How strange is the life of the heart of man. From this interview,
Napoleon, two hours after his arrival in Paris with his whole soul
agitated by the tumult of domestic woe, went to the palace of the
Luxembourg, to visit the Directory, to form his plans for overthrow
the government of France. Pale, pensive, joyless, his inflexible
purposes of ambition wavered not--his iron energies yielded not.
Josephine was an idol. He execrated her and he adored her. He loved
her most passionately. He hated her most virulently. He could clasp
her one moment to his bosom with burning kisses; the next moment
he would spurn her from him with as the most loathsome wretch. But
glory was a still more cherished idol, at whose shrine he bowed with
unwavering adoration. He strove to forget his domestic wretchedness
by prosecuting, with new vigor, his schemes of grandeur. As he
ascended the stairs of the Luxembourg, some of the guard, who had
been with him in Italy, recognized his person, and he was instantly
greeted, with enthusiastic shouts. "Long live Bonaparte." The clamor
rolled like a voice of thunder through the spacious halls of the
palace, and fell, like a death knell, upon the ears of the Directors.
The populace upon the pavement, caught the sound and reechoed it
from street to street. The plays at the theatres, and the songs
at the Opera, were stopped, that it might be announced, from the
stage, that Bonaparte had arrived in Paris. Men, women, and children
simultaneously rose to their feet, and a wild burst of enthusiastic
joy swelled upon the night air. All Paris was in commotion. The
name of Bonaparte was upon every lip. The enthusiasm was contagious.
Illuminations began to blaze, here and there, without concert, from
the universal rejoicing, till the whole city was resplendent with
light. One bell rang forth its merry peal of greeting, and then
another, and another till every steeple was vocal with its clamorous
welcome. One gun was heard, rolling its heavy thunders over the
city. It was the signal for an instantaneous, tumultuous roar, from
artillery and musketry, from all the battalions in the metropolis.
The tidings of the great victories of Aboukir and Mount Tabor,
reached Paris with Napoleon. Those Oriental names were shouted
through the streets, and blazed upon the eyes of the delighted
people in letters of light. Thus in an hour the whole of Paris was
thrown into a delirium of joy, was displayed the most triumphant
and gorgeous festival.
The government of France was at the time organized somewhat upon
the model of that the United States. Instead of one President,
they have five, called Directors. Their Senate was called The House
of Ancients; their House of Representatives, The Council of Five
Hundred. The five Directors, as might have been expected, were
ever quarreling among themselves, each wishing for the lion's share
of power. The Monarchist, the Jacobin, and the moderate Republican
could not harmoniously co-operate in the government They only circumvented
each other, while the administration sank into disgrace and ruin.
The Abbe'Sieyes was decidedly the most able man of the Executive.
He was a proud patrician, and his character may be estimated from
the following anecdote, which Napoleon has related respecting him:
"The abbe, before the revolution, was chaplain to one of the
princesses. One day, when he was performing mass before herself,
her attendants, and a large congregation, something occurred which
rendered it necessary for the princess to leave the room. The
ladies in waiting and the nobility, who attended church more out
of complaisance to her than from any sense of religion followed
her example. Sieyes was very busy reading his prayers, and, for a
few moments, he did not perceive their departure. At last, raising
his eyes from his book, behold the princess, the nobles, and all
the ton had disappeared. With an air of displeasure and contempt
he shut the book, and descended from the pulpit, exclaiming, 'I do
not read prayers for the rabble.' He immediately went out of the
chapel, leaving the service half-finished."
Napoleon arrived in Paris on the evening of the 17th of October,
1799. Two days and two nights elapse ere Josephine was able to
retrace the weary leagues over which she had passed. It was the
hour of midnight on the 19th when the rattle of her carriage wheels
was heard entering the court-yard of their dwelling in the Rue
Chanteraine. Eugene, anxiously awaiting her arrival, was instantly
at his mother's side, folding her in his embrace. Napoleon also
heard the arrival, but he remained sternly in his chamber. He had
ever been accustomed to greet Josephine at the door of her carriage,
even when she returned from an ordinary morning ride. No matter what
employments engrossed his mind, no matter what guest were present,
he would immediately leave every thing, and hasten to the door to
assist Josephine to alight and to accompany her into the house. But
now, after an absence of eighteen months, the faithful Josephine,
half-dead with exhaustion, was at the door, and Napoleon, with
pallid check and compressed lip, and jealousy rankling in his bosom,
remained sternly in his room, preparing to overwhelm her with his
indignation.
