Monte Rotondo, it is almost superfluous to relate, experienced the fate of Bagnorea. Nothing comparable in point of atrocity had occurred since the invasion of Italy by the barbarians. In justice to Garibaldi, it must be said that he rebuked publicly by an order of the day, dated 28th October, the “shameful excess” of his fellow-adventurers, and proceeded to expurgate their ranks. But he could not hinder them from being what they were, a mob of miscreants that the secret societies of the whole world had discharged on the Pontifical State. He was not less astonished to meet with so poor a welcome on the part of the people whom it was supposed he came to deliver. His chief lieutenant, Bertani, bears witness to this state of things, in the Riforma of 18th November, 1867: “It must be admitted,” said this writer, “that the people of the Roman States have no idea of an Italy one and free. We [pg 304] have not been greeted or encouraged by a single cry of rejoicing; nor have we obtained either any spontaneous assistance, or even a word of consolation, from these brutified people.”
General Kanzler, the pro-Minister of War, well understood that it was impossible to defend for any length of time the frontier against bands that were constantly recruited. Accordingly, he ordered all the isolated garrisons to concentrate at Rome. It was more important than anything else to preserve the Papal city from being surprised by the invaders. Garibaldi, when re-inforced, marched in advance of Monte Rotondo. Cialdini followed him at some distance, but without daring as yet openly to join the banditti. The French, however, were en route. Kanzler took his departure from Rome on 3rd November, at two o'clock in the morning, followed by 3,000 Pontifical troops and 2,000 French soldiers. “Come,” said he, to M. Emilius Keller, Dr. O'Zannam, and some others who had just arrived from Paris, in order to organize the ambulance service of the Pontifical army, “come, and you will see a fine battle.” The small army met the enemy at one o'clock in the afternoon, at a short distance from the town of Mentana, the ancient Nomentum from which the Nomentan way (via Nomentana) took its name. Garibaldi's command was from 10,000 to 12,000 strong. He placed his men in ambuscade, partly on small hills that were covered with wood, and partly scattered them, as fusileers, along the hedges. His left wing was commanded by Pianciani, who, some time later, was Mayor of Rome. Kanzler's force commenced firing. But what could it avail against an enemy that was invisible and in superior numbers? A veteran of Castelfidardo, Lieutenant-Colonel de Charette, the same who was destined afterwards to immortalize himself at Patay and at Mans, understood that nothing was to be gained by a fusillade. “Forward,” he cried, “my Zouaves! charge with the bayonet; and, remember, the French army is looking on.” The Zouaves reply: “Live Pius IX!” and spring forward with their leader. The Garibaldians are dislodged from the first hill—from the other hills, and would have [pg 305] been utterly routed but for the formidable intrenchments presented by the Santucci vineyard, which was laid out in gardens rising in storeys, one above the other, and intersected by walls. Garibaldi was posted on the summit, in a villa, whence he directed his fire without being exposed to personal danger. His position was, indeed, strong. Charette's troop was observed to waver. “Forward, Zouaves!” cried their leader, “or I shall die without you!” As he spoke, his horse was struck by a ball and fell dead. Meanwhile, the Zouaves scaled the walls and the ravines, without heeding those who fell. Garibaldi was disconcerted by this living tornado. He fell back from his villa to the houses, and thence to the Castle of Mentana. The Zouaves followed in the face of a murderous fire, discharged from the walls of the castle; but they always advanced, and finally, repelled, by a bayonet charge, a renewed and general attack of the enemy. Such efforts, however, could not have been sustained for any length of time unaided, and bravery must, in the end, have given way to numbers. General de Courten, who directed this attack, sent to ask assistance from General Polhes, who commanded the army of France. The French soldiers had been, hitherto, inactive, although by no means unheeding spectators of the combat. “Bravo! Zouaves, bravo!” cried they, eagerly desiring to share in the fight. At a sign from their chief, they sprang forward in their turn. At their head was Colonel Saussier, of the 20th regiment of the line, who was afterwards general and member of the National Assembly at Versailles. The sudden and hitherto unknown fire of the chassepots carried death and terror within the precincts of the castle. Meanwhile, a detachment of Zouaves managed to place themselves between Mentana and Monte Rotondo, and so intercepted the reinforcements which were hastening from the latter place to join the Garibaldians. At sight of this achievement, the bands, already much demoralized, were thrown into confusion. Night came, and, favoring their flight, changed it to a rout. Garibaldi himself, who had so often shouted, “Rome or death”—stole [pg 306] away, under cover of the darkness, like the meanest of the fugitives. His sons did in like manner. It was expected that they would renew the battle next day, as Monte Rotondo, which they still held, presented a convenient position for rallying. They did nothing of the kind. On the very night which followed the engagement Garibaldi and his sons recrossed the Italian frontier. “He always runs away” (si salva sempre), said his followers, in the bitterness of their disappointment, when so shamefully betrayed and abandoned. The French soldiers, on the other hand, always inclined to raillery and punning, baptized the action of the preceding day, calling it the battle of Montre ton dos. The Garibaldians, who held the castle, as well as the rest of the banditti who could not get away in time, surrendered, unconditionally, to General Polhes. There was but little bloodshed on the side of the victors, thanks to the rapidity with which the victory was won. The losses of the French troops were not more than two killed, two officers and thirty-six privates wounded. Of the Pontifical force there were twenty killed and one hundred and twenty-three wounded. Several of these died of their wounds.
