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Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century

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Title: Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century

Author: Giuseppe Garibaldi


        
Release date: January 3, 2012 [eBook #38486]

Language: English

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Credits: Produced by David Widger


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RULE OF THE MONK

OR, ROME IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

By General Giuseppe Garibaldi

1870.




INTRODUCTION.

The renowned writer of Caesar's "Commentaries" did not think it
necessary to furnish a preface for those notable compositions, and
nobody has ever yet attempted to supply the deficiency--if it be one. In
truth, the custom is altogether of modern times. The ancient heroes
who became authors and wrote a book, left their work to speak for
itself--"to sink or swim," we had almost said, but that is not exactly
the case. Caesar carried his "Commentaries" between his teeth when he
swam ashore from the sinking galley at Alexandria, but it never occurred
to him to supply posterity with a prefatory flourish. He begins those
famous chapters with a soldierly abruptness and brevity--"Omnia Gallia
in tres partes" etc. The world has been contented to begin there also
for the last two thousand years; and the fact is a great argument
against prefaces--especially since, as a rule, no one ever reads them
till the book itself has been perused.

The great soldier who has here turned author, entering the literary
arena as a novelist, has also given his English translators no preface.
But our custom demands one, and the nature of the present work requires
that a few words should be written explanatory of the original purpose
and character of the Italian MS. from which the subjoined pages are
transcribed. It would be unfair to Garibaldi if the extraordinary
vivacity and grace of his native style should be thought to be here
accurately represented. The renowned champion of freedom possesses an
eloquence as peculiar and real as his military genius, with a gift of
graphic description and creative fancy which are but very imperfectly
presented in this version of his tale, partly from the particular
circumstances under which the version was prepared, and partly from
the impossibility of rendering into English those subtle touches and
personal traits which really make a book, as lines and light shadows
make a countenance. Moreover, the Italian MS. itself, written in the
autograph of the General, was compiled as the solace of heavy hours at
Varignano, where the King of Italy, who owed to Garibaldi's sword the
splendid present of the Two Sicilies, was repaying that magnificent
dotation with a shameful imprisonment. The time will come when these
pages--in their original, at least--will be numbered among the proofs of
the poet's statement that--

     "Stone walls do not a prison make,
     Nor iron bars a cage:
     Minds innocent and quiet take
     These for a hermitage."

If there be many passages in the narrative where the signs are strong
that "the iron has entered into the soul," there are also a hundred
where the spirit of the good and brave chieftain goes forth from his
insulting incarceration to revel in scenes of natural beauty, to recall
incidents of simple human love and kindness, to dwell upon heroic
memories, and to aspire towards glorious developments of humanity made
free, like the apostle's footsteps when the angel of the Lord struck off
his fetters, and he passed forth through the self-opened portals of his
prison.

It would be manifestly unfair, nevertheless, to contrast a work
written under such conditions with those elaborate specimens of modern
novel-writing with which our libraries abound. Probably, had General
Garibaldi ever read these productions, he would have declined to accept
them as a model. He appears to have taken up here the form of the
"novella," which belongs by right of prescription to his language and
his country, simply as a convenient way of imparting to his readers and
to posterity the real condition and inner life of Rome during these last
few eventful years, when the evil power of the Papacy has been declining
to its fall. Whereas, therefore, most novels consist of fiction founded
upon fact, this one may be defined rather as fact founded upon
fiction, in the sense that the form alone and the cast of the story is
fanciful--the rest being all pure truth lightly disguised. Garibaldi
has here recited, with nothing more than a thin veil of incognito thrown
over those names which it would have been painful or perilous to make
known, that of which he himself has been cognizant as matters of fact
in the wicked city of the priests, where the power which has usurped the
gentle name of Christ blasphemes Him with greater audacity of word and
act as the hour of judgment approaches. Herein the reader may see what
goes forward in the demure palaces of the princes of the Church, from
which the "Vicegerents of Heaven" are elected. Herein he may comprehend
what kind of a system it is which French bayonets still defend--what the
private life is of those who denounce humanity and anathematize science,
and why Rome appears content with the government of Jesuits, and the
liberty of hearing the Pope's mezzo-sopranos at the Sistine Chapel.
He who has composed this narrative, at once so idyllic in its
pastoral scenes--so tender and poetic in its domestic passages--so
Metastasio-like in some of its episodes--and so terribly earnest in its
denunciation of the wrongs and degradation of the Eternal City, is
no unknown satirist. He is Garibaldi; he has been Triumvir of the
Seven-hill-ed City, and Generalissimo of her army; her archives have
been within his hands; he has held her keys, and fought behind her
walls; and, in four campaigns at least, since those glorious but
mournful days, he has waged battle for the ancient city in the open
field. Here, then, is his description of "Rome in the Nineteenth
Century"--not seen as tourists or dilettanti see her, clothed with the
imaginary robes of her historic and classic empire, but seen naked to
the stained and scourged skin--affronted, degraded, defamed, bleeding
from the hundred wounds where the leech-like priests hang and suck, and,
by their vile organization, converted from the Rome which was mistress
of the world, to a Rome which is the emporium of solemn farces,
miracle-plays, superstitious hypocrisies, the capital of an evil instead
of a majestic kingdgom--the metropolis of monks instead of Caesars.

To this discrowned Queen of Nations every page in the present volume
testifies the profound and ardent loyalty of Garibaldi's soul. The
patriotism which most men feel towards the country of their birth is but
a cold virtue compared with the burning devotion which fills the spirit
of our warrior-novelist. It is as though the individuality of one of her
antique Catos or Fabii was resuscitated, to protest, with deed and word,
against the false and cunning tribe which have suborned the imperial
city to their purposes, and turned the monuments of Rome, as it were,
into one Cloaca Maxima. The end of these things is probably approaching,
although His Holiness is parodying the great Councils of past history,
and pretending to give laws _urbi et orbi_, while the kingdoms reject
his authority, and his palace is only defended by the aid of foreign
bayonets. When Rome is freed from the Pope-king, and has been proclaimed
the capital of Italy, this book will be one of the memorials of that
extraordinary corruption and offense which the nineteenth century
endured so long and patiently.

The Author's desire to portray the state of society in Rome and around
it, during the last years of the Papacy, has been paramount, and the
narrative only serves as the form for this design. Accordingly, the
reader must not expect an elaborately compiled plot, with artistic
developments. He will, nevertheless, be sincerely interested in the
fortunes and the fate of the beautiful and virtuous Roman ladies who
figure in the tale--of the gallant and dashing brigand of the Campagna,
Orazio--the handsome Muzio--the brave and faithful Attilio, and the
Author's evident favorite, "English Julia," whose share in the story
enables our renowned Author to exhibit his excessive affection for
England and the English people. It only remains to commend these varions
heroes and heroines to the public, with the remark that the deficiencies
of the work are due rather to the translation than to the original; for
the vigor and charm of the great Liberator's Italian is such as to show
that he might have rivalled Manzoni and Alfieri, if he had not preferred
to emulate and equal the Gracchi and Rienzi.




THE RULE OF THE MONK.




PART THE FIRST.




CHAPTER I. CLELIA

A celebrated writer has called Rome "the City of the dead", but how can
there be death in the heart of Italy? The ruins of Rome, the ashes of
her unhappy sons, have, indeed, been entombed, but these remains are so
impregnate with life that they may yet accomplish the regeneration of
the world. Rome is still capable of arousing the populations, as the
tempest raises the waves of the sea; for is she not the mistress of
ancient empire, and is not her whole history that of giants? Those who
can visit her wonderful monuments in their present desolation, and
not feel their souls kindle with love of the beautiful, and ardor
for generous designs, will only restore at death base hearts to their
original clay. As with the city, so with its people. No degradations
have been able to impair the beauty of her daughters--a loveliness
often, alas! fatal to themselves--and in the youthful Clelia, the
artist's daughter of the Trastevere, Raphael himself would have found
the graces of his lofty and pure ideal, united with that force of
character which distinguished her illustrious namesake of ancient times.
Even at sixteen years of age her carriage possessed a dignity majestic
as of a matron of old, albeit youthful; her hair was of a luxurious rich
brown; her dark eyes, generally conveying repose and gentleness, could,
nevertheless, repress the slightest affront with flashes like lightning.
Her father was a sculptor, named Manlio, who had reached his fiftieth
year, and possessed a robust constitution, owing to a laborious and
sober life. This profession enabled him to support his family in
comfort, if not luxury, and he was altogether as independent as it was
possible for a citizen to be in a priest-ridden country. Manlio's wife,
though naturally healthy, had become delicate from early privation and
confinement to the house; she had, however, the disposition of an angel,
and besides forming the happiness and pride of her husband, was beloved
by the entire neighborhood.

Clelia was their only child, and was entitled by the people, "The Pearl
of Trastevere." She inherited, in addition to her beauty, the angelic
heart of her mother, with that firmness and strength of character which
distinguished her father.

This happy family resided in the street that ascends from Lungara
to Monte Gianicolo, not far from the fountain of Montono, and,
unfortunately for them, they lived there in this, the nineteenth
century, when the power of the Papacy is, for the time, supreme.

Now, the Pope professes to regard the Bible as the word of God, yet the
Papal throne is surrounded by cardinals, to whom marriage is forbidden,
notwithstanding the Scriptural declaration that "it is not good for man
to dwell alone," and that "woman was formed to be a helpmeet for him."

Matrimony being thus interdicted, contrary to the law of God and man,
the enormous wealth, the irresponsible power, and the state of languid
luxury in which, as Princes of the Church, they are compelled to live,
have ever combined, in the case of these cardinals, every temptation to
corruption and libertinism of the very worst kinds (see Note 2). As the
spirit of the master always pervades the household, plenty of willing
tools are to be found in these large establishments ready to pander to
their employers' vices.

The beauty of Clelia had unhappily attracted the eye of Cardinal
Procopio, the most powerful of these prelates, and the favorite of his
Holiness, whom he flattered to his face, and laughed at as an old dotard
behind his back.

One day, feeling jaded by his enforced attendance at the Vatican, he
summoned Gianni, one of his creatures, to his presence, and informed him
of the passion he had conceived for Clelia, ordering him, at whatever
cost, and by any means, to obtain possession of the girl, and conduct
her to his palace.

It was in furtherance of the nefarious plot thereupon concocted that the
agent of his Eminence on the evening of the 8th of February, 1866,
presented himself at the studio of Signor Manlio, but not without some
trepidation, for, like most of his class, he was an arrant coward, and
already in fancy trembled at the terrific blows which the strong arm of
the sculptor would certainly bestow should the real object of the visit
be suspected. He was, however, somewhat reassured by the calm expression
of the Roman's face, and, plucking up courage, he entered the studio.

"Good-evening, Signor Manlio," he commenced, with a smooth and
flattering voice.

"Good-evening," replied the artist, not looking up, but continuing
an examination of his chisels, for he cared little to encourage the
presence of an individual whom he recognized as belonging to the
household of the Cardinal, the character of that establishment being
well known to him.

"Good-evening, Signor," repeated Gianni, in a timid voice;
and, observing that at last the other raised his head, he thus
continued--"his Eminence, the Cardinal Procopio, desires me to tell you
he wishes to have two small statues of saints to adorn the entrance to
his oratory."

"And of what size does the Cardinal require them?" asked Manlio.

"I think it would be better for you, Signor, to call on his Eminence at
the palace, to see the position in which he wishes them to be placed,
and then consult with him respecting their design."

A compression of the sculptor's lips showed that this proposal was but
little to his taste; but how can an artist exist in Rome, and maintain
his family in comfort, without ecclesiastical protection and employment?
One of the most subtle weapons used by the Roman Church has always been
its patronage of the fine arts. It has ever employed the time and talent
of the first Italian masters to model statues, and execute paintings
from subjects calculated to impress upon the people the doctrines
inculcated by its teaching (see Note 3), receiving demurely the homage
of Christendom for its "protection of genius," and the encouragement it
thereby afforded to artists from all nations to settle in Rome.

Manlio, therefore, who would have sacrificed his life a hundred times
over for his two beloved ones, after a few moments' reflection, bluntly
answered, "I will go." Gianni, with a profound salutation, retired. "The
first step is taken," he murmured; "and now I must endeavor to find a
safe place of observation for Cencio." This fellow was a subordinate of
Gianni's, to whom the Cardinal had intrusted the second section of the
enterprise; and for whom it was now necessary to hire a room in sight
of the studio. This was not difficult to achieve in that quarter, for in
Rome, where the priests occupy themselves with the spiritual concerns of
the people, and but little with their temporal prosperity (though they
never neglect their own), poverty abounds. Were it not for the enforced
neglect of its commerce, the ancient activity of Rome might be restored,
and might rival even its former palmiest days.

After engaging a room suitable for the purpose, Gianni returned
home, humming a song, and with a conscience any thing but oppressed,
comprehending well that all ruffianism is absolved by the priests when
committed for the benefit of mother Church.




CHAPTER II. ATTILIO

In the same street, and opposite Manlio's house, was another studio,
occupied by an artist, named Attilio, already of some celebrity,
although he had only attained his twentieth year. In it he worked the
greater part of the day; but, studious as he was, he found himself
unable to refrain from glancing lovingly, from time to time, at the
window on the first floor, where Clelia was generally occupied with
her needle, seated by her mother's side. Without her knowledge--almost
without his own--she had become for him the star of his sky, the
loveliest among the beauties of Rome--his hope, his life, his all.
Now, Attilio had watched with a penetrating eye the manner in which the
emissary of the Cardinal had come and gone. He saw him looking doubtful
and irresolute, and, with the quick instincts of love, a suspicion
of the truth entered his mind; a terrible fear for the safety of his
beloved took possession of him. When Gianni quitted Manlio's house,
Attilio stole forth, following cautiously in his footsteps, but stopping
now and then to elude observation by gazing at the curiosities in the
shop-windows, or at the monuments which one encounters at every turn in
the Eternal City. He clutched involuntarily, now and then, at the dagger
carefully concealed in his breast, especially when he saw Gianni enter a
house, and heard him bargain for the use of a room.

Not until Gianni reached the magnificent Palazzo Corsini, where his
employer lived, and had disappeared therein from sight, did Attilio turn
aside.

"Then it is Cardinal Procopio," muttered he to himself; "Procopio, the
Pope's favorite--the vilest and most licentious of the evil band of
Church Princes!"--and he continued his gloomy reflections without
heeding whither his steps went.




CHAPTER III. THE CONSPIRACY

It is the privilege of the slave to conspire against his oppressors--for
liberty is God's gift, and the birthright of all. Therefore, Italians of
past and present days, under various forms of servitude, have constantly
conspired, and, as the despotism of tiaraed priests is the most hateful
and degrading of all, so the conspiracies of the Romans date thickest
from that rule. We are asked to believe that the government of the Pope
is mild, that his subjects are contented, and have ever been so. Yet, if
this be true, how is it that they who claim to be the representatives
of Christ upon earth--of Him who said, "My kingdom is not of this
world"--have, since the institution of the temporal power, supplicated
French intervention sixteen times, German intervention fifteen times,
Austrian intervention seven times, and Spanish intervention three
times; while the Pope of our day holds his throne only by force of the
intervention of a foreign power?

So the night of the 8th of February was a night of conspiracy. The
meeting-hall was no other than the ancient Colosseum; and Attilio,
instead of returning home, aroused himself to a recollection of this
fact, and set out for the Campo Vaccino.

The night was obscure, and black clouds were gathering on all sides,
impelled by a violent scirocco. The mendicants, wrapped in their rags,
sought shelter from the wind in the stately old doorways; others in
porches of churches. Indoors, the priests were sitting, refreshing
themselves at sumptuous tables loaded with viands and exquisite wines.
Beggars and priests--for the population is chiefly composed of these two
classes. But these conspirators watch for, and muse upon, the day when
priests and beggars shall be consigned alike to the past.

By-and-by, in the distance beyond, the ancient forum, that majestic
giant of ruins, rose upon young Attilio's eye, dark and alone. It stands
there, reminding a city of slaves of a hundred past generations of
grandeur; it survives above the ruins of their capital; to tell them
that, though she has been shaken down to the dust of shame and death,
she is not dead--not lost to the nations which her civilization and her
glories created and regenerated.

In that sublime ruin our conspirators gather. A stranger chooses, for
the most part, a fine moonlight night on which to visit the Colosseum;
but it is in darkness and storm that it should be rather seen,
illuminated terribly by the torches of lightning, whilst the awful
thunder of heaven reverberates through every ragged arch.

Such were accompaniments of the scene when the conspirators, on this 8th
of February, entered stealthily and one by one the ancient arena of the
gladiators.

Among its thousand divisions, where the sovereign people were wont to
assemble in the days when they were corrupted by the splendors of
the conquered world, were several more spacious than others, perhaps
destined for the patricians and great officers, but which Time, with its
exterminating touch, has reduced to one scarce distinguishable mass
of ruin. Neither chairs nor couches now adorn them, but blocks of
weatherbeaten stone mark the boundaries, benches, and chambers. In one
of these behold our conspirators silently assembling, scanning each
other narrowly by the aid of their dark lanterns, as they advance into
the space by different routes, their only ceremony being a grasp of the
hand upon arriving at the Loggione--a name given by them to the ruinous
inclosure. Soon a voice is heard asking the question, "Are the sentries
at their posts?" Another voice from the extreme end replies, "All's
well." Immediately the flame of a torch, kindled near the first speaker,
lighted up hundreds of intelligent faces, all young, and the greater
number of those of men, decidedly under thirty years of age.

Here and there began now to gleam other torches, vainly struggling to
conquer the darkness of the night. The priests are never in want
of spies, and adroit spies they themselves too make. Under such
circumstances it might appear to a foreigner highly imprudent for a band
of conspirators to assemble in any part of Rome; but be it remembered
deserts are to be found in this huge city, and the Campo Vaccino
covers a space in which all the famous ruins of western Europe might be
inclosed. Besides, the mercenaries of the Church love their skins above
all things, and render service more for the sake of lucre than zeal.
They are by no means willing at any time to risk their cowardly lives.
Again, there are not wanting, according to these superstitious knaves,
legions of apparitions among these remains. It is related that once on
a night like that which we are describing, two spies more daring than
their fellows, having perceived a light, proceeded to discover the
cause; but, upon penetrating the arches, they were so terrified by the
horrible phantoms which appeared, that they fled, one dropping his cap,
the other his sword, which they dared not stay to pick up.

The phantoms were, however, no other than certain conspirators, who, on
quitting their meeting, stumbled over the property of the fugitives,
and were not a little amused when the account of the goblins in the
Colosseum was related to them by a sentinel, who had overheard the
frightened spies. Thus it happened that the haunted ruins became far
more secure than the streets of Rome, where, in truth, an honest man
seldom cares to venture out after nightfall.




CHAPTER IV. THE MEETING OF THE CONSPIRATORS

The first voice heard in the midnight council was that of our
acquaintance, Attilio, who, notwithstanding his youth, had already been
appointed leader by the unanimous election his colleagues, on account of
his courage and high moral qualities, although unquestionably the
charm and refinement of his manners, joined to his kind disposition,
contributed not a little to his popularity among a people who never fail
to recognize and appreciate such characteristics. As for his personal
appearance, Attilio added the air and vigor of a lion to the masculine
loveliness of the Greek Antinous.

He first threw a glance around the assembly, to assure himself that all
present wore a black ribbon on the left arm, this being the badge of
their fraternity. It served them also as a sign of mourning for those
degenerate Romans who wish indeed for the liberation of their country,
but wait for its accomplishment by any hands rather than their own;
and this, although they know full well that her salvation can only be
obtained by the blood, the devotion, and the contributions, of their
fellow-citizens. Then Attilio spoke--

"Two months have elapsed, my brothers, since we were promised that the
foreign soldiery, the sole prop of the Papal rule, should be withdrawn;
yet they still continue to crowd our streets, and, under futile
pretenses, have even re-occupied the positions which they had previously
evacuated, in accordance with the Convention of September, 1864. To us,
then, thus betrayed, it remains to accomplish our liberty. We have
borne far too patiently for the last eighteen years a doubly execrated
rule--that of the stranger, and that of the priest. In these last years
we have been ever ready to spring to arms, but we have been withheld
by the advice of a hermaphrodite party in the State, styling themselves
'the Moderates,' in whom we can have no longer any confidence, because
they have used their power to accumulate wealth for themselves, from the
public treasury, which they are sucking dry, and they have invariably
proved themselves ready to bargain with the stranger, and to trade in
the national honor. Our friends outside are prepared, and blame us
for being negligent and tardy. The army, excepting those members of it
consecrated to base hopes, is with us. The arms which were expected
have arrived, and are lodged in safety. We have also an abundance
of ammunition. Further delay, under these circumstances, would be
unpardonable. To arms! then, to arms! and to arms!"

"To arms!" was the cry re-echoed by the three hundred conspirators
assembled in the chamber. Where their ancestors held councils how to
subjugate other nations, these modern voices made the old walls ring
again while they vowed their resolve to emancipate enslaved Rome or
perish in the attempt.

Three hundred only! Yes, three hundred; but such was the muster-roll
of the companions of Leonidas, and of the liberating family of Fabius.
These, too, were equally willing to become liberators, or to accept
martyrdom. For this they had high reason, because of what value is
the life of a slave, when compared with the sublime conceptions, the
imperious conscience, of a soul guided always by noble ideas?

God be with all such souls, and those also who despise the power of
tyrannizing in turn over their fellow-beings. Of what value can be the
life of a despot? His miserable remorse causes him to tremble at the
movement of every leaf. No outward grandeur can atone for the mental
sufferings he endures, and he finally becomes a sanguinary and brutal
coward. May the God of love hereafter extend to them the mercy they have
denied to their fellow-men, and pardon them for the rivers of innocent
blood they have caused to flow!

But Attilio continued, "Happy indeed are we to whom Providence has
reserved the redemption of Rome, the ancient mistress of the world,
after so many centuries of oppression and priestly tyranny! I have never
for a moment, my friends, ceased to confide in your patriotism, which
you are proving by the admirable instructions bestowed upon the men
committed to your charge in the different sections of the city. In the
day of battle, which will soon arrive, you will respectively command
your several companies, and to them we shall yet owe our freedom. The
priests have changed the first of nations into one of the most abject
and unhappy, and our beloved Italy has become the very lowest in the
social scale. The lesson given by our Papal rulers has ever been one
of servile humility, while they themselves expect emperors to stoop and
kiss their feet. This is the method by which they exhibit to the world
their own Christian humility; and though they have always preached to us
self-denial and austerity of life, these hypocrites surround themselves
with a profusion of luxury and voluptuousness. Gymnastic exercises,
under proper instruction, are doubtless beneficial to the physical
development of the body; but was it for this reason that the Romans are
called upon to bow to, and kiss the hand of every priest they meet?
to kneel also and go through a series of genuflections, so that it is
really no thanks to them if the half of them are not hunch-necked or
crook-backed from the absurd performances they have been made to execute
for the behoof of these tonsured masters?

"The time for the great struggle approaches, and it is a sacred one! Not
only do we aim at freeing our beloved Italy, but at freeing the entire
world also from the incubus of the Papacy, which everywhere opposes
education, protects ignorance, and is the nurse of vice!" The address of
Attilio had hitherto been pronounced in profound darkness, but was here
suddenly interrupted by a flash of lightning, which illumined the vast
_enciente_ of the Colosseum, as if it had 'suddenly been lighted by a
thousand lamps. This was succeeded by a darkness even more profound than
the first, when a terrific peal of thunder rolled over their heads and
shook to its foundations the ancient structure, silencing for a brief
space Attilio's voice. The conspirators were not men to tremble, each
being prepared to confront death in whatever form it might appear; but,
as a scream was heard issuing at this moment from the vestibule, they
involuntarily clutched their daggers. Immediately after, a young girl,
with dishevelled hair and clothes dripping with water, rushed into their
midst. "Camilla!" exclaimed Silvio, a wild boar-hunter of the Campagna,
who alone of those present recognized her. "Poor Camilla!" he cried; "to
what a fate have the miscreants who rule over us reduced you!" At this
instant one of the sentries on guard entered, reporting that they had
been discovered by a young woman during the moment of illumination, and
that she had fled with such speed no one had been able to capture her.
They had not liked to fire upon a female, and all other means of staying
her were useless. But, at the words of Silvio, the strange apparition
had fixed her eyes upon him as the torches closed about them, and, after
one long glance, had uttered a moan so piteous, and sunk down with such
a sigh of woe, that all present were moved. We will relate, however, in
the following chapter, the history of the unfortunate girl whose cries
thus effectually checked our hero's eloquence.




CHAPTER V. THE INFANTICIDE

Born a peasant, the unhappy Camilla had, like Italy, the fatal gift
of beauty. Silvio, who was, by vocation, as we have already said, a
wild-boar hunter, used often, in his expeditions to the Pontine Marshes,
to rest at the house of the good Marcello, the father of Camilla, whose
cottage was situated a short distance from Rome. The young pair became
enamored of each other. Silvio demanded her in marriage, and her father,
giving a willing consent, they were betrothed.

Perfectly happy and fair to look upon were this youthful pair, as they
sat, hand in hand, under the shadows of the vine, watching the gorgeous
sunsets of their native clime. This happiness, however, was not of long
duration, for, during one of his hunting expeditions, Silvio caught the
fever so common in the Pontine Marshes, and, as he continued to suffer
for some months, the marriage was indefinitely postponed.

Meanwhile Camilla, who was too lovely and too innocent to dwell in
safety near this most vicious of cities, had been marked as a victim by
the emissaries of his Eminence, the Cardinal Procopio. It was her custom
to carry fruit for sale to the Piazza Navona. On one occasion she was
addressed by an old fruit-woman, previously instructed by Gianni, who
plied her with every conceivable allurement and flattery, praised her
fruit, and promised her the highest price for it at the palace of the
cardinal, if she would take it thither. The rest of the story may be
too easily imagined. In Rome this is an oft-told tale. To hide from
her father and her lover the consequences of her fall, and to suit
the convenience of the prelate, Camilla was persuaded to take up her
residence in the palace Corsini, where, soon after its birth, her
miserable infant was slaughtered by one of its father's murderous
ruffians. This so preyed upon the unhappy mother, that she lost her
reason, and was secretly immured in a mad-house. On the very night
when she effected her escape this meeting was being held, and, after
wandering from place to place, for many hours, without any fixed
direction, she entered the Colosseum at the moment it was illumined by
the lightning, as we have related. That flash disclosed the sentries
at the archway, and she rushed towards them, obeying some instinct of
safety, or at least perceiving that they were not clothed in the garb
of a priest; but they, taking her for a spy, ran forward to make her
prisoner. Thereupon, seemingly possessed of supernatural strength, she
glided from their hands, and finally eluded their pursuit by running
rapidly into the centre of the building, where she fell exhausted in
the midst of the three hundred, at the foot of her outraged and ashamed
lover.

"It is, indeed, time," said Attilio, when Silvio had related the
maniac's story, to purge our city from this priestly ignominy; and
drawing forth his dagger, brandished it above his head, as he exclaimed,
"Accursed is the Roman who does not feel the degradation of his
country, and who is not willing to bathe his sword in the blood of these
monsters, who humiliate it, and turn its very soil into a sink."

"_Accursed! accursed be they!_" echoed back from the old walls, while
the sound of dagger-blades tinkling together made an ominous music
dedicated to the corrupt and licentious rulers of Rome.

Then Attilio turned to Silvio, and said, "This child is more sinned
against than sinning; she requires and deserves protection. You, who are
so generous, will not refuse it to her."

And Silvio was, indeed, generous, for he still loved his wretched
Camilla, who at sight of him had become docile as a lamb. He raised her,
and, enveloping her in his mantle, led her out of the Colosseum towards
her father's dwelling.

"Comrades," shouted Attilio, "meet me on the 15th at the Baths of
Caracalla. Be ready to use your arms if need be."

"We will be ready! we will be ready!" responded heartily the three
hundred, and in a few moments the ruins were left to their former
obscure and fearful solitude.

What a wild, improbable story, methinks we hear some of our readers
remark, as they sit beside their safe coal fires in free England or the
United States. But Popery has not been dominant in England since James
II.'s time, and they I have forgotten it. Let them hear that in the year
1848, when a Republican government was established in France, which was
the signal of a general revolutionary movement throughout Europe, the
present Pope was forced to escape in the disguise of a menial, and
a national government granted, for the first time in Rome, religious
toleration, one of the first orders of the Roman republic was that the
nuns should be liberated, and the convents searched. Guiseppe Garibaldi,
in 1849, then recently arrived in Rome, visited himself every convent,
and was present during the whole of the investigations. In all, without
an exception, he found instruments of torture; and in all, without an
exception, were vaults, plainly dedicated to the reception of the bones
of infants. Statistics prove that in no city is there so great a number
of children born out of wedlock as in Rome; and it is in Rome also that
the greatest number of infanticides take place.

This must ever be the case with a wealthy unmarried priesthood and a
poor and _ignorant_ population.




CHAPTER VI. THE ARREST

We took leave of Manlio at the moment when Gianni had delivered his
master's message. The sculptor acceded to the Cardinal's request, and,
after an interview with him, proceeded to execute the order for the
statuettes. For some days nothing occurred to excite suspicion, and
things seemed to be going on smoothly enough. From the room which Gianni
had hired Cencio watched the artist incessantly, all the while carefully
maturing his plot. At last, one evening, when our sculptor was hard at
work, Cencio broke into the studio, exclaiming excitedly, "For the love
of God, permit me to remain here a little while! I am pursued by the
police, who wish to arrest me. I assure you I am guilty of no crime,
except that of being a liberal, and of having declared, in a moment
of anger, that the overthrow of the Republic by the French was an
assassination." So saying, Cencio made as though to conceal himself
behind some statuary.

"These are hard times," soliloquized Manlio, "and little confidence can
be placed in any body; yet, how can I drive out one compromised by his
political opinions only--thereby, perhaps, adding to the number of those
unfortunates now lingering in the priests' prisons? He looks a decent
fellow, and would have a better chance of effecting his escape if he
remained here till nightfall. Yes! he shall stay." Manlio, therefore,
rose, and, beckoning to the supposed fugitive, bade him follow to the
end of the studio, where he secreted him carefully behind some massive
blocks of marble, little dreaming that he harbored a traitor.

Manlio had scarcely resumed his occupation before a patrol stopped
before the door and demanded permission to make a domiciliary visit, as
a suspected person had been seen to enter the house.

Poor Manlio endeavored to put aside the suspicions of the officer, so
far as he could do so without compromising his veracity, and, little
divining the trap into which he had fallen, attempted to lead him in a
direction opposite to that in which the crafty Cencio had taken refuge.
The patrol, being in league with Cencio, felt, of course, quite certain
of his presence on the premises, but some few minutes elapsed before
he succeeded in discovering the carefully-chosen hiding-place; and the
interval would have been longer had not Cencio stealthily put out his
hand and pulled him, the sbirro, gently by the coat as he passed.
The functionary paused suddenly, exclaiming with an affected tone of
triumph, "Ah! I have you!" then, turning upon Manlio, he seized the
artist by the collar, saying, in the sternest of tones, "you must
accompany me forthwith to the tribunal, and account for your crime in
giving shelter to this miscreant, who is in open rebellion against the
government of his Holiness."

Manlio, utterly beside himself, in the first burst of indignation, cast
his eye around among the chisels, hammers, and other tools for something
suitable with which to crack the skull of his insulter; but at this
moment his wife, followed by the lovely Clelia, rushed into the
apartment to ascertain the cause of so unwonted a disturbance. They
trembled at the sight of their beloved one in the grasp of the hated
police-officer, who cunningly relaxed his hold, and said, in a very
different voice, as soon as he perceived them, "Be of courage, signor,
and console these good ladies; your presence will be needed for a short
time only. A few questions will be asked, to which undoubtedly you can
give satisfactory replies."

In vain did the terrified women expostulate. Finding their tears and
remonstrances of no avail, they reluctantly let go their hold of the
unhappy Manlio, whom they had clasped in their terror. He, disdaining
any appeal to the courtesy of such a scoundrel as he knew the patrol to
be, waved them an adieu, and departed with a dignified air.




CHAPTER VII. THE LEGACY

The Roman Republic, established by the unanimous and legitimate votes of
the people, elected General Garibaldi, on the 30th June, legal guardian
of the rights of the people, and conferred upon him the executive
power of the State, which the Triumvirate resigned into his hands. This
national government was overthrown by foreign bayonets, after a most
heroic struggle for freedom. The first act of General Oudinot was to
send a French colonel to lay the keys of the city at the feet of the
Pope.

Thus was the power of the priests restored, and they returned to all
their former tyranny and luxury.

These worthy teachers, when preaching to the Roman women about the glory
of Heaven, impress upon them that they, and they only, have power to
give free entrance into eternal bliss. To liberate these misguided
beings from superstition, and rescue them from the deceit of their
so-called "reverend fathers," is the question of life or death to Italy;
this, in fact, is the only way in which to work out the deliverance of
our country. Many will tell you there are good priests. But a priest, to
become really good, must discard that wicked livery which he wears.
Is it not the uniform of the promoters of brigandage over the half of
Italy? Has it not marched as a pioneer-garb before every stranger that
ever visited our country?

The priests, by their continual impostures and crafty abuse of the
ignorance and consequent superstition of the people, have acquired great
riches. Those who endeavor to retard our progress make a distinction
between the temporal power, which should be combated, and the spiritual
power, which should be respected; as if Antonelli, Schiatone, and
Crocco, were spiritual ushers, by whom the souls of men should hope
to be conducted into the presence of the Eternal. There are two chief
sources of their wealth. Firstly, they exact a revenue for repentance,
as the vicegerents of God upon earth, as such, claiming power to pardon
all sin. A rich but credulous man may thus commit any crime he chooses
with impunity, knowing that he has the means of securing absolution, and
believing implicitly that, by rendering up a portion of his treasure or
profit to the clergy, he will have no difficulty in escaping the wrath
to come.

The next source of wealth is the tax upon the agonies of death.. At the
bedside of the sick, by threats of purgatory and eternal perdition,
they frighten their unhappy victims into bequeathing to Mother Church
enormous legacies, if, indeed, they do not succeed in getting absolute
possession of the whole of their estates, to the detriment of the legal
heirs, who are not unfrequently in this manner reduced to beggary. Look,
for instance, at the island of Sicily: one-half of that country now
belongs to the priesthood, or various orders of monks.

But, to our tale. One evening, about nine o'clock, in the month of
December, a thing in black might have been seen traversing the Piazza
of the Rotunda--that magnificent monument of antiquity--every column
a perfect work, worth its weight in silver--which the priests have
perverted from sublime memories to their cunning uses. It was a figure
which would have made a man shudder involuntarily, though he were one of
the thousand of Calatifimi; enveloped in a black sottana--the
covering of a heart still blacker, the heart of a demon, and one that
contemplated the committal of a crime which only a priest would conceive
or execute. A priest it was, and he made his stealthy path to the
gateway of the house of Pompeo, where he paused a moment before knocking
to gain admittance, casting glances around, to assure himself no one was
in sight, as if he feared his guilty secret would betray itself, or as
if pausing to add even to ecclesiastical wickedness a sin so cruel as
he was meditating. He knocked at last. The door opened, and the porter,
recognizing the "Reverend Father Ignazio," saluted him respectfully, and
lighted him, as he entered, a few steps up the staircase of one of the
richest residences of the city.

"Where is Sister Flavia?" demanded the priest of the first servant who
came forward to meet him.

"At the bedside of my dying mistress," replied Siccio, in a constrained
voice, for, being a true Roman, he had little sympathy for "the birds of
ill-omen," as he profanely styled the reverend fathers.

Father Ignazio, knowing the house well, hurried on to the sick-room, at
the door of which he gently tapped, requesting admittance in a peculiar
tone. An elderly, sour-looking nun opened the door quickly, and with a
significant expression on her evil countenance as her eyes sought those
of the priest.

"Is all over?" whispered he, as he advanced towards the bed on which the
expiring patient lay.

"Not yet," was the equally low reply.

Ignazio thereupon, without another word, took a small vial from under
his sottana, and emptied the contents into a glass. With the assistance
of the nun he raised his victim, and poured the deadly fluid down her
throat, letting the head fall heavily back upon the pillows, whilst a
complacent smile spread itself over his diabolical features as, after
one gasp, the jaw fell. He then retired to a small table at the end of
the apartment, where he seated himself, followed by Sister Flavia, who
stealthily drew a paper from her dress and handed it to him.

Father Ignazio seized the paper with a trembling hand, and after
perusing it with an anxious air, as if to convince himself that it was
indeed the accomplishment of his desires, he thrust it into his breast,
muttering, with an emphatic nod, "You shall be rewarded, my good
Flavia."

That paper was the last will and testament of the Signora Virginia
Pompeo, the mother of the brave Emilio Pompeo, who perished fighting on
the walls of Rome, whence he fell, mortally wounded by a French bullet.
His inconsolable widow did not long survive him, and committed, with her
last breath, her infant son to the care of his doting grandmother, La
Signora Virginia Pompeo, who tenderly cherished the orphan Muzio, the
only remaining scion of the noble house of Pompeo. But, unhappily for
him, Father Ignazio was her confessor. When the signora's health began
to fail, and her mind to be weakened, the wily Father spared no means to
convince her that she ought to make her will, and, as a sacred duty, to
leave a large sum to be spent in masses for the release of souls from
purgatory. The signora lingering for some time, the covetous priest felt
his desires grow, and resolved to destroy this first will, and obtain
another, purporting to leave the whole of her immense estates to the
corporation of St. Francesco di Paola, and appoint himself as her sole
executor. This document he prepared and intrusted to Sister Flavia,
whom he had already recommended to the Signora Virginia as a suitable
attendant. One morning she dispatched a hurried message to the
confessor, reporting that the favorable time for signing the fraudulent
document had arrived. He came, attended by witnesses, whom he had had no
difficulty in procuring, and, after persuading the sinking and agonized
lady that she ought to add a codicil to her will (which he pretended
then and there to draw up) leaving a still larger sum to the Church, he
guided her feeble hand as she unconsciously signed away the whole of her
property, leaving her helpless grandson to beggary. As if to jeopardise
his scheme, the signora rallied towards the afternoon, whereupon,
fearing she might ask to see the will, and so discover his treachery,
Father Ignazio resolved to make such an undesirable occurrence
impossible, by administering an effective potion, which he set off to
procure, wisely deferring his return till nightfall.

The result has been already disclosed; and while the false priest
wrought this murder, the unconscious orphan, Muzio, slept peacefully in
his little bed, still adorned with hangings wrought by a loving mother's
hands, to awake on the morrow ignorant of his injury, but robbed of his
guardian and goods together--stripped of all, and forthwith dependent on
chance--a friendless and beggared boy.




CHAPTER VIII. THE MENDICANT

Eighteen years had rolled by since the horrible murder of La Signora
Virginia related in the last chapter. On the same piazza which Father
Ignazio had traversed that dark night stood a mendicant, leaning
moodily, yet not without a certain grace, against a column. It was
February, and the beggar lad was apparently watching the setting sun.
The lower part of his face was carefully concealed in his cloak, but
from the little that could be discerned of it, it seemed decidedly
handsome; one of those noble countenances, in fact, that once seen,
impresses its features indelibly on the beholder's memory. A well-formed
Roman nose was well set between two eyes of dazzling blue; eyes that
could look tender or stem, according to the possessor's mood. The
shoulders, even under the cloak, showed grandly, and could belong only
to a strength which it would be dangerous to insult, or rashly attack.
Poor as its garb was, such a figure would be eagerly desired by a
sculptor who sought to portray a young Latin athlete.

A slight touch upon the shoulder caused the young mendicant to turn
sharply; but his brow cleared as he welcomed, with a beaming smile,
Attilio's familiar face, and heard him saying, in a lively tone, "Ah!
art thou here, brother?" And although no tie of blood was between them,
Attilio and Muzio might, indeed, have been mistaken for brothers, their
nobility of feature and brave young Roman bearing being so much alike.

"Art thou armed?" inquired Attilio.

"Armed!" repeated Muzio, somewhat disdainfully. "Assuredly; is not my
poniard my inheritance, my only patrimony? I love it as well as thou
lov'st thy Clelia, or I mine own. But love, forsooth," continued
he, more bitterly; "what right to love has a beggar--an outcast from
society? Who would believe that rags could cover a heart bursting with
the pangs of a true passion?"

"Still," replied Attilio, confidently, "I think that pretty stranger
does, in truth, love thee."

Muzio remained silent, and his former gloomy expression returned; but
Attilio, seeing a storm arising in his friend's soul, and wishing to
avert it, took him by the hand, saying gently, "Come."

The young outcast followed without proffering a word. Night was rapidly
closing in, the foot passengers were gradually decreasing in number, and
few footfalls, except those of the foreign patrols, broke the silence
that was stealing over the city.

The priests are always early to leave the streets--they love to enjoy
the goods of this world at home after preaching about the glories of the
next, and care little to trust their skins in Rome after dark. May the
day soon come when these mercenary cut-throats are dispensed with!

