Garibaldi Giuseppe
Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century
CHAPTER XL. THE CHRISTENING
The "army of Rome," as already related, gave the proscribed a long time for preparation, and they, knowing the nature of the delay, troubled themselves little about the matter. And now we must return to some of the principal and most cherished personages of our book – namely, Julia and her companions, of whom we took leave when they escaped so narrowly from the storm, and whom we have neglected far too long.
Two days after the departure of the Seagull from Porto d'Anzio she entered Porto Longone, with all her sails set and her colors flying. As soon as she anchored, our friends saw a group of persons issuing from Liberi, a small village overlooking the port, who, on reaching the shore, embarked in a boat and rowed out to the yacht.
Julia received the party – which was composed of both sexes – gracefully and courteously, and offered them refreshments in her saloon, which they cordially accepted.
Seated at table, each with a glass of Marsala in hand, the guests turned towards Manlio, whom they imagined to be the master of the vessel, and addressed him with a Tuscan accent. It is one less manly than the Roman, but sweeter and more sympathetic, and though it be but a dialect of the real Italian, to it Italy owes much of her revival, and in this dialect, dignified by so much genius, must be found the language of Italian national unity.
"Sir," said the elder of the visitors, talking Tuscan, "in Liberi there exists a custom that if a vessel comes into port at the same time birth is given to an infant, the captain is requested to stand godfather to the newly-born child. Will you therefore vouchsafe to comply with this custom, and do us the honor of becoming a godfather, and your gracious young lady a godmother, to a little one who has this day entered upon existence."
Manlio smiled at this odd request, and all present admired the facility with which the visitor in Elba can form an alliance with the islanders. Manlio replied, "I am simply a guest on board, like yourself, Signor; this young English lady is the owner of the vessel, and must decide what shall be done."
Julia – the traveller, the artist, the antiquary, and the friend of Italian liberty – was enchanted to find such simplicity of manners among these good people, and said, "For my part I gladly accede to your proposal, and as I hear the captain of the ship must be godfather, I will send for him, when, if he be agreeable, we will place ourselves at your service."
Captain Thompson was immediately summoned, and the English lady explained to her commander what was required. He laughed merrily, and accepted the invitation as she had done, declaring that he should feel immensely honored to stand godfather with his gracious mistress as godmother. Captain Thompson then gave his orders to the mate, and they all embarked in company for Liberi.
Here our narrative stumbles again upon the topic of the priesthood, and it is a fatality that, in spite of the invincible antipathy which they excite in us, they are thus continually coming in contact with the progress of our tale. But the curé of Liberi was a man of a different stamp.
A modest but hospitable table was spread for the christening party in the house of the islanders, and it was made pleasant by the cordiality and simplicity of these kind islanders. The guests were all delighted, while Captain Thompson, although a little confused, was happy beyond measure at the honor the beautiful Julia did him by leaning on his arm, and still more so at being sponsor to her godchild. So elated was the worthy seaman that he neither heard nor saw as they walked towards the village, and stumbling over some obstacle in the way had well-nigh fallen, and, to use his own phrase, "carried away his bowsprit."
Luckily Julia did not perceive the profound confusion of her companion, and walked on with a calm and stately demeanor, in unintentional contrast to the tar's awkward gait, for the excellent Thompson, dreading another stumble, counted every stone on the road as he paced by her side.
In this manner they arrived at the church. Captain Thompson here put on a very imposing appearance, and, although a little wearied by the inordinate length of the ceremony, gave no sign of impatience. Having an excellent disposition, the tediousness was relieved by the pleasure of holding his new godson in his strong arm, to which, although a plump and well-formed babe, it appeared but as light as a feather.
The ceremony ended, the guests invited to the christening bent their steps to the house of the second godfather, who entertained them at a more formal banquet, the excellent wine of Liberi receiving much favor. Captain Thompson, having to reconduct Julia, and remembering the stumble, partook very moderately of the liquor, contenting himself with passing a disinterested eulogy upon it.
