Miscellaneous Prose
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George Meredith >> Miscellaneous Prose
As I am not far from Borgoforte, I am able to learn more than the mere
cannon's voice can tell me, and so will give you some details of the
action against the tete-de-pont, which began, as I told you in one of my
former letters, on the 4th. In Gorgoforte there were about 1500
Austrians, and, on the night from the 5th to the 6th, they kept up from
their four fortified works a sufficiently well-sustained fire, the object
of which was to prevent the enemy from posting his guns. This fire,
however, did not cause any damage, and the Italians were able to plant
their batteries. Early on the 6th, the firing began all along the line,
the Italian 16-pounders having been the first to open fire. The Italian
right was commanded by Colonel Mattei, the left by Colonel Bangoni, who
did excellent work, while the other wing was not so successful. The
heaviest guns had not yet arrived owing to one of those incidents always
sure to happen when least expected, so that the 40-pounders could not be
brought to bear against the forts until later in the day. The damage
done to the works was not great for the moment, but still the advantage
had been gained of feeling the strength of the enemy's positions and
finding the right way to attack them. The artillerymen worked with great
vigour, and were only obliged to desist by an unexpected order which
arrived about two p.m. from General Cialdini. The attack was, however,
resumed on the following day, and the condition of the Monteggiana and
Rochetta forts may be pronounced precarious. As a sign of the times,
and more especially of the just impatience which prevails in Italy about
the general direction of the army movements, it may not be without
importance to notice that the Italian press has begun to cry out against
the darkness in which everything is enveloped, while the time already
passed since the 24th June tells plainly of inaction. It is remarked
that the bitter gift made by Austria of the Venetian provinces, and the
suspicious offer of mediation by France, ought to have found Italy in
greatly different condition, both as regards her political and military
position. Italy is, on the contrary, in exactly the same state as when
the Archduke Albert telegraphed to Vienna that a great success had been
obtained over the Italian army. These are facts, and, however strong and
worthy of respect may be the reasons, there is no doubt that an
extraordinary delay in the resumption of hostilities has occurred, and
that at the present moment operations projected are perfectly mysterious.
Something is let out from time to time which only serves to make the
subsequent absence of news more and more puzzling. For the present the
first official relation of the unhappy fight of the 24th June is
published, and is accordingly anxiously scanned and closely studied.
It is a matter of general remark that no great military knowledge is
required to perceive that too great a reliance was placed upon supposed
facts, and that the indulgence of speculations and ideas caused the waste
of so much precious blood. The prudence characterising the subsequent
moves of the Austrians may have been caused by the effects of their
opponents' arrangements, but the Italian commanders ought to have avoided
the responsibility of giving the enemy the option to move.
It is clear that to mend things the utterance of generous and patriotic
cries is not sufficient, and that it must be shown that the vigour of the
body is not at all surpassed by the vigour of the mind. It is also clear
that many lives might have been spared if there had been greater proofs
of intelligence on the part of those who directed the movement.
The situation is still very serious. Such an armistice as General von
Gablenz could humiliate himself enough to ask from the Prussians has been
refused, but another which the Emperor of the French has advised them to
accept might ultimately become a fact. For Italy, the purely Venetian
question could then also be settled, while the Italian, the national
question, the question of right and honour which the army prizes so much,
would still remain to be solved.
GONZAGA, July 12, 1866.
Travelling is generally said to be troublesome, but travelling with and
through brigades, divisions, and army corps, I can certify to be more so
than is usually agreeable. It is not that Italian officers or Italian
soldiers are in any way disposed to throw obstacles in your way; but
they, unhappily for you, have with them the inevitable cars with the
inevitable carmen, both of which are enough to make your blood freeze,
though the barometer stands very high. What with their indolence, what
with their number and the dust they made, I really thought they would
drive me mad before I should reach Casalmaggiore on my way from Torre
Malamberti. I started from the former place at three a.m., with
beautiful weather, which, true to tradition, accompanied me all through
my journey. Passing through San Giovanni in Croce, to which the
headquarters of General Pianell had been transferred, I turned to the
right in the direction of the Po, and began to have an idea of the
wearisome sort of journey which I would have to make up to Casalmaggiore.
