And yet, in his own solitary mind, relying entirely upon his own
capacious resources, he studied the state of affairs and he matured
his plans. Sieyes was the only one whose talents and influence
Napoleon feared. The abbe also looked with apprehension upon his
formidable rival. They stood aloof and eyed each other. Meeting
at a dinner party, each was too proud to make advances. Yet each
thought only of the other. Mutually exasperated, they separated
without having spoken. "Did you see that insolent little fellow?"
said Sieyes, "he would not even condescend to notice a member of
the government, who, if they had done right, would have caused him
to be shot." "What on earth," said Napoleon, "could have induced
them to put that priest in the Directory. He is sold to Prussia.
Unless you take care, he will deliver you up to that power." Napoleon
dined with Moreau, who afterward in hostility to Napoleon pointed
the guns of Russia against the columns of his countrymen. The
dinner party was at (Gohier's, one of the Directors. The following
interesting conversation took place between the rival generals.
When first introduced, they looked at each other a moment without
speaking, Napoleon, conscious of his own superiority, and solicitous
to gain the powerful co-operation of Moreau, made the first advances,
and, with great courtesy, expressed the earnest desire he felt to
make his acquaintance. "You have returned victorious from Egypt."
replied Moreau, "and I from Italy after a great defeat. It was the
month which General Joubert passed in Pairs after his marriage,
which caused our disasters. This gave the allies time to reduce
Mantua, and to bring up the force which besieged it to take a part
in the action. It is always the greater number which defeats the
less." "True," replied Napoleon, "it is always, the greater number
which beats the less" "And yet," said Gohier, "with small armies
you have frequently defeated large ones." "Even then," rejoined
Napoleon, "it was always the inferior force which was defeated by
the superior. When with a small body of men I was in the presence
of a large one, collecting my little band, I fell like lightning on
one of the wings of the hostile army, and defeated it. Profiting by
the disorder which such an event never failed to occasion in their
whole line, I repeated the attack, with similar success, in another
quarter, still with my whole force. I thus beat it in detail. The
general victory which was the result, was still an example of the
truth of the principle that the greater force defeats the lesser."
Napoleon, by those fascinations of mind and manner, which enabled
him to win to him whom he would, soon gained an ascendency over
Moreau. And when, two days after, in token of his regard, he sent
him a beautiful poniard set with diamonds, worth two thousand
dollars: the work was accomplished, and Moreau was ready to do his
bidding. Napoleon gave a small and very select dinner party. Gohier
was invited. The conversation turned on the turquoise used by the
Orientals to clasp their turbans. Napoleon, rising from the table
took from a private drawer, two very beautiful brooches, richly set
with those jewels. One he gave to Gohier, the other to his tried
friend Desaix. "It is a little toy," said he, "which we republicans
may give and receive without impropriety." The Director, flattered
by the delicacy of the compliment, and yet not repelled by any thing
assuming the grossness of a bribe, yielded his heart's homage to
Napoleon.
Republican France was surrounded by monarchies in arms against
her. Their hostility was so inveterate, and, from the very nature
of the case, so inevitable, that Napoleon thought that France should
ever be prepared for an attack, and that the military spirit should
be carefully fostered. Republican America, most happily, has no foe
to fear, and all her energies may be devoted to filling the land
with peace and plenty, But a republic in monarchical Europe must
sleep by the side of its guns. "Do you, really," said Napoleon,
to Gohier, in this interview, "advocate a general peace! You are
wrong. The Republic should never make but partial accommodations.
It should always contrive to have some war on hand to keep alive
the military spirit." We can, perhaps, find a little extenuation
for this remark, in its apparent necessity, and in the influences
of the martial ardor in which Napoleon from his very infancy had
been enveloped. Even now, it is to be feared that the time is far
distant ere the nations of the earth can learn war no more.
Lefebvre was commandant of the guard of the two legislative bodies.
