On the 8th of May, Baron Ricasoli took office under the Provisional Government as Minister of the Interior, and for nearly twelve months he was the real ruler of Tuscany.  He had an ally of great strength, though of humble origin, in Giuseppe Dolfi, the baker, of whom it was currently said that any day he could summon 10,000 men to the Piazza della Signoria, who would obey him to the death.  To Dolfi it was due that there were no disorders after the Grand Duke left.  What Italy owes to the Lord of Brolio, history will never adequately state, because it is well-nigh impossible fully to realise how critical was her position during all that year, from causes external and internal, and how disastrous would have been the slightest mistake or wavering in the direction of Tuscan affairs, which formed the central hinge of the whole complicated situation.  Fortunate, indeed, was it that there was a man like the Iron Baron, who, by simple force of will, outwitted the enemies of Italy more thoroughly than even Cavour could do with all his astuteness.  Austere, aristocratic, immovable from his purpose, indifferent to praise or blame, Ricasoli aimed at one point—­the unity of the whole country; and neither Cavour’s impatience for annexation to Piedmont, nor the scheme of Farini and Minghetti for averting the wrath of the French Emperor by a temporary and preparatory union of the central states, drew him one inch from the straight road, which was the only one he had ever learnt to walk in.

In June, the Duke of Modena and the Duchess-Regent of Parma found it impossible to remain in their states, now that Austrian protection was withdrawn.  The latter had done what she could to preserve the duchy for her young son, but the tide was too strong.  These revolutions were accomplished quietly; but, some months after, on the incautious return to Parma of a man deeply implicated in the abuses of Charles III.’s government—­Colonel Anviti—­he was cruelly murdered; an act of vengeance which happily remained alone.

After the battle of Magenta, when the Austrian troops were recalled from the Marches and Romagna, those districts rose and demanded the dictatorship of Piedmont.  Napoleon foresaw that this would happen as far back as the Plombieres interview, and at that date it did not appear that he meant to oppose it.  But now, in Paris, the Clerical party were seized with panic, and the Empress-Regent, then, as always, completely under their control, did all in her power to arouse the Emperor’s opposition.  The Pope, on his part, knowing that he was secure in Rome—­thanks to the French garrison, which, though it hated its office, as the French writer Ampere and others bore witness, was sure to perform it faithfully—­had the idea of sending his Swiss troops to put down the growing revolution.  With these, and a few Roman troops of the line, Colonel Schmidt marched against Perugia, where, in restoring the Papal authority, he used a ferocity which, though denied by clerical writers, was attested by all contemporary accounts, and was called ‘atrocious’ by Sir James Hudson in a despatch to Lord John Russell.  The significance of such facts, wrote the English minister at Turin, could only be the coming fall of the Pope’s Temporal Power.