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corps d'armée. The Aosto brigade, supported by the brigade of the Guard, charged the heights of Monte Vento, and had almost carried them, when a fresh Austrian brigade came up and drove them back. Bava, being quite unsupported, was forced to retreat, and fell back on Villafranca in perfect order. The Duke of Savoy, who commanded the rear-guard, only yielded the ground step by step, and thus for the third time, since the commencement of the campaign, he checked the progress of the victorious enemy, and saved the army from a heavy disaster.

The loss of the Piedmontese was 1500 killed and wounded, that of the Austrians about 2500. During two days 20,000 Piedmontese had bravely sustained the attack of 54,000 Austrians, leaving in their hands very few prisoners, and having themselves captured 120 of the enemy. But the morale of the army was terribly affected by the loss of this battle; it saw that all the efforts hitherto made had been in vain; all the positions gained during three months had been torn from them in a few days, and they were suffering from the added misery of starvation.

After the disaster of Custozza, Charles Albert fell back on Goito, and he decided on trying to carry the heights of Volta, in order to maintain the line of the Mincio. Unfortunately, the Austrians were in too great strength, and after a most sanguinary engagement the Piedmontese were driven back. This completed the demoralisation of the Piedmontese army, and Charles Albert hastily requested an armistice, offering to retreat behind the Oglio. But Radetzky, in the pride of victory, demanded terms to which Charles Albert could not consent. He insisted on the line of the Adda and the return of all prisoners. The king, therefore, determined on resting his army for two or three days, and thus restore the courage of his troops. Unfortunately, the evil was greater than he suspected: the men deserted in large numbers, and the king was forced to retreat once more. He had 50,000 men still under his orders, but his fatal connexion with Lombardy was his ruin; his only chance would have been to fall back on Piacenza and compel the Milanese to rise in self-defence, which would have impeded the advance of the Austrians, but, fearing the accusation of treachery, he fell back on Milan.

The retreat of the army took place in the greatest disorder; the roads were covered with exhausted men, who lay down and refused to move. Much of this, however, was owing to the villany of the Lombardese commissioners, who allowed the troops to starve. Charles Albert arrived before Milan on the 3rd of August, at the head of but 30,000 men ; no preparations had been made for his reception at Milan, no provisions collected; and even the 6000 volunteers, recently organised in the city, had gone off to Brescia, under Garibaldi. Under these untoward circumstances the king determined on one more desperate engagement. Radetzky came up on the 4th with 60,000 men and 200 guns, and, after six hours' hard fighting, the king was compelled to fall back on Milan. He then made overtures to Radetzky, and offered to retire behind the Ticino. The Austrian general gave him two days to return to Piedmont, offered a complete amnesty to the city, and promised that persons and property should be respected.

The first person who brought the news of the capitulation to Milan was murdered by the people, who, however, soon turned their entire wrath on the king. At the moment he was preparing to quit the city,

the Palazzo Greppi was invaded by the mob, and he was implored, by a deputation, to defend the city; all the inhabitants, he was assured, would rise as one man to fight. Yielding to his chivalrous nature, the king tore up the capitulation, and promised to find a grave beneath the walls of the city with his army. He then appeared on the balcony, to repeat his imprudent promise in the presence of the people. But the Milanese, ignorant of what had taken place in the mean while, began to insult him, and accused him of treason. The Piedmontese, fearing for the safety of the king, ran up and menaced the people, who had seized the Duke of Genoa, and held him as hostage. In the midst of the confusion the municipality decided on sending another deputation to Radetzky, begging him to renew the capitulation, which he readily consented to. Then the people were informed that those of them who desired to leave the city might do so with perfect safety till eight the next morning. The disorder rose to a fearful pitch to prevent Charles Albert's departure; they threatened to burn the palace down in which he was, and even some shots were fired at the windows. In the faubourgs a large number of houses was burned to the ground, to ensure the defence of the town, and the tocsin never left off pealing.

In the end, Charles Albert, worn out by all this violence, left the city, escorted by two companies, and joined the army, which crossed the frontier again the same evening. In the morning of the 6th of August Radetzky entered the city at the head of his army, and the population assumed an attitude of sorrow and dejection.

