The bandit in Italy is almost as general as the priest. If he be not a dentist like Master Galafredo, he takes to some reputable trade, or temporarily accepts a government office, chiefly at the custom-house, for he never wants powerful protectors. There are times when business is dull on the highway, or the bandit has a longing for an existence free from care. He may then be frequently found among the models, who stand in grotesque groups before the great steps of the Piazza di Spagna, and offer their services to passing artists.

It would be unjust to say that Antonelli, who has introduced into Rome a magnificent system of domestie espionage on the model of the Russian, had not turned his attention to the improvement of the city police. Unfortunately, they have hitherto only taken under their fostering wing the crinoline of the ladies, which the wicked boys made sad fun of in their songs. Through this very protection, however, Antonelli has fallen into sad disgrace with the Jesuits, who are the sworn foes of those mysterious combinations of whalebone and steel. One of the most celebrated preachers in Rome made a very clever attack upon it, by saying that it did not suit the Roman ladies, for it concealed their graceful and well-rounded forms. They carry their hatred, indeed, so far, that they have been seen in the streets blessing the boys who sing the wicked songs.

M. Mundt throws a new light upon the Napoleonic intrigues in Rome by the description he gives of young Prince Lucien, who is at the present moment chamberlain and private secretary to Pio Nono, and would have been a cardinal long since, were it not for his youth. He is seriously regarded in Rome as the future pope, for it is undoubted that Louis Napoleon entertains the idea most favourably. In such a case the Catholic world would hail with delight the termination of the long lasting struggle between Guelph and Ghibelline. The views, however, which Louis Napoleon entertains about the papacy are still in a very significant reserve. At times it seems as if, even in the case that he is compelled to effect a regeneration of Italy, he will attempt to keep the chair of St. Peter upright. But," as M. Mundt justly says, cannot feel certain of this, for it is the peculiarity of the Napoleonic policy always to do exactly the contrary of that which appeared probable, and what has been most solemnly promised.' If, however, on the decease of that "sick man," Pio Nono, Prince Lucien were really elevated to the tiara, all possible arrangements between papacy and imperialism could be carried out in the most charming way. En attendant, the prince works hard on behalf of the French party at Rome, and will doubtlessly have fully earned the papal triple crown, if ever it be placed on his head.

we

M. Mundt goes into full details about the Roman revolution of 1849, as the results of personal observation, and gives us a very interesting account of Garibaldi, whom he calls "a general of insurgents, compounded of limited brains and fantastic hero courage." In another passage he says of him, that he possesses a fine expressive head, which, however, evinces more bravery and daring than intelligence, and is the true type of a captain of adventurers, standing in a most peculiar way between the scamp and the hero. What he tells us, however, of the Orsini attentat appears to us so novel that we cannot but quote it:

It appears now certain that Louis Napoleon, during his residence in Rome in 1830, or when he was quite a young man, was admitted among the Carbonari,

Louis

and took the oath to live or die for the cause of the Italian revolution. Napoleon knew that those who were faithless to this oath must die the death of a traitor. It was this knowledge which forced Louis Napoleon into the campaign with Austria in the spring of 1859. This decision was doubtlessly ripened by the letter Orsini wrote him shortly before his execution. He warned him in it to give up his past policy, and form some grand design for the cause of national independence, for in that way alone he would avert the fate thousands of Italian patriots menaced him with. In the summer of 1858 an Italian emigrant, dining at the Palais Royal with Prince Napoleon, confirmed the statements made in Orsini's letter. After the information this man gave Prince Napoleon, the emperor granted him a secret interview, and learned from him that two thousand daggers were prepared for his death in Italy, and that one after the other would incessantly attack him. On the emperor's anxious question how this could be best prevented, Orsini's words were repeated to him, that this was only possible by a war for the independence and liberty of Italy. The emperor demanded precise intelligence ere he acted, and the emigrant proceeded to Italy, bringing back with him documents which did not allow the slightest doubt. He was, however, assured that a delay of eighteen months would be granted him: so long would the Italian patriots wait patiently, and turn their daggers from his breast. Such a length of time, however, was not required, for the emperor turned his attention seriously to the war, and managed so cleverly that some people actually believed that Austria had forced hostilities upon him.

Under such circumstances, it was not surprising to find Louis Napoleon displaying such vacillating conduct as he has done during the past year. It is possible even that the readiness with which he has conceded such points as the annexation of the Romagnas may have emanated from this fear of the Jesuit Carbonari. He has tried to be all things with all men, and has most signally failed in Rome before all other places. The Pope will not surrender his rights, or impeach his infallibility by allowing the possibility of reform. Under such circumstances, the only chance for reform will be found in secularisation, and whether the Pope fly to Spain, or accept the proposed residence at Jerusalem, the sooner the better, if we wish to hear the last of this odious Italian question.

