(1807-1808.)
AT or about this time M. Molé was nominated Prefect of the Côte-d’Or.
The Emperor, who had remarked his abilities on many occasions, had to a
certain extent adopted him, and in his own mind decided on his
promotion. He was more and more pleased by his conversations with him,
in which he brought out all that was most remarkable in Molé’s mind, and
Bonaparte knew how to attract the sympathies of youth. M. Molé showed
some dislike to the idea of leaving Paris, where he was pleasantly
settled with his family. “We must not hurt people’s feelings,” the
Emperor said to him, “by sudden promotions. Besides, some experience in
the affairs of administration will be very useful to you. I will only
keep you one year at Dijon, and then you shall return, and you will have
reason to be pleased with me.” He kept his word to M. Molé.
The sojourn of the Court at Fontainebleau came to an end toward the
middle of November, at which there was general satisfaction; for every
one was tired of the fêtes, and the restraint which they occasioned.
Most of the foreign princes returned to their homes, dazzled by our
magnificence, which had been “administered,” if I may be permitted the
expression, with the most perfect order; for the Emperor would not have
allowed any other system in the management of his private affairs. He
was very much pleased when M. de Rémusat asked of him only 150,000
francs for the expenses incurred for the fêtes and plays; and certainly,
if this sum be considered relatively to the results produced, it is
evident that minute attention must have been paid to every detail of the
expenditure. The Emperor, who wished to be informed of all these
details, referred on this occasion to the sum that it formerly cost the
Court of France to make such journeys, and he drew the comparison with a
complacency justified by the facts. The household was strictly
administered by the Grand Marshal, and the accounts were kept and paid
with the utmost regularity.
Duroc acquitted himself remarkably well of this charge, but with a
harshness of manner which was doubtless inspired by his master’s
severity. When the Emperor scolded, the consequences were felt by every
servant in the palace, in the rude treatment to which they were
subjected. Discipline was strict, and punishments were severe; vigilance
was never relaxed, so that each one was always to be found at his post,
and everything was done with silent regularity. Every abuse was guarded
against, and all wages were paid punctually and in advance. In the
offices, and in the kitchens, a plate of soup or a glass of _eau sucrée_
was not given out without the authorization of the Marshal, who was
invariably informed of all that happened in the palace. His discretion
never failed, and he repeated whatever occurred to the Emperor only.
The Emperor left Fontainebleau to make a short tour in Italy. He wished
to visit Milan again, to show himself in Venice, and to communicate with
his brother Joseph; and I believe he wished to arrive, above all, at a
decision with regard to the kingdom of Italy—a decision by which he
hoped to reassure Europe. He also intended to signify to the Queen of
Etruria, daughter of the King of Spain, that she must quit her kingdom.
As he was secretly preparing to invade Spain, he admitted that the idea
of the union of the crowns of France and Italy had alarmed Europe. In
naming Eugène as successor to the throne of Italy, he wished it to be
understood that this union was not to last for ever, and believed that
the concession which did not dispossess him would be received, and the
power of his successor be thus limited.
Murat, who had every interest in keeping up daily communication with his
brother-in-law, obtained permission to accompany him in this little
tour, to the great annoyance of M. de Talleyrand, who foresaw that
advantage would be taken of his absence to frustrate his plans.
The Emperor left Fontainebleau on the 10th of November, and the Empress
returned to Paris. The Prince Primate remained there some time longer,
as well as the Princes of Mecklenburg. They came to the Tuileries every
evening, where they played or conversed, and listened to the music.
The Empress talked more with the Prince of Mecklenburg-Schwerin than
with the others: this was remarked upon, as I have mentioned before.
Most people laughed, and attached so little importance to it as even to
joke with the Empress herself about it. Others viewed the subject more
seriously, and wrote to the Emperor; and on his return he rebuked her
severely. Although accustomed to gratify all his own fancies, he was
very severe on those of others.
During this journey, a vaudeville was represented at one of the small
theatres with such success that every one wished to see it, Mme.
Bonaparte as well as others. She requested M. de Rémusat to get her a
box, and in a simple dress, and in a carriage without arms, she went
privately to the theatre, accompanied by some ladies and the two Princes
of Mecklenburg. This was immediately reported at Milan, and the Emperor
wrote a furious letter to his wife, and on his return reproached her for
a want of dignity. I even remember that, in his annoyance, he reminded
her that the last Queen of France had done herself the greatest harm by
forgetting what was due to her rank, and indulging in frivolities of a
similar kind.
During his absence the Imperial Guard made a triumphal entry into Paris.
The Prefect received them with a speech, and many fêtes were given in
their honor.
As I have said elsewhere, the Sisters of Charity were reëstablished.
They assembled, by order of the Minister of the Interior, in the
apartments of Mme. Mère, where he distributed medals to them. The
Emperor wished his mother to be at the head of every charitable
institution, but there was nothing in her manner to make her popular,
and she acquitted herself of the task imposed on her without ability or
taste.
The Emperor appeared to be satisfied with the administration of affairs
in Italy, and traveled from one end of the country to the other. He went
to Venice, where he was joined by his brother Joseph, and by the King
and Queen of Bavaria. Mme. Bacciochi went to solicit an extension of her
estates.
During this time Russia broke completely with England. A part of our
army, still in the north of Germany, held the King of Sweden in check.
