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wrote not unfrequently in moments of severe strain mental and bodily; but her pen always flows with the same well educated grace, the same balanced equanimity, which veils, though it does not conceal, the current of deep feeling that often underlies her words. The corre spondence is entirely written in French, which at the time the marquise was young was the exclusive language of the upper classes in Piedmont, when they did not make use of the racy patois affected to the last by Victor Emmanuel.

At what date Robert d'Azeglio and his wife came to consider themselves the servants of the poor and suffering does not transpire; but for the whole time covered by these letters, whenever there were sick or wounded to be nursed, orphans to be taught and succored, poverty to be alleviated, ignorance to be enlightened, they hastened to their post, with unaffected and business-like punctuality, as the banker hastens to his bank if there be a momentary crisis, or a ship-owner to Lloyd's after a storm at sea. In the first fever and demoralization of the cholera outbreak they were almost the only people who kept their heads perfectly cool, the Marquis Robert only finding fault with the praise, which seemed to him excessive, that was given to his devotion.

morrow," the marquise writes, "but I do not know if that can be reckoned a pleasure." She does not herself greatly care about the prevailing dulness, but she wishes for something better for her neighbors. The arrival of Thalberg, to whose concert she did not go, fearing that it would evoke too sad memories of a lately lost daughter who was an admirable pianist, gives her the text for some remarks on German and Italian music, which are worth quoting as a concise expression of the difficulty the Italian ear has in appre ciating the former.

We want that music which finds an echo in the soul; which makes us dream of that which is no longer, or of that which is yet to come; and transports us into the ideal instead of making you reckon up notes or calculate chords as though music entered into the exact sciences. Certain musicians delight in resolving problems in harmony as if it were algebra.

It needs perhaps to be born north of the Alps to know the serene contentment arising out of one of these worked-out problems: a fugue of Bach's, for instance. Thalberg, by-the-by, bore, a curious resemblance to the Marquis Emmanuel.

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The idea of a marriage is brought upon the carpet. The young lady, a native of Holland, was extremely rich, and Protestant-two things which, taken toYour father [writes the Marquise] complains gether, did not commend the match to the that one cannot try and do a little good with- marquise, for she said, "being of a family out Bergnif [Piedmontese for the devil] want-eminently Catholic, we should give our ing to interfere. He thinks that a great deal of noise is made about nothing, for it seems to him that having undertaken the care of the sick, all that he does is purely obligatory. If the sick succumbed for want of some attention he might have given them, he would justly reproach himself.

The worst was, that nearly all the patients died, coming as they did from the ill-nourished, poorest class, in spite of all the care that was lavished on them. The people firmly believed that the doctors were paid to kill them. Each doctor, it was said, received two hundred francs from the king for every patient he killed. "I can assure you," said a spirituelle great lady to her washer woman who told her the story, "that you are not worth as much!" Emmanuel d'Azeglio's first diplomatic appointment was at the Hague, and his mother's letters addressed to him at that capital treat of somewhat less sombre subjects than occupy the first pages; though, to say the truth, Turin during the early part of Charles Albert's reign offered no lively topics. A blight had fallen on society. "There is a ball at court to

selves an air of inconsequence, levity, and even hypocrisy in making principles yield to interest." Nor was it possible for her with her profound religious convictions, untainted though they were by bigotry, to think that such a union would result to her son's happiness. He seems to have readily deferred to her judgment, as she soon after calls down upon him the blessing promised to obedient and respectful children. That the sacrifice was not severe may be gathered from a note in which he says, "It seems that marriage was decidedly not my affair, as every time I missed one, I never regretted it.'

Every now and then the marquise returns to the subject of matrimony -to persuade, not to dissuade. When she hears of the appearance of the first gray streaks on the diplomatic head, she writes:

Your thoughts will change color as well as should succeed in making for yourself an inyour hair. What I desire for you is that you terior where your heart may rest. One sickens of everything except of those simple joys to which one is happy to return when weary of all that the world can offer of intoxication.

The Marquis Emmanuel has proved, however, an incorrigible bachelor. The last of his race, the name of Azeglio will die with him.

She speaks of the sadness of a lonely | from America; I shall make a point of old age: "In isolation one does not escape proving that we have as much common one's share of troubles; they are only of sense as the rest." Presently he continued, a different nature." "You are happy, my dear marquis, to have none of these things to think of. A wife is a corn on one's toe; a corn which makes itself felt in the midst of the pleasures of a good dinner, agreeable music-in short, in an ocean of delights. And then, anxiety is a dreadful thing. My wife has quite changed since yesterday ; she is covered with black spots the result of emotion ! "

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The editor of the correspondence gives a few of his own letters written while on a mission to St. Petersburg in 1847. He was accompanied by his spaniel, Maître Gibollin his constant fellow-voyager for fifteen years, to whom, on his lamented decease, he erected a tomb at his château of Lagnasc. We suspect that Gibollin had a good deal to do with his master's resignation in face of the breakdown of matrimonial projects. What could a man want more than so discreet and (we will be bound to say) sympathizing a companion, who, for the rest, never let out a diplomatic secret in his life? Furthermore, the marquis was to learn at St. Petersburg that an ambassador's wife may be the source of no small uneasiness to her inferior half.

