_Death of Panizzi’s Sister; At Rome; Naples; Mr George Fagan; Interview
with Ferdinand II; Spies; The Vicaria._
Panizzi being, as Lord Palmerston stated, a British subject, would have
been perfectly safe anywhere on European soil, saving that portion of it
occupied by the diminutive but to him important State of Modena, yet
with such extensive range he found it impossible to suppress a patriotic
yearning for his native town, and determined to visit it on his way
southwards. The reader must now bear in mind that we have, in order to
avoid confusion, gone back to the year 1851; whereas, in a former
chapter, treating of the British Museum and other matters, Panizzi has
been described as being at Brescello in 1857.
The fact that Francis V. in 1848, had granted an amnesty to all
political offenders, encouraged Panizzi in his resolve. But to be
perfectly certain before proceeding he applied to the proper authorities
to know if his name was mentioned in this Act of Amnesty, lest it might
perchance have been excluded. To this application the answer was in the
affirmative, but it was penned, not, as in common courtesy it should
have been, by the Minister himself, but by his secretary.
This example of official disrespect filled the recipient with “righteous
indignation,” and he wrote (18th of August, 1851) to a near relative of
his at Modena in these words:—“His Excellency!!! does not condescend to
write himself; perhaps he has more to do than Lord Russell or Lord
Palmerston, both of whom always find time to write to me on the very
same day.” Thus, notwithstanding all the assurances of the Modenese
Government he continued his journey, not caring even to pass through his
native country, if he were likely to incur the risk of becoming an
object of displeasure and suspicion; conscious, too, that either he
himself or the authorities must have very much changed if he were not
so.
On reaching Genoa he received news of a sad loss that had befallen him
in the death of his sister; and how deeply he was affected by the
intelligence may be gleaned from the annexed letter:—
“Rome, 28th October, 1851.
“My dear Haywood,
I have not had the courage even to write to you, owing to the
great distress of mind that I have been suffering under since I
arrived at Genoa, where I found letters informing me incidentally, and
supposing I was aware of it, of the death of my sister, whom I hoped
to see a few days after the letters themselves reached me. The news of
her death was addressed to London, and has reached it since I left. I
felt strongly inclined to give up my journey, and return to England at
once. I could not, however, do so, for reasons I need not trouble you
with, and so here I am, very melancholy, and not enjoying this most
wonderful place as I otherwise should. I arrived here the night before
last, and have, of course, seen little; but I have seen St. Peter’s,
and what more could I have seen, or can I hope to see one tenth as
magnificent? Lord Shrewsbury is here, and had made arrangements to
present me to the Pope before I arrived....
Yours, &c., &c.,
A. PANIZZI.”
At Rome, Dr. Minzi, who was engaged in ascertaining the origin, and
devising the remedy for the fever then prevailing there, encountered his
friend Panizzi. The latter, during his stay, was perpetually beset by
spies. On leaving, he took the precaution of engaging the company of
Minzi, and to him he imparted the following directions:—That, were he
carried off at the frontier by police agents, he (Minzi) was to write
three letters—one to Sir William Temple, at Naples; a second to Lord
Holland, also at Naples; and a third to Lord Shrewsbury. As a matter of
fact, he was stopped at the Neapolitan frontier; but, after careful
examination of the passport, and much unnecessary delay, was allowed to
cross. His name, however, appeared in the so-called _Libro Nero_.
On his arrival at Naples he proceeded to Lord Holland’s house, at the
Palazzo Roccella, where he remained during his sojourn in the place; he
now brought all his energies to bear on the acquisition of every
possible scrap of information which might further him in his mission.
Before long he received help, and this was from Mr. Fagan,[B] who,
having been Attaché at Naples since June, 1837, was, indeed, the only
person who was able to assist Panizzi. The help received from him was in
the shape of a letter of introduction to the Signora Parilli, which must
be allowed to tell its own story:—
“Dear Mr. Panizzi,
I send you word, through a friend of mine that the Signora
Parilli expects you to-morrow morning. She does not know who you are,
but introduce yourself as the “friend of Fagan.” An aunt of Poerio is
a nun, and knows all about him.
Yours, &c., &c.,
GEORGE FAGAN.”
