“Senhor Paolo flatters me. I know you all came here out of curiosity so that you could hear about Giuseppe, or Peppino, as you call him. Or perhaps you are curious about the untamed Brazilian woman who left her family to be with your hero. Well, here I am, we can see that I am nothing special.” I smiled mischievously. “Though my sponsor will be the best witness as to my wild ways.
“But to know my José is to know the people he surrounds himself with. These people shaped him as he in turn inspired them to be better men. Let me tell you a story. When I met José, all those many years ago, there was a man in his service, his name was Luigi Rossetti. Perhaps you have heard of him? Like José, Luigi found his foster home of Brazil because he was expelled from here, from the fatherland. Like José, Luigi wanted a unified Italy. Like José, Rossetti wanted a just and fair government for Italy. With each breath, he made sure we all knew this was every man and woman’s right.”
The audience collectively leaned forward, waiting for more of my story. “There were many nights when José and Rossetti would stay up until the sun rose talking about these ideas. Talking about how they could apply the lessons they were learning in Rio Grande do Sul’s struggle for independence toward the unification of Italy.”
I smiled to myself, looking down at the scuffed floor. My worn black shoes stood out in contrast to the tan tile. I wiggled my toes, noticing that my big toe was about to break through the old leather as I tried to map out my next thoughts. “Even though José was an ocean away from his home, he still talked about Italy every day. Sometimes, when he and Rossetti were so focused on their plans for Italy, I felt like I was José’s mistress. Italy always has and always will be his first love.
“Rossetti had a mistress too—his printing press. You see, he felt his press was a lifeline to the fatherland. José always teased him about the printing press, telling him it was more demanding than a wife. Rossetti, every time, smiled and said if he didn’t have the printing press, how would people in Italy know what he and Giuseppe were sacrificing while they were away? He wanted the Italian people to know that they were not alone in their struggle. Halfway around the world, people not all that different from them were struggling for a fair and just system of government.” I took a breath, remembering. “Rossetti didn’t smile very often, but when he did it was magical, like the sun suddenly appearing after numerous days of rain. The only one who could get him to smile was Giuseppe when he talked about coming home.
“Rossetti couldn’t be with us today. He died in his struggle for a just government, not only for the Italians but for all of those who wish to be free. While trying to secure his printing press he and his men were overtaken by Brazilian Imperial forces.”
I paused, looking around the room. The people were soaking in every word that I said. Their chests stilled as I told the story. “We couldn’t even bury him here; his body was buried somewhere in the Brazilian wilderness. He is forever separated from the country that he sacrificed for. Rossetti could not live to see his dream fulfilled, but you can. José carries Rossetti’s dream on his shoulders. Will you let him carry that weight alone?”
All around me cheers and clapping erupted. Paolo stood up next to me, calling out to the audience, “If you want to sign up to join the legion, see Vincenzo by the door. Join us! See the dream of these great men come to fruition.”
As the men slowly made their way to Vincenzo to sign up, three women approached me. All wore dresses of the highest quality in matching shades of green. Their hair was perfectly coiffed. “Hello, madam, my name is Elisa. This is Sofia and Claudia.” Elisa pointed to each woman in turn. “We would like to invite you to a luncheon at my home. We want your insight into how we can better help our husbands as they prepare for war.”
“Mrs. Garibaldi accepts.” Paolo spoke up before I could say anything.
“I do?”
Paolo leaned in to me and whispered with a forced smile, “When the wife of the most powerful man in Genoa invites you to lunch, you accept.”
I turned back to the women, genuinely smiling. “I accept. Please discuss the details with my maid, Mrs. Mancini,” I said as I felt Paolo begin to pull me around the room to greet the people who had come to see me.
It was late in the evening when we finally started rolling through the streets of Genoa toward home. I slumped against the seat in the carriage. The chilly air felt refreshing against my flushed skin.
