PONTE VECCHIO, FLORENCE
As the new Italy has not yet achieved any homogeneous unity, Naples, Rome, Florence, Venice, and Milan differ in their characteristics to such a degree that no general interpretation of the residents of any one would appropriately describe those of another. Paris and Vienna hardly differ as much as do Milan and Rome; and Venice, Florence, and Rome, each rich in art treasures, have little else in common. Certain characteristics of each of the large cities reveal themselves prominently, even to a superficial observer. Milan, as has been said, is a centre of activity, as Florence is of culture and accomplishments. Florence has the largest and the most choice circulating library in all Italy and one that ranks among the best on the Continent. Her galleries are treasure stores of art, and her social life is unsurpassed—one might almost say unrivalled—in its fine quality. Music, philosophic culture, learning in all lines of research characterize Florentine society. Education has always been regarded in Florence as a matter of prime importance, and when the government grant of funds is insufficient the sum is made up by private contributions, so that the Scuola del Popolo gives free instruction, yearly, to eighteen hundred pupils, in every branch of technical and art education. This fact alone offers its own explanation of that general intelligence of the people which so impresses the visitor in Florence. But this is a municipal rather than national fact. Every special development in any direction in Italy will always be found to be the characteristic of the city or locality, not of the country as a whole; and thus the unity of Italy is still a political expression rather than a political fact. It is a theory which is not yet developed into an experience. Italy is in the making. Practically, she is the youngest of countries, with less than forty years of experimental attempt at national life behind her. Not until 1919 will she have attained the first half century of her united life. Educational facilities, inclusive of schools, libraries, and museums; railroads, telegraph and telephone service, electric lighting and electric trams,—all the ways and means of the modern mechanism of life are, inevitably, in a nebulous state in Italy. The political situation is extremely interesting at the present time. That the “Blacks” and the “Whites” are diametrically opposed to each other is in the nature of history rather than that of contemporary record or of prophecy; and that this is a traditional attitude in this city of the Cæsars is not a fact by any means unknown; but the situation is complicated by the third party—the Socialists—who, by allying themselves with either, would easily turn the scales and command the situation. If they were ardent Catholics and were advocates of the Papal supremacy, the temporal power of the Pope would be restored in less time almost than could be recorded, and Pius X would be in residence in the Palazzo Quirinale rather than Victor Emanuele III. But this great modern uprising in Italy—a movement that is gathering force and numbers so rapidly that no one can venture to prophesy results even in the comparatively immediate future—this great modern movement is neither for church nor state. The Socialist uprising is very strong in Milan and through Northern Italy. It is much in evidence in the Umbrian region—in Foligno, Spoleto, Nervi, and those towns; and from Frascati to Genzano and in the Lake Nemi chain of villages—Rocca di Papa, Castel Gandolpho, Ariccia, Albano—these villages within some fifteen miles of Rome. In these there is a veritable stronghold of Socialism, where its purposes and policy are entrenched. Yet when one alludes to its policy, the term is rather too definite. If it had a settled and well-formulated policy on which all its adherents were in absolute accord they would carry all before them. But Socialism is still a very elastic term and covers, if not a multitude of sins, at least a multitude of ideas and ideals. There is now a rumor that the situation is forcing the absolutely inconceivable union of church and state—of the Vatican and the Quirinale—that they may thus withstand their common foe. A more amazing and extraordinary turn of affairs could not be imagined; and if the rumor (which is now becoming more coherent in Rome) should prove to be the forerunner of any truth, the situation will be one of the most amazing in all history.
