ARTHUR was taken to the huge mediaeval fortress at the harbour's mouth. He found prison life fairly endurable. His cell was unpleasantly damp and dark; but he had been brought up in a palace in the Via Borra, and neither close air, rats, nor foul smells were novelties to him. The food, also, was both bad and insufficient; but James soon obtained permission to send him all the necessaries of life from home. He was kept in solitary confinement, and, though the vigilance of the warders was less strict than he had expected, he failed to obtain any explanation of the cause of his arrest. Nevertheless, the tranquil frame of mind in which he had entered the fortress did not change. Not being allowed books, he spent his time in prayer and devout meditation, and waited without impatience or anxiety for the further course of events.
One day a soldier unlocked the door of his cell and called to him: "This way, please!" After two or three questions, to which he got no answer but, "Talking is forbidden," Arthur resigned himself to the inevitable and followed the soldier through a labyrinth of courtyards, corridors, and stairs, all more or less musty-smelling, into a large, light room in which three persons in military uniform sat at a long table covered with green baize and littered with papers, chatting in a languid, desultory way. They put on a stiff, business air as he came in, and the oldest of them, a foppish-looking man with gray whiskers and a colonel's uniform, pointed to a chair on the other side of the table and began the preliminary interrogation.
Arthur had expected to be threatened, abused, and sworn at, and had prepared himself to answer with dignity and patience; but he was pleasantly disappointed. The colonel was stiff, cold and formal, but perfectly courteous. The usual questions as to his name, age, nationality, and social position were put and answered, and the replies written down in monotonous succession. He was beginning to feel bored and impatient, when the colonel asked:
"And now, Mr. Burton, what do you know about Young Italy?"
"I know that it is a society which publishes a newspaper in Marseilles and circulates it in Italy, with the object of inducing people to revolt and drive the Austrian army out of the country."
"You have read this paper, I think?"
"Yes; I am interested in the subject."
"When you read it you realized that you were committing an illegal action?"
"Certainly."
"Where did you get the copies which were found in your room?"
"That I cannot tell you."
"Mr. Burton, you must not say 'I cannot tell' here; you are bound to answer my questions."
"I will not, then, if you object to 'cannot.'"
"You will regret it if you permit yourself to use such expressions," remarked the colonel. As Arthur made no reply, he went on:
"I may as well tell you that evidence has come into our hands proving your connection with this society to be much more intimate than is implied by the mere reading of forbidden literature. It will be to your advantage to confess frankly. In any case the truth will be sure to come out, and you will find it useless to screen yourself behind evasion and denials."
"I have no desire to screen myself. What is it you want to know?"
"Firstly, how did you, a foreigner, come to be implicated in matters of this kind?"
"I thought about the subject and read everything I could get hold of, and formed my own conclusions."
"Who persuaded you to join this society?"
"No one; I wished to join it."
"You are shilly-shallying with me," said the colonel, sharply; his patience was evidently beginning to give out. "No one can join a society by himself. To whom did you communicate your wish to join it?"
Silence.
"Will you have the kindness to answer me?"
"Not when you ask questions of that kind."
Arthur spoke sullenly; a curious, nervous irritability was taking possession of him. He knew by this time that many arrests had been made in both Leghorn and Pisa; and, though still ignorant of the extent of the calamity, he had already heard enough to put him into a fever of anxiety for the safety of Gemma and his other friends. The studied politeness of the officers, the dull game of fencing and parrying, of insidious questions and evasive answers, worried and annoyed him, and the clumsy tramping backward and forward of the sentinel outside the door jarred detestably upon his ear.
"Oh, by the bye, when did you last meet Giovanni Bolla?" asked the colonel, after a little more bandying of words. "Just before you left Pisa, was it?"
"I know no one of that name."
"What! Giovanni Bolla? Surely you know him --a tall young fellow, closely shaven. Why, he is one of your fellow-students."
"There are many students in the university whom I don't know."
"Oh, but you must know Bolla, surely! Look, this is his handwriting. You see, he knows you well enough."
The colonel carelessly handed him a paper headed: "Protocol," and signed: "Giovanni Bolla." Glancing down it Arthur came upon his own name. He looked up in surprise. "Am I to read it?"
"Yes, you may as well; it concerns you."
He began to read, while the officers sat silently watching his face. The document appeared to consist of depositions in answer to a long string of questions. Evidently Bolla, too, must have been arrested. The first depositions were of the usual stereotyped character; then followed a short account of Bolla's connection with the society, of the dissemination of prohibited literature in Leghorn, and of the students' meetings. Next came "Among those who joined us was a young Englishman, Arthur Burton, who belongs to one of the rich shipowning families."
The blood rushed into Arthur's face. Bolla had betrayed him! Bolla, who had taken upon himself the solemn duties of an initiator--Bolla, who had converted Gemma--who was in love with her! He laid down the paper and stared at the floor.
"I hope that little document has refreshed your memory?" hinted the colonel politely.
Arthur shook his head. "I know no one of that name," he repeated in a dull, hard voice. "There must be some mistake."
"Mistake? Oh, nonsense! Come, Mr. Burton, chivalry and quixotism are very fine things in their way; but there's no use in overdoing them. It's an error all you young people fall into at first. Come, think! What good is it for you to compromise yourself and spoil your prospects in life over a simple formality about a man that has betrayed you? You see yourself, he wasn't so particular as to what he said about you."
A faint shade of something like mockery had crept into the colonel's voice. Arthur looked up with a start; a sudden light flashed upon his mind.
