Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Never mind; come with me!’

  I took his arm and tried to lift him out of his chair, but he caught hold of the handles and would not stir.

  ‘I will not move,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The mob is coming to sack the Palace, and if they find you here they will kill you.’

  ‘I will not move. I am Orso Orsi. They dare not touch me.’

  ‘Be quick! be quick!’ screamed Andrea from the window. ‘The first of them have appeared in the street. In a moment they will be here.’

  ‘Quick! quick!’ cried Pietro.

  Now the roar had got so loud that it buzzed in one’s ears, and every instant it grew louder.

  ‘Be quick! be quick!’

  ‘You must come,’ I said, and Pietro joined his prayers to my commands, but nothing would move the old man.

  ‘I tell you I will not fly. I am the head of my house. I am Orso Orsi. I will not fly like a dog before the rabble.’

  ‘For your son’s sake — for our sake,’ I implored. ‘We shall be killed with you.’

  ‘You may go. The door is open for you. I will stay alone.’

  He seemed to have regained his old spirit. It was as if a last flame were flickering up.

  ‘We will not leave you,’ I said. ‘I have been put by Checco to protect you, and if you are killed I must be killed too. Our only chance is to fly.’

  ‘Quick! quick!’ cried Andrea. ‘They are nearly here!’

  ‘Oh, master, master,’ cried Pietro, ‘accept the means he offers you!’

  ‘Be quick! be quick!’

  ‘Would you have me slink down a back passage, like a thief, in my own house? Never!’

  ‘They have reached the doors,’ cried Andrea.

  The noise was deafening below. The gates had been closed, and we heard a thunder of blows; stones were thrown, sticks beaten against the iron; then they seemed to take some great instrument and pound against the locks. Again and again the blows were repeated, but at last there was a crash. A mighty shout broke from the people, and we heard a rush. I sprang to the door of the Orso’s room and locked and bolted it, then, calling the others to help me, I dragged a heavy chest against it. We placed another chest on the first, and dragged the bedstead up, pushing it against the chests.

  We were only just in time, for, like water rushing at once through every crevice, the mob surged up and filled every corner of the house. They came to our door and pushed it. To their surprise it did not open. Outside someone cried, —

  ‘It’s locked!’

  The hindrance excited them, and the crowd gathered greater outside.

  ‘Break it open,’ they cried.

  Immediately heavy blows thundered down on the lock and handle.

  ‘For God’s sake, come,’ I said, turning to Orso. He did not answer. There was no time to lose, and I could not conquer his obstinacy.

  ‘Then I shall force you,’ I cried, catching hold of both his arms and dragging him from the chair. He held on as tight as he could, but his strength was nothing against mine. I caught hold of him, and was lifting him in my arms when the door was burst open. The rush of people threw down the barricade, and the crowd surged into the room. It was too late. I made a rush for the little door with Orso, but I could not get to it. They crowded round me with a shout.

  ‘Take him,’ I cried to Pietro, ‘while I defend you.’

  I drew my sword, but immediately a bludgeon fell on it and it smashed in two. I gave a shout and rushed at my assailants, but it was hopeless. I felt a crushing blow on my head. I sank down insensible.

  XXXIII

  WHEN I opened my eyes I found myself on a bed in a darkened room. By my side was sitting a woman. I looked at her, and wondered who she was.

  ‘Who the devil are you?’ I asked, somewhat impolitely.

  At the words someone else stepped forward and bent over me. I recognised Andrea; then I recollected what had occurred.

  ‘Where is the Orso?’ I asked. ‘Is he safe?’

  ‘Do you feel better?’ he said.

  ‘I am all right. Where is the Orso?’ I tried to sit up, but my head swam. I felt horribly sick and sank back.

  ‘What is the matter?’ I moaned.

  ‘Only a broken head,’ said Andrea, with a little smile. ‘If you had been a real serving-man, instead of a fine gentleman masquerading, you wouldn’t think twice about it.’

  ‘Have pity on my infirmities, dear boy,’ I murmured faintly. ‘I don’t pretend that my head is as wooden as yours.’

