THE court-martial was held on Tuesday morning.
It was a very short and simple affair; a
mere formality, occupying barely twenty minutes.
There was, indeed, nothing to spend much time
over; no defence was allowed, and the only witnesses
were the wounded spy and officer and a
few soldiers. The sentence was drawn up beforehand;
Montanelli had sent in the desired informal
consent; and the judges (Colonel Ferrari, the local
major of dragoons, and two officers of the Swiss
guards) had little to do. The indictment was
read aloud, the witnesses gave their evidence, and
the signatures were affixed to the sentence, which
was then read to the condemned man with befitting
solemnity. He listened in silence; and when
asked, according to the usual form, whether he had
anything to say, merely waved the question aside
with an impatient movement of his hand. Hidden
on his breast was the handkerchief which Montanelli
had let fall. It had been kissed and wept
over all night, as though it were a living thing.
Now he looked wan and spiritless, and the traces
of tears were still about his eyelids; but the words:
"to be shot," did not seem to affect him much.
When they were uttered, the pupils of his eyes
dilated, but that was all.
"Take him back to his cell," the Governor said.
when all the formalities were over; and the sergeant,
who was evidently near to breaking down,
touched the motionless figure on the shoulder.
The Gadfly looked round him with a little start.
"Ah, yes!" he said. "I forgot."
There was something almost like pity in the
Governor's face. He was not a cruel man by
nature, and was secretly a little ashamed of the
part he had been playing during the last month.
Now that his main point was gained he was willing
to make every little concession in his power.
"You needn't put the irons on again," he said,
glancing at the bruised and swollen wrists. "And
he can stay in his own cell. The condemned cell
is wretchedly dark and gloomy," he added, turning
to his nephew; "and really the thing's a mere
formality."
He coughed and shifted his feet in evident embarrassment;
then called back the sergeant, who
was leaving the room with his prisoner.
"Wait, sergeant; I want to speak to him."
The Gadfly did not move, and the Governor's
voice seemed to fall on unresponsive ears.
"If you have any message you would like conveyed
to your friends or relatives---- You have
relatives, I suppose?"
There was no answer.
"Well, think it over and tell me, or the priest.
I will see it is not neglected. You had better give
your messages to the priest; he shall come at once,
and stay the night with you. If there is any other
wish----"
The Gadfly looked up.
"Tell the priest I would rather be alone. I
have no friends and no messages."
"But you will want to confess."
"I am an atheist. I want nothing but to be
left in peace."
He said it in a dull, quiet voice, without defiance
or irritation; and turned slowly away. At the
door he stopped again.
"I forgot, colonel; there is a favour I wanted
to ask. Don't let them tie me or bandage my
eyes to-morrow, please. I will stand quite still."
. . . . .
At sunrise on Wednesday morning they brought
him out into the courtyard. His lameness was
more than usually apparent, and he walked with
evident difficulty and pain, leaning heavily on the
sergeant's arm; but all the weary submission had
gone out of his face. The spectral terrors that
had crushed him down in the empty silence, the
visions and dreams of the world of shadows, were
gone with the night which gave them birth; and
once the sun was shining and his enemies were
present to rouse the fighting spirit in him, he was
not afraid.
The six carabineers who had been told off for
the execution were drawn up in line against the
ivied wall; the same crannied and crumbling wall
down which he had climbed on the night of his
unlucky attempt. They could hardly refrain from
weeping as they stood together, each man with his
carbine in his hand. It seemed to them a horror
beyond imagination that they should be called out
to kill the Gadfly. He and his stinging repartees,
his perpetual laughter, his bright, infectious courage,
had come into their dull and dreary lives like
a wandering sunbeam; and that he should die, and
at their hands, was to them as the darkening of
the clear lamps of heaven.
Under the great fig-tree in the courtyard, his
grave was waiting for him. It had been dug in
the night by unwilling hands; and tears had fallen
on the spade. As he passed he looked down,
smiling, at the black pit and the withering grass
beside it; and drew a long breath, to smell the
scent of the freshly turned earth.
Near the tree the sergeant stopped short, and
the Gadfly looked round with his brightest smile.
"Shall I stand here, sergeant?"
The man nodded silently; there was a lump in
his throat, and he could not have spoken to save
his life. The Governor, his nephew, the lieutenant
of carabineers who was to command, a doctor and
a priest were already in the courtyard, and came
forward with grave faces, half abashed under the
radiant defiance of the Gadfly's laughing eyes.
"G-good morning, gentlemen! Ah, and his
reverence is up so early, too! How do you do,
captain? This is a pleasanter occasion for you
than our former meeting, isn't it? I see your arm
is still in a sling; that's because I bungled my
work. These good fellows will do theirs better--
won't you, lads?"
He glanced round at the gloomy faces of the
carabineers.
"There'll be no need of slings this time, any way.
There, there, you needn't look so doleful over it!
