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Doina Pasca Harsanyi
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WAR,
CULTURE AND SOCIETY,
1750–1850
French Rule in the

States of Parma, 1796–1814
Working with Napoleon

War, Culture and Society, 1750–1850
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French Rule in the

States of Parma,
1796–1814
Working with Napoleon
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ISSN 2634-6699 ISSN 2634-6702 (electronic)

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To Anna and Michael
Preface
I started working on this study some years ago almost by accident. One of
the main characters in Lessons from America, a book on French émigrés in
the United States I published in 2010, was Médéric Louis Elie Moreau de
Saint-Méry. One year after returning from the United States to France in
1800, Moreau was nominated adviser to the court of the duke of Parma,
and immediately afterwards, Administrator General of the duchies of
Parma, Piacenza and Guastalla. Following Moreau’s career trail seemed a
promising avenue and I travelled to Parma with the intention of beginning
research for a political biography. The treasure troves I found in the
archives and libraries of Parma, Piacenza and neighbouring communities
soon induced me to change my plans. The more I read, the more this
archival bounty persuaded me to delve into the historical experience of the
States of Parma during the French era (1796–1814). The present book is
the result of those inquiries.
Mount Pleasant, MI Doina Pasca Harsanyi
vii
Acknowledgements
I am delighted to acknowledge at long last the many debts I incurred

while working on this book. David Laven has cheerfully, and ever so tact-
fully, steadied my first forays into Napoleonic scholarship: he has always
been kindness itself and I am so pleased to have a chance to thank him.
The debt I owe to Patrice Gueniffey can never be repaid, but it is a joy to
put in writing my gratitude for these many years of constant generosity
and friendship. At different times, following the rhythms of academic
gatherings, I had the good fortune to discuss my work with Rafe Blaufarb,
Alex Grab, Ruth Godfrey, Rozzy Hooper-Hammersley, Peter Hicks, Marc
Lerner, David Markham, Edna Muller Markham, Alex Mikaberidze and
Ron Steinberg. I could not be more grateful for their freely given advice
and considered comments that made me rethink what I thought I knew
and see more clearly the path this project was taking. My colleagues in the
history department at Central Michigan University have been models of
patience and altruism as they listened to me talk about Parma, Napoleon
and not much else: a heartfelt thanks to all. In Parma, warm appreciations
are owed to the personnel at Biblioteca Palatina and the Archivio di Stato,
even more to Valentina Bocchi and Luigi Pelizzoni, a librarian’s librarian
who will find the answer to any question. I hope this book will go some
way to convey my gratitude for the delightful conversations where profes-
sors Marzio Dall’Acqua, Claudio Bargelli and Carla Corradi Martini gra-
ciously shared their boundless knowledge and love for Parma’s past.
Meeting Wallis Wilde Menozzi and Paolo Menozzi was one of those
strokes of luck one does not deserve but one accepts eagerly and
wholeheartedly.
ix
x ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I wish to thank Palgrave Macmillan’s anonymous reviewers for insight-

ful recommendations that greatly improved the final version of the book.
It was a pleasure working with Emily Russel, Steve Fassioms and Eliana
Rangel, whose professionalism and unfailing courtesy did much to smooth
the transition from manuscript to publication.
Contents
1 Introduction 1
2 Prelude to Napoleon 9
3 Parma and Bonaparte 31
4 From Duchies of Parma to States of Parma 53
5 Watershed: The Insurrection 77
6 Explanatory Narratives: Brigandage107
7 Pacification137
8 Order into Chaos163
9 Wooing the Elites195
10 Elite Collaboration213
11 The End of the Road: Conclusions241
xi
xii Contents
Bibliography255
People Index277
Place Index283
Abbreviations
AMAE Archives du Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, Paris

AMD Archives du Ministère de la Défense, Vincennes
AN Archives Nationales Paris
ASPc Archivio di Stato Piacenza
ASPr Archivio di Stato Parma
BP Biblioteca Palatina Parma
xiii
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
In December 1805, a violent insurrection broke out in mountain villages

around the city of Piacenza in the States of Parma, Piacenza and Guastalla,
a territory under French control although not fully included in the
Napoleonic Empire. Authorities were taken aback. It defied reason that,
only days after the much-publicized victory at Austerlitz, disparate bands
of rural rebels arose at the sound of ancient alarm bells ringing across the
Apennines (campana a martella) to test the will of the French state and its
army. Although an isolated event, the violent popular rebellion forced
senior imperial administrators and Napoleon himself to turn their atten-
tion to a peripheral territory best known for apathy and inertia.
The Duchies of Parma, Piacenza and Guastalla, commonly referred to
as the States of Parma, stood rather incongruously on the margins of
French-dominated Italy. A territory of about 6000 square kilometers, with
a population of little more than 420,000 inhabitants (426,512 in 1815),
tucked between the Piedmont, the duchy of Milan, Genoa and Tuscany,
the small state had changed hands between the Hapsburgs and the
Bourbons since 1731, when the Farnese line (rulers by papal decree since
the sixteenth century) died out.1 Eventually, the duchies settled for Spanish
guardianship at the Treaty of Basel (22 July 1795). In 1796, when General
1
For data concerning the surface and the population throughout the French occupation,
see Lorenzo Molossi, Vocabolario topografico dei Ducatti di Parma, Piacenza e Guastalla
© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

Switzerland AG 2022
D. P. Harsanyi, French Rule in the States of Parma, 1796–1814,
War, Culture and Society, 1750–1850,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97340-7_1
2 D. P. HARSANYI
Bonaparte launched the First Italian campaign, Parma was undergoing a

conservative restoration, in sharp contrast with the Enlightenment-minded
reorganization carried out in Milan and Tuscany. Anxious to secure Spain’s
neutrality, the Directory (the French government as of 1795) instructed
General Bonaparte to refrain from any interference in the political status
quo in Parma. Consequently, the duchies missed the political shakeup of
the sister republic phase—the only exception to the policy of revolution-
izing conquered territories during the First Italian campaign. Alone in
Northern Italy, Duke Ferdinand remained on his throne until his death in
1802, the year when—to paraphrase Victor Hugo—Napoleon was burst-
ing through Bonaparte. Still undecided on how to deal with this peculiar
situation, he sent Moreau de Saint-Méry to Parma, with orders to intro-
duce vigorous French reforms without obliterating traditional institutions
and without disturbing existing social hierarchies. The insurrection of late
1805 amply proved that being simultaneously in and out of the French
web was not a workable arrangement, not in an increasingly centralized
empire. Emperor (as of 1804) Napoleon switched gears, abandoned the
pretense of autonomy and propelled the States of Parma on a track of
accelerated conversion into a French department. He and his local repre-
sentatives considered the process completed in 1808 when the territory,
renamed the Department of Taro, was absorbed in the imperial system. Or
rather, the new department absorbed the imperial system, efficiently and
durably: upon surveying the first years of post-Napoleonic Europe, David
Laven and Lucy Riall established that it was in the duchies that ‘the most
complete loyalty to the Napoleonic tradition was found’.2 Probing how
and why a periphery long at odds with the political movements swirling
outside its borders turned into a model of Napoleonic integration was the
starting point of this study.
Broadly speaking, two methodological paths tackle the Napoleonic
period in Italy: modernization and colonialism. Both grapple with the
double-sword nature of French rule, the mix of good and bad features
that gave the regime a Janus face, in Alexander Grab’s inspired formula.3
(Parma: Tipografia Ducale, 1833–1834). The above quoted data, listed for the year 1815,
on pp. 24–25.
2
David Laven and Lucy Riall, ‘Restoration Government and the Legacy of Napoleon’ in
Napoleon’s Legacy. Problems of Government in Restoration Europe. Edited by David Laven
and Lucy Riall (Oxford: Berg, 2000), 1–26 (10).
3
‘Napoleon’s rule over Europe possessed a Janus face, combining reform and innovation
with subordination and exploitation’. Alexander Grab, Napoleon and the Transformation of
Europe (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), 19.
1 INTRODUCTION 3
Modernization approaches tend to focus on the good.4 Early monographs

addressed the period’s political conflicts, legal frameworks and philosophi-
cal debates, and treated Napoleon’s government there as the opening act
for Italy’s unification in a modern state.5 By the second half of the twenti-
eth century, historians had turned their gaze to signature Napoleonic
administrative and judicial innovations, which cut through regional par-
ticularities to impose a uniform, centralized, secular governing apparatus
throughout the peninsula—in short, kicking off the transition to a mod-
ern social order.6 As Anna Maria Rao concluded in an excellent
4
See Mark Elvin, ‘A short definition of ‘Modernity’?’ Past and Present, 113 (Nov. 1986):
209–213, on the difficulties of settling for a precise definition of a concept he qualifies as
‘elusive’ despite its ubiquitous use. John Breuilly has reviewed the main directions of mod-
ernization theories and suggested ways to avoid the pitfall of determinism in ‘Modernisation
as Social Evolution: The German Case, c.1800–1880’ Transactions of the Royal Historical
Society, 15 (2005): 117–147. Slippery as the term modernization is, it will continue to
inform our understanding of the Napoleonic period mainly because the historical actors
involved believed in it, even though they did not use the same terminology. See the brief
discussion in Philip Dwyer and Alan Forrest, ‘Napoleon and His Empire: Some Issues and
Perspectives’, the introduction to the volume Napoleon and His Empire. Europe 1804–1814,
edited by Philip G. Dwyer and Alan Forrest (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006),
1–16 (9–10).
5
Benedetto Croce’s historicism inspired many investigations focused on the movement of
ideas and the evolution of theoretical models. A good overview of Crocean historicism can
be found in David D. Roberts, Benedetto Croce and the Uses of Historicism (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1987). Landmark monographs: Vittorio Fiorini and Francesco
Lemmi, Il Periodo Napoleonico 1799–1814 (1900); Francesco Lemmi, Le origini del risorgi-
mento italiano (1789–1815) (1906). Notably, Lemmi extended the analysis to the
Enlightenment in the second edition of the work: Le origini del risorgimento italiano
(1748–1815) (1924). Later studies inspired by Lemmi’s intellectual framework: Giorgio
Candeloro, Storia dell’Italia Moderna, vol. I ‘Le origini del Risorgimento’ (Milano:
Feltrinelli, 1956); Carlo Capra, L’Età rivoluzionaria e napoleonica in Italia (Torino:
Loescher, 1978). Antonino de Francesco’s recent work has focused on the Napoleonic era’s
impact on the political culture in the peninsula: Antonino De Francesco, L’Italia di Bonaparte.
Politica, statualità e nazione nella penisola tra due rivoluzioni, 1796–1821 (Torino: UTET,
2011); Storie dell’Italia rivoluzionaria e napoleonica, 1796–1814 (Milano: Mondadori 2016).
6
In a detailed review, Steven Englund paid homage to Stuart Woolf’s pioneering examina-
tion of European integration for opening up the field to innovative historical studies that
amount to ‘nothing less than a scholarly renaissance in terms of quantity, quality, and novelty
of approach …. They have so decisively redirected the river of Napoleonic scholarship that it
no longer bypasses places named society, culture, administration, economy, education, all of
which are now, thanks to them, known to be as important as the older, more familiar ports
of call (constitution, civil code, conscription, high politics, etc.)’. ‘Monstre sacré: the question
of cultural imperialism and the Napoleonic empire’ in The Historical Journal, 51, 1 (2008):
4 D. P. HARSANYI
istoriography review, innovative methodologies greatly enriched our

h
understanding of the moving parts that built the Napoleonic system in
Italy, but ‘questions of historical interpretation have remained basically
the same’.7
Michael Broers’ prodigious work, beginning with The Napoleonic
Empire in Italy: Cultural imperialism in a European context? (2005),
trained the spotlight on the not so good, namely on the inescapable fact
that the Napoleonic empire was a state born of military conquest, gov-
erned by force, principally to the benefit of France. As such, Edward Said’s
orientalist thesis or historical anthropologist Nathan Wachtel’s concepts of
acculturation and integration pertaining to the European expansion in
Africa and Asia supply critical insights into the way the French accumu-
lated, exercised and eventually lost power. Broers amply showed that cat-
egories borrowed from colonialism studies are especially helpful in
dissecting the Napoleonic empire’s governing techniques, ranging from
soft to hard, always geared towards coercion and control. The first step:
ralliement, a form of integration that ‘implied a wide-ranging societal
acceptance and approval of Napoleonic values and institutions’ on the
assumption that enough Italians could be persuaded to ‘absorb French
laws, institutions and mores without prompting and coercion’. Ralliement
generally moved towards amalgame or ‘a policy entailing active participa-
tion in the regime and thus, submission to its mores’.8 Ideally, the ensem-
ble of administrative tactics culminated in acculturation or assimilation to
215–250 (217–218). Englund referred to Stuart Woolf, Napoleon’s integration of Europe

(London and New York: Rutledge, 1991). For the Italian Peninsula, influential monographs
include Pasquale Villani, Italia Napoleonica (Torino: Loescher, 1973); Livio Antonielli, I
Prefetti dell’Italia Napoleonica: Repubblica e Regno d’Italia (Bologna: IL Mulino, 1983);
John A. Davis Italy in the Nineteenth Century, 1796–1900 (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2000) and Conflict and Control: Law and Order in Nineteenth-Century Italy (Basingstoke:
Palgrave Macmillan, 1988); Alexander Grab, Napoleon and the Transformation of Europe
(Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). See also the impressive collective work Italia
Napoleonica: Dizionario Critico, edited by Luigi Mascilli Migliorini (Torino: UTET, 2011).
In addition, many regional studies narrowed the focus to examine the interactions between
local practices and imperial institutions.
7
Anna Maria Rao, ‘Old and New Trends in Historiography’, in Napoleon’s Empire.
European Politics in Global Perspective. Ute Planert editor (New York: Palgrave Macmillan,
2016), 84–100 (86).
8
Michael Broers, The Napoleonic Empire in Italy, 1796–1814. Cultural Imperialism in a
European Context? (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 23 and 123–124. The concept
of ralliement builds on Nathan Wachtel’s concept of integration understood as unforced
incorporation of foreign elements into indigenous systems.
1 INTRODUCTION 5
the centralized, scientific, secular, bureaucratic, that is, modern, model of

state and society in which the French took so much pride.
As I worked my way through the voluminous files preserved at the State
Archives in Parma under the laconic heading ‘The French in the states’
(Francesi negli stati), complementary insights from modernization and
colonialism methodological threads helped me grasp the intricacies of life
under French occupation in this distinctive periphery. What intrigued me
most was Broers’ statement that the French experiment in Italy ended in
failure: ‘The failure was to adapt French rule in ways that suited Italians
enough to acculturate, not one caused by a lack of effective control of the
periphery by the centre, at least in the obvious sense of preponderant
power. Yet fail they did’.9 With this disconcerting assertion ringing in my
ears, I returned to the archives with new questions: What counted as fail-
ure and what as accomplishment during the 12 years of French rule in the
States of Parma? Who decided on the matter? To the point, what did the
French think they were doing in this corner of Italy compared with what
the Parmense thought the French were doing in their country? Looking
for answers, I examined side-by-side local and French documents regard-
ing the same set of circumstances. The archives and libraries in Parma and
Piacenza are brimming with local testimonies to the French period: cor-
respondence, diaries, and awkwardly worded reports from village mayors
and priests, alongside diplomatic statements composed in polished French
by Parmense notabilities. For the French side, I traced, from the same
local archives to the National Archives, Ministry of Defense Archives and
Foreign Affairs Archives in Paris the private writings and official records
left by the French executives in place.
The Napoleonic period in Parma has attracted modest historical scru-
tiny, compared with neighbouring Liguria, Tuscany or the Kingdom of
Italy. The archival material is still lightly processed—indeed, I believe part
of the impact of this book will come from unearthing a wealth of fascinat-
ing primary documents. Parmense historians tend to see the French occu-
pation as a transitional episode sandwiched between the more alluring
times of Bourbon rule and Maria Luigia’s reign. Surveys of Napoleonic
Italy typically mention in passing an ‘also annexed’ territory that joined
the empire in 1808.10 The relative marginalization stems from the unusual
9
Broers, The Napoleonic Empire in Italy, 2.
10
A few recent articles have examined aspects of Napoleonic rule in the States of Parma,
but interested readers must go back to the early twentieth century to find monographs of the
6 D. P. HARSANYI
position on the Napoleonic chessboard, which, however, also accounts for

