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...."