THE WORK OF THE CARBONARI
1815-1821
Revolutions in the Kingdom of Naples and in Piedmont--The Conspiracy
against Charles Albert.
Considering what the state of the country was after 1815, and how
apparently inexhaustible were the resources of the Empire of which the
petty princes of the peninsula were but puppets, it is remarkable that
political agitation, with a view to reversing the decisions of Vienna,
should have begun so soon, and on so large a scale. Not that the
nation, as a whole, was yet prepared to move; every revolution, till
1848, was partial in the sense that the mass of the people stood
aloof, because unconvinced of the possibility of loosening their
chains. But, during that long succession of years, the number of
Italians ready to embark on enterprises of the most desperate
character, accounting as nothing the smallness of the chance of
success, seems enormous when the risks they ran and the difficulties
they faced are fully recognised. Among the means which were effective
in first rousing Italy from her lethargy, and in fostering the will to
acquire her independence at all costs, the secret society of the
Carbonari undoubtedly occupies the front rank. The Carbonari acted in
two ways; by what they did and by what they caused to be done by
others who were outside their society, and perhaps unfavourable to it,
but who were none the less sensible of the pressure it exercised. The
origin of Carbonarism has been sought in vain; as a specimen of the
childish fables that once passed for its history may be noticed the
legend that Francis I. of France once stumbled on a charcoal burner's
hut when hunting 'on the frontiers of his kingdom next to Scotland,'
and was initiated into the rites similar to those in use among the
sectaries of the nineteenth century. Those rites referred to vengeance
which was to be taken on the wolf that slew the lamb; the wolf
standing for tyrants and oppressors, and the lamb for Jesus Christ,
the sinless victim, by whom all the oppressed were represented. The
Carbonari themselves generally believed that they were heirs to an
organisation started in Germany before the eleventh century, under the
name of the Faith of the Kohlen-Brenners, of which Theobald de Brie,
who was afterwards canonised, was a member. Theobald was adopted as
patron saint of the modern society, and his fancied portrait figured
in all the lodges. That any weight should have been attached to these
pretensions to antiquity may appear strange to us, as it certainly did
not matter whether an association bent on the liberation of Italy had
or had not existed in German forests eight hundred years before; age
and mystery, however, have a great popular attraction, the first as an
object of reverence, the second as food for curiosity with the
profane, and a bond of union among the initiated. The religious
symbolism of the Carbonari, their oaths and ceremonies, and the axes,
blocks and other furniture of the initiatory chamber, were well
calculated to impress the poorer and more ignorant and excitable of
the brethren. The Vatican affected to believe that Carbonarism was an
offshoot of Freemasonry, but, in spite of sundry points of
resemblance, such as the engagements of mutual help assumed by
members, there seems to have been no real connection between the two.
Political Freemasonry remained somewhat of an exotic in Italy, and was
inclined to regard France as its centre. As far as can be ascertained,
it gave a general support to Napoleon, while Carbonarism rejected
every foreign yoke. The practical aims of the Carbonari may be summed
up in two words: freedom and independence. From the first they had the
penetration to grasp the fact that independence, even if obtained,
could not be preserved without freedom; but though their predilections
were theoretically republican, they did not make a particular form of
government a matter of principle. Nor were they agreed in a definite
advocacy of the unity of Italy.
