_Desire to Visit Naples; Pius IX; Ferdinand II; Revolution of 1848;
Poerio and Settembrini; ‘Giovine Italia;’ Gladstone’s Visit to
Naples._
It may be readily conceived that Panizzi did not regard as matters of
secondary importance, or affection, the affairs of his native Italy. In
the summer of 1846, being desirous of paying, for the first time, a
visit to Naples, he applied to the Government of that State for the
necessary permission through Lord Palmerston, who addressed the
following letter to Sir William Temple on his friend’s behalf:—
“September 25th, 1846.
“Sir,
I have to inform you that Mr. Panizzi, a native of Modena, who has now
been for many years resident in England, who holds the appointment of
Keeper of the Printed Books in the British Museum, wishes to go to
Italy in the course of this autumn, and to visit Naples. Mr. Panizzi
was, many years ago, connected with some persons who, on account of
their political opinions, had incurred the displeasure of the late
Duke of Modena; but Mr. Panizzi has long ceased to have anything to do
with Italian politics, and confines himself entirely to his official
duties in England, where he enjoys the friendship and esteem of
distinguished men of all parties.
Mr. Panizzi, however, would not like to enter the Neapolitan territory
unless he were previously assured that he would be permitted to do so
without hindrance, and that he would be free from molestation during
the short time he might remain there, and as many members of H. M’s
Government have a great regard for Mr. Panizzi, and feel an interest
in what concerns him, I have to desire that you will mention this to
the Neapolitan Government, and that you will state H.M.’s Government
would be much gratified if the requested assurance could be given.
I have, &c., &c.,
PALMERSTON.”
After some delay, in consequence, according to Sir William’s account, of
difficulties raised by the Minister of Police at Naples, the required
permission was granted; but Panizzi did not think fit to avail himself
of it upon this occasion. His visit, however, as will be seen, was only
postponed. It will also be noticed that his influence was in course of
time an important, if not the main instrument whereby the liberation of
the unhappy victims of tyranny, then lying in the horrible dungeons of
Naples, was effected.
[Illustration]
In order to lay clearly before the reader the manner in which such
influence was exercised, it is best to give a brief account of the
condition of Naples at and about the period of turmoil and revolution in
Europe in the years 1847-9, and of the paternal treatment bestowed by
the Government of Ferdinand II., monarch of the Two Sicilies (_justly_
entitled to the appellation of _pater patriæ_) on many of his ungrateful
and recalcitrant subjects.
On the death (June 1st, 1846) of Gregory XVI., a pontiff with a true and
earnest feeling of respect for things as they are, and a righteous
aversion to all unnecessary and gratuitous reforms, great expectations
were anticipated throughout all Italy of good results from the rule of
his successor, Pius IX. The most sanguine hopes were entertained that,
through him, the rights of liberty would be secured; and indeed, as
Gioberti says, he was regarded as no less than the arbiter of peace in
Europe. Without casting the shadow of suspicion on the genuineness of
the new Pope’s good intentions, whereof he gave ample proof on his
accession to the Papal Chair, it is nevertheless pretty evident that,
under the most favourable circumstances, these expectations stood but
little chance of fulfilment. Even had Pius IX. not been deceived in the
first instance, and by subsequent revolution frightened out of the
liberal principles to which he at first gave his adherence, he was
scarcely, himself, in a position to carry them into practice. To preach
reform and constitutionalism from the Vatican was to subvert the Papal
seat. External obstacles, again, would assuredly stand in the way of him
who should attempt to promote even moderate reforms in an Italian State
of the period. Many men who, in other places, and under other
circumstances, would have been regarded as models of enlightenment and
moderation, shamed by the miserable history of their country, and
exasperated by long-continued oppression and misrule, had become
somewhat blind to the wholesome doctrine that the art of construction is
a chief constituent of political order. To another party, formidable in
numbers if not conspicuous for wisdom, it was but labour lost to proffer
anything in the shape of reform; these men would be content with nothing
short of destruction. Of them and their adherents Panizzi has, as will
be observed, expressed his fear and abhorrence in no measured terms.
