“And you prefer being Minister of War. I quite understand! That’s one disposed of. Now, Pignatelli, would it suit you to command Ariola’s 65,000 men?”

  “Sire,” replied the General addressed, “I should not like to undertake so great a responsibility.”

  “That’s two then. And you, Colli?” continued the King.

  “Nor I, either, sire.”

  “You, Parisi?”

  “Sire, I am only a brigadier.”

  “Yes, you would all like to command a brigade, perhaps even a division. But if there is a plan of campaign to draw up, strategy to consider, and a formidable enemy to encounter, not one of you can do it!”

  “Your Majesty need not trouble about a General-in-Chief,” said the Queen, “he is already found.”

  “Indeed!” said Ferdinand. “Not one of my people, I trust?”

  “No, do not alarm yourself’ replied the Queen. “I asked my nephew to recommend a man whose military reputation might both impress the enemy and satisfy our friends.”

  “And he?” enquired the King.

  “Is Baron Charles Mack. Have you anything against him?”

  “Only this,” answered Ferdinand, “that he let himself be beaten by the French; but as the Imperial Generals, including your brother Prince Charles, are all in the same boat, we may as well have Mack as another.”

  The Queen bit her lips, and rising, said:

  “Then, you will accept Baron Mack as Commander-in-Chief?”

  “Certainly,” said the King.

  “Then, with your permission “ — And she went to the door while the King looked on — mystified. Suddenly, from the Court below rose the sound of a hunting horn vigorously blown, and giving the first notes of the “lancer” or starting blast. The very windows shook with the noise; and King, Ministers and Councillors stared at each other in astonishment. “What is the fool about?” exclaimed the King. “He must know the hunt was postponed.” Then, as the huntsman continued to blow furiously, Ferdinand flung the window open, and exclaimed, “Stop that, you idiot!” After which he returned to his seat more sullen than ever. But while his back was turned, a new individual had, on the Queen’s invitation, entered the Council Chamber and become a fresh source of surprise to the assembly. This newcomer was a man of about forty-five, tall, fair, and pale, wearing the uniform of an Austrian General and the Orders of Maria Theresa and Saint Januarius.

  “Sire,” said the Queen, “I have the honour to present the Baron Charles Mack, whom you have just named Commander-in-Chief of your armies.”

  “Ah! General,” said the King, gazing with some surprise at the Order of St. Januarius, which he had no recollection of having bestowed on Mack. “I am charmed to make your acquaintance.”

  And he exchanged a meaning glance with Ruffo. The Queen intervened:

  “Sire,” she said, “I thought we ought not to await the Baron’s arrival here before giving him some sign of your consideration, and before he left Vienna, I desired your Ambassador to transmit to him the insignia of your Order of St. Januarius.”

  “And, sire,” said the Baron with an outburst of theatrical enthusiasm, “overflowing with gratitude, I have hastened hither with the speed of lightning in order to say, ‘Sire, my sword is yours.’ “And he drew the weapon with a formidable flourish, whereat Ferdinand, who, like James I., was not fond of cold steel, pushed his chair some paces back. Mack continued:

  “I draw this sword for you and Her Majesty the Queen, nor shall it be sheathed until it has overthrown this infamous French Republic, which is the negation of Humanity and a disgrace to Europe. Will you accept my oath, sire?”

  Ferdinand’s sound sense estimated Mack’s boasting at its proper value. With a mocking smile he murmured in Neapolitan patois, “Ceuza,” a word unintelligible to anyone not born at the foot of Vesuvius. It is quite untranslatable but may be said to mean something between “coxcomb “and “idiot.” Mack, naturally, did not understand, and not knowing whether the King accepted his oath or not, turned in embarrassment towards the Queen.

  “His Majesty,” said the Queen with perfect gravity, “has expressed his gratitude to you, General, by a single and most expressive word.”

  Mack bowed, and put up his sword with much solemnity.

  “Now,” said the King, with the quiet mockery which delighted him so much, “I hope my dear nephew, besides sending me one of his best Generals to overthrow the infamous French Republic, has also sent me a plan of campaign revised by the Aulic Council.”