The captain had another motive for being temperate and keeping in check his decided predilection for good drink. He was most anxious to please the Signora Aurelia, who, though past the bloom of youth, was extremely amiable, and had a brilliant complexion. She was full of gratitude for the many attentions the captain had lavished upon her during the terrible storm, and by no means repulsed the signs of sympathy, loyal and honest, if not courtly, which the gallant sailor manifested.
All went very merrily for our amphibious friends, for, much as one may resemble a seahorse in constitution, land with its pastimes and comforts is always preferable to the tempestuous sea. On leaving, Julia was covered with blessings and thanks by her new acquaintances, after the manner of olden, times.
Manlio was meditating over a statue in marble, which he determined to carve when he should return to Rome, representing the beautiful Julia as Amphitrite guiding the stumbling Triton. Aurelia and Thompson, absorbed in thoughts of tenderness, were oblivious of the incidents of the past; and thus our yachting party returned on board, accompanied to the shore by all the villagers, with music and joyful hurrahs.
CHAPTER XLI. THE RECLUSE
IN the Italian Archipelago, which may be said to begin in the south at Sicily, and to extend northward to Corsica, there may be found a nearly deserted island, composed of pure granite crags, down which delicious streams of pure water flow, that never quite fail even in summer. It is rich in vegetation of low but pretty growth, for the tempestuous winds which rush over it prevent the trees from attaining any great height. This, however, is compensated by the healthiness of this little island, in which one may always enjoy fresh and pure air. The plants that grow out of the crevices in the rocks are chiefly aromatic, and when a fire is made of the leaves and twigs, they send forth a fragrance which perfumes the whole vicinity.
The wandering cattle that graze over the promontories of the island, are small in size but very robust. So are, also, the few inhabitants, who live not in affluence but sufficient comfort upon the produce of their tillage, fishing, and shooting, while, moreover, they are supplied with other necessaries from the continent by the generosity or commerce of their friends.
The inhabitants being scanty, police and government are superfluous, and the absence of priests is one of the especial blessings of this little spot. There God is worshipped, as he should be, in purity of spirit, without formalism, fee, or mockery, under the canopy of the blue heavens, with the planets for lamps, the sea-winds for music, and the greensward of the island for altars.
The head of the principal family on this little island is, like other men, one who has experienced both prosperity and misfortune. Like other men he has his faults, but he has enjoyed the honor of serving the cause of the people. Cosmopolitan, he loves all countries more or less; but Italy and Rome he loves to adoration.
He hates the priesthood as a lying and mischievous institution, but is ready, so soon as they divest themselves of their malignity and buffoonery, to welcome them with open arms to a nobler vocation, a new but honest profession, and to urge men to pardon their past offenses, conforming in this, as in other acts, to a spirit of universal tolerance. Though not suffering them as priests, he pities and yearns towards them as men; for priests he regards as the assassins of the soul, and in that light esteems them more culpable than those who slay the body. He has passed his life in the hope of seeing the populations ennobled, and to the extent of his power, has championed always and everywhere their rights, but sadly confesses that he has lived partly in a false hope; for more than one nation, raised to freedom and light by Providence, has paltered again with despotism, whose rulers become perhaps even more unjust and arbitrary than the patrician.
Still, this man never despairs of the ultimate amelioration of mankind, albeit he is deeply grieved at the slowness of its coming. He regards as the worst enemies of the liberty of the people those democratic doctrinnaires who have preached and still preach revolution, not as a terrible remedy, a stern Nemesis, but as a trade carried on for their own advancement He believes that these same mercenaries of liberty have ruined many republics, and brought dishonor upon the republican system. Of this there is a striking example in the great and glorious French Republic of 1789, which is held up at the present day as a scarecrow by despots and their crew against those who maintain the excellence of the popular system. He defines a perfect republic to be a government of honest and virtuous people by honesty and virtue, and illustrates his definition by pointing to the downfall of all republics when people have eschewed virtue and turned away towards vice. But he does not believe in a republican government composed of five hundred governors.
