Temporal Power: A Study in Supremacy Part 55

He broke off as Del Fortis caught him by both hands in an angry grip.

"Do not dare to speak one word of the Church!" he said, "Or of us,--or of our Order! Let not a single syllable escape your lips concerning your connection with us and our Society!--or we shall find means to make you regret it! Beware of betraying yourself! When you are once before the Court of Law, remember you know nothing of Us, our Work, or our Creed!"

Utterly bewildered and mystified, the unhappy youth rocked himself to and fro, clasping and unclasping his hands in a kind of nervous paroxysm.

"Oh why, why will you bid me to do this?" he moaned--"You know there are times when I cannot be answerable for myself! How can I tell what I shall do when I am brought face to face with my accusers?--when I see all the dreadful eyes of the people turned upon me? How can I deny all knowledge of those who brought me up, and nurtured and educated me? If they ask me of my home, is it not with you?--under your sufferance and charity? If they seek to know my means of subsistence, is it not through you that I receive the copying-work for which I am paid? You would not have me repudiate all this, would you? I should be worse than a dog in sheer ingrat.i.tude if I did not bear open testimony to all the Church has done for me!"

"Be, not worse than a dog, but faithful as a dog in obedience!"

responded Del Fortis impressively--"And, for once, speak of the Church with the indifference of an atheist,--or with such marked coldness as a wise man speaks of the woman he secretly adores! Hold the Church and Us too sacred for any mention in a Court of criminal law! But serve the Church by involving the Socialist and Revolutionary party! Think of the magnificent results which will spring from this act,--and nerve yourself to tell a lie in order to support a truth!"

Rising unsteadily from his knees, the prisoner stood upright. By the flicker of the dim lamp, he looked deadly pale, and his limbs tottered as though shaken by an ague fit.

"What good will come of it?" he queried dully--"What good _can_ come of it?"

"Great and lasting good will come of it!"--replied Del Fortis--"And it will come quickly too;--in this way, for by fastening the accusation of undue influence on Sergius Thord and his companions, you will obtain Government restriction, if not total suppression of the Socialist party. This is what we need! The Socialists are growing too strong--too powerful in every country,--and we are on the brink of trouble through their accursed and atheistical demonstrations. There will soon be serious disturbances in the political arena--possibly an overthrow of the Government, and a general election--and if Sergius Thord has the chance of advancing himself as a deputy, he will be elected above all others by an overpowering majority of the lower cla.s.ses. _You_ can prevent this!--you can prevent it by a single falsehood, which in this case will be more pleasing to G.o.d than a thousand mischievous veracities! Will you do it? Yes or No?"

The miserable lad looked helplessly around him, his weak frame trembling as with palsy, and his uncertain fingers plucking at each other with that involuntary movement of the muscles which indicates a disordered brain.

"Will you, or will you not?" reiterated Del Fortis in a whisper that hissed through the close precincts of the cell like the warning of a snake about to sting--"Answer me!"

"Suppose I say I will not!"--stammered the poor wretch, with trembling lips and appealing eyes--"Suppose I say I will not falsely accuse the innocent, even for the sake of the Church----?"

"Then," said Del Fortis slowly, rising and moving towards him;--"You had best accept the only alternative--this!"

And he took from his breast pocket a small phial, full of clear, colourless fluid, and showed it to him--"Take it!--and so make a quick and quiet end! For, if you betray you connection with Us by so much as a look,--a sign, or a syllable,--your mode of exit from this world may be slower, less decent, and more painful!"

The miserable boy wrung his hands in agony, and such a cry of despair broke from his lips as might have moved anyone less cruelly made of spiritual adamant than the determined servant of the cruellest 'religious' Order known. The dull harsh clang of the prison bell struck ten. The 'priest' had been an hour at the work of 'confessing' his penitent,--and his patience was well-nigh exhausted.

"Swear you will attribute your intended a.s.sa.s.sination of the King, to the influence of the Socialists!" he said with fierce imperativeness--"Or with this--end all your difficulties to-night! It is a gentle quietus!--and you ought to thank me for it! It is better than solitary imprisonment for life! I will give you absolution for taking it--provided I see you swallow it before I go!--and I will declare to the Church that I left you shrived of your sins, and clean! Half an hour after I leave you, you will sleep!--and wake--in Heaven! Make your choice!"