On both sides of the way some regiments belonging to the rear division
were still camped, and as I passed it was most interesting to see how
busy they were cooking their 'rancio,' polishing their arms, and making
the best of their time. The officers stood leisurely about gazing and
staring at me, supposing, as I thought, that I was travelling with some
part in the destiny of their country. Here and there some soldiers who
had just left the hospitals of Brescia and Milan made their way to their
corps and shook hands with their comrades, from whom only illness or the
fortune of war had made them part. They seemed glad to see their old
tent, their old drum, their old colour-sergeant, and also the flag they
had carried to the battle and had not at any price allowed to be taken.
I may state here, en passant, that as many as six flags were taken from
the enemy in the first part of the day of Custozza, and were subsequently
abandoned in the retreat, while of the Italians only one was lost to a
regiment for a few minutes, when it was quickly retaken. This fact ought
to be sufficient by itself to establish the bravery with which the
soldiers fought on the 24th, and the bravery with which they will fight
if, as they ardently wish; a new occasion is given to them.
As long as I had only met troops, either marching or camping on the road,
all went well, but I soon found myself mixed with an interminable line of
cars and the like, forming the military and the civil train of the moving
army. Then it was that it needed as much patience to keep from jumping
out of one's carriage and from chastising the carrettieri, as they would
persist in not making room for one, and being as dumb to one's entreaties
as a stone. When you had finished with one you had to deal with another,
and you find them all as obstinate and as egotistical as they are from
one end of the world to the other, whether it be on the Casalmaggiore
road or in High Holborn. From time to time things seemed to proceed all
right, and you thought yourself free from further trouble, but you soon
found out your mistake, as an enormous ammunition car went smack into
your path, as one wheel got entangled with another, and as imperturbable
Signor Carrettiere evidently took delight at a fresh opportunity for
stoppage, inaction, indolence, and sleep. I soon came to the conclusion
that Italy would not be free when the Austrians had been driven away, for
that another and a more formidable foe--an enemy to society and comfort,
to men and horses, to mankind in general would have still to be beaten,
expelled, annihilated, in the shape of the carrettiere. If you employ
him, he robs you fifty times over; if you want him to drive quickly, he
is sure to keep the animal from going at all; if, worse than all, you
never think of him, or have just been plundered by him, he will not move
an inch to oblige you. Surely the cholera is not the only pestilence a
country may be visited with; and, should Cialdini ever go to Vienna, he
might revenge Novara and the Spielberg by taking with him the carrettieri
of the whole army.
At last Casalmaggiore hove in sight, and, when good fortune and the
carmen permitted, I reached it. It was time! No iron-plated Jacob could
ever have resisted another two miles' journey in such company. At
Casalmaggiore I branched off. There were, happily, two roads, and not
the slightest reason or smallest argument were needed to make me choose
that which my cauchemar had not chosen. They were passing the river at
Casalmaggiore. I went, of course, for the same purpose, somewhere else.
Any place was good enough--so I thought, at least, then. New adventures,
new miseries awaited me--some carrettiere, or other, guessing that I was
no friend of his, nor of the whole set of them, had thrown the jattatura
on me.
I alighted at the Colombina, after four hours' ride, to give the horses
time to rest a little. The Albergo della Colombina was a great
disappointment, for there was nothing there that could be eaten.
I decided upon waiting most patiently, but most unlike a few cavalry
officers, who, all covered with dust, and evidently as hungry and as
thirsty as they could be, began to swear to their hearts' content. In an
hour some eggs and some salame, a kind of sausage, were brought up, and
quickly disposed of. A young lieutenant of the thirtieth infantry
regiment of the Pisa brigade took his place opposite, and we were soon
engaged in conversation. He had been in the midst and worst part of the
battle of Custozza, and had escaped being taken prisoner by what seemed a
miracle. He told me how, when his regiment advanced on the Monte Croce
position, which he practically described to me as having the form of an
English pudding, they were fired upon by batteries both on their flanks
and front. The lieutenant added, however, rather contemptuously, that
they did not even bow before them, as the custom appears to be--that is,
to lie down, as the Austrians were firing very badly. The cross-fire
got, however, so tremendous that an order had to be given to keep down by
the road to avoid being annihilated. The assault was given, the whole
range of positions was taken, and kept too for hours, until the
infallible rule of three to one, backed by batteries, grape, and
canister, compelled them to retreat, which they did slowly and in order.
