Monday's Illustrated Word: "The Metal Monsters" by unknown writer (in English)

art by Gustav Schrotter - Captain Science #3 - Youthful Magazines, April 1951.

 

 

Saturday's Good Reading: "Imitation of Spencer" by John Keats (in English)

 

What more felicity can fall to creature

Than to enjoy delight with liberty?

Fate of the Butterfly.—Spenser.

 

········

 

Now Morning from her orient chamber came,

And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill;

Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame,

Silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill;

Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distil,

And after parting beds of simple flowers,

By many streams a little lake did fill,

Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,

And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.

 

There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,

Vying with fish of brilliant dye below;

Whose silken fins, and golden scales' light

Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow:

There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,

And oar'd himself along with majesty;

Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show

Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,

And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.

 

Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle

That in that fairest lake had placed been,

I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile;

Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen:

For sure so fair a place was never seen,

Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye:

It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen

Of the bright waters; or as when on high,

Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the cœrulean sky.

 

And all around it dipp'd luxuriously

Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,

Which, as it were in gentle amity,

Rippled delighted up the flowery side;

As if to glean the ruddy tears, it tried,

Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem!

Haply it was the workings of its pride,

In strife to throw upon the shore a gem

Outvying all the buds in Flora's diadem.

 

········

 

Friday's Sung Word: "Ironia" by Ataulfo Alves, Alcebíades Barcelos, and Mário Nielsen (in Portuguese).

Ironia! Ironia!
Era só o que dizia
O moreno que eu amei
E por quem tanto chorei
Se chorei foi porque
Foi o meu grande amor
Eu não esqueço um só dia
Embora tenha sido tudo ironia
                   
Sim, foi o meu grande amor
E confesso por quem chorei
Mas não me deste valor
Ate´hoje a razão, não sei!

 

You can listen "Ironia" sung by Odete Amaral with the Diabos do Céu here.

Thursday's Serial: “Journal Spirituel” by Sœur Marie de Saint-Pierre (in French) - III.

3

L’ÉPREUVE...

NOTRE-DAME DE LA PEINIÈRE

« J’eus l’inspiration d’aller faire un pèlerinage à Notre-Dame de la Peinière: cette vierge miraculeuse m’avait déjà obtenu du Ciel une grâce signalée. Sa chapelle, à six lieues de Rennes, dépendait de la paroisse de Saint-Didier. Comme je connaissais beaucoup Monsieur le Curé de ce lieu et aussi que j’y avais une de mes amies, j’obtins facilement la permission de m’y rendre. Je partis, pleine de confiance, afin de demander à Marie la guérison de mon directeur, pour preuve de ma vocation, et la prier de rompre enfin mes liens.

— Ah ! disais-je, je suis comme un oiseau enfermé dans une cage et qui ne trouve pas une petite ouverture pour s’envoler !

Dans la voiture, je trouvai un bon prêtre avec qui je liai conversation; je lui parlai de la sainte Vierge, et, voyant que cela lui plaisait beaucoup, je lui citai plusieurs histoires à la gloire de cette bonne Mère, et je l’entretins de l’archiconfrérie du saint Cœur de Marie, ce qui me procura un très grand plaisir: car la sainte Vierge faisait mes délices, et j’aimais à la glorifier selon mon petit pouvoir. Enfin j’arrivai à Saint-Didier. Ayant fait mes dévotions dans cette église, Notre-Seigneur, après mon action de grâces, daigna se communiquer à mon âme au sujet de ma vocation.

Mais, pour éclaircir les paroles que je vais rapporter, il faut que je dise une des raisons qui me faisaient craindre de ne pas être reçue aux Carmélites: c’est que mes parents, n’étant pas riches, ne pouvaient me donner qu’une petite dot de six cents francs. J’avais demandé à un ecclésiastique de ma connaissance d’avoir la charité de m’aider; il avait de la fortune, mais il me témoigna son regret de ne pouvoir m’obliger, à cause d’une charge considérable qu’il avait alors. Peut-être avais-je manqué d confiance en la divine Providence. Notre-Seigneur par la communication qu’il me fit, et dont je vais rapporter quelques mots, me remplit de consolation. Je crois me rappeler que, cette fois encore, il me montra une croix, et, répondant à mes inquiétudes :

— La vocation que je vous ai donnée — me dit-il — n’est-elle pas plus que la dot ?

Me faisant comprendre que si sa miséricorde infinie m’avait accordé cette première grâce d’un prix inestimable, Il serait assez puissant pour m’accorder la seconde, qui était bien moindre. Il me dit ensuite :

— Allez à ma Mère ; c’est par elle que je vous exaucerai.

