written and spoken, now it became his turn to act. He was set at the
head of a city from which its spiritual as well as its temporal head had
fled. Priests and protesting laymen were all about him, it would have
been easy for him to scorn the power that scoffed at him. He did not,
he himself doubted the strength of the Catholic Church to survive, he
dreamed of a new church which should speak to the world from the seven
hills of Rome, but he would not take a single step to destroy one man's
religion. More than that he made it his special duty to see that the
priests were not disturbed in their work. He wanted the Republic to be
based on the love of God. He hoped that the Church would aid the Italian
cause for the love of man. He would allow the Pope to reign as spiritual
Prince, if he would only be content with his own noble sphere.
Rome won back something of its historic ardor under Mazzini's call. The
Republic was planned on lines of great proportions, steps were actually
taken to make it a republic wherein each man had a worthy share. The
foundations were laid with the greatest patience and zeal, the Triumvir
gave the last ounce of his strength to building truly, he lived as he
had always lived, for others, and took nothing for himself. Margaret
Fuller said that at this time his face, haggard and worn, seemed to her
"more divine than ever." The poorest citizen could find him as readily
as the richest, he was the same to all, he gave away his small salary of
office as entirely as in his London days he had dispersed his earnings.
If ever man's rule was noble, if ever it was spiritual, that of Rome's
Triumvir was, in the weeks when he faced treachery both from without and
within.
It is scarcely possible that Mazzini could have expected his city to
stand against the armies that were marching towards it. At most he could
only hope to show the Romans of what great self-sacrifice they were
capable. He probably hoped that the Republic would convince Italians
that the spirit of "Young Italy" was not a mere prophet's dream. That he
did; he could not fight Austria and France single-handed.
Louis Napoleon had evolved one of his great ideas, he would win both the
French army and the French clergy by a strategic move. He sent Oudinot
into Italy, blinding the Romans with various subtleties, waiting until
the propitious hour to strike. The Romans understood, the Assembly
voted to resist to the end, and Garibaldi led the troops to their first
victory. De Lesseps was appointed peace negotiator for the French, and
he and Mazzini met, and for a time it seemed as though there might be a
reconciliation. Mazzini strove with the greatest tact and patience to
win the French, but De Lesseps was nothing more than Napoleon's dupe,
and as soon as Garibaldi had advanced to meet the Neapolitan king's
army, Napoleon removed his envoy and showed his hand.
The truce had been virtually agreed on when Oudinot suddenly attacked
and placed Rome in a state of siege. For almost a month the citizens
fought with unfailing courage. Mazzini, Garibaldi, Mameli, the martyr
war-poet, Bassi, the great preacher, republicans and royalists, princes
and peasants, all within Rome's walls fought for freedom from the
foreigner. There could be but one end, and it came when starvation and
losses had weakened the defenders so that they could no longer hold
their posts. Mazzini would have fought hand-to-hand in the streets, the
army was with him, but the Assembly voted to surrender. The besiegers
entered, Garibaldi led his Three Thousand in their great retreat,
Mazzini stayed on in Rome uttering such protest as he could, unharmed
by the French troops who dared not touch him, through knowledge of the
people's love for him.
The downfall of the Republic must have been a terrible blow to Mazzini,
probable as it is that he foresaw the city could not long last by
itself. Physical force and treachery had overwhelmed the noblest
concepts of government. Temporary disappointment, however, could not
dull his spirit, the prophet of United Italy proved himself a true
prophet. He went on with his work, at first in Switzerland, then again
driven away by foreign influence, in London.
He took up his life there, much older, much more worn and scarred,
but with the same indomitable spirit. "His face in repose," wrote a
contemporary of this time, "was grave, even sad, but it lit up with a
smile of wonderful sweetness as he greeted a friend with a pressure
rather than a shake of the thin hand," and again his piercing black
eyes were described as "of luminous depth, full of sadness, tenderness
and courage, of purity and fire, readily flashing into indignation or
humor, always with the latent expression of exhaustless resolution." His
pictures are familiar, the high straight forehead, the strong nose, the
curving lips, the scant gray, then almost white, mustache and beard, the
high-buttoned frock coat and the silk handkerchief wound like a stock
about his throat.
