CHAPTER XIV. SICCIO
Let us return to the year 1849, to the fatal scene in which the youngMuzio was robbed of his patrimony.
There was an old retainer named Siccio, already introduced, who hadserved 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 heregarded 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 tothe pernicious influence which Father Ignazio had acquired over hisindulgent mistress, and which he feared would be used to the injury ofher grandchild.
But the guardian of souls, the spiritual physician, the confessor of thelady of the house! what servant would dare openly to doubt him, or crosshis path? Confession, that terrible arm, of priestcraft, that diabolicaldevice for seduction, that subtle means of piercing the most sacreddomestic secrets, and keeping in chains the superstitious sex! Sicciodared not openly fight against such weapons.
The confessor was, however, aware of the good servant's mistrust, andtherefore caused him to be discharged a few days after the SignoraVirginia breathed her last, though not before he had overheard a certaindialogue 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 besafe enough from the evil of this perverted century and its hereticaldoctrines. Besides, we shall have no difficulty in keeping an eye uponhim," he continued, with a meaning look, which she returned, causingSiccio, who was unseen, to prick up his ears.
He straightway resolved not to leave the innocent and helpless childin the hands of these fiends, and contrived a few nights after hisdismissal to obtain an entrance to the house by the excuse that he hadleft some of his property behind. Watching his opportunity he stoleinto the nursery, where he found the neglected child huddled in a cornercrying with cold and hunger. Siccio, taking him in his arms, soothed himuntil he fell asleep, when he glided cautiously out of the house intothe street, and hired a conveyance to carry them to a lodging he hadpreviously engaged at some distance from the city. To elude suspicionand pursuit he had cunningly concealed the little Muzio in a bundleof clothes, and alighting from the vehicle before he arrived at hisdwelling, quietly unwound and aroused the child, who trotted at hisside, 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 rainsaround Rome by attending him in his researches. This knowledge, as hecould not take service as a domestic, on account of his unwillingness topart from the child, he determined to avail himself of, and so becomea regular cicerone. His pay for services in this capacity was so small,that he could with difficulty provide for himself and his little chargeeven the bare necessaries of existence. This mode of living he pursuedhowever for some years, until the infirmities of old age creeping uponhim, he found it harder than ever to procure food and shelter of thecommonest kind. What could he now do? He looked at Muzio's gracefulform, 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 sculptorswould rejoice to obtain such a model. The venture was made, and Sicciowas elated and gratified beyond measure at the admiration Muzio, now inhis fifteenth year, called forth from the patrons of Roman "models."
For a while they were enabled to live in comparative comfort. Siccio nowdared to reveal to him the secret of his birth, and the manner inwhich he had been despoiled, as the old man only suspected, of hisinheritance. Great was the indignation of the youth, and still greaterhis gratitude to the good Siccio, who had toiled so uncomplainingly forhim, but from this time he steadily refused to sit as a model. Work hewould, even menial work he did not despise, and he might have been seenfrequently in the different studios moving massive blocks of marble, forhis strength far exceeded that of other youths of his own age. He alsonow and then assumed the duties of a cicerone, when the aged Sicciowas unable to leave the house from sickness. His youthful beauty ofteninduced strangers to give him a gratuity; but as he was never seen tohold out his hand, the beggars of Rome called him ironically "Signor."
In spite of his efforts, Muzio was unable, as Siccio's feeblenessincreased, to provide for all their wants, and he became gloomy andmorose. One wonderful evening, when Siccio was sitting alone, shortlyafter Julia's adventure, a woman closely veiled entered his mean littleroom, 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 thedonor, or should you by chance learn it, let it be your own secret." Andthus, without giving the astonished old man time to recover his speech,she went out closing the door behind her.
Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century Page 15