GIACINTO'S FATE
Soliviac nimbly leaped to the wharf from a skiff and held out his hands to Louis Pierre and Giacinto. He uncovered respectfully to Naundorff and Amélie and caressed Baby Dick's head, as the little fellow clung to his adoptive mother's hand.
Amélie, in deep mourning, was the shadow of her former self. Wasted away, almost blue in her pallor, her sunken eyes surrounded by red circles, and of an agonized expression, she was indeed the picture of the unhappy queen; not the queen in faces and crowned with roses, but the queen of the prison and the guillotine. Like unto Marie Antoinette, sorrow only augmented her grace and dignity. When she held her hand to Soliviac to be kissed, no court might show so regal a movement.
Naundorff opened his arms to Soliviac, both shedding tears.
"When do we start?" the former asked, as though longing to be off.
"At once, if Monseigneur wishes."
"Do not call me 'Monseigneur.' That is over, Captain. I am only Naundorff, the mechanic, the chemist. You are taking me from a land where I have known only sorrow to a country of peace and liberty. In Holland my good wife and little children await me. There shall I forget my insensate dreams, the cause of my ills. Because of my refusal to accept the decrees of fate, I have been punished in whom I most love, this daughter. A widow twice, never having been a wife, her life is blighted forever. The prison walls did not lie in speaking to me the terrible words: 'Your friends shall perish.'"
Amélie laid her hand on her father's shoulder. Her eyes were dry. She seemed to forgive him all that she had suffered.
"My friends," added Naundorff, turning to the Carbonari, "let us give the lie to the prison prophecy. Since I am given respite and my persecutors seem to be satiated from having rifled me of my certificates; since they ignore my interview with the woman—whom I have forgiven (may my mother in heaven forgive her also)—; friends, return to a quiet life and cease to combat, cease to conspire, cease to avenge! A clear light illumines my mind and heart. I see what I would impart to you. Listen: Resist not evil; rather return good for evil. He who uproots the hedge will be bitten by the serpent, say the words of eternal wisdom. Forgive that you may be forgiven."
Louis Pierre turned his face away that Naundorff might not see the keen light in his eyes.
"Farewell, farewell!" repeated the outlaw. "I am a simple man, henceforth. My only title is that of Man. I go to earn my bread by the sweat of my brow. I go to die obscurely. Embrace me again."
The two Carbonari folded their arms around him, Giacinto shedding tears. Naundorff said gently:
"Thanks, thanks! Peace descend upon you both. Cease to struggle, claim not your dues. And you, Giacinto, do penance. Your hands are stained with blood."
The Sicilian involuntarily looked upon those members. Just then they were seized by Amélie, who whispered in his ear:
"O Giacinto, do not reproach yourself! 'Twas simple justice. Listen. She who prepared the ambuscade shall herself leave France in banishment, or else there is no God."
Some moments later the sloop glided out of port. Erect and majestic, like unto a dethroned queen, Amélie waved an adieu to the Knights of Liberty.
Giacinto and Louis Pierre stood motionless on the wharf which now began to be covered with fishermen, sailors and venders. Their eyes were riveted upon the sloop as she reached the schooner Polipheme. They could still distinguish the black form of Amélie and her father's grave outlines. The Polipheme weighed anchor, spread sails and gracefully cleaved the waves red with the morning sun.
The gay voices of the crowd ashore awaiting the arrival of the fishing smacks constituted so brilliant a tout ensemble that Giacinto, notwithstanding the sad parting from his friends, felt new life rushing through his veins and joy tugging at his heart strings. He looked at Louis Pierre. That face wore an expression recalling vengeance and the scaffold. Shuddering, the Sicilian returned to reality.
"They are gone, Louis Pierre," said he, in order to break the silence. "They are gone,—those royal personages whom history will fail to enumerate."
"Giacinto, you should have gone to Holland with them. I advise you as a friend, for in Versailles you have a mistress whom you have filched from a guard,—a dangerous experiment. O, I know all about it; she lives on our floor. Do you think the bird worth the risking of your neck? Yes, it was best for our friends to go. The police pretend to have forgotten us. 'Tis a trap. They will not forget to square accounts with the man who sent Volpetti to his brother Satan.—You are a child, Giacinto, and may be led to any pasture by a petticoat string—"
"Bah!" interrupted the other. "Were it not for petticoats, what savor would remain to life? My dear little laundress has set me quite crazy with love and the sergeant is dying with jealousy. Will you believe that here also I have discovered a jewel of a woman?—the daughter of a tinker. And I am either a fool or this night—"
"So you remain? You are indeed a fool, Giacinto. I shall work out my ends, henceforth, without your aid. Tho I be sought, I shall not be found; even tho I be found, I shall not be caught, and even tho I be caught, I shall not be retained. In this enigma I speak the truth."
Giacinto's superstitious nature was aroused.
"Why do you say these words, friend?" he asked.
"Because no man is overcome until he has performed his assigned task," serenely replied the Knight of Liberty. "Was the Other One overcome before he had subjugated Europe? Today he is chained to Saint Helena, but he first demonstrated the might of the Revolution. Before he could demonstrate the might of Despotism, he was overpowered, for this the Fates would not permit."
"We are not the Other One."
"Each man is the Other One. Each man may change the world if he acts of himself."
"Bah!" retorted Giacinto. "We are pawns on a chess-board. Poor devils, we but play our part. What matters it to me that it be primary or secondary? I have sent to hell the devil who killed my brother. For the rest, a fig!—I feel his warm blood on my hands now!"
His nostrils dilated at the ghastly memory, his lips smacked with savage joy, his handsome face glowed with exultation.
"Yes," answered Louis Pierre in a solemn voice. "Your work is accomplished. Fear, Giacinto, for you are now a hollow shell. Remember how the dastardly Volpetti was given life only to accomplish his mission. Volpetti was delivered to you when he had secured the documents for Lecazes. But my work is as yet unfulfilled. For that reason I am secure. My history is as yet unwritten."
"And it shall remain unwritten, my friend. What have two poor devils such as you and I to do with history, especially since we no longer accompany royalty?"
"I am a man," retorted Louis Pierre Louvel. "Have you measured the power of a man? Giacinto, the birth of an individual is of transcendent importance. Remember Him who was born in Judea. Consider the significance of a male child to the House of France! This rotten dynasty which the Cossack has forced us to again endure may yet sprout forth fresh and green, and all because of a child's birth."
By this time the two Carbonari had reached their lodgings. They ascended to their humble apartments. Louis Pierre took up his knapsack and, according to the French custom, kissed his companion on the cheek.
"Are we not to breakfast together?" asked Giacinto.
"By breakfast time, I shall be far away from this place. You should be also," replied Louis Pierre.
"What would the tinker's daughter think of her sweetheart? She has this morning peeped from her window five times. She has thrown me a flower and waved her hand—"
The fatalist remonstrated no further. Carrying his light equipage, he descended the rickety stairs. Naundorff had paid the bills. He might, therefore, depart, without seeking the host. His rickety form took the direction of the woods and was soon lost to view.
An hour later Giacinto sat before a succulent repast of stewed fish. A girl held to his lips a glass of foamy beer. Just then steps and the clanking of muskets sounded on the stairway. The officer heading the soldiers laid a hand on the Sicilian's shoulder, saying:
"Manacle his hands."