London had grown kinder to him than at first, he had many good friends,
and he could understand better the English point of view. He lodged as
humbly as before, and again took up his writing, his correspondence, and
his ceaseless care for his poor countrymen. One of his best biographers
gives us this sketch of him, a picture that portrays the man, "in his
small room, every piece of furniture littered with books and papers,
the air thick with smoke of cheap Swiss cigars (except when friends sent
Havanas), brightened only by his tame canaries and carefully-tended
plants, he was generally writing at his desk until evening, always with
more work in hand than he could cope with, carrying on the usual mass
of correspondence, writing articles for his Italian papers, raising
public funds with infinite labor, stirring his English friends to help
the cause, finding money and work for the poor refugees, or organizing
concerts in their interest." With what infinite reverence must the men
he helped have looked on him!
The prophet is not a statesman; he can show the road, but rarely
follow it. Mazzini's life had reached its climax when as Triumvir he
had started to practise his own precepts, his work had been to scatter
seed for the crop which other men should reap at harvest. He could
not understand the dissimulations of diplomacy, he could not tolerate
compromise, he could not now sacrifice his dreams of a republic for
liberty and union. These qualities were not in his character; if they
had been he could not have led men's minds by his words and actions; he
could not be both a prophet and an opportunist; the need of the former
was passing, and that of the latter at hand.
Few men understood the twists and turns of Cavour's policy as Prime
Minister of Piedmont, and Mazzini not at all. After the battle of Novara
Charles Albert had abdicated in favor of his son Victor Emmanuel, and
a new order had come to pass in Piedmont. Cavour had a definite goal,
the unity of Italy under the leadership of his king; and he never
forgot that goal. To win it, he realized that he needed more than the
raw volunteer forces of 1848, more than mere enthusiasm, no matter how
heroic; he needed efficient troops, he needed a foreign ally, he needed
a moment when Austria should be at a disadvantage, above all he needed
one leader instead of a dozen to determine on any action. To accomplish
these ends he gave republicans little sympathy, and centered the
national movement about his king, he treated with Louis Napoleon, and
did his utmost to win his favor, he discountenanced secret half-prepared
revolts against the Austrians, he drilled and multiplied the troops,
and harbored the finances. At all these measures Mazzini instinctively
revolted; he wanted a republic, he loathed Napoleon as the betrayer of
Rome, he was ever eager for any sincere demonstration against Austria.
He only learned half-truths in London, but those half-truths did not
inspire him to trust Cavour. Neither of these men understood the other;
to Cavour Mazzini was the fanatic who would destroy any cause by lack
of temperance, to Mazzini Cavour was the aristocrat who would inflict
upon the poor of Italy simply a new yoke in place of the old. They could
not work together, and so Mazzini publicly denounced Cavour, and the
latter declared Mazzini an exile from his home.
Meantime, while Piedmont was playing a wary game, and all the Italian
states were making ready for the next great attempt, Mazzini took part
in two small insurrections, one near Como, and the other at Genoa, both
of which failed disastrously. The latter was the more serious, the
government was tired of these perennial conspiracies, and denounced the
revolt as anarchistic. Mazzini and five other leaders were sentenced to
death, and many to long terms of imprisonment. Mazzini hid in the house
of the Marquis Pareto, and was undiscovered, although the police made a
prolonged search for him. It is said that Mazzini himself, dressed as a
footman, opened the door to the officer, who recognized him as an old
schoolmate, and had mercy. Some days later he escaped from the house,
undisguised, walking arm-in-arm with a lady of Genoa, and reaching
a carriage, was driven to Quarto, and thence went to England. There
were many curious turns and twists in this conspiracy in which both
conspirators and government were working for the same great end, but
with widely different means, and with avowed enmity between them.