His co-operation was important. Napoleon sent a special invitation
for an interview. "Lefebvre," said he, "will you, one of the pillars
of the Republic, suffer it to perish in the hands of these lawyers
? Join me and assist to save it." Taking from his own side the
beautiful Turkish scimitar which he wore, he passed the ribbon
over Lefebvre's neck, saying, "accept this sword, which I wore at
the battle of the Pyramids. I give it to you as a token of my esteem
and confidence." "Yes," replied Lefebvre, most highly gratified at
this signal mark of confidence and generosity, "let us throw the
lawyers into the river."
Napoleon soon had an interview with Bernadotte. "He confessed," said
Napoleon to Bourrienne, "that he thought us all lost. He spoke of
external enemies, of internal enemies, and, at that word he looked
steadily in my face. I also gave him a glance. But patience; the
pear will soon be ripe."
In this interview Napoleon inveighed against the violence and
lawlessness of the Jacobin club. "Your own brothers," Bernadotte
replied, "were the founders of that club. And yet you reproach me
with favoring its principles. It is to the instructions of some
one, I know not who , that we are to ascribe the agitation which
now prevails." "True, general," Napoleon replied, most vehemently,
"and I would rather live in the woods, than in a society which
presents no security against violence." This conversation only
strengthened the alienation already existing between them.
Bernadotte, though a brave and efficient officer, was a jealous
braggadocio. At the first interview between these two distinguished
men, when Napoleon was in command of the army of Italy, they
contemplated each other with mutual dislike. "I have seen a man,"
said Bernadotte, "of twenty-six or seven years of age, who assumes
the air of one of fifty; and he presages any thing but good to the
Republic." Napoleon summarily dismissed Bernadotte by saying, "he
has a French head and a Roman heart."
There were three political parties now dividing France, the old
royalist party, in favor of the restoration of the Bourbons; the
radical democrats, or Jacobins, with Barras at its head, supported
by the mob of Paris; and the moderate republicans led by Sieyes.
All these parties struggling together, and fearing each other, in
the midst of the general anarchy which prevailed, immediately paid
court to Napoleon, hoping to secure the support of his all-powerful
arm. Napoleon determined to co-operate with the moderate republicans.
The restoration of the Bourbons was not only out of the question,
but Napoleon had no more power to secure that result, than had
Washington to bring the United States into peaceful submission to
George III. "Had I joined the Jacobins," said Napoleon, "I should
have risked nothing. But after conquering with them, it would have
been necessary almost immediately, to conquer against them. A club
can not endure a permanent chief. It wants one for every successive
passion. Now to make use of a party one day, in order to attack
it the next, under whatever pretext it is done, is still an act of
treachery. It was inconsistent with my principles."
Sieyes, the head of the moderate republicans, and Napoleon soon
understood each other, and each admitted the necessity of co-operation.
The government was in a state of chaos. "Our salvation now demands,"
said the wily diplomatist, "both a head and a sword." Napoleon had
both. In one fortnight from the time when he landed at Frejus, "the
pear was ripe." The plan was all matured for the great conflict.
Napoleon, in solitary grandeur, kept his own counsel. He had
secured the cordial co-operation, the unquestioning obedience of
all his subordinates. Like the general upon the field of battle, he
was simply to give his orders, and columns marched, and squadrons
charged, and generals swept the field in unquestioning obedience.
Though he had determined to ride over and to destroy the existing
government, he wished to avail himself, so far as possible, of the
mysterious power of law, as a conqueror turns a captured battery
upon the foe from whom it had been wrested. Such a plot, so simple,
yet so bold and efficient, was never formed before. And no one,
but another Napoleon, will be able to execute another such again.
All Paris was in a state of intense excitement. Something great was
to be done. Napoleon was to do it. But nobody knew when, or what,
or how. All impatiently awaited orders. The majority of the Senate,
or Council of Ancients, conservative in its tendencies, and having
once seen, during the reign of terror, the horrors of Jacobin
domination, were ready, most obsequiously, to rally beneath the
banner of so resolute a leader as Napoleon. They were prepared,
without question, to pass any vote which he should propose. The House
of Representatives or Council of Five Hundred, more democratic in
its constitution, contained a large number of vulgar, ignorant,
and passionate demagogues, struggling to grasp the reins of power.
