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tates of conventionality. They first asked for Prince Alfred of England, now Duke of Edinburgh; but the arrangements of European diplomacy did not allow of a prince of any of the great reigning houses being set over Greece. In any case, nothing can be less likely than that an English Prince would have accepted such a responsibility. The French Government made some significant remark, to the effect that if it were possible for any of the Great Powers to allow one of their princes to accept the Greek crown, France had a prince disengaged, who, she thought, might have at least as good a claim as another. This was understood to be Prince Napoleon, son of Jerome, King of Westphalia-a prince of whom a good deal was heard after, as a good deal had been heard before, in the politics of Europe. The suggestion then about the prince of the House of Denmark was made either by or to the Greeks, and it was accepted. The second son of the King of Denmark was made King of Greece; and Lord John Russell, on behalf of the English Government, then handed over to the kingdom of Greece the islands of which Great Britain had had so long to bear the unwilling charge, and the retention of which, according to some uneasy politicians, was absolutely necessary alike to the national safety and the imperial glory of England. This is anticipating by a few years the movement of time; but the effects of Mr. Gladstone's visit so distinctly foreshadowed the inevitable result that it is not worth while dividing into two parts this little chapter of our history. Mr. Gladstone's visit, the mistaken interpretation put upon it by the islanders, and the reception which, chiefly on account of that mistake, he had among them, must have made it clear to every intelligent person in England that this country could not long continue to force her protectorate upon a reluctant population over whom it could not even claim the right of conquest. It ought to have been plain to all the world that England could not long consent, with any regard for her own professions and principles, to play the part of Europe's jailer or man in possession. The cession of the Ionian Islands marked, however, the farthest point of progress attained for many years in that liberal principle of foreign policy which recognizes fairness and justice as motives of action more imperative than national vanity, or the imperial pride

of extended possession. England had to suffer for some time under the influence of a reaction which the cession of the islands, all just and prudent though it was, unquestionably helped to bring about.

CHAPTER XL.

THE TORY DIOGENES ROLLING HIS TUB.

THERE was once, we read, a mighty preparation for war going on in Athens. Everybody was busy in arrangement of some kind to meet the needs of coming battle. Diogenes had nothing in particular to do, but was unwilling to appear absolutely idle when all else were so busy. He set to work, therefore, with immense clatter and energy, to roll his tub up and down the streets of Athens. The Conservative Government, seeing Europe all in disturbance, and having nothing very particular to do, began to roll a tub of their own, and to show a preternatural and wholly unnecessary activity in doing so.

The year 1859 was one of storm and stress on the European continent. The war-drum throbbed through the whole of it. The year began with the memorable declaration of the Emperor of the French to the Austrian Ambassador at the Tuileries that the relations between the two Empires were not such as he could desire. This he said, according to the description given of the event in a despatch from Lord Cowley, "with some severity of tone." In truth, Count Cavour had had his way. He had prevailed upon Louis Napoleon, and the result was a determination to expel the Austrians from Italy. It seems clear enough that the Emperor, after awhile, grew anxiously inclined to draw back from the position in which he had placed himself. Great pressure was brought to bear upon him by the English Government, and by other Governments as well, to induce him to refrain from disturbing the peace of Europe. He was probably quite sincere in the assurances he repeatedly gave that he was doing his best to prevent a rupture with Austria; and he would possibly have given much to avoid the quarrel. The turn of his mind was such that he scarcely

ever formed any resolution or entered into any agreement; but the moment the step was taken, he began to see reasons for wishing that he had followed a different course. In this instance it is evident that he started at the sound himself had made. It was not, however, any longer in his power to guide events. He was in the hands of a stronger will and a more daring spirit than his own. In the career of Count Cavour our times have seen, perhaps, the most remarkable illustration of that great Italian statesmanship which has always appeared at intervals in the history of Europe. There may be very different opinions about the political morality of Cavour. Rather, indeed, may it be said that his strongest admirer is forced to invent a morality of his own, in order to justify all the political actions of a man. who knew no fear, hesitation, or scruple. Cavour had the head of a Machiavelli, the daring of a Cæsar Borgia, the political craft and audacity of a Richelieu. He was undoubtedly a patriot and a lover of his country; but he was willing to serve his country by means from which the conscience of modern Europe, even as it shows itself in the business of statesmanship, is forced to shrink back. If ends were to justify means, then the history of United Italy may be the justification of the life of Cavour; but until ends are held to justify means, one can only say that he did marvellous things-that he broke up and reconstructed political systems; that he made a nation; that he realized the dreams of Dante, and some of the schemes of Alexander VI.; and that he accomplished all this, for the most part, at the cost of other people, and not of Italians. Louis Napoleon was simply a weapon in the hands of such a man. Cavour knew precisely what he wanted, and was prepared to go all lengths and to run all risks to have it. When once the French Emperor had entered into a compact with him there was no escape from it.

