KING OR EMPEROR.
Josephine's entreaties had been fruitless, or Bonaparte had, at least,
only yielded to them in their literal sense. She had said: "I entreat
you, do not make yourself a king!" Bonaparte did not make himself king,
he made himself emperor. He did not take up the crown that had fallen
from the head of the Bourbons; he created a new one for himself--a crown
which the French people and Senate had, however, offered him. The
revolution still stood a threatening spectre behind the French people;
its return was feared, and, since the discovery of the conspiracy of
Georges, Moreau, and Pichegru, the people anxiously asked themselves
what was to become of France if the conspirators should succeed in
murdering Bonaparte; and when the republic should again be sent adrift,
without a pilot, on the wild sea of revolution. The people demanded that
their institutions should be securely established and maintained, and
believed that this could only be accomplished by a dynasty--by a
monarchical form of government. The consulate for life must therefore be
changed into an hereditary empire. Had not Bonaparte himself said: "One
can be emperor of a republic, but not king of a republic; these two
terms are incompatible!" They desired to make Napoleon emperor, because
they flattered themselves that in so doing they should still be able to
preserve the republic.
On the 18th of May, of the year 1804, the plan that had been so long and
carefully prepared was carried into execution. On the 18th of May, the
Senate repaired to St. Cloud, to entreat Bonaparte, in the name of the
people and army, to accept the imperial dignity, and exchange the Roman
chair of a consul for the French throne of an emperor.
Cambacérès, the late second consul of the republic, stood at the head of
the Senate, and upon him devolved the duty of imparting to Bonaparte the
wishes of the French people. Cambacérès--who, as a member of the
Convention, had voted for the condemnation of Louis XVI., in order that
royalty should be forever banished from French soil--this same
Cambacérès, was now the first to salute Bonaparte with "imperial
majesty," and with the little word, so full of significance, "sire." He
rewarded Cambacérès, for this by writing to him on the game day, and
appointing him high constable of the empire, as the first act of his
imperial rule. In this letter, the first document in which Bonaparte
signed himself merely Napoleon, the emperor retained the republican
style of writing. He addressed Cambacérès, as "citizen consul," and
followed the revolutionary method of reckoning time, his letter being
dated "the 20th Floréal, of the year 12."
The second act of the emperor, on the first day of his new dignity, was
to invest the members of his family also with new dignities, and to
confer upon them the rank of Princes of France, with the title "imperial
highness." Moreover, he made his brother Joseph prince elector, and his
brother Louis connétable. On the same day it devolved upon Louis, in his
new dignity, to present the generals and staff officers to the emperor,
and then to conduct them to the empress--the Empress Josephine.
The prophecy of the negress of Martinique was now fulfilled. Josephine
was "more than a queen." But Josephine, in the midst of the splendor of
her new dignity, could only think, with an anxious heart, of the
prophecy of the clairvoyante of Paris, who had told her, "You will wear
a crown, but only for a short time." She felt that this wondrous fortune
could not last long--that the new emperor would have to do as the kings
or old had done, and sacrifice his dearest possession to Fate, in order
to appease the hungry demons of vengeance and envy; and that he would,
therefore, sacrifice her, in order to secure the perpetuity of his
fortune and dynasty.
It was this that weighed down the heart of the new empress, and made her
shrink in alarm from her new grandeur. It was, therefore, with a feeling
of deep anxiety that she took possession of the new titles and honors
that Fate had showered upon her, as from an inexhaustible horn of
plenty. With a degree of alarm, and almost with shame, she heard herself
addressed with the titles with which she had addressed the Queen of
France years before, in these same halls, when she came to the Tuileries
as Marquise de Beauharnais, to do homage to the beautiful Marie
Antoinette. She had died on the scaffold and now Josephine was the
"majesty" that sat enthroned in the Tuileries, her brilliant court
assembled around her, while in a retired nook of England the legitimate
King of France was leading a lonely and gloomy life.
Josephine, as we have said, was a good royalist; and, as empress, she
still mourned over the fate of the unfortunate Bourbons, and esteemed it
her sacred duty to assist and advise those who, true to their principles
and duties, had followed the royal family, or had emigrated, in order
that they might, at least, not be compelled to do homage to the new
system. Her purse was always at the service of the emigrants; and, if
Josephine continually made debts, in spite of her enormous monthly
allowance, her extravagance was not alone the cause, but also her
kindly, generous heart; for she was in the habit of setting apart the
half of her monthly income for the relief of poor emigrants, and, no
matter how great her own embarrassment, or how pressing her creditors,
she never suffered the amount devoted to the relief of misfortune and
the reward of fidelity to be applied to any other purpose[13].
