Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century by Giuseppe Garibaldi
CHAPTER LIV. THE SENTENCE OF DEATH
"Let us pass quickly and on tiptoe that mass of corruption and slaughtercalled the Papacy," says Guerrazzi; or, to quote his own indignantItalian: "_Passiamo presto, e sulla punta dei piedi, quel macchio difimo e di sangue che si chiama Papato_."
The Popes, who call themselves the vicegerents of Christ, slaughter menwith chassepots, play the executioner upon their political enemies, andinstruct the world in the science of tortures, Inquisitions, _autos-dafe_, and murder. In former days many unhappy nations had the misfortuneto suffer therefrom. Spain, for example, who has recently thrown offthe yoke, for centuries groaned under the tortures of Rome. Even nowthe priest of Christ in the Vatican satiates his sanguinary vengeancein various ways, having recourse to the dagger, poison, brigandage, andmurders of all kinds and degrees.
In the Roman tribunal the sentence of death had been long pronouncedagainst Prince T------, the brother of our Irene; and Cencio, with eightcut-throats of the Holy See under his command, was under orders to takeadvantage of the tumult arising upon the arrival of Garibaldi in Veniceto execute the atrocious decree. The eight accomplices of the spy hadbeen posted in the immediate neighborhood of the Hotel Victoria, in allthe ways by which he could possibly arrive. Four were to hire a gondolaand ply at the steps, with secret instructions to dispatch thegondoliers if necessary, that there might be no witness to lay thecharge against them.
Cencio had not undertaken to perform the actual deed, but simply thetask of following the Prince's movements. Fortunately for the Romannoble the spy failed in his scent, and was now not only in the clutchesof our three friends who had captured him, but in those of a fourthpersonage, who was still more formidable to him--no other, in fact, thanour old acquaintance Gasparo.
Gasparo, after the events narrated in the preceding chapters, hadaccompanied his new friends to territory that was not Papal, and hadoffered his services as attendant to Prince T------. He had thereforeaccompanied him to Venice. Whilst his master roamed through the saloonsof the Zecchini Palace, the watchful follower, who had remained on thethreshold to enjoy the sight of that brilliant scene, saw the threeRomans whom he loved as sons penetrate into the crowd. He determined tokeep near them, and found himself shortly after in the tavern of Vicoladei Schiavoni, at the heels of Cencio.
It would be no easy matter to describe the terror and confusion ofthe clerical Sinon surrounded by our four friends. They led him to anout-of-the-way room on the upper story, and desired the waiter to bringthem something to drink, and then leave them, as they had some businessto transact.
When the waiter had obeyed them, and departed, they locked the door, andordering the agent to sit against the wall, they moved to the end of thetable, and, seating themselves upon a bench, placed their elbows on thetable and fixed a look upon the knavish wretch which made him tremble.Under any other circumstances the wretch would have inspired compassion,and might have been forgiven for his treachery, in consideration of hispresent agony of fear.
The four friends, cold, impassive, and relentless, satisfied themselvesfor some time with fixing their eyes upon the traitor, while he, quitebeside himself, with wide-opened mouth and eyes, was doinghis best to articulate something; but all he could mutter was,"Signore--I--am--not," and other less intelligible monosyllables.
The calmness of the four Romans was somewhat savage, but for their deepcause of hatred; and if any one could have contemplated the scene hewould have been reminded forcibly of the fable of the rat under theinexorable gaze of the terrier-dog, which watches every movement, andthen pounces out upon it, crunching all the vermin's bones between itsteeth. Or could a painter have witnessed that silent assembly, he wouldhave found a subject for a splendid picture of deep-seated wrath andterror.
We have already described the persons of the three friends--true typesof the ancient Roman--with fine and artistic forms. Gasparo was evenmore striking--one of those heads which a French photographist wouldhave delighted to "take" as the model of an Italian brigand--andthe picture would have been more profitable than the likeness of anyEuropean sovereign. He was indeed, in his old age, a superb type of abrigand, but a brigand of the nobler sort. One of those who hate with adeadly hatred the cutthroat rabble; one who never stained himself withany covetous or infamous action, as the paid miscreants of the priestsdo, who commit acts that would fill even a panther's heart with horror.
