“Don’t you know the man we are dealing with?” said he. “But what have you replied to it?”

  “I have ordered it to be read throughout the army.”

  “That is well done; a soldier should know his enemy; and better still, despise him. And what more?”

  “I think that each Neapolitan prisoner should answer with his head for each sick Frenchman killed in Rome.”

  Championnet looked at Macdonald with infinite gentleness, and laying a hand on his shoulder, answered: “My friend, you are wrong; not with bloody reprisals should Republicans reply to their enemies; return to your men and read to them this ‘Order of the day of General Championnet before the Battle of Civita Castellana ‘; for thus the battle you will gain to-morrow will be called, Macdonald,” and he went on dictating to his secretary as follows: —

  “Every Neapolitan soldier taken prisoner will be treated with the usual humanity and kindness of Republicans to their enemies.

  “Every soldier who permits himself ill-treatment of any kind of a disarmed prisoner will be severely punished.

  “Generals will be responsible for the carrying out of these two orders....”

  Championnet had just taken his pen to sign when a horseman, wounded and covered with blood, dashed up.

  “General,” said he, “the Neapolitans have surprised an advance guard of fifty at Baccano; have cut all their throats in the guard-house; and have set fire to it amid cries of joy from the people.”

  Championnet affixed his signature. “It is thus,” said he, “that civilisation should reply to barbarism. Go, Macdonald, and publish this order of the day immediately.”

  These were the last great days of the Republic.

  At three o’clock in the afternoon, Championnet visited Lahure’s advance posts and Macdonald’s division, and mingled with the men, talking to them paternally and hopefully of the morrow. In the evening he had wine, bread and meat distributed to all; great fires were lit, and regimental bands played the “Marseillaise” and “Song of Departure,” a celebration before battle astonishing to the peasants looking down on the scene from their mountain villages.

  The night passed peacefully; but the rising sun shone on the whole army of Mack, advancing in three visible and two concealed columns. The central division, numbering twenty thousand, under Mack himself, was to attack Macdonald and his seven thousand.

  Lahure drew the first fire, and twice repulsed the enemy, who came on very vigorously. They were the same men who had massacred the advanced post at Baccano the evening before. Micheroux, supporting them with artillery, brought them again to the charge, and they carried the village with a heavy fire. Upon this, Lahure, forming his men in square, withdrew them in excellent order on Civita Castellana, and reached the bridge with his forces intact, fighting all the way. The hot pursuit had put some disorder into the Neapolitan ranks; and seeing this, Championnet, from the top of his rock, ordered Lahure to retake the offensive, sending him a reinforcement, which arrived at a run with fixed bayonets and drums beating. The Neapolitans, at this unlooked-for fresh attack, hesitated, broke ranks and fled.

  Lahure pursued, made five hundred prisoners, killed seven or eight hundred, took two flags, four guns, and returned to his original position at Regnano.

  In the meantime, the enemy’s right fared no better at the hands of General Maurice Mathieu at Vignanello, which they evacuated, fleeing till they reached Borghetto, and leaving to the French five hundred killed, five hundred prisoners, a flag and four guns.

  The attack of the centre, led by Mack with thirty thousand men, was more serious.

  Macdonald’s advance guard was commanded by General Duhesme, from the army of the Rhine, eager to distinguish himself, who, instead of awaiting an attack, ordered a charge, at the same time manoeuvring some light guns on the enemy’s flank. Taken thus unawares, Mack’s advance column was thrown into confusion, and fell back on the second, abandoning guns, munitions, flags and six hundred prisoners. But even so, Duhesme’s position was not a happy one, and he was forced to retreat step by step before the second column, the rally of the first and a swarm of peasants with rifles. Macdonald, seeing this, sent to tell him to return to his former position, halt, and form battalions in square to receive the enemy on the bayonet; placed some artillery on a slight rise to take the Neapolitans crossways, and dividing his own men, passèd to right and left of Duhesme’s square and charged.

