realities. All that he had hitherto wanted was a bridge to throw
over the abyss which separated the republicans, the defenders of
liberty, equality, and fraternity, from rule, power, and
dictatorship. Anarchy and exhaustion laid down this bridge, and on
the 18th Brumaire, General Bonaparte, the hero of "liberal ideas,"
passed over it to exalt himself into dictator, consul, emperor, and
tyrant of France.
But the Directory also understood the voices of the applauding
people; they also saw in him the man who had come to deprive them of
power and to assume their authority. This was secretly yet violently
discussed by the Directory, the Council of the Elders, and of the
Five Hundred.
One day, at a dinner given to a few friends by the Abbe Sieyes, one
of the members of the Directory, the abbe, Cabanis, and Joseph
Bonaparte, were conversing together, standing on the side of the
drawing-room, near the chimney. It was conceded that undoubtedly a
crisis was near at hand, that the republic had now reached its
limit, and that, instead of five directors, only three would be
elected, and that, without any doubt, Bonaparte would be one of the
three.
"Yes," cried Sieyes, with animation, "I am for General Bonaparte,
for of all military men he is the most civil; but then I know very
well what is in reserve for me: once elected, the general, casting
aside his two colleagues, will do as I do now." And Sieyes, standing
between Canabis and Joseph, placed his two arms on their shoulders,
then, pushing them with a powerful jerk, he leaped forward and
bounded into the middle of the room, to the great astonishment of
his guests, who knew not the cause of this gymnastic performance of
the abbe. [Footnote: "Memoires du Roi Joseph," vol. i., p. 77.]
The other directors were also conscious of this movement of
Bonaparte, and they secretly resolved to save themselves by causing
his ruin. Either the Directory or Bonaparte had to fall! One had to
perish, that the other might have the power! In order that the
Directory might exist, Bonaparte must fall.
The Directory had secretly come to this conclusion on Bonaparte's
return. They were fully aware that a daring act alone could save
them, and they were determined not to shrink from it.
The deed was to take place on the 2d Brumaire. On that day he was to
be arrested, and accused of having premeditated a coup d'etat
against the Directory. Indeed, one M. de Mounier had come to
Director Gohier and had denounced Bonaparte, whom he positively knew
was conspiring to destroy the existing government. Gohier received
these accusations with much gravity, and sent at once for the other
directors to hasten to him, but only one, Moulins, was then in Paris
to answer Gohier's summons. He came, and after a long conference
both directors agreed that the next day they would have Bonaparte
arrested on his return to Paris from Malmaison, where they knew he
was to give a large banquet that day. They sent for the chief of
police, and quietly gave him the order to station himself the next
day with twelve resolute men on the road to Malmaison, and to arrest
Bonaparte as he should drive that evening toward Paris.
On this very day Josephine, who did not wish to be present at the
banquet of gentlemen in Malmaison, had come to Paris to attend a
party at the house of one of her friends. The conversation went on;
they talked and jested, when a gentleman near Josephine told a
friend that some striking event would probably take place that day
in Paris, for he had just now met a friend who held an important
office in the police. He had invited him to go to the theatre, but
he declined, stating that he was to be on duty this evening, as some
important affair was about being transacted - the arrest, as he
thought, of some influential personage.
Josephine's heart trembled with horrible misgivings at these words.
Love's instinct convinced her that her husband was the one to be
arrested, and she thought within herself that it was Destiny itself
which sent her this intelligence, that she might save her husband
from the fearful blow which awaited him. Thus persuaded, she
gathered all her strength and presence of mind, and determined to
act with energy, and battle against the enemies of her husband.
Without betraying the slightest emotion, or exciting any suspicion
that she had heard or noticed what was said, Josephine rose from her
seat with a cheerful and composed countenance, and pleasantly took
leave of the lady of the house. But once past the threshold of the
house, once in her carriage, her anxious nature woke up again, and
she began to act with energy and resolution. She pulled the string,
to give her directions to the driver. As fast as the horses could
speed, he was to drive his mistress to Colonel Perrin, the
commanding officer of the guards of the Directory. In ten minutes
she was there, and knowing well how devoted a guard he and all his
soldiers would be to Bonaparte, she communicated to him her fears,
and requested from him immediate and speedy assistance to remove the
danger.
