CHAPTER III.

THE THREE PAULS.[7]--THE ARTIST'S THIRD STORY.

During my travels in Italy I happened once to be sojourning for some

time in an obscure and sequestered Italian village high up in the

Apennines, that chain of mountains which runs through the entire

peninsular like the backbone of some antediluvian monster.

They are curious places, those Italian villages, with their tall, narrow

houses and small windows, built up the slant of a mountain like steps of

stairs. Their quaint roofs, balconies, arches, and buttresses, with at

every step some rustic shrine containing a rude painting or

representation of the Virgin Mary (the Madonna as they call her) or

other saint. The narrow, dirty, ill-paved streets, the tumbling-down

houses, from the windows of which the picturesque but dirty inhabitants

may almost shake hands with one another across the road.

Then the odd nooks and angles in the by-streets that meet the stranger's

eye on either hand as he ascends the uneven and slippery path-way

leading to the highest point of view, which is generally crowned by some

ruined feudal castle or fort built upon a rock and overgrown with ivy.

They have a distinct character of their own, these mountain villages,

and are as unlike as possible to anything seen in England. A mere verbal

description is inadequate to give the faintest idea of their extreme

picturesqueness. They require to be seen, and when this is impossible, a

picture or sketch must give the next best idea of them to the mind of

the stranger. I have several studies in oil-colour of these places

within my portfolio, which you may look at for a moment if you like.

There, you see that it is quite unlike anything you ever saw before.

Look at those figures in the foreground, how picturesque and yet how

simple their costume is! Well, but to proceed: the village where I was

staying, when the fact that I am about to relate occurred, was one of

the sort you see here. Ah! here is a sketch of the very place, and there

is the name of it written underneath. I remember that it had a certain

celebrity in the country round about it, as the cathedral (!) in the

chief piazza or square boasted of a miraculous picture of the Madonna,

that had the reputation of turning up its eyes, and in this manner

contrived to heal great numbers among the faithful who were blind, deaf

and dumb, maimed, halt, or lame.

I cannot say that I ever witnessed one of these miracles, but that may

have been from my want of faith; yet the tales that I heard of

miraculous cures from persons of some repute, the arch-priest of the

parish amongst the number, were most startling.

I had taken up my quarters in a comfortable rustic inn, not in the town

itself, but on a separate hill in an isolated spot, being built in its

own grounds, fertile with olive trees, which grew up the sides of the

hill nearly to the door of the house.

The inn was frequented almost entirely by artists. Sometimes we were a

large company, composed of all nations, when we would dine together "al

fresco" under the shade of the vine which formed a verandah on one side

of the house. At other times I would be left alone in the inn. The hill

on which I lived commanded an extensive view of the surrounding

mountains, including the township with its old ivy-grown tower

overlooking all, and which appeared as if it were sliding down the

mountain side.

I experienced an indescribable feeling of delight in rambling alone

through this romantic scenery on a hot summer's day, beneath a perfectly

cloudless sky, without a breath of wind to rustle the leaves of the

shady trees, amidst a solitude like that of the desert, and a silence

unbroken save by the chirping of the birds and the chattering of the

cicala, or at intervals, perchance, the distant shepherd's pipe, or the

wild barbaric chant of the mountaineer. With what rapture, I remember,

would I step from crag to crag, trampling the bush and bramble under my

feet, and startling away the green lizards in my path! Quaffing the

beauties of nature at every step, the dreamy influence of the balmy

atmosphere intensifying my feelings for the beautiful to an abnormal

degree.

It was on one of these sultry days during my rambles that I was taking

shelter from the burning sun under the shade of a wide-spreading oak,

reclining lazily on the soft moss, and listening to the chirping of the

grass-hoppers, when my ear was attracted by the sound of the bleating of

goats, and shortly afterwards I heard the voices of two peasants which

seemed familiar to me. They were discoursing together in the dialect of

their own village, a very different lingo from the pure Tuscan, and

perfectly unintelligible to one lately coming from Rome, yet a prolonged

stay in these parts rendered it familiar to me. I recognised the voices

as belonging, one of them to a goatherd who supplied me with milk in the

morning, the other to a peasant who possessed a vineyard, a small barrel

of whose wine I had bought the day before.

"Ohe! Antonio," cried Guiseppe, the goatherd, to his friend, "so I hear

you have sold a _quarteruolo_ of wine to the Signor Inglese (the English

gentleman) who lives on the hill."

"Well, Compar,"[8] said his friend, "and what of that?"

"I suppose you made him pay well for it, eh?" demanded the goatherd.

"Well," answered Antonio, "I make my friends pay sixteen pauls the

_quarteruolo_, but he, being an Englishman, I charged double."

"What!" exclaimed the goatherd, "thirty-two pauls for a _quarteruolo_!"

"Ay, and he paid me money down without haggling about the price, like

one of our '_paini_.'[9] These Englishmen are real gentlemen--they let

themselves be cheated without wincing. Those are the sort of men I like

to deal with. I was quite angry with myself afterwards at not having

asked four times the sum; he would be sure to have paid me."

"_Accidente!_ what a swindler!" exclaimed Guiseppe. "Well, they tell me

these English roll in wealth; that gold is as common in their country as

beans here. They say the streets are paved with it. How I should like to

go to those parts, and come back with my pockets filled with the gold

that these idiots throw away like dross. I wouldn't fatigue myself all

day long in the mountains for a piece of '_maritozza_'[10] or a dish of

'_polenta_.'"[11]

"Ha! ha!" laughed Antonio, "I've no doubt of it. I should like to see

_you_ with money, friend Peppe. You'd make a rare use of it."

"_Per Bacco!_ wouldn't I?" answered the goatherd; "you wouldn't catch me

sober again until the day of my death. If I could sell my milk to the

Englishman at the rate you sell your wine, I'd soon make my fortune."

"Well," said Antonio, "I would try it on if I were you. Perhaps milk

isn't to be had in his country."

"Perhaps not," said the goatherd, musingly. "It must be a curious

country from all accounts. They tell me they never see the sun from one

year's end to the other, and, indeed, how can they, when the sun is here

all day? I hear, too, that the fog is so thick that you are obliged to

cut it through with a knife as you go along the streets, and that the

inhabitants are obliged to burn lamps all day long."

"Yes, I have heard so, too," answered Antonio, "and that they have no

wine in their country. Well, upon the whole, I'd sooner live where I

am."

"Ah, but the gold that is to be found about the streets," said Guiseppe,

"you forget that."

"What would be the good of all the gold, if there is no wine to buy with

it?" replied Antonio. "I am very well content to live by the sale of my

wine----"

"At the rate you sell it to Englishmen, I've no doubt," broke in Peppe,

with a laugh.

"Well, my friend, of course we all try to get what we can, where we can,

and how we can," pleaded Antonio. "That's only business. I'd be a fool

if I didn't."

"Well, Compar, I suppose we are all much alike in that; but don't you

think that after having cheated the Englishman out of all that money,

you could lend me three pauls?"[12]

"Ah, Peppe, you rascal, I thought that was coming," laughed Antonio.

"What! lend _you_ three pauls! Why, when do you think you would be able

to pay me?"

"Well, I make two pauls a day by the sale of my milk and go halves with

my _padrone_.[13] That is a paul a day for us apiece. In three days,

therefore, I shall be able to pay you the entire sum. If I can manage to

gull the Englishman, I may pay you sooner," responded the goatherd.

"Ah! Peppe," said Antonio, "I know you to be a slippery customer. How am

I to be sure you will pay me within that time?"

"I give you my word of honour," cried Peppe.

"Ho! ho! what is that worth?" laughed his friend.

"May I die of an accident, if I don't! May the earth open and swallow me

up! May the Madonna cause my mouth to fall off if I fail in my word.

May----"

"There; that is enough," interrupted his friend. "Here are the three

pauls. Take them, and if you fail to pay me back in three days'

time--not one hour later, may all the curses that you have invoked upon

yourself be fulfilled."

This was all I overheard of the dialogue. Shortly after this they must

have separated, as I heard soon the voice of the goatherd in the

distance, chanting in that wild strain, with a prolonged dwelling on the

last note peculiar to the peasantry in the Italian mountains.

It was past midday when I rose from my mossy couch and sauntered

leisurely home, where, having partaken of a light lunch, I continued

working upon my picture--a large landscape--until sundown. I was at that

time the only guest at the inn, and I have no doubt that mine host and

his family made as much out of me as they could in one way or another,

yet they were as honest as the people in those parts mostly are, and

when not occupied with writing home I was in the habit of joining the

family circle after supper, when they entertained me with the gossip of

the village and stories of brigands, by whom the country was much

infested, while I, in return for their information, related to them many

things about my own country, my travels, etc. The conversation that I

had overheard that morning, however, between the goatherd and his friend

I deemed not of sufficient importance to relate to the family; in fact,

I had forgotten all about it before I reached the inn.

The unscrupulous manner in which people cheated among these simple

seeming peasantry rather amused than annoyed me. And as for the simple

incident of one peasant borrowing three pauls from another, it was a

fact so uninteresting to me, that I never gave the matter a second

thought.

Little did I imagine that the transaction of the three pauls that I by

chance overheard that morning was to be the commencement of one of the

drollest waggeries that ever came within my experience.

It was more than a week after the incident that I have related occurred

that I left my inn one morning to paint out of doors at the distance of

a mile or so. As I journeyed along the road, laden with my painting

materials, I came in sight of the goatherd's hut, built upon a hill, and

though it was yet distant, I descried a figure in the act of leaving the

hut, but which I could distinctly see was not the goatherd.

The figure had descended the hill, reached the road, and was then making

towards me. I had now no difficulty in recognising my friend of whom I

had bought the wine. He appeared to be anything but in good spirits, for

he advanced scratching his head and with his eyes fixed on the ground.

This was our first meeting since our transaction of the barrel of wine,

and had I been in a less good humour I might have taxed him with

swindling me in good round terms, but with the fresh morning air in my

face and the enchanting landscape around me, I felt in no humour to

quarrel with anyone. I thought, however, I would make him aware that I

knew how he had served me without losing my temper.

"_Buon giorno, Antonio_,"--(Good-day, Anthony)--I said, cheerfully.

"_Ah! Eccellenza; buon giorno_," replied he, with a sickly attempt at a

smile.

"You seem a little out of spirits, eh?" said I. "Now, what would you say

if I could read your thoughts?"

"You read my thoughts, Eccellenza! You joke with me."

"No," replied I; "without joking I will tell you what is passing in your

mind. You have just come from the house of Guiseppe the goatherd, and

you are disappointed because he has not paid you the three pauls that he

promised to pay you after three days. Am I right?"

"_Per Bacco!_" exclaimed Antonio. "Surely your Excellency is a saint,

and it has been revealed to you. How else could you have known that?"

"Does that surprise you," said I. "What would you say if I could tell

you more? If I could tell you the day and the hour that you lent the

three pauls to your friend? What would you say if I told you it was last

Tuesday week in the forenoon, and how you first hesitated to lend the

money, having some doubt as to your friend's integrity, but how, after

having invoked certain curses on his own head in default of his not

being able to pay, you at length yielded, and lent him the three pauls?"

"_Diavolo!_ Eccellenza must be a saint indeed to know all that," cried

the peasant, dumbfounded.

"Would you like to know more?" I asked. "At the expiration of the three

days you have been regularly every morning to the house of the goatherd,

expecting to receive the three pauls, and each time he has sent you

away with a different excuse."

"_O anime sante mie del Purgatorio!_"[14] exclaimed the peasant,

crossing himself devoutly. "Either your Excellency is a saint, or you

have the demon within you."

"Ha! say you so?" said I. "I will even venture to prophecy that you will

never get the three pauls."

"Oh, pray don't say that, Signor. Pray don't say that I shall _never_ be

paid. Why should your Excellency think so?" asked the peasant, dismally.

"Why! do you ask? Because the saints love you not," said I.

"How, Signor? Was that also revealed to you? Why should they not love

me? How have I merited their wrath?" he asked, whiningly.

"By charging me twice the sum you charge other people for that

_quarteruolo_ of wine, and for repenting afterwards that you had not

asked me four times the sum, as, being an Englishman, you thought to get

it out of me."

"_Corpo di San Antonio di Padova!_"[15] cried the peasant, casting up

his eyes. "Is nothing to be hid from you? Well, Eccellenza, what serves

it to deny the truth, since you know everything? I am a poor man, and

when an opportunity occurs for bettering myself, I am apt to do what

most men do who know what want is."

