|
The following is a Gaslight etext.... |
A message to you about copyright and permissions |
|
CHICAGO AND NEW YORK:
BELFORD, CLARKE AND COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS
(1883?)
Ceneri, having made this astounding announcement, threw his wasted arms across the rough table and laid his head upon them with a gesture of despair. I sat like one stupefied, repeating mechanically, "Pauline's brother —— Anthony March!" Every vestige of the black lie was swept away from my mind; but the crime in which Ceneri had been concerned assumed more fearful proportions. It was more dreadful than I had suspected. The victim a near blood relation —— his own sister's child! Nothing, I felt, could be urged to excuse or palliate the crime. Even had he not ordered and planned it, he had been present; had assisted in hiding all traces of it; had been, until recently, on terms of friendship with the man who had struck the blow. I could scarcely control the loathing and contempt I felt for the abject wretch before me. My burning indignation would scarcely allow me to ask him, in intelligible speech, the object of the cruel deed. But for once and all I must have every thing made clear to me.
I was spared the necessity of asking the question I was trying to force to my lips. The convict raised his head and looked at me with miserable eyes.
"You shrink from me. No wonder. Yet I am not so guilty as you think."
"Tell me all, first; the excuses may come afterward, if anything can be urged in excuse of the crime."
I spoke as I felt —— sternly and contemptuously.
"None can be urged for the murder. For me, God knows I would willingly have let that bright boy live. He forsook and forgot his country, but that I forgave."
"His country! his father's country was England!"
"His mother's was Italy," replied Ceneri, almost fiercely. "He had our blood in his veins. His mother was a true Italian. She would have given fortune, life —— ay, even honor, for Italy."
"No matter. Tell me the whole terrible story."
He told me. In justice to a penitent man, I do not use his own words in re-telling it. Without his accent and stress they would sound cold and unemotional. Criminal he had been, but not so utterly black as my fancy had painted him. His great fault was that in the cause of liberty any weapons were allowable, any crimes were pardonable. We Englishmen, whose idea of tyranny and oppression is being debarred from the exercise of the franchise, can neither understand nor sympathize with a man of his type. We may call the government righteous or corrupt as we are Whigs or Tories, and one side happens to be in or out; but, at least, we are ruled by our countrymen, elected by some of us for that purpose. Let us be for years and years at the mercy of a foreigner, and we may understand what patriotism in Ceneri's sense means.
He and his sister were the children of respectable middle-class people —— not noble as Macari asserted. He had been given a liberal education, and adopted the profession of a doctor. His sister, from whom Pauline inherited her great beauty, lived the life of an ordinary Italian girl —— a duller life, perhaps, than many of them led, as, following her brother's example, she refused to share in gayeties whilst the white-coated foe ruled the land. No doubt she would have been faithful to her mourning for her country had not love come upon the scene. An Englishman named March saw the fair Italian girl, won her heart, wedded her and carried her away in triumph to his native land. Ceneri never quite forgave his sister for her desertion and defection; but the prospects opened before her by the marriage were so great that he made but little opposition to it. March was a very rich man. He was the only son of an only son, which fact accounts for Pauline having, so far as Ceneri knew, no near relatives on her father's side. For several years the young husband and his beautiful dark-eyed wife lived in great happiness. Two children, a son and a daughter, were born to them. When the son was twelve and the daughter ten years old the father died. The widow, who had made few close friends in England, and only loved the country for her husband's sake, flew back to her native land. She was cordially welcomed by her old friends. She was considered fabulously wealthy. Her husband, in the first flush of his passion, had made a will bequeathing every thing he possessed to her absolutely. Although children had since come, so perfectly did he trust her that no change had been made as to the disposition of his property. So, with such a fortune at her command Mrs. March was honored and courted by all.
