OPPOSITION TO NAPOLEON—THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE EMPIRE—KING OF ITALY
While the preparation for the invasion was going on, the feeling against
England was intensified by the discovery of a plot against the life of
the First Consul. Georges Cadoudal, a fanatical royalist, who was
accused of being connected with the plot of the 3d Nivôse (December 24),
and who had since been in England, had formed a gigantic conspiracy,
having as its object nothing less than the assassination of Napoleon in
broad daylight, in the streets of Paris.
He had secured powerful aid to carry out his plan. The Bourbon princes
supported him, and one of them was to land on the north coast and put
himself at the head of the royalist sympathizers as soon as the First
Consul was killed. In this plot was associated Pichegru, who had been
connected with the 18th Fructidor. General Moreau, the hero of
Hohenlinden, was suspected of knowing something of it.
It came to light in time, and a general arrest was made of those
suspected of being privy to it. The first to be tried and punished was
the Duc d’Enghien, who had been seized at Ettenheim, in Baden, a short
distance from the French frontier, on the supposition that he had been
coming secretly to Paris to be present at the meetings of the
conspirators. His trial at Vincennes was short, his execution immediate.
There is good reason to believe that Napoleon had no suspicion that the
Duc d’Enghien would be executed so soon as he was, and even to suppose
that he would have lightened the sentence if the punishment had not been
pushed on with an irregularity and inhumanity that recalls the days of
the Terror.
The execution was a severe blow to Napoleon’s popularity, both at home
and abroad. Fouché’s cynical remark was just: “The death of the Duc
d’Enghien is worse than a crime; it is a blunder.” Chateaubriand, who
had accepted a foreign embassy, resigned at once, and a number of the
old aristocracy, such as Pasquier and Molé, who had been saying among
themselves that it was their duty to support Napoleon’s splendid work of
reorganization, went back into obscurity. In society the effect was
distressing. The members of Napoleon’s own household met him with
averted faces and sad countenances, and Josephine wept until he called
her a child who understood nothing of politics. Abroad there was a
revulsion of sympathy, particularly in the cabinets of Russia, Prussia,
and Austria.
The trial of Cadoudal and Moreau followed. The former with several of
his accomplices was executed. Moreau was exiled for two years. Pichegru
committed suicide in the Temple.
This plot showed Napoleon and his friends that a Jacobin or royalist
fanatic might any day end the life upon which the scheme of
reorganization depended. It is true he had already been made First
Consul for life by a practically unanimous vote, but there was need of
strengthening his position and providing a succession. In March, six
days after the death of the Duc d’Enghien, the Senate proposed to him
that he complete his work and take the throne. In April the Council of
State and the Tribunate took up the discussion. The opinion of the
majority was voiced by Regnault de Saint Jean d’Angély: “It is a long
time since all reasonable men, all true friends of their country, have
wished that the First Consul would make himself emperor, and
reëstablish, in favor of his family, the old principles of hereditary
succession. It is the only means of securing permanency for his own
fortune, and to the men whom merit has raised to high offices. The
Republic, which I loved passionately, while I detested the crimes of the
Revolution, is now in my eyes a mere Utopia. The First Consul has
convinced me that he wishes to possess supreme power only to render
France great, free, and happy, and to protect her against the fury of
factions.”
The Senate soon after proceeded in a body to the Tuileries. “You have
extricated us from the chaos of the past,” said the spokesman; “you
enable us to enjoy the blessings of the present; guarantee to us the
future.” On the 18th of May, 1804, when thirty-five years old, Napoleon
was first addressed as “sire,” and congratulated on his elevation to the
throne of the French people.
Immediately his household took on the forms of royalty. His mother was
Madame Mère; Joseph, Grand Elector, with the title of Imperial Highness;
Louis, Constable, with the same title; his sisters were Imperial
Highnesses. Titles were given to all officials; the ministers were
excellencies; Cambacérès and Le Brun, the Second and Third Consuls,
became Arch-Chancellor and Arch-Treasurer of the Empire. Of his
generals, Berthier, Murat, Moncey, Jourdan, Masséna, Augereau,
Bernadotte, Soult, Brune, Lannes, Mortier, Ney, Davoust, and Bessières
were made marshals. The red button of the Legion of Honor was scattered
in profusion. The title of _citoyen_, which had been consecrated by the
Revolution, was dropped, and hereafter everybody was called _monsieur_.
