MY RECOLLECTIONS.
LONDON:
ROBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS,
PANORAS ROAD, N.W.

13933
38

D k
RECOLLECTIONS
OF
MASSIMO D'AZEGLIO.
Translated, with Notes and an Introduction.
BY
COUNT MAFFEI.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193 PICCADILLY.
1868.
"

CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
CHAPTER I.
Revolution of 1821 in Piedmont-My father forbids me to ap-
proach Turin-I obey without any great merit-Family dis-
agreements on this occasion-At the first rumour of danger
my father and other old nobles hasten to the defence of the
king - Fortitude of my mother at that conjuncture — My
opinion on the political movement of 1821-Military revolu-
tions, and loyalty to the flag-My brother Robert at Paris,
and afterwards at home-In July 1821 I remove from Castel
Sant'Elia to Rocca di Papa-Description of the surrounding
scenery Origin of Rocca di Papa - Physical and moral
portrait of the peasant women of the Roman Campagna.
CHAPTER II.
page I
I apply myself to painting and other studies previously neglected
-The History of Pignotti and the Lives of Plutarch-I have
as yet no distinct ideas on historical criticism-The worship
of violence-Considerations on the greatness of ancient Rome
Distinction between the Justinian code and the old Roman
jurisprudence-The essence of the ancient Roman polity con-
sisted in the right of the stronger-Notwithstanding the light
of modern civilisation, the worship of brute force is still too
general-Different mode of appreciating the ideas of honour,
justice, &c., according as they refer to individuals or to
governments-While at Rocca di Papa I allowed my judg-
ment of certain facts to be too much swayed by my imagi-
nation—Sketch of the surrounding district-The Eternal City
-Justification of this title both for ancient and modern Rome
२५
vi
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
- However strange and mysterious it may seem, the fact
is so- Many reasons, even of recent date, prove it-Rome
free and Italian, yet the religious capital of Christendom.
CHAPTER III.
page 22
My incognito was not betrayed at Rocca di Papa-Carluccio
Castri and his wife Carolina-Unfounded gossip of the town
about Carolina and me—A Roman lady comes to Rocca-She
makes me play the part of a new Joseph-The legal lover-
While I am drawing from nature, I fall in with brigands
-They turn out to be mock ones - Sor Jacobelli, and his
strange notions of affection
page 49
•
CHAPTER IV.
The somarata of the Princess Trois Étoiles and Co.-I join them,
and spend some time at the villa of the Princess-Study of
Roman manners, especially of those of the nobility at that
date-Faults of the aristocracy shared by the other classes
of society-Departure from Rocca, and sad recollections—
Carluccio kills himself the night after I left, and the reason
why I go to rest at Albano in October-Advice to young
men who work hard-The upper Roman bourgeoisie and certain
anonymous professions-Expedients for living well without
exertion- Singular constitution of the Roman patriciate-I
return to Rome in the winter, and renew acquaintance with
Marquis Lascaris di Ventimiglia, a Piedmontese-He buys one
of my pictures-Remarks on working for money-The Mar-
chioness Lascaris-In April I go to Genzano-I am in time
for the Infiorata - What the Infiorata is Signor Raffaele
Attenni-The castle of the Sforzas, and its position-At the
Attennis I turn an old wine-cask into a bed, but the master
of the house will not permit it-Duke Salvatore lets me live
in his castle-Description of its interior-Long and curious
collection of family pictures-I am not afraid of ghosts-I
lodge my horse in an old pantry-The inn of Genzano kept by
a Milanese-Morbid fears of one of the usual customers-The
carters of the wine-trade one of the most respected and re-
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
vii
spectable classes of the Roman people-I sleep at the castle
for the first time; my precautions-Rats and bats-Long and
arduous studies from nature on the banks of the lake-The
ex-sbirro and his trade
CHAPTER V.
page 63
I begin to weary of my solitary life at Genzano-Sorrow at a
fatal occurrence increases this feeling-The dogma of purga-
tory-I make an excursion in the Pontine Marshes with a
friend-A procession at Cisterna, and apparition of the bri-
gands-Return to Genzano, and a ball at the Castle-I am
reduced to eight paoli, and have to do the honours of Genzano
to a lady-I borrow ten or twelve scudi from the Sardinian
Minister-In October I go to Albano as usual, and fall desper-
ately in love-Fierce struggle between love and duty-Pius VII.
and Cardinal Consalvi-The sculptor Pacetti a victim to the
arbitrary system of the government-Reflections and examples
-The way in which love and conjugal fidelity were understood
by Roman society in my time-The Carnival of Rome-The
famous step of Palazzo Ruspoli-Love after the Roman pat-
tern preferable to the love in fashion elsewhere- Rossini,
Paganini, Liparini, and I devise a masquerade page 109
CHAPTER VI.
•
In spite of my violent passion, I leave Rome in the middle of
May, and go to Marino-Moral tortures during the whole
week; and joys of the Saturday bitterly expiated by the grief
of the Monday-Comparative merits of quinine and Peruvian
bark for the cure of the Roman fever-Example in my own
case-Sor Checco Tozzi-The end of a story already related
elsewhere-Mysterious origin of Sor Checco-Sora Maria his
wife, and Sora Nina his daughter-A wedding broken off—
Sor Checco is not discouraged, and soon hits upon a new
scheme, which this time succeeds-Poor Zia Anna-Signor
Mario, the younger brother of Sor Virginio, Nina's husband
-His loves interfered with by the cruelty of Padron Titta-A
serenade interrupted by a gun-shot-Reflections on the usages
of Marino
page 151
•
viii
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER VII.
Continuation of the sketch of the customs of Marino-Famous
banditti transformed into heroes by popular tradition-Beppe
Mastrilli-Practical jokes in vogue in the Roman Campagna
very similar to the ones related by the novelists of the four-
teenth century-Sor Checco plays a cruel trick on one Stefa-
nino-Sor Fumasoni the improvisatore-his strength of mind
—Fights with the knife in the reed-plantations — Sudden
scuffles in the towns-Natale Raparelli and Beppe Rosso, with
their respective followers, come to blows on the piazza of
Marino - Beppe Rosso insists upon accompanying me from
Marino to Rome-Disagreeable encounters-Whilst at Marino,
in Casa Tozzi, I endeavour to strengthen my character more
and more- My brother Enrico-his disposition; internal strug-
gle which consumes him-A few extracts from his diary-He
dies in Turin, aged twenty-nine
•
CHAPTER VIII.
page 172
I paint a picture representing Leonidas at Thermopylæ, which
my father offers to King Charles Felix-Don Luigi de' Prin-
cipi Spada, a good fellow, but very hare-brained-He had let
himself be involved in the secret societies-Secret societies in
Rome in the year 1824-Nobody ever proposed to me to join
in any political conspiracy-Political assassination, and the
sects which resort to it-A few noble souls led astray among
many bad ones-Montanari, a Romagnole doctor, at Rocca di
Papa-The inhabitants of Romagna-I see Montanari and his
friend Targhini beheaded on the scaffold-Remarks on their
impenitence-Prince Spada again, and Sor Checco Tozzi-
Supernatural adventure on one of his excursions to Loretto
often narrated by Sor Checco-I revisit Marino after twenty-
one years, and only find Sora Nina still alive-Death of
Pius VII. and enthronisation of Leo XII.-Great joy at the
fall of Cardinal Consalvi-My opinion of that personage.
CHAPTER IX.
page 200
My uncle Cardinal Morozzo-I refuse his offer of pecuniary as-
sistance-I recommend a young priest to him for his dapifero
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
ix
during the conclave-Curious mistake-Roman customs at
the death of the Pope, during the interregnum, and after the
election of his successor-In the winter of 1825 I worked very
hard, and painted a picture representing the death of Mont-
morency-I take fright at the jubilee ordered by Leo XII., and
bolt to Turin-My Montmorency arrives too, and has an even
greater success at Turin than at Rome-My father proposes I
should enter the royal household, but fortunately takes no
steps about it-Presentation of my picture to King Charles
Felix-Example of the inattention to the convenience of
others displayed even by good princes-In the summer of
1825 I make an excursion among the Alps, but soon tire of
it-My father suffers from domestic and other afflictions-
He is a member of one of the many Catholic societies then
flourishing at Turin-The government dissolves it with little
delicacy-Ingratitude shown to my father by the government
and by old comrades-Long letter he addresses to my bro-
ther Roberto on this subject.
CHAPTER X.
page 221
Early in the autumn I leave Turin, and spend October at Tivoli
-I do not find the Romans at all improved by the Jubilee-
Nothing worthy of note occurs in the winter of 1826-In the
spring I go to La Riccia-The inn of Sor Martorelli-Paint-
ing from nature-At La Riccia I groom my own horse-A
peasant story-Towards summer I feel unwell, and am ad-
vised to go to Naples-Hasty journey-I energetically struggle
against my indisposition-Passage from Naples to Sorrento
with the Catalonian painter Romegas-Sorrento and its neigh-
bourhood—Having returned to Naples at the end of summer,
I frequent a gambling-house-A short moral treatise on gam-
bling-I bid an eternal vale to cards, and write verses-Sketch
of a little poem on the ruins of Pompeii-My present ideas
on verses and versifiers-I return to Rome at the end of the
year 1826
CHAPTER XI.
page 265
A simulated jealousy-I am fool enough to leave Rome to please
my signora—After my return to Turin I discover her secret
X
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
I definitively renounce my abode in Rome - Dulness of
Turinese life in those days-Charles Felix and his grissini-
I accompany my friend Count Benevello to the hermitage of
San Michele-I conceive the grand idea of illustrating that
famous abbey-The chronicles, and the dignity of history-
A few anecdotes gleaned from the chronicle of the abbey of
San Michele-My illustration meets with approval; and I
am encouraged by this public favour-I go back to Rome to
remove my goods and chattels, and narrowly escape once
more falling into the snare - I witness the enthronisation of
Pius VIII.; reflections-The Piedmontese painter Barne and
his patrons-On my return to Turin I make an excursion into
the valley of Lanzo-A splendid earthquake-I return home
and set to work with great ardour at a picture of the Chal-
lenge of Barletta-Whilst so engaged, I bethink me of writing
a novel on the subject-I show my first chapters to Cesare
Balbo, who greatly encourages me-Cesare Balbo-I also read
part of my work to my father; but only fragments, as he was
already very ill-He suffers and believes-Reflections-Death
of my father
page 295
CHAPTER XII.
Funeral of my father, and its tariff I visit the Castle of
Azeglio in the spring - Its good inhabitants, and its old
feudal masters-My elder brother and I divide the property;
and my first will-The father being dead, it is better the
brothers should live apart—I leave Roberto, and transfer my
abode to Milan-Artistic life of Milan in those days-Reli-
gious struggle in my mind—I marry; I take a house; but I
remain silent on domestic matters-The Austrian Government
and Lombardy after 1830-Masonic lodges and the secret
society La Giovine Italia-I exhibit three pictures at Palazzo
Brera, and they meet with approval-I finish my Fieramosca,
and become intimate with the first literary men of Milan-
Fieramosca brings me honours and profit beyond my expec-
tation-Timid vanity and impertinent vanity-Did my novel
really deserve its success?-Answer and reflections-How I
snatch the imprimatur from the imperial censor
·
page 337
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
xi
CHAPTER XIII.
Tommaso Grossi-The poet and the notary-My life at Milan—
Art and the Milanese artists in my time-The Brera exhibition
and its mysteries-I reproduce an old criticism of mine on
a picture by Hayez-I begin to write the first chapters of
Niccolò de' Lapi with great ardour-The Austrians governed
Lombardy by means of the theatre of La Scala-I show Tom-
maso Grossi a specimen of my new novel, and he encourages
me to proceed with it
page 372
•
CHAPTER XIV.
My old tourist diary-Description of the journey from Modena
to San Marcello-Excursion to Gavinana, and historical re-
cords of Francesco Ferruccio-I would fain put up a comme-
morative stone at my own expense, but am prevented-Hos-
pitality of the Cini family-On the way from San Marcello
to Pistoia I stop at the Villa Puccini-Description of this
villa-Inscription composed at Florence at that time by a
censor, but not allowed by the censorship-Gustavo Ferruccio
a descendant of the great Francesco-My mother dies this
year, 1838
page 390
•
CHAPTER XV.
Comparison between the Milanese and Turinese life of twenty-
three years ago-I work at my last chapters of Niccolò by fits
and starts, and ultimately finish it-The censor Colonnetti
surprises me by his good sense and taste-My new novel also
gains favour in Italy-Psychological phenomenon-I betake
myself for a while to my small villa on the lake of Como-
My good luck in selling pictures-A list of the works I ex-
hibited at Brera in ten years-The arrival of a letter summons
me in all haste to Rome-Mysterious adventure-To avoid
further annoyance I go to Fiumicino-Fiumicino in the quail
season-Local customs studied in the person of a butcher-My
return to Rome, and Signora Clelia Piermarini-Her house
the constant meeting-place of the Liberals-Filippo A-, one
of the set, tries to persuade me to become the propagator of
xii
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
a new liberal and national polity-I think it over for a few
days, and then accept-Departure from Rome, on my politi-
cal tour through the papal states, in the autumn of 1845.
page 409
CHAPTER XVI.
I have one Pompili of Spoleto for my travelling-companion-I
begin my experiments upon him with some success-Halt at
Baccano, and a study of local customs-Embarrassing ques-
tions to a waiter at Otricoli-At Terni I find the first link of
the trafila — In the pontifical states everyone finally said I
was right not so in Tuscany-I part from Pompili at Spoleto
-I pursue my journey with an impertinent youngster—At Ca-
merino I seize the opportunity of giving him a lesson—Arrival
at Loretto-A few words about Loretto and sanctuaries in
general - From Loretto to Ancona-I resume my practical
experiments upon a Franciscan monk-I finish my propa-
ganda in Romagna; I continue it in Tuscany, and go back
to Turin by Genoa-I request an audience of King Charles
Albert, and obtain it at once-My political conversation with
the king-After consulting Cesare Balbo, I determine to write
on politics-In spite of the opposition of many, I print Gli
ultimi Casi di Romagna-After this publication I can no
longer live in Milan
CONCLUSION
page 447
page 494
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
CHAPTER I.
Revolution of 1821 in Piedmont-My father forbids me to ap-
proach Turin-I obey without any great merit-Family dis-
agreements on this occasion-At the first rumour of danger
my father and other old nobles hasten to the defence of the
king- Fortitude of my mother at that conjuncture — My
opinion on the political movement of 1821-Military revolu-
tions, and loyalty to the flag-My brother Robert at Paris,
and afterwards at home-In July 1821 I remove from Castel
Sant'Elia to Rocca di Papa-Description of the surrounding
scenery-Origin of Rocca di Papa-Physical and moral por-
trait of the peasant women of the Roman Campagna.
LET us go back a little.
In March 1821 a revolution broke out in Pied-
mont, which was stifled and put down in a month;
leaving, however, many sad traces behind it, and
still sadder germs in society as well as in the coun-
try.
Although a complete stranger to this outbreak,
VOL. II.
B
2
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
from which I expected very little, I nevertheless felt
my pulse beat quicker when the news of it spread
throughout Italy, and at last reached even Rome.
My friend Bidone wrote to me to return im-
mediately, in order to take part in the movement.
My father, on the contrary, dispatched three letters
all at once, forbidding me to stir under any pretext,
and directed one to Rome, another to Florence, and
the third to Genoa; to make sure that one at least
should reach me, in case I had already started. I
obeyed him with a docility for which he ever after
gave me great credit. But, in truth, I deserved very
little. When only at the age of twenty-two, I un-
derstood that to endeavour to establish the Spanish
constitution by surprise in an Italian state, without
strength or support, while the Holy Alliance was in
its first blush of prosperity, was neither more nor
less than to make oneself the purveyor of the scaf-
fold. And then, why precisely the Spanish-consti-
tution? As if Spain and Piedmont were like twins,
each of whom can wear the clothes for which the
other has been measured. There was, however, a
reason. That constitution peculiarly favours politics
in the streets. Always the same comedy!
While the invasion of the kingdom of Naples,
decreed at Laybach, was preparing, I had presented
myself to the Chevalier Micheroux, the Neapolitan
POLITICAL PERTURBATIONS.
3
Minister in Rome, asking to serve in the army.
He gave me a cold and evasive answer, saying,
as well as I can recollect, that it was not the in-
tention of the Neapolitan government to introduce
foreigners into the ranks of its soldiery. Having
taken this step without a shadow of enthusiasm—
for if I had little faith in the Revolution of Pied-
mont, I had still less in that of Naples-I did not
insist any further. I was lucky, for I escaped An-
trodoco!*
These political perturbations produced painful
consequences in my family, as in many others. My
father, although considered one of the staunchest
supporters of absolutism, was, in fact, far from being
So. He had too much intelligence not to perceive
its dangers and its impossibilities; but he was an
enemy to revolutionary changes, which very often
only transfer power to other and worse hands. I
defy anyone to be otherwise who had watched the
French revolution from beginning to end, and seen
Mirabeau succeeded by Robespierre, Robespierre by
Napoleon, and Napoleon by Louis XVIII., with the
Cossacks bivouacking on the Place de la Concorde!
* A gorge in the Abruzzi mountains, where the Neapolitan
liberals, with more confidence in their patriotism than their mili-
tary organisation warranted, awaited the Austrians in 1821, and
from which they were driven by the advancing enemy, completely
defeated.
4
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
When the Piedmontese movement burst out in
Turin on the 10th of March, my father no sooner
had wind of it than he put on his uniform, and
hastened to join the king, who was in his palace
wavering between conflicting resolutions.
Many other nobles had done the same.
They
were chiefly old men, who had long been on the
retired list; among others there was the aged Mar-
quis of Rodi, an old soldier, full of honour and
energy, whom I knew well, and with whom I was
a favourite; but years and retirement had left them
all with more good-will than strength.
The king was in the dilemma of having either to
oppose the insurgents at the head of the few troops
at his disposal, or else yield to their pretensions.
Opinions were divided. Several of the veterans, who
had ordered their horses to be kept in readiness in
the courtyard of the palace, and feared lest, if the
course of energetic action prevailed, they might find
it difficult to mount quickly, left the council in the
midst, and hastened downstairs to get helped into
their saddles, so as to be quite ready for an imme-
diate departure, should the order be given.
But good King Victor, as loyal and honest as he
was narrow-minded, followed another course. He
shrank from bloodshed no less than from concession.
So he chose a third line, and abdicated.
DISAPPOINTED VETERANS.
5
To their great disappointment the gallant veterans
were obliged to dismount, as they had climbed upon
their chargers; and my father took leave of the
king, whom he had formerly attended as equerry
when Duke of Aosta. He now quitted him with
sad and ominous presentiments for the future of the
house of Savoy and the country. Fortunately they
were not to be verified. I was told afterwards, that
when he entered the hall, on his return home, he
unbuckled his sword, flung it indignantly on the
floor, and withdrew to his room, where he locked
himself up.
My mother had been ill in bed for several months.
Concerning these events I find the following lines in
her manuscript:
66
I turn back to say a few words on the
fatal year 1821. It was a most painful epoch for all
the loyal subjects of the king; among whom Cesare
was one of the first, both from a sense of religious
duty, and from the affection and devotion he had so
sincerely vowed to the house of Savoy. . . . Cesare
spent those three days of agony at his post, as one
of the high dignitaries of the court, in the king's
antechamber, with many other noblemen of upwards
of seventy or eighty years of age, awaiting the royal
commands to follow his master, and die at his feet
if necessary.
The abdication and departure of his
6
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
majesty ended all uncertainty. I must not omit to
say that, before Cesare went to fulfil his duty, he
embraced his beloved wife, who had been for many
months on her sick-bed, and said, with mingled ten-
derness and decision: Our sentiments have always
been in unison; you certainly will not change on
this occasion. I am now going, and shall stay at
my post to the last; perhaps I may not return.
God be with you!' God was with me indeed,
since I had the strength to answer: 'Go, stay at
your post, and die, if die you must! I should be
too unworthy of you if I said otherwise!' And he
went."
Compare yourselves with these noble souls, ye
Italian men and women; and remember that when
you have become like them, Italy will be really a
nation.
By being like them, I do not mean that people
should share their thoughts and opinions; but I do
mean that, in the first place, it is necessary to have
some; in the second, that they should be your own,
founded as much as possible on reason and justice,
and held to be certain and true; and lastly, that
should know how to uphold them in all circumstances,
even at the risk of life.
you
My brother Roberto, though not one of the origi-
nators of the insurrection, was sufficiently compro-
CHARLES FEROX.
7
mised to make it prudent for him to avoid the first
severities of the government of Charles Felix.* Then,
as usual, there were zealous men, who tried to win
laurels at their neighbours' expense, and build up
their own fortunes on the ruin even of their friends.
It cannot be said, however, that the government dis-
played excessive cruelty, though the king had been
nicknamed "Charles Ferox." Only one capital sen-
tence was executed, that on Captain Garelli. Col-
legno used to tell me that this unfortunate man had
a strong presentiment of his fatal end. When he
was addressed as General, he immediately replied:
Yes... General, or hanged!" This single exe-
cution was certainly one too many: it must, how-
ever, be borne in mind that opinion had not then
sanctioned the maxim now generally admitted, that
capital punishment should never be inflicted for
political offences. The other persons condemned,
Collegno, Caraglio, and La Cisterna,† &c. were only
hanged in effigy, having saved themselves by flight.
But even in 1821, a government had no longer a
brand of infamy at its disposal, and the hand of the
executioner was powerless to stain the honoured
66
* Charles Felix succeeded to the throne, on the abdication of
his brother Victor Emanuel I., during this revolution.
†They all belonged to the highest Piedmontese aristocracy,
and the last was father of the present Duchess of Aosta.
8
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
names of those gallant youths, even though he hung
them on the gallows. The public already knew that
ignominy results from the crime and not from the
penalty; and if there was guilt in violating the mili-
tary oath, the intentions and characters of the offen-
ders, and the circumstances of the time, shield them
from every breath of dishonour.
They were not politically wise, that was their
crime; they had forgotten to make that indispensable
calculation of force and resistance without which
it is impossible to set the grindstone of a mill in
motion; how then could the incomparably more dif-
ficult task of bowing a people and government to a
totally new order of things be accomplished without
it?
They had so little considered this problem, that,
being nearly all nobles, consequently members of the
privileged class, who ran all these risks with the sole
object of abolishing their own privileges, they did not
manage to secure the support of the excluded crowd,
for whose sake the revolution was being made.
The gift of liberty is like that of a horse, hand-
some, strong, and high-spirited. In some it arouses
a wish to ride; in many others, on the contrary, it
increases the desire to walk.
My eldest brother had meanwhile taken refuge
with his wife in Switzerland, and remained there
•
RESPECT TO THE FLAG.
9
some time. My other brother Enrico, the artillery-
man, refused to meddle in these concerns; he stuck
to his colours and did well.
The future may perhaps see the dawn of a day in
which standing armies having not only been dis-
banded, but their very existence, their traditions,
and the worship of the ancient profession of arms
absolutely forgotten, a flag will be a mere object of
curiosity, fit furniture for a museum, a silken rag
nailed to a staff. It may be that, as some imagine,
states will come to have no other forces than their
citizens armed for the nonce-a kind of English
special-constables. But this concerns those who may
live at that period.
As this future, however, is still very distant, and
armies, rifled cannon, and monitors flourish more
than ever in the beautiful garden of Christian civi-
lisation, it is well that the respect, the idolatry, or,
if you will, the superstition of the flag should be
thoroughly grafted in the souls of the new genera-
tion. If this sentiment was not greatly developed in
certain provinces of Italy, it is not to be wondered
at, and can hardly be called a crime. Who the
deuce could feel his heart throb at the sight of the
Modenese banner of Francis IV., of the Bourbon
lilies of the petty Duke of Parma, or of the keys of
St. Peter, &c.?
10
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
But now, by Jove, that there is an Italian flag,
let it be the task of all, young and old, great and
small, to found and diffuse its worship. Let it be the
fixed feeling of every one that the banner represents
Italy, our native land-the liberty, independence,
justice, dignity, and honour, of twenty-two millions
of men; and that therefore the standard must never
be lowered, never be stained, never be deserted:
every man must sooner die.
Young men must impress this upon their minds,
and make it their second nature.
The military revolution of 1821 was, as far as
I know, an unheard-of instance in our army, and
might have set a fatal example. Fortunately it re-
mained an isolated fact, a sad instance of an excep-
tional aberration; and thus Piedmont, and certainly
all Italy henceforward, will escape the unhappy fate
of some countries which are lacerated by military
insurrections, and torn to pieces, the subject of dis-
pute among the vulgarly ambitious. From this curse
may Heaven always deliver us!
I rejoice that neither of my brothers fell into the
fault of deserting the flag. Roberto was not a soldier,
and Enrico, who was so, preserved his faith un-
broken. But this was not enough for my father.
To think that his name might be registered in the
history of a revolt against the king: "To think" (as
AUSTERE CHARACTER.
11
he said to me many years after, still with gloomy
anguish), "that my name might have been hung on
the gallows as that of a rebel !" This recollection
remained fixed in his heart like a barbed arrow,
which cannot be withdrawn from the wound it has
once made.
He was a true likeness of those stern histori-
cal figures, rare even in history, who could never
change themselves, their opinions, their aspect,
their intents, nor even their language and usual
expressions, any more than a fish can leave its
element and fly up to perch on the top of a tree.
When I had to draw the character of Niccolò de'
Lapi,* if any truthfulness and beauty has been found
in it, it is entirely due to my having painted it from
that true and beautiful ideal which I had studied in
the person of my father. His love for his son, the
conciliatory words of my mother, the austerity of his
religious sentiments, all induced him to forgive; and
in fact he did pardon, but to forget and remain in-
different was beyond his power.
My brother Roberto, on his side, felt that he had
a right to embrace the political opinions which he
deemed the best. Was he wrong? Certainly not;
and all my respect for the memory of my father
must not prevent me from saying, that perhaps he
* The hero of the second novel written by Massimo d'Azeglio.
12
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
did not sufficiently recognise that right, without
which Christians would still be pagans, government
one may fancy what, and the great machinery of the
world would have stood still for centuries, like a
watch the spring of which has been broken.
Nevertheless, even his inflexibility was to be re-
spected. Poor old man! it was heart-breaking to
see his resigned but invincible and silent sadness.
It was long before the contact of father, son, and
daughter-in-law again became agreeable; domestic
intimacy offered too many grounds for collision to
characters little disposed to pliancy; it was therefore
decided that Roberto and his wife should go to Paris.
He inhabited the house of his father-in-law, Marquis
Alfieri, then Sardinian Minister, and lived there many
years. Unluckily they did not suffice to remove
the impressions of 1821, and the harmony of former
days was never entirely restored.
Our father, who during our childhood had treated
us with inexorable severity, changed his manner after
we grew up, and behaved to us with the most deli-
cate consideration.
If in the circumstances of every-day life he oc-
casionally inquired into our private affairs, and gave
us any advice, he employed the forms with which a
friend would treat an equal. Things thus went on
peacefully, and even satisfactorily, when my brother
JESUIT REACTION.
13
returned home. From that day the latter devoted
himself exclusively to the education of his two chil-
dren (Emanuel, now Italian Minister in London, and
Melania, who married the Marquis Villamarina,
*
and died very young); he cultivated art and artistic
learning; and began that course of charitable in-
struction for poor children which he extended and
perfected later, and which did so much good to the
lower classes of Turin.
As for Piedmont, everything having been quieted
by the Austrian Uhlans, and poor Garelli executed,
all those who were compromised sought safety in
flight and exile, the usual final scene of such tragi-
comedies. The population was a little more humi-
liated, a little more oppressed than before; Italy
registered one more foreign intervention in her
annals. The reactionists and the Jesuits held their
heads higher than ever; and Turin, which now ap-
pears to me the town of all Italy where there is
most freedom, and where it is best understood (for
those who conceive liberty to be a respect for the
rights of others, and not the power, for instance, of
breaking the windows of those who do not choose to
illuminate whenever a mob is pleased to order it)—
Turin had become the dullest and most unbearable of
* My uncle he was formerly Italian Minister at Paris, and is
now Prefect of Milan,
14
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Italian cities; I could not endure it, and so remained
at Rome.
The opinions I have just expressed on the revolu-
tion of 1821 are perhaps now shared by very few
people either in Piedmont or Italy; but they are
mine. My programme obliges me to say what I
think, and not to plagiarise; for I do not write to
gain popularity, but with a view of being useful if I
can, and to maintain my reputation for straightfor-
wardness; so I express myself in plain terms.
I did not stay long at Rome after my return
from Castel Sant' Elia. In July I could only live
among the mountains; malaria reigns everywhere
else. I therefore selected Rocca di Papa, and im-
mediately began to search for a house, with the
assistance of my companion, who possessed a small
villa on the slope of the mountain on which the
little town is built.
Railways now begin to intersect the Roman
Campagna. In the days of my youth there were
no such luxuries; so one evening I arrived, at the
usual hour of sunset, at the Piazza, outside the gate
of Frascati, with my legs curled up in one of the in-
digenous small jingling carrettelle, in which I had
occupied one of the six available seats.
I then hired a donkey, put my luggage on his
back, and driving him before me, trudged on foot up
THE AGER ROMANUS.
15
the mountain by the narrow paths leading to Rocca.
Rocca di Papa is one of the most beautiful positions
of the Ager Romanus.
For those who have never been at Rome, I will
add, that looking south-east, from the gate of San
Giovanni in Laterano, on a clear day, one perceives
in the extreme distance a line of azure mountains of
majestic shape, bounding a gently undulating plain,
that stretches for fourteen miles unbroken by a single
tree, but covered with fragments of tombs and aque-
ducts. These hills, starting from the old country of the
Sabines, gradually rise, in a capricious and graceful
sweep, up to a peak called Monte Cavi, which over-
tops the surrounding ranges. From this point the
chain again slopes down in a gentle declivity of
great extent, and sinks imperceptibly into the plain
not far from the sea-shore.
Near the summit of Monte Cavi — where once
stood the temple of Jupiter Latialis, at which the
feria Latina were celebrated, now replaced by a
Passionist convent-an isolated rock, shaped like a
sugar-loaf, juts abruptly out from the profile of the
mountains. Alexander VI. selected the spot as a
suitable stronghold, from which his soldiers could
overawe the old Colonna fortress of Marino, and the
rock was soon crowned with crenellated walls.
Everybody knows that in those centuries the
16
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
poor and weak had a choice between two ways of
being assassinated, but it was necessary to choose
one, and either be plundered by casual and vagrant
thieves, or by those regularly established in the
castles. A preference was generally given to the
latter; and thus there grew up round the fortresses
those timid groups of humble houses and peasant
huts which afterwards were transformed into villages
and towns.
This preference is a eulogium on the much-ca-
lumniated mediaval barons.
Such had been the origin of the place which I
selected as my residence, and where I arrived long
after sunset at the house which I had secured, and
which fortunately had its door still open to receive
me. Let me now give an idea of Rocca di Papa.
High above is the crag, with the ruins of the
antique feudal tower; on the bare granite surface
are perched, one knows not how, the first and more
ancient houses, hanging like wasps' nests among the
crevices of the rock. Then where the latter, after
a fashion, joins the declivity of the mountain, the
more modern buildings begin, forming the two sides
of a long and precipitous street, leading to a little
terrace outside the village, where there is a second
convent.
Upon another little open space, exactly where
ROMAN PEASANT-WOMEN.
17
the rock ends, stands the church, the fountain, the
little café, and the best houses. Mine was the last,
at the bottom of the descent on the left-hand side;
and there was an interval of about two hundred
yards between it and the convent below.
Here I had not to deal with a dilapidated house,
like that at Castel Sant' Elia. I occupied two neat
rooms on the first-floor; one looked on to the street,
the other commanded a view of the country, the
house being, as I said, at the extremity of the vil-
lage. I rented it from a middle-aged widow, be-
longing to that special class of peasants which is to
be found in several parts of Italy, and more particu-
larly in the hamlets of the Ager Romanus, whilst in
the north it is entirely unknown.
If the peasant-women of all Italy were like them,
their denomination would never have been used as
an adjective. Their peculiarity consists in this:
among us in the north, and in several other places,
a peasant-woman is only the wife, nay the female, of
the peasant, as the hen is the female of the cock; for-
barring the difference of sex-habits, food, and daily
occupation are all in common. This equality, more-
over, is sometimes disturbed, to the detriment of the
poor woman. Here, for instance, on the Lago Mag-
giore, where I live, suppose a load of chopped wood
weighing half a hundredweight, and a few chickens,
VOL. II.
C
18
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
have to be brought from a village half-way up the
mountain to the market on the shore, the work of
the family is distributed thus: the wife takes up the
heavy load of wood, and the husband the basket of
poultry. It is curious to hear the peasants, when
they try to lift a weight and find it too heavy, drop
it, saying, "It is a woman's work!"
In moun-
tainous countries this is the general custom.
This shows that gallantry towards the fair sex is
entirely a human institution, except among pigeons
and poultry. Whereas the peasant-woman of the
mountains a little further south is generally the wife
of a man who owns the house in which they live, and
either a little vineyard or a field, more or less distant
from the village.
The climate increases the fatigue of cultivating
the soil to such an extent as to prevent women from
sharing in it. Besides which, there being no houses
spread through the country as elsewhere, the whole
population nestles in the hamlets; and it would
not be safe for women, very often of extraordinary
beauty, to go about alone at all hours.
Therefore it is customary for the husband to
leave his house (in the summer at midnight), with
a spade and his gun (his inseparable companion)
on his shoulder, and go to work in the fields. The
wife may be said never to stir from home, where
THEIR CHARMS.
19
she looks after the children and her domestic duties.
The husband thus becomes sunburnt, black, and
rough; his callous hands are like the claws of an
eagle, with muscles made prominent from continuous
labour; while the wife, who has been spared every
hardship, possesses the golden and transparent com-
plexion of the pictures of the Venetian school. She
has well-shaped hands, clean, and not disfigured by
hard work; she is neatly attired, and very careful
of the picturesque white linen cloth which forms her
head-dress, and which differs in every village, so
that by its shape it is easy to distinguish the native
place of the wearer.
e;
In a moral aspect, there is not so much difference
between the individuals of the two sexes. Their
ignorance, prejudices, and impressionability are about
equal; but, as is always the case, the women are a
little better than the men. They are free from in-
temperance, blasphemy, and the use of the knife
they are chaste, or at least they were so with very
few exceptions; and then there is in them a certain
spontaneous elegance; they speak a language full
of graceful and endearing expressions, like Figlio
mio! Core mio! Bello mio! pronounced with a
tone of voice which goes to the heart, and which
is the most charming of harmonies. They have a
picturesque dress, which sets off their natural ad-
20
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
vantages, and a certain innate cleverness; they are
quick and lively in their replies, so that with them
there is no danger of a remark remaining unans-
wered. All these things place them in a very dif-
ferent category from our peasant-women in the
north, deformed by manual labour, dirty, and di-
shevelled, who stare at you open-mouthed, if you
only say a word to them.
I do not, however, mean to say that the Roman
women are always angels of sweetness and peace;
their passions are sometimes like real storms. The
big silver pin called spadino, which fastens their back-
hair, does not bear that gracefully bellicose name for
nothing. Sometimes it has been the instrument of
feminine vengeance, or at least a dangerous weapon
in many angry discussions. I never saw it glitter
in
any fair hand, but I remember that one summer
at Genzano there was such a drought that the foun-
tain almost dried up, and the women, armed with
the spadino, warmly disputed for the water.
My widow, who was no longer young, may
perhaps have used it on great occasions. One day
she entered my room, her eyes starting out of her
head, and said abruptly, "Sor Massimo, give me
your rifle!" Without much entreaty, she confessed
she wanted to aim at somebody who had incurred
her displeasure, I know not how. As may be ima-
A DILEMMA.
21
gined, I did not comply with her request, but sent
her away with my blessing.
Such is the character of those women, whose
habits I think I have described pretty accurately.
If at this moment, my dear reader, a smile is on
your lips, and you suppose I must have studied them
very closely to have the power of portraying them,
I must tell you that you are greatly mistaken. Upon
my honour, I never had an intrigue with any of
them. I buried myself in the Campagna to study,
and not for amusement; besides, if another person
had questioned me on my behaviour, I should not
have liked to be on the horns of a dilemma, between
a confession and a lie.
CHAPTER II.
I apply myself to painting and other studies previously neglected
-The History of Pignotti and the Lives of Plutarch-I have
as yet no distinct ideas on historical criticism-The worship
of violence-Considerations on the greatness of ancient Rome
-Distinction between the Justinian code and the old Roman
jurisprudence—The essence of the ancient Roman polity con-
sisted in the right of the stronger-Notwithstanding the light
of modern civilisation, the worship of brute force is still too
general-Different mode of appreciating the ideas of honour,
justice, &c., according as they refer to individuals or to
governments-While at Rocca di Papa I allowed my judg-
ment of certain facts to be too much swayed by my imagi-
nation-Sketch of the surrounding district-The Eternal City
-Justification of this title both for ancient and modern Rome
-However strange and mysterious it may seem, the fact is so
-Many reasons, even of recent date, prove it-Rome free and
Italian, yet the religious capital of Christendom.
I HAVE seen in my life beautiful and wide expanses
of mountains, plains, seas, and unrippled lakes; but
I never saw a view equal to, or even comparable
with, the glorious panorama I enjoyed from the win-
dows of my room at Rocca di Papa, nor one which
opened so vast a field to imagination, and aroused
such grand recollections, artistic taste, and poetical
aspirations.
At that moment, besides my art, I was pursuing
HISTORICAL READING.
23
other studies, in which, as I have already said, my
education had been sadly deficient. I had brought
with me some books on history, which has always
appeared to me the most profitable of all studies; and
I endeavoured to gain some knowledge of what our
world and our race had been since the time of the
Romans, the Greeks, the Egyptians, the Medes, the
Assyrians, &c. As you see, I had a wide gap to
fill up.
Having no money, I could not procure all the
requisite books. I contented myself with what I
could afford, and the first I read was the History of
Pignotti, which I had bought at a book-stall for a
few paoli. It would now be considered obsolete-
so great has been the progress made in historical
philosophy and in the search for original documents;
but then, and for me in particular, it was a treasure.
My means had also enabled me to buy the Lives of
Plutarch; and I could thus study ancient and mediæ-
val history alternately. My frenzy for the heroes of
Alfieri had passed away; I no longer felt the slight-
est wish to slay any majesty whatsoever. The few
notions I had already collected concerning more re-
cent centuries had revealed a new horizon to me,
which I began to find as attractive, if not more so,
than that of ancient history; but my judgment was
not sufficiently ripe to strip those old societies of
24
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
their classico-scholastic prestige, and I therefore still
esteemed them in everything superior to modern
ones.
I had not yet been able to attain that criterion
-the true and only one-by which it is possible to
form a sound judgment on the things of this world,
or appraise at their real value philosophical, political,
and religious systems; the vicissitudes of history,
nations, governments, parties and sects; the produc-
tions of human ingenuity in literature and art; all
the actions, in short, either of single individuals or of
mankind in general.
This test-the easiest and simplest in the world,
but also the least used-may be summed up in one
formula-the good of our kind. Measure every sub-
ject, every question, by this standard, and ask your-
self, "Was it a good or an evil to men?" Approve or
blame according to the answer, and you cannot err.
I presuppose, however, that we are all agreed on the
definition of good and its classifications, and call it
good for men to be honest first of all, then healthy,
then sensible and intelligent, then free, then in-
structed, then well off, then strong, dexterous, hand-
some, &c.
If the world were to be weighed in these scales,
how much that now passes current as sterling coin
would prove deficient, and be thrown aside! How
MORAL STANDARD.
25
many peoples, sovereigns, governments, heroes, and
high-sounding names, hitherto lauded by everyone,
would topple down from their lofty pinnacles into
the sad category of public calamities! The true and
substantial difference between civilisation and bar-
barism consists, not in the possession or absence of
science, with all its results, but in the application or
non-application of the aforesaid scales, whenever men
and their works have to be judged and weighed.
All who reflect, consider this the true criterion for
testing the progress of a nation or of an epoch. In
the preceding volume, I have already expressed the
opinion that Christian civilisation is steadily advan-
cing on this path, and I cited the examples of Ghino
di Tacco and of Carlo Baglioni, to prove the differ-
ence between their age and ours. I now repeat this
opinion, and add that it is the duty of governments
and their chiefs, no less than of all those who are in
any way connected with that great propelling engine,
the press, to coöperate in accelerating the movement
which already carries the world onward to a better
standard.
Let monarchs and potentates by their example,
statesmen and parliaments by eloquence, writers by
the press, proclaim to the world from the housetops,
the towers, the summits of the mountains, that the
first law is to do good to men; that it is good, beau-
26
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
tiful, great, honourable, and glorious to make them
happy, and that all which tends to make them more
unhappy than they were before, is wicked, hideous,
vile, shameful, and infamous. If such were the
general feeling, violence would be swept away from
the face of the earth. It would thus seem that this
ought to be the credo of all the weak and humble,
that is to say, of ninety-nine out of every hundred
persons in the world.
Instead of this, what is most admired by man-
kind? Violence! Let us hope that by dint of being
beaten, men may some day or other open their eyes,
and award laurels to their protectors, punishment to
their tormentors.
As we are on my balcony at Rocca di Papa-
from which we overlook the whole of Latium and
discern the cupola of St. Peter's, which rises isolated
in the desert, cutting the furthest line of the hori-
zon, while the other highest pinnacles of Rome, veiled
by the vapours of the hazy distance, are scarcely
distinguishable from the plain-I think it is a good
opportunity to sum up a crowd of ideas about the
history of that region, which were even then throng-
ing in my brain.
I was at the age in which the thirst for inquiry,
the yearning after a clear direction in everything,
the anxiety to see whether the world corresponds to
WHAT WAS ROME?
27
the ideas imparted by our teachers, are most pre-
dominant. It is a great epoch in life when one first
dares to examine the principles and systems hitherto
accepted without discussion, and ask the reason of
their existence. I felt astonished at myself, the
day I exclaimed: "What was this Rome, after all?
If the religion of charity be true, why do Christians
worship the triumphs of violence?" And indeed, if
we consider Roman history from the point of view of
the happiness of mankind, how different an aspect
it assumes from that shown to us by our classical
masters!
If nothing else, it seems to me that in order to
judge it with impartiality, it would not be too much
to demand, not only a faithful narrative of the battles,
the victories by land and sea, the triumphs, the con-
quests, and all the Roman splendours, but also a no
less faithful one of all the massacres, the blood, the
tears, the agony, the miseries, the exterminations,
and the devastations, with which the great mass of
mankind have paid for the pleasure of having those
victories, those triumphs, and that great capitoline
phantasmagoria trumpeted in their ears and flaunted
before their eyes for centuries.
And if the fundamental principle of all modern
society—that the legality of a government depends
on the will of the people over whom it rules-be just
28
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
and true, I should like to know whether, if man-
kind had been consulted, it would have voted for
the empire in the time of the Romans? And if,
according to the ideas we believe most sacred, it is
true that one man is as precious as another, and that
the least of the unhappy Germans butchered in the
circus, for the amusement of the greatest of the Ro-
mans, had the same rights as he; is there, I say, any
reason for us always to kneel in blind admiration
before that colossal monument of human arrogance.
which men call ancient Rome?
As
you may conceive, it is not that I fail to re-
cognise all that was extraordinary and admirable in
the virtues and qualities of individuals, and in the
sublime, and sometimes even generous, sentiments
of the whole people; it is not that I despise the for-
titude of Regulus, the severity of Cato, the generosity
of Curius Dentatus, the great sacrifice of the Fabii,
and so forth. Among all the empires of antiquity, it
is Rome, on the contrary, that I admire the most;
of course, only down to the age of the Gracchi. I
admire the time when law was supreme; when the
most boiling passions, stirred up by the most vital in-
terests, sought no other arms or victories than a vote
in the comitia; when a whole people of plebeians,
impoverished by long wars, covered with scars, and
nevertheless in bondage to the usury of the patricians
A GIGANTIC IMPOSITION.
29
(Rome, it must be remembered, was the paradise of
usurers), instead of shouting, "Down with the rich!"
or la propriété c'est le vol,-instead of stoning their
creditors, or worse, merely withdrew from the city
and demanded tribunes.
I bow my head to a people like that. But the
people who held as an article of faith that they
were the sole masters of the liberty, possessions,
and life of the universe; whose individual members
learnt as children from their teachers, Tu regere im-
perio populos, Romane, memento; and, when grown
up, therefore, considered it their right to reduce all
nations to slavery by violence, craft, or fraud, which-
ever was most convenient; and with all this secular
arrogance dreamt of a divine mission, a halo of
glory superior to that of any other race; so that
the most excessive and implacable cupidity, the
sensual enjoyment of living idly on regular alms,
was presented to the world as a fulfilment of the
will of heaven,—this people, and its long existence,
appear to me as perhaps the most colossal fact re-
corded in history; but the blind adoration which
is so indiscriminately paid to it by the great ma-
jority, strikes me as being the most gigantic piece of
humbug by which mankind has ever imposed upon
itself.
When (I shall never weary of repeating it) men
30
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
cease to burn incense before those who trample, or
have trampled, upon them, the number of tyrants
may perchance diminish.
But are not the works of Tribonian, the Code,
the Institutiones, the Digest, the Novella, the en-
tire Corpus Juris, you will, perhaps, remark, the
most splendid monument of human wisdom? And
is not this monument the eternal basis of juris-
prudence-a Roman work?
When Odoacer, Theodoric, Theodatus, Totila,
and Teja had already reigned over Rome; when
her representatives tore each other to pieces in the
circus of Constantinople for the sake of green or
blue charioteers, and the emperors spent their time
in discussing obscure questions of dogma, it seems
rather late to speak of Rome.
The real ancient code of Rome made the head
of the house arbiter of the lives of his wife and
children. It gave up insolvent debtors to their
creditors, with the soft hint expressed in three words
of the twelve tables, "In partes secanto," namely,
cut him up and divide him between you. It was
inexorable to slaves. The Sclave Justinian, on the
contrary, threw light on the chaos of Roman legis-
lation, shaped it into a homogeneous body, and fol-
lowed up the work of Constantine by endeavour-
ing to introduce the new Christian principle of the
RIGHT OF MIGHT.
31
equality of rights among men into that pagan juris-
prudence which only recognised as men those who
were citizens.
The sentiment of right and justice is not the
true legacy of ancient Rome. Its real and sad in-
heritance, the sentiment it consecrated, and which
has remained more or less latent in human con-
science for fourteen centuries, is, on the contrary,
the glorification of might at the expense of right.
'Póun meant strength; and the name was well ap-
plied. All the chiefs of the first barbaric invasions
extorted the title of patrician from the weak em-
perors; and why did they demand a contemptible
title from contemned princes? Because the public
conscience then entertained the idea that the privi-
lege of oppression had been granted to Rome by
Heaven; and that the title of "patrician" carried
with it a kind of delegation of this privilege, so
well adapted to secure the happiness of the human
race!
Without entering here on a regular course of
history, have we not ourselves heard for the last
time a faint echo of Rome in the "Holy Roman
empire" of Germany? And if so many emperors
and princes clung jealously to the title of Cæsar,
and only renounced it under compulsion, had they
any other motive than that they considered it the
32
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
most powerful fetter by which they could bind the
people they wanted to chain down? And is it not
a last relic of ancient prejudice, the belief that Rome
is the solid foundation of all civil power-an idea
which first swayed the ancients, then the barbarians,
next the German emperors, and now Italy herself,
inducing so many people to think that, once within
her walls, the Italian Government will nerve itself,
and become wise, strong, and beloved by all?
As you see, I do not shrink from frankly ex-
pressing the opinions I deem true. But unfortu-
nately, though the constitution can proclaim men
free, it cannot endow them with intelligence, nor
with that proud sense of liberty which alone forms
independent characters.
Formerly men were afraid of Austria and her
spy system; now they fear the revolutionists and
their old men of the mountain. The object of alarm
is changed, that is all. I see very few persons who
feel themselves free and independent, and act and
speak in consequence. The favourite phrase of
most of them is-"Yes, it is true; but these are
things which must not be said." There is a great
deal to do before we become a free people. But do
not let us despair. A depraving oppression, which
lasted centuries, cannot be wiped out in three years.
Italy has risen; so also will the Italian character.
ANTIQUE FALSIFICATIONS.
33
I do not wish all I have said of Rome, of con-
querors, and of the heroes who have tormented man-
kind, to be attributed to a spirit of contradiction,
nor have I any desire to appear different from other
people, or to indulge in the petty vanity of abusing
great deeds and resounding names. I assure the
reader that no such idea has been entertained by
me.
No; yet I never lose an opportunity of speaking
in this strain, because I am struck by seeing how
utterly just and sober ideas on authority-its aim,
its reason for existence, its duties, its deserts, its
decorum, and its glory-are falsified; and because
it seems to me important to forewarn the public
in every possible way against these antique falsifica-
tions.
For the last two centuries, free-thinkers, writers,
and searchers after truth and justice have not been
wanting; men who recked not of danger or profit,
but boldly spoke out that which they believed to be
the truth. Schools have sprung up among us, which
teach the most daring innovations in philosophy,
politics, jurisprudence, and economy.
It is cer-
tainly not a respect for what is ancient or custom-
ary, nor the yoke of the old scholasticism, which
imprisons the thought and fetters the judgment of
the world.
VOL. II.
D
34
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Yet if we sound the profoundest depths of the
public conscience, what is the feeling we discover?
The worship of brute force! Is a government
prized, perchance, for the happiness it confers upon
men? Is a higher meed of admiration paid to that
which labours with impartial solicitude to render each.
individual man better, more instructed, frcer, and
wealthier? In what does the honour of authority
consist? In justice, benevolence, moderation, and
reason?
The ancient pagan methods of conquest, violence
and coercion, are still the ways resorted to by autho-
rity to win public esteem, in spite of the current jab-
ber about rights, independence, and freedom. Then
the honour of authority, which ought to be of the
selfsame stuff as that of individuals—let us see what
it is like. Example: I, a private person, have ex-
tensive estates inhabited by a numerous tenantry.
I am, however, aware that my tenants were once
the owners of the soil, but that my father or grand-
father, taking advantage of a moment of anarchy,
ousted them either by force or fraud. Thence the
freedom of these poor people was changed into ser-
vitude, their happiness into misery. One day they
come to me, and more or less politely protest against
the violation of their rights.
If I am a man of honour, what do I do? Re-
WERE WE CHATTELS?
35
cognise their claims, restore the property to them,
with an indemnity for their losses; they go away
satisfied, and I rise in public estimation higher than
before.
But if the Poles say: You have murdered and
despoiled us; give us back our property. If the
Venetians say: You made a bargain, and bought
us of Napoleon at Campo Formio. Were we chat-
tels? Restore us to ourselves.—God forbid! Hon-
The
our is at stake. It is a question of honour.
statesmen of Petersburg and Vienna are indignant
at the bare idea of their ever condescending to such
a shameful transaction. And public conscience, with
few exceptions, holds that, all things considered,
they are not so much to blame.
very
Now public conscience, which is a synonym for
public opinion, is sure to have la dernière victoire.
In other times, when its mouth was sealed, it might
taunt authority as the source of evil; now that it
can speak, and that from a slave it has become a
master, if authority continues to oppress the masses,
it must accuse itself and its own stupidity.
Therefore, we who represent public opinion—we,
the multitude of the governed interested in the mat-
ter, — let us try no longer to admire the authority
which makes us wretched, but rather to applaud
that which makes us happy. Let us try to set this
36
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
new fashion.
Let us say to authority, with the
voice now become so potent, that its honour con-
sists in keeping its hands free from assassination
and robbery; or, if they be soiled, in washing
them, not in heaping up fresh crimes. Let us try
to tell it that its duty is to lighten the burdens
of each individual, down to the most obscure mem-
ber of the community; that God instituted princes,
and we elect them, for this end; and let us ask it
if a poor mougik of Orenburg is much happier
when a corporal instead of law reigns in Warsaw.
And practically let us award good repute to those
who do us good, and one of infamy to those who
harm us.
I therefore, for my part, place that of ancient
Rome among the innumerable usurped reputations,
which lead human minds astray from rational ideas
of truth and justice; and as a proof that this notion
of mine, though not common, is sound, tell me, would
you like the world to see a repetition of that great
complex fact designated the Roman Empire? I think
that neither you nor anybody else would ever con-
ceive such a wish: then I am right!
As I said before, the above ideas did not yet
govern me during my stay at Rocca di Papa; their
germs, however, were already sown in my mind,
while I was striving to shape my judgments for
GODDESS VIOLENCE.
37
myself, and not to accept them from other people,
like ready-made clothes.
But, in spite of these reflections, was it possible
for me-being only twenty-two, and having a lively
fancy-to avoid excitement on seeing stretched at
my feet, like a large topographical map, that region
which was once the theatre of events more widely
and more eloquently narrated than any others re-
corded in the annals of our race,-the ultimate
result of which made the Italians masters of the
richest and most civilised countries of the West?
And there, my dear reader, is your humble servant
caught in the flagrant crime of having concealed in
a corner of his heart an altar dedicated to the god-
dess Violence, whom he spurned a moment ago!
So true is it that the adoration of that deity is in
our very blood, the least contestable part of our
ancestral inheritance.
The loveliness of the view, especially in the even-
ing, when a new moon, with its ever silver horn,
hung over the horizon for a couple of hours after
the sun had gone down, made on me an impression
which I shall never forget.
The panorama from my window began on the
left from the cliff, clad with dark groves of chestnut
and walnut trees, terminating the mountain upon
which the house I lived in was built. This mantle
38
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
of luxuriant foliage entirely covered the surround-
ing country, which descends towards the plain in an
alternately abrupt and undulating declivity. When
looking at the soft and fresh masses of a large forest
at your feet, have you never conceived the desire to
throw yourself forward and plunge into that sea of
verdure, as you would into the water? I have always
felt that fascination, and experienced it then as I gazed
from my window. Half of the furthest horizon was
occupied by an azure strip of the Tyrrhenian sea,
half by the extremely distant mountain of Viterbo,
and the outline of the Umbrian and Sabine hills,
in front of which the ancient Soracte, now called
Mount St. Oreste, stands out isolated: it was but
a few miles distant from me when I lived at Castel
Sant'Elia. Still looking from left to right, beyond
the Sabine territory I saw Mount St. Gennaro, the
mountains near Tivoli, and then, only a few miles
off, the long slope of the barren hills of Tusculum,
and below them the villas and gardens of Frascati,
the towers of Grottaferrata, and nearer yet the roofs
of Marino, the ancient fief of the Colonna family.
The space comprised between the extreme horizon
and the range of Mount Albano, upon which I found
myself, was Alfieri's vast unhealthy region,-the
Roman Campagna. There is no doubt that, with a
slight touch of spleen, one may see nothing in it but
ETERNAL CITY.
39
the malaria and the wilderness; but it needs must
be confessed that, in spite of philosophy, history,
logic, morality, love for independence, and hatred
of conquest, it is impossible to escape from the sense
of respectful stupor which impresses one at the sight
of that vast tomb, wherein the grandeur of ancient
Rome lies buried.
And it must also be confessed that the Eternal
City, however much reason may smile at this title,
seems fatally to deserve its name. Rome existed
before Romulus. Was it a Siculian, Oscan, Tyr-
rhenian, Pelasgic, Etruscan, or Sabine city? God
knows; but it was! It must have had its history.
God knows what virtues, glories, and greatness may
have been displayed in it, now for ever hidden in
the sepulchres of those ancient races.
How many
heroes, then believed by themselves and others to
be immortal, have yet not left even a name upon
earth!
And will not ours be the same fate, perhaps?
In ten thousand years, will the existence of London
and Paris be known? Who can tell? Will it be
known who Napoleon and Washington were? Again,
who can tell? Perhaps, ten thousand years hence,
the crust of the
globe will be entirely different from
what it is now. Perhaps the abysses of the earth
may swallow up the ground upon which we tread, in
40
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
some great cataclysm; perhaps future archæologists
will find the traces of our modern civilisation, frag-
ments of our arts, mingled with those of the ancients;
perhaps the colossal statue of Napoleon by Canova,
naked and holding a globe and sceptre in his hands,
which is now at Milan, when compared with the
fragments of Castor and Pollux at the Quirinal, will
be supposed coeval. And if the bronze ball which
crowns the cupola of St. Peter's is dug up, will the
use to which it was destined be divined?
After the mythical Rome of Saturn, Evander,
and Pallas, comes the scarcely known Rome of Ro-
mulus and the kings. The great cyclopean cavern,
the only uninjured and surviving witness of that
age, which for three thousand years has received
the drainage of the city, and discharged it into the
Tiber, tells us, if such was the sewer, what must the
palace, the temple, the curia have been? But do
we know the history and the habits of those who
dwelt in and defended them? Livy says a great
deal, Niebuhr often doubts. Who is right? But
the Cloaca Maxima does not lie: Rome existed, and
was powerful.
Republican Rome down to the Gracchi, as I have
said, is for me as great, respectable, and really glo-
rious as any human thing can be. Then comes the
savage Rome of civil strife; then the cruel and cour-
4
A NEW ROME.
41
tesan Rome of the Cæsars and the Emperors; then
Rome the slave of the Goth, and we arrive at Chris-
tian Rome.
Let us pause a moment to glance backwards.
The star of Rome, which arose amid the clouds of
a doubtful origin, has never declined; but the set-
ting of how many others has it not beheld! The
stars of Etruria, Magna Græcia, Sicily, Carthage,
Athens, Sparta, Pontus, Judea, Egypt, have each
gone down in turn. The star of Byzantium had just
risen, and emulated that of Rome, which seemed
doomed to emit a last ray, and then disappear amid
the ravages of Alaric.
In Rome, the city of five millions of inhabitants
under Claudius, after Alaric there wandered three
thousand spectres, who had escaped from fire, famine,
and the sword, amidst ruins and corpses.
"Rome
is no more!" exclaim the barbarians, the Romans,
the Christians, and the Pagans; but St. Augustine
discovered a new Rome;* his voice is heard by the
world, and it declares that the city of God, of the
apostles and the martyrs, lives in hearts burning
with faith, and not in the porticos, basilicas, and
palaces.
Christendom discovers another Rome; it regains
hope, takes courage, unites itself, and repeoples the
* St. Augustine, De Civitate Dei.
42
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Eternal City; and from that moment we may say
that Christian Rome really begins, since it was the
cross of Christ which recalled it from death to new
life. The ancient power of the sword had been shat-
tered; Rome was perishing; but she found a new
strength-a power which would become no less
arrogant, rapacious, and haughty than the old. It
too, by a frown, will make nations tremble, and de-
prive distant kings of their sceptres.
How long did the rival Constantinople endure,
when opposed to Christian Rome? Time is on the
wing: the kingdoms of the Goths in Italy, of the
Visigoths in Spain, of the Burgundii and the Franks,
are born, live, and die; the Carlovingians arise, and
Charlemagne governs nations with his falchion and
his name; he and his sons, his dominions, palaces-
all the pomp of Aix-la-Chapelle-decline, die, and
disappear; the Frankish empire becomes German ;
the houses of Franconia and Suabia arise and perish
in succession. Everything passes away; Rome alone
survives.
The fragments of old kingdoms form new nations
and states. Deserted feudal castles give rise to cities.
Great and illustrious capitals are founded. Italy
sees the growth of Venice, Verona, Milan, Bologna,
Florence, and Naples. Vindebona is transformed
into Vienna; Lutetia becomes Paris; the ancient
ROME ALONE SURVIVES!
43
stronghold of Cæsar on the Thames will be the Tower
of London, with three million inhabitants clustering
round it.
A new enemy, stronger and more inexorable than
all the other foes of Rome, is generated in the viscera
of nations startled by the apparition of the new light
of modern civilisation. A breath passes over the
new kingdoms and towns, which will soon become
a hurricane. Free inquiry has been let loose upon
the world!
Papal Rome wore out the patience of the world
by the pretension to make it buy heaven with gold
instead of virtue. Luther pronounced an
" enough"
which was lustily reëchoed by the multitude. The
Reformation seemed destined to supplant Rome;
but, on the contrary, Rome survives; and after its
first conquests, the Reformation gradually loses itself,
and among its thousand creeds cannot distinguish
the original one.
Dynasties succeed revolutions, and revolutions
dynasties. To-day a prince of ancient descent, to-
morrow an obscure tribune, is master of the oldest
palaces of Europe. But the venerable dynasty of
St. Peter has been immovable in Rome for nearly
two thousand years, and rules Christianity either
from amid the gloom of the catacombs or the splen-
dours of the Vatican. The first French Republic
44
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
wrenched the old and haughty Pontiff from his holy
see, and sent him to die of grief and misery at Va-
lence, establishing a republic on the ruins of his
throne. Napoleon transfers his successor from prison
to prison. The second French Republic, unlike the
first, ingloriously slays her Roman sister, and be-
comes the sentinel of the reinstated Pontiff.
Are these soldiers, these princes, these republics
animated by an ardent faith? Faith! they believe
in nothing. What, then, would they have? what
fate urges them on? What has the world meant for
centuries by sometimes throwing itself furiously on
Rome, to tear her to pieces, and then falling at her
feet, frightened at its own audacity, and offering
blood and treasure in atonement?
Who can explain this unique fact in history?
Not I, certainly; and I content myself with repeat-
ing that Rome really deserves the name of the Eternal
City. Believe in it or not, Rome has heretofore
exercised, and still exercises, a fascination over the
minds and hearts of the whole earth. If Florence,
Naples, or Milan succumb, the world just looks
round, then pursues its way; but if Rome falls, all
mankind is perturbed. This is the undeniable his-
torical fact-undenied by those who are familiar with
the past.
This rapid review, with the series of arguments.
THE ROMAN QUESTION.
45
which have guided me through it, will not appear
useless if I am to describe not only the events of my
life, but also the filiation of my thoughts, and the
formation of the opinions that I have always pro-
fessed. If it were not too presumptuous, however, I
should wish it to serve another end-that of awaken-
ing a doubt in those politicians who complacently
expatiate on the Roman question, whilst in truth it
would seem they have not studied it so much as
might be requisite.
Had they given it a little more attention, they
would have held the temporal power for that which
it really is an anachronism, an injury, and an evil
for Italy-an ever-present temptation to sin for the
Church-a perpetual danger for the faith-a dissol-
vent of the religious sense-a denial of the doctrines
of the gospel. Comparing the past with the present,
they might have speculated on the future, and per-
suaded themselves that the moment had come to close
that long list of facts, alternately good, bad, abomin-
able, holy, and beneficent, but always grand, always
an object of the affections or the passions, the curses
or the adoration of the world, which make up the
power of the Pontiffs. But they would also have
understood that such venerable relics-the idols of so
many centuries--require more than a vulgar tomb,
and that all modern civilisation would be affected at
46
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
the sight of such a funeral, and insist on taking part
in it.
They would have understood that if Rome is an
Italian city-if her inhabitants are citizens of the
new kingdom, like ourselves, with identical rights,
duties, aspirations, and wishes — yet they were
born within those walls over which hovers a mys-
terious and exceptional destiny, recognised and
feared by all since the earliest centuries of history;
that a mystic link exists between Rome and the
world—a link shielded first by the terror of the
sword, then by the dread of celestial vengeance; that
this link, whether one wills it or not, is a fact, and
that every wise policy is composed of facts, and not
of fancies; that if the right of the Italians to Rome
be undeniable, although a fact twenty centuries old
can in no way weaken it, it must nevertheless urge
every man who has a little sense to consider and take
it into account, and attach the utmost importance
to questions of time, form, and opportunity;-they
would, in a word, have given more weight to the
susceptibilities of society, instead of wounding and
despising them. Above all, they would have endea-
voured to show themselves better, more just, more
sincere, more respectable, and worthier in every-
thing, than the partisans of temporal Rome; and
then, perhaps, the fears and suspicions of public
AN ITALIAN ROME.
47
opinion would have died away, and the Roman ques-
tion be more mature than it now is.
The Christian world might then have admitted
the possibility of a Rome Italian, free, and living
under the common law, and still the religious capi-
tal of Christendom. It would have, perhaps, con-
ceived the existence of a Pope, the independent chief
of the faith, defended by his title and his prerogative,
and not by his authority as a prince.
But the question has been treated in such a way,
that modern civilisation has not learnt to accept the
idea of seeing the portals of the Vatican flung wide
open, for the Papacy to file out by one door, while
the courtiers and courtesans of the revolution enter
by the other.
This is why I write these pages. But I had yet
another motive. No one can say that I have dis-
dained the great memories of Rome, or mocked the
superstition of her worshippers. I think I have
spoken so as to satisfy the great majority and the
most rigid, and magnified her destinies and her
glories above those of any other city. I have done
so, that the conclusion I intend to draw may have
greater weight and importance.
All the splendours and glories of Rome, like all
the grandeurs of the world, do not redeem one single
act of injustice or violence; and if they were pur-
48
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
chased at the price of human sorrow and agony, they
have been too dearly bought. Let us, therefore,
learn not to be dazzled by genius, glory, and con-
ventional magnificence. Let us praise and admire
those who make men happy, and always condemn
and despise those who make them wretched and
miserable.
CHAPTER III.
My incognito was not betrayed at Rocca di Papa-Carluccio
Castri and his wife Carolina-Unfounded gossip of the town
about Carolina and me-A Roman lady comes to Rocca-She
makes me play the part of a new Joseph-The legal lover-
While I am drawing from nature, I fall in with brigands
-They turn out to be mock ones Sor Jacobelli, and his
strange notions of affection.
THE humility of my entrance into Rocca di Papa,
alone, and driving before me a donkey laden with
my few belongings, had not betrayed my incognito.
Generally the sight of my professional implements—
the sticks, easels, white umbrella, and colour-box-
awoke in the urchins of the villages I passed through
the idea and hope that I might be the puppet-show-
man; and occasionally I was greeted with joyful
cries of, "The fantoccini! here come the fantoc-
cini!" This time I arrived after the Ave Maria, and
did not meet with even this modest ovation. I
began at once the life I had chalked out, and soon
made acquaintance with several of the townsfolk,
who took me for a poor artist (as to the poverty,
they hit the mark), and a simple descendant of
Adam (in which they did me a manifest injury).
VOL. II.
E
50
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
On the little piazza at the top of the ascent there
was a café, kept by a young man called Carluccio
Castri, and his wife Carolina, one of the handsomest
women of the place. All the notabilities used to
repair thither after sunset, and indulge in a good
chatter for an hour or two, like sparrows before
they put their heads under their wings for the night.
I went there too, and sometimes sang tarantellas
and other popular tunes to the accompaniment of
my guitar, which soon made me a great favourite at
Rocca. My popularity increased still more when,
the village feast happening to recur, I invented some
sort of an arch for the procession to pass under, and
painted a Madonna upon it, which, in an artistic
point of view, could not indeed be called sine labe.
The public, however, accepted it, such as it was.
I soon started an intimacy with Carluccio, the
keeper of the café. There are few men for whom
I have ever had a greater affection. Poor Car-
luccio! my arrival was a bad business for him, as
I shall soon have to relate. But who can read the
future?
He, being unable to read it, soon showed me
much cordiality, and we gradually became friends :
we were always together; on holidays one never
appeared without the other at fairs and festivals:
and Carolina too, without either of us thinking any
CAROLINA.
51
evil, was very friendly, and became quite at home
with me.
As I was fair, and wore my beard en
collier grec,-more or less like the pictures of the
Saviour, she used to say, "Sor Massimo, tu pari
el cor di Gesù.”
About half a mile from Rocca there is a little
sanctuary, called La Madonna del Tufo, and the road
leading to it is a shady avenue, which forms the
public walk of the village. I established myself on
this road to make one of my first studies. The day
I began, as I was drawing, I saw Carolina appear in
the graceful dress of the country-a red bodice, and
a white linen kerchief on her head fastened by the
silver spadino, with its handle terminating in the
traditional emblem of a hand with the thumb closed
under the first and second fingers-a last remnant of
Heaven knows what forgotten age and worship!
Carolina had what the French term un port de
reine; she stopped a moment to see what I was
about, and then pursued her way towards the chapel.
On the morrow she came again, and so on till the
sketch was completed, every day visiting the Ma-
donna del Tufo.
The whole town, right or wrong, did not fail to
persuade itself that she had a very decided sympathy
for me.
One day, during the very hottest hours, when no
52
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
one ventures out of doors, she came into my room,
and told me that people began to say things that dis-
tressed her much; for if (which God forbid !) Car-
luccio had scent of it, &c. I did not choose even to
put the question any young man would have asked
himself in a similar case, and still less to answer it
in the affirmative, and act accordingly. I wanted
to study, to work, and not to make love. Then
Carluccio was my friend, I liked him; and more-
over, in the internal moral revolution that I was
undergoing, feelings of justice and loyalty were gra-
dually gaining the ascendancy; I remained therefore
irreproachable in word and deed, and Carolina left
the room as she had entered it.
So far there was nothing likely to give rise to
a catastrophe; nor did anything reprehensible ever
occur between the good Carolina and me. But in
certain cases innocence is of no use. Unfortunately,
as there are vipers in the material world which
human foresight is often unable to avoid, there are
souls in the moral world who seem to have the
mission of poisoning and polluting everything beau-
tiful, happy, and honest, that chances to be within
their reach.
A Roman lady came to spend the summer at
Rocca; she was alone with a baby, which she
nursed herself. I had known her in Rome; where,
UNINTERRUPTED LOVE-MAKING.
53
in those days politics being laid aside, in their stead
the only occupation of men and women between
fifteen and sixty was to make love; and the Signora
Erminia, a woman over thirty, did not deserve any
reproach for either losing or wasting her time in
this respect.
A friend of mine was just then master of the
field. He was a good fellow, half a painter and
half a singer, who had also been on the stage, but
had quitted it for a modest appointment less ex-
posed to storms, which, however, kept him in Rome,
and at that moment, therefore, far from his lady-
love.
Thanks to the easy manners which distinguish
Italian society, from Florence southwards, I was
constantly in her house, without the hypothesis that
there could ever be anything in common between
her and me even flashing across my mind.
I re-
member that almost every day I used to make a
second dinner there-an excess allowed by a facility
of digestion characteristic of my age and my artis-
tic profession. My reserve, however, had no merit
whatever. In any case, I would have sued for the
good graces of Carolina, and not for the favours of
a woman ten years older than myself, and who, at a
time when the cleanliness of the Roman ladies was
not beyond suspicion, presented herself to my eyes
54
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
in all the picturesque and scented débraillé of a wet-
nurse in active service.