Colonel Perrin was prepared to enter into her plans, and he promised
to send to Malmaison a company of grenadiers, provided she would, as
soon as possible, have General Murat send him an order to that
effect. Josephine at once went to one of her true, reliable friends,
who belonged to the Council of the Elders, and, making him
acquainted with the danger which threatened her husband, requested
him to gather a few devoted friends, and to attend to the orders
which Murat would send them.
After having made all these preparations, Josephine drove in full
gallop toward Malmaison.
The dinner, to which Bonaparte had invited gentlemen from all
classes of society, was just over, and the guests were scattered,
some in the drawing-rooms, and some in the garden, where Bonaparte
was walking up and down in animated conversation with the secretary,
Roger Ducos.
At this moment the carriage of Josephine drove into the yard; and
Murat, who, with a few gentlemen, stood under the porch, hastened to
offer his hand so as to help Josephine to alight. An eye-witness who
was present at this scene relates as follows:
"'Where is the general?' asked Josephine, hastily, of General Murat.
" I do not know,' was the answer; 'he is gone with Roger, but Lucien
is here.'
"'Look at once for the general!' exclaimed Josephine, breathless, 'I
must speak to him immediately.'
"I approached her and said that he was in the garden. She ran - she
flew! I placed myself at a window in the first story, from which I
could easily see into the garden-walks. My expectations had not
deceived me.
"No sooner did Bonaparte see Josephine approach, than he left Roger
Ducos and hurried to meet her. Both then walked into a path near by.
I could see them well. Josephine spoke with animation; the general
walked on; now and then she held him back. At last they took the
path leading to the castle. I went down to meet them on the steps
near the door.
"Madame Bonaparte held her husband by the left hand. Her animated,
expressive features had a bewitching pride and softness; it was a
most delightful admixture of tenderness and heroism. Bonaparte
looked around, pale and grave, but his eyes ever rested with
pleasure on his wife. She refused to enter into the large hall, and
retired to her room. Bonaparte called for Roger, and entered the
saloon with him. His guests were awaiting his arrival, to take their
leave. The carriages drove up, and the gentlemen left Malmaison to
return to Paris. Only Lucien and Murat remained with Bonaparte;
Madame Bonaparte joined them as they entered the vestibule. When she
saw Murat, she exclaimed:
"'How, general, you still here! - Do you not consider,' continued
she, turning to Bonaparte, 'that Murat ought to be already in Paris
with Perrin? - Away! quick! to horse, to the Rue Varennes, or I drive
thither myself.'
"Murat laughed; but four minutes after he was riding at a gallop on
the road to the city. The three others returned to their rooms. I
was curious to know what was the conversation; but as I had nothing
more to do in the castle, I was about leaping on my horse to ride to
Paris, when I saw a detachment of infantry marching toward the
castle.
"I thought it my duty to announce them to the general; he sat
between his wife and his brother. 'How!' cried he, as he rose up
hastily. 'Troops?'
"'What of them?' answered Madame Bonaparte, smiling. 'Your company
has left you, now comes mine. It is a rendezvous; but be comforted -
they are not too many.'
"All three walked into the yard, where the troops were placing
themselves in line without the sound of a drum.
"'You are an extraordinary man, sir,' said Madame Bonaparte to the
captain. 'Nearly as soon as I?'
"'Madame,' replied the officer, 'we have been ready for the march
these four hours.'
"The officers followed the general into the drawing-room, and
refreshments were distributed to the soldiers; it was a company of
grenadiers.
"At nine o'clock in the evening, a courier arrived, bearing
dispatches to Bonaparte. At once he, his wife, and his brother,
drove to Paris. The grenadiers were ordered to follow immediately
and in silence." [Footnote: "Memoires secretes," vol. i., p. 26.]
These dispatches, which Bonaparte had received from Paris, brought
him the news that this time the danger was over - that the directors
had abandoned their plan. Some fortunate accident may have warned
them, even as Josephine herself had been warned. The spies who
everywhere tracked Josephine, as well as Bonaparte, had carried to
Gohier intelligence of all the strange movements of the wife of
Bonaparte, and the director at once perceived that she was informed
of the danger which threatened her husband, and that she was bent
upon preventing it.
