The Gadfly, E. L. Voynich [best books to read for self development .txt] 📗

marketplace,

in front of the Cardinal’s palace.”

 

“Oh, he manages to live in a p-palace, then,

in s-spite of being a saint?”

 

“He lives in one wing of it, and has turned the

rest into a hospital. Well, you all wait there for

him to come out and give his benediction, and

Domenichino will come up with his basket and

say: “Are you one of the pilgrims, father?” and

you answer: ‘I am a miserable sinner.’ Then he

puts down his basket and wipes his face with his

sleeve, and you offer him six soldi for a rosary.”

 

“Then, of course, he arranges where we can talk?”

 

“Yes; he will have plenty of time to give you

the address of the meeting-place while the people

are gaping at Montanelli. That was our plan; but

if you don’t like it, we can let Domenichino know

and arrange something else.”

 

“No; it will do; only see that the beard and

wig look natural.”

 

… . .

 

“Are you one of the pilgrims, father?”

 

The Gadfly, sitting on the steps of the episcopal

palace, looked up from under his ragged white

locks, and gave the password in a husky, trembling

voice, with a strong foreign accent. Domenichino

slipped the leather strap from his shoulder,

and set down his basket of pious gewgaws on the

step. The crowd of peasants and pilgrims sitting

on the steps and lounging about the marketplace

was taking no notice of them, but for precaution’s

sake they kept up a desultory conversation, Domenichino

speaking in the local dialect and the Gadfly in

broken Italian, intermixed with Spanish words.

 

“His Eminence! His Eminence is coming

out!” shouted the people by the door. “Stand

aside! His Eminence is coming!”

 

They both stood up.

 

“Here, father,” said Domenichino, putting into

the Gadfly’s hand a little image wrapped in paper;

“take this, too, and pray for me when you get to

Rome.”

 

The Gadfly thrust it into his breast, and turned

to look at the figure in the violet Lenten robe and

scarlet cap that was standing on the upper step

and blessing the people with outstretched arms.

 

Montanelli came slowly down the steps, the

people crowding about him to kiss his hands.

Many knelt down and put the hem of his cassock

to their lips as he passed.

 

“Peace be with you, my children!”

 

At the sound of the clear, silvery voice, the

Gadfly bent his head, so that the white hair fell

across his face; and Domenichino, seeing the

quivering of the pilgrim’s staff in his hand, said to

himself with admiration: “What an actor!”

 

A woman standing near to them stooped down

and lifted her child from the step. “Come,

Cecco,” she said. “His Eminence will bless you

as the dear Lord blessed the children.”

 

The Gadfly moved a step forward and stopped.

Oh, it was hard! All these outsiders—these pilgrims

and mountaineers—could go up and speak

to him, and he would lay his hand on their children’s

hair. Perhaps he would say “Carino” to

that peasant boy, as he used to say–-

 

The Gadfly sank down again on the step, turning

away that he might not see. If only he could

shrink into some corner and stop his ears to shut

out the sound! Indeed, it was more than any man

should have to bear—to be so close, so close that

he could have put out his arm and touched the

dear hand.

 

“Will you not come under shelter, my friend?”

the soft voice said. “I am afraid you are chilled.”

 

The Gadfly’s heart stood still. For a moment

he was conscious of nothing but the sickening

pressure of the blood that seemed as if it would

tear his breast asunder; then it rushed back, tingling

and burning through all his body, and he

looked up. The grave, deep eyes above him grew

suddenly tender with divine compassion at the

sight of his face.

 

“Stand bark a little, friends,” Montanelli said,

turning to the crowd; “I want to speak to him.”

 

The people fell slowly back, whispering to each

other, and the Gadfly, sitting motionless, with

teeth clenched and eyes on the ground, felt the

gentle touch of Montanelli’s hand upon his

shoulder.

 

“You have had some great trouble. Can I do

anything to help you?”

 

The Gadfly shook his head in silence.

 

“Are you a pilgrim?”

 

“I am a miserable sinner.”

 

The accidental similarity of Montanelli’s question

to the password came like a chance straw,

that the Gadfly, in his desperation, caught at, answering

automatically. He had begun to tremble

under the soft pressure of the hand that seemed

to burn upon his shoulder.

 

The Cardinal bent down closer to him.

 

“Perhaps you would care to speak to me alone?

If I can be any help to you–-”

 

For the first time the Gadfly looked straight

and steadily into Montanelli’s eyes; he was already

recovering his self-command.

 

“It would be no use,” he said; “the thing is

hopeless.”

 

A police official stepped forward out of the

crowd.

 

“Forgive my intruding, Your Eminence. I

think the old man is not quite sound in his mind.

He is perfectly harmless, and his papers are in

order, so we don’t interfere with him. He has

been in penal servitude for a great crime, and is

now doing penance.”

 

“A great crime,” the Gadfly repeated, shaking

his head slowly.

 

“Thank you, captain; stand aside a little,

please. My friend, nothing is hopeless if a man

has sincerely repented. Will you not come to me

this evening?”

 

“Would Your Eminence receive a man who is

guilty of the death of his own son?”

 

The question had almost the tone of a challenge,

and Montanelli shrank and shivered under it as

under a cold wind.

