I am sick of breathing the same air with men capable of a part so utterly cruel and false.  As soon as I can, I shall take refuge in the mountains, if it be possible to find an obscure nook unpervaded by these convulsions.  Let not my friends be surprised if they do not hear from me for some time.  I may not feel like writing.  I have seen too much sorrow, and, alas! without power to aid.  It makes me sick to see the palaces and streets of Rome full of these infamous foreigners, and to note the already changed aspect of her population.  The men of Rome had begun, filled with new hopes, to develop unknown energy,—­they walked quick, their eyes sparkled, they delighted in duty, in responsibility; in a year of such life their effeminacy would have been vanquished.  Now, dejectedly, unemployed, they lounge along the streets, feeling that all the implements of labor, all the ensigns of hope, have been snatched from them.  Their hands fall slack, their eyes rove aimless, the beggars begin to swarm again, and the black ravens who delight in the night of ignorance, the slumber of sloth, as the only sureties for their rule, emerge daily more and more frequent from their hiding-places.

The following Address has been circulated from hand to hand.

“TO THE PEOPLE OF ROME.

“Misfortune, brothers, has fallen upon us anew.  But it is trial of brief duration,—­it is the stone of the sepulchre which we shall throw away after three days, rising victorious and renewed, an immortal nation.  For with us are God and Justice,—­God and Justice, who cannot die, but always triumph, while kings and popes, once dead, revive no more.

“As you have been great in the combat, be so in the days of sorrow,—­great in your conduct as citizens, by generous disdain, by sublime silence.  Silence is the weapon we have now to use against the Cossacks of France and the priests, their masters.

“In the streets do not look at them; do not answer if they address you.

“In the cafes, in the eating-houses, if they enter, rise and go out.

“Let your windows remain closed as they pass.

“Never attend their feasts, their parades.

“Regard the harmony of their musical bands as tones of slavery, and, when you hear them, fly.

“Let the liberticide soldier be condemned to isolation; let him atone in solitude and contempt for having served priests and kings.

“And you, Roman women, masterpiece of God’s work! deign no look, no smile, to those satellites of an abhorred Pope!  Cursed be she who, before the odious satellites of Austria, forgets that she is Italian!  Her name shall be published for the execration of all her people!  And even the courtesans! let them show love for their country, and thus regain the dignity of citizens!

“And our word of order, our cry of reunion and emancipation, be now and ever, VIVA LA REPUBLICA!

“This incessant cry, which not even French slaves can dispute, shall prepare us to administer the bequest of our martyrs, shall be consoling dew to the immaculate and holy bones that repose, sublime holocaust of faith and of love, near our walls, and make doubly divine the Eternal City.  In this cry we shall find ourselves always brothers, and we shall conquer.  Viva Rome, the capital of Italy!  Viva the Italy of the people!  Viva the Roman Republic!