The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 05, March, 1858 - Various 7 стр.

  Victory! Victory!Yes! ah, yes, thou republican Zion,
  Truly the kings of the earth are gathered and gone by together;
  Doubtless they marvelled to witness such things, were astonished,
    and so forth.
  Victory! Victory! Victory!Ah, but it is, believe me,
  Easier, easier far, to intone the chant of the martyr
  Than to indite any paean of any victory. Death may
  Sometimes be noble; but life, at the best, will appear an illusion,
  While the great pain is upon us, it is great; when it is over,
  Why, it is over. The smoke of the sacrifice rises to heaven,
  Of a sweet savor, no doubt, to somebody; but on the altar,
  Lo, there is nothing remaining but ashes and dirt and ill odor.

  So it stands, you perceive; the labial muscles, that swelled with
  Vehement evolution of yesterday Marseillaises,
  Articulations sublime of defiance and scorning, to-day col-
  Lapse and languidly mumble, while men and women and papers
  Scream and re-scream to each other the chorus of Victory. Well, but
  I am thankful they fought, and glad that the Frenchmen were beaten.

  So I have seen a man killed! An experience that, among others!
  Yes, I suppose I have; although I can hardly be certain,
  And in a court of justice could never declare I had seen it.
  But a man was killed, I am told, in a place where I saw
  Something; a man was killed, I am told, and I saw something.

  I was returning home from St. Peter's; Murray, as usual,
  Under my arm, I remember; had crossed the St. Angelo bridge; and
  Moving towards the Condotti, had got to the first barricade, when
  Gradually, thinking still of St. Peter's, I became conscious
  Of a sensation of movement opposing me,tendency this way
  (Such as one fancies may be in a stream when the wave of the tide is
  Coming and not yet come,a sort of poise and retention);
  So I turned, and, before I turned, caught sight of stragglers
  Heading a crowd, it is plain, that is coming behind that corner.
  Looking up, I see windows filled with heads; the Piazza,
  Into which you remember the Ponte St. Angelo enters,
  Since I passed, has thickened with curious groups; and now the
  Crowd is coming, has turned, has crossed that last barricade, is
  Here at my side. In the middle they drag at something. What is it?
  Ha! bare swords in the air, held up! There seem to be voices
  Pleading and hands putting back; official, perhaps; but the swords are
  Many, and bare in the air,in the air! They descend! They are smiting,
  Hewing, chopping! At what? In the air once more upstretched! And
  Is it blood that's on them? Yes, certainly blood! Of whom, then?
  Over whom is the cry of this furor of exultation?

  While they are skipping and screaming, and dancing their caps on the
    points of
  Swords and bayonets, I to the outskirts back, and ask a
  Mercantile-seeming bystander, "What is it?" and he, looking always
  That way, makes me answer, "A Priest, who was trying to fly to
  The Neapolitan army,"and thus explains the proceeding.

  You didn't see the dead man? No;I began to be doubtful;
  I was in black myself, and didn't know what mightn't happen;
  But a National Guard close by me, outside of the hubbub,
  Broke his sword with slashing a broad hat covered with dust,and
  Passing away from the place with Murray under my arm, and
  Stooping, I saw through the legs of the people the legs of a body.

  You are the first, do you know, to whom I have mentioned the matter.
  Whom should I tell it to, else?these girls?the Heavens forbid it!
  Quidnuncs at Monaldini's?idlers upon the Pincian?

  If I rightly remember, it happened on that afternoon when
  Word of the nearer approach of a new Neapolitan army
  First was spread. I began to bethink me of Paris Septembers,
  Thought I could fancy the look of the old 'Ninety-two. On that evening,
  Three or four, or, it may be, five, of these people were slaughtered.
  Some declare they had, one of them, fired on a sentinel; others
  Say they were only escaping; a Priest, it is currently stated,
  Stabbed a National Guard on the very Piazza Colonna:
  History, Rumor of Rumors, I leave it to thee to determine!

