With the first coming of the armies of revolutionary France to Italy, the establishment of republics in the peninsula, and the talk of Italian unity, even Rome and Naples began to move in their shrouds. Probably two systems of government more utterly wretched than those of the Pope and the Neapolitan Bourbons never existed. While changes for the better were taking place in the immediate neighborhood of these misruled states, it was natural that certain elements at Rome and Naples should begin to hope for reforms.

The support of the Pope and of the Bourbons was the ignorance of the lowest orders and the fanaticism of the priests. The middle classes, the educated, and even many of the nobles favored more liberal principles. In December, 1797, the democratic faction at Rome came into collision with the papal mob; and the papal troops worsted in the riot, the democrats sought shelter at the French embassy, Joseph Bonaparte being at that time the minister of France. The papal faction, pursuing their advantage, violated the privilege of the French ministry, and General Duphot, a member of the embassy, was killed. This was the second time a diplomatic agent of France had been slain by the Pope’s partisans in Rome. Joseph Bonaparte left the city, and General Berthier marched in at the head of a French army. The Pope was removed, and finally sent to Valence, where he died in 1799. His temporal power having been overthrown, the liberals of Rome, including many clericals who were disgusted with the papal management of political affairs, held a great meeting in the forum, renounced the authority of the Pope, planted a liberty tree in front of the Capitol, and declared the Roman republic, February 15, 1798.

In the spring of 1798 the democratic cantons in Switzerland had risen against the aristocracy of Berne, had called in the French, and on April 12, 1798, the Helvetic republic had been proclaimed.

This continued and successful advance of republican principles profoundly alarmed the courts and kings of Europe. Great Britain, having failed in her efforts to make favorable terms of peace with the French Directory, and having gained immense prestige from the battle of the Nile, organized a second great coalition in the autumn of 1798. Russia, Turkey, Naples, and England combined their efforts to crush republican France.

A Neapolitan army, led by the Austrian general, Mack, marched upon Rome for the purpose of restoring the temporal power of the Pope. Its strength was overwhelming, the French retreated, and Ferdinand of Naples made his triumphant entrance into Rome in November, 1798. The liberty tree was thrown down, an immense cross set up in its place, many liberals put to death in spite of Ferdinand’s pledge to the contrary, and a few Jews baptized in the Tiber. The French, having left a garrison in the castle of St. Angelo, General Mack issued a written threat to shoot one of the sick French soldiers in the hospital for every shot fired from the castle. Ferdinand gave the credit of his victory to “the most miraculous St. Januarius.” To the King of Piedmont, who had urged Ferdinand to encourage the peasants to assassinate the French, he wrote that the Neapolitans, guided by Mack, had “proclaimed to Europe, from the summit of the Capitol, that the time of the kings had come.”

We do not know of any incident which more fully illustrates the meaning of the gigantic efforts made by Europe against France and Napoleon than this. Ferdinand called to the Pope to return, to sweep away all reforms, to restore all abuses, to become master again of life, liberty, and property: “The time of the kings has come!” And back of the Bourbon king, back of these efforts of Naples to inaugurate the return of the Old Order and all its monstrous wrongs, was Nelson and the English government.

If “the most miraculous St. Januarius” had joined Ferdinand in his Roman campaign, the saint soon wearied of it, for the conquest was lost as soon as made. The Neapolitan forces were badly handled, and the favorites of the saint fell easy prey to the heretic French. King Ferdinand, losing faith in Januarius, fled, the French reËntered Rome, the republic was set up again; and Championnet, the French general, invaded Neapolitan territory. In December, 1798, the royal family of Naples took refuge on Nelson’s ship, and soon sailed for Sicily. The republicans of Naples rose, opened communications with the French, who entered the city, January 23, 1799; and the Parthenopean republic was proclaimed. Representative government took the place of intolerant priest-rule and feudalism. Against this new order of things the clergy preached a crusade. The ignorant peasants of the rural districts and the lowest rabble of the city flew to arms, and civil war in its worst form was soon raging between the two factions—that which favored and that which opposed the republic.

In the meantime the forces of the great coalition were getting under way. A Russian army, led by the celebrated Suwarow, was on the march toward Italy. Austria had recuperated her strength, and the Archduke Charles beat the French, under Jourdan, at the battle of Stockach, March 25, 1799. On the 28th of April of the same year, as the French envoys to the Congress of Rastadt were leaving that place, they were assailed by Austrian hussars, two of them killed, and the third left for dead. The Archduke Charles commenced an investigation of this crime, but was stopped by the Austrian Cabinet. The evidence which he collected was spirited away, and has never since been found.

On April 5, 1799, the army of Italy, under SchÉrer, was defeated by the Austrians, who recovered at one blow Italian territory almost to Milan. In June, MassÉna was beaten by the Archduke Charles at Zurich, and fell back to a strong position a few miles from that city.

Suwarow having reached Italy in April, 1799, began a career of victory which would have been followed by momentous results had not Austrian jealousy marred the campaign. His impetuous valor overwhelmed SchÉrer; and, by the time Moreau was put in command of the French, the army was too much of a wreck for even that able officer to stand the onset of the Russians. General Macdonald, hastening to Moreau’s aid, was not quite quick enough. The dauntless and vigilant old Russian commander made a dash at Macdonald, struck him at the Trebbia, and well-nigh destroyed him, June 18, 1799. Southern Italy rose against the French. Cardinal Ruffo, at the head of an army of peasants, ravaged Calabria and Apulia. On the 15th of June, 1799, this army, assisted by the lazzeroni of Naples, attacked the republican forces in the suburbs of that city, and for five days there was a carnival of massacre and outrage. On the 19th the Cardinal proposed a truce. The republicans who remained in possession of the forts agreed; negotiations followed, and on the 23d terms of peace were signed by Ruffo on behalf of the King of Naples, and guaranteed by the representatives of Russia and Great Britain. It was agreed that the republicans should march out with the honors of war, that their persons and property should be respected, and that they should have the choice of remaining, unmolested at home, or of being safely landed at Toulon. On the faith of this treaty the democrats yielded up the forts, and ceased all resistance. At this juncture, Nelson sailed into the harbor and annulled the treaty. A reign of terror followed.