Put your heels together and show how straight
you can shoot. Before long there'll be more work
cut out for you than you'll know how to get
through, and there's nothing like practice beforehand."
"My son," the priest interrupted, coming forward,
while the others drew back to leave them
alone together; "in a few minutes you must enter
into the presence of your Maker. Have you no
other use but this for these last moments that are
left you for repentance? Think, I entreat you,
how dreadful a thing it is to die without absolution,
with all your sins upon your head. When
you stand before your Judge it will be too late to
repent. Will you approach His awful throne with
a jest upon your lips?"
"A jest, your reverence? It is your side that
needs that little homily, I think. When our turn
comes we shall use field-guns instead of half a
dozen second-hand carbines, and then you'll see
how much we're in jest."
"YOU will use field-guns! Oh, unhappy man!
Have you still not realized on what frightful brink
you stand?"
The Gadfly glanced back over his shoulder at
the open grave.
"And s-s-so your reverence thinks that, when
you have put me down there, you will have done
with me? Perhaps you will lay a stone on the top
to pre-v-vent a r-resurrection 'after three days'?
No fear, your reverence! I shan't poach on the
monopoly in cheap theatricals; I shall lie as still as
a m-mouse, just where you put me. And all the
same, WE shall use field-guns."
"Oh, merciful God," the priest cried out; "forgive
this wretched man!"
"Amen!" murmured the lieutenant of carabineers,
in a deep bass growl, while the colonel and
his nephew crossed themselves devoutly.
As there was evidently no hope of further insistence
producing any effect, the priest gave up the
fruitless attempt and moved aside, shaking his
head and murmuring a prayer. The short and
simple preparations were made without more delay,
and the Gadfly placed himself in the required
position, only turning his head to glance up for
a moment at the red and yellow splendour of the
sunrise. He had repeated the request that his
eyes might not be bandaged, and his defiant face
had wrung from the colonel a reluctant consent.
They had both forgotten what they were inflicting
on the soldiers.
He stood and faced them, smiling, and the carbines
shook in their hands.
"I am quite ready," he said.
The lieutenant stepped forward, trembling a
little with excitement. He had never given the
word of command for an execution before.
"Ready--present--fire!"
The Gadfly staggered a little and recovered his
balance. One unsteady shot had grazed his cheek,
and a little blood fell on to the white cravat.
Another ball had struck him above the knee.
When the smoke cleared away the soldiers looked
and saw him smiling still and wiping the blood
from his cheek with the mutilated hand
"A bad shot, men!" he said; and his voice cut
in, clear and articulate, upon the dazed stupor of
the wretched soldiers. "Have another try."
A general groan and shudder passed through
the row of carabineers. Each man had aimed aside,
with a secret hope that the death-shot would come
from his neighbour's hand, not his; and there the
Gadfly stood and smiled at them; they had only
turned the execution into a butchery, and the
whole ghastly business was to do again. They
were seized with sudden terror, and, lowering their
carbines, listened hopelessly to the furious curses
and reproaches of the officers, staring in dull
horror at the man whom they had killed and who
somehow was not dead.
The Governor shook his fist in their faces,
savagely shouting to them to stand in position,
to present arms, to make haste and get the thing
over. He had become as thoroughly demoralized
as they were, and dared not look at the terrible
figure that stood, and stood, and would not fall.
When the Gadfly spoke to him he started and
shuddered at the sound of the mocking voice.
"You have brought out the awkward squad this
morning, colonel! Let me see if I can manage
them better. Now, men! Hold your tool higher
there, you to the left. Bless your heart, man, it's
a carbine you've got in your hand, not a frying-pan!
Are you all straight? Now then! Ready--present----"
"Fire!" the colonel interrupted, starting forward.
It was intolerable that this man should
give the command for his own death.
There was another confused, disorganized volley,
and the line broke up into a knot of shivering
figures, staring before them with wild eyes. One
of the soldiers had not even discharged his carbine;
he had flung it away, and crouched down, moaning
under his breath: "I can't--I can't!"
The smoke cleared slowly away, floating up into
the glimmer of the early sunlight; and they saw
that the Gadfly had fallen; and saw, too, that he
was still not dead. For the first moment soldiers
and officials stood as if they had been turned to
stone, and watched the ghastly thing that writhed
and struggled on the ground; then both doctor
and colonel rushed forward with a cry, for he had
dragged himself up on one knee and was still facing
the soldiers, and still laughing.
"Another miss! Try--again, lads--see--if you can't----"
He suddenly swayed and fell over sideways on
the grass.
"Is he dead?" the colonel asked under his
breath; and the doctor, kneeling down, with a
hand on the bloody shirt, answered softly:
"I think so--God be praised!"
"God be praised!" the colonel repeated. "At
last!"
His nephew was touching him on the arm.
"Uncle! It's the Cardinal! He's at the gate
and wants to come in."