Bernadotte was at Hamburg in communication with the malcontent Swedes,
and he acquired a personal reputation which he carefully maintained. He
expended large sums in bribes. It is not likely that he could have had
an idea at that time of what was afterward to happen; but his ambition,
as yet vague, led him to turn every happy chance that befell him to
account, and at that period one might, in certain situations, undertake
everything and hope for anything.
The Prince of Brazil left Lisbon on the 29th of November, and General
Junot entered that city a few days afterward with our army, declaring,
according to custom, that we came to free the Portuguese from the yoke
of the English.
Toward the end of the month the Emperor, having assembled the Corps
Législatif at Milan, declared that he solemnly adopted Eugène, who
became heir to the crown of Italy should the Emperor have no male issue.
At the same time he endowed him with the title of Prince of Venice, and
he created the little princess, who was just born, Princess of Bologna.
He then returned to Paris, where he arrived on the 1st of January, 1808.
I was engrossed just then by melancholy duties. On my return from
Fontainebleau, I had found my mother ill. She continued for some time in
a languid state without actually causing me anxiety. Notwithstanding her
illness, she evinced great satisfaction at the improvement that had
taken place in our position, and I began during the first days of her
illness to put our establishment on the footing which the Emperor
desired. Toward the end of December my mother’s state became so
alarming, that we thought of nothing but the care she needed, and our
house was closed to visitors. Three weeks afterward we had the
misfortune to lose her, and one of the most tender ties of my life, one
of its dearest enjoyments, was lost to me for ever. My mother was in
every way a remarkable person. She was possessed of great talent and
judgment, which were much appreciated in society. She was useful and
agreeable to us at every moment of the day. She was universally
regretted, and her loss overwhelmed us with grief. My husband wept for
her like a son; we were pitied even at Court, because even there her
worth was appreciated. The Emperor expressed himself kindly on hearing
of our calamity, and spoke of it in suitable terms to M. de Rémusat when
he saw him; but, as I have already said, the life of retirement, into
which good taste, as well as my sorrow, caused us to withdraw, was
opposed to his views, and two or three months afterward he deprived us
of that increase to our income which he had granted us that we might
entertain in good style, on the pretext that it was now useless to us.
Thus we were left encumbered with debts which he had obliged us to
contract.
I passed that winter very sorrowfully. I wept bitterly for my mother; I
was separated from my eldest son, whom we had placed at college, so that
he might cultivate those talents for which he has since been remarkable,
and which were even then noticeable; my health was bad, and my spirits
were depressed. My society could not have been very amusing to M. de
Talleyrand, yet he did not forsake me in my sadness. He was, on the
contrary, one of the most assiduous and attentive of our visitors. He
had known my mother formerly, and he liked to speak of her, and to
listen to all my recollections of her. In the depth of my sorrow I lost
all my little ambition to appear clever, and I did not endeavor to check
my tears in his presence.
When alone with my husband and me, he showed no impatience with my grief
nor with the tenderness of M. de Rémusat’s efforts to console me. It
seems to me now, on thinking of it, that he observed us with curiosity.
His own life had been devoid of natural affections, and ours was a novel
spectacle to him, which touched him not a little. He then learned for
the first time what mutual love, united with moral principle, can do to
give comfort and courage amid the trials of life. That which he
witnessed in my house appeared to rest him after what passed elsewhere,
and colored even his recollections, for more than once at this time he
spoke to me of himself with regret, and, I might almost say, with
disgust. We responded to his affection with gratitude which sprang from
our hearts. He came to see us more and more frequently, and he remained
a long time at each visit. We no longer jested at or ridiculed others.
Restored to my better self, I let him see to the depths of a sensitive
nature, which domestic happiness had rendered sympathetic. In my sorrow
and deep melancholy, and in my ignorance of all that was taking place
outside, I led him into regions until then unknown to him; their
discovery seemed to give him pleasure, and by degrees I might say what I
chose to him. He even allowed me to censure and judge him severely,
which I occasionally did. He never grew angry at my sincerity; and from
this time there existed between us a friendship very precious to both.
When I succeeded in awakening any emotion in him, I was as much elated
as if I had gained a victory; and he was grateful to me for having
stirred his soul, which had fallen asleep from habit or through
indifference.
On one occasion, when, impatient at his inconsistency, I went so far as
to say, “Good heavens! what a pity it is that you have taken such pains
to spoil yourself, for I can not help believing that the real you is
better than you are,” he smiled and said: “Our entire life is influenced
by the manner in which we pass the early years of it; and, were I to
tell you how my youth was spent, you would cease to wonder at many
things that now astonish you.”
Then he told me that, being lame and the eldest of his family, and
having by this accident disappointed the hopes and prevented the
fulfillment of that custom which before the Revolution destined the
eldest son of every noble family to a military career, he had been
discarded from his home, and sent to live with an old aunt in one of the
provinces. Without returning to his parents’ roof, he had then been
placed in a seminary, and it was intimated to him that he was to become
an ecclesiastic—a profession for which he had not the slightest taste.
During the years which he passed at Saint Sulpice, he was almost always
obliged to stay in his room and alone, his infirmity rarely permitting
him to remain long standing, or to take part in the active amusements of
the young. He then fell into a deep melancholy, formed a low opinion of
social life, and revolted against the priestly state, to which he had
been condemned in spite of himself. He held that he was not bound
scrupulously to observe the duties that had been imposed upon him
without his consent. He added that he felt a profound disgust to the
world, and anger at its prejudices, and that he only avoided falling
into despair by encouraging in himself complete indifference toward all
men and all things. When at length he returned to his parents, he was
received by them with the greatest coldness, and as if he were
displeasing in their sight, and he never had a word of consolation or
kindness addressed to him.
