Part 3

The young men, nettled by a noble scorn, Called _me_ Professor--not the other man; And I at home opened a private class, Where I was trainer of some vivid minds: And, if I thither could return one day, How many a pupil should I see around! Ah fervid youth, liege to the beautiful, Who so did sorrow for mine adverse fate, Durso, Malpica, Curci, Caccavon,[25] And others to whose names my bosom beats, In you I glory; and you, choice grateful souls, Glory that I your master was erewhile. The army, by the royal ordinance, Saw heroes now supplanted by poltroons; From the tribunals upright judges banned, And greedy vultures were installed on them; And, what is worse, the Kingdom’s treasury By vultures in like manner was devoured. Likewise a matter so terrific happed As to fill all the Kingdom with dismay. Wicked Canosa, back from Sicily,[26] Invested as the Minister of Police, Conceived a project truculent and vile, Enough for Satan’s self to shudder at. This monster stands by various writers drawn, And I can be excused from limning him: Yet, always by the King’s approval graced, The man’s foul shame reflected on the King. In every crime he out-did every wretch, And now he laboured to out-do himself. He, pondering an atrocious butchery Which for whole weeks he set to ruminate, Filled with the loathliest scum the capital, Offscouring of the gibbets and the hulks; And at a signal these men were to pounce On any whom they saw unlike their crew. That felon was a new Friar Alberic.[27] Oh the hard fate and outrage of our time! The Austrian General fathomed this intrigue, And forced the King to turn the monster out; Inept Italian princes were and are The Austrian Sultan’s underling Bashaws. Escaped from this portentous massacre, We all denounced it with stentorian lungs. And what a sort of crime must that have been Which very Austria spurned!--and truth it is. ’Twas even said the King----But this I scout.

While from the foulness of despotic power Such nauseous effluvia were diffused, A patriotic flame wound everywhere, And a Vesuvius all the Kingdom seemed; And from the augmented crackling underground At last erupted many external peals. Like gushing blood from several arteries Toward the treasury all the money flowed; And with our straits our hardihood increased, So that the government was undermined; Already many free-souled squadrons thrilled, Like winds unloosed to agitate the main. The Carbonari, an unvanquished sect,[28] A vast re-union of audacious souls, Spread with a progress irresistible, As in a wood by winds a tameless fire: Opening I saw a gulf without confine, And on the shelving marge the governors slept. The politicians’ atrabilious brains Called that great movement faction--shame be theirs! For, being Carbonari almost all, The movement may be termed the Kingdom’s own.

The King, who did us wrong with insolence, Might have avoided it, had he been wise. Insensate! His commands are ridiculed Amid the increasing cries which stun the realm. Besides, the Vardarelli slain by fraud,[29] Slain Capobianco,[30] all men recollect. And what the outcome of the treacheries? “Freedom” was sounded, “Freedom” everywhere. Not that which, ever hungering for blood, Like to a Fury rioted in France; But sacred Freedom, of angelic form, Who tells the king “Be just,” and harms him not; Who at the shrine of the metropolis Soon saw the nation prostrated around. O Freedom, girdled by the Italian light, Never did man kneel unto thee so fair: In vain Vandalic outrage hurled thee down, For still in thousand hearts thou bear’st the sway. I for six lustres vow to thee my life, And, thine apostle, thee announce and preach. Thou shalt return, return--no frenzy this!

Our century has seen no brighter year, That year beheld not a more radiant day, Than that when the symbolic furnaces Diffused around the burning and the flash: Those vivid flashes and those fiery heats Spread light on minds and flame upon the heart. And now a lofty hope bestows on all Blest harmony which universal seems, Because that flame and light can permeate Through every member of the social frame. And one could hear a new alliance preached Of two great forces in a single sway: Popular liberty and kingly power Conjoined in amity by a lasting link; Each one in this serves to ennoble each,-- Itself the nation honours in the king.[31] Of such mixed government, which Europe seems To tend to by an impulse from on high, England possesses much that’s genuine, But France has only seen its counterfeit.[32]

At that time, to the sound of thousand cheers, Spain made it simpler, giving it the throne. With friendly breeze from that re-fashioned scheme Nations felt joy and princes troublousness; And Naples, from of old the liege of Spain, Revelled in rapture inexpressible: In launching flames on this side and on that More than volcano seemed the fiery forge. That selfsame ardour all through Italy Hurled curses on the shameful Austrian yoke, When the year twenty, past its midway course, Felt all the parching of the Syrian Dog: That heat still swelled the Carbonaro heat,-- The Ausonian Genius blew his trumpet-call.