Hence his alienation from Mazzini, who, in his egregious selfishness,
would have destroyed the elements of power that existed, but had never
displayed the ability to provide a substitute.
[Illustration]
Pius IX., whose intellectual powers were far from equal to the largeness
of his heart, soon became involved in difficulties. His constant dread
of acting prejudicially to the interests of the Church weighed him down;
and the influence of Count Ludolf (Neapolitan Minister at Rome, well
known for his retrogressive opinions) probably thwarted his good
intentions in no small degree. From want of confidence in himself, as
well as from despair at the impediments, subjective and objective, which
perpetually obtruded themselves upon him, Pius had recourse for
protection and direction to the counsel of others. Ill advisers were
those whom he chose—Grasselini, Gizzi, and Antonelli. The results of
vacillation and evil communication were speedily visible. Already, in
November, 1846, a few short months after his accession, in his address
to the Patriarchs and Archbishops, he roundly condemned everything that
bore the name of _Progress_ as _seductive, false, deceitful, seditious,
foolish, and destructive of ties religious, political, and social_.
The first notable act of the reign of Pius IX. had been to grant a
general amnesty to all political offenders. This act of clemency, though
it gained for him a certain amount of well-deserved popularity,
unhappily smothered in the heart of Ferdinand II. all the veneration
with which that monarch had been wont to regard the occupants of St.
Peter’s chair. The King even went so far, in his indignation, as to
stigmatise the Pope as the head of “Young Italy.” With his people it was
different. The sensation created at Naples by this amnesty was intense.
The inhabitants demanded that it should be placarded throughout the
city; the King, however, not only set his face against the proposal, but
peremptorily forbade all demonstrations in favour of His Holiness,
suppressed the sale of his portraits, and interdicted the admission into
the country of Roman newspapers. Indeed, the very mention of the Pope’s
name was regarded as bordering on treason, and as calling for the notice
of the police.
It might possibly have come to pass, had foreign powers possessed more
satisfactory relations with one another at this time, that better order
would, under the pressure of external suasion, have been maintained in
the Government of more than one Italian State. The “Spanish Marriages”
had created a coolness between France and England, and M. Guizot’s
foreign policy had thrown France, so far as regarded Italy, into the
arms of Austria and the reactionary party. The prospect of establishing
civil and religious liberty in the Peninsula looked extremely obscure.
The clamouring for reform, however, continued, intermittently throughout
Italy. In Tuscany there appeared a speck of light in the surrounding
darkness: for, urged by his people the Grand Duke had shown himself
nothing loth to grant reforms demanded of him. In Rome meetings and
demonstrations were frequent. Amidst all this Ferdinand remained
unmoved, notwithstanding the importunate entreaties of the emissaries of
Louis-Philippe, the Duke D’Aumale, and Prince de Joinville. In fact his
Majesty plainly and deliberately gave them to understand that their
presence in his kingdom was undesirable.
Liberty of the Press being excluded from the King’s Dominions, its place
was filled by the usual substitute, the issue of anonymous pamphlets;
amongst many others, was one entitled _Protesto del Popolo delle due
Sicilie_, from the pen of the celebrated Luigi Settembrini. This work,
which was immediately seized, contained a long and detailed account of
the cruelties inflicted during so many years by the Neapolitan
Government on its hapless subjects. A copy of the pamphlet reached the
hands of Ferdinand, who determined that no pains should be spared to
discover its author. Suspicion fell on many of the leading Liberals, who
were consequently imprisoned, amongst them Carlo Poerio, Mariano
d’Ayala, Domenico Mauro, and others. Banishment was the sentence of
those who could not be seized, and amongst them was Settembrini, who
escaping to Malta, no sooner found himself on safe ground, than he
avowed himself as author of the pamphlet.
Meanwhile Calabria and Sicily were in a state of fermentation, and the
King perplexed by the general condition of affairs, was induced to grant
a general amnesty.
The North of Italy was at that time in calmer and happier circumstances.
