1848 (39 page)

While Jelačić and the Viennese government were making their complex manoeuvres, the government in Budapest worked feverishly to organise the Hungarian army. The immediate spur was the Serbian insurrection in Voivodina, to which Batthyány reacted by forming ‘regular' or ‘mobile' National Guard units on 16 May, to be recruited from volunteers serving for three years. The advantage of this new force was that it was unambiguously under Hungarian government control, unlike the regiments of the imperial-royal army, which continued to receive orders from Vienna. The new mobile National Guard battalions were to be recruited from all men aged between eighteen and forty, without property qualifications, so this was to be no bourgeois militia aimed at protecting property, but a true citizens' army, with an oath to ‘defend the homeland, the royal throne and the constitution'. Their official name was soon supplanted by the more popular term
honvéd
, meaning ‘defender of the homeland'. As prime minister, Batthyány was commander-in-chief of the new force, which allowed him to side-step the imperial command structure. By mid-August, the government had recruited close to ten thousand into the Honvéd batallions.
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Yet the summer left many Hungarians with a dark sense of foreboding. Petőfi, fretting that government preparations to meet the gathering threat were too feeble, penned the gloomy lines:

 

At the other end of the political spectrum, Széchenyi had an apocalyptic vision of the future. On 18 July, while watching progress on his beloved chain bridge, a heavy steel cable broke free and lashed down on to the temporary pontoon bridge. No one was killed, but Széchneyi and many of the hundreds of other spectators were hurled into the Danube. The count (who was already struggling with depression) swam to shore but fell into black despair: ‘We are lost, sunk back into barbarism . . . We are being ruined not by Kossuth and his associates . . . but by a greater power, by Nemesis.'
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Liberal Hungary's nemesis was certainly gathering strength. A week after the chain bridge accident, the reaction triumphed again, this time in Italy. In June Field Marshal Radetzky had at last convinced the Austrian government that the war was winnable. The cabinet had been rather stung by the old fox's recent sharp remarks, such as, in a letter to Latour on 21 June, ‘I only wish . . . that the Minister [Pillersdorf ] could have as much success in battle against the intelligentsia of our time . . . as I am now having, despite being in the minority, in battles and skirmishes with the King of Sardinia.' Six days later, Latour gave Radetzky the order he sought: to gamble Austrian power in Italy on one decisive battle.
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The omens were good. Charles Albert had divided his forces, with 28,000 in front of Verona and 42,000 laying siege to Mantua. Radetzky now had 74,000 troops. He planned to ram a wedge between the Piedmontese by driving those in front of Verona back on to Peschiera. The attack began on 22 July, and on the following day Radetzky smashed his way through the very centre of the Piedmontese line, which defended a series of hill-top villages north of the settlement that gave this epic encounter its name: Custozza. Charles Albert tried to counter-attack in the broiling heat of 24 July - and, at one stage, the King saw Italian tricolours being waved triumphantly on the heights - but in the small hours of the next day, Radetzky brought the full weight of his forces to bear on the parched, exhausted Italian units and swept them back off the slopes.
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Charles Albert's forces fell back on Milan, which turned out to be a mere staging-post in a general Piedmontese withdrawal from the war. In the Lombard capital power now slipped out of the hands of discredited monarchists and into those of the republicans, who, advised by Mazzini, prepared to resist the Austrians by throwing up earthworks, building barricades and collecting what money, ammunition and provisions could be had at such short notice. Food and ammunition were scarce and most of the available artillery was in Piacenza. While Charles Albert assured the populace on 5 August that he intended to fight, he was already negotiating terms with Radetzky. It was agreed that the Piedmontese would march out of Milan on 6 August and then have a day in which to withdraw altogether from Lombardy, taking with them all those who had ‘compromised' themselves in the revolution. Radetzky would enter the city the following day. When word of this deal leaked out in the night of 5-6 August, an enraged crowd surged around the Greppi Palace, where Charles Albert was staying. The King had to be extricated by his troops, who were already beginning their evacuation.
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‘The city of Milan is ours', wrote a triumphant Radetzky twenty-four hours later: ‘no enemy remains on Lombard soil'.
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On 9 August, the Piedmontese General Salasco signed an armistice.