“You were remarkable!” Paolo gushed. “We got more recruits after this meeting than we have gotten in months!”
“That is wonderful news.” I turned to Mrs. Mancini. “When is my luncheon?”
“Thursday next. I wanted to give the seamstress time to finish at least one of the dresses for you.”
“Excellent thinking, Mrs. Mancini,” Paolo interjected. “We have another rally in just two weeks. Make sure the seamstress has another dress ready by then.” He looked back at me. “And make sure she has plenty of red.”
Elisa Profumo, besides being the wife of the mayor of Genoa, boasted a noble heritage. Her mother was the niece of a pope. Her father, the third son of the duke of Genoa, made his fortune exporting silk to London. At every opportunity, she bragged that her family’s line could be traced all the way back to 1098, when one of her ancestors brought the ashes of John the Baptist, the city’s patron saint, back from the Crusades.
On the given Thursday I arrived promptly for the luncheon. The tight blond ringlets on either side of Elisa’s head bobbed as she escorted me around her large, elegant parlor, introducing me to everyone. Her burgundy chiffon dress made soft swooshing sounds as she floated among every prominent lady in Genoa. Elisa sat me at the head of her expansive dining table. She took a seat to my right, while Claudia sat at my left, Sofia next to her. As Elisa began to address all the ladies at the ornate table, footmen set down plates of thinly sliced meats and cheese on delicate china.
“As you all know, the reason I invited you here was so that we could learn from Mrs. Garibaldi’s experience. She has stood side by side with her husband on and off the battlefield. Mrs. Garibaldi, why don’t you tell some of these ladies about what you did while Mr. Garibaldi was away?”
“Well, he wasn’t always away. I was often with him. Our custom in Brazil, and even to an extent in Uruguay, was for the wives to travel with their husbands, doing the cooking and other wifely chores that one would do at home.”
One of the older ladies down the table gasped. “How barbaric!”
“Well, I would not call it barbaric, it’s just the way things were.” I smiled as the women nodded reassuringly. “In my youth, before our children, I even fought alongside him, though I can’t say many other wives did that.”
“Wasn’t it dangerous?” another woman questioned. She fanned her blushing face as she looked around the table.
“Madam, I believe that is the point of war,” Elisa responded dryly after sipping her wine. She motioned for me to continue.
“I did not value my life as much as I do now. Then, it was just José and me. If I died in battle what would it matter?” I leaned to the side as a servant picked up my antipasto and set down a small plate of penne with marinara sauce. “Who would care that I was gone? But now there are three little souls that need me. The support I lent to José and our soldiers was given out of necessity. We needed someone to collect and tend to the injured, someone to volunteer at the hospitals.”
“That is a novel idea,” Elisa said, setting down her fork and addressing the ladies. “I believe Mrs. Garibaldi has stumbled onto something that will benefit all of us. As so many of you know, my family was integral in making Genoa the greatest city in all of Italy. Now, I know you all can’t trace your families to the Crusades, but it is our duty to make sure Genoa is properly supported during the unification. Volunteering at our hospital is an important part of that.” The other ladies murmured their agreement.
“Was this something you found easy to establish?” Claudia asked.
“Well, once the war
began there were others who established the hospital. In Laguna, I was a volunteer. On campaign with José, I kept my own medical kits so that I could help our soldiers as needed. In Montevideo, we already had a hospital, but I coordinated the wives of the legion.”
Elisa put a hand on my arm. “Your experience then will be most valuable.” She turned back to the women. “First we need to fund our endeavor. Who has any ideas on how to fundraise?”
From there the conversation broke down as women discussed their ideas to raise money for our hospital. Our main course was taken away and delicate whitefish was placed before us. I thoughtfully listened and then a thought struck me. “Perhaps we could do more than just organize a hospital? People need to see unification in a positive light. They need to see that it can bring them happiness and fulfill their needs.” By this time our third course had been cleared and delicate crystal bowls filled with blood orange sorbet appeared. The women’s talk changed to ways they could be a positive influence on the unification effort.
