"Unify Italy, your country. For this you have no need to work, but

to bless Him who works through you and in your name. Gather round you

those who best represent the national party. Do not beg alliances with

princes. Continue to seek the alliance of our own people; say, 'The

unity of Italy ought to be a fact of the nineteenth century,' and it

will suffice; we shall work for you. Leave our pens free; leave free

the circulation of ideas in what regards this point, vital for us,

of the national unity. Treat the Austrian government, even when it no

longer menaces your territory, with the reserve of one who knows that

it governs by usurpation in Italy and elsewhere; combat it with words

of a just man, wherever it contrives oppressions and violations of

the rights of others out of Italy. Require, in the name of the God of

Peace, the Jesuits allied with Austria in Switzerland to withdraw from

that country, where their presence prepares an inevitable and speedy

effusion of the blood of the citizens. Give a word of sympathy which

shall become public to the first Pole of Galicia who comes into your

presence. Show us, in fine, by some fact, that you intend not only to

improve the physical condition of your own few subjects, but that

you embrace in your love the twenty-four millions of Italians, your

brothers; that you believe them called by God to unite in family unity

under one and the same compact; that you would bless the national

banner, wherever it should be raised by pure and incontaminate hands;

and leave the rest to us. We will cause to rise around you a nation

over whose free and popular development you, living, shall preside.

We will found a government unique in Europe, which shall destroy the

absurd divorce between spiritual and temporal power, and in which you

shall be chosen to represent the principle of which the men chosen by

the nation will make the application. We shall know how to translate

into a potent fact the instinct which palpitates through all Italy.

We will excite for you active support among the nations of Europe; we

will find you friends even in the ranks of Austria; we alone, because

we alone have unity of design, believe in the truth of our principle,

and have never betrayed it. Do not fear excesses from the people once

entered upon this way; the people only commit excesses when left to

their own impulses without any guide whom they respect. Do not pause

before the idea of becoming a cause of war. War exists, everywhere,

open or latent, but near breaking out, inevitable; nor can human

power prevent it. Nor do I, it must be said frankly, Most Holy

Father, address to you these words because I doubt in the least of our

destiny, or because I believe you the sole, the indispensable means

of the enterprise. The unity of Italy is a work of God,--a part of

the design of Providence and of all, even of those who show themselves

most satisfied with local improvements, and who, less sincere than

I, wish to make them means of attaining their own aims. It will be

fulfilled, with you or without you. But I address you, because I

believe you worthy to take the initiative in a work so vast; because

your putting yourself at the head of it would much abridge the road

and diminish the dangers, the injury, the blood; because with you

the conflict would assume a religious aspect, and be freed from many

dangers of reaction and civil errors; because might be attained at

once under your banner a political result and a vast moral result;

because the revival of Italy under the ægis of a religious idea, of

a standard, not of rights, but of duties, would leave behind all the

revolutions of other countries, and place her immediately at the head

of European progress; because it is in your power to cause that God

and the people, terms too often fatally disjoined, should meet at once

in beautiful and holy harmony, to direct the fate of nations.

"If I could be near you, I would invoke from God power to convince

you, by gesture, by accent, by tears; now I can only confide to the

paper the cold corpse, as it were, of my thought; nor can I ever have

the certainty that you have read, and meditated a moment what I write.

But I feel an imperious necessity of fulfilling this duty toward Italy

and you, and, whatsoever you may think of it, I shall find myself more

in peace with my conscience for having thus addressed you.

"Believe, Most Holy Father, in the feelings of veneration and of high

hope which professes for you your most devoted

"JOSEPH MAZZINI."

Whatever may be the impression of the reader as to the ideas and

propositions contained in this document,[A] I think he cannot fail to

be struck with its simple nobleness, its fervent truth.

[Footnote A: This letter was printed in Paris to be circulated in

Italy. A prefatory note signed by a friend of Mazzini's, states that

the original was known to have reached the hands of the Pope. The hope

is expressed that the publication of this letter, though without the

authority of its writer, will yet not displease him, as those who are

deceived as to his plans and motives will thus learn his true purposes

and feelings, and the letter will one day aid the historian who seeks

to know what were the opinions and hopes of the entire people of

Italy.--ED.]

A thousand petty interruptions have prevented my completing this

letter, till, now the hour of closing the mail for the steamer is so

near, I shall not have time to look over it, either to see what I have

written or make slight corrections. However, I suppose it represents

the feelings of the last few days, and shows that, without having lost

any of my confidence in the Italian movement, the office of the Pope

in promoting it has shown narrower limits, and sooner than I had

expected.

This does not at all weaken my personal feeling toward this excellent

man, whose heart I have seen in his face, and can never doubt. It was

necessary to be a great thinker, a great genius, to compete with the

difficulties of his position. I never supposed he was that; I am

only disappointed that his good heart has not carried him on a little

farther. With regard to the reception of the American address, it

is only the Roman press that is so timid; the private expressions of

pleasure have been very warm; the Italians say, "The Americans are

indeed our brothers." It remains to be seen, when Pius IX. receives

it, whether the man, the reforming prince, or the Pope is uppermost at

that moment.

LETTER XXII.

THE CEREMONIES SUCCEEDING EPIPHANY.--THE DEATH OF TORLONIA, AND ITS

PREDISPOSING CAUSES.--FUNERAL HONORS.--A STRIKING CONTRAST IN THE

DECEASE OF THE CARDINAL PRINCE MASSIMO.--THE POPE AND HIS OFFICERS

OF STATE.--THE CARDINAL BOFONDI.--SYMPATHETIC EXCITEMENTS THROUGH

ITALY.--SICILY IN FULL INSURRECTION.--THE KING OF SICILY, PRINCE

METTERNICH, AND LOUIS PHILIPPE.--A RUMOR AS TO THE PARENTAGE OF THE

KING OF THE FRENCH.--ROME: AVE MARIA.--LIFE IN THE ETERNAL CITY.--THE

BAMBINO.--CATHOLICISM: ITS GIFTS AND ITS WORKINGS.--THE CHURCH OF ARA

COELI.--EXHIBITION OF THE BAMBINO.--BYGONE SUPERSTITION AND LIVING

REALITY.--THE SOUL OF CATHOLICISM HAS FLED.--REFLECTIONS.--EXHIBITION

BY THE COLLEGE OF THE PROPAGANDA.--EXERCISES IN ALL LANGUAGES.--

DISTURBANCES AND THEIR CAUSES.--THOUGHTS.--BLESSING ANIMALS.--ACCOUNTS

FROM PAVIA.--AUSTRIA.--THE KING OF NAPLES.--RUMORS FROM OTHER PARTS OF

EUROPE.--FRANCE.--GUIZOT.--APPEARANCES AND APPREHENSIONS.

Rome, January, 1848.

I think I closed my last letter, without having had time to speak of

the ceremonies that precede and follow Epiphany. This month, no day,

scarcely an hour, has passed unmarked by some showy spectacle or some

exciting piece of news.

On the last day of the year died Don Carlo Torlonia, brother of the

banker, a man greatly beloved and regretted. The public felt this

event the more that its proximate cause was an attack made upon his

brother's house by Paradisi, now imprisoned in the Castle of St.

Angelo, pending a law process for proof of his accusations. Don

Carlo had been ill before, and the painful agitation caused by these

circumstances decided his fate. The public had been by no means

displeased at this inquiry into the conduct of Don Alessandro

Torlonia, believing that his assumed munificence is, in this case,

literally a robbery of Peter to pay Paul, and that all he gives

to Rome is taken from Rome. But I sympathized no less with the

affectionate indignation of his brother, too good a man to be made the

confidant of wrong, or have eyes for it, if such exist.

Thus, in the poetical justice which does not fail to be done in the

prose narrative of life, while men hastened, the moment a cry was

raised against Don Alessandro, to echo it back with all kinds of

imputations both on himself and his employees, every man held his

breath, and many wept, when the mortal remains of Don Carlo passed;

feeling that in him was lost a benefactor, a brother, a simple, just

man.

Don Carlo was a Knight of Malta; yet with him the celibate life had

not hardened the heart, but only left it free on all sides to general

love. Not less than half a dozen pompous funerals were given in his

honor, by his relatives, the brotherhoods to which he belonged, and

the battalion of the Civic Guard of which he was commander-in-chief.

But in his own house the body lay in no other state than that of a

simple Franciscan, the order to which he first belonged, and whose vow

he had kept through half a century, by giving all he had for the good

of others. He lay on the ground in the plain dark robe and cowl, no

unfit subject for a modern picture of little angels descending to

shower lilies on a good man's corpse. The long files of armed men,

the rich coaches, and liveried retinues of the princes, were little

observed, in comparison with more than a hundred orphan girls whom his

liberality had sustained, and who followed the bier in mourning robes

and long white veils, spirit-like, in the dark night. The trumpet's

wail, and soft, melancholy music from the bands, broke at times the

roll of the muffled drum; the hymns of the Church were chanted, and

volleys of musketry discharged, in honor of the departed; but much

more musical was the whisper in which the crowd, as passed his mortal

frame, told anecdotes of his good deeds.

I do not know when I have passed more consolatory moments than in the

streets one evening during this pomp and picturesque show,--for once

not empty of all meaning as to the present time, recognizing that

good which remains in the human being, ineradicable by all ill, and

promises that our poor, injured nature shall rise, and bloom again,

from present corruption to immortal purity. If Don Carlo had been a

thinker,--a man of strong intellect,--he might have devised means of

using his money to more radical advantage than simply to give it in

alms; he had only a kind human heart, but from that heart distilled a

balm which made all men bless it, happy in finding cause to bless.

As in the moral little books with which our nurseries are entertained,

followed another death in violent contrast. One of those whom the new

arrangements deprived of power and the means of unjust gain was the

Cardinal Prince Massimo, a man a little younger than Don Carlo,

but who had passed his forty years in a very different manner.

He remonstrated; the Pope was firm, and, at last, is said to have

answered with sharp reproof for the past. The Cardinal contained

himself in the audience, but, going out, literally suffocated with the

rage he had suppressed. The bad blood his bad heart had been so

long making rushed to his head, and he died on his return home.

Men laughed, and proposed that all the widows he had deprived of a

maintenance should combine to follow _his_ bier. It was said boys

hissed as that bier passed. Now, a splendid suit of lace being for

sale in a shop of the Corso, everybody says: "Have you been to look

at the lace of Cardinal Massimo, who died of rage, because he could

no longer devour the public goods?" And this is the last echo of _his_

requiem.

The Pope is anxious to have at least well-intentioned men in places of

power. Men of much ability, it would seem, are not to be had. His last

prime minister was a man said to have energy, good dispositions, but

no thinking power. The Cardinal Bofondi, whom he has taken now, is

said to be a man of scarce any ability; there being few among the

new Councillors the public can name as fitted for important trust.

In consolation, we must remember that the Chancellor Oxenstiern found

nothing more worthy of remark to show his son, than by how little

wisdom the world could be governed. We must hope these men of straw

will serve as thatch to keep out the rain, and not be exposed to the

assaults of a devouring flame.

Yet that hour may not be distant. The disturbances of the 1st of

January here were answered by similar excitements in Leghorn and

Genoa, produced by the same hidden and malignant foe. At the same

time, the Austrian government in Milan organized an attempt to rouse

the people to revolt, with a view to arrests, and other measures

calculated to stifle the spirit of independence they know to be latent

there. In this iniquitous attempt they murdered eighty persons; yet

the citizens, on their guard, refused them the desired means of

ruin, and they were forced to retractions as impudently vile as their

attempts had been. The Viceroy proclaimed that "he hoped the people

would confide in him as he did in them"; and no doubt they will. At

Leghorn and Genoa, the wiles of the foe were baffled by the wisdom of

the popular leaders, as I trust they always will be; but it is needful

daily to expect these nets laid in the path of the unwary.

Sicily is in full insurrection; and it is reported Naples, but this

is not sure. There was a report, day before yesterday, that the poor,

stupid king was already here, and had taken cheap chambers at the

Hotel d'Allemagne, as, indeed, it is said he has always a turn for

economy, when he cannot live at the expense of his suffering people.

Day before yesterday, every carriage that the people saw with a

stupid-looking man in it they did not know, they looked to see if it

was not the royal runaway. But it was their wish was father to that

thought, and it has not as yet taken body as fact. In like manner they

report this week the death of Prince Metternich; but I believe it

is not sure he is dead yet, only dying. With him passes one great

embodiment of ill to Europe. As for Louis Philippe, he seems reserved

to give the world daily more signal proofs of his base apostasy to the

cause that placed him on the throne, and that heartless selfishness,

of which his face alone bears witness to any one that has a mind to

read it. How the French nation could look upon that face, while yet

flushed with the hopes of the Three Days, and put him on the throne

as representative of those hopes, I cannot conceive. There is a story

current in Italy, that he is really the child of a man first a barber,

afterwards a police-officer, and was substituted at nurse for the true

heir of Orleans; and the vulgarity of form in his body of limbs, power

of endurance, greed of gain, and hard, cunning intellect, so unlike

all traits of the weak, but more "genteel" Bourbon race, might well

lend plausibility to such a fable.

