I am not aware whether you know the Pope personally, and may therefore have been able, after a private colloquy with him, to attain that confidence which I could only derive from deeds. In my opinion, the facts {117} so far only reveal the good man, the Prince, who partly from the necessity of the times (more threatening in his States than elsewhere), and partly from benevolence, resolved to try whether by administering his possessions a little better, with more tolerance and more sympathy, he could not put an end to the disorders, plots, and insurrections, which have now become permanent. The first step having been taken, the not very dignified applause of some, and the exaggerated, and mostly hypocritical, enthusiasm of others, have led him to continue his benevolence, and to pronounce words of gratitude and trust. Beyond that I cannot go, however much I endeavour. I have always kept silence, so as not to be accused of injuring projects still unknown, and I have studied attentively the acts and words of the Pope and of the moderate writers. For these latter I have often blushed; but in the Pope, I repeat, I have only been able to see the good man, without convictions, hesitating between Austria and his own tendencies; without any of the Italian intentions that others have chosen to perceive in his acts. If I am deceiving myself, the first fact which proves that I am mistaken, will find me prepared to revise my opinion. But until such a fact takes place, where is the banner of Pope Pius IX? What does it represent? Where is the Italian banner, without which I do not consider Union possible or efficacious? I am growing old, and I cannot easily become enthusiastic over dangerous dreams, if such exist. I do not approve of the strategy which you indicate to me in a few lines; but before explaining my reasons, I should wish to make you understand that my disapproval does not depend upon a conspirator’s spirit of liberalism. Conspiracy is not a principle for me; it is a most regrettable fact, arising from a condition of things which makes it indispensable. All my individual tendencies {118} are for publicity; and you ought to do me the justice to remember that I have often been accused of imprudence, because I have used publicity from the first as well as our secret work; that the Giovane Italia appeared immediately in the light of day, in contrast to the old Carboneria, which chose to proceed completely in the dark; that we only do secretly what we could not do openly; and that we raise a banner which we exhibit to all, as the preachers of principles.
          If there is anyone who will open for me a way of preaching National Unity in Italy, I will bless him, and will return there at once; but any preaching without this title and this word for its beginning and end will, I fear, not only be useless, but harmful. I cannot accept the strategy which you propose, because it could not lead to this end. It might lead to the conquest of a few administrative improvements and a few concessions, a few reforms in the laws, and, if you choose, to the conquest of a homœopathic portion of liberty for each of the many States into which we are divided; but not to unite them and make them into a Nation. It might lead, if we all concentrated ourselves upon it, to turning men’s minds aside from the goal, and to persuading the Italian populations that they could improve their conditions under the present Governments, and to giving an outlet to the suppressed activity of the younger generation, which otherwise would produce a national explosion one day; also to planting new seeds of federalism, creating local vanities, and giving birth to a spirit of Machiavellism and of tactics, where we wanted faith, sincerity, and real vitrue....
          Love Italy always, and also love as far as you can

From Milan!
          It has been impossible, dear Emilie, to write a word before. I have been these forty-eight hours continually surrounded by people of all descriptions. I send a paper containing some account of my reception here; it was such that I wished you all here, because I knew you would have felt happier than I did. I had felt far more in the morning in seeing some 2,000 of our Italian soldiers belonging to the Ceccopieri Legion, who had left the Austrian flag en masse at Cremona, passing under my windows in the midst of the people frantic with joy, then themselves looking intoxicated with the feeling of being for once in their life loved by their countrymen. Still {120} there was an importance in my own reception; it was a republican manifestation. At the frontier, the custom-house officers quoted to me bits of my writings; at Como, priests and men of the people came around the coach to greet me. The manifestations at Milan were such that five minutes after there came a deputation of the Provisionary Government to invite me to go to them. This very night, crowds came under my windows, whilst I was out, shouting for me. I tell you all these things because I know that you will be delighted with them. As for me, alas! it is evident that the power of rejoicing for myself is dead within myself. I found myself crying like a child at the sight of the soldiers of the Ceccopieri Regiment; and I feel almost frightened at these demonstrations, and very much disposed to run away. ... I crossed the St. Gothard; there was danger; but the scene was sublime – godlike. No one knows what Poetry is who has not found himself there, at the highest point of the route, on the plateau, surrounded by the peaks of the Alps, in the everlasting silence that speaks of God.