It was then that their brigade commander, Major General Rey de Villarey,
who, though a native of Mentone, had preferred remaining with his king
from going over to the French after the cession, turning to his son, who
was also his aide-de-camp, said in his dialect, 'Now, my son, we must die
both of us,' and with a touch of the spurs was soon in front of the line
and on the hill, where three bullets struck him almost at once dead.
The horse of his son falling while following, his life was spared.
My lieutenant at this moment was so overcome with hunger and fatigue that
he fell down, and was thought to be dead. He was not so, however, and
had enough life to hear, after the fight was over, the Austrian Jagers
pass by, and again retire to their original positions, where their
infantry was lying down, not dreaming for one moment of pursuing the
Italians. Four of his soldiers--all Neapolitans he heard coming in
search of him, while the bullets still hissed all round; and, as soon as
he made a sign to them, they approached, and took him on their shoulders
back to where was what remained of the regiment. It is highly creditable
to Italian unity to hear an old Piedmontese officer praise the levies of
the new provinces, and the lieutenant took delight in relating that
another Neapolitan was in the fight standing by him, and firing as fast
as he could, when a shell having burst near him, he disdainfully gave it
a look, and did not even seek to save himself from the jattatura.
The gallant lieutenant had unfortunately to leave at last, and I was
deprived of many an interesting tale and of a brave man's company. I
started, therefore, for Viadana, where I purposed passing the Po, the
left bank of which the road was now following parallel with the stream.
At Viadana, however, I found no bridge, as the military had demolished
what existed only the day before, and so had to look out for in
formation. As I was going about under the porticoes which one meets in
almost all the villages in this neighbourhood, I was struck by the sight
of an ancient and beautiful piece of art--for so it was--a Venetian
mirror of Murano. It hung on the wall inside the village draper's shop,
and was readily shown me by the owner, who did not conceal the pride he
had in possessing it. It was one of those mirrors one rarely meets with
now, which were once so abundant in the old princes' castles and palaces.
It looked so deep and true, and the gilt frame was so light, and of such
a purity and elegance, that it needed all my resolution to keep from
buying it, though a bargain would not have been effected very easily.
The mirror, however, had to be abandoned, as Dosalo, the nearest point
for crossing the Po, was still seven miles distant. By this time the sun
was out in all its force, and the heat was by no means agreeable. Then
there was dust, too, as if the carrettieri had been passing in hundreds,
so that the heat was almost unbearable. At last the Dosalo ferry was
reached, the road leading to it was entered, and the carriage was, I
thought, to be at once embarked, when a drove of oxen were discovered to
have the precedence; and so I had to wait. This under such a sun, on a
shadeless beach, and with the prospect of having to stay there for two
hours at least, was by no means pleasant. It took three-quarters of an
hour to put the oxen in the boat, it took half an hour to get them on the
other shore, and another hour to have the ferry boat back. The panorama
from the beach was splendid, the Po appeared in all the mighty power of
his waters, and as you looked with the glass at oxen and trees on the
other shore, they appeared to be clothed in all the colours of the
rainbow, and as if belonging to another world. Several peasants were
waiting for the boat near me, talking about the war and the Austrians,
and swearing they would, if possible, annihilate some of the latter. I
gave them the glass to look with, and I imagined that they had never seen
one before, for they thought it highly wonderful to make out what the
time was at the Luzzara Tower, three miles in a straight line on the
other side. The revolver, too, was a subject of great admiration, and
they kept turning, feeling, and staring at it, as if they could not make
out which way the cartridges were put in. One of these peasants,
however, was doing the grand with the others, and once on the subject of
history related to all who would hear how he had been to St. Helena,
which was right in the middle of Moscow, where it was so very cold that
his nose had got to be as large as his head. The poor man was evidently
mixing one night's tale with that of the next one, a tale probably heard
from the old Sindaco, who is at the same time the schoolmaster, the
notary, and the highest municipal authority in the place.
I started in the ferry boat with them at last. While crossing they got
to speak of the priests, and were all agreed, to put it in the mildest
way, in thinking extremely little of them, and only differed as to what
punishment they should like them to suffer.