But to return to Rome, where I hear the Ave Maria just ringing. By the

way, nobody pauses, nobody thinks, nobody prays.

"Ave Maria! 't is the hour of prayer,

Ave Maria! 't is the hour of love," &c.,

is but a figment of the poet's fancy.

To return to Rome: what a Rome! the fortieth day of rain, and damp,

and abominable reeking odors, such as blessed cities swept by the

sea-breeze--bitter sometimes, yet indeed a friend--never know. It has

been dark all day, though the lamp has only been lit half an hour. The

music of the day has been, first the atrocious _arias_, which last in

the Corso till near noon, though certainly less in virulence on rainy

days. Then came the wicked organ-grinder, who, apart from the horror

of the noise, grinds exactly the same obsolete abominations as at

home or in England,--the Copenhagen Waltz, "Home, sweet home," and all

that! The cruel chance that both an English my-lady and a Councillor

from one of the provinces live opposite, keeps him constantly before

my window, hoping baiocchi. Within, the three pet dogs of my landlady,

bereft of their walk, unable to employ their miserable legs and eyes,

exercise themselves by a continual barking, which is answered by all

the dogs in the neighborhood. An urchin returning from the laundress,

delighted with the symphony, lays down his white bundle in the gutter,

seats himself on the curb-stone, and attempts an imitation of the

music of cats as a tribute to the concert. The door-bell rings. _Chi

è?_ "Who is it?" cries the handmaid, with unweariable senselessness,

as if any one would answer, _Rogue_, or _Enemy_, instead of the

traditionary _Amico_, _Friend_. Can it be, perchance, a letter, news

of home, or some of the many friends who have neglected so long

to write, or some ray of hope to break the clouds of the difficult

Future? Far from it. Enter a man poisoning me at once with the smell

of the worst possible cigars, not to be driven out, insisting I shall

look upon frightful, ill-cut cameos, and worse-designed mosaics,

made by some friend of his, who works in a chamber and will sell _so_

cheap. Man of ill-odors and meanest smile! I am no Countess to be

fooled by you. For dogs they were not even--dog-cheap.

A faint and misty gleam of sun greeted the day on which there was the

feast to the Bambino, the most venerated doll of Rome. This is the

famous image of the infant Jesus, reputed to be made of wood from

a tree of Palestine, and which, being taken away from its present

abode,--the church of Ara Coeli,--returned by itself, making the bells

ring as it sought admittance at the door. It is this which is carried

in extreme cases to the bedside of the sick. It has received more

splendid gifts than any other idol. An orphan by my side, now

struggling with difficulties, showed me on its breast a splendid

jewel, which a doting grandmother thought more likely to benefit her

soul if given to the Bambino, than if turned into money to give her

grandchildren education and prospects in life. The same old lady

left her vineyard, not to these children, but to her confessor, a

well-endowed Monsignor, who occasionally asks this youth, his

godson, to dinner! Children so placed are not quite such devotees to

Catholicism as the new proselytes of America;--they are not so much

patted on the head, and things do not show to them under quite the

same silver veil.

The church of Ara Coeli is on or near the site of the temple of

Capitoline Jove, which certainly saw nothing more idolatrous than

these ceremonies. For about a week the Bambino is exhibited in an

illuminated chapel, in the arms of a splendidly dressed Madonna doll.

Behind, a transparency represents the shepherds, by moonlight, at the

time the birth was announced, and, above, God the Father, with many

angels hailing the event. A pretty part of this exhibition, which I

was not so fortunate as to hit upon, though I went twice on purpose,

is the children making little speeches in honor of the occasion.

Many readers will remember some account of this in Andersen's

"Improvvisatore."

The last time I went was the grand feast in honor of the Bambino. The

church was entirely full, mostly with Contadini and the poorer people,

absorbed in their devotions: one man near me never raised his head

or stirred from his knees to see anything; he seemed in an anguish of

prayer, either from repentance or anxiety. I wished I could have

hoped the ugly little doll could do Mm any good. The noble stair

which descends from the great door of this church to the foot of the

Capitol,--a stair made from fragments of the old imperial time,--was

flooded with people; the street below was a rapid river also, whose

waves were men. The ceremonies began with splendid music from the

organ, pealing sweetly long and repeated invocations. As if answering

to this call, the world came in, many dignitaries, the Conservatori,

(I think conservatives are the same everywhere, official or no,) and

did homage to the image; then men in white and gold, with the candles

they are so fond here of burning by daylight, as if the poorest

artificial were better than the greatest natural light, uplifted high

above themselves the baby, with its gilded robes and crown, and made

twice the tour of the church, passing twice the column labelled "From

the Home of Augustus," while the band played--what?--the Hymn to Pius

IX. and "Sons of Rome, awake!" Never was a crueller comment upon the

irreconcilableness of these two things. Rome seeks to reconcile reform

and priestcraft.

But her eyes are shut, that they see not. O awake indeed, Romans! and

you will see that the Christ who is to save men is no wooden dingy

effigy of bygone superstitions, but such as Art has seen him in your

better mood,--a Child, living, full of love, prophetic of a boundless

future,--a Man acquainted with all sorrows that rend the heart of

all, and ever loving man with sympathy and faith death could not

quench,--_that_ Christ lives and may be sought; burn your doll of

wood.

How any one can remain a Catholic--I mean who has ever been aroused to

think, and is not biassed by the partialities of childish years--after

seeing Catholicism here in Italy, I cannot conceive. There was once a

soul in the religion while the blood of its martyrs was yet fresh

upon the ground, but that soul was always too much encumbered with

the remains of pagan habits and customs: that soul is now quite fled

elsewhere, and in the splendid catafalco, watched by so many white

and red-robed snuff-taking, sly-eyed men, would they let it be opened,

nothing would be found but bones!

Then the College for propagating all this, the most venerable

Propaganda, has given its exhibition in honor of the Magi, wise men of

the East who came to Christ. I was there one day. In conformity with

the general spirit of Rome,--strangely inconsistent in a country where

the Madonna is far more frequently and devoutly worshipped than God or

Christ, in a city where at least as many female saints and martyrs are

venerated as male,--there was no good place for women to sit. All

the good seats were for the men in the area below, but in the gallery

windows, and from the organ-loft, a few women were allowed to peep

at what was going on. I was one of these exceptional characters. The

exercises were in all the different languages under the sun. It would

have been exceedingly interesting to hear them, one after the

other, each in its peculiar cadence and inflection, but much of the

individual expression was taken away by that general false academic

tone which is sure to pervade such exhibitions where young men speak

who have as yet nothing to say. It would have been different, indeed,

if we could have heard natives of all those countries, who were

animated by real feelings, real wants. Still it was interesting,

particularly the language and music of Kurdistan, and the full-grown

beauty of the Greek after the ruder dialects. Among those who appeared

to the best advantage were several blacks, and the majesty of the

Latin hexameters was confided to a full-blooded Guinea negro, who

acquitted himself better than any other I heard. I observed, too, the

perfectly gentlemanly appearance of these young men, and that they

had nothing of that Cuffy swagger by which those freed from a servile

state try to cover a painful consciousness of their position in our

country. Their air was self-possessed, quiet and free beyond that of

most of the whites.

January 22, 2 o'clock, P.M.

Pour, pour, pour again, dark as night,--many people coming in to see

me because they don't know what to do with themselves. I am very glad

to see them for the same reason; this atmosphere is so heavy, I seem

to carry the weight of the world on my head and feel unfitted for

every exertion. As to eating, that is a bygone thing; wine, coffee,

meat, I have resigned; vegetables are few and hard to have, except

horrible cabbage, in which the Romans delight. A little rice still

remains, which I take with pleasure, remembering it growing in the

rich fields of Lombardy, so green and full of glorious light. That

light fell still more beautiful on the tall plantations of hemp, but

it is dangerous just at present to think of what is made from hemp.

This week all the animals are being blessed,[A] and they get a

gratuitous baptism, too, the while. The lambs one morning were taken

out to the church of St. Agnes for this purpose. The little companion

of my travels, if he sees this letter, will remember how often we saw

her with her lamb in pictures. The horses are being blessed by St.

Antonio, and under his harmonizing influence are afterward driven

through the city, twelve and even twenty in hand. They are harnessed

into light wagons, and men run beside them to guard against accident,

in case the good influence of the Saint should fail.

[Footnote A: One of Rome's singular customs.--ED.]

This morning came the details of infamous attempts by the Austrian

police to exasperate the students of Pavia. The way is to send persons

to smoke cigars in forbidden places, who insult those who are obliged

to tell them to desist. These traps seem particularly shocking when

laid for fiery and sensitive young men. They succeeded: the students

were lured, into combat, and a number left dead and wounded on both

sides. The University is shut up; the inhabitants of Pavia and Milan

have put on mourning; even at the theatre they wear it. The Milanese

will not walk in that quarter where the blood of their fellow-citizens

has been so wantonly shed. They have demanded a legal investigation of

the conduct of the officials.

At Piacenza similar attempts have been made to excite the Italians, by

smoking in their faces, and crying, "Long live the Emperor!" It is a

worthy homage to pay to the Austrian crown,--this offering of cigars

and blood.

"O this offence is rank; it smells to Heaven."

This morning authentic news is received from Naples. The king, when

assured by his own brother that Sicily was in a state of irresistible

revolt, and that even the women quelled the troops,--showering on them

stones, furniture, boiling oil, such means of warfare as the household

may easily furnish to a thoughtful matron,--had, first, a stroke of

apoplexy, from, which the loss of a good deal of bad blood relieved

him. His mind apparently having become clearer thereby, he has offered

his subjects an amnesty and terms of reform, which, it is hoped, will

arrive before his troops have begun to bombard the cities in obedience

to earlier orders.

Comes also to-day the news that the French Chamber of Peers propose

an Address to the King, echoing back all the falsehoods of his speech,

including those upon reform, and the enormous one that "the peace of

Europe is now assured"; but that some members have worthily opposed

this address, and spoken truth in an honorable manner.

Also, that the infamous sacrifice of the poor little queen of Spain

puts on more tragic colors; that it is pretended she has epilepsy, and

she is to be made to renounce the throne, which, indeed, has been a

terrific curse to her. And Heaven and Earth have looked calmly on,

while the king of France has managed all this with the most unnatural

of mothers.

January 27.

This morning comes the plan of the Address of the Chamber of Deputies

to the King: it contains some passages that are keenest satire upon

him, as also some remarks which have been made, some words of truth

spoken in the Chamber of Peers, that must have given him some twinges

of nervous shame as he read. M. Guizot's speech on the affairs of

Switzerland shows his usual shabbiness and falsehood. Surely never

prime minister stood in so mean a position as he: one like Metternich

seems noble and manly in comparison; for if there is a cruel,

atheistical, treacherous policy, there needs not at least continual

evasion to avoid declaring in words what is so glaringly manifest in

fact.

There is news that the revolution has now broken out in Naples; that

neither Sicilians nor Neapolitans will trust the king, but demand

his abdication; and that his bad demon, Coclo, has fled, carrying two

hundred thousand ducats of gold. But in particulars this news is not

yet sure, though, no doubt, there is truth, at the bottom.

Aggressions on the part of the Austrians continue in the North. The

advocates Tommaso and Manin (a light thus reflected on the name of the

last Doge), having dared to declare formally the necessity of reform,

are thrown into prison. Every day the cloud swells, and the next

fortnight is likely to bring important tidings.

LETTER XXIII.

UNPLEASANTNESS OF A ROMAN WINTER.--PROGRESS OF EVENTS IN EUROPE,

AND THEIR EFFECT UPON ITALY.--THE CARNIVAL.--RAIN INTERRUPTS

THE GAYETY.--REJOICINGS FOR THE REVOLUTIONS OF FRANCE AND

AUSTRIA.--TRANSPORTS OF THE PEOPLE.--OBLATIONS TO THE CAUSE OF

LIBERTY.--CASTLE FUSANO.--THE WEATHER, GLADSOMENESS OF NATURE, AND THE

PLEASURE OF THOUGHT.

Rome, March 29, 1848.

It is long since I have written. My health entirely gave way beneath

the Roman winter. The rain was constant, commonly falling in torrents

from the 16th of December to the 19th of March. Nothing could surpass

the dirt, the gloom, the desolation, of Rome. Let no one fancy he has

seen her who comes here only in the winter. It is an immense mistake

to do so. I cannot sufficiently rejoice that I did not first see Italy

in the winter.

