CHAPTER XXIII.
When Giovanni Saracinesca had visited Cardinal Antonelli on theprevious evening, he had been as firmly persuaded that Faustina wasinnocent, as Corona herself, and was at first very much astonished bythe view the great man took of the matter. But as the latter developedthe case, the girl's guilt no longer seemed impossible, or evenimprobable. The total absence of any ostensible incentive to the murdergave Faustina's quarrel with her father a very great importance, whichwas further heightened by the nature of the evidence. There had beenhigh words, in the course of which the Princess Montevarchi had leftthe room, leaving her daughter alone with the old man. No one had seenhim alive after that moment, and he had been found dead, evidentlystrangled with her handkerchief. The fact that Faustina had a bruise onher arm and a cut on her lip pointed to the conclusion that a desperatestruggle had taken place. The cardinal argued that, although she mightnot have had the strength to do the deed if the contest had begun whenboth were on their feet, it was by no means impossible that so old aman might have been overcome by a young and vigorous girl, if she hadattacked him when he was in his chair, and was prevented from rising bythe table before him. As for the monstrosity of the act, the cardinalmerely smiled when Giovanni alluded to it. Had not fathers beenmurdered by their children before, and in Rome? The argument hadadditional weight, when Giovanni remembered Faustina's wild behaviouron the night of the insurrection. A girl who was capable of following asoldier into action, and who had spent hours in searching for him aftersuch an appalling disaster as the explosion of the Serristori barracks,might well be subject to fits of desperate anger, and it was by nomeans far from likely, if her father had struck her in the face fromhis place at the table, that she should have laid violent hands uponhim, seizing him by the throat and strangling him with herhandkerchief. Her coolness afterwards might be only a part of her oddnature, for she was undoubtedly eccentric. She might be mad, said thecardinal, shaking his head, but there was every probability that shewas guilty. In those days there was no appeal from the statesman'sdecisions in such matters. Faustina would remain a prisoner until shecould be tried for the crime.
His Eminence was an early riser, and was not altogether surprised thatGiovanni should come to him at such an hour, especially as he knew thatthe Princess Sant' Ilario had spent the night with Faustina in theTermini prison. He was altogether taken aback, however, by Giovanni'smanner, and by the communication he made.
"I had the honour of telling your Eminence last night, that DonnaFaustina Montevarchi was innocent," began Giovanni, who refused theoffer of a seat. "I trusted that she might be liberated immediately,but you have determined otherwise. I am not willing that an innocentperson should suffer unjustly. I have come, therefore, to surrendermyself to justice in this case."
The cardinal stared, and an expression of unmitigated astonishmentappeared upon his delicate olive features, while his nervous handsgrasped the arms of his chair.
"You!" he cried.
"I, your Eminence. I will explain myself. Yesterday the courtsdelivered their verdict, declaring that my cousin San Giacinto isPrince Saracinesca, instead of my father, and transferring to him allour hereditary property. The man who found out that there was a caseagainst us, and caused it to be brought to trial, was PrinceMontevarchi. You may perhaps understand my resentment against him. Ifyou recollect the evidence which was detailed to you last night youwill see that it was quite possible for me to go to him without beingobserved. The door chanced to be open, and there was no one in thehall. I am perfectly acquainted with the house. Several hours elapsedbetween the time when Donna Faustina left her father and the momentwhen he was found dead in his chair. You can understand how I couldenter the room unseen, how angry words naturally must have arisenbetween us, and how, losing my self-control, I could have picked upDonna Faustina's handkerchief which, as she says, lay upon the floor,and knotted it effectually round the old man's neck. What could he doin my hands? The study is far from the other rooms the family inhabit,and is near the hall. To go quietly out would not have been a difficultmatter for any one who knew the house. Your Eminence knows as well as Ithe shallowness of circumstantial evidence."
"And do you tell me, calmly, like this, that you murdered a helplessold man out of revenge?" asked the cardinal, half-indignantly,half-incredulously.
"Would I surrender myself as the murderer, for a caprice?" inquiredGiovanni, who was very pale.
The cardinal looked at him and was silent for a few moments. He waspuzzled by what he heard, and yet his common sense told him that he hadno course but to liberate Faustina and send Giovanni to prison. Hefelt, too, that he ought to experience an instinctive repulsion, forthe man before him, who, by his own showing, had been guilty of such ahorrible crime; but he was conscious of no such sensation. He was a manof exceedingly quick and true intuitions, who judged the persons withwhom he had business very accurately. There was a lack ofcorrespondence between his intelligence and his feelings which rousedhis curiosity.
"You have told me a very strange story," he said.