  But I am thankful to say the government seems to have strength to
  Put it down; it has vanished, at least; the place is now peaceful.
  Through the Trastevere walking last night, at nine of the clock, I
  Found no sort of disorder; I crossed by the Island-bridges,
  So by the narrow streets to the Ponte Rotto, and onwards
  Thence, by the Temple of Vesta, away to the great Coliseum,
  Which at the full of the moon is an object worthy a visit.

  George has just seen Garibaldi, dressed up in a long white cloak, on
  Horseback, riding by, with his mounted negro behind him:
  This is a man, you know, who came from America with him,
  Out of the woods, I suppose, and uses a lasso in fighting,
  Which is, I don't quite know, but a sort of noose, I imagine;
  This he throws on the heads of the enemy's men in a battle,
  Pulls them into his reach, and then most cruelly kills them:
  Mary does not believe, but we heard it from an Italian.

  Mary allows she was wrong about Mr. Claude being selfish;
  He was most useful and kind on the terrible thirtieth of April.

  Do not write here any more; we are starting directly for Florence:
  We should be off to-morrow, if only Papa could get horses;
  All have been seized everywhere for the use of this dreadful Mazzini.

  Mary has seen thus far.I am really so angry, Louisa,
  Quite out of patience, my dearest! What can the man be intending?
  I am quite tired; and Mary, who might bring him to in a moment,
  Lets him go on as he likes, and neither will help nor dismiss him.

  It is most curious to see what a power a few calm words (in
  Merely a brief proclamation) appear to possess on the people.
  Order is perfect, and peace; the city is utterly tranquil;
  And one cannot conceive that this easy and nonchalant crowd, that
  Flows like a quiet stream through street and market-place, entering
  Shady recesses and bays of church, ostería and caffè,
  Could in a moment be changed to a flood as of molten lava,
  Boil into deadly wrath and wild homicidal delusion.

  Ah, 'tis an excellent race,and even in old degradation,
  Under a rule that enforces to flattery, lying, and cheating,
  E'en under Pope and Priest, a nice and natural people.
  Oh, could they but be allowed this chance of redemption!but clearly
  That is not likely to be. Meantime, notwithstanding all journals,
  Honor for once to the tongue and the pen of the eloquent writer!
  Honor to speech! and all honor to thee, thou noble Mazzini!

  It is most curious to see what a power a few calm words (in
  Merely a brief proclamation) appear to possess on the people.
  Order is perfect, and peace; the city is utterly tranquil;
  And one cannot conceive that this easy and nonchalant crowd, that
  Flows like a quiet stream through street and market-place, entering
  Shady recesses and bays of church, ostería and caffè,
  Could in a moment be changed to a flood as of molten lava,
  Boil into deadly wrath and wild homicidal delusion.

  Ah, 'tis an excellent race,and even in old degradation,
  Under a rule that enforces to flattery, lying, and cheating,
  E'en under Pope and Priest, a nice and natural people.
  Oh, could they but be allowed this chance of redemption!but clearly
  That is not likely to be. Meantime, notwithstanding all journals,
  Honor for once to the tongue and the pen of the eloquent writer!
  Honor to speech! and all honor to thee, thou noble Mazzini!

  I am in love, meantime, you think; no doubt, you would think so.
  I am in love, you say; with those letters, of course, you would say so.

  I am in love, you declare. I think not so; yet I grant you
  It is a pleasure, indeed, to converse with this girl. Oh, rare gift,
  Rare felicity, this! she can talk in a rational way, can
  Speak upon subjects that really are matters of mind and of thinking,
  Yet in perfection retain her simplicity; never, one moment,
  Never, however you urge it, however you tempt her, consents to
  Step from ideas and fancies and loving sensations to those vain
  Conscious understandings that vex the minds of man-kind.
  No, though she talk, it is music; her fingers desert not the keys; 'tis
  Song, though you hear in her song the articulate vocables sounded,
  Syllabled singly and sweetly the words of melodious meaning.