The climate of Rome at this time of extreme damp I have found equally

exasperating and weakening. I have had constant nervous headache

without strength to bear it, nightly fever, want of appetite. Some

constitutions bear it better, but the complaint of weakness and

extreme dejection of spirits is general among foreigners in the wet

season. The English say they become acclimated in two or three years,

and cease to suffer, though never so strong as at home.

Now this long dark dream--to me the most idle and most suffering

season of my life--seems past. The Italian heavens wear again their

deep blue; the sun shines gloriously; the melancholy lustres are

stealing again over the Campagna, and hundreds of larks sing unwearied

above its ruins.

Nature seems in sympathy with the great events that are

transpiring,--with the emotions which are swelling the hearts of

men. The morning sun is greeted by the trumpets of the Roman legions

marching out once more, now not to oppress but to defend. The stars

look down on their jubilees over the good news which nightly reaches

them from their brothers of Lombardy. This week has been one of

nobler, sweeter feeling, of a better hope and faith, than Rome in her

greatest days ever knew. How much has happened since I wrote! First,

the victorious resistance of Sicily and the revolution of Naples.

This has led us yet only to half-measures, but even these have been of

great use to the progress of Italy. The Neapolitans will probably have

to get rid at last of the stupid crowned head who is at present their

puppet; but their bearing with him has led to the wiser sovereigns

granting these constitutions, which, if eventually inadequate to the

wants of Italy, will be so useful, are so needed, to educate her to

seek better, completer forms of administration.

In the midst of all this serious work came the play of Carnival, in

which there was much less interest felt than usual, but enough to

dazzle and captivate a stranger. One thing, however, has been omitted

in the description of the Roman Carnival; i.e. that it rains every

day. Almost every day came on violent rain, just as the tide of gay

masks was fairly engaged in the Corso. This would have been well worth

bearing once or twice, for the sake of seeing the admirable good

humor of this people. Those who had laid out all their savings in the

gayest, thinnest dresses, on carriages and chairs for the Corso, found

themselves suddenly drenched, their finery spoiled, and obliged to

ride and sit shivering all the afternoon. But they never murmured,

never scolded, never stopped throwing their flowers. Their strength of

constitution is wonderful. While I, in my shawl and boa, was coughing

at the open window from the moment I inhaled the wet sepulchral air,

the servant-girls of the house had taken off their woollen gowns, and,

arrayed in white muslins and roses, sat in the drenched street

beneath the drenching rain, quite happy, and have suffered nothing in

consequence.

The Romans renounced the _Moccoletti_, ostensibly as an expression of

sympathy for the sufferings of the Milanese, but really because, at

that time, there was great disturbance about the Jesuits, and the

government feared that difficulties would arise in the excitement of

the evening. But, since, we have had this entertainment in honor

of the revolutions of France and Austria, and nothing could be more

beautiful. The fun usually consists in all the people blowing one

another's lights out. We had not this; all the little tapers were

left to blaze, and the long Corso swarmed with tall fire-flies. Lights

crept out over the surface of all the houses, and such merry little

twinkling lights, laughing and flickering with each slightest movement

of those who held them! Up and down the Corso they twinkled, they

swarmed, they streamed, while a surge of gay triumphant sound ebbed

and flowed beneath that glittering surface. Here and there danced men

carrying aloft _moccoli_, and clanking chains, emblem of the tyrannic

power now vanquished by the people;--the people, sweet and noble, who,

in the intoxication of their joy, were guilty of no rude or unkindly

word or act, and who, no signal being given as usual for the

termination of their diversion, closed, of their own accord and with

one consent, singing the hymns for Pio, by nine o'clock, and

retired peacefully to their homes, to dream of hopes they yet scarce

understand.

This happened last week. The news of the dethronement of Louis

Philippe reached us just after the close of the Carnival. It was just

a year from my leaving Paris. I did not think, as I looked with such

disgust on the empire of sham he had established in France, and saw

the soul of the people imprisoned and held fast as in an iron vice,

that it would burst its chains so soon. Whatever be the result, France

has done gloriously; she has declared that she will not be satisfied

with pretexts while there are facts in the world,--that to stop her

march is a vain attempt, though the onward path be dangerous and

difficult. It is vain to cry, Peace! peace! when there is no peace.

The news from France, in these days, sounds ominous, though still

vague. It would appear that the political is being merged in the

social struggle: it is well. Whatever blood is to be shed, whatever

altars cast down, those tremendous problems MUST be solved, whatever

be the cost! That cost cannot fail to break many a bank, many a heart,

in Europe, before the good can bud again out of a mighty corruption.

To you, people of America, it may perhaps be given to look on and

learn in time for a preventive wisdom. You may learn the real meaning

of the words FRATERNITY, EQUALITY: you may, despite the apes of the

past who strive to tutor you, learn the needs of a true democracy. You

may in time learn to reverence, learn to guard, the true aristocracy

of a nation, the only really nobles,--the LABORING CLASSES.

And Metternich, too, is crushed; the seed of the woman has had his

foot on the serpent. I have seen the Austrian arms dragged through

the streets of Rome and burned in the Piazza del Popolo. The Italians

embraced one another, and cried, _Miracolo! Providenza!_ the modern

Tribune Ciceronacchio fed the flame with faggots; Adam Mickiewicz, the

great poet of Poland, long exiled from his country or the hopes of a

country, looked on, while Polish women, exiled too, or who perhaps,

like one nun who is here, had been daily scourged by the orders of a

tyrant, brought little pieces that had been scattered in the street

and threw them into the flames,--an offering received by the Italians

with loud plaudits. It was a transport of the people, who found no way

to vent their joy, but the symbol, the poesy, natural to the Italian

mind. The ever-too-wise "upper classes" regret it, and the Germans

choose to resent it as an insult to Germany; but it was nothing of

the kind; the insult was to the prisons of Spielberg, to those who

commanded the massacres of Milan,--a base tyranny little congenial to

the native German heart, as the true Germans of Germany are at this

moment showing by their resolves, by their struggles.

When the double-headed eagle was pulled down from above the lofty

portal of the Palazzo di Venezia, the people placed there in its stead

one of white and gold, inscribed with the name ALTA ITALIA, and quick

upon the emblem followed the news that Milan was fighting against her

tyrants,--that Venice had driven them out and freed from their prisons

the courageous Protestants in favor of truth, Tommaso and Manin,--that

Manin, descendant of the last Doge, had raised the republican banner

on the Place St. Mark,--and that Modena, that Parma, were driving out

the unfeeling and imbecile creatures who had mocked Heaven and man by

the pretence of government there.

With indescribable rapture these tidings were received in Rome. Men

were seen dancing, women weeping with joy along the street. The youth

rushed to enroll themselves in regiments to go to the frontier. In the

Colosseum their names were received. Father Gavazzi, a truly patriotic

monk, gave them the cross to carry on a new, a better, because

defensive, crusade. Sterbini, long exiled, addressed them. He said:

"Romans, do you wish to go; do you wish to go with all your hearts?

If so, you _may_, and those who do not wish to go themselves may give

money. To those who will go, the government gives bread and fifteen

baiocchi a day." The people cried: "We wish to go, but we do not wish

so much; the government is very poor; we can live on a paul a day."

The princes answered by giving, one sixty thousand, others twenty,

fifteen, ten thousand dollars. The people responded by giving at

the benches which are opened in the piazzas literally everything;

street-pedlers gave the gains of each day; women gave every

ornament,--from the splendid necklace and bracelet down to the poorest

bit of coral; servant-girls gave five pauls, two pauls, even half a

paul, if they had no more. A man all in rags gave two pauls. "It

is," said he, "all I have." "Then," said Torlonia, "take from me this

dollar." The man of rags thanked him warmly, and handed that also to

the bench, which refused to receive it. "No! _that_ must stay with

you," shouted all present. These are the people whom the traveller

accuses of being unable to rise above selfish considerations;--a

nation rich and glorious by nature, capable, like all nations, all

men, of being degraded by slavery, capable, as are few nations, few

men, of kindling into pure flame at the touch of a ray from the Sun of

Truth, of Life.

The two or three days that followed, the troops were marching about by

detachments, followed always by the people, to the Ponte Molle, often

farther. The women wept; for the habits of the Romans are so domestic,

that it seemed a great thing to have their sons and lovers gone even

for a few months. The English--or at least those of the illiberal,

bristling nature too often met here, which casts out its porcupine

quills against everything like enthusiasm (of the more generous Saxon

blood I know some noble examples)--laughed at all this. They have said

that this people would not fight; when the Sicilians, men and women,

did so nobly, they said: "O, the Sicilians are quite unlike the

Italians; you will see, when the struggle comes on in Lombardy, they

cannot resist the Austrian force a moment." I said: "That force is

only physical; do not you think a sentiment can sustain them?" They

replied: "All stuff and poetry; it will fade the moment their blood

flows." When the news came that the Milanese, men and women, fight as

the Sicilians did, they said: "Well, the Lombards are a better race,

but these Romans are good for nothing. It is a farce for a Roman to

try to walk even; they never walk a mile; they will not be able to

support the first day's march of thirty miles, and not have their

usual _minéstra_ to eat either." Now the troops were not willing to

wait for the government to make the necessary arrangements for their

march, so at the first night's station--Monterosi--they did _not_ find

food or bedding; yet the second night, at Civita Castellana, they were

so well alive as to remain dancing and vivaing Pio Nono in the piazza

till after midnight. No, Gentlemen, soul is not quite nothing, if

matter be a clog upon its transports.

The Americans show a better, warmer feeling than they did; the meeting

in New York was of use in instructing the Americans abroad! The dinner

given here on Washington's birthday was marked by fine expressions of

sentiment, and a display of talent unusual on such occasions. There

was a poem from Mr. Story of Boston, which gave great pleasure; a

speech by Mr. Hillard, said to be very good, and one by Rev. Mr. Hedge

of Bangor, exceedingly admired for the felicity of thought and image,

and the finished beauty of style.

Next week we shall have more news, and I shall try to write and

mention also some interesting things want of time obliges me to omit

in this letter.

April 1.

Yesterday I passed at Ostia and Castle Fusano. A million birds sang;

the woods teemed with blossoms; the sod grew green hourly over the

graves of the mighty Past; the surf rushed in on a fair shore; the

Tiber majestically retreated to carry inland her share from the

treasures of the deep; the sea-breezes burnt my face, but revived my

heart. I felt the calm of thought, the sublime hopes of the future,

nature, man,--so great, though so little,--so dear, though incomplete.

Returning to Rome, I find the news pronounced official, that the

viceroy Ranieri has capitulated at Verona; that Italy is free,

independent, and one. I trust this will prove no April-foolery, no

premature news; it seems too good, too speedy a realization of hope,

to have come on earth, and can only be answered in the words of the

proclamation made yesterday by Pius IX.:--

"The events which these two months past have seen rush after one

another in rapid succession, are no human work. Woe to him who, in

this wind, which shakes and tears up alike the lofty cedars and humble

shrubs, hears not the voice of God! Woe to human pride, if to the

fault or merit of any man whatsoever it refer these wonderful changes,

instead of adoring the mysterious designs of Providence."

LETTER XXIV.

AFFAIRS IN ITALY.--THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF MILAN.--ADDRESS TO

THE GERMAN NATION.--BROTHERHOOD, AND THE INDEPENDENCE OF ITALY.--THE

PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT TO THE NATIONS SUBJECT TO THE RULE OF THE

HOUSE OF AUSTRIA.--REFLECTIONS ON THESE MOVEMENTS.--LAMARTINE.--

BERANGER.--MICKIEWICZ IN FLORENCE: ENTHUSIASTIC RECEPTION: STYLED

THE DANTE OF POLAND: HIS ADDRESS BEFORE THE FLORENTINES.--EXILES

RETURNING.--MAZZINI.--THE POSITION OF PIUS IX.--HIS DERELICTION FROM

THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM AND OF PROGRESS.--THE AFFAIR OF THE JESUITS.--

HIS COURSE IN VARIOUS MATTERS.--LANGUAGE OF THE PEOPLE.--THE WORK

BEGUN BY NAPOLEON VIRTUALLY FINISHED.--THE LOSS OF PIUS IX. FOR THE

MOMENT A GREAT ONE.--THE RESPONSIBILITY OF EVENTS LYING WHOLLY WITH

THE PEOPLE.--HOPES AND PROSPECTS OF THE FUTURE.

Rome, April 19, 1848.

In closing my last, I hoped to have some decisive intelligence

to impart by this time, as to the fortunes of Italy. But though

everything, so far, turns in her favor, there has been no decisive

battle, no final stroke. It pleases me much, as the news comes from

day to day, that I passed so leisurely last summer over that part of

Lombardy now occupied by the opposing forces, that I have in my mind

the faces both of the Lombard and Austrian leaders. A number of the

present members of the Provisional Government of Milan I knew while

there; they are men of twenty-eight and thirty, much more advanced in

thought than the Moderates of Rome, Naples, Tuscany, who are too much

fettered with a bygone state of things, and not on a par in thought,

knowledge, preparation for the great future, with the rest of the

civilized world at this moment. The papers that emanate from the

Milanese government are far superior in tone to any that have been

uttered by the other states. Their protest in favor of their rights,

their addresses to the Germans at large and the countries under the

dominion of Austria, are full of nobleness and thoughts sufficiently

great for the use of the coming age. These addresses I translate,

thinking they may not in other form reach America.

"THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF MILAN TO THE GERMAN NATION.

"We hail you as brothers, valiant, learned, generous Germans!

"This salutation from a people just risen after a terrible struggle to

self-consciousness and to the exercise of its rights, ought deeply to

move your magnanimous hearts.

"We deem ourselves worthy to utter that great word Brotherhood, which

effaces among nations the traditions of all ancient hate, and we

proffer it over the new-made graves of our fellow-citizens, who have

fought and died to give us the right to proffer it without fear or

shame.

"We call brothers men of all nations who believe and hope in the

improvement of the human family, and seek the occasion to further it;

but you, especially, we call brothers, you Germans, with whom, we have

in common so many noble sympathies,--the love of the arts and higher

studies, the delight of noble contemplation,--with whom also we have

much correspondence in our civil destinies.

"With you are of first importance the interests of the great country,

Germany,--with us, those of the great country, Italy.

"We were induced to rise in arms against Austria, (we mean, not

the people, but the government of Austria,) not only by the need of

redeeming ourselves from the shame and grief of thirty-one years of

the most abject despotism, but by a deliberate resolve to take our

place upon the plane of nations, to unite with our brothers of the

Peninsula, and take rank with them under the great banner raised by

Pius IX., on which is written, THE INDEPENDENCE OF ITALY.

"Can you blame us, independent Germans? In blaming us, you would

sink beneath your history, beneath your most honored and recent

declarations.

"We have chased the Austrian from our soil; we shall give ourselves

no repose till we have chased him from all parts of Italy. No this

enterprise we are all sworn; for this fights our army enrolled in

every part of the Peninsula,--an array of brothers led by the king of

Sardinia, who prides himself on being the sword of Italy.

"And the Austrian is not more our enemy than yours.

"The Austrian--we speak still of the government, and not of the

people--has always denied and contradicted the interests of the whole

German nation, at the head of an assemblage of races differing in

language, in customs, in institutions. When it was in his power to

have corrected the errors of time and a dynastic policy, by assuming

the high mission of uniting them by great moral interests, he

preferred to arm one against the other, and to corrupt them all.

"Fearing every noble instinct, hostile to every grand idea, devoted

to the material interests of an oligarchy of princes spoiled by a

senseless education, of ministers who had sold their consciences, of

speculators who subjected and sacrificed everything to gold, the only

aim of such a government was to sow division everywhere. What wonder

if everywhere in Italy, as in Germany, it reaps harvests of hate and

ignominy. Yes, of hate! To this the Austrian has condemned us, to know

hate and its deep sorrows. But we are absolved in the sight of God,

and by the insults which have been heaped upon us for so many years,

the unwearied efforts to debase us, the destruction of our villages,

the cold-blooded slaughter of our aged people, our priests, our women,

our children. And you,--you shall be the first to absolve us, you,

virtuous among the Germans, who certainly have shared our indignation

when a venal and lying press accused us of being enemies to your great

and generous nation, and we could not answer, and were constrained to

devour in silence the shame of an accusation which wounded us to the

heart.

"We honor you, Germans! we pant to give you glorious evidence of this.

And, as a prelude to the friendly relations we hope to form with your

governments, we seek to alleviate as much as possible the pains of

captivity to some officers and soldiers belonging to various states of

the Germanic Confederation, who fought in the Austrian army. These

we wish to send back to you, and are occupied by seeking the means to

effect this purpose. We honor you so much, that we believe you capable

of preferring to the bonds of race and language the sacred titles of

misfortune and of right.

"Ah! answer to our appeal, valiant, wise, and generous Germans! Clasp

the hand, which we offer you with the heart of a brother and friend;

hasten to disavow every appearance of complicity with a government

which the massacres of Galicia and Lombardy have blotted from the list

of civilized and Christian governments. It would be a beautiful thing

for you to give this example, which will be new in history and worthy

of these miraculous times,--the example of a strong and generous

people casting aside other sympathies, other interests, to answer

the invitation of a regenerate people, to cheer it in its new career,

obedient to the great principles of justice, of humanity, of civil and

Christian brotherhood."

"THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF MILAN TO THE NATIONS SUBJECT TO THE

RULE OF THE HOUSE OF AUSTRIA.

"From your lands have come three armies which have brought war into

ours; your speech is spoken by those hostile bands who come to us with

fire and sword; nevertheless we come to you as to brothers.

"The war which calls for our resistance is not your war; you are not

our enemies: you are only instruments in the hand of our foe, and this

foe, brothers, is common to us all.

"Before God, before men, solemnly we declare it,--our only enemy is

the government of Austria.

"And that government which for so many years has labored to cancel, in

the races it has subdued, every vestige of nationality, which takes

no heed of their wants or prayers, bent only on serving miserable

interests and more miserable pride, fomenting always antipathies

conformably with the ancient maxim of tyrants, _Divide and

govern_,--this government has constituted itself the adversary of

every generous thought, the ally and patron of all ignoble causes,

the government declared by the whole civilized world paymaster of the

executioners of Galicia.

"This government, after having pertinaciously resisted the legal

expression of moderate desires,--after having defied with ludicrous

hauteur the opinion of Europe, has found itself in its metropolis

too weak to resist an insurrection of students, and has yielded,--has

yielded, making an assignment on time, and throwing to you, brothers,

as an alms-gift to the importunate beggar, the promise of institutions

which, in these days, are held essential conditions of life for a

civilized nation.

"But you have not confided in this promise; for the youth of Vienna,

which feels the inspiring breath of this miraculous time, is impelled

on the path of progress; and therefore the Austrian government,

uncertain of itself and of your dispositions, took its old part of

standing still to wait for events, in the hope of turning them to its

own profit.

"In the midst of this it received the news of our glorious revolution,

and it thought to have found in this the best way to escape from

its embarrassment. First it concealed that news; then made it known

piecemeal, and disfigured by hypocrisy and hatred. We were a handful

of rebels thirsting for German blood. We make a war of stilettos, we

wish the destruction of all Germany. But for us answers the admiration

of all Italy, of all Europe, even the evidence of your own people whom

we are constrained to hold prisoners or hostages, who will unanimously

avow that we have shown heroic courage in the fight, heroic moderation

in victory.

"Yes! we have risen as one man against the Austrian government, to

become again a nation, to make common cause with our Italian brothers,

and the arms which we have assumed for so great an object we shall not

lay down till we have attained it. Assailed by a brutal executor of

brutal orders, we have combated in a just war; betrayed, a price

set on our heads, wounded in the most vital parts, we have not

transgressed the bounds of legitimate defence. The murders, the

depredations of the hostile band, irritated against us by most wicked

arts, have excited our horror, but never a reprisal. The soldier, his

arms once laid down, was for us only an unfortunate.

"But behold how the Austrian government provokes you against us, and

bids you come against us as a crusade! A crusade! The parody would be

ludicrous if it were not so cruel. A crusade against a people which,

in the name of Christ, under a banner blessed by the Vicar of Christ,

and revered by all the nations, fights to secure its indefeasible

rights.

"Oh! if you form against us this crusade,--we have already shown

the world what a people can do to reconquer its liberty, its

independence,--we will show, also, what it can do to preserve

them. If, almost unarmed, we have put to flight an army inured to

war,--surely, brothers, that army wanted faith in the cause for which

it fought,--can we fear that our courage will grow faint after our

triumph, and when aided by all our brothers of Italy? Let the Austrian

government send against us its threatened battalions, they will find

in our breasts a barrier more insuperable than the Alps. Everything

will be a weapon to us; from every villa, from every field, from every

hedge, will issue defenders of the national cause; women and children

will fight like men; men will centuple their strength, their courage;

and we will all perish amid the ruins of our city, before receiving

foreign rule into this land which at last we call ours.

"But this must not be. You, our brothers, must not permit it to be;

your honor, your interests, do not permit it. Will you fight in a

cause which you must feel to be absurd and wicked? You sink to the

condition of hirelings, and do you not believe that the Austrian

government, should it conquer us and Italy, would turn against you the

arms you had furnished for the conquest? Do you not believe it would

act as after the struggle with Napoleon? And are you not terrified by

the idea of finding yourself in conflict with all civilized Europe,

and constrained to receive, to feast as your ally, the Autocrat of

Russia, that perpetual terror to the improvement and independence of

Europe? It is not possible for the house of Lorraine to forget its

traditions; it is not possible that it should resign itself to live

tranquil in the atmosphere of Liberty. You can only constrain it by

sustaining yourself, with the Germanic and Slavonian nationalities,

and with this Italy, which longs only to see the nations harmonize

with that resolve which she has finally taken, that she may never more

be torn in pieces.

"Think of us, brothers. This is for you and for us a question of life

and of death; it is a question on which depends, perhaps, the peace of

Europe.

"For ourselves, we have already weighed the chances of the struggle,

and subordinated them all to this final resolution, that we will be

free and independent, with our brothers of Italy.

"We hope that our words will induce you to calm counsels; if not, you

will find us on the field of battle generous and loyal enemies, as now

we profess ourselves your generous and loyal brothers.

(Signed,)

"CASATI, _President_,

DURINI,

STRIGELLI,

BERETTA,

GRAPPI,

TURRONI,

REZZONICO,

CARBONERA,

BORROMEO,

P. LITTA,

GIULINI,

GUERRIERI,

PORRO,

MORRONI,

AB. ANELLI,

CORRENTI, _Sec.-Gen._"

These are the names of men whose hearts glow with that generous ardor,

the noble product of difficult times. Into their hearts flows wisdom

from on high,--thoughts great, magnanimous, brotherly. They may not

all remain true to this high vocation, but, at any rate, they will

have lived a period of true life. I knew some of these men when in

Lombardy; of old aristocratic families, with all the refinement of

inheritance and education, they are thoroughly pervaded by principles

of a genuine democracy of brotherhood and justice. In the flower

of their age, they have before them a long career of the noblest

usefulness, if this era follows up its present promise, and they are

faithful to their present creed, and ready to improve and extend it.

Every day produces these remarkable documents. So many years as we

have been suffocated and poisoned by the atmosphere of falsehood in

official papers, how refreshing is the tone of noble sentiment in

Lamartine! What a real wisdom and pure dignity in the letter

of Béranger! _He_ was always absolutely true,--an oasis in the

pestilential desert of Humbug; but the present time allowed him a fine

occasion.

The Poles have also made noble manifestations. Their great poet, Adam

Mickiewicz, has been here to enroll the Italian Poles, publish the

declaration of faith in which they hope to re-enter and re-establish

their country, and receive the Pope's benediction on their banner. In

their declaration of faith are found these three articles:--

"Every one of the nation a citizen,--every citizen equal in rights and

before authorities.

"To the Jew, our elder brother, respect, brotherhood, aid on the way

to his eternal and terrestrial good, entire equality in political and

civil rights.

"To the companion of life, woman, citizenship, entire equality of

rights."

This last expression of just thought the Poles ought to initiate, for

what other nation has had such truly heroic women? Women indeed,--not

children, servants, or playthings.

Mickiewicz, with the squadron that accompanied him from Rome, was

received with the greatest enthusiasm at Florence. Deputations from

the clubs and journals went to his hotel and escorted him to the

Piazza del Gran Dúca, where, amid an immense concourse of people, some

good speeches were made. A Florentine, with a generous forgetfulness

of national vanity, addressed him as the Dante of Poland, who, more

fortunate than the great bard and seer of Italy, was likely to return

to his country to reap the harvest of the seed he had sown.

"O Dante of Poland! who, like our Alighieri, hast received from

Heaven sovereign genius, divine song, but from earth sufferings and

exile,--more happy than our Alighieri, thou hast reacquired a country;

already thou art meditating on the sacred harp the patriotic hymn of

restoration and of victory. The pilgrims of Poland have become the

warriors of their nation. Long live Poland, and the brotherhood of

nations!"

When this address was finished, the great poet appeared on the balcony

to answer. The people received him with a tumult of applause, followed

by a profound silence, as they anxiously awaited his voice. Those

who are acquainted with the powerful eloquence, the magnetism, of

Mickiewicz as an orator, will not be surprised at the effect produced

by this speech, though delivered in a foreign language. It is the

force of truth, the great vitality of his presence, that loads his

words with such electric power. He spoke as follows:--

"People of Tuscany! Friends! Brothers! We receive your shouts of

sympathy in the name of Poland; not for us, but for our country. Our

country, though distant, claims from you this sympathy by its long

martyrdom. The glory of Poland, its only glory, truly Christian, is

to have suffered more than all the nations. In other countries the

goodness, the generosity of heart, of some sovereigns protected the

people; as yours has enjoyed the dawn of the era now coming, under the

protection of your excellent prince. [Viva Leopold II.!] But conquered

Poland, slave and victim, of sovereigns who were her sworn enemies and

executioners,--Poland, abandoned by the governments and the nations,

lay in agony on her solitary Golgotha. She was believed slain, dead,

burred. 'We have slain her,' shouted the despots; 'she is dead!'

