BOOKS.

CAVOUR.*

Mn. DICEY, in-this simple, manly, and graphic memoir of the greatest statesman of -our own if not of any age, relates a curious saying of the Emperor's daring .Cavour's stay at Plombieres, which was mentioned, lie says, " by Cavour, on his return, to my informant." The Emperor -turned to him -one day, and said, "Do you know there are but three men in all Europe ; one is myself, the second is you, and the third is one whose name I will not mention." The diplomatic reserve that kept a mysterious vacancy for every great may in Europe to fill tip with his own name seems to indicate that it was a saying intended for circulation, which was scarcely wise, as its effect must be to suggest to every one anomparison between the two statesmen, and to few, if any, a comparison favourable to the Emperor. Indeed, phlegmatic and self-contained as the Emperor is, the masculine element is by no means characteristic of )rim as a politician, as it undoubtedly was of Cavour.* The delight which Cavour uniformly manifested in the open parliamentary conflicts of a free people, in beatipg down opposition without either bitterness or an unfair use of authority by the mere exuberance of his political sagacity in a fair field, contrasts strangely in its genuinely-masculine breadth and force with those saturnine oracles of Loins Napoleon, which seem born of solitude, and intended not to convince but to stun the minds of men. The love of a fair and free fight is the first token of a masculine temperament. It is of the essence of constitutionalism, and was deeply rooted in the very -soul of Cavour, but it seems totally absent from the mind of the Emperor of the French. If Cavour's diplo- macy was sometimes a little too complex in its folds, he had at least no pleasure in intrigue, and though not always tastidious in his means, always preferred the simplest policy which seemed to him likely to secure his end. In the Emperor of-the French, on the other hand, there is enough indication of a love of canning ; even his "haughty frankness has always the air of a carefully-calculated candour, and there can be no doubt that his reputation for inscru- tability is due partly to real instability of purpose, and partly to a pleasure in mystification. In 'neither of these qualities is there the slightest likeness between him and Cavour, whose purposes were never dropped for an instant, and always avowed as broadly and as early as the most courageous sagacity would permit. Again, the exuberant sociality and sunny popular liberalism of Cavour's political temperament,—too large for pique or vanity of any sort,—too unselfish for jealousy, sometimes even for caution,—mark the masculine poli- tician in striking contrast to the secretive temperament of the Em- peror of the French, which always seems to be planning political ambuscades for Europe, and to care less by far for results than for their reflex action on his own greatness. Magnanimity is the great characteristic of Cavour. It is not conspicuous in the third Napo- leon. Though Mr. Dicey's memoir anticipates, as be very truly observes, the time for a full and adequate biography of Count Cavour, we should be deeply grateful for it if only for the vigour with which it brings out this masculine magnanimity and hearty disinterested. ness in Count Cavour's great genius. Never for an instant could the man who had read this book think again of petty cunning in connexion with this great statesman. That in his eagerness for great and disinterested ends he was sometimes less scrupulous than we 'might wish about the means, no one can deny ; but that,flnesse was a pleasure to him, that he ever preferred an indirect to a direct way, or adopted the former without what he considered an absolute necessity and real pain, no one who reads this vigorous account of his public career, and steady cheerful course through good report and evil report, can believe for a moment. Let us follow, 'briefly, Mr. Dicey'te story, with especial reference to those speeches and writings of Count Cavour which are no longer fresh in the memories of Englishmen. Cavour was, as is well 'known, appointed at the early age of ten years a page to Charles Albert, then Prince of Savoy-Carignan. He neither liked his work nor performed it so that the Prince liked it, and when quicklydismissed,tradition states'tbat the child expressed his;tioy at having "thrown off the pack-saddle." In early youth, thou a strong Liberal from the first, he uniformly despised and dislike the conspiracies and secret fraternities of which Italy was so full. A letter, written when he was twenty-five, proves that even then he saw himself " in dreams the minister of the Kingdom of Italy." but he never dreamt of owing his rise to the revolutionary machinery, for lie distrusted from the first the weak and servile method of con- spiracy by which the Mazzinian party strove to bring about national strength and freedom. What he wrote in the Risorgunento, in 1848, expressed one of the deepest convictions of his life: " What is it which has always ruined the noblest and most just of re- volutions? The mania for revolutionary methods; the men who fancied fig. could render themselves independent of the every-day laws of nature, and thonekt they had strength enough to make these laws anew,' It was Cavour's permanent conviction that the orderly discipline of an established and regular government was the only true instru- ment of a really successful revolution. He did not believe that a train of moral gunpowder, fired in different parts of a country, could ever organize at once a strong and free system of political order; it might give birth, he said, to a despotism or to an anarchy, never to a-free constitution. As early as November, 1848, be prophesied in the Rieorgimenlo that the French Revolution would end soon ins second despotism. ." Let us wait a short time, and we shall see-as the last fruit of the revolutionary measures Louis Napoleon-on the throne of France."

