SOUTHERN SHORES
The real life of the Adriatic coast seems to diminish visibly when
one leaves Venice and drops down towards Ravenna; it has been drawn
away inland to busy cities that turn their backs on the sea, and the
sea itself has sullenly withdrawn, leaving ancient ports empty and
useless, like stranded wrecks that will never feel the leap of the
waves beneath their keels again. One should visit Ravenna either in
the heyday of irrepressible youth, or much later in life when twilight
is companionable and sympathetic; otherwise its melancholy is too
all-pervading, too depressing to be healthy. It is a city of ghosts,
big-eyed, hard-featured Byzantine ghosts; the great mosaics are full of
their portraits, and, with all the beauty of gold and colour, there is
something sinister and deathly in those tall, straight figures, stiff
of gesture, rapacious of eye—likenesses caught unawares of people who
in their hearts prized power and wealth above all other things in this
life or the next.
I do not think any one Italian-born can feel much more than judicial
admiration of the severe early architecture, perfect though it be. The
sharp square outlines, the sulky red—that might be _rosso antico_, so
little has it yielded in tint or surface to the touch of Time—all this,
to me, seems misplaced under the dreamy blue of the Italian sky. Within
the churches the long aisles of double-storied arches cramp the spaces
where fancy might soar and prayer take wing. They make an impression
of narrowness, almost of Puritanism, that stifles emotion and frowns
at joy. Of course all this is rank artistic heresy, or will seem so to
the crowd of submissive art experts who tumble over each other in their
haste to repeat the dictums of a few famous specialists; but I fancy
there are many simple-minded people who will agree with me all the
same.
[Illustration: RAVENNA. A general view of the town.]
It has always puzzled my own ignorance to understand how anything so
un-Italian as the early Byzantine style came to take root and flower
successfully on Italian soil. The radiant, light-flooded climate does
so much to soften and humanize the alien growth that it buys its pardon
for it in the end; but when some enthusiast, thrilled with admiration
for what he has seen basking in southern sunshine, undertakes to
reproduce it under the cold and lowering English skies, its true
character is shown at once. It is all too akin to them. One escapes
from the prison gloom of Westminster Cathedral to fly to the Brompton
Oratory and sink down in a corner and thank Heaven that St. Philip Neri
was a Roman, and that his sons and followers can still give us churches
with big, airy domes and broad, smooth naves where the light flows
free, and transepts that open wide for worshippers and pool up the
blessed sunshine like any bay in the Mediterranean.
But there was one point on which Ravenna, in my day at least (for it
has suffered since then), yielded the palm to no Mediterranean port—the
stately forest of stone-pines that stood like troops at rest, for
miles along the shore. The stone-pine is always beautiful, whether as
a solitary, striking up, one shaft of grace and strength, against the
sky, or as in great companies sunk to the knees in the deep turfy mould
that their needles have piled below them in the course of centuries.
They grow thus in the south over many a green acre of Villa land,
sheltering an unending profusion of the delicate wild flowers that
thrive in that rich soil.
But for real forests of stone-pines you must go farther north and
skirt the coast. There you will see them in their glory, miles of them
together, and if you are quiet and will listen, you will learn a great
deal. For, like the sons of the prophets, they have secrets of their
own that have never been shared with other tribes, secrets that have
only been confided to them—and that is why the solitary pine is such
a true solitary; he invites no companions from the gregarious world
around: towering and alone, he seems to gaze at unseen horizons, to
praise the Lord in the murmur of the far-spreading branches that crown
the fretted column of his stem; as for Elijah on Mount Carmel, so for
him the past and the present and the future blend unto one great chord
of trusting acceptance that no passing storms can shatter, no warm
caress lure from its allegiance.
Have you, in some fleeting moment, caught the opening bars of an air
that has haunted you afterwards for years, and then been led to where
some great orchestra gave it to you in all its completeness? That was
what happened to me when I first stood in the “Pineta” of Viareggio,
and heard the full-voiced chant of the pines and the sea. I realized
that they were part of one another, so to speak, that the whisper of
the Villa pine in the south is an echo and a greeting brought by the
wind from the family home in the north, where all the secrets of tree
music are guarded as in some jealous ancient academy—no outsiders are
ever privileged to carry them away! Psalms and marches and dirges, the
wild call of the Laga, the C Major of the Te Deum, the wail of the De
Profundis—the trees overhead and the surges on the shore will let you
hear it all, and once heard it can never be forgotten.
It seems strange that Viareggio, the most prosaic and unpicturesque
of all the Italian watering-places on the Ligurean shores, should
possess this wonder still in its perfection, while the sister forest
on the Adriatic side has been forsaken by the sea and devastated both
by fire and by the frosts of that terrible winter of 1878-1879. We
once abandoned Leghorn and went instead to Viareggio for our September
bathing—a great mistake only made up to us by the drives through the
Pineta in the evenings. The discomforts and the ugliness of the town
have long since been forgotten—perhaps because the ups and downs of
existence have shown me far less bearable ones—and now the most vivid
recollection is that of the enchanted air and fragrances of the Pineta.
