1803.
The First Consul's presentiments respecting the duration of peace--
England's uneasiness at the prosperity of France--Bonaparte's real
wish for war--Concourse of foreigners in Paris--Bad faith of
England--Bonaparte and Lord Whitworth--Relative position of France
and England-Bonaparte's journey to the seaboard departments--
Breakfast at Compiegne--Father Berton--Irritation excited by the
presence of Bouquet--Father Berton's derangement and death--Rapp
ordered to send for me--Order countermanded.
The First Consul never anticipated a long peace with England. He wished
for peace merely because, knowing it to be ardently desired by the
people, after ten years of war he thought it would increase his
popularity and afford him the opportunity of laying the foundation of his
government. Peace was as necessary to enable him to conquer the throne
of France as war was essential to secure it, and to enlarge its base at
the expense of the other thrones of Europe. This was the secret of the
peace of Amiens, and of the rupture which so suddenly followed, though
that rupture certainly took place sooner than the First Consul wished.
On the great questions of peace and war Bonaparte entertained elevated
ideas; but in discussions on the subject he always declared himself in
favour of war. When told of the necessities of the people, of the
advantages of peace, its influence on trade, the arts, national industry,
and every branch of public prosperity, he did not attempt to deny the
argument; indeed, he concurred in it; but he remarked, that all those
advantages were only conditional, so long as England was able to throw
the weight of her navy into the scale of the world, and to exercise the
influence of her gold in all the Cabinets of Europe. Peace must be
broken; since it was evident that England was determined to break it.
Why not anticipate her? Why allow her to have all the advantages of the
first step? We must astonish Europe! We must thwart the policy of the
Continent! We must strike a great and unexpected blow. Thus reasoned
the First Consul, and every one may judge whether his actions agreed with
his sentiments.
The conduct of England too well justified the foresight of Bonaparte's
policy; or rather England, by neglecting to execute her treaties, played
into Bonaparte's hand, favoured his love for war, and justified the
prompt declaration of hostilities in the eyes of the French nation, whom
he wished to persuade that if peace were broken it would be against his
wishes. England was already at work with the powerful machinery of her
subsidies, and the veil beneath which she attempted to conceal her
negotiations was still sufficiently transparent for the lynx eye of the
First Consul. It was in the midst of peace that all those plots were
hatched, while millions who had no knowledge of their existence were
securely looking forward to uninterrupted repose.
Since the Revolution Paris had never presented such a spectacle as during
the winter of 1802-3. At that time the concourse of foreigners in the
French capital was immense. Everything wore the appearance of
satisfaction, and the external signs of public prosperity. The visible
regeneration in French society exceedingly annoyed the British Ministry.
The English who flocked to the Continent discovered France to be very
different from what she was described to be by the English papers. This
caused serious alarm on the other side of the Channel, and the English
Government endeavoured by unjust complaints to divert attention from just
dissatisfaction, which its own secret intrigues excited. The King of
England sent a message to Parliament, in which he spoke of armaments
preparing in the ports of France, and of the necessity of adopting
precautions against meditated aggressions. This instance of bad faith
highly irritated the First Consul, who one day, in a fit of displeasure,
thus addressed Lord Whitworth in the salon, where all the foreign
Ambassadors were assembled:
"What is the meaning of this? Are you then tired of peace? Must Europe
again be deluged with blood? Preparations for war indeed! Do you think
to overawe us by this? You shall see that France may be conquered,
perhaps destroyed, but never intimidated--never!"
The English Ambassador was astounded at this unexpected sally, to which
he made no reply. He contented himself with writing to his Government an
account of an interview in which the First Consul had so far forgotten
himself,-whether purposely or not I do not pretend to say.
That England wished for war there could be no doubt. She occupied Malta,
it is true, but she had promised to give it up, though she never had any
intention of doing so. She was to have evacuated Egypt, yet there she
still remained; the Cape of Good Hope was to have been surrendered, but
she still retained possession of it. England had signed, at Amiens, a
peace which she had no intention of maintaining. She knew the hatred of
the Cabinets of Europe towards France, and she was sure, by her intrigues
and subsidies, of arming them on her side whenever her plans reached
maturity. She saw France powerful and influential in Europe, and she
knew the ambitious views of the First Consul, who, indeed, had taken
little pains to conceal them.
