CHAPTER XXVIII
Senator of Italy; Correspondence; Illness; Priests; Athenæum Club, Knighthood; Friends; Death; Etching; The End.
Our book approaches the end. Such materials as we have deemed it expedient to use in recording the events of a laborious life are almost exhausted, and it is necessary to look around and see that nothing has been omitted which may tend to illustrate Panizzi’s unaspiring yet truly estimable character. Had he sought worldly distinctions he might have had more than his share of such unenduring and too often unmerited tokens of flattery. Those that he did accept were for the most part received with extreme shyness, if not with genuine reluctance. They were forced upon him, nor did he assume them until he was out of office.
In the autumn of 1865, Panizzi received a letter from Signor Nicomede Bianchi, announcing that the King of Italy desired to create him a Senator of the Kingdom. Conscious of his official position, he felt great difficulty and delicacy in accepting the high honour intended to be conferred upon him, and applied to Mr. Gladstone, as was his almost invariable custom, for guidance and advice. He received the following answer:—
“September 30,
1865.
“Upon reading your very interesting letter, I, like you, feel myself in a strait. I am loth to say anything that may tend to even your partial removal from among us; yet I cannot doubt that if a fair regard to your health and personal comfort will permit, you should accept the offer of the King of Italy. I know not what will be the precise effect on the convenience of the existing Administration, or even on the Museum. But without stopping—for I must not stop—to ask, I think that, considering the difficulty and importance of constituting a Second Chamber or Senate and of doing it in the best manner, and the advantage to it of your character, prowess, long English experience, and thorough knowledge of our constitution, I feel that you have before you a door opened for rendering great services to your other country in the hour of her need, and that such an opportunity cannot be generously refused, though I hope acceptance will not practically remove you from us. I rather blush while writing thus. Perhaps you will consult some other friend. On my own responsibility I mentioned the matter recently to my host. He agrees with me.
“The great Italian question needs all the strength that can be applied to it ... I must not omit to say that while I have written the first part of this letter with very mixed feelings, I dwell with unmingled pleasure on the high and honourable and most just tribute which this offer pays to your character, abilities, and distinctions.
“Believe me ever
“Your attached friend,
“W. E. Gladstone.”
Three years afterwards—on the 12th of March, 1868—Victor Emmanuel confirmed the proposed appointment, and on the 22nd of April following made Panizzi a Commander of the Order of the Crown of Italy. A letter, dated April 15th, to Mrs. Haywood, refers to this subject:—
“It is more than three years that I am offered to be made a Senator in Italy, it is a great honour. I begged to be excused, and I only accepted it when it was offered by the present Minister Menabrea, a man of honour and character. The offer came after the Mentana affair, that is at the time that poor Italy was most unfairly run down by everybody. I did not think I ought to shrink from doing what I could for my native country at such a moment, and had I not been taken ill as I was, I should have gone at once to take my seat.”
The last words refer to an attack which, in January, 1868, reached a climax so severe that his life was despaired of by his medical advisers. His friends were unremitting in their attentions; amongst them may be specially named Mr. Winter Jones, Mr. Newton, Sir James Lacaita, and Mr. C. Cannon. The sufferer rallied, and when he had attained sufficient strength went for a short time to Hastings, the air of which watering-place greatly benefited him.
This illness must not be dismissed from notice without placing before our readers a most characteristic extract from a “Memorandum” which speaks for itself:—
“31, Bloomsbury Square,
April 14, 1868.
“It having come to my knowledge that during my last illness a priest, who had never been called in by me or by my orders, pushed himself into my house, when he was with great difficulty hindered from forcing himself into my bedroom, where I was lying very ill, he alleging that he had been sent by some nameless or unknown person; in order to prevent so vile and so impudent an attempt from being successful if repeated, I warmly beseech my medical attendants, as well as my true friends, and I order my servants to forbid by all means in their power any person not sent for by me, or not known as one whose visit I should like to receive, from having access to my presence, were he unfortunately admitted into the house.”