She had, until she met her future husband, loved her brother above every one in the world. She had echoed is patriotism, sympathized with him in his schemes and listened to the wild plots he was always planning He was some years older than she was, and upon her return to Italy she found him, outwardly, nothing more than a quiet, hard-working, ill-paid doctor. She marvelled at the change from the headstrong, visionary, daring young man she had left. It was not until he was certain her heart had not forsaken her country that Ceneri allowed her to see that under his prosaic exterior lurked one of the subtlest and ablest minds of all those engaged in working out the liberation of Italy. Then all his old sway came back. She admired, almost worshipped him. She, too, was ready to make any sacrifice when the time should come.
What she would have done had she been called upon it is impossible to say; but there is little doubt but her fortune and her children's fortune would have been freely spent in the good cause. As it was, she died long before the pear was ripe, and when she died, such was her faith in her brother, every thing was left in his hands as sole trustee for her children. In her last moments the thought of her husband's decided English proclivities made her exact a promise that both the boy and the girl should be given an English education. Then she closed her eyes, and the orphans were left entirely to the trustee's mercy.
He obeyed her spoken commands to the letter. Anthony and Pauline were sent to English schools; but having no friends in their father's native land, or all old friends having been lost sight of during their mother's widowhood, the holidays were spent in Italy. They grew up almost as much Italian as English. Ceneri husbanded, invested, and managed their fortune with care and in a business-like way. I have no doubt, so far as it went, his honesty was unimpeachable.
Then the longed-for moment came! The great blow was to be struck. Ceneri, who had kept himself out of little abortive plots, felt that now or never he must do all he could do for his country. He hailed the coming man. He knew that Garibaldi was to be the saviour of his oppressed land. The first rash step had been taken and led to success. The time and the man were at hand. Recruits were flocking by thousands to the scene of war, but the cry was "money, money, money!" Money for arms and ammunition —— money for stores, food and clothing —— money for bribes —— money for everything! Those who furnished the sinews of war would be the real liberators of their country!
Why should he hesitate? Had his sister lived she would have given all the fortune she possessed as freely as she would have given her life! Were not her children half Italian? Liberty laughed at such a small thing as breach of trust.
Except a few thousand pounds, he ruthlessly realized and sacrificed the whole of the children's inheritance. He poured their thousands and thousands into the hands held out for them. The large sum was spent where it was most wanted, and Ceneri averred that he freed Italy by the opportune aid. Perhaps he did —— who can tell!
Titles and honors were afterwards offered him for this great though secret service. It makes me think better of the man that he refused all reward. His conscience may have told him he had not robbed himself. Any way, he remained plain Doctor Ceneri, and broke with his old leaders and friends when he found that Italy was to be a kingdom, not a republic.
He had kept, I said, a few thousand pounds. The boy and the girl were growing up, and their uncle thought that even his patriotism permitted him to keep back enough to complete their education and start them in life. Pauline was promising to be so beautiful that he troubled little about her future. A rich husband would set everything right with her. But Anthony —— who was becoming a wild, headstrong young fellow —— was another affair.
As soon the youth should reach man's estate, Ceneri had resolved to make a clean breast of his defalcations —— to tell him how the money had been spent —— to beg his forgiveness, and, if necessary, bear the penalty of his fraudulent act. But so long as any money remained he delayed doing so. The young man, if evincing no sympathy with his uncle's regeneration schemes and pursuit of liberty, fully believed in his integrity. Feeling assured that when he came of age he would succeed to a splendid inheritance, swelled by accumulated savings, he threw away money in a thousand and one extravagant ways, till Ceneri soon saw that the end of the reserve fund was drawing near.
So long as he had the money in hand to meet Anthony's demands, he postponed the evil day of confession. The idea, which Macari had tried to work out with my aid, of appealing to the Italian Government for a return of some of the amounts expended, suggested itself to him; but to carry this out it would be necessary to let his nephew know what had taken place —— the appeal must be made in his name.
As the inevitable exposure drew near he dreaded it more and more. He had studied Anthony's character, and felt sure that when he knew the truth his one wish would be take revenge on the fraudulent trustee. Ceneri could see nothing before him but a well-deserved term of penal servitude. If the English law failed to touch him, that of his own country might be brought against him.
It seems to me that until this time he had committed no crime from which he could not absolve himself on the grounds of patriotism; but now the desire to save himself from punishment grew upon him, and he determined to avoid the consequences of his acts.