Oh ! comme je la priai, cette bonne Mère, de briser mes liens et de s’occuper de ma vocation! Je goûtais tant de douceurs auprès de cette chère consolatrice des affligés! Je répandais mon cœur en sa présence avec le plus filial abandon! Elle ne fut pas sourde à mes vœux, et je reçus de son divin Fils de très grandes grâces pendant cette neuvaine. Je regrette pour la gloire de la très saint Vierge de n’en avoir pas conservé le détail par écrit. Je crois me rappeler que Notre-Seigneur ordonnait qu’on me permît, sans plus de délai, de suivre sa volonté. J’écrivis exactement à mon directeur tout ce qui se passa dans mon âme, et je portai cette grande lettre à la très sainte Vierge, afin qu’elle la bénit et qu’elle eût la bonté de toucher le cœur de celui à qui je devais la remettre.

— O ma bonne Mère, lui dis-je avec simplicité, je ne veux plus être obligée, cet hiver, de travailler à des robes de vanité; je veux m’occuper à louer votre divin Fils. Tenez, je vous remets les instruments de mon travail.

Je n’y sentais aucun attrait — pour les religieuses Hospitalières de Rennes — j’y aurais cependant consenti plutôt qu’à rester dans le monde. Quel fut mon embarras! Je ne connaissais point de maison de Carmélites, hors celle du Mans, qui ne pouvait pas me recevoir; je ne savais pas qu’il y en eût une à Tours et à Morlaix. J’allai donc dans mon petit oratoire, et je dis à sainte Thérèse et à saint Jean de la Croix, que j’avais en image :

— Hélas ! vous ne voulez donc point de moi ?

Me rencontrant un jour en ville, il me manifesta le désir de savoir si vraiment je voulais être religieuse. Comme je n’avais pas envie de faire à ce bon père ma direction au milieu de la rue, je remis cette franche déclaration à un autre jour et dans un lieu commode; et comme il était riche, je me proposai d’intéresser sa charité en ma faveur, et je me rendis chez lui, un après-midi, pour lui faire visite. Là, Notre-Seigneur m’attendait pour couronner cette longue série d’épreuves. Je me suis mise, par respect, aux pieds de ce bon vieillard, et je lui parlai de mon affaire. Mais lui, ignorant combien la terre de ma pauvre âme avait été labourée depuis cinq ans, voulut encore m’éprouver; il commença par m’humilier vivement et d’une manière inattendue, disant son bréviaire sans paraître se soucier de moi ni vouloir m’écouter; puis il m’ordonna de me relever et me congédia brusquement. Je respectai la volonté de Dieu dans celle de son ministre, et Notre-Seigneur m’en récompensa: cette épreuve fut presque la dernière que j’eus à subir dans le monde, et ce digne prêtre, favorable à mes désirs, eut la bonté de me faire un petit don.

Huit jours seulement s’étaient écoulés depuis le retour de mon pèlerinage; et, comme je l’ai dis, la dernière fois que j’avais vu mon directeur, il semblait presque décidé à m’envoyer aux Hospitalières. J’étais dans une alternative assez pénible, moi qui avais tant désiré habiter le désert du Carmel; l’esprit de retraité, de silence, d’oraison, avait tant d’attraits pour mon cœur! Et dans cet ordre des Hospitalières, il fallait soigner les malades, et, ce qui me répugnait davantage, ensevelir les morts, dont j’avais grande peur.

« Vous serez Carmélite »

Le Seigneur, dans sa bonté, me tira d’inquiétude; il m’avait promis de m’exaucer par l’entremise de sa sainte Mère, et il tint sa promesse: le neuvième jour après mon pèlerinage, il m’attira à lui après la sainte Communion avec une miséricorde infinie, et me dit à peu près ces paroles :

— Ma fille, je vous aime trop pour vous abandonner plus longtemps à vos perplexités ; vous ne serez point Hospitalière ; ce n’est qu’une épreuve ; on s’occupe de votre réception ; sous serez Carmélite.

Et une voix puissante répéta plusieurs fois : « Vous serez Carmélite ». Et je crois que Notre-Seigneur ajouta : « Carmélite à Tours ». Mais ne connaissant point ce pays, ne sachant si jamais il y avait eu des Carmélites à Tours, et craignant qu’en cela il n’y eût une illusion, parce que j’étais persuadée que mon directeur ne pensait plus à m’envoyer aux Carmélites, je me demandais : Que faire ? Il fallait pourtant écrire cette communication et la lui porter, selon ma coutume. Je n’étais pas trop fière, je crois, en lui remettant ma petite lettre. Mais, ô bonté infinie de mon Dieu! quel fut mon étonnement lorsqu’il me dit :

— Ma fille, vous êtes reçue chez les Carmélites de Tours.

Oh! quelle charmante nouvelle ! Que je goûtai de bonheur en ce jour, que j’avais tant désiré! Et quelle reconnaissance pour Notre-Seigneur et pour sa sainte Mère, qui avaient si promptement exaucé les vœux que je leur avait adressés dans mon pèlerinage !