He considers that the liberty of a nation consists in the people choosing their own government, and that this government should be dictatorial or presidential; that is to say, directed by one man alone. To such an institution the greatest people in the world owed their greatness. But woe be to those who, instead of a Cincinnatus, elect a Cæsar! The Dictatorship should be limited to a fixed period, and prolonged only in extraordinary cases, like that in the authority of Abraham Lincoln in the late war of the United States. It must be guarded by popular rights and public opinion from becoming either excessive or hereditary.
The islander whom we are describing, however, is not a dogmatist, and holds that form of government desired or adopted by the majority of the people most beneficial to each nation; and he gives, by way of illustration, the English constitution. He regards the existing European system as utterly immoral, and the governments guilty of the crimes and suffering of the Continent; since, instead of seeking the welfare and prosperity of their peoples, they intrigue only to secure their own despotic positions. Hence that legion of armies, political functionaries, and hangers-on, who devour in idleness the productions of industry; pampering their vicious appetites, and spreading universal corruption. These drones of the hive, not content with what suffices for one man, conspire to appropriate to each of themselves the portion of fifty to maintain their pomp and supply their luxuries.
This is just why the working portion of the populace are loaded with taxes, and deprived of the manliest of their sons, who are torn from the plough and the workshop to swell the ranks of the armies, under the pretext that they are necessary to their country's safety, but in reality to sustain a monstrous and fatal form of government. The people are consequently discontented, starving, and wretched.
The continual state of warfare in which Europe is kept, too clearly shows how ill-governed it is. Were each nation naturally and nobly governed, war would cease, and the people would learn to understand and to respect one another's rights without a passionate or suicidal recourse to arms.
A Federation of European nations must be cemented by the medium of representatives for each country, whose fundamental proclamation should be – "War is declared impossible" and their second basis the law that, "All disputes which may arise between nations shall henceforth be settled by the International Congress."
Thus war – that scourge and disgrace of humanity – would be exterminated forever, and with its extermination, the necessity for maintaining a paid army would obviously cease, and the children of the peoples, now led out to slaughter under the fictitious names of patriotism and glory, would be restored to their families, to the field, and to the workshop, once more to contribute to the fruitfulness and general improvement of their native countries.
Such, then, are the sentiments upon these topics of the recluse, and we frankly confess them to be also our own.
To this island, the abode of the recluse, Julia had arranged to take her friends; but when it became impracticable for Silvia and Clelia to join them, on account of the storm, and the consequent injury to the yacht, she changed her plans, feeling that they would have altered their own, and resolved to touch there only for advice, and then to return to the Continent to gain, if possible, some news of Manlio's family.
Picture, courteous reader, one of those Mediterranean daybreaks which, by its glorious beauty of gold and color, makes the watchers forget the miseries of life and ponder only those marvellous marks of the Creator's love with which he has embellished the earth.
Dawn is slowly breaking over the horizon, and tinting with all the colors of the rainbow the fleecy clouds. The stars insensibly pale and disappear before the radiance of the rising sun; and the voyager stands enchanted at the sight, as the gentle breath of morning streams from the east, slightly ruffling the blue waters, and fanning his cheek.
The small ash-colored island appears in the bright light above the waves, as the Seagull, wafted slowly by a slight wind from the eastward, nears its coast. The yacht had sailed from Porto Lon-gone the day before, and had experienced a quick and smooth passage. Her Roman passengers were soon hailed by the inhabitants of the island, as she approached the northern point on this delicious April morning.
The sight of the beautiful yacht was always a welcome one to these dwellers in solitude, for she was well known to them, having previously paid them many visits. They hastened to meet their welcome guest, and ran down to the beach, followed slowly by the head of the family, whose step age and other troubles had slackened, making him no longer able to keep pace with his nimble household.
