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M >> Margaret Fuller Ossoli >> At Home And Abroad




I know that many "respectable" gentlemen would be surprised to hear me
speak in this way. Gentlemen who perform their "duties to society" by
buying for themselves handsome clothes and furniture with the interest
of their money, speak of Garibaldi and his men as "brigands" and
"vagabonds." Such are they, doubtless, in the same sense as Jesus,
Moses, and Eneas were. To me, men who can throw so lightly aside the
ease of wealth, the joys of affection, for the sake of what they deem
honor, in whatsoever form, are the "respectable." No doubt there are
in these bands a number of men of lawless minds, and who follow this
banner only because there is for them no other path. But the
greater part are the noble youths who have fled from the Austrian
conscription, or fly now from the renewal of the Papal suffocation,
darkened by French protection.

As for the protectors, they entirely threw aside the mask, as it was
always supposed they would, the moment they had possession of Rome. I
do not know whether they were really so bewildered by their priestly
counsellors as to imagine they would be well received in a city which
they had bombarded, and where twelve hundred men were lying wounded
by their assault. To say nothing of the justice or injustice of the
matter, it could not be supposed that the Roman people, if it had any
sense of dignity, would welcome them. I did not appear in the street,
as I would not give any countenance to such a wrong; but an English
lady, my friend, told me they seemed to look expectingly for the
strong party of friends they had always pretended to have within the
walls. The French officers looked up to the windows for ladies, and,
she being the only one they saw, saluted her. She made no reply. They
then passed into the Corso. Many were assembled, the softer
Romans being unable to control a curiosity the Milanese would have
disclaimed, but preserving an icy silence. In an evil hour, a foolish
priest dared to break it by the cry of _Viva Pio Nono!_ The populace,
roused to fury, rushed on him with their knives. He was much wounded;
one or two others were killed in the rush. The people howled then, and
hissed at the French, who, advancing their bayonets, and clearing the
way before them, fortified themselves in the piazzas. Next day the
French troops were marched to and fro through Rome, to inspire awe in
the people; but it has only created a disgust amounting to loathing,
to see that, with such an imposing force, and in great part fresh, the
French were not ashamed to use bombs also, and kill women and children
in their beds. Oudinot then, seeing the feeling of the people, and
finding they pursued as a spy any man who so much as showed the way
to his soldiers,--that the Italians went out of the cafes if Frenchmen
entered,--in short, that the people regarded him and his followers in
the same light as the Austrians,--has declared martial law in Rome;
the press is stifled; everybody is to be in the house at half past
nine o'clock in the evening, and whoever in any way insults his men,
or puts any obstacle in their way, is to be shot.

The fruits of all this will be the same as elsewhere; temporary
repression will sow the seeds of perpetual resistance; and never
was Rome in so fair a way to be educated for a republican form of
government as now.

Especially could nothing be more irritating to an Italian population,
in the month of July, than to drive them to their homes at half past
nine. After the insupportable heat of the day, their only enjoyment
and refreshment are found in evening walks, and chats together as they
sit before their cafes, or in groups outside some friendly door. Now
they must hurry home when the drum beats at nine o'clock. They are
forbidden to stand or sit in groups, and this by their bombarding
_protector!_ Comment is unnecessary.

French soldiers are daily missing; of some it is known that they have
been killed by the Trasteverini for daring to make court to their
women. Of more than a hundred and fifty, it is only known that they
cannot he found; and in two days of French "order" more acts
of violence have been committed, than in two months under the
Triumvirate.

The French have taken up their quarters in the court-yards of the
Quirinal and Venetian palaces, which are full of the wounded, many
of whom have been driven well-nigh mad, and their burning wounds
exasperated, by the sound of the drums and trumpets,--the constant
sense of an insulting presence. The wounded have been warned to leave
the Quirinal at the end of eight days, though there are many who
cannot be moved from bed to bed without causing them great anguish
and peril; nor is it known that any other place has been provided as a
hospital for them. At the Palazzo di Venezia the French have searched
for three emigrants whom they wished to imprison, even in the
apartments where the wounded were lying, running their bayonets into
the mattresses. They have taken for themselves beds given by the
Romans to the hospital,--not public property, but private gift. The
hospital of Santo Spirito was a governmental establishment, and, in
using a part of it for the wounded, its director had been retained,
because he had the reputation of being honest and not illiberal. But
as soon as the French entered, he, with true priestly baseness, sent
away the women nurses, saying he had no longer money to pay them,
transported the wounded into a miserable, airless basement, that had
before been used as a granary, and appropriated the good apartments to
the use of the French!