  Ah, let me look, let me watch, let me wait, unbiased, unprompted!
  Bid me not venture on aught that could alter or end what is present!
  Say not, Time flies, and occasion, that never returns, is departing!
  Drive me not out, ye ill angels with fiery swords, from my Eden,
  Waiting, and watching, and looking! Let love be its own inspiration!
  Shall not a voice, if a voice there must be, from the airs that environ,
  Yea, from the conscious heavens, without our knowledge or effort,
  Break into audible words? Let love be its own inspiration!

  Wherefore and how I am certain, I hardly can tell; but it is so.
  She doesn't like me, Eustace; I think she never will like me.
  Is it my fault, as it is my misfortune, my ways are not her ways?
  Is it my fault, that my habits and modes are dissimilar wholly?
  'Tis not her fault, 'tis her nature, her virtue, to misapprehend them:
  'Tis not her fault, 'tis her beautiful nature, not even to know me.
  Hopeless it seems,yet I cannot, hopeless, determine to leave it:
  She goes,therefore I go; she moves,I move, not to lose her.

  Oh, 'tisn't manly, of course, 'tisn't manly, this method of wooing;
  'Tisn't the way very likely to win. For the woman, they tell you,
  Ever prefers the audacious, the wilful, the vehement hero;
  She has no heart for the timid, the sensitive soul; and for knowledge,
  Knowledge, O ye gods!when did they appreciate knowledge?
  Wherefore should they, either? I am sure I do not desire it.

  Ah, and I feel too, Eustace, she cares not a tittle about me!
  (Care about me, indeed! and do I really expect it?)
  But my manner offends; my ways are wholly repugnant;
  Every word that I utter estranges, hurts, and repels her;
  Every moment of bliss that I gain, in her exquisite presence,
  Slowly, surely, withdraws her, removes her, and severs her from me.
  Not that I care very much!any way, I escape from the boy's own
  Folly, to which I am prone, of loving where it is easy.
  Yet, after all, my Eustace, I know but little about it.
  All I can say for myself, for present alike and for past, is,
  Mary Trevellyn, Eustace, is certainly worth your acquaintance.
  You couldn't come, I suppose, as far as Florence, to see her?

  * * * To-morrow we're starting for Florence,
  Truly rejoiced, you may guess, to escape from republican terrors;
  Sir. C. and Papa to escort us; we by vettura
  Through Siena, and Georgy to follow and join us by Leghorn.
  ThenAh, what shall I say, my dearest? I tremble in thinking!
  You will imagine my feelings,the blending of hope and of sorrow!
  How can I bear to abandon Papa and Mamma and my sisters?
  Dearest Louisa, indeed it is very alarming; but trust me
  Ever, whatever may change, to remain your loving Georgina.

  * * * "Do I like Mr. Claude any better?"
  I am to tell you,and, "Pray, is it Susan or I that attract him?"
  This he never has told, but Georgina could certainly ask him.
  All I can say for myself is, alas! that he rather repels me.
  There! I think him agreeable, but also a little repulsive.
  So be content, dear Louisa; for one satisfactory marriage
  Surely will do in one year for the family you would establish,
  Neither Susan nor I shall afford you the joy of a second.

  Mr. Claude, you must know, is behaving a little bit better;
  He and Papa are great friends; but he really is too shilly-shally,
  So unlike George! Yet I hope that the matter is going on fairly.
  I shall, however, get George, before he goes, to say something.
  Dearest Louisa, how delightful, to bring young people together!

  Is it to Florence we follow, or are we to tarry yet longer,
    E'en amid clamor of arms, here in the city of old,
  Seeking from clamor of arms in the Past and the Arts to be hidden,
    Vainly 'mid Arts and the Past seeking our life to forget?
  Ah, fair shadow, scarce seen, go forth! for anon he shall follow,
    He that beheld thee, anon, whither thou leadest, must go!
  Go, and the wise, loving Muse, she also will follow and find thee!
    She, should she linger in Rome, were not dissevered from thee!