A Genoese of the name of Malghella, who was Murat's Minister of
Police, was the first person to give a powerful impetus to
Carbonarism, of which he has even been called the inventor, but the
inference goes too far. Malghella ended miserably; after the fall of
Murat he was arrested by the Austrians, who consigned him as a new
subject to the Sardinian Government, which immediately put him in
prison. His name is hardly known, but no Italian of his time worked
more assiduously, or in some respects more intelligently, for the
emancipation of Italy. Whatever was truly Italian in Murat's policy
must be mainly attributed to him. As early as 1813 he urged the King
to declare himself frankly for independence, and to grant a
constitution to his Neapolitan subjects. But Malghella did not find
the destined saviour of Italy in Murat; his one lasting work was to
establish Carbonarism on so strong a basis that, when the Bourbons
returned, there were thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of
Carbonari in all parts of the realm. The discovery was not a pleasant
one to the restored rulers, and the Prince of Canosa, the new Minister
of Police, thought to counteract the evil done by his predecessor by
setting up an abominable secret society called the Calderai del
Contrapeso (Braziers of the Counterpoise), principally recruited from
the refuse of the people, lazzaroni, bandits and let-out convicts, who
were provided by Government with 20,000 muskets, and were sworn to
exterminate all enemies of the Church of Rome, whether Jansenists,
Freemasons or Carbonari. This association committed some horrible
excesses, but otherwise it had no results. The Carbonari closed in
their ranks, and learnt to observe more strictly their rules of
secrecy. From the kingdom of Naples, Carbonarism spread to the Roman
states, and found a congenial soil in Romagna, which became the focus
whence it spread over the rest of Italy. It was natural that it should
take the colour, more or less, of the places where it grew. In
Romagna, where political assassination is in the blood of the people,
a dagger was substituted for the symbolical woodman's axe in the
initiatory rites. It was probably only in Romagna that the
conventional threat against informers was often carried out. The
Romagnols invested Carbonarism with the wild intensity of their own
temperament, resolute even to crime, but capable of supreme impersonal
enthusiasm. The ferment of expectancy that prevailed in Romagna is
reflected in the Letters and Journals of Lord Byron, whom young Count
Pietro Gamba made a Carbonaro, and who looked forward to seeing the
Italians send the barbarians of all nations back to their own dens, as
to the most interesting spectacle and moment in existence. His lower
apartments, he writes, were full of the bayonets, fusils and
cartridges of his Carbonari cronies; 'I suppose that they consider me
as a dépôt, to be sacrificed in case of accidents. It is no great
matter, supposing that Italy could be liberated, who or what is
sacrificed. It is a grand object--the very poetry of politics. Only
think--free Italy!!! Why, there has been nothing like it since the
days of Augustus.'
The movement on which such great hopes were set was to begin in the
kingdom of Naples in the spring of 1820. The concession of the
hard-won Spanish Constitution in the month of March encouraged the
Neapolitans to believe that they might get a like boon from their own
King if they directed all the forces at their command to this single
end. To avoid being compromised, they sought rather to dissociate
themselves from the patriots of other parts of Italy than to
co-operate with them in an united effort. The Carbonari of the
Neapolitan kingdom, who were the entire authors of the revolution,
which, after many unfortunate delays, broke out on the 1st of July,
had good cause for thinking that they were in a position to dictate
terms; the mistake they made was to suppose that a charter conceded by
a Bourbon of Naples could ever be worth the paper on which it was
written. Not only among the people, but in the army the Carbonari had
thousands of followers on whom they could rely, and several whole
regiments were only waiting their orders to rise in open revolt. The
scheme was to take possession of the persons of the King and the royal
family, and retain them as hostages till the Constitution was granted.
Such extreme measures were not necessary. The standard of rebellion
was raised at Monteforte by two officers named Morelli and Silvati,
who had brought over a troop of cavalry from Nola, and by the priest
Menechini. In all Neapolitan insurrections there was sure to be a
priest; the Neapolitan Church, much though there is to be laid to its
account, must be admitted to have frequently shown sympathy with the
popular side. Menechini enjoyed an immense, if brief, popularity which
he used to allay the anger of the mob and to procure the safety of
obnoxious persons. The King sent two generals and a body of troops
against the Chartists, but when the Carbonari symbols were recognised
on the insurgent flags, the troops showed such clear signs of wishing
to go over to the enemy that they were quietly taken back to Naples.