Charles Albert, King of Sardinia, had consented to measures of Liberal
Reform, and certain influential northern Italians, headed by Counts
Mammiani and Balbo, Massimo d’Azeglio, Cavour and Silvio Pellico, had
petitioned Ferdinand II. to make concessions similar to those they
enjoyed in their kingdom, but without avail. Nor was England wanting in
sympathy with the suffering, for Lord Minto, by direction of Lord
Palmerston, had arrived from the North of Italy, at Naples, on an
intercessory mission to the King in behalf of his people.
This interference of England caused much consternation in Austria.
Prince Metternich warned Lord Palmerston that the Emperor was firmly
resolved to keep his Empire intact. His Lordship’s reply to the warning
was characteristic; that, although he respected the rights of Austria,
still he entertained a strong opinion that the people of Italy had a
perfect right to use all legitimate means for their own amelioration. At
Naples, notwithstanding Lord Minto’s mission, troubles increased. The
King remained as obdurate as ever, and was supported by the members of
his family, with the single exception of the Count of Syracuse, who, for
the expression of his views, was forthwith expelled from the kingdom.
Earnestly as England desired the promotion of liberty in Italy, she was
not unmindful of the safety of Kings; and, consequently, the then
British Ambassador at Rome suggested that the English fleet should
proceed to Naples to protect the King, and that Count Ludolf should be
informed “that the encouragement of popular insurrection formed no part
of the hearty support England was disposed to give to the progress of
liberal reform in Italy, and at the same time strongly impressing on him
the danger to which the King would be exposed, unless he made some
advances to satisfy the just expectations of his subjects.”
In December, 1847, a revolution of vast magnitude was impending at
Palermo, and in the same month a final appeal was made to the King
urging him to recognise the rights of his subjects.
The 12th of January, 1848, was fixed on as the day for the expiration of
this ultimatum. As heretofore, the application was treated with
contempt, and an armed force was dispatched, headed by the Duke Serra
Capriola.
The first shots were fired on the 12th of January, the fête-day of the
King, whereupon fresh troops were sent from Naples with orders to
Désauget, the General commanding, that, in case of resistance, he should
_make a garden of Palermo_. Désauget accordingly bombarded the town, but
happily failed to make a _garden_ or a desert of it, and was forced,
after losing many men, to return to Naples. So matters went on from bad
to worse. No sooner had the King made concessions than he withdrew them,
continually fore-swearing himself.
The subjugation of the Sicilians (in support of whom Lord Minto, much
disappointed by a pseudo-constitution granted by the King, in which
their rights were simply disregarded, had set out for Palermo), still
remained as difficult of completion as ever. On the 25th of March, the
Sicilian Parliament met at the last-named place, and declared the
dethronement of Ferdinand II. Thereupon ensued the bombardment of
Messina, whence arose the King’s universally-known nickname of _King
Bomba_. The independence of Sicily was now recognised by France and
England. In May the cry of “Religion in Danger!” was raised by the
Royalist clique, and the refusal of St. Januarius to work his annual
miracle infused much terror into the superstitious minds of the lower
orders. Unfortunately, the means successfully employed in times past by
a certain French General to induce the Saint to perform his duty were
now impracticable.
By this time, a National Guard having been instituted, the King’s
position was really imperilled, and he was in the act of preparing with
his family to quit Naples by sea, when the troops and the populace came
into collision. This, as usual, resulted in street fighting; also, as a
natural consequence, the regulars gained the mastery, and a sad massacre
ensued; whilst to slaughter, the _Lazzaroni_, the natural adherents of
the King, added the inevitable accompaniment of pillage. Under such
circumstances did Naples remain in a state of siege until the 15th of
June.
Meantime the Sicilians had proclaimed the Duke of Genoa their future
ruler; a division of 16,000 troops, under Filangieri, was dispatched for
active service, and, after an obstinate resistance, landed at Messina.
