were in a moment wheeled to the left, and their leading files placed upon the bridge.  They rushed on, shouting Vive la Republique! but the storm of grape-shot for a moment checked them.  Buonaparte, Lannes, Berthier, and Lallemagne, hurried to the front, and rallied and cheered the men.  The column dashed across the bridge in despite of the tempest of fire that thinned them.  The brave Lannes was the first who reached the other side, Napoleon himself the second.  The Austrian artillerymen were bayoneted at their guns, before the other troops, whom Beaulieu had removed too far back, in his anxiety to avoid the French battery, could come to their assistance.  Beaumont pressing gallantly with his horse upon the flank, and Napoleon’s infantry forming rapidly as they passed the bridge, and charging on the instant, the Austrian line became involved in inextricable confusion, broke up, and fled.  The slaughter on their side was great; on the French there fell only 200 men.  With such rapidity, and consequently with so little loss, did Buonaparte execute this dazzling adventure—­“the terrible passage,” as he himself called it, “of the bridge of Lodi.”

It was indeed, terrible to the enemy.  It deprived them of another excellent line of defence, and blew up the enthusiasm of the French soldiery to a pitch of irresistible daring.  Beaulieu, nevertheless, contrived to withdraw his troops in much better style than Buonaparte had anticipated.  He gathered the scattered fragments of his force together, and soon threw the line of the Mincio, another tributary of the Po, between himself and his enemy.  The great object, however, had been attained:  the Austrian general escaped, and might yet defend Mantua, but no obstacle remained between the victorious invader and the rich and noble capital of Lombardy.  The garrison of Pizzighitone, seeing themselves effectually cut off from the Austrian army, capitulated.  The French cavalry pursued Beaulieu as far as Cremona, which town they seized; and Napoleon himself prepared to march at once upon Milan.

It was after one of these affairs that an old Hungarian officer was brought prisoner to Buonaparte, who entered into conversation with him, and among other matters questioned him “what he thought of the state of the war?” “Nothing,” replied the old gentleman, who did not know he was addressing the general-in-chief,—­“nothing can be worse.  Here is a young man who knows absolutely nothing of the rules of war; to-day he is in our rear, to-morrow on our flank, next day again in our front.  Such violations of the principles of the art of war are intolerable!”

The Archduke, who governed in Lombardy for the Emperor, had made many a long prayer and procession; but the saints appeared to take no compassion on him, and he now withdrew from the capital.  A revolutionary party had always existed there, as indeed in every part of the Austrian dominions beyond the Alps; and the tricolor cockade, the emblem of France, was now mounted by multitudes of the inhabitants.  The municipality hastened to invite the conqueror to appear among them as their friend and protector; and on the 14th of May, four days after Lodi, Napoleon accordingly entered, in all the splendour of a military triumph, the venerable and opulent city of the old Lombard kings.