The last words had scarcely left his lips when the cell door was suddenly thrown open, and a blaze of light poured in. Dazzled by the strong and sudden glare, Del Fortis recoiled, and still holding the phial of poison in his hand, stumbled back against the half-fainting form of the poor crazed creature he had been terrorising, as a dozen armed men silently entered the dungeon and ranged themselves in order, six on one side and six on the other, while, in their midst one man advanced, throwing back his dark military cloak as he came, and displaying a ma.s.s of jewelled orders and insignia on his brilliant uniform. Del Fortis uttered a fierce oath.

"The King!" he muttered, under his breath--"The King!"

"Ay, the King!" and a glance of supreme scorn swept over him from head to foot, as the monarch's clear dark grey eyes flashed with the glitter of cold steel in the luminance of the torches which were carried by attendants behind him; "Monsignor Del Fortis! You stand convicted of the offence of unlawfully tampering with the conscience of a prisoner of State! We have heard your every word--and have obtained a bird's-eye view of your policy!--so that,--if necessary,--we will Ourselves bear witness against you! For the present,--you will be detained in this fortress until our further pleasure!"

For one moment Del Fortis appeared to be literally contorted in every muscle by his excess of rage. His features grew livid,--his eyes became almost blood-red, and his teeth met on his drawn-in under-lip in a smile of intense malignity. Baffled again!--and by this 'king,'--the crowned Dummy,--who had cast aside all former precedent, and instead of amusing himself with card-playing and sensual intrigue, after the accepted fashion of most modern sovereigns, had presumed to interfere, not only with the Church, but with the Government, and now, as it seemed, had acted as a spy on the very secrets of a so-called prison 'confession'!

The utter impossibility of escaping from the net into which his own words had betrayed him, stood plainly before his mind and half-choked him with impotent fury,--till--all suddenly a thought crossed his brain like a flash of fire, and with a strong effort, he recovered his self-possession. Crossing his arms meekly on his breast, he bowed with a silent and profound affectation of humility, as one who is bent under the Royal displeasure, yet resigned to the Royal command,--then with a rapid movement he lifted the poison-phial he had held concealed, to his lips. His action was at once perceived. Two or three of the armed guards threw themselves upon him and, after a brief struggle, wrenched the flask from his hand, but not till he had succeeded in swallowing its contents. Breathing quickly, yet smiling imperturbably, he stood upright and calm.

"G.o.d's will and mine--not your Majesty's--be done!" he said. "In half an hour--or less--Mother Church may add to her list of martyrs the name of Andrea Del Fortis!--who died rather than sacrifice the dignity of his calling to the tyranny of a king!"

A slight convulsion pa.s.sed over his features,--he staggered backward.

The King, horror-stricken, signed to the prison warders standing by, to support him. He muttered a word of thanks, as they caught him by both arms.

"Take me where I can die quietly!" he said to them, "It will soon be over! I shall give you little trouble!"

A cold, weak, trembling hand clasped his. It was the hand of the King's wretched a.s.sa.s.sin.

"Let me go with you!" he cried--"Let me die with you! You have been cruel to me!--but you could not have meant it!--you were once kind!"

Del Fortis thrust him aside.

"Curse you!" he said thickly--"You are the cause--you--you are the cause of this d.a.m.ned mischief! You!--G.o.d!--to think of it!--you devil's sp.a.w.n!--you cur!"

His voice failed him, and he reeled heavily against the st.u.r.dy form of one of the warders who held him--his lips were flecked with blood and foam. Shocked and appalled, no less at his words, than at the fiendish contortion of his features, the King drew near.

"Curse not a fellow-mortal, unhappy priest, in thine own pa.s.sage towards the final judgment!" he said in grave accents--"The blessing of this poor misguided creature may help thee more than even a king's free pardon!"

And he extended his hand;--but with all the force of his now struggling and convulsed body, Del Fortis beat it back, and raised himself by an almost superhuman effort.

