“La Repubblica partenopea” di Silvio Vitale was translated with permission from L’Alfiere: Pubblicazione Napoletana Tradizionalista, Numero Due, Marzo 1961, pp. 8-11.
The Neapolitan Republic
by Silvio Vitale
On January 23, 1799, while the French were taking possession of the mourning city, the “patriots” cheerfully descended from Sant’Elmo to meet Championnet. They were leaving the fortress from which they had repeatedly fired at the barricades of loyal Neapolitans from behind and had facilitated the enemy’s operations, and they went to meet him bearing the list of names for the new state and municipal government.
Thus was born the “One and Indivisible Neapolitan Republic,” to which, according to Croce, one may turn their gaze “almost in search of the sacred origins of the new Italy (1).”
Championnet appointed a Provisional Government composed of twenty-five members, which convened on January 26 in the great hall of San Lorenzo. There, the general held an investiture ceremony, declaring:
“Citizens! You will temporarily govern the Neapolitan Republic; the stable government will be elected by the people. You yourselves, both legislators and rulers, by governing with the rules you envision for the new statute, will shorten the effort required to implement new laws; and for this public benefit, I have entrusted you with the duties of both legislators and governors. You therefore have boundless authority and an equal duty; remember that in your hands lies a great good—or a great evil—for your homeland, your glory, or your dishonor. I have appointed you, but fame has chosen you; you will answer her with the excellence of your public deeds. These speak of you as endowed with high intelligence, pure hearts, and sincere and passionate love for your country.
“In establishing the Neapolitan Republic, align it, as much as your needs and customs allow, with the constitutions of the French Republic—the mother of new republics and of the new civilization. And in governing it, make it friendly, allied, and companion to France, one and the same. Do not hope for happiness apart from her; consider that her sighs will be your sufferings, and that if she falters, you will fall (2).”
To this address responded Carlo Laubert—a Neapolitan cleric who had fled to France, returned with the invading army, and was appointed President of the Provisional Government—and Mario Pagano. The former gave empty, rhetorical words and boasted of having found in Italy “as many little volcanoes” as Neapolitans he had gathered into its bosom (3); the latter urged the youth to rally under the banners of liberty, inaugurating the use of youthful enthusiasm that would become a hallmark of the revolutionary movements of the 19th century.
Ceremonies “like those of Bacchantes” unfolded in the city squares and even before the Royal Palace, now renamed the “National Palace,” with “fiery speeches and wild dancing…(4)” The people remained hostile and mocking.
As Colletta notes, despite the pomp of improvised formalities and the unrestrained joy of the patriots, “we lacked the legitimacy of the revolution, because it did not come from parliaments, estates general, assemblies, constituted authorities, or a unified popular movement, but from mere conquest—and incomplete at that: a condition that alienated the fearful and methodical minds from the new government.”
Surely, to give the new order a semblance of legitimacy, the French troops immediately displayed great deference and respect for religious sentiment, especially the cult of St. Januarius.
Even to the more perceptive Neapolitan patriots, the revolution appeared as something imposed from outside—a “passive revolution.” Croce notes that “this republic, once the initial moment of enthusiasm and amazement had passed, was found to be without roots and without strength,” “its only support the French expeditionary corps,” and that it began to lead “a life oscillating between comedy and tragedy (5).”
The first problem the republic had to face was the policy it should adopt toward the various social classes.
There were no major difficulties with the nobility, if it is true that one of the republic’s leading figures, Pagano, could act as spokesman and chief representative of the barons.
Even the Monitore Napoletano, the most representative newspaper of the time, created and almost entirely written by Eleonora de Fonseca Pimentel, “is almost entirely devoid of satire or violence against aristocrats (6).” The abolition of feudalism, with its jurisdictions and militias, was declared but never put into practice.
