Laughing, crying, cheering, chaffing, singing, David Rossi's people had
brought him home in triumph, and now they were crowding upon him to kiss
his hand, the big-hearted, baby-headed, beloved children of Italy.
The object of this aurora of worship stood with his back to the table in
the dining-room, looking down and a little ashamed, while Bruno Rocco,
six feet three in his stockings, hoisted the boy on to his shoulder, and
shouted as from a tower to everybody as they entered by the door:
"Come in, sonny, come in! Don't stand there like the Pope between the
devil and the deep sea. Come in among the people," and Bruno's laughter
rocked through the room to where the crowd stood thick on the staircase.
"The Baron has had a lesson," said a man with a sheet of white paper in
his hand. "He dreamed of getting the Collar of the Annunziata out of
this."
"The pig dreamed of acorns," said Bruno.
"It's a lesson to the Church as well," said the man with the paper. "She
wouldn't have anything to do with us. 'I alone strike the hour of the
march,' says the Church."
"And then she stands still!" said Bruno.
"The mountains stand still, but men are made to walk," said the man with
the paper, "and if the Pope doesn't advance with the people, the people
must advance without the Pope."
"The Pope's all right, sonny," said Bruno, "but what does he know about
the people? Only what his black-gowned beetles tell him!"
"The Pope has no wife and children," said the man with the paper.
"Old Vampire could find him a few," said Bruno, and then there was
general laughter.
"Brothers," said David Rossi, "let us be temperate. There's nothing to
be gained by playing battledore and shuttlecock with the name of an old
man who has never done harm to any one. The Pope hasn't listened to us
to-day, but he is a saint all the same, and his life has been a lesson
in well-doing."
"Anybody can sail with a fair wind, sir," said Bruno.
"Let us be prudent. There's no need for violence, whether of the hand or
of the tongue. You've found that out this morning. If you had rescued me
from the police, I should have been in prison again by this time, and
God knows what else might have happened. I'm proud of your patience and
forbearance; and now go home, boys, and God bless you."
"Stop a minute!" said the man with the paper. "Something to read before
we go. While the Carabineers kept Mr. Rossi in the Borgo, the Committee
of Direction met in a café and drew up a proclamation."
"Read it, Luigi," said David Rossi, and the man opened his paper and
read:
"Having appealed in vain to Parliament and to the King against the
tyrannical tax which the Government has imposed upon bread in order that
the army and navy may be increased, and having appealed in vain to the
Pope to intercede with the civil authorities, and call back Italy to its
duty, it now behoves us, as a suffering and perishing people, to act on
our own behalf. Unless annulled by royal decree, the tax will come into
operation on the 1st of February. On that day let every Roman remain
indoors until an hour after Ave Maria. Let nobody buy so much as one
loaf of bread, and let no bread be eaten, except such as you give to
your children. Then, at the first hour of night, let us meet in the
Coliseum, tens of thousands of fasting people, of one mind and heart, to
determine what it is our duty to do next, that our bread may be sure and
our water may not fail."
"Good!" "Beautiful!" "Splendid!"
"Only wants the signature of the president," said the reader, and Bruno
called for pen and ink.
"Before I sign it," said Rossi, "let it be understood that none come
armed. There is nothing our enemies would like better than to fix on us
the names of rioters and rebels. We must defeat them. We must show the
world that we alone are the people of law and order. Therefore I call on
you to promise that none come armed."
"We promise," cried several voices.
"And now go home, boys, and God bless you."
After a moment there was only one man left in the room. It was the
fashionable young Roman with the watchful eyes and twirled-up moustache.
"For you, sir!" said the young man, taking a letter from a pocket inside
his waistcoat.
David Rossi opened the letter and read: "The bearer of this, Charles
Minghelli, is one of ourselves. He has determined upon the
accomplishment of a great act, and wishes to see you with respect to
it."
"You come from London?"
"Yes, sir."
"You wish to speak to me?"
"I do."
"You may speak freely."
The young man glanced in the direction of Bruno and of Bruno's wife, who
stood beside him.
"It is a delicate matter, sir," he said.
"Come this way," said David Rossi, and he took the stranger into his
bedroom.