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CHAPTER XIV
Blessings of Peace
(1801–1803)

It now became eminently desirable that Napoleon should pay some attention to the domestic affairs of France and of the countries dominated by her. He determined to infuse a little of his own inexhaustible energy into the departments of State, and to restore public confidence generally. That some kind of mutual understanding should be arrived at with the Powers who were not under his thumb was a prime necessity. Affairs on the Continent were by no means without possibilities of danger to the Republic. Russia and Great Britain had become allies, the hitherto neutral scales of Prussia might at any moment lean towards the latter, and Austria had not become reconciled to the loss of her territories.

When England set on foot proposals for a cessation of hostilities which had continued since 1793, Napoleon was busily preparing a flotilla for the invasion of that island, to which project he had devoted considerable thought. Although he did not betray his eagerness, he certainly felt that there could be no greater or more profitable blessing than a period of peace, which would enable him to carry out various reforms and also to consolidate his own interests. The negotiations finally took definite shape in the short-lived Treaty of Amiens. The British Government under the leadership of Addington lacked the genius and foresight of Pitt, consequently the balance of profit from the Treaty was on the side of France. The Egyptian question was to be settled by that country being restored to the Sultan; Malta was to be handed back to the Knights of St John, its former possessors; Great Britain was to retain Ceylon and Trinidad alone of her colonial conquests during the war. These were the principal items of the Treaty, the preliminaries of which were signed in London on the 1st October 1801. France was at peace with all the world.

Napoleon, whose term of office as First Consul had been extended for ten years (at a later period he was made Consul for life), now directed the whole of his powers on the internal government of France. Neither afraid of God nor man personally, he early discerned that religion had a deep political significance. France had tried to blot out Christianity, but as a result of her efforts the old forms of worship had merely given place to vague speculations and makeshifts. The Christian faith was re-established by the Concordat, a “treaty of peace with the Roman Catholic Church,” as an eminent modern scholar terms it, the First Consul setting a good example by attending Mass at Notre Dame. This was followed by the inauguration of the Civil Code, a readjustment of laws involving the most arduous research on the part of those learned in the intricacies of jurisprudence.

Commerce received a fresh impetus, public works were undertaken, and social life revived. So great was the confidence of Englishmen that they again began to make the “grand tour” of the Continent, then deemed a necessary part of the education of members of the upper classes. The Diary of Robert Sym, clerk to his Majesty’s Signet, affords us an interesting glimpse of Napoleon at this time. He writes in his quaint way as follows:—

“On the ‘Quinze Thermidor’ (Tuesday, August 3rd, 1802) we saw Bonaparte review in the ‘Cour des Tuileries’ what was certainly the flower of his army, for they were very different men from those we had seen on the road and at Calais. We never saw a finer body of men than these, nor finer horses and accoutrements, and all clothed and equipped in the most complete manner. The corps of Chasseurs and of the Gens d’Armerie, in particular, were very fine men. The corps of Guides, too, seemed to be all picked. These latter were commanded by young Beauharnais, the son of the wife of Bonaparte....

“About twelve o’clock Bonaparte came down the great stair of the Tuileries and one of our party, who happened to be right opposite the porch, told us that he mounted his horse from wooden steps. He then rode forward, accompanied by about fifteen or twenty generals and a Mameluke from Egypt. All his suite were dressed and powdered in the most showy manner, but Bonaparte himself wore a plain green coat with a narrow white cloth edging at the seams, such as servants in this country sometimes wear, and a cocked hat without any lace. His hair is very black and is cropped very close to his head and neck, so that his ears are all bare. It falls down over his brow. His complexion is swarthy, his face long, a fine nose, his eyes are very dark and his eyebrows fall, or are drawn down, much over his eyes. His cheek bones are high, and his cheeks sink between the bones of the face and those of the chin, which gives him a wasted, consumptive look. His upper lip projects in the middle of his mouth, considerably over the under one, and his chin is sharp and prominent. He does not seem to be above five feet six, and is very thin. He is thirty-three years of age. To me he appeared to have the look of anxiety, or rather of terror. He was mounted on a beautiful Arabian grey horse, one of the most perfect animals I ever saw. His saddle, or rather housing, on which he sat, was purple velvet, richly embroidered with gold and a great many nets and trappings.... Bonaparte was nearly an hour and a half on horseback on this occasion. During all that period he never once opened his lips, nor did he turn his head to the right or to the left. He looked straight over his horse’s ears. No person spoke to him, nor was he cheered or huzzaed, either when he came into the Cour or when he departed.”

