_Rome, Nov_. 16, 1848.--* * * Of other circumstances which complicate
my position I cannot write. Were you here, I would confide in you
fully, and have more than once, in the silence of the night, recited
to you those most strange and romantic chapters in the story of my sad
life. At one time when I thought I might die, I empowered a person,
who has given me, as far as possible to him, the aid and sympathy of
a brother, to communicate them to you, on his return to the United
States. But now I think we shall meet again, and I am sure you will
always love your daughter, and will know gladly that in all events she
has tried to aid and striven never to injure her fellows. In earlier
days, I dreamed of doing and being much, but now am content with the
Magdalen to rest my plea hereon, "_She has loved much_."
You, loved mother, keep me informed, as you have, of important facts,
_especially_ the _worst_. The thought of you, the knowledge of your
angelic nature, is always one of my greatest supports. Happy those who
have such a mother! Myriad instances of selfishness and corruption of
heart cannot destroy the confidence in human nature.
I am again in Rome, situated for the first time entirely to my mind.
I have but one room, but large; and everything about the bed so
gracefully and adroitly disposed that it makes a beautiful parlor, and
of course I pay much less. I have the sun all day, and an excellent
chimney. It is very high and has pure air, and the most beautiful view
all around imaginable. Add, that I am with the dearest, delightful
old couple one can imagine, quick, prompt, and kind, sensible and
contented. Having no children, they like to regard me and the Prussian
sculptor, my neighbor, as such; yet are too delicate and too busy ever
to intrude. In the attic, dwells a priest, who insists on making
my fire when Antonia is away. To be sure, he pays himself for his
trouble, by asking a great many questions. The stories below are
occupied by a frightful Russian princess with moustaches, and a
footman who ties her bonnet for her; and a fat English lady, with a
fine carriage, who gives all her money to the church, and has made for
the house a terrace of flowers that would delight you. Antonia has
her flowers in a humble balcony, her birds, and an immense black
cat; always addressed by both husband and wife as "Amoretto," (little
love!)
The house looks out on the Piazza Barberini, and I see both that
palace and the Pope's. The scene to-day has been one of terrible
interest. The poor, weak Pope has fallen more and more under the
dominion of the cardinals, till at last all truth was hidden from his
eyes. He had suffered the minister, Rossi, to go on, tightening the
reins, and, because the people preserved a sullen silence, he thought
they would bear it. Yesterday, the Chamber of Deputies, illegally
prorogued, was opened anew. Rossi, after two or three most unpopular
measures, had the imprudence to call the troops of the line to defend
him, instead of the National Guard. On the 14th, the Pope had invested
him with the privileges of a Roman citizen: (he had renounced his
country when an exile, and returned to it as ambassador of Louis
Philippe.) This position he enjoyed but one day. Yesterday, as he
descended from his carriage, to enter the Chamber, the crowd
howled and hissed; then pushed him, and, as he turned his head in
consequence, a sure hand stabbed him in the back. He said no word,
but died almost instantly in the arms of a cardinal. The act was
undoubtedly the result of the combination of many, from the dexterity
with which it was accomplished, and the silence which ensued. Those
who had not abetted beforehand seemed entirely to approve when done.
The troops of the line, on whom he had relied, remained at their
posts, and looked coolly on. In the evening, they walked the streets
with the people, singing, "Happy the hand which rids the world of a
tyrant!" Had Rossi lived to enter the Chamber, he would have seen the
most terrible and imposing mark of denunciation known in the history
of nations,--the whole house, without a single exception, seated on
the benches of opposition. The news of his death was received by the
deputies with the same cold silence as by the people. For me, I never
thought to have heard of a violent death with satisfaction, but this
act affected me as one of terrible justice.
To-day, all the troops and the people united and went to the Quirinal
to demand a change of measures. They found the Swiss Guard drawn out,
and the Pope dared not show himself. They attempted to force the door
of his palace, to enter his presence, and the guard fired. I saw a man
borne by wounded. The drum beat to call out the National Guard. The
carriage of Prince Barberini has returned with its frightened inmates
and liveried retinue, and they have suddenly barred up the court-yard
gate. Antonia, seeing it, observes, "Thank Heaven, we are poor, we
have nothing to fear!" This is the echo of a sentiment which will soon
be universal in Europe.
Never feel any apprehensions for my safety from such causes. There
are those who will protect me, if necessary, and, besides, I am on the
conquering side. These events have, to me, the deepest interest. These
days are what I always longed for,--were I only free from private
care! But, when the best and noblest want bread to give to the cause
of liberty, I can just not demand _that_ of them; their blood they
would give me.
You cannot conceive the enchantment of this place. So much I suffered
here last January and February, I thought myself a little weaned; but,
returning, my heart swelled even to tears with the cry of the poet:--
"O, Rome, _my_ country, city of the soul!"
Those have not lived who have not seen Rome. Warned, however, by the
last winter, I dared not rent my lodgings for the year. I hope I am
acclimated. I have been through what is called the grape-cure, much
more charming, certainly, than the water-cure. At present I am very
well; but, alas! because I have gone to bed early, and done very
little. I do not know if I can maintain any labor. As to my life, I
think that it is not the will of Heaven it should terminate very
soon. I have had another strange escape. I had taken passage in the
diligence to come to Rome; two rivers were to be passed,--the Turano
and the Tiber,--but passed by good bridges, and a road excellent when
not broken unexpectedly by torrents from the mountains. The diligence
sets out between three and four in the morning, long before light.
