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Sir Robert Peel continued to attend the meetings of Parliament as an independent member, making no factious opposition, and giving his support to every measure he approved,–more as a sage than a partisan, having in view mainly the good of the country whose government he no longer led.
It was soon after Peel's retirement from office that O'Connell, too, made his last speech in the House of Commons, not as formerly in trumpet tones, but with enfeebled voice. "I am afraid," said the fainting athlete, "that the House is not sufficiently aware of the extent of the misery in Ireland. I do not think that members understand the accumulated miseries under which the people are at present suffering. It has been estimated that five thousand adults and ten thousand children have already perished with famine, and that twenty-five per cent of the whole population will perish, unless the House will afford effective relief. I assure the House most solemnly that I am not exaggerating; I can establish all that I have said by many and painful proofs. And the necessary result must be typhus fever, which in fact has already broken out, and is desolating whole districts; it leaves alive only one in ten of those whom it attacks." This appeal doubtless had its effect in demonstrating the absolute need of a repeal of the corn laws. But it is as the "liberator" of the Roman Catholic population of Ireland in the great emancipation struggle,–triumphantly concluded as early as 1829,–and the incessant labors after that for the enlargement of Irish conditions, that O'Connell will be remembered. "Honor, glory, and eternal gratitude," exclaimed Lacordaire, "to the man who collected in his powerful hand the scattered elements of justice and deliverance, and who, pushing them to their logical conclusions with a vigorous patience which thirty years could not exhaust, at last poured on his country the unhoped-for delight of liberty of conscience, and thus deserved not only the title of Liberator of his Country but the oecumenical title of Liberator of his Church."
O'Connell, Cobden, and Sir Robert Peel,–what great names in the history of England in the agitating period between the passage of the Reform Bill and that of the repeal of the corn laws! I could add other illustrious names,–especially those of Brougham and Lord John Russell; but the sun of glory around the name of the first was dimmed after his lord chancellorship, while that of the latter was yet to blaze more brightly when he assumed the premiership on the retirement of his great predecessor, with such able assistants as Lord Palmerston, Earl Grey, Macaulay, and others. These men, as Whigs, carried out more fully the liberal and economic measures which Sir Robert Peel had inaugurated amid a storm of wrath from his former supporters, reminding one of the fury and disappointment of the higher and wealthy classes when Mr. Gladstone–a still bolder reformer, although nursed and cradled in the tenets of monopolists–introduced his measures for the relief of Ireland.
During the administration of Sir Robert Peel there was another agitation which at one time threatened serious consequences, but as it came to nothing it has not the historical importance of the Anti-Corn-Law League. It was a fanatical uprising of the lower classes to obtain still greater political privileges, led by extreme radicals, of whom Mr. Feargus O'Connor was the most prominent leader, and Mr. Henry Vincent was the most popular speaker. The centre of this movement was not Manchester, but Birmingham. The operatives of Manchester wanted cheaper bread; those of Birmingham wanted an extension of the franchise: and as Lord John Russell had opposed the re-opening of the reform question, the radicals were both disappointed and infuriated. The original leaders of parliamentary reform had no sympathy with such a rabble as now clamored for extended reform. They demanded universal suffrage, annual Parliaments, vote by ballot, abolition of property qualifications, payment of members of Parliament, and the division of the country into equal electoral districts. These were the six points of the people's charter,–not absurd to the eyes of Americans, but utterly out of the question in such an aristocratic country as England, and advocated only by the working-classes and their incendiary leaders. Discontent and misery were the chief causes of the movement, which was managed without ability. The agitation began in 1836 and continued to 1848. At first the government allowed it, so far as it was confined to meetings, speeches, and the circulation of tracts,–knowing full well that, as it made no appeal to the influential and intelligent classes, it would soon expend itself. I was lecturing at the time in Birmingham, and the movement excited contempt rather than alarm among the people I met. I heard Vincent two or three times in his chapel,–for I believe he was educated as a dissenting minister of some sort,–but his eloquence made no impression upon me; it was clever and fluent enough, but shallow and frothy. At last he was foolishly arrested by the government, who had really nothing to fear from him, and imprisoned at Newport in Wales.
