"Death to no one!" replied the General to the crowd from the balcony, in answer to their cry.
"Death to no one! Yet none are worthier of death than this villainous sect, which for private ends, disguised as religious, has made Italy 'the land of the dead,' a burial-ground of greatness! Beccaria! thy doctrines are true and right. The shedding of blood is impious. But I know not if Italy will ever be able to free herself from those who tyrannize over her soul and body without annihilating them with the sword for pruning-hook, even to the last branch!"
These reflections passed through the mind of the man of the people, although he rebuked the populace. Meanwhile, those of them who had not wholly heard the words uttered by Garibaldi from the balcony, but only the cry of "death!" which thousands of excited voices had re-echoed—those of the people, we repeat, who were farthest off from the General and near the palace of the Patriarch, advanced like the flood of a torrent precipitating itself from a mountain, and attacked the prelate's abode, overturning all obstacles opposed to their fury. In a few minutes every saloon, every room in this fine building was invaded, and through the windows all those religious idols with which the priests so unblushingly deceive the people were seen flying in all directions.
Many artists and lovers of the beautiful would have lamented and cried, "Scandal! sacrilege!" at the destruction of such works of art. And truly, many very rare and precious master-pieces, under the form of saint or Madonna or Bambino, were broken to pieces and utterly ruined in this work of destruction.
Amongst the cunning acts of the priesthood, wealthy as they have been made by the stupidity of the "faithful," has ever been that of employing the most illustrious artists to portray and dignify their legends. Hence the Michael Angelos and the Raphaels of all periods were lavishly supported by them, and the people, who might have become persuaded of the foolishness of their credulity, and of the impostures of the new soothsayers of Rome, continued to respect the idols of their tyrants by reason of Italian instincts, because these were master-pieces of noble work.
But is not the first master-piece of a people liberty and national dignity?
And all those wonders of art, although wonders, if they perpetuate with an evil charm our servility, our degradation—oh! would it not be better for them to be sent to the infernal regions? However, be they precious or worthless works, the people were overturning them and throwing them out upon the pavement that night.
And the Patriarch? Woe to him if he had fallen into the hands of the enraged multitude!
But their sacred skin is dear to those descendants of the apostles! Champions of the faith they may be, but not martyrs. Of martyrdom those rosy-faced prelates wish to know nothing themselves if they can avoid it. His Eminence, at the first outbreak of popular indignation, had vanished, gaining, by a secret door, one of his gondolas, in which he escaped in safety.
In the mean time, the cry of the Recluse,