"Less strange than the one your Eminence has believed since lastnight," returned Giovanni calmly.
"I do not know. It is more easy for me to believe that the girl wasmomentarily out of her mind than that you, whom I have known all mylife, should have done such a thing. Besides, in telling me your story,you have never once positively asserted that you did it. You have onlyexplained that it would have been possible for a man so disposed toaccomplish the murder unsuspected."
"Is a man obliged to incriminate himself directly? It seems to me thatin giving myself up I have done all that a man's conscience canpossibly require--outside of the confessional. I shall be tried, and mylawyer will do what he can to obtain my acquittal."
"That is poor logic. Whether you confess or not, you have accusedyourself in a way that must tell against you very strongly. You reallyleave me no choice."
"Your Eminence has only to do what I request, to liberate DonnaFaustina and to send me to prison."
"You are a very strange man," said the cardinal in a musing tone, as heleaned back in his chair and scrutinised Giovanni's pale, impenetrableface.
"I am a desperate man, that is all."
"Will you give me your word of honour that Faustina Montevarchi isinnocent?"
"Yes," answered Giovanni without the slightest hesitation, and meetingthe gaze of the cardinal's bright eyes unflinchingly.
The latter paused a moment, and then turned in his chair, and taking apiece of paper wrote a few words upon it. Then he rang a littlehand-bell that stood beside him. His servant entered, as he was foldingand sealing the note.
"To the Termini prison," he said.
"The messenger had better take my carriage," observed Giovanni. "Ishall not need it again."
"Take Prince Sant' Ilario's carriage," added the cardinal, and the manleft the room. "And now," he continued, "will you be good enough totell me what I am to do with you?"
"Send me to the Carceri Nuove, or to any convenient place."
"I will do nothing that can be an injury to you hereafter," answeredthe statesman. "Something tells me that you have had nothing to do withthis dreadful murder. But you must know that though you may deceiveme--I am not omniscient--I will not tolerate any contempt of the waysof justice. You have surrendered yourself as the criminal, and I intendto take you at your word."
"I ask for nothing else. Put me where you please, do what you pleasewith me. It matters very little."
"You act like a man who has had an unfortunate love affair," remarkedthe cardinal. "It is true that you have just lost your fortune, andthat may account for it. But I repeat that, whatever your motives maybe, you shall not trifle with the law. You wish to be a prisoner. Thelaw will oblige you so far as to comply with your request. I warn youthat, after this, you can only obtain your freedom through a propertrial."
"Pray let it be so. My motives can be of no importance. The law shalljudge the facts and give its verdict."
"Th
e law will certainly do so. In the meantime, you will spend the dayin a room of my apartments, and this evening, when it is dark, you willbe quietly transferred to a place of safety--and secrecy. If the realmurderer is ever found, I do not wish your life to have been ruined bysuch a piece of folly as I believe you are committing. You say you area desperate man, and you are acting, I think, as though you were. Yourfamily affairs may have led to this state, but they do not concern me.You will, however, be good enough to swear, here, solemnly, laying yourhand upon this book, that you will not attempt to destroy yourself."
"I swear," said Giovanni, touching the volume which the cardinalpresented to him.
"Very good. Now follow me, if you please, to the room where you mustspend the day."
Giovanni found himself in a small chamber which contained only a largewriting-table and a couple of chairs, and which seemed to have beendestined for some sort of office. The cardinal closed the door, andGiovanni heard him turn the key and remove it from the lock. Then, forthe first time, he reflected upon what he had done. He had spoken thetruth when he had said that he was desperate. No other word coulddescribe his state. A sort of madness had taken possession of him whilehe was talking with Corona, and he was still under its influence. Therehad been something in her manner which had seemed to imply that he wasnot doing his best to liberate Faustina, and indeed, when he rememberedthat the girl's innocence was by no means clear to him, he ought not tohave been surprised at Corona's imputation. And yet, he had now pledgedhis word to the cardinal that Faustina had not done the deed. Corona'sunwillingness to admit that it was for her own sake she asked his helphad driven him nearly out of his mind, and when she had at last saidit, even reluctantly, he had immediately resolved to show her what hewas willing to do for one word of hers when she chose to speak it. Hehad from that moment but one thought, to free Faustina at any cost, andno plan suggested itself to him but to surrender himself in the girl'splace. As a matter of fact, he could not have accomplished his purposeso quickly or surely in any other way, and perhaps he could not haveotherwise accomplished it at all. It had been quite clear to him fromthe first that the cardinal was prejudiced against Faustina, owing, nodoubt, to the representations of the prefect of police. Giovanni hadcarried the evidence against her clearly in his mind, and as soon as hethought of the expedient he saw how it would have been quite possiblefor himself, or for any other man who knew the house, to commit themurder. As for the detail concerning the doors being open, there wasnothing improbable in it, seeing that there were many servants in theestablishment, and that each one would suspect and accuse one of hiscompanions of the carelessness. Nothing was easier than to constructthe story, and he had supposed that nothing would be simpler than tomake the cardinal believe it. He had been surprised to find himselfmistaken upon this point, but he felt a thrill of triumph that morethan repaid him for what he had done, when he saw the messenger leavethe room with the order to liberate Faustina. Corona had spoken, hadasked him to do a hard thing for her sake, and her caprice wassatisfied, it mattered little at what cost. She had given him anopportunity of showing what he would do for her, and that opportunityhad not been thrown away.
