Nothing but memories now remains to France, or to the human race,
of the splendors of Marengo, of Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram; but
the work which Napoleon did while Europe allowed him a few years of
peace will endure for ages. Had the Treaty of Amiens been lasting,
had England kept faith, had the old world dynasties been willing to
accept at that time those necessary changes which have since cost
so much labor, blood, and treasure, Napoleon might have gone down
to history, not as the typical fighter of modern times, but as the
peerless developer, organizer, administrator, and lawgiver. In his
many-sided character there was the well-rounded man of peace, who
delighted in improvement, in embellishment, in the growth of commerce,
agriculture, and manufactures; in the progress of art, science, and
literature; in the thorough training of the young, the care of the
weaker members of society, the just administration of wise laws, the
recognition of merit of all kinds. The orderly march of the legions of
industry was no less satisfying to him than the march of armies. We
have read so much of his battles that we have come to think of him as
a man who was never so happy as when at war. This view is superficial
and incorrect. It appears that he was never more energetic, capable,
effective, never more at ease, never more cheerful, contented, kind,
and magnetic than in the work connected with his schools, hospitals,
public monuments, public improvements of all sorts, the codification of
the laws, the encouragement and development of the various industries
of France. No trophy of any of his campaigns did he exhibit with more
satisfaction than he took in showing to visitors a piece of sugar made
by Frenchmen from the beet--a triumph of home industry due largely to
his stimulating impulse.
In all such matters his interest was intelligent, persistent, and
intense. Few were the months given to him in which to devote himself
to such labor; but he took enormous strides in constructing a new
system for France which worked wonders for her, and which has had its
influence throughout the civilized world.
The men of the Revolution had sketched a grand scheme of state
education, but it remained a sketch. Napoleon studied their scheme,
improved it, adopted it, and put it into successful operation. His
thorough system of instruction, controlled by the State, from the
primary schools to the Lyceums and the Technological Institute remain
in France to-day substantially as he left them.
Under the Directory society had become disorganized and morals corrupt.
Napoleon, hard at work on finance, laws, education, military and
civil administration, inaugurated the reform of social abuses also.
With his removal to the Tuileries, February 1800, may be dated the
reconstruction of society in France. The beginnings of a court formed
about him, and into this circle the notoriously immoral women could not
enter. It must have been a cruel surprise to Madame Tallien--coming to
visit her old friend Josephine--when the door was shut in her face by
the usher. Of course it was by Napoleon’s command that this was done,
never by Josephine’s. Applying similar rules to the men, Napoleon
compelled Talleyrand to marry the woman with whom he openly lived; and
even the favorite Berthier, too scandalously connected with Madame
Visconti, was made to take a wife. Sternly frowning upon all flaunting
immoralities, the First Consul’s will power and example so impressed
itself upon the nation that the moral tone of society throughout the
land was elevated, and a loftier moral standard fixed.
Under the Directory the material well-being of the country, internally,
had been so neglected that even the waterways fell into disuse. Under
the consular government the French system of internal improvements soon
began to excite the admiration of Europe. Englishmen, coming over after
the peace, and expecting to see what their editors and politicians had
described as a country ruined by revolution, were amazed to see that
in many directions French progress could give England useful lessons.
Agriculture had doubled its produce, for the idle lands of former
grandees had been put into cultivation. The farmer was more prosperous,
for the lord was not on the lookout to seize the crop with feudal dues
as soon as made. Nor was the priest seen standing at the gate, grabbing
a tenth of everything. Nor were state taxes levied with an eye single
to making the burden as heavy as peasant shoulders could bear.
Wonder of wonders! the man in control had said, and kept saying,
“Better to let the peasant keep what he makes than to lock it up in
the public treasury!” The same man said, “Beautify the markets, render
them clean, attractive, healthy--they are the Louvres of the common
people.” It was such a man who would talk with the poor whenever he
could, to learn the facts of their condition. In his stroll he would
stop, chat with the farmer, and, taking the plough in his own white
hands, trace a wobbly furrow.
