that her influence had much to do with the return of General Macdonald and his staff to take part in the festal procession of St Januarius and to remain near the altar at the subsequent ceremonial. With great exultation she describes, in the 'Monitore,' the incidents of the day, enlarging on the fact that, by the liquefaction of his blood, the Saint had ranged himself on the side of the republicans. Again she calls attention to the illumination of Vesuvius by flames that played gently around its summit.

But even in this last outburst of rejoicing there is an under-current of disappointment. The legislators had failed to see the importance of identifying themselves with the people and joining in the procession; while, in the ensuing days the clergy made no effort to deal with the event from the pulpit, and prove that there was no ground for the widespread belief that Jacobinism was synonymous with Atheism. In truth, the miracle came too late to create more than a momentary impression in favour of the Republic. The Bourbon adherents boldly asserted that the Saint was under a misapprehension, and that the Royalist cause was being vigorously championed by St Antony of Padua. In vain did Eleonora plead, exhort, and find most unexpected grounds for hope and courage. Ruffo and his hordes were tightening their grasp on Southern Italy, and Ferdinand and Marie-Caroline were gloating over the approaching day of vengeance.

From first to last the Monitore' had no more diligent reader than the exiled Queen. If a number failed to reach her, a reminder was promptly sent off to Lady Hamilton, who had departed with her husband on Nelson's flag-ship. In the Queen's letters to this strange confidante, we see her noting carefully every contemptuous reference to 'the vile tyrant and his wanton consort,' registering the name of every one commended for service to the Republic, and generally treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath.

What was presumably the last issue of the 'Monitore' is dated June 8, 1799. In her anxiety to encourage her readers, Eleonora had not waited to verify a rumour of advantage gained by the Republican troops in a battle near the northern frontier. In point of fact the French

troops were too few in number to offer effective resistance to the Royalists, and were retiring towards the north. The readers of the 'Monitore' were promised further particulars in the ensuing number. If it was ever printed, it has been irretrievably lost. The issue of June 8 probably had no successor; for by that date Ruffo's troops were already closing in on the doomed city. Five days later they were in possession of all but the fortresses-an easy victory, seeing that the Lazzaroni were on their side.

There followed days and nights of outrage and slaughter and pillage, unequalled till our own day. Not till June 19 was Ruffo able to establish some control over the lawless rabble; and he could claim no conquest of Naples while the fortresses held out. Their demolition was likely to cost the lives of many Royalist prisoners retained as hostages. The sole Royalist protection from the sea was a British squadron under Captain Foote. If the Franco-Spanish fleet were to elude Nelson, there would soon be an end of the Counter-Revolution. Ruffo therefore sought security by making terms with the French in St Elmo and the Republicans in the other fortresses. One article of the treaty provided that the garrisons might take their choice of remaining unmolested in Naples or being conveyed with their property under safe conduct to Toulon. They were, however, to retain the castles until the ships were ready to sail. On June 19 the treaty was signed by Ruffo, by the Commandant of St Elmo on behalf of the French, and by General Massa, the Commandant of Castel Nuovo, on behalf of the Republicans. On the 23rd it was signed by Captain Foote.

When the city was taken, the revolutionary leaders effected a temporary escape by seeking refuge in the fortresses. There is some doubt as to whether or not Eleonora Fonseca was included amongst the members of the capitulated garrisons, but she was certainly on board one of the transports, on which they ultimately assembled to the number of 1500. It was, however, with no confidence of safety that they left the strongholds. On the day following the signature of the treaty, Nelson and the British Fleet arrived in the Bay of Naples. To the dismay of Ruffo and Captain Foote, he refused to regard the treaty as binding. Kings,' he said, 'do not

make terms with rebels.' This was precisely what had been said to Ruffo over and over again in letters from Palermo. Hence he had no reason to suppose that their Sicilian Majesties' would accept the treaty without demur. Had Ferdinand been left to himself, the chances are that, though he had been breathing out threats of slaughter, he would have fallen in with the Cardinal's proposal to quell the populace and finish the revolution by a few bombs and a general amnesty.' It was not, however, the will of the Queen and Acton that the Revolution should end with the Cardinal dominating the situation. So far as they were concerned, he had served his purpose; and no inconvenient rivalry could be tolerated. Ferdinand had therefore been induced to make Nelson the supreme representative of Bourbon interests. It was a safe proceeding, inasmuch as the British Government also desired that the French should be cleared out of Naples and the monarchy reinstated.

