Garibaldi Giuseppe
Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century
CHAPTER LXIV. CUCCHI AND HIS COMRADES
And in Rome, what were Cucchi and his companions doing, and the Roman and provincial patriots consecrated to freedom and death? Cucchi, of Bergamo, was one of the most excellent men the revolution gave to Italy. Handsome, young, and wealthy, he belonged to one of the first families in Lombardy. Guerzoni, Bossi, Adamoli, and many others, despising the tortures of the Inquisition, and all other dangers, directed the Roman insurrection, under the command of that intrepid Bergamasco.
The unhappy Roman people received with obedience the directions of those valiant youths, and asked to be supplied with arms. Arms in plenty had been sent down to the Volunteers from all parts of Italy; but the Government of Florence, expert in every form of cunning, took means to stop them, so that there were very few weapons to be dispensed to the Romans.
Add to this the treachery prepared for this unhappy people, viz., the tacit promise that a few shots should be fired in the air, and that then the Italian army from the frontier would fly to their assistance. By such false pretenses and underhand proceedings at Florence, the people of Rome, as well as their heroic friends, were deceived. Those shots were fired, but no help came for Italy.
Poor Romans! they fought with rude weapons in the streets against an immense number of well-armed soldiery, who were backed by armed priests, monks, and police. They succeeded in mining and blowing up a Zouave barrack, and with the knife alone fought desperately against the new-fashioned carbines of the mercenaries.
In Trastevere, our old acquaintances, Attilio, Muzio, Orazio, Silvio, and Gasparo, had re-united with all those remaining of the Three Hundred on whom the police had not laid their hands. The people having thus found capable leaders did their duty. Some of the old carbines that had done execution in the Roman campaign now reappeared in the city in the hands of Orazio and his companions, who made them serve as an efficacious auxiliary to the Trasteverini's naked knife.
The city rose in its chains as best it could, and used an armory of despair. Carbineers, Zouaves, dragoons on their patrol, were struck by tiles, kitchen-utensils, and many other objects thrown from the windows by the inhabitants, stabbed by the poniards of the Liberals, and wounded by shots from blunderbuss and firelock. Thus assailed, the troops fled from the Lungara towards St. Angelo's bridge, and passed it, though they were checked by the Papalini. The bridge was guarded by a battery of artillery, supported by an entire regiment of Zouaves. When the people, intermingled with those whom they were pursuing, crowded on the bridge, the commander of the clericali ordered his men to fire, and the six guns of the battery, with the fire of the entire line of infantry, poured out over the bridge, making wholesale slaughter of the people and the mercenaries. What did his Holiness care about the scattered blood of his cut-throats and bought agents? The money of Italy's betrayers was at his service to purchase more. What was of the greatest importance was the destruction of many of his Roman children. Many indeed were the rebels who paid with their lives for their noble gallantly in venturing on that fatal bridge. Many, truly, for in their enthusiasm the people attempted three consecutive times to carry it, and three consecutive times they were repelled by the heavy storms of bullets rained upon them, and the shots from the cannon of the defenders of the priests.
It may well be supposed that, among those who were at the head of the people during this assault of the bridge, our five heroes would be found fighting like lions. After having consumed their ammunition, they had broken their arms upon the skulls of the Papal soldiery, and provided themselves with fresh ones by taking those of the killed. It was they who continued the assault at the head of the people, whom they excited to positive heroism.
It was, however, too hard a task. The first of the courageous leaders to bite the dust was the senior one, the venerable prince of the forest, Gasparo. He fell with the same stoicism which he had displayed during all his existence – with a smile upon his lips, happy to give his fife for ten thousand patriots, it is said, were arrested in some in this last movement by the paternal Government, for his country's holy cause, and for the cause of humanity. A bursting shell had struck him above the heart, and his glorious death was instantaneous and without pain.
Silvio also fell by the side of Gasparo, both his thighs pierced with musket-balls. Orazio had his left ear carried off by a ballet, while another slightly grazed his right leg. Muzio would have been dispatched also by a shot in the breast, had it not been for a strong English watch (a present from the beautiful Julia), which was smashed to atoms, and so saved his life, leaving the mark of a severe contusion. Attilio had his hip grazed, as well as his left cheek, and received from a flying bullet a notch on his skull, resembling in appearance the mark a rope wears on the edge of a wall.
