Part 24 (1/2)
”E gittata la mia sorte, p.r.o.nto sono ad ogni guerra, S' io card, cadre da forte, E il mio nome restera.
”Non vedr l'amata terra Svener lenta e farri a brano, Sopra l'ultimo Romano Tutta Italia piangera.”
”My lot is fixed, and I stand ready for every conflict. If I must fall, I shall fall as a brave man, and my fame will survive. I shall not see my beloved country fall to pieces and slowly perish, and over the last Roman all Italy will weep.”
And at lines of which the following is a translation:--
”O brave man, whose mighty power can raise thy country from such dire distress; from the immortal hills, radiant with glory, let the shades of our ancestors arise; oh! only one day, one instant, arise to look upon us!”
It was an Italian who sung this strain, though, singularly enough, here in the heart of Italy, so long reputed the home of music, three princ.i.p.al parts were filled by persons bearing the foreign names of Ivanoff, Mitrovich, and Nissren.
Naples continues in a state of great excitement, which now pervades the upper cla.s.ses, as several young men of n.o.ble families have been arrested; among them, one young man much beloved, son of Prince Terella, and who, it is said, was certainly not present on the occasion for which he was arrested, and that the measure was taken because he was known to sympathize strongly with the liberal movement.
The n.o.bility very generally have not feared to go to the house of his father to express their displeasure at the arrest and interest in the young man. The ministry, it is said, are now persuaded of the necessity of a change of measures. The king alone remains inflexible in his stupidity.
The stars of Bonaparte and Byron show again a conjunction, by the almost simultaneous announcement of changes in the lot of women with whom they were so intimately connected;--the Archd.u.c.h.ess of Parma, Maria Louisa, is dead; the Countess Guiccioli is married. The Countess I have seen several times; she still looks young, and retains the charms which by the contemporaries of Byron she is reputed to have had; they never were of a very high order; her best expression is that of a good heart. I always supposed that Byron, weary and sick of the world such as he had known it, became attached to her for her good disposition, and sincere, warm tenderness for him; the sight of her, and the testimony of a near relative, confirmed this impression. This friend of hers added, that she had tried very hard to remain devoted to the memory of Byron, but was quite unequal to the part, being one of those affectionate natures that must have some one near with whom to be occupied; and now, it seems, she has resigned herself publicly to abandon her romance. However, I fancy the manes of Byron remain undisturbed.
We all know the worthless character of Maria Louisa, the indifference she showed to a husband who, if he was not her own choice, yet would have been endeared to almost any woman, as one fallen from an immense height into immense misfortune, and as the father of her child. No voice from her penetrated to cheer his exile: the unhappiness of Josephine was well avenged. And that child, the poor Duke of Reichstadt, of a character so interesting, and with obvious elements of greatness, withering beneath the mean, cold influence of his grandfather,--what did Maria Louisa do for him,--she, appointed by Nature to be his inspiring genius, his protecting angel? I felt for her a most sad and profound contempt last summer, as I pa.s.sed through her oppressed dominion, a little sphere, in which, if she could not save it from the usual effects of the Austrian rule, she might have done so much private, womanly good,--might have been a genial heart to warm it,--and where she had let so much ill be done. A journal announces her death in these words: ”The Archd.u.c.h.ess is dead; a woman who _might_ have occupied one of the n.o.blest positions in the history of the age”;--and there makes expressive pause.
Parma, pa.s.sing from bad to worse, falls into the hands of the Duke of Modena; and the people and magistracy have made an address to their new ruler. The address has received many thousand signatures, and seems quite sincere, except in the a.s.sumption of good-will in the Duke of Modena; and this is merely an insincerity of etiquette.
LETTER XXI.
THE POPE'S RECEPTION OF THE NEW OFFICERS.--THEY KISS HIS FOOT.--VESPERS AT THE GESu.--A POOR YOUTH IN ROME SEEKING A PATRON.--RUMORS OF DISTURBANCES.--THEIR CAUSE.--REPRESENTATIONS TO THE POPE.--HIS CONDUCT IN THE AFFAIR.--AN ITALIAN CONSUL FOR THE UNITED STATES.--CATHOLICISM.--THE POPULARITY OF THE POPE.--HIS DEPOSITION OF A CENSOR.--THE POLICY OF THE POPE IN HIS DOMESTIC NOT EQUAL TO THAT OF HIS PUBLIC LIFE.--HIS OPPOSITION TO PROTESTANT REFORM.--LETTER FROM JOSEPH MAZZINI TO THE PONTIFF.--REFLECTIONS ON IT.
Rome, January 10, 1848.
In the first morning of this New Year I sent off a letter which must then be mailed, in order to reach the steamer of the 16th. So far am I from home, that even steam does not come nigh to annihilate the distance.
