CHAPTER XXI.

THE STORY OF A BRAVE BOY.

"In 1850," began Adrian Manfredi, "I was, with my elder brother Attilio, a schoolboy at home, in our father's house at Pistoja, and had no more idea then of becoming a seaman or a wanderer on the sea, than I have now of filling the chair of St. Peter.

"Our father was a sculptor; his studio was always filled with choice efforts in Tuscan and Carrara marble, in alabaster and chalcedony. He was a leading member of the Academia delle Belle Arti: but in that land of artists his means were small; hence our living was frugal and our house somewhat humble, because it was very old, being the same in which Pope Clement IX. was born.

"My brother Attilio was said to be as beautiful as an angel by all the mothers of Pistoja. Indeed, he was a very handsome little boy, and frequently served my father as a model; thus Attilio's figure appears in more than one of the groups which he contributed to the Great Exhibition at London in 1851.

"Versions of my brother's story have already, as I have stated, appeared in the English newspapers. I now propose to tell you mine.

"Pistoja, our native place, is a Tuscan town, situated amid a fertile country, at the base of the beautiful Apennines. In fancy I can see it still, with its carved cathedral of snowy Carrara marble; its convents and hospitals; its quaint streets of the middle ages; its old and crumbling walls, that were built by Didier, last king of the Lombards, and the clear blue waters of the Ombrone, bordered by chestnut groves, and lands that teem with corn, wine, and oil, all reddened in the setting sun, as I saw them last; and that feature, the blot and blight on all the rest, the accursed Austrian eagle, that floats above its ancient fortress.

"Yes, Pistoja, like too many other Italian towns, had or has an Austrian garrison, and, at the time I refer to--the first months of 1850--all Europe was filled with ardour, interest, and sympathy by the gallant stand made by the Hungarians, under Kossuth, and other chiefs, against their imperial oppressors; and nowhere did their victories and their downfall find a more ready echo than in the hearts of Italians.

"The boys of the Academia de Pistoja, which my brother Attilio and I attended--he was then twelve, and I but ten years of age--held a jubilee with others, on an evil day, when fresh tidings of some new battle came. We received a holiday. I went to fish in the Ombrone, and my brother returned home.

"When, chancing to pass near the palace of the Bishop of Pistoja, where the Austrian commandant, Colonel Count Rudolf de Veinrich, had quartered himself (after expelling our venerable prelate), Attilio saw a number of soldiers in what he considered the Hungarian uniform--brown tunics, embroidered and faced with red.

"When passing the first sentinel, Attilio lifted his little hat and cried:

"'Viva Kossuth! Viva Hongria!'

"'Viva!' replied the sentinel, whose comrades joined in the cry, adding:

"'Eviva--bravo Hongrie!'

"Thus emboldened, the rash boy continued to wave his hat and shout the name of Kossuth.

"'Come hither, boy,' cried the soldiers, in strange Italian; 'we wish to speak with you.'

"Attilio, believing that he beheld the countrymen of the Hungarian dictator, approached, but was instantly surrounded and seized, and then, to his astonishment, he found himself in the hands of a party of Croats, whose uniform, in his ignorance of such matters, the boy supposed to be Hungarian.

"They were proceeding to drag him into the guard-house, when Attilio, active and nimble, glided like an eel through their hands, sprang from an open window and escaped, but was closely pursued.

"Fearing to take shelter in our house, which would implicate our innocent parents, and insure their ruthless pillage, he left the town behind him, and fled, bareheaded, towards the woods. As it chanced, he came close to where I was fishing in the Ombrone.

"'Change jackets with me, Adrian!' he exclaimed, 'the Austrians are after me--change, but ask no questions.'

"We exchanged in a moment; my jacket was black, and his a bright green; thus, when he disappeared, the Croats came upon me. I uttered an involuntary cry of real terror as they seized me, and handled me very roughly before they discovered their mistake.

"Then I laughed at them, on which they spitefully broke my rod, and seized my fish basket, with its contents. A closer search was instituted for poor Attilio, and at night he was dragged from our dear mother's arms, and reconducted to the guardhouse, where he was brought before Count Rudolf de Veinrich, colonel of the Regiment de Radetzki.

"Knowing well the kind of hands he had fallen into, Attilio gave himself up for lost; yet he was brave as a lion; his courage never deserted him, and, in contempt of his captors, he spat upon the Austrian flag that hung over the guard-house door. Yet he wept, when in the dark, for the mother from whom he had been torn--the poor little boy of twelve happy years!

