No matter the egalitarian or fraternal ideals of the Revolution, the young general knew that the men in the ranks still stood in awe of the mounted, of those who could master a horse. A short fellow, as the general was, could loom over even the tallest of his hoary grenadiers. First impressions were important.

Instead of forcing the troops to churn the mud of the camp in order to pass his reviewing stand, their new general went to them, clattering from unit to unit, sabre-chains and bitt-chains jingling. And in most of the demi-brigades and battalions he saw, those that had served at Toulon-in his batteries on the south side of the harbour, or in the midnight charge in the rain upon L'Eguillettes Fort, where his 2,000 reserves had rallied old General Dugommier s 5,000 after they'd broken, and had conquered-he found familiar faces. And with his encyclopaedic memory, he came up with names and ranks to match those faces, and old japes to dredge up in comradely bonhomie.

He left a sea of smiles behind in every unit, those veterans he'd called to by name standing prouder among their fellows.

"Soldiers of France!" he called, once he'd completed the review and taken a stance atop a pile of boulders near the edge of the parade ground. "Soldiers of the Army of Italy… hear me! You are hungry. You are shoeless, ragged and tired. You have not the price of bread, meat or wine, and your pay is in arrears. And that is in assignats, not coin. Soon the Piedmontese, the Austrians, maybe even the 'Bloodies,' the English, will come against you. They intend to beat you. They still mean to defeat you, and with you… la belle France, and our Revolution! Then grind our nation into the dirt, and impose their kings and princes over us once again! Our foes are implacable. Therefore, so must you be. So must we all be!