The Gadfly by E. L. Voynich (latest novels to read .txt) 📖

you, once you begin talking rank

Antinomianism in that fashion. I’m sure your

ancestors must have been English Levellers in the

seventeenth century. Besides, what I came round

about is this MS.”

 

He pulled it out of his pocket.

 

“Another new pamphlet?”

 

“A stupid thing this wretched man Rivarez

sent in to yesterday’s committee. I knew we

should come to loggerheads with him before

long.”

 

“What is the matter with it? Honestly,

Cesare, I think you are a little prejudiced. Rivarez

may be unpleasant, but he’s not stupid.”

 

“Oh, I don’t deny that this is clever enough in

its way; but you had better read the thing

yourself.”

 

The pamphlet was a skit on the wild enthusiasm

over the new Pope with which Italy was still

ringing. Like all the Gadfly’s writing, it was

bitter and vindictive; but, notwithstanding her

irritation at the style, Gemma could not help

recognizing in her heart the justice of the criticism.

 

“I quite agree with you that it is detestably

malicious,” she said, laying down the manuscript.

“But the worst thing about it is that it’s all true.”

 

“Gemma!”

 

“Yes, but it is. The man’s a cold-blooded eel,

if you like; but he’s got the truth on his side.

There is no use in our trying to persuade ourselves

that this doesn’t hit the mark—it does!”

 

“Then do you suggest that we should print it?”

 

“Ah! that’s quite another matter. I certainly

don’t think we ought to print it as it stands; it

would hurt and alienate everybody and do no

good. But if he would rewrite it and cut out the

personal attacks, I think it might be made into a

really valuable piece of work. As political criticism

it is very fine. I had no idea he could write

so well. He says things which need saying and

which none of us have had the courage to say.

This passage, where he compares Italy to a tipsy

man weeping with tenderness on the neck of the

thief who is picking his pocket, is splendidly

written.”

 

“Gemma! The very worst bit in the whole

thing! I hate that ill-natured yelping at everything

and everybody!”

 

“So do I; but that’s not the point. Rivarez

has a very disagreeable style, and as a human being

he is not attractive; but when he says that we have

made ourselves drunk with processions and embracing

and shouting about love and reconciliation, and that

the Jesuits and Sanfedists are the people who will

profit by it all, he’s right a thousand times. I

wish I could have been at the committee yesterday.

What decision did you finally arrive at?”

 

“What I have come here about: to ask you to

go and talk it over with him and persuade him to

soften the thing.”

 

“Me? But I hardly know the man; and besides

that, he detests me. Why should I go, of all

people?”

 

“Simply because there’s no one else to do it

to-day. Besides, you are more reasonable than

the rest of us, and won’t get into useless arguments

and quarrel with him, as we should.”

 

“I shan’t do that, certainly. Well, I will go if

you like, though I have not much hope of success.”

 

“I am sure you will be able to manage him if

you try. Yes, and tell him that the committee

all admired the thing from a literary point of view.

That will put him into a good humour, and it’s perfectly

true, too.”

 

… . .

 

The Gadfly was sitting beside a table covered

with flowers and ferns, staring absently at the

floor, with an open letter on his knee. A shaggy

collie dog, lying on a rug at his feet, raised its

head and growled as Gemma knocked at the open

door, and the Gadfly rose hastily and bowed in a

stiff, ceremonious way. His face had suddenly

grown hard and expressionless.

 

“You are too kind,” he said in his most chilling

manner. “If you had let me know that you

wanted to speak to me I would have called on

you.”

 

Seeing that he evidently wished her at the end

of the earth, Gemma hastened to state her business.

He bowed again and placed a chair for her.

 

“The committee wished me to call upon you,”

she began, “because there has been a certain difference

of opinion about your pamphlet.”

 

“So I expected.” He smiled and sat down opposite

to her, drawing a large vase of chrysanthemums

between his face and the light.

 

“Most of the members agreed that, however

much they may admire the pamphlet as a literary

composition, they do not think that in its present

form it is quite suitable for publication. They fear

that the vehemence of its tone may give offence,

and alienate persons whose help and support are

valuable to the party.”

 

He pulled a chrysanthemum from the vase and

began slowly plucking off one white petal after

another. As her eyes happened to catch the

movement of the slim right hand dropping the

petals, one by one, an uncomfortable sensation

came over Gemma, as though she had somewhere

seen that gesture before.

 

“As a literary composition,” he remarked in

his soft, cold voice, “it is utterly worthless, and

could be admired only by persons who know nothing

about literature. As for its giving offence,

that is the very thing I intended it to do.”

 

“That I quite understand. The question is

whether you may not succeed in giving offence to

the wrong people.”

 

He shrugged his shoulders and put a torn-off

petal between his teeth. “I think you are mistaken,”

he said. “The question is: For what purpose did

your committee invite me to come here? I understood,

to expose and ridicule the Jesuits. I fulfil my

obligation to the best of my ability.”

 

“And I can assure you that no one has any

doubt as to either the ability or the good-will.

