Though a little removed from the Calabrian mountaineers, and reclining
against the marble walls of the church, he evidently belonged to the
same company; at least, so his attire seemed to indicate, though the
noble cast of his countenance was far superior to that of his comrades. He was an old man, with a face of the fine antique Roman stamp--a bold
outline of prominent nose, rugged and imperious brow, and proudly-cut
chin. His head and chin, as well as his naked breast, were frosted over
with the snowy honours of many winters, and their hoar appearance
contrasted strikingly with the tawny hue of a skin almost as dark and as
lustrous as polished oak. Peasant as he was, there was something of
grandeur and majesty in this old man's demeanour and physiognomy. His
head declined backwards, so as completely to expose his long and
muscular throat. His arms hung listlessly by his side; one hand drooped
upon the pavement, the other was placed within his breast: his eyes were
closed. The old man's garb was of the coarsest fabric; he wore little
beyond a shirt, a loose vest, a sort of sheep-skin cloak, and canvas
leggings bound around with leathern thongs. His appearance, however, was
above his condition; he became his rags as proudly as a prince would
have become his ermined robe. The more I scrutinised the rigid lines of this old man's countenance,
the more I became satisfied that many singular, and perhaps not wholly
guiltless, events were connected with his history. The rosary was in his
hand--the cross upon his breast--the beads were untold--the crucifix
unclasped--no breath of prayer passed his lips. His face was turned
heavenward, but his eyes were closed,--he dared not open them. Why did
he come thither, if he did not venture to pray? Why did he assume a
penitential attitude, if he felt no penitence? So absorbed was I in the perusal of the workings of this old man's
countenance, as to be scarcely conscious that the service of high mass
was concluded, and the crowd within the holy pile fast dispersing. The
music was hushed, the robed prelates and their train had disappeared,
joyous dames were hastening along the marble aisles to their equipages;
all, save a few kneeling figures near the chapels, were departing; and
the old man, aware, from the stir and hum prevailing around, that the
ceremonial was at an end, arose, stretched out his arm to one of his
comrades, a youth who had joined him, and prepared to follow the
concourse. Was he really blind? Assuredly not. Besides, he did not walk like as one
habituated to the direst calamity that can befall our nature. He
staggered in his gait, and reeled to and fro. Yet wherefore did he not
venture to unclose his eyes within the temple of the Most High? What
would I not have given to be made acquainted with his history! For I
felt that it must be a singular one. I might satisfy my curiosity at once. He was moving slowly forward,
guided by his comrade. In a few seconds it would be too late--he would
have vanished from my sight. With hasty footsteps I followed him down
the church, and laid my hand, with some violence, upon his shoulder. The old man started at the touch, and turned. Now, indeed, his eyes were
opened wide, and flashing full upon me,--and such eyes! Heretofore I had
only dreamed of such. Age had not quenched their lightning, and I
quailed beneath the fierce glances which he threw upon me. But if I was,
at first, surprised at the display of anger which I had called forth in
him, how much more was I astonished to behold the whole expression of
his countenance suddenly change. His eyes continued fixed upon mine as
if I had been a basilisk. Apparently he could not avert them; while his
whole frame shivered with emotion. I advanced towards him; he shrank
backwards, and, but for the timely aid of his companion, would have
fallen upon the pavement. At a loss to conceive in what way I could have occasioned him so much
alarm, I rushed forward to the assistance of the old man, when his
son--for such it subsequently appeared he was--rudely repelled me, and
thrust his hand into his girdle, as if to seek for means to prevent
further interference. Meanwhile the group had been increased by the arrival of a third party,
attracted by the cry the old man had uttered in falling. The new-comer
was an Italian gentleman, somewhat stricken in years; of stern and
stately deportment, and with something sinister and forbidding in his
aspect. He was hastening towards the old man, but he suddenly stopped,
and was about to retire when he encountered my gaze. As our eyes met he
started; and a terror, as sudden and lively as that exhibited by the old
man, was at once depicted in his features. My surprise was now beyond all bounds, and I continued for some moments
speechless with astonishment. Not a little of the inexplicable awe which
affected the old man and the stranger was communicated to myself. Altogether, we formed a mysterious and terrible triangle, of which each
side bore some strange and unintelligible relation to the other. The new-comer first recovered his composure, though not without an
effort. Coldly turning his heel upon me, he walked towards the old man,
and shook him forcibly. The latter shrank from his grasp, and
endeavoured to avoid him; but it was impossible. The stranger whispered
a few words in his ear, of which, from his gestures being directed
towards myself, I could guess the import. The old man replied. His
action in doing so was that of supplication and despair. The stranger
retorted in a wild and vehement manner, and even stamped upon the
ground; but the old man still continued to cling to the knees of his
superior. "Weak, superstitious fool!" at length exclaimed the stranger, "I will
waste no more words upon thee. Do, or say, what thou wilt; but beware!" And spurning him haughtily back with his foot, he strode away. The old man's reverend head struck against the marble floor. His temple
was cut open by the fall, and blood gushed in torrents from the wound. Recovering himself, he started to his feet--a knife was instantly in his
hand, and he would have pursued and doubtless slain his aggressor, if he
had not been forcibly withheld by his son, and by a priest who had
joined them. "_Maledizione!_" exclaimed the old man--"a blow from _him_--from _that_
hand! I will stab him, though he were at the altar's foot; though he had
a thousand lives, each should pay for it. Release me, Paolo! release me! for, by Heaven, he dies!" "Peace, father!" cried the son, still struggling with him. "Thou art not _my_ son, to hinder my revenge!" shouted the enraged
father. "Dost not see this blood--_my_ blood--thy father's blood?--and
thou holdest me back! Thou shouldst have struck him to the earth for the
deed--but he was a noble, and thou daredst not lift thy hand against
him!" "Wouldst thou have had me slay him in this holy place?" exclaimed Paolo,
reddening with anger and suppressed emotion.