Overawed I think would frequently have been more correct, when I remember how they must have heard him denouncing the Austrian rule, or holding up to execration his crowned enemies. I always looked upon him, as I certainly believe he did upon himself, as the ordained champion of the oppressed, and as a menacing tool in the hands of an unflinching Providence. He himself was as unflinching as the Fates, and, regarding himself as the embodiment of a good cause, cared little for the obloquy his opponents ever heaped upon his head. To name but one instance: when Orsini attempted the life of Napoleon III., throwing a bomb at the imperial carriage as it was approaching the Opera House in the Rue Drouot, not killing the object of his hatred, but making so many innocent victims, a cry of horror went through the civilized world, and Mazzini got his full share of execration. Nobody entertained a doubt that he was at the bottom of the plot. It could only be he who had organized it; he had supplied the bombs, and Orsini was but a tool sent to the post of danger, whilst he himself remained on the safe side of the water that separated hospitable England from the realm of the French emperor and his ever watchful police. The world was mistaken. Mazzini may have hatched plots and prepared coups, indeed to do so was his daily task; and sometimes when I asked him: "Eh bien, comment cela va? Qu'est-ce que vous faites?" he would pleasantly answer: "Je conspire;" but in this case we knew that he could not have had any communication with Orsini. What had happened between them had led to an irreparable breach. During one of Mazzini's secret visits to the continent,

Mr. Stansfeld, had undertaken to open his letters for him, and to forward what he deemed desirable. Among others a letter from Orsini thus came into his hands which contained the vilest accusations against two most deservedly respected ladies, friends both of Mr. Stansfeld and of Mazzini. The indignant answer with which the former met the slander led in true continental fashion to a challenge from Orsini, which, it is needless to say, was treated with contempt. Mazzini, to whom woman was ever an ideal to be looked up to and revered, was deeply incensed. He never met Orsini after the incident, and he never forgave him the libels he had penned.

Alluding to these circumstances, I asked him why he did not publicly contradict the reports that accused him of complicity; knowing, as I did, that they were untrue, I wondered that he did not repudiate the charge. To that he answered: "It matters nothing, or rather it is well the world should believe me implicated. I never protest. Europe needs a bugbear, a watchword that threatens, a name that makes itself feared. The few syllables that go to make up my name will serve the purpose as well as any other."

Mr. Stansfeld was one of his earliest friends. He has often told me how great was the personal influence Mazzini exercised over him. "What could be loftier," he writes, "than his conception of duty as the standard of life for nations and individuals alike, and of right as a consequence of duty fulfilled? His earnestness and eloquence fascinated me from the first, and many young men of that time have had their after-lives elevated by his living example."

There were two associations of which all the most active members were young men, Mr. Stansfeld amongst the number: "The People's International League," and "The Society of the Friends of Italy," the latter especially exercising considerable influence in accentuating and bringing to the front the disposition of British public opinion

in favor of the emancipation and unification of Italy. At the close of the revolution that in 1848 shook the very foundations on which rested European thrones, many of the most prominent leaders and revolutionary personalities of the period sought shelter in the sanctuary of the British Islands, and it was at this time that Mazzini's more intimate friends found a hospitable and cordial reception at Mr. Stansfeld's house. Mazzini himself had first come to London when he was obliged to leave Switzerland in 1841. One or two of the incidents that arose out of his presence in England are worth recalling.

In 1844 a petition from Mazzini and others was presented in the House of Commons, complaining that their letters had been opened in the Post Office. Sir James Graham, under whose instructions as secretary of state this had been done, defended his action, and roundly abused Mazzini, as did Lord Aberdeen in the House of Lords. They, however, afterwards apologized for their calumnies. A bill was introduced to put a stop to the power of opening letters by the secretary of state, but was dropped. It was on this occasion that Carlyle wrote to the Times his famous defence of Mazzini. "I have had the honor to know Mr. Mazzini for a series of years," he says, "and, whatever I may think of his practical insight and skill in worldly affairs, I can with great freedom testify to all men that he, if ever I have seen one such, is a man of genius and virtue, a man of sterling veracity, humanity, and nobleness of mind, one of those rare men, numerable unfortunately but as units in this world, who are worthy to be called martyr souls."

