likelihood, was already dreaming of acquiring the crown of an
independent Italy. Throwing off his allegiance to Napoleon, he
imagined the vain thing that he might gain his object by taking sides
with the Austrians. It must be remembered that there was a time when
the Allied Powers had distinctly contemplated Italian independence as
a dyke to France, and there were people foolish enough to think that
Austria, now she felt herself as strong as she had then felt weak,
would consent to such a plan. Liberators, self-called, were absolutely
swarming in Italy; Lord William Bentinck was promising entire
emancipation from Leghorn; the Austrian and English allies in Romagna
ransacked the dictionary for expressions in praise of liberty; an
English officer was made the mouthpiece for the lying assurance of the
Austrian Emperor Francis, that he had no intention of re-asserting any
claims to the possession of Lombardy or Venetia.

In 1814, Napoleon empowered Prince Eugène to adopt whatever attitude
he thought best fitted to make head against Austria; for himself, he
resigned the Iron Crown, and his Italian soldiers were freed from
their oaths. It was not, therefore, Eugene's loyal scruples which
prevented him from throwing down a grand stake when he led his 60,000
men to the attack. It was want of genius, or of what would have done
instead, a flash of genuine enthusiasm for the Italian idea. In place
of appealing to all Italians to unite in winning a country, he
appealed to one sentiment only, fidelity to Napoleon, which no longer
woke any echo in the hearts of a population that had grown more and
more to associate the name of the Emperor with exactions which never
came to an end, and with wars which had not now even the merit of
being successful. It is estimated that although the Italian troops
amply proved the truth of Alfieri's maxim, that 'the plant man is more
vigorous in Italy than elsewhere,' by bearing the hardships and