"We shall be quit of them, and that before long," answered Attilio
hopefully, as they descended the Quirinal, now called Monte Cavallo, the
site of the famous horses in stone, _chefs-d'ouvre_ of Grecian art.

Pausing between two of these gigantic effigies, the young artist took
from his pocket a flint and steel and struck a light, the signal agreed
upon between him and the three hundred, some of whom had agreed to help
him in a bold attempt to release Manlio from his unlawful imprisonment.

The signal was answered immediately from the extreme end of the Piazza;
the two young men advanced towards it, and were met by a soldier
belonging to a detachment on guard at the palace, who conducted them
through a half-concealed doorway near the principal entrance, up
a narrow flight of stairs into a small room generally used by the
commander of the guard; here he left them, and another soldier stepped
forward to receive the pair, who, after placing chairs for them at a
table, on which burned an oil-lamp, flanked by two or three bottles and
some glasses, seated himself.

"Let us drink a glass of Orvieto, my friends," said the soldier; "it
will do us more good on a bitter night like this than the Holy Father's
blessing," handing them each, as he spoke, a goblet filled to the brim.

"Success to your enterprise!" cried Muzio.

"Amen," responded Attilio, as he took a deep draught. "So Manlio
has been brought here," said he, addressing Dentato, the sergeant of
dragoons, for such was the name of their military friend..

"Yes; he was locked up last night in one of our secret cells, as if he
had been the most dangerous of criminals, poor innocent! I hear he is to
be removed shortly," added Dentato, "to the Castle of St. Angelo."

"Do you know by whose order he was arrested?" inquired Attilio.

"By the order of ins Eminence the Cardinal Procopio, it is said, who is
anxious, doubtless, to remove all impediments likely to frustrate his
designs upon the Pearl of Trastevere."

As Dentato uttered these words, a sudden tremor shook the frame of
Attilio. "And at what hour shall we make the attempt to liberate him?"
he hissed, as his hand clenched his dagger.

"Liberate him! Why, we are too few," the soldier replied.

"Not so," continued Attilio. "Silvio has given his word that he will be
here shortly with ten of our own, and then we shall have no difficulty
in dealing with these sbirri and monks." After a pause, Dentato
responded, "Well, as you are, then, determined to attempt his release
to-night, we had better wait a few hours, when jailers and director will
be asleep, or under the influence of their liquor. My lieutenant is,
fortunately, detained by a delicate affair at a distance, so we will
try it if your friend turns up." Before he could well finish his speech,
however, Dentato was interrupted by the entrance of the guard left at
the gate, announcing the arrival of Silvio.




CHAPTER IX. THE LIBERATOR

Before continuing my story I must remark upon one of the most striking
facts in Rome--viz., the conduct and bravery of the Roman soldiery.

Even the Papal troops have a robust and martial air, and retain an
individual worth of character to an astonishing degree. In the defense
of Rome, all the Roman artillerymen (observe, all) were killed at their
guns, and a reserve of the wounded, a thing unheard of before, bleeding
though they were, continued to fight manfully until cut down by the
sabres of their foes. On the 3d of June the streets were choked with
mutilated men, and amongst the many combats after the city was taken,
between the Roman soldiery and the foreigners, there did not occur one
example where the Romans had the worst of it in any thing like fair
fight.

Of one point, therefore, the priesthood is certain--that in every case
of general insurrection the Roman army will go with the people. This is
the reason they are compelled to hire foreign mercenaries, and why the
revenues of the "Vicegerent of Heaven" are spent upon Zouaves, Remington
rifles, cartridges, and kilos of gunpowder.

Silvio was received by the triad with exclamations of joy. After
saluting them, he turned to Attilio, saying, "Our men are at hand. I
have left them hidden in the shadows cast by the marble horses. They but
await our signal."

Then Attilio sprang up, saying, "Muzio and I will go at once to the
jailer, and secure the keys. You, Dentato, guide Silvia and his men to
the door of the cell, and overpower the guard stationed before it."

"So be it," replied Dentato; "Scipio (the dragoon who had introduced
Silvio) shall lead you to the jailer's room; but beware Signor Pancaldo,
he is a devil of a fellow to handle."

"Leave me to manage him," replied Attilio, and he hastily left the
apartment, preceded by Scipio and Muzio. Such an attempt as they were
about to make would be a more difficult, if not an incredible thing, in
any other country, where more respect is attached to Government and its
officers. In Rome little obedience is due to a Government which, alas,
is opposed to all that is pure and true.

Dentato, after summoning Silvio's men, led them to the guards stationed
at the entrance to the cells. Silvio waited until the sentinel turned
his back upon them, then, springing forward with the agility that made
him so successful when pursuing the wild boar, he hurled the sentinel to
the ground, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle any cry of alarm.
The slight scuffle aroused the sleepy questor-guard, but before they
could even rub their eyes, Silvio's men had gagged and bound them.
As they accomplished this, Attilio appeared with Muzio, convoying the
reluctant jailer and his bunch of keys between them.

"Open!" commanded Attilio.

The jailer obeyed with forced alacrity, whereupon they entered a large
vaulted room, out of which opened, on every side, doors leading to
separate cells. At sight of them, a soldier, the only inmate visible,
approached with a perplexed air.

"Where is Signor Manlio?" demanded Antilio; and Pancaldo felt the grip
of the young artist clutch his wrist like iron, and noticed his right
hand playing terribly with the dagger-hilt.

"Manlio is here," said he.

"Then release him," cried Attilio.

The terrified jailer attempted to turn the key, but some minutes passed
before his trembling hands allowed him to effect this. Attilio, pushing
him aside as the bolts shot back, dashed open the door, and called to
Manlio to come forth.

Picture the sculptor's astonishment and joy when he beheld Attilio,
and realized that he had come to release him from his cruel and unjust
incarceration. Attilio, knowing they ought to lose no time in leaving
the palace, after returning his friend's embrace, bade Muzio lock up the
guard in the cell. As soon as this was accomplished, they led the jailer
between them through the passages, passing on their way the soldiers
whom they had previously bound, who glared upon them with impotent rage,
till they gained the outer door in silence and safety. Dividing into
groups, they set off at a quick pace, in different directions. Attilio,
Muzio, and Manlio, however, retained possession a little while of the
jailer, whom they made to promenade, gagged and blindfolded, until they
thought their companions were at a safe distance. They then left him,
and proceeded in the direction of the Porta Salaria, which leads into
the open country.




CHAPTER X. THE ORPHAN

At the hour when Silvio, with despair in his soul, led the unhappy
Camilla out of the Colosseum towards her father's house, not a word
passed between them. He regarded her with tender pity, having loved her
ardently, and feeling that she was comparatively innocent, being, as she
was, the victim of deception and violence.

Onward they went in silence and sadness. Silvio had abstained from
visiting her home since it was so suddenly deserted by Camilla, and as
they neared it a presentiment of new sorrowing took possession of him.
Turning out of the high road into a lane, their meditations were broken
in upon by the barking of a dog. "Fido! Fido!" cried Camilla, with more
joyousness than she had experienced for many many months; but, as if
remembering suddenly her abasement, she checked her quickened step, and,
casting down her eyes, stood motionless, overwhelmed with shame. Silvio
had loved her too dearly even to hate her for her guilt. Or if he had
ever felt bitterly against her, her sudden appearance that night, wild
with remorse and misery, had brought back something of the old feeling,
and he would have defended her against a whole army. He had therefore
sustained her very tenderly through the walk from the Colosseum, and
had been full of generous thoughts, although silent; while she, timidly
leaning on his strong arm, had now and then learned by a timid glance,
that he was pitying and not abominating her by that silence.

But when she stopped and trembled at the sound of the house-dog's bark,
Silvio, fearing a return of a paroxysm of madness, touched her arm,
saying, for the first time, "Come, Camilla, it is your little Fido
welcoming you; he has recognized your footstep."

Scarcely had he uttered these words before the dog itself appeared.
After pausing a moment in his rush, as if uncertain, he sprang towards
Camilla, barking, and jumping, and making frantic efforts to lick her
face and hands. Such a reception would have touched a heart of stone.

Camilla burst into tears as she stooped to caress the affectionate
animal; but nature was exhausted, and she fell senseless on the damp
ground. Silvio, after covering her with his mantle, to protect her from
the cold morning air--for the dawn had already begun to break--went to
seek her father.

The barking of the dog had aroused the household, so that the young
hunter perceived, as he approached, a boy standing on the threshold,
looking cautiously around, as if distrusting so early a visitor.

"Marcellino," he shouted; whereat the boy, recognizing the friendly
familiar voice, ran to him, and threw his arms around his neck.

"Where is your godfather, my boy?" Silvio asked; but receiving no
response save tears, he said again, "Where is Marcello?"

"He is dead," replied the sobbing child. "Dead!" exclaimed Silvio,
sinking upon a stone, overcome with surprise and emotion. Very soon the
tears rolled down his masculine cheeks, and mingled with those of the
child, who lay upon his bosom.

"O God!" he cried aloud; "canst thou permit the desires of a monster to
cause such suffering to so many and to such precious human creatures?
Did I not feel the hope that the day of my beloved country's release
from priestly tyranny is at hand I would plunge my dagger into my
breast, and not endure to see this daylight break!" Recovering himself
with a violent effort, he returned, accompanied by Marcellino, to
Camilla, whom he found in an uneasy sleep. "Poor girl, poor ruined
orphan," murmured Silvio, as he gazed upon her pale and wasted beauty;
"why should I arouse you? You will but awake too soon to a life of
tears, misery, and vain repentance!"




CHAPTER XI. THE FLIGHT

We left Attilio, Silvio, and Manlio on their way to the suburbs. Attilio
had determined that the house lately tenanted by poor Marcello, and
still inhabited by Camilla, would be a safe hiding-place for the
liberated sculptor, who could scarcely be prevailed upon not to return
at once to his own home, so great was his desire to behold his cherished
wife and daughter.

As they trudged on, each busy with his own thoughts, Attilio turned
over in his mind the visit of Gianni to the studio, for the information
Sergeant Dentato had given him relative to the arrest confirmed his
suspicion that the Cardinal was plotting villainy against his Clelia.
After some reflection, he concluded to impart his suspicion to Manlio,
who, when he had recovered from his first surprise and horror, declared
his belief that Attilio's surmises were correct, and that it was
necessary at once to hasten home in order to preserve his darling from
infamy.

Attilio, however, aided by Muzio, at last prevailed upon him to conceal
himself, promising to go and inform the ladies of the designs against
them as soon as he had placed the father in safety.

Attilio, in truth, though so young, had the talent of influencing and
guiding those with whom he came in contact, and the soundness of his
judgment was frequently acknowledged, even by men advanced in years.
Reluctantly, Manlio felt that he could not do better than to intrust the
care of his dear ones to this generous youth.

The day was beginning to dawn as they neared the cottage at the end of
the lane, and, just as on the occasion of Camilla's return on the night
of the meeting, Fido barked furiously at their approach. At Silvio's
voice, the dog was quieted instantly, and again Marcellino met him at
the door. Silvio, after saluting the lad, asked where Camilla was. "I
will show you," was the answer, and leading the way, he took them to an
eminence near the cottage, from which they beheld, at a little distance,
a cemetery. "She is there," said Marcellino, pointing with his finger;
"she passes all her time, from morn till eve, at her father's grave,
praying and weeping. You will find her there, at all hours, now."
Silvio, without a word to his companions, who followed slowly, strode on
towards the spot indicated, which was close by, and soon came in view of
Camilla, clad in deep mourning, kneeling beside a mound of newly-turned
earth.

She was so absorbed, that the approach of the three friends was
unperceived. Silvio, deeply moved, watched her, without daring to speak,
and neither of the others broke the silence. Presently she rose, and
clasping her hands in agony, cried bitterly, "Oh, my father, my father,
I was the cause of your death!" "Camilla," whispered Silvio, coming
close up. She turned, and gazing at them with a sweet but vacant smile,
as if her lover's face brought her sin-comprehended comfort, passed on
in the direction of her home, for the poor girl had not yet regained her
reason.

Silvio touched her on the arm, as he overtook her, saying, "See Camilla,
I have brought you a visitor, and if any one should ask who this
gentleman is, tell them he is an antiquary who is studying the ruins
around Rome." This was the role which Attilio had persuaded Manlio to
play, until some plan for the future had been formed. After a short
consultation, as to the precautions they were to observe, Attilio bade
them farewell, and returned to the city alone, leaving behind him,
with many a thought of pity and stern indignation, this father's humble
household, devastated by the devices of the foul priest.




CHAPTER XII. THE PETITION

We must return to the sculptor's domicile, where two days had elapsed
after the arrest of Manlio, nor had Attilio who was gone in search of
him, as yet appeared, so that the family were reduced to the greatest
anxiety.

"What can they be doing with your good father?" repeated constantly the
weeping mother to her daughter. "He has never mixed with any one whose
principles would compromise him, although a Liberal. He hates the
priests, I know, and they deserve to be hated for their vices, but he
has never talked about it to any one but me."

Clelia shed no tears, but her grief at her father's detention was almost
deeper than that of her mother, and at last, saddened by these plaints,
she said, with energy, "Weep no more, mother, tears are of no avail; we
must act We must discover where my father is concealed, and, as Monna
Aurelia has advised, we must endeavor to procure his release. Besides,
Attilio is in search of him, and I know he will not desist until he has
helped him and us, if he have not already done so."

A knock interrupted Clelia's consolatory words. She ran to the door, and
opening it, admitted a neighbor, whose name has been mentioned, Monna
Aurelia, and old and tried friend.

"Good day," said she, as she entered the sitting-room with a cheerful
countenance.

"Good day," answered Silvia, with a faint smile, wiping her eyes.

"I bring you something, neighbor; our friend Cassio, whom I consulted
about your husband's affairs, has drawn up this petition on stamped
paper, supplicating the cardinal minister to set Manlio at liberty.
He says you must sign it, and had better present it in person to his
Eminence."

Silvia took the paper, and looked at it doubtfully. She felt a strong
aversion to this proposition. Could she throw herself at the feet of a
person whom she despised to implore his mercy? Yet perhaps her husband's
life was at stake; he might even now be suffering insults, privations,
even torture. This thought struck a chill to the heart of the wife, and,
rising, she said decidedly, "I will go with it."

Aurelia offered to accompany her, and in less than half an hour the
three women were on the road to the palace.

At nine o'clock that same morning, as it happened, the Cardinal
Procopio, Minister of State, had been informed by the questor of the
Quirinal of Manlio's escape.

Great was the fury of the prelate at the unwelcome news, and he
commanded the immediate arrest and confinement of the directors,
officers on guard, dragoons, and of all, in fact, who had been in charge
of the prison on the previous night.

Dispatching the questor with this order, he summoned Gianni to his
presence.

"Why, in the devil's name, was that accursed sculptor confined in
the Quirinal, instead of being sent to the Castle of St. Angelo?" he
inquired.

"Your Eminence," replied Gianni, conceitedly, "should have intrusted
such important affairs to me, and not to a set of idiots and rascals who
are open to corruption."

"Dost thou come here to annoy me by reflections, sirrah?" blustered the
priest. "Search in that turnip head of thine for means to bring the girl
to me, or the palace cellars shall hear thee squeak thy self-praise to
the tune of the cord or the pincers."

Gianni, knowing that these fearful threats were not vain ones, and
that, incredible as it may appear to outsiders, tortures too horrible
to describe daily take place in the Rome of the present day, meekly
submitted to the storm. With downcast head, the mutilated wretch--for he
was one of those maimed from their youth to sing falsettos in the choir
of St. Peter--pondered how to act.

"Lift up thine eyes, knave, if thou darest, and tell me whether or no,
after causing me to spend such pains and money in this attempt, thou
hast the hope to succeed?"

Tremblingly Gianni raised his eyes to his master's face as he
articulated with difficulty the words, "I hope to succeed."

But just as he spoke, to his considerable relief, a bell rang,
announcing the arrival of a visitor. 'A servant in the Cardinal's colors
entered, and inquired if his Eminence would be pleased to see three
women who wished to present a petition.

The Cardinal, waving his dismissal to the still agitated Gianni, gave
a nod of assent, and assumed an unctuous expression, as the three women
were ushered into his presence.




CHAPTER XIII. THE BEAUTIFUL STRANGER

Rome is the museum of the fine arts, the curiosity-shop of the world.
There are collected the ruins of the ancient societies, temples,
columns, statues, the remains of Italian and Grecian genius,
_chefs-d'ouvre_ of Praxiteles, Phidias, Raphael, Michael Angelo, and a
hundred masters. Fountains, from which arise marine colossi, chiefly,
alas, in ruins, meet the eye on all sides. The stranger is struck with
amazement and admiration at the sight of these gigantic works of art,
upon many of which are engraved the mighty battles of a wonderful
by-gone age. It is not the fault of the priest if their beauty is not
marred by endless mitres and superstitious signs. But they are still
marvellous and beautiful, and it was among them that Julia, the
beautiful daughter of Albion, was constantly to be found. She had
resided for several years in this city of sublime memorials, and
daily passed the greater part of her time in sketching all that to her
cultivated taste appeared most worthy of imitation and study. Michael
Angelo was her especially favored _maestro_, and she might frequently be
seen sitting for hours before his colossal statue of Moses, rapt in the
labor of depicting that brow, upon which, to her vivid imagination, sat
an air of majestic greatness that appeared almost supernatural. Born and
bred in free and noble England, she had separated herself voluntarily
from loving and beloved friends, that she might thus wander undisturbed
among the objects of her idolatry. Unexpectedly, her pursuits had been
interrupted by a stronger feeling than art. She had encountered
Muzio many times in the studio of the sculptor Manlio, and, poor and
apparently low as he was, Julia had found under the ragged garb of a
mendicant her ideal of the proud race of the Quirites.

Yes, obscure though he was, Muzio was beloved by this strange English
girl. He was poor, but what cared she for his poverty.

And Muzio, did he know and return this generous love?

Yes, in truth; but, although he would have given his life to save hers,
he concealed all consciousness of her interest, and allowed not a single
action to betray it, though he longed fervently for occasion to render
her some trifling service, and the opportunity came. As Julia was
returning from Manlio's studio, some few days before his arrest,
accompanied by her faithful old nurse, two drunken soldiers rushed upon
her from a by-way, and dragged her between them some little distance,
before Muzio, who secretly kept her in view during such transits, could
come to her succor. No sooner had he reached them, than he struck one
ruffian to the earth, seeing which, his fellow ran away. The terrified
Julia thanked him with natural emotion, and besought him not to leave
them until they reached their own door. Muzio gladly accepted the
delicious honor of the escort, and felt supremely happy when, at their
parting, Julia gave him the favor of her hand, and rewarded him with a
priceless smile. From this evening Muzio's dagger was consecrated to
her safety, and he vowed that never again should she be insulted in the
streets of Rome.

It befell that the same day upon which Silvia went to the palace Corsini
to present her petition, Julia was paying one of her visits to the
studio. Arriving there, she was informed by a lad in attendance of
all that had occurred. Whilst pondering over the ominous tale, Attilio
entered in quest of the ladies, and from him the English girl learned
the particulars of Manlio's escape. His narration finished, Julia, in
turn, recounted to him the views that the youth had imparted to her
concerning the presentation of the petition.

Attilio was much distressed, and could with difficulty be restrained
from going directly to the palace in search of Silvia and her daughter.
This would have been very imprudent, and therefore Julia offered, as she
had access at all times to the palace, to go to the Cardinal's house,
and ascertain the cause of the now prolonged absence of the mother and
daughter, promising to return and tell him the result.

Attilio, thoroughly spent with excitement and fatigue, yielded to
Spartaco's invitation to take some rest, whilst the boy related to him
the particulars of what had passed since he left them to carry out the
rescue of his friend.




CHAPTER XIV. SICCIO

Let us return to the year 1849, to the fatal scene in which the young
Muzio was robbed of his patrimony.

There was an old retainer named Siccio, already introduced, who had
served longer in the house of Pompeo than any other; he had, in fact,
been born in it, and had received very many acts of kindness there.
These benefits he repaid by faithful love to the orphan Muzio, whom he
regarded almost as tenderly as if he had in reality been his own child.
He was good, and rather simple, but not so much so as to be blind to
the pernicious influence which Father Ignazio had acquired over his
indulgent mistress, and which he feared would be used to the injury of
her grandchild.

But the guardian of souls, the spiritual physician, the confessor of the
lady of the house! what servant would dare openly to doubt him, or cross
his path? Confession, that terrible arm, of priestcraft, that diabolical
device for seduction, that subtle means of piercing the most sacred
domestic secrets, and keeping in chains the superstitious sex! Siccio
dared not openly fight against such weapons.