“You see,” he would say to me, “that I must either have died of grief,
or become callous to all that must ever be wanting in my life. I chose
the latter alternative, and I am now willing to admit to you that I was
wrong. It would have been better to have resigned myself to suffer, and
to have kept alive the faculty of feeling with acuteness; for this
cold-heartedness, with which you reproach me, has often disgusted me
with myself. I have not loved others enough, but I have loved myself no
better. I have never taken sufficient interest in myself.
“On one occasion I was drawn out of this indifference by my love for the
Princess Charlotte de Montmorency. She was much attached to me, and I
rebelled more than ever against the obstacle which prevented my marrying
her.
“I made several efforts to get a dispensation from vows that were odious
to me. I think I should have succeeded if the Revolution, which then
broke out, had not prevented the Pope from granting me what I wished.
You will easily understand that, in the disposition of my mind, I hailed
that Revolution with eagerness. It attacked the principles and the
customs of which I had been a victim; it seemed to me just what I wanted
to break my chains, and so in every way it was pleasing to me. I
espoused it readily, and, since then, events have disposed of me.”
When M. de Talleyrand spoke to me in this manner, I pitied him with my
whole heart, because I fully understood the sad influence which his
unhappy youth had exercised over all the rest of his life; but I felt
persuaded, too, that a more vigorous character might have avoided
falling into such errors, and I frankly deplored to him that he should
have so stained his life.
A most fatal indifference to good and evil, right and wrong, formed the
basis of M. de Talleyrand’s nature; but we must do him the justice to
admit that he never sought to make a principle of what was immoral. He
is aware of the worth of high principles in others; he praises it, holds
it in esteem, and never seeks to corrupt it. It appears to me that he
even dwells on it with pleasure. He has not, like Bonaparte, the fatal
idea that virtue has no existence, and that the appearance of it is only
a trick or an affectation the more. I have often heard him praise
actions which were a severe criticism of his own. His conversation is
never immoral or irreligious; he respects good priests, and applauds
them; there is in his heart both goodness and justice; but he does not
apply to himself the rule by which he judges others. He regards himself
as a being apart; all things are different for him. He has long been
_blasé_ on every point, and he seeks for excitement as a fastidious
palate seeks pungent food. All serious reflections applied to moral or
natural sentiments are distasteful to him, because they lead him into a
train of thought which he fears, and from which he tries to escape by a
jest or a sarcasm. A combination of circumstances has surrounded him
with persons of light or depraved character, who have encouraged him in
a thousand follies. These people are congenial to him, because they draw
him away from his own thoughts; but they can not save him from profound
weariness, and from that he seeks refuge in great affairs. These affairs
do not fatigue him, because he rarely enters into them completely;
indeed, he seldom enters heart and soul into anything. His intellect is
lofty, and often just; he perceives correctly; but he has a certain
carelessness and desultoriness about him, which make him disappoint
one’s hopes. He pleases much, but satisfies never, and at last inspires
one with a sort of pity, which leads, if one sees much of him, to real
affection.
I believe that our intimacy did him good while it lasted. I succeeded in
rousing in him feelings that had long slumbered, and in awakening him to
more elevated thoughts; I interested him in many subjects that were new
to him, or which he had forgotten. To me he owed many fresh sympathies;
he owned this, and was grateful for it. He often sought thy society, and
I appreciated his doing so, because I never flattered his weaknesses,
but spoke to him in a style that he had not been accustomed to.
He was at that time strongly opposed to the plots that were being
concocted against Spain. The truly diabolical artifices employed by the
Emperor, if they did not offend his moral sense, were at least very
displeasing to that good taste which M. de Talleyrand displayed in
political as well as in social life. He foresaw the consequences, and
prophesied to me what they would be. “This ill-advised man,” he said,
“will call his whole position in question again.” He was always anxious
that war should be frankly declared against the King of Spain, if he
would not accede to what was required of him; that advantageous
conditions should be dictated to him; that the Prince of the Peace
(Godoy) should be sent away, and an alliance by marriage effected with
the Infante Ferdinand.
But the Emperor conceived that additional security would be guaranteed
to him by the expulsion of the house of Bourbon, and was obstinate in
his views, being once more the dupe of the schemers by whom he was
surrounded. Murat and the Prince of the Peace flattered themselves with
the hope of gaining two thrones, but the Emperor had no notion of giving
them any such satisfaction. He deceived them, and believed too easily in
their readiness to facilitate his plans in the hope of securing their
own. Thus every one in this affair overreached every one else, and was
at the same time deceived.
The winter passed brilliantly. The theatre in the Tuileries was
finished; on reception days theatrical representations were given, most
frequently in Italian, and sometimes in French. The Court attended in
full dress, and tickets for the upper galleries were distributed to the
citizens. We, too, formed a spectacle to them. Everybody was eager to be
present at these representations, where there was a great display of
splendor.
Full-dress and masked balls were given. These were novelties to the
Emperor, and he liked them. Some of his Ministers, his sister, Murat,
and the Prince de Neufchâtel, received orders to invite a certain number
of persons belonging to the Court or to the city. The men wore dominoes,
the women elegant costumes, and the pleasure of being disguised was
almost the only one they enjoyed in these assemblies, where it was known
that the Emperor was present, and where the fear of meeting him made the
guests silent and circumspect.