"Pardon! Who talks of pardon!" he cried, with a strong voice--"I do not need it--I do not seek it! I have worked for the Church--I die for the Church! For every one that says 'The King!'--I say, 'Rome'!"

He drew himself stiffly upright; his dark eyes glittered; his face, though deadly pale, scarcely looked like the face of a dying man.

"I say, 'Rome'!" he repeated, in a harsh whisper;--"Over all the world!--over all the kingdoms of the world, and in defiance of all kings--'Rome'!"

He fell back,--not dead,--but insensible, in the stupor which precedes death;--and was quickly borne out of the cell and carried to the prison infirmary, there to receive medical aid, though that could only now avail to soothe the approaching agonies of dissolution.

The King stood mute and motionless, lost in thought, a heavy darkness brooding on his features. How strange the impulse that had led him to be the mover and witness of this scene! By merest chance he had learned that Del Fortis had applied for permission to 'confess' the would-be destroyer of his life,--the life which Lotys had saved,--and acting--as he had lately accustomed himself to do--on a sudden first idea or instinct, he had summoned General Bernhoff to escort him to the prison, and make the way easy for him to watch and overhear the interview between priest and penitent,--himself un.o.bserved. And from so slight an incident had sprung a tragedy,--which might have results as yet undreamed-of!

And while he yet mused upon this, General Bernhoff ventured respectfully to approach him, and ask if it was now his pleasure to return to the Palace? He roused himself,--and with a heavy sigh looked round on the damp and dismal cell in which he stood, and at the crouching, fear-stricken form of the semi-crazed and now violently weeping lad who had attempted his life.

"Take that poor wretch away from here!" he said in hushed tones--"Give him light, and warmth, and food! His evil desires spring from an unsound brain;--I would have him dealt with mercifully! Guard him with all necessary and firm restraint,--but do not brutalise his body more than Rome has brutalised his soul!"

With that he turned away,--and his armed guard and attendants followed him.

That self-same midnight a requiem ma.s.s was sung in a certain chapel before a silent gathering of black-robed stern-featured men, who prayed "For the repose of the soul of our dear brother, Andrea Del Fortis, servant of G.o.d, and martyr to the cause of truth and justice,--who departed this life suddenly, in the performance of his sacred duties."

In the newspapers next day, the death of this same martyr and shining light of the Church was recorded with much paid-for regret and press-eulogy as 'due to heart-failure' and his body being claimed by the Jesuit brotherhood, it was buried with great pomp and solemn circ.u.mstance, several of the Catholic societies and congregations following it to the grave. One week after the funeral,--for no other ostensible cause whatever, save the offence of openly publishing his official refusal of a grant of Crown lands to the Jesuits,--the Holy Father, the Evangelist and Infallible Apostle enthroned in St. Peter's Chair, launched against the King who had dared to deny his wish and oppose his will, the once terrible, but now futile ban of excommunication; and the Royal son of the Church who had honestly considered the good of his people more than the advancement of priestcraft, stood outside the sacred pale,--barred by a so-called 'Christian' creed, from the mercy of G.o.d and the hope of Heaven.

CHAPTER XXVI

"ONE WAY,--ONE WOMAN!"