Radetzky's grit - he had, after all, bullishly refused to follow earlier government orders to negotiate - and his military skills had retrieved Austrian power in Italy. By significantly easing the pressure on the Viennese government, he also contributed immensely to the survival of the Habsburg Empire itself in 1848. For the Italians, Custozza was not just a military disaster but a political bombshell: faith in Charles Albert and in the monarchist leadership of the liberation of Italy was shattered. Republicans sensed that their moment had come. There were widespread cries for a
costituente
, an elected constitutional assembly for the whole of Italy that would forge a unitary state over the heads of the ruling monarchs. Carlo Cattaneo, always sceptical of Piedmontese motives, declared (no doubt with some bravado), ‘Now we are our own masters,'
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but he still fled Milan on 8 August for the safety of Paris, where he arrived on the 16th. There, he wrote and published
L'Insurrection de Milan en 1848
, aimed at countering the efforts of Charles Albert's agents, who were trying to blame the republicans for the disasters of the summer. The book turned out to be a bestseller.
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Meanwhile, Mazzini had grabbed a musket and left Milan on 3 August, joining Garibaldi's volunteers, who after being snubbed by the Piedmontese had placed themselves in Lombard service. They were not yet wearing their famous red shirts, but white linen jackets left behind by the retreating Austrians: one witness remarked that they looked ‘like an army of cooks'.
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With the news of Custozza, Garibaldi pulled back towards Milan to defend the city. While he was
en route
, he learned of the armistice. ‘Armistice, surrender, flight - the news struck us down like successive bolts of lightning, spreading, in its wake, fear and demoralisation among the people and among the troops.'
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Some of his men deserted, but the remnants of the force marched northwards to Como, from where Garibaldi hoped to wage a guerrilla war in the lakes and mountains. Mazzini, marching with his followers under the banner ‘For God and the People', split off from Garibaldi at Como, entering Switzerland, from where he hoped to direct the resistance. With Cattaneo's agreement, he created an Italian National Committee at Lugano, which proclaimed that ‘the royal war is over; the war of the people begins'.
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Ironically, Mazzini had fallen out with the one man who was continuing the fight - Garibaldi. ‘I had made the mistake,' Garibaldi later explained, ‘for which Mazzini never forgave me, of suggesting to him that it was wrong to win and keep the support of young men by holding out the prospect of a republic to them, at a time when the army and the volunteers were engaged in fighting the Austrians.'
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When Italian unification was finally achieved in 1860, it was in no small part thanks to Garibaldi's willingness to compromise his republican principles to the cause of unity. The two men who would become the great figureheads of Italian unification also fell out over tactics. Garibaldi, still taking orders from Mazzini despite their differences, moved on to the idyllic Lake Maggiore, where he and his men commandeered two steamers and, cheered on by women and children waving tricolours from the balconies of lakeside villas, took Luino, where they repulsed an Austrian attack.
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Mazzini had hoped that a small show of resistance would spark a wider insurrection in the mountains of Lombardy, but Garibaldi, seasoned from his guerrilla experience in South America, read the situation on the ground differently. ‘For the first time', he wrote, disillusioned, ‘I saw how little the national cause inspired the local inhabitants of the countryside.' Its strength sapped by desertion, his small band made its way by a night march over difficult mountain paths into Switzerland. By the time he crossed the border, Garibaldi had just thirty men left of the eight hundred who had taken Luino.
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Elsewhere in Italy, the republicans fared much better. The moderate, liberal governments which had cast their lot behind the monarchists' war were now under intense pressure. In Piedmont the ministry, which since its appointment in early July had been selected from across the putative northern Italian kingdom and had been led by the former mayor of Milan, Casati, fell in the public outcry against the armistice. There would be no fewer than six different governments between Piedmont's first loss at Custozza and its final defeat at Novara in 1849. Critics of the successive ministries, demanding that the war be rekindled, were supported by the clamouring of some 25,000 Lombard refugees. By the autumn, war fever was becoming almost irresistible, and democrats threatened a new revolution, particularly in the restive port of Genoa. To ease the pressure, in October the government increased the size of the army with a fresh levy of fifty thousand men.