But now that the plan of the directors had been unveiled, danger
threatened them in their turn, and they immediately adopted measures
to face this new peril. In place of Bonaparte, they must find some
one whom they could arrest, without withdrawing their orders. They
found a substitute in a wealthy merchant from Hamburg, who now
resided in Paris. Gohier had him arrested, and accused him of having
had relations with the enemies of France.
Bonaparte assumed the appearance of having no doubts as to the
sincerity of Gohier, of suspecting nothing as to his own arrest,
which had been prevented by the timely and energetic action of
Josephine. He thanked her with increased tenderness for her love and
faithfulness, and as he pressed her affectionately to his breast, he
swore to her that he would never again doubt her; that he would, by
the most unreserved confidence, share with her his schemes and
designs, and that henceforth he would look upon her as the good
angel who watched over the pathway of his life.
And Bonaparte kept his word. From this day his Josephine was not
only his wife, but his confidante, his friend, who knew all his
plans, and who could assist him with her advice and her exquisite
practical tact. She it was who brought about a reconciliation with
Moreau and Bernadotte; and by her amiable nature, attractive and
dignified manner, and great social talents, she bound even his
friends closer to Bonaparte; or with a smile, a kind word, some
flattering observation, or some of those little attentions which
often-times tell more effectually with those who receive them than
great services, she would often win over to him his foes and
opponents.
"It is known but to few persons," says the author of the "Memoires
secretes," "that Bonaparte always consulted his wife in civil
matters, even when they were of the highest importance. This fact is
entirely true, but Bonaparte would have been extremely mortified had
he known that those around him suspected it. Had it been possible
for me to divide my being, with what delight I should have followed
this noble woman! I would relate a few traits of hers if I did not
know that M. D. B., who is much better acquainted with her than I,
is to write a biography. [Footnote: The "Memoires secretes" appeared
in 1815. The biography spoken of by the author is probably that of
Madame Ducrest, and which appeared in 1818.] I know not what were
the events of the first years of Madame de Beauharnais, but if they
were like those of her last fifteen years, we should have the
history of a perfect woman. She has known but little of me, and
therefore no interested motive guides my pen, no other sentiment
than that of truth." [Footnote: "Memoires secretes," vol. i., p.
36.]
The 2d Brumaire afforded sufficient reasons for Bonaparte to put
into execution his resolutions. He now knew the enmity of the
Directory; he knew he must cause their downfall if he himself did
not wish to be destroyed by them. He knew that, during his last
triumphal journey through France, he had heard sufficient to
convince him that the voice of the people was for him, that every
one longed for a change, that France was heartily wearied of
revolutionary commotions, and above all things craved for rest and
peace; that it wished to lay aside all political strife, and, like
him, preferred to have nothing more to do with a republican
majority.
"Every one desires a more central government," said Napoleon to his
brother Joseph. "Our dreams of a republic are the illusions of
youth. Since the 9th Thermidor the republican party has dwindled
away more and more; the efforts of the Bourbons and the foreigners,
coupled with the memories of '93, have called forth against the
republican system an imposing majority. If it had not been for the
13th Vendemiaire and the 18th Fructidor, this majority would long
ago have won the ascendency; the weaknesses, the imperiousness of
the Directory, have done the rest. To-day the people are turning
their hopes toward me, to-morrow it will be toward some one else."
Bonaparte did not wish to wait until to-morrow. He had made all his
preparations; he had made sure of his generals and officers; he knew
also that the soldiers were for him, and that it required but a
signal from him to bring about the catastrophe.
He gave the signal by inviting on the 18th Brumaire, to a dejeuner
in his house, all his confidants and friends, all the generals and
superior officers, and also the commanding general of the National
Guards. Nearly all of them came at this invitation; only General
Bernadotte kept aloof, as he perceived that the breakfast had other
objects than to converse and to eat. Sieyes and Ducos were the only
directors who made their appearance; Gohier, that morning, had sent
to Bonaparte an invitation to dinner, so as to deceive the more
securely him whom he knew was his enemy; Barras and Moulins,
suspecting Bonaparte's schemes, remained in the background, silently
awaiting the result.
