forming our belief of its stupidity and
insolence now. The mayor of Broni is kept
prisoner for days, and so ill treated that his
life is in danger. The mayor of Barbianello
and several deputy mayors of neighbouring
towns, are arrested for not choosing to require
the inhabitants to make embankments which
shall prevent the bridge of La Stella (a bridge of
escape for the Austrians) from being carried
away by the floods of the Po. The refractory
mayors simply lose their time and trouble; for
the strong-minded Germans force even the
women and children to set to work. An officer
is ordered to reconnoitre the environs of Tortona,
and to seize a score of Piedmontese peasants,
making them march at the head of his column to
screen his movements. The invaded district
cannot repulse its enemies without first making
martyrs of its own friends and countrymen.
When the war is over, these ingenious invaders
(it is said) intend to try their hands at the
slave-trade, where there is every prospect of
their making large fortunes.

It is not merely what war does when it has
begun; it is what it does before it can begin,
which renders it so horrible. It will take from
ten to fifty years to repair the injuries which the
Croats have committed in the mere act of making
themselves at home and bivouacking comfortably
in the country favoured by their visit.
When we say Croats, only one, and perhaps the
most hated, element of the Austrian legions is
mentioned. The very multitude of the annexed
provinces reduces their army to an heterogeneous
crowd who do not understand each other's
tongue. They are the peoples, nations, and
languages of Nebuchadnezzar, commanded to
fall down altogether, and worship the golden
image of despotism set up before them. A
Hungarian prisoner, after much interpretation,
was made to comprehend that Oestreich had
other foes besides the Sardes to contend with.
In his amazement, he replied that he did not
know that; if he had known it, he would not
have come to fight the French; and he believed
that not one of his countrymen would have come
either. Even the Croats begin to prefer their
own side of the water, and there is some talk of
the probability of their walking quietly home
without asking leave. But, olive and mulberry-
trees cut down for firewood, vines grubbed up
because they impede transit, require many
springs and many summers to reattain
productive growth. To render resistance to the
intruders possible, the country insulted must first
be reduced to a desert. Alessandria, as far as
the eye can reach, is surrounded with trees that
have been felled to within one or two feet of the
ground, and whose lopped branches are scattered
in disorder over the surface of the trodden-down
soil. The almond is no more respected than
the oak, the olive than the elm. Wood and
orchard, timber-tree and fruit-tree, alike fall
victims to the patriotic axe, which must make a
clearance to allow self-defensive bullets to reach
the enemy. The trim villa, the happy country-
house, is stoically swept away if it can afford
any screen to the emissaries of "fortiter in re."
By the employment of other means of self-
preservation a rich province has become a
swampy lake. As the Russians drove out
invaders by a sacrificial fire, so the Piedmontese
have met their enemies with voluntary
inundations. The Austrians caught the brother of a
sluice-keeper, and sent word to him who held
the keys of the flood, "Shut your water-gates,
or your brother is a dead man instantly!" The
answer came, in the flush of a double tide.
Sluices and dikes are thrown up and broken;
leagues and leagues of fertile land are under
water. The losses are incalculable; but the
march of Fortiter-in-re is paralysed. To confirm
the check, Piedmont deprives herself of more
than field or farm, of vineyard or olive-grove.
The spring flowers of humanity, which cannot be
renewed on earth, are sacrificed together with
blossoms which years will replace. Whole
companies of smooth-faced unmoustached lads are
marched to the slaughter or the sufferings of
disease which must soon lay them low in death.
They maintain outwardly a martial bearing; but
they hastily brush the tears from their eyes as
the eddying crowd sweeps their parents and
friends from their sight. Mark that poor old
woman, whom her son the soldier supports
on his arm. At every step, she stops, gazes on
him, and weeps. He comforts her, as well as he
can. But the trumpet sounds; the battalion is
drawn up beside the railway train. The old
woman clasps her son in her arms with a
shudder which runs through her frame. He
tears himself away, and the wretched mother
drops sobbing into a corner. The bystanders
are obliged to turn their heads aside.

Now comes a company of artillery. Hats are
in the air, and hearty shouts make the station-
roofs resound, "Viva! viva!" A side group
consists of a man grasping the hand of his son.
They look at each other without uttering a word.
At the signal for starting, their hands drop
asunder. The one is borne away, pale and
silent; the other gazes after him till he is out of
sight, motionless; the quivering of his lower
jaw alone betrays the bitterness of the moment.
He slowly retires, to find a desolate home.
Fortiter-in-re makes even the thoughtless
think. A monk passes, letting the beads
of his rosary deliberately pass between his
fingers. There is a suppressed titter; but
a clown rises and makes the military
salute, and the monk gives his benediction.
There is no more laughing, but a respectful
bowing of heads. Death is too near, to
allow a priestly blessing to be irreverently
treated.

"Fortiter in re" is an excellent maxim; still,
the poet propounds another: "Est modus in
rebus." There is reason in roasting of eggs. That
reason the Austrians have yet to find. There
is chivalrous war, and there is savage brigandage.
They prefer the brigandage, as the easier and
the more profitable alternative. But, as civilised
Europe will refuse to credit the scenes enacted
by the agents of the Ultimatum, the Piedmontese