Commerce was inspired to new efforts, for the First Consul put himself
forward as champion of liberty of the seas, combatting England’s harsh
policy of searching neutral vessels and seizing goods covered by the
neutral flag.
Manufactures he encouraged to the utmost of his power, by shutting off
foreign competition, by setting the example of using home-made goods,
and by direct subsidies. He even went so far as to experiment with the
government warehouse plan, advancing money out of the treasury to the
manufactures on the deposit of products of the mills.
No drone, be he the haughtiest Montmorency, whose ancestor had been in
remote ages a murderer and a thief, could hold office under Napoleon.
Unless he were willing to work, he could not enter into the hive. For
the first time in the political life of the modern French, men became
prouder of the fact that they were workers, doers of notable deeds,
than that they were the fifteenth cousin of some spindle-shanked duke
whose great-great-grandfather had held the stirrup when Louis XIII. had
straddled his horse.
Having founded the Bank of France, January, 1800, Napoleon jealously
scrutinized its management, controlled its operations, and made
it useful to the State as well as to the bankers. He watched the
quotations of government securities, took pride in seeing them command
high prices, and considered it a point of honor that they should not
fall below eighty. When they dropped considerably below that figure,
some years later, the Emperor went into the market, made “a campaign
against the Bears,” and forced the price up again--many a crippled bear
limping painfully off the lost field.
The First Consul also elaborated a system of state education. Here he
was no Columbus, no creator, no original inventor. His glory is that
he accomplished what others had suggested, had attempted, but had not
done. He took hold, gave the scheme the benefit of his tremendous
driving force, and pushed it through. It will be his glory forever
that in all things pertaining to civil life he was the highest type of
democrat. Distinctions of character, merit, conduct, talent, he could
understand; distinctions of mere birth he abhorred. The very soul of
his system was the rewarding of worth. In the army, the civil service,
the schools, in art and science and literature, his great object was to
discover the real men,--the men of positive ability,--and to open to
these the doors of preferment.
Remembering the sufferings he and his sister had endured at the Bourbon
schools where the poor scholars were cruelly humiliated, he founded his
training-schools, military and civil, upon the plan which as a boy he
had sketched. The young men at his military academies kept no troops
of servants, and indulged in no hurtful luxury. They not only attended
to their own personal needs, but fed, curried, and saddled their own
horses.
It was such a man as Napoleon who would turn from state business to
examine in person an ambitious boy who had been studying at home for
admission into one of the state schools, and who had been refused
because he had not studied under a professor. “This boy is competent;
let him enter the school,” wrote Napoleon after the examination: and
the young man’s career was safe.
It was such a man who would invite the grenadiers to the grand banquets
at the palace, and who would direct that special courtesies should be
shown these humblest of the guests.
It was such a man who would read every letter, every petition
addressed to him, and find time to answer all. Never too proud or
too busy to hear the cry of the humblest, to reward the merit of the
obscurest, to redress the grievance of the weakest, he was the man to
make the highest headed general in the army--Vandamme himself, for
instance,--apologized to the obscure captain who had been wantonly
insulted. Any private in the ranks--the drummer boy, the grenadier--was
free to step out and speak to Napoleon, and was sure to be heard as
patiently as Talleyrand or Murat or Cambacérès in the palace. If
any difference was made, it was in favor of the private soldier.
Any citizen, male or female, high or low, could count with absolute
certainty on reaching Napoleon in person or by petition in writing,
and upon a reply being promptly given. One day a careless secretary
mislaid one of these prayers of the lowly, and the palace was in terror
at Napoleon’s wrath until the paper was found. Josephine might take a
petition, smile sweetly on the supplicant, forget all about it, and
suavely assure the poor dupe when meeting him next that his case was
being considered. Not so Napoleon. He might not do the sweet smile, he
might refuse the request, but he would give the man his answer, and if
his prayers were denied, would tell him why.