He was closely masked, and yet easy to recognize by that peculiar air
and gait which he could not disguise, as he walked through the rooms,
generally leaning on the arm of Duroc. He accosted the ladies freely,
and was often very unscrupulous in his remarks to them; and, if he was
answered, and unable at once to recognize who it was that spoke to him,
he would pull off the speaker’s mask, revealing himself by this rude act
of power. He also took great pleasure, under cover of his disguise, in
seeking out certain husbands and tormenting them with anecdotes, true or
false, of their wives. If he learned afterward that these revelations
had been followed by unpleasant consequences, he became very angry; for
he would not permit the displeasure which he had himself excited to be
independent of him. It must be said, because it is the truth, that there
is in Bonaparte a natural badness, which makes him like to do evil in
small as well as in great things.
In the midst of all these amusements he worked hard, and was much
occupied by his personal strife with the English Government. He devised
various methods for sustaining his continental policy. He flattered
himself that, by articles in the newspapers, he could subdue the
discontent caused by the increase in the price of sugar and coffee, and
the scarcity of English merchandise. He encouraged every new invention,
and believed that the sugar extracted from beet-root and other things
would enable us to dispense with the help of foreigners in certain
productions, such as the making of colors. He caused the Minister of the
Interior to address a public report to him, stating that he had
obtained, through the Prefects, letters from the Chambers of Commerce in
approbation of the system, which, although it might involve some
temporary privations, must ultimately secure the freedom of the seas.
The English were molested everywhere. They were made prisoners at
Verdun; their property was confiscated in Portugal; Prussia was forced
into a league against them; and the King of Sweden was menaced because
he obstinately persisted in maintaining his alliance with them.
The cord was thus tightened at both ends and stretched to its utmost. It
became impossible not to see that only the ruin of one or the other of
the contending parties could terminate the quarrel, and wise people
became profoundly anxious. As, however, we were always being deceived,
we regarded the journals with constant distrust. We read them, indeed,
but without believing what they stated.
The Emperor exhausted himself in writing, but he did not convince us. He
became deeply incensed at this want of confidence, and each day his
aversion to the Parisians increased. It hurt his vanity to find that he
was not believed, and the exercise of his power was incomplete when its
influence could not be extended to the very thoughts of the people. In
order to please him, one had to be credulous. “You like Berthier,” said
M. de Talleyrand to Bonaparte, “because he believes in you.”
Occasionally, as a change from political articles, the newspapers would
relate the daily words and actions of the Emperor. For example, we were
told how he had gone to see the picture of his coronation painted by
David, and had much admired it, and how he had surprised the painter by
his acute observations; also, that when he was leaving the studio he had
taken off his hat and saluted David, in proof of “_the sentiments of
benevolence which he bestowed on all artists_.”
This reminds me that he once found fault with M. de Luçay, one of the
Prefects of the Palace, who had the superintendence of the Opéra, with
being too distant in his manner to the actors who went to him on
business. “Are you aware,” he said, “that talent of any kind is positive
power, and that even I take off my hat when I receive Talma?” There was,
no doubt, some exaggeration in this statement; but it is nevertheless
true that he was very gracious to artists of any distinction, that he
encouraged them by his liberality and his praise; provided, however,
that they were always willing to dedicate their art to his praises, or
to the furtherance of his projects; for any great reputation acquired
without his concurrence seemed to offend him, and he had no sympathy
with glory that he had not bestowed. He persecuted Mme. de Staël because
she overstepped the line he had laid down for her, and he neglected the
Abbé Delille, who lived in retirement far from him.
At this period two distinguished artists, Esménard and Spontini,
produced the opera entitled “La Vestale,” which had an immense success.
The Emperor—I know not for what reason—was determined to prefer the
French music of Lesueur, the author of “Les Bardes,” and was greatly
displeased with the Parisians for not thinking as he did in the matter.
He thenceforth cherished a prejudice against all Italian music, and the
influence of this was felt when the distribution of the decennial prizes
took place.
On the 21st of January, 1808, the assembled Senate granted a levy of
eighty thousand men on the conscription of 1809. Regnault, the Councilor
of State, who was, as usual, the speaker on the occasion, argued that
even as the preceding levies had served to secure the continental peace,
so this one would at length obtain for us the freedom of the seas; and
no one opposed this reasoning. We knew that Senator Languenais and some
others occasionally tried, during the Emperor’s reign, to make certain
representations to the Senate on the subject of these severe and
numerous levies; but their observations dispersed themselves in the air
of the senatorial palace, and effected no change in decisions which had
been arrived at beforehand. The Senate was timid and submissive; it
inspired no confidence in the national mind, and had even come by
degrees to be regarded with a sort of contempt. Men are severe toward
their fellows; they do not pardon each other’s weaknesses, and they
applaud virtues of which they themselves are seldom capable. In short,
whatever tyranny may be exercised, public opinion is more or less
avenged, because it is invariably heard. No despot is ignorant of the
feelings which he inspires and the condemnation which he excites.
Bonaparte knew perfectly well how he stood in the estimation of the
French nation, for good or evil, but he imagined that he could override
everything.