"Well, my friend," said I "you will find through life that 'honesty is

the best policy,' and that 'cheats never prosper,' at least, for long.

For when the cheat is discovered, his reputation is lost for ever, while

the honest man who sticks steadily to his labour, and puts aside his

scanty earnings, not wasting them in drinking or gambling, in the end is

blessed by the saints who give him fortune."

"That is most true," replied the peasant. "Eccellenza has spoken like

the preacher," and seizing my hand, he kissed it, and was about to

proceed on his journey.

"Stay," said I. "Would you like to earn two pauls?"

"Willingly, Eccellenza; but how?" he asked.

"Help me to carry these traps to my camping place, and carry them back

again when I return this evening," said I.

Without further parley he relieved me of my burden, and we both trudged

on together.

At first we walked on in silence, but after the first half-mile, to

relieve the monotony of the walk, I began to question my companion as to

the reception his friend Guiseppe had given him and the excuses he had

made for not being able to pay his debt.

"Well, Eccellenza," he began, "you, who know everything, are well aware

that I called at Peppe's house at the time appointed for the payment of

the debt, and that not being able to pay me, he excused himself by

saying that the goats had given so little milk, that he could not fulfil

his promise as he expected, but he promised faithfully to repay me on

the morrow. I called the next day, when he begged me to be patient with

him, as he had lost the money through a hole in his pocket. I was

annoyed at this, but called again on the morrow, hoping at least to get

a portion of the money back; but no such luck. This time he pleaded that

his wife had been suddenly seized with the fever, and begged me not to

be too hard upon him.

"'Then take care that she is better to-morrow,' said I, 'for I want my

money.'

"The next day (that was yesterday) I called again, and his wife informed

me that her husband had caught the fever, and was dangerously ill. She

hoped, however, that it would soon pass over, and he would be able to

pay me as he had promised. I went again this morning to Peppe's house as

usual for the money, when his wife came out to me with tears in her

eyes, to inform me that her husband died last night. I began to lose

patience, and said that, dead or alive, I meant to have my three pauls

back; and off I went, cursing and swearing. It was then that your

Excellency met me."

As Antonio finished speaking we had already arrived at our camping

place, and I commenced arranging my painting materials. The latter part

of Antonio's narrative immensely amused me, as I had both seen and

spoken to Peppe that morning early when he brought the milk as usual to

the door of the inn, and he never looked in better health in his life.

I remember upbraiding him for putting water in the milk, and telling him

not to try on his tricks with me, as Englishmen knew what good milk was,

adding that if I caught him at it again, I should change my goatherd. I

suppose something like a smile must have passed over my countenance at

the idea of Peppe pretending to be dead, in order to get off paying

three pauls, for Antonio, eyeing me narrowly, said,

"What say you, Eccellenza? You know everything. Tell me if Peppe is

really dead, or whether this is also a pretence."

I put on a wise look, and said, looking him full in the face, "I know

him to be alive."

"Ha! say you so, Eccellenza?" cried Antonio, starting up from his seat

on the ground. "Then _per Crispo_![16] I'll murder him when I catch

him."

"There is no occasion to do that, my friend," said I. "You will not get

your three pauls back the sooner if he hasn't the money."

"I'll go to his house again, though, if your Excellency can dispense

with my services for the present," said Antonio, "in the hopes of

catching him; though, if he is alive, he will be away in the mountains,

feeding his goats; but no matter, I'll enter the house and see for

myself if the bed is empty or no."

"Go then," said I, "and return in an hour to let me know the result of

your visit."

Off started Antonio, as fleetly as the wind, and before I could have

thought it possible, returned without appearing out of breath.

"Well?" said I, working steadily on my picture without looking up.

"Well, Eccellenza," he began, "I went straight to the house, and tried

the door, but it was locked, and there was no one within. I peeped

through the window, but could not catch a glimpse of the bed. I

descended the hill in a rage, when at some little distance, I saw

Peppe's wife. I ran to her and told her that I wanted to speak to her

husband, as I had found out that he was living. She persisted in saying

that it was false, and that her husband lay dead in his bed."

"'Then let me see the corpse,' said I.

"She replied that she was not going to fatigue herself to mount the hill

again to show me the corpse. That if I didn't choose to believe her, I

needn't.

"'Give me the key of the house, then,' said I, 'that I may go in and

satisfy myself.'

"She replied that she never trusted anyone with the key of her house,

and turned away.

"I then lost my temper, and told her that both she and her husband were

a couple of swindlers, who had schemed to defraud me of my money. Then

she burst into tears again, and said that if I really wished to be

convinced that her husband was dead, I might go to the church myself

this evening, where the corpse of her husband would be lying in

state,[17] and that I might hide myself in one of the confessionals, and

watch all night to see if he moved at all, and that if he stirred ever

so little, never to believe her again.

"Now, you see, Eccellenza, how artful women are. She hopes in that way

to intimidate me and to make me believe that her husband is dead in real

earnest. She fancies that I would be frightened to spend a whole night

inside the church with a corpse, and that I won't go. If, then, I should

call at her house to-morrow she would be sure to tell me that her

husband was already buried. I do not for a moment believe that her

husband will be exposed in the church all night, feigning to be dead;

but, just to give her the lie, I am determined to do just as she says,

and hide myself in one of the confessionals, that I may be able to tell

her that I passed the night in the church, and there was no corpse to be

seen."

"Do so, my friend," said I. "I am most curious to hear how this affair

ends."

As we were discoursing together Antonio suddenly broke short his

discourse.

"Hark, Signor!" he cried. "Do you hear? Those are death-bells that are

tolling in the village. Can someone really have died, or has Peppe's

wife set them tolling to impose upon me all the more? What say you,

Signor? Would she carry out the joke as far as all that?"

"There is nothing like doing a thing well," I answered, evasively.

"I shall be able to find out from the sacristan for whom he has been

tolling the bell this morning," said Antonio, "and if that knave of a

Peppe is not dead yet, may I die of an accident if I don't worry him to

the death. You must know, Eccellenza, that three pauls to us poor devils

is a consideration, unimportant though the sum may be _alla vostra

Signoria_.[18] What a conscience the man must have to try and swindle me

out of what I lent him in friendship, after swearing to me on his word

of honour and invoking all sorts of curses on his own head if he failed

to pay me on the day he promised! Had not your Excellency positively

assured me that he still lives, I should be inclined to think that he

had died in real earnest, as a punishment for his broken faith."

I was amused at the word "conscience" from the lips of a man like

Antonio, and the old fable of "the pot calling the kettle black" flashed

across my mind. We are wonderfully alive to the weak points of others'

consciences where our own interests are concerned, but are too often

wanting in equal rigour over ourselves. How true is that parable in

Scripture of the mote and the beam!

In order to proceed with my narrative, I must pass on to the following

day. Feeling slightly indisposed from a fever on waking that

morning--nothing serious, but just enough to prevent me from painting

out-of-doors, as I had intended--I kept my bed later than usual, and

called to my landlady to bring me a basin of broth.

As she entered my bedchamber with the steaming fluid, I noticed by the

animated expression of her face that she had news of unusual importance

to communicate to me.

"Oh, Signor!" she exclaimed, as she hastened to place the broth on a

table beside me, "what do you think has happened in the village? A

miracle! a miracle! nothing short of a miracle, blessed be the Madonna.

_Si Signor_," she added, in answer to a smile that she observed on my

countenance, "one of the most wonderful miracles that ever our blessed

Virgin has deigned to vouchsafe to us, her unworthy servants. Blessed be

her holy name for all eternity!"

"Well," said I, calmly sipping my broth, "another miracle! let's hear

it."

"Ah! Signor, you do not believe in miracles," said the hostess; "but how

will you deny _this_? Just hear. You may not have heard, perhaps, that

poor Peppe the goatherd died suddenly of a fever, and was laid out in

the church, where he remained all last night. Some robber, towards the

morning, broke into the church, and would have robbed the alms-box. He

had succeeded in unscrewing it from the wall and bursting it open--at

least, I presume so, for how else could he have got to the money?--and

was seated on the ground, counting his gains--a most incredible amount,

chiefly consisting of gold. I am sure I don't know where it all came

from, for only yesterday when I put in a _baiocco_[19] myself, the sound

it made showed me that it was all but empty. Well, as I was saying, he

was counting his gains by the light of the candle, placed at the head of

the corpse, when our blessed lady caused life to return to the defunct,

who, leaping up suddenly from his bier, seized the robber by the throat,

and called aloud for help. Our honest Peppe held the sacrilegious

miscreant as in a vice until the sacristan entered the church to light

the candles. You may imagine, Signor, the dismay of the sacristan at

seeing the corpse that had been laid out in the church all the previous

evening, now resuscitated, and holding in his grasp the wretch who had

attempted to defraud the church of the alms that pious souls had given

to support her.

"The worthy sacristan had not recovered from his surprise when the

people began to pour in by twos and threes to hear mass, all of them

starting and falling back in horror at the spectacle before them.

"'A miracle! a miracle!' cried the sacristan, at length. 'Behold the

Virgin has been merciful to us. Blessed be the name of the Madonna!'

"At that instant the arch-priest himself entered, attired in his robes.

"'What is this?' he cried, in astonishment, retreating several steps.

'Holy saints! was not this the corpse laid out in the church last

evening?'

"Here the sacristan broke in.

"'A miracle, Signor _Arciprete_, a miracle! a most undeniable miracle. I

caught this robber this morning attempting to rob the alms-box, when lo!

it pleased the Madonna to give back life to the dead in order to save

her holy church from being violated by sacrilegious hands.'

"The good Peppe, still holding fast the robber, informed the arch-priest

and the congregation that every word the sacristan had spoken was true;

that he had been dead, but had been miraculously called back to life

again by the grace of our blessed Lady in order to secure the thief.

"'You lie! you lie! You know you lie!' gasped out the burglar, as he

tried to free himself from the iron grasp of the resuscitated corpse.

'Impostor! knave! swindler,' he called out, nearly suffocated by the

firm grip of Peppe.

"But his words were lost in the sensation caused by the crowd, who

permitted no explanation on the part of the criminal. The guard having

now arrived, he was walked off to prison amid the execrations of the

crowd. The arch-priest, who, through all this scene had remained

stupefied for a time, as well he might, at length broke silence.

"'There is some mystery that I am as yet unable to comprehend. I am

informed by the sacristan that he discovered the burglar in the act of

robbing the alms-box of the church, and the money on the ground that you

all see, he avers to have been taken out of the alms-box. Now, in order

to extract the money from the alms-box the thief must previously have

broken it open, yet I see no marks of violence on the box of any kind.

"'Then there is another thing worthy of notice. The alms-box was emptied

only last week, in order to distribute its contents amongst the poor.

How comes it now, then, there appears such a large quantity of money,

which, you see, consists chiefly of gold and silver, besides paper

money; and that diamond ring I see, whence is that? I think it will be

found that the heap of money on the ground will be too large a sum to

enter into the box. If it cannot enter, how could it have come out of

it?'

"'All the greater miracle,' cried the sacristan, devoutly.

"'True, true,' cried the people. 'A double miracle! Great is the power

of the Madonna.'

"'Well, well, my people,' said the arch-priest, 'I own that I am puzzled

beyond measure; nevertheless, as it has pleased our gracious Lady to let

us find this goodly sum here in the middle of the church, it is clear

that she has but one intention--namely, that the sum should be

distributed for the glory of her name. Therefore, let the treasure be

replaced in the alms-box for the enlargement and decoration of the

church.'

"This decision of their pastor was approved of by the pious flock, and

the sacristan hastened to fill the box with as much of the treasure as

it was capable of containing, while still a large portion remained over.

This, together with the diamond ring, the arch-priest took possession

of, declaring that the whole sum should be used for the enlarging and

fitting up of his church."

Having concluded her narrative, my worthy hostess perceived something

like a smile of incredulity on my countenance, which seemed rather to

irritate her. However, I comforted her by saying that I would

investigate the matter myself, and if, after a careful and strict

inquiry, I could not account for the whole matter by natural causes, I

would then become as much a believer in the miracle as she was herself.

This seemed to pacify her, and she encouraged me in seeking every

possible means to disprove it. Accordingly, in an hour's time I was up

and dressed, and bending my steps towards the township. Part of this

curious tale I had already accounted for in my own mind. That Peppe had

not been dead, but had feigned to be so, that I knew. The supposed

robber I concluded must be Antonio. I supposed that the latter, having

discovered at length the imposition practised upon him by his companion,

a quarrel had ensued, in the midst of which they had been surprised by

the sacristan; but I could guess no more than this.