And to those memorable clangours soon More than one note replied with sound of joy. Silvati and Morelli, noble souls,[33] Hoisted aloft the Italian battle-flag; And Minichini,[34] of the Nolan church, Joining them, sanctified the enterprise. From Nola’s city on to Monteforte The band of heroes goes determinate: Their Country guides them, and Humanity, And twixt these Freedom who salutes the two. With vast applause the kingdom echoes round: Only the palace in dismay is dumb. Terror and rage distract it hour by hour: Yet troops are sent--but only raise a laugh; For squadron after squadron joins with those So as to number a resistless host: Despotic sway now comes to such a pass As to appear a corpse mouldering in worms.

O Monteforte, oh the glorious slope O’er which shone forth the star of liberty! Like Sinai and Horeb thou’lt be famed, For on thee the new age was brought to birth.[35]

That hour supreme is present to my soul, Whereby I live again in youthful prime. Naples is wavering between hope and fear, But outside of her walls ’tis only hope. She for the towns and cities joyously Assembles troops and arms, and sends them on. Guglielmo Pepe--and our fear is sped-- Mounts to be captain of the daring hosts. Hero, all hail! History shall celebrate, Not thy good fortune, but thy just renown. And, more than in thy land, in hard exile Constant wast thou, strong son of Italy. Proud am I of thy friendship with myself,-- It is the noblest honour of my life.

And I from far cry at the mountain’s base To that day’s dawn as prompted by a god, “Lovely indeed art thou with stars in hair Which like to vivid sapphires scintillate!”[36] Dawn thou of brightest day!--and that salute Soon through the whole of Italy re-rings.

But wherefore must I moan, remembering this? My land, I saw thee throned, thou’rt now i’ the dust: For thee, my land, these tears,--no tears for me! And yet Hope comes dictating to my heart: “From the new mourning shall new joy result; That which was then achieved is but a seed,-- The goodly seed shall bear a goodly fruit.” Yes, O ye nations, courage! and expect From sterile winter lavish summertime.

July’s ninth day is blazing in the heaven, And to the people’s will the King accedes. How could I ever fully represent The immense delight which I beheld around?

The Bourbon King, throned in his gilded seat, Object of love in such a festival, With rage in bosom and with joy in face, Feigns to applaud the good he so detests: Then on the gospel swears ... ah crime-stained King! Thou stamp’st the kiss of Judas on the Christ!

O realm betrayed, to which I wailing speak, Remember that Alfieri has pronounced-- “To make a blameless king, unmake him first”-- And, if a greedy foreigner, all the more. The deed then wrought was done in righteousness, ’Twas reason’s revolution: all the same, As if it were the greatest of all crimes ’Twas punished by the Bourbon’s perfidy. No, such a sacred movement cost to none A drop of blood, not even a drop of tears. Ah I remember those nine hurrying months As though they had been blessed years of fame! August the Parliament was opened, where Some Cato, Tully, or Hortensius, pealed. Activity is witnessed in the fleet,-- Ancient Amalfi seems therein revived. The manning of the army starts anew, But with no mixture of a foreign stock; And warlike squadrons are adjoined to it Of civic legions and militia-bands. The strenuous presses creak, and everywhere The country’s intellect displays its fruits. My own blood like a burning lava coursed: Not I, not I, then sang, but Patriot Love! And, to encourage that heroic race Which from ancestral ashes came to birth, Re-echoed did I hark to those his strains Which he was pleased to utter through my lips: From women and from children and from all, Here, there, and up and down, on every hand.[37] With dulcet and with martial harmony By the Musician’s skill invested, these, Sung in all houses and in every street, Were even quoted in the Parliament; To their Tyrtæus all the provinces, As chorus to the coryphee, replied. All, all was active: Usages and laws Progressed in union with the newborn rights. But many of the law-courts had to shut, For rivalry in virtue lessened crime.

