Читать книгу 60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated) - George Bernard Shaw - Страница 96

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SIGNORA GRASSINI. Our friend Martini doubts whether it is safe to plot anything here.

GRASSINI. Quite safe, Martini, provided you plot at the top of your voice. Have you brought the Gadfly?

SIGNORA GRASSINI. The Gadfly! What’s that? A newspaper?

MARTINI. No, Signora: a man. A comrade.

SIGNORA GRASSINI. A young man?

MARTINI [taking out a paper] Here is a description of him — a police description [offering it].

SIGNORA GRASSINI. No: we mustn’t pass papers about. Read it.

GRASSINI. At the top of your voice, please.

MARTINI [reads] “Felice Rivarez, called ‘the Gadfly.’

Age about 30, birthplace and parentage unknown, probably South American; profession, journalist.

Short in stature with black hair, black beard and dark skin. Eyes blue; forehead broad and square; nose, mouth, chin” — but I am preventing this lady [indicating Gemma, who has come forward from the balustrade and is listening] from speaking to her hostess.

GRASSINI. Don’t be afraid — a fellow conspirator [introduces them] the Signora Bolla: Doctor Martini.

MARTINI. Your husband, Signora, was an old friend of mine.

SIGNORA GRASSINI. Yes; but go on about the Gadfly.

What else does it say?

MARTINI [reads] “Special marks: right foot lame; left arm twisted; two fingers missing on left hand; recent sabre cut across face; stammers.” Then there’s a note put: [reads] “Very expert shot; care should be taken in arresting.”

SIGNORA GRASSINI. How horrid! I hope he’ll come.

GEMMA [gravely] I hope he will not.

A manservant whispers to Grassini.

GRASSINI [excitedly] My love, the new tenor has come.

SIGNORA GRASSINI. The tenor! Stop the band. Clear everything off the piano. Has he brought an accompanist?

She rushes into the house.

GRASSINI [following] Shut all the windows tight. Put screens before all the doors. Light a fire in the cloak room.

He follows her — The Guests crowd into the house after them, and the windows are shut.

Martini remains behind with Gemma.

MARTINI. Signora Bolla: why do you hope that the Gadfly may not come?

GEMMA. He belongs to a society called the Occoltellatori — the Knifers. We are revolutionists, not assassins.

MARTINI. The knife is sometimes the only remedy.

GEMMA. You say that very glibly. Did you ever kill a man?

MARTINI. [starting] Heaven forbid!

GEMMA. Ah! I thought so. I did.

MARTINI. You!

GEMMA. Yes, I. It was the man who betrayed Bolla.

MARTINI [horrified] You brought your hand to use a knife!

GEMMA. No. I struck him in the face with my open hand; that was all. We were very young. I had been his friend; and I suppose he loved me. He went away and drowned himself.

MARTINI. Do you call that killing a man?

GEMMA. What do you call it?

MARTINI. Serve the young traitor right!

GEMMA. But you have not heard the end of the story. He was innocent.

MARTINI. Then why did he not clear himself?

GEMMA. He could not. He had betrayed us in the confessional. The priest was a spy.

MARTINI. The fellow must have been a fool to be caught in such a trap as that.

GEMMA. No, only a boy. He was pious and credulous, full of faith and enthusiasm, incapable of realizing the cruelty and treachery of our enemies. I killed him; there is no getting away from that. And Bolla escaped after all, and married me, and died in his bed in England.

MARTINI [sympathetically] You mustn’t let your mind dwell on any remorseful notions.

GEMMA. Oh, I quite understand all that. You need not be afraid of my making any morbid fuss over so old a story. But I will have nothing to do with assassins. If your Gadfly attempts to bring the knife into our propaganda, I shall withdraw at once.

MARTINI. Never fear. It is his tongue and pen we want; they are both sharper than most men’s daggers.

GEMMA. What need have we of him at all?

MARTINI. To destroy Cardinal Montanelli.

GEMMA. Destroy?

MARTINI. Oh don’t be alarmed. We had better cut our own throats than scratch the skin of the good Cardinal. It would be a martyrdom; the people think him a saint.

