PREMONITIONS OF THE STORM
1857-1858
Pisacane's Landing--Orsini's Attempt--The Compact of
Plombières--Cavour's Triumph.
In spite of the accusation of favouring political assassination which
was frequently launched against the Italian secret societies, only one
of the faithless Italian princes came to a violent death, and his
murder had no connection with politics. Charles III., Duke of Parma,
was mortally stabbed in March 1854; some said that the assassin was a
groom whom he had struck with a riding-whip; others, that he was the
father or brother of one of the victims of the Duke's dissolute
habits. The Duchess, a daughter of the Duke de Berry, assumed the
Regency on behalf of her son, who was a child. She began by initiating
many reforms; but a street disturbance in July gave Austria the
desired excuse for meddling in the government, when all progress was,
of course, arrested.
In December 1856, a soldier named Ageslao Milano attempted to
assassinate the King of the Two Sicilies at a review. He belonged to
no sect, but he had long premeditated the act. A few days later an
earthquake occurred in the kingdom of Naples, by which over ten
thousand persons lost their lives. Ferdinand II. grew morose, and shut
himself up in the royal palace of Caserta. The constant lectures of
France and England annoyed him without persuading him to take the
means to put a stop to them. Not till 1859 did he open the doors of
the prisons in which Poerio, Settembrini and their companions were
confined. Many plans were made, meanwhile, for their liberation, and
English friends even provided a ship by which they were to escape; but
the ship foundered: perhaps fortunately, as Garibaldi, with
characteristic disinterestedness, had agreed to direct the enterprise,
which could not have been otherwise than perilous, and was not
unlikely to end in the loss of all concerned.
Disaster attended Baron Bentivegna's attempt at a rising at Taormina
in 1856, and Carlo Pisacane's landing at Sapri in the summer of the
following year had no better result. Pisacane, a son of the Duke
Gennaro di San Giovanni of Naples, had fought in the defence of Rome
and was a firm adherent of Mazzini, in conjunction with whom he
planned his unlucky venture. Pisacane watched the growing ascendency
of Piedmont with sorrow; he was one of the few, if not the only one of
his party to say that he would as soon have the dominion of Austria as
that of the House of Savoy. But if he was an extremist in politics,
none the less he was a patriot, who took his life in his hands and
offered it up to his country in the spirit of the noblest devotion. He
had the slenderest hope of success, but he believed that only by such
failures could the people be roused from their apathy. 'For me,' he
wrote, 'it will be victory even if I die on the scaffold. This is all
I can do, and this I do; the rest depends on the country, not on me. I
have only my affections and my life to give, and I give them without
hesitation.'
With the young Baron Nicotera and twenty-three others, Pisacane
embarked on the _Cagliari_, a steamer belonging to a Sardinian
mercantile line, which was bound for Tunis. When at sea, the captain
was frightened into obedience, and the ship's course was directed to
the isle of Ponza, where several hundred prisoners, mostly political,
were undergoing their sentences. The guards made little resistance,
and Pisacane opened the prisons, inviting who would to follow him. The
first plan had been to make a descent on San Stefano, the island where
Settembrini was imprisoned, but that good citizen had refused to admit
the liberation of the non-political prisoners, which was an
unavoidable feature in the scheme. With the addition of about three
hundred men, Pisacane left Ponza for the mainland and disembarked near
the village of Sapri, in the province of Salerno. From information
received, he imagined that a revolutionary movement was on the point
of breaking out in that district. Nothing could be further from the
fact. The country people did all the harm they could to the band,
which, after making a brave stand against the local militia, was cut
to pieces by the royal troops. Pisacane fell fighting; those who were
not killed were taken, and amongst these was Nicotera, who was kept in
prison till set free by Garibaldi.
The _Cagliari_ was captured and detained with its crew. As two of the
seamen were British subjects, the English Government joined Sardinia
in demanding its restitution, which, after long delays, was conceded.
