Our host of the Feder was not wrong. There was not a word of
exaggeration in what he said of Spezia. It could contain all the
harbours of France and England, and have room for all the fleets of
Europe besides. About seven miles in depth, and varying in width from
two to three and a half, it is fissured on every side by beautiful
little bays, with deep water everywhere, and not a sunk rock, or shoal,
or a bar, throughout the whole extent. Even the sea-opening of the Gulf
has its protection by the long coast-line of Tuscany, stretching away
to the southward and eastward, so that the security is perfect, and a
vessel once anchored within the headlands between Lerici and Palmaria is
as safe as in dock.
The first idea of making a great arsenal and naval depot of Spezia came
from the Great Emperor. It is said that he was not more than one day
there, but in that time he planned the fort which bears his name, and
showed how the port could be rendered all but impregnable. Cavour took
up the notion, and pursued it with all his wonted energy and activity
during the last three or four years of his life. He carried through the
Chamber his project, and obtained a vote for upwards of two millions
sterling; but his death, which occurred soon after, was a serious blow
to the undertaking; and, like most of the political legacies of the
great statesman, the arsenal of Spezia fell into the hands of weak
executors.
The first great blunder committed was to accord the chief contract to
a bubble company, who sold it, to be again resold; so that it is said
something like fifteen changes of proprietary occurred before the first
spadeful of earth was turned.
The inordinate jealousy Italians have of foreigners, and their fear lest
they should “utilise” Italy, and carry away all her wealth with them,
has been the source of innumerable mistakes. From this, and their
own ignorance of marine engineering, Spezia has already, without the
slightest evidence of a commencement, swallowed up above eight millions
of francs--the only palpable results being the disfigurement of a very
beautiful road, and the bankruptcy of some half-dozen contractors.
There is nothing of which one hears more, than of the readiness and
facility with which an Italian learns a new art or a new trade, adapts
himself to the use of new tools, and acquires a dexterity in the
management of new machinery.
Every newly-come English engineer was struck with this, and expressed
freely his anticipations of what so gifted a people might become.
After a while, however, if questioned, he would confess himself
disappointed--that after the first extraordinary show of intelligence
no progress was made--that they seemed marvellous in the initiative, but
did nothing after. They speedily grew weary of whatever they could do or
say, no matter in what fashion, and impatiently desired to try something
new. The John Bull contentedness to attain perfection in some one
branch, and never ask to go beyond it, was a sentiment they could not
understand. Every one, in fact, would have liked to do everything, and,
as a consequence, do it exceedingly ill.
Assuredly the Count Cavour was the political Marquis de Carabas of
Italy. Everything you see was his! No other head seemed to contrive, no
other eye to see, nor ear to hear. These railroads--as much for military
movements as passenger traffic--this colossal harbour, even to the two
iron-clads that lie there at anchor--were all of his designing. They
are ugly-looking craft, and have a look of pontoons rather than ships
of war; but they are strong, and have a low draught of water, and were
intended especially for the attack of Venice, just when the Emperor
pulled up short at Villafranca. It is not generally known, I believe,
but I can vouch for the fact, that so terrified were the Austrians on
receiving at Venice the disastrous news of Solferino, that three of the
largest steamers of the Austrian Lloyd’s Company were brought up, and
sunk within twelve hours after the battle. So hurriedly was the whole
done that no time was given to remove the steward’s stores, and the
vessels went down as they stood!
This reminds me of a little incident, for whose exact truth I can
guarantee. On the day of the battle of Solferino, the Austrian Envoy
at Rome dined with the Cardinal Antonelli. It was a very joyous little
dinner, each in the highest spirits--satisfied with the present, and
full of hope for the future. The telegram which arrived at mid-day told
that the troops were in motion, and that the artillery fire had already
opened. The position was a noble one--the army full of spirit, and all
confident that before the sun should set the tide of victory would have
turned, and the white legions of the Danube be in hot pursuit of their
flying enemy. Indeed, the Envoy came to dinner fortified with a mass of
letters from men high in command, all of which assumed as indisputable
that the French must be beaten. Of the Italians they never spoke at all.
