and a new one elected. Manin was determined that his government should
have the fullest power over the city. He deemed this essential to any
hopes of ultimate success. Some members of the Assembly disagreed with
him, and advocated restriction. "It is not a question of power," replied
Manin, "but of saving the country. If we are to be hampered on every
turn by forms and limitations, we cannot act with the promptitude and
vigor needful for the preservation of public order (I beg pardon of
whoever the expression may offend), and our defense depends more upon
that than upon the force of arms."
The people got wind of the fact that certain of the Assembly were
jealous of Manin's power, and they marched to the Ducal Palace. Manin
spoke and dispersed them, but again and again they gathered, making
various demonstrations of their trust in him. At length he heard that
they had devised a plan to march into the Council Hall and coerce the
Deputies who wanted to fetter their "caro Manin." Fearful of civic
strife Manin called his son, and standing alone with him, sword in hand,
at the door of the Palace, told the people that they could only enter
after killing father and son. He bade them go quietly home, and they
obeyed. That night he issued a proclamation. "Brothers, you have caused
me great pain to-day. To show your affection for me you have risen in
tumult, yet you know how I hate tumult ... as you say you love me, I
entreat you to show it by your actions.... To-morrow let there be no
shouting, no meetings. Remain at home. Trust in the government and the
Assembly, who regard your welfare as dearer to them than life." He was
always the father speaking to his children.
The Assembly listened to the advice of its wisest members, and
abandoning all dissension, chose Manin as President of the Republic,
giving him complete power both as to internal administration and as
to relations with foreign states. Manin spoke in reply: "In accepting
the charge which this Assembly has entrusted to me, I am conscious of
committing an act of insensate boldness. I accept it. But in order that
my good name, and, what is of more importance, your good name and that
of Venice, may not be tarnished through this transaction, it behooves
that I should be seconded and sustained in my arduous undertaking by
your co-operation, confidence, and affection. We have been strong,
respected, eulogized, up till now, because we have been united. I ask of
you virtues which, if they are not romantic, are at all events of great
practical utility. I ask of you patience, prudence, perseverance. With
these, and with concord, love, and faith, all things are overcome."
Charles Albert again took the field and for a brief interval the
Austrians were repulsed. Brescia made a heroic stand, and the Venetians
heard the news of the little city's courage with shouts of acclamation
and an added determination to fight Austria to the uttermost. The
Venetian fleet was kept in constant readiness, the troops slept with
their arms, there was only the one thought, to keep the lion-flag of St.
Mark flying from the _pili_.
Then on March 28, 1849, came letters from Turin telling of the utter
defeat of Novara and of Charles Albert's abdication in favor of his son.
The first effect of the news on Venice was absolute stupefaction, then
a wild rush to the Square of St. Mark's. A tremendous crowd called,
as usual in its troubles, for its "father, Manin!" Said a foreigner
who was a witness of the scene, "The faith of Venice in this man was
inconceivable, complete, and absolute. He had never deceived, never
abused it. The people seemed to attribute to him omnipotence and
omniscience, and believed him capable of guarding Venice from every
peril, and of rescuing her from every calamity."
The President appeared on the Palace balcony. He said that he had not
yet received official confirmation of the news from Turin, but his sad
expression and his few words showed his belief that the news might prove
only too true. Venice passed a night of bitterest gloom, more hopeless
even than in the later days when Austrian bombs exploded in the streets.
Three similar days followed, and then came official confirmation of the
news. Lombardy was Austrian once more.
The city withstood the shock, and took up its life of outward cheer and
hope. On April 25, St. Mark's Day, there was a grand _festa_, and Manin
spoke. "Who holds out wins," he declared. "We have held out, and we
shall win. Long live St. Mark! This cry, that the seas rang with in old
days, we must raise again. Europe looks on, and will praise. We must, we
ought to win. To the Sea! To the Sea! To the Sea!" There was tremendous
thrill in his magnetic voice, in his deep blue eyes, in the glow of his
pallid face; Venice cried aloud with eager hope.