In November the King proceeded to Gaeta, in order to meet there Pius
IX., who, by this time having lost his popularity, had gained an
equivalent by securing the friendship of Ferdinand. Whilst there, news
of the Austrian victory at Novara reached the ears of the two
confederates, and was the cause of great rejoicing to both;
notwithstanding that, forced by popular pressure, Ferdinand had
despatched 12,000 of his troops (he had promised 40,000) as a contingent
to the Sardinian army. This great triumph of absolutism by no means
disposed the King to alter, or even to moderate, his style of
government. Arrests and acts of violence and brutality became
continuous, and the unhappy Liberals were unduly rewarded for their
attachment to the cause of freedom—Filippo Agresti, Carlo Poerio, and
Luigi Settembrini being arrested and imprisoned in the dungeons of the
“Vicaria,” the most loathsome of the invariably loathsome Neapolitan
prisons.
Thus much have we written to show the state of Naples at the time to
which our biography appertains. Yet this brief sketch of the position
would be incomplete did we altogether ignore the two patriots, Poerio
and Settembrini, who, not merely on account of their notoriety as chiefs
of the Liberal party, but as friends both of Panizzi and Mr. Gladstone,
call for some especial notice in these pages.
Whoever has studied the history of Italy, more especially the history of
the country in these latter times, will have learnt that Italian
unity—the zeal for which had, during all the centuries between King
Arduinus and Victor Emmanuel II., never become extinguished—was not
accomplished by the efforts of any one individual. Amongst the number of
those in the highest rank who devoted their lives to the achievement of
the noble end, stand Poerio and Settembrini.
Their patriotism extended beyond the circumscription of their native
town, province, or State; they felt that each subordinate nationality
must blend with the others, to enable their common Italy to take her due
place in the assembly of nations—to speak with undivided voice on the
affairs of Europe; to be, in fact, the one Italy of their
aspirations—strong because united. For this, while their individual
designations were still Modenese, Neapolitans, Venetians, or what not,
they must be, over and above all, Italians.
[Illustration]
Poerio was born at Naples in 1803. He afterwards became a lawyer, and
for some time during the troubled reign of Ferdinand was, at least when
at liberty, the leader of the “Left” in the Neapolitan Parliament. The
term “a chequered life” might fairly be used as expressive of such a
career; were it not that his undertakings, having all the same end in
view, in which he was almost incessantly engaged, and the perpetual
series of arrests and imprisonments which he suffered, imparted as it
were, a melancholy uniformity to his career. In 1831 the crown of Italy
was offered by the patriots of the Romagno to Ferdinand II. That
monarch, probably feeling an innate disability to govern
constitutionally, or otherwise than according to the dictates of his own
will, a condition doubtless affixed to the tender, declined the
proffered gift. What he might have done had he accepted, must remain in
the realm of conjecture; his refusal to lend his aid to the settlement
of the country’s deplorably unsettled state caused plot upon plot to
spring up on all sides. The name _Liberali_ was now first given to the
opponents of the King. These were unceasing in preaching to the people,
according to their light, the blessings of Constitutional Government. If
their skill in politics, as may reasonably be supposed, was small, their
honesty and love of country were large; and assuredly no form which they
may have conceived, however crude, could have equalled in weakness and
depravity the various petty tyrannies by which their country was
distracted. Amongst these _Liberali_, the most active and beyond doubt
the most able, was Carlo Poerio. It is worthy of remark that when, in
1847, Pius IX. had achieved his reputation as the first reformer of
Italy, the only two men of note who disbelieved in him were Poerio and
King Ferdinand II. After the breaking out of the Sicilian Revolution on
the 12th of January, 1848, at the time he was a prisoner, Poerio’s
fortunes took a more favourable turn. Freed from his bondage, he was
made Prime Minister, and subsequently Minister of Public Instruction.
His aspirations, however, were too modest to assume such dignity—his aim
was to be no more than a simple Member of Parliament, and in two months
he had retired from all official life. But his days of freedom were
destined to be but of short duration. On the 19th of July, 1849, he was
again arrested, and confined in the Castel dell’ Ovo, and from thence
removed to the “Vicaria.” From this he was on the 1st of February, 1850,
taken in chains to the Arsenal, and with Michele Pironti sent as a
common convict to Nisida.