It was not long until Cavour and Napoleon met at Plombières and made
their famous compact, after that events hastened forward. By the spring
of 1859 Cavour had prepared both royalists and republicans for war.
With his ally he felt that the Italian cause must now triumph, and at a
given signal the conflict began. The Princes were driven from Tuscany,
Romagna, Parma, and Modena, and all those states declared for Victor
Emmanuel. Much as Mazzini hated Cavour's French ally, he could no longer
stay his enthusiasm. He saw unity at last almost come, after Solferino
he declared that the Austrian domination was at an end. Without warning
Napoleon met the Emperor Francis Joseph at Villafranca and betrayed the
cause. He abandoned Venetia to Austria, and central Italy to the Bourbon
Princes. Cavour, wild with indignation, spoke his feelings and resigned,
the Italians were again left to their own divided efforts.
Mazzini, his fears of Napoleon now justified, went to Florence and
declared that the people of central Italy must stake all for their
briefly-won freedom, he gave up his republican protests, and advocated
annexation with Piedmont so they might have unity. He wrote to friends
in Sicily and Rome, he begged Garibaldi to lead his troops into Umbria.
All this time he had to live virtually in hiding, the ban against him
had not been raised, and the thought that he, whose every emotion was
for Italy, should not be trusted at all among his countrymen galled him
to the quick. He wrote: "To be a prisoner among our own people is too
much to bear."
Gradually the troubled situation cleared, Cavour returned to power,
and by temporizing held both the French support and the enthusiasm of
the native troops. Mazzini still advocated immediate warfare, Cavour
waited, and in the end the latter's policy was proved correct. In the
interval the disheartened Mazzini had gone back to England, and again,
on hearing that Garibaldi and his famous legion had started for Sicily,
returned in haste to Genoa. There followed Garibaldi's victories, then
the Piedmontese declaration of war against the Pope, then only Rome
and Venice were lacking to the cause. Mazzini went to Naples to be
nearer the heart of the struggle; he urged the Neapolitans to demand a
constitution, and they, filled with the one thought of unity, berated
him as a republican. His friends urged him to leave the city. "Even
against your wish," said one of them, "you divide us." He could not
leave Italy at that hour of her fate, but he felt that he was cruelly
misunderstood. He wrote, "I am worn out morally and physically; for
myself the only really good thing would be to have unity achieved
quickly through Garibaldi, and one year, before dying, of Walham Green
or Eastbourne, long silences, a few affectionate words to smooth the
ways, plenty of sea-gulls, and sad dozing."
Some of those things he was to know, for during the next few years
he lived again in England, writing and reading, and continually
engaged in plans for the final capture of Venetia and Rome. Victor
Emmanuel, Garibaldi, and Mazzini were each devising means to gain this
long-hoped-for end, but the position and peculiar characteristics of
each made co-operation almost impossible. The wise Cavour had been
succeeded by vacillating ministers who were a continual drag upon
the King, Garibaldi would not consent to adopting any of Mazzini's
suggestions (the latter once said that "if Garibaldi has to choose
between two proposals, he is sure to accept the one that isn't mine"),
and Mazzini found it ever difficult to sacrifice his republican ideals
to the needs of the moment. Ultimately, however, the Italian troops,
this time with the aid of Prussia, recommenced war with Austria to win
Venetia, Istria, and the Tyrol. The spirit of 1866 was not the spirit
of 1860, the mythical valor of the Garibaldian army seemed to have
evaporated in the passes of the Tyrol. Prussia won, but Italy met defeat
at Custozza. Again Napoleon took a hand in the country's destiny. To the
surprise of Europe, he intervened and stated that Austria had offered to
cede Venetia to him, and that he would give it to Italy if the latter
would come to an immediate agreement for peace. There seemed little else
to be done, and Mazzini saw the campaign, that had begun in the highest
hopes of complete national independence, end in the acceptance of the
gift of a single province from the foreigner.
