We who are here written down, having all sworn,
despising the calumnies of the vulgar, strong in the
justice of our cause and the boldness of our spirits, do
solemnly declare ourselves the initiators of the Italian
revolution. If the country does not respond to our appeal,
we, without reproaching it, will know how to die
like brave men, following the noble phalanx of Italian
martyrs. Let any other nation of the world find men
who, like us, shall immolate themselves to liberty, and
then only may it compare itself to Italy, though she still
be a slave.
Mercantini puts his poem in the mouth of a peasant girl, and calls it
THE GLEANER OF SAPRI.
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead!
That morning I was going out to glean;
A ship in the middle of the sea was seen
A barque it was of those that go by steam,
And from its top a tricolor flag did stream.
It anchored off the isle of Ponza; then
It stopped awhile, and then it turned again
Toward this place, and here they came ashore.
They came with arms, but not on us made war.
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead!
They came in arms, but not on us made war;
But down they stooped until they kissed the shore,
And one by one I looked them in the face,—
A tear and smile in each one I could trace.
They were all thieves and robbers, their foes said.
They never took from us a loaf of bread.
I heard them utter nothing but this cry:
“We have come to die, for our dear land to die.”
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead!
With his blue eyes and with his golden hair
There was a youth that marched before them there,
And I made bold and took him by the hand,
And “Whither goest thou, captain of this band?”
He looked at me and said: “Oh, sister mine,
I'm going to die for this dear land of thine.”
I felt my bosom tremble through and through;
I could not say, “May the Lord help you!”
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead!
I did forget to glean afield that day,
But after them I wandered on their way.
And twice I saw them fall on the gendarmes,
And both times saw them take away their arms,
But when they came to the Certosa's wall
There rose a sound of horns and drums, and all
Amidst the smoke and shot and darting flame
More than a thousand foemen fell on them.
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead!
They were three hundred and they would not fly;
They seemed three thousand and they chose to die.
They chose to die with each his sword in hand.
Before them ran their blood upon the land;
I prayed for them while I could see them fight,
But all at once I swooned and lost the sight;
I saw no more with them that captain fair,
With his blue eyes and with his golden hair.
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead.
CONCLUSION
Little remains to be said in general of poetry whose character and tendency are so single. It is, in a measure, rarely, if ever, known to other literatures, a patriotic expression and aspiration. Under whatever mask or disguise, it hides the same longing for freedom, the same impulse toward unity, toward nationality, toward Italy. It is both voice and force.
It helped incalculably in the accomplishment of what all Italians desired, and, like other things which fulfill their function, it died with the need that created it. No one now writes political poetry in Italy; no one writes poetry at all with so much power as to make himself felt in men's vital hopes and fears. Carducci seems an agnostic flowering of the old romantic stalk; and for the rest, the Italians write realistic novels, as the French do, the Russians, the Spaniards—as every people do who have any literary life in them. In Italy, as elsewhere, realism is the ultimation of romanticism.
Whether poetry will rise again is a question there as it is everywhere else, and there is a good deal of idle prophesying about it. In the mean time it is certain that it shares the universal decay.
Compendio della Storia della Letteratura Italiana. Di Paolo Emiliano-Giudici. Firenze: Poligrafia Italiana, 1851.
Della Letteratura Italiana. Esempj e Giudizi, esposti da Cesare Cantù. A Complemento della sua Storia degli Italiani. Torino: Presso l'Unione Tipografico-Editrice, 1860.