the Rhine. Between the rivers Iser and Inn there is an enormous
forest, many leagues in extent, of sombre firs and pines. It is
a dreary and almost uninhabited wilderness, of wild ravines, and
tangled under-brush. Two great roads have been cut through the
forest, and sundry woodmen's paths penetrate it at different points.
In the centre there is a little hamlet, of a few miserable huts,
called Hohenlinden. In this forest, on the night of the 3d of
December, 1800, Moreau, with sixty thousand men, encountered the
Archduke John with seventy thousand Austrian troops. The clocks
upon the towers of Munich had but just tolled the hour of midnight
when both armies were in motion, each hoping to surprise the
other. A dismal wintry storm was howling over the tree tops, and
the smothering snow, falling rapidly, obliterated all traces of a
path, and rendered it almost impossible to drag through the drifts
the ponderous artillery. Both parties, in the dark and tempestuous
night, became entangled in the forest, and the heads of their
columns in various places met. An awful scene of confusion, conflict,
and carnage then ensued. Imagination can not compass the terrible
sublimity of that spectacle. The dark midnight, the howlings of
the wintry storm, the driving sheets of snow, the incessant roar
of artillery and of musketry from one hundred and thirty thousand
combatants, the lightning flashes of the guns, the crash of the
falling trees as the heavy cannon-balls swept through the forest,
the floundering of innumerable horsemen bewildered in the pathless
snow, the shout of onset, the shriek of death, and the burst
of martial music from a thousand bands--all combined to present a
scene of horror and of demoniac energy, which probably even this
lost world never presented before. The darkness of the black forest
was so intense, and the snow fell in flakes so thick and fast and
blinding, that the combatants could with difficulty see each other.
They often judged of the foe only by his position, and fired at
the flashes gleaming through the gloom. At times, hostile divisions
became intermingled in inextricable confusion, and hand to hand,
bayonet crossing bayonet, and sword clashing against sword, they
fought with the ferocity of demons; for though the officers of an
army may be influenced by the most elevated sentiments of dignity
and of honor, the mass of the common soldiers have ever been the
most miserable, worthless, and degraded of mankind. As the advancing
and retreating host wavered to and fro, the wounded, by thousands,
were left on hill-sides and in dark ravines, with the drifting
snow, crimsoned with blood, their only blanket; there in solitude
and agony to moan and freeze and die. What death-scenes the eye of
God must have witnessed that night, in the solitudes of that dark,
tempest-tossed, and blood-stained forest! At last the morning dawned
through the unbroken clouds, and the battle raged with renovated
fury. Nearly twenty thousand mutilated bodies of the dead and
wounded were left upon the field, with gory locks frozen to their
icy pillows, and covered with mounds of snow. At last the French were
victorious at every point. The Austrians, having lost twenty-five
thousand men in killed, wounded, and prisoners, one hundred pieces
of artillery, and an immense number of wagons, fled in dismay.
This terrific conflict has been immortalized by the noble epic of
Campbell, which is now familiar wherever the English language is
known.
"On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden
snow, And dark as winter was the flow Or Iser, rolling rapidly.
"But Linden saw another sight, When the drums beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery."
&c.
The retreating Austrians rushed down the valley of the Danube. Moreau
followed thundering at their heels, plunging balls and shells into
their retreating ranks. The victorious French were within thirty
miles of Vienna, and the capital was in a state of indescribable
dismay. The Emperor again sent imploring an armistice. The
application was promptly acceded to, for Napoleon was contending
only for peace. Yet with unexempled magnanimity, notwithstanding
these astonishing victories, Napoleon made no essential alterations
in his terms. Austria was at his feet. His conquering armies were
almost in sight of the steeples of Vienna. There was no power which
the Emperor could present to obstruct their resistless march. He
might have exacted any terms of humiliation. But still he adhered
to the first terms which he had proposed. Moreau was urged by some
of his officers to press on to Vienna. "We had better halt," he
replied, "and be content with peace. It is for that alone that we
are fighting." The Emperor of Austria was thus compelled to treat
without the concurrence of England. The insurmountable obstacle in
the way of peace was thus removed. At Luneville, Joseph Bonaparte
appeared as the embassador of Napoleon, and Count Cobentzel as
the plenipotentiary of Austria. The terms of the treaty were soon
settled, and France was again at peace with all the world, England
alone excepted. By this treaty the Rhine was acknowledged as the
boundary of France. The Adige limited the possessions of Austria
in Italy; and Napoleon made it an essential article that every
Italian imprisoned in the dungeons of Austria for political offences,
should immediately be liberated. There was to be no interference
by either with the new republics which had sprung up in Italy. They
were to be permitted to choose whatever form of government they
preferred. In reference to this treaty, Sir Walter Scott makes the
candid admission that "the treaty of Luneville was not much more
advantageous to France than that of Campo Formio. The moderation
of the First Consul indicated at once his desire for peace upon the
Continent, and considerable respect for the bravery and strength of
Austria." And Alison, in cautious but significant phrase, remarks,
"These conditions did not differ materially from those offered by
Napoleon before the renewal of the war; a remarkable circumstance
, when it is remembered how vast and addition the victories of Marengo,
Hohenlinden, and the Mincio, had since made to the preponderance
of the French armies."
