1800-1804
"Observe," said Bonaparte, now that he was seated on the consular
throne, "that one of my biographers states that, under a man of
ordinary vigor this new Constitution of Sieyes and another our
government would be free and popular, but that under myself it has
become an unlimited monarchy. That man is right. I am now a
potentate of the most potent kind. I got a letter from the Bourbons
last night requesting me to restore them to the throne. Two years
ago they wouldn't have given me their autographs for my collection,
but now they want me to get up from my seat in this car of state and
let them sit down."
"And you replied--?" asked Josephine.
"That I didn't care for Bourbon--rye suits me better," laughed the
Consul, "unless I can get Scotch, which I prefer at all times.
Feeling this way, I cannot permit Louis to come back yet awhile.
Meantime, in the hope of replenishing our cellars with a few bottles
of Glenlivet, I will write a letter of pacification to George III.,
one of the most gorgeous rex in Madame Tussaud's collection of living
potentates."
This Bonaparte did, asking the English king if he hadn't had enough
war for the present. George, through the eyes of his ministers,
perceived Bonaparte's point, and replied that he was very desirous
for peace himself, but that at present the market seemed to be
cornered, and that therefore the war must go on. This reply amused
Napoleon.
"It suits me to the ground," he said, addressing Talleyrand. "A year
of peace would interfere materially with my future. If Paris were
Philadelphia, it would be another thing. There one may rest--there
is no popular demand for excitement--Penn was mightier than the
sword--but here one has to be in a broil constantly; to be a chef one
must be eternally cooking, and the results must be of the kind that
requires extra editions of the evening papers. The day the newsboys
stop shouting my name, my sun will set for the last time. Even now
the populace are murmuring, for nothing startling has occurred this
week, which reminds me, I wish to see Fouche. Send him here."
Talleyrand sent for the Minister of Police, who responded to the
summons.
"Fouche," said Bonaparte, sternly, "what are we here for, salary or
glory?"
"Glory, General."
"Precisely. Now, as head of the Police Department, are you aware
that no attempt to assassinate me has been made for two weeks?"
"Yes, General, but--"
"Has the assassin appropriation run out? Have the assassins struck
for higher wages, or are you simply careless?" demanded the First
Consul. "I warn you, sir, that I wish no excuses, and I will add
that unless an attempt is made on my life before ten o'clock to-
night, you lose your place. The French people must be kept
interested in this performance, and how the deuce it is to be done
without advertising I don't know. Go, and remember that I shall be
at home to assassins on Thursdays of alternate weeks until further
notice."
"Your Consulship's wishes shall be respected," said Fouche, with a
low bow. "But I must say one word in my own behalf. You were to
have had a dynamite bomb thrown at you yesterday by one of my
employes, but the brave fellow who was to have stood between you and
death disappointed me. He failed to turn up at the appointed hour,
and so, of course, the assault didn't come off."
"Couldn't you find a substitute?" demanded Bonaparte.
"I could not," said Fouche. "There aren't many persons in Paris who
care for that kind of employment. They'd rather shovel snow."
"You are a gay stage-manager, you are!" snapped Bonaparte. "My
brother Joseph is in town, and yet you say you couldn't find a man to
be hit by a bomb. Leave me, Fouche. You give me the ennuis."
Fouche departed with Talleyrand, to whom he expressed his indignation
at the First Consul's reprimand.
"He insists upon an attempted assassination every week," he said;
"and I tell you, Talleyrand, it isn't easy to get these things up.
The market is long on real assassins, fellows who'd kill him for the
mere fun of hearing his last words, but when it comes to playing to
the galleries with a mock attempt with real consequences to the
would-be murderers, they fight shy of it."
Nevertheless, Fouche learned from the interview with Bonaparte that
the First Consul was not to be trifled with, and hardly a day passed
without some exciting episode in this line, in which, of course,
Napoleon always came out unscathed and much endeared to the populace.
This, however, could not go on forever. The fickle French soon
wearied of the series of unsuccessful attempts on the Consul's life,
and some began to suspect the true state of affairs.