In the report made to him by his Minister of War, General Clarke, on the
occasion of the fresh levies, we find these words: “A vulgar policy
would be a calamity for France; it would hinder those great results
which you have prepared.” No one was duped by this formula. The question
in the comedy, “_Qui est ce donc qu’on trompe ici?_” was appropriate to
the occasion; but everybody kept silence, and that was enough for
Napoleon. Shortly after, the towns of Kehl, Cassel, Wesel, and Flushing
were united to the Empire, being regarded as keys which it was necessary
we should hold in our hands. At Antwerp great works were carried on, and
all was stir and activity.
When the English Parliament opened, the Emperor evidently hoped for a
disagreement between the English Government and the nation. There was a
great deal of sharp dissension, and the Opposition declaimed in its
usual style. The Emperor helped it with all his might. The tone or the
notes in the “Moniteur” was very violent; certain English journalists
were subsidized, and there is no doubt Bonaparte flattered himself that
he would be able to bring about a revolt. But the English Ministry was
pursuing a course which, though difficult, was honorable to the country,
and it had a majority at every vote. The Emperor was incensed, and
declared that he “could not understand that form of liberal government
in which the voice of the popular party never had any weight.” Sometimes
he would say, with a sort of paradoxical audacity: “In reality, there is
more liberty in France than in England, because nothing can be worse for
a nation than the power of expressing its will without being listened
to. When all is said, that is the merest farce, a vain semblance of
liberty. As for me, it is not the case that the true state of France is
kept from me. I know everything, for I have exact reports, and I would
not be so mad as to venture on doing anything in direct opposition to
French interests or to the French character. Intelligence of all kinds
comes to me as to a common center, and I act in accordance with it;
whereas our neighbors never depart from their national system,
maintaining the oligarchy at any price; and in this age men are more
ready to accept the authority of one able and absolute man than the
humiliating power of an effete nobility.”
When Bonaparte talked thus, it was hard to know whether he was trying to
deceive others or to deceive himself. Was it that his imagination, which
was naturally lively, exerted its influence over his intellect, which
was generally mathematical? Did the lassitude and inaction of the nation
deceive him? Was he trying to persuade himself that what he desired was
the case? We have often thought that he forced himself to do this, and
that he sometimes succeeded.
Besides, as I have already said, Bonaparte always believed that he was
acting in conformity with the spirit of the Revolution, by attacking
what he called oligarchs. At every turn he would insist upon equality,
which in his mouth meant leveling. Leveling is to equality exactly what
despotism is to liberty; for it crushes those faculties and neutralizes
those situations to which equality opens a career. The aristocracy of
classes levels, in fact, all that exists outside those privileged
classes, by reducing strength to the condition of weakness, and merit to
the condition of mediocrity. True equality, on the contrary, by
permitting each to be that which he is, and to rise as high as he can,
utilizes every faculty and all legitimate influence. It also forms an
aristocracy, not of class, but of individuals—an aristocracy which
draws into it all who deserve to form a portion of it.
The Emperor felt this distinction, and, notwithstanding his nobles, his
decorations, his senatorships, and all his fine talk, his system tended
solely to base his absolute power upon a vast democracy, also of the
leveling order, with political rights which, although they had the
appearance of being accorded to all, were in reality within the reach of
none.
Toward the beginning of February the marriage of Mlle. de Tascher, Mme.
Bonaparte’s cousin, was solemnized. She was raised to the rank of
Princess, and her husband’s relatives were in the greatest delight, and
remarkably obsequious on the occasion. They flattered themselves that
they would be exalted to a great position; but the divorce undeceived
the D’Arenberg family, and they quarreled with the young Princess, who
had not brought them quite so much as they expected.
At this time Count Romanzoff, the Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs,
arrived in Paris. He was a man of knowledge and of sense, and he came
there full of admiration for the Emperor, and affected by the genuine
enthusiasm that his own young sovereign felt for Napoleon. He was,
however, sufficiently master of himself to observe the Emperor with
close attention. He perceived the constraint of the Parisians, who
looked on at all the glory of the army without appropriating it to
themselves. He was struck with certain remarkable disparities, and he
formed a modified judgment which, no doubt, had afterward some influence
on the Czar. The Emperor said to him on one occasion, “How do you
consider that I govern the French?” “Sire,” he replied, “a little too
seriously.”
Bonaparte, with the aid of a _senatus consultum_, created a new “grand
dignity of the Empire,” under the title of “Governor-General beyond the
Alps”; and he conferred this dignity on Prince Borghese, who was sent to
Turin with his wife. The Prince was obliged to sell the finest statues
in the Villa Borghese to the Emperor, and they were placed in our
Museum. This collection of all the masterpieces that Europe had
possessed was superb. They were grouped in the Louvre with the greatest
care and elegance, and that was a conquest of a kind which appealed
eloquently to French vanity and French taste.
Bonaparte had a report made to him, in a sitting of the Council of
State, upon the progress of science, letters, and art since 1789, by a
deputation, at the head of which was M. de Bougainville. After the
report had been read, he replied in these terms: “I have heard you upon
the progress of the human mind in these latter days, in order that what
you say to me may be heard by all nations, and may silence the
detractors of our age, who are endeavoring to force the human mind to
retrograde, and who seem to aim at its extinction. I desired to know
what remains for me to do for the encouragement of your labors, in order
to console myself for being unable to contribute otherwise to their
success. The welfare of my people and the glory of my throne are equally
interested in the prosperity of the sciences. My Minister of the
Interior shall make me a report upon all your demands; you may
confidently count upon my protection.” Thus did the Emperor occupy
himself with everything at the same time, and thus ably did he associate
all that was illustrious with the _éclat_ and the grandeur of his reign.
