The Austrian army, in its retreat from Lodi, had taken up the line of the Mincio, its left at Mantua and its right at Peschiera, a city belonging to Venice. This violation of neutral ground by Beaulieu gave Napoleon an excuse, and he seized upon the Venetian town of Brescia. He proclaimed his purpose to do nothing against Venice, to preserve strict discipline, and to pay for whatever he might take. Pursuing his march, he again deceived the aged Beaulieu as to the place where he meant to cross the river; and he was over the Mincio before the Austrians could mass sufficient troops to make any considerable resistance. On the other side of the river, Napoleon, in passing with a small escort from the division of Augereau to that of Masséna, narrowly missed falling into the hands of an Austrian corps which was hastening up the river to join Beaulieu. Napoleon, after having ridden some distance with Augereau, had returned to Valeggio, where he stopped to get a foot-bath to relieve a headache. At this moment the light cavalry of the enemy dashed into the village. There was barely time to sound the alarm, close the gates of the carriage-way, and to post the escort to defend the place. Napoleon ran out the back way with only one boot on, made his escape through the garden, jumped on his horse, and galloped as hard as he could to Masséna, whose troops, near by, were cooking their dinner. Masséna promptly aroused his men, rushed them against the enemy--and then it was the turn of the Austrians to run. The danger which he had incurred caused Napoleon to form a personal guard for his own protection. Called by the modest name of _Guides_ at first, the force swelled in numbers and importance until it became the immortal Imperial Guard. Its commander was Bessières, a young officer of humble birth, who had attracted Napoleon’s notice during the campaign by his coolness and courage. He became Marshal of France and Duke of Istria. In the fighting which took place at Borghetta, the cavalry began to show its capacity for achieving brilliant results. It was young Murat, the innkeeper’s son, who inspired, led it, and impetuously fought it. A finer cavalier never sat a horse. A better leader of cavalry never headed a charge. It was a sight to see him,--brilliantly dressed, superbly mounted, on fire with the ardor of battle, leading his magnificent squadrons to the charge. Even Napoleon thrilled with unwonted admiration in looking upon Murat in battle. “Had I been at Waterloo,” said Murat, the outcast, in 1815, with a flash of his old pride, “the day had been ours.” And the sad, lonely man of St. Helena assented:-- “It is probable. There were turning-points in that battle when such a diversion as Murat could have made might have been decisive.”