Parma’s relevance to the study of French-dominated Europe. Due to
international arrangements, the territory turned into a laboratory for
political experimentation. Successive French governing teams oscillated
between hands-off policies and intensive assimilationist schemes; the hesi-
tancy forced all executives in charge, and at times Napoleon himself, to
improvise and rethink key elements of the imperial agenda. Locals became
experts at scrutinizing, and making sense of, fluctuating if relentless out-
side pressures. Even when open revolt broke out, as in the case of the
Apennine insurgency, there was no compact on the anti-French front.
Rather, the insurrection brought to the surface deeply buried fractures as
the citizenry split into pro- and anti-insurgent camps; the rebels them-
selves squabbled over their own motivations and objectives. Crucially, elite
ambivalence—an issue discussed in depth in this book—more than made
up for popular resentment and complicated political calculations. The
hardest part of life under Napoleonic occupation was not finding ways to
fight it: it was separating the potential for a new beginning from the
exploitative opportunism of the French state. Imperial administrators, on
their side, were no less torn. Caught between Napoleon’s changing
demands and the unpredictable reality on the ground, they struggled to
be good occupiers, as they understood it: to bring good laws to people
accustomed to bad laws and uphold the promises of an enlightened polity.
For Napoleon’s representatives, the hardest part was not putting down
rebellions and imposing the French order; it was deciding the ratio
between fulfilling their law enforcement duties and staying true to the
progressive governance ethos that justified their power to alter the lives of
people they had never laid eyes on. The Napoleonic system restructured
identities and compelled both the French administrators and their admin-
istrés to negotiate with themselves before negotiating with each other. The
way this happened in the atypical circumstances of the States of Parma
weaken the aura of French invincibility. It revealed scores of vulnerabilities
concealed under the imperial swagger; quite to the surprise of all involved,
entire period. Lenny Montagna, Il dominio Francese a Parma 1796–1815 (Piacenza: 1926);
Vincenzo Paltrinieri, I moti contro Napoleone negli Stati di Parma e Piacenza (1805–1806).
Con altri studi storici (Bologna: Zanichelli, 1927); Umberto Benassi, Il Generale Bonaparte
ed il Duca e i Giacobini di Parma e Piacenza (Parma: Deputazione di Storia Patria, 1912).
For current explorations see especially the contributions to the volume Storia di Parma,
vol.V. I Borbone: fra illuminismo e rivoluzioni. A cura di Alba Mora (Parma: MUP, 2015).
1 INTRODUCTION 7
this made the administrative machinery more intelligible and easier

to handle.
French administrators and local residents tacitly agreed that there was
something unique about an occupation, which, in Carlo Zaghi’s words,
‘triggered, at all levels, reflections, perplexity, rethinking, hopes, and fer-
ments’.11 Both sides had a stake in making a success of this extraordinary
experience; however, the meaning of success varied with the ‘hopes and
ferments’ that different groups, French and Parmense, placed in the
French system. Recent research has emphasized the necessary collabora-
tion between occupiers and occupied in Napoleonic Europe. I draw on
these findings, but I argue that, beyond pragmatic deal making, citizens
availed themselves of French ambivalence to interpret on their own terms
the model of society landed in their midst. Despite the undeniable power
imbalance, developments we now categorize as ralliement, amalagame,
assimilation or indeed modernization did not just happen to them: local
groups and individuals actively participated in the way French-imposed
innovations worked—or not, as the case may have been—on the ground.
To return to Michael Broers’ inference of failure: the French may have
failed to adapt their system to suit Italian interests; in their turn, Italians—
Parmense in this case—did not fail to adapt the French system to suit their
idea of what the future of their society should be. This study’s main objec-
tive is to evaluate local capacity for agency and identify the strategies
Parma’s residents deployed to inflect to their advantage policies made in
Paris and not necessarily with their interests in mind. The book does not
have the ambition to be a complete monograph. The archive-driven nar-
rative explores the workings of successive French administrations through
the parallel lenses of Napoleonic officials and Parmense citizens, with the
focus on collaborative processes that eventually shaped the Napoleonic
era’s legacy. To this end, each chapter includes granular analyses of rele-
vant characters, events and occurrences that help distil day-to-day experi-
ences, big and small, into the constant give-and-take that made this period
so intriguing for all who lived through it and so rich in long-term
consequences.
A final note on the use of toponyms: the duchies were composed of
Parma, Piacenza and Guastalla, but the latter played a lesser role compared
with Parma and Piacenza. During the first Italian campaign (1796)
11
Carlo Zaghi, L’Italia di Napoleone dalla Cisaplina al Regno. Storia d’Italia diretta da
Giuseppe Galasso (Torino: UTET, 1968), vol. 18, 100.
8 D. P. HARSANYI
Bonaparte ignored the duchies’ neutrality and redistributed parts of

Guastalla as the French army redrew borders and swapped territories.
Moreau de Saint-Méry’s administration essentially ignored the city. On 30
March 1806, Napoleon awarded Guastalla and its environs to his sister
Pauline who briefly enjoyed the title Duchess of Guastalla. Soon thereafter
(24 May 1806) the Kingdom of Italy purchased the territory. For all these
reasons, Guastalla is not included in the present book, the events discussed
here concerning mainly Parma, Piacenza and their respective regions.
Until 1808 when it became the Department of Taro, the country’s official
name was States of Parma, which tends to overlook Piacenza. For conci-
sion’s sake, I follow custom and use either Parma or Parma–Piacenza to
refer to the entire territory, and Parmense to refer to all the inhabitants.
Unless otherwise indicated, all translations from French and Italian
are mine.
CHAPTER 2
Prelude to Napoleon
The Duchy of Parma was established in 1545 by Pope Paul III for Piero
Luigi Farnese, presumably his own illegitimate son. With the city of
Piacenza added the next year, the state was henceforth called the Duchies
of Parma and Piacenza and ruled by the Farnese until the dynasty went
extinct in 1731. Elizabeth Farnese, the last direct heiress of the family,
married king Philip of Spain, a Bourbon, in 1714 and bequeathed the
duchies to her son Don Carlos de Bourbon. Diplomatic-matrimonial
games in the wake of the War of the Polish Succession complicated the
situation: at the Treaty of Vienna (1738) Don Carlos agreed to give up the
duchies in exchange for the larger, more prestigious kingdom of Naples
and Sicily. He did not forget to take with him large collections of artwork
along with the entire archive of the Farnese dukes, the former an act of
naked robbery, the latter a thoughtless deed that caused untold subse-
quent administrative difficulties. Francis Stephen of Habsburg, Duke of
Tuscany, took over provisionally until the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle (1748)
stipulated the return of the duchies, enriched with the territory of Guastalla
(a former Gonzague fief) to the Bourbons: Carlos’ younger brother Philip
accepted the throne and founded the House of Bourbon-Parma. The for-
mal name of the state became the Duchies of Parma, Piacenza and
Guastalla. In the meantime three Bourbon Family Pacts (1733, 1743 and
1761) negotiated the fine points of the duchies’ loyalty to Spain and

Switzerland AG 2022
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97340-7_2
10 D. P. HARSANYI
France equally. The marriage between Duke Philip and Louise Elisabeth,
oldest daughter of Louis XV, tipped the scales towards France.
Louise Elisabeth, only 12 years old the year of her wedding (1739),
spent nine years in Madrid, to be groomed into a Spanish royal bride. Her
attachment to France never weakened and her first independent act upon
acceding, with her husband, to the throne of the Duchies of Parma,
Piacenza and Guastalla was to visit her father at Versailles.1 Back in Parma,
she gave birth to her only son, Infant Ferdinand (1751).2 Ferdinand would
grow into a puzzling character and a weak, though stubborn, ruler.
Throughout his childhood, he watched his mother put all her energies
into fashioning the duchies in the image of France—the France of the
lumières imagined by the philosophes Louis XV’s daughter very much
admired. In this short time, she succeeded: Duke Philip had little appetite
for governing and left most decisions to his wife. By the second half of the
century, foreign visitors likened the duchies to a mini-France transplanted
in Northern Italy, with its own Paris—the capital city of Parma—and its
own Versailles at the ducal residence of Colorno, both re-designed by
French architects and artists.3 Love for France was the most precious leg-
acy Louise Elisabeth bequeathed to her son whom she expected to con-
tinue her life’s work: ‘I am French, my son […] When I am no more, you
will better judge my motives; if I live, I hope that my conduct will prove
to you that my duty is my first love. Love France, my son: your roots are
there; you owe the country respect and deference for being who you are’.4
1
More details can be found in Henri Bédarida, Parme dans la politique française au
XVIIIème siècle (Paris: Felix Alcan, 1930), 104–144.
2
Ferdinand had two older sisters. Isabelle Bourbon-Parma (1741–1763) married Austrian
Archduke Joseph, future Emperor Joseph II. Cultured and intellectually curious, she left
several essays on education, marriage and politics. She was a dutiful wife but stood out at the
court in Vienna for conducting a rather open homoerotic affair with her sister-in-law Maria
Christina, Archduchess of Austria and an artist of some note. Isabelle de Bourbon-Parme
(Bruxelles: Racine, 2002) by Ernest Sanger is a well-researched, sympathetic biography.
Maria Luisa (1751–1819), a far less interesting character, married her cousin Infant Charles,
future Charles IV of Spain. Many entertaining details on the three siblings in the collective
biography: Juan Balansò, Les Bourbons de Parme. Histoire des Infants d’Espagne, ducs de
Parme (Biarritz: J&D Editions, 1996), especially pp. 30–70.
3
Il Viaggio a Parma. Visitatori stranieri in età farnesiana e borbonica. Testi raccolti da
Giorgio Cusatelli e Fausto Razzetti (Parma: Ugo Guanda Editore, 1990).
4
Letter from Louise Elisabeth to her son Ferdinand written in 1759 (no exact date), in
Casimir Stryenski, Le Gendre de Louis XV. Don Philippe, Infant d’Espagne et Duc de Parme.
D’après des documents inédits tirés des Archives de Parme et des Archives des Affaires
Etrangères (Paris: Calmann Lévy, 1904), 440. The entire letter is reproduced on pp. 436–444.
2 PRELUDE TO NAPOLEON 11
Ralliement Avant la Lettre

The transformation began in 1749, with the appointment of Guillaume
Du Tillot (1711–1774), a little-known French clerk employed at the
Spanish court, to the position of councilor to Duke Philip. Within a
month, Du Tillot rose to the rank of General Intendant of the Household,
in charge of the court’s expenses and book-keeping. Ten years later
(1759), the duke nominated Du Tillot prime minister and essentially
handed him over the reins of government. Marquis of Felino as of 1764,
Du Tillot ran the duchies, unhindered, until 1771, and earned a European-
wide reputation for competence and honesty, the very model of a well-
meaning bureaucrat able to steer any society on the path to progress.5
Local historians have carefully examined Du Tillot’s 20 years at the helm
of what contemporaries regarded as exemplary enlightened administra-
tion; these studies portray sympathetically a well-intentioned man bravely
taking on the Herculean task of overhauling an order of things he found
harmful to the people and to their rulers alike. ‘Nothing, absolutely noth-
ing escaped his knowledgeable, genial, and tireless innovations and
reforms’, wrote Umberto Benassi, summarizing the historical consensus.6
Overall, Du Tillot’s rule consisted in wielding the power of the state to
launch a holistic programme of systematic reforms meant to restructure
every aspect of life in the duchies, from fiscal policies to agricultural prac-
tices, public education and cultural initiatives—an audacious undertaking
historian Massimo Ammato aptly labelled ‘social and economic
5
Du Tillot perfectly fits the type of well-intentioned government official in tune with the
philosophical aspirations of his time drawn in Carlo Capra, ‘The Functionary’ in
Enlightenment Portaits. Michel Vovelle editor. Translation Lydia G. Cochrane (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1997), 316–355. On Du Tillot, see Umberto Benassi, Guglielmo
Du Tillot. Un ministro riformatore dell secolo XVIII (Parma: Presso la Rivista Deputazione di
Storia Patria, 1919); Bernardino Cipelli, ‘Storia dell’amministrazione di Guglielmo Du
Tillot. Con introduzione di E. Casa’in Archivio Storico per le province parmensi, serie I, II
(1893); Charles Nisard, Guillaume Du Tillot. Un valet ministre et sécrétaire d’état. Episode de
l’histoire de France en Italie 1749–1771 (Reprint Adamant Media Corporation, 2001);
Giovanni Tocci, Il Ducato di Parma e Piacenza. Un Colbert alla corte di Parma’ in Storia
d’Italia. Diretta da G. Galasso (Torino: UTET, 1987), Vol XVIII, 79–103 (88–89). A digest
of contemporary opinions on Du Tillot in Henri Bédarida, Parme et la France de 1748 à 1789
(Paris: Honoré Champion, 1928. Slatkine Reprints), 100–116. The discussion of Du Tillot’s
entire career is on pp. 71–120. Very informative too is the analytical overview by Claudio
Maddalena, ‘Il governo del ministro du Tillot’ in Storia di Parma, vol. V, 101–138.
6
Umberto Benassi, Storia di Parma da Pier Luigi Farnese a Vittorio Emmanuele II
(1545–1860) (Parma, Luigi Battei, 1907), 162.
12 D. P. HARSANYI
engineering’.7 Vast as the programme was, the prime minister treaded

lightly whenever possible because, as Claudio Bargelli showed in a recent
astute analysis, the vision of enlightened ideal city ran frequently into the
reality of financial constraints and decidedly unidealistic political power
struggles.8 The cautious step-by-step policy fits the political practice of
ralliement outlined by Michael Broers for Italian territories conquered by
the French armies, later absorbed into the Napoleonic state. The duchies
were, throughout Du Tillot’s tenure, an autonomous state under French
and Spanish protectorate, Du Tillot himself serving at the pleasure of local
sovereigns. Still, considering the free hand he enjoyed for 20 years and his
systematic efforts at modernizing Parmense society by means of injecting
new content into pre-existing structures, his actions were consistent with
an early experiment in ralliement. Overt assumptions of French superior-
ity, more precisely of the France of Louis XV being the right kind of state
for the right time, underpinned Du Tillot’s entire agenda. His closest
advisers came from France to join a cast of French-speaking, French-
educated local collaborators. In the historical arc between the beginning
of the Bourbon reign and the fall of the Napoleonic regime, the interval
dominated by Du Tillot (1749–1770) comes across as a dress rehearsal,
heavy in forewarnings, for the future travails of French administrators
struggling to integrate the duchies into the Napoleonic system. For this
reason, it is worth recalling, briefly, just how extensive, and how thor-
ough, Du Tillot’s project was, and how swiftly it collapsed.
Administration, Legislation and Tax Collection

