ENTER NAPOLEON
Talleyrand had written at once in 1797 to inform the commander of
the army of Italy of his nomination to the Foreign Ministry. “Justly
apprehensive,” he said, “of functions of which I feel the fateful
importance, I need to reassure myself by the consciousness of how much
the negotiations will be facilitated by your glory. The very name of
Buonaparte is an auxiliary that will remove all difficulties.” He
had already a dim prevision of the day when the princes of Europe
would gather timidly about the dreaded figure of the Corsican and his
Foreign Minister. He says that Napoleon had written to him first. This
is probably untrue; but Napoleon at once replied, and the two men
immediately appreciated each other. Within a few weeks Napoleon sent
him a long and curious letter containing his views on constitutional
questions and popular representation. About the same time he spoke to
Miot de Melito about Talleyrand in terms of high appreciation. When
Napoleon closed the Austrian campaign and signed the Treaty of Campo
Formio, in opposition to the instructions from Paris, Talleyrand
wrote him a private letter of extravagant congratulation. “So we have
peace made—and peace à la Buonaparte. Accept my hearty compliments,
General. Words could not convey all I feel just now. The Directors are
satisfied, the public delighted. All is for the best. There may be some
muttering from Italy, but it does not matter. Good-bye, peace-making
General. Friendship, admiration, respect, gratitude—one does not know
where to end.” The feeling was sincere, and Talleyrand had a way of
conveying high compliments without incongruity. These early letters,
Sainte-Beuve says, remind one of Voltaire’s honeymoon with Frederic.
In December Napoleon arrived at Paris, and the two men met for the
first time. Each, of course, now says that the other sought the
interview. Napoleon had changed his route as he approached Paris, and
was at his house in the Rue Chantereine before his arrival was known.
He says that Talleyrand called at once; but as even Josephine found his
door barred and Napoleon mad with angry suspicion of her, he could not
be seen that night. On the following morning Talleyrand and Mme. de
Staël and a few friends waited in the Hotel Galiffet, when Napoleon,
quietly dressed, pale, very silent, entered the salon. He took
Talleyrand into his private room, and had a long conversation with him,
and then Talleyrand introduced him to the Directors at the Luxembourg.
Napoleon puzzled in a charming way the citizens of Paris. He dressed
with ostentatious plainness, spoke little, and avoided public meetings
and demonstrations. At the Luxembourg a splendid reception ceremony
had been prepared. The Directors sat on a dais in the court in
their stagey satin clothes, lawyers and parliamentarians filled the
amphitheatre, and a great orchestra and choir rendered an ode written
for the occasion. Talleyrand said in his introductory speech: “When I
observe all that he does to cover his glory, this classic taste for
simplicity that distinguishes him, his love of abstract science, his
favourite books, that sublime _Ossian_ which seems to detach him from
earth; when I see his disdain for show, for luxury, for pomp, those
petty ambitions of common souls—then, far from dreading what some would
call his ambition, I feel that some day you may have to drag him forth
from his studious retreat.” Napoleon probably thanked him for keeping
up the show, but may have feared he was overdoing it. They understood
each other, yet really liked each other.
Talleyrand gave a magnificent festival in honour of the conqueror;
though he confesses some difficulty in finding ladies amongst the
women of Paris! As it was, the wife of one of the Directors openly
observed to him: “What a lot it must have cost you, citizen-minister!”
He also induced Napoleon, though with great difficulty, to attend
the anniversary of the King’s execution. Napoleon did not wait long
to abolish that suggestive commemoration. But the jealousy and
uneasiness of the Directors made Napoleon’s position uncomfortable. He
began immediately to look for another field for military action. The
Directors thought of Ireland as a sufficiently remote locality, but
Napoleon was better informed as to the possibility of a direct attack
on England. He then unfolded to Talleyrand the plan for an invasion of
Egypt, and it was laid before the Directors. The idea had occurred to
one or two earlier dreamers in France, but, in spite of what Napoleon
afterwards said, it is incredible that Talleyrand should have really
approved it. It was certainly Talleyrand’s idea that France should
extend along the whole shore of the Mediterranean, and leave the
high seas to England, but a leap from Marseilles to Alexandria was a
different matter. However, he lent Napoleon the collection of Egyptian
documents in the Foreign Office, and clearly did not oppose his plan.
