SIMON TURCHI WREAKS HIS VENGEANCE ON GERONIMO.

It was about five o’clock in the afternoon.  Julio was seated in one of the rooms of his master’s dwelling, his arms crossed upon his breast.  Absorbed in deep thought, he had his eyes fixed on an arm-chair which stood near the only window in the room, and from time to time he shook his head with an expression of anxious doubt.

The footsteps of a man in the room above interrupted his reflections; an ironical smile passed over his features as he muttered: 

“He calls me a coward, the dastard that he is!  For one hour he has been running about from room to room as though pursued by invisible spectres.  How cunningly he has devised the whole affair in his own interest.  Julio is to kill poor Geronimo!  Julio is to bury the body in the cellar!  Julio is to do all by himself!  When we deal with false people, we must be on our guard.  His intention is clear enough to me; he wishes to secure means, in case of necessity, of accusing me alone of the crime.  He may threaten and rage as much as he pleases; he shall deal the mortal blow him self, or Geronimo shall leave this place unharmed.”

Julio remained silent for a few moments, passed his hand across his brow, and said, looking at the chair: 

“Think that in one hour that infernal seat will hold a corpse!  The corpse of the most noble, affable gentleman I have ever known.  May his good angel prevent him from visiting this cut-throat place!  Signor Turchi will kill him; but I must aid him. What will be the end of this bloody tragedy?  The scaffold for the master, and the gallows for the servant.  This is the consequence of my disorderly life.  Had I not gone, in a moment of intoxication, and without knowing it, to the place where Judge Voltai was assassinated, I would not have been obliged to fly from my country, and Signor Turchi would not have it in his power to force me to become his accomplice in a frightful crime.  The old cure of Porto-Fino said truly, that ’Sin is a labyrinth; if once we enter, we loose the thread which enables us to return to virtue.’  Ah! would I were with my mother in Italy.  Useless wish.  It is too late; I am banished from my country, and a price set on my head.”

He reflected for a few moments, then, with a gesture of impatience, he resumed: 

“Come, come; of what good are all such thoughts?  I am in his power, and I must yield to necessity; but once let the blow be struck, once let him commit a crime of which I can produce the proofs, then I will be master, and in my turn I will cry in his ears:  ’Simon Turchi, fear the bailiff and the executioner!’ At the present moment I am powerless; if I took any means to prevent the attempt, he might destroy all evidence of his criminal design, and deliver me up to the authorities of Lucca.  I would be taken into Italy and broken on the wheel, in the very place where my poor old mother lives.  I have always been a cause of sorrow to her; at least I will spare her this last disgrace.  But the signor is coming down.  He will reiterate his entreaties to me to strike the fatal blow; but I will not have the blood of this innocent gentleman on me.”

Simon Turchi was approaching.  His face was very pale, but the scar which furrowed his cheek was of a more ashy hue.  He did not tremble, but he walked precipitately, and he clasped his hands convulsively, like a man whose impatience can brook no delay.

He noticed that his servant was in deep thought, his head bowed upon his chest, and it was only on his near approach that Julio suddenly roused from his preoccupation.  He entered the room and said: 

“Julio, the hour is nigh.  Of what are you thinking?  Are you afraid?”

“Afraid?” replied Julio, with a light laugh; “why should I be afraid?”

“True, true,” murmured Simon, “since I alone shall shed his blood.”

“But,” continued Julio, “if I have no cause for personal fear, would not love for my master fill me with painful thoughts?  Signor, you are playing for dangerous stakes.”

“Who will know what has taken place here?”

“Who?  Is there not an eye above which sees all?  And whilst here, in the deepest secrecy, you immolate a human being to your thirst for vengeance, will not God hear the cry of agony of the Signor Geronimo?”

Julio saw, with a secret joy, that his words made his master tremble, although he tried to dissemble his feelings under an assumed insensibility.

“What a good joke!” replied Simon; “Pietro Mostajo talking of God!  My precautions are too well taken; when the cellar will be the depository of the secret, there will be none to tell it.”

