Humiliation of the Papacy and of Venice[69].
[Footnote 69: The authorities for the following three
chapters are partly as before, but in particular the
following: Vivenot: Thugut, Clerfayt. Correspondance de
Thugut avec Colloredo. Hüffer: Oesterreich und Preussen,
etc.; Der Rastatter Congress. Von Sybel: Geschichte der
Revolutions Zeit. Bailleu: Preussen und Frankreich.
Sandoz-Rollin: Amtliche Sammlung von Akten aus der Zeit
der Helvetischen Republic. Sorel: Bonaparte et Hoche;
Bonaparte et le Directoire; also articles in the Revue
Historique, 1885. Sciout: Le Directoire, also article in
Revue des questions historiques, 1886. Boulay de la
Meurthe: Quelques lettres de Marie Caroline; Revue
d'histoire diplomatique, 1888. Barante: Histoire du
Directoire and Souvenirs. McClellan: The Oligarchy of
Venice. Bonnal: Chute d'une république. Seché: Les
origines du Concordat. Dandolo: La caduta della
republica di Venetia. Romanin: Storia documentata di
Venezia. Sloane: The French Revolution and Religious
Reform. In general and further, the memoirs of Marmont,
Chaptal, Landrieux, Carnot, Larévellière-Lépeaux
(probably not genuine), Mathieu Dumas, Thibaudeau, Miot
de Melito, and the correspondence of Mallet du Pan.]
Rome Threatened -- Pius VI Surrenders -- The Peace of
Tolentino -- Bonaparte and the Papacy -- Designs for the
Orient -- France Reassured -- The Policy of Austria -- The
Archduke Charles -- Bonaparte Hampered by the Directory --
His Treatment of Venice -- Condition of Venetia -- The
Commonwealth Warned.
[Sidenote: 1797.]
Bonaparte seems after Rivoli to have reached the conviction that a man
who had brought such glory to the arms of France was at least as firm
in the affections of her people as was the Directory, which had no
hold on them whatever, except in its claim to represent the
Revolution. Clarke had reached Milan on November twenty-ninth, 1796.
Bonaparte read him like an open scroll, discovering instantly that
this graceful courtier had been commissioned to keep the little
general in his place as a subordinate, and use him to make peace at
any price. Possessing the full confidence of Carnot and almost
certainly of the entire Directory, the easily won diplomat revealed to
his lean, long-haired, ill-clad, penetrating, and facile inquisitor
the precious contents of the governmental mind. The religious
revolution in France had utterly failed, riotous vice had spread
consternation even in infidel minds, there was in the return a mighty
flood tide of orthodoxy; if the political revolution was to be saved
at all, it was at the price of peace, and peace very quickly. The
Directory had had little right to its distinction as savior of the
republic from the beginning, and even that was daily disputed by ever
increasing numbers: the most visible and dazzling representative of
the Revolution was now the Army of Italy. It was not for "those
rascally lawyers," as Bonaparte afterward called the directors, that
his great battle of Rivoli had been fought. With this fact in view,
the short ensuing campaign against Pius VI, and its consequences, are
easily understood. It was true, as the French general proclaimed, that
Rome had kept the stipulations of the armistice neither in a pacific
behavior nor in the payment of her indemnity, and was fomenting
resistance to the French arms throughout the peninsula. To the
Directory, which had desired the entire overthrow of the papacy,
Bonaparte proposed that with this in view, Rome should be handed over
to Spain. Behind these pretexts he gathered at Bologna an indifferent
force of eleven thousand soldiers, composed, one half of his own men,
the other half of Italians fired with revolutionary zeal, and of
Poles, a people who, since the recent dismemberment of their country,
were wooing France as a possible ally in its reconstruction. The main
division marched against Ancona; a smaller one of two thousand men
directed its course through Tuscany into the valley of the Tiber.
