The diplomatic negotiations still went on, but the time was coming near when they would have to be brought to some settlement or to be broken off. Bonaparte's situation, in spite of wonderful victories, continued to be critical. He was acting in a sense opposed to the orders of his government, and could only succeed by imposing his will upon it. At any moment there might arrive a messenger from Paris with a despatch that would at once overthrow the scaffolding he had so carefully constructed. He had more fear of the Directory than of Austria, and it was from the Luxembourg that came his principal difficulties.

Bonaparte was about to send a double ultimatum, one for the Austrian government, the other for his own. By his private letters he had prepared Talleyrand, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, for the settlement on which he had already determined, and foreseeing the agreement which was to exist between himself and this once great lord, he had assumed in his communications airs of sympathy short work of the Italian forces and of the revolutionary propaganda.

He said: "I have no Italians in my army, except about fifteen hundred vagabonds picked up in the streets of the different cities. They are thievish, good-for-nothing fellows.... You imagine that liberty produces great results from a weak, superstitious people.... The King of Sardinia, with a battalion and a squadron, is stronger than all the Cisalpine people together. That is a historic fact. All that is only fit to put into proclamations and printed speeches is mere romantic stuff. . . . If we were to happen to adopt the external policy of 1793, we should make all the greater mistake because we have done well with the opposite policy, and we no longer have those great masses to recruit from, or that first outburst of enthusiasm which lasts but a short time."

Being anxious to sacrifice the Venetians, he wrote, "They are a feeble, effeminately cowardly race, without land or water, of whom we have no need."

At this very moment, he received from the Directory an order to revolutionize all Italy. This was the ruin of the plan, for he wanted to maintain the Papal States, the Kingdoms of Naples and Sardinia, and to give up Venice to the Austrians, while the Directory desired not noly to save the Venetian Republic, but also transform all the Italian states into republics.

No one but Bonaparte would have dared to act in opposition to the letters and spirit of the government's instructions, but already he depended only on himself. Paying no attention to the Directory, he followed only his own inspirations, and, October 16, he had an interview with the four plenipotentiaries, which was destined to be decisive. Count Cobenzl announced that Austria would never renounce Mayence except in exchange for Mantua. Bonaparte, however, was determined that Mantua should remain in the Cisalpine Republic. A violent scene resulted from disagreement.

Bonaparte arose in a fury, and stamping on the ground, exclaimed, "You want war; well, you shall have it!" And seizing a magnificent porcelain teaset which M. de Cobenzl used to boast every day that Catherine the Great had given him, dashed it with air his might upon the floor, shivering it into a thousand fragments. "See!" he shouted again; "such, I promise you, shall be your Austrian monarchy before three months are over!" Then he rushed out of the room.

Bonaparte was playing everything on one throw; he had smashed Count Cobenzl's porcelain, but was it so sure, if the Count had taken him at his word and the negotiations had been broken off, that he would have destroyed the Austrian monarchy so easily as he said? Was it certain that he would not be disavowed by the Directory? Would Paris have pardoned him for sacrificing Venice and refusing to revolutionize all Italy? Did he not run the risk of receiving that same evening a despatch which would upset his whole work?

As on the battlefield, he adopted the boldest plan, and with no fear of the consequences that might ensue from his simulated wrath, he hastened the final result. A secret presentiment told him that he would overcome every obstacle, whether on the part of Austria or of the Directory, and that events would take the course he desired; that he was the master. And, in fact, everything conspired to further his plans. He was enjoying one of those runs of luck when the gambler suddenly wins everything and is amazed at his own good fortune. He knew very well that if the treaty were once signed, the Directory would not dare to refuse its ratification. As he rushed from the room, he in a loud voice ordered word to be sent to the Archduke Charles that hostilities would be resumed in twentyfour hours, and sprang into his carriage without seeming to notice the entreating gestures of the Marquis of Gallo, who, with many low bows, was begging him not to depart.

The next day the scene had changed. M. Cobenzl, on second thoughts, decided to accede to Bonaparte's proposition; and the French general, for his part, tried his best, by the utmost amicability, to secure a pardon for his pretended wrath of the day before.