The confessor was, however, aware of the good servant's mistrust, and
therefore caused him to be discharged a few days after the Signora
Virginia breathed her last, though not before he had overheard a certain
dialogue between Father Ignazio and Sister Flavia.

"What is to be done with the child?" the nun had asked.

"He must pack off to the Foundling," replied he; "there he will be
safe enough from the evil of this perverted century and its heretical
doctrines. Besides, we shall have no difficulty in keeping an eye upon
him," he continued, with a meaning look, which she returned, causing
Siccio, who was unseen, to prick up his ears.

He straightway resolved not to leave the innocent and helpless child
in the hands of these fiends, and contrived a few nights after his
dismissal to obtain an entrance to the house by the excuse that he had
left some of his property behind. Watching his opportunity he stole
into the nursery, where he found the neglected child huddled in a corner
crying with cold and hunger. Siccio, taking him in his arms, soothed him
until he fell asleep, when he glided cautiously out of the house into
the street, and hired a conveyance to carry them to a lodging he had
previously engaged at some distance from the city. To elude suspicion
and pursuit he had cunningly concealed the little Muzio in a bundle
of clothes, and alighting from the vehicle before he arrived at his
dwelling, quietly unwound and aroused the child, who trotted at his
side, and was introduced by him to his landlady as his grandson.

During the lifetime of Muzio's father, who was an amateur antiquary,
Siccio had gained a considerable knowledge of the history of the rains
around Rome by attending him in his researches. This knowledge, as he
could not take service as a domestic, on account of his unwillingness to
part from the child, he determined to avail himself of, and so become
a regular cicerone. His pay for services in this capacity was so small,
that he could with difficulty provide for himself and his little charge
even the bare necessaries of existence. This mode of living he pursued
however for some years, until the infirmities of old age creeping upon
him, he found it harder than ever to procure food and shelter of the
commonest kind. What could he now do? He looked at Muzio's graceful
form, and an inspiration broke upon him. Yes, he would brave the danger,
and take him to the city, for he felt that the artists and sculptors
would rejoice to obtain such a model. The venture was made, and Siccio
was elated and gratified beyond measure at the admiration Muzio, now in
his fifteenth year, called forth from the patrons of Roman "models."

For a while they were enabled to live in comparative comfort. Siccio now
dared to reveal to him the secret of his birth, and the manner in
which he had been despoiled, as the old man only suspected, of his
inheritance. Great was the indignation of the youth, and still greater
his gratitude to the good Siccio, who had toiled so uncomplainingly for
him, but from this time he steadily refused to sit as a model. Work he
would, even menial work he did not despise, and he might have been seen
frequently in the different studios moving massive blocks of marble, for
his strength far exceeded that of other youths of his own age. He also
now and then assumed the duties of a cicerone, when the aged Siccio
was unable to leave the house from sickness. His youthful beauty often
induced strangers to give him a gratuity; but as he was never seen to
hold out his hand, the beggars of Rome called him ironically "Signor."

In spite of his efforts, Muzio was unable, as Siccio's feebleness
increased, to provide for all their wants, and he became gloomy and
morose. One wonderful evening, when Siccio was sitting alone, shortly
after Julia's adventure, a woman closely veiled entered his mean little
room, and placing a heavy purse upon the table, said--

"Here is something, my worthy friend, which may be useful to you.
Scruple not to employ it, and seek not to discover the name of the
donor, or should you by chance learn it, let it be your own secret." And
thus, without giving the astonished old man time to recover his speech,
she went out closing the door behind her.




CHAPTER XV. THE CORSINI PALACE.

"This is truly an unexpected blessing--a fountain in the desert,"
thought the Cardinal, as the three women were ushered into the
audience-chamber. "Providence serves me better than these knaves by whom
I am surrounded." Casting an undisguised look of admiration at Clelia,
who stood modestly behind her mother, he said aloud, "Let the petition
be brought forward."

Monna Aurelia, considerately taking the document from Silvia, advanced
with it, and presented it on her knees.

After perusing it with apparent attention, the Cardinal addressed
Aurelia, saying, "So you are the wife of that Manlio who takes upon
himself to shelter and protect the enemies of the State, of his Holiness
the Pope?"

"It is I who am the wife of Signor Manlio, your Eminence," said Silvia,
advancing. "This lady," pointing to Aurelia, "kindly offered to appear
before your Eminence, and assure you that neither my husband or I have
ever meddled with politics, and are persons of unquestioned honesty."

"Unquestioned honesty!" repeated the Cardinal, in simulated anger.
"Why, then, as you are so very honest, do you first shelter heretics
and enemies of the state, and then assist them to escape in such an
unpardonable manner?"

"To escape!" exclaimed Clelia, who had hitherto preserved her presence
of mind. "Then my father is no longer confined in this dreadful
place"--and a flush of joy spread itself over her lovely features.

"Yes, he has escaped; but ere long he will be re-taken, and must answer
for his double crime," said the Cardinal.

These words gave a blow to Silvia's new-born hopes, and, what with
surprise, fear, and excitement, she fell back into her daughter's arms
in a swoon.

The Cardinal, hardened to such scenes, at once determined to take
advantage of it, so summoning some servants, he ordered them to convey
the fainting woman and her friends to another room, where proper
remedies could be applied to restore the stricken wife. As they made
their exit, he rubbed his soft hands gleefully, saying to himself, "Ah,
my pretty one! you shall not leave the palace until you have paid me a
fee." He then sent for Gianni, who, recognizing the trio at their entry,
had remained at hand, as he divined his services would be needed. When
he presented himself, his master chuckled out--

"Ebben, Signor Gianni! Providence beats your boasted ability out and
out."

Gianni, knowing that all was sunshine again when he was thus dignified
by the title "Signor," answered, "Have I not always said your Eminence
was born under a lucky star?"

"Well," continued the profane Cardinal, "since Providence favors me,
it now only rests with you, Gianni, to finish the matter off." Then he
continued, "Follow the women, and see that every respect is paid them;
and when they are calmed, direct Father Ignazio to send for the elder
woman and the wife of the sculptor, under pretense of questioning them
about his escape, that I may have an opportunity of conversing alone
with the incomparable Clelia."

Bowing profoundly, the scoundrel departed to execute his dissolute
master's commands.

As he passed out, a lackey entered, announcing that "Una Signora
Inglese" wished to see his Eminence on business.

"Introduce her," said Procopio, stroking his chin complacently; for
he congratulated himself, in spite of the interruption, on his good
fortune, as he admired the young Englishwoman excessively.

Julia greeted him frankly as an acquaintance, holding ont her hand in
the English fashion, which he took, expressing in warm terms, as he led
her to a seat, his delight at seeing her.

"And to what am I to attribute the felicity of again receiving you so
soon under my roof? This room," he continued, "so lately brightened by
your presence, has a renewed grace for me now."

Julia seated herself, and replied, gravely, for she was slightly
discomposed by the Cardinal's flattery, "Your Eminence is too
condescending. As you well know, my former object in coming to the
palace was to crave leave to copy some of the _chefs-d'ouvre_ with which
it is adorned; but today I am here on a different errand."

The Cardinal, drawing a chair to her side and seating himself, said,
"And may I inquire its nature, beautiful lady?" placing, as he spoke,
his hands upon hers with an insinuating pressure.

Julia, resenting the Cardinal's familiarity, drew her chair back;
but, as he again approached, she stood up, and placed it between them,
saying, as he attempted to rise, and with a look that made him flinch,
"You surely forget yourself, Monseigneur; be seated, or I must leave
you."

The prelate, profoundly abashed by the dignity of the English girl,
obeyed, and she continued, "My object is to obtain information of the
wife and daughter of the sculptor Manlio, who, I am told, came to the
palace some hours ago to present a petition to your Eminence."

"They came here, but have already left," stammered Procopio, as soon as
he had recovered from his surprise.

"Is it long since they quitted your Eminence?" asked Julia.

"But a few minutes," was the reply.

"I presume they have left the palace, then?"

"Assuredly," affirmed he, unblushingly.

Julia, with a gesture of incredulity, bowed, and took her leave.

What is there perfect in the world? This English nation is by no means
exempt from imperfection; yet the English are the only people who can
be compared with the ancient Romans, for they resemble each other in the
splendid selfishness of their virtues and their vices.

Egotists and conquerors, the history of both abounds in crime committed
either in their own dominions, or in those countries which they invaded
and subdued. Many are the nations they have overthrown to satisfy their
boundless thirst for gold and power.

Yet who dare deny that the Britons, with all their faults, have
contributed largely to the civilization and social advancement of
mankind? They have laid the grand foundations of a new idea of humanity,
erect, inflexible, majestic, free; obeying no masters but the laws which
they themselves have made, no kings but those which they themselves
control.

By untiring patience and indomitable legality, this people has known
how to reconcile government and order with the liberty of a self-ruling
community.

The isle of England has become a sanctuary, an inviolable refuge for the
unfortunate of all other nations. Those proscribed by tyrants, and the
tyrants who have proscribed them, flee alike to her hospitable shores,
and find shelter on the single condition of taking their place as
citizens among citizens, and yielding obedience to the sovereign laws.

England, too, be it ever remembered first proclaimed to the world the
emancipation of the slave, and her people willingly submitted to an
increased taxation in order to carry out this glorious act in all her
colonies. Her descendants in America have, after a long and bloody
struggle between freedom and oligarchy, banished slavery also forever
from the New World.

Lastly, to England Italy is indebted in part for her reconstruction, by
reason of that resolute proclamation of fair play and no intervention in
the Straits of Messina in 1860.

To France Italy is also, indeed, indebted, since so many of her heroic
soldiers fell in the Italian cause in the battles of Solferino and
Magenta. She has also profited, like the rest of the world, by the
writings of the great minds of France, and by her principles of justice
and freedom. To France, moreover, we owe, in a great measure, the
abolition of piracy in the Mediterranean. France marched, in truth, for
some centuries alone, as the leader in civilization.

The time was when she proclaimed and propagated liberty to the world;
but she has now, alas! fallen, and is crouching before the image of a
fictitious greatness, while her ruler endeavors to defraud the nation
which he has exasperated, and employs his troops to deprive Italy of the
freedom which he helped to give her.

Let us hope that, for the welfare of humanity, she will, ere long,
resume her proper position, and, united with England, once again use
her sublime power to put down violence and corruption, and raise the
standard of universal liberty and progress.




CHAPTER XVI. ENGLISH JULIA

In Siccio's little room was that same evening gathered a group of three
persons who would have gladdened the heart and eyes of any judge of
manly and womanly beauty.

Is it a mere caprice of chance to be born beautiful? The spirit is not
always reflected in the form. I have known many a noble heart enshrined
in an unpleasing body. Nevertheless, man is drawn naturally to the
beautiful. A fine figure and noble features instinctively call forth
not only admiration, but confidence; and every one rejoices in having
a handsome father, a beautiful mother, fine children, or a leader
resembling Achilles rather than Thersites. On the other hand, how much
injustice and mortification are often borne on account of deformity, and
how many are the wounds inflicted by thoughtless persons on those thus
afflicted by their undisguised contempt or more cruel pity.

Julia, for she it is who forms the loveliest of our triad, had just
returned from her visit to the palace, and related to her auditors,
Attilio and Muzio, what had transpired.

"Yes!" she exclaims, "he told me they were gone; but you see how
powerful is gold to obtain the truth, even in that den of vice! The
ladies are there detained. I bought the truth of one of his people."

Attilio, much disturbed, passed his hand over his brow as he paced and
repaced the floor.

Julia, seeing how perturbed in spirit he was by her discovery, went to
him, and, placing her hand with a gentle pressure upon his shoulder,
besought him to be calm, saying that he needed all possible self-control
and presence of mind to procure his betrothed's release.

"You are right, Signora," said Muzio, who until now had remained silent,
but watchful; "you are ever right."

The triad had already discussed a plan of rescue; and Muzio proposed
to let Silvio know, and to engage him to meet them with some of his
companions at ten o'clock.

Muzio was noble-minded, and though he loved the beautiful stranger with
all the force of his passionate southern nature, he felt no thought
of jealousy as he thus prepared to leave her alone with his attractive
friend.

Nor did Julia run any danger from her warm feeling of compassion for
Attilio, for her love for Muzio, though as yet unspoken, was pure and
inalienable. A love that no change of fortune, time, or even death,
could destroy. She had but lately learned the story of his birth and
misfortunes, and this, be sure, had not served to lessen it.

"No," she replied; "I will bid you both adieu for the present. At
ten o'clock I shall await you in a carriage near the Piazza, and will
receive the ladies, and cany them, when you have liberated them, to a
place of safety."

So saying, she beckoned to her nurse to follow, and departed to make the
necessary arrangements for the flight of the sculptor's family, whose
cause she had magnanimously espoused, ignoring completely the personal
danger she was incurring.




CHAPTER XVII. RETRIBUTION

Justice! sacred word, yet how art thou abused by the powerful upon
earth! Was not Christ, the just one, crucified in the name of justice?
Was not Galileo put to the torture in the name of justice? And are not
the laws of this unjust Babel, falsely called civilized Europe, made and
administered in the name of justice? Ay, in Europe, where the would-be
industrious man dies of hunger, and the idle and profligate flaunt
in luxury and splendor!--in Europe, where a few families govern
the nations, and keep them in a chronic state of warfare under the
high-sounding names of justice, loyalty, military glory, and the like!
There in the palace sit Procopio and Ignazio in the name of justice.
Outside are the rabble--Attilio, forsooth, Muzio, and Silvio, with
twenty of our three hundred, who mean to have justice after their own
fashion. The hearts of these suitors are glad and gay, as on the eve of
a feast. It is true they beat, but it is in confident hope, for the
hour of their duty is near. They pace the Lungara in parties of twos and
threes, to avoid suspicion, awaiting the striking of the clock. Whilst
they linger outside, we will enter, and take a retrospect.

When Gianni summoned Aurelia and Silvia to attend Father Ignazio,
Clelia, suspecting treachery, drew a golden stiletto from her hair and
secreted it in her belt, that it might be at hand in the event of her
needing it to defend herself.

The prelate, meantime, having attired himself in his richest robes, in
the hope that their magnificence might have effect upon the simple girl,
prepared, as he facetiously termed it, "to summon the fortress." Opening
the door of the apartment in which Clelia was anxiously awaiting her
mother's return, he entered with a false benignancy upon his face.

"You must pardon us," he said, "for having detained you so long, my
daughter, but I wished to assure you in person that no harm shall
befall your father, as well as," he continued--and here he caught up her
hand--"to tell you, most lovely of women, that since I beheld you first
my heart has not ceased to burn with the warmest love for you."

Clelia, startled by the words and the passionate look which the Cardinal
fixed upon her, drew back a little space, so as to place a small table
between them.

Then ensued a shameful burst of insult and odious entreaty. In vain
did he plead, urging that her consent alone could procure her father's'
pardon. Clelia continued to preserve her look of horror, and her
majestic scorn, contriving by her movements to keep the table between
them. Enraged beyond measure, the Cardinal made a sign to his creatures,
Ignazio and Gianni, who were near at hand, to enter.

Clelia, comprehending her danger, snatched forth her dagger, and
exclaimed in an indignant voice, "Touch me at your peril! rather than
submit to your infamous desires I will plunge this poniard into my
heart!"

The libidinous prelate, not understanding such virtue, approached to
wrest the weapon from the Roman girl, but received a gash upon his palm,
as she snatched it free, and stood upon the defensive, with majestic
anger and desperation. He called to his satellites, and they closed like
a band of devils about the maiden; nor was it till their blood was drawn
by more than one thrust from her despair, that Gianni caught the wrist
of Clelia as she strove to plunge the knife into her own heart, while
Father Ignazio passed swiftly behind her, and seized her left hand,
motioning to Gianni to hold the right fast, and the Cardinal himself
threw his arms around her. The heroic girl was thus finally deprived of
her weapon. This achieved, they proceeded to drag her towards an alcove,
where a couch was placed, behind a curtain of tapestry.

At this instant, happily for our heroine, there was a sudden crash in
the vestibule, and as her assailants turned their heads in the direction
of the sound, two manly forms, terrible in their fiery wrath and grace,
rushed forward. The first, Attilio, flew to his beloved, who, from
revulsion of feeling, was becoming rapidly insensible, and tore her from
the villains, while the prelate and his accomplices yielded their hold
with a cry, and endeavored to escape. This Muzio prevented by barring
the way; and bidding Silvio, and some of his men, who arrived at this
juncture, to surround them, he drew forth a cord, and, after gagging
the three scoundrels, he commenced binding the arms of the affrighted
priest, his friends similarly treating Ignazio and the trembling tool
Gianni Many and abject were the gestures of these miserable men for
mercy, but none was shown by their infuriated captors, but the prayers
and curses of the Cardinal were choked with his own mantle; and Muzio
did not refrain, as Father Ignazio writhed under the pressure of the
cord, from reminding him of his villainy in robbing a helpless child of
his lawful inheritance.

At dawn three bodies, suspended from a window of the Corsini palace,
were seen by the awakening people, and a paper was found upon the
breast of the Cardinal, with these words, "So perish all those who have
polluted the metropolis of the world with falsehood, corruption, and
deceit, and turned it into a sewer and a stew."




CHAPTER XVIII. THE EXILE

The sun of that avenging morning was beginning to shed its rays upon
the few stragglers in the Forum who, with pale squalid faces betokening
hunger and misery, shook their rags free of dust as they rose
unrefreshed from their slumbers, when a carriage containing four women
rolled through the suburbs. It passed rapidly along towards those vast
uninhabited plains, where little is to be seen except a wooden cross
here and there, reminding the traveller unpleasantly that on that spot a
murder has been committed.

Arriving at the little house already twice mentioned, its occupants
alighted; and who shall describe the joy of that meeting. Julia and
Aurelia contemplated in silence the reunion of the now happy Manlio with
his wife and daughter, for all the prisoners of the wicked palace were
free.

Camilla also watched their tears of gladness, but without any clear
comprehension. Could she have known the fate of her seducer, it might
perchance have restored her reason. After a thousand questions had been
asked and answered, Manlio addressed Julia, saying-

"Exile, alas! is all that remains for us. This atrocious Government can
not endure; but until it is annihilated we must absent ourselves from
our home and friends."

"Yes, yes! you must fly!" Julia said. "But it will not be long, I trust,
ere you will be able to return to Rome, and find her cleansed from the
slavery under which she now groans. My yacht is lying at Port d'Anzo; we
will make all haste to gain it, and I hope to see you embark safely in
the course of a few hours."

A yacht! I hear some of my Italian readers cry. What part of a woman's
belongings can this be? A yacht, then, is a small vessel in which the
sea-loving and wealthy British take their pleasure on the ocean, for
they fear not the storm, the heat of the torrid zone, or the cold of
the frozen ocean. Albion's sons, ay, and her daughters, too, leave their
comfortable firesides, and find life, health, strength, and happiness in
inhaling the briny air on board their own beautiful craft in pursuit of
enjoyment and knowledge. France, Spain, and Italy have not this little
word in their dictionaries. Their rich men dare not seek their pleasure
upon the waves--they give themselves to the foolish luxuries of great
cities, and hence is it that names like Rodney and Nelson are not in
their histories. Albion alone has always loved and ruled the waves for
centuries. Her wooden walls have been her inviolable defense. May her
new iron ramparts protect her hospitable shores from foreign foes!

But a yacht is a strange thing for a woman to possess. True, but
English Julia in childhood was of delicate constitution; the
physicians prescribed a sea-voyage, and her opulent parents equipped a
pleasure-vessel for her use. Thus Julia became so devoted to the blue
waves that, even when the balmy air of Italy had restored her to robust
health, she continued, when inclination disposed her, to make little
voyages of romance, discovery, and freedom in the waters of the
Mediterranean. Thus it was that she could offer so timely a refuge to
the family of the sculptor.




CHAPTER XIX. THE BATHS OF CARACALLA

Imagine the consternation in Rome on the 15th of February, the day
following the tragic death of the Cardinal Procopio and his two
abettors. Great, in truth, was the agitation of the city when the three
bodies were seen dangling from the upper window of the palace. The panic
spread rapidly, and the immense crowd under the facade increased
more and more, until a battalion of foreign soldiers, sent for by
the terrified priests, appeared in the Lungara, and driving it back,
surrounded and entered the palace. To tell the truth, the soldiers
laughed sometimes at the jests, coarse but witty, which were flung by
the mob at the three corpses as they commenced hauling them up. Many
were the bitter things that passed below.

