CHAPTER XVIII
Death of Panizzi’s Sister; At Rome; Naples; Mr George Fagan; Interview with Ferdinand II; Spies; The Vicaria.
Panizzi being, as Lord Palmerston stated, a British subject, would have been perfectly safe anywhere on European soil, saving that portion of it occupied by the diminutive but to him important State of Modena, yet with such extensive range he found it impossible to suppress a patriotic yearning for his native town, and determined to visit it on his way southwards. The reader must now bear in mind that we have, in order to avoid confusion, gone back to the year 1851; whereas, in a former chapter, treating of the British Museum and other matters, Panizzi has been described as being at Brescello in 1857.
The fact that Francis V. in 1848, had granted an amnesty to all political offenders, encouraged Panizzi in his resolve. But to be perfectly certain before proceeding he applied to the proper authorities to know if his name was mentioned in this Act of Amnesty, lest it might perchance have been excluded. To this application the answer was in the affirmative, but it was penned, not, as in common courtesy it should have been, by the Minister himself, but by his secretary.
This example of official disrespect filled the recipient with “righteous indignation,” and he wrote (18th of August, 1851) to a near relative of his at Modena in these words:—“His Excellency!!! does not condescend to write himself; perhaps he has more to do than Lord Russell or Lord Palmerston, both of whom always find time to write to me on the very same day.” Thus, notwithstanding all the assurances of the Modenese Government he continued his journey, not caring even to pass through his native country, if he were likely to incur the risk of becoming an object of displeasure and suspicion; conscious, too, that either he himself or the authorities must have very much changed if he were not so.
On reaching Genoa he received news of a sad loss that had befallen him in the death of his sister; and how deeply he was affected by the intelligence may be gleaned from the annexed letter:—
“Rome, 28th October, 1851.
“My dear Haywood,
I have not had the courage even to write to you, owing to the great distress of mind that I have been suffering under since I arrived at Genoa, where I found letters informing me incidentally, and supposing I was aware of it, of the death of my sister, whom I hoped to see a few days after the letters themselves reached me. The news of her death was addressed to London, and has reached it since I left. I felt strongly inclined to give up my journey, and return to England at once. I could not, however, do so, for reasons I need not trouble you with, and so here I am, very melancholy, and not enjoying this most wonderful place as I otherwise should. I arrived here the night before last, and have, of course, seen little; but I have seen St. Peter’s, and what more could I have seen, or can I hope to see one tenth as magnificent? Lord Shrewsbury is here, and had made arrangements to present me to the Pope before I arrived....
Yours, &c., &c.,
A. Panizzi.”
At Rome, Dr. Minzi, who was engaged in ascertaining the origin, and devising the remedy for the fever then prevailing there, encountered his friend Panizzi. The latter, during his stay, was perpetually beset by spies. On leaving, he took the precaution of engaging the company of Minzi, and to him he imparted the following directions:—That, were he carried off at the frontier by police agents, he (Minzi) was to write three letters—one to Sir William Temple, at Naples; a second to Lord Holland, also at Naples; and a third to Lord Shrewsbury. As a matter of fact, he was stopped at the Neapolitan frontier; but, after careful examination of the passport, and much unnecessary delay, was allowed to cross. His name, however, appeared in the so-called Libro Nero.
On his arrival at Naples he proceeded to Lord Holland’s house, at the Palazzo Roccella, where he remained during his sojourn in the place; he now brought all his energies to bear on the acquisition of every possible scrap of information which might further him in his mission. Before long he received help, and this was from Mr. Fagan,[[B]] who, having been Attaché at Naples since June, 1837, was, indeed, the only person who was able to assist Panizzi. The help received from him was in the shape of a letter of introduction to the Signora Parilli, which must be allowed to tell its own story:—
“Dear Mr. Panizzi,
I send you word, through a friend of mine that the Signora Parilli expects you to-morrow morning. She does not know who you are, but introduce yourself as the “friend of Fagan.” An aunt of Poerio is a nun, and knows all about him.
Yours, &c., &c.,
George Fagan.”
