CHAPTER VIII
The Truth!
The Professor Tomosarchi was in the court, and had been, as it happened,though unseen by the Marchese, fixing his eyes on him at the moment whenthe catastrophe narrated in the last chapter occurred. Springingforwards, therefore, the medical man was in a moment by the side of hisold friend.
If, according to the strict letter of the requirements of their duty,the magistrates or the police authorities present ought, under thecircumstances, to have prevented the free departure of the accused manto his own home, it did not occur to any one to do so. ProfessorTomosarchi and Fortini between them, got him, still insensible, to hiscarriage, and took him to his home.
"Is it more than a mere fainting fit?" said the lawyer, as they bothwere supporting the person of the insensible Marchese. "Could you not dosome thing to restore consciousness? Can that old friar have spoken thetruth?"
"Apoplexy," said the Professor, with a serious and almost scared lookinto the other's eyes. "Apoplexy, and no mistake about it. Don't youhear the stertorous breathing. No, nothing can be attempted till we gethim home. We shall be at the palazzo in a minute. We shall see; but Idoubt--I doubt!"
"You mean that his life is in danger?" asked the lawyer.
"In danger! I have hardly any hope that he will ever return toconsciousness or speak another word again."
"Good God! you don't mean that," cried the lawyer, much shocked.
"Indeed I do; it is possible, but very improbable that he should rallysufficiently to survive the attack," replied the Professor.
"Perhaps," rejoined the lawyer, gravely and sadly after a few moments ofsilence; "perhaps it would be best so. I fear me--I much fear me, thatthis can hardly be looked on but as the confirmation of that old man'sdeclaration."
The Professor looked hard into the lawyer's eyes, as he nodded his head,without speaking, in grave assent.
They arrived in another minute at the door of the Palazzo Castelmare.The servants ran out, and they carried him up into the chamber where,ever since that fatal Ash Wednesday morning, he had, as Fortini now wellunderstood, been suffering a long agony of remorse, apprehension,despair, all the intensity of which it was difficult to appreciate.
Life was not yet extinct when they laid him upon his bed; and theProfessor proceeded to do what the rules of his science prescribed inthe all but hopeless effort to combat the attack. But the miserable manhad suffered his last in this life, and every effort to bring him backto further torture was unavailing. Within half-an-hour after he had beenbrought back to his palace he breathed his last.
"It is all over with him," said the Professor, looking up across the bedto the lawyer standing on the other side of it; "there was nopossibility of prolonging his life--happily for him, and happily foreverybody connected with him, and for all of us. Who would have thoughta short month ago that such a life could have so ended?"
"The 24th of March, Signor Professore, is the anniversary on which, morefervently than on any other day of the year, I thank God for all hismercies," said the lawyer, with grim solemnity.
"I don't understand you, Signor Dottore; what has the 24th of March todo with this?" said Tomosarchi, staring at him.
"On the 24th of March, four-and-forty years ago, the Signora Fortinideparted this life, Signor Professore. But for that gracious dispositionof Providence, who knows that his lot, or worse, might not have beenmine? From Eve downwards, Signor Professore, from Eve downwards, it isthe same story--always the same story, in one shape or another--in oneshape or another."
The Professor, who was the lawyer's junior by some thirty years, turnedaway with a shrug of the shoulders, and stepped across the room to thesmall escritoire near the window. There opening, without hesitation, andwith the manner of a man familiar with the place, a small concealeddrawer, he called the lawyer to him.
"Just come here and look at the contents of this drawer, Signor Fortini.There is a curious meaning in them."
Fortini went across from the bed to the escritoire, and the Professortook from the drawer and showed to him a small coloured drawing of ahuman form, with just such a mark on it as had been visible on the spotof the wound which had destroyed La Bianca's life. He showed him also,in the same secret receptacle, a long very finely tempered needle, and asmall quantity of perfectly white wax.
"Good God, Professor! Were you aware of the existence of these thingshere?" cried the lawyer, aghast.
