It is impossible to describe the dismay, which pervaded the camp
of the Austrians after this terrible defeat. They were entirely
cut from all retreat, and were at the mercy of Napoleon. A council
of war was held by the Austrian officers during the night, and it
was unanimously resolved that capitulation was unavoidable. Early
the next morning a flag of truce was sent to the head-quarters of
Napoleon. The Austrians offered to abandon Italy, if the generosity
of the victor would grant them the boon of not being made prisoners
of war. Napoleon met the envoy with great courtesy, and, according
to his custom, stated promptly and irrevocably the conditions
upon which he was willing to treat. The terms were generous. "The
Austrian armies," said he, "may unmolested return to their homes;
but all of Italy must be abandoned." Melas, who was eighty years
of age, hoped to modify the terms, and again sent the negotiator
to suggest some alterations. "Monsieur!" said Napoleon, "my
conditions are irrevocable. I did not begin to make war yesterday.
Your position is as perfectly comprehended by me as by yourselves.
You are encumbered with dead, sick, and wounded, destitute of
provisions, deprived of the elite of your army, surrounded on every
side, I might exact every thing. But I respect the white hairs of
your general, and the valor of your soldiers. I ask nothing but what
is rigorously justified by the present position of affairs. Take
what steps you may, you will have no other terms." The conditions
were immediately signed, and a suspension of arms was agreed upon,
until an answer could be received from Vienna.
Napoleon left Paris for this campaign on the 7th of May. The battle
of Marengo was fought on the 14th of June. Thus in five weeks
Napoleon has scaled the barrier of the Alps: with sixty thousand
soldiers, most of them undisciplined recruits, he had utterly
discomfited an army of one hundred and twenty thousand men, and
regained the whole of Italy. The bosom of every Frenchman throbbed
with gratitude and pride. One wild shout of enthusiasm ascended
from united France. Napoleon had laid the foundation of his throne
deep in the heart of the French nation, and there that foundation
still remains unshaken.
Napoleon now entered Milan in triumph. He remained there ten days,
busy apparently every hour, by day and by night, in re-organizing the
political condition of Italy. The serious and religious tendencies
of his mind are developed by the following note, which four days
after the battle of Marengo, he wrote to the Consuls in Paris:
"To-day, whatever our atheists may say to it, I go in great state
to the To Deum which is to be chanted in the Cathedral of Milan. *
* The Te Deum , is an anthem of praise, sung in churches on occasion
of thanksgiving. It is so called from the first words "Te Deum
laudamus," Thee God we praise
An unworthy spirit of detraction has vainly sought to wrest from
Napoleon the honor of this victory, and to attribute it all to the
flank charge made by Kellerman. Such attempts deserve no detail
reply. Napoleon had secretly and suddenly called into being an army,
and by its apparently miraculous creation had astounded Europe. He
had effectually deceived the vigilance of his enemies, so as to
leave them entirely in the dark respecting his point of attack.
He had conveyed that army with all its stores, over the pathless
crags of the Great St. Bernard. Like an avalanche he had descended
from the mountains upon the plains of startled Italy. He had
surrounded the Austrian hosts, though they were doubled his numbers,
with a net through which they could not break. In a decisive
battle he had scattered their ranks before him, like chaff by the
whirlwind. He was nobly seconded by those generals whom his genius
had chosen and created. It is indeed true, that without his generals
and his soldiers he could not have gained the victory. Massena
contributed to the result by his matchless defense of Genoa; Moreau,
by holding in abeyance the army of the Rhine; Lannes, by his iron
firmness on the plain of Montebello; Desaix, by the promptness
with which he rushed to the rescue, as soon as his car caught the
far-off thunders of the cannon of Marengo; and Kellerman, by his
admirable flank charge of cavalry. But it was the genius of Napoleon
which planned the mighty combination, which roused and directed
the enthusiasm of the generals, which inspired the soldiers with
fearlessness and nerved them for the strife, and which, through
these efficient agencies, secured the astounding results.
Napoleon established his triumphant army, now increased to eighty
thousand men, in the rich valley of the Po. He assigned to the
heroic Massena the command of this triumphant host, and ordering
all the forts and citadels which blocked the approaches from France
to be blown up, set out, on the 24th of June, for his return to
Paris. In re-crossing the Alps, by the pass of Mt. Cenis, he met
the carriage of Madame Kellerman, who was going to Italy to join
her husband. Napoleon ordered his carriage to be stopped, and
alighting, greeted the lady with great courtesy, and congratulated
her upon the gallant conduct of her husband at Marengo. As he was
riding along one day, Bourrienne spoke of the world-wide renown
which the First Consul had attained.
"Yes," Napoleon thoughtfully replied. "A few more events like this
campaign, and my name may perhaps go down to posterity."
"I think," Bourrienne rejoined, "that you have already done enough
to secure a long and lasting fame."
"Done enough!" Napoleon replied. "You are very good! It is true
that in less than two years I have conquered Cairo, Paris, Milan.
But were I to die to-morrow, half a page of general history would
be all that would be devoted to my exploits."
Napoleon's return to Paris, through the provinces of France, was
a scene of constant triumph. The joy of the people amounted almost
to frenzy. Bonfires, illuminations, the pealing of bells, and the
thunders of artillery accompanied him all the way. Long lines of
young maidens, selected for their grace and beauty, formed avenues
of loveliness and smiles through which he was to pass, and carpeted
his path with flowers. He arrived in Paris at midnight the 2d of
July, having been absent but eight weeks.
