University of Virginia Library

Our captain's glum to-night, he will not drink,
But ever since he came last night from Rome
He seeks to be alone. Vincenzo, come,
What did you both see, you were with him there?
Throw some pine-knots upon the fire—'tis cold,
These bleak March nights in this damp cave of ours;
The tufa drips—the olive-wood wont blaze,
But smoulders sulky as our captain there,
Or spits out its fierce sparkles now and then.
Draw up, and tell us what you saw at Rome!
And Steno, you and Maso can't you cease
That cursed game of morra; full an hour
I've heard your quattro, cinque, tutti—Come,
Leave off, and hear what 'Cenzo saw at Rome.
Viva the Carnival, I say, my boys!
At least, sometimes we can go back to Rome.
Stop! brim your glasses—are you ready, all?
Here's death and hell to all gendarmes, I say,
And, Sangue della Madonna, health to him
Who helps that rosy whiskered English lord
At Subiaco of his golden boys.
Come now, Vincenzo, what you saw at Rome.

“Or bene, since you wish it, here it is;
I wish you joy of it when it is told.
Our Captain there you know will go to Rome
Despite its danger,—and we all know why;
Nina is there,—'tis her black, lustrous eyes
That spoil him for our leader,—half his heart
Is rotten with the thinking of old times,
And how it might have been. If we go on
This way, with sparing knife and blood, as he
Will have it, some fine morning we shall ride
Chained in a cart, with four of those gendarmes
Riding beside us—all their carabines
Well primed and loaded,—as Luigi did:
That was a pleasant sight for all of us.
I say, my boys, there 's nothing but the knife
Stops blabbing, shuts the eyes up, shears the tongue.
When I die, let it be upon the grass,
Under the sky, a bullet through my heart,—
That's quickly over—but a noisome cell,
Faugh! in their prisons—is that death or life?
At the Falcone, as I passed to-night,
Per Bacco, I saw, posted on the wall,
(A group of travellers staring at it there,)
Under the Pope's arms, a Proclama,—Well!
There was my measure, and our Captain's too.
He 's brave enough, I know, but then again,
After an accident like that last month
He'll sulk a week—there's no more drink and fun;
But can we help it if we kill sometimes
By accident, or when the blood is up?
Then, he 's so soft too at such times—don't speak
In his quick way, but kindly, like a girl,
That one can't quarrel with him. Well, we know
Nina is at the bottom of all that.

“But that 's no news to us—so let it go—
'Twas just the same with Gigi as with him,
His heart was never in our business;
And after he had killed that Englishman,
(Damn him, I only wish he 'd kept at home,)
Half by mischance, and half in self-defence,
The fool so stuck to him,—and that young girl
With her fair hair, screamed curses after us,
And lifted up her bloody hands to heaven,
And fainted on her father's body there,—
Gigi lost heart in life—well! that was bad!
I've thought of that girl, too, more times than once;
But that 's our trade! things are not always sweet.
By God! what we saw yesterday in Rome
Was not so sweet.

“Well! well! I'll tell you that—
But just a minute first—You know 'tis now
Just two years to a day since Gigi came
Up in the mountains here to join our band;
And you remember, too, what brought him here;
Bah! 'twas the same thing brought a half a score;
Brought you—and you—and me—and him out there—
Only the old thing—a conspiracy—
Attempt at revolution. We all thought—
Fools! fools! we little handful of tried friends,
All sworn to secrecy,—(we have no brains,
Of course we might have known there was a spy,
Are there not always spies?) we thought to end
The reign of priests, and get back once again
What, some time, God knows when, our fathers had,
The dear old liberty to speak and move
And jerk our neck out from the galling yoke
Of Priests and Cardinals;—by heaven! the Priests,
Let us once get the upper hand again,
Shall have a red cloak like the Cardinals,
Dipped in the best of dyes, their own rank blood.
Have they not cursed us all, and spoilt our life?
Since Tolla died, instead of prayer at night,
I've only sworn one oath—I'll keep it too—
God willing. Ah! what wretched fools we were;
Yet who so swift to swear as Angelo;
I almost doubted then, he swore so swift.
The Jesuit! how he urged and pricked us on,
Just to bring in the Sbirri at the last;
Some hid, some fled,—I think I left my mark
Before I fled upon our Jesuit's neck,
He screamed so—but at last there was for all
But one way left, that was not worse than death,
(To leave our dear beloved Italy)
That way was to the mountains—Gigi came,
What was there else for him, to us, of course.
Ah! I remember—we remember all,
Those passionate words, that wild grand curse of his,
Like the old Roman pictures, when he held
Both his strained hands up, every finger spread,
And cursed the priests, and then burst into tears;
And how we kissed him and embraced him there;
He was too good for us, something too fine
For our wild life,—a razor to hew stones;—
It was not love of gold nor of revenge,
Nor even the wild freedom of our life,—
'Twas dire necessity—and one thing more,
His love for—you know who—that kept him here.

“After that English girl's affair, he lost
All fire and spirit, hated life, at last,
I think on purpose, flung him in the way
Of capture, thinking death might expiate
This crime—we all of us are so at times,
Only the fits came oftener to him.

