The proud old nobility, whom Napoleon had restored to France,
and upon many of whom he had conferred their confiscated estates,
manifested no gratitude toward their benefactor. They were sighting
for the re-enthronement of the Bourbons, and for the return of the
good old times, when all the offices of emolument and honor were
reserved for them and for their children, and the people were
but their hewers of wood and drawers of water. In the morning, as
beggars, they would crowd the audience-chamber of the First Consul
with their petitions. In the evening they disdained to honor his
levees with their presence. They spoke contemptuously of Josephine,
of her kindness and her desire to conciliate all parties. They
condemned every thing that Napoleon did. He, however, paid no heed
to their murmurings. He would not condescend even to punish them
by neglect. In that most lofty pride which induced him to say that,
in his administration he wished to imitate the elemency of God , he
endeavored to consult for the interests of all, both the evil and
the unthankful. His fame was to consist, not in revenging himself
upon his enemies, but in aggrandizing France.
At this time Napoleon's establishment at the Tuileries rather resembled
that of a very rich gentleman, than the court of a monarch. Junot,
one of his aids, was married to Mademoiselle Permon, the young
lady whose name will be remembered in connection with the anecdote
of "Puss in Boots." Her mother was one of the most haughty of the
ancient nobility, who affected to look upon Napoleon with contempt
as not of royal blood. The evening after her marriage Madame Junot
was to be presented to Josephine. After the Opera she drove to the
Tuileries. It was near eleven o'clock. As Josephine had appointed
the hour, she was expected. Eugene, hearing the wheels of the carriage,
descended to the court-yard, presented his arm to Madame Junot,
and they entered the large saloon together. It was a magnificent
apartment, magnificently furnished. Two chandeliers, surrounded
with gauze to soften the glare, shed a subdued and grateful light
over the room. Josephine was seated before a tapestry-frame working
upon embroidery. Near her sat Hortense, sylph-like in figure,
and surpassingly gentle and graceful in her manners. Napoleon was
standing near Josephine, with his hands clasped behind him, engaged
in conversation with his wife and her lovely daughter. Upon the
entrance of Madame Junot Josephine immediately arose, took her
two hands, and, affectionately kissing her, said, "I have too long
been Junot's friend, not to entertain the same sentiments for his
wife; particularly for the one he has chosen."
"Oh, Josephine!" said Napoleon, "that is running on very fast.
How do you know that this little pickle is worth loving. Well,
Mademoiselle Loulou (you see that I do not forget the names of my
old friends), have you not a word for me!" Saying this, he gently
took her hand and drew her toward him.
The young bride was much embarrassed, and yet she struggled to
retain her pride of birth. "General!" she replied, smiling, "it is
not for me to speak first."
"Very well parried," said Napoleon, playfully, "the mother's spirit!
And how is Madame Permon?"
"Very ill, general! For two years her health has caused us great
uneasiness."
"Indeed," said Napoleon," so bad as that? I am sorry to hear it;
very sorry. Make my regards to her. It is a wrong head, a proud
spirit, but she has a generous heart and a noble soul. I hope that we
shall often see you, Madame Junot. My intention is to draw around
me a numerous family, consisting of my generals and their young
wives. They will be of my wife and of Hortense, as their husbands
are my friends. But you must not expect to meet here your acquaintances
of the ancient nobility. I do not like them. They are my enemies,
and prove it by defaming."
This was but the morning twilight of that imperial splendor which
afterward dazzled the most powerful potentates of Europe. Hortense,
who subsequently became the wife of Louis Bonaparte, and the mother
of Louis Napoleon, who, at the moment of this present writing, is
at the head of the government of France, was then seventeen years
of age. "She was," Madame Junot, "fresh as a rose. Though her fair
complexion was not relieved by much color, she had enough to produce
that freshness and bloom which was her chief beauty. A profusion of
light hair played in silken locks around her soft and penetrating
blue eyes. The delicate roundness of her figure, slender as
a palm-tree, was set off by the elegant carriage of her head. But
that which formed the chief attraction of Hortense was the grace
and suavity of her manners, which united the Creole nonchalance
with the vivacity of France. She was gay, gentle, and amiable. She
had wit, which, without the smallest ill-temper, had just malice
enough to be amusing. A polished and well-conducted education had
improved her natural talents. She drew excellently, sang harmoniously,
and performed admirably in comedy. In 1800, she was a charming young
girl. She afterward became one of the most amiable princesses in
Europe. I have seen many, both in their own courts and in Paris,
but I have never known one who had any pretensions to equal talents.
She was beloved by every one. Her brother loved her tenderly. The
First Consul looked upon her as his child."
Napoleon has been accused of an improper affection for Hortense. The
world has been filled with the slander. Says Bourrienne, "Napoleon
never cherished for her any feeling but a real paternal tenderness.