With this spring of 1849 came the great days. When the Assembly had
voted to resist Austria at all costs, the people adopted a red ribbon
as their emblem. A historian of that time says: "From the top of the
_Campanile_ of St. Mark, far above the domes, the roofs, and the spires
of the palace and the basilica, beside the golden angel that seemed
to watch over the city, they planted a huge red banner, which stood
out like a spot of blood against the azure sky, which was seen by the
enemy's fleet afar off in the Adriatic, and by their army on the distant
mainland. It defied them both, and announced to them that Venice would
fight to the last drop of blood."
Placards were fixed to every wall, at the corner of every street.
They read: "Venice resists! Church plate, women's golden ornaments,
bronze bells, copper cooking utensils, the iron of the enemy's cannon
balls--all will be useful. Anything rather than the Croats!"
Night and day workmen had been building ships, now the little fleet
fought through the lagunes as had the great fleets of the olden days.
The land forces held the shore batteries, and these forces were composed
of all the city. One artillery company, famous as the Bandiera-Moro,
was made up of the patrician youth of Venice, who, with their ancient
love of splendor, wore velvet tunics, gray scarves, and caps with
plumes. When the bitter fight came at Fort Malghera they held their guns
heroically, fresh men leaping to replace the dead, cheering for Venice
as the bombs fell among them, firing and eating and carrying off the
wounded under a devastating fusillade. Venice thirsted for glory, and
she won it; there are no more stirring tales in history than that of the
brief defense of the new-born Republic.
In July came continual bombardment, and with it cholera, and the seeds
of sedition spread by Austrian spies. Manin feared civil dissension, he
heard grumblers in the streets. No one dared accuse the man, whom the
Assembly had chosen absolute dictator, of any wavering or treasonable
thought, but some raised cries beneath his windows in the Piazzetta.
The Dictator appeared suddenly before them. "Venetians," he cried,
"is this worthy of you? You are not the people, you are only an
insignificant faction. Never will I accede to the caprices of a mob!
My acts shall be guided solely by the representatives of the people,
assembled in their Congress. I will always speak the truth to you, even
should muskets be leveled at my breast, and daggers be pointed at my
heart. And now go home, all of you--go home!"
His words swayed even that rebellious crowd, and they cheered him. For
the time sedition was silent, but the people were losing hope. They were
a mere handful battling with the forces of an empire. Manin saw that all
he could do was to insure that his people died as heroes.
The city was the prey of famine, pestilence, and fire when on August
13 she held her last _festa_. The Dictator spoke to the troops in the
Square of St. Mark's. His words rang like a clarion call. "A people that
have done and suffered as our people have done and suffered cannot die.
The day shall come when a splendid destiny will be your guerdon. What
time will bring that day? This rests with God. We have sown the good
seed: it will take root in good soil.... If it be not ours to ward off
these calamities, it is ours to maintain inviolate the honor of the
city.... One single day that sees Venice not worthy of herself, and all
that she has done will be lost and forgotten." He asked them if they had
still their confidence in him, if not he would resign the leadership to
another. The Square shook with the thunder of the soldiers' "Yes!" He
went on: "Your indomitable love saddens me, and makes me feel yet more
how this people suffer! On my mental and bodily faculties you must not
count, but count always on my great, tender, undying affection. And come
what may, say, 'This man was misled:' but do not ever say, 'This man
misled us.' I have deceived no one. I have never spread illusions which
were not my own. I have never said I hoped when I had no hope."
As he finished speaking he staggered, and was barely able to get to
the Council Chamber. There his physical weakness overmastered him.
"Such a people," he cried brokenly, "for such a people to be obliged to
surrender!"
Nevertheless each hour now brought home the conviction that the strength
of Venice was ebbing rapidly. Flames and the plague and the unremitting
Austrian attack were bringing the proud city to her knees. Manin could
only hope that he might at the last make honorable terms of surrender,
he would not sacrifice all their heroic efforts to the desire for
instant peace. On August 18 the people gathered in St. Mark's Square,
begging for some word of their President's plans. He came out before
them. "Venetians," he said, "I have already told you frankly that our
situation is a grave one, but if it be grave it is not desperate to the
degree of reducing us to cowardice ... it is an infamy to suppose that
Venice would ask of me to do what was infamous; and if she should ask it
this one sacrifice I would not make--even for Venice."