In 1857, the Emperor of Austria relieved Field-Marshal Radetsky, then
in his ninety-third year, of the burden of office. He was given the
right of living in any of the royal palaces, even in the Emperor's own
residence at Vienna, but he preferred to spend the one remaining year
of his life in Italy. At the same time, the Archduke Maximilian was
appointed Viceroy of Lombardy and Venetia. A more naturally amiable
and cultivated Prince never had the evil fate forced upon him of
attempting impossible tasks. Just married to the lovely Princess
Charlotte of Belgium, he came to Italy radiant with happiness, and
wishing to make everyone as happy as he was himself. Not even the
chilling welcome he received damped his enthusiasm, for he thought the
aversion of the population depended on undoubted wrongs, which it was
his full intention to redress. He was to learn two things; firstly,
that the day of reconciliation was past: there were too many ghosts
between the Lombards and Venetians, and the House of Hapsburg.
Secondly, that an unseen hand beyond the Brenner would diligently
thwart each one of his benevolent designs. The system was, and was to
remain, unchanged. It was not carried out quite as it was carried out
in the first years after 1849. The exiles were allowed to return and
the sequestrations were revoked. It should be said, because it shows
the one white spot in Austrian despotism, its civil administration,
that on resuming their rights of ownership the proprietors found that
their estates had not been badly managed. But the depressing and
deadening influence of an anti-national rule continued unabated.
Lombardy and Venetia were governed not from Milan, but from Vienna.
Very small were the crumbs which the Viceroy obtained, though he went
on a journey to Austria expressly to plead for concessions. It is sad
to think what an enlightened heir to the great Austrian empire was
lost, when Napoleon III. and his own family sent Maximilian of
Hapsburg to Queretaro.
While Cavour had come to the conclusion that the aid which he believed
essential for the expulsion of the Austrians could only come from the
French Emperor, this sovereign was regarded by a not inconsiderable
party of Italians as the greatest, if not the sole, obstacle to their
liberation. All those, in particular, who came in contact with the
French exiles, were impressed by them with the notion that France, the
real France, was only waiting for the disappearance of the Man of
December to throw herself into their arms. Among the Italians who held
these opinions, there were a few with whom it became a fixed idea that
the greatest service they could render their country was the removal
of Napoleon from the political scene. They conceived and nourished
the thought independently of one another; they belonged to no league,
but for that reason they were the more dangerous; somewhere or other
there was always someone planning to put an end to the Emperor's life.
It is not worth while to pause to discuss the ethics of political
assassination; civilisation has decided against it, and history proves
its usual failure to promote the desired object. What benefit did the
Confederate cause derive from the assassination of the good President
Lincoln, or the cause of Russian liberty from that of Alexander II.?
What will Anarchy gain by the murder of Carnot? It is certain,
however, that never were men more convinced that they were executing a
wild kind of justice than were the men who plotted against Napoleon
III. They looked upon him as one of themselves who had turned traitor.
There is a great probability that, in his early days when he was
playing at conspiracy in Italy, he was actually enrolled as a
Carbonaro. At all events, he had conspired for Italian freedom, and
afterwards, to serve his own selfish interests, he extinguished it in
Rome. The temporal power of the Pope was kept alive through him.
A true account of the attempts on Napoleon's life will never be written,
because the only persons who were able and willing to throw light on the
subject, ex-police agents and their kind, are authorities whose word is
worth a very limited acceptance. It is pretty sure that there were more
plots than the public ever knew of, and that in some cases the plotters
were disposed of summarily. Most of them were poor, ignorant creatures,
but in January 1858 an attempt was made by a man of an entirely
different stamp, Felice Orsini.
Born at Meldola in Romagna in 1819, he was of the true Romagnol type
in mind and body; daring, resourceful, intolerant of control. From his
earliest youth all his actions had but one object, the liberation of
his country. His youthful brain was enflamed by Alfieri and Foscolo,
who remained his favourite authors. He hated Austria well, and he
hated the Papal government as no one but one of its own subjects could
hate it. 'When the French landed in Italy' (he told his judges) 'it
was hoped that they were come as friends, but they proved the worst of
enemies. For a time they were repulsed, then they resumed the cloak of
friendship, but only to wait for reinforcements. When these arrived
they returned to the assault, a thousand against ten, and we were
judicially assassinated.' A succinct and true narrative.