Cavour did not look like an Italian; at least, a typical Italian. He looked more like an Englishman. He reminded Englishmen oddly of Dickens's Pickwick, with his large forehead, his general look of moony good-nature, and his spectacles. That commonplace, homely exterior concealed unsurpassed force of character, subtlety of scheming, and power of will. Cavour was determined that France should

fight Austria. If Louis Napoleon had shown any decided inclination to draw back, Cavour would have flung Piedmont single-handed into the fight, and defied France, after what had passed, to leave her to her fate. Louis Napoleon dared not leave Piedmont to her fate. He had gone too far with Cavour for that. The war between France and Austria broke out. It was over, one might say, in a moment. Austria had no generals; the French army rushed to success; and then Louis Napoleon stopped short as suddenly as he had begun. He had proclaimed that he went to war to set Italy free from the Alps to the sea; but he made peace on the basis of the liberation of Lombardy from Austrian rule, and he left Venetia for another day and for other arms. He drew back before the very serious danger that threatened on the part of the German States, who showed ominous indications of a resolve to make the cause of Austria their own if France went too far. He held his hand from Venetia because of Prussia; seven years later, Prussia herself gave Venetia to Italy.

The English Government had made futile attempts to prevent the outbreak of war. Lord Malmesbury had elaborated quires of heavy commonplace in the vain hope that the great conflicting forces then let loose could be brought back into quietude by the gentle charm of plenteous platitude. Meanwhile the Conservative Government could not exactly live on the mere reputation of having given good advice abroad to which no one would listen. They had to do something more at home. They began to roll a tub. While Europe was aflame with war-passion and panic, the Conservatives determined to try their hand at a Reform Bill. Mr. Disraeli, as leader of the House of Commons, knew that a Reform Bill was one of the certainties of the future. It suited him well enough to praise the perfection of existing institutions in his Parliamentary and platform speeches; but no one knew better than he that the Reform Bill of 1832 had left some blanks that must be, one day or another, filled up by some Government. Lord John Russell had made an attempt more than once, and failed. He had tried a Reform Bill in 1852, and lost his chance because of the defeat of the Ministry on the Militia Bill; he had tried another experiment in 1854, but the country was too eager about war with

Russia to care for domestic reform, and Lord John Russell had to abandon the attempt, not without an emotion which he could not succeed in concealing. Mr. Disraeli knew well enough that whenever Lord John Russell happened to be in power again he would return to his first love in politics -a Reform Bill. He knew also that a refusal to have anything to do with reform would always expose the Tories in office to a coalition of all the Liberal fractions against them. At present he could not pretend to think that his party was strong. The Conservatives were in office, but they were not in power. At any moment, if the Liberals chose, a motion calling for reform, or censuring the Government because they were doing nothing for reform, might be brought forward in the House of Commons and carried in the teeth of the Tory party. Mr. Disraeli had to choose between two dangers. He might risk all by refusing reform; he might risk all by attempting reform. He thought, on the whole, the wiser course would be to endeavor to take possession of the reform question for himself and his party.

The reappearance of Mr. Bright in politics stimulated, no doubt, this resolve on the part of the Conservative leader. We speak only of the one leader; for it is not likely that the Prime-minister, Lord Derby, took any active interest in the matter. Lord Derby had outlived political ambition, or he had had, perhaps, all the political success he cared for. There was not much to tempt him into a new reform campaign. Times had changed since his fiery energy went so far to stimulate the Whigs of that day into enthusiasm for the bill of Lord Grey. Lord Derby had had nearly all in life that such a man could desire. He had station of the highest; he had wealth and influence; he had fame as a great parliamentary debater. Now that Brougham had ceased to take any leading part in debate, he had no rival in the House of Lords. He had an easy, buoyant temperament; he was, as we have said already, something of a scholar, and he loved the society of his Homer and his Horace, while he could enjoy out-door amusements as well as any Squire Western or Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone of them all. He was a sincere man, without any pretence, and, if he did not himself care about reform, he was not likely to put on any appearance of enthusiasm about it.

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