"It's a lie!" he cried out. "It's a forgery! I can see it in your face, you cowardly----You've got some prisoner there you want to compromise, or a trap you want to drag me into. You are a forger, and a liar, and a scoundrel----"
"Silence!" shouted the colonel, starting up in a rage; his two colleagues were already on their feet. "Captain Tommasi," he went on, turning to one of them, "ring for the guard, if you please, and have this young gentleman put in the punishment cell for a few days. He wants a lesson, I see, to bring him to reason."
The punishment cell was a dark, damp, filthy hole under ground. Instead of bringing Arthur "to reason," it thoroughly exasperated him. His luxurious home had rendered him daintily fastidious about personal cleanliness, and the first effect of the slimy, vermin-covered walls, the floor heaped with accumulations of filth and garbage, the fearful stench of fungi and sewage and rotting wood, was strong enough to have satisfied the offended officer. When he was pushed in and the door locked behind him he took three cautious steps forward with outstretched hands, shuddering with disgust as his fingers came into contact with the slippery wall, and groped in the dense blackness for some spot less filthy than the rest in which to sit down.
The long day passed in unbroken blackness and silence, and the night brought no change. In the utter void and absence of all external impressions, he gradually lost the consciousness of time; and when, on the following morning, a key was turned in the door lock, and the frightened rats scurried past him squeaking, he started up in a sudden panic, his heart throbbing furiously and a roaring noise in his ears, as though he had been shut away from light and sound for months instead of hours.
The door opened, letting in a feeble lantern gleam--a flood of blinding light, it seemed to him --and the head warder entered, carrying a piece of bread and a mug of water. Arthur made a step forward; he was quite convinced that the man had come to let him out. Before he had time to speak, the warder put the bread and mug into his hands, turned round and went away without a word, locking the door again.
Arthur stamped his foot upon the ground. For the first time in his life he was savagely angry. But as the hours went by, the consciousness of time and place gradually slipped further and further away. The blackness seemed an illimitable thing, with no beginning and no end, and life had, as it were, stopped for him. On the evening of the third day, when the door was opened and the head warder appeared on the threshold with a soldier, he looked up, dazed and bewildered, shading his eyes from the unaccustomed light, and vaguely wondering how many hours or weeks he had been in this grave.
"This way, please," said the cool business voice of the warder. Arthur rose and moved forward mechanically, with a strange unsteadiness, swaying and stumbling like a drunkard. He resented the warder's attempt to help him up the steep, narrow steps leading to the courtyard; but as he reached the highest step a sudden giddiness came over him, so that he staggered and would have fallen backwards had the warder not caught him by the shoulder.
. . . . .
"There, he'll be all right now," said a cheerful voice; "they most of them go off this way coming out into the air."
Arthur struggled desperately for breath as another handful of water was dashed into his face. The blackness seemed to fall away from him in pieces with a rushing noise; then he woke suddenly into full consciousness, and, pushing aside the warder's arm, walked along the corridor and up the stairs almost steadily. They stopped for a moment in front of a door; then it opened, and before he realized where they were taking him he was in the brightly lighted interrogation room, staring in confused wonder at the table and the papers and the officers sitting in their accustomed places.
"Ah, it's Mr. Burton!" said the colonel. "I hope we shall be able to talk more comfortably now. Well, and how do you like the dark cell? Not quite so luxurious as your brother's drawing room, is it? eh?"
Arthur raised his eyes to the colonel's smiling face. He was seized by a frantic desire to spring at the throat of this gray-whiskered fop and tear it with his teeth. Probably something of this kind was visible in his face, for the colonel added immediately, in a quite different tone:
"Sit down, Mr. Burton, and drink some water; you are excited."
Arthur pushed aside the glass of water held out to him; and, leaning his arms on the table, rested his forehead on one hand and tried to collect his thoughts. The colonel sat watching him keenly, noting with experienced eyes the unsteady hands and lips, the hair dripping with water, the dim gaze that told of physical prostration and disordered nerves.
"Now, Mr. Burton," he said after a few minutes; "we will start at the point where we left off; and as there has been a certain amount of unpleasantness between us, I may as well begin by saying that I, for my part, have no desire to be anything but indulgent with you. If you will behave properly and reasonably, I assure you that we shall not treat you with any unnecessary harshness."
"What do you want me to do?"
Arthur spoke in a hard, sullen voice, quite different from his natural tone.
"I only want you to tell us frankly, in a straightforward and honourable manner, what you know of this society and its adherents. First of all, how long have you known Bolla?"
"I never met him in my life. I know nothing whatever about him."
"Really? Well, we will return to that subject presently. I think you know a young man named Carlo Bini?"
"I never heard of such a person."
"That is very extraordinary. What about Francesco Neri?"
"I never heard the name."
"But here is a letter in your handwriting, addressed to him. Look!"
Arthur glanced carelessly at the letter and laid it aside.
"Do you recognize that letter?"
"No."
"You deny that it is in your writing?"
"I deny nothing. I have no recollection of it."
"Perhaps you remember this one?"
A second letter was handed to him, and he saw that it was one which he had written in the autumn to a fellow-student.
"No."
"Nor the person to whom it is addressed?"
"Nor the person."
"Your memory is singularly short."
"It is a defect from which I have always suffered."
"Indeed! And I heard the other day from a university professor that you are considered by no means deficient; rather clever in fact."
"You probably judge of cleverness by the police-spy standard; university professors use words in a different sense."
The note of rising irritation was plainly audible in Arthur's voice. He was physically exhausted with hunger, foul air, and want of sleep; every bone in his body seemed to ache separately; and the colonel's voice grated on his exasperated nerves, setting his teeth on edge like the squeak of a slate pencil.
