The Assassin's Knife.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIV, Issue 208, 2 September 1893, Page 3 (Supplement)

The Assassin's Knife.

Grant Allan in tie 'Speaker,'

'Formy part,'said the Parson, 'I think no private person is ever justified in taking a human lifo, except, of course, in self-

defence.'

'Or in defence of bho lives and libortiea of others,' the Unblushing Radical observed as an amendment.

' Ur—quibo so,' tho Parson admitted somewhat dubiously. Ho hated to commit himself.

' I don'b see that,' tho old Italian Revolutionist interjected, with ten extended fingors, (Ho had been a Mazzinisb in hia day, and hounded over half Italy.) ' That seems to mo to take for granted tho fine idea ofr some diviner right in Governments than in tho instincts of tho people. Now, to <fiy mind, tho pooplo aro much more to be trusted of the two. Was ib not co in Lombardy ? Is it not so in Ireland ? Why should a determination to pub a man to death bo any the more just and right because ib happons to proceed from a judge or a jury—one man and twelve men, if ib comes to that —than because ib happens to proceed from the deliberate moral conviction of any right-minded citizen ? It's tho nature of tho acb itself, not the persons who are chosen bo carry it out, thab stamps its morality. Wo know now that Governments havo no better right to put men to death, or to ordain under what circumstances they may bo justly pub to death, than any of the rest of us. For my part, I have known so many so-called murders which were a great deal more justifiable than many socalled executions.'

•What perfect; English ho speaks,' the Unblushing Radical interposed, 'and sound eenao, too, every word of it.' •I can't agree with yon,1 the Parson answered. 'In my opinion no Christan has a right to take She life of another, except in self-defence, or at the command of the magistrates.' (He was at that rudimentary stage Of logical dovolopmcnt, you see, when a man mistakes an iteration of his own opinion for an argument against his opponent's reasoning. Nine-tenths of humanity novor get beyond it.) The old Italian brushed off the ash from his cigarette. ' Well, I'll toll you a case,' he said, 'that I remember in Padua.' Ho had the misfortune to be a foreigner, don't you sco, and admirably as ho spoke our tongue (being married to an Englishwoman) ho v/asn'b yob aware that you muatn'b argue with clergymen. He shut; hia eyes and drew his hand across his forehead, as if ho actually recalled to sight the vivid incident ho was going to relate to us. 'I remember ono day." ho began, ' when I waa a mere boy, an Austrian colonel, on nn iron-grey charger was galloping at full speed through the Mercato dei Frutti, in the centre of Padua—you know the way they used to ride—tippeta-tip, tippeta tip through the crowded parts of the town, clank, clank, on the paved streets, as if the world belonged to them. Tho people with their baskets scattered wide on either hand. " Ho, ho, look out there ! Tho Tedesco is upon you !" Helter-skelter, right and left, quick as lightning they cleared the way for him. Either that, or ba run down !We didn't know it then, but 'twas the survival oE the swiftest. And on the Austrian rode, through the midst of the market people—whip in hand, spur at flauk—his horse's hoofs throwing up spattered mud on cither side into tho faces of the women. A dog ran at his heols —a groat Austrian dog, the right companion for such men—a sorb of ferocious bloodhound. (And nowadays Italians have a Triple Alliance ! Well, well, we won'b think of it.) A boy was passing by on his way from school with a much smaller dog — a little Italian dog, slender, shivering, sensitive — tho very contrast to tho bloodhound. The big bruto of an Austrian turned sharply upon him with one snap and worried him. His jawa were like a vice. Ho almost killed him. The lad was a gentle lad—the kind that nover hurt dog or man in his life before ; bub ho couldn't stand by and sco the innocenb little greyhound eaten up alive by thab groat ironjawed monster. He picked up a stone from the street and flung ib at the bloodhound. It hit the big dog on tho head. The creature howled with pain. Then the colonel turned and saw it, 'Twas a good sharp blow. The bigdog foil over and died on the spot. We held our breaths and waited. It was a righteous retribution. Bub the colonel wa3 furious. Ho seized the lad, who belonged, ao it happened, to one of the best families in Padua, and, taking him to tho Guardhouse, ordered him at onco thirty blows on tho cavalotto. Ah, you don't know what that means ? Thank God for your ignoranco, then ? They stripped thab delicate, gently nutured boy—by an act of tho legally constituted authority, mind you—and they sob him upright on that infernal machine, and thoro they pave him ninety strokes of the bastinado. I say, though the sentence was thirty, because each blow is counted as threo strokes. Ho crouched, trembling, and awaited them. Threequarters of the way through the surgeon in attendance cried, 'Halt ! Tho criminal is fninting.' They took him off tho cavaletto. He was dead—stone dead. Pain and terror had killed him. No redress, of course; ho was only an Italian. ' Next day tho colonel was sitting with pome ot his fellow officers', sipping his vermouth, out?ido tho CarTe Pediocchi. Ho wa3 drossod in all his beet, hussar i coat on his shoulders-, with arms (lying !oo?o, for it happened to baa festa. Suddenly a man appeared by tho officers'' side and offered them for salo a box of matches. Ho Mas poorly dressed, like one of those street, miserable. Tho colonel motioned him awny with nn impatient w.ive of his blind. Quick us lightning the man sprang forward, and drawing a poniard plunged it into the colonel's bosom. It. went, straight in Ilia heart. Ah, IMo. Ib was good to see tho blood Bpurt out—gurgle, cnrglo, gurgle ! Tho colonel fell dead. Tho mfin lifted hi.'i clonk and displayed hia I faoo for a second. We all of us saw; it) I 'twas tho father of tho boy the colonel had ! murdered. He disappeared ab onco before I anybody could arresb him. Then ho got away safo to England. The Austriana wore

afraid to ask for his extradition. Bub the boy waa dead, and the man's heart was broken.'

The Unblushing Radical drew a deep breath. ' I call that,' he said, ' nob only a just but an obligatory assassination.' ' You seem to speak with warmth about ib, signor,' the Parson murmured, half in doubb what else to remark.

1 Yes, I do,' the old man answered, drawing ono wrinkled hand across his white moustache; ' for that boy was my brother, aud the man who executed justice on the colonel, my father.'

'There's much to be said,' quoth the Parson, ' on both sides of most questions.'^.