Thenceforth Mazzini's work lost all accord with that of the monarchy.
He had not lost his faith in the great destiny of Italy, but he
despaired of seeing that destiny fulfilled as he might wish within his
lifetime. Forty thousand persons signed the petition for his amnesty,
he was elected again and again by Messina as its deputy, but the
party of the Moderates would not have him in the Chamber. Continued
opposition made his fame only the greater among the people, he assumed
the proportions of a national myth, to many he had become an actual
demi-god. Secretly he traveled about Italy, working, with an energy
altogether disproportionate to his strength, in the cause of a republic.
He had many followers in Genoa, and one of them has left a picture of
Mazzini's entrance to a meeting. "A low knock was heard at the door,
and there he was in body and soul, the great magician, who struck the
fancy of the people like a mythical hero. Our hearts leaped, and we
went reverently to meet that great soul. He advanced with a child's
frank courtesy and a divine smile, shaking hands like an Englishman,
and addressing each of us by name, as if our names were written on our
foreheads. He was not disguised; he wore cloth shoes, and a capote, and
with his middle, upright stature, he looked like a philosopher straight
from his study, who never dreamed of troubling any police in the world."
He found time to write his remarkable treatise on religion, "From the
Council to God," while he prepared plans for a new revolution. This
time he intended to land in Sicily. The attempt was foolhardy, he was
arrested at Palermo, and confined at Gaeta, where the Bourbons had
not long before made their last stand. Almost forty years before, at
the outset of his career, he had watched the Mediterranean from his
prison at Savona, now he watched the same deep blue sea from Gaeta.
He wrote here, "The nights are very beautiful; the stars shine with a
luster one sees only in Italy. I love them like sisters, and link them
to the future in a thousand ways. If I could choose I should like to
live in almost absolute solitude, working at my historical book or at
some other, just from a feeling of duty, and only wishing to see for a
moment, now and then, some one I did not know, some poor woman that I
could help, some workingmen I could advise, the doves of Zurich, and
nothing else."
Rome fell, and Mazzini's captivity came to an end. He passed through the
city where twenty-one years before he had been Triumvir, and, seeking
to avoid all popular demonstrations, went to Genoa. There he fell ill,
and his failing strength made successive attacks more and more frequent.
He traveled a little more, and then in March, 1872, died at a friend's
house in Pisa. He had lived to see Italy united, but in a very different
manner from that of which he had dreamed.
To the republicans of Europe, Mazzini's voice was that of a great
prophet for half the Nineteenth Century, to the Italians he was the
voice of Italy itself. He was the precursor of unity, of independence,
of courageous self-denial, without him Cavour might have planned in
vain, and Garibaldi been no more than an inconspicuous lieutenant. He
had the two greatest of gifts, an ideal and the faith that knows no
defeat, yet he was not simply the idealist nor the devotee, for he could
stir other men to action through his own belief. A friend, comparing
him with Kossuth, said: "Now I write of him who seems to my judgment to
be, like Saul, above all his fellows ... the one man needed excitement
to stir his spirit ... the soul of the other was as an inner lamp
shining through him always. The strength of Mazzini's personal influence
lay here. You could not doubt his glance."
There was a certain kinship between Mazzini and Lincoln, simplicity and
a boundless love of the weak and the oppressed was the keynote of both
lives. Both were emancipators, but both were infinitely more, men whose
whole lives bore eloquent testimony of their noble spirits. Lincoln
loved men as Mazzini loved them, Mazzini and Lincoln both knew the
suffering that comes from being continually misunderstood. When Lincoln
was assassinated, the great Italian envied the man who had died knowing
that his life's cause had been accomplished.
