The Battle of Solferino and the Birth of the Red Cross

On the twenty-fourth of June 1859, a terrible battle raged not far from the town of Solferino in Lombardy in northern Italy. Forty thousand wounded, dying and dead lay on the battlefield. By sheer coincidence – or the hand of fate, as some believe – Henry Dunant, a Swiss businessman, arrived in Solferino that very evening and was profoundly shaken by the experience. He took the initiative to organise the local population, especially women and girls, to help the wounded, whatever their nationality. “Tutti fratelli”, all are brothers, was the slogan coined by the women. Based on his experience in Solferino, Dunant wrote a book that led to the creation of the International Committee of the Red Cross, and Dunant was awarded the first Nobel Peace Prize for his humanitarian work.

The territories of the Apennine Peninsula were united for seven hundred years during the Roman Empire. After the collapse of the Western Roman Empire in the 5th century, a system of city-states gradually developed, which, with the exception of the Kingdom of Sicily or Naples and the Papal States, were mostly of local influence.

The first aspirations to regain national unity emerged in the 15th century with the foreign policy of the Florentine princes Cosimo and Lorenzo de’ Medici. Leading Renaissance writers such as Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio and Machiavelli expressed their opposition to foreign domination. In his canzonio My Italy, Petrarch extolled the idea of restoring the Republic and the unity of Italy, writing that “the ancient valour in Italian hearts has not yet died”.

Machiavelli later quoted four verses from My Italy in his influential work The Ruler, in which he looked forward to a political leader who would unite Italy and “liberate it from the barbarians”. But the Renaissance dream did not come true and much of Italy came under Habsburg rule.

Some hope came with the French Revolution at the end of the 18th century and then the Napoleonic era at the beginning of the 19th century. But after Napoleon’s fall in 1814, the Congress of Vienna restored the former patchwork of independent principalities and Italy was once again largely under the rule of the Austrian Empire and the Habsburgs.

Carbonari

One of the most influential revolutionary groups at this time was the Carboneria, a secret revolutionary group founded in southern Italy in the early 19th century. Its members called themselves carbonari, or carbonari. It was a symbolic link with Freemasonry, which was suppressed and discredited in Italy after 1815 because of its French links. This created a vacuum which the Carboneria filled with a movement very similar to Freemasonry but committed to Italian nationalism.

The movement renounced Napoleon, but retained the principles of the French Revolution of liberty, equality and fraternity, and spread rapidly throughout Italy.

The Austrian authorities feared the Carbonerie and imposed severe penalties on its members. Nevertheless, the movement survived and has been a constant source of political unrest in Italy since 1820. Many of the leaders of the unification movement were once members of this clandestine organisation, whose main aim was to defeat tyranny and establish its own rule, most often in the form of a republic.

The most influential of the latter were Giuseppe Mazzini and Giuseppe Garibaldi. Mazzini was soon imprisoned for his involvement in revolutionary movements. In prison, he came to the conclusion that Italy could – and therefore should – be united. To this end, he drew up a programme for the creation of a free, independent and republican state with Rome as its capital.

After his release in 1831, he went to Marseille in France and there organised a new political association to work for the unification of Italy. He called it La Giovine Italia (Young Italy), and its slogans were “Dio e Popolo” (God and People) and “Unione, Forza e Libertà” (Union, Power and Freedom).

Garibaldi, a native of Nice (then part of Piedmont), took part in the Piedmont uprising of 1834 and was sentenced to death. However, he fled to South America and spent 14 years in exile, where he took part in several wars and learned guerrilla warfare before returning to Italy in 1848.

But in the first half of the 19th century, few people believed that there could be an Italian nation state. There were eight countries on the peninsula, each with different laws and traditions, and none with the desire or the means to revive Napoleon’s partial attempt at unification.

The agreement at the Congress of Vienna in 1814-1815 merely renewed regional divisions, with the added difficulty of Austria’s decisive victory over France temporarily preventing the Italians from pitting their former oppressors against each other. Many revolutionary patriots were imprisoned or driven into exile.

Italy’s largest country, the Bourbon Kingdom of Sicily, with eight million inhabitants, seemed aloof and indifferent: Sicily and Naples had once been part of Habsburg Spain and these southern lands had always seemed alien to the rest of Italy.