At this period both Austrians and Piedmontese had an interest in suspending hostilities. If, on the one side, Charles Albert's army was discouraged, and would not, on any consideration, have fought again for the defence of the Milanese, on the other hand, Radetzky could not venture into Piedmont, leaving behind him Venice and the Legations in a state of insurrection, and the Lombard population ready to take up arms again. He was also aware that the French government would not allow him to draw too close to the frontier. On the 9th, therefore, the two armies agreed on an armistice, whose duration was at first fixed for forty-five days, but which could be prolonged indefinitely, on the condition of the prolongation being announced eight days beforehand. This armistice received the name of di Salasco, from the name of the Piedmontese chief of the staff who signed it. It was decided that the frontiers of Lombardy and Piedmont should serve as the limits to the two armies; and the Piedmontese agreed, in addition, to evacuate Peschiera, Rocca d'Anfo, Osopo, Venice, and the Duchies, and withdraw their fleet from Venice.

The leaders of the volunteers generally managed to escape into Piedmont, with the exception of Garibaldi, who determined on carrying on the war upon his own account. He marched with his legion to the Lago Maggiore, and, seizing two steamers, landed at Luino. He intended to remain in the mountainous country between the two lakes and organise a guerilla war. But the second Austrian corps d'armée was sent in pursuit of him, and caught him at Morazzone. Garibaldi fought a very gallant action against far superior forces, and during the night succeeded in falling back on Luino, whence he retired into Switzerland.

It is difficult to decide where the fault lay that ruined the Sardinian

army. Some ascribe it to the incapacity of the king, and though there is no doubt he did considerable mischief by his indecision, still it should not be forgotten that, had he accepted Lord Palmerston's offer, and the campaign had terminated in June, when the army had forced the line of the Mincio, carried the positions of Colà and Pacengo, gained the battles of Pastrengo and Goito, and occupied Peschiera and Governolo, the capacity and military ability of the king would have been exalted to the skies. One battle lost was sufficient to convert all the praise into blame; but this is unjust. Radetzky lost two pitched battles, was defeated in several engagements, but in less than three months he received more than 47,000 men as reinforcements, well armed, well equipped, and well commanded. He only gained one battle out of three; but, owing to the weakness of his adversary, the result was decisive: the public applauded the victor, and considered him a skilful general. Charles Albert, on the contrary, is cried down, and considered a miserable tactician, in spite of two

battles gained; but he found it impossible to fill up the gaps in his army except with poor recruits drawn from the reserves, with volunteers, readymade generals and officers, and naturally the loss of one battle left him without resources.

We need not enter into details of the campaign of 1849, when Radetzky, by a skilful countermarch, crushed the power of Piedmont in a couple of days; but we think the narrative we have given will prove of assistance to those who wish to study the coming campaign in Italy. The Austrians are still suffering from the same defect as in 1848: they are badly handled and clumsy in their movements, and their nimble opponents will continually get the best of them in the field. Still the Austrian troops must be better, or the French worse, than they were in 1796. We hear of none of those frightful defeats which unloosed all the bands of discipline and covered the country with a flying army. On the contrary, the Austrians now engage with a stoicism that would not do discredit to Englishmen. Heavy masses are opposed to heavy masses, and a fearful scene of carnage takes place, until the Austrians fall back sullenly, and ready to renew the fight if called upon. In the days of the first Napoleon we knew of no such engagements as Magenta: he cleft his way through the Austrian centre, took both flanks in the rear, and, presto! the battle was over. But he had the great advantage of fighting with a small compact corps, full of dash and pluck, which would go through anything, while in the present day the character of an action is completely changed. There is something terribly depressing in the thought that masses of men are brought up to within a mile of the battle-field by railway and then sent in to conquer or die—there appears no alternative. It is like a fight in the prize-ring between two heavy weights: there is plenty of pluck and hard hitting on either side, but very little real science is displayed.

Before quitting the subject, what shall we say of the grateful nation for whose sake Charles Albert sacrificed his army and his throne? At the outset, the Italians were enthusiastic for Sardinia, and by an overwhelming majority called Charles Albert to the throne. Everything went on famously: the Milanese danced and sang, and greeted the liberating army just as they have now done Victor Emmanuel; but suddenly there was an awkward hitch-which city, Turin or Milan, should be the capital

of the newly-created kingdom. The excitement this simple incident produced was intense, and when the king evinced a slight leaning towards the capital of his forefathers his popularity sank to zero. He was a traditore to the holy cause!

And the brave Milanese took a revenge that was quite worthy of them : while the Sardinians were fighting with tremendous pluck and perseverance to expel the Austrians, their new countrymen left them to starve. It is well known that, prior to Custozza, many of the Piedmontese troops had taken no food for more than twenty-four hours. The Milanese remained at home squabbling about their dignity, and listening to the crafty insinuations of Mazzini and his fellows. Before long they were quite convinced that Charles Albert was a traitor to the cause, and when, from motives of compassion, he wished to save the city from the horrors of a bombardment, they treated him in the way we have attempted to describe.