"Mr. Burton," said the colonel, leaning back in his chair and speaking gravely, "you are again forgetting yourself; and I warn you once more that this kind of talk will do you no good. Surely you have had enough of the dark cell not to want any more just for the present. I tell you plainly that I shall use strong measures with you if you persist in repulsing gentle ones. Mind, I have proof--positive proof--that some of these young men have been engaged in smuggling prohibited literature into this port; and that you have been in communication with them. Now, are you going to tell me, without compulsion, what you know about this affair?"
Arthur bent his head lower. A blind, senseless, wild-beast fury was beginning to stir within him like a live thing. The possibility of losing command over himself was more appalling to him than any threats. For the first time he began to realize what latent potentialities may lie hidden beneath the culture of any gentleman and the piety of any Christian; and the terror of himself was strong upon him.
"I am waiting for your answer," said the colonel.
"I have no answer to give."
"You positively refuse to answer?"
"I will tell you nothing at all."
"Then I must simply order you back into the punishment cell, and keep you there till you change your mind. If there is much more trouble with you, I shall put you in irons."
Arthur looked up, trembling from head to foot. "You will do as you please," he said slowly; "and whether the English Ambassador will stand your playing tricks of that kind with a British subject who has not been convicted of any crime is for him to decide."
At last Arthur was conducted back to his own cell, where he flung himself down upon the bed and slept till the next morning. He was not put in irons, and saw no more of the dreaded dark cell; but the feud between him and the colonel grew more inveterate with every interrogation. It was quite useless for Arthur to pray in his cell for grace to conquer his evil passions, or to meditate half the night long upon the patience and meekness of Christ. No sooner was he brought again into the long, bare room with its baize-covered table, and confronted with the colonel's waxed moustache, than the unchristian spirit would take possession of him once more, suggesting bitter repartees and contemptuous answers. Before he had been a month in the prison the mutual irritation had reached such a height that he and the colonel could not see each other's faces without losing their temper.
The continual strain of this petty warfare was beginning to tell heavily upon his nerves. Knowing how closely he was watched, and remembering certain dreadful rumours which he had heard of prisoners secretly drugged with belladonna that notes might be taken of their ravings, he gradually became afraid to sleep or eat; and if a mouse ran past him in the night, would start up drenched with cold sweat and quivering with terror, fancying that someone was hiding in the room to listen if he talked in his sleep. The gendarmes were evidently trying to entrap him into making some admission which might compromise Bolla; and so great was his fear of slipping, by any inadvertency, into a pitfall, that he was really in danger of doing so through sheer nervousness. Bolla's name rang in his ears night and day, interfering even with his devotions, and forcing its way in among the beads of the rosary instead of the name of Mary. But the worst thing of all was that his religion, like the outer world, seemed to be slipping away from him as the days went by. To this last foothold he clung with feverish tenacity, spending several hours of each day in prayer and meditation; but his thoughts wandered more and more often to Bolla, and the prayers were growing terribly mechanical.
His greatest comfort was the head warder of the prison. This was a little old man, fat and bald, who at first had tried his hardest to wear a severe expression. Gradually the good nature which peeped out of every dimple in his chubby face conquered his official scruples, and he began carrying messages for the prisoners from cell to cell.
One afternoon in the middle of May this warder came into the cell with a face so scowling and gloomy that Arthur looked at him in astonishment.
"Why, Enrico!" he exclaimed; "what on earth is wrong with you to-day?"
"Nothing," said Enrico snappishly; and, going up to the pallet, he began pulling off the rug, which was Arthur's property.
"What do you want with my things? Am I to be moved into another cell?"
"No; you're to be let out."
"Let out? What--to-day? For altogether? Enrico!"
In his excitement Arthur had caught hold of the old man's arm. It was angrily wrenched away.
"Enrico! What has come to you? Why don't you answer? Are we all going to be let out?"
A contemptuous grunt was the only reply.
"Look here!" Arthur again took hold of the warder's arm, laughing. "It is no use for you to be cross to me, because I'm not going to get offended. I want to know about the others."
"Which others?" growled Enrico, suddenly laying down the shirt he was folding. "Not Bolla, I suppose?"
"Bolla and all the rest, of course. Enrico, what is the matter with you?"
"Well, he's not likely to be let out in a hurry, poor lad, when a comrade has betrayed him. Ugh!" Enrico took up the shirt again in disgust.
"Betrayed him? A comrade? Oh, how dreadful!" Arthur's eyes dilated with horror. Enrico turned quickly round.
"Why, wasn't it you?"
"I? Are you off your head, man? I?"
"Well, they told him so yesterday at interrogation, anyhow. I'm very glad if it wasn't you, for I always thought you were rather a decent young fellow. This way!" Enrico stepped out into the corridor and Arthur followed him, a light breaking in upon the confusion of his mind.
"They told Bolla I'd betrayed him? Of course they did! Why, man, they told me he had betrayed me. Surely Bolla isn't fool enough to believe that sort of stuff?"
"Then it really isn't true?" Enrico stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked searchingly at Arthur, who merely shrugged his shoulders.
"Of course it's a lie."
"Well, I'm glad to hear it, my lad, and I'll tell him you said so. But you see what they told him was that you had denounced him out of--well, out of jealousy, because of your both being sweet on the same girl."
"It's a lie!" Arthur repeated the words in a quick, breathless whisper. A sudden, paralyzing fear had come over him. "The same girl--jealousy!" How could they know--how could they know?
"Wait a minute, my lad." Enrico stopped in the corridor leading to the interrogation room, and spoke softly. "I believe you; but just tell me one thing. I know you're a Catholic; did you ever say anything in the confessional------"
"It's a lie!" This time Arthur's voice had risen to a stifled cry.