[No, no! long live Poland!] 'The dead cannot rise again,' replied

the diplomatists; 'we may now be tranquil.' [A universal shudder of

feeling in the crowd.] There came a moment in which the world doubted

of the mercy and justice of the Omnipotent. There was a moment in

which the nations thought that the earth might be for ever abandoned

by God, and condemned to the rule of the demon, its ancient lord. The

nations forgot that Jesus Christ came down from heaven to give liberty

and peace to the earth. The nations had forgotten all this. But God

is just. The voice of Pius IX. roused Italy. [Long live Pius IX.!] The

people of Paris have driven out the great traitor against the cause

of the nations. [Bravo! Viva the people of Paris!] Very soon will be

heard the voice of Poland. Poland will rise again! [Yes, yes!

Poland will rise again!] Poland will call to life all the Slavonic

races,--the Croats, the Dalmatians, the Bohemians, the Moravians,

the Illyrians. These will form the bulwark against the tyrant of the

North. [Great applause.] They will close for ever the way against the

barbarians of the North,--destroyers of liberty and of civilization.

Poland is called to do more yet: Poland, as crucified nation, is risen

again, and called to serve her sister nations. The will of God

is, that Christianity should become in Poland, and through Poland

elsewhere, no more a dead letter of the law, but the living law of

states and civil associations;--[Great applause;]--that Christianity

should be manifested by acts, the sacrifices of generosity and

liberality. This Christianity is not new to you, Florentines; your

ancient republic knew and has acted upon it: it is time that the same

spirit should make to itself a larger sphere. The will of God is that

the nations should act towards one another as neighbors,--as brothers.

[A tumult of applause.] And you, Tuscans, have to-day done an act of

Christian brotherhood. Receiving thus foreign, unknown pilgrims, who

go to defy the greatest powers of the earth, you have in us saluted

only what is in us of spiritual and immortal,--our faith and our

patriotism. [Applause.] We thank you; and we will now go into the

church to thank God."

"All the people then followed the Poles to the church of Santa Cróce,

where was sung the _Benedictus Dominus_, and amid the memorials of the

greatness of Italy collected in that temple was forged more strongly

the chain of sympathy and of union between two nations, sisters in

misfortune and in glory."

This speech and its reception, literally translated from the journal

of the day, show how pleasant it is on great occasions to be brought

in contact with this people, so full of natural eloquence and of

lively sensibility to what is great and beautiful.

It is a glorious time too for the exiles who return, and reap even a

momentary fruit of their long sorrows. Mazzini has been able to return

from his seventeen years' exile, during which there was no hour, night

or day, that the thought of Italy was banished from his heart,--no

possible effort that he did not make to achieve the emancipation of

his people, and with it the progress of mankind. He returns, like

Wordsworth's great man, "to see what he foresaw." He will see his

predictions accomplishing yet for a long time, for Mazzini has a

mind far in advance of his times in general, and his nation in

particular,--a mind that will be best revered and understood when

the "illustrious Gioberti" shall be remembered as a pompous verbose

charlatan, with just talent enough to catch the echo from the

advancing wave of his day, but without any true sight of the wants of

man at this epoch. And yet Mazzini sees not all: he aims at political

emancipation; but he sees not, perhaps would deny, the bearing of some

events, which even now begin to work their way. Of this, more anon;

but not to-day, nor in the small print of the Tribune. Suffice it to

say, I allude to that of which the cry of Communism, the systems of

Fourier, &c., are but forerunners. Mazzini sees much already,--at

Milan, where he is, he has probably this day received the intelligence

of the accomplishment of his foresight, implied in his letter to the

Pope, which angered Italy by what was thought its tone of irreverence

and doubt, some six months since.

To-day is the 7th of May, for I had thrown aside this letter, begun

the 19th of April, from a sense that there was something coming that

would supersede what was then to say. This something has appeared in a

form that will cause deep sadness to good hearts everywhere. Good and

loving hearts, that long for a human form which they can revere,

will be unprepared and for a time must suffer much from the final

dereliction of Pius IX. to the cause of freedom, progress, and of the

war. He was a fair image, and men went nigh to idolize it; this

they can do no more, though they may be able to find excuse for

his feebleness, love his good heart no less than before, and draw

instruction from the causes that have produced his failure, more

valuable than his success would have been.

Pius IX., no one can doubt who has looked on him, has a good and pure

heart; but it needed also, not only a strong, but a great mind,

"To _comprehend his trust_, and to the same

Keep faithful, with a singleness of aim."

A highly esteemed friend in the United States wrote to express

distaste to some observations in a letter of mine to the Tribune on

first seeing the Pontiff a year ago, observing, "To say that he had

not the expression of great intellect was _uncalled for_" Alas!

far from it; it was an observation that rose inevitably on knowing

something of the task before Pius IX., and the hopes he had excited.

The problem he had to solve was one of such difficulty, that only

one of those minds, the rare product of ages for the redemption of

mankind, could be equal to its solution. The question that inevitably

rose on seeing him was, "Is he such a one?" The answer was immediately

negative. But at the same time, he had such an aspect of true

benevolence and piety, that a hope arose that Heaven would act through

him, and impel him to measures wise beyond his knowledge.

This hope was confirmed by the calmness he showed at the time of the

conspiracy of July, and the occupation of Ferrara by the Austrians.

Tales were told of simple wisdom, of instinct, which he obeyed in

opposition to the counsels of all his Cardinals. Everything went on

well for a time.

But tokens of indubitable weakness were shown by the Pope in early

acts of the winter, in the removal of a censor at the suggestion of

others, in his speech, to the Consistory, in his answer to the first

address of the Council. In these he declared that, when there was

conflict between the priest and the man, he always meant to be the

priest; and that he preferred the wisdom of the past to that of the

future.

Still, times went on bending his predeterminations to the call of the

moment. He _acted_ wiselier than he intended; as, for instance, three

weeks after declaring he would not give a constitution to his people,

he gave it,--a sop to Cerberus, indeed,--a poor vamped-up thing that

will by and by have to give place to something more legitimate, but

which served its purpose at the time as declaration of rights for the

people. When the news of the revolution of Vienna arrived, the Pope

himself cried _Viva Pio Nono!_ and this ebullition of truth in one so

humble, though opposed to his formal declarations, was received by his

people with that immediate assent which truth commands.

The revolution of Lombardy followed. The troops of the line were sent

thither; the volunteers rushed to accompany them. In the streets of

Rome was read the proclamation of Charles Albert, in which he styles

himself the servant of Italy and of Pius IX. The priests preached the

war, and justly, as a crusade; the Pope blessed their banners. Nobody

dreamed, or had cause to dream, that these movements had not his

full sympathy; and his name was in every form invoked as the chosen

instrument of God to inspire Italy to throw off the oppressive yoke of

the foreigner, and recover her rights in the civilized world.

At the same time, however, the Pope was seen to act with great

blindness in the affair of the Jesuits. The other states of Italy

drove them out by main force, resolved not to have in the midst of

the war a foe and spy in the camp. Rome wished to do the same, but the

Pope rose in their defence. He talked as if they were assailed as a

_religious_ body, when he could not fail, like everybody else, to be

aware that they were dreaded and hated solely as agents of despotism.

He demanded that they should be assailed only by legal means, when

none such were available. The end was in half-measures, always the

worst possible. He would not entirely yield, and the people would

not at all. The Order was ostensibly dissolved; but great part of

the Jesuits really remain here in disguise, a constant source of

irritation and mischief, which, if still greater difficulties had

not arisen, would of itself have created enough. Meanwhile, in the

earnestness of the clergy about the pretended loss of the head of St.

Andrew, in the ceremonies of the holy week, which at this juncture

excited no real interest, was much matter for thought to the calm

observer as to the restlessness of the new wine, the old bottles being

heard to crack on every side, and hour by hour.

Thus affairs went on from day to day,--the Pope kissing the foot of

the brazen Jupiter and blessing palms of straw at St. Peter's;

the _Circolo Romano_ erecting itself into a kind of Jacobin Club,

dictating programmes for an Italian Diet-General, and choosing

committees to provide for the expenses of the war; the Civic Guard

arresting people who tried to make mobs as if famishing, and, being

searched, were found well provided both with arms and money; the

ministry at their wits' end, with their trunks packed up ready to

be off at a moment's warning,--when the report, it is not yet known

whether true or false, that one of the Roman Civic Guard, a well-known

artist engaged in the war of Lombardy, had been taken and hung by the

Austrians as a brigand, roused the people to a sense of the position

of their friends, and they went to the Pope to demand that he should

take a decisive stand, and declare war against the Austrians.

The Pope summoned, a consistory; the people waited anxiously, for

expressions of his were reported, as if the troops ought not to have

thought of leaving the frontier, while every man, woman, and child

in Rome knew, and every letter and bulletin declared, that all their

thought was to render active aid to the cause of Italian independence.

This anxious doubt, however, had not prepared at all for the excess to

which they were to be disappointed.

The speech of the Pope declared, that he had never any thought of

the great results which had followed his actions; that he had only

intended local reforms, such as had previously been suggested by the

potentates of Europe; that he regretted the _mis_use which had been

made of his name; and wound up by lamenting over the war,--dear to

every Italian heart as the best and holiest cause in which for ages

they had been called to embark their hopes,--as if it was something

offensive to the spirit of religion, and which he would fain see

hushed up, and its motives smoothed out and ironed over.

A momentary stupefaction followed this astounding performance,

succeeded by a passion of indignation, in which the words _traitor_

and _imbecile_ were associated with the name that had been so dear to

his people. This again yielded to a settled grief: they felt that he

was betrayed, but no traitor; timid and weak, but still a sovereign

whom they had adored, and a man who had brought them much good, which

could not be quite destroyed by his wishing to disown it. Even of

this fact they had no time to stop and think; the necessity was too

imminent of obviating the worst consequences of this ill; and the

first thought was to prevent the news leaving Rome, to dishearten the

provinces and army, before they had tried to persuade the Pontiff to

wiser resolves, or, if this could not be, to supersede his power.

I cannot repress my admiration at the gentleness, clearness, and good

sense with which the Roman people acted under these most difficult

circumstances. It was astonishing to see the clear understanding which

animated the crowd, as one man, and the decision with which they acted

to effect their purpose. Wonderfully has this people been developed

within a year!

The Pope, besieged by deputations, who mildly but firmly showed him

that, if he persisted, the temporal power must be placed in other

hands, his ears filled with reports of Cardinals, "such venerable

persons," as he pathetically styles them, would not yield in spirit,

though compelled to in act. After two days' struggle, he was obliged

to place the power in the hands of the persons most opposed to him,

and nominally acquiesce in their proceedings, while in his second

proclamation, very touching from the sweetness of its tone, he shows a

fixed misunderstanding of the cause at issue, which leaves no hope of

his ever again being more than a name or an effigy in their affairs.

His people were much affected, and entirely laid aside their anger,

but they would not be blinded as to the truth. While gladly returning

to their accustomed habits of affectionate homage toward the Pontiff,

their unanimous sense and resolve is thus expressed in an able

pamphlet of the day, such as in every respect would have been deemed

impossible to the Rome of 1847:--

"From the last allocution of Pius result two facts of extreme

gravity;--the entire separation between the spiritual and temporal

power, and the express refusal of the Pontiff to be chief of an

Italian Republic. But far from drawing hence reason for discouragement

and grief, who looks well at the destiny of Italy may bless

Providence, which breaks or changes the instrument when the work

is completed, and by secret and inscrutable ways conducts us to the

fulfilment of our desires and of our hopes.

"If Pius IX. refuses, the Italian people does not therefore draw back.

Nothing remains to the free people of Italy, except to unite in one

constitutional kingdom, founded on the largest basis; and if the chief

who, by our assemblies, shall be called to the highest honor, either

declines or does not answer worthily, the people will take care of

itself.

"Italians! down with all emblems of private and partial interests.

Let us unite under one single banner, the tricolor, and if he who has

carried it bravely thus far lets it fall from his hand, we will take

it one from the other, twenty-four millions of us, and, till the last

of us shall have perished under the banner of our redemption, the

stranger shall not return into Italy.

"Viva Italy! viva the Italian people!"[A]

[Footnote A: Close of "A Comment by Pio Angelo Fierortino on the

Allocution of Pius IX. spoken in the Secret Consistory of 29th April,

1848," dated Italy, 30th April, 1st year of the Redemption of Italy.]