GEMMA. What will you do to him, then?

MARTINI. Make him ridiculous. That’s what the Gadfly is for; the Cardinal’s saintliness will wither up into the dotage of an old fool when the Gadfly begins to sting. The creature is all venom — ouf! I wish we could do without him; I am not sure that the dagger is not a manlier weapon after all.

GEMMA. No; for with the dagger the lowest wretch can end the highest life; but if Montanelli is really a saint, your Gadfly will get the worst of it. [She passes her hand over her brow] Strange! that we should get talking of Montanelli now!

MARTINI. Why?

GEMMA. He was the Confessor of the boy I killed.

MARTINI [indignantly] What! Was he the spy?

GEMMA. Oh, no, no, no. He was away when that happened; otherwise Arthur would have been alive today.

MARTINI. The boy’s name was Arthur?

GEMMA. Yes. Montanelli loved him as if he were his own son. He had known Arthur’s mother.

MARTINI [significantly] Oh, indeed!

GEMMA. What do you mean by that?

MARTINI. Oh, nothing, nothing. Montanelli knew Arthur’s mother: Montanelli loved Arthur as if he were his own son. That seems to me extremely natural.

GEMMA. Are you as cynical as the rest of them?

MARTINI. Do you really think that it is cynical to give a priest credit for being a human being? At all events, Signora, you are sufficiently a woman of the world to understand that if the Gadfly gets hold of this story it will put a little extra venom into his sting.

GEMMA [revolted] Dr Martini, what I have told you is sacred. [Martini bows] Even if Arthur were not dead, a calumny that cannot be proved — martini. — Is better than a dagger that cannot be driven home; but you are right: it is a blackguard’s weapon. At the same time — gemma [quickly] At the same time?

MARTINI. I wish Arthur were not dead.

GEMMA [with deep feeling] So do I. But what difference would it make to you?

MARTINI. I think that possibly, if he were alive, your influence with him, and his influence with the Cardinal, might help us: that’s all. [A burst of applause heard within the house] Ah, that’s the end of the tenor’s song.

GEMMA. No matter; he will sing another: at least he will be very much offended if they don’t insist on it.

MARTINI. But won’t you come in and hear him? I’ve been selfishly keeping you out here.

GEMMA. I am on duty here; all our friends stroll out to look at the moon.

The centre window opens just enough to allow a man to slip through. The Gadfly appears and closes the window softly behind him.

MARTINI. Here comes one of them. Yes: he’s looking at the moon as hard as he can.

GEMMA. Hush, no. I don’t know him. The Gadfly, who has thrust his hands in his pockets and stopped to stare listlessly at the moon, comes down the steps from the terrace, kicking them discontentedly with his heels. He is as swarthy as a mulatto, and, notwithstanding his lameness, as agile as a cat. His whole personality is oddly suggestive of a black jaguar. The forehead and left cheek are terribly disfigured by the long crooked scar of an old sabre cut. He is handsome in a restless, uncomfortable way: with a tendency to foppishness in dress and a veiled insolence of expression and manner.

Gemma moves quietly out into the light.

He starts violently on seeing her, and puts up his hand as if to ward off a blow.

GADFLY [hastily] You needn’t strike me again: blows don’t hurt me now.

MARTINI [puzzled] Signore — gadfly [recovering himself] Eh? Oh, I beg your pardon. I suppose the lady is not a ghost then; I thought she was.

MARTINI. I am happy to say that the lady is alive and in excellent health.

GADFLY. Ah yes; that must be a curious sensation. To be in excellent health; to walk straight; to have your full allowance of fingers; and to have no bullet-holes in your lungs. I congratulate you, Signora. By the way, are you a conspirator? There are only two sorts of people in Florence at present; conspirators and spies, mostly spies; some of the latter, attractive ladies. I am a conspirator myself. Pray, which are you?

GEMMA. I can tell you one thing more about the people of Florence at present, Signore; and that is that the gentleman who announces himself frankly as a conspirator is invariably a spy.

