Giuseppe Garibaldi - Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century

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.

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.