Twenty years later the subject of Mazzini's letters once more led to heated controversy in the House of Commons. At that time Mr. Stansfeld was a Junior Lord of the Admiralty. His friendship for the champion of Italy's rights had ripened as years went on, and he was ever ready to serve him and the good cause. It happened that the French Procureur-Impérial, while engaged in prosecuting a State con

spiracy, discovered that one of the accused persons had been found in possession of a letter telling him to write for money to Mr. Flowers at 35 Thurloe-square, S. W. This was Mr. Stansfeld's address, and he did not hesitate to admit that he had allowed Mazzini to have his letters addressed there, under the title of M. Fiori (Anglicè Flowers), to prevent those letters from being opened, while at the same time he knew nothing of their contents. The incident was used by Disraeli to make an attack on the Palmerston government for containing in its ranks so dangerous a man as Stansfeld-a man actually engaged in sheltering a conspirator and "the great promoter of assassination," as he was pleased to call Mazzini. Bright made a strong speech defending Stansfeld and Mazzini, and declaring that Disraeli himself had justified regicide, as he had in the "Revolutionary Epic." Stansfeld also spoke, saying that he was proud of the intimate friendship of Mazzini, and denying that the great patriot could be properly described in the scurrilous language Disraeli had used.

It was in consequence of this incident that Mr. Stansfeld resigned office, "perfectly satisfied," he says in a letter on the subject, "in being able by so doing to reconcile the duties of private friendship with my obligations to the government of which I was the youngest memher." Since then thirty-three years have elapsed, and, whether as Mr., or Sir James, Stansfeld has always been a good knight and true, laboring with the zeal of the reformer and the foresight of the statesman. In Mazzini he admired not only the patriot who served his own country with passionate devotion, but the teacher who, seeing far beyond the narrow limits of each separate nation, could realize the ideal of international unity, and foreshadow a future in which the aim of statesmanship among free nations would no longer be to perpetuate the weakness of others, but "to secure the amelioration of all, and the progress of each for the benefit of all the others."

Thus impressed with the solidarity of

nations, and the community of their Interests, Stansfeld has at all times advocated the cause of international unity and the establishment of tribunals of arbitration; and to this day, if a powerful figure-head is wanted to represent those causes, be it to preside over a meeting or to introduce a deputation to the prime minister, we look to Sir James as the man round whom the best and most influential politicians will rally, and whom they will cordially support, confident as they are both of his strength and of his discretion.

From the arena of politics, national and international, to the four walls of my little studio, is an abrupt transition; but with the name of Mazzini as a connecting link, it needs no apology. So I make straight for Cadogan-gardens, in order to mention a pleasant recollection I have of a certain October evening in 1862, when Mazzini unexpectedly dropped in. My cousin, Ernst Jaques, and two friends, Gustav Simon and Herr von Keudell, had met there on a short visit to London to "make music." Mazzini and myself formed an appreciative audience, as well we might, for they played Mendelssohn's D Minor Trio in masterly fashion, von Keudell at the piano, Simon taking the violin, and my cousin the violoncello part. Mazzini loved music and was in full sympathy with the performers, so naturally the conversation first turned on the beauties of Mendelssohn's work and its interpreters; but it soon gravitated to the subjects always uppermost in his mind. Herr von Keudell was particularly successful in drawing him out, perhaps because he held views opposed to those of the great patriot, and was well prepared to discuss them. He was soon to become Bismarck's confidential secretary, and as such to take an active and influential part in tne chapter of history that was ere long to be enacted. In later years he rose to occupy the post of ambassador to Italy. There was much in his aspirations that interested Mazzini, and when presently my cousin asked him for his autograph, he wrote, “Ah, si l'Allemagne agissait comme elle pense." Then it was on matters revo

lutionary that he talked, on the organization of secret societies, on his clandestine visits to countries in which a price had been set upon his head, and finally, as he got up to leave us, on the detectives he would not keep waiting any longer. They had shadowed him as usual from his house, and would not fail to shadow him back. Very sensational stories were current in reference to those clandestine visits and the disguises under which Mazzini was supposed to have travelled, but they were mere inventions, he told us. To keep his counsel about the end of his journey and the time of his leaving, to shave off his moustache and sometimes to wear spectacles and to travel quickly, were his sole precautions.

