CHAPTER XLVII. GASPERO'S STORY
"L'uotno naace piu grando in quests terra che in qualunque altra--ne sono una prova i grandi deletti che vi si commettono."--Alfieri.
"I was born in the small city of S--------, in the States of the Church,not far from the Neapolitan frontier. My parents were honest folk,employed as shepherds in the service of the Cardinal.
"Being sent early to the field to tend sheep, cows, and buffaloes, andnearly always on horseback, I grew up with a robust hardy constitution,and became a dexterous horseman.
"Up to the age of eighteen, I remained a true son of the Italian desert,knowing no other affection than that which I had for my horse, my lasso,and my weapons. With the latter I had become a formidable enemy to thedeer and wild boar of the Roman forests. I was passionately fond ofhunting, an exercise suited to my nature: and I was accustomed to passwhole nights lying in ambush, watching for the deer, or the great graytuskers in the marshes, where they delight to lie rolling in the mud.
"I knew the places frequented by the harts and hinds, and very oftenreturned home with one of those graceful animals slung over my saddle.
"One day, after having secured my horse at a little distance, I placedmyself in hiding, on the watch for a stag. I had been there but a shorttime, when I heard footsteps on the path behind me--a narrow forest roadthat led to the village.
"At first I thought it might be a wild beast of some description, andkept my carbine in readiness to fire as soon as I perceived it. Afterlistening a few moments, I thought I heard voices, and presently thereappeared in sight a young priest whom I had occasionally seen walkingin the village, while by his side was a young girl who appeared toaccompany him rather unwillingly.
"I had time to observe them both; the priest was about twenty yearsof age, very tall and finely proportioned; in fact, only a carbine andpointed hat were wanting to make a fine hunter or soldier of him."
"The young girl! Ah! pardon my memory, still agitated by that sweetface!" and the old man's eyes here dimmed with tears. "The young girlwas an angel! I do not know how it was they did not discover me, for herbeauty caused me to utter an involuntary exclamation, and my heart wasstirred by a new and astonishing emotion.
"He had offended her by some proposal, for she was turning to go; butas I regarded them, the priest threw his arm with almost violent forcearound his companion, and pressing his lips to her cheek, uttered somewords that did not reach me, but caused a terrified and indignant lookto pass over the girl's face, and she shrank back as if stung by aviper. Again the priest spoke and approached, when, with a cry, thepeasant-girl broke from him and fled.
"He pursued her, and caught the shrieking damsel, whose hands he boundwith her neck-rib-bon, and then forced her upon the ground. I can nottell why I was self-contained enough not to shoot him dead, but I hadnever drawn trigger against a human life, and I hesitated until he gavethese last proofs of his abominable villainy. At this point, however,I sprang from my covert, and with one blow from the butt-end of my gun,felled him to the ground, and then went to the assistance of the youngwoman, who had fallen fainting at some little distance upon the sod. Iraised her gently in my arms, and carried her to the side of a brook,where I bathed her face with the cool, running water, until she openedher lovely eyes and faintly smiled her thanks, for, as she gazed around,a look of relief passed over her features, when she perceived theabsence of her persecutor. Then rising, she expressed, in a few words,her gratitude for my intervention, saying she was sufficiently recoveredto return to the village, and bade me farewell, but seeing she was stillagitated, I begged her to allow me to conduct her to her home. She gavea modest assent, and I walked in happy and respectful silence till wereached the entrance to the village, where she stopped, and pointing toa small but pretty dwelling, said, 'That is my father's house; I havenothing more now to fear, so I will bid you a grateful adieu.' Raisingher hand to my lips, I kissed it fervently, saying, I hoped to have thepleasure of meeting her soon again, under calmer circumstances, for Iwas completely enchanted by her grace and beauty, and felt I could nolonger be happy out of her presence.
"I remained to watch her enter her abode before I turned to seek myhorse, which I found neighing impatiently at my prolonged absence.Through some acquaintances in the village, I learned the name of herwhom I had been the means of saving from violence, and learned to mydisappointment and horror that she was the priest's niece. Day afterday I found some pretext for passing through the village, that Imight obtain a glimpse of Alba, for that was her name; and twice I wasfortunate enough to meet her and exchange a few words. I did not speakto her of love, but I felt she knew my passion for her, and was learningto return it.
"The priest, burning with rage at the thought of his infamy beingnot only frustrated by me but made known to the father of the maiden,resolved to be revenged. Being reproved by the old man for his brutalconduct, and threatened with public exposure unless he absented himselffor a long time, until he should have thoroughly repented of hisintended crime, the priest fell upon the old man, and with one blowfrom a mallet crushed in his skull. Then, fearing the consequences, hecarried the dead body into the courtyard, and, placing it upon its backnear a ragged stone, left it there, and retired to bed, leaving hisneighbors to suppose, when the corpse was discovered in the morning,that the old man had fallen down in a fit, and striking his head againstthe stone pavement, had thus met with his death."
What matters a crime to a priest, if he can cover it? He had committeda gross lie by calling himself the minister of God, and now he tookadvantage of the easy ignorance of his neighbors to conceal a stillgrosser crime.
Those of his profession use double dealing all their lives.' A priestknows himself to be an impostor, unless he be a fool, or have beentaught to lie from his boyhood, so that as he advances in years, hebecomes not even able any longer to dissociate the false and the true.Whilst he lives in comfort, he makes the credulous multitude believehe suffers hardships and privations. Poor priest! Well do we rememberseeing in America a painting representing one of the cloth seated at adining-table spread with all kinds of viands and a flagon of wine, inthe act of caressing his plump and rosy Perpetua, who was seated at hisside; and, meanwhile, outside the door stood a poor Irishman with hiswife and baby. All three were wan, emaciated, and miserably clad, yetthe husband was dropping a coin into the priest's box, on which waswritten, "Give of your charity to the poor priest of God." Infamousmockery! On the one hand there was enjoyment, hypocrisy, and lying; onthe other, ignorance, credulity, and innocent misery.
"One evening," continued Gasparo, "I was sitting in my hut, feelingrather weary after a long day's hunt, thinking of Alba, and dreading,from what she had told me, that some catastrophe might be impending,when the door flew open, and the object of my thoughts rushed inexclaiming, 'Murder! Murder!' and fell insensible upon the floor."
Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century Page 48
