The Long Night

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER X.

  AUCTIO FIT: VENIT VITA.

  In his spacious chestnut-panelled parlour, in a high-backed oaken chairthat had throned for centuries the Abbots of Bellerive, Messer Blondelsat brooding with his chin upon his breast. The chestnut-panelledparlour was new. The shields of the Cantons which formed a frieze abovethe panels shone brightly, the or and azure, gules and argent of theirquarterings, undimmed by time or wood-smoke. The innumerable panes ofthe long heavily leaded windows which looked out on the Bourg du Fourwere still rain-proof; the light which they admitted still foundsomething garish in the portrait of the Syndic--by Schouten--that formedthe central panel of the mantelpiece. New and stately, the room had notits pair in Geneva; and dear to its owner's heart had it been a short, avery short time before. He had anticipated no more lasting pleasure,looked forward to no safer gratification for his declining years, thanto sit, as he now sat, surrounded by its grandeur. In due time--not atonce, lest the people take alarm or his enemies occasion--he haddetermined to rebuild the whole house after the same fashion. The plansof the oaken gallery, the staircase and dining-chamber, prepared by atrusty craftsman of Basle, lay at this moment in the drawer of thebureau beside his chair.

  Now all was changed. A fiat had gone forth, which placed him alikebeyond the envy of his friends, and the hatred of his foes. He mustdie. He must die, and leave these pleasant things, this goodly room,that future of which he had dreamed. Another man would lie warm in thechamber he had prepared; another would be Syndic and bear his wand. Theyears of stately plenty which he had foreseen, were already as lastyear's harvest. No wonder that the sheen of portrait and panel, thepride of echoing oak, were fled; or that the eyes with which he gazed onthe things about him were dull and lifeless.

  Dull and lifeless at one moment, and clouded by the apathy of despair;at another bright with the fierce fever of revolt. In the one phase orthe other he had passed many hours of late, some of them amid thedead-sea grandeur of this room. And he had had his hours of hope also. Afortnight back a ray of hope, bright as the goblin light which shinesthe more brilliantly the darker be the night, had shone on him andamused and enchanted him. And then, in one moment, God and man--or ifnot God, the devil--had joined to quench the hope; and this morning hesat sunk in deepest despair, all in and around him dark. Hitherto he hadregarded appearances. He had hidden alike his malady and his fears, hisapathy and his mad revolt; he had lived as usual. But this morning hewas beyond that. He could not rouse himself, he could not be doing. Hisservants, wondering why he did not go abroad or betake himself to sometask, came and peeped at him, and went away whispering and pointing andnudging one another. And he knew it. But he paid no heed to them or toanything, until it happened that his eyes, resting dully on the street,marked a man who paused before the door and looked at the house, indoubt it seemed, whether he should seek to enter or should pass on.

  For an appreciable time the Syndic watched the loiterer without seeinghim. What did it matter to a dying man--a man whom heaven, impassive,abandoned to the evil powers--who came or who went? But by-and-by hiseyes conveyed the identity of the man to his brain; and he rose to hisfeet, laying his hands on a bell which stood on the table beside him. Inthe act of ringing he changed his mind, and laying the bell down, hestrode himself to the outer door, the house door, and opened it. The manwas still in the street. Scarcely showing himself, Blondel caught hiseye, signed to him to enter, and held the door while he did so.

  Claude Mercier--for he it was--entered awkwardly. He followed the Syndicinto the parlour, and standing with his cap in his hand, beganshamefacedly to explain that he had come to learn how the Syndic was,after--after that which had happened----He did not finish the sentence.

  For that matter, Blondel did not allow him to finish. He had passed atsight of the youth into the other of the two conditions between whichhis days were divided. His eyes glittered, his hands trembled. "Have youdone anything?" he asked eagerly; and the voice in which he said itsurprised the young man. "Have you done anything?"

  "As to Basterga, do you mean, Messer Syndic?"

  "As to what else? What else?"

  "No, Messer Blondel, I have not."

  "Nor learned anything?"

