There have been many conspirators, but Mazzini appears to have been the
greatest of them all. In one sense, every leader of a forlorn hope is
a conspirator. Prevision, calculation of resources, plans of
campaign--mostly of an underground kind--are necessary to conspiracy.
The struggles of Garrison and Wendell Phillips for the rescue and
sustentation of fugitive slaves are well-known instances of underground
conspiracy. There the violence of the slave-owner made conspiracy
inevitable. In despotic countries, without a free platform and a free
press, the choice lies between secret conspiracy and slavery. When
Mazzini began to seek the deliverance of Italy he had to confront
600,000 Austrian bayonets. How else could he do it than by conspiracy?
Those are very much mistaken who think that the occupation of promoting
or taking part in a forlorn hope is a pastime to which persons
disinclined to business or honest industry, betake themselves. The spy,
for instance, who is a well-known instrument in war, takes the heroism
out of it. The sinister activity of the spy turns the soldier into a
sneak. Honourable men do, indeed, persuade themselves that if by deceit
they can obtain knowledge of facts which may save the lives of many on
their own side, it is right. At the same time they also betray to death
many on the other side, including some who have trusted the spy in his
disguise. But whatever success may attend the deceit of the spy, he can
never divest himself of the character of being a fraud; and a fraud in
war is only a little less base than a fraud in business. But it is the
perils of even the patriotic spy, which are so often under-estimated. If
discovered by the enemy, he is sure to be shot; and he runs the risk of
being killed on suspicion by friends on his own side--too indignant to
inquire into the nature of the suspicions they entertain. The spy dare
not communicate the business he is upon to his friends. Somehow it would
get out; then the spy would surely walk the plank, or hang from the
gallows as Andre did. The spy's own friends being ignorant of the secret
duty he has undertaken, observe him making the acquaintance of the
enemy--hear of him being seen in communication with them--and he becomes
distrusted and disowned by those whom he perils his life to serve.
Mazzini detested the Cabinets, or the Generals, who employed spies.
He made war by secrecy--open war being impossible to him--but never by
treachery. Some who had suffered and were incensed by personal outrage
or maddening oppression, would act as spies in revenge. Because these
were done on the side of Italian independence, Mazzini was accused of
inspiring them and employing them.
Mazzini had another difficulty. Like Cromwell, he sought his combatants
among men of faith. Mazzini was, as has been said, a Theist, like Thomas
Paine, or Theodore Parker, or Francis William Newman, he was that and
nothing more; and, as with them, his belief was passionate. He did not
believe that political enthusiasm could be created or sustained without
belief in God. He seemed unable to conceive that a sense of duty could
exist separately from that belief. Hence his motto always was "God and
the People," which limited his adherents largely to Theists, and implied
a propaganda to convert persons to a belief in Deity, before they could,
in his opinion, be counted upon to fight for Italian independence. Yet
there were contradictions; but contradictions seldom disturb passionate
convictions, and Mazzini himself could not deny that he had often been
faithfully served by men who were not at all sure that God would fight
on their side, if disaster overtook them. One night at a crowded Fulham
party Mazzini was contending, as was his wont, that an Atheist could not
have a sense of duty. Garibaldi, who was present, at once asked, "What
do you say to me? I am an Atheist. Do I lack the sense of duty?"
"Ah," said Mazzini, playfully, "you imbibed duty with your mother's
milk"--which was not an answer, but a good-natured evasion. Garibaldi
was not a philosophical Atheist, but he was a fierce sentimental one,
from resentment at the cruelties and tyrannies of priests who professed
to represent God. To disbelieve unwillingly from lack of evidence, and
to disbelieve from natural indignation is a very different thing.
All the many years Mazzini was in London, Madame Venturi was constantly
in communication with him, and was present at more conversations than
any one else. Had she possessed the genius of Boswell, and put down
day by day criticisms she heard expressed, the narratives of his
extraordinary adventures, and such as came to her knowledge from
correspondence, now no longer recoverable, we might have had as
wonderful a volume of political and ethical judgment as was Boswell's
"Johnson." Sometimes I expressed a hope that she was doing this.
Nevertheless, we are indebted to her for the best biography of him that
appeared in her time. I add a few sayings of his which show the quality
of his table talk:--
"Falsehood is the art of cowards. Credulity without examination is the
practice of idiots."
"Any order of things established through violence, even though in itself
superior to the old, is still a tyranny."
"Blind distrust, like blind confidence, is death to all great
enterprises."
"In morals, thought and action should be inseparable. Thought without
action is selfishness; action without thought is rashness."
"The curse of Cain is upon him who does not regard himself as the
guardian of his brother."
"Education is the bread of the soul."
"Art does not imitate, it interprets."