The enthusiasm of the Parisians was unbounded and inexhaustible.
Day after day, and night after night, the festivities continued.
The Palace of the Tuileries was ever thronged with a crowd, eager
to catch a glimpse of the preserver of France. All the public bodies
waited upon him with congratulations. Bells rung, cannon thundered,
bonfires and illuminations blazed, rockets and fire-works,
in meteoric splendor filled the air, bands of music poured forth
their exuberant strains, and united Paris, thronging the garden of
the Tuileries and flooding back into the Elysian Fields, rent the
heavens with deafening shouts of exultation. As Napoleon stood at
the window of his palace, witnessing this spectacle of a nation's
gratitude, he said, "The sound of these acclamations is as sweet
to me, as the voice of Josephine. How happy I am to be beloved by
such a people." Preparations were immediately made for a brilliant
and imposing solemnity in commemoration of the victory. "Let
no triumphal arch be raised to me," said Napoleon. "I wish for no
triumphal arch but the public satisfaction."
It is not strange that enthusiasm and gratitude should have glowed
in the ardent bosoms of the French. In four months Napoleon had
raised France from an abyss of ruin to the highest pinnacle of
prosperity and renown. For anarchy he had substituted law, for bankruptcy
a well-replenished treasury, for ignominious defeat resplendent
victory, for universal discontent as universal satisfaction. The
invaders were driven from France, the hostile alliance broken, and
the blessings of peace were now promised to the war-harassed nation.
During this campaign there was presented a very interesting
illustration of Napoleon's wonderful power of anticipating the
progress of coming events. Bourrienne, one day, just before the
commencement of the campaign, entered the cabinet at the Tuileries,
and found an immense map of Italy, unrolled upon the carpet, and
Napoleon stretched upon it. With pins, whose heads were tipped with
red and black sealing-wax, to represent the French and Austrian
forces, Napoleon was studying all the possible combinations and
evolutions of the two hostile armies. Bourrienne, in silence, but
with deep interest, watched the progress of this pin campaign.
Napoleon, having arranged the pins with red heads, where he intended
to conduct the French troops, and with the black pins designating
the point which he supposed the Austrians would occupy, looked up
to his secretary, and said:
"Do you think that I shall beat Melas?"
"Why, how can I tell!" Bourrienne answered.
"Why, you simpleton," said Napoleon, playfully; "just look here.
Melas is at Alexandria, where he has his head-quarters. He will remain
there until Genoa surrenders. He has in Alexandria his magazines,
his hospitals, his artillery, his reserves. Passing the Alps here,"
sticking a pin into the Great St. Bernard, "I fall upon Melas in
his rear; I cut off his communications with Austria. I meet him
here in the valley of the Bormida." So saying, he stuck a red pin
into the plain of Marengo.
Bourrienne regarded this maneuvering of pins as mere pastime. His
countenance expressed his perfect incredulity. Napoleon, perceiving
this, addressed to him some of his usual apostrophes, in which he
was accustomed playfully to indulge in moments of relaxation, such
as, You ninny, You goose; and rolled up the map. Ten weeks passed
away, and Bourrienne found himself upon the banks of the Bormida,
writing, at Napoleon's dictation, an account of the battle of
Marengo. Astonished to find Napoleon's anticipations thus minutely
fulfilled, he frankly avowed his admiration of the military
sagacity thus displayed. Napoleon himself smiled at the justice of
his foresight.
Two days before the news of the battle of Marengo arrived in Vienna,
England effected a new treaty with Austria, for the more vigorous
prosecution of the war. By this convention it was provided that
England should loan Austria ten millions of dollars, to bear no
interest during the continuance of the conflict. And the Austrian
cabinet bound itself not to make peace with France, without
the consent of the Court of St. James. The Emperor of Austria was
now sadly embarrassed. His sense of honor would not allow him to
violate his pledge to the King of England, and to make peace. On
the other hand, he trembled at the thought of seeing the armies
of the invincible Napoleon again marching upon his capital. He,
therefore, resolved to temporize, and, in order to gain time, sent
an embassador to Paris. The plenipotentiary presented to Napoleon
a letter, in which the Emperor stated, "You will give credit to
every thing which Count Julien shall say on my part. I will ratify
whatever he shall do." Napoleon, prompt in action, and uniformed
of the new treaty between Ferdinand and George III., immediately
caused the preliminaries of peace to be drawn up, which were signed
by the French and Austrian ministers. The cabinet in Vienna, angry
with their embassador for not protracting the discussion, refused
to ratify the treaty, recalled Count Julien, sent him into exile,
informed the First Consul of the treat which bound Austria not to
make peace without the concurrence of Great Britain, assured France
of the readiness of the English Cabinet to enter into negotiations,
and urged the immediate opening of a Congress at Luneville, to
which plenipotentiaries should be sent from each of the three great
contending powers. Napoleon was highly indignant in view of this
duplicity and perfidy. Yet, controlling his anger, he consented to
treat with England, and with that view proposed a naval armistice
, with the mistress of the seas. To this proposition England
peremptorily refused to accede, as it would enable France to throw
supplies into Egypt and Malta, which island England was besieging.
The naval armistice would have been undeniably for the interests
of France. But the continental armistice was as undeniably adverse
to her interests, enabling Austria to recover from her defeats, and
to strengthen her armies. Napoleon, fully convinced that England,
in he[r inaccessible position, did not wish for peace, and that her
only object, in endeavoring to obtain admittance to the Congress,
was that she might throw obstacles in the way of reconciliation
with Austria, offered to renounce all armistice with England, and
to treat with her separately. This England also refused.
