The scars left on the Italian soul by the so-called “Other Peninsular War” can be seen in many places. For example, nearly every home built in Italy in the 19th century has not only a basement, but a hidden sub-basement, excavated extra room, or sometimes just a largish hole chipped out of the bedrock. Although seldom used for anything but junk, these were originally intended for storing extra food.
In culture, the two dominant styles in Italian opera, poetry, painting and sculpture between 1820 and 1850 — the Neo-Pastoral style with its deliberate innocence and sense of reassurance, and the infamous trucescuro (literally “grim-dark”) style — both arose as a response to the horrors of the war. One fulfilled the need to forget, the other the need to remember.
Most of all, the war left a deep and bitter hatred in Italy toward all things Austrian…
Iliescu et al., A History of Ethnic Relations in Europe
December 20, 1816
5:30 p.m.
Cernobbio, Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia
Lake Como was frozen over. A heavy snow was falling on the Villa d’Este. At least it was in season, and white rather than rust-red, as it had been for much of the year.
Princess Caroline of Brunswick, the extremely estranged wife of the Prince Regent of the United Kingdom, looked out her window and wondered what the hell she had been thinking, returning to Italy. Not just returning to Italy, but returning to her estate. She could have stayed in Rome. Even now, she might be taking a carriage ride through the city, or at the Teatro Argentina delighting in Rossini’s latest work. The Papal States were said to be getting crowded with refugees, but… where she was now was one of the places the refugees were running away from. And with good reason.
Coming here hadn’t seemed like such a terrible idea at the time. It had been August, with hardly any snow on the ground. The Austrians had been winning the war. (Come to think of it, they still weren’t exactly losing.) Rome had been as safe as any place on earth. If nothing else, if the place seemed at all dissatisfactory she could leave again. For heaven’s sake, she had visited Tunis without being sold into slavery, and sailed the Greek isles unmolested by pirates. Bad things simply weren’t allowed to happen to visiting royals, no matter what their husbands thought of them. So she decided to return to her villa.
Hardly had she crossed the border between the Papal States and Tuscany when the Austrian army started trying to feed itself entirely off the land, and the land (or rather, pretty much all the people on it) rose up against them, and against anybody trying to help them. In Tuscany, Modena, Parma and here in Lombardy, the tax collectors sent to squeeze food out of their own people had been driven out by angry mobs if they were lucky, hanged from the nearest tree if they weren’t. The Austrians had tried to use force to re-establish local authority, but their armies were harried wherever they went.
Not that she didn’t understand. To steal stores of food in a year like this, when no one had anything to spare… if you and your family were doomed to starve, why not use whatever strength you had left to hunt down the nearest soldier and shoot him in the back? What were they going to do — kill you?
Caroline was privately sure the rebels were as quick to steal food as the Austrians — they had to eat too, and they did nothing to grow crops or earn money. But when the Austrians did it, the rebels made sure everyone heard about it. This was especially true of Murat, who had learned the art of demagogy from Bonaparte and the Jacobins. She had met him before, in Naples. In her judgment, he was not a good man, but certainly one to be reckoned with. The Austrians, on the other hand… it didn’t seem to have occurred to them yet that this was a war for the hearts of the people, not simply control of the land. Public opinion was something they weren’t used to worrying about. They were even worse than the British court in this regard.
None of which did her any good. The Grand Duke of Tuscany and the Duke of Modena hadn’t even been able to spare any soldiers to protect her. Passing through their lands, she had been guarded by some very unofficial-looking local men from “citizens’ committees.” Her majordomo, Bartolomeo Pergami, had talked the committees into this somehow or other. This hadn’t been the first time she had come perilously close to a war zone, but it had been the worst.
Finally, in Parma (which was being governed from Milan since Marie Louise had gone to France) Archduke Anton Victor had finally arrived with a detachment of Austrian and Lombard troops to guard her as she returned to the villa. (The “citizens’ committee” men had fled at word of his approach.) The archduke had made it very clear that this was a distraction from important duties, and that he was only doing it as a courtesy to the royal family of Austria’s ally, Britain. Just to compound the irony of this, no sooner was she at the villa than Pergami had discovered that that little rat Ompteda was a spy for her husband. She had dismissed him and every servant he had suborned.
