Rome in 1860 Part 7

"Art. 3. His Holiness shall receive a yearly income of one million Italian francs, and shall retain all the honorary privileges he has enjoyed in past times.

"Given at our Imperial Palace of St Cloud, this --- day of Sept.

1808."

In the midst of the Spanish campaigns, these doc.u.ments were perused and approved by the Emperor, who wrote to Aldini, at that time in Italy, and told him to make private inquiries as to whether the time was opportune for the promulgation of these decrees, and whether it was expedient to require the clergy to take an oath of allegiance to the new const.i.tution.

Aldini's reply contains the following remarkable pa.s.sage:--

"The Pope, who has never enjoyed the good opinion of the Roman public, has succeeded in these latter days in winning the sympathy of a few fanatics, who call his obstinacy heroic constancy, and wait every day for a miracle to be worked by G.o.d in his defence.

"Except these bigots and a few wealthy persons who dread the possibility, that, under a change of government, their privileges might be destroyed, and the taxes on property increased, all cla.s.ses are of one mind in desiring a new order of things, and all alike long for its establishment.

"I must not, however, conceal from you that this universal sentiment is chiefly due to two causes:--Firstly, to the idea that the payment of the interest on the public debt will be resumed; as, in truth, a great number of Roman families depend on these payments for their income; and secondly, to the hope that Rome will become the capital of a great state, a hope which the Romans know not how to renounce."

Under these circ.u.mstances, Count Aldini goes on to recommend that hopes should be held out of an early resumption of payments on the national debt, and that a provisional air should be given to the proposed arrangement, so as to keep alive the prospect of a great kingdom, of which Rome should be the centre. He deprecates enforcing an oath of allegiance on the clergy, on the ground that "all priests will consent to obey the civil government; but all will not consent to swear allegiance to it, because they consider obedience an involuntary act, and an oath a voluntary act which might compromise their conscience." He finally recommends delay, under present circ.u.mstances, till some decisive victory has crushed the hopes of the priest party. This delay was fatal to the scheme. After the battle of Wagram, Napoleon resumed the project, and resolved to encrease the Pope's income to two millions of francs. Then, however, there came unfortunately the protests of Pius VII. the bull of excommunication hurled against the Emperor, and a whole series of petty insults and annoyances on the part of the Pope; such, for instance, as walling up the doors of his palace, and declaring, like his successor and namesake, his anxiety to be made a martyr. Pa.s.sion seems to have prevailed over Napoleon's cooler and better judgment. The Pope was carried off to Savona, Rome was made part of the French empire, and Aldini's project slumbered till, in after years, it has been revived, though without acknowledgement, by M. Guerroniere, in his pamphlet of _Le Pape et le Congres_.

Now this project I have quoted not for its intrinsic value, but because I think it one likely to be realized. Napoleon III. (the fact both for good and bad is worth minding) and not the Italians has to decide on Rome's future, and any one who has watched the Emperor's career will be aware how carefully he follows out the cooler and wiser ideas of his great predecessor. The Papal question is not one to be settled by the sword, and I know not whether amongst all the plans that I have seen, the solution of Napoleon I. does not present the fewest difficulties.

CHAPTER XVIII. TWO PICTURES.

Within the s.p.a.ce of a few days, some three weeks in all, it was my fortune to be present at two demonstrations forming two pictures of Italian story, or rather two aspects of one picture. In both the subject- matter was the feelings of Italians towards their rulers; in both that feeling was expressed legibly, though in diverse fashions; and from both one and the same lesson--that lesson, which I have sought to express in these loose sketches of mine--may be learned easily. Let me first, then, write of these pictures as I saw them at the time, so that my moral may speak for itself to those who care to learn it.