Shortly afterwards, Panizzi’s interview with Ferdinand II. took place,
on which occasion he was accompanied by Mr. Fagan. The day fixed was a
Sunday, the hour twelve at noon. At ten minutes to twelve they arrived
at the palace, “We are before our time,” said Panizzi, “Now the first
question the King will ask, will be “Have you been to Church?” So they
at once hastened into the Church opposite (San Francesco di Paolo), and
remaining but a couple of minutes, came forth prepared to stand before
the King and answer, with clear consciences, this expected question,
which in fact was the first the King put to them.
It was quite clear that His Majesty was fully aware, through information
obtained from spies, of all Panizzi’s movements. He received him,
however, with the greatest courtesy, and almost before he himself had
uttered a word, allowed him to talk on the subject of Poerio and
Settembrini, and the prisons of Naples. On this theme Panizzi descanted
uninterruptedly for full twenty minutes, when the King rose closing the
interview with the remarkable words: _Addio, terribile Panizzi._
During his stay at Lord Holland’s, the Neapolitan Government, in order
that he should take his walks abroad with greater safety, kindly
furnished him with constant attendance, in the shape of a pair of trusty
followers or spies. It is painful to relate that Panizzi treated their
delicate and unobtrusive attention with extremely bad taste, not to say
ingratitude. He was never weary of playing tricks on his faithful
attendants, of mischievously imposing on them; ably supported in this
evil practice by his friend, and notably by Mr. Fagan, he made them
deviate from the path in which it was their combined duty and pleasure
to walk. Panizzi and his companions would get in and out of cabs, in the
manner of a late well-known actor, though not with the intention of
bilking the cab-driver. On one occasion, in trying to walk down their
pursuers, they became involved in a cul-de-sac, and turning to come out,
met their suite face to face. Pursuers and pursued burst into a hearty
reciprocal laugh, the latter passed on, and the former fell to their
place in the rear, and continued the chase.
Panizzi himself even allowed others to personate him. For example, in
one instance he gave out, for the information of his retinue, that he
was going on a shooting excursion in the neighbourhood of Naples. The
person really bent on this errand was Lord Holland’s physician, Dr.
Chepmell, who, in the character of Panizzi, was duly followed about the
whole day. Let us hope that these honest members of the Police
witnessed, though they had little chance of enjoying, a good day’s
sport.
Like all truly great men, and in particular Henry the Great, of France
and Navarre, Panizzi, when in the company of his friends, was devoid of
all feeling of unofficial personal dignity, and delighted, when not
seriously engaged, in little diversions as free, if not as innocent and
touching, as those indulged in by that great monarch.
On one occasion—he was by nature so physically sensitive as (to use a
common phrase) to be excessively ticklish—Dr. Chepmell, and another
intimate friend, Signor Carafa, had got him on the floor and were
subjecting him to the titillating operation. They were rolling him in
the fire-place—his face was black with charcoal, his clothes white with
ashes—when suddenly a servant announced the Duca di X.... who had come
to pay his respects to the “Great Pan.” All the astounded Duke could do
was to stand in the middle of the room and gaze, speechless, hat in
hand, on the unexpected and inexplicable spectacle.
Meantime, leave had been obtained for Panizzi to visit the famous
_Vicaria_. Of this he received information from Lord Feilding, who was
to accompany him over the prison:—
“November 18th, 1851.
“My dear Panizzi,
Will you hold yourself in readiness to accompany me over the
‘Vicaria’ to-morrow, in case it can be managed to obtain permission?
Yours, &c., &c., FEILDING.”
“November 19th.
“All is arranged for to-day.
FEILDING.”
Before visiting the “Vicaria,” he was careful to draw up a most
elaborate précis of all the questions to be asked of officials, all
portions of the prison worthy of note, and all such points of
information as should render his inspection as thorough as possible.
To give, in our own words, an account of this visit would be too long
for these pages, but Panizzi, on the following day that he inspected the
prison, wrote down a few brief observations, in conjunction with Lord
Feilding (November 20th, 1851):—
“The general impression on our minds was most unfavourable. The mixing
together of criminals of every description (homicides excepted) without
distinction, the total want of occupation for the prisoners, with the
exception of about thirty shoemakers who worked in two cells apart, and
the fact that prisoners before trial and prisoners after trial are
huddled indiscriminately together, are facts which speak for themselves,
as to the total unfitness of the Neapolitan prison discipline for the
reformation of the offender. A criminal, when he has undergone his term
of imprisonment here, must come out infinitely more savage and
demoralized than when he went in. Humanity, policy, and religion call
loudly for a reform in these sinks of horror.”