Epoch-making events in the course of progress are always preceded by circumstances that form to them a natural approach and chain of causation. They are the results of which the causes stretch backward in the past. One of the things that has an incalculably determining influence on the present situation is that of the character of the present Pope. His Holiness, Pius X, brings to the Papacy an entirely new element. He is no ascetic or exclusive ecclesiastic; he is no diplomat or intriguant, but rather a simple, kindly man, of a simplicity totally unprecedented in the annals of the Palazzo Vaticano. Instead of clinging with unswerving intensity of devotion to the idea of the restoration of the temporal power of the church, Pope Pius X would not be disinclined to the uniting of church and state as in England; the Vatican to remain, like the See of Canterbury, the acknowledged head of the spiritual power, while the Quirinale remained the head of the government to which the church should give its political adherence, the Quirinale in return giving to the Vatican its religious adherence. Perhaps it is not too much to say that something not unlike this might easily become—if it is not already—the dream of Pius X. But in the mean time there is another factor with which to reckon, and that is the present Papal Secretary of State, Cardinal Merry del Val. He it is who really holds the mystic key of St. Peter’s. He is a diplomatist, an ecclesiastic, an embodiment of all that is severe and archaic in authority. The Pope is by no means able to set his course by his own watch-lights. The College of Cardinals surrounds him, and the College of Cardinals is practically one Cardinal, the keen scholar and the all determining Cardinal Merry del Val, whose personality dominates the court of the Vatican. This remarkable prelate represents the most advanced and progressive thought of the day in many ways,—as has been noted in preceding pages,—but as a Jesuit he is unalterably devoted to what he considers the only ideal,—the restoration of the temporal power of the Pope. Spain revealed her attitude when King Alphonso asked of all the monarchs of Europe that the name of each should be borne by his infant son, the heir-apparent; and for Italy he asked the name of the Pope and not of the King, thus recognizing Pius X rather than Victor Emmanuel III as the head of the nation.
That the Socialists have very logical and serious grounds for complaint is true. That their leader, Signor Enrico Ferri, an Italian journalist and a Senator, is one of the most able men in Italy since the time of Cavour is equally undeniable. The Socialists are fortunate, too, in other leading men. Turati, the editor of the Critica Sociale, Pantaleoni, Colajanni, and others are absolutely the hope of Italy at the present time in the struggle for better conditions. For the conditions of life in Italy, as regards taxation, the problems of transit, the government restrictions on agricultural production and on manufactures, are absolutely intolerable and should not be endured for a day. The taxation is so exorbitant that it is a marvel Italy is not depopulated. On land the tax rate is from thirty to fifty per cent; the income tax is not merely, as one would suppose, levied on a legitimate income derived from a man’s possessions, but is levied on salaries, ranging from ten to twenty per cent of these, and also, not content with this unheard-of extortion, the tax is levied on the nature and source of his salary, and even the smallest wage is thus subject to an income tax. Again, there is a most absurd tax on salt, which, like sugar and tobacco, is held as a government monopoly. No poor person living on the seacoast in Italy is allowed to take even a pail of water from the sea to his house, as the government assumes that, by evaporation, it might yield a few grains of salt. The tax on sugar effectually checks an industry that might be made most profitable, that of putting up fruit in jams, jellies, and compote, and renders the price of these commodities absurdly high. Again, when taxes are paid the process is even worse than the unjust and exorbitant tax itself. No one is allowed to send a check or postal order; no tax gatherer calls at the home or the office. Each person must go himself or send a personal representative to a given place between certain hours. Here stand a long procession, each person in town going up, filling out pages of written formalities; talking of each item and discussing it according to the national custom, until the office hours are over for that day, and often not one-fourth of the persons waiting have been served. All then must take their chances the next day, and perhaps even a third or a fourth day,—a loss of time and energy that in no other country would be tolerated for a moment. But time has not yet any recognizable value in Italy. Every enterprise and manufacture is taxed in Italy, and as the returns of these are inevitably revealed so that no evasion is possible, and as the exactions of the government consume nearly all the profits, the result is that all business enterprises are discouraged and that Italy swarms with a great idle population, while nearly all articles and supplies are imported from other countries, with the payment of enormous duties, making their cost far greater, proportionately, than their value.
There are great tracts of country in Southern Italy suitable for tobacco raising, but (as it is one of the government monopolies) people are forbidden to raise it; and in private gardens only three plants are permitted. Again, all industries are crippled, if not paralyzed, by the tax at the frontier, and also by the tax at every gate of every city. At every porta in Rome are stationed government officers who scrutinize every box, basket, and package; and all fruit, eggs, garden stuff, milk, and commodities of every kind are taxed as they are brought inside the walls.
