Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub

satisfy its aspirations; all the earth's wisdom is too shallow when that higher wisdom is denied to it for which its very nature thirsts. It is again at night that Godfrid's soul reveals its disquietude, rendered more earnest now by the keen dis. appointment that has seared his life.

[ocr errors]

O night upon the waters! In the hush

Of all except our hearts. . .

We pray the Invisible to let us rush

Into its arms and tear away the shroud

That balks our sense, or likewise hide the veil.
Then comes the dawn and all again is pale.

Why these brief interviews with things supernal,
Which vex the flesh, then leave it just as carnal ;
Dissatisfy our souls for the diurnal

Foul irksome tasks within their earthly charnel?
Hear we the music of a real Eternal,

Or nothing but the fancy-wafted far knell,

Such as tossed mariners conceive they hear

When seas and skies grow treacherously clear?

O, give us spirits' wings, or kindly leave

Us clay alone! Or pinions, or repose!

More light more light! we cry, and sob, and grieve;
More light! more light! and still it dimmer grows!

When some months have passed he returns to the "little city by the sea." But Olympia is there no longer. She has gone to become a Sister of Charity, and "Christ hath got her virgin vow." Godfrid hastens to Milan, trusting to see her friend of the cathedral, but the old man is dead, and he returns to Florence, "seeing sadly life and death conspired against him." So Madonna's child is lost to sight. We have said there are many Olives in the world. There are many Olympias too, without Olympia's romance, clinging to Mary's robe through the cares and the routine of every-day life, and unconsciously manifesting to unbelievers their mother's glory and the beauty of holiness. There is never a time when all that we admire in the mountain maiden of Spiaggiascura cannot be found in those from whose young hearts false teaching has not shut out the love of Mary. God multiply these children of hers, whether they spend their days tending the cloistral lamp in charity and contemplation, or with spotless life drift on from maidenhood into motherhood, freighted with the hopes of the Church!

At the close of this second act we see again Olive and Sir Gilbert. The secret of the shadow that lay on her life and came between them is discovered, and the husband, whom

Godfrid in the hour of sickness has brought back from the gates of death, only recovers to withdraw mute into "hollow woe"; while the unhappy wife dies silent and heart-broken. The manner in which this part of the story is told differs essentially from the corresponding passage in the first edition of this act, which, called the "Human Tragedy," was published by itself in 1862. The story, as it appears now, is a vast improvement on the other. The style of the versification has been changed throughout, and the serious tone, the excisions, and additions are the evidence of a now mature mind, which can weigh wisely its own work. It is, above all, for the changes in the latter part that we are grateful to the author. Speaking not of the versification but of the incidents of the tale, as it stood, it was not worthy of being transferred to its place in the complete work, but now the refinement which remoulded the whole story is especially shown in the skilful contrivance and delicate treatment of this part.

We pass on to the next Act. It appeared in 1870 as Rome or Death! and now with some wise alterations forms the third Act of the tragedy. The mustering of the Garibaldians is described in the language of an ardent sympathizer with the cause. In the preface published at its first appearance, the author affirms (what the verse itself, without his statement, would have led us to believe) that he writes of war not at second hand, but as one who has followed it with his own steps." He goes on to say, "I trust no one will suppose that my love for Italy is either prompted or accompanied by any vulgar hatred of the Church of Rome, or that I have intended, by a single line or word in the following pages, to inflame religious prejudice and rancour against a Creed for which, as having satisfied the acutest intellects, inspired the noblest actions, and been illustrated by the most perfect piety, I entertain a profound respect." We readily grant the sincerity of these words, and therefore there is all the more reason to regret the covert insults offered to the Church, most of all in the beginning of the fourth canto, where he strikes that stumbling-block to the blind or prejudiced, the Temporal Power. In the third act, with which we have for the present to deal, Garibaldi and his followers take to themselves so much of the author's admiration that it is no wonder there is no esteem left for the Church of Rome. The red-shirted adventurer is here the presiding genius. The point of view is at his side. We see a great deal of the courage and enterprise that made him notorious, and we are expected to close our eyes to the fact-now widely and unmistakably knownthat mere daring and unscrupulous persistence would have

been worth very little to him, had he not been supported at every turn by the secret help and sympathy of a treacherous and hypocritical state. We have now the actual telegrams of the Minister of the Interior, which were read in the Chamber at Florence by the Opposition in the following year, and which show that in 1867 the Government gave arms, recruits, and organization to the Garibaldians. The aid of Italy is even to be inferred from Mr. Austin's own confession, that after the storming of Monte Rotondo the Garibaldians sent their prisoners across the frontier. This in itself is conclusive proof. If, during the present insurrection, the insurgents in the Herzegovina were to send their Turkish prisoners across the Austrian frontier, would not all Europe take it as a proof that Austria was promoting the insurrection?