The Revolution having levelled all ranks, there were no visible
marks of distinction between man and man. Napoleon was too astute
a politician not to pander to mankind’s innate craving for outward
tokens of superiority. The Legion of Honor was created against stubborn
opposition, to reward with ribbons, buttons, and pensions those who had
distinguished themselves by their own efforts in any walk of life. It
embraced merit of every kind,--civil, military, scientific, literary,
artistic. Men of all creeds, of every rank, every calling, were
eligible. The test of fitness for membership was meritorious service
to the State. Such at least was Napoleon’s theory: whether he or any
one else ever strictly hewed to so rigid a line may be doubted. His
order of nobility had this merit: it was not hereditary, it carried
no special privileges, it could not build up a caste, it kept alive
the idea that success must be founded upon worth, not birth. In theory
such an order of nobility was democratic to the core. Lafayette, whom
Napoleon had freed from captivity, recalled to France, and reinstated
in his ancestral domain, scornfully declined to enter this new order
of nobility. So did many others--some because they were royalists,
some because they were republicans. In a few years the institution had
become so much a part of national life that the restored Bourbons dared
not abolish it.
* * * * *
“I will go down to posterity with the Code in my hand,” said Napoleon
with just pride, for time has proven that as a lawgiver, a modern
Justinian, his work has endured.
Early in his consulate he began the great labor of codifying the laws
of France,--a work which had often been suggested, and which the
Convention had partially finished, but which had never been completed.
To realize the magnitude of the undertaking, we must bear in mind that,
under the Old Order, there were all sorts of law and all kinds of
courts. What was right in one province was wrong in another. A citizen
who was familiar with the system in Languedoc would have found himself
grossly ignorant in Brittany. Roman law, feudal law, royal edicts,
local customs, seigniorial mandates, municipal practices, varied and
clashed throughout the realm. The Revolution had prostrated the old
system and had proposed to establish one uniform, modern, and equitable
code of law for the whole country; but the actual carrying out of the
plan was left to Napoleon.
Calling to his aid the best legal talent of the land, the First Consul
set to work. Under his supervision the huge task was completed, after
the steady labor of several years. The Civil Code and the Code of
Civil Procedure, the Criminal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure,
were the four parts of the completed system, which, adopted in France,
followed the advance of the Empire and still constitutes the law of a
large portion of the civilized world.
Every statute passed under Napoleon’s eye. He presided over the
meetings when the finished work of the codifiers came up for sanction,
and his suggestions, reasoning, experience, and natural wisdom left
their impress upon every page. “Never did we adjourn,” said one of the
colaborers of Napoleon, “without learning something we had not known
before.”
It is the glory of this Code that it put into final and permanent shape
the best work of the Revolution. It was based upon the great principle
that all citizens were legally equals; that primogeniture, hereditary
nobility, class privileges, and exemptions were unjust; that property
was sacred; that conscience was free; that state employment should be
open to all, opportunities equal to all, state duties and state burdens
the same to all; that laws should be simple, and legal proceedings
public, swift, cheap, and just; and that personal liberty, civil right,
should be inviolable.
Recognizing his right as master-builder, his persistence, zeal, active
coöperation in the actual work, and the modern tone which he gave to
it, the world does him no more than justice in calling it the Code
Napoléon.
Another great distinctive work of the First Consul is the Concordat;
and here his claim to approval must ever remain a question. Those who
believe that the State should unite with the Church and virtually deny
to posterity the right to investigate the most important of subjects,
will always strain the language of praise in giving thanks to Napoleon
for the Concordat. On the contrary, those who believe that the State
should not unite with the hierarchy of any creed, but should let the
question of religion alone,--leave it to be settled by each citizen for
himself,--will forever condemn the Concordat as the colossal mistake of
Napoleon’s career.
It will be remembered that the Revolution had confiscated the enormous,
ill-gotten, and ill-used wealth of the Catholic Church, but in lieu of
this source of revenue had provided ample salaries to the clergy, to
be paid from the public treasury. It is not true that the Christian
worship was forbidden or religion abolished. Throughout the Reign
of Terror the Catholic Church continued to be a state institution.
Only those priests who refused to take the oath of allegiance to
the New Order were treated as criminals. It was not till September,
1794, that the Convention abolished the salaries paid by the State,
thus separating Church and State. After this all creeds were on a
level, and each citizen could voluntarily support that which he
preferred,--Catholic, Protestant, or the Theophilanthropist.