[Footnote 13: Mémoires sur la reine Hortense, par le Baron van Schelten,
vol. i., p. 145.]
Now that Josephine was an empress, her daughter, the wife of the High
Constable of France, took the second position at the brilliant court of
the emperor. The daughter of the beheaded viscount was now a "Princess
of France," an "imperial highness," who must be approached with
reverence, who had her court and her maids of honor, and whose liberty
and personal inclinations, as was also the case with her mother, were
confined in the fetters of the strict etiquette which Napoleon required
to be observed at the new imperial court.
But neither Josephine nor Hortense allowed herself to be blinded by this
new splendor. A crown could confer upon Josephine no additional
happiness; glittering titles could neither enhance Hortense's youth and
beauty, nor alleviate her secret misery. She would have been contented
to live in retirement, at the side of a beloved husband; her proud
position could not indemnify her for her lost woman's happiness.
But Fate seemed to pity the noble, gentle being, who knew how to bear
misery and grandeur with the same smiling dignity, and offered her a
recompense for the overthrow of her first mother's hope--a new
hope--she promised to become a mother again.
Josephine received this intelligence with delight, for her daughter's
hope was a hope for her too. If Hortense should give birth to a son, the
gods might be reconciled, and misfortune be banished from the head of
the empress. With this son, the dynasty of the new imperial family would
be assured; this son could be the heir of the imperial crown, and
Napoleon could well adopt as his own the child who was at the same time
his nephew and his grandson.
Napoleon promised Josephine that he would do this; that he would rather
content himself with an adopted son, in whom the blood of the emperor
and of the empress was mixed, than be compelled to separate himself from
her, from his Josephine. Napoleon still loved his wife; he still
compared with all he thought good and beautiful, the woman who shed
around his grandeur the lustre of her grace and loveliness.
When the people greeted their new emperor with loud cries of joy and
thunders of applause, Napoleon, his countenance illumined with
exultation, exclaimed: "How glorious a music is this! These acclamations
and greetings sound as sweet and soft as the voice of Josephine! How
proud and happy I am, to be loved by such a people[14]!"
[Footnote 14: Bourrienne, vol. iv., p. 288.]
But his proud ambition was not yet sated. As he bad once said, upon
entering the Tuileries as first consul, "It is not enough to _be_ in
the Tuileries; one must also _remain_ there"--he now said: "It is not
enough to have been made emperor by the French people; one must also
have received his consecration as emperor from the Pope of Rome."
And Napoleon was now mighty enough to give laws to the world; not only
to bend France, but also foreign sovereigns, to his will.
Napoleon desired for his crown the papal consecration; and the Pope left
the holy city and repaired to Paris, to give the new emperor the
blessing of the Church in the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. This was a new
halo around Napoleon's head--a new, an unbounded triumph, which he
celebrated over France, over the whole world and its prejudices, and
over all the dynasties by the "grace of God." The Pope came to Paris to
crown the emperor. The German emperors had been compelled to make a
pilgrimage to Rome, to receive the papal benediction, and now the Pope
made a pilgrimage to Paris to crown the French emperor, and acknowledge
the son of the Revolution as the consecrated son of the Church. All
France was intoxicated with delight at this intelligence; all France
adored the hero, who made of the wonders of fiction a reality, and
converted even the holy chair at Rome into the footstool of his
grandeur. Napoleon's journey with Josephine through France, undertaken
while they awaited the Pope's coming, was, therefore, a single,
continuous triumph. It was not only the people who received him with
shouts of joy, but the Church also sang to him, everywhere, her
_sanctus, sanctus_, and the priests received him at the doors of their
churches with loud benedictions, extolling him as the savior of France.
Everywhere, the imperial couple was received with universal exultation,
with the ringing of bells, with triumphal arches, and solemn addresses
of welcome, the latter partaking sometimes of a transcendental nature.
"God created Bonaparte," said the Prefect of Arras, in his enthusiastic
address to the emperor--"God created Bonaparte, and then He rested."
And Count Louis of Narbonne, at that time not yet won over by the
emperor, and not yet grand-marshal of the imperial court, whispered,
quite audibly: "God would have done better had He rested a
little sooner!"