Carnot, whose co-operation Napoleon had entirely secured, was
President of the Senate. Lucien Bonaparte, the brother of Napoleon,
was Speaker of the House. The two bodies met in the palace of the
Tuileries. The constitution conferred upon the Council of Ancients,
the right to decide upon the place of meeting for both legislative
assemblies.
All the officers of the garrison in Paris, and all the distinguished
military men in the metropolis, had solicited the honor of
a presentation to Napoleon. Without any public announcement, each
one was privately informed that Napoleon would see him on the
morning of the 9th of November. All the regiments in the city had
also solicited the honor of a review by the distinguished conqueror.
They were also informed that Napoleon would review them early on
the morning of the 9th of November. The Council of Ancients was
called to convene at six o'clock on the morning of the same day.
The Council of Five Hundred were also to convene at 11 o'clock of
the same morning. This, the famous 18th of Brumaire, was the destined
day for the commencement of the great struggle. These appointments
were given in such a way as to attract no public attention. The
general-in-chief was thus silently arranging his forces for the
important conflict. To none did he reveal those combinations, by
which he anticipated a bloodless victory.
The morning of the 9th of November arrived. The sun rose with unwonted
splendor over the domes of the thronged city. A more brilliant day
never dawned. Through all the streets of the mammoth metropolis
there was heard, in the earliest twilight of the day, the music of
martial bands, the tramp of battalions, the clatter of iron hoofs,
and the rumbling of heavy artillery wheels over the pavements,
as regiments of infantry, artillery, and cavlary, in the proudest
array, marched to the Boulevards to receive the honor of a review
from the conqueror of Italy and of Egypt. The whole city was
in commotion, guided by the unseen energies of Napoleon in the
retirement of his closet. At eight o'clock Napoleon's house, in
the Rue Chanteraine, was so thronged with illustrious military men,
in most brilliant uniform, that every room was filled and even the
street was crowded with the resplendent guests. At that moment the
Council of Ancients passed the decree, which Napoleon had prepared,
that the two legislative bodies should transfer their meeting to St.
Cloud, a few miles from Paris; and that Napoleon Bonaparte should
be put in command of all the military forces in the city, to secure
the public peace. The removal to St. Cloud was a merciful precaution
against bloodshed. It secured the legislatures from the ferocious
interference of a Parisian mob. The President of the Council was
himself commissioned to bear the decree to Napoleon. He elbowed
his way through the brilliant throng, crowding the door and the
apartment of Napoleon's dwelling, and presented to him the ordinance.
Napoleon was ready to receive it. He stepped upon the balcony,
gathered his vast retinue of powerful guests before him, and in
a loud and firm voice, read to them the decree. "Gentlemen," said
he, "will you help me save the Republic?" One simultaneous burst
of enthusiasm rose from every lip, as drawing their swords from
their scabbards they waved them in the air and shouted, "We swear
it, we swear it." The victory was virtually won. Napoleon was now
at the head of the French nation. Nothing remained but to finish
his conquest. There was no retreat left open for his foes. There
was hardly the possibility of a rally. And now Napoleon summoned
all his energies to make his triumph most illustrious. Messengers
were immediately sent to read the decree to the troops already
assembled, in the utmost display of martial pomp, to greet the idol
of the army, and who were in a state of mind to welcome him most
exultingly as their chief. A burst of enthusiastic acclamation
ascended from their ranks which almost rent the skies. Napoleon
immediately mounted his horse, and, surrounded by the most magnificent
staff, whom he had thus ingeniously assembled at his house, and,
accompanied by a body of fifteen hundred cavalry, whom he had taken
the precaution to rendezvous near his dwelling proceeded to the
palace of the Tuileries. The gorgeous spectacle burst like a vision
upon astonished Paris. It was Napoleon's first public appearance.
Dressed in the utmost simplicity of a civilian's costume, he rode
upon his magnificent charger, the centre of all eyes. The gleaming
banners, waving in the breeze, and the gorgeous trappings of
silver and gold, with which his retinue was embellished, set off
in stronger relief the majestic simplicity of his own appearance.
With the pump and the authority of an enthroned king, Napoleon
entered the Council of the Ancients. The Ancients themselves were
dazzled by his sudden apparition in such imposing and unexpected
splendor and power. Ascending the bar, attended by an imposing
escort, he addressed the assembly and took his oath of office.