Miot de Melito, who was in close communication with Napoleon, and who
would not lose an opportunity of blaming Talleyrand, says that Napoleon
acted entirely on his own view and dragged everybody with him. Within
twelve months we find Talleyrand (in his _Éclaircissements_) openly
denying that he had approved the expedition.
However, the Directors yielded, and the famous fleet of 500 vessels
sailed from Toulon on May 19th, 1798. Talleyrand had apparently
promised to follow within twenty-four hours, to arrange matters with
the Sultan at Constantinople. He was, however, ill at the time, and
it is doubtful whether he ever intended to do so. If we may trust the
memoirs, he saw only a personal design in the expedition at the time.
Napoleon had spoken to him of founding a rich colony in Egypt, and
going on to attack England in India, but he had dropped a word about
returning by way of Constantinople. That was “not the way to India,”
nor would he be likely to leave the Sultan’s throne standing, or set
up a Turkish Republic, says Talleyrand. In other words he professes
that he thought Napoleon wanted to found an empire in the East. All
this was written, we must remember, after Napoleon’s imagination had
fully revealed its possibilities. The most probable reading of the
situation is that Talleyrand felt, like Napoleon, that “the pear was
not ripe yet;” that Napoleon had better keep out of the way for a year
or two; and that something _might_ come of this imposing military and
scientific expedition.
[Illustration: BARRAS.]
In the twelve months that followed the pear ripened fast. To the
chronic financial malady and political discontent was now added the
news of the civil war in La Vendée and of the disastrous opening of the
war against the second coalition. This was far more formidable than
the first. Austria was encouraged by the absence of its conqueror,
and the support of both Russia and Turkey. England was fired by the
announcement of Nelson’s victory at Aboukir and the apparent isolation
of Napoleon. Portugal and Naples were drawn in. The first battles went
badly for the French, and the Directors and Talleyrand were furiously
assailed. Talleyrand thought it wise to withdraw from the Directors,
and they accepted his resignation on July 20th, with some show of
regret. How far he was then informed of Napoleon’s position and plans
it is impossible to determine; but it is believed that the Bonapartes
at Paris succeeded in communicating with Egypt. However, Talleyrand, in
September, handed over his _portefeuille_ to his friend, Reinhard. For
the first and only time in his career (if we except his brief letter
in 1791 to the _Moniteur_) he answered his critics. His “Explanations
to his fellow citizens” fully destroy the frivolous charges brought
against him as a minister and republican, especially by his interested
predecessor, Lacroix, and the members of the Société du Manège—whom
Napoleon describes as “a gang of bloodthirsty ruffians.” In the end
Talleyrand turns on his opponents with some dignity. “What have I
done,” he asks, “that such suspicions should fall on me? Is there
anything in my whole life to justify such a supposition? Have I ever
persecuted or been vindictive? Can any one reproach me with a single
act of severity in the whole course of my ministry? Have I ever injured
anyone, even by accident?” It was a just rebuke and just defence.
Few of the hands raised against him were free from blood. It is also
notable that the charge of corruption is not pressed. He then retired
to his country house at Auteuil, to resume his familiar attitude of
awaiting events.
“Those who did not live in those times,” says de Broglie, “can have no
idea how deep was the despondency prevailing in France between the 18th
Fructidor (September 4th, 1797) and the 18th Brumaire (November 9th,
1799).” The Directory had proved wholly unfitted to govern France. The
only question in the summer of 1799 was: What shall be the next page in
the constitutional history of the country? In May, Rewbell had had to
retire from the Directorate, and the victorious Jacobins had replaced
him by Sieyès, to whom all now turned for a lead. Sieyès found his
colleagues in the way, and three of them were at once replaced by two
mediocrities, Gohier and Moulin, and an active supporter, Roger-Ducos.