While the guests were assembling in Bonaparte's house, and filling
all the space in it, a friend and confidant of Bonaparte, in the
Council of the Elders, made the following motion: "In consideration
of the intense political excitement which prevails in Paris, it is
necessary to remove the sessions to St. Cloud, and to give to
General Bonaparte the supreme command of the troops."
After a violent debate, the motion was suddenly adopted; and, when
it was brought to Bonaparte, he saw that the moment for action had
come.
He told all those about him that at last the time was at hand to
restore to France rest and peace, that he was decided to do this,
and he called upon them to follow him. Every one was ready, and,
surrounded by a brilliant suite, Bonaparte went first to the Council
of the Elders, to express his thanks for his nomination, and
solemnly to swear that he would adopt every measure necessary to
save the country.
Immediately after this he went to the Tuileries to hold a review of
the troops stationed there. The soldiers and the people, who had
streamed thither in masses to see him, received him with loud
acclamations, assuring him of their loyalty and devotedness.
No one this day rose in favor of the deputies, no one seemed to
desire that their sittings should as heretofore take place in Paris,
nor to think that force would have to be used to remove them.
The palace of Luxemburg, in which their sittings had hitherto taken
place, and St. Cloud, in which they were to meet in the future, were
both, by orders of Bonaparte, surrounded with troops, and the
deputies as well as the Council of the Elders adjourned that very
day to St. Cloud.
Moulins and Gohier alone had the courage to offer opposition, and,
in a letter to the Council of the Elders, to describe Bonaparte as a
criminal, who threatened the republic, and to demand of them his
arrest; and also that they should immediately decree that the
republic was in danger, and that it must be defended with all
energy. But this letter fell into Bonaparte's hands; and the
directors, when they saw that their request was unheeded, resigned,
as Barras had done.
The republic now had but two legitimate rulers, Sieyes and Ducos;
and at their side stood Bonaparte, soon to exalt himself above them.
The following day, the 19th Brumaire, was actually the decisive day.
The Five Hundred, who now, like the Council of the Elders, held
their deliberations in St. Cloud, were discussing under great
excitement the abdication of the Directory and the necessity of a
new election. The debates were so vehement and so full of passion
that the president, Lucien Bonaparte, could not command order. A
wild uproar arose, and at this moment Napoleon entered the hall.
Every one rushed at him with wild frenzy; and the most violent
recriminations were launched at him. "He is a traitor!" they cried
out. "He is a Cromwell, who wants to seize the sovereign power!"
What Bonaparte had never experienced on the battle-field, in the
thickest of the fight, he now felt. He became bewildered by this
violent strife of words, by this hailstorm of accusations which
whizzed around his ears. He tried to speak; he tried to address the
audience, but he could not - he could merely give utterance to a few
broken sentences; he made charges against the Directory, with
assurances of his own loyalty and devotedness, which the audience
received with loud murmurs, and then with wild shouts. Bonaparte
became more embarrassed and bewildered. Suddenly turning toward the
door of the hall, he exclaimed, "Who loves me, let him follow me!"
and he walked out hastily.
The soldiers outside received him with great cheers, and this
brought back Bonaparte's presence of mind. "General," whispered
Augereau, as they mounted their horses, "you are in a critical
position."
"Think of Arcola," replied Bonaparte, calmly. "There the position
seemed still more critical. Have patience for half an hour, and you
will see how things change."
Bonaparte made good use of this half hour. At its expiration he re-
entered the hall of deliberation of the Five Hundred, surrounded by
his officers, at the very moment when, on a motion of a member, they
were renewing their oaths to the constitution. Again they received
him with shouts: "Down with the tyrant! - down with the dictator! The
sanctity of the law is violated! Death to the tyrant who brings
soldiers here to do us violence!"
One of the deputies rushed upon Bonaparte and seized him, but at
that instant the grenadiers also entered the room, delivered their
general, and carried him in triumph out of the hall.
After his departure, the waves of wrath and political frenzy rose
higher and higher. Shouts and imprecations filled the room with
confusion; reproaches fell on all sides upon the president, Lucien
Bonaparte, for not having immediately ordered the arrest of the
traitor, who by his appearance, as well as by his armed escort, had
insulted the assembly. When Lucien endeavored to defend Napoleon's
conduct, he was interrupted by the cries: "He is a stain on the
republic! He has tarnished his reputation!" Louder and wilder rose
the cry to declare Napoleon an outlaw. [Footnote: "Memoires du Roi
Joseph."]
