The Gadfly

by E. L. Voynich

  CHAPTER IV.

  MONTANELLI'S anger did not make him neglectful of his promise. Heprotested so emphatically against the manner in which the Gadfly hadbeen chained that the unfortunate Governor, who by now was at his wit'send, knocked off all the fetters in the recklessness of despair. "How amI to know," he grumbled to the adjutant, "what His Eminence will objectto next? If he calls a simple pair of handcuffs 'cruelty,' he'll beexclaiming against the window-bars presently, or wanting me to feedRivarez on oysters and truffles. In my young days malefactors weremalefactors and were treated accordingly, and nobody thought a traitorany better than a thief. But it's the fashion to be seditious nowadays;and His Eminence seems inclined to encourage all the scoundrels in thecountry."

  "I don't see what business he has got to interfere at all," the adjutantremarked. "He is not a Legate and has no authority in civil and militaryaffairs. By law------"

  "What is the use of talking about law? You can't expect anyone torespect laws after the Holy Father has opened the prisons and turned thewhole crew of Liberal scamps loose on us! It's a positive infatuation!Of course Monsignor Montanelli will give himself airs; he was quietenough under His Holiness the late Pope, but he's cock of the walk now.He has jumped into favour all at once and can do as he pleases. How amI to oppose him? He may have secret authorization from the Vatican, forall I know. Everything's topsy-turvy now; you can't tell from day to daywhat may happen next. In the good old times one knew what to be at, butnowadays------"

  The Governor shook his head ruefully. A world in which Cardinalstroubled themselves over trifles of prison discipline and talked aboutthe "rights" of political offenders was a world that was growing toocomplex for him.

  The Gadfly, for his part, had returned to the fortress in a state ofnervous excitement bordering on hysteria. The meeting with Montanellihad strained his endurance almost to breaking-point; and his finalbrutality about the variety show had been uttered in sheer desperation,merely to cut short an interview which, in another five minutes, wouldhave ended in tears.

  Called up for interrogation in the afternoon of the same day, he didnothing but go into convulsions of laughter at every question put tohim; and when the Governor, worried out of all patience, lost his temperand began to swear, he only laughed more immoderately than ever.The unlucky Governor fumed and stormed and threatened his refractoryprisoner with impossible punishments; but finally came, as James Burtonhad come long ago, to the conclusion that it was mere waste of breathand temper to argue with a person in so unreasonable a state of mind.

  The Gadfly was once more taken back to his cell; and there lay down uponthe pallet, in the mood of black and hopeless depression which alwayssucceeded to his boisterous fits. He lay till evening without moving,without even thinking; he had passed, after the vehement emotion of themorning, into a strange, half-apathetic state, in which his own miserywas hardly more to him than a dull and mechanical weight, pressing onsome wooden thing that had forgotten to be a soul. In truth, it was oflittle consequence how all ended; the one thing that mattered to anysentient being was to be spared unbearable pain, and whether the reliefcame from altered conditions or from the deadening of the power tofeel, was a question of no moment. Perhaps he would succeed in escaping;perhaps they would kill him; in any case he should never see the Padreagain, and it was all vanity and vexation of spirit.

  One of the warders brought in supper, and the Gadfly looked up withheavy-eyed indifference.

  "What time is it?"

  "Six o'clock. Your supper, sir."

  He looked with disgust at the stale, foul-smelling, half-cold mess, andturned his head away. He was feeling bodily ill as well as depressed;and the sight of the food sickened him.

  "You will be ill if you don't eat," said the soldier hurriedly. "Take abit of bread, anyway; it'll do you good."

  The man spoke with a curious earnestness of tone, lifting a pieceof sodden bread from the plate and putting it down again. All theconspirator awoke in the Gadfly; he had guessed at once that there wassomething hidden in the bread.

  "You can leave it; I'll eat a bit by and by," he said carelessly. Thedoor was open, and he knew that the sergeant on the stairs could hearevery word spoken between them.

  When the door was locked on him again, and he had satisfied himself thatno one was watching at the spy-hole, he took up the piece of bread andcarefully crumbled it away. In the middle was the thing he had expected,a bundle of small files. It was wrapped in a bit of paper, on which afew words were written. He smoothed the paper out carefully and carriedit to what little light there was. The writing was crowded into sonarrow a space, and on such thin paper, that it was very difficult toread.