It may seem strange to some that Panizzi thus strongly and decidedly expressed himself in regard to a priest of his own Church: it can scarcely appear, however, in this light to any one who has attentively studied his character, as pourtrayed in these pages. However disinterested might be the zeal of the Roman clergy—and even of this the sick man seems to have had some little doubt—the officious importunity of this particular ecclesiastic was hardly fitted to commend him to the patient, whom an assumption of spiritual authority would have disgusted at all times; it was, therefore, but natural that he should resent the attempted intrusion of a stranger on his presumed helplessness.
He knew all the insidious arts of the Church to which he nominally belonged, and of the religion which he always professed; at the same time he was perfectly aware of the character of the doctrines which, even with the best intentions, the most worthy of the Romish priesthood are bound to inculcate. Knowing all this, he avoided controversy on the subject: if it were introduced in conversation, he would say, I am a Roman Catholic, and there was an end. Such being his ordinary frame of mind, his indignation was aroused at any attempt to pester him on analogous themes in his state of prostration.
No more need be said here to account for the peremptoriness of the “Memorandum.”
About this period Panizzi wrote from Montpellier to the biographer, then travelling in South America:—“As you know, I have been very ill, and I really thought I should not see you again. I hear you are likely to come back. My expenses are frightful, or I should offer to pay your voyage. This climate, or rather Italy, would suit me very well; I could not live in France. The French, and especially the Emperor, have behaved very ill, perhaps cruelly to Italy. On the other hand, the Italians have acted like idiots. I should pass my time arguing and getting angry: so, if I can succeed, I shall return to England; but probably I shall die on the road.“
The present writer returned in June, 1869, and with great regret clearly perceived the ravages in his friend’s appearance caused by the late severe illness.
Many attempts had been made by friends to induce Panizzi to allow his name to be proposed to the committee of the Athenæum Club for election as a member. Sir Roderick Murchison wrote to him “that he would really be much gratified in seeing those services recognised in the manner he proposed by his (Panizzi’s) contemporaries in science, art, and letters.” To this proposal, honourable as it was, he did not accede. Sir Roderick did not allow the matter to drop, but, in the beginning of 1866, wrote again pressing the subject on his consideration thus: “The moment has arrived when the men of letters, science, and art, who constitute the committee of the Athenæum Club, ought to recognise your merit by electing you as a member on our list of eminently distinguished candidates.”
Hereupon Panizzi overcame his scruples, and acquiesced in the proposal. Sir Roderick was very much gratified, a feeling shared by the Dean of St. Paul’s, as the words of the former show. He said he “was so fortunate as to meet the Dean of St. Paul’s, who joyfully became the seconder, saying that he never signed any document whatever with greater satisfaction.”
An unforeseen difficulty, however, arose, which Sir Roderick thus communicated:—
“February 6th, 1866.
“My dear Panizzi,
“My efforts have been frustrated, to my deep regret, and that of all those men of eminence in science, letters, and art, whose opinion you value. After I saw you, accident placed me in the position to ascertain that no arguments of mine would or could change the resolve of one of the Committee to veto your election, in case you obtained a majority of votes; and therefore, after giving the strongest reasons I could for thinking that you were singularly and highly qualified to be selected as one of our eminent nine, I withdrew your name.
The reason assigned for this opposition was, that as you were unpopular with a certain number of men in the Club at large, the Committee ought not to go against their feelings.
I protested against this doctrine on my own part; the more so as the gentleman, who acted in a frank and honourable manner in letting me know his resolve, had assured me that he had a high opinion of your capacity, acquirements, and character.
The result has given me great pain; for though your selection as a member of the Athenæum could be of no real value to you, and could not have added an iota to your well-earned and high reputation, it would have been a true gratification to myself to have had the opportunity of meeting you more frequently, now that you have retired from the office in which you have so distinguished yourself.