It was now September. Two months had passed in these vexations and
sterile negotiations. Napoleon had taken every step in his power to
secure peace. He sincerely desired it. He had already won all the
laurels he could wish to win on the field of battle. The reconstruction
of society in France, and the consolidation of his power, demanded
all his energies. The consolidation of his power! That was just what
the government of England dreaded. The consolidation of democratic
power in France was dangerous to king and to noble. William Pits,
the soul of the aristocratic government of England, determined still
to prosecute the war. France could not harm England. But England,
with her invincible fleet, could sweep the commerce of France from
the seas. Fox and his coadjutors with great eloquence and energy
opposed the war. Their efforts were, however, unavailing. The
people of England, notwithstanding all the efforts of the government
to defame the character of the First Consul, still cherished the
conviction that, after all, Napoleon was their friend. Napoleon,
in subsequent years, while reviewing these scenes of his early
conflicts, with characteristic eloquence and magnanimity, gave
utterance to the following sentiments which, it is as certain as
destiny, that the verdict of the world will yet confirm.
"Pitt was the master of European policy. He held in his hands the
moral fate of nations. But he made an ill use of his power. He
kindled the fire of discord throughout the universe; and his name,
like that of Erostratus, will be inscribed in history, amidst
flames, lamentations, and tears. Twenty-five years of universal
conflagration; the numerous coalitions that added fuel to the
flame; the revolution and devastation of Europe; the bloodshed of
nations; the frightful debt of England, by which all these horrors
were maintained; the pestilential system of loans, by which the
people of Europe are oppressed; the general discontent that now
prevails--all must be attributed to Pitt. Posterity will brand him
as a scourge. The man so lauded in his own time, will hereafter be
regarded as the genius of evil. Not that I consider him to have
been willfully atrocious, or doubt his having entertained the
conviction that he was acting right. But St. Bartholomew had also
its conscientious advocates. The Pope and cardinals celebrated it
by a Te Deum ; and we have no reason to doubt their having done
so in perfect sincerity. Such is the weakness of human reason and
judgment! But that for which posterity will, above all, execrate
the memory of Pitt, is the hateful school, which he has left behind
him; its insolent Machiavelism, its profound immorality, its cold
egotism, and its utter disregard of justice and human happiness.
Whether it be the effect of admiration and gratitude, or the result
of mere instinct and sympathy, Pitt is, and will continue to be,
the idol of the European aristocracy. There was, indeed, a touch of
the Sylla in his character. His system has kept the popular cause
in check, and brought about the triumph of the patricians. As for
Fox, one must not look for his model among the ancients. He is
himself a model, and his principles will sooner or later rule the
world. The death of Fox was one of the fatalities of my career. Had
his life been prolonged, affairs would taken a totally different
turn. The cause of the people would have triumphed, and we should
have established a new order of things in Europe."
Austria really desired peace. The march of Napoleon's armies upon
Vienna was an evil more to be dreaded than even the consolidation
of Napoleon's power in France. But Austria was, by loans and
treaties, so entangled with England, that she could make not peace
without the consent of the Court of St. James. Napoleon found that
he was but triffled with. Interminable difficulties were thrown
in the way of negotiation. Austria was taking advantage of the
cessation of hostilities, merely to recruit her defeated armies,
that, soon as the approaching winter had passed away, she might
fall, with renovated energies, upon France. The month of November
had now arrived, and the mountains, whitened with snow, were swept
by the bleak winds of winter. The period of the armistice had expired.
Austria applied for its prolongation. Napoleon was no longer thus
to be duped. He consented, however, to a continued suspension
of hostilities, on condition that the treaty of peace were signed
within forty-eight hours. Austria, believing that no sane man
would march an army into Germany in the dead of winter, and that
she should have abundant time to prepare for a spring campaign,
refused. The armies of France were immediately on the move. The
Emperor of Austria had improved every moment of this transient
interval of peace, in recruiting his forces. In person he had visited
the army to inspire his troops with enthusiasm. The command of the
imperial forces was intrusted to his second brother, the Archduke
John. Napoleon moved with his accustomed vigor. The political
necessities of Paris and of France rendered it impossible for him
to leave the metropolis. He ordered one powerful army, under General
Brune, to attack the Austrians in Italy, on the banks of Mincio,
and to press firmly toward Vienna. In the performance of this
operation, General Macdonald, in the dead of winter, effected his
heroic passage over the Alps by the pass of the Splugen. Victory
followed their standards.
Moreau, with his magnificent army, commenced a winter campaign on
the Rhine. Between the rivers Iser and Inn there is an enormous
forest, many leagues in extent, of sombre firs and pines. It is
a dreary and almost uninhabited wilderness, of wild ravines, and
tangled under-brush. Two great roads have been cut through the
forest, and sundry woodmen's paths penetrate it at different points.