July 8.

The report of this morning is that the French yesterday violated the
domicile of our Consul, Mr. Brown, pretending to search for persons
hidden there; that Mr. Brown, banner in one hand and sword in the
other, repelled the assault, and fairly drove them down stairs; that
then he made them an appropriate speech, though in a mixed language of
English, French, and Italian; that the crowd vehemently applauded Mr.
Brown, who already was much liked for the warm sympathy he had shown
the Romans in their aspirations and their distresses; and that he then
donned his uniform, and went to Oudinot to make his protest. How this
was received I know not, but understand Mr. Brown departed with his
family yesterday evening. Will America look as coldly on the insult to
herself, as she has on the struggle of this injured people?

To-day an edict is out to disarm the National Guard. The generous
"protectors" wish to take all the trouble upon themselves. Rome is
full of them; at every step are met groups in the uniform of France,
with faces bronzed in the African war, and so stultified by a life
without enthusiasm and without thought, that I do not believe
Napoleon would recognize them as French soldiers. The effect of their
appearance compared with that of the Italian free corps is that of
body as compared with spirit. It is easy to see how they could be used
to purposes so contrary to the legitimate policy of France, for they
do not look more intellectual, more fitted to have opinions of their
own, than the Austrian soldiery.


July 10.

The plot thickens. The exact facts with regard to the invasion of Mr.
Brown's house I have not been able to ascertain. I suppose they will
be published, as Oudinot has promised to satisfy Mr. Cass. I must
add, in reference to what I wrote some time ago of the position of our
Envoy here, that the kind and sympathetic course of Mr. Cass toward
the Republicans in these troubles, his very gentlemanly and courteous
bearing, have from the minds of most removed all unpleasant feelings.
They see that his position was very peculiar,--sent to the Papal
government, finding here the Republican, and just at that moment
violently assailed. Unless he had extraordinary powers, he naturally
felt obliged to communicate further with our government before
acknowledging this. I shall always regret, however, that he did
not stand free to occupy the high position that belonged to the
representative of the United States at that moment, and peculiarly
because it was by a republic that the Roman Republic was betrayed.

But, as I say, the plot thickens. Yesterday three families were
carried to prison because a boy crowed like a cock at the French
soldiery from the windows of the house they occupied. Another, because
a man pursued took refuge in their court-yard. At the same time, the
city being mostly disarmed, came the edict to take down the insignia
of the Republic, "emblems of anarchy." But worst of all they have done
is an edict commanding all foreigners who had been in the service of
the Republican government to leave Rome within twenty-four hours. This
is the most infamous thing done yet, as it drives to desperation those
who stayed because they had so many to go with and no place to go
to, or because their relatives lie wounded here: no others wished to
remain in Rome under present circumstances.

I am sick of breathing the same air with men capable of a part so
utterly cruel and false. As soon as I can, I shall take refuge in the
mountains, if it be possible to find an obscure nook unpervaded by
these convulsions. Let not my friends be surprised if they do not hear
from me for some time. I may not feel like writing. I have seen too
much sorrow, and, alas! without power to aid. It makes me sick to see
the palaces and streets of Rome full of these infamous foreigners, and
to note the already changed aspect of her population. The men of Rome
had begun, filled with new hopes, to develop unknown energy,--they
walked quick, their eyes sparkled, they delighted in duty, in
responsibility; in a year of such life their effeminacy would have
been vanquished. Now, dejectedly, unemployed, they lounge along the
streets, feeling that all the implements of labor, all the ensigns of
hope, have been snatched from them. Their hands fall slack, their eyes
rove aimless, the beggars begin to swarm again, and the black ravens
who delight in the night of ignorance, the slumber of sloth, as the
only sureties for their rule, emerge daily more and more frequent from
their hiding-places.

The following Address has been circulated from hand to hand.


"TO THE PEOPLE OF ROME.

