The fate of this ancient republic was decided by Bonaparte at the Castle of Montebello, near Milan, where he had already drawn up her future constitution.  After brief conferences with the Genoese envoys, he signed with them the secret convention which placed their republic—­soon to be renamed the Ligurian Republic—­under the protection of France and substituted for the close patrician rule a moderate democracy.  The fact is significant.  His military instincts had now weaned him from the stiff Jacobinism of his youth; and, in conjunction with Faypoult and the envoys, he arranged that the legislative powers should be intrusted to two popularly elected chambers of 300 and 150 members, while the executive functions were to be discharged by twelve senators, presided over by a Doge; these officers were to be appointed by the chambers:  for the rest, the principles of religious liberty and civic equality were recognized, and local self-government was amply provided for.  Cynics may, of course, object that this excellent constitution was but a means of insuring French supremacy and of peacefully installing Bonaparte’s regiments in a very important city; but the close of his intervention may be pronounced as creditable to his judgment as its results were salutary to Genoa.  He even upbraided the demagogic party of that city for shivering in pieces the statue of Andrea Doria and suspending the fragments on some of the innumerable trees of liberty recently planted.

“Andrea Doria,” he wrote, “was a great sailor and a great statesman.  Aristocracy was liberty in his time.  The whole of Europe envies your city the honour of having produced that celebrated man.  You will, I doubt not, take pains to rear his statue again:  I pray you to let me bear a part of the expense which that will entail, which I desire to share with those who are most zealous for the glory and welfare of your country.”

In contrasting this wise and dignified conduct with the hatred which most Corsicans still cherished against Genoa, Bonaparte’s greatness of soul becomes apparent and inspires the wish:  Utinam semper sic fuisses!

Few periods of his life have been more crowded with momentous events than his sojourn at the Castle of Montebello in May-July, 1797.  Besides completing the downfall of Venice and reinvigorating the life of Genoa, he was deeply concerned with the affairs of the Lombard or Cisalpine Republic, with his family concerns, with the consolidation of his own power in French politics, and with the Austrian negotiations.  We will consider these affairs in the order here indicated.

The future of Lombardy had long been a matter of concern to Bonaparte.  He knew that its people were the fittest in all Italy to benefit by constitutional rule, but it must be dependent on France.  He felt little confidence in the Lombards if left to themselves, as is seen in his conversation with Melzi and Miot de Melito at the Castle of Montebello.  He was in one of those humours, frequent at this time of dawning splendour, when confidence in his own genius betrayed him into quite piquant indiscretions.  After referring to the Directory, he turned abruptly to Melzi, a Lombard nobleman: