No railway runs beyond Stradella. I started at ten o'clock at night by carriage, and reached Piacenza at two o'clock in the morning. In the night at the post stations in the villages the intelligence as to who the traveller was died away. I arrived unknown at Piacenza ; we could scarcely awake the gatekeeper of the fortress to let us pass in. We had to knock loudly, and he received us with a ' Che diavolo fate cosi tardi ?' I alighted at the St. Marco Hotel, where nobody knew me, and went to bed.
Piacenza, as you know, is a border fortress of Parma, which the Austrians, after having garrisoned it by virtue of the Treaty of Vienna of 1815, therefore for forty-four years, left seventeen days ago, after having blown up many fortifications, and with wanton cruelty cut down the mulberry-trees standing along their route. Seventeen days ago the headquarters of three Austrian army corps were there : Culoz and Benedek stayed there too.
I slept peacefully, and at eight o'clock sat down to breakfast still unrecognised. At this moment the waiter brought in the visitors' list. Nicholas Kiss entered my name; the waiter says, ' Grazie ' and goes. At the door he cast a look over the names, and looked back to us with eyes that can only be compared to the first eruptions of fire from a volcano. He ran like mad down the steps, and before five minutes no, scarcely three minutes had passed by, the 30,000 inhabitants knew it they rushed into the streets as if the alarm-bell called them ; they were coming from all directions, and stood underneath my window and shouted, ' Evviva ! ' as if they intended to bring down the firmament of heaven by their voices. The mayor and all the municipal officers came into my room to pay their respects to me, to offer their services, to beg my commands; the venerable Montanelli, a late Minister of Tuscany, who lost his left arm at Curtatone, where he fought as a volunteer in 1848, came accompanied by many officers of the civil guard, but he himself dressed like a private soldier ; in a word, everybody came. Half an hour afterwards, when I was stepping into a carriage, everybody who could come near me kissed my hands and clothes. We moved along with great difficulty, and had scarcely reached the street when the people unharnessed the horses and themselves drew us through the town, while crowds streamed towards me from every street, thousands followed me, flowers were thrown from the windows, and the people honoured the poor homeless traveller with the perfect frenzy of young liberty's first intoxication. And why? Because they identify his name with that of liberty, the perception of which runs like a current of electricity through the nerves of humanity.
And still how much servitude ! How much oppression there is in this world ! And for how long has it existed, and how long will it last !
It was a scene such as you saw in Vienna in 1848. But here the five minutes were the ' marvel ' the clue to which I cannot find. Perhaps souls, too, have telegraphs which work more quickly than the electricity running along the wires.
Piacenza, as you know, is a border fortress of Parma, which the Austrians, after having garrisoned it by virtue of the Treaty of Vienna of 1815, therefore for forty-four years, left seventeen days ago, after having blown up many fortifications, and with wanton cruelty cut down the mulberry-trees standing along their route. Seventeen days ago the headquarters of three Austrian army corps were there : Culoz and Benedek stayed there too.
I slept peacefully, and at eight o'clock sat down to breakfast still unrecognised. At this moment the waiter brought in the visitors' list. Nicholas Kiss entered my name; the waiter says, ' Grazie ' and goes. At the door he cast a look over the names, and looked back to us with eyes that can only be compared to the first eruptions of fire from a volcano. He ran like mad down the steps, and before five minutes no, scarcely three minutes had passed by, the 30,000 inhabitants knew it they rushed into the streets as if the alarm-bell called them ; they were coming from all directions, and stood underneath my window and shouted, ' Evviva ! ' as if they intended to bring down the firmament of heaven by their voices. The mayor and all the municipal officers came into my room to pay their respects to me, to offer their services, to beg my commands; the venerable Montanelli, a late Minister of Tuscany, who lost his left arm at Curtatone, where he fought as a volunteer in 1848, came accompanied by many officers of the civil guard, but he himself dressed like a private soldier ; in a word, everybody came. Half an hour afterwards, when I was stepping into a carriage, everybody who could come near me kissed my hands and clothes. We moved along with great difficulty, and had scarcely reached the street when the people unharnessed the horses and themselves drew us through the town, while crowds streamed towards me from every street, thousands followed me, flowers were thrown from the windows, and the people honoured the poor homeless traveller with the perfect frenzy of young liberty's first intoxication. And why? Because they identify his name with that of liberty, the perception of which runs like a current of electricity through the nerves of humanity.
And still how much servitude ! How much oppression there is in this world ! And for how long has it existed, and how long will it last !
It was a scene such as you saw in Vienna in 1848. But here the five minutes were the ' marvel ' the clue to which I cannot find. Perhaps souls, too, have telegraphs which work more quickly than the electricity running along the wires.
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