The Gadfly

  CHAPTER VI.

  GEMMA and the Gadfly walked silently along the Lung'Arno. His feverishtalkativeness seemed to have quite spent itself; he had hardly spoken aword since they left Riccardo's door, and Gemma was heartily glad of hissilence. She always felt embarrassed in his company, and to-day moreso than usual, for his strange behaviour at the committee meeting hadgreatly perplexed her.

  By the Uffizi palace he suddenly stopped and turned to her.

  "Are you tired?"

  "No; why?"

  "Nor especially busy this evening?"

  "No."

  "I want to ask a favour of you; I want you to come for a walk with me."

  "Where to?"

  "Nowhere in particular; anywhere you like."

  "But what for?"

  He hesitated.

  "I--can't tell you--at least, it's very difficult; but please come ifyou can."

  He raised his eyes suddenly from the ground, and she saw how strangetheir expression was.

  "There is something the matter with you," she said gently. He pulled aleaf from the flower in his button-hole, and began tearing it to pieces.Who was it that he was so oddly like? Someone who had that same trick ofthe fingers and hurried, nervous gesture.

  "I am in trouble," he said, looking down at his hands and speaking in ahardly audible voice. "I--don't want to be alone this evening. Will youcome?"

  "Yes, certainly, unless you would rather go to my lodgings."

  "No; come and dine with me at a restaurant. There's one on the Signoria.Please don't refuse, now; you've promised!"

  They went into a restaurant, where he ordered dinner, but hardly touchedhis own share, and remained obstinately silent, crumbling the bread overthe cloth, and fidgeting with the fringe of his table napkin. Gemma feltthoroughly uncomfortable, and began to wish she had refused to come; thesilence was growing awkward; yet she could not begin to make small-talkwith a person who seemed to have forgotten her presence. At last helooked up and said abruptly:

  "Would you like to see the variety show?"

  She stared at him in astonishment. What had he got into his head aboutvariety shows?

  "Have you ever seen one?" he asked before she had time to speak.

  "No; I don't think so. I didn't suppose they were interesting."

  "They are very interesting. I don't think anyone can study the life ofthe people without seeing them. Let us go back to the Porta alla Croce."

  When they arrived the mountebanks had set up their tent beside thetown gate, and an abominable scraping of fiddles and banging of drumsannounced that the performance had begun.

  The entertainment was of the roughest kind. A few clowns, harlequins,and acrobats, a circus-rider jumping through hoops, the paintedcolumbine, and the hunchback performing various dull and foolish antics,represented the entire force of the company. The jokes were not, on thewhole, coarse or offensive; but they were very tame and stale, and therewas a depressing flatness about the whole thing. The audience laughedand clapped from their innate Tuscan courtesy; but the only part whichthey seemed really to enjoy was the performance of the hunchback, inwhich Gemma could find nothing either witty or skilful. It was merelya series of grotesque and hideous contortions, which the spectatorsmimicked, holding up children on their shoulders that the little onesmight see the "ugly man."

  "Signor Rivarez, do you really think this attractive?" said Gemma,turning to the Gadfly, who was standing beside her, his arm round one ofthe wooden posts of the tent. "It seems to me----"

  She broke off and remained looking at him silently. Except when she hadstood with Montanelli at the garden gate in Leghorn, she had never seena human face express such fathomless, hopeless misery. She thought ofDante's hell as she watched him.

  Presently the hunchback, receiving a kick from one of the clowns,turned a somersault and tumbled in a grotesque heap outside the ring. Adialogue between two clowns began, and the Gadfly seemed to wake out ofa dream.

  "Shall we go?" he asked; "or would you like to see more?"

  "I would rather go."

  They left the tent, and walked across the dark green to the river. For afew moments neither spoke.

  "What did you think of the show?" the Gadfly asked presently.

  "I thought it rather a dreary business; and part of it seemed to mepositively unpleasant."

  "Which part?"

  "Well, all those grimaces and contortions. They are simply ugly; thereis nothing clever about them."

  "Do you mean the hunchback's performance?"

  Remembering his peculiar sensitiveness on the subject of his ownphysical defects, she had avoided mentioning this particular bit of theentertainment; but now that he had touched upon the subject himself, sheanswered: "Yes; I did not like that part at all."

  "That was the part the people enjoyed most."

  "I dare say; and that is just the worst thing about it."

  "Because it was inartistic?"

  "N-no; it was all inartistic. I meant--because it was cruel."

  He smiled.

  "Cruel? Do you mean to the hunchback?"

  "I mean---- Of course the man himself was quite indifferent; no doubt,it is to him just a way of getting a living, like the circus-rider'sway or the columbine's. But the thing makes one feel unhappy. It ishumiliating; it is the degradation of a human being."

  "He probably is not any more degraded than he was to start with. Most ofus are degraded in one way or another."

  "Yes; but this--I dare say you will think it an absurd prejudice; buta human body, to me, is a sacred thing; I don't like to see it treatedirreverently and made hideous."