Lucien refused, and, as they urged their demand with increasing
violence, he left the presidential chair, and with deep emotion put
off the insignia of his office - his mantle and his sash - and was at
the point of making for himself an outlet through the wild crowd
pressing in frenzy around him, when the doors opened, and a company
of grenadiers rushed in, who by main force carried him away out of
the hall.
Lucien, whom Napoleon awaited outside with his troops, immediately
mounted his horse, and in this moment of deepest danger kept his
presence of mind, being fully aware that he must now be decided to
save himself and his brother or perish with him. He turned to the
troops, and ordered them to protect the president of the Five
Hundred, to defend the constitution attacked by a few fanatics, and
to obey General Bonaparte, who was empowered by the Council of the
Elders to arrest the seditious, and to protect the republic and its
laws.
The soldiers answered him with the acclamation, "Long live
Bonaparte!" But a certain shudder was visible. A few warning voices
were lifted up; they thought it strange that weapons should be
directed against the representatives of the country.
By a dramatic action Lucien brought the matter to a close, though it
was at the time meant by him in all sincerity. He drew his sword,
and, directing its point toward Napoleon's breast, he exclaimed: "I
swear to pierce even my brother's heart if he ever dares touch the
liberty of France!"
These words had an electric effect; every one felt inspired, lifted
up, and swore to obey Bonaparte, and to remain loyal to him even
unto death. At a sign from Napoleon, Murat, with his grenadiers,
dashed into the hall and drove away the assembly of the Five
Hundred. At ten o'clock that evening St. Cloud was vacant; only a
few deputies, like homeless night-birds, wandered around the palace
out of which they had been so violently ejected.
In the interior of St. Cloud, Bonaparte was busy preparing for the
people of Paris a proclamation, in which he justified his deed, and
repeated the sacred assurance "that he would protect liberty and the
republic against all her enemies at home as well as abroad." When
this was done, it was necessary to think of giving to the French
people a new government, instead of the one which had been broken
up. Napoleon had been in conference until the dawn of day with
Talleyrand, Roderer, and Sieyes. Meanwhile Lucien had gathered
around him in a room the members of the Five Hundred who were
devoted to him, and had resumed the presidential chair; Napoleon's
friends among the members of the Council of the Elders also gathered
together, and both assemblies issued a decree, in which they
declared there was no longer a Directory, and in which they excluded
from the assembly as rebellious and factious a vast number of
deputies. And more, they decreed the nomination of a provisional
commission, and decided that it should consist of three members, who
should bear the title of Consuls of the Republic, and they appointed
as consuls Sieyes, Ducos, and Bonaparte.
At three o'clock in the morning every thing was ready, and Napoleon,
accompanied by Bourrienne, went to Paris. He had reached his goal;
he was at the head of the administration, but his countenance
betrayed no joyous excitement; he was taciturn and pensive, and
during the whole journey to Paris he spoke not a word, but quietly
leaned in a corner of the carriage. Perhaps he dreamed of a great
and brilliant future; perhaps he was busy with the thought how he
could ascend higher on this ladder to a throne, whose first step he
had now ascended, since he had exalted himself into a consul of the
republic.
Not till he arrived at his residence in the Rue de la Victoire did
Bonaparte's cheerfulness return, when, with countenance beaming with
joy, and followed by Bourrienne, he hastened to Josephine, who,
exhausted by anxiety and care during this day full of danger, had
finally gone to rest. Near her bed Bonaparte sank into an arm-chair,
and, gazing at her and seizing her hand, he turned smilingly to
Bourrienne:
"Is it not true," said he - "I said many foolish things?"
"Well, yes, general, that cannot be denied," replied Bourrienne,
shrugging his shoulders, while Josephine broke out into loud, joyous
laughter.
"I would sooner speak to soldiers than to lawyers," said Bonaparte,
cheerfully. "These honorable fools made me timid. I am not
accustomed to speak to an audience - but that will come in time."