"Let them down head over heels," shouted one; "your work will be
finished the sooner."

"Play the fish steadily, that they may not slip from the hook," hallooed
another.

By-and-by the cord to which the corpulent body of the prelate was
attached broke as the soldiers attempted to hoist it up, and hoarser
than ever were the shouts of laughter with which it was greeted as it
fell with a heavy shock upon the pavement.

Muzio, who was surveying the avenging spectacle, turned to Silvio,
saying, with a shudder, "Let us away; this laughter is not to my taste
now they have paid their debt.

"In truth, Pasquin is almost the only real memorial of ancient Rome.
Would that my people possessed the gravity and force of those times,
when our forefathers elected the great dictators, or bought and sold,
at a high price, the lands upon which Hannibal was at the time attacked.
But it must be long before their souls can be freed from the plague of
priestly corruption, and before they can once more be worthy of their
ancient fame and name."

"We must have patience with them," replied Silvio. "Slavery reduces man
to the level of the beast These priests have themselves inculcated the
rude mockery which we hear. At least, it could have no fitter objects
than those dead carcasses. Reproach not the people to-day--mud is good
enough for dead dogs."

Thus discoursing, the friends made their way through the crowd, and
separated, having first appointed to meet at the end of the week in the
studio of Attilio.

On the day in question they found the young artist at home, and gave him
a detailed account of what they had witnessed under the palace windows.
It was the time for the reassembling of the Three Hundred, but, before
setting out to meet their associates at the Baths of Caracalla, they lay
down to rest for a few hours; and while they slumber we will give some
account of the place of assignation.

Masters of the world, and wealthy beyond compute from its manifold
spoils, the ancient Romans gave themselves up, in the later days of the
Republic, to fashion, luxuriousness, and excesses of all kinds. The
toil of the field--whether of battle or of agriculture--although it had
conduced to make them hardy and healthy before their triumphs, had now
become distasteful and odious. Their limbs, rendered effeminate by a
new and fatal voluptuousness, grew at last unequal even to the weight of
their arms, and they chose out the stoutest from among their slaves
to serve as soldiers. The foreign people by whom they were surrounded
failed not to note the advantage which time and change were preparing
for them over their dissolute masters. They rose with Goth and Ostrogoth
to free themselves from the heavy yoke. They fell upon the queenly city
on all sides, and discrowned her of her imperial diadem.

Such was the fate of that gigantic empire, which fell, as all powers
ought to fall which are based on violence and injustice.

One of the chief imported luxuries of the degenerate Romans were the
thermae, or baths, edifices upon which immense sums were lavished to make
them beautiful and commodious in the extreme. Some were private, others
public. The emperors vied with each other to render them celebrated and
attractive. Caracalla, the unworthy son of Severus, and one of the very
vilest of the line of Caesars, built the vast pile which is still called
by his evil name; the ruins of which forcibly illustrate the splendor
of the past sovereignty, and the reasons of its swift decay. The greater
number of these conspicuous and magnificent buildings in the city of
Rome have subterranean passages attached to them, provided by their
original possessors as a means of escape in times of danger, or to
conceal the results of rapine or violence. In the subterranean passages
connected with the Baths of Caracalla it was that the Three Hundred had
agreed to meet, and as the darkness of night crept on, the outposts of
the conspirators, like gliding shadows, planted themselves silently at
the approaches to the wilderness of antique stones, from time to time
challenging, in a whisper, other and more numerous shadows, which
by-and-by converged to the spot.




CHAPTER XX. THE TRAITOR

The liberation of Manlio and the execution of the Cardinal gave an
unexpected blow to the Pontifical Government, and aroused it from its
previous easy lethargy. All the foreign and native soldiers available
were put under arms, and the police were everywhere on the _qui vive_,
arresting upon the slightest suspicion citizens of all classes, so that
the prisons speedily became filled to overflowing.

One of the Three Hundred--shameful to say--had been bought over to act
as a spy upon the movements of his comrades. Happily he was not one of
those select members chosen to assist in the attack upon the Quirinal
prison, or the release of Silvia and Clelia. Of the proposed meeting at
the Baths of Caracalla he was nevertheless cognizant, and had duly given
information of it to the police.

Now, Italian conspirators make use of a counter police, at the head of
which was Muzio.

His garb of lazzarone served him in good stead, and by favor of it
he often managed to obtain information from those in the pay of the
priests, who commonly employ the poor and wretched people that beg for
bread in the streets and market-places of Rome in the capacity of spies.

But this time he was ill-informed. The last conspirator had entered
the subterranean passage, and Attilio had put the question, "Are the
sentinels at their posts?" when a low sound, like the hissing of a
snake, resounded through the vault. This was Muzio's signal of alarm,
and he himself appeared at the archway.

"There is no time to be lost," said he; "we are already hemmed in on one
side by an armed force, and at the southern exit another is taking up
its position."

This imminent danger, instead of making these brave youths tremble,
served but to fill them with stern resolve and courage.

Attilio looked once on the strong band assembled around him, and then
bade Silvio take two men and go to the entrance to reconnoitre.

Another sentinel approached at this moment from the south, and
corroborated Muzio's statement.

The sentinels from the remaining points failing to appear, a fear that
they had been arrested fell upon the young men, and their leader was
somewhat troubled on this account, until Silvio returned, and reported
that upon nearing the mouth of the passage he had seen them. At this
moment they heard a few shots, and immediately after the sentinels in
question entered, and informed the chief they had witnessed a large
number of troops gathering, and had fired upon one file, which had
ventured to advance.

Attilio, seeing delay would be ruinous, commanded Muzio to charge out
with a third of the company, he himself would follow up with his own
third, and Silvio was to hurl the rearmost section upon the troops.

Attilio briefly said, "It is the moment of deeds, not words. No matter
how large the number opposed to us, we must carve a road through them
with our daggers." He then directed Muzio to lead on a detachment of
twenty men, with a swift rush, upon the enemy, promising to follow
quickly.

Muzio, quickly forming his twenty men, wrapped his cloak around his
left arm, and grasping his weapon firmly in his right, gave the word to
charge out.

In a few moments the cavernous vault startled those outside by vomiting
a torrent of furious men; and as the youths rushed upon the satellites
of despotism, the Pope's soldiers heading the division had not even time
to level their guns before they were wrenched from their grasp, and many
received their death-blow.

The others, thoroughly demoralized at the cry of the second and third
divisions bursting forth, took to flight, headlong and shameful. The
Campo Vaccino and the streets of Rome hard by the Campidoglio were in a
short time filled with the fugitives, still pursued by those whom they
should have taken prisoners.

Helmets, swords, and guns lay scattered in all directions, and more were
wounded by the weapons of their own friends in their flight, than by
the daggers of their pursuers; in effect the rout was laughable and
complete.

The brave champions of Roman liberty, satisfied with having so utterly
discomfited the mercenaries of his Holiness, dispersed, and returned to
their several homes.

Amongst the dead bodies discovered next morning near the baths was that
of a mere youth, whose beard had scarcely begun to cover his face with
down. He was lying on his back, and on his breast was the shameful word
"traitor," pinned with a dagger. He had been recognized by the Three
Hundred, and swiftly punished.

Poor Paolo, alas, had the misfortune--for misfortune it proved--to
fall in love with the daughter of a priest, who, enacting the part of
a Delilah, betrayed him to her father as soon as she had learned he was
connected with a secret conspiracy. To save his life, the wretched youth
consented to become a paid spy in the service of the priesthood, and it
was thus he drew his pay.

The worth of one intrepid man, as Attilio showed, is inestimable; a
single man of lion heart can put to flight a whole army.

On the other hand, how contagious is fear. I have seen whole armies
seized by a terrible panic in open day at a cry of "Escape who can;"
"Cavalry;" "The enemy," or even the sound of a few shots--an army that
had fought, and would again fight, patiently and gallantly.

Fear is shameful and degrading, and I think the southern nations of
Europe are more liable to it than the cooler and more serious peoples of
the north; but never may I see an Italian army succumb to that sudden
ague-fit which kills the man, even though he seems to save his life
thereby!




CHAPTER XXI. THE TORTURE

As the hour of solemn vengeance had not yet struck, fright, and fright
alone for the black-robed rulers of Rome was the result of the events we
have detailed.

The priests were in mortal terror lest the thread by which the sword of
popular wrath was suspended should be cut.

The hour, however, had not struck; the measure of the cup was not full;
the God of justice delayed the day of his retribution.

Know you what the lust of priests is to torture? Do you know that by the
priests Galileo was tortured? Galileo, the greatest of Italians! Who but
priests could have committed him to the torture? Who but an archbishop
could have condemned to death by starvation in a walled-up prison
Ugolino and his four sons?

Where but in Rome have priests hated virtue and learning while they
fostered ignorance and patronized vice? Woe to the man who, gifted by
God above his fellows, has dared to exhibit his talent in Papal Italy.
Has he not been immediately consigned to moral and physical tortures,
until he admitted darkness was light?

Is it not surprising that in spite of the light of the nineteenth
century, a people should be found willing to believe the blasphemous
fables called the doctrines of the Church, and the priests permitted to
hold or withhold salvation at their pleasure, and to exercise such power
in such a continent, that rulers court their alliance as a means
of enabling them the more effectually to keep, in subjection their
miserable subjects?

In England, America, and Switzerland this torture has been abolished.
There progress is not a mere word. In Rome the torture exists in all its
power, though concealed. Light has yet to penetrate the secrets of those
dens of infamy called cloisters, seminaries, convents, where beings,
male and female, are immured as long as life lasts, and are bound by
terrible vows to resign forever the ties of natural affection and sacred
friendship.

Fearful are the punishments inflicted upon any hapless member suspected
of being lax in his belief, or desirous of being released from his
oaths. Redress for them is impossible in a country where despotism is
absolute, and the liberty of the press chained.

Yes, in Rome, where sits the Vicar of God, the representative of Christ,
the man of peace, the torture, I say, still exists as in the times of
Saint Dominic and Torquemada. The cord and the pincers are in constant
requisition in these present days of political convulsion.

Poor Dentato, the sergeant of dragoons who facilitated the escape of
Manlio, soon experienced this. He had been unfortunately identified as
engaged at the Quirinal Morning, noon, and night means too horrible to
divulge were resorted to to compel him to give up the names of those
concerned in the attack upon the prison. Failing to gain their point,
he had been left by his tormentors a shapeless mass, imploring his
persecutors to show mercy by putting him to death.

Unhappy man! the executioners falsely declared he had denounced his
accomplices, and continued daily to make fresh arrests.

Yet the world still tolerates these fiends in human form, and kings
moreover impose them upon our unhappy countries. God grant the people
of Italy will before long have the will and the courage to break this
hateful yoke from off their necks! God set us free, before we are weary
of praying, from those who take His holy name in vain, and chase Christ
himself out of the Temple to set their money-changing stalls therein!




CHAPTER XXII. THE BRIGANDS

Let us leave for a time these scenes of horror, and follow our fugitives
on the road to Porto d'Anzo. Their hearts are sad, for they are leaving
many dear to them behind in the city, and their road is one of danger,
until it be the sea; but, as they breathe the pure air of the country,
their spirits revive--that country once so populated and fertile, now so
barren and deserted. Perhaps it would be difficult to find another spot
on earth that presents so many objects of past grandeur and present
misery as the Campagna. The ruins, scattered on all sides, give
pleasure to the antiquary, and convince him of the prosperity and
grandeur of its ancient inhabitants, while the sportsman finds beasts
and birds enough to satisfy him; but the lover of mankind mourns, it
is a graveyard of past glories, with the priests for sextons. The
proprietors of these vast plains are few, and those few, priests, who
are too much absorbed by the pleasures and vices of the city, to
visit their properties, keeping, at the most, a few flocks of sheep or
buffaloes.

Brigandage is inseparable from priestly government, which is easy to
understand when we remember that it is supported by the aid of cowardly
and brutal mercenaries. These, becoming robbers, murderers, and
criminal offenders, flee to such places as this desert, where they find
undisturbed refuge and shelter.

Statistics prove that in Rome murders are of more frequent occurrence
in proportion to the population than in any other city. And how, indeed,
can it be otherwise, when we consider the corrupt education instilled by
the priests?

The outlaws are styled brigands, and to these may be added troops of
runaway hirelings of the priests, who have committed such dreadful
ravages during the last few years. We have a sympathy for the wild
spirits who seem to live by plunder, but who retire to the plains, and
pass a rambling life, without being guilty of theft or murder, in order
to escape the humiliations to which the citizen is daily subjected.

The tenacity and courage shown by these in their encounters with the
police and national guards, are worthy of a better cause, and prove that
such men, if led by a lawful ruler, and inspired with a love for their
country, would form an army that would resist triumphantly any foreign
invader.

All "brigands" are, indeed, not assassins.

Orazio, a valorous Roman, though a brigand, was respected and admired
by all in Trastevere, particularly by the Roman women, who never fail to
recognize and appreciate personal bravery.

He was reputed to be descended from the famous Horatius Cocles, who
alone defended a bridge against the army of Porsenna, and, like him,
curiously enough, had lost an eye. Orazio had served the Roman Republic
with honor. While yet a beardless youth he was one of the first who,
on the glorious 30th of April, charged and put to flight the foreign
invaders. In Palestrina he received an honorable wound in the forehead,
and at Velletri, after unhorsing a Neapolitan officer with his
arquebuss, deprived him of his arms, and carried him in triumph to Rome.
Well would it have been for Julia and her friends had men of this type
alone haunted the lonely plain! But when they were not far distant from
the coast, a sudden shot, which brought the coachman down from his seat,
informed our fugitives that they were about to be attacked by brigands,
and were already in range of their muskets. Manlio instantly seized the
reins and whipped the hones, but four of the band, armed to the teeth,
rushed immediately at the horses' heads. "Do not stir, or you are a dead
man," shouted one of the robbers, who appeared to be the leader. Manlio,
convinced that resistance was useless, wisely remained immovable. In no
very gallant tone, the ladies were bidden to descend, but, at the sight
of so much beauty, the robbers became softened at first, for a time, and
fixed their admiring looks upon the exquisite features of the youthful
Clelia and the fair Englishwoman, with some promise of repentance. But
their savage natures soon got the better of such a show of grace. The
chief addressed the disconcerted party in a rough tone, saying, "Ladies,
if you come with us quietly no harm shall happen to _you_, but if you
resist, you will endanger your own lives; while, to show you that we are
in earnest, I shall immediately shoot that man," pointing to Manlio, who
remained stationary on the box. The effects produced upon the terrified
women by this threat were various. Silvia and Aurelia burst into tears,
and Clelia turned deadly pale. Julia, better accustomed to encounter
dangers, preserved her countenance with that fearlessness so
characteristic of her countrywomen. "Will you not," said she, advancing
close to the brigand, "take what we possess? we will willingly give you
all we have;" putting, at the same time, a heavily-filled parse into his
hand, "but spare our lives, and permit us to continue our journey."

The wretch, after carefully weighing the money, replied, "Not so, pretty
lady," as he gazed with ardent eyes from her to Clelia; "it is by
no means every day that we are favored by fortune with such charming
plunder. We are in luck with such lovely ones. You must accompany us."

Julia remained silent, not realizing the villain's presumption; but
Clelia, to whom the chill of despair which struck her when her
father's life was menaced was yielding to a deeper horror still at
the scoundrel's words, with a spasm of anger and terror, snatching her
poniard from her bosom, sprang upon the unprepared bandit.

Julia, seeing the heroic resolution of her friend, also attacked him;
but alas! they had not the chief alone to struggle with. His comrades
came to his assistance, and the English girl was speedily overpowered,
whilst Clelia was left vainly to assail him, for, although she succeeded
in inflicting several wounds, they were of so slight a nature that, with
the aid of a follower, he had no difficulty in wresting her weapon from
her and securing her hands.

When Julia was dragged off by two of the ruffians towards some bushes,
Aurelia and Silvia followed, entreating them not to kill her.

Manlio, who had attempted to leap to the ground to aid his daughter,
had been instantly beaten to the earth, and was being dragged off in the
direction of the same thicket by the band, while the chief brought up
the rear with Clelia in his arms.

All appeared lost. Death--and worse than death--threatened them.

But they had not gone many paces before the knave whose vile arms
encircled Julia was felled to the ground by a blow from a sudden hand;
and Clelia gave a cry of joy as her deliverer raised her from the
ground.




CHAPTER XXIII. THE LIBERATOR

Clelia's liberator, who had arrived so opportunely on the scene of
violence, was by no means a giant, being not more than an inch or
two above the ordinary height; but the erectness of his person, the
amplitude of his chest, and the squareness of his shoulders, showed him
to be a man of extraordinary strength.

As soon as this opportune hero who had come to the rescue of the weak,
had stricken down the chief by a blow of his gun-butt upon the robber's
skull, he levelled the barrel at the brigand who held Manlio in his
grasp and shot him dead. Then, without waiting long to see the effect of
his bullet--for this hunter of the wild boar had a sure eye--he turned
to the direction pointed out by Clelia. She was still much agitated; but
when she perceived her champion so far successful, she cried-

"Avanti! go after Julia, and rescue her. Oh, go!"

With the fleetness of the deer the young man sped away in pursuit of
Julia's ravishers, and, to Clelia's instant relief, the English girl
soon reappeared with their preserver; Julia's captors having taken to
flight upon hearing the shots.

Reloading his gun, the stranger handed it to Manlio, and proceeded
to appropriate to his own use those arms which he found upon the dead
bodies of the brigands.

They then returned to the carriage, and found the horses grazing
contentedly on the young grass that bordered the road. For a little
while no one found a voice. They stood absorbed in thoughts of joy,
agitation, and gratitude; the women regarding the figure of the stranger
with fervent admiration. How beautiful is valor, particularly when shown
in the defense of honor and loveliness in woman, whose appreciation of
courage is a deep instinct of her nature. Be a lover bold and fearless,
as well as spotless, a despiser of death, as well as graceful in life,
and you will not fail to win both praise and love from beauty.

This sympathy of the fair sex with lofty qualities in the sex of action
has been the chief promoter of human civilization and social happiness.

For woman's love alone man has gradually put aside his masculine
coarseness, and contempt for outward appearances, becoming docile,
refined, and elegant, while his rougher virtue of courage was softened
into chivalry.

So far from being his "inferior," woman was appointed the instructress
of man, and designed by the Creator to mould and educate his moral
nature.

We have said our fair travellers gazed with admiration at the fine
person of the brigand--for "brigand" we must unwillingly confess their
deliverer to be--and as they gazed, the younger members of the party, it
may be acknowledged, imported into their glance a little more gratitude
than the absent lovers, Attilio and Muzio, would perhaps have wished.
But admiration gave place to _surprise_, when the brigand, taking
Silvia's hand, kissed it, with tears, saying-

"You do not remember me, Signora? Look at my left eye: had it not been
for your maternal care, the accident to it would have cost me my life."

"Orazio! Orazio!" cried the matron, embracing him. "Yes, it is indeed
the son of my old friend."

"Yes, I am Orazio, whom you received in a dying condition, and nursed
back to life; the poor orphan whom you nourished and fed when left in
absolute need," he replied, as he returned her embrace tenderly.

After exchanging these words of recognition, and receiving others
of ardent gratitude from the party, Orazio explained how he had been
hunting in the neighborhood, when he saw the attack, and came to do what
he could for the ladies. He advised Manlio to put them into the carriage
again, and depart with all speed; "for," said he, "two of these bandits
have escaped, and may possibly return with several of their band." Then,
ascertaining the name of the port from which they intended sailing, he
offered to become their charioteer, and, mounting the box, drove off
rapidly in the direction of Porto d'Anzo.

Arrived there without further adventure, the freshness of the sea air
seemed to put new life and spirits into our jaded travellers, and the
effect upon the beautiful Julia in particular was perfectly marvellous.
A daughter of the Queen of the Ocean, she, like almost all her children,
was enamored of the sea, and pined for it when at a distance.

The sons of Britain scent the salt air wherever they live; they are
islanders with the ocean always near. They can understand the feeling
of Xenophon's 1000 Greeks, when they again beheld the ocean after their
long and dangerous Anabasis, and how they fell upon their knees, with
joyful shouts of "Thalassa! Thalassa!" and saluted the green and silver
Amphitrite as their mother, friend, and tutelary divinity.