I think it will be so in the next life; if we win through all right,
we shall remember nothing of earth but its sweetnesses, and the
_very_ wise people refuse to look at anything else, even now! The real
philosophers, who are the real Saints, always seem to smile, though
sometimes it is through tears. And there is one queer thing about
tears—the people who have never wept don’t begin to know even how to
smile, much less how to laugh. I am always sorry and frightened for
them if they are nice good people, for we all have to pay our little
tribute to trouble, our tithe to humanity’s debt; some get it spread
all over a lifetime, some all in a moment, and these are the spoiled
ones of the nursery on whom I suppose long discipline might have lain
too heavily for their courage. I remember one startling case that
impressed me very deeply, that of a nice American family, father,
mother, and daughters twain, pleasant, harmless, good-looking people
with plenty of money and perfect health. I liked being with them,
though our views of life were severed as the poles, mine reaching out
to the impossible and sensational (I was very young!), and theirs so
satisfied with the comfortable half-lights of their own surroundings
that they simply could not imagine anything desirable beyond.
One day I gave voice to my curiosity. “Do tell me about yourself,
Mrs. ——,” I said to the mother. “You look just as young as your own
daughters. I don’t think you can ever have had a trouble!”
“I never have,” she replied, turning on me her mild, satisfied gaze.
“I cannot remember a single sorrow in all my life, not a death in
my family, not an hour’s sickness even, amongst us all. We have all,
_always_, had everything we could wish for.”
It was the first time I had ever heard any one say such a thing, and
I felt awe-struck and envious. A few months afterwards they all went
back to America—at least they started to go. Their ship went down
in mid-ocean, and the dear people reached home sooner than they had
expected. But for that sharp, short suffering, it is just possible that
life and its unending pleasantnesses might have made it hard for them
to get to heaven at all.
There was more than mere fun in Thackeray’s tale of “The Rose and the
Ring.” When the Fairy Blackstick frowned at Prince Giglio and said,
“What you need, young man, is a little misfortune!” she asserted a most
obvious and irritating fact. But it has one delightful side to it—that
bitter draught that wise Doctor Fate insists on our taking from time
to time; the good things, even tiny little ones that we never noticed
before, do taste so wonderfully sweet afterwards!
We were talking of shore forests—there is one, not of pine, but
beeches, on the Adriatic, exactly opposite Naples on the Tyrrhenian
Sea.[13] Here a great promontory runs out towards the east, rising into
mountains which have caused the whole to be called the “Monte Gargano,”
though each peak has its own name besides. People call the isolated
district (which really belongs to the Province of Molise) Manfredonia,
from the name of its chief town, long a pet stronghold of Suabian King
Manfred, who founded and fortified it in the thirteenth century. But
Nature protected the Monte Gargano in another way and a very effectual
one. It was meant to be an island; on the western side the Abruzzi
shrinking back in the real mainland, and the Adriatic, withdrawing
slowly from the coast, have left a strip of land many miles wide, flat,
marshy, abominably feverish, as a kind of defensive trench to cut off
the Gargano promontory from the rest of Italy, and, as it were, remind
it for ever that by formation it does not belong to her at all, but to
the limestone plateau of Dalmatia, across the way.
This vast plain (for it stretches far and far past the promontory,
towards the south) refuses to nourish a single tree on the few feet of
soil which cover the mother-rock, but it provides such splendid food
for sheep that since time immemorial it has been given up to them.
Alphonsus I annexed it as a royal meadow in 1445, and imported his
Spanish merinos with such success that two hundred years later four
and a half million of the beautiful creatures were herded by Neapolitan
peasants on these pastures. Even now, though only a scanty half-million
graze on them, the sheep are lords and owners of all that ground.
During the summer they are led to the mountains, partly for their
own sake, partly for that of their keepers, who could not live in the
miasma-haunted plains in August and September. In crossing, even by
train, the twenty-two miles that separate Foggia from Manfredonia,
the traveller is always warned to close the carriage windows; but in
October the sheep are all driven back, and for weeks the three great
roads that converge towards the flats are just broad ribbons of dust
through which comes the drumming of invisible millions of little
hoofs. Along the edges of the yellow cloud phantom figures of shepherds
dressed in sheepskins take shape at intervals and disappear again, and
the dogs, dear faithful things, fly round and herd up the stragglers
and nip at the legs of truants with the noisy joy that even long
marches through the scorching plains can never quite suppress.
From every point on those plains Monte Gargano can be seen, raising
its peaks against the blue, and clothed down to the very water’s edge
in magic beechwoods, homes of light and shadow and flickering gold,
musical with song, fragrant with wild flowers and carpeted with the
rich mould that a thousand autumns have spread along its ways. Nothing
is ever disturbed on Monte Gargano. But for the sea and the fever-land,
the forest would long ago have been cut down, its riches dispersed,
its very site perhaps forgotten; but now all stands as it did from the
first, and winter and summer have their own way there, and the herdsmen
fold their cattle in the deep caves of the hills even as they did
fourteen hundred years ago, in the reign of the holy Pope St. Gelasius,
when heaven’s gates opened one May morning to let through a flash
of wings and the gleam of an archangel’s sword, and the fairest of
Gargano’s peaks became Monte Sant’ Angelo.
And this was the way of it. While the rest of Italy was torn with the
struggles of rival barbarians, and desolated by the rapacity of men
like the Galla who drove his poor captives before him to the feet of
St. Benedict at Monte Cassino, the peasants of Monte Gargano, safe in
their isolation, lived as they live to-day, obscure, contented, minding
their own affairs—which are chiefly their own cattle—with all their
mind.