Cette bonne mère,[1] pleine de charité, lui avait tout de suite répondu qu’elle voulait bien me recevoir. Mais comment tout cela s’est-il fait, Pourquoi le Seigneur marque-t-il une volonté si particulière de m’appeler à Tours, éloigné de soixante lieues de mon pays, tandis qu’il y a des Carmélites à Nantes et à Morlaix, bien plus près de ma famille ? Je demandai à mon confesseur s’il était en rapport avec cette maison: il me dit que, passant à Tours, il avait eu la pensée de faire une visite aux Carmélites ; mais il n’y était point allé et ne les connaissait point. Le Révérende Mère prieure avait encore moins contribué à cette affaire, puisqu’elle fut tout étonnée qu’un prêtre dont elle savait a peine le nom par ouï-dire lui proposât une postulante. Quel était donc ce mystère ? Ah ! je le comprends : c’est que saint Martin n’oubliait pas ma prière, et l’accueillit sans doute lorsque, dans sa chapelle et au jour de sa fête, je lui confiai mes peines et le soin de me trouver un asile dans son diocèse. Voici encore une chose remarquable à ce sujet. La Révérende Mère prieure des Carmélites de Tours avait remis mon entrée après la Toussaint, terme bien éloigné pour mes désirs. C’étaient deux mois encore à passer dans le monde! Néanmoins cette époque n’était point fixée par hasard, puisque je quittai la Bretagne le jour même de la fête de saint Martin, qui voulait me montrer d’une manière évidente qu’il était mon libérateur.

Comme je l’ai dit, mon père était maître serrurier; il faisait bien ses affaires, mais le bon Dieu l’éprouvait souvent. Il avait été obligé de subvenir aux frais de longues maladies; ma sœur aînée était encore malade à cette époque; mon frère aîné était tombé au sort, et, pour lui acheter un remplaçant, on avait payé près de deux mille francs, auxquels mes bonnes tantes avaient contribué. Alors, on se trouvait dans l’impossibilité de me fournir plus de six cents francs; mais Notre-Seigneur m’avait fait entendre que celui qui m’avait donné la vocation saurait bien pourvoir à ma dot: ce qui arriva, car la très sainte Vierge me rendit, avec une largesse digne de sa munificence, l’aumône que je lui avait offerte pour la construction de sa nouvelle chapelle. Une jeune demoiselle qui s’appelait Marie, avec laquelle mon directeur m’avait fait pratiquer la vertu de mortification, lorsqu’il la disposait à entrer dans une congrégation religieuse, se chargea de suppléer largement à ce qui manquait.

Qu’avais-je à faire, après tant de grâces reçues par la médiation de la très sainte Vierge? Ah! Notre-Seigneur avait bien dit :

— Adressez-vous à ma Mère, c’est par elle que je vous exaucerai...

Paroles remarquables dont je conserverai toujours le précieux souvenir. Il me restait donc un devoir sacré à remplir envers Marie, celui de la reconnaissance. Je sollicitai la permission de retourner à sa sainte chapelle pour la remercier de tous ses bienfaits par une neuvaine d’actions de grâces, ce qui me fut accordé. Je fis mes adieux à ma puissante protectrice et lui recommandai le nouvel état que j’allais embrasser, et qui devait m’attacher à elle et à son divin Fils par des nœuds si doux. Dans la simplicité de mon âme, je lui avais demandé ce cher Fils pour Époux; elle avait enfin consenti à me l’accorder, malgré mon indignité ; mon cœur n’avait plus rien à désirer, si ce n’est le jour fortuné de ces noces spirituelles. » [2]

En attendant le départ…

« Pour moi, je désirais avec ardeur le jour de mon départ. On attendait une religieuse qui devait se diriger vers la Touraine, et c’est à elle qu’on voulait me confier pour le voyage ; mais elle n’arrivait point, et je brûlais du désir de partir. Alors mon bon père se décida à quitter son atelier pour quelques jours, afin de venir lui-même m’offrir au Seigneur. Je n’avais pas eu de peine à obtenir son consentement, car il savait tout sacrifier au bon Dieu quand il connaissait sa volonté. Je fis avec grande joie mes adieux à mon pays et à ma famille, quoique je les aimasse et que j’en fusse aimée; mais comme j’avais un si vif désir d’aller servir la sainte Famille au Carmel, cela m’empêchait de sentir la douleur d’une telle séparation, toujours très pénible à la nature.

J’allai aussi faire mes adieux à celui qui m’avait dirigée dans ma vocation. Il m’assura de ma persévérance, en me disant que la démarche serait durable, qu’il en avait bien la confiance. Cependant, craignant peut-être que la voie par laquelle Notre-Seigneur me faisait marcher ne fût pas assez en harmonie avec la vie de communauté, il me dit :

— Ma fille, tâchez de suivre une route toute commune; quand une religieuse est conduite par une voie extraordinaire, elle est obligée de demander des confesseurs extraordinaires, et cela n’est point commode en communauté.