"I may mention that though, like the Italians, the Croats generally profess the Catholic religion, in the military portion of that semi-barbarous race there is a strong element of the Greek schism, and of this last was the Regiment de Radetzki composed. Its soldiers had all the worst qualities of the Croat; they were revengeful, deceitful, intemperate, prone to robbery, and officered by Germans, who, when in Tuscany, cared little to restrain their licentiousness.

"Their colonel, notwithstanding his title of count, was a man without family or friends, save such as position gave him, without kindly sympathy or common human feeling. His mother had been found speechless and dying near the new Scottish gate of Vienna, and she expired soon after in the Allgemeine Krankenhaus, or great infirmary of the city, leaving her child to the foundling hospital, by the name of Rudolf.

"Ten years after a person of rank, a prince of the Russian Empire, on searching the books of the said hospital, discovered in this foundling his own son, the mother being a hapless Polish woman, whom, he had deluded and abandoned; so the little Rudolf, on the payment of so many thousand ducats, became a count, and in time rose to the rank of colonel of Croats; and, as such, exercised the stern military laws of Austria with unexampled severity.

"On bringing my brother before him, the Croats charged Attilio with attempting to induce them to desert in the name of Kossuth; and then with defiling the flag of the Empire by spitting thereon.

"'Did he attempt to seduce you by money?' asked the colonel, with a frown on his face.

"'Yes, Herr Colonel,' replied a corporal named Schwartz, and he produced eighteen _quattrini_, which he had found in the pocket of my jacket, and which were in value about twopence British.

"On this the colonel, undeterred by the manly aspect of the beautiful little boy--for my brother Attilio was beautiful--struck him with his gloved hand, and with his sheathed sword, repeatedly.

"He then ordered him to be put into one of the dark, damp, and horrid dungeons of the old castle of Pistoja, where, among the rats, the toads, the gloom, and the cobwebs, the poor boy wept for his parents, and for me; wept in cold and forlorn misery, on some wet straw, near which a clay pitcher of water was placed.

"He had a stone whereon to rest his head if weary, and his right wrist was fettered by a chain to his left ankle.

"'Sono desolato! Sono perduto!' ('I am ruined! I am lost!') he kept repeating from time to time.

"Our father was crushed with grief, our mother was filled with wild despair, and I was stupefied!"

"And they dared to seize him thus?" exclaimed Mr. Basset, flushing with indignation like an honest John Bull, while vigorously polishing his forehead with his silk handkerchief; "a frightful outrage on the rights of the subject! Where were the police? Where was that great bulwark of liberty, the writ of _habeas corpus_?"

Manfredi smiled sadly, and replied:

"You forget that I am talking of Tuscany?"

"True, my dear sir, true; but go on."

"The poor boy!" said Ethel, mournfully.

"Those odious, hateful Austrians!" commented Rose.

"D----n them!" was the addendum of Captain Jack Phillips, while Manfredi resumed:

"In this horrible condition, crushed for a time in body and in soul, and drowned in tears, he remained, while all access was denied to him, even to our parents; but ultimately he was found by the good Padre Marraccini, who had come to visit the sick prisoners, and who, by chance or mistake, was shown by Corporal Schwartz into the atrocious dungeon where our poor little Attilio lay.

"Undeterred by the grim Croat, who carried a smoky lamp, the light of which scared the rats and toads, who were seen hurrying away to their dark and slimy recesses, the child leaped up with a cry of joy, and hastened towards the padre, who was our father's friend, but in hastening fell, for his chain was short, and cramped the action of his limbs.

"'Water, Padre Marraccini!' he exclaimed hoarsely, 'water; for I am dying of thirst, and they have _salted_ what is in that pitcher.'

"With great difficulty the commiserating padre procured him some water in the hollow of a broken bottle; the corporal would give nothing else, and it cut the poor boy's mouth, so that he drank his own blood, his tears, and the water together.

"'My mother, my father--are they well?' he asked.

"'Yes.'

"'It seems so long since I saw them--the day before yesterday when I went to school,' continued Attilio, weeping, with his head on the padre's shoulder. 'And Adrian, my brother--did they hurt him, for he changed jackets with me?'

"'Hush!' said the padre, glancing at the stolid Croat who stood by them, with a lamp flaring in one hand, and his drawn bayonet glittering in the other.

"'Get me out of this, Padre Marraccini; pray get me out of this place, and home to my mother. Oh, my mother! my mother!'

"'I will, dear Attilio, I will--that is if I can.'

"'I shall take courage. I shall be a man!'

"'Do, until I return from the commandant.'