The conquests of the Republic in Italy, Holland, Belgium, the left bank of the Rhine, and Switzerland imposed considerable responsibility upon the French, and it was necessary to reorganise the several governments. They were encumbered by tradition, with which Napoleon had little or no sympathy. As regards the independence which the inhabitants had every reason to expect by the terms of the Peace of Lunéville, the First Consul was rich in promise and poor in performance. Moderation was a quality distinctly lacking in Napoleonic statesmanship. The very thought of a national spirit was a nightmare to the man who was now bent on building a vast Empire of the West. Northern Italy was completely dominated by him; Piedmont, for long the football of Austria and France, was incorporated with the Republic, Parma and Placentia were occupied. The Cisalpine Republic speedily became the Italian Republic, a high-sounding name calculated to please, with Napoleon as President and a French army of occupation. Within certain limits the First Consul’s jurisdiction was beneficial, even though he ruled on despotic principles.

To Holland, now the Batavian Republic, he granted a constitution, but many of his measures were too arbitrary for the stolid Dutch; there was no end to their grievances, both fancied and real. Probably the provinces on the left bank of the Rhine, which were incorporated with France, gained more lasting advantages if only because they were less meddled with. Affairs on the opposite side of the river attracted more attention; in Germany there was something worth playing for. With the Czar’s consent, Napoleon set about rearranging the various German States. This he did to his present satisfaction, Francis II. of the unwieldy Holy Roman Empire, of which these territories formed a part, meekly acquiescing, as befits a monarch who has no alternative but to grin and bear unpreventable misfortunes. Over two hundred independent States formerly belonging to bishops, abbots, and petty sovereigns were eventually annexed to their larger neighbours, the idea being to gain the good-will and friendship of the more important rulers.

Switzerland, a neutral State according to the Treaty of Lunéville but not held to be so by the First Consul, was more difficult of settlement. After several systems of government had been tried and failed, Napoleon himself drew up the Constitution of Malmaison. This he forced the country to accept in May, 1801, but it was amended in the following year. On the withdrawal of the French army of occupation, civil war broke out among the patriotic Swiss, Ney speedily quelling it, however, with a formidable body of troops. The Helvetian Republic was too important from a military point of view to be allowed to snap the fetters which linked it to France.

European affairs, it might be thought, would have been sufficiently exhausting to preclude colonial projects. But, to use an apparent paradox, Napoleon never had more time to spare than when he was most busy. He derived his recreation from change of work, shutting up one drawer in his mind to open another, to use his own simile. Of leisure and ease he had little; a visit to the theatre, a hunt occasionally, an hour’s chat with Josephine and the ladies of the Consular Court, during which he would tell them the most creepy ghost stories, and a game of cards at which he cheated, sufficed him for pastime. He took exercise while working, restlessly pacing the study while he dictated a torrent of words on civil, military, and naval matters, or walking in the garden discussing affairs with a Minister of State.

At this period Napoleon’s intellect and powers of exhaustive concentration were at their best, and it is characteristic of his marvellous energy that he could find time to devote to the possessions of the Republic overseas. He resolved upon an attempt to recover San Domingo, in the West Indies, then ruled by the famous negro President Toussaint L’Ouverture, the subject of one of Wordsworth’s greatest sonnets: “Toussaint, thou most unhappy man of men.” France had practically lost her supremacy of this important West India island owing to a revolt of the negroes, and there seemed a likelihood of Toussaint declaring its independence.

The First Consul sent off 21,000 troops under General Leclerc, who had married Pauline, the prettiest of the Bonaparte sisters, and the blacks were eventually routed. Some months later, when the yellow fever had laid low many of the French soldiers and England and the Republic were again at war, the cause of the negroes was taken up by the British, with the result that the independence of San Domingo was definitely established. Only one-fifth of the expeditionary army returned to France.

In a diary kept by Rear-Admiral Sir George Cockburn’s secretary during Napoleon’s voyage in the Northumberland to St Helena, a conversation is recorded in which the ex-Emperor referred particularly to the West Indies. He said that “had he continued at the head of the French Government, he never would have attempted the re-occupation of St Domingo; that the most he would have established with regard to that island would have been to keep frigates and sloops stationed around it to force the blacks to receive everything they wanted from, and to export all their produce exclusively to, France; for, he added, he considered the independence of the blacks there to be more likely to prove detrimental to England than to France. This latter remark is a reiteration of his feelings with respect to England, as in all the calculations he makes, the proportion of evil which may accrue to our nation seems to bear in his mind the first consideration.”

In the early days of 1803 the First Consul’s attention was distracted by events nearer home, and he had no alternative but to abandon his dreams of a Colonial Empire. If, as he afterwards stated, “the Saint Domingo business” was “the greatest error in all my government I ever committed,” he had been able to obtain Louisiana from Spain in exchange for an extension of territory in Italy, and also to secure Guiana.