In England reforms have been effected only by appeals to reason and intelligence, and not by violence. Infuriated mobs, successful in France in overturning governments and thrones, have been easily repressed in England with comparatively little bloodshed; for power has ever been lodged in the hands of the upper and middle classes, intolerant of threatened violence. In England, since the time of Cromwell, revolutions have been bloodless; and reforms have been gradual,–to meet pressing necessities, or to remove glaring injustice and wrongs, never to introduce an impractical equality or to realize visionary theories. And they have ever been effected through Parliament. All popular agitations have failed unless they have appealed to reason and right.
Thus the People's Charter movement, beginning about 1838, was a signal failure, because from the practical side it involved no great principles of political economy, nothing that enriches a nation; and from the side of popular rights it was premature, crude, and represented no intelligent desire on the part of the people. It was a movement nursed in discontent, and carried on with bitterness and illegal violence. It was wild, visionary, and bitter from the start, and arose at a period when the English people were in economic distress, and when all Europe was convulsed with insurrectionary uprisings, and revolutionary principles were mixed up with socialism and anarchy. The Chartist agitation continued with meetings and riots and national conventions until 1848, when the Revolution in France gave a great impulse to it.
At last some danger was apprehended from the monster meetings and inflammatory speeches of the Chartists, and government resolved to suppress the whole movement by the strong arm. The police force throughout the kingdom was strengthened, and one hundred and seventy thousand special constables were sworn in, while extensive military preparations were intrusted to the Duke of Wellington. The Chartists, overrating their strength, held a great meeting on Kensington Common, and sent a petition of more than five millions of names to the House of Commons; but instead of half a million who were expected to assemble on the Common with guns and pikes, only a few thousand dared to meet, and the petition itself was discovered to be forged, chiefly with fictitious names. It was a battle on the part of the agitators without ball cartridges, in which nothing was to be seen but smoke. Ridicule and contempt overwhelmed the leaders, and the movement collapsed.
Although the charter failed to become law, the enfranchisement of the people has been gradually enlarged by Parliament in true deliberate English fashion, as we shall see in future lectures. Perhaps the Chartist movement may have ripped up the old sod and prepared the soil for the later peaceful growth; but in itself it accomplished nothing for which it was undertaken.
The repeal of the corn laws in 1846 was followed, as was the Reform Bill of 1832, by a series of other reforms of a similar kind,–all in the direction of free-trade, which from that time has continued to be the established principle of English legislation on all the great necessities of life. Scarcely had Lord John Russell in 1846 taken the helm of state, when the duties on sugar were abolished, no discrimination being shown between sugar raised in the British colony of Jamaica and that which was raised in Cuba and other parts of the world. The navigation laws, which prohibited the importation of goods except in British ships, or ships which belonged to the country where the goods were produced, were repealed or greatly modified. The whole colonial system was also revised, especially in Canada; and sanitary measures were taken to prevent disease in all the large towns of the country.
In the midst of these various reforms, which the government under Lord John Russell prosecuted with great zeal and ability, and by which a marked improvement took place in the condition of the people, Sir Robert Peel was thrown from his horse in London, June 29, 1850, and survived but a few days. His accidental death created universal lamentation, for everybody felt that a great national loss had occurred. In spite of the bitterness of the monopolists, disappointed in their gains, no death was ever more seriously and universally lamented in England. Other statesmen blazed upon their contemporaries with more brilliant original genius than Peel, but no one ever had more force of character than he, or was more respected for his candor, truthfulness, and patriotism. If he had not the divination to originate, he showed transcendent ability in appropriating and making his own the worthy conceptions of others. He was among those few statesmen who are willing to renounce the dearest opinions of youth and the prejudices of manhood when convinced of their unsoundness.