  Then he explained.

  ‘When you were beaten down they made a rush for the old master and bore him off.’

  ‘Oh!’ I cried. ‘I promised Checco to look after him. What will he think!’

  ‘It was not your fault.’ At the same time he renewed the bandages round my head and put cooling lotions on.

  ‘Good boy!’ I said, as I enjoyed the cold water on my throbbing head.

  ‘When I saw the blows come down on your head, and you fall like a stone, I thought you were killed. With you soft-headed people one never knows!’

  ‘It appears to amuse you,’ I said. ‘But what happened afterwards?’

  ‘In the excitement of their capture they paid no attention to us, and my uncle and I dragged you through the little door, and eventually carried you here. You are a weight!’

  ‘And where am I?’

  ‘In my mother’s house, where you are requested to stay as long as it suits your convenience.’

  ‘And Orso?’

  ‘My uncle went out to see, and reports that they have put him in prison. As yet no harm has been done him. The palace has been sacked; nothing but the bare walls remain.’

  At that moment Pietro came in panting.

  ‘Two of the conspirators have been taken.’

  ‘My God, not Checco or Matteo!’

  ‘No; Pietro Albanese and Marco Scorsacana.’

  ‘How did the others escape?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I heard was that the horse of Marco broke down, and Pietro refused to leave him. At a village close to the frontier Pietro was recognised, and they were both arrested and sent here for the sake of the reward.’

  ‘My God!’

  ‘They were brought into the town on asses, with their hands tied behind their backs, and the mob yelled with derision, and threw stones and refuse at them.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘They have been taken to the prison, and—’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘The execution is to take place to-morrow.’

  I groaned. Pietro Albanese and Marco had been like Damon and Pythias. I shuddered as I thought of the fate in store for them. They had been conspicuous in their hatred of the Count, and it was they who had helped to throw the body into the piazza. I knew there would be no forgiveness in Caterina’s heart, and all the night I wondered what vengeance she was meditating.

  XXXIV

  NEXT day I insisted on getting up. Andrea helped me to dress, and we went out together.

  ‘No one would mistake you for a gentleman to-day,’ he laughed.

  My clothes were shabby enough in the first instance, and in the scuffle of the previous day they had received usage which did not improve them; moreover, I had a two days’ beard, and my head muffled up in bandages, so that I could well imagine that my appearance was not attractive. But I was too sore at heart to smile at his remark, or make retort. I could not help thinking of the terrible scene which awaited us.

  We found the piazza crowded. Opposite the Riario Palace was erected a stage on which were seats, but these were empty. The sky was blue, the sun shone merrily on the people, and the air was soft and warm. Nature was full of peace and goodwill; but in men’s hearts was lust of blood.... A flourish of trumpets announced the approach of Caterina and her suite. Amid ringing cheers she entered the square, accompanied by her half-brother, the Duke of Milan, and by the Protonotary Savello. They took their seats on
the platform, the Duke on her right, Savello on her left. She turned to the priest and talked most amiably to him; he smiled and bowed, but his agitation was shown by the twitching of his hands fidgeting with the lappet of his cloak.

  A beating of drums was heard, followed by a sudden silence. A guard of soldiers entered the piazza, tramping steadily with heavy footsteps; then two steps behind them a single figure, without a doublet, hatless, his shirt all torn, his hands tied behind his back. It was Marco Scorsacana. The foul mob broke out into a yell at the sight of him; he walked slowly, but with his head proudly erect, paying no heed to the hooting and hissing which rang in his ears. On each side walked a barefooted monk, bearing a crucifix.... He was followed by another troop of soldiers, and after them came another bare-headed figure, his hands also tied behind his back; but he kept his head bent over his chest and his eyes fixed on the ground, shrinking at the yells of derision. Poor Pietro! He, too, was accompanied by the solemn monks; the procession was finished by the drummers, beating their drums incessantly, maddeningly.

  They advanced to the platform, and there, the soldiers falling back, the prisoners were left standing before their judges.