Only those who were in the agitation for Italian freedom can understand
the exhausting amount of labour performed by those who were adherents
or sympathisers. How much greater was the labour of the commander of the
movement, who had to create the departments he administered, to provide
the funds for them, to win and inspire its adherents, and correspond
incessantly with agents scattered over Europe and America, and to
vindicate himself against false accusations rained upon him by a
hostile, ubiquitous European press.
Orsini was a man of invincible courage, and could be trusted to execute
any commission given him. No danger deterred him, but in enterprises
requiring prevision of contingencies, he was inadequate. Mazzini
thought so; and Orsini secretly contrived to plot against the French
usurper, to extort from Mazzini the confession that he (Orsini) could
carry out an independent enterprise. All the same, the adversaries of
Italian freedom made Mazzini responsible for it.
A writer in the press, who did not give his name (and when a writer does
not do that, he can say anything), published, in editorial type, this
passage: "By the way, I remember that Orsini, the day before he left
England to make his attempt upon the life of Napoleon III., had a
solemn discussion with Joseph Cowen and Mazzini, as to the justice of
tyrannicide." Mazzini being then dead, I sent the paragraph to Mr. Cowen
and asked him if there was any truth in it, who replied:--
"Blaydon-on-Tyne, March 2, 1891.
"My dear Holyoake,--I have no idea where the writer of the enclosed
paragraph gets his information. I cannot speak as to Orsini having a
conversation with Mazzini, but I should think it is in the highest sense
improbable, because long before Orsini went to France, Mazzini and he
had not been in friendly intercourse. There was a difference between
them which kept them apart. I had repeated conversations with Orsini
about tyrannicide--a matter in which he seemed interested--but I did not
see him for some weeks before he went to France.
"Yours truly,
"Joseph Cowen."
Mazzini always repudiated the dagger as a political weapon. It answered
the purpose of his adversaries in his day and since, to accuse him
of advocating it. He pointed out that calumny was a dagger used to
assassinate character, but to that form of assassination few politicians
made objection. Sometimes partisans of Mazzini would supply a colourable
presumption of the truth of this accusation.
A circumstantial story appeared in the "Life of Charles Bradlaugh" (vol.
i. p. 69), signed W. E. Adams, as follows:--
"The year 1858 was the year of Felice Orsinis attempt on the life of
Louis Napoleon. I was at that time, and had been for years previously, a
member of the Republican Association, which was formed to propagate the
principles of Mazzini. When the press, from one end of the country to
the other, joined in a chorus of condemnation of Orsini, I put down on
paper some of the arguments and considerations which I thought told
on Orsini's side. The essay thus was read at a meeting of one of our
branches; the members assembled earnestly urged me to get the piece
printed. It occurred to me also that the publication might be of
service, if only to show that there were two sides to the question
of 'Tyrannicide.' So I went to Mr. G. J. Holyoake, then carrying on
business as a publisher of advanced literature. Mr. Holyoake not being
on the premises, his brother, Austin, asked me to leave my manuscript
and call again. When I called again Mr. Holyoake returned me the paper,
giving, among other reasons for declining to publish it, that he was
already in negotiation with Mazzini for a pamphlet on the same subject.
'Very well,' said I, 'all I want is that something should be said on
Orsini's side. If Mazzini does this, I shall be quite content to throw
my production into the fire.'"
It is true that the pamphlet was brought to me by Mr. Adams, entitled,
"Tyrannicide: A Justification." What really took place on my part, as
I distinctly remember, was this. I said: "I was unwilling to publish a
pamphlet of that nature which did not bear the name of the writer," which
the MS. did not. The author answered that "a name added no force to an
argument; besides, his name was unimportant, if put on the tide-page,"
which was reasonably and modestly said. My reply was, "That in an affair
of murder, 'Justification' was a recommendation, and that any one acting
on his perilous suggestion ought to know who was his authority." Nothing
more was said by me. The writer made no offer to add his name to
his MS., nor to meet my objection by a less assertive title. As any
prosecution for publishing it would be against me, and not against him,
I thought I had a right to an opinion as to the title and authorship
of the work I might have to defend. It was afterwards issued by Mr.
Truelove, a bookseller of courage and public spirit, but who suggested
the very changes I had indicated to the author; and by Mr. Truelove's
desire the author not only gave his name, but changed the title into
"Tyrannicide: Is it Justifiable?" which was quite another matter. It
asked the question; it no longer decided it.
As to Mazzini, it is impossible I could have said what is imputed to
me. I was not "in negotiation with Mazzini" "to write anything upon
the Orsini affair. I knew he would not do so. Orsini, as I have said,
concealed his plot from Mazzini, who never incited it, never approved
it, never justified it--he deplored it. Only enemies of Mazzini sought
to connect him with it. If I left this story uncontradicted, it might
creep into history that, in spite of the disclaimers of Mazzini's
friends, he actually "entered into negotiation" to write in defence
of Orsini's attempt, which must imply concurrence with the deplorable
method Orsini unhappily took; and, moreover, that a publisher, regarded
as being in Mazzini's confidence, had, in an open, unqualified way, told
a writer on assassination of it. The publisher was speedily arrested
on the issue of the pamphlet, as I should have been, but that would
not have deterred me from publishing it in a reasonable and responsible
form.