Enrico shrugged his shoulders and moved on again. "You know best, of course; but you wouldn't be the only young fool that's been taken in that way. There's a tremendous ado just now about a priest in Pisa that some of your friends have found out. They've printed a leaflet saying he's a spy."
He opened the door of the interrogation room, and, seeing that Arthur stood motionless, staring blankly before him, pushed him gently across the threshold.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Burton," said the colonel, smiling and showing his teeth amiably. "I have great pleasure in congratulating you. An order for your release has arrived from Florence. Will you kindly sign this paper?"
Arthur went up to him. "I want to know," he said in a dull voice, "who it was that betrayed me."
The colonel raised his eyebrows with a smile.
"Can't you guess? Think a minute."
Arthur shook his head. The colonel put out both hands with a gesture of polite surprise.
"Can't guess? Really? Why, you yourself, Mr. Burton. Who else could know your private love affairs?"
Arthur turned away in silence. On the wall hung a large wooden crucifix; and his eyes wandered slowly to its face; but with no appeal in them, only a dim wonder at this supine and patient God that had no thunderbolt for a priest who betrayed the confessional.
"Will you kindly sign this receipt for your papers?" said the colonel blandly; "and then I need not keep you any longer. I am sure you must be in a hurry to get home; and my time is very much taken up just now with the affairs of that foolish young man, Bolla, who tried your Christian forbearance so hard. I am afraid he will get a rather heavy sentence. Good-afternoon!"
Arthur signed the receipt, took his papers, and went out in dead silence. He followed Enrico to the massive gate; and, without a word of farewell, descended to the water's edge, where a ferryman was waiting to take him across the moat. As he mounted the stone steps leading to the street, a girl in a cotton dress and straw hat ran up to him with outstretched hands.
"Arthur! Oh, I'm so glad--I'm so glad!"
He drew his hands away, shivering.
"Jim!" he said at last, in a voice that did not seem to belong to him. "Jim!"
"I've been waiting here for half an hour. They said you would come out at four. Arthur, why do you look at me like that? Something has happened! Arthur, what has come to you? Stop!"
He had turned away, and was walking slowly down the street, as if he had forgotten her presence. Thoroughly frightened at his manner, she ran after him and caught him by the arm.
"Arthur!"
He stopped and looked up with bewildered eyes. She slipped her arm through his, and they walked on again for a moment in silence.
"Listen, dear," she began softly; "you mustn't get so upset over this wretched business. I know it's dreadfully hard on you, but everybody understands."
"What business?" he asked in the same dull voice.
"I mean, about Bolla's letter."
Arthur's face contracted painfully at the name.
"I thought you wouldn't have heard of it," Gemma went on; "but I suppose they've told you. Bolla must be perfectly mad to have imagined such a thing."
"Such a thing----?"
"You don't know about it, then? He has written a horrible letter, saying that you have told about the steamers, and got him arrested. It's perfectly absurd, of course; everyone that knows you sees that; it's only the people who don't know you that have been upset by it. Really, that's what I came here for--to tell you that no one in our group believes a word of it."
"Gemma! But it's--it's true!"
She shrank slowly away from him, and stood quite still, her eyes wide and dark with horror, her face as white as the kerchief at her neck. A great icy wave of silence seemed to have swept round them both, shutting them out, in a world apart, from the life and movement of the street.
"Yes," he whispered at last; "the steamers-- I spoke of that; and I said his name--oh, my God! my God! What shall I do?"
He came to himself suddenly, realizing her presence and the mortal terror in her face. Yes, of course, she must think------
"Gemma, you don't understand!" he burst out, moving nearer; but she recoiled with a sharp cry:
"Don't touch me!"
Arthur seized her right hand with sudden violence.
"Listen, for God's sake! It was not my fault; I----"
"Let go; let my hand go! Let go!"
The next instant she wrenched her fingers away from his, and struck him across the cheek with her open hand.
A kind of mist came over his eyes. For a little while he was conscious of nothing but Gemma's white and desperate face, and the right hand which she had fiercely rubbed on the skirt of her cotton dress. Then the daylight crept back again, and he looked round and saw that he was alone.