[B]. He knew the people and country well. In 1849 he was named Commissioner for the settlement of British claims at Naples, and at Messina in 1851. In 1856 he was appointed Secretary of Legation to the Argentine Confederation, and after arriving at a satisfactory conclusion with respect to the settlement of British claims in Buenos Ayres in 1858, was appointed Chargé d’Affaires to the Republic of Ecuador, and afterwards Minister to Venezuela in 1865, where he died at Caracas, of yellow fever, in 1869.
Shortly afterwards, Panizzi’s interview with Ferdinand II. took place, on which occasion he was accompanied by Mr. Fagan. The day fixed was a Sunday, the hour twelve at noon. At ten minutes to twelve they arrived at the palace, “We are before our time,” said Panizzi, “Now the first question the King will ask, will be “Have you been to Church?” So they at once hastened into the Church opposite (San Francesco di Paolo), and remaining but a couple of minutes, came forth prepared to stand before the King and answer, with clear consciences, this expected question, which in fact was the first the King put to them.
It was quite clear that His Majesty was fully aware, through information obtained from spies, of all Panizzi’s movements. He received him, however, with the greatest courtesy, and almost before he himself had uttered a word, allowed him to talk on the subject of Poerio and Settembrini, and the prisons of Naples. On this theme Panizzi descanted uninterruptedly for full twenty minutes, when the King rose closing the interview with the remarkable words: Addio, terribile Panizzi.
During his stay at Lord Holland’s, the Neapolitan Government, in order that he should take his walks abroad with greater safety, kindly furnished him with constant attendance, in the shape of a pair of trusty followers or spies. It is painful to relate that Panizzi treated their delicate and unobtrusive attention with extremely bad taste, not to say ingratitude. He was never weary of playing tricks on his faithful attendants, of mischievously imposing on them; ably supported in this evil practice by his friend, and notably by Mr. Fagan, he made them deviate from the path in which it was their combined duty and pleasure to walk. Panizzi and his companions would get in and out of cabs, in the manner of a late well-known actor, though not with the intention of bilking the cab-driver. On one occasion, in trying to walk down their pursuers, they became involved in a cul-de-sac, and turning to come out, met their suite face to face. Pursuers and pursued burst into a hearty reciprocal laugh, the latter passed on, and the former fell to their place in the rear, and continued the chase.
Panizzi himself even allowed others to personate him. For example, in one instance he gave out, for the information of his retinue, that he was going on a shooting excursion in the neighbourhood of Naples. The person really bent on this errand was Lord Holland’s physician, Dr. Chepmell, who, in the character of Panizzi, was duly followed about the whole day. Let us hope that these honest members of the Police witnessed, though they had little chance of enjoying, a good day’s sport.
Like all truly great men, and in particular Henry the Great, of France and Navarre, Panizzi, when in the company of his friends, was devoid of all feeling of unofficial personal dignity, and delighted, when not seriously engaged, in little diversions as free, if not as innocent and touching, as those indulged in by that great monarch.
On one occasion—he was by nature so physically sensitive as (to use a common phrase) to be excessively ticklish—Dr. Chepmell, and another intimate friend, Signor Carafa, had got him on the floor and were subjecting him to the titillating operation. They were rolling him in the fire-place—his face was black with charcoal, his clothes white with ashes—when suddenly a servant announced the Duca di X.... who had come to pay his respects to the “Great Pan.” All the astounded Duke could do was to stand in the middle of the room and gaze, speechless, hat in hand, on the unexpected and inexplicable spectacle.
Meantime, leave had been obtained for Panizzi to visit the famous Vicaria. Of this he received information from Lord Feilding, who was to accompany him over the prison:—
“November 18th, 1851.
“My dear Panizzi,
Will you hold yourself in readiness to accompany me over the ‘Vicaria’ to-morrow, in case it can be managed to obtain permission?
Yours, &c., &c., Feilding.”
“November 19th.
“All is arranged for to-day.
Feilding.”
Before visiting the “Vicaria,” he was careful to draw up a most elaborate précis of all the questions to be asked of officials, all portions of the prison worthy of note, and all such points of information as should render his inspection as thorough as possible.