I have already said that he was desirous of founding families which
should perpetuate the remembrance of the dignities that he had accorded
to those whom he favored. He was greatly annoyed at the resistance he
had met with from M. de Caulaincourt, who had gone away to Russia,
declaring very positively that, as he could not marry Mme. de ——, he
would never marry.
The Emperor did his best to overcome the opposition which he also
encountered from the man for whom he cared most—Marshal Berthier,
Prince de Neufchâtel. Berthier had been for many years deeply attached
to an Italian lady, who, although she was nearer fifty than forty, was
still remarkably beautiful. She exercised supreme influence over him,
even to the extent of making him pardon several acts of levity which she
did not hesitate to indulge in before his eyes. These she represented in
any colors which she chose, and he forgave them.
Marshal Berthier, who was importuned on this point by the Emperor, would
often entreat his master to spare him with respect to this cherished
weakness, for the sake of his fidelity; and Bonaparte would laugh at
him, get angry, return to the charge, but could never conquer his
resistance. This went on for years; but at length, by dint of talking
and urgency, he carried his point, and Berthier, although he shed bitter
tears on the occasion, consented to marry a princess of the house of
Bavaria. The Princess Marie was brought to Paris, and the marriage was
solemnized in the presence of the Emperor and Empress. Berthier’s bride
was by no means handsome, or calculated to make her husband forget the
sentiments which he had cherished for so long; and, indeed, his passion
for the Italian lady ended only with his life. The Princess was an
excellent person, but in no way remarkable. She was liked at the French
Court, and she was always of the opinion that she had made a good
marriage. The Prince de Neufchâtel, who was largely endowed with gifts
by the Emperor, possessed an immense revenue, and the household of three
lived on the best possible terms. After the Restoration they lived in
Paris. The Marshal, who was ill with fever when Bonaparte returned from
Elba on the 20th of March, 1815, was so terrified by that event that he
lost his senses, and either threw himself or fell out of a window, and
was killed. He left two sons. The Princess remained in Paris, and the
fair Italian keeps up her former relations with her.
At this time the Emperor showed more plainly than ever what a
monarchical turn his ideas were taking, by founding the institution of
the “Majorats.” That institution was approved by many, blamed by others,
envied by a certain class, and readily adopted by many families, who
welcomed this opportunity of conferring importance on their eldest sons
and perpetuating their name. The Arch-Chancellor carried the decree to
the Senate, and represented in his speech that hereditary distinctions
were of the essence of monarchy, that they kept alive what is in France
called honor, and that our national character should lead us to approve
them. He then proceeded to pacify the men of the Revolution by adding
that all citizens would be none the less equal before the law, and that
distinctions impartially accorded to all who merited them ought to
stimulate the zeal of all without exciting the jealousy of any. The
Senate received all this with its ordinary approbation, and voted an
address of thanks and admiration to the Emperor.
M. de Talleyrand warmly praised this new institution. He could not
understand a monarchy without a nobility. A council was created to
superintend the administration of the laws by which the foundation of a
Majorat was to be obtained. M. de Pasquier, chief Master of Requests,
was named Procurator-General; titles were granted to those who held
great offices in the state. This was at first ridiculed, because certain
names allied themselves oddly enough to the title of Count or Baron; but
the public soon got accustomed to it, and, as all hoped to arrive at
some distinction, they tolerated and even approved the new system.
The Emperor was ingenious in his method of demonstrating to all parties
how entirely they ought to approve of these creations. “I am securing
the Revolution,” said he to one party; “this intermediate class which I
am founding is eminently democratic, for everybody is called to it.” “It
will support the throne,” said he to the _grands seigneurs_. Then he
added, turning toward those who wanted a modified monarchy: “It will
oppose itself to the encroachments of absolute authority, because it
will itself be a power in the state.” To genuine Jacobins he said, “You
ought to rejoice, for here is the old _noblesse_ finally annihilated;”
and to that old _noblesse_ he said, “By arraying yourselves in new
dignities, you resuscitate yourselves and perpetuate your ancient
rights.” We listened to him; we wished to believe him; and, besides, he
did not give us much time to reflect—he carried us away in the
whirlwinds of contradictions of every kind. He even imposed his benefits
by force when it was necessary; and this was an adroitness the more, for
there were people who wanted to be forced to accept.
Another institution which seemed really grand and imposing succeeded
this one. I allude to the University. Public instruction was
concentrated in a clear and comprehensive system, and it was admitted
that the decree was very nobly conceived.
Ultimately, however, that which happened to everything else happened to
the University; Bonaparte’s own despotic disposition took fright at the
powers which he had accorded, because they might possibly become
obstacles to certain of his desires. The Minister of the Interior, the
Prefect, the general administration—that is to say, the absolute
system—mixed itself up with the operations which the University corps
were attempting, contradicted them, and overruled them when they
indicated the very least traces of independence. In this respect also we
present the spectacle rather of a fine façade than of a solid building.
M. de Fontanes was nominated Grand Master of the University. This
choice, which was also generally approved, suited the purpose of the
master, who was so jealous of preserving his daily and hourly authority
over men and things. M. de Fontanes, whose noble intellect and
reputation for perfect taste had procured him a very distinguished
position, injured these qualities by carelessness and inertness, which
rendered him incapable of making a stand when it was necessary. I must
place him also, I fear, among the fine façades.