The position of the Pope was utterly desperate. The Spaniards had once
been masters of Italy; they were now the natural allies of France
against Austria, and Bonaparte's leniency to Parma and Naples had
strengthened the bond. The reigning king at Naples, Ferdinand IV of
the Two Sicilies, was one of the Spanish Bourbons; but his very able
and masterful wife was the daughter of Maria Theresa. His position was
therefore peculiar: if he had dared, he would have sent an army to the
Pope's support, for thus far his consort had shaped his policy in the
interest of Austria; but knowing full well that defeat would mean the
limitation of his domain to the island of Sicily, he preferred to
remain neutral, and pick up what crumbs he could get from Bonaparte's
table. For this there were excellent reasons. The English fleet had
been more or less unfortunate since the spring of 1796: Bonaparte's
victories, being supplemented by the activity of the French cruisers,
had made it difficult for it to remain in the Mediterranean; Corsica
was abandoned in September; and in October the squadron of Admiral
Mann was literally chased into the Atlantic by the Spaniards.
Ferdinand, therefore, could expect no help from the British. As to the
papal mercenaries, they had long been the laughing-stock of Europe.
They did not now belie their character. Not a single serious
engagement was fought; at Ancona and Loretto twelve hundred prisoners,
with a treasure valued at seven million francs, were taken without a
blow; and on February nineteenth Bonaparte dictated the terms of peace
at Tolentino.
The terms were not such as either the Pope or the Directory expected.
Far from it. To be sure, there was, over and above the first ransom, a
new money indemnity of three million dollars, making, when added to
what had been exacted in the previous summer, a total of more than
seven. Further stipulations were the surrender of the legations of
Bologna and Ferrara, together with the Romagna; consent to the
incorporation into France of Avignon and the Venaissin, the two papal
possessions in the Rhone valley which had already been annexed; and
the temporary delivery of Ancona as a pledge for the fulfilment of
these engagements; further still, the dispersion of the papal army,
with satisfaction for the killing in a street row of Basseville, the
French plenipotentiary. This, however, was far short of the
annihilation of the papacy as a temporal power. More than that, the
vital question of ecclesiastical authority was not mentioned except to
guarantee it in the surrendered legations. To the Directory Bonaparte
explained that with such mutilations the Roman edifice would fall of
its own weight; and yet he gave his powerful protection to the French
priests who had refused the oaths to the civil constitution required
by the republic, and who, having renounced their allegiance, had found
an asylum in the Papal States. This latter step was taken in the rôle
of humanitarian. In reality, this first open and radical departure
from the policy of the Directory assured to Bonaparte the most
unbounded personal popularity with faithful Roman Catholics
everywhere, and was a step preliminary to his further alliance with
the papacy. The unthinking masses began to compare the captivity of
the Roman Church in France, which was the work of her government, with
the widely different fate of her faithful adherents at Rome under the
humane control of Bonaparte.
Moreover, it was the French citizen collectors, and not the army, who
continued to scour every town for art plunder. It was believed that
Italy had finally given up "all that was curious and valuable except
some few objects at Turin and Naples," including the famous
wonder-working image of the Lady of Loretto. The words quoted were
used by Bonaparte in a despatch to the Directory, which inclosed a
curious document of very different character. Such had been the
gratitude of Pius for his preservation that he despatched a legate
with his apostolic blessing for the "dear son" who had snatched the
papal power from the very jaws of destruction. "Dear son" was merely a
formal phrase, and a gracious answer was returned from the French
headquarters. This equally formal letter of Bonaparte's was forwarded
to Paris, where, as he knew would be the case, it was regarded as a
good joke by the Directory, who were supposed to consider their
general's diplomacy as altogether patriotic. But, as no doubt the
writer foresaw, it had an altogether different effect on the public.
From that instant every pious Roman Catholic, not only in France, but
throughout Europe, whatever his attitude toward the Directory, was
either an avowed ally of Bonaparte or at least willing to await events
in a neutral spirit. As for the papacy, henceforward it was a tool in
the conqueror's hand: he was determined to use it as an indispensable
bulwark for public decency and political stability. One of the
cardinals gave the gracious preserver of his order a bust of Alexander
the Great: it was a common piece of flattery after the peace to say
that Bonaparte was, like Alexander, a Greek in stature, and, like
Cæsar, a Roman in power.