During the republic Orsini was sent to Ancona, where anarchy had
broken out; by vigorous measures he restored perfect order. In 1854 he
was arrested in Hungary and condemned to death, but he escaped from
Mantua under romantic circumstances and reached England, where the
story of his audacious flight won for him many sympathisers. He was
often seen in society. On one occasion he was asked to meet Prince
Lucien Buonaparte. Orsini knew Mazzini, but he was impatient of his
mystical leanings, and he disapproved of such enterprises as
Pisacane's, by which, as he thought, twenty or thirty men were
sacrificed here or there without anything coming of it. He finally
repudiated Mazzini's leadership, and in March 1857 he wrote to Cavour,
asking him for a passport to return to Italy, and placing at the
disposal of the Sardinian government 'the courage and energy which it
had pleased God to give him,' provided that government left wavering
behind, and showed its unmistakable will to achieve the independence
of Italy. Cavour sent no reply, 'because,' he said later, 'the letter
was noble and energetic, and I should have had to pay Orsini
compliments which I did not deem fitting. 'Unlike Victor Emmanuel, who
in after years carried on regular negotiations with Mazzini, Cavour,
while ready to make an alliance with the Radicals in the Chamber, was
extremely loth to have anything to do with actual revolutionists. His
not answering Orsini's letter certainly led up to the attempt of the
14th of January 1858.
Having quarrelled with Mazzini, and receiving no encouragement from
Cavour, Orsini evolved the plan which on that day he endeavoured to
put into execution. He would have preferred to act alone, but since
that was impossible, he sought and found without much difficulty two
or three accomplices. One of these, Pieri, a teacher of languages, was
arrested by the police, who recognised him as an old conspirator,
before he threw the bomb which he was carrying. The other bombs were
thrown just as the carriage containing the Imperial party drove up to
the opera house. A number of people in the street were killed or
injured, but the Emperor and Empress escaped unhurt. When they entered
the theatre the Rutli scene of the conspirators in _Guillaume Tell_
was being performed. Not a breath of applause greeted them, though
everyone knew what had happened. Napoleon III. had a striking proof of
how little hold he possessed on the affections of his subjects.
When at his trial Orsini was asked what he expected would happen if he
had succeeded in killing the Emperor he answered: 'We were convinced
that the surest way of making a revolution in Italy was to excite one
in France, and that the surest way of making a revolution in France
was to kill the Emperor.' There is a good deal of curious evidence to
show that very elaborate preparations had been made for a revolution
in Paris. The French police had orders, however, to keep all this
aspect of the affair out of sight. It was to be made to appear the
isolated act of a misguided Italian patriot. 'The world possesses an
Orsini legend,' writes the late Duke of Saxe-Coburg, who was present
at the event, having been invited to join the Emperor at the opera,
'which is quite at variance with facts.' The duke clearly thinks that
the conviction of the instability of his throne which was brought home
to the Emperor on this occasion, was one of the causes which decided
him to try the diversion of public opinion into other channels by
means of a foreign war.
Everything was done to make Orsini a hero in the eyes of the French
public, and to excite sympathy in his cause. Jules Favre by his
eloquent defence in which he pleaded not for the life, but for the
honour of his client, and still more Orsini's own letter to the
Emperor, produced a powerful impression; there was a dramatic interest
in the man who, disdaining to crave clemency for himself, tried a last
supreme effort in the service of the country he had loved too well.
'Deliver my fatherland, and the blessings of twenty-five million
citizens will be with you.' So concluded the letter in which Orsini
told Napoleon, that till Italy was free there would be no peace for
Europe--nor for him. It was whispered that the Emperor had a secret
interview with the condemned man at the Mazas prison; at any rate,
when Orsini mounted the scaffold, he was borne up, not only by his
invincible courage, but by the strongest hope, if not the certainty
that his last prayer would have only a short time to wait for
fulfilment.