He loved her after his marriage with her mother, as he would have
loved his own child. At least for three years I was a witness
to all their most private actions, and I declare I never saw any
thing that could furnish the least ground for suspicion, nor the
slightest trace of a culpable intimacy. This calumny must be classed
among those which malice delights to take in the character of men
who become celebrated, calumnies which are adopted lightly and without
reflection. Napoleon is no more. Let his memory be accompanied only
by that, be it good or bad, which really took place. Let not this
reproach be made a charge against him by the impartial historian.
I must say, in conclusion, on this delicate subject, that his
principles were rigid in an extreme degree, and that any fault of
the nature charged, neither entered his mind, nor was in accordance
with his morals or his taste."
At St. Helena Napoleon was one day looking over a book containing
an account of his amours. He smiled as he glanced his eye over the
pages, saying, "I do not even know the names of most of the females
who are mentioned here. This is all very foolish. Every body knows
that had no time for such dissipation."
One beautiful evening, in the year 1815, the parish priest of San
Pietro, a village a few miles distant from Sevilla, returned much
fatigued to his little cottage, where he found his aged housekeeper,
the Senora Margarita, watching for him. Notwithstanding that one is
well accustomed to the sight of poverty in Spain, it was impossible
to help being struck by the utter of destitution which appeared
in the house of the good priest; the more so, as every imaginable
contrivance had been restored to, to hide the nakedness of the
walls, and the shabbiness of the furniture. Margarita had prepared
for her master's super a rather small dish of olla-podriga , which
consisted, to say the truth, of the remains of the dinner, seasoned
and disguised with great skill, and with the addition of some sauce,
and a name . As she placed the savory dish upon the table, the
priest said: "We should thank God for this good supper, Margarita:
this olla-podriga makes one's mouth water. My friend, you ought
to be grateful for finding so good a supper at the house of your
host!" At the word host, Margarita raised her eyes, and saw a
stranger, who had followed her mater. Her countenance changed, and
she looked annoyed. .......... She glanced indignantly first at
the unknown, and then at the priest, who, looking down, said in a
low voice, and with the timidity of a child: "What is enough for
two, is always enough for three; and surely you would not wish that
I should allow a Christian to die of hunger? He has not tasted food
for two days."
"A Christian! He is more like a brigand!" and Margarita let the
room, murmuring loudly enough to be heard.
Meanwhile, the unwelcome guest had remained standing at the door.
He was a man of great height, half-dressed in rags and covered
with mud; while his black hair, piercing eyes, and carbine, gave
him an appearance which, though hardly prepossessing, was certainly
interesting. "Must I go?" said he.
The priest replied with an emphatic gesture: "Those whom I bring
under my roof are never driven forth, and are never unwelcome. Put
down your carbine. Let us say grace, and go to table."
"I never leave my carbine, for, as the Castilian proverb says, "Two
friends are one.' My carbine is my best friend; and I always keep
it beside me. Although you allow me to come into your house, and
do not oblige me to leave until I wish to do so, there are others
who would think nothing of hauling me out, and perhaps, with me
feet foremost. Come--to your good health, mine host, and let us to
supper."
The priest possessed an extremely good appetite, but the voracity
of the stranger soon obliged him to give up, for not contented with
eating, or rather devouring, nearly the whole of the olla-podriga,
the guest finished a large loaf of bread, without leaving a crumb.
While he ate, he kept continually looking round with an expression
of inquietude: he started at the slightest sound; and once, when
a violent gust of wind made the door bang, he sprang to his feet,
and seized his carbine, with an air which showed that, if necessary,
he would sell his life dearly. Discovering the cause of the alarm,
he reseated himself at table, and finished his repast.
"Now," said he, "I have one thing more to ask. I have been wounded,
and for eight days my wound has not been dressed. Give me a few
old rags, and you shall be no longer burdened with my presence."
"I am in no haste for you to go," replied the priest, whose quest,
notwithstanding his constant watchfulness, had conversed very
entertainingly. "I know something of surgery, and will dress your
wound."
So saying, he took from a cupboard a case containing every thing
necessary, and proceeded to do as he had said. The stranger had
bled profusely, a ball having passed through his thigh; and to have
traveled in this condition, and while suffering, too, from want of
food, showed a strength, which seemed hardly human.
"You can not possibly continue your journey to-day," said the
host. "You must pass the night here. A little rest will get up your
strength, diminish the inflammation of your wound, and--"
"I must go to--day, and immediately," interrupted the stranger.
"There are some who wait for me," he added with a sigh--"and there
are some, too,who follow me." And the momentary look of softness
passed from his features between the clauses of the sentence, and
gave place to an expression almost of ferocity. "Now, is it finished?
That is well. See, I can walk as firmly as though I had never been
wounded. Give me some bread: pay yourself for your hospitality with
this piece of gold, and adieu."
The priest put back the gold with displeasure. "I am not an innkeeper,
said he; "and I do not sell my hospitality."