CHAPTER XXIV. THE YACHT

The English girl broke out into pretty speeches of gladness when she
caught sight of her little ship. "Dance, graceful naiad," ejaculated
Julia, when she beheld it upon the blue waters of the Mediterranean,
"and spread your wings to bear away my friends to a place of safety.
Who says I may not love thee as a friend, when I owe to thee so many
glorious and free days? I love thee when the waters are like a mirror
and reflect thy beauty upon their glassy bosom, and thou rockest lazily
to the sigh of the gentle evening breeze which scarcely swells thy
sails. I love thee still more when thou plungest, like a steed of
Neptune, through the billows' snorting foam, driven by the storm, making
thy way through the waves, and fearing no terror of the tempest. Now
stretch thy wings for thy mistress, and bear her friends safe from this
wicked shore!"

Julia's companions were in the mood to echo this spirit of joy and
exultation, and eagerly gazed at the little vessel.

Not daring, however, to excite suspicion by conducting the whole of her
party at once into Porto d'Anzo, Julia decided upon leaving Silvia and
her daughter under the protection of Orazio, who would have been cut in
pieces before he would have allowed them to be injured or insulted.
They were to wait in a wood a short distance from the port, while Julia,
taking with her Manlio, who acted the part of coachman, and Aurelia, as
her lady's maid, passed to the ship to make preparations to fetch the
others. Capo d'Anzo forms the southern, and Civita Vecchia the northern
limits of the dangerous and inhospitable Roman shore. The navigator
steers his vessel warily when he puts out to sea in winter on this
stormy coast, especially in a south-west wind, which has wrecked many a
gallant ship there. The mouth of the Tiber, is only navigable by vessels
that do not draw more than four or five feet of water, and this only
during spring. On the left bank of the Tiber near Mount Circeli, dwelt
of old the war-like Volsci, who gave the Romans no little trouble before
those universal conquerors succeeded in subjugating them. The ruins of
their ancient capital, Ardea, bear witness to its ancient prosperity.

The promontory, Capo d'Anzo, both forms and gives its name to the port
in which was stationed our heroine's yacht, awaiting her orders. The
arrival of Julia, if not a delight and fete day for the priests, who
hate the English, because they are both "heretics" and "liberals," was
certainly one for the crew of the _Seagull_, to whom she was always
affable and kind. The sailor, exposed to noble risks nearly all his
life, is well worthy of woman's esteem, and nowhere will she find a
truer devotion to her sex than among the rough but loyal and generous
tars.

Going on board, the pretty English lady, after returning the
affectionate and respectful greeting of her countrymen and servants,
descended to the cabin and consulted with her captain, an old sea-dog
(Thompson by name), as to the best means of embarking the fugitives.

"Aye, aye, Miss," said he, glad to escape his enforced idleness, as soon
as he saw how the land lay; "leave the poor creatures to me; I'll find a
way of shipping them safe out of this hole!"

And in less than an hour the captain, true to his word, weighed anchor,
and sailed triumphantly out to sea with our exiles on board, who, though
shedding a few natural tears as the coast faded rapidly from their view,
were inexpressibly thankful to feel that they were at last out of the
clutches of their revengeful persecutors.




CHAPTER XXV. THE TEMPEST

But our readers will remember that it was now the third week in
February--the worst month at sea, at least in the Mediterranean. The
Italian sailors have a proverb, that "a short February is worse than a
long December." Captain Thompson, in his anxiety to fulfill his young
mistress's wishes, had not failed to heed the weather-glass, and he had
felt anxious at the way in which the mercury was falling--a sure
sign that a strong south-west wind was brewing nigh at hand, the most
unfavorable for the safety of our passengers on this rocky coast. The
_Seagull_, however, sailed gracefully out of port with all sails set,
and impelled by a gentle breeze--gracefully, we say, that is, in the
eyes of Captain Thompson and her owner; but not so gracefully in the
eyes of Aurelia and Manlio, who, never having intrusted themselves to
the deep before, were considerably inconvenienced by the undulating
motion.

Julia had arranged to cruise down the coast for Silvia and Clelia, under
Orazio's protection, bringing to off a small fishing-place a few miles
from Porto d'Anzo, where the yacht was to put in and embark them; but,
though the captain would have gone through fire and water to obey his
mistress's commands, the wind and waves were his superiors. The gentle
breeze had given place to strong gusts, and black clouds were rapidly
chasing one another athwart the sky. A storm was evidently rising, and
every moment the danger of being driven ashore was becoming more and
more possible. Night was closing in, and breakers were in sight. The
only chance of escape was to cast anchor. Thompson accordingly made
Julia, who, wrapped in a shawl, was lying on deck watching every
movement, acquainted with his resolution, in which she acquiesced. The
sailors were about to obey their captain's orders, when Julia cried out
"Hold!" for she had already felt the wind upon her cheek suddenly shift,
and felt that to anchor was no longer wise. Now they must stand out to
sea, and face the shifts of the tempest. The sails began to fill, and in
a short time the _Seagull_ paid off, and began to leave the surf behind
her, obedient to the helm. The wind was fitful, and now and again
terribly fierce; the sails, cordage, and masts creaked, and swayed
to and fro. Captain Thompson ordered his crew, in the energetic, yet
self-possessed tone so characteristic of the British seaman, to "stand
by" the halliards (ropes to hoist or lower sails), but to take in
nothing. Luffing a little more, they were soon free of the immediate
peril; but, the wind increasing, they dared not carry so much sail, and
three reefs were taken in upon the mainsail, the foresail and jib were
shifted, and every thing was made tight and snug against the fierce
blasts which dashed the billows over her sides, and occasionally nearly
submerged the tiny bark.

The Seagull presently put about on the port tack, always beating
out from the land, and battled bravely with the storm, which waxed
momentarily louder and stronger. One tremendous wave dashed over her,
and then the captain, addressing Julia, who had remained on deck,
besought her to go below, or he feared she might share the fate of one
of the crew who had been washed overboard by it. Poor fellow, no help
could save him! Julia saw the sailor go over the side, and threw him a
rope herself, but the man was swallowed up in the darkness and foam. The
steersmen (for there were two) were now lashed to the helm, the captain
to the weather shrouds of the mainmast, and the men held fast under the
bulwarks.

When Julia descended to the cabin to appease the captain's anxiety, and
look after her friends, the scene that met her view was so ludicrous
that, in spite of her sorrow for the loss of the poor seaman, she could
not repress a smile. When the ship gave a lurch to the wave which had
carried the sailor away, Aurelia was precipitated like a bundle of
clothes into the same corner in which Manlio had taken refuge. The poor
woman, frightened out of her wits, and thinking her last hour had come,
clung to the unfortunate sculptor with all her might, as if fancying
she could be saved by doing so. In vain Manlio implored her not to choke
him: the more he entreated the closer became her grasp. The sculptor,
accustomed to move blocks of marble, was powerless to release himself
from the agonized matron, but, aided by the motion of the ship,
contrived to hold her off a little so as to escape suffocation. In this
tragic and yet comic attitude Julia beheld them, and, after giving way
for one moment to her irrepressible amusement, she called a servant to
assist her, and succeeded in pacifying Aurelia, and in liberating Manlio
from his uncomfortable position.

All night the _Seagull_ straggled bravely against the storm, and had it
not been for her superior construction, and the skill of her commander
and the brave blue-jackets in Julia's service, she must have perished.

Towards morning the tempest subsided, and the wind having changed to
south-south-west, Captain Thompson informed Julia it would be necessary
to put in at Porto Ferrajo or Longone to repair the damages the yacht
had sustained, which, indeed, were not slight. The two light boats
had been carried away, also every article on deck, and the starboard
bulwarks from amidships to stem. The foremast, too, was sprung, and
Julia, seeing the impossibility of setting the vessel to rights at sea,
consented to make the land. Here we will take leave of them for a time.




CHAPTER XXVI. THE TOWER

It is time to return to Clelia, and see how it fares with her and her
companions, Silvia and Orazio. As night approached, Orazio made a large
fire, which he had been directed to do by Julia, in order that the smoke
might be a guide to her vessel. He then looked out for a boat to hire,
in which to convey the women to the yacht; but as the storm rose, he
felt there would be no chance of embarking that night, and cast about
for a place of shelter until the morning.

He found a ruined tower--such towers abound on the coasts of the
Mediterranean, and are the remains of places which were erected by the
mediaeval pirates, who used them chiefly to signal to their vessels when
it would be safe to approach the shore. Here, after making his charges
as comfortable as circumstances permitted, he left them, and paced up
and down the beach, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the _Seagull_,
which, he feared, could scarcely live in such a tempest. Half blinded by
the spray, he continued his watch, dreading most of all to see the signs
of a wreck. It was after many hours he perceived a dark object tossing
about in the water, nearing and then receding, and finally stranded on
the beach. Orazio ran towards it, and was horrified to discover that it
was a human body, apparently lifeless, but still clinging to a rope
and buoy. He snatched it up in his sturdy arms, and carried it into the
tower, where he found Silvia and Clelia sitting by the fire which he had
kindled for them. The lad whom Orazio had rescued was no other than the
young English sailor washed overboard from the _Seagull_.

Silvia, aided by her daughter, stripped the inanimate lad, laid him
before the fire, and chafed him with their hands for a very long while,
until, to their great delight, he slowly returned to consciousness. Then
they wrapped him in some of their own dry garments, and hung his wet
ones before the fire, Orazio supplying them with fresh fuel. Some of
his native "grog" was wanting for poor John, but none was to be had.
Fortunately, Orazio had a flask of Orvieto, which he had given to the
travellers to warm their chilled bodies during the bitter night; and
Silvia wisely administered a liberal dose to the exhausted mariner, who,
with a stone for a pillow, and his feet towards the friendly fire, fell
by-and-by into a sound sleep--yacht, tempest, shipwreck, and angelic
nurses all forgotten together. His slumber could not have been more
profound had he been stretched upon a bed of down. The youthful Clelia,
also wearied with the fatigue of the past day, soon followed his
example, and with her head in her mother's lap, slept the sleep of the
innocent.

Orazio returned to his lonely post, and after pacing up and down the
shore in the fear of seeing some other sign of disaster, returned at
dawn to the tower to dry his dripping clothes, and refresh himself after
his dreary vigil.

Silvia alone could not sleep all that night, but only dozed
occasionally, as she thought over the misfortunes that had befallen
them. Her delicate and graceful frame had been much shaken by the
terrible occurrences of the past few days. Affectionate mother! Though
weary, she bore the weight of her precious Clelia, and though her
position was a constrained one, remained immovable lest she should
awake her. She was tormented with fear, too, for the life of her beloved
Manlio, who had escaped the fury of the priests only to be exposed to
the merciless waves; and then, as if struck with remorse for thinking
only of him, she murmured, in bitter accents, "Ah, my poor Aurelia,
to what a fete has your generous kindness brought you also!" Muttering
which reflections she then fell into another troubled doze.

The Roman outlaw slept not, even after daybreak. He felt he was too near
the cunning priests of Porto d'Anzo to be very safe. Seating himself
upon a stone which he placed near the fire, he fed it from time to time
with the wood he had previously gathered, and dried his garments one
by one, with the exception of his cloak, which he had politely insisted
upon wrapping around the ladies in the early part of the evening, as
they were but-indifferently protected from the cold. Orazio was gayly
dressed in a dark velvet suit, ornamented with silver buttons; gaiters
buckling at the knee covered a comparatively small and well-shaped
foot, and displayed his well-formed leg to advantage; a black cravat was
knotted round his handsome throat, and a red satin handkerchief, loosely
tied, fell upon his wide shoulders; a black hat, resembling in shape
those worn by the Calabrians, nattily inclined a little to the right,
crowned his head; a leathern powder-bag, embroidered with silk and
silver, slung round his waist, in the band of which were placed two
revolvers and a broad-bladed dagger, which served both as a weapon of
defense and hunting-knife, gave him a well-prepared air; not to speak
of his trusty carbine, which he has taken the precaution to reload, and
which he always rests upon his left arm. As the flickering light of the
fire fell upon him and lit up his bronzed features, an artist would have
given much to have depicted what was truly a type of strength, courage,
and manly beauty; while now and then, awakening from her uneasy slumber,
Silvia regarded him with admiring eye, and forgot for a moment her
anxieties while guarded by that faithful sentinel. It is to be regretted
that our hero, Orazio, was a "brigand;" but then he was one of the
better sort, and only from the force of circumstances, his sin being
that, like all brave and loyal men, he wished Italy to be united, and
Rome freed forever from priestly despotism.

Towards dawn Orazio approached Silvia, saying respectfully, "Signora,
we must not remain here till broad day; as soon as there is sufficient
light to show us the path to take we must depart. We are too near our
mutual enemies here to be out of danger."

"And Manlio, Julia, Aurelia, where are they?" "Probably far out at sea,"
he replied; "and let us only hope it, for so they will be safe; but it
would be well before we strike out into the woods once more to examine
the beach. God grant we may not find any more bodies there."

"God grant they may not have been cast upon the coast during this
fearful storm," ejaculated Silvia, with clasped hands and raised eyes.

A mournful silence fell upon them, broken at last by Orazio, who had
been looking out for the first streak of light in the leaden sky.

"Signora, it is time we were off."

Silvia shook her daughter gently to arouse her, and Clelia got up,
feeling greatly restored by her peaceful slumber, while Orazio, touching
John with the butt-end of his carbine, awoke him.

Then, for the first time, the sailor-boy was able to tell how he was
washed overboard, and his account gave hopes to the listeners that the
_Seagull_ was safe.

Our bandit, going first, led his party in the direction of the coast;
but, although the rain had ceased, the wind had not subsided, and the
women made their way with difficulty along the rough, uneven pathway,
the spray from the sea beating in their faces. Orazio and John, who was
now nearly recovered, searched for the tokens of a wreck, but, happily,
none were found, and they returned to Silvia and Clelia, whom they
had left in a sheltered place, with relieved countenances and cheerful
voices, saying, "Our friends are out of danger." Orazio added, "And now,
ladies, we will begin our own journey," turning at the same time to the
right, and taking a narrow footpath through the wood well known to him.
His charges, attended by John the English boy, followed in silence.




CHAPTER XXVII. THE WITHDRAWAL

After the affair at the Baths of Caracalla, the position of Attilio and
his companions became very much compromised. The traitor had, indeed,
paid for his infamy with his life; but | though the Government's
mercenaries had had the worst of it, the police were now on the alert,
and, if not quite certain, could make a shrewd guess as to who were the
leaders of the conspiracy.

If, however, the friends of liberty from outside had been as ready as
the Romans, the conspirators might yet have had it all their own way
on the 15th of February, or, indeed, at any other time. But the
"Moderates," always indissolubly bound to the chariots of selfishness,
would not hear the words "To arms!" They preferred waiting, at whatever
cost, until the manna of freedom fell from heaven into their mouths, or
the foreigner should come to their relief, and set their country free.

What cared they for national dignity, or the contemptuous smile of all
other European nations at the open buying and selling of provinces!
They were thinking first of gain and remunerative employment, and were
consequently deaf to all generous propositions likely to set in risk
their Eldorado of profits, though they would, if successful, procure
national unity and prosperity by energetic action.

This middle-class cowardice is the cause of Italy's degradation at the
present day, and were it not for that, the kissing of the slipper would
be an infamy of the past. It is the reason, too, why Italy's soil is
so often vainly wet with the blood of her nobler, braver sons; and why
those who escape the sword wander in forests to avoid the vengeance of
those robed hyenas; and why the poor remain in abject misery.

Such was the condition of Rome at the beginning of the year 1867. She
might have been happy, regenerated, and powerful, crowned with glorious
liberty and independence, had not the foreigner come to the aid of
the falsely-called "father of his people." Now she grovels in bondage,
loaded with French chains.

One evening, early in March, Attilio, Muzio, and Silvio met at Manlio's
house to discuss their future movements. They had remained in Rome in
the hope of achieving something, but the labyrinth was far too intricate
to allow our youthful and inexperienced heroes to extricate themselves,
and the Three Hundred to extricate themselves and their countrymen from
it.

"There is no use," spoke Attilio, bitterly, "in dedicating one's life to
the good of one's country in these days, when the 'Moderates,' check all
our efforts, and basely reconcile themselves with the enemies of Italy.
_Ohime!_ How can Romans ever do so! How can they ever live in harmony
with those who have sold them and theirs so many times! who have
precipitated us from the first rank among the nations to the lowest! who
have corrupted and polluted our city! who have tortured our fathers and
violated our virgins!"

In his wrath Attilio's voice had risen until he literally shouted.

Silvio, more composed, said, "Speak lower, brother, thou knowest how we
are pursued; perchance there may even now be some accursed spy near.
Be patient, and for the present let us leave Regola in charge of our
affairs, and quit the city. In the country we have true and courageous
friends. Let us leave Rome until she is tired of being the laughing
stock of these leeches, who live by imposture and tyranny. Let us go.
Our generous countrymen will call us brigands, adventurers, as they did
the Thousand during the glorious expedition of Marsala, which astonished
the world. What matters it to us? Now, as then, we will work and watch
for the liberty of this our unhappy country. When she is willing to
emancipate herself, we will fly to her rescue."




CHAPTER XXVIII. THE FOREST

After walking for about two hours through the forest, where to Silvia's
and Clelia's inexperienced eyes there appeared to be no path ever
trodden by man, Orazio stopped at a clearing, and they beheld a small
pleasant-looking glade. Jack, the sailor, had proved of great use in
removing fallen branches strewn across the way, which would else have
greatly impeded the progress of the ladies. The weather had cleared up,
and although the wind still moved the crowns of the trees it fanned but
gently the cheeks of the fugitives.

"Signora, sit down here with your daughter," said their guide, pointing
to a large flat stone, "and take some rest, of which I see you are in
need. Jack and I will go in search of some food; but, before we do so,
I will spread my cloak upon your hard bench, that you may repose in
greater comfort."

Orazio was repaid with a graceful bow, and starting into the wood at a
rapid pace, accompanied by the sailor-boy, was soon hidden from their
view.

Silvia was really fatigued, but Clelia, being of a more elastic
constitution, and refreshed by her sound sleep during the past night,
was not so much fatigued; nevertheless, she found it very welcome to
rest in that agreeable place, where no human being save themselves was
visible.

Yielding presently, however, to the vivacity of her age, the young
girl sprang up, and began to gather some pretty wild flowers she had
observed, and forming them into a bouquet, presented them with a smile
to her mother, and re-seated herself at her side. Just then, the report
of a musket re-echoed through the wood. Silvia was greatly startled
by the sudden echo in that lonely, silent retreat, which had in it
something solemn.

Clelia, perceiving the effect upon her mother, embraced her, and in
reassuring tones said, "That is only a shot from our friend, _mia madre_;
he will soon return with some game."

Silvia's color came back again, and very soon afterwards Orazio and Jack
rejoined the ladies, carrying between them a young boar, struck down by
a ball from the carbine of the Roman.

At Orazio's request, Clelia, who had some knowledge of the English
language, bade Jack gather some sticks and light a fire, which he did
willingly, and in a little time the cheerful pile was blazing before
them.

Animal food may be necessary to man--in part a carnivorous animal--still
the trade of a butcher is a horrid one, while the continual dabbling in
the blood of dumb creatures, and cutting up their slaughtered carcasses
has something very repulsive in it. For our own part we would gladly
give up eating animal food, and as years pass on, we become more and
more averse to the destruction of these creatures, and can not even
endure to see a bird wounded, though formerly we delighted in the chase.

However, habit had made slaying and preparing the boar natural and easy
to Orazio, who, compelled to live in the forest, had, indeed, no choice
in the matter, being obliged either to kill game or starve. He laid the
boar upon the grass, and with his hunting-knife skinned a portion, and
cutting some substantial slices, fastened them on a skewer, cut by Jack
out of a piece of green wood, and laid them over the fire. When fairly
cooked, he presented them to the famished travellers. It was a roast
well fitted to appease the cravings of a moderate appetite, and the wild
dinner was heartily relished by all the parly. The meal was, indeed, a
cheerful one, much merriment being caused by the absurdities uttered by
Jack, whom Clelia was laughingly endeavoring to teach Italian.

The sailor is always a light-hearted fellow on land, and more
particularly after he has been a long time at sea. Jack, forgetting his
narrow escape, was now the gayest of the four, and, in the company of
the gentle and beautiful Clelia, did not envy his late shipmates, who
were tossing on the tempestuous ocean. For Orazio, his preserver, and
the Italian ladies, his gratitude knew no bounds, although he had but a
vague idea of their position and purposes.

When the repast was ended the party continued their journey, resting
occasionally by the way, and in this manner arrived, late in the
afternoon, in sight of one of those ancient edifices along the Ostian
shore which appear to have escaped the destroying touch of Time. It
stood away from the sea, on the edge of the forest, and at the entrance
to a vast plain; several fine oaks, many centuries old, were growing
about it, planted apparently by the original possessors, with some
attempt at regularity.