For several days after the foregoing events, the editors and proprietors of newspapers had more than enough 'copy' to keep them busy. The narrow escape of the King from a.s.sa.s.sination, followed by his excommunication from the Church, worked a curious effect on the minds of the populace, who were somewhat bewildered and uncertain as to the possible undercurrent of political meaning flowing beneath the conjunction of these two events; and their feelings were intensified by the announcement that the youth who had attempted the monarch's life,--being proved as suffering from hereditary brain disease,--had received a free pardon, and was placed in a suitable home for the treatment of such cases, under careful restraint and medical supervision. The tide of popular opinion was now divided into two ways,--for, and against their Sovereign-ruler. By far the larger half were against;--but the ban p.r.o.nounced upon him by the Pope had the effect of making even this disaffected portion inclined to consider him more favourably,--seeing that the Church's punishment had fallen upon him, apparently because he had done his duty, as a king, by granting the earnest pet.i.tions of thousands of his subjects. David Jost, who had always made a point of flattering Royalty in all its forms, now let his pen go with a complete pa.s.sion of toadyism, such as disgraced certain writers in Great Britain during the reigns of the pernicious and vicious Georges,--and, seeing the continued success of the rival journal which the King had personally favoured, he trimmed his sails to the Court breeze, and dropped the Church party as though it had burned his fingers. But he found various channels on which he had previously relied for information, rigorously closed to him. He had written many times to the Marquis de Lutera to ask if the report of his having sent in his resignation was correct,--but he had received no answer. He had called over and over again on Carl Perousse, hoping to obtain a few minutes' conversation with him, but had been denied an interview. Cogitating upon these changes,--which imported much,--and wishing over and over again that he had been born an Englishman, so that by the insidious flattery of Royalty he might obtain a peerage,--as a certain Jew a.s.sociate of his concerned in the same business in London, had recently succeeded in doing,--he decided that the wisest course to follow was to continue to 'b.u.t.ter' the King;--hence he laid it on with a thick brush, wherever the grease of hypocrisy could show off best. But work as he would, the 'shares' in his journalistic concerns were steadily going down,--none of his numerous magazines or 'half-penny rags,' paid so well as they had hitherto done; while the one paper which had lately been so prominently used by the King, continued to prosper, the public having now learned to accept with avidity and eagerness the brilliant articles which bore the signature of Pasquin Leroy, as though they were somewhat of a new political gospel. The charm of mystery intensified this new writer's reputation. He was never seen in 'fashionable' society,--no 'fashionable' person appeared to know him,--and the general impression was that he resided altogether out of the country. Only the members of the Revolutionary Committee were aware that he was one of them, and recognised his work as part of the carrying out of his sworn bond. He had grown to be almost the right hand of Sergius Thord; wherever Thord sought supporters, he helped to obtain them,--wherever the sick and needy, the desolate and distressed, required aid, he somehow managed to secure it,--and next to Thord,--and of course Lotys,--he was the idol of the Socialist centre. He never spoke in public,--he seldom appeared at ma.s.s meetings; but his influence was always felt; and he made himself and his work almost a necessity to the Cause. The action of Lotys in saving the life of the King, had created considerable discussion among the Revolutionists, not unmixed with anger. When she first appeared among them after the incident, with her arm in a sling, she was greeted with mingled cheers and groans, to neither of which she paid the slightest attention. She took her seat at the head of the Committee table as usual, with her customary indifference and grace, and appeared deaf to the conflicting murmurs around her,--till, as they grew louder and more complaining and insistent, she raised her head and sent the lightning flash of her blue eyes down the double line of men with a sweeping scorn that instantly silenced them.

"What do you seek from me?" she demanded;--"Why do you clamour like babes for something you cannot get,--my obedience?"

They looked shamefacedly at one another,--then at Sergius Thord and Pasquin Leroy, who sat side by side at the lower end of the table. Max Graub and Axel Regor, Leroy's two comrades, were for once absent; but they had sent suitable and satisfactory excuses. Thord's brows were heavy and lowering,--his eyes were wild and unrestful, and his att.i.tude and expression were such as caused Leroy to watch him with a little more than his usual close attention. Seeing that his companions expected him to answer Lotys before them all, he spoke with evident effort.

"You make a difficult demand upon us, Lotys," he said slowly, "if you wish us to explain the stormy nature of our greeting to you this evening. You might surely have understood it without a question! For we are compelled to blame you;--you who have never till now deserved blame,--for the folly of your action in exposing your own life to save that of the King! The one is valuable to us--the other is nothing to us! Besides, you have trespa.s.sed against the Seventh Rule of our Order--which solemnly pledges us to 'destroy the present monarchy'!"

"Ah!" said Lotys, "And is it part of the oath that the monarchy should be destroyed by murder without warning? You know it is not! You know that there is nothing more dastardly, more cowardly, more utterly loathsome and contemptible than to kill a man defenceless and unarmed!

We speak of a Monarchy, not a King;--not one single individual,--for if he were killed, he has three sons to come after him. You have called me the Soul of an Ideal--good! But I am not, and will not be the Soul of a Murder-Committee!"