallid mask, hiding terror and the shame of her sex, whichher face had worn before, which had become habitual to her. "I have notloved him," she answered in a low voice.
"Louder!"
"I have not loved him."
"You do not love him?"
"No." She did not look at Claude, but dully, mechanically, she staredstraight before her.
Grio laughed boisterously. "A dose for young Hopeful!" he cried. "Ho!Ho! How do you feel now, Master Jackanapes?"
The big man smiled.
"Galle, quid insanis? inquit, Tua cura Lycoris Perque nives alium perque horrida castra secuta est!"
he murmured. He bowed ironically in Claude's direction. "The gentlemanpasses beyond the jurisdiction of the court," he said. "She will havenone of him, it seems; nor we either! He is dismissed."
Claude, his eyes burning, shrugged his shoulders and did not budge. Ifthey thought to rid themselves of him by this fooling they would learntheir mistake. They wished him to go: the greater reason he should stay.A little thing--the sight of a small brown hand twitching painfully,while her face and all the rest of her was still and impassive, hadexpelled his doubts for the time--had driven all but love and pity andburning indignation from his breast. All but these, and the memory ofher lesson and her will. He had promised and he must suffer.
Whether Basterga was deceived by his inaction, or of set purpose wasminded to try how far they could go with him, the big man turned againto his victim. "With you, my girl," he said, "it is otherwise. The soupwas bad, and you are mutinous. Two faults that must be paid for. Therewas something of this, I remember, when Tissot--our good Tissot, whoamused us so much--first came. And we tamed you then. You paid forfeit,I think. You kissed Tissot, I think; or Tissot kissed you."
"No, it was I kissed her," Gentilis said with a smirk. "She chose me."
"Under compulsion," Basterga retorted drily. "Will you ransom heragain?"
"Willingly! But it should be two this time," Gentilis said grinning."Being for the second offence, a double----"
"Pain," quoth Basterga. "Very good. Do you hear, my girl? Go toGentilis, and see you let him kiss you twice! And see we see and hearit. And have a care! Have a care! Or next time your modesty may notescape so easily! To him at once, and----"
"No!" The cry came from Claude. He was on his feet, his face on fire."No!" he repeated passionately.
"No?"
"Not while I am here! Not under compulsion," the young man cried. "Shameon you!" He turned to the others, generous wrath in his face. "Shame onyou to torture a woman so--a woman alone! And you three to one!"
Basterga's face grew dark. "You are right! We are three," he muttered,his hand slowly seeking a weapon in the corner behind him. "You speaktruth there, we are three--to one! And----"
"You maybe twenty, I will not suffer it!" the lad cried gallantly. "Youmay be a hundred----"
But on that word, in the full tide of speech he stopped. His voice diedas suddenly as it had been raised, he stammered, his whole bearingchanged. He had met her eyes: he had read in them reproach, warning,rebuke. Too late he had remembered his promise.
The big man leaned forward. "What may we be?" he asked. "You were going,I think, to say that we might be--that we might be----"
But Claude did not answer. He was passing through a moment of suchmisery as he had never experienced. To give way to them now, to lowerhis flag before them after he had challenged them! To abandon her tothem, to see her--oh, it was more than he could do, more than he couldsuffer! It was----
"Pray go on," Basterga sneered, "if you have not said your say. Do notthink of us!"
Oh, bitter! But he remembered how the scalding liquor had fallen on thetender skin. "I have said it," he muttered hoarsely. "I have said it,"and by a movement of his hand, pathetic enough had any understood it, heseemed to withdraw himself and his opposition.
But when, obedient to Basterga's eye, the girl moved to Gentilis' sideand bent her cheek--which flamed, not by reason of Gentilis or thecoming kisses, but of Claude's presence and his cry for her--he couldnot bear it. He could not stay and see it, though to go was to abandonher perhaps to worse treatment. He rose with a cry and snatched his cap,and tore open the door. With rage in his heart and their laughter, theirmocking, triumphant laughter, in his ears, he sprang down the steps.
A coward! That was what he must seem to them. A coward's part, that wasthe part they had seen him play. Into the darkness, into the night, whatmattered whither, when such fierce anger boiled within him? Suchself-contempt. What mattered whither when he knew how he had failed! Ay,failed and played the Tissot! The Tissot and the weakling!
The Long Night Page 7