While still at sea, Nelson was informed of the conclusion of an armistice. He decided that the French garrison was to be given two hours in which to evacuate St Elmo, prior to being conveyed to France. As for the rebels in the other two castles, 'they must,' he declared, 'throw themselves on the clemency of the King, for no other terms will be allowed them.' Confronted with the signed capitulation, Nelson insisted on adhering to his predetermined course of action. When Ruffo was reluctantly forced to perceive that, to all intents and purposes, he had been superseded, he did not decline Nelson's suggestion of a compromise. The terms of the armistice were to be fulfilled; i.e. the Republicans were to be allowed to go on board the ships, but these transports were to remain in the harbour, pending instructions from Palermo.

On June 28, two days after the embarkation, Nelson received letters from the King, the Queen, and Acton, all insisting that the treaty was to have no effect. The Queen, indeed, was beside herself with fury when she heard of it. She had a long list of Republicans who were to be tried for treason. Some of them were eligible for the King's pardon; but from all benefit of the royal clemency two names were expressly excluded, viz. those of General Massa and Eleonora Fonseca.

In accordance with Nelson's instructions, the transports were anchored within range of the English guns. By royal command the infamous Junta was reinstated. Every day boats put out to the transports and brought back fresh batches of victims, few of whom escaped execution. By the end of July the fifteen hundred persons covered by the treaty had been reduced to five hundred, and the Junta announced that the transports were free to set sail. There was, however, further delay. The Queen's black-list was not wholly exhausted. Her wrath was specially directed against the scholarly adherents of the revolution. No extenuating circumstances could be urged in favour of those who had manifested such ingratitude' towards their royal patrons. In the revolting alliance between a degenerate Court and a brutalised populace, every civilising element in the life of Naples was ruthlessly stamped out. On Aug. 3 Cirillo and Pagano were transferred from the ships to the appalling dungeons on shore. They were hanged on Oct. 29. Their colleague Pasquale Baffi was executed a week later.

Not till Aug. 12 were the transports actually allowed to depart. Shortly beforehand, the dreaded boat appeared once more and took off one solitary victim-Eleonora Fonseca. Some tortured wretch had doubtless revealed, what short hair and a suit of man's clothing had hitherto kept secret-that the object of the Queen's most virulent hatred and determined search was likely to make good her escape. On Aug. 17, she was subjected to the mockery of a trial and condemned to death. When she claimed the privilege of her rank to execution by beheading, she was informed that such a mitigation of punishment could only be conceded to those who had been born Neapolitan subjects. The woman who had loved and served her Italian fatherland was to be hanged as a Portuguese felon. Seven other persons were appointed to die on the same day, Aug. 20. Some lingering sense of decency prompted the suggestion that victims who included a woman and a bishop might be executed within the precincts of the Carmine prison. But this would not have suited either the Queen or the bloodthirsty crowd. It was decreed that the executions should take place as usual in the great Piazza del Mercato,

where gallows trees had taken the place of the uprooted trees of liberty.

Repudiated by Naples, and faced with death in most appalling form, Eleonora seemed to feel that she had been reclaimed by her native city. She could still maintain the heroic attitude of the great days of Rome, still sustain her own spirit and encourage her fellow-sufferers by recalling passages of Virgil. On the morning of the 20th, she calmly arranged the old, rusty-black dress which had been given her in place of her disguise, and obtained a cup of coffee. It was an oppressive day of impending storm. Nevertheless a huge concourse had assembled to witness the unusual features of the executions. Every window of the tall surrounding houses was filled with hostile, vociferous spectators. As the victims emerged from the adjacent prison, Eleonora turned to her comrades with the words of Virgil, 'Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit.'

Doubtless by royal command, she was the last to suffer. Daylight was fading as she issued from the guard-house. Unmoved by the execrations of the mob, heedless of the demand that she should cry Viva il Re, she turned with a gesture of salutation towards the great gibbet whence hung the bodies of those 'lost adventurers her peers.' Then, bound and blindfold, she was dragged up the ladder, on the topmost rungs of which the noose was adjusted. As she fell' (says de Nicola) 'the shouts of the populace went up to the stars.'

'No worse thing can be said of our age than this, that a Mario Pagano died upon the gallows,' says a contemporary historian; and the words are equally applicable to Eleonora Fonseca. Had her part in the Revolutionary drama been played on the greater stage of Paris, the name of one so gifted and so heroic would long ago have been familiar as a household word. Her last utterance was eminently characteristic; and we may add to it the words which Mrs Hamilton King puts into the mouth of a later Neapolitan martyr for liberty: Italia, when thou comest to thy kingdom, remember me.'

MARY MAXWELL MOFFAT.