Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  ‘Certainly; the idea was in my mind. Let them be laid out in the market-place so that all may see them.’

  ‘Pardon, sir,’ said one of his suite, ‘but they were laid in the Church of San Spirito last night, and this morning they have disappeared.’

  Matteo and I looked at one another. Checco kept his eyes fixed on the Count.

  ‘Disappeared!’ cried the latter, displaying every sign of impatience. ‘Who is responsible for this? Offer a reward for the discovery of their bodies and of any accomplices. I insist on their being discovered!’

  Shortly afterwards he took his leave, after repeatedly kissing Checco, and warmly congratulating Matteo and myself on the assistance we had given to our friend. To me he said, —

  ‘I regret, Messer Filippo, that you are not a Forlivese. I should be proud to have such a citizen.’

  Bartolomeo Moratini was still at the Palazzo Orsi, so, seizing my opportunity, I took him by the arm and walked with him to the statue gallery, where we could talk in peace.

  ‘What do you think of all this?’ I said.

  He shook his head.

  ‘It is the beginning of the end. Of course it is clear to all of us that the assassination was ordered by the Count; he will persuade nobody of his innocence by his pretended concern. All the town is whispering his name.

  ‘Having made a first attempt and failed, he will not hesitate to make a second, for if he could forgive the injury which he has received from Checco, he can never forgive the injury which he himself has done him. And next time he will not fail.’

  ‘I am terribly concerned,’ I said. ‘You know the great affection I have for both the Orsi.’

  He stopped and warmly shook my hand.

  ‘I cannot let Checco throw away his life in this way,’ I said.

  ‘What can be done?’

  ‘Only one thing, and you suggested it.... Girolamo must be killed.’

  ‘Ah, but Checco will never consent to that.’

  ‘I am afraid not,’ I said gravely. ‘You know the delicacy of his conscience.’

  ‘Yes; and though I think it excessive, I admire him for it. In these days it is rare to find a man so honest and upright and conscientious as Checco. But, Messer Filippo, one must yield to the ideas of the age one lives in.’

  ‘I, too, am convinced of his noble-mindedness, but it will ruin him.’

  ‘I am afraid so,’ sighed the old man, stroking his beard.

  ‘But he must be saved in spite of himself. He must be brought to see the necessity of killing the Count.’ I spoke as emphatically as I could.

  ‘He will never consent.’

  ‘He must consent; and you are the man to make him do so. He would not listen to anything that Matteo or I said, but for you he has the greatest respect. I am sure if anyone can influence him it is you.’

  ‘I have some power over him, I believe.’

  ‘Will you try? Don’t let him suspect that Matteo or I have had anything to do with it, or he will not listen. It must come solely from you.’

  ‘I will do my best.’

  ‘Ah, that is good of you. But don’t be discouraged by his refusals; be insistent, for our sake. And one thing more, you know his unselfishness; he would not move his hand to save himself, but if you showed him that it is for the good of others, he could not refuse. Let him think the safety of us all depends on him. He is a man you can only move by his feeling for others.’

  ‘I believe you,’ he answered. ‘But I will go to him, and I will leave no argument unused.’

  ‘I am sure that your efforts will be rewarded.’

  Here I showed myself a perfectly wise man, for I only prophesied because I knew.

  XXI

  IN the evening Bartolomeo returned to the Palace and asked for Checco. At his request Matteo and I joined him in Checco’s study, and besides there were his two sons, Scipione and Alessandro. Bartolomeo was graver than ever.

  ‘I have come to you now, Checco, impelled by a very strong sense of duty, and I wish to talk with you on a matter of the greatest importance.’

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘Firstly, are you convinced that the attempt on your life was plotted by Girolamo Riario?’

  ‘I am sorry for his sake, but — I am.’

  ‘So are we all, absolutely. And what do you intend to do now?’

  ‘What can I do? Nothing!’

  ‘The answer is not nothing. You have something to do.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘To kill Girolamo before he has time to kill you.’

