Chapter V: Italy--Milan--Vienna--Venice. 1796-1797

After a honeymoon of ten days Napoleon returned to work. Assuming command of the army of Italy, he said: "I am at last in business for myself. Keep your eyes on me, Bourrienne, and you'll wear blue goggles. You'll have to, you'll be so dazzled. We will set off at once for Italy. The army is in wretched shape. It lacks shoes, clothes, food. It lacks everything. I don't think it even has sense. If it had it would strike for lower wages."

"Lower wages?" queried Bourrienne. "You mean higher, don't you?"

"Not I," said Bonaparte. "They couldn't collect higher wages, but if their pay was reduced they might get it once in a while. We can change all this, however, by invading Italy. Italy has all things to burn, from statuary to Leghorn hats. In three months we shall be at Milan. There we can at least provide ourselves with fine collections of oil-paintings. Meantime let the army feed on hope and wrap themselves in meditation. It's poor stuff, but there's plenty of it, and it's cheap. On holidays give the poor fellows extra rations, and if hope does not sustain them, cheer them up with promises of drink. Tell them when we get to Italy they can drink in the scenery in unstinted measure, and meanwhile keep the band playing merrily. There's nothing like music to drive away hunger. I understand that the lamented king's appetite was seriously affected by the Marseillaise."

To his soldiers he spoke with equal vigor.

"Soldiers," he said, "sartorially speaking, you are a poor lot; but France does not want a tailor-made army at this juncture. We are not about to go on dress parade, but into grim-visaged war, and the patches on your trousers, if you present a bold front to the enemy, need never be seen. You are also hungry, but so am I. I have had no breakfast for four hours. The Republic owes you much; but money is scarce, and you must whistle for your pay. The emigres have gone abroad with all the circulating medium they could lay their hands on, and the Government has much difficulty in maintaining the gold reserve. For my part, I prefer fighting for glory to whistling for money. Fighting is the better profession. You are men. Leave whistling to boys. Follow me into Italy, where there are fertile plains--plains from whose pregnant soil the olive springs at the rate of a million bottles a year, plains through whose lovely lengths there flow rivers of Chianti. Follow me to Italy, where there are opulent towns with clothing-stores on every block, and churches galore, with their poor-boxes bursting with gold. Soldiers, can you resist the alluring prospect?"

"Vive l'Empereur!" cried the army, with one voice.

Napoleon frowned.

"Soldiers!" he cried, "Remember this: you are making history; therefore, pray be accurate. I am not yet Emperor, and you are guilty of an anachronism of a most embarrassing