It was the princely bishop, archbishop, and cardinal who had brought
reproach upon the Church under the Old Régime; it was the humble parish
priest who had maintained some hold upon the love and the respect
of the people. When the Revolution burst upon the land, it was the
prince of the Church who fled to foreign shores; it was the parish
priest who remained at the post of duty. Bravely taking up the cross
where the cardinals and bishops had dropped it, the curés reorganized
their Church, pledged themselves to the new order of things, and
throughout France their constitutional Church was at work--a voluntary
association, independent of Rome, and supporting itself without help
from the State. In one very essential particular it stood nearer to the
Christ standard than the Church it replaced--it charged no fees for
administering the sacraments.
This revived Gallican Church was distasteful to Napoleon, for he wished
the State, the executive, to be the head, centre, and controlling power
of everything. Voluntary movements of all sorts were his aversion.
To the Pope this independent Gallican Church was a menace, an
impertinence, a revolt. Catholicism, be it never so pure in creed,
must yield obedience and lucre to Rome, else it savors of heresy,
schism, and dire sinfulness.
Again, to the Pope and to the princes of the Church this equality
among the denominations in France was a matter that was almost
intolerable. Where creeds stand on the same footing, they will compete
for converts; where there is room for competition, there is license
for investigation, debate, reason, and common sense. And we have the
word of Leo XIII., echoing that of so many of his predecessors, that
religion has no enemy so subtle, so much to be dreaded, so much needing
to be ruthlessly crushed, as reason, investigation.
The Pope of Napoleon’s day held this view, as a matter of course; and
in order to bring about a renewal of the union between the Catholic
Church and the government of France he was ready to concede almost
anything Napoleon might demand. Once the union had been accomplished,
no matter on what terms, the papacy would feel safe. Evolution and
time would work marvels; the essential thing was to bring about the
union. Napoleon was mortal, he would die some day, and weaker men
would succeed him--a stronger would never appear. Let the Pope bend a
little to that imperious will, let concessions be made while the Church
was getting fulcrum for its lever. Once adjusted, the lever would do
the rest. So it appeared from the point of view of the Pope: time has
proven him right.
On the part of Napoleon there were reasons of policy which lured him
into the toils of Rome. Immense results, immediate and personal, would
follow his compact with the Pope; for these he grasped, leaving the
future to take care of itself.
For Napoleon was personally undergoing a great transformation.
Gradually his mind had filled with dreams of empire. The cannon of
Marengo had hardly ceased to echo before he began to speak of “My
beautiful France.” Between himself and those about him he steadily
increased the distance. His tone was that of Master. Tuscany having
been taken from Austria, he made a kingdom out of it, put a feeble
Bourbon upon its throne, dubbed the puppet King of Etruria, and brought
him to Paris where the people of France could behold a king playing
courtier to a French consul. At the Tuileries the ceremony and royalty
encroached constantly upon republican forms, and the lip service
of flatterers began to displace military frankness and democratic
independence.
Looking forward to supreme power, Napoleon was too astute a politician
to neglect the priest. As Alexander had bent his head in seeming
reverence at altars, and listened with apparent faith to Grecian
oracles; as Cæsar had posed as Roman chief priest, and leagued himself
to paganism; so Napoleon, who had been a Mussulman at Cairo, would now
become a Catholic in Paris. It was a matter of policy, nothing more.
“Ah, General,” said Lafayette to him, “what you want is that the little
vial should be broken over your head.”
It all led up to that.
Monarchy was to be restore, and its natural supports--the aristocrat
and the priest--were needed to give it strength. By coming to terms
with the Pope, Napoleon would win, and the Bourbons lose, the
disciplined hosts of the Catholic Church.
Therefore the Concordat was negotiated, and the French Church, which
even under the Bourbons had enjoyed a certain amount of independence,
was put under the feet of the Italian priest, under the tyranny of Rome.
By this compact the Pope held to himself the right to approve the
clerical nominees of the State, while the tax-payers were annually
to furnish $10,000,000 to pay clerical salaries. By this compact was
brought back into France the subtle, resistless power of a corporation
which, identifying itself with God, demands supreme control.
