Garibaldi in Love
An excerpt from The Autobiography of Giuseppe Garibaldi:
Garibaldi carrying his dying Anita through the swamps of Comacchio
Chapter XVIII.
IN LOVE.
General Canabarro, having decided that I was to leave the lagoon with three armed cruisers and attack the imperial forces on the coast of Brazil, I prepared for the work by collecting all materials necessary for the equipment of my vessels.
At this time took place one of the supreme events of my life.
I had never thought of marriage, believing myself entirely unsuited to such a life on account of my independent spirit and love of adventure. To have a wife and children seemed to me entirely forbidden to a man absolutely devoted to a principle—a principle which, however excellent, would not allow me, while fighting for it with all the ardour of which I felt myself capable, to enjoy the quiet and stability necessary for the father of a family. Destiny decided otherwise. The loss of Luigi, Edoardo, and others of my countrymen, had left me utterly isolated; I felt quite alone in the world. Of all the friends who had made those desolate regions like home to me, not one was left. I was not intimate with any of my new companions; indeed, I scarcely knew them. I have always felt the need of a friend in my life; but among these I could find none. Moreover, the change in my position had come about in a manner so unexpected and so horrible, that it was long before I could recover from the blow. Rossetti, the only man who could have filled the void in my heart, was far away, busied in getting the machinery of the new state into working order; I could not, therefore, have the enjoyment of his society. In short, I needed a human heart to love me, one that I could keep always near me. I felt that unless I found one immediately, life would become intolerable.
Young as I was, I had enough knowledge of human nature to be well aware how difficult it is to find a real friend. . . . A woman! Yes, I have always believed women to be the most perfect of God’s creatures; and, whatever men may say, I think it is infinitely easier to find a loving heart among them than among us.
Walking up and down the quarter-deck of the Itaparica, wrapped in my own gloomy thoughts, I came, after trying every species of argument, to the conclusion that I would look out for a woman, so as to escape from a position of intolerable weariness and discomfort.
By chance I cast my eyes towards the houses on the Barra—a tolerably high hill on the south side of the entrance to the lagoon, where a few simple and picturesque dwellings were visible. Outside one of these, by means of the telescope I usually carried with me when on deck, I espied a young woman, and forthwith gave orders for the boat to be got out, as I wished to go ashore. I landed, and, making for the houses where I expected to find the object of my excursion, I had just given up all hope of seeing her again, when I met an inhabitant of the place, whose acquaintance I had made soon after our arrival.
He invited me to take coffee in his house; we entered, and the first person who met my eyes was the damsel who had attracted me ashore. It was Anita, the mother of my children, who shared my life for better, for worse—the wife whose courage I have so often felt the loss of. We both remained enraptured and silent, gazing on one another like two people who meet not for the first time, and seek in each other’s faces something which makes it easier to recall the forgotten past.
At last I greeted her by saying, “Thou ought to be mine!” I could speak but little Portuguese, and uttered the bold words in Italian. Yet my insolence was magnetic. I had formed a tie, pronounced a decree, which death alone could annul. I had come upon a forbidden treasure, but yet a treasure of great price.
If guilt there was, it was mine alone. And there was guilt. Two hearts were joined in an infinite love; but an innocent existence was shattered. She is dead; I am wretched; and he is avenged—yes, avenged! On the day when, vainly hoping to bring her back to life, I clasped the hand of a corpse, with bitter tears of despair, then I knew the evil I had wrought. I sinned greatly, but I sinned alone.