Throughout one of the most tangled and turbulent epochs of history,
Mazzini's ideals never changed; the principles of "Young Italy" were the
principles of his Triumvirate and of his prison life at Gaeta. He was
for a United Italy and a republic. At times he could postpone the latter
aim for the former, but never disregard it. And what he was for Italy,
he was for the whole world. He insisted on the brotherhood of nations,
on the paramount duty of all nations toward humanity. Whosoever, he
believed, separates families from families, and nations from nations,
divides what God meant to be indissoluble. He looked to Italy to show
the other nations how to live in freedom and equality, and to Rome to
pronounce a new and greater religion of majestic tolerance. Had Italy
been freed early in his career, he must have become a great religious
teacher; even as it was, his power was that of an apostle, and his
appeal to the soul as well as to the mind. Men who knew him loved him
as something finer than themselves, a man closer to God, one of His
disciples.
His personal life was one long record of self-sacrifice, his home, his
family, his love, his comfort, even the most meager necessities of life
were given to the cause, nothing was too much for him to do, nothing too
trivial for him to undertake, could he help his country or one of his
countrymen an iota thereby. He could appreciate other men's happiness
and in a way share it with them; he knew little or nothing of envy,
vanity, or malice; he would let any leader have the glory of helping
Italy, so long as the result was gained. More than that, he could
bear the continual undervaluation of the English among whom he lived,
he could read what Carlyle wrote, "Of Italian democracies and Young
Italy's sorrows, of extraneous Austrian emperors in Milan, or poor old
chimerical Popes in Bologna, I know nothing and desire to know nothing,"
and yet continue Carlyle's friend; he could bear the sting of having
his name coupled with every attempt at assassination, when there were
few things he abhorred more than secret violence. His idea of duty was
so high, and had so absorbed all the petty spirits of his nature, that
he could endure anything for that cause, and indeed embraced eagerly
whatever came to him under that banner.
The great authority on heroes says of the hero as prophet: "The great
man was always as lightning out of Heaven; the rest of men waited for
him like fuel, and then they too would flame." So the world had waited
for Giuseppe Mazzini. Other men bore much and labored much for the sake
of a united fatherland, but none other gave such lightning to their
world. The prophet may not actually lay the stones of history, but he
breathes the spirit of life into the builders. He is mankind's greatest
friend and hope, who points out the road human souls would take. Mazzini
stands with Dante and Savonarola as the third great prophet of Italian
history who spoke with a world voice.
[Illustration: CAVOUR]
CAVOUR, THE STATESMAN
Cavour planned united Italy; his career is a shining example of what may
be done by a man with one definite purpose to which he adheres without
digression. Just as Disraeli seems from his early manhood to have aimed
at becoming Prime Minister of England so Cavour appears to have aimed
at the union of Italy under the leadership of Piedmont. There were a
thousand and one points at which he could have turned aside, a dozen
times when a brilliant temporary success was held before him, but he
preferred to sacrifice no atom of energy or influence which might in
time help in his fundamental purpose. He preferred obscurity to the
danger of being too well known, and the coldness of contemporaries
to the burden of relations with them which might tend to shackle his
own independence. He read his time and countrymen with extraordinary
accuracy, and foresaw that what was left of the old régime was tottering
and that to attempt to bolster it up was absurd. He preferred to let
the old conventions of a departed feudalism go their way in peace while
he prepared himself for the day when the new statecraft should be
recognized.
The Piedmont of 1810, the year of Cavour's birth, was singularly
mediæval. The militant strength and daring of the small states of
the Middle Ages had departed, but the point of view remained. The
aristocracy was narrow, bigoted, and overbearing, they were intolerant
of the new discoveries of science and the useful arts, they devoted
themselves exclusively to the trivial entertainments of the Eighteenth
Century. Napoleon spread above them like a storm cloud; they wrapped
themselves as well as they could in their ancestral cloaks and waited,
confident that the gale could not last long. The majority of them could
not believe that the French Revolution was more than an accident, but
there were a few, and those almost entirely men and women who had lived
abroad, who saw further. One of these latter was Cavour's grandmother,
the Marquise Philippine di Cavour, from whom he seems to have inherited
his breadth of view.