In that wild place the cattle stray sometimes, and it is hard to
find them again. And so it happened that on May 8, towards 493, or
thereabouts, a young herdsman went climbing in the hills with some
companions to look for a valuable steer that he had lost. Having
wandered and searched for some time in vain, they were feeling deeply
discouraged, when they perceived the creature hopelessly entangled
in a thicket of briars at the entrance of a deep cavern. In fear, or
irritation, one of the pursuers drew his bow and let fly an arrow at
the animal, but, to the men’s amazement, the missile turned in the
air and struck him who had shot it. Terrified at this portent, they
all fled and did not stop till they reached the town of Sipontum,
far below, where they related what had happened to them. Fear fell
on the inhabitants, and no one had the courage to go and examine the
cavern, though all were consumed with curiosity to know what, or who,
it contained. In this dilemma they referred the case to their Bishop,
and he replied that he must lay the thing before the Lord, and ordained
three days of fasting and prayer for all the population, during which
they were to join him in begging that Heaven’s will in the matter might
be made clear.
And the petition was granted, for on the third day the great Archangel
Michael appeared to the Bishop and told him that the portent of the
returning arrow was intended to show that he wished to have a sanctuary
consecrated in that cave to the glory of God, and in honour of the
angels. So immediately the Bishop came forth, and, gathering all the
people to him, led them, with prayers and chants, into the heart of the
hills to the mysterious cavern, and entering in, they found it hollowed
out and disposed in the form of a church, with all things ready, so
that the Bishop at once said Mass there; and from that hour so many
wonderful miracles took place on that spot that all men knew certainly
that it was greatly favoured by heaven. And from that day to this
it has been a place of holy pilgrimage, where many sinners have been
converted, and many, afflicted with terrible diseases, cured.
The church celebrates the Apparition of St. Michael the Archangel on
Monte Gargano, on May 8, but the feast of that spring morning is not
the only one in which she commemorates his glorious interventions on
her behalf. Far away in the north, another promontory, strangely like
that of Monte Gargano, once encircled by forests too, but now cut off
from the land at each return of the tide, the Mont Saint-Michel, stands
as the last outpost of France, flinging defiance at its twin peak
across the water in Britain. There is something strangely significant
in the choice of these two points for the most notable apparitions of
the great Archangel who commands the heavenly hosts and watches with
such sublime benignity over the destinies of men. One in the north
and one in the south, the great lonely rocks rise sheer from the sea
as if set apart as resting-places where the glorious pinions might be
folded for a while, and the effulgence of the angelic countenance, too
overwhelming for man to bear as it comes straight from the Presence of
God, a little tempered and veiled by the mists of sorrowful earth. But
one feels, too, that the purity of the lonely rock, the brave song of
the wind, the long roll of Atlantic surge and the chant of Adriatic
billows, were dear and welcome to the Warrior Angel, who holds our
world in his hands as the Creator’s chief Minister, who carries out His
mandates, chastizing when he must, but so tender to the contrite, so
inspiring to the valiant, so royal in protection to the oppressed!
Of all the peaks that bear his name through the length and breadth
of Europe none has been more signally his own than this one on the
coast of Brittany. The East has its own, in Phrygia, where also the
Archangel deigned to manifest his love for us poor mortals by his
visible presence, and where the marvel of that love is commemorated
under the title of “The Synax of Michael, Prince of the Army and of the
other Incorporeal Powers.” The Greeks always give such thunderously
full titles to their friends in heaven! But I am sure they cannot
honour their great protector half so heartily as he has been honoured
on the Mont Saint-Michel ever since he touched it and consecrated it
for all time, in the eighth century. The details that have come down
to us of that Apparition are somewhat less full than those of the one
at Monte Gargano, but the subsequent history of the French sanctuary,
which stood for just a thousand years as an impregnable fortress, is
connected, right through, with humanity as the lonely shrine of the
South has never been. Its name alone is like a war-cry—“Saint Michel au
Péril de la Mer,” Saint Michael of the Peril of the Sea—and bespeaks
the invincible ally of the race that was once the ardent apostle of
Christianity and its most valiant champion.
It was to Saint Aubert that the revelation came, when he was Bishop
of Avranches, in the reign of Childeburt II. The Archangel appeared to
him in his sleep, says the Breviary, and bade him build a church on the
sentinel rock, round which already many pious hermits were gathered to
serve God in solitude. Now Saint Aubert was a man who reflected much
before taking any new step, and he hesitated so long that the Archangel
had to repeat his visit three times before he was obeyed—a great
encouragement, this, to timid souls!—but then the Saint went to work
valiantly enough. The rock was of a strange rounded shape, and he built
on its summit a great round church, as closely resembling the holy
cave at Monte Gargano as possible. Then he sent to that place to fetch
stones and relics from it, all of which he set with great honour in the
newer sanctuary; and when all was done he established and endowed there
a monastery of twelve “holy clerks for the perpetual service of the
Blessed Archangel.”
But Richard I, Duke of Normandy, wished still further to honour St.