* Cavour: a Memoir. By Edward Dicey. Macmillan.

But this is to anticipate. What we wish is to bring out the frank and hearty liberalism of Cavour's political character, as distinguished from that unwholesome and so to say medicated type of liberalism Which the French Imperialists have forced upon the world's notice. Cavour made use of the French alliance for Italy ; but there was no real approximation between his politics and the " Napoleonic ideas." He had far too masculine a mind for that hybrid compromise be- tween an emasculated tyranny and an hermaphrodite democracy. Cavour, as is well known, spent much of his early life in study and travel. It was not till 1842, when lie was thirty-two years old, that he began to take any share even in the political literature of Piedmont, nor till 1847, at the age of thirty-seven, that he was personally mixed up in political affairs. During this preliminary five years he wrote and published occasionally. Mr. Dicey has made some important selections from these writings, of which we will take a specimen published in the Risorgimento, in December, 1847, on the eve of his first appearance in political life. We see from it that, staunch as was Cavour's adherence to the English school of political economy, he could understand fully the moral and social limits within which alone it could be accepted as a safe prac- tical nide : "All the writers, therefore, who have volunteered to undertake the direction of this journal, declare unanimously, that they should reckon no increase of public wealth an advantage or a real benefit to the country, unless the workmen derive an advantage from that increase, to whose production they will have contributed a large, if not a principal, part by their labours. The edifice of social industry, wherever it is once established, has grown, and will grow, to such a height, as to threaten ruin and fearful calamities to society itself, unless its foundations are strengthened, and unless the other parts of the building are connected more closely with the great base of the working class; alterations which can only be produced by rendering that class more moral and more religious, by granting it a

more liberal education and an easier existence " England, that land of great lessons, has too long neglected this sacred duty. While its great commercial emporiums, its immense centres of industry grew to a portentous size ; while Liverpool and Manchester, in little more than seventy years, grew from small villages into colossal cities ; while, in the counties of York and Lancashire, capitals accumulated by millions, nothing was done by govern- ment. and but little by private individuals, to satisfy the intellectual and moral requirements of the new populations whom commerce and industry caused to con- centrate in this part of the kingdom. The effects of this culpable neglect, though most pernicious, remained, for long, unobserved. When, however, they were re- vealed, by growing public disorders, and by the threatening attitude of the Chartist associations, both the Parliament and the public were obliged to investi- gate the causes of this evil, and to endeavour to ameliorate the condition of the working classes in the great centres of commerce and industry.

"A fearful spectacle was the result of these investigations. England perceived with terror, that if, at the summit of the social edifice, there was an enlightened, conscientious, and energetic class of men, yet, in the lower regions, the vast majority grovelled devoid of intelligence or moral instruction, and some were found in so abject a state as to be ignorant of the names of God and our Divine Redeemer

" The example of England should be kept before our eyes. Italy, now on the eve of entering a great industrial career, should learn from it to attach great importance to the welfare of the working classes, and to bestow constant and anxious care on the improvement of their condition."