"Misfortune, brothers, has fallen upon us anew. But it is trial of
brief duration,--it is the stone of the sepulchre which we shall throw
away after three days, rising victorious and renewed, an immortal
nation. For with us are God and Justice,--God and Justice, who cannot
die, but always triumph, while kings and popes, once dead, revive no
more.

"As you have been great in the combat, be so in the days of
sorrow,--great in your conduct as citizens, by generous disdain, by
sublime silence. Silence is the weapon we have now to use against the
Cossacks of France and the priests, their masters.

"In the streets do not look at them; do not answer if they address
you.

"In the cafes, in the eating-houses, if they enter, rise and go out.

"Let your windows remain closed as they pass.

"Never attend their feasts, their parades.

"Regard the harmony of their musical bands as tones of slavery, and,
when you hear them, fly.

"Let the liberticide soldier be condemned to isolation; let him atone
in solitude and contempt for having served priests and kings.

"And you, Roman women, masterpiece of God's work! deign no look, no
smile, to those satellites of an abhorred Pope! Cursed be she who,
before the odious satellites of Austria, forgets that she is Italian!
Her name shall be published for the execration of all her people! And
even the courtesans! let them show love for their country, and thus
regain the dignity of citizens!

"And our word of order, our cry of reunion and emancipation, be now
and ever, VIVA LA REPUBLICA!

"This incessant cry, which not even French slaves can dispute,
shall prepare us to administer the bequest of our martyrs, shall be
consoling dew to the immaculate and holy bones that repose, sublime
holocaust of faith and of love, near our walls, and make doubly divine
the Eternal City. In this cry we shall find ourselves always brothers,
and we shall conquer. Viva Rome, the capital of Italy! Viva the Italy
of the people! Viva the Roman Republic!

"A ROMAN.

"Rome, July 4, 1849."


Yes; July 4th, the day so joyously celebrated in our land, is that of
the entrance of the French into Rome!

I know not whether the Romans will follow out this programme with
constancy, as the sterner Milanese have done. If they can, it will
draw upon them endless persecutions, countless exactions, but at once
educate and prove them worthy of a nobler life.

Yesterday I went over the scene of conflict. It was fearful even to
_see_ the Casinos Quattro Venti and Vascello, where the French and
Romans had been several days so near one another, all shattered to
pieces, with fragments of rich stucco and painting still sticking to
rafters between the great holes made by the cannonade, and think
that men had stayed and fought in them when only a mass of ruins.
The French, indeed, were entirely sheltered the last days; to my
unpractised eyes, the extent and thoroughness of their works seemed
miraculous, and gave me the first clear idea of the incompetency of
the Italians to resist organized armies. I saw their commanders had
not even known enough of the art of war to understand how the French
were conducting the siege. It is true, their resources were at any
rate inadequate to resistance; only continual sorties would have
arrested the progress of the foe, and to make them and man the wall
their forces were inadequate. I was struck more than ever by the
heroic valor of _our_ people,--let me so call them now as ever; for
go where I may, a large part of my heart will ever remain in Italy.
I hope her children will always acknowledge me as a sister, though
I drew not my first breath here. A Contadini showed me where
thirty-seven braves are buried beneath a heap of wall that fell upon
them in the shock of one cannonade. A marble nymph, with broken arm,
looked sadly that way from her sun-dried fountain; some roses were
blooming still, some red oleanders, amid the ruin. The sun was casting
its last light on the mountains on the tranquil, sad Campagna,
that sees one leaf more turned in the book of woe. This was in the
Vascello. I then entered the French ground, all mapped and hollowed
like a honeycomb. A pair of skeleton legs protruded from a bank of one
barricade; lower, a dog had scratched away its light covering of
earth from the body of a man, and discovered it lying face upward all
dressed; the dog stood gazing on it with an air of stupid amazement.
I thought at that moment, recalling some letters received: "O men and
women of America, spared these frightful sights, these sudden wrecks
of every hope, what angel of heaven do you suppose has time to listen
to your tales of morbid woe? If any find leisure to work for men
to-day, think you not they have enough to do to care for the victims
here?"

