BOOKS.

LORENZO BEFONL.

This volume appears as the autobiography of an Italian Liberal, who was engaged in one of the plots for the freedom and nation- ality of Italy, when the French revolution of 1830 had stimulated the enthusiastic throughout Europe. An insight into the nature of the conspiracies and the characteristics of the conspirators, the plans pursued, the risks run, and hairbreadth escapes of Lorenzo Be- noni in quitting Genoa and the dominions of the King of Sardinia, are not the only features of the book. In the form of a particular biography of the childhood, youth, and early manhood of the hero, we have a general picture of the upper middle classes of Italy, of the obstacles thrown by the then Governments in the way of edu- cation, of the cunning contrivances to which they had recourse to prevent the formation of men and to train up creatures, and of the petty pervading tyranny extended to every circumstance of daily life which distinguished the best Italian Governments even of those better days. Considered as a literary production, or a picture of Italian domestic, school, and college life, or as a revelation of the feelings of Italian patriots and the practices of Italy's op- pressors in quieter times, Lorenzo Benoni is a remarkatle book. It is as remarkable a view of Italy in its own way as the autobiogra- phical narratives of Blanco White were of Spain.

About the general truth and accuracy of the narrative there can be no question. Whether and to what extent art may have shaped and coloured the story, it may be difficult to say, and is not of im- portance. Indeed, a severe art would have excised some of the school stories, which are only interesting to the participator as a reminiscence of youth, as well as some episodes touching the hero's assumption of the toga virilis, and sundry exhibitions of his youthful cogitations. The two love-stories are perhaps of ad- vantage artistically, on account of variety and effect ; but they paint the hero as a shade too much of a lady-killer. The worked-up picture of the writer's fear, running into madness, of being betrayed by the boatmen who are assisting him to escape to France, seems rather overdone in a literary view, and is open to the previous remark. A person whom anxious tension of mind drives into suspicions mania is not the man to lead a conspiracy and raise a downtrodden nation.

As a specimen of English by a foreigner the book is remarkable ; though the author has had predecessors in this line, and among them several countrymen of his own. In point of style, the composition is easy and lively, with some of the diffuseness which distin- guisli,es many mo&rn Italian writers. The matter, though often of a common kind in itself, has little that is common to the Eng- lish reader, from the newness of the life and manners described, and the information conveyed. The author's great forte, however, is character-painting. The book is a gallery of portraits, mostly cf nienrin 'everyday occupations, with no qualities of remarkable strength or of any public distinction, but all evidently from the life and as evidently Italian. This portraiture is accomplished with remarkable skill; the traits both individual and national being: marked with great nicety, without obtrusiveness. The hard stern character of the hero's father, having little sympathy with scholastic or literary distinction except as a means to a worldly end—his anger at anything like sentiment, patriotism, or, still worse, opposition to the Government, although with parental. feel- ings at bottom—the prosperous pleasant old uncle John, whom sixty years had taught caution and prudence, without destroying his love for Italy or his hopes for ber final regeneration, but with- out hope that he should see it, or that it could happen till, in language once fashionable nearer home, the Italians had regenerated themselves—the masters and professors at school and college espe- cially the catlike M. Merlini, and the patriots, members of the conspiracy with whom the author was associated—are painted with like truth. In fact, Lorenzo Benoni is the skilful reflection of daily life in the territories of the King of Sardinia from twenty to thirty years ago.

The most interesting portion of this reflection is naturally the information about the state of Italy at the time, so far as it was in any way related to government. Those who have read the memoirs of the Austrian state prisoners will not have forgotten the slow torture dealt out to them by the paternal Emperor, "old Franz," and the arts of his myrmidons in extorting confessions. Piedmont does not in those days appear to have been greatly be- hind Austria in the refined art of moral torture ; the vulgar practice of the rack having been superseded, at least by laymen. This was the treatment of the writer's fellow-conspirators : his brother was executed.

"The nnha pt prisoners were systematically weakened by insufficient and unhealthy f''.. They were startled from their sleep at night by appalling and lugubrious sounds. Voices called out under their windows, 'One of pier comp anions has been shot today, and tomorrow it will be your turn !' When their physical strength had thus been reduced and their imagination wrought upon, they were either suddenly brought up for examination, or a daughter, a sister, or a mother in tears, was admitted.

"Sometimes two Mends were placed in contiguous cells, and permitted to communicate with one another. Several days would elapse, during which- certain ill-boding hints would be dropped to the one whom it was wished to impress, concerning the impending fate of his friend and fellow-prisoner. Shortly afterwards the door of the neighbouring cell would be noisily opened, a sound of steps would be heard, followed by a.fleathlike silence, and pre- sently a discharge of musketry in the eourt of the, prison. By such means was it that avowals or revelations, often false, were extorted.

• Lorenzo Benoni; or Passages in the Life of an Italian. Edited by a Friend. Published by Hamilton and Adams, London; Constable and Co., Edinburgh.

" Francesco Miglio, a sergeant of the pioneers in the regiment of the guards, had eluded by his firmness and presence of mind all the insidious inquisitorial attempts to which he had been subjected. He was then shut up with a pretended fellow-prisoner' who confided to him with tears his par- ticipation in the sect and the terror he was in. Miglio was struck with pity, and a certain friendship sprang up between him and the new corner. A few days afterwards, this new friend assured Miglio that he had a means of cor- respondence with some of his own relations. Miglio allowed himself to be induced to intrust him with a note for one of his friends. Thei e being no ink, he opened a vein and wrote a few lines with his blood. This scrap of paper was produced against him, and decided his fate. Poor Miglio was shot."