It is no great boast to have obtained a favourable
glance from this lady. She belonged to the class
of women for whom it is an absolute impossibility
to remain a month without making love in some
way,
little or much, at close quarters or at a dis-
tance. If I must tell the truth, certain overtures,
certain confidential disclosures about her own merits,
make me think myself entitled to believe that faute
de mieux, she had in pectore intended me to fill the
gap that this country excursion threatened to make
in her busy career. But I, always for the usual
reasons (to which I might add the best of all, total
indifference), never took the hint; and without being
reduced to the extremity of leaving any portion of
my garments in her hands, I attained the same
result as the ancient model of chastity; and, like
him, aroused a venomous spite in the lady, which,
alas, produced fatal consequences.
After a few weeks her official lover appeared;
that is, he who, according to usage, is in the house
at all hours, and without whom the husband would
be quite lost; who takes the children to school, and
inflicts punishment, up to boxing their ears inclu-
sively; and who, when the lady goes into society,
does not accompany her, but arrives a quarter of an
EXCUSATIO NON PETITA, ETC.
55
hour before or after, per non dar dell' occhio ("not to
attract attention”)—the technical expression.
Her said lover had had two or three days' holi-
day given him: they were, however, of little advan-
tage to him.
On his arrival he was radiant at finding himself
in the pure country air, far from his office, and in
the bosom of his family; but soon his face was an
ell long; his language became sharp and bitter, full
of allusions such as "I know all," "I am not blind,"
and other exclamations against feminine frivolity
and despotism.
I, who was as innocent as a lamb, would not
show that I applied these nebulous interjections to
myself, recollecting the legal axiom, excusatio non
petita, &c. The lady, on her side, did not seem the
least put out by the repressed anger or the per-
sonal remarks of her friend. I could even detect
on her face and in her satirical smile an expression
almost amounting to pleasure, but such a pleasure
as witches must feel when they cast an evil spell
on babies in their cradles - if the legend be true,
and does not calumniate them.
The devil knows what deep-laid calculations
were brewing under this exterior-what things she
said, or made other people say, or caused to be sus-
pected or insinuated! Be that as it may, if her
56
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
project was to sow discord between her friend and
me, the trap was baited in vain. He departed in
a few days, and I remained, less disposed than ever
to admire the physical and moral charms of Signora
Erminia.
Meanwhile I pursued my studies diligently.
From Rome I every now and then received letters
which gave me an account of the gay world of my
contemporaries. I do not deny that I sometimes
felt a secret longing to share in their merriment.
After all, at twenty-three one cannot be a hermit;
but my better principles prevailed then, and ever
after. If I was not moved by an abstract love of
morality, I was supported and guided by an inward
satisfaction, and the idea that I was winning a great
victory, and might believe myself better than many
of my companions.
At that time the country was infested by bands
which, four centuries ago, would have been called
condottieri, and been under the command of Count
Lando, Fra Moriale, or Duke Guarnieri, the enemy
of God and of mercy; but in my days they were
led instead by Barbone, Spadolino, De Cesari, &c.,
and later still by Gasparone. They were called
brigands, and had the police and the gendarmes at
their heels. From Count Lando to Gasperone how
the world loses in poetry!
BRIGANDAGE.
57
The Papal Government had tried to rid the
country of them; but if on board ship, for instance,
every rope hauled in broke off short, I should like
to know how it would be possible for the crew to
manœuvre ?
The government of the Pope was, as it now is,
and always will be, in this predicament. All its
efforts to destroy brigandage had come to nothing,
because the tools it employed were rotten. And
thus it never succeeded until the day that it con-
cluded a treaty with them, as one power does with
another-the terms of which the brigands observed,
and the government violated by treacherously taking
Gasparone and all his band prisoners at the Castle
of Riccia.
But all these things occurred many years after
the period I am writing about.
At that time, first one system, then another, was
tried; and that actually in fashion was to enlist
bands of retired brigands, either converted or dis-
gusted with their trade, who were armed, dressed,
and disciplined in the same way as the professional
brigands. There was no need to be particular about
their spirit or tendencies. The identity was per-
fect.
I was one day in a thicket beneath the so-called
fields of Hannibal, which found purchasers, although
58
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
they were occupied by the Carthaginian army when
the senate put them up to auction.
From a refusal to negotiate with Hannibal to a
treaty with Gasparone, the descent has cost Rome
a journey of more than two thousand years.
While I was drawing a beautiful group of trees,
I heard the report of four guns behind me. I
turned my head, and saw a party of men dressed
like brigands.
Were they the originals or the copies? As the
cantabit vacuus of Juvenal was exactly my condition,
I had no motive for any great anxiety. I rose and
went towards them.
They were fortunately the copies. So much the
better. I asked at whom they had fired.
66 At a
tree," they answered, "to keep our hands in."
Now would you like to know how they practise,
and how their target is made? They fix a leaf in
the interstices of the trunk of a tree, and then run
away from it with their carbine (which they fa-
cetiously call their cherubina-she-cherub) at full-
cock; and at a distance of a hundred yards or so,
on a signal being made, they turn sharply round,
fire, and off again. All these movements must be
instantaneous.
I went to see where the bullets had lodged.
They were all in the trunk, as close as the four
BRAVO LIFE.
59
fingers of a hand. Had it been a breast or a head,
its owner would have been done for. But in this
warfare the victor is he who fires straight.
The band, composed of rough men, of vulgar
appearance, was commanded by a young fellow,
tall, slender, handsome, and of courteous manners,
who almost seemed a gentleman disguised as a
brigand. I walked on with them, and chatted with
this exceptional personage, who had a great charm
for me.
I intended to study his character, and make a
friend of him; but ten days after, he was treacher-
ously killed by a hunchback dwarf in a tavern, in
the midst of his companions. Yet the dwarf suc-
ceeded in escaping. I met the band a second time.
They told me the fate of their leader, biting their
fingers with rage, and swearing to hunt down the
hunchback till they found him, and then nail him
to the tavern-door like a kite. They were fellows
likely to keep their word.
In that country these accidents are not rare.
The bravo life of yore, extinguished everywhere
else, is still vigorous there; and the quietest and
most temperate persons are more or less tainted
by it.
While on this subject I must mention a certain
Jacobelli, an acquaintance of mine, whose notions
60
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
of filial piety and conjugal tenderness, as will be
seen, were more in harmony with those customs
than with ours.
Jacobelli was a small proprietor, of about fifty,
of modest and peaceful bearing, a member of the
fraternities of his parish-in short, a model of re-
gularity and respectability. He had a wife, who,
though young and handsome, was pale and always
very sad.
What ailed this young woman? An
old husband, said I to myself; but I learnt after-
wards that, if my guess was not quite unfounded,
I was still far from the whole truth.
Before this wife, Jacobelli had had another whom
he loved passionately. The poor woman died, and
was carried to church, and buried there according to
the custom of the country. Next day the widower
disappeared; but just as his neighbours began to
fear he might have taken some desperate resolution,
he returned, after two days' absence, quiet, if not
consoled, and nobody troubled themselve any farther
about him. Where could Sor Jacobelli have gone so
suddenly? He had been to Rome; and without
breathing a word of his scheme to living soul, he
had bought a large quantity of the drugs which,
in his ignorance, he thought the best disinfectants
-pepper, camphor, salt, cinnamon, and the like.
After his return to Rocca with this stock, he suc-
POSTHUMOUS LOVE.
61
ceeded in bribing the sacristan, or sexton, who was
the same individual; by whose help he carried off
his better half during the night, and took her home.
There he set to work, and heaven knows in what
strange manner he cooked her: the fact is, how-
ever, that having stuffed and saturated her with
drugs, he shut her up in a chest, which he kept in
his house, and often visited, watering it with his
tears.
But as everything has an end in this world,
the posthumous fidelity to an adored shade in time
wore out. He fell in love with another, married
her, and the chest containing the former divinity
was nailed down and put in a corner.
I have even
been told that on some occasions it was used as a
dining-table.
But the feminine curiosity of the new bride
made her one day determine to examine the con-
tents of the mysterious chest. She drew out the
nails, opened it, and beheld the sight I leave you
to imagine. You may likewise picture to yourself
the astonishment, the inquiries, the discoveries, and
ultimately the confession of the poor husband, who,
as a first penance, had to pack up the precious
relics, and take them back to where he had found
them. He begged that the secret might be kept;
but from gossip to gossip the affair reached the
62
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
ears of the magistrate; and finally, one day poor
Jacobelli found himself in prison under the charge
of having violated a grave; and he was not restored
to liberty until after a lapse of time, which may
perhaps have appeared long to the wife, but which
certainly appeared much longer to the jealous old
husband, who was a captive, while she was young,
handsome, and free.
This adventure had not been the only one of its
kind in the life of Sor Jacobelli. When his father
died, he insisted on watching the corpse at night.
He was crying, and muttering between his sobs:
"To think that I shall no longer see you, daddy !"
Unable to endure a total separation, he hit upon
a bright expedient: he unnailed the coffin, and with
a knife cut off the head of his parent; and having
replaced everything in order, at least preserved this
memento; of which I forget, and it does not much
matter, the ultimate fate.
Such was Signor Jacobelli and his conception of
attachment.
CHAPTER IV.
The somarata of the Princess Trois Étoiles and Co.-I join them,
and spend some time at the villa of the Princess-Study of
Roman manners, especially of those of the nobility at that
date-Faults of the aristocracy shared by the other classes
of society-Departure from Rocca, and sad recollections-
Carluccio kills himself the night after I left, and the reason
why I go to rest at Albano in October-Advice to young
men who work hard-The upper Roman bourgeoisie and certain
anonymous professions-Expedients for living well without
exertion- Singular constitution of the Roman patriciate-I
return to Rome in the winter, and renew acquaintance with
Marquis Lascaris di Ventimiglia, a Piedmontese-He buys one
of my pictures-Remarks on working for money-The Mar-
chioness Lascaris-In April I go to Genzano-I am in time
for the Infiorata -What the Infiorata is-Signor Raffaele
Attenni-The castle of the Sforzas, and its position-At the
Attennis I turn an old wine-cask into a bed, but the master
of the house will not permit it-Duke Salvatore lets me live
in his castle-Description of its interior-Long and curious
collection of family pictures-I am not afraid of ghosts-I
lodge my horse in an old pantry-The inn of Genzano kept by
a Milanese-Morbid fears of one of the usual customers-The
carters of the wine-trade one of the most respected and re-
spectable classes of the Roman people-I sleep at the castle
for the first time; my precautions-Rats and bats-Long and
arduous studies from nature on the banks of the lake-The
ex-sbirro and his trade.
MEANWHILE the cool and wholesome breeze called at
Rome la rinfrescata had set in; and the Romans, who
very judiciously spend the dog-days in their vast and
64
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
cool palaces in the city, only going out at night (if
they were in the country, the heat would keep them
indoors all day, and where could they go in the
evening?), now came in flocks, according to their
custom, to occupy the neighbouring villas. Being at
home one morning, I heard myself called from the
street below by a chorus of sopranos, tenors, and
basses. I sprung to my window, and beheld a soma-
rata—that is to say, a long procession of donkeys,
each carrying a gentleman or lady on its back;
and I recognised Princess Trois Etoiles, with her
daughters, their lovers, her own, her sons, the friends
of the family, the hangers-on, the piqueurs d'assiettes
—in short, all the retinue of a Roman villeggiatura of
those days, who composed a caravan of no less than
twenty persons. Come! come! come! was shouted
by the different voices of the chorus.
I beheld the inviting lips, bewitching smile, and
magnetic eyes of one of the young ladies, who was
said to be in love with me, but who was, at least,
equally so with an individual possessed of wife and
children, afterwards discovered to be an arrant
thief. This tenderness may appear strange in a
young princess; but the adage of the epoch was
that "the heart cannot be commanded;" and the
number of facilities this axiom introduced into ju-
venile intercourse is quite incredible.
GOOD OLD TIMES.
65
The temptation was too great; and in a moment
I had joined the gay company, bent on ascending
Monte Cavi, and returning in the evening to the
villa, which shall be nameless, that I may describe
the ways of the time with greater freedom.
I offer you, O reader, a study of manners show-
ing how much the world has improved, if you com-
pare those days with ours. The party was composed
as follows:
The princess, a buxom woman over forty, had
once been attractive, if not extremely beautiful, but
she was now very haggard, thanks to the oblivion in
which she had always left the ne quid nimis. For-
merly the idol of an almost sovereign prince, she was
now glad to welcome a far humbler adorer. The son
of an hotel-keeper-a sturdy young fellow of twenty,
with powerful frame and muscles, stupid and unedu-
cated—was her master, and took good care that
everybody should know it. The young ladies boasted
a various paternity; one, for instance, was the daughter
of a riding-master, as she herself knew well. The
sons were in the hands of a priest—an abominable
wretch, the abettor and accomplice of shameful orgies
celebrated in the back-rooms of the palace. Then
there was an old foreign music-master, who gave
himself the air of being indispensable, and whom the
princess treated with great forbearance; the reason
VOL. II.
F
66
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
was unknown, but he was supposed to be the de-
pository of some ugly secret: and finally a legion of
toadies and hangers-on, beings who, by alternately
rendering a service and playing the buffoon, always
ready to accept and endure everything, and invariably
flattering their lords without measure or cessation,
contrive to secure the equivalent of a very comfort-
able income, live basely but gaily, and grow fat
and sleek, without a thought or care in the world.
Among these might be reckoned the fellow with
wife and children, whom I indicated as the happy
possessor of at least one half of a heart, the remain-
der of which it appears fell to my lot. Having
abandoned my solitary roof, it was in this delect-
able society that I wound my way up the tortuous
path leading to Monte Cavi.
The princess asked me to spend a few days at the
villa she had hired for the season, and I accepted.
The finances of the good lady had been sadly dilapi-
dated by her extravagance, that of her family, and
many other people besides. How she got on at all,
Heaven only knows. It is true, however (and this
we have the means of knowing), that when a cloud
of creditors were at her heels, she obtained from the
Pope an authorisation not to pay them. I remember
hearing her say, as she came home from the Corso,
"Do you know, as I passed the café Ruspoli, I saw
PATRIARCHAL CUSTOMS.
67
A-" (a poor devil who had lent her several thou-
sand scudi, without hope of repayment):
66
fancy!
he looked at me with an air,-a pretension." And
she meant to say,
"Can you conceive such inso-
lence?" But the enviable privilege of not paying
her debts did not suffice to set her at ease; yet
as amusement was a necessary of life, she treated
her guests without ceremony. In the little villa,
where she only occupied one floor, there was a par-
lour at the top of the staircase, which at meal-times
was entirely filled by a great table, enlarged in
urgent cases by the addition of some planks sup-
ported on trestles, till every inch of the room was
occupied; and as for leaving space for the servants
to go round it, that was quite out of the question,
so the plates were never changed, nor the dishes
handed about, and the dinner was a perfect pell-
mell. In a room next the parlour slept the princess
and her daughters; and on the other side was a
dormitory for the friends of the family, where, as
was but fair, the athletic innkeeper rejoiced in a bed,
while the floor was strewn with a miscellaneous col-
lection of mattresses and sacks of straw, upon which
the guests were free to select the most commodious
position for their night's slumber. All this seemed
quite natural then, and did not in the least deter the
party from being extremely jolly.
68
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
To complete the picture of these manners, I will
add a few anecdotes.
Among the numerous passions which had burnt
in the heart of the princess, one had been kindled
for a certain time by her coachman. It was cer-
tainly very convenient to have her lover under her
roof without causing scandal; and even in Rome,
the truth would not have been guessed without ir-
refutable evidence. In this case, however, it was
such as not to admit of the slightest doubt.
It was
The princess used to go to the Corso.
the custom to stop in Piazza del Popolo, and all the
young dandies went round to the carriages and spoke
to the ladies. When by chance an adorer who did
not please the coachman came near the princess, he
of his own accord whipped the horses, and away he
went; and if his rival were leaning, as is usual, on
the carriage, with his toes exactly in the line of the
wheels, so much the worse for him.
One day the princess was in a small open carri-
age, with only two seats, very short, and thus within
reach of her beloved, who, either from jealousy, or
some other motive never divulged, turned round on
his box, and in the midst of a crowd of vehicles
and spectators, gave her a sharp slap in the face.
By excess of depravity, some natures have no
appetite for anything unless it be spiced with scan-
LIBERALITY OF HEART.
69
dal, disgrace, and baseness. If this style was not very
common, it was, however, far from rare in Rome
before the revolution. A lady who had long lived
there used to tell me that few were the ladies who,
besides their regular lover—a man of rank-had not
a coachman, a soldier, a quidam of some sort, &c.
Such was the social state which those hare-brained
revolutionists came to disturb !
The aforesaid coachman was the father of one of
the young princesses-charming, lively—a perfect
darling! She married; and as blood is thicker than
water, she too fell in love with her coachman. Her
husband seized the correspondence, which he showed
as a curiosity, and left to one of his mistresses,
whom I knew. I thus read it; and I remember a
note, which ran as follows: "Peppe mio, I am in
despair; Z" (the husband) "will not take thee
with us" (on an excursion into the country), "and
says that Cencio must come with his horses," &c.
This was a pencil-note, hurriedly scribbled in the
morning, a few moments before her departure for
the intended excursion.
This fast young creature, when her love-affairs
did not proceed to her mind, commended herself to
no less a person than the prince of darkness, with the
assistance of a hag, who lent her terrible intervention.
I quizzed her about it; and one day she said to me,
70
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
66
Well, laugh as you please; all I can tell you is this:
when I was in love with R, and he deserted
me, I was in despair. I went to my usual oracle,
and told her my grief. Eh, signora ?' says she;
6
6
a remedy is soon found; but I must warn you: I
can bring him back; but, mind, you will never get
rid of him again.' I looked no farther, and ac-
cepted."
Here followed an account of the incantation, and
she continued: "I went home, and the sorceress
said, 'Do not trouble yourself; you will see him
within forty-eight hours.' He had not been near me
for months. That same evening I was at my win-
dow about the hour of the 'Ave Maria,' looking into
the street. The noise of the carriages did not let me
hear what was going on in the house. Suddenly a
soft voice whispered in my ear, Angelina!' It was
his voice. I looked round-it was he!
• What
would you have? You may fancy that not a drop
of blood was left in my veins.'
""
6
Disbelieve sorcery after that, if you dare! This
wretched girl, when she and her husband had squan-
dered all they possessed, fell into great poverty. In
her passions she descended to the very bottom of the
social ladder, and in the end was sometimes seen
late at night in the streets near a barrack, in tender
dalliance with a soldier, who loved her for a few
A WASTED LIFE.
71
paoli. I think she followed one of them during the
campaign of 1848. I saw her at Bologna, and after-
wards in Venetia, and had her included in the order
issued by General Durando, the commander-in-chief,
which prevented many tender souls from wandering
about the world after us. It grieved me to see her
fallen so low. I had known her as a child on the
threshold of a life which might have been honoured
and tranquil; but redemption was no longer possible
for her. I heard many years afterwards that she
had died, I do not know where, either of destitution,
or of disease entailed by her degraded existence.
The fate of the rest of the family, if less shameful,
was far from brilliant; and, on the whole, its mem-
bers will not leave behind them a good repute.
Energetic aristocracies may have been the source
of some good. The French, the Italian, the German,
and others in war, the English in statesmanship,
have produced great men and useful results; but
what can be expected of a do-nothing aristocracy like
the Roman, the offspring and slave of the Papacy?
The clergy, by whom it was enriched, looked on it
with suspicion, and refused it power. Excluded from
all share in politics, all its virtues were stifled in
luxury and a forced idleness, whence apathy, de-
gradation, and ruin.
subject by and by.
But we will return to this
72
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Such vices are not, however, a special inherit-
ance of aristocracy; they may be found in any class
in the enjoyment of privileges which dispense it from
having an inherent value, real merit, or a virtuous
scope for existence. The Roman populace, cursed by
the right of living on the regular alms and amuse-
ments provided by the emperors without earning
them, became the most colossal mass of scoundrels
known to history.
And, unhappily, the imperial donatives, and the
profit of the sale of indulgences by papal Rome,
have handed down the bad old traditions, which are
still vivid and powerful, among a people, whose El
Dorado it is to make money without exertion.
Thus, at Rome, the Roman undertakes any easy
menial trade; for hard work strangers are called
in. It is really curious to see the repugnance of the
aboriginal Quirites to work, not so much from lazi-
ness as from pride; and here again the tu regere im-
perio, &c. crops up. In the country, all the hard
work is done by gangs of labourers from a distance.
The men of the Marches plough and ditch; those of
Aquila reap; the Lucchese gather the olive, &c.; and
the Quirite looks on, draped in his mantle.
If the Romans really intend to make Rome a
wholesome capital, which will add strength and
energy to the Italian Government, they must cancel
A VENOMOUS TONGUE.
73
the traditions of the populace of the Cæsars, and be-
come a modern people, holding labour, and not idle-
ness, in honour. Let them look to it, and remember
that one deed is of more worth than a hundred words.
I returned to Rocca after a few days, and as the
season was rather advanced, I prepared to take my
departure. It was destined to be signalised by a
very sad event.
My friendship for Carluccio had remained un-
clouded. No suspicions had ever crossed his mind.
They would have been unjust, for I had not even a
word to reproach myself with as regards Carolina.
But Erminia put a finger in the pie, and Carluccio
learnt that there had been gossip afloat in the village.
The day of my departure came, and he offered
to accompany me down to the plain. We mounted
our horses-or, to speak more correctly, took them
by their bridles, to get the easier down the steep de-
scent of nearly a mile, which leads through a thick
wood to the vineyards of Marino. When we were
in the midst of the thicket, he began to talk about
Erminia, and, exciting himself as he went on, said
of her what she deserved, or perhaps not quite
enough; and at last, stopping short, he looked me
full in the face, and added, "Do you know what she
has hinted? That you were making love to my
wife!"
74
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
In any country, such words in such circumstances
may be the forerunners of serious events; but in
those regions, more than elsewhere, they are almost
always the inseparable companions of one or more
deadly stabs with a knife; therefore, by way of
precaution, I watched closely his every gesture.
Anyone may feel that, in a similar case, the diffi-
culty is not so much to find an answer as an ex-
pression, a look, a tone of voice, which may make it
natural and convincing. But after all, thank God,
there is no safeguard like that of innocence, and a
pure conscience is not without value in human inter-
course. "My dear Carluccio," I quietly answered,
"Sor Erminia may say what she pleases, but I give
you my word as an honest man that I never said
or did anything to your wife that you could have
reason to complain of."
The good fellow, who wanted to unburden him-
self of the load which lay heavy on his heart, and
bore me no malice, felt that I was speaking the
truth. He had never read novels, so he did not hold
out his hand, nor use any of the fine phrases which
may be learnt in the Bibliothèque des Chemins de Fer.
He only shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders,
saying, "Ay, I believe you without an oath; it is
that bad-tongued Erminia !”
I need not hand down to posterity the litany
A LAST PARTING.
75
which he poured forth for the greater honour and
glory of that lady. The reader needs but little ima-
ginative power to conceive it.
We pursued our way, chatting on different topics,
and it seemed to me that his mind, though for a
moment overcast, had not been deeply impressed by
those first words. We parted at last in perfect har-
mony, and with many reciprocal protestations for the
future. I spurred forward to Rome, and he turned
the head of his horse towards Rocca. I was never
able to learn what took place that evening between
him, Erminia, Carolina, and perhaps some others.
A long while after, all I could hear was, that late
at night he met Erminia, who, on finding he had ac-
companied me, burst into a laugh, saying derisively,
66 'He even saw him off-ha! ha! ha!-he even saw
him off!"
Poor Carluccio went home blind with rage. Next
morning he was found dead.
Men are hanged for stabbing with a dagger or a
sword, but the code takes no account of the blows of
a slanderous tongue. Several surmises were made,
all more or less improbable; and I never succeeded
in fathoming this sad event. I have always pre-
served an affectionate remembrance of this obscure
but honest and upright villager, who constantly gave
me positive proof that he was my friend; and I have
76
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
also felt a real regret-I cannot say remorse-
at
having been the indirect cause of his death, and the
misfortune of all his family.
I brought back to Rome, from Rocca, a good
deal to show for my summer work three or four
large studies from nature, finished on the spot, about
twenty small ones, and several drawings. After this,
I thought it fair to allow myself a month of rest and
relaxation, and I went to spend October at Albano.
I must give a piece of advice to studious and
hard-working young men, which experience has
shown me to be excellent.
in every one is limited.
The moral as well as physical working power
It is well to employ it
thoroughly, for this leads to rapid progress; but to
strain it by over-exertion is bad, and instead of
improvement often causes a falling off. The results
of overwork are too dearly bought, and common
sense should avoid it as an excess. Some excesses
spring from a virtuous origin, as others do from a
vicious one. Our intellect, as well as our senses,
may lead us into them.
But there is another rule still more important for
hard-working young men. If nature can sometimes
resist one excess, she cannot endure two. Where-
fore, O youth! one excess at a time, if you have not
the strength to refrain from them altogether! Thanks
ROMAN MIDDLE CLASSES.
77
to these rules, and a good though not a robust con-
stitution, I have been able to bear immense fatigue.
At Albano I found assembled the society I fre-
quented in Rome, belonging to that upper class of
citizens, between which and the rest of the Roman
world very peculiar conditions draw a strong dis-
tinction.
In the Ager Romanus the land is owned by the
nobles, the church, or charitable institutions; divided
among those latifundia quæ Italiam perdidere, but
which henceforward only ruin a small part of her.
The middle classes have to pick a living out of public
appointments (the few which are open to the laity),
commerce and industry, the leasing of large estates
(mercanti di campagna), the liberal professions, and
finally a host of anonymous and more or less ano-
malous trades such as clearing the accounts of
the congregations, public offices, &c. This latter
business requires an acquaintance with everything
and everybody; a familiarity with all the intrigues,
the hidden threads, the secret squabbles, the influ-
ences, the love-affairs, the hatreds, the jealousies of
the country, in order to play them off at the mo-
ment most opportune for the interest intended to be
served. But, setting aside anomalous positions, even
the regular (or quasi-regular) ones are uncertain,
and usually insufficient. The head of a family must
78
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
often have recourse to various expedients to make
both ends meet, at the close of the year. The tend-
ency, or rather the firm resolution, of everybody to
enjoy themselves being quite out of proportion with
the income and the disposition to work, expedients
must be resorted to. Thus, an official, with wife
and family, will double the 100 scudi he receives
from the government, by his nightly devotion to
monte or toppa,* games in which fortune seldom
fails him; perhaps he may scrape a few more to-
gether by buying and selling a quantity of oil at the
right moment; certain boxes of French bonnets, by
passing behind the custom-house at Ripa, instead of
before, may also have contributed to swell the income
of the year: so that a man apparently having only
100 scudi a month, and the luxury of a wife, sons, and
marriageable daughters, and who ought to occupy a
third floor in Via Giulia or Campo di Fiore (every-
thing else in proportion), far from that, rejoices in
an elegant apartment in Campo Marzio or towards
the Gesù, a carriage, half a box at Tordinona, a villa
in the country in October, and all the accompani-
ments of toilette which are the true well of St. Patrick
of every improvident family. And as, more Romano,
* Monte and toppa are old-fashioned games of hazard, for-
merly played with those peculiar Italian cards still used in Italy
for several games.
RECKLESS EXPENDITURE.
79
great prudence consists in spending every shilling
of income, and just avoiding debt without laying-
by anything, in these families the dowry of the
daughters may be set down as zero.
At most they receive a trousseau when they
marry. The day the head of the family dies, every-
thing crumbles away, like a castle of cards; and
without any transition, luxury is replaced by poverty,
and too often by utter destitution.
Such is the felicity the laws and the exclusiveness
of the clerical policy secure to the tiers état.
The influence of these conditions upon character
is no less deplorable. Even the most honest accus-
tom themselves to a certain elasticity in questions of
speculation and expediency. All rectitude of mind
and delicacy of feeling becomes blunted; want, un-
certain prospects, the malleability of the laws and
the tribunals when certain persons and their interests
are at stake, despotism, and interest undermine the
independence and the dignity of the most upright
characters. Servility and duplicity are means of
existence; and a hand-to-mouth life, supported by
dishonourable compromises, becomes the sad and in-
evitable lot of a numerous and respectable class of
people, on which two privileged castes the clergy
and the aristocracy weigh almost equally. But
the middle-class in Rome is not the only one that
80
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
labours under special conditions; the constitution of
the patriciate is no less singular and abnormal.
Nepotism has been the creator of the greater part
of the families inscribed on the Roman golden book.
While our nobles in Piedmont won their titles on
the field of battle, the Roman aristocrats acquired
theirs at court; and as for their wealth, I do not
think I calumniate their origin when I say, that
if the spirits of all the cardinal-nephews could be
evoked and called on to publish their accounts, some
most curious revelations would be brought to light.
The result of all this is, that the fibre, if I may
so express myself, of this aristocracy is without
energy, or any great distinction and elevation of
sentiment; that they live in complete apathy, wedged
as they are between the hammer and the anvil, be-
tween the domineering clerical caste and a totally
passive population. The worst part of all is, that,
not feeling how abject or unenviable such a posi-
tion is, they do not seek to escape from it, and
even appear perfectly happy.
I have never been able to frequent this latter
class much, or to live amongst it; though I hasten
to add that I have met worthy exceptions, and been
treated with great kindness by many of its members.
As qui se ressemble s'assemble, the intellectual standard
of their conversation is quite below par.
A spirit
PARASITE ELEMENT.
81
of gossip and intrigue, and more or less a parasite
element, reigns among them. One meets many of
the types which may occasionally be found in Milan
or Naples in several wealthy families,-amphibious
beings, whose position is half-way between that of
a servant and of a friend; who say eccellenza to the
prince or the duke, by whom they are treated with
the utmost familiarity; a custom which may appear
incredible to anybody not acquainted with Rome,
and which has also been extended to the relations
between the nobility and the middle-class.
As I did not hunt after dinner-parties, and had
no motive to consider intimacy with a family in-
scribed on the golden book as a promotion, it was
only natural that such an atmosphere should not
suit me. So, barring a few exceptions, I always
kept aloof.
But as I am describing classes and not manners,
here are a couple of anecdotes which I consider very
significative.
I was looking one night with Prince A
at a Flemish tapestry hung in one of his large re-
ception-rooms, representing the storming of an em-
battled tower by warriors armed in that amphibious.
Roman style which pervaded the Flemish manufac-
tures in the seventeenth century.
66
"I wonder what historical event this assault is
VOL. II.
G
82
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
meant to represent," quoth I to the prince. Who
answered: "It must be the battle of Lepanto." I
looked in his face to see whether he was joking;
but he was quite serious, so I said "Amen."
On another and very different occasion, at a much
later date, I found myself at Rome in a semi-official
capacity. One day I determined to pay off an arrear
of formal visits; I started, and stopped the carriage
at the door of the X- Palace, saying to my ser-
vant, "Ask whether the prince is at home." After
a long delay a footman came down, approached my
carriage, and said, "His excellency desires you will
come again to-morrow morning at eleven,” and with
a bow reëntered the palace.
I laughed so heartily that I had no time to send
the messenger back with the information that I had
asked whether the prince was at home, and not soli-
cited an audience.
I spent October at Albano very merrily, although
I did not, nor ever could, partake the views of the
Romans about country life. If I am not mistaken,
one goes into the country to enjoy the fresh air,
which is better appreciated by the light of the sun
than of the stars. But when the whole night is
spent in gambling at toppa; when one sups at two,
and goes to bed at four; it is a logical necessity to
sleep till noon. So country life at Albano is reduced
ROMAN COUNTRY LIFE.
83
to a walk late in the day in the groves of Villa Doria.
Such, at least, was the custom in my day; it may
have been altered since, but I doubt it very much.
I accepted it such as it was, and adapted myself
to it, being bound by the commencement of a passion
which I could not control, and which in course of
time caused me endless grief and bitter delusions.
As I have already declared, I do not mean to
describe love-affairs; I just allude to this one, that
the reader may understand some facts which would
otherwise appear inexplicable.
On my return to Rome I hired a studio near
Sant' Isidoro, above Piazza Barberini, in the house
of two old women, who paid me the greatest at-
tention, and I did my very best to distil a present-
able work out of all the studies and the experience
acquired in a long season of uninterrupted work.
I painted a picture, representing a ravine with a
yawning cavern, near Castel Sant' Elia; and alto-
gether it was not devoid of effect, united to a gleam
of truth; a first-fruit of having attentively seen and
studied nature for six months.
That winter a Piedmontese gentleman, a friend
of mine, came to Rome with his wife and his only
daughter, who afterwards married the elder brother
of Count Cavour, the Marquis Gustavus, only very
recently dead.
84
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
This gentleman was the Marquis Lascaris, of Ven-
timiglia, of the ancient eastern family of that name,
which came to Italy in the fifteenth century, after
the fall of Constantinople.
He and I became more intimate than before;
for he was an excellent man, a perfect gentleman,
very learned, affectionate, of a lively and cheerful
disposition, and with a great deal of originality
about him. He was passionately fond of art and
artists, and at leisure hours I sometimes acted as
his cicerone. When he saw the picture I had just
finished, it pleased him--or it is more probable he
wanted to do me a kindness-and he gave me the
happy news that he intended to purchase it.
The great question discussed in the house of the
Marchioness of Crescentino, at Turin, was thereby
solved. But it did not thus decide itself without
my feeling internally an impression difficult to de-
fine; but which, in truth, was not without analogy
to a decided repugnance. It is very hard to expel
the prejudices of early youth; and how important
is it, therefore, to impress on the tender minds of
children not prejudices, but sound and true ideas
from the outset !
I did not refuse the offer, however, as you may
believe. Nay, to punish myself, I resolved to re-
ceive the money in hard cash, looking straight in
LEGITIMATE GRATIFICATION.
85
the face of him who gave it me, and to avoid
all those petty hypocrisies resorted to by many
persons in certain professions at the moment of
receiving payment for their work, as if they could
thus veil or alter the reality of the fact.
I reasoned as follows: If an act be shameful,
abstain from it; if it be not shameful, the humilia-
tion would consist in doing it as if one were ashamed
of it, which would be equivalent to saying, "I know
I ought to blush for what I am doing; yet I will
not refrain, because it is profitable."
So I bravely took my money. I am, however,
not quite certain that I followed my programme
exactly, and that I did not look down a little at
the important moment.
The fact is, that an artist or an author feels a
great emotion the first time he sees before him a
handful of gold, and is able to say, "I earned this
with my brains and my hands." Cupidity has no-
thing to do with this feeling. It is self-love which
feels its most legitimate gratification. He who
praises your work may perhaps for some reason
deceive you; but he who pays for it,-where can
one find a more certainly sincere admiration?
To the gratification of self-love is added another
and worthier one-that of feeling more independent
-the consciousness that one is able to earn one's
86
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
livelihood without submitting to anybody.
The
wealthiest man in the world who loses his riches,
if he cannot work becomes poorer than he who
exercises an art or a profession. For this reason an
Italian proverb taught long before Rousseau, "Learn
art, say I, and lay it by." Such was my maxim
from early youth; and I had to thank God for it,
in very difficult circumstances, many years after.
When I left the cabinet-for special reasons—my
little income quite failed me, and for three or four
years I lived entirely by my brush; and I then
found it indeed useful to have learnt a trade.
The sentiment of independence must be felt for
one's own sake first of all; that which concerns the
nation will be its necessary complement.
The mode of spending the money I had earned
was settled long before I had received it. For
some time I had been on foot, to my great regret.
Though my pension had been raised to forty scudi
a month, it was impossible to save the price of a
horse out of it. The one I bought was of Roman
breed, and had long cut his wisdom-tooth. Though
rather shy, he was a good beast. I found him
very useful indeed in my artistic excursions; and
in the meanwhile I rode him about Rome with im-
mense delight.
My passion for horses has been a real tribula-
PASSION FOR HORSES.
87
tion to me. Every now and then fortune has en-
abled, nay obliged, me to keep horses only to mock
me by the necessity of selling them just as I had
become attached to the poor brutes. As a soldier,
a minister, and a governor, I had good and fine
horses; but as soon as I left office, farewell to my
stud. I was obliged to sell them.
Among the number of secondary grievances,
this is one of those I have felt most acutely. How
I understood and envied Alfieri! But I have al-
ways sacrificed everything rather than run into
debt; which very often means living at the expense
of other people instead of at one's own.
If I had remained in Rome, I must either have
ended in this way, or sold my nag to purchase his
corn. But the winter was drawing to a close; and
I was soon going to undertake my laborious life of
study from nature. In the country it was pos-
sible to keep a horse even with an exchequer like
mine.
The spring, which drives visitors away from
Rome like wild-ducks from a marsh, and sends
them in flocks to the north, deprived me of the
genial and pleasant society of Lascaris.
I have spoken of him; but I must say a few
words about his wife before I take leave of their
memory. She was a little woman, in delicate health;
88
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
not pretty, but amiable and gentle, and yet as firm
in character as a rock. She gave many proofs of
it in her life; but I will only mention one.
She did what Europe for a long time either
could not or dared not do-she held her own against
Napoleon.
66
"I was lady-in-waiting to Maria Louisa" (so
she told the story), "and we were at Saint Cloud.
One afternoon we went out driving with the em-
peror and empress. The weather was cold and
damp, and I, as usual, felt far from well. The car-
riage in which I sat was a close landau. The em-
peror suddenly sent word that all the carriages were
to be opened. I would not, however, comply with
the order. There ensued a battle with the equerry,
then negotiations, and at last the landau remained
shut; and thus I beat Napoleon before the Duke of
Wellington."
Meanwhile April had come. I wanted to change
my quarters to study new scenes, and I selected
Genzano, a hamlet eighteen miles from Rome on
the road to Naples. Placed on the crest of a hill,
it commands on one side the vast plain and the
sea, from the hills of Cervetri to Monte Circello;
and on the other it reflects its image in the depths
of one of the ancient craters of Monte Albano,
now transformed into the Lake of Nemi. The
THE POETICAL INFIORATA.
89
time of the popular festival of the Infiorata was
approaching; and I could not have had a better
opportunity for a preparatory trip. The day of the
festivity having arrived, I mounted my horse at
daybreak and set off for Genzano.
What is the Infiorata?
The Infiorata takes place on Ascension-day, and
is celebrated in honour of the procession which
passes through the streets of the town. It con-
sists in a layer of flowers so thickly strewn on the
ground as completely to cover the whole of the
steep ascent leading from the piazza to the church.
A few days before the solemnity, the women and
the girls of the village go round the meadows,
woods, and gardens, and strip them of their flowers,
which they carry home in large bundles. They
then pull off the petals one by one, and separately
heap up together those of each colour, thus com-
posing a kind of odoriferous palette of the richest
tints.
The occupants of every house facing the street
undertake to cover the space in front, each executing
a different pattern. One makes an arabesque, an-
other a wreath; some the arms of Duke Sforza, the
ancient lord of the place, or their own if they have
any, or those of the bishop or the Pope, and so forth.
The outline of the pattern is first fixed by means of
90
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
a long flexible rope placed on the ground, and then.
filled-in with leaves of different colours. The general
effect is most brilliant; and seen from the foot of
the ascent looks like a gorgeous carpet, which one
regrets to see spoilt by the passage of the proces-
sion.
I arrived at Genzano, where the only person I
knew was a small proprietor, whom I had seen but
once, I forget where. It would hardly have been safe
to put up my horse at the inn, amid the confusion of
that day. I went to the house of my one acquaint-
ance, Raffaele Attenni by name, who allowed me to
stable my steed in a close shed where he kept his
wine-vats, and I accordingly left him safe and happy
in the society of two trusses of hay.
I saw the festival, the people, the really extra-
ordinary beauties of the country, the Romans who
had arrived in crowds, and the inhabitants of the
neighbouring castles; and then I took a turn to look
at the neighbourhood, in order to judge of the profit
I might hope to derive there.
I was greatly pleased with the castle of the
Sforzas. It stands on the mountain ridge, above
and a little beyond the village. It commands an
immense view of the sea and, towards the moun-
tains, the severe scenery of Monte Cavi, of Nemi, of
the Fajola forest, and of the high and abrupt cliffs
A NEW DIOGENES.
91
beneath which sleep the dark waters of the lake. I
thought I should like to live in this castle. I found
the old keeper, and he consented to show me the
interior.
It was uninhabited, and I may say dilapidated,
not quite like the house at Castel Sant' Elia, but
very nearly; still, it pleased me, such as it was.
Night had come on while I was exploring, and it
was necessary to find shelter, unless I particularly
wished to sleep under the starry canopy. In the
shed occupied by my horse, I had observed an
empty cask; straw was not wanting, and so I was
better off than Diogenes.
I retreated thither at nightfall, and having looked
to the horse, rolled myself up in my cask and closed
my eyes. But the master of the house, hearing how
discreetly (I say it in my own honour) his guest had
provided himself with a bed, came down to the shed
with a light in his hand; and there was no help for
it; I had to get up, and accompany my host to the
rooms inhabited by the family, where I found his
daughters and his son, who scolded me for not
having applied to them for a pair of sheets to
sleep between, instead of nestling in a corner like
a dog.
After so many years I still recall with pleasure
the cordial attentions of those dear new friends of
92
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
mine, who, not having the slightest idea who I
was, treated me with true patriarchal hospitality.
Thirty-two years after, I again visited Genzano, as
the guest of my excellent friend Don Lorenzo, the
present duke. I once more saw the Attennis, who
could not make up their minds to recognise the old
occupant of the cask in the minister, who was now
an honoured and welcome guest in the palace of my
lord duke.
I did not find it difficult to obtain full leave
from his brother Don Salvatore, the then duke, to
inhabit his ruined castle as long as I pleased. A
few days after, therefore, I went one morning to
the keeper, who lived in the village below, and
showed to him the document empowering me to
take the temporary possession of the premises. He
read it, and then fetched a large bunch of keys,
which he put into the hands of a maid-servant, in
whose company I climbed the steep hill towards
the castle, dragging my horse behind me.
The first thing to be done was to open the
massive entrance-door with a key, that might have
easily figured in a trial for murder as an offen-
sive weapon. We first found a vast staircase, then
a vestibule, with a stand for the halberds of the
guards; next a hall, with a theatre (style of 1700),
literally falling to pieces; then other rooms, in one
THE SFORZA CASTLE.
93
of which there was a collection of family portraits
of the ducal house of Sforza.
From Giacomo Attendolo,* defiant, black, bearded,
and smoky, the series came down to one of the last
dukes of the Pompadour period, white and pink,
powdered, affected, and smiling, in sky-blue knee-
breeches, a silk waistcoat, and a dove-coloured coat
embroidered in silver.
The successive transformation of those faces was
the faithful image of that of the great Italian families,
which, raised by activity and energy, have decayed
in apathy and sloth.
The rooms I have just described all opened into
one another in the front of the palace. There were
some more at the back, one of which contained the
remains of a couple of beds, and this formed the
first-floor. I mounted to the second, followed by
the under-keeper peasant-girl. It was distributed like
the apartment beneath, with some subdivisions, and
was almost entirely unfurnished. I went down again,
and having deposited in the double-bedded room the
saddle-bags I had taken off my horse, I proceeded to
prepare my quarters.
* Giacomuzzo Attendolo Sforza, so called on account of his
great physical strength, the son of a peasant of Cotignola (Ro-
magna), was born in 1369. He became a famous condottiere, and
the founder of the illustrious house of that name.
94
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
The girl stared at me, unable to make out my
intentions. When at last she understood them, she
said with an indescribable expression of wonder:
"Do you really mean to sleep here all alone ?"
66
Please God and the holy Virgin," said I.
"But do you not know the place is haunted by
spirits ?"
“Ha! May the will of God and the Madonna be
done!"
This edifying answer admitted of no reply. She
shrugged her shoulders, gave me a last glance of
pity, and having gratefully accepted a present in
harmony with my means (probably a couple of ba-
jocchi), she went away in peace, leaving a whole
bunch of keys in my hands.
When I was left alone, sole possessor (things
belong to the person who enjoys them, not to the
master) of the old castle, at once its lord and its
garrison, I swam in such an ocean of independ-
ence and freedom, that for full five minutes I danced
a pas seul in honour of my total emancipation. But
a true horseman thinks of his horse before providing
for himself.
Mine was tied to a rusty rail near the entrance,
and I found him lashing his tail vigorously to keep
off the flies.
"And where shall I put the poor beast?" thought
AN IMPROVISED STABLE.
95
I. The old ducal stables were a long way off, and
therefore rather inconvenient for a pluralist like me,
who was both master and groom. I looked in every
corner under the archway, where there was a Ma-
donna, but nothing by way of a stable. So I took
the bunch of keys, to discover whither a door I had
just detected in a dark nook might lead.
The key was luckily there; I unlocked the door,
and certain remnants of furniture made me guess
that I had groped my way into the old pantry, the
sanctum of sweetmeats and other delicacies, by no
means likely to flourish in my reign; so I forth-
with transformed the place into a stable.
I obtained help from outside, and with some nails
and a hammer, the old planks I found there soon
made a manger in a corner. After expending a
few paolis on straw and hay, so as to provide for
the first day, I introduced my tired horse, and put
him in possession. Having made him comfortable,
I left him happily munching his hay.
To complete my work, I sent a lad to cut me a
few elm-branches. Between us we succeeded after
a few minutes in making a capital verandah, which
we placed before the window, so as to keep the stable
cool and dark.
If ever you go to Genzano, look at the lower
grating next the entrance on the left; and if the
96
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
information be of any interest to you, know that was
my stable.
Then, finally, it struck me that I was entitled
to think of myself.
My luggage and the artistic paraphernalia I could
not bring with me I had sent on from Rome by
the Genzano carrier. This I now went to fetch;
and having had it taken to the castle, I began to
make myself at home.
With the remnants of the two beds I made one
and on it I afterwards enjoyed a series of slumbers
really like those of innocence. I selected the back-
room next the stage of the theatre to sleep in; for
if its doors did not shut very well, those of the others
were worse still.
The hangings had formerly been of leather, with
gilt ornaments and arabesques, of which only half
now remained, and that was torn, and falling in
tatters from the walls.
There was also an antediluvian chest of drawers
for my linen. In the large room of the portraits I
arranged all my painting materials, a dozen volumes
(the usual Pignotti and Plutarch), with the requi-
sites for writing; in short, I made it my studio;
and thus inaugurated my establishment in all its
details before midday.
Twelve o'clock at that time, and for many years
AN ITALIAN TAVERN.
97
after, was my dinner-hour. There was a tavern at
Genzano, kept by a Milanese, and situated in one of
the last houses on the right at the end of the town,
towards the Velletri road. I paid it a first visit,
destined to be followed by many others; and not
being very particular, I was perfectly satisfied.
The mas-
It is quite extraordinary how much more fas-
tidious people have everywhere become than they
once were. This tavern, praised by everyone, was
only a large room on the ground-floor, an ex-
granary, one end of which was occupied by the
chimney, a couple of stoves, and the bar. At twelve
o'clock one was sure to find soup and a few dishes,
three at the outside, hot and ready, though homely ;
so the bill of fare was soon glanced over.
sive tables, long and narrow, were spread with a
strip of napkin, each person had a smaller one, iron
forks and spoons, half a measure of wine, and a
couple of small loaves. Your meal over, a bare-
footed country lad, acting in the capacity of waiter,
made his appearance, and after taking away the
cloth, leant his left elbow on the table, and with a
bit of chalk in his right hand wrote on its dark
oak polished surface the expense incurred by the
customer. This once paid, he wiped out the score
with his shirt-sleeve, and the accounts were thus
VOL. II.
H
98
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
kept with a simplicity which made any mistake im-
possible.
The messmates I found there were not so often
natives of the village, who generally dined at home,
as people holding some appointment, or merely pass-
ing through. These customers (everyone by himself,
mind you, and on his own isolated strip of cloth)
soon became acquaintances, and some almost friends.
There was, among others, the sergeant of the gen-
d'armerie (the big-wig of the company), a young
Neapolitan, fair, a good fellow, and a genial com-
panion; and a friend of his, who presented a strange
phenomenon. He had suffered from a long and severe
illness, his recovery from which was a real miracle,
and he was now at Genzano during his convalescence,
to regain strength. Before he fell ill he had been a
venturesome, active man of business, who had tried
every mortal thing, and his age was hardly forty.
After his long malady, Heaven only knows what
revolution had taken place in his organisation, but
the fact is, that he had become more timid than a
child two years old. He could not remain alone or
in the dark, and the slightest incident or noise put
him out of sorts.
One day I recollect we went to Albano together,
towards evening. I had a little business to trans-
act, and said to him, "If you do not mind, wait for
A DANGEROUS LUNATIC.
99
me a bit at the café. You see it is full of people,
and at this hour it will hardly remain empty.”
He answered, “Very well, go.
Off I ran, saying, "I shall have done in a
twinkling, and be here again immediately.”
I came back in ten minutes, and saw from a dis-
tance a crowd collected before the café. I guessed
what had happened; and, in fact, there he was in
a swoon, surrounded by people busy assisting him.
At another time, five or six of us went to the
festival of Cisterna, in the Pontine Marshes, and all
slept at Velletri in one room, with a light, on ac-
count of his terrors. During the night the light
went out; he began to fret; no one liked to get up,
so a chorus of voices bade him keep quiet, and not
bother us; but he suddenly jumped out of bed, ran
to the window, and if the nearest to him had not
been quick, and caught him in mid-air, we should
have had to fish him up off the pavement. This
maniac, and a few other commonplace individuals,
were the regular visitors. The casual ones were
wine-carters, members of one of the most respectable
and respected classes of the Roman people. This is
no joke; I say it seriously.
As everyone knows, Rome has for centuries been
the refugium peccatorum of the whole world; and if
proofs were wanting, the family names would suffice
Uor M
100
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
to establish the fact. They are of every language and
every nation, though those who bear them show no
trace of their foreign origin. But this admixture is
confined to the middle-class, or sometimes the no-
bility. There is no example of it among the people,
and especially in the Trastevere. Even in the lower
orders there is a kind of oligarchy peculiarly jealous
of preserving the purity of its Roman blood, and this
is very remarkable in the two trades of the paviors
and the wine-carters.
These people very seldom marry out of their own
profession, and there is no chapter of German ca-
nonesses more convinced of the superiority of their
birth than the members of these two humble but not
degrading professions.
According to a physiological law, frequent inter-
marriages deteriorate a race. In this case, however,
the physiological law is at fault; or perhaps decay
only invades the idle and effeminate classes, not the
strong and hard-working ones. A glance shows the
difference between them and the rest of the popula-
tion. The square build of their bodies, the size and
shape of their muscles, the elegance of their extremi-
ties, their wiry frames, without fat or corpulence-
whereas both sexes of Romans of the other classes
have a tendency to rotundity and enervation—reveal
them as true descendants of those sturdy legionaries
Mou
A RELIC OF THE PAST.
101
who, besides their arms and victuals, carried on
their marches a heavy pole for the encampment
they had to fortify with a ditch and rampart before
they rested. The bas-reliefs show us in marble what
the iron men of yore were like, and the wine-carters
represent them now in flesh and bone.
They are rough and ignorant, it is true; but in
their appearance, their gestures, their way of stand-
ing, moving, and placing themselves, there is an
air of haughtiness, a proud self-assurance, I never
met with in any other people in the world. It is
impossible not to be struck with the indications of
superiority to be found in this class: their features,
expression of countenance, mode of living, even the
materials and implements of their trade, show a grand
form, quite as peculiar to them as the majesty and
elevation of mien which it is vain to seek for among
the upper classes.
At Rome it really seems as if the servants had
turned the masters out of their palaces, and driven
them into the streets. Nor is this class of the popu-
lation at all wanting in fine qualities. There is in
them a certain generosity of feeling; as a rule, they
are not addicted to drunkenness (their profession
obliges them to observe strict sobriety). They are
accused, it is true, of baptising the wine-barrels they
carry; and I would not swear that their stoppages
102
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
at the fountains of the Campagna are always for the
refreshment of their horses; but, after all, who does
not mix a little water with his wine in this world?
If you treat them on terms of equality, they will
behave well to you; but if you look down upon
them, they remember that they are the true Romans.
As I said before, there is something grand
even in the antique simplicity of their very carts.
Two long and strong bars form the shafts, and are
supported at one end by two high wheels, while the
other extremities rest horizontally on the back of a
horse, also very tall, and almost always jet-black,
with a neck, head, and limbs altogether recalling
the horses of ancient art. These carts have no sides.
A few planks connect the two shafts, upon which
eight casks are generally placed. The carters start
from Genzano towards the evening, and travel all
night, lying on the cask next the horse, and leaning
against what is called the forcina; that is, the branch
of a tree fixed on one side of the cart, and which,
dividing into smaller branches, like a fan, forms a
kind of niche, lined with a sheepskin.
They generally travel in company; one keeps
watch (a prudent precaution in the Roman Cam-
pagna), and a lantern hanging beneath one of the
carts suffices for the whole caravan.
At midday I generally had the pleasure of seeing
PIZZETTA.
103
six or seven of them grouped round a table; and it
was a real treat for an artist to see, hear, and study
them, with handsome and energetic faces-always
grand and majestic in their movements. I defy any-
one to detect them in a vulgar attitude.
One of them was called Pizzetta; and I remem-
ber that one day after dinner, in the great heat, he
fell asleep on the table, round which five or six of
his companions were seated. His head was resting
upon a pair of bronzed and muscular arms, and he
snored with all his might. Presently his companions,
I do not know why, set up a shout which awoke him.
I can still see him raise his head, with sleepy eyes;
then flash a fierce glance round him, saying in a
hoarse voice, Pozziate morì d'accidente!* And then
he sank down again fast asleep. I relate this trifling
incident to show how singularly artistic those figures
must have been, to remain impressed on my memory
after the lapse of forty years, as if they were present
before my eyes!
And even poor Pizzetta was of some use to me.
In the sack of Rome, described in Niccolò de Lapi,
I represented him as one of the desecrators of San
Giovanni de' Fiorentini.
The evening of the first day I supped at the same
*In the corrupt Italian of the Campagna, "May you die an
ill death !"
104
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
tavern, and late at night I went up to the castle by
the long alley which leads to it, with the bunch of
keys in one hand, and in the other a lantern, which
I had bought as an indispensable piece of furniture.
I have already said that, in making the analysis
of my nature, a touch of Don Quixote would be
found. He saw an adventure in every event, even
the simplest; and though I did not take things so
seriously as he did, I yet felt my imagination at
work as I approached my solitary and melodramatic
abode in the stillness and darkness of night.
Arrived at the gate, I selected the monster key
I was already familiar with, entered, and then
locked the door behind me; and having gone up
the state staircase, where the sound of my feet re-
echoed, I crossed the halls, which by daylight had
not appeared half so vast and mysterious as they
did now, and at last reached the room where my
bed was prepared.
The reflection that I had no enemies in the place,
and had not appeared in a trim indicating that I
had brought strings of pearls with me, or any sum
likely to tempt even peasants; and considering that
apparitions, witches, goblins, unluckily formed no
part of my creed (I say unluckily, because the world
would be much more amusing were it otherwise),
I thought myself justified in expecting a quiet night,
FOREWARNED FOREARMED.
105
without having recourse to any precaution; but
as in this world keepers of old castles do not like
the ghosts who live in the houses of their masters
to be despised; as, moreover, there are lovers of
practical jokes more or less indiscreet; and lastly,
as an old proverb says "forewarned is forearmed,'
I made the arrangements I have always relied on in
suspicious places, and which I recommend as equally
easy and efficacious.
There were some huge leather arm-chairs, with
gigantic backs; I placed one against the door, the
two front legs a little raised off the floor, so that it
was balanced, but the slightest push must have upset
it. It was an alarm quite equal to a cannonade, I
promise you.
My
On my bed, instead of a bride, I placed my loaded
carbine, and having blown out the tallow candle in
the lantern, was fast asleep in five minutes.
slumbers, however, were brief. The profound still-
ness of the night, as everyone may have remarked,
makes the slightest noise appear ten times greater
than it really is. When I awoke, every floor and
room of the castle seemed swarming with people. It
was like a general tramping of feet. On the stage
of the theatre a representation seemed to be going on.
Next I felt something fly close to my face, which
passed to and fro, and then rose in the air. A loaf
106
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I had brought for my breakfast first moved, then fell
from the table upon which I had left it, and pro-
ceeded on its journey over the floor. I sat up in bed
and listened attentively, saying to myself, "What
the devil is the matter?" And I thought anybody
with a tendency to see spectres and apparitions might
easily have perceived the ghosts of all the Sforzas,
from Giacomo Attendolo down to Lodovico il Moro,
at his side, in the midst of that disturbance. In the
meanwhile my loaf was pursuing its excursion, and
I confess that at first I could not guess the physical
explanation of that phenomenon; but light soon broke
in upon me.
It must be a rat, a good husband and excel-
lent father, who was trying to take the loaf to his
family; and whom necessity alone compelled to gnaw
it on the spot; for, arrived at the door of the theatre,
the loaf naturally stopped, although little knocks
against the wood-work showed it was doing its best
to go through. Half a minute was spent in this
operation, and then I distinctly heard a sound indi-
cating that the crust was attacked by a double set
of teeth in first-rate order. The mystery was thus
explained.
I lay down again, saying, "To-morrow we will
have a word about this," and resumed my inter-
rupted slumbers.
A NOVEL TRAP.
107
To end this instructive episode, for the use of
artists who may choose to study from nature in
similar circumstances, my new dispositions were as
follows:
The next day I found a large stone, part of a
step of the grand staircase, and carried it, not with-
out difficulty, into my room. I made it into a trap
of a novel kind, which I charged with gunpowder;
and at night I had the satisfaction of hearing it go
off and announce the death of a large rat, who was
underneath. I even had the barbarity to jump out
of bed in my shirt, and execute a war-dance on this
sepulchral stone, to make more sure of his destruc-
tion.
I found no cure for the bats that flew about my
face; they came out of some enormous holes in the
walls behind the leather tapestry. But they are the
most harmless animals in the world, and never gave
me any annoyance.
I now began one of the hardest courses of study
I ever went through in my life.
The beauties of Genzano lie on the banks of the
lake. In those days one reached them (now it may
perhaps be different) by a very steep and difficult path.
Every morning I went down with my traps on my
shoulders; the descent was nothing-facilis descensus
Averni-only I should like to see anybody try the
108
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
ascent, the revocare gradus, in that scorching sun!
But I had a strong will, supported by a grain of
self-love, and a sense of duty which began to go-
vern me.
On the shore, not far from the hut of a man
whose trade it was to steep flax, stands the renowned
plane-tree of the lake of Nemi. It no longer pos-
sesses the mottled and ever-changing bark of the
young plane-trees, but its trunk is as strong, knotty,
and rugged as an old chestnut.
I made many sketches of it during the season;
one study finished, I began another, and so collected
a great number. Besides working with my brush,
I read and re-read my few books; and, what was
more, pursued the moral development of my mind
during those long and blessed solitary hours which
I spent surrounded by the inexhaustible treasures
of a beautiful nature.
The flax-steeper was an old sbirro, who used to
tell me the adventures of his life. He had to be
almost constantly in the water; and it was grievous
to see him with his legs scarred by the bites of
leeches, which he tore off as they attacked him.
CHAPTER V.
I begin to weary of my solitary life at Genzano-Sorrow at a
fatal occurrence increases this feeling-The dogma of purga-
tory-I make an excursion in the Pontine Marshes with a
friend-A procession at Cisterna, and apparition of the bri-
gands-Return to Genzano, and a ball at the Castle-I am
reduced to eight paoli, and have to do the honours of Genzano
to a lady-I borrow ten or twelve scudi from the Sardinian
Minister-In October I go to Albano as usual, and fall desper-
ately in love-Fierce struggle between love and duty-Pius VII.
and Cardinal Consalvi-The sculptor Pacetti a victim to the
arbitrary system of the government-Reflections and examples
-The way in which love and conjugal fidelity were understood
by Roman society in my time-The Carnival of Rome-The
famous step of Palazzo Ruspoli-Love after the Roman pat-
tern preferable to the love in fashion elsewhere-Rossini,
Paganini, Liparini, and I devise a masquerade.
AFTER a certain time solitude began to weigh upon
me; as is often the case with people of versatile dis-
positions. The return to the castle every evening
with my lantern and the bunch of keys; the re-
sounding echoes of the grand staircase and those im-
mense rooms; the portraits of the old Sforzas, long-
robed magistrates, steel-clad captains, moustached
cardinals (then not a soul wore them), whose stern
faces seemed to look upon me with disdainful and
110
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
unfriendly eyes, began at length to weary and sad-
den me.
My nerves also had just then been shaken by a
fatal occurrence. A woman who had shown me real
affection, and who was almost in a dying state when
I left Rome, breathed her last shortly afterwards.
Suspicions were entertained that she had been poi-
soned by a person whose love she had rejected.
I shall not enter into particulars on this subject,
having made it a rule to abstain from all topics of
the kind.
The news of the sad event reached me in my
solitude, and her last sentence, to which unfortun-
ately I had not attached all the weight it was fated
to deserve, "Farewell, I leave the world regretting
but one single thing," rose up continually from my
heart to my ears; and although I had nothing to
reproach myself with, as far as I could see, still
those words haunted me like a complaint from the
grave.
Ah, the lamentations of the dead are terrible!
Unmoved by repentance, deaf to every explanation
and excuse, they neither weary, nor change, nor
relent! And how easily anyone with a heart fancies
that he has sinned against them!
I, who was innocent, almost fancied myself other-
wise, and spent days and nights in real and bitter
JESUITS AND DOMINICANS.
111
grief. Then, as is the case with youth-nay as
happens to everybody, in virtue of the great con-
servative law which rules the world-my impressions
lost their first freshness, and I gradually recovered
my former tone of mind.
This inevitable return to moral serenity has al-
ways appeared to me an ugly side of our nature;
but, alas, I am far from thinking that it can be
otherwise.
Poor departed ones! why weep for you to-day,
and then, after six months or a year, laugh and jest
as before? Ye are unchanged; the love ye bore us,
the benefits ye bestowed on us in life, remain real
and lasting facts; why then are we thus inconstant?
For this reason I have always considered the
worship of the dead as a sign of a loving soul. I
understand the Chinese, and admire them. I ad-
mire the Jesuits (this does not happen every day),
who shrunk from stigmatising the most righteous
and gentlest feelings of the heart as a sin; and on
the same principle I blame the Dominicans, whose
fanaticism only resulted in getting themselves and
their rivals turned out. However, tenderness for
the dead was not to be expected from those who for
500 years had burnt their fellow-creatures for an
article of faith.*
* This is an allusion to the famous question of the Chinese
rites, which was for many years the subject of passionate discus-
112
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
On this account I love the community of aspira-
tions and interests between the living and the dead
established by the belief in purgatory; and this is
one of the cases in which, though reason doubts and
examines, the heart accepts.
Alas, the pious and tender beauty of this dogma
has practically a sad drawback! Men are over-much
on the alert, unluckily, to profit by the credulity
that is the inseparable companion of great grief.
There is but too much speculation on filial affection,
conjugal love, and the most intense and sacred feel-
ings of the human heart. I have myself had sad
experience of it, and saw it repeated in more than
*
one case. Nevertheless, I do not accuse the whole
sions between the Jesuits and the Dominicans. The former held
that the Chinese custom of burning tapers and perfumes, and of
placing flowers about the graves and effigies of departed relatives,
was not a religious rite, but only a pious usage. They therefore
allowed their Chinese converts to continue its observance, and the
missionaries deferentially conformed to it. The intolerant Spanish
Dominican father, J. B. Morales, however, who went to China in
1633, altogether condemned these ceremonies, which he declared
to be idolatrous; he strictly forbade the missionaries and con-
verts to take any part in them, thus giving rise to the terrible
persecution of all the Christian missionaries, and to their long
banishment from the Chinese empire.
*This touches on a most grievous evil. The sale of masses
and indulgences for the souls of the dead, the donations to churches
and bequests of every description (when a still worse imposition
is not practised), which the cupidity of a sordid priest wrings in
the meanest way from a disconsolate father or a heart-broken
CLERICAL ABUSES.
113
Catholic clergy; nay I gladly acknowledge that a
totally opposite principle is now springing up and
gaining strength in many learned, honest, and far-
sighted priests. Many perceive what ought to be the
real basis of their moral authority; but the followers
of the ancient practice are still too numerous; and
when the latter complain that religion is depressed
and forgotten, they would do better to examine their
own acts and those of their fellows, and ascertain
whether this religious decay is entirely to be attri-
buted to modern philosophy and unbridled passions.
Both religion and the clergy are now paying the
arrears of several centuries. It is high time for
Rome to recognise this fact, and acknowledge that
present effects result from ancient causes; and her
friends might do her real service by urging her to
extinguish the said causes instead of trying to revive
them. But I might as well preach to the winds; so
I revert to Genzano.
widow, are among the worst abuses of the Catholic system. If
the idea that a prayer, a good action, an alms to the poor, offered
to the Almighty for the sake of the dead whom we loved on earth,
may be of service to them, is one of the most consoling principles
of the Catholic faith-what is to be said of the minister of God
who, speculating on this pious feeling, revels in the rich harvest
extorted from the wealthy, or, worse still, from the poor, who for
this often deprive themselves of necessaries? Let us hope that
the decrease of superstition and the growth of morality already
observable among the clergy may some day put an end to so
deplorable a state of things.
VOL. II.
I
114
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
A friend of mine came to interrupt my soli-
tude, by sharing my roof and artist life. We made
together that excursion to the Pontine Marshes I
have already mentioned, while describing my con-
valescent messmate. I shall now say a few words
about it.
From Velletri, which stands on the lower slopes
of Monte Artemisio, the Via Appia descends to the
plain; and a stage brings us to Cisterna, an old fief
of the Gaetani family (Boniface VIII. was of this
race, now honourably represented by my friend Don
Michele), afterwards owned by the house of Braschi.
It is a region full of buffaloes, malaria, marshes, and
brigands. The town consists of a few houses built
round a large piazza, of which the old feudal castle
occupies a corner; and its festival is celebrated on
the 15th of August—the day of the Assumption—
at the very worst time for the malaria.
We slept at Velletri, where our companion
made the attempt to throw himself out of window;
and next morning we arrived at Cisterna, towards
ten o'clock, just as high mass had begun. Mass
being over, the procession issued from the church,
and spent an hour in going round the piazza. I
can fancy I still see the priest who carried the holy
relics appear at the end of the procession surrounded
by burning wax-tapers. He was quite bald; and
THE BRIGANDS.
115
as the tremendous sun of the Marshes shone per-
pendicularly on the polished skin of his cranium,
which reflected it like a hollow ivory ball, the closed
eyes and wrinkled cheeks of the semi-martyr showed
in what a sea of delight he was floating.
But another and a more unexpected sight soon
made me forget the priest. A faint murmur ran
through the crowd; a whisper flew from mouth to
mouth; and then I began to hear around me voices.
saying distinctly, "The brigands! Here come the
brigands !"
I turned and stood on tiptoe (a superfluous af-
fectation, considering my height); and glancing
around me, I indeed discovered not far off, mixed
among the people, the tall hats adorned with flying
ribbons the distinctive badge of that respectable
fraternity.
There could be no mistake about it. Albeit
thoroughly accustomed to the usages of the country,
I never could have believed that Italian laissez faire
would have been carried so far as this.
The fact, however, is that these gentlemen were
strolling about arm-in-arm with the townspeople,
jauntily displaying their uniform, gaily adorned with
silver lace, medals, or, better still, with coins of
all sorts, and gold chains of every description. I
could not descry either cherubine or blunderbusses,
116
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
or any other visible weapon. The men were neat
and clean, and had a happy and serene expression,
as if saying, “Enjoy yourselves, good people. We
are neither wolves nor bears; and have come to
take our part in the holiday." And the gendarmes
intrusted with the public safety (it seemed a fatality)
were always at the corner of the piazza diagonally
opposite to that occupied by the brigands. How-
ever, order prevailed at Cisterna more than in
many other places I wot of. So there was nothing
to fear.
You must know, my dear reader, that the mal-
aria sweetly captivates its victims before it kills
them—just like the syrens. And it is very pro-
bable that the legend of those marine beauties may
have originated in some region which, apparently
beautiful and full of attractions, lured imprudent
travellers with pestilential miasmas; and that there-
fore the true safeguard against the syrens was, not
the wax of Ulysses, but sulphate of quinine. Be
this as it may, the atmosphere of the Marshes pro-
duces a certain languor which is not unpleasant,
coupled with an invincible tendency to sleep. But
if you yield to it for an hour, you are lost.
After seeing the festival, the brigands, the fair,
and the gathering of rival beauties from Velletri,
Cori, Sezze, Piperno, Sermoneta, and all the neigh-
A TUMBLE IN THE DUST.
117
bouring hamlets, I felt the moment was fast ap-
proaching in which, fever or no fever, I must have
fallen asleep in some corner. So I shook myself,
fetched and saddled my horse, mounted and rode.
off homewards just as the sun was sinking in the
west. I do not know how I managed to keep awake
till beyond Velletri; but when I found myself on
the high level of pure air, I was unable to re-
sist any longer; so I put my right leg across the
pommel of my saddle like a woman, and fell fast
asleep, forgetting that at night my horse was very
apt to shy. He, however, soon reminded me of the
fact. I have no notion of what happened; I only
know that I awoke in the dusty road as white as
a miller.
Luckily I was unhurt, as has always been the
case in a long succession of tumbles which have
befallen me on various occasions. And towards
midnight I reached my castle in perfect safety.
In describing it I have omitted to note in the
inventory a number of ancient glass sconces for
gala illuminations, which were fixed round the walls
of the large saloon of the family portraits. The
sight of them suggested a bright idea (I intend no
pun), which also sprung from motives of civility.
During my stay at Genzano I had received much
kindness from several of the inhabitants. Up to a
118
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
On
certain point I will modestly say that it was de-
served. I did not disdain or offend anyone.
the contrary, if I could, I always tried to make
myself agreeable. Moreover my friend played the
flute, and I (it is a very hard confession) the gui-
tar. Of course only a few chords; just enough to
accompany myself in singing L'alba è ridente in
cielo, the Tarantella degli Dei, or the popular tune of
the Saltarello. We began by giving a sample of
our talents one night at the tavern after supper,
and were soon surrounded by a select group of
young men and women, attracted by the sweetness
of the entertainment, or rather by its being gra-
tuitous. We soon received some timid and discreet
entreaties to execute serenades under the balcony
of some adored beauty. We always gallantly con-
sented, and became quite the rage.