Josephine was in a state of terrible agitation. Her limbs tottered
and her heart throbbed most violently. Assisted by Eugene, and
accompanied by Hortense, she tremblingly ascended the stairs to the
little parlor where she had so often received the caresses of her
most affectionate spouse. She opened the door. There stood Napoleon,
as immovable as a statue, leaning against the mantle, with his arms
folded across his breast. Sternly and silently, he cast a withering
look upon Josephine, and then exclaimed in tones, which, like
a dagger pierced her heart "Madame! It is my wish that you retire
immediately to Malmaison."
Josephine staggered and would have fallen, as if struck by a mortal
blow, had she not been caught in the arms of her son. Sobbing bitterly
with anguish, she was conveyed by Eugene to her own apartment.
Napoleon also was dreadfully agitated. The sight of Josephine had
revived all his passionate love. But he fully believed that Josephine
had unpardonably trifled with his affections, that she had courted
the admiration of a multitude of flatterers, and that she had degraded
herself and her husband by playing the coquette. The proud spirit
of Napoleon could not brook such a requital for his fervid love.
With hasty strides he traversed the room, striving to nourish his
indignation. The sobs of Josephine had deeply moved him. He yearned
to fold her again in fond love to his heart. But he proudly resolved
that he would not relent. Josephine, with that prompt obedience
which ever characterized her, prepared immediately to comply with his
orders. It was midnight. For a week she had lived in her carriage
almost without food or sleep. Malmaison was thirty miles from
Paris. Napoleon did not suppose that she would leave the house until
morning. Much to his surprise, in a few moments he heard Josephine,
Eugene, and Hortense descending the stairs to take the carriage.
Napoleon, even in his anger, could not be thus inhuman. "My heart,"
he said, "was never formed to witness tears without emotion." He
immediately descended to the court-yard, though his pride would
not yet allow him to speak to Josephine. He, however, addressing
Eugene, urged the party to return and obtain refreshment and repose.
Josephine, all submission, unhesitatingly yielded to his wishes,
and re-ascending the stairs, in the extremity of exhaustion and
grief, threw herself upon a couch, in her apartment. Napoleon,
equally wretched, returned to his cabinet. Two days of utter misery
passed away, during which no intercourse took place between the
estranged parties, each of whom loved the other with almost superhuman
intensity.
Love in the heart will finally triumph over all obstructions. The
struggle was long, but gradually pride and passion yielded, and
love regained the ascendency. Napoleon so far surrendered on the
third day, as to enter the apartment of Josephine. She was seated at
a toilet-table, her face buried in her hands, and absorbed in the
profoundest woe. The letters, which she had received from Napoleon,
and which she had evidently been reading, were spread upon the
table. Hortense the picture of grief and despair, was standing in
the alcove of a window. Napoleon had opened the door softly, and
his entrance had not been heard. With an irresolute step he advanced
toward his wife, and then said, kindly and sadly, "Josephine!"
She started at the sound of that well-known voice, and raising her
swollen eyes, swimming in tears, mournfully exclaimed, "Monami"
--my friend . This was the term of endearment with which she had
invariably addressed her husband. It recalled a thousand delightful
reminiscences. Napoleon was vanquished. He extended his hand.
Josephine threw herself into his arms, pillowed her aching head
upon his bosom, and in the intensity of blended joy and anguish,
wept convulsively. A long explanation ensued. Napoleon became
satisfied that Josephine had been deeply wronged. The reconciliation
was cordial and entire, and was never again interrupted.
Napoleon now, with a stronger heart, turned to the accomplishment of
his designs to rescue France from anarchy. He was fully conscious
of his own ability to govern the nation. He knew that it was
the almost unanimous wish of the people that he should grasp the
reins of power. He was confident of their cordial co-operation in
any plans he might adopt. Still it was an enterprise of no small
difficulty to thrust the five Directors from their thrones, and to
get the control of the Council of Ancients and of The Five Hundred.
Never was a difficult achievement more adroitly and proudly
accomplished.
For many days Napoleon almost entirely secluded himself from
observation, affecting a studious avoidance of the public gaze. He
laid aside his military dress and assumed the peaceful costume of
the National Institute. Occasionally he wore a beautiful Turkish
sabre, suspended by a silk ribbon. This simple dress transported
the imagination of the beholder to Aboukir, Mount Tabor, and the
Pyramids. He studiously sought the society of literary men, and
devoted to them his attention. He invited distinguished men of
the Institute to dine with him, and avoiding political discussion,
conversed only upon literary and scientific subjects.