In the centre there is a little hamlet, of a few miserable huts,
called Hohenlinden. In this forest, on the night of the 3d of
December, 1800, Moreau, with sixty thousand men, encountered the
Archduke John with seventy thousand Austrian troops. The clocks
upon the towers of Munich had but just tolled the hour of midnight
when both armies were in motion, each hoping to surprise the
other. A dismal wintry storm was howling over the tree tops, and
the smothering snow, falling rapidly, obliterated all traces of a
path, and rendered it almost impossible to drag through the drifts
the ponderous artillery. Both parties, in the dark and tempestuous
night, became entangled in the forest, and the heads of their
columns in various places met. An awful scene of confusion, conflict,
and carnage then ensued. Imagination can not compass the terrible
sublimity of that spectacle. The dark midnight, the howlings of
the wintry storm, the driving sheets of snow, the incessant roar
of artillery and of musketry from one hundred and thirty thousand
combatants, the lightning flashes of the guns, the crash of the
falling trees as the heavy cannon-balls swept through the forest,
the floundering of innumerable horsemen bewildered in the pathless
snow, the shout of onset, the shriek of death, and the burst
of martial music from a thousand bands--all combined to present a
scene of horror and of demoniac energy, which probably even this
lost world never presented before. The darkness of the black forest
was so intense, and the snow fell in flakes so thick and fast and
blinding, that the combatants could with difficulty see each other.
They often judged of the foe only by his position, and fired at
the flashes gleaming through the gloom. At times, hostile divisions
became intermingled in inextricable confusion, and hand to hand,
bayonet crossing bayonet, and sword clashing against sword, they
fought with the ferocity of demons; for though the officers of an
army may be influenced by the most elevated sentiments of dignity
and of honor, the mass of the common soldiers have ever been the
most miserable, worthless, and degraded of mankind. As the advancing
and retreating host wavered to and fro, the wounded, by thousands,
were left on hill-sides and in dark ravines, with the drifting
snow, crimsoned with blood, their only blanket; there in solitude
and agony to moan and freeze and die. What death-scenes the eye of
God must have witnessed that night, in the solitudes of that dark,
tempest-tossed, and blood-stained forest! At last the morning dawned
through the unbroken clouds, and the battle raged with renovated
fury. Nearly twenty thousand mutilated bodies of the dead and
wounded were left upon the field, with gory locks frozen to their
icy pillows, and covered with mounds of snow. At last the French were
victorious at every point. The Austrians, having lost twenty-five
thousand men in killed, wounded, and prisoners, one hundred pieces
of artillery, and an immense number of wagons, fled in dismay.
This terrific conflict has been immortalized by the noble epic of
Campbell, which is now familiar wherever the English language is
known.
"On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden
snow, And dark as winter was the flow Or Iser, rolling rapidly.
"But Linden saw another sight, When the drums beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery."
& c.
The retreating Austrians rushed down the valley of the Danube. Moreau
followed thundering at their heels, plunging balls and shells into
their retreating ranks. The victorious French were within thirty
miles of Vienna, and the capital was in a state of indescribable
dismay. The Emperor again sent imploring an armistice. The
application was promptly acceded to, for Napoleon was contending
only for peace. Yet with unexempled magnanimity, notwithstanding
these astonishing victories, Napoleon made no essential alterations
in his terms. Austria was at his feet. His conquering armies were
almost in sight of the steeples of Vienna. There was no power which
the Emperor could present to obstruct their resistless march. He
might have exacted any terms of humiliation. But still he adhered
to the first terms which he had proposed. Moreau was urged by some
of his officers to press on to Vienna. "We had better halt," he
replied, "and be content with peace. It is for that alone that we
are fighting." The Emperor of Austria was thus compelled to treat
without the concurrence of England. The insurmountable obstacle in
the way of peace was thus removed. At Luneville, Joseph Bonaparte
appeared as the embassador of Napoleon, and Count Cobentzel as
the plenipotentiary of Austria. The terms of the treaty were soon
settled, and France was again at peace with all the world, England
alone excepted. By this treaty the Rhine was acknowledged as the
boundary of France. The Adige limited the possessions of Austria
in Italy; and Napoleon made it an essential article that every
Italian imprisoned in the dungeons of Austria for political offences,
should immediately be liberated. There was to be no interference
by either with the new republics which had sprung up in Italy. They
were to be permitted to choose whatever form of government they
preferred. In reference to this treaty, Sir Walter Scott makes the
candid admission that "the treaty of Luneville was not much more
advantageous to France than that of Campo Formio. The moderation
of the First Consul indicated at once his desire for peace upon the
Continent, and considerable respect for the bravery and strength of
Austria." And Alison, in cautious but significant phrase, remarks,
"These conditions did not differ materially from those offered by
Napoleon before the renewal of the war; a remarkable circumstance
, when it is remembered how vast and addition the victories of Marengo,
Hohenlinden, and the Mincio, had since made to the preponderance
of the French armies."
It was, indeed, "a remarkable circumstance," that Napoleon should
have manifested such unparalleled moderation, under circumstances
of such aggravated indignity. In Napoleon's first Italian campaign
he was contending solely for peace. At last he attained it, in the
treaty of Campo Formio, on terms equally honorable to Austria and
to France. On his return from Egypt, he found the armies of Austria,
three hundred thousand strong, in alliance with England, invading
the territories of the Republic. He implored peace, in the name
of bleeding humanity, upon the fair basis of the treaty of Campo
Formio. His foes regarded his supplication as the imploring cry
of weakness, and treated it with scorn. With new vigor they poured
their tempests of balls and shells upon France. Napoleon sealed the
Alps, and dispersed his foes at Marengo, like autumn leaves before
the Alps, and dispersed his foes at Marengo, like autumn leaves
before the gale. Amid the smoke and the blood and the groans of
the field of his victory, he again wrote imploring peace; and he
wrote in terms dictated by the honest and gushing sympathies of a
humane man, and not in the cold and stately forms of the diplomatist.