Although the courtesies on both sides were thus
pretty fairly balanced, yet the maxim, melius abun-
dare quam deficere, and the incentive of the afore-
said sconces ready for use, decided us to give a
ball before leaving Genzano. Though I take it for
granted that the reader has unbounded faith in my
sincerity, I will not put it to too hard a trial by
telling him that we prepared a grand illumination
of costly wax lights. No; we bought several pounds
of tallow candles, and we filled all our old sconces
HONI SOIT, ETC.
119
one after the other. The tavern supplied several
measures of wine; our lady friends (honi soit qui mal
y pense) presented us with a basket full of cakes ;
the invitations were sent out; and one night at dusk
the fashionable company began to assemble; for at
Genzano they did not wait for the first hour of the
next day before beginning to dance, as is usual in
cities inhabited by idle people who sleep all day.
The masters of the house and the orchestra being
united in our own persons, and as we were unable
to be in two places at once, like great and holy
St. Anthony, we played, and could not receive our
guests. The access to the castle was free, and the
crowd was like the routs of the London season.
As a measure of prudence, the wine had been
duly baptised. Taking into account the preceding
christening undoubtedly administered by the land-
lord, it could boast a double baptismal innocence,
which rendered it incapable of over-heating the weak-
est heads. The party proved uncommonly gay; and
all the phases of the Saltarello were displayed, in-
cluding that in which both partners, in a climax
of excitement, fling their shoes into the air and
continue the dance barefooted. Everything went
off perfectly. There was not even a shadow of dis-
order, and the guests went home contented and
satisfied.
120
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
In the meanwhile the time for my return to Rome
was drawing near; and having settled all my ac-
counts, I found that my recent magnificence had
reduced the balance at my disposal to eight paoli,
that is to say, less than a Roman scudo; and yet
I was obliged to remain another week at Genzano
to finish a study I had just commenced. My position
was becoming decidedly unpleasant.
In the midst of these difficulties, one morning I
heard a ringing of bells, and a carriage stopped at
the door. I ran down, and found a Roman lady with
one of her sons aged five-and-twenty, whom I did
not even know intimately. Having come to Genzano
on some business, they had bethought themselves of
claiming my hospitality; this meant at least a break-
fast. And to think that I had only eight paoli! No
matter; according to the code of the patriarchs, the
Bedouins, and the Red Indians, a guest is a gift of
God. Away with economy! The thing must be
done. A breakfast was ordered and brought to the
castle, with all the delicacies the place could afford.
I must think about payment hereafter.
Happily the visit was a short one.
The gift was
providentially taken back before dinner-time; an es-
sential point. But my modest hospitality had cost
me more than I possessed, and I now found myself
with a deficit of five or six paoli.
A LOAN.
121
I have always hated debt; but the Romans
hated despotism, and yet they had more dictators
than I ever have had creditors since I came into
the world.
This time there was no help for it. I mentally
passed in review all the friends of my own age,
without finding one to whom I could apply. Luckily
the Sardinian minister at Rome was Count Barbaroux,
one of the most learned, upright, and best lawyers of
Piedmont, to whom my father had recommended me.
I wrote to him, and by return of post, or rather by
return of the vetturino, I received the sum I had
asked for ten or twelve scudi, if I remember right,
which proves that my extravagance had not been
very reckless. Thus, loaded equally with sketches
and blessings by creditors, young folks, girls, and
everybody included, I left Genzano at the beginning
of October, and went back to Rome.
Like the previous year, I thought myself deserv-
ing of a month's rest; and went to Albano, where
many of the persons with whom I usually associated
were staying.
My circle of acquaintance was composed of ex-
cellent people, for the time and the country; but
that sort of company, unfortunately, did more harm
than good to a young man, as was then the case
with all Roman society. At three or four-and-
122
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
1
twenty it is desirable to be surrounded by an at-
mosphere capable of imparting support, elevation,
and strength; and if perchance love intervenes, the
importance of meeting with a high-souled nature,
that can appreciate and aspire to moral good, is in-
creased a thousand-fold.
I concede to theologians, that illicit love is always
a social evil. It is nevertheless undeniable, that an
unlawful attachment may very often be sublime and
generous, and inspire beneficial enterprises and noble
sacrifices; whereas the sad mistake of being seduced
by beauty alone, joined to a soul, if not perverse,
at least feeble and trivial, entails oftener still in-
calculable consequences, and becomes the torment
of a blighted life.
I was precisely at the age in which a man who
is capable of ardent passions must sooner or later
undergo that violent hurricane, which bears the
same relation to his moral being as smallpox to his
bodily one.
The seeds of both diseases germinate within him,
and at last burst out unexpectedly, often leaving the
patient marked for life. In that memorable month
of October I was unconsciously drawing near a crisis,
destined to be of the most virulent description; so
much so, that I still wonder how I survived it.
I encountered a person who, though not devoid
BARREN VICTORY.
123
of certain good qualities, had not a particle of ele-
vation. She had grown up, in the fashion then
prevailing in Roman families, without acquiring the
remotest notion that such a thing as the education
of heart and character existed; for nobody had ever
taken the trouble to teach her; as to intellect, zero;
she could hardly write, and the less said about her
orthography the better. But her personal appearance
was remarkable, even in that country, where femi-
nine loveliness is most perfect and frequent; and
beauty is as dazzling as the sun to an artistic and
impressionable organisation like mine, blinding me
to everything else.
From that October, not for months, but for years
after, I wore myself out in a desperate struggle be-
tween duty and feeling. My duty was to work and
toil; to make myself, if I could, a man of some use
to my country and my fellow-creatures. Far from
this, my heart concentrated all my aspirations and
my cravings in one point. Yet I fought, and fought
victoriously. It was, however, a sad, and for some
time a barren victory. I could force myself to re-
main in my studio or to pore over a book for as
many hours as before; but I could not command
my poor intellect to work and learn successfully.
I could mount my horse, leave Rome, and establish
myself in some neighbouring place to draw from
124
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
nature in the summer; but I could not rekindle in
my heart the spark which feeds on the beauties of
creation. The skies, mountains, forests, and rivers,
all seemed to me a dead solitude; the life and the
soul of everything for me was but one, and that was
elsewhere.
After so many years, I still shudder when I think
of the tortures I endured during that fatal period.
In reviewing my conduct on this occasion, I find
myself not wholly without a merit, — experience
has taught me its value,- that of having known
that duty must inexorably take precedence of love,
which it is always advantageous to resist, however
small, incomplete, and rare may be the victories to
be obtained in such warfare. And would you like
to know how it ended?
After seven years, during which I had not even
conceived a thought of infidelity, I was dismissed to
make room for a needy patrician, who several years
later acquired the reputation of being a usurer, and
subsequently a thief! And thus wags the world.
Luckily for me I remembered the distich:
"Le bruit est pour le fat, la plainte est pour le sot;
L'honnête homme trompé, s'éloigne et ne dit mot."
I did the same.
As was agreed, I do not enter into the particulars
of this romance, concerning which I shall only give
LOVER'S DUTIES.
125
the few hints indispensably required for the com-
prehension of subsequent events.
I worked diligently that winter, and painted a
picture representing the Three Hundred at Thermo-
pylæ; which, comparatively and for me, was not so
bad. An idea and a tolerable tone could be discerned
in it; and in my thoroughly unhinged state of mind,
it was next to a miracle to have done so well.
These new circumstances soon modified my system
of life. The orderly habits of the two first years gra-
dually relaxed. I began to go into society in the
evening, for I could not fail to go where she went.
I became intimate in several houses, and began to
frequent modern Rome, and to have a clear idea of
it; for previously, in my semi-diplomatic position, I
associated with princes or ministers; and my sub-
sequent one as a student, living either alone or
with a few needy artists, had not allowed me to ap-
preciate the Rome of the governed and governing
classes.
As I do not deem it necessary to narrate the long
series of absurdities with which fidelity to the duties
of a lover filled up my existence during that winter
(and unhappily it was not the only one), I will string
together a few facts sufficient to give an idea of a
world so different from any other, and partially to
explain what has taken place elsewhere.
126
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
You know, my dear reader, that I do not pro-
fess any preconceived hatreds or predilections. I
seek truth, and speak out when I have found it,
without caring who may be hit; so you can depend
upon unbounded sincerity. It was the last year of
Pius VII. and Consalvi. The latter was a man of
singular ability, who, as will be remembered, had
greatly contributed to the restitution of the Roman
legations to the Pope by the Congress of Vienna.
This was then looked upon as an important result,
obtained by a great stroke of ability. But now that
we see how things turned out, and consider the im-
placable rebellions on one side, the implacable re-
pressions on the another; here secret societies and
daggers, there special tribunals and the gallows; the
Carbonari emissaries on the one hand, and the
mercenaries of the Cardinal on the other; all conse-
quences of that stroke of Consalvi's ability,
anybody with an ounce of judgment still call it a
great and fortunate deed?
will
Grand results are obtained by doing justice to
just causes: this is the real secret to advance with-
out peril, and to secure true progress. I repeat this
notion for the hundredth time.
But the idea of justice is too simple to be adopted
by ignorant people. It requires much knowledge
and a clear head to understand elementary truths
;
PIUS VII.
127
and though Consalvi, as I said, had great talents, his
was not one of those splendid intellects which can
embrace the past and the present at a glance, and
link the future harmoniously with them. He neither
knew how to preserve the advantages of the semi-
confederation, half anarchic and half popular, of the
ancient Roman states, nor to avail himself of those
offered by the modern revolutionary centralisation.
And in fact the papal government, after 1815,
was worse than either, and fell from bad to worse-
to the point now manifest to all.
Pius VII. was of a simple and honest but indolent
nature, and he therefore let himself be governed.
His sense of duty, and the fortitude in misfortune
by which he became so nobly conspicuous, supported
him, when his path as Pontiff was clearly traced
for him; but in the pacific exercise of sovereign
rights under the influence of a system precluding
every manifestation of public opinion-to distinguish
good from evil, favouring the one, and repressing
the other, requires a prince endowed with talent,
decision of character, knowledge, a warm heart,
health, and youth; and the poor old man had none
of these qualities; only saw through the eyes of
Consalvi, and did not interfere. His intimates loved
him for his simplicity, but esteemed him a man of
singular apathy. In fact, when he died, very old,
128
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
his black hair had scarcely grizzled, although he had
gone through trials one of which might alone have
sufficed to turn it white.
At Castel Gandolfo, where I went with my father,
I had once the honour of playing at billiards with
him, and I perfectly remember the contrast between
the dark locks of his black hair and his long white
robe.
I have already said that in his wish to attract
foreigners, or rather their money, Consalvi favoured
them as much as he could, and rarely protected a
Roman from their insolence. As a rule he patron-
ised the upper classes, the rich, and the powerful.
Personal reasons gave me the opportunity of learn-
ing all the details of a fact, really incredible, which
is to the point, so I will relate it briefly.
It is desirable to have an exact idea of those
bygone days, which certain well-intentioned people
would like to see revived.
In the Via Gregoriana, on the Pincio, near the
Trinità de' Monti, and extending to the Via Sistina,
there are, or at least were, several small houses,
with studios for artists, belonging to the Pacetti
family. They had been artists from generation to
generation, and the grandfather of the now living
one was a certain Chevalier Pacetti, a sculptor of
considerable reputation and ability.
THE BARBERINI FAUN.
129
At the time of the Roman republic-the one
planted, not that rooted up, by the French-the
Roman nobles, and also the smaller proprietors, had
a contribution imposed upon them, which, owing to
the difficulties of the time, even the richest found it
hard to pay; furniture, jewels, objects of art, and
other valuables, were put up to auction; and the
Barberinis offered for sale, in a room in their palace
at the Quattro Fontane, many curiosities, among the
rest the torso of a male figure, a Greek work, of the
best period, in Pentelic marble.
Pacetti went to the auction, and for seven or
eight hundred scudi bought the fragment, which
had neither arms nor legs, and I am not quite sure
that it was not also headless. Having removed it
to his studio, he resolved to undertake its complete
restoration.
He modelled the missing limbs in plaster, and
produced the sleeping figure known to art under the
name of the Barberini Faun.
Besides the pains he took in executing this work,
he had the farther difficulty of finding marble that
would match the original material; and with this
object he was obliged to destroy another Greek statue
of inferior merit to make use of the marble.
After interminable labour and considerable ex-
pense (the statue was larger than life), he com-
VOL. II.
K
130
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
pleted a work which Canova and the good critics of
the day highly praised, as a restoration in which
the old and the new were in perfect harmony; and
if their merit was unequal, at least the contrast was
not striking.
Meanwhile Napoleon fell, the French occupation
came to an end, and with the Pope had been re-
instated the justice, happiness, prosperity, and all the
other good things of the restorations and the priestly
government.
Foreigners flocked to Rome from every side, and
I forget who (a German prince, if I mistake not)
bought this Faun of Chevalier Pacetti for several thou-
sand scudi.
But just as the statue was about to be packed up
and removed, there came a veto. The Faun must not
be taken abroad.
And why?
Because the agents of Prince Barberini (who
perhaps was ignorant of the facts, or had heard them
misrepresented) solicited and obtained an order from
the pontifical government, obliging the sculptor Pa-
cetti to give back the statue as entailed property,
and offering him repayment of the seven or eight
hundred scudi of the original purchase, besides a
certain sum for the restoration, to be fixed by arbi-
tration.
SIC VOLO.
131
The poor man might well have been disheartened
at the threat of so extraordinary a piece of tyranny;
but as he was very energetic, he did not lose courage,
and pleaded on his own behalf:
That he had bought the Faun at a public auction,
and paid for it in cash, in very hard times, when
money was extremely scarce; that the question of
its being entailed property had not then been raised -;
and that he therefore considered himself the true and
lawful owner of the torso he had purchased.
That he and his pupils had spent a long time in
the restoration, and used the marble of a Greek
statue to produce the perfect work now shown.
That he only was the judge of the remuneration
due to his own labours, and that he did not recognise
the right of anyone to fix it arbitrarily.
That the statue was therefore his property; and
that any intending purchaser of it must treat with
him; that conditions could not be imposed, &c.
But he might as well have bayed at the moon.
"Sic volo, sic jubeo, stat pro ratione voluntas.”
Such was the answer of the authorities. But Pacetti
was firm as a rock. Several days elapsed, and seeing
that he did not yield, a bailiff appeared one morn-
ing with a document, informing him that the seven
or eight hundred scudi of the original purchase-
money, besides I forget what sum for the restora-
132
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
tion, had been deposited at the bank, and that any
further delay would henceforth entail the fine of so
many scudi a day.
Pacetti remained unshaken.
Time went on, till one morning forty workmen
and gendarmes marched up Via Sistina cum fustibus
et lanternis; they stopped at the door of the studio,
and as Pacetti did not open it, they broke in by
force; and having entered, seized the statue, and
carried it off on a cart.
The poor sculptor, so cruelly wronged, took to his
bed with a bilious fever. He had a narrow escape;
and after an imperfect recovery dragged on his exist-
ence a little longer, and presently died.
His heirs began a lawsuit against the Barberinis
before the Rota;* they lost and won it several times,
and at last, after several judgments videntibus omnibus,
it was finally decided in their favour. But they also
might as well have bayed at the moon. The Faun
was kept by those who had taken it, and, if I re-
*The Rota is the highest court of justice in Rome, both for
ecclesiastical and civil matters. Established in the fourteenth
century by Pope John XII., its jurisdiction embraces the religious
causes of the whole Catholic world. It is composed of eleven
ecclesiastical doctors, called auditors of the Rota, or chaplains of
his Holiness, of whom three are always natives of Rome itself;
four severally take their origin from Tuscany, Bologna, Ferrara,
and Perugia; while the remaining four are made up by the appoint-
ment of one Frenchmen, one Austrian, and two Spaniards.
A MODEL COUNTRY!
133
member rightly, was sold to the King of Bavaria.
I believe it is now at Munich.
If such be really the case, what became of the
entail?
The Pacetti family ended by accepting a com-
promise, of which I do not recollect the terms; but
this did not take place till the year 1826.
Even
under an honest man like Pius VII. and a distin-
guished statesman like Cardinal Consalvi, such was
the government which the world thinks it necessary
to preserve for the support, honour, and glory of
Christendom, of religion and of the Gospel!
And then the complaint is that people do not be-
lieve in them!
ten
Those accustomed to other countries find it dif
ficult to understand how, after one-what do I say?
favourable decisions obtained in each succes-
sive stage of the existing jurisdiction, a suit should
not be won. And yet I have seen this in several in-
stances. No number of judgments avails the weak
against the powerful. The execution of the sentence,
in these cases, is stopped by an invisible hand; it is
always promised, but never performed.
This decay of the magistracy has long been de-
plored by the honest men most attached to the
Pope. Even in 1820, I remember hearing Cardinal
de Gregorio, an excellent man,-who would now be
134
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
termed a rabid codino,—and a great friend of my
father, bitterly lament the want of respectability of
the Roman tribunals.
66 Once," said he, "the most celebrated causes
in the world came before the Rota; all Europe bowed
to its judgments; but there were men in those days.
Now one meets a little monsignorino, a mere boy,
going about miserably on foot, attended by a hired
flunkey. Who is he?-an auditor of the Rota!"
These boy-auditors, who, if not boys, were no
fitter for their office, always had an experienced
secretary who studied the suits and drew up the de-
cisions.
There was, moreover, a strange usage which af-
forded evident proof of the state of public opinion
as regards the dignity and the standard of the mo-
rality of the judges.
In any other country in the world, to recom-
mend a cause to the judge before whom it is to be
tried would lead to a very severe rebuke, if not to
a summary dismissal. At Rome, on the contrary,
the day before a suit was to be heard by the Rota
or any other tribunal, the advocates used to go round
to recommend it to the judges, sometimes accom-
panied by their clients; and this tour was called
going to the informazione.
On this account the bill of the client always in-
BIG AND LITTLE FISH.
135
cluded the hire of a carriage for the whole day:
they were mostly rickety old red-painted coaches,
the remains of the inheritance of some cardinal;
and on Thursday they were to be seen in Rome at
the corner of every street.
But the informazione lasted only a few hours;
and as the carriages were hired for the whole day,
not to waste them, they might be seen later at the
Corso; only instead of lawyers and priests, they
were full of women and children: a perfectly legiti-
mate thing, however; for though Roman lawyers
wore the ecclesiastical dress, in fact they were laymen
and had wives and children.* I have also observed
a curious thing. The Romans do not greatly dis-
approve these glaring abuses; and though one may
every now and then hear a man muttering male-
dictions against some over-powerful personage, still,
through his wrath may be detected a kind of semi-
acceptation, as if the evil complained of were natural
and inevitable.
Verily, the Roman is right, for at all times and
under all systems, past, present, or future, the big
fish have eaten up the little ones. But I fancied I
* As the high civil dignitaries in Rome are usually ecclesi-
astics, laymen who occupy public offices-such as barristers, law-
yers, &c.—when they attend the courts or a public audience, are
obliged to wear an official dress, which in most cases resembles
that worn by the priests, or sometimes that of a Roman prelate.
136
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
saw in this feeling, as in several other peculiar cha-
racteristics of actual Roman society, evident traces
of the past.
The magnates (the Sacred Mount and Menenius
Agrippa are a proof of it), from the earliest times
down to our day, have never ceased to encroach
upon the people. How, then, should it not be im-
pressed on the minds of the latter that the evil is
without a remedy?
I remember the ideas on this head of a poor man
who lived by shooting and selling game at Marino,
a little place in the mountains, where, as I shall re-
late by and by, I spent two summers drawing.
He was old when I knew him, and spoke of
facts anterior to the revolution. He had possessed a
famous pointer, the best sporting-dog in the whole
Ager Romanus, with which he had triumphed over
celebrated rivals, and had achieved some wonderful
feats.
66
"Would you believe it?" he said to me; one
day I missed him; he had been stolen. I loved him
better than a brother, and I was quite out of my
senses. I took my gun, and scoured the whole
neighbourhood, calling at every house, at every ham-
let. If I had found the thief, it is certain I should
have killed him. At length I arrived at Pantano
di Borghese; the masters were away.
As soon as
OF COURSE!
137
I went into the courtyard, there he was: I saw him
between the legs of the keepers; and the poor beast,
on perceiving me, tried to break away, but he was
held fast; and I turned on my heel and came back
to Marino."
"What!" said I, "did you not apply to the
prince, or to the government?"
"Apply! what for ?" And he shook his head
at me, as if to say: Where do you come from, you
idiot? Borghese chose to take him, and there was
an end, of course! That of course has great mean-
ing in the mouth of a Roman. It may express
destiny, necessity, social propriety, tradition, and
even equity.
This is the way I interpreted his words: "Prince
Borghese has taken my dog, and it is perfectly use-
less to dispute with him." But if
But if you had happened
to ask that peasant: "Would you like to get back
your dog, on condition that the prince should cease
to exist?" he would have answered: "I can do with-
out my dog, after all: but how could the world spare
the Borghese family ?”
For these reasons the hatred which once existed
in Piedmont, for instance, between the aristocracy
and the middle-class is quite unknown at Rome,
although there would be much stronger grounds
for it.
138
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I worked that winter; but it was a pure effect
of will, and cost me incredible efforts.
I had no
longer any taste; I had but one thought, one object
—my ill-starred passion.
Fortunately some sense of duty survived in my
heart, and this saved me. Though absent in mind,
disheartened, and reckless, I still never abandoned
myself entirely,-held back by the idea of duty, and
by the shame of seeing myself so completely enslaved
by a lovely face and captivating look.
The tranquillity, however, of the first stage of
my laborious life had vanished, and I found myself
drawn into a vortex of anxiety, uncertainty, passion,
hopes and fears, which proved the truth of the Italian
proverb, Cicisbei e damerini vita da facchini,—“ The
life of dandies and of lovers is one of burden and
bothers." This kind of life is now almost extinct.
The offspring of idleness, it was killed by modern
activity in other words, the child of despotism, it
withered under the rays of liberty. How would it
now be possible to make love the exclusive occupation
of life?
In those days it was not only possible, but almost
inevitable for everybody, excepting for those singu-
larly rare persons who, like me, cultivated an art or
a science. This kingdom of Paphos had its statutes,
laws, authorities, wars, and revolutions; and all this
Maou
NEW PAPHOS KINGDOM.
139
constituted a state of things curious enough to de-
serve a page of description here.
First of all, in that society, only true and serious
love, loyal, scrupulously faithful, and free from any
interested motive, was held in esteem. The roué
style was considered the most abominable heresy.
The system of deceiving, of making love to several
women at once, flightiness or inconstancy, indiffer-
ence or coolness, were all heresies more or less atro-
cious, deserving of heavier or lighter penalties in the
Tartarus of that religion.
Public opinion pronounced the verdicts. Uni-
versal suffrage, as you see, was thus already invented
when Napoleon III. proclaimed it in 1852.
At even-
ing parties and other social gatherings, love-matters
were discussed, examples quoted, and evidence ad-
duced. Cases were thus weighed and examined, and
judgment finally ensued; and even at that period
universal suffrage was already that of a few big-wigs
who took the lead in society.
But the most curious thing was the kind of
morality, probity, and honesty professed by the vota-
ries of that creed. According to plain sense, every-
one is free to do what he pleases; but at the bottom
of his heart he must admit that to deceive is always
an unworthy action, and that even a husband ought
to be protected by this formula of public morality.
140
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
There, on the contrary, to deceive a lover, God for-
bid; but a husband, of course!
Ordinary sense also teaches that, if the deceived
husband chooses to shut his eyes and behave as if
nothing had occurred, well and good; it is his own
business, and nobody has a right to meddle. Still, a
shade of ridicule, and sometimes worse, is attached
to him, and he can scarcely escape unscathed.
There, on the contrary, God forbid that a joke
or a sarcastic word should be uttered about so in-
teresting and useful a member of society. Women in
particular, especially the middle-aged, would at once
interpose "What! for shame! he is a worthy man,
an excellent person, very well-bred !"
If, on the other hand, a rather less well-bred
husband did what the plain sense of every other
country considers as perfectly natural; if he in some
way or other expelled the individual who presented
himself in his house as a partner, or if he only did
not receive him with a cordiality equal to that of his
wife, there was a general burst of indignation in the
whole church of Cnidus.
I perfectly remember the case of a young man,
the son of a lady whose house was frequented by all
Rome. He had fallen in love with the young wife
of an officer, who was also young, handsome, and of
charming disposition, but who had the strange pre-
}
CURIOUS THEORIES.
141
tension of thinking his better-half might be content
with him alone.
But the fair darling was not at all content; and
finally one day the officer had the audacity to tell
both his wife and the intruder plainly, that he did
not intend to have his head adorned with the emblem
of Actæon, in words such as are resorted to on similar
occasions by those who have had a surfeit.
In the evening I met the usual company; and
when I approached the group surrounding the lady
of the house (the mother of the lover), I found her
in a very ill-humour, muttering something in an
excited way, raising her voice every now and then to
give vent to her anger; and I particularly remember
the words, "Monster! what a monster !"
I whispered to a friend, "Who has put her out?”
66
P***
"
"And why?”
"Because he has made a scene with his wife
and the other. Perhaps he surprised them. How do
I know ?"
I soon discovered the truth, which was precisely
as my friend guessed. And I remember with plea-
sure that neither my mind nor my heart had been
sufficiently corrupted by that school for me not to
feel astounded at the strange epithet employed by
maternal love in such circumstances.
142
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
That night Signora P*** did not appear as
usual; the son too was absent; and a veil of sadness
overcast the whole company, frightened by so new
and fatal an example into calculating its possible
consequences with terror.
It was a false alarm, however. Things went on
as usual; and poor P***, far from freeing his head
from the said tiara, soon had to forget his rival, or
lose sight of him among the crowd of his successors.
This proves that in Rome, in my days, the path
of a husband was not always strewn with roses; but
certain occasions in the year made his life a real
burden.
I will merely mention the Carnival. At Rome,
properly speaking, only the last eight days are dis-
tinguished by that name. At about one o'clock the
bell of the Capitol booms forth the announcement
that till the Ave Maria people may go about the
streets in masks.
The corso, the confetti, the moccoletti, have been
described long ago. And besides, these revels have
been imported into other towns of Italy; everybody
knows them, and happy they who find pleasure in
them. I prefer to speak of less-known usages.
Ab antiquo the poor Jews served for the amuse-
ment of the Christians. In the days of yore, it is
said, one of them was put into a cask, which was
CARNIVAL AND JEWS.
143
rolled from the top to the bottom of the Capitoline
hill. Afterwards the Synagogue obtained leave to
substitute for this barbarism a foot-race run by
several Jews. Later still, the biped racers were
changed into quadrupeds, and the Ghetto had to
supply the eight palliums (pieces of fine velvet of
various colours) for the eight days of the Carnival.
On the first a remarkable ceremony is performed
at the Capitol. The senate assembles; the senator
(a geographical reduction from the ancient senate,
on the scale of 600 to 1) is installed on his throne;
the rabbi and the deputation from the Ghetto kneel
before him, and present an address containing the
most humble and devoted expression of the loyalty
of the chosen people to the Roman senate. The
address having been read, the senator puts out his
foot and bestows a kick on the rabbi, who with-
draws full of gratitude, as is but natural!
In the Middle Ages the mob, during the Carni-
val, insulted the Jews, and plundered the Ghetto.
The poor wretches appealed to the municipality,
paid a ransom, and declared themselves the sub-
jects and the slaves of the Romans. This was the
origin of the ceremony I have described, and of
the declaration of vassalage contained in the address
sub conditione of the immunity of their persons and
goods. The kick was bestowed up to the year 1830.
144
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Formerly, instead of a kick, the senator set his foot
on the neck of the rabbi. And then people accused
the Jews of having deteriorated in character!
The entertainments of the Carnival are well
known; but as travellers' guides forget those most
worthy of note, I will try to supply the omission.
The uti libertate Decembris of the ancients (which
the moderns transferred from December to Febru-
ary) is a signal for all those who have formed any
wish or scheme during the rest of the year.
I will explain myself.
He who desires to discover a secret, to untie
or initiate an intrigue, ask an explanation, or make
a declaration, &c., and cannot find time and op-
portunity in every-day life, counts upon the Car-
nival. In that week tradition grants absolute liberty
and independence to the sex to which the hypo-
critical adjective of weak is coupled. I assure you
that those who are then at Rome may judge whether
it deserves the appellation.
Ladies and friends meet together, and utterly
refuse to be either assisted or watched. I do not
speak of husbands, for they cannot even be men-
tioned; but lovers themselves are carefully discarded.
The former submit patiently to their fate; and
I have known some who go to bed and sleep through
the lively hours of the Corso.
THE STEP.
145
For the latter, on the contrary, it is the mo-
ment to be awake, and all eyes, if possible. But
the second and seldom-used title of the Barber of
Seville must not be forgotten.
The more precautions are justified, the less they
are of use. The way in which these masquerades
are arranged almost entirely precludes the possi-
bility of discovering what is going on. The idea
is generally entertained that when a woman dis-
guises herself, she still tries to appear to the very
best advantage. It is not necessary to have either
a hump, or the foot of a Chinese beauty, to escape
recognition. But at Rome during the Carnival things
are understood otherwise. A woman transforms
herself into a bundle; and she must literally have
no human shape when she goes (or when she went)
to sit on the step of Palazzo Ruspoli during the
Corso.
This step, which has now disappeared, was a
footpath running all along the Caffè Nuovo, about
two feet above the level of the Corso. Upon it
there was a row of straw chairs, which were oc-
cupied by ladies in masks. The people who walked
in front of the step thus found them at a very con-
venient height for carrying on a more or less in-
timate and secret conversation, according to the
mutual inclination of the parties.
VOL. II.
L
146
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
It is obvious, however, that there was one ob-
stacle to be overcome by those who wished to talk
with a lady who was invisible for the rest of the
year—namely, that of recognising her as she sat
on that famous step.
I recollect, on a certain occasion, having per-
formed a real diplomatic tour de force. I longed
anxiously to speak with a little freedom to a lady
to whom I had not been introduced. I succeeded
in learning that, wanting to go to the step the last
Thursday of the Carnival, she was in search of one
of those round capes without sleeves, then worn by
men; and I managed so adroitly that I sent her
mine without her knowing whence it came. The
difficulty of recognising her thus fell to the ground.
This step is the neutral ground upon which the
thousand mysterious interests of amorous life are
founded, destroyed, or restored.
But, to terminate the exposition of its statutes,
I should add that lovers were not always allowed
to enjoy this step, or any other of the Carnival
revels.
If the divinity is obliged to stay at home, either
by a confinement or indisposition, or any other mo-
tive whatsoever, her adorer must not amuse him-
self either. Whilst the fun is running highest be-
tween Piazza del Popolo and Piazza di Venezia,
LOVE STATUTES.
147
he may take a walk at Campo Vaccino, San Pietro,
or the Villa Borghese. And in the evening, in so-
ciety, when it is bruited about that X *** whose
lady-love is in bed with a slight cold, was seen riding
alone outside the Porta Angelica, for instance, dur-
ing the Corso, all the ladies exclaim: "What a
nice fellow X *** is! he indeed is a good friend!”
And if their own happens to be present, with a
conscience not quite so spotless, he is sure to receive
a glance which plainly says-Take example!
Another statute declares that, in case of a mis-
fortune of any kind happening to her family or that
of the husband, the other must sacrifice everything
-life itself, if need be-to repair it.
All this forms a whole which seems, and is in
reality, one of the strangest, and contrasts singularly
with the usages of the present day. Still nobody,
I think, will prefer the actual system to that then
in vigour. The love which, while seeking its own
satisfaction, also accepted sacrifices and endured un-
speakable torments for the ineffable happiness of one
moment, is noble and sublime; it possesses in itself,
I might almost say, something virtuous, like every
other voluntary suffering manfully borne.
But what is love, on the contrary, when all its
thorns are removed? An ignoble moral degradation,
and a still more ignoble brutal instinct. The ulti-
148
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
mate and the most convenient consequence of this
instinct is the demi-monde.
To speak of anonymas among us young men was
then to talk of something incredible. And the few
foreigners who came to Rome in such distinguished
company, or aspired to buy the favour of actresses,
were looked upon by us as true types of stupidity, at
whom we always laughed and jeered.
Had it been possible to lift the veil which shrouded
the mysteries of the step, one might have discovered
some very queer things. Some external sign every
now and then might be detected.
I remember a young man (I was witness to the
fact) who had spent the whole day with two of those
shapeless bundles. Towards evening they asked him
to see them home, and they all went in the direction
of San Lorenzo.
Their way led through the Fiano palace, and in the
court one of the masks began to use her fists with an
energy for which few would have given a fair hand
credit, and she thus pursued him for some distance.
He must have been guilty of something very
dreadful!
These saturnalia did not long afford me pleasure ;
before I was three or four and twenty I was tired of
them, and in those days of mad revelry I fled to the
other end of Rome. I have, however, taken part in
AN IMPROVISED CANTATA.
149
several masquerades, and in one, amongst others,
which I must particularly mention.
Paganini and Rossini were at Rome; Liparini
sang at Tordinona; and in the evening I often joined
them with other gay companions of that stamp.
The
Carnival was approaching; and one night we said,
"Let us get up a masquerade.'
A discussion ensued: "What shall it be?" We
at last decided to disguise ourselves as blind beggars,
and go about the streets singing as they do to im-
plore public charity. We strung the following bad
lines together:
"Siamo ciechi,
Siamo nati
Per campar
Di cortesia,
In giornata d' allegria
Non si nega carità."*
Rossini at once set them to music. We began to
rehearse our parts in earnest, and finally fixed the
Thursday for our appearance. It was settled that we
should be very elegantly dressed under a ragged ex-
terior; in short, apparent yet smart misery.
Rossini and Paganini were to act as orchestra,
twanging on two guitars; and they chose to dress
up as women. Rossini very artistically expanded his
* This cantata or chorus soon became widely known under
the name of Rossini's Carnivale, and is certainly familiar to most
fair readers in this country.
150
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
already lumpy figure, stuffing himself so as to appear
scarcely human. Paganini, on the contrary, was as
thin as a lath, and, with his face like the head of his
fiddle, appeared in his female attire even more lean
and bareboned than usual.
Without vanity, I may say we made a great sen-
sation; first in two or three houses where we went to
sing, then on the Corso, and at night at the masked
ball.
But in all amusements I was always of opinion
that, as the Italian proverb says, Un bel gioco dura
poco, "Good sport should be short.” So I went to
bed instead of to the ball.
CHAPTER VI.
In spite of my violent passion, I leave Rome in the middle of
May, and go to Marino-Moral tortures during the whole
week; and joys of the Saturday bitterly expiated by the grief
of the Monday-Comparative merits of quinine and Peruvian
bark for the cure of the Roman fever-Example in my own
case-Sor Checco Tozzi-The end of a story already related
elsewhere-Mysterious origin of Sor Checco-Sora Maria his
wife, and Sora Nina his daughter-A wedding broken off-
Sor Checco is not discouraged, and soon hits upon a new
scheme, which this time succeeds-Poor Zia Anna-Signor
Mario, the younger brother of Sor Virginio, Nina's husband
-His loves interfered with by the cruelty of Padron Titta-A
serenade interrupted by a gun-shot-Reflections on the usages
of Marino.
SPRING was at hand. Thanks to that ill-starred love,
which left me no rest, I had worked but little, or
rather to no purpose, in the winter. An effort of
will could confine me to my studio for several hours,
but it did not suffice to make me employ them use-
fully. Still, I am proud of not having quite aban-
doned myself to the current, and of having always
striven to breast it.
Now, however, a far more terrible ordeal was
before me. In other years I had left Rome in May,
152
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
and stayed away till All-Saints' day. But, alas, how
could I go in my present state!
Nevertheless, I made up my mind that, love or
no love, I would start as usual, and so I did. Heaven
only knows the infernal tortures I endured!
I had bought a good useful horse for the country,
and an equipment like those of the herdsmen of the
Campagna; that is to say, a high-peaked saddle, a
bridle with a leather front-piece several inches wide,
and all the rest in keeping; saddle-bags, and a cloak
of dark cloth embroidered with green silk; a mazza-
rella, or kind of goad, and a velveteen suit corre-
sponding to the above, such as the country people
commonly wear.
The day of the great resolution came at last. One
morning I rode out of Porta San Giovanni alone,
with my carbine at the saddle-bow; and that stupid
thing, so full of pretensions, so exacting, and so care-
less of the torment it causes its owner, which is called
the heart, felt such a strange sensation that, in order
to describe it, I must have recourse to a still stranger
simile. It seemed as if I bore within me a reel of
thread, one end of which had remained fastened in
Rome, in a certain street and house that I knew of.
It was the thread of life; and every step that carried
me further away unwound it, and left me weak,
exhausted, without energy, incapable of anything
MARINO.
153
whatever, and with hardly any other sign of being
a man than my obstinate and invincible resolution.
I arrived at Marino, and put up at an inn situ-
ated at the end of the town, at the cross-roads leading
to the church, Frascati, Castello, and Albano.
Two good old people, Sor Cesare and his wife
Sora Marta, were the owners of the inn; but they
had given up the management to a boisterous young
man, always in high spirits, and devoted to the game
of morra, but not half a bad fellow, nevertheless.
I established myself and my pictorial baggage in
a rather comfortable room. The bed was clean; as
for the kitchen, the old woman cooked very nicely in
a plain way.
The place was well off; there was a
café; the scenery was exceedingly picturesque; I
should have wanted for nothing if-you under-
stand!
Without a contented heart nothing has any
value; just as no evil is felt if the heart be content.
This is a great truth, and as great a comfort for
those who cannot reconcile themselves to the dis-
parity existing among men.
If one could peep into the innermost heart of
everyone, perhaps it would appear that Providence
is much less partial than would seem at first sight.
Metastasio has said this better than I. Its justice
has so ordered that it does not suffice to be gorged
154
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
with millions and crammed with honours in order to
be happy. It has made serenity of heart, to which
it alone possesses the key, quite indispensable.
At all events, I had it not, and words cannot
express how bitter and profound was the sorrow on
which I fed every hour and every minute of the day.
I got up, prepared my easel and colour-box, and
went out to work and draw; but to little purpose,
for I was always preoccupied; one thought, one
image haunted me, and while I was weary and de-
pressed, it alone was untiring; I could never close
my eyes to it. In the skies, the waters, the shadow
of the ravines, the thickest parts of the forests, I
saw her.
Knowing she was in the power of another, my
imagination, well skilled in torturing me, invented
and suggested all the possible combinations and cir-
cumstances which could be most odious to me with
inexhaustible fertility. The fierce pangs of jealousy
maddened me, as though I had been struck by a
dagger, till I positively writhed; so truly was I
stung to the quick.
food was
I went home ill at ease; at dinner my
so distasteful I could hardly swallow it. Surrounded
by boisterous peasants, with coarse deafening voices,
the shouts of the players at morra made my ears
ache; and I cannot express how much I was hurt by
THE THREAD OF LIFE.
155
the contrast between my internal ideas and fancies,
and the rude and vulgar society which made me
feel my solitude still more desolate.
Working a little, but oftener lying on my bed
or wandering at random about the neighbourhood,
I dragged myself through the week. On Saturday
evening-as even painters observe the Sabbath in
these parts-I mounted my horse, and took the di-
rection of Rome.
With
Then, as the reel of thread wound itself up again
with every step towards the eternal city, the life-blood
seemed to flow through my veins once more.
an increasingly tremulous joy, I passed the successive
landmarks on the Via Appia. I knew them all by
heart, for each told me there were so many miles less
between me and my destination. Tor di Mezza Via,
Roma vecchia, and the Tavolato, where Padron Ca-
millo, the innkeeper, sat at the door with his swathed
foot propped on a stool (I always forgot to ask him
what was the matter with it); then the haunted
house; and finally the straight road stretching out
before me, at the end of which I beheld the dark
majestic mass of San Giovanni in Laterano, standing
out in bold relief against the last golden-red streaks
of the twilight, which in that country is no sooner
extinguished than the skies are sparkling with stars
above your head.
156
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I passed under the arch of the gate, where the
skull of a celebrated brigand is hung in an iron cage
to whiten in the sun and rain. Delight at my re-
turn made even those two empty sockets appear quite
smiling; and, calculating the steps, the distances,
counting the minutes, I arrived at my lodgings, shock
off the dust, changed my dress, and then rushed
thither.
But if I am bound to give an idea of my mental
condition at that period, I do not intend, as I have
said several times, to recount love-adventures; so the
curtain falls there, and I only raise it at the moment
of my departure.
This took place on the following night, between
the Sunday and Monday. According to the Roman
fashion, I went into society from house to house till
one or half-past one, and then supped at the tavern
of the Armellino or that of Monte Citorio. There I
found my horse, and, taking off my yellow kid-gloves,
and resuming my country attire, I sadly journeyed
along the road to Marino. I knew perfectly that
the anguish of this sudden departure would throw
me into my accustomed despondency; that I should
not be able to work or study at all; that I might,
therefore, just as well remain in Rome. But if I
had yielded (and entreaties in a sweet and beloved
voice often conspired against me), I should have been
DANGEROUS JOURNEYS.
157
ashamed of myself, which is the right and useful
way of being ashamed. As long as one is only afraid
of blushing before others, the whole question consists
in practising a skilful concealment.
This continual change from the pure air of the
mountains to the unhealthy atmosphere of Rome in
summer, was, in the opinion of everybody, certain
to give me fever. But I luckily escaped the danger;
and after the first attack, when I was in the country
near the sea, I never again felt a symptom of fever
during my long sojourn in those regions.
It is the opinion of the old doctors of the country,
that if quinine is a more speedy and certain remedy,
especially in cases of ague, Peruvian bark cures the
patient much more radically. I am myself an ex-
ample of the truth of this theory. When travelling
at night, I have often chanced to alight to rest my
horse, and fallen asleep in the heart of the malaria
district. I once spent a night at Baccano, where
Alfieri wrote his famous sonnet "Vasta insalubre
regïon," &c., where I believe even the toads have in-
termittent fever; but nothing had any effect on me.
Would I had caught fever and ague, so that I
could have been cured of that other far worse evil,
which had so completely mastered me!
When I returned to my solitary inn on Monday
morning, and reflected that six long days had to
158
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
elapse, it seemed to me as if I could never live to
see the end of them.
Marquis Venuti, a Roman, and Count Roberti
with his wife, a lady of Bassano in Venetia, both
artists, were spending their summer at Marino.
The first, being rich, did very little; the second,
a landscape-painter of some repute, with a large
family and small income, on the contrary worked
very assiduously. They were both excellent people,
and the best of companions.
Proximity and solitude soon brought us into con-
tact, and before long we dropped every conventional
formality, and treated each other familiarly. They
lived in the last house on the right-hand on the road
to Frascati; it was called Casa Maldura, and afforded
more comfortable board and quieter lodgings than
the inn. Signor Virginio Maldura was the titular
owner of the house, but the real absolute master
was Signor Checco Tozzi, his father-in-law, one of
the notabilities of the town. And here I deem it
advisable to say a few words of preface.
Some years ago, my friend Torelli* edited a little
monthly paper called the Cronista (the Chronicler),
and I contributed to it several tales, legends, &c.,
* The Chevalier Giuseppe Torelli was the intimate friend of
Massimo d'Azeglio, whom he quickly followed to the grave. As
will be seen, he completed these Memoirs, which were suddenly
interrupted by the death of their illustrious author.
SOR CHECCO TOZZI.
159
in which I described my stay at the house of Sor
Checco Tozzi.
These articles were perused by the public, I am
told, with a certain interest (this is mere modest
hypocrisy, for I am well aware that they met with
a decided success); still, it would be rather too pre-
sumptuous to assume they were read by everybody.
As I am unable and unwilling to carry my pre-
sumption so far, I pursue the narrative of my im-
pressions under the roof of Sor Checco, as if they
had never been recorded before. I will only en-
deavour, for the sake of the possible readers of the
Cronista, not to repeat myself, but rather to find
something new, for I have not exhausted my stock;
and if in the tales I said a great deal, I was not
able to tell everything. After this declaration, let
us proceed.
Sor Checco was, as the Spaniards say, hijo de
sus obras. Like the world of the Pantheists, his
parentage was unknown and unfathomable; but as
he owned houses, vineyards, and extensive reed-
plantations; was an influential member of a pious
congregation; a tremendous fire-eater ; and in
spite of his five-and-fifty years, tall, nimble, erect,
and with a frame of iron; nobody cared to ask an
explanation of the only person who could have given
it, namely, Sor Checco himself.
160
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
The town looked upon him with respect mingled
with awe, and left him somewhat to himself. But
as he cared little for tenderness, he took no heed.
Oderint dum metuant was his motto. Although rich,
he continued to go every morning to work at the
Travertine quarries, when the vineyards left him lei-
sure. It was an overflow of activity, and a thirst,
if not for gold, at least for silver.
"Five paoli
earned by the grace of God are beneficial both to
soul and body," said he.
At the time of the republic, when Championnet
marched on Naples (some people let this leak out
under the rose), it appears that he had obtained
something resembling lettres de marque, only with
the difference, that he was to follow his calling on
shore, and against the aristocrats.
In fact, about that period there had been a long
and total eclipse of Sor Checco; after which the
inhabitants of Marino saw him one fine morning
appear among them, though nobody knew whence
he had come. Being a stone-cutter by trade, he
went back to the quarries as a day-labourer, with
the same habits, face, manners, and clothes as
before.
Only in the course of two or three years, he
became the proprietor of lands, houses, and valuable
cellars. It is true that he had married a widow
NERO AND SOR CHECCO.
161
older than himself, who was said to be worth a
mint of money.
Be this as it may, Checco the stone-cutter had
become Sor Checco; and who could find fault with
him?
Sora Maria his wife was a good old soul, who
walked rather lame from an injury to her hip (a
little story was current about this which recalled
the act of vivacity in which Nero indulged towards
Poppea), and had this peculiarity-during two years
I never saw her smile.
The only issue of this not always soft bed was
a daughter called Sora Nina. She was the most
apathetic being in creation, with a boiled-potato com-
plexion, and two eyes just like patches of oil floating
on greasy broth.
A love for this snail in female shape was the
great, the only passion of Sor Checco; and his ar-
dent wish was some day to see his Nina leaning
on the arm of a gentleman (in the sense of not a
peasant), as her happy and legitimate consort.
With this view, two or three years before my
first appearance on the horizon of Marino, Sor
Checco had moved heaven and earth, and had finally
dug up in Rome a snob of a little gentleman, who
just met his requirements.
I must confess to having forgotten his name;
VOL. II.
ΔΙ
162
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
but I well remember the adventure, which was as
follows:
!
Great preparations had been made at Marino for
the celebration of the wedding. The priests were
ready in church, the banquet in the kitchen; the
house, the nuptial-bed, and even the muse of Sor
Fumasoni, notary and poet of the town, were all in
readiness. The latter is another original, whose ac-
quaintance we shall make by and by.
The sun rose at last on the auspicious day. The
splendour of the bride was dazzling; and the parents
too, attired in bran-new clothes, did not offer too
great a contrast to her magnificence. The bride-
groom was expected from Rome at ten o'clock, so
that the religious ceremony might be over in time to
sit down to dinner at noon, as usual.
Ten o'clock boomed forth from the belfry of the
church, then eleven, then twelve, then the Ave
Maria-and, in short, the bridegroom has not ap-
peared yet.
Imagination alone, not the pen, can describe
the frenzy of Sor Checco, the grief of his wife, and
the perfect quietude of Sora Nina, who went to
change her dress; at dinner, which had necessarily
been delayed a couple of hours, she ate with the
appetite of an angel; and at night she slept nine
hours as usual, without winking once. Great was
TENAX PROPOSITI VIR.
163
the merriment of the town, and, thanks to the in-
born and well-known charity of mankind, everybody
gloated over this bit of scandal with intense delight
at the discomfiture a Roman snob had inflicted on
the illustrious Sor Checco. "It serves him right,'
they said; "he wanted to mix up with fine gentle-
men. We are so glad!"
And here the great proverb about la superbia
del villan rifatto was quoted (meaning the pride of
a beggar on horseback), with a rhyme and a word
which did not frighten Dante; but, as I am not
Dante, it does frighten me, and I dare not pro-
nounce it.
Naturally the faithless defaulter never ventured
to show his face again at Marino, or, I think, within
a radius of six miles of it; the anger, as well as the
sneers, daily effaced by the wings of time, all came
to nothing, and things resumed their wonted course.
Sor Checco, however, tenax propositi vir, con-
tinued his search for a gentleman; but this time he
took all necessary precautions to prevent the renewal
of any such scandal under his roof.
He looked about everywhere, consulted with his
friends, and at last he laid his finger on a second
bridegroom, who was the good and real one.
His name was Virginio Maldura; a little fellow
of sandy complexion, middle height, and a rather
164
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
weak constitution-a type of the submissive son-in-
law; an important point to secure. He belonged to
a family of artists, and, besides some cultivation, he
possessed good manners, and an easy, obliging dis-
position. Moreover, he wore a bleu barbeau tail-
coat, with brass buttons; an unmistakable sign of
his elevated social position, and the high destinies
awaiting Signora Nina.
This time the wedding went off without a hitch.
Sor Virginio became the son of the house, with
no other duty than to eat, drink, and disport him-
self; so that everyone might see clearly the daughter
of Sor Checco had not married a peasant.
The Italians of the present day apparently begin
to understand that to live as a gentleman is not a
career or an occupation, and that it must not be so
even for those who have a hundred thousand scudi
a year. But Signor Virginio, not in the least spoilt
by modern ideas, thought it the ideal of a profession.
Besides these individuals, the Tozzi house was
inhabited by an old spinster, the sister of Sora Maria,
called Zia (aunt) Anna. She had made a donation
of a property she possessed to her nephew, on con-
dition of being lodged and fed in his house for the
remainder of her natural life; and this ingenious
device, to which she had resorted with a view of
securing the repose and tranquillity of her last years,
POOR ZI' Anna.
165
had, instead, the inevitable consequence of causing
her to lie on a bed of thorns.
Always out of the immense goodness of the
human species, Sor Checco, who exercised absolute
and autocratic power, when he saw that peace and
order had reigned for some time in his happy domi-
nions, felt inclined, like all despots, to glance benig-
nantly at his meek and faithful subjects, and re-
ward their blind obedience by a jocose sally or a
smile.
His favourite joke at dinner was to put unfor-
tunate Zia Anna to the torture of water.
"Drink, Zi' Anna;" and feigning to take the
wine-bottle, he caught up the water-jug and filled
her glass.
The poor old soul, who would have enjoyed a
draught of something neat, vainly protested that she
had just emptied her glass; it was of no use. I have
seen her eyes filled with tears, imploring for mercy;
but the joke was favourable to economy, and this
was the ruin of Zia Anna. I used quietly to fill her
glass with wine, whenever I could; and for this at-
tention I think I can boast of having been her last,
and probably her most ardent passion.
I have still to describe another personage, Signor
Mario, the younger brother of Sor Virginio.
This youngster of about seventeen had introduced
166
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
himself into the house, I cannot say under what pre-
tence or on what grounds; the fact is, however, that
he was quite at home. And to judge from appear-
ances and the complete idleness in which he re-
velled, I conclude that the wish to live comfortably
without any exertion of his own had in him attained
the height of genius; and that, thanks to this rare
gift, he had bewitched or conquered Sor Checco, who
in the end had accepted and fed him as a liegeman.
Otia si tollas, periere Cupidinis artes, said Ovid ;
but the first part of this precept having always been
unpalatable to Sor Mario, Cupid had remained master
of the field, and placed him under the yoke of a good-
looking village lass, who did not altogether reject his
amorous advances. But, unfortunately, they were
utterly scouted by Padron Titta, her inhuman father,
a well-to-do vine-grower, and rather an awkward cus-
tomer-what is termed at Marino a pezzo di carne
cattiva. He often broke out against poor insignificant-
looking Mario. "Tell him to come here," said he;
"only let me catch him!"
This undefined threat, all the more terrific for
that reason, chilled the novice lover, who did not
even dare to steal a glance at the cracked earthen-
ware-pot holding a geranium on the window-sill of
his beloved Nanna; till the devil tempted him, the
night of I forget what festival, to take the brass
A
PADRON TITTA.
167
band, which had been blowing away pitilessly the
whole day, in front of her house to soothe the slum-
bers of the adored one.
They had not played for more than five minutes,
when the window was thrown open, and Mario, who
expected to see (like Ruggero in Ariosto's Palace of
Alcina) quelle ridenti stelle, saw, or rather did not see
anything but the flash of a gun-shot, which pep-
pered him, the serenaders, and the whole company!
Mario, the band, and the spectators, all fled in
confusion through dark byways and crooked paths;
some swore, some complained, all shouted, "It was
Titta! It was this, it was that!" till at last they
reached the Piazza.
In the open space they stopped, took breath, and
felt themselves all over to count their wounds. Two
or three people had been slightly hit and were bleed-
ing; but the providence of madcaps had prevented a
shot, which might have cost two or three people their
lives, from having any more serious consequences.
The gendarmes having caught Padron Titta in his
house, with his musket still smoking and his fingers
black with powder, took him to jail.
But in that country the custom is to dismiss the
suit if the complainants are bought off, and the pub-
lic prosecutor does not proceed ex officio; he would
otherwise have too much to do.
168
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
The wounds having therefore been dressed, or
probably healed, by a few barrels of wine, and every
difference made up-a transaction which took a
couple of days-Titta went back to his house, and
everything went on again as usual, except the pas-
sion of Sor Mario, which lay dead on the field of
honour.
I even believe that he respected its ashes to such
a degree that he never gave it a successor. A com-
plete cure, and a real conversion!
In another country, a shot fired thus upon a
group of twenty or thirty individuals, by way of
admonition, would appear somewhat extraordinary.
At Marino, on the contrary, it was considered as
perfectly natural and logical.
But it must be said, that the temper of the in-
habitants of Marino in no way resembles that of most
other populations.
I had an album in which I used to draw all sorts
of miscellaneous sketches, and I made a note in it
every time blood was shed in the town. In but two
months I counted up eighteen cases between dead
and wounded. In saying this, I do not mean to
call the population of Marino a bad or corrupt one.
Far from it.
The sanctity of the family, of marriage, and of
paternity, are greatly respected; and as to regu-
1
A TRUSTED FRIEND.
169
larity of morals, and the chastity of the women, I
never remarked the slightest lapse.
It is also true, I cannot deny it, that the argu-
ment resorted to by Padron Titta in the musical
question would equally be applied, in case of need,
to the conjugal one. I do not want, however, to
deprive the virtue of Marino of all credit.
I never heard of any robberies. I always found
people wonderfully eager to help each other, and to
do a kindness, to those of course who treated them
with courtesy, and did not look down upon them.
If ever I found myself in a scrape, everybody
volunteered to assist me in getting out of it.
There was especially a poor young fellow who
lived entirely on his daily work, one Venanzio, who
had conceived such an affection for me that he
never ceased teasing me to point out my enemies
to him.
"If anybody annoys you," he kept on saying,
"a word to Venanzio !"
66
Happily I then had no enemies, as I never have
had any since, nor even now, thank God; therefore
such a warm friend was of no use to me.
The fountain of all mischief in that country is
not so much natural perversity as hot blood, still
further inflamed by the influences of wine and the
southern climate. To this may be added bad tradi-
170
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
tions and examples; and finally, there is hardly a
trace of education to be found.
I will mention a few episodes and local customs,
and then write down the reflections which, in my
opinion, naturally flow from them.
This gossip of mine, I repeat, does not aim at
acquainting the reader with a thousand trifling inci-
dents of my life. I would not thus waste either ink
or time. But, whenever I have an opportunity, one
of the objects I have in view in writing these pages
is to examine and discuss the questions which may
conduce to the improvement of the new generation,
and the moral progress of the Italian people.
This object is undoubtedly one of great import-
ance, and it is perhaps presumptuous to aim at it.
But he who cannot contribute a stone should carry
a pebble to the great edifice, which will be completed
some day, if everyone works at it.
And let us bear in mind that constitutions, poli-
tical ordinances, laws, &c. are words thrown to the
wind so long as the men, for whose benefit they
are intended, do not improve themselves.
Europe, society, populations, governments, heads
of nations, do not now succeed in anything; and do
you know why? Because, individually, they are each
worth very little.
If the hemp be rotten, the rope will never be
NECESSITY OF MORALITY.
171
good. If the gold be of base metal, the currency
will never be of the true standard.
And if individuals are without energy, instruc-
tion, and morality, the nation will never be good,
nor able to achieve anything durable, great, or satis-
factory.
CHAPTER VII.
Continuation of the sketch of the customs of Marino-Famous
banditti transformed into heroes by popular tradition-Beppe
Mastrilli-Practical jokes in vogue in the Roman Campagna
very similar to the ones related by the novelists of the four-
teenth century-Sor Checco plays a cruel trick on one Stefa-
nino-Sor Fumasoni the improvisatore-his strength of mind
-Fights with the knife in the reed-plantations Sudden
scuffles in the towns-Natale Raparelli and Beppe Rosso, with
their respective followers, come to blows on the piazza of
Marino - Beppe Rosso insists upon accompanying me from
Marino to Rome-Disagreeable encounters-Whilst at Marino,
in Casa Tozzi, I endeavour to strengthen my character more
and more-My brother Enrico-his disposition; internal strug-
gle which consumes him-A few extracts from his diary-He
dies in Turin, aged twenty-nine.
A PIEDMONTESE monk, whom I knew several years
after at the convent of St. Benedict near Subiaco,
talking of the peasantry about him, used to say :
"You have no idea what good creatures both men
and women are in their natural condition; but if
they are excited by wine or any other cause, they at
once draw their knives and pour out frightful oaths."
The same may be said of the inhabitants of all
that part of Italy, including Marino.
When in anger, they strike blindly with their
AN ARTISTIC JOB.
173
daggers, or hit each other on the head with any
weapon that happens to be at hand. I once saw a
quarrel, in which the combatants, one armed with
a gigantic cellar key, the other with a huge iron
lantern, both got their skulls broken in a very suc-
cessful manner.
As soon as the deed is done, they take refuge in
a church or chapel, and are safe. Their relations.
bring them food, and they quietly spend their time
twirling their thumbs, or doing some light task,
within the boundaries of their asylum.
I remember that Signor Fumasoni, the notary of
the town, having at his own expense placed a cru-
cifix of painted wood, the size of life, in the chapel
situated about half-way between Marino and the
gate of the Colonna park, where there is a fountain,
and not liking the bare white wall behind it, asked
whether I would paint it, and what payment I should
require.
I consulted my friend Venuti and another. We
decided to undertake the job, and that the price
should be a dinner for the party.
We began early in the morning, with the view of
finishing our work before midday. Having brought
all the necessary implements for grinding our colours,
and the like, we unexpectedly found a staff of as-
sistants, though not of the most artistic, in the per-
174
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
sons of three outlaws, who had taken refuge in
the chapel. They answered our purpose to per-
fection; at twelve o'clock our work was completed
and approved of, and we were sitting at dinner in
a shady meadow, to enjoy the liberality of Sor Fu-
masoni.
These refugees, as may be easily imagined, some-
times spend several months in idleness, gambling
and quarrelling together (they are quite safe from
the sword of justice), and of course mutually corrupt
one another.
Their condition of semi-brigands does not excite
the slightest animadversion against them.
Historical recollections and popular traditions
fully explain the present state of those populations.
I have observed that in the old feudal domains of
the great Roman families the inhabitants are more
prone to violence than elsewhere, and to disregard
for law, a violation of which is considered among
the people as a proof of superiority. It is but na-
tural: has it not for centuries been the distinctive
mark of the upper classes? It must be said, be-
sides, that in Rome the supremacy of the grandees
lasted until now, and I might almost say endures
still; or at least would do so, if those who are in a
position to exercise it were not restrained by public
opinion.
BRIGANDS' TRADITIONS.
175
Popular tradition, which is the moral food of that
rough, ignorant, and naturally savage race, cannot
extol the heroes and the great men of the past,
whose very names are unknown. They exalt, there-
fore, and select as heroes and models, the famous
banditti chiefs, whose deeds they continually hear
vaunted by strolling singers at all the village fairs
and festivals.
In the fierce minds of those young peasants, Fra
Diavolo, Spadolino, Beppe Mastrilli, and their com-
peers, represent the highest eminence they can attain
in this world, if they only have the capacity.
But this capacity exacts a combination of qualities
by no means common: an iron constitution, a frame
nimble and strong as a leopard's, the sight of a
lynx, and a hand and eye equally sure with carbine
and dagger; not to speak of courage, coolness, and
desperate daring; and besides all this, talent is re-
quired a fool is by no means qualified to become a
brigand, however much he may desire it.
And what has been done to counterbalance the
influence of tradition and of the popular ballads ?
Nothing. Things are allowed to take their course
in this as in everything else. The catechism would
undoubtedly contain the best of antidotes. Charity,
shunning murder or theft, meekness, &c., are its
elements. But the way in which it is taught, the
176
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
qualities, the examples of those who teach it, deprive
it of all efficacy.
Beppe Mastrilli, who, as the song says,
con una palla di metallo
Ammazzò quattro sbirri ed un cavallo,"
*
appears in far more seducing colours. It cannot, in
truth, be affirmed that he was a saint; it is granted
that his life was full of sins which not every con-
fessor can absolve; but tradition generally attri
butes an exemplary death to its idols. According
to the legends, almost by miracle things always ap-
pear so to arrange themselves that the hero ends by
going straight to Paradise. And do you know in
what the secret consists? In being a devotee of the
Virgin of Loretto, or of some other similar sanc-
tuary; in constantly wearing a scapulary on the
breast; paying for a mass every now and then, or
burning a few tapers before an altar. With these
precautions, there is no instance on record of the
thing turning out badly.
Such are the doctrines preached, not by the
*It will not be forgotten that there are sins for which no
common priest can give absolution, except in articulo mortis. In
many a case confessors must apply to a bishop or a cardinal, and
even sometimes to the Pope himself, unless they have received
special power of absolving without restriction and under all
circumstances.
MIDDLE-AGES MANNERS.
177
Catholic dogma, but by an ignorant and interested
priesthood; and such are their results.
As civilisation and the opinion of more advanced
countries have no influence over these men, there
being neither teachers nor books to modify the an-
cient customs, they live very much as they did in
the Middle Ages.
Those who remember the Italian chronicles, and
the tales and stories of three or four centuries ago,
here find everything unchanged. The coarse practical
jokes which were once in use as mere playfulness,
and which abound in the novels of Boccaccio, Franco
Sacchetti, Lasca, &c.-jokes which were enough to
frighten a poor fellow into epilepsy, or to cripple
him for life-still flourish in little towns like Ma-
rino, just as in the old tales of Calandrino and
Gonnella.*
I remember once at a dinner-party in the coun-
try a petard was fastened to the back of a village
boor, and when it was set on fire, it is a miracle
* Sacchetti, born at Florence in 1335, was a poet and novelist,
and his tales are esteemed next to those of Boccaccio. Antonio
Francesco Graggini, surnamed "Il Lasca" (from a fish of that
name), also a Florentine, and born in 1503, is considered one of
the purest of Italian writers. It may be interesting to record that
he was the founder of the Academy of La Crusca. His novels,
like those of many Florentine chroniclers of yore, were after the
pattern of that great master, whose inimitable Decamerone won
undying fame for the memory of old Calandrino and Gonnella.
VOL. II.
N
178
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
his spine was not broken, for he and his chair were
blown into the air!
Another was induced to hide himself in a chest,
-I forget whether with the hope of some amorous
adventure,—the lid was shut upon him, and he was
left there so long that he narrowly escaped being
suffocated.
But the most cruel of all, morally speaking, was
a trick Sor Checco, in one of his jocose moments,
played off on a poor fellow who looked after his
stable, and did other jobs in the house.
This man was called Stefanino, and slept in the
yard in an ancient sarcophagus without a cover,
that is to say, in the open air. Once he fell ill; and
all through his illness there he lay, as if he had been
in a good bed and cosy room; and as the sar-
cophagus was about seven feet from the ground, I
remember that the doctor used to pay his visits
standing on a ladder, which generally served as a
means of ingress to the hay-loft.
This poor devil lived on the very meagre wages
paid him by Sor Checco, whereas his ambition (for
which everybody jeered him) was to be rich enough
to live independently.
One day his cruel master thought it would be
capital fun to make him believe that he had sud-
denly become very rich. He began by offering him
A PRACTICAL JOKE.
179
some numbers for the lottery as good as gold;
and Stefanino thereupon scraped together a few
bajocchi he had laid by for unforeseen circumstances,
and decided to risk a great stake. One day passed,
then another, of fears, hopes, and trepidation; at last
the numbers were drawn, and the startled Stefanino
nearly fell into a swoon when he beheld printed on
the official list the very five he had played.
[
He rushed home quite beside himself, fell into
the arms of Sor Checco, embraced Sora Maria, cried,
yelled, laughed, kissed everybody he met, until, with
the help of God, having recovered his breath, he
announced that he had won, that he was rich, that
he would be the smartest man in Marino, &c. Sor
Checco then exclaimed, "Why, then, you will no
longer remain with me." "Checco mio, I cannot
promise it," he answered; and continued to build a
hundred castles in the air for his future habitation.
The reader will have already guessed that all this
was a trick concocted by Sor Checco and the local
director of the lottery-that the whole village knew
of the joke, and awaited its result; and no doubt
he likewise foresees the last scene of the comedy.
In fact, the next morning the happy Stefanino,
newly clad from head to foot (he had already run
into debt), mounted on a mare borrowed of Sor
Checco not deeming it fitting so wealthy a man
180
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
should go on foot hurried to Albano, the chief
town of the neighbourhood, where his winnings were
to be paid to him. But instead, the lottery officials
first received him with great merriment, and then
roughly dismissed him, in spite of his shrieks and
protestations; for poor Stefanino thought he was
being robbed. At last he was obliged to believe
the painful truth; and if he found his way back to
Marino, it was thanks to the mare, for he was more
dead than alive. And to complete his misery, not
only was he unable to avenge himself on Sor Checco,
but he had to return to his servitude, and be thank-
ful that the wish he had evinced to leave so honour-
able an employment was forgotten.
These were the jokes of the country; deserving,
as everyone sees, a place amongst those described by
Lasca, Sacchetti, &c.
Let us now speak of other facetious tricks, still
less amusing, and equally worthy of the mediæval
chronicles.
I have already mentioned Sor Fumasoni, the poet
and public notary; let us begin with him.
He was an enormous fellow, tall and stout-quite
a Hercules for strength, health, power of digestion,
and lungs; he was not without education, fond of
literature, and an extempore poet.
It is very strange how common the talent of
TALENT OF IMPROVISATION.
181
you
improvisation is in that country. Mere trash!
will perhaps remark. Very true; or at least, only
vulgarities and commonplaces. Yet I do not know
if many men of great talent would be capable of
doing what I have often seen accomplished by Sor
Fumasoni without the slightest pause or hesitation.
At dinner-parties of twenty or thirty people, given
in honour of village solemnities such as the occa-
sional passage of some monsignore, &c.—after eating
and drinking like an ox, I have seen him get up at
dessert, and address a stanza to each guest in turn.
I admit that neither the thoughts nor the verses were
very sublime; still they expressed a compliment, a
pun, or even a satire, according to the person tʊ
whom they were addressed, with propriety, rhythm,
and often with grace.
Could my reader do as much? No? Then let
him not despise Sor Fumasoni.
But he had in him something far more precious
than the faculty of improvising poetry; he was gifted
with a courage and a fortitude almost comparable
to that of Mutius Scævola.
Coming home one night, a gun was fired at him;
he did not know, or would never say, by whom; but
the bullet, having been shot from behind, went right
through him.
On such an occasion many people would fall to
182
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
the ground and begin to scream.
Sor Fumasoni, on
the contrary, stood erect, not a groan escaped him :
he went home as best he could, and not to frighten
his wife, said to her, "Tuta mia, go and call the
doctor; I feel very unwell; and I will go to bed
meanwhile." Fortunately the wound was not mortal,
and Sor Fumasoni survived to relate his adventure.
Well, I hope he was not a poule mouillée!
Another person whom I knew was stabbed at a
fair, held about two miles off. The work had been
done apparently by a skilled hand, for the bowels
were protruding from the wound; but he never-
theless walked home, half holding them in his hat;
and he too recovered.
All these are symptoms of a brave race, with a
dare-devil nature, which ought some day to produce
good citizens and good soldiers, when it shall be
freed from the claws of the papal government.
And it is quite untrue that these men are only
capable of wounding or killing by treachery, and
then running away, as is commonly believed both
abroad and at home. I do not say it never happens ;
but is not that the case everywhere?
For the most part, however, fights are decided
on by an agreement between the two parties.
They have, for instance, a kind of duel with the
knife of a singularly ferocious character.
MORTAL COMBATS.
183
A quarrel arises between two men. One asks the
other: "Have you your knife?" "No." "Fetch
it then, and be in half an hour in such or such a
reed-plantation." "All right."
The reed-plantations are generally extensive, and
not so thick as to prevent a man cutting his way
through. But when each combatant arrives at the
appointed spot, how can he tell whether his adver-
sary is already there, or where to find him? He
must seek him, as it were, in the dark, it being im-
possible to discern anything through the thick foliage.
One may easily imagine all the thrilling incidents
of such a deadly encounter. Generally both find
their grave in the plantation, as is almost inevitable.
There are often regular pitched battles between
several men. I once, saw one in a vineyard, in
which three on a side had agreed to meet, armed
with muskets and daggers. They inflicted severe
injuries on one another, but no one was killed.
These fellows have a tough hide.
Sometimes a fight is suddenly begun in the town
itself. I will just relate one, and that must suffice.
One day, towards evening, we heard a loud
clamour in the piazza below-shouts, the report of
firearms, a general uproar. We were at supper. Vir-
ginio and I sprang up, seized our weapons (there,
in those days, nobody went out without taking
184
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
this precaution), and as we were rushing from the
room to the battle-field, Sor Checco, as a practical
man, and the head of the house, endeavoured to dis-
suade us : "Beware! Chè chi sparte ha la meglio
parte-' He who parts foes gets the hardest blows.'
Do not interfere in what does not concern you."