  "And a human soul?"

  He had stopped short, and was standing with one hand on the stonebalustrade of the embankment, looking straight at her.

  "A soul?" she repeated, stopping in her turn to look at him in wonder.

  He flung out both hands with a sudden, passionate gesture.

  "Has it never occurred to you that that miserable clown may have asoul--a living, struggling, human soul, tied down into that crooked hulkof a body and forced to slave for it? You that are so tender-hearted toeverything--you that pity the body in its fool's dress and bells--haveyou never thought of the wretched soul that has not even motley to coverits horrible nakedness? Think of it shivering with cold, stilled withshame and misery, before all those people--feeling their jeers that cutlike a whip--their laughter, that burns like red-hot iron on the bareflesh! Think of it looking round--so helpless before them all--for themountains that will not fall on it--for the rocks that have not theheart to cover it--envying the rats that can creep into some hole in theearth and hide; and remember that a soul is dumb--it has no voice to cryout--it must endure, and endure, and endure. Oh! I'm talking nonsense!Why on earth don't you laugh? You have no sense of humour!"

  Slowly and in dead silence she turned and walked on along the riverside. During the whole evening it had not once occurred to her toconnect his trouble, whatever it might be, with the variety show; andnow that some dim picture of his inner life had been revealed to her bythis sudden outburst, she could not find, in her overwhelming pity forhim, one word to say. He walked on beside her, with his head turnedaway, and looked into the water.

  "I want you, please, to understand," he began suddenly, turning to herwith a defiant air, "that everything I have just been saying to you ispure imagination. I'm rather given to romancing, but I don't like peopleto take it seriously."

  She made no answer, and they walked on in silence. As they passed by thegateway of the Uffizi, he crossed the road and stooped down over a darkbundle that was lying against the railings.

  "What is the matter, little one?" he asked, more gently than she hadever heard him speak. "Why don't you go home?"

  The bundle moved, and answered something in a low, moaning voice. Gemmacame across to look, and saw a child of about six years old, ragged anddirty, crouching on the pavement like a frightened animal. The Gadflywas bending down with his hand on the unkempt head.

&
nbsp; "What is it?" he said, stooping lower to catch the unintelligibleanswer. "You ought to go home to bed; little boys have no business outof doors at night; you'll be quite frozen! Give me your hand and jump uplike a man! Where do you live?"

  He took the child's arm to raise him. The result was a sharp scream anda quick shrinking away.

  "Why, what is it?" the Gadfly asked, kneeling down on the pavement. "Ah!Signora, look here!"

  The child's shoulder and jacket were covered with blood.

  "Tell me what has happened?" the Gadfly went on caressingly. "It wasn'ta fall, was it? No? Someone's been beating you? I thought so! Who wasit?"

  "My uncle."

  "Ah, yes! And when was it?"

  "This morning. He was drunk, and I--I----"

  "And you got in his way--was that it? You shouldn't get in people's waywhen they are drunk, little man; they don't like it. What shall we dowith this poor mite, signora? Come here to the light, sonny, and letme look at that shoulder. Put your arm round my neck; I won't hurt you.There we are!"

  He lifted the boy in his arms, and, carrying him across the street, sethim down on the wide stone balustrade. Then, taking out a pocket-knife,he deftly ripped up the torn sleeve, supporting the child's head againsthis breast, while Gemma held the injured arm. The shoulder was badlybruised and grazed, and there was a deep gash on the arm.

  "That's an ugly cut to give a mite like you," said the Gadfly, fasteninghis handkerchief round the wound to prevent the jacket from rubbingagainst it. "What did he do it with?"

  "The shovel. I went to ask him to give me a soldo to get some polenta atthe corner shop, and he hit me with the shovel."

  The Gadfly shuddered. "Ah!" he said softly, "that hurts; doesn't it,little one?"

  "He hit me with the shovel--and I ran away--I ran away--because he hitme."

  "And you've been wandering about ever since, without any dinner?"

  Instead of answering, the child began to sob violently. The Gadflylifted him off the balustrade.

  "There, there! We'll soon set all that straight. I wonder if we canget a cab anywhere. I'm afraid they'll all be waiting by the theatre;there's a grand performance going on to-night. I am sorry to drag youabout so, signora; but----"

  "I would rather come with you. You may want help. Do you think you cancarry him so far? Isn't he very heavy?"

  "Oh, I can manage, thank you."

  At the theatre door they found only a few cabs waiting, and these wereall engaged. The performance was over, and most of the audience hadgone. Zita's name was printed in large letters on the wall-placards; shehad been dancing in the ballet. Asking Gemma to wait for him a moment,the Gadfly went round to the performers' entrance, and spoke to anattendant.

  "Has Mme. Reni gone yet?"

  "No, sir," the man answered, staring blankly at the spectacle of awell-dressed gentleman carrying a ragged street child in his arms, "Mme.Reni is just coming out, I think; her carriage is waiting for her. Yes;there she comes."