Some one in the throng cried, "We are hungry!"
"Let him who is hungry stand forth!" answered Manin.
"None of us," cried the devoted people. "We are Italians! Long live
Manin!"
Five days later the city was torn by conflicting rumors of mutiny and
surrender. Manin had not yet succeeded in winning the terms he wanted
from the Austrians. When the people called for him he came out on the
balcony as he had so often done before. He spoke a few words, and then a
sudden pain seized him and he fell fainting into a chair. A little later
he reappeared and cried to the cheering people, "Let those who are true
Venetians patrol the city to-night with me." Then he took his sword,
and at the head of a great concourse, marched to the section of the
city where the mutineers had gathered. Shots were fired. Manin stepped
forward. "If you wish my life, take it!" he said. The mutineers were
silenced.
The following day, August 24, 1849, the city capitulated, the stock of
provisions having been absolutely exhausted that same day. The terms
were honorable, such Venetian soldiers as had been in the Austrian
service were to leave Venice. Forty civilians, headed by Manin, were
to leave. The powers of government were temporarily lodged in the
municipality.
That same day Manin left the Doge's Palace for his own small house. All
day the people passed before the door, saying, "Here lives our poor
father! How much he has suffered for us!" He was too absolutely worn out
to see any one. At midnight he with his wife and son and invalid small
daughter went on board the French steamer _Pluton_. All but one of them
were taking their last farewell of Venice.
The municipality, knowing that their great leader was penniless, had
gathered a small sum of money and forced him to accept it before he
left. He felt that the other exiles were in as great need of it as he,
and so quietly distributed it among them through friends on the various
ships that were bearing the exiles away. He had thought of the people as
his children for so long a time that he had still to take the care of
them upon himself.
The little family of four felt that it was farewell as they watched the
palaces and churches, towers and pillars of the City of the Lagunes
drop beneath the horizon. The view of Venice from the sea, incomparably
beautiful, must have been unspeakably sad to Manin's eyes.
When they arrived at Marseilles the devoted wife fell ill of cholera,
and, worn out with the long siege, was powerless to resist. She had
written on leaving Venice, "All is over, all is lost save honor! I am
going to a foreign land, where I shall hear a language not my own. My
beautiful language, I shall never hear it again; never more!" She died
soon after reaching Marseilles.
Manin took his two children with him to Paris, and gave himself up to
nursing the little girl, who was the victim of a continual nervous
disorder. The daughter and father were united by a bond of love that was
wonderfully strong and spiritual, they seemed to understand each other
always without words. He kept a little note-book record of her illness
as an aid to the physicians, and after his death the book was found
with the touching inscription on the cover, "Alla mia Santa Martire."
Her desire to comfort her father sustained her for some years, she knew
that she had become to him in a spiritual manner the living image of
his unhappy country. She struggled with all the heroism of a remarkable
character to hide her sufferings from him even as he sought to hide from
her the anguish her illness caused him. Daniel and Emilia Manin were
worthy to be father and daughter, both were heroic souls. In 1854 Emilia
died, her last words, "My darling Venice, I shall never see you again!"
Manin and his son stayed on in the French capital, the father giving
lessons in Italian for support. He had harbored no resentment against
France for her failure to come to the aid of Venice, he felt that
the French people were near kin to his own. He welcomed all Italians
or sympathizers with Italy, he predicted that eventually the entire
peninsula would be one in freedom. He met Cavour in Paris and talked
long about Venice with him, he was gradually becoming convinced that
Piedmont could and would lead the other states to victory. His study
was hung with portraits of the most dissimilar characters, all one in
interest for his country, Charles Albert opposite to Mazzini, Garibaldi
opposite Gioberti, Montanelli near D'Azeglio. He wrote articles on Italy
for the papers and traveled in England to arouse British interest in
his cause. It was a great day when he saw the Italian tri-color flying
beside the French and English flags to show that Piedmont had joined
the allies in the Crimean war. "In serving under the tri-colored flag
of Italian redemption," he wrote, "the soldiers who fight in the Crimea
are not the soldiers of the Piedmontese province, but the soldiers of
Italy." He understood the boldness of Cavour's great diplomatic stroke
and gave Piedmont the credit she deserved in becoming the first envoy of
a great nation.
