As Napoleon was bent on deceiving, Cavour was obliged to deceive too.  Sir Robert Peel’s denial of the intention of Government to repeal the Corn Laws has been defended on the ground that the Cabinet had not taken a definite resolution; if such a defence is of profit, Cavour is entitled to the benefit of it.  At any rate he had no choice.  Whether or not they had been previously warned, the English Ministry, and especially the Foreign Secretary, now believed the professions of innocence.  The Earl of Malmesbury records a suspicion that as far back as January 1859 Napoleon secured some sort of written promise from Lord Palmerston that he would not make difficulties about Nice and Savoy.  Such an assurance amounts, of course, to saying, “Go and take it,” as in the more recent case of Tunis.  The story is not impossible; like Cavour, Lord Palmerston desired so much to see Italy freed that he would have given up a good deal to arrive at the goal.  The country resented the deception, as it had every right to do, and the Queen expressed the general feeling when she wrote to Lord John Russell, “We have been made regular dupes.”  For a moment there seemed a risk of war, but Lord Palmerston never had the slightest intention of going to war, whatever were the inclinations of his colleague at the Foreign Office.  Lord John Russell took his revenge on Napoleon when the Emperor wished to proceed to joint action with England on the Danish question; by refusing this proposal he deprived him of the one and only chance of stemming Prussian ambition.

Cavour did not extenuate the gravity of the responsibility which he accepted when he advised the king to sign away national territory without the sanction of Parliament.  He said that it was a highly unconstitutional act, which exposed him, were the Chamber of Deputies to disown it, to an indictment for high treason.  He counted on losing all his popularity in Piedmont—­how could he not expect to lose it when his best hopes for getting the treaty approved rested on the assumption that the new voters from the enfranchised parts of Italy would drown the opposition of his own State to its dismemberment?  It has often been asked, Why did he not allow the cession to wear the honest colour of surrender to force?  Why, “against his conviction,” as he confessed in private, did he declare that Nice was not Italian?  Why go through the farce of plebiscites so “arranged” that the result was a foregone conclusion?  The answer, satisfactory or not, is easily found:  Nice was stated to be not Italian to leave intact the theory of nationality for future use; the plebiscites were resorted to that Napoleon might be obliged to recognise the same method of settling questions elsewhere.