亚瑟被带进港口那个巨大的中世纪城堡里。他发现监狱生活相当难过。他那间牢房又湿又暗，让人感到很不舒服。但是他是在维亚·波拉街的一座豪华住宅里长大的，因此对他来说，密不流通的空气和令人作呕的气味都不是什么新奇的东西。食物也差得要命，而且量也不够。但是杰姆斯很快就获得准许，从家里给他送来了生活的必需品。他被单独关着，尽管狱卒对他的监视并不像他想象的那样严格，但他还是没能查明逮捕他的原因。可是他却保持平静的心态，这种心态自他进入城堡以后就没有发生变化。因为不许他带书来看，所以他只是祈祷和做虔诚的默念，借此消磨时间，不急不躁地等着事态的进一步变化。
有一天，一名士兵打开了牢门，并且向他喊道：“请往这边走！”提了两三个问题，得到的回答却是：“不许交谈！”亚瑟只得听天由命，跟着那位士兵穿过迷宫一样的庭院、走廊和楼梯，一切都多少带着一点霉味。然后他们走进了一个宽敞明亮的房间，里面有三个身着军服的人坐在一张铺着绿呢的长桌子旁，桌上杂乱地堆着文书。他们正在懒洋洋地闲聊。
当他走进来时，他们摆出一副正经八百的样子。他们之中年长的那位看上去像是一个花花公子，此人留着灰白色的络腮胡子，穿着上校军服。他用手一指对面的一把椅子，然后就开始了预审。
亚瑟想过会受到威胁、侮辱和谩骂，并且准备带着尊严和耐心来应答。但是他们对他很客气，这使他感到失望。对他提出了通常的那些问题，诸如他的姓名、年龄、国籍和社会地位，对此他都作了回答。他的回答也都按照顺序被记录下来。他开始觉得乏味，有些不耐烦。这时那位上校问道：“现在，伯顿先生，你对青年意大利党有何了解？”
“我了解这是一个组织，在马赛出版了一份报纸，并在意大利散发，旨在动员人们挺身而起，把奥地利军队从这个国家赶出去。”
“我看你是读过这份报纸吧？”
“是的，我对这件事情挺有兴趣。”
“在你读报的时候，你认识到你的行动是违法的吗？”
“当然。”
“我们在你房间所发现的报纸，你是从哪里弄来的？”
“这我就不能说了。”
“伯顿先生，你在这里不许说‘我不能说’。你有责任回答我的问题。”
“如果你不准我说‘不能’，那么我就说‘不愿’。”
“如果你容许自己使用这些字眼，你将会后悔莫及。”上校严肃地说。因为亚瑟没有回答，所以他接着说道：“我可以这么跟你说，从我们所掌握的证据来看，你与这个组织的关系密切，不仅仅是阅读违禁读物。你还是坦白交待，这对你有好处。不管怎样，事情总会弄个水落石出的，你会发现用回避和否认就想开脱自己于事无补。”
“我无意开脱自己。你们想知道什么？”
“首先，作为一个外国人，你怎么牵涉到这种事情当中？”
“我曾考虑过这件事情，读了我所能找到的所有东西，并且得出了我自己的结论。”
“谁劝说你参加这个组织的？”
“没有什么人，我希望参加这个组织。”
“你这是在和我磨时间。”上校厉声说道，他显然正在失去耐心。“没有人能够自个儿参加一个组织。你向谁表达过想要参加这个组织的愿望？”
一阵沉默。
“请你回答我这个问题好吗？”
“你要是提出这样的问题，我是不会回答的。”
亚瑟怒气冲冲地说道，他产生了一种莫名其妙的恼火。到了这个时候，他知道已在里窝那和比萨逮捕了许多人。尽管他仍不清楚这场灾难范围有多大，但是风言风语他已听了许多，因而他为琼玛及其朋友的安危感到极度的不安。这些军官们故作礼貌，狡诈阴险的问题和不着边际的回答有来有往，他们相互之间玩弄着搪塞和回避这种乏味的把戏，这一切都让他感到担心和烦恼。门外的哨兵迈着沉重的脚步走来走去，刺耳的脚步声让他难以忍受。
“噢，顺便说一下，你上次是什么时候见到乔万尼·波拉的？”争辩了一阵以后，上校问道。“就在你离开比萨之前，对吗？”
“我不知道有人叫这个名字。”
“什么！乔万尼·波拉？你肯定认识他——一个高个儿的年轻人，脸上总是刮得干干净净的。噢，他可是你的同学。”
“大学里有许多学生我不认识。”
“噢，但是你一定认识波拉，你肯定认识波拉！瞧，这是他的手迹。你看看，他对你可很熟。”
上校漫不经心地递给他一张纸，抬头写着“招供自白”，并且签有“乔万尼·波拉”的字样。亚瑟扫了一眼，看到了他自己的名字。他惊讶地抬起头来。“要我读吗？”
“是的，你可以读一读，这事与你有关。”
于是他读了起来，那些军官默不做声地坐在那里，观察他的脸部表情。这份文件包括对一长串问题所作的供词。波拉显然也已被捕。供词的第一部分是通常的那一套，接下去简短地叙述了波拉与组织的关系，如何在里窝那传播违禁读物，以及学生集会的情况。后面写着“在参加我们这个组织当中有一位年轻的英国人，他叫亚瑟·伯顿，属于一个富有的船运家族”。
亚瑟的脸上涌起一股热血。波拉已经出卖了他！波拉，这个挺身担当一位发起人之庄严职责的人——波拉，这个改变了琼玛信仰的人——他还爱着她呢！他放下那张纸，凝视着地面。
“我希望这份小小的文件已经使你恢复了记忆吧？”上校彬彬有礼地问道。
亚瑟摇了摇头。“我不认识叫这个名字的人。”他重复说道，声音单调而又坚决。“肯定是弄错了。”