The butchery of the people was so great and the fallen were so numerous, that after these three consecutive charges the brave insurrectionists were obliged to retreat. Orazio carried Silvio on his back into the first house near the bridge for safety, but when the soldiery returned, the wounded were massacred and cut in pieces. Women, children, and many unarmed and defenseless persons who fell into the hands of these worthy soldiers of the priesthood shared a similar fate.
The good instincts of the working-class are proved in the solemn times of revolution. In such times the noble-minded working-man saves and defends his employer's goods, never robs him; but if he takes arms he spares the lives of defenseless beings, and of those who surrender. He would shudder to kill with the cynicism of the mercenary; he fights like a lion – he who was so patient – one against ten!
In the Lungara there is a large woollen manufactory, which employs many workmen. From that woollen factory many had joined the insurgents, the elder ones remaining to guard the establishment. When these good old artisans saw the people and their fellow-workmen thus followed by the Papal bullies and the mercenaries, they threw open the doors and gave shelter to the fugitives, or at any rate to some of them, and levelled bars, axes, and every iron instrument that would serve as a weapon of offense or defense against the hated foreigners and the gendarmerie.
There arose in consequence an indescribable tumult at the entrance to the factory, where the advantage was, at first, to the honest people, and where not a few of the Papal soldiers had their skulls smashed in, and their blood let out by the blows received. At length the besiegers took up their position in the opposite houses, and the besieged, having barricaded themselves and collected a few more fire-arms, began afresh, with constant change of fortune, a real battle.
Our three surviving friends had entered the factory, and fought there with great determination. The workmen and insurgents, too, encouraged by their chiefs, had also comported themselves valorously. But ammunition was lacking, and detachments of mercenaries were advancing to the succor of their comrades. Night, however, now favored the sons of liberty, who, although without ammunition, still kept up the defense.
It was 7 p.m. when the fire of the insurgents ceased, and a division of Papal troops commenced the assault. They began by attacking the large front door of the factory, which the workmen had barricaded but not closed. Orazio and Muzio, after further strengthening the entrance, armed each man with an axe, and, picking out the youngest and boldest Romans, stationed some of them to the right and some to the left of the door to defend it. Thus prepared for a desperate resistance, determining to sell their lives dearly, the assault was received.
Attilio had undertaken to defend the other entrance, and keep off the second portion of the assailants. Having secured the back doors in the best manner possible with his appliances, he placed a number of workmen at the windows of the upper floor, from whence they were to cast npon the assailants whatever missiles could be found. As soon as he had completed these arrangements, he placed himself with his friends at the most dangerous post, armed with the sabre of a gendarme whom he had slain during the day.
The internal appearance of the factory presented at this moment a sad picture. Many bodies of courageous citizens killed in its defense had been carried to and deposited in an obscure corner of its extensive court-yard. In other corners, lying here and there, were the wounded, and some were also stretched in the rooms upon the ground-floor. But not a groan was heard from these valorous sons of the people.
An immense table, with a candelabrum in the centre, occupied the middle of an extensive saloon on the left side of the front entrance to the building, and on that table could be seen heaps of bandages, slings, cotton-wool, and linen of various kinds – the best which the house could furnish for the use of the wounded. A large vessel of water was under the table – perhaps the most useful relief of all to the wounded sufferers, be it to moisten and cool their wounds by bathing, or to quench the thirst which wounds generally occasion.
Three women of rare and noble beauty moved about in this improvised hospital superintending the wounded, and we recognize in their gentle yet bold mien our three heroines, Clelia, Julia, and Irene.
The poor abandoned Camilla, ignorant of the loss of her Silvio, and with the traces of her past sorrows still lingering on her sweet face, mechanically assisted the three merciful women in their kind attentions to the sufferers. They had awaited their friends in the factory with these preparations as soon as the battle on the bridge commenced, and they received the wounded when the people, driven back, sought refuge in the establishment, and entrenched themselves there. Other women of the people were on the spot also, tending the suffering, and carrying them what relief the circumstances permitted.
"Well, Prince of the Campagna," Attilio might be heard saying to Orazio, "we have seen many strifes, but the one we are in to-night is likely to prove the hardest of all. What consoles me is that our Romans seem to remember the olden times. Look at them, not one turns pale – all are ready to confront death in whatever form it may come."
"On the contrary," answered Orazio, "they laugh, joke, and are as merry as if they were taking a walk to the Foro to empty a foglietta."
"We have still some wine. Let us give a draught of Orvieto all round to these our brave comrades," exclaimed Attilio.