The affair of the treasure being found in the church completely puzzled

me, and my curiosity being aroused, I set straight off to the house of

the arch-priest, whom I knew intimately, to hear either the confirmation

or confutation of my hostess's statement.

On passing the church in the chief piazza or square of this little town,

I met the sacristan, whom, having been an eye-witness to the whole, I

stopped and inquired as to the truth of the rumour that had spread so

quickly throughout the village. He put on a sanctified look, crossed his

hands upon his breast, and rolled up the white of his eyes, solemnly

declaring that every word I had heard was true, that he himself had been

an eye-witness to the whole affair from first to last.

Then, after recounting to me the whole proceedings in a long rigmarole,

he wound up by calling on all the saints to open the ground under his

feet to swallow him up, if what he spoke was not the truth. He then took

his leave.

Now, I never did like the appearance of this sacristan. He was a young

man, sallow and emaciated, with an extremely repulsive countenance and

an expression of low cunning and avarice, which he sought to hide under

an affectation of sanctity and cringing humility. He seemed unable to

look you full in the face, though I often caught him observing me out of

the corners of his half-closed eyes.

He would have been the last man in the world whose word I should have

taken for gospel, and there was something in the manner in which he told

his story that impressed me with the idea, that whatever mystery there

might be connected with the discovered treasure, that _he_, in some way

or another, was interested in the affair being regarded as a miracle. I

therefore attached very slight importance to his testimony. In fact, I

merely addressed him in the hopes of discovering some discrepancy in my

hostess's narrative, being aware how much a story gains in telling; but,

to my surprise, I found the two accounts remarkably consistent. A step

or two further took me to the house of the arch-priest, which, being

open, I entered, and was welcomed on the landing by that worthy.

"Ah! Signor Vandyke," he said--you are always called by your Christian

name in Italy--"it is long since I've had the pleasure of seeing you.

You do not often honour our humble township with your presence. You have

been hard at work as usual, I suppose, eh?"

I replied that I had given myself a holiday for once in a way, not

feeling in a humour for work, and had called upon him for the purpose of

inquiring into the truth of a reported miracle in the village. Hereupon

he beckoned me upstairs, made me sit down at a table, and pouring out

for me a tumbler of his own wine from a huge jug, he proceeded to fill

another for himself; then tapping his snuff-box, a priest's inseparable

companion, and taking from it a copious pinch wherewith to clear his

brain, this dignitary recited to me the whole story of the miracle,

differing in little or nothing from the other accounts that I had heard

of it. Knowing him to be a thoroughly trustworthy and conscientious

man, I felt sure that he would not willingly deceive me; but fancying he

might in some way or other have been deceived himself, I proceeded to

cross-question him, though I could not find that he contradicted himself

in anything.

When I asked if he could vouch for the occurrence being a miracle, he

replied:

"I can only vouch for what I saw. The resuscitated corpse was holding

the accused in his grasp, while I had the sacristan's word that the

corpse had suddenly become re-animated under his very eyes, and had

seized the burglar after he had succeeded in extracting the money from

the alms-box. I must confess I am puzzled at the whole of that sum

having been extracted from the coffer, when, with the greatest pains the

sacristan could not replace more than half of it. I have the rest here,

as you see, and with it a handsome diamond ring. That is the wonderful

part, for who wears diamonds in these mountains?"

I was now perfectly sure of one thing namely, that the treasure had

never been extracted from the alms-box at all, but had been found in

some other manner. The testimony of the sacristan, as I have said

before, weighed little or nothing with me. So far from it, indeed, that

I began to see more clearly than ever that there had been some trick or

imposture, at the bottom of which was the sacristan himself.

I did not give the arch-priest the result of my reflections, but

restrained myself until I should obtain further evidence. We had

discoursed for full a couple of hours on the subject, and when I rose to

depart I told him that I was as complete a sceptic as before, as far as

the miraculous character of the event was concerned, though I placed

every reliance in his statement. I said I was perfectly sure of

unveiling the mystery before long, and when I had done so I should at

once let him know.

"And the delinquent," asked I, with my hand on the doorhandle, "where is

he?"

"Locked up, to be sure; ready to be taken to-morrow to Gennazzano, there

to await his trial."

"Could I exchange a word with him?"

"If you wish. I shall have to give you a line to the guard, in order to

admit you. Just one moment,--here--with this pass they will let you

enter."

"Thank you very much. Till we meet again--_Addio_."

It was now growing towards evening as I hastened my steps towards the

lock-up house, where I delivered the arch-priest's note to the guard,

who immediately gave orders to the turnkey to admit me. On entering the

cell I found Antonio, as I had expected, pacing up and down dejectedly.

"Well, Antonio," said I, "I have come to have a chat with you and to

hear all about the miracle that happened this morning."

"Ah! Signor, is it you?" cried he. "Now, was there ever an unluckier

mortal on earth than I?"

"Nonsense," said I, "about being unlucky. I have come to comfort you in

your trouble and to hear all about the miracle."

"Miracle! The devil a miracle," exclaimed Antonio. "They've miracled me

within four walls, who am innocent as the babe unborn, whilst they have

let go two of the greatest rascals in the village. It will be a miracle

if I escape incarceration for life when I take my trial at Gennazzano."

"Come," said I, consolingly, "you must not look so gloomily at things. I

will do what I can to get you off, but you must tell me exactly how the

whole affair happened."

"Ah! that I will, Signor, and with pleasure," said he.

Walking me up and down his narrow cell, the turnkey waiting at the door

with his bunch of keys the while, he began his story thus:--

"You will remember, Eccellenza, that before parting from you last, I

informed you of my intention of concealing myself within the

confessional of the church and to remain there all night, for the

purpose of observing attentively if the would-be corpse of Peppe there

laid out should make any movement or betray the slightest signs of life.

"At a late hour, therefore, when all was dark--that is to say, about

three hours after Ave Maria--I entered the church, and there was my late

friend attired as a corpse with a candle left burning at his head, as is

the custom, you know, Signor, in these parts. I approached him, though

not without a certain tremor, for to me there has always been something

solemn and awful in being left alone with the dead, especially at

midnight when the corpse is laid out in state in the middle of the

church, with nothing but the feeble light of one candle to illumine its

ghastly features.

"Nor did this feeling at all abate when I reflected, that in all

probability the supposed corpse was not really dead, but only feigning

to be so. If anything, I felt more terrified. However, I advanced

steadily, and gazed full in the face of it. It was very pale, and

perfectly motionless, and I began to think that this must be death, and

that your Excellency had been mistaken in being so positive that my

friend was yet alive.

"I fancied that perhaps you had seen his spirit and had mistaken it for

himself in the flesh. I forebore to touch the corpse from that same

feeling of awe that I have just described, and though at the time I was

perfectly satisfied that he was really dead, yet I still resolved to sit

up all night, concealed within the confessional, so as to be able to

tell your Excellency on the morrow that I had fulfilled my promise.

"I accordingly shut myself in, and gazed steadfastly at the features of

the corpse, never taking my eyes off all the time, in order to assure

myself beyond a doubt whether this were really death or merely its

counterfeit. I gazed long and intently, but in vain did I endeavour to

discover the slightest breathing or other signs of life. Whether the

dim light of one candle prevented me from seeing sufficiently well, I

know not.

"All was silent as the tomb, and as I gazed in breathless suspense, hour

after hour flew by, till at length I heard the old church clock toll

forth the dread hour of midnight. The last stroke had hardly died

away--How shall I describe to you my terror, oh, Signor?--when suddenly

I heard the church doors violently shaken. You know how nervous one

becomes in the dead of the night at hearing any sort of noise

unexpectedly that one cannot account for. Imagine, then, my sensations,

Eccellenza, if you can, when, hidden within the confessional at this

witching hour of night, with every nerve on the stretch, and looking out

into the solemn gloom of the church, illumined only by the solitary

candle placed at the head of the corpse--when all honest peasants, with

their families, were in bed and fast asleep, and the greatest silence

reigned everywhere, suddenly to hear a bang and a crash at the old

church doors, which soon gave way--you know how rotten they are,

Signor--and there entered, cursing and swearing, a troop of--well, upon

my soul, Signor, I took them to be emissaries of the arch-fiend, sent to

secure the soul of the defunct.

"However, after having attentively examined their forms, which were

hardly less wild than those of the foul fiends themselves, if all

accounts of them be true, I satisfied myself that they were, after all,

human--men of flesh and blood like ourselves. Signor, they were the

brigands.

"I should say there were about a dozen of them, for I did not think of

counting them, so great was my fright. They rushed helter-skelter into

the church, and without as much as glancing at the corpse, seized the

candle that stood burning near its head, and, striding towards the altar

placed the candle thereon and proceeded to count their ungodly gains. I

trembled in every limb; a cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I

felt my hair stand up, while my teeth chattered in my head.

"What would happen next? Would the Madonna send a thunderbolt to destroy

these sacrilegious wretches, and perhaps myself at the same time? I

quite expected something of the sort. I am sure it is quite a wonder

that my hair hasn't turned white from the terrors I underwent last

evening.

"Well, Eccellenza, I presume these ruffians, after having laid wait for

the mail on the high road and robbed a number of poor gentlemen of all

they had about them, had made off with their ill-gotten treasure in the

dead of the night, and, passing through the village on their way,

descried the glimmer of the candle through the chinks of the church

door, and thought they would take this opportunity of dividing their

spoil.

"The treasure was a goodly heap, consisting of gold, silver, and paper

money, besides a few gold watches, which they all drew lots for, and a

magnificent diamond ring, which the brigand chief claimed for himself.

"'Now, my men,' said he after an equal portion had been allotted to

each, 'I think every man in my band has had a fair share of the booty.

This ring alone I claim the right of disposing of as head of the band,

seeing that it cannot be divided; yet, to show you all in what high

estimation I hold fair play, and how loath I am to possess even a

_baiocco_ more than my valiant companions without deserving it, I will

award this ring to the man who shall first succeed in hitting yon corpse

on the nose with it, I myself taking share in the pastime, and as

captain of the band claiming for myself the first shot.'

"Enthusiastic cheers greeted this decision of their chief, and the game

began. The captain had the first throw, but missed. Then a second picked

up the ring and also threw, but missed likewise. Then a third, with the

same result, and so on, till the seventh, who, more dextrous than the

rest, hit the corpse such a stinging whack on the nose that it suddenly

jumped up, shook its head, extended its arms, and leaped down from the

bier.

"You see, the rascal had been shamming, after all, sir, and, wearied out

with feigning death, had actually gone to sleep. Now, although I was

half prepared for such a resuscitation, the effect upon me was

electrical; but I recovered from my surprise soon enough to enjoy the

confusion of the brigands, who in their terror and dismay at what they

took to be a miracle wrought by the saints on purpose to punish their

impious conduct, took to their heels, stumbling over one another in

their flight, and letting drop all their treasure on the ground

unheeded, scampered out of the church as fast as their legs could carry

them.

"I was infinitely amused at the fright and discomfiture of these lawless

ruffians, and at another time should have laughed heartily at their

sudden dispersion, but my rage at having been imposed upon, and the

thoughts of vengeance I harboured against my false friend somewhat

damped my mirth. No sooner were the brigands safely out of the church

than Peppe, who was now sufficiently wide awake to comprehend the

situation, after closing the church doors carefully, proceeded to spread

a large handkerchief on the ground and to collect together all the gold

and silver that had rolled about into every corner of the church, and

which I've no doubt he thought he alone was entitled to.

"It was at this moment that I made a sudden burst from the confessional,

and rushing towards him, seized him by the throat.

"'Villain!' I cried, 'your imposture is found out. Was it thus you hoped

to swindle me out of my three pauls?'

"'Ah, friend Antonio,' exclaimed he, quite unmoved, 'is it you? Now I am

glad that with your own eyes you have witnessed the miracle that the

saints have wrought upon me in order to enable me to pay back the debt I

owe to my best friend.'

"'Liar!' cried I; 'blaspheme not. Think not to impose on me again. Give

me my three pauls at once.'

"'Three pauls!' he exclaimed. 'How on earth should I possess so

contemptible a sum? Come, sit down here, and we will divide this goodly

treasure between us.'

