I
Roma awoke next morning with a feeling of joy. The dangers of last night
were over and David Rossi had escaped. Where would he be by this time?
She looked at her little round watch and reckoned the hours that had
passed against the speed of the train.
Natalina came with the tea and the morning newspaper. The maid's tongue
went faster than her hands as she rattled on about the terrors of the
night and the news of the morning. Meantime Roma glanced eagerly over
the columns of the paper for its references to Rossi. He was gone. The
authorities were unable to say what had become of him.
With boundless relief Roma turned to the other items of intelligence.
The journal was the organ of the Government, and it contained an extract
from the Official Gazette and the text of a proclamation by the Prefect.
The first announced that the riot was at an end and Rome was quiet; the
second notified the public that by royal decree the city was declared to
be in a state of siege, and that the King had nominated a Royal
Commissioner with full powers.
Besides this news there was a general account of the insurrection. The
ringleaders were anarchists, socialists, and professed atheists,
determined on the destruction of both throne and altar by any means,
however horrible. Their victims had been drawn, without seeing where
they were going, into a vortex of disorder, and the soldiers had
defended society and the law. Happily the casualties were few. The only
fatal incident had been the death of a child, seven years of age, the
son of a workman. The people of Rome had to congratulate themselves on
the promptness of a Government which had reinstated authority with so
small a loss of blood.
Roma remembered what Rossi had said about Elena--"Think of Elena when
she awakes in the morning, alone with her terrible grief"--and putting
on a plain dark cloth dress she set off for the Piazza Navona.
It was eleven o'clock, and the sun was shining on the melting snow. Rome
was like a dead city. The breath of revolution had passed over it.
Broken tiles lay on the pavement of the slushy streets, and here and
there were the remains of abandoned barricades. The shops, which are the
eyes of a city, were nearly all closed and asleep.
At a flower-shop, which was opened to her knock, Roma bought a wreath of
white chrysanthemums. A group of men and women stood at the door in the
Piazza Navona, and she received their kisses on her hands. The
Garibaldian followed her up the stairs, and his old wife, who stood at
the top, called her "Little Sister," and then burst into tears.
The boy lay on the couch, just where Roma had first seen him, when David
Rossi was lifting him up asleep. He might have been asleep now, so
peaceful was his expression under the mysterious seal of death. The
blinds were drawn, and the sun came through them with a yellow light.
Four candles were burning on chairs at the head and two at the feet. The
little body was still dressed in the gay clothes of the festival, and
the cocked hat and gilt-headed mace lay beside it. But the chubby hands
were clasped over a tiny crucifix, and the hair of the shock head was
brushed smooth and flat.
"There he is," said Elena, in a cracked voice, and she went down on her
knees between the candles.
Roma, who could not speak, put the wreath of chrysanthemums on the brave
little breast, and knelt by the mother's side. At that they all broke
down together.
The old Garibaldian wiped his rheumy eyes and began to talk of David
Rossi. He was as fond of Joseph as if the boy had been his own son. But
what had become of the Honourable? Before daybreak the police had made a
domiciliary perquisition in the apartment, carried off his papers and
sealed up his rooms.
"Have no fear for him," said Roma, and then she asked about Bruno. All
they knew was that Bruno had been arrested and locked up in the prison
called Regina C[oe]li.
"Poor Bruno! He'll be dying to know what is happening here," said Elena.
"I'll see him," said Roma.
It was well she had come early. In the stupefaction of their sorrow the
three poor souls were like helpless children and had done nothing. Roma
sent the Garibaldian to the sanitary office for the doctor who was to
verify the death, to the office of health to register it, and to the
municipal office to arrange for the funeral. It was to be a funeral of
the third category, with a funeral car of two horses and a coach with
liveried coachmen. The grave was to be one of the little vaults, the
Fornelli, set apart for children. The priest was to be instructed to buy
many candles and order several Frati. The expense would be great, but
Roma undertook to bear it, and when she left the house the old people
kissed her hands again and loaded her with blessings.