But the King, who was always so punctual at the hunt, at the theatre and at the entertainment of publicly eating his macaroni, was an hour and an half behind time and the crowd was growing impatient. This time he was engaged to play a far different game; one to which he was unused, and for which he may have doubted his skill.

  At last, however, there was a greater stir, drums beat, bands played, and the palace balconies filled, in the middle one appeared the Queen, the Prince Royal, the Princess of Calabria, the Princes and Princesses of the Royal Family, Sir William and Lady Hamilton, Nelson and his officers Troubridge and Ball; and in the others all the ladies and gentlemen attached to the Court. And at the same moment, in the midst of frenzied and deafening cries, Ferdinand himself appeared on horseback with his escort, framed in the great gateway of the palace. On horseback he showed to great advantage, being one of the finest horsemen in the kingdom. As fate would have it, however, even before he had emerged from the gateway, his horse started violently, refusing to advance into the square, and reared so as to have thrown any less accomplished rider than Ferdinand. Making free use of his spurs he urged him forward with a single bound as if he had crossed some invisible obstacle, and proud of displaying his horsemanship to such an assembly, sprang into the middle of the circle of generals awaiting him; then making his horse pivot till he faced the Queen, raised his hat and saluted her. At this the thunderous acclamations on his appearance redoubled on all sides; the vessels in the harbour dressed their flags and the cannon from the forts rent the air with salvoes of artillery.

  Eleven o’clock struck. Ten o’clock should have been the hour of departure. But Ferdinand could not make an end without theatrical display.

  “My children!” he cried, extending his arms towards the balcony, where were, with the young princesses, the young princes Leopold and Albert, who, hearing themselves called, left the balcony, and, escaping from their professors, sped out by the great gate, adventuring with the careless courage of youth among all the horses crowding the square, and rushed to the King.

  Ferdinand lifted them, turn by turn, from the ground and embraced them. Then he showed them to the people, crying in a powerful voice, which carried far into the crowd: “My friends, I entrust them to you; they are, after the Queen, my most precious possessions,” and, restoring them to their tutors, he added, drawing his sword:

  “And I, I go to conquer or to die for you!”

  At these words the general emotion reached its height. Tears flowed, blessings were called down from Heaven; the desired effect was produced; to remain longer would have spoiled it. The trumpets sounded the signal for departure. A small body of cavalry formed the head of the column; then came the King at a distance, alone, bowing to the people; after him, Mack and the Staff; then the main body of troops; and another small detachment of cavalry brought up the rear.

  Before finally leaving the Castle square, the King turned for the last time to salute the Queen and his children. Then he was swallowed up in Toledo Street on the road to Capua, where his suite was to make its first halt, while he, at Caserta, would take his real farewells of his wife and children and pay a last visit to his kangaroos. What he regretted most was his crib, which he was leaving unfinished.

  For more than a month the King of Sicily’s army had taken up its positions; it was divided into three bodies, 22,000 men under the King at San Germano; 16,000 under General Micheroux in the Abruzzi; and the third of 8,000 in the plain of Sessa; also 6,000 at Gueta, Under General de Damas; while yet another 8,000 were ready to set sail for Leghorn under General Naselli. Thus, without counting these latter there were 52,000 men marching against Championnet and his 9-10,000.

  After three or four days in camp at San Germano, where the Queen and Lady Hamilton reviewed the first division on horseback, and by gracious words and smiles to the officers, double pay and distribution of wine to the men, did their utmost to raise the enthusiasm of the army, the Court and the guests invited to these warlike festivities, including the Ambassadors and Nelson, returned to Caserta, while, on a concerted signal, at the same hour, the army began its march on three different objectives.

  According to the orders we have seen given by General Macdonald in the name of Championnet, in the Corsini Palace, orders to abandon every position at the approach of the Neapolitans, we shall not be surprised to see the whole French army in retreat before the aggression of King Ferdinand.