“Do you think so, signor?  When has such a murder ever remained concealed?  It is not surprising that I bowed my head in thought.  In imagination I saw such terrible things that I dare not tell them to you.  Tears still fill my eyes at the thought.”

“What did you see?” asked Turchi, with increasing anxiety.

“What did I see?  The bailiff and his attendants.  They bound a man’s hand’s behind his back; they dragged him through the streets like an odious criminal; the people cast filth and dirt upon the prisoner, and cried out, ‘Murderer!’ What did I see?  A scaffold, and on this scaffold an executioner and one condemned to death; then a sword glittered in the sunlight, it fell, a stream of blood flowed, and a head rolled in the dust.”

The servant stopped intentionally; but his master convulsively caught his arm, and said in a hoarse voice: 

“What then?  What then?”

“And then the crowd applauded and poured out malédictions upon the name.”

“Whose name?”

“Yours, signor?”

Simon Turchi was so overpowered by the picture thus presented of his probable end, that he uttered a cry of terror and sprang back, trembling.  He cast down his eyes for a moment in silence.

Julio contemplated the signor, thus overpowered by emotion, with a derisive smile.  He had not called up this vivid scene solely as a means to induce his master to renounce his perilous enterprise; his motive was also to terrify him and to revenge himself for the violence he had been forced to endure from him.

The impression made upon Simon Turchi by this highly-wrought prediction did not last long.  He raised his head, and said, in a contemptuous manner: 

“Base hypocrite; it is your own fear which excites your imagination to see such things.  The most courageous man would become cowardly with the cowardly.  It is unfortunate for me that I need you, otherwise I would soon rid myself of your presence.  But I, at least, will not recoil from the undertaking.  Speak; tell me how far I may depend upon you.  The clock will soon strike, and there is no time for hesitation.”

“We will see which of us will the more coolly perform his part of the task.  You are mistaken, signor; fear does not disturb me.  Sympathy for you suggested the train of thought, and I considered it my duty to place before your eyes once more the abyss into which you might fall.”

“Be silent; it is too late,” exclaimed Simon Turchi, beside himself with rage.  “Fool, do you desire my ruin-my eternal dishonor?  Shall I let my enemy live?  Shall I let him-him the husband of Mary Van de Werve-look down upon me from the height of his grandeur and felicity?  No, no.  I myself will be, must be, happy, rich, prosperous; and even should all escape my grasp; should the scaffold be my lot, the rage of vengeance which lacerates my heart must be satisfied....  Nothing, nothing, can restrain me; and, Julio, were you an obstacle in my path, I would pass over your dead body to strike a fatal blow at him who has poisoned my life.  Do not attempt to thwart me, or I will crush you where you stand.”

At these words Simon Turchi placed his hand on the hilt of his sword; his face was scarlet, his lips trembled, and his eyes flashed.

This threat did not disturb Julio, probably because he thought his master could not execute it.  An ironical smile played upon his lips; he stepped back one or two paces, drew his knife, and said, mockingly: 

“It would be strange, signor, if Geronimo should find us engaged in a combat.  It might save his life.”

“What! would you dare?”

“Why not?  Do you think Julio would permit himself to be led like a sheep to the slaughter?”

“Listen!  Ho comes!” exclaimed Simon Turchi, starting with terror.

The repeated strokes of the knocker resounded through the court-yard where the little door gave entrance into the garden.

“Julio, I ask you again,” said Turchi, anxiously, “what reliance I may place upon you?”

“I will do what I have promised-neither more nor less.”

“Then go open the door.  Be guarded in your words, and show no disquietude.  Bring him to this room; tell him that I am engaged with the foreign merchant; if he does not sit down at once, watch a favorable moment to lead him to the arm-chair.  Then call me and I will do the rest.”

“You, then, are determined to make me entice the Signor Geronimo to sit down in the arm-chair?”

Turchi replied in a threatening voice and with flashing eyes: 

“Pietro Mostajo, remember the Superintendent of Lucca.”

Julio left the building, went to the garden-gate and opened it.

“Benvenuto, Signor Geronimo,” he said, “what good luck brings you here on a visit to my master?  It is a long time since we have seen you.”

