THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
pearance, as if the earth had swallowed him; and of the unequaled skill with which he possessed himself of the secrets of the governments, while he knew how to conceal his own plans and acts. By us young men he was regarded as the embodied genius of revolutionary action, and we looked up to his mysterious greatness with a sort of reverential awe. I therefore felt, when I was called into his presence, as if I were to enter the workshop of the master magician.
The confidential friend designated by Mazzini conducted me to the dwelling of the great leader, situated in an unfashionable street. In the vicinity of his house we met several black-eyed, bearded young men, manifestly Italians, who seemed to patrol the neighborhood. I found Mazzini in an extremely modest little apartment, which served at the same time as drawing room and office. In the middle of the room there was a writing table covered with an apparently confused heap of papers. Little models of guns and mortars served for paper weights; a few chairs, and, if I remember correctly, a hair-cloth sofa, completed the furniture. The room as a whole made the impression of extreme economy.
Mazzini was seated at the writing table when I entered, and, rising, he offered me his hand. He was a slender man of medium stature, clad in a black suit. His coat was buttoned up to the throat, around which he wore a black silk scarf, without any show of linen. His face was of regular, if not classic, cut, the lower part covered with a short, black beard, streaked with gray. The dark eyes glowed with restless fire; his dome-like forehead topped with thin, smooth, dark hair. In speaking, the mouth showed a full, but somewhat dark row of teeth. His whole appearance was that of a serious and important man. Soon I felt myself under the charm of a personality of rare power of attraction.
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