Barras alone remained of the whole group, and he was now compromised by
dallying with royalist agents. It was clear to Sieyès that the reins of
Government must be put in the strong hands of a soldier, and he thought
of one general after another. He was not well disposed to Napoleon, but
Talleyrand made it his task to effect a reconciliation. The Buonaparte
family was also very busy at Paris, preparing a reception for the
General who, they said, had been sent by the Directors on this hopeless
campaign in Egypt. On the 8th of October the agitation was doubled when
a message was received, telling that Napoleon had landed at Frejus. He
had left his army and his difficulties in charge of Kléber, had evaded
the British vessels, and landed with a few of his generals on the south
coast. On October 18th he arrived at Paris.
The menace of the second coalition had by this time been arrested by
the victories of Masséna and the withdrawal of the Russians, but the
Directorate was thoroughly discredited, and its enemies were alert
and vigorous. All parties now turned towards Napoleon with intense
interest. Royalists hoped he would make himself the instrument of a
restoration. The Jacobins, who had become strong again, watched such
a possibility with concern. The moderates felt that it would lead to
civil war. Every malcontent in Paris knew that Napoleon held the key
of the situation. The only one who seemed to be unconscious of his
importance was Napoleon himself. After the inevitable round of fêtes
was over—and it was remarked how he drank his wine from a private
bottle at the public dinner—he seemed to forget that he was a soldier.
He spent most of his time at the Institut, discussing questions of
science and philosophy; and when visitors to Paris sought the great
general, they had pointed out to them a quiet, pale little man in the
dress of a scholar of the Institut. But his little house in the Rue
de Victoire soon became the political centre of Paris. Talleyrand and
Bruix (the Ex-Minister of Marine) were daily bringing members of the
Councils to visit him. Presently Talleyrand reconciled him with Sieyès
to a practicable extent—“you have to fill this priest to the neck
with money to get anything out of him,” Napoleon said afterwards—and
the definite intrigue began. Napoleon would accept Sieyès’ new
constitution. The five Directors were to be replaced by three Consuls
elected for ten years—but if he thinks I am going to be a “fatted pig”
he is mistaken, said Napoleon. The Councils would be suspended for
three months, and then replaced by a Senate (with life-membership),
and an elective Chamber of Deputies.
The next point was to determine the date and manner of the Revolution.
The generals whom Napoleon had brought were winning over the officers,
but they felt some anxiety about the soldiers, who were apprehensive
of reactionary change. Talleyrand had rallied the moderates, such
as Regnault de Saint-Jean d’Angély, Roederer, Constant, Cambacérès,
Daunou, and Sémonville.[32] They could count on a majority in the
Ancients, and Lucien Buonaparte was President of the Five Hundred.
Fouché, the accommodating Minister of Police, carefully abstained from
reporting to the Directors what he saw. Barras had, in fact, completely
compromised himself by openly suggesting a royalist plot to Napoleon.
Roger-Ducos was with Sieyès. Gohier and Moulin stupidly refused to see
anything until the very last moment. The only difficulty was with the
Five Hundred and the soldiers, and Napoleon could be trusted to win the
latter and so crush the Council. Still it was a time of great anxiety.
Talleyrand tells how Napoleon and he were discussing plans in his house
in the Rue Taitbout at one o’clock in the morning, when suddenly they
heard a company of cavalry gallop down the street, and halt opposite
Tallyrand’s door. They put out the light in some concern, and crept on
to the balcony to observe. It was the carriage of the manager of one
of the gaming houses, returning home with the profits and an escort of
gens d’armes, and it had met with an accident just before Talleyrand’s
door.
