The Gadfly

by E. L. Voynich

  CHAPTER VI.

  ARTHUR was taken to the huge mediaeval fortress at the harbour's mouth.He found prison life fairly endurable. His cell was unpleasantly dampand dark; but he had been brought up in a palace in the Via Borra, andneither close air, rats, nor foul smells were novelties to him. Thefood, also, was both bad and insufficient; but James soon obtainedpermission to send him all the necessaries of life from home. He waskept in solitary confinement, and, though the vigilance of thewarders was less strict than he had expected, he failed to obtain anyexplanation of the cause of his arrest. Nevertheless, the tranquil frameof mind in which he had entered the fortress did not change. Not beingallowed books, he spent his time in prayer and devout meditation, andwaited without impatience or anxiety for the further course of events.

  One day a soldier unlocked the door of his cell and called to him: "Thisway, please!" After two or three questions, to which he got no answerbut, "Talking is forbidden," Arthur resigned himself to the inevitableand followed the soldier through a labyrinth of courtyards, corridors,and stairs, all more or less musty-smelling, into a large, light room inwhich three persons in military uniform sat at a long table covered withgreen baize and littered with papers, chatting in a languid, desultoryway. They put on a stiff, business air as he came in, and the oldest ofthem, a foppish-looking man with gray whiskers and a colonel's uniform,pointed to a chair on the other side of the table and began thepreliminary interrogation.

  Arthur had expected to be threatened, abused, and sworn at, and hadprepared himself to answer with dignity and patience; but he waspleasantly disappointed. The colonel was stiff, cold and formal,but perfectly courteous. The usual questions as to his name, age,nationality, and social position were put and answered, and the replieswritten down in monotonous succession. He was beginning to feel boredand impatient, when the colonel asked:

  "And now, Mr. Burton, what do you know about Young Italy?"

  "I know that it is a society which publishes a newspaper in Marseillesand circulates it in Italy, with the object of inducing people to revoltand drive the Austrian army out of the country."

  "You have read this paper, I think?"

  "Yes; I am interested in the subject."

  "When you read it you realized that you were committing an illegalaction?"

  "Certainly."

  "Where did you get the copies which were found in your room?"

  "That I cannot tell you."

  "Mr. Burton, you must not say 'I cannot tell' here; you are bound toanswer my questions."

  "I will not, then, if you object to 'cannot.'"

  "You will regret it if you permit yourself to use such expressions,"remarked the colonel. As Arthur made no reply, he went on:

  "I may as well tell you that evidence has come into our hands provingyour connection with this society to be much more intimate than isimplied by the mere reading of forbidden literature. It will be to youradvantage to confess frankly. In any case the truth will be sure to comeout, and you will find it useless to screen yourself behind evasion anddenials."

  "I have no desire to screen myself. What is it you want to know?"

  "Firstly, how did you, a foreigner, come to be implicated in matters ofthis kind?"

  "I thought about the subject and read everything I could get hold of,and formed my own conclusions."

  "Who persuaded you to join this society?"

  "No one; I wished to join it."

  "You are shilly-shallying with me," said the colonel, sharply; hispatience was evidently beginning to give out. "No one can join a societyby himself. To whom did you communicate your wish to join it?"

  Silence.

  "Will you have the kindness to answer me?"

  "Not when you ask questions of that kind."

  Arthur spoke sullenly; a curious, nervous irritability was takingpossession of him. He knew by this time that many arrests had been madein both Leghorn and Pisa; and, though still ignorant of the extent ofthe calamity, he had already heard enough to put him into a fever ofanxiety for the safety of Gemma and his other friends. The studiedpoliteness of the officers, the dull game of fencing and parrying, ofinsidious questions and evasive answers, worried and annoyed him, andthe clumsy tramping backward and forward of the sentinel outside thedoor jarred detestably upon his ear.

  "Oh, by the bye, when did you last meet Giovanni Bolla?" asked thecolonel, after a little more bandying of words. "Just before you leftPisa, was it?"

  "I know no one of that name."

  "What! Giovanni Bolla? Surely you know him--a tall young fellow, closelyshaven. Why, he is one of your fellow-students."

  "There are many students in the university whom I don't know."

  "Oh, but you must know Bolla, surely! Look, this is his handwriting. Yousee, he knows you well enough."

  The colonel carelessly handed him a paper headed: "Protocol," andsigned: "Giovanni Bolla." Glancing down it Arthur came upon his ownname. He looked up in surprise. "Am I to read it?"

