SIMON TURCHI TRIES TO CONCEAL HIS CRIME.

After having accompanied Deodati to his residence, Simon Turchi went to his own dwelling near the bridge De la Vigne.

He was greatly excited, either by extreme anxiety or by a feverish impatience; for he descended to the ground-floor, entered his office, pretended to be looking for some papers, went up stairs again, paced the room, opened the window, looked up and down the street, closed the window petulantly, and at last, stamping his foot, he angrily exclaimed: 

“The miserable gamester! he is in some tavern drinking, gambling, amusing himself, while I am here on burning coals, almost overpowered by anxiety and terror!  Julio, Julio, if I escape the fate which now threatens me, I will have my revenge for your ingratitude!”

Again he went to the window, and again he was disappointed.  Thoroughly discouraged, he threw himself upon a chair, heaved a heavy sigh, and after a moment’s silence exclaimed in accents of despair: 

“Alas! alas! is it then true that my crime cannot remain concealed?  Who was it, to my great misfortune, who sent the Dominican brother just to the spot to meet Geronimo, and thus furnished the bailiff with a clue to the murder?  Who put the Jewish banker on his track, so that the constables might be led to my garden?  Who suggested the idea to the bailiff to search the cellars?  Was it chance?  But chance is blind, and does not proceed with such precision to the fulfilment of a purpose.  How frightful if God himself conducted justice! if the Supreme Judge, who cannot be deceived, has condemned me to an infamous death!  How vain then all hope, all effort to escape!”

Overpowered by these reflections, Simon Turchi bowed his head upon his breast; his hands worked convulsively, and at intervals heart-rending sighs escaped him.

Confusedly arose before him a horrible vision:  he saw the scaffold erected; he beheld the sword of the executioner glitter in the sunlight; he heard the shouts of the populace calling down the vengeance of heaven upon his guilty head and devoting his name to eternal infamy; he seemed to feel the mysterious stroke from the uplifted blade, for his frame shook violently, and he uttered a piercing cry of anguish.

He thrust his hand into his doublet, and drew from it slowly a small phial half filled with a yellow liquid, and held it before him with a shudder of disgust and horror.

“Poison, deadly poison!” he muttered.  “He who has the courage to take a few drops will sleep a sweet sleep from which there is no awakening.  And is this my only refuge from the ignominy of the scaffold?  Instead of wealth and happiness, is a miserable death to be the price of my crime?  No, no; I must chase away these horrible thoughts.”

He replaced the phial in his doublet, and abandoned himself again to his dark reflections; but at last he conquered, in a measure, his dejection, and he said, less despairingly but still sorrowfully: 

“And yet everything was going on so smoothly!  I had recovered my note; the possession of the ten thousand crowns enabled me to conceal for the present the ruined condition of my affairs; Mary did not appear indifferent to me, and Geronimo being out of the way, I was certain of succeeding with her in the course of time.  I would in that case become rich and powerful; her dowry would be sufficient to save me from poverty and a humiliating discovery.  Alas! why do the people accuse the magistrates of want of zeal?  Things more surprising than the disappearance of Geronimo have happened lately without any disturbance among the populace.  It was the public feeling that forced the bailiff to make extraordinary efforts to discover what had become of him; it will be the cause of my destruction!  Can there be a mysterious impulse to this unwonted excitement of the multitude?  Vainly then would I struggle to escape!  Would it not be God himself pursuing me?”

The recurrence of this thought struck terror to the soul of Simon Turchi, and he buried his head in his hands.  Suddenly he started up, and although his lips twitched convulsively, he said, in a firm, strong voice: 

“Ah! ah! fatality is a spur which inspires the most cowardly with coinage.  Avaunt, foolish fears!  I must struggle on to the end.  The bailiff seeks a corpse; he pledges his honor to discover one.  Let him find it!  Suppose he should find it elsewhere than in my summer-house? in a sewer, for example?  Ah! anxiety had clouded my mind!  Still, still, I have means for triumph!  Oh, if Julio-would come!  Could I only imagine in what tavern the rascal is gambling, I would send Bernardo for him.”

Saying these words, he approached the window and looked out.

“There comes the loiterer!  He walks as composedly as if nothing weighed upon his conscience!  He cares not for the preservation of my honor and my life; since the death of Geronimo he hates and despises me.  I must appear angry and indignant, for should he suspect the fear and anxiety torturing my soul, he would be insolent, and perhaps would laugh at my anguish.”

As Julio approached the house, Simon attracted his attention by loud talking, and having succeeded in this, he made signs of his impatience and anger until Julio reached the door.  He then closed the window, and assuming an expression of rage he turned to meet his servant.

When Julio on entering saw his master standing with folded arms and menacing countenance, a slight and ironical smile flitted across his face.

“Wretch!” exclaimed Simon, “did I not order you to await me here after Change?  Look well to yourself, or I will avenge myself by your blood.  You laugh! beware, or I will crush you like a worm!”

“Come, come, signor, why give way to such useless anger?  It is not long since Change.  It is not my fault that you have been obliged to wait.”

“Have you not been going from tavern to tavern, gambling, as you have been doing the last five days?”

“Yes, truly.  I was intolerably thirsty; but if I was not here in time, you must blame the clock of Notre Dame; it could not have struck right, I am sure.  So be calm, signor:  you know that your anger makes no impression on me.  Make haste and tell me what you want me to do.  We lose precious time in this nonsensical sort of talk.  I left some friends to come and receive your orders, and I must add that I intend returning to them as soon as I have fulfilled your commands.  You need not shake your fist at me, nor get into a passion; it will do no good.”

The disrespectful language of his servant wounded and provoked Turchi; but perhaps seeing how useless it was to give expression to his feelings, he suddenly changed his manner.  Tears filled his eyes; grief was depicted upon his countenance, and seating himself, he sighed and said: 

“Forgive me, Julio, for my harsh words; they were spoken in impatience.  It is too early yet for you to do what I wish, and I was wrong to complain of your long absence.”

The servant, surprised at his master’s humble language, regarded him distrustfully.

“Is there any danger?” he demanded.

Turchi took his hand, and said, piteously: 

“Alas!  Julio, my friend, to-morrow, in all probability, we will be cast, manacled, into a dungeon, there to await an infamous death.”

“Is it not your own fear, signor, which inspires such a thought?” asked Julio, trembling.

“No; I have heard a terrible piece of news.  Geronimo was seen in the Quarter of the Jews, and he was met going towards the Hospital Grounds.  The bailiff has determined to search to-morrow morning all the cellars in that vicinity, and even to dig the ground on the spot where my garden lies.  The police agents are to proceed at daybreak to the Hospital meadows, and as they cannot fail to remark that the earth has been newly turned up, they will certainly discover what they seek.  You pushed Geronimo into the arm-chair; you buried his body; consequently you will accompany me to the scaffold, unless, in your capacity of servant, they may choose to hang you or break you on the wheel.  O Julio! does not this information awaken you to a sense of our perilous condition?”

“From whom did you learn all that?” asked the affrighted servant.

“From the bailiff himself.”

“From his own lips?”

“Yes, my friend, from his own lips.  In spite of your courage and coolness, I think I may say that you have no stronger desire than myself to die by the hand of the executioner.”

Julio put his hand to his throat and said, dejectedly: 

“The affair looks serious.  I seem to be strangling; I feel the rope around my neck.  It is all your fault, signor.  Why did you murder your best friend?  Did I not warn you that so frightful a crime would come to light?”

“Call it crime, if you will; but at least my just vengeance is satisfied, and now neither complaints nor recriminations can recall the past nor shelter us from danger.”

“But, signor, what can we do to escape punishment?”

“There is a means, easy and certain.  There is a means; but, Julio, it requires good will and resolution.  May I rely upon you for this last effort?”

“What would not one be willing to do in order to escape this gallows or the wheel?”

“Then listen to me.  I told you that the bailiff would search the cellars.  If he finds the corpse in my house, we are both ruined.”

“Certainly, signor.”

“But suppose it be found in another place, far from this spot, who would suspect us of the murder?”

“An excellent thought!” exclaimed Julio, joyfully.  “We must carry the dead body to a distant street and leave it there.”

“Not so.  They would naturally suppose that it had been removed to that spot from some other place.  A better plan is to throw it into the sewer in the Vleminck Field.  The officers of justice will then conclude that Geronimo fell under the hand of some unknown assassin.”

“That is still better!  Ah! signor, you frightened me without cause.  I place very little value on my life, and yet the thought of a certain death shatters my nerves.  Now I am myself again.  But how shall we manage to transport Geronimo’s body to the Vleminck Field?”

“It was for that purpose, Julio, that I was waiting so impatiently for you,” said Simon Turchi; “it was because I needed your aid to execute a project which will save us both.  Nothing is easier.  You will disinter the body, and you will throw it into the sewer."