Seeing, however, that we did not mind him, he sent
this paternal blessing after us: "May you receive
a good drubbing for your own share!" Away we ran
with this good wish.
The scuffle had begun between a certain Natale
Raparelli and another (Beppe Rosso, if I remember
right), and had gradually involved about eighty peo-
ple. Natale was a great man in the place. Beppe had
lately been an outlaw, because, one evening after
vespers, while the people were standing in groups
about the piazza, he drew his knife, seized by a
sudden whim, and tracing a line on the ground,
said: "I will stab the first who crosses it." And
he kept his word.
The battle ended without any considerable dam-
and we returned safely to our supper, triumph-
age,
ing over the pious wishes of Sor Checco.
But the best part was reserved for the morrow.
I was to go to Rome, and hired a carriage, in
which I started at the hottest time of the day, when,
as we approached the outskirts of the vineyards, I
AN UNEASY MOMENT.
185
saw a man dart out of a hedge-row, and spring on
the box beside the coachman. It was Beppe Rosso.
"What news, Padron Beppe ?" "Ah!" answered
he, with a knowing and half-laughing look, "it is
as well to change the air for a few days." "So be
it," I replied, and soon after fell in a doze.
This retreat of Beppe was only prudent, and had
probably been imposed upon him by his own family,
not so much because Natale was one of the cham-
pions of Marino, as because the Raparellis were
very powerful, and the Rossis wanted their protec-
tion.
We jogged along at that peculiar weary half
trot which is all the horses can accomplish in those
scorching hours, when the air seems actually in a
blaze. All of a sudden Beppe thrust his legs into
the carriage, and then with a jerk nestled behind
me, so that I might serve him as a screen.
66 What
the deuce do you want!" I cried, as I woke with a
start. He did not stir; the coachman beat his head
with his hands, exclaiming: "And now what shall
we do?" "But may I know what the devil is the
matter ?"
The vetturino gloomily pointed with his finger
across the plain, and I saw a man on horseback
galloping in our direction at full speed; and they
both said, "It is Natale."
186
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
A mere trifle! In this case the words "It is
Natale" were for Beppe synonymous with being
killed, unless he could succeed in killing his adver-
sary. But with what weapon? He had no arms,
and I happened to have only a swordstick. Natale
of course would not come to this meeting without
his gun.
I spent a few disagreeable minutes, because in
such cases the usage of the country is to say to
whoever is in the way, "Stand aside;" and if he
either cannot or will not do so, they fire right into
the group, as had happened a short time before, at
Rocca di Papa.
In the mean time the horseman was fast ap-
proaching, and the vetturino already recognised the
horse of Natale by its white forehead and muzzle.
"By the Madonna, it is he, it is he!"
But not a bit of it-it was not he! The most re-
joiced at this discovery was Beppe, who released me
from his grasp, and returned to the box; but I also
felt better, I assure you, and the vetturino seemed
very nearly as much relieved.
We thus proceeded
on our journey in high spirits.
As we drew near Rome, however, we fancied
we saw the squad of Galante, the chief of the sbirri,
in the distance. This was a fresh alarm for my
friend Beppe, who turned to me, saying he hoped
SOUTHERN ITALY.
187
they would not dare to touch him while in my com-
pany; a hope founded on the ancient traditions of
the baronial immunities. Luckily it was again a
mistake, and my influence was not put to a test in
which it would have probably failed.
From all these episodes the reader may judge
of what stuff these populations are made; and with
very few variations they resemble all the others of
southern Italy.
They only want a good government and a good
education, not one consisting solely of reading, writ-
ing, and arithmetic, but that other much more im-
portant one, which inculcates respect for the law,
moral, civil, or political. And I shall never cease
repeating that the aforesaid laws are respected and
observed by nations when the example is set by
princes, the chiefs of the state, public administra-
tors, and by all individuals placed in an exalted
position.
Liberty and independence must be sought and
conquered as the essential conditions of the life of
every nation: it is necessary not to forget, however,
that if individuals have no moral value of their
own, all the rest is useless. It either cannot be
obtained, or else it becomes corrupted or lost.
And in Italy, where individual characters have
been debased by long bondage to foreign and worth-
188
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
less governments, people think of everything except
education.
I have forgotten to say (but the reader will have
guessed it himself) that I had passed from the inn
under the mild rule of Sor Checco Tozzi, in whose
house I occupied a comfortable room, where I had
my books, and boarded with the family on terms
anything but exorbitant.
It was at this time that I encountered the greatest
difficulties of my life; but, by dint of obstinacy,
I at last gained a victory over my confounded pas-
sion, at least so far as to work with profit.
Youth is a fine thing. It is the age of faith,
audacity, and reliance on self, on one's own strength,
and the future; the age of confidence and love for
mankind; the age which believes implicitly in what
is good, beautiful, and honest. Not that, thank Hea-
ven, I no longer believe in these things; but what
is now the result of reasoning was then spontaneous.
A great difference!
At that time I, above all, cherished the idea of
acquiring strength of will and dominion over self.
My friend Bidone always insisted on this point, and
had convinced me he was right. Nothing good can
be done without a determined will.
To stay at Marino was the principal and most
difficult of victories; but, to keep myself in training,
MORAL STRUGGLES.
I constantly endeavoured to obtain minor ones.
189
On
the first page of my album I had written the follow-
ing stanza of Tasso :
Signor, non sotto l' ombre in piaggia molle
Fra l' erbe e i fior, fra ninfe e fra sirene,
Ma su per l' erto e faticoso colle
Della virtù riposto è il sommo bene :
Chi non gela, non suda, e non s'estolle
Dalle vie del piacer, là non perviene."
"Not among nymphs and sirens, founts and flowers,
Not on voluptuous herbage in the shade ;
But on the toilsome steep where virtue towers
Alone, O prince, our supreme good is laid.
Who from the paths of pleasure will not raise
His thoughts, nor freeze nor sweat, arrives not there."*
Well, when I climbed the toilsome steep on which
Casa Tozzi, if not virtue, towered, as I came back
from my work under the scorching rays of a brazen
sun, I recited this stanza, and endured the heat and
the fatigue with greater ease. At other times, when
I returned home starving, if I found myself in the
presence of my dinner, which, under such circum-
stances, I beg to state, emitted a fragrance very
grateful to my nostrils, I would remain with it be-
fore me for a long time ere I began to eat.
This novice-like fervour may appear, and was,
* The Jerusalem Delivered of Torquato Tasso, translated into
English verse by John Kingston James, knt. M.A. London, 1865.
Longmans. Vol. ii. p. 188.
190
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
somewhat childish, but still it had a good and serious
side; and I consider it a sign of good tendencies
and a capacity for moral progress. Exercises of this
kind, which everyone may vary according to his
tastes, are certainly not a waste of time. I advise
young men to turn their attention to this subject.
Mind you, however, that if I deem it useful to di-
vulge the means I employed to strengthen my cha-
racter, I do not mean to boast of having succeeded,
either then or afterwards, as much as I might and
ought to have done. I merely intend to disclose the
method I used, and the practical shape I gave to the
precept of subduing self. Is it not the most worthy
effort, nay the aim of life, to dominate, purify, and
elevate our own nature? This work ought to begin
with the first dawn of reason, and last until death.
But neither parents nor teachers awaken ideas of
this kind in the majority of young men, because
they themselves do not conceive them. Both parents
and teachers should regard this a little more.
Here I must cite an example of a moral struggle
with self, accompanied by circumstances which appear
to me both instructive and interesting.
My brother Enrico was born at a time of mourn-
ing, which must have affected his constitution as
well as his intellect. Our mother was very near her
confinement when she was told that her husband
#
AN UNHAPPY LIFE.
191
had been killed at the skirmish of Acque Rosse, on
the St. Bernard. She afterwards learnt he was a
prisoner in France. Still, what anxiety and what
alarm! Terrorism reigned supreme; and, suffice
it to say, that a general massacre of prisoners had
been decreed. Fortunately, the feelings of humanity
and honour, trodden down by the leaders of the day,
never abandoned the army. It disobeyed; and the
rulers did not dare renew their order.
Enrico was, in fact, a curious compound of qua-
lities, all more or less good, but entirely different
from those of his brothers. Handsome, well-made,
and with a strong frame, he was yet nervous, impres-
sionable, and versatile; with an excellent heart, and
an intellect rather tardy than actually obtuse, he
possessed a fair share of talent; as prone to enthu-
siasm as to discouragement; he easily seemed in-
constant and irresolute; through all ran a vein of
melancholy, which, on certain occasions, was so in-
tense as to be a real torment both to himself and
to those who loved him.
In our infancy he felt less lively, less dexterous,
less active than his brothers. It was impossible that
the incessant sense of an inferiority which he greatly
exaggerated should not influence his character, and
foster in his heart several of the unhappy germs
that afterwards became the thorns of his life. Jea-
192
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
lousy, irritation, envy, followed by distrust, depres
sion, and love of solitude, alternated with efforts,
endeavours, and ardour for work,-all this medley
of morbid and contradictory tendencies, gives, with-
out farther explanation, the idea of an extremely
unhappy man. And he was so indeed, poor Enrico!
He did not attain his thirtieth year-a period to
which he had attached a hope of quietude, serenity,.
and repose after the painful trials of early youth. He
thought, and he used to say to his intimate friends,
that, by dint of exertion, he should by then have been
able to obtain a position in the world, and to arrive
at showing himself, his head erect, without per-
petually labouring under the suspicion that he was
despised, sneered at, or put aside. But, poor fellow!
he died at twenty-nine and a few months.
impossible not to be touched in reading a few pages
left by him, under the title of Pensées Diverses,
and which I was able to copy. It is a sort of diary,
in which he noted down his ideas, his reflections
on himself and others, on his faults, and the means
whereby he tried to improve himself. Sometimes
he breaks into bitter self-reproach; sometimes he
expresses repentance; now he hopes, and then de-
spairs; one day he loses courage, another he musters
fresh strength.
It is
I do not know whether my heart deceives me,
A LEAF FROM A DIARY.
193
but I think it may be useful if I quote a few extracts
from these private memoirs, which he never supposed
likely to go beyond the secrecy of his study. In them
may be seen unveiled a candid soul fretting after an
ideal of goodness and beauty, without being able
to attain it; and they may also show how a man
should wrestle with himself.
He had been brought up at the Lyceum, during
the Napoleonic period; and being devoted to the exact
sciences, had studied them chiefly in French books;
he therefore wrote in that language. He begins by
a self-examination, and says:
•
"Arrivé à vingt-huit ans, mon jugement n'est
pas encore raffermi, ma constance au travail ne dure
souvent que vingt-quatre heures. A tout moment je
change de désir. Le temps me passe très vite en son
ensemble, tandis qu'il pèse sur toutes les parties de
mon existence. C'est à la fermeté dans les idées
ainsi qu'à la constance dans l'effort, que les génies
médiocres” (and, I repeat, he always exaggerated
this mediocrity, which, in fact, might more properly
have been called slowness) "doivent leur succès dans
des choses où des gens doués d'une plus grande force
d'esprit ont parfois échoué. . . . . Celui done qui par
tout ce qu'il a fait jusqu'à présent reconnait ne pas
avoir de grands talents, doit abandonner la partie,
ou (ce qui est bien plus digne de l'homme) s'armer
VOL. II.
194
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
d'une longanimité à toute épreuve, se préparer aux
ennuis," &c.
Here several pages are wanting; then he con-
tinues thus:
"L'idée de la durée d'une vie laborieuse et
retirée accroit puissamment ma mélancolie. Je
crains qu'elle ne me pousse enfin à interrompre mes
études. Il est vrai aussi que la constance augmente
avec l'âge; que peut être le nombre d'années où je
devrai supporter les plus grands travaux, est moindre
que je ne pense. le vrai temps pour les fortes
études est entre vingt-sept et trente-quatre ans'
(this limit, in truth somewhat arbitrary, will seem
fabulous to certain boys, who at twenty-two publish
a collection of their works); "je dois donc les em-
ployer, en songeant que ce que je sais n'est presque
rien, comparé à ce que je dois savoir
en em-
ployant ainsi mon temps je remplis mes devoirs
envers Dieu et envers les hommes . je dois me
garder de l'impatience, mon caractère aussi y gagnera.
Il me faudra au moins un an et demi avant
que je puisse recueillir quelque fruit de ma nouvelle
méthode de vivre." (I do not find in what the latter
consisted.) "En l'interrompant, ce sera à recom-
mencer comme j'ai fait si souvent.
et je serai
toujours plus à la merci de ce défaut de l'inconstance,
qui en ce moment porte sur mes moindres actions."
DANGERS OF SMOKING.
195
A little further on he condemns that inveterate
vice of smoking, which is one of the distinctive fea-
tures of modern society. On this score I must ex-
press an idea of my own.
I have often asked myself the following question,
which might serve as a competitive theme at some
medico-philosophical academy: What is the influ-
ence, and what effects may in time be produced on
the human organisation and intellect by excessive
smoking?
One truth is meanwhile demonstrated to my
mind, and I have a shrewd suspicion of another. As
regards the body, I think it is undeniable that the
incessant introduction of a solution of nicotine into
the system is injurious. And as to character-and
my serious doubts turn upon this point-tobacco,
as everyone knows, is a narcotic; is it then impos-
sible that an excessive use of it may result in making
men more stupid than they would be by nature? If
this suspicion of mine could be verified, perhaps
several political social facts of our age might thereby
be explained.
The following are the arguments by which Enrico
tried to nerve himself against a habit most people find
so inexplicably tenacious. After having said that it
injured his health, he adds:
"Est-il de la dignité d'un homme raisonnable de
196
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
ruiner ainsi sa santé pour un plaisir aussi mince que
celui de la pipe? ...
Elle laisse après soi une
faiblesse d'estomac qui rend incapable d'un travail
tant soit peu prolongé
•
peu à peu on s'habitue
à travailler moins, et à trouver un prétexte à la
paresse."
And after having recognised that this habit, by
irritating his nervous system, increased his moral
depression, and threw him into a prostration from
which the best arguments could not arouse him, he
ends by this reproof to himself:
66
Ne doit-on pas conclure qui je suis un
imbécille et une f- bête, ne trouvant pas la force de
vaincre un tel penchant qui, je le sais parfaitement,
me fait un mal si grand et si certain? Fi donc !"
In another passage he endeavours to analyse the
sentiment of vanity; he seeks to conquer that petty
self-pride which covets praise without distinction of
persons, and observes:
"Que le grand amour-propre qui est celui des
gens de vrai mérite se soucie peu de paraître grand
aux yeux de la foule. . . . . Son âme est tourmentée
du désir de se rendre digne des regards d'un petit
nombre de personnes jouissant d'une célébrité mé-
ritée."
And this noble feeling, he adds, cannot secure its
aim but by dint of constancy.
CRAVING AFTER GOOD.
197
Would to God that this maxim were followed in
our political life! There would be fewer popularity-
hunters, and more men jealous of their own repu-
tation.
To strengthen his character against the tendency
to fickleness, he suggests a trick he used to play-off
on himself. Whenever he felt a wish for change, he
postponed making it from day to day until he was
able to give himself a valid reason for it. With this
system, he says:
"De jour en jour, de semaine en semaine, on
arrive à des mois et des années, l'habitude se forme,
on se fait à la stabilité; et voilà une vertu acquise!"
A little further on he dwells upon the true prin-
ciple of good actions, which are at the same time a
strong guarantee for stability and constancy; and he
remarks that:
"Une autre manière de se livrer constamment et
ardemment au travail serait de renoncer entièrement
à tout amour-propre, et de n'agir, que par pur senti-
ment du devoir."
This is certainly both the highest expression of
morality and the only pivot of society.
These quotations are already too numerous per-
haps, and I will not add to them. The unhappy
young man was striving against a moral apathy
which he attributed to a defect of character, and
198
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
which was, on the contrary, in my opinion, only the
consequence of the falling away and the decay of his
physical strength.
He had already spit blood on several occasions.
He concealed the fact from his father, in order not to
alarm him; and on this subject I find the expression
of a reproach which he addressed to himself:
"Je n'ai pas parlé d'un crachement de sang.
Cela m'a obligé à ne plus être aussi sincère avec mon
père. Ce qui est un très grand mal. Lui qui est si
sincère avec moi!"
Two years after he had written these notes, the
complaint which had undermined him for some time
became worse.
He went to Aix, and tried several remedies, but
all in vain; and he expired in our house at Turin,
in the room over the gateway.
His memory; the recollection of his long struggle
to elevate his heart and mind; his generous cravings
after good, which ended by killing him; the thought
of his prolonged sadness,—all awaken a melancholy
tenderness in my heart, that I cannot expect the
reader to share. But this poor young man deserved
much, and he died obscure. Is it not bare justice to
dedicate a page to him, that his martyrdom may be
redeemed from utter oblivion?
When the young are going through a phase of
A MODEL FOR YOUTH.
199
debility, although believing themselves strong because
they respect nothing, and are presumptuous and ob-
streperous, it is perhaps well to present a model of
that true strength and fortitude which consists in a
secret struggle against bad instincts, with a view to
cultivate the mind, and acquire the will to sacrifice
self for the sake of duty.
It is the privilege of age to grumble at youth:
I will not, however, be unjust. Great political
revolutions cannot be achieved without great social
derangements. Happily they are but temporary, and
their duration may be shortened by the wisdom of a
nation. But while they prevail, farewell to educa-
tion, farewell to instruction! It always was, and
always will be so.
The fault is not entirely that of the youth of the
age; but it might well be its vaunt to disentangle
itself quickly from the disorders inseparable from all
great transitions.
CHAPTER VIII.
I paint a picture representing Leonidas at Thermopyle, which
my father offers to King Charles Felix-Don Luigi de' Prin-
cipi Spada, a good fellow, but very hare-brained-He had let
himself be involved in the secret societies-Secret societies in
Rome in the year 1824-Nobody ever proposed to me to join
in any political conspiracy-Political assassination, and the
sects which resort to it-A few noble souls led astray among
many bad ones-Montanari, a Romagnole doctor, at Rocca di
Papa-The inhabitants of Romagna-I see Montanari and his
friend Targhini beheaded on the scaffold-Remarks on their
impenitence-Prince Spada again, and Sor Checco Tozzi-
Supernatural adventure on one of his excursions to Loretto
often narrated by Sor Checco-I revisit Marino after twenty-
one years, and only find Sora Nina still alive-Death of
Pius VII. and enthronisation of Leo XII.-Great joy at the
fall of Cardinal Consalvi-My opinion of that personage.
I RECEIVED the news that Enrico was dead at Marino
during my second summer sojourn in the house of
Sor Checco. I pass over the intervening winter, dur-
ing which I continued to lead the existence of moral
miseries, scanty pleasures, and incessant vexations,
which are the sad appanage of the life of a lover.
I did, however, paint a picture, representing Leo-
nidas at Thermopylæ, and sent it to Turin, where
AN ECCENTRIC FELLOW.
201
my father offered it to King Charles Felix; who,
on his side, bestowed on me a box set with dia-
monds.
As is the custom, I hastened to sell it for the
sake of his memory.
I believe this picture still exists in some forgotten
corner of one of the royal palaces.
At Marino, during my second stay, Casa Mal-
dura was more than usually crowded with visitors,
attracted by the pure air, and the freedom and
cheapness of the place. To prove the truth of the
proverb, this increase of society disturbed our happy
life.
At Rome I knew a young man belonging to the
noble guard, and a member of the princely house of
Spada, Don Luigi by name, whom a series of freaks
had obliged to leave the service. He was an honour-
able, high-hearted, and more than high-spirited youth,
who wanted neither talent nor cultivation. But he
was such a madcap, that may Heaven deliver from
such society those who, wishing to work, first of all
require to live in peace! One circumstance, however,
pleads in his favour-his mother died mad.
He had let himself be drawn in by the secret
societies, and always carried about him a poniard
marked No. 3, which led to the supposition that Nos.
1 and 2 were already intrusted to safe hands-to say
202
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
nothing of those which might come after. I do not
know the exploits of the other two numbers, but I
would take my oath that No. 3 was never wielded by
an assassin. Don Luigi Spada was not a scoundrel,
only a hare-brained madcap.
When I least expected him, he suddenly appeared
at Marino. He presented himself in company with
a fatal portmanteau, the symptom of a long sojourn.
He was very handsome, tall, slender, active,
well-made, and pale, with flaxen hair looking as if
it had been starched, so stiffly did it stand erect
from his forehead above two light-gray eyes, always
wide open, and not always expressive of a perfect
lucidity of mind.
After the first greeting, he informed me that he
was obliged (by a love-affair, he said) to fly for his
life, which at Rome was threatened by rivals, irate
parents, or I forget who. He added, that one night
as he went down a dark staircase he had been sur-
rounded by invisible enemies, who, as luck would
have it, striking with their daggers at haphazard,
only succeeded in scratching the wall, while he es-
caped unhurt. Was it so or not? Of this I cannot
be sure; but from what I heard later, there must
have been some truth in the story.
At that time (1824) the opposition at Rome
was entirely confined to some secret societies of the
SECRET SOCIETIES.
203
lowest rank. As I have already said, nine years
of perfect tranquillity had not yet blotted out the
recollection of the Napoleonic rule, and so far Europe
did not feel any wish to enter upon a fresh period of
so-called glory.
The movements of Naples and Turin had been so
completely crushed, as to leave among the masses
the impression that to meddle with politics was the
business of fools or rogues, not that of honest and
sensible people.
When one thinks of the series of modifications
through which we must have gone to arrive at the
point we have now reached, it is impossible not to
admire the means employed by nature in her phy-
sical and moral formations. Considering amid what
vile and corrupt dregs the first germs of great and
useful transformations often sprout, one feels how
great is still our ignorance of the elementary laws
of the world we inhabit.
In all Rome, who then dreamt of Italy, her in-
dependence, and her regeneration? With very few
exceptions, the absolute scum of the scoundrels who
mysteriously met in the Carbonari lodges, in taverns,
and other disreputable places.
Good corn springs up from manure; the spark
of life is ignited amid corruption. Can this be the
general law? We would fain hope that if such be
204
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
the case, it is only so in the material world, and not
in that of the spirit. In both, however, it is un-
deniable, evil has a mission. . . . But do not let us
engage in metaphysics.
I knew several members of these societies, for all
elements mingle in the artistic world.
Fortunately I cannot have had the look of a con-
spirator, for nobody ever proposed that I should join
in their plots. I say fortunately, for in spite of my
natural repugnance to simulation, lies, and a life of
mystery and secrecy, at that age of little judgment
I might perhaps have accepted, had I been invited ;
still I think it highly improbable.
I recollect very well, that even then I regarded
this sort of bondage in the name of liberty as a
strange absurdity. It is all very well to be, like
the soldier, a slave to a gallant, loyal, intelligent,
and known chief; but to be the slave of an occult,
anonymous power, of which one knows neither the
means nor the aim, always seemed to me, I say, a
contradiction, and a real duperie.
I then felt this rather than reasoned it out;
subsequently I did both; and the happy result was
that I always remained free from engagements or
secret pledges, nor did I ever feel that someone
had a right to remind me of them. The habits of
constant falsehood, necessarily engendered by in-
FRUITS OF BAD GOVERNMENTS.
205
cessant plotting, are, in my opinion, to be placed
among the principal causes of the decline of the
Italian character. And whose is the fault? Is it
that of the Italians? In part; but it is far more
that of the governments, which, given the normal
conditions of the human mind, rendered the exist-
ence of secret societies inevitable.
The forces of nature cannot be destroyed. If
they find the regular outlets dammed up, they rush
into irregular ones.
When society is so organised that falsehood,
hypocrisy, adulation, and baseness, are at once the
safest guarantees and the best roads to fortune, it
is no wonder if moral ideas become confused and
obliterated, and the question of life reduces itself to
a struggle to be the strongest or, at least, the most
shrewd.
This is the origin of every kind of depravity,
and, among the rest, of the fatal doctrine of poli-
tical assassination; the insane enthusiasm of men,
otherwise estimable, for celebrated assassins; and that
disquietude of the public, which, as if groping in the
dark, endeavours to discover a remedy for evils it
endures; as a sick man, driven to despair by long
suffering, abandons himself to shameless quacks.
It would, nevertheless, require no small amount
of courage to affirm that patriotism, the love of in-
206
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
dependence, liberty, equality of legal rights among
citizens-the worship, in short, of the noblest con-
ceptions of human genius-had no other refuge than
the sect which, at Rome, then chiefly recruited itself
among real criminals.
This
The most elevated ideas and sacred feelings have
at all times served men as a mask for crimes.
is a known truth, as old as the world. The members
of those dark associations were mostly men addicted
to vice, incapable of any honourable effort to earn for
themselves a position in society, such as was coveted
by their vanity and their thirst for the comforts and
splendours of life. In becoming the apostles of a poli-
tical sect―in resorting to the juggleries of the trade,
to seduce or alarm, as the case might be, into com-
pliance, and then to domineer over persons of similar
tendencies but less astuteness and energy-they ac-
quired an influential and respected position among
the adepts; a pale image, it is true, of that loftier
one which some of them yearned for, but which still
had the great merit of neither demanding hard work,
nor of being entirely unprofitable in a material point
of view.
What altar, whether the idol worshipped on it be
political, social, or scientific, does not defray the ex-
penses of its high-priest?
I believe that this short physiology of the secret
FATAL DELUSION.
207
sects reproduces the truth pretty accurately, provided
one reservation be made. There exist passionate and
loyal souls devoid of the sure guide of a clear and
calm intellect. These unhappy natures-impelled on
one side by the love of a beautiful but vague ideal,
and lacking, on the other, a safe criterion to distin-
guish between reality and appearances, good and
evil-pursue the traces of phantoms and delusions;
falling victims to the greatest and the most danger-
ous of them all-that of sometimes regarding as the
most sublime and virtuous act of heroism that which,
in reality, is a horrible crime. This is the most appall-
ing of all the abuses of corruption.
I have known several of these natures; one among
others deserves to be mentioned.
There was at Rocca di Papa a doctor named Mon-
tanari. I had made his acquaintance, and I some-
times met him at village festivals, at fairs, &c. I
had a sympathy for him, as I have for most Ro-
magnoles. Romagna seems to me the province of
Italy where man is born to the highest physical and
moral perfection.
What?-you will say--and the knife, the assas-
sinations, the sects, the discords? All very true; but
tell
me, if
if you were to see a man justly executed. on
the scaffold, do you think that by saying, "Rascal,
it serves you right!" you have fully explained the
208
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
matter? One of the most intricate questions in exist-
ence is that of defining culpability. Do you take
nature, disposition, education, example, temptations,
and delusions into the account?
It would cost a long digression to introduce here
an ethnologico-historical study of the Romagnole race.
I content myself with saying, that I believe there
are different races of men, as there are of dogs and
horses (I do not adopt, mind you, the opinion of
those who believe man is an improved brute; at
most he may sometimes be a perfect one); and I
maintain that the stuff of that race is among the
best known. Genuine blood runs in their veins-not
rose-water, as is the case with many others I will
not name; and when there is blood, there is always
a chance.
Montanari was a fine specimen of his race; dark,
tall, with an athletic frame, and a bold passionate
soul.
One day I called at his house. I found him with
a book in his hand. "What are you reading?"
said I. He showed it me, and I saw Macchiavelli's
chapter on conspiracies! He read it, poor fellow;
but it did not avail him much, as I will tell you
presently.
Whilst I was living in the house of Sor Checco,
one night after supper, as we were about going to bed,
UNWELCOME VISITORS.
200
suddenly I heard a distant rumbling, and a jing-
ling of bells; shortly after which a carriage stopped
at the door. Several young men, rather excited by
drink, got out, among whom I only knew Montanari
and another. They said they had come to sup with
me, and I was obliged to muster all my patience (a
host has disagreeable privileges!), and to offer them
ham, omelettes, and everything I could get hold of
at that hour, with wine (Heaven knows with what
propriety) at discretion. After an hour, thank good-
ness, they went away.
One of them was a certain Targhini, whom I saw
for the first time, and whom a year after, almost
to a day, I beheld for the second time in Piazza del
Popolo as his head rolled from the guillotine, after
that of Montanari, which had just been struck off.
The father of Targhini was cook to the Pope. I
cannot conceive the existence of a more perverse
nature than his. He was the evil genius of the
greater part of his companions, and led them either
to the scaffold, the galleys, or into exile. Poor
Montanari unfortunately became his prey; there was
in him the stuff of an honest man, yet he died the
death of an assassin. A certain Pontini had be-
trayed the sect to which they all belonged, or at
least was believed to have done so. Condemned to
death by the brotherhood, chance designated Mon-
VOL. II.
P
210
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
LLECTIO
tanari as the executioner, and the latter treacherously
stabbed him between the shoulder- blades with a
poniard so violently that the point went through
his breast.
By a most extraordinary chance, it so happened
that the lungs of the victim were at that instant
empty. The dagger ran between them, the wound
proved slight, he was soon as well as before.
Granting the justice of capital punishment, Mont-
anari deserved his fate.
But I could not help being struck on that occa-
sion by the barbarous inconsistency into which tem-
poral authority leads the religious power. Neither
of them would consent to confess. They reached
the place of execution in the morning, and were
taken to a chapel, arranged for the occasion, in the
house next to Porta del Popolo-a house which has
since been used for exhibitions of pictures. Till
near evening they were surrounded by priests, and
I believe even high prelates and cardinals, to induce
them to receive the sacraments. It was all in vain ;
at last the order to execute the sentence came, and
they died.
According to the Catholic faith, what must have
been the consequence of such an end? and, on the
other hand, if their hearts were that day hardened
to religious sentiments, who can tell us that they
INCONSISTENCY OF TEMPORAL POWER.
211
would not have melted a day later? God would
have granted these men time; it was not his design
to precipitate their souls into that place where the
Catholic dogma considers every hope of forgiveness
as extinct; and it was the Pope who, correcting divine
clemency, inexorably flung them into the abyss of the
reprobate!
If anything could make an impression on the
spirit of faction, similar cases ought not to pass
unobserved; they ought at least to awaken a doubt
in those interested in it, that some part of the com-
plex machinery of the Roman church might be
modified. But the negation of evident truths has
always been the weapon most familiar to selfishness,
and it cannot be expected that it should now throw
it away for our pleasure. So let us go on.
Don Luigi Spada, compromised perhaps by re-
velations made on the trial of these conspirators,
went, or was sent, to Paris. I met him there in
1836, and he came a second time to see me at the
head-quarters at Bologna, when we were about to
cross the Po, in April 1848. Always well inten-
tioned, but more flighty than ever in his ideas, he
disappeared insalutato hospite, and died in Paris
some years after.
I will not leave Marino and Sor Checco (this
time it must be for ever) without adding one anec-
212
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
dote, which then appeared to me, as it still does, very
characteristic of that country, which, one may say,
has taken the road to civilisation very late.
Among the favourite stories told to us by Sor
Checco was one relating to a certain excursion to
the sanctuary of Loretto, which he had undertaken
several years before, and, it would appear, but little
after his famous, though mysterious, expedition in
the time of the republic. I should not wonder if
this journey had had a motive very analogous to
those more distant and dangerous pilgrimages which
led our fathers to the Holy Sepulchre. Perhaps in
both cases the resolution originated in the wish to
adjust the account in the ledger we all carry in
ourselves. I should be curious, I confess, to have
the column of receipts in the ledger of Sor Checco
under my eyes for five minutes; it is now im-
possible for anyone to gratify this curiosity, so no
matter.
Be this as it may, this narrative rau as follows:
"I had long had a whim of going to the Holy
House. One night I said to my friend Compare
*
6
Matteo, Let us visit the Virgin of Loretto."
* Tradition affirms that the sanctuary of Loretto possesses the
actual house of the Virgin. Angels are supposed to have borne
it on their wings from Galilee to Dalmatia in 1291, and thence to
Loretto a few years later. This place became thus a sanctuary of
world-wide renown; and a magnificent fane was built to enshrine
A MADMAN.
213
"He willingly assented, and we made a party.
We were five; so we took a carriage. Four sat in-
side, and one on the box.
"One of us-he is dead now-was a madman.
We took him with us to see whether the Virgin
would cure him. On the road we did not know
what to do with him. With yells and jerks, every
minute, he either threw himself upon us, or tried to
jump out of the carriage. I was the only one he
was afraid of; so I kept on crying, 'Now say the
Miserere four times;' and when he had done, 'Now
twenty-four Pater nosters;' and so I held him in
check as best I could. When we had hardly left
Fuligno, near the Madonna degl' Angeli, he sprang
from the carriage and bolted, and we after him as
fast as ever we could. It would have been easier
to catch a hare. He left the road, ran into a field
of maize, and we looked as foolish as if the earth
had swallowed him.
"Just then a gang of ciociari (inhabitants of the
Apennines) happened to pass (they were returning
from a pilgrimage to Assisi). I said to them: 'Help
the house, and also a statue of the Virgin in cedar-wood, believed
to have been carved by St. Luke. This church was one of the
richest on record, having received the most costly offerings from
a host of crowned heads and princes; but it was thoroughly ran-
sacked by the French in 1800.
214
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
us to find him, and there shall be something to
drink.'
"An old fellow of about seventy came up to me
grinning.
6
'Give me a scudo,' said he, and I will bring
him back;' meanwhile not stirring.
'How will you do it, old fellow? he is running
do not move."
away,
and
you
'Never you mind. Give me a scudo, and I will
catch him for you.'
'Well, here is the scudo, and be hanged to
you! We shall see.'
66 'The old man went to the top of the ridge be-
hind which the madman had disappeared, and there
stopped, muttering some sort of spell. Within a
quarter of an hour, our friend came back. He got
into the carriage as if nothing had happened: he
was like a lamb.”
“And what had he done?" I inquired.
66
"Ah," answered Sor Checco, shaking his head
with a mysterious smile. 'Done, done! he had
done it, that's all. The mountaineers know a great
deal; but it is better not to speak of such things.
All I know is that it cost me a scudo."
I omit the rest of the pilgrimage as of little
interest.
The conclusion, that there are many supersti-
SUPERSTITIONS.
215
tions among the agricultural populations or among
the townspeople of those parts must not be drawn
from this. The belief that the inhabitants of the
crests of the Apennines deal in necromancy is one
of the few in existence, and seems to be of ancient
date.
Benvenuto Cellini says that a certain priest, who
was a wizard, wanted to take him into the moun-
tains of Norcia to cast a spell on a book of magic,
and assured him that they would find the peasantry
able to assist them, as they were acquainted with
the black art.
But I never heard anybody mention these Al-
pine incantations, except Sor Checco on that par-
ticular occasion. As for apparitions, will-o'-the-
wisps, witches, &c., and all the goblin population
which haunts northern regions, I never found even
a trace of them. These creations, the offspring of
long nights and hyperborean mists, do not appear
under the starry canopy of our climates. It is
always the same story, in the physical as in the in-
tellectual world,-darkness teaches error, and light
demonstrates the truth.
So I left Marino, and tore myself away from
Sor Checco, the two old women, and the younger
branches of the family, not one of whom was I to
see again except Sora Nina.
216
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
1
After one-and-twenty years, passing through
Marino, I knocked at the door of my former abode.
Whilst waiting for admission, I observed on the
other side of the street a middle-aged woman, who
was locking the door of a cellar from which she had
come out, carrying a flask of wine.
It was Sora Nina. I went to her, and fancied
she did not recognise me.
66 Do
you not know me, Sora Nina ?"
"You are Sor Massimo."
"And Sor Checco ?"
"He is dead."
"And Sora Maria ?"
"Dead too.'
I named everybody in the house, and in each
case she answered with her placid look, "Dead."
Then I began to look at her, and she at me; and
we both stood silent. I found that the recognition
was not likely to rouse the emotions with which
novelists are wont to invest such adventures.
"Sora Nina, good-bye."
"Good-bye, Sor Massimo.
""
Such was the last scene of an acquaintance of
five-and-twenty years, and I went away exclaiming,
"Confounded boiled potato !" as a last farewell.
At Rome, meanwhile, Pius VII. having died,
Leo XII. was elected.
THE DEATH OF A POPE.
217
At the death of every pope Rome is plunged
into indescribable joy. It is not always caused by
hatred for the departed, but by the smiling pro-
spect of the approaching drawing of a great lottery,
overflowing with prizes great and small, in which
everybody has a stake. The most valuable of all
can only be won by a cardinal; but every cardinal
has an interminable train, and altogether their de-
pendants comprise the whole town, and partially the
state too. Every individual counts upon his own
cardinal, and feeds on a thousand illusions.
How should they be otherwise than joyous in
such circumstances? Do not hopes and delusions
afford man his happiest moments?
For my part, I have always believed that they
are the only true good. At first this seems a para-
dox; but on reflection its truth is soon apparent.
On this occasion the rapture was doubled in the
higher spheres of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, for the
excellent reason that not only the rule of a pope
came to an end, but with it fell also the other more
real and much less patiently endured supremacy of
the Secretary of State, Cardinal Consalvi.
This man, remarkable for his qualities, his cha-
racter, and the important services he had rendered
to the Holy See in most difficult moments, was even
more conspicuous for the contrast he offered to the
218
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
greater part of his colleagues. The superiority which
he scarcely sought to conceal thus became still more
intolerable; and those who had writhed under it
now rejoiced in the feeling that their vanity and
repressed envy were avenged, and in all the happi-
ness of a longed-for emancipation.
As always happens, those who no longer feared
or needed the fallen minister did not refuse them-
selves the satisfaction of making him feel it.
It is superfluous to state that every secretary of
state dies with the pope who appointed him. In
this instance nobody could suppose that the new
pope would depart from the established custom.
Consalvi and Della Genga* could not, everyone
declared, be on good terms. Several anecdotes were
current on this subject, and among others was the
following; but I can by no means vouch for its
truth.
66
It was said that, having to deprive Monsignor
della Genga of some office, he drily said to him,
Monsignore, from this moment your functions are
at an end;" without taking the least pains to soften
the blow.
Whether this be fact or not, the rule of Cardinal
Consalvi was neither light nor mild: and naturally
* Monsignor Annibale della Genga was the rival of Cardinal
Consalvi, and succeeded Pius VII. under the name of Leo XII.
CONSALVI'S FAULTS AND MEED.
219
the reaction against him, as soon as Pius VII. had
breathed his last, was equally impassioned.
Anybody who impartially considers the charac-
ter and the life of that statesman cannot shut his
eyes to the qualities of firmness, probity, and pru-
dence which adorned him. His faults were not so
much his own as those of his age, his education,
and especially of the atmosphere in which he had
been doomed perpetually to live.
In appreciating men of every age, these im-
portant elements for a fair judgment are but too
often forgotten; and given the bitterness of party
spirit, they are more neglected than usual in judging
of the members of the Roman curia.
Consalvi, like many others, did not even suspect
the real nature of the great modern movement. And
this was his most radical error.
In the revolution he only saw 1793. In the
congress of Vienna he only saw a result of divine
mercy, destined to heal the wounds of Europe. Like
the greater part of the potentates of those days, he
took the renewal of the very causes which had pro-
duced the evil for the antidote. And if an internal
instinct, a glimpse of practical sense, warned him
that it was not to be supposed that so great a trans-
formation of ideas, things, and men could have
passed away without leaving a trace worthy of being
220
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
taken into consideration, he never had sufficient
elevation of mind (this was the result of the atmo-
sphere), nor sufficient independence of thought, to
estimate his age correctly. He failed to discern the
indelible traces of the revolution; he copied instead
the centralisation which was the necessary instru-
ment of the revolutionary and Napoleonic despotism,
but which could not be the pivot of a reorganised
society. He brought all the vitality of the provinces
together in Rome. He may perhaps have hoped
that under subsequent pontificates Rome would find
in herself strength, virtue, and energy enough to
govern them; but in that case the history of the
last twenty-six years of the pontifical rule has sadly
deceived his expectations.
Notwithstanding all this, if one bears in mind
the country in which he was born, and how he had
been educated and lived, he must always be reckoned
among the remarkable men of our time.
CHAPTER IX.
My uncle Cardinal Morozzo-I refuse his offer of pecuniary as-
sistance I recommend a young priest to him for his dapifero
during the conclave-Curious mistake-Roman customs at
the death of the Pope, during the interregnum, and after the
election of his successor-In the winter of 1825 I worked very
hard, and painted a picture representing the death of Mont-
morency-I take fright at the jubilee ordered by Leo XII., and
bolt to Turin-My Montmorency arrives too, and has an even
greater success at Turin than at Rome-My father proposes I
should enter the royal household, but fortunately takes no
steps about it-Presentation of my picture to King Charles
Felix-Example of the inattention to the convenience of
others displayed even by good princes-In the summer of
1825 I make an excursion among the Alps, but soon tire of
it-My father suffers from domestic and other afflictions-
He is a member of one of the many Catholic societies then
flourishing at Turin-The government dissolves it with little
delicacy-Ingratitude shown to my father by the government
and by old comrades-Long letter he addresses to my bro-
ther Roberto on this subject.
HAVING always had a natural tendency to study
men, their passions, vices, and virtues, and to ob-
serve any novelty, I hastened to Rome on the death
of Pius VII., to be a personal witness of that great
Roman upheaval. I had besides another motive.
222
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
My great-uncle, the brother of my grandfather, Car-
dinal Morozzo, Bishop of Novara, had come to Rome
to be present at the conclave, and it was but natural
that I should go to pay him my respects.
I found him lodged in the house of Cardinal de
Gregorio, his old and intimate friend; a man of un-
swerving firmness, who had accepted the dungeons
of Napoleon, but never his flatteries, far less trembled
at his anger. His political opinions were such that
the actual Monsignor de Mérode would appear a
Jacobin beside him. His character and manners
were those of a perfect gentleman, and there was no
sort of attention he did not lavish on me during the
years I spent at Rome. I dined at his house once
a week; he invited me to Casal de' Pazzi, an ill-
starred creation of his a few miles out of Porta Pia;
and I shall always feel the deepest gratitude for all
his kindness. Gratitude is not a political question;
but, unfortunately, politics are sometimes a conve-
nient pretext for ingratitude. If that excellent old
man could only have surmised that I, the future
author of the Ultimi Casi di Romagna, was a guest
at his table!
My uncle, who was also my godfather, treated
me with an affection which his undemonstrative na-
ture made all the more precious. He even offered
to replenish my exchequer, if I found myself in
any difficulty. My difficulties were certainly great.
DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.
223
Nevertheless I thanked him, without accepting his
offer.
My friends told me I was a fool. "A fool,
answered I, "is he who, when he can honestly pro-
cure a good thing, fails to do so. But the whole
question is, what do we consider a good? There is
a moral and a material good, and consequently two
species of pleasure. If the satisfaction of owing every-
thing to myself, and being discreet and delicate,
seems to me greater than that of having a few more
scudi in my pocket, what harm does it do you?"
A splendid argument, which only served to con-
firm the opinion of my folly.
My friends, however, ascertained three important
facts: first, that my uncle was fond of me; secondly,
that this uncle was a cardinal; thirdly, that I might,
therefore, be more or less the channel of a recom-
mendation.
The first request I received was from a lady,
one of whose relations was on the threshold of the
ecclesiastical career. One night she took me aside
at her own house, where I often went, and thus
broached the subject.
Here I must begin by an explanation. There
are no kitchens within the Conclave; but, as it is
necessary to dine, every cardinal has his food, and
that of his attendants, prepared at his own house.
224
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
The train is a small one, of course, the secretary
and a servant or two, if I am not mistaken,-and the
dinner is conveyed from the house of the cardinal
to the Conclave in a chest covered with a scarlet
cloth on a sort of hand-barrow, carried by two foot-
men in state liveries, preceded by four or six other
footmen similarly attired, and followed by two empty
cardinalesque coaches. The leader of this gastro-
nomic procession is an inferior ecclesiastic, just en-
tering on his career, who thus begins his attempts
to secure the patronage of the cardinal; and the
appointment is naturally very much in request. As
the only duty attached to it consists in escorting the
eatables, which in Latin are called dapes, while 'to
carry' is translated by ferre, the person holding this
office bears the compound name of dapifero.
I had none of this erudition, having never been
at Rome during a conclave, when the aforesaid lady
recommended her chosen candidate to me; and you
may imagine my astonishment when she said, "As
your uncle is here, my dear D'Azeglio, you ought
to try if he could be induced to employ Don Fran-
cesco as da-piffero.
99
* Here I must, in my turn, give another explanation. The
good lady's knowledge of Latin was very limited, as the subsequent
dialogue will show; and instead of calling this novel would-be
Ganymede by his proper appellation, she asked to have him em-
SINGULAR LAPSUS LINGUÆ.
66
225
I stared at her, and answered, laughing: "What
on earth could he do with him ?"-" What? Each
cardinal appoints an abate to escort his dinner to the
Conclave." "This is indeed a novelty. And does
he really carry it with a piffero (a fife) ?”—“ No, no.
What are you dreaming of? How can I tell you what
it is called in Latin? I think I understood dapifero.”
And here having invoked the assistance of one of the
bystanders, who was better informed than we were,
the whole enigma was explained, and I obtained the
coveted favour for the young priest. This is one of
the very few occasions in my life on which my pro-
tection did not signally fail.
At Rome the fair sex especially, having studied
neither Latin nor Greek, is apt to fall into the most
absurd blunders. The same lady one day asked me
for an account of the great paramano just arrived
from Pariggi, and which she had heard so highly
praised. I could not at first understand what she
meant by a paramano recently come from Paris. The
thing intended was a panorama. A very slight dif-
ference!
The proceedings which occur at the death of a
pope deserve a passing mention. The usages and
ployed da piffero, namely, as a fifer! No wonder, then, if her
interlocutor was startled by such a strange application.
VOL. II.
Q
226
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
customs, as well as the abuses and semi-barbarous
traditions of the Middle Ages, have disappeared every-
where except at the court of Rome. It is natural.
The latter fears the present, and clings to the past,
from an instinct of self-preservation. When the
pope is at the last extremity, and the impossibility
of his recovery is evident, all the bonds which unite
even his favourite attendants to him burst asunder.
Personal interests are at stake. No time is to be lost.
It is a question of hours, perhaps less; they must be
turned to account. Therefore everybody hastens to
seize and carry off what does, and also what does
not, belong to him: important papers, jewels, money,
property of all kinds. It is a headlong flight; and
very often the unhappy old man dies in solitude.
Such was the fate of Gregory XVI. I quote the
words of a friend of mine, which I believe to be
perfectly true: "A common labourer employed in the
Belvedere-gardens, and much attached to the Pope,
who had often stopped in his walks to speak to him,
and sometimes gave him half a scudo, learnt that the
pontiff was dying. The poor man felt very desirous
of seeing him once more. He made his way up the
back staircase and through different rooms to a small
passage. There he knocked. No answer. Hesitat-
ing, he went on. Finding another door, he entered a
room. Nobody. He opened a third door, and sud-
AGONY OF A POPE.
227
denly found himself in the room of the Pope, whom
he saw with a huge pile of pillows on the bed; but,
struggling perhaps in the agonies of death, he had
thrown himself violently on one side, and his head was
hanging over the edge of his couch. The humble gar-
dener sprang forward to help him, and replaced him
gently upon the pillows. Then he spoke to him, felt
So he fell on his
for his pulse, and found him cold!
knees crying, and recited a De profundis for the
dead Pope. At that moment an attendant, who must
have returned from securing his plunder, came in.
He passed from surprise to anger, he rebuked him,
and turned him out, with threats if he ever men-
tioned what he had seen. But the gardener did speak.
A still stranger feature is, that while the per-
sonal attendants of the Pope commit such atroci-
ties, the anterooms of the palace are swarming
with noble guards, Swiss sentries, prelates, ushers,
footmen, &c. The difference between apparent and
real Rome will never cease to be a great enigma to
anybody who has not been in contact with it year
after year; and all the mistakes of those who are
now dealing with the Roman question arise from
their inability to distinguish between them.
When the pontiff has expired, the cardinal
camerlingo is summoned, and he presents himself,
*
* One of the highest dignitaries of the Sacred College. His
228
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
with other prelates. He calls the Pope by name
three times, and receiving no reply, he takes a
silver hammer, with an ebony handle, off a plate
brought to him for that purpose, and strikes the
forehead of the corpse three times. This ceremony
is supposed to prove the death of the pontiff, which
is at once announced to the Senator of Rome, already
waiting in an anteroom. The ring of the Fisherman
is broken, and then the Senator says: "I therefore
take the command of Rome;" but in reality he does
not take it at all; he contents himself, on his return
to the Capitol, with ordering the great bell of the
tower to toll out the announcement; and this knell
is immediately reëchoed from all the belfries of the
city.
Twenty-four hours after, the corpse is taken into
a room with bare walls, having a layer of sawdust
three or four inches deep on the floor; there it is
placed on a table and opened, the heart extracted
and placed in an urn, to be deposited at St. Anastasia;
next, the body is embalmed, dressed in pontifical
raiment, and carried with great pomp down the stair-
exalted position and authority principally appear during the inter-
regnum between the death of one pope and the election of an-
other. During this interval he has coins struck with his own
arms; and when the new pope is chosen, it is his peculiar office
to put on his holiness' finger the famous annulus piscatoris.
THE NOVENDIALI.
229
case of the Vatican into Saint Peter's, where it is
laid in the Chapel of the Sacrament.
At the death of Leo XII. sinister rumours were
afloat about his end; but I never succeeded in ac-
quiring any information having a semblance of truth
or even of probability. With reference to Pius VII.
and Pius VIII. nothing was ever said.
As for the kind of wholesale plunder I have men-
tioned while the Pope is dying, it must be said (to
be just, but not to justify it), that it springs from the
medieval Roman traditions. On certain occasions
it was admitted or tolerated. For instance, the
house of the cardinal elected pope used to be sacked,
and a vestige of this custom still remains. The
carriage of the new pontiff is pounced upon by the
Swiss guard. The coachman breaks his whip and
descends from the box. Now, however, his holi-
ness redeems it all for 200 scudi.
The obsequies of a pope present the artistic and
rather theatrical character which distinguishes all
the ceremonies of Catholic worship. They are called
the novendiali, and are celebrated for nine consecu-
tive days. During three, the corpse, clad in pon-
tifical vestments, and the face uncovered, is exposed
on an inclined plane in the Chapel of the Sacrament,
the feet touching the gate which separates it from
the church. The people, curious and devout, crowd
230
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
to kiss them as they pass by.
funeral ceremony, and in the
nave stands a lofty catafalque,
high as the cornice.
Every day there is a
centre of the great
reaching almost as
As soon as the novendiali are over, the Conclave
begins, and is followed in its turn by the ceremonies
of the exaltation of the new Pope. Everything then
assumes a festive aspect.
The cardinals, their retinue, the bishops, the
monsignori, and prelates of every description, change
their black and violet mourning into scarlet and
white, with a gorgeous display of gold and embroi-
deries; the walls of the churches are hung with the
richest tapestry, and the splendid surplices reserved
for this solemnity adorn the officiating priests. Thus
the new Pope, even if the allegorical tow, with the
motto Sic transit gloria mundi, were not burnt before.
him, would have a sufficiently severe lesson under
his eyes. He be certain that the same rapture
may
will burst forth at his death. I should like to know
whether such a corrective flashes across the minds of
many popes at that moment.
On this particular occasion, a circumstance of
remarkable interest was expected. Wishing to be a
spectator of it, I forced my way through the throng,
and succeeded in securing a place from which I
could witness every incident.
RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.
231
In one of the ceremonies, the Pope is seated on a
throne at the end of the church, close to the great
pulpit, supported by four colossal bronze statues of
bishops.
At a certain moment of the ceremony, the offi-
ciating cardinal leaves the altar, and carries to the
Pope an object that he has in his hands (I forget
exactly what), covered with a silver tissue.
In this instance Consalvi was the officiating car-
dinal. The distance is considerable; on each side
sat the members of the sacred college, with (bene-
volent) eyes fixed upon him, scrutinising his face
and the steadiness of his step. It was a real case
of running the gauntlet.
He went through it bravely and creditably, but
I seemed to detect on his pale and stern face (if it
were not mere fancy), the signs of an immense
effort, and I kept saying to myself, "Provided he
does not fall dead before it is over!"?
I should not wonder, however, if that walk gave
him the mortal blow which carried him off a few
months later.
Those who know what a degree of intensity cer-
tain passions attain in the bosom of priests, exactly
because of the continual violence with which they
must stifle them in their own breasts; those who
know under what a veil of serene placidity the most
232
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
ardent ambitions, tenacious hatreds, and coveted
vengeances have to be concealed, will perhaps not be
far from sharing my opinion.
A few months after, passing before the church of
San Marcello, I saw a great funeral. I entered, and
perceived the corpse of Cardinal Consalvi stretched
on his last bed.
It seemed as if it would have been better for him
to have died a year sooner. But who can fathom
these mysteries?
I spent the winter of 1825 working might and
main. I now found myself provided with a sufficient
store of studies and sketches from nature; I thought
it would not be too presumptuous to try something
difficult, and I resolved to undertake a great com-
position (of course, as to size), and in rather a new
style. The Flemish and Dutch schools, which then
reigned in Rome, peopled their pictures with shep-
herds and cattle. I summoned to my help a host of
paladins, damsels, and knights-errant. It was no
novelty in literature, but a considerable one in land-
scape painting.
I selected a subject from the Malek Adel of
Madame Cottin-the death of Montmorency; and I
brooded over it by day and dreamt of it by night,
made sketches upon sketches, drawings and trials of
all sorts, until at last I produced a sketch which I
UNIVERSAL JUBILEE.
233
considered satisfactory; and having bought a large
canvas, I set to work with so much zeal that I almost
forgot even my unhappy passion.
I built a great many castles in the air on this
picture. It was my pot au lait.
One of the first ideas of Leo XII. was to an-
nounce a universal jubilee for the year 1825; which
meant, that Rome for a whole twelvemonth was to
be transformed into a great establishment for spiri-
tual exercises. Theatres, festivities, balls, receptions,
were all prohibited; even the puppet-shows were to
be banished from the streets, and replaced by a
shower of sermons, missions, processions, ceremo-
nies, and such-like.
Ah, this was a subject for serious reflection.
Not that I was then, or ever afterwards, much ad-
dicted to those tiresome gatherings which society
calls amusements; but that melancholy, nay worse,
that universal hypocrisy was an entertainment hav-
ing little temptation for me. You should have heard
young men, soldiers, and civil officials, placed in the
alternative of losing their posts or singing a miserere,
and the invocations they uttered by way of prepara-
tion! One could guess how they would behave when
they were obliged to be in earnest.
In short, it was a sad comedy; and having no
wish to witness it, I resolved to pay a visit to my
234
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
parents at Turin, and to show them a specimen of
the little I had learnt.
Having finished my picture, I exhibited it (pri-
vately, however, and only in my studio), and it met
with a decided success, which to a certain extent it
deserved. There was much novelty, grandeur of
composition, colour, and effect in it. All the young
painters, and some of the old ones, came to see it;
altogether it was generally approved.
Having had it packed, I sent it to Turin viú
Genoa; while I went through Florence in company
with a certain monsignore, an original and a mad-
cap, although a man of great talent. His devotions
were paid in the same family where I was on duty;
therefore a sort of society of mutual assistance had
sprung up between us for the furtherance of our
interests.
It would be tedious were I to relate all the co-
mico-heroic and half-tragic adventures which re-
sulted from this partie carrée. But of these sort of
loves, do what you will, nothing remains. I leave
others to expatiate on them. Still, I must relate one
incident. As we were travelling towards Florence,
one morning at dawn I saw my priest nestled in
a corner, seeming to hold a small book before his
eyes. The deuce! is he reading his Breviary?
I stretched out my neck, and discovered that it
A PRESENT TO THE KING.
235
was not a volume, but a pocket-book containing the
portrait of his lady-love!
At Turin I met my parents, who received me
with all the tenderness and joy that can be ima-
gined. My picture, too, fortunately arrived safe
and sound; and I placed it in a room with a toler-
ably good light. My relations and friends came to
see it; and if in Rome it met with approval, at
Turin it was looked upon as quite a marvel.
My excellent father was persuaded that all the
diamonds of Golconda were less valuable than my
picture.
He at once resolved to offer it to the then reign-
ing king, Charles Felix, and meanwhile obtained
leave for my picture to be exhibited in one of the
rooms of the royal palace, where I accordingly in-
stalled it, with all those contrivances for light and
shade to which artists resort to show their works to
the best advantage.
The public went in great numbers, and my
triumph continued to increase. I was enchanted,
not so much for my own sake as at the profound
satisfaction that I remarked in my father and mother.
Besides, I was overjoyed to show my relations that,
after all, intellect and industry were able to acquire
a place in the world without being a chamberlain or
an equerry.
236
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
It was, nevertheless, impossible entirely to escape
the influences of caste and country.
My father was imbued with their ideas, although
he did not exaggerate them.
In his solicitude for my well-being, he thought
it might be useful for me to be connected with the
royal household. Considering how many people now
seek for such appointments, it is no wonder if he
then believed it would be advantageous.
One day he proposed to procure me the post of
gentilhomme de bouche.
My heart sank within me. To be at court-and,
to make it worse, as gentilhomme de bouche (who has
I know not what petty authority over the royal
meals) — seemed to me a catastrophe I could not
bear to think of.
On the other hand, I had not the courage to say
no to my father, or to oppose his ideas; and, in fact,
unable to do otherwise, I consented. But I must
have done so with such evident repugnance that my
father did not insist, and the subject was not revived.
My entrance into court-circles was to take place
in another shape, and for other reasons, twenty-one
years later.
I could not, however, avoid going to court and
personally presenting my picture to the king. The
picture and frame together were a tolerable weight;
AT THE PALACE.
237
but as, in point of fine arts, our court was, and is,
rather behindhand, nobody had had the forethought
to provide an easel to rest it upon. Being admitted
into the presence of Charles Felix, the two acolytes
in full dress, who, not without difficulty, were carry-
ing the picture, were obliged to hold it with out-
stretched arms while the king greeted my father
and me with some courteous expressions; and then,
leisurely turning his eyes to the picture, drew near
to examine it better.
One of the two men was my servant, a fat Roman
with little muscular strength; and as no prince in
the world, however good, has ever calculated the pre-
cise strength of human, but only of equine, muscles,
the king on that occasion did not give it a thought.
He therefore examined the picture at his leisure, and
I saw that my poor Roman, red and swollen in the
face, the perspiration running down in large drops,
could hardly stand, and I thought to myself, "In a
second the picture will fall on the king, and I shall
see his majesty come out on the other side, like a
mountebank through a paper hoop." Indeed, the
escape was a narrow one, and I had to relieve the
weary arms until the bearers were dismissed, as I
was also in a few minutes.
Early in the summer my good father, who was
well satisfied with my behaviour, bade me make an
238
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
excursion in cooler regions. I therefore went to
Courmayeur, and then to the St. Bernard, and on
to Switzerland. But it always rained; the weather
was bitterly cold; and, accustomed to revel like
a fish in the water under the burning sun of the
Roman Campagna, I felt myself lost, like Ulysses
among the Cimbri. One fine day I grew so sick of
the rain, the fogs, the mountains, and the Swiss,
who made me pay even for the air I breathed, that,
sending them all heartily to the devil, I hastened
over the Simplon, without stopping till I again felt
on my forehead the scorching beams of the Italian
sun.
Having reached Turin, I remained there some
time; for, after all, I had come from Rome to stay
with my family, and not to make Alpine excursions.
The death of my brother Enrico, which had oc-
curred the previous year, still threw a veil of sadness
over our domestic circle. I have already given some
account of the poor fellow's tormented existence.
The moral struggle between the yearning after an
ideal perfection, and the weakness of a highly im-
pressionable, nervous nature, little capable of fixed
resolution, had slowly worn him to death. My
father, the confidant of his cravings, his efforts, and
his discouragement, had been the witness of their
fatal action, but was powerless to resist them.
FAMILY DIFFICULTIES.
239
I found in him a depth of sadness and a reserve
of manner which had hitherto been strange to him.
My eldest brother had returned home, after having
lived at Paris several years, to allow the impression
produced by his conduct in 1821 to die away.
His two children were both charming. Their
father employed himself in instructing and educating
them, with the constant and persevering zeal inspired
by a sense of duty. The peace of home, as may be
seen, was uninterrupted; but unfortunately, if time,
reflection, and moral sentiment counsel mutual tole-
ration to opposing characters, and, apparently, often
succeed in securing it, they cannot create a real
unity of hearts, without which family cohabitation
may assuredly exist and endure, and be an act of
virtue both useful and meritorious, but never a plea-
sure.
Being always of a quietly cheerful disposition, I
saw at once that I was in many ways capable of soft-
ening and neutralising these repulsions.
In his public life also my father had been very
undeservedly wounded. His unswerving and un-
changeable opinions were not of a purely specu-
lative nature. He sought to propagate them both
by act and writing,-by all the means within the
range of an honest man. We saw that, for them, he
had sacrificed tranquillity and fortune, and exposed
240
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
his life. Speaking of such a man, it would be ridi-
culous to add that he had never endeavoured to make
them stepping-stones to honours or advantages of
any kind.
After the Restoration of 1815, many people pro-
fessed them because it was the fashion, and still
more so as a theory. The events of 1821 had pro-
duced a fresh outburst of zeal, and I found Turin
full of so-called pious Catholic societies, the subscrip-
tion to which was trifling, but which served to keep
up a mutual understanding and to spread Jesuitical
influence. It made me laugh to see certain of our
ladies pay their mite, and comport themselves in
society with a sanctimonious air; whilst I had seen
them at other times with faces and eyes anything
but mystic. So wags the world!
My father's rectitude was pushed to such an ex-
treme as to make it impossible for him to suspect
others of double-dealing. This noble defect was one
of the few to be detected in him. He had gathered
around him a number of friends and acquaintances
professing his own creed. They were organised as
a society, held meetings, discussed the interests of
their party, passed resolutions, &c. The majority of
these worthies were only too happy to shelter their
little plots under the shadow of the indisputable up-
rightness of my father. But either they went too
COWARD DESERTION.
241
far, or for some other reason, in the end the govern-
ment conceived a prejudice against the association,
and dissolved it without any previous warning. My
father was deeply hurt by such a proceeding, and
the rude manner of it. His character, as well as
his services, certainly deserved more consideration.
But none of the Italian governments that have suc-
ceeded each other were ever remarkable for this
quality.
A still more bitter deception, however, awaited
him-that of remaining alone, isolated and shunned
by his friends, who, as soon as they had perceived
there was danger in what they had considered as a
ladder to raise themselves, repudiated him with all
the zeal which distinguishes turncoats on such occa-
sions.
I might mention names, and especially one made
illustrious by a person more worthy of bearing it; but
what is the use? Should I thus succeed in eradi-
cating the seeds of these reptiles?
This circumstance seemed made on purpose to
test my father's character. He did not complain
either of the decree or its form; but feeling himself
innocent, he never condescended to seek an absolu-
tion or a return to favour. He obeyed in silence.
No one ever knew what he felt about his con-
temptible companions; but with a nature impetuous
VOL. II.
R
242
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
as that of a young man, and a soul which spurned
every kind of baseness, a terrible storm must have
raged in his breast. Fortunately, every act of
virtue is registered on the eternal pages of divine
justice.
The men who ruled us, as I think I have already
stated, never showed my father much regard; or, to
speak more correctly, they had so high an opinion
of him, that the ministers and the other gros bonnets
did not like to find him in their way. In this all
governments are alike, be they monarchical, re-
publican, or mixed: they like honest men; but—ne
quid nimis.
Modern bureaucratic spheres are pervaded by a
peculiar freemasonry, which watches over the com-
mon interests and resorts to the most tortuous means.
It chiefly displays its talents when the object is to
close every door and avenue against a man whose
only sin is too great honesty. Fools then display
their astonishment. It seems impossible that such
an honest man as X-- should not be employed.
How very cunning!
It was only natural that this tacit conspiracy
should have condemned my father, and ostracised
him latæ sententiae. The two kings, Victor Emma-
nuel I. and Charles Felix,-like monarchs in ge-
neral, and especially absolute ones,-ignorant of the
DEFINITION OF INGRATITUDE.
243
great art of knowing men, had surrounded them-
selves with inferior, incapable, and even hostile ad-
visers, keeping their friends at a distance; and my
father, who would have given his life and that of
his sons for the House of Savoy, lived and was left
in retirement.
In a case which my memory now fails to par-
ticularise, my brother Roberto, who saw, on the one
hand, how our father was neglected by the govern-
ment and the king, and on the other, how unflinch-
ingly he was devoted to them, gave way to his indig-
nation. One day he wrote to him that "he was
taking too much trouble for ungrateful people, and
that ingratitude would be his only reward." This
is what my father answered, in a letter of the 13th
December 1817:
“You have not answered my query in good logic.
The terms must be defined, to facilitate the solution
of a question. I asked you, Who are ungrateful?
What is ingratitude? Unless we agree in defining
them, you and I should have equal grounds for as-
serting contrary opinions.
"As I feel less reserved than usual, I will try
to throw some light upon the point you put for-
ward. For whom do I labour? For my family, for
the poor, for my country, which is one with the
king. Now I think he may be called ungrateful,
244
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
who, knowing the service done him, is aware that it
was performed for his advantage, without its being
strictly due to him; and having the means, fails to
acknowledge it either by word or deed; or omits
something in his power which he knows would be
welcome to his benefactor.
"If someone at St. Petersburg were to sign a
donation in my favour of two million roubles a
year, should I be ungrateful for not thanking him
at this moment? Now I will reduce the theory to
practice. You and your brothers have often told
me you knew I had made and was still making
sacrifices for your sakes beyond my strict paternal
obligation. You expressed your gratitude to me; I
suppose you had not the intention of exhorting me
to take no further care for you. The few poor to
whom I give charity are so little ungrateful, that I
can say with perfect truth, that I have a reputation
for being charitable far above my deserts. Our
country and the king, both for me the objects of
immutable affection and veneration, are quite free
from similar imputations. If you choose to draw a
line of demarcation between them, the country re-
duces itself to that part of the population which
knows me, my actions and my affections. It has
nothing to give me but proofs of its esteem; which
I think I enjoy fully as much as my known actions
MODESTY.
245
and sentiments deserve. Some persons may perhaps
have criticised one or other of the evidences of
patriotism that I have displayed. At a time when
examples are so scarce, those who, having never be-
held patriotism in all its purity, are slow to under-
stand it, are to be pitied; but they by no means
constitute the majority; and at all events, even they,
I believe, do not refuse me that esteem which, as I
said, is the only means by which the public can
prove itself grateful. And if you remember the
regret so many have expressed at my not occupying
an important post, you must confess that self-love
alone suffices to make me content with this proof of
gratitude and esteem on the part of the public. And
observe that the said public, if we speak correctly,
is reduced to a very narrow circle for each indivi-
dual. How many are there in Turin itself, and far
more in the kingdom, who do not even know my
name! How many, too, know nothing beyond it!
Those who are better informed are, therefore, but
few, and yet they constitute the public, the country,
of whom I might complain so much! I think I may
consider myself equally compensated as governor at
Casale and Vercelli; and I assure you sincerely that
in general the reward assigned me, both by country
and public, seems to me far above my merit. Man
and men are wont to indulge in dreams of a Utopia
246
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
in ideal circumstances, to contrast them with what
is.
If the reality were inverted, you would hear
a thousand complaints of the dreams that had as-
sumed a tangible shape, and a thousand regrets for
the lost realities. Seeing this invariable law of hu-
man affairs, those who love me ought to rejoice at my
actual condition. Now it is said: 'Why is he not
placed in a position to display his qualities?'-and
here, thanks either to the usual predilection for those
who are at an envied height, or the few good quali-
ties Providence may have given me, or the rage for
running down those who are in power, follows a
string of eulogium which I should almost object to
on the day of my death: if I were appointed to-
morrow to a post of distinction (my social standing
puts me above an obscure one), as soon as the public
knew it, I should lose the esteem of the critics; they
would at once join the ranks of the envious, of the
enemies of the king, and I will also add of the evil-
doers, who fear my influence, and everybody would
eagerly seek to find fault with me. As if I were
likely to escape such lynx-eyes! In the mean time
we should go on, and your father, the descendant
in a direct line from a certain couple, Adam and
Eve, without an intermarriage with any other race
in six thousand years (his ancestral line goes back
so far), in order not to show himself degenerate,
MONARCHIES AND REPUBLICS.
247
would commit blunders, and provoke a flood of
satires; or if he did any good, he would offend those
who are hostile to it, and thus excite fresh discon-
tent; till the poor man, so much sought after at first,
became a nuisance, a worry, and a stumbling-block
to those who did not find him answer exactly to
their preconceived idea. The conclusion therefore
is, that if I do anything to promote the advantage
of the public, I am not serving an ungrateful master,
since it gives me abundantly what it can, and more
than I deserve. In fact, I enjoy a public considera-
tion greater than the small part I have played in
politics has earned; and hence I am under an ob-
ligation to my country, which I should not owe to
a republic or a constitutional government.
"In pure monarchies, he who is not in high
favour has always the means of healing his self-love,
by attributing it to court-intrigues, and the above-
mentioned public voice persuades him he is appre-
ciated by his fellow-citizens. He may, in this in-
stance (but in this only), draw a distinction between
the sovereign and the country, and think that if he
serves the latter, it is not ungrateful, but recompenses
him with its esteem and affection.
"When a certain number of subjects take part
in carrying on the government, this distinction is
no longer possible; and if Scipio and Aristides are
248
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
neglected, they cannot entirely absolve the people. I
might add a third conclusion; namely, that popu-
lar favour is so fascinating, that he who obtains it,
thanks to their intrigues, ought almost to feel grateful
to his rivals. But all this gossip cannot apply to me,
who experience no ingratitude from the sovereign;
nor can I complain either of him, or of any neglect.
I do not regret never asking anything of him. I
feel the hand of time (fifty-four years), nor can I say
that shocks and moral weaknesses have been wanting
to hasten the approach of age: do not think this is
false humility; it is plain truth. I could not have an
appointment which did not imply a great and serious
responsibility; and if it would be presumptuous for
anybody to boast of being able to rule and govern
provinces and kingdoms, how much more so would
it be for me, who having spent the vigour of my
youth in sadness and despair of a political resurrec-
tion, now find myself without the necessary know-
ledge and experience, and really lacking whatever
aptitude I might once have possessed.
"Having never asked for anything, nay, having
often expressed the above just opinion of myself, it
is no wonder if those who are in power have not
relied on my capacity, or perhaps thought me de-
sirous of rest, and that I held the language I did to
secure its enjoyment. I am so fully convinced of the
LOVE OF RETIREMENT.