But there were a few attempts at insurrection. In 1844, two members of the Young Italy movement, the brothers Attilio and Emilio Bandiera from Venice, planned an attack on the Calabrian coast and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies to support the unification of Italy. They gathered a group of about twenty men who were prepared to sacrifice their lives, and on 12 June 1844 they set off on their venture.

Four days later they disembarked, intending to go to Cosenza, free the political prisoners and issue their proclamations. But the expedition was betrayed by one of its members, the Corsican Pietro Boccheciampe. A few peasants, who thought the insurgents were Turkish pirates, called in a detachment of gendarmes and after a short fight the whole group was captured. The Bandiera brothers and their nine comrades were executed by firing squad; according to some accounts, they shouted “Viva l’Italia!” (Long live Italy!) as they fell.

Although the action was a complete failure, it had a tremendous moral effect throughout Italy. The public condemned the execution with indignation, and the martyrdom of the Bandiera brothers bore fruit in the actions that followed.

The revolutionary year of 1848

On 5 January 1848, revolutionary unrest began with an expression of civil disobedience in Lombardy, when citizens stopped smoking cigars and playing the lottery in order to deprive Austria of the associated tax revenues. Soon after, revolts began in Sicily and Naples, leading to the proclamation of the Kingdom of Sicily and the appointment of Ruggero Settimo as President of the independent state, which lasted until 1849, when the French army regained full control of the island by force.

In February 1848, there were revolts in Tuscany and Grand Duke Leopold II granted the Tuscans a constitution, but a separatist republican provisional government was nevertheless formed in the province. On 21 February, Pope Pius IX granted the constitution to the Papal States, which was unexpected and surprising given the historic intransigence of the papacy.

By the time of the Paris Revolution, when King Louis Philippe of France was forced to flee Paris on 23 February 1848 and a republic was proclaimed, three Italian countries – four if Sicily is counted as an independent state – already had constitutions.

Meanwhile, the situation in Lombardy became more serious and on 18 March 1848 the Milanese and Venetians revolted. After five days of street fighting, the rebels in Milan succeeded in expelling the Austrian garrison. The Austrian army under Marshal Josef Radetzky laid siege to Milan, but was forced to retreat due to the defections of many soldiers and the support of the Milanese for the rebellion.

Soon, King Charles Albert of Sardinia (who ruled Piedmont and Savoy), called on by the Venetians and Milanese to help them, decided that now was the right moment to unite Italy and declared war on Austria. After initial successes at Goito and Peschiera, Radetzky defeated him decisively at the Battle of Custoza on 24 July. After the armistice, Radetzky regained control of all of Lombardy and Veneto, except Venice, where the Republic of St Mark was proclaimed under the leadership of Daniel Manino.

Meanwhile, the situation in other parts of Italy also escalated. The monarchs, who had reluctantly agreed to constitutions in March, came into conflict with their constitutional ministers. Initially, the republics had the upper hand, forcing the monarchs to flee their capitals, including Pope Pius IX, who fled just before Giuseppe Garibaldi and other Italian patriots arrived in Rome.

In early 1849, elections were held for a Constituent Assembly, which proclaimed the Roman Republic on 9 February. Its constitution guaranteed religious freedom, the independence of the Pope as head of the Catholic Church, free public education and abolished the death penalty.

Before the Great Powers could react, Charles Albert renewed the war with Austria, but was quickly defeated again by Radetzky, this time at Novara on 23 March 1849. Charles Albert abdicated in favour of his son Victor Emmanuel II and Piedmont’s aspirations for Italian unification were temporarily halted.

But the dream of Risorgimento or unification did not die. Italian patriots learned from their mistakes. They realised, firstly, that they had to concentrate all their attention on expelling the Austrians in the first place and therefore had to give the French whatever they wanted in return for a substantial military intervention. Secondly, they realised that the Pope was the enemy and could never be the leader of a united Italy. And thirdly, they realised that republicanism was too weak a force and that unification had to be based on a strong monarchy, which in practice meant that they had to rely on Piedmont (the Kingdom of Sardinia) under King Victor Emmanuel II and the Savoy dynasty, one of the oldest royal families in Europe.

Count Camillo Cavour has emerged as a key leader of the movement. He was well versed in European markets and modern economics and was a moderniser who advocated agrarian improvements, banks, railways and free trade. In Piedmont he served as Minister of Agriculture, Commerce and the Navy. As soon as the censorship allowed it, he began publishing Il Risorgimento, a newspaper calling for Italian independence, a league of Italian princes and moderate reforms.