  "No, nothing."

  "But you don't mean--to leave it there?" Blondel cried, his voice risinghigh. And he sat down and rose up again. "You have done nothing, but youare going to do something? What will it be? What?" And then as hediscerned the other's surprise, and read suspicion in his eyes, hecurbed himself, lowered his tone, and with an effort was himself. "Youngman," he said, wiping his brow, "I am still ridden--by what happenedlast night. I have lain, since we parted, under an overwhelming sense ofthe presence of evil. Of evil," he repeated, still speaking a littlewildly, "such as this God-fearing town should not know even by repute!You think me over-anxious? But I have felt the hot blast of the furnaceon my cheek, my head bears even now the smell of the burning. Hell gapesnear us!" He was beginning to tremble afresh, partly with impatience ofthis parleying, partly with anxiety to pluck from the other his answer.The glitter was returning to his eyes. "Hell gapes near us," herepeated. "And I ask you, young man, what are you going to do?"

  "I?"

  "Yes, you!"

  Claude stared. "What would you have me do?" he asked.

  "What would you have done last night?" the Syndic retorted. "Did you askme then? Did you wait for my permission? Did you wait even for mypresence?"

  "No, but----"

  "But what?"

  "Things are changed."

  "Changed? How?" Blondel's tone sank to one of unnatural calm; but hisframe shook and his face was purple with the pressure he put uponhimself. "What is changed? Who has changed it?" he continued; to see hischance of life hang on the will of this imbecile was almost more than hecould bear. "Speak out! Let me know what has happened."

  "You know what happened as well as I do," Claude answered slowly. He hadgiven his word to the girl that he would not interfere, but he began tosee difficulties of which he had not thought. "It was enough for me! Hemay be all you said he was, Messer Syndic, but----"

  "But you no longer burn to break the spell?" Blondel cried. "You nolonger desire to snatch from him the woman you love? You will stand byand see her perish body and soul in this web of iniquity? You arefrightened, and will leave her to the law!" He thrust out his thinflushed face, his pointed beard wagging malignantly. "For that is whatwill come of it! To the law, you understand! I warn you, the magistratesin Geneva bear not the sword in vain."

  The young man's brow grew damp. The crisis was nearer than he hadfeared. "But--she has done nothing!" he faltered.

  "The tool with the hand that uses it! The idol and him who made it!" theSyndic cried, swaying himself to and fro.

  Claude stared. "But you know nothing!" he made shift to say after apause. "You have nothing against her, Messer Blondel. He may be all yousay, but she----"

  "I have ears!"

  The tone said more than the words, and Claude trembled. He knew thewidth of the net where witchcraft or blasphemy was in question. He knewthat, were Basterga seized, all in the house would be taken with him,and though men often escaped for the fright, it was seldom that womenwent free so cheaply. The knowledge of this tied his tongue; and urgentas he felt the need to be, he could only glare helplessly at themagistrate.

  Blondel, on his part, saw the effect of his words, and desperatelyresolved to force the young man to his will, he followed up the blow."If you would see her burn, well and good!" he cried. "It is for you tochoose. Either break the spell, bring me the box, and set her free; orsee the law take its course! Last night----"

  "Last night," Claude replied, hurt to the quick, "you were not so bold,Messer Blondel!"

  The Syndic winced, but merged his wrath in an anxiety a thousand timesdeeper. "Last night is not to-day," he answered. "Midnight is notdaylight! I have told you where the spell is, where, at least, it isreputed to be, what it does, and under what sway it lays her; you wholove her--an
d I see you do--you who have access to the house at allhours, who can watch him out----"

  "We watched him out last night!" Claude muttered.

  "Ay, but day is day! In the daylight----"

  "But it is not laid on me to do this! I am not the only one----"

  "You love her!"

  "Who has access to the house."

  "Are you a coward?"