I see you have meetings, where you speak of the Italians, the
Hungarians. I pray you _do something_; let it not end in a mere cry of
sentiment. That is better than to sneer at all that is liberal,
like the English,--than to talk of the holy victims of patriotism as
"anarchists" and "brigands"; but it is not enough. It ought not
to content your consciences. Do you owe no tithe to Heaven for the
privileges it has showered on you, for whose achievement so many
here suffer and perish daily? Deserve to retain them, by helping
your fellow-men to acquire them. Our government must abstain from
interference, but private action is practicable, is due. For Italy,
it is in this moment too late; but all that helps Hungary helps her
also,--helps all who wish the freedom of men from an hereditary yoke
now become intolerable. Send money, send cheer,--acknowledge as the
legitimate leaders and rulers those men who represent the people,
who understand their wants, who are ready to die or to live for their
good. Kossuth I know not, but his people recognize him; Manin I know
not, but with what firm nobleness, what perserving virtue, he has
acted for Venice! Mazzini I know, the man and his acts, great, pure,
and constant,--a man to whom only the next age can do justice, as
it reaps the harvest of the seed he has sown in this. Friends,
countrymen, and lovers of virtue, lovers of freedom, lovers of truth!
be on the alert; rest not supine in your easier lives, but remember

"Mankind is one,
And beats with one great heart."




PART III.

LETTERS FROM ABROAD TO FRIENDS AT HOME.




LETTERS.

FROM A LETTER TO ---- ----.


Bellagio, Lake of Como, August, 1847.

You do not deceive yourself surely about religion, in so far as that
there is a deep meaning in those pangs of our fate which, if we live
by faith, will become our most precious possession. "Live for thy
faith and thou shalt yet behold it living," is with me, as it hath
been, a maxim.

Wherever I turn, I see still the same dark clouds, with occasional
gleams of light. In this Europe how much suffocated life!--a sort of
woe much less seen with us. I know many of the noble exiles, pining
for their natural sphere; many of them seek in Jesus the guide and
friend, as you do. For me, it is my nature to wish to go straight to
the Creative Spirit, and I can fully appreciate what you say of the
need of our happiness depending on no human being. Can you really have
attained such wisdom? Your letter seemed to me very modest and pure,
and I trust in Heaven all may be solid.

I am everywhere well received, and high and low take pleasure in
smoothing my path. I love much the Italians. The lower classes have
the vices induced by long subjection to tyranny; but also a winning
sweetness, a ready and discriminating love for the beautiful, and a
delicacy in the sympathies, the absence of which always made me
sick in our own country. Here, at least, one does not suffer from
obtuseness or indifference. They take pleasure, too, in acts of
kindness; they are bountiful, but it is useless to hope the least
honor in affairs of business. I cannot persuade those who serve me,
however attached, that they should not deceive me, and plunder me.
They think that is part of their duty towards a foreigner. This is
troublesome no less than disagreeable; it is absolutely necessary to
be always on the watch against being cheated.

* * * * *

EXTRACT FROM A LETTER.

One loses sight of all dabbling and pretension when seated at the feet
of dead Rome,--Rome so grand and beautiful upon her bier. Art is dead
here; the few sparkles that sometimes break through the embers cannot
make a flame; but the relics of the past are great enough, over-great;
we should do nothing but sit, and weep, and worship.

In Rome, one has all the free feeling of the country; the city is so
interwoven with vineyards and gardens, such delightful walks in the
villas, such ceaseless music of the fountains, and from every high
point the Campagna and Tiber seem so near.

Full of enchantment has been my summer, passed wholly among Italians,
in places where no foreigner goes, amid the snowy peaks, in the
exquisite valleys of the Abruzzi. I have seen a thousand landscapes,
any one of which might employ the thoughts of the painter for years.
Not without reason the people dream that, at the death of a saint,
columns of light are seen to hover on those mountains. They take, at
sunset, the same rose-hues as the Alps. The torrents are magnificent.
I knew some noblemen, with baronial castles nestled in the hills and
slopes, rich in the artistic treasures of centuries. They liked me,
and showed me the hidden beauties of Roman remains.

* * * * *

Rome, April, 1848.

The gods themselves walk on earth, here in the Italian spring. Day
after day of sunny weather lights up the flowery woods and Arcadian
glades. The fountains, hateful during the endless rains, charm again.
At Castle Turano I found heaths, as large as our pear-trees, in full
flower. Such wealth of beauty is irresistible, but ah! the drama of my
life is very strange: the ship plunges deeper as it rises higher. You
would be amazed, could you know how different is my present phase of
life from that in which you knew me; but you would love me no less; it
is tire same planet that shows such different climes.