"You," said Napoleon, "are the wisdom of the nation. To you it
belongs to concert measures for the salvation of the Republic. I
come, surrounded by our generals, to offer you support. Faithfully
will I fulfill the task you have intrusted to me. Let us not look
into the pass for precedents. nothing in history resembles the
eighteenth century. Nothing in the eighteenth century resembles
the present moment."
An aid was immediately sent to the palace of the Luxembourg, to
inform the five Directors, there in session, of the decree. Two
of the Directors, Sieyes and Ducos, were pledged to Napoleon, and
immediately resigned their offices, and hastened to the Tuileries.
Barras, bewildered and indignant, sent his secretary with a
remonstrance. Napoleon, already assuming the authority of an emperor,
and speaking as if France were his patrimony, came down upon him
with a torrent of invective. "Where." he indignantly exclaimed,
"is that beautiful France which I left you so brilliant! I left
you peace. I find war. I left you victories. I find but defeats.
I left you millions of Italy. I find taxation and beggary. Where
are the hundred thousand men, my companions in glory! They are dead.
This state of things can not continue. It will lead to despotism."
Barras was terrified. He feared to have Napoleon's eagle eye
investigate his peculations. He resigned. Two Directors only now
were left, Gohier and Moulins. It took a majority of the five to
constitute a quorum. The two were powerless. In despair of successful
resistance and fearing vengeance they hastened to the Tuileries to
find Napoleon. They were introduced to him surrounded by Sieyes,
Ducos, and a brilliant staff. Napoleon received them cordially.
"I am glad to see you," said he. "I doubt not that you will both
sign. Your patriotism will not allow you to appose a revolution
which is both inevitable and necessary." "I do not yet despair,"
said Gohier, vehemently, "aided by my colleage, Moulins, of saving
the Republic." "With what will you save it?" exclaimed Napoleon.
"With the Constitution which is crumbling to pieces?" Just at that
moment a messenger came in and informed the Directors that Santeree,
the brewer, who, during the Reign of Terror, had obtained a bloody
celebrity as leader of the Jacobins, was rousing the mob in the
faubourgs to resistance. "General Moulins," said Napoleon, firmly,
"you are the friend of Santerre. Tell him that at the very first
movement he makes, I will cause him to be shot." Moulins, exasperated
yet appalled, made an apologetic reply. "The Republic is in danger,"
said Napoleon. We must save it. It is my will . Sieyes, Ducos,
and Barras have resigned. You are two individuals insulated and
powerless. I advise you not to resist." They still refused. Napoleon
had no time to spend in parleying. He immediately sent them both
back into the Luxembourg, separated them and placed them under
arrest. Fouche, * occupying the important post of Minister of
Police, though not in Napoleon's confidence, yet anxious to display
his homage to the rising luminary, called upon Napoleon and informed
him that he had closed the barriers, and had thus prevented all
ingress or egress. "What means this folly?" said Napoleon. "Let
those orders be instantly countermanded. Do we not march with the
opinion of the nation, and by its strength alone? Let no citizen
be interrupted. Let every publicity be given to what is done."
"Fouche," said Napoleon, is a miscreant of all colors, a terrorist,
and one who took an active part in many bloody scenes of the
Revolution. He is a man who can worm all your secrets out of you,
with an air of calmness and unconcern. He is very rich; but his
riches have been badly acquired. He never was my confidant. Never
did he approach me without bending to the ground. But I never had
any esteem for him. I employed him merely as an instrument."
The Council of Five Hundred, in great confusion and bewilderment,
assembled at eleven o'clock. Lucien immediately communicated the
degree transferring their session to St. Cloud. This cut off all
debate. The decree was perfectly legal. There could therefore be no
legal pretext for opposition. Napoleon, the idol of the army, had
the whole military power obedient to his nod. Therefore resistance
of any kind was worse than folly. The deed was adroitly done. At
eleven o'clock the day's work was accomplished. There was no longer
a Directory. Napoleon was the appointed chief of the troops, and
they were filling the streets with enthusiastic shouts of "Live
Napoleon." The Council of Ancients were entirely at his disposal.
