A Likely Story

by William De Morgan

"'I can tell but little now from what I saw with my own eyes of what happened in the sequel, till I found myself here again in the little old Castello in the hills where I passed all the early years of my boyhood, in the family of my wife's father, now dead; though her mother still lived, and for many years after that. What I do remember comes to me as the speech of those about him reaches the sleeper who half wakes, to sleep and dream again.

"'I can recollect riding, behind Attilio this time, down the stony road I had come up in such pain behind his comrade. I can just recollect the barking of the great dogs in the Castle court when we came away; whereon my Maddalena spoke earnestly to one of them, Leone, and he went and carried her speech to the others, and they were silent, though some made protest under their full utterance. And though I saw the janitors and porters at the great gate in deep sleep, I did not then know of the cunning work of the old Marta, who, indeed, was learned in the use of drugs, and could as easily have poisoned them all as made them sleep. Indeed, it was said by many that the clever Duchess of Ferrara, the sister of Cesare Borgia, had learned somewhat of the art of poisoning in her youth from this same Marta Zan. But of this I can say nothing with certainty.

"'But this I do know, that this Marta, who was then near on eighty years of age, having received the reward she had earned of five hundred crowns, and another five hundred for a buona mano, did not accompany us, on the score of her age, being unable to mount a horse. But, as you may guess, Eccellenza, it was she who had occasioned the old Duke's death, and none of my doing, as was said by some, though the certainty that the knife used was the girdle-dagger of the fat Castellan Ferretti was held a sure proof of his guilt, and led to his being giustiziato some months later. And she chose this way of sending her old betrayer to Hell rather than that of poison, seeing that her skill in this last was so well known to all that there was none other in the household on whom suspicion could have fallen. On which account, as I have since understood, she returned again to his bedside to see her work secure, and replaced the knife in the wound, whereby the guilt of his death was fixed on the fat Ferretti. I can in nowise guess why la Marta so long deferred her revenge against the Duke, except it was...'"

Mr. Pelly stopped despairingly. "Half a page gone! We must remain unenlightened—as well as on a good many other points. There is not very much more. I may as well finish:—

"'How great my happiness has been with my Maddalena you, Illustrissima, may know from your most illustrious father, who has known of me throughout. Life is made up of good and ill, and what right has one so truly blessed as I have been to complain of the cruelty of Fate in depriving him of his right hand and its power of work? Think of what his lot is to him to whom night and day alike give the sun in heaven to his soul! Contrast it with that of the sated blow-fly, of the world-compelling tyrant, at whose pleasure are all the contents, at choice, of all the world's treasure-houses, except Love. That is the one thing wealth cannot buy, that the behests of kings command in vain! And that has been mine, in all its fulness; a fruit whose sweetness has no compeer, a jewel whose light mirrors back the glow that shines for ever in the eyes of God....' The reader paused, for there was an interruption from without.

"What on earth can it be, at this time of night? I'm sure it's a carriage this time! Do look out and see—oh no! go on and let's have the rest. It can only be the General—he changed his mind, and his train was late. We shall see in a minute—let's have the last page...." This was collective speech, which ended when Mr. Pelly said, "There isn't very much." He went on reading rapidly, subject to a sense of advent elsewhere in the house:

"'One only thing, as I have said, is to me a constant thorn of regret—the destruction of the picture I painted in those early days, of my Maddalena. It was all my heart and strength could do, and would have served to tell of all I might have done had God but spared me my right hand. But fiat voluntas tua, Domine! None knows for certain how it was destroyed, nor by whom. For the statement of the Old Devil to my Maddalena, that it was burned, for that it was judged worthless by men of great knowledge in Art, and condemned as rubbish, is of little weight. In those last days what could have been the motive of such a statement but to add to my darling's pain? It was averred by the Ferretti, even to the day that he went to the gibbet, that it was removed to a place of safety by order of the Duke; but either he did not choose to say to what place, or possibly did not know. And when all the contents of the rooms the Duke had lived in were removed, and the late Duke, his son, came and took possession of the castle, so deep was his hatred of his father's memory—as, indeed, he believed his mother had been poisoned by his orders—that he had all the furniture removed, and all the pictures that might bring back the wicked old man's memory to his mind. And there was no such picture among them, as I saw myself; for by invitation of Duke Giulio, with whom I have always been on friendly terms, I inspected every picture as it was removed from the Ducal apartments, the walls of which, as you know, were so worthily decorated afterwards by Francesco Primaticcio, to whom I would so proudly have shown that one little work by mine own hand. But, alas! there is, I fear, no doubt that for once only the old Duke spoke without lying, and that in truth he had had it burned, for a dispetto to me, and to give a little more pain to my darling....'"

At this point Mr. Pelly, being close to the end, read quicker and quicker, to make a finish before the outcome of the carriage, whatever it was, should be made manifest and break up the séance. But the time was too short, as Mr. Stebbings the butler appeared, charged, as it seemed, with some communication, but hesitating about the choice of language in which to make it.

"General Fordyce, your ladyship. The General desired me to say, Sir Stopleigh, would you be so good as speak to him a half a minute?" But Sir S. was slow of apprehension, perhaps sleepy, and said hay what! Both ladies spoke together. "It is the General! Don't you understand? He wants you to go out and speak to him."

"Me go out and speak to him—what for?"