"What? He can't come in--I won't have
it! What are the guards about? Your Eminence----"
The gate had opened and shut, and Montanelli
was standing in the courtyard, looking before him
with still and awful eyes.
"Your Eminence! I must beg of you--this is
not a fit sight for you! The execution is only just
over; the body is not yet----"
"I have come to look at him," Montanelli said.
Even at the moment it struck the Governor that
his voice and bearing were those of a sleep-walker.
"Oh, my God!" one of the soldiers cried out
suddenly; and the Governor glanced hastily back.
Surely------
The blood-stained heap on the grass had once
more begun to struggle and moan. The doctor
flung himself down and lifted the head upon his knee.
"Make haste!" he cried in desperation. "You
savages, make haste! Get it over, for God's sake!
There's no bearing this!"
Great jets of blood poured over his hands, and
the convulsions of the figure that he held in his
arms shook him, too, from head to foot. As he
looked frantically round for help, the priest bent
over his shoulder and put a crucifix to the lips of
the dying man.
"In the name of the Father and of the Son----"
The Gadfly raised himself against the doctor's
knee, and, with wide-open eyes, looked straight
upon the crucifix.
Slowly, amid hushed and frozen stillness, he
lifted the broken right hand and pushed away the
image. There was a red smear across its face.
"Padre--is your--God--satisfied?"
His head fell back on the doctor's arm.
. . . . .
"Your Eminence!"
As the Cardinal did not awake from his stupor,
Colonel Ferrari repeated, louder:
"Your Eminence!"
Montanelli looked up.
"He is dead."
"Quite dead, your Eminence. Will you not
come away? This is a horrible sight."
"He is dead," Montanelli repeated, and looked
down again at the face. "I touched him; and he
is dead."
"What does he expect a man to be with half a
dozen bullets in him?" the lieutenant whispered
contemptuously; and the doctor whispered back.
"I think the sight of the blood has upset him."
The Governor put his hand firmly on Montanelli's arm.
"Your Eminence--you had better not look at
him any longer. Will you allow the chaplain to
escort you home?"
"Yes--I will go."
He turned slowly from the blood-stained spot
and walked away, the priest and sergeant following.
At the gate he paused and looked back, with
a ghostlike, still surprise.
"He is dead."
. . . . .
A few hours later Marcone went up to a cottage
on the hillside to tell Martini that there
was no longer any need for him to throw away his
life.
All the preparations for a second attempt at
rescue were ready, as the plot was much more
simple than the former one. It had been arranged
that on the following morning, as the Corpus
Domini procession passed along the fortress hill,
Martini should step forward out of the crowd,
draw a pistol from his breast, and fire in the Governor's
face. In the moment of wild confusion
which would follow twenty armed men were to
make a sudden rush at the gate, break into the
tower, and, taking the turnkey with them by force,
to enter the prisoner's cell and carry him bodily
away, killing or overpowering everyone who interfered
with them. From the gate they were to
retire fighting, and cover the retreat of a second
band of armed and mounted smugglers, who would
carry him off into a safe hiding-place in the
hills. The only person in the little group who
knew nothing of the plan was Gemma; it had been
kept from her at Martini's special desire. "She
will break her heart over it soon enough," he had
said.
As the smuggler came in at the garden gate
Martini opened the glass door and stepped out
on to the verandah to meet him.
"Any news, Marcone? Ah!"
The smuggler had pushed back his broad-brimmed
straw hat.
They sat down together on the verandah. Not
a word was spoken on either side. From the
instant when Martini had caught sight of the face
under the hat-brim he had understood.
"When was it?" he asked after a long pause;
and his own voice, in his ears, was as dull and
wearisome as everything else.
"This morning, at sunrise. The sergeant told
me. He was there and saw it."
Martini looked down and flicked a stray thread
from his coat-sleeve.
Vanity of vanities; this also is vanity. He was
to have died to-morrow. And now the land
of his heart's desire had vanished, like the fairyland
of golden sunset dreams that fades away when
the darkness comes; and he was driven back into
the world of every day and every night--the world
of Grassini and Galli, of ciphering and pamphleteering,
of party squabbles between comrades
and dreary intrigues among Austrian spies--of the
old revolutionary mill-round that maketh the
heart sick. And somewhere down at the bottom
of his consciousness there was a great empty place;
a place that nothing and no one would fill any
more, now that the Gadfly was dead.
Someone was asking him a question, and he
raised his head, wondering what could be left that
was worth the trouble of talking about.
"What did you say?"
"I was saying that of course you will break the
news to her."
Life, and all the horror of life, came back into
Martini's face.
"How can I tell her?" he cried out. "You
might as well ask me to go and stab her. Oh,
how can I tell her--how can I!"
He had clasped both hands over his eyes; but,
without seeing, he felt the smuggler start beside
him, and looked up. Gemma was standing in the
doorway.
"Have you heard, Cesare?" she said. "It is
all over. They have shot him."
