ch as that sideways turning of his
head, looking down hill at the Vatican, as though saying, "Non ti
dimentico,"--"I do not forget you, my old enemy." The view of Rome from
this point is magnificent, the best that I have seen, though the view
from the Pincio only just falls short of it.

Thence, passing outside the old city walls through the Porta San
Pancrazio, we stood on ground made memorable by Garibaldi's defence of
the Roman Republic in 1849, and went down, past the. Pope's monument to
the French who died fighting to defend his Temporal Power against the
Garibaldini, into the beautiful garden of the Villa Pamfili. "Attendono
il finale risorgimento,"[1] says the Pope's Italian version on the
monument. It is an ironical phrase in view of the history of the next
twenty years. "They did not have long to wait," I said, "a bird in the
hand is worth two in the bush." And my guide said, I thought well, of
the French that they are a people of great gifts and of most generous
mind, but that their rulers have often showed "un po' di volubilita, un
po' di fantasia."

[Footnote 1: "They await the final resurrection." But "risorgimento" to
most Italians suggests modern history more than theology.]

We visited last of all the Depot of the Bersaglieri in Trastevere, where
is also the famous Bersagliere Museum. Here we were received and shown
round with great courtesy by the Colonel commanding the Depot, a
handsome man with most sad eyes, but full of great regimental pride in
this creation, intimately and characteristically Italian, of General La
Marmora.

In the Museum, among much that was trivial, I found much that was
interesting and even deeply moving: the relics of Enrico Toti, an artist
who, having only one leg, joined the Bersaglieri Ciclisti as a volunteer
at the beginning of the war, and rode up mountain tracks on a bicycle
with a single pedal, and died, after acts of the greatest heroism and
after sustaining for many hours grave wounds, crying with his last
breath "Avanti Savoia!", upon whose dead body and brave departed spirit
was conferred the most rare Gold Medal for Valour; photographs of all
the Bersaglieri, who since the foundation of the Regiment have won the
Gold Medal, some twenty of them, hanging together on one wall, all dead
now; the steel helmet of a Bersagliere Major, killed on the Carso, while
leading his men; this is all that they found of him, but it has three
holes through the front, sufficient proo