Peel was a great administrator and a great debater. His character was austere, his temperament was cold, his manners were awkward and shy; he was chary in the bestowal of pensions and rewards; and by reason of his rather unsympathetic nature he never was a favorite with artists and literary men. It was his conviction that literary men were not sufficiently practical to be intrusted with political office. Hence he refused to make Monckton Milnes an under-secretary of state. When Gladstone published his book on Church and State, being then a young man, it is said that Peel threw it contemptuously on the floor, exclaiming, "What a pity it is that so able a man should injure his political prospects by writing such trash!" Nor was Peel sufficiently passionate to become a great orator like O'Connell or Mirabeau; and yet he was a great man, and the nation was ultimately grateful for the services he rendered to his country and to civilization. Had his useful and practical life been prolonged, he probably would again have taken the helm of state. He was always equal to the occasion; but no occasion was sufficiently great to give him the éclat which Pitt enjoyed in the wars of Napoleon. Under the administration of Peel the country was at peace, and no such internal dangers threatened it as those which marked the passage of the Reform Bill.
Sir Robert Peel was one of the most successful ministers that England ever had. Certainly no minister was ever more venerated than he; and even the Duke of Wellington did nothing without his advice and co-operation. In fact, he led the ministry of the duke as Canning did that of the Earl of Liverpool; and had he been less shy and reserved, he would not have passed as so proud a man, and would have been more popular. There is no trait of character in a great man less understood than what we call pride, which often is not pride at all, but excessive shyness and reserve, based on sensitiveness and caution rather than self-exaggeration and egotism.
Few statesmen have done more than Peel to advance the material interests of the people; yet he never was a popular idol, and his history fails to kindle the enthusiasm with which we study the political career of Pitt or Canning or Disraeli or Gladstone. He was regarded as a great potentate rather than as a great genius; and he loved to make his power felt irrespective of praise or censure from literary men, to whom he was civil enough, but whose society he did not court. Politics were the element in which he lived, and politicians were his chief associates outside the family circle, which he adorned. And yet when distinguished merit in the Church or in the field of literature was brought to his notice, he was ready to reward it.
As a proof of the growing fame of Sir Robert Peel, no less than three biographies of him have lately been issued from the Press. Such, after a lapse of forty years, indicates the lasting reputation he has won as a statesman; but as a statesman only. He filled no other sphere. He was not a lawyer like Brougham; not a novelist like Beaconsfield; not a historian like Macaulay; not an essayist and reviewer like Gladstone. He was contented to be a great parliamentary leader alone.
AUTHORITIES
Molesworth's History of England; Miss Martineau's History of England; Justin McCarthy's Life of Sir Robert Peel; Alison's History of Europe,–all of which should be read in connection with the Lives of contemporary statesmen, especially of Cobden, Bright, and Lord John Russell. The Lives of foreign statesmen shed but little light, since the public acts of Sir Robert Peel were chiefly confined to the domestic history of England.
CAVOUR
1810-1861
UNITED ITALY
The most interesting and perhaps important event in the history of Europe in the interval between the fall of Napoleon I. and that of Napoleon III., a period of fifty-six years,–from 1815 to 1871,–was that which united the Italians under the government of Victor Emmanuel as a constitutional monarchy, free of all interference by foreign Powers.
The freedom and unity of Italy are to be considered, however, only from a political point of view. The spiritual power still remains in the hands of the Pope, who reigns as an ecclesiastical monarch over not only Italy but all Roman Catholic countries, as the popes have reigned for a thousand years. That venerable and august despotism was not assailed, or even modified, in the separation of the temporal from the spiritual powers. It was rather, probably, increased in influence. At no time since the Reformation has the spiritual authority of the Roman Pontiff been greater than it is at the present day. Nor can any one, however gifted and wise, foretell when that authority will be diminished. "The Holy Father" still reigns and is likely long to reign as the vicegerent of the Almighty in all matters of church government in Catholic countries, and as the recognized interpreter of their religious faith. So long as people remain Roman Catholics, they must remain in allegiance to the head of their church. They may cease to be Catholics, and no temporal harm will happen to them; but the awful power remains over those who continue to abide within the pale of the Church. Of his spiritual subjects the Pope exacts, as he has exacted for centuries, absolute and unconditional obedience through his ministers,–one great hierarchy of priests; the most complete and powerful mechanism our world has seen for good or evil, built up on the experience of ten centuries, and generally directed by consummate sagacity and inflexibility of purpose.