“弄错了？噢，胡说八道！得了吧，伯顿先生，骑士风格和唐吉诃德式的侠义精神，就其本身来说是非常美好的品德，但是过分实践这些品德则是毫无益处的。你们这些年轻人一开始总犯这样的错误。得了吧，想一想！委屈自己，为了一个出卖你的人，竟然拘泥于小节，从而毁了你一生前程又有什么好处？你看看你自己，他供起你来可是没有给予你什么特别的关照。”
上校的声音里含着一种淡淡的嘲弄口吻。亚瑟吃了一惊，抬起头来。他的心头突然闪过一道光亮。
“撒谎！”他大声喊道。“这是伪造的！我能从你的脸上看得出来，你们这些懦夫——你们一定是想要陷害某个犯人，要么你就是想引我上钩。你们伪造了这个东西，你是在撒谎，你这个混蛋——”
“住嘴！”上校大声吼道，一下子站了起来。“托马西上尉，”他面对身旁的一个人继续说道，“请你叫来看守，把这个年轻人带进惩戒室关他几天。我看需要教训他一顿，那样他才会变得理智起来。”
惩戒室是地下一个洞穴，里面阴暗、潮湿、肮脏。它没有使亚瑟变得“理智”起来，相反却把他彻底激怒起来。他那个奢侈的家庭已经使他养成了爱好个人清洁卫生的习惯，可在这里，污秽的墙上爬满了毒虫，地上堆积着垃圾和污物，青苔、污水和朽木散发出令人作呕的臭味。这里的一切对他产生的最初影响足以使得那位受到冒犯的军官感到满意。亚瑟被推了进去，牢门随后关上。他伸出双手，小心谨慎地向前走了三步。他的手摸到滑溜溜的墙壁，一阵恶心使他浑身颤抖起来。他在漆黑之中找到一个不那么脏的地方，然后坐了下来。
就在黑暗和沉默之中，他度过了漫长的一天。夜晚什么事儿也没有发生。一切都是那样的空虚，完全没有了外界的印象。他逐渐失去了时间的概念。在第二天早晨，当一把钥匙在门锁里转动时，受到惊吓的老鼠吱吱地从他身边跑过，他突然吓得站起身来，他的心怦怦跳得厉害，耳朵里嗡嗡直响，仿佛他被关在一个隔绝光与声的地方已有几个月，而不是几个小时。
牢门打开了，透进一丝微弱的灯光——对他来说则是一道耀眼的光亮。看守长走了进来，手里拿着一块面包和一杯水。亚瑟向前走了一步，他深信这个人是来放他出去的。没等他说出话来，看守就把面包和茶杯塞到他的手里，转过身去，一句话没说就走了，再次锁上牢门。
亚瑟跺起脚来。他这一生还是第一次感到怒火中烧。但是随着时间的推移，他逐渐失去了对时间和地点的把握。黑暗像是无边无际，没有开始也没有结束。对他来说，生命似乎已经停止了。在第三天的傍晚，牢门被打开了，看守长带着一位士兵站在门槛上。他抬起头，惶惑而又茫然。他用手遮住眼睛，以便避开不太习惯的亮光。他迷迷糊糊，不知道他在这个坟墓里已经待了多少个小时，或者是待了多少个星期。
“请往这边走。”看守正色说道。亚瑟站了起来，机械地往前走去。他脚步蹒跚，晃晃悠悠，像是一个醉汉。他讨厌看守想要扶他走上陡峭而又狭窄的台阶，但是在他走上最后一层台阶时，他突然觉得头晕目眩，所以他摇晃起来，要不是看守抓住他的肩膀，他就会向后摔下去。
“好啦，现在他就会没事的，”有人高兴地说道，“他们这样走出来，大多数人都会昏过去的。”
亚瑟挣扎着，拼命想要喘过气来。这时又有一捧水浇到他的脸上。黑暗好像随着哗啦啦的浇水声从他眼前消失了，这时他突然恢复了知觉。他推开看守的胳膊，走到走廊的另一头，然后登上楼梯，几乎是稳稳当当的。他们在一个门口停顿了片刻，过后门打开了。没等他想出他们把他带到什么地方，他已站在灯火通明的审讯室里，惊疑不定地打量着那张桌子，以及那些文件和那些坐在老位置上的军官。
“啊，是伯顿先生！”上校说道。“我希望我们现在能够好好地谈一谈。呃，喜欢那间暗无天日的牢房吗？不如你哥哥家中那间客厅豪华，是吗？嗯？”
亚瑟抬眼注视上校那张笑嘻嘻的面孔。他突然产生了一种难以遏制的欲望，直想扑上前去，掐住那个留着络腮胡子的花花公子的喉咙，并用牙齿将它咬断。很可能他的脸上流露出什么，因为上校立即换了一种截然不同的语气说道：“坐下，伯顿先生，喝点水。你有些激动。”
亚瑟推开递给他的那杯水。他把双臂支在桌上，一只手托住前额，试图静下心来。上校坐在那里，老练的目光敏锐地打量着他那颤抖的双手和嘴唇，以及湿漉漉的头发和迷离的眼神。他知道这一切说明体力衰弱，神经紊乱。
“现在，伯顿先生，”在几分钟以后，他说，“我们就接着我们上次的话题往下谈，因为我们之间产生了一些不愉快的事情，所以我不妨首先向你说明，就我来说，除了宽容待你别无他意。如果你的举止是得当和理智的，我向你保证我们不会对你采取任何不必要的粗暴措施。”
“你想让我干什么？”
亚瑟怒气冲冲地说道，声音与他平时说话的腔调大不相同。
“我只要你坦率地告诉我们，你对这个组织及其成员了解多少。直截了当，大大方方。首先说说你认识波拉有多长时间了？”
“我这一辈子都不曾见过他。我对他一无所知。”
“真的吗？那好，我们一会儿再回到这个话题上来。你认识一个叫做卡洛·毕尼的年轻人吗？”
“我从来都没听说过这个人。”
“这就活见鬼了。弗兰西斯科·奈里呢？”
“我从来没有听说过这个名字。”
“但是这儿有一封你写的信，上面写着他的名字。瞧！”
亚瑟心不在焉地瞥了一眼，然后把它放在一边。
“你认出这封信了吗？”