Julia, upon landing, was welcomed affectionately by all. She introduced her Roman friends, who met a warm reception, and were conducted by their host to his dwelling. After they had rested some little time, the recluse asked anxiously of Julia, "Well, what news from Rome? Is the foreigner gone yet? Do the priests let the unhappy populace, whom they have tormented so many centuries, breathe free at last?"
"Their miseries are not yet ended," answered the lovely Englishwoman; "and who can tell when they will cease? The foreigner is withdrawn, it is true, but others worse than the first are enlisting, and your Government is shamefully preparing to bribe Italian substitutes to enable it to retain the unhappy city in the power of the priests. Moreover I, English by birth, but Italian in heart, am ashamed of telling you that Rome is not to be the capital of Italy. Government renounces it, and Parliament basely sanctions the heinous act, to satisfy the exacting and infamous demands of a Bonaparte. Oh, the sadnesses of modern times! Italy, once the seat of glory, is to-day the sink of all that is base. Italy, the garden of the world, has become a dunghill!"
"Oh Julia! a people dishonored is a dead people; I – even I – almost despair of the future of such a nation." Thus exclaimed the chieftain of many patriotic battles, as a tear rolled down his cheek.
CHAPTER XLII. THE THIRTIETH OF APRIL
Ok the day prefixed to this chapter, April, 1849, a foreign sergeant was conducted a prisoner into the presence of the commander of the Gianicolo. He had fallen into a Roman ambuscade during the night time and, having been told by the priests that the defenders of Rome were so many assassins, he threw himself upon his knees as soon as he was taken before them, and begged them for the love of God to spare his life.
The commander extended his right hand to the suppliant, and raising him, spoke comfortingly to him. "This is a good omen," said the Italian officer to those of his companions present. "A good omen! Behold foreign pride prostrate before Roman right – that is a sure sign of victory."
And truly, the foreign army which disembarked at Ci vita Vecchia, and had fraudulently taken possession of the port, under the deceitfully assumed title of friend, advanced on Rome, chuckling at the credulity, as well as at the cowardice of the Roman people. That very army, afterwards defeated by the native soldiers of the metropolis, retrod with shame the road to the sea.
The 30th of April was a glorious day for Rome, and was not forgotten among the Seven Hills. But how could it be commemorated amidst such an armed rabble of enemies? In the small city of Viterbo, where there were no troops, the inhabitants had devised a way of celebrating the anniversary of the expulsion of the foreigner, and were making active preparations. But if there were no troops, there were not wanting spies, who informed the Roman Government of all that took place.
The Committee had arranged a programme for the feast, which set forth that after mid-day all work should be suspended, and that all the young people, in holiday dress, with a tri-colored ribbon bound round the left arm, should assemble in the cathedral piazza, and walk thence four abreast in procession to the Porta Romana, so as to pay a salutation of good wishes from that point to the ancient mistress of the globe.
Frightened at this intelligence, the Roman Government dispatched to Viterbo in hot haste a body of foreign troops which had only served the priesthood a short time, with orders to suppress the demonstration at any cost. Not heeding this measure the little town held its festa, almost forgetting for a while, in the enjoyment of the moment, her long period of slavery. The solemn salute at the Porta Romana was delivered in spite of the urban authorities, and the procession was returning in good order, preceded by a band playing the national hymns, while the ladies – always more ardent than men in any generous act – stood in the balconies cheering and waving their tricolored hankerchiefs to the passers-by, when a column of foreign soldiers were seen advancing at the pas de charge, with bayonets fixed. Until now the city, albeit under the rule of the priests, had given herself up with peaceful mirth to the remembrance of that joyful day. But joy fled when the soldiers invaded the streets yet filled with youthful Viterbians, and anger and trouble succeeded. A delegate of police, who, with a few assistants, preceded the mercenaries, commanded the people to retire. This intimation was received with hisses of defiance, and a few well-aimed stones put them to flight. Taking refuge among the soldiers, they cried out to the troops to fire upon the populace. This command of the cowardly delegate was given because he wished to glut his vengeance, and also to secure a decoration, which he could do by nothing so surely as killing the people. When this inhuman order was not heeded, he feared the hatred between the two opposing parties might cool, and desired the soldiers to charge the populace with fixed bayonets.