CHAPTER XV
The Dawn of the Empire
(1803–1804)

While neither party kept strictly to the terms of the Peace of Amiens, Napoleon’s aggressive policy was such as to disturb other Powers as well as Great Britain. There was no knowing who might be the object of his unwelcome attentions. Frontiers seemed suddenly to have lost their significance and usefulness, treaties became of less value than the parchment on which they were written. Great Britain complained that whereas the Treaty of Lunéville had guaranteed the independence of the Batavian Republic, French troops were stationed within her borders, as well as in those of Switzerland. Napoleon retorted by saying that Great Britain still kept Malta. Eventually England declared war on the 18th May 1803, and it was to be a duel to the death.

Napoleon, usually so wide awake, was taken by surprise. He did not anticipate so quick a decision on the part of Addington’s administration. He retaliated in an utterly senseless and cruel way by ordering that every British subject on French territory should be arrested and imprisoned. Small wonder that English newspapers vilified the First Consul as the Corsican Ogre, that the pens of Gillray, Cruikshank, Woodward, and a host of lesser artists caricatured him almost out of recognition; that poets poured forth vituperation in minor verse, and that Scott and Wordsworth wrote battle cries. Few people in England entertained the sympathy and admiration for the ruler of France shown by Dr Parr. “Sir,” he once remarked, “I should not think I had done my duty if I went to bed any night without praying for the success of Napoleon Bonaparte.”

To strike a mortal blow at the very heart of the British Empire and to ruin her commerce on the Continent now became the consuming object of Napoleon’s ambition. He would cross the Channel, march on London, subjugate the United Kingdom, and while preparations for this bold move were being made, close the ports of Europe against her. “They want to make us jump the ditch, and we’ll jump it,” to quote an expression he used at an audience of ambassadors on the 1st May 1803. Frenchmen joyfully anticipated the triumph of the man with so bold an ambition; Englishmen armed themselves as eagerly to defend hearth and home. A Territorial Army of which posterity may well be proud quickly came into being. In March 1805 no fewer than 810,000 troops—Militia, Volunteers, and Fencibles—were prepared to defy Napoleon. The politician and the publican, the ploughboy and the squire, joined hands in the mutual cause as though no difference of class existed. George III. announced his intention of leading the troops in person if necessary. Pitt was acting-colonel of a regiment, and Charles James Fox became a humble private.

Fortunately Great Britain had a navy, while Napoleon had practically to create one. Many of his finest ships were far away in the West Indies, and the Dutch fleet was small and of little consequence. England lost no time in maritime preparations: she was ready; Napoleon wished to gain every minute he could. While the sound of the shipwright’s hammer rang through the coasts of France, the white sails of Old England kept watch to prevent all entry or exit from her harbours. The most important command, that of the Mediterranean, was given to Nelson. Cornwallis was stationed off Brest, the great western arsenal of France, while Keith patrolled the North Sea and the Straits of Dover. In addition, there were various smaller squadrons cruising about ready for instant action.

Three-deckers were laid down in many of the most important French seaports, cities and towns vying with each other in offering money to the Government for men-of-war. Smaller centres contributed in proportion to their means; naval stores, artillery, and ammunition were also supplied at the public expense. At Boulogne a flotilla of small vessels of various kinds was collected, some fitted with artillery, others for the conveyance of horses. Rowing boats were built on the river banks for the transportation of the troops. Fishing smacks were purchased and converted into miniature warships; the doings of smugglers were winked at, provided they brought information about the English coast likely to be of use. If ever a man was in earnest, Napoleon certainly was during the time of the Great Terror. He formed a vast camp at Boulogne, detailed battalions of soldiers to construct a mammoth basin to hold part of the flotilla, and others to build forts and learn to row. He showed himself frequently, inspiring the men by his terse phrases of encouragement, and consulting Admiral Bruix and others who had charge of the preparations on the most insignificant detail. He tested cannon, made short voyages in the different types of vessel, and lived for days at a stretch in a little château at the top of a cliff.

In the early stages of the war Napoleon had thought it would be possible to convey his troops in the small craft without making use of the navy proper. He hoped that on a dark or foggy night it might be possible to elude the vigilance of the British cruisers and land on the south coast of England before the enemy was aware of his intention. Later, he recognised that a successful crossing was impossible without the protection of the men-of-war, and the necessity for this added immensely to his many difficulties.

