GADFLY [stretching out his hands with sudden passion] Listen! [to the people] And listen all of you, Christians! If a man has killed his own son — his son who loved and trusted him, who was flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone; if he has led his son into a deathtrap with lies and deceit, is there hope for that man in earth or Heaven?
MONTANELLI. It is written: “A broken and contrite heart shalt thou not despise.”
The Gadfly bends his head to receive the benediction.
Go to Rome, and ask the blessing of the Holy Father.
Peace be with you. [His voice falters, and becomes almost entreating] When you receive the Holy Eucharist in Rome, pray for one in deep affliction — for one on whose soul the hand of the Lord is heavy.
GADFLY [sanctimoniously] Who am I, that He should hear my prayers? A leper and an outcast! If I could bring to His throne, as your Eminence can, the offering of a holy life — of a soul without spot or secret shame —
MONTANELLI [turning abruptly away — in a voice of agony] I have only one offering to give — a broken heart.
The organ is heard.
Montanelli goes on his way, the people following him.
It is getting dark. When they are gone, the gipsy woman is seen near the Gadfly, who has seated himself on the steps. She is old, and poorly dressed, with a brown wrinkled face and keen black eyes; a bright-coloured scarf is twisted round her head.
GIPSY. I have brought you a message from Zita Reni.
GADFLY. Who are you?
GIPSY. It’s no business of yours who I am. I have come to tell you that Zita Reni has gone away with my son.
GADFLY. With your son!
GIPSY. Yes, sir. If you don’t know how to keep your mistress when you’ve got her, you can’t complain if other men take her. My son has blood in his veins, not milk and water; he comes of the Romany folk.
GADFLY [thoughtfully] Ah! you’re a gipsy, are you? Zita has gone back to her own people then?
GIPSY [puzzled at his dispassionate way of taking it] What sort of stuff are you made of, that she should stay with you? Our women may lend themselves to you a bit for a girl’s fancy, or if you pay them well; but the Romany blood comes back to the Romany folk.
GADFLY [coldly] Has she gone away to stroll with a gipsy camp, or merely to live with your son?
GIPSY [laughing tauntingly] Do you think of following her and trying to win her back? It’s too late, Sir; you should have thought of that before!
GADFLY. No; I only want to know the truth, if you will tell it to me.
GIPSY. The truth is, then, that she met my son in the road the day you left her, and spoke to him in the Romany tongue; and when he saw she was one of our folk, he thought nothing of her fine clothes, but fell in love with her bonny face, as our men fall in love, and took her to our camp. She told us all her trouble, and sat crying and sobbing, poor lassie, till our hearts were sore for her. We comforted her as best we could; and at last she took off her finery and put on the things our lasses wear, and gave herself to my son to be his woman and to have him for her man. He won’t say to her “I don’t love you,” and “I’ve other things to do.” When a woman is young she wants a man; and what sort of man are you, that you can’t even kiss a handsome girl when she puts her arms round your neck, and — gadfly [interrupting] You said you had brought me a message from her.
GIPSY. Yes. She told me to say she has had enough of your folk and their sluggish blood; and that she wants to get back to her own people and be free. “Tell him,” she said, “that I am a woman, and that I loved him, and that is why I would not sell myself to him any longer.” The lassie was right to come away. There’s no harm in a girl getting a bit of money out of her good looks if she can — that’s what good looks are for; but a Romany lass has nothing to do with loving a man of your race.
GADFLY. Is that all the message?
GIPSY. Yes.
GADFLY. Then tell her, please, that I think she has done right, and that I hope she will be happy. Goodnight.
The Gipsy, with a gesture of contempt, goes. The moon has now risen.
[On the Cathedral steps] Another blow on the cheek!
Is no rag of pride to be left to me — no shred of selfrespect? Surely I’ve suffered everything that man can endure; my very heart has been dragged in the mud and trampled under the feet of the passers-by; there is no spot in my soul where someone’s contempt is not branded in, where someone’s mockery has not left its iron trace. And now this gipsy girl I picked up by the wayside — even she has the whip in her hand!
The crowd returns, excited. Among them is Michele.
He goes to the Gadfly.
MICHELE [whining] Let your piety and charity go hand in hand and buy a blessed candle from the poor man. [aside] Get out of this place at once: the soldiers are coming. [aloud] Most Holy Queen of Heaven, Maiden undefiled — [aside] It’s you they’re after, Rivarez; they’ll be here in two minutes — [aloud]
And so may the saints reward you — [aside] You’ll have to make a dash for it: there are spies at the corners. It’s no use trying to slip away without being seen.
Exit.
The Gadfly makes a dash to escape on the right; but is met by a body of soldiers entering. He turns and attempts to get away on the left but is stopped there too by other soldiers. He retreats to the Cathedral steps.
OFFICER. Let no one leave the square. Where is the Spanish pilgrim?
GADFLY [producing a pistol] At your service, Captain! [He shoots the Officer, wounding him only.
The soldiers with a yell of fury rush to the steps] Take care! [He fires again. A soldier falls. The rest hesitate].
WOUNDED OFFICER. Shoot him down, you fools. Shoot.
The soldiers present their carbines: the Cardinal rushes through them and mounts the steps.
MONTANELLI. What are you doing, my son?
The Gadfly lowers his pistol. The soldiers immediately rush on him with a triumphant shout and drag him down the steps.
WOUNDED OFFICER. We are greatly indebted to your Eminence.
MONTANELLI. Why?
GADFLY. For capturing me so neatly for them, of course. [He laughs mockingly].
The soldiers, infuriated, drag him fiercely away. The Cardinal covers his eyes with his hands.
ACT III.
A room in the Cardinal’s Palace at Brisighella.
Montanelli is seated at his writing-table giving audience to the Military Governor, Colonel Ferrari, who is standing. A Sergeant is waiting at the door. A crucifix hangs on the wall.
FERRARI. And I once more earnestly assure your Eminence that your refusal is endangering the peace of the town. If you knew what I and my assistants have put up with from this man you would feel differently about the matter. His is an exceptional case; and it calls for exceptional measures.
MONTANELLI. There is no case which calls for injustice; and to condemn a civilian by the judgement of a secret military tribunal is both unjust and illegal.
FERRARI. The case amounts to this, your Eminence. The prisoner is manifestly guilty of several capital crimes. He is known to be an influential member of one of the most pestilent secret societies in the country. He has offered armed resistance