"I knew that they were where I have now found them some four or fivemonths ago--towards the end of last year. You do not remember, probably,some curious details of a crime that was perpetrated a year ago or morein the island of Sardinia. I don't know that the details were publishedsave in the medical journals. You know how great an interest ourunfortunate friend used to take in all such matters. We talked over thatcurious case. He doubted the possibility of causing death with so littleviolence, and by means which should leave so little trace behind them. Ishowed him how readily and easily it might be done. You may judge then,Signore Dottore, of the misgivings that assailed me when I discoveredhow that unhappy singer had been put to death. You will understand, too,why he so absolutely refused to see me, and how little desirous I was tosee him."
"But, Signor Professore--what should you have done if--?"
"If that girl had been condemned. You may guess that my state of mindhas not been a pleasant one. I did not know what to do: I hoped that noconviction would have been arrived at. Of course it would have beenimpossible to keep silence while that poor girl suffered the penalty ofthe crime I had such strong reason to think was the work of another.Truly it is in all ways best as it is."
"You are taking it for granted that the tribunal will give credit to thefriar's testimony; but that is not certain; nay, it is not certain--atleast, we do not yet know--we have only his assertion that he saw theMarchese do the deed. With these evidences before us," continued thelawyer, "we can hardly doubt that the fact was so. But stay--what isthis?--a letter addressed to me--'Al Chiarmo Signor Dottore GiovacchinoFortini. To be opened only after my death, and in case my death shallhappen within one year from the present time!' Perhaps this may renderany further doubts as to the conduct we ought to pursue unnecessary. Letus see."
And Signor Fortini sat down to open and read the packet; while theProfessor returned to the bed on which the dead man was lying, andoccupied himself with paying the last duties to his friend's remains.
The letter was a very long one, consisting of several sheets ofclosely-written paper. It is unnecessary to add to these pages by givinga transcript of it, because the facts which it detailed at length areeither such as the reader is already acquainted with or such as he canreadily imagine for himself.
When the narrative reached the events which had occurred at the ball inthe early hours of the Ash Wednesday morning, after mentioning thecircumstance of the information which had been conveyed to the writer bythe Conte Leandro Lombardoni as to the projected expedition to thePineta, the Marchese went on to describe the state of mind in which hehad left the Circolo. He protested that, although every smallest detailof what he did had remained stamped on his memory with a vivid clearnessthat would never more be obliterated, it would be unjust to judge hisconduct as that of a man in the possession of his senses. He was, hesaid, mad--MAD!--and carried away by a hurricane of passions altogetherbeyond his power to control. He had not formed any distinct intention offollowing his nephew and La Bianca to the Pineta till he reached his ownhouse. He had happened to approach the Palazzo from the back, throughthe stable-yard; and had there found old Niccolo, the groom, up. Thenthe idea of waylaying the pair in the forest had occurred to him. He hadordered a horse to be saddled; and had told the groom to let no one knowthat he had left the palace. He then went up to his room, dismissed hisvalet, and locked the door, as the servant had related to SignorFortini. Then descending to the stables, by one of those private doorsand stairs so frequently to be found in old Italian palaces, andgenerally contrived to communicate with the principal sleeping
chamberof the dwelling, he mounted his horse, and rode furiously to the Pineta,quitting the city, not by the Porta Nueva, but by the next gate towardsthe south. He must have reached the forest before Ludovico and Biancahad left the city. He put his steaming horse into the abandoned hovel ofa watcher of the cattle on the marshes; and then skulked about the edgeof the wood in the vicinity of the road which enters it from the city.All this time he had, as he again and again declared in the long andrepetitive document in the lawyer's hands, no formed intention of anysort in his mind. All he knew was that he was mad, and sufferingtorments worse than any imagination had ever depicted the tortures ofthe damned; the pulses were beating, and the blood was rushing in hisears and in his eyes, he wrote, in such sort that all sounds seem to himone universal buzzing, and all objects vague and uncertain, and tingedwith the colour of blood.
And, in this condition, he waited and waited till almost a wild hopebegan to creep upon him that the Conte Leandro had lied to him.
Suddenly he saw them coming towards the edge of the wood.
With difficulty, he stood upright, resting the front of his shoulder andhis forehead against the trunk of a tree, from behind which he glaredout, while his eyes were blasted by what he saw.