The attitude of the common people was of the greatest concern to the republic. Pimentel noted in her Monitore: “When the Neapolitan people rose in resistance, if they showed blindness of reason, they also revealed a vigor of character unknown even to their fellow citizens.”
It was this “blindness of reason,” this “misapplied strength,” that the patriots sought to “democratize.” Young, inexperienced, and abstract idealists; a few converted lazzaroni like Michele the Madman, made a French colonel; a few priests like Michelangelo Cicconi, who preached “The Republic Explained by the Holy Gospel,” rose up to promote freedom of conscience, the merit of civil marriage, the nullity of wills, “and other countless moral excesses (7).” Anti-feudal propaganda amounted to empty words and promises. These democratizers of town and countryside were not understood, were distrusted, and were mocked. And it could not be otherwise when the innovators failed to inspire any sincerely understood ideal or stimulate any real interest.
In truth, the people had no demands. As Colletta says, “It was necessary to awaken desires, in order then to earn the merit of satisfying them.” But “the mania of wanting to reform everything” brought with it “the counterrevolution,” as Cuoco critically noted.
Just as with the declarations on feudalism, another decree—dividing the republic into departments and cantons, imitating the French model but issued in complete ignorance of the nation’s economic and even natural geography—likewise went unimplemented. Here again, Cuoco’s criticism of foolish imitation of foreigners and the terrible example of a republic that makes laws and then does not observe them is apt. The constitution of the Neapolitan Republic, proposed by municipal assemblies, contained only abstract and impromptu rules.
It is worth quoting Cuoco’s summary judgment verbatim: “The ideas of the Neapolitan revolution could have been popular if they had been drawn from the very soul of the nation. Drawn from a foreign constitution, they were far removed from our own; founded on overly abstract principles, they were far removed from our senses; and, what is worse, they brought along with them as laws all the customs, whims, and sometimes all the defects of another people—utterly different from our own defects, whims, and customs (8).”
While trying to win over the people, with the dismal results already mentioned, the republic displayed its full sectarian style in governing the state. All those who had served King Ferdinand, even good and honest officials, were dismissed and impoverished. Soldiers were forced into the countryside. The republic declared it did not need them, the patriots rhetorically convinced that it sufficed to strike the earth, and the militia would rise up in the time of liberty. Baronial guards likewise wandered aimlessly and hungry. A Civic Guard was established, but a few hundred men were deemed sufficient.
The sectarian spirit was also expressed in public halls—variously named patriotic, popular, etc.—set up to expose suspicions, accuse enemies of the new state, discuss everything and everyone, and provoke constant changes in public office. It was nothing but “a clamor of accusations, calumnies, and complaints” that “rose noisily and did not subside until the fall of the republic,” as Colletta notes (9), “for factions, symptoms of governmental disease, extinguish governments unless they themselves are extinguished.”
Beyond philosophical-humanitarian abstractions, the French also revealed their true nature in political affairs: they were an invading army, greedy and extortionate. A decree by General Championnet imposed a war levy of two and a half million ducats for Naples and fifteen million for the provinces.
The patriots, through Gabriele Manthonè, did not hesitate to protest—but in these terms: “You, Citizen General, came here not for battles and victories, but for our help and agreements; we gave you the castles; we betrayed…” As if betrayal of the homeland could curb the arrogance of the enemy. Later, when Championnet was replaced by Macdonald, accompanied by French Commissioner Faypoult, a French decree was enforced declaring “the property of France the assets of the Crown of Naples: palaces or royal residences, hunting forests, the endowments of the Orders of Malta and Constantinople, the property of monasteries, allodial fiefs, banks, the porcelain factory, and the antiquities still hidden in Pompeii and Herculaneum (10).”
The opposition of Neapolitan Jacobins, who had found some sympathy from Championnet (and for this he was punished by the French Directory), found only bitter irony in Macdonald, who did not hesitate to say: “The patriots are very few who are sincere for liberty, and none of them is prepared to make sacrifices for it (11).”