The foregoing is serious ; the following partakes of grave bur- lesque. " I am now twenty-one, and a thick circlet of hair has grown under my chin. I should also have a pair of beautiful mustachios—the object of my ambition as a child—if mustachios were not unmercifully proscribed. I have made several attempts towards wearing them, but all have been frustrated. One day, a long, long time ago, M. Merlini, meeting me M the peristyle of the University with a show of down upon my lip, protested, with sundry in- describable node, jerks, and grimaces, that he had taken me for a pioneer. I understood the hint, and my budding mustachios fell under the razor. Twelve months later, the mustachios having reappeared thicker than ever, the Director of Police had the kindness to send me word through my father, that if I did not shave them off of my own accord he would have them cut off for me; a very simple ceremony, not at all unprecedented. Two care- bineers would take you by each arm, force you into a barber's shop, and

stand present during the operation. * * *

"Under such a system, it is needless to say, there could not even be a question of the liberty of the press. Three official Gazettes, one at Turin, one at Genoa, and the third at Chambery, consgtuted the whole of the poli- tical press of the country. They registered the decrees of the Government, the Court receptions, and such foreign news as the authorities allowed to be inserted. Scarcely any books were published, excepting a few works merely scientific, and some insipid novels. Censorship with respect to the theatre was carried to a pitch of absurdity, even to the suppression of the word liberty (' liberta ') in a chorus in Norma, and the substitution of loyalty (' lealta ') in its place. This, by the way, reminds me of a curious anec- dote. Signor Ronconi, a famous barytonc, and a great favourite with the public, having, in the excitement of the performance forgotten the above- mentioned alteration, was sent to prison for three 'days to improve his memory. Not long afterwards, the following verse, in allusion to a peasant who had enlisted, occurring in Signor Ronconi.'s part in the Elisir d'Amore, 'Yana la liberta, si fe soldato,' (he sold his liberty, and became a soldier,) Signor Ronconi, like a clever wag as he was, altered the text into 'Vona la lealta, si fe soldato,' (he sold his loyally, and became a soldier.) - This varia- tion was received by the public, to whom everything in the shape of opposi- tion was welcome, with enthusiasm. Next day came a summons to appear before the police to receive a reprimand for having dared to say that loyalty was to be sold : in reply to which, the singer observed, that but a few days before he had been taught in a way not easily to be forgotten that loyalty was everywhere to take the place of liberty. The matter ended here, afford- ing mirth to the whole town at the expense of the Government, and in- creasing not a little the popularity of Signor Ronconi."

It is curious to observe the extensive disapprobation, not to say detestation of the Government : men who got their bread. by it, even in the police, though avoiding the conspiracies, understood them and gave information to the conspirators quietly. , Even Conservatives were only restrained by prudence or a sense of the hopelessness of present resistance. As an instance, take Uncle John on Italian politics.

"From this time forward, politics absorbed our thoughts, and furnished the subject of our daily conversations.

"This new bent could not escape the penetration of my uncle John ; be- fore whom I never scrupled to attack the Government with the greatest ve- hemence, and who set himself with all his might to stop me in that course. 'You see things,' he would sometimes say, 'not as they are, but as your imagination paints them. Pretty nearly every one I allow, despises and detests the Government ; but it does not thrive the less for that. Analyze society, and tell me where you see those manly virtues, that spirit of self- sacrifice, which regenerate nations. Look at our nobles, for instance. The old men sulk at the Government ; do you think it is from the love of li. berty ? Pshaw ! they do so because they would like to hold the reins them- selves. The young ones think only of their horses and their mistresses. The middle class is eaten up by selfishness; each individual man is engrossed by his office, or his counting-house, or his clients—all, in general, by the rage for making money. Number one is their god.'

'But the people, uncle ?' " I come to them next. The people are ignorant and superstitious, (it is not by their own fault, to be sure, but they are so,) and therefore the slaves of the priests, those born enemies of all progress. The people hear mass in the morning and get drunk at night, and think, notwithstanding, that all is right with God and their conscience. What then remains ? A certain number of young men, crammed with Greek and Roman history ; enthusiastic, generous,—I do not deny it,—but perfectly incapable of doing anything but getting themselves hanged. Absence of virtue, my dear boy, is synonymous with impotence. The mass is rotten at the core, I tell you. Suppose, for a moment, that you could make tabula rasa of that which exists, what would you build with such materials ? An edifice which rests upon decayed rafters is faulty in its foundations, and will crumble withthe first shock. The evil is at the very root of society.' "'Well, then,' cried I, vehemently, let us attack the evil at its root.'

"'Are you in earnest ? ' said soy uncle, rising in alarm, and biting 'hie nails; do you think that society can be turned like a pancake ? Why, the boy is on the straight road to the Ospedaletto,' (the Bedlam of Genoa.) 'But, uncle, if to find fault with the fruit of the tree is useless, and to attack the root is madness, anything like progress is impossible, and one has nothing to do but to fold one's hands in despair.' "'That is not what I say. Progress comes of itself; Providence wills it so. There are in the moral world, as well as in the physical, mysterious principles at -work unknown to ourselves, and even in spite of ontselves. Thanks to this latent working, things are better today than they weni.a hundred or even fifty years ago, and fifty years hence you who are youllg will see still further improvement. One must take _present evil,witb patience, and give time leisure to do its work. Let each in liii liumb% sphere try to become better, and render better those around him. There, and only there, lies the corner-stone of our futuie regeneration. As for me, my dear friend, when, in the first shop into which I may happen to go, I am only asked the fair price or thereabouts of the article I go to buy, I shall consider in country to have made a more important conquest than if it had given itself all the institutions of Sparta and of Athens Into the bargain.'"