          The Milanese have been sublime beyond all conception; far superior to the Parisians. The question of independence is solved. The other questions are pending. The Government is here composed of heterogeneous elements, a majority under secret engagements to Charles Albert; a minority belonging to our own men, but rather timid and wavering. The Charles Albert party is intriguing very actively, and availing itself of every skirmish to conquer the sympathy of our fervent meridional people. Still our republican party is strong, and I am trying to organise it publicly. Perhaps I shall succeed; perhaps not. We shall see. At all events it is a mere question of time. It will be impossible for me to write long letters for a while; but read the papers attentively, and you will be able to detect what I do.{121}
          And you, my sweet child, you all, my best friends, what are you doing? I know that you are thinking of me very often; I feel full of faith in you. I thought of you on the Alps, of you when the soldiers passed under my windows; and I will think of you whenever I feel most deeply “à la vie et à la mort.” What is Caroline doing? I will never forget the last moments that I spent with her. And your Mamma? and Shaen? To James, William, and Sydney, I will write a political letter one of these days. Meanwhile tell them all how much I love and esteem them. Remember me to the Dillons, and to Mrs. Gillman. Work steadfastly, take care of your health, think of me when you meet at Muswell Hall. By the by, do not think that you are never to think of me when you are alone. Write here to my name; and if you have State secrets, to Pietro Speranza. Farewell; not for ever.

          Yes, my friend, life is sad and barren; men are cowardly and egoistical and ungrateful; hope is dead – at least for us; but did we not know this already when I came to see you in the country? We have dreamed since then; you for France – the revolution of the people, the days of brotherhood; I for Italy – the advent of Nationality as it ought to be, another collective individuality, bringing its contribution to the great cause of humanity. We thought a stirring was an awakening; we were mistaken. The bourgeoisie is not yet completely dead and buried in France; belief has not yet sufficient roots in Italy. But none the less, the bourgeoisie is condemned to die, and the cult of brute-force to come to an end in Italy.
          And as for ourselves, hope is dead, but have we not faith? Do we not care for one another? Take heart, my friend; do not let us give way at the last hour. Here or elsewhere the dawn is near. I received only one letter from you while at Milan, before the events of June, and I answered it. As you truly say, we belong to those who conspire in broad daylight; and yet all letters addressed to me are opened. Why should not those bearing your name be opened? When once the crime has been committed, whether the letter is sent to its destination or not depends upon the degree of skill exercised in committing the crime. When they think that they have not been adept à la Fouché the letter is suppressed. In any {123} case, surely you have not doubted me, have you? You must know very well that it is impossible for me to forget you, and that above all it is impossible not to think of you when I suffer, and know that you are suffering. I cannot tell you what I would not have given to have been able, on leaving Italy, to go and press your hand, deriving strength from it, and trying to give you some; but fate wills that I am never to realise a single wish. And now may I tell you my private idea about France? It is still the same as I expressed one evening at your house – the same as I had expressed ten years before – the initiative no longer belongs to her. You have closed one era; but you will not open that which is rising; you will bring your contribution to the common idea, but you will not be the first to realise that idea. By whose work this realisation will begin, God alone knows. In my pride as an Italian, I had dreamed that it would be our work perhaps – my own country is the only one which died to be reborn to a second life more splendid than the first. Now I do not know. But I firmly believe that the new era requires a new people, a people which has contributed nothing to the world’s work for a long time. The case of France has grieved me more than it surprised me; and I could almost say the same of Italy. The last emotion that I felt was on the Alps, in the midst of the snows of the St. Gothard; and that was not aroused by my Country. In Italy, in spite of the tokens of sympathy which accompanied my return, I never ceased for one moment to feel myself in exile. This is a sad thing to say, and perhaps it is wrong of me, but nevertheless it is true. Possibly it is to this feeling, which never left me during my stay in my own country, that I owe the little strength I still possess. Having had no illusions, prevented the shock being too great. The evil with us is not entirely {124} egoism, but rather the want of intelligence on one side and the want of faith on the other. There are magnificent instincts in the masses, but they are profoundly ignorant and are ready to yield to the first intriguing person who appears; there exists a certain savoir-faire in the upper classes, but it is a savoir faire without sound principles; there is analysis and dissection, but not a shadow of physiology or synthesis. They imitate Machiavelli; they play at being statesmen; they are practical and positive; we, they say, are poets and artists, and they imagine that they have uttered a condemnation. We are in the void which has opened between Catholicism and materialism. And in this void we seize at the first plank we find, the first appearance of strength which offers, whether it be Carlo Alberto or anything else. We are not monarchical; but we have feigned to be so, for the sake of having the battalions of the Monarchy on our side, intending to overthrow the Monarchy afterwards; instead of which, the Monarchy overthrows us first, and it is her business to do so. That is the history of these last months. We thought of founding the regeneration of a great People on lies; and we are now expiating this fault, as is only just.