  "Yes, you may as well; it concerns you."

  He began to read, while the officers sat silently watching his face. Thedocument appeared to consist of depositions in answer to a long stringof questions. Evidently Bolla, too, must have been arrested. The firstdepositions were of the usual stereotyped character; then followeda short account of Bolla's connection with the society, of thedissemination of prohibited literature in Leghorn, and of the students'meetings. Next came "Among those who joined us was a young Englishman,Arthur Burton, who belongs to one of the rich shipowning families."

  The blood rushed into Arthur's face. Bolla had betrayed him! Bolla, whohad taken upon himself the solemn duties of an initiator--Bolla, who hadconverted Gemma--who was in love with her! He laid down the paper andstared at the floor.

  "I hope that little document has refreshed your memory?" hinted thecolonel politely.

  Arthur shook his head. "I know no one of that name," he repeated in adull, hard voice. "There must be some mistake."

  "Mistake? Oh, nonsense! Come, Mr. Burton, chivalry and quixotism arevery fine things in their way; but there's no use in overdoing them.It's an error all you young people fall into at first. Come, think! Whatgood is it for you to compromise yourself and spoil your prospects inlife over a simple formality about a man that has betrayed you? You seeyourself, he wasn't so particular as to what he said about you."

  A faint shade of something like mockery had crept into the colonel'svoice. Arthur looked up with a start; a sudden light flashed upon hismind.

  "It's a lie!" he cried out. "It's a forgery! I can see it in your face,you cowardly----You've got some prisoner there you want to compromise,or a trap you want to drag me into. You are a forger, and a liar, and ascoundrel----"

  "Silence!" shouted the colonel, starting up in a rage; his twocolleagues were already on their feet. "Captain Tommasi," he went on,turning to one of them, "ring for the guard, if you please, and havethis young gentleman put in the punishment cell for a few days. He wantsa lesson, I see, to bring him to reason."

  The punishment cell was a dark, damp, filthy hole under ground. Insteadof bringing Arthur "to reason," it thoroughly exasperated him. Hisluxurious home had rendered him daintily fastidious about personalcleanliness, and the first effect of the slimy, vermin-covered walls,the floor heaped with accumulations of filth and garbage, the fearfulstench of fungi and sewage and rotting wood, was strong enough to havesatisfied the offended officer. When he was pushed in and the doorlocked behind him he took three cautious steps forward with outstretchedhands, shuddering with disgust as his fingers came into contact withthe slippery wall, and groped in the dense blackness for some spot lessfilthy than the rest in which to sit down.

  The long day passed in unbroken blackness and silence, and the nightbrought no change. In the utter void and absence of all externalimpressions, he gradually lost the consciousness of time; and when,on the following morning, a key was turned in the door lock, and thefrightened rats scurried past him squeaking, he started up in a suddenpanic, his hea
rt throbbing furiously and a roaring noise in his ears, asthough he had been shut away from light and sound for months instead ofhours.

  The door opened, letting in a feeble lantern gleam--a flood of blindinglight, it seemed to him--and the head warder entered, carrying a pieceof bread and a mug of water. Arthur made a step forward; he was quiteconvinced that the man had come to let him out. Before he had time tospeak, the warder put the bread and mug into his hands, turned round andwent away without a word, locking the door again.

  Arthur stamped his foot upon the ground. For the first time in his lifehe was savagely angry. But as the hours went by, the consciousness oftime and place gradually slipped further and further away. The blacknessseemed an illimitable thing, with no beginning and no end, and life had,as it were, stopped for him. On the evening of the third day, when thedoor was opened and the head warder appeared on the threshold with asoldier, he looked up, dazed and bewildered, shading his eyes from theunaccustomed light, and vaguely wondering how many hours or weeks he hadbeen in this grave.

  "This way, please," said the cool business voice of the warder. Arthurrose and moved forward mechanically, with a strange unsteadiness,swaying and stumbling like a drunkard. He resented the warder's attemptto help him up the steep, narrow steps leading to the courtyard; but ashe reached the highest step a sudden giddiness came over him, so that hestaggered and would have fallen backwards had the warder not caught himby the shoulder.

  *****

  "There, he'll be all right now," said a cheerful voice; "they most ofthem go off this way coming out into the air."