With affectionate sympathy Josephine requested him to relate in
detail all the events of the day; and she listened with breathless
attention to the descriptions which Bonaparte made in his own terse,
brief, and lucid manner.
"And Gohier?" said she, at last - "you know I love his wife, and when
you were in Egypt he was ever kind and attentive to me. You will not
touch him, will you, mon ami?"
Bonaparte shrugged his shoulders. "What of it, my love?" said he;
"it is not my fault if he is pushed aside. Why has he not wished it
otherwise? He is a good-natured man, but a blockhead. He does not
understand me.... I would do much better to have him transported. He
wrote against me to the Council of the Elders, but his letter fell
into my hands, and the council has heard nothing of it. The
unfortunate man!....Yesterday he expected me to dinner....And that
is called statesmanship.... Let us speak no more of this matter."
[Footnote: Bonaparte's own words. - See Bourrienne, vol. iii., p.
106.]
Then he began to relate to his Josephine how Bernadotte had acted,
refusing to take any part in the events of the day, and how, when
Bonaparte had requested him at least to undertake nothing against
him, he answered: "As a citizen, I will keep quiet; but if the
Directory gives me the order to act, I will fight against every
disturber of the peace and every conspirator, whoever he may be."
Bonaparte then suddenly turned to Bourrienne to dismiss him, that he
might himself take some rest; and when he extended his hand to bid
him farewell, he added, carelessly:
"Apropos, to-morrow we sleep in the Luxemburg." It was decided! - the
long-premeditated deed was done! With the 18th Brumaire, Bonaparte
had made an important step forward on the path of fame and power
whose end was seen by him alone.
Bonaparte was no longer a general receiving orders from a superior
authority; he was no longer the servant of the Directory; but he was
now the one who would give orders - he was the master and ruler; he
stood at the head of the French nation; he made the laws, and his
deep, clear eye looked far beyond both consuls who stood at his
side, into that future when he alone would be at the head of France;
when, instead of the uprooted throne of the lilies, he would sit in
the Tuileries, in the chair of the First Consul, this chair of a
Caesar, which could so easily become an emperor's throne!
On the 20th Brumaire, Napoleon occupied the residence of the
Directory in the palace of the Luxemburg, after he had, through his
brother Louis, made Gohier prisoner, the only one of the directors
who still lingered there, and whom he afterward released.
Josephine's intercession procured the liberty of the husband of her
friend, and this generous pardon of the furious letter which Gohier
had written against him was the thank-offering which Bonaparte
presented to the gods as he made his entrance into the Luxemburg.
The Luxemburg itself was, however, but a relay for a change of
horses in the wondrous journey which Bonaparte had to travel from
the lawyer's house on the island of Corsica to the throne-room of
the Bourbons in the palace of the Tuileries.
In simple equipage, he with Josephine made his entrance into the
Luxemburg, but after the rest of a few weeks he left this station,
to make his entrance into the Tuileries in a magnificent carriage,
drawn by the six splendid grays which the Emperor of Austria had
presented to General Bonaparte in Campo Formio. For already another
change had taken place in the government of France, and the trefoil-
leaf of the consuls had assumed another form.
The two consuls, who had stood at the side of Bonaparte, invested
with equal powers, had been set aside by the new constitution of the
year VIII., which the people had adopted on the 17th of February,
1800 (18th Pluviose, year VIII.). This constitution named Bonaparte
as consul for ten years, and with him two other consuls, who were
more his secretaries than his colleagues. Next to him was
Cambaceres, as second consul for ten years, and then Lebrun, as
third consul for five years.
With these two consuls, Bonaparte, on the 19th of February, 1800,
made his solemn entry into the Tuileries. The old century, with its
Bourbon throne, its bloody revolution, its horrors, its party
passions, had passed away, and the new century found in the
Tuileries a hero who wanted to crush all parties with a hand of
iron, and to place his foot on the head of the revolution, so as to
close the abyss which it had opened, in order to build himself an
emperor's throne over it.