GADFLY. Good. That speech is unmistakeable; you’re a conspirator. I am Felice Rivarez, alias The Gadfly, at your service. Which of us is your friend? Is he Martini?

MARTINI. At your service.

GEMMA. I am — gadfly. Of course you are; I know. Well, here I am to take the field against the pious Montanelli. What are the lines of battle to be, Signora? Shall I attack his theology or his personal character?

GEMMA. His personal character is above attack.

GADFLY. Oho! How did he take in so clever a woman as you are? But you are right: only, what you mean, I suppose, is that all these fellows, from the Sacristans to the Cardinals, are such notorious rascals that their bad characters are taken for granted. You can’t collect a crowd to see a river running down hill.

GEMMA. Vulgar prejudice, Signor Rivarez. They say the same thing of us. Don’t make the foolish mistake of underrating your enemy.

GADFLY. Ah, well, if Monsignor Montanelli is all you say he is, so much too good for this world that he ought to be politely escorted into the next. I am sure he would cause as great a sensation there as he has done here; there are probably many old-established ghosts who have never seen such a thing as an honest Cardinal.

GEMMA [impatiently] Signor Rivarez, if you have only come here to talk the usual scandal about priests, and to hint at daggers and stuff of that kind, you will be of no use to us; we have only too many people of that sort. Doctor Martini, we may as well go in and listen to the tenor after all; we are wasting our time here.

She turns her back on the Gadfly and goes, with Martini, towards the windows. There is another burst of applause. The windows are opened and the guests come out laughing and chattering about the singing. The Signora Grassini is with them in high spirits.

SIGNORA GRASSINI [to Gemma as she comes down the steps] He sang twice for us — the darling! — though he has five more engagements this evening. And you actually stole away, Rivarez. If he had seen you he would never have forgiven me. What do you mean by such conduct?

GADFLY. It seems wasteful and inhuman to me to set a man to make that sort of noise when a goat would do it so much better.

SIGNORA GRASSINI. What a terrible critic you are! So cynical!

Grassini comes from the house.

GRASSINI. He’s gone. He went like lightning; he has fourteen other engagements. Ah, Rivarez! How are you; delighted. I saw you come in, but couldn’t get to you through the crowd round the piano. Your charming friend, Madame Zita Reni, is looking for you everywhere. She has promised to sing for us. I must tell her where you are; I promised to find you for her.

He hurries indoors.

GEMMA [to the Gadfly] Excuse me, Signor Rivarez; do you present Madame Zita Reni as one of our friends?

GADFLY. Signora, I don’t present her at all. She is unpresentable.

GEMMA. Oh nonsense, sir; I am speaking to you seriously. Please keep your wit until we have got through our business. Who is Madame Reni?

GADFLY. An improper person at present attached to me, but not to the revolutionary cause. She would sell it, myself included, for a dozen pairs of scarlet silk stockings.

Grassini appears on the terrace with Zita on his arm.

She is gorgeously dressed in amber and scarlet, and looks like a tropical bird among sparrows and starlings. She is handsome with a vivid, animal, unintelligent beauty; but the perfect harmony and freedom of her movements are delightful to see. Her forehead is low and narrow, and her expression unsympathetic, almost cruel. Count Soltykov, a very young gentleman, evidently hopelessly in love with her, enters with her, dancing attendance on her; but she pays hardly any attention to him or to Grassini as she stops on the terrace, looking jealously about for the Gadfly.

GEMMA [to the Gadfly — looking at Zita as if she were some vulgar article of luxury] Oh! You can afford that, can you? I thought you were as poor as the rest of us.

GADFLY. So I am.

GEMMA. Then you have spoken treacherously of that woman, or else she is a spy. If she stays with you, it must be either for money or love. If it is money, it must come from the government if it does not come from you. If it is love, you had better say so instead of making vulgar jokes about silk stockings.

GADFLY. What a genius I have for making people despise me! Yes: she loves me enough to be most amusingly jealous. But no doubt she is paid by the government too. Most women have business faculty enough to combine pleasure with profit.