* * * * *

TO HER MOTHER.

Rome, November 16, 1848.

I am again in Rome, situated for the first time entirely to my mind.
I have only one room, but large; and everything about the bed
so gracefully and adroitly disposed that it makes a beautiful
parlor,--and of course I pay much less. I have the sun all day, and
an excellent chimney. It is very high, and has pure air and the most
beautiful view all around imaginable. Add, that I am with the dearest,
delightful old couple one can imagine,--quick, prompt, and kind,
sensible and contented. Having no children, they like to regard me and
the Prussian sculptor, my neighbor, as such; yet are too delicate and
too busy ever to intrude. In the attic dwells a priest, who insists on
making my fire when Antonia is away. To be sure, he pays himself for
his trouble by asking a great many questions....

You cannot conceive the enchantment of this place. So much I suffered
here last January and February, I thought myself a little weaned; but
returning, my heart swelled even to tears with the cry of the poet,

"O Rome, _my_ country, city of the soul!"

Those have not lived who have not seen Rome. Warned, however, by the
last winter, I dared not rent my lodgings for the year. I hope I am
acclimated. I have been through what is called the grape-cure, much
more charming, certainly, than the water-cure. At present I am very
well, but, alas! because I have gone to bed early, and done very
little. I do not know if I can maintain any labor. As to my life, I
think it is not the will of Heaven it should terminate very soon. I
have had another strange escape.

I had taken passage in the diligence to come to Rome; two rivers were
to be passed, the Turano and the Tiber, but passed by good bridges,
and a road excellent when not broken unexpectedly by torrents from
the mountains. The diligence sets out between three and four in
the morning, long before light. The director sent me word that
the Marchioness Crispoldi had taken for herself and family a coach
extraordinary, which would start two hours later, and that I could
have a place in that if I liked; so I accepted. The weather had been
beautiful, but on the eve of the day fixed for my departure, the wind
rose, and the rain fell in torrents. I observed that the river, which
passed my window, was much swollen, and rushed with great violence. In
the night I heard its voice still stronger, and felt glad I had not to
set out in the dark. I rose at twilight and was expecting my carriage,
and wondering at its delay, when I heard that the great diligence,
several miles below, had been seized by a torrent; the horses were
up to their necks in water, before any one dreamed of danger. The
postilion called on all the saints, and threw himself into the water.
Tire door of the diligence could not be opened, and tire passengers
forced themselves, one after another, into the cold water; it was dark
too. Had I been there, I had fared ill. A pair of strong men were ill
after it, though all escaped with life.

For several days there was no going to Rome; but at last we set forth
in two great diligences, with all the horses of the route. For many
miles the mountains and ravines were covered with snow; I seemed to
have returned to my own country and climate. Few miles were passed
before the conductor injured his leg under the wheel, and I had the
pain of seeing him suffer all the way, while "Blood of Jesus!" and
"Souls in Purgatory!" was the mildest beginning of an answer to the
jeers of the postilions upon his paleness. We stopped at a miserable
osteria, in whose cellar we found a magnificent relic of Cyclopean
architecture,--as indeed in Italy one is paid at every step for
discomfort and danger, by some precious subject of thought. We
proceeded very slowly, and reached just at night a solitary little
inn which marks the site of the ancient home of the Sabine virgins,
snatched away to become the mothers of Rome. We were there saluted
with, the news that the Tiber also had overflowed its banks, and it
was very doubtful if we could pass. But what else to do? There were no
accommodations in the house for thirty people, or even for three; and
to sleep in the carriages, in that wet air of the marshes, was a more
certain danger than to attempt the passage. So we set forth; the moon,
almost at the full, smiling sadly on the ancient grandeurs half draped
in mist, and anon drawing over her face a thin white veil. As we
approached the Tiber, the towers and domes of Rome could be seen,
like a cloud lying low on the horizon. The road and the meadows, alike
under water, Jay between us and it, one sheet of silver. The horses
entered; they behaved nobly. We proceeded, every moment uncertain if
the water would not become deep; but the scene was beautiful, and I
enjoyed it highly. I have never yet felt afraid, when really in the
presence of danger, though sometimes in its apprehension.

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