Italian Yesterdays, vol. 2

by Mrs. Hugh Fraser

By this time Murat had an inkling of the news which awaited him and hurried out of the room, the Queen upon his arm. In the small apartment, leading out of the gallery, they found Count Colonna, who came forward out of the dark corner where he had been waiting and presented his despatches.

It is a picture that stands out vividly in the imagination: The Count studying Murat’s face as the latter reads the message, and glancing from time to time at the Queen, trying to read something of her husband’s mind in her face; Murat blinking in the half light over the words, rejoicing in the news as he thinks of the manner in which the Congress of Legitimacy has been treating him, but endeavouring to keep his features composed and his pleasure out of his voice.

“That will spoil Metternich’s sleep for a while,” one can almost hear him saying to himself. “And Talleyrand—how will he get out of this? On guard, Messieurs! You will have to exercise something besides your tongues now!”

Napoleon had escaped from Elba, and announced that he proposed to chase the Bourbons out of France, and suggested an alliance, begging Murat at the same time to place a battleship or a frigate at the disposition of his, the Emperor’s, mother and sister.

Hurrying back to his guests, Murat divulged the news, and his cheer and excitement were so obvious that some of them guessed then the course which he would pursue.

The next morning Murat despatched special messengers to Vienna and London, in which he assured the governments of Austria and Great Britain that, whatever might be the result of Napoleon’s raid, he himself would remain faithful to his treaty obligations.

Neither of his correspondents had the slightest belief in his protestations, and Francis, without waiting, took steps to crush him if he moved—or if he did not. But Murat’s health was high and the memories of the golden years were like wine. He felt a real remorse for the part which he had played, and the splendour of Napoleon’s lone-handed assault upon a world in arms appealed to every soldier-like instinct in him.

He did not forget his own ambition, though, and he desired to make himself so powerful that he could treat with either Austria or France upon terms of something like equality. It was Italy that he wanted. The great Powers would have their hands full now, and he hoped to be able to surprise the Germans while the armies of Europe were engaged with the Emperor.

Caroline, however, joined with his ministers and his Council in opposition to war. Naples and Italy had had enough, and even in the unlikely event of Murat’s correspondents in the North having been accurate in their figures, or right in their appreciation of the popular feeling, it was practically certain that, whether the victor in the coming contest were to be the Emperor or the Allies, neither would allow Murat to attack Italy and rule it undisturbed.

He assured his Council that Italy was ready to rise on either side of the Po. He explained his mistrust of the Congress. He agreed that, although it would be unsafe to diminish the army in the present condition of Europe, yet Naples could not support the troops unless fresh taxes were imposed; and that being out of the question, the only alternative was to quarter them upon somebody else. He went on to point out that political liberty was at the last gasp in Italy. But even that battle-cry failed to arouse the enthusiasm of his audience. Political liberty, as a theory upon which to speculate over a glass or two of wine in the cool of the evening, was well enough, but political liberty as a reason for draining the country of blood and money any longer was quite another affair. The common people cared very little, if anything at all, for it; what they wanted was food and drink, and a chance to save a little money, and marry, and be happy. The taste survives in Calabria to this day. They like an overlord, they like having somebody over them who will order their ways and provide them with work and see to their well-being, and knock their heads together when they misbehave and pat them upon the back before their fellows when they are good. It is, after all, the ideal form of Government. No other approaches in efficiency to a beneficent and intelligent autocracy. The main trouble is that very few autocracies have any intelligence. I am sure I do not know why. Logically a man who has been trained to rulership from the cradle should make a better ruler than the accident of a convention; and on the whole, one may say, he does. The Emperor of Germany, for instance, is a far better ruler than either Mr. Roosevelt, Mr. Taft, or Mr. Wilson, or any President of the French Republic that ever lived. So was King Edward VII, so was Queen Victoria; but then, from nowhere in particular and without any training at all, a Lincoln emerges and gets elected—that is the mystery which I have never been able to fathom—by a number of people whose individual opinions upon any subject of real importance are worth less than nothing!