“Alone?” said the servant, in a tone which prognosticated a refusal.

“Why not alone, since you are able to do it?”

“It is very easy, signor, for you to say:  ’Take the body on your shoulders and traverse three or four streets.’  Signor Geronimo is heavier than you suppose, and I doubt if by the exertion of all my strength I could carry it twenty steps.”

Simon Turchi took his servant’s two hands in his, and said, supplicatingly: 

“Julio, my friend, be generous; it is not a difficult task for one like yourself.  Reflect that it is our only means of safety; it is as much for your interest as mine.  I will recompense you largely, and I will be grateful to you all my life.”

“Well, signor, if you say so, I will try it; but I am afraid it will turn out badly.  I shall be obliged to rest on the way, and that will take more time than will be prudent.  And then how shall I be able each time to replace the body on my shoulders?  It requires two to transport it with sufficient rapidity.”

“Two?” said Turchi, “You know well that we can confide our secret to no one.”

“To escape death, one would submit to anything.  Suppose you help me yourself, signor?”

“I!” replied Turchi, shuddering, “I carry a dead body through the streets!  I, a nobleman!  No, no; better a dungeon and death!”

“What a strange sentiment of honor!” muttered the astonished servant.  “Would to God, signor, that you had sooner remembered that you were a nobleman, we would not thus be seeking, in mortal anguish, the means to save our lives.  Consider the affair as you will, you must confess that if I carry the corpse alone, ten chances to one we shall be discovered.”

While the servant thus spoke, Turchi seemed preoccupied by torturing thoughts.  After a moment he said, with a sigh: 

“Alas! there is no other means; it is dangerous, but necessity demands it.  Julio, go to the summer-house, and I will send Bernardo this evening to help you.”

“What” said Julio, ironically, “will you reveal your secret?”

“No; I will command him, under penalty of his life, to do whatever you order him; threaten to stab him at the least show of resistance, and he will obey you.”

“Impossible!  Signor Bernardo is a good, pious man.  He would inform upon us.  I might as well put the halter around my neck.  I will have none of his aid.”

Simon Turchi, in despair at the failure of all his efforts to succeed in his design, paced the floor impatiently.  Suddenly he stopped before his servant, and with sparkling eyes he said, in a suppressed voice: 

“Julio, there must be an end to all this hesitation.  We have no choice, and whatever may be the means, we must not deliberate in presence of the death which menaces us.  Stab Bernardo, and throw him into the sewer above the body of Geronimo."

“Oh, signor, murder Bernardo!” exclaimed Julio, in horror.  “And do you suppose that he would not defend himself? that he would not give the alarm?  In that case, your servant would be recognized, and thus they would put them on the track of the criminals.  Your mind wanders.”

Grinding his teeth in his agony, Turchi tossed his arms convulsively, and at last said, hoarsely: 

“You will not undertake it alone?  You have not the wish to succeed.  Coward that you are, for what are you fit but to boast and drink and gamble in the taverns?  Would that I had never seen you!  Leave the corpse in the cellar; let the bailiff discover it there; we will see which of us will meet the more courageously an infamous death!”

A prey to the keenest emotion, he fell back in his chair, and while uttering bitter invectives against his servant, he tore his hair in real or feigned despair.

The sight of-his master’s desolation seemed to make some impression upon Julio; he regarded him compassionately, and at last said, kindly: 

“Come, signor, calm yourself.  All is not lost, and if my good-will can save you, I will show you that Julio has the courage and resolution to carry him through a difficult enterprise.  Since you think I am able to take the corpse alone to the sewer, I will attempt it.  Perhaps I may overrate the difficulties.  Be calm, and rely upon my word.”

The signor knew that once having made up his mind, his servant would unhesitatingly execute what he had undertaken, and he comprehended by his manner that his promise was seriously made.  He pressed his hand, and said, joyfully: 

“Thanks, Julio, I owe to you my honor and my life.  I will never forget it, and when once the sword, now hanging over my head, is removed, I will reward you magnificently.  Go now to the country-house, disinter the body, and carry it up to the ground-floor.  This will give you less work later.  Fill the grave thoroughly, and as far as possible destroy all appearance of the earth having been recently dug.”

Julio apparently let his master’s words fall unheeded on his ear; he suddenly struck his forehead with his fist, as if an unwelcome idea had forced itself upon him.

“What is the matter?” asked Turchi, anxiously.

“Fool that I am!” exclaimed Julio.

“Speak lower,” said Simon.  “What troubles you?”