  Arthur struggled desperately for breath as another handful of waterwas dashed into his face. The blackness seemed to fall away from himin pieces with a rushing noise; then he woke suddenly into fullconsciousness, and, pushing aside the warder's arm, walked along thecorridor and up the stairs almost steadily. They stopped for a moment infront of a door; then it opened, and before he realized where they weretaking him he was in the brightly lighted interrogation room, staring inconfused wonder at the table and the papers and the officers sitting intheir accustomed places.

  "Ah, it's Mr. Burton!" said the colonel. "I hope we shall be able totalk more comfortably now. Well, and how do you like the dark cell? Notquite so luxurious as your brother's drawing room, is it? eh?"

  Arthur raised his eyes to the colonel's smiling face. He was seized bya frantic desire to spring at the throat of this gray-whiskered fop andtear it with his teeth. Probably something of this kind was visible inhis face, for the colonel added immediately, in a quite different tone:

  "Sit down, Mr. Burton, and drink some water; you are excited."

  Arthur pushed aside the glass of water held out to him; and, leaning hisarms on the table, rested his forehead on one hand and tried tocollect his thoughts. The colonel sat watching him keenly, noting withexperienced eyes the unsteady hands and lips, the hair dripping withwater, the dim gaze that told of physical prostration and disorderednerves.

  "Now, Mr. Burton," he said after a few minutes; "we will start at thepoint where we left off; and as there has been a certain amount ofunpleasantness between us, I may as well begin by saying that I, for mypart, have no desire to be anything but indulgent with you. If you willbehave properly and reasonably, I assure you that we shall not treat youwith any unnecessary harshness."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  Arthur spoke in a hard, sullen voice, quite different from his naturaltone.

  "I only want you to tell us frankly, in a straightforward and honourablemanner, what you know of this society and its adherents. First of all,how long have you known Bolla?"

  "I never met him in my life. I know nothing whatever about him."

  "Really? Well, we will return to that subject presently. I think youknow a young man named Carlo Bini?"

  "I never heard of such a person."

  "That is very extraordinary. What about Francesco Neri?"

  "I never heard the name."

  "But here is a letter in your handwriting, addressed to him. Look!"

  Arthur glanced carelessly at the letter and laid it aside.

  "Do you recognize that letter?"

  "No."

  "You deny that it is in your writing?"

  "I deny nothing. I have no recollection of it."

  "Perhaps you remember this one?"

  A second letter was handed to him, and he saw that it was one which hehad written in the autumn to a fellow-student.

  "No."

  "Nor the person to whom it is addressed?"

  "Nor the person."

  "Your memory is singularly short."

  "It is a defect from which I have always suffered."

  "Indeed! And I heard the other day from a university professor that youare considered by no means deficient; rather clever in fact."

  "You probably judge of cleverness by the police-spy standard; universityprofessors use words in a different sense."

  The note of rising irritation was plainly audible in Arthur's voice. Hewas physically exhausted with hunger, foul air, and want of sleep; everybone in his body seemed to ache separately; and the colonel's voicegrated on his exasperated nerves, setting his teeth on edge like thesqueak of a slate pencil.

  "Mr. Burton," said the colonel, leaning back in his chair and speakinggravely, "you are again forgetting yourself; and I warn you once morethat this kind of talk will do you no good. Surely you have had enoughof the dark cell not to want any more just for the present. I tell youplainly that I shall use strong measures with you if you persist inrepulsing gentle ones. Mind, I have proof--positive proof--that someof these young men have been engaged in smuggling prohibited literatureinto this port; and that you have been in communication with them. Now,are you going to tell me, without compulsion, what you know about thisaffair?"

  Arthur bent his head lower. A blind, senseless, wild-beast fury wasbeginning to stir within him like a live thing. The possibility oflosing command over himself was more appalling to him than any threats.For the first time he began to realize what latent potentialities maylie hidden beneath the culture of any gentleman and the piety of anyChristian; and the terror of himself was strong upon him.

  "I am waiting for your answer," said the colonel.

  "I have no answer to give."

  "You positively refuse to answer?"

  "I will tell you nothing at all."

  "Then I must simply order you back into the punishment cell, and keepyou there till you change your mind. If there is much more trouble withyou, I shall put you in irons."

  Arthur looked up, trembling from head to foot. "You will do as youplease," he said slowly; "and whether the English Ambassador will standyour playing tricks of that kind with a British subject who has not beenconvicted of any crime is for him to decide."