The King listened to him and appointed him Prime Minister in 1852. He led an effective and active government, promoted rapid economic modernisation, upgraded the administration of the army and the financial and legal systems, and won the support of patriots throughout Italy.

In 1854, Piedmont was asked by its allies Britain and France to enter the Crimean War. Cavour saw an opportunity and persuaded the King and the government to take the plunge. This brought Piedmont prestige and legitimacy in the eyes of the Great Powers.

In January 1858, an Italian, Felice Orsini, attempted to assassinate Napoleon III and, paradoxically, the event opened the way for further alliances between France and Piedmont. While Orsini was in prison awaiting trial, he wrote an open letter to the French Emperor, ending with the words: “Your Majesty, remember that until Italy is independent, peace in Europe is but a pipe dream. Liberate my country and the blessing of twenty-five million people will follow you everywhere and forever.”

Orsini was executed anyway, but Napoleon III began to explore the possibility of joint action with Piedmont against Austria. Cavour and Napoleon met in July 1858 and agreed that Piedmont would try to provoke a war with the Duchy of Modena, which would force Austria to join the war and France to help Piedmont. In return, Cavour reluctantly agreed to cede Savoy (the seat of the Piedmontese royal family) and the county of Nice to France.

In the same year, Cavour sent his cousin, the famous beauty, photographer and secret agent Virginia Oldoïni, to try to win the Emperor over to the interests of Italian unification by any means necessary. By all accounts, she succeeded in doing so, becoming Napoleon’s mistress.

Second War of Independence

France and Piedmont began to prepare for war. Austria saw the danger and sent an ultimatum on 23 April demanding that Piedmont disarm, but in doing so she placed herself in the role of aggressor.

King Victor Emmanuel II refused the ultimatum and on 29 April Austrian troops invaded Piedmont. On 3 May, France declared war on Austria and began to mobilise. The Second Italian War of Independence began.

On 4 June 1859, a battle was fought near the town of Magenta in the Kingdom of Lombardy and Veneto, the crown lands of the Austrian Empire. Napoleon III’s army crossed the Ticino River and bypassed the Austrian flank, forcing the Austrian army under Marshal Ferenc Gyulai to retreat. The Franco-Italian alliance was won mainly by the 5,000 grenadiers of the French Imperial Guard, most of whom were still wearing the uniforms of Napoleon Bonaparte‘s time.

The Battle of Magenta was not particularly large, but the victory greatly boosted the morale of the Franco-Piedmontese alliance. Interestingly, in 1859, a reddish-blue dye called fuchsin was discovered but renamed magenta to celebrate this victory.

The victory at Magenta opened the gates of Milan to the French army. Napoleon III and Victor Emmanuel II entered the city on 8 June and carried the Italians’ enthusiasm to its peak.

On the evening of the twenty-third of June, the French Emperor, as Commander-in-Chief, expressly ordered the army of King Victor Emmanuel II, encamped at Desenzano and forming the left wing of the Allied army, to attack Pozzolengo on the morning of the twenty-fourth.

Marshal Baraguey d’Hilliers was to march on Solferino, Marshal the Duke of Magenta on Cavriano, General Niel on Guidizzolo and Marshal Canrobert on Medola, while the Imperial Guard was ordered to attack Castiglione. These combined forces totalled one hundred and fifty thousand men and four hundred guns.

The Austrian Emperor had at his disposal in Lombardy nine army corps totalling some two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers. His forces were reinforced by garrisons from Verona and Mantua. On the advice of Field Marshal Baron Hess, the Imperial troops, after leaving Milan and Brescia, retreated steadily with the aim of uniting all the Austrian forces in Italy between the Adige and Mincio rivers. But the actual strength of the army that was to fight consisted of only seven corps, which meant about one hundred and seventy thousand men, supported by about five hundred guns.

On the morning of the twenty-fourth the Austrians occupied all the higher ground between Pozzoleng, Solferino, Cavriano and Guidizzolo. Cannon of all types were deployed along the low hills. This was the centre of the stretched battle line and, from these fortified hills, which were considered impregnable, provided artillery cover for both the left and right flanks if they had to retreat.