What the committee fears is that the liberal party

may take offence, and also that the town workmen

may withdraw their moral support. You may have

meant the pamphlet for an attack upon the Sanfedists:

but many readers will construe it as an

attack upon the Church and the new Pope; and

this, as a matter of political tactics, the

committee does not consider desirable.”

 

“I begin to understand. So long as I keep to

the particular set of clerical gentlemen with whom

the party is just now on bad terms, I may speak

sooth if the fancy takes me; but directly I touch

upon the committee’s own pet priests—‘truth’s a

dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out,

when the—Holy Father may stand by the fire

and–—’ Yes, the fool was right; I’d rather be

any kind of a thing than a fool. Of course I

must bow to the committee’s decision, but I

continue to think that it has pared its wit o’ both

sides and left—M-mon-signor M-m-montan-n-nelli

in the middle.”

 

“Montanelli?” Gemma repeated. “I don’t understand

you. Do you mean the Bishop of Brisighella?”

 

“Yes; the new Pope has just created him a

Cardinal, you know. I have a letter about him

here. Would you care to hear it? The writer is

a friend of mine on the other side of the frontier.”

 

“The Papal frontier?”

 

“Yes. This is what he writes–-” He took

up the letter which had been in his hand when she

entered, and read aloud, suddenly beginning to

stammer violently:

 

“‘Y-o-you will s-s-s-soon have the p-pleasure

of m-m-meeting one of our w-w-worst enemies,

C-cardinal Lorenzo M-montan-n-nelli, the

B-b-bishop of Brisig-g-hella. He int-t–-’”

 

He broke off, paused a moment, and began

again, very slowly and drawling insufferably, but

no longer stammering:

 

“‘He intends to visit Tuscany during the coming

month on a mission of reconciliation. He will

preach first in Florence, where he will stay for

about three weeks; then will go on to Siena and

Pisa, and return to the Romagna by Pistoja. He

ostensibly belongs to the liberal party in the

Church, and is a personal friend of the Pope and

Cardinal Feretti. Under Gregory he was out of

favour, and was kept out of sight in a little hole

in the Apennines. Now he has come suddenly to

the front. Really, of course, he is as much pulled

by Jesuit wires as any Sanfedist in the country.

This mission was suggested by some of the Jesuit

fathers. He is one of the most brilliant preachers

in the Church, and as mischievous in his way as

Lambruschini himself. His business is to keep

the popular enthusiasm over the Pope from subsiding,

and to occupy the public attention until

the Grand Duke has signed a project which the

agents of the Jesuits are preparing to lay before

him. What this project is I have been unable to

discover.’ Then, further on, it says: ‘Whether

Montanelli understands for what purpose he is

being sent to Tuscany, or whether the Jesuits are

playing on him, I cannot make out. He is either

an uncommonly clever knave, or the biggest ass

that was ever foaled. The odd thing is that, so

far as I can discover, he neither takes bribes nor

keeps mistresses—the first time I ever came

across such a thing.’”

 

He laid down the letter and sat looking at her

with half-shut eyes, waiting, apparently, for her to

speak.

 

“Are you satisfied that your informant is correct

in his facts?” she asked after a moment.

 

“As to the irreproachable character of Monsignor

M-mon-t-tan-nelli’s private life? No; but

neither is he. As you will observe, he puts in the

s-s-saving clause: ‘So far as I c-can discover–-

 

“I was not speaking of that,” she interposed

coldly, “but of the part about this mission.”

 

“I can fully trust the writer. He is an old

friend of mine—one of my comrades of ‘43, and he

is in a position which gives him exceptional

opportunities for finding out things of that kind.”

 

“Some official at the Vatican,” thought Gemma

quickly. “So that’s the kind of connections you

have? I guessed there was something of that sort.”

 

“This letter is, of course, a private one,” the

Gadfly went on; “and you understand that the

information is to be kept strictly to the members

of your committee.”

 

“That hardly needs saying. Then about the

pamphlet: may I tell the committee that you consent

to make a few alterations and soften it a little,

or that–-”

 

“Don’t you think the alterations may succeed

in spoiling the beauty of the ‘literary composition,’

signora, as well as in reducing the vehemence

of the tone?”

 

“You are asking my personal opinion. What

I have come here to express is that of the committee

as a whole.”

 

“Does that imply that y-y-you disagree with the

committee as a whole?” He had put the letter

into his pocket and was now leaning forward and

looking at her with an eager, concentrated expression

which quite changed the character of his

face. “You think–-”

 

“If you care to know what I personally think

—I disagree with the majority on both points. I

do not at all admire the pamphlet from a literary

point of view, and I do think it true as a presentation

of facts and wise as a matter of tactics.”

 

“That is––”

 

“I quite agree with you that Italy is being led

away by a will-o’-the-wisp and that all this enthusiasm

and rejoicing will probably land her in a

terrible bog; and I should be most heartily glad

to have that openly and boldly said, even at the

cost of offending or alienating some of our present

supporters. But as a member