On the side where we landed lay heaps of ammunition casks for the corps
besieging Borgoforte. Others were conveyed upon cars by my friends the
carrettieri, of whom it was decreed I should not be quit for some time to
come. Entering Guastalla I found only a few artillery officers,
evidently in charge of what we had seen carried along the route.
Guastalla is a neat little town very proud of its statue of Duke Ferrante
Gonzaga, and the Croce Rossa is a neat little inn, which may be proud of
a smart young waiter, who actually discovered that, as I wanted to
proceed to Luzzara, a few miles on, I had better stop till next morning,
I did not take his advice, and was soon under the gate of Luzzara, a very
neat little place, once one of the many possessions where the Gonzagas
had a court, a palace, and a castle. The arms over the archway may still
be seen, and would not be worth any notice but for a remarkable work of
terracotta representing a crown of pines and pine leaves in a wonderful
state of preservation. The whole is so artistically arranged and so
natural, that one might believe it to be one of Luca della Robbia's
works. Luzzara has also a great tower, which I had seen in the distance
from Dosalo, and the only albergo in the place gives you an excellent
Italian dinner. The wine might please one of the greatest admirers of
sherry, and if you are not given feather beds, the beds are at least
clean like the rooms themselves. Here, as it was getting too dark, I
decided upon stopping, a decision which gave me occasion to see one of
the finest sunsets I ever saw. As I looked from the albergo I could see
a gradation of colours, from the purple red to the deepest of sea blue,
rising like an immense tent from the dark green of the trees and the
fields, here and there dotted with little white houses, with their red
roofs, while in front the Luzzara Tower rose majestically in the
twilight. As the hour got later the colours deepened, and the lower end
of the immense curtain gradually disappeared, while the stars and the
planets began shining high above. A peasant was singing in a field near
by, and the bells of a church were chiming in the distance. Both seemed
to harmonise wonderfully. It was a scene of great loveliness.
At four a.m. I was up, and soon after on the road to Reggiolo, and then
to Gonzaga. Here the vegetation gets to be more luxuriant, and every
inch of ground contributes to the immense vastness of the whole. Nature
is here in full perfection, and as even the telegraphic wire hangs
leisurely down from tree to tree, instead of being stuck upon poles, you
feel that the romantic aspect of the place is too beautiful to be
encroached upon. All is peace, beauty, and happiness, all reveals to you
that you are in Italy.
In Gonzaga, which only a few days ago belonged to the Austrians, the
Italian tricolour is out of every window. As the former masters retired
the new advanced; and when a detachment of Monferrato lancers entered the
old castle town the joy of the inhabitants seemed to be almost bordering
on delirium. The lancers soon left, however. The flag only remains.
July 11.
Cialdini began passing the Po on the 8th, and crossed at three points,
i.e., Carbonara, Carbonarola, and Follonica. Beginning at three o'clock
in the morning, he had finished crossing upon the two first pontoon
bridges towards midnight on the 9th. The bridge thrown up at Follonica
was still intact up to seven in the morning on the 10th, but the troops
and the military and the civil train that remained followed the Po
without crossing to Stellata, in the supposed direction of Ponte
Lagoscura.
Yesterday guns were heard here at seven o'clock in the morning, and up to
eleven o'clock, in the direction of Legnano, towards, I think, the Adige.
The firing was lively, and of such a nature as to make one surmise that
battle had been given. Perhaps the Austrians have awaited Cialdini under
Legnano, or they have disputed the crossing of the Adige. Rovigo was
abandoned by the Austrians in the night of the 9th and 10th. They have
blown up the Rovigo and Boara fortresses, have destroyed the tete-de-pont
on the Adige, and burnt all bridges. They may now seek to keep by the
left side of this river up to Legnano, so as to get under the protection
of the quadrilateral, in which case, if Cialdini can cross the river in
time, the shock would be almost inevitable, and would be a reason for
yesterday's firing. They may also go by rail to Padua, when they would
have Cialdini between them and the quadrilateral. In any case, if this
general is quick, or if they are not too quick for him, according to
possible instructions, a collision is difficult to be avoided.
Baron Ricasoli has left Florence for the camp, and all sorts of rumours
are afloat as to the present state of negotiations as they appear
unmistakably to exist. The opinions are, I think, divided in the high
councils of the Crown, and the country is still anxious to know the
result of this state of affairs. A splendid victory by Cialdini might at
this moment solve many a difficulty. As it is, the war is prosecuted
everywhere except by sea, for Garibaldi's forces are slowly advancing in
the Italian Tyrol, while the Austrians wait for them behind the walls of
Landaro and Ampola. The Garibaldians' advanced posts were, by the latest
news, near Darso.
The news from Prussia is still contradictory; while the Italian press is
unanimous in asking with the country that Cialdini should advance, meet
the enemy, fight him, and rout him if possible. Italy's wishes are
entirely with him.
NOALE, NEAR TREVISO, July 17, 1866.
From Lusia I followed General Medici's division to Motta, where I left
it, not without regret, however, as better companions could not easily
be found, so kind were the officers and jovial the men. They are now
encamped around Padua, and will to-morrow march on Treviso, where the
Italian Light Horse have already arrived, if I judge so from their having
left Noale on the 15th. From the right I hear that the advanced posts
have proceeded as far as Mira on the Brenta, twenty kilometres from
Venice itself, and that the first army corps is to concentrate opposite
Chioggia. This corps has marched from Ferrara straight on to Rovigo,
which the forward movement of the fourth, or Cialdini's corps d'armee,
had left empty of soldiers. General Pianell has still charge of it, and
Major-General Cadalini, formerly at the head of the Siena brigade,
replaces him in the command of his former division. General Pianell has
under him the gallant Prince Amadeus, who has entirely recovered from his
chest wound, and of whom the brigade of Lombardian grenadiers is as proud
as ever. They could not wish for a more skilled commander, a better
superior officer, and a more valiant soldier. Thus the troops who fought
on the 24th June are kept in the second line, while the still fresh
divisions under Cialdini march first, as fast as they can. This,
however, is of no avail. The Italian outposts on the Piave have not yet
crossed it, for the reason that they must keep distances with their
regiments, but will do so as soon as these get nearer to the river. If
it was not that this is always done in regular warfare, they could beat
the country beyond the Piave for a good many miles without even seeing
the shadow of an Austrian. To the simple private, who does not know of
diplomatic imbroglios and of political considerations, this sudden
retreat means an almost as sudden retracing of steps, because he
remembers that this manoeuvre preceded both the attacks on Solferino and
on Custozza by the Austrians. To the officer, however, it means nothing
else than a fixed desire not to face the Italian army any more, and so it
is to him a source of disappointment and despondency. He cannot bear to
think that another battle is improbable, and may be excused if he is not
in the best of humour when on this subject. This is the case not only
with the officers but with the volunteers, who have left their homes and
the comfort of their domestic life, not to be paraded at reviews, but to
be sent against the enemy. There are hundreds of these in the regular
army-in the cavalry especially, and the Aosta Lancers and the regiment of
Guides are half composed of them. If you listen to them, there ought not
to be the slightest doubt or hesitation as to crossing the Isongo and
marching upon Vienna. May Heaven see their wishes accomplished, for,
unless crushed by sheer force, Italy is quite decided to carry war into
the enemy's country.
The decisions of the French government are looked for here with great
anxiety, and not a few men are found who predict them to be unfavourable
to Italy. Still, it is hard for every one to believe that the French
emperor will carry things to extremities, and increase the many
difficulties Europe has already to contend with.
To-day there was a rumour at the mess table that the Austrians had
abandoned Legnano, one of the four fortresses of the quadrilateral. I do
not put much faith in it at present, but it is not improbable, as we may
expect many strange things from the Vienna government. It would have
been much better for them, since Archduke Albert spoke in eulogistic
terms of the king, of his sons, and of his soldiers, while relating the
action of the 24th, to have treated with Italy direct, thus securing
peace, and perhaps friendship, from her. But the men who have ruled so
despotically for years over Italian subjects cannot reconcile themselves
to the idea that Italy has at last risen to be a nation, and they even
take slyly an opportunity to throw new insult into her face. You can
easily see that the old spirit is still struggling for empire; that the
old contempt is still trying to make light of Italians; and that the old
Metternich ideas are still fondly clung to. Does not this deserve
another lesson? Does not this need another Sadowa to quiet down for
ever? Yes; and it devolves upon Italy to do it. If so, let only
Cialdini's army alone, and the day may be nigh at hand when the king may
tell the country that the task has been accomplished.