He had never felt any great affection for the two children. No doubt they had latterly appeared in the light of wronged innocents who would one day demand a reckoning with him. They were in disposition too much like their father for him to be greatly drawn toward them. He despised Anthony for his gay, frivolous life —— a life without plans or ambition —— and contrasted it with his own. He honestly believed he was doing good work in the world; that his plots and conspiracies quickened the steps of universal liberty. In his dark, secret circle, he was a figure of considerable importance. If he were ruined and imprisoned he would be missed. Had he not a right to weigh his own high purposes against the butterfly existence of his nephew?
So he reasoned and persuaded himself that, for the sake of mankind, he might do almost anything to save himself.
Anthony March was now twenty-two. Trusting his uncle; careless and easy going; so long as his wants had been supplied he had accepted, until now, the excuses made for deferring the settlement of his affairs. Whether his suspicions had at last been awakened or not cannot be said; but recently he had taken another tone, and was insisting that his fortune should be at once placed in his hands. Ceneri, whose schemes called him for a time to England, pacified him by assuring that he would, during his stay in London, explain everything.
The explanation must indeed be given now, as Anthony's last drafts had reduced the remnant of his father's wealth almost to nothing.
Now, as to Macari's part in the affair. He had been for years a useful and trusted agent of Ceneri's; but most probably without the latter's lofty and unselfish aims. He appears to have followed conspiracy as a trade by which money might be made. The fact, which seems beyond a doubt, that he fought bravely and distinguished himself on the battle-field, may be accounted for by the natural ferocity of the man's nature, which bade him fight for the sake of fighting.
Being mixed up in all his plots he was often at Ceneri's house, wherever for the time being it might be; and on many occasions saw Pauline. He fell in love with her when she was but a young girl, and tried everything he knew to win her heart. To her he was soft and kind. She had no reason to mistrust him, but she utterly refused to give him the love he asked for. The pursuit went on at intervals for years —— the man, to give him his due, was constancy itself. Again and again Pauline assured him of the hopelessness of his suit, but after each rebuff he returned to the attack.
Ceneri gave him no encouragement. He did not wish to offend him, and seeing that the girl was proof against his blandishments, let things alone, hoping that Macari would grow weary of urging those requests which were always met by refusals. He believed that he was not seeking Pauline for the sake of the money which should have been hers. Macari knew what large sums Ceneri had poured into the patriot's treasury, and, no doubt guessed whence they came.
Pauline remained at school until she was nearly eighteen; then she spent two years with her uncle in Italy. It was a dull life for the girl, and she sighed audibly for England. Although meeting him seldom she was passionately attached to her brother, and was greatly delighted when Ceneri told her that business would take him for a while to London, and that she might accompany him. She was growing tired of Macari's pertinacity, and, moreover, longed to see her brother again.
Ceneri, for the sake of receiving his many political friends at what hours of the day or night he chose, took a furnished house for a short term. Pauline's disgust was great when she found that one of their first visitors was Macari. His presence was so indispensable to Ceneri that he took up his abode with them in Horace Street. As old Teresa, the doctor's servant, accompanied the party and waited upon them, the change to Pauline was a very slight one.
Macari still persecuted the girl without success. At last, almost desperate, he formed the wild plan of trying to enlist her brother on his side His idea was that Pauline's love for Anthony would induce her to yield to any wish he expressed He was no particular friend of the young man's, but, having once rendered him a signal service, felt himself entitled to ask a favor at his hands. Knowing that both brother and sister were penniless, he had less hesitation in so doing.
He called on Anthony and made his request Anthony, who seems to have been a proud, arrogant, and not a very pleasant young man, simply laughed at his impertinence and bade him begone. Poor boy, he little knew what that laugh would cost him!
It may have been the retort made by Macari, as he departed in a whirlwind of rage, that opened Anthony's eyes as to the jeopardy in which his fortune was placed. Any way he wrote at once to his uncle, insisting upon an immediate settlement. In the event of any delay he would consult a solicitor, and if necessary take criminal proceedings against the trustee.