Two of Napoleon’s brothers, unhappily, had no part in these honors.
Jerome, who had been serving as lieutenant in the navy, had, in 1803,
while in the United States, married a Miss Elizabeth Patterson of
Baltimore. Napoleon forbade the recording of the marriage, and declared
it void. As Jerome had not as yet given up his wife, he had no share in
the imperial rewards. Lucien was likewise omitted, and for a similar
reason. His first wife had died in 1801, and much against Napoleon’s
wishes he had married a Madame Jouberthon, to whom he was deeply
attached; nothing could induce him to renounce his wife and take the
Queen of Etruria, as Napoleon wished. The result of his refusal was a
violent quarrel between the brothers, and Lucien left France.
This rupture was certainly a grief to Napoleon. Madame de Rémusat draws
a pathetic little picture of the effect upon him of the last interview
with Lucien:
“It was near midnight when Bonaparte came into the room; he was
deeply dejected, and, throwing himself into an arm-chair, he
exclaimed in a troubled voice, ‘It is all over! I have broken with
Lucien, and ordered him from my presence.’ Madame Bonaparte began to
expostulate. ‘You are a good woman,’ he said, ‘to plead for him.’
Then he rose from his chair, took his wife in his arms, and laid her
head softly on his shoulder, and with his hand still resting on the
beautiful head, which formed a contrast to the sad, set countenance
so near it, he told us that Lucien had resisted all his entreaties,
and that he had resorted equally in vain to both threats and
persuasion. ‘It is hard, though,’ he added, ‘to find in one’s own
family such stubborn opposition to interests of such magnitude. Must
I, then, isolate myself from every one? Must I rely on myself alone?
Well! I will suffice to myself; and you, Josephine—you will be my
comfort always.’”
A fever of etiquette seized on all the inhabitants of the imperial
palace of Saint Cloud. The ponderous regulations of Louis XIV. were
taken down from the shelves in the library, and from them a code began
to be compiled. Madame Campan, who had been First Bedchamber Woman to
Marie Antoinette, was summoned to interpret the solemn law, and to
describe costumes and customs. Monsieur de Talleyrand, who had been made
Grand Chamberlain, was an authority who was consulted on everything.
“We all felt ourselves more or less elevated,” says Madame de Rémusat.
“Vanity is ingenious in its expectations, and ours were unlimited.
Sometimes it was disenchanting, for a moment, to observe the almost
ridiculous effect which this agitation produced upon certain classes of
society. Those who had nothing to do with our brand new dignities said
with Montaigne, ‘Let us avenge ourselves by railing at them.’ Jests,
more or less witty, and puns, more or less ingenious, were lavished on
these new-made princes, and somewhat disturbed our brilliant visions;
but the number of those who dare to censure success is small, and
flattery was much more common than criticism.”
No one was more severe in matters of etiquette than Napoleon himself. He
studied the subject with the same attention that he did the civil code,
and in much the same way. “In concert with Monsieur de Ségur,” he wrote
De Champagny, “you must write me a report as to the way in which
ministers and ambassadors should be received.... It will be well for you
to enlighten me as to what was the practice at Versailles, and what is
done at Vienna and St. Petersburg. Once my regulations adopted, everyone
must conform to them. I am master, to establish what rules I like in
France.”
He had some difficulty with his old comrades-in-arms, who were
accustomed to addressing him in the familiar second singular, and
calling him Bonaparte, and who persisted, occasionally, even after he
was “sire,” in using the language of easy intimacy. Lannes was even
removed for some time from his place near the emperor for an
indiscretion of this kind.
In August, 1804, the new emperor visited Boulogne to receive the
congratulations of his army and distribute decorations. His visit was
celebrated by a magnificent _fête_. Those who know the locality of
Boulogne, remember, north of the town, an amphitheatre-like plain, in
the centre of which is a hill. In this plain sixty thousand men were
camped. On the elevation was erected a throne. Hereby stood the chair of
Dagobert; behind it the armor of Francis I.; and around rose scores of
blood-stained, bullet-shot flags, the trophies of Italy and Egypt.
