It is strange to read that the armies went on fighting battles
automatically, even while there was no central head to direct them.
While the ghastly scenes were enacting in Paris, and while Josephine de
Beauharnais was at the Conciergerie listening with blanched face to the
call of her husband's name on the death roll for the day, a young
lieutenant of artillery, only twenty-four years old, was at Toulon,
winning his first military honors. He would have been thought a
strange prophet who had said that in less than ten years the young
Corsican lieutenant would be Emperor, and the prisoner at the
Conciergerie Empress of the French! Nor did M. de Beauharnais, as he
rode to execution, dream that forty-five years later his grandson would
over the same stones be borne to his coronation.
In the anarchy which prevailed after the Revolution, the young hero of
Toulon was called upon to quell a riot in Paris. The people realized
they had met a master. For twenty-five years from that day, the
history of France, and indeed of Europe, was that of one man, Napoleon
Bonaparte. Commander-in-chief of the Army, then First Consul of the
Republic, then Emperor--the steps in his ascent were as rapid and as
bewildering as the movements in one of his own campaigns. France,
groping about helplessly among the wreckage of the past, believed what
she most desired was _liberty_ and _self-government_.
This Italian, who was a French citizen even only by merest accident,
knew her better than she did herself, and that what she really wanted
was a fresh mantle of glory to cover her humiliation, and--a master.
Leading a broken, unpaid, half-clothed army into Italy, he electrified
France and all Europe. Before the world had really found out who he
was, and whence he had come, he had conquered all of Northern Italy,
part of Austria and Belgium, had created a Cisalpine Republic out of
the fragments, and was making treaties and dictating terms to kings and
princes.
France, discredited and almost disgraced among the monarchies of
Europe, found herself suddenly feared and glorious. Napoleon had
captured the most imaginative and military people in Europe. The rest
of the way was easy. Prudent, discreet, knowing when to wait, and when
to come down like an avalanche, this marvellous man held France in his
hands, and placed Europe under his feet.
The people which had exerted such superhuman effort for freedom were
held by a hand more despotic than Richelieu's, more destructive to
popular freedom than that of Louis XIV.; and the more absolute his
rule, the more overpowering his authority, the better pleased they
seemed to be.
But, was there not equal opportunity for every man in the Empire?
Every soldier's knapsack, might it not hold a Marshal's baton? Was not
the Emperor himself a living illustration of what a man from the people
might become? And then what did it mean to Frenchmen to be suddenly
lifted to dazzling ascendancy in Europe? Who would not willingly serve
a master who could bring Hapsburg, Hohenzollern, Romanoff, Bourbon,
crouching at his feet--who could tear down states, and set them up, and
if an extra throne were needed for a retainer, could carve a new state
from territory of friend and foe alike, and place a diadem upon every
head in his domestic or military household? It was the most stupendous
display of personal power ever beheld, England alone standing upright
in his presence, and in the end accomplishing his ruin.
When Austria with a reluctant shudder bestowed her princess upon the
invincible parvenu, and when France with regretful pity saw the adored
Josephine set aside for that disdainful royal maiden, Marie Louise, at
that moment Napoleon passed the meridian of his greatness.
It had taken just fifteen years to make the most astonishing and
dazzling chapter in French history; and then came "Moscow" and "Elba,"
to be quickly followed by "Waterloo" and "St. Helena." And then for
France--most incomprehensible of all--a return to the Bourbons! It had
required the greatest tragedy of modern times to get rid of them, and
here they were again, Louis XVIII. and Charles X., as overbearing and
as arrogant as if their brother's head had not dropped into a basket in
1793. When somebody said of the Bourbons "they learn nothing and
forget nothing," he was inaccurate. They had certainly forgotten the
French Revolution.
But death removed the first, and popular sentiment the second, of these
relics of an obsolete past. And a new experiment was tried. This time
it was the son of _Philippe Egalite_, that wickedest of all the
regicides, who came smiling and bowing before the people as a popular
sovereign, who would beneficently rule under a liberal constitution.
Whatever his father had been, Louis Philippe was far from being a
wicked man. Whether teaching school in Switzerland, or giving French
lessons in America, or wearing the kingly crown in France, he was the
kindest hearted, most inoffensive of gentlemen.
When in the pre-revolutionary days we read of France making war, it
means that the King, or his minister, with more or less deference to
the will of a few thousand nobles, did so. They are the France
referred to. The real France was not consulted and had nothing to do
with it, unless it were to fill the ranks with fathers, sons, and
husbands, and then pay the taxes imposed to support them. But times
were changed. Under a constitutional monarchy, the King does not
govern; he reigns. Louis Philippe was King of the French,--not of
France. He was chosen by the people as their ornamental figurehead.
