An aid was immediately sent to the palace of the Luxembourg, to
inform the five Directors, there in session, of the decree. Two
of the Directors, Sieyes and Ducos, were pledged to Napoleon, and
immediately resigned their offices, and hastened to the Tuileries.
Barras, bewildered and indignant, sent his secretary with a
remonstrance. Napoleon, already assuming the authority of an emperor,
and speaking as if France were his patrimony, came down upon him
with a torrent of invective. "Where." he indignantly exclaimed,
"is that beautiful France which I left you so brilliant! I left
you peace. I find war. I left you victories. I find but defeats.
I left you millions of Italy. I find taxation and beggary. Where
are the hundred thousand men, my companions in glory! They are dead.
This state of things can not continue. It will lead to despotism."
Barras was terrified. He feared to have Napoleon's eagle eye
investigate his peculations. He resigned. Two Directors only now
were left, Gohier and Moulins. It took a majority of the five to
constitute a quorum. The two were powerless. In despair of successful
resistance and fearing vengeance they hastened to the Tuileries to
find Napoleon. They were introduced to him surrounded by Sieyes,
Ducos, and a brilliant staff. Napoleon received them cordially.
"I am glad to see you," said he. "I doubt not that you will both
sign. Your patriotism will not allow you to appose a revolution
which is both inevitable and necessary." "I do not yet despair,"
said Gohier, vehemently, "aided by my colleage, Moulins, of saving
the Republic." "With what will you save it?" exclaimed Napoleon.
"With the Constitution which is crumbling to pieces?" Just at that
moment a messenger came in and informed the Directors that Santeree,
the brewer, who, during the Reign of Terror, had obtained a bloody
celebrity as leader of the Jacobins, was rousing the mob in the
faubourgs to resistance. "General Moulins," said Napoleon, firmly,
"you are the friend of Santerre. Tell him that at the very first
movement he makes, I will cause him to be shot." Moulins, exasperated
yet appalled, made an apologetic reply. "The Republic is in danger,"
said Napoleon. We must save it. It is my will . Sieyes, Ducos,
and Barras have resigned. You are two individuals insulated and
powerless. I advise you not to resist." They still refused. Napoleon
had no time to spend in parleying. He immediately sent them both
back into the Luxembourg, separated them and placed them under
arrest. Fouche, * occupying the important post of Minister of
Police, though not in Napoleon's confidence, yet anxious to display
his homage to the rising luminary, called upon Napoleon and informed
him that he had closed the barriers, and had thus prevented all
ingress or egress. "What means this folly?" said Napoleon. "Let
those orders be instantly countermanded. Do we not march with the
opinion of the nation, and by its strength alone? Let no citizen
be interrupted. Let every publicity be given to what is done."
"Fouche," said Napoleon, is a miscreant of all colors, a terrorist,
and one who took an active part in many bloody scenes of the
Revolution. He is a man who can worm all your secrets out of you,
with an air of calmness and unconcern. He is very rich; but his
riches have been badly acquired. He never was my confidant. Never
did he approach me without bending to the ground. But I never had
any esteem for him. I employed him merely as an instrument."
The Council of Five Hundred, in great confusion and bewilderment,
assembled at eleven o'clock. Lucien immediately communicated the
degree transferring their session to St. Cloud. This cut off all
debate. The decree was perfectly legal. There could therefore be no
legal pretext for opposition. Napoleon, the idol of the army, had
the whole military power obedient to his nod. Therefore resistance
of any kind was worse than folly. The deed was adroitly done. At
eleven o'clock the day's work was accomplished. There was no longer
a Directory. Napoleon was the appointed chief of the troops, and
they were filling the streets with enthusiastic shouts of "Live
Napoleon." The Council of Ancients were entirely at his disposal.