The cry of 'God, the King, and the Constitution,' was taken up through
the land; General Pepe, who had long been a Carbonaro in secret, was
enthusiastically hailed as commander of the Chartist forces, which
practically comprised the whole army. The King was powerless; besides
which, when pushed up into any corner people who do not mind breaking
their word have a facility for hard swearing. On the 13th of July,
Ferdinand standing at the altar of the royal chapel, with his hand on
the Bible, swore to defend and maintain the Constitution which he had
just granted. If he failed to do so, he called upon his subjects to
disobey him, and God to call him to account. These words he read from
a written form; as if they were not enough, he added, with his eyes on
the cross, and his face turned towards heaven: 'Omnipotent God, who
with Thine infinite power canst read the soul of man and the future,
do Thou, if I speak falsely, or intend to break my oath, at this
moment direct the thunder of Thy vengeance on my head.'
The Neapolitans had got their liberties, but they soon found
themselves face to face with perplexities which would have taxed the
powers of men both wiser and more experienced in free government than
they were. In the first place, although a revolution may be made by a
sect, a government cannot be carried on by one. The Carbonari who had
won the day were blind to this self-evident truth; and, to make
matters worse, there was a split in their party, some of them being
disposed to throw off the Bourbon yoke altogether; a natural desire,
but as it was only felt by a minority, it added to the general
confusion. Then came, as it was sure to come, the cry for separation
from Sicily. The Sicilians wanted back the violated constitution
obtained for them by the English in 1812, and would have nothing to do
with that offered them from Naples. In every one of the struggles
between Sicily and Naples, it is impossible to refuse sympathy to the
islanders, who, in the pride of their splendid independent history,
deemed themselves the victims of an inferior race; but it is equally
impossible to ignore that, politically, they were in the wrong. In
union, and in union alone, lay the only chance of resisting the
international plot to keep the South Italian populations in perpetual
bondage. The Sicilian revolt was put down at first mildly, and
finally, as mildness had no effect, with the usual violence by the
Neapolitan Constitutional Government, which could not avoid losing
credit and popularity in the operation. Meanwhile, the three persons
who traded under the name of Europe met at Troppau, and came readily
to the conclusion that 'the sovereigns of the Holy Alliance exercised
an incontestable right in taking common measures of security against
states which the overthrow of authority by revolt placed in a hostile
attitude towards every legitimate government.' The assumption was too
broadly stated, even for Lord Castlereagh's acceptance; but he was
contented to make a gentle protest, which he further nullified by
allowing that, in the present case, intervention was very likely
justified. France expressed no disapproval. Only the Netherlands,
Switzerland, Sweden and Spain gave the Constitutional _régime_ tacit
support by recognising it. The Emperor of Russia was very anxious to
take part in the business, and would have sent off an army instantly
had not his royal brother of Prussia hesitated to consent to the
inconvenience of a Cossack march through his territory. The work was
left, therefore, to the Emperor of Austria. Before entering upon it,
it occurred to these three to invite the King of Naples to meet them
at Laybach. They knew his character.
Ferdinand assured his Parliament that he was going to Laybach solely
to induce the Holy Alliance to think better of its opposition, and to
agree, at least, to all the principal features of the new state of
things. Most foolishly the Parliament, which, according to the
Constitution, might have vetoed his leaving the country, let him go.
Before starting he wrote an open letter to his dear son, the Duke of
Calabria, who was appointed Regent, in which he said: 'I shall defend
the events of the past July before the Congress. I firmly desire the
Spanish Constitution for my kingdom; and although I rely on the
justice of the assembled sovereigns, and on their old friendship,
still it is well to tell you that, in whatever circumstance it may
please God to place me, my course will be what I have manifested on
this sheet, strong and unchangeable either by force or by the flattery
of others.'
Brave words! News came in due time of the sequel. On the 9th of
February 1821, the Regent received a letter from the King, in which he
gave the one piece of advice that the people should submit to their
fate quietly. He was coming back with 50,000 Austrians, and a Russian
army was ready to start if wanted. Nevertheless, to prevent a sudden
outbreak before the foreign troops arrived, the Regent carried on a
game of duplicity to the last, and pretended to second, whilst he
really baulked, the preparations for resistance decreed by Parliament.