  Claude breathed hard. He was driven to the wall. Between his promise toher, and the Syndic's demand, he found himself helpless. And the demandwas not so unreasonable. For it was true that he loved her, and that hehad access to the house; and if the plan suggested seemed unusual, if itwas not the course most obvious or most natural, it was hardly for himto cavil at a scheme which promised to save her, not only from the evilinfluence which mysteriously swayed her, but from the law, and thedanger of an accusation of witchcraft. Apart from his promise he wouldhave chosen this course; as it had been his first impulse to pursue itthe evening before. But now he had given his word to her that he wouldnot interfere, and he was conscious that he understood but in part howshe stood. That being so----

  "A coward!" the Syndic repeated, savagely and coarsely. He had waited inintolerable suspense for the other's answer. "That is what you are, withall your boasting!--A coward! Afraid of--why, man, of what are youafraid? Basterga?"

  "It may be," Claude answered sullenly.

  "Basterga? Why----" But on the word Blondel stopped; and over his facecame a startling change. The rage died out of it and the flush; andfear, and a cringing embarrassment, took the place of them. In the sameinstant the change was made, and Claude saw that which caused it.Basterga himself stood in the half-open doorway, looking towards them.

  For a few seconds no one spoke. The magistrate's tongue clave to theroof of his mouth, as the scholar advanced, cap in hand, and bowed toone and the other. The florid politeness of his bearing thinly veilingthe sarcasm of his address when he spoke.

  "O mire conjunctio!" he said. "Happy is Geneva where age thinks no shameof consorting with youth! And youth, thrice happy, imbibes wisdom at thefeet of age! Messer Blondel," he continued, looking to him, and droppingin a degree the irony of his tone, "I have not seen you for so long, Ifeared that something was amiss, and I come to inquire. It is not so, Ihope?"

  The Syndic, unable to mask his confusion, forced a sickly phrase ofdenial. He had dreaded nothing so much as to be surprised by Basterga inthe young man's company: for his conscience warned him that to find himwith Mercier and to read his plan, would be one and the same thing tothe scholar's astuteness. And here was the discovery made, and made soabruptly and at so unfortunate a moment that to carry it off was out ofhis power, though he knew that every halting word and guilty look borewitness against him.

  "No? that is well," Basterga answered, smiling broadly as he glancedfrom one face to the other. "That is well!" He had the air of agood-natured pedagogue who espies his boys in a venial offence, and willnot notice it save by a sly word. "Very well! And you, my friend," hecontinued, addressing Claude, "is it not true what I said,

  Terque Quaterque redit!

  You fled in haste last night, but we meet again! Your method in affairsis the reverse, I fear, of that which your friend here would advise:namely, that to carry out a plan one should begin slowly, and endquickly; thereby putting on the true helmet of Plato, as it has beencalled by a learned Englishman of our time."

  Claude glowered at him, almost as much at a loss as the Syndic, but foranother reason. To exchange commonplaces with the man who held the womanhe loved by an evil hold, who owned a power so baneful, so foul--tobandy words with such an one was beyond him. He could only glare at himin speechless indignation.

  "You bear malice, I fear," the big man said. There was no doubt that hewas master of the situation. "Do you know that in the words of the samelearned person whom I have cited--a marvellous exemplar amid thatfog-headed people--vindictive persons live the life of witches, who asthey are mischievous, so end they unfortunate."

  The blood left Claude's face. "What do you mean?" he muttered, findinghis voice at last.

  "Who hates, burns. Who loves, burns also. But that is by the way."

  "Burns?"

  "Ay," with a grin, "burns! It seems to come home to you. Burns! Fie,young man; you hate, I fear, beyond measure, or love beyond measure, ifyou so fear the fire. What, you must leave us? It is not very mannerly,"with sarcasm, "to go while I speak!"

  But Claude could bear no more. He snatched his cap from the table, andwith an incoherent word, aimed at the Syndic and meant forleave-taking, he made for the door, plucked it open and disappeared.

  The scholar smiled as he looked after him. "A foolish young man," hesaid, "who will assuredly, if he be not stayed, end unfortunate. It isthe way of Frenchmen, Messer Blondel. They act without method and strikewithout intention, bear into age the follies of youth, and wear thegravity neither of the north nor of the south. But that reminds me," hecontinued, speaking low and bending towards the other with a look ofsympathy--"you are better, I hope?"