While his strength lasted Manin worked in the cause, but finally he
was overcome by physical sufferings. He wrote in June, 1857, to his
friend the Marquis Pallavicino, "A month's rest in the country has not
calmed the fever of my poor brain. All work, all meditation, is utterly
impossible to me. Not only cannot I think about serious things, but I
am not able to give my mind to the most unimportant matters. This will
explain my silence. I lose patience and hope. My painful and useless
life becomes intolerable. I ardently desire the end. Farewell." The
physical weariness with which he had battled all his life was at last
overpowering him. He still believed that his principles would ultimately
conquer, but knew that he should not see Venice freed. September 22,
1857, he died, at the age of fifty-three years.
August 30, 1849, Radetzky and the Austrians had entered Venice, replaced
the Lion banner of St. Mark with the yellow and black flag of Austria,
and had expected to see the pleasure-loving city sink back into its
former quiescent indolence. What they expected did not come to pass.
Instead for seventeen years Venice mourned its lost liberty and lived
only in the thought of that day when it should rise again and finally.
There was no shame in this subjection, no happy compromise. This was
Manin's achievement, he had made his people worthy to be free. That was
the purpose of his heroic struggle, the lesson of his life.
July 5, 1866, the yellow and black flag of Austria fell from the _pili_,
and October 18 of that same year the red, white, and green flag of
united Italy greeted a free Venice. There was one wish in the people's
heart, that only their "dear father Manin" might have lived to see that
glorious day.
The remains of Manin, his wife and daughter, lie now close to the Church
of St. Mark, his statue looks down upon the people in the square before
his house even as he so often stood on the Palace balcony to speak to
them in the days of 1849. All through Venice there are reminders of
him, and he has taken his place among the great heroes of that historic
city--himself her greatest hero, her sincerest patriot. The simple
advocate, the great President, the "dear father" of the Venetian people.
[Illustration: MAZZINI]
MAZZINI, THE PROPHET
Some men become legendary during their own lives. Their personalities
have a certain detachment from the rest of the world so that common
standards have no value as applied to them. They are poets or seers or
philosophers, and often their mystic quality is of little use to the
great mass of men, and is only to be appreciated by the few. Sometimes
the whole world understands them. Mazzini had become a legend to the
people of Europe long before his death, but a legend that carried the
strongest personal appeal to every republican heart. You have only to
dip into letters of the time to realize how close he came to millions of
thinkers throughout Europe.
It would be interesting to consider the force of popular legend in a
national movement, to weigh sentiment against statesmanship and military
prowess. The land of Dante and of Savonarola would be an especially
fertile field for such inquiry, among no people has the prophet been
held of higher value than with the Italians. To-day we find them turning
to their dramatists and novelists for help in the solution of new social
problems just as Mazzini and the youth of his day looked to Alfieri
for political guidance. There is no doubt that Mazzini believed it was
his destiny to be a poet, and that throughout his whole life he looked
forward to the day when Italy should be united and free, and he could
turn to the work of writing her dramas.
Literary feuds play so little part in Anglo-Saxon history that we find
it difficult to understand the importance of their place in Latin
countries. Italy a century ago was the battle-ground of the Romanticists
and Classicists. The Classicists believed in a certain smug cloistered
virtue, a policy of non-resistance, and the contemplation of past
glories. It was the ambition of the Romanticists "to give Italians an
original national literature, not one that is as a sound of passing
music to tickle the ear and die, but one that will interpret to them
their aspirations, their ideas, their needs, their social movement."