“Did you not notice, signor, how bright it was last night?  It is clear weather, and the moon is full!  How could I carry a dead body to the sewer with such light to betray me?  It is impossible; I cannot think of it.”

These words forced from Simon a cry of anguish.  He seemed crushed under the fate which was visibly pursuing him.  The cowardice and ill-will of his servant had not cast him into despair like this last obstacle; for he well knew that either by threats or promises of reward he could overcome Julio’s resistance; but what could prevent the moon from shining?  It was clear that no way remained of removing Geronimo’s body from the cellar, and the officers of the law would infallibly discover where the murder had been committed.

It was then true that for him there was no escape from ruin; that a mysterious power opposed all his plans; perhaps God himself was interposing to prevent him from saving his life.

The supposition made him shudder; nevertheless he tortured his mind to discover some plank of safety; a thousand tumultuous thoughts presented themselves.  Might they not bury the body in a retired spot of the garden, plunge it in the basin of the fountain, or conceal it under the stones of the grotto?  But none of these plans could be accomplished without leaving traces which would lead to certain discovery.

Suddenly a happy idea seemed to occur to him, for his face brightened; he arose and said: 

“Julio, you must leave the country; it is your only means of safety.”

“I leave the country!” said Julio; “and you, signor?”

“Would that I could accompany you! but I cannot say as you can:  ’Where my body is, there is all I have and all I care for.’  I must of necessity remain here:  I have many interests to detain me.”

Julio was astonished by the advice.

“Where shall I go?  In Italy a price is set upon my head; I dare not be seen beyond the mountains.  It is too late for me to leave for England; there are no vessels ready to sail.  What could I do in Germany, ignorant of the language of the country and without means of subsistence?”

“Save your life, Julio; go to Germany,” said Turchi.  “I will give you money, plenty of money.”

The deep red of the scar on his master’s face, his expression of cunning, his evident satisfaction, made Julio suspect some deception.  He was unable at first to imagine his secret design; but a light suddenly broke upon his mind, and recoiling with horror and anger, he exclaimed: 

“What an odious trap you are setting for me!  You intend to accuse me of the murder in my absence?  And while poor Julio, charged with a double crime, finds no resting-spot upon earth, you will enjoy here in entire security, in the midst of wealth and honor, the price of the innocent blood which you have shed.  No, no, I will bring no new anathema on my head.”

“You are silly, Julio,” said Simon Turchi, disdainfully.  “Should we be arrested to-morrow, and the truth known, would you not be equally punished for having treacherously pushed Geronimo into the chair?”

“Yes; but all would know that I neither conceived the crime, nor profited by its commission.”

“A fine consolation, to contend on the scaffold!” said the signor ironically, repressing his impatience.  “But I will speak to you plainly and without reserve.  I will state my conditions; if you refuse them, then all is at an end between us.  Each of us is at liberty to save himself even at the sacrifice of the other.  The worst part of the whole is that I might feel myself obliged, for my own security, to make known to the authorities of Lucca who you are.”

The servant regarded his master with an expression of disgust and aversion.

“These are my conditions,” said Simon.  “You will leave immediately for Germany, and reach the Rhine as soon as possible.  I will give you two hundred crowns.  Procure a carriage and horse at the very first village, and do not stop until you are in a place of safety.  To prevent any detention on the way, I will give you a letter to Signor Mazzuchelli, a banker at Cologne.  If on the journey you are asked why you have undertaken it, say that you are on urgent business for your master, and if necessity require it, show the letter; but once in Cologne, do not present the letter to Mazzuchelli.  Two hundred crowns! that is a fortune, Julio.  With that you can live luxuriously for two or three years.  And what difference will it make whether you know the language of the country or not.  Money understands and speaks all languages."

“And when the two hundred crowns are spent, what will become of me?” said the servant.

“I will not forsake you, Julio,” said Turchi.  “Whenever you need money, inform me of it, and I will send you enough to keep you from want.  But you must change your name and simply notify me that you need money to continue your business.  And your new name?  It seems to me that ‘Marco Castagno’ would answer.  What say you?”

Julio shook his head doubtfully, muttering between his teeth.  Although the promise of two hundred crowns was seductive, he hesitated to accept his master’s proposition.

“Why deliberate so long?” said Simon.  “I offer you a certain means of escaping the gallows, and you hesitate!  Moreover, I secure you a life of ease, independent, without cares, the free, joyous life of a lord, and yet you refuse.”

Julio seemed to have come to a decision.

“Will you give me two hundred crowns?” he demanded.