Puis, comme dernier présage, il ajouta :

— Faites vite ce que vous avez à faire; hâtez-vous de vous sanctifier, car je prévois que votre course ne sera pas longue.

Il me donna d’autres conseils utiles, et je reçus sa dernière bénédiction. »

 

[1] La mère Supérieure du Carmel de Tours.

[2] Document A, page 39.

 

 

4

LE CARMEL DE TOURS – DÉPART DE RENNES

« Je partis de Rennes, accompagnée de mon vertueux père, le 11 novembre 1839, jour de la fête de saint Martin, mon cher protecteur, et je me dirigeai vers la Touraine, ma nouvelle patrie. J’arrivai à Tours le 13, et j’entrai tout de suite aux Carmélites, à cinq heures du soir; et, ce qui est remarquable, c’est que saint Martin me présentait à « tous les saints du Carmel », dont on célébrait la fête le lendemain. J’étais sûre que ces bons saints ne me refuseraient pas au jour d’une si belle fête; je les avais beaucoup priés de m’admettre dans leur famille; ils ne pouvaient me donner une preuve plus certaine de ma persévérance qu’en me recevant à pareil jour. »

Perrine ne s’attardât pas à visiter Tour…

« Cela m’importait peu; en descendant de la diligence, mon père me conduisit aux Carmélites ; il me donna sa bénédiction et me dit, tout ému, en m’embrassant pour la dernière fois, que c’était la volonté de Dieu qui lui faisait faire son sacrifice. Pauvre père! que le bon Dieu saura bien récompenser votre admirable résignation à ses ordres !... Bientôt la porte s’ouvre, et mon père me remet entre les mains d’une nouvelle famille qui se présente pour me recevoir. Si je faisais à Dieu dans ce moment le sacrifice d’un bon père, il me donnait à la place une bonne mère qui devait, dans sa grande charité, rendre à mon âme des services d’un prix inestimable. C’était la très Révérende Mère Marie de l’Incarnation, alors prieure et en même temps maîtresse des novices. Il me semble que Notre-Seigneur me fit entendre un jour, comme j’étais encore dans le monde, que la mère qu’il me destinait aurait une grâce spéciale pour me diriger dans ses voies. Ce qui est certain, c’est que cela se réalisa lorsqu’elle eut connaissance de mon intérieur; ce qui n’arriva pas tout de suite, mais quand le bon Dieu le jugea convenable pour sa gloire et le salut de mon âme.

 

BOUT-EN-TRAIN

La première chose que notre très Révérende Mère me fit faire, après que j’eus embrassé mes nouvelles sœurs, fut de me conduire aux pieds de Marie, ma bonne Mère, pour la remercier de mon admission dans la sainte maison du Carmel, et me mettre sous sa puissante protection. Bientôt après vint l’heure de la récréation, où je fus invitée à chanter des couplets: je ne me fis pas prier. Il y a longtemps que je les chantais d’avance, en attendant le jour fortuné de mon entrée au Carmel; ils commençaient par ces mots :

 

Bénissons Dieu, je suis dans un asile

Après lequel j’ai toujours soupiré.

Ici pour Dieu je vais vivre tranquille,

Loin des mondains, loin de l’iniquité.

 

J’avais ainsi une quinzaine de couplets; je les chantais avec un air si gai et si content, qu’on ne pensait point à m’interrompre.

À ce moment-là, la Prieure arrive…

— Eh bien ! vous avez été bien pressée de montrer petit talent ? Voyons si vous savez encore quelque chose ?

— Oh ! ma Révérende Mère, je vous ai gardé ce que j’avais de mieux !

Cette franche gaieté était déjà pour moi une preuve de vocation au Carmel ; car notre sainte mère Thérèse ne voulait point de sujets tristes et mélancoliques : je savais très bien cela. Le jour suivant, on me fit assister à l’office divin; là j’eus une tentation assez risible, et comme c’est la seule que je me rappelle avoir éprouvé contre ma vocation, je la rapporterai. Voyant l’hebdomadaire, les chants, les versiculaires et certaines religieuses se rendre au milieu du chœur, faire des salutations, dire quelques mots en latin, puis s’en revenir, et bientôt d’autres aller à leur place, je fus tout effrayée de tant de cérémonies; je pensai que jamais je n’aurais l’intelligence d’en faire autant, ni de savoir quand ce serait à mon tour d’aller ainsi. Je dis alors qu’il était peut-être plus expédient pour moi de prendre mon petit paquet et de m’en retourner en Bretagne. Mais comment faire? Je n’ai qu’un louis de quarante francs dans ma petite bourse; ce n’est peut-être pas suffisant pour un si long voyage ; et d’abord, j’oublie que je l’ai déjà donné à la bonne Mère : prenons donc patience, et nous verrons ! On me conduisit au confessionnal : autre déboire ; j’aperçois une plaque de fer blanc, percée de petits trous, et placée sur la grille selon l’usage. On me dit qu’il faudra parler par cet endroit au confesseur qui m’est destiné; mais prenons patience encore, nous verrons comment on s’en tirera. On me conduisit au noviciat; là, je trouvai le saint Enfant-Jésus et la sainte Famille, objets chéris de mon cœur. Dès lors cette sainte Famille, pour qui j’avais quitté le monde afin d’aller la servir au Carmel, que je savais lui être spécialement dévoué, m’y fit trouver tout facile et agréable; il me semblait y avoir déjà passé plusieurs années. Je compris bien alors, par ma propre expérience, qu’il y a non seulement vocation d’ordre, mais aussi vocation de maison; car je n’éprouvais pas d’attrait à demeurer dans un autre couvent ; et au contraire, dès en entrant dans celui de Tours, je sentis que j’étais où Dieu me voulait. » [1]