She had considered moving on to Vienna, or to Switzerland. (Correction — she should have gone to Vienna, or to Switzerland, or to anywhere other than here.) But since dear Pergami had gone to all the trouble of rooting out the spies, she had decided to stay a little longer. Wherever else she went, it wouldn’t be long before Prinny had every secret agent manqué he could hire sneaking into her apartments, filching and copying the keys and sniffing her underclothes for signs of adultery. She had had her fill and more of this since… really, since about a year after baby Charlotte was born. (How was her daughter? Was she happy? Caroline had heard she’d gotten married. Was there a grandchild on the way?)
So — Caroline had used the last of their money to buy food from Switzerland, which was as hungry as Italy but still orderly. She and her household had settled down here, in this nice out-of-the-way spot safely close to the Swiss and Austrian borders and almost completely under the Hapsburg emperor’s control, to wait. She had written a few letters to friends back in England, to assure them that she was all right. Surely things would get better.
They had gotten worse. As of November, the cities of Milan, Turin and Novara were in the hands of the “Provisional Government” of either the “Republic of Lombardy,” the “Republic of Italy” or the “Kingdom of Italy,” depending on which of the various factions you asked. Caroline suspected that the only thing holding them all together was their mutual hatred of the Hapsburgs and any ruler who accepted Hapsburg support.
Still, she had enough food to last for a while, and next year the weather would return to normal and her allowance would come again — Prinny couldn’t possibly be so petty as to block it. (Well, actually he could, but Parliament was another matter.) All she and her household had to do was fort up here and survive until then. And if worst came to worst, the Swiss border and the well-garrisoned town of Chiasso were a mere two miles to the west. Even with blizzards every week and bandits in the mountains, she liked the odds of surviving that journey.
And then it had happened. Yesterday, Count Colloredo-Mansfeld had come to call. He had brought ten thousand unexpected guests with him.
He had been very polite, but firm. He was headed to Milan to help the archduke retake the city. He was planning a surprise attack. Under the circumstances, he could allow no one to leave the village or the estate.
Oh, and he needed their food. All of it. Down to the very last loaf of bread.
There was nothing to be done. The Austrian army had gotten very good at finding hidden stores of food. The only things Bartolomeo had been able to conceal were Angelica and every other female in the household.
Though they hadn’t said as much, everyone had been afraid of worse than rape. Her attendants had many contacts among the Italians. From what they said, the armies of the Austrian Empire had moved beyond what (God help this world) everyone had come to think of as “normal” wartime atrocities against any who resisted them or tried to hide food or valuables. Men’s bodies and parts of bodies were being found impaled on tree branches. The stories of what was being done to women and children…
They must have grown in the telling, Caroline thought. It’s not as though I’m hearing both sides of the story. Only a year ago the Austrians were a nation like any other — they can’t possibly have all turned to devils, no matter what Bartolomeo and Angelica may think. But at times like this, ordinary men could do just such terrible things. She had heard stories of the Peninsular War.
And this Peninsular War looked to be even worse. Whenever the bodies of the Austrians’ victims were found (when they were found at all) pieces were missing — arms, legs, hearts, livers, slabs of flesh cut from the side. It was said that the Austrians were no longer content with starving and murdering the people — they had turned cannibal. Caroline’s own suspicion was that some of the more desperate peasants were taking advantage of the ready availability of corpses, but everyone was ready to believe the worst of anyone who followed the Emperor Francis.
So… it was almost Christmas, and she and all her servants (and their children, to make things worse) were trapped here with not so much as a raw onion to eat. The question of whether they should stay or go had been well and truly settled — they would go to Switzerland and live on credit until Parliament sent their allowance. But there was no prospect of leaving until Colloredo had won or lost his battle.
On top of everything else, it was dark outside and her majordomo Pergami was missing, along with the Neapolitan Theodore Majocchi. Italy right now wasn’t a good place to go missing in. If somebody wasn’t in line of sight, a part of you couldn’t help wondering if you’d ever see him again.
A thread of cold air brushed her skin, a little draft from the window’s edge. The wind had picked up again. It howled in the distance, sounding like screams and volley-fire…
No. That wasn’t the wind. It was battle… somewhere to the south, but much closer than Milan. She had heard such noises before, on her journey to London to meet her husband.
For the next half hour, she simply sat there, listening. Trying to decide if the noise was getting closer or farther away. If it was dying down or getting worse. If musket-balls were about to start crashing through the windows. She said several prayers.
Finally, the noise of battle faded.
She kept sitting there anyway. There was nothing much else to do right now. Nothing to eat. No one to talk to. Books to read, but not enough light to read by. Nothing to do but sit, and wait, and worry.
