There is, I think, no city in the world where Pilate's question, "What is
truth?" would be so hard to answer as in Rome. In addition to the
ordinary difficulties which everywhere beset the path of the foreigner in
search of knowledge, there are a number of obstacles peculiar and special
to Rome alone.
The whole policy of the government is directed towards maintaining the
country in a state of isolation, towards drawing, in fact, a moral
_cordon sanitaire_ round the Papal dominions. Indeed, if one lived long
in Rome, one would get to doubt the reality of anything. When I last
came to Rome straight from Tuscany, seething in the turmoil of its new-
bought liberties, I could hardly believe that only six months ago there
had been war in Italy within two hundred miles from the Papal city, that
the fate of Italy still hung trembling in the balance, and that the chief
province of the country was still in open revolt against its rulers.
There was no sign, no trace, scarce a symptom even of what had passed or
was passing in the world without. We all seemed spellbound in a dull,
dead, dreary circle. There were no advertisements in the streets, except
of devotional works for the coming season of Lent; no pamphlets or books
placed in the booksellers' windows, which by their titles even implied
the existence of the war and the revolution; no prints for sale of the
scenes of the campaign, or the popular heroes of the day. This was the
normal state of Rome, such as I had seen it in former years. Later on,
indeed, either the force of events, or a change in the counsels of the
Vatican, induced the Papacy to drop the defensive passive attitude which
constituted its real strength, and to adopt an active offensive policy,
which served rather to show the greatness of the dreaded danger than to
avert its occurrence. Still the increased animation, though perceptible
enough to a Roman, appeared to a stranger but a step above absolute
stagnation. I never could get over my astonishment at our utter
ignorance of what went on around and amongst us. About the state of
affairs in our two neighbouring countries, whether in free Tuscany or in
despotic Naples, we were entirely in the dark. What little news we got
was derived from chance reports of stray travellers, or from the French
and English newspapers. The _Giornale di Roma_ gave us now and then a
damnatory paragraph about the Tuscan Government, from which, out of a
mass of vituperation, we could pick up an odd fact or so; but during the
first four months of this year, throughout which period I perused the
_Giornale_ pretty carefully, I do not remember to have seen a single
allusion, good, bad or indifferent, to the kingdom of Naples. The Tuscan
papers were naturally enough forbidden, as are almost all the journals of
the free Italian states, and could only be obtained by private hands. The
Neapolitan Gazette, the _Monitore del Regno delle Due Sicilie_, was never
seen by any chance, though I cannot suppose its circulation was directly
interdicted. The communication between Rome and Naples was, and is,
scanty in the extreme. During the last ten years, about ten miles of the
Pio-Centrale Railroad, the Neapolitan line, have been opened. At present
beyond Albano the works are entirely at a stand-still, and there are
still some thirty miles of line, between Rome and the frontier, of which
hardly a sod has been turned. The Civita Vecchia line has only been
completed in consequence of the pressure of the French authorities, and
the Ancona-Florence line is still in _statu quo_. Three times a week
there are diligences between Rome and Naples. The local steam-boats,
which used to run along the coast from Porto d'Anzio to the Neapolitan
capital have been given up, and in fact there is no ready means of
transit, save by the foreign steamers, which touch at Civita Vecchia.
Whether purposely or not, everything has been done to check free
communication between the Papal and Neapolitan States, and in this
respect the Government has been eminently successful. The two countries
are totally distinct. A Neapolitan is a _forestiere_ in Rome, and _vice
versa_. The _divide et impera_ has been the motto of all the petty
Italian despots and of the Papacy in particular, and hitherto has proved
successful. Even now, as far as I could see and learn, the desire for
Italian unity does not penetrate very low down. It is the desire, I
freely grant, of all the best and wisest Italians, but scarcely, I
suspect, the wish of the Italian people. In truth, Italy at this moment
is very much what Great Britain would be, if Scotland, Ireland, Wales and
the States of the Saxon Heptarchy had remained to this day separate petty
kingdoms, ruled by governments who fostered and developed every local and
sectional jealousy. The broad fact, that for some weeks at Rome we were
in utter ignorance whether there had been a revolution or not in the
capital of the frontier kingdom, not thirty miles away, and should have
been quite surprised if we had learnt anything about the matter, is a
sufficient commentary on our state of isolation.
This artificial isolation too is increased by a sort of general apathy
and almost universal ignorance, which are characteristic of all classes
in Rome. How far this intellectual apathy is caused by, or causes, the
material isolation of the city, would be a curious question to determine.
The existence, however, of this fact, which none acquainted with Rome
will question, constitutes one of the chief difficulties in ascertaining
accurate information about facts. The most intelligent and the most
liberal amongst the Romans (the two terms are there synonymous) never
seem to know the value of positive facts, and even in matters susceptible
of proof prefer general statements. Then, too, the absence of social
meetings, or means of intercourse, is one of the most striking features
about Roman society. There is no public life, no current literature,
little even of free conversation. Of course, among the English and
foreign residents there are plenty of parties and gaieties of every kind.