          I am now trying to see whether a second insurrection is possible; I have been working at it ever since I came here, and if nothing occurs to frustrate my plans I expect to be on the other side of the frontier in arms towards the end of the month. What will happen is in the hands of fate; I see nothing better to be done. ...
          Farewell, my friend; I wish I were a better man, so as to bless you, and for my blessing to give you strength. The thought of your suffering in your family affections is painful to me. Sometimes I gaze at the lake and the sky {125} at night; and they are so beautiful and so calm, that I am forced to turn away from the window, as I am afraid of giving way and of falling into weak regret, which would be senseless and egoistical. At such moments I often think of you, of the peace which you deserve, and of my wish to have known you well ten years ago. Remember me to Maurice and his friends. Think of me, and write to me. I care for you enough to deserve it.

          ...I listen anxiously to hear whether there ever comes from your city a single liberal and manly word, worthy of Rome; the sound of a people awakened to its {126} former greatness; and I hear nothing but the usual little effeminate voices of parliamentary Arcadians who keep singing over the cradle of a Nation the funeral dirges of the expiring constitutional monarchies. My eye runs eagerly over the columns of your Contemporaneo, hoping every day to find in it one of those decrees which elevate the mind of the reader; but after the famous autograph letter in which the Pope recommends to you in bad Italian, not the ministry, but his own palaces, I do not find any consolation for the Catholic world except that Rome is quiet. Quiet is all very well; God rested quietly on the seventh day, but that was after having created the world.
          And you can, if you will, create a well-ordered world. You have in your hands the fate of Italy, and the fate of Italy is that of the world. You do not know, oh ye forgetful people, the power exercised by the conjunction of the four letters which form the name of your city; you do not know that that which is merely a word elsewhere, when coming from Rome is a fact, an imperious decree – urbi et orbi. Perdio! Do not your monuments, your historical memories, put a single inspiration into the minds of the men who direct your affairs? I, in my worship of Rome, consoled myself for the spectacle of the meanness and impotence unfortunately exhibited so far by our cities with the thought that it was for Rome to set the example, that the Word could not go out except from the Eternal City; but I am beginning to fear that I have deceived myself. Rome as it is, with the sessions which I read about, is an irony – something (forgive me) between the ridiculous and the lamentable.
          I do not believe that Providence has ever said more clearly to a nation: “Thou shalt have no other god but God, and no other interpreter of His Law but the People.” {127} And I do not believe that there is a People in the world more obstinate than ours in refusing to see or understand. Providence has made our Princes an incapable and treacherous race, and we think of setting about regenerating ourselves with their help. Providence, as if to teach us popular warfare, caused a King to defeat an enterprise already almost victorious, and we only think of making war together with this King. Providence has made the Bourbon of Naples a living commentary on the sayings of Samuel when the Israelites asked for a King; and Sicily, being liberated from him, knocks at the doors of the royal halls in search of another. Providence makes of a Pope a voluntary fugitive – takes every obstacle out of your path, like a mother for her child – and you, in ingratitude, remain doubtful, as if you had neither mind nor heart, nor history and sufficient experience behind you, nor a future before you – as if Italy were not in a ferment all round you, and Europe in a ferment round Italy – republican France at your side and republican Switzerland beckoning you on, and a dozen other reasons for decision – you still remain doubtful, and endeavour to govern with the help of the autograph letter about the palaces. Charles XII, when a prisoner of the Russians, sent one of his boots to govern the State in his stead, but that was some time ago, and the Swedish metropolis was not Rome.