But as he sat alone in the little room the cardinal had assigned tohim, he began to realise the magnitude of what he had been doing, andto see how his actions would be judged by others. He had surrenderedhimself as a murderer, and was to be treated as one. When the time camefor the trial, might it not happen with him as with many anotherinnocent man who has put himself into a false position? Might he not becondemned? Nothing that he could say hereafter could remove theimpression created by his giving himself up to justice. Any denialhereafter would be supposed to proceed from fear and not frominnocence. And if he were condemned, what would become of Corona, ofhis father, of little Orsino? He shuddered at the thought.
What, he asked himself, would be the defence? Yesterday afternoon hehad been out of the house during several hours, and had walked alone,he hardly remembered where. Since the crisis in his life which hadseparated him from Corona in fact, if not in appearance, he oftenwalked alone, wandering aimlessly through the streets. Would any of hisacquaintance come forward and swear to having seen him at the timeMontevarchi was murdered? Probably not. And if not, how could it beproved, in the face of his own statement to the cardinal, that he mightnot have gone to the palace, seeking an opportunity of expending hiswrath on the old prince, that he might not have lost his self-controlin a fit of anger and strangled the old man as he sat in his chair? Ashe himself had said, there was far more reason to believe that theSaracinesca had killed Montevarchi out of revenge, than that a girllike Faustina should have strangled her own father because he hadinterfered in her love affairs. If the judges took this view of thecase, it was clear that Giovanni would have little chance of anacquittal. The thing looked so possible that even Corona might believeit--even Corona, for whose sake he had rushed madly into such desperatedanger.
And to-day she would not see him; very possibly she would not knowwhere he was. And to-morrow? And the next day? And all the days afterthat? He supposed that he would be allowed to write to her, perhaps tosee her, but it would be hard to explain his position. She did not lovehim any longer, and she would not understand. He wondered how much shewould care, if she really cared at all, beyond a discreet anxiety forhis safety. She would certainly not comprehend a love like his, whichhad chosen such a sacrifice, rather than allow her wish to remainungratified. How could she, since she did not love him? And yet, it wasimperatively necessary that she should be informed of what hadhappened. She might otherwise suppose, naturally enough, that someaccident had befallen him, and she would in that case apply to thepolice, perhaps to the cardinal himself, to find out where he was. Sucha contingency must be prevented, by some means, before night. Untilthen, she would not be frightened by his absence. There would be time,perhaps, when he was removed to the prison--to the place of safety andsecrecy, of which the cardinal had spoken, and which in all probabilitywas the Holy Office. No questions were asked there.
There were writing materials on the broad table, and Giovanni began aletter to his wife. After a few minutes, however, he stopped, for hesaw from what he had written that he was in no condition to attemptsuch a task. The words came quickly and fluently, but they expressedwhat he had no intention of telling Corona again. His love for her wasstill uppermost in his mind, and instead of trying to explain what hadoccurred, he found himself setting down phrases that told of nothingbut a mad passion. The thought of her cold face when she should readthe lines arrested his hand, and he threw down the pen impatiently, andreturned to his meditations for a while. What he wanted to do was totell her in the fewest possible words that he was alive and well. Whatelse should he tell her? The statement would allay any anxiety shemight feel, and his absence would doubtless be a relief to her. Thethought was bitter, but he knew that nothing exasperates a woman likethe constant presence of a man she has loved, who loves her more thanever, and for whom she no longer feels anything. At last he tookanother sheet of paper and tried again.
"Dear Corona--When you get this, Faustina will be at liberty, accordingto your wish. Do not be anxious if you do not see me for a few days, asI am called away on urgent business. Tell my father, and any of ourfriends who ask about me, that I am at Saracinesca, superintending theremoval of such effects as are not to go to San Giacinto. I will letyou know when I am coming back--Your affectionate GIOVANNI."