The Neapolitans’ attitude toward the French is vividly captured in two episodes recounted in Harold Acton’s book The Bourbons of Naples. On one side is the lazzarone who, with an image of St. Januarius in his hat, charges recklessly against the enemy, convinced the holy image makes him invulnerable; on the other, the Jacobin patriot who runs with open arms toward the French liberator, only for the Frenchman to immediately snatch his watch (12).
But it is mistaken to judge these events only by their outward appearance. Behind the characters and events of the ephemeral republic and the political views it displayed—views not always driven by bad faith—far greater forces were at work. A contemporary writer, F. Colangelo, insightfully saw the Neapolitan revolution as a far-flung extension of that uprising, inspired chiefly by Voltaire, which had aimed to destroy the authority of the Church with the intent of bringing down all thrones thereafter (13). The true conspiracy devised by Voltaire had encountered Freemasonry along the way and joined with it (14). Thus, even in Naples, the Jacobins emerged as new shoots of the old Masonic tree, long rooted there.
The Neapolitan people instinctively perceived clearly that behind the liberty offered by the French, and despite all outward hypocrisy, lay an unrenounced intent to destroy every belief and every ancestral order.
But fortunately, this liberty “had extended its conquests only in Naples—half-deceived, half-betrayed—and over some cities in the Abruzzi and Terra di Lavoro provinces. The rest of the Kingdom stood armed, ready to do battle with the French at any moment (15).” So that, as Colangelo ironically remarked, “the so-called Republic barely extended safely as far as Porta Capuana (16).”
Notes:
(1) Croce, B.: The Neapolitan Revolution of 1799 – Introduction.
(2) Colletta, P.: History of the Kingdom of Naples – Book IV, Chapter I. Championnet’s words are reported quite differently in the collection of Proclamations, Laws, Edicts, etc. of the Neapolitan Republic: “You will govern [your homeland] with a double title; that is, with the title of conquest, which France transfers to you, and with the other of birth, founded on the laws of nature—the only ones that can be legitimate.”
(3) Drusco, P.A. in Popular Anarchy in Naples, etc. – 1884: “This Laubert, who boasts of his celebrated address, was a Sommascan, residing at the Piarist Schools at Fosse del Grano, and maintained a private mathematics studio in Vico dei Giganti. He applied for the Chair of Mathematics at the Royal Studies but was not appointed. From this (being a violent and troubled mind) arose the fact that in private readings, he began to spew sentiments against the state system; hence, he had to flee Naples to escape persecution by Minister Vanni, who attacked all suspected Jacobins. He then withdrew to France, where, following in Luther’s footsteps, he cast off the garments that dishonored him, and, trampling on the priestly order, disgracefully took a wife. Bearing this stigma, he returned with the French invasion, but for his own purposes did not bring the woman with him. Placing his hands on the state’s revenues, he accumulated over one hundred thousand ducats and left his administration, fleeing with this treasure in his pocket along with the departing French. This is the lifelike portrait of this seducer, who speaks by denouncing the reputation of others. What a fine member of a nascent Republic! Masked in infamy, stained by solemn disgrace for being married—a monk and a priest!”
(4) Colletta, P.: ibid.
(5) Croce, B.: ibid.
(6) Croce, B.: Eleonora de Fonseca Pimentel and the Neapolitan Monitore.
(7) Colletta, P.: ibid.
(8) Cuoco, V.: Historical Essay.
(9 & 10.) Colletta, P.: ibid.
(11) Croce, B.: Relations between the Neapolitan Patriots and the Directory and the Consulate, etc.
(12) Acton, H.: The Bourbons of Naples.
(13) Colangelo, F.: Historical-Political Reflections on the Revolution That Occurred in Naples in 1799.
(14) Barruel: Memoirs Illustrating the History of Jacobinism, etc.
(15) Musci, M.: Civil and Military History of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies.
(16) Colangelo, F.: ibid.