The following is Panizzi’s report:—“Yesterday, Wednesday, the 19th of
November, 1851, I accompanied Lord Feilding to see the prisons of the
“Vicaria.” We got permission through Father Costa, a Jesuit, who came
with us, with another father whose name I never heard; the Chief Gaoler
and the Inspector of the Police went with us through the gaol. We
entered it at a quarter past two o’clock, and left it at three minutes
past four by my watch.
“Near the stairs by which we entered there are prisons looking into the
quadrangle of the “Vicaria.” As two of the judges, as we were told they
were, came downstairs to get into their carriage, the shutters of the
prison nearest the bottom of the stairs were closed, and opened
immediately after the carriage had driven off.
“Having got upstairs, we entered a small room in which a person sat
keeping some register or other, and were immediately ushered into a
smaller room, where an inspector sat. On the table we found three
different sorts of bread—_i.e._, common bread, bread for the sick, and
bread which is given to the prisoners in the evening. The whole of this
bread was good of its kind; the only objection to the evening bread
might be its being heavy.
“We entered the first _Camerone dei Nobili_, which has only one window
at the end of it. It is a long, vaulted, low room, very dull, and the
atmosphere of which I should call very bad, had we not experienced
worse. Off this room, on the left, are six smaller rooms, communicating
with the Camerone by doors, some of them closing with railings, and
others with oak shutters. In these rooms are kept such prisoners as can
afford to pay for better accommodation—that is a small bed, instead of
the common beds of the “Camerone.” The air of these rooms was better,
because, by leaving the windows open, a thorough draft was created
through them. But the air was cold and damp; there was no means of
excluding the air and cold. Except in one or two of these rooms there
was a _paper_ window instead of glass; in the other there was nothing.
So that you must either have the cold from without, or close the
enormous oak shutters, and exclude both air and light, not only from
each of these rooms themselves, but from the Camerone, which, to a
certain extent, receives both, particularly air, from them. The
atmosphere at night, when all those windows are closed, must be
intolerable; and I am firmly persuaded that, were it not that the
shutters are opened to try the soundness of the double row of iron bars
by which each window is secured, the inmates would be smothered. These
bars are tried five times during the night. Of course, every time this
operation takes place, the inmates are roused from their sleep or
slumber, and whilst the shutters are open a chilling draft must be
created.
“In the Camerone sleep 120 persons.
“We saw no _kitchen_ or _infirmary_, both being removed to San
Francesco; but in the room which was the infirmary, and which is better
than the others, we saw a poor fellow lying down asleep, but he seemed
to me very ill, and looked like a dead person.”
Of this celebrated prison the writer of these “memoirs” is enabled, from
personal observation and knowledge, to give some account.
The _Vicaria_, or Castel Capuano, was originally situated outside, but
is now enclosed within the city of Naples. The first building was
erected by William, the Norman, for a Royal Palace, and surrounded by
fortifications. Here the Kings of Naples successively resided, until
Ferdinand of Arragon demolished the fortifications, thereby rendering it
useless as a stronghold.
In the year 1540 the Viceroy, Pedro de Toledo, rebuilt it in its present
form, and gave it the name of “Vicaria.” The magnificent chambers
(stained with many a crime) were converted into Law Courts, the smaller
rooms were utilized as dungeons. For 310 years it remained a so-called
“Palazzo di Giustizia.” Of the peculiar species of Justice and Law
administered it is hardly necessary to speak, except perhaps to call
them by their proper names of cruelty, chicanery, and oppression. Nor is
it surprising that during these centuries, ecclesiastical and civil
tyranny should have had equal sway within the walls of the “Vicaria.”
In 1848 this vast and gloomy edifice, which stands at the end of the
Strada dei Tribunali, bore, carved in stone, in bold relief, over its
one heavily barred entrance, that badge of Italian servitude, the
Austrian double headed eagle. Near the dungeons were stationed Swiss
guards. Inside the gate, and arranged around a circular court-yard, were
the houses inhabited by the guardians of the courts, and, in addition to
these, the residence of the executioner, whose implements, the scaffold
and gallows, and all their appurtenances were displayed outside. Three
broad staircases led respectively to the Civil and Criminal Courts and
to the cells. As regards these, one door afforded access to the prison
reserved for nobility, another to that set apart for the lower orders.