Although the two opposing armies were marching towards each other, they did not expect to meet and engage so soon. The Austrians hoped that only part of the Allied army had crossed the Chiese. They could not have known Napoleon’s plans, of course, and their intelligence was not accurate.

Nor did the Allies suspect that they would so suddenly come face to face with the Austrian Emperor’s army. The reports of their scouts, who were searching the terrain both on the ground and from balloons, did not mention the possibility of an enemy counter-offensive.

Although both sides expected a major battle to follow soon, the encounter between the Austrians and the combined French and Piedmontese forces on Friday 24 June 1859 was a complete surprise, as both enemies were mistaken about the enemy’s movements.

On that fateful day, more than 300,000 men stood opposite each other on a battle line stretching almost 25 kilometres. What followed was one of the bloodiest battles of the pre-World War I era.

Henry Dunant

“I was a mere tourist and in no way a participant in this great conflict, but a rare opportunity presented itself to me, through a combination of unusual circumstances, to witness the scenes I have chosen to describe”, wrote Henry Dunant in his book, Remembering Solferino. It was this book and his humanitarian efforts that in the following years led to the creation of one of the largest and most important organisations in the world – the Red Cross.

Henry Dunant (his given name was Jean-Henri Dunant) was born on 8 May 1828 in Geneva, Switzerland. His father was a wealthy businessman and his mother was gentle and very devout. While growing up, Henry enjoyed all the advantages of his family’s social and economic position, while at the same time receiving an upbringing fit for a responsible Swiss citizen. The atmosphere in Calvinist Geneva also influenced his development, as he developed deep religious convictions and high moral principles from an early age.

In his early years of maturity, he became involved in numerous movements and charitable and religious activities. He was very active in the movement for the unity of Christians and Jews, which was very strong in many parts of Europe; he became a member of a charitable organisation in Geneva which brought spiritual and material comfort and help to the poor, the sick and the suffering; and he regularly visited the city prison and worked for the re-education of the inmates.

But it was not until he was almost thirty that he was most active in a group of organisations in Switzerland, France and Belgium, working under the name of the Young Men’s Christian Association. This was the European version of the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), founded a short time earlier in England. In early 1853, the movement began to link up the individual associations, and Dunant proposed the formation of a world federation, which would include the YMCA. It was largely due to his insistence that this happened at the first YMCA World Conference in Paris in 1855.

Although Dunant was committed to such movements, he also devoted himself to his career. In 1849, he became a trainee at a banking house in Geneva, and so distinguished himself that in 1853 he was temporarily appointed general manager of the bank’s branch in Algeria. However, he later broke with the bank and set up his own business. All the signs were that the energetic young man was destined for a successful business career and a considerable fortune.

In 1856, he set up a business in the colonies and the French granted him a land concession in Algeria to grow and trade in maize. But land and water rights were not clearly allocated, and the colonial authorities were not particularly cooperative, so the enterprising Dunant decided to go directly to the French Emperor Napoleon III, who was then with his army in Lombardy.

Thus, while travelling in Italy, Dunant happened to arrive in Castiglione della Pieve on that fateful 24th of June 1859, when a battle was raging not far away. As the town filled with wounded and the military medical services proved inadequate, it was only natural for Dunant to try to ease the pain and suffering of the wounded. His character, his traditions and his upbringing made it impossible for him to do otherwise. This experience changed the course of his life.

The Battle of Solferino

In his Memoirs of Solferino, Dunant gave an extraordinarily vivid account of the terrible scenes that took place on the battlefield not far away:

The Austrian army was tired after the difficult all-night march it had made the previous day, when in the morning a fierce Allied advance began. Afterwards, the Austrians had to endure the intense heat in the sweltering atmosphere, as well as hunger and thirst, because, apart from a double measure of brandy, they had not been given any refreshments all that day. The French army, however, had been on the march since dawn, and the soldiers had also been given nothing but their morning coffee, so that everyone, and especially those unfortunates who had been wounded, were extremely exhausted at the end of the terrible battle.

Around 3am, the First and Second French Corps, under the command of Marshals Baraguey d’Hilliers and de Mac-Mahon, launched an attack on Solferino and Cavriano. But the bulk of their troops had barely left Castiglione when they saw the exposed Austrian positions in front of them, ready to stop their penetration.