I have nothing here to say against this majestic sovereignty, which is an institution rather than a religion. Most of the purely religious dogmas which it defends and enforces are equally the dogmas of a majority of the Protestant churches, founded on the teachings of Christ and his apostles. The doctrines of Saint Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, the great authorities of the Catholic Church, were substantially embraced by Luther, Calvin, Cranmer, and the Westminster divines. The Protestants rebelled mainly against the usurpations and corruptions of the Catholic Church as an institution, not against the creed of the Fathers and schoolmen and theological doctors in all Catholic countries. The Nicene and Apostles' creeds bind together all orthodox Christians, whether of the Roman or Greek or Protestant churches.
Thus, in speaking of the liberation and unity of Italy as effected by an illustrious band of patriots, aided by friendly powers and fortunate circumstances, I mean freedom in a political sense. The papal yoke, so far as it was a yoke, was broken only in a temporal point of view. The Pope lost only his dominions as a temporal sovereign,–nothing of his dignity as an ecclesiastical monarch; and we are to consider his opposition to Victor Emmanuel and other liberators chiefly as that of a temporal prince, like Ferdinand of Naples. The great Italian revolution which established the sovereignty of the King of Sardinia over the whole peninsula was purely a political movement. Religious ideas had little or nothing to do with it. Communists and infidels may have fought under the standards of Mazzini and Garibaldi, but only to gain political privileges and rights. Italy remained after the revolution, as before, a Catholic country.
In considering this revolution, which destroyed the power of petty tyrants and the authority of foreign despots, which gave a free constitution and national unity to the whole country,–the rule of one man by the will of the people, and the checks which a freely elected legislature imposes,–it will be my aim to present chiefly the labors and sacrifices of a very remarkable band of patriots, working in different ways and channels for the common good, and assisted in their work by the aid of friendly States and potentates. But underneath and apart from the matchless patriotism and ability of a few great men like D'Azeglio, Mazzini, Garibaldi, Manin, Cavour, and, not least, the King of Sardinia himself,–who reigned at Turin as a constitutional monarch before the revolution,–should be mentioned the almost universal passion of the Italian people to throw off the yokes which oppressed them, whether imposed by the King of Naples, or by the Pope as a temporal prince, or by Austria, or by the various princes who had divided between them the territories of the peninsula,–diverse, yet banded together to establish their respective tyrannies, and to suppress liberal ideas of government and all reforms whatsoever. All who could read and write, and even many who could not, except those who were dependent on the government or hopelessly wedded to the ideas and institutions of the Middle Ages,–that conservative class to be found in every country, who cling to the past and dread the future,–had caught the contagion spread by the apostles of liberty in France, in Spain, in Greece, in England. The professors and students in the universities, professional men, and the well-to-do of the middle classes were foremost in their discontent and in their zeal for reform. They did not agree in their theories of government, nor did they unite on any definite plan for relief. Many were utterly impractical and visionary; some were at war with any settled government, and hated all wholesome restraints,–communists and infidels, who would destroy, without substituting anything better instead; some were in favor of a pure democracy, and others of representative governments; some wanted a republic, and others a constitutional monarchy: but all wanted a change.
There was one cry, one watchword common to all,–Personal liberty!–freedom to act and speak without the fear of inquisitions, spies, informers, prisons, and exile. In Naples, in Rome, in Bologna, in Venice, in Florence, in Milan, in Turin, there was this universal desire for personal liberty, and the resolution to get it at any cost. It was the soul of Italy going out in sympathy with all liberators and patriots throughout the world, intensified by the utterances of poets and martyrs, and kept burning by all the traditions of the past,–by the glories of classic Rome; and by the aspirations of the renaissance, when art, literature, and commerce revived. The common people united with their intellectual leaders in seeking something which would break their chains. They alike responded to the cries of patriotism, in some form or other. "Emancipate us from our tyrants, and we will follow you wherever you choose to lead," was the feeling of all classes. "We don't care who rules us, or what form government may take, provided we are personally free."
In addition to this passion for personal liberty was also the desire for a united Italy,–a patriotic sentiment confined however to men of great intelligence, who scarcely expected such a boon, so great were the difficulties and obstacles which stared them in the face. It was impossible for the liberators of Italy to have effected so marvellous a movement if the material on which they worked had not been so impulsive and inflammable.
It required an uncommon degree of patriotic ardor on the part of the mass of the people to follow leaders like Garibaldi and Mazzini,–one of whom was rash to audacity, and the other visionary; and neither of whom had the confidence of the government at Turin, which, however, was not disposed to throw cold water on their enterprises or seriously to interfere with them. One thing is clear,–that had not the Italians, on the whole, been ripe for revolution it could not have succeeded; as in France the coup d'état of 1851, which enabled Louis Napoleon to mount the throne, could not have succeeded twenty years earlier when he made his rash attempt at Strasburg. All successful revolutions require the ready assent–nay, even the enthusiasm–of the people. The Italian revolution was based on popular discontent in all parts of the country where the people were oppressed, and on their enthusiastic aspirations for a change of rulers. What could any man of genius, however great his abilities, have done without this support of the people? What could the leaders of the American Revolution have done unless the thirteen colonies had rallied around them? Certainly no liberated people ever supported their leaders with greater enthusiasm and more self-sacrifices than the Italians. Had they been as degraded as has sometimes been represented, they would not have fought so bravely.
The Italian revolution in its origin dates back as early as 1820, when the secret societies were formed–especially that of the Carbonari–with a view to shake the existing despotisms. The Carbonari ("charcoal burners"), as they called themselves, were organized first at Naples. This uprising (at first successful) in Naples and Piedmont was put down by Austrian bayonets, and the old order of things was restored. A constitutional government had been promised to various Italian States by the first Napoleon in 1796. when he invited the Italians to rally to his standard and overthrow the Bourbon and Austrian despotisms; but his promises had not been kept. "Never," said that great liar to Prince Metternich, "will I give the Italians a liberal system: I have granted to them only the semblance of it." Equally false were the promises made by Austrian generals in 1813, when the Italians were urged to join in the dethronement of the great conqueror who had drafted them into his armies without compensation.
Though Italian liberty was suppressed by the strong arm of despotism, its spirit was kept alive by the secret societies, among whom were enrolled men of all classes; but these societies had no definite ends to accomplish. Among them were men of every shade of political belief. In general, they aimed at the overthrow of existing governments rather than at any plan as to what would take their place. When, through their cabals, they had dethroned Ferdinand I. at Naples, he too, like Napoleon, promised a constitution, and swore to observe it; but he also broke both his promises and oaths, and when reinstated by irresistible forces, he reigned more tyrannically than before.
When the revolution in the Sardinian province of Piedmont was suppressed (1821), King Victor Emmanuel I. refused to grant further liberty to his subjects, or to make promises which he could not fulfil. In this state of mind the honest old king abdicated in favor of his brother Charles Felix, who ruled despotically as Austria dictated, but did not belong to that class of despicable monarchs who promise everything and grant nothing.
In 1831, on the death of Charles Felix, the throne of Piedmont–or, rather, Sardinia, as it was called when in 1720 the large island of that name was combined with the principality of Piedmont and other territories to form a kingdom–was ascended by Charles Albert, of the younger branch of the House of Savoy. Charles Albert was an honest sovereign, but perpetually vacillating between the liberal and clerical parties. He hated Austria, but was averse to revolutionary measures. He ruled wisely, however, effecting many useful reforms, and adding to the prosperity of the country, which was the best governed of all the Italian States. It was to him that Mazzini appealed to put himself at the head of the national movement for liberty.