Cavour's first appearance in political life was at the meeting of Liberals at the end of 1847 to address Charles Albert on behalf of liberal measures. Cavour had the reputation at this time of cherish- ing deep aristocratic prejudices,—nor did the bold part lie took dispel the suspicions entertained of him. He urged the Liberals to ask for the constitution, and nothing less. They distrusted him, and did not follow his counsel; Cavour wrote a letter to the King explaining the grounds of his advice, and the rapid drift of European events obliged Charles Albert, after much fatal hesitation, to grant it. Cavour was then a member of the committee to draw up the electoral law, and took a very active part in its deliberations. He heartily opposed universal suffrage, for which he never had any esteem. The moral qualifications which he considered essential for an elector were inde- pendence from all influences of bribery or coercion, political intelli- gence enough to judge of a candidate's merits, and some stake in the preservation of order—social character, education, property. In the votes of annexation of 1860 he was half compelled to adopt universal suffrage by the French alliance ; and on questions of that magnitude he probably did not feel that there was nearly so much danger of abuse as in ordinary elections ; but even so, he probably did not much relish the necessity. Mr. Dicey says : "I have been told by an old friend of Cavour's, that not many months ago, he met the Premier, and asked him in conversation what he thought of universal suffrage. Cavour paused and rubbed his hands, and then with that strange chuckle of his, half cynical, half good-natured, added, Oh) you know, it is a capital invention.' " When, in March, 1848, the revolution broke out in Milan and Venice, Cavour, though with little hope for the result, was one of the first and most enthusiastic in urging the Sardinian declaration of war. He saw that if Sardinia did not lead Italy at that moment, her moral influence was lost for ever, and this he thought a greater risk than any physical danger. But when, after the defeat of Custoza and the conclusion of the armistice with Austria, the Sardinian Par- liament met again, he knew that Sardinia had done all that was possible and virtually lost, he was very anxious to prevent the second fatal cam- paign, and urged a diplomatic attempt to secure terms by French and English intervention, which made him excessively unpopular among the democrats of Piedmont. He fought eagerly and desperately at this time to support the constitutional government against the mad pressure of the democratic war-party. He voted with the Balbo Ministry for this purpose. He then supported the Revel-Pinelli Ministry, which tried to resist the last mad rush into war. For this he incurred the most opprobrious insults, and could scarcely make his voice heard in the Chamber. The Gioberti (religious-democratic) party nicknamed him " Milord" Camillo, from his Anglicanizing creed, and the Con- cordia, the organ of that party, loaded him with scurrilous abuse,

and, when Parliament was dissolved, raised a cry that prevented his re-election for Turin. Yet so generous was he, that as soon as lie saw reason to believe that Gioberti himself, on his accession to power, wished to inaugurate a moderate policy and to check the war mania, then he forgot all these injuries, gave him all his support, so that on the evening of Gioberti's fall from power, he came to the office of the

Risorgimento to thank Cavour for his generous help. This was the policy of a thoroughly generous constitutional politician,—not of a disciple of the Napoleonic finesse.

When the war was resumed and ended by the defeat of Novara, the abdication of Charles Albert, the accession of Victor Emanuel, and the signing of a treaty of peace depressing enough to all true Italian hopes, Cavour lent his whole force to the support of the government in that moment of shame and unpopularity, doing his best to persuade the enraged democrats to accede quietly to the terms of a peace which, though humiliating, was the only alternative of utter ruin. But no sooner was this crisis passed than he took the lead in that long series of reforms, mainly on ecclesiastical ques- tions, which, while it embroiled Piedmont with the Pope, and before long again estranged her from Austria, enabled her to lead the Liberal movement in Italy. Not a year after the battle of Novara, he was foremost in supporting the Siccardi bill, which suppressed the eccle- siastical courts and subjected the clergy in civil matters to the com- mon law. And this was the first occasion of his entry into the Ministry. Santa Rosa, the Minister of Commerce, dying suddenly, the priest of his parish, by order of the Archbishop of Turin, refused him extreme unction unless he would confess his sin in supporting this bill, which he declined to do. Public indignation rose so high as to demand that Santa Rosa's place should be filled by another prominent supporter of the same great measure, and Cavour was chosen. Within five years he had, at the greatest sacrifice of personal friendships, to carry a further ecclesiastical reform, and Mr. Dicey mentions a curious incident showing the value which Cavour really set on the privileges of communion. It is striking, as showing either the strong social temperament of Count Cavour—a temperament sensitive to the pain of a solitary position—or, on the other hand, as evincing a deeper belief in the power of the Catholic sacraments than he has hitherto had credit for :

"Since Cavonr's death a strange incident has become known to me in con- nexion with this measure. When the discussion was at its height, Cavour told a private friend of his that, mindful of Santa Rosa's fate, be had made arrange- ments with a priest whom he could trust, so that he might rely on the last sacraments being administered to hiM in the case of death. Whether this forethought was due to a conviction, that the fact of his dying unabsolved, would be an injury to the cause for which he lived, or whether it was owing to some deeper and more personal feeling, is one of those mysteries which, perhaps, he himself could scarce have explained fully. It is certain that when he died, this priest, the now well-known Fra Giacomo, was not wanting to the promise given."