Michael, so he sent away the clerks and established the Benedictines
in their place; and the fame of the Shrine and of the many miracles
performed there drew a great concourse of pilgrims from all over the
world, especially royal pilgrims from England and Europe generally,
so that when the Order of the Knights of St. Michael was instituted,
this was their Chapter House. By that time it was already one of the
most ancient and one of the few “maiden” fortresses of the realm, and
never, until the monarchy succumbed to the Revolution, did a single
foe to France succeed in setting foot within its walls. For a thousand
years, seven times a day, the praises of God had rung out from it over
the sea; for a thousand years the standard of France floated stainless
above its battlements. “_Monsieur Saint-Michel, Archange, premier
Chevalier, qui pour la querelle de Dieu victorieusement batailla contre
le dragon_” (it is thus that his titles are given in the Institutes of
the Order founded in 1469), took care of his own—till France drove him
away.
INDEX
A
Acciajuoli, Lorenzo, 262
Acciajuoli, Nicholas, 246, 251-2, 261 _et sq._
Aglaë, 3 _et sq._
Agnes, Duchess of Durazzo, 204, 235 _et sq._
Aix, Archbishop of, 258
Alaric the Goth, 3, 10
Alban Hills, 142, 145 _et sq._
Alexander, Emperor of Russia, 294
Alexis, St., 6 _et sq._
Alphonsus Liguori, St., 241-2
Altamura, Giovanni Pipino, Count of, 205, 212-13, 230
Amadeus VIII of Savoy, 185, 187
Ancona, 289, 296, 302
Andrew of Hungary, Prince (Duke of Calabria), 1st Consort of Queen
Joan of Naples, his marriage to Queen Joan, 200 _et sq._; his
temperament, 201-2; his disappointment at Joan’s sole occupancy of
the throne, 202 _et sq._, 219; Charles of Durazzo plots against, 210;
forms a friendship with Charles of Durazzo, 211 _et sq._; begged to
leave Naples by his mother, 219 _et sq._; his crown confirmed by the
Pope, 221-2; his murder planned, 223 _et sq._, 254; goes on a hunting
expedition, 224 _et sq._; murdered by his enemies, 228-9, 248, 255,
275; lying-in-state of, 230-1; Papal Bull to inquire into the murder
of, 238 _et sq._; his murderers tried and sentenced, 239 _et sq._;
Joan’s complicity in the death of, 249 _et sq._, 260; King Louis seeks
to avenge the death of, 248 _et sq._
Andrew of Isernia, 222 _et sq._
Angles, 49
Anicia, family of, 19, 39
Anthony, St., 156, 197
Apennines, the, 146, 159
Appian Way, 145
Aquileia, Patriarch of, 265
Arétin, Baron d’, 119
Artois, Bertrand d’, 203-4, 206-7, 213, 215, 222-3, 227-8, 241, 245-6
Artois, Charles d’, 203, 213, 223, 241, 245 _et sq._
Asilo, The, 69 _et sq._, 84 _et sq._
Aubert, St., 364-5
Augustine, St., 50-1
Aventine, The, 2 _et sq._
Avignon, 77 _et sq._, 205, 220, 238, 251, 258, 260
B
Bacourt, Marquis de, 97
Baldwin II, 204
Balzo, Count of, 213
Barberini, Prince, 76
Barbou, 288
Baux, Renaud des, 268-9
Baux, Robert des, 268-9
Beauharnais, Eugène de, 277, 293
Bellegarde, 289, 290
Benedict, St., 15 _et sq._, 22 _et sq._, 52, 152, 156
Benedict I, 42-3
Benedictine Rule, 31 _et sq._, 40 _et sq._, 50
Bentinck, Lord William, 282-3, 289, 290, 304
Bernadotte. _See_ Charles XIV
Bernard, St., 84
Berthier, General, 115-16, 131 _et sq._
Bianchi, 303, 305-6, 311
Bonaparte, Caroline. _See_ Murat
Bonaparte, Prince Jerome, 78
Bonaparte, Joseph (King of Naples, afterwards King of Spain), 279
Bonaparte, Napoleon. _See_ Napoleon
Bonaparte, Pauline (Princess Borghese), 297, 309
Boniface, St., 3 _et sq._, 10 _et sq._
Boniface III, 52
Boniface IV, 54, 57 _et sq._
Boniface VIII, 147 _et sq._
Borghese, Villa, 68
Borgi, Giovanni, 65 _et sq._, 84, 86, 96, 104
Bossone, Francesco, 182 _et sq._
Bossuet, _cited_, 29
Boulogne, Cardinal de, 261
Brennan, Rev. Richard, 97
Brompton Oratory, 355
Brune, Marshal, 315
Burghersh, Lord, 311
C
Cabano, Filippo, 201, 206 _et sq._, 214-15, 223, 231, 241
Cabano, Raymond, 201, 207
Cabano, Robert of, Count of Eboli, 200 _et sq._, 213-14, 223, 226 _et
sq._, 231, 241, 243
Cabarelli, 321
Calabria, Duke of. _See_ Charles
Campbell, Commodore, 308
Campochiaro, Duke di, 293
Cancia, Donna, 206, 223, 231, 241, 256
Cane, Facino, 182 _et sq._
Canosa, 324
Capobianco, 282 _et sq._
Caracalla, 56
Carbonari, the, 282 _et sq._, 296, 298
Cariati, Prince de, 293, 307