The 12th of April is the anniversary of Pio Nono's return to Rome from Gaeta, that refuge of dest.i.tute sovereigns. It is also, by a strange coincidence, the anniversary of the day on which his Holiness and General Goyon narrowly escaped being killed by the falling of a scaffold, from which they were inspecting the repairs at the church of St Agnese. On that day, in honour of the doubly joyful event, the Pope went to celebrate ma.s.s at the convent of St Agnese. The time was one when a popular demonstration in favour of the Pope was urgently required. It was in fact the beginning of the end. Victor Emmanuel was about to enter Bologna as king; the news of the Sicilian insurrection had just reached Rome; the Imperial Government had sent one of its periodical intimations, that the French occupation could not be prolonged indefinitely; and General De La Moriciere had a.s.sumed the command of the Papal army, on his ill-fated and Quixotic crusade. At such a time it was deemed necessary to show Europe, that the Pope still reigned in the hearts of his people, and every effort was made to secure a demonstration. Government clerks and official personages received orders to be present at the ceremony; and all persons, over whom the Priests had influence, were urged to attend and swell the crowd. And yet what came of it all? Along the road between the Convent of Santa Agnese and the Porta Pia, where the great demonstrations took place some weeks ago, there was little sign of crowd or excitement. The day was chilly and cheerless; but the chilliness of the wind itself precluded the idea of rain, so that it was not the weather which deterred the concourse of the faithful. The Patrizzi Villa, just outside the gate, had a few festoons hung over the garden wall, which fronts the road; but one of the Patrizzi family, I should mention, is a Cardinal. The villas on the road exhibited no decorations or signs of festivity whatever. Indeed, I only observed three houses in all which had placed hangings before their windows, or made any preparations in honour of the event. There were not many persons outside the gates. Every few steps you met patrols of six French soldiers headed by a gendarme. These patrols had been sent by General Goyon to keep the crowd in order; but, unfortunately, there was no crowd to keep in order; so that the soldiers looked and seemed to feel as if they were sent on a fool's errand. At St Agnese there were some 150 carriages collected, almost all hired ones, of the poorer sort. The private vehicles were very few indeed; not a quarter of the muster at most. The church itself was gaily filled, but not crowded in any part. Priests, monks, and women formed nine-tenths of the congregation. The sacrament was administered by the Pope himself to a number of communicants, amongst whom the English converts visiting Rome were as usual conspicuous. After ma.s.s was over the Pope had breakfast at the Convent, and returned about noon to the city. Meanwhile, something approaching to a crowd, that is about 600 people, half of whom were priests and the rest _impiegati_, were collected at the gates; and as the Pope pa.s.sed to his coach and four, each of this crowd, with somewhat suspicious unanimity, drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and raised a feeble cheer. Inside the gates, and along the streets through which the Papal procession pa.s.sed, there was no appearance of any unusual concourse of people. By the corner of the Gualtro Fontane street, near the new palace of Queen Christina, a large body of nuns and school-children, decked out in white, were drawn up on the pavement, who waved their hats, and threw flowers as the Pope went by; but this was all; and even the Pope himself could hardly have supposed what demonstration there was to be spontaneous. It is true the _Giornale_ made the most of it. Their narrative ran thus: "About half-past eleven in the morning his Holiness, accompanied by the applause of all who had joined to escort him, entered his carriage, and took the road towards his residence at the Vatican. Words are insufficient to express the enthusiastic affection, the joyous demonstrations, which, for the length of three miles from St Agnese to the Quirinal, were manifested towards him by the good people of this Sovereign City, who had crowded to behold his pa.s.sage; and who, by any means in their power, expressed the tender affection which they could not but entertain for his sacred person. Infinite, too, was the number of carriages which followed the Royal cortege to the Pontifical palace of St Peter's."

To this I can only say, that many things are visible to the eye of faith, and hidden to the common world. To my unenlightened vision, the crowd of three miles in length was composed of a thousand persons in all; and the infinite number of carriages looked uncommonly like sixty.

And now for the converse picture.

The "Promised Land."

Out of chill clouds and dull gloom, I pa.s.sed into summer sunshine. Across barren moor-land and more barren mountains, by the side of marshy lakes, deserted and malaria-haunted, through squalid villages and decayed cities, my journey brought me into a rich garden-country, studded with thriving towns swarming with life, and watered with endless streams. I came into a land such as children of Israel never looked upon from over Jordan, after their weary wanderings in the wilderness; a land rich in oil and corn, and vineyards and cattle; a very "land of promise." This, indeed, is the true Italy, the Italy of which all poets of all time have sung; and whose likeness all artists have sought to draw, and sought in vain. The sight, however, of this wondrous beauty was not new to me who write; still less is its record new to you who read. With this much of tribute let it pa.s.s unnoticed. Fortunately, it was my lot to see the promised land of Italy as for centuries past she has not been seen. I saw her free, and rejoicing in her freedom. Then let me seek to recall such of the epochs in that right royal progress--when the chosen King came to take possession of his promised land--as stand most clearly forth.