An a large party in the Council of Five Hundred were also wholly
subservient to his will. Napoleon, proud, silent, reserved reserved,
fully conscious of his own intellectual supremacy, and regarding
the generals, the statesmen, and the multitude around him, as
a man contemplates children, ascended the grand staircase of the
Tuileries as it were his hereditary home. Nearly all parties united
to sustain his triumph. Napoleon was a solider. The guns of Paris
joyfully thundered forth the victory of one who seemed the peculiar
favorite of the God of war. Napoleon was a scholar, stimulating
intellect to its mightiest achievements. The scholars of Paris,
gratefully united to weave a chaplet for the brow of their honored
associate and patron. Napoleon was, for those days of profligacy and
unbridled lust, a model of purity of morals, and of irreproachable
integrity. The proffered bribe of millions could not tempt him.
The dancing daughters of Herodias, with all their blandishments,
could not lure him from his life of Herculean toil and from his
majestic patriotism. The wine which glitters in the cup, never
vanquished him. At the shrine of no vice was he found a worshiper.
The purest and the best in France, disgusted with that gilded
corruption which had converted the palaces of the Bourbons into
harems of voluptuous sin, and still more deeply loathing that vulgar
and revolting vice, which had transformed Paris into a house of
infamy, enlisted all their sympathies in behalf of the exemplary
husband and the incorruptible patriot. Napoleon was one of the most
firm and unflinching friends of law and order. France was weary of
anarchy and was trembling under the apprehension that the gutters
of the guillotine were again to be clotted with blood. And mothers
and maidens prayed for God's blessing upon Napoleon, who appeared
to them as a messenger sent from Heaven for their protection.
During the afternoon and the night his room at the Tuileries was
thronged with the most illustrious statesmen, generals, and scholars
of Paris, hastening to pledge to him their support. Napoleon,
perfectly unembarrassed and never at a loss in any emergency,
gave his orders for the ensuing day. Lannes was intrusted with a
body of troops to guard the Tuileries. Murat, who, said Napoleon,
"was superb at Aboukir," with a numerous cavalry and a crops of
grenadiers was stationed at St. Cloud, a thunderbolt in Napoleon's
right hand. Woe betide the mob into whose ranks that thunderbolt
may be hurled. Moreau, with five hundred men, was stationed to
guard the Luxembourg, where the two refractory Directors were held
under arrest. Serrurier was posted in a commanding position with a
strong reserve, prompt for any unexpected exigence. Even a body of
troops were sent to accompany Barras to his country seat, ostensibly
as an escort of honor, but in reality to guard against any change
in that venal and versatile mind. The most energetic measures were
immediately adopted to prevent any rallying point for the disaffected.
Bills were everywhere posted, exhorting the citizens to be quiet,
and assuring them that powerful efforts were making to save the
Republic. These minute precaution were characteristic of Napoleon.
He believed in destiny. Yet he left nothing for destiny to accomplish.
He ever sought to make provision for all conceivable contingencies.
These measures were completely successful. Though Paris was in a
delirium of excitement, there were outbreaks of lawless violence.
Neither Monarchist, Republican, nor Jacobin knew what Napoleon
intended to do. All were conscious that he would do something. It
was known that the Jacobin party in the Council of Five Hundred
on the ensuing day, would make a desperate effort at resistance.
Sieyes, perfectly acquainted with revolutionary movements, urged
Napoleon to arrest some forty of the Jacobins most prominent in
the Council. This would have secured an easy victory on the morrow.
Napoleon, however, rejected the advice, saying, "I pledged my word
this morning to protect the national representation. I will not this
evening violate my oath." Had the Assembly been convened in Paris,
all the mob of the faubourgs would have risen, like an inundation,
in their behalf, and torrents of blood must have been shed. The
sagacious transferrence of the meeting to St. Cloud, several miles
from Paris, saved those lives. The powerful military display,
checked any attempt at a march upon St. Cloud. What could the mob
do, with Murat, Lannes, and Serrurier, guided by the energies of
Napoleon, ready to hurl their solid columns upon them!
The delicacy of attention with which Napoleon treated Josephine,
was one of the most remarkable traits in his character. It is not
strange that he should have won from her a love almost more than
human. During the exciting scenes of this day, when no one could
tell whether events were guiding him to a crown or to the guillotine,
Napoleon did not forget his wife, who was awaiting the result,
with deep solicitude, in her chamber in the Rue Chanteraine. Nearly
every hour he dispatched a messenger to Josephine, with a hastily
written line communicating to her the progress of events. Late at
night he returned to his home, apparently has fresh and unexhausted
as in the morning. He informed Josephine minutely of the scenes of
the day, and then threw himself upon a sofa, for an hour's repose.