Finally, the intelligence overran all France, that the wonder, in which
they had not yet dared to believe, had become reality, and that Pope
Pius VII. had crossed the boundaries of France, and was now approaching
the capital. The Holy Father of the Church, that had now arisen
victoriously from the ruins of the revolution, was everywhere received
by the people and authorities with the greatest honor. The old royal
palace at Fontainebleau had, by order of the emperor, been refurnished
with imperial magnificence, and, as a peculiarly delicate attention, the
Pope's bedchamber had been arranged in exact imitation of his bedchamber
in the Quirinal at Home. The emperor, empress, and their suite, now
repaired to Fontainebleau, to receive Pope Pius VII. The whole ceremony
had, however, been previously arranged, and understanding had with the
Pope concerning the various questions of etiquette. In conformity with
this prearranged ceremony, when the couriers announced the approach of
the Pope, Napoleon rode out to the chase, to give himself the appearance
of meeting the Pope accidentally on his way. The equipages and the
imperial court had taken position in the forest of Nemours. Napoleon,
however, attired in hunting-dress, rode, with his suite, to the summit
of a little hill, which the Pope's carriage had just reached. The Pope
at once ordered a halt, and the emperor also brought his suite to a
stand with a gesture of his hand. A brief interval of profound silence
followed. All felt that a great historical event was taking place, and
the eyes of all were fastened in wondering expectation on the two chief
figures of this scene--on the emperor, who sat there on his horse, in
his simple huntsman's attire; and on the Pope, in his gold-embroidered
robes, leaning back in his equipage, drawn by six horses.
As Napoleon dismounted, the Pope hastened to descend from his carriage,
hesitating a moment, however, after he had already placed his foot on
the carriage-step; but Napoleon's foot had already touched the earth.
Pius could, therefore, no longer hesitate; he must make up his mind to
step, in his white, gold-embroidered satin slippers, on the wet soil,
softened by a shower of rain, that had fallen on the previous day. The
emperor's hunting-boots were certainly much better adapted to this
meeting in the mud than the Pope's white satin slippers.
Emperor and Pope approached and embraced each other tenderly; then,
through the inattention of the coachmen, seemingly, the imperial
equipage was set in motion, and, in its rapid advance, interrupted this
tender embrace. It seemed to be the merest accident that the emperor
stood on the right, and the Pope on the left side of the equipage, that
had now been brought to a stand again. The two doors of the carriage
were simultaneously thrown open by the lackeys; at the same time, the
Pope entered the carriage on the left, and the emperor on the right
side, both seating themselves side by side at the same time. This
settled the question of etiquette. Neither had preceded the other, but
the emperor occupied the seat of honor on the Pope's right.
The coronation of the imperial pair took place on the 2d of December,
1804, in the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. Not only all Paris, but all
France, was in motion on this day. An immense concourse of people surged
to and fro in the streets; the windows of all the houses were filled
with richly-adorned and beautiful women, the bells were ringing in all
the churches, and joyous music, intermixed with the shouts of the
people, was heard in every direction. For a moment, however, these
shouts were changed into laughter, and that was when the papal
procession approached, headed by an ass led by the halter, in accordance
with an ancient custom of Rome. While the Pope, with the high
dignitaries of the Church, repaired to the cathedral to await there the
coming of the imperial couple, Napoleon was putting on the imperial
insignia in the Tuileries, enveloping himself in the green velvet
mantle, bordered with ermine, and thickly studded with brilliants, and
arraying himself in the whole glittering paraphernalia of his new
dignity. When already on the point of leaving the Tuileries with his
wife, who stood at his side in her imperial attire, Bonaparte suddenly
gave the order that the notary Ragideau should be called to the palace,
as he desired to see him at once.
A messenger was at once sent, in an imperial equipage, to bring him from
his dwelling, and in a quarter of an hour the little notary Ragideau
entered the cabinet of the empress, in which the imperial pair were
alone, awaiting him in their glittering attire.
His eyes beaming, a triumphant smile on his lips, Napoleon stepped
forward to meet the little notary. "Well, Master Ragideau," said he,
gayly, "I have had you called, merely to ask you whether General
Bonaparte really possesses nothing besides his hat and his sword, or
whether you will now forgive Viscountess Beauharnais for having married
me;" and, as Ragideau looked at him in astonishment, and Josephine asked
the meaning of his strange words, Bonaparte related how, while standing
in Ragideau's antechamber on a certain occasion, he had heard the notary
advising Josephine not to marry poor little Bonaparte; not to become the
wife of the general, who possessed nothing but his hat and his sword.
The notary's words had entered the ambitious young man's heart like a
dagger, and had wounded him deeply. But he had uttered no complaint, and
made no mention of it; but to-day, on the day of his supreme triumph,
to-day the emperor remembered that moment of humiliation, and, arrayed
with the full insignia of the highest earthly dignity, he accorded
himself the triumph of reminding the little notary that he had once
advised Josephine not to marry him, because of his poverty.
The poor General Bonaparte had now transformed himself into the mighty
Emperor Napoleon. Then he possessed nothing but his hat and his sword,
but now the Pope awaited him in the cathedral of Notre-Dame, to place
the golden imperial crown on his head.