I remember once seeing a collection of Indian portraits. There were rajahs and dervishes, jugglers and dancing-girls, depicted in every variety of garb and posture. For the whole set, however, there was but one face. Each portrait had a hole where the face should have been, and the picture was completed by placing the one head beneath the blank opening. In fact, you had one face beneath a hundred different draperies. So also, in my wanderings, I saw but one picture in a dozen frames; one sight in many cities. At some, the flags may have waved more gaily; at some again the lamps may have sparkled more brilliantly, and at others the crowd may have cheered more l.u.s.tily; but the substance of the sight was the same throughout. Everywhere, some half-dozen of dusty open carriages, filled with officers in uniform, pa.s.sing through crowded streets festooned with flowers, dressed out with banners--everywhere, the one figure of a plain, rough Soldier-king, bowing stiffly and slowly from time to time--everywhere, a surging, heaving, shouting crowd. Such is the one subject of my picture-gallery.

I am in the Duomo of Florence. Around and about me there is a great crowd. Every niche and cornice where foot can stand is occupied. A deep gloom hangs around the darkened church, and from out the lofty vaulted roof thousands of lamps hang glimmering like stars upon a moonless sky.

Ever and anon the organ peals forth triumphantly, and the clouds of incense rise fitfully; and as the bell rings, and the host is raised on high, you see above the bowed heads of the swaying crowd the figure of the excommunicated King, kneeling on the altar-steps. Then, when the service is over, and the royal procession pa.s.ses down the nave, through the double line of soldiers, who keep the pa.s.sage clear, I am carried onwards to the front of the grand cathedral, which for centuries has stood bare and unfinished, and which is to date its completion from the time when the city of Dante and Michael Angelo is to date her freedom, too long delayed.

The next scene present to my memory is a dark gloomy night. I am at Pisa, in the city of the Campo Santo, where hang the chains of the ancient port which the Genoese carried off in triumph centuries ago, in the days of the old Republic, and have brought back to day, in honour of the new brotherhood. The great festival of the Luminara is to be held to- night, in the presence of the King. I have come from Florence through the pleasant Arno valley, shining in the glory of an Italian sunset, and the night has come on, and dark, rain-laden clouds are rolling up from the sea; but neither wind nor rain are heeded now. Through narrow streets, which a year ago were silent and deserted, I follow a great mult.i.tude pressing towards the river-side. A sudden turn brings me to the quay, and an illuminated city rises before me across the Arno. The glare is so strong that at first I can scarcely distinguish anything save the one grand blaze of light. Then, by degrees, I see that every house and palace-front along those mile-long quays is lit up by rows on rows of lamps, scattered everywhere. Arches and parapets and bridges are all marked out against the dark back-ground of the sky by the long lines of light, and in the depths of the dull stream that rolls at my feet a second inverted city sparkles brightly. Along either quay a great, countless mult.i.tude keeps moving to and fro, casting a dark hem of shadow at the foot of the houses which line the river. Then of a sudden the low, ceaseless hum of ten thousand voices is exchanged for a loud cheer, and the bands begin to play, and the royal carriages, escorted by a running crowd, pa.s.s along the quays; and wherever the throng is thickest, you can tell that Victor Emmanuel is to be found, with Ricasoli by his side. Then, as the King and his party pa.s.s out of sight, the storm comes on in its fury, and the gusts of wind blow out the lamps, as if after doing honour to the King their work was ended.

Another scene which I remember well was on a long day's journey through the Val di Chiana, a day's journey by fertile fields and smiling villages, and on pleasant country roads. The King was coming in the course of the day along the same route. At every corner, at every bridge and roadside house, there were groups of peasants standing waiting to see _Il padrone nuovo_, the new sovereign and master. The children had flags in their little hands, and the cottagers had hung out their coloured bed- quilts, and the roadside crosses were decked out with flowers. The church-bells were ringing, country bands were playing l.u.s.tily, and the national guard of every little town I pa.s.sed stood under arms, to the admiration of all beholders. It was a holiday everywhere; the fields were left untilled, the carts were taken up to carry whole peasant families to the market-town of Arezzo, where the King was to spend the night. Man, woman, and child wore the national colours in some part of their Sunday dress; and about everything and everybody there was a look of happiness, hard indeed to describe, but one not often seen nor easily forgotten.