When all had refreshed themselves with a glass of that strengthening cordial, a unanimous and solemn cry of "Viva l'Italia!" rolled forth like thunder from that dense and resolute crowd of Home's desperate defenders.
CHAPTER LXV. THE MONTIGIANIS
While the conflict in Trastevere was going on, the Montigianis, headed by Cucchi, Guerzoni, Bossi, Adamoli, and other brave men did not remain with their hands folded. The explosion of the mine under the Zouaves' barracks was arranged as the signal for their movement. The mine exploded, and those noble fellows moved with heroic resolution at the head of all the youths that could be assembled. As many of the agents and mercenaries frightened by the explosion as were met running away were disarmed by the people, and killed if they offered resistance. The mine, however, had done little damage, though it made a great uproar. Either the quantity of powder was insufficient, or it was badly placed.
The clerical journals, or those of the Italian Government, which are much the same, have stated that only the band of the Zouaves, composed of Italian musicians, had been blown up, and that the foreigners, specially recommended to the efficacious prayers of his Holiness, had been miraculously saved.
The Italians, it is true, have not the good fortune to be the objects of modern necromancy's prayers; but the facts are these: A very few mercenaries were killed, and the others, having left the barracks and arranged themselves in order, had opened a sharp fire against the people. Cucchi, with his lieutenants Bossi and Adamoli, had marched to the barracks, and at their command, and animated by their example, the Roman youths had precipitated themselves furiously upon the foreign mercenaries. It was a hand-to-hand struggle of persons who for the greater part were unarmed, and who struggled against trained soldiers, from whom they endeavored to tear away their weapons. But the mercenaries were many. Gold and the help of Bonaparte had been potent. A great number of French soldiers, under the name of Papal Zouaves, had crowded into Civita Vecchia for a long time previous, in readiness to start for Rome.
The resources that the Jesuits and reazionari had sent to the Pope from all parts of the world had also been immense. Added to this, a great number of fanatics, priests, and monks,1 disguised in the uniform of the mercenaries, mingled with the Papal troops, exciting them to heroism and to slaughter, promising them as a reward the glory of heaven, as well as plenty of gold on earth, and all they could desire. Alas! poor Roman people! But whom should we reckon under this denomination? When one has excepted all the priestly portion, Pope, cardinals, bishops, priests, and friars congregated there from all parts of the globe, with their women, their servants, their cooks, their coachmen, etc., with the relations of their domestics, the servants of their women, and, finally, a mass of the working-classes dependent on this enormously rich rabble, what is left? Those who remain, and are worthy of the name of "people," as not belonging to the necromancers, are some honest middle-class families, a few boatmen, and a few lazzaroni.
In the country, where ignorance is fostered by the priesthood, and has struck still deeper root, the people side with the clergy throughout Italy; but particularly in the Roman campagna, where all the landowners are either priests, or powerful friends of the priesthood.
To return, however. While Cucchi, at the head of his men, and aided by his brave companions, sustained a heroic but unequal combat outside the Zouaves' barracks, Guerzoni and Castellazzi, leading a company of youths, had assaulted the gate of San Paola, disarmed a few guards, and succeeded in passing the court, inside of which was to be found a dépôt of arms. The arms were there, truly, but guarded by a strong body of Papal troops and police, with whom our valorous friends had to sustain another extremely unequal combat; and, being finally dispersed, were hotly pursued by the furious Papalini.
CHAPTER LXVI. THE OVERTHROW
The heroic Cairolis and their companions had meanwhile paid, with their blood, for their sublime patriotism and generous constancy to the Roman insurgents.
The morn of the 24th of October was tearful, dark, and dreary, the forerunner of fresh Italian misfortunes, and looked down upon the young and noble countenance of Enrico, "the new Leonidas," upon his brother Giovanni, lying in their blood, with many others belonging to that dauntless brigade. The first died with a smile of scorn upon his lips for that paid horde, who had massacred them, ten against one. Giovanni, all but mortally wounded, was lying near the corpse of his beloved brother, surrounded by other sufferers whose glorious names history will register.
Few were the survivors of the valorous Seventy, and those few left the field of slaughter to unite themselves to their other brethren, who were combating at the same time against the foreign hordes outside the walls of Rome. Guerzoni's undertaking to seize the arms deposited outside the gate of San Paola was conducted with the same intrepidity he had displayed in a hundred combats, but failed, for the plain reason that the Roman youths under his orders, being poorly armed, were compelled to give way before the blows of the mercenaries, and fly.