“It is indeed a long time,” replied the young noble with a genial smile, as he walked towards the house.  “But the place looks so wild and uncared for.  Did not the Signor Turchi speak of having the garden put in order?”

“Yes; but for some time my master has been very melancholy, and nothing seems to give him pleasure.”

“I know it, Julio; but things will be better for him now.”

“Would that your words were true, signor!”

“What a heavy sigh, Julio.  You excite my fears.  Is your master ill?”

The servant felt the importance of self-control, if he would not arouse the gentleman’s suspicions.  He therefore said, in a careless manner: 

“Nothing is the matter, signor.  My master is very well, and to-day is in a good humor.  Ever since I saw Bufferio’s sword lifted against you, I have suffered from an occasional sudden palpitation of the heart.  I find relief only in a deep sigh.”

As they thus talked together, he conducted Geronimo to the room containing the large arm-chair.

“Signor Geronimo,” he said, “my master is up-stairs.  I will inform him of your arrival.  Please be seated.”

Julio left the room; but instead of ascending the staircase, he hid himself behind a door and listened attentively to hear the clasping of the springs of the chair.

After having waited in vain, for a long time, he returned to the room, and said to the gentleman: 

“Signor, my master begs you to excuse him for a while.  He is engaged transacting some business with the merchant of whom he spoke to you yesterday.  They are preparing a writing for you.  Have the kindness to wait a few moments.”

He now thought that Geronimo would, of his own accord, take the arm-chair, and with a beating heart he observed his movements.  But he was disappointed, for the young cavalier stood at the window, gazing thoughtfully into the garden.

Although Julio knew with what mistrust and impatience his master was counting each passing moment, he said to Geronimo, with assumed indifference: 

“It is at least half a mile from the Dominican Convent to this place, and you must be fatigued after your walk.  Will you not rest in this arm-chair, signor?”

“No, I thank you.  I am not in the least fatigued.  I love to look at those beautiful trees clothed in their fresh May verdure.”

An involuntary movement of impatience escaped the servant.

“You need not remain here on my account, Julio,” said Geronimo.  “Go to your work; I will stay alone.”

“I have no urgent occupation, signor.  If I still remain, contrary to your wish, it is to ask you a question; and yet I fear that you will be displeased at my boldness.”

“Not at all, Julio.  Can I render you any service?  It will give me pleasure to show my gratitude for the courage with which you defended me when I was attacked by the ruffians.”

“I had no reference to that.  I heard you were about to marry the beautiful Miss Van de Werve.  The news rejoiced me; but may your humble servant make free to ask you if it be true?”

The name of his betrothed flushed his cheek with joy, and he answered, with a smile: 

“Yes, Julio, it is true.”

“How blessed you are, signor!”

“Yes, Julio, God has bestowed upon me the greatest earthly blessing, for which I shall eternally thank him.  On the solemn day of our nuptials you will have cause to rejoice.”

“I, signor?”

“Yes, you, Julio.  Miss Van de Werve wishes to recompense you herself for the assistance you gave me against Bufferio and his comrades.  The day of my marriage you will receive a new cloak, a new doublet, new small-clothes of fine cloth and silk, such as a servant has never worn.”

Julio, touched by this proof of kindness, stammered his thanks indistinctly.  He heard the young man speaking to him and telling him how richly he deserved such a present, but he paid no attention to the words; he was endeavoring to bring himself to the degree of audacity requisite to fulfil his master’s orders.  Geronimo stood immediately in front of the arm-chair.

With bitter repugnance, but incited by the fear that no more favorable opportunity would present itself, he approached Geronimo as though to express his thanks anew.  With one bound he sprang upon him, placed a hand on either shoulder, and pushed him forcibly into the chair.

The seat of the deceptive piece of furniture sank down; from the arms started two powerful springs, which caught the young man around the waist, and held him so tightly against the back of the chair that it was impossible for him to move.

“Julio, Julio, what horrible jest is this?” he exclaimed.  “Is it a trap?  Do you act by your master’s orders?”

