Still the unfortunate King would not abandon the war, although he saw the hopelessness of the situation, left as he was to fight single-handed. March 20, 1849, the fighting recommenced, and lasted for three days. At Martara the pick of the Piedmontese army were destroyed. When Charles Albert heard the news he realized that he was destined to utter defeat. Yet he took up the march to Novara, stoical as became his race. The battle of Novara, fought March 23, 1849, marked the end. The Piedmontese fought heroically, the Duke of Savoy led his men time and again to the attack, his younger brother, the Duke of Genoa, had three horses killed under him, but bravery could not overcome the disparity in strength. An armistice was asked for, but the terms of Marshal Radetsky were too hard to accept. The King said to his generals, “Gentlemen, we cannot accept these conditions. Is it possible that we can resume hostilities?” The answer was a unanimous “no.” Then the unfortunate King laid down the burdens of his too heavy office in these touching words: “From eighteen years till now I have always made every effort possible for the benefit of the people. I am deeply afflicted to see that my hopes have failed, not so much for my own sake as for the country’s. I have not been able to find death on the field of battle, as I had desired; perhaps my existence is now the only obstacle to obtaining from the enemy reasonable terms, and since there remains no further means of continuing hostilities, I abdicate this moment, in favor of my son Vittorio, in the hope that, renewing negotiations with Radetsky, the new King may obtain better conditions, and procure for the country an advantageous peace. Behold your King!”
The entreaties of the son and the generals were useless, Charles Albert was determined. He knew that his dream of liberating Italy was over, that he was not the man for the great work. That night he set out with one companion for Oporto in Portugal, there to live obscurely while his son took up the heavy burden of rebuilding Piedmont’s hopes.
Victor Emmanuel came to the throne at a distressing moment, but from the first he showed the true metal of his nature. His father had been a dreamer, a theorist, alternating between eagerness to press forward and the desire to retain what he already had. His character, although fine, was not robust. The young King, however, was essentially robust-natured, the very type of man above all others needed at this particular crisis. He faced Marshal Radetsky fearlessly, and, when the Austrian general insisted on the same terms demanded of his father, including the immediate expulsion of all Italian exiles from the state of Piedmont, replied, “Sooner than subscribe to such conditions I would lose a hundred crowns. What my father has sworn I will maintain. If you wish a war to the death, be it so! I will call my nation to arms once more, and you will see what Piedmont is capable of in a general rising. If I must fall, it shall be without shame. My house knows the road of exile, but not of dishonor.”
Finally an armistice was concluded. The King of Sardinia was to disband all the military corps composed of Lombards, Poles, Hungarians, and other foreign peoples, retaining only those who chose to remain his subjects permanently; a heavy war indemnity was to be paid to Austria, half the fortress of Alessandria was to be given up to Austria, and her troops were to be allowed to occupy Piedmontese territory between the rivers Po, Sesia, and Ticino. It was a hard bargain that Austria drove.
Victor Emmanuel returned to his capital to find many of its citizens disaffected by the appeals of the republican party. All Turin was in despair over the sad termination of a campaign that had promised so much. The King, the Queen, and their two sons, Humbert, aged five, and Amadeus, aged four, were received with the coldest regard as they appeared in public. The King issued this proclamation to his people: “Citizens,—Untoward events and the will of my most venerated parent have called me, long before my time, to the throne of my ancestors. The circumstances under which I hold the reins of government are such that nothing but the most perfect concord in all will enable me, and then with difficulty, to fulfil my only desire, the salvation of our common country. The destines of nations are matured in the designs of Providence, but man owes to his country all the service he is capable of, and in this debt we have not failed. Now all our efforts must be to maintain our honor untarnished, to heal the wounds of our country, to consolidate our constitutional institutions. To this undertaking I conjure all my people, to it I will pledge myself by a solemn oath, and I await from the nation the exchange of help, affection, and confidence.—Victor Emmanuel.”
On March 29 the new King took the oath to the constitution which had so recently been granted by his father. General Delaunay formed the new ministry, which almost immediately decided to dissolve Parliament and call a general election. Meanwhile Victor Emmanuel was wholly engaged with the peace negotiations, and tried to enlist the influence of England and France in Sardinia’s behalf. The Delaunay ministry divided on the terms of peace, and the King was in despair as to whom he should call upon as steersman in such troubled seas. He finally turned to Massimo d’Azeglio, who was suffering from a wound he had received at Vicenza, and who had little taste at any time for the burdens of premiership. He found it impossible, however, to refuse his young sovereign at this hour. He accepted the post, although reluctantly. Fortunately the views of the King and those of D’Azeglio coincided on almost all matters. The King was charmed with D’Azeglio’s polish and talents in so many diverse lines; the Minister, much older than the King, was delighted with Victor Emmanuel’s frank enthusiasms. It was he who gave the King his proudest title. One day he remarked, “There have been so few honest kings in the world that it would be a splendid thing to begin the series.” “And am I to play the part of that honest king?” asked Victor Emmanuel. “Your majesty has sworn to the constitution,” was the answer, “and has taken thought not alone of Piedmont, but of all Italy. Let us continue in this path, and hold that a king as well as a private individual has only one word, and must stand by that.”
“That,” replied the King, “seems easy to me.”
“Behold then,” said D’Azeglio, “we have the Rè galantuomo!”
And “Rè galantuomo” was the name Victor Emmanuel wrote in the register of the Turin census, and the title his people were most glad to give him.