Carmagnola. _See_ Francesco Borsone
Caroline of Austria, Queen of Spain, 294, 297
Carrascosa, General, 291, 303, 309, 311
Cassino Monte, 30 _et sq._, 361
Castel Nuovo (Naples), 214, 219, 224 _et sq._, 269, 273
Castlereagh, Viscount, 295
Catanzaro, Count of, 213, 223, 241, 256
Catherine of Taranto, Empress of Constantinople, 204, 206, 214, 223,
232 _et sq._, 245 _et sq._
Cavaletti, Marchese, 164 _et sq._
Celestine V, 239
Charlemagne, 13
Charles I of Anjou, 242
Charles, Duke of Calabria, 200
Charles, Duke of Durazzo, presents Joan as sole sovereign to the
Neapolitans, 202; refuses to do homage to Andrew of Hungary, 202; his
ambition, 204, 208; obtains an audience with Joan and plots against
Andrew, 209 _et sq._; secretly marries Princess Maria of Calabria,
211, 216 _et sq._; propitiates Andrew, 211 _et sq._; appeals to the
people to avenge Andrew’s death, 231; objects to re-marriage of Joan,
232 _et sq._; tragic death of his mother, 235-6; and the Papal inquiry
into the murder of Prince Andrew, 238 _et sq._; his tyranny, 244; civil
war between Louis of Taranto and, 244 _et sq._; invites King Louis of
Hungary to take possession of Naples, 248 _et sq._; a truce with Joan,
250; attempts to conciliate King Louis, 253; King Louis’s accusations
against, 254-5; his execution by order of King Louis, 255-6
Charles, Duke of Durazzo (son of Prince Louis), 272 _et sq._
Charles IV, Emperor of Germany, 265
Charles, King of Hungary, 200
Charles, King of Naples, 201
Charles XIV, King of Sweden, 117, 278
Chile, 1, 84 _et sq._
Cienfuegos, Canon, 85
Civita Vecchia, 289
Clement VI, 205, 220-1, 238, 244, 249, 250-1, 259 _et sq._, 265, 270
Clement VII (Anti-Pope), 273
Colonna, Count of, 299
Colonna, family of, 147 _et sq._
Conradin of Hohenstaufen, 242
Consalvi, Cardinal, 86
Constans II, 56
Constantine the Great, 13
Constantinople, Empress of, _See_ Catherine of Taranto
Crawford, Marion, 154, 169, 331
Cyrilla, 19, 20, 22-3
D
Dalberg, Duke, 295
Dante, 149, 150
Denbigh, Countess of, 157
Diocletian, 2, 4
Dominic, St., 352
Doria, Monsignor, 116, 121-2
Dumas, Alexandre, 261
Dupin, 295
Durazzo. _See_ Agnes, Charles, and Louis
E
Edessa, 8
Elizabeth of Hungary, St., 351
Elizabeth of Poland, Queen, 205, 219 _et sq._, 249
Enghien, Duc d’, 326
Ephrem, St., 197
Euphemian, 11-12
Eustace, St., 20 _et sq._
Eutychius, 43-4
F
Falkland Isles, 91 _et sq._
Ferdinand VII, King of Spain, 278, 284, 286, 288, 297, 311-12, 321,
326, 328
Ferrara, 289
Fesch, Cardinal, 129, 134, 309
Filippo Maria, Duke of Milan, 183 _et sq._
Florence, 289, 336
Fondi, Count of, 253
Foscari, Doge of Venice, 186-7
Fouché, Joseph, Duke of Otranto, 288, 315 _et sq._
Francis of Assisi, St., 24, 156
Francis, Emperor of Austria, 119, 125, 300, 320
Frederick of Baden, 242
Frimont, 303
Fullerton, Lady Georgina, 157
G
Gargano, Monte, 359 _et sq._
Genazzano, 141 _et sq._
Genoa, 336 _et sq._
Genseric, 13
George III of England, 264-5
Gian Maria, Duke of Milan, 183
Giotto, 271
Giovanni, Duke of Milan, 182-3
Gonzaga, Lord of Mantua, 193
Goths, the, 28, 32 _et sq._
Gotis, Conrad de, 224
Grace, Mary, 1 _et sq._
Gravina, Domenico, 247
Gregory, St., 29, 31, 39 _et sq._, 110
Gregory XVI, 65, 98-9, 102
Guadagnolo, 20 _et sq._
Guéranger, Dom, 22
H
Hadrian, 52, 55
Hardenberg, Prince Von, 295
Hare, Augustus J., 141, 152, 154
Honorius, Emperor, 57
Hutton, Edward, _cited_, 97
I
Imola, 83, 102 _et sq._, 111
Infantado, Duke dell’, 322
Innocent I, 11
Innocent IV, 352
Isolda (Nurse to Andrew of Hungary), 225-6, 229
Italian seas, 329 _et sq._
Ives, St., 109
J
James of Aragon, King of Minorca (3rd Consort of Queen Joan of Naples),
272
Januarius, St., 276
Jerome, St., 197
Joan of Anjou, Queen of Naples, 200 _et sq._
Joan of Naples, Queen, her beauty, 200, 209, 214; her marriage to
Andrew of Hungary, 200 _et sq._; her intrigue with Robert of Cabano,
201, 203, 206 _et sq._; is proclaimed sole ruler of Naples, 202
_et sq._, 222; and Charles of Durazzo’s scheming against Andrew,
209, 210; her love for Bertrand d’Artois, 213, 223; abduction of
her sister, Princess Maria, 214 _et sq._; and Charles of Durazzo’s
marriage to Princess Maria, 216-17; her act of homage for her crown,
218-9; Andrew’s confirmation as King, 222; and the murder of Prince