249
justice of this mode of reasoning, that I think, on the
contrary, it was a wonderful mark of affection and
esteem when last year I was offered a most honour-
able post. I had a reason for refusing, so true and
cogent, that the very few to whom I confided it, and
even the person who made me the proposal, were
obliged to confess that I was right. In the mean
while, I had thus a palpable proof that I was not
forgotten. If afterwards there was really an idea of
sending me to Sardinia; if my cold, reserved replies
to those sent to sound my intentions showed that I
did not desire it; if perhaps there was a person who,
without my knowledge, but almost as if interpreting
my views, contributed to overturn the scheme,—it
must nevertheless be said that the intention showed
great confidence. But I also praise God for having
had mercy on my shoulders, too weak for such a
burden, and on those islanders, who require a man
of first-rate ability. Such a one has been found in
Count Balbo, whose appointment appears certain.
"Now, if you considered the king as ungrateful
-which by the bye is not right, assuming the fourth
commandment to be still in force you would be
wrong even in this. Though of rather a reserved cha-
racter, he has on a hundred occasions given me un-
mistakable proofs of good-will, expressed with a
warmth unusual to him. Pursued by applications, he
250
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
has thought of me, who stand aloof; and if he has
not given me the Grand Cross, it must be recollected
that many of my seniors both at court and in the
army have not yet received it. He should moreover
be excused, even on the supposition that he ought to
have promoted me over their heads. He cannot know
all my devotion to him as you do: how many proofs
of it are unknown to him! He cannot even sur-
mise how warmly I have often expressed myself on
this subject in the privacy of domestic life; whereas
I can well imagine all the requests with which he is
overwhelmed by urgent, relentless, importunate ap-
plicants, to whom all he can do never seems enough.
And I am quite convinced that I might have suc-
ceeded, either for myself or my sons, if I had chosen
to solicit anything. But it would have been too
presumptuous as regards myself; and I think for
your parts you will not complain if I refrained.
"Therefore I may conclude that he is completely
free from any suspicion of ingratitude; and I will
add, that I have unwillingly entered on a subject
which I consider in itself too alien to the respect I
owe to him who is the father of us all. But I have
overcome my repugnance, because reason and the
duty of charity and justice compel me to speak in his
behalf, when so many blindly accuse him. Blindly
indeed; for their very errors ought to awaken commi-
RESPECT FOR SOVEREIGNTY.
251
seration, and a wish to help them, if possible, in any
man possessing a true love of justice, and aware of the
conditions which hamper sovereigns: the country too
would thus be benefited far more than by complaints,
which only tend to weaken the loyalty of subjects.
"And with what result? Therefore, supposing
even the country and the sovereign were guilty of
ingratitude, I would by no means admit of complaints
against them; nay more, I should continue to think
it a duty to do my best for their advantage.
If
you have Metastasio at hand, in Attilius Regulus, in
Themistocles, and elsewhere, you may find expressed
the feelings due to an ungrateful country.
'Hm, my dear father! You put yourself, then,
on a level with these great men
"Eh! humility hid itself in the chimney, and
vanished up it like smoke. I am not, however,
afraid of offending against so beautiful, necessary,
and rational a virtue; and if you clearly understand
me, you will be of the same opinion. I do not com-
pare myself with them, either in intellect or as to the
services rendered to the country; I only say they
felt like great men; and if I cannot compare myself
to them in other things, I will at least emulate their
greatness of soul and patriotism. I have neither
their talents nor the occasion to display the little I
possess; this does not depend upon me.
It is in my
252
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
power, however, to imitate their will, their disin-
terested devotion; and so I do. I say further, they
How much worthier they
country were not a cre-
accomplished great deeds.
were than I! And if the
ditor to whom a citizen can never entirely discharge
his obligation, any more than a son can to his father,
they would have paid their debt, all the more so as
their countries, being ruled either by democracies or
oligarchies, were really most ungrateful. Now, I
have done very little, or rather nothing; my debt to
the country and the king, as a citizen and a subject,
therefore, exists in full. So I only compare myself
to those great men to arrive at this conclusion: if
they, with some apparent reason on their side, did
not deem their obligation discharged, how much less
ground have I, so inferior to them? But this is not
all. I am far from despising my native country; its
boasts and its merits are many. I think a Pied-
montese may well be proud of his name; and I really
believe what I wrote and said to the students of our
university. My patriotism, therefore, is only on a
par with that of those who think with the herd. I
rejoice at being a part of an honoured, respected, and
estimable whole.
"If this land be small, how much greater is the
evidence of its fortitude and ability afforded by the
uninterrupted shocks and convulsions among which
LOVE OF COUNTRY.
253
it has grown and developed! I do not value it for
its size that would be a vulgar criterion. Many
countries which have acquired great fame without
extending their boundaries were of small size; and
perhaps it is also true that the smaller the country
the greater the patriotism it excites. It may easily
seem difficult for the native of the Crimea to consi-
der Finland as part of his country. The Provençal
feels the same about Brittany; nor did the Egyp-
tians under Trajan or Diocletian consider the Gauls
as countrymen. This may be disputed; so I lay no
stress upon it; but it is, however, certain that if
this country were entirely obscure, I ought to love
it, and would try to do so. I should love and hon-
our it, because often, nay in most cases, external
splendour is in an inverse proportion to internal hap-
piness and order, and because to disdain an obscure
country seems to me like the guilt of a son who is
ashamed of an ignorant and plebeian father; for if
it be really obscure and without a name, while I am
or fancy myself endowed with a nature and a mind
superior to those of my fellow-citizens, the love which
is always due to the native land, and not a selfish
ambition, will spur me on to raise her, save her from
debasement, and make her worthy of me.
"Thebes was held in contempt among the Greeks;
if Pelopidas and Epaminondas had had so little ele-
254
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
vation of character as to blush for her, and think her
unworthy of having their talents and their energies
employed on her behalf, the rich gifts bestowed
on them by Heaven would have remained buried,
and they and their country would have continued
shrouded by the ancient obscurity: or, if they had
determined to enter the service of another city be-
cause it was more illustrious, the fame already in
existence there would have greatly lessened their
personal splendour, which would besides have di-
minished in importance, because neither history nor
the opinion of posterity ever give a foreigner such
an amount of credit for the services he may have
rendered, as he would have earned had he laboured
on behalf of his own country; the concurrence of
circumstances which would justify a son in turning
his back on his parents being indeed rare.
"As for Epaminondas, he would have lost one
of the most precious gems in his crown; so great
a title that, in my opinion, it raises him far above
all the heroes of antiquity. You know that, after
defeating the Spartans at Leuctra, his republic re-
warded him by an appointment to-I forget what
obscure civic office. He accepted it, conscientiously
discharged its duties, and instead of being dishon-
oured, honoured the office itself, and showed himself
perhaps even greater than at Leuctra and Mantinea.
EPAMINONDAS AND PELOPIDAS.
255
"Now just imagine Epaminondas at Athens or
at Syracuse in similar circumstances. Accept! To
be sure, his rivals would have said, if this intruder
wishes to get a livelihood. Refuse? I think reason-
ably so; but in this case farewell to heroism.
"And what shall I say of the infinite merit he
and Pelopidas had in rescuing their country from
obscurity, and raising her above all the rest of
Greece? This is a glory, a real and true merit;
when, as was precisely their case, they began by
redeeming her from oppression. My country is not
obscure; nor am I Epaminondas. But were she
obscure, I would all the more consecrate my whole
being to her; just as a good son surrounds an in-
valid mother with more continuous and tender care.
If I were still very inferior to a hero like him, still
I might have the satisfaction of contributing one or
ten sparks to dissipate the darkness; and if in the
course of years these sparks emitted a dazzling splen-
dour, my name would be associated with so genuine
a glory.
"If Cimabue had despised painting, because it
was rude before his time, he would never have won
his actual fame; yet Cimabue was not the son of his
art: whereas a citizen and a subject has filial obli-
gations and duties. Perhaps you may be inclined to
give this way of thinking the name of heroism. I
256
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
do not know whether it might have been so in a
Pagan, but it is certainly not in a Christian-he is
only a good layman. What is his rule throughout
existence? To do good, to please the Almighty.
This is the principle to the sublime height of which
the lowest of us rises, if he is truly a Christian.
"This does not exclude magnanimity, nay it pro-
duces it. One consequence of it is that, being all
liable to err, the secondary motives for good conduct
leave human virtue, thanks to the unborn frailty of
the sons of Adam, in itself uncertain, having no solid
basis to enable it to resist any shock. Our celestial
basis cannot be shaken; it will always remain true
that God will reward the deeds done for his sake.
If you add the merits which distinguish every Chris-
tian virtue, it becomes evident that the Christian is
the best of subjects and of citizens. In fact, he will
never break out in reproaches against the monarch :
he will feel charitably even towards his ministers,
since they are at least entitled to the same regard
as all other mortals. He will believe that even more
is due to them, from the great danger springing
from the animosity against those in power, and on
account of the difficulties of their position, so im-
measurably increased by that destructive sect which
calumniates, opposes, and seeks by sowing dissension,
discontent, and rancour, to undermine thrones, that
THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT.
257
on a favourable opportunity they may be upset, to-
gether with all those who love what is honest and
right. He will believe it his duty to contribute to
the common happiness, not only by words, which are
all the more futile, because he who has no experience
is unaware of the immense difference between ideal
systems and the possibility and facility of putting
them in practice. He does not renounce the ad-
vantages and honours which are connected with the
service of the sovereign; but as these are not his
chief object, he does not murmur at being deprived
of them, nor does he seek to attain them by adulation
or flattery.
"This disinterestedness, coupled with the re-
verence taught by the fourth commandment, will
stop him at the true medium between vile courtly
servility and that self-reliant, overbearing, and idle
arrogance, which is the great bane of society. So-
ciety cannot last without rule and system: however
small our houses, how would they go on if the cook
prepared dinner only at his pleasure, or if every in-
dividual had his own fancies about the hours for
meals, sleep, &c.?
"Let all men be true Christians, and they will
then be really excellent citizens and subjects. But
when only one or at most a few act according to the
Christian dispensation, they suffer and are set aside ;
VOL. II.
S
258
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
whilst those who have no such moderation rule and
triumph.
"There would be much to say, and I should not
soon end, if I were to discuss such triumphs and suf-
ferings, and reduce them to their true proportions.
How trifling they are for those who are indifferent
to the things of this world, looking upon them as
baubles, and for those who find in repose a com-
pensation for the honours that have been denied
them!
"How vain is the exultation and enjoyment of
the ambitious man, always longing for something
he does not possess; always fearing to lose what he
has acquired; an object of envy and criticism, en-
slaved to perpetual labour and worry. A true Chris-
tian statesman, who does his duty for the love of
God, deserves to be put on the altars as much as a
cenobite of the Thebais.
"Let us therefore draw the portrait of the true.
Christian, who dedicates his best knowledge and
ability to the service of his country, without pre-
tending to any extraordinary recompense, for which
he cares but little, provided he can look forward to
the eternal one; who quietly resigns himself, if he
does not even receive the ordinary guerdon, al-
though he does not proudly despise it; but because
his faith teaches him that privations and tribulations
THE TRUE CHRISTIAN.
259
increase the eternal reward and make it more cer-
tain; who, fully persuaded of the duty which binds
him to his sovereign, accustomed to contemplate per-
fection in general, and more especially urged on by
his conscience not to neglect his own obligations,
continually strives to attain that end by activity
and earnestness, sparing neither labour nor study;
reproaching himself for ignorance more than a
worldly honest man does for injustice; who, in a
word, discharges his public functions, not only as
well as an ambitious man, but far better; because
he will make every effort in order thoroughly to
fulfil them, like those who seek for advancement:
and when the time for the recompense arrives keeps
modestly aloof, and does not burthen the state more
than he who has done little or nothing for its ser-
vice.
"Now put in the other scale a busybody, who
shows-off his own merits through a microscope, never
content, however much he receives; and who mis-
manages many things, because he always insists on
meddling. Or a systematic idler, for instance, like
our Italiomanes, who are devoted to their mother-
country, but will not serve her until her unity is
secured. It is true that this cannot take place with-
out innumerable revolutions and calamities, and with
great uncertainty of success; but what matter? In
260
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
the mean time they stand with their hands in their
pockets to such a degree, that society would almost
cease to exist if everyone did the same. Instead they
use their tongues; and when they have extracted
from some book, or their own resources, a series of
bitter and well-known maxims, absurd or exagge-
rated in their application, or sallies against the pilot
and the sailors; after thus doing their best to dis-
turb the manœuvres of the crew, even when the sea
runs high, the wind is changeable, and rocks and
pirates are at hand, they throw the public money
away in orgies or other useless or dangerous prodi-
galities, and go on persuaded of their own excellence,
and that the world could not be in better hands than
those of such wise rulers.
"Which of these is most useful to society and
his country? I here repeat my protest: I am not
Epaminondas, as I told you; neither am I that per-
fect Christian I have delineated above. But if, in
sketching some of his qualities, I was but reflecting
my own aspirations, I thank God, who is thus in-
suring my future tranquillity, at least in this respect,
as also for a more advanced period of life, if he please
to lengthen my days.
“Meanwhile I think I have shown you that nei-
ther the king nor the country is ungrateful, and that
even if they were so, I ought not to cease to serve
SOUND PRINCIPLES.
261
them with all the capacity left to me, if I wish to
imitate the great masters of true patriotism; and
lastly, that I should badly respond to the mercy God
showed me by drawing me into his way when I was
only twenty-three, if at fifty-five I were to let myself
be influenced by any guide but duty in my conduct
to the sovereign. Would I were as obedient to His
holy, just, and beneficent law in all other matters!
You must have thought this dissertation interminable.
Had it been a book, I would have tried to make it
shorter and better ordered. But you have heard of
the man who said, 'I write in haste, and therefore
have not time to be concise.' At your leisure hours
you may arrange it in your mind. Farewell."
The principles expressed in this letter may be
accepted or rejected; but I ask every honest and
impartial man if, in reading it, he has not formed
a high opinion of the character and loyalty of the
writer.
I think I may say, without failing in the respect
I profess for his memory, that I cannot share all the
above opinions; but I do not fear to affirm that these
few pages, which I have read over and over again
with real veneration, contain the highest precepts
that can be desired by a statesman, whatever his
views. The entire edifice of the life of a citizen ap-
pears founded on the great basis of moral responsi-
262
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
bility, the origin of the principle of duty, sacrifice,
disinterestedness, tolerance, and perseverance in the
accomplishment of good, even when repaid by in-
gratitude, &c.; and these will always be the true
and only foundations of human society, whatever the
shapes in which they may be applied.
The materialist alone will see no inducement to
accept them; and he will be right. It would be
absurd for a materialist not to think first of himself.
In spite of the length of the above quotation, I
must still beg the reader to allow me to add another.
If he is a man of feeling, he will understand, from
what I have already said about my father, that I
must not and cannot leave the sketch of so noble a
figure incomplete. The following extract from an-
other of his letters shows whether he belonged to that
sect of blind reactionists who would fain have thrown
back the world to the absolutism of the papacy and
the empire—a party which has been the real artificer
and origin of all our misfortunes.
He was writing to my brother Roberto, and after
a short preamble, continued thus :
"The announcement that there is a tendency to
constitutionalise all Europe, and even Italy, may be
very true; its realisation is even probable; time will
show; and if this be so, the doubt will then be dis-
sipated (when we are all dead), whether the result
OBEDIENCE TO ROYAL WILL.
263
will be more or less good for those who are then
living. This has nothing to do with what I wrote
before. If Piedmont became a constitutional coun-
try, how could it come to pass? By a rebellion?
I know not through what phases we should pass. I
only know what my attitude would be. I would
certainly oppose the rebels with all the wisdom, in-
fluence, and vigour at my command; and probably
I should not witness the last events which would
accomplish such a change against the will of the
king. If, however, the new system were introduced
by the royal will, won over either by persuasion or
the fear of greater evils, I should bow my head to
the regal mandate; and the new system, once estab-
lished, should receive my firm support. Obedience
to the ruler, with a few restrictions, is a duty: it
would be almost without restrictions, if the king
had himself spontaneously granted another form of
monarchy, call it constitutional or mixed, as you
please.
""
And here, after a few sentences unnecessary
the comprehension of the whole, he continues:
for
"Long before you had written to me on this
subject, I had devoted myself to special studies con-
cerning the administration in general, that if this
transformation took place I might not find myself
wholly ignorant in such matters. If this came about
264
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
by peaceful means, I think it probable I might sit in
one or other of the two Chambers; and the interests
of the state are not to be discussed by blows struck
at hazard, like the quarrels of blind men" (listen,
senators and deputies of the kingdom of Italy!),
66
or like doctors, who, generally speaking, proceed
by giving a chance hit, which may strike the disease,
and then the patient recovers; but if it strikes him,
terra tegit."
This shows whether, had he lived at the time of
the political changes, and taken part in public affairs,
he would have sat among those faithful worthies who
proclaim their allegiance to absolute monarchs and
the Pope; provided, however, that Pope and mon-
archs are obedient to them.
CHAPTER X.
Early in the autumn I leave Turin, and spend October at Tivoli
-I do not find the Romans at all improved by the Jubilee-
Nothing worthy of note occurs in the winter of 1826-In the
spring I go to La Riccia-The inn of Sor Martorelli-Paint-
ing from nature-At La Riccia I groom my own horse-A
peasant story-Towards summer I feel unwell, and am ad-
vised to go to Naples-Hasty journey-I energetically struggle
against my indisposition-Passage from Naples to Sorrento
with the Catalonian painter Romegas-Sorrento and its neigh-
bourhood-Having returned to Naples at the end of summer,
I frequent a gambling-house-A short moral treatise on gam-
bling-I bid an eternal vale to cards, and write verses-Sketch
of a little poem on the ruins of Pompeii-My present ideas
on verses and versifiers-I return to Rome at the end of the
year 1826.
TOWARDS October I left my parents and returned to
Rome. I shall never forget the proofs of intense
affection given me by them both at the time of
our separation. My mother accompanied me down-
stairs, and I can still see her last look at me after
the lapse of forty years. My father went with me
to the mail-coach, taking on himself the trouble of
procuring the little comforts which I might require
on the journey, and seeing that I did not want for
anything, with a solicitude and an almost feminine
266
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
tenderness which went straight to my heart, know-
ing, as I did, his severe and resolute nature.
And to think that I yet went away with pleasure!
-that I was longing (I am ashamed to confess it) to
find myself in the carriage, and all on account of my
accursed love! Fortunately my father and mother
could not read my heart, and God, who did so, has
mercy upon madmen; but, as He is equally just, I
was paid at last in the coin I deserved, as will be
seen hereafter.
I arrived at Rome with a rather well-filled purse,
thanks to the goodness of my family; and in order
not to lose the favourable moment, I at once bought
a horse. This was always the first and constant
symptom of my financial prosperity; when, on the
contrary, an adverse breeze began to blow, a wind
which towards Christmas time was sure to prevail,
the first sign of the change of weather was the dis-
appearance of the noble animal. This alternation
has been my inseparable companion throughout life.
When I left office, and finally when I resigned the
governorship of Milan, I was left on foot, and this
will henceforth be my fate. It is a boast of mine, in
all questions of expense, to cut my coat according to
my cloth, and I take a pride in so doing.
I spent the autumn at Tivoli, where the society
frequented by me had congregated. A description of
RESULTS OF THE JUBILEE.
267
my occupations during the time I was there would
not be very interesting, and I therefore omit it.
Neither does the history of the following winter
deserve particular mention. I worked and studied
as much as those foolish fetters with which I had
voluntarily bound my hands allowed me; but I
gained very little in the way of instruction, and
less still in a moral point of view. My disease was
running its course.
I did not perceive that the Jubilee had sensibly
amended the morals of the Romans. My friends
and contemporaries, whose rank or official position
had obliged them to go through all the tribulations
imposed by the circumstances, still saturated with
sermons, processions, and spiritual exercises, none
of which were spontaneous, raged more than ever
against the priests and their system. Imagine, then,
what benefit had accrued in a true religious and
moral sense!
When spring came, I went as usual into the
country to paint from nature, and selected for my
summer residence La Riccia, the first stage of Ho-
race and Heliodorus on their journey to Brindisi.
However little the modern inns of the small
towns of Latium and Campania may shine in point
of cleanliness and comfort, that of Signor Martorelli,
situated on the Piazza of La Riccia, was nevertheless
268
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
superior to the others mentioned by the Cæsarian poet
of the imperial court.
I have always thought the contrast between the
excessive luxury of the ancient Romans and the
wretchedness of their means of transport and their
roadside inns very singular. It would, in my opinion,
be an interesting subject to investigate, which of the
many civilisations that are on record most excelled in
the art of making all branches of progress advance
at an equal rate.
I do not mean to undertake this study; I merely
observe, by the way, that our guns and monitors
certainly give an exalted idea of our civilisation as
to files and hammers, but in the matter of justice and
well-being, it would seem we have rather less to boast
of. But let us return to Sor Martorelli.
For me he had replaced Sor Checco Tozzi. But
what a difference! Sor Checco had something artistic
and dramatic in him; his whole life was a poem, an
epitome of the history of mankind-virtues, vices,
passions, tragedies and comedies. Had he been the
contemporary of Shakespeare, God knows what other
subjects would have been treated by that great arti-
ficer of emotions, fears, laughters, terrors, joys, sad-
ness, and merriment! Sor Martorelli was only an
innkeeper.
His wife sat at the bar to give the customers
ARTISTIC COMPANIONS.
269
their change. They had a daughter of fifteen, rather
ugly and ill-mannered, who led them both by the
nose, and ruled them with a rod of iron. It is true,
however, that she one day told me I was as long and
thin as a post; and it may be that this unflattering
opinion now makes me unjust in my judgment of her
charms.
In the year of grace 1826 the hostelry of the
Martorellis was full from garret to cellar, and might
appropriately have been called "The Inn of the
Four Nations," if they had not been far more nu-
merous.
A long table received us all at meals, and I there
met several young men who were then beginning
their artistic career. They were chiefly Frenchmen,
and some of them extremely agreeable. In the morn-
ing we all went out with our brushes in search of
studies; at dinner-time each of us left his sketches
in a common room, which thus became a permanent
exhibition. An excellent plan for rousing emulation.
For-
(If modesty did not arrest me in my flight, I
should say that mine were considered the best.
tunately it stopped me in time.)
That period was one of great profit to me, and
I had never drawn so much from nature. A Ger-
man painter used to say that there are four stages:
1st, drawing slowly and badly; 2d, slowly and well ;
270
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
3d, quickly and badly; 4th, quickly and well. I think
I might consider myself as having reached this last
stage; at least, in so far as my capacity allowed.
Some of my fellow-workmen have become cele-
brated, or at least I have seen their names mentioned
with great praise in articles on French exhibitions.
I have, however, some doubt about their transforma-
tion into distinguished artists. Then, they did not
even possess the first principles. But I have always
observed that if one relied on the artistic literary
criticism of the French press and its judgments, one
would be liable to strange illusions. Those who
blindly accept its verdicts run the risk of forming
an idea of French art, which they afterwards have
to modify greatly when they can test its qualities
with their own eyes. This happened to me when
in 1836 I went to the Salon for the first time. T
certainly saw some good things, but nothing like
what I had read of. The skill of the French in pro-
ducing etiquettes et réclames has never been sur-
passed.
My life at La Riccia was even more fatiguing
than at Marino. There I had a modest donkey-a
personage acquainted with the difficult art of making
a decent figure in the world on very small means.
Who ever currycombs an ass? One generally gives
him a rough rub-down every now and then; and
DONKEYANA.
271
yet a donkey very seldom shows himself otherwise
than tolerably clean and smooth. But try to leave
a horse only three days without grooming! His
coat becomes rough and dirty-quite a scarecrow!
At La Riccia I was the owner of a horse; and, as
I have always been very fond of neatness, I used to
spend nearly an hour every day in currycombing,
sponging, and brushing my steed, cleaning the stable,
&c. My day, therefore, began by painting for several
hours in the country in spite of heat, flies, and gnats;
then followed all the aforesaid operations; so you
may understand that towards night I was dead tired.
And as if this had not been enough, there came
a plague of a municipal official, who threatened to
prosecute me because I daily deposited the litter in
a corner outside the stable, and had it removed
every now and then. I was obliged to bow to the
mandates of authority, and consequently to under-
go this additional tribulation every morning. To
such extremities were reduced the hands of a future
cabinet minister, president of the council, governor
of Milan, &c. !
The company at La Riccia was, I must say, more
refined than that of Marino. At least, I found people
with whom I could exchange ideas and discourse on
general topics. We had a discordant spinet, or bad
pianoforte, and in the evenings it served to ac-
272
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
company romances, songs, snatches of operas, &c. I
must here introduce the story of a poor peasant,
which even now makes my heart ache when I think
of him.
One day in the country I met a peasant driving a
donkey before him, and reading a book attentively as
he followed after. I stopped him, and said, "What!
can you read? And what are you reading?"
He showed me the book, which was an old greasy
French grammar. This peasant may have been two
or three-and-twenty. Although with bronzed fea-
tures, vulgar appearance, and rough speech, he cast
an intelligent and melancholy glance at me, quite
different from the wild-beast expression which in
the Roman Campagna is habitual to men of his
build. He told me how he had learnt to read entirely
unaided; how he had then undertaken his own edu-
cation, and was now learning French. He said he
was fond of music, but that he had never found the
means of learning it. Still, he had constructed a
sort of fiddle for himself, from which he drew heaven
knows what kind of barbarous sounds. He had been
able, however, to acquire some idea of a key-board,
and I invited him to come and see me, and did my
best to help him.
It is incredible how grateful the poor fellow
was. I lent him books, and allowed him to practise
SELF-TAUGHT.
273
on the spinet; and as he had a brutal father, who
had not a notion beyond the spade and labour, he
escaped in the evening,
to come for his lesson.
after the toil of the day,
Very often I found him
fast asleep from exhaustion on the spinet.
One day he appeared in utter despair, and told
me that his father, thinking that arts and literature
took him away from the spade, had ill-treated him,
and with one blow of an axe had broken to pieces
the fruit of all his labours and endeavours, his only
consolation, that abortion of a fiddle! Poor lad, he
inspired me with such pity! I do not know what
I would have given to lay my hand at that moment
upon one of the many gilded youths with grand ex-
pectations, surrounded by teachers, good examples,
and every facility for instruction and education, all
thrown away! They are born asses, and asses they
will live and die.
I would have placed my poor peasant in his
house, and sent him to plough! I was very soon
obliged to abandon my new friend, and in the end I
fear that I did him more harm than good. For one
moment I had dazzled him with a flash of light,
which must have made far more bitter the darkness
to which he was inevitably doomed.
Not that I entertain any illusions as to the hopes
one may reasonably conceive in such cases. A
VOL. II.
T
274
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Giotto is not found every day in a shepherd. But
say is it not a very sad spectacle to witness the
impotent efforts of an obscure and humble peasant
towards that moral emancipation, whose existence he
can dimly perceive, for which he yearns, and from
which he is blindly repulsed by brutal force?
At the beginning of the summer, either fatigue,
moral anxieties, or the unhealthy air of a locality
overhanging the Roman Campagna, considerably im-
paired my health. The truth is, the climate of Rome
always acted on me like a slow disease. As, how-
ever, I am still alive, it is evident that my con-
stitution was not essentially injured by it; but one
may feel very ill without being really so; and that
was exactly my case.
I do not boast, but to work with brain, brush,
and currycomb, whilst one feels internal exhaustion,
suffocations, and palpitations, which make one's heart
leap into one's mouth, requires a certain amount of
resolution. I suffered so much, that my friends
advised me to consult a doctor, and take care of
myself. At Rome, when one has any illness which
does not necessitate going to bed with a high fever,
but nevertheless persists without any special symp-
toms, the panacea invariably is try the air of
Naples.
I never at any time had much fear of death, but
WHAT WAS THE PACTOLUS ?
275
a great horror of being neither dead nor alive; so I
at once decided to obey, and go to Naples.
I do not remember whether the Pactolus was a
river or a torrent. I know well, however, that in
my case it had all the characteristics of a torrent,
and that the one which fed my purse was at that
moment extremely dry. The horse disappeared ;
this was a matter of course (he was a mottled gray,
-what a pity!). But this did not nearly suffice.
Money was wanted to face a journey to Naples.
Unwilling to apply for help, I set all my ingenuity
to work, and (I forget how-probably by selling
something) I scraped together the sum absolutely
necessary. Besides, I had recourse to the great mea-
sure of all those who, with scanty means, cannot
increase their receipts I curtailed my expenses.
This is a hint for the finance minister of the kingdom
of Italy who shall be in office when these Recollec-
tions are published.
There was then a famous vetturino, who per-
formed the journey to Naples with marvellous
rapidity. He rested only one night on the road,
and never changed horses. A rival entered into
competition with him, and actually succeeded in
going the whole distance with the same horses, and
no night's rest. It seems a joke about 180 miles ;
but it was a fact. Of course he stopped for a couple
276
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
of hours, after every six or seven, and then went
on again. The horses, mind you, were fed on the
best corn that could be procured, and they reached
Naples alive. I travelled with them myself.
I found one of these coaches about to start, and
secured a seat on the box, where I sat beside a young
German student or professor, of the name of West-
phall, if I recollect right, or something like it.
We were both short of money-a condition which
always fosters a friendly feeling; and in fact before
we reached Tor di Mezza via, we were already like
two brothers.
On our arrival at Naples we went straight to
my old friend Signor Giacomo Rotondo, in the vico
d'Affitto, at the sign of the Little Anchor. Sor
Giacomo, a gouty old man, full of hearty sympathy
for youth, always had his house swarming with a
needy crowd, and consequently with artists, whose
providence he was. He made me heartily welcome,
and my companion and I established ourselves in
the coolest part of the house. The heat was, never-
theless, insufferable. A doctor, whom I at once con-
sulted, told me that I required a long and careful
treatment, but that it was impracticable during the
dog-days. He bade me visit him again at the end
of the summer. A thousand thanks!
A thousand thanks! This implied
at least a two-months stay at Naples, with its atten-
CHARMS OF HARD MACCARONI.
277
dant expenses. "Well," said I, "let me employ them
in work;" and gasping and scarcely able to breathe,
I again began my studies from nature.
In the house were several artists, with whom I
associated. One, who died at Paestum shortly after
of malignant fever, was the brother of Père Enfantin;
there was also one Joinville, the two Storellis, father
and son, Piedmontese; a certain Romegas, a Catalo-
nian, painter of marine views, a good fellow, with
whom I agreed to go out and sketch in company.
How glorious are the privileges of youth! it at once
adapts itself to everything and everybody, and always
seems to be in its own element.
I thus spent my time drawing on the shore of
Mergellina, and among the inlets, made so pictures-
que by the deep indentations of soft sandstone, the
grottoes and ancient quarries, from which Naples
has emerged. My indisposition, however, did not
diminish; but if anything it seemed rather to be on
the increase. One day I remember I went alone to
some distance from Naples; after having worked the
whole morning, I dined at a sailors' tavern, where
I found nothing but some small black maccaroni,
as hard as wire. After this meal I took the road
to Naples, with my traps on my back. I had not
walked half-a-mile, when, what with the heat and
that indigestible food, I felt as if my heart was going
278
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
to break through my ribs, and for a moment I
thought it was all over with me. I felt convinced
I had some organic malady. But I was seized by
a downright fit of fury, thinking that I was only
twenty-eight, and yet unable to walk a few miles
with a weight of thirty pounds on my shoulders.
Saying to myself, "I had rather die than this!"
away I went in a passion at a furious pace, and in
my rage I succeeded in arriving at Naples without
having burst a blood-vessel, nay feeling, on the con-
trary, rather better. The whole secret was, that the
violent exercise had overcome the ill effects of that
confounded maccaroni.
nomena.
It often happens that imaginative, nervous, and
impressionable young men fancy they have a disease
of the heart, or some other organic complaint, on
account of symptoms which may assume its cha-
racter, but which in reality are only nervous phe-
If you asked me what a nervous derange-
ment is, I would bid you inquire of your doctor, and
if he did not know, he must find out. I have known
several of my contemporaries whom these fears pre-
vented from having a moment's peace, or being
able to do any good for years. I, for instance, after
having believed myself to be consumptive, took it
into my head that I had an organic complaint, and
I used to watch myself incessantly, feeling my pulse
OVERWHELMING LOGIC.
279
every minute. This perpetual anxiety at last became
such a nuisance even to myself, that one day I said,
"Either I have an aneurism, or not.
If I have one,
not even the Pope can cure me; if not, I am leading
a wretched life for nothing.'
This overwhelming logic convinced me.
I began
by no longer feeling my pulse; and then I took to
fencing, and trained myself to every kind of feat
on a bare-backed horse at an equestrian circus.
In a word, I dedicated myself to the most violent
gymnastics, and never stopped to consider or pay
attention to the complaints I fancied I detected in
my constitution. The end was, that all the symp-
toms vanished by degrees; my uncomfortable feelings
more or less passed away, or, at least, I took no
further heed; and here I am, not far from seventy,
with my heart still going at its wonted jog-trot, with-
out giving me any serious ground of complaint.
Therefore I warn young men who may perchance
be labouring under the same conditions, that, even
in matter of health, it is a good practice to adopt a
resolution at once and adhere to it firmly, as one may
thus be saved from serious consequences. What, in
fact, can be more terrible than being reduced to a
nonentity by fears, doubts, and perpetual consulta-
tions? Health may not be the first of blessings, I
grant; but it is one without which almost all the
280
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
others are nugatory. So that every young man ought
to take care of his body,-let him strengthen and
train it to dexterity, if he wishes to be something in
the world; just as he who is going to the wars takes
care to have a good horse. Not to speak of life, a
good horse may often save your honour; and a
sound and vigorous body may furnish you with the
means of becoming a great benefactor of mankind
and of your native country.
Unfortunately I speak from experience, it having
always been my fate to work like poor beasts of
burden who have to carry heavy loads on sore backs.
Therefore listen to me who have tried.
Meanwhile the hot weather continued, and Ro-
megas and I resolved to go to Sorrento, where we
were sure to find relative coolness. We started in
one of those large open boats which ply between the
towns on the shores of the gulf, with a lateen sail as
high as a steeple, and a jib on a sort of bowsprit.
We were about eighty or a hundred people, with
baskets, sacks, chickens, and creatures of every genus
and generation.
On going a-board, one was accosted by the tra-
ditional guaglione, or boy of the boat, carrying an
alms-box adorned with the still more traditional and
heart-rending image of a number of figures stark
naked, and apparently very uncomfortable at find-
O' PRIATORIO.
281
ing themselves surrounded by a quantity of slices of
ham, or, to speak more plainly, representing souls in
purgatory in the midst of the flames. The boy shook
the box, saying to every passenger, "O' Priatorio"
(the purgatory); and the majority paid their tribute.
I asked for an explanation of this custom, and was
informed that our offering would insure us the assist-
ance of the aforesaid souls, and, at the worst, a little
cooling to refresh our own, in case. .. You know
those who embark can never tell how they will land.
And so we started, Romegas and I, sitting near the
skipper, as representing the oligarchical element on
board.
It was one of those storms which are only seen
at Naples: an overcast sky, a sweeping gale, and an
angry swollen sea as black as ink. But, blow high,
blow low, the boats of the gulf are bound to race.
Could it be expected that skipper Aniello would con-
sent to arrive after skipper Gennaro? So the mo-
ment the shore was cleared, "In oars, up mainsail !"
away we went on our broadside, baskets, chickens,
and packages all of a heap, the women screaming,
everyone clinging to the weather gunwale to prevent
capsising. The boat, righting herself a little, flew
like an arrow. I, for special reasons of my own,
never lost sight of the skipper. He was an old tar,
with a weather-beaten and wrinkled face, baked by
282
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
sun and wind. I watched him-his hands grasping
the tiller--as, with knitted eyebrows, he observed
the fury of the squalls, ready to cry, "Ease the
sheet!" whilst the sailor who held the rope, atten-
tively listening for the command, let fly at the right
moment—and our craft, which every now and then
shipped a sea to leeward, rose once more and bounded
on with unabated speed. At every lurch the women
shrieked and prayed in chorus, and I greatly re-
pented having only placed a miserable copper in the
famous purgatorial alms-box!
Were I obliged to choose, I think I should take
the same resolution as the Duke of Clarence, rather
than that, for instance, of the father of Theseus, who
preferred salt-water to a cask of Malmsey. It was
not, therefore, without a certain sense of relief that,
after three hours, I saw the sail belly up, the boat
steer easier and assume a pace which, had she been
a horse, I might term a gentle canter. After a
cruise of some twenty miles, we were in a perfect
calm. The seamen furled the mainsail and took to
their oars.
We thus reached the coast of Sorrento,
where the boat at last stopped, deeply furrowing the
wet sand of the shore.
I must apologise for having spent so many words
in describing so trifling an incident as a passage
from Naples to Sorrento in a fresh breeze; but it
MEMORIES OF THE PAST.
283
must not be forgotten that I have ever been some-
what of an artist; that I love nature-the trees,
the skies, and the waves; that I love these things
like good comrades with whom one has travelled
for many weary miles without their having given
you any trouble, but, on the contrary, often done
you a good turn and procured you many happy
hours. If pictures of true scenes, which have been
lying dormant in my mind for forty or fifty years,
suddenly awaken to life, I cannot resist the temp-
tation of repainting them in fresh colours, and seeing
them again as they formerly were. It may be a
weakness, but I cannot forego it.
The town of Sorrento stands at a height of about
two hundred feet above the sea, and crowns a ridge
of picturesque perpendicular cliffs. Sorrento the har-
bour is a small fishing-village on the shore. There
is a small and a large jetty, and it was alongside the
latter that we had cast anchor. This must suffice
by way of description. I do not want to ruin the
trade of travellers' guides. During my stay there I
made a number of sketches. I drew also at Capri, a
rock emerging from the water as bare and desolate as
a circle of Dante's Inferno. Yet, what with the sky,
the sun, the view, the sea, the half-naked inhabitants,
the memories, the ruins, one ends by finding poetical
beauty in it, even when one remembers the second
284
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
great shame of the imperial period, Tiberius. The
first and the greatest of turpitudes was the Roman
senate, that cringed to him.
When the heat became less oppressive even at
Naples, we returned thither. But I changed my
abode, and went to live at an inn where two Ro-
man families of my acquaintance had taken up their
quarters.
One of them used to keep a gaming-table,-
perfectly fair and honourable; but monte is always
a game of hazard, and it cannot be denied that it
throws a little slur over the character of those who
make it their principal occupation. Fortunately I
have never had any inclination to gamble; but as
the Roman adage goes, "For the sake of com-
pany, a friar took a wife;" for the same reason I
was gradually induced to play; yet having also the
still greater good fortune of being unlucky at cards,
I began simultaneously to observe that my purse
sank to a lower ebb every day. In similar cases a
wish to see it replenished is but natural, and the
means generally resorted to nearly always produces
a totally contrary phenomenon. I risked higher
stakes to recoup myself; but this only involved me
even more. "A first loss is not so great a one as
the money thrown away in pursuit of it." This
is a true proverb.
DOUBTFUL ASSEMBLIES.
285
The best society in Naples used to assemble at
this house. They danced to the pianoforte in one of
the saloons, and I was generally employed as orches-
tra. In an adjoining room the ducats danced with-
out music on a round table, and were often eclipsed
in a way little explicable, and still less satisfactory to
their owners. It very often happened to me to sit
at the table with twenty or thirty people, who were
all playing, and to put down my stake. If chance
proved favourable, it seemed to me very uncivil to
throw myself on the money; but I soon perceived
that this civility was not much appreciated by those
gentlemen. The last to hold out my hand, I found
that the harvest had already been reaped, without
even knowing whom I had to thank. At the time
of Louis XIV., according to the descriptions of the
Chevalier de Grammont, such was exactly the style
in fashion. It is rather curious to remark, that a
gentleman did not derogate by cheating at cards.
Yet they always had the word 'honour' in their
mouths. Happily, ideas have changed. If in Paris,
as in Naples, swindlers may perhaps still be found,
let us at least hope that they are called robbers, and
not gentlemen.
Meanwhile, as I always found that my winnings
were less than my losses, and that my resources
decreased, I began to be anxious, and thought of it
286
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
all day. Each night I found it more difficult to
sleep, and in the morning I awoke earlier, engrossed,
almost without being aware of it, and engaged in
mental arithmetic. Such an evening I won so much;
another so much loss; then on another quits. Then
I lost again; then I won; then calculations, totals,
speculations on future chances, and the amount of
the hotel bill, &c. In short, I was always agitated,
worried, and vexed. "I am a great fool!" I finally
said one night in bed, after having tossed for two
hours vainly trying to get to sleep; "play does not
amuse me; nay it is an annoyance; my head is
always running on loss and gain; I am bored by
the rueful faces of the gamblers; even if I were to
win a great deal, it would pain me to see the agi-
tated countenances of those who had lost. And
should I like, on the other hand, to remain penni-
less? And for the sake of this delightful entertain-
ment, am I to pass my nights at a gaming-table?
Courage, then, at once! an immediate resolution and
a radical measure no more gambling!" - I have
never touched a card since.
It is true that this was not a great sacrifice, nor
can I plume myself on it. A conversion is always
praiseworthy, but it does not suffice to wipe off all
liabilities. I had certainly always paid my losses
on the spot, without ever keeping anybody waiting a
LECTURE ON GAMBLING.
287
minute; but I had contracted some small debts of an-
other nature, which my exchequer could not satisfy.
On this single occasion I had recourse to the
goodness of my father, who kindly assisted me in
my need; and I was thus able to settle my affairs
honourably, without any further trouble.
Moralising on the vice of gambling is so out of
fashion, that I do not mean to enlarge upon it, espe-
cially as it would be breath, or rather ink, thrown
away. But I may at least be allowed to observe,
that in no case is the sin and the penance more
equally balanced than in this. He who has this un-
fortunate passion may answer, "My penance would
be greater, were I not to gamble." At first, I grant,
it may be true; but try to weigh in the scale the
pleasures and the pains you may have felt during
a period of ten years; the losses of money, time,
health, and reputation it may have cost you; and if
you are sincere, you will say whether this habit is
really worth its price. I acknowledge that among
numbers one may be found who, at the end of ten
years, has won considerable sums; who remained un-
moved at the sight of the victims reduced to despair
by his success; who may think that he could not
have better employed his time; his health may be
perfect; and if his only title to public estimation be
the rather equivocal one of a fortunate gambler, he
288
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
may consider it as good as another. I know all this.
One may meet types of the kind, but they are as rare
as white flies. Besides, tell me, would you like to
be one of these white flies yourself? I am no senti-
mentalist; 1 do not boast of a humanitarian fever;
and I know nothing more odious than a simulated
philanthropy: but let us be just-common feelings
of honesty are enough to produce certain reflections.
Every act in the life of the rich awakens one in my
breast which haunts me like a ghost; and as we are
on the subject of gambling, it is fearful to see heaps
of gold and silver roll about those confounded green
cloths, changing hands according to the caprice of
Fortune, and the people who watch this abomination
with sad faces, knitted brows, in ominous silence,-
not a smile, nor a happy look, nor the expression of
an elevated idea or a good sentiment among them
all; and to think how many people only a few steps
off-perhaps in that very same house-are weeping,
and longing in vain for the help, the assistance, the
smallest of those coins would afford them! One
ought to remember this; and it will be a wholesome
and pregnant thought for those who are not logs of
wood, whether they gamble or not.
True socialism-the holy agrarian law-is that
of the Gospel: quod superest date pauperibus. If it
be neglected, the savage cry-à bas les riches, et la
WINDING-UP OF THE SERMON.
289
propriété c'est le vol-may again be heard. The rich
had therefore better squander a little less, and give
away more; then no one will plunder them.
*
I fear I have again played the preacher overmuch,
and I too have ended by recommending almsgiving.
But I have done, and shall not begin again for some
time.
Meanwhile the rinfrescata had at last set in, and
I went back to the doctor. I shall not name him, as
he well deserves; for he was either a great ass or a
knave. He subjected me to a long and expensive
treatment, making me swallow all kinds of medi-
cines, which did me harm rather than good; and the
consequence was, that after three months I returned
to Rome worse than ever. The medical men I con-
sulted afterwards told me that I had never had the
slightest need of that treatment.
While I underwent it, being unable to go out to
sketch from nature, I studied at home, and once
more went through a course of anatomy; I also felt
in myself an effervescence of ideas imperfectly con-
ceived in former days, but never abandoned, al-
though they had lain dormant beneath my artistic
pursuits.
* In every Catholic church the preacher winds-up by urging
the devout to give alms, which are collected in a purse carried
round for the purpose.
VOL. II.
U
290
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I felt a violent desire to write; but what?-
prose, verses, history, novels, poems ?--I myself did
not know.
Then I had not yet perceived that, with the ex-
ception of Dante, Petrarca, Ariosto, Manzoni, and
a few more who did well to write verses (and even
they were not always exempt from reproach), all
the others acted wisely in eschewing them, for, ac-
cording to me, there ought to be no second-rate
poets. Whatever is not sublime is intolerable.
Some people may think otherwise, but this is my
opinion. So I too began by writing verses, and
this internal labour produced certain stanzas be-
wailing the miseries of mankind. If not new, the
subject was a wide one.
these lines to Tommaso Grossi,* who, after reading
them with the liveliest interest, said to me in
Milanese, "Hin propri minga bej!" (Verily they
are not pretty!) If I had then still required to be
cured of any poetical leaning, this equally pithy and
clear decision of one of the most distinguished Ita-
lian wits, who was also one of my dearest friends,
would have been a real panacea.
But I had no
Many years later I showed
* The elegant author of Ildegonda (perhaps the best modern
Italian poetical tale), the Fuggitiva, Marco Visconti, &c. He
was born at Bellano on the Lake of Como in 1791, and died in
1853.
POETICAL SINS.
291
longer any need of an antidote when we met at
Milan two or three years after.
In my opinion, however, a good half of the
Italian Boot does still sadly require it. It is most
wonderful to think that the first intellectual effort
of the youths of southern Italy should consist in a
more or less considerable number of such so-called
verses, which, in this hammer-and-file civilisation of
ours cut a curious figure indeed. This, too, is a
fruit of the worthless governments which held those
unhappy populations in check. Give them roads,
schools, and legal freedom, and it will all soon dis-
appear, the bad rhymes included.
After the above verses, I bethought me of writing
a short romantico-archæological poem-the scene laid
at Pompeii, and its destruction as a finale. One dark
night the exterminating angel evoked the demon of
Vesuvius, and pointed out to him the city doomed
to destruction. I now forget for what reason, but it
was most likely the corrupt century as usual. The
lurid spectre rose red-hot from the crater at the
voice of the angel, showing himself from his waist
upwards like Farinata,* and while with one hand he
* "Vedi là Farinata che s'è dritto:
Dalla cintura in sù tutto il vedrai.
I' avea già il mio viso nel suo fitto ;
Ed ei s' ergea col petto e colla fronte,
Come avesse lo inferno in gran dispitto."
1
f
}
292
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
stirred the lava of the volcano with a pronged sceptre,
with the other he scattered cinders over the con-
demned city. This was the introduction.
The interest of my fiction turned upon filial love.
A classiarius* was desirous of redeeming his mother
from slavery. A sum sufficient for the ransom had
been promised to whoever should vanquish a certain
Lo, Farinata there, who hath himself
Uplifted from his girdle upwards all
Exposed, behold him. On his face was mine
Already fixed; his breast and forehead there
Erecting, seem'd as in high scorn he held
E'en hell."
Dante, Inferno, canto x.
Such is the image taken from this canto, in which the punishment
of heretics is described. Farinata degli Uberti was the most valiant
and renowned chief of the Ghibellines in Florence, and led them
at the famous battle of Monte Aperti in 1260 against his own
native city, defended by the Guelfs, who were completely routed
and driven out. Boccaccio's Comento says: "He was of the opi-
nion of Epicurus, that the soul dies with the body; . . . and for
this sin he is damned as a heretic in this place."
* The classiarii or classici of the Romans seem to have ans-
wered to "marines" in modern navies. We learn from Tacitus
that they were organised in cohorts and legions, as the latter are
in battalions and regiments. The only difference was, as Polybius
tells us, that they were recruited among persons whose position
did not entitle them to enlist in the regular legions. This circum-
stance, and the vicinity of Misenum, one of the chief stations
where these bodies were quartered, probably inspired the author
with the idea of introducing a humble classiarius and his slave-
mother into his highly sensational Pompeian fiction, as models
of virtues worthy of a better rank.
SENSATIONAL TALE.
293
famous gladiator in the circus. The son deserts from
his cohort, disguises himself, defeats the dreaded ad-
versary, receives the prize, and frees his mother; but
he is discovered, and his centurion throws him into
irons, there to await his trial. The mother is at his
side, comforting and embracing him, holding out the
hope of a speedy release after a punishment of short
duration. Meantime night comes on; a distant
rumbling is heard, which increases, and becomes.
mixed with howls and yells; the earth trembles
underfoot, the walls are shaken, a lurid red light
illuminates the heavens, thunderbolts succeed one
another without intermission, and down falls the
whole bataclan, destroying, crushing, burying the
city. The poor mother, beseeched, urged to fly by
her son, strives to break his bonds, but he is chained
to huge beams; every hope is lost, &c. As you may
easily conceive, such a subject afforded a grand op-
portunity for the blowing of trumpets and beating
of drums.
I wrote to my father about my literary plan,
and he advised me to carry it out. But posterity
will in vain await such touching pages. The poem
never went beyond the argument. Meanwhile my
ailments did not diminish, and a still worse malady
had been added to them, home-sickness-Rome for me
was home at that time-with all its wonted bitter-
294
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
ness, which certainly did not assist the prescriptions
of my physician.
Until then I had been able somehow or other
to live far from her; now I had no longer the power
to do so. I was assailed by sinister and mysterious
forebodings. I forget how or why, but a thousand
doubts had risen in my soul; I thought the tenor of
her letters had gradually altered; I worried myself,
I cursed my fate and the moment I had been en-
snared; yet I remained the same; and my life, my
whole being, seemed to hang from that thread which
perhaps I should myself never have had the strength
to break; but there was one who undertook to rend
it asunder for me.
CHAPTER IX.
A simulated jealousy-I am fool enough to leave Rome to please
my signora-After my return to Turin I discover her secret
-I definitively renounce my abode in Rome-Dulness of
Turinese life in those days-Charles Felix and his grissini—
I accompany my friend Count Benevello to the hermitage of
San Michele-I conceive the grand idea of illustrating that
famous abbey-The chronicles, and the dignity of history—
A few anecdotes gleaned from the chronicle of the abbey of
San Michele-My illustration meets with approval; and I
am encouraged by this public favour-I go back to Rome to
remove my goods and chattels, and narrowly escape once
more falling into the snare - I witness the enthronisation of
Pius VIII.; reflections-The Piedmontese painter Barne and
his patrons-On my return to Turin I make an excursion into
the valley of Lanzo-A splendid earthquake-I return home
and set to work with great ardour at a picture of the Chal-
lenge of Barletta-Whilst so engaged, I bethink me of writing
a novel on the subject-I show my first chapters to Cesare
Balbo, who greatly encourages me-Cesare Balbo-I also read
part of my work to my father; but only fragments, as he was
already very ill-He suffers and believes-Reflections-Death
of my father.
AT mid-winter I returned to Rome.
Everything
appeared to be in its normal state, and I resumed
my stupid life with incredible satisfaction. As I
have already said several times, it is not my in-
tention to write love-adventures. But as, thank
296
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
God, we have reached the last chapter of
my long
and tiresome romance, and as the catastrophe al-
tered the course of my life, I am obliged to say
a few words about it. The blow fell upon me in a
shape so little natural or plausible, that at first I
could not make it comprehensible to my own mind.
Things that happened afterwards afforded an ex-
planation, which I shall lay before the reader, and
see what effect it produces on him. The fact is, that
one fine day, without knowing why or wherefore,
hostilities began with a scene of furious jealousy,
and poor I, who for six years had never, I do not
say wished, but, for my misfortune, been utterly un-
able to retain any other image than hers in my
heart; I, who scarcely realised the existence even
of another woman in the world, found myself sud-
denly accused and convicted of having eclipsed Don
Juan himself by my conduct. This fury degenerated
into a sort of hysteric frenzy. It may be believed
that—in such cases few men would scruple to swear
falsely-I exhausted every possible formula of oath,
when all I swore was truth. I do not attempt to
describe the scenes, the fits, &c., but leave them to
the reader's imagination.
At first the thing was so incredible, that I con-
sidered it temporary, and did not trouble myself
much about it; but by degrees, in despair of per-
CATASTROPHE.
297
suading her, and seeing the shape the matter was
assuming, I took it seriously to heart, and went
through a time of suffering, which I pray that Hea-
ven may never send again to the lot of any human
creature. Her family and relations began to notice
the change in her, to surmise, to inquire what this
whim could be. Trembling lest someone should worry
her, and preferring any sacrifice, I applied to one
of her sisters-in-law, placing myself in her hands,
and bidding her dispose of me, provided she were
spared all annoyance. Besides being a friend of
mine, this lady was a woman of feeling, and knew
the world. She undertook to bring about a deci-
sion. I called again in two days, and received this
pleasant communication:
"She believes you have an intrigue with G
G———.
No one can drive it out of her head. You may well
imagine all I said to her! Do you know what reply
she gave me at last? If it is not true, let him give
me a proof: he must leave Rome at once."
6
"Thanks; very much obliged to you."
As I said, I had come back from Naples worse
than ever. I had a bad cough into the bargain,
and it was the depth of winter; besides, at Rome
I had lodgings, a studio, my habits, my business,
&c.; but in spite of all this, how do you think it
ended? Two nights after, I drove out of Porta del
298
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Popolo in the Florence mail; and I, who have a
perfect recollection of journeys made when six or
seven years old, can affirm upon my honour that
I remember nothing, absolutely nothing about that
one, until I arrived at Turin, I think at night, in
a mail-coach full of hay, in biting cold weather,
and my cough, in spite of everything, almost if
not completely cured.
I remember too, that when I presented myself
to my father (fancy how much upset I must have
been), he asked me who I was. And two or three
months later, can you guess what intelligence a
friend of mine brought me from Rome? I learnt
that Duke L was my very fortunate successor.
And this was the end of my romance.
Now just
tell me, my dear reader, whether all that furious
jealousy was sincere, or an ingenious pretext to get
rid of me? Whether Duke L was entirely a
new-comer, or had been already appointed in petto
to his office? You may decide for the opinion you
deem most probable. I meanwhile adopt another, or
rather two instead of one: the first, that if Monthyon
or anyone else had instituted a prize for heroic stu-
pidity, I should have been entitled to it. The second,
that of the two parts, I prefer mine. I am conscious
of having performed an act of great self-abnegation ;
and the longer one lives the more one prizes recol-
A COMPLETE CHANGE.
299
lections of this kind, even at the cost of having been
a fool.
In
As you may suppose, all my ideas and plans with
reference to Rome were completely altered. I think
that had things proceeded de plano, I should never
have renounced those habits and that residence.
all probability my life would have been consumed
in such degradation. Providence saved me, rather
roughly it is true, but, I must own, with farsighted
beneficence. I now resolved upon leaving Rome de-
finitively, and establishing myself at Turin with my
parents. I do not say that this prospect had much
attraction for me. The reign of Charles Felix was
neither barbarous nor tyrannical, in the sinister
sense of the words. It was certainly a complete
absolutism, with all its consequences; but, after all,
it was not a foreign yoke, nor wielded by a foreign
dynasty, like those of Naples, Modena, Parma, and
Florence; and the usages, traditions, and reciprocal
relations all confined within the country, softened
many a bitter thought, and blunted many a thorn.
This is something, but it does not suffice. It must
be confessed that for one who had implanted in
his heart any aspirations towards liberty, however
limited, temperate, orderly, and well-disciplined, but
still liberty, and a free existence; for one who could
not resign himself to eat, drink, and sleep without
300
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
ever lifting his eyes above the monotony of every-
day life, it was like a leaden atmosphere, an inde-
scribable deficiency of air to breathe.
A little anecdote will give an idea of this state
of moral suffocation, better than any long explana-
tions. The king was very fond of music, and sat
every night in his box, No. 1, on the right side of
the grand tier, from the opening chords of the opera,
without losing a single note. He there partook of a
light supper (indeed, a very modest one), consisting
of a few grissini,* which he dexterously swallowed,
holding one of the two ends between his fingers,
and quickly nibbling the other between his teeth.
Country visitors, who reckoned this nightly ope-
ration among the sights of Turin, used to stare at
him open-mouthed. One night I was exactly at
the point in the whole house most distant from the
king, in the box of the pit tier next to the entrance-
door. Our party consisted of two ladies and three
or four men, who were chattering on the principle
of the individual who used to say, "My wife is
having a little music; so we may talk." Suddenly
the door of the box flew open, an officer of the royal
bodyguard came in, and saluting us, said, "By order
of his majesty, I must beg you to be silent!" We
* The kind of long thin crisp bread, in appearance like small
sticks, quite peculiar to the old capital of Piedmont, and of which
its inhabitants are particularly fond.
DELIGHTFUL STATE OF THINGS.
301
stared at each other, exchanged a bow with the
officer, and, as may be supposed, the conversation
languished immediately.
Such was then the style at Turin, and it may be
Be that as it may,
imagined whether it suited me.
I adapted myself to it: and besides, I had first of
all to think seriously of my health, and if possible
to calm the agitations of my heart and extinguish its
memories, so as to attain at last a little peace after
so many cruel trials. My father and mother, who
partly knew, and partly guessed, the cause of my
unhappy state, did not torment me with advice and
inopportune consolation, nor with exaggerated soli-
citude; a great proof of their kindness of heart and
experience of human nature. In their countenances
and calmly affectionate demeanour, I could, how-
ever, read their hidden thoughts and penetrate their
intentions; and when I now recall their tenderness,
I feel how much more grateful I ought to have
shown myself.
The winter passed by, and spring found me re-
covering. The shock had been such, that I was
never again what I had been before; at all events,
not before a long series of years had elapsed.
I went to spend some time at the castle of Ri-
valta with my friend Count Benevello, whom I have
already mentioned.
302
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
We arranged an excursion to the abbey of San
Michele, situated on the summit of a rock at the
gorge of the valley of Susa. It struck me as a most
beautiful spot, and I felt the demon of art once more
awake within me.
This resurrection filled my heart with joy; I had
fancied myself dead, from feeling so old (though
not yet thirty). Now, on the contrary, I discovered
that I was alive. I took fire, as is often my wont.
Up! courage! and out with an illustration of the
hermitage of San Michele, with letter-press, en-
gravings, views taken from nature, &c. I began
at once with ardour, to the great delight of my
parents, who saw that nature was doing its own
work. I took up my quarters at Sant' Ambrogio,
a small hamlet situated perpendicularly below the
hermitage, and at the foot of the ascent.
I was
living at an indescribable inn, but I had an object
and a task, and I felt myself revive.
the
I rose in the morning before dawn, toiled up
mountain with my traps, and spent the day sketch-
ing the most picturesque points; at night I repaired
to Sant' Ambrogio.
I thus collected a sufficient number of views
both exterior and interior, sketches of fragments of
architecture, cornices, columns, capitals, &c; and
when I returned to Turin with my stock of studies,
OLD LEGENDS.
303
I gave shape and form to my publication-scheme,
and began to work at the lithographs without de-
lay.
This abbey, erected in the ninth or tenth century
by a French baron, Hugues le Décousu, is one of
the most original and picturesque edifices I ever
saw. A mountain, or rather cliff, terminating in a
huge bare sugar-loaf rock, is covered by a number
of irregular buildings, encircling the summit, upon
which stands the church. The aspect of the whole
is half monastic, half military, on account of the
battlements and ramparts, which convents usually
possessed at that epoch.
related about this spot.
stance, had, it seems, begun to build on the opposite
hill, but every night angels transported the materials
to the other side of the valley, and thus the abbey
was erected on the spot where it now stands. For
the first day the operation is comprehensible. The
first stones laid down for the foundation disappear;
so far so good. But what happened afterwards, when
pedestals, columns, and arches, had to be placed, if
the masonry laid the day before was not to be
found? Evidently some error has crept into the nar-
rative. We are also told of a fair damsel pursued
by some tyrant within the very walls of the monas-
tery, who of course answered him with the usual
Many curious legends are
Hugues le Décousu, for in-
304
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
threat of throwing herself out of window if he did
not leave her alone. The tyrant, it is easy to un-
derstand, thought she did not mean what she said,
and gave no heed. The beautiful Alda, however,
kept her word, and leapt headlong over the preci-
pice. But angels supported her; she was not in
the least hurt; and the tyrant looked extremely
foolish. Alda (this too is easily understood) waxed
somewhat vain at the issue of such a leap, and
boasted she could repeat it at pleasure; but she fell
down instead at Sant' Ambrogio, and the old chroni-
cle says, "L toce pi gross a l'è staita l'ourìa" (the
largest piece was the ear).
669
This convent enjoyed wide feudal jurisdictions;
it possessed lands in Lombardy, and the church of
San Michele, an offshoot from it, still remains in
Milan. La Chiusa, where the parent abbey stands,
is the spot where the Lombards, commanded by
Desiderius, held the pass against Charlemagne.
But he, by forcing the southern gorges of the
*
*It is reported that Desiderius, duke of Istria, and last king
of the Lombards, had there erected a wall to oppose Charlemagne's
descent into Italy, and the place thus acquired the name of La
Chiusa or L'Escluse. Unsuccessful in his first attempt to over-
come this barrier, Charlemagne was more fortunate or more skil-
ful the second time; and Desiderius, with his kingdom invaded
and his army scattered to the winds, shut himself up in Pavia,
where he held out a long time, and only yielded to adversity
after a desperate resistance.
THE NOVALESA CHRONICLE.
305
valley of Susa, gained the neighbouring one of Gia-
veno, and having thus got behind his foe, defeated
him. These events are related in a chronicle,
which, because it narrates things as they were, in
simple phraseology, that can be understood without
being read twice over, and moreover, by the intro-
duction of anecdotes of familiar life, carries you
back to the very time, as if it were actually before
your eyes, would be called the rude chronicle of
Novalesa* by the prigs who keep their neighbours
in ignorance, and bore them in the name of the dignity
of history. It is curious, for instance, to learn the
bargain which made Charlemagne acquainted with
the unknown pass that led him to victory.
A stranger presented himself to the Emperor,
and offered to show him a passage (since called Via
Francorum) leading down to the plain, asking as his
guerdon, that, his promise once performed, he might
ascend an elevation, and blow his horn, whereupon
all the people within hearing should become his serfs.
*The village of Novalesa, at the foot of Mont Cenis, gives
the name to the district where, in the midst of a lovely valley
overshadowed by the Cottian Alps, a convent, of which the tra-
ditions and records are still fresh among us, was founded about
the year 731. Both this monastery and that of San Michele
belonged to the order of the Black Benedictines. The denomina-
tion of Novalesa was originally derived from nova lux or nova
lex, in commemoration of the new light or law of the Gospel, by
which the old monks conquered the pagan barbarities of the rude
mountaineers of those parts.
VOL. II.
X
306
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Charlemagne, who thus got his way dirt-cheap, at
once struck the bargain; and the man, having suc-
ceeded in his undertaking, blew his horn (only fancy
what a blast!), and then descending from the mound
he asked every one he met, "Audistine sonum?" And
if the answer was "Audivi"—"alapam eo dabat,
dicens, Servus meus es." Here is another anecdote.
Before the invasion of Charlemagne the country was
infested by outlaws, and the monks of Novalesa did
not know how to provide for their own safety. One
of the brethren was an old Arimanno (a free man-at-
arms), once a terrible warrior, now a humble peni-
tent. The abbot sent for him, and commanded him
to go and seek out the thieves, that he might per-
suade them to respect the abbey. He was not only
sent unarmed, but ordered to offer no resistance
if he were scorned or plundered; to bear every-
thing for the love of God. The monk assented obe-
diently, and said, "So I will, if they strip me of
my frock, shirt, and the haircloth; but if they want
to strip off my femoralia?" The abbot, struck by the
force of this argument, replied, "De femoralibus nil
tibi præcipiam”—“About thy breeches I will com-
mand thee nothing." The monk started on his old
war-horse, which now served the purposes of the con-
vent; and when he met the outlaws, it happened
that they only made game of him. But he said
A PUGNACIOUS MONK.
307
nothing. They stripped him of his frock and shirt,
but still he endured. I suppose he was all impa-
tience for them to lay hands on the innermost gar-
ment exempted by the abbot. This they at last
proceeded to do; and he, who only awaited that
moment, having no weapons, unbuckled his iron
stirrups, and began to lay about him with such won-
derful effect, that he not only returned to the abbey
with his own clothes, but with the arms and clothes
of his enemies, whom he left in the forest to the
crows and wolves.
This episode afterwards suggested the idea of
introducing Fanfulla* into St. Mark's, in Niccolò de'
Lapi. But I humbly acknowledge that the monk is
by far the better of the two. "And who will prove,'
cry the priggish advocates of the dignity of history,
"that either your hornblower or your monk ever
existed? How is it possible to introduce such fables
into writings destined to transmit to posterity, as far
as possible, an exact and veracious account of events
that have taken place?"
Very true. But, by their permission, I will tell
them the use of such fables. They enable us to
know what men, their ideas, customs, virtues, vices,
* An Italian man-at-arms, and one of Ettore Fieramosca's
companions, represented in the novel as a true type of headlong
daring.
308
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
and tendencies were like at certain given periods,
about which we only know what the dignity of his-
tory has allowed to be narrated, which consists in in-
forming us of the deeds of emperors and empresses,
kings and queens, popes, princes, and magnates,
who are made to cross the stage clad in triumphal
robes and crowns, without ever condescending to
give us any account of the way of life of their more
humble contemporaries, that is to say, of the state
of mankind. So much so, that we are often left
to wonder at certain great historical facts, victories,
or defeats, at inexplicable triumphs and downfalls,
the secret reason of which is to be found in those
social regions that are considered by the dignity of
history as so much below its contemplation.
tory has for a long while been that of great people
alone; it is time it should become the history of
everybody; and this is to some extent the aim of
the modern historical movement.
His-
But I have not yet done with my little anec-
dotes. There is still one which so well depicts the
period, that one may fancy having seen it happen.
After the defeat of the Lombards, dignified history
tells us that Desiderius retired to the island of the
lake of Orta, where he died; while Adalgisus* em-
* The son of Desiderius, with whom his father shared the
throne. He had married a sister of Charlemagne; a circum-
ANCIENT APPETITE.
309
barked at Pisa, and took refuge at the court of
Constantinople.
This is what the rude chronicle relates instead:
Charlemagne held his court at Pavia, and sat at
table with his followers, and, as it appears, also with
anybody who presented himself and found a vacant
place.
Dinner being over, the emperor, as he went out,
observed a great heap of bones of deer, wild boars,
and other animals, near a seat at one of the lower
tables; and when he inquired who among his guests
had consumed so enormous a quantity, no one could
answer him.
All he heard was a report that a stran-
ger, miles fortissimus in his aspect, while eating, had
crushed the bones between his teeth like nothing-
sicut cannabina stipula confringebat-and thus made
the pile.
Writers almost his contemporaries did not consider
Charlemagne the fool that Italian novelists have since
represented. The chronicler relates that he under-
stood at once, and said, "This fellow can only be
Adalgisus." He then bade one of his retinue go in
search of him; and taking off his golden bracelets,
ordered they should be delivered with an invitation
stance which did not, however, prevent that monarch from tak-
ing possession of his dominions.
310
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
to return. The messenger found the fugitive as he
had embarked in a small boat on the Ticino, and
just pushed off from the shore. He called to him,
and having acquitted himself of the royal message,
held out the bracelets, bidding him return to the
shore and take them, even if he refused to follow
him to Charles.
Adalgisus drew near, and the royal envoy,
placing the bracelets on the point of his lance, held
them out to him. But this mode of giving presents
was distasteful to the youth. He caught up his
cuirass, threw it on his back, and having pulled his
own bracelets off his arms, he too offered them to the
messenger on the sharp end of his spear, saying,
“Si in dolo mihi dona regis porrigis, ecce et ego mea
dona in lancea tibi do!" The retainer, seeing him-
self paid in his own coin, took Adalgisus' bracelets,
and carried them to Charles, who tried to put them
on; but they slipped up to his shoulders, so he said,
"Non mirum si Adalgisus maximas habeat vires.”
Now let us analyse the facts. When dignified
history tells me that Charles came down to help the
Pope that he triumphed at La Chiusa, took Pavia,
destroyed the kingdom of the Lombards-it simply
tells me a series of events similar to any others of
the same nature that might have have happened
before or afterwards or in any country, and they
MERIT OF CHRONICLES.
311
leave no special impression on my mind. When, on
the contrary, the chronicle relates the anecdotes I
have just quoted (even if they are not true, they must
be copied from nature), they carry me back to the
period of Charlemagne, which I shall never again
mistake for any other. I obtain an idea of the causes
and consequences of historical facts, because I now
know who the persons that profited or suffered by
them were; and I thus become acquainted, not only
with a few individuals in exceptional positions, but
with the great mass of mankind, and its true history.
I beg pardon for this digression, and go back to my
own story.
The notice I wrote related the origin of the
abbey, and also the adventures of a monk (a little
tale of my own invention), with various notes and
details. It was received with friendly indulgence;
but what met with decided approval was a long frag-
ment of the chronicle which I included in a note,
with the translation opposite, and from which I have
extracted the anecdotes just related.
The public had a good scent. Imagine my be-
ginning my notice with these pompous words: "For
an innumerable series of ages Italy wielded the sceptre
of the world!" This will suffice to show the lofty
strain which I had taken up. Luckily, my nature
is so hostile to anything like walking on stilts, that
312
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I soon saw my error, profited by the lesson, and
never fell into the same mistake (at least I hope so)
in any other of my writings.
Altogether, my work met with an undeserved
success in the small society of Turin.
The letter-
press, as I said, was written in an unnatural style;
it very much resembled that of certain penny-a-
liners, who want to give themselves the airs of im-
portant personages; and it did not even offer any
great interest as regards ideas and facts.
By dint of exertion, the lithographs were toler-
ably effective, but they had hardly any artistic merit.
