The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1093: Chapter 94: Prophet Moses and the Expedition to Savoy

“Young Italy? No, my first voyage left me with many beautiful memories, but at that time, I hadn’t yet thought about joining Young Italy.”

When Rome was mentioned, a peculiar light glowed in Garibaldi’s eyes, like a child encountering a toy he adores.

“Mr. Hastings, I heard from Mr. Dumas that you are a Catholic, since that’s the case, have you ever gone to Rome for a pilgrimage?”

Arthur smiled awkwardly: “I wanted to go in the past, but a few years ago, I couldn’t afford the expenses of traveling to Rome. And now, I have the means, but lack the time. You know, working in a government department is certainly enviable, but sometimes it’s also a kind of constraint.”

Great Dumas, somewhat tipsy, after hearing this, with one hand holding a wine bottle and the other draped over Garibaldi’s shoulder, said: “Giuseppe, don’t listen to this guy’s nonsense. He is a Catholic, that’s not wrong, but I’m afraid it’s hard to find a Catholic less devout than him in the world. I shared a flat with him for quite a long time in London, yet astonishingly discovered that this guy never went to church, and he doesn’t even say grace before meals.”

Garibaldi looked at Arthur in surprise: “If you don’t adhere to the simplest religious rituals, why do you still claim to be a believer?”

Arthur just shook his head lightly, biting his lip as he pondered: “Giuseppe, you don’t understand, there’s a very complex reason behind it.”

“Like what?” Garibaldi spoke straightforwardly, not liking to beat around the bush.

Arthur shrugged and said: “For instance, Christmas and Easter are holidays. Whether God exists or not can be put aside for now, but I still want to take the holidays.”

Arthur’s answer was quite irreverent, but it very much matched Garibaldi’s temperament.

Because no matter who listened to this answer, it was impossible to accuse Arthur of lying. Although Sir Arthur Hastings, the diplomat, was British, he was one of the rare honest people.

The room erupted with hearty laughter. Garibaldi took a cigar from Arthur’s box: “Mr. Hastings…”

“Just call me Arthur.”

“Alright, Arthur, my friend, but listen to me, although Rome may hold no religious significance for you, if you ever get the chance, you must go. You are a historian, and although I haven’t been to university, I have a natural fascination for ancient artifacts.

Rome! For someone with an archaeological penchant like me, what does this city mean besides being a world capital? She is a deposed queen! Yes, her remaining ancient ruins are immense, magnificent, and grand, and besides that, the city is haunted by ghosts that evoke wonder, representing great exploits in people’s memories and historical records.

Moreover, Rome is not only the capital of the world but also the cradle of the sacred religion that shattered the chains of slaves, a sacred religion that ennobles humanity. Before its birth in Rome, this sacred religion was greatly oppressed, and Rome is its place of origin. The first preachers were people truly possessing sage-like qualities, mentors to all European peoples, liberators of the people.

However, those that preached after these saints were degenerate, counterfeit, and mercenary, these corrupt Italian priests, they sold out our shared mother, our spirit, faith, land, and wealth to foreigners. When I stand beneath Rome’s towering walls, walk through her streets, I am overwhelmed with an intense feeling.

I feel her misfortune, her decay, and her millennia of suffering and tribulation, she has become in my heart a sacred realm beyond all else. I pour all my passion to love her, not only loving her greatness over many centuries but also her most insignificant events, cherishing all these in my heart, as if stored in a treasure house.

The farther I am from Rome, the stronger this feeling becomes. Even when I drift on the sea thousands of leagues away from Rome, I still pray for the Almighty to let me see this beautiful city in my dreams. To me, this nation must be unified, and Rome is the only symbol of Italian unification.

She is the supreme mother in my heart, who captivates my soul, I cannot tolerate for a moment the evil foreigners or the Pope or any other bastards forcibly marrying her. Never, a true Italian man will never allow such a thing to happen!”

“Well said!”

Just moments earlier, Great Dumas who was slumped drunkenly, as if revitalized, sprang from the sofa: “Giuseppe, I support you! Though I can’t join you in your Italian revolution and rescue your Italian mother yet, it’s not because I’m timid, or because I don’t consider you a brother, but because my French mother is also about to be forcibly married, so I have to take care of family affairs first.”

Louis, evidently a bit more articulate, perhaps due to being less intoxicated: “Giuseppe, I support you too, you should know, I have been a member of the Italian Charcoal Party for a long time, I lived in Florence and Rome for a long time, and not just me, my uncle Napoleon, my cousin ‘King of Rome’ Charles, the entire Bonaparte Family, have very deep feelings for Italy. And this kind of love is not just about Italy, but about all the nations of Europe, in Poland, in the Netherlands, in Spain, in the Rhine, in Westphalia, and elsewhere, it is the same.”