The First Consul, who had reckoned on a longer duration of the peace of
Amiens, found himself at the rupture of the treaty in an embarrassing
situation. The numerous grants of furloughs, the deplorable condition
of the cavalry, and the temporary absence of artillery, in consequence of
a project for refounding all the field-pieces, caused much anxiety to
Bonaparte. He had recourse to the conscription to fill up the
deficiencies of the army; and the project of refounding the artillery was
abandoned. Supplies of money were obtained from the large towns, and
Hanover, which was soon after occupied, furnished abundance of good
horses for mounting the cavalry.
War had now become inevitable; and as soon as it was declared the First
Consul set out to visit Belgium and the seaboard departments to ascertain
the best means of resisting the anticipated attacks of the English. In
passing through Compiegne he received a visit from Father Berton,
formerly principal of the military school of Brienne. He was then rector
of the school of arts at Compiegne, a situation in which he had been
placed by Bonaparte. I learned the particulars of this visit through
Josephine. Father Berton, whose primitive simplicity of manner was
unchanged since the time when he held us under the authority of his
ferule, came to invite Bonaparte and Josephine to breakfast with him,
which invitation was accepted. Father Berton had at that time living
with him one of our old comrades of Brienne, named Bouquet; but he
expressly forbade him to show himself to Bonaparte or any one of his
suite, because Bouquet, who had been a commissary at headquarters in
Italy, was in disgrace with the First Consul. Bouquet promised to
observe Father Berton's injunctions, but was far from keeping his
promise. As soon as he saw Bonaparte's carriage drive up, he ran to the
door and gallantly handed out Josephine. Josephine, as she took his
hand, said, "Bouquet,--you have ruined yourself!" Bonaparte, indignant
at what he considered an unwarrantable familiarity, gave way to one of
his uncontrollable fits of passion, and as soon as he entered the room
where the breakfast was laid, he seated himself, and then said to his
wife in an imperious tone, "Josephine, sit there!" He then commenced
breakfast, without telling Father Becton to sit down, although a third
plate had been laid for him. Father Becton stood behind his old pupil's
chair apparently confounded at his violence. The scene produced such an
effect on the old man that he became incapable of discharging his duties
at Compiegne. He retired to Rheims, and his intellect soon after became
deranged. I do not pretend to say whether this alienation of mind was
caused by the occurrence I have just related, and the account of which I
received from Josephine. She was deeply afflicted at what had passed.
Father Berton died insane. What I heard from Josephine was afterwards
confirmed by the brother of Father Becton. The fact is, that in
proportion as Bonaparte acquired power he was the more annoyed at the
familiarity of old companions; and, indeed, I must confess that their
familiarity often appeared very ridiculous.
The First Consul's visit to the northern coast took place towards the end
of the year 1803, at which time the English attacked the Dutch
settlements of Surinam, Demerara, and Essequibo, and a convention of
neutrality was concluded between France, Spain, and Portugal. Rapp
accompanied the First Consul, who attentively inspected the preparations
making for a descent on England, which it was never his intention to
effect, as will be shortly shown.
On the First Consul's return I learned from Rapp that I had been spoken
of during the journey, and in the following way:--Bonaparte, being at
Boulogne, wanted some information which no one there could give, him.
Vexed at receiving no satisfactory answer to his inquiries he called
Rapp, and said, "Do you know, Rapp, where Bourrienne is?"--"General, he
is in Paris."--" Write to him to come here immediately, and send off one
of my couriers with the letter." The rumour of the First Consul's sudden
recollection of me spread like lightning, and the time required to write
the letter and despatch the courier was more than sufficient for the
efforts of those whom my return was calculated to alarm. Artful
representations soon checked these spontaneous symptoms of a return to
former feelings and habits. When Rapp carried to the First Consul the
letter he had been directed to write the order was countermanded.
However, Rapp advised me not to leave Paris, or if I did, to mention the
place where I might be found, so that Duroc might have it in his power to
seize on any favourable circumstance without delay. I was well aware of
the friendship of both Rapp and Duroc, and they could as confidently rely
on mine.