The Viterbians, like all Roman citizens, had orders from the Revolutionary Committee not to take active measures of hostility, and were therefore not prepared for the straggle. They dispersed rapidly, and escaped by byways to their homes, favored by the increasing darkness of the evening, as well as by the sudden extinction of all lights, which the women as if by an universal signal caused everywhere. Thus the charge of the mercenaries took effect only upon a few stray dogs and some donkeys on their way home, nor was any thing more tragic heard than the barking of the former and the braying of the latter as they were pursued by the valiant champions of the priesthood.
By ten o'clock all was quiet in Viterbo. The troops lay down in the market-place, resting their heads upon their folded arms, preparing to repose upon the laurels won by the fatigues and victory of the day. Not a citizen was to be seen in the streets, all having retired to their houses. At the hotel of the "Full Moon," the bell rang to assemble the guests at a large round table spread with a dinner of about fifty covers. As the bell sounded, a carriage and four drew up to the inn door, and stopping at its gateway, a female clad in travelling costume alighted. From the elasticity of her step and movements it was easy to see she was young. The landlord hastened to receive her, and respectfully inquired whether she would liked to be served with supper in her own apartment, to which she replied that she would sup in the public room, and in the mean time her sleep-ing-room was to be prepared.
The dining-room was already filled with visitors, the greater number of whom were officers belonging to the recently arrived detachment. There were also several strangers, both Italian and foreign, but very few Viterbians present. When the traveller entered the room all eyes were turned towards her with looks of admiration; and truly our Julia, for it was she, appeared very lovely that eventful evening. She possessed to perfection that intelligent and high-bred expression which distinguishes her restless race. All made room for her. The Italians assumed an air of polite admiration, and the officers, twirling the ends of their pointed mustaches, straightened their shoulders and adjusted their facial expression with the look of so many conquerors of female admiration.
At the head of the table sat the master of the house, elegantly dressed, who prayed the beautiful Englishwoman to place herself by his side. She accepted the seat, and the officers pressing forward to be near the young lady, took possession of all the best places. Observing a Pope's hireling on her right, Julia began to regret having accepted the landlord's invitation, and while glancing round the table with a chagrined air, was electrified by encountering Muzio's eyes fixed upon her. He was seated between Attilio and Orazio at the end of the table. They all three wore silk hats, cravats, and overcoats, like foreign travellers, and Julia had foiled to recognize them at first, having never seen Muzio but when wrapped in his cloak, or Attilio except in the simple garb of an artist, and Orazio once only for a short time in the forest when armed from head to foot. What should she do? Rise and go to them, impulse suggested, and ask a thousand things which she wished to know. But how could she venture to do this, when fifty pairs of eyes were gazing at her, fascinated by her charming face.
And Muzio, the outcast, the gentleman, the chief of the counter-police; the man who, like his namesake (Scavola), would have placed at his Julia's sweet bidding not his hand only, but his head also upon burning coals – what joy the meeting brought, and yet what agony to see the star of his life, his goddess, his hope, seated at the side of a foreign soldier, the instrument of a vile tyranny, and compelled to accept civilities from his contaminated hand, perhaps freshly soiled by the blood of Romans. Oh, you young men, who are in love with a noble maiden, have you not felt what splendid new strength her presence gives to you? When unworthy men presume to affront her with attentions, at such a moment do you not feel you have ten hearts to devote to her, ten men's lives to sacrifice for her? If not you are a coward, and a coward, let us tell you, is despised by women.