They caused alarm in both armies. The trumpets were heard in every direction, shouting for an attack and the drums were beating. The Emperor Napoleon III, who had spent the night at Montechiaro, set off in haste for Castiglione.

Around six o’clock, the cracking began in earnest. The Austrians advanced in perfect formation along the fortified lanes. Yellow and black battle flags, decorated with the German imperial eagle, waved above the massed soldiers in white overcoats.

Among all the troops going into battle, the sight of the French Guard was truly magnificent. The day was brilliantly clear and the brilliant Italian sun glinted off the shining armour of dragoons and scouts, Uhlans and cuirassiers.

The first battle was fought in difficult territory, completely unknown to the Allies. The French army had to fight their way through row after row of mulberry trees, with vines interspersed between them, which greatly hindered them. In several places there were wide, dried-up ditches and stone fences over a metre high.

From observation posts on the hills, the Austrians shelled the French with artillery fire and mowed them down with a persistent hail of grenades, cartridges and shrapnel. The dust and dust raised by this huge cloud of shells as they thundered on the ground mingled with the thick smoke of the guns and grenades. With the thunder of the artillery batteries hurling death upon them, the French rushed forward like a storm rolling in from the plain to attack and occupy the enemy positions.

In the midst of the scorching midday heat, the fighting, which raged on all sides, grew fiercer and fiercer. The massed columns of men were rushing against each other with the force of a devastating torrent, sweeping away everything in front of it. The French regiments were driven in order of battle against the Austrian masses, which were steadily gaining reinforcements and becoming more and more solid and sinister. They resisted the attack with the strength of a steel wall.

Whole divisions dropped their rucksacks to make it easier for them to charge in with bayonets fixed. When one battalion was repulsed, it was immediately replaced by another. Every mound, every rise, every rocky peak was the scene of a life-and-death struggle. Bodies lay in heaps on the hills and in the valleys.

There was man-to-man combat in all its horror. Austrians and Allies trampled each other underfoot, killing each other on piles of bleeding bodies. The enemy was worked over with rifle butts to dismember his skull and tear out his entrails with sabre or bayonet. There was no mercy; there was only naked slaughter; a clash between wild beasts, mad with blood and fury. Even the wounded fought to their last breath. When they were left without weapons, they seized the enemy by the neck and tore him with their teeth.

A little further on, the same scene, but even more horrific, was witnessed by the approach of a detachment of cavalry, galloping at hoofbeats, tending the dead and dying. One unfortunate wounded man had his jaw torn off, another had his head smashed in, and a third, who could have been saved, had his breast trampled on. Curses and furious shrieks, anguished yelps and desperate screams mingled with the neighing of the horses.

Here came the artillery, in full dash after the cavalry. The cannons crashed over the dead and wounded, scattered in chaos on the ground. Brains were spurting out from under the wheels, limbs were breaking and tearing, bodies were mangled beyond recognition – the ground was literally soaked in bloody mud and the plain was littered with the remains of human bodies.

The French soldiers climbed to the top of the hills and, under Austrian fire, between the explosions of grenades and cartridges, climbed the steep hills and rocky slopes in a fervour of zeal. A few squads of picked men, exhausted with exertion and bathed in sweat, had just managed to reach the top of the hill – when suddenly the avalanche of Austrians came crashing down on them again. They rushed at them, drove them from their positions, smashed them and pursued them right to the bottom of the ditches and trenches.

The Austrians had excellent positions and fortified themselves in them, as they had in the houses and churches of Medola, Solferino and Cavriana. But nothing stopped, interrupted or reduced the slaughter. Every foot of territory was conquered at the point of a bayonet, every position defended to the last fathom.

French shrapnel grenades, effective at a surprising distance, sowed a frightening disorder among the Austrian lines. They covered the hills with dead and caused casualties even among the remote reserves of their army. But if the Austrians retreated, they did so only one step at a time, and then soon went on the offensive again. Again and again they rallied, only to be broken again.

On the plain, the wind carried clouds of dust from the roads under the sky. Thick clouds clouded the air and blinded the fighting soldiers.

Here and there the fighting seemed to stop for a while, then resume with even greater ferocity. The gaps in the Austrian battle lines, sown by the determined, murderous French attacks, were immediately filled by fresh reinforcements. First from one side and then from the other, drums and trumpets sounded the signal for the attack.