          I live, as you know, in restless anxiety for the unity of Italy, which is endangered by those who bungle matters, but not for the Republic, which is inevitable, not in Italy alone, but in almost the whole of Europe. And as I have so often said and written, I wait submissively and devotedly for the will of Italy to be solemnly manifested. But it seems to me that I may tell you, without being accused of being an agitator, that when the republican form of {128} government is set before you (without any labour on your part, without violence, and without a usurpation by the minority), you must be sure to accept it. Do not let Italy and Europe see you, who are born republicans, refuse it without a reason. You no longer have a Government nor any legitimate power, in spite of that autograph letter. Pius IX has fled; and flight is an abdication. An elected Prince, he leaves no dynasty behind him. You are, in fact, already republicans, because there does not exist any source of authority for you except from the people. Men who had any logic or energy would thank Heaven for the inspiration of Pius IX, and would say laconically: “The Pope has abandoned his post; we make appeal from the Pope to God, convoking a Council. The Prince has deserted his post and been faithless to us; we make appeal from the Prince to the People. Rome is republican by the will of Providence. The Italian Constituent Assembly, when elected, will confirm, modify, amplify this fact.” And the Italian People having chosen a Government, the nucleus of the future Assembly (for the moment only initiatory and precursive, since all Italy is not free) would be formed in Rome. To this nucleus would be sent notable men from Tuscany, Sicily, and Venice, from the Lombard émigrés, and from the Clubs and Associations, who would lend efficacious support to the Government. And that Government, by a few really national acts, would soon become the moral government of all Italy. God who helps the willing, and loves Rome, would do the rest. Read this letter to anyone you like. Farewell.

My Dear Friend,
          When I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, you were (forgive me the word) a conspirator like myself. Now that you are a successful man, your position is quite different, and may become brilliant. Will you change your attitude towards your old friends? Will they have less right to be frank with you? I do not think so. But the men of the Republic nearly all underwent transformation under Louis-Philippe, therefore you must forgive my doubts. In any case you will tell me whether I am to write from time to time, or to keep silent.
          And now listen to me, and let me speak as I spoke in London, Paris, and Milan.
          Your Cousin is President, and you are near his person and able to speak to him with the frankness of a friend. For God’s sake, and for that of your country, and for the interests of all Europe, do so. There are two careers before him – two ways open to him: either power, or glory – either a dynastic interest, or the interest of France and the world – either to continue in the manner of Napoléon, or to act in such a {130} manner that the name you bear may be connected with every form of greatness.
          Whatever may be the personal qualities of your Cousin, he cannot continue in the manner of Napoléon. Napoléon was a whole world in himself.
          A Napoléonic dynasty would belittle this historic type. Besides, new dynasties are not possible in Europe. Those which exist are vanishing. In less than ten years the whole of Europe will be republican. In France an attempt at Imperialism, in order to succeed momentarily, would be forced to lean on men and elements which you in your heart despise. It would mean civil war at first; and afterwards a downfall and the condemnation of History. Look at things from a broadminded point of view, and you will see that there is no longer any chance for Monarchy. It has been reduced to the condition of a faction. But there is a great role to be played; that of saying to Europe: “after Napoléon there is no possibility of power for one man alone; kings must disappear. Napoléon closed one historic epoch; the members of his family will open another. In the Bonaparte family there has been a Napoléon; now there shall be Washingtons.” The men of the “National,” and of the present Government, accuse your Cousin of dynastic ambitions. Let him say to them: “I will prove to France and Europe that I am a better republican than the rest of you; you only use the word ‘republic’; I will show you the idea. Your republic is a dark-lantern; mine shall be actually like the sun.”
          You are aware that France has fallen very low in the estimation of the Nations and she has deserved it; for we must not forget that, since the Revolution, her conduct in Europe has been contemptible. Italy, Spain, Poland, Belgium, and Switzerland, all have cause to censure France; run your eye over your newspapers, and {131} then over those of other countries, and you will find nothing but complaints, irritation, and suspicion.
          Let your Cousin raise the name of France. To do this, he has only to follow logically the deductions of the principle which he is called upon to represent.