Beside the emperor was the helmet of Bayard, filled with the decorations
to be distributed. Up and down the coast were the French batteries; in
the port lay the flotilla; to the right and left stretched the splendid
army.
Just as the ceremonies were finished, a fleet of over a thousand boats
came sailing into the harbor to join those already there, while out in
the Channel English officers and sailors, with levelled glasses, watched
from their vessels the splendid armament, which was celebrating its
approaching descent on their shores.
On December 1st the Senate presented the emperor the result of the vote
taken among the people as to whether hereditary succession should be
adopted. There were two thousand five hundred and seventy-nine votes
against; three million five hundred and seventy-five thousand for—a vote
more nearly unanimous than that for the life consulate, there being
something like nine thousand against him then.
The next day Napoleon was crowned at Notre Dame. The ceremony was
prepared with the greatest care. Grand Master of Ceremonies de Ségur,
aided by the painter David, drew up the plan and trained the court with
great severity in the etiquette of the occasion. He had the widest
liberty, it even being provided that “if it be indispensable, in order
that the _cortége_ arrive at Notre Dame with greater facility, to pull
down some houses,” it should be done. By a master stroke of diplomacy
Napoleon had persuaded Pope Pius VII. to cross the Alps to perform for
him the solemn and ancient service of coronation.
Of this ceremony we have no better description than that of Madame
Junot:
“Who that saw Notre Dame on that memorable day can ever forget it? I
have witnessed in that venerable pile the celebration of sumptuous
and solemn festivals; but never did I see anything at all
approximating in splendor the spectacle exhibited at Napoleon’s
coronation. The vaulted roof re-echoed the sacred chanting of the
priests, who invoked the blessing of the Almighty on the ceremony
about to be celebrated, while they awaited the arrival of the Vicar
of Christ, whose throne was prepared near the altar. Along the
ancient walls covered with magnificent tapestry were ranged,
according to their rank, the different bodies of the state, the
deputies from every city; in short, the representatives of all
France assembled to implore the benediction of Heaven on the
sovereign of the people’s choice. The waving plumes which adorned
the hats of the senators, counsellors of state, and tribunes; the
splendid uniforms of the military; the clergy in all their
ecclesiastical pomp; and the multitude of young and beautiful women,
glittering in jewels, and arrayed in that style of grace and
elegance which is only seen in Paris;—altogether presented a picture
which has, perhaps, rarely been equalled, and certainly never
excelled.
“The Pope arrived first; and at the moment of his entering the
Cathedral, the anthem _Tu es Petrus_ was commenced. His Holiness
advanced from the door with an air at once majestic and humble. Ere
long, the firing of a cannon announced the departure of the
procession from the Tuileries. From an early hour in the morning the
weather had been exceeding unfavorable. It was cold and rainy, and
appearances seemed to indicate that the procession would be anything
but agreeable to those who joined it. But, as if by the especial
favor of Providence, of which so many instances are observable in
the career of Napoleon, the clouds suddenly dispersed, the sky
brightened up, and the multitudes who lined the streets from the
Tuileries to the Cathedral, enjoyed the sight of the procession
without being, as they had anticipated, drenched by a December rain.
Napoleon, as he passed along, was greeted by heartfelt expressions
of enthusiastic love and attachment.
[Illustration:
NAPOLEON WITH THE IRON CROWN OF LOMBARDY.
Designed and engraved by Longhi, in 1812, for “Vite e Ritratti di
illustri Italiani.”]
“On his arrival at Notre Dame, Napoleon ascended the throne, which
was erected in front of the grand altar. Josephine took her place
beside him, surrounded by the assembled sovereigns of Europe.