He read the note over twice, and then folded it, addressing it to hiswife. His face expressed the most profound dejection when he hadfinished his task, and for a long time he leaned back in his chair,gazing at the morning sunlight that slowly crept across the floor,while his hands lay folded passively upon the table. The end of hislove seemed very bitter as he thought of the words he had written. Afew weeks ago to leave Corona thus unexpectedly would have caused herthe greatest pain. Now, he felt that he need say nothing, that it wouldbe useless to say anything, more than he had said. It was nothing toher, whether
he stayed in Rome or went to the ends of the earth;indeed, he suspected that she would be glad to be left alone--unlessshe should discover why he had gone, and whither. This lastconsideration recalled to him his situation, and for a moment he washorrified at his own rashness. But the thought did not hold him long,and presently he asked himself apathetically what it could matter inthe end. The hours passed slowly, and still he sat motionless by thetable, the folded letter lying before him.
The cardinal had scarcely returned to his study when a second card wasbrought to him. The gentleman, said the servant, had assured him thathis Eminence would receive him, as he had important information to giveconcerning the murder of Prince Montevarchi. The cardinal could notrepress a smile as he read the name of Anastase Gouache.
The young man entered the room, and advanced in obedience to thecardinal's friendly gesture. He was as pale as death, and his soft darkeyes had an expression of despair in them such as the great man hadrarely seen. For the rest, he wore his uniform, and was as carefullydressed as usual.
"Your Eminence has doubtless heard of this dreadful murder?" beganGouache, forgetting all formality in the extremity of his excitement.
"Yes," said the cardinal, sitting down. "You have something tocommunicate concerning it, I understand."
"Donna Faustina Montevarchi has been charged with the crime, and is inthe prison of the Termini," answered the Zouave, speaking hurriedly. "Iam here to ask your Eminence to order her release without delay---"
"On what grounds?" inquired the statesman, raising his eyebrows alittle as though surprised by the way in which the request was made.
"Because she is innocent, because her arrest was due to the mistake ofthe prefect of police--the evidence was against her, but it was absurdto suppose that she could have done it---"
"The prefect of police received my approval. Have you any means ofshowing that she is innocent?"
"Showing it?" repeated Gouache, who looked dazed for a moment, butrecovered himself immediately, turning white to the lips. "What couldbe easier?" he exclaimed. "The murderer is before you--I saw theprince, I asked him for his daughter's hand in marriage, he insultedme. I left the room, but I returned soon afterwards. I found him alone,and I killed him--I do not know how I did it---"
"With Donna Faustina's handkerchief," suggested the cardinal. "Perhapsyou do not remember that it was lying on the floor and that you pickedit up and knotted it---"
"Yes, yes! Round his neck," cried Gouache nervously. "I remember. But Isaw red, everything swam, the details are gone. Here I am--yourEminence's prisoner--I implore you to send the order at once!"
The cardinal had hitherto maintained a grave expression. His featuressuddenly relaxed and he put out his hand.
"My dear Monsieur Gouache, I like you exceedingly," he said. "You are aman of heart."
"I do not understand---" Anastase was very much bewildered, but he sawthat his plan for freeing Faustina was on the point of failure.
"I appreciate your motives," continued the statesman. "You love theyoung lady to distraction, she is arrested on a capital charge, youconceive the idea of presenting yourself as the murderer in her place--"
"But I assure your Eminence, I swear--"
"No," interrupted the other, raising his hand. "Do not swear. You areincapable of such a crime. Besides, Donna Faustina is already atliberty, and the author of the deed has already confessed his guilt."
Anastase staggered against the projecting shelf of the bookcase. Theblood rushed to his face and for a moment he was almost unconscious ofwhere he was. The cardinal's voice recalled him to himself.
"If you doubt what I tell you, you need only go to the PalazzoMontevarchi and inquire. Donna Faustina will return with the PrincessSant' Ilario. I am sorry that circumstances prevent me from showing youthe man who has confessed the crime. He is in my apartments at thepresent moment, separated from us only by two or three rooms."
"His name, Eminence?" asked Gouache, whose whole nature seemed to havechanged in a moment.
"Ah, his name must for the present remain a secret in my keeping,unless, indeed, you have reason to believe that some one else did themurder. Have you no suspicions? You know the family intimately, itseems. You would probably have heard the matter mentioned, if thedeceased prince had been concerned in any quarrel--in any transactionwhich might have made him an object of hatred to any one we know. Doyou recall anything of the kind? Sit down, Monsieur Gouache. You areacquitted, you see. Instead of being a murderer you are the good friendwho once painted my portrait in this very room. Do you remember ourcharming conversations about Christianity and the universal republic?"