This afternoon I went to the Quirinal Palace to see the Pope receive the new munic.i.p.al officers. He was to-day in his robes of white and gold, with his usual corps of attendants in pure red and white, or violet and white. The new officers were in black velvet dresses, with broad white collars. They took the oaths of office, and then actually kissed his foot. I had supposed this was never really done, but only a very low obeisance made; the act seemed to me disgustingly abject.
A Heavenly Father does not want his children at his feet, but in his arms, on a level with his heart.
After this was over the Pope went to the Gesu, a very rich church, belonging to the Jesuits, to officiate at Vespers, and we followed.
The music was beautiful, and the effect of the church, with its richly-painted dome and altar-piece in a blaze of light, while the a.s.sembly were in a sort of brown darkness, was very fine.
A number of Americans there, new arrivals, kept requesting in the midst of the music to know when _it_ would begin. ”Why, this is _it_,”
some one at last had the patience to answer; ”you are hearing Vespers now.” ”What,” they replied, ”is there no oration, no speech!” So deeply rooted in the American mind is the idea that a sermon is the only real wors.h.i.+p!
This church, is indelibly stamped on my mind. Coming to Rome this time, I saw in the diligence a young man, whom his uncle, a priest of the convent that owns this church, had sent for, intending to provide him employment here. Some slight circ.u.mstances tested the character of this young man, and showed it what I have ever found it, singularly honorable and conscientious. He was led to show me his papers, among which was a letter from a youth whom, with that true benevolence only possible to the poor, because only they _can_ make great sacrifices, he had so benefited as to make an entire change in his prospects for life. Himself a poor orphan, with nothing but a tolerable education at an orphan asylum, and a friend of his dead parents to find him employment on leaving it, he had felt for this young man, poorer and more uninstructed than himself, had taught him at his leisure to read and write, had then collected from, friends, and given himself, till he had gathered together sixty francs, procuring also for his _protege_ a letter from monks, who were friends of his, to the convents on the road, so that wherever there was one, the poor youth had lodging and food gratis. Thus armed, he set forth on foot for Rome; Piacenza, their native place, affording little hope even of gaining bread, in the present distressed state of that dominion. The letter was to say that he had arrived, and been so fortunate as to find employment immediately in the studio of Benzoni, the sculptor.
The poor patron's eyes sparkled as I read the letter. ”How happy he is!” said he. ”And does he not spell and write well? I was his only master.”
But the good do not inherit the earth, and, less fortunate than his _protege_, Germano on his arrival found his uncle ill of the Roman fever. He came to see me, much agitated. ”Can it be, Signorina,” says he, ”that G.o.d, who has taken my father and mother, will also take from me the only protector I have left, and just as I arrive in this strange place, too?” After a few days he seemed more tranquil, and told me that, though he had felt as if it would console him and divert his mind to go to some places of entertainment, he had forborne and applied the money to have ma.s.ses said for his uncle. ”I feel,” he said, ”as if G.o.d would help me.” Alas! at that moment the uncle was dying. Poor Germano came next day with a receipt for ma.s.ses said for the soul of the departed, (his simple faith in these being apparently indestructible,) and amid his tears he said: ”The Fathers were so unkind, they were hardly willing to hear me speak a word; they were so afraid I should be a burden to them, I shall never go there again. But the most cruel thing was, I offered them a scudo (dollar) to say six ma.s.ses for the soul of my poor uncle; they said they would only say five, and must have seven baiocchi (cents) more for that.”
A few days after, I happened to go into their church, and found it thronged, while a preacher, panting, sweating, leaning half out of the pulpit, was exhorting his hearers to ”imitate Christ.” With unspeakable disgust I gazed on this false shepherd of those who had just so failed in their duty to a poor stray lamb, Their church is so rich in ornaments, the seven baiocchi were hardly needed to burnish it. Their altar-piece is a very imposing composition, by an artist of Rome, still in the prime of his powers. Capalti. It represents the Circ.u.mcision, with the cross and six waiting angels in the background; Joseph, who holds the child, the priest, and all the figures in the foreground, seem intent upon the barbarous rite, except Mary the mother; her mind seems to rush forward into the future, and understand the destiny of her child; she sees the cross,--she sees the angels, too.
Now I have mentioned a picture, let me say a word or two about Art and artists, by way of parenthesis in this letter so much occupied, with political affairs. We laugh a little here at some words that come from your city on the subject of Art.
We hear that the landscapes painted here show a want of familiarity with Nature; artists need to return to America and see her again. But, friends, Nature wears a different face in Italy from what she does in America. Do you not want to see her Italian face? it is very glorious!