I was surprised to find that once the sorbets had been finished the footmen came around once more, delivering large plates of fruit to the table and coffees for each of us. Elisa sipped at her coffee and then leaned toward me. “My husband and I have our own box at the opera. We were wondering if you would like to join us?”
“I’d love to. Thank you,” I said, a bit surprised.
Elisa gave a little clap of glee. “It has plenty of room. Sofia, Claudia, and their husbands will be joining us.” I looked to the other two women, who nodded in unison, their curls bouncing. “Oh, and bring your lovely sponsor. What was his name again?”
“Paolo Antonini.”
“Right, bring Mr. Antonini. I simply hate odd-numbered groups when going about town. Antonini can talk business with the men while we plot our adventures.” Her eyes grew big as she displayed a coy grin.
When I arrived home from the luncheon, Paolo stood in the middle of the foyer. He rocked on the balls of his feet. “Tell me everything. Who was there? What did you talk about? Was your dress fashionable enough? Do they accept you?”
I raised a hand. “Please, give me a chance to breathe.” I related every detail of the luncheon to him. “And then just before I left, Elisa invited us to join her and her husband in their box at the opera.”
“Madam, you have saved this revolution!” Paolo kissed me on both cheeks. “We need to plan what we will say. What will we wear?”
“You can do all of that planning on your own. For now, I am going to visit my children.” I left the room as Paolo muttered plans and scribbled in a notebook. I found my way to the nursery. Relieving the nurse, I spent the whole afternoon playing.
Forty-Six
April 1848
The hypnotic patter of the rain against the window made my head feel heavy with sleep. In the brick fireplace a pleasant little fire crackled and spit, spreading its warmth through the cozy room. Not having any practical sewing to do, I took up embroidery. It was the hobby of all the ladies in Genoa, and for better or for worse, I was now a lady of Genoa. I set down the pillowcase in my lap as I let my head lean on the back of the chair.
Watching the rain beat on the window, I remembered the days when José and I would huddle together in a rickety little cabin or tent, clinging to each other for warmth. When I would clutch Menotti to my chest, praying that he would not become sick. If anyone had told me then that I would one day be embroidering a pillowcase for fun, I would have laughed. There had been too much to do. I didn’t have to go out searching for ways to support our cause. I had to regularly remind myself that what I did here was just as important as what I used to do on the battlefield. Wars were fought in more than one way, and while my husband won battles through force, I had to be more persuasive as I fought for the hearts and minds of the people.
However, I hated being left out of the planning. The news that I received was filtered as it passed from one person to the next. I decided it was time to hear from my husband directly. I got up from my chair, letting the pillowcase fall to the floor. The delicate ivy trim would have to wait another day to be finished. Pulling out the first piece of paper I could find, I scratched out a letter to my husband.
Dearest José,
I trust that you have arrived safely in Turin. Since you have left I have made myself a productive member of Genoa society. At Senhor Antonini’s request I spoke at your café, Il Rifugio. Paolo told me the most entertaining story of how you let him fall into a pile of garbage. It sounds as if you and he had many grand adventures!
I have accepted an invitation to the opera. Senhora Elisa Profumo and her husband own a box. Paolo and I are invited to be their special guests, along with a number of what Paolo refers to as “elite citizens” who will provide much-needed support for the legion.
The society women have embraced me as one of their own, looking to me for leadership as they prepare for war. We have begun working with the hospital in Genoa, collecting items for its stockpile. One of the women had the most novel of ideas. We distribute bread to the hungry and tell them, “With compliments of Italy,” so that they know they will be taken care of once we are a unified country.
The people hunger for Italy, a country they can call their own. They are ready to stand behind you. Here I await your orders to be of more assistance.