Andrew, 223 _et sq._; her fellow-conspirators’ claims, 231 _et sq._;
her marriage to Louis of Taranto, 237-8, 244; Charles of Durazzo and
Robert of Taranto make war upon, 244 _et sq._; accused by King Louis
of Hungary of the murder of Prince Andrew, 248 _et sq._; departs
for Marseilles on the entrance of King Louis into Naples, 251; her
reception at Aix, 258; Clement VI declares her innocent of Andrew’s
death, 260; her marriage to Louis of Taranto confirmed by the Pope,
260, 271; returns to Naples, 262; her attempt to wrest Naples from
Louis of Hungary, 262 _et sq._; invites the Pope’s mediation, 270; her
third marriage to James of Aragon, 272; her fourth marriage to Duke
Otho of Brunswick, 273; supports the anti-Pope, Clement VII, 273; the
ingratitude of her successor and nephew, 273 _et sq._; put to death by
order of Louis of Hungary, 274-5
John, Patriarch of Constantinople, 46
Josephus, 20
Julian the Apostate, 13
Julius Cæsar, 45
L
Louis, King of Hungary, 211; informed of conspiracy to deprive his
brother Andrew of sharing the crown with Joan, 205; invited by Charles
of Durazzo to take possession of Naples, 248-9; accuses Joan of
complicity in the murder of Andrew, 248 _et sq._; enters Italy, 251;
Charles of Durazzo and Robert of Taranto attempt to conciliate, 253;
orders Charles to be executed, 255, 272; wreaks vengeance on Andrew’s
murderers, 256, 270; terrorises the country, 256-7; requested by the
Pope to retire from Naples, 261; fighting between Louis of Taranto and,
262 _et sq._; consents to abandon Naples, 270; orders Queen Joan to be
put to death, 274-5
La Mentorella, 20, 22 _et sq._
Lascolette, 288
Lebzeltern, Chevalier de, 114 _et sq._, 118 _et sq._
Lecchi, General, 306
Leghorn, 289, 322 _et sq._, 357
Leo XII, 87, 98
Leo XIII, 1
Leopold of Bourbon, Crown Prince, 313
Lillo of Aquila, Count, 253-4
Livron, General, 304
Lombards, 40, 44, 48
Loreto, 143
Louis of Anjou, Prince, 273
Louis of Durazzo, Prince, 253, 272
Louis of Taranto, Prince (afterwards King of Naples), 2nd husband of
Queen Joan, his personal appearance, 204, 214; marries Joan of Naples,
237; civil war between Charles of Durazzo and, 244 _et sq._; resists
Louis of Hungary, 250 _et sq._, 262 _et sq._; joins Queen Joan at
Provence, 252; his marriage to Joan confirmed by Clement VI, 260; his
rescue of Princess Maria, 265 _et sq._; returns to Naples with Queen
Joan, 270; his coronation, 271; his death, 272
Louis XVIII, 316
M
Macdonald, Marshal, 309, 312
Maceroni, 319, 320
Magella, 296
Maio, General, 306
Malachy, St., 84
Malastrata, Carlo, 191
Marcella, 3
Marcellinus, 103
Marcus Agrippa, 55
Marie Louise, Empress of France, 123
Marie de Medici, 336
Marie of Valois, 200
Marius, 145
Marmont, Marshal, 314
Martin V, 189
Mary of Calabria, Princess (afterwards Duchess of Durazzo), 203, 206-7,
311, 214 _et sq._, 238, 248
Masaniello, 242
Masdea, Father, 327
Mastai-Ferretti, Cardinal, 107, 255, 259, 262, 265 _et sq._
Mastai-Ferretti, Count, 73 _et sq._, 81
Mastai-Ferretti, Countess, 74 _et sq._
Mastai-Ferretti, Giovanni. _See_ Pius IX
Maurice, Emperor, 44-5, 51
Maurus, 29 _et sq._
Metternich, Count, 116, 119 _et sq._, 133, 290, 295, 299, 320
Mier, Count Von, 285
Milan Cathedral, 59
Milan, Dukes of. _See_ Gian, Giovanni, and Filippo
Mileto, Count of, 213, 241
Miollis, General de, 118, 288
Mocenigo, Doge of Venice, 186, 190
Mohr, 303
Monastic Orders, 14-15
Montalembert, _cited_, 19, 28, 34, 47
Montefeltro, Guido de, 148
Monte Scaglioso, Bertram des Baux, Count of, 238-9, 242, 264
Montigny, General, 306-7
Morcone, Count of, 213, 223, 241
Morcone, Countess of, 206, 223, 231, 241
Moscow, 280
Murano, 348-9
Murat, Caroline Queen of Naples, 297 _et sq._, 308 _et sq._, 325
Murat, Joachim, King of Naples, his descent from power, 277; his
difficult position, 278; conspiracies against his life, 279, 280; his
public works, 280; and the Smolensk campaign, 280; attempts to unify
Italy, 281; and the suggested alliance with Austria, 285 _et sq._; and
Pope Pius VII, 291-2, 296; receives the news of Napoleon’s abdication,
292-3; adjusts his kingdom, 293-4; Talleyrand’s enmity towards, 294 _et
sq._; and Napoleon’s escape from Elba, 299 _et sq._; engages in war
