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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Then swear on the cross of the Redeemer Who died for you, that you have been speaking the truth to me." The colonel stood still and gazed at it blankly. He could not quite make up his mind which was mad, he or the Cardinal. "You have asked me," Montanelli went on, "to give my consent to a man's death.
The priests drew back, whispering together; the thing was unusual, even irregular; but it was within the Cardinal's prerogative if he chose to do it. No doubt, he had some statement of exceptional importance to make; some new reform from Rome to announce or a special communication from the Holy Father. Montanelli looked down from the altar-steps upon the sea of upturned faces.
As he slipped his arm round the Gadfly to lift him, he suddenly felt the damp, cold fingers close over his wrist like a vice. "Give me your hand quick just a moment," the Gadfly whispered. "Oh, what difference does it make to you? Only one minute!" He sank down, hiding his face on Montanelli's arm, and quivering from head to foot. "Drink a little water," Montanelli said after a moment.
His voice died away into the empty stillness without response. Only the mocking devil awoke again in the Gadfly. "'C-c-call him louder; perchance he s-s-sleepeth' " Montanelli started up as if he had been struck. For a moment he stood looking straight before him; then he sat down on the edge of the pallet, covered his face with both hands, and burst into tears.
He let them fall again, and walked slowly away to the window. There he sat down on the sill, resting one arm on the bars, and pressing his forehead against it. The Gadfly lay and watched him, trembling. Presently Montanelli rose and came back, with lips as pale as ashes. "I am very sorry," he said, struggling piteously to keep up his usual quiet manner, "but I must go home. I am not quite well."
"No," she answered; "I should like a walk if you have time; but not to the hills. Let us keep along the Lung'Arno; Montanelli will pass on his way back from church and I am like Grassini I want to see the notability." "But you have just seen him." "Not close. There was such a crush in the Cathedral, and his back was turned to us when the carriage passed.
The pine trees were rows of knife-blades whispering: "Fall upon us!" and in the gathering darkness the torrent roared and howled, beating against its rocky prison walls with the frenzy of an everlasting despair. "Padre!" Arthur rose, shuddering, and drew back from the precipice. "It is like hell." "No, my son," Montanelli answered softly, "it is only like a human soul."
But she might be very miserable; she was so young, so friendless, so utterly alone among all those wooden people. If only mother had lived In the evening he went to the seminary, where he found Montanelli entertaining the new Director and looking both tired and bored. Instead of lighting up, as usual, at the sight of Arthur, the Padre's face grew darker.
Well, I will tell you about Montanelli." They turned back towards the bridge over which the Cardinal's carriage would have to pass. Gemma looked out steadily across the water as she spoke. "In those days Montanelli was a canon; he was Director of the Theological Seminary at Pisa, and used to give Arthur lessons in philosophy and read with him after he went up to the Sapienza.
I have not got the health to live through it." Montanelli rested his arm on the table and pondered silently. The Gadfly did not disturb him. He was leaning back with half-shut eyes, lazily enjoying the delicious physical sensation of relief from the chains. "Supposing," Montanelli began again, "that you were to succeed in escaping; what should you do with your life?"
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