From the 19th to the 26th, Napoleon again and again ordered and countermanded the departure of the transports from Toulon.  On the last date the final order was given and the ships started.  The news must have just reached Paris that the King had called upon General Menabrea to undertake the task which had been abandoned by Cialdini, whose name recalled Castelfidardo too strongly to have a sound welcome either in the Vatican or at St Cloud.  When Napoleon heard that Menabrea was to be Rattazzi’s successor, he knew that there was no fear that the new Government, carried away by the popular current which was manifestly having its effect on the King, should, after all, order the Italian army to the front.  Menabrea, the Savoyard who in 1860 chose the Italian nationality which his son has lately cast away, was the old opponent of Cavour in the Turinese chamber, and of all Italian politicians he was the most lukewarm on the Roman question.  All chance of a collision between the French and Italian armies was removed.  Menabrea did occupy some positions over the Papal frontier, it would be hard to say with what intention, unless it were to appear to fulfil a sort of promise given by the King during the ministerial interregnum.  The troops were ordered on no account to attack the French, and as soon as the Garibaldian campaign was at an end, they were brought home.  It was not worth while to send them with their hands tied to almost within earshot of where other Italians were fighting and falling.  Menabrea’s attitude towards the volunteers was immediately revealed by the issue of a royal proclamation, in which they were declared rebels.  The French were free to act.

All this time the revolution in Rome, which it was admitted on all sides would have gone far towards cutting the knot, did not begin.  Besides the cause already assigned, the absence of the heads, there was another, the almost total lack of arms.  To remedy this, Enrico and Giovanni Cairoli, with some seventy followers, tried to take a supply of arms up the Tiber to Rome.  Only the immense importance of the object could have justified so desperate an attempt.  Obliged to abandon their boats near Ponte Molle, they struck off into the Monti Parioli, where they were attacked, within sight of the promised land, at a spot called Villa Gloria.  Their assailants were three times their number, and those who were not killed were carried prisoners to Rome.  Among the killed was the captain of the band, who fell in the arms of his young brother.  As Enrico Cairoli lay dying, the French Zouaves (was this the chivalry of France?) charged the two brothers with their bayonets, piercing Giovanni with ten wounds, from injuries arising from one of which he expired a year later, after long torments.  ‘Dastardly French!’ cried Enrico with his last breath.  They were the third and fourth sons of Adelaide Cairoli who died for their country.  One only of her five children remained to stand by her own death-bed—­Benedetto, the future Prime Minister, and saviour of King Humbert from the knife of an assassin.