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