Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth CenturyGaribaldi, Giuseppe
History
Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century
Garibaldi, Giuseppe
Italian fiction -- Translations into English; Rome (Italy) -- History -- 1798-1870 -- Fiction
"And who was my preserver? Of whom could I make inquiries? I sent for my
old groom, but he could tell me little, except that he had followed
me as quickly as he well could, and had arrived at the scene of the
castastrophe just as I was being carried into a house. All he knew was
that my deliverer seemed a young man, who had retired immediately after
placing me in the care of the woman of the house, who was very attentive
when she learned who I was.
"Still my ardent imagination, even in that dangerous moment, had traced
more faithfully than they the noble lineaments of the youth. His eyes
had but flashed an instantaneous look into mine, but it was indelibly
imprinted on my heart. I could never forget that face, which renewed at
last, as in my memory, the heroes of the past. I shall know him again,
I said to myself. He is certainly a Roman, and if a Roman, he belongs to
the race of the Quirites! my ideal people--the objects of my worship!
"You know the custom of visiting the Colosseum by moonlight, which then
displays its majestic beauty to perfection. Well, I went one night to
view it, guarded by the same old servant; and as I was coming back, and
had arrived at the turning of the road which leads from the Tarpeian to
Campidoglio, my servant was struck down by a blow from a cudgel, and
two men, who had concealed themselves in the shadow cast by an immense
building, sprang out upon me, and, seizing me by the arms, dragged me
in the direction of the Arch of Severus. I was terror-stricken and in
despair, when, as Heaven willed it, I heard a cry of anger, and we were
quickly overtaken by a man whom I recognized in the dim light as my late
preserver. He threw himself upon my assailants, and a fearful struggle
began between the three. My young athlete, however, managed to lay the
assassins in the dust, and returned to my side; but perceiving that
my servant had risen, and was approaching unhurt, he took my hand, and
kissing it respectfully, departed before I could recover from the sudden
shock of the unexpected attack, or could articulate a single word.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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