 

[1] Document A - page 42.

“Laudabiliter” by Pope Adrian IV (translated into English by Ernest Flagg Henderson)

 

Bishop Adrian, servant of the servants of God, sends to his dearest son in Christ, the illustrious king of the English, greeting and apostolic benediction. Laudably and profitably enough thy magnificence thinks of extending thy glorious name on earth, and of heaping up rewards of eternal felicity in Heaven, inasmuch as, like a good catholic prince, thou dost endeavour to enlarge the bounds of the church, to declare the truth of the Christian faith to ignorant and barbarous nations, and to extirpate the plants of evil from the field of the Lord. And, in order the better to perform this, thou dost ask the advice and favour of the apostolic see. In which work, the more lofty the counsel and the better the guidance by which thou dost proceed, so much more do we trust that, by God's help, thou wilt progress favourably in the same; for the reason that those things which have taken their rise from ardour of faith and love of religion are accustomed always to come to a good end and termination.

There is indeed no doubt, as thy Highness doth also acknowledge, that Ireland and all other islands which Christ the Sun of Righteousness has illumined, and which have received the doctrines of the Christian faith, belong to the jurisdiction of St. Peter and of the holy Roman Church. Wherefore, so much the more willingly do we grant to them that the right faith and the seed grateful to God may be planted in them, the more we perceive, by examining more strictly our conscience, that this will be required of us.

Thou hast signified to us, indeed, most beloved son in Christ, that thou dost desire to enter into the island of Ireland, in order to subject the people to the laws and to extirpate the vices that have there taken root, and that thou art willing to pay an annual pension to St. Peter of one penny from every house, and to preserve the rights of the churches in that land inviolate and entire. We, there- fore, seconding with the favour it deserves thy pious and laudable desire, and granting a benignant assent to thy petition, are well pleased that, for the enlargement of the bounds of the church, for the restraint of vice, for the correction of morals and the introduction of virtues, for the advancement of the Christian religion, thou should'st enter that island, and carry out there the things that look to the honour of God and to its own salvation. And may the people of that land receive thee with honour, and venerate thee as their master; Provided always that the rights of the churches remain inviolate and entire, and saving to St. Peter and the holy Roman Church the annual pension of one penny from each house. If, therefore, thou dost see fit to complete what thou hast conceived in thy mind, strive to imbue that people with good morals, and bring it to pass, as well through thyself as through those whom thou dost know from their faith, doctrine, and course of life to be fit for such a work, that the church may there be adorned, the Christian religion planted and made to grow, and the things which pertain to the honour of God and to salvation be so ordered that thou may'st merit to obtain an abundant and lasting reward from God, and on earth a name glorious throughout the ages.

A.D. 1155.

 

 

Tuesday's Serial: “Scarface” by Armitage Trail (in English) - XII.

 

CHAPTER XXIII

The murder trial of Tony Camonte, the famous gang leader, who had come to be considered beyond the reach of the law, was the sensation of the year. The newspapers found it a God-send during a period when other news happened to be scarce, and devoted their front pages to little else. Public opinion as to Tony's guilt and deserving of punishment was sharply divided.

A certain cross-section of the populace poured down maledictions upon his head and consigned him to the gallows, with sighs of relief. But another group, equally numerous, who through the papers, had followed his daring exploits for years, had come to feel an admiration for this extraordinary man who had risen from vassal to czar. These people openly expressed sympathy for him and the hope that he would be acquitted.

For Tony himself, the period of the trial was a time of soul-wrecking terror. Not because of fear of punishment, for he did not fear it; but because of his overwhelming fear that his real iden­tity would be discovered.

Moran prosecuted, assisted by one of the lesser assistant D. A.'s, and it was obvious that they were fighting like tigers for a hanging verdict. Tony's defense consisted of two of the most brilliant criminal lawyers in the city, one a former assistant dis­trict attorney. And the fee they had already re­ceived would enable them to live in comfort for two or three years.