But the servant, without saying a word in reply, left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Tell me, Julio,” asked Turchi, descending the staircase to meet his servant, “is he caught?”

“The chair has done its work,” replied Julio; “go do yours.  Lose no time; he might give an alarm which would betray us.  The fear of death gives superhuman strength to a man’s lungs.  Signor, it seems to me that my head is not safe on my shoulders.  How does yours feel?”

But Simon Turchi heeded not this jest.  He muttered a few indistinct words, drew his sword, and rushed down the steps to wreak his vengeance on the unfortunate Geronimo.

The servant remained where his master left him, listened to his footsteps until he heard the door of the fatal room open and then close again.

At first no sound reached his ear, but soon he heard Geronimo calling for help, and his master mocking and menacing him; at least he judged this by the tones of their voices, for he was too far off to distinguish the words.  Urged by feeling rather than curiosity, he descended the staircase, and listened at the door of the room in which so horrible a crime was about to be committed.

He heard Geronimo say, in an earnest, pleading tone: 

“Dear Simon, your mind is deranged.  You, my friend, kill me!  It is impossible.  Put down that dagger; at least let me not die without confession.  If it be the ten thousand crowns exasperating you, I make you a present of them; tear up in my presence the acknowledgment of the debt, and I will never speak to you of it again.”

“Mary, Mary Van de Werve!” howled Simon Turchi, with biting sarcasm.

“I will renounce her hand and leave for Italy, and never again will I see a country so fatal to me, to her, to all that I love.”

“It is too late-too late.  You must die!”

“No, no, Simon; in pity to yourself do not imbue your hands in my innocent blood.  God sees us; your conscience will torture you; never again will there be peace for you on earth, and your poor soul will be miserable for all eternity.  No, Simon, do not kill me.”

Then came a frightful cry, as though he were crushed, and Julio heard a sound which seemed like that of a dagger against metal.

This blow, however-if it were a blow-was not mortal, for Geronimo raised his voice with the strength of despair, and cried out: 

“Help! help!  Simon, let me live!  Mercy! mercy!”

Then a mournful groan escaped his lips, while, as his voice died away, h prayed: 

“My God, my God, forgive him!  I am dying.”

On hearing the conclusion of this horrible tragedy, Julio retired to the foot of the staircase.  He had hardly reached it, when the door of the room opened, and his master appeared.

Disfigured as Simon Turchi’s countenance had been by the thirst for revenge, crime made it still more frightful.  The signor could hardly have been recognized.  His hair stood upright; his eyes rolled in their sockets; a hard, hoarse sound escaped his lips; blood dripped from his hands.

He ran by his servant without speaking to him, ascended the staircase, and having reached his room he threw himself panting upon a chair.

Julio, who had followed him, placed himself before him, and asked: 

“Well, signor, is the deed accomplished?”

“It is; let me take breath,” said Turchi, breathing heavily.

After waiting a few moments, Julio resumed: 

“Did he offer any resistance, that you are so fatigued, signor?”

“Resistance?  No; but when I attempted the first time to pierce him to the heart, the blade of my dagger struck against metal, and grated harshly.  He wears a breastplate, Julio.  Could he have suspected my intentions?”

Turchi’s dagger had evidently struck the amulet which the young man always wore around his neck.

“Possibly,” replied Julio, “Geronimo may wear some guard on his breast; it is the place against which a poignard is always aimed, and no one is secure in the darkness of night from the assault of an enemy or an assassin; but what is there in this circumstance to move you so deeply?”

“So much blood spouted from the wound.  The sight of the blood, together with Geronimo’s piteous cries, struck me with anguish and horror.  I tottered so that I feared I would fall before completing the work; but happily I gained the strength to finish what I had commenced.  I pierced his throat with my poignard, and hushed his voice forever.”

“And is he really dead?”

“Not a drop of blood is left in his veins.”

Simon Turchi had recovered from his excessive emotion.  He arose and said: 

“I must wash the blood from my hands, and efface the least spot that might betray me.  Then I must go on Change and transact some business with people who will remember to have seen me there at that time.  Later, I will call on Mr. Van de Werve.  I must be seen in different places and speak with many people.  Go down, Julio, and drag the corpse to the cellar.  Then clear away every sign of blood.  I need not tell you that your life, as well as mine, depends upon the care with which you perform this task.”