  Checco started to his feet.

  ‘They have been talking to you — Matteo and Filippo. It is they who have put this in your head. I knew it would be suggested again.’

  ‘Nothing has given me the idea but the irresistible force of circumstances.’

  ‘Never! I will never consent to that.’

  ‘But he will kill you.’

  ‘I can die!’

  ‘It will be the ruin of your family. What will happen to your wife and children if you are dead?’

  ‘If need be they can die too. No one who bears the name of Orsi fears death.’

  ‘You cannot sacrifice their lives in cold blood.’

  ‘I cannot kill a fellow-man in cold blood. Ah, my friend, you don’t know what is in me. I am not religious; I have never meddled with priests; but something in my heart tells me not to do this thing. I don’t know what it is — conscience or honour — but it is speaking clearly within me.’

  He had his hand on his heart, and was speaking very earnestly. We followed his eyes and saw them resting on a crucifix.

  ‘No, Bartolomeo,’ he said, ‘one cannot forget God. He is above us always, always watching us; and what should I say to Him with the blood of that man on my hands? You may say what you like, but, believe me, it is best to be honest and straight-forward, and to the utmost of one’s ability to carry out the doctrines which Christ has left us, and upon which he set the seal with the blood of His hands and feet and the wound in His side.’

  Bartolomeo looked at me as if it were hopeless to attempt anything against such sentiments. But I signed him energetically to go on; he hesitated. It would be almost tragic if he gave the matter up before Checco had time to surrender. However, he proceeded, —

  ‘You are a good man, Checco, and I respect you deeply for what you have said. But if you will not stir to save yourself, think of the others.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Checco, starting as if from a dream.

  ‘Have you the right to sacrifice your fellowmen? The citizens of Forli depend on you.’

  ‘Ah, they will easily find another leader. Why, you yourself will be of greater assistance to them than I have ever been. How much better will they be in your strong hands than with me!’

  ‘No, no! You are the only man who has power here. You could not be replaced.’

  ‘But what can I do more than I am doing. I do not seek to leave Forli; I will stay here and protect myself as much as I can. I cannot do more.’

  ‘Oh, Checco, look at their state. It cannot continue. They are ground down now; the Count must impose these taxes, and what will be their condition then? The people are dying in their misery, and the survivors hold happy those who die. How can you look on and see all this? And you, you know Girolamo will kill you; it is a matter of time, and who can tell how short a time? Perhaps even now he is forging the weapon of your death.’

  ‘My death! My death!’ cried Checco. ‘All that is nothing!’

  ‘But what will be the lot of the people when you are gone? You are the only curb on Riario’s tyranny. When you are dead, nothing will keep him back. And when once he has eased his path by murder he will not fail to do so again. We shall live under perpetual terror of the knife. Oh, have mercy on your fellow-citizens.’

  ‘My country!’ said Checco. ‘My country!’

  ‘You cannot resist this. For the good of your country you must lead us on.’

  ‘And if
my soul—’

  ‘It is for your country. Ah! Checco, think of us all. Not for ourselves only, but for our wives, our innocent children, we beg you, we implore. Shall we go down on our knees to you?’

  ‘Oh, my God, what shall I do?’ said Checco, extremely agitated.

  ‘Listen to my father, Checco!’ said Scipione. ‘He has right on his side.’

  ‘Oh, not you, too! Do not overwhelm me. I feel you are all against me. God help me! I know it is wrong, but I feel myself wavering.’

  ‘Do not think of yourself, Checco; it is for others, for our liberty, our lives, our all, that we implore you.’

  ‘You move me terribly. You know how I love my country, and how can I resist you, appealing on her behalf!’

  ‘Be brave, Checco!’ said Matteo.

  ‘It is the highest thing of all that we ask you,’ added Bartolomeo. ‘Man can do nothing greater. We ask you to sacrifice yourself, even your soul, may be, for the good of us all.’

  Checco buried his face in his hands and groaned, —

  ‘Oh, God! Oh, God!’