An a large party in the Council of Five Hundred were also wholly
subservient to his will. Napoleon, proud, silent, reserved reserved,
fully conscious of his own intellectual supremacy, and regarding
the generals, the statesmen, and the multitude around him, as
a man contemplates children, ascended the grand staircase of the
Tuileries as it were his hereditary home. Nearly all parties united
to sustain his triumph. Napoleon was a solider. The guns of Paris
joyfully thundered forth the victory of one who seemed the peculiar
favorite of the God of war. Napoleon was a scholar, stimulating
intellect to its mightiest achievements. The scholars of Paris,
gratefully united to weave a chaplet for the brow of their honored
associate and patron. Napoleon was, for those days of profligacy and
unbridled lust, a model of purity of morals, and of irreproachable
integrity. The proffered bribe of millions could not tempt him.
The dancing daughters of Herodias, with all their blandishments,
could not lure him from his life of Herculean toil and from his
majestic patriotism. The wine which glitters in the cup, never
vanquished him. At the shrine of no vice was he found a worshiper.
The purest and the best in France, disgusted with that gilded
corruption which had converted the palaces of the Bourbons into
harems of voluptuous sin, and still more deeply loathing that vulgar
and revolting vice, which had transformed Paris into a house of
infamy, enlisted all their sympathies in behalf of the exemplary
husband and the incorruptible patriot. Napoleon was one of the most
firm and unflinching friends of law and order. France was weary of
anarchy and was trembling under the apprehension that the gutters
of the guillotine were again to be clotted with blood. And mothers
and maidens prayed for God's blessing upon Napoleon, who appeared
to them as a messenger sent from Heaven for their protection.
During the afternoon and the night his room at the Tuileries was
thronged with the most illustrious statesmen, generals, and scholars
of Paris, hastening to pledge to him their support. Napoleon,
perfectly unembarrassed and never at a loss in any emergency,
gave his orders for the ensuing day. Lannes was intrusted with a
body of troops to guard the Tuileries. Murat, who, said Napoleon,
"was superb at Aboukir," with a numerous cavalry and a crops of
grenadiers was stationed at St. Cloud, a thunderbolt in Napoleon's
right hand. Woe betide the mob into whose ranks that thunderbolt
may be hurled. Moreau, with five hundred men, was stationed to
guard the Luxembourg, where the two refractory Directors were held
under arrest. Serrurier was posted in a commanding position with a
strong reserve, prompt for any unexpected exigence. Even a body of
troops were sent to accompany Barras to his country seat, ostensibly
as an escort of honor, but in reality to guard against any change
in that venal and versatile mind. The most energetic measures were
immediately adopted to prevent any rallying point for the disaffected.
Bills were everywhere posted, exhorting the citizens to be quiet,
and assuring them that powerful efforts were making to save the
Republic. These minute precaution were characteristic of Napoleon.
He believed in destiny. Yet he left nothing for destiny to accomplish.
He ever sought to make provision for all conceivable contingencies.
These measures were completely successful. Though Paris was in a
delirium of excitement, there were outbreaks of lawless violence.
Neither Monarchist, Republican, nor Jacobin knew what Napoleon
intended to do. All were conscious that he would do something. It
was known that the Jacobin party in the Council of Five Hundred
on the ensuing day, would make a desperate effort at resistance.
Sieyes, perfectly acquainted with revolutionary movements, urged
Napoleon to arrest some forty of the Jacobins most prominent in
the Council. This would have secured an easy victory on the morrow.
Napoleon, however, rejected the advice, saying, "I pledged my word
this morning to protect the national representation. I will not this
evening violate my oath." Had the Assembly been convened in Paris,
all the mob of the faubourgs would have risen, like an inundation,
in their behalf, and torrents of blood must have been shed. The
sagacious transferrence of the meeting to St. Cloud, several miles
from Paris, saved those lives. The powerful military display,
checked any attempt at a march upon St. Cloud. What could the mob
do, with Murat, Lannes, and Serrurier, guided by the energies of
Napoleon, ready to hurl their solid columns upon them!