I must here make a little digression, to illustrate this matter of “Tyrtæus.” It need scarcely be said that Tyrtæus, who flourished about 650 B.C., was a Greek elegiac poet, born in Attica, lame and misshapen, and totally ignorant of military matters. In the second Messenian war the Lacedæmonians were directed by the oracle to apply to the Athenians for a general; and the Athenians (such at least is the legend, which may be largely discounted without undue scepticism) sent them Tyrtæus. This looked very like a _mauvaise plaisanterie_, and was so regarded by the Lacedæmonians; yet the result justified the oracle, and the Athenians as well. The poet poured forth his strains with such splendid impulse and vigour that he animated the troops; they abandoned the idea of raising the siege of Ithome, and thoroughly defeated the Messenians. “The popularity of these elegies in the Spartan army was such that it became the custom to sing them round the camp-fires at night, the polemarch rewarding the best singer with a piece of flesh.”

The term “Tyrtæus of Italy” (Tirteo d’Italia) has been constantly applied by his countrymen to Gabriele Rossetti. I am not clear when this practice began, whether before or only after 1846, when Rossetti, in his _Veggente in Solitudine_, applied the term to _himself_. At any rate, I had until recently assumed that the phrase had only a lax application, as indicating that Rossetti, by his declaimed and published patriotic lyrics, had incited, and would continue to incite, Italians to combat for liberty and independence. But of late I have come to the almost confident conclusion that he must have taken a personal part in the sole military expedition in which the Neapolitan army sought to maintain the constitution of 1820. This conclusion is founded upon a letter (in my possession) which a certain Dr Costanza--to me not otherwise known--addressed to my father on 10th November 1847. I first read the letter with attention towards 1896, and I here give a translation of it.

“GIBRALTAR. “_10th November 1847._

“HONOURED COMPATRIOT,

“Twenty-six years have now passed since we bade one another a last adieu in the Island of Malta, at the fatal period of ’21. You must recollect Dr Costanza, then a young physician and surgeon, now turned of fifty years of age. You had known him in the capital of the kingdom, and you afterwards met him at Montecassino, _when you were returning from the gorges of Antrodoca after the hapless result of that first passage of arms_ upon which depended the fate of our country. That Costanza is now writing to you, and warmly recommends to you three fellow-countrymen of ours, recently saved by miracle from the blood-red hands of the agents of the tyrant of Naples and Sicily....

“Your Compatriot, and erewhile Companion in misfortune, DR COSTANZA.”

In this letter the mention of Antrodoca (or Antrodoco) is the essential thing. The mountains of Antrodoco are near Rieti, which was the scene of an engagement, on 7th March 1821, between the Neapolitan and the Austrian troops. The actual feat of arms was not discreditable to the Italians; but--perceiving that they were the weaker party, and that the final issue was hopeless for them--they immediately afterwards disbanded, and all was over. I cannot indeed, recollect having ever heard from my father that he was along with the army on that occasion, nor does he affirm it in his versified Autobiography; yet I now see that he must have been so. I do not infer that he was in the fighting ranks; but I do infer that two passages which are to be found in his _Veggente in Solitudine_ have a more positive meaning than I used to attribute to them. The passages are as follows:--

1. “Fratelli, all’armi, all’armi!” etc.

“Brothers, to arms, to arms! Our country has summoned us. _I, with my stimulating songs, will also go among you._”

2. (As already referred to) “Tirteo d’Italia,” etc.

“Who will be the Tyrtæus of Italy in the camp? ’Tis I, ’tis I! _Such I have been_, such I am.”

The first of these passages comes from a song composed by Rossetti towards the date of the soldiering in 1821. The second may have been written about 1845.