Crushed as his foes were, he rose not in his demands, but nobly
said, "I am still willing to make peace upon the fair basis of
the treaty of Campo Formio." His treacherous foes, to gain time to
recruit their armies, that they might fall upon him with renovated
vigor, agreed to an armistice. They then threw all possible
embarrassments in the way of negotiation, and prolonged the armistice
till the winds of winter were sweeping fiercely over the snow-covered
hills of Austria. They thought that it was then too late for
Napoleon to make any movements until spring, and that they had a
long winter before them, in which to prepare for another campaign.
They refused peace. Through storms and freezing gales and drifting
snows the armies of Napoleon marched painfully to Hohenlinden. The
hosts of Austria were again routed, and were swept away, as the
drifted snow flies before the gale. Ten thousand Frenchmen lie cold
in death, the terrible price of the victory. The Emperor of Austria,
in his palaces, heard the thunderings of Napoleon's approaching
artillery. He implored peace. "It is all that I desire," said Napoleon;
"I am not fighting for ambition or for conquest. I am still ready
to make peace upon the fair basis of the treaty of Campo Formio."
While all the Continent was now at peace with France, England alone,
with indomitable resolution, continued the war, without allies,
and without any apparent or avowed object. France, comparatively
powerless upon the seas, could strike no blows which would be felt
by the distant islanders. "On every point," says Sir Walter Scott,
"the English squadrons annihilated the commerce of France, crippled
her revenues, and blockaded her forts." The treaty of Luneville was
signed the 9th of February, 1801. Napoleon lamenting, the continued
hostility of England, in announcing this peace to the people of
France, remarked, "Why is not this treaty the treaty of a general
peace? This was the wish of France. This has been the constant object
of the efforts of her government. But its desires are fruitless. All
Europe knows that the British minister has endeavored to frustrate
the negotiations at Luneville. In vain was it declared to him
that France was ready to enter into a separate negotiation. This
declaration only produced a refusal under the pretext that England
could not abandon her ally. Since then, when that ally consented to
treat without England, that government sought other means to delay
a peace so necessary to the world. It raises pretensions contrary
to the dignity and rights of all nations. The whole commerce of
Asia, and of immense colonies, does not satisfy its ambition. All
the seas must submit to the exclusive sovereignty of England."
As William Pitt received the tidings of this discomfiture of his
allies, in despairing despondency, he exclaimed, "Fold up the map
of Europe. In need not again be opened for twenty years."
While these great affairs were in progress, Napoleon, in Paris, was
consecrating his energies with almost miraculous power, in developing
all the resources of the majestic empire under his control. He
possessed the power of abstraction to a degree which has probably
never been equaled. He could concentrate all his attention for
any length of time upon one subject, and then, laying that aside
entirely, without expending any energies in unavailing anxiety,
could turn to another, with all the freshness and the vigor of an
unpreoccupied mind. Incessant mental labor was the luxury of his
life. "Occupation," said he, "is my element. I am born and made for
it. I have found the limits beyond which I could not use my legs.
I have seen the extent to which I could use my eyes. But I have
never known any bounds to my capacity for application."
The universality of Napoleon's genius was now most conspicuous. The
revenues of the nation were replenished, and all the taxes arranged
to the satisfaction of the people. The Bank of France was reorganized,
and new energy infused into its operations. Several millions of
dollars were expended in constructing and perfecting five magnificent
roads radiating from Paris to the frontiers of the empire. Robbers,
the vagabonds of disbanded armies, infested the roads, rendering
traveling dangerous in the extreme. "Be patient," said Napoleon.
"Give me a month or two. I must first conquer peace abroad. I will
then do speedy and complete justice upon these highwaymen." A very
important canal, connecting Belgium with France, had been commenced
some years before. The engineers could not agree respecting the
best direction of the cutting through the highlands which separated
the valley of the Oise from that of the Somme. He visited the spot
in person: decided the question promptly, and decided it wisely,
and the canal was pressed to its completion. He immediately caused
three new bridges to be thrown across the Seine at Paris. He
commenced the magnificent road of the Simplon, crossing the rugged
Alps with a broad and smooth highway, which for ages will remain a
durable monument of the genius and energy of Napoleon. In gratitude for
the favors he had received from the monks of the Great St. Bernard,
he founded two similar establishments for the aid of travelers,
one on Mount Cenis, the other on the Simplon, and both auxiliary
to the convent on the Great St. Bernard. Concurrently with these
majestic undertakings, he commenced the compilation of the civil
code of France. The ablest lawyers of Europe were summoned to this
enterprise, and the whole work was discussed section by section
in the Council of State, over which Napoleon presided. The lawyers
were amazed to find that the First Consul was as perfectly familiar
with all the details of legal and political science, as he was with
military strategy.
Bourrienne mentions, that one day, a letter was received from an
emigrant, General Durosel, who had taken refuge in the island of
Jersey. The following is an extract from the letter:
"You can not have forgotten, general, that when your late father
was obliged to take your brothers from the college of Autun, he was
unprovided with money, and asked of me one hundred and twenty-five
dollars, which I lent him with pleasure. After his return, he had
not an opportunity of paying me, and when I left Ajaccio, your
mother offered to dispose of some plate, in order to pay the debt.
To this I objected, and told her that I would wait until she could
pay me at her convenience. Previous to the Revolution, I believe
that it was not in her power to fulfill her wish of discharging the
debt. I am sorry to be obliged to trouble you about such a trifle.