Baron Poerio, the father of two patriot martyrs of the future,
sustained the national dignity by urging Parliament to yield only to
force, and to defy the barbarous horde which was bearing down on the
country. The closing scene is soon told. On the 7th of March, in the
mountains near Rieti, General Guglielmo Pepe, with 8000 regular troops
and a handful of militia, encountered an overwhelmingly superior force
of Austrians. The Neapolitans stood out well for six hours, but on the
Austrian reserves coming up, they were completely routed, and obliged
to fly in all directions.
'Order reigned' in the kingdom of Naples. In Sicily, a gallant attempt
at insurrection was begun, but there was not the spirit to go on with
it, and General Rossaroll, its initiator, had to fly to Spain. The
afterpiece is what might have been expected; an insensate desire for
vengeance got hold of Ferdinand, and the last years of his life were
spent in hunting down his enemies, real or imaginary. Morelli and
Silvati were hung, the fugitives, Pepe and Rossaroll, were condemned
to death, but this was only the beginning. The Austrian commander
counselled mercy, but in this respect the King showed an independent
mind. A court-martial was instituted to examine the conduct of
ecclesiastics, public functionaries and soldiers, from the year 1793
downwards. No one was safe who had expressed a dislike of absolutism
within the last thirty years. A blameless gentleman who was a
Carbonaro, was conducted through Naples on the back of an ass, and
beaten with a whip, to which nails were attached. Eight hundred
persons are said to have perished at the hands of the state in one
year. Ferdinand himself expired on the 3rd of January 1825, after
misgoverning for sixty-five years.
The Neapolitan revolution had just collapsed, when another broke out
in Piedmont, which, though short in duration, was to have far-reaching
consequences.
At that time, the King of Sardinia was Victor Emmanuel I., who
succeeded his brother Charles Emmanuel in 1802, when the latter
abdicated and retired to Rome, where he joined the Society of Jesus.
Victor Emmanuel's only son was dead, and the throne would devolve on
his youngest brother, Charles Felix, Duke of Genoa, whom reasons of
state led to abandon the wish to become a monk, which he had formed as
a boy of eleven, on being taken to visit a convent near Turin. But
Charles Felix, though married, was without children, and the
legitimate heir-presumptive was Charles Albert, Prince of Carignano,
who represented the younger branch of the family, which divided from
the main line in the early part of the seventeenth century. Charles
Albert's father was the luckless Prince Charles of Carignano, who,
alone of his house, came to terms with Napoleon, who promised him a
pension, which was not paid. His mother, a Saxon Princess, paraded the
streets of Turin, dressed in the last republican fashion, with her
infant son in her arms. Afterwards, she gave him a miscellaneous
education, that included a large dose of Rousseau from a Swiss
professor. The boy was shifted from place to place, happier when his
mother forgot him, than when, in temporary recollection of his
existence, she called him to her. Once when he was travelling with the
Princess and her second husband, M. de Montléart, Charles Albert was
made to sit on the box of the carriage, in a temperature many degrees
below zero.
His uncles (as the King and Charles Felix called themselves, though
they were his cousins) heard with natural horror of the vagaries of
the Princess of Carignano, and they extended their antipathy from the
mother to the son, even when he was a child. In Victor Emmanuel, this
antipathy was moderated by the easy good-nature of his character; in
Charles Felix, it degenerated into an intense hatred.
It is a singular thing that Prince Metternich, from the very first,
had an instinctive feeling that the unfortunate boy, who seemed the
most hopeless and helpless of human creatures, would prove the evil
genius of the Austrian power. He therefore set to work to deprive him
of his eventual rights. He was confident of success, as fortune had
arranged matters in a manner that offered a ready-made plan for
carrying out the design. Victor Emmanuel had four daughters, precluded
from reigning by the Salic law, which was in force in Piedmont. His
wife, the Queen Maria Teresa, a woman of great beauty and insatiable
ambition, was sister to the Austrian Archduke Francis d'Este, Duke of
Modena. Francis had never married, having been robbed of his intended
bride, the Archduchess Marie-Louise, by her betrothal to Napoleon.