The duchies consisted of two halves, each run by a governor, one in Parma
and one in Piacenza. The governors presided over all aspects of public life,
from law and order mechanisms to commercial regulations and tax collec-
tion. At the local level, in Parma, Piacenza and several smaller urban cen-
tres, the citizenry relied on the civic corps of the Anzianati, composed of
the most notable residents, that is, nobles joined by well-regarded prop-
erty owners and professionals. A podestà, or mayor, assisted by
7
Massimo Amato, ‘L’ingegneria economica e sociale di Guillaume Du Tillot’ in Parma e
il suo territorio. Un Borbone tra Parma e Europa. Don Ferdinando e il suo tempo. A cura di
Alba Mora (Parma: Diabasis, 2005), 136–143.
8
Claudio Bargelli, La Città dei lumi. La petite Capitale del Du Tillot fra utopie e riforme
(Parma: Monte Università Parma, 2020).
commissioners, ran every commune, large or small, and reported to the

governor or to the nearest Anzianato. Justice was dispensed through a
layered system of magistrates (uditori civili e criminali) that converged
into several councils or local courts, the highest court being the supreme
council established by Alessandro Farnese in 1589.9 Du Tillot left all
administrative and legal structures untouched and patiently worked with,
rather than against, existing institutions. What he asked these institutions
to do, however, went against entrenched habits and traditions. The years
spent as intendant of the ducal household, with the mission of improving
the state’s finances, persuaded him that expanding the tax base was essen-
tial to the survival of the state. This implied curtailing the massive fiscal
privileges feudal landlords, and above all the clergy, had enjoyed since the
Farnese era. Du Tillot launched his premiership with demands that Church
revenues be subjected to state taxation. What seemed at first glance a tech-
nical financial alteration soon turned into a metaphysical struggle between
two worldviews.10 It was a struggle Du Tillot did not seek but could
hardly avoid.
Two fifths of the land in the Piacentino region, two thirds in the Parma
region, and fully half of all arable land in the Borgo San Donnino were in
the hands of the clergy. Ownership of such vast properties came with no
taxation, no supervision and an array of additional entitlements. Tactfully,
the prime minister sought cooperation from the papacy by means of his
9
Details online of Farnese and Bourbon institutions in Giovanni Drei, l’Archivio di Stato
di Parma. Indice General, storico, descrittive, ed analitco (Rome: Biblioteca Arte Editrice,
1941), 103–114.
10
By the mid-1700s members of the clergy comprised roughly 10% of the population of
Parma and up to 14% in the Piacenza region, all organized in 91 churches, and 21 female and
18 male convents, one more conservative than the other according to Franco Venturi,
‘Parma e Europa’ in Settecento Riformatore, Vol. II La Chiesa e la Repubblica dentro i loro
limiti 1758–1774 (Torino: Einaudi, 1976), 214, and Roberto Ghiringhelli, Idee, Società ed
Istituzioni nel Ducato di Parma e Piacenza durante l’età illuministica (Milano: A. Giuffrè,
1988), 12. This was up from the 15 male and 24 female convents in the duchies at the end
of the Farnese era: Umberto Benassi, Storia di Parma da Pier Luigi Farnese a Vittorio
Emmanuele (1545–1860) (Parma: Luigi Battei, 1907), 125. The Farnese dukes ‘spoiled’ the
clergy and accustomed its members and its orders to privileges they came to regard as invio-
lable rights. In time, the Farnese had reasons to regret their generosity: Ranuccio II, for
instance, was aghast at the clergy’s refusal to contribute towards the tribute imposed on
Parma by Emperor Leopold II during the wars between France and the Empire (1691–1694).
By then the status quo had become unshakeable and the duke could do nothing but vent in
fits of helpless fury. Benassi, Storia di Parma da Pier Luigi Farnese a Vittorio
Emmanuele, 68–70.
14 D. P. HARSANYI
favourite tactic, attuned to the encyclopaedic spirit of the times: carefully

compiled studies, based on empirical data that spelled out the devastating
effects of clerical privileges upon local communities. These were sent to
the Holy See in hopes that scientific proof of damages to poor villagers
would mollify papal resistance. Disappointingly, the pope replied with a
steady stream of rebuttals that reaffirmed the validity of clerical fiscal
rights. Judging that he had showed sufficient deference, Du Tillot broke
the stalemate in 1764, with prammatica della manimorte. The law abol-
ished the ancient practice of mortmain, which allowed feudal lords—indi-
viduals or syndicates such as ecclesiastic orders—to appropriate the
inheritance of their serfs or subordinates; the legislation also targeted cur-
rent contracts not yet concluded. (It should be noted that in France the
mortmain or mainmorte was considerably weakened throughout the eigh-
teenth century, but officially banned only in 1790.) The real giunta della
giurisdizione created the following year went a step further in affirming
the state’s authority by quietly abolishing fiscal privileges for Church prop-
erties.11 A new supervisory body called regio consiglio segreto, composed of
a minister of state and three councilors, valiantly took on the confusing
maze of privileges and established a tax farm based on the French model.
This and a few other measures, like taxes on leather products starting in
1765, eventually improved returns.
In essence, then, fiscal reform amounted to winning a few financial and
legislative battles with the Church, to applause from local and French phi-
losophes always happy to see the Church put in its place. Duke Philip did
not exactly cheer but chose to stand on the sidelines and allow bureaucrats
to replenish the state’s coffers as they saw fit. The duke proved a lot less
amenable when it came to cuts into his own budget or to changes in rou-
tines he cared about. Highlighting the arbitrary nature of reforms exe-
cuted under less than reliable absolutist rulers, personal tastes weighed
heavily on public policies. Informed that improving agricultural output
depended on making more land available for pasturing, Philip simply
refused to limit the domain set aside for pleasure hunting.
11
Pierluigi Feliciati, ‘La dominazione borbonica a Parma’ in L’Ossessione della memoria.
Parma settecentesca nei disegni del Conte Alessandro Sanseverini. A cura di Marzio dall’Acqua
(Parma: Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio di Parma, 1997), 19.
Agriculture and Industry

Nudging into change people reluctant to give up longstanding privileges
was bound to disappoint. Du Tillot put his trust, or rather his hope, in the
persuasive capacities of scientific studies. The method foreshadowed
Moreau de Saint-Méry’s penchant for empirical surveys and yielded very
similar results. The prime minister shared with landowners what he learned
from the investigations he commissioned. First, primitive agricultural
techniques largely accounted for inadequate outputs. A case in point: not-
withstanding abundant grape harvests over the 1773–1779 period, wide-
spread ignorance regarding bottling and preserving wine inevitably caused
a good deal of the wine production to go to waste. Prices fell not because
of diminishing demand but because growers felt compelled to sell before
the wine turned (Parma–Piacenza is home to the popular Lambrusco
wines). Second, the large wolf population made it hard to increase the
flocks, but this nuisance paled in comparison with the aggravations caused
by numberless internal custom dues that hindered transhumance. The
wolves could be dealt with; feudal privileges remained intractable: feudal
landowners rejected attempts to limit or tax herds moving on private
lands, on grounds that such taxes ran against what they considered ances-
tral rights.
Economic historian Pier Luigi Spaggiari emphasized throughout his
work the inertia of noble owners of fiefs, suspicious of the minister’s
enthusiasm for habit-altering reforms. The few slightly better off peasants
who owned land lacked access to capital and, in any event, were too
absorbed with their own survival to risk implementing changes shunned
by their social superiors.12 No wonder, then, that the administration’s
carefully drafted studies produced little more than an academic analysis
with next to no impact on either the development of Parmense agriculture
or the standard of living of inhabitants trapped between ‘fraud and
scarcity’.13 With government recommendations ignored, attempts at
12
Pier Luigi Spaggiari, L’Agricoltura negli Stati Parmensi dal 1750 al 1859 (Milano: Banca
Comerciale Italiana, 1966), especially pp. 41–42, 86–88 and 94–95.
13
See Claudio Bargelli, ‘Le Terre di Montagna tra frode e miseria. La vita quotidiana nel
ducato di Parma nel secolo dei lumi’ in Aurea Parma, 83, 2 (magio–agosto 1999): 265–284.
The fraud involved mainly widespread smuggling. In a different study, Bargelli highlighted
Du Tillot’s concern that deprivation might worsen to the level of famine, which led him to
monitor the grain trade, establish emergency barns and even resort to imports. Claudio
Bargelli, ‘Ubertose messi e pubblica felicità. Il commercio dei grani a Parma nel settecento’
16 D. P. HARSANYI
reform did not go further than occasional experiments undertaken, on

their own properties, by the few who needed no prompting, such as the
philanthropist count Stefano Sanvitale.14 Lack of cooperation further
thwarted Du Tillot’s ambitious plans for capitalizing on the fame of local
varieties of cheese as well. For one thing, the army’s needs for fresh meat
limited the herds raised for milk, a problem compounded by a series of
devastating epizooties (1703, 1713, 1738 and 1746). As mentioned
above, Duke Philip’s love of hunting killed the ambition of founding
state-run cheese factories. In the meantime, stiff Lombard competition
forced Du Tillot to resort to import tariffs to protect local specificity and
discourage illegal sales.15 Introducing the culture of the potato was the
only agricultural innovation adopted with relative ease.
Industrial projects did not fare much better. As an unwelcome side
effect, they set in motion waves of social discontent that gradually swelled
into anti-French animosity, something that the prime minister simply did
not think about. He certainly assumed locals would be glad to see, and
work in, the textile factories set up around the duchies (Piacenza, Guastalla
and Borgo San Donino). What he did not expect was that residents would
resent being patronized by the numerous French artisans summoned to
instruct them and by the French managers placed in charge of all aspects
of the business. Silk manufacturing, for instance—the prime minister’s
favourite economic branch—was entirely run by French craftsmen brought
over from Lyon. In time, this branch expanded enough to be considered
a success, but in general, industrial initiatives suffered from the perception
of being an imported pastime for resident foreigners.16
in Aurea Parma, 82, 2 (maggio–agosto 1998): 149–183. On everyday life in the Parma area
in the eighteenth century, very illuminating is Spaggiari’s analysis of a census commissioned
by Du Tillot: Pier Luigi Spaggiari, ‘Famiglia, case e lavoro nella Parma del Du Tillot. Un
censimento del 1765.’ Studi e ricerche della Facoltà di Economia e Commercio. 3, (1966):
163–236.
14
Spaggiari, L’Agricoltura negli Stati Parmensi dal 1750 al 1859, 99.
15
See Claudio Bargelli, ‘Una vaccheria benedettina tra Sei e Settecento: l’organizzazione
produttiva casearia del cenobio di S. Giovanni Evangelista di Parma’ Aurea Parma, 2 (mag-
gio–agosto 2007): 213–238, for an illuminating economic analysis of one exemplary cheese
factory run by Benedictine monks from the fifteen through late eighteenth centuries. The
article also offers a very helpful survey of the literature dedicated to the history of Parmesan
cheese-making. See also the comprehensive survey by the same author: Claudio Bargelli,
Dall’empirismo alla scienza. L’agricoltura parmense dall’età dei lumi al primo conflitto mon-
diale (Trieste: Ed. Goliardiche, 2004).
16
A few prominent local businessmen, such as Pietro Cavagnari, took over the silk manu-
factures. Marcello Turchi, ‘La fiorente industria della seta: imagine essenziale della Parma del
Cultural Policies
In his examination of Du Tillot’s social-engineering agenda, Massimo
Amato underscored the utopian nature of the entire endeavour: in the
context of the Enlightenment’s belief in rational reforms, Du Tillot was a
dreamer.17 Indeed, who but a dreamer would believe strongly enough in
the power of reason to take on the Church, keep trying to spread the tax
burden, and launch well-meant economic initiatives in the face of stub-
born resistance and bitter animosity? Let us add to Amato’s list the no less
extravagant programme of reshaping, or re-engineering, to use the same
terminology, Parma’s cultural landscape. Duke Philip heartily approved:
the prime minister’s ambitions in such matters hurt no privileges, required
no sacrifices of himself, and offered the duchies a chance to repair the
damage caused by his brother’s spoliations. Luckily for Du Tillot, the
duke was too indolent to notice his minister’s steady drive towards secu-
larizing all aspects of life in the duchies.
State-sponsored cultural establishments materialized almost overnight.
The Academy of Fine Arts, with statutes modelled on the French institu-
tion of the same name, opened its doors in 1752, followed by the Academy
of Parma, likewise a replica of French academies, in December 1757.18
Soon thereafter Gazzetta di Parma started bringing the news to interested
readers (January 1760). The discovery of the Tabula Alimentaria came as
a dream opportunity for Parma’s scholarly community to claim its rightful
place on the European scene.19 Duke Philip gave his accord for the Ducal
Museum of Antiquities (now the National Archaeological Museum of
Du Tillot’ in Parma Economica, 4 (Dicembre 1987): 19–24. For details on French business
activities in Parma see Bédarida, Parme et la France de 1748 à 1789, 179–186; pp. 121–186,
on the entire French presence in the duchies during Du Tillot’s administration. The ubiqui-
tous presence of French managers made it difficult for local would-be entrepreneurs of mod-
est means to access capital. Spaggiari gives the example of one Giuseppe Tassi who stressed
the difficulties of enrolling sceptical villagers in long-term projects when called on by Du
Tillot to provide capital to poor farmers for raising sheep for wool, the raw material for a
factory he intended to set up. Spaggiari, L’Agricoltura negli Stati Parmensi dal 1750 al
1859, 42.
17
Amato, ‘L’ingegneria economica e sociale di Guillaume Du Tillot’ art.cit, 140.
18
The Academy of Fine Arts soon earned a European-wide reputation with annual paint-
ing, sculpture and architecture competitions, opened to artists from all European countries.
Francisco Goya, a young artist just starting out at the time, sent a painting for the 1771
competition; he did not win the prize, but his later fame bolstered Parma’s prestige.
19
The discovery of the Tabula Alimentaria at Veleia in 1747 prompted the beginning of
archeological digs meant to rival the excavations at Herculaneum and Pompei. The large
18 D. P. HARSANYI
Parma), founded in 1760 to coordinate further excavations at Veleia, and