“I know it, signor.  The blow has been struck, and I am not a man to neglect the precautions necessary to escape the gallows, if I can.”

“I have accomplished my task, Julio; go do yours.”

“Drag the corpse, by myself, into the cellar?  No, no, signor; you must help me.”

“I have not the time, Julio.  I must go immediately to the city.”

“It is of no consequence to me.  I will not remain alone in this cut-throat place.”

“And what if I ordered you to do so?” exclaimed Turchi, trembling with anger.

“You would do so in vain, signor.  You will work with me until all is done.”

“Pietro Mostajo, do you dare to defy me, and that too at the very moment when the blood is boiling in my veins?  Do as I command, or before night the authorities of Lucca shall know who you are.”

“Ah!” said Julio, with a scornful laugh, “Pietro Mostajo and the authorities of Lucca have lost their power over me.  As long as I had no proofs of crime against you, I had cause to fear you; but would you dare now to reveal my real name, now that by one word I can deliver you into the hands of the executioner?  Hereafter, signor, you will speak to me neither so harshly nor so haughtily.  In this affair there is neither master nor servant.  We are two men, guilty of the same crime.  Draw your dagger, if you choose.  Vain threat!  Can you do without me?”

Simon Turchi grit his teeth in impotent rage; but soon recovering himself, he took his servant’s hand, and said beseechingly: 

“You are right, Julio; we are rather two friends than master and servant.  Let me then, as friend and companion, implore a favor at your hands.  You must see that it is important for me to go without delay to the factory to change my dress.  For the safety of both of us I ought to leave immediately for the city, in order to prevent suspicion.  Geronimo is not heavy; you can, without difficulty, drag him down stairs.”

The servant shook his head, but was evidently hesitating.

“Come, Julio; I beg, I entreat you to do what the safety of both of us requires.  You still hesitate, Julio?  I will reward you generously.  This very evening I will give you two crowns if you tell me you have done faithfully and carefully what I have requested.”

“Will you be here, signor, when I return from the cellar?”

“I don’t know, Julio; as soon as I have washed off the blood, I shall leave.  Make haste, and possibly you may find me here.  In all events I will wait for you this evening at the factory, and besides the two crowns, I will give you a whole bottle of Malmsey.”

“Agreed,” said Julio; “I will do my best to please you.”

He descended the staircase, and when he reached the room where the horrible murder had been committed, he stood for a moment with his arms folded.  He turned pale and shook his head compassionately.

The poor Geronimo was extended in the chair, with his eyes closed.  His head had fallen on the arm of the chair; his two hands were joined, as if in prayer for his cruel murderer.  His garments were saturated with blood, and his feet rested in a pool of blood.  There was a large wound in his neck and another in his breast; his face was not in the least stained, and although it was covered by the pallor of death, his countenance wore a sweet, tranquil expression, as though he had gently fallen asleep.

“Poor Signor Geronimo!” said Julio, sighing heavily.  “Beauty! generosity! wealth! all fallen under the blade of a wretch!  What is man’s life?  He, however, will in heaven, with God, be indemnified for his horrible death.  And we?  But the present is not the time for reflections and lamentations; my pity will not restore this corpse to life.  I must now close my eyes to the future, and fulfil my horrible task.”

He knelt behind the chair, passed his arm under it, and turned a screw.  The springs opened and loosed their hold upon the inanimate body.

Julio held it by the arms and dragged it through the hall until he reached a staircase conducting to a cellar.  There he left the corpse, entered an adjoining room, and returned with a lamp.  Holding the light in his hand, he descended until he reached a subterranean passage.  Very deep under the ground, and at the end of this passage, was a kind of vaulted cellar closed by a heavy door.  Julio opened the door, and by the light of the lamp examined a grave which had been dug in one corner of the cellar, and on the sides of which lay the earth which had been excavated.

After a rapid survey, he placed the lamp outside the door against the wall of the passage, and returned for the dead body.

