Holkham had been, in 1812, carefully examined and catalogued by Mr. Roscoe, who was immensely impressed with its value and importance.
“Such MSS. of Dante,” he writes to a friend, “drawings of the old masters, treasures of European history—you have no idea … besides beautifully illuminated MSS. on vellum of many of the Latin classics, a most exquisite Boccaccio, a very fine old Dante.”
In the catalogue the following note is written by Roscoe: “For a transcript of this very difficult MS. of Boccaccio, by Signor Antonio Panizzi, see the illustrations in Vol. VIII. of this catalogue.”
Next, if not equal in value to the “Discorso sul Testo,” in Panizzi’s estimation, was another work of Foscolo’s. This was “La Commedia di Dante Alighieri illustrata da Ugo Foscolo.” (London: 8vo., 1825). It may be mentioned that the preface to the first vol. of a later edition (1842) of this book, signed “un Italiano,” was written by Mazzini. Panizzi reviewed “La Commedia” (it was his first attempt at criticism in the English language) in the Westminster Review (vol. 7, p. 153).
This will amply repay perusal. The sincerity of the writer’s patriotism, and the manner in which it serves to enhance his interest in the great poet of his native country, will probably attract the reader’s attention at the outset. The philological contest in which Dante was engaged—his conclusions (set forth in his “De Vulgari Eloquio”), on the true origin of the Italian language, by which he so much disgusted his Florentine compatriots—his own life and greater works—the relations of the different powers by whose influence Italy was chiefly affected—the spiritual in jeopardy of its existence in its own home, and externally the temporal, on which it mainly relied for support—are all brought under notice, and skilfully treated.
Reference has been made to the “Westminster Review,” and as that periodical is easily accessible it is unnecessary to destroy the reader’s interest by extracting from the article in question.
Meanwhile Foscolo still continued his correspondence with Panizzi, furnishing him with details of his troubles. Serious differences seem to have arisen between him and Mr. Pickering, the publisher of his projected works, whose treatment of him he describes as shameful. Neither is Mr. Brougham spared; Foscolo had employed him to heal the breach between Mr. Pickering and himself; and these are the terms in which he mentions the services rendered:—“Brougham, at first, offered to take the matter to heart, but allowed it to drop, because I have no money to carry on the suit. He has acted as a lawyer, and wisely too; I shall also act wisely by having nothing more to do with him.”
It is somewhat difficult to discover from these words the exact part Brougham took in the matter. To substantiate the charges brought by Foscolo against men of acknowledged worth is against our inclination, nor have we the opportunity of clearly knowing their nature. In writing a memoir of Panizzi it is but just to remark that, so far as the worthy publisher is concerned, he entertained the highest opinion of Pickering up to the last, as a man of taste, of great knowledge, and of indisputable private worth. These accusations, in all probability without foundation, possibly created in their recipient’s mind his before-mentioned suspicion of his friend’s entire trustworthiness, a suspicion he almost publicly divulged in 1871, when Foscolo’s remains were about to be removed from Chiswick to a more honourable grave in Santa Croce, Florence.
In the summer of the year 1826, Foscolo reached the lowest depth of his poverty. Persecuted on all sides by his creditors, he hid, or rather, as he wrote, buried himself alive. “I send you my new address, you are the only person who will be acquainted with it, 19, Henrietta-street, Brunswick-square, let nobody know it, now or ever, and if in town, I can offer you a bed, and thus prevent your portmanteau from being ransacked by some London hotel-keeper.” At this period (painful to relate), he evidently meditated suicide. “The virile act of voluntary death becomes dreadful, when committed through poverty. I must, in order to proceed with my work, take care of myself; and have imitated you, in finding a few humble families, to whom I give lessons at three shillings each.” Of these lessons he could give no more than six a week, having in hand another important work, also on Dante, in which he requested the assistance of Panizzi who possessed some valuable notes on the subject. This aid was readily afforded. Panizzi, however, who wished to serve his friend to the utmost urged Foscolo to visit Liverpool; and, as a compensation for his expenses, proposed that he should deliver six lectures at the Royal Institution, on Tasso and Ariosto, during the space of three weeks, and receive for this £50. In the letter suggesting this he says:—“I do not care for these lectures myself; having so many friends I am obliged to give away tickets to, in return for their dinners and tea-parties. Come, and write, never mind the postage, for I had sooner deprive myself of a good dinner than one of your letters. Moreover I am not in want.”
As to the subject of giving lessons the writer remarked: “How much better it is to sell articles, nouns, and verbs than to stretch forth your hand and ask for assistance from those generous, miserable, proud rich people whose rude manners make one unwillingly ungrateful. When I think that Macchiavelli acted the pedagogo to live I may well be proud of my present position. There will be no more of this soon. Courage, my dear friend, the storm will clear up before long, and the serene sky will also return for you.”
It would appear by this letter that the political atmosphere of Liverpool had affected Panizzi in a manner that may seem strange to some of our readers. That the little “nuances” of character, which he notes as distinguishing the members of our different political parties, may be discerned by a keen observer, and the causes of their existence perceived, is not impossible; they seem to have struck him very forcibly, as a foreigner, in his short experience. Of the three sections as they existed at that time (it would be interesting to know his opinion of parties more recently) he remarks not less strongly than naively: “D—n the English Liberals! my experience (Roscoe and Shepherd excepted) shows me that the Tories are more polite than the Whigs, and much more so than the Radicals.”
Poor Ugo Foscolo, who, for some reason, had been unable to accept the invitation to Liverpool, and whom misfortune seemed to have marked for her own, died in London in penury on the 10th September, 1827. His death was at once announced to Panizzi by Giulio Bossi. The few books he left behind were purchased by some of his remaining friends; Panizzi bought as many as his means allowed him, and these he distributed among the most distinguished admirers of the deceased, one of whom was Mr. Macaulay, who acknowledged the presentation in the following letter:—
October 4, 1827.
Your letter was acceptable to me as a mark of kind remembrance, but it is quite unnecessary as an apology. I assure you that I considered myself, and not you, as the offending person on the occasion to which you refer. I hope, however, that either here or in Liverpool we shall hereafter enjoy many meetings without any such cross accident.
I have not yet found time to read your kind present, poor Foscolo’s book. I hope soon to be able to study it, which I shall do with additional interest on his account and on yours.
Yours, &c., &c.,
T. B. Macaulay.
No doubt the untimely death of Foscolo under such lamentable circumstances grieved his friend deeply; but it must have been to him a consolation that he had endeavoured to assuage the exile’s sufferings, although, as has been stated, the generous offer was not accepted. It is such sympathy for our fellow-man which stamps the character, and imparts to it the true ring of charity and worth.
The year 1828 may be said to have been the turning-point in Panizzi’s career, for it was then his departure from Liverpool took place. In that populous town, by his own personal merits and ability, he had won for himself, if not quite the traditional golden opinions of all sorts of men, at least that well-deserved meed of praise and respect to which all aspire. To this a contemporary bears witness and writes of him,