The moment which Ceneri had so long dreaded —— so long postponed —— had come; only now, the confession, instead of being as he intended a voluntary one, would be wrung from him.
Whether he would be amenable to the Italian or English law he did not know, but he felt certain that Anthony would at once take steps to insure his arrest and detention. The latter, if only temporary, would ruin the scheme upon which he was now engaged. At any cost Anthony March must be silenced for a time.
He assured me with the solemnity of a dying man that no thought of the dreadful means which effected this was in his mind He had revolved many plans and finally settled on one which, although difficult to execute and very hazardous, seemed to give the best promise of success. His intention was, with the assistance of his friends and subordinates, to carry Anthony abroad and deposit him for some months in a lunatic asylum. The confinement was only to be temporary; yet although Ceneri did not confess to it, I have little doubt but the young man would have been asked to buy his freedom by a promise to forgive the misappropriation of the trust money.
And now as to carrying this precious plan into execution Macari, vowing vengeance for the words of insult, was ready to aid in every way Petróff, the man with the scarred face, was the doctor's, body and soul. Teresa, the old servant, would have committed any crime at her master's command. The necessary papers could be obtained or forged. Let the conspirators get Anthony to visit them at the house in Horace Street and he should leave it only as a lunatic in charge of his doctor and his keepers. It was a vile, treacherous scheme, the success of which was very doubtful, necessitating, as it must, carrying the victim to Italy. How this was to be done Ceneri did not exactly explain —— perhaps he had not quite worked out the details of the plot —— perhaps the boy was to be drugged —— perhaps he counted upon his frantic state when he discovered the true position of affairs to give color to the statement that he was of unsound mind.
The first thing was to induce Anthony to come to Horace Street at an hour suitable for development of the plot. Ceneri made his preparations; gave his instructions to his confederates, and then wrote to his nephew begging him to call upon him that night and hear his explanation of matters.
Perhaps Anthony mistrusted his relative and his associates more than was suspected. Any way, he replied by declining the invitation, but suggested that his uncle should call upon him instead. Then, by Macari's advice. Pauline was made the innocent means of luring her brother to the fatal house. Ceneri expressed his perfect indifference as to where the meeting took place, but, being very much engaged, postponed it for a day or two. He then told Pauline that as business would keep him from home until late the next night, it would be a good opportunity for her to spend some time with her brother —— she had better ask him to come and see her during his absence. As he also wished to see Anthony, she must endeavor to keep him until his return.
Pauline, suspecting nothing, wrote to her brother, and, saying she would be all alone until late at night, begged him to come to her, or, if he would, take her to some place of amusement. They went to the theatre together, and it was twelve o'clock before he brought her back to Horace Street. No doubt she begged him to remain with her awhile —— perhaps against his will. Awful as the shock of what followed was to the girl it must have been doubly so when she knew that her entreaties had led him to his death.
The brother and sister sat alone for some time; then Ceneri and his two friends made their appearance Anthony seemed displeased at the encounter, but made the best of matters and greeted his uncle civilly. Macari he simply turned his back upon.
It was no part of Ceneri's plan that any act of violence or restraint should take place in the presence of Pauline. Whatever was to be done should be done when Anthony was about to leave the house. Then he might be seized and conveyed to the cellar: his cries if needful being stifled. Pauline was to know nothing about it. Arrangements had been made for her to go on the morrow to a friend of her uncle's, with whom she was to stay, ignorant of the purport of the business which suddenly called the plotters away.
"Pauline," said Ceneri, "I think you had better go to bed. Anthony and I have some affairs to speak about."
"I will wait until Anthony leaves," she said, "but if you want to talk I will go into the other room."
So saying, she passed through the folding doors and went to the piano, where she sat playing and singing for her own amusement.
"It is too late to talk about business to-night," said Anthony, as his sister left the room.
"You had better take this opportunity. I find I must leave England to-morrow."
Anthony, having no wish to let his uncle escape without an explanation, reseated himself.
"Very well," he said; "but there is no need to have strangers present."