          I do not suggest an armed or revolutionary propaganda, or one of conquest; but that he should see that a general war between the two principles is inevitable – that he should understand that international right has to be reconstituted – that a Holy Alliance of the Nations has to be founded – that the nephew of Napoléon cannot be President of the French Republic and leave intact the dynasties which sent Napoléon to die at St. Helena – that there can be nothing in common between him and anything that recalls 1815. The question is how to direct French policy along this path with calm and prudence, foreseeing the consequences and facing them steadfastly.
          Let your Cousin’s language make republican France – the people’s France – thrill, as your uncle’s voice caused imperial France to thrill. A few words revealing the man who grasps and judges the European situation and the mission of France will be sufficient to alarm the Powers and to reach the hearts of the people, without exceeding the limits prescribed to him. That is what you need. The nations will create an opportunity; the pride of the French populace will rouse Switzerland. I say: populace, because you must leave out the bourgeoisie, who are continually occupied with finance and continually disputing over the constitution; from men of that class you will get nothing but weakness, egoism, and treachery. They will flatter you one day, because they are afraid of the populace, but they will drag you down with them in their fall, and if by chance they should ever consider it advisable, they {132} will conspire against you, as against all those whom they once raised aloft.
          Let your Cousin enter into an agreement with us, who are not in the habit of deceiving anyone – let him change the personel of the Embassies – let him recall D’Harcourt, and those who resemble him – let him choose men whose mere name will mean a republican programme – who without mixing themselves actively in the internal affairs of other countries, will frankly express their beliefs, and reply to all interrogations: “Why do you not follow our example?” Let them speak thus in Sicily, Rome, and Genoa, and it will suffice. Act so that the Brussels Conferences remain without result, and emancipate your policy from that of England. Do not prepare for us that contradiction to your principles which would be called a Lombard-Venetian kingdom; forget that Leuchtenberg is in a certain way a member of your family. We do not wish for him. We wish for a republican Italy, the sister of France: and you know that we shall succeed. You ought to see more clearly than most that we are not yet at the last nuance of our theorists: when the Gioberti, Mamiani, and Sterbini have finished, then we shall appear. Make your Cousin understand the position in our country and the progress of our party; make him realise that the not very distant future is ours. What does he think of doing about the old Pope? Why did he write that fragment of a letter on temporal power? Does he not see that a Pope against whose palace shots have been fired is already dead to both temporal and spiritual power? 
          I tell you things that you know as well as I do; but between France, Italy, and Switzerland, the mission of a Napoléon president of a republic of thirty-six million men appears to me so fine, that I could not resist writing.
          I thank you for your short letter. This address still holds {133} good. If nothing happens to change my plans I shall be at Marseilles on the 7th or 8th of next month, and shall stop there a few days on my way to Italy. I will keep you informed of my affairs.

Citizen-President,
          My twenty years of exile have received their full reward. An entire lifetime devoted to the growth of our common Country would hardly be sufficient to absolve the debt which the honour of being made a Citizen of the People’s Rome imposes upon me; and I have only a few last weary years to spend for the faith which has now been proclaimed from the Capitol. But I have always lived in this faith, and in this faith – I beg you to repeat it confidently to your colleagues – I shall die. The rest {134} must be decided by God and the power of the example given us by Rome.
          I did not write before, because I hoped to be able to inform you of the unification of the Italian provinces where I now am with Rome. As things stand, however, my coming will precede it; but I hope that it may be the solemn beginning of the vaster unification foreseen by our great men, sanctified by our Martyrs, and mature, as I believe, in God’s design, invoked by friends whom you and I recognise as interpreters of this design – the people.

Dear Emilie,
          The whole day we have been fighting. Towards the end the Frenchmen were obliged to withdraw, leaving nearly 500 prisoners in our hands, and many dead and {135} wounded. To-day we have been at rest. The Frenchmen are nearly four miles from the town. The Neapolitans are advancing. Our position is bad enough; we are doomed; but we shall do what can be done.

Madam,
          By now you know the calamity which has befallen your Goffredo, in the loss of his leg. You will have borne it like a mother who feels the dignity of sorrow, like an Italian mother. Goffredo would have died if the amputation had not taken place; therefore I myself, God knows with what feelings, arranged with the doctors that it should be performed.
          He felt no pain, because ether was administered to him. He is now quiet, as is fitting for one who is suffering for his Country. Goffredo, with his nervous organisation as delicate as that of a woman, or a poet, has the heart of a hero. Admired by all, he received a few days ago, in his bed at the hospital, his promotion to the Staff. I love him like a son or younger brother; and it grieves me bitterly to remember that you put him under my care in Lombardy. There I tried to keep him out of danger, but here I could not. With the enemy at our gates, there was no means of holding him back.
          Unless your friends kept the papers from you, you must have had the most terrible shock, for I know that a Piedmontese paper spread the news of your son’s death. Now you can at least console yourself with the thought of seeing him again. Nothing else matters much. The respect which he will receive from all those who have a sense of honour, the love of his few chosen friends, and his mother’s caresses, will easily console him, and if he {137} is consoled, you will be so. God give you strength, and bless him and you. Remember me sometimes too. Believe that I have suffered with you and for you, at Goffredo’s bedside, as I jested with you in my childhood. My memory being tenacious, I would willingly have given many days of my life for your son to remain uninjured. I do not say all, for I also have a mother, whose old age is comfortless, and I should not wish her to die of despair. Farewell.

          I am looking on at the agony of a great city, and my soul is sharing her agony. Since the 20th (in consequence of the treachery of an officer), the soldiers of General Oudinot are in the breach. Rome is not a fortress; it is a town eighteen miles in circumference, and yet the enemy have not dared to penetrate a single step towards the centre; they proceed, an inch a day, with the help of covered passages. They kill our brave officers singly. They try to crush our batteries with large cannon, which they have stolen from Cività Vecchia. They cut off our water-supplies. They seize our provisions and our cattle, which come from the country. They throw bombs night and day. They do not even respect the hospitals, and yesterday four bombs fell on Santo Spirito, killing a poor {138} little orphan girl who was playing with her companions. The war which they make upon us is base and cowardly. Oudinot will not face our barricades; but by tiring the population out, harassing our soldiers, killing people with his bombs, and cutting off our provisions, he will end by exciting those elements of fear and local egoism which always exist in a town, however heroic it may be. He knows very well with whom he has to do, and that – in spite of the calumnies cast upon us – we do not wish to force people to be heroes, and that when mothers and daughters and sisters come to us, saying: “Do not let our old men be killed; do not take away the roofs over our heads,” we will say: “Very well,” and will go away. That is the expectation which he relies upon, to serve a dastardly cause, a State which has no longer a flag or a device, but only a certain amount of brute-force at its command.
          France has fallen very low, my friend. Do you remember my opinion that since 1830 she had lost the initiative in Europe? It is we who have it now; it is the nations who have a nationality to win; but the times are not yet ripe. We are only initiators, and therefore we must die.
          I have never in my life seen such baseness; nor have I seen such heroism developed in a people brought in contact with a great idea and with a few men who possess faith in this idea. The Roman people is great beyond words; but even greatness has its limits, and we are consecrated victims.
          When we have to abandon these walls, I shall make an appeal to the men who are willing, and ask them to follow me elsewhere, carrying the name of Rome with Us, and renew the fight against the Austrians, who are not far off. Will they follow me? I do not know. There is an immense difference between persisting here and initiating {139} a fresh struggle. The only thing that I can promise you is that you will never see my signature to a capitulation.
          Shall we meet again? If we are defeated, where can I go? All the frontiers are closed to me. Whatever happens, go on caring for me as I care for you. Affection is never lost. Greetings to your son and your friends, and long live the Republic!

          We are conquered, dear Emilie. The French are in the town to the number of nearly 40,000 men. Rome in état de siège. The inhabitants compelled to go home at half-past nine. Arms taken away. Arrests made. The National Guard dissolved. Brutal force exhibited everywhere in a cowardly, ferocious manner. Everybody refuses to serve. The whole army is dissolving: neither priests nor foreigners, they say. The Town Council giving in its resignation. The French rulers surrounding themselves with spies, thieves, and scoundrels. The people stabbing some of them here and there. Such is Rome now.