But what if he ceased to be ornamental? What was the use of a King who
in eighteen years had added not a single ray of glory to the national
name, but who was using his high position to increase his enormous
private fortune, and incessantly begging an impoverished country for
benefits and emoluments for five sons?
An excellent father, truly, though a short-sighted one. His power had
no roots. The cutting from the Orleans tree had never taken hold upon
the soil, and toppled over at the sound of Lamartine's voice
proclaiming a Republic from the balcony of the "Hotel de Ville."
When invited to step down from his royal throne, he did so on the
instant. Never did King succumb with such alacrity, and never did
retiring royalty look less imposing, than when Louis Philippe was in
hiding at Havre under the name of "William Smith," waiting for safe
convoy to England, without having struck one blow in defence of his
throne.
But three terrible words had floated into the open windows of the
Tuileries. With the echoes of 1792 still sounding in his ears,
"Liberty," "Fraternity," and "Equality," shouted in the streets of
Paris, had not a pleasant sound!
Republicanism was an abiding sentiment in France, even while two dull
Bourbon Kings were stupidly trying to turn back the hands on the dial
of time, and while an Orleans, with more supple neck, was posing as a
popular sovereign. During all this tiresome interlude, the real fact
was developing. A Republican sentiment which had existed vaguely in
the air was materializing, consolidating, into a more and more tangible
reality in the minds of thinking men and patriots.
The ablest men in the country stood with plans matured, ready to meet
this crisis. A Republic was proclaimed; M. de Lamartine, Ledru-Rollin,
General Cavaignac, M. Raspail, and Louis Napoleon were rival candidates
for the office of President.
The nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte, and son of Hortense, was only known
as the perpetrator of two very absurd attempts to overthrow the
monarchy under Louis Philippe. But since the remains of the great
Emperor had been returned to France by England, and the splendors of
the past placed in striking contrast with a dull, lustreless present,
there had been a revival of Napoleonic memories and enthusiasm. Here
was an opportunity to unite two powerful sentiments in one man--a
Napoleon at the head of Republican France would express the glory of
the past and the hope of the future.
The magic of the name was irresistible. Louis Napoleon was elected
President of the second Republic, and history prepared to repeat
itself. What sort of a ruler would he be--this dark, mysterious,
unmagnetic man? Even should he not turn out well, no great harm could
be done. It was only for four years. His hand had not the steely
fineness of touch of his great uncle's, but it was strong, and guided,
they soon found, by a subtle intelligence.
The overthrow of Monarchy in France had set fire to Republicanism in
Europe, Kossuth with transcendent eloquence leading a revolution in
Hungary, and Garibaldi and Mazzini with pen and sword in Italy. Europe
was in a blaze of revolt. The first great military exploit of Napoleon
Bonaparte had been in Italy, and so was his nephew's, but with this
difference--the object of the one was to build up Republics on the
other side of the Alps, and of the other to pull them down. Garibaldi
and Mazzini were driven out of Italy by French bayonets, which also
propped up the pontifical throne for the fugitive Pope.
The Assembly soon realized that in this Prince-President it had no
automaton to deal with. A deep antagonism grew, and the cunningly
devised issue could not fail to secure popular support to Louis
Napoleon. When an Assembly is at war with the President because it
desires to restrict the suffrage, and he to make it universal, can any
one doubt the result? He was safe in appealing to the people on such
an issue, and sure of being sustained in his Proclamation dissolving
the Assembly. He was gathering the reins into his hands with the
astute courage of his uncle. Moving on almost identical lines with his
great original, the nephew set his face toward the same goal.
The French people must have realized they were being betrayed. They
must have seen that this ambitious plotter was slipping the old fetters
of arbitrary power into position. But, under the powerful spell of the
Napoleonic name, lulled to tranquillity by the gift of suffrage, and
fascinated by the growing splendors of an ingenious reproduction of the
most brilliant chapter in French history, they were unresistingly drawn
into the Imperial net.
France was for the second time an Empire, and Napoleon III. was Emperor
of the French.
His Mephistophelian face did not look as classic under the laurel
wreath as had his uncle's, nor had his work the blinding splendor nor
the fineness of texture of his great model. But then, an imitation
never has. It was a marble masterpiece, done in plaster! But what a
clever reproduction it was! And how, by sheer audacity, it compelled
recognition and homage, and at last even adulation in Europe!--and what
a clever stroke it was, for this heavy, unsympathetic man to bring up
to his throne from the people a radiant Empress, who would capture
romantic and aesthetic France!