The director sent me word that the Marchioness Crispoldi had taken for
herself and family a coach extraordinary, which would start two
hours later, and that I could have a place in that, if I liked; so I
accepted. The weather had been beautiful, but, on the eve of the day
fixed for my departure, the wind rose, and the rain fell in torrents.
I observed that the river which passed my window was much swollen,
and rushed with great violence. In the night, I heard its voice still
stronger, and felt glad I had not to set out in the dark. I rose with
twilight, and was expecting my carriage, and wondering at its delay,
when I heard, that the great diligence, several miles below, had
been seized by a torrent; the horses were up to their necks in water,
before any one dreamed of the danger. The postilion called on all the
saints, and threw himself into the water. The door of the diligence
could not be opened, and the passengers forced themselves, one after
another, into the cold water,--dark too. Had I been there I had fared
ill; a pair of strong men were ill after it, though all escaped with
life.
For several days, there was no going to Rome; but, at last, we set
forth in two great diligences, with all the horses of the route. For
many miles, the mountains and ravines were covered with snow; I seemed
to have returned to my own country and climate. Few miles passed,
before the conductor injured his leg under the wheel, and I had the
pain of seeing him suffer all the way, while "Blood of Jesus," "Souls
of Purgatory," was the mildest beginning of an answer to the jeers of
the postilions upon his paleness. We stopped at a miserable
osteria, in whose cellar we found a magnificent remain of Cyclopean
architecture,--as indeed in Italy one is paid at every step, for
discomfort or danger, by some precious subject of thought. We
proceeded very slowly, and reached just at night a solitary little
inn, which marks the site of the ancient home of the Sabine virgins,
snatched away to become the mothers of Rome. We were there saluted
with the news that the Tiber, also, had overflowed its banks, and it
was very doubtful if we could pass. But what else to do? There were no
accommodations in the house for thirty people, or even for three, and
to sleep in the carriages, in that wet air of the marshes, was a more
certain danger than to attempt the passage. So we set forth; the moon,
almost at the full, smiling sadly on the ancient grandeurs, then half
draped in mist, then drawing over her face a thin white veil. As we
approached the Tiber, the towers and domes of Rome could be seen,
like a cloud lying low on the horizon. The road and the meadows, alike
under water, lay between us and it, one sheet of silver. The horses
entered; they behaved nobly; we proceeded, every moment uncertain if
the water would not become deep; but the scene was beautiful, and I
enjoyed it highly. I have never yet felt afraid when really in the
presence of danger, though sometimes in its apprehension.
At last we entered the gate; the diligence stopping to be examined, I
walked to the gate of Villa Ludovisi, and saw its rich shrubberies of
myrtle, and its statues so pale and eloquent in the moonlight.
Is it not cruel that I cannot earn six hundred dollars a year, living
here? I could live on that well, now I know Italy. Where I have been,
this summer, a great basket of grapes sells for one cent!--delicious
salad, enough for three or four persons, one cent,--a pair of
chickens, fifteen cents. Foreigners cannot live so, but I could, now
that I speak the language fluently, and know the price of everything.
Everybody loves, and wants to serve me, and I cannot earn this pitiful
sum to learn and do what I want.
Of course, I wish to see America again; but in my own time, when I am
ready, and not to weep over hopes destroyed and projects unfulfilled.
My dear friend, Madame Arconati, has shown me generous love;--a
_contadina_, whom I have known this summer, hardly less. Every Sunday,
she came in her holiday dress,--beautiful corset of red silk richly
embroidered, rich petticoat, nice shoes and stockings, and handsome
coral necklace, on one arm an immense basket of grapes, in the other
a pair of live chickens, to be eaten by me for her sake, ("_per amore
mio_,") and wanted no present, no reward; it was, as she said, "for
the honor and pleasure of her acquaintance." The old father of the
family never met me but he took off his hat and said, "Madame, it
is to me a _consolation_ to see you." Are there not sweet flowers of
affection in life, glorious moments, great thoughts?--why must they be
so dearly paid for?
Many Americans have shown me great and thoughtful kindness, and none
more so than W. S---- and his wife. They are now in Florence, but
may return. I do not know whether I shall stay here or not; shall be
guided much by the state of my health.
All is quieted now in Rome. Late at night the Pope had to yield, but
not till the door of his palace was half burnt, and his confessor
killed. This man, Parma, provoked his fate by firing on the people
from a window. It seems the Pope never gave order to fire; his guard
acted from a sudden impulse of their own. The new ministry chosen are
little inclined to accept. It is almost impossible for any one to act,
unless the Pope is stripped of his temporal power, and the hour
for that is not yet quite ripe; though they talk more and more of
proclaiming the Republic, and even of calling my friend Mazzini.
If I came home at this moment, I should feel as if forced to leave my
own house, my own people, and the hour which I had always longed for.
If I do come in this way, all I can promise is to plague other people
as little as possible. My own plans and desires will be postponed to
another world.
Do not feel anxious about me. Some higher power leads me through
strange, dark, thorny paths, broken at times by glades opening down
into prospects of sunny beauty, into which I am not permitted to
enter. If God disposes for us, it is not for nothing. This I can say,
my heart is in some respects better, it is kinder and more humble.
Also, my mental acquisitions have certainly been great, however
inadequate to my desires.