He always carried a certain walkingstick with a carved ivory handle, a most innocent-looking thing, but in reality a scabbard holding a sharply pointed blade. This is now in the possession of Mr. Joseph Stansfeld, to whom it was given by Mr. Peter Taylor, the old and trusted friend of Mazzini. He also preserves a volume of "The Duties of Man" with the dedication in his godfather's hand: "To Joseph, in memoriam of Joseph Mazzini." There is, too, a portrait of Maria Mazzini (Giuseppe's mother). It is a very poor production, and whilst it may, perhaps, give us some idea of her features, it certainly in no way reflects her lovable nature. When I knew Mazzini he was living in the simplest of lodgings, at 2 Onslowterrace, Brompton. His room was littered with papers and pamphlets. Birds were his constant companions; the room was their cage, wire netting being stretched across the windows. They flew around and hopped about most unceremoniously on the writing table amongst the conspirator's voluminous correspondence. He had a curious way of holding his pen, the thumb not closing upon it as he wrote, a peculiarity which accounts for the crabbed character of his handwriting. Being

He was the austerest of Republicans, had few wants, and but slender means with which to satisfy them. Whatever he may have possessed in early life, he had spent for the cause he was devoted to; afterwards he lived on a small annuity which his mother had settled on him.

When he sat for me, I always took good care to place a box of cigars, and wherewith to light one arter the other, on a little table by his side. Thus equipped, he proved an admirable model; he sat, or rather stood, with untiring energy, dictating, as it were, the character of the picture, and enabling me to put every touch from nature; posing for those nervous sensitive hands of his, for the coat and the black velvet waistcoat buttoned up to the chin-he never showed a trace of white collar or cuff-and for the long Venetian gold chain, the only slender line of light I could introduce in the sombre figure. He was indeed, I felt, a subject to stir up an artist, and to sharpen whatever of wits he might have at the end of his brush.

From Mazzini I first heard of the new enterprise Garibaldi had embarked on in August, 1862. He had once more left Caprera, and had crossed over to Calabria with the avowed intention of driving the French garrison from Rome. Mazzini was most emphatic in his condemnation of the scheme, and used strong and uncomplimentary language in censuring the action of his colleague. "But the die is cast," he said, "and under the circumstances I cannot do otherwise than give instructions to all our groups and societies to support him."

How disastrously the expedition ended we all remember. It was denounced as treasonable by the Italian government in a royal proclamation, and Garibaldi was wounded at Aspromonte in an encounter with troops sent to stop his advance. Great and spontaneous was the outburst of sympathy in England for the hero of Marsala. A small group of his friends arranged at a cost of £1,000 to send out an English surgeon, Mr. Partridge, to attend him.

It was not by him, however, but by the eminent French surgeon Nélaton that the bullet was found and extracted.

More than once Mazzini's impulsiveness, not to say naïveté, struck me. Thus one day he rushed breathlessly into my studio, with the words, "Have you heard the news? We are going to have Rome and Venice." I forget what particular news he alluded to, but remember pulling him up with unwarrantable audacity. "At what o'clock?" I asked. "Ah," he answered, "go on, go on. I am too well accustomed to jeers and epigrams to mind." I humbly apologized for my disrespectful retort, uttered on the spur of the moment; but to do so seemed scarcely necessary, for the lion evidently did not mind my taking liberties with his tail; and presently, when I said, "Well, if not at what o'clock, tell me in how much time you will have Rome and Venice," he answered, "Within a twelvemonth. You will see." I made a note of the date, but never reminded him of the incident. In his enthusiasm he had been over sanguine. "Id fere credunt quod volunt," says Cæsar in his "De Bello Gallico" ("they readily believe what they wish"), and Mazzini was the man of faith and aspirations. Four years were yet to elapse before Venice was liberated, and eight years before the Italians gained possession of Rome.