You may sin, and she will pardon you; but cowardice a noble woman will never forgive. Muzio, however, was only too loving and rash; and woe to that fine lady-killer by the British maiden's side! Had the Roman youth yielded to the dictates of his angry breast, it wanted little to have seen a flash of fire in the air, or to have let him feel the cold blade of a dagger in his vitals.
But Julia read in her lover's eye the storm that was raging, and her look, perceived by him alone, calmed down the Roman's passionate soul.
Between the courses, the foreign officers conversed on the affairs of Rome, or the topics of the day, and, as usual, with but little respect for the Roman people, whom they commonly despised. Julia, disgusted by their indecorous conversation, rose very soon, with a majestic mien, and desired to be conducted to her apartment. Our three friends were burning to kiss her hand, and had even made a move to quit their places, when a sudden burst of laughter from the foreign officers made them resume their seats. The laughter was caused by a coarse jest, uttered by one of the number, of which the following words came to the ears of our indignant trio: – "I thought I was coming to Viterbo to use my arms against men, but find there are only rabbits here, who bolted into their burrows at our very appearance. Diavolo! where are all these Liberals who made such a noise?"
Attilio, who had not reseated himself, hastily gathered his own and his friends' gloves, and, making them into a handful, threw them, without a word, full and hard in the face of the slanderer.
"Oh!" exclaimed the Papalino, "what bundle is here?" and picking up the missile, he unrolled the gloves, saying, "So, then, I am challenged by three! Here is another sample of Italian valor! Three against one! three against one!" And again the fellow laughed immoderately.
The three allowed this fresh burst of merriment to pass, but the hilarity of all the strangers present being aroused by it, Muzio, as soon as the laughter ceased, cried in a loud voice, "Three against as many as dare to insult Italians, gentlemen!"
The effect of these few words was very startling, for, as he uttered them, the three friends arose and darted angry glances first at one and then at another of the officers, presenting, with their uncovered and bold young heads, to the assembly three models à la Michael-Angelo. They were three variations of that manly and martial beauty which nature's heroes have; three types of noble anger in the glowing veins of generous courage.
Different effects were produced on the two parties present. The Italians at the table were delighted, and regarded the champions of Italian honor with smiling approbation and gratitude.
The foreigners remained for a time stupefied, wondering at the personal grace and manly beauty of the trio, and at their nervous and proud bearing. This amazement ended, sarcasm came to the rescue, and one of the youngest exclaimed, "Friends, a toast!" All rose, glass in hand, and he continued: "I drink to the fortune of having at last found enemies worthy of us in this country!"
Orazio responded, "I drink to the liberation of Rome from foreign filth."
These words seemed to the officers to be too insulting to be overlooked, and they placed their hands menacingly upon their swords; but one of the number, of a maturer age, said gravely, "My friends, it will not answer to make a disturbance here. The peace of the city must not be disturbed, for we came here to restore order. At daybreak we will meet in even numbers these quarrelsome signors. What we have to do is to see that they do not then deprive us of the honor of meeting them.
"The opportunity of fighting the enemies of Italy is much too happy a circumstance to let it escape," answered Attilio. "If it please you we will remain together until morning, when we can walk in company to the place of meeting."
To this proposition all consented. The foreigners called for writing materials, to inscribe their names, in order to draw lots to decide who should fight. Amongst the Italians three gentlemen offered to be seconds to their countrymen. Then there were the arms to be considered. As there had been such open defiance on both sides, it was decided that they should fight to the death, that the opponents should be placed at a distance of fifteen paces apart, and that at a signal from their seconds they should attack one another with sabre, revolver, and poniard.
The three champions of the priests whose names, written upon slips of paper, were drawn out of the hat which served the purpose of an urn, were Foulard, a French Legitimist; Sanchez, a Spanish Carlist; and Haynau, an Austrian. The seconds busied themselves during the remainder of the night in examining the arms, and in endeavoring to match them with absolute equality.