These events make indeed a crisis. The work begun by Napoleon is

finished. There will never more be really a Pope, but only the effigy

or simulacrum of one.

The loss of Pius IX. is for the moment a great one. His name had real

moral weight,--was a trumpet appeal to sentiment. It is not the same

with any man that is left. There is not one that can be truly a leader

in the Roman dominion, not one who has even great intellectual weight.

The responsibility of events now lies wholly with the people, and

that wave of thought which has begun to pervade them. Sovereigns and

statesmen will go where they are carried; it is probable power will be

changed continually from, hand to hand, and government become, to all

intents and purposes, representative. Italy needs now quite to throw

aside her stupid king of Naples, who hangs like a dead weight on her

movements. The king of Sardinia and the Grand Duke of Tuscany will be

trusted while they keep their present course; but who can feel sure

of any sovereign, now that Louis Philippe has shown himself so mad

and Pius IX. so blind? It seems as if fate was at work to bewilder

and cast down the dignities of the world and democratize society at a

blow.

In Rome there is now no anchor except the good sense of the people.

It seems impossible that collision should not arise between him who

retains the name but not the place of sovereign, and the provisional

government which calls itself a ministry. The Count Mamiani, its new

head, is a man of reputation as a writer, but untried as yet as a

leader or a statesman. Should agitations arise, the Pope can no longer

calm them by one of his fatherly looks.

All lies in the future; and our best hope must be that the Power which

has begun so great a work will find due means to end it, and make the

year 1850 a year of true jubilee to Italy; a year not merely of pomps

and tributes, but of recognized rights and intelligent joys; a year of

real peace,--peace, founded not on compromise and the lying etiquettes

of diplomacy, but on truth and justice.

Then this sad disappointment in Pius IX. may be forgotten, or, while

all that was lovely and generous in his life is prized and reverenced,

deep instruction may be drawn from his errors as to the inevitable

dangers of a priestly or a princely environment, and a higher

knowledge may elevate a nobler commonwealth than the world has yet

known.

Hoping this era, I remain at present here. Should my hopes be dashed

to the ground, it will not change my faith, but the struggle for its

manifestation is to me of vital interest. My friends write to urge my

return; they talk of our country as the land of the future. It is so,

but that spirit which made it all it is of value in my eyes, which

gave all of hope with which I can sympathize for that future, is

more alive here at present than in America. My country is at present

spoiled by prosperity, stupid with the lust of gain, soiled by crime

in its willing perpetuation of slavery, shamed by an unjust war, noble

sentiment much forgotten even by individuals, the aims of politicians

selfish or petty, the literature frivolous and venal. In Europe, amid

the teachings of adversity, a nobler spirit is struggling,--a spirit

which cheers and animates mine. I hear earnest words of pure faith and

love. I see deeds of brotherhood. This is what makes _my_ America. I

do not deeply distrust my country. She is not dead, but in my time she

sleepeth, and the spirit of our fathers flames no more, but lies hid

beneath the ashes. It will not be so long; bodies cannot live when the

soul gets too overgrown with gluttony and falsehood. But it is not the

making a President out of the Mexican war that would make me wish to

come back. Here things are before my eyes worth recording, and, if I

cannot help this work, I would gladly be its historian.

May 13.

Returning from a little tour in the Alban Mount, where everything

looks so glorious this glorious spring, I find a temporary quiet. The

Pope's brothers have come to sympathize with him; the crowd sighs over

what he has done, presents him with great bouquets of flowers, and

reads anxiously the news from the north and the proclamations of the

new ministry. Meanwhile the nightingales sing; every tree and plant

is in flower, and the sun and moon shine as if paradise were already

re-established on earth. I go to one of the villas to dream it is so,

beneath the pale light of the stars.

LETTER XXV.

REVIEW OF THE COURSE OF PIUS IX.--MAMIANI.--THE PEOPLE'S DISAPPOINTED

HOPES.--THE MONUMENTS IN MILAN, NAPLES, ETC.--THE KING OF NAPLES AND

HIS TROOPS.--CALAMITIES OF THE WAR.--THE ITALIAN PEOPLE.--CHARLES

ALBERT.--DEDUCTIONS.--SUMMER AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF ITALY.

Rome, December 2, 1848.

I have not written for six months, and within that time what changes

have taken place on this side "the great water,"--changes of how

great dramatic interest historically,--of bearing infinitely important

ideally! Easy is the descent in ill.

I wrote last when Pius IX. had taken the first stride on the downward

road. He had proclaimed himself the foe of further reform measures,

when he implied that Italian independence was not important in his

eyes, when he abandoned the crowd of heroic youth who had gone to the

field with his benediction, to some of whom his own hand had given

crosses. All the Popes, his predecessors, had meddled with, most

frequently instigated, war; now came one who must carry out,

literally, the doctrines of the Prince of Peace, when the war was

not for wrong, or the aggrandizement of individuals, but to

redeem national, to redeem human, rights from the grasp of foreign

oppression.

I said some cried "traitor," some "imbecile," some wept, but In the

minds of all, I believe, at that time, grief was predominant. They

could no longer depend on him they had thought their best friend. They

had lost their father.

Meanwhile his people would not submit to the inaction he urged. They

saw it was not only ruinous to themselves, but base and treacherous

to the rest of Italy. They said to the Pope, "This cannot be; you

must follow up the pledges you have given, or, if you will not act to

redeem them, you must have a ministry that will." The Pope, after he

had once declared to the contrary, ought to have persisted. He should

have said, "I cannot thus belie myself, I cannot put my name to acts I

have just declared to be against my conscience."

The ministers of the people ought to have seen that the position they

assumed was utterly untenable; that they could not advance with an

enemy in the background cutting off all supplies. But some patriotism

and some vanity exhilarated them, and, the Pope having weakly yielded,

they unwisely began their impossible task. Mamiani, their chief, I

esteem a man, under all circumstances, unequal to such a position,--a

man of rhetoric merely. But no man could have acted, unless the

Pope had resigned his temporal power, the Cardinals been put under

sufficient check, and the Jesuits and emissaries of Austria driven

from their lurking-places.

A sad scene began. The Pope,--shut up more and more in his palace, the

crowd of selfish and insidious advisers darkening round, enslaved by

a confessor,--he who might have been the liberator of suffering Europe

permitted the most infamous treacheries to be practised in his name.

Private letters were written to the foreign powers, denying the

acts he outwardly sanctioned; the hopes of the people were evaded

or dallied with; the Chamber of Deputies permitted to talk and pass

measures which they never could get funds to put into execution;

legions to form and manoeuvre, but never to have the arms and

clothing they needed. Again and again the people went to the Pope for

satisfaction. They got only--benediction.

Thus plotted and thus worked the scarlet men of sin, playing the hopes

of Italy off and on, while _their_ hope was of the miserable defeat

consummated by a still worse traitor at Milan on the 6th of August.

But, indeed, what could be expected from the "Sword of Pius IX.," when

Pius IX. himself had thus failed in his high vocation. The king of

Naples bombarded his city, and set on the Lazzaroni to rob and murder

the subjects he had deluded by his pretended gift of the Constitution.

Pius proclaimed that he longed to embrace _all_ the princes of Italy.

He talked of peace, when all knew for a great part of the Italians

there was no longer hope of peace, except in the sepulchre, or

freedom.

The taunting manifestos of Welden are a sufficient comment on the

conduct of the Pope. "As the government of his Holiness is too weak

to control his subjects,"--"As, singularly enough, a great number of

Romans are found, fighting against us, contrary to the _expressed_

will of their prince,"--such were the excuses for invasions of the

Pontifical dominions, and the robbery and insult by which they were

accompanied. Such invasions, it was said, made his Holiness very

indignant; he remonstrated against these; but we find no word of

remonstrance against the tyranny of the king of Naples,--no word

of sympathy for the victims of Lombardy, the sufferings of Verona,

Vicenza, Padua, Mantua, Venice.

In the affairs of Europe there are continued signs of the plan of the

retrograde party to effect similar demonstrations in different places

at the same hour. The 15th of May was one of these marked days.

On that day the king of Naples made use of the insurrection he had

contrived to excite, to massacre his people, and find an excuse for

recalling his troops from Lombardy. The same day a similar crisis was

hoped in Rome from the declarations of the Pope, but that did not work

at the moment exactly as the foes of enfranchisement hoped.

However, the wounds were cruel enough. The Roman volunteers received

the astounding news that they were not to expect protection or

countenance from their prince; all the army stood aghast, that they

were no longer to fight in the name of Pio. It had been so dear,

so sweet, to love and really reverence the head of their Church,

so inspiring to find their religion for once in accordance with the

aspirations of the soul! They were to be deprived, too, of the aid of

the disciplined Neapolitan troops and their artillery, on which they

had counted. How cunningly all this was contrived to cause dissension

and dismay may easily be seen.

The Neapolitan General Pepe nobly refused to obey, and called on the

troops to remain with him. They wavered; but they are a pampered army,

personally much attached to the king, who pays them well and indulges

them at the expense of his people, that they may be his support

against that people when in a throe of nature it rises and striven

for its rights. For the same reason, the sentiment of patriotism was

little diffused among them in comparison with the other troops. And

the alternative presented was one in which it required a very clear

sense of higher duty to act against habit. Generally, after wavering

awhile, they obeyed and returned. The Roman States, which had received

them with so many testimonials of affection and honor, on their

retreat were not slack to show a correspondent aversion and contempt.

The towns would not suffer their passage; the hamlets were unwilling

to serve them even with fire and water. They were filled at once with

shame and rage; one officer killed himself, unable to bear it; in the

unreflecting minds of the soldiers, hate sprung up for the rest of

Italy, and especially Rome, which will make them admirable tools of

tyranny in case of civil war.

This was the first great calamity of the war. But apart from the

treachery of the king of Naples and the dereliction of the Pope,

it was impossible it should end thoroughly well. The people were

in earnest, and have shown themselves so; brave, and able to bear

privation. No one should dare, after the proofs of the summer, to

reiterate the taunt, so unfriendly frequent on foreign lips at the

beginning of the contest, that the Italian can boast, shout, and fling

garlands, but not _act_. The Italian always showed himself noble and

brave, even in foreign service, and is doubly so in the cause of his

country. But efficient heads were wanting. The princes were not in

earnest; they were looking at expediency. The Grand Duke, timid and

prudent, wanted to do what was safest for Tuscany; his ministry,

"_Moderate_" and prudent, would have liked to win a great prize at

small risk. They went no farther than the people pulled them. The king

of Sardinia had taken the first bold step, and the idea that treachery

on his part was premeditated cannot be sustained; it arises from the

extraordinary aspect of his measures, and the knowledge that he is not

incapable of treachery, as he proved in early youth. But now it was

only his selfishness that worked to the same results. He fought and

planned, not for Italy, but the house of Savoy, which his Balbis and

Giobertis had so long been prophesying was to reign supreme in the

new great era of Italy. These prophecies he more than half believed,

because they chimed with his ambitious wishes; but he had not soul

enough to realize them; he trusted only in his disciplined troops;

he had not nobleness enough to believe he might rely at all on

the sentiment of the people. For his troops he dared not have good

generals; conscious of meanness and timidity, he shrank from the

approach of able and earnest men; he was inly afraid they would,

in helping Italy, take her and themselves out of his guardianship.

Antonini was insulted, Garibaldi rejected; other experienced leaders,

who had rushed to Italy at the first trumpet-sound, could never

get employment from him. As to his generalship, it was entirely

inadequate, even if he had made use of the first favorable moments.

But his first thought was not to strike a blow at the Austrians before

they recovered from the discomfiture of Milan, but to use the panic

and need of his assistance to induce Lombardy and Venice to annex

themselves to his kingdom. He did not even wish seriously to get the

better till this was done, and when this was done, it was too late.

The Austrian army was recruited, the generals had recovered their

spirits, and were burning to retrieve and avenge their past defeat.

The conduct of Charles Albert had been shamefully evasive in the first

months. The account given by Franzini, when challenged in the Chamber

of Deputies at Turin, might be summed up thus: "Why, gentlemen,

what would you have? Every one knows that the army is in excellent

condition, and eager for action. They are often reviewed, hear

speeches, and sometimes get medals. We take places always, if it is

not difficult. I myself was present once when the troops advanced; our

men behaved gallantly, and had the advantage in the first skirmish;

but afterward the enemy pointed on us artillery from the heights, and,

naturally, we retired. But as to supposing that his Majesty Charles

Albert is indifferent to the success of Italy in the war, that is

absurd. He is 'the Sword of Italy'; he is the most magnanimous of

princes; he is seriously occupied about the war; many a day I have

been called into his tent to talk it over, before he was up in the

morning!"

