



Produced by David Widger






RULE OF THE MONK

OR, ROME IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

By General Giuseppe Garibaldi

1870.




INTRODUCTION.

The renowned writer of Caesar's "Commentaries" did not think it
necessary to furnish a preface for those notable compositions, and
nobody has ever yet attempted to supply the deficiency--if it be one. In
truth, the custom is altogether of modern times. The ancient heroes
who became authors and wrote a book, left their work to speak for
itself--"to sink or swim," we had almost said, but that is not exactly
the case. Caesar carried his "Commentaries" between his teeth when he
swam ashore from the sinking galley at Alexandria, but it never occurred
to him to supply posterity with a prefatory flourish. He begins those
famous chapters with a soldierly abruptness and brevity--"Omnia Gallia
in tres partes" etc. The world has been contented to begin there also
for the last two thousand years; and the fact is a great argument
against prefaces--especially since, as a rule, no one ever reads them
till the book itself has been perused.

The great soldier who has here turned author, entering the literary
arena as a novelist, has also given his English translators no preface.
But our custom demands one, and the nature of the present work requires
that a few words should be written explanatory of the original purpose
and character of the Italian MS. from which the subjoined pages are
transcribed. It would be unfair to Garibaldi if the extraordinary
vivacity and grace of his native style should be thought to be here
accurately represented. The renowned champion of freedom possesses an
eloquence as peculiar and real as his military genius, with a gift of
graphic description and creative fancy which are but very imperfectly
presented in this version of his tale, partly from the particular
circumstances under which the version was prepared, and partly from
the impossibility of rendering into English those subtle touches and
personal traits which really make a book, as lines and light shadows
make a countenance. Moreover, the Italian MS. itself, written in the
autograph of the General, was compiled as the solace of heavy hours at
Varignano, where the King of Italy, who owed to Garibaldi's sword the
splendid present of the Two Sicilies, was repaying that magnificent
dotation with a shameful imprisonment. The time will come when these
pages--in their original, at least--will be numbered among the proofs of
the poet's statement that--

     "Stone walls do not a prison make,
     Nor iron bars a cage:
     Minds innocent and quiet take
     These for a hermitage."

If there be many passages in the narrative where the signs are strong
that "the iron has entered into the soul," there are also a hundred
where the spirit of the good and brave chieftain goes forth from his
insulting incarceration to revel in scenes of natural beauty, to recall
incidents of simple human love and kindness, to dwell upon heroic
memories, and to aspire towards glorious developments of humanity made
free, like the apostle's footsteps when the angel of the Lord struck off
his fetters, and he passed forth through the self-opened portals of his
prison.

It would be manifestly unfair, nevertheless, to contrast a work
written under such conditions with those elaborate specimens of modern
novel-writing with which our libraries abound. Probably, had General
Garibaldi ever read these productions, he would have declined to accept
them as a model. He appears to have taken up here the form of the
"novella," which belongs by right of prescription to his language and
his country, simply as a convenient way of imparting to his readers and
to posterity the real condition and inner life of Rome during these last
few eventful years, when the evil power of the Papacy has been declining
to its fall. Whereas, therefore, most novels consist of fiction founded
upon fact, this one may be defined rather as fact founded upon
fiction, in the sense that the form alone and the cast of the story is
fanciful--the rest being all pure truth lightly disguised. Garibaldi
has here recited, with nothing more than a thin veil of incognito thrown
over those names which it would have been painful or perilous to make
known, that of which he himself has been cognizant as matters of fact
in the wicked city of the priests, where the power which has usurped the
gentle name of Christ blasphemes Him with greater audacity of word and
act as the hour of judgment approaches. Herein the reader may see what
goes forward in the demure palaces of the princes of the Church, from
which the "Vicegerents of Heaven" are elected. Herein he may comprehend
what kind of a system it is which French bayonets still defend--what the
private life is of those who denounce humanity and anathematize science,
and why Rome appears content with the government of Jesuits, and the
liberty of hearing the Pope's mezzo-sopranos at the Sistine Chapel.
He who has composed this narrative, at once so idyllic in its
pastoral scenes--so tender and poetic in its domestic passages--so
Metastasio-like in some of its episodes--and so terribly earnest in its
denunciation of the wrongs and degradation of the Eternal City, is
no unknown satirist. He is Garibaldi; he has been Triumvir of the
Seven-hill-ed City, and Generalissimo of her army; her archives have
been within his hands; he has held her keys, and fought behind her
walls; and, in four campaigns at least, since those glorious but
mournful days, he has waged battle for the ancient city in the open
field. Here, then, is his description of "Rome in the Nineteenth
Century"--not seen as tourists or dilettanti see her, clothed with the
imaginary robes of her historic and classic empire, but seen naked to
the stained and scourged skin--affronted, degraded, defamed, bleeding
from the hundred wounds where the leech-like priests hang and suck, and,
by their vile organization, converted from the Rome which was mistress
of the world, to a Rome which is the emporium of solemn farces,
miracle-plays, superstitious hypocrisies, the capital of an evil instead
of a majestic kingdgom--the metropolis of monks instead of Caesars.

