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

  CHAPTER III. THE CONSPIRACY

  It is the privilege of the slave to conspire against his oppressors--forliberty is God's gift, and the birthright of all. Therefore, Italians ofpast and present days, under various forms of servitude, have constantlyconspired, and, as the despotism of tiaraed priests is the most hatefuland degrading of all, so the conspiracies of the Romans date thickestfrom that rule. We are asked to believe that the government of the Popeis mild, that his subjects are contented, and have ever been so. Yet, ifthis be true, how is it that they who claim to be the representativesof Christ upon earth--of Him who said, "My kingdom is not of thisworld"--have, since the institution of the temporal power, supplicatedFrench intervention sixteen times, German intervention fifteen times,Austrian intervention seven times, and Spanish intervention threetimes; while the Pope of our day holds his throne only by force of theintervention of a foreign power?

  So the night of the 8th of February was a night of conspiracy. Themeeting-hall was no other than the ancient Colosseum; and Attilio,instead of returning home, aroused himself to a recollection of thisfact, 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 inporches of churches. Indoors, the priests were sitting, refreshingthemselves at sumptuous tables loaded with viands and exquisite wines.Beggars and priests--for the population is chiefly composed of these twoclasses. But these conspirators watch for, and muse upon, the day whenpriests and beggars shall be consigned alike to the past.

  By-and-by, in the distance beyond, the ancient forum, that majesticgiant of ruins, rose upon young Attilio's eye, dark and alone. It standsthere, reminding a city of slaves of a hundred past generations ofgrandeur; it survives above the ruins of their capital; to tell themthat, 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 herglories created and regenerated.

  In that sublime ruin our conspirators gather. A stranger chooses, forthe 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 awfulthunder of heaven reverberates through every ragged arch.

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

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

  Here and there began now to gleam other torches, vainly struggling toconquer the darkness of the night. The priests are never in wantof spies, and adroit spies they themselves too make. Under suchcircumstances it might appear to a foreigner highly imprudent for a bandof conspirators to assemble in any part of Rome; but be it remembereddeserts are to be found in this huge city, and the Campo Vaccinocovers a space in which all the famous ruins of western Europe might beinclosed. Besides, the mercenaries of the Church love their skins aboveall 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 ona night like that which we are describing, two spies more daring thantheir fellows, having perceived a light, proceeded to discover thecause; but, upon penetrating the arches, they were so terrified by thehorrible 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, onquitting their meeting, stumbled over the property of the fugitives,and were not a little amused when the account of the goblins in theColosseum was related to them by a sentinel, who had overheard thefrightened spies. Thus it happened that the haunted ruins became farmore secure than the streets of Rome, where, in truth, an honest manseldom cares to venture out after nightfall.