for a new Royal Library (now Biblioteca Palatina) opened to the public in
1761. Du Tillot selected the learned Paolo Maria Paciaudi, freshly returned
from a year of studies in Paris, for the dual position of director of the
museum and chief librarian of the Royal Library, responsible for acquisi-
tions and cataloguing in both places.20 In 1768, Du Tillot invited the
printer Giambattista Bodoni to set up shop in Parma, with generous gov-
ernment financial backing. Bodoni quickly became an international celeb-
rity, widely admired for his technical prowess and stylistic creativity, his
studio a tourist attraction on a par with the works of Parma’s beloved
Renaissance painter Correggio.21 French architects and artists flocked to
the duchies’ capital to design and decorate, in French neo-classical style,
buildings fit to house the new institutions.22 It all amounted to an artistic
bronze tablet dating from 101 CE details administrative measures regarding welfare and
food distribution.
20
A Théatin priest influenced by Jansenist ideas and familiar with French intellectual
approaches, Paciaudi (1710–1785) was exactly the kind of local aide Du Tillot was looking
for. Indeed, a few clergymen generally receptive to Jansenism and hostile to the Jesuits
responded to his entreaties, most importantly Adeodato Turchi, Archbishop of Parma, and
Pietro Capellotti, Archpriest of Momigliano, the latter already pursued by the Inquisition for
his liberal views. Crucial support came as well from the distinguished magistrates Giacomo
Maria Schiattini, president of the chamber of magistrates, Aurelio Terrarossa, professor of
law, Giambattista Riga, and count Girolamo Nasalli. They were joined by respected histori-
ans Ireneo Affò and Giuseppe Pezzana, the latter appointed first editor of Gazzetta di Parma.
The commitment of this important segment of the educated classes helped Du Tillot stare
down papal intransigence.
21
For a well-researched recent biography and commentary on Bodoni’s contributions to
the printing arts, see Valerie Lester, Giambattista Bodoni: His Life and His World (Boston:
David R. Godine, 2015).
22
Appointed chief architect with the mission of rebuilding the ducal palace, Ennemond
Petitot arrived in Parma in 1753. Later, he built the grand gallery of the Biblioteca Palatina
in neoclassical style and launched several urbanism projects until Du Tillot’s dismissal sent
him into untimely retirement. A French duo, architect Pierre Contant d’Ivry and sculptor
Jean Baptiste Boudard, were hired to modernize the ducal park at Colorno in the 1750s,
which resulted in statue alleys and sculptural groups reminiscent of Versailles. Boudard also
taught at the Academy of Fine Arts and helped train many artists who emulated his aesthetic
principles. His neo-classical sculptures are still on display in Parma’s main park, Parco Ducale.
Marco Pellegri, G.B. Boudard Statuario Francese alla Real Corte di Parma (Parma: Luigi
Battei, 1976). There is a vast bibliography on Petitot and his work in Parma. For quick refer-
ence see the illustrated biography Giuseppe Cirillo, Petitot (Parma: Grafiche Step Editrice,
2008). For a study on the transformation of the urban landscape in Carlo Mambriani, see ‘La
Città Ridisegnata’ in Storia di Parma, vol. V, 139–179.
and intellectual awakening, with the educated classes keenly involved in the
project of turning Parma into a high-culture hub. Du Tillot did not stop
there. His greatest ambition and top priority, which he prudently did not
bring up until 1768, was an out-and-out transformation of education in
the duchies. Like financial reforms, such a transformative project could not
be accomplished without fighting, once more, the power and the influence
of the Church, and hence not without controversy and multiple hurdles.
The University of Parma

The grand cultural makeover did not lack for enemies. The Society of
Jesus swiftly emitted the charge of heresy on the entire government of
Parma for allowing reformists to disrupt an order of things that, so far as
they were concerned, needed no changes. On 30 January 1768, Pope
Clement XIII weighed in with a monitorium that strongly condemned Du
Tillot’s entire administration.23 However, the winds of change favoured
Du Tillot’s way of thinking: fellow Bourbon-ruled states (France, Spain
and the Kingdom of Naples) had already suppressed the Jesuit order. What
better time to eliminate the Jesuits from leadership positions in Parma
too? Duke Philip died in 1765, and while his son and successor Ferdinand
leaned strongly towards obeying papal injunctions, he was not yet eman-
cipated from his prime minister’s tutelage. To Du Tillot’s relief, the decree
of expulsion of the Society of Jesus, issued on 3 February 1768 and pub-
lished on 9 February in Gazzetta di Parma, met with general indifference.
The Jesuits, it turned out, could not rely on the affections of the public to
save themselves. Still, the editorial took pains to minimize the magnitude
of the event and spare the feelings of Jesuit sympathizers: ‘Our Prince
protects the Religion first and the Letters afterwards. The proscription of
the Jesuits will leave no void among us. Ministers and instructors have
been appointed to each sacred ministry formerly exercised by Jesuits and
to each chair they used to hold’.24
23
Venturi, ‘Parma e Europa’, 219–222. The very interesting correspondence between Du
Tillot and Parma’s ambassador at Versailles, baron d’Argental, revolves mainly on the strat-
egy to be used for peacefully driving the Jesuits out of Parma. See Carminella Biondi, ‘La
Correspondance Du Tillot—d’Argental’ in Carminella Biondi, La Francia e la Parma nel
secondo settecento (Bologna: CLUEB, 2003), 103–171.
24
As quoted in Chiara Burgio, ‘L’attività culturale di P.M. Paciaudi nella Parma del Du
Tillot e lo suo ‘Memorio intorno la Biblioteca Parmense” Aurea Parma, LXIV (April 1980):
6–39. See also Venturi, ‘Parma e Europa,’ 223.
20 D. P. HARSANYI
With the Society of Jesus out of the way, Du Tillot’s main collaborator
Paciaudi rushed to publish a new academic constitution which spelled
clearly the goals of the reformed schools: ‘…the public education of youth
must prepare useful citizens to the Fatherland, able ministers to the
Church, faithful subjects to the Sovereign, all to the ornament and benefit
of the State’. The new set of rules established the principle of public
schools, state sponsored from the elementary level to university, with a
uniform curriculum and textbooks approved by the (supposedly enlight-
ened) government. Scientific education, modern languages and civics
formed the core curriculum; scholastics was abolished as a subject of study,
replaced by selections from Saint Augustine’s and Thomas Aquinas’ works.
Enlightened circles in France and Italy rejoiced; not so Pope Clement
XIII, who promptly declared null and void, on ecclesiastic grounds, the
entire reform of the education system. In response, Gazzetta di Parma
published a government decree that forbade all printers in the duchies to
print and disseminate the pope’s verdict.25 Both the French and the
Spanish courts remained unmoved and took the papal bluster as proof of
Rome’s weakness, since no similar censure had been directed towards
greater powers like, precisely, France and Spain. Hazard further played
into Du Tillot’s hands: exceeded by events, the pope summoned a consis-
tory to deal with calls for the total abolition of the Society of Jesus, but the
project was forgotten upon his sudden death on 2 February 1769. The
subsequent three-month conclave gave Du Tillot the opportunity to
reduce the number of clerical congregations and convert their assets to
secular institutions of public assistance. Finally, he also took advantage of
the papal hiatus to abolish the tribunal of the Inquisition, a courageous
break with the past that nonetheless went almost unnoticed in the shadow
of the grand educational project.
For all the clamour, the Jesuit College converted into the University of
Parma with relative ease, an orderly transition even more impressive since
the changes went very far indeed. To take just one telling example, the
hiring of Claude François Xavier Millot (1726–1785), nominally a Jesuit
25
Voltaire did not miss the opportunity to ridicule the papacy once more in a small pam-
phlet allegedly translated from the Italian, titled ‘Les droits des hommes et les usurpations
des autres’ (June 1768). As mentioned in Storia della Emilia Romagna, II, 457–468; Ugo
Gualazzini, ‘Per le scuole della ragion civile e canonica del ducato di Parma e Piacenza’ in
Archivio Storico per le Provincie Parmensi, 32 (1980): 352–362, and Burgio, art.cit.
abbot, but long estranged from the order, as principal instructor at the
university’s new chair of history left no doubt that the education of young
Parmense was about to take a new direction. Millot was selected for the
job on the strength of his Eléments de l’histoire de France (published in
1772), a book well received in scholarly circles for its accessible style and
its studious neglect of divine causes in explaining the march of history.
Millot took the appointment in Parma as a chance to change the teaching
of the discipline: as soon as he arrived, sacred history disappeared from the
curriculum in favour of a rational exposition of causes and motives behind
events, all in the interest of helping students understand human nature
and judge the past with ‘true philosophy’.26
Although firmly rooted in French intellectual soil, Du Tillot project
paralleled developments elsewhere in Italy, chiefly in neighbouring
Tuscany and Lombardy, and in Naples further to the south, where state-
directed reforms reliant on the latest scientific thinking pragmatically
aimed at ‘ameliorating society’, as Eric Cochrane defined Peter Leopold’s
enlightened despotism in Florence.27 It was a two-decade tour de force
meant to metamorphose the small state of Parma into a version of the città
ideale imagined by the minister’s philosophe friends. To bring this ambi-
tious vision down to earth one more piece of the puzzle needed to fall into
26
Venturi, ‘Parma e Europa’, 225. The work Millot accomplished in Parma resulted in his
book Eléments d’histoire de l’Angleterre, depuis son origine sous les Romains jusqu’au règne de
George II. Par M. l’abbé Millot, professeur en l’Université de Parme, des académies de Lyon
et de Nancy (Paris: chez Durand, 1769). The introduction extols the works of David Hume,
whom Millot strove to emulate.
27
Eric Cochrane, Florence in the Forgotten Centuries, 1527–1800 (Chicago: Chicago
University Press, 1973), 461. Parma’s Philip was no Peter Leopold, but he did not interfere
with his minister’s agenda and allowed structural changes to take root. Albeit at reduced
scale, Parma’s reformist trajectory could also be compared with the systematic transforma-
tion of the state apparatus in the Duchy of Milan, masterfully examined by Carlo Capra:
Domenico Sella and Carlo Capra, Il ducato di Milano dal 1535 al 1796 (Torino: UTET,
1984. Volume 11 of Storia d’Italia under the direction of Giuseppe Galasso), 153–617.
Capra put the emphasis on the work of bureaucrats doggedly building an innovative system
of government in the face of hostility from traditional elites. This angle departs from the line
of interpretation championed by Franco Venturi, centred on the history of ideas and the role
of intellectuals. It would be impossible to even attempt to summarize in a footnote the rich
historiography of the Italian Enlightenment. For a survey of different currents of thought,
starting from Venturi’s influence and legacy, see Anna Maria Rao, ‘Enlightenment and
reform: an overview of culture and politics in Enlightenment Italy’, Journal of Modern
Italian Studies, 10, 2 (2005): 142–167.
22 D. P. HARSANYI
place: educating Ferdinand, future ruler of the duchies and son of Du

Tillot’s compliant master, into a philosopher-prince, capable of illustrating
by example the meaning of enlightened government.
The Education of the Infant

In a letter sent from Louise Elisabeth in Versailles to her husband Philip,
Duke of Parma, she announced that she had made her choice of a tutor for
their son Ferdinand. The honour fell upon Etienne de Condillac
(1714–1780), a personality of the Parisian Republic of letters with a great
reputation for erudition and intellectual depth. At the time of the appoint-
ment, he had already penned his major works: Essai sur l’origine des con-
naissances humaines, Le Traité des systèmes, Le Traité des animaux and Le
Traité des sensations. Parma’s Jesuits expressed bitter frustration at losing
such a prestigious assignment to an almost declared Deist, frequent guest
of philosophical salons and cherished friend of Diderot, Rousseau and
Voltaire. But Condillac had not contributed to the Encylopédie and claimed
to be a reasonable empiricist, not an intractable philosophe. This was
enough to reassure the daughter of Louis XV who in turn reassured her
husband of Condillac’s fitness for the job: ‘our son must be a good
Catholic, not a doctor of the Church; it would be of no use to him to
examine all sorts of [religious] controversies’.28 In Parma, Condillac was
welcomed by Auguste de Kéralio (1715–1805), supervisor of the Infant’s
education for the previous two years, during which time he tutored his
august pupil in mathematics, geography and the rudiments of civil engi-
neering. The teaching team included astronomer Jérôme Lalande
(1732–1807) for the exact sciences and Alexandre Deleyre (1726–1796)
for the humanities. Deleyre, a lapsed Jesuit, who made a name for himself
with contributions to Diderot and d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie, also served
as Condillac’s assistant, in which capacity he was asked to ‘summarize the
works of all the friends of humanity’ according to his somehow plaintive
description of his tasks in a letter to Rousseau dated 29 March 1761. Such
distinguished mentors raised even the hopes of Voltaire, who wrote to
28
Louise Elisabeth’s letter to Philip of Parma, 25 March 1758, as quoted in Guerci,
Condillac storico, 52. Also reproduced in Bédarida, Parme et la France, 412. For Condillac
the appointment could not have come at a better time: in 1759 the Paris Parlement con-
demned the first seven volumes of the Encyclopédie, Hélvetius’ De l’Esprit and Condillac’s
Traité des sensations. By the time the verdict was issued, Condillac was already in Parma.
d’Alembert on 17 November 1760: ‘It seems that the Parmense Infant is