Rosie Guarino was the star witness for the state, of course, but only because Tony chose to allow her to be. His attorneys had relayed to him from his men various proposals for eliminating her from the case, scaring her out of the city, by bombing the Guarino store and home. They even planned kid­naping. And finally they decided upon a cold­-blooded plan for shooting her on the witness stand from the window of an adjoining building.

Tony had angrily vetoed them all, to the bewil­dered disgust of his lawyers and henchmen. He realized that he could stop her instantly by revealing his identity as her brother, but he was more afraid of that fact coming out than he was of the gallows. He had consented, however, to an offer of fifty thousand dollars being made her to slip out of the city and remain away until he had been acquitted and the case forgotten. This offer she had spurned indignantly and promptly given the facts to the newspapers, thereby furnishing them with another sensational headline. Tony secretly was rather proud of her; she was his own sister, all right.

The whole Guarino family was in court the day Rosie testified. Tony looked at them furtively from his position in the front of the court-room before the judge. They were all well-dressed and they seemed well and happy. He felt a little thrill of satisfaction. His ill-gotten gains had done them some good anyway; the generous monthly sum that he gave them secretly through an attor­ney had assured them luxuries and advantages that they never could have enjoyed otherwise.

He saw his mother, dowager-like in a glossy fur coat and a Parisian hat, look at him sharply. For a moment he thought she had recognized him and his heart sank, but he had taken his place so that the throng of spectators could see only the left, the scarred, side of his face. He saw his mother's keen glance turn to contempt and he felt relieved. At that moment he saw himself as others must see him, as a bad boy who hadn't grown up. He was pale and shaken when he turned his attention back to the witness stand.

Rosie gave her testimony with proud defiance and more than one venomous look at him. The prosecution, of course, did not bring out Mike Rinaldo's desperate character, and Tony had forbidden his own attorneys to do so; he refused to stain further the memory of his sister's dead husband. When the state had completed its direct examination of her, one of Tony's attorneys rose for cross-examination.

"Was Mr. Rinaldo completely within your sight from the time he opened the door until you heard the shots and saw him fall?" asked the attorney.

"Yes."

"Didn't you see him suddenly reach for his right hip?"

"Yes."

"Wasn't that before you heard the shots?"

"Yes."

"Then you didn't actually see the defendant shoot Rinaldo?"

"No, but—"

"That's all," said the attorney brusquely.

He turned away then smiled slightly at the sud­den stir that appeared at the prosecution's counsel table; the lawyers there were obviously disconcerted by the extreme shortness of his cross-exami­nation of their star witness.

It was plain that Rosie realized she had made admissions damaging to the state's case. She re­mained in the witness-chair, trying to qualify the statements she had made. But a court attendant ushered her out.

There were other spectators in the court-room that interested Tony. His moll, for instance, Jane Conley, widely known by reputation to police and the underworld as "The Gun Girl," but known by sight to practically none. He was a little puzzled about Jane. She hadn't come near him during his period of incarceration.

As she sat in the court-room, stylishly dressed and easily the most striking woman in the throng of spectators, she gave him no sign of recognition. He resented her air of detachment.

Yet, wanting to find an excuse for her seeming unfriendliness, he was able to find one. The fact that she was his moll had been kept a close secret and it was better that it remain so. The less that was known about the private affairs of a man in his position, the fewer loopholes his enemies had to try to strike him through.

His brother, Detective Lieutenant Ben Guarino, was a constant and interested spectator at the trial. He was a little surprised at his brother's appearance. Ben had taken on weight and his face looked bloated. He'd been hitting the high spots and it was beginning to tell on him.

The last afternoon of the trial, Tony saw his brother seated beside Jane in the first row of spectators. Occasionally they chatted in whispers and several times he saw them exchange a smile. Jealous rage flowed through the gang leader like molten metal and his eyes blazed. With an effort he turned his attention back to the course of the trial. The climax was approaching rapidly.

In their summation to the jury, Moran and his assistant obviously did their utmost to induce the twelve men to bring in a verdict of murder in the first degree. As they verbally flayed him with all the biting vituperation and sarcastic innuendo of which clever criminal lawyers are capable, Tony found it almost beyond his powers of self-control to remain in his chair. His strong hands gripped the chair arms until his knuckles gleamed white with the effort. His swarthy face flushed to a deep purple and his fingers itched to get at the throats of these hypocrites who characterized him an in­corrigible menace to mankind. The automobiles in which they rode had been paid for with his money.

But he relaxed when his own attorneys had their inning. He even smiled slightly once or twice at some of their cleverly sarcastic quips at the ex­pense of the prosecution. They made the thing out so simply; showed the whole charge to be utterly ridiculous and unproved. They characterized a possible conviction as the most monstrous miscarriage of justice that could ever blot the records of a state. But the jury seemed less interested in the vividly pictured horrors of guilty consciences for convicting an innocent man than they did in the appearance of ten of Tony's best gunmen seated in the first two rows of spectators. They were swarthy, well-dressed young men who surveyed the jurors unsmilingly with cold, hard eyes.