"With dire forebodings in his heart, the poor old padre hastened to the count, whom he found seated at his wine, after dinner, with several Austrian officers, in the saloon of the bishop's palace.

"After enduring considerable annoyance--even insult--from the Croatian sentinels and German lackeys--insults which he endured with contempt, perhaps, rather than with meekness, and feeling himself the servant of a higher master than even the Emperor of Austria--he was admitted to an audience, and he begged--he dared not, in such a presence, demand--'the release of the child Attilio Manfredi, who had been seized by the soldiers of the garrison.'

"'Seized, Fra Marraccini, for attempting to seduce them by money to desert their colours, in the name of the rebel Magyar, Kossuth,' replied the count, sternly.

"'Term it as you please, Signor Excellenza. I implore you to allow me to restore him to his parents--his heart-broken mother especially.'

"'It cannot be; his case is not in my hands.'

"'In whose then?'

"'It has been remitted to the general-commanding at Prato.'

"'And the answer will come----'

"'About midnight,' interrupted the count, with a dark glance there was no misinterpreting. 'Enough, priest. You may go.'

"The poor priest felt his soul sink within him. Instead of seeking our parents, to whom, knowing the Austrians as he did, he could give no hope, he returned to the castle, and sought to prepare the unhappy child, my brother, for the fate, the great change, that was to follow.

"All day had elapsed without food passing the boy's mouth, and he was in such a state as to be incapable of swallowing the coarse cake which the priest had procured with difficulty from the Croatian guard.

"Attended by the corporal, named Schwartz, who remained persistently in the dungeon, holding a lamp, the priest sat on the damp stone, with Attilio on his knee; and resting his head caressingly on his shoulder, besought him to make his confession, in the fashion of our church--to speak in whispers, lest the Croat might overhear and mock them.

"But the confession of a boy--a mere child, so pure, so good, and sinless, could interest the soldier but little, and the youthful prisoner made it with charming artlessness; though his large dark eyes began to dilate with mournful anxiety, fear, and wonder, and then to sparkle with courage and sublime resignation, as Fra Marraccini spoke to him in earnest whispers of his spiritual state, beseeching him to think of hopes beyond the grave, of the Father he had in heaven as well as his father on earth, and of the Blessed Madonna, who was the mother of all good children.

"Then the little boy began to see clearly the terrible meaning of the priest, and though his heart yearned, and his tears fell fast when he thought of his poor mother who was on earth, and whom he never more should see, at length he became pacified, or worn out by emotion, and fell asleep in the arms of dear old Father Marraccini.

"So the hours stole on, Corporal Schwartz trimmed the lamp, growled and swore, tugged his obstinate moustache, and smoked his huge meerschaum, while the old priest, heedless of his impatience, read the prayers for the dying with the child asleep upon his knee.

"The galloping of a horse was heard, and the clank of a sabre, as an Austrian dragoon passed the grated window of the prison.

"'Poor Attilio!' groaned the priest.

"'Rouse the prisoner!' croaked the corporal, harshly, 'here comes the final order about him!'

"At that time the clock of the fortress struck midnight.

"Prato is only six miles from Pistoja, so the general there had not hurried himself.

"'They are not really going to kill me, Fra Marraccini, are they? Oh! my sweet mother! Oh! my dear father! and my little brother Adrian, too, shall I never see you any more?' exclaimed Attilio, as he was dragged out by the guard.

"'Remember what I have said and taught you," whispered the priest; 'take courage, and be a Christian.'

"'Yes, padre, and a Tuscan, too!' replied Attilio, as they were conducted from the dark passages and vaults of the ancient castle into one of the dry ditches, where the moon was shining in all her brilliance--yes, gloriously, as now she shines upon this tropical sea.

"There, between the high walls of the dry ditch, were several Austrian officers in their white uniforms, with long boots and black varnished helmets, surmounted by plumes or spikes, and double-headed eagles, and all apparently flushed with wine.

"Beyond them were twelve Croats under arms, drawn in a single rank across the ditch.

"'Corporal Schwartz,' said the count, as he opened a letter, 'unlock the prisoner's chains.'

"As they were taken off and flung rattling aside, the courage of Father Marraccini rose.

"Bareheaded before this imposing group, whose breasts were covered with imperial orders and medals, stood Attilio, with his dark eyes cast down, his crossed hands on his breast, humble, but courageous.

"'He looked so fair and handsome!' says the kind padre, in an account he wrote of this affair. 'The moonlight silvered him from head to foot, and made him look like an angel. The boy was very sad, but at the same time calm. No entreaty passed his lips to be allowed to look once more upon his parents' faces. All he said was, "Don't leave me any more--oh! see to what a pass they have brought me!"'