Moreau and Bernadotte were the two rival generals from whom Napoleon
had the most to fear. Two days after his arrival in Paris Napoleon
said to Bourrienne, "I believe that I shall have Bernadotte and Moreau
against me. But I do not fear Moreau. He is devoid of energy. He
prefers military to political power. We shall gain him by the promise
of a command. But Bernadotte has Moorish blood in his veins. He is
bold and enterprising. He does not like me, and I am certain that
he will oppose me. If he should become ambitious he will venture
anything. Besides, this fellow is not to be seduced. He is disinterested
and clever. But, after all, we have just arrived. We shall see."
Napoleon formed no conspiracy. He confided to no one his designs.
And yet, in his own solitary mind, relying entirely upon his own
capacious resources, he studied the state of affairs and he matured
his plans. Sieyes was the only one whose talents and influence
Napoleon feared. The abbe also looked with apprehension upon his
formidable rival. They stood aloof and eyed each other. Meeting
at a dinner party, each was too proud to make advances. Yet each
thought only of the other. Mutually exasperated, they separated
without having spoken. "Did you see that insolent little fellow?"
said Sieyes, "he would not even condescend to notice a member of
the government, who, if they had done right, would have caused him
to be shot." "What on earth," said Napoleon, "could have induced
them to put that priest in the Directory. He is sold to Prussia.
Unless you take care, he will deliver you up to that power." Napoleon
dined with Moreau, who afterward in hostility to Napoleon pointed
the guns of Russia against the columns of his countrymen. The
dinner party was at (Gohier's, one of the Directors. The following
interesting conversation took place between the rival generals.
When first introduced, they looked at each other a moment without
speaking, Napoleon, conscious of his own superiority, and solicitous
to gain the powerful co-operation of Moreau, made the first advances,
and, with great courtesy, expressed the earnest desire he felt to
make his acquaintance. "You have returned victorious from Egypt."
replied Moreau, "and I from Italy after a great defeat. It was the
month which General Joubert passed in Pairs after his marriage,
which caused our disasters. This gave the allies time to reduce
Mantua, and to bring up the force which besieged it to take a part
in the action. It is always the greater number which defeats the
less." "True," replied Napoleon, "it is always, the greater number
which beats the less" "And yet," said Gohier, "with small armies
you have frequently defeated large ones." "Even then," rejoined
Napoleon, "it was always the inferior force which was defeated by
the superior. When with a small body of men I was in the presence
of a large one, collecting my little band, I fell like lightning on
one of the wings of the hostile army, and defeated it. Profiting by
the disorder which such an event never failed to occasion in their
whole line, I repeated the attack, with similar success, in another
quarter, still with my whole force. I thus beat it in detail. The
general victory which was the result, was still an example of the
truth of the principle that the greater force defeats the lesser."
Napoleon, by those fascinations of mind and manner, which enabled
him to win to him whom he would, soon gained an ascendency over
Moreau. And when, two days after, in token of his regard, he sent
him a beautiful poniard set with diamonds, worth two thousand
dollars: the work was accomplished, and Moreau was ready to do his
bidding. Napoleon gave a small and very select dinner party. Gohier
was invited. The conversation turned on the turquoise used by the
Orientals to clasp their turbans. Napoleon, rising from the table
took from a private drawer, two very beautiful brooches, richly set
with those jewels. One he gave to Gohier, the other to his tried
friend Desaix. "It is a little toy," said he, "which we republicans
may give and receive without impropriety." The Director, flattered
by the delicacy of the compliment, and yet not repelled by any thing
assuming the grossness of a bribe, yielded his heart's homage to
Napoleon.
Republican France was surrounded by monarchies in arms against
her. Their hostility was so inveterate, and, from the very nature
of the case, so inevitable, that Napoleon thought that France should
ever be prepared for an attack, and that the military spirit should
be carefully fostered. Republican America, most happily, has no foe
to fear, and all her energies may be devoted to filling the land
with peace and plenty, But a republic in monarchical Europe must
sleep by the side of its guns. "Do you, really," said Napoleon,
to Gohier, in this interview, "advocate a general peace! You are
wrong. The Republic should never make but partial accommodations.
It should always contrive to have some war on hand to keep alive
the military spirit." We can, perhaps, find a little extenuation
for this remark, in its apparent necessity, and in the influences
of the martial ardor in which Napoleon from his very infancy had
been enveloped. Even now, it is to be feared that the time is far
distant ere the nations of the earth can learn war no more.