Orazio, begging the ladies to recline upon a mossy bank, stepped aside,
and drawing a small horn from his pouch, blew a blast, shrill and long.
The signal was answered by a similar sound from the ancient building,
and an individual, dressed much in Orazio's style, issued from it, who,
approaching the brigand with an air of respect, cordially saluted him.

Orazio took the new-comer's hand in a friendly manner, and, pointing to
his party, held a short conversation with him in an undertone. The man
then retired, and Orazio, returning to the ladies, begged them to rise,
and permit him to conduct them to this secure place of refuge.




CHAPTER XXIX. THE CASTLE

The period of highest glory for the ancient capital of the world
vanished with the Republic and the majestic simplicity of the republican
system; for after the battle of Zama, in which Hannibal was defeated
by Scipio, the Romans had no longer any powerful enemies. It therefore
became easy to conquer other nations, and, enriched by the spoils of the
conquered, the Romans gave themselves up to internal contentions, and
to every kind of luxury. In this way they were dragged down to the
last stage of degradation, and became the slaves of those whom they had
enslaved. And right well it befitted them that God should pay them
in the same coin which they counted out. The last generation of the
Republic, however, had truly a sunset grandeur about it, and splendid
names. Before passing away it presented to history some men at whom one
can not but marvel Sartorius, Marius, Sulla, Pompey, and Caesar, were men
of such stature that one alone would suffice to illustrate the valor
of a warlike nation. If perfection in a military ruler were possible,
Caesar, with his superb qualities as a general, needed only to possess
the abnegation of Sulla to have been a perfect type of the class. Less
sanguinary than the Proscriber he possessed more ambition, and desired
to decorate his forehead with a crown, for which he fell a victim,
stabbed to the heart by the daggers of the Roman republicans. Sulla
was also a great general, and a reformer; he struggled hard to wean the
Romans from their vices, and even resorted to terrible means, slaying
at one time eight thousand persons with this view. Subsequently, wearied
with the ineffectual struggle against the tide of the time, he
assembled the people in the Forum, and, after reproaching them for their
incorrigible vices, declared, that as his power as Dictator had failed
to regenerate them, he would no longer retain that dignity, but before
he laid it aside he challenged the city to require from him an account
of his actions. Silence ensued, no man demanding redress, though there
were many present whose relatives and friends he had sacrificed. With an
austere mien he then descended from the tribunal, and mingled with the
crowd as a simple citizen.

The Empire rose on the ruins of the Republic. And here it may be
remarked that no Republic can exist unless its citizens are virtuous.
This form of government demands moral education and elevation. It was
the vice and degradation to which the Romans had sunk that inaugurated
the Empire.

Among the emperors there were some less deplorable than others--such as
Trajan, Antonine, and Marcus Aurelius. The greater part, however, were
monsters, who, not satisfied with the enormous wealth they possessed,
and with their lofty position, set themselves to plunder the substance
of others. They sought every pretext for robbing the wealthy citizens.
Many of those, therefore, possessing wealth, retired from Rome--many
sought refuge in foreign lands, others in far distant parts of the
country, where they were safe from molestation. Among the latter, a
descendant of Lucullus, in the reign of Nero, built the original walls
of the antique castle where we left Clelia and her companions.

Peradventure, some of the enormous oaks by which it was surrounded had
sprung in but few removes from the acorns of the trees which shaded the
courtier of Nero. However this may be, the architecture of the castle
is certainly wonderful, and wonderfully preserved. The outbuildings are
covered with ivy, which age has rendered of extraordinary growth.
The interior had been completely modernized by mediaeval owners, and
although not adorned with all the luxuries of the nineteenth century,
it contains several dry-roofed and spacious apartments. Uninhabited
for some time, die castle had been almost buried out of sight by the
surrounding trees, which circumstance made it all the more suitable for
Orazio and his proscribed comrades. Built in dark and troublous times,
this castle, like all those of the same kind, possesses immense dungeons
and subterranean passages spreading over a large space in the bowels of
the earth. Superstition also guarded the lonely tower. Travellers making
inquiries about the neighborhood of the shepherds who tend their flocks
in the forest openings, had heard, and duly related, that somewhere in
this district was an ancient castle haunted by phantoms; that no one
ever dared to enter it, and that those unhappy beings who summoned up
courage to approach its gateway were never seen again. Moreover, was
there not a story told that the beautiful daughter of the wealthy Prince
T------, when staying with her family at Porto d'Anzo for the benefit of
sea-bathing, had one day wandered with her maids into the woods, where
the affrighted and helpless women saw their mistress carried up into the
air by spirits, and although every nook of the forest was searched by
the command of her distressed father, no traces of the young princess
were ever afterwards discovered.

To this haunt of marvels Orazio then conducted our travellers, as we
have before described.




CHAPTER XXX. IRENE

Upon the threshold of the castle, as our travellers drew near, stood a
young woman, whose appearance betokened the Roman matron, but of greater
delicacy perhaps than the ancient type. She numbered some twenty years;
and, though a charming smile spread itself over her lovely features, and
her eyes and soft abundant hair were extremely beautiful, still it was
the majestic natural bearing of Irene which struck the beholder.

As if unconscious of the presence of strangers, she ran to Orazio,
and folded him in a warm embrace, whilst the blush which glad love
can excite suffused both their faces, as they regarded each other
with undisguised affection. Then, turning to the two ladies, she bowed
gracefully, and welcomed them with a cordial salute, as Orazio said-

"Irene, I present to you the wife and daughter of Manlio, our renowned
sculptor of Rome."

Honest Jack was perfectly astounded at seeing so much beauty and
grandeur where he expected to find nothing except solitude and savage
desert. But his astonishment was greater still when he was invited
along with the rest into the castle, and beheld a table covered with a
profusion of modest comforts in a handsome and spacious dining-hall.

"You expected me, then, carissima?" observed Orazio, as he entered it,
to Irene.

"Oh, yes; my heart told me you would not pass another night away,"
was the reply, and the lovers exchanged another look, which made the
thoughts of Clelia, as she beheld it, fly to Attilio, and we do not
overstep the bounds of truth if we say that Silvia also remembered her
absent Manlio with a sigh.

Jack, with the appetite of a boy of twelve after his very long walk,
felt nothing of the pangs of love, but much of those of hunger.

And now another scene amazed mother and daughter as well as the
sailor, who stood, indeed, with wide-open mouth staring at what seemed
enchantment, for as Orazio blew his horn again, fifteen new guests, one
after another, each fully armed and equipped like their leader, filed
into the room. The hour being late, there was little daylight in the
apartment, which gave to their entrance a more melodramatic air; but
when the room was lit up with a lamp, the open and manly countenances of
the new comers were seen, and inspired our party with admiration and
confidence. The strangers made obeisance to the ladies and their
hostess. Orazio, placing Silvia on his right hand, and Clelia on his
left, Irene being seated by her side, called out, "To table." When their
chief (to whom they showed great respect) was seated, the men took their
places, silently, and Jack found a vacant seat by the side of Syvia,
which he took with calm resignation to his good luck. The repast began
with a toast "to the liberty of Rome," which each drank in a glass of
"vermuth," and then eating commenced, the meal lasting some time. When
all had appeased their hunger, Irene rose, with a sweet grace, from the
table, and conducted her fair visitors to an upper chamber in the tower;
and while a servant prepared, according to her orders, some beds for her
guests, exchanged with them, after the universal manner of ladies, a few
words about their mutual histories.

Silvia's and Clelia's stories you already know, so it only remains for
us, who have the privilege of their confidence, to narrate what Irene
imparted to them.

"You will wonder to hear," said she, "that I am the daughter of Prince
T------, whom perhaps you know in Rome, as he is famous for his wealth.
My father gave me a liberal education, for I did not care about feminine
accomplishments, such as music and dancing, but was attracted by deeper
studies. I delighted in histories; and when I commenced that of our
Rome, I was thoroughly fascinated by the story of the republic, so full
of deeds of heroism and virtue, and my young imagination became exalted
and affected to such an extent that I feared I should lose my reason.
Comparing those heroic times with the shameful and selfish empire, and
more especially with the present state of Rome, under the humiliating
and miserable rule of the priest, I became inexpressibly sorry for the
loss of that ancient ideal, and conceived an intense hatred and disgust
for those who are the true instruments of the abasement and servility of
our people. With such a disposition, and such sentiments, you can
imagine how distasteful the princely amusements and occupations of my
father's house became to me. The effeminate homage of the Roman
aristocracy--creatures of the priest--and the presence of the foreigner
palled upon me. Balls, feasts, and other dissipations, gave me no
gratification; only in the pathetic ruins scattered over our metropolis
did I find delight. On horseback or on foot, I passed hours daily
examining these relics of Rome's ancient grandeur.

"When I attained my fifteenth year I was certainly better acquainted
with the edifices of the old architects, and our numerous ruins, than
with the needle, embroidery, and the fashions. I used to make very
distant excursions on horseback, accompanied by an old and trusty
servant of the family.

"One evening, when I was returning from an exploration, and crossing
Trastevere, some drunken foreign soldiers, who had picked a quarrel at
an inn, rushed out, pursuing one another with drawn swords. My horse
took fright, and galloped along the road, overleaping and overturning
every thing in his way, in spite of all my endeavors to check his
speed. I am a good rider, and kept a firm seat, to the admiration of the
beholders; but my steed continuing his headlong race, my strength began
to fail, and I was about to let myself fall--in which case I should
certainly have been dashed to pieces on the pavement had I done so--when
a brave youth sprang from the roadside, and, flinging himself before my
horse, seized the bridle with his left hand, and, as the animal reared
and stumbled, clasped me with the right. The powerful and sudden grasp
of my robust preserver caused the poor beast indeed to swerve sharply
round, and, striking one foot against the curb, he stumbled and fell,
splitting his skull open against the wall of a house. I was saved, but
had fainted; and when I returned to consciousness I found myself at
home, in my own bed, and surrounded by my servants.

"And who was my preserver? Of whom could I make inquiries? I sent for my
old groom, but he could tell me little, except that he had followed
me as quickly as he well could, and had arrived at the scene of the
castastrophe just as I was being carried into a house. All he knew was
that my deliverer seemed a young man, who had retired immediately after
placing me in the care of the woman of the house, who was very attentive
when she learned who I was.

"Still my ardent imagination, even in that dangerous moment, had traced
more faithfully than they the noble lineaments of the youth. His eyes
had but flashed an instantaneous look into mine, but it was indelibly
imprinted on my heart. I could never forget that face, which renewed at
last, as in my memory, the heroes of the past. I shall know him again,
I said to myself. He is certainly a Roman, and if a Roman, he belongs to
the race of the Quirites! my ideal people--the objects of my worship!

"You know the custom of visiting the Colosseum by moonlight, which then
displays its majestic beauty to perfection. Well, I went one night to
view it, guarded by the same old servant; and as I was coming back, and
had arrived at the turning of the road which leads from the Tarpeian to
Campidoglio, my servant was struck down by a blow from a cudgel, and
two men, who had concealed themselves in the shadow cast by an immense
building, sprang out upon me, and, seizing me by the arms, dragged me
in the direction of the Arch of Severus. I was terror-stricken and in
despair, when, as Heaven willed it, I heard a cry of anger, and we were
quickly overtaken by a man whom I recognized in the dim light as my late
preserver. He threw himself upon my assailants, and a fearful struggle
began between the three. My young athlete, however, managed to lay the
assassins in the dust, and returned to my side; but perceiving that
my servant had risen, and was approaching unhurt, he took my hand, and
kissing it respectfully, departed before I could recover from the sudden
shock of the unexpected attack, or could articulate a single word.

"I have no recollection of my mother, but my father, who loved me
tenderly, used to take me every year to bathe at Porto d'Anzo, for he
knew how much I delighted in the ocean, and how pleased I was to escape
from the aristocratic society of Rome, where, had he studied his own
inclinations, he would gladly have remained. My father possessed a
little villa not far from the sea, to the north of Porto d'Anzo, where
we resided during our visits to the Mediterranean, the sight of which I
dearly loved. Here I was happier than in Rome; but I felt a void in my
existence, a craving in my heart, which made me restless and melancholy.
In fact, I was in love with my unknown preserver. Often I passed hours
in scrutinizing every passer-by from the balcony of my window, hoping
vainly to obtain a glimpse of the man whose image was engraven upon
my heart. If I saw a boat or any small craft upon the sea, I searched
eagerly, by the aid of my telescope, among crew and passengers for the
form of my idol.

"I did not dream in vain. Sitting alone in my balcony one evening,
wrapped in gloomy thoughts, and contemplating, almost involuntarily, the
moon as she rose slowly above the Pontine marshes, I was startled from
my reverie by the noise of something dropping to the ground from the
wall surrounding the villa. My heart began to beat violently, but not
from fear. I fancied I saw by the dim light a figure emerging from the
shrubbery towards me. A friendly ray from the moon illumined the face
of the intruder as he approached, and when I beheld the features I had
sought for so many days in vain I could not repress a cry of surprise
and joy, and it required all my womanly modesty to restrain a violent
desire to run down the steps leading to my balcony and embrace him.

"My love of solitude and disdain for the pleasures of the capital had
kept me in comparative ignorance of worldly things, and, with good
principles, I had remained an ingenuous, simple daughter of nature.

"'Irene,' said a voice which penetrated to the inmost recesses of my
soul; 'Irene, may I dare ask for the good fortune to say two words to
you either there or here?'

"To descend appeared to me to be more convenient than to permit him to
enter the rooms; I therefore went down immediately, and, forgetting, for
the moment, his fine speeches, in joy, he covered my hands with burning
kisses. Conducting me towards some trees, we sat down upon a wooden
bench under their shady branches side by side. He might have led me to
the end of the world at that strange and sweet moment had he pleased.

"For a while we remained silent; but presently my deliverer said, 'May
I ask pardon for this boldness--will you not grant it, my loved one?' I
made no reply, but allowed him to take possession of my hand, which he
kissed fervently. Presently he went on: 'I am only a plebeian, Irene--an
orphan. Both my parents perished in the defense of Rome against the
foreigner. I possess nothing on this earth but my hands and arms, and my
love for you, which has made me follow your footsteps.'

"Predisposed to love him even before I had heard his voice, now that his
manly yet gentle and impassioned tones fell upon my ear, I felt he might
do what he would with me--I was in an Eden. Yes, he belonged to me, and
I to him; but I could not find the voice to say so as yet.

"'Irene,' he continued, 'I am not only a portionless orphan, but an
outlaw, condemned to death, and pursued like a wild beast of the forest
by the bloodhounds of the Government. Yet I have presumed to hope
that you might be gentle to me for my love, with the strength of your
generous nature; and more so, alas! when I saw that you were unhappy,
for I have watched you unseen, and noted with sorrow and hope the
melancholy expression of your face. I am come, though your sweet
kindness flatters roe, Irene, to tell you these things which make it
impossible, of course, that you can ever be mine. I have no claim or
right; but my ardent love, the small services I have rendered you, have
blessed me, and made me proud and happy; therefore you owe me nought of
gratitude. If I should ever have the delight of laying down my life
for yours, my happiness will then, indeed, be complete. Adieu, Irene,
farewell!' he continued, rising and pressing my hand to his heart, while
he turned to leave me.

"I had remained in an ecstasy of silent joy, forgetful of the world,
of myself, of all save him. At the word 'farewell,' I started as if
electrified; I ran to him, crying 'Stay, oh, stay!' and, clasping him by
the arm, drew him back to the bench, and quite forgetting all reserve
myself, exclaimed, 'Thou art mine, and I am thine for life! thine, yes
thine forever, my beloved!'

"He told me all his story--he pictured to me the hope and aim of his
life. His burning words of love for Italy and hatred of her tyrants
added to my strength of resolve. I replied that I would share his
fortunes forthwith as his wife, and with no regrets, except upon
my father's account. It was then arranged that we should live here
together. A few days of preparation, and we were privately married. I
followed my Orazio to the forest where ever since I have dwelt with
him. I will not say I am perfectly happy--no; but my only grief is the
remembrance that my disappearance accelerated, I fear, in a measure the
death of my aged and affectionate parent."

Tired as our poor Silvia was, she could not but listen with interest to
the narrative of Irene, down whose beautiful cheeks the tears coursed
at the mention of her father's name. Clelia, too, had not lost a single
word, and more than one sigh from her fair bosom seemed to say, during
her hostess's recital, "Ah, my Attilio! is he not also handsome,
valorous, and worthy of love, yes, of my love!"

But now, wishing repose to her guests, Irene bade them good-night.




CHAPTER XXXI. GASPARO

The history of the Papacy is a history of brigands. From the mediaeval
period robbers have been paid by that weak and demoralizing Government
to keep Italy in a state of ferment and internal war; and at this very
day it makes use of thieves to hold her in thraldom and hinder her
regeneration. I repeat, then, that the history of, the Papacy is a
history of brigands.

Whoever visited Civita Vecchia in 1849 must have heard of Gasparo, the
famous leader of a band of brigands, a relative of the Cardinal A------.

Indeed, many persons paid a visit to that city simply for the purpose of
beholding so extraordinary a man.

Gasparo, at the head of his band, had long defied the Pontifical
Government, and sustained many encounters with the gendarmes and regular
troops, whom he almost invariably defeated and put to flight.

Failing to capture the brigand by force of arms, the Government had
recourse to stratagem. As I have already stated, Gasparo was related
to a cardinal, one of the most powerful at Court; and as they were both
natives of S------, where many of their mutual relations resided, these
relations were made use of by the Government to act as mediators between
it and the brigand, to whom it made several splendid offers.

Gasparo, putting faith in the promises made by his kinspeople at the
instance of the Government, disbanded his men, but was then shamefully
betrayed, arrested, and taken in chains to the prison in Civita Vecchia,
where he was found during the Republican period in 1849.

Prince T------, the brother of Irene, having obtained some clue through
the shepherds, whose description of a beautiful dweller in the forest
left little doubt upon his mind as to her identity, consulted with the
Cardinal A------, and determined at any cost to recover his sister.

Although backed by the Government, and authorized to make use of the
regiment which he commanded, the Prince, from his ignorance of the many
hidden recesses in the forest, did not feel at all certain of success,
and in his dilemma applied to the Cardinal to secure for him the
services of the prisoner Gasparo, his relative, as a guide.

"It is a good thought," said the Cardinal. "Gasparo is better acquainted
with every inch of the forest than we are with the streets of Rome.
Besides, they say that such are his olfactory powers, that by taking a
handful of grass, and smelling at it, even at midnight, he could tell
you what portion of the forest you were in. He is old now, it is true;
but he has courage enough still to face even the devil himself."

When Gasparo heard he was to be conducted to Rome he gave himself up
for lost, and said to himself, "Better were it to die at once, for I
am tired of this miserable existence, only then I should go to my grave
unrevenged for the treachery and injury I have suffered at the hands of
these villainous priests."

Two squads of gendarmes, one on foot and the other mounted, conducted
this formidable brigand from Civita Vecchia to Rome. The Government
would have preferred moving him at night, but darkness would have
facilitated his rescue, which it feared some of his old companions might
attempt if they heard of his journey. It was therefore decided Gasparo
should travel by day, and the road was thronged by so dense a multitude,
who pressed forward to gaze at the celebrated chieftain, that the
progress of the Pope could scarcely have attracted greater numbers.

Arrived in Rome, Gasparo was afterwards introduced into the presence of
his relative, Cardinal A------, and the Prince T------, who, with
many words and promises of a large reward in gold, to all appearance
prevailed upon him to assist them to destroy the bands of "libertines"
by which the forest was infested.

Rejoicing in such a chance of escape and opportunity for revenge upon
his persecutors, Gasparo affected to be delighted at the proposition,
and consented to it with much apparent pleasure.




CHAPTER XXXII. THE SURPRISE

Silvia, Clelia, and Jack, had passed several days very pleasantly in the
Castle of Lucullus, as the guests of Orazio and Irene.

Among Orazio's band were several well-connected men, whose friends in
the city, unknown to the Government, sent them regularly sums of money,
which enabled them to supply the table of their chief. The gallantry of
the young Romans to the "Pearl of Trastavere" was profound. Clelia would
have been more glad to have had her Attilio at her side; and Silvia,
the gentle Silvia, sighed when she remembered the uncertain fate of her
Manlio; but the two ladies were nevertheless well pleased. As for Jack,
he was the happiest being on earth, for Orazio had presented him with
one of the carbines taken from the brigands who had assaulted Manlio
and his party; and it was inseparable from him in all his hunting and
reconnoitring excursions in the woods.