“Two hundred crowns in coin.”

“Before my departure?”

“Immediately.”

“Give them to me.  I am in a hurry to depart.”

“I will go for them,” said Turchi, leaving the room.

Julio seated himself and rested his head upon his hands.  But he had not long for reflection; his master returned after a short absence.

Simon Turchi held a purse in his hands.  He went to the table and counted out four piles of gold pieces.

The sight of so much money made an impression on Julio, and he approached the table.  Joy sparkled in his eyes, and whilst he contemplated the shining pieces, he nodded his head with an air of satisfaction.

“You see,” said Simon, “that the sum is correct, and you will not find the gold heavy to carry.  Now put it in your doublet.  Going down stairs I reflected upon your good-will, and I considered whether I might not avoid accusing you of the murder of Geronimo, and my friendship for you suggested a means.  Now that I am sure of being able, under any circumstances, of exculpating myself, it is not necessary for me to bring any accusation against you.  Besides, Julio, I dislike to be separated from you.  If in two or three months I could bring you back without danger, I would be delighted.”

“I would be well pleased, signor,” said Julio, with a sigh.

“In order to secure this chance to ourselves, Julio, you must, before leaving, go to the country-house, level, as far as possible, the earth in the cellar, throw sand and dust upon the grave, and then fill the cellar with fire-wood and empty casks.”

“But, signor, that would take time.”

“That is of no consequence.  At this hour there are too many people passing through the city gates.  It is better for you to pass the night at the pavilion, and to-morrow morning, as soon as the gates are open, you will leave.  At daybreak you will be certain of meeting no one who would notice what direction you had taken.  I suggest this for your own sake, Julio, not mine; for suppose the officers of the law should search my summer-house, those precautions would divert their attentions from the cellar, while otherwise they would infallibly discover that the earth had been recently dug.  Perhaps, through respect for me, the bailiff may exempt my lands from search.  In either case I will wait until the impression made by the murder has worn away.  I will say nothing of you, except that you left me in consequence of a sharp rebuke, and that I do not know what has become of you.  As soon as the present excitement subsides and the search is abandoned, I promise to recall you.  Now will you go to the pavilion and accomplish faithfully what I advise?”

“I will.”

“Do not forget your new name.”

“Marco Castagno?  It is easily remembered.”

“Yes; Marco Castagno, and you are travelling on business.  I had nearly forgotten the letter of recommendation.  Wait here an instant; do not come down-stairs.  I will write it at once.”

When Julio was left alone he put his hand in his pocket, chinked the gold coins, and drew out a handful for the pleasure of contemplating them; but he soon returned the money to his doublet, and fell into deep thought.

“If,” he muttered, “I could only set off at once!  Here I am obliged to pass a whole night in that accursed pavilion!  The signor thinks that Geronimo has been buried for five days, and his corpse is still above ground.  To fill up the grave is not much.  Suppose I let that alone, and leave this evening with the money?  No, no; I will execute faithfully what I promised.  My master is so generous to me, I will show him that I am not ungrateful.”

“Here is the letter of recommendation,” said Simon Turchi, entering the room.  “It is in the name of Marco Castagno.  Forget your other names, and be prudent, remembering that the least indiscretion might cost our lives.  Go to the pavilion, Julio.  I bid you adieu, with the hope of soon seeing you again at Antwerp.”

“Shall I not take my clothes, signor, or a traveling cloak?”

“No; the cloak you have on will suffice.  Were you seen with any baggage, your intention might be suspected.  Appear indifferent.  You can buy whatever you may need.”

The servant extended his hand to his master, and going to the door, said: 

“Adieu, signor; if you do not refuse to aid me when I am in want, I will keep your secret faithfully.”

“Do your work in the cellar carefully, Julio.  I wish you a pleasant journey.”

Julio descended the staircase and walked slowly down the street.

His master opened the window and watched him until he was out of sight.

Simon Turchi drew a long breath, as though the weight of a mountain had been removed from his heart.  A smile lighted up his face, and he said in an accent of intense joy: 

“He has gone!  Now I have nothing to fear.  The bailiff may find the body; Julio committed the crime; I know nothing of it; I am as innocent as a lamb.  Ah!  I thought I was lost.  Now I must arrange my plans as though I were certain of the discovery of the body.  I feel new strength; hope and certainty animate my heart.  Mary, Mary, your name, your fortune, your love will be mine.  My life will yet be crowned with grandeur, wealth, and happiness.”

And in feverish excitement he closed the window.