  The words were harmless, but they conveyed more than their surfacemeaning, and they touched the Syndic to the quick. He had begun tocompose himself; now he had much ado not to gnash his teeth in thescholar's face. "Better?" he ejaculated bitterly. "What chance have I ofbeing better? Better? Are you?" He began to tremble, his hands on thearms of his chair. "Otherwise, if you are not, you will soon have causeto know what I feel."

  "I am better," Basterga answered with fervour. "I thank Heaven for it."

  Blondel rose to his feet, his hands still clutching the chair. "What!"he cried. "You--you have not tried the----"

  "The _remedium_?" The scholar shook his head. "No, on the contrary, I amrelieved from my fears. The alarm was baseless. I have it not, I thankHeaven. I have not the disease. Nor, if there be any certainty inmedicine, shall have it."

  The Syndic, alas for human nature, could have struck him in the face!

  "You have it not?" he snarled. "You have it not?" And then regainingcontrol of himself, "I suppose I ought," with a forced and ghastlysmile, "to felicitate you on your escape."

  "Rather to felicitate yourself," Basterga answered. "Or so I had hopedtwo days ago."

  "Myself?"

  "Yes," Basterga replied lightly. "For as soon as I found that I had noneed of the _remedium_, I thought of you. That was natural. And itoccurred to me--nay, calm yourself!"

  "Quick! Quick!

  "Nay, calm yourself, my dear Messer Blondel," Basterga repeated withoutward solicitude and inward amusement. "Be calm, or you will doyourself an injury; you will indeed! In your state you should beprudent; you should govern yourself--one never knows. And besides, thethought, to which I refer--I see you recognise what it was----"

  "Yes! yes! Go on! Go on!"

  "Proved futile."

  "Futile?"

  "Yes, I am sorry to say it. Futile."

  "Futile!" The wretched man's voice rose almost to a scream as herepeated the word. He rose and sat down again. "Then how did you--whydid you----" He stopped, fighting for words, and, unable to frame them,clutched the air with his hands. A moment he mouthed dumbly, then "Tellme!" he gasped. "Speak, man, speak! How was it? Cannot you see--that youare killing me?"

  Basterga saw indeed that he had gone nearer to it than he had intended:for a moment the starting eyes and purple face alarmed him. In allhaste, he gave up playing with the others fears. "It occurred to me," hesaid, "that as I no longer needed the medicine myself, there was onlythe Grand Duke to be considered, I thought that he might be willing towaive his claim, since he is as yet free from the disease. And fourdays ago I despatched a messenger whom I could trust to him at Turin. Ihad hopes of a favourable reply, and in that event, I should not havelost a minute in waiting upon you. For I am bound to say, MesserBlondel"--the big man rubbed his chin and eyed the otherbenevolently--"your case appealed to me in an especial manner. I feltmyself moved, I scarcely know why, to do all I could on your behalf.Alas, the answer dashe
d my hopes."

  "What was it?" Blondel's voice sounded hollow and unnatural. Sunk in thehigh-backed chair, his chin fallen on his breast, it was in his eyesalone, peering from below bent brows, that he seemed to live.

  "He would not waive his claim," Basterga answered gently, "save ona--but in substance that was all."

  Blondel raised himself slowly and stiffly in the chair. His lips parted."In substance?" he muttered hoarsely, "There was more then?"

  Basterga shrugged his shoulders. "There was. Save, the Grand Duke added,on the condition--but the condition which followed was inadmissible."

  Blondel gave vent to a cackling laugh. "Inadmissible?" he muttered."Inadmissible." And then, "You are not a dying man, Messer Basterga, oryou would think--few things inadmissible."

  "Impossible, then."

  "What was it? What was it?"--with a gesture eloquent of the impatiencethat was choking him.

  "He asked," Basterga replied reluctantly, "a price."

  "A price?"

  The big man nodded.