 

“God forbid that I should condemn you, whatever

you have done!” he said solemnly. “In His

sight we are all guilty alike, and our righteousness

is as filthy rags. If you will come to me I will

receive you as I pray that He may one day receive me.”

 

The Gadfly stretched out his hands with a sudden

gesture of passion.

 

“Listen!” he said; “and listen all of you,

Christians! If a man has killed his only son—his

son who loved and trusted him, who was flesh of

his flesh and bone of his bone; if he has led his son

into a death-trap with lies and deceit—is there

hope for that man in earth or heaven? I have

confessed my sin before God and man, and I have

suffered the punishment that men have laid on

me, and they have let me go; but when will God

say, ‘It is enough’? What benediction will take

away His curse from my soul? What absolution

will undo this thing that I have done?”

 

In the dead silence that followed the people

looked at Montanelli, and saw the heaving of the

cross upon his breast.

 

He raised his eyes at last, and gave the benediction

with a hand that was not quite steady.

 

“God is merciful,” he said. “Lay your burden

before His throne; for it is written: ‘A

broken and contrite heart shalt thou not despise.’”

 

He turned away and walked through the marketplace,

stopping everywhere to speak to the

people, and to take their children in his arms.

 

In the evening the Gadfly, following the directions

written on the wrapping of the image, made

his way to the appointed meeting-place. It was

the house of a local doctor, who was an active

member of the “sect.” Most of the conspirators

were already assembled, and their delight at the

Gadfly’s arrival gave him a new proof, if he had

needed one, of his popularity as a leader.

 

“We’re glad enough to see you again,” said the

doctor; “but we shall be gladder still to see you

go. It’s a fearfully risky business, and I, for one,

was against the plan. Are you quite sure none of

those police rats noticed you in the marketplace

this morning?”

 

“Oh, they n-noticed me enough, but they

d-didn’t recognize me. Domenichino m-managed

the thing capitally. But where is he? I don’t see

him.”

 

“He has not come yet. So you got on all

smoothly? Did the Cardinal give you his blessing?”

 

“His blessing? Oh, that’s nothing,” said Domenichino,

coming in at the door. “Rivarez,

you’re as full of surprises as a Christmas cake.

How many more talents are you going to astonish

us with?”

 

“What is it now?” asked the Gadfly languidly.

He was leaning back on a sofa, smoking a cigar.

He still wore his pilgrim’s dress, but the white

beard and wig lay beside him.

 

“I had no idea you were such an actor. I never

saw a thing done so magnificently in my life. You

nearly moved His Eminence to tears.”

 

“How was that? Let us hear, Rivarez.”

 

The Gadfly shrugged his shoulders. He was in

a taciturn and laconic mood, and the others, seeing

that nothing was to be got out of him,

appealed to Domenichino to explain. When the

scene in the marketplace had been related, one

young workman, who had not joined in the laughter

of the rest, remarked abruptly:

 

“It was very clever, of course; but I don’t see

what good all this play-acting business has done

to anybody.”

 

“Just this much,” the Gadfly put in; “that I

can go where I like and do what I like anywhere

in this district, and not a single man, woman, or

child will ever think of suspecting me. The story

will be all over the place by to-morrow, and when

I meet a spy he will only think: ‘It’s mad Diego,

that confessed his sins in the marketplace.’ That

is an advantage gained, surely.”

 

“Yes, I see. Still, I wish the thing could have

been done without fooling the Cardinal. He’s

too good to have that sort of trick played on

him.”

 

“I thought myself he seemed fairly decent,”

the Gadfly lazily assented.

 

“Nonsense, Sandro! We don’t want Cardinals

here!” said Domenichino. “And if Monsignor

Montanelli had taken that post in Rome when he

had the chance of getting it, Rivarez couldn’t have

fooled him.”

 

“He wouldn’t take it because he didn’t want to

leave his work here.”

 

“More likely because he didn’t want to get

poisoned off by Lambruschini’s agents. They’ve

got something against him, you may depend upon

it. When a Cardinal, especially such a popular

one, ‘prefers to stay’ in a God-forsaken little hole

like this, we all know what that means—don’t we,

Rivarez?”

 

The Gadfly was making smoke-rings. “Perhaps

it is a c-c-case of a ‘b-b-broken and contrite

heart,’” he remarked, leaning his head back to

watch them float away. “And now, men, let us

get to business.”

 

They began to discuss in detail the various plans

which had been formed for the smuggling and concealment

of weapons. The Gadfly listened with

keen attention, interrupting every now and then

to correct sharply some inaccurate statement or

imprudent proposal. When everyone had finished

speaking, he made a few practical suggestions,

most of which were adopted without discussion.

The meeting then broke up. It had been resolved

that, at least until he was safely back in Tuscany,

very late meetings, which might attract the notice

of the police, should be avoided. By a little after

ten o’clock all had dispersed except the doctor, the

Gadfly, and Domenichino, who remained as

a sub-committee for the discussion of special

points. After a long and hot dispute, Domenichino

looked up at the clock.

 

“Half-past eleven; we mustn’t stop any longer

or the night-watchman may see us.”