My work, however, was of immense value for me:
it distracted my thoughts, gave them another direc-
tion, and kept me occupied. I persevered in my
resolution to give up my sojourn at Rome; and as
I had sketches, books, drawings, furniture, and va-
rious business to arrange, I determined to make a
rapid trip thither, to settle my affairs.
The Marquis Crosa, our minister in Rome, was
going back to his post; we travelled together, and
started in the middle of February in an open car-
riage, in spite of the bitter cold.
I wish it could be said that, after the absence of
a year, knowing her intrigue with the Duke, I as-
sumed an appearance of cold and dignified politeness
on seeing her. Were I writing a novel, I would say
I MEET HER AGAIN!
313
so, to enhance the character of my hero; but I am
writing a true story, and have anything but a hero
to deal with. I say therefore, that when I beheld
her beautiful as an angel, her eyes sparkling with
pleasure at seeing me return, farewell jealousy, fare-
well resolutions, farewell dignity and all the hero-
isms which in youth are powerless against one glance
of a handsome woman. Everything was forgotten ;
I fancied (and am sure she believed so too) that I
had never loved her so well, and felt as if I had
scaled Paradise. But all this was only a phantasma-
goria of the senses and imagination.
My heart was a heap of ashes, and ashes it re-
mained. After the first moment of giddy infatuation,
I became aware of it, and the resolutions I had made
remained unshaken. I do not, however, wish that
my last word about her should be a bitter one. She
had some good qualities, but possessed little intellect,
and still less judgment. Nobody had ever endea-
voured to direct her heart or her feelings; she lived
in a society in which every notion of the true, the
generous, and the elevated was quite extinct. From
such training what could be expected?
Let us hope that even at Rome, whether the
papal rule be prolonged or not, it will at last be un-
derstood that it is not enough to be born under the
shadow of the Capitol, but that it is also necessary
314
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
:
to provide for the instruction and education of the
inhabitants.
I found Rome in the gay confusion of a vacant
see. Leo XII. had expired, to the inexpressible joy
of his most faithful Romans. Marforio and Pas-
quino* were inexhaustible in their wit; I still re-
member one epigram :
Tre danni ci facesti, o Padre santo :
Prima accettare il manto,
E poi di campar tanto;
Morir di carneval per esser pianto."
"Most holy Father, our complaints are three :
First, that the mantle yours at all should be ;
Next, that you lived so long; and yet at last
You needs must die ere carnival was past."
In fact, his death had closed all the theatres, sus-
* Pasquino is the true type of Roman satirical wit, and Mar-
forio the familiar companion with whom (formerly even more
than now) he cracks jokes and gives vent to his epigrammatic
vein. Mr. W. Story, from whose charming book I borrow these
data, tells us that the mutilated torso now to be seen behind the
Palazzo Braschi was a portion of a noble ancient group. An
account, dated in 1553, relates that the now shapeless fragment
acquired its nickname from a tailor named Pasquino, who plied
his trade hard by. Equally skilful in making clothes and epi-
grams, his shop became the resort of wits, prelates, and courtiers,
and thus grew famous as the abode of pungent satire. But after
the tailor died, when the street was being repaired and altered,
the statue was placed near his door, and the people said in jest
that Pasquino had come back; at any rate, it became the cus-
tom to stick whatever epigram or satirical verses the author
desired to be anonymous on the statue, and pretend it was a Pas-
ENTHRONISATION OF A POPE.
pended all festivities, even the puppet-shows.
315
In
March, Cardinal Castiglioni was enthroned as his
successor, under the name of Pius VIII.
I hap-
pened to be near him when he was carried on the
sedia gestatoria* up the great staircase of St. Peter's,
with the large peacock-feather fans, and all the By-
zantine pageant, which strikes impassionate people as
a flagrant contradiction to the servus servorum (how
would he be treated, were he the Master?). The
new Pope, who was excessively fat and had flabby
cheeks, thanked the enthusiastic multitude, weeping
(it was to be supposed) with rapture; but to the
mischievous his tears looked very like those of a
:
quinata. From that time Pasquino became a power; for his
tongue hit right and left, high and low, and let no abuse or scan-
dal pass unnoticed on everything he would have a bitter saying.
Marforio was at first Pasquino's companion and rival. Like his
friend, he too was a statue, but of colossal size, representing
a river-god dug up in the sixteenth century in the Forum of
Mars hence his name. Pasquino had several other friends and
interlocutors, but next to him Marforio was the chief speaker,
and used to join his famous companion in satirical conversation.
Their rivalry was perpetual; a pun by Pasquino never failing to
elicit a sharp reply from Marforio. But, poor fellow, he has
been confined in the court of the Capitol, and, like many other
freethinkers, deprived of the right of speech; so that Mr. Story
says Pasquino now has it all his own way.
* This, properly called sella gestatoria apostolica, is the chair
or throne upon which his Holiness is carried on the shoulders of
sixteen footmen when he goes to church in state to celebrate the
sacred rites.
316
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
child undergoing punishment. The thought crossed
my mind "You are not the man to set things
straight in this country; it requires anything but
tears!" And, in fact, his short and uninteresting
reign left no traces behind.
While settling my affairs (an operation which ab-
solutely required a certain time), I set to work in
the studio of a friend-one of the young painters
studying in Rome at the expense of our government
-who was the son of a smith of Turin, and a rather
clever artist. As I said, he had been sent to Rome
by the government, and was one of few who, if they
did not succeed in distinguishing themselves (none
ever did), at least did not sink below the sphere of
honourable mediocrity. His name was Barne.
The manner in which art was dealt with at that
time in Turin was a perfect farce. There is not much
to boast of even at present; but art having now to
some extent insinuated itself among the ideas of the
public, it rests on a broader basis. In those days,
on the contrary, it was entirely dependent on the
great chamberlain and his planetary system, who, of
course, did not understand one jot about the matter,
an ignorance which has always pervaded Italian
courts, except those of Milan, Venice, Florence,
Parma, Ferrara, Urbino, and Rome, and partially
Naples, in the sixteenth century vel circum.
TWO PICTURES.
317
As his first sample, Barne had sent to Turin two
half-length figures, life-size, illustrative of Date
obolum Belisario, the latter being represented with
a child. It was a very fair picture. There was
drawing in it, and modelling, and it had a certain
Spanish dash in the handling. The whole thing
was carefully studied from nature, and moreover the
colouring was fine for those who understood anything
about the matter; that is to say, colouring suited to
the subject, being sober, harmonious, hardly more
than a chiaroscuro,—in a word, colour without co-
lours. Artists will understand me. This picture
was received at Turin like a dog on a race-course ;
poor Barne got well trounced. Was that the fine
progress he had made in art? Was that a specimen
to send? &c. He who, having been praised at Rome,
expected just the contrary, shrugged his shoulders,
and said to himself, "What they want is something
more cheerful-gay colours, jaunty figures."
next year he decided upon an Apollo, with his in-
strument obbligato, and his little red cloak; and pro-
duced the most unfortunate affair I ever saw,-round
and pudgy, with that straight-nosed, silly face which
is generally given to the fair-haired god, with a body
that looked more like pink pomatum than flesh and
bones, against a green little landscape for a back-
ground, and with neat yellow rays set round his
So
318
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
head for a glory. It was really sickening. At Turin
it was highly appreciated; and from this let every
Maecenas learn that to patronise without judgment
is worse than not patronising at all.
Poor Barne, whose own sound sense had pointed
out the right path, threw himself, as was but natural,
into the wrong one, solely because his patrons were
downright idiots. It is on this account that asses in
high spheres are most terrible; they breed morally,
and multiply themselves, depriving even those who
would fain try hard to escape from their thrall, of all
means or power of doing so.
During the time I was with him, he was work-
ing at a large picture by which he was to sink or
swim, according to the success it was destined to
meet. Imagine how the poor fellow was at his wits'
end to make a good hit! First of all, wishing to
please by his subject, he had selected the great battle
in which an anonymous Duke of Savoy is supposed
to have slaughtered an anonymous Turk, and thereby
liberated the island of Rhodes. The most curious
thing is, that there exists a tradition in Piedmont
interpreting the four initials which adorn the collar of
our royal order of the Annunziata, thus: F-ortitudo
E-jus R-hodum T-enuit.*
*
* No one can really explain the meaning of these four letters.
Some pretend they are the initials of an ancient war-cry of the
THE ORDER OF THE ANNUNZIATA.
319
In 1362, Amadeus VI. founded the order of the
Collar, subsequently the Annunziata, composed of
only fifteen knights, in honour of the fifteen mys-
teries of the Virgin, with the emblem of lovers'
knots. Amadeus VII. added the motto Fert, and
Charles III. the image of the Annunziata in 1518.
It is true that Amadeus VI. went to the East, and,
by taking Varna, delivered the emperor John Palæo-
logus from the hands of the Bulgarians; but neither
he nor any other Duke of Savoy ever went to Rhodes
with an army, that I know of; and the Knights of
St. John were perfectly able to defend themselves
without our aid from the year 1309, when they occu-
fierce and pugnacious counts of Savoy : "Frappez, entrez, rompez
tout !" Others say the motto is not a war-cry, but expresses the
ardour of amorous affection. An old chronicler relates that, "Le
Comte Verd (Amadeus VI), ayant reçu de sa dame la faveur
d'un bracelet de cheveux tressé et cordonné en lacs d'amour,
établit cet ordre qui fut appelé l'ordre militaire des lacs d'amour,
et que les quatre lettres entrelacées aux mêmes lacs veulent dire
'Frappez, entrez, rompez tout,' devise propre aux amoureux." Others,
again, assert that the four letters conceal the awful prophecy,
"Fœmina erit ruina tua ;" and so on: everyone roams at will over
the wide fields of fancy. It appears most probable that the word
fert is only the present of the verb ferre, and was thus used as a
motto, like fac, and many similar words which are to be found in
heraldry. At all events, whatever be its origin or meaning, there
is no doubt that this mysterious device is an old motto of the
house of Savoy; and besides being inscribed on the collar of the
Annunziata, it figures on many of the royal escutcheons and uni-
forms.
320
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
ท
pied it on their expulsion from Palestine, until they
exchanged it for Malta in 1522.
This is an interesting fact, inasmuch as it shows
us how traditions of ancient events, even far more
strange, may in time succeed in assuming historical
authority; and it teaches us to apply a most severe
criticism to the narratives, not only of antiquity, but
also of modern times.
Poor Barne, who was desirous of pleasing in high
quarters, set criticism at defiance, and boldly painted
Amadeus VI. on horseback near the seashore, flour-
ishing his sword over an old fogey of a pasha lying
on the ground. Mindful perhaps of the ill success
of his Belisarius, and of the flattering one obtained
by Apollo, he had introduced a young page or son
of the Turk into his composition, who in a pathetic
attitude raised a little white hand to ward off the
enormous blade of the Duke of Savoy. You may
surmise how faithfully this episode represented the
warlike usages of the fourteenth century; but his
Mæcenas required a dulcet strain, and as the pro-
blem, to dine, or not to dine,' depended on his
pleasure, it was needful to obey him rather than
common sense. And here again, I repeat, better no
Mæcenas at all than one who is a donkey.
Except this fault, the picture was not a bad one,
and might perhaps have been followed by some still
0
A
CHAPTER XII.
Funeral of my father, and its tariff-I visit the Castle of
Azeglio in the spring-Its good inhabitants, and its old
feudal masters-My elder brother and I divide the property;
and my first will-The father being dead, it is better the
brothers should live apart-I leave Roberto, and transfer my
abode to Milan-Artistic life of Milan in those days-Reli-
gious struggle in my mind-I marry; I take a house; but I
remain silent on domestic matters-The Austrian Government
and Lombardy after 1830-Masonic lodges and the secret
society La Giovine Italia-I exhibit three pictures at Palazzo
Brera, and they meet with approval-I finish my Fieramosca,
and become intimate with the first literary men of Milan-
Fieramosca brings me honours and profit beyond my expec-
tation-Timid vanity and impertinent vanity-Did my novel
really deserve its success?-Answer and reflections-How I
snatch the imprimatur from the imperial censor.
So long as we have a father and mother yet living,
we are sure of someone to love us for ourselves.
When they are gone, all certainty has disappeared,
and possibility alone remains behind. On this ac-
count, the loss of parents marks one of the gravest
phases of life; and only they whose minds are in-
capable of any serious thought, or whose hearts are
devoid of all elevation, can pass through this ordeal
with indifference. In my domestic circumstances this
VOL. II.
Z
338
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
event was still more painful, the loss more irreparable.
If my narrative, or yet better my quotations, have
succeeded in giving the reader a just idea of the
father I was never to see again, it will not require
many words to persuade him of the sense of isola-
tion and painful abandonment by which I was over-
whelmed at his death.
However little the idea of a pompous funeral
suited the taste of the departed or our own, who can
see the body of a beloved person carried to its grave
without a natural wish to pay it a last tribute of
respect?
We had thus to go through that sad and revolting
discussion with the priests of the parish on the tariff
which governs every detail of the burial. We were
obliged to endure their questions, to hear the enu-
meration of the prices: so much for ringing the bells,
for wax-tapers, for a plain pall over the coffin, and so
much for one edged with silver-lace; and all this with
the evident intention of speculating on the carelessness
and easy yielding of those whose hearts were at that
moment filled with far other thoughts, and thus ex-
tracting profits which would make a usurer blush.
The honours we pay to the memory of our dead
-the love, so entirely devoid of selfishness, we still
feel for them-touches on the most sensitive chords
of our hearts; and no nation in the world, at any
AFFLICTION.
339
known epoch, has ever shown itself indifferent to
such feelings. And we, so civilised, in moments of
so much anguish, are we to have our hearts torn by
the claws of those voracious birds of prey? Among
the hundred reforms Catholic worship must undergo,
that of funerals is to be included. They at present
constitute one of its shames.
After yielding some time to our common grief,
my brother and I returned to Turin. I there spent
the winter, a prey to a melancholy which I dare not
compare to what I had felt after the trying crisis
at Rome; for that would seem to me irreverence to-
wards a too sacred memory. I may, however, say
that my present grief had moral consequences, the
seeds of which, so to speak, had been already sown
by the former, and which this second one moulded
into a more durable and definite shape. Affliction,
by most people considered a curse, is, on the con-
trary, a divine blessing. Reconsideration of the past
—the revelation of forgotten or unperceived sins-
the wholesome reproaches of our better to our worse
selves—stern resolutions-painful but irrevocable
changes are all born of affliction.
Feeling that what I had just gone through had
transported me into a new phase, I gradually began
to entertain a desire of comparing my past with the
new horizon lying before me in the future; and a
340
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
wish arose within me to place an abstract of my life
before my eyes; to define its epochs and phases; to
divide it, so to speak, into chapters, as in an auto-
biography. What had I achieved up to the present
time? I had worked, it is true, with tolerable steadi-
ness; I had entered a path certainly not blameworthy;
many at my age had done worse; but finally, when
the account was summed up, I had only painted and
made love. I was thirty-two, and might still live
thirty or forty years.
Was that to be all-paint-
ing and making love? I thought it little, or not
enough, and could not then know that, in the matter
of changing professions, destiny would subsequently
serve me à souhait; and I began to make plans and
schemes for doing more, without finding anything
to suit me. I was like a man groping about in the
dark to discover a solid body to lean on, and finding
nothing but emptiness. After passing a sad winter,
I deemed it advisable, when spring came, to give a
look at the modest property left me by my father,
and went to stay some time at the Castle of Azeglio.
The village numbers about two thousand inhabitants,
and lies at the foot of a gentle hill, on the top of
which stands the castle, five miles east of Ivrea, at
the mouth of the valley of Aosta.
Tradition says that in the time of the Romans it
was a sort of penitential colony, a privileged spot,
THE AZEGLIO CASTLE.
341
enjoying the right of sanctuary; in other words, an
asylum; hence Azeglio. Now it is a place inhabited
by an honest and gallant race of the blood (a little
excitable, but good) which we of the Canavese* pre-
tend to have. When I say we, I am boasting a little,
because, as I have said, my forefathers came from
Savigliano, the centre of Piedmont; but so many
dear recollections bind me to the inhabitants of Aze-
glio, and they on their side are so much attached
to us, that they will not complain if I identify my-
self with them, although my family only came into
possession of the castle a few generations back, and
through the female line.
But
The dear recollections consist in the fact, that
while my ancestors exercised feudal rights (I say it
with profound satisfaction), they secured for them-
selves the love and benediction of everyone.
what the old people of the place always recalled with
emotion was the erection of the handsome church,
with its steeple, built by my grandfather almost at
his sole expense. I remember hearing when a child
of the difficulties that had to be overcome in raising
some of the lofty columns; and to me it seemed
such a feat, that I saw my aforesaid venerable
*The rich and beautiful tract of country comprised between
the two rivers of the Dora Baltea and Dora Riparia, of which
Ivrea is the picturesque chief town.
342
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
progenitor through the same lens in which I now be-
hold the Pharaohs-builders of the Pyramids.
During that summer I wandered about in the
mountains, and visited friends' country-houses, with
my manuscript of Fieramosca, at which I kept on
working. When the cold set in, I went back again
to Turin, where I and my brother had to sign the
deed settling the final division of our paternal inherit-
ance. While the public notary drew it up, I was
making my will. At every period of life death is
on the cards; and I always considered it an act of
honesty not to leave any confusion behind me. Be-
sides which, I wished to avoid the funeral oration
pronounced by the public over those who, by dying
intestate, abandon their families in difficulties. "That
fool" (it is generally said) "thought that making a
will would hasten his death; and lawsuits, lawyers'
expenses are now the result. What a goose!" More
than once I have happened to know persons who had
fallen into great misfortune because some kinsman
of theirs had a stupid reluctance to pronounce the
words "I bequeath," and to admit that as the world
will not yet come to an end, one needs must have
heirs.
For my part, when I signed the deed with my
brother, my own will was in my pocket: thus,
throughout life, I only remained intestate during
FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS.
343
the half-hour it took me to go from my own house
to that of the notary to whom it was consigned.
I considered this the safest plan for myself; and the
reader will allow me to think it the same as regards
him, should he never have thought of it before.
Another piece of advice, which life and experi-
ence prove to be equally good, is not to indulge in
domestic dreams. While the father lives, the home.
is one, and may hold all the brothers. But the father
once dead, it is so no longer. There are, in fact, as
many homes as brothers. At the moment of the
catastrophe, all hearts are touched, and decisions are
taken not always likely to answer in practice, with-
out anybody deserving blame, but by the simple force
of facts. A difference of disposition is enough; one
is gay and thoughtless, another grave and very parti-
cular; one prefers hot rooms, the other cool ones, &c.
In the case of equals, such trifles suffice to generate
annoyance and perturbations, which may become the
origin of serious quarrels. I do not deny that in-
stances of brothers living together in perfect har-
mony may be found. Happy they! But the ex-
ception does not prove the rule; and it is prudent
not to establish any such ties at a time when the
heart is alone master of our acts; it is better to ex-
amine and try them, if considered convenient, under
the guidance of calm reason.
344
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I was destined to personal experience of the truth
of the above remarks. My brother and his wife
were models of uprightness and every kind of real
excellence; the name they left behind them was
that of true benefactors of the people. They both
kept schools for poor children at their own expense,
upon which they laid out large sums. Not that I
value the outlay as half so meritorious as the hours
they themselves spent every day with those poor
children; teaching them to read, to be clean, sin-
cere, good; to get rid of all the bad habits con-
tracted by the classes about whom nobody had ever
thought before, except to send them to the galleys
when it was necessary; although the means of
enabling them to be honest had always been for-
gotten. In a word, I consider personal charity as
a great merit; and mere gifts of money by the rich
as a far less one.
I remember that sometimes, in winter, when I
was with my brother after dinner, at the moment
when a person no longer young and somewhat cor-
pulent most wishes to be at rest, the hour for the
school would strike; on which Roberto said to his
wife, "It is time to go." One could see the effort
she was making in her face, poor woman; but she
rose with a little sigh, went out through fog, snow,
or rain, and shut herself up for the whole evening in
!
I SETTLE AT MILAN.
345
the impure and close atmosphere of the school. This
is real merit. At the death of each, the hearse was
followed to the grave by a legion of children and
their parents; all poor people, who were led by
affection and not interest to pay, as their means
allowed, a last tribute to those who had taken such
care of them in their lifetime. My brother and
sister-in-law had thus the rarest of all earthly re-
wards the spontaneous, and not the imposed or
bought, gratitude of the people they had relieved.
Let us hope that God is now awarding them a still
higher one.
Well, notwithstanding all this, I felt it more
desirable to live by myself, and resolved to settle
at Milan.
At Milan I found the Austrians; and this was
certainly no attraction. But was Charles Felix, who
enjoyed the supreme felicity of owing his throne to
them, any more attractive than they? Wishing to
continue the study and practice of art, at Turin I
might have died of apathy; the arts were toler-
ated, just like the Jews in the Ghetto. At Milan,
on the contrary, the concourse of many circum-
stances, and of the distinguished men assembled
there, had produced quite an artistic movement.
It was the fashion to buy modern pictures. Wealthy
people collected galleries; those less rich often en-
346
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
dured the oddest privations to possess a small picture
by such or such an artist. The bootmaker Ronchetti,
who made boots and shoes for the greatest artists,
and took sketches, pictures, statues, &c. in exchange,
was quite a celebrity.
To make money was not then, and never has
been, my principal object. I, however, intended
to cultivate art as a profession for other motives,
and sell my pictures, because it is the surest means
of fixing one's own standard, and the best proof that
your work is successful; lastly, because self-esteem,
and the desire of independence, which is the basis
of my character, is flattered by the consciousness
of being able to earn a comfortable livelihood by
one's own exertions. Idleness is debasing, while
work is honourable because idleness leads men
and nations to servitude, whereas work makes them
strong and independent. Nor are these good results
the only ones. The habit of work moderates every
excess; it fosters the craving for and love of order;
from material, one ascends to moral order: therefore
work may be considered as one of the best allies.
of education.
This longing after order is to me a second na-
ture. The vicissitudes of my life, a series of bitter
experiences, had increased it, and the reflections
made by me during hours of sadness had now im-
น
NEW LIFE.
347
parted an irresistible force to it. Art had not been
the only motive of my resolve to exchange Turin
for Milan. I felt a strong desire to reorganise my
life; and on thinking over the phases and incidents
of my unhappy passion, I was compelled to acknow-
ledge that, on the whole, I had done a great deal
of harm, both to myself and to others, while reap-
ing but very few advantages in return. And these
thoughts were not the consequences of a revived
religious sentiment, but solely the result of a sense
of natural equity, which made me deem I had
been thoroughly unjust and guilty. Feeling re-
morseful, and wishing to change my way of life,
I clearly understood that worship, nay a real and
positive faith, would have been a powerful support
in such a frame of mind. I yearned for it, would
have done anything to possess it; but my mind de-
cidedly refused to accept the explanation of the origin
of evil by the dogma of original sin. Hence all
the consequent reasoning fell to the ground. Those
were indeed days of bitter and painful struggles.
But the aspiration after a new life was so strong
in me; to remain in a state of irresolution was,
as it has always been, so contrary to my nature;
that I made up my mind to escape from it by adopt-
ing a system which may seem strange to the reader
-that of taking part in the worship of a religion
348
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
before being able to convince myself fully of the
truth of its dogmas. I planted the sprig, in the
hope the buds would sprout afterwards, and began
to follow the precepts of the Catholic faith, trust-
ing that in due time my mind would understand
and appreciate its basis. I know not whether it
be possible to give a greater proof of good-will as
regards this subject.
It is clear that, when wishing to give an en-
tirely new direction to one's life, a change of re-
sidence, if possible, affords great facilities; and it
was this consideration which, coupled with my ar-
tistic plans, took me to Milan.
I settled and remained there twelve years. I
bought a house, married, and formed new ties,
thinking it very probable that it would be my final
establishment for the remainder of my days. But
events unforeseen by me afterwards occurred, one
of which was the storm that shook Europe to its
centre, and has not yet done all its work; when
I was once again thrown into the vortex of an
agitated life, as will be related farther on.
I spent
those twelve years in the bosom of my family.
Under such circumstances, every action, every ques-
tion, every incident, loses its purely individual cha-
racter, and represents instead the complex interests
of two or more persons. If a man is at liberty
MILAN'S CONSTANT PROGRESS.
349
to open his heart, and pour out his own feelings
without restraint, he must not, as a certain philo-
sopher thought, transform the walls of his house
into glass for others. If we wish strangers to respect
our domestic life, we must be the first to set the
example.
Without entering into particulars, which would
besides awaken little interest, I shall therefore con-
fine myself to recording my artistic and literary
works at Milan during that period, and to saying
a few words concerning the events and the men
of the day.
Although the Emperor Francis II. had told a
deputation of citizens he was unable to do anything
in future, except to make Milan gradually fall into
decay, Milan would not decline. A foreign and
despotic rule no doubt always does its work; and
the effects which a few years of free and independent
government will produce on Italian cities will be
speedily seen; but still even the Austrians could
not drain Lombardy to exhaustion. At the moment
of my arrival, the changes that had taken place in
France, the war of independence in Poland, the
risings in the Papal States, made the blood course
quicker through the veins of all.
Art, literature, commerce, the whole of society
participated in this accession of vitality. The softer
350
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
fibres of the country were hardened and roused;
one breathed more freely; everyone was more ac-
tive and more sanguine about everything. This
excitement, however, abated as the house of Orleans
consolidated itself in France, as their government
threw back into the hands of the Austrians and of
the Pope those Italians who had allowed themselves
to be for one moment deluded by the occupation of
Ancona; and as Poland, partly by her own fault,
but still more by that of others, heard from the
French tribune the announcement that order reigned
at Warsaw. The Lombard population then had re-
course to its old comfort of eating, drinking, and
amusing itself; and there only remained afloat the
fabric of the secret societies, and of the Giovine
Italia, which, being young, could not be expected
to have much wisdom; and, in truth, facts showed
how very little it possessed.
Prolonged oppression, by rendering lies and dis-
simulation a necessity, thoroughly corrupts the cha-
racter of nations. Italy is but too great a proof of
it. Unfortunately, there is in the Italian nature
too great a tendency to work underground; what I
might call a mole-like instinct. And Heaven only
knows when we shall be able to correct ourselves!
It was a mistake and a fault, even while under the
foreign yoke; but it is, moreover, an absurdity now
FREE-MASONRY.
351
that ours is a free government. And on this score
I will say that even without mentioning the societies
which have to answer for assassinations, and also,
according to many people, for certain colossal thefts,
I would fain not see even masonic lodges in Italy.
Not from any wish to forbid or put them down had
I the power, but I should prefer seeing them closed
of their own accord, at least for fifty years to come.
I am the first to acknowledge that there is nothing
more harmless than the Grand Orient, King of
Iran, Prince Cadoc, or the little apron and ham-
mer, &c. I know perfectly well that the dazzling
light, that is to say, the great secret, is not so aw-
ful as some people think: I know likewise that in
several countries a great many social benefits are
derived from this association; although the affecta-
tion of perpetually setting forth benevolence as the
aim of the brotherhood seems to me somewhat
tainted with Jesuitism. But in Italy, my good
friends, — in the classic land of sects and political
dissimulation, where everything degenerates into a
plot, a conspiracy, an underhand work,-pray leave
us alone, and remove your Grand Orient a little
more to the east or the west, as you please, but do
not hold out to us the temptation of becoming sec-
tarians; because, with all your benevolence, mutual
support, and hospitals-all capital things, no doubt,
352
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
in themselves-on a rotten soil like ours you can-
not prevent your humane society from turning into
a regular secret society or political sect; with its
simulations, exclusions, priestlike persecutions; its
intrigues, its meddlings, to give an appointment
to one and deprive another of it, to direct and
command, either by flattering or threatening in the
dark; by substituting itself, in a word, for the loyal,
open, and public action of the political and social
powers; and thus the natural sectarian instinct,
instead of being corrected, will increase and become
more perverse, because it has at the present moment
no pretext or excuse whatsoever.
And in truth, I ask you, is there nowadays an
opinion, an idea, a thought, that cannot be freely
uttered or printed in Italy, that cannot be freely
discussed and deliberated upon? What absurdity,
buffoontry, or farce is there that cannot be presented
to the respectable public in a hall, or on the stage
of some second-rate theatre (of course, provided the
hire be paid!), with its accompainment of presidential
bell, chairman and vice-chairman, orators, platform,
german-silver candelabras, illuminations, &c. ?
It is sufficient to respect the civil and criminal
code; with that exception, you may assemble as
much as you like, set forth your political, theolo-
gical, social, artistic, literary theories; who on earth
A QUIET DEPARTURE.
321
better; but soon after we parted the poor fellow fell
ill and died. Heaven rest his soul!
My departure from Rome was this time very
quiet, and in nowise dramatic, like the preceding
one. Of course I left her, my friends and the place,
with some regret; but I had an internal foreboding
that it was not and could not any longer be my
home.
On my return to Turin with all my store of
sketches, I established myself at my father's house
in two rooms fitted up for me, where I was quiet
and isolated, and thus able to work. I felt most
anxious to do something serious at last, with my
head and heart fully at rest; for I was quite ano-
ther being now that my sentiments had completely
calmed down, and I was finally delivered from the
image which for so many years had not left me an
hour in peace.
Before setting to work, as it was summer, I
spent a few months in making excursions in dif-
ferent directions. I went to Viù, a locality situated
above Lanzo; and during a mountain walk, just as
I was at the top of a ridge, I had the rare good
fortune of feeling an earthquake. It is impossible
to conceive how much more grand and terrible
its effect is among high mountains. That houses
should be shaken seems to be almost natural; but
VOL. II.
Y
322
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
the sight of high and imposing peaks oscillating
suggests the idea of an awful power hidden in the
bowels of the earth, and gave me the impression
of a totally new manifestation of the forces of na-
ture. In November I repaired to my studio and
began to work.
I was anxious, too, to paint something likely to
please, while working entirely alone and by myself
in Turin, so that it might not be said the picture
brought from Rome had been painted for me. My
first business was to search for a good subject, and
I found one in the challenge of Barletta-an episode
of Italian history of the year 1503.* I chose the
moment in which the action is being fought, and
*This challenge was an incident which occurred during the
unsuccessful siege of Barletta by the French, that town being
defended by Gonzalvo de Cordova. A quarrel arose between
some French knights and the Italians who served in the Spanish
army from the Chevalier de la Motte grossly insulting the latter
by saying, among other things, they were such cowards, that a
French soldier would be ashamed to have one of them for his
stable-boy.
To vindicate Italian courage, a challenge was immediately
given and accepted; thirteen Italian knights (of whom Ettore
Fieramosca, the hero of the novel, was the prototype) encountered
thirteen Frenchmen. Bayard, the chevalier sans peur et sans
reproche, and Don Prospero Colonna, were the umpires of the
French and the Italians respectively. The fight lasted the whole
day, and ended in the signal defeat of the former. Brancaleone,
the Italian knight to whose lot it fell to engage La Motte, as he
dealt the blow that unhorsed him, exclaimed passionately, "You
A BATTLE.
323
the judges and spectators are watching attentively.
After making a great many drawings and sketches,
I decided on the one which, having been admirably
engraved by Boselli and Cornacchia at Parma, in the
school of Toschi, is sold everywhere, and is known to
everyone. The subject admitted of a beautiful sky,
a rich vegetation (even supposing there are now no
fine trees between Andria and Corato, who can say
they have not been cut down since 1503?), a display
of arms, gorgeous apparel, and a gathering of vari-
ous peoples. Besides having for me the great merit,
may now say, messire, the Italians at least know how to use the
currycomb !"
Whilst painting the picture, it struck D'Azeglio he might
write a novel on this subject; which he accordingly did, in the
most charming and natural style; and this book, as he himself
says, was of much service to the Italian cause.
The illustration of an historical fact so glorious for Italian
valour, and the patriotic expressions lavished by the writer in
his characteristic pages, produced the greatest impression.
It must be remembered what times those were for Italy, and
that political life and national aspirations were alike stifled by
a foreign rule or the reactionist system in vigour since 1814.
The Italians, indeed, owe eternal gratitude to the courageous
and noble spirits who,-while all discussion on the sad political
condition of the country was strictly forbidden,-whenever they
could escape the censorship of the police, lost no opportunity of
fostering the regeneration of the national character by reviving
the memory of past glories, by distant allusions, and by the me-
dium of art and literature,-thus preparing the movement which
occurred years after, and of which Massimo d'Azeglio was one of
the most conspicuous leaders.
324
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
}
or rather the sine qua non condition of everything
of any value I ever did, it ministered to the Italian
idea. Working with the fever of the beautiful and
the poetical, and above all with the faith that I was
doing good (happy youth! I am now no longer in-
fected by such fevers), in a month my picture was
already so far advanced that it began to make a very
creditable appearance; and being modestly satisfied
with it, I worked diligently to finish it. One day-
I remember it as if it were but yesterday-while
putting the last touches to the group of horses fight-
ing in the centre, it struck me that, considering the
importance of the episode and the propriety of re-
cording it, to infuse some spirit into the souls of
Italians, it would be much better and more effective
as the subject of a narrative rather than of a pic-
ture. "Then let me write it!" I exclaimed.
how?-a poem? confound poetry! Prose, prose; I
must speak a language which can be understood in
the streets and thoroughfares, and not in Helicon
only."
"But
And thus adding the fire of writing to that of
painting, I threw myself heart and soul into my
new task; but instead of making historical inquiries
about the period, artistic and topographical researches
concerning the places, or, better still, going to see
them, and familiarising myself with the spots I was
WRITING A NOVEL.
325
to describe, as I ought to have done, I hardly had the
patience to read through the pages Guicciardini has
dedicated to the subject; and at once began the scene
on the piazza of Barletta, about the Ave Maria, with-
out the slightest notion of what sort of mess the result
might be. What did I know about those localities?
I measured the distance between Barletta and Mount
Gargano on the first map of Italy I came across;
and taking for granted that the latter must be visi-
ble from the former, at once brought it into my
description as a background; I invented a Barletta,
a fortress, an island of Sant' Orsola entirely my
own, and thus went on straight as an arrow; creat-
ing first one of my dramatis personce, then another,
giving birth, as I subsequently found, to a larger
family than was wanted. However, the proverb,
Per istrada s'aggiusta la soma-"the jolts of the road
will settle the load"-never received a more thorough
application than in the construction of my novel,
whatever its literary merits may be.
No words of mine can ever express all the pe-
culiar delight, the internal happiness I experienced
while depicting and describing those scenes and cha-
racters. Absorbed heart and soul by that life of
chivalry, to the entire forgetfulness of the present,
it was undoubtedly one of the happiest periods of
my existence. I spent nearly all my time in the
326
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
society of my fantastic personages; in the evening
I went to bed early, and thought morning would
never dawn, so great was my impatience to be once
more among them. I was never keen after any
diversions, and always found them great bores (ex-
cept the theatre, in the days when actors could
sing); but then-with Barletta and its knights!
Many people often wonder that one does not care
for balls, dinner-parties, and so-called entertain-
ments; if they could but experience for an hour
the pleasures of imagination, and of moving in a
fantastic world of your own creation, they would no
longer be astonished, but comprehend the vast differ-
ence. One reflection, however, strikes me; how is it
that these enjoyments, so truly divine, do not produce
a work equally so? Whereas, what in comparison
are even the least imperfect of human creations?
In spite of all my enthusiasm, in the innermost
recess of my heart I heard that terrible voice which
in the best moments mocks and chills you with the
ominous doubt these things appear real marvels to
you, but who knows what rubbish you are invent-
ing! Certain characters are, happily for them, never
troubled by these doubts. Woe to others, on the
contrary, if assailed by doubt during the creation of
their work; and of these latter I am one. In order
to escape them, I said to myself: "The only thing to
CHIERI AND ITS THREE B'S.
327
do is to show what you have written to a good judge
who is not likely to deceive you."
As counsellor and censor I selected Cesare Balbo,
the son of a sister of my father, therefore my first-
cousin and most intimate friend. His was one of
the most beautiful and generous characters which
have adorned Piedmont for many a year; and here
I must be permitted to say a few words about him.
His ancestors came from Chieri, a charming little
town, six miles distant from Turin, among the hills
behind Superga; a quondam republic, mentioned at
the time of the invasion of Frederick Barbarossa.
Ab antiquo, there lived three families called the
three B's of Chieri;-the Bensos of Cavour, from
whom Camillo* descended; the Bertones of Sambuy,
of whom a branch settled in France, and produced
le brave Crillon; and finally the Balbos, from whom
came Cesare, and his father Prospero Balbo, also a
noble-minded man, of vast erudition and the highest
honour.
The career of Cesare was singularly varied, as
was the case with most of our generation; whose
fate it was to go through the series of phases be-
ginning by the tyrannical foreign yoke of Napo-
leon I., and ending with the national and legal
rule of Victor Emanuel II.
*The illustrious statesman.
328
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Those who now rest safely under its shadow
may thank God; but let them sometimes give a
thought to the labours, the sorrows, and the blood
it has cost others.
Cesare at eighteen was taken away from his
family and sent to Paris, as auditor to the Council
of State.
The events of Tuscany and of Rome, the inva-
sion of the Quirinal, the imprisonment of the Pope,
the violent and shamefully-perpetrated annexation of
the papal dominions to the French empire, succes-
sively took place. During the course of these events,
Cesare, who was already at Florence as secretary to
the new government of Tuscany, was transferred to
Rome under the administration of Miollis.* It was
precisely these events which restored the basis of
the temporal government, and imparted new life to
all its abuses, so that they are still existent now,
and will probably continue for a great while yet,
thanks to the zeal of those who
"Rome or
death!" But let us speak of Balbo.
cry
Being then young, fiery, and high-spirited, he
must have felt how iniquitous and shameful was the
conduct of Napoleon, by which he was unconsciously
*The French general who occupied Rome and the Pontifical
States in 1807, and governed them till 1814. The severe measures
decreed by Napoleon in 1809 against Pius VII. were executed by
him.
RETREAT IN 1813.
329
raising the Pope and the clergy in public estimation,
and casting ignominy upon himself. I am speaking
of the opinion of honest and sensible men, to whom
freedom of speech may be denied, but not that of
thought. Of course, for the majority, and apparently,
Napoleon was triumphant; nevertheless the world,
seeing all heads submissively bent before his throne,
and only those of the Pope, the cardinals, and the
clergy proudly erect, began to pronounce a judgment
which was of evil augury for him.
Cesare concurred in this judgment, retaining an
impression never to be effaced, and which was the
cause of his partial and impassioned sentiments ever
after when dealing with any subject connected with
the Papacy and the Roman government, either as a
statesman or a writer. If it was a fault, it
any rate, from a generous impulse.
sprang, at
He was afterwards employed in several missions
in Illyria and Germany. After the Russian disasters,
he found himself involved in the final rout of the
campaign of the year 1813, not as a soldier, but in his
capacity of auditor specially sent as messenger to the
Emperor, to convey to him the papers concerning
the despatch of business before the Council of State.
To meet the French army (which, broken and in
disorder, was hurrying back to the Rhine after the
battle of Leipsic), in the dress of an auditor, with
330
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
a portfolio under his arm, was not a thing many
people would have liked; but the intrepidity of Balbo
was equal to this or any other trial. In truth, how-
ever, it was terrible to hear him narrate, with the
fire which characterised him in everything, those
ghastly scenes during which every thought, every
good instinct seemed extinct in the wretched mul-
titude; the total subversion of every material and
moral order which accompanies the defeat of great
armies; the ditches full of the slain and wounded,
the broken-down ambulances, the invalids painfully
dragging themselves on, and dotting the road and the
fields with corpses; the troops of still able-bodied men
on foot and on horseback, who, as they rushed by like
hurricanes, pitilessly trampled upon the weak, whom
they overthrew, and on the dying, whom they killed.
He told me that a long artillery and ammunition
train, having to pass by a certaint point where
the road was covered with the dead, the bodies were
smashed and pounded into a bloody slush. ... After
it had gone by.
And if this had been dared in defence of a right,
or to save the country from ruin and a foreign in-
vasion, so much blood, so many miseries would all
have been blessed. But they were to be endured
that Napoleon might close the Russian markets
against English sugar; that he might make his plea-
NAPOLEON THE GREAT.
331
sure the law of the world. Perhaps it is for this
that the world, equally grateful and intelligent, has
surnamed him The Great!
Verily, it would be impossible to read through
the accounts of such massacres, and the miseries of
millions of innocent beings (I speak for myself), if one
did not remember St. Helena. Even in this world
justice is sometimes done. Not that I mean to curse
Napoleon, or anyone else either living or dead, but
pity for so many victims urges me to these remarks.
Nay, up to a certain point, I even understand the
selfish passions, the unbounded egotism of a man who
at last acts in the intoxication of pride and ambition ;
but what thoroughly rouses my indignation is to see
the cool and stolid sanction men are afterwards wont
to give to those who trample upon and disdain them,
by calling them great.
I beg pardon of my readers, if I have spoken with
undue warmth; but were I born again a hundred
times, I should never be able to dwell on such a sub-
ject calmly. True, these pages might even now be
suppressed. But no! as the words written express my
real sentiments, let them stand. So long as people
refuse to comprehend, one must continue hammering
on the same anvil.
After the restoration, Count Prospero Balbo went
as minister to the court of Spain, and took Cesare
332
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
with him. At the commencement of the outbreak of
the year 1821, the latter met the fate of all loyal and
elevated men in factious times. Disapproving of both
the contending parties, he became obnoxious to all;
and although he had taken no part in the movement
(he was not the man to mix himself up in a military
revolt), as he was on the one hand the friend of its
principal leaders, and on the other openly disapproved
the blind stupidity of the restored monarchy, when
the short struggle was over, he fell under the sus-
picion of the government. No honest man can or
ought to endure being suspected; so he retired to
his villa of Camerano, in the province of Asti, and
there spent his days chiefly in the acquirement of an
historical erudition, which became the source of the
works he subsequently published. I need not speak
of them; for nowadays the merit and the name of
Cesare Balbo are res judicata. It is enough to have
introduced him into my narrative, with a sketch of
the principal features of his moral physiognomy and
character. We shall meet him again more than once
hereafter, and I shall have important occasions of
speaking of him, and showing him engaged in a
higher task than that of censor of the exordium of
Ettore Fieramosca. Howbeit, I asked him to hear the
first chapters of my novel, and he willingly assented.
He called on me one evening, and, as we sat by the
SAD STATE OF MY FATHER.
333
fire, I began to read with some trepidation, being then
in a state of doubt and discouragement; but he soon
made me breathe more freely, and after about twenty
pages, to which he had listened impassively, turned
to me and said, "But this is exceedingly well writ-
ten." Never did music of Rossini or Bellini caress my
ears more sweetly than those words. In short, the
beginning pleased him, and as he had a very great
affection for me, he spoke with so much warmth, that
it seemed as if it were a triumph of his own. The
next day I returned to my work with more ardour
than ever, and took courage to mention it to my
father, who evinced a wish to see what I had writ-
ten. But he was already suffering from the com-
plaint which removed him a year after from this
world, and the smallest strain upon his mind tried
him so much, that I was unable to read to him more
than a small portion of my work.
This truly remarkable man, prematurely worn out
by sorrow and the struggles against his impetuous
nature he underwent for virtue's sake, could not be
persuaded to abstain from certain fatigues, even when
his strength began to desert him. Self-sacrifice had
become his second nature, and up to the moment of
the total extinction of all vitality, he continued to la-
bour for the advancement of the principles he deemed
useful to Italy, and the only basis of society.
334
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
"
At last the day came when all physical force failed
him, and he was obliged to keep his bed.
His complaint brought on fits of suffocation,
which are so terrible a suffering for the patient, as
well as for the spectators, who are unable to relieve
him. He had long been disciplined to moral and
physical struggles; the faith of all his life made him
look upon them in the light of a thorny path lead-
ing to ineffable happiness; and he therefore bore
them with the serenity of a well-grounded trust in
the future.
If those who, under the pretext of opening their
eyes and pointing out the truth (as if they had it in
their pockets), sap the faith of such of their suffering
fellow-creatures as deem present agony a pledge of
future blessedness, say, "Truth must be unveiled at
any cost," I answer them: First fix the criterion of
certainty for finding it out, and then wrench away
the last hope from the hearts of the dying, leaving
despair in its stead. They will then be barbarous
and logical. But till they fix this criterion, till they
are able to answer the terrible question, Quid est
veritas? they are cruel and absurd. And for this
reason—the afflicted, that is to say the majority of
mankind, prefer the cruelty and absurdity of political
jesuitism in the disguise of catholicism, to those of
the pantheism, the atheism, the speculations, and
HIS DEATH.
335
I
the systems of so many individuals, who, if they
harboured rather less vanity and a little more cha-
rity in their hearts, would think twice before de-
priving the flock, for which they display such
tenderness, of the only true consolation it pos-
sesses that of believing its present miseries will
be repaid by an immense future happiness.
should shrink from tearing this faith even from the
heart of a poor savage, who believes some childish
rite can secure him a better fate hereafter than his
present one, unless I could substitute another more
consoling. What right have I to make an im-
mortal spirit more miserable than God himself in-
tended?
My father's illness having allowed him a short
respite, he was able to leave his bed, and even so far
recovered as to accompany my mother to Genoa,
whither she was going to avoid the severe winter of
Turin. For a few days he felt better; but his illness
soon returned worse than ever, and we received the
intelligence that all hope was over. Roberto and I
started for Genoa. "At midnight" (so writes my
mother in her manuscript), "his two sons Roberto
and Massimo arrived; he embraced them affection-
ately, gave them a few last counsels, bade them care
for their mother, and live in peace and concord,
and blessed them with all the fervour of a paternal
336
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
heart.” And on the 29th of November 1831 he died,
at the age of sixty-seven years and nine months.
I shall not dwell any longer on this subject.
Domestic sorrows cannot, as is natural, awaken more
than a faint sympathy in the reader, and the secrets
of the heart should not be confided to any but those
who can really take part in them. I will only say
that it was a great and lasting grief to me, and even
now as I write my eyes are not quite tearless.
WHY SUCH SECRECY?
353
prevents you? Why then so many secrets? There
is no escape from this dilemma; either it arises from
folly, like that of children who act importance and
ape their elders; or it is for the purpose of breaking
the law and undermining the house in which we all
live; or to give each other a helping-hand to secure
good appointments, influence, or money, and thence
oppose or support, not he who is useful or danger-
ous to the public, but he who counteracts or favours
you in your intrigues. If this be all we have gained,
we might as well have kept the Jesuits.
A free country has no need of mysteries; and
in Italy, more than elsewhere, if we wish to disen-
tangle ourselves quickly from our swaddling-clothes,
we should carefully avoid everything that may lead
to dissimulation or underhand practices.
This moral disease of ours offers the same phe-
nomena as a great many epidemics. Take a country,
for instance, where cholera is raging, all complaints
degenerate into cholera; among us everything de-
generates into a secret society.
That of the Giovine Italia was a bad example and
an evil school for Italy, from the absurdity of its
political principles, the stupidity of its intentions, the
perversity of its means, and lastly, on account of the
mean behaviour of its leaders, who, while themselves
in a place of perfect safety, sent to the scaffold the
VOL. II.
AA
354
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
generous fools who did not understand that their
heads were offered up not to regenerate Italy, but
only to revive a withered sectarian zeal.
Yet even now there are people under the impres-
sion that our present liberty and independence are in
great measure owing to these societies! It is true
some also exist who hold that without the horrors of
1793, the world would not have been regenerated.
They do not understand that terrorism, and the poli-
tical sects which worked by assassinations and occult
agencies, have inspired such horror, that, after so
many years, men are only just beginning to be
less frightened at liberty, and to prefer it to des-
potism.
Therefore all these infamies have not hastened,
but, on the contrary, delayed our liberation.
During my stay at Milan, young men in general
spent their time in drinking and running after ballet-
girls (often marrying them); declaiming against the
Austrians, keeping totally aloof from them; they
were steeped in idleness and ignorance, and only a
few bolder spirits took part in all the equally dark
and useless proceedings of the Giovine Italia, which
merely consisted in the circulation of letters, docu-
ments, newspapers, and passports; assisting the flight
of a secret agent, or such as were compromised ;
keeping up communications with prisoners, and the
NATIONAL LITERATURE.
355
like. And to what purpose? They did not even
know themselves, and I defy anybody else to tell.
Not sharing in the views of the Giovine Italia,
knowing the perfect inutility of all the agitation in
which its devotees indulged; and, moreover, detest-
ing those habits of perpetual lying (not to speak of
the daggers), I completely eschewed the whole thing.
I was, and am still, of opinion that it is the national
character which requires cultivation; that it is ne-
cessary to form the Italian mind, if we want Italy
to be one nation; and when once it is formed, we
shall indeed be able to say Italia farà da sè. Con-
sequently I had devised a plan of acting on the
public spirit by means of a national literature, and
Ettore Fieramosca was the first step in that di-
rection. In fact, during the whole period of my
residence at Milan before 1845, the Austrian police
had never occasion to interfere with me.
If by
chance they believed I was shrewd enough to baffle
their vigilance, they would have laboured under a
great mistake.
According to their ideas, I was strictly guiltless.
It is true that I was preparing the means of at-
tacking them in other ways, by which perhaps they
were anything but gainers, and thus I have no claim
on their gratitude.
Such was the political state of the country. With
356
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
respect to art, as I have stated before, there was
quite a new and unaccustomed buoyancy, which
lasted for about ten years, and showed at times the
symptoms of a regular mania. I had brought three
or four pictures with me-the "Challenge of Bar-
letta," of rather large dimensions; the "Interior of
a Birch-wood;" and the "Battle of Legnano,
""* of
moderate size. I did not think badly of them; but
labouring, as I said before, under a superlative de-
gree of diffidence, I could not help shaking in my
shoes at the thought of their public exhibition in
the halls of Brera.† As often happens to persons en-
dowed with a fervid imagination, if I shut my eyes.
I fancied I saw my three poor pictures surrounded
by beautiful large landscapes full of life and truth ;
nay, I all but perceived the trees in them waving
in the wind, and the birds fluttering from branch
to branch.
Before speaking to anyone, I said to myself: Let
* The famous victory of the Milanese over the Emperor Fre-
derick Barbarossa (1176), after which he was obliged to humiliate
himself before Pope Alexander III., the promoter of the Lombard
league, and to kiss his foot in sign of repentance.
† The Milanese Academy of Arts and Sciences when it be-
longed to the Jesuits (1572-1810). This vast building was called
the College of St. Maria-in-Brera, or more shortly, Brera, which
might be translated by St. Mary-in-the-Fields; for the old Lom-
bard word brera, or more properly breda, is a corruption of præ-
dium (field).
EXPLORING TOUR.
357
me have a look first of all, and see what they can
do. Accordingly I began to visit the studios, to
make acquaintance with the artists and principal
amateurs, and to acquire a certain degree of inti-
macy with them. They naturally wished to know
who I was, and made inquiries; and thus by de-
grees I was well received and treated with friend-
liness. Presently they began to say to me: "So
you, too, draw and paint?" I answered very mo-
destly: "Why, yes, I paint a little for amuse-
ment." And this humility was an excellent calcu-
lation, which I would suggest to everyone who is in
a position like mine. He who refrains from boasting
is esteemed a third above his desert, if he has any
real merit. If he has none, no one will like him the
less for not having claimed any. Let youths at the
outset of their career take note of this hint.
The consequence of my exploring tour was a
slight elevation of my courage, and a diminution—
I do not say an entire removal-of my aforesaid
quaking. Not that I had found artists who were
incapable; but, after all, I had seen that the leaves of
their trees were not stirred by the breeze, but were
painted like mine. The great day came at last; the
pictures began to be taken to Brera; and I too
hired carpenters, upholsterers, and porters, and had
mine conveyed to the place apportioned to me, and
358
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
which, thanks to the kindness of the directors, was
one of the best.
I never watched every change and expression
of countenances—not only of those who understood
the matter, but even of the doorkeepers and porters
who helped to set up my show-as much as I did
then, in the hope of discovering whether I had suc-
ceeded or not. But there was no getting beyond a
sort of hesitation between yes and no, between hope
and fear. Even when a work of art is tolerably
good, the majority do not discover the fact until
they hear others assert it. The opinion of a friend
of mine tended, however, to reassure me; and this
friend was Cataneo, the director of the numismatic
department at Brera.
He had studied art at Rome before the French
occupation, and was a contemporary of Bossi, Ap-
piani, and the first landscape-painters of the time—
of Denys, Woogd, Hackert, and the rest. I had great
confidence in this excellent fellow, who liked me, and
was not a flatterer; he never ceased repeating that
I should succeed, and this gave me fresh courage.
On the 1st of September the exhibition was in-
augurated. Cataneo had made a good guess, and
the success of my work was certainly beyond what
could have been reasonably expected. The "Birch-
wood" was bought by the Viceroy; the "Challenge
AN EMPEROR UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
359
of Barletta" by Count Porro; and I forget who be-
came the possessor of the "Battle of Legnano." In
two or three days all my stock was disposed of. I
was afraid that the victory of the Milanese over the
Emperor might create some difficulties. In fact,
there could be no mistake as to its meaning. Poor
Barbarossa, with his white steed, the inevitable ap-
purtenance of all painted heroes, lay on the ground
very badly off indeed, at the foot of the famous car-
roccio:* and if he had in truth come to that pass,
I doubt very much whether he would have been able
* The celebrated sacred chariot of the ancient Italian comuni,
first instituted by Eriberto, the dreaded archbishop of Milan, who
called the Emperor Conrad into Italy, and crowned him with
the iron crown in the year 1026, receiving in return an increase of
power from the German potentate. But the emperor soon became
intolerably overbearing, and threw Eriberto into prison, en-
tirely forgetful of the benefits he had received. Nothing daunted,
the pugnacious archbishop escaped from his dungeon, hastened
to Milan, was hailed with joy by the citizens, and repelled the
Germans, who immediately besieged him by order of the em-
peror. Shortly after, he took the field at the head of his faithful
flock, and actually routed the hated imperialists. It was on this
occasion that Eriberto introduced the carroccio for the first time.
It was a huge high four-wheeled chariot, drawn by four pair of
oxen. A scarlet cloth covered the whole of it, falling as low as
the wheels, and an altar rose aloft on this kind of platform.
From a long red pole fixed in the centre floated the white banner
with the red cross of the commune of Milan; and it sometimes
also bore the image of St. Ambrose, the patron of the city. The
oxen too were covered with cloths of the same colours when the
chariot was to be drawn to the field of battle, the only occasion
on which its removal from the city was permitted. A priest in
360
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
to reappear three days after at Pavia, where he had
been reported dead.
At all events, as the police and the government
knew the real fact but too well, and that now it was
the carroccio which lay prostrate on the ground, while
the emperor was firmly on foot, they did not care to
interrupt my triumph with useless annoyances.
After this success, orders rained in upon me from
every quarter; and during my whole stay at Milan
I continued to be well supplied with them, so that
in one winter I painted twenty-four pictures, nearly
every one of which was commissioned beforehand.
his sacerdotal robes stood before the altar, imploring victory from
Heaven, and exciting the valour of the combatants.
The idea of this chariot seems to have been taken from the
Ark of the Jews, and it was intended to inspire the people with
the belief that in fighting for their homes and freedom, they were
also defending the mystic symbol of their honour and religion,
which they could not allow to fall into the enemies' hands with-
out incurring the guilt of sacrilege. All the other Lombard re-
publics, seeing the impression it produced on the masses, followed
the example of Milan, and adopted a chariot too, on which their
banners were hoisted in the day of battle.
A chosen guard, selected from the flower of the citizens, sur-
rounded the carroccio in close ranks, like a sacred host; and it
was through their strenuous efforts at Legnano that the Germans,
led by Barbarossa in person with extraordinary daring, were
routed while making a last rush on the holy emblem of the
Milanese republican liberties.
I have taken these details from Mr. G. B. Testa's valuable
historical work on the war of Frederick Barbarossa against the
Lombard republics: Doncaster, 1857.
LITERARY SOCIETY.
361
While striving to acquire a good artistic position
in my new residence, I had still continued to work
at my Fieramosca, which was now almost completed.
Letters were at that time represented at Milan by
Manzoni, Grossi, Torti, Pompeo Litta, &c. The
memories of the period of Monti, Parini, Foscolo,
Porta, Pellico, Verri, Beccaria, were still fresh; and
however much the living literary and scientific men
might be inclined to lead a secluded life, intrenched
in their own houses, with the shyness of people who
disliked much intercourse with the world, yet by a
little tact those who wished for their company could
overcome their reserve. As Manzoni's son-in-law,
I found myself naturally brought into contact with
them. I knew them all; but Grossi and I became par-
ticularly intimate, and our close and uninterrupted
friendship lasted until the day of his but too prema-
ture death. I longed to show my work to him, and
especially to Manzoni, and ask their advice; but
fear this time, not artistic but literary, had again
caught hold of me. Still a resolve was necessary,
and was taken at last. I disclosed my secret, im-
ploring forbearance and advice, but no indulgence. I
wanted the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth. I preferred the blame of a couple of trusted
friends to that of the public. Both seemed to have
expected something a great deal worse than what
362
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
they heard, to judge by their startled, but also ap-
proving, countenances, when my novel was read to
them. Manzoni remarked with a smile, "We lite-
rary men have a strange profession indeed anyone
can take it up in a day. Here is Massimo; the
whim of writing a novel seizes him, and upon my
word he does not do badly, after all!"
This high approbation inspired me with leonine
courage, and I set to work again in earnest, so that
in 1833 the work was ready for publication. On
thinking it over now, it strikes me I was guilty of
great impertinence in thus bringing out and pub-
lishing with undaunted assurance my little novel
among all those literary big-wigs; I who had never
done or written anything before. It was successful;
and this is an answer to every objection.
There was then a printing-office in Via San
Pietro all' Orto, under the management of one Fer-
rario, a great stout fellow, an old Jacobite of the
Cisalpine republic, and of such excellent reputation,
that in the days of Franco-Italian embezzlements
he incurred no suspicion by forming part of the
rather suspicious mission sent by the government
to Loretto to make a clean sweep of that famous
treasury of the holy Virgin. As no one would have
given me a dollar for my manuscript, had I wanted
to sell it, it became needful for me to put my hand
PUBLICATION OF ETTORE FIERAMOSCA.
363
into my own pocket. This worthy man undertook
the publication, on condition of repaying himself
out of the first proceeds, leaving the surplus to me.
In this way I ran the risk of a heavy loss, instead
of which I did pretty well, and gained five thousand
francs by Ettore Fieramosca.
I do not mean to boast, but could I now receive
one per cent on what others have made by it, I
might keep a carriage; for which Solomon made a
solitary exception, when stigmatising everything in
this world as vanity, probably because at the time he
said so he was an old man like me.
The day I carried my bundle of manuscript to
San Pietro all' Orto, and that, as Berni* expresses it,
"ritrovato
Un che di stampar opere lavora,
Dissi, Stampami questa alla malora !"
"having
Discovered one (a publisher by trade),
'Print me this book, bad luck to it !' I said;"
I was in a still greater funk than on the two pre-
vious occasions. But I had yet to experience the
worst I ever felt in the whole course of my life, and
that was on the day of publication; when I went
out in the morning and read my illustrious name
*The gay Italian writer of the sixteenth century, who excelled
in satirical poems, and after whom all such compositions have
ever since been called Bernesche.
364
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
placarded in large letters on the street-walls! I
felt blinded by a thousand sparks. Now indeed alea
jacta erat, and my fleet was burnt to ashes.
This great fear of the public may, with good will,
be taken for modesty ; but I hold that at bottom it
is downright vanity. Of course I am speaking of
people endowed with a sufficient dose of talent and
common sense; with fools, on the contrary, vanity
takes the shape of impudent self-confidence. Hence
all the daily published amount of nonsense; which
would convey a strange idea of us to Europe, if
it were not our good fortune that Italian is not
much understood abroad. As regards our internal
affairs, the two excesses are almost equally noxious.
In parliament, for instance, the first, those of the
timidly vain genus, might give their opinion a little
oftener with general advantage; while if the others,
the impudently vain, were not always brawling, dis-
cussions would be more brief and rational, and
public business better and more quickly despatched.
The same reflection applies to other branches-to
journalism, literature, society, &c.; for vanity is the
bad weed which chokes up our political field; and as
it is a plant of hardy growth, blooming among us all
the year round, it is just as well to be on our guard.
Timid vanity was terribly at work within me the
day Fieramosca was published. For the first twenty-
TIMID VANITY.
365
four hours it was impossible to learn anything; for
even the most zealous require at least a day to form
some idea of a book. Next morning, on first going
out, I encountered a friend of mine, a young fellow
then and now a man of mature age, who has never
had a suspicion of the cruel blow he unconsciously
dealt me. I met him in Piazza San Fedele, where I
lived; and after a few words, he said, "By the bye,
I hear you have published a novel. Well done!" and
then talked away about something quite different with
the utmost heedlessness. Not a drop of blood was left
in my veins, and I said to myself, "Mercy on me!
I am done for; not even a word is said about my
poor Fieramosca!" It seemed incredible that he,
who belonged to a very numerous family, connected
with the best society of the town, should have heard
nothing, if the slightest notice had been taken of it.
As he was besides an excellent fellow and a friend,
it seemed equally incredible that if a word had been
said and heard, he should not have repeated it to me.
Therefore it was a failure; the worst of failures, that
of silence. With a bitter feeling at heart, I hardly
knew where I went; but this feeling soon changed,
and the bitterness was superseded by quite an oppo-
site sensation.
Fieramosca succeeded, and succeeded so well, that
I felt abasourdi, as the French express it; indeed, I
366
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
could say, "Je n'aurais jamais cru être si fort savant."
My success went on in an increasing ratio; it passed
from the papers, and from the masculine to the femi-
nine half of society; it found its way to the studios
and the stage. I became the vade-mecum of every
prima-donna and tenor, the hidden treat of school-
girls; I penetrated between the pillow and the mat-
tress of college-boys, of the military-academy cadet ;
and my apotheosis reached such a height, that some
newspapers asserted it was Manzoni's work. It is
superfluous to add that only the ignorant could enter-
tain a similar idea; those who were better informed
would never have made such a blunder. It would be
like mistaking a Cesare da Sesto* for a Raphael.
In conclusion, it was a real furore. Was it de-
served, or not? Here arises a curious question on
the destiny of books, which, if judged according to
the ordinary rules, is often the most anomalous and in-
explicable of facts. If mention is made, for instance,
of such works as Guerrin Meschino, Paris e Vienna,
Reali di Francia, the book of Bertoldo e Bertoldino,†
* A native of Milan, who was Leonardo da Vinci's best pupil,
and died in 1524. In several of his compositions he tried to
imitate Raphael, whom he had known intimately at Rome; and
Lanzi in his Storia Pittorica relates how the king of painters once
said to Cesare, "Is it not strange that, while such great friends,
we should have no respect for one another in painting?" as if
meaning to suggest that they mutually copied each other's style.
† Italian knightly romances by anonymous authors. The first
SUCCESS OF FIERAMOSCA.
367
people in general say "Stuff and nonsense!" As
much nonsense as you like; nevertheless they date
from time immemorial, first in manuscript, after-
wards printed, and reprinted again and again even
now. Then they have a hold on hearts and intellects ;
they undoubtedly possess some merit, though, it may
be said, not a literary one; and, granting the truth of
this, I ask in turn: What is the use of literature? In
certain countries, and at certain epochs, either none
whatsoever, or a bad one. Now, what ought it to
be? Of most beneficial utility. Therefore, even if
a literary work has little value in an artistic point
of view, it may be extremely valuable in another
way, provided it serves a useful end. In that case
it will have a value of a different kind, and conse-
quently cannot be called without merit. Regarded
from this point of view, I believe Fieramosca has
real merit, and for this once I must throw modesty
fairly overboard.
My aim, as I said, was to take the initiative in the
slow work of the regeneration of national character.
I had no wish but to awaken high and noble senti-
ments in Italian hearts; and if all the literary men
known editions are dated as early as the fifteenth century, with
the exception of Bertoldo e Bertoldino, which is a book of argutiæ
in verse, contributed by various writers, and originally published
at Bologna in the beginning of last century.
368
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
in the world had assembled to condemn me in virtue
of strict rules, I should not have cared a jot, if, in
defiance of all existing rules, I succeeded in inflaming
the heart of one single individual. And I will also
add, who can say that what causes durable emotion is
unorthodox? It may be at variance with some rules
and in harmony with others; and those which move
hearts and captivate intellects do not appear to me to
be the worst.
I have always found it interesting and instructive
to analyse favour, success, and its causes. To influ-
ence men in order to lead them to good is a far higher
aim than that of being the first writer or poet in the
world. The best of studies, therefore, is to discover
what are the incentives that move and persuade the
most; and this discovery is sometimes made by ob-
serving very trivial types. I have often heard rough
boors relate their misfortunes, a poor mother speak of
the recklessness or the devotion of her son,
in a way
that went straight to my heart. Something may be
learned even from street mountebanks.
Not everyone can secure the attention of a hun-
dred people or more for hours. If they remain and
listen, there must be a reason; and it would be inter-
esting to discover this. I will dwell no further on
these reflections, leaving the curiosity of the reader
to develop them; and shall merely add, that in the
LITERARY DISCUSSION.
369
literary circles of Milan the question, whether an
historical novel is an acceptable form of literature,
was then being discussed.
I had just composed my Fieramosca, and a few
years before Manzoni had published his Promessi
Sposi, one of the most beautiful books ever produced
by a human mind, while Grossi was actually engaged
in writing his Marco Visconti. The question was
thus one of great moment, and Manzoni was inclined
to decide it against us and himself, with arguments
which in point of good sense and taste it was diffi-
cult to answer. "But my object is to electrify the
mind," I used to say; "and if I attain that end by
an historical novel, what do I care if it be at variance
with the rules?" Nobody understood and accepted
this reasoning more fully than Manzoni.
In a word, Fieramosca was of some use at that
time; and this was enough for me,
I must not omit a few facts connected with its
passage under the revision of the censor, which may
seem curious to those who have never had any deal-
ings with that very queer creature. The problem was
the following. To publish a book destined to rouse
Italians against the foreigner. Was this an easy
matter, think you, under the Austrian censorship?
However, as the official exercising it was a good
inoffensive soul, an excellent creature, fat, heavy, of
VOL. II.
BB
370
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
;
rather lazy disposition-a capital thing in a censor-
rejoicing in the name of Abate Bellisomi, I laid siege
to him, patiently studying his character, contriving to
discover his tastes, antipathies, and habits, making
friends with his favourite housekeeper, and inquir-
ing from her whether he slept and ate well, if his
digestion was good, or his temper bad, &c. All
this for the purpose of choosing a favourable moment
for discussing the objectionable passages, for explain-
ing them or softening them down, without mak-
ing any real change, and so on; putting meanwhile
every theological and cardinal virtue in practice, not
to lose my temper, get into a passion, and spoil the
whole thing. At last, thank Heaven, I carried away
an imprimatur including every page; saying as I left
the house, "It will now be your business to square it
with Vienna." Vienna did in fact understand, and
made an awful fuss. Poor Bellisomi received a tre-
mendous lecture, not only from the government offi-
cials, but also from the bigoted party, on account of
the letter of Alexander VI. to Duke Valentino.* He
* In this supposed confidential epistle of Alexander VI. the
author makes Borgia reveal to his son some of the infamies by
which they both acquired such terrible fame. Although a fiction,
every portion of that letter is founded on historical fact, and is
meant to put in relief the mixture of cruelty and superstition of
the Pope, as well as the cynical and covetous ferocity of Duke
Valentino.
A DISGRACED CENSOR.
371
said in his defence: "It is an historical document,
and how can you forbid it?"
The worthy Bellisomi was not aware that the his-
torical document was my composition, and I own that
his mistake made me rather conceited. The fact is,
that he either left or was removed from the office of
But the book had had its run all over Italy;
censor.
so let him catch it who could!
CHAPTER XIII.
Tommaso Grossi-The poet and the notary-My life at Milan—
Art and the Milanese artists in my time-The Brera exhibition
and its mysteries-I reproduce an old criticism of mine on
a picture by Hayez-I begin to write the first chapters of
Niccolò de' Lapi with great ardour-The Austrians governed
Lombardy by means of the theatre of La Scala-I show Tom-
maso Grossi a specimen of my new novel, and he encourages
me to proceed with it.
A SUCCESS of this kind was sure to have the imme-
diate consequence of inspiring me with a strong
desire to publish another novel, and so in fact it
happened.
As I mentioned before, I had contracted a great
friendship with Grossi. Our natures, our tempers,
were congenial, and he encouraged me in my new
undertaking. Henceforth everything went smoothly,
and I began with a confidence hitherto quite un-
known to me when I had still to form an idea of
myself and the public. The resolution once taken,
the next thing was to search for a subject, which
was to be treated entirely from the Italian liberal
MY FRIEND GROSSI.
373
point of view, of course, but still always with an
eye to the prospect of the Austrian censorship.
the
Before entering into any particulars, I must pre-
mise a few words of biography about Grossi, a rare
friend, to whose loss no one who knew him could
ever be reconciled, and I less than others. I will
not discuss his works, or his literary merit
first are known, the second is held in the high con-
sideration it deserves, and nothing on earth can
throw a shadow over it--but I will speak of the
man, for his worth was far above that of his verses,
however excellent they may be. Tommaso Grossi
was a native of Bellano, a handsome and thriving
little town on the banks of the Lario (Lake of Como)
at the mouth of the Val Sassina. His parents were
honest, but very poor. His uncle, the curate of
Treviglio, a Jansenist of the school of Tamburini,
took care of him, and sent him to school, first at
Milan, afterwards at Pavia.
*
While at the university, the poetical instinct
began to reveal itself, but in a way befitting a man
even in his adolescence. The first symptom of the
poetical mania in the future goslings, destined to
turn out engineers, clerks, or chemists, not poets,
is an ode to Phyllis, or lacrymose reflections on the
* Abate Tamburini was a man of great learning and distinc-
tion. He held a high position at the University of Pavia.
374
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
moon, or blank verses to a friend informing him of
the corruption of the human race, &c.; in short, a
warming-up, for the hundredth time, of the stalest
of stuff. Grossi, on the contrary, having a proud
and manly nature-all truth and impulse-pounced
upon subjects which he saw, felt, and heard; he
treated them according to his own ideas and per-
ceptions; and from his first start he was original,
himself, and a man of high capabilities. There lived
at Pavia a professor of law, who used to deliver his
lecture in the oddest style, like a mosaic, half in
Italian, half in dialect, and sometimes even in Latin,
at which everybody laughed heartily. Grossi put
it into verse with so much truthfulness and such
perfect imitation of the original, that it was a real
gem.