I may add that Sir Stafford Northcote and Lord Stanhope both expressed their regret that the step I took was rendered imperative, and many others have since spoken to me in the same sense.
I enclose the letters of the Dean of St. Paul’s and Mr. Grote, whose sentiments I expressed to the meeting; assuring my auditors that the Trustees of the British Museum would endorse those sentiments. Not a word was said by anyone against you, or against the terms in which I proposed you.
Ever yours sincerely,
Rod. I. Murchison.”
Already Dean Milman had written the following letter, a short sentence from which has been quoted in a former chapter, and is now reproduced for the sake of the context:—
“Deanery, St. Paul’s,
February 5th, 1866.
“My dear Sir Roderick,
I greatly rejoice that you are about to propose our friend Panizzi for election at the Athenæum.
I know few persons for whom, if on the Committee, I should have voted with a more clear conscience, or with more earnest desire for success.
As a man of letters I know few persons with a more extensive knowledge of literature; as an author, his introduction to the edition of Bojardo and Ariosto, containing a most masterly view of Italian poetry, is, I believe, his chief claim. But I have read other scattered works, perhaps less generally known, which I hold in high estimation. As to his public services, his long and most useful connection with the British Museum, cannot be more justly or fully appreciated than by yourself, and I am sure that we should entirely agree on this subject; above all, the great national gift of the Reading-Room, the envy and admiration of Europe, is, as you well know, almost his entire creation, from the original design to the most minute detail, from the dome to the inkstands and book-shelves.
I most heartily, my dear Murchison, wish you success, and remain ever most truly yours,
H. H. Milman.”
The answer to Sir Roderick’s letter was this:—
“31, Bloomsbury Square,
February 6, 1866.
“My dear Murchison,
Many thanks for the trouble you have taken in my behalf. The result is what I expected, and I am not in the least affected by it. I am only sorry for the pain that I know it must have given you.
I am proud of having received on this occasion additional proofs of regard and friendship from you, from the Dean of St. Paul’s, and from Mr. Grote. This outweighs the unpopularity to which your colleague in the Committee says I am obnoxious on the part of some unknown members of the Athenæum, who certainly do not know me as well as you and the other Trustees of the British Museum do.
Believe me, &c.,
A. Panizzi.”
In the summer of 1861, Sir G. Cornewall Lewis, then Home Secretary, sought to confer another honour on Panizzi in offering him knighthood, which, however, he declined in these terms (July 23rd, 1861):—
“I can hardly find words to acknowledge as I ought your unexpected communication of to-day. Her Majesty’s approbation of my humble services at the Museum is the highest reward I ever desired to receive for them. I can only regret my inability adequately to express my dutiful gratitude for Her Majesty’s condescension.
“Permit me, however, to represent most respectfully that, occupying as I do, through Her Majesty’s goodness, the honourable position I now fill, I feel great unwillingness to be the object of a further mark of Royal favour which may attract too much public attention to one like myself, a foreigner by birth, who will be considered by many to have already received too high a reward for his exertions.
“If, therefore, I may be allowed to give utterance to my feelings on the subject, I humbly but earnestly beg to be excused from having an honour bestowed on me, the value of which I fully appreciate and unfeignedly regard as far beyond my deserts. Apart from all other considerations, I feel an instinctive shrinking from all distinctions of this nature.
“With the utmost thankfulness to you for having advised Her Majesty to acknowledge in so gracious a manner the public services which you are pleased to state I have rendered at the Museum, I remain, &c.”
Still the Government cherished the idea of conferring on him some title of honour; for, on the 27th of June, 1866, Lord Russell informed him that Her Majesty had offered a C.B., as a recognition, though slight, of his services to one of our great public Institutions. With many thanks Panizzi reminded his Lordship of what had taken place several years before, and again declined the proferred distinction. However, in 1869, the Queen conferred on him the distinction of K.C.B. In addition to this he was, in the month of August of the same year, unanimously elected member of Parliament for the place of his birth. This onerous position he, however, found it out of his power to accept.