  Then, with a great sigh, he rose and said, —

  ‘Be it as you will.... For the good of my country!’

  ‘Ah, thanks, thanks!’

  Bartolomeo took him in his arms and kissed him on both cheeks. Then suddenly Checco tore himself away.

  ‘But listen to this, all of you. I have consented, and now you must let me speak. I swear that in this thing I have no thought of myself. If I alone were concerned I would not move; I would wait for the assassin’s knife calmly. I would even sacrifice my wife and children, and God knows how dearly I love them! I would not stir a finger to save myself. And I swear, by all that is most holy to me, that I am actuated by no base motive, no ambition, no thought of self, no petty revenge. I would willingly forgive Girolamo everything. Believe me, my friends, I am honest. I swear to you that I am only doing this for the welfare of the men I love, for the sake of you all, and — for Liberty.’

  They warmly pressed his hands.

  ‘We know it, Checco, we believe it. You are a great and a good man.’

  A little later we began to discuss the ways and means. Everyone had his plan, and to it the others had the most conclusive objections. We all talked together, each one rather annoyed at the unwillingness of the others to listen to him, and thinking how contemptible their ideas were beside his own. Checco sat silent. After a while Checco spoke, —

  ‘Will you listen to me?’

  We held our tongues.

  ‘First of all,’ he said, ‘we must find out who is with us and who is against us.’

  ‘Well,’ interrupted Scipione, ‘there are the two soldiers, Jacopo Ronchi and Lodovico Pansecchi; they are furious with the Count, and said to me a long while since that they would willingly kill him.’

  ‘Our six selves and those two make eight.’

  ‘Then there are Pietro Albanese, and Paglianino, and Marco Scorsacana.’

  They were devoted adherents of the house of Orsi, and could be trusted to follow the head of the family to the bottomless pit.

  ‘Eleven,’ counted Bartolomeo.

  ‘And then—’

  Each mentioned a name till the total was brought to seventeen.

  ‘Who else?’ asked Matteo.

  ‘That is enough,’ said Checco. ‘It is as foolish to have more than necessary as to have less. Now, once more, who are they?’

  The names were repeated. They were all known enemies of the Count, and most of them related to the Orsi.

  ‘We had better go to them separately and talk to them.’

  ‘It will want care!’ said Bartolomeo.

  ‘Oh, they will not be backward. The first word will bring their adhesion.’

  ‘Before that,’ said Checco, ‘we must make all arrangements. Every point of the execution must be arranged, and to them nothing left but the performance.’

  ‘Well, my idea is—’

  ‘Have the goodness to listen to me,’ said Checco. ‘You have been talking of committing the deed in church, or when he is out walking. Both of those ways are dangerous, for he is always well surrounded, and in the former, one has to remember the feeling of horror which the people have for sacrilege. Witness Galeazzo in Milan and the Medici in Florence. One is always wise to respect the prejudices of the mob....’

  ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘After the mid-day meal the — our friend is in the habit of retiring to a private room while his servants dine. He is then almost alone. I have often thought it would be an excellent opportunity for an assassin; I did not know it would be myself to take the opportunity.’

  He paused and smiled at the pleasantness of the irony.

  ‘Afterwards we shall raise the town, and it is well that as many of our partisans as possible be present. The best day for that is a market-day, when they will come in, and we shall have no need of specially summoning them, and thus giving rise to suspicion.’

  Checco looked at us to see what we thought of his idea; then, as if from an after thought, he added, —

  ‘Of course, this is all on the spur of the moment.’

  It was well he said that, for I was thinking how elaborately everything was planned. I wondered how long he had the scheme in his head.

  We found nothing to say against it.

  ‘And who will do the actual deed?’

  ‘I will!’ answered Checco, quietly.

  ‘You!’

  ‘Yes, alone. I will tell you your parts later.’

  ‘And when?’

  ‘Next Saturday. That is the first market-day.’