It was, indeed, "a remarkable circumstance," that Napoleon should
have manifested such unparalleled moderation, under circumstances
of such aggravated indignity. In Napoleon's first Italian campaign
he was contending solely for peace. At last he attained it, in the
treaty of Campo Formio, on terms equally honorable to Austria and
to France. On his return from Egypt, he found the armies of Austria,
three hundred thousand strong, in alliance with England, invading
the territories of the Republic. He implored peace, in the name
of bleeding humanity, upon the fair basis of the treaty of Campo
Formio. His foes regarded his supplication as the imploring cry
of weakness, and treated it with scorn. With new vigor they poured
their tempests of balls and shells upon France. Napoleon sealed the
Alps, and dispersed his foes at Marengo, like autumn leaves before
the Alps, and dispersed his foes at Marengo, like autumn leaves
before the gale. Amid the smoke and the blood and the groans of
the field of his victory, he again wrote imploring peace; and he
wrote in terms dictated by the honest and gushing sympathies of a
humane man, and not in the cold and stately forms of the diplomatist.
Crushed as his foes were, he rose not in his demands, but nobly
said, "I am still willing to make peace upon the fair basis of
the treaty of Campo Formio." His treacherous foes, to gain time to
recruit their armies, that they might fall upon him with renovated
vigor, agreed to an armistice. They then threw all possible
embarrassments in the way of negotiation, and prolonged the armistice
till the winds of winter were sweeping fiercely over the snow-covered
hills of Austria. They thought that it was then too late for
Napoleon to make any movements until spring, and that they had a
long winter before them, in which to prepare for another campaign.
They refused peace. Through storms and freezing gales and drifting
snows the armies of Napoleon marched painfully to Hohenlinden. The
hosts of Austria were again routed, and were swept away, as the
drifted snow flies before the gale. Ten thousand Frenchmen lie cold
in death, the terrible price of the victory. The Emperor of Austria,
in his palaces, heard the thunderings of Napoleon's approaching
artillery. He implored peace. "It is all that I desire," said Napoleon;
"I am not fighting for ambition or for conquest. I am still ready
to make peace upon the fair basis of the treaty of Campo Formio."
While all the Continent was now at peace with France, England alone,
with indomitable resolution, continued the war, without allies,
and without any apparent or avowed object. France, comparatively
powerless upon the seas, could strike no blows which would be felt
by the distant islanders. "On every point," says Sir Walter Scott,
"the English squadrons annihilated the commerce of France, crippled
her revenues, and blockaded her forts." The treaty of Luneville was
signed the 9th of February, 1801. Napoleon lamenting, the continued
hostility of England, in announcing this peace to the people of
France, remarked, "Why is not this treaty the treaty of a general
peace? This was the wish of France. This has been the constant object
of the efforts of her government. But its desires are fruitless. All
Europe knows that the British minister has endeavored to frustrate
the negotiations at Luneville. In vain was it declared to him
that France was ready to enter into a separate negotiation. This
declaration only produced a refusal under the pretext that England
could not abandon her ally. Since then, when that ally consented to
treat without England, that government sought other means to delay
a peace so necessary to the world. It raises pretensions contrary
to the dignity and rights of all nations. The whole commerce of
Asia, and of immense colonies, does not satisfy its ambition. All
the seas must submit to the exclusive sovereignty of England."
As William Pitt received the tidings of this discomfiture of his
allies, in despairing despondency, he exclaimed, "Fold up the map
of Europe. In need not again be opened for twenty years."