With love,
Anita
Tesoro mio,
I am proud that you have fit in so well with Genoa society. Paolo is correct. You have indeed aligned yourself with the elite. Is Elisa Profumo the wife of Antonio Profumo? If so, keep her close. As her husband goes, so goes Genoa. Be sure to tell me about the opera; I envy you.
I wish I had happier news to share with you, but alas, the leaders who have the king’s ear do not feel that my services are necessary to the cause. The ignorance of these men astounds me! They see experience and wisdom standing before them, but they turn it away. They have the audacity to call me a corsair! Me! Giuseppe Garibaldi! The man who has led several armies to victory! To be considered a dupe is a huge insult. They are fools. If we are not careful they will lose this battle all because of their ignorance.
They order me to Venice in the hopes that I will be pacified away from the battlefields, but instead I shall go to Milan. The Milanese have done the impossible: As we sailed for Italy, the people of Milan had their own successful revolution, expelling the Austrians. I am going there in the hopes of being of use to the new Milanese government.
I wish you were by my side once more. I know that you would force these men into submission by the point of your sword. Your strength and clarity have always been a balm to my soul.
Until I return,
José
Dearest José,
We travel across the ocean yet are still plagued by fools. I have faith that in time you will make them see reason. In light of your last letter we no longer tell the people “with compliments of Italy” when we feed them. It is now “With compliments of Giuseppe Garibaldi.” I know you may not be comfortable with this, but if the people love you, they will be more likely to listen to you over those imbeciles who call themselves royalty.
Yes, Elisa is married to Antonio Profumo. Antonio is a great supporter of the Italian unification efforts. While at the opera, he and Paolo had a lively discussion about what was needed for Italy. They were so loud that they and the other husbands left the box so that they could talk in the lobby! They completely disregarded Giuseppe Verdi’s latest opera, Macbeth. Senhor Profumo has given Elisa the liberty of his checkbook in order to purchase whatever supplies we may need for the hospital and our other endeavors.
My love, do not give up hope. You will find a way. You always find a way. My advice to you is to be like Malcolm in Macbeth, take a step back in Milan, and wait for the right opportunity to seize the army and unify our country.
With love,
Anita
Tesoro mio,
How I long to watch your words fall from your beautiful lips before me. Un
til I can be reunited with you, I will have to settle for your uplifting words on paper. I have made some progress: We’ve been able to get the provincial Milanese government to agree to give us uniforms. But with every gift there is a catch. We were explicitly told no red. The nobility doesn’t care about the reputation of the Redshirts. They say it’s because the color is not sanctioned, but I feel as if they will choose the opposite of what I suggest just to spite me. My second-in-command, Medici, and I were handed a catalogue and told that we could choose whatever uniform we wanted from its pages. The problem is, all of the uniforms have already been chosen! We could look like the French. We could look like the Prussians. Or as Medici said, “Lord help the poor soul who chooses to look like the Austrians. If we dress like the enemy, we’ll be firing on ourselves and not even know it.”
We have reluctantly settled on white. So now instead of butchers we look like bakers. Well, I suppose if all else fails we could always bake the Austrians a cake! Perhaps they will be so disgruntled by our pastries that they will be repelled from Italy of their own accord? Speaking of that, have Paolo’s cooks make you a torta pasqualina. I have dreamed of it for a fortnight.
Now that we have our uniforms, we need to find munitions. The war council has yet to approve any weapons for us. They are slow to approve anything that we ask for. The Milanese government acts as if we are pests as opposed to the aid that they need.
Tesoro mio, my chest is bursting with pride over the wonderful work that you have been doing in Genoa.
Until I am able to return to you,
José
Forty-Seven
May 1848
I stared out the window of my carriage as we rattled along the cobblestone road toward Elisa’s spacious townhome in the center of the city. Fresh ocean air drifted in on the cool wind. I would have much rather walked on such a nice day, but Paolo insisted I take the carriage. “It would be unseemly if Mrs. Garibaldi did a common thing such as walk.”
The Woman in Red Page 27