"The
weather is clearing up now, and as I have nothing better to do, I will
accompany you in your stroll down to his house." This was agreed on; so, putting on our hats, we found ourselves once
more among the dirty streets, until we reached the house of the
_vetturino_. Here we found him in front of his own door, surrounded by a
crowd of eager peasants, who were listening with avidity to the recital
of his adventures. "_Buon giorno, Signor Arciprete_," said Luigi, raising his hat as we
approached. "_Buon giorno, Luigi_," responded the arch-priest. "There is a strange
tale current in the village about you and your passengers having been
robbed on the high road. Can it be true." "Perfectly true, Reverenza," was the reply. "Only the night before last
we were assaulted by at least a dozen banditti armed to the teeth, and
my passengers, six of whom were English gentlemen, along with myself." "Stay," said the arch-priest. "You are perfectly sure there were a dozen
of them?" "A dozen at the very least, your Reverence, I could swear." "Tell me," said the arch-priest, "did you see Antonio the prisoner
amongst them." "Antonio?" inquired the _vetturino_, in extreme surprise. "Ay," replied the arch-priest. "He that hath been accused of robbing the
church and is now at Gennazzano awaiting his trial. You will have heard
the tale by this time." "I certainly did hear a wonderful story, Reverenza, but did not know how
far to credit it," replied the _vetturino_. "The night was very dark and
I could recognise no faces. "But, _Corpi di Bacco_! Antonio! Why I always considered Antonio as an
honest man, a simple _vignauolo_ who earned his bread by the sweat of
his brow, and whom, for his steady plodding, the saints had awarded by
granting him a better share of this world's goods than most of his
fellows." "Ay, ay," said several bystanders at once, "we all thought so, too,
Signor Arciprete. Still, what we all saw with our own eyes, only
yesterday morning, made us change our opinion." The arch-priest looked thoughtful, and then enquired of Luigi if he knew
anything of Peppe, the man who had been raised from the dead. "Peppe!" exclaimed the _vetturino_, laughing, "ay, do I, and a greater
rascal never walked God's earth. That is why I was so cautious in
believing a story in which Peppe the goatherd was mixed up. I never yet
heard any tale in which he figured but had some devilry at the bottom of
it." "You do not believe, then, in the miracle?" "Not upon such testimony," replied Luigi. "I should believe _you_,
Signor Arciprete, if you had seen it with your own eyes," he added,
respectfully. "All I can declare is," replied the priest, "that I saw the man Peppe,
apparently dead, and decked out as a corpse, placed within the church
upon his bier, and the morning after, as I entered the church to say
mass, I saw him as alive as ever again, still in his shroud, and
appearing to dispute the treasure with Antonio. As for the rest, it was
communicated to me by Ricardo, my sacristan. Do you know Ricardo?" "I do," replied Luigi, in a tone of deep meaning. "Well," said the arch-priest, "what do you think of him?" "Well, Signor Arciprete," said the _vetturino_, hesitatingly, "as he is
your sacristan, perhaps you would not like to hear _what_ I think of
him." "Speak out, man," said the arch-priest. "If I find him unworthy of his
post, I shall discharge him. Come, now, what do you know about him?" "Since your Reverence presses me," replied the _vetturino_, "I must
confess that I have found him to be just such another scamp as Peppe the
goatherd, if not worse, and, in spite of all his mock piety, I have
found him to be as cunning a knave as I know for miles round. Grasping
as an eagle, wily as a serpent, and withal as poor spirited as a hare,
seeking to cover his knavery with the cloak of religion; imagining that
no one can see through his hypocrisy." "You surprise me," exclaimed the arch-priest; "but what proof have you
of his knavery?" "Well, in the first place," replied the _vetturino_, "he is in debt with
almost every man in the village, myself among the number, and not in one
instance has he been known to repay what he has borrowed. I have pressed
him over and over again, but he always sneaks out of it by some lame
excuse, even when I know he has been able to pay me. He wanted to marry
my sister once, because he thought there was a little money to be had,
but when he spoke to my mother about her dowry, and received for reply
that she did not intend to give her daughter to one who sought her for
her dowry, and that he who would marry her must support her himself, he
very soon slunk off. Not that I'd have given my consent to such a
scarecrow marrying my sister, even if he _had_ been less grasping. Then,
would you believe it, your Reverence, he actually had the impudence to
insult my sister when he encountered her alone, as he thought, in the
campagna. He little knew that I was only a short distance behind. I came
upon him unawares in time to overhear part of his impertinent
conversation, and I gave him such a thrashing as will make him remember
Luigi the _vetturino_ as long as he lives. "Then, there is no doubt that it was he who picked the pocket of poor
old Matteo when he happened to be drunk; everybody believes that,
besides several other dirty tricks that I will not weary your patience
by relating, though I could if I would. As for cheating at cards, he is
quite an adept, and yet, with all this, he walks with his eyes
hypocritically fixed on the ground, counting his beads and crossing
himself, as if he were a very saint. But he doesn't take _me_ in, your
Reverence, however he may impose on our simple peasantry, for when a man
is a _vetturino_, he sees other towns besides his own, and gets to know
people of all sorts. I have been in Rome, and have picked up a thing or
two." "Well, enough for the present, Luigi," said the arch-priest. "I will
enquire into this matter; meanwhile I intend to take a stroll with this
gentleman. Till we meet again," and he waved his hand to the
_vetturino_. "A rivederla, Signor Arciprete," responded Luigi, raising his hat
respectfully. "You see now," said I to my friend, as we strolled together from the
narrow streets into one of the main roads, "that there is some evidence
to support my view of the case. I never did think much of your
sacristan; his face was enough for me, but after the evidence you have
just heard, methinks you would do well to rid yourself of such an
ornament to your church." "It is odd," replied my friend, "that I never suspected him of being
that sort of character. On the contrary, I thought him a most exemplary
young man. It is not long ago since he informed me of his ardent desire
to enter holy orders." "A fine priest he'd make!" said I, laughing. "The church has no need of
him, for there are too many of his sort among your priesthood already. Not that he wouldn't be popular," I added, soothingly.