Napoleon did not content himself solely with preparations for the campaign in England. He sent Mortier to overrun Hanover, the hereditary territory of George III., seized the important commercial cities of Bremen and Hamburg, and closed the rivers Elbe and Weser against British commerce. In Italy the ports of Tarentum and Leghorn, with which British merchants did a considerable amount of trade, were also occupied. Not content with these drastic measures, Napoleon decreed that any ship which had so much as called at a British port was liable to be captured. With great good fortune the majority of the vessels from San Domingo eventually reached home ports, but several put in at the harbours of Coruña and Cadiz. Spain, unluckily for herself as it afterwards appeared, allowed supplies to be sent to the blockaded ships. Spain, indeed, helped France in other ways, including the payment of an annual subsidy. Portugal also agreed to disburse £640,000 a year.

Beloved though he was by the majority of the nation, Napoleon had enemies. Several attempts were made to take his life. In one of these, he narrowly escaped being blown to pieces by an infernal machine in the Rue St Nicaise, the plot being promoted by the Royalists of La Vendée. Napoleon showed his vindictive nature by seizing the opportunity to teach a lesson to the Jacobins, who had no hand whatever in the affair, and a hundred and thirty innocent persons were sentenced to transportation for life. Another Royalist conspiracy was that of Georges Cadoudal and Pichegru. These men tried to implicate Moreau, but without success. The famous Republican general, however, was arrested, with the ringleaders; Pichegru was found strangled in prison, Georges Cadoudal was guillotined, and Moreau was banished to America. The last was entirely innocent, but he had the misfortune to be Napoleon’s rival, and that was sufficient condemnation. He had won his spurs in the early days of the Revolution by placing himself at the head of a battalion of Breton volunteers, and he was popular with the army. An instance of his sterling integrity, one of many which redound to his credit, may be given. When the landed property of the aristocracy was sold as belonging to the nation, an estate owned by M. d’Orsay, adjoining that of Moreau, was sold to the Republican general at an absurdly low figure. Not only did the new owner inform his former neighbour of the transaction, but he insisted on paying him what he considered was a legitimate price.

The Duc d’Enghien, son of the Duc de Bourbon, was even more unfortunate than Moreau. He also was charged with complicity in the Royalist plot, and although no evidence was produced against him, he was shot and buried in a grave dug before his trial, by a so-called special military commission, in the fortress of Vincennes. The story of the way in which the young duke’s father heard the news is pathetic. He was an exile in London, living at the time in a small suite of rooms with one valet. As breakfast did not appear at the prescribed hour one morning, and no notice being taken of his repeated ringing of the bell, he entered the kitchen and found his servant bowed down with sorrow. On the table was a newspaper containing particulars of the grim tragedy. For two hours the sorely stricken parent was overcome by agonising grief in the humble little room. The Comtesse de Boigne, one of the many French emigrants who sought a refuge in England, relates the above, in her entertaining “Memoirs,” adding that this excessive grief was “accompanied by fits of rage and cries for vengeance.”

“This was the only means I had of leaving no doubt as to my intentions, and of annihilating the hopes of the partisans of the Bourbons,” Napoleon wrote callously to his brother Joseph. “If what I have done were still to be done,” he continues, “I would do it again, and if I had a favourable opportunity I would get rid of the rest.” Fouché’s caustic comment, “it was worse than a crime, it was a blunder,” has passed into a proverb.

The conspiracy of Cadoudal and Pichegru was made a pretext on the part of the Senate for sending a deputation to the First Consul, who was told that, as he was founding a new era, he ought to perpetuate it. “We do not doubt but this great idea has had a share of your attention,” said the President during the course of his short and flattering address, “for your creative genius embraces all and forgets nothing. But do not delay: you are urged on by the times, by events, by conspirators, and by ambitious men; and in another direction, by the anxiety which agitates the French people. It is in your power to enchain time, master events, disdain the ambitious, and tranquillise the whole of France by giving it institutions which will cement your edifice, and prolong for our children what you have done for their fathers. Citizen First Consul, be assured that the Senate here speaks to you in the name of all citizens.”

The question was duly debated in the Tribunate, Carnot alone voting against the proposal, and by a decree of the Senate Napoleon was declared Emperor of the French on the 18th May 1804. That a conspiracy and a “judicial murder” should herald so important an event was looked upon by some as of evil omen. A few of the more sober members of the nation began to whisper among themselves that France was being more and more absorbed in Napoleon. Perhaps the remark made by the Duc de Raguse to the Comtesse de Boigne in 1814 would not have been inapplicable if uttered ten years before. The duke was explaining his connection with the Emperor. “When he said: ‘All for France,’ I served with enthusiasm; when he said: ‘France and I,’ I served with zeal; when he said: ‘I and France,’ I served with obedience; but when he said: ‘I without France,’ I felt the necessity of separating from him.”