AN APOSTLE OF MAZZINI

...Its manifold attractions by drawing to its shores a too numerous and too miscellaneous assortment of friends and devotees have been the means of ally undermining and destroying that subtle spirit of unadorned beauty and virginal tranquility which in former days were its most potent charm...

...When we asked if he had ever seen Mazzini or Garibaldi the smouldering fires of memory burst into sudden flame and his face was illumined as he told us of the never-to-be-forgotten days when he had fought with Garibaldi and heard Mazzini speak...

...But what the proud aristocrats and self-satisfied bourgeois class apparently have forgotten or perhaps never were able to comprehend, was not hid from the pure heart and childlike mind of this old peasant who loving the great Garibaldi as only one of his own soldiers could, yet was able to realize that not Garibaldi the soldier, nor Cavour the statesman, nor Victor Emmanuel, the king, but Mazzini, the prophet, had given the vital creative impulse to the movement for Italian unity, had roused to consciousness the soul of the Italian people, which working through the instrumentality of these national heroes and their heroic followers at last succeeded in achieving for itself a mighty material incarnation...

...He was soon lost to view in the pine forest but at intervals as we looked back we could distinguish a little red Garibaldi handkerchief waving in the open spaces and for a long time the friendly mountains kept bringing us the echo of his "arrive derci" growing fainter and fainter as the voice of the old man died away in the distance...

...sailing the sea, climbing the mountains, making friends with the peasants and catching an occasional glimpse into their inner life of thought and feeling that shed new light on Italy's past and awakened new hope for her future...

...It both stirred and surprised us to hear this spontaneous tribute to Italy's prophet son from the old peasant, for in going about the country we had been greatly disappointed at the apparent lack of any adequate appreciation of Mazzini's services by the general run of Italians...

...Arrive derci...

...When we asked if he did not get discouraged sometimes at the long delay he replied with a patient shrug of his shoulders that gave a pathetic emphasis to his words "Corragio-Sempre Corragio" —that is my motto—"I hope always for the best...

...Not even the famous drive from Sorrenton to Amalfi could be more delightfully picturesque than much of the motor trip from Nice to Genoa and from Genoa to Pisa,—the only difficulty being that one is apt to be continually obsessed with a feeling of hopeless indecision as to whether it would be better to yield to the attractions of some one of the many seductive little spots along the way or to follow the lure of the road, in the hope of finding even more idyllic conditions farther along...

...The old man stood silent for a moment plunged in thought but suddenly rousing himself he pointed to the mountains around us—the serried ranks of the Appen-nines that stand guard over Italy, "Signori," he said simply, "the mountains remain motionless, but unto man it is given to move...

...However Florence is a long step towards Rome and he confided to us that he had a plan of selling his little vineyard near Rapallo and "establishing himself in Florence," as the pompous Italian phrase puts it...

...On our return to Mentone after an absence of seven years we found the entire region suffering from such a chronic congestion of tourists that we decided to revise our plans, repack our trunks, and set forth on a voyage of discovery along the romantic shores of the less frequented but scarcely less favored Italian coast country...

...Pointing to a lonely pine on a projecting crag above us he said, "I am like that pine, Signora, isolated from my fellows...

...Unto Man it is Given to Move" AS WE were finishing our lunch, the old man insisted on our drinking some wine from his gourd, saying if we ever passed his little cabin there would be a flask of good Chianti from his own vines ready for us...

...There was fire and passion in his talk and poetry in the soul of this simple peasant whose only tutors had been the Bible and Mazzini, and whom communion with God and Nature had indeed made wise...

...According to my way of thinking, Signori," he concluded, "Mazzini was the man of the century...

...While the figure of Victor Emmanuel greets one at every turn in Italy and many little towns long ago mortgaged themselves (and are still paying interest on the debt) in order to erect a statue to Garibaldi, one seldom sees a monument to Mazzini...

...An English nobleman it seems who had often been to Rapallo was thinking of "establishing himself" in a fine old castle in the neighborhood of Florence and negotiations were even then under way which Giuseppe was confident would result in his becoming one of the gardeners of the place...

...When we reached Rapallo, however, the quaint charm of the little seaport village and the serene loveliness of its encircling hills laid hold upon us and banished all thought of discovering anything better...

...We evidently did not appear sufficiently impressed with this dazzling prospect for he repeated the words, dwelling on each syllable with sonorous satisfaction...

...At last we came to a little mountain shrine which marked the parting of our ways...

...An unobtrusive little hotel on the hillside over looking the harbor fitted into the landscape as though it were an integral part of the scene, and here,—"far from the pride of man and the strife of tongues,"—we tarried many happy days...

...He had a passion for reading and his bible and Mazzini's essays had been to him a never ceasing fountain of inspiration and delight...

...In addition to the glory of seeing Florence and ending his days there, Giuseppe hinted that his Lordship shared his own principles and believed also in "progress," so it is good to think that the solitary pine may be even now transplanted into the congenial atmosphere of the old castle garden...

...Our stony path made by monks centuries ago, moss-grown now and shaded by live oaks, stretched along a narrow ridge that connected two mountain ranges like some bridge which nature had swung high above the valley...

...As we drank once more to the health of young Italy with this peasant who had fought to make her free, the act seemed almost like a sacrament...

...On either side lay terraced hills, covered with olive-trees gnarled and twisted by the centuries into shapes of demons which like the Biblical swine seemed to be rushing headlong down into the sea...

...As for the peasants around Rapallo, he gave us to understand they were an ignorant, exploited lot, who looked at him askance because of his ideas of progress...

...perhaps we shall meet again...

...Such occasions it appeared were his only opportunities for the exchange of ideas on fundamental questions with intelligent people —who thought as he did...

...We Meet the Peasant-Thinker ON ONE of our all-day climbs we had stopped half way up the mountain to eat our lunch and drink in the glorious view that lay before us, when a sturdy old peasant toiling up the path with a heavy load on his back, paused in answer to our greeting, set down his pack, mopped his brow, and without further preliminaries plunged into an animated conversation, explaining how much good it always did him to talk with foreigners...

...He climbed a part of the way with us, often pausing and setting down his pack in order to have free use of his arms and shoulders as he rolled out his melodious phrases, for true Italian eloquence is a graceful combination of hand-work and tongue-play...

...One dream that he has cherished all these years, he still hopes before he dies to see realized, and that is to go once to Rome and with his own eyes see the capitol of United Italy...