He was for the present satisfied to hear himself called "First
Consul;" he was willing for a short time to grant to the two men who
sat at his side in the carriage drawn by the six imperial grays,
that they should share the power with him, and should consider
themselves vested with the same authority. But Cambaceres and Lebrun
had a keen ear for the joyful shouts with which the people followed
their triumphal march from the Luxemburg to the Tuileries. They knew
very well that these shouts and acclamations were not addressed to
them, but only to General Bonaparte, the conqueror of Lodi and
Arcola, the hero of the pyramids, the "savior of society," who, on
the 18th Brumaire, had rescued France from the terrorists. Both
consuls were shrewd enough to draw a lesson from this enthusiasm of
the people, and willingly to fall back into the shade rather than to
be forced into it. The Tuileries had been appointed for the
residence of the three consuls, but the next day after their
triumphal entry Cambaceres left the royal palace to take up his
abode in the Hotel Elboeuf, on the Place de Carrousel. Lebrun, who
at first made the Flora Pavilion his headquarters, soon found it
more advisable to take his lodgings elsewhere, and he left the
Tuileries, to make his residence in the Faubourg St. Honore.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE TUILERIES.
The Tuileries had again found a master; the halls where Marie
Antoinette received her joyous guests, her beautiful lady-friends,
were now again alive with elegant female figures, and resounded with
gay voices, cheerful laughter, and unaffected pleasantry. The
apartments in which Louis XVI. had passed such sad and fearful days,
where he had laid with his ministers such nefarious schemes, and
where royalty had been trodden down under the feet of the infuriated
populace - these rooms were now occupied by the hero who had subdued
the people, slain the revolution and restored to France peace and
glory.
The Tuileries had again found a master - the throne-room was still
vacant and empty, for the first consul of the republic dared not yet
lay claim to this throne which the revolution had destroyed, and
which the republic had forever removed from France. But if there was
no throne in the Tuileries, there was at least a court; and "Madame
Etiquette," driven away from the royal palace since the days of the
unfortunate Marie Antoinette, had again, though with modest and
timid step, slipped into the Tuileries. It is true, she now
clandestinely occupied a servant's room; but the day was not far
distant when, as Egeria, she would whisper advice and dictate laws
to the ear of the new Numa Pompilius; when all doors would be open
to her, and when she alone would, at all times, have access to the
mighty lord of France.
In the Luxemburg, the fraternity and the equality of the revolution
had been set aside, as, long before, on the 13th Vendemiaire, the
liberty of the revolution had been cast away. In the Luxemburg the
"citoyenne" Bonaparte had become "Madame" Bonaparte, and the young
daughter of the citizeness Josephine heard herself called
"Mademoiselle" Hortense!
After the entrance into the Tuileries, fraternity and equality
disappeared rapidly, and the distinctions of gentlemen and servants,
rulers and subjects, superiors and subordinates, were again
introduced. The chief of the administration was surrounded with
honors and distinctions; the court, with all its grades, degrees,
and titles, was there; it had its courtiers, flatterers, and
defamers; and also its brilliant festivities, splendors, and pomp!
It is true this was not the work of a moment, nor so rapid an
achievement as the transition from the Luxemburg to the Tuileries,
but the introduction of the words "madame" and "monsieur" removed
the first obstacle which held the whole French nation bound to the
same platform; and a second obstacle had fallen, when permission was
granted to all the emigres, with the exception of the royal family,
to return to their native country.
The aristocrats of old France returned in vast numbers; they, the
bearers of old names of glory, the legitimists, who had fled before
the guillotine, now hoped to win again the throne from the
consulate.
They kept themselves, however, aloof from the consul, whose
greatness and power were derived from the revolution, and who was to
them a representative of the rebellious, criminal republic; but they
presented themselves to his wife, they brought their homage to
Josephine, the born aristocrat, the relative and friend of so many
emigrant families, and they hoped, through her influence, to obtain
what they dared not ask from the first consul - the re-establishment
of the throne of the Bourbons.
These aristocrats knew very well that Josephine longed for the
return of the royal family; that in her heart she cherished love and
loyalty to the unfortunate royal couple; and that, without any
personal ambition, without any desire for fame, but with the
devotedness of a royalist, and the affection of a noble, sensitive
woman, she sighed for the time when Bonaparte would again restore to
the heir of Louis XVI. the throne of the lilies, and recall to
France the Count de Lille, to replace him as king on his brother's
throne.