Here we will pause for a few minutes, as we have now arrived at the beginning, as it were, of the end of this remarkable career. As strength failed, and Panizzi no longer possessed his pristine powers of body, his life became more retired; indeed, from the year 1870 up to the time of his death it may be said that he remained in strict privacy. It is true that his friends, his intimates, continued as of old to visit him, nor did they omit to do so to the last; but his facility for correspondence had failed. The old pain in his hand had increased, until it was only with extreme difficulty that he could use his pen; and, for the last few years, he could do no more than append an almost illegible signature to what was written for him.
During this time his only occupation in the daytime was reading; Dante, Virgil, and Scott’s novels were his chief favourites. In the evening he was glad to see around his table those who still clung to him. Such as had been most in his confidence at the Museum were always welcome, and other old friends occasionally joined them. Then there was the whist party, with a very moderate stake to encourage attention to the game, and the company dispersed with pleasant recollections.
Amongst those who did not forget Panizzi in his latter days was the late Emperor of the French; he paid him several visits, as did other foreign Princes when in London.
Not the least distinguished of the number was King Humbert, then Prince of Savoy, and lastly, his old and constant friend, Mr. Gladstone, who, when in town, never failed to pay his afternoon visit, frequently stopping to dinner, and cheering him with his intellectual conversation.
Nor were his declining days uncheered by sympathisers and comforters of the gentler sex, whose consciences still bear the impress of their good deeds. One only will we mention here—Lady Holland, whose innate gentleness and kindness of heart prompted her to anticipate and administer in many ways to wants and wishes that only a long and intimate acquaintance could have enabled her to understand. Having watched him throughout his arduous journey in life, who could have been better fitted to solace him, and how could she fail to be greatly attached to one whose character she had studied and knew so well?
On the Friday previous to Panizzi’s death, Mr. Gladstone called for the last time. A sudden change for the worse was too marked to escape observation, and from that evening it was certain that the weary traveller was nearing his rest. He lay in a state of perfect composure, and in the afternoon of the next Tuesday, the 8th of April, 1879, his spirit passed from the scene of his long unceasing labours. His body remains for the present under a marble tomb in St. Mary’s Catholic Cemetery at Kensal Green, where it was deposited on Saturday, the 12th of April, 1879, in the presence of many friends and admirers besides the recognized mourners.
So died Sir Anthony Panizzi, mourned for by all who knew him, and by men of genius especially; no one, in discussing his merits or demerits, can ascribe to him a spark of selfishness. The best part of his life had been devoted to one great object; that object he had attained and enjoyed. He had been rewarded by the appreciation of thinking men, and by the comforts that should accompany old age, love, honour, and troops of friends.
His death was the loss of a staunch friend to the biographer, who etched the portrait prefixed to this life, and on presenting Mr. Gladstone with the identical proof which he had before given to Panizzi, received from the eminent Statesman this gratifying note:—
“73, Harley-street, May 10th, 1879.
“I thank you very sincerely for favouring me with a copy of your etching of Sir A. Panizzi. It carries us back considerably, I think, in our recollections of his general appearance from the sad wreck we lately saw, but it is a most interesting record of one whose image none of his friends who truly appreciated his fine manful character would be content to part with.”
In conclusion the author cannot more faithfully indicate the scene which terminated the labours, the hopes, the fears, and the aspirations of his revered friend than by quoting these memorable lines in the language he loved so well and so keenly appreciated:—
“Non come fiamma che per forza è spenta,
Ma che per se medesma si consume,
Se n’andò in pace l’anima contenta:
A guisa d’un soave e chiaro lume,
Cui nutrimento a poco a poco manca,
Tenendo al fin il suo usato costume.—Petrarch.