Judging more sanely than the poor Marchese was able to judge, andputting together all the circumstances and conduct and declarations ofthe other parties, we may probably conclude, that though he saw enoughto madden the heart and brain of a man whose mind had already beenwarped and distorted by jealousy, he did not see aught that could havebeen deemed to menace the future happiness of Paolina. No doubt LaBianca, despite her declared intention to make the Marchese Lamberto agood and true wife, had he married her, would have preferred to becomeMarchese di Castelmare by a marriage with his nephew. No doubt she had aliking for Ludovico of a different kind from that which she hadprofessed to feel for his uncle. No doubt her imagination had beenfired, and her heart awakened to long for such love as she had seengiven to each other by Ludovico and Paolina, which she too wellunderstood to be of a kind which, despite her good resolutions, wouldnot be found in her union with the Marchese Lamberto. And no doubt thesefeelings manifested themselves in her visible manner during theconversation which followed her confession to him of the engagementbetween her and his uncle.
It may also be suggested to those who have never been called upon to actas Ludovico was called upon to act, under the circumstances of receivingsuch a communication, so communicated from such a woman, that they woulddo well not to judge too severely any such parts of his behaviour underthe ordeal, as may have been of a nature to produce a very deplorableeffect on the jaundiced mind of his uncle, though, in reality, there waslittle real meaning and less serious harm in them.
Of course the unfortunate Marchese could not be expected to see orreason on what he saw in any such mood or tone. As he said in thewriting he had left, what he saw as Ludovico and Bianca entered theforest, side by side, in deep and close talk, made a furious madman ofhim. He dodged, and watched them, as they sat down together--as theycontinued to talk in close confidence--till he saw her lay herself downon the bank to sleep, and saw him after awhile quit her side.
Then the devil entered into him, and ruled his hand with a whirlwindpower which he could no more withstand than the chaff can withstand thetempest blast.
He came and stood over her as she lay on the turf--the beautiful,noxious creature. She had destroyed him; body, soul, and mind, she haddestroyed him. And now--and now--ahi, ahi! After all he had suffered,after paying all the price he had paid! Ah, how lovely as she lay theresleeping--placidly sleeping, she! And he was to be cheated! Her beauty,her love was to be given to another.
No, no, no, poisonous, baneful, sorceress; no, be what might, that hellshould never be!
He put his hand to the breast-pocket of his coat, and took from it asmall pocket-book.
If man will find evil passions, the devil will always find means. Surelythere must be some shadow of truth in the old legends that tell how thefiend aids those who give themselves to him.
The Marchese had, on leaving his chamber, quickly changed the coat hehad worn at the ball for a morning one. And it so happened that in thatwas a pocket-book which contained the articles needed for theperpetration of the murder, placed there by him one day--in times thatseemed now ages ago--when he was going to ask some explanation of thefacts that had interested him from Professor Tomosarchi.
Like a balefully illumining lightning gleam, the clear memory that thosethings were there at his hand flashed across his mind.
In another minute the deed was done.
And, in a few minutes more, the Marchese, looking the madman he felthimself to be, got off his panting horse in his own stable-yard, threwthe rein to the scared old groom, and regained his room as he had leftit. Then the letter went on to speak of the terrible, the dreadful daysand hours which had elapsed since that time. It was during the hours ofthat first morning, while it seemed to the excited mind of the Marchesethat every sound that was audible in the Palazzo must herald the comingof those who had discovered the deed, that it had occurred to him tosend for his lawyer and give him instructions for the preparation of hismarriage contract. He would lose nothing by doing so, for the fact ofhis offer of marriage to the murdered woman would assuredly not be keptsecret by the old man, her reputed father, and the maid-servant. And thefact of his declaring such an intention, and giving such instructions atthat date, would very powerfully contribute to prevent any mind fromconceiving the idea that he could have been cognizant of the death of LaBianca at the moment when he was so acting.
And in truth, as the lawyer, examining his own mind, said to himself, ithad been this fact which had mainly prevented two or three littlecircumstances from pointing his suspicions in the direction of thetruth.
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