The Guards performed with a noble courage which could only be matched by the bravery and daring of the light infantry and the forward divisions. The Zouaves rushed forward with fixed bayonets and charged with furious cries like wild beasts. The French cavalry attacked the Austrian, the Uhlans and Hussars charged and tore each other to pieces. Even the horses, agitated in the heat of the battle, played their part in the melee. They attacked the enemy’s horses and bit them furiously, while their horsemen thrashed and hacked at each other.

So fierce was the fury of the battle that in some places, when the men ran out of ammunition and had already broken their muskets, they pounded forward with stones and fists. The Croats killed every man they came across. They killed the Allied wounded with rifle butts. Even the Algerian snipers, although their leaders tried to restrain their savagery, knew no mercy for the wounded Austrian officers and soldiers. They drove back the enemy ranks with animal cries and disgusting screams.

The strongest positions were taken, lost and retaken. And lost again, and retaken again. Thousands of men lay everywhere. Wounds in limbs and torsos were gaping, they were riddled with bullets, mortally wounded by artillery shells of all kinds.

Emperor Napoleon judged the situation quickly and correctly. He realised that the Austrian troops lacked a strong and united leadership. He ordered the army corps of Baraguey d’Hilliers and Mac-Mahon, and then his Guard under Marshal Regnaude de Saint-Jean d’Angely, to attack simultaneously the trenches at Solferino and San Cassian. His aim was to break through the centre of the enemy’s defences.

Dunant continues his description of the fierce battle by listing the casualties among the senior officers on both sides.

The French officers who marched in front of their men, waving their sabres and encouraging them by their example, were frequent casualties. Their decorations and epaulettes made them conspicuous targets for the riflemen of the Tyrolean light infantry.

General Ladmirault‘s shoulder was broken by a bullet, but he barely had time to be bandaged in the field hospital, set up in a chapel in a small village. Despite the serious wound, the brave man returned to the battle on foot, and just as his battalions were cheering him enthusiastically, a second bullet struck him in the left leg.

General Forey, always calm and cool in the midst of trouble, was wounded in the thigh. A bullet shot through the white hood of his cape and hit the two adjutants standing beside him. One of them, Captain Kervenoël, who was only 25 years old, had his head blown off by a grenade.

At the foot of Mount Cypress, General Dieu fell from his horse mortally wounded as he waved to the soldiers in the front line to attack. General Douay was wounded and his brother, Colonel Douay, was killed not far away. Brigadier-General Auger had his left arm shrapnel-riddled. The rank of division general, which he had won on the battlefield, came at the cost of his life.

Lieutenant-Colonel Laurans des Ondes, of the 1st Regiment of the African Light Infantry, was suddenly struck dead. Lieutenant de Salignac Fenelon, barely twenty-two years old, broke through the Austrian square and paid for his brilliant achievement with his life.

Major de la Rochefoucault Liancourt, a fearless member of the African cavalry, attacked the Austrian squares, but his horse was riddled with bullets and he fell, twice wounded himself by rifle fire. He was captured by the Hungarians, who re-formed the square.

At Guidizzolo, Prince Karel Windisch-Graetz, a brave Austrian colonel, at the head of his regiment, tried in vain to retake the position of Casa Nova. The unfortunate prince, like a noble hero, defied certain death and, even mortally wounded, continued to give orders. His soldiers held him at arms’ length. They stood motionless under a hail of bullets and supported him to the end. They knew that he was going to die, but they did not want to abandon the colonel they loved and respected. Soon he breathed his last.

Field Marshals Count Crenneville and Count Palffy were also badly wounded, fighting very heroically. So were Field Marshal Blomberg and Major-General Baltin of Baron von Weigl‘s corps. Baron Sturmfeder, Baron Pidoll and Colonel von Mumb were killed. Lieutenants von Steiger and von Fischer fell bravely not far from where the young Prince Isenburg, who was more fortunate, was carried off the battlefield with a spark of life still in him.

The Algerian snipers suffered heavy losses in the attack on Monte Fontana. Their colonels, Laure and Herment, were killed, and a great many other officers fell, which only redoubled their fury. They swore to avenge their deaths and charged the enemy with African fury and Muslim fanaticism. They killed feverishly and without a trace of mercy, like tigers who have tasted blood.