While these great affairs were in progress, Napoleon, in Paris, was
consecrating his energies with almost miraculous power, in developing
all the resources of the majestic empire under his control. He
possessed the power of abstraction to a degree which has probably
never been equaled. He could concentrate all his attention for
any length of time upon one subject, and then, laying that aside
entirely, without expending any energies in unavailing anxiety,
could turn to another, with all the freshness and the vigor of an
unpreoccupied mind. Incessant mental labor was the luxury of his
life. "Occupation," said he, "is my element. I am born and made for
it. I have found the limits beyond which I could not use my legs.
I have seen the extent to which I could use my eyes. But I have
never known any bounds to my capacity for application."
The universality of Napoleon's genius was now most conspicuous. The
revenues of the nation were replenished, and all the taxes arranged
to the satisfaction of the people. The Bank of France was reorganized,
and new energy infused into its operations. Several millions of
dollars were expended in constructing and perfecting five magnificent
roads radiating from Paris to the frontiers of the empire. Robbers,
the vagabonds of disbanded armies, infested the roads, rendering
traveling dangerous in the extreme. "Be patient," said Napoleon.
"Give me a month or two. I must first conquer peace abroad. I will
then do speedy and complete justice upon these highwaymen." A very
important canal, connecting Belgium with France, had been commenced
some years before. The engineers could not agree respecting the
best direction of the cutting through the highlands which separated
the valley of the Oise from that of the Somme. He visited the spot
in person: decided the question promptly, and decided it wisely,
and the canal was pressed to its completion. He immediately caused
three new bridges to be thrown across the Seine at Paris. He
commenced the magnificent road of the Simplon, crossing the rugged
Alps with a broad and smooth highway, which for ages will remain a
durable monument of the genius and energy of Napoleon. In gratitude for
the favors he had received from the monks of the Great St. Bernard,
he founded two similar establishments for the aid of travelers,
one on Mount Cenis, the other on the Simplon, and both auxiliary
to the convent on the Great St. Bernard. Concurrently with these
majestic undertakings, he commenced the compilation of the civil
code of France. The ablest lawyers of Europe were summoned to this
enterprise, and the whole work was discussed section by section
in the Council of State, over which Napoleon presided. The lawyers
were amazed to find that the First Consul was as perfectly familiar
with all the details of legal and political science, as he was with
military strategy.
Bourrienne mentions, that one day, a letter was received from an
emigrant, General Durosel, who had taken refuge in the island of
Jersey. The following is an extract from the letter:
"You can not have forgotten, general, that when your late father
was obliged to take your brothers from the college of Autun, he was
unprovided with money, and asked of me one hundred and twenty-five
dollars, which I lent him with pleasure. After his return, he had
not an opportunity of paying me, and when I left Ajaccio, your
mother offered to dispose of some plate, in order to pay the debt.
To this I objected, and told her that I would wait until she could
pay me at her convenience. Previous to the Revolution, I believe
that it was not in her power to fulfill her wish of discharging the
debt. I am sorry to be obliged to trouble you about such a trifle.
But such is my unfortunate situation, that even this trifle is of
some importance to me. At the age of eighty-six, general, after
having served my country for sixty years, I am compelled to take
refuge here, and to subsist on a scanty allowance, granted by the
English government to French emigrants. I say emigrants , for I am
obliged to be one against my will."
Upon hearing this letter read, Napoleon immediately and warmly
said, "Bourrienne, this is sacred. Do not lose a moment. Send the
old man ten times the sum. Write to General Durosel, that he shall
immediately be erased from the list of emigrants. What mischief
those brigands of the Convention have done. I can never repair it
all." Napoleon uttered these words with a degree of emotion which
he had rarely before evinced. In the evening he inquired, with much
interest of Bourrienne, if he had executed his orders.
Many attempts were made at this time to assassinate the First Consul.
Though France, with the most unparalleled unanimity surrounded him
with admiration, gratitude, and homage, there were violent men in
the two extremes of society, among the Jacobins and the inexorable
Royalists, who regarded him as in their way. Napoleon's escape from
the explosion of the infernal machine, got up by the Royalists,
was almost miraculous.