  Championnet, dominating the immense chessboard, could not but admire the intrepidity of Macdonald, whom he loved as a brother, but he was considering that he should perhaps send a message ordering him to retreat and bring on to the Neapolitan flank Lahure and Maurice Mathieu, when he saw Macdonald begin to do so; and Duhesme, reforming, dash against the enemy’s centre, forcing him to loosen his pressure on Macdonald. Then both Macdonald and Duhesme formed into square battalions, and the battlefield had the appearance of thirty thousand men besieging six redoubts, each composed of twelve hundred men, and vomiting torrents of fire.

  Mack, finding it impossible to prevail thus, placed his numerous guns in such a position as to rake the French squares, and at the same time to protect a formidable column which he held in readiness to cut the Republican army in two. Against such a disposition of forces Championnet was uneasily aware neither courage nor genius could prevail. His eye was piercing Mack’s wave-like masses on the horizon, when suddenly towards the left he saw, towards Rieti, a glitter of arms in a rapidly advancing whirlwind of dust. He thought it must be a reinforcement sent for by Mack, when turning to take counsel with his officers, he saw on the side diametrically opposite a second corps, even larger than the first, making towards the battlefield with equal speed. One would have thought it a pre-arranged race between the two bodies of men. Could it be General Naselli from Florence, and Mack a cleverer organiser than one had supposed?

  But all at once Championnet’s aide-de-camp, Villeneuve, uttered a cry of joy, and pointing to the clouds of dust on the Viterbo road:

  “General,” said he, “the tricolor flag!”

  “Ah!” cried Championnet; “ours; Joubert has kept his word.” Then, gazing at the other body from Rieti: “Oh!” he exclaimed, “but this would be too much luck!” while all around him shouted with one voice: “The tricolor flag! Pignatelli and the Roman Legion, Kniasewitch and his Poles! in short, Victory!”

  Then, with a gesture of marvellous greatness, stretching out his hand towards Rome:

  “King Ferdinand,” cried the Republican general, “you can now, like Richard III., offer your crown for a horse.”

  But the day was yet to be won, and Championnet despatched Villeneuve to tell Macdonald to hold firm for another half-hour, sending with him two young officers with similar orders to Duhesme and the squares on the left. “Add,” said he, “the General answers for everything.” He watched them disappear, galloping into the fiery furnace; seeing, at the same time, the two Republican forces rapidly advancing quite unseen by the enemy, upon whose flanks their cavalry suddenly fell like avalanches, hewing a passage for their infantry protected by three pieces of light artillery.

  Then happened what Championnet had foreseen. The Neapolitans, taken completely by surprise, began to leave their ranks; Macdonald and Duhesme saw that something extraordinary and unforeseen had occurred by the confusion into which they were thrown, and seized the opportunity to break squares and unite like pieces of three immense serpents, and during a charge with fixed bayonets and cries of “Long live the Republic!” with irresistible impetus they drove the enemy before them.

  “Come, friends,” cried Championnet to the five or six hundred men he had kept as a reserve, “let it not be said that our brothers were conquering before our eyes and that we had no part in the victory. Forward!” And hurrying his men into the horrible struggle, he also made his breach in the living wall.

  But in the midst of this immense disorder a great misfortune nearly happened. Kellerman’s dragoons and Kniasewitch’s Poles, having fallen on the enemy masses from opposite sides, and pierced them like wedges driven into an oak, met each other in the middle, and but for two young men from their separate ranks embracing with cries of “Long live the Republic,” would have proceeded to exterminate one another by mistake. These young men were Hector Caraffa with Kellerman’s force, who had been sent to demand help from Joubert; and Salvato Palmieri with Kniasewitch and Pignatelli, who had fallen in with them on his way to rejoin his regiment. This joyful embrace at the head of their respective columns, amid cries of “Victory! Victory “from ten thousand voices, was thus happily in time to prevent French and Poles from firing on one another.

  Indeed, the victory was complete; and Championnet came up to finish the rout; it was terrible, mad, unheard of. Thirty thousand Neapolitans defeated, dispersed, fleeing in all directions, were struggling amid twelve thousand French victors, combining their movements with implacable coolness to annihilate at one blow an enemy three times more numerous.