"They're on to our scheme, General," said Fouche, after a while.
"You've got to do something new."
"What would you suggest?" asked Napoleon, wearily.
"Can't you write a book of poems, or a three-volume novel?" suggested
Talleyrand.
"Or resign, and let Sieyes run things for a while?" said Fouche. "If
they had another Consul for a few months, they'd appreciate what a
vaudeville show they lost in you."
"I'd rather cross the Alps," said Bonaparte. "I don't like to
resign. Moving is such a nuisance, and I must say I find the
Tuileries a very pleasant place of abode. It's more fun than you can
imagine rummaging through the late king's old bureau-drawers.
Suppose I get up a new army and lead it over the Alps."
"Just the thing," said Talleyrand. "Only it will be a very snowy
trip."
"I'm used to snow-balls," said Napoleon, his mind reverting to the
episode which brought his career at Brienne to a close. "Just order
an army and a mule and I'll set out. Meanwhile, Fouche, see that the
Bourbons have a conspiracy to be unearthed in time for the Sunday
newspapers every week during my absence. I think it would be well,
too, to keep a war-correspondent at work in your office night and
day, writing despatches about my progress. Give him a good book on
Hannibal's trip to study, and let him fill in a column or two every
day with anecdotes about myself, and at convenient intervals
unsuccessful attempts to assassinate Josephine may come in handy.
Let it be rumored often that I have been overwhelmed by an avalanche-
-in short, keep the interest up."
So it was that Bonaparte set out upon his perilous expedition over
the Great St. Bernard. On the 15th day of May, 1800, the task of
starting the army in motion was begun, and on the 18th every column
was in full swing. Lannes, with an advance guard armed with snow-
shovels, took the lead, and Bonaparte, commanding the rear guard of
35,000 men and the artillery, followed.
"Soldiers!" he cried, as they came near to the snow-bound heights,
"we cannot have our plum-cake without its frosting. Like children,
we will have the frosting first and the cake later. Lannes and his
followers have not cleaned the snow off as thoroughly as I had hoped,
but I fancy he has done the best he can, and it is not for us to
complain. Let us on. The up-trip will be cold and tedious, but once
on the summit of yonder icy ridge we can seat ourselves comfortably
on our guns and slide down into the lovely valleys on the other side
like a band of merry school-boys on toboggans. Above all, do not
forget the chief duty of a soldier in times of peril. In spite of
the snow and the ice, in spite of the blizzard and the sleet, keep
cool; and, furthermore, remember that in this climate, if your ears
don't hurt, it's a sign they are freezing. En avant! Nous sommes le
peuple."
The army readily responded to such hopeful words, and as Bonaparte
manifested quite as much willingness to walk as the meanest soldier,
disdaining to ride, except occasionally, and even then on the back of
a mule, he became their idol.
"He does not spare himself any more than he does us," said one of his
soldiers, "and he can pack a snow-ball with the best of us."
The General catered, too, to the amusement of his troops, and the
brasses of the band broke the icy stillness of the great hills
continually.
"Music's the thing," he cried, many years later, "and when we got to
the top we had the most original roof-garden you ever saw. It was
most inspiring, and the only thing that worried me at all was as to
how Fouche was conducting our anecdote and assassination enterprise
at home. Once on top of the Alps, the descent was easy. We simply
lay down on our arms and slid. Down the mountain-side we thundered,
and the Austrians, when they observed our impetus, gave way before
us, and the first thing I knew I skated slam-bang into the Empire.
Our avalanchian descent subjugated Italy; frightened the Englishmen
to Alexandria, where, in the absence of a well-organized force, they
managed to triumph; scared the Pope so thoroughly that he was willing
to sign anything I wished; and, best of all, after a few petty
delays, convinced the French people that I was too big a man for a
mere consulship. It was my chamois-like agility in getting down the
Alps that really made me Emperor. As for the army, it fought nobly.