To this discrowned Queen of Nations every page in the present volume
testifies the profound and ardent loyalty of Garibaldi's soul. The
patriotism which most men feel towards the country of their birth is but
a cold virtue compared with the burning devotion which fills the spirit
of our warrior-novelist. It is as though the individuality of one of her
antique Catos or Fabii was resuscitated, to protest, with deed and word,
against the false and cunning tribe which have suborned the imperial
city to their purposes, and turned the monuments of Rome, as it were,
into one Cloaca Maxima. The end of these things is probably approaching,
although His Holiness is parodying the great Councils of past history,
and pretending to give laws _urbi et orbi_, while the kingdoms reject
his authority, and his palace is only defended by the aid of foreign
bayonets. When Rome is freed from the Pope-king, and has been proclaimed
the capital of Italy, this book will be one of the memorials of that
extraordinary corruption and offense which the nineteenth century
endured so long and patiently.

The Author's desire to portray the state of society in Rome and around
it, during the last years of the Papacy, has been paramount, and the
narrative only serves as the form for this design. Accordingly, the
reader must not expect an elaborately compiled plot, with artistic
developments. He will, nevertheless, be sincerely interested in the
fortunes and the fate of the beautiful and virtuous Roman ladies who
figure in the tale--of the gallant and dashing brigand of the Campagna,
Orazio--the handsome Muzio--the brave and faithful Attilio, and the
Author's evident favorite, "English Julia," whose share in the story
enables our renowned Author to exhibit his excessive affection for
England and the English people. It only remains to commend these varions
heroes and heroines to the public, with the remark that the deficiencies
of the work are due rather to the translation than to the original; for
the vigor and charm of the great Liberator's Italian is such as to show
that he might have rivalled Manzoni and Alfieri, if he had not preferred
to emulate and equal the Gracchi and Rienzi.




THE RULE OF THE MONK.




PART THE FIRST.




CHAPTER I. CLELIA

A celebrated writer has called Rome "the City of the dead", but how can
there be death in the heart of Italy? The ruins of Rome, the ashes of
her unhappy sons, have, indeed, been entombed, but these remains are so
impregnate with life that they may yet accomplish the regeneration of
the world. Rome is still capable of arousing the populations, as the
tempest raises the waves of the sea; for is she not the mistress of
ancient empire, and is not her whole history that of giants? Those who
can visit her wonderful monuments in their present desolation, and
not feel their souls kindle with love of the beautiful, and ardor
for generous designs, will only restore at death base hearts to their
original clay. As with the city, so with its people. No degradations
have been able to impair the beauty of her daughters--a loveliness
often, alas! fatal to themselves--and in the youthful Clelia, the
artist's daughter of the Trastevere, Raphael himself would have found
the graces of his lofty and pure ideal, united with that force of
character which distinguished her illustrious namesake of ancient times.
Even at sixteen years of age her carriage possessed a dignity majestic
as of a matron of old, albeit youthful; her hair was of a luxurious rich
brown; her dark eyes, generally conveying repose and gentleness, could,
nevertheless, repress the slightest affront with flashes like lightning.
Her father was a sculptor, named Manlio, who had reached his fiftieth
year, and possessed a robust constitution, owing to a laborious and
sober life. This profession enabled him to support his family in
comfort, if not luxury, and he was altogether as independent as it was
possible for a citizen to be in a priest-ridden country. Manlio's wife,
though naturally healthy, had become delicate from early privation and
confinement to the house; she had, however, the disposition of an angel,
and besides forming the happiness and pride of her husband, was beloved
by the entire neighborhood.

Clelia was their only child, and was entitled by the people, "The Pearl
of Trastevere." She inherited, in addition to her beauty, the angelic
heart of her mother, with that firmness and strength of character which
distinguished her father.

This happy family resided in the street that ascends from Lungara
to Monte Gianicolo, not far from the fountain of Montono, and,
unfortunately for them, they lived there in this, the nineteenth
century, when the power of the Papacy is, for the time, supreme.

Now, the Pope professes to regard the Bible as the word of God, yet the
Papal throne is surrounded by cardinals, to whom marriage is forbidden,
notwithstanding the Scriptural declaration that "it is not good for man
to dwell alone," and that "woman was formed to be a helpmeet for him."

Matrimony being thus interdicted, contrary to the law of God and man,
the enormous wealth, the irresponsible power, and the state of languid
luxury in which, as Princes of the Church, they are compelled to live,
have ever combined, in the case of these cardinals, every temptation