          Oudinot did never dare to come down to our barricades. He achieved everything through artillery and entrenchment. {140} The town was bombarded by day and by night. Our few troops obliged to protect the town, to fight by day and to work by night, were totally exhausted, the best officers dead. Our supplies of cattle, wine, powder, etc., cut off by the French cavalry. The invaders were gaining some inch of ground every day; and as soon as they had conquered it, fortifying it: advancing like moles, never showing themselves. We did all we could to provoke them to a descent in the town, but in vain. On the 30th I summoned all the chefs de corps together, and proposed to leave the town and prolong the defence elsewhere. The majority were for prolonging it within the walls. But that could not be done without having recourse to extreme means, the limiting of the defence to one side of the Tiber, blowing up of the bridges, summoning 18,000 inhabitants of the Trastevere to emigrate within the precincts of the town, and so forth. I went to the Assembly, and insisted upon our leaving the town, army, Assembly, Triumvirate, and all, taking with us every financiary and military resource. We had some 10,000 men: for now we can state it – our military force amounted to that, but, after those, we would have had 3,000 men of the people grouping themselves around us. With these 13,000 men, my plan was to go quickly through the March, enter Tuscany in the Aretino, and re-enter the Roman territory in the Romagna, near Bologna, then to reawaken the insurrection against the Austrians. The plan was bold, but it could prove successful. I found the Assembly under a sudden impression of fear. Not a single man supported me. The idea once unluckily expressed in a conversational way by myself that at all events we ought never to capitulate, but only yield to force, was misconstrued by somebody. The decree you know of proposed. I struggled against, not the principle, but the immediate application, {141} with all my power, till I lost every (all) sang-froid, and ran away from the Assembly. They summoned Garibaldi, who, perhaps with the best intentions, frightened them more and more by talking about exaggerated means of defence. The result was that I received at the Government’s seat the decree of the Assembly “that the defence was declared impossible, and the Assembly would keep her place,” with an order to communicate it to General Oudinot. I refused, and sent in my resignation. My two colleagues followed my example. Still it was communicated. Of course, the mere declaration that the defence was deemed to be impossible caused it to be so. The French troops took possession of the Gates. Garibaldi went away. The regular troops would not follow him; and the usual anarchy began to spread. The Assembly proposed to declare that the army should go out of the town. I went again to the House and remonstrated. The army without the Government would fall into anarchy, and through want of means, into brigandage: the Assembly without an army would be dissolved, and fall into ridicule or cowardice. It was of no avail. They ordered the troops out. The troops would not go. Everyone began to treat. Oudinot declared that the troops could take cantonnements out [outside]; and although it was repugnant to accept that, still we meant to go and gain time. But it was too late. Once in possession of the town, Oudinot retracted his promise, prevented our artillery from going, then, the rest. Service was offered, and refused, except by the carabinieri, the old gendarmes. I protested against the decrees of the Assembly, and inserted the protestation into the Acts of the House. I will send a copy of it to you by and by. The House was dissolved, by force (necessarily). The state of siege began. All promises betrayed. The leaders of the people ran away. There was nothing to be {142} attempted. Everybody is emigrating. I want to be the last; and here I am, concealed (in the poorest quarter, the Trastevere) .Yesterday and all the days before I walked all [over] the town, just to see if they would dare to arrest me, till everybody, frightened by what they termed madness, began to say that I had a safe-conduct or employment from England!
          I shall go, of course, at least attempt to go, not an easy matter. By land, there is Tuscany, with the Austrians; Piedmont and Naples, worse almost than the Austrians; by sea, Cività Vecchia and Marseilles. I know nothing about the instructions of the French Government, but have to fear everything. Still I must [go] to Switzerland, and in some way or other I shall reach it. I cannot come now to England. I cannot go far from Italy ; and you must not endeavour to shake my decision, dear Emilie. But once in Switzerland, I will pay a visit to England and be some fortnight with you. Keep quiet about me, and cause Caroline, Bessie, and your mother to feel so. Do not fear, and trust my practical prudence: the practical will make you laugh, but never mind.
          England ought now to insist on the population being freely consulted about their Government; it was the solemn promise of France; and it is shame for England and for all nations that France should be allowed to go out as a conquering power at Rome. But who can hope for something generous from your Government? Still, let our friends act on that way what they can. The opinion is so unanimous here, that if properly consulted, it will never allow the Pope to come back.
          Tell Soldi to keep the 150 pounds sterling, etc.: they will be of some use for the cause.
          I know that you and Caroline are not well. Do try your best, and be better. My love to all. I cannot say {143} much about me, but I am well in health. It is decreed that I shall never die nor be ill.