  Zita descended the stairs, leaning on the arm of a young cavalryofficer. She looked superbly handsome, with an opera cloak offlame-coloured velvet thrown over her evening dress, and a great fan ofostrich plumes hanging from her waist. In the entry she stopped short,and, drawing her hand away from the officer's arm, approached the Gadflyin amazement.

  "Felice!" she exclaimed under her breath, "what HAVE you got there?"

  "I have picked up this child in the street. It is hurt and starving; andI want to get it home as quickly as possible. There is not a cab to begot anywhere, so I want to have your carriage."

  "Felice! you are not going to take a horrid beggar-child into yourrooms! Send for a policeman, and let him carry it to the Refuge orwhatever is the proper place for it. You can't have all the paupers inthe town----"

  "It is hurt," the Gadfly repeated; "it can go to the Refuge to-morrow,if necessary, but I must see to the child first and give it some food."

  Zita made a little grimace of disgust. "You've got its head rightagainst your shirt! How CAN you? It is dirty!"

  The Gadfly looked up with a sudden flash of anger.

  "It is hungry," he said fiercely. "You don't know what that means, doyou?"

  "Signor Rivarez," interposed Gemma, coming forward, "my lodgings arequite close. Let us take the child in there. Then, if you cannot find avettura, I will manage to put it up for the night."

  He turned round quickly. "You don't mind?"

  "Of course not. Good-night, Mme. Reni!"

  The gipsy, with a stiff bow and an angry shrug of her shoulders, tookher officer's arm again, and, gathering up the train of her dress, sweptpast them to the contested carriage.

  "I will send it back to fetch you and the child, if you like, M.Rivarez," she said, pausing on the doorstep.

  "Very well; I will give the address." He came out on to the pavement,gave the address to the driver, and walked back to Gemma with hisburden.

  Katie was waiting up for her mistress; and, on hearing what hadhappened, ran for warm water and other necessaries. Placing the child ona chair, the Gadfly knelt down beside him, and, deftly slipping offthe ragged clothing, bathed and bandaged the wound with tender, skilfulhands. He had just finished washing the boy, and was wrapping him in awarm blanket, when Gemma came in with a tray in her hands.

  "Is your patient ready for his supper?" she asked, smiling at thestrange little figure. "I have been cooking it for him."

  The Gadfly stood up and rolled the dirty rags together. "I'm afraid wehave made a terrible mess in your room," he said. "As for these, theyhad better go straight into the fire, and I will buy him some newclothes to-morrow. Have you any brandy in the house, signora? I thinkhe ought to have a little. I will just wash my hands, if you will allowme."

  When the child had finished his supper, he immediately went to sleep inthe Gadfly's arms, with his rough head against the white shirt-front.Gemma, who had been helping Katie to set the disordered room tidy again,sat down at the table.

  "Signor Rivarez, you must take something before you go home--you hadhardly any dinner, and it's very late."

  "I should like a cup of tea in the English fashion, if you have it. I'msorry to keep you up so late."

  "Oh! that doesn't matter. Put the child down on the sofa; he will tireyou. Wait a minute; I will just lay a sheet over the cushions. What areyou going to do with him?"

  "To-morrow? Find out whether he has any other relations except thatdrunken brute; and if not, I suppose I must follow Mme. Reni's advice,and take him to the Refuge. Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be toput a stone round his neck and pitch him into the river there; but thatwould expose me to unpleasant consequences. Fast asleep! What an oddlittle lump of ill-luck you are, you mite--not half as capable ofdefending yourself as a stray cat!"

  When Katie brought in the tea-tray, the boy opened his eyes and sat upwith a bewildered air. Recognizing the Gadfly, whom he already regardedas his natural protector, he wriggled off the sofa, and, much encumberedby the folds of his blanket, came up to nestle against him. He wasby now sufficiently revived to be inquisitive; and, pointing to themutilated left hand, in which the Gadfly was holding a piece of cake,asked:

  "What's that?"

  "That? Cake; do you want some? I think you've had enough for now. Waittill to-morrow, little man."

  "No--that!" He stretched out his hand and touched the stumps of theamputated fingers and the great scar on the wrist. The Gadfly put downhis cake.

  "Oh, that! It's the same sort of thing as what you have on yourshoulder--a hit I got from someone stronger than I was."

  "Didn't it hurt awfully?"

  "Oh, I don't know--not more than other things. There, now, go to sleepagain; you have no business asking questions at this time of night."

  When the carriage arrived the boy was again asleep; and the Gadfly,without awaking him, lifted him gently and carried him out on to thestairs.

  "You have been a sort of ministering angel to me to-day," he said toGemma, pausing at the door. "But I su
ppose that need not prevent us fromquarrelling to our heart's content in future."

  "I have no desire to quarrel with anyone."

  "Ah! but I have. Life would be unendurable without quarrels. A goodquarrel is the salt of the earth; it's better than a variety show!"

  And with that he went downstairs, laughing softly to himself, with thesleeping child in his arms.