The Queen of Naples was the sister of Marie Antoinette,—a violent, cruel, profligate woman. She and her friend, Lady Hamilton, wife of the English minister and mistress of Lord Nelson, hounded on the avengers of the republican revolt, and Naples became a slaughter-pen. Perhaps the blackest of all the black deeds done in that revel of revenge was the murder of Admiral Carraccioli.

This man was a prince by birth, a member of one of the noblest Italian houses; his character was as lofty as his birth, and he was seventy years old. He had joined the republicans, and had commanded their naval forces. Involved in the failure of his cause, he was entitled to the protection of the treaty of capitulation. Nelson, returning from his Victory of the Nile, and inflated with pride and political rancor, annulled the terms which Cardinal Ruffo had accepted—doing so over the Cardinal’s protest, be it said to his honor. The republican garrisons of the castles were delivered by Nelson to the vengeance of their enemies. As to Prince Carraccioli, Nelson himself took charge of his case. The gray-haired man, who had honorably served his country for forty years, was brought on board the English vessel, with hands tied behind him, at nine o’clock in the forenoon. By ten his trial had begun; in two hours it was ended. Sentenced to death immediately, he was, at five o’clock in the afternoon of the same day, hanged at the yard-arm, his body cut down at sunset, and thrown into the sea. In vain the old man had pleaded that the president of the court-martial was his personal enemy. In vain he had asked for time, a rehearing, a chance to get witnesses. Nelson was unrelenting. Then the victim of this cold-blooded murder begged that he might be shot. “I am an old man, sir. I leave no family to grieve for me, and therefore cannot be supposed to be very anxious to live; but the disgrace of being hanged is dreadful to me!” And again Nelson refused all concession.

Lady Hamilton, Nelson’s mistress, looked on with unconcealed satisfaction as the prince-republican was choked to death with a rope; and if ever Nelson felt a pang because of his shocking inhumanity, it has escaped the record.

Who has not had his ears deafened by royalist diatribes concerning the murder of the Duke d’Enghien? And how silent are the same royalist authors concerning the murder of the Prince Carraccioli! The closer the facts of history are studied and compared, the less certain the reader will be that Napoleon Bonaparte was a whit worse in any respect than the average public man of his time.

From the newspapers which Napoleon read at Alexandria during the night of July 25, 1799, he first learned the full extent of the disasters which had befallen France in his absence.

“Great heavens, the fools have lost Italy! I must return to France!”

In the East his work was done. He had crushed organized resistance. From the cataracts to the sea all was quietude. True, he had not conquered Syria, but he had broken Djezzar’s strength, and destroyed the relieving army of Turks. What remained? What more had he to do in Egypt? Was he, when France was in such dire distress, to stay at Cairo running the newspaper, making pencils, supervising canals and schools, and dawdling along the Nile as local governor?

In France itself there was no division of sentiment on the subject. All felt that the best soldier of the Republic was needed at home. “Where is Bonaparte?” was the cry throughout the country. The need for him was felt in Italy as well as France, on the Rhine as on the Seine.

Even the Directory realized the necessity for the presence of the one Frenchman who could restore courage, inspire confidence, assure victory. They despatched a special messenger to call him home (September, 1799). This courier did not reach Egypt, and the order of recall was revoked; but the fact that it was issued, proves that Napoleon, in returning to France, obeyed an impulse which even his enemies shared.

Hastily and secretly making the necessary arrangements, and taking with him a chosen few of his soldiers and his savants, Napoleon embarked in four small vessels, August 23, 1799, and next morning made sail for France.

In the army left behind there was a wail of despair, a burst of wrath. Napoleon’s name was cursed,—the traitor, the deserter, the coward! This was very natural, and very unjust. KlÉber himself, to whom Napoleon had delegated the chief command, was as indignant as the rest. In bitter, unmeasured terms he denounced Bonaparte in letters to the Directory—despatches which, when opened, were opened by Bonaparte, First Consul. KlÉber had grossly exaggerated the difficulties of his situation, and soon gave proof of that fact. He was in no real danger. When other armies were thrown against him, he gloriously defeated them, and held his ground.

Uncontrollable circumstances, the continued hostility of England, the unforeseen inability of Napoleon to throw succors into Egypt, alone defeated his plans, finally. Never did a man strive harder to send relief to a lieutenant. There is something positively pathetic in the strenuous and fruitless efforts made by Napoleon to triumph over the incompetence of his naval commanders, and to compel them to exhibit enterprise, courage, and zeal in the relief of Egypt. It was all in vain. “I cannot create men,” he said sadly. He certainly never was able to find effective aid in his navy, and Egypt was finally lost, in spite of all he could do.

That he was correct in his judgment in attaching so much importance to the conquest of Egypt, subsequent events have proved. In seizing upon the exhaustless granary of the East, the enormously important midway station on the road to India, his was the conception of a far-sighted statesman. It was his fate to teach the world, England especially, the vital importance of Malta and of Egypt, and to lose both.