in good company. He will have a Condillac and a Leire [Deleyre]. If he
still becomes a bigot, the [divine] grace must be really strong’.29
Divine grace was strong indeed. In the beginning, things seemed to go
according to expectations. To his new teachers, the Infant came across as
an impressionable child, intelligent and eager to learn. He read the classics
alongside works of French and Italian literature; daily lessons mixed phi-
losophy, mathematics and physics with religious principles reliably voided
of superstition; with the help of Kéralio, who strove to be a friend as well
as a tutor, he plowed, planted and harvested a small field of wheat, to gain
first-hand experience of nature’s precise workings. Day after day, in a gru-
elling routine that would mystify our schools of education, vast chunks of
ideas, theories, facts and figures from all fields were poured onto
Ferdinand’s tabula rasa, with no regard for the abilities of a youngster in
his early teens to digest such complex information. In the belief that rea-
soned examination of the past opened the door to an enlightened future,
the study of history anchored the 16-volume Cours d’études Condillac
wrote in Parma, the core curriculum for a perfect education. One historian
described the experiment as ‘the dream of a philosopher-abbot who
wanted to shape his pupil, as he wanted to shape anyone who was to ben-
efit from his teachings, into an individual able to reason and to grow by his
own forces, thanks to vast learning and to the correct use of that marvel-
ous instrument of communication, analysis and synthesis that is human
language’.30 The final goal of the experiment was to help Ferdinand grow
into ‘an enlightened though unchallenged prince’: wise, tolerant, learned,
always mindful of the golden mean between tyranny and democracy.31
29
As quoted in Guerci, Condillac Storico, pp. 95 and 64, respectively. For a perceptive
examination of the larger ramifications of young Ferdinand’s education see Elizabeth
Badinter, L’Infant de Parme (Paris: Fayard, 2010). See also Alba Mora, ‘Don Ferdinando: ‘Il
Duca ‘fuori tempo” in Storia di Parma, vol V, 193–212.
30
Carminella Biondi, ‘Condillac a Parma. La lunga premessa al Cours d’études’ in La
Francia e la Parma nel secondo settecento, 59.
31
This was Du Tillot’s expressed hope. Guerci, Condillac Storico, 75 and Bédarida, Parme
et la France, 83–84. Once more, such views corresponded with contemporary developments
in Italy, where reforms occurred with support from absolutist rulers—Austrian rulers in
Milan and Tuscany—schooled in the new ideas of the times but never in doubt of their legiti-
macy to exercise power and to maintain control over the way changes unfolded. See Jacob
Soll’s examination of Peter Leopold’s utilitarian governing philosophy, a blend of Catholic,
absolutist and core Enlightenment principles. Jacob Soll, ‘The Encyclopedic Prince: Grand
Duke Peter Leopold (1747–1792) and the Meaning of Tuscan Enlightenment’ in Florence
24 D. P. HARSANYI
Early indications that the young duke was on the verge of validating the
hopes invested in him by his mother, his tutors, his two royal uncles and
the better part of the Republic of letters were all deceptive. Within a year,
the disappointing reality sank in. Impervious to either persuasion or physi-
cal punishment, both of which he received in ample doses, Ferdinand
spent all the time and energy he could steal from his progressive studies to
visit priests, indulge his taste for miracles and relics, and design his bed-
room in the shape of a church. Matters only worsened when he became of
age to reign and worsened even further after his marriage to the Habsburg
princess Maria Amalia (1769). ‘I am told that this prince spends his days
visiting monks and that his superstitious Austrian wife will be the mistress
there. O, poor philosophie! What will be your fate!’ exclaimed Voltaire in a
letter dated 15 October 1769. A few months later Pietro Verri wrote to his
brother, Alessandro, that any hopes Condillac might have still harboured
were irremediably thwarted; hence, the illustrious philosophe left the duch-
ies in disgust, together with Kéralio. Millot resigned his post before com-
pleting his three-year contract and left as well. ‘They had plenty of reason
to be astonished’, Verri wrote, ‘seeing that their pupil was so fond of the
Dominican brothers that he went to take his meals with them and sing in
their choirs and such’.32 Diderot pronounced the final verdict when he
recommended Condillac’s Cours d’études to Russia’s Catherine II with the
cautious remark that all that brilliance produced nothing but a ‘stupid
student’.33 ‘The religious duke’, concluded Umberto Benassi, ‘abandoned
his small soul full of scruples to the care of priests and monks’.34 Despite
the concerted efforts of some of the most brilliant minds of the time, the
After the Medici. Tuscan Enlightenment, 1747–1790. Edited by Corey Tazzara, Paula Findlen
and Jacob Soll (New York: Routledge, 2020), 317–335. While Ferdinand’s all-French teach-
ing team favoured French models, they were surely aware of Peter Leopold’s reputation as
exemplary enlightened ruler, the kind their pupil was expected to become thanks to his
progressive education. No less a figure than d’Alembert voiced the eagerness with which
‘those who enlighten nations’ awaited Ferdinand’s accession to the throne. Badinter,
L’Infant de Parme, 68–70. D’Alembert wrote in response to Ferdinand’s translation into
Italian, under Kéralio’s guidance, his discourse of reception to the Academy of Sciences (3
December 1768).
32
Both quoted in Guerci, Condillac Storico, 67.
33
Guerci, Condillac Storico, 68.
34
As quoted in Umberto Benassi, Il generale Bonaparte ed il Duca e I Giacobini di Parma
e Piacenza (Parma: Pressa la R. Deputaziona di Storia Patria, 1912), 23.
educational project came to nothing. As soon as he reached majority and

became sovereign with full powers in 1765, Ferdinand proceeded to sabo-
tage and eventually undo all the reforms of the last two decades.35
Dashed Hopes and the End of Reforms

Ferdinand found a kindred spirit in his wife, who emboldened him to turn
the Du Tillot page and move the duchies closer to his conservative sensi-
bilities. In addition, Maria Amalia rejected categorically any hint of finan-
cial discipline.36 France’s Louis XV found the couple’s transgressions
troublesome enough to convey his displeasure along with stern, though
affectionate—in the beginning—advice on the decorum a prince ought to
observe:
Believe, my dear son that your happiness depends entirely on your conduct.
It is natural that your youth should distract you at the very moment you are
leaving behind a too rigid system of education. The light-heartedness of
your age, the lack of experience of the princess you have married, too little
thought given to the decorum your condition requires—not unusual in the
first moments of freedom, have given rise to disorders that end up harming
you at European courts and to that you must remedy at once.
The way to remedy ‘the disorders’ was to ignore the various intrigues
woven around Du Tillot, whom the French king considered above
35
As Elizabeth Badinter has discussed in the last two chapters of L’Infant de Parme, the
pedagogical failure ended up calling into question the Enlightenment’s faith in the power of
ideas to mould human nature—or society, for that matter.
36
This was a great disappointment for Du Tillot, whose efforts at scrimping and saving had
been briefly supported by Ferdinand’s decision to allow all inhabitants to hunt, provided they
brought the hides of the animals to court for processing. This gave Du Tillot the great satis-
faction of registering 0 pounds for ducal pleasure hunting on the books for 1765 and the
following five years he served, for unlike his father, Ferdinand detested hunting. More sav-
ings on entertainment followed, but extravagance replaced prudence once the wedding with
Maria Amalia of Habsburg took place in 1751. The ceremonies alone opened an ‘abyss that
seemed impossible to fill’. Benassi, Guglielmo Du Tillot, 175–214. Du Tillot was forced to
establish a special economic office for the purpose of erasing the post-wedding deficit. The
exhausting squabbles between the young duchess and Du Tillot on the issue of household
expenses are chronicled by Benassi, who concluded that Maria Amalia brought nothing but
ruin and disorder to her new country, an opinion shared by all French observers, beginning
with King Louis XV himself. Benassi, Guglielmo Du Tillot, 223.
26 D. P. HARSANYI
reproach, as did Ferdinand’s other guardian, the king of Spain.37 Louis XV

sent to Parma a personal emissary, count Chauvelin, with instructions that
plainly illustrated how much he abhorred the extreme religiosity Ferdinand
felt free to exhibit.
The ambassador’s main task was to impress on the Infant that he stood
to lose both the allowance that maintained his lifestyle and the political
protection that guaranteed the survival of his states. The young duke
accepted the scolding and vowed to mend his ways. In actuality, by means
of deceptive obsequiousness mixed with persistent complaining, he man-
aged to have his way against his royal guardians’ judgement and wishes,
just as he had prevailed over several leading lights of the Republic of let-
ters. The final clash came at the end of 1770, when Du Tillot drafted four
decrees to cut back spending for religious purposes and limit the number
of monks admitted in monasteries. Any talk of further touching clerical
interests was unbearable to Ferdinand, so he set in motion the process of
expelling Du Tillot: members of all communities and corporations
throughout the duchies, including religious ones, were invited to come
forward with criticism of the minister’s methods. Smelling blood in the
water, many did just that. Placed under house arrest while a panel of three
judges examined the objections, Du Tillot sent his archives to the tutelary
courts of Spain and France. That both found the accusations baseless
made no difference to Ferdinand.38 Du Tillot quit the duchies in disgrace,
37
Letter from King Louis XV to Ferdinand, Duke of Parma, dated 1 November 1769, in
Lettres de Louis XV à l’Infant Ferdinand de Parme (Paris: Editions Bernard Grasset, 1938),
141–142. This is the first in a series of letters dealing with the ‘disorders’ brought about by
Ferdinand and Maria-Amalia’s concerted efforts to undermine the administrative team
headed by Du Tillot.
38
The instructions to the French envoy sent to assess the charges against Du Tillot clearly
expressed the king’s puzzlement: ‘It is not at all credible that the marquis de Felino, who has
justified the place he occupies and who has also been regarded by the deceased Infant Don
Philip as a very honest person and zealous servant of his master, has suddenly embraced dif-
ferent principles and a different philosophy under the successor of this Prince’. However, the
French and the Spanish kings agreed to investigate the matter; having done so, both pro-
nounced Du Tillot not guilty and a victim of vicious persecution at the hands of disgruntled
courtiers. ‘Mémoire pour servir d’instruction au sieur comte Dufort, commandant de l’ordre
royal et militaire de Saint-Louis, maréchal de l’armée du roi, allant à Parme pour y exécuter
en qualité de ministre plénipotentiaire auprès de l’Infant Duc de Parme la commission
extraordinaire dont Sa Majesté l’a chargé. A Versailles, le 3 Juin 1771’. In Recueil des instruc-
tions données aux ambassadeurs et ministres de France depuis les traits de Westphalie jusqu’à la
Révolution française, Publiés sous les auspices de la Commission des Archives Diplomatiques
au Ministère des Affaires Etrangères (Paris: Felix Alcan, 1893) X (Naples et Parme), 231–234.
on the night of 19 November 1771; his most prestigious French associates