One of the subjects he felt strongly on was that of compulsory insurance. I cannot remember that he favored any particular scheme, but he was. wedded to the principle that no man has a right to become a pauper, and that he should be compelled by law to save a fraction of his earnings, to be entrusted to the state. In old age he should be able to draw upon a fund thus constituted, and in doing so he would be no more under obligation to the state, than any man is to the banker with whom he has opened an account.

Some little notes which I received from him mostly refer to the sittings for his portrait. On one occasion I must have written that I was again conspiring against his peace, and wanted him to make an appointment.

In allusion to this he answers, addressing me as "Mon cher conspirateur." On another occasion I had put that I was one of the several tyrants who were clamoring for his head, to which his answer commenced, "Mon cher tyran." That autograph I always particularly prized, the juxtaposition of the words "Dear” and “Tyrant” in Mazzini's handwriting being, I believe, unique. In my album he quotes Goethe, "Im Ganzen, Guten, Wahren resolut zu leben," words that strike one as the appropriate motto for the man who ever sought to live resolutely for all that is good and true. His quotation, however, was not quite correct, for he had substituted, characteristicauy perhaps, the "True" for the "Beautiful."

Some letters addressed to his friend, Allessandro Cicognani, and dated November 15, 1849, Frontiera Lombarda, have recently come into my possession. In one of these he says:

E tempo che ci dichiariamo in faccia all' Europa inetti a essere liberi, o che cominciamo ad agire da per noi. Noi vogliamo cicciare lo straniero d'Italia, e vogliamo che il paese intero decida liberamente della proprie sorti. Guerra dunque

e

con

costituente. Se vi è chi dissenta da quegli due punti, merita danna da ogni Italiano che ami il Paese. Non si tratta più di un partito o dell' altro, si tratta di esistere come nazione e di riconoscere nella nazione la sovranità. In questi limite noi vogliamo stare, al di qua noi non diamo ormai più tregua ad alcuno. It is time that in the sight of Europe we should either openly avow ourselves incapable of being free, or that we should begin to act for ourselves. We are re solved to drive the foreigner from Italy, and to let the whole country be the free arbiter of its own destiny. This means war. If there is any one who dissents from these two points he deserves the condemnation of every Italian who loves his country. It is no longer a question of one party or another, it is a question of existing as a nation, and of recognizing the sovereignty of the nation. Within these limits we will stand, beyond them we will henceforth concede no truce to any one.

The epistles he received he sometimes showed me as curiosities. Some came

from his admirers, others from his detractors, either usually total strangers to him. There were letters couched in terms of most eccentric adulation, others that unceremoniously relegated him to the regions of perdition. One merely requested him to go to the antipodes, in order that he might be well out of the way of regenerated Italy. Another, less urbane, addressed him as "Uomo aborrito!" ("Abhorred Man!"), and continued in a similar strain of abuse. Mazzini took it all pleasantly; the lion's tail was once for all proof against any amount of pulling. The patriotic dreams of Mazzini were gradually to be realized, in a measure, at least; for although his ideal—a republic in place of a monarchy-seemed hopeless of attainment, the hated foreigner was expelled, or had retired from Italian soil, and a united people joined hands from the Alps to the Adriatic.

He had returned to his native land, and there, active and uncompromising to the last, he died at Pisa, on March 10, 1872, in the Casa Rosselli. A private letter dated shortly afterwards, gives some particulars of his last hours. He was perfectly tranquil, and free from suffering, but sank into a gradual stupor. During the day, at times, his hands moved mechanically, as if he were holding and smoking a cigar. Madame Rosselli asked him why he did that; but his mind was wandering, he did not understand her, and answered

an imaginary question. He roused himself, and looking straight at her, he said, with great animation and intenseness, "Believe in God? Yes, indeed I do believe in God." These were his last words of consciousness.

The good people of Pisa were not a little surprised when they learnt that the mild and retiring Mr. Francis Braun, who had resided within their walls for the last twelve months, was no other than the redoubtable Mazzini, Even the doctor who attended him in his last illness was not in the secret. The authorities were probably aware of his identity, but they were but too glad to leave him unmolested, knowing well how embarrassing it would have been

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