  "The door is unlocked, and there is no moon. Get the filing done as fastas possible, and come by the passage between two and three. We are quiteready and may not have another chance."

  He crushed the paper feverishly in his hand. All the preparations wereready, then, and he had only to file the window bars; how lucky it wasthat the chains were off! He need not stop about filing them. How manybars were there? Two, four; and each must be filed in two places: eight.Oh, he could manage that in the course of the night if he madehaste---- How had Gemma and Martini contrived to get everything ready soquickly--disguises, passports, hiding-places? They must have worked likecart-horses to do it---- And it was her plan that had been adopted afterall. He laughed a little to himself at his own foolishness; as if itmattered whether the plan was hers or not, once it was a good one! Andyet he could not help being glad that it was she who had struck onthe idea of his utilizing the subterranean passage, instead of lettinghimself down by a rope-ladder, as the smugglers had at first suggested.Hers was the more complex and difficult plan, but did not involve, asthe other did, a risk to the life of the sentinel on duty outside theeast wall. Therefore, when the two schemes had been laid before him, hehad unhesitatingly chosen Gemma's.

  The arrangement was that the friendly guard who went by the nickname of"The Cricket" should seize the first opportunity of unlocking, withoutthe knowledge of his fellows, the iron gate leading from the courtyardinto the subterranean passage underneath the ramparts, and should thenreplace the key on its nail in the guard-room. The Gadfly, on receivinginformation of this, was to file through the bars of his window, tearhis shirt into strips and plait them into a rope, by means of which hecould let himself down on to the broad east wall of the courtyard. Alongthis wall he was to creep on hands and knees while the sentinel waslooking in the opposite direction, lying flat upon the masonry wheneverthe man turned towards him. At the southeast corner was a half-ruinedturret. It was upheld, to some extent, by a thick growth of ivy;but great masses of crumbling stone had fallen inward and lay in thecourtyard, heaped against the wall. From this turret he was to climbdown by the ivy and the heaps of stone into the courtyard; and, softlyopening the unlocked gate, to make his way along the passage to asubterranean tunnel communicating with it. Centuries ago this tunnelhad formed a secret corridor between the fortress and a tower on theneighbouring hill; now it was quite disused and blocked in many placesby the falling in of the rocks. No one but the smugglers knew of acertain carefully-hidden hole in the mountain-side which they hadbored through to the tunnel; no one suspected that stores of forbiddenmerchandise were often kept, for weeks together, under the very rampartsof the fortress itself, while the customs-officers were vainly searchingthe houses of the sullen, wrathful-eyed mountaineers. At this hole theGadfly was to creep out on to the hillside, and make his way in the darkto a lonely spot where Martini and a smuggler would be waiting for him.The one great difficulty was that opportunities to unlock the gate afterthe evening patrol did not occur every night, and the descent from thewindow could not be made in very clear weather without too great a riskof being observed by the sentinel. Now that there was really a fairchance of success, it must not be missed.

  He sat down and began to eat some of the bread. It at least did notdisgust him like the rest of the prison food, and he must eat somethingto keep
up his strength.

  He had better lie down a bit, too, and try to get a little sleep; itwould not be safe to begin filing before ten o'clock, and he would havea hard night's work.

  And so, after all, the Padre had been thinking of letting him escape!That was like the Padre. But he, for his part, would never consent toit. Anything rather than that! If he escaped, it should be his own doingand that of his comrades; he would have no favours from priests.

  How hot it was! Surely it must be going to thunder; the air was so closeand oppressive. He moved restlessly on the pallet and put the bandagedright hand behind his head for a pillow; then drew it away again. How itburned and throbbed! And all the old wounds were beginning to ache, witha dull, faint persistence. What was the matter with them? Oh, absurd!It was only the thundery weather. He would go to sleep and get a littlerest before beginning his filing.

  Eight bars, and all so thick and strong! How many more were thereleft to file? Surely not many. He must have been filing forhours,--interminable hours--yes, of course, that was what made his armache---- And how it ached; right through to the very bone! But it couldhardly be the filing that made his side ache so; and the throbbing,burning pain in the lame leg--was that from filing?