Naples has been concisely described as "un paradiso abitato da diavoli," and those diavoli, according to M. Mundt, are the lazzaroni, for in a state like Naples the plebs is best off of all. The other classes cannot vie with him in comfort, security, and delight in existence, for in a tyranny a man must belong to the plebs, or else he is badly off. In Naples, moreover, the lowest class of the population is characteristic, lively, and peculiar, and remains strong and fresh, both physically and mentally. This can be easily comprehended, for such a monarchy is supported on the shoulders of the plebs, and has strengthened itself by this wide basis. Brute force, working at the head of a state, meets with the same sentiments and strength in the depths, and hence tyranny often establishes a more secure and permanent government than any other form can guarantee. Hence it is only in states like Naples that we can speak of the masses as a special class. At the head of them stands the lazzarone (a peculiar name derived by some people from the Lazarus of the New Testament), the only free man a tyranny has produced and permitted. A man who wants no house and no shelter, for he sleeps under Naples's ever-gracious sky-a philosopher who lives the whole day through on a little fruit and cold water, and contrives to earn more than he needs to cover his wants-a sworn foe to luxury, who wanders about the streets half naked,-the

lazzarone leads at once the life of the savage, the sage, and the patriot. We can hardly venture to blame a form of government in which such men form the main stratum of society, and which is supported by patriots who, like the lazzaroni, possess the grand character of being the freed men of tyranny.

The lazzarone, however, has been for some time past in a stage of new and peculiar development. He is beginning to convert himself into a great man, and prefers to be called a facchino; indeed, the old title is only used as an insult. He dresses well, and his family are resplendent with jewellery, the only thing connected with the old state of things being the peculiarly shaped brown and red woollen cap he wears. Still there is no difficulty in recognising the ex-lazzarone at the first glance; he is tall, powerful, and well built, and his black eyes flash with a sparkle and intelligence visible in no other class of Neapolitan society. It was a bad sign for the tyranny when the true conservative basis of terror began to be converted into the purely industrial facchino, who stands in connexion with modern liberalism.

Our readers remember the happy terms on which the last King of Naples stood with the lazzaroni, and the valuable aid they offered him at the time of the coup d'état. He employed them in antagonism to the nobility, who, in the later years of his life, were anxious to compel his abdication in behalf of his son. The gulf was only widened between the king and the aristocracy by the constant residence of the former at Caserta and Gaëta, for the police were enabled by the king's absence to carry on their atrocities unchecked. Ferdinand II. threw himself into the arms of the clergy, and his mind, at one time not deficient in acuteness, was only employed in furthering the schemes of the secret police. As M. Mundt very truly observes,

It is the character of all tyrants that religion and police are combined in them for the same object, for fear on one side, the pricking of conscience on the other, are appeased by this well-devised machinery. But the moral and political condition of the country fall thereby into a state of corruption, which must rest on the head of the tyrant. The condition of Naples towards the end of Ferdinand's reign attained a degree which attracted the attention of the other European powers, although there were other countries whose desperate and dangerous ulcers were equally patent. Not only throughout Italy, but in Germany itself, all sorts of atrocities had been committed by government and police, though no crusade was demanded against them, as was the case with Naples. And what must have been done with the imperial state of France had it really become the fashion for nations to help one another mutually against their oppressors?

Under these untoward circumstances, the lazzaroni had a meeting, at which it was proposed that the king should be invited to return to Naples, for matters would then go on better. This was agreed on, and one fine morning the vicinity of Caserta was surrounded by a swarm of lazzaroni, eagerly demanding audience. The king turned pale, for the scene reminded him of the horrors of 1848, and he was afraid lest the lazzaroni might have been turned from their allegiance. They, in the mean while, camped in front of the palace, anxious to see their beloved king. A family council was hurriedly held, and the queen strongly dissuaded her husband from any audience, while the only royal prince present, the Duke of Calabria, strongly urged the advisability of his father

showing himself. The queen and the prince had always been on very bad terms, and it was even said that she had tried to prevent him obtaining that education requisite for his position, because she entertained hopes of elevating her own son to the throne on Ferdinand's death. Still he was wise enough, on this occasion, to insist, that before refusing to receive the lazzaroni, the reason of their visit should be sought, and this sensible advice was followed. The young duke heard what they had to say, appeased them with flattering words, and a present of money to comfort them on their homeward march.

When the king died of that loathsome disease which has no name, but which has so often been the lot of tyrants from Herod Antipas downwards, the young monarch took up his abode in the delightful castle of Capo di Monte, at Naples, and the lazzaroni had once again a king in their midst. He was a king, though, from whom nobility and citizens expected great things, and the lazzaroni did not appear at all inclined to enjoy their siesta in front of his palace. They still give the preference to the Palazzo Reale, in which Ferdinand II., the tyrant, once resided.