against Austria, 303 _et sq._; his defeat, 309 _et sq._; resolves to
join Napoleon, 311; at Toulon, 315-16; his perils _en route_ for Paris,
316 _et sq._; and Austria’s offer to, 319 _et sq._; lands at Pizzo,
3; is imprisoned, 322 _et sq._; his trial and death sentence, 324 _et
sq._; last letter to Caroline, 325; his execution, 327-8
Muzi, Monsignor, 85, 87 _et sq._
N
Naples, under Queen Joan, 201 _et sq._; under Murat, 276 _et sq._
Napoleon I, 13,45; his persecution of Pius VII, 75, 77 _et sq._, 114
_et sq._; elevates Murat to the throne of Naples, 278; pushes on to
Moscow, 280; his quarrel with Murat, 281; his abdication, 292, 294; his
distrust of Talleyrand, 295; at Elba, 296; his escape from Elba, 299,
310; suggests an alliance with Murat, 299-314; his star once more in
the ascendant, 311; and Murat’s appeal to, 315; his power in Europe,
318; and Duc d’Enghien, 326
Napoleon III, 101
Narses, 13-14
Neipperg, Count, 303, 305-6, 311
Nero, 23, 27
Nesselrode, Count, 295
Ney, Marshal, 280, 314, 318
Nicholas of Melazzo, 211, 215, 223-4, 228, 239 _et sq._
Noailles, Count de, 295
Nogaret, William de, 150-1
Norcia. _See_ Nursia
Normandy, Duke of, 203, 211, 258
Notre Dame, 59, 77, 124
Nunziante, General, 323 _et sq._
Nursia, 15 _et sq._
O
Oderisio, Roberto di, 271
Odescalchi Palace, 1
Odoacer, 13
Olevano, 152
Orsini, family of, 147
Otho, Duke of Brunswick (4th Consort of Queen Joan of Naples), 273-4
P
Pace, Tommaso, 211, 215, 223, 228, 239 _et sq._
Palestrina, 144 _et sq._
Pantheon, 55 _et sq._
Paul Petrovitch, Emperor, 264
Paul, St., 4
Pelagius II, 43-4, 50
Pepes, General, 305
Périgord, Cardinal de, 254
Peter, St., 51, 118, 350 _et sq._
Peter, St. (the exorcist), 103
Petrarch, 202
Philip of Taranto, Prince, 253
Philippe le Bel, King of France, 150
Phocas, Emperor, 57
Piccino, Nicolo, 190, 192 _et sq._
Pignatelli, General, 264
Pisa, 196 _et sq._, 336
Pius VI, 69, 75-6
Pius VII, and the ordination of Pius IX, 72; returns in triumph to the
throne of St. Peter, 76-7; Napoleon’s insolent demands upon, 77-8, 116
_et sq._; excommunicates Napoleon, 78, 119 _et sq._; is arrested by
the French troops, 79, 116; imprisoned at Savona and Fontainebleau,
80; returns to Rome, 80, 291; rejoicing in Rome, 81 _et sq._;
prophesies the election of Father Mastai to the Papacy, 83; reorganizes
ecclesiastical matters in Chile, 85; his death, 87; Lebzeltern obtains
an audience with, 122 _et sq._; his personal appearance, 122; and
Murat, 292, 296, 302
Pius VIII, 98
Pius IX, 50, 65; appointed director of the Asilo, 70 _et sq._; his
infirmity, 71-2, 76; his ordination, 72; his birth and early life,
73 _et sq._; witnesses the return to Rome of Pius VII, 76, 81-2;
prophecies concerning his election to the Papacy, 83-4; undertakes
mission to Chile, 84 _et sq._; last evening at the Asilo, 85-6;
appointed Director of the Ospizio di San Michele, 95-6; appointed
Abp. of Spoleto, 96 _et sq._; and the revolutionaries in Spoleto, 99
_et sq._; appointed Abp. of Imola, 102; his fearless zeal, 102; his
escape from assassination, 103; made a Cardinal, 103; Riotti’s attempt
to kidnap, 104-5; his great humility, 106-7; his charity and love of
justice, 108 _et sq._
Pius X, 143
Pizzo (Calabria), 277, 323
Placidus. _See_ St. Eustace
Prina, 293
Procopius, St., 197
Q
Quintus, Sertorius, 16
R
Radet, General, 78-9, 117
Ranieri, Bp. of Pisa, 149, 196 _et sq._
Rapp, Marshal, 280
Ravenna, 354 _et sq._
Richard I, Duke of Normandy, 365
Riotti, 104
Rivière, Marquis de la, 316
Robert, Father, 202, 205-6, 208, 212, 220-1, 249
Robert, King of Naples, 200 _et sq._, 211, 220, 222
Robert of Taranto, Prince, 232-3, 236 _et sq._, 244, 250
Romanus, 24 _et sq._
Rome, the Aventine, 2 _et sq._; the centre of education, 19; pestilence
in, 51 _et sq._; the Pantheon, 55 _et sq._; Giovanni Borgi founds the
Asilo in, 65 _et sq._; Pius VII returns to 76-7, 81, 136, 291; the
Vatican, 78 _et sq._, 136; the Campagna and its cities, 137 _et sq._;
the Sabines from, 160
S
Sabine Hills, 138 _et sq._, 159 _et sq._
St. Michael, Mont, 363 _et sq._
St. Peter’s (Rome), 63, 65, 68, 83
Sant’Angelo, 288-9
Sant’Angelo, Count of, 213
Santa Chiara, Church of, 207, 218
Santa Croce, Church of, 243, 259
Sant’Eligio, Church of, 222