The judge had been paid $10,000 to make his instructions to the jury as favorable as possible to Tony and he went as far as he dared, to earn his fee. The jury required just fourteen minutes to bring in a verdict of "Not guilty." And everybody realized that those ten grimly silent young men had been the deciding factor.

There had been instances where jurors convict­ing gangsters had been shot, their homes bombed or their children kidnaped. Law and order and duty were all very well, but there was no appeal from a bomb or a bullet. And the law is notoriously lax in protecting its upholders, once their use­fulness has ceased.

Tony shook hands with every juror. And some of them were as flustered as though meeting the President. The next day he sent each one a case of uncut whisky.

Tony waited, chatting with his lawyers, until the spectators had dispersed, then he walked out of the court-room a free man, but a man full of deep grievances that must be avenged.

In the doorway lounged Detective Lieutenant Ben Guarino.

"You'll get yours yet. Big Shot," he rasped.

Tony hurried on without indicating that he had heard. In the hallway, his bodyguard awaited him. Quickly they surrounded him, as they had been trained to do and escorted him downstairs and out­side to the big sedan with the bullet-proof glass. At a respectful distance watched a crowd that filled the street. The flutter and craning of necks that followed his appearance would have satisfied the greatest celebrity.

Nearby a half-dozen newspapermen clamored for an interview and innumerable photographers were frantically trying to snap pictures. Being slightly shorter than the average, Tony purposely had chosen for his bodyguard the tallest men in his mob. Ordinarily they served to protect him from the bullets of ambitious assassins. Now the ring of men served equally well to protect him from the almost as annoying camera lenses. But he spoke to the reporters for a moment.

"I'm through with all the rackets, boys," he announced. "I've got enough money and I'm done. Johnny Lovo had the right idea. I'm going into the real estate business."

He stepped into the sedan and the escort of three cars swept away. Tony Camonte was a czar again.

 

 

CHAPTER XXIV

Tony felt a trifle uncertain as he entered his luxurious Lake Shore Drive apartment half an hour later. And the cool, questioning way in which Jane surveyed him was not reassuring.

"Jeez! I'm tired!" he exclaimed wearily. And he was. The strain of the trial had taken more out of him than he realized.

"Listen, Tony," said Jane, and there was an edge in her voice, "just what is this dame to you?"

"What dame?"

"This Rosie person, the one you killed Mike over."

"She ain't anything to me."

Jane laughed scornfully. "Do you expect me to believe that? Then why'd you bump off Mike for gettin' her?"

"I didn't. It was about somep'm else."

"Don't try to kid me. You and Mike were the best of friends up to the night that happened. The boys say you turned absolutely green when you saw Mike come in with her. Right away you went upstairs and five minutes later Mike was dead."

"You're crazy! I—I never saw her before. If she'd—meant anything to me, do you's'pose she'd have turned me up the way she did?"

"A woman's feelings can change."

"So can a man's." He looked at her narrowly; his tone was significant.

"Yeah? Well, don't worry. Big Shot, there's plenty of men that'd be glad to have me."

"Mebbe. But you'd find it pretty hard to find one that could or would pay the price I do. For the amount I spend on you, I could just about have my pick and don't forget it!"

"Why don't you?" she demanded furiously.

“Been too busy to think about it,” he retorted loftily. "But I may not be so busy later on . . . while we're on the subject, I noticed you were mighty chummy with that dick lieutenant in court?"

"Which one?"

"Were you chummy with more than one? I wouldn't be surprised. But I only noticed one. Ben Guarino, the brother of this dame.

"Oh? So you know all about the whole family, eh?"

"Shut up!" he snarled suddenly, advancing on her menacingly. "I've had all your lip I intend to take."

For a moment they gazed at each other with blazing eyes, their teeth gritted and their fists clenched.

"What's the use of us fightin' this way, baby, as long as we been together?" said Tony finally and his voice was weary. "Honest to God, I never had nothin' to do with that dame. And there's impor­tant things to be done now."

"For instance?"

"Gettin' Flanagan and Moran, the damned dirty double-crossers. After all the dough I've paid them! Flanagan could give me a buzz and let me get out of sight that night. But did he do it? No, he comes out himself and nabs me. And even puts the bracelets on me, like I was a common, cheap, petty larceny crook. And Moran, that dirty Irish—"

The oaths crackled off Tony's competent tongue. "Him and that crooked D.A. boss of his. They knew they had a poor case and they knew that Mike's bein' bumped off was a civic improvement. What they shoulda done was forget it. But do they? No, they do their damndest to gimme the rope because they know they could collect more if there was a lot of big shots in the racket instead of just me controllin' the whole works. Well, I've paid and what did I get? Tramped on, the minute they thought they had a chance to railroad me. Now, they're goin' to pay and pay plenty."