One day Orazio took the sailor with him to seek a stag, and directed
Jack to beat, whilst he placed himself in ambush. Their arrangements
were so effective, that, in less than half an hour, a hart crossed
Orazio's path. He fired, and wounded him, but not mortally; he therefore
fired a second time, and, with a cry, the noble animal fell.

As he discharged his second shot, Orazio heard a rustling in the
bushes near him. Listening for a second, he was convinced some one was
approaching from the thickest part of the cover. Jack it could not be;
he was too far off to have returned so quickly.

A suspicion that he was to be the object of an attack caused him to
curse involuntarily as he looked at the empty barrels of his carbine. He
was not mistaken; for, hardly had he placed the butt-end of his gun upon
the ground in order to reload it, than a head, more like that of some
wild creature than a human being, was thrust from between the bushes.

To the valorous fear is a stranger, and our Roman, who was truly
brave, sprang forward, dagger in hand, to confront the apparition,
who, however, exclaimed, "Hold!" in such a tone of authority and
_sang-froid_, that Orazio fell back astonished, and paused.

The stranger was armed from head to foot, and had, as we have said, a
striking appearance. His head, covered with a tangled mass of hair,
white as snow, was surmounted by a Calabrian hat; his beard was
grizzled, and as bristly as the chine of a wild boar, concealing almost
the whole of his face, out of which, nevertheless, glared two fiery
eyes. Held erect and placed upon magnificent shoulders, years had not
bowed nor persecution subjugated that daring neck. His broad chest
was covered by a dark velvet vest; around his waist was buckled the
inseparable cartridge-box. A velvet coat, and leather gaiters buttoned
at the knee, completed his costume.

"I am not your enemy, Orazio," said Gasparo--for it was he--"but am come
to warn you of an approaching danger, which might prove your ruin, and
that of your friends."

"That you are not my enemy, I am assured," replied Orazio; "for you
might, had you chosen, have killed me before I found a chance of
defending myself. I know well that Gasparo can handle a gun skillfully."

"Yes," answered the bandit, "there was a time when I needed not to fire
many second shots at deer or wild boar, but now my eyes are beginning
to fail me; yet I shall not be behind my companions when the time for
attacking the common enemy arrives. But let us talk a while, for I have
important news to communicate to you."

Seating himself upon the trunk of a fallen tree, Gasparo related to
Orazio the projects of the Papal court, aided by Prince T------ at the
head of his regiment; and how he himself had been sent for, from
confinement, to assist the Prince in discovering the retreat of the
"Liberals;" also how, burning to be revenged upon the priestly
Government, he had effected his escape, and now offered his services,
and those of his adherents, to Orazio, on the simple condition of being
accepted among the "Liberals" as one of their band.

"But, Gasparo, you have so many serious crimes to answer for, if the
reports about you be true, that we could not possibly admit you into our
company," observed Orazio.

"Crimes!" repeated the friendly brigand; "I own no crimes but those of
having purged society from some bloody and powerful villains and their
wicked agents. Is that a crime? and is it a crime to have helped the
needy and the oppressed? or do you believe that, if I had been a mere
paltry criminal, the Government would have been in such awe of me, or
that I should have been so beloved by the populace? The Government
fears me because I have no sin upon my soul but resentment against
its wickedness, and because it is conscious of having betrayed me in a
cowardly and deceitful manner, and that, when I return once more to my
free life, I shall make it pay dearly for its deceit and treachery.

"Yes, I have sometimes," he continued, after a pause, "made use of my
carbine as an instrument of justice, in accordance with the laws
of humanity, of righteousness. Can the priests say as much of their
accursed scaffold?"

Jack arriving at this moment, Orazio explained by signs that the
stranger was friendly; and, after making preparations to carry off the
game, they returned with Gasparo to the castle, to equip themselves
against the approaching assault.




CHAPTER XXXIII. THE ASSAULT

The Prince having ascertained from other spies--who proved more docile
than Gasparo--that the band of "Liberals" were occupying the castle of
Lucullus, made active arrangements to besiege it, and, after approaching
the place, disposed his men in such a manner that it might be surrounded
on all sides, so that escape from it in any direction should be
impossible. The brother of Irene--like many other generals--committed
the error of spreading his men over a large space of ground, and
detaching a number of sentinels, pickets, videttes, and scouts, so as to
leave himself with too small a body against assailants.

Not knowing the exact site of the castle, Prince

T------ had sent Gasparo on to explore, who took advantage of his
freedom, as the reader is aware, to desert to the threatened little
garrison. Impatient at his prolonged absence, the Prince commanded his
officers to cause their men--about a thousand strong--to narrow the
circle, and to assault the castle when each column arrived in sight of
it. As might be expected, so complex a scheme proved unfortunate. The
detachment to the north, commanded by the Prince in person, marched in
a straight line for the tower; but the others, partly through the
ignorance of the officers, and partly through the disinclination of the
guides to begin the affray, instead of following the right path, struck
out into the wood, and were soon in inextricable confusion, calling
hither and thither to each other, and often returning to the point from
which they started. In this way several hours were lost.

The Prince, with two hundred of his most serviceable men, arrived,
however, within sight of the spot, which they only discovered about four
o'clock in the afternoon, and then perceived, to their chagrin, that
preparations for defense had been made. But reckoning on the numbers of
his troops, and on the co-operation of the other detachments, he drew
his sword, disposed of half his men as skirmishers, and keeping the
other half as a reserve, ordered the signal to be given for attack.

Orazio and his young Romans could have avoided the combat by taking
refuge in the subterranean passages, but disdaining a retreat before
measuring his strength with the Papal mercenaries, he determined to show
fight, and upon returning to the castle with Gasparo, hastened to have
the doors barricaded and holes made in the walls for the musketeers,
while every necessary instrument was put in readiness for the siege.

The young leader hod ordered his men not to fire at the enemy so long
as they were at a distance, but to wait until they were close under the
walls, so that each might shoot down his man. The assailants advanced
boldly on the castle, and the front rank of skirmishers had nearly
reached the threshold, when a general discharge from the guns of those
within laid nearly as many of the Papal troops on the ground as there
were shots fired. This sudden discharge disconcerted those behind, who,
seeing so many of their comrades fall, turned and fled. The Prince, with
his column, was treading sharply on the heels of the skirmishers, and
arrived at this juncture.

Orazio had taken the precaution to have all the spare fire-arms in the
tower loaded and placed ready for use, and now commanded the domestics
to help the ladies to reload them as soon as they were discharged. Jack,
however, declined to remain with the women, as Orazio had proposed,
and seizing his musket placed himself at the side of his preserver,
following him like a shadow throughout the attack.

When the Prince arrived under cover of the outer mound and saw the
slaughter that had taken place, he understood at last the disposition of
the enemy with whom he had to deal. Remarking the fear depicted on the
countenances of his men, and seeing retreat under such a murderous fire
would be disastrous, to say nothing of the disgrace of such a movement,
he resolved to storm the wall. He passed the word, accordingly, to his
aides-de-camp, by whom he was surrounded, to order the trumpets to sound
the charge, and, springing forward himself, he was the first to climb
the barricade, striking right and left with his sabre at the few
defenders posted there.

Orazio, who was among these few, stood without moving at the first sight
of the Prince, in whose lineaments he traced so plainly the likeness
to his beloved Irene. One of the barrels of his musket was still
undischarged, and he could easily have sent the contents through the
body of his enemy, but he refrained. Jack, who was standing by his side,
not understanding the cause of this hesitation, raised his gun to
a level with the Prince's breast and fired; but as he did so Orazio
knocked up the muzzle with all the force of his strong arm, and the
ball struck one of the Prince's men, who had just appeared above the
barricade. The Prince's followers who mounted with him were few in
number, and those few were quickly dispatched by the valiant garrison of
the castle.

An unexpected circumstance finally freed our party from their assailants
and made them fly in every direction, scattered like a flock of sheep.

As the officers were urging the men crowded under the barricades to
follow their Prince, a cry of "Enemies in the rear!" was heard from the
east side of the wood. A small band of ten men appearing, sprang like
lions on the right flank of the little army. The soldiers, in the panic,
thinking the "ten" might be a hundred, dispersed like chaff before the
wind. Some few paused, hoping that the new-comers might prove to be some
of their own missing allies, but upon a nearer view it was plain that
they were dressed in the uniform of the Liberals, and the blows they
dealt upon the nearest Papalini were so terribly in earnest, that these
last turned and fled in dismay, leaving their opponents masters of
the field and the Prince a prisoner. Realizing the generous act of his
enemy, and finding out that he was left alone, he delivered up his
sword to Orazio, who received it courteously, and conducted him to the
presence of Irene.




CHAPTER XXXIV. A VALUABLE ACQUISITION

The most earnest reformer most confess that immense progress has been
made during the present century. We are not speaking of mechanical or
physical arts, in which the advance is really wonderful, but we are
thinking solely of the political and moral achievements of the age.

The emancipation of the nations from the power of the priest is a
vast object not yet attained, but towards the accomplishment of which,
nevertheless, our generation is making gigantic strides.

Above all, this progress seems marvellous and divinely impelled, when
one remembers that the gradual destruction of priestcraft is the work of
the priesthood itself. What enduring consolidation would not the Papacy
have obtained, had Pius IX. continued the system of reform with which he
commenced his reign, and sincerely identified himself with the Italian
nation! An overruling Providence, however, blinded the eyes of the
wavering monk for the good of his unfortunate people, and left him to
travel on the perverse and misguided road of his predecessors--that is
to say, to trade away Roman honor and Christian spirit for the help of
the foreigner, vilely selling the blood of his countrymen. The Italian
nation, which might have been so well and long deceived, has now seen
these impostors, the priests, walking with cross in hand at the head of
the foreign troops pitted against Italian patriots. The writer has with
his own eyes more than once witnessed priests leading the Austrians
against the Liberals. To serve the Papacy they have excited and
maintained brigandage, devastating the southern provinces with horrible
crimes, and fomenting by every means in their power the dissolution of
national unity, so happily but hardly constituted.

Another sign of human progress in our day is the closer tie establishing
itself between the aristocracy and the people. There still exist some
oligarchs everywhere, more or lest callous, more or less insolent, who
affect the arrogance and authority of former times, when the outrageous
and intolerable feudal pretensions were in full force. But they are
few in number, and the greater part of the nobility (noble not only by
birth, but in soul) associate with os, and mingle their aspirations with
ours.

To this last type belonged the brother of Irene, who undertook the
unlucky military affair we related in the last chapter, with the idea
of rescuing his beloved sister from the brigands, into whose hands he
believed she had fallen an unwilling victim. But when he learned that
those he had fought against were Romans of noble and lofty spirit,
and very far from the assassins he had pictured, he did not fail to
compliment the valor of his countrymen; and when he further learned that
Qrazio, to whose generosity he owed his life, was the legal husband of
his sister, and that she loved him so tenderly, his maimer and opinion
changed entirely.

These considerations had pleaded already in favor of Irene, who, upon
seeing her brother, threw herself at his feet, clasping his knees in a
flood of tears, which flowed the faster at the remembrance of her dead
father, whom he represented in face and voice.

The Prince, raising her gently, mingled his tears with hers, as he
affectionately embraced her. Orazio, touched to the depths of his soul,
was also affected, and taking the Prince's sword by the point, handed it
back to him, saying, "So noble a soldier ought not to be deprived, even
by accident, of his weapon." The Prince accepted it with gratitude, and
shook the bronzed hand of this son of the forest amicably.

And Clelia! what had made her rush away from this charming scene? what
had she heard amid the noise of the conflict? She had recognized the
voice of her Attilio during the assault, and for her and him too this
was a supreme moment. Yes, during the battle, when the shouts of
the new-comers made the arches of the castle ring again, Clelia
distinguished her betrothed's voice. She threw down a gun which she was
loading, and rushed to a balcony, whence she could survey the scene of
action. For one second, through the smoke, she obtained a view of the
face engraven upon her heart, but that second was sufficient to make
her feel surpassingly happy. Attilio, indeed, it was, who, with Silvio,
Muzio, and some other companions, had thus charged and scattered the
Papal troops.

Silvio, it must be known, was well acquainted with the castle of
Lucullus, where he had often been a guest, as well as the associate
of Orazio in his hunting and fighting expeditions. Through him a
communication was kept up between the Liberals in the city and those in
the country. Before quitting Rome he had come to the determination of
taking the field, and placing himself under Orazio's flag, and, as we
have seen, he happily arrived with his associates just in time to give
the last blow to the Papal soldiers.

The gentle reader must himself imagine the joy in the castle caused by
the arrival of friends who could contribute so powerfully to the safety
of the proscribed--what interrogations! what embracings! what inquiries
after parents, relatives, and friends! what new and happy hopes! what
soft illusions, dreams of peace and rest!

"Oh, my own, my own!" whispered Clelia, when Attilio for the first time
imprinted a kiss upon her beautiful brow, "thou art mine and I am thine,
in spite of the wicked priests, in spite of the world."

The smell of the gunpowder had perhaps turned her dear little head, so
that we may pass over the slight indiscretion of such confessions. She
should have been more coquettish, but she was a Roman girl, and her love
was true. And is not true love sublime, heroic, such as these two
happy beings bore to one another? Is it not the life of the soul, the
incentive of all that is noble, the civilizer of the human race?

The Liberals had a glorious acquisition in the person of Prince T------;
he was entirely converted by the scenes he had witnessed and the
words which he heard; for, generous and brave by nature, he felt the
humiliation of his country, and desired to see her liberated from the
bad government of the priest and the foreigner. Educated away from Rome,
however, and moving in a different sphere from those patriots who held
in their hands the plot of the Revolution, he had remained in ignorance
of much that was passing, and had even accepted, at his father's desire,
a post in the Pontifical army, which removed him farther than ever from
the influence of our brave friends. But a film had now passed from his
sight, and he saw at last with clearer vision the greatness of Italy's
future, and how surely Italy--now divided into so many parts, despised
and scorned by the world--should yet be re-united, and become one grand
and noble nation, looked up to and respected as in the days of her past
glory, as the patriotic Italians of all periods have ever dreamed and
prayed she should be.

The Prince was enchanted with his new quarters and with his new
companions, and vowed to himself to live and die for the sacred cause of
his country.

Rich, powerful, and generous, he became in future the strongest
supporter of the proscribed, and they had reason to congratulate
themselves for having put faith and hope in so noble a patriot, and one
whom they had thus doubly conquered.




CHAPTER XXXV. THE AMELIORATION OF MANKIND

Orazio having received and welcomed his friend and brethren, now began
to think of their general safety. He therefore called aside Attilio and
the Prince (who by this time had become firmly devoted to them and the
national cause), and addressed them as follows:-

"It is true we have been victorious in our last encounter, and have
vanquished you, Prince, whose noble conduct now conquers our hearts; but
I fear now this castle has become too notorious for us to remain longer
in it in safety. The Government will employ every means in its power to
hunt us out of our retreat and to destroy us, and is capable of sending
a whole army with artillery to demolish these old walls. I do not,
however, advise an immediate retreat, as the Cardinals will require time
to form projects and make arrangements; but it behoves us now to use all
vigilance, and from this moment to ascertain the movements of the enemy
and guard against surprise. As for yourself, Prince, you had better
return to Rome; your presence here is not needed for the present, and
there you may be of the greatest use to us. Let it be thought that you
were set at liberty on parole, on condition that you would not bear arms
against us, and then send in your resignation."

"Yes," replied the Prince, "I can be of more service to you in Rome, and
I pledge my word of honor to be yours until death."

Attilio was of the same opinion, and added that Regolo would advise them
of the movements of the Pontifical troops. On the Prince desiring some
secure means of remaining with them, Attilio presented him with a
piece of paper--so small that it might easily be swallowed in case of
emergency--containing a line of recommendation for the Prince to Regolo.

The rest of the day was devoted to the interment of the dead, of which
there were not a few, and to tending the wounded, nearly all of whom
were Papalini. Three of the Liberals only were wounded, and those not
seriously. This proves that, in the strife of battle, the valorous run
the least danger; and if the statistics of the field were referred to,
it would be seen that fugitives lose more men than any army which stands
its ground.

At midnight the Prince started for Rome. And who acted as his guide?
Who, but Gasparo, the veteran chief of the bandits in old times, now an
affiliated Liberal, as he had proved in the last affray, in which he had
done wonders with his unerring carbine.

I who write this am well persuaded of the truth of the perpetual
amelioration of the human race. I am wholly opposed to the cynic and the
pessimist, and believe with all my heart and soul in the law of human
progress by various agencies, under many forms, and with many necessary
interruptions. Providence has willed that happiness shall be the final
end of this sad planet and suffering race; but Its decrees work slowly,
and only by the submission of mankind to the higher law of light is
happiness attainable. Not by miracles will men become regenerated.
Voltaire has well said-

     "J'en al vaincu plu d'un,
     Je n'ai forco personne,
     Et le vrai Dieu, mon fils,
     Est un Dieu qui pardonne."

If humanity does not improve along with the progress of knowledge, as
it should do, the fault must lie with the various governments, for with
kind treatment and judicious care, even the wild beasts of the forest
become domesticated, and their fierce passions are tamed. What, then,
may we not accomplish with the very lowest grade of mankind? But can any
thing be expected from a people kept purposely in ignorance, and reduced
to misery by exaction, imposts, and taxes? We know that these taxes
and exactions are not, as it is stated, imposed upon the Romans for the
defense of the state, or for the support and maintenance of national
honor, but to fatten the Pontifical Government and its multitude of
parasites, who are to the people what vermin are to the body, or what
the worm is to the corpse, and who exist only to plunder and devour. Who
can deny that the people of Southern Italy were more prosperous in 1860
than at the present day, and is not the reason because they were better
governed?

In those days brigandage was scarcely known; there were no prefects,
no gendarmes, no bravos. Now, with the multitude of satellites who ruin
Italian finance existing in the South, anarchy, brigandage, and misery
prevail. Poor people! They hoped, after so many centuries of tyranny,
and after the brilliant revolution of 1860, to obtain in a reformed
Government an era of repose, of progress, and of prosperity. Alas, it
was but a delusion! "Put not your trust in princes," says Holy Writ.

Gasparo had baptized himself a Liberal in the Wood of the oppressors. He
was received by the young brigand with indulgence, and even enthusiasm,
and intrusted, as already mentioned, with the important mission of
conducting Prince T------ out of the forest into the direct road to Rome.

The prediction of Orazio respecting the steps that would be taken by
the Papal Government fulfilled itself exactly. After the reverse it had
sustained at the castle of Lucullus, the bishops decided in council to
send a large body of troops, with artillery, against this stronghold of
the Liberals; and as it was thought they would not tarry long for such
a descent, the resolution was to carry the assault into immediate
execution.

With this in view, it was determined that not only the Papal, but also
the foreign troops at the service of the Pope, should be drawn upon for
the expedition. A foreign general of note was called in to direct the
enterprise, and every thing was made ready with alacrity, that the
critical assault might be delivered on Easter Day, generally so
propitious to the priests, who on that occasion, after their long fast,
gorge even more than usual their capacious stomachs at the expense of
their ignorant and superstitious flocks.

Orazio and his companions meanwhile were not sleeping, and received
regular information from their friends in Rome of the plans and
preparations made by the Pontifical Government, albeit it kept them as
secret as possible. The first thing Orazio did was to explore the
subterranean passages thoroughly. These were known, even to him, only
partially, and a few of his comrades; but Gasparo, who had already
returned from his mission, had had better opportunities of examining
them, and, with his assistance, a thorough exploration was to be made.




CHAPTER XXXVI. THE SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGES

Among the wonders of the Metropolis of the World, the catacombs or
subterranean vaults and passages are certainly not the least. The first
Christians, persecuted with atrocious cruelty by the pagan imperial
government of Rome, sought refuge for safety occasionally in the
catacombs; and sometimes, also, that they might assemble without
incurring suspicion, in larger numbers, to instruct themselves in the
doctrines of their new religion. These subterranean passages were also
undoubtedly the resort of fugitive slaves and other miserable beings,
who sought refuge from the tyrannical government of imperial Rome,
over which have presided some of the direst monsters that ever
existed--Heliogabalus, Nero, Caligula, and other despots in purple.

Among these subterranean passages there are, it appears, different
kinds. Some were constructed for the purpose of receiving the dead,
others were used as water conduits, and supplied the city with rivers of
fresh water for a population of two millions. The cloaca maxima, which
led from Rome to the sea, is very famous, as well as many smaller
hidden roads, constructed by wealthy private individuals, at an enormous
expense, in which they could secrete themselves from the depredations of
those greatest of all robbers the emperors, and in later times from the
persecution and massacre of

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