San Gennaro (Naples), Cathedral of, 230-1
St. John Lateran, 143
San Marco (Venice), 341
San Martino de Monti, Cardinal, 218
San Michele, Ospizio di, 95-6
San Pietro a Maiella, 226
San Severino, Count of, 213
Santo Spirito, Hospital of, 109
Sallusti, Father, 85 _et sq._
Sancia of Aragon, Queen, 204
Savona, 113 _et sq._
Scholastica, St., 15 _et sq._, 36 _et sq._, 152
Sciarra, family of, 147
Septimus Severus, 56
Silvia, St., 39, 41-2, 50
Sinigaglia, 70 _et sq._, 104, 108
Soult, Marshal, 314, 318
Spezia, 336
Spinelli, 262
Spoleto, 96 _et sq._, 111
Squillace, Godfrey of Marsano, Count of, 223, 241, 256
Stackelberg, 295
Stephen of Transylvania (Voivode), 255
Strasburg Cathedral, 59
Stratti, Captain, 323, 326-7
Strongoli, General, 304
Subiaco, 24, 27 _et sq._, 34, 152, 154
Sub Laqueum. _See_ Subiaco
Sulla, 145
T
Taigi, Anna Maria, 83-4
Talleyrand, Prince de, 117, 294-5, 236
Taranto. _See_ Robert of, Louis, King of Naples, and Philip of
Tarsus, 4
Terlizzi, Count of, 213, 223, 227 _et sq._, 240
Terlizzi, Countess of, 206, 223, 231, 241
Tertullus, 20, 28
Thackeray, W. M., 359
Thévenot, Colonel, 114-5
Tiberius Constantinus, Emperor, 43-4
Totila, 13, 34 _et sq._
Trajan, Emperor, 21
Trentacapilli, Captain, 322
U
Urban VI, 273
Urban VIII, 110
V
Vatican, the, 65, 78, 136
Venice, 180 _et sq._, 336 _et sq._
Vescovado, Palace of, 114 _et sq._
Vespasian, Emperor, 16
Vesuvius, Mt., 8
Viareggio, 356 _et sq._
Vico Varo, Monks of, 26-7
Victoria, Queen, 301, 328
W
Wellington, Duke of, 290
Westminster Abbey, 59
Westminster Cathedral, 355
Wied, 303
Wolf, Conrad, 263
_Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Montalembert.
[2] Montalembert.
[3] This term requires explanation. The two great sins of the Church
in Gaul were, first, simony, and secondly, the practice of admitting
unprepared laymen to Holy Orders and often to the Episcopate. This last
vice Gregory called “the heresy of Neophytes.”
[4] In a former volume I stated that Pius IX had for a short time
served in the Noble Guards. This was an error, for he never obtained
admittance, although I believe a portrait of him in the uniform was
extant in the earlier years of the nineteenth century. It may have
been altogether a “fake” or else taken to please his father when there
appeared to be some hope of the latter’s ambition being fulfilled.
[5] “Reminiscences of a Diplomatist’s Wife” (Hutchinson & Co.). “The
Looms of Time” (Isbister).
[6] The Islands, about a hundred in number, but most of them very
small and uninhabited, have been the cause of sharp contention and
have changed hands several times since their discovery in 1656—France,
Spain, England, and the United States have variously claimed them.
Twice the matter has been decided by an Englishman’s landing and
running up the Union Jack. The last time this occurred was in 1833,
when, in the middle of the quarrel, Captain Falkland took possession of
them on his own responsibility. Great Britain has held them ever since
as one of her recognized colonies. They are self-governing, and have
a population altogether of two thousand souls, the capital, Stanley,
claiming nearly half of the number.
[7] “A Popular Life of Pius IX,” Rev. Richard Brennan. (Benziger, 1877.)
[8] St. Peter the exorcist, martyred with the priest Marcellinus under
Diocletian. His name occurs in the Canon of the Mass.
[9] H. Chatard, “Le Pape Pie VII à Savone,” p. 83. (Plon. Nourrit et
Cie. Paris: 1887.)
[10] _Unchangeable principles_—unchangeable, that is to say, until, of
course, 1870, since when——!
[11] “Reminiscences of a Diplomatist’s Wife.”
[12] “Crimes Célèbres: Jeanne de Naples.”
[13] In our parlance all that is not the Adriatic is the Mediterranean,
but the Italians only give this name to the waters that separate
Italy and Spain from Africa, and differentiate the remainder as the
Ligurean Sea—in the Bay of Genoa, the Tyrrhenian that Rome and Naples
contemplate, and the Ionian, which washes up from Sicily under Italy’s
instep in the Gulf of Taranto.
Transcriber’s Notes
Original spelling and punctuation have been preserved as much as
possible. Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
End of Project Gutenberg's More Italian Yesterdays, by Mrs. Hugh Fraser