Half-an-hour before Ave Maria, Roma had put on an inconspicuous cloak, a
plain hat, and a dark veil, and walked down to the Coliseum. Soldiers
were stationed on all the high ground about the circus, and large
numbers of persons were already assembled inside. The people were poor
and ill-clad, and they smelt of garlic and uncleanness. "_His_ people,
though," thought Roma, and so she conquered her repulsion.
Three tiers encircle the walls of the Coliseum, like the galleries of a
great theatre, and the lowest of these was occupied by a regiment of
Carabineers. There was some banter and chaff at the expense of the
soldiers, but the people were serious for all that, and the excitement
beneath their jesting was deep and strong.
The low cloud which had hung over the city from early morning seemed to
lie like a roof over the topmost circle of the amphitheatre, and as
night came on the pit below grew dark and chill. Then torches were lit
and put in prominent places--long pitch sticks covered with rags or
brown paper. The people were patient and good-humoured, but to beguile
the tedium of waiting they sang songs. They were songs of labour
chiefly, but one man started the _Te Deum_, and the rest joined in with
one voice. It was like the noise the sea makes on a heavy day when it
breaks on a bank of sand.
After a while there was a deep sound from outside. The procession was
approaching. It came on like a great tidal wave and flowed into the vast
place in the gathering darkness with the light of a hundred fresh
torches.
In less than half-an-hour the ruined amphitheatre was a moving mass of
heads from the ground to its upmost storey. Long sinuous trails of blue
smoke swept across the people's faces, and the great brown mass of
circular stones was lit up in fitful gleams.
Roma was lifted off her feet by the breaker of human beings that surged
around. At one moment she was conscious of some one behind who was
pressing the people back and making room for her. At the next moment she
was aware that through the multitudinous murmur of voices that rumbled
as in a vault somebody near her was trying to speak.
The speaking ceased and there was a sharp crackle of applause which had
the effect of producing silence. In this silence another voice, a clear,
loud, vibrating voice, said, "Romans and brothers," and then there was a
prolonged shout of recognition from ten thousand throats.
In a moment a dozen torches were handed up, and the speaker was in a
circle of light and could be seen by all. It was Rossi. He was standing
bareheaded on a stone, with a face of unusual paleness. He was wearing
the loose cloak of the common people of Rome, thrown across his breast
and shoulder. Bruno stood by his left side holding a standard above
their heads. At his right hand were two other men who partly concealed
him from the crowd. Roma found herself immediately below them, and
within two or three paces.
After a moment the shouting died down, and there was no sound in the
vast place but a soft, quick, indrawn hiss that was like the palpitating
breath of an immense flock of sheep. Then Rossi began again.
"First and foremost," he said, "let me call on you to preserve the
peace. One false step to-night and all is lost. Our enemies would like
to fix on us the name of rebels. Rebels against whom? There is no
rebellion except rebellion against the people. The people are the true
sovereigns, and the only rebels are the classes who oppress them."
A murmur of assent broke from the crowd. Rossi paused, and looked around
at the soldiers.
"Romans," he said, "do not let the armed rebels of the State provoke you
to violence. It is to their interest to do so. Defeat them. You have
come here in the face of their rifles and bayonets to show that you are
not afraid of death. But I ask you to be afraid of doing an unrighteous
thing. It is on my responsibility that you are here, and it would be an
undying remorse to me if through any fault of yours one drop of blood
were shed.
"I call on you as earnestly as if my nearest and dearest were among you,
liable to be shot down by the rifles of the military, not to give any
excuse for violence."
Roma turned to look at the soldiers. As far as she could see in the
uncertain light, they were standing passively in their circle, with
their rifles by their sides.
"Romans," said Rossi again, "a month ago we protested against an
iniquitous tax on the first necessary of life. The answer is sixty
thousand men in arms around us. Therefore we are here to-night to appeal
to the mightiest force on earth, mightier than any army, more powerful
than any parliament, more absolute than any king--the force of moral
sympathy and public opinion throughout the world."
At this there were shouts of "Bravo!" and some clapping of hands.
"Romans, if your bread is moistened by tears to-day, think of the power
of suffering and be strong. Think of the history of these old walls.
Think of the words of Christ, 'Which of the prophets have not your
fathers stoned?' The prophets of humanity have all been martyrs, and God
has marked you out to be the martyr nation of the world. Suffering is
the sacred flame that sanctifies the human soul. Pray to God for
strength to suffer, and He will bless you from the heights of Heaven."
People were weeping on every hand.
"Brothers, you are hungry, and I say these things to you with a beating
heart. Your children are starving, and I swear before God that from this
day forward I will starve with them. If I have eaten two meals a day
hitherto, for the future I will eat but one. But leave it to the powers
that are over you to do their worst. If they imprison you for resisting
their tyrannies, others will take your place. If they kill your leader,
God will raise up another who will be stronger than he. Swear to me in
this old Coliseum, sacred to the martyrs, that, come what may, you will
not yield to injustice and wrong."
There was something in Rossi's face at that last moment that seemed to
transcend the natural man. He raised his right arm over his head and in
a loud voice cried, "Swear!"
The people took the oath with uplifted hands and a great shout. It was
terrible.
Rossi stepped down, and the excitement was overwhelming. The vast crowd
seemed to toss to and fro under the smoking lights like a tumultuous
sea. The simple-hearted Roman populace could not contain themselves.
The crowd began to break up, and the people went off singing. Rossi and
his group of friends had disappeared when Roma turned to go. She found
herself weeping and singing, too, but for another reason. The danger was
passed, and all was over!
Going out by one of the arches, she was conscious of somebody walking
beside her. Presently a voice said:
"You don't recognise me in the darkness, Donna Roma?"
It was Charles Minghelli. He had been told to take care of her. Could he
offer her his escort home?
"No, thank you," she replied, and she was surprised at herself that she
experienced no repulsion.
Her heart was light, a great weight had been lifted away, and she felt a
large and generous charity. At the top of the hill she found a cab, and
as it dipped down the broad avenue that leads out of the circle of the
dead centuries into the world of living men, she turned and looked back
at the Coliseum. It was like a dream. The moving lights--the shadows of
great heads on the grim old walls--the surging crowds--the cheers from
hoarse throats. But the tinkle of the electric tram brought her back to
reality, and then she noticed that it had begun to snow.
* * * * *
Bruno ploughed a way for David Rossi, and they reached home at last.
Elena was standing at the door of David Rossi's rooms, with an agitated
face.
"Have you seen anything of Joseph?" she asked.
"Joseph?"
"I opened the window to look if you were coming, and in a moment he was
gone. On a night like this, too, when it isn't too safe for anybody to
be in the streets."
"Has he still got the clothes on?" said Bruno.
"Yes, and the naughty boy has broken his promise and must be whipped."
The men looked into each other's faces.
"Donna Roma?" said Rossi.
"I'll go and see," said Bruno.
"I must have a rod, whatever you say. I really must!" said Elena.