  ‘Marco Scorsacana and Pietro Albanese,’ said the Countess, in a clear, calm voice, ‘you have been found guilty of murder and treason; and as it was you who cast the body of my dear husband out of the Palace window on to the hard stones of the piazza, so you are sentenced to be hanged from that same window, and your bodies cast down on to the hard stones of the piazza.’

  A murmur of approval came from the populace. Pietro winced, but Marco turned to him and said something which I could not hear; but I saw the glance of deep affection, and the answering smile of Pietro as he seemed to take courage.

  The Countess turned to Savello.

  ‘Do you not agree that the judgment is just?’

  ‘Most just!’ he whispered.

  ‘The protonotary says, “Most just!”’ she called aloud, so that all should hear. The man winced.

  Marco looked at him scornfully, and said, ‘I would ten times rather be in my place than in yours.’

  The Countess smiled at the priest and said, ‘You see, I carry out the will of God in doing unto others as they themselves have done.’

  She made a sign, and the two men were led to the Palace and up the stairs. The window of the Hall of Nymphs was thrown open, and a beam thrust out, to which was attached a rope. Pietro appeared at the window, with one end of the rope round his neck.

  ‘Good-bye, sweet friend,’ he said to Marco.

  ‘Good-bye, Pietrino,’ and Marco kissed him.

  Then two men hurled him from the sill, and he swung in mid-air; a horrible movement passed through his body, and it swayed from side to side. There was a pause; a man stretched out with a sword and cut the rope. From the people came a huge shout, and they caught the body as it fell and tore it to pieces. In a few minutes Marco appeared at the window, but he boldly sprang out into space, needing no help. In a little while he was a hanging corpse, and in a little while more the mob had fallen on him like wolves. I hid my face in my hands. It was awful! Oh, God! Oh, God!

  Then another beating of drums broke through the tumult. I looked up, wondering what was coming. A troop of soldiers entered the square, and after them an ass led by a fool with bells and bauble; on the ass was a miserable old man, Orso Orsi.

  ‘Oh,’ I groaned. ‘What are they going to do to him?’

  A shout of laughter burst from the mob, and the clown flourished his bauble and bowed acknowledgments from side to side. A halt was made before the stage, and Caterina spoke again.

  ‘Orso Orsi. You have been sentenced to see your palace destroyed before your eyes — stone by stone.’

  The people shouted, and a rush was made for the Orsi Palace. The old man said nothing and showed no sign of hearing or feeling. I hoped that all sensation had left him. The procession moved on until it came to the old house, which stood already like a wreck, for the pillagers had left nothing which could be moved. Then the work began, and stone by stone the mighty building was torn to pieces. Orso looked on indifferently at the terrible work, for no greater humiliation can be offered to the Italian nobleman than this. The Orso Palace had stood three hundred years, and the most famous architects, craftsmen and artists had worked on it. And now it was gone.

  The old man was brought back into the piazza, and once more the cruel woman spoke.

  ‘You have received punishment for yourself, Orso, and now you are to receive punishment for your son. Make room!’

  And the soldiers, repeating her words, cried, —

  ‘Make room!’

  The people were pushed and hustled back till they were crammed against the house walls, leaving in the centre an enormous empty space. Then a flourish of trumpets, and the people made an opening at the end of the square to allow the passage of a horse and man, the horse — a huge black stallion — prancing and plunging, and on each side a man was holding the bridle. On his back sat a big man, dressed all in flaming red, and a red hood covered his head and face, leaving two apertures for the eyes. A horrified whisper ran round the square.

  ‘The hangman!’

  In the centre of the piazza he stopped. Caterina addressed the Orso.

  ‘Have you anything to say, Orso Orsi?’

  At last he seemed to hear, he looked at her and then, with all the strength he had, hurled the word at her, —

  ‘Bastard!’

  She flushed angrily and made a sign. Two men seized the old man and dragged him off the mule; they caught hold of his legs, throwing him to the ground, and with a thick rope tied his ankles together.

  At this I understood. I was seized with sudden horror, and I cried out. Obeying a sudden impulse, I started forward; I don’t know what I was going to do; I felt I must protect him or die with him. I started forward, but Andrea threw his arms round me and held me back.