Nevertheless, something was gained by this creation; order was restored
to education, the scope of study was extended, and young people were
occupied. It has been said that under the Empire education at the Lycées
was entirely military, but that was not the case. Letters were carefully
cultivated, sound morals were inculcated, and strict surveillance was
practiced. The system of education was, however, neither sufficiently
religious nor sufficiently national, and the time had come when it was
necessary that it should be both one and the other. No effort was made
to impart to young people that moral and political knowledge which
trains citizens, and prepares them to take their part in the labors of
their Government. They were obliged to attend the schools, but nobody
spoke to them of their religion; they heard much more about the Emperor
than they heard about the state, and they were incited to a desire for
military fame. Yet, notwithstanding these drawbacks, and although the
youth of the French nation is not all that it ought to be, it has been
developed to a remarkable extent, and a great difference may be
discerned between those who have availed themselves of the public
education offered to all and those who have held aloof from it.
Mistrust, party spirit, and a sort of general misgiving induced the old
French nobility and a portion of the wealthy class to keep their
children with themselves, and to rear them in a number of prejudices,
for which they are now suffering. The pupils of the Lycées acquired a
superiority by their public education, which it would now be vain to
dispute.
The decree which created the University, after having regulated the
functions of those who were to compose it, fixed their salaries at high
rates. The officials were given a handsome costume and an imposing
organization. After the Grand Master (the Bishop of Bazas) came M. de
Villaret as Chancellor. M. Delambre, permanent secretary of the first
class of the Institute, who was held in high consideration, both for his
learning and character, was Treasurer. The Council of the University was
composed of distinguished men; the names of M. de Beausset, formerly
Bishop of Alais, and now Cardinal, of M. Cuvier, M. de Bonald, M. de
Frayssinous, Royer-Collard, etc., were included in the number. The
professors were chosen with great care. In short, this creation met with
universal approbation; but ensuing events hindered its action in the
first place, and afterward disorganized it like all the rest.
On the 23d of March, 1808, the Court went to Saint Cloud. The Emperor
always left Paris as soon as he could: he disliked living at the
Tuileries, because of the impossibility of walking about there freely;
and then, the greater his power and splendor became, the more ill at
ease he found himself in the presence of the Parisians. He could not
endure any restraint, and he knew that in the city people were aware of
the language which he was in the habit of using, and the violence to
which he gave way. He excited curiosity, which annoyed him; he was
coldly received in public; a number of stories about him got into
circulation; in short, he was obliged to put some constraint upon
himself. Thus his sojourns in Paris became more and more brief, and he
began to talk of inhabiting Versailles. The restoration of the palace
was decided upon, and Bonaparte observed more than once that in reality
he had no occasion to be in Paris, except during the session of the
Corps Législatif. When he rode or drove to any distance from the town,
he used to say, as he approached it on his return, “Here we are again,
in the great Babylon.” He even formed plans for the transplantation of
the capital to Lyons. It was only in imagination that he contemplated
such a displacement, but he took pleasure in the idea, and it was one of
his favorite dreams.
The Parisians were perfectly well aware that Bonaparte did not like
them, and they avenged themselves by sarcastic jests and anecdotes,
which were for the most part pure inventions. They were submissive to
him, but cold and satirical. His courtiers adopted the antipathy of
their master, and never spoke of Paris without some disparaging epithet.
More than once I have heard the Emperor say, moodily, “They have not yet
pardoned me for pointing my guns upon them on the 13th Vendémiaire.”
An authentic collection of the observations that Bonaparte made upon his
own conduct would be a very useful book to many sovereigns, and to their
advisers. When at the present time (I write in 1819) I hear people, who
seem to me to be mere novices in the art of governing men, affirm that
nothing is so easy as to impose one’s will by force, and that by
trusting to the bayonet one may constrain a nation to endure any
_régime_ which may be inflicted upon it, I recall what the Emperor used
to say about the difficulties which had arisen from his first steps in
his political career, the complications produced by the employment of
force against the citizens, which beset him from the very day after that
on which he had been obliged to avail himself of so terrible a resource.
I have heard his Ministers say that, when any violent measure was
proposed in the Council, he would put the question, “Can you answer for
it that the people will not rise?” and that the smallest popular
movement always appeared to him grave and ominous. I have seen him take
pleasure in describing, or in listening to a description of, the various
emotions that are experienced upon the field of battle, and turn pale at
a narrative of the excesses of a people in revolt; and, if, when riding
through the streets of Paris on horseback, a workman threw himself in
his way to implore some favor, Bonaparte’s first movement was always to
shudder and recoil.
The generals of the Guard had strict orders to prevent contact between
the people and the soldiery. “I could not,” said Bonaparte, “take the
part of the latter.” If any quarrel took place between soldiers and
citizens, the soldiers were invariably punished and sent away. It is
true they afterward received compensation money, which quieted them.
All this time the north of Europe was in a state of agitation. The King
of Sweden was too faithful to the policy imposed upon him by the English
Government for the interests of his subjects. He excited increasing
discontent among the Swedes, and his conduct bore witness to the
condition of his brain. The Emperor of Russia having declared war
against him, and having at the same time commenced an expedition to
Finland, M. d’Alopeus, the Russian ambassador at Stockholm, was placed
under arrest in his own house, contrary to all the rights of nations.