Joseph Mazzini, one of the earliest of the prominent men who aided in the deliverance of Italy, was a native of Genoa, belonging to a good but not illustrious family. He was a boy of twelve years of age when the revolution of 1821 broke out in Piedmont, which was so summarily crushed by Austria. At that early age he had indefinite ideas, but thought that Italians should boldly struggle for the liberty of their country. In 1826, while a student at the university, he published an article on Dante, whose lofty sentiments and independent spirit made a deep impression on his soul. His love for his native land became like a "fire in his bones;" it was a passion which nothing could repress. He was an enthusiast of immense physical and moral courage, pure-minded, lofty in his aspirations, imbued with the spirit of sacrifice. As his mind developed, he became an intense republican. He had no faith in monarchies, even if liberal. Heart and soul he devoted himself to the spread of republican ideas. He early joined the Carbonari, who numbered nearly a million in Italy, and edited a literary paper in Genoa, in which he dared to rebuke the historian Botta for his aristocratic tendencies. He became so bold in the advocacy of extreme liberal opinions that his journal was suppressed by government. When the French insurrection broke out in 1830, he and other young men betook themselves to the casting of bullets. He was arrested, and confined in the fortress of Savona, on the western Riviera. It was while in prison that he conceived the plan of establishing a society, which he called "Young Italy," for the propagation of republican ideas. When liberated he proceeded to Geneva, where he made the acquaintance of Sismondi, the Swiss historian, who treated him with great kindness and urbanity, and introduced him to Pellegrino Rossi, the exiled publicist, at that time professor of law at Geneva. From Geneva Mazzini went to Lyons, and there collected a band of Italian exiles, mostly military men, who contemplated the invasion of Savoy. Hunted as a refugee, he secretly escaped to Marseilles, and thence to Corsica, where the Carbonari had great influence. Returning to Marseilles, he resumed his design of founding the Association of Young Italy, and became acquainted with the best of the exiles who had flocked to that city. It was then he wrote to Charles Albert, who had lately ascended the Sardinian throne, inviting him to place himself at the head of the liberal movement; but the king at once gave orders to arrest the visionary enthusiast if found in his dominions.
The Association of Young Italy which Mazzini founded, and which soon numbered thousands of enthusiastic young men, proclaimed as the basis of its political belief Liberty, Equality, Humanity, Independence, Unity. It was republican, as favoring the only form of government which it was supposed would insure the triumph of these principles. It was unitary, because without unity there was no true nationality or real strength. The means to reach these ends, Mazzini maintained, were not assassination, as represented by the dagger of the Carbonari, but education and insurrection,–and insurrection by guerrilla bands, as the only way for the people to emancipate themselves from a foreign yoke. It was a foreign yoke under which Italy groaned, since all the different states and governments were equally supported by foreign armies.
So far as these principles harmonized with those proclaimed by the French revolutionists, they met very little opposition from the Italian liberals; but national unity, however desirable, was pronounced chimerical. How could Naples, Rome, Venice, Florence, Sardinia, and the numerous other States, be joined together under one government? And then, under what form of government should this union be effected? To the patriots of 1831 this seemed an insoluble problem. Mazzini, from first to last, maintained that the new government should be republican. Yet what more visionary than a united Italy as a republic? The sword, or fortunate circumstances, might effect unity, but under the rule only of one man, whether he were bound by a constitution or not. Such a union Mazzini would not entertain for a moment, and persistently disseminated his principles.
In consequence, a decree of banishment from France was proclaimed against him. He hid himself in Marseilles, and the police could not find him. From his secret retreat his writings continued to be issued, and were scattered over France, Switzerland, and Italy, and found readers and advocates.
At length, in 1833, Mazzini ventured to put his principles into practice, and meditated the invasion of Savoy, to produce an insurrection at Genoa and Alessandra. With amazing perseverance under difficulties, he succeeded in collecting money and men, and, without military education or genius, made his attempt. Defeated by the royal troops, the expedition failed, as might have been expected. Such a man should have fought with the pen and not the sword. The enterprise was a failure from the start. Mazzini was sentenced to death; but again he escaped, and fled to Berne, whence he continued to issue his publications. Thus two or three years were passed, when, through the efforts of sundry Italian governments, the authorities of Berne resolved to disperse the Association of Young Italy.