But such is my unfortunate situation, that even this trifle is of
some importance to me. At the age of eighty-six, general, after
having served my country for sixty years, I am compelled to take
refuge here, and to subsist on a scanty allowance, granted by the
English government to French emigrants. I say emigrants , for I am
obliged to be one against my will."
Upon hearing this letter read, Napoleon immediately and warmly
said, "Bourrienne, this is sacred. Do not lose a moment. Send the
old man ten times the sum. Write to General Durosel, that he shall
immediately be erased from the list of emigrants. What mischief
those brigands of the Convention have done. I can never repair it
all." Napoleon uttered these words with a degree of emotion which
he had rarely before evinced. In the evening he inquired, with much
interest of Bourrienne, if he had executed his orders.
Many attempts were made at this time to assassinate the First Consul.
Though France, with the most unparalleled unanimity surrounded him
with admiration, gratitude, and homage, there were violent men in
the two extremes of society, among the Jacobins and the inexorable
Royalists, who regarded him as in their way. Napoleon's escape from
the explosion of the infernal machine, got up by the Royalists,
was almost miraculous.
On the evening of the 24th of December, Napoleon was going to the
Opera, to hear Haydn's Oratorio of the Creation, which was to be
performed for the first time. Intensely occupied by business, he was
reluctant to go; but to gratify Josephine, yielded to her urgent
request. It was necessary for his carriage to pass through a narrow
street. A cart, apparently by accident overturned, obstructed the
passage. A barrel suspended beneath the cart, contained as deadly
a machine as could be constructed with gun-powder and all the
missiles of death. The coachman succeeded in forcing his way by
the cart. He had barely passed when an explosion took place, which
was all over Paris, and which seemed to shake the city to its
foundations. Eight persons were instantly killed, and more than sixty
were wounded, of whom about twenty subsequently died. The houses
for a long distance, on each side of the street, were fearfully
shattered, and many of them were nearly blown to pieces. The
carriage rocked as upon the billows of the sea, and the windows
were shattered to fragments. Napoleon had been in too many scenes
of terror to be alarmed by any noise or destruction which gunpowder
could produce. "Ha!" said he, with perfect composure; "we are blown
up." One of his companions in the carriage, greatly terrified,
thrust his head through the demolished window, and called loudly
to the driver to stop. "No, no!" said Napoleon; "drive on." When
the First Consul entered the Opera House, he appeared perfectly
calm and unmoved. The greatest consternation, however, prevailed
in all parts of the house, for the explosion had been heard, and
the most fearful apprehensions were felt for the safety of the
idolized Napoleon. As soon as he appeared, thunders of applause,
which shook the very walls of the theatre, gave affecting testimony
of the attachment of the people to his person. In a few moments,
Josephine, who had come in her private carriage, entered the box.
Napoleon turned to her with perfect tranquillity, and said, "The
rascals tried to blow me up. Where is the book of the Oratorio?"
Napoleon soon left the Opera and returned to the Tuileries. He
found a vast crowd assembled there, attracted by affection for his
person, and anxiety for his safety. The atrocity of this attempt
excited universal horror, and only increased the already almost
boundless popularity of the First Consul. Deputations and addresses
were immediately poured in upon him from Paris and from all the
departments of France, congratulating him upon his escape. It was
at first thought that this conspiracy was the work of the Jacobins.
There were in Paris more than a hundred of the leaders of the
execrable party, who had obtained a sanguinary notoriety during
the reign of terror. They were active members of a Jacolin Club,
a violent and vulgar gathering continually plotting the overthrow
of the government, and the assassination of the First Consul. They
were thoroughly detested by the people, and the community was glad
to avail itself of any plausible pretext for banishing them from
France. Without sufficient evidence that they were actually guilty
of this particular outrage, in the strong excitement and indignation
of the moment a decree was passed by the legislative bodies, sending
one hundred and sixty of these bloodstained culprits into exile.
The wish was earnestly expressed that Napoleon would promptly punish
them by his own dictatorial power. Napoleon had, in fact, acquired
such unbounded popularity, and the nation was so thoroughly impressed
with a sense of his justice, and his wisdom, the whatever he said
was done. He, however, insisted that the business should be conducted
by the constituted tribunals and under the regular forms of law.
"The responsibility of this measure," said Napoleon, "must rest
with the legislative body. The consuls are irresponsible. But
the ministers are not. Any one of them who should sign an arbitrary
decree, might hereafter be called to account. Not a single
individual must be compromised. The consuls themselves know not
what may happen. As for me, while I live, I am not afraid that any
one will be killed, and then I can not answer for the safety of my
two colleagues. It would be your turn to govern," said, he, smiling,
and turning to Cambaceres;" and you are not as yet very firm in
the stirrups . It will be better to have a law for the present, as
well as for the future." It was finally, after much deliberation,
decided that the Council of State should draw up a declaration of
the reasons, for the act. The First Consul was to sign the decree,
and the Senate was to declare whether it was or was not constitutional.
Thus cautiously Napoleon proceed under circumstances so exciting.
The law, however, was unjust and tyrannical. Guilty as these men
were of other crimes, by which they had forfeited all sympathy,
it subsequently appeared that they were not guilty of this crime.