Then there was noise near the side door. It sounded like… not more than a few men. Whatever else might be happening, the villa wasn’t being invaded. Caroline went to see what it was.
In the hall, she saw Pergami leaning on her secretary’s shoulder. Hownam was a strong man, but Pergami was very tall and it was all he could do to get the majordomo into a chair. There was still unmelted snow sticking to his muttonchop whiskers.
“Majocchi… is dead,” Pergami gasped, rubbing his hands and blowing on his fingers to warm them. “Shot through the heart. A patrol. I only just got away myself.”
“Are you wounded?”
Pergami gave a bitter little chuckle. “Nothing so honorable,” he said. “I slipped on a patch of ice… twisted my ankle.”
“Please tell me you are not a part of this… this…” She waved her hand. She couldn’t think of a word that did justice to all the horrors Italy was going through.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I once served the Hapsburgs myself, as you know, but… enough is enough. Those bastards don’t care if we live or die anymore. If they ever did. I couldn’t let Milan suffer for the sake of Austria’s power. I had to warn them.”
“If Colloredo finds out what you’ve done, he’ll kill you,” said Caroline. “He might kill us all.” It would be so easy. He could blame it on the rebels. Castlereagh would issue formal diplomatic denunciations. Prinny would probably throw a party to celebrate. Why did I leave England? she thought. Why did I leave my daughter?
“He has very little time to find out,” said Pergami. “Our king is coming.”
* * *
It was with some dread that Caroline heard the knock on the front door.
“I’ll answer it,” said Hownam. (The dear man had actually challenged Ompteda to a duel. Ompteda had responded by fleeing very far away.)
At first, Caroline didn’t recognize the man who entered. He was tall, lean and weathered, with a scrubby beard. He was dressed in a civilian greatcoat over the patched-up remains of a French uniform.
“We meet again, Your Majesty,” he said in French. “As one unfortunate and slandered monarch to another, I greet you. You’re looking well.”
And then she recognized him.
“Murat,” she said. “No — forgive me — King Joachim.” Caroline had no problem acknowledging this murderous bandit chief as the rightful King of Italy. She’d met other kings.
“I don’t look much like myself, do I?” he chuckled.
“I am afraid my house is in no state to entertain visiting royalty,” she said. “Colloredo took all our food.”
“I am afraid my entire kingdom is in no state to entertain visiting royalty, suffering as it is from a foreign invasion and pretenders to local rule,” said Joachim.
“So I have seen,” said Caroline. “It was my intention to go to Chiasso as soon as the battle was over and the roads were open again. I gather, from Your Majesty’s appearance, that this is the case?”
“It is indeed. The sons of Italy — properly warned by a certain patriot — have won a great victory over the oppressor. Colloredo is dead, and what is left of his army is fleeing north along the lakefront. I will arrange at once for Your Majesty to have an escort to Chiasso. More than that — I will write to my in-laws in France and request that they take you in as a guest.” At this point, a messenger came in.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “forgive the interruption — we’ve burned our own dead just as you said, but the Austrian dead — the peasants are demanding…” His mouth worked silently, as though he could not find the words.
“I can guess,” said Joachim. “Chop them up as small as you can. That way, everyone for miles around will get a share.”
…Another traditional Italian holiday favorite is “austriaco” — pork shoulder marinated in wine overnight, boiled and then baked. To make it, you’ll need a large pot and a roasting pan.
Ingredients:
1½-2 kilos boneless pork shoulder, cut into inch-thick slices with minimal fat
6 cloves garlic, chopped
2 tbsp fennel seed
salt
A ¾-kilo jar of your favorite pasta sauce
Marinating the meat is traditional, but not really necessary. If you want to make the extra effort, put it in a sealable plastic bag with 2 cups of cooking sherry.
In the pot, place the pork and 2 tsp salt. Add water to cover. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover and simmer for 2 hours, longer if necessary. The meat should pull apart easily when this step is completed.
Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Remove the pork from the liquid and place it in the roasting pan in an even layer, mixed with the garlic and fennel seed. (Remember — fresh garlic really does make a difference!) Bake for 30 minutes, or until the pork is well caramelized.
Pour sauce over pork. Serve over noodles or rice, or just as it is!
Velaine Richardson, 250 Simple Recipes for a Magnificent Christmas Dinner
Or possibly Congress thinks they will largely get killed off.