every means to prolong.  Massimo d’Azeglio, who was then known only as a painter of talent and a writer of historical novels, first made his mark as a politician by the pamphlet entitled Gli ultimi casi di Romagna, in which his arguments derived force from the fact that, when travelling in the district, he had done all in his power to induce the Liberals to keep within the bounds of legality.  But he confessed that, when someone says:  ‘I suffer too much,’ it is an unsatisfactory answer to retort:  ‘You have not suffered enough.’  Massimo d’Azeglio had lived for many years an artist’s life in Rome and the country round, where his aristocratic birth and handsome face made him popular with all classes.  The transparent integrity of his nature overcame the diffidence usually inspired by strangers among a somewhat suspicious people, and he got to know more thoroughly than any other North Italian the real aspirations of the Pope’s subjects.  He listened to their complaints and their plans, and if they asked his advice, he invariably replied:  ’Let us speak clearly.  What is it that you wish and I with you?  You wish to have done with priestly rule, and to send the Teutons out of Italy?  If you invite them to decamp, they will probably say, “No, thank you!” Therefore you must use force; and where is it to be had?  If you have not got it, you must find somebody who has.  In Italy who has it, or, to speak more precisely, who has a little of it?  Piedmont, because it, at least, enjoys an independent life, and possesses an army and a surplus in the treasury.’  His friends answered:  ‘What of Charles Albert, of 1821, of 1832?’ Now, there was no one who felt less trust in Charles Albert than Massimo d’Azeglio; he admitted it with something like remorse in later years.  But he believed in his ambition, and he thought it madness to throw away what he regarded as the sole chance of freeing Italy on account of private doubts of the King of Sardinia’s sincerity.

Charles Albert had reigned for fourteen years, and still the mystery which surrounded his character formed as impenetrable a veil as ever.  The popular nickname of Re Tentenna (King Waverer) seemed, in a sense, accepted by him when he said to the Duke d’Aumale in 1843:  ’I am between the dagger of the Carbonari and the chocolate of the Jesuits.’  He chose, as bride for his eldest son, an Austrian princess, who, however, had known no country but Italy.  His internal policy was not simply stationary, it was retrograde.  If his consent was obtained to some progressive measure, he withdrew it at the last moment, or insisted on the introduction of modifications which nullified the whole.  His want of stability drove one of his ministers to jump out of a window.  In spite of the candid reference to the Jesuit’s cup of chocolate, he allowed the Society of Jesus to dictate its will in Piedmont.  Victor Amadeus, the first King of Sardinia, took public education out of the hands of the Jesuits, after receiving the