Over the last was a picture of the Virgin and Child.
With the _Vicaria Vecchia_ had disappeared many a secret chamber and
loathsome living tomb, the remains of Spanish barbarity. According to
Celano, 4,000 human beings were at one time immured in these dens, but
in the building as it now stands there would not be room for more than
1,500.
Many famous productions have cheered the solitude of these sombre walls.
In one of these cells Antonio Sella wrote his first essay on political
economy; in another Mattia Prete, the famous Calabrese painter,
1613-1699, was a prisoner and condemned to death. Him, however, the
Viceroy reprieved in these graceful words: _Vita excellens in arte non
debet mori._
Even so late as 1859 the present writer has himself seen the eleven wire
cages, swinging between the windows of the buildings, each containing
human heads.
The horrors of the _Vicaria_ have been fully dwelt upon here and
elsewhere; but we may mention that, on the 22nd of November, Panizzi
paid a second visit to the prison with the view of more fully examining
certain matters which had either been omitted or superficially surveyed
during his first inspection. We forbear, however, from entering further
into the horrible details connected with the place, which deserved no
better appellation than the one given to it by Mr. Gladstone—a very
_hell upon earth_.
In December Panizzi took his departure for England. He was accompanied
to the last by his never failing followers, the spies, who had come to
do him the final kind office of seeing him on board. Signor Lacaita, who
was also present to bid him adieu, took the liberty of asking them what
they wanted and whom they were watching? _Quel pezzo grosso_ (that big
fellow), replied they, “and to see that he is safely off.”
In conclusion, an extract from a letter of Lord Shrewsbury’s, after
Panizzi’s return, may possibly be read with interest:—
“Palermo, December 28th, 1851.
“Dear Mr. Panizzi,
... What a blessed thing it is that the _Coup d’Etat_ answered
so beautifully, and did not place you in the dilemma of either making
an immense detour, or of journeying in the midst of those robbers and
assassins, the Socialists and _Rouges_ Republicans. One sees _now_ why
it was that Kossuth was so anxious to return in the Spring, and what
sort of connection our friend Palmerston has made in his chivalrous
efforts _in endeavouring to promote the cause of national freedom in
those nations that stood in need of it_! Lamartine did not use a more
revolutionary phraseology in his first address to the French Republic,
when he announced that the Treaties of 1815 had ceased to exist, and
that France “proclaimed herself the intellectual and cordial ally of
every right, of every progress, of every legitimate developement of
the institutions of nations _which wish to live on the same principle
as herself_.”
Verily those two letters of Esterhazy and Battyani came most
seasonably to blow out the Kossuth Bubble, and scatter it to the
winds, shewing what an empty notion it was that Kossuth was working
for the regeneration of Hungary! I never questioned the honesty or
patriotic intentions of our illustrious Foreign Secretary, or that he
ever fancied he was not pursuing the best and wisest policy. But it is
now clear that he and Lamartine are men of the same school, and that
_their_ principles, when attempted to be carried into action under
untoward circumstances, and at unseasonable times, will end in
disappointment to those who profess them, and in infinite mischief to
those in whose favour they are evoked. To no country will this apply
more aptly than to that beauteous region from which you are just
returned. Her hour is not yet come. She is wholly unfit for the change
from Absolute to Constitutional liberty. She has no materials within
herself for the new edifice. The Law of 19 in Sicily, and the Code
Napoléon in her Continental States, have so utterly deranged the
mechanism of her old feudal construction, and uprooted the foundations
on which any solid structure could be raised, that it is as clear as
it is in France that Socialism and Red Republicanism would turn up
instead of a Limited Monarchy the moment you had set the elements at
work. Nor had Louis Napoléon a better cause to shew for dissolving the
National Assembly than had Ferdinand for sending _his_ Chamber to
their homes, and stopping them in the same wild and unprincipled
career. One can only, therefore, _now_ legitimately work for her
social, not for her political regeneration. Municipal privileges are
the only liberties, a good administration of the Law is the only phase
of which she is susceptible. Any efforts you may make in these
directions may tend to good, and if you and Palmerston will steadily
pursue that object _only, and by means suitable to their end_, you may
effect much for the happiness of the people, as well as for the
security of the Throne.
Very truly yours, &c.,
SHREWSBURY.”
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