Sad was it that the heroic Milan, the heroic Venice, the heroic

Sicily, should lean on such a reed as this, and by hurried acts,

equally unworthy as unwise, sully the glory of their shields. Some

names, indeed, stand, out quite free from this blame. Mazzini, who

kept up a combat against folly and cowardice, day by day and hour by

hour, with almost supernatural strength, warned the people constantly

of the evils which their advisers were drawing upon them. He was heard

then only by a few, but in this "Italia del Popolo" may be found many

prophecies exactly fulfilled, as those of "the golden-haired love of

Phoebus" during the struggles of Ilium. He himself, in the last sad

days of Milan, compared his lot to that of Cassandra. At all events,

his hands are pure from that ill. What could be done to arouse

Lombardy he did, but the "Moderate" party unable to wean themselves

from old habits, the pupils of the wordy Gioberti thought there could

be no safety unless under the mantle of a prince. They did not foresee

that he would run away, and throw that mantle on the ground.

Tommaso and Manin also were clear in their aversion to these measures;

and with them, as with all who were resolute in principle at that

time, a great influence has followed.

It is said Charles Albert feels bitterly the imputations on his

courage, and says they are most ungrateful, since he has exposed the

lives of himself and his sons in the combat. Indeed, there ought to

be made a distinction between personal and mental courage. The former

Charles Albert may possess, may have too much of what this still

aristocratic world calls "the feelings of a gentleman" to shun

exposing himself to a chance shot now and then. An entire want of

mental courage he has shown. The battle, decisive against him, was

made so by his giving up the moment fortune turned against him. It is

shameful to hear so many say this result was inevitable, just because

the material advantages were in favor of the Austrians. Pray, was

never a battle won against material odds? It is precisely such that a

good leader, a noble man, may expect to win. Were the Austrians driven

out of Milan because the Milanese had that advantage? The Austrians

would again, have suffered repulse from them, but for the baseness of

this man, on whom they had been cajoled into relying,--a baseness that

deserves the pillory; and on a pillory will the "Magnanimous," as he

was meanly called in face of the crimes of his youth and the timid

selfishness of his middle age, stand in the sight of posterity. He

made use of his power only to betray Milan; he took from the citizens

all means of defence, and then gave them up to the spoiler; he

promised to defend them "to the last drop of his blood," and sold

them the next minute; even the paltry terms he made, he has not seen

maintained. Had the people slain him in their rage, he well deserved

it at their hands; and all his conduct since show how righteous would

have been that sudden verdict of passion.

Of all this great drama I have much to write, but elsewhere, in a more

full form, and where I can duly sketch the portraits of actors little

known in America. The materials are over-rich. I have bought my right

in them by much sympathetic suffering; yet, amid the blood and tears

of Italy, 'tis joy to see some glorious new births. The Italians are

getting cured of mean adulation and hasty boasts; they are learning

to prize and seek realities; the effigies of straw are getting knocked

down, and living, growing men take their places. Italy is being

educated for the future, her leaders are learning that the time is

past for trust in princes and precedents,--that there is no hope

except in truth and God; her lower people are learning to shout less

and think more.

Though my thoughts have been much with the public in this struggle for

life, I have been away from it during the summer months, in the quiet

valleys, on the lonely mountains. There, personally undisturbed, I

have seen the glorious Italian summer wax and wane,--the summer of

Southern Italy, which I did not see last year. On the mountains it was

not too hot for me, and I enjoyed the great luxuriance of vegetation.

I had the advantage of having visited the scene of the war minutely

last summer, so that, in mind, I could follow every step of the

campaign, while around me were the glorious relics of old times,--the

crumbling theatre or temple of the Roman day, the bird's-nest village

of the Middle Ages, on whose purple height shone the sun and moon of

Italy in changeless lustre. It was great pleasure to me to watch the

gradual growth and change of the seasons, so different from ours.

Last year I had not leisure for this quiet acquaintance. Now I saw the

fields first dressed in their carpets of green, enamelled richly with

the red poppy and blue corn-flower,--in that sunshine how resplendent!

Then swelled the fig, the grape, the olive, the almond; and my food

was of these products of this rich clime. For near three months I had

grapes every day; the last four weeks, enough daily for two persons

for a cent! Exquisite salad for two persons' dinner and supper cost

but a cent, and all other products of the region were in the same

proportion. One who keeps still in Italy, and lives as the people do,

may really have much simple luxury for very little money; though both

travel, and, to the inexperienced foreigner, life in the cities, are

expensive.

LETTER XXVI.

THOUGHTS OF THE ITALIAN RACE, THE SEASONS, AND ROME.--CHANGES.--THE

DEATH OF THE MINISTER ROSSI.--THE CHURCH OF SAN LUIGI DEL

FRANCESI.--ST. CECILIA AND THE DOMENICHINO CHAPEL.--THE PIAZZA DEL

POPOLO.--THE TROOPS: PREPARATORY MOVEMENTS TOWARD THE QUIRINAL.--THE

DEMONSTRATION ON THE PALACE.--THE CHURCH: ITS POSITION AND AIMS.--THE

POPE'S FLIGHT, &C.--SOCIAL LIFE.--DON TIRLONE.--THE NEW YEAR.

Rome, December 2, 1848.

Not till I saw the snow on the mountains grow rosy in the autumn

sunset did I turn my steps again toward Rome. I was very ready to

return. After three or four years of constant excitement, this six

months of seclusion had been welcome; but now I felt the need of

meeting other eyes beside those, so bright and so shallow, of the

Italian peasant. Indeed, I left what was most precious, but which

I could not take with me;[A] still it was a compensation that I was

again to see Rome,--Rome, that almost killed me with her cold breath

of last winter, yet still with that cold breath whispered a tale of

import so divine. Rome so beautiful, so great! her presence stupefies,

and one has to withdraw to prize the treasures she has given. City

of the soul! yes, it is _that_; the very dust magnetizes you, and

thousand spells have been chaining you in every careless, every

murmuring moment. Yes! Rome, however seen, thou must be still adored;

and every hour of absence or presence must deepen love with one who

has known what it is to repose in thy arms.

[Footnote A: Her child, who was born in Rieti, September 5, 1848, and

was necessarily left in that town during the difficulties and siege of

Rome.--ED.]

Repose! for whatever be the revolutions, tumults, panics, hopes, of

the present day, still the temper of life here is repose. The great

past enfolds us, and the emotions of the moment cannot here greatly

disturb that impression. From the wild shout and throng of the

streets the setting sun recalls us as it rests on a hundred domes and

temples,--rests on the Campagna, whose grass is rooted in departed

human greatness. Burial-place so full of spirit that death itself

seems no longer cold! O let me rest here, too! Hest here seems

possible; meseems myriad lives still linger here, awaiting some one

great summons.

The rivers had burst their bounds, and beneath the moon the fields

round Rome lay one sheet of silver. Entering the gate while the

baggage was under examination, I walked to the entrance of a villa.

Far stretched its overarching shrubberies, its deep green bowers; two

statues, with foot advanced and uplifted finger, seemed to greet me;

it was near the scene of great revels, great splendors in the old

time; there lay the gardens of Sallust, where were combined palace,

theatre, library, bath, and villa. Strange things have happened since,

the most attractive part of which--the secret heart--lies buried or

has fled to animate other forms; for of that part historians have

rarely given a hint more than they do now of the truest life of our

day, which refuses to be embodied, by the pen, craving forms more

mutable, more eloquent than the pen can give.

I found Rome empty of foreigners. Most of the English have fled in

affright,--the Germans and French are wanted at home,--the Czar has

recalled many of his younger subjects; he does not like the schooling

they get here. That large part of the population, which lives by the

visits of foreigners was suffering very much,--trade, industry, for

every reason, stagnant. The people were every moment becoming more

exasperated by the impudent measures of the Minister Rossi, and their

mortification at seeing Rome represented and betrayed by a foreigner.

And what foreigner? A pupil of Guizot and Louis Philippe. The news of

the bombardment and storm of Vienna had just reached Rome. Zucchi,

the Minister of War, at once left the city to put down over-free

manifestations in the provinces, and impede the entrance of the troops

of the patriot chief, Garibaldi, into Bologna. From the provinces came

soldiery, called by Rossi to keep order at the opening of the Chamber

of Deputies. He reviewed them in the face of the Civic Guard; the

press began to be restrained; men were arbitrarily seized and sent

out of the kingdom. The public indignation rose to its height; the cup

overflowed.

The 15th was a beautiful day, and I had gone out for a long walk.

Returning at night, the old Padrona met me with her usual smile a

little clouded. "Do you know," said she, "that the Minister Rossi has

been killed?" No Roman said _murdered_.

"Killed?"

"Yes,--with a thrust in the back. A wicked man, surely; but is that

the way to punish even the wicked?"

"I cannot," observed a philosopher, "sympathize under any

circumstances with so immoral a deed; but surely the manner of doing

it was great."

The people at large were not so refined in their comments as either

the Padrona or the philosopher; but soldiers and populace alike ran up

and down, singing, "Blessed the hand that rids the earth of a tyrant."

Certainly, the manner _was_ "great."

The Chamber was awaiting the entrance of Rossi. Had he lived to enter,

he would have found the Assembly, without a single exception, ranged

upon the Opposition benches. His carriage approached, attended by a

howling, hissing multitude. He smiled, affected unconcern, but must

have felt relieved when his horses entered the courtyard gate of

the _Cancelleria_. He did not know he was entering the place of his

execution. The horses stopped; he alighted in the midst of a crowd; it

jostled him, as if for the purpose of insult; he turned abruptly,

and received as he did so the fatal blow. It was dealt by a resolute,

perhaps experienced, hand; he fell and spoke no word more.

The crowd, as if all previously acquainted with the plan, as no doubt

most of them were, issued quietly from the gate, and passed through

the outside crowd,--its members, among whom was he who dealt the blow,

dispersing in all directions. For two or three minutes this outside

crowd did not know that anything special had happened. When they did,

the news was at the moment received in silence. The soldiers in whom

Rossi had trusted, whom he had hoped to flatter and bribe, stood at

their posts and said not a word. Neither they nor any one asked, "Who

did this? Where is he gone?" The sense of the people certainly was

that it was an act of summary justice on an offender whom the laws

could not reach, but they felt it to be indecent to shout or exult on

the spot where he was breathing his last. Rome, so long supposed the

capital of Christendom, certainly took a very pagan view of this act,

and the piece represented on the occasion at the theatres was "The

Death of Nero."

The next morning I went to the Church of St. Andrea della Valle, where

was to be performed a funeral service, with fine music, in honor of

the victims of Vienna; for this they do here for the victims of every

place,--"victims of Milan," "victims of Paris," "victims of Naples,"

and now "victims of Vienna." But to-day I found the church closed, the

service put off,--Rome was thinking about her own victims.

I passed into the Ripetta, and entered the Church of San Luigi dei

Francesi. The Republican flag was flying at the door; the young

sacristan said the fine musical service, which this church gave

formerly on St. Philip's day in honor of Louis Philippe, would now

be transferred to the Republican anniversary, the 25th of February. I

looked at the monument Chateaubriand erected when here, to a poor girl

who died, last of her family, having seen all the others perish

round her. I entered the Domenichino Chapel, and gazed anew on the

magnificent representations of the Life and Death of St. Cecilia. She

and St. Agnes are my favorite saints. I love to think of those angel

visits which her husband knew by the fragrance of roses and lilies

left behind in the apartment. I love to think of his visit to the

Catacombs, and all that followed. In one of the pictures St. Cecilia,

as she stretches out her arms toward the suffering multitude, seems

as if an immortal fount of purest love sprung from her heart. It gives

very strongly the idea of an inexhaustible love,--the only love that

is much worth thinking about.

Leaving the church, I passed along toward the Piazza del Popolo.

"Yellow Tiber rose," but not high enough to cause "distress," as he

does when in a swelling mood. I heard the drums beating, and, entering

the Piazza, I found the troops of the line already assembled, and

the Civic Guard marching in by platoons, each battalion saluted as it

entered by trumpets and a fine strain from the band of the Carbineers.

I climbed the Pincian to see better. There is no place so fine for

anything of this kind as the Piazza del Popolo, it is so full of

light, so fair and grand, the obelisk and fountain make so fine a

centre to all kinds of groups.

The object of the present meeting was for the Civic Guard and troops

of the line to give pledges of sympathy preparatory to going to the

Quirinal to demand a change of ministry and of measures. The flag of

the Union was placed in front of the obelisk; all present saluted it;

some officials made addresses; the trumpets sounded, and all moved

toward the Quirinal.

Nothing could be gentler than the disposition of those composing the

crowd. They were resolved to be played with no longer, but no

threat was uttered or thought. They believed that the court would be

convinced by the fate of Rossi that the retrograde movement it had

attempted was impracticable. They knew the retrograde party were

panic-struck, and hoped to use the occasion to free the Pope from its

meshes. All felt that Pius IX. had fallen irrevocably from his high

place as the friend of progress and father of Italy; but still he was

personally beloved, and still his name, so often shouted in hope and

joy, had not quite lost its _prestige_.