"'Priest, bring the boy forward,' said Count Rudolf, imperiously.

"Marracini did so, and so clear and bright was the moonlight, which poured aslant over the grand masses of the ancient castle of Pistoja, on the glittering arms of the ferocious-looking Croats, on the white uniforms and glittering accoutrements of the Austrian officers, and on the boy's pale face, that the count could read distinctly, as if at noon-day, the brief but pompous despatch of the general commanding at Prato.

"'Attilio Manfredi,' said he, 'listen! Your sentence has come hither in German, but I shall read it to you in Italian.'

"The boy bowed, played nervously with his hands, and said:

"'Dio il voglia, Signor Colonello--se piace a Dio!' ('God willing--if it please God!')

"'Attilio Manfredi,' resumed the tall Austrian, raising his voice with a hiccup at times, 'scholar of the Academy of Pistoja, son of Adrian Manfredi, sculptor, and member of the Academia delle Belle Arti, you have been accused and fully convicted of attempting, by bribery, to induce Corporal Carl Schwartz and Private Demetrius Spitzbübbel, with other soldiers of Veltmarshal Radetzki's Croatian Regiment, to desert the fatherly and benign service of his Imperial Majesty Ferdinand I., Emperor of Austria, King of Hungary, Bohemia, Lombardy, and Venice, Dalmatia, Crotia, Sclavonia, Galicia, Lodomeria, and Illyria----'"

"Dash my wig!" exclaimed Captain Phillips; "why did he omit the Cannibal Islands, and the Viceroy Whanky-fum?"

"Count Rudolf paused to draw breath, as well he might after such a mouthful of words; and again the fine large eyes of the boy dilated with wonder, at a list of names that sounded so strange and barbarous to his Tuscan ear.

"'Have you the courage to hear your sentence?'

"'Si, signore; the blessed Madonna, who is alike the mother of my mother and me, support me!'

"'She does, my son!' cried Marraccini, with enthusiasm.

"'Silence!' exclaimed the count. 'Prisoner--you are to be shot to death by a platoon of twelve men.'

"He deliberately folded the despatch and drew back.

"'The mother of God receive me!' murmured the poor boy; then he added, in a feeble voice, 'Father Marraccini, when it is all over--when I am dead--cut off three locks of my hair: one for my dear father, one for dear, dear mother, and one for my little brother Adrian.'

"Here Manfredi drew a locket from his breast and kissed it.

"'You will keep my crucifix for yourself, in memory of your little penitent, and say masses for his soul.'

"It was now the old priest's turn to weep, and he wept aloud, while the brave little Attilio had not a tear in his eye.

"Hoarse, and harsh, and rapid were the German words of command, and in less than three minutes, a volley of twelve rifles that rang like thunder on the still midnight, waking all the echoes of the fortress and of the silent streets of Pistoja, announced that all was over--that the great crime had been committed!

"In five minutes more Attilio was flung into a hasty grave dug in the ditch beneath the castle wall, quicklime was cast over him, and there, uncoffined and unconsecrated, the Croats covered him up.

"My poor little brother!

"My father and mother could not survive the shock of this atrocity. They both died soon after; I was left alone in the world, and, turning my back upon Pistoja, became a sailor and a wanderer.

"A wooden cross nailed on the castle wall, by tine kind hand of Fra Marraccina, marked the uncouth grave of my brother till 1860, when the ecclesiastical and civic authorities of Pistoja took heart, and, with many grand and empty ceremonies, exhumed his sad remains, and reinterred them in a coffin within the church of the Confraternita dei Dolori, where they now lie, and may they rest in peace![*]

[*] For the truth of this story, see the _Athenæum_ of 1860.

"Fra Marraccini, now Bishop of Pistoja, performed the funeral mass, and wrote me all about it when I was far away, a merchant seaman, in the Southern Pacific.. The good man sent me his blessing, and it reached me even there."

As he concluded, the Italian crossed himself, and stepped aside, as if to light a cigar; but Ethel Basset and others knew, by the tremor of his voice, that he had turned to hide his emotion.

"And this cruel colonel--this Austrian," she asked, "what became of him?"

"The curse that fell on Cain followed him. He died, not on a gallows, as he deserved, but fell beneath the Danish rifles, at the foot of the Dannewerke," replied Manfredi, with flashing eyes; "and now I am Christian enough to say: may he, too, rest in peace, even as my brother rests at Pistoja."