What simpler than to marry the eldest of the Sardinian princesses to
her uncle, abrogate the Salic law, and calmly await the desired
consummation of an Austrian prince, by right of his wife, occupying
the Sardinian throne?
The first step was soon taken; princesses came into the world to be
sacrificed. The plot ran on for some time, the Queen, who was in the
habit of calling Charles Albert 'that little vagrant,' giving it her
indefatigable support. Victor Emmanuel was weak, and stood in
considerable awe of his wife, who had obtained a great ascendancy over
him in the miserable days of their residence in the island of
Sardinia. His nephew, who was almost or wholly unknown to him, partook
of the nature of a disagreeable myth. Nevertheless he had a sense of
justice, as well as Savoy blood, in his veins--he resisted; but the
day came when his surrender seemed probable. Just at that moment,
however, the Duke of Modena prematurely revealed the project by asking
through his representative at the Congress of Vienna for the port of
Spezia, in order that he might conveniently connect his own state with
his prospective possession, the island of Sardinia. Prince Talleyrand
was alarmed by the vision of Austria supreme in the Mediterranean, and
through his opposition the conspiracy, for the time, was upset, and
the rights of Charles Albert were recognised.
Curiously enough, Prince Metternich had insisted on the young Prince,
then seventeen, visiting the headquarters of the Allies. Charles Felix
(who was unconnected with the Modena scheme) wrote a letter to the
King on this subject, in which he stated it as his belief that the
Austrian plan was to get Charles Albert accidentally killed, or to
plunge him in vice, or to make him contract a discreditable marriage.
This was why they had invited him to their camp. He adds the
characteristic remark that their nephew would be in no less danger at
the headquarters of the Duke of Wellington 'à cause de la religion.'
Have him home and have him married, is his advice. 'We are well
treated, because there is the expectation of soon devouring our
remains by extinguishing the House of Savoy. It is the habit of the
cabinet of Vienna; it was thus they made an end of the House of Este.'
These counsels were the more likely to impress Victor Emmanuel from
his knowledge that they were inspired by no shadow of personal
interest in 'the little vagrant,' but by the race-feeling alone. The
Queen contrived to prevent the immediate recall of the Prince of
Carignano, but she was obliged to give way, and he was definitely
established in Piedmont. In 1818 he was married at Florence to the
Archduchess Maria Teresa of Tuscany, who, on the 14th of March 1820,
gave birth to the child that was to become the first King of Italy.
Very soon after his return to his country, the hopes of the Liberal
party began to centre in the young Prince, whom some of their more
ardent spirits already saluted as the rising sun. Those who made his
acquaintance were fascinated by the charm of manner which he could
always exert when he chose, and were confirmed in their hopes by his
evident susceptibility to the magnetism of new ideas and fatalistic
ambitions. What they did not perceive was, that in his nature lay
that ingrained tendency to drift before the wind, which is the most
dangerous thing in politics. In the mid-sea of events he might
change his course without conscious insincerity, but with the
self-abandonment of a mind which, under pressure, loses the sense of
personal responsibility.
In Piedmont, Carbonarism had made great way among the upper classes
and among the younger officers; the flower of the country was enrolled
in its ranks, and the impatience to take some action towards procuring
free institutions for themselves, and doing something for their
Lombard brothers, had reached fever heat in the spring of 1821, when
the affairs of Naples were creating much excitement. The principal
conspirators, noble young men, full of unselfish ardour, were the
chosen friends and companions of the Prince of Carignano. It was
formerly the opinion that they made him the confidant of their plans
from the first, that he was one of them, in short--a Carbonaro bound
by all the oaths and obligations of the society. The judgment of his
conduct afterwards is, of course, much affected by this point; were
the assumption correct, the invectives launched against him, not by
any means only by republican writers, would hardly seem excessive. But
by the light of documents issued in recent times, it appears more just
as well as more charitable to suppose that Charles Albert's complicity
was of a much less precise character. A little encouragement from a
prince goes a long way.