Napoleon was evidently embraced by this uncertainty of their guilty,
and was not willing that they should be denounced as contrivers
of the infernal machine. "We believe ," said he, "that they are
guilty. But we do not know it. They must be transported for the
crimes which they have committed, the massacres and the conspiracies
already proved against them." The decree was passed. But Napoleon,
strong in popularity, became so convinced of the powerlessness and
insignificance of these Jacobins, that the decree was never enforced
against them. They remained in France. But they were conscious that
the eye of the police was upon them. "It is not my own person," said
Napoleon, "that I seek to avenge. My fortune which has preserved
me so often on the field of battle, will continue to preserve me.
I think not of myself. I think of social order which it is my mission
to re-establish, and of the national honor, which it is my duty
to purge from an abominable stain." To the innumerable addresses
of congratulation and attachment which this occurrence elicited
Napoleon replied. "I have been touched by the proofs of affection
which the people of Paris have shown me on this occasion. I deserve
them. For the only aim of my thoughts, and of my actions, is to
augment the prosperity and the glory of France. While those banditti
confined themselves to direct attacks upon me, I could leave to
the laws the task of punishing them. But since they have endangered
the population of the capital by a crime, unexampled in history,
the punishment must be equally speedy and terrible."
It was soon proved, much to the surprise of Napoleon, that the
atrocious act was perpetrated by the partisans of the Bourbons.
Many of the most prominent of the Loyalists were implicated in this
horrible conspiracy. Napoleon felt that he deserved their gratitude.
He had interposed to save them from the fury of the Jacobins.
Against the remonstrances of his friends, he had passed a decree
which restored one hundred and fifty thousand of these wandering
emigrants to France. He had done every thing in his power to enable
them to regain their confiscated estates. He had been in all respects
their friend and benefactor, and he would not believe, until the
proof was indisputable, that they could thus requite him. The wily
Fouche, however, dragged the whole matter into light. The prominent
conspirators were arrested and shot. The following letter, written
on this occasion by Josephine, to the Minister of Police, strikingly
illustrates the benevolence of her heart, and exhibits in a very
honorable light the character of Napoleon.
"While I yet tremble at the frightful event which has just occurred,
I am distressed through fear of the punishment to be inflicted on
the guilty, who belong, it is said, to families with whom I once
lived in habits of intercourse. I shall be solicited by mothers,
sisters, and disconsolate wives, and my heart will be broken through
my inability to obtain all the mercy for which I would plead. I know
that the elemency of the First who belong, it is said, to families
with whom I once lived in habits of intercourse. I shall be
solicited by mothers,sisters, and disconsolate wives, and my heart
will be broken through my inability to obtain all the mercy for
which I would plead. I know that the elemency of the First Consul
is great--his attachment to me extreme. The chief of the government
has not been alone exposed; and it is that which will render him
severe, inflexible. I conjure you, therefore, to do all in your
power to prevent inquiries being pushed too far. Do not detect all
those persons who have been accomplices in this odious transaction.
Let not France, so long overwhelmed in consternation, by public
executions, groan anew, beneath such inflictions. When the ringleaders
of this nefarious attempt shall have been secured, let severity
give place to pity for inferior agents, seduced, as they may have
been by dangerous falsehoods or exaggerated opinions. As a woman,
a wife, and a mother, I must feel the heartrendings of those will
apply to me. Act, citizen minister, in such a way that the number
of these may be lessened."
It seems almost miraculous that Napoleon should have escaped the
innumerable conspiracies which at this time were formed against
him. The partisans of the Bourbons though that if Napoleon could be
removed, the Bourbons might regain their throne. It was his resistless
genius alone, which enabled France to triumph over combined Europe.
His death would leave France without a leader. The armies of the
allies could then, with bloody strides, march to Paris, and place
the hated Bourbons on the throne. France knew this, and adored its
preserver. Monarchical Europe knew this, and hence all the engergies
of its combined kings were centred upon Napoleon. More than thirty
of these consipracies were detected by the police. London was
the hot-house where they were engendered. Air-guns were aimed to
Napoleon. Assassins dogged him with their poniards. A bomb-shell was
invented, weighing about fifteen pounds, which was to be thrown in
at his carriage-window, and which exploding by its own concussion,
would hurl death on every side. The conspirators were perfectly
reckless of the lives of others, if they could only destroy the life
of Napoleon. The agents of the infernal-machine had the barbarity
to get a young girl fifteen years of age to hold the horse who
drew the machine. This was to disarm suspicion. The poor child was
blown into such fragments, that no part of her body. excepting the
feet, could afterwards be found. At last Napoleon became aroused,
and declared that he would "teach those Bourbons that he was not
a man to be shot at like a dog."
One day at St. Helena, as he was putting on his flannel waistcoat,
he observed Las Casas looking at him very steadfastly.
"Well! what is your Excellency thinking of?" said Napoleon, with
a smile.
"Sire," Las Casas replied, "in a pamphlet which I lately read, I
found it stated that your majesty was shielded by a coat-of-mail,
for the security of your person. I was thinking that I could bear
positive evidence that at St. Helena at least, all precautions for
personal safety have been laid aside."
"This," said Napoleon, "is one of the thousand absurdities which
have just mentioned is the more ridiculous, since every individual
about me well knows how careless I am with regard to self-preservation.
Accustomed from the age of eighteen to be exposed to the connon-ball,
and knowing the inutility of precautions, I abandoned myself to
my fate. When I came to the head of affairs, I might still have
fancied myself surrounded by the dangers of the field of battle;
and I might have regarded the conspiracies which were formed against
me as so many bomb-shells. But I followed my old course. I trusted
to my lucky star, and left all precautions to the police. I was
perhaps the only sovereign in Europe who dispensed with a body-guard.