It was notified to him, soon after his arrival, that his presentation to the emperor Nicholas was to take place at the country palace of Peterhof, a similar notification being received by M. and Madame Barboza, representing the empire of Brazil, whose acquaintance he had made during the voyage from Stettin. This worthy couple had heard by chance of the destined invitation at the English ambassador's the day before; and from that moment they had been unable to eat, drink, or sleep. At five in the morning monsieur was up, though he had not retired to rest before two, till which hour he was occupied in making sure that the horses were ready for the morrow's excursion. At six he was dressed in full uniform with all his orders; at seven the start was made. The marquis found him at Peterhof in the depths of low spirits, seated by a long bare table, with the look of a man who expects momentarily to be condemned to death. He had eaten nothing (he was too meek to ask), and the reception was not to take place till three. The marquis ordered some café au lait and induced him to swallow half a cup, the other half being administered through the door to madame, who was engaged on her toilette in a neighboring room. The question was, was she to wear a long dress or a short one? Monsieur decided for the train. "You see," he said, "people think us a sort of monkey because we come

The marquis refrained from observing that they would not show much, so deep an olive was the lady's complexion. Monsieur was of the same hue, only instead of being thin he was fat.

A master of the ceremonies now announced that the costume should be without a train, so the toilette had to be made all over again. Monsieur consulted the marquis as to whether he ought to present a letter, with which he was charged, with a gloved or ungloved hand, and the marquis did not know.

"It all comes," said monsieur in despair, "because I left the Brazils on a Friday."

One is glad to hear that the graciousness of the imperial reception set these good souls at rest, and that they finished the day calm and triumphant.

The

The marquis finds something fresh to say of an expedition to Nijni Novgorod, and gives a revolting, but not otherwise than instructive description of a visit paid to a highly-thought-of saint in the convent of Troitza, when he acted as escort to two aristocratic ladies, one being the Baroness Seebach, Nesselrode's daughter, who were desirous of consulting the oracle. saint in question was a horribly unclean idiot, wont to express himself in untranslatable language. In fact the narrator had been chosen to accompany the ladies because, while he could act as their protector if necessary (and sometimes it was quite needful to have one), he could not understand the drift of the holy man's utterances.

It is a pity that we find none of the marquis's letters sent home during his long residence in England, though if persons still alive are photographed after the fashion of M. and Madame Barboza an unrevised publication would be scarcely desirable. But such seems not likely to have been the case, as the marquis soon acquired so much sympathy for England and the English as to cause his mother to warn him not to imagine that certain

virtues are to be only found out of one's own country. In Piedmont, she says, "an immense deal of good is done by people in spite of a thousand obstacles which do not exist in England, where the law is respected, and respects those who respect it, which is unfortunately not true here," and she cites the persecution encountered, especially from the Jesuits, by those who have tried to set up schools in their vil lages ladies, in some instances, who have constituted themselves schoolmistresses, not having enough money to pay the salary of one. Happily the day is past when education meets with opposition on any inch of Italian soil.

the newspapers, he was ceaselessly active in the cause of patriotism and order, and his acquaintance with and influence over the poorer classes were frequently called into requisition in moments of excitement, when there were demonstrations to be organized or passions to be restrained. When the statute was granted, he had brought forward and passed the measure for the emancipation of the Jews, which won for him the compact adherence and support of their community. He was never so happy as when organizing some monster children's fête, which the royal family would grace with their presence. Speaking of one of these occasions, the The period of 1848-9, with its passion- marquise says, "The spectators wept, for ate hopes, its white-heat enthusiasms, and the sight of children always moves the its bitter disillusions, stands out in colors heart.' Again and again in the course of which are vivid and true. We are re-these years arose the shout of "Viva Casa minded of that admirable and sympathetic picture presented of it by another woman who loved Italy as truly as any of Italian blood, and who, from her "Casa Guidi windows," witnessed the great upheaval of a nation that had seemed dead, and its subsequent collapse, even as of the patient who, attempting too soon to rise after a mortal malady, falls fainting to the ground. But the standpoint from which Mrs. Browning saw those wonderful scenes was Florence, that of the Marquise d'Azeglio was Turin; and when the end came, though it brought to Turin material losses infinitely greater than those suffered in Tuscany a defeated army, a bankrupt exchequer, a broken-hearted king-it did not bring a prince supported by Austrian bayonets; tears it brought indeed, but without the blush of shame.