"Now, I knew that I had just as much right to the treasure as my friend,

since it remained unclaimed, and therefore to divide it between us was

nothing more than fair, nor did I thank Peppe for inviting me to take my

share of it. Chance had thrown it in our way, and therefore I was

entitled to the half of it.

"Nevertheless, I did not consider myself obliged to cancel my friend's

debt because of the good fortune that had befallen us, but was

determined that he should still pay me the three pauls out of his share

when the whole should be divided, for the principle of the thing, for I

am very punctilious as to principle, especially when my interests are

affected.

"However, I said nothing until after we had divided the treasure

equally. This being done, some debate arose as to what we should do with

the diamond ring. Peppe thought he had a right to it, as he said it was

all through him that the brigands had been put to flight and had left us

in possession of the treasure. He even called me ungrateful and

unreasonable when I disputed it with him, after having allowed me a

share of the booty. I was not to be put off in this way. I told him that

I had a right to an equal share of the treasure, and owed no thanks to

him for the accident of good fortune that had befallen us both. As to

the ring, I said that if either of us had a right to it more than the

other it was myself, as he was my debtor.

"'Avaricious man!' exclaimed he, 'do you still think of exacting your

miserable three pauls after my generosity in making you a sharer of the

treasure that belonged properly to me? Have I not already paid you over

and over again the paltry debt I owed you? If the Madonna had not

brought me miraculously back to life you would have had nothing.'

"'Peace, blasphemer!' cried I. 'Do you think to befool me again with

your imposture?'

"'_Imposture!_' he exclaimed, with an air of injured innocence. 'Why,

did you not see me rise from the dead with your own eyes?'

"'Come, now,' said I, losing all patience, 'do you think that I was not

sharp enough to suspect your plot from the very beginning, knowing what

sort of character I had to deal with? Do you imagine I couldn't see

through all your shamming--that I didn't see your breast heaving?'

"'_My breast heaving! The breast of a corpse heaving!_' he ejaculated.

'Strange hallucination! Trust me, my dear friend, you must have been

slightly in liquor, and saw double.'

"'And do you think that I did not observe that worn out with feigning

death so long, you really fell asleep,' said I, heedless of his insult,

'and that I did not hear you snore like a hog?'

"'I snore like a hog!' he exclaimed. 'My dear friend, believe me, you

must have been _very strongly_ in liquor.'

"'No more in liquor than you,' I cried, with some vehemence. 'That you

were sound asleep I can swear, nor would you have awoke till morning,

had not one of the brigands hit you on the nose with that ring. Then,

naturally forgetting your caution, you jumped up, stretched yourself,

which act of yours being sufficient under the circumstances to strike

terror among the brigands, who, imagining no doubt, what you would like

me also to believe--viz., that a miracle had been wrought to bring you

back to life again, took to their heels and left their treasure behind

them.

"'Now, you can't well expect me to believe in what you affect to

consider a miracle, seeing that I have been an eye-witness to your

antics from the very beginning, and as for trusting you with the ring

until it shall be converted into money, that would be too much for you

to expect from me, after the insight you have given me into your

character.'

"'Come now, old fellow,' said he, gaily, and with most provoking good

humour, 'let us have no more words about it. We'll toss up for it.

Nothing can be fairer than that.'

"'I do not agree either to toss up for it or to draw lots for it, as I

am usually unlucky,' I replied, firmly.

"'Then we'll settle it between ourselves as the brigands did. If I hit

you on the nose with it, it is mine. If you can hit me with it, it shall

be yours. Come--here goes.'

"'I object to these proceedings,' I replied.

"'What will you do, then? Will you cut it in half with a knife?'

"'Nor that either,' said I.

"'Well, now,' said he, 'you are one of the never-contented. I see you

are determined by hook or by crook to keep the ring all to yourself.'

"'No,' I replied, 'I do not wish for anything that is not strictly fair.

What I propose is this--viz., that I should keep the ring in my

possession until you have disbursed the three pauls out of your share.

Then, after the ring has been estimated by a trustworthy party and

turned into money, then we will share the produce equally.'

"'Ho! ho!' laughed he, 'so that's what you are after, is it? Ha! ha! I

see it all. You fancy that under the excuse of waiting for your three

pauls (which I know as well as you do yourself you do not care a straw

for, since you have become enriched with the half of my treasure) that I

am going to allow you quietly to abscond with the ring, which may be

worth as much as all the treasure put together, for what I know, never

to be heard of afterwards. Well, that is a cool idea! Ha! ha! ha!'

"'I protest,' said I, 'that such a thought never entered my head.'

"'Oh, of course not,' said he, incredulously. 'Friend Antonio, it is

clear that our respective mothers hatched neither of us two yesterday. I

am only a poor goatherd, yet I have learnt as much of the world from

watching the antics of my goats as you have in trailing and pruning your

vines. We are both of us men, and we know what men are. We all have our

wants, and our brains were given us to supply them.'

"'Yes,' replied I, 'in a conscientious and legitimate manner, and not to

over-reach our fellow-men in the shortest and most unscrupulous way that

our petty interests may dictate, to the scandal of all good saints and

the blessed Madonna at their head.'

"And here I launched out into a moral strain for at least an hour,

hoping to bring him round by dint of argument and persuasion to my view

of the case, but finding him at the end of that time still obdurate, and

in the same state of hardness of heart as before--for who can moralise

with such a heathen as Peppe?--I attempted to seize the ring by force,

intending to keep it until he should pay me the debt he owed me, but he

was before me, and a scuffle ensued, he declaring that he would not

suffer me to keep the ring in my possession, and I being equally firm in

refusing to let him keep it in his without first paying me my three

pauls.

"He promised faithfully to pay me the debt when he should have changed

one of the pieces of money that fell to his lot; until then, however, I

remained firm in my resolution. Words had by this time led to blows, and

the conflict was getting desperate, when, it being now fairly morning,

we were interrupted by the sacristan entering the church to light the

candles on the altar.

"Starting back in wonderment and terror at what he naturally believed to

be a miraculous resuscitation, it it was some time before he was

sufficiently calm to hear from me the true account of the case.

"At length, recovering from his stupor, his eyes sparkled with an

avaricious light at the divided treasure on the ground, and his skinny

fingers opened and shut convulsively. Then gazing furtively over each

shoulder, he put his finger to his lip, winked, and whispered hoarsely,

'My friends, the secret of your newly-acquired wealth is as yet only

known to us three. I think you will find it to your interest that it

should not be known to more, as in that case it might come to the ears

of the arch-priest, who would be sure to deprive you of every penny of

it, in consideration of its being found in his church. Reflect well, my

friends; there is but one way to swear me to secrecy.'

"'And that is?' asked I.

"'To let me have an equal share of the treasure,' said he, impudently.

'What other way would you buy my silence?'

"We both violently opposed this proposition, considering it no less than

an act of brigandage, and however Peppe and I might differ in opinion on

many subjects, we both agreed that this was a piece of extortion to

which we were not bound to submit. I said that I would sooner await the

decision of the arch-priest, which would perhaps, after all, not be such

as he--the sacristan--represented it, and Peppe swore that he would

knock his dastardly brains out in the middle of the church before he

would let him touch a _baiocco_.

"'Think again, my friends,' said the sacristan, exchanging his customary

look of sanctity for one of deep cunning and malignity. 'Think again,

and decide quickly. In another minute the arch-priest will enter the

church to perform mass. All the inhabitants of the village will be

pouring in. There is no time to be lost. Either let me have a third of

the treasure, or I shall swear by all the saints to the arch-priest that

I caught _you_, Signor Antonio, in the act of robbing the alms-box, and

that the Madonna wrought a miracle before my very eyes by raising _you_,

Signor Guiseppe, from the dead in order to chastise the burglar for his

sacrilege.'

"'He will not believe thee, thou imp of Satan!' roared Peppe.

"'We shall see,' rejoined the sacristan, with a malicious chuckle, and

rubbing his hands.

"At this moment the arch-priest entered, attired in his robes, and all

the congregation at his heels.

"'Oh, Signor Arch-priest!' began the sacristan, in a loud voice, before

the assembled multitude, rolling up his eyes and crossing himself with

mock devotion, 'I have witnessed this morning a miracle with these very

eyes.'

"'A miracle!' exclaimed the arch-priest and all the congregation in

chorus.

"'Ay,' persisted the sacristan; 'a genuine, undeniable miracle. As I

entered the church this morning to light the candles on the altar, I

discovered this burglar (pointing to me) in the act of robbing the

alms-box. He had just succeeded in extracting all that treasure that you

see on the ground before you, and which was doubtless all of it placed

in the box by our blessed Lady's own hands for the use of her holy

church. For who else in our little village could have amassed such a

sum, or, having amassed it, would have been willing to put it all of a

heap within the alms-box?

"'Well, Signor Arciprete, just as the sacrilegious knave was about to

count his unhallowed gains, lo! a miracle, such as these eyes never

before beheld, and may never see again before they close for ever in

peace.'

"'Well, well,' said the arch-priest, impatiently.

"'Well, Signor Arciprete mio, will you believe it? Yon image of our

blessed Lady suddenly raised its arm in a commanding attitude, and with

a voice of ineffable sweetness blended with severity cried out to yon

corpse, or, rather, that man, who _was_ a corpse only last night, as all

good people may recollect, "Corpse! arise and seize yon sacrilegious

ruffian by the scruff of the neck!" The words were no sooner out of the

blessed image's mouth, when up leapt the corpse from his bier, and

seizing the burglar with an iron grasp, continued to hold him until

vostra Reverenza entered the church!'

"The arch-priest remained dumbfounded for a time, not knowing what to

say; but just as I was about to break silence and try to exculpate

myself, my voice was immediately drowned by the multitude crying out,

'Down with him! down with him! Down with the thief, the burglar, the

heathen! Let him not seek to exculpate himself with lies. Hear him not;

he is guilty of sacrilege! Down with the Protestant! Blessed be the holy

man who was raised from the dead and the good sacristan to whose eyes

the miracle was vouchsafed! Down with the Jew, the Protestant, the

heretic! _Away_ with the miscreant! away with him.'

"I saw and heard no more. Hurried away, midst the hootings and

execrations of the crowd, I was flung into prison, where I have remained

ever since the morning."

There was much in Antonio's story that moved me to laughter, though not

a smile appeared upon the face of the narrator himself throughout the

whole recital. There was an air of truth, too, about his manner that

left no doubt in my mind that he had retailed the facts of the case as

they had occurred without adding to or taking from them in the minutest

particular.

I was then able to tell him the sequel of the story; how the arch-priest

had put the greater part of the treasure into the alms-box, and, for the

rest, the sum being too large to enter all of it into the box, he had

taken charge of it, together with the diamond ring, and had designed the

whole sum to be expended for the benefit of the church.

On hearing this he replied that he had rather that the money should be

disposed of in that way than that blackleg of a sacristan should get a

penny of it. He said that he was perfectly sure that the arch-priest had

only so disposed of the money from a sincere belief that it had been

miraculously placed in the alms-box, he himself being the dupe of his

own rascally sacristan to whom he trusted implicitly.

He was of opinion that had he been allowed to explain himself to the

arch-priest, his reverence would have granted him, if not his proper

share of the sum, at least some portion of it. I promised him that I

would lay his case before the arch-priest, and do what I could to get

him liberated from prison. He thanked me, and slipping a small coin into

the turnkey's hand, I quitted the cell.

It was now quite dark, so I thought I would make the best of my way

home, where my supper awaited me. The following morning was rainy, and

not being able to work out of doors, I resolved to call again upon the

arch-priest, and finding him at home, I related to him my interview with

the prisoner and the statement he gave of the case.

My reverend friend looked thoughtful for a time, shook his head, and

hinted that the prisoner's veracity might not be depended on.

"However," he added, "the tale seems feasible, and I desire nothing more

than that the prisoner should have justice. I will probe the matter to

the bottom, and if he has spoken the truth I will get him liberated as

soon as possible, and will moreover give out publicly in the church

that what we had erroneously taken for a miracle was nothing more than a

curious combination of circumstances perfectly natural, though strange,

and that I had been imposed upon by the villainous and profane lies of

my sacristan. It will require time to prove all this; meanwhile, Antonio

must take his trial at Gennazzano. He left here at five o'clock this

morning."

"So early!" I exclaimed. "I wanted, if possible, to prevent his going."

"You take great interest in his case," said my friend.