According to the poetic narrative, the Italian people rush to arms, and flow like an irresistible tide towards Rome; and in the Roman States the oppressed and discontented inhabi tants are only waiting for the coming of the insurgents to rise with them in arms. We shall now give two extracts, which will show in plain prose what the condition and spirit of the people were at the time. When the Garibaldians were advancing upon the Pontifical territory a correspondent of the Standard wrote the following remarks from Rome:

Although there is not a chance of any revolt being brought about by the Romans themselves, there is no saying what may be done by the numberless foreign agents who are pouring in under cover of affairs of various kinds, and whose evident resolve is to force an insurrection at any cost. If the news reaches you some morning that the barricades are raised in the streets of Rome, be sure beforehand that no Roman hand will have added a barrowful of earth. The disposition of the people is clear. They are contented with their rulers and with their lot; and though there are grumblers here, as everywhere, there is no misery, no real discontent; abundance of work, high wages, and general prosperity. The Romans occupy at the present moment a precisely similar position to the immortal knife-grinder; and while foreigners are trying to persuade them that they are slaves, and victims, and hereditary bondsmen, they seem little inclined to strike the blow that would give the inevitable signal for an Italian intervention.

On October 17th, a few days later than the date of this letter, the Moniteur published a Reuter's telegram, which ran thus:

:

In several towns in the provinces of Viterbo and Frosinone the inhabitants are calling for arms to aid the gendarmes in repelling the insurgent bands. . . . Throughout the whole extent of the Pontifical States the population not only remains calm, but is pronouncing more and more strongly against the invaders.

Much more evidence to the same effect might be given, but this is sufficient to show that there is another aspect of the question beside that which we find so highly coloured in Rome or Death!

Sir Gilbert and Godfrid are now in the ranks of the Garibaldians. The storming of Monte Rotondo is a scene after Mr. Austin's own heart. We hear of the bravery of the besiegers fighting against men under cover, until we are tempted to think the Papalini in their fortified stronghold were taking a mean advantage over the valiant assailants. But, when we come to Mentana, it is amusing to see how quickly the tables are turned. The heroic chieftain has then an excellent position for his troops, and it is grand to watch him hiding them in the vineyards, and getting them out of sight in the wooded country. We are not told how the Zouaves, charging up the ravine between those wooded heights, pressed on despite a deadly fire from either side; but the inspiration of the poet at the moment may not have permitted him to mention such a trifling incident. Again, to return to Monte Rotondo, we are reminded that "no Vulcan's limping thunderbolts delayed" them "with cumbrous help." They had "no ponderous bolts of dead destruction." Nor had the defenders. When the place was taken, only two old cannon were captured, and these were not on the walls but in a courtyard within. So far the absence of shot and shell was not a one-sided disadvantage. When the repeated charge has been baffled and night comes on, there is an unconscious air of keen relish about the description of the burning of the gates. The kegs of pitch, the straw, and faggots are paraded before us in the pleasantest manner possible, until the long details of this clever little coup de guerre bring to our mind the manner in which a Frenchman of delicate palate is said to turn his sip of absinthe round and round in his mouth before he swallows it. At last the Garibaldians force an entrance. The "routed hirelings" are dislodged from their "central lair"; that is in prose and fact the Palace of the Prince of Piombino which the "hirelings," a mere handful, defended gallantly story by story, till the building was set on fire. They are here termed "the cowering foe," a name which cannot stand for a moment against the recollection of their desperate resistance. The epithet, "hirelings," is equally unmerited. It is unworthy of a free-minded writer who, doubtless, would not be classed for a moment with those who raised a vulgar and feeble outcry of contempt against men of acknowledged valour and stainless honour, merely because they were soldiers of the Pope. The defenders of Monte

[ocr errors]

Rotondo were two companies of the Légion d'Antibes. As for the Zouaves, to whom from various quarters we have before now heard the words "hireling" and "mercenary applied, they served for something like twopence a day and a ration of bread, soup, and coffee. Hundreds of these men had left luxurious homes, more still had given up the work by which they were earning their daily bread in comfort, because their religion impelled them to serve God, His Church, and His Vicar, "not in word and in tongue, but in deed and in truth." Yet there are writers who talk of freedom of conscience, and believe in generosity and selfsacrifice, and after all stigmatize such men as these by the name of hirelings. If it be applied to the Papal army because its ranks were made up of French, Swiss, Canadian, Irish, English, Dutch, Flemish-men of every country where faith flourishes, the term is still less appropriate. Is not Rome the city of all nations? The representative of Jesus Christ is the Father of all the multitude of the redeemed wherever they are spread throughout the world, and those will be ever found the best patriots at home, whom the most patriotic of all impulses brought in the hour of danger to Pius IX. and to the universal patria-Rome. The French Zouaves proved it on the Loire.

According to Mr. Austin, the people of Monte Rotondo were hearty sympathizers with the Garibaldians. Thus he describes their entrance :

And still as they advanced, from thresholds freed
Came forth the exultant populace, and blessed

The arms that brought salvation to its need.

Their blackened hands the trembling grandsire pressed;
The tearful matron brought the welcome meed

Of mother's kiss; the soft-eyed maid caressed ;
Whose brothers swelled their ranks.

We have now to contrast with this a few words of un

poetical fact, showing that, whatever were the feelings of the "exultant populace when the Garibaldians entered, they were remarkably glad to see them going out. There is something unaccountable in the change. The only explanation is that there exists such a thing as poetic licence. Our extract is from the correspondence of one of the leading London daily papers at the time. "The inhabitants of Monte Rotondo hailed the arrival of General Kanzler as that of a deliverer. They had been pillaged by the Garibaldians in every way, and the insults to the women of the city had more especially

« ÎnapoiContinuă »