The distance was great from cheap lodgings in New York to a seat upon
the Imperial throne of France; but human ambition is not easily
satisfied. A Pelion always rises beyond an Ossa. It was not enough to
feel that he had re-established the prosperity and prestige of France,
that fresh glory had been added to the Napoleonic name. Was there not
after all a certain irritating reserve in the homage paid him, was
there not a touch of condescension in the friendship of his royal
neighbors? And had he not always a Mordecai at his gate--while the
"_Faubourg St. Germain_" stood aloof and disdainful, smiling at his
brand-new aristocracy?
War is the thing to give solidity to empire and to reputation! Neither
France nor Europe can withstand the magic of military renown. And so,
upon a quickly improvised pretext, the French Emperor started, amid the
booming of cannon and the wild acclamations of a delighted people, upon
his errand of conquest. The insolent Germans were to be chastised;
and, incidentally, Europe was to be made to tremble!
In a few months the bubble was pricked. The glittering French army
proved to be a thing of tinsel and fustian. No reality, no power to
stand before the solid German battalions, it melted like hoar-frost.
Napoleon III. was prisoner of war at Sedan, and King William, Unser
Fritz, and Von Moltke were at Versailles.
Moved by his colossal misfortunes, and perhaps partly in displeasure at
having a French Republic once more at her door, England offered asylum
to the deposed Emperor. There, from the seclusion of "Chiselhurst," he
and his still beautiful Eugenie watched the Republic weathering the
first days of storm and stress, and coming out at last stable and
triumphant.
The weary exile felt that not in his day would the reaction come. But
his son would yet wear the Imperial crown which was his birthright.
Futile dream! The boy was destined to cruel fate--to be slain by Zulu
assegai, while fighting the battles of England,--England, the author of
_Waterloo_. Strange ending for the heir to the name and glory of
Napoleon Bonaparte.
But the reaction Louis Napoleon so confidently hoped for did not come.
With military pride humbled in the dust, national pride wounded by the
loss of two provinces, loaded down with an immense war indemnity, the
people set about the task of rehabilitation; in an incredibly short
time, the galling debt was paid, financial prosperity and political
strength restored, and with military organization second to none in
Europe, France, with revengeful eyes fastened on Germany, waits for the
day of reckoning.
For twenty-four years the Republic has existed. Communistic fires
always smouldering have again and again burst forth--demagogues,
fanatics, and those creatures for whom there is no place in organized
society, whose element is chaos, standing ready to fan the fires of
revolt; while Orleanist, Bonapartist, Bourbon, are ever on the alert,
watching for opportunity to slip in through the open door of Revolution.
England in conscious superiority smiles at a nation which has had seven
political revolutions in a hundred years. Republic, then Empire, then
a return to the Bourbons, then Constitutional Monarchy under Louis
Philippe, then Republic, followed by Empire again, and now for the
third time a Republic!
But France, complex, mobile, changeful as the sea, in riotous enjoyment
of her new-found liberties, casts off a form of government as she would
an ill-fitting garment. She knows the value of tranquillity--she had
it for one thousand years! The _people_, which have only breathed the
upper air for a century--the people, who were stifled under feudalism,
stamped upon by Valois Kings, riveted down by Richelieu, then prodded,
outraged, and starved by Bourbons, have become a great nation.
Many-sided, resourceful, gifted, it matters not whether they have
called the head of their government Consul, Emperor, King, or
President. They are a race of freemen, who can never again be enslaved
by tyrannous system.
It was a bright day for France when that ambitious young Emperor of
Germany sent his great Chancellor into retirement; and another bright
day when, taking offence at scant courtesy at the hands of the Czar, he
left ajar the back door to his dominions. An alliance between despotic
Russia thirsting for the waters of the Mediterranean, and Republican
France thirsting for revenge, is the darkest cloud on the German
horizon to-day. It is only a matter of months or of years when France
will be at the throat of Germany demanding Alsace and Lorraine. The
French army is not the one which faced Von Moltke in 1871; and when
France knocks at her front door, Germany will have all she can attend
to, without hearing Russian batteries thundering at her rear. A
dramatic reconciliation with the old Chancellor is interesting, but it
will not undo the work of the last four years.
There is no longer thought of conflict between any two nations of
Europe. The next war is to be one of tremendous combinations.
National alliances are shifting and uncertain. But at the time this is
written (1894) Germany, Austria, and Italy are drawn together in one
hostile camp, while France and Russia, in loving embrace, stand in the
other; and England, aloof and suspicious, holds herself ready to hurl
her weight against whichever one obstructs her path to India.
There is something in the air which makes one think the name Napoleon
is still a thing to conjure with. But whatever the future may hold for
France, no American can be indifferent to the fate of a nation to whom
we owe so much. Nor can we ever forget that in the hour of our direst
extremity, and regardless of cost to herself, she helped us to
establish our liberties, and to take our place among the great nations
of the earth.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Evolution of an Empire, by Mary Parmele