“认不出来。”
“你否认是你写的信吗？”
“我什么也没有否认。我不记得了。”
“也许你记得这封信吧？”
又一封信递给了他，他看出是他在秋天写给一位同学的信。
“不记得了。”
“收信的人也不记得吗？”
“连人也不记得了。”
“你的记忆真是太差了。”
“这正是我常感到苦恼的一个缺陷。”
“那是！可我那天从一位大学教授那里听说你是一点缺陷也没有，事实上却是聪明过人。”
“你可能是根据暗探的标准来判断聪明与否，大学教授们用词是不同的。”
从亚瑟的声音里，显然能够听出他的火气越来越大。由于饥饿、空气污浊和直想睡觉，他已经精疲力竭。他身子里的每一根骨头好像都在作痛，上校的声音折磨着他那业已动怒的神经，气得他咬紧牙关，并且发出石笔磨擦的声音。
“伯顿先生，”上校仰面靠在椅背上，正色说道，“你又忘记了你的处境。我再次警告你，这样谈话对你没有好处。你肯定已经尝够了黑牢的滋味，现在不想蹲在里面吧。我把话给你挑明了，如果你再这样好歹不分，我就会采取断然的措施。别忘了我可掌握了证据——确凿的证据——证明这些年轻人当中有人把违禁书报带进港口，而且你一直与他们保持联系。现在你是否愿意主动交待一下，你对这件事了解多少？”
亚瑟低下了脑袋。他的心中开始萌发出了一股盲目、愚昧和疯狂的怒火，难以遏制。对他来说，失去自制比任何威胁都更加可怕。他第一次开始认识到在任何绅士的修养和基督徒的虔诚下面，都隐藏着那种不易觉察的力量，于是他对自己感到害怕。
“我在等待着你的回答呢。”上校说道。
“我没有什么要回答的。”
“你这是一口拒绝回答了？”
“我什么也不会告诉你。”
“那么我只好下令把你押回到惩戒室去，并且一直把你关在那里，直到你回心转意。如果你再惹麻烦，我就会给你带上手铐脚镣。”
亚瑟抬起头，气得浑身上下抖个不停。“随你的便。”他缓慢地说道，“英国大使将会作出决定，是否容忍你们如此虐待一个无罪的英国臣民。”
最后亚瑟又被领回到自己的那间牢房。进去以后，他就倒在床上，一直睡到第二天早晨。没有给他戴上手铐脚镣，他也没有再被关进那间可怕的黑牢。但是随着每一次的审讯，他与上校之间的仇恨日益加深。对亚瑟来说，在他这间牢房里祈求上帝的恩惠来平息心中炽烈的怒火，或者花上半夜的时间思考基督的耐心和忍让，都是一点用处也没有的。当他又被带进那间狭长的空屋时，一看到那张铺着绿呢的桌子，面对上校那撮蜡黄的胡子，非基督教的精神立即就再次占据他的内心，使他做出辛辣的反驳和恶意的回答。没等他在监狱里待上一个月，他们相互之间的忿恨就已达到水火不容的地步，以至于他和上校一照面就会勃然大怒。
这种小规模的冲突开始严重影响他的神经系统。他知道受到了密切的监视，而且也想起了那些令人毛骨悚然的谣言。
他听说偷偷给犯人服下颠茄，这样就可以把他们的谵语记录下来，所以他逐渐害怕睡觉或吃饭。如果一只老鼠在夜里跑过他的身边，他会吓得一身冷汗，因为恐惧浑身发抖，并且幻想有人藏在屋里，显然企图诱使他在某种情况下作出承认，从而供出波拉。他非常害怕因为稍有疏忽而落进陷阱，以至于真有危险仅仅是由于紧张而做出这样的事。波拉的名字昼夜都在他的耳边响起，甚至扰乱了他的祈祷，以至于在他数着念珠时也会说出波拉的名字，而不是玛利亚的名字。但是最糟糕的事情是他的宗教信仰，就像外面的世界一样，它也好像一天天地离他而去。他怀着狂热的固执劲儿抓住这最后的立脚点，每天他都花上好几个小时用于祈祷和默念。但是他的思绪越来越经常地转到波拉的身上，可怕的是祈祷正在变得机械。
他最大的安慰是结识了监狱的看守长。他是一个身材不高的老头，胖胖的，头已秃顶。起先他竭力板着一张严肃的脸。时间一长，他那张胖脸上的每一个酒窝都露出善良，这种善良抑制了职务在身而应注意的顾忌。他开始为犯人们传递口信和纸条，从一间牢房传到另一间牢房。
五月的一天下午，这位看守走进牢房。他皱着眉头，阴沉着脸。亚瑟吃惊地望着他。
“怎么啦，恩里科！”他大声说道。“你今天究竟是怎么了？”
“没什么。”恩里科没好气地说道。他走到草铺跟前，开始扯下毛毯。这条毛毯是亚瑟带来的。
“你拿我的东西做什么？我要搬到另一间牢房里去吗？”
“不，你被释放了。”
“释放？什么——今天吗？全都释放吗？恩里科！”
亚瑟激动之下抓住那位老人的胳膊，可是他却忿然挣脱开了。
“恩里科！你是怎么啦？你为什么不说话？我们全都被释放吗？”
老人只是哼了一声，算是作了回答。
“别！”亚瑟又抓住看守的胳膊，并且哈哈大笑。“你对我生气可没用，因为我不会介意的。我想知道其他人的情况。”
“什么其他人？”恩里科突然放下正在叠着的衬衣，怒气冲冲地说道。“我看是没有波拉吧？”
“当然包括波拉和其他所有的人。恩里科，你是怎么啦？”
“那好，他是不大可能被匆忙释放的，可怜的孩子，他竟然被一位同志给出卖了。哼！”恩里科再次拿起衬衣，带着鄙夷的神情。
“把他给出卖了？一位同志！噢，真是可怕！”亚瑟惊恐地睁大眼睛。恩里科迅速转过身去。
“怎么啦，不是你吗？”
“我？伙计，你发了疯吧？我？”