Were we to relate _all_ the adventures of Poerio, interesting and
important as they are, it would be properly considered an interpolation
in our biography. A great and melancholy portion of the story is best
told in his own words. He was asked, on his way to the dungeons, how he
was, and he answered _Fò questa cura di ferro da parecchi anni, e mi
sento più forte (I have now been taking this iron remedy for several
years, and feel much stronger)_. In a future chapter we shall have still
more to say respecting this _martyr of liberty_; but let us pass to
those later years of his life, when tardy success hardly requited such
loving patriotism, and barely compensated for his great misfortunes. In
1859, when he came out of prison, he was elected member for Arezzo, but
steadily refused to accept a place in the Cabinet, although much pressed
by Cavour. He died on the 28th of April, 1867.
[Illustration]
Luigi Settembrini, though standing many rungs of the political ladder
lower than Poerio, was nevertheless a hardy and enthusiastic patriot.
Mr. Gladstone wrote of him in his letters to Lord Aberdeen (hereafter to
be mentioned) as one _in a sphere by some degrees narrower, but with a
character quite as pure and fair_ as Poerio’s. Settembrini was born at
Naples, the 17th of April, 1813. His father was a lawyer, and, like his
son, a patriot, and had fought for his country in the stirring days of
1820-1. Of Luigi’s private life we may say that he was a teacher of
Italian literature and an eminent classical scholar. In 1848 he,
together with Poerio, was tried on the trumped-up charge of being member
of a secret society. This charge was further supported by a letter
concocted by the police, so gross and palpable a forgery that the very
judges in the case considered it more prudent to reject it as evidence.
With Poerio and forty more he was capitally convicted. The sentence was
not executed, yet he was reserved for a fate as hard—perpetual
imprisonment _upon a remote sea-girt rock_.
Although Settembrini was in the above case most unjustifiably, nay,
iniquitously, convicted, and barbarously punished, it is well known that
he was, as a matter of fact, an ardent supporter of the society called
“Giovine Italia,” an association which, had the sagacity of its
directors been more, and the audacity of its purposes less, might have
given some trouble to the then rulers of Italy. When the King of Naples,
as has been said, charged Pius IX. with being at the head of _Young
Italy_, he probably made use of the most scurrilous phrase, by way of
accusation, which occurred to him. The “Giovine Italia,” however, was an
established fact, albeit the association numbered not the Pope amongst
its members, nor was it under the special protection of the Church.
Tyranny has this superiority over luckless poverty that it renders those
on whom it presses dangerous as well as ridiculous. This peculiar form
of danger, the Secret Society, which tyranny calls into existence, is
commonly less formidable to the powers against which it is organised
than to the causes which it is intended to protect. Had the modest
programme of the “Giovine Italia” been carried into execution, a
despotism would have been created more unbearable than the yoke of
Austria, the Vatican, and King Bomba united. The prime object of this
society was to abolish all Princes then reigning in Italy—including, of
course, the Pope—and not only to drive the Austrians out of the country,
but the French from Corsica and the English from Malta. When these
laudable ends had been accomplished, a great Military Republic was to be
established under a supreme Dictator, residing at Rome, with ten consuls
to govern the ten divisions into which the whole of Italy was to be
parcelled out. Each province or division was to be under a colonel, its
Municipal Government being administered by a captain. To each division,
subject to the officers thereof, was to belong a treasurer, himself also
a military man. In addition to these officers an order was to be
instituted entitled “Apostoles,” whose duty it should be to act as
dictatorial or consular agents, and to settle and arrange matters in
general.
The regulations for the internal conduct of the Society show a certain
skill of organization, coupled with a good deal of the childishness of
bugbear solemnity usually appertaining to such associations. The
following will serve as specimens of some of the more important of these
regulations:—“No meetings of members to be allowed, and no conversation
between members more than two in number at any one time. Oaths to be
sworn on a skull and dagger. The Republican flag to be a white skull on
a black field, and the motto _Unità, Libertà, Indipendenza_. The dress
to be black, and the arms a musket and bayonet, with a side dagger.