I have found one other paper which seems to bear upon this semi-military act of Gabriele Rossetti. An excellent friend of his, Ferdinando Ciciloni, wrote to him from Naples on 24th November 1825, saying: “Three days ago I went to San Sebastiano, which, from the seat of the Parliament, has become a College of Music. As I crossed the courtyard, I had a mental vision of Rossetti in uniform, and with two very black moustaches.” As we have seen (note on p. 36), Rossetti, though not at all a man of a soldiering turn, had belonged, in 1814, to the Guard of Internal Security under King Joachim, and once again, in 1821, he donned a uniform--a British one this time. But Ciciloni’s remark does not seem very likely to refer to either of these incidents; rather to something in which the Parliament-building was concerned, and a muster immediately before the departure of the army to Rieti appears the most probable occurrence.

Freedom immaculate, O thou who hadst Such sacred worship on Sebeto’s banks, Iniquitous plots ’gainst thee, without and in, The Royal Princes’ visible ill-faith, Ambition nursed by some few senators, And envious grudge of many generals, Engirt thee with the trackless labyrinth When in thee Heaven was overcome by Hell.

Nor have I in repentance struck my brow Because my worship of thee wrought me scathe. Were I in that same case a thousand times, A thousand I’d return to do the same. Thee from Christianity I ne’er disjoined,-- I feel my heart-strings quivering to both. The Bourbon perjury, the Austrian force, On thee, O sacred Liberty, made war: And, seeing thy holy worship thus destroyed, I bade a farewell to the soil profaned, And so the thundering ship conducted me Where Christ and Freedom can be both adored.

Name to the world, O sacred Gratitude, The Scotch-born hero who on British deck Rescued the singer of Italian hopes Out of the Bourbon despot’s slaughter-fangs. Sir Graham Moore,[38] inured to combating In a great nation’s thundrous lightning-flash, I bear with an indelible imprint Thy cherished name written upon my heart. Those soul-inspired and freedom-loving strains Intoned by me upon my native soil On the four winds already had dispread, O’er mountains and o’er seas, a tireless flight; And the Britannic Genius, when they reached His shores, bade Italy’s Tyrtæus hail. Now my propitious fate had willed it so That by a lady were my verses read-- A British Admiral’s well-honoured wife, Whether more fair or gracious who could say? But this I know--I saw in her combined Penelope’s heart and Helen’s countenance. She, worthy partner of the British chief, Honours in others’ mental gifts her own; And those who know her know how highly trained She is, and she alone discerns it not.

To Naples came the lady at the time When flames burned there of patriotic love, And she expressed the wish she had conceived To know the Italian poet face to face; And with such ardour she admired his work That numerous verses she could quote by heart. An English officer, of cultured mind, Who had always shown me marks of courtesy, And who in the Museum saw me at whiles, Made me acquainted with the lady’s wish. I to the invitation gave response, And so a day was settled for my call.

She--as a sister might a brother greet Returning--greeted me in amity; Yet day by day this kindliness increased. Fair Angel of God’s presence sent on earth, Ah not so soon return to Paradise! Many there circle his eternal throne, But angels are not plenteous here below. In all that effervescent period She, whose good wishes were for our success, Remained a witness of my innocence, And an approver of my patriot zeal.

When by the foul effect of treacheries Our government had perished, she was grieved, And for unfortunate Rossetti’s fate She felt concern, and to her husband spoke: “Save from the axe that guiltless man; if love Of country is a crime, you are guilty too!”

Alas how hard did exile seem to me, And leaving in such woes my native land! Three times he offered refuge on his ship, And all the three times I rejected it. But my continuing was so foolhardy That wiser I accepted it the fourth.

