words without
significance. But there was negro slavery. "How can that be in your
country?" he asked, and laughed ironically. "If all men are created free
and equal how about the negro?" he asked.

I went on to tell Serafino, that Thomas Jefferson, when drafting the
Declaration of Independence, had condemned George III who had forbidden
the American Colonies "to prohibit or restrain this execrable commerce";
but that the clause was stricken out by South Carolina and Georgia.
Therefore that the Declaration did not mean negroes when it said "all
men." Serafino looked at me with quiet, comprehending eyes which said:
"It's the same struggle of money and power everywhere." He added aloud:
"Italy will never eat free bread and have enough of it until the
Austrian is driven off our back. They make us work and take away our
labor in taxes. We are negroes too."

He wanted to know something of Garrison, of whom he had heard. What was
thought of Washington in America? But in the midst of these subjects he
would stop to point to a broken column, a ruined temple; or he would
turn suddenly into an old church to show me some beloved picture. After
all, the old life of street brawls, debates, and dungeons had faded out
of him with the dying of the rebellious fires of youth. There were only
echoes of these thunderous events in his soul. His eye only brightened
fully before a picture or a statue. His reverence arose only to some
perfection of color or of form.

Once he took me by a quick turn, as if by impulse, into an old church.
"There is a lovely Madonna here," he said. "Who painted it?" "Some pupil
of Raphael's perhaps." Serafino removed his hat and stood reverently
before this beautiful face, so human, so tender. "I have heard you say
so much against the Church, the Papacy--I thought you were not in the
Church," I said. "No, I am an atheist," replied Serafino. "But what has
that to do with this? Look at those eyes, those lips. In '48, when my
soul was torn, I used to come in here every day just for the consolation
of that face. And now I come for the memory and the peace it brings me."
Slow tears were on the lower lids of his eyes. With a rough hand he
brushed them away, then asked me: "What do you think?" "I love that
face," I replied. "I understand how you feel."

A friendship grew up between Serafino and me. He was not a perfunctory
guide. He never grew tired. When five o'clock would come and the day was
really ended I would s