Let us turn northwards. The old streets of Bologna, with their endless rows of colonnades, are filled with people. The dead Papal city is alive again. The priests have disappeared; friars, monks, Jesuits, and nuns have vanished from their old haunts. St Patrick did not clear the land of Erin more thoroughly and more suddenly of the genus reptile than the presence of Victor Emmanuel has cleared Bologna of the genus priest. It is whispered that out of top windows, and from behind blinds and shutters, priests are peeping out at the strange sight of a glad and a free people, with glances the reverse of friendly; but neither the black robe nor the brown serge cowl, nor the three-cornered, low-crowned hat, are to be seen amongst the crowd. Well, perhaps the scene looks none the less gay for their absence. The flags and flowers glitter beneath the blue, cloudless sky, and the burning sun of a hot summer day gives an unwonted brightness to the grey colours of the grim, gaunt houses. Down the steep, winding road leading from the old monastery of St Michael, where the King is lodged, through the dark, narrow, crowded streets, a brilliant cavalcade comes riding slowly; half a horse's length in front rides Victor Emmanuel. Amongst the order-covered staff who follow, there is scarcely one of not more royal presence than their leader; there are many whose names may stand before his in the world's judgment, but the crowd has its eye fixed on the King, and the King alone. For three days this selfsame crowd has followed him, and stared at him, and cheered him, but their ardour remains undiminished. All the school-children of the city, down to little mites of things who can scarcely toddle, have been brought out to see him. Boy-soldiers, with Lilliputian muskets, salute him as he pa.s.ses. A mob of men, heedless of the gendarmes or of the horses' hoofs, run before the cavalcade, in the burning heat, and cheer hoa.r.s.ely. Every window is lined with ladies in the gayest of gay dresses, who cast glances before the King, and try, like true daughters of Eve, to catch a smile from that plain, good-humoured face. So amidst flowers and smiles and cheers the procession pa.s.ses on. There is no pause, indeed, in the ceaseless cheering, save where the band of exiles stands with the flags of Rome, and Naples, and Venice, covered with the black veil; or when the regiments defile past with the tattered colours which were rent to shreds at San Martino and at Solferino, and then the cry of "Viva Vittorio Emmanuele" is changed for that of "Viva l'Italia!"

It is a Sunday afternoon, and at three o'clock I have turned out of the broiling streets into the vast, crowded theatre of Reggio. Every place is occupied, every box is crammed; rows of lights sparkle around the darkened house, and the heat is a thing to be remembered afterwards.

There is a gorgeous ballet being acted on the stage, and Caesar is being tempted by every variety of female art and posture, in a way which never happens except to ballet heroes, and to Saint Anthony of Padua. The dancing girls, however, dance in vain, and the orchestra plays to deaf ears, for all voices are raised at once, and all eyes are turned from the stage. The King has entered the royal box, and every lady in the long tiers of boxes unfurls the tricolor-flag she bears in her hands and waves it bravely. The whole house keeps rising, shouting, cheering. The musicians lay down their instruments, and the ballet-girls drop their postures and Caesar forgets his dignity, and one and all crowd forward on the stage and join in the general cheering; and when the king leaves, the curtain drops upon the unfinished ballet, and the whole house rush into the piazza to see Victor Emmanuel again as he drives away.

The last time that my path comes across the kingly progress is at a railway station. The long street of Parma, leading to the station, is lined with a dense crowd; and the flowers and flags and triumphal arches are to be seen in greater profusion here than even I have been accustomed to before. The royal carriages have to move at a foot's pace, on account of the mult.i.tude which presses round them. Amidst playing of bands and throwing of flowers, the King, accompanied by his vast escort, has reached the station, and enters it with his suite, but the eager enthusiasm of the mult.i.tude is not sated yet. Regardless of all railway rules and penalties, they clamber over palings and run up embankments, and manage to force their way at last to the platform itself, as the royal train is moving on. Even the iron nerve of Victor Emmanuel seems affected by this last greeting of farewell; and while the train remains in sight I can see the King bowing kindly to the crowd on either side.

Never, I think, in the world's history was the promised land entered with more of promise.