Lefebvre was commandant of the guard of the two legislative bodies.
His co-operation was important. Napoleon sent a special invitation
for an interview. "Lefebvre," said he, "will you, one of the pillars
of the Republic, suffer it to perish in the hands of these lawyers
? Join me and assist to save it." Taking from his own side the
beautiful Turkish scimitar which he wore, he passed the ribbon
over Lefebvre's neck, saying, "accept this sword, which I wore at
the battle of the Pyramids. I give it to you as a token of my esteem
and confidence." "Yes," replied Lefebvre, most highly gratified at
this signal mark of confidence and generosity, "let us throw the
lawyers into the river."
Napoleon soon had an interview with Bernadotte. "He confessed," said
Napoleon to Bourrienne, "that he thought us all lost. He spoke of
external enemies, of internal enemies, and, at that word he looked
steadily in my face. I also gave him a glance. But patience; the
pear will soon be ripe."
In this interview Napoleon inveighed against the violence and
lawlessness of the Jacobin club. "Your own brothers," Bernadotte
replied, "were the founders of that club. And yet you reproach me
with favoring its principles. It is to the instructions of some
one, I know not who , that we are to ascribe the agitation which
now prevails." "True, general," Napoleon replied, most vehemently,
"and I would rather live in the woods, than in a society which
presents no security against violence." This conversation only
strengthened the alienation already existing between them.
Bernadotte, though a brave and efficient officer, was a jealous
braggadocio. At the first interview between these two distinguished
men, when Napoleon was in command of the army of Italy, they
contemplated each other with mutual dislike. "I have seen a man,"
said Bernadotte, "of twenty-six or seven years of age, who assumes
the air of one of fifty; and he presages any thing but good to the
Republic." Napoleon summarily dismissed Bernadotte by saying, "he
has a French head and a Roman heart."
There were three political parties now dividing France, the old
royalist party, in favor of the restoration of the Bourbons; the
radical democrats, or Jacobins, with Barras at its head, supported
by the mob of Paris; and the moderate republicans led by Sieyes.
All these parties struggling together, and fearing each other, in
the midst of the general anarchy which prevailed, immediately paid
court to Napoleon, hoping to secure the support of his all-powerful
arm. Napoleon determined to co-operate with the moderate republicans.
The restoration of the Bourbons was not only out of the question,
but Napoleon had no more power to secure that result, than had
Washington to bring the United States into peaceful submission to
George III. "Had I joined the Jacobins," said Napoleon, "I should
have risked nothing. But after conquering with them, it would have
been necessary almost immediately, to conquer against them. A club
can not endure a permanent chief. It wants one for every successive
passion. Now to make use of a party one day, in order to attack
it the next, under whatever pretext it is done, is still an act of
treachery. It was inconsistent with my principles."
Sieyes, the head of the moderate republicans, and Napoleon soon
understood each other, and each admitted the necessity of co-operation.
The government was in a state of chaos. "Our salvation now demands,"
said the wily diplomatist, "both a head and a sword." Napoleon had
both. In one fortnight from the time when he landed at Frejus, "the
pear was ripe." The plan was all matured for the great conflict.
Napoleon, in solitary grandeur, kept his own counsel. He had
secured the cordial co-operation, the unquestioning obedience of
all his subordinates. Like the general upon the field of battle, he
was simply to give his orders, and columns marched, and squadrons
charged, and generals swept the field in unquestioning obedience.
Though he had determined to ride over and to destroy the existing
government, he wished to avail himself, so far as possible, of the
mysterious power of law, as a conqueror turns a captured battery
upon the foe from whom it had been wrested. Such a plot, so simple,
yet so bold and efficient, was never formed before. And no one,
but another Napoleon, will be able to execute another such again.
All Paris was in a state of intense excitement. Something great was
to be done. Napoleon was to do it. But nobody knew when, or what,
or how. All impatiently awaited orders. The majority of the Senate,
or Council of Ancients, conservative in its tendencies, and having
once seen, during the reign of terror, the horrors of Jacobin
domination, were ready, most obsequiously, to rally beneath the
banner of so resolute a leader as Napoleon. They were prepared,
without question, to pass any vote which he should propose. The House
of Representatives or Council of Five Hundred, more democratic in
its constitution, contained a large number of vulgar, ignorant,
and passionate demagogues, struggling to grasp the reins of power.
Carnot, whose co-operation Napoleon had entirely secured, was
President of the Senate. Lucien Bonaparte, the brother of Napoleon,
was Speaker of the House. The two bodies met in the palace of the
Tuileries. The constitution conferred upon the Council of Ancients,
the right to decide upon the place of meeting for both legislative
assemblies.