On the evening of the 24th of December, Napoleon was going to the
Opera, to hear Haydn's Oratorio of the Creation, which was to be
performed for the first time. Intensely occupied by business, he was
reluctant to go; but to gratify Josephine, yielded to her urgent
request. It was necessary for his carriage to pass through a narrow
street. A cart, apparently by accident overturned, obstructed the
passage. A barrel suspended beneath the cart, contained as deadly
a machine as could be constructed with gun-powder and all the
missiles of death. The coachman succeeded in forcing his way by
the cart. He had barely passed when an explosion took place, which
was all over Paris, and which seemed to shake the city to its
foundations. Eight persons were instantly killed, and more than sixty
were wounded, of whom about twenty subsequently died. The houses
for a long distance, on each side of the street, were fearfully
shattered, and many of them were nearly blown to pieces. The
carriage rocked as upon the billows of the sea, and the windows
were shattered to fragments. Napoleon had been in too many scenes
of terror to be alarmed by any noise or destruction which gunpowder
could produce. "Ha!" said he, with perfect composure; "we are blown
up." One of his companions in the carriage, greatly terrified,
thrust his head through the demolished window, and called loudly
to the driver to stop. "No, no!" said Napoleon; "drive on." When
the First Consul entered the Opera House, he appeared perfectly
calm and unmoved. The greatest consternation, however, prevailed
in all parts of the house, for the explosion had been heard, and
the most fearful apprehensions were felt for the safety of the
idolized Napoleon. As soon as he appeared, thunders of applause,
which shook the very walls of the theatre, gave affecting testimony
of the attachment of the people to his person. In a few moments,
Josephine, who had come in her private carriage, entered the box.
Napoleon turned to her with perfect tranquillity, and said, "The
rascals tried to blow me up. Where is the book of the Oratorio?"
Napoleon soon left the Opera and returned to the Tuileries. He
found a vast crowd assembled there, attracted by affection for his
person, and anxiety for his safety. The atrocity of this attempt
excited universal horror, and only increased the already almost
boundless popularity of the First Consul. Deputations and addresses
were immediately poured in upon him from Paris and from all the
departments of France, congratulating him upon his escape. It was
at first thought that this conspiracy was the work of the Jacobins.
There were in Paris more than a hundred of the leaders of the
execrable party, who had obtained a sanguinary notoriety during
the reign of terror. They were active members of a Jacolin Club,
a violent and vulgar gathering continually plotting the overthrow
of the government, and the assassination of the First Consul. They
were thoroughly detested by the people, and the community was glad
to avail itself of any plausible pretext for banishing them from
France. Without sufficient evidence that they were actually guilty
of this particular outrage, in the strong excitement and indignation
of the moment a decree was passed by the legislative bodies, sending
one hundred and sixty of these bloodstained culprits into exile.
The wish was earnestly expressed that Napoleon would promptly punish
them by his own dictatorial power. Napoleon had, in fact, acquired
such unbounded popularity, and the nation was so thoroughly impressed
with a sense of his justice, and his wisdom, the whatever he said
was done. He, however, insisted that the business should be conducted
by the constituted tribunals and under the regular forms of law.
"The responsibility of this measure," said Napoleon, "must rest
with the legislative body. The consuls are irresponsible. But
the ministers are not. Any one of them who should sign an arbitrary
decree, might hereafter be called to account. Not a single
individual must be compromised. The consuls themselves know not
what may happen. As for me, while I live, I am not afraid that any
one will be killed, and then I can not answer for the safety of my
two colleagues. It would be your turn to govern," said, he, smiling,
and turning to Cambaceres;" and you are not as yet very firm in
the stirrups . It will be better to have a law for the present, as
well as for the future." It was finally, after much deliberation,
decided that the Council of State should draw up a declaration of
the reasons, for the act. The First Consul was to sign the decree,
and the Senate was to declare whether it was or was not constitutional.
Thus cautiously Napoleon proceed under circumstances so exciting.
The law, however, was unjust and tyrannical. Guilty as these men
were of other crimes, by which they had forfeited all sympathy,
it subsequently appeared that they were not guilty of this crime.
Napoleon was evidently embraced by this uncertainty of their guilty,
and was not willing that they should be denounced as contrivers
of the infernal machine. "We believe ," said he, "that they are
guilty. But we do not know it. They must be transported for the
crimes which they have committed, the massacres and the conspiracies
already proved against them." The decree was passed. But Napoleon,
strong in popularity, became so convinced of the powerlessness and
insignificance of these Jacobins, that the decree was never enforced
against them. They remained in France. But they were conscious that
the eye of the police was upon them. "It is not my own person," said
Napoleon, "that I seek to avenge. My fortune which has preserved
me so often on the field of battle, will continue to preserve me.