"As you will, but pardon me; and now farewell, my kind host."
So saying he took the bread, which Margarita, at her master's command,
very unwillingly gave him, and soon his tall figure disappeared
among the thick foliage of a wood which surrounded the house, or
rather the cabin. An hour had scarcely passed, when musket-shots
were heard close by, and the unknown reappeared, deadly pale, and
bleeding from a deep wound near the heart.
"Take these," said he, giving pieces of gold to his late host;
"they are for my children--near the stream--in the valley."
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deadly agency, which it had power to exert. Even the roadway leading
up and down the mountain is not always safe, it would seem, from
these dangerous intruders. It is rocky and solitary, and is bordered
every where with gloomy ravines and chasms, all filled with dense and
entangled thickets, in which, and in the cavernous rocks of which
the strata of the mountain are composed, wild beast and noxious
animals of every kind find a secure retreat. The monks relate that
not many years ago a servant of the convent, who had been sent
down the mountain to Haifa, to accompany a traveler, was attacked
and seized by a panther on his return. The panther, however, instead
of putting his victim immediately to death, began to play with him
as a cat plays with a mouse which she has succeeded in making her
prey-holding him gently with her claws, for a time, and then, after
drawing back a little, darting upon him again, as if to repeat and
renew the pleasure of capturing such a prize. This was continued so
long, that the cries of the terrified captive brought to the spot
some persons that chanced to be near, when the panther was terrified
in her turn, and fled into the forests; and then the man was rescued
from his horrible situation unharmed.
For these and similar reasons, travelers who ascend to the convent
of Mt. Carmel, enjoy but little liberty there, but most confine
their explorations in most cases to the buildings of the monks,
and to some of the nearest caves of the ancient recluses. Still
the spot is rendered so attractive by the salubrity of the air,
the intrinsic beauty of the situation, the magnificence of the
prospect, and the kind and attentive demeanor of the monks, that
some visitors have recommended it as a place of permanent resort
for those who leave their homes in the West in pursuit of health,
or in search of retirement and repose. The rule that requires those
who have been guests of the convent more than two weeks to give
place to others more recently arrived, proves in facto be no serious
difficulty. Some kind of an arrangement can in such cases always,
be made, though it is seldom that any occasion arises that requires
it. The quarters, too, though plain and simple are comfortable and
neat, and although the visitor is somewhat restricted, from causes
that have already been named, in respect to explorations of the
mountain itself, there are many excursions that can be made in the
country below, of a very attractive character. He can visit Haifa,
he can ride or walk along the beach to Acre; he can go to Nazareth,
or journey down the coast, passing round the western declivity of
the mountain. In these and similar rambles he will find scenes of
continual novelty to attract him, and be surrounded every where
with the forms and usages of Oriental life.
The traveler who comes to Mt. Carmel by the way .......... of Nazareth
and the plain of Esdraelon, in going away from it generally passes
round the western declivity of the mountain, and thence proceeds
to the south, by the way of the sea. On reaching the foot of
the descent, where the mountain mule-path comes out into the main
road, as shown upon the map near the commencement of this article,
he turns shorts to the left, and goes on round the base of the
promontory, with the lofty declivities of the mountain on one hand,
and a mass of dense forests on the other, lying between the road
and the shore. As he passes on, the road, picturesque and romantic
from the beginning becomes gradually wild, solitary, and desolate.
It leads him sometimes through tangled thickets, sometimes under
shelving rocks, and sometimes it brings him out unexpectedly to
the shore of the sea, where he sees the surf rolling in upon the
beach at his feet, and far over the water the setting sun going
down to his rest beneath the western horizon. At length the twilight
gradually disappears, and as the shades of the evening come on,
lights glimmer in the solitary villages that he passes on his way;
but there is no welcome for him in their beaming. At length when
he deems it time to bring his day's journey to an end, he pitches
his tent by the wayside in some unfrequented spot, and before he
retires to rest for the night, comes out to take one more view of
the dark and sombre mountain which he is about to leave forever. He
stands at the door of his tent, and gazes at it long and earnestly,
before he bids it farewell, equally impressed with the sublime
magnificence of its situation and form, and with the solemn grandeur
of its history.
France was now at peace with all the world. It was universally
admitted that Napoleon was the great pacificator. He was the idol
of France. The masses of the people in Europe, every where regarded
him as their advocate and friend, the enemy of aristocratic usurpation,
and the great champion of equality. The people of France no longer
demanded liberty . Weary years of woe had taught them gladly
to relinquish the boon. They only desired a ruler who would take
care of them, govern them, protect them from the power of allied
despotism, and give them equal rights. Though Napoleon had now but
the title of First Consul, and France was nominally a republic,
he was in reality the most powerful monarch in Europe. His throne
was established in the hearts of nearly forty millions of people.
His word was law.
It will be remembered that Josephine contemplated the extraordinary
grandeur to which her husband had attained, with intense solicitude.