While at Ancona, Bonaparte had a temporary relapse into his yearning
for Oriental power. He wrote describing the harbor as the only good
one on the Adriatic south of Venice, and explaining how invaluable it
was for the influence of France on Turkey, since it controlled
communication with Constantinople, and Macedonia was but twenty-four
hours distant. With this despatch he inclosed letters from the Czar to
the Grand Master of Malta which had been seized on the person of a
courier. It was by an easy association of ideas that not long
afterward Bonaparte began to make suggestions for the seizure of Malta
and for a descent into Egypt. These, as elsewhere explained, were old
schemes of French foreign policy, and by no means original with him;
but having long been kept in the background, they were easily
recalled, the more so because in a short time both the new dictator
and the Directory seemed to find in them a remedy for their strained
relations.
When the news of Rivoli reached Paris on January twenty-fifth, 1797,
the city went into a delirium of joy. To Clarke were sent that very
day instructions suggesting concessions to Austria for the sake of
peace, but enjoining him to consult Bonaparte at every step! To the
conqueror direct, only two days later, was recommended in explicit
terms the overthrow of Romanism in religion, "the most dangerous
obstacle to the establishment of the French constitution." This was a
new tone and the general might assume that his treaty of Tolentino
would be ratified. Further, he was assured that whatever terms of
peace he might dictate to Austria under the walls of Vienna, whether
distasteful to the Directory or not, were sure of being accepted by
the French nation.
Meantime the foreign affairs of Austria had fallen into a most
precarious condition. Not only had the departure of the English fleet
from the Mediterranean furthered Bonaparte's success in Italy, but
Russia had given notice of an altered policy. If the modern state
system of Europe had rested on any one doctrine more firmly than on
another, it was on the theory of territorial boundaries, and the
inviolability of national existence. Yet, in defiance of all right and
all international law, Prussia, Russia, and Austria had in 1772
swooped down like vultures on Poland, and parted large portions of her
still living body among themselves. The operation was so much to their
liking that it had been repeated in 1792, and completed in 1795. The
last division had been made with the understanding that, in return for
the lion's share which she received, Russia would give active
assistance to Austria in her designs on northern Italy. Not content
with the Milanese and a protectorate over Modena, Francis had already
cast his eyes on the Venetian mainland. But when on November
seventeenth, 1796, the great Catherine had died, and her successor,
Paul, had refused to be bound by his mother's engagements, all hope of
further aid vanishing, the empire, defeated at Rivoli, was in more
cruel straits than ever. Prussia was consolidating herself into a
great power likely in the end to destroy Austrian influence in the
Germanic Diet, which controlled the affairs of the empire. Both in
Italy and in Germany her rival's fortunes were in the last degree of
jeopardy. Thugut might well exclaim that Catherine's death was the
climax of Austria's misfortunes.
The hour was dark indeed for Austria; and in the crisis Thugut, the
able and courageous minister of the Emperor, made up his mind at last
to throw, not some or the most, but all his master's military strength
into Italy. The youthful Archduke Charles, who had won great glory as
the conqueror of Jourdan, was accordingly summoned from Germany with
the strength of his army to break through the Tyrol, and prevent the
French from taking the now open road to Vienna. This brother of the
Emperor, though but twenty-five years old, was in his day second only
to Bonaparte as a general. The splendid persistence with which Austria
raised one great army after another to oppose France was worthy of her
traditions. Even when these armies were commanded by veterans of the
old school, they were terrible: it seemed to the cabinet at Vienna
that if Charles were left to lead them in accordance with his own
designs they would surely be victorious. Had he and his Army of the
Rhine been in Italy from the outset, they thought, the result might
have been different. Perhaps they were right; but his tardy arrival at
the eleventh hour was destined to avail nothing. The Aulic Council
ordered him into Friuli, a district of the Italian Alps on the borders
of Venice, where another army--the sixth within a year--was to
assemble for the protection of the Austrian frontier and await the
arrival of the veterans from Germany. This force, unlike the other
five, was composed of heterogeneous elements, and, until further
strengthened, inferior in numbers to the French, who had finally been
reinforced by fifteen thousand men, under Bernadotte, from the Army of
the Sambre and Meuse.
