Let us return to the year 1849, to the fatal scene in which the young
Muzio was robbed of his patrimony.
There was an old retainer named Siccio, already introduced, who had
served longer in the house of Pompeo than any other; he had, in fact,
been born in it, and had received very many acts of kindness there.
These benefits he repaid by faithful love to the orphan Muzio, whom he
regarded almost as tenderly as if he had in reality been his own child.
He was good, and rather simple, but not so much so as to be blind to
the pernicious influence which Father Ignazio had acquired over his
indulgent mistress, and which he feared would be used to the injury of
her grandchild.
But the guardian of souls, the spiritual physician, the confessor of the
lady of the house! what servant would dare openly to doubt him, or cross
his path? Confession, that terrible arm, of priestcraft, that diabolical
device for seduction, that subtle means of piercing the most sacred
domestic secrets, and keeping in chains the superstitious sex! Siccio
dared not openly fight against such weapons.
The confessor was, however, aware of the good servant's mistrust, and
therefore caused him to be discharged a few days after the Signora
Virginia breathed her last, though not before he had overheard a certain
dialogue between Father Ignazio and Sister Flavia.
"What is to be done with the child?" the nun had asked.
"He must pack off to the Foundling," replied he; "there he will be
safe enough from the evil of this perverted century and its heretical
doctrines. Besides, we shall have no difficulty in keeping an eye upon
him," he continued, with a meaning look, which she returned, causing
Siccio, who was unseen, to prick up his ears.
He straightway resolved not to leave the innocent and helpless child
in the hands of these fiends, and contrived a few nights after his
dismissal to obtain an entrance to the house by the excuse that he had
left some of his property behind. Watching his opportunity he stole
into the nursery, where he found the neglected child huddled in a corner
crying with cold and hunger. Siccio, taking him in his arms, soothed him
until he fell asleep, when he glided cautiously out of the house into
the street, and hired a conveyance to carry them to a lodging he had
previously engaged at some distance from the city. To elude suspicion
and pursuit he had cunningly concealed the little Muzio in a bundle
of clothes, and alighting from the vehicle before he arrived at his
dwelling, quietly unwound and aroused the child, who trotted at his
side, and was introduced by him to his landlady as his grandson.
During the lifetime of Muzio's father, who was an amateur antiquary,
Siccio had gained a considerable knowledge of the history of the rains
around Rome by attending him in his researches. This knowledge, as he
could not take service as a domestic, on account of his unwillingness to
part from the child, he determined to avail himself of, and so become
a regular cicerone. His pay for services in this capacity was so small,
that he could with difficulty provide for himself and his little charge
even the bare necessaries of existence. This mode of living he pursued
however for some years, until the infirmities of old age creeping upon
him, he found it harder than ever to procure food and shelter of the
commonest kind. What could he now do? He looked at Muzio's graceful
form, and an inspiration broke upon him. Yes, he would brave the danger,
and take him to the city, for he felt that the artists and sculptors
would rejoice to obtain such a model. The venture was made, and Siccio
was elated and gratified beyond measure at the admiration Muzio, now in
his fifteenth year, called forth from the patrons of Roman "models."
For a while they were enabled to live in comparative comfort. Siccio now
dared to reveal to him the secret of his birth, and the manner in
which he had been despoiled, as the old man only suspected, of his
inheritance. Great was the indignation of the youth, and still greater
his gratitude to the good Siccio, who had toiled so uncomplainingly for
him, but from this time he steadily refused to sit as a model. Work he
would, even menial work he did not despise, and he might have been seen
frequently in the different studios moving massive blocks of marble, for
his strength far exceeded that of other youths of his own age. He also
now and then assumed the duties of a cicerone, when the aged Siccio
was unable to leave the house from sickness. His youthful beauty often
induced strangers to give him a gratuity; but as he was never seen to
hold out his hand, the beggars of Rome called him ironically "Signor."
In spite of his efforts, Muzio was unable, as Siccio's feebleness
increased, to provide for all their wants, and he became gloomy and
morose. One wonderful evening, when Siccio was sitting alone, shortly
after Julia's adventure, a woman closely veiled entered his mean little
room, and placing a heavy purse upon the table, said--
"Here is something, my worthy friend, which may be useful to you.
Scruple not to employ it, and seek not to discover the name of the
donor, or should you by chance learn it, let it be your own secret." And
thus, without giving the astonished old man time to recover his speech,
she went out closing the door behind her.