  The Aulic Council, be it remembered, had drawn up the plans of campaign for ‘96 and ‘97, which had resulted in the Austrian Generals and the Archduke Charles being gloriously beaten. Ferdinand’s question was put with an engaging simplicity.

  “No, sire,” said Mack. “My august master has graciously given me carte blanche on this subject.”

  “Then you will consider it at once, will you not, General? I own I am quite impatient to hear your plan explained.”

  “It is already decided on,” said Mack, with an air of absolute self-satisfaction.

  “Ah!” said Ferdinand, recovering his good temper as soon as he found someone to deride, “you hear, gentlemen. Actually before Citizen Garat declared war on us in the name of the infamous French Republic, the infamous French Republic, thanks to the genius of our Commander-in-Chief, was already beaten! Most certainly we are under the protection of God and Saint Januarius. Thanks, my dear General, thanks!”

  Mack, swelling with pride at what he took for a genuine compliment, made a deep obeisance.

  “It’s a pity,” continued Ferdinand, “that we have not here a map of our kingdom and the States of the Church, so that we could follow the General’s movements. Citizen Bonaparte, we are told, has a large map in his study on which he points out beforehand the exact places where he will beat the Austrian Generals; the Baron could have shewn us those where he will beat the French Generals. We must have a similar map made for the use of Baron Mack. Do you hear, Ariola?”

  “Unnecessary, sire,” said Mack. “I have an excellent one,”

  “Is it as good as the Citizen Bonaparte’s?” demanded the King.

  “I think so,” said Mack with perfect satisfaction.

  “Then let us have it at once, General,” cried the King. “I am dying to see a map on which one beats one’s enemy beforehand.”

  Mack requested that his portfolio might be brought from an adjoining room. The Queen, who perfectly understood her husband’s veiled mockery, and was afraid lest Mack might discover that he was merely serving as a butt for the King’s caustic humour, suggested that this was hardly the time for details; but Mack, unwilling to lose the chance of displaying his military science before the various Generals present, respectfully persisted, and a large portfolio was brought, bearing the Austrian arms on one side, and its owner’s name and titles on the other. Mack drew out a large map of the States of the Church, and spread it on the table.

  “Now, my Minister of War! Now Generals!” said the King, “your best attention, please! Do not lose a word of what the Baron has to tell you. Now, Baron, we are listening.”

  The officers approached the table with much curiosity, for, at that time, Mack enjoyed the reputation — why, no one knew, either then or now — of being one of the first strategists in Europe. The Queen, however, thinking more raillery was intended, drew back a little.

  “What! madame,” said the King, “do you withdraw just when the Baron is going to shew us where he will beat those Republicans you detest so much.”

  “I do not understand strategy, sire,” replied the Queen sharply, “and,” indicating Ruffo, “perhaps I had better make room for someone who does.” And she went to a window and idly tapped the glass with her fingers. At that moment, as if in answer to a signal, a second hunting blast was heard from below, only this time, instead of the “lancer,” it sounded the “view.”

  The King stopped short as if rooted to the ground, his expression changed from good-humour to one of anger. “Really!” he exclaimed, “either they are mad themselves or they want to make me so. How can we hunt either stag or wild boar, when we are hunting Republicans!”

  He rushed to the window and flung it violently open.

  “Will you be silent, you double-dyed idiot!” he cried, “do you want me to come down and kill you with my own hands?”

  “Oh! sire,” said Mack, “it would really be doing the rascal too much honour!”

  “Do you think so, Baron?” said Ferdinand, recovering his temper. “Well, then, we will let him live, and kill the French instead. Let us have your plan, General.”

  And he shut the window more quietly than might have been expected from the exasperation caused by the sound of the horn. Mack’s little bit of commonplace flattery happily saved the situation.

  “You see, gentleman,” said Mack in the manner of à professor lecturing his class, “our 60,000 men are divided into four or five points on this line between Gaeta and Aquila.”

  “There are 65,000,” said the King, “no need to stint yourself.”