He and Castellazzi, after many brave endeavors, were dragged off in the scattering of the people, and were forced to conceal themselves whilst they awaited an opportunity to strike for Rome.
Cucchi, Bossi, and Adamoli, at the head of their detachments, performed deeds of great valor. They gained possession of a portion of the Zouaves' barracks, with only their revolvers and knives as weapons. Fights between the Papalists and the mob were frequent, and the latter, for want of other arms, beat the former to pieces with their sticks.
But here, too, they had to give way before superiority of numbers, discipline, and arms. Here, also, the first rays of daylight on the 24th presented to the view of the horror-struck passerby a heap of corpses, mingled with dying men. In this manner was the tottering throne of the "Vicegerent of Heaven" consolidated – re-established by the butchery of the unhappy Roman people, and this, too, performed for hire by the scum of all nations, supported by the bayonets of Bonaparte's soldiers!
CHAPTER LXVII. THE FINAL CATASTROPHE
But the details of the fight at the factory must be given. The assault was imminent. "Ready, boys!" exclaimed in one voice Orazio, Attilio, and Muzio; "Ready!" and the summons was scarcely pronounced when the Papalists threw themselves upon the front door of the manufactory. In the interior all the lights had been extinguished. On this account the Government troops, though seen by our side, could not distinguish individually any of the sons of liberty, and the first who attempted to scale the barricade fell back, their skulls split open by the terrible axes of Orazio and Muzio, or the sabre of Attilio, as well as by the different instruments of defense used by their valorous companions.
Yet, although they repulsed the enemy, the besieged sustained an important loss in that first assault. A shot from a revolver pierced the heart of the gallant and intrepid Orazio, who, despising cover, had exposed his person at the top of the barricade to the enemy, and fell as he clove one of them with his axe.
The "Prince of the Campagna of Rome" fell like an oak of his own forest, and his strong right hand grasped his weapon tightly even in death. "Irene" was his last thought, and the last word that escaped from his lips. Ah! but Irene's soul was pierced by that dying voice! for the three women, although they took no part in the defense, remained at a short distance only from those whose hearts beat in unison with their own.
Irene first reached him whose beloved voice had called her, and her two companions soon followed. As Orazio's body remained upon the barricade where he fell, the noble woman, heedless of her danger, had directly scaled it, and her beautiful forehead was struck at that moment by a ball from a musket; for the mercenaries, enraged at their bad success, were firing at random through the open door. It may be imagined with what feelings the two surviving friends and their beloved ones had those precious bodies carried into the interior. The factory had indeed become a charnel-house, it being useless for the chiefs to admonish their men to keep under cover.
There are moments when death loses its horror, and when those who would have fled before a single soldier take no heed of a shower of shots falling in every direction. Such was the case now with those poor and courageous working-men. Not counting the large number of troops by whom they were surrounded, nor the multitude firing in the direction of the door, they stood to their defenses without precaution, and allowed themselves to be needlessly wounded. In this way the number of the defenders became lessened, whilst that of the dying and killed was momentarily augmented.
Attilio and Muzio saw at a glance how matters stood, and that there was nothing for it but to confront the enemy till death. Yet Clelia and Julia! why should they also die, so young, so beautiful!
"Go thou, Muzio," said Attilio, "and persuade them, while there is yet time, to escape by the back entrance, and place themselves in safety. Tell them that we will follow a little later."
In this last part of his speech the generous Roman prevaricated. He had already tasted all the glories of martyrdom, and would not have relinquished it even for Clelia's love.
But at this juncture who is it that has arrived as by a miracle, climbing like a squirrel in at a window, and appearing in the midst of that great desolation in these last sad moments? It is no other than Jack, our brave sailor Jack, saved from shipwreck by Orazio, to whom he had ever since been much attached! He found himself in Rome during the terrible occurrences which we have related, and at the first occupation of the factory was sent to ascertain the result of the insurrection in various parts of Rome. Jack returned with sad news. He, with his English resolution, and with the agility that characterized him, had assisted at nearly all the fights, and shared in the bad result's.
Attilio and Muzio were now fully aware of the fate that was reserved for them, and they also learned that it was impossible for the women to escape by the back premises of the factory. To accomplish this they would have needed the nimbleness and agility of the young sailor. Muzio, therefore, replied thus to his friend's injunctions:
"I will tell the ladies what you say; but I believe first, that it is impossible for them to leave; and, secondly, that they would not leave us if they could."