She saw that more that than ordinary regal power had passed into
his hands, and she was not a stranger to the intense desire which
animated his heart to have an heir to whom to transmit his name and
his glory. She knew that many were intimating to him that an heir
was essential to the repose of France. She was fully informed that
divorce had been urged upon him as one of the stern necessities of
state. One day, when Napoleon was busy in his cabinet, Josephine
entered softly, by a side door, and seating herself affectionately
upon his knee, and passing her hand gently through his hair, said
to him, with a burst of tenderness, "I entreat you, my friend, do
not make yourself king. It is Lucien who urges you to it. Do not
listen to him." Napoleon smiled upon her kindly, and said, "Why,
my poor Josephine, you are mad. You must not listen to these fables
which the old dowagers, tell you. But you interrupt me now; I am
very busy; leave me alone."
It is recorded that Lucien ventured to suggest to Josephine that
a law higher than the law of ordinary morality required that she
must become a mother, even were it necessary, for the attainment
of that end, that she should violate her nuptial vows. Brutalizing
and vulgar infidelity had obliterated in France, nearly all the
sacredness of domestic ties. Josephine, instinctively virtuous,
and revering the religion of her childhood, which her husband had
reinstated, bursting into tears, indignantly exclaimed, "This is
dreadful. Wretched should I be were any one to suppose me capable
of listening, without horror, to your infamous proposal. Your
ideas are poisonous; your language horrible." "Well, then, madame,"
responded Lucien, "all that I can say is, that from my heart I pity
you."
Josephine was at times almost delirious in apprehension of the
awful calamity which threatened her. She knew the intensity of her
husband's love. She also knew the boundlessness of his ambition.
She could not be blind to the apparent importance, as a matter of
state policy that Napoleon should possess an heir. She also was
fully aware that throughout France marriage had long been regarded
but as a partnership of convenience, to be formed and sundered
almost at pleasure. "Marriage," said Madame de Stael, has become
but the sacrament of adultery." The nation, under the influence of
these views, would condemn her for selfishly refusing assent to an
arrangement apparently essential to the repose of France and of
Europe Never was a woman placed in a situation of more terrible
trial. Never was an ambitious man exposed to a more fiery temptation.
Laying aside the authority of Christianity, and contemplating the
subject in the light of mere expediency, it seemed a plain duty
for Napoleon and Josephine to separate. But gloriously does it
illustrate the immutable truth of God's word, that even in such an
exigence as this, the path which the Bible pointed out was the only
path of safety and of peace. "In separating myself from Josephine,"
said Napoleon afterward, "and in marrying Maria Louisa, I placed
my foot upon an abyss which was covered with flowers."
Josephine's daughter, Hortense, beautiful, brilliant, and amiable,
then but eighteen years of age, was strongly attached to Duroc, one
of Napoleon's aids, a very fashionable and handsome man. Josephine,
however, had conceived the idea of marrying Hortense to Louis Bonaparte,
Napoleon's younger brother. She said, one day, to Bourrienne, "My
two brothers-in-law are my determined enemies. You see all their
intrigues. You know how much uneasiness they have caused me. This
projected marriage with Duroc, leaves me without any support. Duroc,
independent of Bonaparte's friendship, is nothing. He has neither
fortune, rank, nor even reputation. He can afford me no protection
against the enmity of the brothers. I must have some more certain
reliance for the future. My husband loves Louis very much. If I
can succeed in uniting my daughter to him, he will prove a strong
counterpoise to the calumnies and persecutions of my brothers-in-law."
These remarks were reported to Napoleon. He replied, "Josephine
labors in vain. Duroc and Hortense love each other, and they shall
be married. I am attached to Duroc. He is well born. I have given
Caroline to Murat, and Pauline to Le Clerc. I can as well give
Hortense to Duroc. He is brave. He is as good as the others. He is
general of division. Besides, I have other views for Louis."
In the palace the heart may throb with the same joys and griefs
as in the cottage. In anticipation of the projected marriage Duroc
was sent on a special mission to compliment the Emperor Alexander
on his accession to the throne. Duroc wrote often to Hortense while
absent. When the private secretary whispered in her ears, in the
midst of the brilliant throng of the Tuileries, "I have a letter,"
she would immediately retire to her apartment. Upon her return
her friends could see that her eyes were moistened with the tears
of affection and joy. Josephine cherished the hope that could she
succeed in uniting Hortense with Louis Bonaparte, should Hortense
give birth to a son, Napoleon would regard him as his heir. The
child would bear the name of Bonaparte; the blood of the Bonapartes
would circulate in his veins; and he would be the offspring
of Hortense, whom Napoleon regarded as his own daughter, and whom
he loved with the strongest parental affection. Thus the terrible
divorce might be averted. Urged by motives so powerful, Josephine
left no means untried to accomplish her purpose.