  The Syndic rose up and sat down again. "Why did you not say so? Why didyou not say so at once?" he cried fiercely. "Is it about that you havebeen fencing all this time? Is that what you were seeking? And Ifancied--A price, eh? I suppose"--in a lower tone, and with a gleam ofcunning in his eyes--"he does not really want--the impossible? I am nota very rich man, Messer Basterga--you know that; and I am sure you wouldtell him. You would tell him that men do not count wealth here as theydo in Genoa or Venice, or even in Florence. I am sure you would put himright on that," with a faint whine in his tone. "He would not strip aman to the last rag. He would not ask--thousands for it."

  "No," Basterga answered, with something of asperity and even contempt inhis tone. "He does not ask thousands for it, Messer Blondel. But heasks, none the less, something you cannot give."

  "Money?"

  "No."

  "Then--what is it?" Blondel leant forward in growing fury. "Why do youfence with me? What is it, man?"

  Basterga did not answer for a moment. At length, shrugging hisshoulders, and speaking between jest and earnest, "The town of Geneva,"he said. "No more, no less."

  The Syndic started violently, then was still. But the hand which in thefirst instant of surprise he had raised to shield his eyes, trembled;and behind it great drops of sweat rose on his brow, and bore witness tothe conflict in his breast.

  "You are jesting," he said presently, without removing his hand.

  "It is no jest," Basterga answered soberly. "You know the Grand Duke'skeen desire. We have talked of it before. And were it only a matter," heshrugged his shoulders, "of the how--of ways and means in fact--thereneed be no impossibility, your position being what it is. But I knowthe feeling you entertain on the subject, Messer Blondel; and though Ido not agree with you, for we look at the thing from different sides, Ihad no hope that you would come to it."

  "Never!"

  "No. So much so, that I had it in my mind to keep the condition tomyself. But----"

  "Why did you not, then?"

  "Hope against hope," the big man answered, with a shrug and a laugh."After all, a live dog is better than a dead lion--only you will not seeit. We are ruled, the most of us, by our feelings, and die for our sidewithout asking ourselves whether a single person would be a ducat theworse if the other side won. It is not philosophical," with anothershrug. "That is all."

  Apparently Blondel was not listening, for "The Duke must be mad!" heejaculated, as the other uttered his last word.

  "Oh no."

  "Mad!" the Syndic repeated harshly, his eyes still shaded by his hand."Does he think," with bitterness, "that I am the man to run through thestreets crying 'Viva Savoia!' To raise a hopeless _emeute_ at the headof the drunken ruffians who, since the war, have been the curse of theplace! And be thrown into the common jail, and hurried thence to thescaffold! If he looks for that----"

  "He does not."

  "He is mad."

  "He does not," Basterga repeated, unmoved. "The Grand Duke is as sane asI am."

  "Then what does he expect?"

  But the big man laughed. "No, no, Messer Blondel," he said. "You push metoo far. You mean nothing, and meaning nothing, all's said and done. Iwish," he continued, rising to his feet, and reverting to the tone ofsympathy which he had for the moment laid aside, "I wish I mightendeavour to show you the thing as I see it, in a word, as a philosophersees it, and as men of culture in all ages, rising above the prejudicesof the vulgar, have seen it. For after all, as Persius says,

  Live while thou liv'st! for death will make us all, A name, a nothing, but an old wife's tale.

  But I must not," reluctantly. "I know that."

  The Syndic had lowered his hand; but he still sat with his eyes averted,gazing sullenly at the corner of the floor.

  "I knew it when I came," Basterga resumed after a pause, "and thereforeI was loth to speak to you."

  "Yes."

  "You understand, I am sure?"

  The Syndic moved in his chair, but did not speak, and Basterga took uphis cap with a sigh. "I would I had brought you better news, MesserBlondel," he said, as he rose and turned to go. "But _Cor ne edito!_ Iam the happier for speaking, though I have done no good!" And with agesture of farewell, not without its dignity, he bowed, opened the door,and went out, leaving the Syndic to his reflections.