an excuse was forthcoming in the Russian proposal of a Congress, which was warmly seconded by England.  Austria accepted the proposal subject to two conditions:  the previous disarmament of Piedmont, and its exclusion from the Congress.  The bearing of the French Ministry became almost insulting; the Emperor, said Walewski, was not going to rush into a war to favour Sardinia’s ambition; everything would be peaceably settled by the Congress, in which Piedmont had not the smallest right to take part.  None of the usual private hints came from the Tuileries to counteract the effect of these words.

Cavour was plunged in blank despair.  He wrote to Napoleon that they would be driven to some desperate act, which was answered by a call to Paris; but his interviews with the Emperor only increased his fears.  He threatened the king’s abdication and his own retirement.  He would go to America and publish all his correspondence with Napoleon.  He alone was responsible for the course his country had taken, the pledges it had given, the engagements already performed (by which he meant the consent wrenched from the king to the Princess Clotilde’s marriage).  The responsibility would be crushing if he became guilty before God and man of the disasters which menaced his king and his country.

The English Government now proposed that all the Italian States should be admitted to the Congress, and that Austria as well as Piedmont should he invited to disarm.  On April 17 Cavour sent a note agreeing to this plan.  It was a tremendous risk; but it was the only way to prevent Piedmont from being deserted and left to its fate.  If Austria also consented, all was lost:  there would be peace.  Could the gods be trusted to make her mad?  Cavour’s nervous organisation was strained at a tension that nearly snapped the cord.  It is believed that he was on the brink of suicide.  On April 19 he shut himself up in his room and gave orders that no one should be admitted.  On being told of this, his faithful friend, Castelli, who was one of the few persons not afraid of him, rushed to the Palazzo Cavour, where his worst fears were confirmed by the old major-domo, who said, “The Count is alone in his room; he has burnt many papers; he told us to let no one pass; but for heaven’s sake, go in and see him at whatever cost.”  When he went in, Castelli saw a litter of torn-up papers; others were burning on the hearth.  He said that he knew no one was to pass and that was why he had come.  Cavour stared at him in silence.  Then he went on, “Must I believe that Count Cavour will desert the camp on the eve of battle; that he will abandon us all?” And, unhinged by excitement and by his great affection for the man, he burst into tears.  Cavour walked round the room looking like one distraught.  Then he stopped opposite to Castelli and embraced him, saying, “Be tranquil; we will face it all together,” Castelli went out to reassure those who had brought him the alarming news.  Neither he nor Cavour afterwards alluded to this strange scene.