Early the next morning he was on horseback, accompanied by a regal
retinue, directing his steps to St. Cloud. Three halls had been
prepared in the palace; one for the Ancients, one for the Five
Hundred, and one for Napoleon. He thus assumed the position which
he knew it to be the almost unanimous will of the nation that
he should fill. During the night the Jacobins had arranged a very
formidable resistance. Napoleon was considered to be in imminent
peril. He would be denounced as a traitor. Sieyes and Ducos had
each a post-chaise and six horses, waiting at the gate of St. Cloud,
prepared, in case of reverse, to escape for life. There were many
ambitious generals, ready to mount the crest of any refluent wave
to sweep Napoleon to destruction. Benadotte was the most to be
feared. Orders were given to cut down the first person who should
attempt to harangue the troops. Napoleon, riding at the head of
this imposing military display, manifested no agitation. He knew,
however, perfectly well the capriciousness of the popular voice,
and that the multitude in the same hour could cry "Hosanna!" and
"crucify!" The two Councils met. The tumult in the Five Hundred was
fearful. Cries of "Down with the dictator!" "Death to the tyrant!"
"Live the Constitution!" filled the hall, and drowned the voice of
deliberation. The friends of Napoleon were swept before the flood
of passion. It was proposed that every member should immediately
take anew the oath to support the Constitution. No one dared to peril
his life by the refusal. Even Lucien, the Speaker, was compelled
to descend from his chair and take the oath. The Ancients, overawed
by the unexpected violence of this opposition in the lower and more
popular house, began to be alarmed and to recede. The opposition
took a bold and aggressive stand, and proposed a decree of outlawry
against Napoleon. The friends of Napoleon, remembering past scenes
of earnage, were timid and yielding. Defeat seemed inevitable.
Victory was apparently turned into discomfiture and death. In this
emergency Napoleon displayed the same coolness, energy, and tact
with which so often, on the field of battle, in the most disastrous
hour, he had rolled back the tide of defeat in the resplendent
waves of victory. His own mind was the corps de reserve which he
now marched into the conflict to arrest the rout of his friends.
Taking with him a few aids and a band of grenadiers, he advanced
to the door of the hall. On his way he met Bernadotte. "You are
marching to the guillotine, " said his rival, sternly. "We shall
see," Napoleon coolly replied. Leaving the soldiers, with their
glittering steel and nodding plumes, at the entrance of the room,
he ascended the tribune. The hush of perfect silence pervaded the
agitated hall. "Gentlemen," said he, "you are on a volcano. You
deemed the Republic in danger. You called me to your aid. I obeyed.
And now I am assailed by a thousand calumnies. They talk of Caesar,
of Cromwell, of military despotism, as if any thing in antiquity
resembled the present moment.
Danger presses. Disaster thickens. We have no longer a government.
The Directors have resigned. The Five Hundred are in a tumult.
Emissaries are instigating Paris to revolt. Agitators would gladly
bring back the revolutionary tribunals. But fear not. Aided by my
companions in arms I will protect you. I desire nothing for myself,
but to save the Republic. And I solemnly swear to protect that
liberty and equality , for which we have made such sacrifices."
"And the Constitution !" some one cried out. Napoleon had purposely
omitted the Constitution in his oath, for he despised it, and was
at that moment laboring for its overthrow. He paused for a moment,
and then, with increasing energy exclaimed, "The institution! you
have none. You violated when the Executive infringed the rights
of the Legislature. You violated it when the Legislature struck
at the independence of the Executive. You violated it when, with
sacriligious hand, both the Legislature and Executive struck at
the sovereignty of the people, by annulling their elections. The
Constitution! It is a mockery; invoked by all, regarded by none."