When, in the old fairy tale, the sleeping princess of the slumber-bound palace awoke to light and life; when of a sudden the horses began to neigh, and the clocks to tick, and the spits to turn, the brightness and suddenness of the change could scarcely have been more complete than that through which I pa.s.sed. From chill, cheerless, ceaseless rain into bright warm sun-light; from a country fever-haunted, barren, and desolate, into a land swarming with life, rich and fertile as a garden; from a gloomy priest-ridden people, kept down by force of arms, hating their rulers and hated by them, into the presence of a free people rejoicing in their freedom: such has been my change as I pa.s.sed from the States of the Church into those of Victor Emmanuel.

Surely the moral of these two pictures speaks for itself. Put aside abstract political considerations, put aside, too, theological questions, and look at broad facts patent to all. If anybody can see Rome and the Papal States, and still believe that the people are happy or prosperous or faring with good prospects either for this world or the next, I can say nothing more. His eyes are not my eyes, nor his judgment mine. For those to whom this ocular testimony is denied, I have written these papers. I have sought to make present to them the utter dreariness, the hopeless discontent, the abject demoralization, which strike a resident in Rome, unless he refuses wilfully to see the truth. In the dead Rome of real life; in the universal spiritless immorality of Roman society; in the decay of what once was the Roman people; in the squalid misery of the country towns, miserable even in their merriment; in the utter isolation of the Papal States, a moral lazaretto amongst European kingdoms, you see only too plainly the permanent condition of the country. As to the present misery, you can read its signs in those pageants which impose on no one; in the Carnivals, where there are no revellers; in the solemn ceremonies, where the worshippers are sought in vain; and in the sad, sullen, hopeless demonstrations, whereby a people protest constantly that they are weary of their fate. If you look for causes, you may find them perhaps in those trials without law or justice; in that Press without liberty or truth; in those Church-sanctioned lotteries; in the presence of that mult.i.tude of priests, and in the policy which dictated the outrage of St Joseph's day, and the Bull of excommunication. How far these causes are sufficient to explain the fact, is a matter of opinion.

I can understand a fervent believer in the Catholic Faith saying, that the people of the Papal States ought to be happy and prosperous under Papal rule. It may be so, but the fact is they are not; and that they are both prosperous and happy under the rule of Victor Emmanuel ever since the great Lombard campaign, when the French armies at Solferino destroyed the Austrian power, the key-stone of the whole priest-despot rule in Italy. I have been living, with but short intervals, in different parts of this Italian land. Wherever the free national government has spread, I can see the growth of prosperity and happiness.

There have been, there are, and there will be partial reactions, petty disturbances; but they are but eddies in the great, deep, resistless current. Go to Bologna, or Ferrara, or Ancona, and you will find them, as I have, pa.s.sed from dead desolation into active life. Commerce is flourishing, order prevails, and the people are free and full of life.

These are facts on which both Protestant and Catholic can judge; and Catholics, as well as Protestants, will tell you the same thing. Then if this be so, and that it is so I a.s.sert fearlessly, in what right, human or divine, are a number of G.o.d's creatures to be forced to live out that one short life of ours in dull, abject misery? If you tell me that their misery is necessary to the maintenance of a religious creed, be that creed Protestant or Catholic, I reply that the sooner then that creed disappears, the better for mankind and for faith in G.o.d.

And now, a few words in parting about the future. The end I believe is coming on so rapidly, has indeed advanced so far, since first I began to write these letters, little more than a year ago, that I hesitate to make prophecies which to-morrow may render vain. The whole Italian revolution is eminently a political one, not a religious one. It is possible a religious change, whether reformation-like or otherwise, may follow in its steps, but that time is not come. There is no wish in the Italian people, unless I err much, to alter the national faith, or to dispense with the Pope, as a spiritual potentate. Before long Pius IX., having caused as much misery as one man can well cause in one lifetime, must depart from this world; and then, if not sooner, some arrangement must be come to between the Pope and the Italian people, if the Papacy is to last at all. In some form or other I hold that the compromise will be of the nature of the "Napoleonic Solution," to which I have therefore given a place amongst these papers. Whether it is possible for a Pope to remain permanently at Rome as a spiritual prince in a free city, time alone can show, but ere long the experiment will be made.

If in these letters I have said aught to wound the faith of either Protestant or Catholic, I have said it unwillingly, and regret that it should be so. This however I believe, and would have others believe it too, that the misery of the Roman people is a real misery, be its cause what it may, and like all real misery in this world, calls to G.o.d for justice, and not in vain.