It is certainly curious to find that so great a change as M. Mundt describes should have taken place in the lazzaroni, for with them the young king will have lost his last support. His army is utterly demoralised, his nation penetrated with the conviction that union with Sardinia is the sole cure for the cruel position of a country which nature has rendered the finest in Europe, and which a tyrant persistently debased on a level with Central Africa. The sins of the fathers will surely be visited on the children in this case, for, from what we have heard, there was a possibility of the young king keeping his faith with his nation, and guaranteeing that constitution which fear drew from him. But it is now too late; Garibaldi is at the gates of Naples, demanding admission; the very palace is prepared for the young king and his wife in Vienna. The days of the Bourbon race are numbered, and with their disappearance a new era will commence for Italy.

But the expulsion of the Neapolitan court will not be enough; the Pope, too, must, for the second time, evacuate his chair, and recommence his migration. There is no hope for him left; he has exhausted the patience of his people, and they only await the advent of Garibaldi to expulse him with contumely. The revolution will, in all probability, be bloodless. The king and the Pope are both perfectly prepared to fly, although the latter may still place some slight hope in the French. But we imagine that the time has gone by for such an intervention; the patriot has declared solemnly that he will enter into no compromise with diplomacy, and will keep his word at all risks. He has great resources at his command. He has an army ready made now that he has landed in Naples, while Piedmont is exerting every nerve to come to his assistance, if necessary. Naples and Rome once liberated from their fetters, and a settlement of the Italian question will be soon effected.

Reading such revelations as those M. Mundt has made about the utter corruption of the Roman government, and the cynical mode in which a nation of three millions is exploitée for the benefit of the priests, we cannot refrain from wishing Garibaldi good speed on his chivalrous expedition.

309

MADAME DE MONTESPAN.*

PORTRAITS of Madame de Montespan exist, as well as portraits of Mademoiselle de la Vallière, in the galleries of Versailles. There are two in the larger apartments; but while that of Mademoiselle de la Vallière is but a doubtful copy, that of Madame de Montespan, by Mignard, is an original. She is very beautiful in her red dress, all covered with pearls and lace, and her fair hair bathing her shoulders. We meet her again in the portrait-gallery, but this time with her characteristic smile of irony. Madame de Montespan, who was all mind, never sat for a Diana, or a Juno, or any other mythological personage, as was at that time the. fashion; she deemed it quite enough to be the proud, the beautiful, and the charming Marchioness of Montespan, without being an Olympic deity. Mignard alone got her to sit once amid a crowd of Cupids armed with roses and arrows. It is known as the "Portrait aux Amours," and has been often copied.

Madame, the Duchess of Orleans (Henriette d'Angleterre), has left sketches of Madame de Montespan. "La Montespan," she says, "was fairer than La Vallière; she had a beautiful mouth and good teeth, but she had an impudent look. She had fair hair, handsome hands and arms, which La Vallière had not; but whilst the latter was very clean, La Montespan was une sale personne.' Madame la Fayette said of her, "The second daughter of the Duke of Mortemart, who is known by the name of Tonnay-Charente, was of a high class of beauty, although she was not altogether agreeable;" Saint-Simon said, "Belle comme le jour;" Madame de Sévigné speaks of her beauty as something surprising. The Abbé Testu, describing the three daughters of the Duke of Mortemart, said of them, "Madame de Thianges speaks like a person who is dreaming, Madame de Fontevrault like a person who is speaking, and Madame de Montespan like a person who is reading." The Duke of Mortemart, Madame de Montespan's father, was a haughty, insolent, quarrelsome gambler. He had married a bigot, who spent her whole time at church. Nothing, he used to say, could be better, for by that means he was never troubled with her society. Madame de Montespan, we are told by M. Houssaye, was the resemblance of her father, softened off by her mother. "Le diable à quatre était tempéré par l'idée de Dieu."

Madame de Montespan was three years older than Mademoiselle de la Vallière. She was twenty-two years of age when she married, in 1663, Henri Louis de Pardaillon de Gondren, Marquis of Montespan. She was the youngest daughter of Gabriel de Rochechouart, first Duke of Mortemart. She made her début at court as maid of honour to Madame, under the name of Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, and she was named lady of the queen's palace on her marriage. She had a son by her marriage, who became Duke of Antin, a gambler like his father, and as unscrupulous as his mother.

The king observed to Mademoiselle de la Vallière on her return from

Mademoiselle de la Vallière et Madame de Montespan. Etudes Historiques sur la Cour de Louis XIV. Par Arsène Houssaye. Paris: Henri Plon.