At these parties you meet a few Anglicised Italians, who have picked up a
little of our English language and a good deal of our English dress. The
nobility of Rome who come into contact with the higher class of English
travellers give a good number of formal receptions, but amongst the
middle and professional classes there is very little society at all. The
summer is the season for what society there is, but even then there is
but little. There are no saloons in the Roman theatres, and the
miserable refreshment-rooms, with their bars even more shabby and worse
provided than our English ones, are, as you may suppose, not places of
meeting. Even at the Opera there seemed to be little visiting in the
boxes. With the exception of the strangers' rooms, there are no reading-
rooms or clubs in Rome, if I may exclude from this category a miserable
_Gabinetto di Lettura_, chiefly frequented by priests, and whose current
_lettura_ consisted of the _Tablet_, the _Univers_, the _Armonia_, and
the _Courier des Alpes_. The only real places of meeting, or focuses of
news, are the cafes. At best, however, they are _triste_, uncomfortable
places. There is no cafe in all Rome equal to a second-rate one in an
ordinary French provincial town. There are few newspapers, little domino
playing, and not much conversation. The spy system is carried to such an
extent here, that even in private circles the speakers are on their guard
as to what they say, and still more as to what they repeat. As an
instance of this, I may mention a case that happened to me personally. On
the morning before the demonstrations at the Porta Pia a Roman gentleman,
with whom I was well acquainted, wished to give me information of the
proposed meeting, of which, it happened, I was well aware; but though we
were alone in a room together, the nearest approach on which my friend
ventured to a direct information, which might be considered of a
seditious character, was to tell me that I should find the Porta Pia road
a pleasant walk on an afternoon.
In fact, paradoxical as the assertion may appear, you learn more about
Rome from foreigners than from natives. Unfortunately, such information
as you may acquire in this way is almost always of a suspicious
character. Almost every one in Rome judges of what he sees or hears
according, in German phrase, to some stand-point of his own, either
political or artistic or theological, as the case may be. As to the
foreign converts, it is only natural that, as in most cases they have
sacrificed everything for the Papal faith, they should therefore look at
everything from the Papal point of view. If, however, they abuse and
despise the Romans on every occasion, it is some satisfaction to reflect
that the Romans lose no opportunity of despising or abusing them in turn.
English Liberals who see a good deal of Roman society, see it, I think,
under too favourable circumstances, and also attach undue importance to
the wonderful habit all Italians have of saying as their own opinion
whatever they think will be pleasing to their listener. On the other
hand, the persons who are best qualified to judge of Rome, the ordinary
residents of long standing, who care little about Italy and less about
the Pope, are, I fancy, unduly influenced by the advantages of their
exceptional position. There are few places in the world where a
stranger, especially an English stranger, is better off than in Rome. As
a rule, he has perfect liberty to do and say and write what he likes, and
almost inevitably he gets to think that a government which is so lenient
a one for him cannot be a very bad one for its own subjects. The cause,
however, of this exceptional lenity is not hard to discover. Much as we
laugh at home about the _Civis Romanus_ doctrine, abroad it is a very
powerful reality. Whether rightly or wrongly, foreign governments are
afraid of meddling with English subjects, and act accordingly. Then,
too, Englishmen as a body care very little about foreign politics, and
are known to live almost entirely among themselves abroad, and seldom to
interfere in the concerns of foreigners; and lastly, I am afraid that the
moral influence of England, of which our papers are so fond of boasting,
is very small indeed on the continent generally, and especially in Italy.
All the articles the _Times_ ever wrote on Italian affairs did not
produce half the effect of About's pamphlet or Cavour's speeches. I am
convinced that the influence of English newspapers in Italy is most
limited. The very scanty knowledge of the English language, and the
utter want of comprehension of our English modes of thought and feeling,
render an English journal even more uninteresting to the bulk of Italians
than an Italian one is to an Englishman; and the Roman rulers are well
aware of this important fact. Hard words break no bones, and the Vatican
cares little for what English papers say of it, and looks upon the
introduction of English Anti-Papal journals as part of the necessary
price to be paid for the residence of the wealthy heretics who refuse to
stop anywhere where they cannot have clubs and churches and papers of
their own. The expulsion of M. Gallenga, the _Times_ correspondent, was
in reality no exception to this policy. It was not as the correspondent
of an English newspaper, but as an ex-Mazzinian revolutionist and the
author of _Fra Dolcino_, that this gentleman was obnoxious to the Papal
authorities. Though a naturalized English subject, he had not ceased to
be an Italian, and his personal influence amongst Roman society might
have been considerable, though the effect of his English correspondence,
however able, would have been next to nothing.
From all these causes it is very hard to learn anything at Rome, and
harder yet to learn anything with accuracy. It is only by a process of
elimination you ever arrive at the truth. Out of a dozen stories and
reports you have to take one, or rather part of one, and to reject the
eleven and odd remaining. It has been my object, therefore, in the
following descriptions of the scenes which marked the period of my
residence in Rome, to give as much as possible of what I have known and
seen myself, and as little of what I heard and learnt from others. What
my narrative may lose in vividness, it will, I trust, gain in accuracy.