left too, and local supporters suddenly found themselves out of favour.39
It all fell apart with astonishing speed. Religious orders regained their
privileges and their clout; although the Society of Jesus was not formally
reinstated, many of its members returned to the duchies and quietly filled
the teaching positions they had been forced to vacate. The tribunal of the
Inquisition was reinstated with full powers; the suppression of the mort-
main, Du Tillot’s most progressive piece of legislation, was revoked. Save
for the silk manufactures, plans for economic reforms came to a standstill.
With few notable exceptions, court circles cheered the prime minister’s
departure and applauded the return to an order of things where they fit
comfortably and unquestioningly. Immediately after Du Tillot’s depar-
ture, Piacentino patrician Gaetano Tedaldi drafted for the duke a plan for
turning back the clock—back to normal, as he saw it: Mezzo che si propone
per rimediare ai mali della presentanea Sovranità di Parma, Piacenza e
Guastalla (1772). It was a working paper of sorts that called first and
foremost for mending the link between local nobles and their sovereign,
the sacred bond Du Tillot had broken with his reliance on bureaucrats and
professionals. The duke should, Tedaldi insisted, select only born gentle-
men for all state functions, given that members of the nobility were edu-
cated in the spirit of honour, justice and love for their sovereign. For their
part, sons of the people should dedicate themselves to agriculture and
other useful crafts, their calling being to practise the same trade as their
fathers.40 Turning to recent changes in education, Tedaldi advised not
39
Paciaudi, for instance, briefly fell from grace in the wake of Du Tillot’s dismissal and was
replaced in 1771 by Angelo Mazza, with whom he had professional disputes regarding the
cataloguing process. However, the ducal wrath moderated within two years and Paciaudi was
able to resume his position. Countess Malaspina, a close friend, was exiled without having
been found guilty of any offence, an act of injustice that earned another firm reprimand from
Louis XV. ‘If this goes on, I see no reason why I should have an envoy at your court’, the
king finally shouted. ‘Letter of 9 September 1771’ in Lettres de Louis XV à l’Infant Ferdinand,
186. In the end, however, dynastic attachments prevailed, and Ferdinand was forgiven. He
did not hold grudges and allowed most associates of Du Tillot to return to the duchies on
condition that they keep a low profile.
40
The text is amply quoted and discussed in Ghiringhelli, Idee, Società ed Istituzioni nel
Ducato di Parma e Piacenza durante l’età illuministica, 13–19. It is remarkable how closely
Tedaldi’s assumptions of the nobility’s fitness for public service resemble those at the basis of
the Ségur ordinances issued in France in 1781, which likewise claimed that nobles, educated
in the spirit of honour, discipline and reverence for the king, made better soldiers then com-
moners, and hence the requirement of four quarters of nobility for admission to the officer
28 D. P. HARSANYI
eliminating but slowing down the teaching of sciences and the ‘new ideas’
introduced by the French philosophes. Modern education had its benefits
but should be limited to children of the nobility expected to run the state
on behalf of their sovereign. Finally, Tedaldi advised that all foreigners,
meaning all French nationals, be purged from the duchies so society could
find its way back to domestic tranquility without the constant irritant of
outside influences. In the same vein, the new director of finances, Girolamo
Obach, recommended a return to feudal fiscal policies on the grounds that
Du Tillot’s economic vision felt too alien to people accustomed to the old
ways—a comment that foreshadows popular exasperation with French
reforms at the beginning of the 1805–1806 insurrection.
Evidence of popular irritation with the French presence explains to
some extent why ducal officials chose to point the finger at the foreignness
of Du Tillot’s reforms. In 1750, the adventurer-writer Giacomo Casanova
passed through town for a couple of days. The shopkeepers’ grumbling
against recently arrived French residents who insisted on speaking their
language and imposing their taste made enough of an impression to be
included in his memoirs.41 A less illustrious chronicler, a barber by the
name of Sgavetti, wrote that in Parma foreigners were crowding out the
natives even in church. This, he noted, tongue in cheek, hindered the
spiritual concentration of Italian worshippers who could not help but
burst into laughter at the sound of ridiculous, to their ears, French musical
accompaniment.42 Du Tillot hardly noticed such sentiments, and when he
did, he chose to ignore them. Believing, with his ally Condillac, that
human nature was pliable, he never doubted that all social classes would,
in time, open their eyes to the beneficial nature of his well-meaning,
progressive reforms. The cheerful expectation that enlightened adminis-
trative measures had the power to transform peoples and societies reads
corps. See on this topic Caste, Class, and Profession in Old Regime France, by David Bien,
with Jay M. Smith and Rafe Blaufarb (St. Andrews: Centre for French History and Culture
of the University of St. Andrews, 2010), a revised and updated version of David Bien’s article
of 1974.
41
Casanova wrote that he only heard French spoken in the streets. Shopkeepers who
meekly offered to send for French-speaking attendants when he walked in were elated to find
out he was Italian. Mémoires de Jacques Casanova de Seingalt (Paris: FB Editions, 2014), II,
135–136.
42
The 1769–1772 section of Sgavetti’s diary has been published in Maria Montanari,
“L’età d’oro della Corte di Parma nella cronaca di un barbiere” Aurea Parma (marzo–aprile
1924): 103–107. The full document is preserved at the Archivio di Stato di Parma.
like a prelude to the ‘bureaucratic optimism’ that fuelled the daily exer-
tions of Napoleonic administrators.43 In the eyes of his contemporaries
though, this unshaken self-confidence was, as one sympathetic observer
wrote, the fatal flaw of a man of faultless character, the hidden virus that
destroyed the very foundations of his edifice: ‘It is a very big error for a
minister to project sumptuous creations, to fail to understand in depth the
capabilities of the locals, to not appreciate the true forces of the state, and
to believe he can force nature’.44 Much the same could be said of the
ambitions of French executives in Parma three decades later.
Reforms screeched to a halt almost as suddenly as they had started,
leaving Parma–Piacenza in cultural and political limbo. The conservative
switch rolled back the fiscal restructuring, reconfirmed the privileged sta-
tus of the nobility, and restored the Church to its traditional prominence.
The intellectual daring that Condillac and his supporters brought to the
duchies melted down to hushed, uncontentious conversations. Yet,
Ferdinand was not a tyrant and, as Giovanni Tocci rightly noted, his debo-
nair nature allowed literary and scientific research to go on—indeed, he
was rather fond of natural sciences himself—so long as such activities hurt
neither his religious sentiments nor the clergy’s interests.45 Accordingly,
the institutions created by Du Tillot lowered their horizons, avoided con-
troversy, and recruited Italian, not foreign, personalities, all the while con-
tinuing to receive state subventions.46 The University of Parma thought it
prudent to revert to an all-Italian staff, but maintained its funding and its
autonomy. Famed printer Bodoni too abandoned his international roster
in favour of Italian, preferably local, writers. Gazzetta di Parma still hit the
43
Michael Broers coined the term ‘bureaucratic optimism’ to define the ethos of
Napoleonic bureaucrats. ‘Les Enfants du Siècle: an empire of young professionals and the
creation of a bureaucratic, imperial ethos in Napoleonic Europe’ in Empires and Bureaucracy
in World History. From Antiquity to the Twentieth Century. Peter Crooks and Timothy
H. Parsons editors (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016): 344–363 (362).
44
Report by Count Duranto Duranti, the Sardinian king’s ambassador, announcing Du
Tillot’s dismissal in 1771. The entire report has been reproduced in Aurea Parma, I (gen-
naio–marzo 1997): 73–87.
45
Giovanni Tocci, ‘Negli anni di Ferdinando’ in Un Borbone tra Parma e l’Europa. Don
Ferdinando e il suo tempo (1751–1802). A cura di Alba Mora (Parma: Diabsis, 2005), 71–95.
For a nuanced portrait see the collective volume Il bigotto illuminato: ricordo di Ferdinando
di Borbone. A cura di Giuseppe Bertini e Francesca Sandrini (Parma: Fondazione Monte di
Parma. Museo Glauco Lombardi, 2002).
46
Famed playwright Carlo Goldoni received a pension from the duke, perhaps so that he
could compete with the French at the French theatre that remained in operation.
30 D. P. HARSANYI
stands every day, albeit treating readers to increasingly bland news deliv-
ered in an apprehensive, restrained tone.47 More consequential than the
subdued cultural climate were Ferdinand’s complete abandonment of fis-
cal discipline and general disinterest in running his duchies. Affairs of the
state fell to ministers from whom the duke expected conformity and defer-
ence after Du Tillot’s hyperactive premiership. Financial operations went
little further than distributing subsidies received yearly from the tutelary
courts of France and Spain. For more than 20 years, Parma’s executive
worked in slow and cumbersome ways, out of step with energetic pro-
grammes of institutional overhaul in the immediate neighbourhood. The
resulting bureaucratic and fiscal opacity horrified all French administra-
tors, who invariably labelled the situation they found in Parma ‘chaos’ and
saw their work there as the ultimate test of professional endurance.
In sum, the duchies turned inward and abandoned their own reforms
at a time when cities and regions all around continued to carry out
Enlightenment-inflected changes. Elizabeth Badinter’s evocative image of
complacent lethargy ‘disturbed only by the rhythmic toll of church bells’
best describes the two decades that followed Du Tillot’s exile.48 The tran-
quility, or rather stillness, lasted until 1796, when French troops under
General Bonaparte marched into Northern Italy and Parma was thrown
into turmoil again.
47
‘Under the fearful Duke Ferdinand, after Du Tillot, Gazzetta di Parma turned from an
instrument to build consensus into an instrument to avoid dissensions’. 1796. Napoleone a
Parma. Ristampa Anastatica dell’annata 1796 della Gazzetta di Parma. A cura di Maristella
Carpi (Parma: PPS Editirice, 1977), 67.
48
Badinter, L’Infant de Parme, 154.
CHAPTER 3
Parma and Bonaparte
By 1796, when the Army of Italy marched into the Italian Peninsula, Spain
was acting as the sole custodian of the Duchies of Parma, Piacenza and
Guastalla, the French revolution having severed traditional ties with
France. Spain, therefore, spoke for the duchies in all diplomatic encoun-
ters and it was Spain’s Prime Minister Manuel Godoy, the Prince of Peace,
who committed Parma–Piacenza to passive neutrality on the political
scene that emerged in the wake of the French Revolution.1 Keen to remain
on friendly terms with Spain, the Directory decided to treat the duchies
more gently than the other entities in Northern Italy and asked General
Bonaparte to mind Spain’s interests and connections in the Peninsula. In
practice, the careful approach meant that the French did not engage with
sympathizers in the duchies while retaining the right to use local resources
as they saw fit.2 France’s politics resulted in a different experience of the
revolutionary triennio (1796–1799) and set the country apart throughout
the Napoleonic domination of Italy.
1
This was decided at the Peace of Basel (22 July 1795) and reaffirmed in subsequent trea-
ties with France.
2
Duke Ferdinand was not pleased and called repeatedly on his protectors, in plaintive
Spanish language letters, to ensure that he would not ‘lose anything and not be constantly
disturbed’. As quoted in Maria Victoria Lòpez-Cordòn Cortezo, ‘Le Realzioni con La
Spagna da Elisabeta Farnese a Napoleone’, in Storia di Parma V, 349–365 (362).

Switzerland AG 2022
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97340-7_3
32 D. P. HARSANYI
Duke Ferdinand followed the French Revolution closely. He was excep-

tionally well informed thanks to thoughtful and well-written analysis sent
almost daily by the Bailly de Virieu, the envoy to France who had replaced
d’Argental in 1788. Nothing in those events spoke to the duke’s mind or
heart, appalled as he was by the dreadful fate revolutionaries reserved for
Louis XVI and for Marie Antoinette, the sister of his wife, Maria Amalia.
The language of popular sovereignty and militant secularism, so reminis-
cent of the Enlightenment principles Condillac and Kéralio fruitlessly
imparted during his schooling years, horrified him. Regardless, Ferdinand
followed Virieu’s advice, which, throughout his tenure, consisted in two
principles: caution and neutrality. Virieu’s secretary, Joseph (or Giuseppe)
De Lama, took over at the end of 1792 and maintained the exact same
attitude. He urged that Parma recognize the French Republic, even in the
aftermath of the king’s execution. ‘If H.R.H. wishes to shield his states
from certain invasion, he must (by the intermediary of a diplomatic agent
best suited to execute such orders) recognize the French Republic and
reassure its leaders of his good will and friendship’.3 Almost a year later,
the advice did not change: ‘The system of neutrality that our prince has so
wisely observed until now is the only one that a prudent prince can hold
with respect to the French Republic….The power of the Jacobins has
reached the highest point; it is useless to fight against it’.4 Ferdinand lis-
tened to his ambassadors but thought it wise not to share this riveting
news with his subjects. Gazzetta di Parma was instructed to maintain a
3
Letter from De Lama to Count Ventura, 23 December 1792, in Vicomte de Grouchy et
Antoine Guillois, La Révolution Française racontée par un diplomate étranger. Correspondance
du Bailli de Virieu, Ministre plénipotentiaire de Parme (Paris: Flammarion, 1903), 409. All
letters from Virieu and De Lama are addressed to Count Ventura, Parma’s minister of for-
eign affairs. It is not clear why Virieu was abruptly dismissed, not without a rather generous
pension, however. On De Lama’s missives from France see Silvia Molinari, ‘Giuseppe De
Lama, scrupoloso ed erudito cronista della rivoluzione francese’ Aurea Parma, 3 (sett.- dic.
1993): 253–263.
4
Letter of De Lama to Count Ventura, 21 October 1793, in Grouchy and Guillois, La
Révolution Française racontée par un diplomate étranger, 476. Perhaps hoping that the
French armies would falter before reaching his states, Ferdinand entered a formal arrange-
ment with Austria, pledging permission for Austrian commanders to recruit volunteers and
purchase supplies in his lands, with the caveat that all promises were automatically invalidated
should the French ‘irrupt’ in the duchies. Should that happen, the duke would immediately
revert to neutrality. Ferdinand believed the move was both shrewd and prudent. It was nei-
ther: once the French government got wind of the duke’s machinations, it ratcheted up the
price for abstaining from invasion, claiming that the French people were entitled to compen-
sations for damages caused by benevolence towards the Austrian coalition.
3 PARMA AND BONAPARTE 33
total blackout on the revolution unfolding in France; from 1789 on, the
paper never mentioned the name of the country where people were rising
in revolt, going as far as executing a fellow Bourbon king. Even when
events spilled into the duchies, the readership was kept in the dark: there
was no reporting on General Bonaparte’s epic military victories or on the
political revolutions roiling in Northern Italy and no information on
French troops crossing Parma’s borders on 7 May 1796. The first issue
after the invasion, printed on 13 May 1796, cheerily announced the birth
of Ferdinand’s granddaughter and the related visit of a few Spanish roy-
als.5 Soon thereafter the duke decided to suppress the Gazzetta entirely:
the last issue came out on 29 July 1796.
Appointed commander in chief of the Army of Italy on 2 March 1796,
Napoleon Bonaparte left Paris on 11 March with orders to invade
Lombardy and force the Austrians to move troops south of the Rhine
front. Arriving at Nice on 26 March, he immediately advanced towards
Genoa, launching the bewildering campaign of conquests that put
Lombardy and the Piedmont under French control in less than two
months. The key events that transformed the political map were inaugu-
rated by the victory over the Austrian-Piedmont-Sardinian allied troops at
Montenotte on 12 April 1796, a brilliant display of his favourite strategy
of dividing enemy forces by means of deceptive screen-movements.
Subsequent French victories at Millesimo, Dego and Mondovi (14–15
and 21 April) led to the armistice signed at Cherasco on 28 April. The
document included a provision that gave Bonaparte the right to cross the
River Po at Valenza, about 30 miles west of Pavia where Austrian forces
under General Beaulieu retreated after Montenotte. All roads from
Northern Italy to Tuscany and to the Papal States went through
Parma–Piacenza, which facilitated commerce in good times but offered an
ideal corridor for movements of troops and supplies in times of war.6 The
possibility of crossing the River Po at Piacenza, east of Pavia—surprising
General Beaulieu who was expecting an attack at Valenza—was simply too
convenient for Bonaparte to ignore for the sake of diplomatic niceties.7
5
1796. Napoleone a Parma. Ristampa Anastatica dell’annata 1796 della Gazzetta di
Parma, 37–41.
6
Giovanni Tocci noted that geographical location was often the cause of the duchies’ mis-
fortunes. ‘Il Ducato di Parma e Piacenza’, 305.
7
In preparation for the French armies’ arrival, Beaulieu had fortified his side of the river
and burned the boats that the French might have been able to requisition. The Po had very
few bridges; even at Piacenza the armies were able to use only a ferry and several boats. Up
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stems of the water-palm which was growing at hand in great
profusion, and answered the purpose excellently. It was, however,
partly destroyed by fire, and required great care in crossing. We
could not trust the animals on it, so we had to fall back on our rope,
and haul them across a little higher up the river, where the water was
deeper and the current consequently less violent.
Just below the bridge were a series of magnificent cascades,
which filled the air for a long distance round with their stupendous
roar. As we intended making another march that day, we went on
again after a short halt. The men had had no food for three days,
except the remains of the insignificant quantity of meat I shot a few
days before. We were therefore anxious to reach the cultivated
country in order to buy fresh supplies for them.
After a weary walk from eleven in the morning to four in the
afternoon, we were relieved to find ourselves among the shambas of
the natives. We camped beside a small stream close to a village,
and immediately opened a market, and when the natives appeared
we bought a small supply of maize and sweet potatoes, which were
at once served out to our hungry men.
CHAPTER III.
FROM THE TANA TO M’BU.
We reach and cross the Tana—Maranga—The abundance of food

thereof—We open a market—We treat the Maranga elders to
cigars, with disastrous results—Bad character of the Wa’M’bu—
We resume our journey—A misunderstanding with the A’kikuyu—
We reach M’bu.
Early the following morning we struck camp and travelled due north,
following native paths. Ascending a low hill, we were unexpectedly
greeted by the paramount chief of the district, who rejoiced in the
name of Kinuthia, and several of his elders. He presented us, by way
of an introduction, with a gourd containing about half a gallon of
fresh milk, which we much appreciated, signifying the same in the
usual manner. When we regained our breath once more, Kinuthia
handed us a note given him by Mr. Hall, a Government officer, who
had been up there a month before in order to select a site for the
new Government station for the Kenia district; which stated that
Kinuthia was a friendly chief, and desired to be recognized as such.
We immediately recognized him as such by enlisting him as our
guide to the Sagana, which we expected to be able to cross that day.
After a short conversation he took the lead, and on we marched
again. He led us across some very rough country for an hour and a
half, when we reached a small, swift river, an affluent of the Sagana.
We crossed without much trouble by the timely aid of the ragged-
looking A’kikuyu noblemen in attendance on their chief. Another two-
hour tramp followed, when we at last reached the Sagana, which is
really a noble river, abounding in hippo here, as indeed it does
everywhere. We saw no crocodiles, though we inquired most
anxiously after them.
Kinuthia informed us that the Somalis’ safari had crossed three
weeks or a month before. One of Jamah Mahomet’s cows, while
fording the river, had been seized by a crocodile and the poor
beast’s shoulder torn right out. We did not feel more comfortable on
receipt of this intelligence, but we were assured by the natives that
they had since poisoned all the crocodiles for a distance of half a
mile or so each side of the ford, though they thought it likely that a
stray reptile or two might have escaped the general poisoning. We
had no choice, however; so we stripped and waded, chin-deep, to
the opposite side, about eighty yards distant.
The current was immensely powerful, and the bottom very pebbly
and slippery; but we were assisted by some of Kinuthia’s aristocracy,
and made the passage in safety. Our men were tired and rather
nervous of the current, so for three “makono” (about 1½ yards) of
cloth each, we induced fifteen of the aforesaid A’kikuyu noblemen to
carry their loads across for them—a task they successfully
accomplished, Kinuthia himself not disdaining to discard his royal
robes (a goatskin) and earn his piece of cloth.
We breakfasted on the bank, and then made another move, as
Kinuthia impressed upon us the fact that an hour’s journey further on
was situate the village of Manga, the chief of the Maranga, whose
people had an abundance of food for sale, and where we should be
able to buy all the supplies we needed without any trouble. He said
he would accompany us and introduce us, which we thought was
very good of him.
Our way lay through dense plantations, which fully bore out friend
Kinuthia’s assertions as to the richness of the district in food-stuffs.
In an hour we reached a gently sloping hill, covered with short green
grass, on which we pitched our camp. We sent for the chief, who
shortly afterwards made his appearance. He seemed a very decent
old fellow, and anxious to assist us. We stated our requirements, and
he immediately commanded his people to bring us food for sale, and
did everything in his power—short of giving anything away himself—
to show us that he was friendly and well-disposed towards us.
His son, Koranja, a rather good-looking young fellow for a native,
had been down to Mombasa with a safari, and spoke Kiswahili fairly
well. He seemed very intelligent. Some of the old men of the tribe
also spoke Kiswahili, which, we presumed, they had picked up from
passing Arab or Swahili safaris. Kinuthia bade us adieu and returned
to his own village the other side of the Sagana, having received from
us a suitable present of beads, etc., to gladden his heart, or rather
the hearts of his wives.
Large quantities of food then began to arrive, and we decided to
stop where we were for a day or two, and buy at least ten days’
rations for the men, before resuming our journey northwards. We
retired that night a great deal easier in our minds about the
commissariat than we had been for some days.
Next morning the camp was fairly buzzing with natives of all ages
and both sexes. Most of them had brought food to sell, but many of
them came merely to look at us. Not that we were much to look at; in
any civilized community we should have run a great risk of being
arrested as vagrants and suspicious characters. El Hakim and
George both wore embryo beards, and our appearance generally
was rather that of tramps than otherwise. El Hakim had a great
affection for a pair of moleskin trousers and a leather jacket, both of
which had seen much service. His hat, too, had known better days;
but it was an idiosyncrasy of his to wear his clothes on safari work till
they were absolutely beyond further mending and patching. On one
occasion he was reported to have tramped about the Lykipia plateau
for months, clad only in a coloured cloth and a pair of brown boots,
with a towel twisted round his head turban-wise, he having lost his
only hat. I can vouch for the comfort of such a dress in a good
climate such as obtains on the Waso Nyiro, as I tried the experiment
myself.
THE CAMP AT MARANGA.
BUYING FOOD AT MARANGA. (See page 54.)
As soon as we had breakfasted, we went about the important