  At last Arthur was conducted back to his own cell, where he flunghimself down upon the bed and slept till the next morning. He was notput in irons, and saw no more of the dreaded dark cell; but thefeud between him and the colonel grew more inveterate with everyinterrogation. It was quite useless for Arthur to pray in his cell forgrace to conquer his evil passions, or to meditate half the night longupon the patience and meekness of Christ. No sooner was he brought againinto the long, bare room with its baize-covered table, and confrontedwith the colonel's waxed moustache, than the unchristian spirit wouldtake possession of him once more, suggesting bitter repartees andcontemptuous answers. Before he had been a month in the prison themutual irritation had reached such a height that he and the colonelcould not see each other's faces without losing their temper.

  The continual strain of this petty warfare was beginning to tell heavilyupon his nerves. Knowing how closely he was watched, and rememberingcertain dreadful rumours which he had heard of prisoners secretlydrugged with belladonna that notes might be taken of their ravings, hegradually became afraid to sleep or eat; and if a mouse ran past him inthe night, would start up drenched with cold sweat and quivering withterror, fancying that someone was hidin
g in the room to listen if hetalked in his sleep. The gendarmes were evidently trying to entrap himinto making some admission which might compromise Bolla; and so greatwas his fear of slipping, by any inadvertency, into a pitfall, that hewas really in danger of doing so through sheer nervousness. Bolla's namerang in his ears night and day, interfering even with his devotions, andforcing its way in among the beads of the rosary instead of the name ofMary. But the worst thing of all was that his religion, like the outerworld, seemed to be slipping away from him as the days went by. To thislast foothold he clung with feverish tenacity, spending several hoursof each day in prayer and meditation; but his thoughts wandered more andmore often to Bolla, and the prayers were growing terribly mechanical.

  His greatest comfort was the head warder of the prison. This was alittle old man, fat and bald, who at first had tried his hardest to weara severe expression. Gradually the good nature which peeped out of everydimple in his chubby face conquered his official scruples, and he begancarrying messages for the prisoners from cell to cell.

  One afternoon in the middle of May this warder came into the cell with aface so scowling and gloomy that Arthur looked at him in astonishment.

  "Why, Enrico!" he exclaimed; "what on earth is wrong with you to-day?"

  "Nothing," said Enrico snappishly; and, going up to the pallet, he beganpulling off the rug, which was Arthur's property.

  "What do you want with my things? Am I to be moved into another cell?"

  "No; you're to be let out."

  "Let out? What--to-day? For altogether? Enrico!"

  In his excitement Arthur had caught hold of the old man's arm. It wasangrily wrenched away.

  "Enrico! What has come to you? Why don't you answer? Are we all going tobe let out?"

  A contemptuous grunt was the only reply.

  "Look here!" Arthur again took hold of the warder's arm, laughing."It is no use for you to be cross to me, because I'm not going to getoffended. I want to know about the others."

  "Which others?" growled Enrico, suddenly laying down the shirt he wasfolding. "Not Bolla, I suppose?"

  "Bolla and all the rest, of course. Enrico, what is the matter withyou?"

  "Well, he's not likely to be let out in a hurry, poor lad, when acomrade has betrayed him. Ugh!" Enrico took up the shirt again indisgust.

  "Betrayed him? A comrade? Oh, how dreadful!" Arthur's eyes dilated withhorror. Enrico turned quickly round.

  "Why, wasn't it you?"

  "I? Are you off your head, man? I?"

  "Well, they told him so yesterday at interrogation, anyhow. I'm veryglad if it wasn't you, for I always thought you were rather a decentyoung fellow. This way!" Enrico stepped out into the corridor and Arthurfollowed him, a light breaking in upon the confusion of his mind.

  "They told Bolla I'd betrayed him? Of course they did! Why, man, theytold me he had betrayed me. Surely Bolla isn't fool enough to believethat sort of stuff?"

  "Then it really isn't true?" Enrico stopped at the foot of the stairsand looked searchingly at Arthur, who merely shrugged his shoulders.

  "Of course it's a lie."

  "Well, I'm glad to hear it, my lad, and I'll tell him you said so. Butyou see what they told him was that you had denounced him out of--well,out of jealousy, because of your both being sweet on the same girl."

  "It's a lie!" Arthur repeated the words in a quick, breathless whisper.A sudden, paralyzing fear had come over him. "The same girl--jealousy!"How could they know--how could they know?

  "Wait a minute, my lad." Enrico stopped in the corridor leading to theinterrogation room, and spoke softly. "I believe you; but just tell meone thing. I know you're a Catholic; did you ever say anything in theconfessional------"

  "It's a lie!" This time Arthur's voice had risen to a stifled cry.