I returned to the house, which is very near the Quirinal. On one

side I could see the palace and gardens of the Pope, on the other the

Piazza Barberini and street of the Four Fountains. Presently I saw the

carriage of Prince Barberini drive hurriedly into his court-yard gate,

the footman signing to close it, a discharge of fire-arms was heard,

and the drums of the Civic Guard beat to arms.

The Padrona ran up and down, crying with every round of shot, "Jesu

Maria, they are killing the Pope! O poor Holy Father!--Tito, Tito,"

(out of the window to her husband,) "what _is_ the matter?"

The lord of creation disdained to reply.

"O Signora! pray, pray, ask Tito what is the matter?"

I did so.

"I don't know, Signora; nobody knows."

"Why don't you go on the Mount and see?"

"It would be an imprudence, Signora; nobody will go."

I was just thinking to go myself, when I saw a poor man borne by,

badly wounded, and heard that the Swiss were firing on the people.

Their doing so was the cause of whatever violence there was, and it

was not much.

The people had assembled, as usual, at the Quirinal, only with more

form and solemnity than usual. They had taken with them several of the

Chamber of Deputies, and they sent an embassy, headed by Galetti, who

had been in the late ministry, to state their wishes. They received

a peremptory negative. They then insisted on seeing the Pope, and

pressed on the palace. The Swiss became alarmed, and fired from the

windows and from the roof. They did this, it is said, without orders;

but who could, at the time, suppose that? If it had been planned to

exasperate the people to blood, what more could have been done? As it

was, very little was shed; but the Pope, no doubt, felt great panic.

He heard the report of fire-arms,--heard that they tried to burn

a door of the palace. I would lay my life that he could have shown

himself without the slightest danger; nay, that the habitual respect

for his presence would have prevailed, and hushed all tumult. He did

not think so, and, to still it, once more degraded himself and injured

his people, by making promises he did not mean to keep.

He protests now against those promises as extorted by violence,--a

strange plea indeed for the representative of St. Peter!

Rome is all full of the effigies of those over whom violence had no

power. There was an early Pope about to be thrown into the Tiber;

violence had no power to make him say what he did not mean. Delicate

girls, men in the prime of hope and pride of power,--they were all

alike about that. They could die in boiling oil, roasted on coals, or

cut to pieces; but they could not say what they did not mean. These

formed the true Church; it was these who had power to disseminate

the religion of him, the Prince of Peace, who died a bloody death of

torture between sinners, because he never could say what he did not

mean.

A little church, outside the gate of St. Sebastian commemorates the

following affecting tradition of the Church. Peter, alarmed at the

persecution of the Christians, had gone forth to fly, when in this

spot he saw a bright figure in his path, and recognized his Master

travelling toward Rome. "Lord," he said, "whither goest thou?" "I

go," replied Jesus, "to die with my people." Peter comprehended the

reproof. He felt that he must not a fourth time deny his Master,

yet hope for salvation. He returned to Rome to offer his life in

attestation of his faith.

The Roman Catholic Church has risen a monument to the memory of

such facts. And has the present head of that Church quite failed to

understand their monition?

Not all the Popes have so failed, though the majority have been

intriguing, ambitious men of the world. But even the mob of Rome--and

in Rome there _is_ a true mob of unheeding cabbage-sellers, who never

had a thought before beyond contriving how to satisfy their animal

instincts for the day--said, on hearing the protest, "There was

another Pius, not long since, who talked in a very different style.

When the French threatened him, he said, 'You may do with me as you

see fit, but I cannot consent to act against my convictions.'"

In fact, the only dignified course for the Pope to pursue was to

resign his temporal power. He could no longer hold it on his own

terms; but to it he clung; and the counsellors around him were men to

wish him to regard _that_ as the first of duties. When the question

was of waging war for the independence of Italy, they regarded him

solely as the head of the Church; but when the demand was to satisfy

the wants of his people, and ecclesiastical goods were threatened with

taxes, then he was the prince of the state, bound to maintain all the

selfish prerogatives of bygone days for the benefit of his successors.

Poor Pope! how has his mind been torn to pieces in these later days!

It moves compassion. There can be no doubt that all his natural

impulses are generous and kind, and in a more private station he would

have died beloved and honored; but to this he was unequal; he has

suffered bad men to surround him, and by their misrepresentations and

insidious suggestions at last entirely to cloud his mind. I believe he

really thinks now the Progress movement tends to anarchy, blood, and

all that looked worst in the first French revolution. However that may

be, I cannot forgive him some of the circumstances of this flight. To

fly to Naples; to throw himself in the arms of the bombarding monarch,

blessing him and thanking his soldiery for preserving that part of

Italy from anarchy; to protest that all his promises at Rome were null

and void, when he thought himself in safety to choose a commission for

governing in his absence, composed of men of princely blood, but as to

character so null that everybody laughed, and said he chose those

who could best be spared if they were killed; (but they all ran away

directly;) when Rome was thus left without any government, to refuse

to see any deputation, even the Senator of Rome, whom he had so gladly

sanctioned,--these are the acts either of a fool or a foe. They are

not his acts, to be sure, but he is responsible; he lets them stand as

such in the face of the world, and weeps and prays for their success.

No more of him! His day is over. He has been made, it seems

unconsciously, an instrument of good his regrets cannot destroy. Nor

can he be made so important an instrument of ill. These acts have not

had the effect the foes of freedom hoped. Rome remained quite cool and

composed; all felt that they had not demanded more than was their duty

to demand, and were willing to accept what might follow. In a few

days all began to say: "Well, who would have thought it? The Pope, the

Cardinals, the Princes are gone, and Rome is perfectly tranquil, and

one does not miss anything, except that there are not so many rich

carriages and liveries."

The Pope may regret too late that he ever gave the people a chance

to make this reflection. Yet the best fruits of the movement may

not ripen for a long time. It is a movement which requires radical

measures, clear-sighted, resolute men: these last, as yet, do not show

themselves in Rome. The new Tuscan ministry has three men of superior

force in various ways,--Montanelli, Guerazzi, D'Aguila; such are not

as yet to be found in Rome.

But should she fall this time,--and she must either advance with

decision and force, or fall, since to stand still is impossible,--the

people have learned much; ignorance and servility of thought are

lessened,--the way is paving for final triumph.

And my country, what does she? You have chosen a new President from

a Slave State, representative of the Mexican war. But he seems to be

honest, a man that can be esteemed, and is one really known to

the people, which is a step upward, after having sunk last time to

choosing a mere tool of party.

Pray send here a good Ambassador,--one that has experience of foreign

life, that he may act with good judgment, and, if possible, a man

that has knowledge and views which extend beyond the cause of party

politics in the United States,--a man of unity in principles, but

capable of understanding variety in forms. And send a man capable

of prizing the luxury of living in, or knowing Rome; the office of

Ambassador is one that should not be thrown away on a person who

cannot prize or use it. Another century, and I might ask to be made

Ambassador myself, ('tis true, like other Ambassadors, I would employ

clerks to do the most of the duty,) but woman's day has not come yet.

They hold their clubs in Paris, but even George Sand will not act

with women as they are. They say she pleads they are too mean, too

treacherous. She should not abandon them for that, which is not

nature, but misfortune. How much I shall have to say on that subject

if I live, which I desire not, for I am very tired of the battle with

giant wrongs, and would like to have some one younger and stronger

arise to say what ought to be said, still more to do what ought to be

done. Enough! if I felt these things in privileged America, the cries

of mothers and wives beaten at night by sons and husbands for their

diversion after drinking, as I have repeatedly heard them these past

months,--the excuse for falsehood, "I _dare not_ tell my husband, he

would be ready to kill me,"--have sharpened my perception as to the

ills of woman's condition and the remedies that must be applied. Had

I but genius, had I but energy, to tell what I know as it ought to be

told! God grant them me, or some other more worthy woman, I pray.

_Don Tirlone_, the _Punch_ of Rome, has just come in. This number

represents the fortress of Gaëta. Outside hangs a cage containing

a parrot (_pappagallo_), the plump body of the bird surmounted by a

noble large head with benign face and Papal head-dress. He sits on

the perch now with folded wings, but the cage door, in likeness of a

portico, shows there is convenience to come forth for the purposes

of benediction, when wanted. Outside, the king of Naples, dressed

as Harlequin, plays the organ for instruction of the bird (unhappy

penitent, doomed to penance), and, grinning with sharp teeth,

observes: "He speaks in my way now." In the background a young

Republican holds ready the match for a barrel of gunpowder, but looks

at his watch, waiting the moment to ignite it.

A happy New Year to my country! may she be worthy of the privileges

she possesses, while others are lavishing their blood to win

them,--that is all that need be wished for her at present.

LETTER XXVII.

ROME.--THE CARNIVAL: THE MOCCOLETTI.--THE ROMAN CHARACTER.--THE

POPE'S FLIGHT.--THE ASSEMBLY.--THE PEOPLE.--THE POPE'S MISTAKE.--HIS

MANIFESTO: ITS TONE AND EFFECT.--DESTRUCTION OF THE TEMPORAL DOMINION

OF THE CHURCH.

Rome, Evening of Feb. 20, 1849.

It is said you cannot thoroughly know any place till you have both

summered and wintered in it; but more than one summer and winter of

experience seems to be needed for Rome. How I fretted last winter,

during the three months' rain, and sepulchral chill, and far worse

than sepulchral odors, which accompanied it! I thought it was the

invariable Roman winter, and that I should never be able to stay here

during another; so took my room only by the month, thinking to fly so

soon as the rain set in. And lo! it has never rained at all; but there

has been glorious sun and moon, unstained by cloud, always; and these

last days have been as warm as May,--the days of the Carnival, for I

have just come in from seeing the _Moccoletti_.

The Republican Carnival has not been as splendid as the Papal, the

absence of dukes and princes being felt in the way of coaches and

rich dresses; there are also fewer foreigners than usual, many having

feared to assist at this most peaceful of revolutions. But if

less splendid, it was not less gay; the costumes were many and

fanciful,--flowers, smiles, and fun abundant.

This is the first time of my seeing the true _Moccoletti_; last year,

in one of the first triumphs of democracy, they did not blow oat the

lights, thus turning it into an illumination. The effect of the swarms

of lights, little and large, thus in motion all over the fronts of

the houses, and up and down the Corso, was exceedingly pretty and

fairy-like; but that did not make up for the loss of that wild,

innocent gayety of which this people alone is capable after childhood,

and which never shines out so much as on this occasion. It is

astonishing the variety of tones, the lively satire and taunt of which

the words _Senza moccolo_, _senza mo_, are susceptible from

their tongues. The scene is the best burlesque on the life of the

"respectable" world that can be imagined. A ragamuffin with a little

piece of candle, not even lighted, thrusts it in your face with an air

of far greater superiority than he can wear who, dressed in gold and

velvet, erect in his carriage, holds aloft his light on a tall pole.

In vain his security; while he looks down on the crowd to taunt the

wretches _senza mo_, a weak female hand from a chamber window blots

out his pretensions by one flirt of an old handkerchief.

Many handsome women, otherwise dressed in white, wore the red liberty

cap, and the noble though somewhat coarse Roman outline beneath this

brilliant red, by the changeful glow of million lights, made a fine

effect. Men looked too vulgar in the liberty cap.

How I mourn that my little companion E. never saw these things, that

would have given him such store of enchanting reminiscences for all

his after years! I miss him always on such occasions; formerly it was

through him that I enjoyed them. He had the child's heart, had

the susceptible fancy, and, naturally, a fine discerning sense for

whatever is individual or peculiar.

I missed him much at the Fair of St. Eustachio. This, like the

Carnival, was last year entirely spoiled by constant rain. I never

saw it at all before. It comes in the first days, or rather nights, of

January. All the quarter of St. Eustachio is turned into one toy-shop;

the stalls are set out in the street and brightly lighted, up. These

are full of cheap toys,--prices varying from half a cent up to twenty

cents. The dolls, which are dressed as husband and wife, or sometimes

grouped in families, are the most grotesque rag-babies that can

be imagined. Among the toys are great quantities of whistles, tin

trumpets, and little tambourines; of these every man, woman, and

child has bought one, and is using it to make a noise. This extempore

concert begins about ten o'clock, and lasts till midnight; the

delight of the numerous children that form part of the orchestra, the

good-humored familiarity without the least touch of rudeness in the

crowd, the lively effect of the light upon the toys, and the jumping,

shouting figures that, exhibit them, make this the pleasantest

Saturnalia. Had you only been there, E., to guide me by the hand,

blowing the trumpet for both, and spying out a hundred queer things in

nooks that entirely escape me!

The Roman still plays amid his serious affairs, and very serious have

they been this past winter. The Roman legions went out singing and

dancing to fight in Lombardy, and they fought no less bravely for

that.