ZITA [detecting him at last and coming down from the terrace] Monsieur Rivarez, I have been looking for you everywhere. Count Soltykov wants to know whether you can go to his villa tomorrow night, there will be dancing.

GADFLY [spinning round so as to show his lameness]

Dancing! How charming for me!

ZITA [jealously] Is this lady one of your friends?

GADFLY. She permits me to confer with her. Signora Bolla: allow me to introduce to you Madame Zita Reni.

The women bow to one another.

ZITA. Confer with her? What does that mean?

GADFLY. A diplomatic expression.

Grassini has gone into the house and returned with a mandoline.

GRASSINI [pleadingly offering her the instrument] Will Madame Reni be persuaded?

ZITA. Felice: my castanets.

The Gadfly produces the castanets from his pocket, inviting Gemma’s attention sardonically to his servitude by a grimace.

Zita takes them from him.

GADFLY [aside to Gemma] I should be made to play them if I had fingers enough.

ZITA. Felice, where are you going? Stay here: I’m going to sing. Soltykov, do you play the mandoline? I want my hands for the castanets. The bolero.

Song and dance.

GADFLY. Brava! Bravissima! [to Gemma] What would you not give to be able to do that? [He turns to Zita and puts the castanets in his pocket]

SIGNORA GRASSINI. How delightful! What a gift! Even Signor Rivarez, who ran away from our greatest tenor, had to listen!

GADFLY. Rapt! Spellbound!

ZITA [to the Gadfly] I want something to drink after that. Take me in.

GADFLY. Try Soltykov instead. I have business here.

ZITA. You want to speak to that woman.

GADFLY. Of course I do [lowering his voice] If you dare make a scene, I’ll hand you over to Soltykov altogether [aloud] Soltykov: Madame Reni wants you to take her in to supper.

Soltykov takes her in, wounded and angry, but afraid to refuse. The guests follow, Signora Grassini bringing up the rear on a gentleman’s arm. Martini, Gemma, Grassini, and the Gadfly remain behind.

GRASSINI. Now is our time for business. What news have you for us, Martini?

MARTINI. Nothing, except that we are convinced in Genoa that it is too late for all this pamphleteering and scheming to undermine the influence of the Cardinal. Things have come to a head with a rush within the last fortnight. We all believe that a rising cannot be prevented now, even if we wanted to prevent it. Before the end of the month we shall be at it, hammer and tongs, on the barricades.

GADFLY. Piff, paff, poof! [He rattles the castanets].

GEMMA. In that case, this gentleman can be of no use to us.

GADFLY [with mock affection] Dear lady!

GEMMA. We must have men of action — earnest men.

GRASSINI. Domenichino?

GEMMA. Yes, Domenichino. But he is only one. He must stay here in command. Who is to undertake the distribution of the weapons?

MARTINI. Where are they?

GEMMA [looking mistrustfully at the Gadfly] I will not tell you just now.

GADFLY. I will. They are hidden in the caves in the hills near Brisighella. They must be got out and distributed in the towns — in Brisighella itself first, under the Cardinal’s nose. Don’t send anyone you love, Signora Bolla. He’ll be killed — or taken, which comes to the same thing.

GEMMA. We are not likely to send anyone who is not prepared for that. We all are, and we shall not find a man who is not loved by somebody.

GADFLY. True, Signora: every pot finds its cover.

Even I am adored by Zita.

MARTINI. Where is the man who convoyed the weapons from Genoa to the caves?

GRASSINI. Egad, yes. That was a man in a thousand.

We have a splendid disguise for him. Passport and all complete.

GADFLY. What is it?

GRASSINI. An old Spanish pilgrim — a repentant brigand from the Sierras who killed his son and made a pilgrimage to Rome for absolution. He fell ill in Ancona last year; and one of our friends took him on board a trading-vessel out of charity, and set him down in Venice where he had friends. He left his papers with us to show his gratitude. In that disguise the man who convoyed the weapons for us could distribute them.

GEMMA. Yes; he would do. Unfortunately, we don’t know him.

MARTINI. Do you, Rivarez?