  General Micheroux, with a right wing of 10,000 going by the Emilian Way took the direction of Porto-de-Fermo; General de Damas’s left wing took the Appian Way, and the King, leading the centre, marched on Rome by Ceperano and Frosinone.

  At Ceperano the King halted for breakfast at about nine in the morning, after which General Mack, who was now honoured with a seat at the Royal table, asked permission to summon his aide-de-camp, Major Riescach, a young Austrian of good education and distinguished appearance, speaking French as his mother tongue.

  “Sire,” said Mack, “it is customary in war to announce one’s attack to the enemy; I think it my duty to inform the Republican General that we have crossed the frontier; besides, when he learns in what strength we are, he may yield. Does Your Majesty permit it?”

  “By all means,” said the King.

  “Major Ulrich,” said Mack, pivoting his chair on one leg, and leaning his elbow on the table, “sit down at that bureau and write in your best hand, for it is possible that the Republican General reads with difficulty, and I don’t want him to say afterwards that he didn’t understand.”

  “If it is to General Championnet, Baron,” replied the young man, “you need have no fear, I believe he is one of the most literary men in the French army.”

  “Well, do as I tell you,” replied Mack, piqued at this observation. “Does Your Majesty allow me a free hand?”

  “Certainly, assuredly,” replied the King, “however literary your Citizen-General, he would be puzzled to make out what I should write, I think.”

  “Write, sir,” then said Mack, and he dictated the following ultimatum, unreported in any history, copied by us from the official duplicate sent to the Queen, and a model of impertinence and pride.

  “General.

  “I announce to you that the Sicilian army which I have the honour of commanding under the orders of the King in person, has just crossed the frontier to take possession of the Roman states, revolted and usurped since the peace of Campo-Formico, a revolution and usurpation which have not been recognised by His Sicilian Majesty, nor by his august ally the Emperor and King; I require therefore that without the least delay that in the cisalpine republic you order the French troops to evacuate the Roman states and all the places where they are in occupation. The Generals commanding His Sicilian Majesty’s divisions have the most positive orders not to begin hostilities where the French troops retire on my notice, but to use force where they resist.

  “I announce to you, moreover, citizen-general, that if the French troops set foot on the territory of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, I shall consider it a hostile act. I await your reply without any delay and beg you to send back to me Major Riescach, whom I am despatching to you, four hours after having received my letter. The reply should be positive and categoric. As to the demand to evacuate the Roman states and not to set foot in the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, a negative” answer will be considered as a declaration of war on your part, and His Sicilian Majesty will know how to sustain, sword in hand, the just demands I address to you in his name.

  “I have the honour, etc.”

  “Has the King any observations to make?” asked Mack.

  “You sign it, do you not?” returned Ferdinand, and he shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: “Do as you please.”

  Mack signed, and dictated as address: “Citizen-General. The title these sansculottes of republicans give to themselves,” he remarked; and to the young man he added: “Carry this letter as fast as possible to the French general. Wait for his decision four hours and not a minute more. We shall continue to march.”

  At half-past nine next morning the Major reached Rome by the Gate of San-Giovanni, and was given a soldier to take him to Championnet. The General had just returned from a walk round the walls, and had received at the door of the Corsini palace a letter brought by a peasant, who gave as a countersign the words Naples and Rome. This letter informed him of the convalescence of Salvato, the arrest and imprisonment of Nicolino Caraccioli and the marching orders and equipment of the Neapolitan army. Championnet was accompanied by his aide-de-camp, Thiébaut, and Éblé, a general of genius, just arrived. All three entered the palace; and Championnet gave the others the letter to read.

  “Here is food for thought,” said he. “What do you say, Éblé?”

  “I say,” returned he, as they came into the great gallery, “that 52,000 men and 100 cannon are a pretty figure. How many have you?”