Napoleon appeared singularly calm. I watched him narrowly, with a
view of discovering whether his heart beat more highly beneath the
imperial trappings than under the uniform of the guards; but I could
observe no difference, and yet I was at the distance of only ten
paces from him. The length of the ceremony, however, seemed to weary
him; and I saw him several times check a yawn. Nevertheless, he did
everything he was required to do, and did it with propriety. When
the Pope anointed him with the triple unction on his head and both
hands, I fancied, from the direction of his eyes, that he was
thinking of wiping off the oil rather than of anything else; and I
was so perfectly acquainted with the workings of his countenance,
that I have no hesitation in saying that was really the thought that
crossed his mind at that moment. During the ceremony of anointing,
the Holy Father delivered that impressive prayer which concluded
with these words: ‘Diffuse, O Lord, by my hands, the treasures of
your grace and benediction on your servant Napoleon, whom, in spite
of our personal unworthiness, _we this day anoint emperor, in your
name_.’ Napoleon listened to this prayer with an air of pious
devotion; but just as the Pope was about to take the crown, _called_
the Crown of Charlemagne, from the altar, Napoleon seized it, and
placed it on his own head. At that moment he was really handsome,
and his countenance was lighted up with an expression of which no
words can convey an idea.
“He had removed the wreath of laurel which he wore on entering the
church, and which encircles his brow in the fine picture of Gérard.
The crown was, perhaps, in itself, less becoming to him; but the
expression excited by the act of putting it on, rendered him
perfectly handsome.
“When the moment arrived for Josephine to take an active part in the
grand drama, she descended from the throne and advanced towards the
altar, where the emperor awaited her, followed by her retinue of
court ladies, and having her train borne by the Princesses Caroline,
Julie, Eliza, and Louis. One of the chief beauties of the Empress
Josephine was not merely her fine figure, but the elegant turn of
her neck, and the way in which she carried her head; indeed, her
deportment altogether was conspicuous for dignity and grace. I have
had the honor of being presented to many _real princesses_, to use
the phrase of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, but I never saw one who,
to my eyes, presented so perfect a personification of elegance and
majesty. In Napoleon’s countenance I could read the conviction of
all I have just said. He looked with an air of complacency at the
empress as she advanced towards him; and when she knelt down, when
the tears, which she could not repress, fell upon her clasped hands,
as they were raised to Heaven, or rather to Napoleon, both then
appeared to enjoy one of those fleeting moments of pure felicity
which are unique in a lifetime, and serve to fill up a lustrum of
years. The emperor performed, with peculiar grace, every action
required of him during the ceremony; but his manner of crowning
Josephine was most remarkable: after receiving the small crown,
surmounted by the cross, he had first to place it on his own head,
and then to transfer it to that of the empress. When the moment
arrived for placing the crown on the head of the woman whom popular
superstition regarded as his good genius, his manner was almost
playful. He took great pains to arrange this little crown, which was
placed over Josephine’s tiara of diamonds; he put it on, then took
it off, and finally put it on again, as if to promise her she should
wear it gracefully and lightly.”
The fate of France had no sooner been settled, as Napoleon believed,
than it became necessary to decide on what should be done with Italy.
The crown was offered to Joseph, who refused it. He did not want to
renounce his claim to that of France, and finally Napoleon decided to
take it himself. A new constitution was prepared for the country by the
French Senate, and, when all was arranged, Napoleon started on April 1st
for Italy. A great train accompanied him, and the trip was of especial
interest. The party crossed the Alps by Mont Cenis, and the road was so
bad that the carriages had to be taken to pieces and carried over, while
the travellers walked. This trip really led to the fine roads which now
cross Mont Cenis. At Alessandria Napoleon halted, and on the field of
Marengo ordered a review of the manœuvres of the famous battle. At this
review he even wore the coat and hat he had worn on that famous day four
years before.
By the time the imperial party was ready to enter Milan, on May 13, it
had increased to a triumphal procession, and the entry was attended by
most enthusiastic demonstrations. On May 26 the coronation took place.
The iron crown, used so long for the coronation of the Lombard kings,
had been brought out for the occasion. When the point in the ceremony
was reached where the crown was to be placed on Napoleon’s head, he
seized it, and with his own hands placed it on his head, repeating in a
loud voice the words inscribed on the crown: “God gives it to me; beware
who touches it.” Josephine was not crowned Queen of Italy, but watched
the scene from a gallery above the altar.
Napoleon remained in Italy for another month, engaged in settling the
affairs of the country. The order of the Crown of Iron was created, the
constitution settled, Prince Eugène was made viceroy, and Genoa was
joined to the Empire.
[Illustration:
NAPOLEON REVIEWING HIS GUARDS.
Lithograph by Raffet.]