Even the successor of Gianni would have made a valuable appearance ina _quadro caratteristico_, for certainly no subject could have servedbetter to display panic in all its disgusting repulsiveness. Glued tothe wall behind him, he would, if his strength had equalled his wish,have knocked it down, or bored his way through it to get fartherfrom those four terrible countenances, which stared impassively andmercilessly at him, meditating upon his ruin, perhaps upon his death.The austere voice of Muzio, already described as the chief of the Romancontropolizia, was the first to break that painful silence.
"Well, then, Cencio," he began, "I will tell you a story which, as youare a Roman, you may perhaps know, but, at all events, you shall knowit now. One day our forefathers, tired of the rule of the first king ofRome--who, amongst other amiable things, had killed his brother Remuswith a blow because he amused himself with jumping over the walls he haderected around Rome--our fathers, I repeat, by a _senattis consultant_,decided to get rid of their king, who was rather too meddlesome anddespotic. _Detto-fatto!_ they rushed upon him with their daggers, and,although he struggled valorously, Romulus fell under their blows. But,now the deed was done, it was necessary to invent a stratagem, forthe Roman people were somewhat partial to their warlike king. Theyaccordingly accepted the advice of an old senator, who said, 'We willtell the people that Mars (the father of Romulus) has descended amongstus, and, after reproaching us for thieving a little too much, and beingindignant to see the son of a god at our head, has carried him off toheaven.'
"'But what are we to do with the body?' asked several of the senators.
"'With the body?' repeated the old man; 'nothing is easier.' And drawingforth his dagger, he commenced cutting the corpse in pieces. When thisdissection was finished, he said, 'Let each of you take one of thesepieces, hide it under your robe, and then go and throw it into theTiber. It is evening now, and by to-morrow morning the sea-monsters willhave given a decent burial to the founder of Rome.'
"Now, Cencio, don't you think that, as regards your own end, andnot being king of Rome, or son of a god, such a death would be veryhonorable to you who are nothing more than a miserable traitor?"
"For God's sake," screamed the terrified agent, trembling like a child,"I will do whatever you demand of me; but, for the love you bear yourfriends, your wives, your mothers, do not put me to such a cruel death."
"Do you talk of a cruel death? Can there be a death too cruel fora spy--a traitor?" asked Muzio. "Have you already forgotten," hecontinued, "vile reptile, selling the Roman youths to the priests at theBaths of Caracalla; and that they narrowly escaped being slaughtered byyour infamy?"
Tears continued to roll from the coward's eyes, as Muzio continued:"What about your arrival in Venice? What does it mean? Who sent you?What did you come here for, dog?"
"I will tell all," was the wretched man's reply-
"You had better tell all," repeated Muzio, "or we shall see with edgeof knife whether you have concealed any thing in that malicious andtreacherous carcass of yours."
"All, all!" cried Cencio like a maniac; and, as if forgetful of what hehad to relate or overpowered by great fright, he appeared not to knowhow or where to begin.
"You are doubtless more prompt in your narration to the Holy Office,stammerer," grumbled Gasparo.
"Begin!" shouted Orazio; and Attilio, in a stem voice, also cried"Begin!" not having spoken until then.
A moment of death-like silence followed before Cencio commenced thus:-
"If the life of Prince T------is dear to you--"
"Prince T------, the brother of Irene," exclaimed Orazio, cle
Had Cencio been clutched in the claws of a tiger, he would not have feltmore helpless than he did now, held by the fingers of the "Prince of theRoman campagna."
Attilio said gently, "Brother, have patience--let him speak; if youchoke him we shall gain no information."
The suggestion made by the chief of the Three Hundred seemed reasonableto Orazio, and he withdrew his impatient grip from Cencio's throat.
"If the life of Prince T------ is dear to you," again recommenced theknave, "let us go all together in search of him, and inform himthat eight emissaries of the Holy Office are lurking about the HotelVictoria, where he is lodging, in order to assassinate him."