Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II

by M. Y. Halidom

"Well, well, my good woman," said I; "but these are all trifles. Can you give me no great cure that he has effected, such as giving sight to the blind, causing the lame to walk, the dumb to speak, the deaf to hear, and the like?"

"One blind man came to be cured," replied my hostess; "but he, so Peppe said, had not sufficient faith, so of course no cure could be effected. It was the same with a cripple who had a withered arm, a man who had the small-pox, as well as several others. He said he could do nothing with them, as they were wanting in faith."

"I thought as much," said I. "All those whom he could not induce to believe were cured, he sent away as not having sufficient faith—the wily rascal! Now, my good woman, I really do wonder at your placing faith in such trash. If you knew as much about Peppe's character as I do, you would very soon cease to look upon him as a saint. Besides, what are the diseases you tell me he has cured? Headaches, jumps, nervousness, low spirits, want of appetite, etc.—trifles all of them.

"He was supposed by all to have been miraculously raised from the dead, and they therefore concluded that he must have been a holy man, for such a miracle ever to have been wrought upon him, and being so esteemed, they at once jumped at the conclusion that he was gifted with power to work miracles. Accordingly, all the scum of the village turns out and follows him, placing implicit faith in his power to cure them of their half imaginary complaints. They receive his touch, pay their money, and their imagination worked upon, they fancy themselves healed. This is the secret of all his boasted success, for you say yourself that in all those cases that were worth healing he signally failed."

"Be that as it may, Signor," replied the woman, "you will hardly pretend to account for the miracle wrought upon Peppe himself in that manner. How could a man be raised from the dead by imagination? I don't see how."

"You don't? Then I will tell you; listen."

I here proceeded to retail the account of Peppe's feigned decease in order to escape paying his debt of three pauls; the entrance of the brigands into the church with the spoil, since proved to have been robbed from six English travellers and others who were making their way towards Rome on that very night; the dividing of the spoil upon the altar, and the diamond ring that remained over, with which one of the brigands dexterously succeeded in startling Peppe out of the sleep into which he had fallen, by hitting him on the nose, and finally, the confusion of the brigands at the sight of what they supposed to be a resuscitated corpse.

I also related how they had abandoned the treasure in their flight, and how Peppe, taking advantage of his position, proceeded to gather together the said treasure, intending to keep it all for himself. How Antonio at this moment burst from his hiding place in the confessional, whither he had resorted in order to satisfy himself whether his friend's death were genuine or spurious. How both of them disputed the treasure, how they agreed to divide it equally, and how the diamond ring became a bone of contention. How they were surprised by the sacristan early the next morning. The sacristan's avarice, revenge, and hypocrisy. I dilated on the story, not omitting the minutest particular, and winding up with the subsequent conversion of the brigands, and letting her know upon what authority I had come to the knowledge of these facts.

The discomfiture of my hostess at hearing her darling miracle explained away by natural causes, and those, too, of so ridiculous a nature, was truly pitiable. I believe, in her heart, she wished that I had never put up at her inn, so that I might not have dispelled the sweet illusion.

Not many days after my hostess had become convinced of the spuriousness of her once cherished miracle, the brigand-catchers returned after their fruitless search, but being put upon the right scent immediately on their return, they set off at once to the convent, where they commanded the monks, in the name of the law, to deliver up the prisoners. It was, however, too late. The brigands in the meantime had written a full confession of their crime to the Pope, with an account of the miracle and of their sudden determination, in consequence, of leading holy lives for the future, and had received from His Holiness pardon and absolution, on condition that they should follow out their virtuous intentions.