"They are scarcely strangers. They are friends of mine, who will vouch for the truth of what I am going to say."
"I will not have my affairs talked about before a man like that," said Anthony, with a motion of contempt toward Macari.
The two men were conversing in a low tone. Pauline was not far off, and neither wished to alarm her by high words or by the appearance of a pending quarrel; but Macari heard the remark and saw the gesture. His eyes blazed and he leaned forward toward young March:
"It may be, in a few days," he said, "you will be willing enough to give me freely the gift you refused a short time ago."
Ceneri noticed that the speaker's right hand was inside the breast of his coat, but this being a favorite attitude of his, thought nothing of it.
Anthony did not condescend to reply. He turned from the man with a look of utter contempt —— a look which, no doubt, drove Macari almost beside himself with rage.
"Before we talk about anything else," he said to his uncle, "I shall insist that from now Pauline is placed under my care. Neither she nor her fortune shall become the prey of a low-bred, beggarly Italian adventurer like this man, your friend."
These were the last words the poor boy ever spoke. Macari took one step toward him —— he made no exclamation of rage —— hissed out no oath which might warn his victim. Grasped in his right hand, the long bright steel leaped from its lurking place, and as Anthony March looked up, and then threw himself back in his chair to avoid him, the blow was struck downward with all the force of that strong arm —— the point of the dagger entering just below the collar-bone and absolutely transfixing the heart. Anthony March was silenced forever!
Then, even as he fell, Pauline's song stopped, and her cry of horror rang through the room. From her seat at the piano she could see what had happened. Is it any wonder that the sight bereft her of her senses?
Macari was standing over his victim. Ceneri was stupefied at the crime which in a moment had obviated any necessity for carrying out his wild plot. The only one who seemed in possession of his wits was Petróff. It was imperative that Pauline should be silenced. Her cries would alarm the neighbors. He rushed forward, and throwing a large woollen sofa-cover over her head, placed her on the couch, where he held her by force.
At that moment I made my frantic entrance —— blind and helpless, but, for all they knew, a messenger of vengeance.
Even the ruthless Macari was staggered at my appearance. It was Ceneri who, following the instincts of self-preservation, drew a pistol and cocked it. It was he who understood the meaning of my passionate appeal to their mercy —— he who, he averred, saved my life.
Macari, as soon as he recovered from his surprise, insisted that I should share Anthony March's fate. His dagger was once more raised to take human life, whilst Petróff, who had been forced by the new turn of affairs to leave Pauline, pinned me down where I had fallen. Ceneri struck the steel aside and saved me. He examined my eyes and vouched for the truth of my statement. There was no time for recriminations or accusations, but he swore that another murder should not be committed.
Petróff supported him, and Macari at last sullenly yielded, with the stipulation that I should be disposed of in the manner already related. Had the means been at hand I should have been drugged at once; as it was, the old servant, who as yet knew nothing of the tragedy which had taken place, was roused up and sent out in search of the needful draught. The accomplices dared not let me leave their sight, so I was compelled to sit and listen to all their actions.
Why did Ceneri not denounce the murder? Why was he, at least, an accessory after the crime? I can only believe that he was a worse man than he confessed himself to be, or that he trembled at his share in the transaction. After all, he had been planning a crime almost as black, and when the truth as to the trust money was known, no jury in the world would have acquitted him. Perhaps both he and Petróff held human life lightly; their hands were certainly not clean from political assassinations. Feeling that a trial must go hard with them, they threw their lot in with Macari's, and at once set about baffling inquiry and hiding all traces of the crime. From that moment there was little to choose between the degrees in criminality of the three men.
Now that they were all sailing in the same boat, they had little doubt of success. Teresa was perforce taken into their confidence. This was no matter, as, devoted to Ceneri, she would have aided in a dozen murders had her master decreed them. First of all, they must get rid of me. Petróff —— for Ceneri would not trust me in Macari's hands —— went out and found a belated cab. For a handsome consideration the driver consented to lend it to him for an hour and a half. It was still night, so there was no difficulty in carrying my senseless form to it without observation.