Napoleon himself soon felt the strength of this released giant, and the
France of to-day is in a death grapple with it.
The time may come when the Concordat will be considered Napoleon’s
greatest blunder, his unpardonable political sin. It was not faith,
it was not even philanthropy which governed his conduct. It was cold
calculation. It was merely a move in the game of ambition. At the very
moment that he claimed the gratitude of Christians for the restoration
of religion, he sought to soothe the non-believers by telling them that
under his system religion would disappear from France within fifty
years.
It is not true that a majority of the French clamored for a return
of the old forms of worship. On the contrary, the vast majority
were indifferent, if not hostile. In the army it caused a dangerous
conspiracy among the officers, against Napoleon’s life.
When the Concordat came to be celebrated by a pompous pagan ceremonial
in the cathedral of Notre Dame, it required all of his authority to
compel a respectful attendance, as it had required the utmost exercise
of his power to secure the sanction of the state authorities to the
Concordat itself. More than one saddened Frenchman thought what
General Delmas is reported to have said, when Napoleon asked his
opinion of the ceremonial at Notre Dame; “It is a fine harlequinade,
needing only the presence of the million men who died to do away with
all that.”
Yes, a million Frenchmen had died to do away with that,--the worst
feature of the Old Order,--and now it had all come back again. Once
more the children of France were to have their brains put under the
spell of superstition. They were to be taught the loveliness of
swallowing every marvel the priest might utter, and the damnation of
thinking for oneself upon any subject ecclesiastical. They were to be
crammed from the cradle, on one narrow creed, and incessantly told that
hell yawned for the luckless wight who doubted or demurred.
With a line of writing, with a spurt of the pen, Napoleon reënslaved
the nation. So well had the image breakers of the Convention done
their work that it appeared to be only a question of time when France,
“having by her own exertions freed herself, would, by the force of her
example, free the world.” As Méneval states, “Catholicism seemed at
its last gasp.” Rapidly Europe was being weaned from a worn-out creed,
a threadbare paganism. Idols had been broken, miracles laughed out
of countenance, the bones of alleged saints allowed to rest, and the
mummeries of heathen ceremonial mocked till even the performers were
ashamed.
A few bigots or fanatics, chained by an education which had left them
no room for unfettered thought, longed for the return of the old
forms; but the mass of the French people had no more wish for their
reëstablishment than for the restoration of the Bourbons. France was
religiously free: every citizen could believe or not believe, worship
or not worship, just as he pleased.
Of all rulers, Napoleon had the best opportunity to give mental
independence an open field and a fair fight. No ruler less strong than
he could have achieved the task of lifting the Church from the dust,
and frowning down the ridicule which had covered with discredit idol,
shrine, creed, and ceremonial rite.
He did it--he alone! And verily he reaped his reward. The forlorn
prisoner of St. Helena, sitting in misery beside the cheerless hearth
in the night of endless despair, cursed himself bitterly for his huge
mistake.
Some who defend the Concordat say that it enabled Napoleon to make
alliances which otherwise he could not have made. The facts do not
support the assertion. He was at peace with Continental Europe already,
and Great Britain was certainly not influenced to peace by France’s
agreement with the Pope. No alliances which Napoleon ever made after
the Concordat were stronger than those he had made before; and as
the restorer of Catholicism in France, he was not nearer the sincere
friendships of monarchs and aristocracies abroad than he had been
previous to that time.
In the murk of modern politics the truth is hard to find, but even a
timid man might venture to say that the question of religion is the
last of all questions to influence international relations. Comparing
the prolonged security which Turkey has enjoyed with the fate which
recently befell Catholic Spain and Protestant South African republics,
the casual observer might hazard the statement that it is at least as
safe to be Mahometan as Christian, so far as winning international
friendship is concerned.
“Don’t strike! I am of the same faith as you--both of us hope for
salvation in the blood of the same Savior!” is a plea which is so
worthless among Christians that the weaker brother never even wastes
breath to make it.