“Such friendship as the Captain had for him!
Some time the Captain'll go the self-same way,—
You mark my words. But here I come at last
To what we saw at Rome. At nearly four
We reached the gate of San Giovanni, where
Between the wine carts unperceived we slipped,
In Contadino dress,—the soldiers round
Scarce noticed us, then down through the back streets,
(And even there the Carnival flowed o'er)
Where I put on an Arlecchino's dress,
Painted my face with stripes of white and red,
And parted with the Captain—on he went
To Nina—I was for the Carnival,
Again to meet him when the midnight struck.

“Oh! what a joy to be again in Rome!
I could have kissed the pavement in my joy.
All down the Corso's length the Carnival
Was at its maddest height—the narrow street
Swarmed with its life; from windows, balconies,
And stagings improvised along the squares,
And hung with rich embroidered tapestries,
Thousands of eager laughing faces looked;
Even the roofs were thronged, the door-ways crammed,
The benches on the sidewalks crowded close
With black-haired girls from the Trastevere,
All smiling. What a tumult of mad joy!
What noises! what costumes! what dusty showers
Of white confetti; what mad pelting there,
With bursts of laughter, mixed with fifes and drums,
And squeaking pipes, and tinkling of guitars;
Flowers flying, falling, raining everywhere;
Flowers on the pavement, where the scrambling boys
Fought for them under files of carriages;
Flowers in great masses at the corners; flowers
In monstrous baskets, borne upon the heads
Of Contadini. Oh! what life and fun!
By heaven! there was but one thing raised my gorge—
The Carabinieri,—there they stood,
Like statues, at the opening of the streets—
I would that all their throats were one great throat,
That I could slit it once for all, and then
Die, if need be. And yet, why speak of them?
They are but tools their rascal masters use.

“At last the carriages were driven out,
The cavalry, with clattering hoofs, dashed down
The thronging Corso, splitting through the mass;
Then the wild horses, with their spangles on,
And crackling foil, and beating balls and spurs,
Rushed madly up the street.—The cannon pealed,
And all was over for a time.

“I say
Fill up my glass again! My throat is dry
With all this talking—I say, fill it up,
Up to the brim—no stinting, if I talk.

“At One I joined the Captain; I was flushed
With wine; but his face sobered me at once;
He did not speak, but something in his look
Told 'twas no time for jesting. Nina said,
‘Bad news, Lippino, you must leave at once;
Lucky perhaps, you came so late—I fear
Something is wrong. Where have you been tonight?
Drinking and talking? Man, you'll lose your head
If you don't learn to rule that tongue of yours.
Something 's suspected; the police were down
An hour ago, but all was quiet then—
Now they are gone do you slip out and run—
Take the back streets—you'll find some place to sleep,
But be behind Rienzi's house at Four;
He'll meet you there—you must be off at once.
Besides,’ she whispered, ‘Gigi's day has come,
Poor fellow—he won't suffer after Four.’
Here her eyes flashed, burning away the tears
That gushed into them, as these words she said.

“Nina! Per Dio! she is worth a man.
If I have ever said our Captain's weak
To think of her so much, I was a fool.
If she loved me as she loves him, I swear
Not all the bayonets of Rome could keep
My foot from out the city—no! nor yours!

“Hist! is he coming? If he is, I stop;
For next to Nina he loved Gigi best;
And now my story is of Gigi.—No!
There stands he still, his hat pulled o'er his brow.
Stay! let me carry him a glass of wine.
Poor fellow! he feels bad enough, I know,
And this damp night air gnaws into one's bones.

“He took it, so all 's well—his voice, perhaps,
A little husky, that was not from cold.
Well, then! the few hours left of night I roamed
Through the back streets, and watched the river swirl
Blackly away—then dozed an hour or so
In the dim corner of the Temple of Peace,
Till day began to lighten the gray mists.
At four I met the Captain—neither spoke
A word of Gigi, though we both of us
Thought only of him.—Silently and sad
In the grim dawn we took our way along;
And as we went into the Velabro,
Down through the Bocca della Verità,
We heard the dull beat of a single drum,
The sound of feet, the dragging of a cart.
The sound jarred terribly against the heart;
An awful sense of something vague and dread
Came over me,—we paused,—a moment more
The Confraternità, with hooded heads,
Their dark eyes glaring ghastly through the holes,
And their black banner gilt with skull and bones,
Turned from the street into the open square.
Then files of soldiers—then a guarded cart—
God! 'twas Luigi standing there.—My knees
Shook underneath me for a moment's space,
Not out of fear, (you know me all too well
For that, I think.) A ghastly, dreadful sense
Of horror crept along my chilling nerves—
I caught his eye—'twas firm and fixed as Fate;
A smile that I could see, because I knew
My comrade, sudden gleamed across his face,
Then it was locked up in its fierce resolve,
Only his under lip twitched now and then.
Things went as in a dream, the old sad way.
Why tell you how it went? At last he stood
Erect a moment, turned his head all round,
Then suddenly, and with a clear full voice
Cried, shouting, ‘Viva la Republica,
E Liberta per tutt' il popolo
E Morte.’ .... Here a deafening roll of drums
Thundered his voice out.—Swift he was drawn back.
I saw his lips move, and his arms thrown up,
The priest beside him raised the crucifix,
Thud, went the axe, .... Gah! what a horrid sound!

“Give me some wine!—Oh, God! when comes the time
For us, the people,—when the miracles
Of San Pietro shall be wrought for us?
Dear, brave Luigi! when that time shall come—
Here, swear it with me, all of you—no spy
Is here among us—for each drop of blood
A cowl shall fall—We'll sweep the streets for them,
They shall not want for dye for Cardinals!