I think not of myself. I think of social order which it is my mission
to re-establish, and of the national honor, which it is my duty
to purge from an abominable stain." To the innumerable addresses
of congratulation and attachment which this occurrence elicited
Napoleon replied. "I have been touched by the proofs of affection
which the people of Paris have shown me on this occasion. I deserve
them. For the only aim of my thoughts, and of my actions, is to
augment the prosperity and the glory of France. While those banditti
confined themselves to direct attacks upon me, I could leave to
the laws the task of punishing them. But since they have endangered
the population of the capital by a crime, unexampled in history,
the punishment must be equally speedy and terrible."
It was soon proved, much to the surprise of Napoleon, that the
atrocious act was perpetrated by the partisans of the Bourbons.
Many of the most prominent of the Loyalists were implicated in this
horrible conspiracy. Napoleon felt that he deserved their gratitude.
He had interposed to save them from the fury of the Jacobins.
Against the remonstrances of his friends, he had passed a decree
which restored one hundred and fifty thousand of these wandering
emigrants to France. He had done every thing in his power to enable
them to regain their confiscated estates. He had been in all respects
their friend and benefactor, and he would not believe, until the
proof was indisputable, that they could thus requite him. The wily
Fouche, however, dragged the whole matter into light. The prominent
conspirators were arrested and shot. The following letter, written
on this occasion by Josephine, to the Minister of Police, strikingly
illustrates the benevolence of her heart, and exhibits in a very
honorable light the character of Napoleon.
"While I yet tremble at the frightful event which has just occurred,
I am distressed through fear of the punishment to be inflicted on
the guilty, who belong, it is said, to families with whom I once
lived in habits of intercourse. I shall be solicited by mothers,
sisters, and disconsolate wives, and my heart will be broken through
my inability to obtain all the mercy for which I would plead. I know
that the elemency of the First who belong, it is said, to families
with whom I once lived in habits of intercourse. I shall be
solicited by mothers,sisters, and disconsolate wives, and my heart
will be broken through my inability to obtain all the mercy for
which I would plead. I know that the elemency of the First Consul
is great--his attachment to me extreme. The chief of the government
has not been alone exposed; and it is that which will render him
severe, inflexible. I conjure you, therefore, to do all in your
power to prevent inquiries being pushed too far. Do not detect all
those persons who have been accomplices in this odious transaction.
Let not France, so long overwhelmed in consternation, by public
executions, groan anew, beneath such inflictions. When the ringleaders
of this nefarious attempt shall have been secured, let severity
give place to pity for inferior agents, seduced, as they may have
been by dangerous falsehoods or exaggerated opinions. As a woman,
a wife, and a mother, I must feel the heartrendings of those will
apply to me. Act, citizen minister, in such a way that the number
of these may be lessened."
It seems almost miraculous that Napoleon should have escaped the
innumerable conspiracies which at this time were formed against
him. The partisans of the Bourbons though that if Napoleon could be
removed, the Bourbons might regain their throne. It was his resistless
genius alone, which enabled France to triumph over combined Europe.
His death would leave France without a leader. The armies of the
allies could then, with bloody strides, march to Paris, and place
the hated Bourbons on the throne. France knew this, and adored its
preserver. Monarchical Europe knew this, and hence all the engergies
of its combined kings were centred upon Napoleon. More than thirty
of these consipracies were detected by the police. London was
the hot-house where they were engendered. Air-guns were aimed to
Napoleon. Assassins dogged him with their poniards. A bomb-shell was
invented, weighing about fifteen pounds, which was to be thrown in
at his carriage-window, and which exploding by its own concussion,
would hurl death on every side. The conspirators were perfectly
reckless of the lives of others, if they could only destroy the life
of Napoleon. The agents of the infernal-machine had the barbarity
to get a young girl fifteen years of age to hold the horse who
drew the machine. This was to disarm suspicion. The poor child was
blown into such fragments, that no part of her body. excepting the
feet, could afterwards be found. At last Napoleon became aroused,
and declared that he would "teach those Bourbons that he was not
a man to be shot at like a dog."
One day at St. Helena, as he was putting on his flannel waistcoat,
he observed Las Casas looking at him very steadfastly.
"Well! what is your Excellency thinking of?" said Napoleon, with
a smile.
"Sire," Las Casas replied, "in a pamphlet which I lately read, I
found it stated that your majesty was shielded by a coat-of-mail,
for the security of your person. I was thinking that I could bear
positive evidence that at St. Helena at least, all precautions for
personal safety have been laid aside."