Petróff drove off, and having deposited me in a by-way a long distance from the house, returned the cab to its owner and rejoined his companions.
And now for Pauline. Her moans had gradually died away, and she lay in a death-like stupor. The great danger to the accomplices would be from her. Until she recovered nothing could be done save to carry her to her room and place her under Teresa's charge. When she awoke they must decide what course to pursue.
But the pressing thing was, how to make away with the dead body of the murdered man. All sorts of plans were discussed, until one at last was adopted, the very audacity of which no doubt made it a success. They were now growing desperate and prepared to risk much.
Early in the morning a letter was dispatched to Anthony's lodging, saying that Mr. March had been taken seriously ill the night before, and was at his uncle's. This served to stop any inquiry from that quarter. In the meantime the poor young fellow had been laid out as decently as possible, and with every thing that could be done to suggest a natural death. A doctor's certificate of death was then forged. Ceneri did not tell me how the form was obtained. The man he got it from knew nothing of its object. An undertaker then was ordered to send a coffin and deal case for the same the next night. The body, in Ceneri's presence, was simply placed inside it, with none of the usual paraphernalia, the reason given for such apparent indecency being that it was only a temporary arrangement, as it was to be taken abroad for interment. The undertaker marvelled, but being well paid, held his peace. Then, by the aid of the forged certificate, the proper formalities were complied with, and in two days' time the three men, in the garb of mourners, were travelling to Italy with the body of their victim. There was nothing to stop them, nothing suspicious in their manner or in the circumstances of the case. They actually took the coffin to the town where Anthony's mother died, and they buried the son by the side of the mother, with his name and the date of his death recorded on the stone. Then they felt safe from everybody except Pauline.
They were safe even from her. When she at last awoke from her stupor, even Teresa could see that something had gone wrong. She said nothing about the scene she had witnessed; she asked no questions. Her past had vanished. According to instructions given her, Teresa, as soon as possible, took her to join Ceneri in Italy, and he saw that Macari's crime had deprived the brother of life and the sister of reason.
No search or inquiry was made for Anthony March. Carrying out his bold plan to the very letter, Ceneri instructed an agent to take possession of his few personal effects at his lodgings, and to inform the people there that he had died at his house and been taken to Italy to be buried with his mother. A few friends for a while regretted a companion, and there was an end of the affair. Nothing having been heard of the blind man, it was supposed he had been wise enough to keep his own counsel.
Months and months passed by, whilst Pauline remained in the same state. Teresa took charge of her, and lived with her in Turin until that time when I saw them at San Giovanni. Ceneri, who had no fixed home, saw little of the girl. His presence did not awaken any painful recollections in her mind, but to him the sight of his niece was unbearable. It recalled what he was eager to forget. She never seemed happy in Italy; in her uncertain way she was pining for England Anxious to get her out of his sight, he had consented that Teresa should take her to London —— had, in fact, come to Turin that particular day to arrange as to their departure. Macari, who, even with a brother's blood between them, considered her in some way his property, accompanied him. He had been continually urging Ceneri to let him marry her, even as she was now. He had threatened to carry her off by force. He had sworn she should be his. She remembered nothing —— why should he not wed her?
Bad as Ceneri was, he had recoiled from this. He would even, had it been possible, have broken off all intercourse with Macari; but the men were too deep in each other's secrets to be divided on account of a crime, however atrocious; so he sent Pauline to England. There she was safe from Macari. Then came my proposal, the acceptance of which would take her, at my expense, entirely off his hands and out of his companion's way.
Hence our strange marriage, which even now he justified by saying that should the girl grow attached to any one, should any feeling corresponding to affection be awakened in her clouded mind —— that mind would gradually be built up again.
This, not in his own words, was Ceneri's tale. I now knew all I wanted to know. Perhaps he had painted himself in better colors than he deserved; but he had given me the whole dark history freely and unreservedly, and in spite of the loathing and abhorrence with which he now inspired me, I felt that he had told me the truth.
(End of chapter thirteen.)
Go to the next chapter
Back to the Called back menu
Back to the Hugh Conway literature page