The political Conduct we have thus far traced is not that of an Italian intriguer, but of a steady, frank, resolute constitutionalist—a genuine Italian Whig, with far more of that genial pleasure in familiarity with the people than ever marked an English Whig. From the period of the Crimean war, which we have now reached, Cavour's policy and marvellous success are so well known that we need not follow Mr. Dicey's footsteps again over that frequently worn track. But we think that not even his biographer has drawn sufficient attention to the fact that Imperialist influences never bent Cavour to one single infraction of the constitutional rights of Sardinia. We can all remember the ungenerous English prophecies that followed so thick upon the Act empowering Victor Emanuel to dispense for a time with his Parliament,—the significant innuendoes that the French army once in Italy, the Sardinian ideas of freedom would be perma- nently assimilated to those of Louis Napoleon. No doubt the Emperor's pressure was painfully felt after Villafrance ; but Cavour proved his hearty loyalty to the Italian constitution. And the remainder of that great career cannot be better summarized than in Lord Palmerston's noble words in the House of Commons, of which every true Englishman is justly proud: " It may be truly said of Count Cavour, that he has left a name to point a moral and adorn a tale.' The moral which is to be drawn from the life of Count Cavour is this—that a man of transcendent talents, of indomitable energy, and of inextinguishable patriotism, may, by the impulses which his own single mind may give to his countrymen, aiding a righteous cause—for I shall so call it, in spite of what may be said to the con- trary—and, seizing favourable opportunities, notwithstanding diffi- culties that appear at first sight insurmountable, confer on his country the greatest and most inestimable benefits. That is the moral to be drawn from the history. of Count Cavour. The tale with which his memory will be associated is one of the most extraordinary —I may say the most romantic—that are recorded in the annals of the world. We have seen under his influence and guidance a people who were supposed to have become torpid in the enjoyment of luxury, to have been enervated by the pursuits of pleasure, and to have had no knowledge or feeling on politics except what may have been derived from the traditions of their history and the jealousies of rival States—we have seen that people, under his guidance and at his call, rising from the slumber of ages with the power of a giant refreshed, breaking that spell by which they had so long been bound, and displaying on great occasions the courage of heroes, the sagacity of statesmen, the wisdom of philosophers, and obtaining for them- selves that unity of political existence which for centuries had been denied them. I say that these are great events in history, and that the man whose name will go down to posterity connected with such a series of events, whatever may have been the period of his death, however premature it play have been for the hopes of his countrymen, cannot be said to have died too soon for his glory and his faille..

A few words from Mr. Dicey's volume as to the private side of this great statesman's life, and we have done. That, too, was in harmony with the picture we have drawn of a Southern Liberal—a man with a keen liking for the people, as well as a strong conviction that they

should be taught to govern themselves. No Machiavellian intriguer

could be thus described :

"True, too, to his Piedmontese nature, the private life of Cavour was a very simple and unpretending one. He rose between four and five, had audiences chiefly on matters connected with his private property till six, breakfasted very lightly, according to Italian fashion, and then, with the interval of half an hour's walk in the middle of the day, worked till the Chambers met. He dined late, after the Chambers were over, and almost always, except on the rare occasions when he gave state dinners, alone with his brother. When dinner was over he smoked a cigar, sitting in summer-time on his balcony, where the citizens of Turin used to come and look at 'the Count,' as they were wont to call him; then slept for half an hour, and worked again till he went to bed at midnight. His amusements were few and simple. He would drive out at times with his brother in a pony carriage, • known to all Turin. When he was dead tired he went to the theatre, and generally fell asleep there; and, in truth, what he seemed to enjoy most was going over, whenever he could spare time, to his own estates at Len, or to his brother's property at Santena, and there strolling about the fields, talk- ing with the farmers, and watching the progress of his agricultural experiments. His was a rich genial nature, which took interest in everything and everybody that he came across ; and so, all persons, who had to do with him in private life, became fond of him, not so much for his open-handed charity as for the ready kindly sympathy, which was never wanting."

And he was loved eagerly by the people whom he so much loved. Mr. Dicey has the following pathetic anecdote of Cavour's burial :

In the village of Santena there resides a well-to-do landed proprietor, who, years ago, made his fortune as a meson. On the occasion of Cavour's funeral the farmer begged permission to be allowed for the time to resume his old trade, and fasten up the slab himself. The permission was granted, and when the work was done some one noticed to him that the black clothes he had put on for the funeral were stained with plaster marks. 'Don't touch them,' he answered ; I aball leave these clothes, just as they are, to my children as the most precious of my possessions.' And the stained clothes now hang treasured up in the house of the mason-farmer."

Once more let us thank Mr. Dicey for this terse and genial memoir. As it will doubtless reach more than one edition, we must notice that it is very carelessly printed and punctuated; many obvious errata would be noticed on the least careful revision. It would be worth while to correct them; for in the long interval which must elapse before any authentic narrative of Cavour's life, illustrated by private papers, can be published, nothing is likely to appear which can surpass in vigour and manly pathos this picture of the brief but noble romantic story of the greatest of European statesmen.