efforts to break down the bridge
were now frustrated by the French, who, posted behind the walls of
Lodi on the higher bank of the stream, swept their opponents' position
with a searching artillery fire. Having shaken the constancy of his
foes and refreshed his own infantry by a brief rest in Lodi, Bonaparte
at 6 p.m. secretly formed a column of his choicest troops and hurled
it against the bridge. A hot fire of grapeshot and musketry tore its
front, and for a time the column bent before the iron hail. But,
encouraged by the words of their young leader, generals, corporals,
and grenadiers pressed home their charge. This time, aided by
sharp-shooters who waded to islets in the river, the assailants
cleared the bridge, bayoneted the Austrian cannoneers, attacked the
first and second lines of supporting foot, and, when reinforced,
compelled horse and foot to retreat towards Mantua.[46]
Such was the affair of Lodi (May 10th). A legendary
glamour hovers around all the details of this conflict and invests it
with fictitious importance. Beaulieu's main force was far away, and
there was no hope of entrapping anything more than the rear of his
army. Moreover, if this were the object, why was not the flank move of
the French cavalry above Lodi pushed home earlier in the fight? This,
if supported by infantry, could have outflanked the enemy while the
perilous rush was made against the bridge; and such a turning movement
would probably have enveloped the Austrian force while it was being
shattered in front. That is the view in which the strategist,
Clausewitz, regards this encounter. Far different was the impression
which it created among the soldiers and Frenchmen at large. They
valued a commander more for bravery of the bull-dog type than for any
powers of reasoning and subtle combination. These, it is true,
Bonaparte had already shown. He now enchanted the soldiery by dealing
a straight sharp blow. It had a magical effect on their minds. On the
evening of that day the French soldiers, with antique republican
_camaraderie_, saluted their commander as _le petit caporal_ for his
personal bravery in the fray, and this endearing phrase helped to
immortalize the affair of the bridge of Lodi.[47] It shot a thrill of
exultation through France. With pardonable exaggeration, men told how
he charged at the head of the column, and, with Lannes, was the first
to reach the opposite side; and later generations have figured him
charging before