Americans -- Italy -- Fiction; Children of the rich -- Fiction; Love stories
THE next few days were anxious ones for Italy. The straw-weavers of
Tuscany were marching into Florence with the cry, ‘_Pane o
lavore!_‘—‘Bread or work!‘—and in the north not bread, but revolution
was openly the watchword. Timid tourists who had no desire to be mixed
up in another ‘49 were scurrying across the frontiers into France and
Switzerland; adventurous gentlemen from the Riviera, eager to enjoy the
fun and not unwilling to take advantage of a universal tumult, were
gaily scrambling in. The ministry, jostled from its usual apathy, had
vigorously set itself to suppressing real and imaginary plots.
Opposition newspapers were sequestered and the editors thrown into
jail; telegrams and letters were withheld, public meetings broken up,
and men arrested in the streets for singing the ‘Hymn of Labour.’ The
secret police worked night and day. Every café and theatre and crowd
had its spies disguised as loungers; and none dared speak the truth to
his neighbour for fear his neighbour was in the pay of the premier.
In Milan the rioters had been lashed into a frenzy by their first taste
of blood, and for three days the future of United Italy looked dark.
Wagons and tramcars were overturned in the streets to make barricades.
Roofs and windows rained down tiles and stones, and the soldiers obeyed
but sullenly when ordered to fire upon the mob. In their hearts many of
them sympathized. The socialists were out in force and working hard,
and their motto was, ‘Spread the discontent!’ Priests and students from
the universities were stirring up the peasants in the fields and urging
them on to revolt. All dissatisfied classes were for the moment united
in their desire to overthrow the existing government; what should take
its place could be decided later. When Savoy was ousted, then the
others—the republicans, the priests, the socialists, the hungry mob in
the streets—could fight it out among themselves. And as each faction
in its heart believed itself to be the strongest, the fight, if it
should come, was like to prove the end of Italy.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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