To give, in our own words, an account of this visit would be too long for these pages, but Panizzi, on the following day that he inspected the prison, wrote down a few brief observations, in conjunction with Lord Feilding (November 20th, 1851):—
“The general impression on our minds was most unfavourable. The mixing together of criminals of every description (homicides excepted) without distinction, the total want of occupation for the prisoners, with the exception of about thirty shoemakers who worked in two cells apart, and the fact that prisoners before trial and prisoners after trial are huddled indiscriminately together, are facts which speak for themselves, as to the total unfitness of the Neapolitan prison discipline for the reformation of the offender. A criminal, when he has undergone his term of imprisonment here, must come out infinitely more savage and demoralized than when he went in. Humanity, policy, and religion call loudly for a reform in these sinks of horror.”
The following is Panizzi’s report:—“Yesterday, Wednesday, the 19th of November, 1851, I accompanied Lord Feilding to see the prisons of the “Vicaria.” We got permission through Father Costa, a Jesuit, who came with us, with another father whose name I never heard; the Chief Gaoler and the Inspector of the Police went with us through the gaol. We entered it at a quarter past two o’clock, and left it at three minutes past four by my watch.
“Near the stairs by which we entered there are prisons looking into the quadrangle of the “Vicaria.” As two of the judges, as we were told they were, came downstairs to get into their carriage, the shutters of the prison nearest the bottom of the stairs were closed, and opened immediately after the carriage had driven off.
“Having got upstairs, we entered a small room in which a person sat keeping some register or other, and were immediately ushered into a smaller room, where an inspector sat. On the table we found three different sorts of bread—i.e., common bread, bread for the sick, and bread which is given to the prisoners in the evening. The whole of this bread was good of its kind; the only objection to the evening bread might be its being heavy.
“We entered the first Camerone dei Nobili, which has only one window at the end of it. It is a long, vaulted, low room, very dull, and the atmosphere of which I should call very bad, had we not experienced worse. Off this room, on the left, are six smaller rooms, communicating with the Camerone by doors, some of them closing with railings, and others with oak shutters. In these rooms are kept such prisoners as can afford to pay for better accommodation—that is a small bed, instead of the common beds of the “Camerone.” The air of these rooms was better, because, by leaving the windows open, a thorough draft was created through them. But the air was cold and damp; there was no means of excluding the air and cold. Except in one or two of these rooms there was a paper window instead of glass; in the other there was nothing. So that you must either have the cold from without, or close the enormous oak shutters, and exclude both air and light, not only from each of these rooms themselves, but from the Camerone, which, to a certain extent, receives both, particularly air, from them. The atmosphere at night, when all those windows are closed, must be intolerable; and I am firmly persuaded that, were it not that the shutters are opened to try the soundness of the double row of iron bars by which each window is secured, the inmates would be smothered. These bars are tried five times during the night. Of course, every time this operation takes place, the inmates are roused from their sleep or slumber, and whilst the shutters are open a chilling draft must be created.
“In the Camerone sleep 120 persons.
“We saw no kitchen or infirmary, both being removed to San Francesco; but in the room which was the infirmary, and which is better than the others, we saw a poor fellow lying down asleep, but he seemed to me very ill, and looked like a dead person.”
Of this celebrated prison the writer of these “memoirs” is enabled, from personal observation and knowledge, to give some account.
The Vicaria, or Castel Capuano, was originally situated outside, but is now enclosed within the city of Naples. The first building was erected by William, the Norman, for a Royal Palace, and surrounded by fortifications. Here the Kings of Naples successively resided, until Ferdinand of Arragon demolished the fortifications, thereby rendering it useless as a stronghold.
In the year 1540 the Viceroy, Pedro de Toledo, rebuilt it in its present form, and gave it the name of “Vicaria.” The magnificent chambers (stained with many a crime) were converted into Law Courts, the smaller rooms were utilized as dungeons. For 310 years it remained a so-called “Palazzo di Giustizia.” Of the peculiar species of Justice and Law administered it is hardly necessary to speak, except perhaps to call them by their proper names of cruelty, chicanery, and oppression. Nor is it surprising that during these centuries, ecclesiastical and civil tyranny should have had equal sway within the walls of the “Vicaria.”
In 1848 this vast and gloomy edifice, which stands at the end of the Strada dei Tribunali, bore, carved in stone, in bold relief, over its one heavily barred entrance, that badge of Italian servitude, the Austrian double headed eagle. Near the dungeons were stationed Swiss guards. Inside the gate, and arranged around a circular court-yard, were the houses inhabited by the guardians of the courts, and, in addition to these, the residence of the executioner, whose implements, the scaffold and gallows, and all their appurtenances were displayed outside. Three broad staircases led respectively to the Civil and Criminal Courts and to the cells. As regards these, one door afforded access to the prison reserved for nobility, another to that set apart for the lower orders. Over the last was a picture of the Virgin and Child.
