Throughout Italy the principles of the French Revolution had made considerable progress, and in every province there were intelligent men who welcomed the advent of Napoleon as the dawn of a new era. The young warrior was an astute politician, and he assumed the pose of liberator. With the same pen he wrote proclamations to Italy and letters to France: in the one he dwelt on the delights of liberty; in the other on the amount of the loot. And while apparently there was shameful inconsistency here, really there was much sincerity. He was in earnest when he spoke of tributes to be levied upon princes and municipalities; he was also in earnest when he spoke of planting in Italy the principles of the French Revolution. The extreme type of misgovernment which prevailed throughout the Italian peninsula shocked his reason, his sense of justice.

He despised the pampered nobles who could neither govern, fight, nor die like men. He loathed an idle, ignorant, ferocious priesthood which robbed the peasantry in the name of religion, and which compelled rich and poor to bow before such idols as the black doll of Loretto. Hence, while he compelled the defeated enemies of France, the ruling princes, to pay heavy sums by way of indemnity, he did, in fact, replace the old feudal institutions with new ones and better ones. Napoleon has been heartily abused because he stripped the art galleries of Italy of their gems—statuary and paintings. French writers of the royalist school swell the cry and emphasize the guilt. Lanfrey, particularly, calls the world to witness the fact that he hangs his head in shame, so much is his conscience pricked by Napoleon’s seizure of pictures. How absurd is all this! If to the victor belong the spoils, where is the line to be drawn? If one may take the purse of the vanquished, his jewels, his house, his lands, why are his pictures sacred? If the civilized world insists upon maintaining the trained soldier, and continues to hunger after the alleged glories of wars of conquest, we must get accustomed to the results. Wars of conquest are waged for very practical purposes. We combat the enemy because he happens to be in possession of something which we want and which we mean to have. When we have taken the trouble to go up against this adversary, prepared to smite him hip and thigh, in robust, Old-Testament style, and have prevailed against him by the help of the Lord, shall we not Biblically despoil him of all such things as seem good in our own eyes? Are we to allow the vanquished heathen—heathen because vanquished—to choose for us those things which we shall take with us when we go back home? If mine enemy has a golden crown, or a golden throne, the appearance and the weight and the fineness of which please me exceedingly, shall I not take it? If I happen to be a king, shall I not include such trophies among my “crown jewels” in my strong “Tower of London”?

And if by chance there should be in the land of mine enemy, the land which the Lord has given me as the conquest of my sword, a diamond of surpassing size and purity,—a gem so rich and rare that the mouth of the whole world waters at the mere mention of Kohinoor—the heathen name thereof,—shall I not take this rare gem from among unappreciative heathen, and carry it to my own land, where people worship the only true and living God and cultivate ennobling fondness for the best diamonds? If I should chance to be king of my native land, shall I not gladden the heart of my queen by the gift of the marvellous gem, so that she may wear it upon her royal brow, and so outshine all royal ladies whomsoever?

Between such trophies as these and paintings, Napoleon could see no difference in principle. Numerous are the historians, tracking dutifully after other historians, who have been, these many years, heaping abuse upon Napoleon concerning those Italian paintings. It so happens that while the present chronicler has been engaged with this book, the world has witnessed quite a variety of warfare. There has been battle and conquest in China, South Africa, the Philippines; and the Christian soldiers of Europe and America have prevailed mightily against the heathen and the insurgent. There has been much victory and much loot; and with the record of what our Christian soldiers took in Africa, Asia, and the islands of the sea fresh in mind, it seems to me that we might all become silent about Napoleon’s Italian “works of art.”

Lombardy, in 1796, was a possession of the house of Austria, and was nominally ruled by the Archduke Ferdinand, who lived at Milan in magnificent state. The victorious approach of the French filled him and his court with terror, and he called on the Church for help. The priests aroused themselves, put forth the arm ecclesiastic, and endeavored to avert the storm by religious ceremonies. The bones of the saints were brought out, processions formed, and street parades held. Also there were chants, prayers, mystical invocations. Heaven was implored to interfere and save the city. Heaven, as usual, had no smiles for the weak; the angels, who save no doves from hawks, no shrieking virgin from the ravisher, concerned themselves not at all (so far as any one could see) with the terrors of the priests and the nobles of Milan. The Archduke with his Duchess, and the ever faithful few, deserted his beautiful capital; and Count Melzi went forth with a deputation to soften the wrath of the conqueror.

Napoleon’s terms were not hard. Money he needed to pay his troops, also provisions, clothing, munitions of war. These he must have, and these Milan could supply. About $4,000,000 was the sum demanded, but he allowed this to be reduced by payments in such things as the army needed. The conquered province was reorganized on a liberal basis, a national guard enrolled, new officials appointed, and a constitution framed for it—all this being provisional, of course.

The Duke of Modena sued for peace, and was made to pay $2,000,000, furnish provisions and horses, and to give up many precious works of art.