  In the midst of this frightful debacle the French chiefs met; Championnet made Salvato Palmieri and Hector Caraffa chiefs of brigade on the spot; leaving to them, Macdonald and Duhesme, all the honours of the victory he had planned; and pressing the hands of Kellerman, Kniasewitch and Pignatelli, told them that they had saved Rome, must conquer Naples, and consequently continue the pursuit, and if possible cut off the enemy’s retreat. Rome was to be re-occupied, the Republic set up again, and the French army was to march on Naples.

  After this council on horseback, the trophies of victory were gathered up.

  There were three thousand dead, as many wounded, and five thousand prisoners, who were disarmed and taken to Civita Castellana; eight thousand rifles were picked up; thirty guns and sixty abandoned artillery waggons were found, and finally amid all the baggage two vans full of gold.

  This was the treasure of the royal army, totalling seven million francs.

  With this portion of cash from the bill drawn by Sir William Hamilton on the Bank of England, and endorsed by Nelson, a distribution of pay was made that same evening to the French Army; a sum was set aside to purchase clothes and shoes for the men, and the remainder of nearly four millions was sent to France.

  It was a night of general rejoicing; the wounded stifled their groans; the dead were forgotten.

  Meanwhile, at Rome on the day of the battle, the King was engaged in hunting, as at Naples, to which he had sent for his pack of hounds. The previous evening he had received from Mack a despatch from Baccano promising victory, and concluding in these terms: —

  “To-morrow, if God wills, your Majesty will have good news from Civita Castellana; and if your Majesty goes to the play, you will be able, between the acts, to learn that the French have evacuated the Roman states.”

  The King had, therefore, slept well, and had set off to hunt at half-past six next morning; had had a successful day; and at the sound of distant firing had remarked, “It is Mack crushing Championnet! “He dined comfortably with his intimates, and at eight o’clock drove to the Argentina theatre. There a magnificent box had been got ready, with a table arranged in the drawing-room attached, so that between the opera and the ballet he could eat his macaroni as he did at Naples: it was rumoured that this spectacle was added to the entertainment billed, and the theatre was crammed.

  His Majesty’s entrance was loudly applauded. The order had been given to send on General Mack’s couriers to the theatre, and the manager had been notified and was in attendance to raise the curtain and announce that the French had evacuated the Roman states. The dénouement of Il Matrimonio Segreto was, however, reached without interruption, and then two footmen carried into the royal box a supper table upon which, between candelabra laden with waxlights, appeared a dish of gigantic macaroni reposing on an appetising layer of tomatoes.

  It was the King’s turn to give his representation, - which he preceded with his usual pantomimic announcement. Advancing to the front of the box dish in hand, Ferdinand, manœuvring the contents with his other hand, opened a mouth of immoderate size, and into it with that same “hand let fall a veritable cascade of macaroni.

  At this spectacle, the Romans, serious, and with their own lofty ideas of supreme dignity, burst out laughing. It was no longer a King they saw; it was Pasquin, Marfosio, or even Pulcinella.

  Ferdinand, taking these cries for applause, was already half through his dish, and at the third cascade, when suddenly the door of his box opened so violently that he swung round, the macaroni half-way to his mouth, to see what low fellow dared thus to burst in on his important occupation.

  This low intruder was Mack himself, but so pale, so scared, so covered with dust that at his appearance alone, the King let go his dish, and wiped his fingers on his batiste handkerchief.

  “What is it?” asked he. “Alas, sire!” replied Mack.

  They understood one another. The King left the box, shutting the door behind him.

  “Sire,” said the General, “I have abandoned the field of battle; I have quitted the army to come and tell you myself that there is not an instant to lose.”N “To do what?” demanded the King. “To leave Rome, or we shall risk the French reaching before us the passes of the Abruzzi.”

  “The French there before me,” cried the King. “Ascoli! Ascoli! “The Duke came into the room.