When Bonaparte started from Mantua for the Alps, his position was the
strongest he had so far secured. The Directory had until then shown
their uneasy jealousy of him by refusing the reinforcements which he
was constantly demanding. It had become evident that the approaching
elections would result in destroying their ascendancy in the Five
Hundred, and that more than ever they must depend for support on the
army. Accordingly they had swallowed their pride, and made Bonaparte
strong. This change in the policy of the government likewise affected
the south and east of France most favorably for his purposes. The
personal pique of the generals commanding in those districts had
subjected him to many inconveniences as to communications with Paris,
as well as in the passage of troops, stores, and the like. They now
recognized that in the approaching political crisis the fate of the
republic would hang on the army, and for that reason they must needs
be complaisant with its foremost figure, whose exploits had dimmed
even those of Hoche in the Netherlands and western France. Italy was
altogether subdued, and there was not a hostile power in the rear of
the great conqueror. Among many of the conquered his name was even
beloved: for the people of Milan his life and surroundings had the
same interest as if he were their own sovereign prince. In front,
however, the case was different; for the position of the Archduke
Charles left the territory of Venice directly between the hostile
armies in such a way as apparently to force Bonaparte into adopting a
definite policy for the treatment of that power.
For the moment, however, there was no declaration of his decision by
the French commander-in-chief; not even a formal proposal to treat
with the Venetian oligarchy, which, to all outward appearance, had
remained as haughty as ever, as dark and inscrutable in its dealings,
as doubtful in the matter of good faith. And yet a method in
Bonaparte's dealing with it was soon apparent, which, though unlike
any he had used toward other Italian powers, was perfectly adapted to
the ends he had in view. He had already violated Venetian neutrality,
and intended to disregard it entirely. As a foretaste of what that
republic might expect, French soldiers were let loose to pillage her
towns until the inhabitants were so exasperated that they retaliated
by killing a few of their spoilers. Then began a persistent and
exasperating process of charges and complaints and admonitions, until
the origins of the respective offenses were forgotten in the
intervening recriminations. Then, as a warning to all who sought to
endanger the "friendly relations" between the countries, a troop of
French soldiers would be thrown here into one town, there into
another. This process went on without an interval, and with merciless
vigor, until the Venetian officials were literally distracted.
Remonstrance was in vain: Bonaparte laughed at forms. Finally, when
protest had proved unavailing, the harried oligarchy began at last to
arm, and it was not long before forty thousand men, mostly Slavonic
mercenaries, were enlisted under its banner. With his usual
conciliatory blandness, Bonaparte next proposed to the senate a treaty
of alliance, offensive and defensive.
This was not a mere diplomatic move. Certain considerations might well
incline the oligarchy to accept the plan. There was no love lost
between the towns of the Venetian mainland and the city itself; for
the aristocracy of the latter would write no names in its Golden Book
except those of its own houses. The revolutionary movement had,
moreover, already so heightened the discontent which had spread
eastward from the Milanese, and was now prevalent in Brescia, Bergamo,
and Peschiera, that these cities really favored Bonaparte, and longed
to separate from Venice. Further than this, the Venetian senate had
early in January been informed by its agents in Paris of a rumor that
at the conclusion of peace Austria would indemnify herself with
Venetian territory for the loss of the Milanese. The disquiet of the
outlying cities on the borders of Lombardy was due to a desire for
union with the Transpadane Republic. They little knew for what a
different fate Bonaparte destined them. He was really holding that
portion of the mainland in which they were situated as an indemnity
for Austria. Venice was almost sure to lose them in any case, and he
felt that if she refused the French alliance he could then, with less
show of injustice, tender them and their territories to Francis, in
exchange for Belgium. He offered, however, if the republic should
accept his proposition, to assure the loyalty of its cities, provided
only the Venetians would inscribe the chief families of the mainland
in the Golden Book.
But in spite of such a suggestive warning, the senate of the
commonwealth adhered to its policy of perfect neutrality. Bonaparte
consented to this decision, but ordered it to disarm, agreeing in that
event to control the liberals on the mainland, and to guarantee the
Venetian territories, leaving behind troops enough both to secure
those ends and to guard his own communications. If these should be
tampered with, he warned the senate that the knell of Venetian
independence would toll forthwith. No one can tell what would have
been in store for the proud city if she had chosen the alternative,
not of neutrality, but of an alliance with France. Bonaparte always
made his plan in two ways, and it is probable that her ultimate fate
would have been identical in either case.