Rule of the Monk Part 2

"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 Ign.a.z.io, 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.

Ign.a.z.io thereupon, without another word, took a small vial from under his sottana, and emptied the contents into a gla.s.s. With the a.s.sistance 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 Ign.a.z.io 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 n.o.ble house of Pompeo. But, unhappily for him, Father Ign.a.z.io 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 ma.s.ses 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 doc.u.ment 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 doc.u.ment 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 Ign.a.z.io 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 Ign.a.z.io 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.bility of feature and brave young Roman bearing being so much alike.

"Art thou armed?" inquired Attilio.

"Armed!" repeated Muzio, somewhat disdainfully. "a.s.suredly; 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 pa.s.sion?"

"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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sengers 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 princ.i.p.al 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 gla.s.ses, seated himself.

"Let us drink a gla.s.s 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 astonis.h.i.+ng 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.