On the morning of November 9th (18th Brumaire) Paris awoke once more
to find a revolution afoot. Great masses of troops were distributed
about the streets, and a crowd of officers was gathered, by invitation,
before Napoleon’s house—Napoleon telling them from the balcony he was
going to save the Republic. The Ancients were to meet at seven o’clock,
the Five Hundred at eleven, and in fact a number of the notices to
patriotic members of the latter Council had prudently gone astray in
the post. Under the plea of some vague conspiracy being abroad the
complaisant Ancients decreed that the legislative bodies be transferred
to Saint Cloud (which was in form constitutional), that Napoleon be
given command of all the troops at Paris, and that three Consuls be
appointed. Napoleon and his generals (who were going to “pitch the
lawyers in the river,” as some of them said) at one proceeded to the
Chamber and took the oath. The alarmed patriots of the Five Hundred now
met, but were immediately closured by Lucien on the ground that they
had been constitutionally removed to Saint Cloud. Meantime Barras was
in the hands of Talleyrand, who very soon extorted his resignation.
Sieyès and Ducos resigned. Gohier and Moulin were shut up in the
Luxembourg. Fouché suspended the municipalities—it being a time of
trouble. Napoleon established himself at the Tuileries. His careful and
elaborate plan had so far succeeded.
[Illustration: SIEYÈS.]
On the morrow the Councils were to appoint the Consuls at Saint Cloud,
and meantime a strong opposition was forming. Three of the generals
were not in the plot, and one of them, Bernadotte, was an active
member of the Jacobin _Société du Manège_, which at once attempted
to organise a counter-revolution. The 19th Brumaire opened with not
a little anxiety. Sieyès and Ducos had a coach and six at one of the
gates of Saint-Cloud. Talleyrand and a few other “amateurs” (as he
says) had taken a house at Saint Cloud—with two alternatives: a dinner
was ordered for the evening, but a coach waited at the door. Napoleon
did in fact make a terrible muddle when it came to his turn to speak.
In the hall where the Ancients met he made a violent, disjointed,
most imprudent speech, answering questions with the most clumsy
fabrications, until Bourrienne had to drag him away with the remark:
“You don’t know what you are saying.” The Ancients, however, gave
the required vote. But no sooner did Napoleon enter the hall of the
Five Hundred than the deputies raged about him in crowds. He nearly
fainted and had to be carried out. But his military instinct at once
revived. Mounting his horse he complained to the troops that his life
had been attempted; and when Lucien came out with the news that they
were outlawing him, and Sieyès had drily answered: “Well, as they are
putting you out of the law, put them out of the room,” he cast off
all hesitation. On the previous day when he had attempted to explain
matters to Sebastiani’s dragoons, who formed his escort, they curtly
replied: “We don’t want any explanations: black or white, we’re with
you.” And every musket was loaded with ball. Napoleon now turned to
the captain of the grenadiers and told him to “go and disperse this
assembly of busy-bodies.” The drums beat the charge, the grenadiers
swept up the grand staircase at the double, turned into the orangery
on the left with bayonets levelled, and the patriotic Five Hundred
fled by the other doors, or dropped from the windows into the garden.
Talleyrand and his fellow amateurs went to dinner.
That night Lucien gathered together a score or so of the more reliable
elements of the Council, and passed the new Constitution. Lucien
harangued his little group on the great theme of liberty and the
splendid example of Rome. They declared the Directorate extinct,
and borrowing again from “the free peoples of antiquity,” appointed
a provisional Consulate, consisting of Napoleon Bonaparte (the
Italian “u” had disappeared by this time), Sieyès, and the faithful
Roger-Ducos. They also proscribed 57 obnoxious deputies, and voted
the thanks of the country to Napoleon for his action. So ended the
French Revolution. An act of despotism, rendered possible by widespread
intrigue and corruption, rang down the curtain on the ten-year drama of
blind, bloody, Titanic struggles. Yet it was the best thing for France.