During the negotiations with Modena, Salicetti came into Napoleon’s room one day and said: “The brother of the Duke is here with four coffers of gold, 4,000,000 francs. He offers them to you in his brother’s name, and I advise you to accept them.” “Thank you,” answered Napoleon, “I shall not for that sum place myself in the power of the Duke of Modena.”

Such rivulets of gold as Napoleon had set flowing into the army chest had far-reaching influence. First of all, the army itself was put into first-class condition. The troops were newly clothed, well fed, punctually paid. The pockets of the generals were filled with coin. The cavalry was splendidly mounted; the artillery brought to perfection. As a war machine, the Army of Italy was now one of the best the world ever saw. The Directors were not forgotten. Napoleon gladdened the souls of Barras and his colleagues with $1,000,000 in hard cash. Other millions followed the first, Napoleon doling out the sums judiciously, until his contributions exceeded $4,000,000.

To Moreau, sitting idly on the Rhine, purse empty and spirit low, Napoleon sent a million in French money. To Kellermann, commanding in Savoy, he sent 1,200,000 francs. It is hardly necessary to add that he kept the lion’s share of all his booty for his own army chest. Austria was rousing herself to renew the struggle, France could send him no supplies, and it would have been lunacy for him to have emptied his pockets at the opening of another campaign.

After a rest of a week in Milan, the French army was pushed forward toward Austria. Napoleon advanced his headquarters to Lodi on the 24th of May, 1796. Shortly after his arrival, he learned that a revolt had broken out behind him, that the French garrison at Pavia had surrendered, and that insurrection had spread to many towns of Lombardy, and that in Milan itself there was revolt. He immediately turned back with a small force, reËntered Milan, fought the insurgents at Binasco, where Lannes took and burned the town, and then with fifteen hundred men stormed Pavia, defended by thirty thousand insurgents, forced his way in, and gave it over to pillage, butchery, and the flames. The French officer who had signed the order of capitulation was court-martialled and shot.

Why had the Italians risen against their liberator? There are those who say that his exactions in money, provisions, horses, paintings, and so forth caused it. This could hardly have been the sole cause, for Napoleon’s exactions did not directly reach the peasants. His heavy hand was felt by the rich men of the Church and the State; but upon the poor he laid no burden. A more reasonable explanation seems to be that the priests, encouraged by aristocrats, preached a crusade against the French marauders, who looted rich temples, and made spoil of things that were believed to be holy. Besides, these marauders were infidel French who had trampled upon the Church in France, confiscating the riches thereof, and ousting fat clericals from high, soft places. The Pope knew that his turn would come,—Basseville’s ghost not yet being laid,—and that he would have to suffer for all the cruel blows he had aimed at republican France. Therefore as Napoleon marched off to meet the Austrians, who were reported to be mustering in overwhelming numbers, it was thought to be a good time to kindle flames in his rear. Priests rushed frantically to and fro, the cross was lifted on high, church bells pealed from every steeple, and the ignorant peasants flew to arms to win a place in heaven by shedding the blood of heretics. The insurrection stamped out, Napoleon proved what he thought of its origin. He demanded hostages, not from the peasants, but from the nobles. The hostages were given, and there was no further revolt.

The Austrian army, in its retreat from Lodi, had taken up the line of the Mincio, its left at Mantua and its right at Peschiera, a city belonging to Venice. This violation of neutral ground by Beaulieu gave Napoleon an excuse, and he seized upon the Venetian town of Brescia. He proclaimed his purpose to do nothing against Venice, to preserve strict discipline, and to pay for whatever he might take. Pursuing his march, he again deceived the aged Beaulieu as to the place where he meant to cross the river; and he was over the Mincio before the Austrians could mass sufficient troops to make any considerable resistance. On the other side of the river, Napoleon, in passing with a small escort from the division of Augereau to that of MassÉna, narrowly missed falling into the hands of an Austrian corps which was hastening up the river to join Beaulieu. Napoleon, after having ridden some distance with Augereau, had returned to Valeggio, where he stopped to get a foot-bath to relieve a headache. At this moment the light cavalry of the enemy dashed into the village. There was barely time to sound the alarm, close the gates of the carriage-way, and to post the escort to defend the place. Napoleon ran out the back way with only one boot on, made his escape through the garden, jumped on his horse, and galloped as hard as he could to MassÉna, whose troops, near by, were cooking their dinner. MassÉna promptly aroused his men, rushed them against the enemy—and then it was the turn of the Austrians to run.

The danger which he had incurred caused Napoleon to form a personal guard for his own protection. Called by the modest name of Guides at first, the force swelled in numbers and importance until it became the immortal Imperial Guard. Its commander was BessiÈres, a young officer of humble birth, who had attracted Napoleon’s notice during the campaign by his coolness and courage. He became Marshal of France and Duke of Istria.