Louis Bonaparte was a studious, pensive, imaginative man, of great
moral worth, though possessing but little force of character. He
had been bitterly disappointed in his affections, and was weary
of the world. When but nineteen years of age he had formed a very
strong attachment for a young lady whom he had met in Paris. She
was the daughter of an emigrant noble, and his whole being because
absorbed in the passion of love. Napoleon, then in the midst of
those victories which paved his way to the throne of France, was
apprehensive that the alliance of his brother with one of the old
royalist families, might endanger his own ambitious projects. He
therefore sent him away on a military commission, and secured, by
his powerful instrumentality, the marriage of the young lady to
another person. The disappointment preyed deeply upon the heart
of the sensitive young man. All ambition died within him. He loved
solitude, and studiously avoided the cares and pomp of state.
Napoleon, not having been aware of the extreme strength of his
brother's attachment, when he saw the wound which he had inflicted
upon him, endeavored to make all the amends in his power. Hortense
was beautiful, full of grace and vivacity. At last Napoleon fell in
with the views of Josephine, and resolved, having united the two,
to recompense his brother, as far as possible, by lavishing great
favors upon them.
It was long before Louis would listen to the proposition of his
marriage with Hortense. His affections still clung to the lost
object of his idolatry, and he could not, without pain, think of
union with another. Indeed a more uncongenial alliance could hardly
have been imagined. In no one thing were their tastes similar.
But who could resist the combined tact of Josephine and power of
Napoleon. All obstacles were swept away, and the maiden, loving
the hilarity of life, and its gayest scenes of festivity and
splendor, was reluctantly led to the silent, pensive scholar, who
as reluctantly received her as his bride. Hortense had become in
some degree reconciled to the match, as her powerful father promised
to place them in high positions of wealth and rank. Louis resigned
himself to his lot, feeling the earth had no further joy in store
for him. A magnificent fete was given in honor of this marriage,
at which all the splendors of the ancient royalty were revived.
Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, who, as President of the French Republic,
succeeded Louis Philippe, the King of the French, was the only
child of this marriage who survived his parents.
Napoleon had organized in the heart of Italy a republic containing
about five millions of inhabitants. This republic could by no
means maintain itself against the monarchies of Europe, unaided by
France. Napoleon, surrounded by hostile kings, deemed it essential
to the safety of France, to secure in Italy a nation of congenial
sympathies and interests, with whom he could form the alliance of
cordial friendship. The Italians, all inexperienced in self-government,
regarding Napoleon as their benefactor and their sole supporter,
looked to him for a constitution. Three of the most influential
men of the Cisalpine Republic, were sent as delegates to Paris,
to consult with the First Consul upon the organization of their
government. Under the direction of Napoleon a constitution was
drafted, which, considering the character of the Italian people,
and the hostile monarchicals influences which surrounded them, was
most highly liberal. A President was Vice-President were to be
chosen for ten years. There was to be a Senate of eight members
and a House of Representatives of seventy-five members. There were
all to be selected from a body composed of 300 landed proprietors,
200 of the clergy and prominent literary men. Thus all the important
interests of the state were represented.
In Italy, as in all the other countries of Europe at that time, there
were three prominent parties. The Loyalists sought the restoration
of monarchy and the exclusive privileges of kings and nobles. The
Moderate Republicans wished to establish a firm government, which
would enforce order and confer upon all equal rights. The Jacobins
wished to break down all distinctions, divide property, and to
govern by the blind energies of the mob. Italy had long been held
in subjection by the spiritual terrors of the priests and by the
bayonets of the Austrians. Ages of bondage had enervated the people
and there were no Italian statesmen capable of taking the helm of
government in such a turbulent sea of troubles. Napoleon resolved
to have himself proposed as President, and then reserving to
himself the supreme direction, to delegate the details of affairs
to distinguished Italians, until they should, in some degree, be
trained to duties so new to them. Says Theirs. "This plan was not,
on his part, the inspiration of ambition, but rather of great good
sense. His views on this occasion were unquestionably both pure and
exalted." But nothing can more strikingly show the almost miraculous
energies of Napoleon's mind, and his perfect self-reliance, than
the readiness with which, in addition to the cares of the Empire of
France, he assumed the responsibility of organizing and developing
another nation of five millions of inhabitants. This was in 1802.
Napoleon was then but thirty-three years of age.
To have surrendered those Italians, who had rallied around the
armies of France in their hour of need, again to Austrian domination,
would have been an act of treachery. To have abandoned them, in their
inexperience, to the Jacobin mob on the one hand, and to royalist
intrigues on the other, would have insured the ruin of the Republic.
But by leaving the details of government to be administered by
Italians, and at the same time sustaining the constitution by his
own powerful hand, there was a probability that the republic might
attain prosperity and independence. As the press of business rendered
it extremely difficult for Napoleon to leave France, a plan was
formed for a vast congress of the Italians, to be assembled in Lyons,
about half way between Paris and Milan, for the imposing adoption
of the republican constitution. Four hundred and fifty-two deputies
were elected to cross the frozen Alps, in the month of December.