According to his own account, he was taken by surprise when, on the
and or 3rd of March, his friends Carail, Collegno, Santa Rosa and
Lisio came to tell him in secret that they belonged to societies
which had been long working for the independence of Italy, and that
they reckoned on him, knowing well his affection for his country, to
aid them in obtaining from the King some few first concessions, which
would be the prelude of a glorious future. It is clear that he ought
either to have broken with them altogether from that moment or to have
cast his lot with them for good or evil. He tried a middle course. He
induced the conspirators to put off the revolution by which they
intended to enforce their demands, and he conveyed to the King
information of what had happened, asking at the same time that no
measures should be taken against incriminated persons.
In fact, no precautions of any kind seem to have been taken. Victor
Emmanuel, frightened at first, was soon reassured. The revolution, which
was to have begun on the 8th, actually broke out on the 10th of March at
Alessandria, where the counter orders issued at Charles. Albert's
request, after the interview just described, were not obeyed. The
garrison 'pronounced' in favour of the Spanish Constitution. It was now
impossible to draw back. From Alessandria the revolution spread to the
capital. The bulk of the army sympathised with the movement, and relied
on the support of the people. The greatest ladies mixed with the crowds
which gathered under the Carbonaro flag--black, blue and red. On the
other hand, there were a few devoted servants of the House of Savoy who
beheld these novelties with the sensations of a quiet person who sees
from his window the breaking loose of a menagerie. Invincibly ignorant
of all that was really inspiring in this first breath of freedom, they
saw nothing in it but an unwarrantable attack on the authority of their
amiable, if weak, old King, for whom they would gladly have shed every
drop of their blood--not from the rational esteem which the people of
Italy, like the people of England, now feel for their sovereign, but
from the pure passion of loyalty which made the cavalier stand blindly
by his prince, whether he was good or bad, in the right or in the wrong.
Men of their type watched the evolution of Piedmont into Italy from
first to last with the same presentiment of evil, the same moral
incapacity of appreciation. A handful of these loyal servitors hurried
to Victor Emmanuel to offer their assistance. They marshalled their
troop in battle-array in the courtyard of the palace. Their arms were
antiquated pistols and rapiers, and they themselves were veterans, some
of them of eighty years, mounted on steeds as ancient. The King thanked
them, but declined their services; nor would he give _carte blanche_ to
Captain Raimondi, who assured him that with his one company he could
suppress the insurrection if invested with full powers. Soon after this
refusal, a firing of guns announced that the citadel was in the hands
of the insurgents. The troops within and without fraternised; it was a
fine moment for those who knew history and who were bent in their hearts
on driving the foreigner out of Italy. Here at the citadel of Turin,
during the siege of 1706, occurred the memorable deed of Pietro Micca,
the peasant-soldier, who, when he heard the enemy thundering at the door
of the gallery, thought life and the welcome of wife and child and the
happy return to his village of less account than duty, and fired the
mine which sent him and three companies of French Grenadiers to their
final reckoning.
After vacillating for two or three days, Victor Emmanuel abdicated on
the 13th of March. The Queen desired to be appointed regent, but, to
her intense vexation, the appointment was given to Charles Albert. A
more unenviable honour never fell to the lot of man.
Deserted by the ministers of the crown, who resigned in a body, alone
in the midst of a triumphant revolution, appealed to in the name of
those sentiments of patriotism which he could never hear invoked
unmoved, the young Prince uttered the words which were as good as a
surrender: 'I, too, am an Italian!' That evening he allowed the
Spanish Constitution to be proclaimed subject to the arrival of the
orders of the new King.