In the midst of all this fighting, which went on endlessly all over the battlefield, rose the curses and jeers of the men of all the nations in the conflict – men, many of whom had turned into murderers, barely twenty years old.

But amidst the fierce slaughter, there were also scenes of tenderness and mercy.

In the midst of the worst of the fighting, Napoleon’s chaplain, the Abbé Laine, went from one Polish hospital to another, bringing comfort and consolation to the dying. The deadly storm of steel and sulphur and lead that raged over the area shook the ground beneath his feet, bringing more and more human victims of the plague as the firing lines ploughed the air with murderous shots.

A first lieutenant in the front line had his left arm broken by a chain shell, and blood poured from the wound. An Hungarian officer spotted one of his men aiming at the boy. He stopped him, then went to the wounded man, bandaged his arm sympathetically and ordered him to be taken to a safer place.

The Kantiner women moved around the battlefield under enemy fire just like the soldiers. They were often wounded themselves, walking among the wounded men, lifting their heads and giving them a drink as they cried out for mercy for water.

An officer of the Foreign Legion was killed by a bullet, and his dog, which was very attached to him, ran around him. This dog had come with him all the way from Algeria and was the favourite of the whole regiment. A few steps further on, another dog was hit, but it had enough strength to run up to its master and die beside him.

After fifteen hours of constant fighting, the battle finally gave way. Emperor Franz Joseph‘s troops began to retreat. Count Wimpffen’s army was the first to receive orders from its commander to retreat. Meanwhile, the sky darkened and heavy clouds covered the horizon. A cloud broke and a cold rain, driven by the wind, drenched the soldiers, who were already weak from hunger and fatigue. At the same time, gusts of wind carried swirling clouds of dust that blinded the men. The Austrian main body began to surrender territory and, as the left wing could no longer hope to break through the Allied positions, they decided on a general retreat.

At this time, the first detachments of lightly wounded began to arrive in the nearby villages and hamlets. After them came the more seriously wounded, and all that bleak night they then flocked in droves. But even though the retreating army had picked up all the wounded men it could carry in military and commandeered peasant carts, a huge number of unfortunates were left behind. They lay helpless on the bare ground in their own blood. Their suffering left an indelible mark on Dunant.

The poor wounded men who were picked up throughout the next day and even afterwards were deathly pale and exhausted. Some of the most seriously wounded had a look of bewilderment, as if they could not comprehend what was being said to them. They looked with sunken eyes, but even though they were completely weakened, they felt the pain. Others were anxious, nervously tense and shaking convulsively. Still others, their open wounds glowing with the first signs of infection, were almost frantic with agony. Their faces twisted with mortal struggle, they pleaded to be put out of their misery.

Then there were the poor wretches who had not only been hit by bullets or cut down by grenade fragments, but had had their arms and legs crushed by the wheels of artillery carts. Anyone who had crossed the vast area of the previous day’s fighting could see at every turn, in the midst of the chaotic disorder, indescribable despair, suffering and misery of all kinds.

Every church and monastery, every house, square, courtyard, street or lane in the nearby villages had been turned into makeshift camps. From there, the wounded were to go to hospitals in Brescia, Cremona, Bergamo and Milan, where they would receive regular care and amputations if necessary. But the means of transport were totally inadequate for so many wounded, and they had to wait two or three days in field hospitals or even under a clear sky before they could be transported, at least to Castiglione.

There the crowds soon became indescribable. The town was completely transformed into a vast improvised hospital for the French and the Austrians. The townspeople handed over all the blankets, sheets and mattresses they could spare. The monastery and the town’s churches were full of wounded men, lying on top of each other and lying on nothing but straw. Straw was also scattered in the streets, courtyards and squares. Here and there, a few boards were used to make emergency shelters, or some canvas was spread out to give at least a little protection from the sun to the wounded, who were streaming in from all sides.

Soon the number of convoys of wounded increased to such an extent that the local authorities, the townspeople and the troops remaining in Castiglione were no longer able to provide for all those who were suffering. Scenes began to unfold which were just as tragic as the day before, but of a completely different kind. Food and water were plentiful, yet the men were dying of hunger and thirst. There was plenty of canvas for bandages, but not enough hands to bind up the wounds.

Oh, the suffering and misery of those days! In the heat and dust, the wounds became infected, and the lack of water and proper care made the pain worse and worse. Men of all nationalities lay side by side on the stone pavement – French and Arabs, Germans and Slavs. After being laid close together, they no longer had the strength to move, or there was simply no room to move. Writhings, curses and screams beyond words echoed from the vaults.