The extraodinary watchfulness and foresight of the First Consul,
had prepared every comfort for them on the way. In Lyons sumptuous
preparations were made for their entertainment. Magnificent halls
were decorated in the highest style of earthly splendor for the
solemnities of the occasion. The army of Egypt, which had recently
landed, bronzed by an African sun was gorgeously attired to add
to the magnificence of the spectacle. The Lyonese youth, exultant
with pride, were formed into an imposing body of cavalry. On the
11th of January, 1802, Napoleon, accompanied by Josephine, arrived in
Lyons. The whole population of the adjoining country had assembled
along the road, anxiously watching for his passage. At night immense
fires illumined his path, blazing upon every hill side and in every
valley. One continuous shout of "Live Bonaparte," rolled along with
the carriage from Paris to Lyons. It was late in the evening when
Napoleon arrived in Lyons. The brilliant city flamed with the
splendor of noon-day. The carriage of the First Consul passed under
a triumphal arch, surmounted by a sleeping lion, the emblem of
France, and Napoleon took up his residence in the Hotel deVille,
which, in most princely sumptuousness had been decorated for
his reception. The Italians adored Napoleon. They felt personally
ennobled by his renown, for they considered him their countryman.
The Italian language was his native tongue, and he spoke it with
the most perfect fluency and elegance. The moment that the name of
Napoleon was suggested to the deputies as President of the Republic,
it was received with shouts of enthusiastic acclamation. A deputation
was immediately send to the First Consul to express the unanimous
and cordial wish of the convention that he would accept the office.
While these things were transpiring, Napoleon, ever intensely
occupied, was inspecting his veteran soldiers of Italy and of Egypt,
in a public review. The elements seemed to conspire to invest the
occasion with splendor. The day was cloudless, the sun brilliant,
the sky serene, the air invigorating. All the inhabitants of Lyons
and the populace of the adjacent country thronged the streets. No
pen can describe the transports with which the hero was received,
as he rode along the lines of these veterans, whom he had so often
led to victory. The soldiers shouted in a frenzy of enthusiasm. Old
men, and young men, and boys caught the shout and it reverberated
along the streets in one continuous roar. Matrons and maidens, waving
banners and handkerchiefs, wept in excess of emotion. Bouquets of
flowers were showered from the windows, to carpet his path, and
every conceivable demonstration was made of the most enthusiastic
love. Napoleon himself was deeply moved by the scene. Some of the
old grenadiers, whom he recognized, he called out of the ranks,
kindly talked with them, inquiring respecting their wounds and their
wants. He addressed several of the officers, whom he had seen in
many encounters, shook hands with them, and a delirium of excitement
pervaded all minds Upon his return to the Hotel deVille, he met
the deputation of the convention. They presented him the address,
urging upon him the acceptance of the Presidency of the Cisalpine
Republic. Napoleon received the address, intimated his acceptance,
and promised, on the following day, to meet the convention.
The next morning dawned brightly upon the city. A large church,
embellished with richest drapery, was prepared for the solemnities
of the occasion. Napoleon entered the church, took his seat upon an
elevated platform, surrounded by his family, the French ministers,
and a large number of distinguished generals and statesmen. He
addressed the assembly in the Italian language, with as much ease
of manner, elegance of expression, and fluency of utterance as if
his whole life had been devoted to the cultivation of the powers
of oratory. He announced his acceptance of the dignity with which
they would invest him and uttered his views respecting the measures
which he adopted to secure the prosperity of the Italian Republic
, as the new state was henceforth to be called. Repeated bursts of
applause interrupted his address, and at its close one continuous
shout of acclamation testified the assent and the delight of
the assembled multitude. Napoleon remained at Lyons twenty days,
occupied, apparently every moment, with the vast affairs which
then engrossed his attention. And yet he found time to write
daily to Paris, urging forward the majestic enterprises of the new
government in France. The following brief extracts from this free
and confidential correspondence, afford an interesting glimpse of
the motives which actuated Napoleon at this time, and of the great
objects of his ambition.
"I am proceeding slowly in my operations. I pass the whole of my
mornings in giving audience to the deputations of the neighboring
departments. The improvement in the happiness of France is obvious.
During the past two years the population of Lyons has increased
more than 20,000 souls. All the manufacturers tell me that their
works are in a state of high activity. All minds seem to be full
of energy, not that energy which overturns empires, but that which
re-establishes them, and conducts them to prosperity and riches."