GADFLY. Oh, a despicable fellow, I assure you, you wouldn’t like him, Signora.

GEMMA. He did his work. He was a doer, not a scribbler and slanderer.

GADFLY. How do you know?

GEMMA. By his deeds. We will not think ill of a proved comrade to amuse you, Signor Rivarez.

GRASSINI. Come, come! Business, business! Whom shall we send?

MARTINI. Whom can we best spare, Signora Bolla?

GADFLY. Me, me, me. There is no doubt about that.

GEMMA. You must win our confidence first. I vote against your being sent.

MARTINI. So do I.

GRASSINI. Excuse me, Rivarez. But really so do I.

GADFLY. You flatter me. I propose, then, as an alternative, that you send the man who convoyed the weapons from Genoa to the caves — the despicable fellow.

GEMMA. I agree, if we can find him.

MARTINI. Agreed!

GRASSINI. Agreed.

GADFLY. Carried nem con. He shall start the day after tomorrow.

Signora Grassini runs from the house and hurries down to them.

SIGNORA GRASSINI. Domenichino is arrested.

They all rise in consternation.

GADFLY. Our man must start tonight. Away with you and warn everybody.

They hurry towards the house.

SIGNORA BOLLA. [She stops — the rest go into the house] You must stay with me to send this man off.

GEMMA. I!

GADFLY. He goes to his death. Is he to have no kinder word at parting than mine?

GEMMA. Is he a sentimentalist, then?

GADFLY. Yes, a grovelling sentimentalist.

GEMMA. What is his name?

GADFLY. Arthur.

GEMMA. Arthur!

GADFLY. An English name.

GEMMA. I know. I once knew someone of that name.

GADFLY. Indeed?

GEMMA. Do you know anything of his history?

GADFLY. Nothing that would amuse you. The poor wretch has been kicked about the world, mostly in South America — beaten and maimed, shot and chased, half drowned, drudged and degraded and devil knows what — even slapped across the face.

GEMMA. What do you mean by that?

GADFLY. Nothing, my dear lady, nothing. He has left it all behind now, and wants to hear nothing more of it.

GEMMA. I want to see this man. What is his other name? Where is he to be found?

GADFLY. Oh, he has lots of other names — Rivarez, the Gadfly — plenty of them. [The Angelus rings] Sh! Listen! That’s his death knell. [He takes out the castanets and marks the bolero rhythm softly with them, mocking the bell]

GEMMA. Stop clacking those horrible things. Do you mean that you are — gadfly. The man that convoyed the arms from Genoa to the caves? Precisely. And I am nobody else.

And I shall soon be nobody at all. So bid me adieu, beautiful widow of Bolla the Betrayed.

GEMMA. Adieu. But remember, the revolution wants men who intend to live for it and not to die for it.

GADFLY [seriously] I shall do my best with what is left of me.

GEMMA. If you are taken at Brisighella, appeal to Montanelli. He is merciful.

GADFLY. The more fool he!

GEMMA. We will do all we can ourselves.

GADFLY. Oh, look after the revolution, not after me. When the rush comes there will be no time to stop to pick me up. Besides, I have had all I wanted now. It was not much — only a fancy to see somebody again.

And I hate this cursed world, with its infamous cruelties and tyrannies, its slaves and cowards, holding each other down for priests and kings to devour. [relapsing into his flippant tone] Ah! excuse my talking shop.

GEMMA. It becomes you better than the other sort of talk. Goodbye. And remember, Montanelli once knew an Arthur whom he loved like his own son.

GADFLY [implacably] And whose mother he probably betrayed.

GEMMA. Do you never forgive old injuries?

GADFLY. Only when I have deserved them. I kiss the hands I have betrayed [he kisses her hand suddenly and lightly] — not the hands that betrayed me. And now off to Brisighella where I will test my disguise by confessing myself with all speed to Montanelli — to Father Montanelli. Goodbye, Gemma.

He embraces her and then hurries away up the steps.

As he reaches the terrace, Zita is heard singing within.

He stops and looks quaintly back at Gemma; then goes off accompanying the song with the castanets.