  “Nine cannon, and eleven or twelve thousand men. But we are French, and they are Neapolitans, commanded, moreover, by General Baron Mack. I think you were organising Neapolitans once, Éblé, and know something of them;” and turning to Thiébaut he continued:

  “As the enemy may be here in three or four days, order the port Saint Angelo to fire the cannon; beat an alarm throughout the city, and let the garrison, under General Mathieu Maurice, assemble in the People’s Square.”

  The aide-de-camp went to obey the order, but returned almost immediately. “General,” said he, “a messenger from San-Germano with an important despatch from General Mack.”

  “Bring him in,” replied Championnet; “we should never make our friends wait, and still less our enemies.”

  Major Riescach entered smiling, gracefully saluted, and presented General Mack’s letter; and since he had indited the contents, followed with some anxiety the Commander-in-Chief’s eyes as they passed from line to line. But at the last word Championnet smiled, and put the despatch in his pocket.

  “Sir,” said he, “the honourable General Mack informs me that you have four hours to spend here; I thank him for it; and shall not let you off a minute. At a quarter-past two o’clock you will be free. Thiébaut, order an extra plate; this gentleman gives us the honour of his company to luncheon, that is if he will accept luncheon from poor devils in want of everything, when he has quitted a Royal table sumptuously served?” he added, laughing.

  “General,” stammered the young officer, embarrassed at such politeness from the chief to one who brought him such a discourteous letter, “perhaps I am bidden to a Spartan repast, but only a Frenchman could have the courtesy to invite me to it.”

  The meal, though not that of a Sybarite, was not quite that of a Spartan; it held the golden mean, thanks to the cellar of His Holiness Pius VI., the wines were of the best. As they sat down to table, three cannon shots were heard; almost at the same time the general alarm was being beaten.

  “You hear, Major,” said Championnet, seeing that his guest was silent. “You understand that after a letter such as General Mack has honoured me by writing... I presume that you are aware of the contents?”

  “I wrote it.”

  “You write a very good hand, Major.”

  “But General Mack dictated it.”

  “General Mack has a very fine style.”

  “But I have not heard you give any orders,” said the young man, “did your drums and cannon recognise me? Are they sorcerers?”

  “They need to be, we have only nine, not too many to reply to a hundred. Another cutlet, Major?”

  “With pleasure.”

  “No. I gave the order before I saw you; I have a familiar spirit, like Socrates, I know your numbers and dispositions. Ah, General Mack is a great strategist, all Europe knows it; but you understand that I have only 12,000 men; of whom the Directory is taking 3,000 to reinforce the garrison at Corfu... and àpropos Thiébaut, give the order for them to embark. The Spartans were only 300, one has always sufficient to die.” Thiébaut went out. “Let me give you this wing, Major, you are not eating,” said Championnet; and, indeed the young man, uneasy at the General’s calmness, which he began to take for a trap, was forgetting his hunger.

  “Éblé,” continued Championnet, “as soon as we have finished, and while with Major Riescach I review the garrison, you will go on ahead and be in readiness to blow up the bridges of Tivoli and Borghetto as soon as the French troops shall have crossed.”

  “Yes, General,” replied Éblé simply.

  The young major gazed at Championnet who passed him the wine.

  “Then you abandon Rome to us?” said he.

  “You are too experienced a soldier, my dear Major,” answered Championnet, “not to be aware that in 1799, under citizen Barras, one does not defend a town fortified in 274 by the Emperor Aurelian. I would risk it if General Mack were coming with Parthian arrows, Balearic slings, or even with those famous rams of Antony seventy-five feet long; but against a hundred cannon it would be madness.”

  Thiébaut returned. “Your orders are carried out, General,” said he. Championnet nodded, and continued, “However, I shall not entirely abandon Rome; no, Thiébaut will shut himself up in the Castle of St. Angelo with five hundred men — won’t you, Thiébaut?”

  “If you order me, General, certainly.”

  “And you will give it up under no pretext.”

  “Under no pretext, you can be easy.”