  Enrico shrugged his shoulders and moved on again. "You know best, ofcourse; but you wouldn't be the only young fool that's been taken inthat way. There's a tremendous ado just now about a priest in Pisa thatsome of your friends have found out. They've printed a leaflet sayinghe's a spy."

  He opened the door of the interrogation room, and, seeing that Arthurstood motionless, staring blankly before him, pushed him gently acrossthe threshold.

  "Good-afternoon, Mr. Burton," said the colonel, smiling and showing histeeth amiably. "I have great pleasure in congratulating you. An orderfor your release has arrived from Florence. Will you kindly sign thispaper?"

  Arthur went up to him. "I want to know," he said in a dull voice, "whoit was that betrayed me."

  The colonel raised his eyebrows with a smile.

  "Can't you guess? Think a minute."

  Arthur shook his head. The colonel put out both hands with a gesture ofpolite surprise.

  "Can't guess? Really? Why, you yourself, Mr. Burton. Who else could knowyour private love affairs?"

  Arthur turned away in silence. On the wall hung a large wooden crucifix;and his eyes wandered slowly to its face; but with no appeal in them,only a dim wonder at this supine and patient God that had no thunderboltfor a priest who betrayed the confessional.

  "Will you kindly sign this receipt for your papers?" said the colonelblandly; "and then I need not keep you any longer. I am sure you must bein a hurry to get home; and my time is very much taken up just now withthe affairs of that foolish young man, Bolla, who tried your Christianforbearance so hard. I am afraid he will get a rather heavy sentence.Good-afternoon!"

  Arthur signed the receipt, took his papers, and went out in deadsilence. He followed Enrico to the massive gate; and, without a word offarewell, descended to the water's edge, where a ferryman was waiting totake him across the moat. As he mounted the stone steps leading tothe street, a girl in a cotton dress and straw hat ran up to him withoutstretched hands.

  "Arthur! Oh, I'm so glad--I'm so glad!"

  He drew his hands away, shivering.

  "Jim!" he said at last, in a voice that did not seem to belong to him."Jim!"

  "I've been waiting here for half an hour. They said you would comeout at four. Arthur, why do you look at me like that? Something hashappened! Arthur, what has come to you? Stop!"

  He had turned away, and was walking slowly down the street, as if hehad forgotten her presence. Thoroughly frightened at his manner, she ranafter him and caught him by the arm.

  "Arthur!"

  He stopped and looked up with bewildered eyes. She slipped her armthrough his, and they walked on again for a moment in silence.

  "Listen, dear," she began softly; "you mustn't get so upset over thiswretched business. I know it's dreadfully hard on you, but everybodyunderstands."

  "What business?" he asked in the same dull voice.

  "I mean, about Bolla's letter."

  Arthur's face contracted painfully at the name.

  "I thought you wouldn't have heard of it," Gemma went on; "but I supposethey've told you. Bolla must be perfectly mad to have imagined such athing."

  "Such a thing----?"

  "You don't know about it, then? He has written a horrible letter,saying that you have told about the steamers, and got him arrested. It'sperfectly absurd, of course; everyone that knows you sees that; it'sonly the people who don't know you that have been upset by it. Really,that's what I came here for--to tell you that no one in our groupbelieves a word of it."

  "Gemma! But it's--it's true!"

  She shrank slowly away from him, and stood quite still, her eyes wideand dark with horror, her face as white as the kerchief at her neck. Agreat icy wave of silence seemed to have swept round them both, shuttingthem out, in a world apart, from the life and movement of the street.

  "Yes," he whispered at last; "the steamers--I spoke of that; and I saidhis name--oh, my God! my God! What shall I do?"

  He came to himself suddenly, realizing her presence and the mortalterror in her face. Yes, of course, she must think------

  "Gemma, you don't understand!" he burst out, moving nearer; but sherecoiled with a sharp cry:

  "Don't touch me!"

/>   Arthur seized her right hand with sudden violence.

  "Listen, for God's sake! It was not my fault; I----"

  "Let go; let my hand go! Let go!"

  The next instant she wrenched her fingers away from his, and struck himacross the cheek with her open hand.

  A kind of mist came over his eyes. For a little while he was consciousof nothing but Gemma's white and desperate face, and the right handwhich she had fiercely rubbed on the skirt of her cotton dress. Thenthe daylight crept back again, and he looked round and saw that he wasalone.