  He started up. No, he had not been asleep; he had been dreaming withopen eyes--dreaming of filing, and it was all still to do. There stoodthe window-bars, untouched, strong and firm as ever. And there was tenstriking from the clock-tower in the distance. He must get to work.

  He looked through the spy-hole, and, seeing that no one was watching,took one of the files from his breast.

  *****

  No, there was nothing the matter with him--nothing! It was allimagination. The pain in his side was indigestion, or a chill, or somesuch thing; not much wonder, after three weeks of this insufferableprison food and air. As for the aching and throbbing all over, it waspartly nervous trouble and partly want of exercise. Yes, that was it, nodoubt; want of exercise. How absurd not to have thought of that before!

  He would sit down a little bit, though, and let it pass before he got towork. It would be sure to go over in a minute or two.

  To sit still was worse than all. When he sat still he was at its mercy,and his face grew gray with fear. No, he must get up and set to work,and shake it off. It should depend upon his will to feel or not to feel;and he would not feel, he would force it back.

  He stood up again and spoke to himself, aloud and distinctly:

  "I am not ill; I have no time to be ill. I have those bars to file, andI am not going to be ill."

  Then he began to file.

  A quarter-past ten--half-past ten--a quarter to eleven---- He filed andfiled, and every grating scrape of the iron was as though someone werefiling on his body and brain. "I wonder which will be filed throughfirst," he said to himself with a little laugh; "I or the bars?" And heset his teeth and went on filing.

  Half-past eleven. He was still filing, though the hand was stiff andswollen and would hardly grasp the tool. No, he dared not stop to rest;if he once put the horrible thing down he should never have the courageto begin again.

  The sentinel moved outside the door, and the butt end of his carbinescratched against the lintel. The Gadfly stopped and looked round, thefile still in his lifted hand. Was he discovered?

  A little round pellet had been shot through the spy-hole and was lyingon the floor. He laid down the file and stooped to pick up the roundthing. It was a bit of rolled paper.

  *****

  It was a long way to go down and down, with the black waves rushingabout him--how they roared----!

  Ah, yes! He was only stooping down to pick up the paper. He was a bitgiddy; many people are when they stoop. There was nothing the matterwith him--nothing.

  He picked it up, carried it to the light, and unfolded it steadily.

  "Come to-night, whatever happens; the Cricket will be transferredto-morrow to another service. This is our only chance."

  He destroyed the paper as he had done the former one, picked up his fileagain, and went back to work, dogged and mute and desperate.

  One o'clock. He had been working for three hours now, and six of theeight bars were filed. Two more, and then, to climb------

  He began to recall the former occasions when these terrible attacks hadcome on. The last had been the one at New Year; and he shuddered ashe remembered those five nights. But that time it had not come on sosuddenly; he had never known it so sudden.

  He dropped the file and flung out both hands blindly, praying, in hisutter desperation, for the first time since he had been an atheist;praying to anything--to nothing--to everything.

  "Not to-night! Oh, let me be ill to-morrow! I will bear anythingto-morrow--only not to-night!"

  He stood still for a moment, with both hands up to his temples; then hetook up the file once more, and once more went back to his work.

  Half-past one. He had begun on the last bar. His shirt-sleeve was bittento rags; there was blood on his lips and a red mist before his eyes, andthe sweat poured from his forehead as he filed, and filed, and filed----

  *****

  After sunrise Montanelli fell asleep. He was utterly worn out with therestless misery of the night and slept for a little while quietly; thenhe began to dream.

  At first he dreamed vaguely, confusedly; broken fragments of images andfancies followed each other, fleeting and incoherent, but all filledwith the same dim sense of struggle and pain, the same shadow ofindefinable dread. Presently he began to dream of sleeplessness; theold, frightful, familiar dream that had been a terror to him for years.And even as he dreamed he recognized that he had been through it allbefore.

  He was wandering about in a great empty place, trying to find some quietspot where he could lie down and sleep. Everywhere there were people,walking up and down; talking, laughing, shouting; praying, ringingbells, and clashing metal instruments together. Sometimes he would getaway to a little distance from the noise, and would lie down, now on thegrass, now on a wooden bench, now on some slab of stone. He would shuthis eyes and cover them with both hands to keep out the light; and wouldsay to himself: "Now I will get to sleep." Then the crowds would comesweeping up to him, shouting, yelling, calling him by name, begging him:"Wake up! Wake up, quick; we want you!"