business of marketing. Maranga, as is Kikuyu generally, is
extraordinarily rich and fertile. All kinds of grain are exceedingly
plentiful. Among those brought to us for sale were millet (Panicum
Italicum), called by the natives “metama;” Pennisetum spicatum,
known as “mwele,” a seed resembling linseed, which grows on a
close spike like a bulrush flower; Eleusine corocana, known as
“uimbe;” and “muhindi,” or “dhurra” (maize). A large variety of edible
roots is also cultivated, the most common being “viazi” (sweet
potatoes), “vikwer” (yams), and “mahogo” (manioc). Sugar-cane was
very largely grown, and is known to the natives as “mewa.” The
stalks of metama, which are called “kota,” are also chewed by the
natives on account of the sweetish sap. The half-grown stalks of the
same plant are known as “metama m’tindi.” “N’dizi” (bananas) are
also extensively cultivated, but we never ate any, as they are never
allowed to ripen. The natives pluck them while they are green and
hard, and roast them in hot ashes. When cooked they have the
appearance and taste of a floury potato, though with a slightly
astringent flavour. Wild honey was procurable in moderate
quantities. It is called “assala,” evidently derived from the Arabic
word for the same substance, “assal.” The Masai name for honey is
“naischu,” the word generally used in Kikuyu. At certain seasons of
the year the staple diet of the natives is “kundu” (beans), of which we
saw two varieties, viz. “maragua,” a small white bean like a haricot,
and “baazi,” a black bean which grows in pods on a small tree like a
laburnum. They also grow several kinds of gourds, named
respectively “mumunye,” which resembles a vegetable marrow in
size and appearance, “kitoma,” a small, round kind, and “tikiti,” a
small water-melon. It will be observed that we did not lack variety.
We bought large quantities of m’wele, which our Swahilis at first
refused to eat: they said it was “chickens’ food.” They knew better
afterwards. We also procured some “mazewa” (fresh milk) for
ourselves. Food was comparatively cheap. A “makono” of cloth or a
handful of beads bought several “kibabas” of grain or beans. A
kibaba equals about a pint. The term “makono” (meaning, literally, a
hand) is applied to the measure of the forearm from the tip of the
elbow to the end of the second finger, generally about eighteen
inches. Four makono equal one “doti” (about two yards), and twenty-
five yards or so make a “jora” or “piece” of cloth.
The beads most in demand were the small red Masai beads
known as “sem-sem.” We did not part with any wire, as we wanted it
for the districts farther north.
George and I went out in the forenoon to try and shoot hippo in the
Sagana, which was only an hour’s walk from the camp. On reaching
a likely pool, I sat down on the bank to watch. George had turned
very sick again on the way, and laid down under a shady tree. I shot
two hippo in the water, but they sank, and though I sent men down
the river to watch the shallows, I never saw any more of them.
There were a lot of guinea-fowl about, so I sent back to camp for
my shot-gun. George was feeling so queer that he went back also.
When my gun arrived, I had a good time among the guinea-fowl,
securing eight in an hour or so. I also got a partridge, which turned
up in a—for it—inopportune moment.
When I got back to camp, I found that El Hakim had been highly
successful in his marketing, and had obtained a large quantity of
food, mostly mwele, muhindi, and some viazi. For our own
consumption we had laid in a stock of muhindi cobs, maragua
beans, and some butter. The butter was snow-white, but, being
made from curdled milk, was very acid and unpalatable.
The natives always drink their milk sour; they do not understand
our preference for fresh milk. Another thing that tends to make their
milk unpopular with European travellers is the dirty state of the
vessels it is kept in. They are made from gourds which have had the
inside cleaned out by the simple process of burning it out with hot
ashes, which gives the milk a nasty charred flavour. The finished
milk vessel is called a “kibuyu.” I have been told that they stir the
freshly drawn milk with a charred stick from the fire, to preserve it,
but I never saw it done. The Masai especially are very bad offenders
in this respect. The old women who milk the cows invariably wash
out the empty vessels with another fluid from the same animal,
certainly never intended by nature for that purpose. If the milk is
intended for sale to the “wasungu” (white men), it is more often than
not adulterated in the same nauseous manner.
We lunched on some of the guinea-fowl I had shot in the forenoon.
Ramathani somehow boiled them tender. Afterwards we held a
“shaurie” (council), at which old Manga and many of his elders
attended. We wanted all the information we could obtain about our
road northward, the districts we should have to pass through, and
the position of the various streams and camping-places.
We were smoking Egyptian cigarettes, a box of which we
numbered among our most precious possessions, and it was rather
a nuisance to have to pass a freshly lighted cigarette round the circle
of natives squatted in front of El Hakim’s tent for each to take a whiff.
They could not properly appreciate them, and it seemed to me very
much like casting pearls before swine. In addition, when the cigarette
was returned, the end was chewed about, and a good smoke
thereby spoiled. If we lit another, the same process was repeated.
The native gentlemen called it etiquette. I considered it downright
sinful waste, an opinion in which El Hakim evidently concurred, as,
after we had had several cigarettes spoiled in this provoking manner,
he turned to me and said, “Get out your box of ‘stinkers,’ Hardwick,
and let’s try the old gentlemen with those.”
I thought it was a splendid idea, so I brought out two of them, and,
lighting one myself, handed the other to old Manga. He glanced at it
suspiciously, turning it over and over in his grimy paws. He had
apparently never seen a cigar before, but seeing me smoking a
similar specimen, he at last ventured to light it. It seemed to grate on
him a little, but he said nothing, and puffed stolidly away for a
moment or two, though I could see his powers of self-control were
being exerted to the utmost. After a game struggle the cigar scored a
distinct success, and Manga, deliberately passing it on to the elder
on his right, rose slowly, and, stalking with great dignity out of camp,
disappeared behind a clump of bushes.
The old man to whom he handed it gazed wonderingly after him
for a moment, then, placing the fatal weed between his aged lips, he
took a long pull and inhaled the smoke. A startled look appeared in
his dim old eyes, and he threw a quick glance in my direction; but I
was calmly puffing away at mine, so he said nothing either, and took
another whiff. In a few short moments he in his turn was vanquished,
and, handing the cigar to his next neighbour, retired with great
dignity to the clump of bushes, where he and old Manga offered up
sacrifices to the goddess Nicotina with an unanimity that was as
surprising as it was novel.
It was only with the very greatest difficulty that we managed to
control our risible faculties. We were inwardly convulsed with
laughter at the facial expressions of the old gentlemen before and
after tasting the fearsome weed. The looks of delighted, though
timorous, anticipation, the startled realization, and the agonized
retrospection, which in turn were portrayed on the usually blank and
uninteresting countenances of Manga’s Ministers of State, was a
study in expression that was simply killing. One by one they tasted it;
one by one they retired to the friendly clump of bushes that
concealed their exaltation from prying eyes; and one by one they
returned red-eyed and shaky, and resumed their places, inwardly
quaking, though outwardly unmoved.
We also had to get up and go away, but not for the same purpose.
If we had not gone away and laughed, we should have had a fit or
burst a blood-vessel. It was altogether too rich. We returned red-
eyed and weary also, and I believe that the old gentlemen thought
that we had been up to the same performance as themselves,
though they could not understand how I resumed my cigar on my
reappearance, and continued smoking with unruffled serenity. I
made a point of finishing my smoke to the last half-inch, and all
through the “shaurie” that succeeded I became aware that I was the
recipient of covert glances of admiration, not unmixed with envy,
from the various members of that little band of heroic sufferers in the
cause of etiquette.
When the “shaurie” was at length resumed, we gained a lot of
interesting information. We found that the people who had attacked
Finlay and Gibbons were the Wa’M’bu, who live two days’ journey to
the north of Maranga, on the south-east slopes of Mount Kenia. They
had a very bad reputation. The Maranga people spoke of them with
bated breath, and remarked that they were “bad, very bad,” and that
if we went through their country we should certainly be killed.
Jamah Mahomet’s safari, numbering nearly 100 guns, had refused
to go through M’bu, and had turned off to the west from Maranga, to
go round the west side of Mount Kenia and thence northward to
Limeru, as the district north-east of Kenia is called by the Swahilis.
There are many different peoples between Maranga and M’thara,
the most northerly inhabited country, though they are all A’kikuyu in
blood. Beyond M’thara the desert stretches away to southern
Somaliland and Abyssinia, with Lake Rudolph in the foreground
about twelve days’ march north-west of M’thara.
The Maranga elders entreated us very urgently to go round west
of Kenia by the same route as Jamah Mahomet and Co., but we did
not see things in the same light at all. We were three white men with
twenty-five guns; and, as El Hakim observed, we were “not to be
turned from our path and our plans disarranged by a pack of howling
savages, however bad a reputation they might have”—a decision we
conveyed to our Maranga friends forthwith. They heard it with much
raising of hands and rolling of eyes, and clearly regarded us as
persons of unsound mind, who really ought to be kept in
confinement; but still, they said, if we were determined to court a
premature end in M’bu, why, they would do all in their power to help
us—an ambiguity we indulgently excused in consideration of the
evident sincerity of their wish to advise us for our good.
We were informed that all the people northward were “kali sana”
(very fierce), and we should do well to use the utmost precaution in
passing through the various districts—a piece of advice we did not
intend to disregard. To go round the other way meant quite a
fortnight more on the road to M’thara, in addition to which El Hakim
was very anxious to see Mount Kenia from the east side, as, indeed,
were we all, as no white men that we knew of had been round that
way before. Perhaps the fact that the Somalis funked the M’bu route
had something to do with our decision also.
We gathered what information we could of the topography of M’bu
and the adjacent countries, which afterwards proved exceedingly
useful. We packed up our goods and chattels, and made our
preparations for a start on the morrow. One of our men, Hamisi, had
a severe attack of dysentery, and we made arrangements with the
old Manga to leave him behind with enough cloth for his keep for
some months. Manga’s son Koranja and some of the old men
signified their intention of accompanying us part of the way. It
appeared that for two days’ journey we should be among friendly
tribes. After that, the Wa’M’bu!
We started the following morning as soon as Koranja appeared.
The country was extraordinarily rich and fertile. The soil is bright red,
and produces, in conjunction with the constant moisture, a practically
unlimited food-supply. The ground was very hilly and well watered—
too well watered for our comfort. There were no large trees, but the
undergrowth was very rank and dense. We saw large quantities of
the castor-oil plant (Ricinus communis) growing wild. The natives
press the dark-coloured oil from the seeds and smear their bodies
with it.
Several times on that morning’s march we saw Koranja, who was
leading, dart hurriedly to one side, and, leaving the path, plunge into
the undergrowth, making a devious détour round something,
followed, of course, by the safari. We asked the reason of his
strange conduct, and the answer more than satisfied us. It was the
single word “ndui” (small-pox). We passed quite half a dozen villages
which were entirely depopulated by the scourge. Now and again we
saw a solitary emaciated figure, covered with small-pox pustules,
crouching on the side of the path, watching us with an uninterested
and vacant stare. On a shout from Koranja and a threatening motion
of his spear, it would slink mournfully away into the deeper recesses
of the jungle.
We reached a small clearing about midday, and camped. We were
unable to build a boma round the camp, owing to the absence of
thorn trees, or any reliable substitute; so that we were in a measure
defenceless against a sudden attack. Large numbers of armed
natives soon put in appearance, and swaggered in and out with
great freedom, and even insolence. We cleared them out politely, but
firmly, and they then congregated outside and discussed us. They
talked peacefully enough, but it was more like the peaceful singing of
a kettle before it boils over. We ate our lunch, and retired to our
tents. George and I went to our own tent, and, taking off our boots,
laid down on our blankets for a quiet smoke. Our men seemed very
much upset by the stories they had heard in Maranga concerning the
warlike qualities of the Wa’M’bu, and their condition could only be
described as “jumpy.” To put it plainly, they were in a pitiable state of
fright, and needed careful handling, if we were to avoid trouble with
the natives through their indiscretion; as trouble would come quite
soon enough of its own accord without that.
GROUP OF A’KIKUYU.
To resume, George and I had lain down, perhaps, half an hour,