The new King! No one remembered that there existed such a person. Nor
had anyone recollected that the Spanish Constitution abrogated the
Salic law, and that hence, instead of a new King, they had a new
Queen--the wife of the Duke of Modena! An eminent Turinese
jurisconsulist, who was probably the only possessor of a copy of the
charter in the town which was screaming itself hoarse for it, divulged
this awkward discovery.--Several hours were spent in anxious
discussion, when the brilliant suggestion was made that the article
should be cancelled. The article was cancelled.
But Charles Felix could not be disposed of so easily. The news of the
late events reached him at Modena of all places in the world, the
rallying-point of the Prince of Carignano's bitterest foes. He was not
long in sending his orders. He repudiated everything that had been
done, and commanded Charles Albert, 'if he had a drop of our royal
blood left in his veins,' to leave the capital instantly for Novara,
where he was to await his further instructions.
Charles Albert obeyed. He was accompanied on his journey--or, as it
may be called, his flight--by such of the troops as remained loyal.
At Novara he found a sentence of exile, in a fresh order, to quit
Piedmontese territory. Tuscany was indicated as the state where he was
to reside.
The Austrians crossed the frontier with the consent of the King.
Charles Felix's opinion of Austria has been already given; another
time he said: 'Austria is a sort of bird-lime which, if you get it on
your fingers, you can never rub off.' If anything was needed to
increase his loathing for the revolution, it was the necessity in
which it placed him, as he thought, of calling in this unloved ally.
But Charles Felix was not the man to hesitate. Not caring a straw for
the privilege of wearing a crown himself, his belief in the divine
right of kings, and the obligation to defend it, amounted to
monomania. The Austrian offer was therefore accepted. On her part
Austria declined the obliging proposal of the Czar of a loan of
100,000 men. She felt that she could do the work unaided, nor was she
mistaken.
On the 8th of April the Constitutionalist troops which marched towards
Novara, sanguine that the loyal regiments there quartered would end by
joining them, were met by an armed resistance, in which the
newly-arrived Austrians assisted. Their defeat was complete, and it
was the signal of the downfall of the revolution. The leaders retired
from Turin to Alessandria, and thence to Genoa, that had risen last
and was last to submit. Thus most of them escaped by sea, which was
fortunate, as Charles Felix had the will to establish a White Terror,
and was only prevented by the circumstance that nearly all the
proposed victims were outside his kingdom. Capital sentences were sent
after them by the folio: there was hardly a noble family which had not
one of its members condemned to death. When his brother, Victor
Emmanuel, recommended mercy, he told him that he was entirely ready
to give him back the crown, but that, while he reigned, he should
reign after his own ideas. He seems to have had thoughts of hanging
the Prince of Carignano, and for a long time he seriously meant to
devise the kingdom to his son, the infant Prince Victor. Thus a new
set of obstacles arose between Charles Albert and the throne.
Of the personal friends of that ill-starred Prince all escaped. One of
them, the noble-minded Count Santorre di Santa Rosa, died fighting for
liberty in Greece. In the miseries of exile and poverty he had never
lost faith in his country, but fearlessly maintained that 'the
emancipation of Italy was an event of the nineteenth century.' To
another, Giacinta di Collegno, it was reserved to receive the dying
breath of Charles Albert, when as an exiled and crownless king he
found rest, at last, at Oporto.
There were deeper reasons than any which appear on the surface for the
failure of the revolutionary movements of this period. North and
south, though the populations exhibited a childish delight at the
overthrow of the old, despotic form of government, their effervescence
ended as rapidly as it began. They did not really understand what was
going on. 'By-the-bye, what _is_ this same constitution they are
making such a noise about?' asked a lazzarone who had been shouting
'Viva la Costituzione' all the day. Within a few weeks of the
breakdown at Novara, Count Confalonieri wrote wisely to Gino Capponi
that revolutions are not made by high intelligences, but by the masses
which are moved by enthusiasm, and for a possibility of success, the
word Constitution, the least magical of words, should have been
replaced by the more comprehensible and stirring call: 'War to the
stranger.' But this, instead of sounding from every housetop, was
purposely stifled at Naples, and kept a mysterious secret in
Piedmont.