It was so thoroughly chilled by the Alpine venture that it fought
desperately to get warm. My grenadiers, congealed to their very
souls, went where the fire was hottest. They seized bomb-shells
while they were yet in the air, warmed their hands upon them, and
then threw them back into the enemy's camp, where they exploded with
great carnage. They did not even know when they were killed, so
benumbed by the cold had they become. In short, those days on the
Alps made us invincible. No wonder, then, that in 1804, when I got
permanently back to Paris, I found the people ready for an emperor!
They were bloody years, those from 1800 to 1804, but it was not
entirely my fault. I shed very little myself, but the English and
the Austrians and the royalist followers would have it so, and I had
to accommodate them. I did not wish to execute the Duc d'Enghien,
but he would interfere with Fouche by getting up conspiracies on his
own account, when I had given the conspiracy contract to one of my
own ministers. The poor fellow had to die. It was a case of no die,
no Empire, and I thought it best for the French people that they
should have an Empire."
Those who criticise Bonaparte's acts in these years should consider
these words, and remember that the great warrior in no case did any
of the killing himself.
It was on the 18th of May, 1804, that the Empire was proclaimed and
Napoleon assumed his new title amid great rejoicing.
"Now for the coronation," he said. "This thing must go off in style,
Fouche. Whom shall I have to crown me?"
"Well," said Fouche, "if you are after a sensation, I'd send for
Louis de Bourbon; if you want it to go off easily, I'd send for your
old hatter in the Rue de Victoire; if you want to give it a
ceremonial touch, I'd send for the Pope, but, on the whole, I rather
think I'd do it myself. You picked it up yourself, why not put it on
your own head?"
"Good idea," returned Bonaparte. "And highly original. You may
increase your salary a hundred francs a week, Fouche. I'll crown
myself, but I think it ought to come as a surprise, don't you?"
"Yes," said Fouche. "That is, if you can surprise the French people-
-which I doubt. If you walked into Notre Dame to-morrow on your
hands, with the crown of France on one foot and the diadem of Italy
on the other, the people wouldn't be a bit surprised--you're always
doing such things."
"Nevertheless," said Napoleon, "we'll surprise them. Send word to
the Pope that I want to see him officially on December 2d at Notre
Dame. If he hesitates about coming, tell him I'll walk over and
bring him myself the first clear day we have."
This plan was followed out to the letter, and the Pope, leaving Rome
on the 5th of November, entered Paris to crown the Emperor and
Empress of the French on December 2, 1804, as requested. What
subsequently followed the world knows. Just as the Pope was about to
place the imperial diadem on the brow of Bonaparte, the Emperor
seized it and with his own hands placed it there.
"Excuse me, your Holiness," he said, as he did so, "but the joke is
on you. This is my crown, and I think I'm a big enough man to hang
it up where it belongs."
Pius VII. was much chagrined, but, like the good man that he was, he
did not show it, nor did he resent the Emperor's second interference
when it came to the crowning of Josephine. The coronation over,
Napoleon and Josephine turned to the splendid audience, and marched
down the centre aisle to the door, where they entered a superb golden
carriage in which, amid the plaudits of the people, they drove to the
Tuileries.
"Ah--at last!" said Bonaparte, as he entered the Palace. "I have got
there. The thing to do now is to stay there. Ah, me!" he added,
with a sigh. "These French--these French! they are as fickle as the
only woman I have ever loved. By-the-way, Josephine, what was it you
asked me on the way down the aisle? The people howled so I couldn't
hear you."
"I only asked you if"--here the Empress hesitated.
"Well? If what?" frowned the Emperor.
"If my crown was on straight," returned Josephine.
"Madame," said the Emperor, sternly, "when you are prompted to ask
that question again, remember who gave you that crown, and when you
remember that it was I, remember also that when I give anything to
anybody I give it to them straight."
Here the Emperor's frown relaxed, and he burst out into laughter.
"But that was a bad break of the organist!" he said.
"Which was that?" asked Josephine.
"Why--didn't you notice when the Pope came in he played 'Tiara Boom-
de-ay'?" said Bonaparte, with a roar. "It was awful--I shall have to
send him a pourboire."