Though persons who were able to read the signs of the times no longer
doubted that Napoleon had resolved to solve the Italian question by
force of arms, it suited his purpose to occupy the public mind for the
moment with the furious agitation against England and Piedmont as
'dens of assassins,' which led to the fall of the Palmerston
administration on the Conspiracy Bill, and seemed to almost place in
jeopardy the throne of Victor Emmanuel. Napoleon sent the King of
Sardinia demands so sweeping in language so threatening, that the old
Savoy blood was fired, and Victor Emmanuel returned the answer: 'Tell
the Emperor in whatever terms you think best that this is not the way
to treat a faithful ally; that I have never tolerated violence from
anyone; that I follow the path of unstained honour, and for that
honour I am only answerable to God and to my people. That we have
carried our head high for 850 years, and no one will make me lower it;
and that, nevertheless, I desire nothing better than to remain his
friend.' This reply was benevolently received; Cavour passed through
the Chambers a bill which, though not corresponding to the extravagant
pretensions of the French Government, gave reasonable security against
the concoction of plots of a criminal nature; Napoleon expressed
himself satisfied, and three months after, despatched Dr Conneau to
Turin, to mention, quite by the way, to the Piedmontese minister, that
he would be glad to have a conversation with him on Italian affairs.
This was the preliminary of the interview of Plombières.
Plombières is a watering-place in the Vosges, which became famous on
the 20th of July 1858, the day on which Napoleon III. and Cavour
entered into the compact that laid down the conditions of the Italian
war. The Emperor was to bring 200,000 men into Italy, and the King of
Sardinia undertook to furnish 100,000. The Austrians were to be
expelled from Italy. The kingdom of Upper Italy would embrace the
Legations and the Marches then under the Pope. Savoy would be ceded
to France. The marriage of the Emperor's cousin with the Princess
Clotilde was not made a condition of the war, and only in case it had
been made a condition, was Cavour empowered to agree to it. He,
therefore, left it uncertain; but he came away from Plombières
convinced that nearly everything depended upon its happening. Napoleon
was beyond measure anxious for a marriage which would ally him with
one of the oldest reigning families in Europe. It would be a fatal
mistake, Cavour thought, to join the Emperor, and at the same time, to
offend him in a way which he would never forget. Directly after the
interview, he wrote a long letter to the King to persuade him to yield
the point. After all, where would the Princess find a more promising
match? Was it easy to provide husbands for princesses? Were not they
generally extremely unhappy in marriage? What had happened to the
King's four aunts, all charming princesses, who had married the Duke
of Modena, the Duke of Lucca, the Emperor Ferdinand of Austria, and
the King of Naples? Had they been happy? Prince Napoleon could not be
so very bad, as he was known to have hurried to Cannes to pay a last
visit to a woman whom he had loved, a great actress, then upon her
deathbed. This reminiscence was a singular one to evoke under the
circumstances, but Cavour was not an Englishman, and he was not
impressed by the propriety of drawing a veil over facts which everyone
knew.
The King's instinct told him that his young daughter, pious and simple
and destitute even of that seasoning of vanity which is so good and
necessary a thing in a woman, but proud at heart like all her race,
would derive no compensation from the outward brilliancy of the
Imperial Court for the absence of domestic joy which would be her
wedded lot unless a surprising change came over the bridegroom. When,
however, he was persuaded of the importance, or rather, of the
essential character of the concession, he said to Cavour: 'I am making
a great sacrifice, but I yield to your arguments. Still my consent is
subordinate to the freely given consent of my daughter.' The matter
was referred to the Princess, who answered: 'It is the wish of my
father; therefore this marriage will be useful to my family and my
country, and I accept.' An answer worthy of one who, twelve years
later, when the members of the Imperial House were flying, remained
quietly in Paris, saying: 'Savoy and fear are not acquainted.'
The marriage was celebrated at Turin in January. The King made a
present to Cavour, as a souvenir of the event, of a ring representing
two heartseases. In thanking him, the minister said: 'Your Majesty
knows that I shall never marry.' 'I know,' replied the King; 'your
bride is the country.'
Though warlike rumours circulated off and on, the secret of the
understanding arrived at in the Plombières interview was well
preserved, and the words spoken by Napoleon to the Austrian Ambassador
at the New Year's Day reception fell on Europe with the effect of a
bombshell. Turning to Baron Hubner, he said: 'Je regrette que les
relations entre nous soient si mauvaises; dîtes cependant à votre
souverain que mes sentiments pour lui ne sont pas changés.'