"I like to see mysteries cleared up as soon as possible," I replied. "I

know that the love of the marvellous is so great among the ignorant in

these parts, that they prefer persisting to believe in a miracle, even

in the face of facts which explain it away in the most natural manner

possible. This proneness to attribute to supernatural causes everything

that we are unable to account for on the first glance, and to yield

ourselves up implicitly to the belief of what is irrational, absurd,

improbable, without first weighing thoroughly the _pros_ and _cons_ of

the case, is one of the unmistakable signs of a barbarous and

uncultivated intellect, and ought to be discouraged as a trait unworthy

the dignity of human nature by everyone who has the improvement and

well-being of his fellow creatures at heart."

The arch-priest smiled drily, as if he had taken my last speech to

himself; then, after a pause, he began:

"No Christian man will deny that miracles have been wrought, or will

dare to call in question those of our blessed Lord or of His saints. If,

then, he acknowledges these, why should he try to combat the existence

of modern miracles, seeing that everything is possible to the Almighty?

What! Shall we limit the power of the Omnipotent, or dare to measure

things infinite by our finite faculties? It would be the height of

presumption for anyone to maintain that these things cannot be, or that

our Heavenly Father cares less for His creatures now than he did in the

days of yore."

"No wise man, Christian or otherwise," I replied, "would deny that any

wonder were possible to the Divine author of the universe, the Great

Source of all things wonderful. Yet science, the gift of God Himself,

mind you, since He in the first place created us with intellect to see

into, in some measure, however darkly, His wonderful workings, in order

that we might be taught to admire them and thereby come to a more

perfect knowledge of His unspeakable greatness--science, I say, reveals

to us that our universal Father rules all nature by means of certain

fixed laws, from which we have no reason to believe that He would turn

aside for a trifle--to excite mere wonderment among an ignorant

multitude by performing such a conjuring trick as a bleeding crucifix or

weeping Madonna. Our Lord Himself was chary of His miracles, and when

asked for a sign would often refuse; yet when He did perform miracles,

they were invariably to do good, and not to excite wonderment. If many

intelligent people disbelieve in modern miracles, it is because they

have not come within their experience, or that many seeming miracles

they have been able to explain by natural causes.

"They have been made, moreover, doubly cautious in receiving hearsay

miracles for gospel from the numerous cases of imposture that have been

discovered among the priesthood in all countries where the Roman

Catholic religion has prevailed. Then, why should miracles only be

wrought in little sequestered villages, among the ignorant and

superstitious, and not in large towns, in the presence of an intelligent

and investigating population? Why, moreover, should they be more

prevalent in mountainous districts than in any others? Why? Save that

from the topographical configuration of the country, the inhabitants of

mountain villages are necessarily more shut out from intercommunication

with their kind than the dwellers in more accessible regions, and

consequently cut off from that interchange of ideas so necessary to the

development of the human intellect.

"Because their minds thus necessarily forced into one narrow channel

till the intelligence borders on that of the brute, and is kept down to

that pitch by a coarse and monotonous diet, which hard labour enables

them to earn but scantily, and, finally, because by intermarrying

closely among their own narrow population they reproduce offspring, if

anything, more stunted in intelligence than themselves--to say nothing

of other natural influences which help to produce cretinism, goitre, and

deformity--and thus shutting out from their poor benighted intellects

their last chance of fair play.

"Ignorant by force of circumstances, superstitious because they are

ignorant, naturally discontented, with a life of hard labour that barely

supplies that life's necessaries, what wonder that the human mind thus

stunted and oppressed by all its surroundings, should seek an outlet?

That that outlet should be one that held out promises of a better time

to come than they are ever likely to see in their plodding every-day

life?

"What wonder that such a one should throw himself more entirely upon the

comforts of the religion that his village priest holds out to him than

one more contented with his earthly lot, or that, superstitious as he is

ignorant, he should daily hope for some miracle to be wrought for his

own special benefit? Is it too much to infer that a mind in which faith

reigns supreme and reason is hushed to sleep may be deluded by its

senses--that it may imagine it sees or hears anything that it desires to

see or hear?

"Is this an irrational solution of the stories so common of pictures of

the Virgin or other saints moving their eyes or speaking? Then just

consider when the average intelligence of a scanty population is at this

ebb, what temptation this holds out to the priest of the parish whose

office it is to rule his little flock by maintaining order and

restraining crime, to strike awe into his congregation and keep alive

their fanatical faith by some pious fraud in the shape of a crucifix

that bleeds by an easy mechanical contrivance, an image of the Madonna

that sheds tears, or a picture that rolls its eyes!

"These tricks were known to the heathen priests of antiquity long before

the introduction of Christianity, and have been repeatedly carried out

since by the priests of Rome. It is to the successful delusion of these

poor benighted wretches that the Church of Rome owes her vaunted

laurels. These are your miracle seers! To these alone do the saints

vouchsafe to perform their wonders! As for the intelligent and wise, if

they go to a church on purpose to see a miracle, and come away without

seeing it, they are told by the priest that it is because they lack

faith, that they do not go in the proper spirit, that their natures are

too material, that such sights are reserved only for the faithful, and

that few are sufficiently spiritualised to behold them.

"So you see there is no way of catching a priest napping. He will always

find some hole to creep out of. Like an eel, he will slip through your

fingers at the very moment that you may think you have got him. Should

any individual be bold enough to force his way through the wonder-gazing

crowd, and publicly demolish the miracle-working image or picture and

reveal to the devout bystanders the paltry mechanism by which they have

been deluded, people's eyes would at length be opened, all miracles be

liable to suspicion, and reason at length admitted into some share of

man's being.

"But there are difficulties that beset so bold an expedient. In the

first place, a man must be possessed of more than an ordinary amount of

courage to face the fury of a fanatical mob whom he knows to be ready to

tear him in pieces should he attempt to rob them of their darling

prejudices, or dare to break one chip off their sacred wood or stone.

"Secondly, the wonder-working image or picture is generally in an

inaccessible place, high up on the wall or surrounded by railings, to

prevent a too close scrutiny. Thirdly, the miracle often exists merely

in the imaginations of devout believers, without any aid of mechanism on

the part of the priest. In this case, if any man were daring enough to

step forward and openly to break in pieces the supposed miraculous image

or picture, and, having done so, was unable to detect in the fragments

any trace of machinery or means of imposture whatever, the fame of the

miracle would then gain ground, and the daring unbeliever be guilty of

sacrilege."

When I had got thus far, my friend the arch-priest drew himself up and

was about to reply in a lengthy rejoinder, when he was suddenly

interrupted by the servant girl of his household bursting hurriedly into

the room and crying out at the top of her voice, "Oh, Signor Arciprete,

have you heard the news? The _vetturino_ of the mail has just arrived.

He says that the night before last the mail was stopped on its way to

Rome by a band of brigands, who robbed the passengers, consisting of six

English gentlemen and others, of everything they had about them. Gold,

silver, and paper money--quite a heap--besides some gold and silver

watches, and, among other things, a diamond ring of great value,

belonging to one of the English gentlemen. The soldiers are on the track

of the brigands already, and a heavy reward is offered to whosoever

shall give such information as shall lead to their discovery.

"Poor Luigi! He says that he himself was robbed of his silver watch and

paper money, amounting to forty pauls, all he possessed in the world. I

do hope they'll catch the nasty wretches. I myself would see them

executed. _Gesu Maria!_ What hungry wolves! But I must be off now to

tell all the people in the village, or else that horrid gossip Maria

Giovanna will be before me, and I always like to be first."

So saying, she bounced out of the room, slamming the door after her, and

we were left once more alone.

There was a pause, and my friend was the first to break silence. The

thread of his ideas had been broken by the girl's sudden entry into the

room with the startling news, so he did not resume his discourse, but

after a while observed:--

"I suppose you see in the wild tale of this girl a corroboration of the

prisoner's statement, and a link in the chain of evidence."

"Well," said I, "it looks like it, does it not? The heaps of gold and

silver, the paper money, the gold and silver watches, and, moreover, the

diamond ring. It certainly looks as if the mystery were beginning to

clear up."

"Softly, my friend, softly," rejoined the priest, who still grudged the

event to natural causes. "Do not be rash in jumping at conclusions, for

the evidence is not yet complete. Let us first satisfy ourselves that

the girl's tale is true, for reports get wind about our village--one

hardly knows how--without the least vestige of truth in them. I will

speak to the _vetturino_ myself, and if the tale prove true, or partly

true--for, depend upon it, the story will have lost nothing in the

telling--need it do away entirely with the miracle?

"For instance, suppose instead of being a band of a dozen brigands, it

should have been only one brigand, and that brigand your friend Antonio

himself. That he alone, laden with his treasure, and being attracted by

the light of a candle that he descried through the chinks of the church

door, forced his way into the church to count over his booty. Supposing

this to have been the case, the miracle may, nevertheless, have occurred

precisely as related to me by the sacristan."

"You are very ingenious," said I, "in suggesting an improbability in

order to support your miracle, but, if you recollect, the sacristan

declared that he caught Antonio in the act of breaking open the

alms-box."

"That may have been a mistake caused by the excited state of his mind

on the occasion. However, I will see Luigi at once, and learn from his

own lips the true state of the case, for I am as anxious to get at the

truth as you are."

"Then let us lose no time in speaking to him at once," said I. "The

weather is clearing up now, and as I have nothing better to do, I will

accompany you in your stroll down to his house."

This was agreed on; so, putting on our hats, we found ourselves once

more among the dirty streets, until we reached the house of the

_vetturino_. Here we found him in front of his own door, surrounded by a

crowd of eager peasants, who were listening with avidity to the recital

of his adventures.

"_Buon giorno, Signor Arciprete_," said Luigi, raising his hat as we

approached.

"_Buon giorno, Luigi_," responded the arch-priest. "There is a strange

tale current in the village about you and your passengers having been

robbed on the high road. Can it be true."

"Perfectly true, Reverenza," was the reply. "Only the night before last

we were assaulted by at least a dozen banditti armed to the teeth, and

my passengers, six of whom were English gentlemen, along with myself."

"Stay," said the arch-priest. "You are perfectly sure there were a dozen

of them?"

"A dozen at the very least, your Reverence, I could swear."

"Tell me," said the arch-priest, "did you see Antonio the prisoner

amongst them."

"Antonio?" inquired the _vetturino_, in extreme surprise.

"Ay," replied the arch-priest. "He that hath been accused of robbing the

church and is now at Gennazzano awaiting his trial. You will have heard

the tale by this time."

"I certainly did hear a wonderful story, Reverenza, but did not know how

far to credit it," replied the _vetturino_. "The night was very dark and

I could recognise no faces.

"But, _Corpi di Bacco_! Antonio! Why I always considered Antonio as an

honest man, a simple _vignauolo_ who earned his bread by the sweat of

his brow, and whom, for his steady plodding, the saints had awarded by

granting him a better share of this world's goods than most of his

fellows."

"Ay, ay," said several bystanders at once, "we all thought so, too,

Signor Arciprete. Still, what we all saw with our own eyes, only

yesterday morning, made us change our opinion."

The arch-priest looked thoughtful, and then enquired of Luigi if he knew

anything of Peppe, the man who had been raised from the dead.

"Peppe!" exclaimed the _vetturino_, laughing, "ay, do I, and a greater

rascal never walked God's earth. That is why I was so cautious in

believing a story in which Peppe the goatherd was mixed up. I never yet

heard any tale in which he figured but had some devilry at the bottom of

it."

"You do not believe, then, in the miracle?"

"Not upon such testimony," replied Luigi. "I should believe _you_,

Signor Arciprete, if you had seen it with your own eyes," he added,

respectfully.

"All I can declare is," replied the priest, "that I saw the man Peppe,

apparently dead, and decked out as a corpse, placed within the church

upon his bier, and the morning after, as I entered the church to say

mass, I saw him as alive as ever again, still in his shroud, and

appearing to dispute the treasure with Antonio. As for the rest, it was

communicated to me by Ricardo, my sacristan. Do you know Ricardo?"

"I do," replied Luigi, in a tone of deep meaning.

"Well," said the arch-priest, "what do you think of him?"

"Well, Signor Arciprete," said the _vetturino_, hesitatingly, "as he is

your sacristan, perhaps you would not like to hear _what_ I think of

him."

"Speak out, man," said the arch-priest. "If I find him unworthy of his

post, I shall discharge him. Come, now, what do you know about him?"