  “I only want the 60,000,” said Mack, “my calculations are based on that number. If you had 100,000 I should not want one more. Besides, I have exact information as to the French, they have barely 10,000 men.”

  “Then,” said the King, “we are six to one, which is comforting. We were only two to one in the campaign of ‘96 and ‘97 when Bonaparte beat my nephew’s forces so completely.”

  “But I was not there, sire,” remarked Mack with a self-satisfied smile.

  “True,” replied the King with the utmost innocence, “there were only Beaulieu, Wurmser, Alvinzi and the Archduke Charles.”

  “Sire, sire!” murmured the Queen, pulling Ferdinand’s hunting-coat as she spoke.

  “Don’t alarm yourself,” answered the King aside. “I understand the man, and will only scratch when he invites it.”

  “I was saying,” resumed Mack, “that our largest body of troops, about 20,000 is at San Germano, and the 40,000 others are encamped on the Tronto, at Sessa, at Tagliacozzo and at Aquila. Ten thousand men will cross the Tronto and turn the French garrison out of Ascoli, then advance upon Fermo by the Emilian’ Way. Four thousand others leave Aquila, occupy Rieti, and march towards Terni. Five or six thousand proceed from Tagliacozzo to Tivoli and over-run the Sabini district. Eight thousand more leave the camp at Sessa and enter the Roman territory by the Appian Way. Six thousand go by sea to Leghorn and cut off the French who are retreating by way of Perugia.”

  “Who retreat by Perugia! Our General, unlike Citizen Bonaparte, does not say precisely where he will beat the enemy, but he tells us by which way they will retreat.”

  “Oh! yes!” said Mack triumphantly, “I do tell you where I shall beat the enemy.”

  “Come, now, let us see that,” said the King, seemingly as much interested in the war as if it had been a hunt.

  “I leave San Germano with Your Majesty and twenty or twenty-five thousand men.”

  “What? You leave San Germano with me!”

  “I, march upon Rome — — ”

  “Still with me!”

  “I reach it by way of Ceperano and Frosinone.”

  “Very bad roads, General! I know them, I have been upset there!”

  “The enemy abandons Rome.”

  “Does he?”

  “Rome is a place which cannot be defended.”

  “Well, when the enemy abandons Rome, what does he do next?”

  “He will retire upon Civita-Castellana, a formidable position.”

  “Ah! And you naturally leave him there?”

  “Oh! no! I attack him and beat him.”

  “Excellent! But if you do not beat him — by accident?”

  “Sire,” said Mack, putting his hand on his breast and bowing low, “when I have the honour to tell Your Majesty I shall beat the enemy, Your Majesty may consider that he is beaten.”

  “Then that is settled,” said the King.

  “Has Your Majesty any objections to make to my arrangements?”

  “No, there is only one point about which we must agree. You said you would leave San Germano along with me?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Well, this is the very first I have heard about it. What rank do you offer me in my own army? I hope the question is not indiscreet?”

  “Naturally the supreme command, sire. I shall be proud and happy to obey Your Majesty’s orders.”

  “The supreme command! Hum.”

  “Your Majesty will not refuse?.... Her Majesty the Queen gave me hopes.”

  “Her Majesty the Queen is extremely kind. She has always cherished too good an opinion of me and shews it now, but she unfortunately forgets that I am no soldier. In Supreme Command!! Did San Nicandro bring me up to be an Alexander or a Hannibal? Have I studied at the School of Brienne like the Citizen Bonaparte? Have I read Polybius, or Caesar, or Marshal Saxe like the Archduke Charles? or indeed anything else one ought to read in order to get beaten according to rule? And have I ever commanded anything except my Lipariotes?”

  “Sire,” replied Mack, “a descendant of Henri IV., and a grandson of Louis XIV. knows all that without having learnt it.”

  “My good General,” said the King, “you can tell those whoppers to fools if you like, but not to mere asses like myself.”

  “Sire!” exclaimed Mack, much astonished at the King’s frank pronouncement on himself.

  Ferdinand continued:

  “One of the first qualities of a General is to be brave, is it not?”

  “Most indisputably, sire.”

  “Well, then, you are brave, I suppose.”