The marquise would not give up all hope.

We are very sad [she writes]. I had rather that the cholera had come than what has actually befallen us. There is only one thought that sustains me; it is that, though as far as we are concerned the goal has been completely missed, and all our struggle in vain, there is a Power whose aim does not miss, and that is Providence, which has made itself too sensibly felt in these circumstances for it to have been without design. They say "the same favorable conditions will never be repeated." Who knows? A year ago things did not look favor able. We must therefore submit, wait, and prepare.

Zei!"

There was hardly a family but felt the rebound of the national losses in personal privations, and after the war the D'Azeglios, who did not choose to reduce their benefactions, were obliged to regulate their establishment on a strictly economical basis. They gave up keeping horses, and dismissed all but one servant, "though it costs a pang to turn people out of doors in times like these." There was even a question of selling the marquise's diamonds, but a purchaser was not forthcoming. For her, a quiet life did not entail much self-denial. Always an honored guest at court when she cared to present herself, she had long abstained from party going in the ordinary sense. Commenting on her son's accounts of the splendor of English receptions, she says she would like to see it all, but without being seen.

I am too old now to renounce what are the greatest comforts at my age, comforts in habits and dress. The pleasures you seek in the evening and at night, I find in the calm landscapes of the dawn, the picturesque sunrise, the breath of the balmy morning air, the contemplation forever renewed of the beauties of nature. One soon tires of artificial pleasures, never of Nature.

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In 1850 Massimo d'Azeglio, then presi. These last words were the motto of the dent of the council, persuaded his sisternext ten years. Cavour might have in-in-law to emerge from her retirement to scribed them on his own flag. Good Mar- do the honors of his salon. It was charquis Robert contributed his quota to the acteristic of his transparent simplicity, work of preparation; whether in the Sen- that after having got her consent, he could ate or in the streets, or with his pen in not hide his uneasiness as to how his

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grand fête would go off under her ægis. The French were unprovided with even "He had seen me so long in a chrysalis the barest ambulance necessaries. Some state that he doubted whether I could rise of the marquise's greatest friends were to the condition of butterfly." However, among the young Austrian wounded, as the honor of the family was concerned, though she could not understand a word 'J'ai fait mon utmost" (sic); the diamonds that they said. They are so good, sim(which had not been sold) created a sen-ple, patient, submissive, pious. I think sation, and the fifteen hundred guests that everywhere soldiers are the best part were highly satisfied with their welcome. of the population." After one o'clock, the marquise retired and dancing began, which was continued till six, the president of the council finally seating himself at the piano, "a feat of which Lord Palmerston would not have been capable."

Though living apart, the marquise enjoyed the intimate society of Balbo, Lisio, Lamarmora, Cavour, Collegno- all more or less related to her. Her early notices of Cavour will be read with curiosity. In 1852 she writes:

Camille inspires no sympathy, although justice is done to his talents. But he has a way of going on which disgusts everybody who has to do with him. Nevertheless I think one should overcome these antipathies when it is a question of one who may render service to the country.

She tells how the king, alarmed at the course his minister had entered upon, exclaimed," M. le Comte, you have £6,000 a | year, and whatever comes, it does not matter to you; but understand that I do not wish to end my days as my father did." Later the marquise writes:

Cavour seems to me to be a terrible man.

He has arranged affairs in such a way that only he can manage them, and to remain at his post he exacts that our fate should be wholly placed in his hands.

Later still, on the eve of the war of 1859, she asks: "Is Cavour mad, or is

he not?"

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The marquise saw pass by the deputa tions, one after another, of the ransomed provinces which hailed Victor Emmanuel their king. At last when Naples had joined the rest, Robert d'Azeglio says, writing to his son:

We may soon die satisfied and enter, head erect, that other world where there awaits us already so goodly a band of liberators. Let us rejoice then, and admire this prodigious com bination of prudence and daring, wisdom and folly, fortune and misfortune which has presided over the most magnificent and the most incredible political metamorphose that has ever or that perhaps will ever find a place in the his tory of peoples. It is so dazzling a spectacle that one thinks it a dream, and it would be hard to believe it had it not been presented in a series of marvellous facts before our eyes. What subjects for history, for poetry, for art, in the ages that are to come! What heroic, eccentric, despicable, and grotesque figures in the crowd that traverses the scene, working good or evil, order or confusion, great and noble exploits in national liberty, or vile and treacherous intrigues of princely hypocrisy and despotism!

The last letters speak of Cavour's death, rendering ample justice to his memory, and recalling the profound sorrow created Then the time came for the by his loss. writer herself to go hence, in the fulness of days. The Marquise Constance died in April, 1862, her husband following her in the December of the same year.

