Rebels and Reformers: Biographies for Young People

by Baron Arthur Ponsonby Ponsonby; Dorothea Ponsonby

As a consequence of the rapid growth of discontent against the misgovernment of the petty Sovereigns of the States of Italy, a secret revolutionary body had been formed, which was known as the Carbonari (the word means “charcoal burners,” of which there were many in the mountains of Calabria). It was a sort of Freemasons’ Society. Mazzini disapproved of the mysteries and theatrical forms in which the members indulged, but as it was the only revolutionary organization in the country, he became a member and swore the usual oath of initiation over a bared dagger. He worked for them zealously, but his intention was to form a far more vigorous association. The Government had their eye on the Carbonari, and Mazzini was arrested and sent to prison. In his prison room at Savona he had much time for reflection. He gazed upon the sky and sea and read the only three books permitted to him, the Bible, Byron, and Tacitus. Here it was that he thought out the organization of a new society, the aim of which was to be the liberation of Italy from tyranny and its unification under a republican form of government. This society was “Young Italy,” which became famous throughout Europe; its motto was “God and the people.” A further unsuccessful insurrection of the Carbonari convinced Mazzini of the necessity of his new scheme. When, however, he was set free, so many restrictions were placed on his liberty that he decided to live at Marseilles. Here, with a few others, in one single room, he worked for two years with the most astonishing industry.

His famous letter to Charles Albert, King of Sardinia, was written from Marseilles. In it he urged the King to take the lead in the impending struggle for Italian independence. All over Italy a great sensation was produced by this letter, but the Sardinian Government was deeply offended, and his arrest was ordered should he cross the frontier. He also issued the manifesto of Young Italy, and in response to it, members joined from all parts of Italy. But a complaint was made to the French Government, and Mazzini was obliged to retire from Marseilles and take refuge in Switzerland.

A great blow came to him which affected both his health and his mind. His greatest friend, Jacopo Ruffini, was one of the leaders in an unsuccessful rising in Genoa. He was captured with several others and executed. For a time Mazzini was dismayed, but his unflagging energy kept him at work, and from Geneva he organized a band of exiles which included Germans and Poles as well as Italians, and the invasion of Savoy was planned. Mazzini accompanied the expedition himself, but the attack broke down without a single shot being fired.

Time after time the efforts of this irrepressible enthusiast were destined to fail. He had to work in secret, and little by little he acquired the habit of plotting and scheming and adopted the methods of a conspirator. But he never lost sight of his great ideal, and in spite of severe trials and cruel disappointments he was able to retain in his deeply religious nature a lofty and high-minded purpose. Mazzini was a most striking man in appearance. Of medium height and slightly built, his outward air of quiet melancholy concealed an inward burning passion, which only shone out through the fire in his eyes. He had a dark olive complexion, with black hair and beard. He always wore a black, tight-fitting frock-coat, with a black silk handkerchief round his neck in place of a collar. Except for his mother, women played a very small part in Mazzini’s life. One woman, who was a widow called Giudetta Sidoli, kept up an affectionate correspondence with him for a time, but there was never any question of their marrying. His work, his poverty, and his restless wandering made it impossible for him to settle down as a married man.

After forming a “Young Europe” association of men who believed in liberty, equality, and fraternity for all mankind, and after issuing a newspaper called Young Switzerland he was forced by the authorities to leave Switzerland, and he took refuge in England. As a lover of the beauties of nature, he complained at first at having to go to what he called “the sunless and musicless island.” “We have lost,” he wrote from London, “even the sky which the veriest wretch on the Continent can look at.” In time, however, he came to regard with great affection the country which has been a home and refuge to many disconsolate wanderers and outcasts from foreign lands.

Mazzini came to England in 1837, and was obliged to live at first in great poverty. But he had not come to rest. It was always a hard struggle for him. After a heated correspondence with his father, he ceased to receive any money from home, and he got into such low water that he actually had to pawn his rings, his watch, his books, and even on one occasion his boots and waistcoat, in order to get money for food. His generosity to others who were still worse off than himself made things more difficult. In the winter he risked his health by giving away his only overcoat. At last he had to go to moneylenders. It was indeed a desolate and miserable period for him, and had it not been for the great spirit within him, he might have broken down completely in despair. But he battled on, learned the English language, wrote articles for English newspapers, and began to make English friends. His sympathies were always on the side of the destitute and the downtrodden; he taught in an evening school for poor Italian children, and worked to prevent small boys of poverty-stricken parents in Southern Italy being brought to England by scoundrels who made them grind organs.

His first close English friendship was with the great writer, Thomas Carlyle, and his wife. “They love me as a brother,” he wrote, “and would like to do me more good than it is in their power to do.” He liked Carlyle’s open nature and broad views, but they often had heated arguments. “He may preach the merit of holding one’s tongue,” said the Italian, “but the merit of silence is not his.” Mrs. Carlyle was at first very sympathetic and interested in his political views, but after a while she, like her husband, expressed disapproval of his revolutionary ideas. However, he continued to be a frequent caller, coming in all weathers, “his doeskin boots oozing out water upon the carpets in a manner frightful to behold.”

Two or three years later, the breach between the two men widened, and they saw no more of one another. But Carlyle retained his respect for the strange Italian exile, who he declared was the most pious man he had ever met.

In many other English families Mazzini was received with warm cordiality. He wrote a great deal and completed the greater part of the finest of all his works, “The Duties of Man.” But Italy was always in his thoughts; he kept in constant communication with the Italian leaders, for he dreaded dying with his work undone. It was during this period that the British Home Secretary, Sir John Graham, ordered Mazzini’s letters to be opened as they passed through the British Post Office, and communicated their contents to the Neapolitan Government. A great stir was caused by this. There were debates in Parliament, a Committee of Inquiry was appointed, and Mazzini’s character was successfully vindicated. This episode, which was very discreditable to the British Government, brought him many new friends.

In 1848 the good news came of the rising in North Italy and the expulsion of the Austrians from Venice and Lombardy. A flood of patriotism spread over Italy, and volunteers poured to the front from all parts. Mazzini immediately hurried to Milan, where he was received in triumph as the prophet who had been cast out, but who had preached and suffered while others fell away and doubted. Fighting continued, but the King, Charles Albert, was a timid man, quite incapable of dealing in a masterful way with the situation that had arisen. He was willing to consult Mazzini, but the enthusiastic reformer would have no dealings with him. He refused for a moment to set aside his hatred of monarchy, which he described as “a hereditary lie.” This was not the only instance in which his zeal for the republican form of government prevented him from co-operating with others who were just as eager as he was for a united Italy.