promise
to a people." So soon did the illusions and deceptions of the Crimean war
creep forth.

In no long time (1858) Roumania was created into a virtually independent
state. Meanwhile, much against Napoleon's wish and policy, these
proceedings chilled the alliance between France and England. Other powers
grew more and more uneasy, turning restlessly from side to side, like sick
men on their beds. The object of Russia ever since the peace had been,
first to break down the intimacy between England and France, by flattering
the ambition and enthusiasm of the French Emperor; next to wreak her
vengeance on Austria for offences during the Crimean war, still pronounced
unpardonable. Austria, in turn, was far too slow for a moving age; she
entrenched herself behind forms with too little heed to substance; and
neighbours mistook her dulness for dishonesty. For the diplomatic air was
thick and dark with suspicion. The rivalry of France and Austria in Italy
was the oldest of European stories, and for that matter the
Lombardo-Venetian province was a possession of material value to Austria,
for while only containing one-eighth of her population, it contributed
one-fourth of her revenue.

(M2) The central figure upon the European stage throughout the time on
which we are now about to enter was the ruler of France. The Crimean war
appeared to have strengthened his dynasty at home, while faith in the
depth of his political designs and in the grandeur of his military power
had secured him predominance abroad. Europe hung upon his words; a
sentence to an ambassador at a public audience on new year's day, a
paragraph in a speech at the opening of his parliament of puppets, a
pamphlet supposed to be inspired, was enough to shake Vienna, Turin,
London, the Vatican, with emotions pitched in every key. Yet the mind of
this imposing and mysterious potentate was the shadowy home of vagrant
ideals and fugitive chimeras. It was said by one who knew him well,
_Scratch the emperor and you will find the political refugee_. You will
find, that is to say, the man of fluctuating hope without firm calculation
of fact, the man of half-shaped end with no sure eye to means. The sphinx
in our modern politics is usually something of a charlatan, and in time
the spite of fortune brought this mock Napoleon into fatal conflict with
the supple, positive, practical genius of Italy in the person of one of
the hardiest representatives of this genius that Italy