I do not know precisely at what age he was sent
to the college of the Oblati monks, near Lecco. It
was indeed a rough and almost brutal education,
where little Latin and less food were to be had,
seasoned now and then with a few hard blows by
way of disciplinary code; so that Grossi's character,
bold and impulsive, became embittered, and he was
involved in constant quarrels with his companions.
Being, however, of slight build, and having more
pluck than muscle, you may imagine what hard hits
he received. His cranium was quite a singular
MONKISH EDUCATION.
375
spectacle, -scars and bumps actually touched one
another. At last, unable to endure any longer these
worthy monks to whose order he would never grant
an amnesty in the whole course of his life-he one
day escaped, in company with a schoolfellow, by let-
ting himself slip down from a wall, and they were
missed for a long time, until finally captured at
Magenta.
66
He used to relate a curious anecdote, showing
what kind feelings he entertained for his masters.
It was at the time when the French, momentarily
deprived of Bonaparte, were retreating before the
Austrians and the Russians under Souwaroff. "One
summer afternoon" (he said) we were in the school-
rooms under the arcade leading into the entrance-
yard. All of a sudden we heard a noise at the door,
which was soon thrown open, and in rushed a host
of Cossacks, with their wiry little horses and long
beards, who scattered themselves over the grass-plot
in the court. We were much pleased; it was a no-
velty, it stopped the lessons, to say nothing besides
of the amusement is not the word-of the delight,
joy, and delirium we felt at seeing the arrogant,
domineering countenances of our tyrants becoming
confused and terrified, as they bowed and smiled in
deprecation of the wrath of those rude Scythians,
fearing every minute to see them make havoc of
376
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
""
the whole college and everything belonging to it,
monks, pupils, and all. As for the Cossacks, they
seemed a very worthy set of people; they looked at
us curiously, laughed, wandered about, and partook
of a good refection soon provided by fear, and which
When I saw
was a great deal better than ours.
(Grossi went on) "the terror of a certain Oblato
whom I particularly hated, I could not help thinking
I would profit by the opportunity. So grasping one
of the long-bearded fellows by his coat-skirt, and
pointing out my favourite to him with my left hand,
while the outstretched right made repeated flour-
ishes in the air, as with beseeching looks I implored
his Muscovite highness to give him a good thrash-
ing. The Cossack was bursting with laughter, but
to my great grief he let the monk alone."*
*The Marchioness Ricci, by whose care these Memoirs have
been published, has at this point of the original edition inserted
a note announcing that this second volume would have unfor-
tunately ended here, had not the Chevalier Torelli taken upon
himself to continue it. I have already stated that Torelli was
one of the most intimate friends of Massimo d'Azeglio; and it so
happened that being in possession of two autograph documents
containing the most interesting details, which were to appear in
his before-named monthly paper 1l Cronista (but did not do so),
he was enabled to finish the present volume with these and a
quantity of other notes, letters, memoranda, &c., remaining in
his hands after so many years of intimate intercourse. He died
soon after, and had only time to bring his patient and accurate
work to a close before he followed his friend to the grave. The
A KIND-HEARTED GRUMBLER.
377
As an anecdote it has, in truth, little importance,
but I have related it because at the time it gave
rise to a curious moral reflection. Grossi, as I said,
was one of the best creatures that ever lived; still,
he had the mania of passing himself off as a mis-
chievous and almost malignant man. A proof of
what I say is, that Grossi himself, when I cross-
questioned him strictly, was obliged to own that he
was seized with such violent remorse, that he went
to the monk and confessed everything as a sign of
his repentance. The man who had called forth the
tears of a whole generation with his Fuggitiva would
almost pretend to be hard-hearted! Grossi knew
Porta* in his youth, and had been on very intimate
terms with him-nay more, they worked together,
and perhaps he thereby acquired that gift of per-
suasive elegance and admirable simplicity of style,
which have made the Milanese poet immortal. Always
leaving out of account I Promessi Sposi, I was and
am of opinion that the best Italian book, the produce
both of erudition and fancy, is Marco Visconti.
I
Marchioness Ricci has accordingly thought it right to apprise the
public that the end of this chapter, and the beginning of the next
but one, were compiled by Chevalier Torelli.
* Porta was most celebrated for his beautiful popular poems
in the Milanese dialect.
378
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
have heard answers from Grossi's lips so remarkable
for sagacity and depth of observation as to strike
me dumb, making me feel as if I could not have
found them in less than a fortnight, if even then.
Grossi was rather tall and slender. His beau-
tiful forehead presented some points of analogy with
that of Manzoni, especially in the protuberance above
the eyebrows. He was thin, and enjoyed good health.
For a long time he had conscientiously carried on
his profession as a notary, and nothing else. So
much so, that when he was involved in a literary
conversation he used to say the most exquisite things
in honour of literary pursuits, but it was impossible
to understand whether he was in earnest or jest; to
me, however, he once spoke the following words:
"Undoubtedly, for anyone who has money to
spend, literature is a delightful pastime. But I be-
lieve, my dear Massimo, we were born fifty years
too soon.
"I, who from a literary man became a notary,
in half a century might run the risk of sending legal
documents and wills to the devil, in order to follow
literary pursuits. I am not quite sure whether it
would not be a mistake, and a mark of disrespect
towards myself; but at all events I am certain there
would be a modest place for me under the sun.'
""
Having, after much research, at last found a
MILANESE LIFE.
379
subject for my second work,* I spoke to Grossi and
some other friends about it; receiving plenty of en-
couragement, I then set to work in earnest.
Here begins a passage in my Recollections which,
according to certain ideas, may be looked upon as
tiresome. And if I consider it so, there is no dan-
ger of
your contradicting me. I will not say skip it
entirely, but bid you not dwell overmuch upon it.
The period that seems to me so tiresome was on
some accounts the quietest and happiest time of my
life.
It may be said, without offending the susceptibi-
lities of the other Italian towns, that life at Milan is
(perhaps it was so then, even more than now) very
easy, pleasant, and enjoyable. In general, conver-
sation trespassed but little on serious topics: how
would it have been possible to talk of serious things
with the garrison we had in our house? There was
something so plenteous, wealthy, lively, and active in
the place, that the mere sight of it made you cheer-
ful. I may say that at Milan an infinity of houses
*Niccolò de' Lapi, the hero of this second book, was a popular
leader and a fanatical adherent of Savonarola, whose ashes he
preserved in a silver urn. A bitter opponent of the Medicis during
their brief banishment in 1499-1500, he also distinguished him-
self by his valour in the defence of Florence against Charles VIII.
This novel is partly founded on the episodes of that siege, and
partly on the secret marriage of Niccolò's daughter with a spy of
the Medicis.
380
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
were open to me at whose doors I had never even
knocked, and at these I experienced all the worth of
a cordial hospitality. Having soon made acquaint-
ance with the best society of the town and the artis-
tic circle, there is no saying how quickly my time
flew by. Cured of my old moral complaint of Rome,
and, what was more important, of the physical one
of the heart, which, as I have elsewhere stated, made
me fancy myself almost an old man at thirty, I
worked a great deal, and worked sometimes, as one
says, desperately. Meanwhile, without appearing to
do so, I always kept an eye on Ettore Fieramosca,
watching the strides he made towards the temple of
fame; and when, in spite of the discouraging obser-
vations I never failed to make on whatever con-
cerned myself, I really acquired the conviction that
not only my book had been accepted by the Italian
public, but that it created a decided furore, I thought
it was time to push on with Niccolò de' Lapi, of which
some chapters were already written as early as 1831
or 1832. As the work advanced, I often felt scruples
and doubts, which I had never experienced whilst
writing Ettore Fieramosca. Was this the offspring
of a feeling which is not admitted by democratic
doctrines, and which in heraldic language may be
translated noblesse oblige, but which in me far more
resembled a positive trepidation, lest I should not be
MY SECOND NOVEL.
381
able to realise by my second book all the expecta-
tions that had been raised by the first? It is almost
unnecessary to state that in this second literary
essay of mine I devoted a great deal more atten-
tion and study to historical exactness. Accordingly,
while writing Niccolò de' Lapi, I forsook that delight-
ful Milanese life, and the society I so much enjoyed,
to hurry to the spot which had been the scene of my
narrative, to examine and become as familiar with
it as I possibly could. But I shall have to speak of
all this by and by.
While at Milan I was busily engaged in writ-
ing many hours a day; and devoted several others
to pictures, of which I now sold a great number;
and-there need be no mistake about it-I was a
dealer always sought after and coaxed. Everything
went smoothly with me, as if I were gliding over
a velvet slope; good health, few wants, and com-
paratively ample means to supply them.
I was
welcome everywhere. In the evening a variety of
entertainments, especially that of the classical theatre
of La Scala; sometimes even a more genial enter-
tainment still, in the familiar intimacy of Manzoni,
or in the not less dear society of Grossi, and some
other artistic friends.
While on this subject, I own that, though living
an artistic life and consequently among artists, there
382
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
are very few with whom I have ever formed a real
friendship. Manners (even among artists) have
undergone a great many changes in the last thirty
years. A passion had then crept in amongst the
artistic class, which, though hidden, gained access
to many a heart; very few indeed were free from
the taint,—a passion which, although reckoned by
the gospel among mortal sins, was carried off with
perfect coolness, ease, and sometimes with such art,
that not only did it not appear in the light of a sin
at all, but almost bore the semblance of philan-
thropy. In a word, among artists there prevailed
a little envy.
I have witnessed scenes worthy per-
haps of being recorded; but the artistic world of
the present day has no longer anything in common
with that of thirty years ago, and culture and educa-
tion have swept away a great many prejudices, and
among them, I hope, that of envy also. For what
is envy, socially speaking and in a certain sphere of
ideas, if not a prejudice? Suppose, for instance, I
am envious of you: a third immediately comes for-
ward and regards you as a victim, if only for the
sake of being spiteful to me: and as soon as you
appear in the light of a victim, victory is very near
at hand. This is the common little game of human
passions. Moreover, the temptation to seize an op-
portunity of making a cheap display of good-nature
ARTISTIC INTRIGUES.
383
is always great. "He is persecuted by envious peo-
ple, poor fellow; it really aggravates me!”
It happened occasionally that some of the pic-
tures exhibited at Brera, even before the exhibition
was open to the public, were all of a sudden reported
to be either very beautiful or very ugly. They were
talked about in the cafés and private circles. And
yet these paintings had only been seen by the artists.
A poor painter, who up to the last day had believed
himself to have exhibited a good production, learnt
from the mysterious disclosures of some intimate
friend, that his work was a most decided failure.
Pale and speechless, he wandered about among the
crowd of visitors at Brera, hoping to overhear what
was said about him. He could not form a clear
judgment; he neither ate nor slept, and almost con-
templated suicide. When, wonder of wonders, he
reads in the magazines and reviews, on the contrary,
that his picture has been a great success; nay more,
he learns that a Maecenas has bought it!
It was once my fate to have a finger in a pie
of this sort. I had forgotten this incident, but find
among my papers a document which recalls it to my
mind.
Hayez*-it is almost needless for me to say it-
* Born at Venice, of Flemish parents, in 1791, Francesco
Hayez is one of the most reputed Italian artists now living. He
384
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
is one of the great artists of the century. The ele-
gance and purity of his design, the exquisite taste
of his conception and execution, and the felicity with
which he overcomes the greatest difficulties of art,
undoubtedly raise Hayez to the rank of the head
of a genuine school. Well, it so chanced that he
himself should also be the victim of one of those
prejudicial judgments, as is shown by the following
note, remaining in my own handwriting. It runs
thus:
"The style of painting at which I work being
totally different from that to which the picture of
Signor Hayez belongs, and aware as I am of the
difficulty of pronouncing a judgment on matters be-
yond one's own range, I would never allow myself
to pronounce an opinion on that subject. Having,
however, been requested to do so, I am bound to
declare it is perfectly true that I have said to several
persons, and to Signor Hayez himself, that the afore-
said picture seemed, and does seem, to me one of his
best."
This opinion-true or false, as the case may be-
has resided at Milan since 1820, and is professor of historical
painting at the Fine-Arts Academy there. The picture on which
Massimo d'Azeglio was asked to pronounce an opinion, as he here
relates, represented Peter the Hermit enthusiastically preaching
the first crusade. Four feet in height by three in width, the
figures half the size of life, it is one of Hayez's noblest works.
SIGNOR HAYEZ'S PICTURE.
385
is grounded on the fact that the subject of the picture
appears to me perfectly expressed, the spectator be-
ing at first sight enabled to guess what action the
artist meant to represent, -that the apparent dis-
order of the composition depicts to a nicety the agi-
tation which, according to the ancients, used to reign
in such gatherings; that the expression of the coun-
tenance and of the entire figure of the protagonist
Peter is admirably full of imagination, and conceived
with rare felicity; that in the various groups there
is a marvellous variety of episodes, treated with a
simple and touching veracity; that this whole pic-
ture, like everything Signor Hayez has painted, dis-
plays such exquisite taste in the colouring and draw-
ing, so much novelty and beauty in the attitudes, as
to exclude the possibility of fancying anything better;
that, lastly, the difficulty of bringing so many figures
into relief, notwithstanding all the intricacy and va-
riety with which they are intermingled and sketched,
one before the other, has been conquered with the
help of chiaro scuro, and sometimes with that of local
colour or drawing, and conquered in a way that I,
for one, consider to be admirable.
Now to give a reason for the impression which
this picture may have produced on people whose
position prevents their being acquainted with the in-
trinsic value and importance of the means employed
VOL. 11.
CC
386
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
by art, I think I should add, it often happens-per-
haps I ought to say always-that of two pictures, the
first of which shows a point of chiaro scuro, striking,
decided, and bold, and less merit in the other parts,
while the second possesses all the best points of com-
position, drawing, expression, &c., though not so
effective in a general point of view, the former will
be gazed upon with more pleasure by the million ;
but artists, while granting that the latter is not so
commendable, will nevertheless prefer it, consider-
ing this fault to be richly compensated by its other
beauties.
My days were so well filled at Milan that I had
no time to feel bored. I wrote fresh chapters of
Niccolò de' Lapi with eagerness, and took delight in
it, not so much on account of the sublime compen-
sations which, in any creation, intellect affords to
the creator, as on the inward feeling that I was fol-
lowing up my programme-of rousing the Italians,
and directing their attention towards more important
things than the engagement of a new ballet-girl or
a singer. I must, however, confess that I never
even dreamed of playing such a vile trick to opera-
managers as converting the great theatre of La
Scala into a desert. I recognised that not only
great artists wielded an inevitable tyranny over the
minds of the Milanese, but everything connected
THE THEATRE OF LA SCALA.
387
with the theatre of La Scala, even the majestic Gal-
larate,* was, at that time, a far more celebrated and
welcome personage at Milan than our whole company
of artists or writers. In this it is impossible not to
discern the cunning and sagacity of the Austrian
government. It may be said, in fact, to have go-
verned Lombardy for many years by means of the
theatre of La Scala; and it must be confessed that,
up to a certain date, it was far from unsuccessful.
I myself, who now write after such a long
while, recollect perfectly the fascination exercised
upon everybody, and even upon me, by the an-
nouncement of a performance of Malibran, for in-
stance. I own that it did not always enchant me,
and that I often grumbled internally at the general
display of enthusiasm; yet, at times, my sensations
were really extraordinary. In a few words, I lived
a little by myself, a little with artists, and in the
fashionable world besides. Social relations at Milan,
as I have said, were easy. I was maybe a little spoilt
by the extreme courtesy and kindness I experienced.
*The "majestic Gallarate" was simply the long-since defunct
door-keeper of the theatre of La Scala. The appearance of this
tall and stout celebrity was indeed portly and striking, and his
memory marvellous. No one could escape his vigilance, or suc-
ceed in entering the theatre without a ticket. He not only never
forgot a face he had once seen, but he knew the name, profession,
and age of every playgoer.
388
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
The circle of my acquaintance was thus increasing ;
hence also the list of the duties I had to discharge
towards others.
After having written for some time, and worked
in my studio, or in that of my friend Molteni, for
several hours a-day, I had visits to pay, the number
of which was sometimes appalling, especially when
I had imprudently let them accumulate. I find a
little memorandum among a heap of papers, upon a
scrap of which the following list is written: Alari,
Cicogna, Dunois, Ponzani, Rovida, Litta, Ulrich,
Visconti, Kevenhüller, Trotti, Hayez, Palagi.
Observe that this fragment is partially burnt at the
bottom, which makes me conclude it must have been
much longer.
When the terrible moment of reading the first
chapters of Niccolò de' Lapi to Grossi arrived, I felt
the famous velvet I have mentioned above slip from
beneath me. I felt, on the contrary, as if my seat
were anything but a smooth one. I could not dis-
miss from my memory the quiet but decisive verdict
pronounced by Grossi on my poetical essay. And
if, after hearing my chapters, he were to come out
again with his Hin propi minga bej! Thus did I
speculate once more in a regular quake.
Thank Heaven, things turned out much better.
Grossi made a few remarks, but, on he whole, he
TRIP TO TUSCANY.
389
approved of my work. He even said that, so far, he
thought it more masculine and earnest than Fiera-
mosca. This encouragement spurred me on at full
speed; and as I was most anxious to do my best,
even in an historical point of view, and in that of
the couleur locale of the country, one fine morning
I decided upon making a tour in Tuscany, expressly
to study the scenes of my narrative on the spot. As
I kept a sort of diary of this journey, written day by
day, I shall reproduce it in its naked simplicity.
CHAPTER XIV.
My old tourist diary-Description of the journey from Modena
to San Marcello—Excursion to Gavinana, and historical re-
cords of Francesco Ferruccio-I would fain put up a comme-
morative stone at my own expense, but am prevented-Hos-
pitality of the Cini family-On the way from San Marcello
to Pistoia I stop at the Villa Puccini-Description of this
villa - Inscription composed at Florence at that time by a
censor, but not allowed by the censorship-Gustavo Ferruccio
a descendant of the great Francesco-My mother dies this
year, 1838.
We left Milan on the 28th of August. In the even-
ing we arrived at Piacenza, at the inn of the Croce.
Bianca, and were well treated, after the fashion of
St. Bartholomew.* I noticed two fine churches of
the thirteenth or fourteenth century; the square with
the communal palace is also very handsome. The
two equestrian statues of Alexander Farnese and his
father appear to advantage as a decoration, though
they are frightful as sculptures; everything seems
blown about by a gale; and the manes of the two
horses look like maccaroni or snakes.
* St. Bartholomew, the apostle and martyr, was condemned
to be flayed. In Italy, therefore, to be treated like him means to
be fleeced by rapacious inn-keepers.
A SAINT CARRYING HIS HEAD.
391
August 29th. Halt at Borgo San Donnino. Fine
church of the fourteenth century. Under the high
altar in a chapel there is an arch with sculptures
taken from the legend of St. Dennis the martyr,
who, by the bye, is represented sauntering along
with his head in his hand. At Parma in the
evening.
August 30th. I found my dear friend Toschi,
good-natured, clever, pleasant as usual, and he over-
whelmed us with civilities. He is now trying to
form a school of painters who will not ape foreign
styles in fashion beyond the Alps, but learn first
from nature, and afterwards from Correggio, and
our other ancient celebrities. I wonder whether he
will succeed. We went on to San Lazaro.
September 2d. We arrived at Reggio; and in the
evening at Modena. Here we encountered a surfeit
of Jesuits and beggars.
September 3d. We started at eleven with a vet-
turino, who was to convey us to Pistoia. For about
eight miles the road is flat and beautiful, running
through a richly cultivated country; then the ascent
begins, winding its tortuous way along hill-sides clad
with chestnut-trees; and presently, rising by degrees,
it reaches the summit of a first ridge, where stands
La Serra-a few houses and an inn, at which we
slept.
392
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
September 4th. A good road, but perpetually up
and down. We reached a valley between overlapping
hills, among which lies Paullo: further on, straight
before us, we continually gazed on the high chain
of the Abetone. We halted at Lama, and detected
the first traces of pure Tuscan accent. Having
climbed the Barigazzo, a high, barren peak, we de-
scended to Pieve di Pelago, and stopped there for
the night.
September 5th. A start before daybreak. We
toiled up full eight miles, and reached the top of
the Abetone; first, the road leading to the baths of
Lucca branches off; a little further on is the Mo-
denese custom-house; then two pyramids, which
mark the Tuscan frontier. With the help of God
we left the Modenese territory. The road is con-
siderably improved, and runs down through a pine-
wood, as if in a park. Gradually chestnut-trees put
in their appearance: I never saw any finer, nor more
picturesque spots for making studies.
The way winds precipitously down, and soon
meets the bed of the Lima, to which it runs paral-
lel. There is a bridge over the Lima, and two foun-
tains above it. A steep ascent of two miles to reach
Mammiano. At one o'clock we got to San Marcello,
where we halted, intending to go on to Pistoia for the
night. The spot, however, appeared so lovely, and
STAY AT SAN MARCELLO.
393
the inn so clean, that we stayed for eight days,
sending back the vetturino. The road to Modena
is fine, or at least sufficiently so: rather monotonous
as far as the Tuscan frontier; it then becomes beau-
tiful till you reach Pistoia. The inns are tolerable,
and the people honest.
The valley where San Marcello is situated is a
mile and a half in width. In the far-distant west,
the ranges of Lucchio; to the north, the ridge of the
Cerreto, thickly clad with chestnut-trees; towards the
south, the Lari mountains, from whence Ferruccio*
* Francesco Ferruccio sprang from an ancient but poor family.
His ancestors were all soldiers; and he so distinguished himself in
the dreaded Black Bands of Giovanni de' Medici, that the repub-
lic of Florence, in its great struggle with the Emperor and the
Pope, appointed him commander of its forces against the Prince
of Orange, who was marching into Tuscany at the head of that
very host of imperial robbers who had shortly before overwhelmed
the Holy See and its subjects with every misery and outrage, yet
whom Clement VII. (Julius de' Medici) now blessed as the instru-
ments of his vengeance against his native city.
Florence was closely invested, but, fortunately for her, Fer-
ruccio kept the field. He first recaptured Volterra; and having
collected a small army, he proposed to fall on the Prince of
Orange, and force him to raise the siege. With equal skill and
intrepidity he led his little troop through the numerous bodies of
imperialists by whom he was surrounded, and reached the moun-
tains of Pistoia. This town was divided into two factions, called
Panciatica and Cancelliera, after two powerful families of that
name. The Panciatichis favoured the Medicis; the Cancellieris sup-
ported the republic. Ferruccio hoped to unite the whole of the de-
voted Cancelliera party in those gorges. At Gavinana, a stronghold
of the latter, the Cancellieri, out of private hatred, urged him to
394
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
came; to the east, Mount Crocicchio and Mount
Oppio. I was burning to see Gavinana, and went
there immediately. Half-a-mile on the high-road to
Pistoia, then on the left up the mountain, a zigzag
path leads here through the chestnut-groves, there
across some open meadows. After a good mile,
proceed against San Marcello, a village four miles off, belonging to
their deadly rivals the Panciatichis. The place was stormed and
burnt down; but precious time was thus lost. The enemy soon
attacked Gavinana with overwhelming forces. The treason of
Malatesta Baglioni, one of the republican leaders, increased the
dangers of the position. Nevertheless Ferruccio, in a never-to-be-
forgotten patriotic harangue, bade his soldiers do their duty; and
the battle was commenced. (August 2, 1530.)
The struggle proved most sanguinary. D'Oranges was killed,
and his followers routed; but Malatesta's treason soon began to
tell. The imperialists poured into Gavinana from every side,
under the chief guidance of Fabricio Maramaldo, a Calabrese,
who commanded the imperial cavalry.
Gavinana was lost, and the beroic Ferruccio preferred rather
to die than surrender. With the few survivors still around him,
he rushed headlong on the invaders, dealing death at every step,
although himself mortally wounded.
At last he was taken by a Spaniard, who contrived to save his
life in the hope of a ransom, But the ferocious Maramaldo had
him brought into his presence, and, like a dastard, stabbed him
with his own hand, Ferruccio calmly saying, "Thou wouldst kill
a dead man !"
The Republic perished with Ferruccio, leaving its full sway to
the pontifico-imperial rule, that ancient long curse of Italy. For
his compatriots he, who, though but a humble citizen of the Re-
public, for love of his country rivalled the heroes of the best
days of Sparta, will ever remain one of the noblest examples
of every civil and military virtue.
DESCRIPTION OF GAVINANA.
395
Gavinana is discovered on the other side of a deep
ravine, at the bottom of which runs a torrent crossed
by a bridge, and at its entrance, on this side, there
is a fountain with a rough reservoir.
I attained the Piazza of Gavinana by Porta Pa-
pinia: it seemed impossible that cavalry could have
manoeuvred, and so fierce a war been waged, in
those small localities, with such narrow, winding
streets, only to be entered by precipitous break-
neck paths.
Suspecting some mistake, I sought out the priest,
and having found him, learnt at once that there
was no mistake, and that I was in truth at the real
Gavinana of Ferruccio. As he had everything at
his fingers' ends, he took me to the piazza, and
showed me, on the left, Casa Batistini; to the door
of which access is gained by two flights of steps
meeting at a sort of landing. Here it was that
Maramaldo slew the brave Ferruccio. He showed
me a porch, recently erected in front of the church;
the latter is a rectangular edifice of gray stone,
said to have been built by the Countess Matilda.*
There are two basso-rilievi by Lucca della Robbia,
and a very fine cinquecento vase for holy water;
beneath the pillar nearest the piazza is the grave of
* The daughter and heiress of Boniface II., marquis of Tus-
cany. Born in 1046, she died in 1115, and reigned over Tuscany
and a part of Lombardy,
396
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Ferruccio. I was touched to the quick at the sight
of this spot, and my eyes filled with tears: what
Italian heart could remain indifferent to such me-
mories!
The priest informed me that, in sinking the
foundation for the pillar, a large skeleton was found
wrapped up in certain clothes, which they called
the blue uniform, with round buttons and a small
cross upon them. God knows to whom bones and
clothes had belonged. Tradition, however, asserts
Ferruccio to have been buried under the outer wall
of the church. I was told that in digging the soil
of the piazza a little beneath its surface there are
nothing but bones everywhere.
I at
I found that the peasants (bless them!) all knew
more or less about Ferruccio and his deeds.
once felt the wish to place a commemorative stone
over his grave, that it might not remain wholly
without honourable record. I spoke to the inhabi-
tants of the town, who, as far as words went, showed
themselves in favour of the idea. But when I wanted
to come to a conclusion, and take steps to carry it
into execution, they all of a sudden shrunk coldly
back. Vainly I protested that I would defray the
whole expense.
It was useless. I believe they were
afraid; of what? Heaven only knows.
The man
who gave his life for his country; who, having the
DEGENERATE TIMES.
397
means of escaping without dishonour, preferred death
to seeing its utter ruin; the man who for eight
months retarded the fall of Florence, and succeeded
in making himself immortal by his virtues, remain-
ing for ever an example to posterity of what the
combination of patriotism, valour, endurance, and
forgetfulness of every private interest can effect ;-
this man, by Heaven, is not to have either cross
or stone over his bones in Italy, on account of
-fear! And monuments are raised to Madame
Ellsler! Cursed be courtesans, theatres, music, bal-
lets! they have stifled all generosity, every high
quality, and only allow us to appreciate the buffoons
and mountebanks of either sex; for without them we
should feel as if deprived of air to breathe.
*
From the piazza I went out by Porta Peciana,
where the last struggle that decided the day was
fought. Outside it, on the right, within a musket-
shot, there is the house of one Fedeli, where Fer-
ruccio defended himself. Close by stands a chapel,
with a porch supported by two pillars, and con-
sisting of two arches. The Prince of Orange was
deposited there directly after he was killed at the
spot hard by, named Selva-reggi. That part of the
*The commemorative stone the author wanted to place on
Ferruccio's grave was placed in front of the church of Gavinana
in the year 1846. The inscription is by Massimo d'Azeglio, who
likewise undertook its cost,
398
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
country is called Le Vergini. The neighbouring
region is also known by the name of Secchieto.
At San Marcello, in the direction of Pistoia,
Casa Ciampalanti* stands on the right. On the
left, supported by a wall, there is a slanting meadow
studded with fruit-trees. In that house Ferruccio
held a council of war; and an inscription on the
wall records the fact. His soldiers were mustered
in the meadow, which has retained the name of
Campo di Ferro.
San Marcello was then burnt by Ferruccio to
serve the wrath of one Melocchi, Captain Pazzaglia,
and others of the Cancelliera party. Without the
slaughter of San Marcello, perhaps God's vengeance
would not have fallen on Gavinana.
The inhabitants of San Marcello-women, chil-
dren, &c. fled through the wood to the castle,
which was built on the ridge of the Cerreto. While
Ferruccio was in the Ciampalanti house, a priest of
the Mezzalancias escaped by the back of the town
and ran to warn the Prince of Orange. Ferruccio's
soldiers endeavoured to cut down the steeple, on
which several enemies had taken refuge. They say
the mark still exists; but I could not perceive it.
We made the acquaintance of the Cini family;
* In the sixteenth century it belonged to the illustrious Mez-
zalancia family.
THE PUREST TUSCAN.
399
and kinder, pleasanter, more liberal, and clever
people I never met. They showed me a manuscript
of a century ago, by one Captain Cini. It gives
a description of Ferruccio's defeat. Nothing new.
All the particulars have been recorded by Varchi,
&c. In the valley of San Marcello the purest Tus-
can is spoken even by the peasantry. They talk
the identical language employed by Firenzuola in
the Asino d' Oro.*
A mile further on is a place heaped with huge
boulders rolled down from the mountain, which is
called Macereti. My friend Mayer there found
three old hags, who had no kin left in the world,
and lived alone in a sort of grotto.
Not very far off, on the banks of the Lima,
there was a little town named Lizzano, situated
half-way up the hill, which one fine day began to
give way and slip down; and, partly sliding, partly
sinking, it completely disappeared. This operation,
however, took place so slowly that no one was killed
and nothing lost.
The steeple deposited its bells by itself, as it
* A very elegant Tuscan writer of the sixteenth century. He
was an ecclesiastic, intimate with Pietro Aretino, whom he had
known at Perugia. He lavished all the most graceful treasures
of the Tuscan language on his charming translation of the Greek
fiction of Apuleius, The Golden Ass; and many people consider it
the choicest specimen of Italian prose extant.
400
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
were; that is to say, when it had sunk so low as to
bring them to a level with the ground, they were
rescued, and down went the steeple to its fate. It
is reported that very curious actions were sued by
landowners who received or lost trees, &c.
The inn of San Marcello is both very good and
cheap. It rejoices in the name of Locanda della
Posta, and Signor Begliuomini is its proprietor.
No traces are left (thank God!) of the cursed
Panciatica and Cancelliera parties. It is true that
the inhabitants of Gavinana still scornfully call the
people of San Marcello Canciugli. But the latter
were Panciatichi: so whence does this name derive
its origin?
September 12th. We left at 11 A.M. A plain of a
couple of miles runs as far as the paper-mills of the
Cinis, who make the wealth of the valley by this in-
dustry. They have another at the Lima bridge. We
went up the Oppio; then we followed the course
of the Reno. A gentler and last ascent took us to
the summit, from which the valley of the Arno and
Pistoia are visible. After a descent of six miles
we reached the villa of Niccolò Puccini, called the
Villone, a mile from Pistoia. Mayer had given us
a letter to him. He received us very cordially, and
sent one of his servants round with us to show the
villa. The pleasure-grounds extend for several miles,
OLD-FASHIONED VILLA.
401
with avenues, thickets, lawns, ornamental water, &c.;
and at intervals are statucs of great Italian men,
monuments, buildings. There is, for instance, a pan-
theon of Greek architecture, containing the busts of
Raphael, Petrarch, &c. From the wooden pavement
-if one wishes it-a dining-table springs up. The
walls are covered with inscriptions, which it would
not be safe to display openly in every part of Italy.
The master of the villa lives in a castle built in
the old fashion, with battlemented towers, draw-
bridge, moats, &c.; and there he sleeps all alone.
Near his bed there are several brass nobs. By
pressing one of them he opens the furthest gate of
the villa (thanks to an arrangement of lenses and
looking-glasses, he can see everything); with another
he can let down the drawbridge. Some shut, others
throw open doors and windows; so that if a friend
wants to get admission, after having knocked at the
principal entrance, he beholds the doors roll back of
themselves as if by magic, and can walk straight
up to the master's private apartment.
On one occasion the grand duke paid him a
visit; and one of the suite said to Puccini, "These
are princely things!" Eh, eh! they are things
for one who can afford them," retorted the other.
66
There is a bridge thrown across a little valley,
called Napoleon's Bridge, with a roofed passage. The
VOL. II.
DD
402
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
emblems of his victories are here to be seen, and
an inscription, which first praises and then ends by
censuring him for not having shown any love for
his native country. There is also a coffee-house and
a restaurant open to the public, and a school.
The principal building, the villa itself, is a noble
edifice, richly and profusely furnished with pictures,
&c. The amiable master of the house presented me
with a copy of Catullus, translated by his uncle,
after having written some kind words in it. He
asked me to add my signature to the visitors'-
book. I mentally searched a long time for some
compliment, but could not hit on a single one. I
shamefully wrote my name without adding one sin-
gle wretched syllable; and went off, with my tail
between my legs and my Catullus in folio under
my arm. It is true that I was so hungry.
slept at Pistoia. What arrant thieves! But I gave
them a piece of my mind.
We
September 13th. Halt at Prato. I there met
that dear Abate Arcangeli, who showed me the
Cicognini college, a fine edifice after the Jesuit
fashion, that is to say, spacious, commodious, well-
ventilated, and substantially built. It is a pity the
Jesuits meddle in so many things. Nobody beats
them in architecture.
We went to Monte Murlo, and skirted the foot
IMPROVISED BREAKFAST.
403
of the hill towards Pistoia for four miles. One
leaves the villa of Baccio Valori,* called Barone,
on the right: it is a huge building. A third of
the way up the hill, there is a villa of the Pazzist
on the left. From the chain of the Apennines a
promontory almost detaches itself towards the plain,
which, rising abruptly, forms a sort of mound; at
the top of it stands Monte Murlo. The ascent is
made on foot along a rather steep ridge; near the
top there is a wall and a gateway, once fortified;
higher up, a sort of table-land, with a few houses,
and a church of about the fourteenth century, with
an architectural porch and a steeple.
The curate was out, but we found his sister and
two other priests, who regaled us with breakfast.
Bless them, for we never had a better! An omelette
just right, neither too much nor too little done, and
cooked with some slices of savoury ham; in a sepa-
rate dish another kind of ham, as tender as it could
be; and then a certain vino santo. And such figs !
* A distinguished Florentine citizen and statesman. Born at
Florence of a noble family, 1354; died in 1427. Although a
partisan of the Medicis, he did not incur the public hatred.
†The celebrated Ghibelline family of Florence, and bitterest
opponents of the Medicis, against whom they organised, in 1478,
the great conspiracy known to history as the Congiura dei Pazzi.
Those who have not visited southern Italy may perhaps not
know what a delectable tit-bit figs and ham-sandwiches are to a
native palate.
404
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
For an hour I entirely forgot Cosmo I. and Filippo
Strozzi.*
The house where the latter was arrested is exactly
as I have drawn it. The interior of the court is
square, with a loggia extending over three sides of
it-cinquecento style to the very roof. There are a
few semi-grotesque pictures; the walls five feet thick,
and nothing else worth noticing.
In the evening we at last arrived at Florence,
and alighted at the hotel of the Arno.
But my humble tourist's diary is not yet at an
end; and I remember then going a great deal about
Florence, exploring, and making observations on
what I saw. I should like to repeat some of them,
which seem to me both original and just even now,
on reading them once more after seventeen years
of complete oblivion.
* Another foe of the Medicis, although his wife belonged to
that house. A strenuous supporter of the Florentine Republic,
dislike of the anarchy into which his country was thrown in-
duced him in 1530 to give in for a moment his adhesion to the
reinstated Medicis. He soon, however, found their oppressive
rule unbearable, sought refuge at Venice, and made an attempt
to return at the head of the Florentine refugees. Surprised at
Monte Murlo (1539), he was taken as a prisoner to the citadel of
Pistoia, where he cut his throat on hearing that the odious
Cosmo I. had been raised to the throne after the assassination of
his cruel and infamous relative Alexander (the reputed illegiti-
mate son of Pope Clement VII.), who had been imposed on Flor-
ence at the fall of the Republic in 1530.
COUNTER-REVOLUTIONIST FEARS.
405
But besides having promised that the episode
should be brief (and it is my habit to keep my
word), I would fain not be accused of excessive
malice for dressing up as old sayings remarks which
would suit our own period to a nicety. On the other
hand, nobody would care to find, in a book like this,
for instance, a pompous description of the panorama
enjoyed from San Miniato, that is to say, the endless
and beautiful cupolas of Florence, the undulating
line of the hills of Fiesole-a true mosaic of villas
and olive-groves—then the highest peaks of the Apen-
nines, &c.
These are things everybody knows by
heart; and besides, commonplaces are sometimes
difficult to express.
When, in October 1838, I visited, with Repetti,
Mayer, Provana, and Torrigiani, the spot where the
imperial army which besieged Florence in 1530 had
encamped, Torrigiani told me that at the end of the
Via Maggio there was a column erected by Cosmo I.
in honour of the victory of Marciano.* This pillar
being removed, it was intended to substitute an in-
scription, for the purpose of expressing that the act
was meant to extinguish the memory of the ancient
* Notwithstanding the bravery of Pietro Strozzi, the son of
the unfortunate Filippo, this battle (1554), which just preceded
the final rout of Licignano, assured the triumph of the im-
perialists and Cosmo I. It was the last blow to Tuscan liberty,
and its fate was sealed on that memorable day.
406
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
discords of the Italian municipalities, and display
feelings of concord. It was not allowed by the cen-
sorship. I am wrong. The censor himself had
written the inscription, but it was not allowed by
those who paid him.
*
*
*
*
If the reader be patient, he will bear with this
last anecdote.
In the same year and month I was visited by
Gustavo Ferruccio, a descendant of Ferruccio, or at
least of the same family, who held an appointment
at the Marucelliana.* Small, thin, pale, and courte-
ous, he gave an idea of what the Tuscans became
under the rule of the Medicis.
Francesco was a
specimen of what they were before.
The father of Gustavo was porter in the shop of
Piatti,† but he highly prized the honour of having
such blood in his veins. He went to some expense
(by no means inconsiderable for him) in collecting
documents proving his descent from an uncle of
Francesco, and eulogising the deeds of the latter ;
and whilst he lived his only thought was to rise
from his humble condition. He never succeeded,
though he even had visiting-cards printed, which
* A public library at Florence, deriving its name from its
learned founder, Francesco Marucelli, who was born at Florence
in 1625.
† A Florentine bookseller.
SAD DISAPPOINTMENT.
407
he continued leaving on the first Florentine families
without ever getting one in return.
He had taken
steps for going to a ball at court with his card in
his hand; and he would have done so, but the ball
did not take place.
Some relations of his asked for the documents,
and kept up a courteous correspondence with him
till they obtained possession of them. Afterwards
-they never answered his letters again. One day
the poor porter read in a paper that the grand duke
had granted them leave to be inscribed among the
Florentine nobility, and I know not what else. The
poor devil believed what he read. At first he fell
down as if dead; then he really died.
*
*
But enough of quotations from myself, inedited
though they be. I long to go back to Milan, where
many orders for pictures await me, and where I
must finish Niccolò de Lapi, about which I think I
have already pondered long enough to make it high
time to bring it to an end.
I must here pay a sacred tribute of love and
veneration. In this same year (1838), I lost my
mother. Those who have had the patience to read
the description of her character in my first volume
know what kind of woman my mother was. Perhaps
I am not a good judge, or an impartial critic. I
408
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
loved and adored her so much that my intellect may
have lost the faculty of forming a criterion untinged
by enthusiasm.
Her death left me for some time inert, stupid,
without wishes or thought for anything. It was
one of those terribly heart-breaking events of which
one says at the moment, "I shall remember it for
the rest of my life." With her, my guardian angel,
the link of the family disappeared from the world.
I felt that at the death of my mother I must alter
my existence, or at least modify its shape profoundly.
Previously there was someone who thought for me,
and I went my way straight on without a care in
the world. Now there was no longer anybody to
take that trouble, I had to do it myself. Very deep
was the grief that oppressed me at my father's death;
but after him my mother still remained. Enough.
We have agreed that the less said of family griefs
and bereavements the better. I resent them with an
intensity which will not allow me to scatter them
to the four winds.
CHAPTER XV.
Comparison between the Milanese and Turinese life of twenty-
three years ago-I work at my last chapters of Niccolò by fits
and starts, and ultimately finish it-The censor Colonnetti
surprises me by his good sense and taste-My new novel also
gains favour in Italy-Psychological phenomenon-I betake
myself for a while to my small villa on the lake of Como-
My good luck in selling pictures-A list of the works I ex-
hibited at Brera in ten years-The arrival of a letter summons
me in all haste to Rome-Mysterious adventure-To avoid
further annoyance I go to Fiumicino-Fiumicino in the quail
season-Local customs studied in the person of a butcher-My
return to Rome, and Signora Clelia Piermarini-Her house
the constant meeting-place of the Liberals-Filippo A—, one
of the set, tries to persuade me to become the propagator of
a new liberal and national polity—I think it over for a few
days, and then accept-Departure from Rome, on my political
tour through the papal states, in the autumn of 1845.
ON
my
return to Milan I resumed my life of painting
and writing. But it cost me some trouble. A few
months of recreation or idleness always made me
lazy and somewhat unfit for work. Moreover, I had
often to forget Niccolò de' Lapi, and make excur-
sions to Turin on my private affairs. Every time I
returned to the latter I was more and more struck
by the contrast between Turinese and Milanese life.
The excess of regularity, formality, social dis-
410
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
tinctions, and jesuitism; the total absence of every
symptom of energy and life, which oppressed me at
Turin, could not be compensated for even by the
pleasure of seeing the many friends and relatives I
had there, nor by the charm that more or less be-
longs to the objects, the walls, and the air of one's
native place. I felt literally stifled; and although the
sworn enemy of foreigners (I say it with profound
shame), had to return to Milan in order to breathe
freely. And why? Because of the subtle art with
which the Austrian authorities, bent perhaps on
making themselves a comfortable berth in a plea-
sant, rich, plentiful, and gay city, contrived to soften
and tone-down the orders from Vienna, and leave
(real facts, of course, excepted) the Milanese ample
liberty to grumble, chaff the police-hounds, and pass
sentence not only on the entertainments at La Scala,
but likewise on politics. All that was exacted was
not to speak overloud-with prudence anything
might be said. At the Café Martini, government,
police, &c. were freely discussed; but I must add
that, if meanwhile Signor Bolza or Galimberti*
made their appearance, the tone of the conversation
was suddenly and radically modified. Besides, the
* These honourable gentlemen, the two zealous chief superin-
tendents of the Austrian police, and the dread of Milan, naturally
kept a strict watch on the Café Martini, the fashionable place of
resort, in front of the Scala Theatre.
AUSTRIAN RULE IN ITALY.
411
Austrian government, among its many officials, was
necessarily obliged to employ a few Italians. Some
of these have, it is true, earned an evil celebrity by
their zeal in showing themselves germanised. But
there were scores of others, who, though desirous of
discharging their duties, found means of doing so in a
way more favourable than injurious to the Milanese;
they had acquaintances, relations; and these are
ties which it is difficult entirely to sever. From
this concourse of circumstances resulted a strange
fact, which I now recall cursorily, viz. that from the
year 1840 to 1845 there were days at Milan of a
rule so mild, so little terrorist, that every one of
the petty governments of Italy has in turn proved
itself to be infinitely more unbearable than the Aus-
trian.
It is therefore unnecessary to say anything more
to win forgiveness for the promptitude with which
I used to leave Turin directly the business about
which I went was finished. I had also, as every-
one knows, the incentive of my favourite occupa-
tions.
The last chapters of Niccolò de' Lapi were written
by fits and starts, and under serious difficulties. I
wanted to have done with it. From Turin and Flor-
ence I was perpetually asked when this wonderful
Niccolò de' Lapi was going to make his appearance.
412
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
At Milan, too, everyone besieged me with the same
well-meant but annoying solicitations. It seemed
as though I were in the theatre when the perform-
ance is already five minutes behind the appointed
time, and the pit waxes clamorous, and calls out—
"Halloo! strike up!"
And therefore I resolved to finish it by the end
of March, at any rate.
Grossi was very much occu-
pied at that time, and I did not like to trouble him
with my literary harassments. Nevertheless, I was
able to pounce on him more than once, and obtain
good advice, and, what was more to the purpose,
warm encouragement.
In March Niccolò de' Lapi was finished.
By that time I had entirely lost all power of dis-
crimination. At times I suspected I had made a
wretched blunder, and at others flattered myself
I had done something good. I re-read my work,
but did not dare to continue; nay, I was quite
unable to do so, for the only results of several
attempted experiments were fear and mistrust. I
thought everything required to be changed and cor-
rected.
There was the so-called precedent of Ettore Fie-
ramosca. But several years had elapsed, and who
remembered it now?
When a painter presents to the public a pic-
ARTISTIC EXPEDIENTS.
413
ture in which he is aware of several weak points,
he finds a hundred stratagems to save his poor en-
dangered self-love. Now he asserts the picture is
as yet unvarnished, and gently hints that it will
look quite different afterwards; next, every fault
is attributed to the light, which shines quite un-
kindly upon it; or else the frame is ill-adapted ;
sometimes it is hung too high, sometimes too low,
or injured by the reflection of surrounding objects.
At all events, an excuse, good or bad, can always be
discovered.
The reader may trust me when I say so, for I
have had some experience on this head.
But when the picture, instead of being painted,
has been written and printed, there is no such thing
as varnish or light to be invoked. And I think I
proved myself quick-witted enough in painting a
great many (perhaps too many!) pictures, and in
only writing two historical novels.
The end of March was, therefore, a very agi-
tating period for me. I wanted to know who was
to be my reviser or political censor, good Bellisomi
being no longer in office. I discovered that he was
an ecclesiastic, of great cultivation; a literary man
too, but serious and classical-Signor Mauro Colon-
netti.
I went in person to present him with my Ms.
414
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
All this was uttered
He received me with a cold but not harsh civility;
said my name was familiar to him; that he had read
Fieramosca with pleasure (?), and was happy to be
the first to peruse my work.
without affectation or warmth, and his voice never
varied from the original key, always on the same
note. I thanked him with some effusion, to which
he replied civilly, but in the one unalterable strain.
Fearing that a longer stay might be misinterpreted,
I then took my leave.
In the interval between the presentation of my
manuscript and the process it was to undergo, I had
time satisfactorily to conclude negotiations with my
publishers, with whom I had already been in treaty
for a long time. They, and I still more, were in
great anxiety about the probable pruning the censor-
ship might have effected in my Ms. At least ten
times I was on the point of going to inquire of Sig-
nor Mauro Colonnetti about it; but I always refrained
from an act which, however natural or harmless in it-
self, might yet afford ground for other suppositions.
Finally I received notice, or better, an order to
call at the imperial office of the censorship. That
epithet "imperial," printed on the order, made a ter-
rible impression on me. Farewell, Massimo! Heaven
knows how you have been treated, thought I.
I entered a large hall; and at a desk, instead
THE CENSOR'S SANCTUM.
415
of the ecclesiastic I expected to see, there was an
old soldier, perhaps a veteran clerk. The slamming
of the door by which I came in, sufficed to make
Colonnetti, who was in the next room, aware of my
arrival: he appeared, and bade me follow him into
his apartment.
I do not know why, but what with the peculiar
stale smell of the place, the stairs I had had to climb
up, the sight of the veteran, and the solemn silence
that reigned in those precincts, my heart sank very,
very low.
Above all, the silence oppressed me; it seemed
so singular and unexpected in the midst of the noisy
bustle of Milan: I only heard the slow crackling
produced by the gnawing of a moth lodged in the
leg of a chair near me. I entered the other room:
smaller in size, it was more neat and trim. Besides
Colonnetti, there was another clerk, dressed in black,
with a pale, disagreeable countenance, who was writ-
ing, and did not even raise his eyes on my entrance.
Colonnetti requested me to take a chair by him,
at the other end of the table, opposite the corner
where the clerk was sitting.
This distance pleased me. I spoke to him in a
low voice, almost as if to induce him to do the
same he quietly answered me in the old strain,
with which I was already acquainted. Then, without
416
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
further delay, we entered on the great subject. I,
taking the bull by the horns, at once observed that
I hoped the suppressions and alterations would not
be such as to oblige me to remould my work, or
perhaps begin it anew. Mauro Colonnetti replied,
with his invariable phlegm, that he hoped so too;
and I thought I detected the ghost of a smile on
his face as he said this. I started, with a feeling
which partook both of joy and surprise, especially
as I fancied Colonnetti every now and then glanced
askance at the clerk, as if thinking two are com-
pany, and three are none. At last the clerk folded
up the papers he had been writing, shut his black
morocco portfolio, and having bowed, withdrew.
Colonnetti then said to me, with a relieved
countenance :
66
Signor Cavaliere, your manuscript is too good
for me to dare to touch it.'
“What?” said I, seizing his hand.
"I will tell you: I find passages here and
there I do not quite understand; I should not like
to be unconsciously misled.”
Upon which, he showed me a list he had drawn
up of some obscure points and expressions that
might give rise to a wrong interpretation. I gave
him all the requisite explanations, and he was satis-
fied and in my turn I considered myself fortunate
A PEARL OF A CENSOR.
417
to have been made aware of certain faults of ob-
scurity and confusion.
"And is this all the censorship has had to do?"
I inquired, almost touched.
"My dear sir, we are judged here as-as you
know, and wrongly judged. Certainly, if I had
been obliged, or wished, to make a display of zeal,
I need not have read beyond the first fifty pages to
discover grounds for forbidding the publication of
Niccolò de' Lapi. But I think a man may be faithful
to his employers without going to an excess injurious
to other people. I am an Italian; if it could be
proved to me that Lombardy would be better off
without Austrians, I should know my duty.
that has not been made clear yet. On the con-
trary, I see this is the best government existing
in Italy. Try to publish your manuscript anywhere
clse, and you will very soon be convinced of this
truth."
But
His speech was to me the confirmation of what I
wrote not long since about Austria and the other
Italian governments.
The authorities were, or had
been forced to become, more tolerant and lenient
than the cabinet of Vienna would have wished.
I remained a few minutes longer in conversa-
tion with the honest fellow, whose good and serious
features inspired me with a mingled feeling of sym-
VOL. II.
EE
418
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
pathy and compassion. I thanked him warmly for
the kindness he had shown me, and rushed off
with my Niccolò under my arm. When I got into
the open air, I thought I had been dreaming: the
peculiar stale smell, the silence of the office once
more recurred to me. But the bundle was there,
safely under my arm.
true and genuine happiness; one of the very few
in my life during which internal joy has not been
marred, and at moments stifled under a compara-
tively stronger grief.
That was for me a day of
In a few days the book was in type and cor-
rected; in a few others printed, in a convenient
shape. I do not recollect the exact date at which
it saw the light, but it must have been in the be-
ginning of April 1841.
As soon as Niccolò de' Lapi was published, and
I had sent copies to Manzoni, Grossi, Porti, Colon-
netti, &c., I withdrew into retirement. I would not
expose myself again to a question like the one ad-
dressed to me by that certain friend of mine on the
subject of Fieramosca.
Throughout life I have carefully studied myself;
always keeping watch over the onslaughts of pride,
or rather of vanity, seeking on every occasion to
surprise whatever frivolity, evil, or want of cleva-
tion, there may have been in my actions, and I
SUCCESS OF NICCOLO DE' LAPI.
419
have punished myself in a manner that has often
been cruel.
At the moment of facing so important an event
as that of the success or failure of Niccolò, I certainly
did not fail to institute such an investigation in all
its severity. The first friend who broached the sub-
ject found me cold and on my guard. True, the
intelligence he brought (when stripped of the rhe-
torical flourishes in which friendship seemed to have
enshrined it), though not bad, was by no means first-
rate. But the same night three, ten, twenty other
persons convinced me that the rhetorical flourishes
were only the offspring of my own diffidence. In
short, Niccolò de' Lapi also had a prosperous issue.
Well, let anybody who can explain this phe-
nomenon otherwise than by the theory of Solomon.
I imagined, perhaps, I should feel Heaven knows
what superhuman emotion on learning that I had
again won the sympathy and applause of my fellow-
citizens; but the proud hope of a joy greater than
expectation proved a delusion, as was only natural.
Some time after the publication of Niccolò (perhaps
also because I fancied its success less brilliant and
rapid than that of Fieramosca), I was almost wor-
ried and tired by all the kindness shown me by
men my equals, and in great measure, perhaps, my
superiors. Yet it was satisfactory to know, that
420
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I
at Florence, Bologna, Venice, Turin, and several
other places, where my book had only penetrated
with difficulty, it met with general approval.
kept on saying to myself: "I am earning fame,
and shall thus have authority for the more impor-
tant things to which I mean to devote my thoughts
sooner or later.' At all events, I longed for the
coming of the fine season, that I might confine
myself to the solitary life of Loveno, on the lake
of Como.
""
I spent a few months in a somewhat melan-
choly manner, without any earthly reason,-having,
on the contrary, a great many reasons for being
anything but sad; and had I not been under the
beautiful sky of Tremezzina, and on the lovely banks.
of the lake, I might perchance have understood the
meaning of the word satiety. But this is an ugly,
hateful thing, and one which, for me at least,
has no existence. And perhaps it may really not
exist, if I reflect on the extreme facility with which
it is mistaken for weariness. It has been my good
fortune never to feel the weight of the latter; every-
where, and in all circumstances, I have always con-
trived to be morally sufficient to myself. This is,
however, no common gift: he who cannot make a
wise distribution of his time, and abide by it strictly,
soon catches himself yawning; and this is the be-
SATIETY.
421
ginning of weariness. When a person consults his
watch, and seeing that it wants two or three hours
to reach a certain appointed time, exclaims, "What
shall I do in the mean while?" he is a weary man.
But what a wide gap between this and satiety,
the biblical conception of vanity! O ye of the
rising generation, if you allowed yourselves to be
bored in days like these, you would commit a crime!
Never feel bored; do something, keep your thoughts
always occupied, never cease to exert yourselves.
But I fear I am becoming rather lacrymose, which
does me no good, and may entail on you, dear
reader, the very malady I was just preaching against,
in order to put youth on its guard.
I revert to painting, for a little while only; for
I am longing to enter as soon as possible on topics
that may impart some serious value to these Recol-
lections.
I may truly say that I worked in earnest dur-
ing my long sojourn at Milan. To give the reader
an idea of the really singular good-luck which hap-
pened me, I may add that in many instances, as
soon as a picture was sold, two, three, or four
Mæcenases presented themselves the same day, all
wanting to have it. While I was at Loreno, I one
day received a letter from my dear Grossi, who
was so kind and obliging, that he took a great deal
422
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
more pains for my sake than I should ever have
dared to ask of him, knowing his many occupations.
"Dear Massimo,-The Ferraù* is sold: I have
fifty napoleons at your disposal. I have also sold
the View of Bellaggio, and the money will be paid
in two or three days. The purchaser of Ferraù is
Count Tosi. I cannot tell you who bought Bellaggio;
Gironi, I do not know why, has made a secret of it.
Never mind, the important thing is to discover the
face of the enemy, and in a few days we needs must
see him.
This anonymous Mæcenas also wanted
Ferraù, but he came too late; therefore I beg you
will paint another picture of the saine size as that
representing Bellaggio, so that it may match it.
The subject will probably be left to your choice. If,
on the contrary, the purchaser has a fancy for one
in particular, he will soon say so. I have not said
a word about the price, but the tariff at Massimo's
shop is so well known, that even a little girl may go
and supply herself. Hayez told me yesterday that
Count Arese had commissioned him to buy Ferraù
on his behalf.
too late. To-day Count Porro also expressed to me a
wish to buy Bellaggio: and he likewise was behind
time. See what a good fellow I am: in one little
letter I send you money, fresh orders, and laurels !
*The author had called this picture the Ghost of Argalia.
This is the third. Arese also came
PUBLIC FAVOUR.
423
If my fine gentleman wishes anything more, pray
let him speak. My greetings to Manzoni, to your
family, and to the Beccarias.
"Milan, October 3d, 1834.
Your GROSSI."
I have quoted this friendly note, although it
bears an earlier date than that at which My Recol-
lections have now reached, because, without enter-
ing into many explanations and descriptions (some
of which would cause me very natural embarrass-
ment), it serves to give an idea of the great, or
better still, of the incredible favour with which my
early works were constantly received by the Milanese,
who never failed to help me afterwards. It must be
said that I did not forget to practise the virtue of dis-
cretion. During the first years I exhibited pictures
at Milan, I displayed a great number; then by de-
grees I voluntarily withdrew somewhat; after 1835
I confined myself to from three to five pictures: so
as not to be intrusive or wearisome.
There was
only a little falling-off in 1837: but this was on
account of the cholera that had raged during the
previous year, and prevented the opening of the
usual exhibition; one result of which was an attack
of artistic plethora.
The list of my exhibitions at Brera from 1833
to 1843 is so short, that I will insert it here, as
some friendly reader may like to look at it.
421
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
EXHIBITION OF 1833.
1. Engagement on the Garigliano between the Spaniards and
the French.
2. View of Cadenabbia, on the lake of Como.
3. Ditto of Majolica on the same lake.
4. Ditto of Cernobbio, ditto.
5. Fisherman's boat.
6. Mouth of the Gresio, near Cernobbio.
7. Castle of Azeglio.
8. View of Grianta, on the lake of Como.
9. Bay in the lake of Como, near Balbiano.
10. Fountain of Perlasca, also near Balbiano,
11. The Challenge of Barletta.
12. Sea-piece near Sorrento.
13. San Pietro di Acqua Acetosa.
14. Sea-piece.
15. Port of Cernobbio.
16. Houses at Perlasca.
17. Fieramosca arriving at the island of St. Orsola.
EXHIBITION OF 1834.
1. View of the Tremezzina.
*2. Imaginary landscape, with the ghost of Argalia appearing to
Ferraù.
3. Toast of Francesco Ferruccio, general of the Florentines, to
his soldiers before the battle of Gavinana. Commissioned
by Marchioness Visconti d'Aragona.
4. Peasant-girl pursued by pirates. Commissioned by Count Mazè.
5. The Challenge of Barletta. Commissioned by the Chevalier
Paolo Toschi.
6. Battle of Gavinana. Commissioned by Marquis Antonio Vis-
conti.
7. Encounter between Diego Garcia de Paredes and a number of
Frenchmen on the bridge of boats over the Garigliano.
The property of Signor Carlo Galli.
The subjects of all the pictures marked * are taken from
Ariosto.
MY PICTURES.
EXHIBITION OF 1835.
425
*1. Bradamante fighting the magician Atlante, to deliver Ruggero
from the enchanted castle.
2. Revenge. Given to the church of San Fedele.
3. Huntsman resting.
4. Defeuce of a bridge. Property of Signor Pietro Tron, of Turin.
*5. Ferraù seeing the ghost of Argalia.
6. A combat. Commissioned by Signor Bala Feruco, of Turin.
EXHIBITION OF 1837.
*1. Funeral of Duke Amadeo VI. of Savoy (Conte Verde).
2. Inundation in an Alpine valley.
3. View of Castel dell' Ovo.
1. Combat between Ferraù and Orlando.
*5. Fight between Rodomonte and Brandimarte.
*6. Astolfo following the Harpies.
7. Cascade of the Dora, near St. Didier.
8. Landscape, with animals.
9. View in the Roman Campagna.
10. Small landscape.
1. Great inundation.
EXHIBITION OF 1838.
*2. Dradamante, having struck down Atlante, demands the libera-
tion of Ruggero.
3. Troops on the march.
4. Napoleon haranging his soldiers in Egypt.
5. Macbeth and Banquo meeting the Witches.
*C. Ippalca, the messenger of Bradamante to Ruggero.
EXHIBITION OF 1839.
*1. Single combat between Gradasso and Rinaldo.
2. Duke Amadeo VI. receives Michel Paleologo as his prisoner.
*3. Zerbino and Isabella.
4. Ferraù and the ghost of Argalia.
EXHIBITION OF 1840.
*1. Sacripante and Angelica. From the first canto of Ariosto.
2. Mill near San Pellegrino.
426
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
3. Defence of Nice against Barbarossa and the French. Com-
missioned by H.M. King Carlo Alberto.
1. Huntsmen resting.
2. A thunderstorm.
EXHIBITION OF 1841.
3. The battle of Turin (1706).
4. The battle of Col d' Assietta (1747).
5. Imaginary landscape.
EXHIBITION OF 1842.
(I exhibited nothing, though I painted and sold a good num-
ber of pictures in this year.)
1. Roman Campagna.
EXHIBITION OF 1843.
2. Peasant-girl, whose donkey has fallen in a rugged path.
3. Giacomuzzo Attendolo Sforza throwing his axe at a tree, to
decide whether or not to turn soldier.
It is needless to say that I painted a great
many more pictures; but in my study, without ever
straining overmuch that cord of artistic forbear-
ance which must give way at last. The temptation
to yield to the suggestions of vanity was great. I
might have let myself be seduced by the system of
hurrying my work, doing things by the dozen, &c.
But no-I assert on my honour, I never thought
more highly of myself than before; and steadily
toiled on as if I had still been at Sor Checco's or
Sor Fumasoni's.
I always carefully avoided assuming the airs of
a connoisseur or a great master; and whenever I
gave a written opinion on a picture, I did so for
MY BEST PICTURES.
427
reasons and considerations which stripped my ver-
dict of any dogmatic character. I ever behaved
courteously to all artists, friends or not; and this was
no sacrifice, nay it would have cost me a great deal
to act otherwise, as being against my nature.
66
The pictures on which the public seems to have
passed its more favourable judgment (and I fully
concurred in it), were: Revenge," which I saw
again with pleasure in 1860, at the Poldi-Pezzolis;
the "Ghost of Argalia ;" the "Fight of Bradamante
and Atlante;" the "Death of Montmorency;" "Pea-
sant-girl, whose Donkey has fallen in a rugged path;"
Ippalca and Ruggero;" and some others. I do
not think the "Death of Montmorency" was exhi-
bited at Brera.
66
Ariosto furnished me with the greater number
of my first subjects, and I could have found none
better anywhere.
1
It being my object to follow a style of painting
affording me, on the one hand, the opportunity to
avail myself of the long and difficult studies by
which I had striven to get at the truth, and, on the
other, a wide field for imagination and high concep-
tions, no one could help me more than Ariosto.
In the first place, what principally guided me
was the sentiment of nature: my chief thought never
aimed directly at producing effect; but if obtained,
428
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I sought to do so nobly, by patiently following the
hints that were suggested by the feeling of nature.
Art in those days was perhaps not understood in
that manner, for which reason I became a novelty,
an eccentricity.
This also contributed to win me an easy celebrity.
Modesty apart, I believe that those pictures, and
some others subsequently painted, have a certain
positive merit, especially on comparing the style I
then followed with that adopted nowadays by many
artists even of repute: I have scen landscapes, where
the painter seemed to say to the spectator, "I meant
to make a good tree and good sheep; but as I was
in a hurry and the price already fixed upon, I have
just daubed four lines; which, however, from the
masterly way they are drawn, convey the idea of a
tree and sheep quite distinctly."
While thus employing my time so pleasantly
at Milan, I received a letter from an old friend of
mine at Rome, begging and entreating me to hasten
thither and rescue him from a very disagreeable
affair. Upon this I flew instantly to Rome, and
found that there also a certain renown had pre-
ceded me: I received a surfeit of compliments, both
from gentlemen in black and gentlemen in purple
(prelates and cardinals). I rushed at once to my
friend; and in a few days succeeded in getting
AN ENCOUNTER.
429
him out of his scrape, thanks to the kind inter-
vention of Cardinal de Gregorio. The small circle
cf my acquaintances soon learnt my return; and I
received many kind invitations, a few of which were
accepted, and others declined. I again saw some
of the ladies of my former society, and at one of
their houses you will certainly never guess whom
I met the very woman who so many years back
was the cause of my long and tedious moral disease.
The never-failing topic of the weather was invented
on purpose for such emergencies; and of this I very
dexterously took advantage, fearing (it must be
confessed) that the renewed sight of those features
might still awaken a pang in my heart; but, on the
contrary, I was not in the least affected. "Bravo,
Massimo!" I inwardly exclaimed. A few days after-
wards, the incident had almost escaped my memory.
Being once more at Rome, I longed to admire its
beauties with eyes which, without boasting, might
be deemed more experienced than before. I took
lodgings, and settled myself comfortably; distri-
buting my hours as usual, with the intention of
spending some time there, exclusively and truly as
an artist.
One morning Signora Angelina (about whom I
shall say more presently) brought me a note: she
knew not whence it came; the man who had brought
430
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
the message said he was himself ignorant. I entered
my small rooms and opened it; a perusal will suffice
to explain my surprise. Here it is:
"Sir, It is considered desirable to communicate
something to you which concerns you more than
anyone else. A confidential person-with a white
handkerchief in his hand-will be at the door of your
abode this very day at twelve o'clock: as soon as he
sees you, he will walk away in the direction of the
deserted lane to the left; follow him, and he will tell
you what to do.”
"Dear me!" cried I, as I dropped into a chair,
"am I to play the part of an unfledged and heroic
youth in some grand drama?" For, bear in mind,
kind reader, I was now past forty. To make a long
story short, in less than five minutes I had already
decided on the only possible and reasonable course-
that of burning the mysterious note, going out, and
only coming home late at night. So said, so done.
In the evening I learnt that the man of the
handkerchief had kept watch till half-past one; then
he too had gone about his business.
I spent a few days in visiting the studios I
had not previously seen; amongst others that of a
Frenchman, a very clever and ingenious artist, who
has since acquired celebrity in his own country; his
name was Couture.
ANOTHER ANONYMOUS LETTER.
431
Through him I became acquainted with some
of his countrymen. They seemed in general well-
educated, and at first I greatly enjoyed their com-
pany, afterwards I found it less agreeable: but no
matter, education is to me always the basis of every
machinery or edifice.
Six or seven days had elapsed since the adven-
ture of the note, when one night, on coming home
rather tired, but quite tranquil in mind, I found
another message on my desk.
This one ran as follows:
66
Signor Massimo,-Be to-night at half-past two
in Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina, unless you are
afraid a person who wishes you well will warn you
of a great risk you are running, on account of one
who is your enemy."
This note at first annoyed, then irritated me.
So I began by burning it, like the other; next I
speculated who on earth could want to wreak ven-
geance on me; then I chafed at that "" unless you
are afraid."
The fact is, my deplorable old mania, of always
wanting to brave everything, made me reject so
simple and plain a programme as going to bed;
and another fact is, that at half-past two o'clock I
was keeping watch in the appointed square. After
waiting a little, the distant rumbling of a carriage
432
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
caught my car; then the approach of a patrol, as it
seemed, of gendarmes: "Now I am quite done for,`
said I.
The patrol
The car-
Fortunately instead of keeping close to the houses
I had remained in the centre of the square; this
was, at all events, a good precaution.
passed on my right and did not see me.
riage drove by without stopping; but a subdued
voice issued from it, whispering, "Follow the car-
riage; we shall drive slowly on." "Is it so ?" I
mentally remarked; "go on as slowly as you like in
that direction; I will follow you in this other one."
It might have been about three o'clock in the
morning, as I found myself alone, standing upright
in the centre of Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina,
listening attentively to catch the sound of the car-
riage rattling away through Piazza Borghese: when
it reached Via dell' Orso, all noise had ceased, and
I remained in the midst of the profound silence of
the great sleeping city.
I hastily made for my lodgings, but was not
worth much that night; and the worst of it was,
that I was bound humbly to confess I had rushed
into this confounded trouble entirely through my
own folly.
Happily every hour, whether pleasant or evil,
must come to an end somehow or other. So that
TRIP TO FIUMICINO.
433
night too passed; and the next morning I said to
myself: "Here something must be done; and to
begin with, I must be off.”
During the day I met a friend of mine, and we
quickly agreed to go to Fiumicino together. Hear-
ing that the steamer left in the morning, I packed
up my things without delay, and a couple of hours
before daybreak we had both started in the direction
of Ripa Grande. It struck me as rather odd that the
steamer should take its departure at so strange an
hour, which undoubtedly was enough to frighten
away more than one male passenger, and, worse
still, those of the gentler sex.
But when we reached
Ripa I saw that in point of comfort the administra-
tion did not take the slightest pains to attract public
favour.
As there was but a small portion of the last
quarter of the moon, which hardly shone at all, the
river appeared quite dark from the bank. I gazed
intently, but could see nothing.
"Where is the steamer?" said I; and a sailor
answered "There.”
"Where do you mean?”
"In the middle of the river.'
"And how is one to get on board?”
"This way;" and the way was a narrow plank
twenty feet long, the end of which rested on a coal-
VOL. II.
FF
434
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
barge, and another plank ditto, from the boat to
the steamer, both as elastic and rebounding as the
spring of a watch. This was all the convenience
provided for travellers.
I, who am famous for giddiness, had to make a
sailor walk before me, and catch hold of his shoulders,
praying Heaven to keep him steady. Luckily my
prayer was heard, and thus, one step after another,
we got on board, and the sun had been up for two
hours when we arrived at Fiumicino.
Fiumicino is a long line of buildings lying on
the right bank of the Tiber, which is narrowed and
embanked at that point to insure the boats finding
sufficient depth of water. Near the sea there is a
watch-tower, of that ancient date when they guarded
the shores for love of the Algerine pirates. The ad-
joining coast is low, sometimes studded with woods,
sometimes with dwarf groves, or pastures, as is the
case throughout almost the whole extent of the
Maremma from Pietrasanta to Terracina. The air
in May is good, and the passage of quails summons
forth sportsmen and sportswomen. The former de-
vote themselves to the quails, the latter go in search
of pleasure, and, thanks to the wonderful good-will
never failing a Roman woman, their endeavours end
by triumphing even at Fiumicino. Boating, fishing,
and driving expeditions, cavalcades, picnics, suppers,
POOR ROMANS!