All the officers of the garrison in Paris, and all the distinguished
military men in the metropolis, had solicited the honor of
a presentation to Napoleon. Without any public announcement, each
one was privately informed that Napoleon would see him on the
morning of the 9th of November. All the regiments in the city had
also solicited the honor of a review by the distinguished conqueror.
They were also informed that Napoleon would review them early on
the morning of the 9th of November. The Council of Ancients was
called to convene at six o'clock on the morning of the same day.
The Council of Five Hundred were also to convene at 11 o'clock of
the same morning. This, the famous 18th of Brumaire, was the destined
day for the commencement of the great struggle. These appointments
were given in such a way as to attract no public attention. The
general-in-chief was thus silently arranging his forces for the
important conflict. To none did he reveal those combinations, by
which he anticipated a bloodless victory.
The morning of the 9th of November arrived. The sun rose with unwonted
splendor over the domes of the thronged city. A more brilliant day
never dawned. Through all the streets of the mammoth metropolis
there was heard, in the earliest twilight of the day, the music of
martial bands, the tramp of battalions, the clatter of iron hoofs,
and the rumbling of heavy artillery wheels over the pavements,
as regiments of infantry, artillery, and cavlary, in the proudest
array, marched to the Boulevards to receive the honor of a review
from the conqueror of Italy and of Egypt. The whole city was
in commotion, guided by the unseen energies of Napoleon in the
retirement of his closet. At eight o'clock Napoleon's house, in
the Rue Chanteraine, was so thronged with illustrious military men,
in most brilliant uniform, that every room was filled and even the
street was crowded with the resplendent guests. At that moment the
Council of Ancients passed the decree, which Napoleon had prepared,
that the two legislative bodies should transfer their meeting to St.
Cloud, a few miles from Paris; and that Napoleon Bonaparte should
be put in command of all the military forces in the city, to secure
the public peace. The removal to St. Cloud was a merciful precaution
against bloodshed. It secured the legislatures from the ferocious
interference of a Parisian mob. The President of the Council was
himself commissioned to bear the decree to Napoleon. He elbowed
his way through the brilliant throng, crowding the door and the
apartment of Napoleon's dwelling, and presented to him the ordinance.
Napoleon was ready to receive it. He stepped upon the balcony,
gathered his vast retinue of powerful guests before him, and in
a loud and firm voice, read to them the decree. "Gentlemen," said
he, "will you help me save the Republic?" One simultaneous burst
of enthusiasm rose from every lip, as drawing their swords from
their scabbards they waved them in the air and shouted, "We swear
it, we swear it." The victory was virtually won. Napoleon was now
at the head of the French nation. Nothing remained but to finish
his conquest. There was no retreat left open for his foes. There
was hardly the possibility of a rally. And now Napoleon summoned
all his energies to make his triumph most illustrious. Messengers
were immediately sent to read the decree to the troops already
assembled, in the utmost display of martial pomp, to greet the idol
of the army, and who were in a state of mind to welcome him most
exultingly as their chief. A burst of enthusiastic acclamation
ascended from their ranks which almost rent the skies. Napoleon
immediately mounted his horse, and, surrounded by the most magnificent
staff, whom he had thus ingeniously assembled at his house, and,
accompanied by a body of fifteen hundred cavalry, whom he had taken
the precaution to rendezvous near his dwelling proceeded to the
palace of the Tuileries. The gorgeous spectacle burst like a vision
upon astonished Paris. It was Napoleon's first public appearance.
Dressed in the utmost simplicity of a civilian's costume, he rode
upon his magnificent charger, the centre of all eyes. The gleaming
banners, waving in the breeze, and the gorgeous trappings of
silver and gold, with which his retinue was embellished, set off
in stronger relief the majestic simplicity of his own appearance.
With the pump and the authority of an enthroned king, Napoleon
entered the Council of the Ancients. The Ancients themselves were
dazzled by his sudden apparition in such imposing and unexpected
splendor and power. Ascending the bar, attended by an imposing
escort, he addressed the assembly and took his oath of office.
"You," said Napoleon, "are the wisdom of the nation. To you it
belongs to concert measures for the salvation of the Republic. I
come, surrounded by our generals, to offer you support. Faithfully
will I fulfill the task you have intrusted to me. Let us not look
into the pass for precedents. nothing in history resembles the
eighteenth century. Nothing in the eighteenth century resembles
the present moment."