  ‘So soon.’ We were all surprised; it was only five days off, it gave us very little time to think. It was terribly near. Alessandro voiced our feelings.

  ‘Does that give us enough time? Why not Saturday week? There are many needful preparations.’

  ‘There are no needful preparations. You have your swords ready; the others can be warned in a few hours. I wish it were to-morrow.’

  ‘It is — it is very soon.’

  ‘There is less danger of our courage failing meanwhile. We have our goal before us, and we must go to it straight, with clearness of mind and strength of will.’

  There was nothing more to be said. As we separated, one of the Moratini asked, —

  ‘About the others, shall we—’

  ‘You can leave everything to me. I take all on my hands. Will you three come here to play a game of chess on Friday night at ten? Our affairs will occupy us so that we shall not meet in the interval. I recommend you to go about as much as possible, and let yourselves be seen in all assemblies and parties....’

  Checco was taking his captaincy in earnest. He would allow no contradiction, and no swerving from the path he had marked out — on the spur of the moment.

  We had four days in which to make merry and gather the roses; after that, who knows? We might be dangling from the Palace windows in an even line, suspended by elegant hempen ropes; or our heads might be decorating spear heads and our bodies God knows where. I suggested these thoughts to Matteo, but I found him singularly ungrateful. Still, he agreed with me that we had better make the most of our time, and as it accorded with Checco’s wishes, we were able to go to the devil from a sense of duty. I am sure Claudia never had a lover more ardent than myself during these four days; but, added to my duties towards that beautiful creature, were routs and banquets, drinking-parties, gaming-parties, where I plunged heavily in my uncertainty of the future, and consequently won a fortune. Checco had taken on his own shoulders all preparations, so that Matteo and I had nothing to do but to enjoy ourselves; and that we did. The only sign I had that Checco had been working was a look of intelligence given me by one or two of those whose names had been mentioned in Checco’s study. Jacopo Ronchi, taking leave of me on the Thursday night, said, —

  ‘We shall meet to-morrow.’

  ‘You are coming to play chess, I think,’ I said, smiling.

  When, at the a
ppointed hour, Matteo and I found ourselves again in Checco’s study, we were both rather anxious and nervous. My heart was beating quite painfully, and I could not restrain my impatience. I wished the others would come. Gradually they made their way in, and we shook hands quietly, rather mysteriously, with an air of schoolboys meeting together in the dark to eat stolen fruit. It might have been comic if our mind’s eye had not presented us with so vivid a picture of a halter.

  Checco began to speak in a low voice, slightly trembling; his emotion was real enough this time, and he did all he could to conceal it.

  ‘My very dear and faithful fellow-citizens,’ he began, ‘it appears that to be born in Forli, and to live in it in our times, is the very greatest misfortune with which one can be born or with which one can live.’

  I never heard such silence as that among the listeners. It was awful. Checco’s voice sank lower and lower, but yet every word could be distinctly heard. The tremor was increasing.

  ‘Is it necessary that birth and life here should be the birth and life of slaves? Our glorious ancestors never submitted to this terrible misfortune. They were free, and in their freedom they found life. But this is a living death....’

  He recounted the various acts of tyranny which had made the Count hateful to his subjects, and he insisted on the insecurity in which they lived.

  ‘You all know the grievous wrongs I have suffered at the hands of the man whom I helped to place on the throne. But these wrongs I freely forgive. I am filled only with devotion to my country and love to my fellowmen. If you others have private grievances, I implore you to put them aside, and think only that you are the liberators from oppression of all those you love and cherish. Gather up to your hearts the spirit of Brutus, when, for the sake of Freedom, he killed the man whom above all others he loved.’

  He gave them the details of the plot; told them what he would do himself, and what they should do, and finally dismissed them.

  ‘Pray to God to-night,’ he said earnestly, ‘that He will look with favour upon the work which we have set ourselves, and implore Him to judge us by the purity of our intentions rather than by the actions which, in the imperfection of our knowledge, seem to us the only means to our end.’