"Since your Reverence presses me," replied the _vetturino_, "I must

confess that I have found him to be just such another scamp as Peppe the

goatherd, if not worse, and, in spite of all his mock piety, I have

found him to be as cunning a knave as I know for miles round. Grasping

as an eagle, wily as a serpent, and withal as poor spirited as a hare,

seeking to cover his knavery with the cloak of religion; imagining that

no one can see through his hypocrisy."

"You surprise me," exclaimed the arch-priest; "but what proof have you

of his knavery?"

"Well, in the first place," replied the _vetturino_, "he is in debt with

almost every man in the village, myself among the number, and not in one

instance has he been known to repay what he has borrowed. I have pressed

him over and over again, but he always sneaks out of it by some lame

excuse, even when I know he has been able to pay me. He wanted to marry

my sister once, because he thought there was a little money to be had,

but when he spoke to my mother about her dowry, and received for reply

that she did not intend to give her daughter to one who sought her for

her dowry, and that he who would marry her must support her himself, he

very soon slunk off. Not that I'd have given my consent to such a

scarecrow marrying my sister, even if he _had_ been less grasping. Then,

would you believe it, your Reverence, he actually had the impudence to

insult my sister when he encountered her alone, as he thought, in the

campagna. He little knew that I was only a short distance behind. I came

upon him unawares in time to overhear part of his impertinent

conversation, and I gave him such a thrashing as will make him remember

Luigi the _vetturino_ as long as he lives.

"Then, there is no doubt that it was he who picked the pocket of poor

old Matteo when he happened to be drunk; everybody believes that,

besides several other dirty tricks that I will not weary your patience

by relating, though I could if I would. As for cheating at cards, he is

quite an adept, and yet, with all this, he walks with his eyes

hypocritically fixed on the ground, counting his beads and crossing

himself, as if he were a very saint. But he doesn't take _me_ in, your

Reverence, however he may impose on our simple peasantry, for when a man

is a _vetturino_, he sees other towns besides his own, and gets to know

people of all sorts. I have been in Rome, and have picked up a thing or

two."

"Well, enough for the present, Luigi," said the arch-priest. "I will

enquire into this matter; meanwhile I intend to take a stroll with this

gentleman. Till we meet again," and he waved his hand to the

_vetturino_.

"A rivederla, Signor Arciprete," responded Luigi, raising his hat

respectfully.

"You see now," said I to my friend, as we strolled together from the

narrow streets into one of the main roads, "that there is some evidence

to support my view of the case. I never did think much of your

sacristan; his face was enough for me, but after the evidence you have

just heard, methinks you would do well to rid yourself of such an

ornament to your church."

"It is odd," replied my friend, "that I never suspected him of being

that sort of character. On the contrary, I thought him a most exemplary

young man. It is not long ago since he informed me of his ardent desire

to enter holy orders."

"A fine priest he'd make!" said I, laughing. "The church has no need of

him, for there are too many of his sort among your priesthood already.

Not that he wouldn't be popular," I added, soothingly. "On the contrary,

he would be able to manufacture miracles by the cart-load, I warrant, in

order to satisfy his flock's thirst for the marvellous. He would

probably die in the odour of sanctity and be canonised after his death."

"My friend, my friend," said the arch-priest, gravely, "our church is

not, as you think, rash in canonising a man a saint. Our lawsuits are

extremely rigid, and long--so much so, that many a holy man has been

rejected as a saint on account of the insufficient evidence of his

miracles."

Then he proceeded to enlarge upon the miracles of the saints of old and

all the legendary lore of his religion, and thus he entertained me until

we found ourselves once more at the door of his house.

"Signor Arciprete," said the aforementioned servant girl, whom we

discovered on the threshold, conversing with an elderly peasant, "here

is a man who wishes to speak to you in private. He says he has something

to communicate."

"Show him into my study," said the arch-priest. "I suppose you do not

mind my friend being present?" said he, addressing the man and glancing

at me.

"No, Reverenza," said the peasant, shutting the door of the priest's

study behind him, "it was only to bring you some information concerning

the brigands."

"Ha!" exclaimed the arch-priest, pricking up his ears. "Proceed."

"Well, your Reverence," began the peasant, "hearing that a reward had

been offered to anyone able to give such information as should lead to

the discovery of the brigands, I thought I would make known what

happened to me on the very night of the robbery, which I hope may prove

of some use to the brigand-catchers.

"It was long past midnight when I was returning from Civitella, having

purchased a hog there, which I was leading along by a string attached to

its hind leg, when in the darkness I heard the sound of many voices, and

upon listening attentively I recognised them as belonging to the

brigands, into whose hands I had fallen twice before, and I began to be

alarmed for my hog, which I made sure would be seized as a prize, and

accordingly hid myself behind a tree until the whole band should have

passed by. I was near enough to hear every word they said, but their

voices seemed neither to grow louder nor to grow less.

"At length the moon breaking from behind a cloud, revealed to me the

features of the brigand chief. He was standing erect whilst the rest of

his band were squatting or lounging around him in a circle. He then

proceeded to harangue them.

"I trembled from head to foot, and felt that my only chance of escaping

observation was to continue rooted to the spot without disturbing the

dead leaves that lay strewn at my feet, but the wretched animal, my

companion, commenced grunting and squealing, as if purposely to mark my

whereabouts, and I made sure every moment that the brigands would be

down upon us both.

"'Hush!' I cried, coaxingly.

"'Grunt,' went the brute, louder than ever.

"'Madonna mia Santissima!' I muttered, crossing myself, 'preserve a poor

man and his pig from the depredations of these marauders!'

"I know not if our good lady vouchsafed to hear my prayer, but certain

it was that the brigands paid no attention whatever to either of us, so

engrossed did they all seem with the oration of their chief, every word

of which fell distinctly on my ear in the stillness of the night, and I

must own that the tenor of it surprised me, for instead of the profane

oaths, fiendish laughter, or the planning of some new daring exploit, as

I should have expected from such men, I now listened to a pious

discourse, filled with godly phrases such as you, Signor Arciprete,

might have used yourself from the pulpit. I think I can give you almost

word for word the discourse as it ran.

"'My comrades,' he commenced, 'we have for many years toiled together in

an arduous and perilous profession; at war with society, wresting from

the innocent and good their hard-earned substance to supply our own

wants, instead of getting our own livelihood honestly and by the sweat

of our brow, as God hath decreed. Oppressed in our turn by the avengers

of our victims, we are hunted like wolves, and have to take refuge from

our pursuers in the most inaccessible parts of the mountains, in caves,

in forests and such-like secret places.

"'Rest has departed from our slumbers--for what man can rest in the fear

that the vigilant myrmidons of the law with which he has lived at enmity

are ever on his track?

"'Like Ishmael, our hand is against every man, and every man's hand is

against us. This is the lot of the brigand, as we all know. Born and

bred in danger, nurtured from the breast, not with the milk of human

kindness, but by the blood of his fellow men; his childish joys, the

groans and sufferings of his mutilated victims; feasting on horrors from

his earliest youth, unbridled and brutal in his appetites, his highest

ambition through life to be a hardier ruffian than his father before

him.

"'Have we not, my friends, committed every sort of atrocity of which

degraded humanity is capable? Nay, revelled in it, impiously defying

that very God whom we ought humbly and reverently to thank as the Author

of our beings? Let each of us look back upon our past lives and ask

ourselves how we have thanked Almighty God for his innumerable

blessings.

"'How have we repaid His ineffable love and care over us? Has it not

been by subverting His wise laws, despising His holy ordinances,

brutalising our natures, even to a degree lower than the very brutes

themselves? My brethren, we may be powerful against the weak and against

the law, yet there is One above us more powerful than ourselves, to Whom

we shall all one day have to give an account. Let us fight no longer

against God; for what is man when matched against Omnipotence. Deem it

not cowardice, my friends, to relinquish a life of evil now that your

souls have received the light of truth, but rather thank God for His

infinite mercy in vouchsafing so great a miracle through His Holy Mother

to save our souls from the bottomless pit.

"'I confess that almost from my earliest youth I never have looked upon

religion as aught but priest-craft, and scoffed at all miracles as

tricks of the priesthood to impose upon the ignorant and simple; but

what shall we say, my brethren, to the miracle we have all so lately

witnessed, or how shall we attempt to explain it away? Was it not the

intervention of the blessed Virgin herself to scare us--the impious

desecraters of her holy Church--from our evil ways? Could anything short

of Divine power have raised the dead at the lonely hour of midnight

within the very church itself, and have struck such terror into us, the

hardy sons of the mountains, who never yet quailed before mortal man?

"'Tell me, my friends, if in all my wild life, in all our joint

villainies and wicked enterprises, in the very face of death, if you

have ever known me to lack courage before to-night?'

"'Never, Capitano, never,' cried several voices at once. 'We know your

courage to be undaunted, and that there is no mortal man that you stand

in awe of; but when it comes to running counter to spirits raised from

the dead, or devils from hell, that is quite another sort of thing, and

a man need be the arch-fiend himself to be without fear.'

"'Just so,' replied the brigand chief; 'then, since none of you are able

to accuse me with a lack of human courage, you may know that my

exhortation to you to repent and alter the course of your unholy lives

is not the mere words of a craven soul who fears the law and seeks to

shun the just penalty of his misdeeds, but those of a repentant sinner

miraculously brought to conversion through the intervention of the

blessed Madonna, whom, in her boundless mercy, she had deigned to bring

to a sense of his wickedness, even in the very midst of his crimes.

"'Let us turn from our evil ways, oh, my comrades! Take the advice of a

brother sinner, more deeply dyed in iniquity than any of yourselves, and

repent ere it be too late! What can atone for all our past wickedness

save the utter renouncement of our evil ways, a life of rigid penance

and the entire devotion of ourselves to God? Marvel not, then, my

comrades in wickedness, that you hear the man once your chief and

foremost in wrong, exhort you to throw down your arms, divest yourselves

of your trappings, and don the holy convent garb, in order that by a

life of fasting and prayer you may endeavour to open up a communication

with Heaven, and wrest your souls from the hands of the Devil. I myself

will set you the example.

"'As I have been the first to incite you to evil, so will I be the first

to exhort you to repentance. Follow me, all ye that have a mind to save

your souls. Yet I no longer command, but entreat you for your own good,

for I aspire no longer to be your chief, but to live humbly as your

fellow labourer in Christ, to whom be all honour and glory, now and for

evermore. Amen.'

"As the chief brigand terminated his harangue the pale grey of the

morning sky lighted up the faces of the whole band, so that I could now

distinguish the features of each individual and the various expressions

of their countenances. Several appeared deeply affected, with tears of

repentance standing in their eyes, others sullen and obdurate. Some with

a look of vacant astonishment, others scowling and suspicious, or with a

suppressed grin.

"Their chief's harangue seemed to call for a reply, and there was a

silence of some minutes, during which period the members of the band

appeared debating among themselves by means of winking and nudging as to

what their reply should be, and who should take it upon himself to speak

for the rest. I observed that they looked towards a sturdy brigand, whom

next to their chief they honoured with the deepest veneration. To him

they turned as the mouthpiece of the gang, and seemed to intimate that

they would abide by his decision.

"This man, who appeared wrapt in thought, finding himself thus appealed

to, and feeling that he represented the sentiments of the whole band, at

length addressed his chief in these words:--

"'Signor Capitano, we are ready as ever to follow you to the very jaws

of death, according to our oath. We have served you long and faithfully

in all your deeds of daring and crime, and we will not abandon you now

in your change of sentiment, knowing, as we do, that you are still the

same brave and generous man as ever, and as such will always remain, in

whatever capacity, whether as the lawless brigand of the mountains, or

as a holy monk in the retirement of the convent cell; therefore, in the

presence of the whole band I repeat my former vows of fidelity and

friendship, and reiterate my protestations of following you through

life, to the utmost ends of the earth, if need be. The discipline of our

monastic life will be merely the exchanging one life of hardships for

another no less hard, therefore we cannot be charged with cowardice or

idleness, since there are duties before us that will call forth all the

courage and endurance of our natures.

"'As for learning and psalm-singing, it has never been exactly my

speciality; nevertheless, I quite agree with you, Captain, that the life

we have been in the habit of leading for years past is not the best to

suit us for Heaven, and I am not ashamed to say that I have long had

qualms of conscience for my past misdeeds, and had resolved upon

repentance at some future period, but never did I look back upon the

past with such horror and remorse as at the present moment, having now

been brought to a thorough knowledge of my crimes and of the bountiful

mercy of our blessed Lady to us miserable sinners, as shown in the

undoubted miracle that we all so clearly witnessed.