That same day (October 17, 1797) was signed the peace which took its name from the village of Campo Formio, which lies half-way between Udine and Passeriano. "Yet," says the Duke of Ragusa in his Memoirs, "not a single conference had been held there; it was merely the place where the treaty was signed. I was despatched thither to make the necessary preparations, and at the same time to invite the plenipotentiaries to push on to Passeriano, to which they very graciously assented. They signed before dinner, dating the treaty at Campo Formio, where the preparations had been made for form's sake; and doubtless there are still shown in this village the room in which the great event took place and the pen and table that were used. It is with these relies as with so many others."

The copying of the treaties took all day; there were no more discussions. General Bonaparte was full of a charming gaiety, and, remaining in the drawing-room, he asked that no candles be brought when it became dark. They amused themselves with conversation and even with ghost stories, as if they were all staying together in some old castle. At last, towards ten o'clock, word was brought that the copies were finished. Bonaparte signed gaily.

At midnight General Berthier was on his way to Paris with a copy of the treaty. Twelve hours later a messenger from the Directory reached Passeriano, bearing positive orders which would have prevented Bonaparte from signing the treaty if he had received them the evening before.

He felt anxious about the ratification. Would the Directory consent to the destruction of the Venetian Republic? Would the provisory government of Venice make one final effort to save the independence of the country? It commissioned three delegates, one of whom was the lawyer Dandolo, to go to Paris and spend whatever money was necessary to prevent the ratification of the treaty. The Duke of Ragusa remarks that this step, if it had succeeded, would have been the ruin of Bonaparte, the tomb of his glory; he would have been denounced to France and to Europe, as having exceeded his powers and as having, through corrupt means, shamefully abandoned a people and enslaved a republic. He would have disappeared forever from the scene in the deepest disgrace.

Consequently, as soon as he learned of the departure of the Venetian delegates for France, his only thought was to have them arrested on the way. Duroc, who was sent in pursuit of them, seized them and brought them to Milan, where Bonaparte was.

"I was in the room of the commander-in-chief," Marmont continues, "when he received them; the violence of his remarks may be readily conjectured. They listened with quiet dignity; and when he had finished, Dandolo replied. Dandolo, who generally possessed no courage, was on that day filled with it by the greatness of his cause. He spoke easily, and was indeed eloquent. He enlarged upon the benefits of independence and liberty, on what a good citizen owes to his country. The force of his reasoning, his sincerity, his deep emotion, brought tears to Bonaparte's eyes. He made no reply, but dismissed the deputies most gently and kindly; and ever since he has felt for Dandolo a constant kindness and fondness. He has always sought for an opportunity to advance and benefit him; and yet Dandolo was a very ordinary man: but this man had stirred his heart by his lofty sentiments, and the impression lie made has never faded."

In spite of the sorrow of the Directory, the Directory did not dare to refuse the ratification of a treaty which gave to France its natural boundaries, and recognized in Northern Italy the existence of a new republic founded on the principles of the French Revolution.

"Peace at last," wrote Talleyrand, "and a peace such as Bonaparte desires! Receive my warmest congratulations, my dear General. Words fail me to describe everything that is felt at this time. The Directory is satisfied; the Public delighted; everything is in the best condition. To be sure, we shall hear some lamentations from Italy; but that's nothing. Farewell, peacemaking General, farewell I friendship, respect, admiration, gratitude there's no end to the list."

France, always mercurial, at that moment was longing for peace as ardently as, a few weeks before, it had longed for war. Bonaparte had consulted his own interests at a most propitious moment, and yet every one was praising his disinterestedness. It was thought most admirable of him to renounce, out of patriotism, the game of battles for which his genius so well adapted him. He was compared to Cincinnatus returning to his plough; he was everywhere represented as a model of self-denial. The Moniteur, which doubtless was controlled by his friends, was preparing to make his return very impressive. Everything was arranged for this purpose.

The journey from Passeriano to Paris was to inspire a host of stories to strike the imagination of the masses and arouse public curiosity. Letters full of the minutest details of this triumphal progress appeared in swift abundance in the Moniteur, adding to the extreme interest which was felt in the slightest actions and most insignificant remarks of the conqueror of Italy.

When he passed through Mantua, he slept in the palace of the former dukes. In the evening the whole city was illuminated. The next day he reviewed the garrison; then he went to Saint George, where there took place a military celebration in memory of General Hoche, and at noon he embarked on a boat, to see the monument he had had built in honor of the prince of Latin poets. He parted from Josephine, who stayed some time longer in Italy with her son Eugene, and November 17, 1797, left Milan for Rastadt, where a congress was in session, destined to extend to the whole German Empire the peace concluded between France and Austria.