A Prison Visit
The note which had been given to the Baron Manutoli begged him to come
with as little delay as possible to the Palazzo del Governo.
Adolfo Manutoli was a somewhat older man than the majority of those who
had formed the group which had been discussing the all-absorbing topic
of the day at the Circolo; and he was Ludovico di Castelmare's most
intimate friend among the younger members of the society in which he
lived. It was a friendship strongly approved by the Marchese Lamberto,
as might have been perceived by his selection of Manutoli to accompany
him on the occasion of meeting La Lalli on her first arrival in Ravenna,
as the reader may possibly remember. And the special ground of this
approval was Manutoli's strong advocacy of the projected marriage
between Ludovico and the Contessa Violante, and his consequent
disapproval and discouragement of his friend's friendship and admiration
for Paolina. He was not a man who would have counselled or desired his
friend to behave badly or unworthily to Paolina or to any woman; for he
was a man of honour and a gentleman. But, short of any conduct which
could be so characterized, he would have been very glad to see the
Marchese quit of an entanglement which alone stood in the way, as he
conceived, of his forming an alliance so desirable in every point of
view as the marriage with the great-niece of the Cardinal Legate.
"Can I be permitted to see the Marchese Ludovico, Signor Commissario? He
has requested me to come to him," said the Baron, on arriving at the
police-office.
"Certainly, Signor Barone. I myself sent his note to you. Though, on his
own statement of the very unfortunate circumstances connected with this
unhappy affair, I was compelled to detain him, still there is at present
no definite accusation against him which should justify me in preventing
him from having free communication with his friends. You shall be taken
to his room immediately. You will see, Signor Barone, that we have
endeavoured to make him as comfortable as the circumstances would
allow."
"Manutoli," said Ludovico, after the first expressions of astonishment
and condolence had been spoken between the young men, "of course I knew
I should see you here before long; and my note was to call you at once,
instead of waiting to see you in the morning; because I want you to do
something for me before you sleep this night--something that I don't
want to wait for till to-morrow morning."
"To be sure, my dear fellow, anything; I am ready for anything, if it
takes all night."
"Thanks. Well, now, look here: I am innocent of this deed--"
"S' intende; of course you are."
"S' intende, of course; that's just the worst of it. It is so much a
matter of course that I should say I had not done it if I had, that my
saying so is of no use at all. Nevertheless, to you I must say that I
neither did it nor have I the slightest conception or suspicion who did.
And you may guess that the fact itself is a horror and a grief to me
that I shall never get over, putting this dreadful suspicion of my own
guilt out of the question. A horror and a grief, and a remorse, too; for
if I had not moved away from her the tragedy could not have happened."
"I really do not see that you need blame yourself for--"
"I ought not to have left her side. Yet, God knows, it never entered my
head to dream of the possibility of any harm; all seemed so still, so
peaceful, so utterly quiet; yet, at that moment, the hand that did the
deed could not have been far off."
"Let the circumstances have been what they might," resumed Manutoli,
after a moment's pause, "nobody would have dreamed of connecting you
with the deed had it not been for the strong motive which seems so clear
and intelligible to every fool who sets his brains to work on the
matter. I suppose it is true that you had been informed of your uncle's
intention to offer the poor girl marriage?"
"True that I had been told of it, for the first time, by herself during
our drive, poor girl."
"Ah--h--h! To think of such a man being guilty of such insane folly--and
of all the misery that is likely to grow out of it. How on earth did she
ever contrive to get such a fatal influence over him?"
"She schemed for it from her first arrival here--aimed avowedly to
herself at nothing less than inducing the Marchese di Castelmare to
marry her--and succeeded. For all that, I'll tell you what,
Adolfo--there was a great deal more good in that poor girl than you
would have thought."
"Bah! Good in her--Well, she's gone. She has had her reward, poor soul;
and I pity her with all my heart. But as for the good in her--"
"There was good in her, and not a little. I tell you that if you or any
one else could have heard all that passed between us, I should hardly be
suspected of having murdered her, poor girl."
"That is likely enough; but--"
"Do you know, Manutoli, I have a very strong idea that if this had not
happened, the marriage with the Marchese would never have come off?"
"You think that, between us all, we should have induced him to listen to
reason?"
"I don't know about that; I was not thinking of that; I think that
Bianca would have been induced to listen to reason; I think that the
scheme would have come to nothing through her renunciation of it."
"When, according to your own account, she had been scheming all the time
she has been here to bring it about?" said Manutoli, with arched
eyebrows.
"Yes, even so. She had never known--how should she?--that such a
marriage would turn me out on the world a beggar; she had never known
what sort and what degree of misery and ruin it would bring about to all
parties."
"And you told her this?"
"Yes, in some degree I told her. As to the effect of such a marriage on
myself, I told her simply the entire truth."
"And you are disposed to think that the Diva--No, poor girl! I didn't
mean to speak sneeringly of her. She has paid for her fault a heavier
penalty than it deserved, any way. You are disposed to think, then, that
she would have given up the prize of all her scheming--this marriage,
which was to have given her everything in the world that she could
desire, and more than she could have ever dreamed of attaining; she
would have voluntarily relinquished all this, you think, for your sake?"