Even Cavour was startled. Probably till that moment he had never felt
sure that Napoleon would not after all throw the Italian cause to the
winds. The Emperor's invariable method in dealing with men was to
mystify them. He was pleased to pose as a faithful ally, but human
intellect was insufficient to fathom what he meant. On this system,
skilfully pursued, was reared the whole fabric of Louis Napoleon's
reputation for being a profound politician. Bearing the fact in mind,
we can easily see why that reputation crumbled away almost entirely
when the present became the past. There are few cases in which there
is more disagreement between the judgment of contemporaries and that
of immediate posterity than the case of the French Emperor.
The least surprised, and, among Italians, the most dissatisfied at the
New Year's Day pronouncement was Mazzini, who when he read it in the
_Times_ next morning felt that the Napoleonic war closed the heroic
period of Italian Liberation. To men like Mazzini failure is apt to
seem more heroic than success, and the war of 1859 did close the
period of failure. The justification for calling in foreign arms could
only be in necessity, and Mazzini denied the necessity. Charles Albert
denied it in 1848 with no less confident a voice. Then, indeed, there
did appear a chance of Italy making herself, but was there the
slightest prospect, eleven years later, of that chance being repeated?
Each student of history may answer for himself. What is plain is, that
France and Sardinia _together_ were to find it an exceedingly hard
task even to drive the Austrians out of Lombardy.
The unconquerable dislike of men of principle, like Mazzini, to
joining hands with the author of the _coup d'état_ was perfectly
explicable. There were doubtless some sincere Bulgarian patriots who
disliked joining hands with the Autocrat of all the Russias. The gift
of freedom from a despot means a long list of evils. Mazzini grasped
the maleficent influence which Napoleon III. would be in a position to
exercise over the young state; he knew, moreover, when only two or
three other persons in Europe knew it, that the bargain of Plombières
was on the principle of give-and-take. How Mazzini was for many years
better informed than any cabinet in Europe, remains a secret. 'I know
positively,' he wrote on the 4th of January 1859, 'that the idea of
the war is only to hand over a zone of Lombardy to Piedmont, and the
cession of Savoy and Nice to France: the peace, upon the offer of
which they count, would abandon the whole of Venetia to Austria.' A
month before this he had disclosed what was certainly true, namely,
that Napoleon wanted to place a Murat on the throne of Naples, and to
substitute Prince Napoleon for the Grand Duke of Tuscany. The point
that is doubtful in the above revelation is the statement that the
Emperor never meant to emancipate Venetia. The probabilities are
against this. He may, however, have questioned all along whether his
troops, with those of the King of Sardinia, would display a
superiority over the Austrian forces sufficiently incontestable for
him to risk taking them into the mouse-trap of the Quadrilateral. In
this one thing Napoleon was amply justified--in having no sort of
desire to take a beaten army back to Paris.
Mazzini, with the more extreme members of the Party of Action
(including Crispi), issued a protest against the Napoleonic war, with
the advice to have nothing to do with it or its authors. But Italy
thought otherwise, and Garibaldi, the man who of all others most
nearly represented the heart of Italy, rejoiced and was glad. He did
not believe a word about the proposed cession of Savoy and Nice; no
one did, except Mazzini and his few disciples. What he saw was, that a
great step towards independence was about to be taken. In 1856, he not
only adhered to Manin's call to all Italians to rally round the house
of Savoy, but went further than Manin in accepting unconditionally
what he called the 'Savoy Dictatorship,' to which he left full liberty
of choice in the matter of ways and means. He did justice then to
Cavour's patriotism: it was only after the sacrifice of Nice that a
feeling of bitter antagonism grew up in him for the man who he thought
had deceived Italy and himself. In December 1858, on a summons from
Cavour, he left Caprera (the island which he had bought with a little
inheritance falling to him on the death of his brother) and proceeded
to Turin, where he was informed of a plan for a rising in Massa and
Carrara, which was originally intended to be the signal of the war.