"'After having received so great a proof of the blessed Virgin's love

and care for us, would it not be the blackest ingratitude to continue in

mortal sin? Would it not be the most egregious folly as well, after

having had Divine warning to alter our lives, still to persist in

preferring death and hell to the sublime promises held out to the good?

"'Why longer delay, then, my friends? Think of your precious souls, and

repent while there is still breath left in your bodies. It may not be

long ere we shall be captured and executed. How shall we pass our last

moments on earth, or how brook the vengeance of a just God with all our

crimes upon our heads?

"'Enough, then, of pusillanimous disbelief and impotent struggling

against Divine will. Let us hasten to the nearest convent, confess our

sins, then, with a clean breast and humble spirit, endeavour to atone

for the past by a life of penitence and prayer, that we may fearlessly

meet our end as men and Christians.'

"This exhortation was universally applauded, and as every man is

governed by the public opinion of the little circle wherein he lives and

moves, so even those who had shown themselves obdurate and suspicious

felt themselves forced to yield to the overwhelming tide of changed

opinion, feeling ashamed of being left in the minority.

"The chief, doffing his hat, fell upon his knees and thanked the Most

High for his conversion and that of his whole band, in which prayer all

the rest reverently joined. Then rising from their knees, but with heads

still uncovered, they walked on towards the convent, singing an 'Ave

Maria,' by the way.

"I did not know what to make of all this, for as yet I had heard nothing

of the miracle, but I had hardly reached home safely with my pig, when I

heard from almost every mouth in the village of the great miracle

wrought on the night of the robbery."

The peasant having concluded his narrative, was dismissed with an

assurance from the arch-priest that should his revelation lead to the

capture of the brigands he would be duly rewarded. Nevertheless, he

informed him that he was not the person to apply to, and that he should

mention the affair to the authorities.

Being left once more alone with my friend, I asked him what he thought

of the man's tale, and whether or no it corroborated the statements made

by Luigi and Antonio. All three witnesses bore testimony to a plurality

of brigands, which seemed to me completely to overthrow my worthy

friend's hypothesis as to there being only one brigand.

I confess, though, I was still puzzled by the peasant's wonderful story.

I could hardly bring myself to believe in the utter and simultaneous

conversion of a whole band of brigands, even though they _had_ been

terrified and thwarted for a moment in their crimes by an apparent

miracle, and yet what object could the man have had in inventing such a

lie, knowing, as he must have done, that he was not entitled to the

reward until after the capture of the brigands.

My friend the priest suggested that possibly he might have been fool

enough to expect payment beforehand, and that he had concocted this

fable on the strength of it. The man was simple enough, it is true, but

there was an air of truth about the manner in which he told his tale

that induced me to give credit to it, strange though it appeared.

In any case, I knew that the truth or falsity of the man's statement

would soon be made manifest, for the brigand-catchers, once sent off in

the direction indicated by the peasant, would not fail to call at the

convent and inquire if the brigands were taking shelter there, in which

case the monks would be forced to deliver up their charge into the hands

of justice. As it happened, the brigand-catchers had already started in

search of their prey, though in quite an opposite direction.

But let us return to our landlady, who had been impatiently awaiting me,

having now prepared my noon-day meal some time.

"The signor is late to-day," she said, as I entered. "I fear he will

find the macaroni cold."

"No matter," I replied. "I have a good appetite, from having been very

busy all the morning."

"The signor has been busy--yes? And yet I notice that he left all his

painting tools at home," observed the landlady.

"True, my good woman," I replied. "The morning being rainy, I was

prevented from painting out-of-doors, but I have been very busy,

nevertheless."

"Indeed, Signor," she exclaimed, "what could have occupied you so much

as to forget your dinner, if I may be permitted to ask?"

I expected this question, knowing that my hostess inherited the vice of

curiosity, in common with the rest of her sex, in a marked degree.

"How was I occupied?" I repeated. "Why, how else than by searching to

the bottom that confounded miracle you were so full of all yesterday and

the day before."

"Oh, Signor, how you talk!" exclaimed my hostess, horrified. "What! do

you mean to say that the Blessed Virgin has not wrought among us the

greatest miracle ever heard of in these parts?"

"Well, if this is one of the greatest," I replied, "I should advise her

to give up miracles for the future, for she is no hand at them."

"How say you, Signor?" cried the landlady, shocked at my levity, and

crossing herself again and again. "Oh, you Protestants believe in

nothing! What! Is it not a great miracle to raise the dead?"

"It would be, if it were true," I interrupted.

"If it were true!" she repeated. "How should it not be true? Have you

not heard that the arch-priest himself believes it, that all the village

believes it, that the good Ricardo the sacristan was an eye-witness of

the miracle?"

"I must have better testimony than his in order to believe in the

miraculous character of the story you related to me. However, I have

since looked into the case myself and find it to be a gross piece of

imposture."

"_Imposture!_" cried the hostess. "Impossible! Who has been

imposing--his reverence, perhaps?"

"No," I said; "the arch-priest was only one of the dupes. His rascal of

a sacristan was at the bottom of all the mischief. That scoundrel Peppe,

too, was another prominent actor in the farce."

"What do I hear?" exclaimed my landlady; "the pious Ricardo and the holy

Peppe called 'rascal' and 'scoundrel.' You surely mistake their

characters."

"We are all liable to make mistakes sometimes," said I; "but I will

hope, for their own sakes, that they are not as black as they appear."

"You mystify me, Signor," she replied; "but I am sure you must be

labouring under a gross mistake, for as a proof of Peppe's being a holy

man, he has been doing nothing but miracles since he was raised from the

dead."

"What is that you say?" cried I, pricking up my ears.

"Why, Signor, you must know that as soon as Peppe left the church on the

morning of the miracle he was followed by a great crowd of the

faithful."

"Of the curious and the idle, you mean," I observed, interrupting her.

"Well, proceed."

"Who followed him to the door of his house," she continued; "and as

divers of them were labouring under sore diseases, they besought him to

touch them that they might be healed. Well, very many of them went away

cured; others, he said, he was unable to cure on account of their want

of faith."

"The artful dog!" said I, smiling. "Now, I'll be bound to say he made

all those who imagined themselves cured pay him well."

"Oh, they all gave him something, of course, from a _baiocco_ upwards,

according to their means. They tell me the worthy man has made a heap of

money by his miraculous touch."

"Miraculous humbug!" I exclaimed, half-amused and half-angry at the

success of such a vagabond.

"_Humbug!_ say you still?" cried my hostess. "How can it be humbug, if

he really _has_ cured the sick?"

"Come now," said I; "perhaps you will oblige me with a list of the

diseases that this new saint professes to have cured."

"Willingly," she replied.

"In the first case, there is old Margherita, who lives at the bottom of

the dell, and has been suffering much from nervous headaches; he but

touched her forehead, and she walked away declaring herself cured. Then

there was poor old Carluccio, who goes about begging from one place to

another. He suffered much from rheumatism; but having been touched by

Peppe on the parts affected, he immediately pronounced himself much

better, if not quite cured. Then the girl Lucia, who lives half-way down

the hill, and who used to suffer from the jumps, she likewise has not

complained since. Then, again, Pietro, the vignauolo, who was suffering

from stomach-ache, felt himself considerably better some few hours after

he had been touched by Peppe. Brigida, the daughter of old Angeluccio,

has for some time been the victim of a deep melancholy. Since she

received the magic touch she has done nothing but laugh and sing,

Giacomuccio, the idiot boy, complained of loss of appetite, but after

Peppe had touched him he went home and ate up all the _maritozza_ in the

house. Then the number of children he has cured is something fabulous;

at least, so their parents say."

"Well, well, my good woman," said I; "but these are all trifles. Can you

give me no great cure that he has effected, such as giving sight to the

blind, causing the lame to walk, the dumb to speak, the deaf to hear,

and the like?"

"One blind man came to be cured," replied my hostess; "but he, so Peppe

said, had not sufficient faith, so of course no cure could be effected.

It was the same with a cripple who had a withered arm, a man who had the

small-pox, as well as several others. He said he could do nothing with

them, as they were wanting in faith."

"I thought as much," said I. "All those whom he could not induce to

believe were cured, he sent away as not having sufficient faith--the

wily rascal! Now, my good woman, I really _do_ wonder at your placing

faith in such trash. If you knew as much about Peppe's character as I

do, you would very soon cease to look upon him as a saint. Besides, what

are the diseases you tell me he has cured? Headaches, jumps,

nervousness, low spirits, want of appetite, etc.--trifles all of them.

"He was supposed by all to have been miraculously raised from the dead,

and they therefore concluded that he must have been a holy man, for such

a miracle ever to have been wrought upon him, and being so esteemed,

they at once jumped at the conclusion that he was gifted with power to

work miracles. Accordingly, all the scum of the village turns out and

follows him, placing implicit faith in his power to cure them of their

half imaginary complaints. They receive his touch, pay their money, and

their imagination worked upon, they fancy themselves healed. This is the

secret of all his boasted success, for you say yourself that in all

those cases that were worth healing he signally failed."

"Be that as it may, Signor," replied the woman, "you will hardly pretend

to account for the miracle wrought upon Peppe himself in that manner.

How could a man be raised from the dead by imagination? I don't see

how."

"You don't? Then I will tell you; listen."

I here proceeded to retail the account of Peppe's feigned decease in

order to escape paying his debt of three pauls; the entrance of the

brigands into the church with the spoil, since proved to have been

robbed from six English travellers and others who were making their way

towards Rome on that very night; the dividing of the spoil upon the

altar, and the diamond ring that remained over, with which one of the

brigands dexterously succeeded in startling Peppe out of the sleep into

which he had fallen, by hitting him on the nose, and finally, the

confusion of the brigands at the sight of what they supposed to be a

resuscitated corpse.

I also related how they had abandoned the treasure in their flight, and

how Peppe, taking advantage of his position, proceeded to gather

together the said treasure, intending to keep it all for himself. How

Antonio at this moment burst from his hiding place in the confessional,

whither he had resorted in order to satisfy himself whether his friend's

death were genuine or spurious. How both of them disputed the treasure,

how they agreed to divide it equally, and how the diamond ring became a

bone of contention. How they were surprised by the sacristan early the

next morning. The sacristan's avarice, revenge, and hypocrisy. I dilated

on the story, not omitting the minutest particular, and winding up with

the subsequent conversion of the brigands, and letting her know upon

what authority I had come to the knowledge of these facts.

The discomfiture of my hostess at hearing her darling miracle explained

away by natural causes, and those, too, of so ridiculous a nature, was

truly pitiable. I believe, in her heart, she wished that I had never put

up at her inn, so that I might not have dispelled the sweet illusion.

Not many days after my hostess had become convinced of the spuriousness

of her once cherished miracle, the brigand-catchers returned after their

fruitless search, but being put upon the right scent immediately on

their return, they set off at once to the convent, where they commanded

the monks, in the name of the law, to deliver up the prisoners. It was,

however, too late. The brigands in the meantime had written a full

confession of their crime to the Pope, with an account of the miracle

and of their sudden determination, in consequence, of leading holy lives

for the future, and had received from His Holiness pardon and

absolution, on condition that they should follow out their virtuous

intentions.

The document, with the pontifical seal affixed to it, was placed into

the hands of these emissaries of the law, who had now nothing to do but

to retire. The brigands had been transformed into monks; so far no one

had anything to say but the six English travellers, the victims in the

late robbery, and who had lost no time on their arrival in Rome in

informing the government of their loss, and urging the immediate capture

of the brigands; having heard of the extraordinary turn the affair had

taken, now impatiently demanded their money back.

Believers in the late miracle now grew scarcer and scarcer every day,

the eyes of the most obstinate being now open to conviction by

overwhelming evidence. Peppe had lost his prestige as a saint, and the

headaches, jumps, fits of melancholy, loss of appetite, and other small

evils of which his patients had thought themselves miraculously cured,

came back again as before to the indignant faithful, who, armed, in a

body laid siege to the house of the "soi-disant" saint, vowing to burn

his dwelling over his head, if he refused to give back to each the money

that under false pretences he had extorted.

There is no knowing what an infuriated Italian mob may not be guilty of

perpetrating in the height of its fury; but let its rage be once drawn

aside by some novel excitement or emotion, its fury will evaporate,

expending its force through another channel. It might have gone hard

with Peppe, if a trifling incident had not served to avert the fury of

the mob when at its climax. This was the arrival of the diligence with

the six Englishmen, whose pecuniary losses we have before alluded to,

and who have arrived to claim their money from the arch-priest.