When he had carried his burden as far as the subterranean passage, he panted for breath and seemed overcome by fatigue.  He, however, exerted all his strength in order to finish as soon as possible his painful task, and dragged the corpse into the cellar.  There he let it fall upon the side of the grave already prepared for its reception.  After resting a few moments, he was about to cast it into the grave and cover it with earth, but he desisted, saying: 

“Bah! the poor young man will not run away.  Perhaps Signor Turchi has not yet left.  At any rate, I will first wash away the blood stains, and then I will return to bury the body.”

He took the lamp and left the cellar, without closing the door.

On reaching the room he found that his master had gone.

The solitude disquieted him, particularly as it was now nearly dark, and he could hardly hope to finish before night cleaning the blood-stained floors and staircase.

He appeared, however, to submit to necessity, and prepared for his work by getting water and brushes.

The evening was far advanced, and still Julio was occupied in scouring.  How it happened he could not understand, but new spots of blood were continually appearing, even in places that he had washed several times.  This was particularly the case in the room where the murder had been committed.  Do what he would, he could not efface the marks of blood.  The sweat poured down his cheeks and he vented his rage in angry words against his master.

It may have been fatigue, or perhaps the deepening shades of night rendered his nervous system sensitive to the slightest impression; for at the least sound of the wind through the leaves of the trees, at the least grating of the weathercock as it turned on its pivot, he stopped his work and looked anxiously around him.

He succeeded, however, in stifling these emotions, and continued his labor on the fatal spot where the chair had stood.

Finally he arose, took the lamp, examined attentively the whole floor, and said, with a kind of satisfaction: 

“At last I have finished!  He who could discover a spot there could see through a stone.  My arms are almost broken; I can scarcely straighten myself.  Now for my last task! a grave is soon filled; in a half hour I shall be far from this accursed place.”

Saying these words, he left the room, and taking the lamp descended again the staircase leading to the cellar.

When he had reached the middle of the subterranean passage, he suddenly stopped, turned pale from terror, and looked tremblingly around him.  He thought he heard something, an unusual, mysterious sound, faint but distinct.

Having listened for some time, he concluded that his imagination had deceived him.  Summoning up all his resolution, he walked on towards the cellar, and through the open, door he saw the corpse of Geronimo lying as he had left it.

As he was approaching the cellar, full of anxiety and slackening his pace, suddenly a human voice fell upon his ear.  There was articulate sound, no spoken word, but only a hollow groan.

Julio, in an agony of terror, dropped the lamp.  The oil extinguished the flame, and thus left in total darkness he fled from the cellar as rapidly as he could by groping along the wall.  His heart beat violently, and his limbs tottered under him.

He recovered himself a little only after attaining a distant apartment and lighting a lamp.  Here he remained a long time seated and buried in thought; various expressions of fear, anger, and even raillery flitted across his face.

At last he arose, drew a knife from its scabbard, and trying its sharpness, murmured: 

“I cannot bury him alive!  Therefore I am forced to deal the death-blow!  No, no, I will not; I have even braved the vengeance of my perfidious master in order not to imbue my hands in his blood, and I will not now be guilty of it.  But what can I do?  I have no other alternative.  I must either bury him alive or kill him!  And I cannot stay here all night.”

He took up the lamp and slowly and silently he cautiously descended the stairs leading to the cellar; after some hesitation he entered; Geronimo’s body still lay in the position he left it.

Julio had taken this time a much larger lamp, and it lighted the whole cellar; he heard no sound from the breast of the unfortunate victim, although he saw plainly that life was not extinct, for there was a slight heaving of the breast.

After listening a moment, Julio muttered, with a kind of joy: 

“No additional cruelty is necessary.  He is in his death-agony, and he will soon die.  I will shut the door and finish my work to-morrow.  But my master will ask if all is done?  He need know nothing of this circumstance.  But I long to get away; and may the vengeance of God fall upon this spot to-night, and blot out all memento of it!”

Shortly after he left the garden, and with rapid strides threaded the obscure streets to rejoin his master, and also to cast off his blood-stained garments.