The plan was given up, but in March 1859, Garibaldi was told by Victor
Emmanuel in person of the imminence of war, and was invited to take
part in it as commander of an auxiliary corps of volunteers which took
the name of 'Cacciatori delle Alpi.' In this way, all his own
followers, not only those in arms, but the great mass of the people
which was obedient to his lead, became enrolled in the service of the
Sardinian monarchy; a fact of capital importance in the future
development of affairs. Without it, the Italian kingdom could not have
been formed. And this fact was due to Cavour, who had to fight the
arrayed strength of the old, narrow, military caste at Turin, which
had succeeded in getting Garibaldi's sword refused in 1848, and wished
for nothing in the world more than to get it refused in 1859. Near the
end of his life, Cavour said in the Chamber that the difficulties he
encountered in inducing the Sardinian War Office to sanction the
appointment were all but insurmountable. Unfortunately, the jealousy
of the heads of the regular army for the revolutionary captain never
ceased. As for Cavour, even when he opposed Garibaldi politically, he
always strove to have the highest personal honour paid to the man of
whom he once wrote 'that he had rendered Italy the greatest service
it was possible to render her.'
True to his _rôle_ of mystification, one week after the shot fired on
the 1st of January, Napoleon inserted an official statement in the
_Moniteur_ to the effect that, although public opinion had been
agitated by alarming rumours, there was nothing in the foreign
relations of France to justify the fears these rumours tended to
create. He continued on this tack, with more or less consistency, to
the very verge of the outbreak of hostilities. 'The Empire was peace,'
as it was always announced to be in the intervals when it was not war;
there was no more harmless dove in Europe than the person enthroned in
the Tuileries. These assurances were given more credence than they
deserved by the Conservative Cabinet then in power in England, and the
British ministers believed to the last that war would be averted, to
which end they strained every nerve. Besides the wish felt by every
English government to preserve European peace, there was at this
juncture, not only in the Cabinet, but in the country, so much fear of
Napoleon's ambition and restlessness, that for the time being,
sympathy with Italy was relegated to a second place.
Meanwhile there was no want of plainness in the language employed in
Piedmont. In opening the second session of the sixth Sardinian
Parliament, Victor Emmanuel pronounced, on 10th January, the historic
phrase declaring that he could not remain insensible to the cry of
grief, _il grido di dolore_, that reached him from all parts of Italy.
Every corner of the fair country where the _Si_ sounds was electrified.
The words, as has since become known, were introduced into the speech by
the King himself. As Cavour had foreseen, Austria played into his hands.
To Lord Malmesbury's appeal to evacuate the Roman Legations, and to use
Austrian influence with the Italian princes in procuring the concession
of necessary reforms, Count Buol replied in terms that were the reverse
of obliging: 'We do not mean to abdicate our right of intervention, and
if we are called upon to help the Italian sovereigns with our arms, we
shall do so. We shall not recommend their governments to undertake any
reforms. France plays the part of protectress of nationalities; we are,
and shall be, protectors of dynastic rights.' Finally, England proposed
a congress with a view to general disarmament. Piedmont, counting on the
madness of her adversary, risked agreement with this plan. Austria gave
a peremptory refusal to have anything to do with it.
Cavour now asked Parliament to vote a war loan of £2,000,000, which
was passed by a majority of 81 out of 151 votes. No foreign banker
would undertake to negotiate the loan, but it was twice covered by
Italian buyers, nearly all small capitalists, who put their money into
it as a patriotic duty. Amongst the few deputies who opposed the loan
was the old apostle of retrogression, Count Solaro della Margherita,
who raised his solitary voice against the tide of revolution; and the
Savoyard the Marquis Costa de Beauregard whose speech was pathetic
from the melancholy foreboding which pervaded it that the making
of Italy meant the unmaking of Savoy. Speaking in the name of his
fellow-countrymen, the Marquis reconfirmed the profound love of
Savoy for her Royal House and her total lack of solidarity with the
aspirations of Italy. With time the Savoyards might have learnt to be
Italians as their king had learnt to be an Italian king. Or they might
not. Possibly the best solution would have been to join Savoy to the
Swiss Confederation, though the martial instincts of the race were not
favourable to their Conversion into peaceful Helvetic citizens. From
one point of view, that of military defence, the retention of the
province was of infinitely more moment to the future Italy than to
little Piedmont. Sardinia could keep the peace with France for an
indefinite period; Italy cannot. What is true of Savoy is far more
true of Nice. To have it in foreign keeping is to have a very
partially reformed burglar inside your house.