Certainly the Italians are worthy of liberty-of liberty like that Louis Napoleon will eventually give them. And who can say that they will not fully deserve their fate, however harsh it may be!

ROMANCE AND REALITY.

WE wonder whether any psychologist will eventually succeed in gauging the profundities of the Gallic character-draw up a moral chart of its shoals and abysses, and indicate the sunken rocks on which the best reputations are too frequently shattered? Such a work is a decided desideratum, and to none more so than ourselves at the present moment, for we have a very difficult task before us: it is neither more nor less than to analyse one of the passing affaires de cœur of a celebrated French authoress, and regard it from two different sides-the one presented by herself, the other by an enemy.

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In one respect French authors are decidedly beyond their English confrères not only do they enjoy all the sweets of love, but when the passion has died away by mutual consent, the gentleman very speedily converts it into capital by writing a book, in which he analyses his last great passion, and shows in what it differed from the one immediately preceding it. He does this with such minuteness of detail; describes all the nuances of the passion-its birth, its apogee, and its decline-with such precision, that the English reader is almost tempted to cry, " Name, name!" In France, every action of the successful novelist is carefully brought to publicity, so that the patrons of the circulating library need only turn to the latest purveyor of literary garbage and say to themselves: " Stay, at the time Monsieur Chose was writing this book, he was the friend of Madame de St. Amour," or as the case may be; hence, he reads the story with double zest, because he imagines, and has good reason for doing so, that he is getting behind the secrets of two persons, whom he may yet chance to meet in society.

We believe M. Eugène Sue was the first among the great French authors who brought this system of holding up one's hidden loves to the glare of day into fashion. At any rate, it is quite certain that "Mathilde" became the rage in Paris, because the heroine could be pointed at with the finger. Both the Dumas indulge in the same bad habit; but the old gentleman is the worse of the two in this respect: he is not satisfied with describing his own volatile loves, but he introduces ladies belonging to his friends and relations. Thus, we remember reading in the "Mousquetaire" a most glowing account of his first introduction to his son's "Dame aux Perles," and the paternal benediction he gave her. In the same way M. Jules Janin has sinned more than once; and, probably, few things are more repulsive to the English taste than that introductory chapter to the "Dame aux Camélias," in which he describes his first interview with the real Marguerite Gauthier. Vice, to be rendered in any way palatable to the English taste, must be carried beyond the verge of probability; but when we have it thus realised, when we are conscious that the author is drawing from the living model, the sensation produces a moral revulsion. Not all the skill of word-painting Dumas the younger possesses can make us forget that his are no fancy sketches, but that he has lived through the scenes he depicts only too well.

One of the latest instances of this instinctive revulsion we can call to mind is produced by a work called "Fanny," which we sincerely trust none of our readers have read, nor intend to read. We dare only hint the embroglio, which is that of a lover jealous of the husband, and finding just cause to be so; and we who have been compelled to read it as part of our daily duty, were forced more than once to lay the book down, so truthfully sickening were the descriptions.

This fancy of turning illicit love into money has not, to our knowledge, sunk deep into the feminine writers of France, but we have one magnificent specimen in herself worth a host. She has carried out the system successfully, and any time during the last twenty years it has been impossible to read one of her love stories and not feel that she had drawn herself as the heroine. We may be quite sure that she forgot to put the shadows in, but she was safe so long as she did not bear too harshly on the other party. For more years than she would like to own to, Madame Dudevant has been working herself up into the stock heroine, and, more marvellous still, time could not change nor custom pall her infinite variety. We had the same picture standing forth prominently in her Memoirs which we could trace through hundreds of her love-tales, the passionate, self-sacrificing woman, whose only sin was that she loved too well.

Emboldened by past successes, Madame Sand has lately passed the Rubicon in her desire to prove herself a spotless though much-injured woman, she assailed the memory of a dead man in "Elle et Lui," and has drawn down a terrible reprisal from the brother of the erring lover, whose character she had drawn in the darkest colours, to form a foil to her own immaculate purity. "Lui et Elle" soon appeared in reply to her attack, and the publication of some of her letters, which had been discreetly preserved for fear of such an attack as the present, have knocked down at one fell blow the airy scaffolding on which her reputation, such as it was, was supported. There can be no harm in our alluding to the

VOL. XLVI.

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