Part 38 (1/2)

If I came home at this moment, I should feel as if forced to leave my own house, my own people, and the hour which I had always longed for.

If I do come in this way, all I can promise is to plague other people as little as possible. My own plans and desires will be postponed to another world.

Do not feel anxious about me. Some higher Power leads me through strange, dark, th.o.r.n.y paths, broken at times by glades opening down into prospects of sunny beauty, into which I am not permitted to enter. If G.o.d disposes for us, it is not for nothing. This I can say: my heart is in some respects better, it is kinder, and more humble.

Also, my mental acquisitions have certainly been great, however inadequate to my desires.

TO HER BROTHER, K.F. FULLER.

Rome, January 19, 1849.

MY DEAR RICHARD,--With my window open, looking out upon St. Peter's, and the glorious Italian sun pouring in, I was just thinking of you; I was just thinking how I wished you were here, that we might walk forth and talk together under the influence of these magnificent objects. I was thinking of the proclamation of the Const.i.tutional a.s.sembly here, a measure carried by courageous youth in the face of age, sustained by the prejudices of many years, the ignorance of the people, and all the wealth of the country; yet courageous youth faces not only these, but the most threatening aspect of foreign powers, and dares a future of blood and exile to achieve privileges which are our American common birthright. I thought of the great interests which may in our country be sustained without obstacle by every able man,--interests of humanity, interests of G.o.d.

I thought of the new prospects of wealth opened to our countrymen by the acquisition of New Mexico and California,--the vast prospects of our country every way, so that it is itself a vast blessing to be born an American; and I thought how impossible it is that one like you, of so strong and generous a nature, should, if he can but patiently persevere, be defrauded of a rich, manifold, powerful life.

Thursday eve, January 25.

This has been a most beautiful day, and I have taken a long walk out of town. How much I should like sometimes to walk with you again! I went to the church of St. Lorenzo, one of the most ancient in Rome, rich in early mosaics, also with spoils from the temples, marbles, ancient sarcophagi with fine ba.s.sirilievi, and magnificent columns.

There is a little of everything, but the medley is harmonized by the action of time, and the sensation induced is that of repose. It has the public cemetery, and there lie the bones of many poor; the rich and n.o.ble lie in lead coffins in the church vaults of Rome, but St.

Lorenzo loved the poor. When his tormentors insisted on knowing where he had hid his riches,--”There,” he said, pointing to the crowd of wretches who hovered near his bed, compelled to see the tyrants of the earth hew down the tree that had nourished and sheltered them.

Amid the crowd of inexpressive epitaphs, one touched me, erected by a son to his father. ”He was,” says the son, ”an angel of prosperity, seeking our good in distant countries with unremitting toll and pain.

We owe him all. For his death it is my only consolation that in life I never left his side.”

Returning, I pa.s.sed the Pretorian Camp, the Campus Salisetus, where vestals that had broken their vows were buried alive in the city whose founder was born from a similar event. Such are the usual, the frightful inconsistencies of mankind.

From my windows I see the Barberini palace; in its chambers are the pictures of the Cenci, and the Galatea, so beautifully described by Goethe; in the gardens are the remains of the tomb of Servius Tullius.

Yesterday as I went forth I saw the house where Keats lived in Rome, and where he died; I saw the Casino of Raphael. Returning, I pa.s.sed the villa where Goethe lived when in Rome: afterwards, the houses of Claude and Poussin.

Ah what human companions.h.i.+p here! how everything speaks! I live myself in the apartment described in Andersen's ”Improvvisatore,” which get you, and read a scene of the childhood of Antonio. I have the room, I suppose, indicated as being occupied by the Danish sculptor.

TO THE SAME.

Rome, March 17, 1849.

I take occasion to enclose this seal, as a little birthday present, for I think you will be twenty-five in May. I have used it a great deal; the design is graceful and expressive,--the stone of some little value.

I live with the severest economy consistent with my health. I could not live for less anywhere. I have renounced much, have suffered more.

I trust I shall not find it impossible to accomplish, at least one of my designs. This is, to see the end of the political struggle in Italy, and write its history. I think it will come to its crisis within, this year. But to complete my work as I have begun, I must watch it to the end.

This work, if I can accomplish it, will be a worthy chapter in the history of the world; and if written with the spirit which breathes through me, and with sufficient energy and calmness to execute well the details, would be what the motto on my ring indicates,--”_a possession for ever, for man_.”

It ought to be profitable to me pecuniarily; but in these respects Fate runs so uniformly counter to me, that I dare not expect ever to be free from perplexity and uncongenial labor. Still, these will never more be so hard to me, if I shall have done something good, which may survive my troubled existence. Yet it would be like the rest, if by ill health, want of means, or being driven prematurely from the field of observation, this hope also should be blighted. I am prepared to have it so. Only my efforts tend to the accomplishment of my object; and should they not be baffled, you will not see me before the summer of 1850.