Alfieri had been preaching resistance to Austrian tyranny through his
dramas, the boy Mazzini first looked to him as a political saviour of
Italy. He wrote, "these literary disputes are bound up with all that
is important in social and civil life," and again "the legislation and
literature of a people always advance on parallel lines." "Young Italy"
first hoped to win freedom through its literature.
The ill-fated Carbonari rebellion of 1821 sent many Piedmontese patriots
flying through Genoa to Spain. Giuseppe Mazzini, then sixteen years of
age, walking from church one Sunday morning in Genoa in company with
his mother, was stopped by a tall, gaunt-featured, black-eyed man who
held out his hat asking alms for "the refugees of Italy." The scene
made a tremendous impression on the youth's mind, for the first time he
felt that the cause of freedom was not a scholastic subject, but one
demanding the height of sacrifice. He set himself to study the causes of
the failure of past uprisings, and at the same time dedicated himself to
the work of teaching his countrymen how they might succeed.
The French Revolution had failed because it had taught men only a
knowledge of their rights, without any conception of their duties. Men
had not learned the law of self-restraint, and their ideal was the
greatest personal liberty rather than the greatest personal obligation
to their fellow-men. The revolutionists of Europe had a philosophy,
but no religion. The first great discovery that Mazzini made was that
if Italy were ever to be united, his countrymen must be fired with
faith in their own God-given destinies. They must make of their cause
a religion, they must learn, in his words, that Italy "had a strength
within her, that was arbiter of facts, mightier than destiny itself."
At the start he offered his countrymen two arguments for action, the one
that this land of theirs had twice ruled the world, that she who had
given Christianity and the Renaissance to Europe had yet to send forth
"the gospel of humanity." He wrote: "Italy has been called a graveyard;
but a graveyard peopled by our mighty dead is nearer life than a land
that teems with living weaklings and braggarts;" he showed Italians "the
vision of their country, radiant, purified by suffering, moving as an
angel of light among the nations that thought her dead." Such words rang
like an inspiration, but Mazzini, studying the men with whom he had to
work, knew that such inspiration was not enough. They struck the note of
glory, but all revolutionists had heard that note; what was needed was
the call to self-sacrifice.
With this fundamental need firmly fixed in his mind Mazzini gave what
spare hours fell to the lot of a young Italian lawyer to the work of
writing to the independent journals. At first he leaned to the side of
caution, realizing how strict was the censorship of the Italian press,
but gradually he contrived to slip bolder and more inflammatory messages
into circulation under the censor's nose. He spoke of a new party that
should arise in a short time, and called it "Young Italy," he expressed
deep sympathy with political exiles, he turned his literary criticisms
into studies of national development. Ultimately one of the papers for
which he wrote, the "Indicatore Livornese," became too daring, and was
ended by the authorities. Mazzini then aimed higher, and gained credit
with the "Antologia," the Edinburgh Review of Italy, by a series of
articles on the historical drama.
Meanwhile he was still studying the problem of giving a new religion
to the youth of Italy. He had joined the Society of the Carbonari, and
was learning that the plots and counter-plots of an unwieldy secret
society would accomplish no good end. There was too much ritual, too
little effort. The Carbonari had no definite plan, they were entirely
at the mercy of any chance leader of disaffection, each member only
knew one or two other members. Of a sudden the Revolution of July in
France fired liberals throughout Europe, Mazzini and his young friends
in Genoa immediately began active preparations for a military uprising.
Lead was being cast into bullets when the police of Genoa intervened and
Mazzini was placed under arrest. He had been suspected of revolutionary
sentiments for some time. The Governor of Genoa told Giuseppe's father
that he considered the son "was gifted with some talent, and too fond
of walking by himself at night absorbed in thought. What on earth
has he at his age to think about? We don't like young people thinking
without our knowing the subject of their thoughts."
Mazzini was taken to the fortress of Savona, and there imprisoned
to await his trial. The commander of the fortress allowed the young
prisoner to keep his Bible, Tacitus, and Byron. From these hours of
solitary confinement sprang the youth's passionate regard for the
English poet, a man whose writings he later vehemently held were only to
be classed with Dante as an inspiration to Italians.