On the morning after the insurrection a great many persons had gathered

at the entrance of this prison. Old men, who were lame or sick or nearly

blind, stood by a dead wall which divides the street from the Tiber, and

looked on with dazed and vacant eyes. Younger men nearer the entrance

read the proclamations posted up on the pilasters. One of these was the

proclamation of the Prefect announcing the state of siege; another was

the proclamation of the Royal Commissioner calling on citizens to

consign all the arms in their possession to the Chief of Police under

pain of imprisonment.

In the entrance-hall there was a crowd of women, each carrying a basket

or a bundle in a handkerchief. They were young and old, dressed

variously as if from different provinces, but nearly all poor, untidy,

and unkempt.

An iron gate was opened, and an officer, two soldiers, and a warder came

out to take the food which the women had brought for their relatives

imprisoned within. Then there was a terrible tumult. "Mr. Officer,

please!" "Please, Mr. Officer!" "Be kind to Giuseppe, and the saints

bless you!" "My turn next!" "No, mine!" "Don't push!" "You're pushing

yourself!" "You're knocking the basket out of my hands!" "Getaway!" "You

cat! You...."

"Silence! Silence! Silence!" cried the officer, shouting the women down,

and meantime the men in the street outside curled their lips and tried

to laugh.

Into this wild scene, full of the acrid exhalations of human breath, and

the nauseating odour of unclean bodies, but moved, nevertheless, by the

finger of God Himself, the cab which brought Roma to see Bruno

discharged her at the prison door.

The officer on the steps saw her over the heads of the women with their

outstretched arms, and judging from her appearance that she came on

other business, he called to a Carabineer to attend to her.

"I wish to see the Director," said Roma.

"Certainly, Excellency," said the Carabineer, and with a salute he led

the way by a side door to the offices on the floor above.

The Governor of Regina C[oe]li was a middle-aged man with a kindly face,

but under the new order he could do nothing.

"Everything relating to the political prisoners is in the hands of the

Royal Commissioner," he said.

"Where can I see him, Cavaliere?"

"He is with the Minister of War to-day, arranging for the military

tribunals, but perhaps to-morrow at his office in the Castle of St.

Angelo...."




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