and were quite comfortable and half asleep, when a terrific
altercation caused us to jump up and rush outside. We were just in
time to assist El Hakim in forcibly disarming our men. Some of them
were placing cartridges in the breeches of their rifles; a few yards
away a vast crowd of natives were frantically brandishing their
spears and clubs and yelling like demons. If a shot had been fired,
we should have been in rather a tight place, for, as I have said, the
camp was quite open, and practically defenceless. If the A’kikuyu
had rushed us, then the chances are that another fatality would have
been added to Africa’s already long list. As it was, by much shouting
and punching, we induced our excited and frightened men to put
down their weapons in time, and so regained control over them.
Koranja, shaking visibly, went up to the Kikuyu chief and smoothed
matters down, after which mutual explanations ensued. It appeared
that an M’kikuyu warrior had indulged too freely in “tembo” (native
beer), and had run amuck through our camp. Our men, in their
already fidgety state, jumped to the conclusion that they were being
attacked, seized their rifles, and were about to use them, when our
timely appearance on the scene prevented a very pretty butchery.
The natives professed to be very sorry for what had occurred, and,
seizing their drunken companion, hurried him away, and peace, if not
harmony, was restored.
We did not trust them, however, as they seemed very sullen over
the whole business. Koranja was also very nervous, and showed it,
which did not tend to reassure our men. We ate our dinner at dusk,
to the accompaniment of howling and shouting from A’kikuyu
concealed in the surrounding bush. We doubled the guard at
sundown, just before we went to dinner, giving them the most
precise instructions in the event of an alarm. At the conclusion of the
meal we were startled by a volley from the sentries. The whole camp
was immediately alarmed, and symptoms of a panic manifested
themselves. We restored order with a little difficulty, and, on
investigation, found that the sentries had fired on some natives
skulking round in undue proximity to the camp.
We now made every preparation for attack, and made
arrangements for one or the other of us to be on guard all night. I
took the first watch from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m., and El Hakim the second
from 10 p.m. to 12 a.m.; but everything remained quiet, and El
Hakim did not think it necessary to call George at midnight, the rest
of the night proving uneventful, with the exception that our fox-terrier
gave birth to six puppies, of which she seemed very proud.
At daylight we struck camp, and were away before the sun was
fairly up. The country was much the same as on the day before,
though, if anything, the jungle was more dense. The shambas were
filled to overflowing with unripe muhindi and pumpkins, while sweet
potatoes and beans were growing in great profusion on every side.
Travelling in the early morning was decidedly unpleasant, as the dew
collected on the shrubbery was shaken down upon us in showers,
wetting us through to the skin. We crossed two or three small rivers,
and at midday reached and camped at a place called Materu.
The chief soon put in an appearance, and we purchased a further
supply of food, in the shape of potatoes, beans, muhindi, and a little
honey. We also obtained further information of the road through the
notorious M’bu country which, I must confess, did not seem to have
any better reputation the nearer we approached it.
Our Maranga friends, under Koranja, appeared very frightened at
their close proximity to the dreaded Wa’M’bu, and intimated their
intention of returning to Maranga. We answered that they might go
when we gave them permission, but for the present we required their
services; with which answer they had perforce to be content.
The next morning we again travelled through much the same
densely populated and cultivated country as that hitherto passed,
though it seemed to get more mountainous. We had not as yet got a
view of Mount Kenia, as the sky had been for days covered with a
thick curtain of grey clouds. Koranja informed us that two hours after
starting we should reach a river called “Shelangow,” which was the
boundary of M’bu. We said the sooner the better.
At midday, after some hours’ steady march, we appeared to be as
far from the “Shelangow” as ever, though we had been informed that
it was “huko mbeli kidogo” (only just in front) for over three hours. As
the men were very tired, El Hakim decided to camp, in spite of
Koranja’s energetic protests that the Shelangow was “karibu
kabissa” (very near). The country was very wet with the constant
drizzle and mist, which made the steep clayey paths exceedingly
slippery, while between the shambas the way led through thickets of
brambles and stinging nettles, which caused the porters endless
discomfort. On halting, we built a boma of shrubs; not that we
thought it would be of any use in case of an attack, but to give the
men confidence. We wrote letters and gave them to Koranja, on the
remote chance that they would get down to Nairobi, and thence to
England. (They did get down four months later, and were delivered in
England five months after they were written.)
In the evening Koranja and his friends then bade us an
affectionate and relieved farewell. They remarked in parenthesis that
they would never see us again, as the Wa’M’bu would certainly kill
us all; a belief that probably explained why they helped themselves
to all our small private stock of sweet potatoes before they left; a
moral lapse that—luckily for them—we did not discover till next
morning. Our men sent a deputation to us during the evening,
pointing out the perils of the passage through M’bu, and saying that
we should of a certainty be killed, and most likely eaten. This
statement we received with polite incredulity, and dismissed the
deputation with a warning not to do it again.
Next morning I was very queer, a large lump having formed in my
groin. This is a very common complaint in East Africa and Uganda,
supposedly due to over-fatigue and walking, though I think climate
and diet have something to do with it. George had two very bad ones
on his way down from Uganda. It was my second experience of
them, and the oftener I suffered from them, the less I liked them, as
they are exceedingly painful. The only cure seems to be complete
rest, and hot fomentations applied to the swelling.
We did not travel that day in consequence, but occupied ourselves
in buying a little food and getting what further information we could
about the road ahead. There were not many natives or villages about
—a fact easily explained by the contiguity of the M’bu border. The
place where we were camped was a sort of neutral territory, or “no
man’s land.”
Next day, soon after daylight, we set out for the Shelangow, which
was reached after a couple of hours’ march over very steep country.
It proved to be merely a mountain torrent, which we easily crossed.
On the other side rose a very steep hill, to the top of which we
climbed, and found ourselves at last in the country of the dreaded
Wa’M’bu.
CHAPTER IV.
FROM M’BU, ACROSS EAST KENIA, TO ZURA.
First sight of Kenia—Hostile demonstrations by the M’bu people—We

impress two guides—Passage through M’bu—Demonstrations in
force by the inhabitants—Farewell to M’bu—The guides desert—
Arrival in Zuka—Friendly reception by the Wa’zuka—Passage
through Zuka—Muimbe—Igani—Moravi—Arrival at Zura—
Welcome by Dirito, the chief of Zura.
In order that there should be no misunderstanding on the part of the
Wa’M’bu as to our calibre, El Hakim determined to pursue an
aggressive policy, without, however, committing any overt act. We
accordingly pitched our camp in the middle of one of their shambas,
and helped ourselves freely to anything we fancied in the way of
muhindi, etc. Their natural line of reasoning would be that a safari
which had the effrontery to act in that way must be very powerful,
and should therefore be approached with caution.
The result entirely justified our action; which was only what we
expected, as with bullying natives, might is always right.
No natives came into our camp—a bad sign, though we saw many
skulking round in the bush. They seemed very morose and sulky, but
so far showed no signs of active hostility. We put on a double guard
for the night, and went to sleep in our clothes; but we were not
disturbed.
We did not travel the following morning, as we were without
guides; and as no natives came into camp we resolved to capture
one on the first available opportunity. At sunrise we got our first
glimpse of Mount Kenia, and a wonderful view it was. Kenia is called
“Kilimaro” by the Swahilis, and “Donyo Ebor” (Black Mountain) and
“Donyo Egere” (Spotted Mountain) by the Masai; so called because
of the large black patches on the main peak, where the sides are too
precipitous for the snow to lodge.
Thompson[2] describes his first impressions of Kenia thus:—
“As pious Moslems watch with strained eyes the appearance of
the new moon or the setting of the sun, to begin their orisons, so we
now waited for the uplifting of the fleecy veil, to render due homage
to the heaven-piercing Kenia. The sun set in the western heavens,
and sorrowfully we were about to turn away, when suddenly there
was a break in the clouds far up in the sky, and the next moment a
dazzling white pinnacle caught the last rays of the sun, and shone
with a beauty, marvellous, spirit-like, and divine; cut off, as it
apparently was, by immeasurable distance from all connection with
the gross earth. The sun’s rays went off, and then, with a softness
like the atmosphere of dreams, which befitted the gloaming, that
white peak remained as though some fair spirit with subdued and
chastened expression lingered at her evening devotions. Presently,
as the garish light of day melted into the soft hues and mild
effulgence of a moon-lit night, the ‘heaven-kissing’ mountain became
gradually disrobed; and then in its severe outlines and chaste beauty
it stood forth from top to bottom, entrancing, awe-inspiring—meet
reward for days of maddening worry and nights of sleepless anxiety.
At that moment I could almost feel that Kenia was to me what the
sacred stone of Mecca is to the Faithful, who have wandered from
distant lands, surmounting perils and hardships, that they might but
kiss or see the hallowed object, and then, if it were God’s will, die.”
While I am unable to rise to the dizzy heights of rhetorical
description, or revel in the boundless fields of metaphor so
successfully exploited by Mr. Thompson, I fully endorse his remarks.
The first sight of Kenia does produce a remarkable impression on
the traveller; an impression which does not—one is surprised to find
—wear off with time. Kenia, like a clever woman, is chary of
exhibiting her manifold charms too often to the vulgar gaze. One can
live at the base of the mountain for weeks, or even months, and
never get a glimpse of its magnificent peak.
We, however, could not stop to romance, as the enemy were even
now clamouring without our gates; and we were reluctantly
compelled to turn our wandering attention to a more serious
business. It appeared quite within the bounds of possibility that we
should “die” without even “kissing” the “hallowed object” so ably
eulogized by Mr. Thompson; as the irreverent Wa’M’bu were making
hostile demonstrations in the thick bush surrounding our camp,
regardless of our æsthetic yearnings. They were apparently trying
our temper by means of a demonstration in force, and such awful
howlings as they made I never previously heard.
Our men became very nervous, and fidgeted constantly with their
guns, looking with strained gaze into the bush without the camp. El
Hakim was, as usual, quite undisturbed, and George and I
succeeded in keeping up an appearance of impassive calm, and
condescended even to make jokes about the noise, an attitude
which went a long way towards reassuring our men, who watched us
constantly. Any sign of nervousness or anxiety on our part would
have been fatal, as the men would have instantly scattered and run
for the border, with a result easily foreseen.
The morning passed in this manner, the Wa’M’bu continuing their
howling, while we went through our ordinary camp routine with as
much nonchalance as we could command.
We had lately lived largely upon vegetables, and now determined
to give ourselves a treat, so we cooked our only ham, and made an
excellent lunch on ham and boiled muhindi cobs. During the meal
the war-cries of the Wa’M’bu increased in volume, and our men were
plainly very much disturbed. They kept looking in our direction as if
for orders; while we appeared as if utterly unaware that anything
untoward was happening.
Presently Jumbi came up with his rifle at the shoulder, and
saluting, stood a yard or so away from the table. El Hakim was busily
eating, and studiously ignored him for a moment or two. Presently he
looked up.
“Yes?” he said inquiringly.
Jumbi saluted again. “The ‘Washenzi,’ Bwana!” said he.
“Well?” interrogated El Hakim again.
“They are coming to attack us, Bwana, on this side and on that
side,” said Jumbi, indicating with a sweep of his arm the front and
rear of the camp.
“All right,” said El Hakim, “I will see about it after lunch; I am eating
now. You can go.”
And Jumbi, saluting once more, went off to where the men were
nervously waiting. His account of the interview, we could see,
reassured them greatly. They concluded the “Wasungu” must have
something good up their sleeve to be able to take matters so calmly.
At the conclusion of the meal we instructed our men to shout to
the enemy and ask them as insolently as possible if they wanted to
fight. There was a sudden silence on the part of the Wa’M’bu when
they realized the purport of the words; but in a little time a single
voice answered, “Kutire kimandaga” (We do not want to fight). We
then invited their chief to come into camp, an invitation he seemed
very slow to accept, but after long hesitation he mustered up
sufficient courage, and walked slowly into camp, accompanied by
one other old man.
He was a fine-looking, grey-haired old chap, and carried himself
with great dignity. Negotiations were opened with a few strings of
beads, which after a moment’s indecision he accepted. We then
talked to him gently, but firmly, and asked the reason of the
unseemly noise outside.
“Do you want to fight?” we asked aggressively.
He replied that the old men did not want to fight, but the young
men did.
“Very well,” we said, still more aggressively, “go away and tell the
young men to come on and fight us at once, and let us get it over.”
He then added that the young men did not want to fight either.
This was our opportunity, and, seizing it, we talked very severely
to him, intimating that we were much annoyed at the noise that had
been made. We did not consider it at all friendly, we said, and if there
were any more of it, we should not wait for the young men to come
to us, we should go to them and put a stop to their howling.

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French Rule in the States of Parma,

1796-1814: Working with Napoleon

French Rule in the

Doina Pasca Harsanyi

More information about this series at

French Rule in the

ISSN 2634-6699 ISSN 2634-6702 (electronic)

Mount Pleasant, MI Doina Pasca Harsanyi

I am delighted to acknowledge at long last the many debts I incurred

I wish to thank Palgrave Macmillan’s anonymous reviewers for insight-

3 Parma and Bonaparte 31

4 From Duchies of Parma to States of Parma 53

5 Watershed: The Insurrection 77

6 Explanatory Narratives: Brigandage107

8 Order into Chaos163

9 Wooing the Elites195

11 The End of the Road: Conclusions241

AMAE Archives du Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, Paris

In December 1805, a violent insurrection broke out in mountain villages

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

Bonaparte launched the First Italian campaign, Parma was undergoing a

Modernization approaches tend to focus on the good.4 Early monographs

­istoriography review, innovative methodologies greatly enriched our

215–250 (217–218). Englund referred to Stuart Woolf, Napoleon’s integration of Europe

the centralized, scientific, secular, bureaucratic, that is, modern, model of

position on the Napoleonic chessboard, which, however, also accounts for

this made the administrative machinery more intelligible and easier

Bonaparte ignored the duchies’ neutrality and redistributed parts of

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 9

Ralliement Avant la Lettre

engineering’.7 Vast as the programme was, the prime minister treaded

Administration, Legislation and Tax Collection

commissioners, ran every commune, large or small, and reported to the

favourite tactic, attuned to the encyclopaedic spirit of the times: carefully

Agriculture and Industry

reform did not go further than occasional experiments undertaken, on

Parma), founded in 1760 to coordinate further excavations at Veleia, and

The University of Parma

place: educating Ferdinand, future ruler of the duchies and son of Du

The Education of the Infant

d’Alembert on 17 November 1760: ‘It seems that the Parmense Infant is

educational project came to nothing. As soon as he reached majority and

Dashed Hopes and the End of Reforms

reproach, as did Ferdinand’s other guardian, the king of Spain.37 Louis XV

on the night of 19 November 1771; his most prestigious French associates

Parma and Bonaparte

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 31

Duke Ferdinand followed the French Revolution closely. He was excep-

We reach and cross the Tana—Maranga—The abundance of food

As soon as we had breakfasted, we went about the important

To resume, George and I had lain down, perhaps, half an hour,

First sight of Kenia—Hostile demonstrations by the M’bu people—We

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Mount Pleasant, MI Doina Pasca Harsanyi

3 Parma and Bonaparte 31

4 From Duchies of Parma to States of Parma 53

5 Watershed: The Insurrection 77

6 Explanatory Narratives: Brigandage107

8 Order into Chaos163

9 Wooing the Elites195

11 The End of the Road: Conclusions241

istoriography review, innovative methodologies greatly enriched our