"I beg of you particularly to see that the unruly members, whom
we have in the constituted authorities, are every one of them
removed. The wish of the nation is, that the government shall not
be obstructed in its endeavors to act for the public good, and
that the head of Medusa shall no longer show itself, either in
our tribunes or in our assemblies. The conduct of Sieyes, on this
occasion, completely proves that having contributed to the destruction
of all the constitutions since '91, he wishes now to try his hand
against the present. He ought to burn a wax candle to Our Lady, for
having got out of the scrape so fortunately and in so unexpected
a manner. But the older I grow, the more I perceive that each man
must fulfill his destiny. I recommend you to ascertain whether the
provisions for St. Domingo have actually been sent off. I take it
for granted that you have taken proper measures for demolishing
the Chatelet. If the Minister of Marine should stand in need of the
frigates of the King of Naples, he may make use of them. General
Jourdan gives me a satisfactory account of the state of Piedmont."
"I wish that citizen Royer be sent to the 16th military division,
to examine into the accounts of the paymaster. I also wish some
individual, like citizen Royer, to perform the same duty for the
13th and 14th divisions. It is complained that the receivers keep
the money as long as they can, and that the paymasters postpone
payment as long as possible. The paymasters and the receivers are
the greatest nuisance in the state."
"Yesterday I visited several factories. I was pleased with the
industry and the severe economy which pervaded these establishments.
Should the wintry weather continue severe, I do not think that the
$25,000 a month, which the Minister of the Interior grants for the
purposes of charity, will be sufficient. It will be necessary to
add five thousand dollars for the distribution of wood, and also
to light fires in the churches and other large buildings to give
warmth to a great number of people."
Napoleon arrived in Paris on the 31st of January. In the mean time,
there had been a new election of members of the Tribunate and of
the Legislative body. All those who had manifested any opposition
to the measures of Napoleon, in the re-establishment of Christianity,
and in the adoption of the new civil code, were left out, and their
places supplied by those who approved of the measures of the First
Consul. Napoleon could now act unembarrassed. In every quarter
there was submission. All the officers of the state, immediately
upon his return, sought an audience, and in that pomp of language
which his majestic deeds and character inspired, presented to him
their congratulations. He was already a sovereign, in possession
of regal power, such as no other monarch in Europe enjoyed. Upon
one object all the energies of his mighty mind were concentrated.
France was his estate, his diadem, his all. The glory of France
was his glory, the happiness of France his happiness, the riches of
France his wealth. Never did a father with more untiring self-denial
and toil labor for his family, than did Napoleon through days of
Herculean exertion and nights of sleeplessness devote every energy
of body and soul to the greatness of France. He loved not ease, he
loved not personal indulgence, he loved not sensual gratification.
The elevation of France to prosperity, wealth, and power, was
a limitless ambition. The almost supernatural success which had
thus far attended his exertions, did but magnify his desires and
stimulate his hopes. He had no wish to elevate France upon the ruins
of other nations. But he wished to make France the pattern of all
excellence, the illustrious leader at the head of all nations,
guiding them to intelligence, to opulence, and to happiness. Such,
at this time, was the towering ambition of Napoleon, the most noble
and comprehensive which was ever embraced by the conception of man.
Of course, such ambition was not consistent with the equality of
other nations for he determined that France should be the first. But
he manifested no disposition to destroy the prosperity of others;
he only wished to give such an impulse to humanity in France, by
the culture of mind, by purity of morals, by domestic industry, by
foreign commerce, by great national works, as to place France in
the advance upon the race course of greatness. In this race France
had but one antagonist--England. France had nearly forty millions
of inhabitants. The island of Great Britain contained but about
fifteen millions. But England, with her colonies, girdled the globe,
and, with her fleets, commanded all seas. "France," said Napoleon,
"must also have her colonies and her fleets." "If we permit that,"
the statesman of England rejoined, "we may become a secondary
power, and may thus be at the mercy of France." It was undeniably
so. Shall history be blind to such fatality as this? Is man, in the
hour of triumphant ambition, so moderate, that we can be willing
that he should attain power which places us at his mercy? England
was omnipotent upon the seas. She became arrogant, and abused that
power, and made herself offensive to all nations. Napoleon developed
no special meekness of character to indicate that he would be, in
the pride of strength which no nation could resist, more moderate
and conciliating. Candor can not censure England for being unwilling to
yield her high position to surrender her supremacy on the seas--to
become a secondary power--to allow France to become her master. And
who can censure France for seeking the establishment of colonies,
the extension of commerce, friendly alliance with other nations,
and the creation of fleets to protect her from aggression upon
the ocean, as well as upon the land? Napoleon himself, with that
wonderful magnanimity which ever characterized him, though at
times exasperated by the hostility which he now encountered yet
often spoke in terms of respect of the influences which animated
his foes. It is to be regretted that his antagonists so seldom
reciprocated this magnanimity. There was here, most certainly, a
right and a wrong. But it is not easy for man accurately to adjust
the balance. God alone can award the issue. The mind is saddened as
it wanders amid the labyrinths of conscientiousness and of passion,
of pure motives and impure ambition. This is, indeed, a fallen
world. The drama of nations is a tragedy. Melancholy is the lot of
man.