Soon after I printed and published a worse pamphlet by Felix Pyat, which
was signed by "A Revolutionary Committee." The Pyat pamphlet was under
prosecution at the time I voluntarily published it. As what I did I did
openly--I wrote to the Government apprising them of what I was doing.
Besides, I commenced to issue serial "Tyrannicide Literature,"
commencing with pamphlets written by Royalist advocates of
assassination. Because I did not publish the Adams Tyrannicide pamphlet
right off without inquiry or suggestion, I was freely charged with
refusing to do it from fear. No one seems to have been informed of
the reasons I gave for declining. No one inquired into the facts.
Adversaries of those days did not take the trouble. But, as I had to
take the consequences of what I did, I thought I had a right to take my
own mode of incurring them.
On the last night of Orsini's life, Mazzini and a small group of the
friends both of Orsini and himself, of which I was one, kept vigil until
the morning, at which hour the axe in La Roquette would fall.
The favourite charge of the press against the great conspirator was that
he advised others to incur danger, and kept out of it himself. This was
entirely untrue--but it did not prevent it being said. The principle
these critics go upon is, that whoever is capable of advising and
directing others, should do all he can to get himself shot--a doctrine
which would rid the army of all its generals, and the offices of all
newspapers of their editors. Upon Mazzini's life the success of twenty
small cohorts of patriots depended, ready to give their lives for Italy.
Mazzini was not only the commander of the army of Liberation, but, as
has been indicated, the provider of its reserves, its commissariat
and recruits. His life was also of priceless value to other struggling
peoples. He was the one statesman in Europe who had a European mind--who
knew the peoples of the Continent, whose knowledge was intimate, and
whose word could be trusted. So far from avoiding danger, he was never
out of it. With a price set upon his head in three countries, hunted
by seven Governments, with spies always following him and by assassins
lying in ambush, his life for forty years passed in more peril than any
other public man of his time. Yet it was fashionable to charge him with
want of courage whose whole "life," to use his own phrase, "was a battle
and a march."
Could there be a doubt of the intrepidity of a man who, with the slender
forces of insurgent patriots, confronted Austria with its 600,000
bayonets.
No sooner was Garibaldi in Rome than Mazzini was there in the streets
inspiring its defenders. What dangers he passed through to reach Rome,
knowing well that his arrest meant death!
Rome was not a safe place for Mazzini, neither was London. His life was
never safe. I have been asked by his host to walk home with him at night
from a London suburban villa where he dined, because a Royalist assassin
was known to be in London waiting to kill him.
Mazzini died at Pisa, March 10, 1872, from chill by walking over the
Alps in inclement weather, intending to visit his English friends once
more. A few of his English colleagues protested against his embalmment.
I was not one. Gorini, the greatest of his profession, undertook to
transform the body into marble, and for him Mazzini had friendship. Dr.
Bertani, Mazzini's favourite physician, approved embalming. It could
not be done by more reverent hands. How could England--who disembowelled
Nelson and sent his body home in a cask of rum; who embalmed Jeremy
Bentham, and took out O'Connell's heart, sent it to one city, and his
mutilated remains to another--reproach Italy for observing the national
rites of their illustrious dead?
The personal character of Mazzini never needed defence. In private life
and state affairs, honour was to him an instinct. He saw the path of
right with clear eyes. No advantage induced him to deviate from it. No
danger prevented his walking in it.
Carlyle, whom few satisfied, said he "found in him a man of clear
intelligence and noble virtues. True as steel, the word, the thought of
him pure and limpid as water."
It may be by experience that a nation is governed, but it is by
rightness alone that it is kept noble. It was to promote this that
Mazzini walked for forty years on the dreary highway between exile and
the scaffold. It was from belief in his heroic and unfaltering integrity
that men went out at his word, to encounter the dungeon, torture, and
death, and that families led all their days alarmed lives, and gave up
husbands and sons to enterprises in which they could only triumph by
dying. No one save Byron has depicted the self-denial incidental to
Mazzini's career, which involved the abnegation of all that makes life
worth living to other men.
"Such ties are not
For those who are called to the high destinies
Which purify corrupted commonwealths.
We must forget all feeling save the _One_
We must resign all passions, save our purpose.
We must behold no object, save our country.
And only look on death as beautiful
So that the sacrifice ascend to heaven,
And draw down freedom on her evermore."*
* "Marino Faliero."
Mazzini left a name which has become one of the landmarks, or rather
mindmarks, of public thought, and, though a bygone name, there is
instruction and inspiration in it yet.