The railroads of Italy are, at present, very poor in all facilities of transit. Within a year the Italian government has “taken over” these roads and better conditions are promised, which are, alas! not yet in sight. There are many “counts” to the indictment against the Italian railroads which are only suitable to adorn the very lowest circles of the Inferno described by Dante. They are uncleanly; the roadbeds are so rough that the miserably built compartments jolt and jostle over the tracks; the seats are so high that the feet can hardly touch the floor, and the facilities for light and air are as badly managed as is possible to conceive. As is well known, these are divided into first, second, and third class, these compartments all being in the same train, and between the first and second there is little difference save that of price. Curiously, the price of even second-class travelling in Italy is over half a cent a mile higher than that of the splendid trains in America, with their swift time, their smooth roadbeds, their admirable conveniences in every way. Again, no luggage is carried free, and the prices asked for it are extortionate beyond words. One may check all his impedimenta from San Francisco to New York without extra charge; but in going from Rome to Naples, or from Florence to Genoa to sail, the same luggage will cost from six to eight dollars to convey it to the steamer. Again, these railroads pay their employés so poorly that only the most inefficient service can be retained at all; only those persons who are the absolute prisoners of poverty will consent to accept such meagrely paid service.
The Italian government consists, like that of most countries, of an upper and lower house, the Senate and the House of Deputies. But the former is rather a matter of miscellaneous honors than one of political initiative. There is no limit to the number of Senators; they are created by being named by the King, and the office is for life. If a man attracts the favorable notice of the King,—because he is a good artist, engineer, archæologist, chemist, or financier,—presto, he is liable to be made a Senator. Canova, the celebrated sculptor, was made a Senator because, indeed, he was a great artist! There is one condition, however, that a Senator must be one who pays annually not less than three thousand lire in taxes. The Senators receive no salary, and their times of meeting are uncertain and no man’s presence is obligatory. The House of Deputies has five hundred and eight members, all of whom must be Italian subjects over thirty years of age. They have no salary, but are given the entire freedom of the realm in all transit on railroads and steamers. The Chamber of Deputies is largely made up of professional men, and it is little wonder that the Socialists are demanding an entire reform in the government of the country. There was never in any country more defective conditions than now prevail in Italy. The very fact that the young King is an estimable gentleman, who is personally not in the least to blame for the prevailing status of unfortunate conditions, is in one way an added misfortune, as the personal loyalty he justly inspires militates by so much against the revolution in government which is so deeply a necessity of Italy before her better and more prosperous life can begin. It is now a country of stagnation. All Southern and Central Italy simply lives off its tourists; and every year prices and fees and extortion in general from the visitors to Italy become greater.
Senator Enrico Ferri, the leader of Socialism in Italy, was born in 1856 in Mantua. He had a university education, was admitted to the bar, and in 1881 was called to the chair of penal law in the University of Bologna. The Senator is a scientific Socialist,—a man of the most exceptional gifts and qualities, and the author of a noted work, entitled “Criminal Sociology,” which is translated into several languages. Senators Ferri and Lombroso are special friends and also co-workers.
On taking his seat in the University of Bologna, Professor Ferri delivered a lecture, entitled “New Horizons in Penal Law,” which was a most impressive effort. In it he said:—
“It was in this inaugural discourse that I affirmed the existence of the positivist school of criminal law, and assigned to it these two fundamental rules: First, while the classical schools of criminal law have always studied the crime and neglected the criminal, the object of the positivist school was, in the first place, to study the criminal, so that, instead of the crime being regarded merely as a juridical fact, it must be studied with the aid of biology, of psychology, and of criminal statistics as a natural and social fact, transforming the old criminal law into a criminal sociology. Secondly, while the classical schools, since Beccaria and Howard, have fulfilled the historic mission of decreasing the punishments as a reaction from the severity of the mediæval laws, the object of the positivist school is to decrease the offence by investigating its natural and social causes in order to apply social remedies more efficacious and more humane than the penal counteraction, always slow in its effects, especially in its cellular system, which I have called one of the aberrations of the nineteenth century.”