  ‘Let me go,’ I said, struggling.

  ‘Don’t be a fool!’ he whispered. ‘What can you do against all these?’

  It was no use; I gave way. Oh, God! that I should stand by and see this awful thing and be utterly powerless. I wondered the people could suffer this last atrocity; I thought they must scream and rush to save the wretched man. But they watched — they watched eagerly....

  By his feet they dragged him to the horse, and the end of the rope round his ankles they tied to the horse’s tail and about the rider’s waist.

  ‘Ready?’ cried the hangman.

  ‘Yes!’ answered the soldiers.

  They all sprang back; the hangman dug the spurs into his horse. The people gave a huge shout, and the fiery beast went careering round the square at full tilt. The awful burden dragging behind terrified him, and with head strained forward and starting eyes he galloped madly. The mob urged him on with cries, and his rider dug the spurs in deeply; the pavement was scattered with blood.

  God knows how long the wretched man lived. I hope he died at once. At last the brute’s furious career was stopped, the ropes were cut, the corpse fell back, and, the people again making passage, horse and rider disappeared. In the middle of the piazza, in a pool of blood, lay a shapeless mass. It was ordered that it should be left there till nightfall as an example to evildoers.

  Andrea wanted to come away, but I insisted on staying to see what happened more. But it was the end, for Caterina turned to Savello and said, —

  ‘I do not forget that all power comes from God, Monsignor, and I wish solemnly to render thanks to the Divine Majesty, who has saved me, my children and the State. Therefore, I shall order a grand procession which shall march round the town and afterwards hear mass at the cathedral.’

  ‘It shows, madam,’ replied Savello, ‘that you are a pious and truly Christian woman.’

  XXXV

  WHEN it was night and the piazza deserted, Andrea and I and the old steward went out and made our way to the place where the horrible corpse was lying. We wrapped it in a long black cloth and too
k it up silently, bearing it to the church where for generations the Orsi had been buried. A dark-robed monk met us in the nave and led the way to a door, which he opened; then, as if frightened, left us. We found ourselves in the cloisters. We laid the body down under an arch and advanced into the centre, where was a plot of green scattered over with little crosses. We took spades and began to dig; a thin rain drizzled down and the ground was stiff and clayey. It was hard work and I sweated; I took off my coat and allowed the rain to fall on me unprotected; I was soon wet to the skin. Silently Andrea and I turned up the soil, while Pietro, beneath the cloisters, watched by the body and prayed. We were knee deep now, and still we threw up heavy spadefuls of clay. At last I said, —

  ‘It is enough.’

  We climbed out and went to the body. We took it up and bore it to the grave, and reverently we laid it in. Pietro placed a crucifix on the old master’s breast, and then we began to pile in the earth.

  And so without priests, without mourning, in the dead of night, and by the drizzling rain, was buried Orso Orsi, the great head of the family. In his time he had been excellent in war and in all the arts of peace. He had been noted for his skill in commerce; in politics he had been the first of his city, and, besides, he had been a great and generous patron of the arts. But he lived too long, and died thus miserably.

  Next day I set about thinking what I should do. I could be of no more use to anyone in Forli; indeed, I had never been of use, for I had only stood by and watched while those I loved and honoured were being put to cruel deaths. And now I must see that my presence did not harm my kind hosts. Caterina had thrown into prison some fifty of those who had taken part in the rebellion, notwithstanding her solemn promise of amnesty, and I knew well enough that if I were discovered Pietro and Andrea would suffer as severe a punishment as myself. They gave no sign that my presence was a menace to them, but in the woman’s eyes, Andrea’s mother, I saw an anxious look, and at any unexpected sound she would start and look fearfully at me. I made up my mind to go immediately. When I told Andrea, he insisted on coming with me, and although I painted the danger in lively colours he would not be dissuaded. The next day was market-day, and we resolved to slip out in a cart as soon as the gates were opened. We would be taken for tradesmen, and no one would pay attention to us.