As the two friends sat over the dessert, they discussed what at that
precise moment might be going on over the battle-field. Was the conflict
still continuing? Had the French reserves been brought up? Had they,
too, been thrown back, beaten and disordered? and where was the fourth
corps under the Prince Napoleon? They were forty thousand strong--could
they have arrived in time from the Po? All these casualties, and many
others, did they talk over, but never once launching a doubt as to the
issue, or ever dreaming that the day was not to reverse all the late
past, and bring back the Austrians in triumph to Milan.
As they sat, the Prefect of Police was announced and introduced. He
came with the list of the persons who were to be arrested and sent to
prison--they were one hundred and eighteen, some of them among the first
families of Rome--so soon as certain tidings of the victory arrived, and
the game of reaction might be safe to begin.
“No news yet, Signor Prefetto! come back at ten,” said the Cardinal
At ten he presented himself once more. The Cardinal and his friend were
taking coffee, but less joyous, it seemed, than before. At least they
looked anxious for news, and started at every noise in the street that
might announce new-come tidings. “We have heard nothing since you were
here,” said the Cardinal. “His Excellency thinks that, at a moment
of immense exigency, they may not have immediately bethought them of
sending off a despatch.”
“There can be no doubt what the news will be when it comes,” said the
Envoy, “and I’d say, make the arrests at once.”
“I don’t know; I’m not sure. I think I’d rather counsel a little more
patience,” said the Cardinal. “What if you were to come back at, let us
say, midnight.” The Prefect bowed, and withdrew.
At midnight it was the same scene, only that the actors were more
agitated; the Envoy, at least, worked up to a degree of impatience that
bordered on fever; for while he persisted in declaring that the result
was certain, he continued to censure, in very-severe terms, the culpable
carelessness of those charged with the transmission of news. “Ah!” cried
he, “there it comes at last!” and a loud summons at the bell resounded
through the house.
“A telegram, Eminence,” said the servant, entering with the despatch.
The Envoy tore it open: there were but two words,--“_Sanglante
déroute_.”
The Cardinal took the paper from the hands of the overwhelmed and
panic-struck minister, and read it. He stood for a few seconds gazing on
the words, not a line or lineament in his face betraying the slightest
emotion; then, turning to the Envoy, he said, “Bon soir; allons dormir;”
and moved away with his usual quick little step, and retired.
And all this time I have been forgetting the Italian fleet, which lies
yonder beneath me. The Garibaldi, that they took from the Neapolitans;
the Duca di Genova, the Maria Adelaide, and the Regina are there, all
screw-propellers of fifty guns each; the Etna, a steam-corvette; and
some six or seven old sailing craft, used as school ships; and, lastly,
the two cuirassée gunboats, Formidabile and Terribile, and which, with a
jealousy imitated from the French, no one is admitted on board of.
They are provided with “rams” under the water-line, and have a strange
apparatus by which about one-third of the deck towards the bow can be
raised, like the lid of a snuff-box, leaving the forepart of the ship
almost on a level with the water. Under what circumstances, and how,
this provision is to be made available, I have not the very vaguest
conception.
These vessels were never intended as sea-going ships; and the batteries
are an exaggeration of the mistake in the Gloire, for even with the
slightest sea the ports must be closed. Besides this defect, they roll
abominably, and with a full head of steam on they cannot accomplish
seven knots.
Turning from the ships to the harbour, I could not help thinking of
Sydney Smith’s remark on the Reform Club, “I prefer your room to your
company;” for, after all, what a sorry stud it is for such a magnificent
stable! It is but a beginning, you will say. True enough, and so is
everything just now here; but, except the Genoese, the Italians have few
real sailors. There are no deep-sea fisheries, and the small craft which
creep along close to shore are not the nurseries of seamen. The world,
however, has resolved, by a large vote, to be hopeful about Italy; and,
of course, she will have a fleet, as she will have all the trade of the
Levant, immensely productive mines, and vast regions of cotton. “What
for no?” as Meg Dodds says; but I can’t help thinking there are no
people in Europe so much alike as the Italians and the Irish; and I ask
myself, How is it that every one is so sanguine about the one, and
so hopeless about the other? Why do we hear of the capacity and the
intelligence of the former, and only of the latter what pertains to
their ignorance and their sloth? Oh! unjust generation of men! have
not my poor countrymen all the qualities you extol in these same
Peninsulars, plus a few others not to be disparaged?