"I'll tell you what it is, Manutoli. A man can never appreciate,--can
never fathom, the depth of woman's generosity till he has tried it."
"But, caro mio,--after all I don't want to be hard upon her, poor soul,
God knows!--but to expect generosity on such a point from such a
woman--"
"You may say what you will, Manutoli, I know what she was, poor girl, as
well as you do--better, a great deal; for, I tell you, that there was a
real generosity in her nature. Look here," continued Ludovico; after a
pause of a minute or two, "I would not say it to anybody else than you,
or to you either, except under circumstances that make one wish to state
the whole truth exactly as it was. It seems so coxcomblike,--so like
what our friend Leandro would say; but I may say it to you. The fact is,
I have a kind of idea that that poor Bianca was inclined to like me. She
cried when I told her--"
"Aha, j'y suis! Now I begin to be able to fathom the depth of a woman's
generosity. Given the fact of becoming Marchesa di Castelmare, the lady
was not disinclined to become so by catching the nephew instead of the
uncle; and small blame to her."
"You do not do the poor woman justice, Manutoli."
"Any way, I do you justice; and I know you well enough, Ludovico mio, to
understand that the generosity of such a girl as this poor Lalli was,
taking that special form, must have been very touching to you."
"You forget, Manutoli, how little accessible I was to the flattery of
any such preference, with my whole heart full of a very different
person."
"And I was just thinking, to tell you the truth, how the little scene in
the bagarino would have struck that other person if she could have seen
La Bianca giving you to understand, amid her tears, upon what terms she
would consent not to come between you and your natural inheritance."
"That other person did see us in the bagarino; and that brings me to the
motive which led me to beg you to come to me this evening. Somehow or
other, it has become known to these people here that Paolina went out of
the Porta Nuova at a very early hour this morning. The fact is, that she
simply went to see whether the scaffolding, which I had had prepared for
her copying work there, was all right, and ready for her to begin her
task there; and all that can be proved, of course. But the same idea
that occurred to you just now, that Paolina might not have liked to see
me driving with La Bianca, has suggested itself to some other
wiseacre,--I beg your pardon, Manutoli,--and it seems that an absurd
notion--a notion the monstrous absurdity of which is a matter of
amazement to me--has been engendered that my poor Paolina may have been
the perpetrator of the crime. The idea! If they only knew her! But the
Commissary here has been cross-questioning me in a way that shows that
is the notion he has in his head. Whether they know that Paolina really
did see us in the bagarino together--she did so from the window in the
Church of St. Apollinare--or whether they only know that she left the
city by that gate early in the morning, I can't tell; but it is sure to
be found out that she did really see us,--the more so, that she will say
so to the first person who asks her" the poor innocent darling. And what
I want you do is to see her, and prepare her, poor child, for the
possibility of being arrested, and make her understand that no harm can
possibly come to her. Try to save her from being frightened. She knows
well enough, just as well as I know myself, that I have not done this
thing. Try to make her understand that a little time only is necessary
for the finding out of the real culprit; that it is sure to be
discovered, and that, as far as we are concerned, it is all sure to come
right."
"You wish me to go to her at once?"
"Yes, if you would be so kind. What I am anxious for is that you should
see her before any order for her arrest shall have been issued. But that
is not all. I want you to see Fortini also. I want you to ascertain from
him how far it is possible or probable that any suspicion may rest on
Paolina in consequence of the facts which are known; how far it is
likely that any attempt may be made to set up a case against her. And I
want you to tell him that it will be wholly and utterly vain to make any
such attempt, that the result would only be entirely to cripple my own
defence. For you must understand once for all, and make him understand
once for all, that rather than allow her to be convicted of a deed of
which she is as innocent as you are, I would confess myself to be the
guilty party. It shall not be, Manutoli, mark what I say, it shall not
be, that she shall be dragged to ruin and destruction by my misfortune,
or imprudence, call it what you will. Of this, of course, you will say
no word to her. But I beg you to leave no shade of a doubt as to my
settled purpose in this matter on the mind of Signor Fortini. It is he,
of course, who will have the duty of preparing and conducting my
defence; and it is essential that he should understand this rightly.
Will you do this for me?"
"Of course I will--this or anything else that I can do for you. But I
can't undertake to say what Signor Giovacchino Fortini may think, or
say, or do in the matter, you know. I will take your message, and then,
of course, you will see him yourself in the course of to-morrow morning.
Of course, old fellow, I need not tell you that I am sure you did not
murder the girl; but it is altogether one of the most mysterious things
I ever heard of. Nevertheless my notion is that we shall find out the
culprit yet. And you may depend on it that two-thirds of the whole
population of the town will be moving heaven and earth to get some clue
to the mystery for your sake."
"It seems to me, too, that such a deed cannot but be found out. I should
be more uneasy than I am, did I not console myself with thinking so. Now
go to Paolina, there is a dear good fellow."
"One word more--shall I see the Marchese?"
"I think, perhaps, it is best not to do so. Of course Fortini has been
with him, and told him everything. I almost thought that I should have
seen him here this evening; but, under the circumstances, I am better
pleased that he should stay away. Better leave him to Fortini."
"Good-night, then."
"Good-night. You will let me see you to-morrow?"
"I won't fail. Good-night."