Trifling as this incident was, it proved sufficient to induce the

inhabitants of this sequestered village to abandon their purpose, and

their curiosity now being raised to its height, they relinquished their

victim for a time, in order to have a good stare at the six illustrious

strangers who had fallen a prey to the brigands, while Peppe, taking

advantage of the general confusion, made his escape from the back door

of his hut, and was soon lost to view in the thick grove of olive trees

that flanked the slopes of the hill.

My story now draws towards a close. The money was returned to the

owners, who were received with courtesy by the arch-priest, from whose

very lips they heard a detailed account of the late miracle, and so

delighted were they with the simplicity and urbanity of their new

acquaintance, that they each made him a handsome present out of the

money restored to them, for the benefit of his church, and perhaps as a

slight compensation for the dissatisfaction he must have felt at the

miracle not proving genuine.

The diamond ring likewise fell to the lot of the arch-priest, with the

full permission from the donor to dispose of it as he might think fit,

and after an exchange of compliments and civilities, the Englishmen took

their departure.

The duplicity and avarice of the sacristan having now fairly come to

light, he was dismissed, and another chosen to supply his place.

Meanwhile the trial of Antonio was going on in the township of

Gennazzano. Being summoned to appear as a witness, I was forced to go,

and had the satisfaction of being mainly instrumental in the acquittal

of my friend, who returned to his native village, where on his arrival

he was carried in triumph over the heads of the cheering populace.

The sum presented to the arch-priest, together with the diamond ring,

which had been taken to Rome to be estimated and converted into money,

was expended by our pastor in alleviating the sufferings of the poor

amongst his flock, after which there remained a surplus sufficient to

purchase two silver candlesticks for the altar of San Rocco, the

protecting saint of the village.

Peppe had judiciously hidden himself in the mountains until the fury of

his patients had considerably abated, but Antonio discovering him one

day, renewed his claim to the three pauls. I forget the excuse he made

on this occasion, but I know for a certainty that the debt was never

repaid during the whole of my stay in that part of the country.

Some months passed over without anything worthy of record, but the

sequel of this narrative is to come. A friar, unknown to the inhabitants

of our village, appeared one Sunday morning to perform mass in the

Church of San Rocco. His shaven crown, bronzed skin, and high aquiline

features made him an object of intense veneration among the devout

congregation, as being unmistakable signs of a pure and austere life. He

was a man of middle age, tall, and well knit, his beard on the verge of

turning grey. The features were worn, but energetic, yet a physiognomist

might have observed that the eyes were somewhat small in comparison with

the rest of the face and moved rather too rapidly and furtively from

left to right than was strictly necessary to complete the physiognomy of

one whose life had been completely devoted to religious contemplation.

His arrival had created a sensation in the village, and many who had

never confessed from one year's end to the other, impelled by curiosity,

flocked to the church that day to confess to the stranger monk,

imagining, no doubt, that the absolution of one from afar and unknown in

the villages was more valid than that of the arch-priest or any more

familiar prelate.

Familiarity breeds contempt, as we all know, therefore we so often find

that Roman Catholics prefer confessing to some priest or friar that they

meet for the first time, and are not likely to meet again, rather than

to their parish priest, to whom the most secret thought of their inner

lives is already known.

Among those who flocked to confess to the stranger monk, whose majestic

bearing had impressed everyone with his sanctity, were our two friends

Antonio and Peppe, who, having neither of them confessed for a very long

time, sought this opportunity of disburdening their souls of those sins

they were ashamed of confessing to a priest of their own native village.

Antonio, to whom I am indebted for the sequel of this tale, declared to

me that he experienced a thrill he was unable to account for as the

friar entered the confessional; but setting this down to nervousness at

not having confessed for so long, he endeavoured to concentrate his

thoughts, and began what is called a "general confession," commencing

with the sins of his earliest childhood down to those of recent date.

Fancying that he might have been guilty of avarice in pressing too

hardly on his friend for the debt of the three pauls and of sacrilege in

having hidden all night in the confessional, and afterwards quarrelling

with his friend over the treasure within the very church itself, it

occurred to him to relate the whole circumstance to the father

confessor, not omitting the entry of the brigands and their subsequent

fright at what they supposed to be the sudden resurrection of one from

the dead.

Now, Antonio during the whole of this confession had his eyes fixed upon

the countenance of his confessor, which he could see distinctly through

the grating. It struck him from the first that the features of the monk

were familiar to him, yet he could not call to mind where or under what

circumstances he had seen them before. He had been racking his brain for

some time past in order to recollect where he had ever met him, but to

no purpose.

He observed that when he began enumerating all the peccadilloes of his

early years the confessor evinced the utmost indifference, yawning every

now and then, and not deigning a reply; but as soon as he began to talk

about the miracle and the treasure abandoned by the brigands in their

fright, he immediately pricked up his ears and changed colour.

"Eh, what?" he cried, suddenly waking out of a doze. "Just oblige me by

beginning that again, will you?"

Antonio, though somewhat surprised at the monk's abrupt change of

manner, nevertheless set it down to the natural interest that so

extraordinary a tale inspired, and recommenced his story, detailing

nicely every circumstance, especially the feigned death of Peppe; with

an exact description of his own feelings at the time.

Now it happened that Peppe, being in church, and seeing his friend on

his knees at the confessional, thought he could do no less than confess

likewise, so, falling on his knees on the opposite side to his friend,

he prepared to pour out his soul through the opposite grating, into the

left ear of the father confessor, as soon as his friend should have

risen from his knees.

Antonio at length having finished, and received absolution, remained a

moment or two in prayer, whilst Peppe took his turn. Whatever the

subject of Peppe's confession might have been, it had an extraordinary

effect upon the monk. He became visibly agitated, and the muscles of his

face twitched nervously.

"Then it wasn't a miracle, after all," he gasped, throwing himself back,

while something strongly resembling an oath rose to his lips, but was

instantly stifled. His bronzed features had become livid, and hastily

giving his absolution, he hurried from the confessional.

Our two friends had remained behind the rest of the congregation, and on

rising from their knees and finding themselves alone in the church, each

advanced towards the other in a spirit of Christian forgiveness, and

shook his friend warmly by the hand, the subject of the three pauls

being dropped on this occasion.

"By the way, Peppe," said Antonio, after a short interchange of genial

conversation, "did you ever set eyes on that confessor before, think

you?"

"Well, now you mention it, friend Antonio, his features _do_ seem

familiar to me, yet I can't call to mind where I have seen him,"

answered Peppe.

"Ah!" suddenly ejaculated Antonio, "I have it. If that monk is not the

head brigand whom you so miraculously scared away by rising from the

dead, may I be--shot."

"_Per Baccounaccio!_ friend Antonio, you're right," exclaimed his

friend; "it _is_ the very same. I thought I knew him all the while. Well

this is strange; and we have been confessing to a brigand chief!"

"True," said Antonio; "but of course you have heard that in consequence

of the supposed miracle, he and the rest of his band became converted

and took holy vows, having received a full pardon from the Pope for

their past misdeeds. He now performs mass, and therefore his absolution

is worth just as much as that of any other ecclesiastic."

"Yes, yes; I've no doubt," replied Peppe; "but, I say, Anthony, if you

had but noticed how uncommonly interested he became in the middle of my

confession! That was because I confessed to him the trick I played upon

you, old friend, that night. You remember, eh? Ha! ha! Well, as soon as

I began to talk about jumping up from the dead, and how the brigands

scampered away helter-skelter, leaving their treasure behind them in

their flight, I noticed him change colour, and he grew impatient to know

more. I thought it strange that he should appear to take such interest

in the matter. Now I can account for his look of remorse that puzzled me

so before. He is angry with himself at being frightened into turning

monk by a sham miracle."

"I, too, noticed the very same thing, friend Peppe," said Antonio, "when

I likewise confessed the same story. I'll lay my life that he now

repents him of having turned monk. Perhaps he suspected that we

recognised him, and that was the reason he hastened away so after

confession. I wonder where he is now?"

The mysterious monk had disappeared; so had the two silver candlesticks

on the altar. Extraordinary coincidence! Had they also vanished by a

miracle?

They were on the altar when our two friends went to confess, as both of

them declared. Perhaps the new sacristan had taken them away to clean

after the departure of the congregation.

No; the sacristan was questioned, he knew naught but that they were

still on the altar. The affair caused much gossip and surmise, and much

time was lost in loud talking and angry gesticulations. The arch-priest

at length appeared on the spot, and our two friends Antonio and Peppe

communicated to him their suspicions--viz., that the unknown friar, whom

both of them recognised to be no other than the brigand chief himself,

had purloined the silver candlesticks immediately after confession, and

made his escape into the mountains. Search was now made for the thief,

but the day was already far spent and the monk had had ample time to

reach the convent before his pursuers thought of going in search of him.

On the following day the arch-priest called at the convent in person,

acquainted the monks there with his loss, and stated his suspicions. He

was informed by them that the band of brigands who had only lately

become converted and had entered their order, and who, up to the present

time, had shown themselves most exemplary in conduct, to the great

surprise of their brother monks, had suddenly decamped in the dead of

night, no one knew how. They had evidently resumed their former

profession, as they had left their cassocks behind them, and their arms,

which had been hung up in the chapel as trophies of their conversion,

had been removed.

The affair of the silver candlesticks was unknown to the rest of the

order, but shortly afterwards a silversmith in Rome, to whose shop a

handsome pair of silver candlesticks was brought for sale, having some

scruples at receiving stolen goods, and distrusting much the appearance

of the person who brought them, sent secretly to the police, who took in

charge the suspected party. Now it happened about that time in the

vicinity of Rome, that a certain band of brigands had been guilty of the

most fearful outrages. The police were already on their track, and the

capture of the suspected vendor of stolen goods subsequently led to the

discovery of the whole band, which was soon identified as the same

which had once received the Pope's pardon and had entered into holy

orders. They were accordingly tried, condemned, and executed on the

summit of the fort of St. Angelo, which is built on the ruins of the

ancient tomb of Hadrian, on the banks of the Tiber.

* * * * *

By the time our artist had finished his story, and received Helen's warm

eulogium on the same, the sitting had already come to an end. Dame

Hearty now knocked at the door to ask if her daughter could be spared,

as she found that she really could not go through her household duties

without her.

"Just one moment," said McGuilp; "there, Helen, just place yourself once

more as you were, and I shall have finished with you for the day. Just

one more touch."

The artist then began working rapidly for some ten minutes, as if his

life were at stake, when suddenly throwing himself back in his chair, as

if exhausted after some stupendous effort, he exclaimed: "There now!"

These magical words were the signal for Helen's liberation, and now both

mother and daughter placed themselves behind the artist's chair and

proceeded to criticise his work.

"Oh my! what a love of a pictur'!" exclaimed Dame Hearty; "and how

exactly like our Helen. Oh, if ever! Well I never! I do declare," etc.

"And how you have improved it this sitting! Why, last time I thought

there was no more to do to it, but now it is life itself."

"You flatter me, Helen," said McGuilp; "for I assure you that the

portrait is still in a most crude and unfinished state."

"How say you?--still unfinished?" cried Helen. "Well, if you go on at

that rate, by next sitting I shall expect to hear it speak."

"Come, Helen," said her mother, "we must be off, for we have no time to

lose. Another time, when we have less to do, I shall be most happy to

let you assist the gentleman to finish his pictur'," and curtseying to

McGuilp, she led her daughter out of the room, while the painter was

left to the uninspired operations of cleaning his palette and brushes,

and putting his studio in order previous to joining the other members of

the club.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] A paul is half a franc.

[8] A corruption of the word _compare_ (godfather) which is used as a

familiar appellation among the peasantry, even when no such relations

exists between them.

[9] Paini, the grade between a peasant and a gentleman.

[10] A sort of pudding made of chestnut flour.

[11] A species of cake made of Indian corn, used much among the Italian

peasantry, being cheaper than bread.

[12] A paul is half a franc, and equal to five pence.

[13] Padrone, master.

[14] Oh, my holy souls of Purgatory!

[15] Body of St. Anthony of Padua!

[16] A corruption of per Cristo.

[17] It is the custom in Roman Catholic countries for the dead to be

exposed in the centre of the church for twenty-four hours upon a bier,

with a candle burning.

[18] To your Lordship.

[19] A halfpenny.

[Illustration]