Lamenting night and day my country’s lot, And as to my own life not caring much, From March to June I kept myself concealed, ’Mid traps laid by a sleepless-eyed police.[39] One night I was in that terrific plight, When a voice called upon my name, and said: “Fly--I discern your scaffold plain to see!” I look, and find ’tis General Fardella, Who was just then the Minister of War; But, while I am rousing from my wonderment, The dark receives him--moveless I remain. Meseems I see him still, the while I write. He, who so often gave my lines applause, Had entered furtive in my hiding-place: But how he found it out I cannot say. How could I sleep, or hope again for calm? Within my soul I heard the word--“Fly, fly!” In perturbations having passed the night, I to the lady wrote at earliest dawn; And towards the eve two English subalterns[40] Most willingly responded to my wish; And they, to make my move less perilous, Gave me red uniform resembling theirs. I on the moment, be it luck or thought To pass more safely before others’ eyes, Packed a few clothes and papers many a one In a small trunk, and was in readiness: And I exclaimed, twixt joyful heart and grieved, “I bear with me my all--Ready--let’s go.” Between the gallant pair I took the coach, Which drove us forth on our clandestine path[41] To where a skiff was in await for us, With six athletic oarsmen on the beach. O Rochfort,[42] thou to which the naval forts All paid salute as they before thee passed, And thundering thou through hundred-fourscore mouths Didst spread afar thy nautical command, Thee sinuous the Mediterranean, And thee vast Ocean’s sheer immensity, Saw dominating the unstable wave, And christened thee the Formidable Fort. Thee from the skiff I see, and feed my glance, As on artilleried walls, upon thy bows.

The mighty ship gave symptoms of good-will, Expressed in divers modes by the ample crew; And I--I kissed that wooden Albion Amid the naval group who smiled thereat. To the saloon bright-shining in the dusk I sped, to give Thetis and Neptune thanks. “Here is a pair of gods not fabulous,” I said, when greeted by their noble smiles. The grace which can forestall a modest wish I always found on either countenance.

Then in the night I went with saddened soul To contemplate the shore which met my view. All are reposing in the silent hour, Except some watch that paces vigilant; And I alone and pensive on the prow Stand communing with this my land betrayed; And a few happy days and many dire Are passing in review before mine eyes. Ever ferocious Tyranny I saw Becoming stronger by flagitious means; And Freedom, tasted for a few poor days, Begetting, like the fruit of Eden, death; And Treason, like a snake pestiferous, From two great goblets sipping tears and blood. And, while my fantasy on every side Ran riot, struck by miserable ideas, The scenes of sanguinary Ninety-nine Offered themselves to my dejected soul; And o’er the regal lair meseemed I saw A host funereal of threat’ning ghosts. “Unhappy country, adieu!”--And that adieu Over all Italy I diffused in song.[43]

LIFE IN EXILE--MALTA AND ENGLAND

To thee the first the British prow was turned, Flourishing Malta, small but beautiful, A quiet refuge ’mid the unquiet sea, Of an Italian mind and Arab speech. I, sifting out of fallacies the truth, Full half a lustre passed within thy bounds; And, but for patriotic sorrowings, Out there I should have led a placid life,-- For I encountered courteous, cultured minds,-- Culture in some, in many courtesy.

But both of these--they have my homage here-- I amply in one person found conjoined, John Hookham Frere, a learned man and wise, A Privy Councillor of the British Crown. Himself he shone, not through extraneous aids, And how I knew him I shall gladly tell. Fame, so propitious to poetic gifts, In Malta made a magnified report-- That Italy’s Tyrtæus had arrived, And rescued by the British Admiral. And I by many people was informed That in the higher class the wish prevailed That in some noted house I should display My fervour of poetic improvise; And I, now so suspicious of my powers, Unhesitating answered--“Yes, at once.”

Ah me unhappy! I’m no more the man! But such must be the course of human fate. Too true, I, then a river, am now a rill-- A rill which comes anear to drying up. In vain I stir my fancy, which is tired,-- I cannot even command poetic phrase. These verses--let me say this prose in rhyme-- As I dictate them, others write them down,[44] And, as they all gush out extempore, Some of them will be good, and others bad: Nor do I blot the bad to keep the best, But pass them current as they chance to come. To get the whole expressed without constraint, And without labouring after phrase and word, I pitched on purpose on that sextal rhyme In which one easily words the thing one wants.