  “Tell the others to stay till the end of the performance, you understand? It is important that they should be seen in the box, that nothing may be suspected, and come with me.”

  The Duke of Ascoli transmitted the royal order to the courtiers, who were far from guessing the whole truth, and rejoined the King, who had already reached the corridor crying:

  “Ascoli! Ascoli! Come, stupid. Haven’t you heard that the illustrious General Mack has said there isn’t a moment to lose, or these French sons of

  will be before us at Sora?”

  At the door of the theatre Ferdinand found his carriage, and sprung into it with Mack, calling to Ascoli to get in with them. They stopped at the Farnese palace; a courier had arrived from Vienna bringing a despatch from the Emperor of Austria; the King opened it with precipitation and read:

  “My very dear brother, cousin, uncle, father-in-law, ally and confederate, “Permit me to felicitate you very sincerely on the success of your arms and on your triumphal entry into Rome.”

  The King proceeded no further. “Ah, good!” said he, “this is indeed an arrival àpropos,” and he pocketed the despatch. Then, looking about for the courier, “Take this for your pains,” said he, giving him his purse.

  ““Will your Majesty do me the honour to give me a reply for my august sovereign?” enquired the man.

  “Certainly; but I shall give you a verbal one, as I have no time to write. That is so, is it not, Mack?”

  “No matter,” said the courier, “I can assure your Majesty that I have a good memory.”

  “Well, then; tell your august Sovereign from me; you understand, from me.”

  “I understand, sire.”

  “Tell him that his brother and cousin, uncle and father-in-law, ally and confederate, King Ferdinand, is an ass.”

  The courier stepped back, in alarm.

  “Do not change a single syllable,” went on the King, “and you will have uttered the greatest truth that can ever come from your lips.”

  The courier withdrew in stupefaction.

  “And now,” said the King, “let us set out.”

  “I venture to observe to your Majesty,” said Mack, “that it will be prudent to cross the plain of Rome on horseback.”

  “On horseback? Why?”

  “Because such an excellent horseman as your Majesty on a good mount could cut across country and escape any awkward encounters as you could not in a carriage. I ought to warn your Majesty that these infamous Jacobins have dared to say that if the King falls into their hands.”

  “Well?”.

  “That they will hang him to the first street lamp, if in town; to the first tree, if beyond it.”

  “Finnimo, d’Ascoli! let us...! What are you doing there, you other do-nothings? Two horses! Two horses! the best! They would do as they say, the brigands! But we can’t get to Naples on horseback?”

  “No, sire,” replied Mack, “but at Albano you can take the first postchaise.”

  “You are right. A pair of boots! I can’t travel post in silk stockings. Boots, do you hear, rogue?” A footman ran to get them, and the King put them on in the carriage without troubling about his friend d’Ascoli. The two horses were brought round.

  “And now, ten men for an escort, and a cloak for his Majesty,” cried Mack. The King mounted; and a dark-hued cloak was brought him, in which he enveloped himself.

  Mack then mounted. “As I shall not be easy till I see your Majesty beyond the walls, I ask your Majesty’s leave to accompany you to the Gate of St. John,” said he. “The gates may be guarded by Jacobins.”

  “It is possible. Let us start,” said the King, “but which way are you going?”

  “To the Gate of the People; the nearest, and the one least likely for you to leave by, as it is in the opposite direction to the way you want to go. But once out of Rome, we shall skirt round the walls, and in a quarter of an hour reach the Gate of St. John.”

  On reaching the end of the Ripetta, the King seized the bridle of Mack’s horse.

  “Hulloa! General,” said he, “who are all these folk coming in by the People’s Gate?”

  “Your Majesty’s soldiers, I should say, if they had had time to flee so far.”

  “So they are, General, so they are; you don’t know these fellows. When it comes to fleeing, they have wings on their heels,” and the King held his cloak before his eyes, and passed through their midst without being recognised.

  Once out of the town the little troop turned to the right, and following the Aurelian wall, finally reached the Gate of St. John, where sixteen days previously the King, with such great pomp, had received the keys of the city.