  “Sire!”

  “You are quite sure you are brave, are you not?”

  “Oh! sire!!”

  “I am not at all sure that I am brave, however.”

  The Queen blushed up to her ears, Mack stared, and the Ministers and Councillors smiled. Well acquainted with the King’s cynicism, nothing that he said could astonish them.

  “After all,” resumed the King, “perhaps I am mistaken. I may be brave without knowing it. We shall see.”

  Turning towards his Councillors, “Gentlemen,” said Ferdinand, “you have heard the General’s plan of campaign. Do you all, without exception, fully approve?”

  All signified that they did.

  “And you, Ruffo?” asked the King turning towards the Cardinal, who had remained a little apart from the rest.

  But Ruffo remained silent.

  Mack had acknowledged the general approval with a smile, he now looked with wonder at this ecclesiastic who presumed to differ from the rest.

  “Perhaps the Cardinal is prepared with a better plan,” said the Queen.

  “No, Your Majesty,” answered Ruffo quietly, “I did not know war was so imminent, and no one honoured me by asking my opinion.”

  “If Your Eminence has any observations to make,” said Mack jeeringly, “I am ready to listen.”

  “I should not have presumed to offer my opinion without Your Excellency’s permission,” said the Cardinal with extreme courtesy. “But since Your Excellency allows me.”

  “Oh! yes, yes, Eminence,” said Mack, laughing.

  “If I rightly understand Your Excellency’s combinations, the object proposed in the plan you have done us the honour to lay before us.”

  “Yes, what is my object?” said Mack, thinking he had got someone to ridicule in his turn.

  “Let us see,” said Ferdinand, who upheld the Cardinal for the simple reason that the Queen detested him.

  “Your Excellency is extending your line in the hope that, ‘owing to your great numerical superiority, you will be able to turn the ends of the French line, surround their troops, drive the different masses one upon another, throw them into confusion, and as they cannot retreat through Tuscany, either destroy, or force them to surrender.”

  “Your Eminence could not have put it more clearly if I had explained it all beforehand,” said Mack, delighted. “As sure as I am Baron Charles Mack, they will be taken prisoner to the very last man, and not one will return to France to tell the tale. Have you anything better to propose?”

  “If I had been asked,” said the Cardinal, “I should have proposed another arrangement.”

  “And it would have been -?”

  “To divide the army into three parts only. I would concentrate 25,000 or 30,000 men between Cieti and Terni. I would send 12,000 on the Emilian Way to meet the French left wing, and 10,000 into the Pontine Marshes to crush their right wing. I would also send 8,000 into Tuscany. I would use my utmost efforts to break down the enemy’s centre, and to turn” the flank of his two wings, and to prevent their giving help to one another. Meanwhile, the Tuscan legion, having collected all the country could provide, should be on the watch to join hands with us and help us according to circumstances. This would allow our troops, which are young and inexperienced, to act in masses, and would have given them self-confidence. But I am only a poor Churchman, and I bow before General Mack’s genius and experience.”

  And the Cardinal, who had approached the table in order to demonstrate his ideas upon the map, stepped backward, as if abandoning the discussion. The Generals looked at each other in surprise for it was evident that Ruffo’s advice was good. Mack, by scattering the Neapolitan army and dividing it into small bodies, ran the risk of these being beaten separately even by a much inferior force, a danger which Ruffo’s plan would have averted. Mack bit his lips, for he felt that the Cardinal’s strategy was better than his own.

  “Eminence,” said Mack, “the King must choose between you and me. Possibly,” he added with a forced smile, “Peter the Hermit is more suitable than Godfrey de Bouillon for what may be called a Holy War.”

  The King had only vague ideas as to the identity of the persons mentioned, but although he ridiculed Mack he did not wish to quarrel with him.

  “What are you talking about, General?” he exclaimed. “I am sure your plan is excellent, and as you see, these gentlemen all approve of it. So do I, and we will not change a single movement. There is the army — good! There is the Commander-in-Chief — good, very good! Now we only want money. Come, Corradino, Ariola has shewn us his men, you must produce the money.”

 

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