"The reception was brief—even Garibaldi requires repose—and after having appeared on both sides of the palace, and received the compliments of all classes, including a Venetian deputy, who said, 'We are ready, and only await Garibaldi,' to which the dictator replied, with a quiet smile, 'Aspetta, aspetta!' (Wait, wait), he retired from the palazzo to his quarters in the Palazzo Angri, Strada Toledo, where another ovation awaited him. On his way he went to the cathedral, and was received with due honors. The generality of priests have retired to their cells, but many are still about, and I met one in the presence chambers in full canonicals, crossed by a tri-colored scarf, and bearing an enormous Sardinian flag—'_Tempora mutantur et nos._'"
On Saturday, the 8th, there was a sudden commotion in the Castelnovo, on the shore, a description of which will convey a just idea of the state of Naples and the garrison. A spectator wrote:
"One of those uproarious bursts of applause which come upon us like hurricanes, called me to the window. The soldiers in the garrison at the Castelnovo had just burst out, and were running, jumping, galloping past my house like so many slaves who had burst out of the house of bondage. Some were armed with muskets; most had their sacks full of loaves of bread, which dropped from their wallets as they ran along, shouting, like so many madmen, 'Viva Garibaldi!' At every step they met with crowds of men and women, armed with naked swords, daggers, and pikes, which they flourished in the air, uttering at the same time the usual magic cries. Dirty-looking fellows, in the Neapolitan uniform, were hugged and kissed by persons as dirty as themselves, and then uniting, all surged onward to the Toledo. It was impossible to remain in the house, and escaping from my chains, which fell from me as soon as the post left, I hurried into the street. I turn round to Criatamone, and just above me, peering over the walls, I see a number of soldiers in garrison in the Pizzofalcone, and watching if the road was clear. The people about me were waving their hands to them, and inviting them to come down. There are iron doors at the bottom, and sentinels stand by them. Down come the troops in a torrent—sentinels are motionless, the doors bend, at last yield, and at length out they come like so many madmen out of Bedlam, and run after their companions from the Castelnovo. Sentinels still stand, 'pro formâ,' at the doors of both the forts, but they are abandoned, and empty walls and harmless cannon alone remain to be guarded. Meanwhile, Garibaldi is going to Pie di Grotta, like another Emperor Carlo III., on the first day of his entry into Naples. Carriages dash by me full of red jackets, or of men and women brandishing swords and pikes, whilst the rain is pouring down in torrents, and the thunder is pealing, as if it were a salute of heaven for the liberator of the Two Sicilies. The weather prevented any grand display, though the disposition was not wanting on the part of the people, as the flags which hung down lank from the windows abundantly showed. The weather brightened up toward the evening, and the town was more brilliantly illuminated than last night. There can be no mistake about the matter, the enthusiasm is very great. People are beside themselves, and scenes are witnessed which, perhaps, have never been witnessed in any other country under the sun. Two lines of carriages go up and down the Toledo filled with persons decorated with tri-colored ribbons and scarfs, and carrying the flag of Piedmont, or rather of Italy. There are people of every class: there are priests and monks, as gaily decorated as any, and some are armed; there are women in the Garibaldian dress, and many carry daggers or pikes; there are red jackets of Garibaldi and red jackets of England; there are people from the provinces, who have scarcely dared to speak or breathe for twelve long years, who are now frantic with joy. What wonder if they have lost their senses?