  Again: he was in a great palace, full of gorgeous rooms, with beds andcouches and low soft lounges. It was night, and he said to himself:"Here, at last, I shall find a quiet place to sleep." But when he chosea dark room and lay down, someone came in with a lamp, flashing themerciless light into his eyes, and said: "Get up; you are wanted."

  He rose and wandered on, staggering and stumbling like a creaturewounded to death; and heard the clocks strike one, and knew that halfthe night was gone already--the precious night that was so short. Two,three, four, five--by six o'clock the whole town would wake up and therewould be no more silence.

  He went into another room and would have lain down on a bed, but someonestarted up from the pillows, crying out: "This bed is mine!" and heshrank away with despair in his heart.

  Hour after hour struck, and still he wandered on and on, from room toroom, from house to house, from corridor to corridor. The horrible graydawn was creeping near and nearer; the clocks were striking five;the night was gone and he had found no rest. Oh, misery! Anotherday--another day!

  He was in a long, subterranean corridor, a low, vaulted passagethat seemed to have no end. It was lighted with glaring lamps andchandeliers; and through its grated roof came the sounds of dancingand laughter and merry music. Up there, in the world of the live peopleoverhead, there was some festival, no doubt. Oh, for a place to hideand sleep; some little place, were it even a grave! And as he spokehe stumbled over an open grave. An open grave, smelling of death androttenness---- Ah, what matter, so he could but sleep!

  "This grave is mine!" It was Gladys; and she raised her head and staredat him over the rotting shroud. Then he knelt down and stretched out hisarms to her.

  "Gladys! Gladys! Have a l
ittle pity on me; let me creep into this narrowspace and sleep. I do not ask you for your love; I will not touch you,will not speak to you; only let me lie down beside you and sleep! Oh,love, it is so long since I have slept! I cannot bear another day. Thelight glares in upon my soul; the noise is beating my brain to dust.Gladys, let me come in here and sleep!"

  And he would have drawn her shroud across his eyes. But she shrank away,screaming:

  "It is sacrilege; you are a priest!"

  On and on he wandered, and came out upon the sea-shore, on the barrenrocks where the fierce light struck down, and the water moaned its low,perpetual wail of unrest. "Ah!" he said; "the sea will be more merciful;it, too, is wearied unto death and cannot sleep."

  Then Arthur rose up from the deep, and cried aloud:

  "This sea is mine!"

  *****

  "Your Eminence! Your Eminence!"

  Montanelli awoke with a start. His servant was knocking at the door. Herose mechanically and opened it, and the man saw how wild and scared helooked.

  "Your Eminence--are you ill?"

  He drew both hands across his forehead.

  "No; I was asleep, and you startled me."

  "I am very sorry; I thought I had heard you moving early this morning,and I supposed------"

  "Is it late now?"

  "It is nine o'clock, and the Governor has called. He says he hasvery important business, and knowing Your Eminence to be an earlyriser------"

  "Is he downstairs? I will come presently."

  He dressed and went downstairs.

  "I am afraid this is an unceremonious way to call upon Your Eminence,"the Governor began.

  "I hope there is nothing the matter?"

  "There is very much the matter. Rivarez has all but succeeded inescaping."

  "Well, so long as he has not quite succeeded there is no harm done. Howwas it?"

  "He was found in the courtyard, right against the little iron gate.When the patrol came in to inspect the courtyard at three o'clock thismorning one of the men stumbled over something on the ground; and whenthey brought the light up they found Rivarez lying across the pathunconscious. They raised an alarm at once and called me up; and when Iwent to examine his cell I found all the window-bars filed through anda rope made of torn body-linen hanging from one of them. He had lethimself down and climbed along the wall. The iron gate, which leads intothe subterranean tunnels, was found to be unlocked. That looks as if theguards had been suborned."

  "But how did he come to be lying across the path? Did he fall from therampart and hurt himself?"

  "That is what I thought at first. Your Eminence; but the prison surgeoncan't find any trace of a fall. The soldier who was on duty yesterdaysays that Rivarez looked very ill last night when he brought in thesupper, and did not eat anything. But that must be nonsense; a sick mancouldn't file those bars through and climb along that roof. It's not inreason."