"I remember," says Massimo d'Azeglio in his "Ricordi,"

having been in winter at my brother's house,
after dinner, in that moment of the dusk when
a person who is no longer very young or active
feels a want of repose.
The school hour

struck; Robert said to his wife, "Let us go."
Her face betrayed what it cost her, poor
woman. She rose, not without a slight sigh,
and in no matter what weather, fog, or snow,
or rain, she went forth to be shut up all the
evening in a little-ventilated and not fragrant
atmosphere.

It is in this that consists true merit. At their death, their bier was followed by a crowd of children, accompanied by their parents, all of the poorest class, whose hearts inspired them to render the last honor in their power to those who in their lives had thought of their welfare.

E. MARTINEngo-Cesaresco.

From The Fortnightly Review.
MIDSUMMER IN THE SOUDAN.
DONGOLA, 21st June, 1885.

there came upon us, with a roar and a sudden darkness, a dust storm, that drove every one to shelter, and made racing impossible. The field officer of the day succeeded in posting his piquets, but lost his way scarcely half a mile from camp, and after some wandering wisely waited till the storm was over, when he found himself nearly four miles from camp. The sergeant-major of a mounted corps

we kept our grazing camels and his hut, and slept out in the desert, returning in the early morning. That dust storm will long remain in all our memories. It was such a dust storm that the writer of a recent article entitled "Summer in the Soudan" evidently had in his mind when he described "men and animals huddled together with veils over their heads, awaiting with patience, with their tails turned towards a storm, the subsidence of the wind." Oh! my dear Blackwood, where was your editor's pen? Natural selection has not yet supplied camels with veils, and has deprived men, even Soudanese natives, of their tails.

IT is midsummer, and a quiet Sunday in camp. The bugle has just sounded the three G's announcing noon. Three thermometers, hanging over or placed upon the table at which I write, agree in marking 100° Fahr. But there is no sensation of extreme heat, even when the fitful breeze ceases to stir the air. Spar-lost his way between the enclosure where rows are hopping about in the sunlight and chirping merrily. Soldiers in the neighboring huts are talking and laughing cheerily. "In the Gloaming" is being sung by an orderly with a not unsympathetic voice, and the intervals between his snatches of song are filled by one of our servants whistling as he works. A pony has just neighed in that subdued way which marks content in the equine mind. A dove has lit on the river bank before my door, and coos softly with an evident sense of placid enjoyment. Some native boys are splashing in the water, and their shrill voices mingle with the cry of a plover that flits backwards and forwards above the stream. The sound of oars attracts me to the door, and I see some of our men bringing a boat across from the opposite sandbank. Neither in man, bird, nor beast can I trace any sign of that want of energy, that exhaustion, and that suffering which I have seen in the fierce summer heats of India and on the sultry shores of the Gold Coast, and which should be manifested here were the summer in the Soudan such as it has been described by the dismal spirits who have vented their groans in public.

The fact is that summer in the Soudan, like most things in this life, has its good side and its bad; the good or the bad predominating according to the temperament of the individual, or according to his determination to make the best or the worst of things as they are. And on the whole, I think any true soldier must have been proud of the way in which our troops set themselves to make the best of everything. The outlook when we settled down for the summer at our riverside camps from Merawi to Dongola was not encour I do not for a moment pretend that all aging. We were in tents, and the therdays are like this. The first four days mometer was rising daily. The prospect after my arrival here on the 4th June of a summer spent in great heat, with the were, by universal consent, the worst four reasonable certainty that the commissa. consecutive days of this present summer.riat would fail to supply the full ration; From noon till nearly six in the evening with the knowledge that the carrying the mercury in my hut stood at 108° Fahr. power on the line of communications was A hot wind blew without cessation from barely equal to the weight demanded for sunrise to sunset, carrying with it clouds food alone; with the clothes of officers of dust, that filled the air, penetrated be- and men in rags, and boots worn out; tween the reeds of our huts, and covered with Cairo, the nearest point where luxuus and all we possessed with fine powder.ries could be obtained, so far away, by The week before leaving Kurot we had both distance and time, that the Frenchorganized sports for each day. The man of the comedy could not wish his aquatic sports, the athletic sports, and mother-in-law further; with England a the tug of war came off satisfactorily. | long three weeks' post distant - this was Friday was to have been the race meet not a cheery prospect to face. But, with ing. Our steeplechase course was made, rare exceptions, officers and men faced it and there were plenty of entries for stee- in the best possible spirit. The persist. plechases, flat races, and camel races. ent grumblers were few. They were con. Five o'clock was the hour named for the fined to one camp, and to one regiment in first race. But at twenty minutes to five that camp. The Guards set a good ex

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