435
balls, all sorts of entertainments; and every one of
this variety of occupations is based on the immutable
principle of love-making. On the whole, the villeg-
giatura is very pleasant, full of life and animation—
of course for those who can make themselves happy
without a good dinner, a good bed, or good lodgings.
All Romans, men and women, it must be said,
are born with an unflinching resolve to be jolly, and
in this they succeed, despite their government, which
seems bent on the exact contrary.
This optimism, or heedlessness, whichever it is,
forms perhaps the most attractive feature in the so-
ciety of that sort of people, who often have neither
house, roof, means, or any certainty for the morrow,
and who yet sing, laugh, and enjoy themselves, who
are always stirring; and after all, they reach the end
of the year just as well as those who make use of
their brains; and it is their gain never to distress
themselves about anything, and certainly not to be
subject to spleen like the English. Poor Romans!
Providence has its own designs in keeping them so
flighty if they were otherwise, what would be their
fate?
I spent a month with this society. Beppe Sartori
and his family were also there. I lived with them;
and what with my own resources, and those offered
by their company, contrived to get on.
436
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I had an order for a picture from Paolo Datti ;
but it was only a matter of forty scudi. Still, every
little helps when one is hard up. It was painted,
and did not turn out badly.
At that moment I fell in with a man who was
really worth studying; and as I have always found
it more advantageous to learn from men than from
books, I determined to make his acquaintance. He
was the butcher of Fiumicino, a celebrated fire-eater,
and the hero of a certain infernal row in the Ghetto
at Rome, about which I wanted to know the real
truth.
One night, being at the café, where everybody
went more or less, I had him pointed out to me; and
having caught him by the bait which rarely fails to
entice men either great or small, vanity-which
really fits men as a handle does a basket-we were
soon seated at a table with something hot before us,
and his mood became as communicative as I could
desire.
I had already let him understand that I consi-
dered him a celebrity, and continuing in this strain
I said: "In short, Sor Pietro, I hear that, when
young, you were a perfect firebrand; and I have
been told of a devil of a scuffle in the Ghetto, where
you called the Jews names. Do tell me what the
quarrel was about."
AN ENERGETIC BUTCHER.
437
"How shall I tell you? Certainly I had then
rather a hot temper, of course. In a word, the
fact is, I was butcher-boy at Ponte Sisto; you
know the corner shop towards Trinità dei Pelle-
grini?"
"I understand."
"Well, I used to take meat to the Ghetto every
day, and words had already been exchanged more
than once; for the Jew intrusted with the inspection
for the purpose of ascertaining how the cattle were
slaughtered, must have been bribed by some other
butcher, and desired a change. If it was cow-beef,
he said it was the carcass of a diseased beast; if
it was a bull, he said I gave the hind-quarters; in
short, he worked mischief. One morning I had car-
ried the meat to the Ghetto, when a Jew began, then
another, and so on: one called me names, another
insulted me in a different way, and they all chaffed,
till at last a cabbage-stalk was thrown at me. Just
think, cabbage-stalks at Padron Pietro! I made a
rush; I caught hold of my big shop-knife, and with
my head down I plunged blindly into them. What
could I see? All by myself I made a heap of the
d-d cowards; they all took to their heels, and I ran
after them; one, I remember, escaped into a cellar,
and, by Jove! I stabbed him in his confounded
back. On my soul, I was blind with rage. At last,
438
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
after a little, I perceived that more than two hundred
people were flocking round me, and even this would
not have troubled me much; but I thought I saw
Galante's sbirri coming, so I made off in the opposite
direction, and in three jumps I was at home. My
mother, on seeing me come in like a wild beast, cried
out: Good gracious! what have you done, my
son?' 'I know not,' quoth I; 'but I must have done
something serious;' and without more words she
gave me eight paoli she had at hand; I changed my
clothes, took my jacket and the knife, and away by
Porta San Giovanni and the Campagna. Towards
evening I found myself at Pantano di Borghese,
and once there, let Galante lay a finger on me if he
dare."
It must be stated that, however much the immu-
nities enjoyed by Roman princes may have ceased
as a matter of right, they do still exist in fact. At
least, it was so in the days when Padron Pietro,
setting himself up as a pendant to Samson minus
the ass's jaw-bone, avenged the Philistines without
in the least knowing it.
I forget the end of his adventure, because it fell
into the usual course of that sort of business, viz. to
put oneself under the protection of some influential
person, remain in concealment until the freak is for-
gotten, then reappear one fine day, and those who
SIGNORA CLELIA PIERMARINI.
439
were hit may rub their shoulders by way of final
redress.
After a few more days, being tired of Fiumicino,
and feeling besides more free and easy in mind, I
packed up my traps and went back to Rome. My
lodgings in the Corso were disengaged, and I like-
wise found my landlady, Signora Angelina, an ever
more faithful portrait of the witch Alcina, as de-
scribed by Ariosto, after Melissa had opened Rug-
gero's eyes, thanks to the magic ring; and I resumed
my usual mode of life, but soon felt that things were
far from right yet.
I felt the want of a great occupation for mind and
heart. But where was this to be found? Provi-
dence undertook the task for me, and it was one that
gave me more work than I imagined. During the
winter I had made the acquaintance of a certain
Signora Clelia Piermarini, formerly for many years
camerista to Christine of Spain at Madrid. Ill-
treated, then deserted by her husband, and turned
out of the queen's household by some backstairs
intrigue, she was left destitute, with two marriage-
able daughters to support. She was one of those
thoroughly Italian types-good, expansive, with won-
derfully lively imagination, always ready to believe
implicitly in the honesty and friendly feelings of
everybody; and in politics, "Kill the tyrant, expel
440
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
was
the foreigner, emancipate the people,” and so on,
her creed, without stopping one moment to consider
by what means the thing was to be brought about.
I had gradually grown intimate with Signora
Clelia and her daughters-really excellent creatures,
but equally unfortunate; and as I sometimes went
to their house, where all the Italianissimi, mad or
sane, rogues or not, were received with open arms,
I had become acquainted with several of them. Two
among others seemed to me men of resolution
Adolfo S*** of Pesaro, and Filippo A*** of Cesena
—and a mutual interchange of ideas had taken place
between us. They were particularly attentive and
civil to me.
The first had had his brother in prison
since the revolutionary movements of the year 1832,
if my memory serves me right. With the help of
God he at last got out, and they both returned to
their home together. The second told me one day
that a long and serious conversation with me was
indispensable to him, and it was arranged that it
should take place the ensuing evening at the house
of Signora Clelia.
Understanding that politics were to be its object,
I was as a matter of course on my guard, for I did
not then know Filippo A*** to be the honest man he
really is. Having met, we sat down, and I began as
follows: "I must tell you, Signor Filippo, that for
A FEINT.
441
many years I have suffered from a pain below the
ribs on my left side, accompanied by a difficulty of
breathing, and sometimes by palpitations. You are
a medical man, and I should like to have your pro-
fessional advice. Just feel my pulse, examine me,
and then tell me what you think of it."
It is true that from time to time I had suffered
from such a complaint; but I had never paid it much
attention, considering it as a trifling and nervous
indisposition.
A***
who little expected such a speech, and
whose head was full of very different thoughts, was
half carelessly feeling my pulse, when I burst out
laughing, and, withdrawing my hand, added: "For
this time we may consider the consultation to be at
an end; but as you, being a pontifical subject, are
far more likely than I to be arrested and prosecuted,
if by chance any such thing should occur, you must
remember, as I also will in case of necessity, that
this evening, at Signora Clelia's house, during the
interview we had together in a room apart, I con-
sulted you about my complaint, which you pro-
nounced to be entirely of a nervous character, not
deserving any attention whatsoever, and that after
the consultation we separated without any further
talk."
Here I must remark that, among the many sad
442
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
results entailed on men's characters by governments
like that of his Holiness, the worst of all, perhaps,
is that of stifling every sense of sincerity, thus ren-
dering falsehood and dissimulation a necessary con-
dition of life, and forcing those who do not want
every moment to incur the risk of a jail to adopt
it as a system.
A*** smiled, and began to speak about what he
had more at heart. As I am unable to remember
his words, I shall simply give the substance, which
was as follows :
Pope Gregory was too old to admit any possi-
bility of his lasting much longer. The Romagna, as
I must be well aware, was in a very precarious state.
Honest and intelligent people had already had hard
work to prevent the population from breaking out
into one of the usual Mazzinian insurrections, always
insane and fatal in their results. It was therefore
time to think seriously of the contingency of the
Pope's death, and contrive, if possible, to prepare
the public mind for that, in all probability, approach-
ing event. It was the duty of influential men to
employ all their authority in order to persuade the
masses that, even on the Pope's death, no movement
should be attempted; for if begun with the usual
violent and revolutionary means, it could only end
in the reappearance of the Austrians, accompanied
DISCREDIT OF SECRET SOCIETIES.
443
by the imprisonment, banishment, and death of many
individuals, and an aggravation of the condition
of all.
He then added that "all sensible people in Ro-
magna were tired of the secret societies, conspiracies,
the Carbonari and the Giovine Italia; and had per-
suaded themselves that all their intrigues only served
to doom poor misguided youths to exile or the scaf-
fold."
"Are there no more secret societies in Romagna,
then ?"
66
They hardly exist at present, except among the
common people, and even there they have almost
died out; while not a man with his senses about
him but laughs at them. Many of the most influ-
ential patriots have imagined that, it being of the
utmost importance to anticipate the evils to which
the death of the pontiff will undoubtedly give rise,
it might be advisable to have a new man, not yet
used-up like themselves, who could inspire confi-
dence, and take an active part in uniting, direct-
ing, and checking, if necessary, so many tendencies,
wishes, and conflicting ideas void of all control; and,
in their opinion, you, my dear d'Azeglio, ought to
be that man."
I so little expected to be thus appointed general-
in-chief of the (more or less ex) secret societies of
}
444
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
the pontifical states (an appointment all the more
extraordinary, inasmuch as it is known I had not
only never belonged to any of them, but had never
even met with anybody who considered my face
sufficiently like that of a conspirator to propose I
should become an adept), that not a single word
would suggest itself by way of reply beyond an “I ?”
I?"
full of amazement.
"To be sure, you. You are looked upon by all
parties as an honest man; you are not suspected-”
and he went on, adding a bit of panegyric, as is
usual on such occasions; to which I too, according
to custom, answered with half-words, and an expres-
sive byplay of the muscles of my face, suggestive of
Domine, non sum dignus. At last, after a minute of
reflection, I said: "But I neither am, nor ever was,
a carbonaro or calderaro, or whatever it is called.
I share none of the ideas of the Giovine Italia, ex-
cept on the point of independence. I have no faitlı
in conspiracies, in the movements you Romagnoli
delight in resorting to every now and then. Just
think whether I have a chance of being listened to
when I speak a language nobody understands!"
"The circumstance of your not being a sectarian
is entirely in your favour. Besides, I have already
* There is no sect denominated Calderari (tinkers): D'Aze-
glio used the word simply by way of disparagement.
PROPOSAL OF LIBERAL LEADERSHIP.
445
told you that almost everyone has now seen through
these absurdities; and as for your having opinions
opposed to those of Mazzini, why, it will, on the
contrary, produce an impression all the more favour-
able upon minds weary of the past and uncertain as
to the future."
Thus he continued from one word to another,
pressing with ever-increasing urgency upon me the
wish of the liberal leaders of the country that I should
assume the direction of their party, and their desire
first of all to make my personal acquaintance, and
have a conversation with me.
At first sight the proposal rather pleased me.
Not that I saw any hope whatever of really bene-
fiting Italy; but because, feeling the want of an
occupation capable of diverting my mind from
thoughts that tortured me, it seemed that I could
find no better. Nevertheless, following my accus-
tomed rule of always taking time for reflection, I
said to A***: "I understand you, and do not see
serious obstacles in the way; however, it requires
reflection. I will think of it, and let you know my
decision." We agreed on this, and withdrew.
During the following days I pondered a great
deal on the matter, turning it over and over, and
looking at it under all its different aspects. At
times it struck me as the beginning of something
446
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
important, at others mere child's-play; sometimes
a means of completing my knowledge of Italy, and
testing the mettle of Italians, sometimes a concern in
which I might easily compromise myself, and end
in prison without advantage to anyone. I believe
that, in fact, there was a mixture of all this in the
question.
At last I made up my mind to accept, for several
reasons. The first was the wish-I ought to say
the sense of duty-which commanded me to leave
no stone unturned to prevent the disorders which
would have undoubtedly taken place at the death
of the Pope, to the damage of Italy and Italians, and
for the benefit of Austria. Next came the other
reason, of having a means of chasing away my
melancholy; and finally my taste for a life of ad-
venture and action. On meeting A*** a few days
after, I accordingly told him I was willing to try
this new experiment.
•
:
CHAPTER XVI.
I have one Pompili of Spoleto for my travelling-companion—I
begin my experiments upon him with some success-Halt at
Baccano, and a study of local customs-Embarrassing ques-
tions to a waiter at Otricoli-At Terni I find the first link of
the trafila—In the pontifical states everyone finally said I
was right not so in Tuscany-I part from Pompili at Spoleto
-I pursue my journey with an impertinent youngster—At Ca-
merino I seize the opportunity of giving him a lesson-Arrival
at Loretto-A few words about Loretto and sanctuaries in
general - From Loretto to Ancona-I resume my practical
experiments upon a Franciscan monk-I finish my propa-
ganda in Romagna; I continue it in Tuscany, and go back
to Turin by Genoa-I request an audience of King Charles
Albert, and obtain it at once-My political conversation with
the king-After consulting Cesare Balbo. I determine to write
on politics-In spite of the opposition of many. I print Gli
ultimi Cusi di Romagna-After this publication I can no
longer live in Milan.
At that time I had made acquaintance, I forget how,
with a native of Umbria, half literary man, half po-
litician, one of those simple and credulous natures
so often met with in Italy; and as he intended to
start for his home, a small town in the neighbour-
hood of Spoleto, we decided to travel together for
this first stage of my journey.
So, one September morning-the first or second,
448
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
if I am not mistaken-we went out of Porta del
Popolo, driven by one of those Roman vetturini
who but a short time ago still kept alive the true
poetical traditions of travelling, and are now doomed
to be swept away by the prosaic corruption of the
railway.
Antonio had two of those peculiar horses which,
at first sight, seem hardly able to stand on their
legs, but which, nevertheless, prove their mettle by
keeping up a rattling speed all day. Our chaise,
too, harmonised with the animals, being, to all ap-
pearance, as crazy and ramshackle as possible, and
it jolted along sideways on that part of the road
leading to Porta del Popolo, rattling over the street-
pavement like a cartload of old iron bars. Yet it
carried us through our journey as straight as an
arrow, without a screw coming loose. With this
sort of turn-out, called in the Roman States, I know
not why, un Sant' Antonio, we merrily drove out
of Porta del Popolo, Antonio cracking his whip,
while my companion Pompili and I were busily en-
gaged in making all the different arrangements a
traveller should never forget when starting on a
journey, in order to have all the little comforts of
carriage-life at hand.
Pompili knew the great secret of my exploration
of the provinces. The first words we exchanged
TWOFOLD OPERATION.
449
proved to me that I had met with a specimen of the
by no means easy task, as I then believed it, which
awaited me during my whole journey. From the
pattern, thought I, one may know the stock: this
enterprise will be no light matter. So I then and
there began practising on him the plan I had laid
down for my future conversations with the Liberals
who were awaiting me.
My method comprised a twofold operation: first,
the destruction of the old ideas; then the substitu-
tion of new ones, both as regarded the Italian ques-
tion in general, and that of the pontifical state in
particular.
The reasons against the system of secret societies,
conspiracies, street-demonstrations, &c. have been so
often repeated that it is useless to mention them
here. The first and destructive part of my pro-
gramme was therefore not a difficult one, and every-
one may readily imagine what were the arguments
I had to make use of.
But the work of reconstruction was far more deli-
cate. As long as you tell people writhing in every
possible manner under the endless moral and physical
tortures of the worst of all governments known to
the world, that the way they have hitherto been pur-
suing cannot lead to any good, there is more or less
chance of making them listen to reason. But when
VOL. II.
GG
450
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
you come to the question of what ought to be done,
when they ask you to teach them the right means,
and you are obliged to answer, "The best thing to do,
for the present, is nothing;" or, "The path to be fol-
lowed is to stand still," they are likely to bid you go
to the devil; and, in truth, those who suffer to the
utmost verge of endurance are excusable for framing
so pious a wish.
True, it was not precisely my view that nothing
should be done; but it is not easy to make short-
sighted people, who want to reap before evening
what they have sown in the morning, understand
that there are results, in politics especially, which
cannot be attained unless they are prepared long
beforehand by causes, whose relation to them is not
sufficiently apparent to be seized by persons unen-
dowed with a certain amount of intelligence, culti-
vation, and the habit of reflection.
Nevertheless, it was obvious that I could only
exercise some good influence by instilling these
truths into people's minds. I therefore set to work
in earnest, beginning with my travelling-companion,
and resorting, above all, to comparisons within the
reach of the commonest understanding. For I have
always remarked that nothing is so likely to per-
suade the generality of men as a well-selected com-
parison.
A COMPARISON.
451
So I said to my simple friend: "Let us speak
plainly. What is it that you want, and I with you?
Do you wish to drive the Austrians out of Italy,
and get rid of the priestly government? If you
ask them to do you such a favour, the probability
is they will refuse. It will therefore be necessary
to force them; but to do so requires strength, and
where have you any? But if you have none, we
must turn to somebody else. And who in Italy is
powerful, up to a certain point at least? Piedmont;
because, at all events, it has an independent life of
its own; it possesses money in reserve (it had then !),
an army, &c."
On hearing the name of Piedmont, my companion
made a grimace, and said ironically: "Charles Al-
bert! and you would have us hope in him ?"
I shrugged my shoulders, answering: "If you
do not choose to hope-as you please; but then
you must make up your mind not to hope in any-
body at all."
"But 1821 ? But 1832 ?"*
"I do not like 1821 and 1832 any better than you,
The first of these dates refers to the abandonment of the
revolutionary party by Charles Albert during the movement of
that year, a defection unforgotten and unforgiven by the Liberals.
The second alludes to the severities and the executions carried
out by his order against the Mazzinian party, in consequence of
the attempts that disturbed the beginning of his reign.
452
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
though much might be said about those events; how-
beit I will admit the worst you can say, and yet I
nevertheless repeat, that either we must hope in him
or in no one. Besides, let us examine the question
calmly, and reason it out. If we required Charles
Albert to pledge himself to do a thing contrary to
his own interests, out of sheer heroism, to benefit
Italy, you and all of us might then say, 'How can
one trust the traitor of 1821, the executioner of
1832?' and you would perhaps be right. But after
all, what would be demanded of him? We should
ask him to do some good to us, but far more to
himself; to let us, as soon as an opportunity arose,
help him to become more powerful and great than he
now is; and can you doubt whether he would ac-
cept the bargain?" And here, using a very irreve-
rent comparison-but we were between La Storta
and Baccano, a hundred miles from courts, and I
did not feel at all a courtier-I said: "
: "If you ex-
horted a thief to become an honest man, and he pro-
mised that he would, you might doubt his keeping
his word; but invite him to join in a robbery, and
upon my soul I do not see how you could fear his
failing you.'
Poor Charles Albert! Time has shown that he
did not deserve to be judged so harshly; and I now
think of my comparison with a feeling of remorse.
ASK THE ALMIGHTY!
453
Still, thus it happens to princes who do not keep the
straight path, who believe they can find strength
in cunning. Poor Charles Albert! he thought him-
self cunning!
The good Pompili gradually became accustomed
to such speeches, which were of course more lengthy
and detailed than as I now write them down, and
persuaded himself that things might be as I said.
But, as usual, like all the rest, he next wanted me
to tell him when there would be some grounds for
hoping to arrive at any conclusion. Here arose
another difficulty, that of inculcating patience on
a sufferer; which, as I have already observed, is
the greatest and most natural obstacle of all. It was
necessary to make him understand, that without a
great European complication, it would be impossible,
given the conditions of modern politics, for Italy to
move, or for Charles Albert to support her. "And
when will such a European complication take place?”
66
Ask the Almighty," was my answer.
Who could then-in the year 1845-have fore-
told that the Almighty had decided that this event
-the greatest popular upheaval recorded in history
-would come to pass within three years?
As for me, who am no prophet, I must say that
I had no expectation of seeing it in my lifetime.
Yet the singular coincidence between my words and
454
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
+
the events of 1848 had a great share in the influence
1 exercised throughout Italy for a certain time.
Thus discoursing by the way, our Antonio de-
posited us at Baccano towards sunset. A pretty
halting-place for the night! In the very heart of
the malaria, and at the worst season!
It was
necessary to put a good face on the matter, and
endeavour not to fall asleep; for in that den in
September I believe even the toads have fever.
I never appreciated so fully as that night the
famous sonnet Alfieri wrote when he too was lodged
there :
"Vasta insalubre regïon, che stato
Ti vai nomando, aridi campi incolti."
"The vast unwholesome region which a state
Men call, ye arid and neglected fields !"
Two or three buildings-if the name can be
given to the wretched, smoky, and tumble-down
hovels which flank the high-road on either side—
with rickety walls and half-split roofs and shutters,
a true picture of desolation; such is Baccano.
The postmaster, with his men, their families,
and an innkeeper, are its whole population. They
have all yellow faces, with a sinister and perverse
expression; like people corrupted by bad govern-
ment, malaria, the fleecing of passing travellers, and
ROTTEN TO THE CORE.
455
misery-a physical as well as moral rottenness to
the very core.
I entered the kitchen, which was also the inn
parlour, and drew near the fire to add a new leaf
to the book of my usual studies on the animals
of my own kind whom I felt certain to find there
in circumstances fortunately not forthcoming every
day. The opportunity was too good for me to let
it be lost.
There were several postboys, neatherds, country
people, with all of whom, as is my wont, I entered
into conversation.
Although I represented the aristocracy of that
select society, my mode of travelling placed me on
a level which, however exalted, was not considered
quite out of reach by my interlocutors.
Two peculiarities of that night spent in supping,
drinking, and smoking with a postboy of Baccano,
who had particularly devoted himself to my com-
pany, remain impressed on my mind. One was
the really monstrous size of the gnats revelling in
that happy spot; the other, the total absence of every
idea-every conception, so to speak-of anything
like honesty to be found in my wretched inn-com-
panion. He related to me the various means to
which he resorted to cheat travellers of a few paoli,
with so much candour, that I was really unable to
456
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
brand him as a scoundrel even in pectore. I men-
tally ejaculated a string of imprecations against the
government, the clerical system, &c.; and was more
than ever confirmed in the idea that all criterion
of fas and nefas is lost, extinguished, dead and buried
in the happy pontifical dominions.
And in fact there government officials are, for
the most part, only a large gang of thieves. How
then could one expect that my postboy should be
other than a thief whenever he had an opportunity?
nay more, that he should not have firmly believed
the whole question turned upon being so with im-
punity?
I protracted the evening as long as possible to
avoid falling asleep. At last, however-first one,
then the other-all slunk away. The fire was out,
and it was necessary to let the innkeeper go to
bed. I went up to a room with two beds, in one
of which Pompili had already stretched himself. I
followed his example, and we chattered on hour
after hour, until we both gave in, overpowered by
sleep, fever or no fever. But we were fortunate
this time, and the fever did not attack us.
I am almost inclined to think that, having once.
suffered from malaria very severely, my constitution
-which, though not very strong, was always ex-
tremely sound—was no longer susceptible of catching
FEELING MY WAY.
457
it; for on other occasions I had already slept with
impunity in places infested by malaria.
The next morning at daybreak Antonio harnessed
his wiry little beasts, and away we careered at full
speed by Le Sette Vene, Monterosi, Nepi, Civita,
and Otricoli. Here we halted. I attacked the waiter,
and led him to speak about the movements of 1831,
when Zucchi's bands* penetrated as far as Otricoli.
"It is well known what scoundrels they were,'
said I to the waiter. "How much you must have
suffered at their hands!"
"No, sir," rejoined he; "in this respect I must
say they were all well-conducted youths, whom no
one could complain of."
In thus answering a stranger, the waiter showed
more civil courage than I, who had spoken in a
very governmental sense in order to feel my way.
By resorting to these means, whenever an op-
portunity offered itself, I contrived to form an exact
idea of the opinion of every place I went through.
There is no other way of ascertaining what mate-
rials you are to work upon; wherefore they who
hold in their hands the destiny of peoples might at
* Zucchi was a Modenese general, an old soldier of Napoleon,
who played an important part in the insurrection of the year
1831; and as the movement spread, he led a band of insurgents
into the heart of the Roman States: he had also a distinguished
share in the war of 1848.
458
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
least take the trouble of inquiring into their desires,
sufferings, and wants.
At nightfall we were at Terni. Here my jour-
ney, or rather, I might say, my via crucis, really
began. For this reason. The transmission of the
Liberal correspondence of the country, established
long ago by the secret societies, had survived, even
after their diminution and almost extinction, like a
vast net embracing the whole country from one
end to the other. In every town there dwelt a
confidential person, who was one of the links of the
chain, which thus received the name of Trafila.*
It was used for the despatch of news, admonitions,
directions, letters, and sometimes even individuals
-people who were obliged to seek safety in flight,
or political commis voyageurs, &c. So that it was
a cant phrase to say that such or such a thing
or person was to be sent by Trafila. Embracing
Terni, it did not, however, extend itself towards
Rome, but entered the Neapolitan kingdom by the
Abruzzi.
At that time Rome and the Comarca, Marittima
* Literally, a machine for drawing out wire, consisting of
several holes diminishing gradually in diameter, and through
which the wire must be drawn until it has reached the requisite
size. Figuratively, the name of trafila is applied to indicate
anything that must pass from hand to hand before it arrives at
its destination.
THE TRAFILA.
459
and Campagna, were provinces which, even if they
contained some isolated individuals who meddled
with politics, did not muster a sufficient number to
deserve the honours and emoluments of the Trafila.
It must also be added that the province of Romagna
in those days held Rome and its neighbourhood in
supreme contempt; nor would they have trusted the
Romans over-much. In fact, had a single link of
the Trafila proved false, a great number of people
would have been ruined; and it is a remarkable fact,
that during the many years of the fierce struggle
fought out between the Pope and his subjects, never
-no, not once-did the Roman police have the
satisfaction of discovering one of these links of
the great chain, and never was one of them put in
prison.
Poor Italian race, how many virtues it still
inherits, after all the havoc made among it by its
oppressors!
At Terni, then, I was to meet the first link of the
Trafila. Having shaken off the dust, and had some
dinner, Pompili and I went out, when it was already
pitch dark. After some search we discovered our
man; and whereas I had expected to meet almost
insuperable obstacles, the fruit of passion or political
hatred, ignorance or narrowness of mind, I found, on
the contrary, in this first instance, as afterwards in
460
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
all others, every imaginable facility for making my
ideas, as well as the deductions that flowed from
them, acceptable to my hearers.
Everyone believed the Giovine Italia to be a silly
hobby; that secret societies, conspiracies, miniature
revolutions without head or tail, attempted hitherto,
were all follies; and that it was necessary to de-
vise other means. Those I advocated were at first
received with ominous marks of disapproval; but,
quickly convinced of the utter impossibility of doing
anything without strength, and that, not possessing
it themselves, someone who did must be sought for,
they ended, though reluctantly, by becoming recon-
ciled to the idea of Charles Albert.
And what persuaded them, was the famous and
impertinent comparison of the thief, which seemed
an unanswerable argument to everyone.
:
Amid so much unanimity of thought, I only
found two exceptions, and these (curiously enough),
in Tuscany and (even more curiously) in two men,
one of whom is in every respect illustrious, and is
so considered by the whole of Europe; the other,
if not his equal, is nevertheless a person conspicuous
for feeling, intellect, and erudition; although his
mind is somewhat lost in the world of abstractions,
as will be seen by and by.
The former (neither had anything to do with the
UNJUST ACCUSATIONS.
461
Trafila) replied, when Charles Albert was named,
"What, Charles Albert the leader of Italian Libe-
rals? Nonsense!" And he changed the subject.
The second exclaimed: "That traitor !"
"To begin with," I replied, "much might be
said as to the propriety of the epithet; but let us
set that aside. Traitor or not, he alone has power,
money, an army and a navy.”
Here he interrupted me: "The Roman soldiers
killed their general when they found he was a trai-
tor" (I forget what name he mentioned). "Now
what must these soldiers of Charles Albert be to
tolerate him?”
I attempted to excuse the poor Piedmontese
soldiers for not having yet slain Charles Albert,
on the plea that times were different and customs
altered;—all was in vain. And that ill-starred
Roman legion, with its plan
of summarily dispos-
ing of its commander-in-chief, routed me likewise;
so I had to depart without having gained any ad-
vantage over these good people.
The next day, while it was yet cool, the faithful
Antonio drove us, with exhilarating cracks of his
whip, by Strettura and Somma, to Spoleto, of Lom-
bard reminiscences. We recalled to our minds that
its inhabitants took the field against Frederick Bar-
barossa and his formidable army: they were all cut
462
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
;
to pieces, as was inevitable. I reflected that when a
nation is in such dispositions, sooner or later it must
succeed. Blood may be lost, but the example never.
Pompili lived at a little place a few miles dis-
tant. He might therefore consider himself at home.
I stopped in the upper part of the town, visited the
castle of the ancient dukes, the great aqueduct, the
work of Cardinal Albornoz,* and we met again at
dinner.
Meanwhile he had gone to see his friends. I
knew he had an old flame at Spoleto; I said a few
jesting words in reference to the call I supposed he
had made. He sternly, almost tragically answered :
"These are times to think of the country, and not of
women. I have seen her, yes: we did not, however,
talk of love, but of our mutual hopes.
,,
The above I know is a trifle; but I remember it
with pleasure, for (as I noticed on a thousand oc-
casions from 1845 to 1848), it was really striking to
see how that first and splendid Italian movement,
the earliest tolerably well-grounded hopes of inde-
* Born at Cuença in 1300, he was Archbishop of Toledo, and
at once a statesman and a warrior. Banished from Spain by
Peter the Cruel, he took refuge at Avignon, where Pope Cle-
ment VI. then resided, and was made a cardinal by him. The
next pontiff, Innocent VI., intrusted Albornoz with the task of re-
storing Rome and the patrimony of St. Peter to the Holy See (!),
in which he fully succeeded, and replaced Urban V., successor of
Innocent, in Rome.
I PART WITH POMPILI.
463
pendence and national honour, gave birth in every
heart to devoted and generous sentiments, such as
I, who for so many years had wandered backwards
and forwards all over Italy, had never seen a trace
of before.
I just relate this incident, but further on I shall
have occasion to return to the same topic, which
deserves great attention.
Here, then, I parted from Pompili, who accom-
panied me to the lower portion of the widely-spread
town of Spoleto. One can see it was once rich, popu-
lous, and flourishing: things are quite changed at
present.
Having entered my little carriage alone, and
exchanged farewells, Antonio and his small cattle
sped rapidly along the smooth and beautiful road to
Fuligno.
As we journeyed on, I took a mental survey of
my position, reviewing my plans and giving them a
definite shape, determining also the manner in which
my future peregrinations must be conducted, so as
neither to compromise myself nor others.
I will now detail my mode of acting, everywhere
attended with successful results.
My first precaution on leaving Rome had been
to take no servant, thus insuring a freedom from
spies.
464
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
I carried with me a small stock of artistic imple-
ments, which enabled me to stop when I liked with-
out raising suspicion.
Wherever I went, I only knew one name, indi-
cated to me in the preceding place, which was that
of the representative of the Trafila in the town I
was bound to. Once arrived and at the inn, I never
inquired for anybody, but went out, and according
to circumstances and the people I met, regulated my
questions by the different countenances, and ended
by finding the house I wanted.
I arrived at Fuligno with the name that had been
given me at Terni. I soon found its owner. After
one day's stay, though I was bound to the Marches,
I paid a flying visit to Perugia, where I had also
business. There I met Cavalieri, the eminent pro-
fessor, my old friend, and spent the evening in his
company with immense pleasure. He held an
appointment under the government, and I do not
think he ever meddled with anything but arts and
sciences while I, who always abhorred direct or
indirect traitors, did not dream of involving him in
such matters even as a simple topic of conversation.
The next morning I went back to Fuligno, and
having taken leave of my friends, I started in the
night for Colfiorito and the Marches.
But the faithful Antonio had asked leave to dis-
A NEW COMPANION.
465
pose of one seat in the carriage, and having assented,
I was no longer alone.
When I got into the vehicle (it might be about
one in the morning), and had made all my little
arrangements to be comfortable, I could not see who
was my travelling-companion. Each of us, as is
customary, nestled in his own corner, and, reflect-
ing or sleeping, awaited daybreak.
The rosy finger of laughing Aurora at last re-
moved the veil which shrouded my companion, and
I discovered the figure of a sort of schoolboy, long,
thin, and yellow, with the face of an impertinent
little fop, and a garrulous contralto voice, who was
certainly escaping from college or the paternal roof
for the first time. His smart get-up clearly indi-
cated this, as did also the many little things which
mothers or old aunts are wont to give at the
moment of separation, as mementos of their advice,
and a measure of their last blessing. A new tra-
velling-bag, a fashionable little cap, some article (I
know not what) strapped across his shoulders, and
everything bran-new; he had even a bag of those
conventual sugar-plums, made by the hands of pious
nuns,* which the youngster put at my disposal, and
which I declined, as an internal instinct told me
* Everybody in Italy remembers this nunnery confectionery
as one of his childish delights.
VOL. II.
HH
466
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
that hostilities would break out between us, and I
did not choose to be under obligations to my future
and hypothetical foe.
We entered into conversation, and without being
pressed he acquainted me with all his private affairs;
telling me how, having terminated his education at
the Jesuit college, he had obtained an appointment,
and was now on his way to join his battalion at
Ancona.
The deuce he is! thought I; then I am enjoy-
ing the company of a baby soldier of the Pope.
He afterwards added he was to be a cadet in the
custom-house forces, which diminished the esteem
the first suggestion had inspired me with by one
degree.
Nevertheless, as I had nothing else to do, I
thought: Let us study this sucking cadet, and see
what sort of ideas he has fished-up in his college.
From one topic to another I led him on to the poli-
tical field. Does the reader imagine what theories
he set forth?
Nothing less than that all those who desired
change were lunatics, knaves, &c.! So far so good;
this was an opinion like another; but he continued,
raising his contralto to a falsetto: "Ah, the govern-
ment is decidedly too mild! Heads, heads are the
thing! Heads are all that are wanted!"
A YOUNG ROBESPIERRE.
467
I was at first at a loss to understand what he
meant by these heads; and, reading in my eyes the
supineness of my mind, he went on :
"To be sure, if the government, instead of pro-
ceeding with so much mildness, were to remove a
few more heads, you would see how everything would
be smoothed at once !"
A trifle! I mentally remarked. Who would have
expected to find a Robespierre in this child? But,
I added internally: We have not yet parted, my
sweet chicken; and before we do, I will make you
pay for these heads.
I was equally angry and surprised to find so
much venom in such a boy; for having given me
to understand he was quite a pet of the reverend
Jesuit fathers, this head-theory of his struck me as
anything but amiable.
The unfavourable dispositions that were brooding
within me towards this young coupe-tête were more-
over increased by a sort of domineering manner he
had, as if the world had been invented for him and
his comfort in every respect.
As my penal code was, however, less Draconic
than his, and as I did not intend to resort to capital
punishment for his aforesaid crimes, but only to a
penalty that might also prove a lesson, I could not
see my way, although I tortured my imagination.
468
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Never mind, I muttered between my teeth: let us
go on; the jolts of the road will settle the load; and
opportunities never fail those who know how to make
use of them.
The opportunity, in fact, did not fail me-nay,
it turned up very soon. We arrived at Camerino
at noon; the weather was cloudy, and a few drops
began to fall.
On alighting, the innkeeper advanced towards
me with the most smiling countenance, and wel-
comed me like an old acquaintance. I, who had
never seen him before, stared with some amazement,
and he then said, like a man who has made a mis-
take: "I beg your pardon; I had taken you for
somebody else." And he did not utter another
word, though he waited on me in my room very
obsequiously.
I suppose he had heard of my journey, and
thought I was Heaven knows what grand Orient ;
whence that most respectful reception.
Turning to Antonio, I asked, "When do we start?”
"At three,” he replied.
"All right; mind you are punctual, for I never
make anybody wait."
My diminutive Robespierre also heard the hour
of departure; and lest I should be anxious at not
seeing him at the inn, he thought proper to inform
VENGEANCE APPROACHES.
469
me that he was going to spend the hours of repose
at the Jesuit convent.
I do not envy you, said I to myself, and went
into the house.
Meanwhile the weather had become more and
more threatening, a gale was blowing from every
quarter, and the rain fell in torrents as in a storm.
I had a capital dinner; and before three, Antonio,
who, having to drive us to San Severino that night,
did not care to be late on the road in such weather,
was on the box ready to start as the hour struck.
I sprang into the carriage; and the little gentleman?
The little gentleman did not appear.
I saw that Providence kindly offered to me the
handle of the lash by which I was to chastise the
youngster and teach him manners, and I seized it
with infinite pleasure. Two minutes had hardly
elapsed when I began to fume, and say to Antonio,
"What are we doing? I was ready at the exact
time, and I am not here to await that gentleman's
convenience.”
Antonio looked round, hesitated, and exclaimed,
"But where can he be?" inquiring of everyone
whether he had been seen. I, who knew where he
might be found, preserved a perfidious silence, and
after a while added, "Let us go on slowly; perhaps
we shall meet him.”
470
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Antonio obeyed, and the bells of the little horses
sounded the march. After having descended for a
distance of about a hundred yards along the uneven
streets of the town, Antonio's conscience began to
prick him, and he stopped, scanning every direction
most carefully. Nothing was to be seen.
The wind was rising, and I said, "Antonio mio,
by stopping your horses in the damp like this you
will do them no good, for this morning's sweat is
hardly dried.
Take my advice-it is nearly half-
past three, so much the worse for him who is un-
punctual-drive on, and if he wishes to be at San
Severino this evening, why, horses are not wanting
at Camerino; he may take a trap and join us in a
canter."
I, who knew the Roman vetturini thoroughly, was
well aware I had touched his heart in its weakest
point and in fact it was true; horses already rather
tired, standing in a cold wind, very soon get stiff in
their shoulders.
Antonio was convinced: he cast another glance
backwards for formality's sake, shrugged his shoul-
ders, muttered something between his teeth, and at
last uttered that indescribable guttural sound which,
for carriage-horses, amounts to the military com-
mand, marche; while for my victim it signified a
good ducking, and seven or eight paoli of extra
PUNISHMENT.
471
expense in the budget of his journey to his brilliant
destiny.
The road being nearly all downhill, as it slopes
from the heights of the Apennines towards the Adri-
atic, we flew all the way, and the Ave Maria was
striking when we were safely sheltered under the
roof of the inn at San Severino.
There we found a great confusion caused by the
crowd of passengers attracted by the fair of Loretto,
which was held at that time.
Not feeling inclined for any supper, I relieved
the landlady, who hurried to and fro in distress,
from all thought about me; and as it was too early
to repair to my room, I remained in the kitchen,
talking with everybody, and, taking a lesson from
my usual master-man, studied in all stages, sexes,
and circumstances.
Two hours at least had elapsed; it was quite
dark, and the rain still came pouring down; pre-
sently we heard the noise of a gig on the road pull-
ing up at the door, and the next instant the little
fellow we had left behind burst into the house like
a storm. He first fell upon Antonio, and began to
pour out a string of oaths, no longer in contralto,
but in a decided soprano, so great was his passion.
Antonio, not caring much for him, and knowing he
had a faithful ally in me, replied in capital style;
472
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
so that the little gentleman entered the kitchen in
a fury, and came straight up to me with the look
of a master who has been badly waited on by his
servant. I met him with that peculiar glance which
says to children: "It is high time you should leave
me alone," and answered his lamentations as fol-
lows: "Pray, are you talking to me? Address
yourself to the vetturino." I then turned my back,
and shook him off without another word.
Seeing there was not much to be got out of me,
he again fell upon Antonio; but after much brawl-
ing, all he could do was to remove his portmanteau
from the carriage, renounce our society, and leave
us with a most cordial curse.
Thus, the next morning, I started at daybreak for
Loretto, once more alone, to my intense satisfaction.
The town wore an aspect of festivity on account
of the fair. On visiting the sanctuary and spending
the whole day there, I entered into conversation with
an old coffee-house keeper, and formed an opinion
of the place and its inhabitants, which I am sorry to
say was anything but favourable.
I have constantly observed that the villages or
little towns which possess a sanctuary of high repute,
are as a rule worth very little. On investigating the
causes of this, I was drawn to the following points:
the people accustom themselves to live, not by the
AT LORETTO.
473
earnings of honest labour, but rather prefer to sub-
sist by cheating more or less the innumerable persons
who visit the sanctuary. Then, as a rule, the popu-
lation have little belief in the legend which procures
them a livelihood and causes the prosperity of their
vineyard. Hence they acquire the habit of living by
perpetual hypocrisy, and in a state rather of idle-
ness than labour, waging an incessant war of tricks,
foul-play, or worse, against strangers. Finally, small
places, exposed to a perpetual invasion of the latter,
are always the most corrupt of all.
My coffee-house keeper candidly deplored not so
much the decrease of devotion for the holy house,
as the diminished number of the devotees having a
well-filled pouch under their pilgrim's frocks. In
fact, in the church I saw only peasants, shepherds,
and Neapolitan ciociari; and surely my new friend
had but a poor harvest to reap with them.
Here I parted company with Antonio; and hav-
ing taken a place for Ancona with another vetturino,
I found on stepping into the carriage a stout Fran-
ciscan monk was to be my travelling-companion.
As these monks enjoy the reputation of being
rather liberal—a tradition that has perhaps been kept
up from their founder* till now-I amused myself
*The only explanation I can give of the liberality attributed
to the Franciscans, or Capuchin monks as they were subsequently
474
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
by singing such exaggerated praises of the Pope's
government, that at last his liberalism was aroused,
and he retorted by saying of it all the evil it de-
serves. Diverted by this pastime, I reached Ancona.
While in this city, on coming out of my room
one morning, I found a gendarme standing close
to the door; and as in those days they were still
my political enemies, and I had not yet had an op-
portunity of becoming their comrade as I did in
1848 (and now boast of it), when they behaved so
gallantly at Vicenza* and elsewhere, I anticipated
called, is that their holy founder, St. Francis of Assisi, not only
established the order on the divine principle of giving everything
to the poor, and themselves living by mendicancy, but organised
it on what we should now call constitutional principles. That is
liberal enough; but I find another and more likely reason for
their liberality. In the hermitage near the town of Assisi, to which
St. Francis retired in 1206, "Nel crudo sasso infra Tever ed Arno,”
—and repaired the deserted sanctuary of Santa Maria degli Angioli,
there was a cave for which the saint had a particular predilection.
Here he founded his order; here he died, after receiving such
favours from the Virgin as made him the holy of holies; here he
was visited by the Saviour and his Blessed Mother, who brought
him red and white roses that had bloomed from the rods with
which he scourged himself, and granted such an immunity to the
spot, that if a man had killed all the other men in the world, by
only entering this grotto he would come out as pure as a newly-
baptised infant: "hence this care was soon prodigiously fre-
quented." So I should suppose! and verily, if this be not a
thoroughgoing liberal grant, sufficient to give anybody a renown
for liberalism, what would?
* Among the pontifical troops with whom D'Azeglio fought
CLOSE OF MY TOUR.
475
the unpleasant surprise of a visit from him, and
perhaps of a walk in his society. But the suspicion
proved unfounded; he was keeping watch on some-
one else, and that was all.
From Ancona I continued my tour in the vari-
ous towns of Romagna, with the usual halts, the
usual speeches, the usual facility of persuasion; but
as it is impossible to convince everybody, I was com-
pelled to convince myself that some of the usual rash
'enterprises were in preparation.
Perhaps I succeeded in circumscribing it to a
limited number of obstinate individuals, who one
month after made that revolutionary attempt at Ri-
mini which sent another batch of misguided youths
to suffer uselessly in prison or in exile.*
Having explored all the Romagna, by Terra del
Sole, Rocca San Casciano, and Dicomano, I crossed
the Apennines, and arrived at Florence.
I stayed but a short time in this latter city, and
in Tuscany I met the above-mentioned friend of the
Roman legion-the one who held that the Pied-
montese soldiers should have imitated its judicious
example. And with this fresh impression of the
at Vicenza, there was a body of Roman gendarmes (carabinieri)
whose gallantry rivalled that of their brethren in arms.
*This insurrection furnished the subject of Massimo d'Azeglio's
pamphlet, Gli ultimi Casi di Romagna.
476
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
good sense that dwells in certain Italian brains, I
went to Turin by Genoa.
Here began the ticklish part of the business; for
I had now to bell the cat.
My task was, indeed, not an easy one. Not
having received any commission whatever from the
King to undertake my journey and investigations—
the whole thing, on the contrary, having been done
entirely on my own impulse-whether I should now
be well received by him, or turned out with a good
snubbing, depended solely on the degree of confidence
he might place in me, no less than on whether he
thought it advisable to explain himself or not; and
I had naturally no means of ascertaining all this
beforehand.
I requested an audience, which was at once
granted—a circumstance that seemed to me of good
omen. The time fixed for the interview was, accord-
ing to Charles Albert's custom, six o'clock in the
morning, which at that season meant before day-
break. At the appointed hour, I went to the royal
palace, already in a bustle and lighted up, whilst the
town was still asleep. I entered with a beating heart.
After the lapse of a minute, the equerry-in-waiting
opened the door; he showed me into the room next
to the state chamber, and I found myself in the
presence of Charles Albert, who was standing bolt
KING CHARLES ALBERT.
477
upright near the window, and who, having kindly
bent his head in acknowledgment of my low bow,
pointed to a seat in the recess of the large window.
He bade me sit down, and placed himself opposite.
The King at that time was a perfect mystery;
and however explicit his subsequent conduct may
have been, he will perhaps remain in part a mystery
even for history. At that moment the principal
epochs of his life-the 1821 and the 1832-were cer-
tainly not in his favour. Nobody could understand
what connection there might be in his mind between
the great ideas of Italian independence and the Aus-
trian marriages; between his tendencies to aggran-
dise the house of Savoy while courting the Jesuits,
and surrounding himself with men like Escarena,*
Solaro della Margherita, &c.-between an effete ap-
pearance of piety and asceticism and the grandeur of
thought and firmness of character which such bold
schemes presuppose.
For these reasons no one trusted Charles Albert.
It was a great drawback to a prince in his posi-
tion; by resorting to such miserable tricks to secure
the support of either party, he succeeded in losing
the goodwill of both.
*The extremely anti-liberal minister of the interior, under
the yet more anti-liberal administration of Count Solaro della
Margherita.
478
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Even his appearance had something unfathomable
about it. Very tall, slender, with a long, pale, habi-
tually stern face, when he spoke he was gifted with
a particularly soft expression-a sympathetic voice,
and his language was kind and familiar. He exerted
a real fascination over those he addressed; and I
remember that while he spoke the first sentences, in-
quiring in his own peculiar courteous way about me,
whom he had not seen for some time, I was obliged
to lay great restraint upon myself, and repeat in-
wardly, "Massimo, do not you trust him," in order
to avoid being conquered by the charm of his speech
and manner.
Poor king! he had good and great qualities.
Why did he believe in cunning? While graciously
inquiring into my concerns, he said, "And where
do you now come from?" This was precisely the
cue I required to begin my narrative. I seized it,
and spoke thus (if not reporting the exact words, I
am certainly giving their meaning):
66
Sire, I have been visiting a great portion of
Italy, town by town; and if I have asked admission
to your presence, it is precisely because, if your
majesty allows me, I should like to lay the present
state of Italy before you,-what I have seen and
heard from men of every province and condition with
reference to political questions.'
AN IMPORTANT CONVERSATION.
479
Charles Albert. Pray speak; it will indeed give
me great pleasure.
I. Your majesty knows all the movements, con-
spiracies, and petty insurrections that have taken
place from 1814 till now. You likewise know the
causes that have produced them, the discontent that
fosters them, the want of wisdom by which they are
guided, and the sad consequences flowing from them.
The inefficacy, nay worse, the danger of acts which
only serve to deprive the country of its best men, and
to render foreign influence more harsh, has at last
struck the most reasonable Italians; and there is a
general yearning for a new life and system. Being
at Rome some months since, I have discussed and
meditated at length on the possible remedies for such
J
401
a sad state of things. The Pope is old and infirm
if not before, at his death, some great outbreak will
undoubtedly occur. All Romagna will be in a blaze,
and the result will, as usual, be another Austrian
'occupation, another series of executions and banish-
ments, a new exacerbation of the numberless miseries.
by which we are oppressed. It is therefore urgent
to find a remedy.
And here I expatiated at length on the disgust
which intelligent and honest people felt at the Maz-
zinian blunders and rascality; on the proposal that
had been made to me to set to work somehow, and
480
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
endeavour to impart a better direction to the acts of
the people; on my journey; on the excellent dis-
position of the public mind, as I had found it, with
a few exceptions; and continued thus :
66
Sire, I never belonged to a secret society; I
never have been mixed up with plots and conspi-
racies; but having spent my childhood and youth
in constantly wandering throughout Italy, everyone
knows me, and being aware I am no spy, no one
mistrusts me, I have always been as well-informed
of everything as any member of the fraternity.
Even now they tell me everything; and I believe
I may affirm, without fear of making a misstate-
ment, that the majority recognise the folly of what
has taken place hitherto, and wish to follow a new
path. Everyone is persuaded that nothing can be
done without strength, which Piedmont alone pos-
sesses in Italy; and that, nevertheless, not even this
can be depended upon so long as Europe continues
tranquil in its present state. These are wise ideas,
and give evidence of a real progress in political judg-
ment. Your majesty will ask, 'How long will they
last?' And I must own that on this score nothing
is certain. I believe I may at present boast of exer-
cising great influence over the leading men of those
provinces. I succeeded in persuading most of them;
but the movement at Rimini, which burst out a fort-
CAUSES OF REVOLUTION.
481
night after I left Romagna, is a proof that they were
not all convinced; or the chiefs alone were so, and
not the men under their orders. In a hierarchy of
that sort, where discipline cannot be compelled, and
everything depends on trust, obedience is always a
matter of chance. Then passions and interests of
various kinds intervene, which sometimes determine
movements not generally approved; and finally, the
heavy burdens weighing on those populations may
likewise be taken into consideration. Where tyranny,
violence, corruption, treachery, suspicion pervade
the higher spheres, it is natural that opposition of
a similar nature should come from below. Where
a general moral and physical oppression prevails,
without any means of obtaining redress, it is im-
possible to foresee how far, or for how long, pru-
dence and reason may bridle despair and indigna-
tion. Those who suffer are the sole judges of the
great question of the possibility of endurance. Men
are so constituted; and a wise and provident policy
must be based on the logic of facts, and accept
them, if it would not be misled. With the view,
therefore, of opposing the breastwork of a new idea
to the violence arising from despair, I made my
tour, and spoke as I have said; and notwithstand-
ing the outbreak at Rimini, I think I attained some
good results. It is now for your majesty to tell
VOL. II.
II
482
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
me whether you approve or not of what I have done
and said."
I paused, waiting for an answer, which the
King's countenance augured would not be harsh ;
but, in essential points, I imagined it would be a
case of ibis,.redibis, that is, leave me as wise as
I was before. On the contrary, Charles Albert,
without the slightest hesitation or attempting to
avoid my gaze, nay, looking me well in the face, said
calmly, but resolutely:
"Tell those gentlemen to remain quiet and avoid
a rising, as nothing can be done at present; but let
them be certain that when the time comes, my life,
the lives of my sons, my sword, my exchequer, my army,
shall all be expended for the Italian cause."
I, who expected something quite different, re-
mained speechless, and almost thought I had failed
to understand. I soon mastered myself, however ;
but most likely my impression of surprise did not
escape the King.
The idea which he had so firmly expressed, and
above all, the words "tell those gentlemen," had so
completely upset me, that I still felt as though in a
dream.
Meanwhile it was most important for me to de-
fine the question clearly; for then, as always, I was
of opinion that honesty is the best policy, and that
DO NOT TRUST !
483
equivocal positions, or surprises especially, never pro-
duce anything but harm.
Therefore, while thanking him, without disguis-
ing my emotion and enchantment (which I really
felt) at his frankness, I took care to introduce his
very words into my reply, saying, "I shall, then, tell
those gentlemen." He nodded affirmatively, to show
I had rightly understood him, and then dismissed
me. As we both rose from our seats, he laid his
hands on my shoulders, and touched my cheek with
his, first on one side, then on the other.
This embrace, however, had something so studied,
cold, and I might almost say funereal, that it chilled
me; and the internal voice, the terrible do not trust,
rose once more in my heart: terrible punishment of
all systematic schemers-to be suspected even when
speaking the truth!
And he had so spoken, poor prince! Facts have
attested it. For instance, who could have foreseen,
as we sat in the recess of that large window, upon
those two gilt seats of green-silk embroidered with a
large white pattern (I shudder whenever I see them)
which are in the said room, that when he offered
his sword, his exchequer, and his life to the Italians
through me, I was unjust in not being instantly and
profoundly persuaded? Who would have said that
the great opportunity, so far from every human
484
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
speculation in 1845, and which neither of us could
hope ever to witness, had been decreed by Provi-
dence to take place in three years? And that in the
national struggle, then deemed such an impossibility,
he was fated to lose his crown, his native land,
finally his life; and that to me, as prime minister of
his son, was reserved the sad duty of attending his
burial, and personally authenticating its registry in
the royal tomb of Superga!
Poor human nature, which believes it possesses
the key to unlock the events of futurity!
As may be imagined, I left the palace, my heart
full of an agitation over which a great and splendid
hope fluttered with outspread wings.
I went back to my little room on the top-floor of
the hotel Trombetta, and immediately sat down to
write to the correspondent whose business it was to
communicate the answer to all the others.
Before leaving them, I had invented a cipher on
a principle totally different from those in common
use. It is a very safe one, and in my opinion may
completely defy detection, but it is extremely trouble-
some to write my message was, therefore, not quickly
composed. It conveyed the precise tenor of Charles
Albert's answer; but to observe the most scrupulous
accuracy, and avoid the risk of asserting as a cer-
tainty what might only be the result of my own im-
GOD SEES THE HEART.
485
pression, I concluded thus: "These are the words:
God alone sees the heart.”
I never would, as the proverb says, "sell a pig
in a poke;" for I always held it to be a sacred duty,
when men are being led on to stake their fortunes,
liberties, lives, and family peace-in a word, perhaps
their whole existence-to let them know and see as
clearly as possible what they are doing, and why
they do it. I have never had occasion to regret
following this system; and I fervently recommend
it to everyone in this unhappy Italy, tempted by
such infinite seductions, where a great many act on
quite a different principle, and expose others to all
risks, after blinding them by dint of illusions and
lies.
I shall now mention a fact, which, on reflection,
seems to me beyond all doubt, but respecting which
I nevertheless at times feel somewhat uncertain.
I think the King said to me in the course of
conversation, "It would now be advisable to write
something;" and I answered, "I had already thought
of it," which was true.
My doubt is whether the initiative was his or
mine; and in the first hypothesis, whether he said
so himself, or sent me a message to that effect.
I had been ruminating over a scheme connected
with a plan to be carried out on as large a scale as
486
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
•
possible all over Italy; a sort of conspiracy in broad
daylight, without concealment or disguise, or any
precautions to avoid the dangers, of whatever nature,
arising either from the police or secret societies.
This was my scheme, and that of Balbo too; and
I am not even able to say which of us first devised
the plan. In substance it was as follows:
No revolution; we had already had too many.
No war; because we had neither means nor strength
(this was in 1845, observe). Therefore to prepare
for battle on that field in which every individual
must possess a certain force, provided he be not an
idiot, and is willing to risk his life, the field of
opinion and publicity.
Besides his many other qualities, Balbo possessed
great spontaneity of feeling and sincerity of expres-
sion, without a shadow of that reserved circumspec-
tion and calculating coldness so common among us
Piedmontese. As I too was by nature opposed to
all selfish caution, and inclined to call a spade a
spade, our mutual sympathy went on increasing;
and when, after my long absence, I returned more
frequently to Turin, our friendship grew closer
every day. He certainly was apt to fly into a pas-
sion, and we sometimes had violent scenes
but I was so much attached to him. And then he
never bore the slightest malice, and was without the
TWO INSEPARABLE FRIENDS.
487
shadow of a low or ignoble feeling. In short, I had
no more intimate friend, and we could not live with-
out each other. Besides this, from the greatest down
to the most trifling things, he possessed a thorough
sense of moral as well as material beauty; his taste
in art and literature was so exquisite-he felt such
genuine enthusiasm for every noble and generous
idea, for every courageous and honourable action.
Poor Cesare! the world does not contain his equal;
and I shall never see his like again.
So we continually discussed this new direction to
be imparted to the work of our regeneration, and
talked it over every day for hours together.
He lived at his villa, where I was also staying,
on the banks of the Po,* opposite the Valentino Cas-
tle. What happy days those were! one felt some-
thing in the air like an omen of better times, full
of hope and undefined forebodings, which our hearts
felt as certainties. The Italian cause, agitated and
worn threadbare amid adversity, seemed blooming
and animated by a new life; it possessed the in-
genuousness, the charm, the rich promises of youth,
announcing a vigorous and healthy manhood.
The questions of the form of government, the ex-
clusiveness of secret societies, did not seem to interest
anyone, and everything disappeared or was silenced
*Just outside the suburbs of Turin.
3
488
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
in presence of the other idea-a general redemption
of the peoples of the Peninsula from the yoke of the
foreigner.
Balbo's porro unum est necessarium* was not yet
written, but its spirit already flamed up in every
heart.
Our conversations turned chiefly on the necessity
of preparing men's minds and characters in Italy
(and this is the key-stone of the arch, and till this
principle is acted upon, the results will be very
* A biblical sentence (St. Luke xx.) chosen by Balbo as the
epigraph of his famous book, Le Speranze d'Italia, published in
Paris in the year 1844. "Porro unum est necessarium" comprised
the whole essence of the work in four words. Piedmont had
given three men to Italy: Vincenzo Gioberti, Cesare Balbo, Mas-
simo d'Azeglio. They wrote three books: Il Primato, Le Spe-
ranze, I Cusi di Romagna. These publications may be said to
have marked the stages of the movement that ensued shortly
after. The author of the Primato pointed out what Italy ought
to be. Balbo placed before the Italians their hopes, and the
way of attaining them. By the narrative of the late abortive
Mazzinian attempt in Romagna, D'Azeglio showed the danger
and utter futility of such rash republican outbreaks, and the
necessity of abandoning the path followed heretofore for a more
practical policy. Balbo was the first to give a tangible shape to
the aspirations of Italy, to point out the decline of Austria, and
the certainty of success, provided the means resorted to were
honest, and the Italians closely united and resolved. This alone
may give an idea of the profound impression created by the book
at a moment when every symptom indicating the approach of
a new era was hailed with joy from one end of Italy to the other
by populations still fettered, but yearning for a speedy oppor-
tunity of breaking their bonds.
A BOOK.
489
small) before proceeding to deeds; on the power
and influence public conspiracy was likely to have
in helping forward such an end; and history fur-
nished many examples of the excellent effects ob-
tained by open and persevering protests of the weak
against the strong. Therefore, after much discussion,
we resolved to set to work.
First of all it was necessary to write a book.
The object of the book was already predeter-
mined, but its subject was yet to be found, or rather
its opportunity and pretext. It struck me I might
write on the late insurrection at Rimini, and placing
myself between the two parties, tell both the truth
without disguise. Balbo approved the idea, and I
set to work.
As this step, however, implied an absolute change
in the strategy of the Liberal party, I would not
take it without-I will not say asking leave of, but
at least not without giving notice to the friends
with whom I had been in communication for the
last six months. I wrote to the one with whom I
corresponded.
A few days after, a general cry of disapproba-
tion was raised against me. It was said that I
should be banished and exiled; that I should tie
my own hands, and make myself useless and im-
potent for any further action.
490
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
ν
To me it seemed, on the contrary, that it was
just at that very moment I found myself useless,
impotent, and my hands tied; whereas if there was
any way of exposing myself with some chance of
success, now was the time. Balbo also persisted; so
I wrote again, saying: "It is of no use. I am re-
solved to carry out my idea; and you will see that,
instead of being destroyed, I shall find myself with
increased strength." I asked for all the information
I could possibly procure about the movement of Ri-
mini; and after a couple of months I received a large
bundle of manuscript, in which the whole move-
ment was related-I know not by whom. I used
it as the groundwork of my pamphlet.
Unfortu-
nately this narrative was not very exact; so that my
publication, as far as it is a history of facts (I mean
solely those concerning the insurrection at Rimini ;
not the more general ones connected with the whole
of the Papal states and the rest of Italy), is, as I sub-
sequently discovered, also inexact. But as its most
important part lay in the reflections, in the truths
impartially addressed to both parties, and especially
in the publication of my name, I being present and
responsible, this fault did no harm.
My pamphlet, which I called Gli ultimi Casi di
Romagna, was ready in little more than a month.
I wanted to hear the opinion of my most intimate
WHERE SHALL I PUBLISH IT?
491
friends; so I asked them to meet one night at Bal-
bo's house. Lisio, Luigi Provana, and Sauli came.
Cesare of course was present; and I do not recol-
lect any others. I read my work; some alterations
were suggested, to which I assented; and on the
whole my censors gave me their approbation.
Now arose the question of where to print it. For
us the best place would have been Turin, because,
as the government by allowing it must virtually
have accepted its principles, the political position of
Charles Albert would have been clearly defined.
Whether the King would have done well to take
this step decisively or not, might be open to dis-
cussion. The fact is, that such plain resolutions.
were not in his nature. At all events I took my
work to Promis, that he might examine it, and
awaited his verdict, to see if I could be allowed to
print it in Piedmont.
*
To fill up the eight or ten days that were to
elapse before he delivered judgment, I resolved on
going to Milan to look after my private affairs. It
was necessary to arrange them so that they should
require no farther care for many years; as, after the
publication of the Casi di Rimini, I well knew I
should have to renounce my home at Milan.
* The Chevalier Domenico Promis, principal librarian to the
King of Italy, was then a member of the censorship.
492
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
Having settled everything to the best of my
ability, I returned to Turin. I called at once on
Promis, who handed me my manuscript with a smile,
and a no which admitted of no reply. I was fully
prepared for it; so I laughed in my turn, and said,
"I shall knock elsewhere," pocketed my Ms., and
went home to prepare my portmanteau and go to
the great refugium peccatorum of those days-known
by the name of Tuscany.
That dear country presented a phenomenon of
which I have never found the real explanation.
Tuscany lived under a law not written in any
code, devoid of all apparent power, yet as much
respected and obeyed as the British constitution ;
and it might truly have been called Tuscany's Magna
Charta. The grand duke bowed to its authority,
whether he would or not; and if he showed signs
of disobedience, he was absolutely deserted, and
found himself alone. No official formula of this
law existed; but it was felt and followed without
being embodied in words. If I had to do so, I should
employ these three: "Let it be."
Its applications in private and official spheres were
perpetual, endless. If a youngster was a rake; if
a girl had an intrigue; if a wife flirted; after a
little fuss pro forma, let it be. If a family ruined
itself; if tenants and land-agents robbed; there was
THE TUSCAN REFUGIUM.
493
an outcry for a moment then, let it be. If the
police issued a decree, and no one paid attention to
it, there was a display of rigour for four-and-twenty
hours, and then-let it be. If a person was consi-
dered dangerous, without, however, having his con-
science loaded with any very great sin (I, who really
had that misfortune, was at last turned out), he was
banished, it is true; but if he did not stir, or came
back to Florence after a little while, they said
let it be; and so on. This comes, it will be said,
of the softness of the Tuscan character. Very likely.
But they were far from possessing such softness three
centuries ago; and there was, on the contrary, some-
thing very manly in the character of the Tuscans.
A proof is afforded by the last siege in 1530.
I Casi di Romagna was finally printed in Tuscany.
It is not for me to speak of the effect produced by
that pamphlet. Not daring to return to Milan, which
would have been an untimely piece of audacity, I
resolved to spend my days between Florence, Genoa,
and Turin.
CONCLUSION.
UNFORTUNATELY Massimo d'Azeglio's Memoirs were
here interrupted by his premature death. To the last
his heart beat for the country he had loved so well,
and but a few months before an inexorable fatality
removed him, he wrote a pamphlet on the Italian
general elections, in which the truth was brought
home to every elector with that honesty, patriotism,
and disdain of popularity, which no one else so tho-
roughly possessed.
His son-in-law, Marquis Ricci, published a short
biographical sketch of the latter years of his wife's
illustrious father, of which we omit the first portion,
as, for the convenience of the reader, this translation
of D'Azeglio's Memoirs is preceded by a notice of
his political career. Here, however, I cannot do
better than resign the pen to Marquis Ricci, who,
having been present, can relate D'Azeglio's end in
all its touching simplicity.
On the evening of the 2d of December 1865,
while still at his favourite villa on the Lago Mag-
giore, Azeglio was attacked by fever; and I learnt
D'AZEGLIO'S LAST DAYS.
495
afterwards that he had written, with great eager-
ness, that very day, several pages (they were the
last) of these Recollections. He read them to a per-
son who was staying with him, and as he finished,
exclaimed, smiling: "I am satisfied. To-day I can
say my day's wage was well earned." Before long
he thought himself much better, and fit to return to
Turin, where, in fact, he arrived on the evening of
the 9th of December. But during the journey he
had been seized with a very painful sense of oppres-
sion, and he would not have been able to ascend the
staircase of his house without the support of two ser-
vants. The acute stage of his malady was soon over-
come. The chronic affection of the lungs, however,
which had long been undermining poor D'Azeglio's
existence, not only remained, but had now assumed
the most dangerous proportions.
Up to the 5th or 6th of January 1866, the doc-
tors entertained hopes of saving that precious life;
but in those days such a change showed itself in the
invalid as precluded all hope whatsoever. Azeglio
throughout his malady was constantly resigned, tran-
quil, cheerful, affectionately anxious (without scenes
or lamentations) about the friends from whom he was
so shortly to part. He foresaw his end more clearly
than those who surrounded him; nay more, he mus-
tered courage to speak to the last with his usual
496
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
wit and grace. I myself, on the evening of the 13th
of January, introduced into the sick-room H.R.H.
Prince Carignano, who had always proclaimed his
peculiar esteem and friendship for D'Azeglio. After
the first few words, the prince turned away to con-
ceal the tears that filled his eyes. Azeglio did not
weep, but, summoning the remnant of strength still
left to him, he said, in vibrating accents, though
with deep emotion, "I thank you for your visit.
Remember that I have been one of the most devoted
and most affectionate servants of the house of Sa-
voy." After the visit of the prince, and the much-
sighed-for arrival from London of his nephew Mar-
quis d'Azeglio, he resumed a calmness uninterrupted
till the last moment, which was at 5 A.M. on the
15th of January 1866. The Marquis Carlo Stefa-
nani of Rome, who had never ceased to attend him
with more than brotherly affection night and day,
chanced to be at that minute alone by the side of
his dying friend, and thus received his last breath.
Four or five days previously D'Azeglio had settled
all his spiritual concerns, assisted by a learned and,
wise Milanese ecclesiastic with whom he had been
intimate for years. To the things of this world he
no longer needed to give a thought, having with
great care amply provided for everything by a will
which omitted no one. The readers of these Re-
HIS POLITICAL WILL.
497
Recollections must have already seen that Azeglio was
very fond of making and re-making his will, when-
ever he thought the occurrence of a new incident
(especially in the domestic circle) required it. In
fact, several draughts were found among his papers.
But there is one, written entirely in his own hand,
and dated Turin, July 2, 1857, which is particularly
important; for, after the usual formula disposing of
his property, he begins a solemn declaration, followed
by the most serious advice to his fellow-citizens. I
do not think I can better complete my short bio-
graphical notice than by inserting this religious and
political testament of Azeglio; and I hope the Italian
public will read it with gratitude.
66
Having thus settled all matters concerning the
interests of those to whom I am bound by ties of
duty or affection, I will not end this my will, which
may be the last, without adding a few words of fare-
well, remembrance and prayer.
"First of all, I pray my Lord God to receive
my immortal soul, to grant it forgiveness, and lead
it to the place for which it was created and retained
on earth. He knoweth that I prayed to Him every
day of my life with true sincerity of heart; that I
always firmly believed that to love justice, truth,
and self-sacrifice, was the best means of worshipping
VOL. II.
KK
498
MY RECOLLECTIONS.
1
and serving Him. If I have not practised this faith
as would have been my duty, I crave His pardon
and trust in His clemency.
"I implore Him on behalf of this our unhappy
native land, which I have loved so much, that He
may grant her to win her freedom and independ-
ence.
"I remind the Italians that such is their right;
and feel sure that, though I may be deemed unworthy
of beholding the holy and blessed day of their com-
plete independence, that day will infallibly dawn.
May they who are then alive not forget those who
helped to prepare the way. I hope they will also
remember me amongst them; for if I knew not how,
or was unable to excel in the great task, none, God
knows, exceeded me in earnestness of will.
"Howbeit I remind the Italians that the inde-
pendence of nations is a consequence of the inde-
pendence of individual character. He who is the
slave of municipal passions or of secret societies must
not complain if he is under a foreign yoke.
"The day of concord and the sacrifice of every
rivalry, hatred, and personal interest, will be the
forerunner of that of independence.
"I thank the numerous friends I have found all
over Italy and abroad, for the comfort they afforded
me by their constant and genuine affection, which
LAST WORDS.
499
facilitated and smoothed the path of my life on so
many occasions.
"I have never hated anyone, nor, as far as I
know, did I ever seriously intend giving offence
to any person whatsoever. If I have unconsciously
been guilty in this respect, I trust and beg that I
may be forgiven; and if, on the other hand, there
is anyone who thinks he requires my pardon, let
him be sure that I fully and completely grant it.
May God thus have mercy upon us all!
"May my memory abide in the hearts of honest
men and true Italians!-and this will be the greatest
honour that can possibly be paid to it, or that I can
ever imagine.
"MASSIMO D'AZEGLIO."
THE END.
LONDON:
ROBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS,
PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.