England daily witnessed, with increasing alarm, the rapid and
enormous strides which France was making. The energy of the First
Consul seemed superhuman. His acts indicated the most profound
sagacity, the most far-reaching foresight. To-day the news reaches
London that Napoleon has been elected President of the Italian
Republic. Thus in an hour five millions of people are added to
his empire! To-morrow it is announced that he is establishing a
colony at Elba, that a vast expedition is sailing for St. Domingo,
to re-organize the colony there. England is bewildered. Again it
is proclaimed that Napoleon has purchased Louisiana of Spain, and
is preparing to fill the fertile valley of the Mississippi with
colonists. In the mean time, all France is in a state of activity.
Factories, roads, bridges, canals, fortifications are every where
springing into existence. The sound of the ship hammer reverberates
in all the harbors of France, and every month witnesses the increase
of the French fleet. The mass of the English people contemplate
with admiration this development of energy. The statesmen of England
contemplate it with dread.
For some months, Napoleon, in the midst of all his other cares, had
been maturing a vast system of public instruction for the youth of
France. He drew up, with his own hand, the plan for their schools,
and proposed the course of study. It is a little singular that,
with his strong scientific predilections, he should have assigned
the first rank to classical studies. Perhaps this is to be accounted
for from his profound admiration of the heroes of antiquity. His
own mind was most thoroughly stored with all the treasures of Greek
and Roman story. All these schools were formed upon a military
model, for situated as France was, in the midst of monarchies, at
heart hostile, he deemed it necessary that the nation should be
universally trained to bear arms. Religious instruction was to be
communicated in all these schools by chaplains, military instruction
by old officers who had left the army, and classical and scientific
instruction by the most learned men Europe could furnish. The First
Consul also devoted special attention to female schools. "France
needs nothing so much to promote her regeneration," said he, "as
good mothers." To attract the youth of France to these schools,
one millions of dollars was appropriated for over six thousand
gratuitous exhibitions for the pupils. Ten schools of law were
established, nine schools of medicine, and an institution for the
mechanical arts, called the "School of Bridges and Roads," the
first model of those schools of art which continue in France until
the present day, and which are deemed invaluable. There were no
exclusive privileges in these institutions. A system of perfect
equality pervaded them. The pupils of all classes were placed upon
a level, with an unobstructed arena before them. "This is only
a commencement," said Napoleon, "by-and-by we shall do more and
better."
Another project which Napoleon now introduced was vehemently
opposed--the establishment of the Legion of Honor. One of the leading
principles of the revolution was the entire overthrow of all titles
of distinction. Every man, high or low, was to be addressed simply
as Citizen . Napoleon wished to introduce a system of rewards which
should stimulate to heroic deeds, and which should ennoble those
who had deserved well of humanity. Innumerable foreigners of
distinction had thronged France since the peace. He had observed
with what eagerness the populace had followed these foreigners,
gazing with delight upon their gay decorations The court-yard of
the Tuileries was ever crowded when these illustrious strangers
arrived and departed. Napoleon, in his council, where he was always
eloquent and powerful, thus urged his views:
"Look at these vanities, which genius pretends so much to disdain.
The populace is not of that opinion. It loves these many-colored
ribbons, as it loves religious pomp. The democrat philosopher calls
it vanity. Vanity let it be. But that vanity is a weakness common
to the whole human race, and great virtues may be made to spring
from it. With these so much despised baubles heroes are made. There
must be worship for the religious sentiment. There must be visible
distinctions for the noble sentiment of glory. Nations should not
strive to be singular any more than individuals. The affectation
of acting differently from the rest of the world, is an affectation
which is reproved by all persons of sense and modesty. Ribbons are
in use in all countries. Let them be in use in France. It will be
one more friendly relation established with Europe. Our neighbors
give them only to the man of noble birth. I will give them to the
man of merit--to the one who shall have served best in the army or
in the state, or who shall have produced the finest works."
It was objected that the institution of the Legion of Honor was
a return to the aristocracy which the revolution had abolished.
"What is there aristocratic," Napoleon exclaimed, "in a distinction
purely personal, and merely for life, bestowed on the man who has
displayed merit, whether evil or military--bestowed on him alone,
bestowed for his life only, and not passing to his children. Such
a distinction is the reverse of aristocratic. It is the essence of
aristocracy that its titles are transmitted from the man who has
earned them, to the son who possesses no merit. The ancient regime,
so battered by the ram revolution, is more entire than is believed.
All the emigrants hold each other by the hand. The Vendeeans are
secretly enrolled. The priests, at heart, are not very friendly
to us. With the words 'legitimate king,' thousands might be roused
to arms. It is needful that the men who have taken part in the
revolution should have a bond of union, and cease to depend on the
first accident which might strike one single head. For ten years we
have only been making ruins. We must now found an edifice. Depend
upon it, the struggle is not over with Europe. Be assured that struggle will begin again" |
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