Drilling to form a principal and constant duty.”
Although a Secret Society of this description is a standing monument of
folly and wickedness, yet it is hardly possible, considering the state
of things in Italy at the time of which we write, not to feel some
compassion and make some allowance for the conspirators of “Giovine
Italia.” Their great idea—the Unity of Italy—had been set forth by Dante
according to a poet’s conception. Macchiavelli had planned its execution
as a statesman. The love of country was extended by the patriotic
subject of the kingdom of the Two Sicilies to every comer of his native
land. The dream—if dream it may be called—has found its accomplishment
in reality within our own time, but happily not by the agency nor after
the ideas and programme of “Young Italy.”
[Illustration]
In the early part of 1851 Mr. Gladstone made his memorable visit to
Naples; _Si natura negat facit indignatio versum_. The great statesman
possessed a nature particularly averse to revolutionary sentiments or
prejudices, and a more impartial judge betwixt King and People never
existed. Shortly after his arrival he had “supped full of horrors,” and
he longed to express his inward feelings on the palpable absence of
justice in the actions of the Neapolitan Government, and the cruelties
practised on the persons of hapless political offenders, many wrongfully
condemned—cruelties of which he was an unwilling and shocked witness.
His observations resulted in the two celebrated letters to Lord
Aberdeen. The general character of the administration is well summed up
in a pithy sentence quoted in the first, _E la negazione di Dio eretta a
sistema di governo_. (This is the negation of God erected into a system
of government.)
Mr. Gladstone, with his usual moderation and desire of accuracy,
declines, in these letters, to decide, and shows himself willing to give
Ferdinand the benefit of all doubt on the subject. He even records an
instance of “a direct and unceremonious appeal to the King’s humanity,
which met with a response on his part evidently sincere.” His account of
the prisons of Naples inclines us to refer our readers to this
correspondence rather than to transfer his description to our own pages.
Suffice it to say, that he calls them “the extreme of filth and horror,”
the Vicaria “that charnel-house,” in which, amongst other iniquities,
even proper medical assistance was withheld from the sick prisoners.
It was not long ere an answer to these statements was attempted by the
Neapolitan Government, under the title _Rassegna degli Errori e delle
Fallacie pubblicate dal Sig. Gladstone_, &c, &c. This brochure evinced
an ingenuity of sophistical argument, to say the least of it, only
worthy of such a cause. Before any authorized reply to it appeared, it
had been skilfully and sufficiently answered by an anonymous author in a
pamphlet entitled:—_A Detailed Exposure of the Apology put forth by the
Neapolitan Government, in reply to the Charges of Mr. Gladstone, under
the title of Rassegna, &c., &c. (1852). London_. Mr. Gladstone’s own
answer, entitled, _An Examination of The Official Reply of the
Neapolitan Government_, was published soon afterwards. In this the
writer grants the utmost limits of concession to his opponents; whatever
rests not on manifestly sufficient evidence, nay, on moral certainty, he
retracts: whatever even seems to require modification, he unhesitatingly
modifies; but, modification and retraction notwithstanding, it must be
acknowledged that the case stands much as it was. To quote the author’s
own words:—“I believe that, for my own vindication, I might without any
new publication have relied in perfect safety upon the verdict already
given by the public opinion and announced by the press of Europe. The
arrow has shot deep into the mark, and cannot be dislodged.”
Judging from a letter of Mr. Gladstone’s to Panizzi, it may be concluded
that the latter had much to do with the publication of these famous
letters:—
“October 6th, 1849.
“My dear Panizzi,
“... You and I have, I think, been looking with much the same
feeling at what has been passing; in Rome. I am no great revolutionist
elsewhere; but I am persuaded that the civil Government of three
millions of people ought not to be carried on only by priests, and a
real representative system giving the community the power of the
purse, is the best, and, so far as I can see, ought to be accepted or
endured.
Always very sincerely yours,
W. E. GLADSTONE.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]