Venice was now completely isolated in an Austrian sea. The news of Custozza and the armistice ‘fell on Venice like a thunderbolt from a serene sky', as the American consul, Edmund Flagg, put it.
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The Venetian vote for ‘fusion' was now redundant, and Daniele Manin emerged from the crisis with great credit. The small, bespectacled republican had refused to be part of the monarchist provisional government that had been appointed on 5 July: ‘I am and will remain a republican. In a monarchist state I can be nothing.'
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As if to ram the point home, Manin put on his civic guard uniform and, with the rank of private, took his turns doing sentry duty - a simple citizen doing his best for his city. The monarchist ‘July government' certainly had its work cut out, for the Austrians, commanded by Marshal Franz von Welden, had isolated the city from the
terra firma
. His forces, numbering some nine thousand, were now extended in a cordon around the lagoon. Yet many of these troops were shivering with malaria, and there was no immediately obvious way of striking at the city itself, which was defended by no fewer than fifty-four forts, only three of which were on
terra firma
. Command of the 22,000-strong Venetian forces (of whom 12,000 were Italian volunteers and regular troops who had converged on the city from all over Italy) had been given on 15 June to General Pepe, who had reached the city on a steamer from Chiogga with the remnants of his Neapolitan regiments.
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The population's hostility towards the monarchists was palpable: the provinces of the mainland had voted for fusion, not the great city itself. With news of Custozza, the anger in Venice boiled over. On 3 August, some 150 people, fired up with Mazzinian ideas, gathered in the Casino dei Cento and established the Italian Club, ostensibly to discuss the problems of the day, but in reality as an alternative, republican, centre of power. When the Piedmontese commissioners, who had been sent to Venice to assume authority in Charles Albert's name, arrived four days later, they were greeted with a storm of hostility. On 10 August, the leading republicans, including Manin and Tommaseo, signed a protest and demanded a meeting of the Venetian assembly. The government made itself remarkably unpopular when it tactlessly cited the old Austrian laws to try to silence its critics in the press and in the Italian Club. The following day, it yielded, agreeing to the creation of a committee of defence to be elected by the assembly. The Piedmontese commissioners resigned their powers, but they were still hounded on Saint Mark's Square, by a Venetian crowd baying for their blood.
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At this dangerous moment, Daniele Manin was busy browsing in a bookshop. This pleasant activity was interrupted when he was summoned to meet with the government and the commissioners. His very appearance on the balcony above the Piazza stilled the turbulence below. Manin promised them that the Venetian assembly would meet on 13 August and that, in the meantime, he would assume power. He called on all Venetians to defend their city. His audience, which moments before had been intent on murder, erupted into ecstatic cheering: ‘Viva Manin! To the forts!' The mood of the city changed from one of anger and bewilderment to one of hope: the son of a leading republican later recalled ‘with what confidence in saving the motherland we stayed up to watch the dawn breaking over the railway bridge and the battered vessels of our fleet!' Manin had carried off a coup, and not just against the monarchists: he had also stolen a march on the Mazzinians, who had hoped to seize power themselves. Manin had always feared the dangers of mob rule. To him, Mazzini's ideas of revolution seemed to pose just such a threat, and one of his tasks, as he saw it, was to prevent ‘anarchy'. He viewed the June days in Paris as precisely the kind of bloody social chaos into which Venice could easily sink unless its leaders made law and order their priority.
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Nevertheless, the more urgent problem was the war against Austria, which Venice was now bearing virtually alone. When the assembly met on 13 August, Manin agreed to share power with two military commanders, one from the army, Colonel Giovanni Cavedalis, the other from the navy, Admiral Leone Graziani. In order to ensure that the greatest possible unity would prevail, Manin went so far as to declare that Venice would not, once again, be proclaimed a republic. The government, he said, was provisional ‘in every meaning of the term'. This was another slap in Mazzinian faces, who were capable of mounting a serious challenge to the new triumvirate, since they had a great deal of support among the non-Venetian volunteers and troops. But Manin's popularity with the wider population was greater still, and he had the backing of the commander-in-chief, Pepe. So it was that, until the autumn, Manin successfully resisted the pressure from the Italian Club (and from Mazzini himself) to transform Venice into the hard kernel of Italian republicanism, from which the rest of the country could be revolutionised.
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