The Maistre—Muller.
Among those noble victims who claim the gratitude of the Catholic world, were names already dear to the church—such as Bernard de Quatre-barbe, a nephew of the defender of Ancona; Rodolph de Maistre, grandson of the immortal author of “The Pope;” and John de Muller, son of the celebrated German controversialist. As if nothing that is glorious should be wanting to the field of Mentana, it had also its martyrs of charity. The Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul went and came among the wounded and the dying, giving their aid alike to all, no matter what their uniform. There was need of water. A Pontifical Zouave, Julius Watts Russell, ran to find some for a Garibaldian who was at the point of death. As he was gently raising the head of the moribund, in order that he might drink, he was himself struck with a ball and fell dead on the body of him whom he had endeavored to succour. On his person was found a small note, [pg 307] in which he thus exhorted himself: “My soul, O, my soul! love God and pursue thy way.” What Christian would not be envious of a like death—a death which nobly crowned such a life as these few words necessarily suppose?
Garibaldian fanaticism.
The vanquished had been fanaticised by the secret societies as well as by Garibaldi himself, that infuriated enthusiast, who could not write four lines nor utter four words without enshrining therein the treasons of the black race, that prurient sore of Italy; or the venom of the Vatican, that nest of vipers; or the lies of Pius IX., that pest, that monster, twice accursed, as priest and as king. So when these people were made prisoners, they expected nothing better than the hardest treatment and the most terrible vengeance. How surprised must they not then have been to find that their wounded were attended to on the field of battle, and the same care and attention extended to them as to the wounded of the Pontifical force, whilst those who were sound met with no other punishment than to be well guarded at first, and afterwards released by degrees, as it became certain that Garibaldi would be in no hurry to renew his game. Finally, a complete amnesty was granted. This extreme clemency of a legitimate government towards an invading banditti presented a noble and happy contrast with the implacable revenge of the usurping King of Piedmont. Victor Emmanuel, in fact, had no hesitation in putting to death the Spanish general Borges and his Neapolitan comrades, who were arrested whilst bearing arms in an endeavor to deliver the kingdom of Naples, and restore its former king, Francis II.
Two murderers executed.
Two men only were excepted from the Pontifical amnesty. These were the authors of that atrocious act, the blowing up of the Sorristori barracks. Their crime, indeed, could not be considered as anything connected with the war, but simply as cowardly assassination. Those two wretches, Monti and Tognetti, underwent a regular trial, which lasted more than a year, [pg 308] and at which all the forms required by law were strictly observed. They were convicted, and ended by acknowledging everything. They suffered capital punishment, and, at their execution, begged pardon of God and men. The day after this execution—coming generations will scarcely believe so strange a fact—the Chamber of Deputies at Florence solemnly protested against it, as did also Victor Emmanuel. The secret societies opened a subscription list for the widows of the executed criminals. Victor Emmanuel took part in it. And thus did a king honor parties who commit murder by gunpowder plots. True, this king was the same prince who, in pursuance of a decree issued by Garibaldi, at Naples, in 1861, pensioned the widow of the regicide, Agesilas Milano.
Pius IX. visits the wounded rebels.
Pius IX. entertained quite a different idea of the duties of royalty. He was persuaded that an example should be made of the foul crime of Monti and Tognetti, and so could not be moved. “A king,” said he, “owes justice to all alike, certainly not excepting honest people: and hence assassins must not be allowed to count on impunity.” He went kindly to visit the wounded Garibaldians, “those unfortunate people, a great many of whom were only misled, and who, nevertheless, were his children.” Two hundred of them had been conveyed to a lower room in the Castle of St. Angelo. He visited them quite alone, and thus addressed them: “Here I am, my friends; you see before you him whom your general calls the Vampire of Italy; you all took up arms against me, and you see that I am only a poor old man! You are in need of shoes, clothes and linen. Well, the Pope on whom you made war will cause you to be supplied with all these things. He will then send you back to your families; only before your departure, you will, from love to me, make a spiritual retreat.” The unfortunate rebels could not believe their eyes or their ears. Some turned away from him in sullen wrath, like demons who will not give up hating. Others, in greater numbers, seized hold of the paternal hand which was raised over them to bless them, [pg 309] and bathed it with their tears. The good Pope, marvelled at the designs of God, who brings good out of evil. “O felix culpa” (“O happy fault!”), said he, alluding to the prayers of Holy Saturday, “if these children had not borne arms against me, they would not, perhaps, have died so piously.”