And so they forgot their personal jealousies and differences while Tony outlined his plans for ven­geance against those who had betrayed him. But the rift between them had widened. Doubt, once planted, is almost impossible to kill, and upon the slightest provocation can grow with appalling speed into conviction.

Tony went out to his headquarters the next day. And his men greeted his return with the curious silence and the grim, tight-lipped smiles of their kind. But he sensed an uneasiness in their bearing. Something was wrong; he wondered just what it was.

He had not long to wait. Within a few minutes half a dozen of his more prominent henchmen came up to his private office on the top floor of the hotel. One of them, a square-jawed, hard-eyed hoodlum named Finaro, cleared his throat noisily.

"We was wonderin' about that piece in the papers, Chief," he began, "about you goin' to quit the racket and go in the real estate business. That was just talk, wasn't it?"

"I haven't decided yet," answered Tony coolly. "I have got enough dough to quit and enjoy life if I want to."

"Yeah. But who helped you make it. Chief? We've all had a hand in buildin' up that pile you got. And you owe it to us to keep things movin' and give us a chance to keep gettin' our bit. We've stuck by you through some damn tight times and now when the sailing's easy, you gotta stick by us. If you quit now, the mob'd go to pieces overnight. And then where'd we be? You just can't quit now and leave us in the lurch."

The others nodded in hearty assent as he fin­ished. The man's tone and manner had been re­spectful enough but his eyes were hard. Tony, his own eyes glowing with inward anger at this first sign of insubordination within the ranks, was about to dismiss them brusquely. But his better judgment told him not to. He sensed an air of menace in the attitude of the group.

He realized suddenly that in organizing and perfecting this powerful gang that ruled the underworld activities of a great city, he had built a Frankenstein, a monster that, acting upon the prin­ciples he had instilled into it, would feel justified in destroying him should he attempt to desert now.

In one great vision, he saw that these men felt a loyalty to him only as long as his agile mind planned activities that afforded them a handsome livelihood. The moment his value to them had ceased they would unhesitatingly turn upon him the assassin's bullets that he now could command them to direct at his enemies. He could never quit; they wouldn't let him.

"Forget it, boys," he said, trying to make his tone pleasant. "I was just talking for the benefit of the cops. Carry on everything as usual."

Tony lost no time in carrying out his vengeance upon those who had betrayed him.

For five days he had Captain Flanagan shadowed day and night. Then, with the reports of his spies in hand, he spent two days in working out the actual plan. At last all was ready.

At eleven o'clock one night he had himself driven home to the fancy apartment building where he and Jane lived. He gave the uniformed doorman a cigar and paused a moment to comment on the state of the weather. To the middle-aged, digni­fied elevator man he gave another cigar and, ap­parently doubtful of the accuracy of his watch, checked it up with that of the older man. Thus he had impressed his arrival and the time of it upon the two attendants.

His apartment was on the third floor and at the end of the corridor was an iron fire escape that led both upward and downward. Carefully he opened the French doors that gave access to it, stepped out and closed the doors behind him. Then he climbed rapidly but silently down to the ground.

His rubber-soled shoes making no sound, he flitted through the dark alley and stepped into the sedan waiting in the deserted street beyond. The big car sped smoothly away, preceded and followed by another just like it.

At a quiet corner far out on the North Side the three cars paused. Then one proceeded easily through the tree-lined residential street to the next corner. Then another moved slowly forward. In the middle of the block and across the street from a brick two-story house which was still brightly lighted, it stopped against the curb. The four men in it crouched down so that the car appeared empty. Already one of the rear door windows was fully lowered, the cool night air fanning the flushed tense faces of the four men.

Tony waited a moment, then nudged one of his companions. The man lifted a police whistle to his lips and blew three shrill blasts. Almost immediately two shots rang out at the next corner. Abruptly the front door of the house across the street flew open and a burly man emerged, a revolver glinting in his right hand. It was Flanagan!

Another shot rang out at the corner. Flanagan ran down the steps, his revolver ready for action. Slowly Tony lifted the ugly black snout of a sub­-machine gun, resting it on the car door, and took careful aim. Then with a grim smile he squeezed the trigger. The death rattle of the weapon deafened him and his companions but Flanagan crumpled to the ground, at least two-score bullets having found their mark in his body. The cars roared away down the street.

Tony went to bed with exultation welling strong within him. He had returned the same way he had departed and, he was positive, without being seen. When the police questioned the attendants of the building as they were sure to do, the two men would earnestly and unknowingly furnish him with a perfect alibi, for there was no other available entrance to the building save the one at which they were on duty.

Flanagan was gone. A score that had been accumulating for years had finally been settled. Now for Moran!

Monday's Illustrated Word: "Robots of Ra" by unknown writer (in English).

 art by Walter Johnson - Captain Science #2 - Youthfull, February 1951.