"I shall always remember your Eminence's kindness," answered Gouache,seating himself and trying to speak as quietly as possible. His nervousnature was very much unsettled by what had occurred. He had comedetermined that Faustina should be liberated at any cost, overcome bythe horror of her situation, ready to lay down his life for her in thesincerity of his devotion. His conduct had been much more rational thanGiovanni's. He had nothing to lose but himself, no relations to bedisgraced by his condemnation, none to suffer by his loss. He had onlyto sacrifice himself to set free for ever the woman he loved, and hehad not hesitated a moment in the accomplishment of his purpose. Butthe revulsion of feeling, when he discovered that Faustina was alreadyknown to be innocent, and that there was no need for his intervention,was almost more than he could bear. The tears of joy stood in his eyeswhile he tried to be calm.
"Have you any suspicions?" asked the cardinal again, in his gentlevoice.
"None, Eminence. The only thing approaching to a quarrel, of which Ihave heard, is the suit about the title of the Saracinesca. But ofcourse that can have nothing to do with the matter. It was decidedyesterday without opposition."
"It could have nothing to do with the murder, you think?" inquired thestatesman with an air of interest.
"No. How could it?" Gouache laughed at the idea. "The Saracinesca couldnot murder their enemies as they used to do five hundred years ago.Besides, your Eminence has got the murderer and must be able to guessbetter than I what were the incentives to the crime."
"That does not follow, my friend. A man who confesses a misdeed is notbound to incriminate any one else, and a man whose conscience issensitive enough to make him surrender himself naturally assumes theblame. He suffers remorse, and does not attempt any defence, exceptingsuch as you yourself just now gave me, when you said that the princehad insulted you. Enough to give a semblance of truth to the story. Bythe bye, is that true?"
"It is and it is not," answered Gouache, blushing a little. "The poorman, when I began to explain my position, thought--how shall I say? Hethought I wanted to sell him a picture. It was not his fault."
"Poor man!" sighed the cardinal. "He had not much tact. And so,Monsieur Gouache, you think that the great Saracinesca suit has hadnothing to do with the murder?"
"It seems to me impossible. It looks rather as though he had beenmurdered by a servant, out of spite. It is hard to believe that any onenot belonging to the house could have done it."
"I think the public will agree with you. I will occupy myself with thematter. Perhaps I have got the man safe in that room, but who knows? Ifyou had come first, you might have gone to the Carceri Nuove instead ofhim. After all, he may be in love too."
The cardinal smiled, but Gouache started at the suggestion, as thoughit hurt him.
"I doubt that," he said quickly.
"So do I. It would be a strange coincidence, if two innocent men hadaccused themselves of the same crime, out of love, within twenty-fourhours of its being committed. But now that you are calm--yes, you werebeside yourself with excitement--I must tell you that you have done avery rash thing indeed. If I had not chanced to be a friend of yours,what would have become of you? I cannot help liking your courage anddevotion--you have shown it in sterner matters, and in the face of theenemy--but you might have destroyed yourself. That would have been agreat sin."
"Is there no case in w
hich a man may destroy himself deliberately?"
"You speak of suicide? It was almost that you contemplated. No. Thechurch teaches that a man who takes his own life goes straight to hell.So does Mohammed, for that matter."
"In any case?"
"In any case. It is a mortal sin."
"But," objected Gouache, "let us suppose me a very bad man, exercisinga destroying influence on many other people. Suppose, in short, for thesake of argument, that my life caused others to lose their own souls,and that by killing myself I knew that they would all become goodagain. Suppose then, that I suddenly repented and that there was no wayof saving these people but by my own suicide. Would it not be morehonourable in me to say, 'Very well, I will submit to damnation ratherthan send all those others to eternal flames?' Should I not bejustified in blowing out my brains?"
The cardinal did not know whether to smile or to look grave. He wasneither a priest nor a theologian, but a statesman.
"My dear friend," he answered at last. "The ingenuity of yoursuppositions passes belief. I can only say that, when you find yourselfin such a bad case as you describe, I will submit the matter for you tothe Holy Father himself. But I would strongly advise you to avoid thesituation if you possibly can."
Gouache took his leave with a light heart, little guessing as hedescended the great marble staircase that Giovanni Saracinesca was theprisoner of whom the cardinal had spoken so mysteriously, still lessthat he, too, had falsely accused himself of having killed poor oldMontevarchi. He wondered, as he walked rapidly along the streets in thebright morning sunshine, who the man was, and why he had done such athing, but his thoughts were really with Faustina, and he longed to seeher and to hear from her own lips the true version of what had happened.