I have just seen a very fine battalion composed of natives of this country—the remains, in fact, of four thousand who left for Vienna in 1809. I passed along the ranks with the Colonel, and asked several of the soldiers to tell me their story. Theirs is the virtue of the republics of the Middle Age, though more or less debased by the Spaniards,[1] the Roman Church,[2] and two centuries of the cruel, treacherous governments, which, one after another, have spoiled the country.
Flashing, chivalrous honour, sublime but senseless, is an exotic plant introduced here only a very few years back.
In 1740 there was no trace of it. Vide de Brosses. The officers of Montenotte[(67)] and of Rivoli[(67)] had too many chances of showing their comrades true virtue to go and imitate a kind of honour unknown to the cottage homes from which the soldiery of 1796 was drawn—indeed, it would have seemed to them highly fantastic.
In 1796 there was no Legion of Honour, no enthusiasm for one man, but plenty of simple truth and virtue à la Desaix. We may conclude that honour was imported into Italy by people too reasonable and too virtuous to cut much of a figure. One is sensible of a large gap between the soldiers of '96, often shoeless and coatless, the victors of twenty battles in one year, and the brilliant regiments of Fontenoy, taking off their hats and saying to the English politely: Messieurs, tirez les premiers—gentlemen, pray begin.
[1] The Spaniards abroad, about 1580, were nothing but energetic agents of despotism or serenaders beneath the windows of Italian beauties. In those days Spaniards dropped into Italy just in the way people come nowadays to Paris. For the rest, they prided themselves on nothing but upholding the honour of the king, their master. They ruined Italy—ruined and degraded it.
In 1626 the great poet Calderon was an officer at Milan.
[2] See Life of S. Carlo Borromeo, who transformed Milan and debased it, emptied its drill halls and filled its chapels, Merveilles kills Castiglione, 1533.
CXLVIII
I am ready to agree that one must judge the soundness of a system of life by the perfect representative of its supporters. For example, Richard Cœur-de-Lion is the perfect pattern on the throne of heroism and chivalrous valour, and as a king was a ludicrous failure.