  "Does he give any account of himself?"

  "He is unconscious, Your Eminence."

  "Still?"

  "He just half comes to himself from time to time and moans, and thengoes off again."

  "That is very strange. What does the doctor think?"

  "He doesn't know what to think. There is no trace of heart-disease thathe can find to account for the thing; but whatever is the matter withhim, it is something that must have come on suddenly, just when he hadnearly managed to escape. For my part, I believe he was struck down bythe direct intervention of a merciful Providence."

  Montanelli frowned slightly.

  "What are you going to do with him?" he asked.

  "That is a question I shall settle in a very few days. In the meantime Ihave had a good lesson. That is what comes of taking off the irons--withall due respect to Your Eminence."

  "I hope," Montanelli interrupted, "that you will at least not replacethe fetters while he is ill. A man in the condition you describe canhardly make any more attempts to escape."

  "I shall take good care he doesn't," the Governor muttered to himself ashe went out. "His Eminence can go hang with his sentimental scruples forall I care. Rivarez is chained pretty tight now, and is going to stopso, ill or not."

  *****

  "But how can it have happened? To faint away at the last moment, wheneverything was ready; when he was at the very gate! It's like somehideous joke."

  "I tell you," Martini answered, "the only thing I can think of is thatone of these attacks must have come on, and that he must have struggledagainst it as long as his strength lasted and have fainted from sheerexhaustion when he got down into the courtyard."

  Marcone knocked the ashes savagely from his pipe.

  "Well, anyhow, that's the end of it; we can't do anything for him now,poor fellow."

  "Poor fellow!" Martini echoed, under his breath. He was beginning torealise that to him, too, the world would look empty and dismal withoutthe Gadfly.

  "What does she think?" the smuggler asked, glancing towards the otherend of the room, where Gemma sat alone, her hands lying idly in her lap,her eyes looking straight before her into blank nothingness.

  "I have not asked her; she has not spoken since I brought her the news.We had best not disturb her just yet."

  She did not appear to be conscious of their presence, but they bothspoke with lowered voices, as though they were looking at a corpse.After a dreary little pause, Marcone rose and put away his pipe.

  "I will come back this evening," he said; but Martini stopped him with agesture.

  "Don't go yet; I want to speak to you." He dropped his voice still lowerand continued in almost a whisper:

  "Do you believe there is really no hope?"

  "I don't see what hope there can be now. We can't attempt it again. Evenif he were well enough to manage his part of the thing, we couldn'tdo our share. The sentinels are all being changed, on suspicion. TheCricket won't get another chance, you may be sure."

  "Don't you think," Martini asked suddenly; "that, when he recovers,something might be done by calling off the sentinels?"

  "Calling off the sentinels? What do you mean?"

  "Well, it has occurred to me that if I were to get in the Governor's waywhen the procession passes close by the fortress on Corpus Domini dayand fire in his face, all the sentinels would come rushing to get holdof me, and some of you fellows could perhaps help Rivarez out in theconfusion. It really hardly amounts to a plan; it only came into myhead."

  "I doubt whether it could be managed," Marcone answered with a verygrave face. "Certainly it would want a lot of thinking out for anythingto come of it. But"--he stopped and looked at Martini--"if it should bepossible--would you do it?"

  Martini was a reserved man at ordinary times; but this was not anordinary time. He looked straight into the smuggler's face.

  "Would I do it?" he repeated. "Look at her!"

  There was no need for further explanations; in saying that he had saidall. Marcone turned and looked across the room.

  She had not moved since their conversation began. There was no doubt, nofear, even no grief in her face; there was nothing in it but the shadowof death. The smuggler's eyes filled with tears as he looked at her.

  "Make haste, Michele!" he said, throwing open the verandah door andlooking out. "Aren't you nearly done, you two? There are a hundred andfifty things to do!"

  Michele, followed by Gino, came in from the verandah.

  "I am ready now," he said. "I only want to ask the signora----"

  He was moving towards her when Martini caught him by the arm.

  "Don't disturb her; she's better alone."

  "Let her be!" Marcone added. "We shan't do any good by meddling. Godknows, it's hard enough on all of us; but it's worse for her, poorsoul!"