Rumors of Retreat
The French operation in Venice was carried out with utmost secrecy. French agents began by spreading idle gossip throughout the city.
"Did you hear? They're saying France is pulling out."
"Really? Who said that?"
"Mario from Treviso."
"There are a dozen Marios in Treviso."
In an era where communication was underdeveloped and verification nearly impossible, once a rumor took hold, correcting it was an uphill battle.
"I think it was the Luigi brothers from Spineta. They said the supply lines are too stretched, so they're shortening the front."
"Makes sense. Last week when I was in Milan, I remember the French quartermasters saying they'd love it if the lines pulled back to the Po River."
These hard-to-disprove rumors hopped from person to person, growing bulkier with each retelling. A rumor's size swelled with the attention it received.
"Mom, what's 'withdrawal'?"
"Withdrawal? Where'd you hear such a big word?"
"From those drunk French uncles over there."
Modern times or old, rumors sprouted and withered by the dozens every day. People consumed them thoughtlessly.
"Signora Chiara! Did you hear? France is withdrawing!"
"Heavens. If only they'd hold the line to our city..."
In taverns, idle chatter, casual gossip to kill time. Fleeting buzz that faded with waning interest. Even if exposed as false, folks shrugged it off: Oh yeah, that was a thing.
"Mister, I spread the word like you asked."
"Good lad. Here's one sol for you."
"Whoa! Thanks, mister!"
But rumors, past or present, always had intent behind them. Where there's no smoke, there's no fire.
Rumor. Someone had to start it for it to float.
"Public sentiment has soured lately. Especially since we made contact with Austria—the whispers of a French pullout have started."
"Tch. Traitors in the Senate, no doubt. Don't sweat the small stuff. Austria will win in the end."
Yet rumors lacked authority. Words without substance could vanish in a puff of indifference.
"This is France's withdrawal timetable. Gentlemen of Caffè Venezia, France has no reason to hold Udine. In fact, they're already dismantling the fortress there—everything but the eastern walls. Meanwhile, facilities in Ferrara, south of the Po, are expanding. They're installing a water system for 100,000 in some backwater Papal town!"
To lend substance to the gossip, French agents deployed props: a drunken quartermaster's ravings, forged papers disguised as pilfered from local customs. These spread like wildfire in coffeehouses and small salons.
"Supplies to Venice have dropped to a sixth. Troops up sixfold, supplies down to a sixth. They're trimming excess ahead of the pullout!"
Brigade compositions, headcounts, supply volumes, warehouse inventories—details screaming "classified" that lent the conspiracy real weight.
"Business is slow these days."
"Giuseppe, haven't you heard? The main French force is withdrawing to Tuscany."
As conspiracy edged into the fringes, the rumors crept into the realm of the plausible. Or rather, people's sense of normalcy shifted to accommodate them.
"That's bad news."
"Why? Isn't it just shortening the lines? Even in war, they won't touch civilians like us, right?"
"Now, now, young lady—you're too naive about politics. Come sit, Anna."
Soon, everyone had their own rationale for a French withdrawal.
"Why send reinforcements, secure garrisons, fortify cities... only to dismantle and retreat? Think of the cost."
"Huge, right? But supply lines are long—maybe they're economizing by pulling back."
"Anna, youth blinds you to politics. France isn't some minor power like Venice. Just their troops passing through revived northern Italy's economy."
These policy debates dragged even conspiracies into the mainstream. From absurd agitation to a plausible possibility.
"With the mood like this, Venice is doomed."
As pessimism spread, skilled artisans and professionals—who could find work anywhere—began fleeing. Royalists to Tuscany, devout to the Papal States, opportunists to Mantua and other small states. A few republicans to ideological homeland Austria, the true republic.
Merchants, moneylenders, blacksmiths, leatherworkers—high-value trades emptied out. Venice creaked at the seams overnight.
"Doge, February customs revenue has plummeted. Down 8% from last year."
"No matter. Minister of Administration, we follow France's will."
Yet nothing surfaced. Formally, Doge and the bulk of the Grand Council—his check—had sworn loyalty to France. The Council of Ten and hawks, pro-Austrians ignored the trivia, shielding French agents.
"This week's Austrian intel."
With bureaucrats handling drudgery in French hands, key info hid in piles of meaningless complaints like Venice's water quality gripes.
"Doge, orders from the homeland. The battlefield is the Tagliamento River. Udine garrison withdraws forward to join mainland reinforcements. We'll lure the enemy to Udine—evacuate it when war looms. We'll obliterate it with artillery."
They weren't blatant. To maintain collaborators' loyalty, they shared op-sec snippets.
"I'll table it next council. Under pretext of Austrian threat, we'll complete evacuation by August—no hitches."
This quid pro quo cemented Venetian loyalties. Not one-sided demands—it made collaborators feel vital: They share this because we matter.
"Udine's weak points here. That gate's always open—broken."
"Grateful for the Council of Venice's aid. Austria won't forget this grace."
Austria's republican revolutionaries trusted Venice blindly, unaware their secrets leaked. They had no choice. Geography boxed them: Carpathians, Sudetes, Alps sealed other fronts. Italy was prime battlefield.
"When this punitive war ends, we'll cede all Italy north of Rome to Venice."
But Austria wasn't desperate. They'd conquered the Balkans—larger than Habsburg lands—pre-revolution. Formally theirs, anyway.
"Ottomans hit south Italy, we take north."
Above all, the regime pushed an Ottoman alliance, trading indigestion territories like Montenegro, Macedonia.
"Ottomans attacking south Italy? Papal States safe, right?"
Naturally, Ottomans eyed Rome's conquest to bolster prestige. Revolutionaries knew, pushed anyway.
"Leave that to our regime. Papal lands shrink, but the Holy See stays untouched."
They believed they could rein in the Ottomans.
"...so they say."
"Fools in power starting what they can't handle."
Louis XVI scowled at the Austria-Ottoman pact.
"How fares the counter-denunciation?"
"Most nations side with France. Britain, German Customs Union, Russia—key powers signal military cooperation. Minor republics stay mum, but no real resistance."
"I see."
In his study, perusing National Intelligence Agency reports, Louis XVI pulled letters from a drawer. A few from luminaries like Adam Smith, most from the Pope. Entreaties for emperorship since 1779.
"Time to lift French spirits."
Louis XVI penned replies to letters ignored for a decade post-first response. Sixty-eight in total: polite refusals to sixty-seven urgings, one ambiguous acceptance.
"Date them sequentially—no overlaps. Two per week. If Ottomans seize Rome, skip to the sixty-eighth—deliver personally. Papal States must not stand intact."
Louis XVI erased Italy's borders on the map.