Every one could freely approach me, without having, as it were, to
pass through military barracks. Maria Lousia was much astonished
to see me so poorly guarded, and she often remarked that her father
was surrounded by bayonets. For my part, I had no better defense
at the Tuileries than I have here. I do not even know where to
find my sword," said he, looking around the room; "do you see it?
I have, to be sure, incurred great dangers. Upward of thirty plots
were found against me. These have been proved by authentic testimony,
without mentioning many which never came to light. Some sovereigns
invent conspiracies against themselves; for my part, I made it a
rule carefully to conceal them whenever I could. The crisis most
serious to me was during the interval from the battle of Marengo, to
the attempt of George Cadoudal and the affair of the Duke D'Enghien"
Napoleon now, with his accustomed vigor, took hold of the robbers an
and made short work with them. The insurgent armies of La Vendee,
numbering more than one hundred thousand men, and filled with
adventurers and desperadoes of every kind, were disbanded when their
chiefs yielded homage to Napoleon. Many of these men, accustomed to
banditti warfare, took to the highways. The roads were so infested
by them, that travailing became exceedingly perilous, and it was
necessary that every stage-coach which left Paris should be accompanied
by a guard of armed soldiers. To remedy a state of society thus
convulsed to its very centre, special tribunals were organized,
consisting of eight judges. They were to take cognizance of all such
crimes as conspiracies, robberies, and acts of violence of any kind.
The armed bands of Napoleon swept over France like a whirlwind.
The robbers were seized, tried, and shot without delay. Order was
at once restored. The people thought not of the dangerous power
they were placing in the hands of the First Consul. They asked only
for a commander, who was able and willing to quell the tumult of
the times. Such a commander they found in Napoleon. They were more
than willing to confer upon him all the power he could desire. "You
know what is best for us;"" said the people of Napoleon. "Direct
us what to do, and we will do it." It was thus that absolute power
came voluntarily into his hands. Under the circumstances it was
so natural that it can excite no suspicion. He was called First
Consul. But he already swayed a scepter more mighty than that of the
Caesars. But sixteen months had now elapsed since Napoleon landed
at Frejus. In that time he had attained the throne of France. He had
caused order and prosperity to emerge from the chaos of revolution. By
his magnanimity he had disarmed Russia, by his armies had humbled
Austria, and had compelled continental Europe to accept an honorable
peace. He merited the gratitude of his countrymen, and he received
it in overflowing measure. Through all these incidents, so eventful
and so full of difficulty, it is not easy to point to a single act
of Napoleon, which indicates a malicious or an ungenerous spirit.
"I fear nothing," said Napoleon at St. Helena, "for my renown.
Posterity will do me justice. It will compare the good which I
have done with faults which I have committed. If I had succeeded
I should have died with the reputation of being the greatest man
who ever existed. From being nothing I became, by my own exertions,
the most powerful monarch of the universe, without committing
any crime. My ambition was great, but it rested on the opinion of
the masses. I have always thought that sovereignty resides in the
people. The empire, as I had organized it, was but a great republic.
Called to the throne by the voice of the people, my maxim has always
been a career open to talent without distinction of birth . It is
for this system of equality that the European oligarchy detests
me. And yet in England talent and great services raise a man to
the highest rank. England should have understood me."
The French Revolution," said Napoleon, "was a general movement of
the mass of the nation against the privileged classes. The nobles
were exempt from the burdens of the state, and yet exclusively
occupied all the posts of honor and emolument. The revolution
destroyed these exclusive privileges, and established equality of
rights. All the avenues of wealth and greatness were equally open
to every citizen, according to his talents. The French nation
established the imperial throne, and placed me upon it. The throne
of France was granted before to Hugh Capet, by a few bishops and
nobles. The imperial throne was given to me, by the desire of the
people."
Joseph Bonaparte was of very essential service to Napoleon in the
diplomatic intercourse of the times. Lucien also was employed in
various ways, and the whole family were taken under the protection
of the First Consul. At St. Helena Napoleon uttered the following
graphic and truthful eulogium upon his brothers and sisters: "What
family, in similar circumstances, would have acted better? Every
one is not qualified to be a statesman. That requires a combination
of powers which does not often fall to the lot of any one. In this
respect all my brothers were singularly situated; they possessed
at once too much and too little talent. They felt themselves too
strong to resign themselves. blindly to a guiding counselor, and
yet too weak to be left entirely to themselves. But take them all
in all I have certainly good reason to be proud of my family. Joseph
would have been an honor to society in any country, and Lucien
would have been an honor to any assembly; Jerome, as he advanced
in life, would have developed every qualification requisite
in a sovereign. Louis would have been distinguished in any rank
or condition of life. My sister Eliza was endowed with masculine
powers of mind; she must have proved herself a philosopher in her
adverse fortune. Caroline possessed great talents and capacity.
Pauline, perhaps the most beautiful woman of her age, has been and
will continue to the end of her life, the most amiable creature in
the world. As to my mother, she deserves all kinds of veneration.
How seldom is so numerous a family entitled to so much praise. Add
to this, that, setting aside the jarring of political opinions, we
sincerely loved each other. For my part, I never ceased to cherish
fraternal affection for them all. And I am convinced that in their
hearts they felt the same sentiments toward me, and that in case
of need, they would have given me every proof of it." |
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