'Notre roi,' said an old ragged fisherman of the Lac de Bourget to the
writer of this book,--'Notre roi nous a vendus.' Not willingly did
Victor Emmanuel incur that charge, in which the rebound from love to
hate was so clearly heard; not willingly did he give up Maurienne,
cradle of his race, Hautecombe, grave of his fathers. It was the
greatest sacrifice, he said, that Italy could have asked of him. Nor
is there any reason to doubt his word. But it is incorrect to suppose,
as many have supposed, that Cavour promised at Plombières to give up
Savoy (Nice he did not promise) without the King's knowledge. Before
he went there, he had brought Victor Emmanuel over to his own belief,
justified or not, that without a bait Napoleon could not be got to
move. Directly after the interview, he wrote a full account of it to
the King, in which he said: 'When the future fate of Italy was
arranged, the Emperor asked me what France would have, and if your
Majesty would cede Savoy and the county of Nice?' To which Cavour
answered 'Yes' as to Savoy, but objected that Nice was essentially
Italian. The Emperor twirled his moustache several times, and only
said that these were secondary questions, about which there would be
time to think later.
Austria was always appealing to the right of treaties and the right
of nations; not, as it happened, with much reason, for she had ridden
or tried to ride rough-shod through as many treaties and through quite
as many rights as most European Powers. In 1816 she was so determined
to possess herself of Alessandria and the Upper Novarese that Lord
Castlereagh advised Piedmont to join the Austrian Confederation, as
then and only then the Emperor might withdraw his pretensions to this
large slice of territory of a Prince with whom he was at peace. If he
did withdraw them, it was not from respect for the treaties which, a
year before, had confirmed the King of Sardinia's rights as an
independent sovereign, but from respect for the untoward results to
himself which he was afraid, on reflection, might arise from enforcing
his claims with the bayonet. But people forget; and it was of vital
consequence that virtuous Austria should figure in the coming conflict
not as the victim of aggression but as the aggressor. On all sides it
was said that the Austrian Government would never commit an error of
such magnitude; only Cavour thought the contrary. 'I shall _force_ her
to declare war against us,' he told Mr Odo Russell in December 1858.
When asked by the incredulous diplomatist at what date he expected to
perform so great a feat, Cavour quietly answered: 'In the first week
of May.' War was actually declared a few days sooner.
For months Austria had been pouring troops into Italy, a large portion
of which were massed on the frontier line of the Ticino. Who shall
count the number of the men brought to fight and die in the Italian
plains between 1848 and 1866 to sustain for that short time the weight
of a condemned despotism? The supply was inexhaustible; they came from
the Hungarian steppes, from the green valleys of Styria, from the
mountains of Tyrol, from the woodlands of the Banat and of Bohemia; a
blind million battling for a chimera. They came, and how many did not
return?
Austria's final refusal to adhere to the Congress scheme meant, of
course, war, and Cavour called the Chamber and demanded a vote
conferring upon Government the power to take such prompt measures as
the situation required. 'We trust,' he said, 'that the Chamber will
not hesitate to sanction the proposal to invest the King with plenary
powers. Who could be a better guardian of our liberty? Who more worthy
of the faith of the nation? He it is whose name a ten years' reign had
made synonymous with honour and loyalty; who has always held high the
tricolor standard of Italy, who now prepares to unsheath his sword for
freedom and independence.'
When Cavour walked out of the Chamber after the vote had been taken,
he said: 'I am leaving the last sitting of the Piedmontese Parliament,
the next will be that of the Kingdom of Italy.' At that moment, if
ever in his career, the great minister who had fought so long a fight
against incalculable obstacles learnt what it is to taste the
sweetness of triumph.