In the fighting which took place at Borghetta, the cavalry began to show its capacity for achieving brilliant results. It was young Murat, the innkeeper’s son, who inspired, led it, and impetuously fought it. A finer cavalier never sat a horse. A better leader of cavalry never headed a charge. It was a sight to see him,—brilliantly dressed, superbly mounted, on fire with the ardor of battle, leading his magnificent squadrons to the charge. Even Napoleon thrilled with unwonted admiration in looking upon Murat in battle. “Had I been at Waterloo,” said Murat, the outcast, in 1815, with a flash of his old pride, “the day had been ours.”

And the sad, lonely man of St. Helena assented:—

“It is probable. There were turning-points in that battle when such a diversion as Murat could have made might have been decisive.”

Beaulieu fell back to the Tyrol, and Napoleon occupied Peschiera. He was furiously angry with Venice because she had allowed Beaulieu to take possession of this town, which cost the lives of many Frenchmen before it was retaken. The Venetian Senate, bewildered and dismayed, sent envoys to propitiate the terrible young warrior. Napoleon assumed his haughtiest tone, and threatened vengeance.

Finally, when the Venetians had opened to him the gates of Verona, and had agreed to supply his army, he began to soften, and to talk to the envoys of a possible alliance between Venice and France.

On June 5, 1796, one of these envoys wrote of Napoleon, in a letter to Venice, “That man will some day have great influence over his country.”

The French were now masters of the line of the Adige, which Napoleon considered the strongest for the defence of Italy. This line was of vast importance to him, for he knew that Austria was recruiting her strength and preparing to retrieve her losses. He had won Italy; could he hold it? That was now the issue.

Before reËnforcements from Austria could arrive, Napoleon calculated that he would have time to punish the Pope and to humble Naples. Leaving Mantua invested, and the line of the Adige well defended, he took one division and turned to the South. There were many reasons why he should do so. The Bourbons of Tuscany had welcomed the English to Leghorn, and in Naples preparations were being made to equip a large force to act against the French. Genoa was giving trouble, her nobles being very unfriendly to France. In Genoese territories troops of disbanded Piedmontese soldiers, escaped Austrian prisoners and deserters, infested the Apennine passes, stopped couriers, plundered convoys, and massacred French detachments.

Reaching Milan, Napoleon directed Augereau upon Bologna, and Vaubois on Modena. To the Senate of Genoa was sent a haughty letter demanding to know whether that state could put down the disorders of which the French complained. Murat, the bearer of the message, read it to the trembling Senate. It had the effect desired: Genoa promised, and did all that was asked.

Lannes, with twelve hundred men, sent to chastise the feudatory families of Austria and Naples, resident in Genoese territories, did the work with energy and success. ChÂteaux of conspiring nobles were burnt; and wherever any of the bands which had been molesting the French could be found, they were summarily shot down.

Naples was cowed before she had been struck, and she sent in her submission to the conqueror. He dealt with her leniently. She must abandon the coalition against France, open all her ports to the French, withdraw her ships from England, and deliver to Napoleon the twenty-four hundred cavalry which she had furnished to Austria. This armistice signed, he turned his attention and his troops in the direction of Rome. Bologna, a papal fief, was seized. Ferrara, another papal domain, threw off the papal yoke.

The Pope, smitten with fear, sent Azara, the ambassador of Spain, to negotiate terms; and again Napoleon was mild. He required that Ancona should receive a French garrison, that Bologna and Ferrara should remain independent, that an indemnity of 21,000,000 francs should be paid, that one hundred statues and paintings should be given up, besides grain and cattle for the army. The Pope consented. Here again Napoleon gave great offence to the Directory, and to many republicans in France, as well as in the army.

The Pope had been the centre of the hostility against the Revolution and its principles. He had actively coÖperated with the enemies of France, had torn her with civil strife, had suffered her ambassador to be brutally murdered, and had given aid, comfort, blessings, and pontifical inspiration to her enemies wherever he could. The Directory wished that the papal power should be totally destroyed. Napoleon had no such intention. Catholicism was a fact, a power, and he proposed to deal with it accordingly. He accepted the money and the paintings and the marbles: Basseville’s ghost being left to lay itself as best it could. In delicate compliment to the Pope, the young conqueror did not enter Rome. In all his passings to and fro, this modern CÆsar, this restorer of the Empire of the West, never set his foot in the Sacred City.

On June 26, 1796, Napoleon crossed the Apennines into Tuscany. By forced marches, a division was thrown forward to Leghorn, where, it was hoped, the English ships would be taken. Warned in time, they had sailed away, but the French seized large quantities of English goods. Leaving a garrison at Leghorn, Napoleon proceeded to Florence, where the grand-duke fÊted him royally. The grand-duchess did not appear at the banquet: she was “indisposed.” Italy having been pacified in this swift manner, Napoleon returned to his army headquarters near Mantua.