Rallied by the presence of Napoleon, and by these daring words,
his friends recovered their courage, and two-thirds of the Assembly
rose in expression of their confidence and support. At this moment
intelligence arrived that the Five Hundred were compelling Lucien
to put to the vote Napoleon's outlawry. Not an instant was to be
lost. There is a mysterious power in law. The passage of that vote
would probably have been fatal. Life and death were trembling in
the balance. "I would then have given two hundred millions," said
Napoleon, "to have had Ney by my side." Turning to the Ancients,
he exclaimed, "if any orator, paid by foreigners, shall talk of
outlawing me, I will appeal for protection to my brave companions
in arms, whose plumes are nodding at the door. Remember that I
march accompanied by the God of fortune and by the God of war."
He immediately left the Ancients, and, attended by his military
band, hastened to the Council of Five Hundred. On his way he met
Augereau, who was pale and trembling, deeming Napoleon lost. "You
have got yourself into a pretty fix," said he, with deep agitation.
"Matters were worse at Arcola," Napoleon coolly replied. "Keep quiet.
All will be changed in half an hour." Followed by his grenadiers,
he immediately entered the Hall of the Five Hundred. The soldiers
remained near the door. Napoleon traversed alone half of the room
to reach the bar. It was an hour in which nothing could save him
but the resources of his own mind. Furious shouts rose from all
parts of the house. "What means this! down with the tyrant! begone!"
"The winds," says Napoleon, "suddenly escaping from the caverns of
Aeolus can give but a faint idea of that tempest." In the midst of
the horrible confusion he in vain endeavored to speak. The members,
in the wildest fray, crowded around him. The grenadiers witnessing
the peril of their chief rushed to his rescue. A dagger was struck
at his bosom. A soldier, with his arm, parried the blow. With their
bayonets they drove back the members, and encircling Napoleon, bore
him from the Hall. Napoleon had hardly descended the outer steps
ere some one informed him that his brother Lucien was surrounded by
the infuriated deputies, and that his life was in imminent jeopardy.
"Colonel Dumoulin," said he, "take a battalion of grenadiers and
hasten to my brother's deliverance." The soldiers rushed into the
room, drove back the crowd who, with violent menaces, were surrounding
Lucien, and saying, "It is by your brother's commands," escorted
him in safety out of the ball into the court-yard. Napoleon, now
mounting his horse, with Lucien by his side, rode along in front
of his troops." The Council of Five Hundred," exclaimed Lucien,
"is dissolved. It is I that tell you so. Assassins have taken
possession of the hall of meeting. I summon you to march and clear
it of them." "Soldiers!" said Napoleon, "can I rely upon you!"
.......... "Long live Bonaparte," was the simultaneous response
Murat took a battalion of grenadiers and marched to the entrance of
the hall. When Murat headed a column it was well known that there
would be no child's play. "Charge bayonets, forward!" he exclaimed,
with imperturbable coolness. The drums beat the charge. Steadily
the bristling line of steel advanced. The terrified representatives
leaped over the benches, rushed through the passage ways, and sprang
out of the windows, throwing upon the floor, in their precipitate
flight, gowns, scarfs, and hats. In two minutes the hall was cleared.
As the Representatives were flying in dismay across the garden, on
officer proposed that the soldiers should be ordered to fire upon
them. Napoleon decisively refused, saying, "It is my wish that not
a single drop of blood be split."
As Napoleon wished to avail himself as far as possible, of the forms
of law, he assembled the two legislative bodies in the evening.
Those only attended who were friendly to his cause. Unanimously
they decreed that Napoleon had deserved well of his country; they
abolished the Directory. The executive power they vested in Napoleon,
Sieyes, and Ducos, with the title of Consuls. Two committees of
twenty-five members each, taken from the two Councils, were appointed
to co-operate with the Consuls in forming a new Constitution. During
the evening the rumor reached Paris that Napoleon had failed in his
enterprise. The consternation was great. The mass of the people,
of all ranks, dreading the renewal of revolutionary horrors, and
worn out with past convulsions, passionately longed for repose Their
only hope was in Napoleon. At nine o'clock at night intelligence of
the change of government was officially announced, by a proclamation
which the victor had dictated with the rapidity and the glowing
eloquence which characterized all of his mental acts. It was read
by torchlight to assembled and deeply agitated groups, all over
the city. The welcome tidings were greeted with the liveliest
demonstrations of applause. At three o'clock in the morning Napoleon
threw himself into his carriage to return to Paris. Bourrienne
accompanied him. Napoleon appeared so absorbed in thought, that he
uttered not one single word during the ride.
At four o'clock in the morning he alighted from his carriage,
at the door of his dwelling in the Rue Chanteraine. Josephine, in
the greatest anxiety, was watching at the window for his approach.
Napoleon had not been able to send her one single line during the
turmoil and the peril of that eventful day. She sprang to meet him.
Napoleon foundly encircled her in his arms, briefly recapitulated
the scenes of the day, and assured her that since he had taken the
oath of office, he had not allowed himself to speak to a single
individual, for he wished that the beloved voice of his Josephine
might be the first to congratulate him upon his virtual accession
to the Empire of France. The heart of Josephine could appreciate
a delicacy of love so refined and so touching. Well might she say,
"Napoleon is the most fascinating of men." It was then after four
o'clock in the morning. The dawn of the day to conduct Napoleon to
a new scene of Herculean toil in organizing the Republic Throwing
himself upon a couch, for a few moments of repose, he exclaimed,
gayly, "good-night, my Josephine! To-morrow, we sleep in the palace
of the Luxembourg."
Napoleon was then but twenty-nine years of age. And yet, under
circumstances of inconceivable difficulty, with unhesitating reliance
upon his own mental resources, he assumed the enormous care of
creating and administering a Lew government for thirty millions
of people. Never did he achieve a victory which displayed more
consummate genius. On no occasion of his life did his majestic
intellectual power beam forth with more brilliance. It is not to
be expected that, for ages to come, the world will be united in
opinion respecting this transaction. Some represent it as an outrage
against law and liberty. Others consider it a necessary act which
put an end to corruption and anarchy. That the course which Napoleon
pursued was in accordance with the wished of the overwhelming
majority of the French people on one can doubt. It is questionable
whether, even now, France is prepared for self-government. There
can be no question that then the republic had totally failed.
Said Napoleon, in reference to this revolution, "For my part, all
my share of the plot, was confined to assembling the crowd of my
visitors at the same hour in the morning, and marching at their
head to seize upon power. It was from the threshold of my door, and
without my friends having any previous knowledge of my intentions,
that I led them to this conquest. p It was amidst the brilliant
escort which they formed, their lively joy and unanimous ardor,
that I presented myself a the bar of the Ancients to thank them for
the dictatorship with which they invested me. Metaphysicians have
disputed and will long dispute, whether we did not violate the laws,
and whether we were not criminal. But these are mere abstractions
which should disappear before imperious necessity. One might as well
blame a sailor for waste and destruction, when he cuts away a mast
to save his ship. the fact is, had it not been for us the country
must have been lost. We saved it. The authors of that memorable
state transaction ought to answer their accusers proudly, like the
Roman, 'We protest that we have saved our country. Come with us
and render thanks to the Gods.'"
With the exception of the Jacobins all parties were strongly
in favor of this revolution. For ten years the people had been so
accustomed to the violation of the laws, that they had ceased to
condemn such acts, and judged of them only by their consequences.
All over France the feeling was nearly universal in favor of the
new government. Says Alison, who surely will not be accused of
regarding Napoleon with a partial eye, "Napoleon rivaled Caesar in
the elemency with which he used his victory. No proscriptions or
massacres, few arrests or imprisonments followed the triumph of
order over revolution. On the contrary, numerous acts of merey, as
wise as they were magnanimous, illustrated the rise of the consular
throne. The elevation of Napoleon was not only unstained by blood,
but not even a single captive long lamented the car of the victor.
A signal triumph of the principles of humility over those of cruelty,
glorious alike to the actors and the age in which it occurred: and
a memorable proof how much more durable are the victories obtained
by moderation and wisdom, than those achieved by violence
and stained by blood."