On this occasion the notes in the “Moniteur” were eloquent indeed. One
of them was as follows: “Poor Swedish nation, into what hands have you
fallen? Your Charles XII. was, no doubt, a little mad, but he was brave;
and your King, who went to play braggart in Pomerania while the
armistice existed, was the first to run away when the same armistice,
which he broke, had expired.” Such language as this could only announce
an impending storm.
At the beginning of the month of March the King of Denmark, Christian
VII., died; and his son, who had long been Regent, ascended the throne
under the title of Frederick V., in the fortieth year of his age.
It is remarkable that, at a period when the troubled nations seemed to
have need of sovereigns of more than ordinary intelligence and wisdom,
several of the thrones of Europe were filled by princes who had but
little use of reason, and in some instances had none at all. Among those
unfortunate sovereigns were the Kings of England, Sweden, and Denmark,
and the Queen of Portugal.
Popular discontent manifested itself on the occasion of the arrest of
the Russian ambassador at Stockholm. The King left that city and retired
to the Castle of Gripsholm, from which he issued orders for war, either
against the Russians or against the Danes.
All eyes were, however, soon turned away from what was passing in the
north, to fix themselves upon the drama which was beginning in Spain.
The Grand Duke of Berg had been sent to take the command of our army on
the banks of the Ebro. The King of Spain, who was feeble, timid, and
ruled by his Minister, made no opposition to the passage of the foreign
troops through his country, toward Portugal as it was represented. The
national party of the Spaniards, at whose head was the Prince of the
Asturias, were incensed at this invasion, for they discerned its
consequences. They saw that they were sacrificed to the ambition of the
Prince of the Peace. A revolt against that Minister broke out; the King
and Queen were attacked, and prepared to quit Spain. This was what the
Emperor wanted, for he was bent upon dethroning the Prince of the
Asturias afterward, and believed that he should easily succeed in doing
so. I have already said that the Prince of the Peace, won by the
promises that had been made to him, had devoted himself to the policy of
the Emperor, who began by making the tremendous mistake of introducing
French influence into Spain under the auspices of a detested Minister.
Meanwhile the people of Madrid flocked to Aranjuez, and sacked the
palace of the Minister, who was obliged to hide himself to escape the
fury of the mob. The King and Queen, greatly alarmed at the danger of
their favorite, and almost equally grieved, were forced to demand that
he should resign; and on the 16th of March, 1808, the King, yielding to
pressure from all sides, abdicated in favor of his son, announcing that
his health compelled him to seek a better climate. This act of weakness
checked the revolt. The Prince of the Asturias took the name of
Ferdinand VII., and his first act of authority was to confiscate the
property of the Prince of the Peace. But he had not sufficient strength
of character to profit fully by the new situation. He was frightened by
his rupture with his father, and hesitated at the moment when he ought
to have acted. On the other hand, the King and Queen played the game of
the Emperor by calling the French army to their aid. The Grand Duke of
Berg joined them at Aranjuez, and promised them his dangerous
assistance. The vacillation of the authorities, the fear inspired by our
arms, the intrigues of the Prince of the Peace, the severe and imperious
measures of Murat, all combined to produce trouble and disorder in
Spain; and the unfortunate reigning family speedily perceived that this
disorganization was about to turn to the advantage of the armed
mediator, who assumed the position of a judge. The “Moniteur” gave an
account of these events, deploring the misfortune of King Charles IV.;
and a few days later the Emperor, accompanied by a brilliant Court, left
Saint Cloud, under the pretext of making a journey into the south of
France.
I shall give the details of all these events when I reach the fourth
epoch of these Memoirs. We were in the dark about them at the time of
their occurrence. We asked ourselves, what was the Emperor going to do?
Was this new journey an invasion? All these secret intrigues, to which
we had no clew, excited our attention and curiosity, and the public
disquiet increased daily.
M. de Talleyrand, whom I saw frequently, was exceedingly dissatisfied,
and openly blamed all that was done and was about to be done. He
denounced Murat, declaring that there was perfidy somewhere, but that he
was not mixed up with it, and repeating that had he been Minister of
Foreign Affairs he would never have lent his name to such devices. The
Emperor was exceedingly angry at this freely expressed condemnation. He
saw that approbation of a new kind was felt for M. de Talleyrand; he
listened to denunciations of his Minister, and their friendship was
interrupted. He has frequently asserted that M. de Talleyrand advised
this Spanish affair, and only attempted to get out of it when he
perceived that it was a failure. I can bear witness to the fact that M.
de Talleyrand severely condemned it at the period of which I am writing,
and expressed himself with so much vehemence against such a violation of
all the rights of nations that I had to advise him to moderate his
language. What he would have advised I can not say, because he never
explained himself on that point, and I have now stated all that I know.
It is, however, certain that the public were with him at this time, and
declared for him because he did not dissemble his dissatisfaction.
“This,” he said, “is a base intrigue. It is an enterprise against a
national aspiration; we declare ourselves thereby the enemy of the
people; it is a blunder which will never be repaired.” Events have
proved that M. de Talleyrand was right, and that from that fatal event
the moral decline of him who at that time made all Europe tremble may be
dated.
About this time the mild and gentle Queen of Naples set out to rejoin
her husband in Spain, and to take her place upon a throne from which she
was destined to descend before very long.