“那好，反正昨天在审讯时，他们是这么告诉他的。我很高兴不是你，因为我一直认为你是一个相当正直的年轻人。这边走！”恩里科站到走廊上，亚瑟跟在他的身后。他心中的一团迷雾有了头绪。
“他们告诉波拉是我出卖了他？他们当然是这么说了！伙计，他们告诉我是他出卖了我。波拉肯定不会那么傻，竟会相信这种东西。”
“那么真的不是你了？”恩里科在楼梯上停下脚步，仔细打量着亚瑟。亚瑟只是耸了耸他的肩膀。
“这当然是在撒谎。”
“那好，我很高兴听到这句话，我的孩子。我会告诉他你是这么说的。但是你知道，他们告诉他，你是出于——呃，出于妒忌而告发了他，因为你们俩爱上了同一个姑娘。”
“这是在撒谎！”亚瑟气喘吁吁，急匆匆地重复着这句话。
他的心中突然产生了一种恐惧，浑身没了力气。“同一个姑娘——妒忌！”他们是怎么知道的——他们是怎么知道的？
“等一等，我的孩子。”恩里科停在通向审讯室的走廊里，和颜悦色地说道，“我相信你，但是只告诉我一件事。我知道你是个天主教徒，你在忏悔的时候说过——”
“这是在撒谎！”这一次亚瑟提高了嗓门，快要哭出声来。
恩里科耸了耸肩膀，然后继续往前走去。“你当然知道得最清楚，但是像你这样受骗上当的傻小子，也不会只有你一个人。比萨现在正闹得满城风雨，你的一些朋友已经揭露出一个教士。他们已经印发了传单，说他是一个暗探。”
他打开审讯室的门，看见亚瑟一动不动，眼光呆滞地望着前方，他轻轻地把他推进门槛里面。
“下午好，伯顿先生。”上校咧嘴笑着说道，态度和蔼，“我不胜荣幸，向你表示祝贺。佛罗伦萨方面已经下令将你释放。请你在这份文件上签字好吗？”
亚瑟走到他的跟前。“我想知道，”他无精打采地问道，“谁出卖了我。”
上校扬起眉毛，微微一笑。
“你猜不出来吗？想一想。”
亚瑟摇了摇头。上校伸出双手，作出一个略微表示惊讶的手势。
“猜不出吗？真的吗？嗨，是你自己呀，伯顿先生。谁还会知道你的儿女私情呢？”
亚瑟默不做声地转过身去，墙上挂着一个巨大的木制十字架，他的眼睛缓缓地移到耶稣的脸上。但是他的眼里没有祈求，只是隐约地惊叹这位漠然而又耐心的上帝为什么不对出卖忏悔教徒的教士严加惩处。
“请你在收据上签字，证明领回你的论文好吗？”上校和气地说道。“然后我就不再留你了。我相信你一定急着回家。
为了波拉那个傻小子的事情，我今天下午已经花了很多时间了。他把我的基督教耐性可考验苦了。恐怕他会被判得很重。
再见！”
亚瑟在收据上签了名字，接过他的论文，然后一声不吭地走了出去。他跟着恩里科走到大门口。他一句道别的话也没说，径直走到河边。那里有一位船夫，正在等着把他渡过护城河。当他登上通往街道的台阶时，一个穿着棉布连衣裙、戴着草帽的姑娘伸出双臂，朝他跑了过来。
“亚瑟！噢，我真高兴——我真高兴！”
他抽回了手，战栗不止。
“吉姆！”他最终说道，声音好像不是他的。“吉姆！”
“我已经等了半个小时了。他们说你会在四点钟出来。亚瑟，你为什么这样看着我？出了什么事？亚瑟，你遇着什么事了？别这样！”
他转身缓慢地往街道那头走去，好像他已经忘记了她的存在。他这个样子完全把她给吓坏了，她跑了上来，抓住了他的胳膊。
“亚瑟！”
他停下脚步，抬起头来，怯生生地看着她。她挽起他的胳膊，他们默不做声，一起又走了一会儿。
“听着，亲爱的，”她轻声说道，“你不必为了这件倒霉的事情而感到不安。我知道这对你来说是件痛苦的事，但是大家都会明白的。”
“什么事？”他问道，还是那样无精打采。
“我是说关于波拉的信。”
听到这个名字，亚瑟的脸痛苦地抽搐起来。
“我原以为你不会听到这件事，”琼玛接着说道，“但是我想他们已经告诉了你。波拉一定发疯了，竟然认为会有这样的事。”
“这样的事——”
“这么说你对这事一无所知了？他写了一封耸人听闻的信，说你已经说出了关于轮船的事情，并且致使他被捕。这当然是无稽之谈，每一个认识你的人都会明白这个道理的。只有那些不认识你的人才会感到不安。所以我才会来到这里——就是要告诉你，我们那个圈子里的人谁都不信。”
“琼玛！可这是——这是真的！”
她慢悠悠地抽身从他身边走开，站在那里一动不动。她睁大眼睛，里面满是恐惧。她的脸就像她脖子上的围巾一样白。沉默犹如一道冰冷的巨浪，好像冲刷到他们跟前，淹没了他们，把他们与市井的喧哗隔绝开来。
“是的，”他最后小声说道，“轮船的事情——我说了。我说了他的名字——噢，我的上帝！我的上帝啊！我该怎么办？”
他突然清醒了过来，意识到她就站在他的身边，并且注意到她的脸上露出致命的惊恐。对了，当然她肯定认为——
“琼玛，你不明白啊！”他脱口说道，随即凑到她的跟前。
但是她直往后退，并且尖声喊出声来：“别碰我！”
亚瑟突然猛地抓住她的右手。
“听着，看在上帝的份上！这不是我的过错。我——”
“放开，放开我的手！放开！”
她随即从他的手里挣脱开她的手指，并且扬起手来，结结实实地打了他一个耳光。
他的眼睛变得模糊不清。霎时间，他只能觉察琼玛那张苍白而又绝望的面孔，以及狠劲抽他的那只手。她就在棉布连衣裙上蹭着这只手。过了一会儿，日光再次显露出来，他打量四周，看见自己孑然一身。