“Oh, sir, I’m in so much pain!” several of these boys said to me. “They have gone and left us to perish miserably, even though we fought so hard!” In desperation they called for a doctor and writhed in terrible convulsions, ending in tetanus and death. Their faces black with swarms of flies that swarmed on their wounds, they looked around with wide-open eyes, but there was no help from anywhere. The others were just an indistinguishable mass of mixed-up remnants of uniform, flesh and blood, with maggots gnawing on them.

A shocked Dunant himself took the initiative and called on the civilian population, especially women and girls, to help the wounded and now sick soldiers. As there was a shortage of materials and supplies, Dunant himself organised the purchase of everything needed and helped to set up makeshift hospitals. He persuaded the inhabitants to help the wounded, regardless of their side in the conflict, as in the slogan “Tutti fratelli” (All are brothers) coined by the women of Castiglione delle Stiviere, where the wounded and the dying were still being transported in droves.

He also succeeded in securing the release of the Austrian doctors who had been captured by the French, and over the next few days the situation did improve.

The memory of Solferino and its fruit

Dunant returned to Geneva at the beginning of July and, impressed by his experience in Italy, decided to write a book. In 1862, he printed Un Souvenir de Solferino (A Memoir of Solferino), in which he described the battle, its losses and the chaotic situation afterwards, at his own expense, in a print run of 1600 copies. In the book, he also presented the idea that in the future there should be a neutral organisation to take care of wounded soldiers.

He circulated the book to many of the leading political and military figures in Europe, and began to travel extensively throughout the continent to promote his ideas. Crowned heads and ordinary citizens alike listened respectfully as he explained his proposals. Even if a member of the audience doubted the feasibility of a proposal, he listened carefully.

His book was well received and the President of the Geneva Society for Public Welfare, the jurist Gustave Moynier, made the book and its proposals the subject of a meeting of that organisation on 9 February 1863.

The members considered Dunant’s recommendations and endorsed them. They set up a five-member committee to further examine the possibility of implementing them and appointed Dunant as one of the members. The other members were Moynier, Henri Dufour, General of the Swiss Army, and the physicians Louis Appia and Théodore Maunoir. Their first meeting, on 17 February 1863, is now considered the date of the founding of the International Committee of the Red Cross.

Dunant devoted himself entirely to the mission of the organisation and neglected his business activities. In 1867 he went bankrupt. He left Geneva and moved to Paris, where he lived in very modest circumstances. But he did not abandon his philanthropic efforts. During the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-1871, he founded the Society of General Relief, and shortly afterwards the General Alliance for Order and Civilisation. Later, he worked for the creation of a world library, an idea that would bear fruit in future projects such as UNESCO.

He was made an honorary member of the Red Cross Societies of Austria, the Netherlands, Sweden, Prussia and Spain, but his dispute with Moynier led to him being all but forgotten in the movement’s official files. He continued to move frequently and to live in poverty.

In 1887, while living in London, he began to receive modest financial support from distant relatives, and this enabled him to move to Heiden. Although he was only 59 years old, two decades of disappointment and deprivation had left him prematurely old. In his new home he befriended several of the townspeople, who paid him well-deserved respect, and for a time he took a lively interest in the progress of the movement he had so decisively helped to establish.

Occasionally he received letters or visits from a few friends and former patrons. Around 1892, ill health and old age forced him to take up residence in a local hospital, where he spent the last 18 years of his life.

The highest honour was still to come for Dunant. In 1901, the Nobel Committee awarded him the first Nobel Peace Prize, which he shared with the Frenchman Frédérick Passy. As Dunant was too weak to travel to Christiania, the prize and later the medal were sent to him. From Geneva, his old home, came the following message from the International Committee of the Red Cross:

“No one deserves this honour more than you, for you, forty years ago, set an international organisation on its feet to help the wounded on the battlefield. Without you, the Red Cross, the greatest humanitarian achievement of the 19th century, would probably not exist.”

On Sunday, 30 October 1910, Jean-Henry Dunant passed away in Heiden, among the mountains and the people, where he found peace of mind, friendship and a safe haven. The International Committee of the Red Cross now works in 160 countries around the world.