With the Vicaria Vecchia had disappeared many a secret chamber and loathsome living tomb, the remains of Spanish barbarity. According to Celano, 4,000 human beings were at one time immured in these dens, but in the building as it now stands there would not be room for more than 1,500.
Many famous productions have cheered the solitude of these sombre walls. In one of these cells Antonio Sella wrote his first essay on political economy; in another Mattia Prete, the famous Calabrese painter, 1613-1699, was a prisoner and condemned to death. Him, however, the Viceroy reprieved in these graceful words: Vita excellens in arte non debet mori.
Even so late as 1859 the present writer has himself seen the eleven wire cages, swinging between the windows of the buildings, each containing human heads.
The horrors of the Vicaria have been fully dwelt upon here and elsewhere; but we may mention that, on the 22nd of November, Panizzi paid a second visit to the prison with the view of more fully examining certain matters which had either been omitted or superficially surveyed during his first inspection. We forbear, however, from entering further into the horrible details connected with the place, which deserved no better appellation than the one given to it by Mr. Gladstone—a very hell upon earth.
In December Panizzi took his departure for England. He was accompanied to the last by his never failing followers, the spies, who had come[come] to do him the final kind office of seeing him on board. Signor Lacaita, who was also present to bid him adieu, took the liberty of asking them what they wanted and whom they were watching? Quel pezzo grosso (that big fellow), replied they, “and to see that he is safely off.”
In conclusion, an extract from a letter of Lord Shrewsbury’s, after Panizzi’s return, may possibly be read with interest:—
“Palermo, December 28th, 1851.
“Dear Mr. Panizzi,
... What a blessed thing it is that the Coup d’Etat answered so beautifully, and did not place you in the dilemma of either making an immense detour, or of journeying in the midst of those robbers and assassins, the Socialists and Rouges Republicans. One sees now why it was that Kossuth was so anxious to return in the Spring, and what sort of connection our friend Palmerston has made in his chivalrous efforts in endeavouring to promote the cause of national freedom in those nations that stood in need of it! Lamartine did not use a more revolutionary phraseology in his first address to the French Republic, when he announced that the Treaties of 1815 had ceased to exist, and that France “proclaimed herself the intellectual and cordial ally of every right, of every progress, of every legitimate developement of the institutions of nations which wish to live on the same principle as herself.”
Verily those two letters of Esterhazy and Battyani came most seasonably to blow out the Kossuth Bubble, and scatter it to the winds, shewing what an empty notion it was that Kossuth was working for the regeneration of Hungary! I never questioned the honesty or patriotic intentions of our illustrious Foreign Secretary, or that he ever fancied he was not pursuing the best and wisest policy. But it is now clear that he and Lamartine are men of the same school, and that their principles, when attempted to be carried into action under untoward circumstances, and at unseasonable times, will end in disappointment to those who profess them, and in infinite mischief to those in whose favour they are evoked. To no country will this apply more aptly than to that beauteous region from which you are just returned. Her hour is not yet come. She is wholly unfit for the change from Absolute to Constitutional liberty. She has no materials within herself for the new edifice. The Law of 19 in Sicily, and the Code Napoléon in her Continental States, have so utterly deranged the mechanism of her old feudal construction, and uprooted the foundations on which any solid structure could be raised, that it is as clear as it is in France that Socialism and Red Republicanism would turn up instead of a Limited Monarchy the moment you had set the elements at work. Nor had Louis Napoléon a better cause to shew for dissolving the National Assembly than had Ferdinand for sending his Chamber to their homes, and stopping them in the same wild and unprincipled career. One can only, therefore, now legitimately work for her social, not for her political regeneration. Municipal privileges are the only liberties, a good administration of the Law is the only phase of which she is susceptible. Any efforts you may make in these directions may tend to good, and if you and Palmerston will steadily pursue that object only, and by means suitable to their end, you may effect much for the happiness of the people, as well as for the security of the Throne.
Very truly yours, &c.,
Shrewsbury.”