In fact, Josephine had faith in this fairy-tale of her royal heart;
she believed in those dreams with which her tender conscience lulled
her to repose, whenever she reproached herself, that she, the
subject, now walked and gave orders as mistress in this palace of
royalty! "Why, indeed, could she not believe in the realization of
those dreams, since Bonaparte himself seemed to cherish no further
wishes than to rest on his laurels, and to enjoy, in delightful
privacy, the peace he had given to France?
"I am looked upon as ambitious," said Bonaparte one day, in the
confidential evening conversations with his friends in Josephine's
drawing-rooms, "I am looked upon as ambitious, and why? Listen, my
friends, to what I am going to tell you, and which you may repeat to
all. In three years I shall retire from public life; I shall then
have about fifty thousand livres income, and that is sufficient for
my mode of living. I will get a country residence, since Josephine
loves a country life. One thing only I need, and this I claim - I
want to be the justice of the peace for my circuit. Now, say, am I
ambitious?"
Every one laughed at the strange conceit of Bonaparte, who wished to
exchange his present course for the position of a justice of the
peace, and Bonaparte chimed in heartily with the laughter.
But Josephine believed those words of Bonaparte, and their echoes
had perchance penetrated even to Russia, to the ears of the
pretender to the French throne, the Count de Lille, and to the ears
of the Count d'Artois, his brother, and they both therefore based
their hopes on Josephine's winning her husband to the cause of the
Bourbons.
Both sent their secret emissaries to Paris, to enter into some
compact with Josephine, and to prepare their pathway to the throne,
after having failed to negotiate directly with Bonaparte, who had
repelled all their efforts, and with haughty pride had answered the
autograph letter of the Count de Lille.
The Count d'Artois, enlightened by the fruitless efforts of his
brother, resorted to another scheme. He sent a female emissary to
Paris - not to Bonaparte, but to Josephine. Napoleon himself speaks
of it, in his Memorial of St. Helena, as follows:
"The Count d'Artois made his advances in a more eloquent and refined
manner. He sent to Paris the Duchess de Guiche, a charming woman,
who by the elegance of her manners and by her personal attractions
was well calculated to bring to a favorable result the object of her
mission. She easily obtained an introduction to Madame Bonaparte,
who was acquainted with all the persons of the old court. The
beautiful duchess was therefore invited to a dejeuner at Malmaison;
and during breakfast, when the conversation ran upon London, the
emigrants, and the princes, Madame de Guiche stated that a few days
before she had called upon the Count d'Artois. They had spoken of
current events, of the future of France, of the royal family, and
one of the confidants had asked the prince what would be the reward
of the first consul if he re-established the Bourbons! The prince
answered: 'First of all he would be created connetable, with all the
privileges attached to that rank, if that were agreeable to him. But
that would not be enough; we would erect to him on the Place de
Carrousel a tall and costly column, and on it we would raise the
statue of Bonaparte crowning the Bourbons.' A short time after the
dejeuner the consul entered, and Josephine had nothing more pressing
to do than to relate to him all these details. 'And have you
inquired,' asked her husband, 'whether this column would have for a
pedestal the corpse of the first consul?' The beautiful duchess was
still present, and with her winning ways she was well calculated to
carry her point. 'I shall ever be happy,' said she, 'and grateful
for the kindness of Madame Bonaparte in having granted me the
opportunity of gazing upon and listening to a great man - a hero.'
But it was all in vain; the Duchess de Guiche the same night
received orders to depart immediately; and the beauty of this
emissary appeared to Josephine too dangerous for her urgently to
intercede in her behalf. Early next morning Madame de Guiche was on
her way to the frontier." [Footnote: "Memorial de Ste. Helene," vol.
i., p. 34.]
The Count de Lille chose for his mediator a very devoted servant,
the most skilful of all his agents, the Marquis de Clermont
Gallerande. He also was kindly received by Josephine, and he found
access to her ear. With intense sympathy, and tears in her eyes, she
bade him tell her the sad wanderings of that unfortunate man, "his
majesty the King of France," and who as a fugitive was barely
tolerated, roaming from court to court, a protege of the good-will
of foreign potentates. Drawn away by her generous heart, and by her
unswerving loyalty to the faith of her childhood, she spoke
enthusiastically of the young royal couple who once had ruled in the