  “You will choose your men yourself; you will easily find five hundred to die for the honour of France. Besides, we set out to-day. I beg pardon, Major, for thus speaking of all our little affairs before you: but you are of the-profession. To-day we depart. I ask you, Thiébaut, to hold out only twenty days; at the end of that time I shall be in Rome again, and even before.- Éblé, you will rejoin me at Civita-Castellana. I shall concentrate there, it is a fine position. You excuse me, my dear Major, I am one of those players who put their cards on the table; with an inferiority in men and munitions such as mine, one must take one’s precautions, and,” as while listening, the young man was letting his coffee get cold:

  “Drink your coffee hot, Major; Scipio, my general factotum, prides himself on his coffee.”

  “It is indeed excellent,” said the Major.

  “Then empty your cup, my young friend, for if you are agreeable, we are going on horseback to review the garrison from which Thiébaut will pick out his five hundred men.”

  As all rose, Scipio appeared, enquiring what books, maps and plans were to be taken, what trunks to be packed.

  “No, no, Scipio, leave everything as it is; we shall find it all on our return. My dear Major” continued Championnet, buckling on his sword, “General Mack will do well to lodge here, I think; he will find a library and excellent maps; commend them to him, I beg, I think a good deal of them; they are, like my palace a loan to him, and I place them in your safe keeping. If, as is probable, the King lodges opposite in the Farnese palace, it will be very convenient; His Majesty and his Commander-in-Chief can signal to one another from the windows.”

  “If the General inhabits this palace,” answered the Major, “I can answer for it that anything that may have belonged to you will be sacred.”

  “Scipio,” said Championnet, “a change of uniform and six shirts in a portmanteau; you can strap it on behind my saddle now; the review over, we shall march immediately.”

  Five minutes afterwards his orders were executed; and four or five horses were awaiting their riders at the door of the Corsini palace; among them a fresh one for the Major, presented by Championnet in place of his own, so fatigued. The little cortège then set out taking the right bank of the Tiber by the Lungara to the bridge of St. Angelo, which it crossed to the left bank, proceeding by the Ripetta into the Square of the People, where was drawn up in battle array the garrison of Rome.

  This garrison numbered nearly three thousand; two-thirds French, a third Polish. On seeing the General, a spontaneous cry arose “Long live the Republic!”

  Championnet advanced to the centre of the first line, and signed that he wished to speak. The cries ceased.

  “Friends,” said he, “I am obliged to leave Rome, but I do not abandon it. I leave Colonel Thiébaut who will occupy Fort St.. Angelo with five hundred men; I have given my word of honour to come and deliver it in twenty days; do you engage with me?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” cried three thousand voices.

  “On your honour?” said Championnet.

  “On our honour,” repeated the three thousand.

  “Now,” continued Championnet, “choose from among you five hundred men ready to be entombed in the ruins of the fort rather than surrender it.”

  “All, all! We are all ready,” was the cry.

  “Sergeants,” said the General, “come out from the ranks and choose fifteen men from each company.”

  “Friends,” said Championnet to them when this had been done and they were drawn up apart, “you will guard the flags of the two regiments and we will come to take them back. Let the standard bearers pass into your ranks.” Then arose frenzied cries of “Long live Championnet! Long live the Republic!”

  “Colonel Thiébaut,” continued Championnet, “swear and make your men swear that you will let yourselves be killed to the last man rather than surrender.”

  Every arm was stretched out, every voice cried:

  “We swear it.”

  Championnet approached his aide-de-camp.

  “Embrace me, Thiébaut,” said he, “if I had a son, I should give to him the glorious mission I confide to you,” and they embraced in the midst of general hurrahs. Two o’clock was striking.

  “Major Riescach,” said Championnet to the young messenger, “the four hours have elapsed, and to my great regret, I have no longer the right to detain you. I hope that you will honour me by accepting your mount as a souvenir of the too short moments we have just passed together.”